[The side of his face presses in hers. Soft and weathered skin, abrasive shadow, sharp bones, yielding hollows; cheek to cheek but his face slightly turned toward her, eyes closed at her skin and hair, breathing her, too… His arms vicegrip around her, but also shield her, taking any jolting of their bodies against the wall, so she only feels the vibration, not the cold, not the strike. His feet and legs are braced as hard as if he were putting his shoulder to a stalled tank… and the motion of his core in hers is… digging. Laboring, plunging them both to some… expanse…
Her words, the reverberation of her throat against his throat, both their chests, her lips on his skin… He doesn't come, but… he… stills.
Not an ending. Not a withdrawal. A… moment of… suspension.
Full weight and force of his body keep pressing her to the wall. Muscles quavering with the strength of his grip on her. Sharp cliffs of breaths pressing his chest to hers, heartbeat thudding louder. As hard and deep in her as solid bodies could be, without molecules permeating magnetic fields. Yet for all of that… the sudden stillness isn't itself violent, or resistant, or angry, or surrendered, or… anything in of itself… it's…
…he'd been clawing, fighting, to get himself back to her.
She just threw him a tether and pulled him to her the rest of the way.
He's reached her. At last.
He slowly, slowly, shifts his weight, sliding legs and feet, turning just slightly in her silken flesh. His arms don't release a breath of her, but his fingers uncurl from white-knuckled grip of her shirt, to pressing, smooth, full against her. Not hanging on for dear life. Feeling her. And after a moment, head bowed beside hers, struggling for breath, for life, for now, them, this, he lifts his face (wet with perspiration and possibly more) to meet her eyes just as they had in a different turbolift at the end of a different life
And the axis of their planet has shifted just a little from all that they had known in that moment they would never have to…
…returning to that moment, somehow, as a start, not an end. Letting the timeline split there.
From I wish I could know you I wish we could have time
to…
…there you are
It'll be the first time he fails to say it back… his throat's too tight for words… but it brings him back, in his eyes on hers, his body no less hard, not ready to stop, but… able to… take a moment. Just experience the full reality of her. Relish it, let the stillness give him every quiver and ripple and flex of her body, until it moved his again. His forehead ducking for him to kiss her clavicles and throat, an attitude of weeping though he isn't, and in thrall to her; fealty and gratitude and relief. It's not restraint, he's not holding back, and won't necessarily shift gears to subservience now. No need to force anything, not gentleness either; roughness can be loving too. But something… the desperate fury… falls away. Here you are. I love you too.]
[action]
His arms vicegrip around her, but also shield her, taking any jolting of their bodies against the wall, so she only feels the vibration, not the cold, not the strike.
His feet and legs are braced as hard as if he were putting his shoulder to a stalled tank… and the motion of his core in hers is… digging. Laboring, plunging them both to some… expanse…
Her words, the reverberation of her throat against his throat, both their chests, her lips on his skin…
He doesn't come, but… he… stills.
Not an ending. Not a withdrawal. A… moment of… suspension.
Full weight and force of his body keep pressing her to the wall. Muscles quavering with the strength of his grip on her. Sharp cliffs of breaths pressing his chest to hers, heartbeat thudding louder. As hard and deep in her as solid bodies could be, without molecules permeating magnetic fields.
Yet for all of that… the sudden stillness isn't itself violent, or resistant, or angry, or surrendered, or… anything in of itself… it's…
…he'd been clawing, fighting, to get himself back to her.
She just threw him a tether and pulled him to her the rest of the way.
He's reached her. At last.
He slowly, slowly, shifts his weight, sliding legs and feet, turning just slightly in her silken flesh. His arms don't release a breath of her, but his fingers uncurl from white-knuckled grip of her shirt, to pressing, smooth, full against her. Not hanging on for dear life. Feeling her.
And after a moment, head bowed beside hers, struggling for breath, for life, for now, them, this, he lifts his face
(wet with perspiration and possibly more)
to meet her eyes
just as they had in a different turbolift
at the end of a different life
And the axis of their planet has shifted
just a little
from all that they had known in that moment they would never have
to…
…returning to that moment, somehow, as a start, not an end. Letting the timeline split there.
From I wish I could know you
I wish we could have time
to…
…there you are
It'll be the first time he fails to say it back… his throat's too tight for words… but it brings him back, in his eyes on hers, his body no less hard, not ready to stop, but… able to… take a moment. Just experience the full reality of her. Relish it, let the stillness give him every quiver and ripple and flex of her body, until it moved his again. His forehead ducking for him to kiss her clavicles and throat, an attitude of weeping though he isn't, and in thrall to her; fealty and gratitude and relief. It's not restraint, he's not holding back, and won't necessarily shift gears to subservience now. No need to force anything, not gentleness either; roughness can be loving too. But something… the desperate fury… falls away. Here you are. I love you too.]