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In honor of Protection from Pornography Week, my default icon is the sex one.
More smut, for Oct 27
Title: Where there's smoke
Author: Angel
E-mail: valarltd@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17, explicit sex
Summary: a PWP from the Galley Crew
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Not my guys. If they were, would
I still be stuck on the ball of dirt?
Warnings: slash. Well duh!
Distribution: Just ask
Feedback: Always a treat.
"Put down the utensil and back away from the food
processors with your hands in the air! What in the
name of the Four Cold Hells are you doing? I can smell it
in the cockpit!"
Luke obligingly drops the spatula and takes two steps back.
"Making dinner?"
"Sure you're not frying the insulation?" My arms go around his waist,
and he lowers his own over them.
"It's bantha kabobs. Or at least it started out that way."
"I think it's charcoal now." The smoke of it lingers
on his skin where I nibble at the side of his throat.
"Not my fault. The flashheater's not working right. I
set it on low, and it frizzled them."
"Just toss in a couple of heat'n'eats in the microzapper and when
we get done, we'll tear the heater apart and see what's wrong."
"Done with what?" Oh, the seductive insousiance in that voice, as he
turns for a full fledged kiss.
"That remains to be seen. Why didn't you just use the foodsynth?"
"I wanted something fresh."
I chuckle against his forehead. "Fresh." I kiss him again, enjoying the
slick softness of his mouth, the eagerness with which he kisses back.
He nips at my tongue and I pull back a little, allowing him to explore me.
Oh, he tastes good.
"Is Chewie busy?" We try to be discreet. Nothing kills the mood
like a Wookiee laughing at the two ridiculous humans. We
found that out by accident. Who knew he'd wake up at that
hour?
"Very. And your cooking is certain to keep him out."
"You're the one who always says, where there's smoke, there's
dinner. And don't give me that innocent look."
My hands haven't been idle, and by this time, he's shirtless,
and the pants are ready to follow. He's got my vest and shirt off too,
and is fidgeting with the gunbelt.
"I keep tellin' you, let me do that." I back him up against the console
and drop to my knees. "Got something better in mind anyway."
Now the pants are down, and I'm following the line of dark gold
down his belly with my tongue. He's ready, so ready for me, and
I swallow him whole, burying my face against his body.
The warm musk of him makes my head swim, and I venture a glance
up. He's clutching the console, his eyes shut. I add a little more
suction, and his breathing speeds up. We could stay like this
forever, I sometimes think, him tense and beautiful on the very brink,
me doing my best to push him over. He can ride the edge longer
than anyone I know. In the end I always win. I smile as the
hot salt fills my mouth, to the accompaniment of those small
noises I love to hear from him.
As I stand, he pulls my mouth down to his, greedily, like he always does.
His tongue moves in there, seeking out all the remains of his own
taste. His hand is down at my belt again, and I bat it away, again.
I take the belt off myself, undoing the tie-down and setting it aside
without ever breaking contact.
And he's on his knees, and his hair is so soft under my hands and he's
doing that swirl with his tongue, and there isn't enough air
in the ship, and the gravity is failing, and...and...
When I stop being a nova, and start being me again, I put us
back into some semblence of normalacy. We stand, shirtless,
absorbing the feel of skin on skin, in the galley.
Luke moves away, finds his shirt and begins hunting for
something edible in the storage locker. I watch. He
straightens up with two packets in his hands, and smiles at me.
The smile fades.
"You're doing that thing with your chin again."
"What?"
"The chin thing that says 'I'm thinking way too hard.
And going to get stubborn on you.' Spill."
"Just thinkin', maybe we should take a pass
on dinner, see if we can find my bunk."
The slow smile lights his whole face again,
and he sets the packets down. I am wrapped in his
arms and being kissed again, but this time,
with a gentle push in the direction of the cabins.
"Maybe we should. At least until one of us gets the
machinery running right."
That light, teasing hand. I catch the wrist in my own.
"Let Chewie do it. We've got other plans for tonight."
More smut, for Oct 27
Title: Where there's smoke
Author: Angel
E-mail: valarltd@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17, explicit sex
Summary: a PWP from the Galley Crew
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Not my guys. If they were, would
I still be stuck on the ball of dirt?
Warnings: slash. Well duh!
Distribution: Just ask
Feedback: Always a treat.
"Put down the utensil and back away from the food
processors with your hands in the air! What in the
name of the Four Cold Hells are you doing? I can smell it
in the cockpit!"
Luke obligingly drops the spatula and takes two steps back.
"Making dinner?"
"Sure you're not frying the insulation?" My arms go around his waist,
and he lowers his own over them.
"It's bantha kabobs. Or at least it started out that way."
"I think it's charcoal now." The smoke of it lingers
on his skin where I nibble at the side of his throat.
"Not my fault. The flashheater's not working right. I
set it on low, and it frizzled them."
"Just toss in a couple of heat'n'eats in the microzapper and when
we get done, we'll tear the heater apart and see what's wrong."
"Done with what?" Oh, the seductive insousiance in that voice, as he
turns for a full fledged kiss.
"That remains to be seen. Why didn't you just use the foodsynth?"
"I wanted something fresh."
I chuckle against his forehead. "Fresh." I kiss him again, enjoying the
slick softness of his mouth, the eagerness with which he kisses back.
He nips at my tongue and I pull back a little, allowing him to explore me.
Oh, he tastes good.
"Is Chewie busy?" We try to be discreet. Nothing kills the mood
like a Wookiee laughing at the two ridiculous humans. We
found that out by accident. Who knew he'd wake up at that
hour?
"Very. And your cooking is certain to keep him out."
"You're the one who always says, where there's smoke, there's
dinner. And don't give me that innocent look."
My hands haven't been idle, and by this time, he's shirtless,
and the pants are ready to follow. He's got my vest and shirt off too,
and is fidgeting with the gunbelt.
"I keep tellin' you, let me do that." I back him up against the console
and drop to my knees. "Got something better in mind anyway."
Now the pants are down, and I'm following the line of dark gold
down his belly with my tongue. He's ready, so ready for me, and
I swallow him whole, burying my face against his body.
The warm musk of him makes my head swim, and I venture a glance
up. He's clutching the console, his eyes shut. I add a little more
suction, and his breathing speeds up. We could stay like this
forever, I sometimes think, him tense and beautiful on the very brink,
me doing my best to push him over. He can ride the edge longer
than anyone I know. In the end I always win. I smile as the
hot salt fills my mouth, to the accompaniment of those small
noises I love to hear from him.
As I stand, he pulls my mouth down to his, greedily, like he always does.
His tongue moves in there, seeking out all the remains of his own
taste. His hand is down at my belt again, and I bat it away, again.
I take the belt off myself, undoing the tie-down and setting it aside
without ever breaking contact.
And he's on his knees, and his hair is so soft under my hands and he's
doing that swirl with his tongue, and there isn't enough air
in the ship, and the gravity is failing, and...and...
When I stop being a nova, and start being me again, I put us
back into some semblence of normalacy. We stand, shirtless,
absorbing the feel of skin on skin, in the galley.
Luke moves away, finds his shirt and begins hunting for
something edible in the storage locker. I watch. He
straightens up with two packets in his hands, and smiles at me.
The smile fades.
"You're doing that thing with your chin again."
"What?"
"The chin thing that says 'I'm thinking way too hard.
And going to get stubborn on you.' Spill."
"Just thinkin', maybe we should take a pass
on dinner, see if we can find my bunk."
The slow smile lights his whole face again,
and he sets the packets down. I am wrapped in his
arms and being kissed again, but this time,
with a gentle push in the direction of the cabins.
"Maybe we should. At least until one of us gets the
machinery running right."
That light, teasing hand. I catch the wrist in my own.
"Let Chewie do it. We've got other plans for tonight."