Saffron (
yosafbridge) wrote2010-05-09 06:33 pm
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OOM: Upstairs.
The room, for the most part, is nearly identical to when he had seen it last: dimly lit, decorated in deep, lush colors - mostly purples and reds, several soft and comfortable chairs in which to sit, recline, doze or potentially participate in activities that are not entirely restful. She's done a little shopping since then, purchased some new works of art and pieces to decorate here and there and eventually sell to someone else later on when she tires of them.
The bed is relatively new too, four-poster with sheer curtains and a mattress that feels like you could be sleeping on a cloud if you close your eyes.
It's familiar to him, even if he doesn't remember it yet. She's hoping tonight will jog his memories and bring them back by a means most enjoyable.
The bed is relatively new too, four-poster with sheer curtains and a mattress that feels like you could be sleeping on a cloud if you close your eyes.
It's familiar to him, even if he doesn't remember it yet. She's hoping tonight will jog his memories and bring them back by a means most enjoyable.
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If pressed, outside the moment, she'd say that she doesn't care. Not at all. But here, in her bed, their limbs tangled and his lips skimming over her skin, it'd be hard for her to say she doesn't want him to remember things.
But she'll take what she can get.
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But he's been with very many women in his life, so he can't be certain it's her he remembers. While the woman as a whole is one of a kind (and he knows that, even if he doesn't know why), there are only that many ways a woman can taste, or gasp.
He sets to the task at hand, instead.
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A stream of Mandarin leaves her lips and she arches her back, eyes squeezed shut.
"That's a very good direction, for starters."
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He is about to say 'What language is that?' but instead finds himself saying, "You speak Chinese in your world -- yes, I remember that!"
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"Yes," she murmurs encouragingly, both as a response to what he's doing to her and the arrival of that memory.
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He remembers a house with nobody in it except them, and a map. "A map of stars?" he murmurs, against her skin.
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"You were there, once."
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Then, he sits up before he's pushing her too far, too soon. "There was nobody else there," he says. "And I understood how much bigger the world really is than my time thought it was."
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"My world's a significant ways into the future from yours," she manages, once her heartbeat begins to slow again. "With more worlds than just the one I live on."
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"Weren't the worlds all round, just like Ptolemy said, but they go around the suns, not the other way round? And there's more than one sun?"
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"More than one sun, more than one world. The 'verse isn't just made up of one system of planets, but several."
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"Let me have you," she whispers, though there's nothing resembling a plea in her tone as she gazes deep into his face.
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He leans forward, takes her in his arms, and kisses her, as his hips prime for the second thrust.
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Her lips ghost over his, soft and slowly, while their bodies rise and fall together and her hips rock towards his.
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She gently digs her fingernails into his back, tiny red half-moon marks temporarily decorating his skin before they fade, and she moans his name against the shell of his ear.
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He knows how women work.
But he also knows very well how this one particular woman works.
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Her body tenses first, a slow building of sensation before she squeezes, underneath and around him, and shudders seconds before she comes apart.
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He buries his face in her lovely red hair, and runs a finger down her side, revelling in dips and curves.
Ahhh, what an incredible woman!
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There's no doubt that her recently acquired animalistic qualities have given her the urge to be close to him, the fox cozying up to the wolf.
She nuzzles his cheek.
"How do you feel?"
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"I feel wonderful," Urquhart says. "I just had the most amazing sex."
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"I don't know how soon you'll remember," she murmurs, "but it's like that every time."
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