Cmdr Stacker, Cmdr Valeese | "Expert Marksmanship"

Posted on Fri Jan 22nd, 2021 @ 3:03am by Commander Valeese Stacker

The Vorta's delicate ears pricked forth towards words that went without being said, the ones that left the gears of her own mind turning perhaps even more than those he'd vocalized. It wasn't her place to pry, nor was it her place to dig. It was her place - as always - to watch and listen and learn while allowing him to do what it was that he did best. After all, when it came to this particular notion, she was far out of her league at best. "Then it's settled, no shuttles." Not that she desired to travel anywhere for any reason anytime soon, "Staying put has never sounded better."

He made a thoughtful sound and nuzzled her hair again. "That makes two of us who agree," he finally murmured. When he inhaled ... all he could smell was her. And it did things to his state of mind. Wonderful things that sent his mind into overdrive and caused a sudden surge of instinct that was almost overpowering, caused his breath to hitch, and caused his fingers to tighten their grip - albeit slightly - on her.

The renewed vigor of his grip on her made Valeese pause, albeit momentarily, in pursuit of her own tea. With it in tow, and drawn to her lips, she peered up at him from beneath the thick veil of her dark lashes in an attempt to both read and study him. Such an action denoted the appearance of his more possessive nature, promising that part of him felt - even just slightly - threatened by what had transpired and it had triggered his need to be sure that she was tangible and real and not some passing specter of his imagination. She could see the darkening of his eyes, the way they slowly changed to a beautiful dusky color not unlike smoky quartz as much as she could hear the slight quickening of his heart rate.

"Good." She replied, ever so nonchalantly as she moved to set her tea cup back down on their coffee table, "Would be dreadful if one of us wasn't on the same page, wouldn't it?" Sometimes feigned ignorance was tantamount to playing with fire. This was likely one of those times, in fact she'd have wagered a good sum of gold pressed latinum on it. Regardless of gambling, it gave him the sensation of having the upper hand while she set the stage and coaxed him further out of her shell with her charade of propriety and innocence when it came down to provoking the more carnal side of his possessiveness. "More tea?"

A corner of his mouth curled up in a faint trace of amusement. Even with this sudden and heady rush he was feeling it wasn't wrong to say that he was completely out of control. Some part of him knew what game she was playing. It delighted in it, reveled in it, and it wasn't wrong to suggest that maybe it wanted more. But that part of him was a very, very small part of a mind that stood a very good chance of being swiftly subsumed by more instinctual things. In fact it took a very extraordinary amount of willpower to avoid taking action that he knew might elicit a response.

"More tea would be lovely," he murmured into her hair. Fingertips, from the hand still intertwined with hers, lightly brushed against the palm of her hand as he nuzzled farther down the side of her head. Words connected in his mind a moment later, showing how much his thought process was already affected. "And yes, it would be a shame if we weren't on the same page."

"Then it's a good thing we are." She hummed in response. The heat of his breath against her ear and neck sent shivers along her spine. The game was most definitely afoot and he showing his prowess and expertise and keeping perfect control of his faculties and desires while giving his more subtle cues and testing the proverbial waters. It was sexy and delicious in all the right ways, knowing that he both wanted and respected her as much as she did him. It set her on aflame in all the right ways in all the right places - but capitulating too soon would kill the fun of the game... At least that portion of it. She needed to move lest she become completely incinerated.

Valeese's fingers slipped carefully from his as she leaned into him, reaching to retrieve his cup from where he'd set it just out of her reach. "Care for a different flavor?" She asked, her knee brushing his as she scooted in preparation to head towards the kitchen, "Maybe something sweeter?"

For just a half-second, he seriously entertained the lewd possibility that sprang to mind. Oh yes, yes he very much wanted a different flavor. Something very sweet. And for a few seconds beyond that his eyes drifted down before sliding back up. But as much as he wanted to give it all up, right now, there was still that little voice in the back of his mind. The one that begged him to hold on for just a moment longer. Perhaps it was best that he listen to it for the time being. Two, after all, could delight in this moment and run right to the ragged edge.

"I could definitely go for a different flavor," his suddenly-husky voice quietly told her, knowing full well that she'd hear every word, every nuance, every context and every little piece. "Something very sweet would be nice."

As she rose, the fabric of her too large sweater slipped from it's precarious place atop the round of one of her shoulders. Each step allowed gravity to claim that much more of it until the neckline bundled at her elbow and exposed an expanse of her porcelain shoulder and part of her chest. While it hardly killed her modesty, it certainly tattled on the fact that there were fewer layers between them and the ultimate goal of their toying with one another, "Lucky for you I've become rather fond of things of a more Southern nature," She innocently lilted as she disappeared from view, "I'll let you be the judge of whether or not I've gotten the sweet tea down."

The only thing saving her from going straight to Hell that very instant was the fact she had indeed made the aforementioned beverage and was able to use it as a perfect scapegoat even if her hands did shake a bit as she poured it and made the return trip back across the living room. "You'll let me know if I went a little heavy handed on the sugar, won't you?" She asked, offering him back his cup.

The view of her walking away had been one thing; coming back was another. His eyes recklessly slid and raked over the body he knew too well, recognizing full well how the sweater was one of his. Yet some part of him delighted in that little fact. When it moved it exposed hints of the details he already knew, but which were hidden from view for the time being. In fact he was hard-pressed not to smile like an idiot; it was all he could do to keep the grin in the corner of his mouth from spreading wildly. And when he took the cup... He could've sworn he felt electricity when his fingers brushed against hers, and a jump in the temperature of the room that seemed impossible to account for.

His eyes found hers as the cup came up to his lips. They stayed locked on hers as he took the tip and let it course across his tongue. The stare remained unbroken as he swallowed; seemingly a challenge to her to look away.

A challenge she would meet, even if it made her mouth a little weak as she watched him savor the liquid confection she'd given him.

The Ghost was many things, pointed in his desires and expressions being one of them. He didn't quibble when it came down to making his wishes and desires known - and there had never been a doubt that she was chief among those desires... So much so that sweet tea, benign as it was, had become ridiculously sexy. "Does it meet your approval?" She asked, somehow managing to keep the vast majority of smoke and husk from her voice. Her own cup had largely been forgotten, meaninglessly cradled in her hand as a chilled tether to hold her focus and keep her from becoming completely lost in the storm she'd stirred up and he'd built to new heights by simply looking at her.

Gods... The way his eyes roved her body. His sweater hung shapeless from her frame, concealing the best of her curves as it fell, blandly, mid-thigh. It was soft, comfortable, and hardly designed to be the sexiest garment in anyone's wardrobe, but at that moment it may well have been the most see-through lace negligee ever created by the way he gazed upon her and left her unsteady at the knee.

Setting her glass down, she gave up trying to stay moored against the waves. A simple shrug of her shoulders sent the deep navy material slipping down her other shoulder and gravity once again took control, leaving the garment pooled about her ankles and her bare before him, not so much as a hair pin marring her nakedness. "What about now? Better?"

He was off the couch in seconds flat, a possessive sound not terribly dissimilar from a growl rumbling as he exerted the effort to rise. The cup - until now cradled in his fingers - was forgotten about as it met the tabletop, wasn't steadied properly, and upended to spill the remaining liquid across the glass surface. He sure as hell didn't give a damn about it, instead focusing on his arm as it snaked around her body and pulled her to him, and his mind was stripped clear of anything resembling rational thought by the time his lips found hers. Whatever semblance of restraint that had held him back had been stripped away the moment he realized what she'd done. Like a man going to battle he leapt at the challenge and the audacity, and reveled in it all the while.

Valeese instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and giddily accepted the rewards for her efforts. The strength and heat of him coupled with the taste of tea, sugar, and something decidedly only able to be labeled as 'James Stacker' was a profound Aphrodisiac - not that the little Vorta needed any further encouragement. "Glad you enjoy it," she hummed against his mouth, all too well aware of the insistent evidence of his approval pressing against her belly through his slacks. It was a very delicious and exhilarating promise if ever there was one.

"I definitely did," he said, almost bluntly, holding onto that kiss for as long as he could. She tasted incredible. Tea and more. Something exotic. Something he could only define as 'his woman.' He wanted - needed - more of her, he realized. All of her. Hands that threatened to start shaking of their own accord dropped to his slacks, unsnapping the belt with a rough touch that belied his state of mind. Every instinct was screaming at him to take her, and as a shoe clunked against the underside of the table it was clear that that demand was going to be fulfilled.

Very, very, soon.

Her hands only left the back of his neck long enough to free him of his tunic and under shirt. Though it nearly physically pained her to unmold her body from his, the shirts were quickly discarded and the next tinge their bodies met it was with the distinct heat and silkiness that could only be achieved by resting skin against skin. She shivered and hummed her approval, allowing her emptied hands to cup his jaw and draw his mouth to hers yet again.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was vaguely aware of the sound of tea dripping from the table to the carpet. She didn't care. At least not then when the sound of his powerfully beating heart threatened to drown out all else and his embrace and passion threatened once more to completely consume her right then and there on the living room floor. The bedroom and their drawer full of 'safety' might as well have been miles away, but still she tugged him gently in that direction even though the near savage perfection of his hot mouth and teeth playing against one of her ears made walking an all out impossibility.

The teasing and playing of her, in the same way that one might play a finely-tuned instrument, continued as the tongue licked its way up her delicate fan-like ear, eliciting a shiver that he knew all-too-well. Quickly and swiftly his mouth followed up on this by descending on her neck, teasing what he instinctually knew to be a sensitive area. No rational thought was required. Nor was any expended. Some little part of him even felt the tug that promised a night atop the bed, but ignored it in favor of indulging in all those primal and carnal things that could very well take place right there in their perfectly good den.

Out here. The thought ripped through his mind as he nipped at her neck and his fingers gripped at the swell where her back met the curves of her rear. That same thought squashed any other thought that might be given to consequences, or actions, or the future. "Floor. Now," he growled in her ear in a way that might have otherwise shocked him, but now seemed perfectly at home given the circumstances.

Caught. That was one way to put it. He'd held her fast, refused any form of progress that didn't immediately satiate and saturate their burning need for one another. His voice, as much as his ministrations, made her gasp and thoroughly bid goodbye and farewell to any logical sense of adulting or the practice of birth control. The very thought was a thrill in and of itself to her over heated and more primal brain.

They were adults. The rest could be figured out later, in the interim she was keen to follow his order and brought him down with her, allowing the weight of him to be cradled firmly between her thighs and oh so close to where she needed him most. "James, " she all but whimpered her husband's name as she looked up at him, "Please?"

At any other time the voice would have been a balm. Now it had the opposite effect. It spurred him on. Inflamed the twin senses of desire and lust. He couldn't and wouldn't deny her. Not now. Not ever. "As you wish." He rumbled, and then came that oh-so-wonderful feeling of being one with her.

It would be several moments later that true lucidity and awareness settled back with the little Vorta, bringing with it the awareness of sensation and thought alike. Her fingers idly stroked along her lover's sweat slicked back as his weight rested against her and the two of them lay prone and panting.

There was a part of her rational, analytical brain that warned her they'd just broken their own rules of engagement, the excess evidence of which was slowly seeping from her in spite of how he remained firmly lodged within her heat. The other part of that analytical mind had already resigned and capitulated to the notion that he had very likely chose to change those rules and simply failed to give her advance notice.

"I thought an expert such as yourself never took the safety off unless he was certain of his shot," Her voice was low, husky velvet as she teased. Her fingers traveled lower, tracing circles along the small of his back where the upsweep of his backside began, relishing in the way his hot breath puffed assuredly against her neck in promise that he was both alive and pleased with the little mess he'd made both within her and of their living space. Turning her head, Valeese was able to graze a kiss to his shoulder.

The response to the graze was not long in coming: a turn of the head, his lips pressed together, the soft porcelain skin of her neck suddenly whispering over them before being pressed home. As if he was suddenly concerned - after all the relative roughness and possessiveness of the past few minutes - that she might break. A ridiculous notion, to be sure, but the tenderness could not be denied. Nor could the whisper in her ear when his lips ascended to hover right next to it. "Who said I wasn't certain?"

The good humor and tones in his words belied his own spirits and opinion on the matter. He was unconcerned. Inwardly there was a part of his mind that decried the apparent crossing of lines and broken rules. Rules, it said, were not made to be broken. They were not made to be cast aside and discarded at a moment's notice. But as her fingers continued to trace circles on the small of his back he found he really didn't give a damn about rules. Or really anything else.

A flicker of concern through his mind led to his rising up slightly, alleviating the weight on her and redistributing it to arms that ran under hers. His new view let him see her face in more detail. The wild hair, the glow of contentment, the creases and curves and lines that made her... her. "On the other hand, some experts are a fan of making sure they hit the mark," he added before tilting his head down to brush her lips with his. A telltale waggle of his eyebrows belied his continued good humor. "Magazines, after all, can be reloaded."

"Oh..." She replied, her eyebrows high with both surprise and realization. He'd not only caught her demure double entendre, but run with it... Expanded upon it and most certainly made his position on the matter well known. The rules had changed, the game shifted, and he was certainly playing a new game of 'keeps'. "Well then," Valeese hummed, managing to return the quick graze of a kiss, "Fire away."

---

Commander James Stacker
Executive Officer
COLD STATION THETA

Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
COLD STATION THETA