She slipped her arm around him anyway, letting her fingers play along the unseen hills and valleys of his stomach. Her thoughts drifted indistinctly from alien weapons to spying on Tagen while he got dressed, and then to Tagen undressing her and back to Dan. She wondered what he was doing with himself these days and the curiosity was not the depressing ache for an ex-lover as much as the cursory interest for an old classmate. She supposed he must have someone in his life by now, someone who wouldn’t do him the inconvenience of getting half her face burned away by acid. Maybe he’d finally taken that honeymoon in Hawaii they always meant to take, had those kids they used to talk about having. She wondered if she wished him well, decided after some little thought that she wouldn’t go that far, and then spooned up against Tagen.
He stirred at last, stretching hugely before rolling onto his back and raising up his head to look at her. He dropped back, scratching his hair into some semblance of order, and mumbled words so thickly-accented with sleep that she honestly couldn’t tell whether he’d said them in her language or his. It didn’t matter. She slipped in under his raised arm and laid her head on his chest.
He pushed himself halfway up, as if to better study this strange person who was trying to snuggle when it was ninety degrees out, and then fell back again with a sleepy chuckle. His arm curled around her, holding her even closer, and his other hand came to stroke through her hair.
“Are you all right?” he asked in recognizable if fuzzy English.
She nodded, staring at the nearest pile of Dan’s boxes. She wondered if he’d gone back to live in the city or what. Maybe his number was listed in the phone book. She could call him up, give him one last chance to come out and get this stuff and then…run it out to Goodwill or something. She didn’t want to look at it anymore. Well, she’d never wanted to look at it, which was why she supposed she’d shut it all away up here in the first place, but now she didn’t want to even think about looking at it. Six years was long enough to be tied to these old bones.
Tagen’s breath deepened back to one of those not-quite snores, interrupting her wandering thoughts. She realigned herself to his reality, running her open hand up his chest and around his side in a half-hug. He roused with a growl. The arm that cupped her lightly squeezed and the hand combing at her hair moved to caress her cheek. She could feel sweat from his body pooling onto hers and dripping away. It was too hot for this, but she couldn’t make herself let go and move away.
It was getting darker. The orange glow faded out to the grey, phantom light that follows sunset. In minutes, she wouldn’t be able to see him at all. She stared at the shadowed sculpture of his bare chest, wanting to memorize it while she could. His body was an anchor; when she closed her eyes, she still felt lost in dreams.
He was dozing again, trying to stay with her, but slipping further and further away. Daria closed her eyes and moved her hand again, to feel him without the interfering sight of Dan’s things taking up the background. She explored the perfection of his powerful body with the lightest sweep of her fingertips until she came to the raised and roughened scar that marked his side.
“What did this?” she asked.
He drew in a breath and stretched before letting it out again. “What weapon, do you mean, or what enemy held it?”
Poor guy. She was keeping him awake. She said, “Both. Neither. What happened, is what I guess I really mean.”
“Mm.” He shifted, not pushing her away but kicking back the half-cover of the sheet. “There was a danz tuvai…forgive me, a…stronghold. To manufacture and repair stolen ships for other criminals. What you would call, I think, a chop shop.” He spoke the words very distinctly, and then yawned. “They knew we were there before we had landed. They had locked down their defenses, the doors were impenetrable. My commander ordered us to open a wall. There was heavy fire.” He stroked her hair, his thumb tracing along the smoothness of her brow. “Why do you want to hear this?”
“I want to hear your voice.”
“I could say other things.”
“You never do, though.”
“Hm.” His hand went to pillow his head, but the other on her hip took up the slow caressing movements. “No. I suppose I do not. I cannot even blame my poor grasp of English. Conversation is an art. I am not creative.”
“You’re plenty creative when it comes to some things.”
“Am I? In what—? Ah.” He chuckled and growled again, this time with libidinous intent. “Shall I say I was inspired to greatness?” His teasing words ended in another yawn.
She should let him sleep.
She moved her hand away, over the scarred side of him, down over the ridges of his stomach, and still further. His skin was like fine suede stretched tight over marble and wetted with hot oil. She could taste salt when she kissed him, could feel his heart beating beneath the thin touch of her lips, a little faster now than before. Her fingers enclosed him, stroking gently, and her lingering kiss became a bite.
His hips arched at once, but his groan had more reluctance than arousal. “Daria,” he said, sounding strained.
She shifted, still caressing him below, to bite him again, now on his stomach. Again, he thrust hard into her hand and this time, he caught at her wrist. But he didn’t pull her away, and as she continued to nip and lick her way down his body, he ultimately sighed and released her.
She didn’t speak. Neither did he. There was only room for one art to be practiced here. She worked her way to him at a dream’s pace, letting herself be conscious of nothing but the taste of his sweat, the heat of his alien skin, the growing hardness in her hand. She cemented herself to his reality, letting his body be the full substance of her world. Pleasure came to her like echoes thrown by his own. She closed her mouth over him and felt orgasm begin to unfold in syrupy delight deep inside her.
Tagen’s hands brushed at her, catching in her hair before resting heavily atop her head. He did not attempt to guide her, but the speed and strength of his restrained thrusts increased as she continued her languid caresses. She drew him in one inch at a time, thoroughly slicking and exploring its dimensions before taking more. Her hands stroked and squeezed, and then slid out to scratch at his stomach, kneading at him blissfully before cupping and sliding along his shaft again. And all the while, rapture grew in her; she basked in the reflected glow of the pleasure she gave him.
“Let me—” He tried to sit up, to pull her to him, but fell back with a groan as she took him fully into her throat. She began the first of many slow swallows and he cried her name, deliriously and with a kind of despair, his claws ripping at the sheets. She watched with catlike contentment while agony and ecstasy pursued each other on his face. He wanted to make love to her, she knew. He wanted to be the one who held and controlled and commanded, but she couldn’t let him. Selfishly, she hoarded him, letting herself alone revel in the pure sensuality of possession until he began to crest. He tried again to take her in his arms, but she would not be moved and he was reduced to curling around her, his hands sliding down her back in a protective embrace.
His heat was all around her, a shell of hard, male flesh. Daria swam in pleasure, her eyes closed and all her blood alive, as he came. His hoarse cry brought her to the completion this ritual had kindled in her; all her body turned to fire for one timeless moment of pure joy. She lingered, savoring all there was, and finally, reluctantly, separated herself from him.
He remained enfolding her. She could feel his breath between her shoulders, his hair brushing at her back. His hands still gripped at her hips, not caressing now but only holding her. She pressed her lips to his thigh and he stirred at last, speaking alien words she did not know to express a sentiment she could only guess at. He moved slowly, his hands sliding up her bare back, stroking once more at her hair before he settled himself back into the bedding.
