The heat that poured from those dark eyes sent a matching blaze through Pike's body, his body arching lightly from the floor. He paused his touches only long enough to pull away clothing. In here, he had returned to what his mind saw him in, which was the uniform of their own world. He wore the black leather vest that showed off the V of his neck and chest along with his arms, the golden sash around his waist that marked him an officer, and form fitting black trousers. His hands quickly and heedlessly divested himself of his uniform, letting it fall where it wound away from him, displaying his body for his bond mate.
He was not a young man anymore, nor was he old, and his body showed the years of fighting, constant training. Scars, long gone thin and white with age except the worst of them, spoke of combat where doctors and dermal regenerators were rare commodities. The hair at the chest and leading down towards his groin was graying, not to mention the dignified streaks in his hair, but it showed off well developed muscle. This was a man used to fighting.
Training against a half-Vulcan almost every day had its advantages.
I can feel each stroke of your hand, the sand against your back, the fierceness of your possession. The desire to mark me like a cat its territory, inside and out. The burning that comes with wanting to not submit, to leap from where you sit and prove your dominance, mixed with a masochistic and greater desire to obey instead.
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Date: 2009-10-08 02:08 pm (UTC)He was not a young man anymore, nor was he old, and his body showed the years of fighting, constant training. Scars, long gone thin and white with age except the worst of them, spoke of combat where doctors and dermal regenerators were rare commodities. The hair at the chest and leading down towards his groin was graying, not to mention the dignified streaks in his hair, but it showed off well developed muscle. This was a man used to fighting.
Training against a half-Vulcan almost every day had its advantages.
I can feel each stroke of your hand, the sand against your back, the fierceness of your possession. The desire to mark me like a cat its territory, inside and out. The burning that comes with wanting to not submit, to leap from where you sit and prove your dominance, mixed with a masochistic and greater desire to obey instead.