crossing_lostrp | [Ami] (Day 10: Late Night) After the Festivities (tag Scott)

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[Ami] (Day 10: Late Night) After the Festivities (tag Scott)

After the girls' party wound down, Ami quite literally wove her way back to the teepee. She insisted that she hadn't needed any help, but considering that she hadn't managed to stumble three meters before tripping and weaving, she wound up with Faith as an escort. The other woman explained that her own tent was in that direction, and that she wanted to be certain that Ami didn't stumble into the fire or the ocean.

"I'm not that pissed!" Ami had protested, jerking away and promptly landing on her bum.

She hadn't argued with Faith's accompaniment after that.

They parted ways at the teepee, Faith giving Ami a teasing wink, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Ami managed to summon enough of her dignity to give Faith a friendly one finger salute, which sent the brazen woman away in laughter, and then she crawled into the teepee where Scott was stretched out on his back, shirtless and likely completely starkers beneath the thin blanket and absolutely yummy looking. She wasn't so completely drunk that she didn't appreciate her man. . . particularly when he was naked, half-asleep and so completely ripe for being caught unawares.

She tried to shed her clothes quietly, but the intoxication hindered that. Her arms got caught in her t-shirt and she toppled over when she attempted to step out of her knickers. Somehow Scott slept through it all, stirring only a little when Ami slid her body beneath the blanket and rolled over, covering his body with hers.

/Missing the opportunity of a lifetime,/ Ami lowered her mouth and began to kiss his neck, rocking her hips suggestively against him. /I'm totally pissed, you can completely have your way with me./

/Mmm, really?/ Scott didn't 'sound' all that tired as he grabbed her ass and squeezed.

/Knew you were awake./ She moved down his body, slipping her hands between them, drifting lower to cup and stroke him.

Scott moaned appreciatively, his body responding on several different levels. Encouraged, Ami giggled and continued her kissing and stroking, wiggling her body between his legs. She rested her head on his abdomen, fingers teasing and tried and failed to stifle a yawn. Her eyes drifted closed, the rhythm of her fingers becoming irratic and irregular and then … stopping as she promptly fell asleep.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

ROTFL! Nissed as a pewt :)

"I'm not as thunk as you drink I am.. *hic*"

Ami was drunk off of her cute little ass. So much so that Scott started feeling tipsy about an hour after the women retreated to their giggle-fest. The last thing he needed was to do or say something stupid in front of the men gathered around the cookfire, so he narrowed his link with Ami experimentally. He was relieved to feel the alcohol buzz fade considerably.

Scott spent the rest of the evening chatting with Blaise, Tommy, Bill, Locke, Emerson, Ash, Pierson, and Damon. Blaise was a surprisingly good guy for a soldier, and Damon surprisingly wasn't a dick. Why Ami was friends with the redhead was somewhat less of a mystery.

After a few hours the girls' party reached a rather raucous peak. Scott said goodnight to the men shortly thereafter. He was looking forward to seeing an inebriated Ami and half expecting to have to carry her back to the shelter.

Scott waited patiently in the shelter for Ami to return. Leaving their link wide open, he lie under the light blanket, comfortable and nicely buzzed. Even without their connection, Ami's giggling approach was obvious. Faith's voice carried through the tepee's walls. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

It took quite a bit of self-control to keep from laughing and to play possum while Ami attempted to disrobe. Eventually she succeeded, then slipped under the blanked and on top of him. Ami immediately set to work seducing him, informing Scott of the marvelous opportunity her drunkenness presented.

/Mmm, really?/ he responded, grabbing her ass.

/Knew you were awake,/ Ami thought smugly, proceeding to tease him in earnest. Scott happily played the role of boy toy... until Ami fell asleep on his stomach!

Scott propped himself up on his elbows, frowning at his now passed-out love. After a moment his annoyance gave way to amusement. "Oh, I don't think so, my dear," he told her, pulling Ami up to lie beside him. She murmured something incoherent. Chuckling, Scott pulled his sphere to his hand. Its pale blue light cast strange shadows on Ami's face as Scott coaxed her liver to work faster.

After a few minutes Ami's eyes fluttered open. Scott dropped his connection with his sphere, set it aside, and turned his attention to Ami. He scooted down the mat until his head was level with Ami's breasts. /Time to finish what you started, love,/ he told her, tracing her nipple with his tongue.

Ami blinked sleepily in the teepee, taking a moment to work around the haze in her mind to focus on Scott's sphere. Just as she did, he set it aside and slid down her body.

/Wha -/ That was as far as her thought processes went before she felt Scott's tongue and she trembled with excitement and ardor.

/Time to finish what you started, love,/ Scott 'told' her.

/What I -/ Again her train of thought was forcibly derailed by Scott's far too skillful and adept tongue, lips and teeth. Instinctively, she clutched at him, palms skimming down his back while a small part of her tried to figure out what he was referring -

(Oh!) Recalling her earlier antics, Ami flushed with embarrassment which was banished nearly at once by Scott's hand sliding between their bodies and down her torso to stroke the inside of her thighs. Ami shifted beneath his hands, her body taut with anticipation. Rather than continuing, Scott's hand strayed, never touching her, but coming close enough to tease her nearly senselessly.

Using reflexes and strength that Ami didn't know she had, she rolled them, landing on top of him. Sitting astride him, Ami ground her body against his, growling, "Enough of that now," before leaning down to roughly capture his mouth with hers.

Although it shouldn't have been possible, Scott was even more turned on. "Yes, ma'am," he managed between frenzied kisses. Apparently a drunk Ami was an aggressive Ami, which suited Scott just fine.

After some enthusiastic snogging Ami again worked her way down his body. Scott sat up, determined to touch as much as possible while she drove him to distraction. Ami licked him, sending a shiver of pleasure through him, then frowned at Scott. "Lie down," she purred/growled.

Scott grinned mischeviously as his hands canvased her body. "Make me."

Ami smiled wickedly, then slid her mouth over his cock. Scott threw his head back and groaned, but wasn't about to give in yet. He wrapped his arms and legs around Ami as she continued to taunt him with amazing dexterity. Somehow between his gasps and shivers one of Scott's hands found its way between Ami's legs, prompting her low, libidinous moan.

That, apparently, was the last straw. Either Ami knew kung fu or she cheated and teleported, because Scott suddenly was on his back and Ami was sitting on top of him and he was inside her. Laughing, he grabbed Ami's arms to pull her down, but she resisted. Scott pulled her down anyway, relishing the almost-tingle of flesh on flesh. Ami had other ideas and rolled them again. He locked his arms around her, hanging on and savoring every movement.

Shagging had become a game with each of them determined to get the upper hand, involving much rolling and tussling about the shelter. Not that there were any complaints forthcoming from either of them; when they weren't actively kissing or groping, grinding, groaning and panting, there was a fair amount of enthusiastic and bubbling laughter as well. The alcohol loosened Ami's inhibitions, which was ironic since she hadn't realized she had any inhibitions left where making love to - or fucking - Scott was concerned.

Lying on her side with Scott spooned up behind her, Ami allowed him his brief moment of victory while she enjoyed in the enjoyment of the delightful sensations he worked across her body. One leg slipped between hers, rubbing teasing against her while Scott's mouth suckled her neck. The rolling of her nipples between his thumb and forefingers produced a low, desperate moan which caused her to press back against him, her body quivering and tightening in pleasure. Every movement of his leg, every gentle tug on sensitized nipples took her slightly higher and made her slightly more desperate.

Before she lost it and gave herself up completely, Ami pushed back and rolled them a quarter turn so that she was lying on top of him.

"Minx," Scott growled against her throat, the hands on her breasts squeezing hard enough that the line between pleasure and pain blurred. She keened softly, slipping a bit down that slope towards reckless abandon before centering herself again. He tried to roll them again, but Ami anticipated that and braced her feet on either side of his thighs.

"Wait. I'm feeling creative." That one single phrase was accompanied by a few images of exactly what she had in mind. Scott's gutteral groan along with his hands roughly gripping her hips and the surge of overwhelming ardor she felt told her that he was receptive to the idea. That didn't stop his hands from roaming from her hips to reach between her legs, a few fingers dipping inside to cause her to thrash and moan incoherently for a few hazy moments.

It was with great reluctance that she forced his hand away and before he could consider his next move, she lowered herself, taking him inside. Scott's hands reflexively tightened on her thighs, their pleased moans echoing together in the dark of the teepee. Head thrown back against his shoulder, Ami closed her eyes and began the slow, steady rocking of her hips, guiding them both towards ecstasy.

The best part of the game, Scott decided, was that they both won. They moved as one, limbs entwined, each ragged breath pushing their bodies further until overstimulated nerve endings could take no more. Their sensations bled together and fed on themselves, growing exponentially until all that remained was tingling, absolute bliss.

Scott gradually became aware of Ami's slight weight on top of him, panting and trembling as he was. Euphoria, satiation, and a wonderful sense of completeness flowed back and forth across their link. They luxuriated in each other's physical and mental presence until sleep engulfed them.

Scott had yet to discover anything more joyful than coming to his senses after sex with his wife. They sat on the floor of their bedroom, still joined with Ami in his lap, his torso pressed against her back. Scott nuzzled her neck as his hands glided over the lingering roundness of her belly. He was careful when he cupped her breasts, which were fuller and somewhat tender from lactation. She moaned softly, tilting her head back for several long kisses. /Sorry to take you away from work again./

Scott chuckled. /Like I'm complaining./ He was more grateful than ever for flexible hours and his own lab. Breastfeeding Isabelle drove Ami to distraction by late afternoon. Their link carried her arousal, and soon he was begging for her to teleport over, grab him, and teleport them both back to the townhouse. In the few weeks since Isabelle's birth Scott's coworkers learned that he'd be out of the office for "afternoon tea" with Ami.

/Remember back on the island when you asked me what I thought of tea?/

Ami giggled. /Yes./

/I like it./

Ami laughed delightedly and leaned back against Scott. Indulging in the tingling sensations of his hands roaming over her skin, she sighed in contentment. While pregnancy, a new baby and a pressing need for sleep did interrupt and alter their lives predictably, their desire for one another never waned simply making the time they did spend together in carnal bliss all the more potent.

/Do you really think that your co-workers are buying into the 'tea' story?/ Ami teased, recalling a time when she'd been horribly embarrassed about open acknowledgment of her sex life. Fortunately, that hadn't lasted long before she realized she had nothing to be embarrassed about.

/The question is do I care?/ Scott sent a pulse of affection along their link, nibbling on her shoulder. He paused, pretending to think about it, then resumed his kissing and nuzzling with renewed interest. /Nope, not caring./

Another giggle bubbled forth. Ami shifted and wiggled (intentionally) on his lip, soliciting low, libidinous moans from both of them. /Think we'll still be doing this when we're fifty?/

"Mmm-hmm," Scott replied, hugging Ami close. /As long as we stay in shape. Kind of a self-fulfilling prophesy at this point./ Ami giggled, then shimmied some more. He felt himself responding, then slipped out, shivering from too-sensitive pleasure. He flopped on to his back with a dramatic groan.

Ami twisted around, stretching herself on top of him. A little milk leaked from her swollen breasts, slicking their skin. Scott's body responded enthusiastically. Their link told him that Ami's did as well. "Being this attracted to you is a blessing and curse," he informed her.

His wife grinned lasciviously. "I know what you mean."

Scott kissed her soundly, then forced himself to do what he'd been avoiding -- glance at the clock on the nightstand. The blocky red letters read "3:52." Scott groaned, and not from pleasure.

"What?"

"I'm supposed to meet Lianjun in eight minutes."

A devilish gleam briefly lit Ami's eyes. Scott was simultaneously disappointed and grateful when it passed and Ami hopped off of him.

The pair reined in their hormones and made themselves presentable with practiced ease. At 3:57 Ami loosely draped her arms round Scott's neck. "Let me know if you need some more tea," she grinned. "Otherwise I'll just have to wait until you get home."

Scott gave her a crooked smile. "Minx." With a flash of light they were gone.

Ami awoke curled on her side. She didn't remember moving at all, but sometime during the night, positions had changed and Scott curled up behind her, his arm resting loosely around her waist. The darkened teepee was quite the contrast to the brightly lit bedroom; at that thought, Ami had to remind herself that it had only been a dream.

(A very pleasant dream, but a dream.)

Sensing Scott waking, Ami rolled over and tossed a leg over his hip, snuggling as close as she could. /Was that all in my head, or was it in yours too?/

Scott's brain was too sluggish to process Ami's words just yet. Instead he purred, hugging Ami closer and inhaling her scent. (Strange. Her stomach's flat already. Must be a Tomorrow Person...) Ami's thought registered as Scott realized that they were in the tepee on the island. /Were we having "afternoon tea?"/ Ami giggled in reply. /Huh./ Scott recalled the dream, amazed by the detail and the fact that they'd both experienced it. /What does it mean?/ he asked, buring his face in Ami's soft hair. /Do these dreams mean anything, or are they just random manifestations of our subconscious?/

/Honestly, I don't know,/ Ami placed a light kiss on his shoulder. /This is new territory for both of us. My vote is that we simply enjoy it as it comes./

She thought about asking if it was such a bad thing if the dreams did mean something, but decided against it. That was unsteady ground and she didn't want to go there right now.

"Okay," Scott murmured as sleepiness returned. After tugging up the blanket a bit higher he settled in beside Ami. /They're kinda nice in a "happily ever after" sort of way./ Delight coursed over their link. Ami's reaction surprised Scott, but he was too sleepy to try to figure out what had prompted it. /Love you,/ he said, and slept.

(deleted comment)

Damn. All that work to write that (when I was very exhausted from a long, long weekend) and I screwed up the editing so the punchline was buried in the text.

So I've reposted it, properly edited. And to answer your question, George is playing the Ripley lookalike...

George watched Ami and Faith wander away into the darkness, then turned her eyes back to her own path. The party had been a lot of fun. George had enjoyed Ami's drunk vicariously. It would have been more fun to get hammered herself, but only the real lightweights had gotten drunk on the small quantity of booze available. George's undead metabolism meant that it took a determined effort--and a great deal of alcohol--to get drunk. A cup of wine and an even smaller taste of moonshine wasn't going to do it.

George was still completely sober. On the other hand, all the talk of sex had aroused her. She moved a little faster, eager to get her hands--and other things--on Carlos. And vice versa.

For a girl who'd never managed to get laid before she died and had only scored once in the two years after her death before tumbling into bed with Carlos, she spent an awful lot of time having sex these days--and thinking about it much of the rest of the time.

George reached the shelter she shared with Carlos. She ducked into it, and found Carlos asleep inside as she'd expected. His breathing changed slightly though he didn't wake. George was sure that on some level he was aware that he was no longer alone--and also that she was no threat.

George undressed quietly and with as little movement as possible. It was a small shelter. When her clothes had been carefully set aside and she was kneeling beside Carlos, George shivered a little thinking about what Carlos could do to her.

Then she pounced on him with a shout. Somehow, in the brief struggle, George ended up on her back with Carlos looming over her, holding her wrists over her head with one hand. His other hand, which had been drawn back for a strike, instead drifted down to fondle her breast.

"What have we here?" Carlos asked. "A naked pretty girl attacking me in my own home. Tsk tsk. What do you have to say for yourself, pretty naked girl?"

George said, "Are you the Keymaster?"

"Yes..." Carlos said. His happily lecherous grin promised untold pleasures. His free hand drifted down George's body, sliding across her belly, then lower. George groaned and arched her back at his touch. "Are you the Gatekeeper?" he asked.

George wasn't able to speak for a moment. Carlos' fingers were magical. When she could breathe again, she said, "Y-yes. I am."

"So what do you have to say for yourself, Gatekeeper?" Carlos demanded.

George put her arms around his neck and pulled him almost close enouogh for a kiss. "I say, take me now, sub-creature."

Carlos had been dreaming about being stuck wandering the jungle again when George came pouncing out of nowhere and shattered the vision in a very nice, wiggly bare-skinned sort of way, complete with cheesy movie quotes.

"Mmm! Well, if you insist...." He kissed her with rough enthusiasm, and then sat back to strip off his clothes, his pants already feeling a bit too tight from her enthusiastic greeting. Then he pounced on her again, and they tumbled laughing over the mats in a tangle of bodies.

Eventually, after a lot of kissing, nipping, suckling and struggling together while the blankets tried to tangle around their legs, Carlos pinned her down with his hands around her wrists and his erection brushing against her thighs. "Hmmmm," he said with a lascivious smile. "Looks like I've got you."

The temptation to press into her and go straight on to the main course was incredibly strong, especially in light of her invitation. But he was in a rough kind of mood, and for that, she'd need to be a bit more relaxed than she was.

"Think I'm going to have to make you a little crazy first," he said in a throaty voice against one of her nipples. Then he ran his tongue over it and drew it into his mouth, feeling her squirm and arch rewardingly under him.

"H-how crazy?" she gasped when he let up and let her hands go.

"Just put your wrist in your mouth now, baby," he said as he started to trail his lips and tongue down her body. "And when I'm done with this, you're in for it for real."

(Oh God,) George thought, (he's in a mood.) She watched him work his way down her body with great anticipation. It occurred to her a moment later that she knew him well enough now to recognize when he wss in a mood. That thought pleased her, more than she expected.

Then Carlos reached his destination and George gasped at the intimate touch of his lips and tongue. She thought she heard a muffled chuckle, but Carlos never faltered in his efforts. George let her head drop back, groaning at the exquisite sensations he provoked in her.

Carlos worked George into a frenzy slowly and methodically. He had plenty of experience of her now, and he used it all. George flailed her hands a little, stroking Carlos' hair, clutching at the mat beneath her, sometimes tangling her fingers in her own hair to keep them still. The involuntary noises she made became louder and more frequent as the pleasure he gave her became more intense.

George only became aware that she was thrashing around as well when she felt Carlos wrap his arms around her legs to hold her still. His attentions became more focused. George gave a strangled cry, stuffing the heel of her hand into her mouth to stifle a shriek as she climaxed.

Carlos didn't let up. He only steadied his grip on her and continued his efforts. George slid down the crest of the first orgasm and felt herself rising toward another already. Carlos had her number now, and he exploited it ruthlessly. George trembled and thrashed and screamed into the heel of her hand as the ecstasy overwhelmed her again and again.

When it ebbed a final time, George was trembling with exhaustion and panting, sweaty and utterly limp. Carlos appeared, looming over her with a thoroughly smug but predatory expression on his face. "Oh God..." George said weakly, and "You..." and "that was..." but she was still incapable of coherent speech.

George settled for a fierce kiss, or as fierce as she could manage when she could barely lift her head. She snaked one hand between them to take him in hand. "Gimme," she mouthed against his lips.

/I am a bad, bad, wicked person,/ Carlos thought gleefully as he raised his eyes to watch George thrash and try her best to muffle all the lovely sounds she was making. Unrepentant as hell, he continued his assault until she was so limp and tired that he had trouble coaxing another climax from her. Every single one of her reactions, from her cries to the way she moved, turned him on further; by the time he finished, he was impatient and shaking and so hard it nearly hurt.

When she put her hand around him, he sucked in his breath and shuddered violently, having to stop and get control of himself for a moment. /...damn!/ Chuckling and panting, he gently pushed her hand away. "All right, then."

He used more of his strength than usual, lifting her against him with his hands as he slid into her and started moving with barely-subdued ferocity. He was aware he wasn't going to last long, not after watching her writhe and gasp like that, but that wasn't the point of this little exercise anyway.

Before he knew it, he was muffling himself against her shoulder as he moved, and completely unable to catch his breath. His heart was pounding; he felt her arms tighten around him and raised his head to kiss her roughly as he rolled his hips.

When he came his back arched and he knew nothing for a moment, then heard himself let out a lascivious groan that he completely and utterly failed to muffle. /Oh damn,/ he thought, a little embarrassed as he collapsed over her.

"...oops."

/Oh well, it's well past midnight and I don't hear any applause, so I think we're good..../

"...oops," Carlos said.

Something about that struck George as hysterically funny. She succumbed to a fit of giggles. George was aware on some level that it really wasn't all that funny, that she was simply high on endorphins, but she felt so good that she simply didn't care. Her giggles were infectious and soon Carlos was laughing as well.

Eventually their laughter tapered off. Carlos rolled them onto their sides, taking his weight off of her, but they remained entangled, wrapped up in one another. George clung to him with her arms and legs, feeling an unfamiliar ache in her chest. She lay with her eyes closed, soaking up the feel of his body pressed against hers, the smell of him and the taste of him as she gave him small kisses on his mouth, cheek, ear and neck.

Her breathing was a little ragged, too. And a few tears leaked from her eyes, tears she couldn't explain. Carlos noticed them too. "Is something wrong?" he asked her quietly.

George shook her head mutely and clung to him that much more tightly. "'M fine," she said in a strangled voice. And she was, she really was. She was relaxed, content--happy.

She was happy. And that was the cause of her tears, that happiness. All of her experience suggested that it wouldn't last, couldn't last. That thought scared the shit out of George, and it made her cling to the moment--cling to her lover--all the harder.

/"Fine", huh? You're leaking, baby./ He tightened his arms around her and started kissing the tears off her cheeks, but didn't ask about it again.

Except she was clinging to him like she expected him to jump off and leave like a mannerless one-night stand. It gave him pause, and he rested his chin on top of her head and stroked her hair soothingly.

"You know, I was thinking," he murmured sleepily once she had relaxed some. "Coupla days ago I was thinking I'd rushed you into this."

"Now?"

He chuckled somewhat naughtily, but his tone was contented. "I'm thinking I should have jumped you sooner."

"You jumped me?" George laughed. His attentions had helped relax her. "As I recall, I jumped you."

"You say Po-ta-to, I say Po-tah-to," Carlos said.

"Couldn't have been much sooner anyway," George said, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. "We didn't even know one another much before we jumped one another by mutual consent, okay?"

"That'll do," Carlos agreed.

"Yeah, it'll do," George said, pushing at his shoulder gently until Carlos rolled over onto his back. "And...speaking of jumping you," George added, scrambling up onto her hands and knees. She leered at Carlos and then started raining kisses down his torso. "Turnabout is fair play," she said, moving down to take him in hand.

He seemed to approve of her idea, to judge by his response. George didn't have nearly the experience that Carlos had, but he wasn't the only one who'd been learning. 'Practice makes perfect,' they say, and she'd been practicing a great many things lately. Carlos' groan as she took him in her mouth was all that she'd hoped for.

/Oh holy--aah--/ Carlos squirmed slightly as she took hold of him, feeling hypersensitive in the aftermath of an almost violent orgasm, and his eyes got wide in the dark. "Unh...oh...what are you...Jesus. Never mind...."

The feel of her mouth made him sit half upright, head arched back as a jolt went through him that pulled another groan from his chest. He didn't think he could possibly get back in the game so fast; he would have given anything for a teenager’s recuperative abilities at the moment, but...oh.../GOD, she keeps that up and it’s not going to matter./ His head fell back, hips rolling slightly in response to the movements of her sweet mouth as he fought to keep his hands off her head. /Watch me slip and do the ears thing on her otherwise. Yeah--UH!--that’d be smooth./ They settled on her shoulders instead.

The problem with pleasure this intense was that it was hard to stay still. He lay there gasping and letting out little moans while she coaxed him back to life and straight through into toe-curling, watch-you-don’t-dig-your-fingers-into-her levels of pleasure. His chest heaved, skin wet with sweat; he started to tremble, and whispered her name like a prayer. His effort to keep the noise down forced his expression into a rictus as strangled groans vibrated his throat. “Oh God, that’s sweet,” he gasped out. “Oh....”

His back was arching; he felt his muscles tightening and tried to let her know, but what came out was a soft, resonant cry of pleasure. He lifted his hips as if begging her to finish him off, and then started writhing under her when she sped up her movements.

It took everything he had not to scream when he came.

When his senses returned, she was settling into his arms while his heartrate slowly came back under control. He hugged her as tightly as he could with limp arms, and dropped kisses over her face and hair. “Oh God, you are just fucking incredible,” he rasped, his voice rough from exhaustion.

"Look who's talking," George replied contentedly. "You've turned me into a wanton woman--not that I'm complaining."

Ripley was drunk again, and this time there was no Ash to look after her. Silent except for the occasional snicker, she wandered her way around the camp, heading vaguely infirmarywards. She had half her share of wine in the plastic bottle in her hand, and she was still buzzed. /I like being a cheap date! It's fun!/

Methos hadn't come and grabbed her, which made her wonder whether the fistfight he'd had to patch up that afternoon hadn't seen either a redux or some complications. /Himself spends entirely too much time babysitting the normies, in my not so humble opinion. Ah well./

As it turned out, he and House were having another "discussion" about his use of plant-based cures. Something about lawn clippings from House's side, and nonchalant snark about how House must be expecting an airdrop from Doctors Without Borders from Himself.

House's back was to the trees that the infirmary was tied to on one side, so Ripley popped up behind him and considered him silently for a few moments while the argument went on, in full view of Methos. She leaned up behind him, smirked at his rantings, drummed her fingers against a tree--and vanished into the brush when he sensed something and turned around. Ten seconds later, she was at it again.

"All right, fine," House growled finally. "But if you find coca leaves up on that mountain side, don't bring them back! Charlie's already courting Darwin around me as it is."

"Charlie courts Darwin around everyone," Ripley said six inches from House's back. He did a little jig of shock, and she grabbed his arm so his leg didn't give out, chuckling.

Highly amused by Ripley's teasing of poor Greg, Methos feigned ignorance until she surprised the living crap out of the poor man.

"Oh, very funny," House muttered angrily, jabbing his cane at Methos before wrestling his arm free of Ripley's hold. "But I'm not kidding. Alternative medicine can be dangerous."

"Then it's a good thing I'm avoiding the many plants I don't recognise, isn't it?" Methos replied absently, ignoring Greg's startled frown as he cant his head for a better look at his alien-ish friend there. Waving an old Coke bottle with something suspiciously wine-like inside. Well, well.. tipsy, are we? "Good party?"

"Yup." Ripley's toothy grin revealed a very healthy set of choppers.

House's flinch was obvious, but he did well to cover the reaction with sarcasm - as ever. "My, what big teeth you have."

"You'd better believe it," Methos responded, winking at Ripley. "So, what's the plan for the rest of this fine evening?"

Her eyes glinted mischievously. "Could just see what comes up."

Methos groaned at the terrible joke, while House stomped into the infirmary muttering something along the lines of 'you cannot be serious'. He couldn't deny the temptation though, let alone his curiosity regarding sozzled hybrids in an apparently playful mood. Add to that the fact that he'd had a bowl or two of McKay's coffee substitute, and Methos wasn't at all ready to visit the land of Nod just yet - there was more than simply caffeine in that gunk, of that he was certain.

"I doubt there'll be any problem on that front," the Immortal smirked, raking his eyes up and down licentiously, then over to the treeline. "Your place?"

Ripley laughed aloud and nodded. "I even planned ahead this time."

As they walked she handed over the bottle. "Saved you half my share--I'm such a lightweight I didn't even need it, especially with what/ever/ that stuff was you gave us. Besides, it's not beer, but the taste is not bad. Bottle it came in had traces of dust on it, which is supposedly a good sign--and according to Faith it came from a couple of equally dusty occultist snobs. Apparently where wine is concerned, that's also a good sign."

"So you managed to get...how drunk? On perhaps a glass of wine?" He sounded amused.

She grinned in the dark, arms swinging loose-limbed as she tossed her hair back. "Drunk enough that you could probably take all sorts of advantage of me, without even shedding much blood in the process."

"Hm. Really. I'll have to keep that in mind."

/(Of course, if you think alcohol makes me tractable...you're out of your dusty old mind.)/ She snickered. /But I am terribly relaxed..../

She headed for the tree-cave, where she'd stashed some blankets, water and food--and a change of shirt for Himself, just in case they destroyed another one. "I would like to say, for the record, that early twenty-first century party games are really weird. They mostly seem to revolve around sexual gossip and finding ways to embarrass each other."

"Lightweight or not, you should be thankful," Methos chuckled, unscrewing the bottle top to sniff the contents. He nodded his approval: not bad, if one overlooked the fact that it wasn't beer. "A hundred years ago you could have been playing cards instead.. now there's excitement."

They arrived at the tree-cave before he knew it, something for which Methos was profoundly grateful. Long walks in the starlit forest weren't exactly his cup of tea, although had it not been for the darkness of the surrounding forest his eyesight wouldn't have adapted enough to see the additional furnishings. Tripping up wouldn't have gone down too well, not from his point of view in any case.. though that didn't stop him from landing on his behind a moment later, taken down by the cheeky woman now undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"My, such a welcome," Methos purred, shifting his lower body so that Ripley was straddling those parts most interested in the proceedings. He reached around her arms to the ties which held her clothing together, fingers nimbly working on each knot as they were located, lightly tickling the skin beneath.

Ripley's response was to bare her teeth and lean downwards, trapping Methos' arms while grinding her hips into his without any room for misinterpretation. Curly hair brushed his face as she teased him, then his chest as she pushed his shirt out of the way and began to nip and suck at random. The combined sensations had him shivering in no time, groaning whenever she targeted her attentions on yet another patch of eagerly sensitive skin, leaving a trail of quivering flesh in her wake. Was it worth slipping her the rest of the wine, he wondered, just to see what came next?

Eventually Methos roused himself from this languorous pleasure and made better use of his newly-freed arms. Removing Ripley's top didn't seem to require her to stop, something for which he was selfishly grateful, however there was only so much he could do from this position. As if reading his intention, one of Ripley's arms grasped his shoulder and held him to the ground, just as her hips pinned him elsewhere - and by gods his shorts were becoming painfully tight. His muscles spasmed a little as she seemed to realise this, her free hand sneaking between their bodies to undo those last obstacles to freedom and more.. not that he was complaining.

Methos' low moan of relief was accompanied by a throaty chuckle of Ripley's own, reminding him that she had enjoyed this position of power for far too long already. Almost. Oh. Definitely.

The roll had to be sudden, employing all his remaining will- and muscle-power, and given that Ripley was otherwise engaged Methos levered himself into the topmost position fairly smoothly.

She simply smirked at him from below. "Problem?"

"Noooo.." Methos drawled in response, shrugging off his own shirt and retrieving that bottle of wine he'd dropped. Excellent. Not an interruption, merely.. refueling. His first taste of the alcohol inside was interrupted by a sharp tug on his nipples, causing him to splutter a little. "Gah, have you no patience?!"

"Not a chance," came Ripley's reply, along with an insistent wriggle between his legs.

Batting her hands away, Methos leaned down to lick up the few splashes of wine that had landed on Ripley's torso, then placed a thumb over the mouth of the bottle and carefully dribbled a little wine into the hollow of her neck. It dribbled a little as she moved, giving him several directions in which to focus further licks while he lifted his hips to allow his other hand access to her waistband. Two could play at this game.

"I don't mind a round of poker now'n again, but I could do without having to dance or worse, sing, on command. Though I did get to play fluster-the-virgin."

"Pardon?"

"Oh, Mara. Cute little thing. Weird as hell, but who around here isn't? She tried to ask an impertinent question of me. Emphasis /tried/. Then she started changing colors. I think she needs to either get laid, or pull on a wimple and be done with it."

She pounced him as soon as they were within the curtain of vines, feeling impatient and playful. Besides, last time /he/ had done the jumping straight off, and turnabout was supposed to be fair play....

This time, he seemed content to let her continue the affectionate assault for some length, which was interesting. And fun! She did her best to take advantage of the situation, tasting his skin but being quite careful with her teeth. She was feeling too loose and lazy and warm for actual bloodshed. But when he flipped her neatly over, it wasn't much of a surprise. Nor did she mind. Thinking about it, she actually had to laugh at their competitiveness a little: /I'm going to pin you down and do delightfully dirty things to you. NO! I'm going to pin YOU down and do delightfully dirty things to YOU! Really. It's like we're ferociously trying to forcefeed each other truffles./

Except that the getting-pinned part was particularly fun, because, well, he was about the only guy she'd met who could actually manage it. So fun that she got even more impatient on him and nearly made him spill his wine. Which was about the time he started getting creative again.

/Ungh...naughty, underhanded man...when I said have a little wine on me, this wasn't...entirely what I m--oh, never mind..../ She squirmed appreciatively and arched a little. /OK, this is n--aaagh, he needs to stop that or I'm grabbing him again./ She managed to avoid sinking her nails into his shoulders by driving them into the ground, lifting her hips slightly to help him get rid of the nice new snake-patchwork trousers.

He continued his trick with the wine, moving lower with a maddening ease that made her have to remember not to bite her damned lip. /Molecular acid and fucking don't mix,/ she told herself firmly as she let out a gasp and tried not to have her sudden grip in his hair rip it out by the roots. It was half the reason why she liked to drive; invariably, he'd pull some choice bit of sexual creativity out of his pocket and she'd end up doing her best not to hurt him from sheer overload. /Maybe the damned rope *is* a good idea. But that would mean trusting him a lot more than he seems to want./

/And that's the weird thing. What kind of truly untrustworthy guy *warns* you not to trust him?/

He was running out of drink and she was running out of patience. Grabbing the bottle and setting it aside, she pounced him again and started what was equal parts wrestling match and make-out session. Still a lot gentler and friendlier than last time--but last time, they'd both been burning off rage as well. The worst pain now came from the occasional misplaced elbow or a nibble or scratch that was just slightly too hard; the rest was a happy confusion of tangled limbs and busy fingers, lips and tongues. At some point they rolled off the blankets, and she found herself glad the ground had dried. By then she was shaking and tingling all over and quite ready to clamber over him by force--if such things were even needed.

Instead, she forced herself not to fight too hard as he pinned her down again, hands holding her wrists above her head as she struggled with her own instincts. She thrashed under him as he held her, but not strongly enough to throw him off or even stop what he was doing. Her enthusiasm for the competitive part of this exercise was waning by the second as her breaths grew short and ragged in response to his attentions. Frankly, she didn't care at all any more who was winning the game, as long as they kept playing.

This was really a lot of.. fun. Methos wasn't too sure about the last time he'd really mixed fun with sex, at least not from his point of view. From the woman's maybe (or man's, on the odd occasion), but even now when they were romping around there was the knowledge that either might cut loose, and given Ripley's current reactions those instincts weren't too far below the surface. Exchanging control willingly - if competitively - was an interesting counterpoint to their last encounter, one that he really shouldn't be wasting time thinking about..

Pinning Ripley's arms above her head, Methos listened to her breathing patterns with no small satisfaction. Not that he was doing much better, but it was good to know that they were on the same page - no flashbacks here, thank the gods.

Her frustrated growl was echoed by his impatient body, glad that they'd both lost the remainder of their clothes at some point but well aware that all this playful enthusiasm was taking its toll. If he could just keep her on tenterhooks a little longer he might be able to.. Ok maybe not, not with those eyes promising murder if he didn't get the fuck on with it (death would break the mood a tad, after all). She was the stronger, after all.

Methos leaned down, taking hold of Ripley's mouth by force as he slid inside, groaning despite himself. He released his grip on one arm, reaching down to her hips to bring them closer as he deepened the kiss, but Ripley was already arching into the contact. The overall effect was driving him crazy enough to change his hold on her wrist, weaving their fingers together as he moved, and giving her just the right level of manoeuvrability to flip him onto his back.

"Oh gods," he gasped as she changed position and started riding, certainly not in English.

He'd never been able to withstand erotic torture for long, however rare it might be, and tonight was no different - particularly with the combined effect of island coffee and good wine - so when Methos came it was with the certainty that he'd done all he could to last. That look of glee on Ripley's face had been a little disturbing though, right before his head arched backwards in a wordless cry of satisfaction. Disturbing, but gratifying nonetheless.

He might not die happy at this moment, Methos decided weakly, but it was close enough.

Ripley came in mid-ride, arching her back and feeling her body go taut as the climax went roaring through her. A near equal delight: no sound of broken bones, and when she came down, there was no scent of fresh blood spilled.

/I did it./ The look of glee on her face seemed to startle Methos for a moment, but then he was too far gone to care. /I only lost control of my strength a little this time./

The significance of it was entirely personal, of course; she didn't expect Methos to fully understand, and as she settled down over him and laid her head on his shoulder she kept quiet for a while, basking in a very unique sense of accomplishment.

"Something?" he asked after he'd caught his breath.

"Just happy. I barely hurt you by accident at all that time."

He blinked, and looked slightly amused. "Is that terribly important to you?"

"Uh...yeah?" she blinked at him as they rolled onto their sides. "If I'm hurting you, I want it to be sparring or adding a slight edge in the sack. Deliberate things. Not from me being clumsy. Not by accident, or because I lost control."

/There's a reason I've only ever fallen into the sack with a guy who regenerates. Well, actually, there are several reasons, many of which are *really* quite compelling. Woohoo. But, uh...yeah. It's an important issue./ "Superhuman strength is a real bitch in the sack," she explained in short.

Of course, that implied she didn't have much experience moderating her strength, which pretty much pointed at her not having much, er...experience...period. But...screw it, he likely wouldn't get schmoopy about the subject of virginity anyway. She sure wasn't going to.

Some short time after his exchange with Adam Pierson, and reminiscing on simpler times, The Doctor pulled out his portable viewer. The Doctor had been examining the still capture of Mara’s gift/message for a long time, off and on, working out the puzzle it presented. It was a message… and from the Tardis, no less.

He traced the golden and green tendrils, trying to see a pattern. The tendrils of energy seemed to break off, like smoke, between all the faces in the painting, except for the glowing traces surrounding him, and rose, which linked with the central image of Susan. Susan’s eyes started at him, a teasing, dare. Her intelligence and curiosity somehow perfectly captured. Those dark brown orbs were so very like Rose’s.

He almost dropped the viewer. He brought it closer, tracing his finger across the screen. Tilt of the head, the trace of jaw line.

Impossible. Wasn’t it?

He heard Rose approaching. She was humming to herself as she crawled into the lean-to and flopped onto the comforter-come-featherbed. She rolled onto her side and stretched out beside him.

“Whatcha doin?” Her smile was teasing. He could smell the wine, and something a bit stronger on her breath.

“Are you drunk?” He covered the fact that his world had just been sent slightly further askew than usual.

“Nope. One glass of wine, and a half glass of something terrible, but pretty strong. I’m not stone sober, but I’m not quite drunk either.” She propped her head up on her hand.

“So you had fun with your female bonding ritual?”

She laughed. “You sound like one of those documentaries. Studying the primitive tribes of the rainforest or somthin’.”

He arched a brow.

“Okay, you’re telling me you and Jack getting pissed at that bar on… Tibolt’s moon… that wasn’t a male bonding ritual? Complete with pissing contest and one upmanship stories.” Rose did that thing, with the tip of her tongue between her teeth. It was always mildly distracting. Just a touch, not enough to derail his train of thought, but noticeable.

“Of course it was. Otherwise I wouldn’t have allowed myself to get drunk. Had to establish clear dominance. After all, he’s human, and you lot seem to appreciate that sort of thing.” He tried not to think of Jack’s face in the painting.

“Dominance?” Her voice took on that low, husky note. “Think Jack might have liked that a bit too much.”

“He did seem to be enjoy beein’ shown up. But then, he had experience takin’ orders.” He deliberately misinterpreted her tease.

She stifled a yawn and dropped her head to her pillow. “G’night, Doctor.”

“Night.” He could do with some sleep, himself. Two three hours. He wasn’t on watch till later, anyway. If his thoughts would let him sleep

They did. But instead of being chased by nightmares, his sleep was chased by images so far into domestic he would have cringed if there wasn’t a thrill of adventure to it.

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[Ami] (Day 10: Late Night) After the Festivities (tag Scott)

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[Scott] Getting lucky (tag Ami)

[Ami] Getting lucky (tag Scott)

[Scott] Getting lucky (tag Ami)

[Ami] Getting lucky (tag Scott)

[Scott] Getting lucky (no tag)

[Scott] Postpartum (tag Ami)

[Ami] Postpartum (tag Scott)

[Scott] Postpartum (tag Ami)

[Ami] Awakening (tag Scott)

[Scott] Awakening (tag Ami)

[Ami] Awakening (tag Scott)

[Scott] Awakening (tag Ami [optional])

Re: OOC gigglefest

[George] After the Festivities (tag Carlos)

[Carlos] At your service (tag George)

[George] At your service (tag Carlos)

[Carlos] At your service (tag George)

[George] Falling (tag Carlos)

[Carlos] Falling (tag George)

[George] Turnabout is Fair Play (tag Carlos)

[Carlos] Turnabout is Fair Play (tag George)

[George] Turnabout is Fair Play (tag Carlos)

[Ripley] A taste of wine....(tag Methos, open)

[Methos] A taste of wine.. (tag Ripley, open)

[Ripley] A taste of wine.. (tag Methos, open)

[Methos] A taste of wine.. (tag Ripley, open)

[Ripley] A taste of wine.. (tag Methos, open)

[Methos] A taste of wine.. (tag Ripley, open)

[Ripley] A taste of wine.. (tag Methos, open)

[Doctor/Rose] Figuring it out