beat_death | (no subject)

Entry tags:

tosh

(no subject)

[Continued from here]

For a moment, he's struck by how bold Tosh seems compared to the last time— the only time, really— that they've done this. Not that they were fumbling teenagers on New Year's Eve, but it wasn't like this in the least. Not that Owen thinks it's a bad thing. Besides, Tosh has got good tits.

One hand against her hip, he brings up the other to her breast as she kisses him. He thinks that he might still have a condom somewhere in his wallet, but is torn between wanting to check and wanting to stay right where he is for now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It helps that they've done this before, even if it was months ago. It helps more that she's thought of it frequently since then and all the things she would have done differently and how she'd like to have another chance. As if she could prove herself somehow, not that she thinks too deeply about that especially not at a moment like this.

Tosh pauses at his touch, her lips brushing over his ear. She's sure she knows where this is going to go, and she's practical, above all other things. "My purse. I should grab it."

"For what?" Owen asks, and his eyes were lidded shut until then, when he looks up at Tosh. Her lips brush over his ear and he turns his head and shifts a bit to catch her mouth with his instead.

"Condom," she murmurs against his lips, feeling the burn in her cheeks when she says that word. Tosh hates saying that she's come prepared, but she has. She's been carrying since New Years. "If you want..."

"I think I've got one in my wallet," Owen says, and then his mouth is on her breast for a moment, because how can he not with them just right there. Though, it hasn't escaped his notice that she's already got on one her. Not that Tosh was exactly celibate before him, but she never seemed the type.

"So who've you been shagging in the interim?" he asks, and it's partially a joke, but he also genuinely wonders.

This is madness, doing this here, and yet it feels right too. Like there's less expectation, this is just something that happens at the office. It is, isn't it?

Answering questions and forming coherent thoughts escape her momentarily, her fingers dragging down his neck and over his shoulders. It's all she can do to tilt his chin up toward her, her eyes open in confusion. "What? I haven't- No one."

"Just keeping yourself prepared, then?" Owen asks, and his eyes shut again as her fingers drag across his skin. She's warm and she's close, and he's a fool to be taking the piss right now, really. Christ, he's lost his mind, hasn't he?

The hand at her hip, he moves up to her side to splay one hand over her ribs.

Tosh, for once, doesn't want to talk. She knows what happens when they talk, she says something stupid and this, what they're doing now, it stops. It almost happened New Years and she's convinced it's happened since.

"That's me," she whispers in his ear, not wanting to say too much. Her hands match his, moving over his hip and across his stomach.

Owen gets the idea that perhaps Tosh isn't too keen on talking right now, which is just fine with him. He shifts a bit so that he can reach the button of his trousers, leaning up to kiss her again as well. It's a brilliant position for the act— one of his favorites, actually— but a bit tricky when you're still clothed, so be honest.

Sometimes cues are easy to read, and him fiddling with his trousers is one. She does the same, lifting only enough to unzip hers, twisting and tugging to push them down. A more practiced person likely could have managed it without a silly hop or breaking the kiss, but at least she didn't fall over, something she's eternally grateful for.

While it's a bit of a struggle to even get his trousers down at least to his knees, Owen does it, taking advantage of that small window when Tosh lifts up to unzip and tug at her own. His wallet isn't forgotten in the rush, however, and he digs for the condom while he leans up to press open-mouthed kisses to her neck.

If anything the fumbling relaxes Tosh, reminds her that this isn't a race. The end game isn't always the goal, getting there is sometimes half the fun. It's a reminder she needs from time to time, her fingers splayed across his stomach, moving down to wrap gently around him. That isn't to say she doesn't pluck the condom from his fingers when he produces it, because enjoyment or not she knows what she wants right now.

Usually, Owen's more about the journey than the destination— he's long sense grown past thinking that sex is some sort of race— but right this second, he's beginning to grow unbelievably impatient.

And he's not particularly proud of the noise he makes when Tosh grabs him. Truth is, he assumed he'd be the one driving this go-round and he's not entirely prepared to be the one on this side of things. It's not a bad thing, however.

"Tosh," he says, and it's about as much as he's able to manage at the moment.

"Uhuh?" It's a breathy question as she unrolls the condom over him, lifting until she can feel the tip of his cock pressing against her. There's a rush to this that she's never imagined, in leading the way after he took the first few steps. She shivers as she covers his mouth with her own, lowering her hops as slowly as she can hold herself to.

Owen's thought is lost almost immediately as Tosh lowers herself onto him, and his hands are on her hips to help steady her. It's difficult to think about anything other than that, though he deepens the kiss, a low and pleased noise escaping from somewhere near the back of his throat.

Even if he had asked her something then she couldn't have answered. Her eyes close as she rocks forward and up, letting his hands balance her as she moves a bit faster, trying to find a steady rhythm and the right angle. It doesn't take long, her fingers twisting against his shoulders as she does.

He relaxes into the rhythm as Tosh moves, lifting his hips a bit in time to meet her. And in that moment, he's torn between shutting his eyes and surrendering entirely to all this and taking in the brilliant view.

Tosh naked isn't something he ever considered more than briefly back home-- who doesn't think about their coworkers from time to time-- and he's beginning to think that was a serious error in judgement on his part.

On the other hand, Tosh thinks it's good that they didn't hook up in Cardiff. She wasn't the same person then, neither of them were. She would have taken whatever he'd been willing to give and when he invariably moved on she'd have been crushed. Now... Now she doesn't know what to think, not that thinking is her strong point at the moment. Right now she's too wrapped up in how he feels inside of her, in her teeth grazing his lip and his skin beneath her hands. It's overwhelming in exactly the right ways.

Owen calls out her name without realizing he's done it, though any day, he'd prefer that to the less than dignified sound that might have come out of him otherwise. In that moment, he really wishes he was on top, really wants to be able to have more control over this than he does. But it's good, somewhere on the edge of amazing, so any gripes he's got with not being on top this go round are a bit petty, really.

It's not long at all before Owen's on the edge, holding on mostly for Tosh's sake. Nothing worse than being left behind at moments like this, is there?

Holding on isn't what Tosh is concerned about now, in fact she's ridden the edge of this for what feels like too long even though she knows it hasn't been. It's hearing her name that pushes her over that edge, clinging to the shreds of her self control as she whispers his name and then cries out, unable to hold out any longer and hoping he's there too.

She comes on top of him and he's not far behind, holding onto her hips in the hopes of finding some kind of anchor as he loses himself. Owen finds himself breathing heavy as he wraps his arms around her to pull her a bit closer, not wanting to surrender to the space between them just yet.

Tosh doesn't want to move, her cheeked pressed against his forehead and her hair sticking to her face. She closes her eyes, trying to calm her breath and the way her stomach is still jumping. It's mad to have done this here, especially after what they've been through tonight. "I suppose we could catch weevils more often in this case."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not start associating Weevils and sex," Owen says, a huff of a laugh punctuating the end of his hushed sentence. He doesn't move just yet, though he knows one of them probably should; one of his leg has started to cramp up a bit.

"It's a pavlovian response we'd better avoid, you're right." Tosh lets out a low laugh herself, twisting and shifting down beside him on the couch. She can't believe that they did that, here of all places. "Ah- We better get dressed."

"Somewhere you need to be?" Owen aks, though he doesn't make a move just yet. There are tests he should probably be doing on this new Weevil, samples he should take to compare it to the first one they captured, but moving seems an impossible prospect just now.

"No, of course not," she says in a rush, sure that she's done something wrong. Were they supposed to spend more time afterward? Was this just a quick encounter? She's nothing to judge it off of, and thinks she's assumed the wrong thing, again. "I only thought- It's cold?"

He pauses for a moment, looking over at her. "Right," he says, then pushes himself to his feet, walking over to grab his trousers and pull them on. He finds Tosh's clothes nearby and tosses them over to her.

"I've got tests I should probably be running anyway. On our new tenant."

"Thanks," she says, wondering if she should have said something else or done something else. "I should look over the rift data we have from the past few days. See if I can figure out when the weevil came through."

"Don't know that you can exactly call it a rift," Owen says, because it's not the same as Cardiff. No way to manipulate it or contain it that they know of.

He pulls on his shirt, heads over to his computer.

"Data on how long it's been here might be good, though."

"Rifts, portals, temporal and spatial disturbances, whatever you like to call them." She tugs on her jeans, grabbing her bra and shirt and turning her back. It's not like he hasn't seen these things, but she's still at core a fairly modest person. "I'll do my best."

He's already logging onto his workstation when she turns around to get dressed, setting his computer to pull up data on their first Weevil while he looks for a box of gloves amongst the papers stacked on his desk. He could have sworn there was a nearly new one there.

"Spatial disturbances, city-sized fuck-off dimensions..." he adds, already a bit distracted.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only