[ it all feels like a dream, so many of these details completely out-of-place for them, like maybe if she pinches herself hard enough she'll wake up and she'll be back on the ship with him on the other side of that shared wall, hoping she hasn't been turned on enough for that to permeate through the barrier. she's never asked him if he can feel it when she touches herself, if her need is strong enough to affect him too. maybe a part of her doesn't want to know, because if she found out the truth one way or another she'd either be embarrassed or something deeper she doesn't want to address.
so much of this isn't going to happen again — soon enough they'll be off the damn planet and flying through space, onto the next place, and she won't be standing here in a white dress that's been rendered almost sheer by the rain still pelting down outside, the once-attempted updo of her hair hanging wet and across her shoulders. she wouldn't be able to see the brawn of his shoulders rippling through his damp shirt as he crouches down to settle on his knees in front of her.
she uses one hand to hold her skirts up and the other to brace against the railing behind herself; they're still mostly covered by the gazebo's roof, but the rain is a continued torrent, so loud it almost masks the sound of her own heavy breathing, but he can likely see her lips parted for it as she tilts her chin down to watch.
she wants to make sure she sees every second of this, even if it does turn out to just be a dream, but as soon as his tongue strokes her through the fabric of her underwear — she'd out-and-out refused to wear those ridiculous period-appropriate drawers, which probably is a scandal all on its own — the heat of it is so obvious in contrast to where she's chilled and wet from the rain that she instinctively rounds her hips toward him, gasping softly. suddenly she's not sure she's ever wanted anything more than she wants to feel his tongue delving between her folds, flicking her clit, fucking into her until her knees threaten to give out on her. ]
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so much of this isn't going to happen again — soon enough they'll be off the damn planet and flying through space, onto the next place, and she won't be standing here in a white dress that's been rendered almost sheer by the rain still pelting down outside, the once-attempted updo of her hair hanging wet and across her shoulders. she wouldn't be able to see the brawn of his shoulders rippling through his damp shirt as he crouches down to settle on his knees in front of her.
she uses one hand to hold her skirts up and the other to brace against the railing behind herself; they're still mostly covered by the gazebo's roof, but the rain is a continued torrent, so loud it almost masks the sound of her own heavy breathing, but he can likely see her lips parted for it as she tilts her chin down to watch.
she wants to make sure she sees every second of this, even if it does turn out to just be a dream, but as soon as his tongue strokes her through the fabric of her underwear — she'd out-and-out refused to wear those ridiculous period-appropriate drawers, which probably is a scandal all on its own — the heat of it is so obvious in contrast to where she's chilled and wet from the rain that she instinctively rounds her hips toward him, gasping softly. suddenly she's not sure she's ever wanted anything more than she wants to feel his tongue delving between her folds, flicking her clit, fucking into her until her knees threaten to give out on her. ]