fighting_mad | [OOM] Simulator Room

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[OOM] Simulator Room

Juke left, juke right, juke left, juke right; lure your opponent into a false sense of security, make him think he knows exactly what you're going to do.

Lasers flash by on the screen.

One last juke to the right, and there's the light-up of a targeting lock; she yanks the stick back and to the left, throwing the sim fighter into a tight roll that should press her back against the seat with its force. Of course, this machine isn't nearly complex enough for that.

She's got to find some way to throw the Priamsta off guard like that. To catch the rebels--the ones who say they're lead by Harran but they're not they can't be--off guard and--

The flash of an explosion and the screen goes dark.

"Sithspit!" Plourr slams an open palm against the overhead frame of the simulator, then lets her hand rest there, hooked on the frame.

She runs her other hand over her head in an unconscious motion; auburn stubble still foreign to the touch, too rough and scratchy. Hell, her whole body feels foreign; her tunic is smooth and skintight, eggshell-colored with deep purple, allowing every cord of muscle to show. She's not used to anything so fine, and she's definitely not used to the matching skirt, to seeing her legs bare in anything but athletic shorts. High heels. She'd drawn whistles from the Rogues that afternoon; joking whistles, yes, and ones that had earned several of them glares and thwappings, but she had caught admiring looks from not a few men at court, too. From the nobles at dinner.

Dinner.

"The tyranny of the nobles is at an end, Laabann. I will see to that. If you wish a place in the future of Eiattu, either stand with the throne-- or fall."

The crash of a breaking wineglass.

"The choice is yours."

Plourr hits the top of the simulator again.

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And that is pushing cool and unyielding into her inner thigh. She twitches and shoots Aeryn a 'so what?' sort of look. "What, my knife?"

"Oh. Knife. That's --" She breathed, relaxing. "-- good."

A pointed look at Plourr's fingers.

"You can...carry on." She sounded just a bit strangled. Perhaps embarrassed.

Plourr shoots her a suspicious look--what had she thought it was? Whatever she'd been thinking, Aeryn is doing a damned good job of making this less hot. So Plourr goes back to unhooking Aeryn's pants. And when she reaches the last hook, she presses with a strong hand and rubs. Just a little.

Clearly, this is purely for the sake of hotness everywhere.

She knew what was supposed to happen, she was just...nervous...which was very strange.

"Frell." Aeryn murmured, low and husky. Now that was just evil. When she wasn't prepared, trying to ease herself into it; evil.

Pure, simple wickedness, but damn did it feel good. So good that she was struggling to get the knife out of the way and muttering about the skirt Plourr was still wearing.

"Oh for fuck's sake--"

She reaches down and slaps Aeryn's hands out of the way (not unkindly, just impatiently), unstrapping the large, sheathed knife from her leg and letting it clatter to the floor. She is about to go for the skirt next, with the same quick, military economy of motion-- but then looks over and realizes that Aeryn is still mostly clad, and that won't do at all.

Eyes dark, she reaches around and unsnaps Aeryn's bra, pulling it off and paying no attention to where it ends up. Balanced on hands and knees, she leans in fast and open-mouthed kisses one bare breast.

In combat, you roll with the punches. In other things it was much the same. So far from reeling, Aeryn responded with equal fierceness.

And if that kiss caught her off guard, she didn't show it. Nails dug into Plourr's shoulder, but she only allowed herself a moment of pleasure, wriggling her trousers off the rest of the way.

"I don't think --" A pause in the middle, breath not at all even. "-- your royal garb was made for this."

Plourr's mouth, lips and teeth and tongue teasing, is (quite gleefully) still occupied, and so there is no way to respond other than a wordless '...what?' sort of noise that's really more a hot breath against Aeryn's skin than a noise.

Aeryn's teeth sunk into her lower lip, stifling the hiss of air that escaped. She remembered times spent in corridors; always quiet, it had become a natural habit to hold the noise in.

Her fingertips danced up the line of Plourr's neck, coming to rest behind her ear.

"What're you talking about," she says after she's given the other breast the same treatment and is up for air for a second. "Whoever designed that shavit" a vague wave at her clothes, "obviously had middle-of-the-night tabletop simulator room trysts in mind." Deadpanned, and followed up by tracing with her tongue the scar that begins between the other woman's breasts and runs down her ribs.

"Sarcasm..." Aeryn teased, between laboured gasps. "...is not very befitting of a princess."

She laughed, a tad hysterical, pushing her ribcage upwards.

"Then again, neither is this."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly your average princess, Aeryn." She mouths her way back up again, and willfully knocks Aeryn onto her back and kisses her senseless.

More like a wrestler, Aeryn thought, grinning a second before Plourr hit.

Tongues tangled, fighting for superiority, Aeryn gave way. Her hands drifted downwards managing to shift the skirt lower. Her index finger circled Plourr's bellybutton, small, languid circuits; like jogging around the lake on a smaller scale and a whole lot more enjoyable.

Enjoyable for Aeryn maybe. Plourr, on the other hand, is the one being teased. She shifts restlessly in a clear yes, get the damn thing off me move, growling low into Aeryn's mouth.

Not as easy as it sounds, Aeryn grunted, meaning pretty obvious.

After several more microts of tangling with the damn thing she held it up triumphantly and promptly slung it across the floor.

There is a now-entirely-nude pilot grinning wildly against Aeryn's lips. Not for long, though; she finally releases Aeryn's lower lip from her teeth and then is sliding down her body, licking here, biting there. There are detours along the way, but her destination is obvious.

Aeryn was never much of a squirmer, but it was becoming very obvious how she felt.

The slight twisting of her hips, the groan of a curse word as Plourr made her way lower. Dark eyelashes bent against her flushed cheeks.

She should say something, should do something; anything but lie here like she was glued to the icy table. Trapped. Held utterly in place by a feeling she no longer thought wrong and an eager tongue.

She slides callused hands down the other woman's hips and peels off her underwear, sitting back on her heels an admiring moment to slip them down her legs and drop them. Then she's back on her knees again, leaning over and dragging her full lower lip slowly up Aeryn's thigh. Her tongue flicks out and tastes the join between leg and pelvis.

She opened her mouth to speak, hesitation, but it was too late and when the moan broke free she didn't want to stop it anymore.

She hadn't thought it would be different. Men, women, Aeryn had assumed only the obvious things weren't the same. Frell, it was something. Not the same at all. Just as good...just as...all her thoughts were scrambled and she couldn't hold them anymore.

There was a kind of detachment.

Only sensations. The sound of panting, strangled inwards, was that her? She could feel the table sticking to her clammy back as she arched. The tingles, spreading outward. But it was like someone else. She brought herself back, hand idly stroking the back of Plourr's neck.

Her hair had grown since last time, friction against Aeryn's fingers.

And Plourr breaths a moment before her insistent mouth moves the couple of inches necessary to the left.

Hands on Aeryn's hips, and--

Really, Aeryn doesn't taste half bad.

"Fr-dr-he..." Caught between her lips was every swear word she could think of, a nonsensical jumble.

Her chest heaved and she breathed in so sharply it burned her throat. Quietly, almost silently Aeryn moaned. No time to think, no time to stop, no time to do anything but let her fingers scrabble helplessly at the table for something, anything to hold onto.

Those moans aren't going to stay quiet for long. Plourr is determined of that. Inclining her head further, she rolls her tongue. Repeatedly.

Unfair. That is in blatant violation of the same-sex rules charter, not that Aeryn is capable of pointing that out.

A trembling, throaty word flowed from her mouth; half-Plourr's name, half-whimper. She could feel her muscles protesting, hard-burn at the angle they were being bent. The soldier stretched her body further, bare buttocks rising up from the table.

Her heart beat out a harsh rhythm and it was practically all Aeryn could hear, her stomach matched it. In, out, undulating with waves of pleasure.

She physically couldn't take anymore. Mind whirling, body breaking, she cried out; a small sound fading in the humid air.

Hell but those sounds make her stomach clench. Jaw tight, she presses a kiss against inner thigh and then sprawls back up again, watching the expression on the other woman's face for a self-satisfied (sexually frustrated) half-second before biting Aeryn's earlobe.

"Mmm." Aeryn murmured softly, against the line of Plourr's jaw. She left herself a moment, just the tiniest moment, to smile before nipping at Plourr's lip.

Sleepiness threatened to overwhelm her, but she ignored it, concentrating on the pilot's weight on her; letting the adrenalin flow. Once again, her hand travelled the path to Plourr's belly, pushing lower this time, caressing.

She left her lips against the very edge of the other woman's, breathing warm air onto her skin.

She takes in a fiercely grateful breath that shakes more than she would care to admit, eyes fluttering closed. She presses her hips closer to Aeryn's hand, unable to stop the low, needy sound that escapes her throat even if she'd cared enough to try.

[OOM] Simulator Room

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