by ALC Punk!
She's not supposed to feel this. She, Devon Adair, is not supposed to be kissing John Danziger as if there is nothing else on this planet.
New Pacifica, Uly, True, the entire expedition could disappear right now, and she wouldn't even notice it.
It was like gravity, she thinks, as he presses her back into the tire, lips uncompromising as he takes everything she has and gives back more. One minute they were talking -- she doesn't remember about what anymore. Talking, talking and then this. Kissing.
He is remarkably easy to kiss, once begun. And she is so easy that her fingers are white-knuckled where they hold his jacket, keeping him against her.
Devon moves, widens her stance, and he pushes against her. And she can feel him, through the layer of clothing. Hard and ready, and her body reacts, nerves dancing and tingling, her skin suddenly itching to feel. To feel anything that isn't the cold air and the scratchiness of her clothing.
This is wrong. The thought breaks across her mind, and she can't ignore it.
"John." The name is mumbled into his mouth, but it's enough.
He backs off, but her hands are still gripping his jacket. "Adair..."
His forehead touches hers, and she can feel a sigh from him that echoes the one she releases. They stand like that, frozen, neither able to say a word. Danziger eventually breaks the silence, "I should get to bed."
"Yeah." One by one, her fingers unkink from his jacket. And she feels a sense of loss as he steps back. The physical distance mirroring a widening gulf. We can't even look at each other, she thinks, mocking herself and forcing her chin up. "It won't happen again."
She tries not to think there's something like sorrow in his gaze as he looks away from her.
"Good night, Danziger."
He is gone, then, leaving her against the tire, body aching for something it can't have. For someone who is not hers. His wife may be so far away he will never see her again, but she is alive. Straightening, Devon steps away and heads towards her quarters.
Tomorrow, she will awaken and pretend this hasn't happened.
But tonight... for just a second, tonight, she will remember that he tasted like coffee and chicory and John. And that the desperation in his hold was equal to hers.