ship mingle: february is for starstruckers.

[mucked]

Who: Crew of the Starstruck
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Y, aboard the ship
When: All month

[ welcome to february. y'all know the drill. ]

Comments

[mucked]

[ she doesn't answer. not with words, at least -- instead, she smiles against the smooth skin of his sternum and trails her mouth down to his solar plexus. pity (she thinks) that her lipstick has long since smudged away. she wouldn't much mind marking him, now, with its richness and vibrancy.

peggy shimmies backwards and grips him by his sides. first her chin grazes his navel, then her tongue teases an edge, then the tip of her nose passes it by. she's sinking lower, lower, lower --

but she freezes at the slope of his hip bone. as though waiting for a plea or permission or both. ]

[uprightness]

[ his lips are dry, he realizes and there is a breath or two he's been holding, busy as he is watching her and then it all becomes impossible, she halts just shy of where she touched him and it all seems to click into place and the moment it does he almost jumps out of his skin.

she's waiting for him to say something, he knows that much. getting the words out proves to be a bit more of a challenge. ]

You know, you're killing me.

[ it's as honest as he manages. ]

[mucked]

Believe me, that's hardly my end goal.

[ killing him, that is. at least not so literally. it's true that the french have a hauntingly poetic way of calling what comes later the little death but his strangled honesty is all she needs to direct her attentions lower.

she breathes in: sweat and sunshine and musk. peggy braces her palm against the length of him and starts with only a sample -- a light, learning lick. a warm tongue on warm skin. ]