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She’s already fucked out, sated and sleepy as she rolls off of Illya and back onto the bed. Sunlight drifts through the half open curtains and little motes of dust dance lazily in the shafts of light. They both have a rare afternoon between missions with no other obligations and they have been making the most of it.
Illya starts trailing kisses over her, slowly working his way down from her lips, across her chest and down her stomach. She’s still sensitive from him fucking her and she sighs at each touch. She’s never known a man with stamina like Illya; she thinks they’d go all day if they could. He doesn’t roll over and go to sleep, or get up and leave. He’ll keep going till she cries uncle or falls asleep.
She’s enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and Illya’s hands, cool as ever, tracing little circles against her skin. The little kisses he’s been trailing across her body have led him to the top of her hips and here he stops and then brushes his lips against her clit.
“Oh!” She gasps, startled and props herself up on her elbows to look at him.
He stops, surprised. “Gaby?”
She knows she’s blushing pink and then that makes her blush harder. Neither of them were virgins when they met and they’re pretty evenly matched in experience but she’s never had a guy go down on her before. “I…” she stops, embarrassed and takes a deep breath. “I’ve never had anyone… y’know…” She trails off and shrugs a shoulder a little too casually.
“Oh.” Illya looks at her thoughtfully. “Do you want me to stop?” She hesitates then shakes her head, suddenly feeling shy. “Tell me,” he instructs her, “if you want me to stop, or go slower.” She nods and then he grins at her wolfishly, adding, “Or if it’s too much for you.” He’s lucky he’s out of her reach or she’d swipe at him for the cocky look her gives her. She’s not sure if Napoleon's rubbing off on him or if he's not so different from Napoleon after all.
She lays back against the bed and Illya grips her a little tighter then kisses along the crease of her thighs. He leaves feather-light kisses on the inside of her thighs and Gaby shivers at the faint bristle of his beard against her skin and moans, already enjoying herself.
Illya smiles. “Patience,” he whispers before licking her and the sudden pressure of his tongue against her elicits a deep sigh. She can feel the press of his smile against her at that and his hot breath against her skin for just a moment before he passes his tongue across her clit. He grips her more tightly when she responds to that touch.
“Illya, God.”
He works his tongue against her and it’s as good, better, than anything she’s felt before. He teases her, licking then sucking, his tongue tripping over her so light at times that if it wasn’t for the waves of pleasure coursing through her, she wouldn’t even know he was fucking her.
She digs her heels against the bed pushing herself into his touch and he pulls away from her. “Good?” he asks with a smile.
“Yes.” Her voice is choked and needy when she answers him. “Yes.”
He dips between her legs again and this time there is no let up. His tongue works her until her hands curl in the sheets and she’s uttering a constant stream of moans, curses and his name. It ripples through her, when she comes, in long waves with pleasure radiating out through her in a way that feels too much and like it might never stop.
He keeps her tight to the bed, his hands gripped firm enough to leave pink marks when he finally moves them. She rubs a hand over her face then slides it down to her breast, tweaking a nipple. Illya moves and gently brushes her hand out of the way and sucks, nips lightly at her breast. She’s still sensitive enough that this is enough for her to come against him again.
When she finally opens her eyes he’s smiling at her. She pulls him close and kisses him as fiercely as she can manage. He tastes of her, she realises and it’s a heady feeling as he kisses deeper, the taste of herself against him.
She bites at his lip, enjoying the gasp of pleasure it draws from him. She runs a hand through his hair and tugs him sharply away and moves to his neck and sucks at it. She doesn’t care that they’re not teenagers. She wants to mark him as hers right now. When they finally pull apart she buries her head against his shoulder and laughs.
“It did not disappoint, no?”
“No,” she kisses the tip of his nose. “No.”
She rolls back from him and lies against the bed. The sun has moved and the light is over the other side of the room. The sheets are tangled and crumpled around them. They could lay here all afternoon, trace the sunset against the ivory wall opposite them. She stretches out next to him, closes her eyes.
He pulls at her wrist and presses a kiss to it. “Shower?”
It’s on the tip of her tongue, Uncle. Instead she thinks how rare these afternoons are and how long it’ll be until they get another. She's hot and sweaty next to him and the room smells of sex. “Shower,” she agrees and jumps off the bed, waltzing into the bathroom, his solid footsteps following her.