Earthside

It's been eight months since Captain George Taylor has last been Earthside, and he's been trying as hard as he can not to think about getting back. It only serves as a distraction when he's aboard his starship, and besides, he's a firm believer that there's no use wanting what you can't have.

Now that he's walking up the path to that little house he sometimes calls home, it's hard to ignore the fact that he does want it. Very much.

He's about to raise his hand to the doorbell--as much as he does have half ownership of this house, it's still polite to announce oneself--when the door opens in front of him. And there she is. Ellie. His wife.

They stare for a moment, George struck, as always, by how unfamiliar it feels to see her after all this time apart, and then she reaches for his face, draws one soft hand down his cheek, and he shudders, closing his eyes.

"My dear," he whispers.

"You're home," Ellie says, and takes him by the hand to bring him inside.

He sits to take off his boots, and the couch is just like he remembers it. In his uniform, fresh from the transport, it almost feels like he's contaminating the soft fabric.

Ellie sits down beside him. She smells clean and floral. "You've changed your soap," he says, intending for it to come out light and humorous, but instead there's a catch in his throat. He swallows.

"You've got a keen nose." She leans against him and drapes one arm around his shoulders. Feeling the warmth of her so close to him, he draws in a sharp breath, and pulls his second boot off roughly so he can lean against her, too.

He's home. He's really home, and she's here beside him. George presses his face into Ellie's shoulder and allows a sound to escape, somewhere between a sigh and a sob.

"I missed you," he says at last.

"How badly?" There's the hint of a laugh in her voice.

Hearing her teasing tone begins to stoke the fire in George's stomach, the one he always keeps banked while he's working. He clears his throat before speaking, but even so, his voice is rough. "As badly as usual, my dear."

"Why don't you show me how badly?" She stands up, extends a hand to him.

"At least let me change out of my uniform first."

That's one of his rules: work and home never mix. As painful as it is to shut the door between him and Ellie while he puts on the ordinary clothing he still keeps in their bedroom, he can't let himself be himself while dressed as a captain. When he finally opens the door, she's waiting, smiling faintly.

"How handsome you are," she murmurs, putting a hand on his chest.

Overcome with desire for her, he cannot speak. He kisses her instead. She kisses back for a brief, blissful moment, then pushes him away. For a minute, he's afraid he's misread her signals, but then he sees the teasing look in her eyes and wets his lips. So Ellie's in that kind of mood today.

"Impatient, my dear," she says.

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He wants so badly to touch her, to pull her to him, to remember what she looks like under that well-fitted clothing--but--she will see to it in her own time, as she always does. So, burning, he manages to say: "Can you blame me?"

"Hmm. Only eight months, and you working so hard while you were away. When could you have had time to remember me?"

He sets aside time in his schedule to call her each week, of course, but they're playing a game now. "Every night."

"Am I as beautiful as you remember?"

George looks her up and down, taking in her curves, the delighted play of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes. "Even more," he breathes, and means it.

"You'll have to prove it."

"Tell me how."

"On your knees." There's the bite of command in her voice, now. George lowers himself to the ground. He's achingly hard now. It's been eight months, he tells himself, what's a few minutes?

He has to remind himself that anticipation will only make it sweeter.

"Kiss here," Ellie says, pointing to her hip. He does. "And here," her thigh. He's reawakening to her now, remembering where she likes to be touched, where she's dimpled, where her skin is marked with delicate stripes. He wants to touch every part of her. He wants--

Ellie touches the top of his head. "Patience, dear." George realizes he's missed a command in favor of pressing his face into her thigh, overwhelmed by the smell of her soft skin. "Kiss here."

After he obeys, he can't resist anymore. "Ellie, please." She always drives him past the point of caring about decorum. It's part of why he loves her so much.

He can tell she's enjoying it by the way she smiles. "I said patience. One more kiss." But after that she brings him to his feet, then guides him to sit on the bed and sits behind him. Ellie runs her soft hands up his arms, then across his chest, so tenderly that a small sound escapes him. He leans back towards her, but she keeps him away. Such self-control she has. It's a delicious torment, to be so close to her but only be touched in the ways she chooses.

The teasing touches continue, and George finds it harder and harder to keep quiet--he's losing his composure entirely--and then she begins to unbutton the shirt he's only just put on. Finally, he thinks, once it's off, one less layer between them; but Ellie isn't done yet. Now she lowers herself to the ground before him and walks her fingers up his legs, so close to his cock that heat rushes to his face and he can't hold back a small cry of desire.

She cups his cock over his clothes and he pants aloud, thrusting himself into her hand desperately just as she pulls it away.

"Ellie," he says, helplessly.

"Yes?"

He can't speak. She's holding his gaze intently as she speaks. "I want to hear what you want me to do to you."

George swallows. After eight months of ultimate responsibility, of always putting his own needs last, of keeping his composure in all circumstances--this is one of the most difficult things Ellie can ask him to do. She knows that. It's why she asks.

He fumbles inarticulately. "I--your hand--my cock--"

"My hand?" Ellie raises an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"Your mouth, then," he whispers, "just touch me, please."

"All right, but only because you ask so nicely," and then she's unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, and her hands and her mouth are on his cock. He loses himself completely, then, utterly unconscious of the sounds he's making, but then pleasure swells in him, a bit too far, and he pushes her back.

It's a struggle to speak, but he tries anyway. "If you're not careful I think I might--I'd rather--"

The light in her eyes is nothing more than love and desire, now. The game is over. "Of course, dear," she says, and steps back.

Ellie lets him take off her clothes, piece by piece, and run his hands over her skin with admiration, she sometimes shuddering at the sensation, he wanting nothing more but to press ever closer to her and satisfy the burning need between his thighs. In due time they're in bed together, no layers of fabric between them, and with a groan George pushes himself inside her, finally exactly where he wants to be. It's only a few moments before he finishes, clutching her arms as he spends himself, lost in her scent.

As he comes back to himself, Ellie strokes his hair. "I missed you too," she whispers.

When he can breathe again, George pushes himself up to sitting. "Your turn now," he says, and runs his hands up Ellie's legs as she sighs with delight.

George knows he's going to have a lovely week. While he's here, it's easy not to think of the year of duty that awaits him on his return.