AN: Updated November 5/17: Reworked a couple scenes to make it a little less cheesy, and for it to connect better with Retribution (which is a fantastic sequel to Last Light if you haven't read it already!). Also corrected some minor grammar issues. Still essentially the same story, just a bit more polished now. Enjoy!
"To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub. For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come…."
Odd first words to wake up to. He hadn't thought of Hamlet or the any of the other literary works Déjà had taught the Spartans as children in a long time. Especially odd to think of a speech about death when currently he couldn't be further from it. But then the last twelve hours had been arguably one of the strangest times of his life, so maybe dear Hamlet was simply reminding him of experiences not yet undertaken.
He glanced at the holo on the wall. Nearly midnight. Still a long ways off for Spartans to be up.
"You mumble in your sleep."
As, yes. Her. Strange times, indeed. Fred shifted his head and was met by hazel eyes staring back at him, partially obscured by ruffled dark hair.
"I wasn't aware they taught Spartans Shakespeare," she continued, and he suppressed a frown. She never did miss a damn thing.
"Who says the UNSC taught us? I do read, you know."
Her mouth quirked, and she sat up on an elbow. The thin blanket covering her rolled off, and he was momentarily distracted by what lay hidden beneath the cotton.
"Hamlet," she prodded. "Good choice, though I prefer All's Well That Ends Well." She cleared her throat and began to recite: "It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase, and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins—"
"You never fail to amuse, Inspector."
Her grin widened. "I believe the last line is especially relevant to the current situation."
He had nothing to say to that. In fact, he was running empty on replies of any kind with the amount of skin she was exposing.
Lopis took note of his eyeing, of course, and her free hand swooped down to touch one of her breasts. "Odd choice for a monologue, though. To Be or Not to Be. Though maybe there is a connection."
"How much did I say, exactly?" he murmured, taking great care to pronounce each word carefully.
"Mumble, more like. And enough." Her eyes dropped to his collarbone and travelled slowly south, and her hand tracked down her own skin. "A soliloquy about death isn't too off balance. You're familiar with the term la petite mort?"
Blood began to thud in his ears in a dull, slow rhythm, building speed and force. Her hand dipped over her stomach and then slid across the small space between them, smoothing up his hip and coming to rest just below his belly button.
"I'll assume you are," she continued. "Even if you're not, you've experienced it well en—"
She was interrupted as he moved to kiss her. It wasn't the fluid motion he was hoping for—his nose collided with hers before he reached his goal—but despite his inexperience she seemed to enjoy the initiative he was taking. Veta grabbed his arm to steady herself as he shifted closer, and he did his best to remember how to move his mouth along hers. It was a delicate art, one he hadn't gotten the hang of—yet—but he wasn't one to back down from a challenge.
When he heard her running short of breath, a state he wasn't close behind on reaching, she pulled away and looked at him. Her eyes were big and dark and entirely too piercing. He felt raw and naked and exposed when she looked at him, observed down to the last microscopic detail.
She smiled again. "You learn quickly, Lieutenant."
"Just Fred's fine," he corrected her. He didn't know where this fit into his life as of yet, and mixing it with his career seemed a bit bold right now. Besides, Lieutenant wasn't the name of the man who let her into his bunk.
It was just Fred.
"You called me Inspector."
"Force of habit."
"Veta, then. Say it. Fair's fair."
He smiled back. "Make me."
Her brows rose. "A dangerous challenge."
"I don't lose often."
She was quick for a non-Spartan, he'd give her that. Her legs quickly straddled his hips, palms to his chest. She shook her shoulder-length hair out of her face and stared him down from her superior position, grinning like she'd already won.
"Then prepare to, Lieutenant. I don't take challenges lightly."
"I wouldn't respect you if you did."
"Good."
They made love three times, which was enough to put Lopis in a sound sleep curled up beside him and to leave Fred feeling boneless and sleepy. They'd drifted in and out of consciousness, but now it seemed the night's activities had come to a close and all that was left to do was recover.
And there was a lot to process. Crossing paths with Lopis and her Ferret team during yet another mission Baby Dragon stressed wasn't explicitly supposed to exist felt almost routine by this point. Working with Ash, Mark and Olivia again had been a privilege, but it had surprised him to realise he'd been giddy with the prospect of working with Lopis again.
And apparently she shared his enthusiasm for working together—Lopis made a point of visiting him off duty in his quarters. He'd never been given private quarters before, but the Corvette they were stationed on had been large enough to allow it and, after tonight's events, he suspected it had been intentional. The tidal wave of memories of the night slowly washed over him, carrying him into sleep.
"Fred?"
A knock on his door. He set the comm pad in his hand down on the bed sheet next to him and straightened his posture. "It's open."
The small, dark form of Lopis slipped into his room, clad similarly in off-duty fatigues, with the notable exception of the ONI logo emblazoned on her t-shirt's breast.
"You didn't eat dinner," she said by way of greeting, and he saw that she was holding a tray of food in her hand.
"Too tired," he replied. It wasn't a lie, but he'd been wanting to avoid her. He'd grown too attached with their last mission, straining the point of professionalism. With the Spartans he at least had the excuse of calling them brothers and sisters in arms to rationalise any unprofessional discussions or displays of affection, but Lopis… she wasn't his sibling, and what he felt niggling in his stomach was not brotherly affection for her.
She placed the tray of food down on the bed next to him, then raised a brow. "May I?"
He nodded his chin next to him and she sat down, mindful of the food.
"You're alright? The docs let you off with minor injuries."
"Never better," he assured her, then looked to a stitched cut on her cheek. "Though you look a bit beaten up."
She shrugged the concern off. "Had much worse, believe me."
He nodded his relief, and they fell into uncomfortable silence. He'd grown accustomed to the sensation of it when interacting with marines and other soldiers, but not with Lopis. The Inspector wasn't one to hold back on speaking her mind, and the fact that his status as a Spartan didn't cow her made her surprisingly easy to talk to.
She opened her mouth, pondering her next words, and he realised it was no different now. "I didn't… It's good to work with you again, Lieutenant."
"Always a pleasure, Inspector. Especially when you're not accusing me of criminal behaviour."
She shook her head. "Not enough evidence this time," Lopis replied without missing a beat.
"I'm relieved to hear it."
"I missed you."
His gut clenched, but he couldn't figure out if it was an unpleasant sensation or not. She continued before he could think of something to say. "I didn't realise it until I saw you again. I didn't realise how much, either." Lopis never looked away from his face, and he found for once in his life that he struggled to hold someone's gaze.
"Inspector, I don't—"
"It's Veta," she interrupted. "You don't have to call me that."
He hesitated. "I don't know why you're telling me this."
Her expression fell in disappointment, but she quickly replaced with a tired resignation. "I don't really know either, to be honest." She finally broke eye contact and looked down at the plate of food. "Forget I said anything." Lopis stood up and carefully maintained a line of sight on the plate. "Make sure to eat that before it gets cold. Tastes even worse that way."
He watched her turn and walk to the door. She opened it half way before he forced himself to say something.
"Insp—Veta," he said quickly, and she froze. "Wait."
She turned and looked at him, eyes expectant.
"I… I can't."
"Can't what?"
"Can't engage in that kind of thing," he clarified. "It's different with non-Spartans. I have to maintain purely professional working relationships."
"So you missed me too, then."
It wasn't a question; she already had the answer. She moved back toward him.
"It doesn't matter," he argued, feeling a growing panic rise with every step she took. For how tiny she was, she invaded his senses as if she could fill the room; the smell of her skin, the sound of her voice, the way she moved….
"It does," she said simply. She stopped right in front of him. From his sitting position on his bunk, she stood half a head taller than him. The reversed perspective put him further off balance.
Her hand raised, slowly. So slowly he could stop it if he wanted to. Which he did want to—maybe. But his body wasn't responding, and then her fingers brushed his cheek.
"Never thought I'd feel this way, much less for someone like you," she continued, voice barely audible over the thundering in his ears..
There were callouses on her fingers—from weapons, from writing, and from doing a tough job, but her skin was soft, softer than anything he'd ever felt, and he couldn't stop the featherlight touch of her fingers as she explored the contours of his face.
No one had touched him like this before. No Spartan, no soldier, and certainly no civilian—although she wasn't exactly a civilian any longer. Her other hand came up to join its partner and continued to trace his cheekbones, nose, eyebrows and chin. Despite his best efforts, he felt himself leaning into her touch.
"But I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to." He had to focus on her words instead of her hands, which fell from his face and went back to her sides. His skin felt cold from where her fingers had been, and the empty ache in his chest was even more unpleasant.
Lopis gestured to the mattress. "Is it okay if I sit?"
He nodded, finding himself bereft of breath. She moved the food tray to his bedside table and sat next to him, careful not to invade his personal space. He appreciated the respect, even if he wished she'd continued touching him.
"I'm sorry," is what he was able to finally force out. "No matter how m—I just can't."
She looked over at him, surprised. "I'm not mad, Fred," she replied. Her hand moved up from its spot on her knee, her index finger rising up in the imitation of a touch. He turned his palm over in invitation, not able to help himself, and her hand slipped into his. "If anything, I get it. Probably more than you know."
"But I don't want you to go," he added. Just ten minutes, he told himself. Ten minutes, and I'll let her leave.
Lopis smiled at him. "On Gao," she whispered, as if louder volumes would scare him away. "On Gao, you told me you could tell when someone was facing a personal fear. Water, heights, fire—tight spaces—whatever it may be. You noticed how afraid I was of the cave tunnels."
He nodded, keeping silent. He didn't want to interrupt whatever she was about to say.
"When I was seventeen, a man grabbed me off the street as I was walking home from class," she began, her voice shaky and soft. "He shoved me in his car—it was powder blue, I'll never forget the colour—and he pointed a gun at me and told me if I made a sound I would die, and then he'd find my family and kill them too.
"He brought me to his farm house and dragged me through the barn, down into the cellar of his home. He shoved me into a supply closet, where there were cuffs bolted to the concrete. They had blood on them from—from people before me, and when he put them on I could hear the crunching of old blood.
"Then he stripped my clothes off, burned them, and locked me inside." She blew out a long breath, and squeezed Fred's hand. Not knowing what else to do, he squeezed back.
"I was there for two weeks. He did what he wanted to me—whatever he felt like—and every day I chipped away at the stone. He fed me enough to keep me alive and kept me clean so I could look nice for—for him. He'd done this before, obviously. He'd done it enough times that the police could never find him or the people he abducted. I was on my own.
"I eventually got a cuff loose with some concrete still bolted on during the night, and when he came down in the morning to feed me, I beat him to death." A sharp exhale came out of her, the mimic of a laugh. "Beyond death, really. I think I beat him for over an hour before I managed to calm down and get my other hand free.
"By that point the police had declared me dead—they were looking for a body, not a teenager. But I made it to a local police station; I drove his car to the city and wobbled in naked. I had no clothes and refused to wear anything the bastard had in his house. I was admitted to the hospital for intensive care, then given a few years of psychotherapy.
"And then I became a cop," she whispered. She'd been staring at their hands, but now she looked up at him. "I coped and kept to myself. Cirilo was the closest thing I'd had to an actual partner, but it was easier to just push everyone away. It was usually enough for me, anyway. I just did my job and took down people like him."
She took a deep breath to steady herself. "So I know, Fred. I know all about just doing your job, playing it safe. I've heard bits and pieces about the Spartan programs, and what they did to you as kids, so believe me when I say I empathise. I just… I just want you to know I get it, and that if you can't, or won't, spend the night with me, now or ever, I want you to know I'm okay with that—that we can stay professional and pretend none of this happened. But…." She held his eyes, her expression deep and unfathomable. "I'll be here if you ever change your mind."
He didn't respond for a while. In fact, he didn't know how long he spent staring at her, running through what she told him over and over.
And then, when he felt her squeeze his fingers again, he knew his answer.
She felt a bubble of warmth burst inside her chest and spread throughout her body, all the way to her extremities. Fred's mouth was pressed so softly against her own she could hardly call it a kiss. He didn't move, and she didn't think he was even breathing, but she slowly nudged him to life. Her nose brushed his cheek; her lips moved over his in an easy rhythm that he mimicked surprisingly well, and she set her hands on his shoulders. He responded by placing a hand on her hip.
She'd been honest when she'd told him she hadn't been with anyone, but she'd had high school sweethearts, and the muscle memory of it came back with surprisingly little effort.
Fred's movements, for his part, were simply a mirror of her own. He moved and touched her like she was made of glass—like they both were. Although she found the gossip about Spartans being unfeeling robots shallow and distasteful, there seemed to be some merit to the rumours about them abstaining from anything besides killing, sleeping and eating.
She broke off the kiss and he immediately looked worried. "Are you alright?" he asked.
She smiled and nodded. "You?"
"I think so." His hand settled on her bicep, as if unsure of where else to possibly go.
Her fingers squeezed his shoulder. "You ever done this before?"
Fred shook his head, which didn't surprise her. "Like I said—"
"Duty first."
"Yeah." He leaned closer to her, his breath blowing softly on her face. She moved her hand up to touch his jaw, and her suspicions were confirmed when he mimicked her. Seemed he hadn't ever been given an opportunity to express affection properly, either.
"Seen some marines do it," he continued. "Didn't realise it felt so nice, though."
She grinned. Emboldened by his response, she pulled off her shirt and tossed it aside. Then she undid the clasp of the sports bra she wore and shrugged out of it. His eyes lowered to her breasts, curious—though not hungry or impatient.
Lopis cupped one of his hands in her own and guided it to a breast. His nostrils flared when his palm made contact with it. The contact was a shock to her as much as him, but it wasn't unpleasant. His head cocked slightly, a clear sign for confusion or possibly wonder. Then he slid his other hand up her waist and set it against the remaining breast, eyes moving over her skin as if he was committing it to memory.
"You're soft," he murmured, smoothing his palms over her chest, exploring the sensation. "And warm. Really warm…."
Lopis smiled. "May I?" she asked, tugging on the hem of his shirt. He nodded, and removed his hands from her skin long enough to help her pull his shirt off.
Although she didn't want to, the first thing she noticed was the sheer amount of scars on his skin. They roped across his flesh, raised and pale and most of them looking like they had been incredibly painful injuries—a few she even recognized from assignments they'd worked together on. He looked the exact same as he had in the medbay of Silent Joe; beaten and scarred, but handsome. And once again, the usually-familiar pierce of fear in her belly was absent. All she felt was the warmth in her face and the calloused palms of Fred's hands on her arms.
She slid her hands over his chest and up to his shoulders, trying not to make him feel like a specimen under inspection. He went back to touching her again, and together they made slow, smooth motions with their fingers over the other's bodies. She explored the dark curling hairs on his chest and abdomen while he rubbed the pad of his thumb over a raised nipple.
He looked at her face, and she took the hint and kissed him again. This time it was a bit less gentle and slow, from both ends. She could feel the erratic but strong beat of his heart beneath her hand, and his slow, exploratory ministrations of her skin turned her on more than she thought it would. More than she thought she could ever possibly feel.
Fred seemed content with touching and kissing, but then, why wouldn't he? Every step forward they took was new territory, the most he'd ever experienced—he didn't expect more simply because he couldn't think of anything to expect beyond this.
Veta grinned. Maybe she could have the pleasure of surprising a Spartan, then. She slid off the bed in one smooth motion and then sat down in his lap, straddling his legs, never breaking their kiss. He huffed in—she smiled triumphantly—surprise, and it took nothing for her to push him onto the bed.
"What are yo—oh—" His sentence cut short when she ground her hips in a circular motion into his. Fred's eyelids fluttered and she felt his hips automatically push back in response. "Oh," he said again, though this time it sounded like a realisation more than a moan.
She leaned down so that her body was parallel with his, and she kissed the pale skin of his throat. "We're just getting to the good part, Fred."
"What… what should I do?" he asked, sounding breathless and excited, something she hadn't heard from him outside of a battlefield.
"Do what feels right—what feels good," she answered, planting kisses down his neck and occasionally pressing her tongue to his skin.
His hands gripped her hips, more rough this time. "I don't… I don't know what that is." Despite his confusion, his hips did rise tentatively off the bed to press into her body, and another soft moan escaped him. "I don't want to—ah—hurt you."
Her mouth found his collarbone. "Don't worry if you make a mistake. If you hurt me, I'll let you know."
She felt more than saw him nod his head, and his hands slid down to cup her thighs and ass, continuing to move their hips together. She joined him and moved with him, letting out a moan herself. Veta could feel him, hard beneath his off-duty pants, and felt a wetness between her legs that was almost unfamiliar after so long.
His breathing became heavy and he was squirming beneath her, the pace of his hips increasing. Small gusts of breath escaped his lips, ending in oh's and ah's until she sat up and looked down at him, realising what was about to happen.
"Wait—wait, Fred."
His body froze—and his face fell in disappointment. His eyes were hazy with arousal, but he stopped immediately. "What?" he asked. "Did I… do something wrong?"
"No, not at all." She touched his mouth with her fingers. "But I don't want to end this too early. Not yet."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyes widened, and it occurred to her that maybe this was an even more alien experience to him than she realised. "Fred—"
"Yes?" He closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his teeth. He shifted his hips once, but she thought it was more due to discomfort than impatience.
"Have you ever… come before?"
"I…." He swallowed, his throat constricting. "Yeah, a few times, yeah. Usually... usually in my sleep."
"So you don't…."
He flashed her a strained smile. "I rarely have time to eat on a daily basis, let alone have the privacy or time to spend it in my bunk touching myself." There was no hint of coyness or, more surprising, disappointment in his voice—it was just a bodily function to him, one he didn't have the luxury of attending to.
A slow grin spread across her face. "This will be even more fun than I thought." She watched a look of dismay flash on his features as she crawled off of him, and he immediately sat up.
"What are you doing?"
She bent down to untie her boots and promptly kicked them off, then started on her belt. He sat there watching her, and she snapped a finger at him. "Well? Lieutenant, I believe you're lagging behind. You don't need pants for this portion of the operation."
"Funny," he said dryly, but bent down and unlaced his boots, undressing with a speed that would have made her laugh had she not been so turned on. His inexperience had been endearing rather than inhibiting, and he really was nice to look at. When he stood up to remove his pants and skivvies as she did the same, her mouth dried up.
He took note of her wide eyes, then looked down at himself, almost in panic. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head, stepping out of the puddle of her pants at her feet. "Nothing, no, Fred…." It was her turn to be flustered. "You look great."
A wonderful dusting of rose coloured his cheeks. "Oh," he said, tone awkward. "You ah, look good too."
His words were stunted but sincere. There was a brief moment where she mourned over the idea that he probably had never gotten a compliment on his appearance his entire life, and it spurned her into action.
She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him with a ferocity that made him stumble. He grabbed her legs and responded eagerly with his mouth, a subtle shiver running down the length of his body. She felt the hardness of his member just under her thigh, so close it made her tremble. If she'd been worried about not being ready for this, those fears were promptly put to rest.
"The bed," she murmured around his mouth. He complied, climbing onto the thing bunk and setting her down on the mattress.
"This time," he said breathlessly. "I ride on top."
She laughed at that, genuine humour that she tried to muffle in the crook of his neck—the last thing she wanted was for someone to hear feminine laughter coming out of his room and come to investigate such an odd noise.
They kissed and touched for a few moments, but when he rubbed his member against the sensitive skin of her mons, she broke off with a moan. He looked down at her, and she saw uncertainty and a bit of fear in his face. So he did know what came next—he was just afraid of doing it wrong.
"You ready?" she asked him, her hands on his shoulders and legs cradling his waist.
He nodded. "I think so," he said hoarsely, breathing shallow.
She slipped a hand between their bodies until she found what she was looking for and grabbed him. He cried out and rocked into her palm, pressing his head hard into her shoulder.
Veta guided him, slowly but surely, to the juncture of her legs. The tip of him pressed against her and his head rose so that he could look at her. Her hand retreated, and she nodded to give him the go-ahead. He swallowed again, nodding back.
They both cried out when he slid inside of her. She grabbed at his back and dug her nails in, breathing heavily. He was leaning over her on his forearms, and right now he looked frozen; his eyes were closed shut so tightly creases pulled at his cheeks, and he was lying suspended above her, as if trying to process what just happened.
"You okay?" she murmured again, touching his cheek. He opened his eyes.
Fred let out a small gasp and nodded shakily. "Yeah—yeah."
"Now just move," she said softly, and rocked her hips. He moaned and bit his lip, clearly trying to suppress the sound. "Whenever you're ready."
Slowly he began to set a pace, moving inside her with a gentleness she once hadn't thought possible for a Spartan. He found solace in the crook of her neck and shoulder, moaning into her skin to mask the sounds. As wrapped up as he was in this, he still had the presence of mind to at least attempt to keep quiet.
He got through about a dozen strokes before she felt him start to shake again. He breathing came heavy and quick again, and his moans turned to gasps as he continually ran out of breath. She held onto him, savouring the sensation of him moving inside her. Another half-dozen strokes, and what little control he possessed snapped.
He spasmed over her, shuddering and gasping in her embrace. She anchored him as he weathered through his release, until he spent himself and practically collapsed on top of her.
She tried to catch her breath while he recovered, wanting to give him a moment or two, but she was having real difficulty breathing around his weight.
"Fred," she whispered, tapping his shoulder. "Can't—breathe—"
He murmured a shaky "sorry" and rolled onto his back beside her. His eyes were closed again, and he threw an arm over his face.
She took the time to catch her breath as well. She was still strung tight from the excitement of it all, and even though she hadn't found her own release, she still felt a growing sense of satisfaction. She'd even go so far as to call the sensation peaceful.
Veta looked over to Fred and smiled, watching him. His arm still covered his eyes, but she could see his mouth and jaw—and he was smiling, too.
She poked him in the armpit and her jerked. "Ah!" His arm came down, and he looked at her. "What?"
She giggled—giggled, something that surprised her—and let her hand fall on his shoulder.
"So?" she asked, still trying to get her breathing under control. "How—how do you feel?"
His brows drew together and he thought for a moment. "Loose," he said slowly.
She raised a brow, and he moved to elaborate. "It—I don't know. Tired and heavy and… well, my limbs feel wobbly. Like I'm recovering from getting hit by a truck."
"Thought you only knew what being run over by one felt like."
His smile turned to a scowl, but it was the kind of amused, long-suffering long he'd given her many times before.
She laughed again. "Did you at least enjoy yourself?" She knew the answer, of course, but it wasn't every day that she got to deflower a grisled super-soldier, and his reactions to everything had been wildly entertaining so far.
"I—" His cheeks puffed out as he blew out a breath. "Yeah. Wow. Yeah, I did. A lot better when you do it with another person."
She nodded, trying to suppress a grin. "That's the general agreement, yes."
He shifted his head to look at her. "What about you?"
"I liked it. A lot, actually." She resisted the urge to snuggle up next to him. Lopis knew how iffy Spartans were with affection, and although they'd just had sex, she wasn't sure how he'd react to cuddling. She settled for grabbing his hand instead, which he seemed to like well enough.
"That's good," he said, then blinked hard as if his eyelids were heavy.
"Falling asleep already?"
"It's weird," he murmured, blinking again. "How tired I feel."
"It's normal," she said. "At least from what I've heard. Either nap it off, or…."
"Or?"
"Or continue with round two."
"Oh." He pondered that for a moment. "I think… I think I'll just lie here for a bit—if that's alright with you."
She nodded. Despite his amicable tone, he looked a little shaken. Lopis couldn't really blame him; intimacy couldn't be easy for Spartans. His broad ignorance of the carnal alone told her how little affection or attention they'd ever received from people outside of combat. The only reason to touch a Spartan would be to seal a wound or stick a blade in them; murky, complex acts like sex and love probably didn't fit well in their catalogue of possible human interactions.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asked hesitantly. Veta didn't really want to, but she'd just watched his face drain of colour. Coming down from his own high, the implications of what he'd just done had begun to set in.
He squeezed her hand. "No," he replied. "No, I don't want you to go."
They laid there in silence for a still minute. She watched his face; he was clearly analysing his whole experience, thinking on each detail. She could give him the courtesy of a distraction, at least.
"Fred? Would you do something for me?"
"What is it?"
"Just… get me a cloth? To, ah, clean up?"
His cheeks went pink again. "Oh. Yeah, sure."
He climbed out of the bunk and ducked into the bathroom. Good. He was distracted. His expression had turned from confusion to apprehension to almost panic in the short time they'd laid there. Deep self-reflection probably wasn't what he needed right now.
He came back a moment later, cloth in hand. She smiled at him, especially when she saw he'd damped it with warm water. Lopis reached out a hand to grab it, a thank-you on the tip of her tongue.
Instead, he surprised her and gently patted clean the junction of her legs himself. Her nerves instantly responded to the touch and she jumped a little. He froze at that, but she placed a hand on his arm and smiled.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"At the very least I should clean up my own mess," he said, a weak attempt at a joke. She smiled at him and sat up, grabbing a hold of him so he stayed put, and stood up.
"Thank you," she said again, then stood on tiptoes, trying to kiss him. She reached his chin, and he bent down to relieve her of the strain.
It was the same sweet, innocent kiss he'd given her at the very beginning. No expectations, no pushing—just a kiss.
"And thank you," he said, pulling away. The hand unburdened by the cloth came to rest on her shoulder, and she appreciated the attempt at an affectionate gesture. "This is definitely one of the greatest nights of my life."
She slid her arms around his trim waist and pressed her face to his chest, pulling him close. "I'm happy to say I can say the same."
He woke up to the sound of running water, and realised Lopis was no longer in his bunk.
Fred sat up and on the edge of the mattress, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Glancing at the chronometer at his wrist, it stunned him to see he'd slept for eight hours. He should've been up three hours ago—why had no one run to wake him?
Veta's head poked out from the bathroom, a toothbrush stuck in her mouth. She removed it and grinned through the pasty foam.
"Morning," she said, voice soft.
"Oyu," he replied, and was rewarded with a surprised expression from her.
"I'm surprised you remembered the greeting," she said, looking nostalgic.
"Attention to detail is in the job description," he explained.
She quirked a brow. "Huh," was all she said, then went back to finish cleaning up.
When Lopis came back out he saw she had slipped on his off-duty shirt—which almost reached her knees. She reached her arms over her head to stretch out her back, and the cotton caught on every lovely curve hidden under the shirt. He was usually good at ignoring how good it felt just to look at her, but after the other night… well, he supposed he didn't have to ignore it now, anyway.
"I see you're already raring to go," she noted, giving his groin a pointed look.
He looked down, then shrugged. "Happens every morning."
"Hmm, maybe," she began, then did the most distracting thing possible and sat in his lap. "But this morning you have a very pretty, very naked spy in your room."
He could already feel his focus narrowing, his brain blocking out everything except for her. It was as heady and addicting as it was dangerous—how in hell was he supposed to go to work now?
She draped her arms around his neck and captured his attention with her eyes again. "Don't worry," Lopis said, as if she had divined his thoughts. "You're off-duty all day. I sweet-talked Osman into giving everyone a few days of leave after the good work we did—you can't go on vacation anywhere, but you can sleep in and stay in your bunk if you like," she concluded. Her face was so close, her lips brushed his as she spoke.
Before he could reply, her hand dipped down and slid over his member. He breathed hard out through his nose and grabbed her hips.
"Bunk day?" She asked in between kisses.
"Bunk day, definitely," he agreed. He'd figure out the implications of this later—right now her hands were doing a damn fine job of keeping him focused on her, and it only occurred to him much, much later that she must have asked Osman for leave time before entering his room. She'd probably arranged for Blue Team to have private quarters, too.
She'd had a battle plan the whole time. Veta Lopis was Spartan material, indeed.