If it isn't obvious, this story contains graphic sexual content, go away if you're under 18

At about 11:42 pm, Sasha was considering whether or not he should go outside and smoke a cigarette.

In normal circumstances he would just do it without thinking twice-just get up and smoke out on the hotel balcony. Unfortunately, his left ankle, currently bandaged and elevated on two pillows, had made matters a bit more complicated. He wished that he could say he had received the injury during a tense moment of high-stakes psychic combat, but the reality was that he had tripped over a curb while distracted by his own thoughts hours after the mission had ended. The staff at the hotel had been kind enough to give them the bandage and ice pack (though he could have done without the bell boy helping him to their room).The sprain was only minor, and he, reclined on the bed, was relatively comfortable, the pain in his ankle merely a dull throb thanks to the painkillers he had taken. That could change if he got up. There was the option of levitating onto the balcony, but that too had its drawbacks, in that it would be incredibly easy to shift the wrong way and cause himself discomfort.

On the other hand, there was a chance that not smoking would also cause him discomfort. He needed a distraction right now, and his nicotine-addicted brain practically had a neon sign reading SMOKE in big green letters flashing on and off in his head. The book he had been reading, the one he had heard nothing but great things about and had been eager to read, had started off pretty good. It was a first-hand account of a supposed alien encounter, written by a professor of Astrophysics from a prestigious university. Sasha had known right from the start that the account was complete fiction (despite it being marketed as a true story), but the author knew his subject matter well, and it had been an interesting read up until the point when the aliens had actually appeared.

The aliens. The author had not been able to keep his bizarre fetish from bleeding into his work in a strange and sudden manner. Sasha estimated that he had read about 30 pages worth of non-stop alien on human sex, and he had no way of knowing when or if it was going to end. He desperately wanted to stop reading, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the grotesquely humorous words. The effect was similar to that of passing by a car accident, except in this case, the cars were also having really weird sex.

So his options were this: he could stay physically comfortable and continue scarring himself mentally, or he could exchange mental discomfort for physical discomfort and go smoke outside. Smoking in the room was not an option, as the smell of smoke would seep into the sheets and he'd rather that Milla not wind up with a headache as a result of his actions.

He lay there for a few seconds, contemplating his options, the book levitating above his chest and his hands at his sides. Then the door opened, and Milla walked in, returning from her brief trip out into the small college town they were currently spending the night in. She hadn't been away for longer than an hour, so she probably hadn't gone too far. He was glad she was back- Milla would be a far better distraction from his book than a cigarette would.

She was not surprised to see him still awake. "How is your ankle, darling?" she asked, tossing her purse onto the side table by the entrance.

"It feels as good as it possibly can at this point," he replied as she kicked off her green high heels. "I should be able to walk on it unassisted by tomorrow."

"That's a relief! Levitating on a bad leg is no fun." She would know. Milla had once had to levitate herself two miles after getting shot in the leg during a sting operation gone wrong.

"I take it that the nightlife around here wasn't to your taste?" Sasha asked, watching her as she removed her grey-green tights. He didn't bother to pretend he wasn't watching her- she would've gone into to the bathroom if she really hadn't wanted him to see her undress.

She shrugged. "There's a few bars around here," she said as she rolled the nylons up and stuffed them into a small travel bag. She then began taking her jewelry off. "But everyone around here is so…young. I felt a little out of place." Sasha had figured that that would be the case when she had left, and Milla had probably known it too. She had still gone out, citing the fact that she had wanted to relax after the mission, and was interested to see what this town had to offer. Sasha had a sneaking suspicion that she had also wanted an excuse to wear her new black and green dress out on the town. He couldn't blame her for that- though the pattern on it wasn't particularly to his taste, that shade of green suited her perfectly, and the cut of the dress accented the curves of her body beautifully.

"Is your book any good?" she asked absently as she pulled an oversized t-shirt out of her suitcase. The shirt, an old, faded grey thing, was something that she had stolen from somebody else. Who that somebody else was, Sasha didn't know, as it was too big to have been his and too long to have ever belonged to Morry.

"It's…hmm." How could one describe a novel that contained detailed descriptions of both space-time theorem and alien genitalia? "It's not at all what I expected," he said as she slid her dress off over her head. Her bra and panties naturally matched the dress perfectly- green silk with a black lacy trim. Milla's obsession with color-coordinating her undergarments with her clothing was not something Sasha really understood, but he certainly didn't mind it.

"What do you mean? Did it turn out to be true?"

"I certainly hope not," he answered, his gaze still on her as she carefully put her dress back into her suitcase. He liked watching her, even when she wasn't walking around half-naked. Her movements were always so fluid and graceful, even when she was doing something as mundane as getting ready for bed.

She grabbed her t-shirt after she had zipped her suitcase up and put it back on the floor, heading to the small bathroom. "I'll be out in a minute," she said as she opened the door. "Tell me about it when I come out."

"Alright," he said as the door closed. Milla, though not particularly interesed in aliens or astropsionics, still enjoyed listening to him talk about his interests, although he did not know if she would find what he had to say hilarious or horrifying. A mix of both, most likely.

A Milla Minute usually lasted anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes, so Sasha, having finally decided against smoking, went back to reading his book, for lack of anything better to do while he waited. Strangely enough, the sex did come to an abrupt stop when ship suddenly had a massive mechanical failure that only the author's self-insert could solve. Things actually picked back up, and Sasha had wondered if perhaps the sex would be limited to that one out-of-place scene.

Fifteen minutes and some twenty pages later, things in the novel were unfortunately starting to heat back up, and Sasha braced himself for yet another round of anatomically-dubious alien lovemaking. Lucky for him, that was also when Milla emerged from the bathroom, clad in the oversized t-shirt and face free of make-up. She looked different without the make-up, older and more tired, but it didn't detract from her beauty one bit. This Milla, the one with dark circles under her eyes and lines at the corners of her mouth, was every bit the confident, intelligent leader that glamorous, fully made-up Milla was. But here, devoid of adornments and flash, she was softer, more relaxed. The walls that she put up with strangers and acquaintances were down, and Sasha, even after knowing her for years, still felt incredibly lucky to be one of the few people allowed to see her in this state.

Automatically, he stretched his right arm out on the bed. She settled herself in easily in the space between his body and his arm, the two of them fitting together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The fabric of the shirt she was wearing was thin, and he could feel the warmth of her body through it. She got into a comfortable position quickly, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder and her bare thigh crossed over his leg, taking care not to jostle his elevated ankle. She smiled sleepily at him, though he knew it would be some time before she actually fell asleep. "You're just in time," he said, inclining his head towards the open book floating above his chest.

Her gaze drifted from him to the book. "Is this a good part?" she asked.

"It's certainly something," he said as he angled the book a little more towards her to give her a better view of the words. They both read silently for about a minute before she spoke again, confusion in her eyes. "Oh my…" she said, her tone one of disbelief. "Why are the aliens…like that?"

"I fear to speculate."

"Turn the page, darling!" He did so, and she burst out in laughter upon seeing that there even more ridiculous acts of depravity written upon the it. She buried her face into his shoulder, her giggles muffled by his white cotton shirt. "Wasn't this supposed to be a true story?" she asked, still laughing.

"You do not believe that Dr. Stephen Crowley had an erotic alien encounter," he paused, examining the book, "involving multiple invertebrates and a technologically advanced three-pronged probing device?"

"Baby, I love you, but don't you ever say anything like that to me again."

"I was under the impression that you were an open-minded individual, Agent Vodello," he remarked wryly. "I suppose I was mistaken."

She gave a short scoff in response to this before resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. She hadn't fallen asleep-sleep was never something that came quickly or easily to either of them. She'd gone into her own mind, perhaps organizing the mental evidence they had acquired during the mission. He should be doing that himself probably, but he really didn't feel like dealing with anything work-related right now, and it wasn't like he couldn't do it in the morning, during their trip back to headquarters.

They lay there for some time, she in her trance and he still reading his terrible book, the silence between them content. Her hand rested on his chest, her fingers unconsciously playing with the material of his shirt. The room was a little hot, and it was likely that they both would have been better off temperature wise had they lain a bit further apart. It wasn't a huge problem, however, and Sasha genuinely preferred to have her close. The quiet exhale of her breath at his neck, the scent of her floral perfume still lingering on her skin, the press of her soft, small breasts against his chest- these were all sensations that he was more than happy to suffer through a little heat to experience.

The second batch of sex scenes eventually ended, but Sasha could take no more, knowing that there would be more of it in the pages to come. He shut the book, thoroughly annoyed with every online reviewer who had praised this book without even once mentioning its pornographic content. He telekinetically turned the book so that the back cover faced him. A photo of the author, a doughy, middle-aged man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a soul patch, smiled at him knowingly, as though he believed that his readers were as aroused by his writing as he was. Just looking at the guy made Sasha nauseous, and he thought that Milla would like to share his pain. He squeezed her hip, the action bringing her out of her mind and back into the real world. "Milla," he said as her eyes fluttered open. He pointed to the book with his free hand. "Look at this man."

She frowned, her nose wrinkling. "That's the author?"

"That is the man who stole $24.95 from me," Sasha replied, bitter that he had wasted his money.

"Hmm…" She looked at the author's photograph, scrutinizing his features. "He doesn't look flexible enough to bring his legs up over his ears," she mused innocently, "but sometimes you can't tell just by the looking at the face, you know?"

"Milla." He stared down at her in mock affront. "How could you make me picture that all over again?"

"You're the one who said that I should be more open-minded." She spoke matter-of-factly, but there was an undercurrent of humor in her voice.

"I'm going to see this man in my dreams," Sasha said despairingly.

"Oh, no you won't, baby!" She sat up and gave the book a psychic-poke, strong enough to propel it across the room. It hit the wall and Milla promptly psi-blasted it to pieces. Tattered scraps of paper fell to the carpeted floor alongside chunks of the cardboard cover. "That nasty man and his book are gone now," she declared, grinning down at him, her eyes glinting mischievously.

Sasha was usually opposed to destroying books, but he decided that in this case it was necessary. "I owe you my life and my sanity," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "How can I ever repay you?"

She considered him for a second, her grin turning into a slow, catlike smile. Then she leaned forward, putting her hands on his shoulders. He sat up and their lips met, her tongue slipping into his mouth. She tasted sweet, light and citrusy, likely remnants from the drink that she had had while out. He was suddenly very glad that he hadn't smoked that cigarette.

Her hand went from his shoulder to the back of his head, her fingers carding through his short, black hair. Her nails scraped against his scalp and he groaned into her mouth. He squeezed her hip and pulled the t-shirt she was wearing up, exposing her green silk panties.

She pulled away just as he was beginning to nibble on her lower lip. She moved to straddle him, and he sat up, the action causing his injured ankle to slide forward off of the pillows. There was pain, but it was minimal and worth it, because she was now seated in his lap, her strong thighs on either side of his. She rolled her hips once, twice, grinding herself down shamelessly onto his cock, already half-hard and straining against his pajama bottoms.

He slid his hands under her t-shirt and gripped her hips, hard enough to leave marks in the flesh as she moved. She moaned and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into another kiss. Her chest was pressed against his, and her nipples were already peaked and aroused through the thin fabric of her shirt. Again, she was sweet, almost intoxicatingly so, and he sucked on her tongue as she clutched the back of his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of the white material.

It was tempting to just let things go as they were-with her grinding herself down on him as they made out, dry-humping until the friction caused them both to finish. But coming in his pants like an inexperienced teenage boy was not something that appealed to Sasha at all, so he broke the kiss. "Camilla, wait a minute," he said, his voice a near whisper. "Stop."

Milla didn't need to be asked twice. She paused in her movements, and for a few seconds he just gazed at her, taking in her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, glossy and kiss-swollen, her eyes, their usual emerald green darkened to a near black, and her hair, long and dark, already tousled.

Smiling, she reached out and adjusted his glasses. He hadn't even noticed that they were askew. A memory came to him then, of the first time that they had made love, years ago. She'd playfully taken his glasses, and he, uncertain of what it was she was doing, had immediately put them back on.

"It's easier without them," she had said, amused.

"I won't be able to see you," he had replied, a bit annoyed that he'd had to explain to her at all. That answer, though obvious to him at the time, had struck Milla as touching, and he'd kept them on in all of their future trysts (although he did learn that some things were easier without them).

He lifted the hem of her shirt and she held her arms up cooperatively. The old garment was casually flung onto the floor once it was off, leaving her naked except for her underwear. He let his hands wander up her torso, the smoothness of her ochre skin broken only by the long slash of an old scar just under her breasts, the lone reminder of a fight from long ago. She sighed as he cupped her small breasts, gently squeezing them, enough for her to feel it but not quite as hard as she liked it. Her nipples, a deeper shade of brown than the soft flesh around them, were pert and tight, and he pinched one of them between his thumb and forefinger. Lightly, at first, and then, when she had hooked her arms around his shoulders again and drew him closer, harder, much harder, in the way that made her toes curl on the sheets. She turned her head and kissed him under his ear, and then trailed her lips along the square line of his jaw.

Unconsciously, she began rocking her hips again, an automatic response to the teasing her breasts were receiving from his hands. That would not do. He slapped her ass, the impact muffled by the silk of her panties. It was a poor choice of punishment, as she gasped, surprised and delighted by the action. She grasped at his shoulders, and her nails would no doubt leave marks there, even with his shirt acting as a barrier. "C'mon, Sasha," she said, speaking against his neck, lips soft and breath hot. "Please." She licked at his neck, her tongue sliding over his throat.

"Alright, alright," he said, the last syllable coming out in a hitch, a response to her sucking on a sensitive patch of skin. He let his left hand, the one that hadn't been twisting and pinching her nipple, drift down her body, over the curve of her hip, pausing at the waistband of her panties, sliding his fingers under it. It would have been easy to just rip the flimsy material right off of her, and Sasha was tempted to do so. That, however, would've been a waste of a perfectly good pair of underwear, so he decided against it, instead moving his hand down to cup her between her thighs.

She was damp, that he could feel through the silk, and she rocked against his hand the second he made contact. The friction wasn't enough, a mere tease of what would come once the barrier between his fingers and her cunt was removed. "Do it," she demanded softly into his ear, just before nibbling on the lobe.

As compelling as that order had been, he chose not to obey, at least not yet. He continued caressing her through her panties, circling his index finger around her still clothed clit, applying enough pressure for to feel an electric pulse of pleasure, enough to make her whine in frustration, but not enough to let her reach the climax she desired.

"Sasha…" There was a plea in her voice. She kissed him, sloppily this time, her usual finesse distracted. They broke apart and she attacked his neck with her mouth, grazing his throat with her teeth. He groaned, wanting her to bite down on his sensitive neck, but he knew that she wouldn't- not until he gave her what she wanted. Fine by him. He pushed the fabric of her panties aside and slid two fingers inside her slick heat. She was tight and wet, the walls of her cunt clamping down around his slender fingers. She cried out as his thumb began rubbing circles onto her clit in time with the thrusting of his fingers and the rocking of her hips. Vaguely, he could hear the bedsprings creaking as she bounced on his hand, fucking herself on his fingers. The teasing was over; he let her set the pace as he pressed his nose against her hair, breathing in her scent. She was close, that he could tell from the way her moans became shorter and more ragged, and when she was almost there her mouth dropped open and no sound came out at all, just wordless pleasure.

When she came, after a rough swipe of his thumb over her clit, she did so quietly, biting down on the space where his neck met his shoulder as she rode out her orgasm. He inhaled sharply and bucked his hips, his hard cock brushing against her ass. Her teeth remained clamped down on his shoulder throughout the entirety of her climax, and she didn't let go until the last shockwaves of pleasure had subsided. When it ended, she collapsed against him, breathless, her skin slick with sweat. He could feel the thumping of her heartbeat, and he rubbed her back soothingly with his free hand. After a moment, when she was kissing the teeth marks that she had left in his shoulder, he withdrew his fingers, wiping them off on the sheets next to him (an act that would surely annoy him later, but right now he had more pressing concerns). Once his hand was clean he let it join his other one, lazily running them through her hair and down her back.

She needed a minute to recover, her orgasm leaving her bone-weary on top of the previous events of the day and the late hour. That was alright. His erection wasn't going anywhere, not with the weight of her in his lap, not with the taste of her still lingering in his mouth, and not while her scent, musky and floral, filled the air. His ankle throbbed a little, but that too, was fine. After a minute she lifted her head, her eyes half-lidded and her cheeks still red, and kissed him, slowly and sweetly.

The kiss ended and she moved down his body with no prompting from him, her hands trailing down his lean chest. He spread his legs a bit further apart, giving her room to settle in between them as she pulled his pajama bottoms and boxers down to his thighs. His cock sprang out and Sasha gave a grunt of relief, not realizing just how uncomfortable he had been until he'd been released from the confines of his own clothing. Milla grasped his cock the second it was revealed, giving it a few tugs, licking her lips as he groaned low in his throat. Her grip on him was firm in the way that he liked, not too tight, but she didn't jerk him off for too long. Her hands were dry- they'd always been prone to dryness, no matter how often she put hand cream on them, and she was quick to add her mouth to the work that her hand was doing.

She took his cock into his mouth as far as it would go, tracing her tongue along the shaft in abstract patterns. It took all of his willpower not to buck his hips up into the wet heat of her mouth, and he grasped helplessly at the bed sheets. He may have said her name; though he wasn't sure if he had done it in his head or out loud.

She pulled back for air, her hand back on his shaft, saliva acting as a lubricant as she jerked him off, her other hand rolling his balls. He reached out, putting a hand on her hair as she sucked on the head, tonguing at the slit. He had no intention of trying to push her head down (such an act was distasteful); he only wanted to card his fingers through her hair. A few black strands had fallen into her face as she bobbed her head, and he pushed them back, giving himself a better view of her face. She glanced up at him, her eyes warm and affectionate, and he could only imagine what he must look right now. His face was hot and no doubt flushed, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were probably askew again. It was vulnerable look, and years ago he likely would've averted his eyes in an attempted to conceal that weakness. Not so now. He'd known her long enough and intimately enough to become comfortable with all aspects of their relationship, even the ones that he had shied away from initially.

He didn't last much longer, and she kept her mouth on him as he came, stroking him through his orgasm and swallowing every last drop. Perhaps he should have been embarrassed, but he wasn't. If Milla had wanted to draw it out, she would have drawn it out with teasing kisses and gentle caresses instead of hard sucks and quick strokes. Breathing heavily, he lay back on the pillows, the exhaustion that followed a good orgasm settling into his bones. He watched as Milla rose, her smile content as she sat next to him. He smiled back as she reached out and swiped his bangs off of his forehead. He lay still, able to ignore his surroundings and just focus on Milla, noting the marks on her hips left behind by his fingers, her tousled and tangled hair, and the expression on her beautiful face, one of sleepy, sated satisfaction.

It was the pain in his shoulder of all things that brought him back to reality. The ring of teeth Milla had left would likely be there for a few days, not that that bothered him, as he had plenty of sweaters that would cover it until it faded. More troublesome was the pain in his ankle. It had returned, likely due to the fact that he had been more careless than he should have during their previous activities. Milla glanced at his bandaged ankle, picking up on his pain. "Do you need some more Advil, baby?" she asked gently as he pulled his pajama bottoms back up.

He shrugged, and she took that answer as an affirmative, opening the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. Across the room, the door to the mini-fridge opened, and a bottle of over-priced water floated towards the bed as Milla poured out two pills into her hand. He took them and swallowed them dry, refusing the water Milla offered.

"That's not good for you," she said, frowning as she twisted the cap off of the water bottle.

"That water costs eight dollars," he pointed out.

She took a swig anyway. "The agency can pay for it."

"It's the principal of the thing, darling," he said. She rolled her eyes fondly, this being a variation of an old argument. She set the water on the nightstand and stretched her arms above her head, much like a cat would after a long nap. Her back was arched, and her breasts, still bare, stuck out, her nipples pert. Had he been a younger man, the sight likely would've gone straight to his dick, and a second round would have ensued.

But he was old and tired, and as things were, he could only admire Milla's lovely form. He was actually becoming quite uncomfortable. The sweat from their bodies had seeped into the sheets, and while it hadn't bothered him while he and Milla were going at it, it wasn't something that he could ignore now that he was laying in it. He felt sticky with it, and that feeling was only exacerbated by the stuffy heat of the room. There was also that round, wet spot to the left of him, where he had thoughtlessly wiped his hand off to worry about as well.

He wanted to get up and take a shower, regardless of his injured ankle, and he was about to do so when Milla laid herself down next to him in the same manner she had half an hour before. She passed out, head on his chest, too exhausted to care about the state of the bed. He doubted that she had intended to do so. She knew that he would want a shower at some point, and she had probably wanted to take one herself. But the last bit of her energy had finally been sapped, and she had fallen asleep.

At 12:42 am, Sasha was considering whether or not a shower was worth both causing his ankle pain and disrupting the sleep of his beloved partner.

At 12:43 am, he sighed and shut the lights off.