AN: Another pairing of mine that I absolutely adore, and they'll probably be appearing in Tension at some point; for now, though, they'll be confined to this one-shot until I get my fly-away muse under control. I really wanted some Vaz/Naomi stuff and was sad to discover there wasn't really any. So, voila! Happy reading!
Stars and Sunlight - Part I
The ship was all wrong. She couldn't see the stars, couldn't see anything besides steel and grey. It felt like a tomb.
Worse still, she wasn't with the rest of Kilo-5. She was required to eat in the Spartan mess and sleep in Spartan quarters, away from Vaz and Mal and Lian. She was with strangers, being stared at by the Spartan-IVs and hearing whispered rumours and gossip about the fabled Original Spartans.
Infinity had windows, of course, but they were far away from Spartan Town, in the officers' quarters. Too far, too restricted. And even further from the marine barracks, further from her friends.
Train, observe, learn, and report back. That was their objective. Osman had doubts about the senior officers aboard the ship and their ability to follow crucial orders—orders Naomi wasn't even sure how to feel about. Meeting her father had been the first time she'd ever thought ill of Halsey, and now, if the reports were to be believed, the woman who'd made her what she is today was helping the Sangheili attack the UNSC. Kilo-5 had been placed on the ship under the guise of simple transfer orders from the higher-ups to boost Infinity's already impressive military might, and as far as she could tell no one thought anything of it—they were going into the most dangerous operations and missions, after all.
Much too complicated in her opinion, so she decided not to think about any of that. Instead she trained, and watched, and listened. And at night, she dreamt of stars and russian accents and how much she missed her friends.
"Drink much, Petty Officer?"
Boy, she missed her friends.
She looked up at the voice, annoyed at another interruption—she'd been eating her supper, tucked away in one of the corners of the mess hall, content and quiet. Naomi had been off-duty for a total of eight minutes before someone decided to bother her.
They always asked silly questions, like she was an encyclopedia they could flip through whenever it pleased them, learning about the poor, lonely life of the prudish Spartan Originals. She couldn't guess at the reason, but they seemed amused at her answers, whatever they happened to be. It made her feel like she was excluded from some perpetual inside joke. Vaz and Mal never did that to me.
Markus, a Spartan-IV with dark red armour and an ego the size of the ship he served on, was the owner of the invading voice. From Team Tempest, the one she'd been assigned to "advise". He had a plastic bottle in his hand, but she decided that from the smell, it wasn't the regulation-approved energy shakes available in the mess. He was flanked by two other men, Pudi and Woloch, also from Tempest, and also looking like they'd shared a few swigs of whatever was in the bottle. She wondered why they were being so open with the alcohol—the last time Palmer caught one of her Spartans drinking contraband liquor, she made them do laps around the gyms for all of third shift, which was usually when the Spartans were allowed to sleep.
"I drink water," she replied. Her thoroughly Spartan answer put his face in a knot, as she knew it would.
"Nah, I mean drink. Aqua-vitae, man. You don't par-take?" he waved the bottle in a large arc, spilling a few drops on the table. She set down her utensils and stood up, taking her half-eaten food towards the waste dispenser. She'd already lost her appetite.
"No, sir. And we aren't allowed it on the ship, either."
"Some rules are worth breaking, don't you think?" He took a swig and grinned at her. Most weren't so bold as him, and it annoyed her to no end that he seemed to completely disregard the caution the other Spartans employed when speaking to her.
Just leave me alone. If I wanted to talk, I wouldn't be sitting with strangers.
"Some," she agreed. "But not this one."
His head cocked. "You gonna tell? Why don't you take a sip first and see?"
"Yeah, Naomi, take a drink! Live a little!" Woloch piled on. The way he said her name came out as No-mee, and her patience began to wear.
"No, thank you." She turned her back and began washing her plate and fork, trying to ignore them.
Snickering came from one of the men. "Oh-ho, not interested in him, eh?" Pudi asked, and she saw in her periphery that he took a step towards her. "Is he too pale for you? Want something more exotic, I guess?"
"Nah man—come on, Naomi—" Another step, this time from both Woloch and Markus. "Don't you wanna have a good time?"
"I was, until you interrupted me," she said, her voice flat. Almost sounding angry now.
"What were you eating?" He was right behind her now, the bottle tipped almost parallel to the floor, and when he leaned over to over her shoulder to look at the soapy water, some of the foul-smelling alcohol splashed onto her standard-issue PT pants.
"Step back," she ground out, letting the plate fall into the sink before she broke it.
"Ha ha!" Woloch burst out. "She don't want you, Markus. Step back." Woloch moved to the man's right, an elbow stuck out in an attempt to shove into Markus's position in front of her.
"All of you," she amended. "Please step away, now."
"Ooooh, blondie's mad now—"
"The fuck are you doing?"
Her eyes snapped up and she looked over her shoulder, past the Spartans, and landed on the person she wanted to see most right now. Slavic features were pulled together in a dangerous grimace that only a Russian could accomplish, the ugly scar on his jaw only adding to the overall hellish expression.
"The fuck are you? Go back to your cage, Helljumper, with the rest of you." Markus—or asshole, if Naomi was being indulgent—turned a sloppy one-eighty to face Vaz, more alcohol littering the floor and making the mess smell like the bathroom floor of a bar.
Not that I know what that smells like.
"No, I think I'll stay here." Despite the look on his face, he sounded calm, his accent clipped and muted. Like he was choosing each word very carefully.
"Not much room in here, I'm 'fraid," the lead Spartan said, pulling off the ODST's relaxed tone far less gracefully.
"Then you can leave."
Markus dropped heavily into a mess bench, his back to the table, and took a swig, making sure not to break eye contact. "No, I think I'll stay." The others, more reluctantly, did the same, less sure of themselves as they had been before.
Vaz looked at her, ignoring them, his expression softening marginally. "Go for a run with me, Naomi?"
"Yes," she said quickly, patting her hands on a towel before moving away from the sink.
"The fuck?" Markus spat, glaring at her. "Dog walks in and you jump off your feet to follow?"
"Yes," was all she said, moving around the Spartans and towards the door. Towards him.
"No, actually." The man stood up, heading for the door as well—for what, exactly, she wasn't sure. But on his current path, he'd collide with her in a few seconds.
Before that could happen, the ODST was there, in front of her. Markus stood at least a head taller than him, but the fact that the russian had to crane his neck to glare at him didn't diminish the effect.
"Stay the fuck away."
"Make me, little man."
"Stop," she said. Not loudly, like the others, but enough to be heard. She grabbed Vaz's hand, tugging him in the opposite direction. "Come on, let's go for a run."
Vaz didn't take his eyes off of Markus, even when she pulled hard enough to make him stumble a little to catch his balance.
"I will be informing Commander Palmer of this incident, Lieutenant," Naomi said, her and Vaz now poised at the door frame. "About all of you."
"Hey, wait, we didn't do anything—" Pudi said quickly, a look of panic on his face. "Just some fun—"
"Goodnight, Team Tempest. Drills will start for you three at oh-four-thirty tomorrow morning." She pulled Vaz out of the room before they could say anything else, and jammed the button until the door closed behind them.
She let go of his fingers, and he ran an irritated hand through his short hair, leaning against the wall. "Did they hurt you?"
She raised a brow. "Do you think I'd let them?"
His mouth twitched. "No. But they looked..." He shook his head. "They looked like they might have tried."
"Silly boys getting drunk," she said, waving him off. "Early drills will sort them out."
"I saw the way they looked at you," he said, his voice quiet and filled with something close to rage. "They wanted—"
She looked at him, watching him clamp up in fury. She grabbed his hand again, squeezing his fingers. "I'm okay, Vasily."
Vaz nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders with her answer. "You still hungry? We can grab food somewhere if you like." He shoved off of the wall, and she followed him, easily matching his stride.
She allowed her face to scrunch up in mild disgust. "Not really. Whatever was in that bottle's given me a headache. It smelled awful."
He looked up at her, concerned. "Did you want to sleep? We can go somewhere else if you don't want to go to the Spartan barracks."
She thought for a minute, trying to think of somewhere to go. She smiled when the answer came to her a moment later. "Can we got to the Atrium?"
He grinned back. "Of course, moyo solnishko."
As he pulled her towards the tram system, she tried—and failed—to repeat the word he'd said.
"What does… solsh—sol-nees—"
"Moyo solnishko—" he said, more slowly, "—means my sunshine." He looked at the long braid running down her back. "Your hair, it reminds me of Earth's sun."
And there it was. The anger and the annoyance and the lonely ball of lead in her stomach disappeared instantly, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling that made breathing difficult, even though she was walking at a snail's pace.
"Mo-yo solnish-ko," she stumbled, and his grin widened. "I like it. You'll have to teach me more russian words."
"Da," he answered. "Come on, we'll go to the Atrium."
It was "night" in the Atrium, the panels of glass reflecting the stars outside and the artificial sunlight having been shut off. The grass was bathed in the light of a fake moon somewhere above them, and she felt her body relax under the pale light. The smell of trees and damp plants reminded her of Reach, and thoughts of her old home eased the tension she'd been carrying around for the past few weeks.
"Why were you in Spartan Town?" she asked Vaz, who'd spread out his jacket on the grass and pulled her down to sit next to him. They had scrapped the idea of going for a run—she wanted to be close to him, to soak up every moment she had with him before he had to leave again.
"I couldn't sleep, and there weren't any drills today, so I wanted to see you." His rough hand held hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "I haven't seen you in over a week."
She let her head rest on his shoulder, and Naomi smiled when he pressed his cheek to her hair. "I missed all of you. Mal and Lian—but you especially."
"Must be around bad company if you're missing Mal," he whispered, and she felt a small laugh escape her.
"It is. They look at me like… like I'm a lab experiment." His hand stilled on hers, his grip tightening. "They ask me questions all the time and whisper about me. The only one who doesn't seem to care that I'm a Spartan is Commander Palmer." She liked Palmer. The woman had zero tolerance for idiocy or incompetence from her soldiers, and was the only person who spoke to her like she was a human being.
If everyone talks to you like you're a machine, does it make you one?
"They train well enough, and are good soldiers, but… they're strangers. I don't know how to act around them, not like I do around you guys."
He pulled away from her hair to look at her. "I'll beat anyone into the ground who mistreats you." His tone was serious, but she couldn't help but be both amused and touched. He'd break every bone in his body before successfully beating up a Spartan, but the notion was nonetheless admirable.
She laughed, and his face darkened. "I don't think that will be very easy with the IVs."
"Then you can hold them down while I beat them," he amended, a rueful smile on his face. "I'm sorry you've been pulled away from the rest of us. I have to put up with other ODSTs, but at least I know a few of them."
She touched his cheek, feeling stubble rasp against her fingers. "I don't want to talk about them anymore." No more thoughts of the odd men and women she had to be around. Vaz was here with her, now, and that was all that mattered.
"What do you want to talk about?" His face moved in her palm, and he kissed her fingers, laying a hand over top of hers. Her heart sped up at his actions, and she felt nervous and excited at the same time. It only strengthened her resolve to say her next words.
"I don't want to talk at all," she murmured, and he looked over at her.
"Naomi?" She loved how he said her name, the vowels rolling around in his mouth like marbles, harsh and soft all at once.
She looked at his mouth, and saw his pupils dilate in her periphery. "I want… I want you to kiss me, like before." His face was close enough now that the breath he blew out brushed against her cheeks, and then he pressed close to her, his mouth overlapping hers.
His hands slipped into her hair, and they rolled off his jacket, onto the grass. Vaz shifted onto his back, and she curled up beside him, making sure not to break their kiss. It was slow and gentle, like it always was when they first kissed, but laying here with him, alone for the first time in weeks, made her want more than just slow and gentle.
She pressed her body into his, molding her lips more harshly over his mouth. He grunted at the sudden increase in pressure, and she suddenly worried that she was hurting him until he pressed back, sighing into her lips.
Slowly, her body made its way on top of his, their chests and arms touching and their legs twining together. If Vaz minded her weight on him, he made no complaint—in fact, he groaned when her breasts pushed into his chest, a deep rumble that she felt more than heard.
This wasn't entirely new for them. Kissing had occasionally gone beyond a few timid pecks of the lips, and when it did it made her feel dizzy and sick and exhilarated all at the same time. It was frightening, to feel so intense, so excited that she had trouble catching her breath, and it was then that she usually pulled away, afraid and shivering with… something, she didn't know what to call it.
She felt all of those again, every emotion that pressed against her ribs and made her feel out of control, but listening to Vasily's harsh breathing and feeling his hard body against her own made her decide that this, whatever it was, was worth pushing outside of her comfort zone—hell, a few years ago she wouldn't have even been willing to hold hands with someone, let alone roll around in the grass and make out with them.
Naomi pulled away for a moment, catching her breath and looking down at her ODST. His hazel eyes had a glazed look to them, but he blinked a few times and passed a hand over his face.
"Sorry, I got a little excited," he said immediately. He ran an idle hand through her hair, eyes darting over her features.
"No," she whispered, and sat up. Her legs fell on either side of his stomach, and she saw his eyes widen with the movement. "I like it."
He sat up, a hand in her hair, and kissed her again. He was more rough now, less restrained. It made her shiver. Her hands pulled on his shirt, and he raised his arms to let her take it off.
She broke away again, looking down at his body. "You're so warm," she murmured, tracing a finger over his skin. He sucked in a harsh breath when she circled around a nipple. His body was hard, his bones threaded over with lean, tight muscle, the graceful arrangement only interrupted by scars—and he had his fair share of them.
He sat still, watching her face as she moved a hand over his torso. When she got to his flat stomach, she felt his belly quiver when she feathered her fingers over his skin. So many reactions to touch, she marveled, becoming more bold. It was exciting to watch him respond to every touch of hers, doubly so because he was reacting to her.
She wondered, dimly, what it would feel like if he did the same to her.
Naomi met his eyes, which were half-lidded and dark with arousal. Her position on his lap gave her further evidence of his excitement, and when she shifted her position he let out a low moan.
"Vasya?"
"Solnishko," he murmured back, his hands on her arms.
"I want you to make love to me." The words shook as she said them, tiny and scared, but she said them.
He blinked again, shock clear on his features. "Naomi?" Vaz swallowed, his throat contracting painfully. "Are you… are you sure?"
"Yes," she answered, and a bubble of terror rose in her chest at the decision. She did her best to push it back down.
She was more sure of it than she thought possible. Hearing his voice, the way he said her name, the way he touched her… she wanted it to happen. She'd wanted it for a long while, really, but fear had always stopped her. Fear of failing, of letting someone be that close, of being terrible at it—she knew all of those things still made her afraid, but she wouldn't be alone. Vaz would be there, as he always was.
She was a Spartan. She would not let fear stop her now.
"Lie down," he murmured into her ear, and she swallowed hard, nodding. They switched their positions carefully, almost in slow motion—Vaz moved with deliberation, and more gently than she thought someone could possibly move.
Now on her back, she stared up at him, trying to quell the shudder running through her bones. He moved back down, kissing her again. He was slow and soft, as they had been before, and all he did for a while was kiss her. Their bodies were flush together, but he didn't move to touch her or do anything besides press his lips against hers. It was nice, wonderful really, but… it left her wanting, now that she'd said the words to him.
This isn't making love, she thought, almost impatiently. I looked it up.
With flaming cheeks and a deep-rooted embarrassment, she'd looked it up. Watched on her small data-pad as two people moved as one, fluid and primal and close. And they did not have clothes on. That had been what stuck out to her—how bare they were, how close together.
Another minute, and she grew annoyed at the lack of progress. She pressed into his mouth, urging him to continue. "Vaz," she said around his lips. "Come on." She'd decided this would happen, dammit, and the longer she waited, the more time it gave her to chicken out.
He pulled away, a big grin on his face. "I was waiting for that," he said, and then ducked his head again. Except now his mouth met her throat instead of her lips, and she felt his tongue dart out to taste her skin.
She understood now. He was going at her pace, waiting until she asked for more. No rush, no pressure—she controlled everything that happened, could speed up or slow down or stop completely if she wanted.
I love you, Vasily. I'll have to learn how to say that in russian.
She gasped, and her body arched into his without thinking. He traced a damp path down the column of her throat, slowly pulling away the collar of her shirt to gain access to her collarbone. She shifted under him, feeling her body begin to quiver again, but for a reason other than fear. Naomi did not want him to stop.
You're in control, she thought again. What was the next step? She wasn't sure of that, but what she did know was that her PT shirt was getting in the way.
Naomi grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged upwards, breaking Vaz's attention on her skin for a moment before she pulled it over her head, tossing it somewhere behind her. He looked down at her body, now only covered by a bra, and she felt a shudder go through him. "Bozhe moi," he muttered, and she watched his throat convulse in another swallow.
She giggled. Whatever he'd said, it sounded encouraging. She reached up and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him back down. He groaned and went to the skin of her stomach, pressing his mouth to her body, far less gentle than before.
"More," she whispered to him, her back arching. "More."
Naomi had her leg thrown over his waist, facing him as she traced circles on his chest. She looked sleepy and content—the happiest he'd ever seen her. It took off years of stress and worry etched on her face, and made her look painfully beautiful in the near non-existent light.
"Vasily," she murmured, giving him a quick kiss. "I didn't know."
"Didn't know what?" he asked, and gave her a kiss of his own. He couldn't help himself—for the first time he'd been allowed to let himself feel the overwhelming urge to touch her, and now he couldn't stop. "Your skin is so soft, solnishko," he told her, letting his hand drift over the curve of her waist and up her ribs.
"I never knew… it would feel so good," she confessed, a blush colouring her pale skin.
He smiled. "It only gets better. The first few times it will hurt. Did I hurt you?" He'd asked her before, when he'd first joined with her, but her only response had been an incoherent shake of her head, urging him to continue. The thought made his heart speed up. She'd been so eager, so excited, and he'd had trouble keeping his head on straight during it.
"It was nothing, not compared to everything else," she assured him. "Does it… hurt for you?"
He laughed softly. "No, far from it." Vaz pulled a blade of grass from her hair. It looked almost silver in the light of the Atrium's moon, and he wondered if he should find another nickname for her. She always did love the stars.
"Did you..." she trailed off, looking away. "Did I do everything okay?"
The grin threatened to split his face, and he grabbed her chin, pulling her eyes back to his. "You couldn't have been more wonderful, Naomi." It was the truth—he'd never felt more connected to someone, to anyone, before. Not even Chrissie. Sex had always just been simply that—sex, a way to pass the time before jumping into hell again. He'd never made love to a woman he loved, truly loved, and now he couldn't get enough.
Her smile was beaming, his nickname becoming more fitting with each passing second. No, he decided, she definitely reminded him of sunshine. "I was… a bit rough, though," she said, blushing again. She traced a crescent mark on his shoulder, where she'd drawn blood in a moment of passion. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"It..." He looked at her, frowning. How could he explain it to someone who's never been with anyone else, or felt anything remotely close to what she'd just experienced?
"It what?" She looked worried at his expression, her voice growing more quiet.
"I just don't know how to explain. It isn't—I didn't mind it," he said slowly, unsure of his words.
"But I drew blood," she said, curiosity replacing worry.
"Sometimes, when you're with someone—being rough doesn't hurt. It… it can feel good."
Her head cocked, clearly not understanding. "How?"
He pressed his face to her throat, inhaling the smell of her, before he bit down gently on the skin of her neck. She flinched, and he placed a kiss over top of where he'd bitten her.
"Did it hurt?" he asked, biting her again, less gently this time.
"Yes," she whispered, a shiver going through her.
"But you liked it."
"Yes," she repeated, pulling away from him. "Why, though? Pain doesn't feel good, not usually," she added, brushing her fingers over the mark on her neck.
He shrugged. "I don't know, solnishko. It just does. Small things like that… they can make it more exciting."
She frowned, her Spartan way of thinking slowly rearranging before his eyes. "There is so much I don't know," Naomi whispered, her voice growing sad. "So much I never knew about."
"You can learn now," he murmured, fiddling with a stray strand of her hair. He didn't want her to be sad about what she'd missed, especially not right now. "I can show you."
She looked at him, her smile growing. This was a new smile from her—he decided it might be his favourite one. This one was filled with challenge and excitement… and arousal.
"Show me again, Vasya," she whispered, pulling him closer to her. Her leg tightened around his waist, pressing their hips intoxicatingly close together.
"Always, moyo solnishko." He leaned in to kiss her again, but she put a finger to his mouth, stopping him for a moment.
"Actually, just one more thing." Her mouth twisted, like she was debating on saying something or not. "Is this what you felt, all the time?"
"You mean wanting to touch you?" He bit the finger on his lips, and she grinned at him, poking him in the cheek with the damp digit.
"Yes. It feels like… like I never want to leave the Atrium."
He laughed. "I don't either. But, yes, in a way. It was hard to stop kissing you sometimes." Hard was an understatement, but he kept that to himself. "I don't regret waiting, Naomi. Not at all."
"I'd been afraid I wouldn't be able to do it," she murmured. "That I'd mess it all up, or get scared and push you away… which I've been doing already."
He scooped up her hand in his. "You aren't alone, solnishko. I'm here, whenever you need me. Even if that means you have to keep me at arm's length while I pant after you like a dog—" She laughed at his comment, and he returned the smile. "I will be with you."
"Vasya?"
"Mmm?" he hummed, letting his eyes close for a moment and simply listening to her talk.
"How do you say 'I love you' in russian?"
"Ya lyublyu tebya."
She frowned. "I think 'I love you' is a lot easier to say."
He shook his head and opened his eyes. "Russian is better, more flexible. Harder to learn for englishmen," he stressed, his accent drawing out. "But worth it."
"Ya leo-bl-yoo teb-ya," she said slowly, rolling her tongue dramatically in her mouth.
He laughed. "Ya lyublyu tebya, moyo solnishko."
She snuggled into his shoulder. "Sounds much prettier when you say it."
"Russian is not pretty," he corrected, feigning indignation. "Russian is strong."
She giggled. "Sorry, it sounds strong when you say it."
"Da. You learn quickly."
She kissed him again, long and slow. When she pulled away, his heart was pounding against his ribs.
"You were going to show me something?" she asked, tracing the dark hairs on his chest.
He pressed his mouth to her ear, and she shivered when he spoke. "Lie on your back again, solnishko, and I will."
AN: My sources for russian were largely based in Google Translate and Yahoo Answers, so if there are any mistakes, please yell at me for them and I will fix them. Also, this was totally inspired by Heat in Freezing's Autonomy and Cor Tenebrae's Ride of the Valkyrie, so if you haven't read those yet, I highly recommend them.
(PS - I got my story cover from spacetelescope images / opo9926a / )