Chapter Three - Interruptions
He really shouldn't be shocked; ever since Palmer had entered his room he'd felt the undercurrent of tension, electric enough to keep his heart rate up above normal. And then she'd pulled her shirt off and touched him… but he was still somehow too stunned to move.
She pulled away from his mouth, far too soon, and looked down at him. "Struck dumb, captain?" she whispered, grinning.
Say something. God, her lips were so soft. All of her looked soft, even with how fit she was. He had an overpowering urge to touch her, to feel if she was as inviting as she looked.
Her hands cupped his face, and a bit of the excess cream on her fingers left a trail on his skin. "Is this all it takes to make you quiet?" You still haven't said anything.
"Why did you do that?" he finally managed.
That was the wrong thing to say. Her smile slackened. "Because I wanted to?" she replied, her tone becoming dry and challenging.
"Sorry, no—" He shook his head. "I didn't mean that, or I meant—not that way. It's just—this is really against regulation—"
"Half the ship thinks we're sleeping together anyway," she pointed out. "And you're really gonna cite regs at me, Mister Duck Pyjamas?"
"They do not think that," he argued.
"For a forty-seven year-old man, you're very naive."
He frowned at the mention of his age, remembering the significant age gap between them. "Sarah—"
"You want this," she interrupted him, smoothing a thumb over his mouth. He tasted the acrid, herbal flavour of the cream on her skin. Even her fingers were soft... "I sure as hell do."
"But why?" Shut up shut up stop talking shut up—
"Because you've been on my side from the beginning," she murmured. He decided he liked quiet, thoughtful Palmer. "You're not some drooling idiot who stares at my ass all day—you give a shit about me."
"That's not entirely true—"
"Oh?"
"I do stare at your ass a lot."
He finally was able to say something right, because she burst out laughing. "Kiss me, Tom."
Yes. This was good. He did as he was ordered, smoothing his fingers over her jaw and kissing her. She wrapped her arms around his neck—she was as warm as he thought she would be—and melted into him.
His breath hitched in his throat when he felt her breasts press into his chest, and her nipples were poking into his skin, firm from the cold air of his room—and hopefully, arousal, too.
They shared a few simple, breathy kisses before Palmer's tongue caressed his bottom lip. He answered with his own, feeling her invade his mouth and pressed back, meeting blow for blow. He slid his hands down her sides and around her waist, gripping her hips. He pulled her closer and she him, her fingers digging lightly into his shoulders.
Already his heart was pounding hard against his ribs. Somehow this felt so right, and it sure as hell felt good. If it had to be anyone on this ship that'd he share his bed with, it only made sense that it would be Palmer; she was the closest friend he had, a trusted officer and companion. She was also the most honest person he'd met, with possibly the exception of Chyler, and if she said she wanted this, with him... it was enough to make his blood boil.
"Doesn't take much to get you going, does it?" She was talking. Which meant she had broken the kiss, which also meant he hadn't noticed until now and had quite possibly been sucking on air for a moment, too dazed to realise.
He also then noticed that he had a rather painful hard-on pressed into her hip. "You... there isn't much in the way of female company on the Infinity."
"I saw Ensign Sasha Petrov eyeing you up this morning," she murmured in his ear, nipping at his earlobe. "Particularly your arms. She'd fuck you if you looked at her sideways."
He tried not to let on that he was on the verge of a heart attack from her ministrations when he replied. "Are you jealous, Palmer?"
"She doesn't have your cock pressed against her stomach, so no, I'm not." She moved to kiss his throat. "Chair," she murmured into his neck, moving them towards his office chair.
He stumbled back and fell into it, and then she was straddling him and holy fuck she was warm. Lasky took in the sight of Palmer sitting on his thighs, half-naked, with a lovely pink flush colouring her neck and collarbone. Her grin was that of a successful hunter finally trapping its prey, and it turned him on more than he thought physically possible.
He ran his hands up her waist, revelling in the feel of her firm skin, and moulded his hands over her breasts. She moaned and leaned into him, and the slopes of flesh moved softly in front of his face. On instinct, he pressed his lips to one, drawing the nipple into his mouth. She gasped above him, clutching his head and digging her nails into his scalp. Spurred on by her reaction, he massaged her other breast with his free hand, his other hand resting firmly on her exposed hip.
He'd almost forgotten how overwhelming it was, to be as wrapped up in another person as they were. His whole being was focused on Sarah—the sounds she made, the feel of her body rubbing against his, the smell of her skin and hair. The totality of it was enough to daze him... and drive him on. Palmer was grinding her hips into his, a playful mimic that made his fingers begin to pull on the bottom of her suit, eager to see the rest of her body.
"Sir, I've been told to infor—oh, uh..."
Roland.
It seemed that he would never catch a fucking break. Breathing heavily, he detached his mouth from Palmer's body, easing back into the chair. Sarah had gone completely rigid, her hands still twined in his hair. She looked shocked, as if only just realising what they'd been doing.
"What do you want, Roland?" he ground out.
"Um..." He caught a glimpse of the AI on his desk under Sarah's arm. Roland had scrunched his face up in a painful-looking frown. "It's... not urgent—"
"Tell me, or I'll have you decommissioned."
The AI fidgeted, an oddly human gesture. He must really be taken aback by the sight. "It's just that Spartan Tedra Grant has been admitted to the infirmary for a broken arm and her Fireteam leader is requesting to speak to Commander Palmer. I'd last seen her in your quarters, so..."
Palmer finally unwound her fingers from his head and let them fall limply into her lap. "I forgot Grant was injured," she said breathlessly, running a hand through her hair. Her breasts swayed with the movement, and it took all he had not to press his lips to them again.
He leaned back and looked at her. Her face was flushed and her lips were parted. The thought of her leaving now was physically painful. "Does that mean... you have to leave?"
"They'll suspect... debriefing doesn't take this long." She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his and meeting his eyes. "And if this goes any further, I mean to take my time."
His fingers dug into her waist. "Keep saying stuff like that and I'll lock you in here."
"An intriguing thought," she whispered, and ghosted her lips across his. "I have to go, Tom."
"Okay," he muttered, feeling his heart sink in disappointment.
"Can you let go?"
"Oh." He managed to pry his hands off her body, and his arms fell uselessly to his sides. "Sorry."
She slipped off his lap and did her suit back up, hiding all of that lovely pink skin he'd been kissing a moment ago. She fixed her hair and took a deep breath, trying to will away the colour on her cheeks.
"I'll be back tonight," she promised, her brown eyes glinting. And then she was gone, his door swinging closed. He was too disappointed to even enjoy the sight of her walking away.
He breathed out deeply through his nose, trying to calm down. His heart was still beating raggedly, and his skin felt cold without her on top of him.
He glanced at the clock. 1752—there'd be a meal call soon. And Palmer usually ate with him in the officer galley.
This will be interesting.
ODSTs and Spartans were the only people she knew of that laughed at the sight of their limbs being broken—likely because that meant that they themselves were still alive. Injury was lucky, really, as pain was the surest indicator of life. And sure enough, when she entered Grant's room, she was smiling like the Cheshire cat.
"Do I get a medal for breaking carbide inside my own body?" Grant said to Palmer in her lilting voice, grinning down at her cast. "Or do the hinge-heads get that honour for doing me the favour of destroying my arm?"
Sarah grinned back, relieved to see how cheerful the other woman was. "I'll have to contact brass and ask them to draft up a new medal for breaking something they said was indestructible."
Every member of Fireteam Majestic was in the infirmary, all of them still clad in armour. The effect it had on the doctors was akin to putting a fox in a chicken coop; they all fidgeted and didn't know where to look, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of bulky strength inhabiting the small room Tedra had been admitted to.
DeMarco stepped beside her. "Debriefing went well?" he asked quietly, with that small, ever-present smirk on his face.
Oh, fuck. That. She'd been too busy dry-humping Lasky to do much in the way of after-action paperwork. "As boring as ever," she lied, making sure to keep her voice level. "Roland said you needed to speak to me?"
"Your bio-suit's loose," he continued, ignoring what she said. She frowned, reaching behind her and felt at the seam—yep, one was open. Guess she should have taken more care in doing it up before leaving Tom's office.
"And now it's not," she replied, making sure to latch the open clasp together firmly. "Is that what you were wanting to speak to me about? My bio-suit?"
DeMarco's smile grew wider, shaking his head. "No, I just thought it was worth noting."
She had the strong urge to punch his big bald head, and silently congratulated herself when she managed to keep her hands by her sides. "Am I going to have grey hair by the time you say something meaningful, Fireteam Leader, or can I expect something relevant within the week?"
"I need a replacement while Grant is healing," he responded quickly, and to her glee he looked nervous. Good. He was still scared of her. He just needed a bit of a reminder once and a while about who was in charge. "Shouldn't be too long before she's back on her feet, but until then I can't have my Fireteam one Spartan short."
"There was a batch of newbies that came in yesterday. You can have your pick from there; I haven't gotten around to assigning them to fireteams yet."
DeMarco frowned. "I meant someone more experienced."
"Everyone more experienced is already in a fireteam," she said evenly. "And if you read the new Spartans' files, you'll be happy to know that most of them were ODSTs."
"ODSTs are not Spartans."
"Not until we show them how," she agreed. "Are you saying you're not willing to train new recruits, DeMarco?"
"No, I just—" He cut himself off and sighed. "This is the real deal. We're in hot zones all the time—I need someone I can trust."
"You can trust them. Have your pick of the new lot; that's the best you'll have until Grant is fit for duty." She raised a brow at him, the message clear.
He nodded, pursing his lips. "Yes, Commander." DeMarco was annoyed. Something she also took satisfaction from—it was nice to see him in a mood other than smug.
Maybe I really am a colossal bitch if I enjoy making my Spartans uncomfortable, she mused. Well, that wasn't strictly true. She mostly only enjoyed putting DeMarco out of joint—the rest of his team and most other Spartans she liked to see happy.
"Grant," she began, turning away from DeMarco. "After you've cycled off your meds, I owe you a beer. You did good work down there."
Her pale skin flushed in embarrassment at the attention. "Thank you, ma'am. Although… It'll take more than one beer to fix this," she added, waving her casted arm in Palmer's direction. "And none of that Earthy, North American piss you call beer, either. I'm talking real Arcadian stout."
Sarah laughed. "Guess I'll have to go searching for some 'real' beer. I'll be on the look out for the strong stuff."
"And if there isn't any, I'm sure the captain will be more than happy to order some," DeMarco muttered.
"What was that, Fireteam Leader?"
"Just that Tom is wrapped around your little finger."
Her eyes narrowed. "You sound jealous, DeMarco."
"Not at all," he replied, looking like his smug self again. "Just—"
"—Worth noting, yes. I dearly await more of your observations aboard the Infinity. Go find a new recruit, now, before I pick one for you."
"Aye, ma'am." He somehow managed to sound arrogant while following the order, and she glared at his back as he left the room.
"He'll pick Merissa Tedley," Hoya commented.
"The blonde that came in yesterday?" Madsen asked.
"Hell yeah."
Palmer snorted. "I hope he does, too."
"Why?"
"She's as straight as a rainbow," Grant said, grinning. "She almost had a seizure in the female showers this morning from all the tits bouncing around. DeMarco doesn't know that, though."
Palmer was about to cut in, but her COM beeped. Ah, must be dinner time. She tossed a salute to the room. "Chow time for officers. I'll be off now. If you need anything, Grant, you have my permission to bother the hell out of Doctor Tran."
She grinned. "Noted, ma'am."
Sarah left the room, the sounds of snickering and gossiping increasing in volume behind her. It was nice, she thought, to exit the medbay for once without seeing one of her Spartans wrapped up in a body bag. Even nicer to see one so cheerful after an injury.
She headed out of the infirmary wing and walked out into the small tram station that ran the length of the ship. Jabbing at a few keys on a nearby terminal to call a tram, she leaned against the metal walls and waited.
It was dinner time. Which meant she'd be chowing down next to Lasky. The thought of seeing him again got her blood up immediately. She still hadn't totally shaken off the painful arousal she'd left his room with, and her lower belly ached with the lack of relief. Talking to DeMarco had certainly helped kill her steamy mood, but thinking of Tom again made it all come rushing back.
Nobody had ever touched her like that, so gently and so carefully, as if she were made of glass. She'd had fuckbuddies in the past, but it had all been rough and rushed, not much else besides relieving tension. Once or twice, something more meaningful than sex had stemmed from sleeping around, but those men were long dead.
Tom, though… she'd known him for almost five years, a staggering feat in her line of work. He'd always been kind to her, always trusted her judgement. She felt easy around him, and more often than not she found herself in his office or the lounge after hours, sharing her day and her thoughts with him, good or bad. And he listened. Didn't try to argue or pass judgement or come up with some grand answer to her problems, just sat and listened to her speak. And sometimes he'd tell her about his day, too, and she repaid him the same courtesy.
But it was fucked up that she wanted to fuck him. Wasn't it? He was seventeen years her senior, and her CO. Not that frat regs were ever a real concern—ODSTs fucked each other like rabbits, since they counted time spent alive in hours, not years. But… this was different. Tom wasn't going anywhere and she didn't plan on dying on a shitty planet like Requiem, so for the foreseeable future they were to be in constant, professional contact.
Even more contact if you count unprofessional. Did she want to spend that much time in his company? Talk his ear off during the day and ride him raw at night? Her gut reaction was a resounding, enthusiastic oh yes please, but her rational mind was not so eager.
The tram arrived, interrupting her thoughts. She stepped towards it, happy to see that it was empty—no, not totally empty.
Soft brown eyes met hers when she entered. God dammit. She hadn't thought this through yet. And now he was sitting there, calm and quiet and handsome…
"Commander Palmer," he greeted, his voice only the tiniest bit strained. Oh, don't give me that rank bullshit. You had your mouth all over me twenty minutes ago.
"Tom," she replied, emphasising his name. She sat down in the seat across from him, resting her elbows on her knees. "Going to dinner?" She keyed in the destination and the tram took off. Lasky frowned when it began to move.
"I was... about to go to the medbay, actually, and see Grant." He sat back, obviously uncomfortable with her proximity. Good. She also noticed that he'd calmed down considerably from the last time she'd seen him, all dazed and flushed and aroused.
Must be nice to have a shower all to yourself to jerk off in. Oh god, not a good mental image. Or rather, it was too good of a mental image. Him hot and bothered and naked in the shower….
"I… assume she's doing well?" he continued when she sat there staring off into space.
Only look at his face. She waved her hand, making sure to keep her expression neutral. "Grant's fine. She's more than fine, actually; she's quite pleased with herself to be one of the first Spartans on Infinity to break a bone." She was losing it. She really needed to get laid. Or go for a really long run. Fantasising about Tom Lasky was hovering towards the bottom of her list of things she thought she'd ever do in her lifetime. He was too old and too nice. She knew what to do with young and douchey—fuck them for a few fun nights and toss them on their asses when she got tired of listening to male ego bullshit. But nice? And Lasky levels of nice? What the hell do you do with that?
If you even think about the word marriage, Sarah Palmer, make sure to slam your head nice and good on the doorframe on the way out.
His frown deepened. "Are all Spartans insane, or is it just you and her?"
Oh no, I'm the craziest for sure. "Why?" she asked, lowering her voice and leaning forward. "Do you like insane, Tom?"
He coughed, looking away from her. "I…."
She got nothing more out of him than a pronoun, and after a minute of strained silence, she sighed. "Nothing happened between us; at least not while we're eating dinner in the mess. Afterwards, though…." She placed a hand on his knee. "We've got the whole night to talk about it." Talk. Well, she didn't plan on talking much. But Lasky did like to think shit to death, and he usually had verbal diarrhea when that happened if she managed to hit the right note. Which she almost always did. He was quirky, but she knew how to speak his lingo. She also knew how to shut him up, something of a newly acquired skill, since it involved taking off her clothes and shoving her breasts into his face.
He froze at her touch, but he didn't pull away. "Sounds like a plan," he said evenly, coughing again.
"How's your skin, by the way? I was in your room for something else besides making out with you," she said, grinning. Oh yes, it was fun to watch him go dry in the mouth and struggle for words.
He flushed a lovely shade of crimson. "It's… it's fine now, mostly. Thanks."
"Good," she responded, standing up as the tram came to a stop. "Wouldn't want you to be itchy in bed."
He had somehow managed to fuck up fucking up, a feat he wasn't aware was possible.
He felt Palmer's eyes drill into the side of his head as he responded to Bradley's question. "Yes, the alarms haven't been tested in a while, so I asked Roland to run them tonight. Make sure you're ready to run your designated crew through the drills."
"When will they go off?" Sarah asked, raising a brow.
"Twenty-three hundred," he responded, trying not to look too forlorn. Yes, he had to have picked this night to run drills, when Palmer had promised to continue their little tryst in his quarters after-hours. And he couldn't very well cancel them now. Because you made sure Roland told every fucking officer on Infinity, didn't you?
"Bah," Priselkov muttered. "I wasn't planning on sleeping anyway."
Sarah gave him a significant look that screamed and neither were we.
He cleared his throat loudly, trying to ignore Palmer beside him. "Did, ah, did any of you have any issues with crewmen this past week?" Maybe if he talked about paperwork she'd lose interest in looking at him and turn back to her food.
The officers at the table glanced at each other. "Nothing significant, I don't think. Why?" Bradley asked.
"It's those damn crewmen reports I have to fill out. I barely see a sixth of the crew in a day, but I have to write up reports on everyone for 'better conflict resolution'," he said, poking at his meal. He was too uncomfortable and too excited with Sarah sitting next to him to be hungry. Her thigh would brush his every so often and it took all he had not to jump out of his seat.
"When's it due?"
"Few weeks ago," he said, smiling faintly. "I've barely made any headway."
Bradley frowned. "Pass a few my way, then, and I'll see what I can do."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yeah. I won't be much help outside of Decks E and F, but any crew assigned there I see regularly. Shouldn't be too hard."
"Me as well," Priselkov cut in. "I've got some room for paperwork."
"I can fill out the Spartans' files," Sarah added. "Threatening them all with paperwork might make them more cooperative, anyway."
"You mean DeMarco?" he asked, grinning.
"Mostly him. But a few others could stand to be run through some conflict resolution paperwork. It'll scare the newbies, too."
"Thank you," he said to the table. "Really. Jesus, you just got rid of a few months work for me."
The rest of the meal went on rather plainly. The table talked about mundane things, requiring only the occasional nod or question from him. He tried to eat, he really did, but his stomach was in knots and the sight of his food only conjured a mild distaste from him.
He was torn between relief and disappointment that drills would go on tonight. Relieved because he really should not be sleeping with a subordinate seventeen years his junior, and disappointed because he really wanted to. It'd been so long since he'd spent time in someone else's bed, or they his, and the small taste of it made him want it all the more. And it was Palmer, one of the few people he could count on to always give him an honest opinion. She didn't play politics or try to humor him—she told him what was what, whether he wanted to hear the truth or not. As he rose in rank, that trait became increasingly scarce. It had been one of the many reasons that she'd quickly become his closest friend aboard the ship, maybe even the closest friend he had anywhere.
And now, well… his cock was doing a great deal of thinking for him. And the hand she currently had on his knee under the table was not helping.
When the meal was over, she gave him a parting look, equal parts excited and regretful, and left for Spartan Town. And he, he went to his bunk. Alone. And waited for the alarms to go off, sitting in his office chair and trying desperately not to picture her naked.
AN: More smut to come! Just need to get some plot out of the way first.