The lips which moved against her own were warm and firm, uncertain but not hesitant, and Lyra had never before in her life enjoyed simple, unhurried kisses so much. She was only too content to demonstrate, to tease, to nuzzle, and unlike most men, Fred allowed her to direct the pace.
Experienced he might not be, but neither did he prove incompetent. His caresses were light at first, gauging her response, and soon involved more lingering pressure. When she leaned into him, his large hand settled against her back, its heat permeating the bath robe she'd pulled on over the cropped tank and underwear combo she normally slept in. His whole body was warm, even through the layers of sturdy fabric comprising his fatigues, and she sank into that inviting warmth without compunction, feeling dizzy with satisfaction but also with the exhaustion which was seeping into her bones along with his heat.
As much as she felt she could go on kissing him forever, she also felt slumping into him in a comatose state was an encroaching possibility. The nights… the nights had not been kind to her lately. Days either, for that matter.
"Fred," she murmured regretfully while drawing her head back. "I have to sleep. I wish I didn't, but I really do need to. Can we do this more later?"
He seemed to need to blink quite a few times before he answered. "I- yes. Later?" The gruff quality his deep voice had taken on spoke directly to a need within her, making this all the more difficult.
"Tonight?"
His brow furrowed. "We're running another lowlight exercise."
"Then… tomorrow." He didn't look overly confident that would work either, but didn't say as much. She pressed her mouth back to his and scraped her fingernails softly over the stubble at the back of head. "Soon."
The rumbling agreement which originated somewhere in his broad chest sent shivers skittering through her and she found herself reluctant to break apart from him. His hand smoothed down over her back, then up again before he stepped away.
She watched him go, then crawled back into bed and slept the sleep of the dead for a whole two hours until her alarm went off.
Sitting in the dark in the back of a warthog, freezing her ass off was not Lyra's idea of a good time. She supposed she might have mustered more irritation at being needlessly required to suffer through hour after hour of just plain waiting had the potential opportunity to spend a moment with Fred not accompanied all that waiting.
That moment had not manifested yet, but it wasn't all bad. She was shivering, but she got to watch drone footage of the S-IIs in action as they progressed through a surprisingly elaborate game of capture the flag. The adaptive camouflage feature of the Gen 3 they were testing was impressive, to say the least, and a direct contribution to the project of their new Sangheili allies. Fortunately, the function was well outside her scope of work, and the exercise showcasing its abilities was being overseen by one of those who'd helped facilitate its adaptation for use in the MJOLNIR.
Lyra had never before set eyes on a Sangheili, but if this one's imposing figure and seemingly advanced knowledge of the technology they'd harnessed long before humankind were anything to go by, she didn't question why they'd proved such formidable opponents during the war. She admittedly spent almost as much time sneaking glances at him as she did following along with the footage on her tablet. Naples had insisted she be present should any software complications crop up, but she was pleased that so far no such thing had happened and the upgraded suite was running flawlessly. There would be more glitches, she knew, but she'd prefer not to be made to look an idiot in front of the alien if at all possible.
Some of the techs had placed bets on which pair would emerge victorious; Linda and Fred, or Kelly and John. It'd seemed like it might go either way for much of the night, but eventually an impossible feat of agility from Kelly had sealed the deal in hers and John's favour. The Spartans had been advised to return to the warthogs for transport back to base and Lyra realized it was approaching 3:00 AM.
She wasn't going to be expected to turn up for 8:00 again, right? Tucking her device away, she huddled inside her inadequate jacket, then decided walking around was probably a better way to not turn into an ice block. It didn't usually get this cold - though, when was she ever outside at three in the morning? And they had travelled pretty far up into the mountain range bordering the base, the higher elevation was likely contributing. Shoving her hands deep into the coat's pockets, she did a circuit around the two warthogs parked nearest to her, and then another.
"Won't be long now," one of the techs was nice enough to assure her from the comfort of his parka. Obviously, Naples had failed to pass along the memo about appropriate outerwear to her.
It was as she was circling the ground vehicles for the fifth or sixth time that she heard them, their footsteps over the rocky terrain a steady rhythm which increased in volume the closer they got.
They'd just spent almost six hours trekking back and forth over these mountains, outmaneuvering one another and launching fake assaults, and they'd run back?
The two female Spartans appeared from the gloom first, followed by John and then Fred. His helmet turned when he caught sight of her and he slowed from the ground eating jog to a more sedate pace, letting his teammates continue to the other parked warthogs without him. The rifle he carried was loaded with blank cartridges designed to leave a paint splat on impact and she noticed a couple such telltale marks on his armor as all seven feet of him strode towards her.
"You couldn't have lost quicker? Some of us didn't know we'd be freezing to death out here."
His muffled chuckle startled her. "It's eight degrees," he replied while stowing the weapon over his shoulder.
"It was eighteen when we left base." Eighteen was comfortable. Eight was not.
Removing his helmet, he tucked it beneath his arm. Sweat gleamed on his temple and cheek as the spotlight on one of the warthogs sprang to life and he squinted his eyes in response. "It'll get warmer as we head back."
"Maybe you'll let me sit beside you, you look toasty enough." It'd been an innocent enough statement in her mind, but the way he dipped his head and cleared his throat was intriguing.
"It wouldn't- the techsuit is insulating, you wouldn't feel… anything."
Her brows rose. "Really?" Edging closer, she stepped into the shadow he was casting. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, the focus appeared to be on an exchange which was taking place between the Sangheili and John. And even if they did happen to look, with his back turned, she probably wasn't even visible thanks to the bulk of his armor.
Fred watched her hand lift towards him warily. "What are you-?"
"I'm not convinced I wouldn't feel anything," she informed him, skimming her fingertips over the hand hanging by his side, around to his palm. "Or is that just your polite way of telling me you don't want to share a warthog?" She ran her fingers up the titanium plating covering his forearm to the exposed area surrounding his elbow to allow for movement.
He shook his head, torn between following the path her hand was traversing over his MJOLNIR and meeting her gaze. "I don't mind."
"You're sure?" Carrying on upwards, she playfully walked her fingers across his shoulder before sliding them down the chest piece to his abdomen.
"Positive."
The techsuit was equal parts firm and cushioned, and she suspected he in fact couldn't feel her light touch at all, but he seemed enthralled nonetheless as she traced around the titanium plate that laid over his stomach. "Because I wouldn't want to impose myself upon you or anything."
The helmet began to slip from under his arm and he adjusted his hold automatically, clearing his throat again. "Are we still talking about the trip back?" He sounded both puzzled and turned on, that husky note which literally called to her hormones having returned to his voice.
"I guess hiding you in that bush over there and finding our own way back later isn't an option," she half-joked.
He actually glanced around in search of the shrub in question and she had to bite the inside of her cheek hard to stop from laughing. "Doubtful," he confirmed.
"Then we're still talking about the trip back." Locating the rigid line of muscle which ran along his groin from the juncture of his thigh, she followed it slowly.
A soft bleat from within his helmet started up and he squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling in a controlled manner. She might have felt bad for him if not for the fact she was torturing herself in equal parts. "What about after?" The question came out in a rush, at odds with the measured breaths he was taking, and his eyes remained tightly closed.
"After," she agreed, somewhat dazed herself.
"Load up!" someone shouted, causing them both to hastily put some distance between themselves.
"Find me." She pivoted and went to the nearest warthog, climbing into the passenger seat.
Better not to tempt fate by riding back beside him.
It didn't occur to her they hadn't chosen an area to meet up until they'd pulled into the ground vehicle hangar. She considered trying to give him some sort of sign, but the Spartans exited the two warthogs they'd travelled in and headed back towards the compound where the Gen 3 was housed without delay.
He'd just spent all night tracking his teammates up and down a mountainside, surely he would be able to locate her? In fact… the more she mulled it over, the more the thought of having him find her appealed. But how to communicate the game to him?
Knowing her time was limited, she hurried to the square and into the building she worked out of. She needed to return her tablet to her office before she left anyway, she wasn't allowed to take it off base. A note was the obvious choice, but she knew the chances of coming across a scrap of paper in a department dedicated to software programming and development were slim, so after leaving her datapad on her desk she rushed outside to improvise.
It was warmer at the lower altitude the base sat at, but she still wasn't thrilled about having to use her jacket. Shucking it, she tied the sleeves to form a loop and then carefully mounted the pedestal on which the Mark V statue resided. Once she'd successfully secured the garment around the neck of the statue, she hopped down and stood back a moment to admire her clue.
Fred would find it, she had no doubt, but would he know what to make of it?
Well, if she hid and he didn't suss her out in a reasonable amount of time, she'd give up and consider the ploy a failure. A spontaneous and stupid failure.
But… a large part of her had faith in his intuition.
The grounds were silent and empty, which was fortunate since she was skulking around like a criminal on the lookout for a place to lay low. She knew he was well versed in reconnaissance, but since this wasn't the wilderness and any number of feet passed all over the base in the run of a day, she left a few obvious signs of her passing; wet footprints on the pavement created by walking through the dew covered grass, some petals she plucked from a cluster of wild daisies growing up through a crack in one of the walkways which she deposited in the rough outline of an arrow, and finally a dead branch that had fallen from one of the trees which sheltered a small courtyard with picnic tables outside the mess hall she cracked in half and left in the shape of an X.
Satisfied with herself, she chose a corner of the building to settle her back to and slid down into a crouch to wait.
Butterflies was not an apt description for what was going on inside her stomach - more like a swarm of enthusiastic bees. She folded her arms and tucked her hands beneath them to stave off the chill, but she didn't feel it much anymore - she was too hyped up with anticipation.
If he didn't figure it out, she was going to kick herself for this, she knew. Her practical side was wondering what the hell had come over her - she could have just waited in the square, where he was sure to check.
But the thrill of imagining him stalking the base in search of her had been too alluring.
He would interpret her game. All she had to do was wait.