It was the wee hours of the morning—a little after one AM—and Luna was once again in the company of one Paul Donnelly. She knew that their late-night meetings were simply a reflection of Donnelly's job and his limited availability, but Luna had come to think of these hours as their hours. It was something about the sun being gone from the sky, and the stars and planets that Luna loved so much glowing in full force—even if there was a solid amount of light pollution this close to the city. She wasn't sure if she was ready to admit that the comfort she'd always felt at night was now slowly morphing into a comfort she felt with Donnelly.

She was watching him now, as she was lying on her back on the bed, while he was working on the sketch of her newest tattoo. He's lounging on one of her alien-shaped beanbags with his sketch pad braced on one of his bent knees. His colorful tattoo sleeve was on full display, winding up his arm and disappearing under his black Van Halen V-neck. His black jeans were ripped at the knee and there were more tattoos peeking out there—she could see the block script of 'Cobalts Never Die'—and his black boots were discarded at her door.

Over the course of the last few months, the two of them had grown so much closer and she'd come to trust Donnelly as more than just her family's bodyguard. She trusts him, now, as a friend. He's one of the first people that she'd been able to consider a friend that wasn't also a family member and it's a novel experience—one she enjoys but is not exactly sure how to repeat. She'd never been good at making friends. It had been a slow move to friendship, though. Ever since their first meeting, their interactions had been easy, but there's always been a tension that had stopped her from outwardly calling him a friend.

One particular interaction of theirs that she played on repeat every once in a while, is when he'd been tattooing Farrow in the townhouse living room—when he'd not so subtly looked her up and down as he said, "If you're just lookin' to be eaten out, I'll eat you out–"

That memory has become even more prevalent ever since she'd broken up with Andrew, as she'd still been dating that particular mistake when Donnelly had first uttered those words and she'd felt dirty focusing on it when she was supposed to be with someone else. She wouldn't allow herself to properly focus on his words until after they'd broken up, but she still went warm all over. Then she'd gone warm all over for a completely different reason because of her brother's need to step in and ruin the moment with his well-intentioned but supremely embarrassing interject.

Now, though, with her quiet observations of him and Allie X's "GOOD" tinkling out of her Bluetooth speaker, she had the sudden urge to actually bring the whole thing up. Really, there was nothing stopping her except the thought that he hadn't actually meant it. But if he had meant it… she had to waft her shirt away from her chest—hot all of a sudden. The thought of Paul Donnelly—in all his tattooed, devil-may-care glory—with his head between her legs was already doing more for her libido than the months she'd spent with Andrew. It wasn't that Andrew wasn't attractive—he had been, if in a wealthy, preppy, and slightly douche-y way—but Donnelly was on a whole other level without even trying. That made him all the more attractive, too. That he didn't know he was attractive—that he didn't flaunt it.

The couple of guys that she had been with had all been nice to her and good in bed—well, okay in bed, if she had a gun to her head—and she wanted someone to show her what 'great sex' was. She had told Jane a few weeks ago that she was going to stick with one-night stands for a while, see if the anonymity of the whole encounter could catapult her into 'great sex' territory. So far, everything had felt pretty good, but there had to be something else out there. Why not ask Donnelly to show her?

She had to be able to compare her future hook-ups to something, and from some of the stories she's been privy to, Donnelly was the best candidate for her—a baseline, for lack of a better word. (For lack of a better word that she was willing to admit, at least.)

"Hey, Donnelly, I've got a question," she said before she could back-out. Still, she spoke to the wiring of the bunk above her, avoiding looking at him. She heard his hmm of acknowledgement, but she didn't know if her was looking at her either—didn't know if he'd looked up from his sketchbook.

"You don't have to say anything," she prefaced, "'cause I'm sure you'd originally said it all in jest—you may not even remember saying it—but I just thought that I'd, well… I thought I'd…"

"Spit it out, babe." Donnelly chuckled.

Her heart took a break in pumping her blood for a moment at his use of 'babe'—no matter that he called her that frequently, oftentimes with the word 'space' in front of it. She took a breath.

"Will you show me what 'good head' looks like?" she asked in a rush.

She couldn't help, then, but to look over at him—though she remained supine on the bed. Her entire body was flushed—mostly in embarrassment, an emotion she hadn't truly felt in a while—but he, impossibly, seemed completely unfazed. It eased her worries already, even though his poker face gave away absolutely no notion of what his answer would be. Actually, her flush was already calming down and her confidence was bolstered just from looking into his light blue eyes. She kept speaking.

"I was thinking that I need someone to show me what it is, and I remember that you mentioned—well, it was more of a backhanded, justified dig at Andrew—but you mentioned it. And this way, I'll have some actual standards and not end up with someone like Andrew again."

She heard him mockingly mumble 'standards' under his breath—as if to say he wasn't the one to go to for any form of standards. She just barreled on.

"So, I gathered all my wits from my chemistry class—that I failed, mind you—and devised a whole experiment. If I'm going to figure out what the difference is between great sex and subpar sex, then I need a control group." He was still staring at her, but she noticed his hand had clenched tightly around his pen. "I want you to be my control group," she clarified. "Or, well, my control person."

As the seconds ticked by, and he only went so far as to toss his sketchbook onto the carpet, Luna realized she may have made a mistake. That for all of their teasing, and the sporadic flirty text messages they've been known to shoot back and forth, actually having sex was crossing some line that he wasn't willing to cross. Of course, she knew how taboo the concept was—he was a bodyguard and she was part of the famous family he spent his days protecting—but she'd also thought that things were calmer on that particular subject now that Moffy and Farrow had revealed their relationship. Hell, Jane was dating—fake dating, but same thing—her bodyguard, for Ggod's sake. Plus, no one had to know and she wasn't planning on making it a regular thing. (This was pure science, obviously.)

She swung her legs over the side of the bed to face him.

"Sorry if I shouldn't have asked," she said, trying not to let her voice waver from nerves.

"You can always ask me anything," he said. "You know that, Luna."

She nodded.

"I'm just surprised that you'd ask me," he admitted.

"Why wouldn't I ask you?" she wondered, her brows furrowing. "We're friends—good friends, I'd say—and you're more than just attractive, Donnelly. Plus, from what I know, you'd set my standards pretty high." She took a steadying breath. "And quite frankly, I don't trust anyone else to do this—to do this with me."

"Okay," he said.

"Wait." She lurched to her feet. "Okay as in you're acknowledging what I said? Or okay as in you'll do it?"

"I'll do it," he responded.

He levered himself to his feet as well, crossing the small room in three steps to stand in front of her. Luna's breathing shallowed immediately in anticipation as his smell enveloped her—eucalyptus, clean laundry, and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. He was so close to her; she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Just one question first," he murmured.

"Anything," she whispered back.

"Is kissing allowed in this scientific endeavor?" His hand came up to splay across her cheek, his fingers lingering on her neck and his thumb tracing over her bottom lip. "Or is this purely research on 'good head'?"

As if she could deny him.

"Kiss me," she said breathily.

Her hands were clutching the fabric of his thin shirt like her life depended on it. Donnelly leaned over her and used his grip on her neck to tilt her chin towards him. She was pleased to see that he was breathing just as heavily as she was. Her hands were shaking in anticipation. It felt like an eternity before his lips finally touched hers, but she knew she'd wait another eternity just for the chance of it happening again. His lips were warm and the sheer force of his kiss bowed her over, but his free arm snaked around her waist and pulled her securely into his body.

It was safe to say that Luna had never been kissed this well, or this fully and all-consuming, in her entire life. Already he was proving to her that this was the best decision she could have made—that he was the best decision she could have made.

Luna frees one arm from between their bodies and runs her hand through his chestnut-brown hair, tugging on it a little. He groaned at her motions and slipped one of his hands under her t-shirt, his large palm sliding up her back. Now it was her turn to moan, his hands on her bare skin always having been a turn on for her—it was wild to think that her fantasy of him touching her like this, which spurned from the time he'd given her her first tattoo, was finally coming to fruition.

Breathing heavily, Donnelly tore his mouth away from hers and took the opportunity to trail his lips down her neck. Letting another breathy moan breach her lips, Luna tipped her head back to give him better access. His kisses were hot and open-mouthed, and they sent jolts of electricity straight to that pool of heat already forming in her belly.

"Oh my god," she breathed, clutching him tighter as he sucked on her pulse point. Suddenly she wasn't close enough to him, and she began pawing at his t-shirt, trying to pull it over his head. He caught on quickly, and separated from her long enough to wrench the garment over his head. She mirrored his movement and pulled her own t-shirt off, revealing her plain blue, cotton bra. She hadn't yet slept with someone that balked at her plain choice in undergarments, but Andrew had mentioned off hand more than a few times that he preferred something with lace. She had never cared that much, though, and always thought there was more beauty in simplicity. She found herself now—as Donnelly took a moment to slide his palm across her stomach and up between the valley of her breasts—wishing that she was wearing something sexier, however. Maybe something black, or something with a small bow in the front, or something that gave her a little bit of cleavage.

But then he hiked her legs up around his waist and he was staring at her like he'd never seen anything more beautiful. She was clutching at his hair with both hands now, and she kissed him slowly. His hands were gripping her ass—his palms sliding under her athletic shorts and squeezing—as he climbed onto her bunk. He settled his weight on her as he continued to kiss her. She moaned again when he pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, and she couldn't help but buck her hips up into him. She could feel him through his jeans, and that just sped her breathing up even more.

"Donnelly, please," she begged, her thighs tightening around his waist and her nails dragging across his back. "You have to give me something. I'm dying here."

And she was. The fact that she was able to ask for more in a complete sentence was completely baffling—and a feat she was sure she couldn't repeat. Donnelly, instead of answering her in words, ground his hips into her just right and managed to unhook her bra without her even realizing that was what he was doing. Panting heavily, she slipped her bra off her arms and discarded it somewhere on the bed. But then he sat up away from her and she whimpered—actually whimpered—at the distance and the rush of air on her now bare chest. She didn't have long to be disappointed though, because he was pulling off her shorts and panties in one fell swoop.

Luna felt suddenly vulnerable as she lay completely bare in front of him, while he was still clad in his black jeans, but the way his eyes were roving over her made her warm. The flushness of her skin was in stark contrast to the trail of goosebumps his hand left in its wake as it slid along the inside of her thigh. She was mesmerized by his fingers—each of them with a black tattooed symbol etched on the knuckle—as they gently tracked their way across her stomach and up around the side of her breast. When his thumb tweaked her nipple, she closed her eyes in pleasure, and she let out a sigh of content when his body weight once again settled over her. She pulled him achingly closer when he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud.

Nothing had ever felt like this before, and her mind could no longer focus on one single thing. She was sure he could ask her anything and her answer would be yes. Everything was flowing over her, but it was oddly disjointed as she catalogued everything by itself. There were just his lips. And his hands. And his hips nestled between her thighs. Then there were her hands, nestled in his soft hair. And her heel digging into the small of his back. Then there were his lips leaving a trail of fire down her stomach as he inched closer towards where she was aching to be touched. And a sheet—her sheet, the neon-green ones she'd bought just last week—being pulled over his back and blanketing over her.

She lifted the fabric with one hand to look down at him, only to find him already watching her.

"As they say, lie back and think of England, babe," he rasped.

"As if I could think of anything other than you right now," she replied just as roughly.

He shot her a cocky grin and maintained eye contact as he lowered his mouth to her. She immediately—and involuntarily—clenched her fist in his hair and the sheet slipped out of her hold. Not being able to see him somehow made this even more sensual than it had been. She could feel him everywhere—on every last one of her nerve endings—and just knowing that it was Donnelly under the sheet was purely orgasmic. Unabashedly, her thighs tightened around his head and one of his arms slid across her waist to hold her bucking hips to the bed. When he gave a particularly enthusiastic suck on her small bundle of nerves, her head bowed off the pillow and her mouth opened in a silent O.

When she opened her eyes, steadfast on telling him to fuck the 'science' and to just fuck her—because she needed more of him—she focused instead on the fact that her door was open and someone was standing there.

She tenses.

'Oh my god,' she thinks—and not in a good way. 'It's Jane.'

"Shitshit," she curses.

Immediately, Donnelly pops out from under the sheet and his hand that was just securely holding her to the bed is now gently holding her hip in concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone worried and his eyes full of questions. But she's frozen in place, unable to answer him, and her eyes flick from him to the door and stay there—staring at her cousin, unblinking. Donnelly follows her gaze, and she feels the moment when he figures out what's happening and unthaws. Luna doesn't know why he's not at all freaked out—why he went from anxiously looking at her, to smoothly sliding off the bed and exhaling in relief.

Somehow, he manages to keep her completely covered with the sheet, and she clutches it securely to her chest as he grabs his t-shirt from the floor and pulls it over his head. She watches, longingly, as his tattoos and muscles disappear beneath the tattered cotton. Luna looks back to her cousin when she hears her speak.

"I'm so sorry, Luna," Jane breathes. Luna can hear the apologies in her voice and see the mixture of sorry and surprise in her eyes. "I'm going to come back later," she adds quickly.

"Waitwait!" she whisper-hisses at Jane. "Don't leave before I can explain."

Luna watches the war behind her cousin's eyes, but she eventually steps forward, consenting to hear what Luna has to say. Luna shimmies up the headboard and manages to find her bra amongst the pillows and snap it on. The real feat is her being able to find her shorts—which were deep under the covers and she had to pull them towards her with her toes. As Luna wiggles them on, she sees Donnelly—out of the corner of her eyes—fiddling with the safety pin he'd been using as a cartilage piercing. That alone tells her that he actually is nervous. Paul Donnelly doesn't fidget.

Luna slides out of the bed and lands on her butt on the floor. She hugs her legs, hiding her bare stomach behind her knees.

"So," she begins, somewhat lamely. "Donnelly was here to design my tattoo."

Donnelly nods in agreement as he slips a cigarette behind his ear. He's so endearing in that moment—with all his nervous twiddling—that Luna wants to climb onto his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

Jane looks around and says, "I see."

Quickly, Luna points to the desk next to Donnelly—desperate not to leave a space for awkward silence. "Donnelly, that's for you, by the way. Just as payment for the design. I have cash for the actual tattoo."

He reached for the pile of burnt orange fabric lying in a pile on the wooden desk and holds it out in front of him. She can't see the front of it from her vantage point, but she knows there's a green alien peace sign stitched into the middle. She'd made it, after all. Luna knew that when tattooing friends, Donnelly liked personal things—not always just cash—in exchange for the tattoos that he did, so she'd slaved away for the past two weeks to make the sweater for him.

"Sick," he complimented her. She could hear the warmth in his voice when he asked, "Did you make this?"

"Yeah, I knitted it." Luna shrugged and hoped it came off as nonchalant.

She watched him pull the sweater over his head—over his t-shirt—and she knew immediately that it was way too small. It stopped well above his belly button, but he just smirked at her and leaned back on the beanbag.

"Fits perfect," he said.

She smiled, forgetting for a moment that Jane was still in the room. Turning quickly to her cousin, she says, "Alrighty, so me and him—we're here for the tattoo design."

"I believe you," Jane began and Luna remembers that she'd already said that, "but that doesn't really explain what I saw."

"We were in my room going over the design, and I asked him if he could show me what good head feels like," Luna clarified, deciding to just blurt it out. If anyone was going to understand this—understand her—it'd be Jane Eleanor Cobalt.

Jane steeples her fingers to her lips. She's got her thinking face on. "More facts," she said. "You and you." Jane points to Luna and Donnelly. "Hooked up just because you wanted to see what good head felt like?"

"I knew you'd get me," Luna said with a nod and a smile. Jane was Luna's only female cousin who was extremely open about sex, so Luna had confided in her a lot. The fact that Jane understands—even if she had phrased it as a question—made Luna incredibly happy. Luna itched to explain more. "I just can't really tell the good sex from the bad ones. They all feel pretty good to me, so I came up with a scientific study. Have a baseline that everything is compared to."

Donnelly raised his hand in a small mock wave. "I'm her baseline."

"I followed that," Jane said. Her voice was light but her brows furrowed slightly. "You don't even like science."

"Exactly," Luna says. "Tom, Eliot, and I have this theory that you can make anything fun, given the right circumstances. I'm making science fun. With sex."

Suddenly, both girls have stupid silly grins on their faces. Luna loved her cousin—truly loved her—and their connection and understanding in this moment made Luna genuinely grateful to have the other woman in her life. Luna didn't know what she'd do without her.

"Maximoff–"

"Can't know," Luna says, cutting her cousin off adamantly. "I can't even imagine what his reaction would be if he knew Donnelly and I hooked up—for scientific purposes—but still." She looks to Donnelly. "Moffy goes three-fourths Loren Hale, and there is no universe you'd ever survive one-half of my dad if he found out."

Jane inhaled a sharp breath and winced. Luna knew that asking Jane to keep a secret from Moffy was like asking water not to be wet. They're joined at the hip—always had been—and Luna hates to be the one asking her to do this, but she has to. She hates even more that she tells Jane it's a "one-time thing," and that Moffy "really doesn't need to know," when Luna isn't altogether convinced that she really does want this to happen only once.

Jane glances to Donnelly, but he just holds his hands up in surrender. "I'm cool with whatever she wants to do," he says.

Luna doesn't have a single idea what is going through Donnelly's head at the moment, but Luna trusts that he meant what he said—that he one-hundred percent meant what he said.

"Okay," Jane agrees softly. "I won't say anything to Moffy."

Luna, uncaring that she's only in her bra and a small pair of athletic shorts, jumps up and charges towards her cousin—arms outstretched. She flings her gangly arms around Jane's neck and clings to her tightly. Into her ear, Luna says softly, "If the Thebulan gods were real, they'd anoint you with glitter and a life-time supply of great sex in thanks for keeping my great sex a secret."

Jane pulls back first, and they smile at each other.

Then Jane turns sternly to Donnelly and says, "Don't you dare hurt her."

"I'd rather die," he responded immediately. He's dead serious, and the intensity of his voice surprises Luna slightly. Jane just nods in acceptance though, not even batting an eye at his dramatic declaration—oh, to be a Cobalt, Luna mused to herself with a quiet laugh. Jane bid them both goodnight and slipped back out the door. When it snicks shut behind her, Luna turned to Donnelly and blanched.

"That just happened," she said.

Donnelly stood and grinned at her as he advanced towards her. Luna backed up until her back hit the cool wood of the door. He placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned in until his breath trickled warmly across her face.

"Great sex, eh?" he joked, apparently having heard her declaration to Jane a few moments earlier.

"Don't act like you didn't know I thought that," she joked.

"Oh, I knew." He smirked and placed a warm kiss just under her left ear. "But it's different when you say it."

"I think our great sex has to be put on hold," she replied sadly, trailing her hand across his chest—touching the sweater that still stretched across his shoulders and marveling at the fact that she was now allowed to do this. "It would be pushing our luck to go at it again after just having been caught."

"Well, then we'll have to 'go at it' again sometime soon," he said. He kissed her underneath her other ear and her legs turned weak, but she kept her grip on him and maintained her footing. "You haven't gotten an adequate baseline yet."

What she didn't tell him was that she already had, and that anyone after him was likely to pale in comparison—and they hadn't even gotten to the actual good part. She just smiled into his kiss, though, as she wasn't going to be the one to tell him no.

wow, i just realized that i never posted this third part here lol. this was my first time writing smut, little as it is, so i hope it turned out okay.

i would die for donnelly and he deserves the world. and i love that he was more worried that something was wrong with Luna than he was about being caught by Jane. also, they went from 0 to 100 here, but i'm in full support of these crazy kids lol

thanks to my wonderful beta drwatsonn for giving this a look, you make my life easier. and the first two chapters of this are now beta'd and updated :))