Sarah Jane silently thanked god, Aged, or whoever else might be listening, that locks on Peladon were remarkably similar to locks on Earth—silently praised herself for still being able to whisper "Up you go" with some degree of command when faced with dark curls and darker eyes and talented fingers skimming beneath her shirt. But Maria obeyed, scooting up onto the edge of a marble counter, and raising her hips so Sarah Jane could strip leggings and knickers down in one.
Then all the command seemed to have seeped out of her. Even command of her own skin—breathe-move-blink—slowed as she watched Maria—took in the dress pooled around her hips, the pink flush painted across her cheeks and throat—Maria was almost too lovely to be real—swallowed as soft thighs fell open around her hips—lovely and ever so beautifully wet.
Sarah Jane slowly dropped to her knees, listened for the "oh, please, please, please" she knew would follow and bent her head to breathe across her.
Maria's hips jerked against the marble and Sarah Jane's breath caught. She never ceased to be amazed at the level of response she could draw from Maria's body, even without touching her.
And when she did touch her—a light kiss just where it would have the most effect—Maria's whole body reacted—her name gasped out in a stutter as her back arched, a tremor along her thigh, right down to her toes curling against Sarah Jane's back—so perfect, but a mere fraction of what could be pulled out of her—but not just yet. She teased her tongue 'round, stopping just short.
Sarah Jane almost smiled at the frustrated groan from above, did smile at the hissed "don't— tease me."
Maria's hand found Sarah Jane's hair, tangled into it to tilt her face up until their eyes met. "The way you look on your knees—if you could see—I'm so close just from watching you."
Her words had the desired effect: breath and tongue and teeth and lips again, bringing her closer.
"Oh—god—Sarah—keep—doing—that—"
Even preoccupied as she was, Sarah Jane knew Maria was being too loud. Maria was always too loud. But somehow, somewhere in the heady rush of the past few months, too loud had become just right. In her own house, there was no one else to hear and the echo of it kept her company weeks when they couldn't see each other. And in Maria's apartment where the sound seemed amplified by the small space, it made her clumsy and near desperate for more—it also made her careful to avoid Maria's neighbors in the hall. But here, here she didn't particularly fancy being overheard.
She tried unsuccessfully to reach Maria's mouth, to dampen her cries with her hand, but Maria was leaned too far away. Once she had come close, her fingers finally managing to slide across Maria lips when the girl had rocked forward to grasp at her head. Instead of quieting, Maria had pulled her finger into her mouth and nipped at it before falling back again, babbling something about blue towels.
Sarah Jane gave up—gave up and stood up without warning, leaning over Maria.
Maria's eyes had snapped open—"Sarah Jane?"—and she was already starting to whine—"but I want your mouth—"
Sarah Jane pressed a finger against Maria's lips—"shhh"—replaced her finger with her mouth, teasing her lips apart.
She felt Maria smile—"I taste"—oh, god—"good." Sarah Jane could feel the moan echoing through her own throat this time. "Almost as good as—"
Sarah Jane clamped her hand over Maria's mouth before they were both too far gone to care who overheard.
She let her fingers ghost along Maria's sex—"Don't you ever"—slid them inside until her palm was flush against her—"stop talking?"
She felt a quick, hot pulse of air against her other palm—could guess which word that had been—as she found a slow rhythm that soon had Maria writhing against her hand.
Lacking Maria's usual commentary, she had to translate the straining of fingers against cold marble—just like that—decipher the counterpoint rise of hips—harder—the silken tightening around her fingers—so close, I'm going to—
"Not a word." Sarah Jane dropped her hand from Maria's mouth, stilled the fingers inside her, leaving Maria grasping at her wrist to make her move again. A roll of her thumb and Maria gasped. "Not a sound."
She lowered herself to the floor again, lowered her head for one more taste—licked and savored and scraped her teeth across the hard knot of nerves—curved her fingers into just the right—and Maria was coming, hands clutched in her hair, hips jerking into her mouth and—
"Oh—Fuck—Sarah!"
Damn.
Maria blinked through damp lashes, smiled lazily up at Sarah Jane. Only to find her looking annoyed.
"Oh-fuck-Sarah?"
Coming from Sarah Jane's mouth in that flat tone, and so unlike anything she'd usually say, that set off both a giggle and a faint tremor where that mouth had last been.
But Sarah Jane wasn't laughing.
Sarah Jane silently thanked god, Aggedor, or whoever else might be listening, that locks on Peladon were remarkably similar to locks on Earth—silently praised herself for still being able to whisper "Up you go" with some degree of command when faced with dark curls and darker eyes and talented fingers skimming beneath her shirt. But Maria obeyed, scooting up onto the edge of a marble counter, and raising her hips so Sarah Jane could strip leggings and knickers down in one.
Then all the command seemed to have seeped out of her. Even command of her own skin—breathe-move-blink—slowed as she watched Maria—took in the dress pooled around her hips, the pink flush painted across her cheeks and throat—Maria was almost too lovely to be real—swallowed as soft thighs fell open around her hips—lovely and ever so beautifully wet.
Sarah Jane slowly dropped to her knees, listened for the "oh, please, please, please" she knew would follow and bent her head to breathe across her.
Maria's hips jerked against the marble and Sarah Jane's breath caught. She never ceased to be amazed at the level of response she could draw from Maria's body, even without touching her.
And when she did touch her—a light kiss just where it would have the most effect—Maria's whole body reacted—her name gasped out in a stutter as her back arched, a tremor along her thigh, right down to her toes curling against Sarah Jane's back—so perfect, but a mere fraction of what could be pulled out of her—but not just yet. She teased her tongue 'round, stopping just short.
Sarah Jane almost smiled at the frustrated groan from above, did smile at the hissed "don't— tease me."
Maria's hand found Sarah Jane's hair, tangled into it to tilt her face up until their eyes met. "The way you look on your knees—if you could see—I'm so close just from watching you."
Her words had the desired effect: breath and tongue and teeth and lips again, bringing her closer.
"Oh—god—Sarah—keep—doing—that—"
Even preoccupied as she was, Sarah Jane knew Maria was being too loud. Maria was always too loud. But somehow, somewhere in the heady rush of the past few months, too loud had become just right. In her own house, there was no one else to hear and the echo of it kept her company weeks when they couldn't see each other. And in Maria's apartment where the sound seemed amplified by the small space, it made her clumsy and near desperate for more—it also made her careful to avoid Maria's neighbors in the hall. But here, here she didn't particularly fancy being overheard.
She tried unsuccessfully to reach Maria's mouth, to dampen her cries with her hand, but Maria was leaned too far away. Once she had come close, her fingers finally managing to slide across Maria lips when the girl had rocked forward to grasp at her head. Instead of quieting, Maria had pulled her finger into her mouth and nipped at it before falling back again, babbling something about blue towels.
Sarah Jane gave up—gave up and stood up without warning, leaning over Maria.
Maria's eyes had snapped open—"Sarah Jane?"—and she was already starting to whine—"but I want your mouth—"
Sarah Jane pressed a finger against Maria's lips—"shhh"—replaced her finger with her mouth, teasing her lips apart.
She felt Maria smile—"I taste"—oh, god—"good." Sarah Jane could feel the moan echoing through her own throat this time. "Almost as good as—"
Sarah Jane clamped her hand over Maria's mouth before they were both too far gone to care who overheard.
She let her fingers ghost along Maria's sex—"Don't you ever"—slid them inside until her palm was flush against her—"stop talking?"
She felt a quick, hot pulse of air against her other palm—could guess which word that had been—as she found a slow rhythm that soon had Maria writhing against her hand.
Lacking Maria's usual commentary, she had to translate the straining of fingers against cold marble—just like that—decipher the counterpoint rise of hips—harder—the silken tightening around her fingers—so close, I'm going to—
"Not a word." Sarah Jane dropped her hand from Maria's mouth, stilled the fingers inside her, leaving Maria grasping at her wrist to make her move again. A roll of her thumb and Maria gasped. "Not a sound."
She lowered herself to the floor again, lowered her head for one more taste—licked and savored and scraped her teeth across the hard knot of nerves—curved her fingers into just the right—and Maria was coming, hands clutched in her hair, hips jerking into her mouth and—
"Oh—Fuck—Sarah!"
Damn.
Maria blinked through damp lashes, smiled lazily up at Sarah Jane. Only to find her looking annoyed.
"Oh-fuck-Sarah?"
Coming from Sarah Jane's mouth in that flat tone, and so unlike anything she'd usually say, that set off both a giggle and a faint tremor where that mouth had last been.
But Sarah Jane wasn't laughing.
Sarah Jane silently thanked god, Aggedor, or whoever else might be listening, that locks on Peladon were remarkably similar to locks on Earth—silently praised herself for still being able to whisper "Up you go" with some degree of command when faced with dark curls and darker eyes and talented fingers skimming beneath her shirt. But Maria obeyed, scooting up onto the edge of a marble counter, and raising her hips so Sarah Jane could strip leggings and knickers down in one.
Then all the command seemed to have seeped out of her. Even command of her own skin—breathe-move-blink—slowed as she watched Maria—took in the dress pooled around her hips, the pink flush painted across her cheeks and throat—Maria was almost too lovely to be real—swallowed as soft thighs fell open around her hips—lovely and ever so beautifully wet.
Sarah Jane slowly dropped to her knees, listened for the "oh, please, please, please" she knew would follow and bent her head to breathe across her.
Maria's hips jerked against the marble and Sarah Jane's breath caught. She never ceased to be amazed at the level of response she could draw from Maria's body, even without touching her.
And when she did touch her—a light kiss just where it would have the most effect—Maria's whole body reacted—her name gasped out in a stutter as her back arched, a tremor along her thigh, right down to her toes curling against Sarah Jane's back—so perfect, but a mere fraction of what could be pulled out of her—but not just yet. She teased her tongue 'round, stopping just short.
Sarah Jane almost smiled at the frustrated groan from above, did smile at the hissed "don't— tease me."
Maria's hand found Sarah Jane's hair, tangled into it to tilt her face up until their eyes met. "The way you look on your knees—if you could see—I'm so close just from watching you."
Her words had the desired effect: breath and tongue and teeth and lips again, bringing her closer.
"Oh—god—Sarah—keep—doing—that—"
Even preoccupied as she was, Sarah Jane knew Maria was being too loud. Maria was always too loud. But somehow, somewhere in the heady rush of the past few months, too loud had become just right. In her own house, there was no one else to hear and the echo of it kept her company weeks when they couldn't see each other. And in Maria's apartment where the sound seemed amplified by the small space, it made her clumsy and near desperate for more—it also made her careful to avoid Maria's neighbors in the hall. But here, here she didn't particularly fancy being overheard.
She tried unsuccessfully to reach Maria's mouth, to dampen her cries with her hand, but Maria was leaned too far away. Once she had come close, her fingers finally managing to slide across Maria lips when the girl had rocked forward to grasp at her head. Instead of quieting, Maria had pulled her finger into her mouth and nipped at it before falling back again, babbling something about blue towels.
Sarah Jane gave up—gave up and stood up without warning, leaning over Maria.
Maria's eyes had snapped open—"Sarah Jane?"—and she was already starting to whine—"but I want your mouth—"
Sarah Jane pressed a finger against Maria's lips—"shhh"—replaced her finger with her mouth, teasing her lips apart.
She felt Maria smile—"I taste"—oh, god—"good." Sarah Jane could feel the moan echoing through her own throat this time. "Almost as good as—"
Sarah Jane clamped her hand over Maria's mouth before they were both too far gone to care who overheard.
She let her fingers ghost along Maria's sex—"Don't you ever"—slid them inside until her palm was flush against her—"stop talking?"
She felt a quick, hot pulse of air against her other palm—could guess which word that had been—as she found a slow rhythm that soon had Maria writhing against her hand.
Lacking Maria's usual commentary, she had to translate the straining of fingers against cold marble—just like that—decipher the counterpoint rise of hips—harder—the silken tightening around her fingers—so close, I'm going to—
"Not a word." Sarah Jane dropped her hand from Maria's mouth, stilled the fingers inside her, leaving Maria grasping at her wrist to make her move again. A roll of her thumb and Maria gasped. "Not a sound."
She lowered herself to the floor again, lowered her head for one more taste—licked and savored and scraped her teeth across the hard knot of nerves—curved her fingers into just the right—and Maria was coming, hands clutched in her hair, hips jerking into her mouth and—
"Oh—Fuck—Sarah!"
Damn.
Maria blinked through damp lashes, smiled lazily up at Sarah Jane. Only to find her looking annoyed.
"Oh-fuck-Sarah?"
Coming from Sarah Jane's mouth in that flat tone, and so unlike anything she'd usually say, that set off both a giggle and a faint tremor where that mouth had last been.
But Sarah Jane wasn't laughing.
"Sorry."
Any lingering fear that the other woman might actually have been angry with her was dispelled as Sarah Jane's fingers circled her wrist and guided her hand beneath that orange skirt. Maria gasped across Sarah Jane's cheek—Sarah Jane bit her lip to choke back her own—as Maria's fingers found her hot and wet even through her knickers.
Maria was surprised when Sarah Jane didn't withdraw her own hand, but instead covered Maria's fingers with her own, moving them just where she needed—small, rough circles again and again—until her nails bit into Maria's hand and she buried her face against her neck to keep from crying out.
Maria smoothed a piece of hair behind Sarah Jane's ear and whispered: "At least I didn't say 'it's orange' again."
Maria wasn't sure if the trembling in Sarah Jane's back was more from the lingering effects of her fingers or from laughter.
"Oh, Maria—I do love you sometimes."
Maria's smile faded as Sarah Jane's hoarse words sunk in.
I do love you sometimes.
It was the sort of thing you jokingly say to a friend. It was the sort of thing Sarah Jane would have said before, probably had done.
It was not what you whisper to a lover—especially not to a lover whose heart was breaking to hear the real words.
And Sarah Jane obviously hadn't realized what she had said, hadn't even thought enough about it.
Maria answered quietly: "And sometimes I think you do."
Sarah Jane pulled away from her, smiled faintly before her eyes widened with confusion giving way to something very near panic as her own words repeated in her mind.
"You might even say it properly one day and mean it."
Maria slid down from the counter and smoothed down her dress. She brushed past Sarah Jane who was still just staring at her and tried to sort out her underthings. There was no way to get them back on in any dignified fashion.
"Maria, I didn't mean. . ."
She settled for speed rather than grace.
"I know." And Sarah Jane didn't even realize that was the problem.
"Just, please—not here."
Not here? Not here in what probably amounted to the ladies' here on Peladon? Or not here while she was having such a lovely trip with the Doctor?
It was all too much right now, right here, and it all came pouring out: "I also know that you wouldn't kiss me in front of the Doctor—even after everything that happened this morning, all he'd already seen—you wouldn't."
She wanted Sarah Jane to protest, to make some excuse. But Sarah Jane didn't reply—her silence confirming what Maria had suspected.
She wasn't even looking at her anymore, was backed up against the counter, staring down at the floor.
She looked guilty. Sarah Jane looked utterly ashamed.
Maria felt as if she had fallen and all the air had been knocked from her chest.
For the first time all of it felt wrong—and part of her hated Sarah Jane for that.
That part of her made sure Sarah Jane was looking at her as she left.
"But you seem to have no problem fucking me whenever you feel like it."