BD11
Disclaimer: Ian is not mine, the rest of the Dragons know who they belong to, Moira is mine
Author's notes: Yes that is Rook, Beck, Paula, Diane, and a few others who have yet to appear. I couldn't find any names for the Dragons except Mobius and Ian, so I appropriated (with permission) theirs.
Ian looked down at Moira; the room was still spinning, but nowhere near as alarmingly as when he first exited the car. It felt good to have his boots taken off, he was still feeling overheated from the combination of the alcohol and the incident in the car. He knew she was not as unaffected by him as her brisk demeanor would suggest. He could still feel the imprint of her body on his. He suspected that if the blinding flash of headlights from the incoming car had not broken the mood, they would still be in the vehicle doing things he had only dreamed of.
Moira pulled his last sock off and said, "Well, are you healing quickly enough to handle the rest, or do you need help? Be honest. I am a doctor, it won't be the first time I've stripped and bathed an adult male who was in no position to take care of himself. It won't bother me a bit. "
So, it wouldn't bother her a bit would it? Ian felt perversely challenged by her statement. "I don't know Doc. Help me with my shirt and then let's see if I can stand unassisted."
"Ok Nottingham, we'll take it one thing at a time." Moira swallowed audibly and stood up. She moved between his sprawled legs and began unbuttoning his shirt. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath his b.d.u. shirt. Moira pushed it off his shoulders and down his arms. She laid it on the sink and stared at his waistband, where the t-shirt was tucked in.
"If I am to call you Moira when we're off base, you should call me Ian." Ian replied, breaking her stare. Truthfully the direction of her gaze was having a strong, but not unpleasant, effect on him.
"Very well, Ian it shall be. But right now let me continue to call you Nottingham; I need for this to be all business. Calling you Ian won't help me do that." Her hands flexed nervously and then reached down to pull the cotton top out of his pants. It came up with some difficulty, finally releasing after a sharp tug that caused Moira's fingers to graze his nipples as the fabric raised up.
That accidental touch sent fire through Ian's body. He had to stifle a moan, if Moira knew what she was doing to him, she would probably stop. Ian did not want to stop. In the back of his alcohol soaked brain there was a little voice screaming that it had gone far enough, that Irons would not be pleased if he didn't send her away. Ian resolutely tuned the voice out. He was tired of listening to it. He always obeyed it, but not tonight. He was feeling rebellious, and somehow immune to the consequences of his actions.
"Ok, lets get you up, I mean umm, on your feet." Moira stammered, flushed.
Ian knew what she meant, but wisely refrained from telling her so. He was already 'up.' As soon as he was on his feet, Moira would be confronted with that fact. Not bothered, HAH! The good doctor was exceedingly bothered, and all because of him. It was a new feeling, headier even than the tequila, this sense of masculine power. Ian gloried in the reaction his bare torso had elicited from Moira. She was still staring, hands kneading his t-shirt absently. Deciding to test his newfound power, he reached out and slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders, making sure his forearms grazed her breasts.
Moira jumped at his touch, but leaned slightly into his hands. Ian was pleased to note that he could see her nipples through the thin red silk. Using her shoulders for support, Ian managed to get to his feet. He swayed slightly as his head protested the sudden change and his stomach lurched, but he did not feel compelled to vomit. Ian doubted there was anything left in him to throw up, but he was glad not to find out.
"I am up, but I do not have the balance to stay standing and remove my pants. I am sorry. It appears I will need your assistance." Ian said, striving for an apologetic tone. He wasn't feeling a bit sorry, but he had long practice schooling his voice.
"It's all right Nottingham, just hang on to me. I'll get them." Moira soothed, so Ian assumed his voice had sounded suitably penitent.
"I'm never drinking so much again. Being this out of control is embarrassing." Ian continued in the same tone. Whatever his voice may have portrayed, inside he was feeling very smug. Moira was so rattled she had to use his last name to generate an artificial distance from what she was doing. He wondered how that was going to hold up once she started unbuttoning his pants. His cock was pressed tight against the button fly; there would be no way to ignore it
As if his thought had been a prompt, Moira reached slowly toward his fly. Her fingers brushed over the hard ridge of his arousal as she popped open the first button. She gave a soft little whimper of hunger and froze. Ian could see the aroused flush on her face, could feel her struggle for control in the tremors chasing through her frame. She took a deep breath and opened the second and third buttons gingerly, trying very hard not to touch anything but cloth. The light little glancing touches were driving Ian mad. He fought the urge to close his eyes in bliss, not wanting to miss a single moment of her undressing him.
The last two buttons gave, and Moira pushed them down over his hips. Normally they would have just slid down, but Ian had to stand with his legs fairly far apart for balance. "Damn it damn it damn it. Nottingham, hang on to the wall for a minute, while I get these off."
Ian moved his hands from her shoulders, one to the wall and the other to the door of the shower. As soon as he was steady again, Moira knelt between his legs and pulled the pants down to puddle at his ankles. Ian looked down the length of his body at her. Her face was perilously close to his groin.
The little voice in the back of his head howled in protest, Irons had forbidden him any contact with women. Kenneth always said they would make him weak, distract him from his mission. Well, he was already in a weakened state, and there was no mission, so the Hell with it. He swayed slightly, as if he were losing his balance. Moira immediately grabbed his hips to steady him, the side of her face pressed against his erection.
A moan was dragged from Ian's chest. He let go of the shower door and reached down to wrap his hand in her hair.
Disclaimer: Ian is not mine, the rest of the Dragons know who they belong to, Moira is mine
Author's notes: Yes that is Rook, Beck, Paula, Diane, and a few others who have yet to appear. I couldn't find any names for the Dragons except Mobius and Ian, so I appropriated (with permission) theirs.
Ian looked down at Moira; the room was still spinning, but nowhere near as alarmingly as when he first exited the car. It felt good to have his boots taken off, he was still feeling overheated from the combination of the alcohol and the incident in the car. He knew she was not as unaffected by him as her brisk demeanor would suggest. He could still feel the imprint of her body on his. He suspected that if the blinding flash of headlights from the incoming car had not broken the mood, they would still be in the vehicle doing things he had only dreamed of.
Moira pulled his last sock off and said, "Well, are you healing quickly enough to handle the rest, or do you need help? Be honest. I am a doctor, it won't be the first time I've stripped and bathed an adult male who was in no position to take care of himself. It won't bother me a bit. "
So, it wouldn't bother her a bit would it? Ian felt perversely challenged by her statement. "I don't know Doc. Help me with my shirt and then let's see if I can stand unassisted."
"Ok Nottingham, we'll take it one thing at a time." Moira swallowed audibly and stood up. She moved between his sprawled legs and began unbuttoning his shirt. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath his b.d.u. shirt. Moira pushed it off his shoulders and down his arms. She laid it on the sink and stared at his waistband, where the t-shirt was tucked in.
"If I am to call you Moira when we're off base, you should call me Ian." Ian replied, breaking her stare. Truthfully the direction of her gaze was having a strong, but not unpleasant, effect on him.
"Very well, Ian it shall be. But right now let me continue to call you Nottingham; I need for this to be all business. Calling you Ian won't help me do that." Her hands flexed nervously and then reached down to pull the cotton top out of his pants. It came up with some difficulty, finally releasing after a sharp tug that caused Moira's fingers to graze his nipples as the fabric raised up.
That accidental touch sent fire through Ian's body. He had to stifle a moan, if Moira knew what she was doing to him, she would probably stop. Ian did not want to stop. In the back of his alcohol soaked brain there was a little voice screaming that it had gone far enough, that Irons would not be pleased if he didn't send her away. Ian resolutely tuned the voice out. He was tired of listening to it. He always obeyed it, but not tonight. He was feeling rebellious, and somehow immune to the consequences of his actions.
"Ok, lets get you up, I mean umm, on your feet." Moira stammered, flushed.
Ian knew what she meant, but wisely refrained from telling her so. He was already 'up.' As soon as he was on his feet, Moira would be confronted with that fact. Not bothered, HAH! The good doctor was exceedingly bothered, and all because of him. It was a new feeling, headier even than the tequila, this sense of masculine power. Ian gloried in the reaction his bare torso had elicited from Moira. She was still staring, hands kneading his t-shirt absently. Deciding to test his newfound power, he reached out and slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders, making sure his forearms grazed her breasts.
Moira jumped at his touch, but leaned slightly into his hands. Ian was pleased to note that he could see her nipples through the thin red silk. Using her shoulders for support, Ian managed to get to his feet. He swayed slightly as his head protested the sudden change and his stomach lurched, but he did not feel compelled to vomit. Ian doubted there was anything left in him to throw up, but he was glad not to find out.
"I am up, but I do not have the balance to stay standing and remove my pants. I am sorry. It appears I will need your assistance." Ian said, striving for an apologetic tone. He wasn't feeling a bit sorry, but he had long practice schooling his voice.
"It's all right Nottingham, just hang on to me. I'll get them." Moira soothed, so Ian assumed his voice had sounded suitably penitent.
"I'm never drinking so much again. Being this out of control is embarrassing." Ian continued in the same tone. Whatever his voice may have portrayed, inside he was feeling very smug. Moira was so rattled she had to use his last name to generate an artificial distance from what she was doing. He wondered how that was going to hold up once she started unbuttoning his pants. His cock was pressed tight against the button fly; there would be no way to ignore it
As if his thought had been a prompt, Moira reached slowly toward his fly. Her fingers brushed over the hard ridge of his arousal as she popped open the first button. She gave a soft little whimper of hunger and froze. Ian could see the aroused flush on her face, could feel her struggle for control in the tremors chasing through her frame. She took a deep breath and opened the second and third buttons gingerly, trying very hard not to touch anything but cloth. The light little glancing touches were driving Ian mad. He fought the urge to close his eyes in bliss, not wanting to miss a single moment of her undressing him.
The last two buttons gave, and Moira pushed them down over his hips. Normally they would have just slid down, but Ian had to stand with his legs fairly far apart for balance. "Damn it damn it damn it. Nottingham, hang on to the wall for a minute, while I get these off."
Ian moved his hands from her shoulders, one to the wall and the other to the door of the shower. As soon as he was steady again, Moira knelt between his legs and pulled the pants down to puddle at his ankles. Ian looked down the length of his body at her. Her face was perilously close to his groin.
The little voice in the back of his head howled in protest, Irons had forbidden him any contact with women. Kenneth always said they would make him weak, distract him from his mission. Well, he was already in a weakened state, and there was no mission, so the Hell with it. He swayed slightly, as if he were losing his balance. Moira immediately grabbed his hips to steady him, the side of her face pressed against his erection.
A moan was dragged from Ian's chest. He let go of the shower door and reached down to wrap his hand in her hair.