I had some unexpected inspiration with this fic. My muse ran off a month or so ago when I became too busy to put fingers to keyboard – I thought she'd never come back.
But then I started conversing about fanfiction and the such with a wonderful writer Summer39. Her words, her views on what makes fanfiction so awesome, and of course her glorious work, all culminated together to kick the muse back into action.
YEEHAA
We chatted about how annoyed we were that Mark was never allowed to fall apart in the series, like he should have – especially after the death of his father. He was entitled to break down and cry, and be a real human being, rather than the hollowed out-pretty boy (of whom we love muchly) he was.
So I thought: you know what … yeah. Let him fall apart.
Summer39 has done a fantastic job at exploring this with her fic Intervention. If you haven't read it, then what are you waiting for?! Brilliant piece.
So then I thought I'd have a go at it. Initially, this was going to be simply a hot'n'heavy piece between birdies that mirrored a dream I had about a Condor and a fangirl (oh blush .. but mrrooowwr)… But it ended up a little different. There is lovemaking of sorts in here, but it is so short that if you blink you'll totally miss it. I will give a heads-up just incase you don't like that sort of thing.
Anyhoooooo…. Summer39, this one's for you. I hope you like it! You were, afterall the inspiration for this one.
GK
Oh… disclaimer: I don't own the birds. You all know it, I shouldn't have to say it, but …. I don't own G-Force, Battle of the Planets, a dog, a cat, or even a pet bird. I do, however, own a pretty little fishie …
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PAINIt had been a long, hard mission…
It had been a damn long few weeks, actually.
A long, hard fought few weeks that had finally come to head in the middle of a G-Force mission.
Princess didn't want to have to think back on the day's mission and how close they'd all come to death because their commander had suddenly lost his will to live. She found herself unable to ignore the thoughts, however, as she leaned down over her knee to paint her toes a soft pink colour. The colour of the lacquer on the tiny brush was about the same wash the whites of his eyes had become when she finally snapped at him to grow up and be a man. The heated demand she'd made had hurt, and Princess knew it, but it was enough to kick him back into some semblance of normalcy for long enough to complete their mission.
…Of course as soon as they docked back at Centre Neptune, he left. There wasn't even enough time for her to expel a relieved breath as the cradle arms snapped tight upon the Phoenix before Mark stormed off the Command deck to a destination unknown.
She'd felt awful as the remaining four members strode tiredly into a mission debriefing with Chief Anderson. When their project head had asked where their distinguished commander was, their acting leader – Jason – had left it to her to explain what had happened. And while her version of events was condensed enough to not have put Mark on reprimand, it was enough to have Anderson in a state of pure disgust. He demanded that they all sequester themselves inside their homes until further notice. He would get a full team debrief within 24 hours, even if it meant hog-tying the Commander to ensure his presence.
Anderson knew full well about Mark's current emotional state. He'd been particularly trying and unresponsive during any G-Force related tasks. He switched between vengefulness and despondency, but had thus far held off from attempting resignation from the team. To Princess this was telling. Mark was fast to remove his communicator when he thought he wasn't being heard, or had done wrong by the team, but to date he had yet to do so.
That meant he needed something from one or all of the team. That something was as yet undefined.
She blew at a stray curl that had invited itself down her brow. She'd done her best to ignore it, but as she tackled peering through only one eye to paint a little flower on her biggest toe, she found she had to eliminate it from her vision. It fell with persistence back over her eye and she slouched her shoulders and head backward in defeat.
"I give up," she moaned softly with a wave of the tiny brush in front of her.
I give up.
So far she hadn't heard those words fall from Mark's lips, but she certainly felt the declaration when in his presence. Mark was defeated; totally and utterly defeated; but she couldn't fault him for it. For his entire life he'd been lied to. He was the man he was through pride and honour toward a man he thought was dead. He fought in the name of his mother and of his father, to make them proud. To finish the job that his father had started – the job that had torn his family apart.
He was trained so tirelessly, so selflessly, to turn himself into a being that was more robot than even 7-Zark-7. Any emotion Mark was willing to share was so watered down and empty that it couldn't be believed. Sure, he could cry and display anger like the next man, but there was always something absent in those expressions. The missing entity was a mystery to she and to anyone else, until a few weeks ago when she uttered those fateful words.
Mark, he's your father.
Father.
Princess let out a long moan and brought both hands to her brow to clutch at the front of her hair. She didn't notice the little lacquer brush still in her hand until she felt the wet slide of a newly streaked bang of hair kiss at her finger. Her breath was haggard as she quickly drew her hands from her hair and let her eyes scan the coffee table in front of her for a compact mirror.
Although she looked, her eyes didn't really see what was in front of her. Images of Mark's expression and shock at her words, and then of his horror as the rocket ship carrying his father took off, and then exploded, clouded her vision like a bad hologram. No matter how much she blinked her eyes and shook her head to free her of the image, it still remained.
Had it been a smart thing for her to do? Should she have remained quiet and let Colonel Cronus take his secret to the grave?
Whether or not it was the right thing, she couldn't have held onto it. She was completely incapable of lying to him, and although remaining silent would not have been considered a lie; to her it was betrayal and deceit. She loved Mark, she couldn't spend the rest of her days hiding the truth from him.
Of course, the truth had destroyed him – which in turn would eventually destroy them all.
She leaned forward and dropped the little paintbrush into a disused ashtray on the coffee table. She snaked her hand through three small bottles of different shaded nail polishes toward a glass of wine. Her fingers paused just shy of the glass as though in question of whether or not to draw it to her, and then flicked insistently to clutch at the stem and haul it to her mouth.
"You didn't deserve that, Mark." She hissed as she drew back a long taste of Chardonnay.
As though an agreement from the Gods, the air thundered from above. She let her eyes flick to the window in time to see the bright, white, flash of lightning illuminate the city as though day.
"Dammit," she cursed as she drew herself to a stand and languidly strode toward the window to pull it closed. "And I just washed the bike."
As the sentence left her lips she felt disgust toward herself. Who was she to be so upset about something so trivial, when the man she loved was wandering alone though his own plot of Hell?
He didn't need to be alone. He had her; he had the team. All he needed to do was ask and any one of them would be at his side to commiserate and empathize. They'd all been there. They'd all felt the sting of betrayal and heartbreak throughout their lives – they could help him.
But he didn't want it. He wanted to do this alone.
She leaned her shoulder and temple against the sharp corner of the window sill and stared out into her rainy backyard.
"You can come to me, Mark," she breathed sadly. "I'm here for you no matter what."
She half expected to feel a tear roll down her cheek. She needed to feel a tear roll down her cheek at the thought of Mark's turmoil, but knew her body would not allow it. She did not deserve to hurt. With all that Mark was suffering through, how could she have been so heartless as to chide him in the middle of a mission, belittling his command, all for her own selfishness, because she was fed up?
If he never spoke to her again, she'd understand why.
A flash exploded from the sky, and she found she had to turn her head to look away from it. As the lights flickered above her head and then surged back to life, she heard the chiming of the front door. With reluctance she pulled herself from the window and strode toward the door.
"Keyop," she called chidingly as she placed her glass on a table in passing. "Did you forget your keys again?"
The doorbell chimed again, which drew a long-suffering groan from deep inside her belly. "Okay, okay. I should just make you stand out there all…" She ended the sentence with a gasp as she opened the door and took in the disheveled sight before her. "Mark…"
Mark. Or at least the shell of the man she knew as Mark. He stood just shy of the awning to the front door, which would have required him to lean excessively to press the doorbell button. His white jeans were soaked and stained in mud that seemed to wash up and fade from his ankles to knees. His infamous #1 shirt was as wet, and seemed to possessively clutch at his body like a jealous lover. It pulled and pucked under his arms and at the waistband of his jeans. He'd likely attempted to tuck it back into his pants at some point, but had failed as the tuck was creased, folded, and bunched over itself to leave the fall of his shirt uncomfortably restricting. His proud auburn mane was matted and streaked in heavy strands down the sides of his face.
He looked at her through bangs the hung in front of his face and leeched water from their ends. She could see the thickened lines flowing down his cheeks like tendrils of a clear magnifying string. She couldn't tell if he was crying, but his eyes were red and his cheeks swollen and blotchy.
He stood with his shoulders in a hunch of complete despondency that lifted and fell in heavy heaving with each breath.
He finally shuddered with a shaking breath and tilted his head as though ready to beg.
"Princess. Help me."
She swallowed a lump in her throat and immediately stepped toward him. As she slid his hands into hers and drew him out of the rain she half expected him to reek of alcohol. Her expectation went unrewarded as she noted nothing but the acrid smell of mud mixed with rain.
"I'm here," she answered on a pleading breath as she tugged him through the doorway. "Let's get you dried off and we can talk."
He closed his eyes, nodded, and followed her command. Each loud squeaking squish of his wet shoes on her polished hardwood floor creased his face into a wince. "Princess, I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go."
She shook her head at his words as she led him toward the bathroom of her small apartment. "There's nowhere else you should have gone, Mark. My door is always open for you."
He sniffed and dragged his wet forearm across his eyes in a vain attempt to dry them. He let out a shaken moan when he felt the scraping drag of mud instead of a dry swipe. "Thank you."
She pulled him into the bathroom and let him lean against the wall as she flung open the shower curtain and twisted the hot water knob. "Don't thank me, Mark. Just…" she paused to take a breath and hesitated only a second before twisting the cold water knob. "Take a shower and I'll find you something dry to put on."
He sniffed hard and pulled himself from his lean, only to fall back into it and drop his forehead into his hands. "Jesus, Princess. I'm just so lost right now." He clutched tightly at his bangs and winced at the tightened pull at his scalp. "I feel so empty and so …" He looked up at her as though to invite her to finish his sentence for him.
"Betrayed," said softly as she took a tentative step forward and reached out to tug his shirt from his jeans. "I wish I could make it all better for you."
He stood and looked intently at her face; enough so that his expression softened. "Just tell me my entire life hasn't been a lie."
She drew his shirt up over his head and let it slop noisily on the floor. "You're not a lie," she said softly as she timidly reached for his belt, "they are the lie."
He touched at her hands as she touched the button of his fly and gently aided her in undoing them. He held her hands as he guided his jeans off his hips. "Who am I? What am I doing?"
She pulled him toward her and held his face in her hands. "You are you, Mark." She held him for a second longer than her words and then let her hands slide down over his shoulders. "And you are doing the best you can." She held the curtain open as she guided him inside. "Get warmed up, and I'll go and throw your clothes in the dryer."
His hand shot out of the water to grasp desperately at hers. "Don't go."
"I'm right here," she promised softly. "I won't go anywhere."
Naked, and drenched moreso than he was at her stoop, Mark looked helpless. His skin slowly found colour as it shifted from a deathly bluish white, to a warming pink. He stared at her with eyes returning to blue. "You're the only one I can trust, Prin."
She shook her head. "There are four of us you know you can trust."
He tugged her into the shower stall and pulled her against him. "No," he hissed with more anger than intended. "You are the only one I can count on; the only one I know will be at my side no matter what."
She felt the need to squirm uncomfortably at the suffocating wet stick of her nighie against her thighs, but held off doing so, if only to keep Mark talking. "We," she breathed with a heavy accent on the word "can all be counted on to be there for you, Mark. Jason, Tiny, Keyop, me. We're all here for you. Just ask."
His arms across her back tightened for an instant before they relaxed. "You're the one I need right now," he declared softly, his voice an inch of sounding pained. "You are the only one who can make me feel like I need to."
She blinked through the shower stream to look up at him. "And how do you need to feel?"
"Loved," he breathed hoarsely. "Like it's all not just a waste. That I mean enough to someone that they would never lie to me. That everything I've ever done hasn't been done under false pretences."
"I would never betray you," she said softly.
His body gave a solitary shake as a sob rippled through him. "I know, Princess." He lightly guided her around him as he pivoted on a foot to let her lean back against the tiled wall. "And I love you for it."
Her eyes flashed – loved?
He saw the look of shock pass through her eyes and slid his hands up her arms to cup her neck. "Don't be so shocked, Princess. I've never tried to hide how I feel about you."
She swallowed hard. "I love you too, Mark."
He nodded and drew his thumbs along her jaw. "I've known that since you were fourteen," he admitted softly. "You've never hidden it either. You don't hide things from me." His eyes hardened and he spun from her. "Lies, Princess." His hands balled into fists. "It's all just god damned lies!"
She hiccupped in shock as he launched his fury at the wall. She pleaded his name desperately as she heard the crack of his knuckles against the wall over the top of the water against her ears.
"Fucking lies!"
Her throat finally found her pain and she struggled to swallow over the lump in her throat. Her eyes burned with the first wave of tears to fall since the mission almost a day ago. "Mark, please." She stepped forward and traced her hand over his back, and then around him to clutch desperately at his chest. "Please don't do this to yourself."
His breathing deepened, yet softened, as he felt her lips move timidly along his shoulder. She spoke against his shoulder, wet lips on wet skin, a slide soft and gentle. He felt a hot surge of something rush down into his groin and spun harshly inside her hold.
She staggered backward against the wall and appeared terrified as she shrank down under his gaze.
He took half a moment to analyze the woman sharing the shower with him. She had, indeed, been there for him. Anytime he needed anything, it was she who answered his call. It was she who backed him up and stood at his side. She, who quietly obeyed, even when she disagreed … She who gave him the push when he needed pushing, and tightened the reins when he needed drawing back.
She was the one who finally stepped in and told him what was what, when noone else could give him the respect to do so.
He blinked hard to capture her image in the photo album of his mind. It was an image he'd only ever get to see once, and he didn't want to lose it. Her hair was wet and weighed down by the hot water showering down from above their head. Her skin, ivory and smooth, glistened under water drops that looked like the finest Swarovski crystals. She had her lips slightly parted. They were glossy and wet, and expelled the finest spray of water with every exhale she made. Her pink and frilly nightie was wet and limp against each and every curve on her body.
She became a little uncomfortable under his stare and took her gaze off his to look at the shower taps as though they were the most fascinating item on the planet. "I. I should go, Mark, and make sure you have something dry to change into…" she hiccupped when she felt his body press up against hers to push her against the wet tile wall. She couldn't bring herself to look up at him when she breathed his name in question.
"I need you," he declared hotly as his hands traversed through the wetted folds of her nighty to her hips. He dipped slightly to slide his hands further down to find the hem of the outfit and rose as his hands slid up underneath to her hips. "Make me feel like a man."
She whimpered as his hands slid around her backside and threaded down into the back of her panties. "No, Mark. It isn't right."
He dug his fingers into her rump and jerked her toward him with a light enough lift for him to ensure his arousal met with most charged point of her woman. He smiled against her neck at her sharp sigh and her legs involuntarily parting in invitation. "Yes, it is, Princess," he promised her. "It's never been more right."
She flattened her palms against the tile behind her as though ready to push them both off the wall and instead found herself only clawing against it as his hips began a roll against her that slowly coaxed her legs further open to him.
His erection was now encased between wet thighs and wet satin. With each roll of his hips against hers, his growls deepened and became much more possessive.
"You're all I have left," he declared inside a snarl and he dragged his open mouth along her collarbone. "You're my only truth."
She nodded enough that her head lightly nudged against the tile. Her mouth gaped wide and unmoving, which prevented any words she tried to say in response to form beyond a huff of sing-songing breath. She knew this encounter was unlikely to be gentle, and surer more that it was going to happen.
For all of the arguments her mind may have been shoving at her, he heart and body held more desperate counter arguments. If this is what Mark thought he needed to bring himself through this, then she wasn't going to deny him that need.
"Take me," she managed finally as she dropped her head and found his mouth with hers.
The claim of her mouth against his drew a rumble from deep inside his belly. At the touch of her tongue to his the rumble grew into a growl that shuddered out from between their connected mouths to only open his mouth wider. As his lips fanned out with his breath, he found himself engulfing her mouth completely. He barely angled his head. His nose pushed against hers as he crushed her closer to him.
She could no longer continue to battle against his mouth. She kept her jaw ajar and her tongue still to let him inhale her wholly into him. She pressed her hands back onto the tile and felt limp to him as he drew a single leg around his hip and drove himself past the thin elastic edge of her panties inside her.
He drew in and out of her hard; the penetration so forceful the slap reverberated in the broken air of the steamy bathroom. He grunted at the scrape of the elastic along his length as he rocked backward, and then moaned at the soft warmth of her as he moved within.
Finality came quickly. Within only a short few hard rocks against her he felt his entire being begin to shatter. It began with tightness in his shoulders that gripped hard at each muscle as it traveled toward his feet.
He could barely breathe as his body contracted into itself, held, and then released with a wash of white blinding his vision. He yelled to liberate himself. A yell that was not of a man at the apex of sex, but of one at the end of his own existence.
His muscles did not release. They did not soften, whimper and then shake out the last ripples or orgasm. Instead, they held him firm inside her. His fingers were locked hard into the softest rise of her ass and his own hips locked forward as if frozen on an upward thrust.
Princess was half terrified. His grip on her was tight and unrelenting, his hip thrust so far forward that it held her from the ground. His expression was rigid; a wide-eyed glare at nothing with an open mouth in a silent scream … and at that very moment she saw what had been missing inside the man she had loved and longed for since a young teen.
…Passion – raw, unadulterated, and desperate passion. But as quickly as the passion had flared, it was gone again leaving only the hollow shell of the G-Force Commander still firmly inside her.
She felt her heart hammer inside her chest as she shakily drew her fingers to his face. His stare was vacant, but his breath strong. Through a gaped mouth, his breath drew in and out, long and deep. When she touched her fingers to his bottom lip, his mouth finally closed. His eyes cleared and fell lazily down to hers.
"Princess," he whined close to tears. "I am so sorry."
She felt his hands loosen their hold on her leg and winced as she let it lower to the floor. "For what, Mark?"
He lowered his face and angled it to one side in what appeared to be regret. "For making you do that. I … I just don't know what – Oh god." His knees buckled out from under him as he violently convulsed to let out a long held sob. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't," she interrupted quickly in panic. She felt immediate loss as she felt him leave her body. "Don't be sorry. You have nothing to apologise for."
His eyes clenched shut tightly as he fell to his knees and circled his arms around her hips as though a child begging for his mother not to leave. His face buried into the valley between her thighs and he began to sob.
"Why, Princess? Why did they have to hide it from me?"
She didn't think to shut off the water as she lowered her hands to his head. "I wish I could answer that question, Mark. I wish I understood."
The embrace he had on her thighs tightened and his face deepened into the space between her thighs. His entire body jerked with each sob that exploded from inside his chest. He felt her slowly lower herself to her knees, but kept his face firmly in place inside her lap. He shuddered as she leaned over him and draped her arms softly around his back. Her soft cooing sounds in his ear eased his wracking sobs down to gentle whimpers.
"What do I do now, Prin?"
She lay her head on his back and stroked her ear gently along his skin. "You go on the best that you can." She caught sight of Jason and Keyop standing in the doorway and shot an annoyed frown in their direction. Knowing that Mark would probably be mortified to know the boys – particularly Jason – had seen him in such a mess she flicked her hand to silently tell them to leave.
Jason frowned, but gave a sharp nod and tugged Keyop away by the collar. He pointed toward the Lounge area in warning that he would be waiting for them.
She drew herself up slightly and traced her finger along his back to his shoulder to coax his face to hers. She looked into his eyes and tilted her head gently. "Do you want to stay here tonight? You can take my bed."
"Only if you're in it with me." He let out a long breath and let his eyes scan along the floor. As if surprised that he was on the wet bathroom floor, naked, he suddenly jerked to a stand. He smoothed his hands down along his skin as though hand-ironing out the creases of clothing and shook his head. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"
She remained on her knees on the wet shower stall floor and raised her hands to twist off the water. "It's understandable, Mark." With a pained grunt at the hot black bruise on her rump protesting her rise to her feet she cast him a long glance. "I'm glad you came to me. I was getting so worried about you."
He frowned as she passed him and slid a towel from a stainless steel bar on the wall. "You shouldn't have to worry about me – it's not right."
She threw the towel to him and admired him a moment. "Yes it is, Mark. Everything I do for you is right."
He gave her an honest and grateful smile as he rubbed the towel over his hair. He actually didn't seem the least bit uneasy that he still stood before her naked. "Where would I be without you?"
She clicked in a snap of air through the side of her mouth and gave a wink as she clutched the hem of her nighty and struggled to pull the soppy fabric up over her head. "Let's hope we never find out," she breathed as she turned to drape the garment up over the curtain rod.
Mark's breath hitched in, hard, when her lift revealed the extent of his aggression toward her during their lovemaking – if it could so be termed that way. "Oh, Princess," he breathed regretfully as he lowered the towel from his head and let it hang limply at his side. "I am so sorry."
She passed him an initially confused look and then followed his gaze with her eyes to his to her bruised leg. Her lips pursed at the sight of it. "Oh. Don't be sorry," she said softly as her gaze filtered back to his. "I'm not."
He took a step back from her and folded his arms across his chest. The expression on his face read one of disappointment in himself. "You deserved more than that."
She sniffed and inhaled through her mouth in a simultaneous move. "So did you." She stepped quickly forward and threaded her arms underneath his to nestle herself into his chest. "Just promise me that you don't regret it; regret that we finally did become one with each other." Her hold on him tightened. "I don't know that I could handle it if it were just a release for you and nothing more."
He read the worry in her tone and flicked back quickly. "My only regret," he vowed as he used the crook of his finger to draw her face up to look at him. "Is that our first time together wasn't more than that." He caught a blink of anticipation from her and dropped his face to kiss the tip of her nose. "I promise you that the next time I'll be the man you deserve."
She pulled the towel from his hand and slid it around his hips. She smiled as she tucked the ends of it into the wrap to keep it firmly in place. "You already are."
He felt a dip in his chest at the absolute honesty inside her voice and found himself suddenly longing desperately for her. "God I love you, Princess."
His declaration exploded a bubble of butterflies inside her belly. She half squealed in excitement as she launched herself at him and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Mark. Don't ever stop saying that." She punctuated her request by pressing her lips against his.
Mark immediately deepened the kiss to something beyond her excited playfulness and pulled her to him so that her entire body pressed along his. The way his hands and arms moved against her weren't soft, gentle caresses, they were firm and possessive as though claiming her as his own. His voce was hoarse when he finally pulled away to look deeply into her eyes.
"Let me make love to you again, Princess."
She gave a shudder at a hot wash that suddenly flowed through her, but said nothing as she blinked and licked her lips.
"Let me make it right," he continued in urging. "Let me prove to you how good it can be."
She could feel his arousal building against her and whimpered against his collarbone. "Later, Mark. You have three worried guys waiting for you in my loungeroom."
His breath caught. "They're here?"
She took both his hands in hers and squeezed them supportively. "They're worried about you, too. " Her throat cleared when he looked nervously at the bathroom door. "I can tell them to leave if you like."
He looked down at here his hips were covered in only a towel. "It might be awkward if I go out in only a towel." His eyes rose, but rather than being despondent, there seemed to be a cheeky glint inside them. "How do we explain this?"
She rolled her eyes and snatched a towel off the rack to cover herself. "I'll explain nothing about it to them." She tightened the towel. "If they ask I'll tell them to mind their business."
He chuckled and smoothed his hand over her hair. "They'll make their own assumptions. Are you ready for the rumours?"
"As long as you are."
He nodded. "It should take their attention off the other matter."
Princess shook her head. "No it won't. But it might ease the pressure a little." She let her eyes rake up and down his body. "But for now, I think I have an old pair of Jason's tracks in my wardrobe that you can borrow."
"Do I ask how you have them?"
She shook her head. "It's best that you don't."
His lips pursed as his brows furrowed lightly. "Oh."
She led him into the hallway with a shake of her head. "And it isn't what you think it is, commander."
Mark barely heard her as he paused in the hallway to the sounds of his team's murmurs in the adjacent room. He didn't know if he was exactly ready to face the questioning and sympathetic looks from them, but as he heard the whisper of a woman much more to him than a third inside his ear he let out a long and cleansing breath. "You're at my side, right, Princess?"
"Yes, Mark. I won't let them push you too hard. Give the word and I'll kick them all out of here."
"Can I give it now?"
She cupped his face in her hands and dipped her head to look up at him with a gaze of support and admiration. "Let them help you through this, Mark. They're not here as your team mates, they're here as your family. They don't expect to see their commander right now. They're here for Mark."
He huffed out a laugh of irony. "Is he even here?"
She took his hand and tugged him toward her bedroom. "Moreso than I've ever seen him."
He gave her a grateful smile as they crossed the threshold into her bedroom. "Thank you, Princess … for everything."
"You don't need to thank me, Mark, but you do need to let us understand and feel with you."
He nodded, but said nothing.
"Are you going to be okay?"
He sat on the end of her bed and draped his elbows over his knees. "I think so, Prin. It's not going to be easy to accept it all, but …"
"But we'll get you to where you need to be," she finished for him as she threw a pair of grey sweats to him. "Just don't shut us out anymore, okay?"
"I promise I won't."
She smiled as she leaned forward to sweep through her draw of panties for a pair of her choosing. "Good, because if you do I'll have to…" She stopped with a giggle and shook her head as her towel fell to a heap on the floor. "Oh, never mind."
He read the implication and had to smile. They had yet to actually be truly intimate and she was already making threats to withhold it from him. He wanted to chuckle, but found his smile falter somewhat at the image of her in front of him, naked, beside her bed. He drew himself to a stand and silently approached her. Her name passed softly through his lips with an extension on the end that was pleading.
She turned to him with wide eyes of question that quickly widened further to shock as he moved upon her and covered her mouth with his.
She whimpered in his breath and shuddered at his touch as he lifted her from the ground and stalked toward her bed. Reluctantly she tore her mouth from his and indicated the trio in the other room with a jut of her chin toward the door. "Mark, the boys. They're waiting."
He moaned as he lay her back on the bed and found his place between her legs. "They can keep waiting."
Princess rolled her head upward to look without vision toward the bedroom window as his tongue traced a line along her jaw and down the length of her neck. She felt him flick against her center and succumbed with a wanton whimper of expectation.
Yes, the boys could wait…