TIM/Miranda
"Come back to bed."
Miranda smirked and shook her head. She liked him like that, loved his voice bereft of the harsh commanding tone. Just a soft murmur and a rustle of sheets, when he turned to his side.
She felt his hand, fingers stroking her back, circling every vertebra, before resting on the curve of her hip. Warm touch finally made her avert her gaze from the orange star.
"Come on, sweetheart. Come back to bed," he said again, and she obliged, sinking into a cloud of sheets scented with their passion and tobacco.
She kissed him, so hard, tasting the old bourbon and smoke, then rested her head on his chest.
Work, tomorrow. Soldier to resurrect.
She will do it for him, she'll so the best she can. Small small price to pay to the man who gave her the world, but more importantly, her life. And his love.
