you an' me an' a bottle of wine

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

Her orgasm seizes them both, and greedy is an apt description as Raza tightens all around him, arching back and moaning his name like a fucking siren in the night. He's only a second or two after her to the end of the race, and when he cums it's hard and fast, dragging a rough groan and a few appreciative curses from Jack's throat along the way. Hips driving forward, the captain presses them both up against the bar, lost for a moment in the physical and mental bliss of it all, in tingling toes and numb fingers.

"Fuck," he says through a breathless sort of laugh, leaning in to press a bruising sort of kiss to the side of her neck, giving her hips a very welcome squeeze before withdrawing away from her. "Gods you're good," he rumbles, caring nothing for clothes, for the ringing silence in the wake of their fucking, for his wilting erection. No, Jack is already helping to clear up the bottles from the bar, and is gentleman enough to pour Raza a drink this time.

And they're both sated now, at least for a little while. But it never lasts forever, and habit suggests that Jack will come knocking at her door again before long.

~FIN