trashchildren | For Joan

"Yeah?" he answers, smiling at the way she arches upwards as he rubs his palm against her. Touching her quite firmly, but the sensation dulled by the layer of clothing in between. "You want more of that?" he asks, his voice a deep, quiet hum.

Joan moans softly as he continues to rub her through her clothes, her hips flexing. "Yeah," she answers, already a little breathless. When he asks if she wants more she smiles. "I want you to touch me," she murmurs. Her smile deepens. "I love it when you touch me."

"Good thing I love touching you," he answers, leaning down to give her another kiss, just for a bit as he moves his hand to run his fingers just inside the lining of her pants. He tugs gently at the button at the front, and then nods down at it as a request. He's not going to waste time trying to open it one-handed.

"Good thing," she agrees with a smile, and hums into the kiss, touching his cheek. His touch along her abdomen sends a slight shiver through her. When he tugs at her button she gets the message and reaches down to unbutton and unzip her fly, and lowers her pants off her hips just a little to make it easier for his hand to slide under her underwear and between her legs.

"Thanks," he murmurs with a smile, watching her. He doesn't move his hand directly there, taking the long way by tracing his fingertips along the inside of her underwear, down her hipbone, along the inside of her thigh, being tantalizingly close before he finally gets there.

When he does, he starts off gentle, wetting his fingers as he runs them between her labia, his palm against her clitoris, using his whole hand to rub against her. Soft at first, then firmer as he responds to her bucking hips.

Her eyes drift closed as his fingers make their wandering way, feeling every touch, every trace, every sensation the sweetest torture as he got closer and closer to the ache between her legs.

Then he's touching her, so gentle, and Joan breathes a soft moan, her hips shifting ever so slightly against his hand. Then his touch grows firmer, and her body is responding in kind, her hips moving, chasing his touch, then as it gets more intense her hips are bucking. Joan bites her lip hard to try to stifle a whimpering moan that she cannot suppress, and her hands grip and twist the sheets.

Just watching her respond to his touch is the most delightful thing, knowing he's bringing her this pleasure. Someone usually so composed, watching her give herself over to it is mesmerizing.

He watches as her hands grip at the sheets. "Hold onto me," he requests quietly, wanting to feel the tightness of her touch. His arms, shoulders, neck and even hair are all safe for her to grab, after all.

Then he moves his hand further down, his middle two fingers slipping inside her and curling up, aiming for that sweet spot.

Joan is happy to oblige, reaching up, one arm wrapping over his shoulders while the fingers of her other hand slide into his hair and curl slightly, pulling his head down to meet her lips, kissing him hard. When his fingers slide inside her she moans helplessly, her grip on him tightening with the rest of her body as his fingers stroking her inside drives her to the edge.

He kisses her back happily, continuing to massage her until she's too breathless and helpless to continue kissing him. And then he abruptly softens his touch considerably, just to hear her whimper, to keep her there for a few moments longer.

He keeps her right there, trembling on the edge, and it is the most delicious torture imaginable. Joan is writhing and whimpering under his touch, clutching him, utterly lost in the sensation, in the intense pleasure that is all the more devastating in the delay of its resolution.

"Ted," she gasps, a plea.

The sound of her gasping his name is still the most wonderful thing he can imagine, overcome with pleasure. He leans down to give her a soft kiss as the moment draws on, her writhing next to him.

And then he obliges, intensifying his touch once more, faster and firmer, until his hand almost starts cramping.

That kiss is so simple, so sweet, so loving, and stood in delicious contrast to the sheer torment of being held on the very cusp of climax, her body shuddering.

Then his fingers speed up, giving her that last bit of sensation she needs, and her body arches as she comes with a strangled cry, her hands gripping him tightly.

He watches her happily, almost breathless himself from the way she arches and tenses, tugging at him. He keeps massaging her through the orgasm as she tightens around his fingers, then slowing down and softening his touch as her body collapses, then finally pulling away once she's become so oversensitive that she twitches at his touch.

He wipes his hand on his shirt (it's already stained anyway), then runs it gently across her thigh, her side, her abdomen, just loving touches as she basks in the afterglow.

"I love you," he whispers, leaning down to kiss the side of her mouth softly.

He knows her so well, knows her body so well, that he doesn't even have to wait for her to push him away to know when to stop. And then he touches her so gently and tenderly as she catches her breath. It's beautiful, and Joan feels so incredibly loved, even before he says the words. When he does, she kisses him back, cupping his cheek, warm and relaxed and so happy.

"I love you," she whispers back when they're lips part.

She rolls over to nestle against him, wrapping an arm around his waist, just wanting to be as close as possible.

Ted carefully shifts, lying down on his back just slightly turned towards her, getting into a comfortable position where he's not in pain. It takes a little bit finagling, but soon he settles against her, giving her hair a kiss.

He's content to just lie here for a while, getting as much closeness as they can, while they can. Pretending nothing can hurt them, and that they can stay here forever.

She shifts as needed so that he's as comfortable as possible, mindful of his injuries, and sighs at that kiss to her hair, relaxing against him, wrapped in the glow of the pleasure they've given each other and the love they share. It's amazing, and Joan wants to remember every bit of it, the feeling of his arms around her, the sound of his breathing and his heart beating, even the smell of him. She smiles a little.

"Can I take your shirt with me?" she asks softly.

That question surprises him. Especially considering the shirt is, well, not very clean now. But he's guessing that's probably why she wants it. One of his clean shirts probably wouldn't be quite as effective.

"Sure, I guess," he answers with a smile.

She knows she's going to miss him terribly. They'll be able to talk a little, when they're both home alone with the blinds drawn, but she will miss this, being in his arms, being touched by him, kissed by him. Maybe it will help, just a little, if she can smell him. Smell is the sense most closely tied with memory, and she wants to remember as clearly as she can, until they're back together again and she doesn't have to rely on a memory anymore.

"We'll have to figure out when to call each other," she murmurs.

"What, like code-names?" he asks curiously, maybe with a hint of amusement. He's not used to all this subterfuge, most of his familiarity with it comes from spy movies, not actually doing it. He doesn't know what would actually be effective and important, and what's just flashy fiction stuff.

She smiles and chuckles. "Not what, when. We'll have to both be alone, so it might be good to agree on a time now." Her smile remains but her expression becomes a touch more serious. "Have the doctors talked to you about when you're going home?"

"Oh, right," he answers, frowning as he considers. "Yeah, I mean, they've mostly just been keeping me under observation in case there's complications, but they suggested going home when I can walk a bit better. The knee injuries aren't actually that bad, just fluid, so, a day or two now."

He's very aware that it will take weeks, up to a few months before he's fully healed from everything. But at least he won't be stuck in this room forever.

"Shame, I was really enjoying the idea of coming up with cool aliases for each other.." he adds, mostly joking.

A day or two. It probably isn't a good idea for Ted to use the burner phone in the hospital, where there's minimal privacy and no safe place to hide it. Which means that they won't be able to talk for a day or two. She's doing her best to be reasonable, that one or two days is not that long, that she'll be traveling for some of that, that there's going to be plenty to do when she gets back to New York to follow any American connections to Moriarty's jewel thief cabal.

But it still feels like forever.

"We can still come up with aliases," she says, smiling. "An extra level of security never hurt anyone. What do you think my alias should be?"

"That's a good question," he answers, staring up at the ceiling and trying to think of something. He's not actually that good at it. "Depends what kind, too. I mean, do you want a fake name, or a code name, like... Stalwart Healer," he suggests, saying it with dramatic flair.

Edited 2021-07-08 06:58 (UTC)

It's overly dramatic, but Joan is still really touched by it. She lifts her head to kiss his cheek before settling back on his shoulder. "I like that," she says with a smile. "Might be a little too on the nose if we want to be covert, though." She grins. "Like I'm pretty sure calling you...what...Coach Barbecue would probably be figured out pretty quickly." She considers for a moment. "Do you know who Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz is?"

Ted gives a laugh at 'Coach Barbecue', and then a small pained grunt at his ribs complaining. Oof. Feels good to laugh, but also, well, kind of painful.

"No clue whatsoever," he answers immediately, but he looks at her curiously to hear more.

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