Blast Furnace

The Bearing of an Officer – 1/1 (Sinclair/Ivanova)

May 12th, 2008 | →

“The Bearing of an Officer”
A Babylon 5 Story
A Blast Furnace Production
Copyright (C) 1997 by A. Manley Haight

Rating: NC-17

This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by J. Michael Straczynski, Babylonian Productions Inc., or AOL Time Warner. This story may be distributed only with prior permission of the author, and may not be posted to any archive, ftp site, or web page without the written permission of the author. This story is distributed for the individual personal entertainment of persons of legal age for viewing sexually explicit material in areas where such viewing is legal, and is not subject to purchase or sale by anyone.

---

Ivanova knew when she woke up that she was dangerous today. It wasn’t the kind of danger that would get anybody killed, not the kind that would make her succumb to the nightmares and death she had endured in her lifetime. It was the kind that made her feel like she could take on the seventh fleet with her bare hands. She was very awake, with a clarity that seemed very animal, excruciatingly aware of the scent of her quarters and of a desire for something to own, to consume.

She knew what it was the instant she saw Commander Sinclair that day. It was in the officer’s gym late that morning. She had seen him there on other occasions, had sometimes even worked out with him and they had talked casually. They were good friends by now, but she usually left him alone in the gym to try to keep a more professional distance.What drew her over to him today was that animal quality in her chest, that seemed to make her breaths labored even though she had never been more fantastically conscious of breathing. He was doing sit-ups on an inclined bench, and she leaned against the machine, arms folded, looking down the plane of his body with unashamed openness. He noticed her presence but didn’t pause in his routine, acknowledging her with a curious flicker in his eyes as he pushed himself.

His gray gym shirt was damp with sweat, the edge of the fabric riding up on his stomach to bare his navel and an inch or two of darkly-haired, muscled flesh. There was a sheen of sweat on him there, too, darkening the waistband of his loose, drawstring pants. She had a sudden, vivid sensory image of the musky scent of his cock and balls trapped inside sweat-dampened briefs. His shirt was the short-sleeved kind, fabric spread by the hard bulge of his biceps where he had both hands laced behind his head. She had never noticed the beauty of the lines of his arms and hands before, veined muscles standing out, masculine strength obvious in every movement. She watched him without embarrassment, praising him just by the fact of her stark attention.

He was having more difficulty completing the sit-ups as time went on, growling to himself in an effort to squeeze one more out of his aching, tired body. His final sit-up seemed to be some titanic struggle for the fate of the galaxy, and when he finished it, he let himself fall back on the inclined bench with a grunt.

“Two hundred and forty-seven,” he panted. “Pathetic. I used to be able to do three hundred without hardly breaking a sweat.”

“Was that before or after you won the IronMan Universe championship?” Ivanova asked wryly. Sinclair chuckled and accepted her offer of her hand to help him up from the bench. His hand closed around her bare forearm, grip strong. His own arm was slick with perspiration where she held him, dark hair coarse against her fingers. He let his legs drop to the floor, straddling the bench for just a moment, and she caught the sight of his genitals in sharp relief against the crotch of his sweats before he got up.

“Did you just finish?” he asked, taking in her own gym clothes. She nodded, watching him wipe his face with his towel.

“Figured I would come over and make fun of you,” she said mischievously. “Watch you grunt and sweat for a while and take pride in being able to kick the ass of a man who weighs sixty-five pounds more than I do.”

“Since when can you kick my ass?” he said with a grin. She glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Want me to try in about ten minutes?”

“I’d say you were on, if I weren’t so tired,” he said, jerking his head slightly to get her to follow him as he walked across the gym toward the locker room.

“That’s the best time,” she said, and he laughed. They reached the entrance to the locker room and he paused.

“I’m going to shower and get out of here,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Care to join me for both?” The locker room showers were technically mixed gender, as most facilities in Earthforce were, since it had been demonstrated for over a hundred years that military personnel were capable of the professionalism necessary. It was frankly more convenient and less expensive for the soldiers to mingle in all aspects of their lives. Most of the personnel on the station had voluntarily segregated, however, since the environment was less rigidly military than most Earthforce installations, and it was peacetime. Ivanova looked at him for a moment, her arched eyebrow expressing a decidedly indeterminate attitude. Then she lifted a finger indicating for him to wait, and disappeared into the back room where her stuff was.

He was still there, waiting with his arms folded, when she came back. There was a smile in his amber eyes that didn’t reach his mouth, and she fully understood the seriousness of this. He turned and she followed her commanding officer into the other side of the empty locker room with her bag slung over her shoulder. He stopped silently at one of the lockers along the low, hardwood benches. His thumbprint was enough to open it and he removed what they would need to bathe. His gaze, when he looked at her, was open and unguarded, one of the first such expressions she had ever seen on his face. It did not surprise her — not now. She put her bag down on the wood bench and kicked her shoes off.

If they had been serving together in wartime, this would be a familiar act between them, as well as their fellow troops. The bond formed among mixed-gender soldiers could be especially powerful, when there was so much trust in the fighting and so much intimacy in the living situation. It required that the people be intelligent and mature, which they were, and which all Earthforce soldiers had to be. She had never served with him before, and had never been forced to live within a few feet of him aboard a front lines cruiser, or a deep space combat destroyer. They had been deprived of the kind of relationship that was properly theirs.

This was a ritual, one that civilians would never understand and had mocked and derided for almost as long as it had been part of the life of a soldier in Earthforce. She watched Sinclair peel his gray shirt off, baring his sweat-slicked chest and shoulders. She was curious to see him, the curiosity of someone who works closely with a fellow warrior and wonders how the body reflects the mind. This was a barter, and Ivanova reached back to pull her own shirt off, offering herself to him to see in the hope that she would reflect the commitment and strength that she had come to know under his command.

Sinclair paused to watch her, his eyes dark and warm. It was not the lewd gawking of a man who wanted to get laid. It was a profound appreciation for her body as an instrument of war, one that might save his life with its effort, one that honored him with its existence in his command. It was kept honed by a will and intelligence that he respected deeply, behind pale gray eyes that were appraising him in a similar fashion.

He had the body of an officer, nearly the archetype of one. She drank in the sight of his masculine power, a soldier’s bearing in his stance, a man’s identity starkly represented in the half-swelled cock between his thighs, the powerful lines of his muscular legs down to feet that she wanted to touch and rub.

“Ready?” he asked when they were both naked. His voice was like warm water, polished granite and honey, suggesting nothing with respect to the future, but revealing completely the truth of what they were doing. She nodded, all the answer required of her, and she followed him back into the Earthforce gray and blue tiled shower room. His back was a magnificence, muscled like bronze Roman sculpture. She couldn’t take her eyes off his buttocks and calves. They were the elite, the warriors who died for home and family and nation, who knew the upper limits of the human mind and spirit and body. Was it the secret of the human soul? To know oneself so well just in the sight of another? To taste truth in the sacredness of what she and Sinclair were doing?

Sinclair got to the showers first, and walked down the row a little ways to find one in the middle where they could have a reasonable amount of privacy if other people came in to use the showers. He leaned into the tiled stall to turn the water on, and put soap and shampoo within reach. Ivanova had carried towels, and she put them down on the bench outside the wall.

“Me first,” she said, holding his eyes as she stepped into the tiled enclosure. She happened to pass through the stream from the showerhead, and Sinclair watched her possessively as the water splashed over her shoulder and neck, accepting the cold Russian stare she gave him. She moved in a half-circle around him, as if stalking him in the small space. He took the soap in both hands and brought it to his nose for a moment, savoring the familiar scent which he usually used — and with which he was about to cover her. He was her commanding officer, her superior in a relationship which defined them as people, allowed them to survive, imposed order and meaning on their lives. They valued it, respected the structure that gave them a way to explore themselves and their world.

Sinclair lathered his hands slowly, covering every part of his palms and fingers with it, as Ivanova held her hair back with one hand and stood under the shower spray. She came forward after a moment but hadn’t soaped her own hands. Her eyes were fixed on some part of him, on his face. No, his throat. He reached out for her but she grabbed his wrist, delaying the contact so she could finish what had so fiercely moved her. He would allow any scrutiny she made of him now, and he held still as she moved close to taste the sweat on his chin, under his jaw, licking voraciously for just a heartbeat. Then she pulled away and let go of his hand. There was no shame in her face, no fear or specific curiosity or lust, just the intense, powerful desire to know him.

It was essentially incidental that her breast was near where he touched her. It was the touch itself upon which he was concentrating, wanting to know her body, to know her soul through it, to earn her trust through his respect. He ran his palm over her shoulder, leaving the white froth of the soap behind. He touched her neck, held her jaw between both hands for a moment, washing her, lifting her head up to him slightly. She had a soldier’s hard body, lithe musculature taut and well-defined. It was part of his service to her, his washing of her body, cleansing it as he would have washed the enemy’s blood from her skin, washed the stench of war and fear from her memory. She would do no less for him. Her hands were on his flanks right now, still. He knew she felt uncomfortable because she was not washing him with them yet. A strange urge that was, born deep into them as if they had always been soldiers, from the dawn of time.

He spread soap over her breasts, running his fingers over her nipples just long enough to rub lather there. He was meditative about it, attentive, his entire consciousness here doing this. She felt nothing vulgar in his hands, felt nothing as shallow as animal stimulation when his thumb slid over one of her nipples. She felt a Commander’s respect, an officer’s pride, a man’s whole mind and heart and spirit offered up for her consideration. It was the gleam of intelligence in his amber eyes that made her shudder, the authority in the set of his mouth that bound her to him.

Sinclair let his hands close around her arms, learning the shape of her hard muscles and massaging slowly as he washed her arms, her hands, and then touched her hips.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice sonorous and hot. She obeyed, and sighed pleasurably when his palms began to rub her back and shoulders. She felt him cover her with soap, attentive and careful, and then he started a slow, deep massage with his fingertips that almost made her knees buckle. She let out a heartfelt groan of appreciation and gratitude, and heard his soft, answering hum. He seemed to find every point of tension, every aching, knotted muscle in her back, gently rubbing it out with a gifted touch. He had sensitive hands, and through them she felt every nuance of his passion, his mastery, his pleasure in granting her this. She felt his warm compassion, his fierce love, quiet respect; emotions that had grown between them over the past few months. His firm caress unwound so much of the anxiety that had held her since she had come aboard Babylon 5, the nervousness of being under his command. God, he was a hero of the Line, recipient of the Silver Star for Valor and the Presidential Medal of Honor. And he was beautiful, beautiful in the soul she saw in his eyes, the strength and justice and fidelity. The touch of his hands on her back changed in the next moment, and she heard his voice unexpectedly soft, shushing her quietly. She realized she was leaning on the tile wall on both hands, crying with relief and joy and the unspent pain of years of agony in her personal and familial life.

She felt no shame in her Commander’s presence, no desire to hide her feelings from him. So she wept, and let it come openly until there was no more and she felt blissfully empty inside, free of the burden of it. He never embraced her, only kept up that slow massage on her back, his fingers hesitating over terrible knots in her shoulders, and then easing them with a careful, profoundly patient rubbing.

“I belong to you,” she said quietly, after the wracking sobs had gone and she stood there feeling his dominating presence behind her. His hands stopped moving for a pause of utter stillness in his body that lasted the space of a heartbeat. Then she heard and felt him move close to her, almost touching his body to hers.

“Yes,” he said next to her ear. “Will you claim me, also?” It was a plea, low and pure like a man’s honor. She turned around to look at him, and saw he held the soap ready for her in his hand.

“I’ll take as much as you’ll let me,” she said, inwardly astonished by the deep hunger in his jasper eyes, the faintly haunted desperation. She took the soap from him. “Turn around.” Sinclair put his hands on the wall like a man expecting to be frisked, his head bowed between his arms. Ivanova slathered his back with what she now realized was part of his own scent, part of that smell she so distinctly associated with him. His broad shoulders bulged with bunched muscles, his spine a smooth furrow down his back. She was not so interested in giving him a massage, but instead wanted to touch this fantastic body, the body of the man who commanded her. The result was, nevertheless, a very thorough exploration of the powerful line of his deltoids, the lean, reposed energy of his biceps and trapezius. His soap-slicked flesh was like satin, revealing every sinew and bone and muscle to her hands.

She had been treating the expanse of his back and shoulders as if it were the only part of him she could touch, and she violated the boundary of it suddenly by sliding her hands around the front of his lower torso just enough to soap the sides of his stomach and flanks, delighting in encompassing the shape of his body there. Sinclair exhaled a long, shaking breath, and then gasped when she pressed the back of her hand against the inside of one of his thighs. “Spread your legs,” she commanded, her voice rough. She saw the faint quiver in his thigh and buttock when he lifted his foot to comply.

Ivanova soaped her hands again carefully, making him wait. He was trembling, trying not to, muscles along his arms tensing. She could hardly believe he was letting her get this close to him, that he wanted her to know him so deeply. He flinched when she began to soap his rump firmly, aggressively, and she knew that he didn’t let people touch him there often, not even lovers. She intended to push him, and slid one hand between his muscular buttocks, deep between his legs. He tensed, gasping softly, and held her hand trapped for a moment before deliberately relaxing to allow her to wash him there.

Her hand slid forward to displace his testicles gently, soaping them, rubbing back over his perineum which was firm and swollen. Sinclair made a sound deep in his chest, not quite a groan, and his breath caught sharply as she found his anus with two fingers and slicked it with lather in passing. “Go wash your hair,” she said, feeling very affectionate toward him suddenly. He glanced at her as he turned to obey, and she saw laughter dancing in his eyes.

Sinclair went back over to the spray of the showerhead and stood facing her as he rinsed soap from his back and shoulders. His cock was fully, proudly erect. She smiled faintly, pleased by this eminently natural and relaxed expression of his enjoyment and trust. He looked straight at her as she approached him, and paused in rinsing the soap from his body. He went still, just letting the water stream over him, as she soaped her hands again. “Your hair,” she prodded, nodding at the shampoo with her chin.

Sinclair sighed heavily with pleasure as she soaped his chest, sliding palms and fingers over his nipples and he leaned his head back into the spray of water. She saw him smile for the first time, an involuntary, warm grin of delight and trust. She smiled in reply, covering his torso with soap lather in long, smooth caresses of her hands. She washed his stomach, dipping one finger into his navel, and continued down to bathe the shaft of his cock with lather. Sinclair bit his lip, his eyes closing briefly as his erection jerked in her hands, throbbing hard once. She covered his balls in white foam to finish what she had started by reaching between his legs a few minutes ago. Sinclair let out a hard, deep breath through his nose, lowering his head slightly to look at her fiercely, a half-grin on his mouth.

“Give me that,” he growled, taking the soap out of her hands. She watched him, fascinated by the grace of his movements as he lathered his hands again and then grasped her wrists firmly to take them away from his groin and put them on his shoulders. That delicious, velvet smile was still on his lips, his eyes bright with the gold of something fantastic and radiant building inside him. She saw in the smile that he enjoyed this discipline, this intense, slow ritual. When he reached down between her legs, she learned firsthand what it felt like to be known by a man who was born to leadership.

He cupped her sex at first, fingers spreading soap through the curly hair. The next time he slid his hand against her, his fingers slipped into the inner folds of her vulva. It was not an intentional attempt to pleasure her so much as a conscious exploration of her most private self, his mind perceiving the smooth, warm flesh against his hand, the way her clitoris fluttered when he stroked a fingertip over it gently. She was suddenly very hot, swollen in his palm, and he could feel wetness there that wasn’t from the shower.

He penetrated her slightly with the tip of his finger as he drew his hand back over the inner folds of her sex, and she hissed softly, allowing him the intimacy and acknowledging that he had earned the right to touch her so. He did not smile, his eyes intent on hers, enjoying the unspoken wolf’s growl he could see there.

Sinclair knelt on the tile floor, encircling her thigh with his hands as he spread more soap lather. She had muscles like steel, magnificently defined, and he had a savage mental image of what it would feel like to fight her, to feel the force of a kick from such powerful legs. He grinned.

Ivanova loved the sight of his pleasure, almost able to see what he was thinking in that moment. He stood up again, drawing his palms up her thighs smoothly. She had reached for the shampoo while he was occupied, and started to wash her hair, but his hands replaced hers eagerly, gently.

“Let me do that,” he murmured. He was looking at her with a kind of heat she had never seen before. It was the heat of the earth, of oil fire, smoldering coal, the kind of power that holds with strength and not with flame or suffocation. She had searched all her life for it in fellow soldiers, and then later in anyone, even a civilian. Now she saw it in the bronze eyes of her commanding officer as he reached behind her for the shampoo and slowly continued the task she had begun.

She took the soap again, realizing she had neglected parts of him. She couldn’t kneel to wash his legs and feet yet because he was working on her long hair, but she reached up to her shoulder level to lather his forearms. Sinclair smiled gently, and his eyes closed for a moment as she washed under his arms and down his ribs. He was still very hard, his erection prominent between them. She stroked it again, soaping his shaft and balls, and then his thighs once more. His skin was like silk on his penis, and she explored the length of it, learning every vein, probing where it joined his body, finding the ridge around the head. She cupped his balls again, discovering that they were heavy and full, pulled tight in a remarkably pleasant sensation against her palm. The slit at the tip was very wet, slicked with his own juices, and she dipped a finger into it curiously.

In the next slow breath, his penis was throbbing, pulsing in her hands, spurting thick, pearly come onto her belly, spilling it over her knuckles. Her Commander was gasping softly, almost whispering something that she couldn’t quite understand. It was a gentle, easy release, relieving him of tension that she knew had imprisoned him for many months. She rubbed his balls firmly, encouraging his relief, and he sighed low in his throat. He had held onto her hair during his climax, his arms resting on her shoulders, and now slid his fingers slowly through the long, shampoo-lathered strands.

“Good boy,” Ivanova said with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile of surprise. Sinclair used his hands to slowly wash his semen from her body. There was a look in his eyes that made her hold her breath, the same possessive need that she had felt in herself that morning. She put her hand on his face, and his eyes held hers silently. Oh God. She already was his. The moment of ownership was long past in their relationship, having passed them by so gently she had never noticed. Today they were merely acknowledging it, acting out the roles with conscious awareness.

She had not washed his feet and legs, and knelt to do so with pleasure and comprehension fluttering in her belly. He lifted his feet one at a time for her, looking down with a slightly furrowed brow. He didn’t completely understand why she undertook this particular act with such solemnity, but he felt the worship in her touch, her strong hands massaging him. He accepted it as he had everything else, with quiet delight and passion burning hidden in his heart. He knew his orgasm had surprised her. It had surprised him almost as much, the pleasure of her caress suddenly peaking and spilling over.

He helped her rinse off, with the same care and attention with which he had washed her, cupping his hands to spread water over her back. She made sure he was also rinsed off, taking advantage of the chance to run her hands over him again. He purred, and smiled at her for a moment before shutting the water off.

She wrapped a towel around him with a playful smirk, and he held her by the arms for a moment, fighting back the urge to just embrace her and kiss her hard. Then he grinned, the desire suppressed, and let her dry him off before helping her with her own towel.

She started to turn away to precede him out of the shower area, but his large hand clamped down around her arm, calmly but with utmost passion. She stopped and looked at him, and he bowed his head to her seriously.

“There’s more here than what we’ve done,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, and then she smiled very slightly, showing him the glimmering of the wolf he so ravenously sought in her. “Can I buy you lunch?”

“I’d love that.”

They went back to his locker and dressed in fresh clothes, he in a pair of tailored gray trousers and a white shirt that emphasized his virility in some stark, handsome way. He went still, his hands pausing on the buttons of his shirt, as he watched her get dressed. She noticed his intense gaze after a moment and smiled at him faintly.

“What?” she said. She had put on a bright red shirt over charcoal trousers with a casual black vest, and was holding her hair back to tie it in a ponytail. He almost answered her, but then smiled mischievously and finished buttoning his shirt.

“Where are we going for lunch?” he asked. She snorted a laugh.

“The Black Mountain Inn,” she said. “They make a terrific turkey sandwich and I’d kill for a good turkey sandwich right now.” She stamped into her boots determinedly, and Sinclair laughed. She ended up putting her own bag in his locker, and then they walked out of the gym together. There was no obvious intimacy about their manner except that they walked close together, letting their bodies touch as they moved.
Sinclair liked the smell of the Black Mountain Inn. They had devoted a good deal of their weight allotment on the station to hardwood timbers and wood paneling to cover the metal bulkheads and ceiling. The restaurant smelled like pine, and hot food and rich ale and beer. The host seated them at a private booth against one wall, where the wood scent was strong and a tawny beeswax candle burned in a glass holder on the hardwood table. A waiter quickly appeared to inquire if they wanted anything to drink. Sinclair ordered a dark beer, catching Ivanova’s raised eyebrow, and then she ordered one, too. Sinclair chuckled as the waiter left. “What?” she said. “You don’t think a woman can have a beer now and then?”

“No, not that,” he said. “I just don’t think stout goes that well with turkey.”

“Shows what you know,” she retorted with a laugh. “They make wood smoked turkey that’s to die for and it goes just fine with stout, thank you very much.”

“It’s your stomach.”

“God, is today my day or what?” she muttered, looking at the menu. “First I find a gorgeous, naked Earthforce Commander in my shower and now I find out the daily special is my favorite sandwich.” Sinclair chuckled. The waiter returned with their stout, addressing them both briefly as “sirs” in that manner peculiar to military inflection, and Sinclair nodded slightly in acceptance of being recognized.

“I had meant to ask you sooner,” he admitted to Ivanova in a low voice after the waiter had left. His tone was serious, bronze eyes flickering. “You’re the finest officer I have ever served with, and I am very honored to have you under my command.” He touched his glass to hers in a simple salute.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling, but deliberately, quietly emphasizing his title for her own pleasure. She enjoyed the formality of rank between them, and loved the heat in his eyes in response to her attitude. He kept looking at her, with a smile hovering on his lips, the attention fierce and personal. She looked back at him, not actually speaking but inquiring him with her expression.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured wonderingly, letting her hear the words of what was in his face. “Just the way you move and the way you smile. The color of your eyes. A Siberian wolf.” He hadn’t really meant to speak the last aloud, but once it left his throat, he realized she was deeply flattered by it. She put her pint of beer down on the table.

“You are absolutely the most delicious looking man I have ever seen,” she said. “And I love listening to you talk. Even if you were a civilian, I’d look twice. But you’re my CO, and you’re a good, noble, strong-willed man. I have to pinch myself sometimes to make sure I’m not dreaming it all up.”

“Noble?” he said thoughtfully.

“I don’t pick words at random,” she said. He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“You’re an aggressive woman,” he said, “even for Earthforce. Am I worthy of it?”

“Depends on how aggressive you can be,” she said, sipping her beer again.

“As aggressive as you like, Lieutenant Commander,” he said with a flash of those amber eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat. “Do you mind if I admit that I’m nervous?”

“I always make men nervous,” she said. “But you have the balls to admit it.” He grinned.

“In that case, I’m nervous, excited, and hungry,” he said in a rough voice. “And not just for my lunch, either.”

“Did I mention this place makes great desserts?” she teased and he laughed.

The waiter came to take their order, and Ivanova asked for the daily special, with a side of horseradish. Sinclair ordered a corned beef sandwich and Ivanova muttered something about how well it went with stout. The waiter smirked faintly but didn’t comment, and when he left, Sinclair gave Ivanova an exasperated look.

“I’m stealing some of your horseradish for that,” he promised.

---

Sinclair watched her eat, discovering that even his excitement was tempered and honed by what they had done in the showers in the gym. He had become aware of her immediately upon her arrival on the station as his new second in command — aware of her in some primal and simultaneously highly sublime way. She accepted his command without question, did not test him the way most of his subordinates did. He discovered she liked a firm hand in spite of that, and he worked very closely with her. Her respect was real and very deep. He loved it, relished it from her and strove to give her what she needed and expected of him. She responded with ever deepening trust and loyalty. He sensed it in the way she spoke to him, her unflinching, unhesitating obedience even in response to unusual orders. She had committed her soul to his service.The cementing of that bond today was soothing to him, formally defining the kind of relationship they had, allowing both of them to touch and worship the other the way that relationship had begun to demand. He’d felt it in the past weeks; the strain of something uncompleted, unanswered between them. He hadn’t known if she did, but her behavior today in approaching him in the gym only proved it. Lunch was intended to explore beyond that, into a realm that he wasn’t sure she would go with him. But she did, coaxing him, grinning, teasing him until he was half-mad. Aggressive? Oh yes, she was, enough to make him quiver when she informed him they were going back to his place as they left the restaurant. He asked her if she knew what she was doing. She laughed and told him he’d better stop playing nice or she was going to spank him. He knew in that moment exactly what she wanted.

Sinclair let her precede him into his quarters, and Ivanova walked over to the kitchen counter and leaned back against it, watching Sinclair with her hands back on the counter as he let the door close and set the privacy lock on it with a graceful hand. She had always liked watching him, and now she could see the signs of sexual hunger that had been visible from time to time, but she had never realized what she was seeing.

She was still leaning against the edge of the countertop when Sinclair approached her. He imposed himself in her space, pressing right up against her body and putting his hands down on the counter to each side. His mouth was very close to hers, a heartbeat away from the kiss she had been wanting from him since the moment she saw him in the gym that day. She felt her heart speed up in response to his intensity — not with fear, but lust.

“May I be brutally honest with you, Lieutenant Commander?” Sinclair asked. His voice had taken on a whispering quality that, blended with that sonorous rumble, made something violent and savage try to claw its way up out of her gut. She had to lift her head a little to meet his eyes, but she did so unflinchingly, trying to still the way her breaths quivered as her chest rose and fell against his where he was pressed up against her. She could feel the length of his body touching her, strong thighs, groin against her hips, hot and trembling. God, he was shaking.

“I insist,” she replied in a low voice, holding his stare evenly.

“I want you so badly I could tear the bulkheads out,” he rasped, his voice like hot iron, eyes bright with need. “I want to fuck you. Right now. On the floor. I want to make you scream my name and swear at me in Russian. I want you to wrap your legs around me so I can give you the bone-jarring, teeth-rattling, good old fashioned screw you deserve.”

“Are you seriously asking me if I would mind?” she replied in a sultry purr.

“No,” Sinclair hissed. His eyes were like coal burning deep in the earth, his mouth so close… “I’m asking you if you want me.” She looked at him for a few breaths, just the sight of his need in his eyes making her sex throb gently. She slid her hands around his waist, the warm muscles in his back hard and taut.

“Let me have a little taste of that sexy mouth of yours,” she whispered against his lips, “while I think about it.” He opened his mouth in welcome eagerness as she kissed him, loving his silky lips and tongue, pulling his hips to hers tightly. Sinclair fell into the kiss wholeheartedly, breathing in her scent through his nose, licking her tongue playfully. He laughed deep in his chest, able to feel her own buried lust in the way she devoured him, and she growled at him with her hands clenched into his shirt on his back.

“Time to make a decision,” Sinclair said roughly when he broke the kiss to gulp for breath. His hands were on her back now, and he nuzzled her mouth softly with his own, loving the sensual closeness.

“Well, you know what they say, Commander,” she murmured, smiling as he licked her lower lip with quiet relish. “It’s not how often, but how well. And why do I have a feeling that you do it very well?”

“Because I do,” he said without modesty. He was grinning.

“So make me scream, Commander,” she said, biting his lip. He grunted sharply. “It’s been an awfully long time since I screamed for anybody.”

“I’ll take that as a challenge,” Sinclair purred. The next thing she felt were his hands at her belt, aggressively getting her trousers open. He slid his hands inside, over her bare buttocks, pulling her to him. She groaned at his delicious, warm palms on her skin. He didn’t kiss her again, only looked into her eyes as he pushed her trousers and panties down over her rump, down her legs. He left them around her calves while he stripped the vest from her shoulders, draping it on the counter behind her.

Ivanova pulled his shirttails out. Her hands were shaking with the hunger to rub his muscular belly and chest. She sought out his nipples, remembering his delighted purring in the shower when she had touched him there. Sinclair gasped and writhed against her, his face revealing a naked instant of glorious pleasure.

“Oooh, yes,” Sinclair whispered. She pinched him suddenly and he bit his lip before letting out a sharp cry of bright need. “God, it feels so good when you touch me,” he groaned. “I wanted to scream in the shower when you were rubbing me all over with your hands.” He was doing something crazy, something mind-blowing — turning her around, putting her down on the floor so hard it drove her breath out of her for a moment and she became aware of his powerful hands tearing her boots off and then getting at her trousers and panties.

It was one thing to shower together, to cement a bond that was natural to them as part of the trust and loyalty in Earthforce, when they depended on each for their lives. There was a level of carnal pleasure and intimacy in it. But this, in Sinclair’s quarters now, on the floor, was another level that the shower rituals didn’t require…didn’t expect. How close could a commander and his second get, beyond the fealty of the mind and the body? Could they trust each other with a secret truth that sometimes lived within the souls of those in the military? Even in the souls of those who weren’t?

She waited for him to claim her naked body with kisses and licks on her flesh. She glanced up to see him up on his knees, waiting for her attention, before he unbuttoned his white shirt all the way, shrugging out of it in a baring of his physique that was somehow not like the way he had disrobed in the shower. She saw more in the man’s broad muscles, in the smoldering stare, than just an officer’s pride and respect. There was a need there, a private, violent need to own her, to consume. He wanted to know if she wanted that possession.

Ivanova sat up slowly, taking him in as his strong hands worked slowly at his belt, inviting her appraisal. What they had done in the shower — Sinclair might have shown that to lots of people, past and present. She didn’t know for sure, and didn’t care particularly one way or the other. But this, this beautiful, passionate man unzipping his trousers to show her something she had seen before and admired, this was only for her. In this place, now, his body was only for her witness, his stiff erection responding only to her magnificence and her eager stare. He licked his lips, and she knew it was because he wanted to taste her.

Sinclair pushed his trousers down, his boxers going with them in a single sweep. He held them for a moment, then cupped one hand under his furred balls, displaying himself to her. She wanted to tell him how much she ached to take it all into her mouth and suck him until he screamed. Words at that moment would have been intrusive, destructive to the gentle, hungry pride in his face. She raised her eyes from his groin and met his own stare, letting him see how much she wanted to touch him. That was enough of a tribute, and Sinclair smiled faintly before turning back to shed his boots, and then his pants and shorts.

Ivanova touched his face and held it in both hands when he turned back and surged forward to climb on top of her. She didn’t know exactly what to expect of him in that instant — penetration or just closeness? But she welcomed it, welcomed him in every respect. His eyes held hers as he moved, burning, never flinching from her gaze for even a breath. What he did made her draw a hard, sharp breath. He spread her legs with his knees and nestled the shaft of his cock against her sex. She felt herself throb hard at the sudden, teasing presence of his erection, and he rubbed the length of it to get it slick in her juices. The slight ridge on the underside caught on her clitoris and she dug her fingernails into his back with a groan.

“You told me a while ago that you belonged to me,” Sinclair said, his voice like smoke. “How much are you mine? Are you ready to give yourself over to me more than you’ve ever given to anyone in your entire life? Ready for what it means to take me as much as I take you?”

“I’ve been ready,” she panted, staring into his attentive, fierce jasper eyes. “Been ready for you since the day we met, Commander.” She wrapped her legs around his back, rocking her hips for him to give him a better angle of entry. He knew what she was doing and why, and he made a soft, strained noise as her feet rubbed his rump and thighs.

“I should have done this a long time ago,” he whispered close to her mouth, sharing her breaths, “never mind that we were strangers. I feel like I’ve known you for a dozen lifetimes.” He rubbed his lips over her mouth, down the side of her jaw tauntingly. “How long has it been since you’ve been taken by a man, Susan?”

“Too fucking long,” she replied in a sudden gasp, not knowing in that instant where the brutal honesty had come from. “Oh yeah, Jeff, do it now!”

His mouth was open in a silent half-snarl as he slid his hand back up under her and grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back to hold her for him. She gasped hard, and felt his other hand hold her wrist to the carpet as he shifted his weight, pulling his hips back.

“Want this, Lieutenant Commander?” he asked her roughly, sliding the tip of his cock against her hot opening, tormenting her. She groaned hoarsely, adrenaline fire raging in her blood at the power of him, his hands on her, the threat and seduction in his voice.

“Yes,” she panted. It was more than a word, more than a mere acceptance of him. “Yes…”

“Yes, sir,” he prompted.

“Oh God,” she whispered, feeling him tense, and she had a brief, shining moment of comprehension of what he was about to do. He plunged into her, sheathing himself deep in a long, hard stroke, impaling her on white heat that tore all sense from her. “Yes, sir,” she cried, meaning it in every way it could be meant, wanting the authority implicit in the title, granting him a sacred right by so naming him. Her free hand clawed at his shoulder, scoring him deeply and he hissed in pain and ecstasy.

Sinclair pushed deep, making sure he was sheathed as far as he could go without hurting her, and held still like that. His body shivered with the effort, with the pain of holding back the brutal instinct to start thrusting. Susan looked at him, really looked into his eyes, and saw that he was showing himself to her, letting her see the part of him that made him want her so.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He spoke of her courage, her discipline and intelligence and fierceness. He loved those things in her, and she heard that in his voice. He kissed her suddenly, bruisingly, taking her breath from her. He pushed a little more into her as he did it, loving her throaty groan, her hands clawing into his rump. His hot mouth roamed down her neck, licking and kissing wetly.

“Go on, Jeff,” she panted. “Bite me. Give me something to show off.” He obeyed with a soft snarl, taking her throat in his teeth to leave a hard, suckled bruise on her. As he let go to lick softly, he pulled his hips back. His big cock slid out of her a ways, making itself hugely known, and she cried out. “Oh my God, oh God, please — ” Sinclair pushed back inside her, spreading her open anew, the motion slow and firm to give her time to consider it. She was trembling hard when he was fully buried again. Sinclair’s thumb rubbed wetness from her temple and she realized she was sweating.

“You look fantastic when you’re hot for me like this,” he said, looking into her pale, brilliant eyes. He touched her quivering lip and shifted his weight a little. She could feel him trembling, too, his buttocks clenching occasionally with the urge to move in and out of her.

“Is that what you’re waiting for?” she managed to ask through the panting need that held her prisoner, the need for that glory she could see in his eyes. “To see how crazy I get before you fuck me?”

“I’m already fucking you,” he said in a low, hot voice that made her gut clench. “But I intend to do much more than that before the night’s done.” The kiss he gave her this time was a searching down into her soul, an attempt at making love to her just through that passionate taste of her mouth. She whimpered softly. “God, Susan,” he breathed when he broke away. “You make me insane, just the smell of you. Oh, your legs feel so good around me…”

“So take me, Commander,” she purred, straining to rise up enough to kiss his warm lips and then lick them softly. “You wanted to in the shower but you didn’t dare. That strength means something. Do it hard and fast. Don’t stop for anything. Just screw me good like you promised. Christ, can’t you feel how bad I want you?”

He could, actually. She was throbbing, clenching his shaft tight with powerful vaginal muscles. The seduction was too much for him, the sound of her voice an irresistible power that took hold of his groin and hips and legs and in the next moment he was rocking into her, just obeying the burning instinct to plow his cock in and out of her sex. He heard his own voice cry out with the sweetness of it, a raw sound that he didn’t think about before letting it loose. “Yeah, that’s it, baby,” Ivanova breathed, holding his rump and encouraging him as he moved. “Oh my God you feel good.” The friction of his firm thrusts just made her sex ache worse, scratching the barest edge of her lust and tempting her with the taste of what she could have from him. “God damn, Jeff, oh, I had no idea you could feel like this, God, yeah that’s so much better.”

Sinclair was grunting low in his chest, wallowing in the pure sensation of having his cock inside her, sliding in and out of her hot tightness, her strong legs around him.

“Oh God, Susan,” he panted.

“What is it, Jeff?” she said, seeing something rip through him in the way he shuddered suddenly and rocked his hips forward for a different angle of penetration.

“Have to,” he gasped. “Have to…oh mother of God.” He grunted again, loudly, and leaned forward to start bucking into her hard and quick. “Oh please,” he gulped. “Please oh please, God…”

“Yeah, Jeff! That’s it!” Ivanova shouted. “Come on, just let go. Let go and do it. Yeah, Commander, come on!” He was pounding into her, the sound of it hard and wet, his voice grunting and swearing. He took another breath and laughed, a resonant roar of triumph and pleasure and joy. His strength was incredible, his back and buttocks and legs all working to drive that huge cock into her with a delight that made her light-headed.

“OH YES, JESUS CHRIST!” Sinclair howled, reaching an impossible plateau of sensation. It tore through him like blinding flame, riding high to sear him from within with ecstasy. He listened to her cry out and whimper and groan beneath him. He loved it when she used his rank like that. “Oh my God, Susan! God, I’m gonna fuck you good!”

“Oh Christ, Jeff, I don’t believe it — ” Ivanova moaned, clutching at his shoulders.

“Oooh, you gonna do something for me, huh?” Sinclair whispered intently, leaning down to lick her lips gently as she panted, her body arching back against his hard fucking. “Come on, let me see. Let me see it.”

“Yes…sir…” she gulped, and gave a strangled whimper as he felt her sex tighten around his cock. It gripped him suddenly, clipping him hard, throbbing, and Ivanova let out a savage, keening wail of release. Her hands clenched around his biceps, bruising him deeply, and he kept fucking her hard against the resistance of her muscular contractions. It seemed to make her even wilder.

“Oh yeah, you’re sweet,” he whispered. “That’s it, Susan, am I making you come, hm?” He chuckled in joy at the proof of it in her taut body and her hard voice ripping into the room.

“God, don’t stop!” she shouted.

“Oh, I have absolutely no intention of stopping, Lieutenant Commander,” Sinclair rasped, grinning. She tried to wrap her whole body around him, to show him how much she embraced this act and the meaning he had asked her to find in it. Her orgasm only made her more sensitive to his big cock and its ridged crown, and every move he made tore a yell of wild desire from her. “Yeah, like that?” Sinclair whispered. He kissed her chin and neck as she arched her head back with a wail, and he laughed hoarsely.

She felt him shift his weight again, and he started really bucking into her, abandoning any attempt at speech. He just growled and panted, those lovely, resonant sounds she knew he could make. His body was slick with sweat where she grabbed him, his buttocks clenching tight with each thrust. He started to make a sound that she’d never heard from a man before — it sent a ripple of flame up her back. He was whimpering softly, not quite a groan or a gasp, tense and raw. It was the sound he made when he was alone with himself making himself come — she knew it somehow, heard the honesty of it in the rich tone. Heat was pouring off his body, and he drew a deep, long breath before looking up into her eyes. She had been watching him, loving his clenched jaw and the way he licked his lips every now and then.

In his brilliant, amber stare, she saw the totality of how he owned her, how she let him, and how complete that mastery was going to be when he came inside her, sharing his seed. There was nothing animal in it. Only a man could dominate so consciously and with such relish. She also saw how close he was, and she almost wept. He felt so good, she didn’t want him to end it, didn’t want him to withdraw from her.

Oh God, he didn’t want her to…to watch him…did he? Was he going to let her see the climax overtake him, ripping every facade away until he was pure and naked to her? He was pressing hard with his thrusts now, trembling all over, groaning. Yeah, he was close. She held him eagerly, not looking away. A drop of sweat fell from his chin onto her neck, and he made a quiet whimper deep in his throat. His thrusts slowed a little, became sensuous. She felt it start, his cock swelling a bit more and then ejaculating a long, hard surge into her, pulsing. His expression held for another moment, and then just opened in some amazing, impossible way. She saw right into his soul, and he sheathed himself deep and went still, quivering, so she could feel his cock spilling into her in powerful, gripping throbs. He didn’t cry out, just looked at her, his body trembling, his hand on the side of her face to force her to look. She needed no coercion, entranced by the contrast between his stillness and the cock she could feel letting go wildly inside her.

Then Sinclair gave a hard gasp, relaxing as the climax released him from its fist. He bared his teeth, half-grinning, savoring what he had done.

“Mine,” he growled, and engulfed her mouth in a kiss of mastery and excited satisfaction. Ivanova slid one hand into his sweat-dampened hair, holding his mouth to hers, kissing him back as hard as he would let her.

“Yes,” she agreed when he broke away to look at her.

“I’m looking forward to you turning the tables on me,” he murmured, smiling secretively.

“Good,” she said. “I’m sneaky.”

“Siberian wolves usually are,” he said. Her hands were stroking up his sweat-slicked back, feeling his ribs rise and fall with his deep breaths. “Shower?”

“Only if you help me up,” she said. “I think walking is going to be a challenge for a while.” Sinclair laughed and withdrew from her carefully, enjoying her soft moan of loss.

“That means I did it right.”

---

“God, my abdominal muscles hurt.”"Mmmm,” Ivanova said noncommittally, sounding amused. She was leaning against him on the couch, her face in the crook of his neck. He had one arm around her, resting on her hip, and was clothed only in a pair of loose sweat pants. “That’s what you get for doing sit-ups and making the beast with two backs in one afternoon.”

“Do you like to do it doggy style?” he asked suddenly, sounding intrigued. She poked him and he laughed, then flinched. “Ow. Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I hope your legs are as strong as they look,” she said. “I like to be on top.” Sinclair growled playfully, embracing her with both arms and holding her close to his warm chest. She was wearing one of his shirts — the white one he had worn to lunch. It smelled like him, earthy and male.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he murmured, kissing her cheek sensuously.

---

When they found each other on duty the next morning, they saw that new layer of knowing in the other’s eyes, soft and sable like a luxurious pelt that embraced them both. He greeted her, the same way he had done every day since they had met. And she replied in their custom, innocuous, respectful, filled with a true warmth and curiosity that had always been there. He smiled at her, his back straight and his shoulders settled comfortably. He turned away to look back out of the forward window and she watched his profile for a moment, seeing the pride and strength and nobility that had first drawn her, and the sincerity and power that had kept her at his side — the bearing of an officer.The End

---

---

Babylon 5, Fanfic

 

You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
Both comments and pings are currently closed.