[Making Jack work for anything's always a delight. It's tempting even to leave him to the strain of rutting solo despite the way the edge of the desk bites into her skin for it. Or maybe because of it.
But eventually she lends herself to it, toes pressing down against the glossy floor so that she can match his rhythm with her own, fingers still tangled low across his chest. And she's getting off to it (how could she not?) but in the back of her mind there's a certain repetition of facts: an itch she's scratching with every twitch of her abdomen, with every hitched breath. They're going to burn it. All of it. An entire planet full of treacherous, murderous mongrels, and they're going to burn them all.]
no subject
But eventually she lends herself to it, toes pressing down against the glossy floor so that she can match his rhythm with her own, fingers still tangled low across his chest. And she's getting off to it (how could she not?) but in the back of her mind there's a certain repetition of facts: an itch she's scratching with every twitch of her abdomen, with every hitched breath. They're going to burn it. All of it. An entire planet full of treacherous, murderous mongrels, and they're going to burn them all.]