Ratings & warnings: Adult (explicit sexual content, language). Very light D/s & bondage.
Characters: Tosh/PC Andy
Spoilers: None. Zip. Nada.
Beta:pocketmouse, who put up admirably with my inappropriate 3 AM reference to How Doth the Little Crocodile.
Author's Note: They're not directly quoted, but I had two snippets in my head as I wrote this: each the other's world entire, from Cormack McCarthy's 'The Road', and still point of the turning world, from T. S. Eliot's 'Burnt Norton', the first of the Four Quartets. So this is some kind of homage. With pr0n.
Summary: Toshiko has a plan, and Andy can't say no.
“They're for fantasies,” she says matter-of-factly as she butters her toast. “Sexual ones.”
“I guessed,” Andy says, picking them up and looking at them curiously. One of them still has half of a Heinz Baked Beans label on it, and the other one might have been sweetcorn. Each has a white sticker; on one Tosh has written T, and on the other A, both in matching black marker. “Is this making up for the comments I made about you working too much? I didn't—”
“No,” Tosh says briskly, putting down her knife and picking up the toast instead as she looks at him. “I'm making up for that by asking to come home early tonight. This is just about us trying something new.”
“You don't think we're adventurous enough?”
“I didn't say that,” Tosh says, and then smiles. “Just—let's try it, okay?”
“I'm not complaining,” Andy says quickly. To be honest, after last night's row about her ridiculous hours he's glad to be even talking to her. “What do I do? Just write something down and pop it in?”
“Yep,” Tosh says brightly. Somehow her toast has disappeared (Andy has never directly seen her eating things at the speed of light, but every morning he's faced with reliable evidence that it happens) and she brushes her hands of crumbs, bending over to put her plate in the dishwasher. Andy raises onto his toes slightly to see her arse over the counter.
“I know you're looking,” she says, flashing him a smile. “Just put something in, okay?”
“Exactly what I was thinking about.” He can't keep a straight face, though, and laughs as she swats at him. “Go on, get out of here, woman. Can't have you being late for that precious job, can we?”
“No, we can't,” she agrees, not quite as jokey, and she kisses him before she goes.
Andy sits down to consider the tins as he has his own breakfast. He doesn't know quite what to think. Sure, the idea of his girlfriend wanting to explore their fantasies sparks off some appealing avenues of thought—leather, handcuffs, home video—but he's not sure about writing them down. Feels a bit pervy, somehow.
He frowns and scrabbles around in his pockets for a biro, finding one and ripping the corner off Tosh's Independent lying on the table. Tapping the end of the pen against his lip, Andy thinks. He knows what the guys at the station would say: score! first, quickly followed by some suggestions leaning towards other girls and spanking. Neither of which are bad, but Andy can't imagine Tosh going for them right off.
As a matter of fact, he almost gives up just then. After all, they'll never go through with it, right? They'll forget about it as usual and have good, pretty traditional sex and then eat Chinese takeaway in bed, fighting over the prawn toast. Which is fine, just...
Andy looks over at the tin labelled T. He'd like to know what's going to be in there.
Tit for tat, he decides eventually, and scribbles down the first thing that comes into his head.
Andy gets home late, kicking off his shoes with unusual vigour in the hallway. “Bloody kids,” he tells the cat as he shrugs off his jacket. Tosh's shoes are neatly lined up by the hall table and Andy raises his voice as he drops his keys on it. “That boy tried to sneak a toaster out under his jumper for the second time. Not impressed, the hardware store. Just how he thought he'd fit a Tefal Avanti under there without attracting attention baffles—”
“You're late,” Tosh says from the doorway to the kitchen, and Andy looks up.
Well, Jesus bloody Christ.
“I, uhm. Paperwork,” he says, waving a vague hand and trying to drag his eyes away from the healthy dose of her cleavage revealed at the neck of her shirt. “Sorry.”
Tosh's expression stays blank, exactly the look which makes Andy worry because he can't judge how mad she is. He'd like to know just how much apologizing he's going to have to do to avoid sleeping on the couch.
Tosh smooths down her skirt unnecessarily. It's black and has a slit at the back and Andy is at least eighty-two percent sure that she didn't leave the house in it that morning. “I got off early today to spend more time with you.”
Andy rubs at his temple. Fuck. Looks like it might be the couch. “Listen, I'm sorry. How about we go out? Nice meal, a drink...” She's clearly nonplussed and he changes tack, still resolutely ignoring the view of her breasts. Surely she hadn't left her shirt that undone at work? She's nothing if not professional, Tosh. “Or I can go rent us a movie, pick up a pizza--”
“No,” Tosh cuts in with a shake of her head, and, turning on her heel, goes back into the kitchen. There's the scrape of some piece of furniture being moved. Andy pauses, trying to work out an apology in his head (dear Toshiko, I'm sorry I forgot about our sexy night in; if you forgive me maybe we can try again and I'll do that thing with my tongue,) but it becomes clear pretty soon that she's not coming out again. Taking a deep breath, Andy heads in after her.
There's an unopened bottle of wine on the table, and at first Andy thinks that's a good sign, that they can sit down together, drink: but Toshiko looks like she wants to Talk, capital and all. She's leaning back against the sink, her arms braced on the counter to either side of her, and Andy has to fight to keep himself from looking down to check out exactly how that position effects her breasts. He knows how the movie of his life would look, right about now: her standing there, mature and confident and rightfully pissed off, and him shuffling about like a bloody schoolboy.
"Look," he begins, sounding idiotic even to his own ears, "I honestly forgot. It was an accident. We got this call, see, about the toaster--"
"Andy," Tosh says, "shut up."
Andy can't stop himself from gaping at her like a goldfish. Tosh has never told him to shut up; he's not convinced she's ever done anything worse than tell someone to sod off. She's Tosh; if she's going to insult someone, it'll be by telling them they're as smart as a single-cell organism and as useful as a circular definition. He's so surprised that he doesn't even question her beckoning to him, just steps over obediently.
"I waited for you for hours," she says, looking at him steadily, and Andy's about to answer her logically when she reaches over to grip his tie, twisting it with deliberate slowness about her hand. "That's not very thoughtful of you, is it?"
"No," Andy agrees, his voice higher than it was when he was thirteen.
"No," Tosh confirms, her eyes steady on him, not letting up. Behind her the tap drips, and he has a fleeting, stupid thought that they should really get that fixed. He can feel the pressure of the tie on the back of his neck, but he's not ready for the moment that she jerks it, pulling him suddenly closer: he stumbles, falling over his own feet and ending up pressed against her, hands hitting the edge of the counter behind her so hard that his wrists ache with the impact. Reflexively he tries to pull back, but it's useless: Tosh keeps her grip firm on his tie, holding his body close up to hers. He can feel the curve of her hip by his right wrist, the press of her breasts against his chest, and against his crotch--
If Tosh's pull on his tie is a surprise, the knowing arch of her hips is some sort of sexual sucker punch. Andy whimpers despite himself, opening his eyes wide to look out the window behind her onto the street.
"Tosh, shouldn't we close--"
But she ignores him and moves her body that way again and Andy has to swallow down a groan, his body responding even if his mind knows that this is a terrible idea. His trousers are becoming uncomfortably tight and it's on autopilot that he reaches for her hips, wanting to pull her closer, to grind up close. She stops him, though: her hands come forward to push at his stomach and Andy begins to lean backwards in anticipation, trying to sort out his head and exactly what is going on.
Everything even resembling logical thought disappears, though, as her palm comes to rest on the front of his trousers, pressing down on his cock.
"I think," Tosh says very slowly, "that you owe me."
Andy manages a low groaning sound that he hopes translates as 'really?'
Tosh nods, rubbing her hand over him. "Yes."
"Oh," Andy says weakly.
Her breath over his neck is hot enough to make him shiver, and his cock twitches as she traces her teeth over the lobe of his ear. "I've been sitting here wanting you," she whispers, and oh, God, his trousers are definitely getting in the way about now. He cants his hips forwards hopefully, pressing into her, but her hand pushes him back again, forcing him to keep his distance.
"Thinking about how much I need you. Getting all worked up..."
Right about now, Andy thinks he might have had time to formulate a suave line, something James Bond would be proud of: then why don't I help you with that, maybe, or I'm sure something can be arranged. She beats him to it, though: one of her hands is suddenly on his, guiding it, and before he can process the thought she's pressing his fingers between her legs, her skirt rucked up over his wrist, and oh God, he can feel the fabric of her knickers, damp on his skin. His cock twitches.
"I think you owe me some relief," she murmurs, leaning back to look at him with a slow, confident grin that makes what little blood remains in Andy's brain head south. "Right?"
"Definitely," he manages, trying not to sound like a total fool. "Fair's fair."
Tosh pulls his hand away, letting it drop down to his side again. "I knew you'd see it my way." For a moment Andy's hopeful that this means he can kiss her, slide a hand into her shirt, but no joy: she drops his tie only to reach down to his hips, pushing him back firmly.
He feels like a right goon, standing there in front of the window with a highly visible trouser tent and shit, is that Mikey from down the road?
"Tosh, I really think we should close the blind--"
"Strip," Tosh says, and it's an order.
Swallowing, Andy reaches for his tie. Mikey seems to have gone, but it's so dark outside that it's hard to say. Christ, he's going to regret this tomorrow. For now, though, he's amazed to find out how little he cares: he fumbles with his tie, finally dropping it to the floor before starting on his buttons. It would be easier except he's in a rush and Tosh is just standing there watching, her eyes sliding over him like she's hungry as he shrugs off his shirt, reaches for his belt. The metal's chill under his fingers and once it's open he struggles to get a hold on the button of his trousers, feeling it slip through his fingers. Bloody hell, this is the last thing he needs: having her there, confident and composed as ever, while he's here jerking at his zipper like an idiot--
Except he's rapidly corrected: the last thing he needs is him jerking at his zipper like an idiot while Tosh slides a hand down to her crotch, rubbing herself slowly through her skirt. For a moment everything's slow, and Andy stops moving to take in all of it with his mouth gormlessly open: the slow slide of her fingers over the fabric, tracing little sworls over herself. The way her eyes half close with her head tipped back. The flush over her cheeks. The quick rise and fall of her breasts, straining up against her shirt.
"Did I say you could stop?" Tosh murmurs, her voice thick with lust and hitching with each twist of her fingers, and Andy has to stop himself making a noise of sheer desperate lust.
He's quick, after that, because he needs her so much his balls ache: he almost trips out of his trousers but manages to catch himself, kicking them away and reaching for his boxers because the window can go do itself, quite frankly, as long as he gets to do Tosh. Hooking his thumbs under the band he begins to tug, but Tosh's voice pulls him up short. The tone of voice she's been using tonight bypasses every logical circuit in his brain on its apparent mission to lead him around by his erection. It's working, too.
"Leave them on." She must see his look of despair, because she smiles: the slow, easy grin of the one holding all the strings. It's new, this confidence, such a sudden change from her usual quiet competence that it's one of the hottest things he's ever seen.
She steps forward and for a moment Andy aches with hope, but she stops before she reaches him, instead bending over to pick up his tie. For a moment she's close enough to touch, her arse tight in her skirt, near enough for him to reach for her hips and pull her back onto him to grind together--but he doesn't, because...
Well, because what, he thinks? Because he's scared of her? Tiny, friendly Toshiko?
She straightens back up, turning to face him, and twists his tie slowly between her hands, sliding it over her fingers. Each slither of the fabric over her skin feels she's touching him, making his stomach clench and his head go light.
"Turn around," Tosh says simply, "and put your hands behind you."
Andy almost comes just at that, and now he knows exactly why he does what she says.
As he does as he's told, Andy faces the fridge--with their shopping list, the magnets from Paris and Penrhyn Castle--and tries to work through what's happening. He's standing in the bloody kitchen and Tosh is tying him up. Correction: he is standing in the bloody kitchen in front of the window and Tosh is tying him up with his tie. He's feeling a bit like a fool and more than a bit stupid and most of all he is feeling overwhelmingly turned on and he has the giddy sense that nothing else matters, nothing at all.
Tosh's hand is small on his shoulder, but the force she uses to push down means business. It's a relief, doing what she says: Andy sinks down easily, the lino hard and cold under his knees, and just waits for her. He can hear her moving, settling: and then she's saying his name, touching his cheek, and he awkwardly turns on his knees to look at her. She's sitting on the chair, knees together and her hands in her lap, and it makes his heart leap into his throat and his cock twitch sharply to see the colour on her cheeks, to hear the rush of her quickened breathing.
"You're very sorry, aren't you?"
Andy nods helplessly, not stopping his eyes from tracking down to her cleavage this time.
Tosh lets out a tiny sigh, settling back and letting her legs spread slightly. His eyes are caught by one of her hands rising slowly upwards, trailing her finger on a wandering path over her hip, skirting her bellybutton, rising up over the curve of her breasts. It's exactly where he wants to be and it's torture, watching her doing it, and it's bloody fantastic.
Tosh's fingers pause over her nipple, tracing little circles that make Andy's mouth water, and he only barely notices that she lets her eyes close.
"I was getting so worked up, waiting for you. Thinking about what we'd do when you got home..." She pinches her nipple lightly through the fabric of her shirt and Andy moans in empathy, rocking his hips up once, helpless. Tosh arches her back slightly, a frown forming that makes Andy think of her orgasm, the tight hot curl of her as as she presses against him and whimpers and--bloody hell.
Tosh's finger slowly dips lower again, slipping down over her stomach, catching in the folds of her shirt. "I imagined you touching me. Imagined you spreading my legs," and Andy doesn't even have to reach for her: she moves her knees apart and the bottom plummets out of his stomach, "imagined you sliding your fingers down to rub me..."
"Jesus, Tosh," Andy begins, stumbling over all the words and trying not to sound as desperate as he feels, "Tosh--" but as he leans forward her eyes snap open and she reaches forward to push him back, hand forceful on his shoulder.
"Tosh," Andy says, and he's not sure if he's saying please or no or just that this is enough, he can't do this any more, not when he needs her so much he's choking on it. He's never seen her so relentless before: the way that she looks at him makes him ache, her eyes cool under all her heat as she slides her fingers under the waistband of her her skirt. "Tosh, please," is all he can manage, and the hint of desperation is definitely there now and he tugs uselessly at his hands but she's tied them tight and well and he can't think where she'd learn to tie knots like that, but it doesn't even matter: what matters is the shape of her hand moving rhythmically under her skirt and the fact that he's aching hard and can't even begin to touch himself.
Her hand rolls and her head falls back with a moan and Andy's whole world rocks with it.
"Bloody hell, Toshiko--"
“Do you want it?” she says and he whimpers, nods, watches the steady movement of her hand as she rubs herself under her skirt.
“What was that?”
He squirms, feeling gangly and awkward, knees aching on the floor and shoulders pulled back and throbbing.
“You're not going to get it if you don't ask for it.”
“Please,” he mumbles. “Please, Tosh...”
He groans, arches up a bit to try and press his erection against her foot, but she firmly plants her toe in his stomach and pushes him back.
“Fine, then. If you won't behave...” she withdraws her hand and begins to get up and he whimpers, leaning back to look at her, ignoring the pain in his legs and his back.
“I want to taste you,” he blurts out, taking a deep shuddering breath and watching her. She doesn't respond.
“I want to lick you,” he continues, and falling is easier once you've begun but he still has to fumble at the words. “I want my head between your thighs, I want--”
He realizes he's almost sobbing with it and she's suddenly leaning down before him, her breasts close to his face, her lips on her cheek and her hands so gentle in his hair. “There, there. Shhh. You've been a good boy, Andy. Aren't you my good boy?”
He nods helplessly, and yearns towards her as she stands up, but thankfully she sits back in the chair, spreading her legs. He can see up her skirt over the smooth skin of her thigh and oh, God, his cock throbs so hard it's painful.
“I love watching you ache for me,” she whispers, sliding her hands down and inching up her skirt with agonizing slowness. “You're beautiful when you're forced to wait.”
He can't stop himself, leaning forward desperately to press his face against her skin, nuzzling the warm inside of her thigh, crazy for the thick musky scent of her wetness. Even though he should have expected them, the jerk of her fingers in his hair makes him wince, his neck spasming painfully as she tugs his head back.
He chokes, struggling a little before stilling, swallowing with his Adam's apple pressing painfully in his throat.
When she's quite sure he's not going to move again she lets him go. “Look at me.” He does, and he's never seen her so sure of herself, and it sends another electric jolt of lust down his spine.
“Keep watching,” she whispers, and begins to slide her skirt up again, bracing her feet against the floor and raising her hips to pull it up over her arse.
Holy. Fuck. Andy thinks with his last shred of reason. Just being this close to her makes him burn up with lust, the thought of her hot and wet, ready for him, and Jesus bloody Christ, he needs “Tosh, God--”
She laughs, and this time her hand is soft on the nape of his neck and she spreads her legs easily, the little dips on the very inside of her thighs deepening. “Maybe for tonight.”
He follows the push of her hand without any hint of resistance, his stomach pulling up into a tight knot as he gets closer. Slow, Andy, he tells himself, and his lips tremble as he kisses up her thigh, looking upwards to see her mouth slightly open, the slick slide of her tongue over her lips. Bloody hell, he could come just from the sight of her, and he pulls on the tie without thinking, wanting to reach for a quick tug at his balls.
“You don't need to use your hands,” Tosh says, and it's unmistakably an order.
He groans and can't stop himself from moving up closer, shuffling awkwardly over the floor until his face is inches from the fabric of her knickers: a stray hair curls about one side, a darker patch of wetness just in front of his nose. There's the drip of the tap in the distance and the ache of the lino under his knees and everything's swamped by the warm press of her thighs against his shoulders, the smell of her arousal.
Her fingers tighten in his hair. “I'm waiting.”
Andy makes a desperate noise and frankly he doesn't give a fuck how it sounds: he leans forward, closing his eyes and pressing his face into her crotch, kissing at the damp spot, running his tongue over the cotton. The taste of her is thick and full and he's like Pavlov's bloody dog (and that absurd Wheatus line goes through his head, and yes, she does ring his bell), except it's precome rather than saliva, and he doesn't have to see the front of his boxers to know that he's as wet as her. He can't suppress a hungry sound, leaning forward until his chest presses against the chair and his jaw is painful on the seat below her but he doesn't give a shit, really.
“Wait,” Tosh gasps, and he's never wanted to take her apart more. Her fingers are down by his face and he leans back just far enough, pressing kisses to them, licking until the sharp little lines of her nails catch at his tongue and she bats him away with a moan. “No, Andy, wait--”
As soon as she's pulled aside the line of her knickers, fabric twisted up over her fingers, he leans forward again. For a moment he just looks at her, swollen and glistening, and it's all too much for him to take in, the fact that this is her opened up and ready and he is making her like this, him.
“Andy,” she growls, and the hand on the back of his head is rough, forcing his face against her. He doesn't complain, and when he pulls back slightly to kiss at her lips he can feel her wetness over his face, slick on his skin and Christ, the taste of her is enough to make his cock throb and if he doesn't come he swears he'll damage himself. If he arches forward and cants his hips up his cock can rub just over the chair leg and he bucks desperately, thrusting against the cold metal with an ungainly need.
Tosh's hand is so hard against his cheek that it stings and he can feel the mark of her fingers rising up red on his skin.
“Did I say you could?”
If he could have argued at all he's stopped by the harshness of her voice, the strength of it, and he lets his arse drop back onto his aching heels and leans into her again, getting lost in the taste of her. With his hands tied back he can't reach round to spread her lips and instead he nuzzles at her, clumsy and not caring, rubbing his nose over her clit and sliding his tongue into her. His hungry kisses make her whimper and it makes him feel so fucking good, hearing that, feeling the little trembles of her thighs about his ears, the shaking of her legs down his sides. He presses in, tilting his head, and flicks his tongue back and forth over her clit, teasing her.
Tosh cries out, her fingers twisting in his hair painfully, and Andy groans in return. Careful and gentle he bares his teeth, rubs them over her clit, hardly touching--
He's pushed backwards so hard that he can hardly process it, looking up at her wide-eyed and blinking, and she moves forward to reach round him, the smooth swell of her breasts up against his sticky face and oh, God, he could die totally and utterly happy.
Whatever he's expecting it's not his hands being untied, but he's not complaining. Tosh sprawls backwards, pulling off her knickers deftly before spreading her legs with an eager wantonness that makes Andy reverberate with lust, revealing the sweet soft lines of her thighs and the dark curls of her pubic hair, the flush of damp flesh. Andy groans, more falling forwards than reaching and she's all about him, her thighs tight against his ears and her legs wrapped about his back, her fingers scraping over his head. He can't hear what she's saying but the muffled whimpers are enough and he presses closer, bringing up one hand between her body and his face. As he slides the pad of his index finger over her the sweep of her flesh makes him think of fucking her, picking her up and taking her to the bed or just bending her over the table right here, pressing her head down and spreading her legs...
Tosh loosens the grip of her thighs just enough to let him take the breath he hasn't been aware he's been missing, canting her hips up so sluttishly it makes him salivate.
“Don't you dare wait, Andrew Davidson,” and oh, fuck, that's it, he's always been a sucker for her undone and all revealed, his tightly-wound Toshiko unlaced: he leans forward to suckle at her clit, sliding his tongue over it, and presses two of his fingers into her. She's wetter than she's ever been and God, she opens up beautifully for him, her body hot about his fingers, muscles tightening over him as if she wants to draw him in.
“Jesus, Toshiko,” he gasps against her and she only moans, pressing his face back down. He licks at her eagerly, swiping his tongue over her clit as he buries his fingers in her, curling them inside of her.
“I want you to fuck me,” she moans, and he looks up to see her arched back for him, her chest rising and falling fast as she pants, her shirt open to reveal the lace of her bra and the swell of her breasts and oh, bloody hell.
“Don't you want to? Tell me you want to,” and her voice is liquid fire slipping into Andy's veins and this is what he can't believe, that the Toshiko he can show to his parents is so filthy in bed, that she takes and she wants and she begs to be fucked, this is the Tosh the guys at the station would die if they saw, this is--
“Tell me,” she says, louder, and tugs at his hair.
“Jesus, Tosh, you know--”
“I'm so hot for you,” she whimpers, her legs rising up 'til her feet are on his shoulders and she's curled around him. And yeah, she is, pliant and open as he fucks her steadily with his fingers and Jesus, he wants nothing more than to stand and tug off his bloody boxers and press his cock deep into her until he can't get any further, gripping her hips and fucking her right here, who gives a shit about the bloody window, making her moan, making her beg--
“I want to fuck you,” he admits, and it's a prayer and pleading all at once, words all broken up as he licks and mouths at her and does all he can to pick her apart with his teeth and his lips and his tongue. He raises his other arm, curling it about her thigh to find her breast. The fabric of her bra is lacy and warm under his fingertips and he pushes it back impatiently, slipping her breast free and cupping it in his hand, her skin impossibly soft on his palm. If he turns his wrist he can pinch her nipple between his finger and thumb just the way that she likes, twisting it to make her arch. She's whimpering things, half-crying them, and it's only eventually that he can work out the words: “beg me, beg me, Andy, beg me...”
“Please, Tosh, please,” and he's almost crying too, sprawled now and aching and utterly dependent on her, literally on his bloody knees, his face wet and close to the slick sounds of his fingers thrusting into her, harder and quicker, and she's beginning to arch and rock and tremble, his world entire in rapture, he's the centre of her fucking universe and she's his and Jesus Christ there's nowhere else he'd rather be, twisting his fingers in her to curl them, brushing there.
Tosh arches under him with a strained cry, her whole body bucking against him, and if she had control before she's lost it now, come all undone under his tongue. She's half-telling, half begging: "touch yourself, touch--" and Andy couldn't say no if he tried, shoving down his boxers clumsily, thrusting against the first touch of his hand. It's his left and it's awkward, but he doesn't give a shit: he's so close already, gripping himself hard and rough and bucking his hips as he licks at her, pushing his fingers deep into her, every arch and clench of her body making him pulse with lust. He can feel her getting closer, her body tightening about his fingers and her hands twisting painfully hard in his hair and her panting all caught up with the way she moans his name, and bloody hell, bloody hell, she's so close so close...
Tosh spasms and curls in on herself and cries out, her orgasm rippling through her, and he's so close to coming he's fucking shaking with it and he jerks himself faster, pulling back to look at her all flushed and sweaty and undone, skirt hitched up around her waist and bra pulled down to reveal one of her breasts and she's his, she's like that for him and Jesus, fuck, fuck, fuck--
He comes with a deep groan, arching his hips up desperately and clenching his eyes tight shut against the intensity of it.
When he opens them it is because Toshiko is uncurling herself, her legs slowly slipping down his arms until her feet are on the floor, her panting a softer counterpart to the hard drip of the tap. Some of his come has landed on the side of her knee and he reaches out to carefully brush it away.
“Tosh?” he says, mostly a whisper. She's hunched over, her hair hiding her face, and he reaches up to tuck it behind her ear with a wet finger. “Toshiko?”
She doesn't say a thing, but her body slowly inclines to his, leaning against him as if he is the sure point of everything. She fits against him easily, her breath curling over his neck, and he wraps his arm about her, kissing her collarbone with all of the gentleness in him. He feels concerned, suddenly, worried that he has done something wrong. He begins to say her name, but is stopped by her hand on his mouth, her finger tracing over his lip.
They're silent for a moment, together.
“Was it good?” she says, quietly, her lips over his neck.
“Good? Jesus, Toshiko, that was...” he shakes his head helplessly, runs a hand through his hair. “I didn't think you'd even found the note. I never thought you'd--”
“Full of surprises,” she says, and he can feel her cat's smile. “Wanting me to take control is hardly deviant.”
“I guess this means I owe you, then.”
Tosh smiles, slow and hot. “I think so."
“I'd better go get that tin of yours then, hadn't I?”
She drapes her arm out over him, nuzzling in and closing her eyes. "In a bit. Stay with me."
His stomach flops inside of him, just looking at her, and the tap drips as the world continues on, somewhere.