The cold deck of The Revenant is a shocking contrast to the heat of our bodies. We stumble through the airlock in a tangle of limbs, the door hissing shut behind us, sealing out the thin, dead atmosphere of the planet and the waking nightmare we left behind.
"Diana! Get us the fuck out of here! Full burn!" I shout, my voice raw, as I half-carry, half-drag Elara away from the exit.
"No shit, genius!" Diana's hologram flickers violently by the cockpit, her form glitching with the strain of the ship's sudden acceleration. "Hang on to your dicks, we are so fucking outmatched!"
The ship shudders, the engines screaming as they tear us away from the planet's gravity well. An alarm blares—a proximity alert. Something just took a shot at us. Elara stumbles, and I catch her, pulling her tight against my chest. Her heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat syncopated with my own. Her skin is still flushed, slick with the sweat of our frantic escape and our even more frantic coupling. The scent of her—musky, electric, alive—is everywhere.
We're not safe. Not by a long shot. But the immediate, gut-clenching terror of being on that planet, of being hunted, is receding, replaced by the pounding, primal adrenaline still coursing through our veins. It has to go somewhere.
My back connects with the cool, polished metal of the corridor wall. Elara is pressed against me, her breath hot on my neck. Her brilliant green eyes are wide, not with fear now, but with a feral, unspent energy. The legendary captain, the savior of the universe, is looking at me like I'm her next meal.
"It's still out there," she breathes, but her hands aren't pushing me away. They're roaming my back, pulling at the fabric of my flightsuit, her nails scraping over the muscles beneath. Her hips grind against mine in a slow, insistent circle, and I groan. I'm already hard again, achingly so, trapped between the wall and the delicious pressure of her body.
"We're not clear yet," I manage, my voice a low growl. My own hands find the curve of her ass, pulling her tighter against my erection. It's a stupid, reckless time for this. And I don't give a single damn.
"I know," she whispers, and claims my mouth in a searing, desperate kiss. It's all tongue and teeth and shared, ragged breath. It's not about pleasure. It's about affirmation. I am here. You are here. We are alive.
Her hands make quick, frantic work of the remaining seals on my flightsuit, pushing it down my shoulders until it pools at my waist. Her cryo-suit follows, peeled down to reveal the incredible, toned landscape of her body. Pale skin, a dusting of freckles across her chest, the perfect, heavy weight of her breasts. My mouth waters.
I spin us, pinning her against the wall now. She gasps, a sharp, delighted sound, her head thumping back against the metal. Her eyes flash with challenge and pure, unadulterated hunger. I drop to my knees, my hands sliding down the trembling muscles of her thighs, pushing her suit the rest of the way down her legs until she stands bare before me, gloriously naked and utterly unashamed.
I don't hesitate. I hook her left leg over my shoulder, opening her to me. The scent of her arousal is thick and intoxicating. She is already glistening, swollen, and ready. I lean in, my breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh, and she shudders violently.
"Please…" It's not a command this time. It's a raw, broken plea.
I answer it with my tongue.
A long, slow, flat stroke from her entrance all the way up to the throbbing bud of her clit. She cries out, a sharp, startled sound that echoes in the corridor. Her hands fist in my hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life. I feast on her. I lick and suck and delve deep with my tongue, mapping every fold, every secret, sensitive spot. Her taste is unlike anything I've ever known—sweet and sharp and ancient, like starlight and salvation.
Her thighs tremble around my head. The sounds she makes are pure, undiluted music—guttural moans, choked sobs, my name, gasped like a prayer. Her hips buck against my face, seeking more pressure, a faster rhythm. I give it to her. I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue, flicking it rapidly, then suckling it gently between my lips.
"Steele… I'm… I can't…"
Her warning is a ragged thread. I slide two fingers inside her, curling them, finding that spongy spot deep within. She is so tight, so impossibly hot and wet. I press there, rubbing in time with the relentless assault of my tongue.
She comes apart.
Her orgasm crashes over her with the force of a solar flare. Her entire body bows off the wall, held up only by my grip on her thigh and the wall at her back. A scream, long and ragged and utterly without shame, is torn from her throat. Her inner muscles clench around my fingers in a rhythmic, milkingpulse, and I feel her essence flood my mouth.
I ride it out with her, gentling my tongue but not stopping, drawing out every last shuddering wave of her pleasure until she slumps against the wall, boneless and panting.
I rise, kissing my way up her trembling stomach, over the swell of her breast, until I can claim her mouth again, letting her taste herself on my lips. She kisses me back with a lethargic, sated passion.
It doesn't last. The fire in her eyes rekindles almost instantly, banked coals stirred back into a blaze. Her hand slips between us, her fingers wrapping around my cock. Her touch is firm, knowing. She strokes me once, twice, her thumb smearing the bead of moisture at my tip.
"I need you inside me," she murmurs against my lips. "Now."
I don't need to be told twice. I lift her easily, and she wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. I guide myself to her entrance, and with one powerful thrust, I'm buried to the hilt. We both cry out at the sensation, the perfect, breathtaking fullness.
I begin to move, thrusting into her with a deep, driving pace right there in the corridor. The ship shudders around us from evasive maneuvers, but our rhythm is the only constant. Her back slides against the cool wall with every push forward. Her breasts crush against my chest. Her mouth is on my neck, my shoulder, sucking and biting, marking me as hers.
It's raw. It's primal. It's two survivors fucking against the dying of the light, using each other's bodies to scream we are still here.
I can feel my climax coiling, a tight spring in the base of my spine. Her breath is coming in sharp, frantic pants in my ear. "Come for me," she commands, her voice husky with her own building pleasure. "Fill me."
It's all the permission I need. With a final, brutal thrust, I slam into her and let go. My release is a torrent, a volcano erupting after a century of dormancy. I pulse inside her, my vision whiting out, my roar muffled against her neck.
She clenches around me, milking every last drop, and I feel her own second, softer climax wash through her, a series of gentle flutters that leave us both shuddering and spent.
We stay like that for a long moment, clinging to each other, our sweat-slicked bodies the only anchor in a spinning universe.
Diana's voice cuts through the post-coital haze, sharp and utterly devoid of humor. "Uh, guys? Not to kill the mood, which, by the way, fucking congratulations, but we've got a bigger problem. It's not just looking at us anymore. It's following us."