Divers Alarums
Part Two
by Claire

"Oh, shit!"


"I’ve just remembered – I’ve got a costume party tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it for ages, but, I can’t just leave you here – oh! I know – you can come with me!"

He gave her a suspicious look

"As what? Last I looked, I didn’t have any costumes tucked away in the X wing’s storage compartment."

She gave him a triumphant grin. "Yourself! Everyone will just think you’re some hot guy I found who conveniently resembles one of the pilots."

Damn. That wasn’t EXACTLY what she’d meant to say, and Wes being Wes, he picked up on it. In fact, he couldn’t have grabbed it any harder if he’d been a vornskr after ysalamiri.

"You think I’m hot?" It was, really, the most encouragement she’d given him so far. Well, that and a certain soft look in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking, but he still wasn’t sure whether that was his imagination talking. Still… some encouragement was better than none, and he decided to milk it for all it was worth.

"You think I’m a babe. I’m a sexy flyboy from a galaxy far, far away!"

If you looked up smug and self-satisfied in a dictionary, Wes Janson’s face at that moment would most definitely be the illustration.

She groaned, threw a pillow at him, and bitterly regretted EVER letting him actually watch Star Wars. He’d been quoting incessantly from it, and he’d obviously found it hysterically funny. She was damn sure she didn’t want to know why.

"Wes, shut up and go get into your flightsuit. You gotta look the part, at any rate. And comb your hair!"

He made a face at her as he raced down to ‘his’ room – her brother’s old room in the family bach. It had been decorated for a child, so she guessed it was kind of fitting that Wes was in there. Always the child, huh, Wes? She killed another grin and moved to the wardrobe. They had about half an hour before they would have to leave and with her costume, that was definitely cutting it fine.

Make up was the work of a few seconds – she never wore much, anyway. Just gold brushed onto her eyelids, a little shimmery blush on her face, a touch of mascara and a light coat of lipstick, which closely matched the natural pink of her lips.

More by luck than skill, she got her hair up in a few moments, the waist length mass twisted up and held in place by more bobby-pins than she cared to think about, with a few loose strands at the front, softening the look.

Long black boots encased her legs from toes to knees, they weren’t really that visible when she was fully dressed, but they were more comfortable than heels. Then the dress, the crowning glory of her outfit and the main reason she’d been looking forward to this night – before fate had dumped an altogether far too charming alien pilot on her lap (no! She told her rebellious mind firmly, do NOT go there.). It was red, a gown that simply screamed ‘fairy tale princess’, a confection of silk and satin with a full skirt that sighed around her ankles as she walked and a tight bodice, the bones of a corset lacing up her front, cutting low enough to hint at the swell of her breasts with out exposing her to any danger of…well, exposing herself. Except it was a stone bitch to do up, and she was wrestling with the last hole of the laces when Wes banged impatiently on the door.

"Are you ready yet, I thought you told me that we had to leave by now. What’re you doing in there, anyway?"

She froze in horror as the door handle turned, ever so slowly.

"Wes, I swear, if you open that door, I’ll, I’ll, you’ll never fill out your dress uniform the same way again."

Silence. Her (technically) non-specific threat had got him off her back for a while. Well, about a minute probably. But that was all she needed. She took one last look in the mirror, reassured she looked as hot as nature would let her, grabbed a bag, and stepped out into the lounge room.

Wes was perched on the arm of the couch, watching some random rerun on the TV. He turned towards her at the sound of her heels on the floor, and she was satisfied by the look of shock, the naked awe on his face as his jaw dropped.

"Oh, wow. You look, you look absolutely fantastic. I mean, you look good normally, but this, its just, whoa." She couldn’t help but be secretly pleased by the way her appearance had flummoxed him – no jokes, not even innuendo. And the glances he kept stealing at her as they drove – and boy was THAT fun in that skirt – to the party were gratifying, to say the least.

The party was a blur, introducing people, giving and getting compliments on her dress, her date, exchanging news with friends not seen in a while and doing some very fast talking around her better friends when the subject of Wes came up. Wes was, remarkably, on his best behaviour. Oh, he was flirting outrageously with everyone, but he’d toned it down enough to err on the side of charming.

When they danced in the crowded throng – strangely, the only moments she COULD recall easily – his arms were loose around her, and he wasn’t trying anything at all. Oddly, she found this disappointing. Yeah, he’d been impressed by the dress, but now he didn’t even care enough to hit on her. Self pity fuelled by a few glasses of wine led her to leave a bit earlier than she would normally, and the drive home was far more quiet than the drive over. She let Wes drive; he’d been practicing, and, unlike her, had not been drinking. Stupid. Stupid to get drunk and morose, she thought, stupid to keep pushing him away and then be hurt when he goes. She shoved away the unwelcome thoughts, and stared out into the passing landscape, her only words directions to get back to the house.

"Wanna take a walk down the beach?" he asked, breaking the long silence.

"Yeah, sure" she replied, not really paying that much attention, so they got out of the car, Wes bowing like some ridiculous courtier before she let him take her arm as they walked across the sand.

"Are you alright? You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden. It’s sort of scary." His voice sounded disembodied in the moonlight, and unconsciously she found herself leaning into his warmth more, not wanting to feel so alone. And to her disgust, she found she couldn’t lie to him.

"Not really. I just kind of had an attack of self pity. Among other things."

She didn’t specify, and he didn’t push.

"I don’t talk THAT much, do I?" Her voice was vulnerable in the darkness, and Wes gave her a quick squeeze before answering

"Yeah, but I like it. You’ve got a nice voice, and you’re friendly and interesting and witty. Much like me." Wes was starting to realise that his feelings, though, were very much more than friendly. Yeah, sure, he did tease everyone, and he tried his hardest to be a bit of a pest around women, but that was just the way he was. Disquietingly, he was finding that he was flirting with her because he really wanted to. He meant all the flowery compliments and suggestive comments. Which was why, in true, typical Wes fashion, he’d dealt by acting completely the opposite tonight. And, whether she admitted it or not, he had hurt her feelings. He fought down a strong desire to embrace her, to kiss her senseless in apology, to show her how he felt. His arm, draped around her waist, was showing alarming signs of wanting to travel higher, to explore the curves so magnificently displayed by the dress.

No, he told himself. Get off the silly romantic beach, go inside, have a cold shower. As the wind around them picked up, and she unconsciously leaned closer into him, he mentally edited that to a couple of cold showers.

"I’m sorry, I wasn’t really myself this evening either." Well, it wasn’t precisely a lie.

"Do you mind if we go in now? It’s getting sort of cold out here." He was glad the suggestion had come from her, but found himself a little worried when, by the time they’d made it indoors, she was shivering from the cold. In the light again, he had to fight to keep his eyes from devouring her in that dress. Oh, the hell with it. The worst she’d do would be to slap him, and it wasn’t like he’d never been slapped before.

He made himself comfortable on the lone couch, in front of the fire they’d left burning, feeling the heat press on his face as the flames danced.

"Claire, c’mere. It’s much warmer by the fire."

"There’s only one couch." But she was moving anyway, her response an automatic protest.

He opened his arms to her,

"We’ll share, it’s nice and cozy. I’ll behave. Just warm up." His voice was low and persuasive, and before either of them could have second thoughts, she was lying half over him, half beside him, his arms loosely around her, her head cushioned on his shoulder.

He could smell her hair, the spicy scent of her shampoo as well as her own, unique scent and he fought the urge to bury his nose in it.

"Wes?" Her voice was muffled by his chest.


"Can you undo my hair, it’s killing me."

Oh, gods, how much could she tempt him before he completely lost control? He slowly began to pick out the small pins, letting them drop on the floor, glorying in the feel of the soft waves of her hair sliding over his fingers. Finally, he had them all out, started finger combing the deep golden brown mass of it out of the twists, his hands incidentally stroking her back as he did so.

"Oh, that’s better. Here, let me." She sat up, eyes half open drowsily to untangle her hair, and Wes found himself sitting up too, as if she was pulling him with her, his eyes caught by hers, blue eyes drowning in dark green, and all he could think was how much he wanted her. He reached for her, or she for him, and then their lips met, heat surging through their bodies. Neither could hold back, kisses hungry and hot and devouring, tongues twining in an intimate dance. Wes pulled her back down onto the couch so that she lay on top of him, her body warm and soft against his, her mouth sweet and open and inviting.

He finally managed to break away from her mouth, only to bury his face in her neck, trailing short fiery kisses down it as his hands tangled in her hair.

Her hands were warm on his body, one rubbing down his side, the other stroking his face, caressing his cheek before moving up into his dark hair.

"Oh, gods," he groaned into her neck, before lifting his head once more to capture her lips, the sensation driving him utterly wild. Then all of a sudden, it got better. Somehow, without him even noticing, she’d unzipped half his flight suit, and her hands had slipped inside and were doing tantalising things to his chest and stomach.

"Turnabout is fair play, wench." He growled, then moaned as her clever fingers found a particularly sensitive spot over his ribs, "gods, if I don’t get you a little more occupied soon, this is going to be over a lot earlier than either of us wants."

He felt her laugh against him, easily taking his meaning, and not retreating, not stopping. Then he managed to manoeuvre her so that they were both sitting up, his hands holding her chin as he kissed her, hers warm against his shoulder blades. He turned passion-dark blue eyes to her and said softly

"I’ve been wanting to do this all night. All day. All week, really."

And his fingers were deftly unlacing her bodice, unknotting and loosening the thin leather laces, and she felt herself begin to tremble. Then, as his eyes caught hers again, she was drowning in blue flames, and desire swamped her, making her boneless against him as he undressed her.

His flight suit was completely off his shoulders, and was rumpling up around his waist. They broke apart for few frantic moments as he peeled off the sweat soaked t-shirt he wore underneath, and then they both melted into the embrace once more. It was only a few minutes later that she broke away from him again, breathing hard, her frustration growing. The mechanics of this were simply not working.

"Wes. Boots. Now." She wanted his flightsuit off, but the boots would have to go first. Then her damn dress. It was far too thick.

"Yours or mine?" He wasn’t thinking as well as he normally did.

"Both. Unless you can remove the flight suit with them on, and at any rate… I don’t want boot polish on my sheets." He felt his blood pressure shoot up again at that picture, and applied himself to removing the offending footwear. It took a lot longer than usual because he couldn’t seem to go without kissing her every few seconds, and the frantic roaming of her hands persuaded him that she was in much the same state. Three boots off later he broke the embrace to say with a devilish grin, as he smoothed sweat darkened hair off his brow

"Y’know, there is a flaw in your reasoning. About the boot polish."

"Uh-huh?" Another heated kiss before he could tear his mouth from hers again. Her last boot hit the floor.

"You’re assuming we make it as far as the bedroom."

Good point. As far as she was concerned, they couldn’t get naked fast enough. She’d never wanted anyone like this, passion overwhelming almost everything else. Almost everything.

"Good point." She gasped as his fingers brushed over her breasts, sliding under the loose bodice to caress her, to rub the tight nipples until she was almost mindless with pleasure.

"But – we have to – get as far as the bathroom."

"Why?" He pulled back to look her in the eye, genuinely baffled.

"Wes, I may want to" fuck you senseless was her first thought, but that seemed more than a little crude, so she settled for "spend most of the next four days in bed with you, but I do not want to spend the next nine months pregnant."

"Oh. Sorry. Yeah." He was already drawing back from her, and the temperature in the room had definitely dropped a couple of degrees. Great one, Claire, she thought to herself, way to kill the mood.

"Sithspit, Wes, I didn’t mean I wanted to stop! Just… relocate."

"Sure." And with a mercurial change in mood, he slid off the couch, swept her up in his arms, carried her down the hall and dumped her on the bed. She sat up to look at him, as he stood there, a slightly mocking grin etched across his features.

He slid a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small packet and waved it in front of her. She tried not to look as stupid as she felt.

"See? A good pilot is always prepared."

Then he casually slipped out of the flightsuit, sliding it over his narrow hips, while her eyes devoured every last inch of his body, all but that covered by the brief shorts he wore.

"Claire, stand up." His voice was low, sensuous, husky with arousal, and she found herself standing without thinking about it. Then he was spinning her around so that her back was to him, his hands gentle as they unzipped the dress, let it fall into a silken pool on the floor.

He dropped a warm kiss on her bare shoulder, his hands resting on her hips before sliding downwards to draw off her panties, then she turned to face him once more, completely nude.

He wrapped his arms around her again, his hands exploring her back and buttocks, and she could feel the insistent weight of his arousal, his erection pressing into her stomach as she kissed him.

Knees suddenly weak, she pulled Wes back down onto the bed. He began to trail kisses down along her jaw bone, then nuzzled her neck, his warm breath tickling as much as it aroused. Then he paused, dropping a quick kiss onto her nipple, already erect and painful before hesitantly lowering his mouth to it, licking and nipping gently as she moaned beneath him, then, finally, with a measuring look at her, he bent once more and took it fully into his mouth, the suckling action shooting fire through her whole body, while its twin ached in sympathy. Blindly, she pulled his head aside before guiding it to the other rose tipped breast, he took that into his mouth, appeasing it similarly.

His hands, burning at her hips this whole time decided now would be a good time for them to go exploring. He reached up for her again, their mouths joining once more as his right hand curled around her neck, stroking back the loose strands of hair, while his left hand slid over her thigh, and between her legs. He felt the shudder run through her body when his fingers parted her curls, heard the hissing intake of her breath as one finger slipped gently into her, rubbing softly so that she pressed against his hand instinctively. Still kissing her, muffling her moans with his mouth, he slid another finger inside, stroking and caressing. His fingers found her clit, moving slowly around the swollen nub, feeling as she became slick with desire and need.

"Wes, oh gods, now!" she cried against him, tormented by the pleasure he was bringing her, and the knowledge that complete fulfilment was still denied her.

She tugged at the waistband of his shorts, and at the edges of his own control, he made no move to stop her, both of them more than ready. The shorts ended up on the floor then he knelt between her legs, tilting her hips up towards him. Then, he leant down to take her mouth again as he entered her, feeling her muscles contract around him as she cried out. His hands gentle on her sides, he began to move inside her, slowly at first then faster as he felt himself begin to lose control. Her fingers bit into his shoulders as waves of pleasure shuddered through her, and then she stiffened, crying out as she came, Wes’ voice joining hers as he found his own release.

The two of them lay in a tangle of limbs, sweat dampening the sheets beneath them, as their breath slowed, as minds slowly began to work again properly. Wes wrapped his arms around her more securely, bending to take her lips in a kiss that, while chaste and innocent of itself, promised more later.

"So can I take you up on that four days offer?"

She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "We-es. What do you think?"

"I was thinking of asking for an extension…"


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