"I'm – curious," Ta'Lon says, the words skittering against her scalp as she drags her teeth across his collarbone and the small, delicate hollow at the base of his throat. He's out of breath already, his chest rising and falling in time with the motion of her hips. It makes her hearts swell with an odd triumph. She still remembers his surprise when she told him that yes, Centauri were equipped to make love Narn style, and from the way he's grinding up against her, she gathers it's going rather well. "When you see the future," he continues, "do you always see things that are significant? Or is it smaller things as well, like what will be for dinner, or…" He chuckles brokenly. "… or how quickly you will make me come tonight?"
Morella blinks up into his teasing expression, intrigued to see genuine interest there. Back home, questions like these are considered improper; even her late husband took care never to press her about her gift. But Ta'Lon's directness is refreshing, like most other things about him. It's certainly different from what she's used to – and different is what she needs right now, having fled Homeworld with little more than the clothes on her back and the Emperor's haunted expression imprinted on her mind. She still doesn't know why Mollari sent her to Babylon 5. He was drunk when he summoned her to the Palace, and when she tried to touch his arm to read him, his guards dragged her away as if she'd pulled out a blade. But she didn't need her gift to know he was serious when he begged her to run for her life. Cotto was very kind when she arrived on the station, but in the end, it wasn't Cotto who helped her settle in. It was Ta'Lon, who, as it turned out, still remembered her from her last visit. The look in his eyes when he saw her again caught her off guard: not the look of a stranger, but the look of someone who liked what he saw.
"Often it's small things," she tells him, seeing that same look on his face now. His hands tighten around her waist as she shifts on his lap, bracing her knees against the mattress. His fingers trace the edge of her lowest aperta, and she sags against him when her limbs seem to melt like butter at the touch. "Though sometimes what seems insignificant turns out not to be. The Sight can be unpredictable." Her words come out ragged, which seems to please him. He leans down and drags his mouth across one of her breasts. "But I don't need it…" She gasps as his tongue flicks across a nipple. "… to know how to make you come, Ta'Lon. In any case, using it would be an unfair advantage." She allows herself a provocative smile.
"Would it?" Ta'Lon slides his hands higher up her back. Morella bites back a low moan as pleasure washes over her, rising like a warm, syrupy tide.
Touching Ta'Lon doesn't bring the visions, the way most other people's closeness does. That in itself is a small miracle. On Homeworld, of course, they'd assume she was sleeping with him as compensation. Right now she needs him more than he needs her, and that's how these things go, after all. But this isn't like that, and she suspects Ta'Lon would be insulted at the mere thought. He cares about her, that much she knows. But on some nights, when the icy depth of space seems to crowd in on her, she wonders if this is fair to him; if she truly wants him too, or if it's just that the only times when she doesn't feel the press of destiny weighing her down is when she's with him, his skin against hers. Something tells her that it's both, that it can be both, but even though she can see people's future, it seems she hasn't yet learned to read her own hearts.
But his smile is real, and so is the desire in his eyes, and she lets herself embrace the moment. His hands are gentle as they tease her aperta, warm fingers seeking out the wetness deeper down. They slide in and out of her, setting a lazy rhythm that drags her right to the edge, then pulls her back again. His member is tight inside her, and she bears down so that it's his turn to gasp, then begins a slow, teasing back-and-forth that makes his eyes lose focus and his mouth fall open. For a moment he looks almost vulnerable. Then he blinks and leans forward, capturing her mouth hungrily, and Morella stops thinking altogether.
"Yes," she tells him, as his fingertips press and knead inside her, liquid heat pouring down her spine. He's being so careful, but she isn't fragile. "Yes. There. Harder," and she doesn't even care if she sounds like she's begging for it. Anyway, he's begging too, not with words but with his eyes. She feels like they could burn right into her, leaving nothing but ashes (like Centauri Prime, a treacherous part of her whispers, but she shoves the thought away before it can take root). She's burning up and she needs to come, she needs it now. He curls his thumb inside her and she groans into his mouth. Ta'Lon is trembling underneath her, tiny spasms gripping his thighs.
"Morell–" he says, a moment before his hips jerk and he clutches at her, his face contorting in what might have been a shout if he hadn't swallowed it down just in time. She's still lucid enough to feel a swell of gratification that he said her name – not Lady or some other title, her real name, the name no one else would dare to use that way – and then she's coming too, hands digging into his shoulders as the first of the orgasms shudders through her, wave after sweet wave of warm, liquid bliss that wraps her up and trips her and leaves her dizzy and tingling and alive.
When she can breathe again, she catches his face between her hands. "Ta'Lon," she says, drawing out the name, as if saying it will make this more real. Make him more real. She can't see his future, or their future together, and in a way that frightens her. But the answering grin on his face tells her beyond a doubt that he is here now, with her, in this moment. She hopes she can live in the moment too.