Sometimes Myka took without giving anything in return. It was a selfish wish, to be that in control, a desire that she never fully understood. It came from deep within her. She had read theories that its origins were her childhood, from being out of control in so many aspects of her life for so long – but she was not entirely sure that it wasn’t just intrinsically there to begin with, for Myka to tap into whenever she felt the urge.
She had felt the urge more than ever as of late.
And so she had begun to experiment in the weeks that followed their seeming misadventure with time travel that wasn’t really time travel. She’d done this in college, had developed a little bit of a reputation, and had abruptly stopped it all together entering the secret service. Her research had proved most fruitful thus far. Helena took non-verbal cues very well when Myka set her mind to it, and as she pressed her lover up against the back of her bedroom door, Myka realized that this was most certainly for the best.
Sinking into old habits was not something that Myka usually approved of. She’d cut out sugar as a child and now only caved in under extreme stress. She’d quit coffee for the most part since coming to work at the Warehouse; instead favoring the strong tea that Leena loved and the expensive English blends that Helena had brought with her when she’d returned to work.
This habit, however, was different. It came from something other than the need for Myka to be in control. Its reemergence was a reaction rather than an action; to how absolutely insane things had gotten during their artifact retrievals as of late.
They’d been in the field enough to establish that Myka didn’t particularly like the way that Helena operated on missions. Her brain moved too quickly, putting threads of information together at a pace that made Myka’s head spin. She would vanish, come back holding a smoking artifact, her eyebrows a little worse for the wear and an insane look in her eyes. The manic glee dancing at the corner of her eyes terrified Myka.
That was when it had snapped within Myka. The first time she’d pushed and Helena had let her with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a comment that it was about time Myka acted on her true nature.
She had not known what to say then. Her hands, fisted in the front of Helena’s shirt as she pushed her back against the bed, had found Helena’s and had forced them over her head – angry and feeling out of control. She had been afraid when Helena had vanished, even more terrified when Helena hadn’t come back for an hour, she couldn’t let this happen.
So she’d acted on those impulses, taken without giving in return, and Helena had let it happen with no questions and very little resistance.
And that had not been the last time.
“Darling,” Helena breathed between kisses and Myka batting her hands away. She would not be touched, not yet. This wasn’t even a thing for them usually, it just came out on occasion and Helena was masterful when it came to figuring out when it was that Myka needed this. “What is it that you want from me?”
Myka didn’t know. She wanted to feel safe, to feel protected and loved. To have someone else be able to tell her when to stop, when to push; to be in control was to give the control of her own personal demons to another entirely. It was the most glorious feeling Myka knew.
They fell into bed, crossing the room as lovers are wont to do, lips fused and tripping over their own feet. Breath came easily then, Myka settling on top of Helena, the gleam that had come into her eye earlier, with her not so subtle suggestion that Helena stop doing that thing with her tongue as she read, shining brighter than ever. Helena’s tongue was driving Myka to distraction, and Helena really had stop.
Helena, naturally contrary, had done it more.
So Myka had told her to put her book down and go upstairs. She’d worked at perfecting that tone of voice in college. Jessica Pratt, if Myka recalled the girl correctly, had let her practice until she’d had the girl weak at the knees and wet and ready for whatever Myka was willing to offer that day. It was strange to think of a past lover in this situation, but Myka knew that Helena had had more than Myka would ever care to know.
The surge of jealousy that gripped her stomach made her pause, lips lingering at the corner of Helena’s mouth.
She couldn’t be jealous, that was lifetimes ago. Quite literally.
“Open up to me,” Myka muttered distractedly, pulling at the buttons on Helena’s sweater and shirt. She did not know what she wanted from Helena, only that she wanted this. She wanted this moment for them, together.
Helena struggled to sit up, her hands moving back to help Myka with her shirt.
A noise grew deep in the back of Myka’s throat and her fingers closed around Helena’s wrists. She pushed them up above Helena’s head, eyes dark. “Leave them there,” she said quietly, and Helena nodded. Myka watched her throat bob as she swallowed; her eyes passive and accepting. Myka’s handcuffs were on the bedside table, if it came to that, she didn’t think she’d have to use them though.
The control was hers, Helena knew what she had to say to make things stop. Myka had established that early on in her experiments.
She kissed her way down to where Helena’s shirt lay open, Myka finally divesting it of the last of its buttons. Her teeth closed over a spot just over the swell of Helena’s breast, biting down harshly, tongue pushing forward, soothing the hurt before it could even really begin. Helena’s skin was so perfectly pale, and Myka loved to leave little reminders for her lover – during these times and the times when the control did not really matter.
The love bites were to show ownership – to tell Pete to back off with his flirting and to show Artie that she was not afraid to defy him. Helena would allow Myka that indulgence, but she would not be a prop between whatever childish conflict that still existed between Myka and Artie.
That was good; Myka did not want her to be.
“Myka,” Helena muttered, hands resolutely in place.
Myka watched her, lips trailing over skin, watching as Helena’s face changed. Watching the pleasure grow there, marveling at how Helena was doing exactly as Myka had asked. Her hands never moved, never wavered.
Helena was the only one that Myka had ever told about this. Pete might have guessed if given copious clues and Claudia would probably roll her eyes and say that it made sense in the long run. Myka kept this very private and very personal. She was unused to someone so close to her knowing. Her lovers, when she’d caved to her desires before, were quick and inconsequential. It was strange to have a lover who accepted it so earnestly.
The words began to tumble out of her mouth before she even knew what she was thinking – saying – doing. Her hands were busy removing Helena’s pants – which should have been a lot easier than it was, Myka lamented, because somehow, Helena had fallen in love with skintight jeans.
“You are so beautiful,” she breathed, hands resting on Helena’s hips and her mouth dipping down. She would take, Helena’s hands would stay put, or it would all stop. That was the game. Helena knew the rules.
It was always an interesting challenge to see if she’d act upon them.
“I could watch you read for days, Helena,” Myka continued, her breath coming in short, breathy pants as she lowered her body downwards. Her breath ghosted against the skin she’d uncovered divesting Helena of her pants and underwear. “But then you do that thing…” She lowered her lips to kiss the arc of Helena’s hip bone.
Helena’s breath caught, and Myka could see her struggling. Her hands were still there, resting lazily above her head, but Myka could see the turmoil behind her eyes. This was good. She wanted there to be that burn. It was the effect she was going for.
“Sorry darling,” Helena was speaking quickly, Myka was moving her head downwards, “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
Oh, but she did.
A smile grew across Myka’s lips as she lowered her lips to kiss Helena again, this time where Helena obviously wanted it. “Oh, I think you know,” she said, lips brushing against sensitive skin. Her tongue slid out, curling as Helena’s had downstairs, flicking at her lover’s clit.
Myka was not a cruel lover, but she did enjoy the game. Helena knew the rules of the game, and when the hands moved, the game stopped.
Helena’s moan did indicate something and when Myka pulled her head back to give her lover a knowing smirk, Helena just let her head fall back on the pillow. “Oh right, that.”
Myka laughed, “Turnabout is fair play.”
And so the game began. Myka would kiss and do that thing with her tongue until Helena would begin to moan, her body squirming under Myka, and then they would stop. Myka would crawl up to kiss her lover, fingers pushing up into the silky wetness that they’d created together. Their tongues would dance, and Myka would linger there, fingers pushing in and out at a furious rate, until Helena started to moan again.
And then it would switch again.
“Myka,” Helena’s breath was coming in gasps now, and she was looking far more undone than Myka had ever seen her. “Please…”
Myka’s chin was slick with the wetness of Helena’s sex – she knew that her lover was close. The hands were still in place, the game was continuing.
She loved it when Helena begged.
“Please?” she questioned, pursing her lips and blowing on Helena’s sex, marveling at how her lover’s head fell backwards onto the pillow and the groan that escaped her lips was most certainly not that of a proper nineteenth century lady.
Helena didn’t look at her, and Myka could hear the reluctance to ask. It was supposed to be hard, to ask for your pleasure when you were so close. Helena played the part well.
“Please let me finish,” Helena’s voice was quiet, her hands were fisted around the pillow on either side of her head. They had not moved.
Myka bit her lip, tasting Helena on her chin as she contemplated her lover – fingers pushing lazily in and out of Helena, watching as Helena’s face pulled upwards in pleasure every time Myka hit the apex of her journey.
“Promise me that you won’t be so damn distracting?” Myka asked, head dipping to kiss a mark she’d left on Helena’s thigh.
Helena gave her a look that quite clearly said ‘get on with it’ and shook her head, “Why would I do that, when you get like this?” There was a smile on her lips and about her eyes.
Myka had half a mind to leave her like that, but she was a good person and Helena had asked very nicely.
God, Myka loved her.
Her lips fell back into place, closing around Helena’s clit and sucking reverently. She loved to do this, loved to take and give and have and own. Helena let her do it, and Myka was incredibly grateful. Sometimes, more than anything else, Myka needed this. She needed to take – to use – it was a strange compulsion, but as Myka felt Helena tense under her, Myka knew it was the right one.
She didn’t slow her pace, hands locking on Helena’s hips, and pushing forward with all of her might. Helena moaned Myka’s name as she came, her hands finally coming to rest on Myka’s shoulders, pulling her upwards, wrapping her in an embrace that meant more to Myka than anything else.
Someone could let her do that, and still love her at the end of the day.
Myka loved it, and as Helena took back the control that she’d ceded to Myka, Myka knew Helena did as well.