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Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

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She tasted like wine… or perhaps that was him.

He only realized how drunk he was when he pulled back to unbutton her tunic – slick, black silk clinging to skin – and found his fingers slipping. The girl, draped across the sheets like a dark island, giggled and reached for his hand. "Like this," she said, and slipped it underneath the fabric, tilting her head back into the pillow. She felt warm to the touch, far warmer than Centauri women. Her waist was firm under his hands, and she made a noise of approval when he traced her stomach with his palm.

Good, he thought, feeling strangely flustered. He had never had a human woman before; all he knew about human anatomy was from what he had read and the rumors he'd heard – which, admittedly, was plenty. But she had sought him out at the reception at the Embassy, hooking an arm through his and asking “Is it true you have six?” and he had bought her a drink for that alone. The outcome had been unsurprising.

At the moment, though, six was still far from his mind. For now he would settle for getting rid of some of her clothing. Rather than risking those cursed buttons again, he tugged her tunic across her stomach, then up across her breasts, working his thumbs under the hem. He paused when his fingers met with resistance.

"What is it?" the girl said. Her hand snuck towards his side, teasing the base of his lower right brach – far too close to the mark to be accidental. "Don't Centauri women wear bras?" Her palm slid up, rubbing vigorously, and Londo let out an "mmph!" of surprise. The look on her face was undisguised glee, and he bit his lip as she worked the brach through his shirt, squeezing it between her fingers.

"They do not wear –" Londo struggled to control his breathing. "They do not wear this," he tried again, fingering the soft, stretchy lace that covered the girl's bosom but little else. Centauri women wore… well, more,for one thing. Not flimsy bits of fabric, but intricate garments that covered the back as well as the chest. "Although this is quite… efficient." In an impulse, he took a breast in each hand, letting his thumbs slide across the fabric. When he inadvertently brushed a nipple, he was rewarded by the girl going boneless underneath him. Ah. So, in that respect, humans were no different from Centauri after all.

He rubbed more vigorously, and she let out a low whimper. She surprised him by squirming out of his grip to unclasp the confining garments, and then she was on her knees and wriggling out of her skirt. Londo gulped, unlacing his own shirt with one hand as he pressed her back into the pillows. Cupping her left breast, he rubbed his thumb in tight circles, then leaned in to capture the nipple of the other with his mouth. It hardened between his lips as he swirled his tongue around it. His reward was a long, drawn-out shudder, followed by a gasp as one of his brachiarti moved to join in.

The girl's eyes were pools of black, gleaming and needy, but she grinned as she caught the offending organ in her hand. "What’s this, now?" she purred, leaning back into the pillow. The brach she'd captured was not his most sensitive, but Londo still gasped when she ran a finger across the tip. Centauri rarely used their hands during sex – after all, why should they? – but somehow the combined sensation of pressure and light, teasing touches was enough to make his head spin. When she grazed the tender fold at the edge of the head, it was all he could do not to groan out loud.

She noticed, of course. The cursed woman noticed everything, like a witch or a goddess or a strange creature of the night. Her face lit up, and her eyes were locked onto his when she raised the head to her mouth, sucking the tip between her lips. This time, it was his turn to go limp, bracing himself with one hand against the mattress. When she pulled the brach out, letting it scrape against her teeth, his couldn't suppress a whimper of need. "Unhh," he said, when in truth he had wanted to say, You make me glow, my angel, or something else more poetic or at least somewhat dignified. But perhaps this was better. Something told him she did not need him to be coherent. At least that's what he gathered from the flush spreading across her cheeks.

"Was that good for you?" she whispered, quite unnecessarily; she could read his face as well as anyone. But he made himself nod and lean down to kiss her breasts, dragging his lips up until he reached her mouth again. She shivered when he kissed her, then again when he sent two of his brach to circle her nipples. She moaned against his mouth as he rubbed more forcefully, eager to have what friction he could.

"How about you, my darling?” He struggled to keep his voice steady. "Is there anything you want from me, hmm?" He let his brach continue to fondle her, as much to stoke his own arousal as hers. In an impulse, he pulled her up into his lap; she responded by wrapping her legs around him. Encouraged, he reached behind her, pressing a palm against the small of her back, encountering impossibly smooth skin. “Does this… please you, my dear?" He kneaded gently with his knuckles. In truth, he did not have a clue. He knew how to pleasure a Centauri woman, down to the smallest inch of skin, and – apart from his wives – had never met one he couldn’t make happy. Of this woman, however, he was not all that certain.

"It's very…" She smiled, "relaxing.” She laughed at his expression. "I like it, don't worry! But what I’d really like…" She plucked his hand from her hip to nibble at his fingers. His breath caught at the urgency in her face, and he leaned in to kiss her again. "You have soft hands," she breathed, coming up for air, then, in a movement that took him by surprise, tugged his hand down between her legs.

For a moment, he could not think what she wanted. Well, he knew the mechanics, so he could make a decent guess. But he had not known humans were so fond of hands, and he wasn't quite sure where he was supposed to put them. He cupped her mound gently; that seemed to be a good choice, because she shuddered and pressed up against his palm. He was taken aback by his own arousal – his brach clenched hard as he rubbed warm, downy skin, exploring the feel of it under his fingers. Encouraged by her response, he slid his hand lower.

She shushed him. "Patience, Ambassador." Her voice was rough with amusement. "Don’t worry, we'll get there." A hand closed around his, guiding his fingers to a spot that seemed random until he nudged it with a thumb and she gasped, writhing against him. Oh, he thought vaguely, as he understood. Of course. Centauri women weren't all that different; they had a sensitive area at the base of the aperta that required some attention to help them open up. But this felt more intimate even than that, the spot under his hands slick and delicate as he curled his fingers into it. He felt his own brach quiver, aching with the need to join in. But she had asked for hands, so he kept his brach quiet, struggling to focus through the raw, tingling spasms that were coursing through him.

He felt breathless; the heady mix of restraint and desire were making his head spin. The girl's free hand reached down and snagged an errant brach, stroking and teasing and kneading the tip. Londo bit back a moan and focused on moving his own fingers, trying to match the rhythm of her hand on him. He went slowly, closing his eyes as he rubbed in long, lazy circles, feeling her breathing deepen as she leaned against his chest. Tiny tremors ran through her hips and legs and the muscles of her stomach, and his own breath was rasping in his throat.

He was so caught up in it that he nearly toppled when she straightened and slid off him. He felt as flustered as she looked, and for a brief, breathless moment all he could think of was that he had disappointed somehow. But when she sank back into the pillows she pulled him along, tugging at him until he was on his knees in front of her. "Your mouth is soft, too," she murmured, so raw and hoarse and full of need that, for a moment, when he failed to grasp her meaning he felt panic rise at the back of his throat. Then it dawned on him. Of course he had pleasured Centauri women in a similar way, but this was different, Great Maker, he couldn't refuse her and he knew what to do but not how to do it. But she was smiling in encouragement, and he ached with the need to please her, to make her smile and sigh and scream. His elbows shook when he leaned down to lift her legs, then trailed his lips against her inner thigh.

She grasped two of his brach as he was nuzzling her, sucking one of them into her mouth. The pressure made his vision turn to white; he clenched his teeth together and groaned helplessly into soft, pink flesh. Somehow he found the spot his fingers had just abandoned, nipping at it with teasing strokes of his tongue. He could barely clear his head. Two of his brach curled around her thighs, spreading them apart; she responded with a groan that was half shock, half pleasure, and by redoubling her efforts on the brach in her mouth and hands.

He did not know how long he had been there, enveloped by smooth skin and the noise of ragged breathing that sharpened at each flick of his tongue. The brach around her legs were tingling, squeezing and releasing from their own volition, little lightning bolts radiating through every nerve of his body. Her own mouth was wet and willing, and his brach was spasming already, the tiny tremors that preceded orgasm causing him to shiver against her tongue. Too soon, but he could no more stop himself from falling than he could stop the clock from ticking. And she was falling too, that much he could see. The small part of his mind that still clung to coherency wondered if he was doing enough, but the thought was drowned out by the barrage of sensations. The brach in her hands twitched frantically, wrapping themselves around her arms even as her nails raked their lengths; her knees spread and her heels pressed into the mattress; his other brach were throbbing, a multitude of twin heartbeats pulsing through them. Then, before he even knew what was happening, the girl's sighs became one low, guttural moan, and then her hips were arching up and she was convulsing against him, hands squeezing his brach so tight he saw stars.

He lifted his head just in time to see the look of bliss flood her face, her mouth falling open into something that was half smile, half something far more primal. His own rhythm faltered as he watched, unable to look away. As the blood rushed from his head he actually felt dizzy; he had to squeeze his eyes shut against it, battling the swirling amalgam of loss and weakness and desire torn out at the seams. He had to come, he needed  to come, but he was not there yet – nearing the edge, yes, but not close enough. He swallowed and bent over her, leaning in to steal a kiss from those flushed, crimson cheeks. He felt light-headed, as shy and bumbling as a young man who had yet to reach his Ascension. For the first time, he did not know what to do. He was used to stretching out the hours, coaxing one gasp after another from the women he made love to, while he felt safe and empowered in the knowledge that his own needs had already been met, or would be long before the end. He was not accustomed to the roles being reversed. To have to depend on another's… goodwill. The thought made him feel both unsteady and strangely reckless, and he deepened the kiss hungrily, as if to dare her to refuse.

She responded with fervor, hands coming up to slide across his chest, up the sides of his throat, then grasping the back of his neck as she drew him closer. His brach rubbed themselves against her, desperate for friction, and he couldn't hold back a groan of desire. He wanted… Great Maker, he wanted, but he did not know if he could, and the thought was driving him mad. Only when one of his brach burrowed down between her legs did she pull back, and look at him – and laugh, a fluid, mellow sound that seeped into his veins and all the way through to his stomach. Amusement, he thought, but tinged with something else. Affection? Desire? He could not tell, but when he met her eyes, he knew he had just been read like a book.

"Ambassador, you wound me." That brazen smile again. "You didn't think this is where it ends? That I'd just leave you to… fend for yourself?" The corners of her mouth quirked upwards. "Why, you haven't even had the best part yet." She ducked down and plucked the squirming brach from between her thighs, running a single crooked finger across it. The touch barely even deserved the name, but it tore through him like lightning, as if she had bared every sinew in his body and scraped it raw. There was no way he could hide what she was doing to him, what wretched state she'd reduced him to, but he tried anyway. He had to.

"I live to please you, dear lady," he said, cracking a smile and panting between gritted teeth. Somehow his voice had quavered only slightly, and for a split instant he dared to hope she would believe it. Then she bared her teeth and tugged his brach down.

"Do you…" She breathed out, spreading her knees and stroking her mound brazenly, suggestively. "Want this?" Her fingers curled around the base of the head, squeezing it gently but firmly. Londo's eyelids fluttered shut as he scrambled for control.

It was a losing battle, he knew. Somehow, the girl seemed to know exactly how much pressure to exact – not enough to cause discomfort, but enough to keep every nerve he possessed taut and searing with need. He balled his hands into fists, nails pressing into his palms hard enough to bruise, but it made no difference. His pulse was pounding in his ears as she guided his brach down, the tip pressing up against her entrance despite his struggle for control. His cheeks burned with need and shame. Great Maker – perhaps if this had been about getting to six, but this was only his first and it was unbearable, there was no way he could need this so badly, his body shaking and a scream stuck in his throat.

"Do you want this… Londo?" she asked again, stretching out the vowels so they sounded almost vulgar. Her smile was as wanton as it was irrepressible. "You can have it… if you ask nicely." She dragged a hand across his chest and down towards his stomach, rubbing clenched muscles and smoothing them out. The touch was gentle, soothing; as she drew back, something inside him gave way, and he raised his hand to his mouth, teeth digging into his knuckles to stop himself from groaning. His arousal was a dark tide swelling around him, threatening to pull him under, and he had never begged for release in his life, not like this, not when it came to making love. But as fragile as it made him feel, as small and raw and vulnerable, the alternative was out of the question. He could not walk away from this if he tried.

"I," he said, struggling to gather what dignity he had left. "I want –" He would have said more, but he could barely catch his breath, his ribcage rising and falling frantically. He knew he must sound desperate, pleading, but he could not bring himself to care. "I want you," he finished, lurching forward to capture her mouth in a kiss that felt as clumsy as the rest of him. "Please."

She pulled back and licked her lips – a gesture that might have looked innocent, if not for the slightest twitch of a muscle in her jaw. Her face was impossible to read, but in the flash of teeth when she ran her tongue across them, he realized. She was toying with him, yes, but not only that. She wanted this, too – this, here, him. The thought hit him like a blow, threatening to pull down what remained of his defenses. Her grip on his brach didn't waver, but when, in a wild rush of courage, he slipped a hand down to that now-familiar spot, she trembled against him.

"Do you  want this?" he whispered, dreading the answer yet craving it as well. His touch was surprisingly steady as he teased a gasp out of her, and another of his brachiarti moved to slide past the one she still held in her hand. This time, she made no move to stop it.

"Yes," she replied, and took him in her mouth.

He bit back a moan, struggling to shift his attention from what she was doing to him to the things that he  could do instead. His body was miles ahead of him already; she was warm and wet where his brach nuzzled against her, digging for a way inside. There was a brief, impossible moment of pressure, and he almost lost it right there. Then he was in, and she gasped underneath him, her free hand scratching at his chest as he pressed in further. Her mouth opened, releasing him, and for a moment his head cleared and he marveled at the strangeness of it. Centauri aperta  were tight but shallow, fitting around the heads as if sculpted for them. To have space to maneuver was a whole new sensation. He rubbed vigorously along strangely ridged skin, teasing and stroking until the girl’s gasps turned into whimpers and she clenched around him, the heat making his head swim and his throat close up. Vaguely, he saw her hand slide down between her legs and moved another brach to join it, but she shook her head and pushed him away.

"Patience. You'll get your chance." Her voice was a low rasp. Need seared through him, but he pulled back as she laughed brokenly, and he had never seen a woman half as beautiful in his life. His second was still tingling with the press of her lips, and he ground it against her sides even as his others cringed in anticipation.

He would have to come soon. The tide was rising around him and there was no way he could sustain this. The wave was building, and once it started, the only way he knew was to ride it all the way down, but it was too sudden, he wasn't ready, he would be lucky to manage two unless she let him do what he needed. He tried to sneak two others towards her breasts, but she batted him away, still with that same wild, flushed, infuriating smile. The one inside her was pumping desperately, teasing out the spots that he knew gave her pleasure, and then she whispered, low and hoarse and urgent, "Now, now, two, please," and he didn't understand until she caught another brach in her hand and guided it after the first.

“Great Maker,” he breathed, but cut himself off at the look on her face. Her eyes widened as he pressed in, and he cradled her close, waiting until her breathing steadied while his own pulse thundered in his ears. The pressure was overwhelming. He squeezed his eyes shut against it, tangling both brach around each other as he thrusted, slowly at first, then with more fervor as she egged him on with low, ragged sighs.

She tugged him down for a kiss and he leaned in blindly, crushing parched lips against her collarbone, her throat, her mouth. He bit back what might have been a scream as he felt hands on him, another of his brach spasming against her grip, and he was close, so close, his whole body quaking with the need for release. This wasn't how it should happen, desperate to get to one without even caring what came after, but he was burning up and he had no resilience left.

He sucked in a breath, clinging to his dignity, meaning to flirt and cajole and tell her Dear lady, surely you will not make a gentleman beg?  But he could not get the words out, and all he managed was, "Please."

She nodded, sweat beading on her face. He gritted his teeth as he brushed his fourth and fifth across taut nipples, fully prepared for her to stop him again. But she didn’t protest; not then, nor when he caught the hand rubbing her mound, replacing it with a soft, squirming head. She shivered, and her knees came up and wrapped themselves around him. She was cradling his brach like a lifeline, squeezing and releasing in frantic counterpoint to the rhythm he was setting. Londo groaned and braced himself with both hands on her hips. He was trying to focus, but he could barely breathe, could barely remember where all his limbs were and what they should be doing – one brach between her kneading fingers, two at her breasts, three down there, and he hadn’t even known a human body had so many exquisite places to rub himself against, but he could not have stopped if he wanted to.

He felt the tremors start a split moment before it hit him, slamming into his stomach before he could even come up for air. He tensed, both of his brach writhing inside her. The first wave came crashing down, shudder after exquisite shudder rolling through him as his first clenched and released, followed by the second, a heartbeat later. The relief was a hurricane, tripping him up and spinning him until his head was reeling and he barely knew up from down. He moaned, helplessly and shamelessly, not caring who would hear or what she would think of him. Her breathing was as frantic as his own, and the sight of her only made him feel more dizzy.

If there was some warning, he didn’t see it. One moment, she was panting for air and the next her back arched up, hips jerking; he gasped at the renewed flood of sensations as she convulsed. The third orgasm gripped him just as she cried out as well, the brach on her mound clenching even as she spasmed against him.

He sagged forward, leaning in for a slow, languid kiss. “Are you all right?” he tried to say, but his voice abandoned him as she threw back her head and sucked him into her mouth again. The shock of it was enough to drag him over the edge, and this time, he could not bite back the cry on his lips. She swallowed and grinned impishly, and he tried to respond but then he was coming again, spilling across her stomach as his last two lost the battle and bliss exploded behind his eyelids. He could not even be certain if he screamed or was silent; he knew nothing, saw nothing, there was only pleasure and the heady rush of relief.

He came back to himself as she was pulling him down into the pillows, panting against his still-heaving chest.

“That was good,” she said, “for a first time.” Then she laughed at his expression, which might have been indignant if he had not felt too exhausted to work up the energy. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, struggling to force his limbs to obey him. That went rather less smoothly than he’d hoped. Sleep was tugging at him already, making him light-headed and mellow as he stretched down beside her, relishing the feel of skin against skin.

“My dove…” He tried to mutter an apology. She shushed him with a finger on his lips.

“I know.” She stroked his limp sides, a faint shiver of pleasure running through him. “Human men fall asleep as well. There’s always tomorrow.”

When she leaned in to kiss him, he was already gone.