"There's always a boom tomorrow."
Standing in C&C, those words make Garibaldi smile because they prove, as if there was any doubt, that Susan Ivanova is, by nature, a pessimist.
Garibaldi knows this, just like he knows that he, by nature, is the exact opposite, and in more ways than merely in outlook. He's carefree, easy with his quips, while she's staid and serious, brusque even. He's loose and carefree, she's all buttoned up starch, ramrod straight posture and impassive expression where it's nigh on impossible to tell what she's thinking.
Most of the time, that is.
Because for the last few weeks, Garibaldi's been learning that the good Lieutenant Commander is not nearly as buttoned up as she might appear. Certainly not now, when she's spread out on his bed, her hands making fists in his bedsheets, her hair (and what a waste it is, he thinks, to have a mane like that tightly wrapped up in that braid of hers) cascading across his pillow, moving in sinuous waves as she tosses her head from side to side as he slowly and thoroughly takes her apart. His hands rest on her hips, a gentle touch but a firm one, as he buries his face between her legs, his tongue slowly lapping at her folds, his pace slowing as her breathing quickens. She whimpers, a sound of sheer frustration that makes him smile inwardly and outwardly but it doesn't make him speed up. Only when he hears his name on her lips, his first name at that, does he react, his tongue moving up, finding that little bundle of nerves he's been neglecting and flicking once, lightly.
Her hips arch up off the bed like a thousand volts of electricity have just hit her but she doesn't make a sound. A quick glance up and he sees her biting her lip so hard that he can see white indentations in the pink and all he can think about is kissing them away.
Later, he tells himself, as he circles her clit again and again as she breathes deeply through her nose and he feels her body begin to tense up. Knowing she's close, he keeps up the same leisurely pace and when her muscles are taut, when he knows she's at breaking point, he slides two fingers inside her, arching them inside her and that's it. She's convulsing around him and this time, his name is a shriek from her lips as his fingers and tongue never still their movement, drawing out her orgasm for as long as she can stand it.
When she comes back to herself, his cheek is pillowed on her hip, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the skin underneath her navel. Her hand finds the top of his head, runs through his hair and he looks up and smiles at the sight of her, deliciously mussed, hair everywhere, cheeks pink, eyes soft.
He could get used to looking at her like this.
"Boom?" he asks and she chuckles, deep and throaty.
"Boom," she agrees. "Very boom."
He thinks she meant it as a fact.
He would like to think she meant it as a compliment.
He decides to take it as a challenge.
"Why, Lieutenant Commander," he says, raising himself up on his arms, covering her body with his, bringing his lips to hers, "I'm just getting started."
And as the clock ticks past midnight, he proves that Susan, for all her pessimism, is right.
There's always a boom tomorrow.