It would take the rest of the Doctor's operatives quite some time to secure the station, Jenny decides. Which meant she could abandon one of her favorite pastimes—beating the tar out of thugs and bullies—in favor of another: pleasuring her wife. A quick, reflexive scan of the room confirms that both guards are comfortably unconscious and the doors are sealed and locked. Another glance confirms that the security cameras which would otherwise be watching them have been shot out. Not that she's opposed to a bit of exhibitionism, but her idea of a good audience runs closer to say, Dr. Song than a gang of religious fanatics.
It takes her longer than it would Vastra, but she prepares for battle, so to speak: she plans her route, brainstorms tactics, and considers alternatives. Now, just a matter of timing, she thinks, and she waits until she sees her wife ease up at the workstation she is hacking before launching her opening gambit. “How's that going, dear?” She wishes, fleetingly, to be able to assist Vastra, but computer skills were still on the daunting list of abilities she had yet to master in her association with the much-older Silurian.
Gratifyingly, Vastra leans back in her chair, the joints in her back and neck popping as she does. “I have made some progress. However, I have just started an automated series of routines which will need to operate on their own for close to an hour before I can do any more work.” She closes her eyes and rubs her temples: sure symptoms of a headache, leaning back in the wheeled chair as she does so. Jenny grins and closes the distance between them silently—that was something she had had plenty of time to hone.
“Let me help you with that, ma'am,” she offers, the seductive sound reaching Vastra's ears at the same time as her wife senses the warmth of her breath and the scent of her arousal. The quick inrush of breath confirms that she has surprised the older woman and she presses her advantage, her fingertips easing into place where she knows her wife's migraines usually dwell.
“Oh...mmm...” There are times when Jenny would swear Vastra is half cat, not half lizard, and the purring noise she makes when she soothes away a headache is one of those times. Now, if only there was a sunny patch for her to sprawl out over, the image would be complete... She smiles, callused fingers rubbing over the pebbled scales of her wife's temples, as familiar to her as the cobbles of the London streets. Phase one a complete success, she determines, with her enemy's defenses successfully lowered. Now to press the attack, she decides, pressing feathered kisses to the wider scales that stretch up from the bridge of her nose to her central crest, flaring out as they do. “Jenny...” she groans.
“Yes'm?” Her voice innocent, not betraying her need.
“Don't stop.” Jenny grins, relishing the order. Next step: disorient. She drops her hands to Vastra's wrists, pinning them to the arms of the chair, and speeding her across the room to the spot she had picked, backed up against a wall—the spot she had picked out earlier, from where they could observe the room, its exits, and the guards. Her wife gasps again as Jenny straddles her, her heat pressing against her through their layers. She grins and releases Vastra's hands, letting them cup her arse possessively as her own fingers unclasp the protective collar her wife is wearing, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. Her thumbs trace the smooth, broad strips of scale that trace down her throat like a snake's scutes as her tongue traces the peak of the crest, moistening each armor-like scale in turn.
She slides down when Vastra's shucks off her gloves to tangle taloned hands in her hair, leaving space to undo the fastenings on the patterned waistcoat and tunic concealing her wife's gorgeous body, sliding them down off her shoulders, leaving her shoulder-slung katana in place. This last decision, she assures herself, is in case they should suddenly need to defend themselves mid-coitus (given the number of enemies they have and the strength of their libidos, this happens too damn frequently for Jenny's liking). Not in the slightest because her green lady is at her most beautiful when she is most dangerous, she thinks, even as Vastra moans and leaves bloody pinpricks on her scalp.
“Come on then,” she whispers, because while the chair is fun, it does make it harder to do certain things. She takes Vastra's hands, first the left, then the right, passing each skilled digit between her lips in its turn, cherishing the husky, greedy breaths Vastra is reduced to as her tongue plays over plate and claw. A speck of red catches her eye—a drop of her own blood on the tips of her left index and middle fingers. Her own grin turns predatory to match and she offers her wife the fingers like a cock, and that long, clever tongue snakes out, twining around her hand, each catching on the other as she slips her fingers into Vastra's mouth to guide her up like a hooked fish, up and against the wall. Vastra hisses at the cold bite of the metal against her bared scales. “My poor lizard,” Jenny says affectionately, and interpolates warm hands even as the rest of her body presses her wife against the bulkhead until her cheek is flat against the steel. Madame may be in charge much of the time, she thinks with a grin, but in bed?.. Or, you know, elsewhere, she adds idly as her neatly-trimmed fingernails plink down the broad, flat scales of her wife's abdomen to where they narrow over her mons and down further still until she can warm Vastra from within.
“Goddess,” Vastra blasphemes as though this is their first time, as she does every time since that first frantic evening which left them both sore in all the right places. Jenny can feel her growls through the kisses she plants at the large, round scale at the corner of her jaw and she hums appreciatively. Vastra groans in reply and wriggles out of her jacket and top, grinding her pelvis against Jenny's hand as she does so. “Jenny, I, I...” Her breath stops as strong fingers press into her and prod her over the brink to orgasm.
“Yes, madame?” Jenny asks sweetly as her wife drips bonelessly onto the floor to curl up next to a heating vent.
“Guh,” Vastra replies, hissing contentedly as Jenny folds her legs tidily to sit by her and stroke the fine scales of the backs of her hands.
“You know,” Jenny continues, pausing to consult her pocket watch, “We still have another fifty-three minutes before we need to do anything else.”
“Mm,” her wife considers. “Ngeh?”
“Yes, I can find you some water.” Jenny plants a kiss on Vastra's brow before she goes, grinning, perfectly willing to perform that service.