Hisa grinned wickedly down at Tracer's words, her chest heaving as their bare skin pressed and slid against one another as sweat built up on their flesh. "I doubt I could tire of your hands on me," she whispered, lowering herself again so that every possible connection was made between their torsos. At the last moment of descent, her head tilted to the side so that she could find Tracer's ear with her lips again. This time, her teeth led the assault as she gripped it between them and tugged. "But I thought you might need a break from being in charge all the time." It was an outright lie. Hisa needed to maintain physical control only because all mental and emotional discipline had fled her.
Her own sensation nearing a crescendo, Hisa couldn't stop the involuntary contractions that quaked through her or the weakness that infected her arms. She let go of Tracer's wrists, only to move her digits in between his own, enjoining their fingers in a more intimate way as her hips shifted once more. It was only a sudden rush of cold air against her back that made her realize the shuttle door was open, and she shivered. Although her spine stiffened, the rest of her remained soft against the man beneath her. "Akira." She had served with him long enough to know the young Kusari man's presence. "Get out. Clear Deck 2. I want nobody in my quarters for the foreseeable future, even if the ship is on fire."
It wasn't a sense of decorum that made the Kusarian climb up off of Tracer, demonstrating her physical talents once again by pulling the half-naked LSF agent up with her. It was her need for control - again. She wanted a space where the two of them would be entirely uninterrupted for as long as they wanted. A groan of regret escaped her as their physical contact mostly broke, but she kept their fingers intertwined as she turned, tugging the young man past her executive officer and onto her ship. It was a quick crossing of the metal plates of the mooring fixture and a small descent in a lift before they were on the second deck of the Yep It's Stolen.
For the boring, aged appearance of the outside of the Bustard-class vessel, Hisa had spared no expense on her private quarters. They consumed the entire second deck of the vessel. Floor-to-ceiling windows ran a semicircle around the space, exposing the darkness of space and the beauty of Manhattan below. There was no metal plating on the floor here. It was all lush, imported Kusari carpeting in the finest silks. Each piece of furniture seemed to have been pulled directly from a different era of her people's history. Still, the look was seamless. Large overstuffed couches beside antique chaise lounges, a fully-stocked bar across from the entryway, and a hallway leading back to her private bathroom and bedroom.
"So, my dear...," Hisa whispered, finally letting go of Tracer's hand. She walked over to the nearest sofa, turning to face the man as she leaned back against it, her chest still bare and heaving slightly with the exertions. The lights here were soft and multi-colored, and they played like artwork across her exposed, sweat-soaked skin. "What piece of furniture should we break in first?"
Tracer's eyes wandered over the half-nude form of his partner as she lifted him from the deck, standing rather awkwardly, struggling against the uncomfortable bulge between his legs and the aftershocks of pleasure. The blush plastered across his face grew in intensity as Hisa pulled him past her executive officer, averting his eyes. Of course, they landed directly on the form of Hisa's pert bottom, her pants leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. The shape of it was heavenly, the shiny leather clinging to the soft, porcelain skin below, hugging every curve and valley.
The scenery of Manhattan orbit and the planet itself went entirely unnoticed as the hapless agent was tugged along behind the Kusarian. The view had been immortalized on hundreds of postcards and souvenirs throughout history, but in Tracer's mind it paled in comparison to the beauty of the woman leading him throughout the ship. Her platinum hair had begun to dry, turning from its previous wet and matted appearance back to the thin, wispy strands of silver that cascaded down to her shoulders. It was almost hypnotizing, the way it swayed with every one of Hisa's sensual, sexy strides.
The scent of her quarters didn't help, either. It smelled of flowers and incense, the heady aroma assaulting Tracer's senses even further, prompting the young Agent to tighten his grip on Hisa's fingers ever so slightly. The woman before him was breathtaking, even more so once she turned to face Tracer, her bare chest bathed in the multicolored lighting of her quarters. With gentle, reverent fingers, Tracer slowly reached out in response to Hisa's question. They traced a single line down from her ear, across her jawline and neck, lingering for a moment between her breasts before continuing on. They found their mark against Hisa's toned, flat stomach, applying just enough pressure to encourage her to take a seat on the couch.
Tracer's fingers continued downward, following the contours of her thighs and calves, plucking at the laces of her knee-high heeled boots as if they were an instrument. All the while, the young agent sunk to his knees in front of his partner, before gingerly lifting up one of those shapely legs, resting her ankle on one of his shoulders. Craning his head over slightly, he began to kiss at Hisa's footwear, hands deftly working to loosen the laces. Fox tugged at them with his teeth, staring up at his partner with needy eyes, until he worked them free enough to tug the boot from Hisa's foot. It was just as appealing as the rest of her, perfectly pedicured toes adorned with paint that stood out from her fair skin.
The process was repeated with the other leg, though this time Tracer placed Hisa's bare foot in his lap, resting directly against the bulge in his uniform pants. His lips planted little kisses over every inch of exposed skin, practically worshiping Hisa as the kisses left flesh and returned to leather, working their way up the Kusarian's well-proportioned legs. Soon, the operative found himself between a pair of thighs, one of her feet resting in his lap, the other leg dangling down his back. Hot breath splashed against Hisa's flat stomach as Tracer set to work removing her pants, hands behind his back, teeth and tongue tugging at the clasp holding the article of clothing to her body.