sciencesaggressively | living on the edge

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kate

living on the edge

Newt is pretty sure there's no truer happiness than being released from the hospital. It's been a few days now, about a week since the accident, and now he's in bed just staring up at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Everyone keeps telling him to stay off his feet--something about it not being good to run around with a broken leg and lingering effects of a concussion--which, hi, five doctorates in biology here, he knows his way around the human body. He doesn't know why people feel the need to constantly remind him that he's basically an invalid right now, he hates it with a passion that he can't do anything.

He's had visitors, of course; Kate and Chuck have been in and out to check on him, help him where he needs it, and he appreciates all of it, he really does, isn't sure what'd he do without them. But he's used to getting shit done on his own, so having to rely on others to do simple tasks like pouring a damn bowl of cream is kind of infuriating.

So that's why he decides it's a good idea to roll out of bed, grab his crutches, and awkwardly make his way to the kitchen to find something to eat. Except there's a damn overhead lightbulb out, and he feels the inexplicable need to change it right now. He drags a chair over--harder than he'd have thought it to be, if he's honest--and carefully hoists himself up on it, using his crutch to balance himself. He bites his lip in concentration and he's maybe starting to get a little dizzy because okay, maybe this isn't his best idea and hopes nobody walks through the front door.

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She's fully teasing him, and he huffs a little even though he likes it, likes that she keeps him guessing. He could do this all day, all week, wouldn't be opposed to extening it to always. "You're right, you're right, the couch has served us well," he agrees, leaning into her touch. He doesn't want her to be gentle with him, doesn't need that right now, so he pulls her shirt off to prove that point, throwing it over his shoulder so it lands behind the couch. It's ruining him a little, how much he wants her, wants to have his hands all over her. He can't get close enough right now, and he doesn't know what it is, maybe the fact that they'd argued at all earlier.

He shimmies a little so that his shirt rides up higher, flashing a larger glimpse of the tattoos on his body. "I promise I'm not suddenly made of glass just because I got hit by a car." He knows she knows this, but he feels like it's a thing that needs to be said, for his own benefit if not for hers. It's been easy to lose himself in all the different scenarios that could have taken place that night, saying that out loud just serves as a verbal reminder that he's still here, he's going to be just fine. "It's getting kind of warm in here all of a sudden anyway, am I right?"

"Way too warm and clothes are totally overrated anyway," she says, pushing both her hands up the length of his chest, tugging his shirt with her until she can pull it off. She's not even sure where she drops it, because even though she's seen them already, she has to stop and look at the tattoos again, just for a moment before her gaze catches his and she smiles. She doesn't want to hurt him, but more than that, she wants his hands on her, she wants to be touching him and he's outright told her she doesn't have to be gentle with him.

"Let's just make sure we don't re-break your leg," she teases as her hands slide up his chest to hook over his shoulders. She's mostly joking, she doesn't think that will be an issue and she can't even think about it again when she leans against him, kissing him, harder this time. She thinks she could probably spend all morning teasing him, but there's time for that, too. Her hips roll down and she can feel his skin against hers and he's right, it's really warm in the apartment, here on the couch and a soft noise escapes her as they kiss, her fingertips moving over the planes of his shoulders and then down his chest again.

"They are, right? Who needs clothes?" His breath catches and he can feel goosebumps rising on his skin as she runs her hands up his chest, and it makes him shiver. They've been here already, both of them with their shirts off, but he'd been a little less tossed around like a rag doll and she a little more emotionally worse for the wear. It's like they can't win here with the timing but in a way, that makes it all the more excitable. He plays at the waistband of her pants, dipping his fingers just under the fabric, and grinning a bit. "This is like, the slowest game of low-stakes strip poker I've ever played, by the way."

The mere idea of doing something that could re-break his leg is, admittedly, intriguing, but he has to agree that's not a thing either of them wants. He's about ready to shoot a quip back at her but then she's rolling her hips and there's a sigh from her and maybe a moan from him and shit, he's never hated cars more in his entire life.

"You play a lot of strip poker?" she asks with a grin against his mouth and her back arches at the touch of his fingers under the waist of her pants. It is slow and that's not only because she doesn't want to hurt him, but she kind of loves it, even if it feels like she's just driving herself nuts with it. There's something deeply appealing about it, about dragging everything out, letting it build up until she thinks maybe she can't take it anymore. She's never really done anything like this, never put the brakes on something on purpose and she kind of hates to admit it, but it's just another area where Shoshana was probably right about her. She used sex to get what she wanted, to forget, to manipulate and she's not doing that now.

She doesn't have to.

She sits up a little, one hand braced against his chest and she reaches back with the other, unhooking the clasp of her bra. And she's nervous again, heart pounding, her mouth kind of dry and she has to kiss him again as she lets one strap of her bra fall and then the other.

"Sometimes it gets lonely in the 'Dome," he tells her, laughing because the couple times strip poker did happen, it had been after a few too many drinks with the most random people and the ratio of men to women had been way too high. Plus, he'd always lost. "I was always the first one to drop trou, apparently I'm terrible at bluffing." Newt's never shied away from telling people that he's a genius, that he's always been top in his field, is a known name in the scientific community--at least back home--but yeah, he'll admit that his poker face needs work. He wears his heart on his sleeve, after all, and he's far too... call it honest to hide what he's feeling most of the time.

And now he's certain his attempted poker face is failing him again because she's letting her bra fall away and okay, he's a little stunned right now because it's really not fair to the rest of the women in this town that Kate is as gorgeous as she is. It's also really not fair that he has a goddamn cast on his leg, and he sends a silent curse to that douche who hit him because this is really getting in the way of things and stuff right now. "I know this is like, a stupidly cheesy thing to say," he murmurs, letting his fingers trace along the underside of her breasts, "and I don't even actually know how I'm talking at all right now, it's a skill I've always had, I guess, but you are just..." He tugs her closer to him, hugging her to his chest as he wraps his arms tightly around her waist. "You're perfect."

"I've never played strip poker. Strip truth or dare..." she says, but she trails off, because he has his hands on her again and he says that it's stupid or cheesy, but she doesn't think it's either of those things when he speaks. It's sort of frustrating, knowing there's only so much they can do while he's injured, especially when he keeps touching her and talking to her, and when he pulls her closer, she ducks her head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as she gives a soft laugh.

"I'm perfect?" she asks, grinning, pulling back again so she can better look at him. Her cheeks feel warm and she thinks she's probably a little flushed, but she totally can't help it, it's entirely his fault. Biting her lower lip, she shakes her head, just smiling at him, because she has nothing to say in response to that. She's not perfect, a fact she's well aware of despite being convinced that she is, in fact, pretty amazing, but the idea that someone else might think she is, might feel she is... that's kind of a huge thing. "That's a lot to live up to, you know," she manages to say, leaning forward again, her lips brushing the top of his collarbone.

"Oh, yeah? How does that work?" Seems a little bit more nefarious, strip truth or dare, though he doesn't think he'd mind trying it out with her some time. Strip anything, really, or they could just strip, it all works for him. And wow, his mind is definitely on a single track right now but he can hardly be blamed when she's half naked against him and his hands are roaming down her bare back, surely this is what true torture is.

He shrugs, biting down on the inside of his cheek to silence whatever embarrassing noise had been about to come out of his mouth, Christ, it baffles him that she knows exactly the right things to do to get him to his breaking point. "Yeah, well," he says, though the words comes out a bit jumbled because his voice is shaky, "I think you're up to the challenge." He's not sure how much more challenge he can take right now, though, Sexy Chicken is getting awfully hard.

"I don't really remember," she admits, because she'd been sort of drunk at the time. Really drunk at the time. Not that the rules really matter, she figures, if he wants to play, because she's pretty sure their only goal will be the removal of clothing and she figures the rest can just fall into place.

"Jesus Christ, it is so not fair that you have a cast on right now," she says, both her hands moving down his chest, over his stomach, both coming to a stop at the waist of his pants. She knows what she wants to do, what she's pretty sure they both want, but she just curls her fingers over the edge instead of undoing them, then pulls back to look at him. It's hard to breathe, she finds, and she has to wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, pulling it between her teeth afterward. She shifts on his lap and she bites down on her lip, because she's doing it on purpose and this isn't going to be able to end how she wants it to, so she just needs to stop. But she can't. "So not fair."

It's all the better for him that she doesn't remember, they can make up their own rules. "Dare, take off your clothes," he says, moving a hand to cup one of her breasts. "Truth, take off your clothes?" Sounds good to him but then again, anything involving one or both of them being naked sounds pretty damn good right now.

Kate's doing nothing to help him right now, with her hands traveling downward then stopping and then there's shifting and lip biting and yeah, she gets a Z- in being helpful. He groans as he looks back at her, eyes a little hazy from all this sensory overload, and swallows hard before answering. "No kidding. Do you know how badly I want you? It's a problem, it's getting dire. I'm about five seconds away from cutting this cast off myself right now."

"Probably about as badly as I want you," she answers, breath catching at the feel of his hand on her breast and her back arches, pressing into his touch. She lifts one hand from the waist of his pants, taking his free hand in hers and lifting it to press his palm against her other breast. Cutting off the cast is a terrible idea, one she definitely isn't going to encourage, but on the other hand, she totally gets where he's coming from, because she feels like they've waited long enough for this. It's been a week since Halloween and that's more than long enough. Except she knows they have to wait longer because it might not be so difficult to navigate the cast if they'd already been here, if she already knew how he'd move and what to expect, but she's not sure they'll be able to manage it now. Not without a little experience.

"Don't cut your cast off," she says breathlessly, pushing her hand between them, lifting her hips so she can press her palm down against him. "We've got time, right?" It's not like they have to rush, she's not going anywhere and she doesn't think he is either. "We can wait." She really doesn't want to have to, but she can control herself for him.

He shakes his head emphatically, leaning forward to kiss a trail up her abdomen, giving her breasts a gentle squeeze before brushing his thumbs over her nipples. "Don't know if that's possible. We can fight about it, you can yell at me again." He smiles up at her as he runs his hands down her sides. He's pretty sure she'd beat him to a pulp if he really did do a DIY cast removal but hey, it would totally be for a good cause, and she'd probably at least wait until after they christened the couch. Still, they had agreed that they wanted it to be special and even though, yeah, this feels pretty goddamn special right now, it would be way better for both of them if they were both actually able to move freely.

"We've got time, we can wait" he agrees breathlessly, and he's starting to physically ache from how much he wants to not wait. He wants there to be nothing between them, to get to know every inch of her, to just feel her. A low moan sounds from his throat as he rolls his hips against her palm, and he thinks it's so unfair that she's got the advantage of being mobile here while he's fully at her mercy. "Really gonna be a pain the ass, though."

"Fuck," she breathes as his lips move over her skin and she can hear that he's agreeing with her -- they have time -- but she thinks she's going to actually have to physically back off if they want to stop. Not that she wants to stop, not when he runs his hands down her sides, goosebumps rising across her skin in the wake of his fingers. Her hand is still between them and she rubs down again at the same time as his hips move up. They're both just making things worse.

She remembers T teaching her how to give a blow job to get out of having sex, but this is completely different, she doesn't want to get out of having sex and she's pretty sure going down on him now isn't going to be any easier with a cast than actually sleeping with him.

"Am I making this harder?" she asks, then laughs, because that's not how she meant that to come out and she shakes her head. "I just... we're not helping ourselves, are we?"

"Yes, please," he answers, and he knows that's not what she means--well, not exactly--but shit, the feel of her hand through layers of clothing alone is driving him crazy, he doesn't even know what he'll do when it's just them, skin against skin, it's almost too much to even think about right now when he's really ready to just say screw it and tear whatever clothing is left away.

He huffs a laugh, having to drop one hand to grip the edge of the couch. "I mean, that's definitely one way to put it," he says, leaning back and letting out a deep breath. "But no, I'm pretty sure this is the exact opposite of that.

"Okay," she says with a breathless sort of laugh and she has to remind herself that she's the one who asked for this, for them to make a big deal out of it and she kind of hates to leave him like this, but she's not sure what other options they have. She kisses him again, slipping her hand out from between their bodies reluctantly and she rests both against his chest again, sighing softly when she kisses him.

"Okay," she says again, resting her forehead against his, her eyes closed. This is a lot more difficult than she thought it might be and yeah, okay, so they're both going to leave this pretty sexually frustrated, but that's not even it. It's a lot more than just wanting to get laid and that's kind of the problem. Not that it's really a problem except that they're both half naked and frustrated now with not a lot to do from here. She doesn't want to just get up and leave, because that's a pretty shitty thing to do and she's not sure she can right now, anyway.

He let out a muttered string of curses--not directed at her, more to the general area of his lap--as she moves her hand back up to rest on his chest and loosens his grip on the couch cushion. "Silver lining," he tells her, "we're building a hell of a lot of anticipation for when this actually happens." When the time is right--and he suspects it won't be difficult to figure it out--he won't be surprised if they leave a trail of clothing in their wake as they at least attempt to make it to the bed to have their way with each other.

"Sexy Chicken is clearly a terrible game," he says, taking advantage of the fact that her lips are so close to his and catching her in a kiss, parting her lips with his tongue as he traces circles on her back. He deepens the kiss then groans into it, pulling back just a bit to shake his head. "I can't stop. I blame you entirely."

"Building up enough anticipation that it'll take us both about eight seconds to get off the first time," she says with a laugh, but then he's kissing her again and she has to slide both hands up to either side of his neck to keep herself from letting them both wander back down. All the anticipation's not such a bad thing, she thinks, it just means there can be a second time and a third time and... she moans into the kiss before he pulls back. She presses forward, following him for a second, then laughs and rubs both her hands over her face.

"That's super funny, because I totally blame you," she answers, pushing one hand through her hair to get it off her face. "And it is one hundred percent the worst game, who even invented it? I think whoever invented it needs to be a little more clear about the rules, because I'm still not sure how you win or lose or... win."

She thinks they're both winning. Or losing.

Newt narrows his eyes, pretending to think about that before nodding confirmation. "Yup, sounds about right, but hey..." He raises an eyebrow and offers a playful smirk. It's still kind of blowing his mind right now that his life right now involves a beautiful women with her top off, kissing him and touching him and wanting him as much as he wants her. "I'm pretty sure our first time together isn't going to consist of just the one time, so whatever."

"No idea, some idiot jerk with a broken leg and a hot girlfriend who had to find a way to survive a very sad situation. That's just a guess, though." He glances down at his lap before looking back up at her. Yeah, he's not really what winning or losing means in this game, but he's still feeling awfully confined in his pants so that probably means something. "I'd be willing to bet that you're winning, though."

He's right about that, she's completely sure of it. Whatever happens, she's going to have to book a day off work or something, because she's decided right about now that when he finally gets the cast off, they're not leaving his bedroom for at least a day. Maybe more if she can swing it with a new job or maybe she'll just have to spend an entire shift thinking about it before she gets to come back to him.

That's kind of its own special torture right there.

When he glances down, she does as well, and she's not laughing, really, because she does feel bad. "How am I winning?" she asks, still trying not to laugh, but she can't not and she really wants to be able to do something for him. Her hands slip down his chest again and she pauses with them on his ribs. "Just because you're hard doesn't mean I'm not also totally dying here. New rule, no one ever wins this game."

He shakes his head in mock exasperation and okay, she's laughing and they're actively trying to not make this worse for themselves, right, or maybe that's not so true because her hands are on him again, goddammit, this is the strangest line between fantastic and terrible that he's ever walked. Well, since getting a close-up view of kaiju. And the drifting. Whatever, it's one of the strangest lines. He can't get it out of his mind, though, what a fucking relief it's going to be to finally be in bed with her in more than just a sleeping capacity--or the couch, whatever, wherever--after all of this.

It's not like this is his endgame for this relationship, if she'd told him she wanted to wait like, six months or something, he'd have respected that. But that's very clearly not the case, and it makes it that much more exciting that she wants it as much as he does. He takes one of her hands and brings it to his lips before setting it back on his chest. "Okay, you're right, we're both losers. Getting each other all fired up." He runs his hands up her legs, resting his hands on the inside of her thighs. "What are we even going to do?"

"In general or right at this moment?" she asks and she can't seem to help the way her hips arch forward when he runs his hands up her legs and her own hands drop down in response and yeah, this is absolutely not what either of them should be doing, but she figures there are other things they can do to work around the cast. For a moment there, she thought she might be able to slide off him, let them both calm down, but he's just kept kissing her and touching her, and basically any sort of control she thought she might have had seems to have disappeared again.

And she could make a comment about what he'd said earlier, about her being good with her hands, but instead she only kisses him again and her fingers undo his pants, one hand slipping inside to press against him through his briefs. This isn't making it any easier at all, this is doing the opposite, but her heart is hammering and she's kind of breathless with how little she wants to stop. This is easy, this she can do without the cast getting in the way.

"Shit." He moans the word, turning his head and muffling his mouth against his shoulder. Goddamn, they're bad at this backing off thing, really bad, there has been little to no effort to stop, but he doesn't want it to stop. He's not entirely sure how he'd stop himself from just lifting her right onto him if this ends up with them both fully naked, they'd definitely both deserve a medal for it because seriously, who has this kind of self-control? He has to keep reminding himself about, what was it again? Her hand is right there and it feels so good even through his briefs, and he rolls his hips because he needs more friction, he can't even remember why they aren't-- oh, right, broken leg with the cast and all that.

"Okay," he says, running a hand through his hair and giving her his best stern look. "We either gotta commit to, y'know, stopping. Or..." He puts his hand over hers, guiding her to palm him with just a little more force, and leans forward to take her breast in his mouth, letting his teeth lightly graze over her nipple before looking up at her. "Or we finish what we started because I don't know how much more of this I can take either way."

"Jesus Christ," she breathes, her back arching at the feel of his teeth on her nipple and she completely hears what he's saying and understands and she wants them both to be able to really enjoy it. The cast, the broken leg, that's going to get in the way, she knows it will. But he's giving her what she thinks it supposed to be a stern look and it's not helping things at all, because all she manages to do is grin, even though her lips are parted and she can't seem to catch her breath. Every single thing he does is a turn on right now.

"So all or nothing?" she asks, because okay, it's fair. But his hand is on top of hers and she can feel how hard he is and she just really wants him. "Fuck, okay. Okay, we wait, but I swear to god, if you break your other leg or make this worse somehow and we have to wait any longer..." But she has nothing to follow up with that threat, because the truth is, she thinks she'd wait forever for him if she had to. She really, really doesn't want to, but she's completely head over heels for him and the fact that they can get like this, too, is really just an added bonus.

He's pretty sure that if he bites down any harder on his lip that he'll bite right through it. "That's a lot of pressure," he says, managing a smile. "Need I remind you, that car totally came out of nowhere. A grand piano could easily fall and crush me, I'd never even see it coming, but at that point I'd just say we should get it done before I lose my mind." He wants to say that right now, damn his leg, because yes, he certainly adores her company no matter what but he doesn't think it's a crime to want to keep her right here with her hands on him and half their clothes discarded on the floor.

He tries to think about something that's not a turn on, something like... shit, what, Hermann getting down and dirty with Yamarashi or something and okay, it's working. He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head with all the regrets he's ever had. "When we finally do this, I might just cry. You're going to have to dry my tears, I hope you're prepared for that. This is what you've reduce me to with your wily charms."

"Pretty wily," she agrees, but she's really only half listening, because the rest of her brain is trying to think of things that might calm her down a little bit. Like what groceries she has to buy soon and whether or not she needs dog food and it's not working even remotely, so she slips her back out of his pants gently and rests her forehead against his shoulder. Kate's pretty sure she's never in her life gotten quite so wound up and had to stop and it's really not much fun at all. She's never been great with self-restraint, she knows that, it's why she ended up having to take morning after pills at fifteen and... okay, one time at fourteen, too, and she likes to think she's grown up since then in a lot of ways, but apparently really wanting to have sex and stopping herself isn't one of them.

"I'll dry your tears," she tells him, pulling back finally and cupping his face with both her hands. She smooths her thumbs over his cheeks, brushing away imaginary tears before she smiles and kisses him, sweeter this time, slower. "But probably only by accident because I'll be too busy crying with relief myself."

He huffs when she moves her hand away and goddamn, he really wishes he could have his cake and eat it, too. Having to stop hurts his soul, hurts other parts of him even more, but that's okay, that's okay. Well, no, it's not even a little bit okay but he'll trick himself into thinking it is for the greater good. Being able to move freely, without the restraint of a cast, is going to make things so much better for both of them, he knows this. Doesn't mean he has to like it.

"You're almost too kind," he deadpans, though he has no problem returning her kiss. It's intimate, and he hugs her close to him, working his tongue gently around hers as he burrows his hand in the softness of her hair. When they pull away, only just slightly, he can't help letting out a little whine at the loss of contact from her lips. "Are you sure cutting off the cast isn't in the cards?"

living on the edge

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