#I don't have time or energy to transcribe this but maybe another day

[royalarchivist]

Cellbit: Ordem Paranormal 🔥

Roier: Enigma do Medo 🔥🔥🔥

In honor of today's Ordem Paranormal news, here's a little compilation of some classic "Enigma do Medo" moments with Roier and Cellbit.

[brandwhorestarscream]

I'm curious, what is Earthspark like in the Cybermorph-verse?

Also this goes against the original canon, but I'm just imagining Twitch as a runt who remains small but ends up as one of Megatron's favourites. Just nestled between his dorsal spines, safe and happy.

So, I don't have anything concrete decided on for the cybermorphs in earthspark, but I do have some fun backstory for Dot and Megatron! I'll just transcribe it here, under the cut if you're interested ^-^

We were talking about, somehow, cybermorph Megatron and Dorothy being friends, like in earthspark. I decided to take this hypothetical and run with it. We don't know exactly how they came together in canon, but general speculation is that she did something that earned his respect. And she clearly doesn't like Optimus all that much--they're civil, but there's no warm feelings there, yk?

So my thoughts immediately went to Dot standing up to the bots and calling them out when they're doing something whack.

Something on earth triggers Megatron to produce a small clutch of eggs. He's not planning them, they just happen. Maybe the recovery of the Allspark, the exposure to such potent life energy kickstarts his reproductive system again. Maybe uses some stored old genetic code from previous sires, maybe they're just drones, but regardless he can feel their sparks connecting to his. There's a very, very prolonged battle, the type where everyone is on the field for days at a time. Think trenches, underground compounds, anything and everything. Maybe he doesn't even realize he's carrying them: his egg-laying protocols have been disabled for millions of years, and they fit in so seamlessly in the hivemind he doesn't realize they're coming until they're coming.

He suddenly pulls back from the battlefield with no warning, shouting for Soundwave to take over, and he runs off to find somewhere dark and safe. Maybe the contractions make it so he can't change form and easily return to the hive. Ends up in one of those old cave systems or something, idk it's not important. Delivers a small clutch, probably only 4 or 5 cuz it's been so long since he's gotten any action and doesn't have a lot of extra code to fertilize them. Realizes oh slag, these aren't drone eggs. These are actual fully fertilized sparklings that are going to need hosts and will probably have to be shipped off planet immediately.

The first children he's beared in millions of years, they're indescribably precious. He has no idea who sired them, but that can come later

My idea comes from Dot along with maybe a couple autobot escorts, tracking him there. After all, he's probably doing some big bad evil decepticon shit, right?

Wrong.

Dot watches as, without even a moments' hesitation, one of the bots shoots squarely at one of the eggs. It explodes in spectacular fashion, delicate embryo slaughtered and tiny spark extinguished in less than a second.

Megatron screams, a truly primal cybermorph queen screech, and promptly transforms. Knocks the responsible party back, throwing them into the wall with such force their chassis cracks, but he's so focused on that one that the other party manages to bring their pede down on another with tremendous force and stomps the egg flat, splattering it and killing the unborn morphling.

The queen bellows, furious and devestated all at once, and when he pounces on the other Dot is nearly crushed underfoot. She stumbles back and her back hits something slimy and springy, like a thick, malleable rubber. She peels herself off and turns around, and comes face to face with one of his fresh eggs. They're so early, only minutes from emergence, thst their shells are still a bit see-through. It takes her a moment to make out what she's looking at, but when she does, her suspicious squint slackens and her eyes widen. She knows this thing very well. Tiny, too-big head and little dark spots where eyes should be, nubby body shaped like a bean with no arms or legs.

She's seen this kind of image many times. On ultrasounds of her little brother and in her cousin's parenting books and on posters at the doctor's office.

An embryo.

A fetus.

These are his babies!

"NOOO! " she throws herself in front of a nearby egg, arms out wide as if she could somehow block the shot one bot is priming.

"What are you doin', squishy?!" He barks at her. "Move!"

"No! These are chi-"

"Monsters, Dorothy! They're monsters!"

They swing their gun the other way as if to shoot another, and she dives in front of it again. Megatron is busy pounding the other into the ground, trying to get himself back the nest that they've successfully cut him off from. There's only 3 left, he has to save them!

"Scrap this!" The bot bats her aside--not enough to injure her, just enough to get her out of the way with the barrel of their blaster, still struggling to pill himself up after hitting the wall hard enough to rattle his internals. One of his legs is limp and useless, that's the only thing stopping him. Dot manages to land on her feet, skidding back, ribs aching from the impact.

The blaster powers up one more time, and the distinctive thrum is enough to distract Megatron from where his secondary jaw has punctured his opponent's spark chamber, ripping it out and shredding it with his serrated fangs. He throws the body down and is immediately snarling as he leaps at the other mecha, but it's too late.

Blood flies everywhere and Dorothy s c r e a m s, collapsing to the ground with half of her leg gone. She lands in a puddle of sticky, hot fluid: the egg behind her that she had tried to shield has unfortunately been punctured and is leaking all over the cave floor. Her ears start ringing, she's losing blood so fast and her vision blurs when she tries to look at her leg--she can see bone and muscles and tendons exposed to open air, and she doesn't even notice Megatron'a cybermorph queen warcry as he rips off the other mech's head.

In the aftermatch, once they're dead, he turns his attention to his babies. Only two remain, two eggs miraculously unbroken. The human that had tried to defend then, while valliant, was unsuccessful. The third one has drained out all over the floor and there's no breathing life back into them.

But still. He replays all the audio in his helm, and could hear her arguing with the other. He'd seen her scrambling back and forth, trying to block a shot to his eggs. She... she protected them, fearlessly, like a praetorian would. She put herself at the mercy of alien weapons so strong it could vaporize her entire body. She'd sacrificed a part of herself for them, and for that he's grateful.

Megatron always repays his debts. Especially after finding out that humans can't simply regenerate or replace limbs 🤭 when Megatron leaves, he takes her with. Gently cradling his eggs in one hand, picking her up in the other. She's still bleeding profusely so he licks over the wound with his glossa, thick oily solvent congregating on the wound and stopping the blood flow. He leaves with his cargo, and when the bots find the site later, 2 of their comrades are dead and there's a crazy amount of human blood on the floor. Naturally, she's assumed dead, but is actually at the bottom of the sea in the depths of the Nemesis, engineers and medical hard at work giving her her mobility back as thanks for protecting their unhatched siblings.

[nightcall99]

Notes from 2.7.24

I parked right in front of the entrance to the primary school near my work. When I drove home at 5:30pm, it was dark out. I noticed the main office building was empty but the lights were still on.

I think the 2% I was running on just went down to 1%. Emotionally, I have nothing left. I don't have empathy for anything anymore. I fake it a bit, for that sense of normalcy but it reminds of when Clea was talking about how she saw a dead cat and felt nothing. AL's budgie isn't doing well, she had to take it to the hospital and it's probably dead today. I haven't checked in with her and I don't care. Another co-worker's friend passed away. My aunt got hospitalised for a stroke. My mum's started on BP med. None of it is real. No one is here.

Some people, maybe, are still here. I've been suspecting for awhile that Con the junkie might be. He was high on ice today and asked me for a glass of water. When I gave it to him I noticed he was carrying a book about dreams. He said he wanted to learn about how to control them/become lucid, how to manifest things etc. He offered to lend it to me but I declined, then he walked off singing '...Katherine, I see her on a boat, no, I see her on a plane...". He has this energy about him. A customer gave me a fake smile once and he called it out and started freaking out LOL. He was like "THAT'S A FAKE SMILE. THAT WAS FAKE" and got really angry on my behalf. Last month, he wrote a love letter to NM. On the second page, it got really real. He wrote "I love (proceeds to list a bunch of our names) with all my heart and I always will and when everyone dies that love each other they spend life together in eternal joy and happiness. That is the spiritual heaven. I'm going to be in heaven with _ and _ and _ too and the girls that work here and the pharmacists too, and I'm going to be with all the girls and men that work at IGA (a supermarket) next door and all my friends and Mum and Dad and Grandma and everyone in heaven where there is no matter, just spirit without a body, just a spirit of light. Who knows maybe in heaven you (NM) will have lunch with me there because maybe you eat spirit food. Anyway bye for now". I think everyone was laughing at it but I teared up while reading it at the time. His grandma passed away (she made it to 95 I think) not long after. She was so cute. On her profile someone wrote 'they see me rollin', they hatin', bc she used to walk really slow like a shuffle.

Anyway, the dude from the dreams is just whatever. I saw him today and it was just small talk all day. I didn't give a fuck about his trip but I asked all the necessary questions. He kept making comments of a certain energy that I realise as I write now was just like the dream, jabs to see if I'm still here. I know he's in there but it's impossible and I'm at peace with that. It's never not going to be low vibe and I think my HS has had enough so I don't think he is going to be appearing on our rosters anymore from what I can tell. So what was the point of that? Did I really wait '15 minutes' for that? I had no expectations, other than to get to the bottom of it. And well there it is, I have. I've let go of the 3D story. Can I go now?

Also today randomly I got recommended on YT, a community message from the channel from about a year ago where Clea had transcribed the final message for that session. It was about how some of us have soured to the idea of NE but it will be everything we could ever want, and more.

[dreadfutures]

You referenced being in school/working on your PhD (I think, might be misremembering sorry). When do you typically find the time to write? Im so impressed at your pace, dread futures is a behemoth

Hi! I'm gonna use this as an opportunity to rant about science PhDs because so many people don't know how they work 😅

But long story short, I walk to/from work every day and write on my phone during that time, and I try not to bring work home but have a lot of anxious energy so I end up needing Something To Do with the little free time I have, so I end up writing. I wasn't sleeping a lot. I also have a pretty fast typing speed, and used to transcribe interviews quite often so transcribing game dialogue is pretty quick for me too. And I was Really Feeling Things and had a story I had to tell. And I really cannot emphasize enough that for the most part I turn off my inner editor when I write fanfiction, I do not plan my stories out much ahead of time, and I treat it kind of like an improv/dnd-like experience. What got published last is what I have to work with, and I have to make it work. I also self impose a 3k goal/limit on my chapters and then it's time to publish. All those things combined yield a pretty fast update schedule.

Now for the rant:

Most people think of graduate school as just that--school. Having lived with PhD students in Classics, Chinese Lit, and Business, that's true for a lot of disciplines. You take classes. You read all the time. All the while you're forming Opinions and you explore those in lectures and articles you produce, using the vast amount of information you've absorbed over your schooling. If you're familiar with an Honors Thesis from undergraduate education, you basically produce one of those over your time in a NON science PhD program.

A STEM PhD is much, much more like an elementary science fair project, but instead of asking What Is The Most Efficient Design for a Solar Cookie Oven, you're asking questions that contribute to issues like climate change, chemical waste production in manufacturing, Alzheimer's treatments, and vaccine development.

Sometimes your adviser is the one who tells you, "Hey, study this and see what happens" just like your elementary school friend might have had a parent or teacher give them an idea. Sometimes you yourself come up with the idea. Either way, here's the real difference between a science fair project and a PhD project:

In a PhD, no one has ever asked the question you're asking, and no one knows the answer. And your Question might be so small and seemingly inconsequential, you will never be able to explain it truthfully to your grandmother over Thanksgiving dinner. Even if your Question is fundamentally important to something like the race to efficient carbon dioxide fixation.

Also, it's not fair to say you have One Question in your PhD. A PhD researcher is a one woman army against a whole battlefield of Questions, and you spend about 1 year per Question (Project) answering (and all the little side questions that come up, curiosities, flashes in the pan, that you think might help you answer the main Question). A typical chemistry thesis is about 3-6 big projects that are related to one another usually only tangentially.

Day to day life is NOTHING like being a student. I walk to work and get in ~8am, and leave at 6. I work 6-7 days a week. The whole time I am doing research work: either at a fume hood, or in a glovebox, doing chemistry, or MAYBE I will sit down and analyze my data or look up prior research in the field to inform my future experiments/learn how to do a certain analysis.

I am teaching myself new techniques, new chemistry, and producing new techniques and new chemistry.

Science PhDs come out of their programs and go into jobs and their bosses tell them to stop working so hard, to only do what they're told, to stop taking work home. Because in normal industry jobs you get contracts that include time off, regular work hours, and regular performance evaluations, whereas a PhDs job is never done, your hours are dictated by what the experiments require, and the amount of time you spend doing your work is pretty proportional to how long your degree is going to take. :-/

Oh yeah and if you're lucky, you have a contract with your university! If you're lucky, you have a union! But most of us have neither of those.

STEM PhDs fortunately will pay you, rather than you paying the University. However, better settle for 25-30k (US)/year. Maybe you get health care. Good luck if youre in a more expensive rent area because 30k is already pretty high for a program offer. Oh, and unless you're very lucky, you likely will need to be a teaching assistant for undergraduate courses multiple times a year. Some contracts stipulate that TAships cannot require more than 20 hrs of your time per week (that's a 50% appointment, and the rest of your time you're supposed to be working in your research lab) but good luck, most of the time your teaching/grading load is going to be ~30-40 hours of its own. And just because you're teaching doesn't mean you get to produce any less work for your research!

Because here's the other thing: you're not an employee, you're not a student. You're supposed to be doing research to answer Questions that will save the world. But you get paid, and your adviser/professor gets paid, and your SCIENCE gets paid, based off of how many Questions you've already answered and how Important someone in the government judges your Answered Questions to be. So if you're not Answering those Questions and simultaneously proving that your Questions are Important, then your funding, and your adviser's funding, are at risk.

I worked in a startup for a while and it was very similar in mentality: your life and your work are the livelihood of the company, and you have to do everything in your power to ensure the company is popular and productive, with as little funding and time off possible--because if you don't do the work, there's no people or money to pick up the slack.

The upside to working in a startup, though, is that in my PhD I come across fun questions like: hey, why is this *that* color? but this other thing is different? And I have the freedom to try and explore those questions. Whereas in a startup, there is no space or time to waste on side projects. I'm in to this work for the curiosity and the passion (when I have energy enough to remember them lol). And a PhD not only provides me with specific skills and knowledge, it also proves that I can pick up any new field and dive in, teach myself, and be productive in it. Most of us never go on to work in anything immediately relevant to our PhD work, because our PhD work is so open ended, but also so narrow in scope within a field. It's important work and it's how most progress gets made in our quality of life and technology and healthcare and other developments as a society--this brain-breaking labor of love by underpaid and over caffeinated, unprotected workers in labs that are constantly at risk of being defunded.

Oh and halfway through, after you've wasted 3 years of your life melting your brain with big Questions, you have a Candidacy Exam where you prove your worth to a committee of Expert Professor Researchers in your field, and they say whether you even get to finish or not. 🤗

Which is what was happening when I started writing DPDF. in the middle of a pandemic. With a lot of my friends and support systems leaving me. And DPDF was born as a coping mechanism for the hopeless, worthless, existentially threatening place I was in at the time. Nothing gets the fingers tapping more than feeling like you want to die every moment you're alone with your thoughts, and having every other moment eaten by blistering brain work. Not working, and sitting, and relaxing were impossible and made me feel extraordinarily guilty. So I wrote. Like my life depended on it. It did. It does.

[girlpornparadise]

At Your Doorstep

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader (Narcos)

Word Count: ~4000

Warnings: I Smut. I only smut. My brain is that cavern in the Little Mermaid, but instead of being full of thingamabobs, it’s full of smut. But maybe it’s a bit soft too. I dunno. 

Personal ramble: Don’t have much to say about this one. I was just in a mood. An I want a sexy murder husband in my life and this is what came out mood. Maybe it’ll be your mood too if you read it. 

It's late when you hear the rap on your door. You're tired and a visitor is not welcome at this hour, but you pad to the entrance all the same. The knock didn't have the insistence of an emergency, but rather a hesitation to it, as if maybe they realized it was late and didn't want to disturb you after all.

When you look through the peephole there's a figure standing there clad in green, looking down and to the left. It's the same man who occupied your evening yesterday.

***

"Just one drink, I promise." That was always his promise, and it was a promise he never kept.

"Not tonight Javi, I'm too tired." You knew he wouldn't be deterred so easily.

"Please, I need your help." Intrigue. This was a new tactic. 

"What could you possibly need my help with outside of work?" You asked with a tinge of exasperation.

Javier Pena was a sweet talker. You knew it as well as everyone else at the embassy. Most of all he knew it, and he was quick to leverage his charm to get what he wanted. A peek at a file, a scrap of information, a favour under the table. And occasionally a date when he was bored with the locals he cavorted with. 

"I need backup." He stated flatly.

"Don't you have a partner for that?" You asked, wondering what game he was playing at.

"Not that kind of backup. The social kind. The kind only a beautiful and charming woman such as yourself could provide." He smiled as he leaned over your desk.

Appealing to your sense of vanity AND intrigue. Smart. 

"So who's the mark this time?" You asked tentatively. You'd played this game before. It was usually a low level diplomat or a friend of a friend from stateside. Never anyone dangerous or unseemly. He knew better than to involve the embassy in those kinds of dealings. You agreed to these dinners or drinks because you knew you'd end up somewhere nicer than you could afford on your salary and he'd pick up the tab. 

"You'll like him. I promise." 

"That's what you said last time and he was a walking sedative. In fact, I don't know why I ever say yes, I never like them that much." You said shaking your head.

"You can't expect them to live up to the bar I've set." He said with a wink.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had been new to Colombia. Before you knew better. Javi had hounded you then, much the same way, but after a handful of unsuccessful dates you had landed somewhere between colleagues and friends.

You considered your options. There were cold leftovers waiting for you in your fridge. 

"Ok." You acquiesced, making a bigger show of it than you actually felt. 

"Great, I'll come grab you at 5. I promise, he's a good one."

"You always say that." You called after him as he strode out of the office.

The rest of the day passed quickly as you transcribed notes and prepared reports. It was a busy time with the hunt for Escobar escalating and the recent formation of the Search Bloc. There was so much information to process that most days ended with a long shower and a dumb tv show to reset your overworked mind.

At the agreed upon time Javi came by your desk to gather you. You had put the finishing touches on today's file and snuck off to the washroom to brush your hair and touch up your makeup. There was no time to go home, so you took off your jacket, unbuttoned the top button of your blouse and tried your best to flatten your skirt with your hands. It would have to do.

When you got to the bar you sat down at the booth and Javi slid in next to you. It was nicer than your usual haunts, but not the top tier you'd hoped for.

The waitress brought you some water and you drank it as something to do. You were running out of small talk with Javi when the mystery guest arrived.

You saw his figure before you could place it. A grey polo shirt and khakis were approaching, carried by a strong and commanding gait. You followed the dark hair down to a serious expression. You gulped. It was him.

"Over here." Javi said, catching his attention. You sank down in your chair slightly, intent on disappearing.

"Colonel" you managed to choke out after a moment, unable to conceal the surprise in your tone.

He smiled politely and sat down. You regarded him in a daze as he and Javi exchanged pleasantries, or what passed as such between two men whose work was so difficult.

As your panic subsided and your focus returned, you heard Javi making his excuses about having a date and leaving the table. Your heart sank into your stomach. As you watched him leave, still in disbelief, he mouthed the words "You're welcome." Before disappearing from view.

Your crush on Colonel Corrillo was the worst kept secret in the office. The handful of times he had come into the embassy you couldn't help but take him in with a sense of awe. Though the reports were largely dry and factual, they painted the portrait of a hero to you. A strong, steadfast, no nonsense leader who got results. A man morally uncompromising and determined in his mission. You thought meeting him would burst that bubble, but it had only added a handsome, rugged, sculpted visage to match the myth you had built in your mind.

After your first encounter, you found yourself tapping your pencil against your lip when you came across his name in a report. It was always accompanied by a smile to yourself and an ache in your chest. You'd hope to hear his commanding footsteps come up behind you so you could steal a peak at his arms straining on his uniform before he disappeared into one office or another.

Each time he passed your desk you smiled a little too widely and blushed a little too brightly at him. Though his demeanor was always serious, he smiled back, and you melted a little in your seat.

Now here he was, sitting across from you, you thought to yourself.

"What would you like to drink?" He asked.

"Depends, is Javi footing the bill?" A bit of mischief played at your lips.

He smiled and ordered a couple of drinks from a higher shelf than you're used to, mercifully saving you from making a decision for yourself.

You babbled a bit awkwardly at the start until the alcohol hit you and you started to find your groove.

The small talk revolved mostly around work, as it seemed his life generally did. He was polite, but distracted the entire evening and you couldn't help but feel disappointed that you couldn't hold his attention. You felt like this was a mistake. Maybe he just owed Javi a favour. Maybe you were as boring as you feared. 

At the end of the night he offered to walk you home, more out of concern for your safety than any desire to be invited in for a drink you surmised. He smiled politely and excused himself at your doorstep and you went to bed feeling a bit disillusioned and empty.

***

But here he is, standing at your door again one day later. 

You grip the silk robe you're wearing tightly to your chest and unlock the deadbolt and open the door. He looks up with a hesitation on his face. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.

He smiles a half hearted smile and looks at you, considering. Somehow he seems smaller and less intimidating than yesterday. Maybe because this was your home and you had the advantage of the familiar.

The confident man who strides through your office, commanding a room by his mere presence is not the man standing before you. For the first time ever he looks unsure of himself. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." He says apologetically. 

He turns to leave but you reach out and touch his arm. He hesitates. 

"It's late and I didn't mean to disturb you." 

"It's fine." You say, concern filling your expression. "Please, come in."

He crosses your threshold and for a moment, neither of you are sure what to say. You look into his eyes, searching for his reason, trying to decipher his intentions.

His expression has its normal hardness to it, but behind his gaze is something unsure. Wavering. He wants to tell you why he's there. He wants to find the words, but they don't come. 

He sighs.

You see a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he's on the verge of collapse. It's coming up on midnight and he's obviously come straight from work. The lines on his face spell out an impossibly long day.

The tension rising across the country is palpable and here stands a man at the center of the storm. You can't imagine the sense of responsibility he must feel and as your heart reaches out to him, so does your hand. An instinct takes over you and you grasp his palm in yours.

"I'm sorry" he starts "I...", but you place your other hand over his, sandwiching his strong calloused hand between your delicate fingers. It silences him and steadies you both.

Staring into his eyes you see a man who has run out. He has run out of energy. He has run out of cigarettes and drink. He has run out of the mental fortitude to spend endless hours listening to tapes of his nemesis, distilling scraps of information into hard won knowledge. But most of all he has run out of the willingness to bury his men.

You know the burden of an exhausted mind and are flooded with empathy. In your heart you feel what he has come here for, even if he can't articulate it. 

Still gently holding his hand in yours you squeeze it ever so slightly to bring his attention to the present moment.

"I was just about to take a shower. Join me." You say it softly. It wasn't a suggestion so much as a statement of things to come.

You notice his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, but you maintain eye contact. He nods almost imperceptibly. As you look away to lead him down the hall, his gaze follows you, entranced.

You lead him to your bathroom. He doesn't protest, but follows obediently. You put down the toilet seat and sit him down. You kneel to look him in the eye, making sure he's comfortable and proceed to unlace his boots. You slip them off, followed by his socks and place them carefully to the side. He watches you silently but intently. 

You turn to the tub and fiddle with the knobs until they reach the spots where the desired temperature should flow from. The sound of the running water visibly soothes him, and you rest your hand on his knee to ground yourself to him.

When you're satisfied with the flowing water, you take his hands delicately and stand him up. His stance still has a military air about it, but he has begun to relax in your presence. You place your hands on his broad chest and look into his eyes. There's a trusting innocence there that he normally keeps locked away. As he takes in your features you glide your hands up to his collar. You carefully unbutton his uniform, breathing steadily as you untuck his shirt and undo the last button. You slide it off of his firm shoulders and hang it on the hook behind the door. You touch his arms and he raises them over his head so you can remove the green undershirt that clings to his torso. You do so carefully, as if tending to a wounded man. You are in a way doing just that.

His belt takes a little more effort and he helps you remove it from his waist. After tossing it aside, you unzip his pants and kneeling again, pull them down. You reach up and hook your hands in the waistband of his boxers and gently tug them to the floor. He steps out of the pile at his feet.

When you stand up again you can hear his breathing and see his chest rise and fall. He's not quite panting, but his mouth is slightly agape and as you step towards him you feel his hot breath against your skin. 

You cup his jaw in your hands and he puts his hands on your waist. You moisten your lips and plant a soft kiss on his mouth. He relaxes into your kiss and pulls you in tighter to deepen it, but you don't give into his wanting.

When you pull back, he releases your waist and you untie your silk robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing your naked form. He draws his breath inward sharply as his eyes feast upon you and you smile softly as he admires you. He licks his lips hungrily, a man starving for your touch.

As you cup his face again and pull his mouth to yours, your hands push their way back into his hair. You feel the day's work in it, sweat and dirt from the physicality of his job. His rough hands on your back pull you closer in return, pressing your naked breasts against his body. He savours your warmth and you tingle as his growing erection grazes your stomach.

His tongue circles yours, slowly and purposefully and with your eyes shut, you breathe him in. His scent is musky and grounded, born from the earth and the streets he had been running today. You knew from the report that had crossed your desk before you had left work that it had been a hard one with heavy casualties. When you pull back and look into the deep pools of his eyes, you can see the toll it has taken on him. The pain he has come here to forget.

You continue to be gentle with this solid block of granite before you. You know he could easily throw you down and take you if he'd wanted, but he needs something softer, more nurturing in this time and place.

When you break your kiss he searches your eyes once more, craving the contact you now deny him. You take him by the hand, gently guiding him once again, into the shower. 

As the warm water hits him, he is rejuvenated and his lust finds life. You kiss him again and taste the salt running off of his body as your hands wrap around to his back. His hands seek you as well, finding the small of your back, and trailing down to your cheeks, which he palms and grasps tightly, thrusting your hips into his fully erect cock. 

He has found his desire and it won't be easily quelled. You're crushed against him as his skin seeks as much contact with yours as possible. He is trying to consume you now with his hungry mouth, press your flesh to his until you become one. There's a desperate need to have you rising within him, and he expresses it by pulling you into him even tighter.

The pressure his muscular body exerts on you becomes too much and you push him back to break away. The force with which you do it concerns him, and he looks to you for reassurance that he hasn't hurt you. You give it gladly with your gentle smile and his desperation ebbs momentarily.

Instead of returning to his fever pitch, you take control of the tempo by grabbing a washcloth in your right hand. You pour a small amount of liquid soap on it, and wring it into a lather. You press it gently to his shoulder and as you massage the knotted muscle straining beneath it he relaxes into your touch. His breathing slows.

As you massage his aching muscles with one hand you run your other thumb along his jawline, feeling his days worth of stubble. He leans into the touch and as your thumb reaches his bottom lip, he kisses it gently.

Moving the same hand down to touch his arm, you indicate that he should turn around and he obliges. He gratefully lets you scrub his back and you work your way across the broad canvass with care and patience.  As you remove the sweat and dirt from his tense but exhausted body, his knotted muscles relax under your touch. He sighs and it sounds like he's releasing his thoughts and pain with the air in his lungs. He flexes and relaxes as you erase the day from his skin and sinew. You watch the water run off of his beautiful topography and hope it washes away any doubts he had about coming here this night.

When you finish he turns to face you again and his expression has softened. As your hands reach out to guide him once more, so does your heart, and you are filled with a deep need to protect the peaceful bubble you have ensconced the both of you in.

As you both step out of the tub and you turn off the water his hands rest on your hips. He doesn't want to let you go for fear that this is some dream his stress addled brain has conjured. You turn and rub his bicep reassuringly and then stroke the back of his neck, just at the hairline. 

You grab a towel off the hook and dry off his torso carefully. He watches your small hands work their way across his body with care. He takes the towel from you to dry his legs and you grab a second towel to dry yourself. You again work slowly, so as not to upset the calming rhythm you've established. He stands once again mesmerized by your hands and when he finishes drying himself takes your hands in his. He regards them as sacred instruments, capable of healing his cracks and breaks.

As you gently drop his hands from yours you glide to the exit. You go to leave the room but turn around in the doorway.

"Come to bed." You beckon.

He follows you as he has done all night and you sit him down on the edge of the bed. Standing above him, you run a hand through the waves of his short damp hair. 

"Let me take care of you, Colonel." You say, kneeling between his legs.

He takes your hands in his once more and looks into your eyes with a softness you had spent the night earning.

"Horacio" he says.

"Horacio" you whisper back. 

You let the intimacy of the moment wash over you.

You stroke his thighs slowly and he throws his head back and closes his eyes with a gasp. Bending forward you take his length into your mouth and gently suck. He murmurs as he hardens in your mouth.

You twirl your tongue around his tip, and he sucks in air with a sharp gasp. You grasp his length with your hand and continue to tease his shaft with slow, languid strokes while the warm moisture and hot breath in your mouth massage his throbbing head.

As you feel his legs tense you look up at him, mouth still firmly wrapped around his hungry cock. He looks down at you with awe. A man so unused to relinquishing control, completely at your mercy. His trust settles deep within your chest and you feel powerful, but benevolent.

His breathing quickens and the throbbing between your own legs feels more urgent as well. You rise from between his legs and straddle him. He looks up into your eyes with a desperate need, a craving of intimacy you can't deny him.

He grabs his shaft and guides it into your center as you lower yourself onto him. You both let out strained cries as you feel your bodies intertwine. He pulls you close to him, his hands on your shoulder blades and his elbows resting in the small of your back. In return you pull his head into your chest, gripping his hair.

You rise and fall with his slow, rhythmic thrusts. He takes his time, savouring the tight pull of your walls around him. You pull back his hair to tilt his head up to you and plant your parted lips on his open mouth. 

As you feel the heat swell at your core, he slows and cruelly pulls away from you. You whimper at his loss. But his strong hands guide you downwards, and he lays you on the bed. He slides himself into you once more and it makes you feel complete.

You stare into his eyes and he stares back, you've both lost yourselves in each other. You feel his weight on top of you, the heat radiating off of him, and he kisses you again. This time it's soft and caring. He studies you trying to find your pleasure.

He wants to please you, needs to please you. Needs to repay all of the kindness and solace you brought into his life tonight. He thrusts his hips slowly, incrementally increasing the pressure, trying to find your release. As he feels your chest heave harder and your body begin to tremble beneath him, he quickens his pace.

He draws the orgasm from your core and you squirm and twitch beneath his mass. You cry out his name as you reach your peak. To him it is a prayer, something sacred that he feels deeply and it brings him to his end.

He crashes into you and as he cries out he releases himself. Releases his pain, his anguish, his responsibilities and cares. As he spills into you, he lets go of the months of pressure that had threatened to break him, and is met with the sense of peace he so greatly desired.

As his spent body finds its place next to yours you smile and study his face. His shield of indifference has been lowered. He looks back at you with reverence, you are someone to be worshiped. To him you are the angel of mercy who welcomed him into her home, and welcomed him into herself.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heartbeat slows and steadies, not in the forced way like when his training takes over him, but in an organic way that he so seldom feels.

He shifts to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you tight to him. This man who washed up on the shores of your body, seeking refuge in your curves and coves, now nestled against your chest. 

He mumbles something in Spanish and though you can't make it out, it feels tinged with gratitude. He holds you tightly and you run your hand across his wet hair, and cradle him to you. He drifts off in the safety of your home, your bed, your body. As the world rages outside around you, you have both found peace in each other.