#I love my touch starved babygirl nuclear scientist so much y'all

[daincrediblegg]

omg for the ask meme 'you look like you need to stop, do you?' with valery - with him being asked??

you look like you need to stop, do you?

It's all too much. He feels a fool for not knowing sooner that it would be.

It was he, after all, who had caught your fingertips with his as you strode through the mostly abandoned Pripyat Hotel to meet with Boris for work. He, whose eyes combed over the way your hair fell over your face all day, nose deep in your own research as he was meant to be deep in his. He couldn't blame you, then, for returning longing glances right back at him that tore the ground out from under him, for slipping that little piece of paper into his suit pocket that told him where he could find you.

And for bringing him to where you are now, hidden in a darkened corner of this horribly empty place, lips locked with yours.

The kiss itself he thought he might be able to handle, arms curling around your waist as your lips slotted unbelievably perfect against his, moving, unbreaking against him as though glued. He couldn't think of a more perfect feeling than the warmth you'd brought to him if he tried.

But then there were your hands. Those impossibly gentle hands that cupped his face as he drew you into him, that wandered, then, to cover the expanse of his neck, into his hair. Then lower, his chest first, and then...

It was so intense, those first touches of your leg, drifting up his inner thigh, as your hand just grazing along his waist, just above his belt, no further, had him flushed like some kind of schoolboy. He never thought he'd feel like that again. But now, as your other hand returned to his neck, the wayward hand drifting towards his center, this time to pull him further into you, he felt himself absorbed by you. You were everywhere. You couldn't get closer (although still yet there were far too many layers of clothes between you for that), and yet the ache to be nearer still felt so strong, it felt like he was drowning, clawing for breath, and it shook him to the core.

... Is this how it felt, then? When oxygen met hydrogen and super-heated graphite? Was he so poisoned with fear that to meet such a simple force would rend him apart? Flung open, just for something so inevitable as air? As life itself?

He broke the kiss, with great difficulty as your lips tried to follow him, and oh, how it hurt to not let you. Air rushed in his lungs at force but still felt not nearly enough. His exhale was dizzying, and it took all he had to not fall over on the spot.

"Valera..." you uttered, lips fluttering just over his. He so loved the sound of his name when it came from you, so gentle it made his heart ache. Your eyes met his, then, and you pulled back a little to get a better look at him. Your hand slips from the back of his head to rest on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, just over the stiff lapel of his suit. Your eyes, half-lidded, flick over him then, absorbing the state of him, flushed as red, no doubt, as he is breathless.

"You look like you need to stop." Your hand moves again, his lapel to his cheek. A tether, that snaps his eyes to yours and holds him in your gaze, concerned.

"Do you?"

You say it so gently. There is no shame in his answer, whatever it may be. He breathes deep again as his hands fall to your hips, fear, intense, bubbling away, slowing to a roll at last, as he tips his head into your hand to press into his weathered cheek. Then, finally, he shakes his head no.

"I don't want to stop, but..." He says, a gently sway forward drawing him into your touch, lips curling inward, his forehead pressing against yours. His eyes meet yours again, and catches the small nod of your chin, understanding, and a twinge of guilt pricks at him.

"I'm... I'm sorry. It's been a long time since I've done anything like this."

"No."

In this, your voice was firm. A habit picked up from dear Boris, perhaps? Or comrade Khomyuk? So many assertive figures around you both, it is difficult not to hear them in certain words anymore. But then your off hand joins to mirror the other, holding him as tenderly as a child.

"You have nothing to apologize for. We can go slower, if you like. It's just..."

Your hands fall to his collar bone. Defeated. He saw your mind turning over thoughts as if they were right in front of you, in a scramble, only to weave them faster than he could ever comprehend to make your point, plain, effective, as a poet might. It was beautiful to watch, but what came of it made his heart sink.

"You're so close, and yet, I miss you. All the time," you utter, breathless. He catches the mist just gathering at your eyes, drifting from him, shaking it off, and in that moment, he understood.

You were both absolutely crazy about each other, and he knew what you meant. All of it. From the longing glances, the faint touches away from prying eyes, the need to be near you, being overwhelmed by that need. You felt it too. Just as much as he. And that pull was just as inevitable. It was only a mater of gravity. You shook your head, turning away from him.

"It doesn't make sense."

Valery felt something then, something deep inside his core, he didn't know where, or what it was. But he felt it snap like a twig under the weight of your broken voice. It compels that need again. The one he's felt all day at the briefest curl of your fingers around his. The need to hold.

So he does. Fast. A wide hand, drifting up your back to the shoulders, to keep you still, against him. He sighs, weary, a softness overcoming him.

"Nothing that is happening here does...", his other hand now held your cheek as you did his, and he breathed easy what came naturally into his mind.

"But you do," he whispered, voice low, the gravel that grates against his throat making itself known as he does. But just as soon as it leaves him he knows it's wrong.

"You do."

There is softness in his eyes when he says it, that he wills there. So you know without knowing. A hard breath escapes you, as his thumb strokes the apex of your cheek. The corner of your mouth catches the heel of his palm in a kiss, and you nod your resolution.

"Slower, then?"

His answer was on his lips, as they collided with yours, moving with a sweet intensity distinct and suited to him as his hands pulled your shoulders into him to settle, warm and grounding. You didn't have very long, after all, he thought. If he was going to fall in love, then damn it all, he would happily burn out to his very last atom with you.

CONSENT IS SEXY PROMPTS