Title: On Earth as Song
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Myka Bering/H.G. Wells
Summary: A lover's arms which form, night after night, in sleep, an irremediable absence.
Notes: Set before 2.11.
Light spilled into the room when Myka opened the door. Helena draped her arm over her eyes. "Close that, please."
Myka shut the door and leaned back against it. "What are you doing in my room?"
Helena lifted her arm from her eyes. "Pete and that veterinarian friend of his are once again having loud sex." She rolled onto her side. "Honestly, sharing a floor with that man is intolerable. I don't know how you've managed for so long."
"Yeah," Myka said, her tone half-distracted. She shed her jacket as she shook her head, then sat and pulled her boots off. Helena reached over to the side table, navigating the books and the hand lotion, and switched on the lamp. "So what," Myka asked, "you're just going to sleep over?"
Helena sat up, letting the sheet slide down her naked torso. "It seemed more sensible than sneaking down the corridor in the middle of the night." She watched Myka's eyes track down the length of her body, to where the sheet pooled in her lap. "Don't you agree?"
Myka tilted her head, her eyes wide and her lips thin, as if Helena was another artifact to be deciphered. She stood, her stride soft and her bearing investigative. When she was finally within reach, Helena rose on her knees, catching Myka's arm and pulling her onto the bed crosswise. Myka sprawled on the bed, her weight on her hip and elbow, and Helena curled around her like a plume of smoke.
Myka laughed, her breath ruffling Helena's hair. "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Perhaps." Helena slid her fingers between the buttons of Myka's shirt and tugged. "You're entirely too clothed."
"Hey!" Myka swatted her hands away. "I like this shirt." She started thumbing open the buttons herself, so Helena settled over Myka's hips, untucking the blouse and yanking open the fastenings of her trousers.
"I've been waiting for at least an hour," Helena observed. She traced triangles against Myka's belly. "Have you been at the warehouse all this time?" She hooked a finger through one of Myka's belt loops and pulled.
"Yeah," Myka said, wriggling out of her blouse and tossing it behind her.
Helena caught her breath as Myka's thigh rose high, pressed close. "Ah." She fell back, making the effort of undressing collaborative. "Anything interesting?"
"Not really." Myka dug her elbows into the mattress, arching as Helena freed her ankles from the last of her clothing. "Claudia wanted to show me how a couple of programs work. She was thinking," Myka bit her lip as Helena slid her hand over her knee, "um, about visiting her brother for Thanksgiving."
"Ah, the sacred turkey," Helena mused. She tapped something in Morse code behind Myka's knee, short and imperative. Myka's eyes widened as she deciphered the dot-dot-dash-dot of it, and Helena leered. "Surely Artie can oversee the daily operations."
"Well," Myka cleared her throat, "it's probably a good idea to have a back-up. In case something important pops--"
Helena dipped forward, dragging her tongue up the line of Myka's torso.
"--up," Myka gasped.
Helena grinned. She ghosted her teeth against the peak of Myka's breast. "You aren't keeping secrets from me, are you?"
Myka rolled her eyes.
"Coy," Helena pronounced, and she caught Myka's thigh with one hand and shoved forward, hips grinding provocatively.
"Oh, god," Myka squeaked.
"A little louder, darling," Helena urged. "Pete can't quite hear us yet." She twisted, and Myka somehow managed to glare through her groan.
Helena woke when Myka trailed a hand over her arm. She hummed, rolling to press her lips against Myka's shoulder, her collarbone, before opening her eyes. "Good morning."
"Morning," Myka said. She wore sleep well, as if everything that drove her blurred and slowed in the dark. Envious, Helena caught a lock of her hair and looped it round her finger. Myka smiled. "Are you hungry?"
"Quite," Helena answered, and she tugged Myka's hair, tugged until Myka's lips caught against hers, and Myka pressed close, her skin soft and blanket-warmed. Helena opened her mouth to the tap of Myka's tongue. She draped her leg over Myka's hip and ground insistently. Myka laughed; Myka slipped clever fingers between them, teasing until Helena growled and pulled back.
Myka widened her eyes, a grin teasing the corners of her mouth. "What?"
"Minx," Helena accused, and she lunged, bracing herself atop Myka's body. Myka's hand stroked gently between her thighs, and Helena narrowed her eyes as she bent and nipped Myka's throat. Myka whimpered, even as she pressed two fingers close, up, in. Helena shuddered. "God." She rose on her knees, dragging her hair over Myka as she straightened to caress her own breasts, her fingers as rough as Myka's were insistent.
And Myka arched underneath her, her hips rolling in time with her thrusts. Helena rode faster, and Myka sat up, her mouth hot against Helena's breast, her teeth a sharp counterpoint, and Helena shattered with a strangled wail.
When she finally slumped into the curve of Myka's body, Helena laughed. "Well."
"I think I'll have pancakes for breakfast," Myka mused. "Maybe an omelet."
Helena raised her head. "You can't be serious." She gathered the shreds of her control and pushed Myka down to the mattress again, scooting backward on her knees until Myka's thighs framed her shoulders. "Breakfast would be terribly premature."
"Helena," Myka protested. "We should get going."
"Certainly we should," Helena agreed. She licked a slow stripe where Myka's thigh met her hips.
Myka clutched Helena's hair. "I mean," she said, jerking as Helena's tongue stroked into her, "to the warehouse."
"Mmm," Helena agreed, clutching Myka's hips more tightly.
"Artie might have a case for us," Myka said, digging her heels into Helena's shoulders. "An artifact."
Helena raised her head. "Do you think so?" She breathed hot, flicked her tongue just so.
"Um," Myka said. "What?"
Helena grinned. "I'm sure whatever lunacy they have for us can wait." She urged Myka's hips higher, and put everything but the moment aside.
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Galway Kinnell's Last Songs.