Title: A Remedy Against Sin
Fandom: Guys and Dolls
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1552
Content notes: Explicit smut with tickling
Author notes: Title is taken from the marriage service
Summary: Despite marriage and joining the Mission, Sky isn't a completely reformed character yet.



He calls her doll when he knows he's done wrong. It ought to annoy her, but he says it with a look in his eye that reminds her that even in a red uniform, he's still the same guy she fell in love with. He says he's a genuine reformed sinner, but a reformed sinner still has to sin to remind himself why he's reformed. She doesn't know whether to slap him or kiss the smile right off his face.

"Doll," he says, voice full of the charm he knows she can't resist, "Nathan's excited about the kid. It only seemed right to stay a while, have a drink or two."

"More than two!" she says. She could smell it on his breath when he came home and it reminds her traitorously of Havana, and a version of the two of them where neither of them work for the Mission and she's the sort of girl who goes drinking in bars with her man. She shouldn't be hankering after days like that.

"Well, maybe a few more than two, but it was in a good Christian cause. Otherwise he'd've been fussing over Adelaide and driving her crazy."

"And the betting?" She raises an eyebrow at him, puts her hands on her hips. She's not willing to be swayed just yet, even when he tousles his hair and takes off his tie.

"Well..." he stretches himself back on the bed half dressed, "it's only polite, when a man's about to become a father, to make a very small wager with him on whether the kid'll be a girl or a boy."

"Sky Masterson! Gambling is a sin, no matter what the cause and there's no 'polite' about it." He looks chastened when she glares at him. She quite likes it when he's like this and she gets to be strict and stern with him, although it's a guilty pleasure.

"Sarah," he says, all soft and sweet, so even if she really was mad at him she wouldn't stay that way for long. He kneels up on the bed, putting his arms out to catch her close. His head is just below hers like this, so he can lean against her and look up with gentle dark eyes until her breath catches. "You'll forgive me, won't you?"

She runs her hands through his hair. "You know I will, although really I ought to punish you."
She tightens her fingers and tugs. "If you were a boy I'd put you over my knee and spank you."

She doesn't know what makes her say it. It's half a joke, but something shifts in the atmosphere in the room. He grins at her, utterly unrepentant, and drapes himself over the bed again. "If you think you ought to for the good of my soul, go ahead."

She doesn't know what wicked impulse it is that makes her go for his feet. There's something so vulnerable about his bare toes and she knows it's not what he's expecting. It's so silly too. She hasn't tickled anyone since she was a little girl. Her fingers dart out quick as a flash, tickling along his bare soles. He yelps, a completely undignified sound.

"Ah! No, no, Sarah, ah!" He tries to wriggle away from her, laughing helplessly. She laughs herself and keeps going. She grabs a flailing ankle to hold it still and runs one finger deliberately from heel to toe. He keens, thrashing against the bed and his toes curling tight. She puts her fingertip delicately against his skin but doesn't move it. He stills, chest heaving, tension in every limb.

"Sarah, don't, ah please Sarah." He says it in a voice that's high and breathless, nothing like his usual studied drawl. He's flushed and wide eyed, and then she realises he's excited by it too, his trousers strained tight. He notices her noticing and swallows hard.

"I don't think you're meant to enjoy the punishment," she says slowly. His flush darkens. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't." Looking him straight in the eye, she runs light, skittering fingers over his feet and watches him writhe.

He pants, making sounds that are somewhere between laughter and the noises he makes when he really wants her and can't hold back. There are tears of laughter in his eyes. When she doesn't stop, he bucks upwards into empty air. "Please," he begs, "Sarah."

"Not yet. I think you'd better get out of those clothes first." She lets the severity creep back into her voice and there's something fizzing in her chest when she says it, a thrill at telling him what to do. He stands and strips as fast as if it had been an order. It's obvious how much he wants it too: how hard he is and the flush spreading down over his chest. As soon as he lies down again she pounces on him, tickling him before he has the chance to brace himself against it. There's more skin now, more scope for tickling fingers to find their targets. They tussle with one another and she enjoys the contrast of doing this while he's naked and she's still mostly dressed. It adds something to the way he's so openly vulnerable, so utterly hers.

He's slyer than she gave him credit for though. Even half helpless with laughing under her relentless fingers, he still gets the buttons of her dress open and one hand up her skirt. Not sure if it's reward or punishment, she tickles him again until he really can't do anything but writhe. He ends up pinned beneath her and the sight of him like this makes her mouth water. She doesn't often use her mouth: it still feels sinful, dirty maybe, although he's got no such qualms. Tonight though... there's something different about tonight. She kneels over him, takes him into her mouth and licks. He twitches under her, his legs trembling beneath her hands. He tastes of salt already and the desperate look on his face says he can't take much more of this. Strange, how something so silly as tickling can bring him to the brink like this, and that having him under her control can make her ache with wanting.

"I can't," he says, "don't stop, but I want..." She can't remember the last time he was lost for words but it doesn't matter because she wants it too. She pulls back, kissing him where he's wet from her mouth to make him groan. She tugs her dress off over her head, impatiently pulls at the rest of her clothes. He helps her off with her knickers, sliding his thumbs under the waistband and down, fingers trailing warm over bare skin. She bends over him and he reaches up to kiss at her breasts, licking and sucking rather desperately. She grinds down against him and he groans at the feeling of wetness. He slides in so easily and feels so very good. He fills her and finally satisfies the ache that's been building since she saw him so overcome and overwrought. She moves faster, greedily, enjoying the heat of him and the stretch. He's already so close, thrusting up into her and his eyes squeezing shut in bliss. She slips a hand between them, circling, and he reaches up to her breasts again with his mouth until the sensation makes her clench tight around him. In a moment of sheer devilry, she lets her hands slide under his arms and tickles him, so he shouts in surprise and curls into an arch beneath her, coming hard and wet inside her.

Afterwards they lie side by side, her head on his shoulders. She feels a little giddy, a little sleepy, and a lot like the girl who came home from Havana. He kisses her forehead.
"So, am I forgiven?" he asks, all gentle seriousness now. Not many people get to see Sky this way and she's glad of it. The moments that only for you are the ones that make you realise how much you love someone.

"Of course," she says. "Adelaide told me she wanted Nathan out of the house for a while anyway."

He looks at her with mock outrage and she laughs, sliding her toes against his and then between his feet until they are tickling at his soles. His surprised squeak of protest makes her feel warm all over.

"You didn't have to," he says quietly, when his feet are at a safe distance from hers.
"I know, but I wanted to." She smiles at him and links their fingers, squeezing his hand.

"Didn't seem like much of a punishment." He says it nonchalantly but there's a shyness underneath it, maybe even embarrassment. "Don't think the threat of it'd stop me, next time a man offers me a drink."

"Oh, I won't do this again if you go out drinking and gambling." She looks at him and he waits, uncertain. "No," she says, "I'll only to this again if you're very, very good."

He kisses her, sweet at first then warmer and rolls them until he's leaning over her and can reach up to stroke the side of her face.

"Then," he says, with a voice full of promise, "I'd better show you just how good I can be."