butterflyfactor | (no subject)

(no subject)

Layla was on the porch, sitting cross legged and straight backed in the chair, reading a travel book in Portuguese. She looked totally at ease and pleased with life. This was because for the first time in a long time, she knew something someone else didn't know, that actually applied to the island.

It felt good.

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"Uh huh?" she breathed back, fingers curling in his hair. It was a place for her to focus the considerable tension in her body and stop her from letting herself just go on something as unreliable as instinct.

It was a few more moments before he spoke again, his nails dragging lightly across wet skin. "What," he asked, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth, "exactly does this mean?"

Layla shivered again, her face turning into the touch of his mouth.

"What does what mean?"

"You're kissing me," he clarified, though right at that second, it was more that he was kissing her.

She started it.

"Traditionally, it would signify that I like you," she murmured, sighing when their mouths met again.

"Yeah, but I already knew that," he said, edging just a little bit closer. "What I don't know is where it leaves us... Or if there even is an us, let alone whether or not if there should be."

"I can tell you that there is, in fact, an us in the future," she said, voice staying level as ever even though she could feel the flush spreading across her cheeks.

"And that I want there to be an us, now. Do you think we shouldn't?" The question was genuine, that was something they'd have to work through. She wasn't entirely focused on the question though. She ran her hand over his chest, down then back up to settle along his neck.

"I think you're crazy for wanting to be with me, but that could just be my self-loathing talking," he replied, gaze dropping down to his chest, and then back up again, searching her face. "I mean, jeez, Layla, I'm not exactly prime relationship material, here."

"You're Prime you," she countered, smiling.

"That's all I'm looking for."

"...you have incredibly low standards," he all but laughed, leaning forward even as he said it to rest his forehead against hers.

"And lousy taste," Layla said, closing her eyes when he did, "except in hosiery. But that's my problem, not yours."

"Could become my problem eventually," he pointed out, letting one hand drop from her back only so that he could lift it again to cup her cheek, pushing back a few strands of damp hair in the process. "But what's this about hosiery? Because I am fond of the stripes. They're very..."

I don't have a cultural reference that doesn't make me come off as some sort of sexual deviant. This is the problem with potentially entering a relationship with a woman you met when she was a teenager.

"You. They're very you. And, as previously established, I happen to like you."

She smiled a little, then opened her eyes.

"So, bottom line in the simplest terms: You like me. And I like you." She slipped one hand along his forearm and left her other arm looped around his shoulders.

"I don't really foresee any problems."

"Seriously?" he asked with a snort. "You seriously don't foresee any problems? Not a single one?"

"Here?" she replied, smile slipping a little, but only around her mouth.

"It's one big glorious question mark."

Okay, not so glorious. Every moment past the current one is to me as this water is- or hopefully after our little chat, was- to Jamie. No point acting like it, though. I can keep it together.

Making a small, thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, one eyebrow arched as he let his hand drop from her face to her shoulder, loosely twining the ends of her hair around his fingers. For a moment he just looked at her, her face largely obscured by shadow in the low light. "Well, in that case."

"In that case?" she repeated, settling her hands at the narrowest part of his hips.

Jamie suppressed a shiver, and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, unseen. Carefully, he placed his hands over Layla's, and guided them higher up his chest. He was panicked enough still for the both of them, and he had absolutely no intention to have a repeat of Mardi Gras.

"I'm a detective," he pointed out. "If there's a question mark, I say we look for an answer, hmm?"

Oops. Hands. Right.

She bit her lip momentarily before nodding, then smiling a little.

"Not the worst plan I ever heard," she said optimistically, before leaning up to kiss him again, lightly.

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