Stop the fucking presses, Jamie Madrox just took charge.

Layla gasped at the change in position, the change in weightiness and what pressed where, and how his body felt warm and over her instead of beneath. She moved instinctively to fit against him better, knees hitching over his hips, small of her back pressing up. She stretched in the direction his hands moved, moving her body with them and dragged her lips against his jaw to his ear. Passive had never been Layla's strong point, and there were a million ways to be active in any situation, even if you didn't ostensibly have the upper hand.