butterflyfactor | (no subject)

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jamie

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Even with how long the walk back to the house is, I'm still tipsy when we get there. Not drunk- I can walk a straight line and recite the alphabet backward, but I would probably find it way more amusing than under normal circumstances. I'm at least glad I wore sneakers instead of real heels. It probably made things easier than I realize. But again- tipsy. Not drunk. Jamie isn't the only one harboring concerns over things he might do under the influence that he's otherwise resolved not to. At least, not just yet.

Layla pushed the door to the house open and knelt to catch Richards before he could run out, part of her dress still gathered in one hand as it had been for most of the walk.

"Hey, there, champ. No wild parties while we were out?"

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Relentless, that was another good descriptor. At a certain point she was afraid she'd have to push him away again, not because it was bad but because it was so much. She was so sensitive she almost couldn't stand it. Tactile overload. On the other hand, she really didn't want him to stop.

"Jamie-!" It was mostly a gasp. It was pleading, but she had no idea for what.

Then the tension broke, and that was borderline painfully good. She cried out, surprised, almost laughed. Her body rolled with the sensation until it had subsided, leaving her panting and dazed.

What. Wow. ...What.

Even after she'd ridden it out, he stayed for a moment longer, lips grazing her skin one more time before he finally sat up, his hands braced on the bed. Very deliberately, he dried the area around his mouth with a swipe of his thumb, then sucked on it, gaze locked on her face. Though steadier than hers, his own breaths were still close to panting. He sat there, watching her with an almost hungry look about him, though he didn't say anything. This was her moment, he would let her have it.

She took a moment, eyes closed, to run her hands over herself, her arms and neck, then over her face and into her hair as if to confirm that she was still in one piece. She twisted half onto her side, legs together, an unconsciously shy gesture. Layla was used to the self assurance that came with being right all the time, but it took a whole other level of ego, she had to figure, to just bask in the afterglow with your legs apart. She swallowed a breath a her heart rate started to slow, before her she opened her eyes again to look up at Jamie. She was a flushed, tousled mess and it felt great.

Layla smiled a little, expression running the gamut from shy to amused to deeply affectionate and still, though she was wonderfully sated, wanting, and after a moment she twisted her body back toward him and reached for him, fingertips grazing his shoulder and his cheek.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and if he looked at all satisfied with himself, he'd argue her reaction more than warranted it. There was a certain thrill in seeing the nigh unflappable Layla Miller so thoroughly mussed, though it left him wanting her all the more. Shamelessly, he placed his hands over hers, guiding them both down his chest as he leaned in towards her. His lips traced the line of her jaw. "Turnabout is fair play," he murmured, nipping gently at her earlobe. "I mean, if you don't mind."

There was nothing about his tone to suggest that he thought she did.

Layla didn't say anything back. In place of a quip, she ducked her head to briefly nip and then suck on the place where his neck met his shoulder, while she dragged her fingernails lightly down his sides. She turned toward him more, lips and tongue slowly wandering along his collar bone as her hands mapped out his abdomen, the grooves at his hips, the tops of his thighs- and there, gently, scraping again.

She absolutely didn't mind. She wasn't going to rush, though.

His eyes fluttering closed, he moaned quietly, hands slipping around her waist. While both of them were patient, it was for entirely different reasons. Jamie's was a patience born of indecision and indecision alone, and in this, he could hardly be more sure. He'd meant what he said before, about wanting just her, and while this was plenty nice of its own accord, he needed more.

"Layla," he murmured, little more than exhale.

"Mmn hmmn," she hummed, nudging him back so she could lean over him, tracing the lines of his muscles with her tongue until her lips were moving lower over his hip, and down, and then she pulled away.

Only long enough to drape herself against his side in a way that allowed her to more comfortably address things at her leisure. She carefully peeled the boxer briefs down, not touching anything else, all the way until she could discard them over the edge of the bed.

Well, chalk that one up to a win.

She loved his body. There was, of course, the payoff of Jamie's endeavor to keep in super-heroing form, but beyond that she found herself exceptionally pleased by the shape of him. And the feel and the smell and the taste, really, so far it was all good, across the board. Gaze very keen, watching him closely, she curled a hand around him and stroked slowly, lightly.

His breath caught in his throat, hips lifting fractionally in an instinctive search for more, though he otherwise managed to keep relatively still. It had been a while, yes, but this wasn't his first rodeo. After a moment, his shoulders sagged with the relief of simply being touched, and his head fell back as he settled down onto the bed, his weight supported on his elbows. Absently, he lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering under her jaw as he looked back at her with the same level of scrutiny. They made for an interesting couple.

Layla tilted her head into the touch before she turned her head to press a brief kiss against his thumb. It lingered when she parted her lips against it and pressed her tongue against the pad, even as her fingertips ghosted upward over a comparable area of his anatomy. She stroked down, more firmly this time, as she slid her lips from his thumb in a slow, sucking pull.

It felt good -- better than he'd anticipated, if he were entirely honest with himself, though Layla always had a way of surprising him. He smiled, then, his expression, for once, entirely unguarded. There was a degree of hesitancy to the way Jamie Madrox approached life, though only those who knew him well would realize how that affected the more subtle things -- body language, for example. Rarely was anything ever done fully, gestures half-formed, smirks instead of smiles -- and when he did smile, it was usually with an undercurrent of something else, sarcasm or defiance.

In that particular moment, however, he was just happy, like a string pulled taut inside of him had finally snapped, releasing the tension that he'd been carrying for the better part of a year. Moreover, he didn't feel bad about it, couldn't dredge up a single feeling of regret or guilt. Her touch electric, again his hips lifted into her hand, and he let out a low, throaty laugh.

Layla grinned a bit, leaning her hand against his cheek for another moment before she pulled away. She bowed her head enough to brush her lips across his hip and up, following the path her fingers had just traversed. The skin was smooth and warmer than the rest of him, and she went over it with a careful sort of thoroughness, using both of her hands more than her mouth. For the moment.

Jamie gently gathered the rest of her hair to one side, keeping it away from her face. His teeth pressed against his lower lip, and he moaned as he settled back onto the mattress, a murmured, "Yes," escaping him.

That was promising. She moved the purse of her lips up his length while she dragged the pad of her thumb in a firm, steady line downward, following the contour of a vein. Her other hand had started trailing other places, wandering over his stomach, alternating glancing brushes with the backs of her knuckles with tracing the same patterns back again using her nails.

She parted her lips to slide her tongue over him, almost thoughtfully, lashes fluttering as she closed her eyes, focusing on the tactile sensation of it.

The feel of her nails against his skin drew goosebumps, and he suppressed a shiver. He exhaled slowly, though his heart rate had picked up a notch, beating hard enough that he was consciously aware of it. Swallowing, his fingers curled in her hair, not tugging or pushing, but just holding on.

Going by what had drawn the most open or pronounced responses so far, Layla began to move her hands steadily, rhythmically. The sparing use of her lips or tongue or, carefully, teeth in key places slowed the rhythm for unexpected beats, but only briefly.

"Layla," he breathed, her name caught in his throat in warning. He'd been plenty worked up beforehand, and now that she'd started in earnest, he knew he wouldn't last for very long, a byproduct of not having done this in a while more so than inexperience. He'd begun to pant, any attempt at meditative breathing thrown straight out the window the second he'd felt her teeth. His hips lifted in search for more, though more of what, specifically, he wasn't quite sure, as the combination of everything she was doing was sending him further and further towards the edge. "Layla, I'm--"

Layla closed her mouth against the hot flesh, pressing a sucking kiss against it before leaning her head away as one hand fell between his legs to cup and work a sensitive area she hadn't addressed yet, but felt suddenly it might be the appropriate moment to do so. Her other hand worked swiftly up and down, fingertips and the broadest part of her thumb putting extra pressure on what she was pretty sure was the more sensitive side. He was making some pretty compelling noises.

She was a little surprised by how tired her arm was, but it was a secondary concern.

If asked, he wouldn't've been able to pinpoint what, exactly, had sent him over, her hands seemingly everywhere at once, making up for the loss of her mouth -- which was, without a doubt, a loss. Regardless, the combination of her hands working in tandem was enough for him to climax, hips bucking under her ministrations as he spilled over them both with a half-swallowed cry. Panting and flushed, he collapsed bonelessly back onto the bed, trying halfheartedly to regain some measure of composure. His head was spinning from the release, and he blinked up at the ceiling, just short of dazed. He'd need something to clean them both, but he wasn't thinking that far ahead yet, too caught up in the immediate afterglow to want a move.

"Well, then."

Layla spared a moment to grab up the t-shirt she'd intended to sleep in from where it was draped on a small stack of books beside the bed. She wiped her hands on it as she fell lightly back to the bed beside him, then dropped it on his other side.

She pressed her mouth to his shoulder in a kiss, then bit him a little for no particular reason.

Jamie grabbed the shirt to wipe himself dry, then discarded it the same as her before snaking his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. The hint of a smile hadn't yet left his face, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the part of her most readily accessible given the angle.

It was a nice smile. She tilted her face up to graze her lips against his jaw, and settled against him so her body was flush with his all the way to her toes. She flattened one hand over his chest, counting his pulse where she felt it against her palm.

"That was..." She smiled against his neck.

"Worth waiting for."

"Mmhmm," he hummed, placing his hand over hers, his thumb tracing an absent circle against warm skin. "We don't have to wait that long to do it again, though, right?"

"Oh holy crap, no," Layla said. She snuck her knee over Jamie's leg, toes curling against the inside of his calf.

"Thank God," he laughed. "'Cause there's plenty more where that came from, I assure you."

Layla smiled more and curled her arm around his shoulders so she could sift her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"...Was-" She stopped herself from asking the question, because it was too intrinsically insecure for her to do so without promptly wanting to smack herself in the face.

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