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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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.

"Yes," said Jamie without missing a beat, giving her a knowing glance.

She bit her lower lip and grinned, looking at once pleased and amused. She tugged his head down to kiss him, slowly, fingers curled against his jaw.

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