butterflyfactor | (no subject)

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Layla awoke to the curious sensation of knowing it was Christmas Morning, and not being consumed with a hollow, distant loathing. As it happened, she felt well rested and sort of happy. She was no stranger to feeling pleased, or smug, or even satisfied with events played appropriately out, particularly when she was the cause. A feeling of general well being, though, was alien. She turned her head to look at Jamie, who was on his side behind her. Typically inclined to seeking out her own space in sleep, even when she was in his bed, apparently they'd spent the night quite close together. She felt warm.

She twisted her body carefully, and just enough that she could reach back to sift her fingertips through his hair and down to the nape of his neck. She didn't say anything or stir too much past the initial movement, content, for the moment, to watch him.

He stopped us from taking that ever so daunting step last night. Partly out of a sense of decency, I'm sure, because as accepting as he is of his multiplicity he'd still rather be a good person than not, but also out of concern for me. While that could have been... pretty patronizing, it wasn't. Because it was genuine. He saw me clearly enough, knew me- knows me- well enough to see what I was doing, and he didn't let me. I'm glad he didn't. It would have been a blind gesture, just reaching out, and I don't do that. That's not me. I'm more deliberate than that.

With small, controlled twists of her hips against the mattress, she edged back until his chest was against her shoulder blades, and she settled against him, taking care so the lines of their bodies from torso to toes were touching.

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In sleep, Jamie looked much different than in waking. Perhaps the same could be said for most people, but the contrast was especially notable in him; laying still and with his eyes closed, gone was his scrutinizing gaze and his sense of perpetual movement. He was quiet -- at peace, to an extent -- which was a state of being that generally escaped him when he was conscious, the time some part of him had once spent as a monk too far gone to be relevant in his day-to-day life anymore, too buried under new experiences, and conflicting memories. Stripped of worry, he seemed younger, or less burdened, careless in a way he hadn't been able to afford to be in years, not since his government days, not since he first died.

And so it was that Jamie didn't wake right away, though he was dimly aware, through the haze of untroubled sleep, that Layla already had. That she was so close came as something of a surprise, but he was in no real position to note as much, instead instinctively seeking out her warmth by draping his arm over her waist. Letting out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like her name, he curled in towards her, his head bowing so that her hair tickled at his nose. A sleepy smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and a quiet laugh lodged itself in his throat, sounding short-lived, if undeniably pleased. Without opening his eyes, he mumbled in a drowsy voice, "'Ry Christmas."

She watched him, over her shoulder, until he ducked his head forward and she did the same, enjoying the feel of his breath across the back of her neck. She slid her opposite hand along his arm until hers was wrapped across them both, and she skirted the tops of her feet against his leg. Just because.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered back. She kind of meant it. Not that she had any particularly strong feelings of 'what Christmas meant', except as a bleak reminder of everything that life could have been if she didn't know, or hadn't known, every second of what it would be. But there was a certain sentiment in it that she could kind of get behind, in that moment. Watching Jamie wake up was strangely gratifying, if a little sad. With his brain switched off, he could be mistaken for a happy person. With his brain switched off, he wasn't him, though.

Edited 2011-01-13 16:59 (UTC)

"Time is it?" he asked thickly. Complete sentences seemed entirely out of his reach at the moment, but his point was clear enough regardless, or so he would've thought. In actuality, he wasn't all that concerned with the time -- he had nowhere to go for the day, had intended on spending its entirety with Layla -- but it filled up the silence, oddly comfortable though it was. She was just too warm, too tangible, and present for him to feel anything but at ease. It felt strangely wonderful, if wholly novel, and a part of him wondered if this might not become a regular occurrence, if this wasn't what being in a relationship was about.

She hummed quietly, and sighed, sinking against him and closing her eyes for a moment.

"I neither know nor care," Layla replied, turning her head again to look at him. She smiled, a little, and warmly.

"Oh?" he murmured, eyes finally fluttering open. That had his curiosity piqued, to say the least, though he still couldn't bring himself to move. His gaze dropped briefly down to her mouth, before meeting her eyes, his expression inquisitive, if not especially scrutinizing. Layla Miller knew stuff. It was, with no exaggeration, her catchphrase. Even through the lull of warm, heavy limbs, and deep, rhythmic breathing, that struck him as distinctly noteworthy, something worth investigating, that she would simply admit to not knowing something.

"And why's that?"

She shrugged barely, gaze drifting momentarily to the ceiling in thought. There were a few obvious answers, but if she really looked at it, there was one that was additionally truthful. Call it a Christmas Miracle.

Or don't, actually. Unnecessary. Also: trite and stupid.

"Because right now," she said, "there's nowhere else I want to be."

Once he'd processed the implications, Jamie grinned unabashedly. It wasn't the sort of expression that had any place in a self-professed noir detective's playbook. It made him look a bit goofy, truth be told, a little too stupidly in love for his liking on a normal day, but they were alone, protected by the privacy of his bedroom. Not even the dog was around to bear witness, having spent the night in the other room. It was all a little surreal.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, grinning a little back, and craning her neck to kiss him softly.

There was no hesitation in his returning kiss, and Jamie sighed, quietly, against her mouth, even as he wished the angle was better. His eyes slipped shut again nevertheless, following her lead, too pliable from sleepiness to consider any other option. Lifting the arm he'd draped over her waist, he brought up his hand to cup her cheek, to keep her close, though, for once, he was certain she wasn't going to disappear.

Layla managed to turn her shoulders enough that she could kiss him more fully, comfortable with the twist of her hips though they did have to press back against him a little more firmly. Not that this was something to complain about. She curled her fingers in his hair, made a mental note to discourage him from cutting it too short. Kissed him. It was an ongoing thing. It was slow and warm but not sleepy. Or at least it felt, from her end, as though it were quickly losing any amiability or lethargy it might have initially possessed. Her breathing sure as hell wasn't as steady as it had been a few seconds before.

This proved in precisely no way an impetus to stop.

Edited 2011-01-14 22:38 (UTC)

They'd done this before, in the months they'd been together, but there was an edge to it, a certain something he couldn't quite put his finger on that made him wonder if this wouldn't end differently from what little fooling around they'd done in the past. The hand in his hair was a clue, no doubt, and the press of their hips another, but there was more to it, as well. A feeling he couldn't quite shake, an intent, on her end, that he wasn't sure was actually there. Maybe, he thought, he was simply projecting. Maybe, he thought, he was reading too much into it.

Even so, he did nothing to cut off the low, wanting sound he made as he deepened the kiss, more imploring than he was just a moment before, as the last vestiges of sleep began to take their leave. He took in a long, shaky breath through his nose as he shifted, slightly, against Layla, sliding one leg between hers.

Edited 2011-01-14 22:57 (UTC)

Merry Christmas.

There was no hesitation, here, despite what was certainly, with sudden clarity, a ratcheted up intensity. She answered him by arching her back, sliding the hand not anchored in his hair over the sharp line of his hip, and down. Her breathing was audible and she didn't attempt to quiet it. It was also faster.

She'd gone to bed in a bra and pajama pants, which now seemed to her the stupidest choice she could have, even accidentally, made, but only in a background sort of way. The fore of her attention was taken up by Jamie's mouth and hands and body and where they were and they were and could be doing. She moaned, very softly, which was a rarity all its own.

The rational, analytical part of him insisted he needed to take a second to determine whether or not he was hearing things, but this was met with a heavy resistance from the more compelling part of his brain that countered he didn't care, because she was very clearly interested in what he had to offer, regardless. With his foot hooked around her leg, and his other arm sneaking between her body and the mattress, he rolled onto his back, pulling her along with him without breaking the kiss, guiding her body with certain, capable hands so that the whole of her was in the right direction (which, in this instance, meant facing him entirely, much as he had a fondness for the smooth line of her back). Putting any measure of distance between them seemed, to Jamie, wholly inadvisable.

Edited 2011-01-15 00:35 (UTC)

Things had shifted. Angles. Pressures. Paradigms. She stretched out against him as he drew her body over his without so much as pausing between the crushes of their mouths for breath. She kissed him deeply and with an impressive single-mindedness for someone who was usually concerned with a great number of things.

Edited 2011-01-16 00:04 (UTC)

Tangling one hand in the fall of her hair, he splayed the other against her back, holding her to him almost possessively, his nails pressing into her skin, though not nearly hard enough to leave any mark. His heart was pounding in his ears from the unexpected thrill of rediscovery, drowning out all conscious thought so that he was acting on pure, basic instinct, his hips grinding deliberately against hers in a smooth, rolling motion, testing the waters without stopping to actually ask.

Layla gasped into his mouth, moving her body against his in whichever way she could that felt good, which was most of them. She dug her fingertips into his shoulders and ran her hands up the back of his neck into his hair. Things felt fervent and blistering, but not in their speed. Things felt like they were moving fast, but not rushed. She scraped his lower lip with her teeth, carefully.

With a practiced efficiency, he finally got around to something he'd abandoned the night before in favor of decency, a concern that was no longer as pressing; he unhooked the clasp of her bra, sitting up as he did so, though he did nothing to dislodge her from him in the process. Not entirely willing to lose his hold on her hair, he started to tug at the straps with only the one hand, sliding them down her shoulders as best he could without pushing her away.

It made sense to tuck her knees on either side of his hips when he sat up. She shrugged into the brush of his hand to let the straps slip down her arms, that seemed the most expedient way. It was all motivated purely by pragmatism.

Yup.

She dropped her hands from his shoulders to traverse the lines of his chest and torso, because that made it easier to take the bra all the way off and discard it. Layla didn't stop kissing him for one moment, and the tug of his hand in her hair all but guaranteed she wouldn't. Once the offending garment was out of the way she pressed herself flush against him, catching his mouth in one long, uninterrupted press.

Edited 2011-01-16 02:13 (UTC)

Jamie needed a moment. Which wasn't to say that, given the chance -- and he strongly suspected that he would get that chance, and possibly as soon as that morning -- he wouldn't remove her from the rest of her clothes in a flash, but this was all, if not flat out unexpected given the turn of events from the night before, then at least a long time in the making. He wanted to savor the moment, to get lost in the press of their mouths, and how her body fit against his. Lips parting under hers, he deepened the kiss, his other hand finding its way back to her back, eventually settling on the soft curve of her hip.

The kisses seared, and took their own sweet time. She felt hot in her skin in the best possible way, and while part of her, not an emotional remnant from the night before but a physical memory, wanted to move things along, she was pleased to let the moments stretch. It gave her time to explore- though she had, in depth and detail, over the months- from a new, or renewed, perspective.

He'd wanted her in his lap, because it allowed him better access to what he'd once so eloquently referred to as her things. After a while, his kisses fell off center, his mouth leaving a trail down from the corner of her mouth to the line of her jaw, her neck; he pressed a soft, sucking kiss to the hollow above her collarbone. Finally letting go of her hair, he snaked the very same hand between their bodies, the tips of his fingers ghosting upwards along her abdomen for the few seconds it took before he cupped the swell of her breast, all the while ducking his head further so that his mouth might take proper care of her other.

Layla tipped her head back to stretch her throat and the slope of her chest down to her stomach so his hands and, holy crap, his mouth could move unencumbered wherever they would. She gasped quietly and rocked against him, her hands sweeping up along his arms and shoulders.

Edited 2011-01-17 06:45 (UTC)

Undecided on where he wanted to go -- what he wanted to feel, explore -- Jamie tried being everywhere at once, his free hand roaming down from her back, and onto her leg, his thumb sneaking up along her inner thigh. Her pajama pants would have to go sooner rather than later, but in the meantime, it was something of a thrill, teasing her like this, making a note of her reactions, and repeating what he remembered she'd enjoyed in the past. Though his mouth lingered over her breasts, he slid his other hand behind her, resting heavily on the small of back to press her more insistently against him, a moan lost against her skin.

Sometimes, Layla kissed Jamie with her eyes open. Not all the way, she wasn't a creeper, but catching glimpses of Jamie losing himself in anything was always a sort of thrill. Now, though, her own eyes were fully shut as she lost herself, gladly, to Jamie's admittedly expert touch. Her nails scraped against his back and up into his hair, where her hands tightened. She wanted more.

She was ready for more.

The tug on his hair was enough to draw Jamie's attention elsewhere, and he pulled back from Layla with a gasp, his face flushed, and his eyes dark. He didn't go very far, nor did he stay away for long, already pressing hurried, wet kisses to her neck. His hand slipped from her back and down under the waistband of her pajamas -- under, even, the flimsy material of her panties -- to grab her, greedily.

"Layla?" he said, his voice lilting in a pleading question, half muffled in the press of his mouth to hers. It was only her name, but it was clear enough what he was asking for -- permission, direction.