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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"Yes," she said, gasped, somewhere near moaned, dragging the tip of her nose across his temple, her parted lips across his mouth.

Yes, please.

I plan for contingencies. It's part of my nature... Thinking things through to their logical conclusions... Anticipating turn of events, however unlikely. Admittedly, I'd thought that consummating my relationship with Layla anytime soon fell on the more unlikely end of the spectrum, but it's nevertheless a possibility I considered... One that I'd prepared for, to an extent, by grabbing a handful of condoms during a trip to the Compound back in September.

Despite the concession, though, I'm not sure I ever really thought we'd get this far. I thought I'd screw things up long before we go to this point, because... Well, that's also part of my nature. Instead, here we are. I'm about to be her first.... Her only, if I believed in happily ever afters... And I'm not sure that I do. But here, in the moment, I want to.

Heh. Must be the holiday. I'm not usually so terrifyingly optimistic.

Nothing short of encouraged by Layla's response, Jamie twisted underneath her, lifting her, slightly, so that he could lay her down on the bed. He hovered over her for a second, planting one last, heated kiss to her mouth before he moved lower, intent on doing away with the last of her clothes.

Layla lifted her hips to help facilitate the removal of her pajama pants, careful not to do something to spoil the mood like kneeing Jamie in the face. She tossed her head to get her hair out of her face and only succeeded in mussing it up terribly. Not a priority.

She snuck her toes along his thigh to his hip. Just because he wasn't in her immediate reach, didn't mean she was going to stop touching him.

Jamie laughed a little, flashing Layla an unguarded smile as he tossed her pajamas and underwear both aside, leaving her naked. She was, in a word, exquisite -- all long, slender limbs, and blonde hair, beautiful by every definition of the word, yet uniquely her, as well. For a moment, he simply took her in, an expression that was both fond and somewhat awed settling on his features as his gaze swept over her body. Then, with little warning, he leaned forward, and pressed a very quick, if undeniably intimate kiss between her legs, his eyes flicking upwards to catch her reaction, even as he was already drawing away, giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't touch that dial," he murmured.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, he stood up to close the door, more to keep Richards out than for the sake of privacy, then began rummaging in the bottom drawer of his desk for a few seconds before he found the condoms he'd been looking for. Keeping one palmed in his hand, he returned to the bed, though he didn't yet join her, lingering instead to the side, his thumbs hooked into the waist of his boxer-briefs, hesitating, though there was no hiding that she'd gotten him good and riled up.

She watched him, knock-kneed and flushed, before she sat up and forward. As her palms glided thoughtfully along the lines of his hips and obliques she pressed her mouth to his sternum, tongue sliding past her lips to taste his skin. Scars be damned. It wasn't about accepting them or absolving his past or any of that shit he liked to pile on top of physical gestures, not this time. It was about his body. She liked it and she wanted it and felt, in their present circumstances, she had certain rights of it. She scraped her teeth over the muscles of his abdomen, pressed slow, wet kisses past his belly button, and curled her fingers under the elastic of his shorts, peeling them down and chasing the exposed skin with her mouth.

Edited 2011-01-21 02:28 (UTC)

His breaths were shallow as he let her work, and he suppressed a shiver under her touch. Threading his fingers through her hair, he stepped in closer to shorten the distance she had to stretch, kicking off his underwear so that he was as naked as her, having toed off his socks in his sleep. Curious as to how far she would take this -- not to mention, wanting more -- he didn't move to sit just yet, instead waiting for a cue to press things along, lost all the while in the incomparable feeling of her mouth against his skin.

Her hands moved everywhere, alternating between skimming her fingertips and nails over his skin. Eyes heavily lidded, she went mostly by sensation and intuition until the skin under her lips was hot, and then she anchored her hands on his hips and took him into her mouth.

Being particularly attentive to details, she'd spent the months of their physical relationship learning what nuances, what techniques, elicited the strongest responses. She didn't necessarily want to rush things along, but she wanted to hear those responses- so she used them.

Until she stopped.

A small, involuntary sound escaped Jamie as he looked down at Layla, his eyes dark with want; that he hadn't wanted her to stop was obvious enough, even if he knew that there was something else -- something arguably better -- waiting for him in his simultaneously near, but all too distant future. Sucking in a shaky breath, he stepped to the side, and dropped one knee down onto the mattress, settling back down beside her, even as he remained painfully conscious of his own arousal, his thoughts trapped in reliving how good she felt around him just moments before.

His thoughts elsewhere, his hands moved almost of their own accord, the silver packet still tucked into his palm. With one hand on her thigh, and the other wrapped around her shoulder, he guided her back down onto the bed, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Then, very carefully, he slid his hand up between her legs, clever fingers tracing a slow, lazy circle over warm, sensitive skin.

Feeling strangely safe, protected by the gesture, she turned her head to return the kiss about as chastely back- and ended up gasping, very quietly as her breath caught, against his mouth. She made a small noise and ducked her forehead against his shoulder, sliding a hand to the back of his neck. Her breath sped up and she felt even warmer than she had a moment ago.

Waiting long enough to ensure he wouldn't catch Layla entirely by surprise, Jamie very slowly pushed one finger inside of her, settling down more so beside than on top of her to make the angle as comfortable as possible. Though they'd done as much in the past, there were intentions that lent the proceedings a different sort of energy, certain expectations that had to be met. His memories of his own first time lost amidst the shuffle of reabsorptions, he wanted this to be as good for her as humanly possible.

It was, by now, a familiar sensation. A welcome one. She sighed a little, hips shifting. She stroked Jamie's shoulders and the back of his neck, and tipped her face to breathe against his ear before nibbling on the lobe, lapping at the curve of the shell. She made a low, fitful noise and pressed her face into his hair.

It was familiar, and good, but there was a certain sense of anticipation that hadn't been there before.

He added another finger, careful, again, to take it slow, take it steady, though his thumb had begun to work over more sensitive skin. When he wasn't busy gesturing, making a show, he was good with his hands, and they were too far gone, now, for him to scare her off with something sudden.

Even so, he couldn't entirely help himself. Actions spoke louder than words, sure enough, but he liked words, liked talking. Despite its being obvious, he sighed, contently, as he pulled back his head, his gaze dropping to Layla's mouth. He murmured, "I want you."

"I love you," she replied, and kissed him. For longer than she'd anticipated. It changed, after the first moment, from something soft, coaxing and reassuring into something stronger, wetter, harder. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him with the same abandon from the night before, even some of the same desperation, but it was coming from an entirely different place.

His own kisses were artless, motivated by feeling rather than design, a mess of tongue and teeth as he tried to keep up with Layla, to return everything he was receiving. It was liberating in a way he hadn't felt for ages, his brain temporarily shut off in favor of matters more physical. Sliding his fingers out from inside her, he shifted his weight so that he was hovering over her, his body held up by his elbows, he drew the packet up out of his palm to between his fingers, tearing it open to get at the condom inside. Breaking away from Layla with a quiet gasp, he pressed a series of wet -- if fleeting -- kisses to her mouth, and then the line of her jaw, before he finally sat up a little, kneeling between her legs.

Despite not remembering the last time he'd used protection, Jamie's movements were practiced -- automatic -- as he took himself in hand, rolling on the condom without much thought spared to the motion. Layla held his focus entirely, those three little words of hers finally hitting him in that moment. Even as he positioned himself, lined up their bodies just right, he ran his fingertips over her chest, her hips, his touch light and teasing. A smile touched at the corners of his mouth, and he said in a whisper, "Love you, too."

Only then did he start to push inside her.

Layla sucked in a sharp, quiet breath and blinked a few times.

Oh what. What. The fu

Given the months of preparation, Layla was slightly taken aback by the discomfort. Because it was not comfortable. It didn't hurt exactly, and it had a strange sort of near-familiarity, a feeling like there was promise. It was just a little surprising. She turned her face against Jamie's temple, breath working in stops and starts in her throat, soft but audible.

"Are you--?" he started to ask, but the question died in his throat as he swallowed a moan. He settled inside her, becoming completely and utterly still to let her get used to the size of him, the shape. From an intellectual standpoint, he knew this could be painful for her, but on his end of things, it felt nothing short of fantastic. Blowing air through his teeth, he tried very hard to stay focused, to give her time to adjust, when all he wanted was to move, to feel more.

"I'm not hurting you?"

"No," Layla gasped, fingers flexing against the muscles of his back.

"A little," she added, dropping her head back, stretching her throat, as she tried to breathe into the new feeling.

"But it's-" She dropped her chin so she could see him, though she did so through her lashes. She brushed their mouths together.

"Ah. It's good. It feels... good."

Despite the assurance he didn't move just yet, losing himself in another kiss that left him breathless when he pulled away.

"You'll let me know if...?"

"Yes," she whispered, though she hadn't meant to whisper, dragging the tip of her nose against the crease of his cheek and the purse of her lips across the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," she said again, possibly to reassure herself, or him, or possibly not in response to the question at all.

Seemingly appeased, Jamie rocked against her with a deliberate slowness, a breath caught in his throat as he moved. Overwhelmed with the sensation, both familiar and new, his eyes slipped shut to maintain his focus. More than eager, it took some measure of focus to keep things crawling along, but for her, he would manage. For her, though, he would do just about anything.

Layla bit back another quiet noise, fighting against the instinct to tense up. She tried to breathe deeply, but it wasn't steady. She could feel her body acclimating, though, and it was... better. There was something primally good about it, something basic and fundamental and right. It just wasn't comfortable.

She didn't mind.

"Oh," she breathed quietly, nails digging into his shoulder some, as she turned her face against his neck.

His head falling forward, Jamie let out a quiet moan, his back arching up into the press of her nails. For all that Layla Miller knew stuff, he was reasonably certain she hadn't the faintest idea what she was doing to him just then, how good she felt around him. He'd been functionally abstinent for a very long time, and in the interim he'd forgotten, somehow, this level of intimacy. Still, he kept things at a snail's pace, waiting for some indication that she wanted more.

That was a rather gratifying sound. Layla pulled in a deep, quiet breath and stretched under him, one leg hooking higher up over his hip, almost around his waist. She experimented with the shift of her hips, under him, and pressing up tighter against him. She let out a short gust of breath and turned her face to kiss him.

It was incentive enough to pick up the pace. Though there was a still something tentative about the way he moved against her, he kissed her with the same heat as before, letting himself get lost in her, and the press of their bodies. He threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair, the other catching his weight on the bed, clutching at the sheet.

Small noises escaped the back of her throat in tandem with the thrust of his hips. She liked seeing his face, seeing his body, but her head tipped back at the pressure from his hand in her hair and her eyes slid shut because there was so much to feel it was almost overwhelming. Even with things moving considerably along compared to the care and hesitation at the beginning, it was still deliciously slow. There was still the feeling of newness, of stretching, she supposed, and being filled in a way that she'd never experienced, and that was... noticeable, and still not entirely pleasant, but there was so much else, and she found herself immensely grateful that overall it felt, or was starting to feel, kind of amazing.