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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"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.

His breaths were starting to come just a little faster, and his heart pounded in chest. He lowered himself onto his elbow, his fingers still in her hair. His other hand slid, possessively, along the leg she'd hooked over his waist.

Layla turned her head, pulled away enough to nudge his cheek with the tip of her nose and meet his eyes. She rocked her hips up against him, breath hiccuping a little, and she brushed their mouths together in quick, fleeting strokes.

She had always been adaptable and a quick learner. She was ready to push things, a little, if not necessarily ready to ask for it, aloud.

Controlled as Jamie could be -- and had been, in fact, up until that moment -- one look from Layla, the right look from Layla, was enough to unravel him just a little. His eyebrows rose, slightly, in silent acknowledgment, and without further prompting, he rocked against her with a renewed sense of purpose, matching her pace, then surpassing it, even if, in the back of his mind, he was still consciously aware to not push her too far.

Layla bit back a cry, arching under him and letting herself be rocked more than she tried to match his speed. Her breath sounded loud in her own ears as it came in gasps and pants, and she clung to him tightly. Her mouth found his ear, his neck, his shoulder, where she bit him not-quite gently then salved the spot with the flat of her tongue. Her fingertips dug into the muscles of his back and her toes dragged along his legs until her own were all but wrapped around his waist, which created interesting adjustments to things like depth and angle and she didn't yelp, exactly, but she couldn't stop whatever noise it was that did come out of her mouth.

She couldn't think of anything outside the present moment, which made the whole experience that much more novel.

Oh, God. I'm not even sure I believe in any higher power, but Layla's making a good case for His existence right about now, I'll admit to that. It's about the only coherent thought I can manage.

Nothing but encouraged, Jamie kissed her, hard, any pretense of not pushing her too far -- of staying gentle -- slipping from his grasp bit by bit. She was a fast learner, undoubtedly, and it had been a damn long time since he'd done anything like this. What little fooling around they'd done had built up his stamina a bit, but nothing compared to the real thing, a fact he'd somehow forgotten in his years of abstinence. He had a feeling he wouldn't be forgetting again anytime soon.

Arms tight around his shoulder and legs tight around his waist, hitching hire, driving him deeper, Layla buried her face in the place Jamie's shoulder joined his neck. There were spikes of sensation that jolted her, made her gasp sharply and buck a little under him. It was admittedly fantastic.

"Jamie," she whispered, or pleaded, or sighed. Somewhere between the three.

If he could have a recording of her saying his name like that, he'd carry it around with him all day, play it whenever he felt a little down on himself. There was a need in her voice that struck him right at his core, thrilled him in a way that defied words; while not one for much romance, he knew with a certainty that surprised him that this was right. His forearms framed her head as he braced himself against the mattress. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Struck with the sudden desire to see her face, he pulled his head back, slightly, looking to meet her eyes, his own dark with want, half-lidded.

Her own eyes had slipped shut, and she rocked and surged against him, head tossing back. Her expression was unguarded, a true rarity, and remained so when she tilted her chin down and her lashes fluttered open, and then she was meeting his gaze as steadily as she could. Her hips bucked up against him again and her breath caught, hard. Her hands moved over his back, though one made its way up to anchor in his hair and grip, tight.

It should be unnerving, looking at her like this, and a part of him still whispered to close his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to. This was a part of her no one ever got to see, and if this all worked out -- and it probably wouldn't, but he wasn't about to dismiss the possibility that it could, that they could make a life together -- he'd be the only one who ever did. He slid one hand between them, not to bear his weight, but simply to touch her, to follow the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast. His breaths came in a short staccato, punctuating each thrust, though he slowed his pace slightly, intent on making this last just a little bit longer, though he was already close the edge.

She moaned and tried to simultaneously press up into his hand and meet his thrusts, reaching her arms around his back and catching his mouth, alternating between her own gasps and the firmest kisses she could land. She whispered his name against his mouth again and clasped the back of his neck. Then, because the training wheels were officially off, she murmured "Jamie, please."

She was literally begging him, and all of a sudden, Jamie wanted to be everywhere at once. His breath hitched, and he slid his hand down them, the pad of his thumb tracing a light, teasing pattern over sensitive skin, the gesture at entirely at odds with the renewed fervor of his rhythm, his hips grinding against hers insistently.

Well, and then there was that. She gasped, and her breath caught while she was doing so and she gasped again, almost crying out. From a sort of distant place she could hear soft, rhythmic sounds escaping her own throat, in time with the rocking of Jamie's body. She couldn't help it, couldn't stop, and this was because she felt like everything inside her was coming undone. She clung to him fiercely, breath moving harsh in her throat, and then she did cry out and none too quietly. She sounded a little surprised. In all fairness, this was because it was surprising.

Biting back a swear, Jamie followed suit shortly after, her reaction alone enough to push him straight off the edge, and render any thoughts of staying the course moot. For a moment, he stilled inside her, an expression of bliss flitting across his face, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath catching in his throat with the release of it all. When he remembered how to breathe, it was in short gasps only, and panting, he looked down at her with darkened eyes, reaching to smooth a few stray hairs away from her forehead with his free hand, as he leaned in to press a series of exceedingly tender kisses to her jaw, her cheek, her mouth.

Still panting, and trembling a little all over with exertion and everything else, she turned her face into the attentions of his mouth before she managed to catch his lips back and return the kiss. She slid her arms around his back, palms sliding along muscle until they were at his shoulders, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose against his cheek and temple, pressing her own slow flurry of light kisses over his skin wherever she could.

There was still an abundance of new sensation, and she was going to prolong it for as long as was practically possible.

Loose and heavy and beyond sated, Jamie carefully rolled off of Layla, discretely taking care of the protection that was no longer required before he settled back onto the bed in a boneless heap, strong arms wrapping around her to pull her in close, nearly on top of him. His skin was flushed and covered in a faint sheen of sweat, but space was just about the last thing he wanted. A slow, predatory smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he bit down on his bottom lip to keep it from growing, tucking down his chin to press a kiss to her forehead.

"God, I love you" he murmured into her hair, fingers tracing an absent pattern over her shoulder.