butterflyfactor | (no subject)

Entry tags:

jamie,
mardi gras

(no subject)

It was the first time since her arrival that Layla had been in a crowded place and not had anyone ask about or comment on her tattoo. The lace and feather butterfly mask she wore covered it completely. It added to her general feeling of well being- not the anonymity, because no one there knew or cared who she was regardless of her garb- because she did, she felt good. A pleasant buzz ran through her. She hadn't been drinking. She didn't dare, because she wasn't prepared for the sort of lack of control that came with booze, but not just observing the crowd but being part of it was pleasantly novel.

Potentially overwhelming, as well. She slipped out of it and down the hall, finding a few strands of silver and blue beads pushed into her hands by other party goers, and absently wound them around her fingers as she stepped outside the compound doors. The party had already spilled outside- Mardi Gras wasn't the sort of even that contained itself easily or well- and she watched the dancing and drinking from her place leaning against the wall, a little farther out of the light than anyone else.

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"Why?" she asked, smiling a little.

"Too retro?"

"Nah, too unwieldy," he replied, shaking his head. "Y'see... I'd kinda like to kiss you right now, but I'd probably just end up with a feather in my eye for all my efforts."

She nodded a little in a commiserating way.

"Hmmn. Well, there's only one way to know for sure."

"Layla, please," he scoffed, rolling his eyes in feigned disbelief. Without stepping away, he lifted his hands from her back, gently prying the mask from her face, before letting it fall to the ground. Smoothing a few stray hairs back behind her ears, he watched her intently, gauging her reaction.

"There's always more than one way."

She had closed her eyes, briefly, as he'd lifted the mask away, and she blinked twice up at him once it was gone. Without thought, one of her hands crept higher, fingertips brushing the side of his neck- a kneejerk reaction to his fingers in her hair.

While she could have argued against his point, she didn't really want to.

She very deliberately lifted her hand further to curl her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, lashes lower briefly as she glanced from his mouth to his eyes again. Her expression was expectant, but not necessarily of a specific act. She could wait.

Layla was good at waiting.

Bolstered by liquid courage -- or, at the very least, far too buzzed to bother with his customary internal debate -- he pressed his mouth to hers after only the shortest of pauses, long by anyone else's standards, but bordering on warp speed for someone like him. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, it occurred to him that this was far from the best idea he'd ever had -- that the last time he'd gotten drunk and started kissing teammates had been nothing short of life-ruining -- but everyone around him had apparently moved on, and he was tired of denying himself the same opportunity.

Maybe he would regret it in the morning, or maybe he wouldn't. The future suddenly didn't seem all that important.

Edited 2010-02-18 09:41 (UTC)

Layla sighed silently against his mouth, tilting her face against his and returning the kiss slowly. If they were going to have all this time, at least some long moments of it could be spent doing this. She parted her mouth against his, just a little, slowing in the dance steps until she was standing still, and lifted her other hand to cup the corner of his jaw.

They'd done slow. Of course, there was nothing inherently wrong with slow -- if he'd found her a couple of drinks ago, slow would have been perfectly fine. As it was, though, he'd just about had it with slow. His fingers slid further into her hair, sliding towards the nape of her neck, unmindful of the bun. The other hand, he snaked back around her waist, drawing her flush against him with no lack of intent. All of a sudden, he really regretted having led them so far away from the wall.

It probably wouldn't be his last regret.

She made a quiet noise, catching his shoulders, pressed up against him and balancing mostly on the toes of one foot. Jamie was a team leader, she'd seen him take charge. As chagrined as he sometimes was by it, she never really questioned his ability to do so.

In this arena, however, it would be fair to say he has patently avoided taking anything resembling charge at all costs. I can't say I mind the sudden switch, even if it makes me feel nervous and gun shy and young. I just have to act like it doesn't.

Now her arms were around his neck. She kissed him not in one long, deep press but in rhythmic, slightly wet meetings of lips, brief but full.

It's been a while. I know every reason why it's been a while, though it's hard to remember them all in the thick of all this... senses overwhelmed by the sound and the press of bodies. It was months before I even let myself so much as look at a woman after what happened, and it just figures that that woman would be Layla Miller, a femme fatale if ever there was one, because my life has always been something out of fiction. I want this -- the vast majority of me wants this -- but there's a gap the size of the Grand Canyon between what I want and what I should actually do. Underneath the alcohol-induced haze, my better judgment is screaming.

A sound of approval escaped Jamie's throat as his hand drifted lower, nails catching on the fabric of her dress. He was dizzy -- drunk off more than whiskey. He didn't particularly care, eagerly -- hungrily -- meeting each kiss from Layla with one of his own.

I'm usually pretty aware, of my surroundings, of how things are going, but in this moment I am completely lost. It hasn't even sunk in, yet, how disturbing that feeling is. It's the upside of lost. The rest can come later.

Ha. Ha.

Layla tightened her hand where it gripped Jamie's hair. Her fingers pressed indentations into the fabric of his suit. She made another quit sound that was definitely a kind of moan, and, if it had been any louder, definitely not the sort of noise you were supposed to make in public.

Jamie let out a low laugh, lengthening the intervals between each kiss, trying to find his voice to speak, though it took a few more tries than he'd originally anticipated, too caught up in the moment to want to bother with so much as the immediate future. Eventually, though, with his lips still pressed against hers, he murmured, "We should get outta here."

"Yep," she said immediately, breaking away only long enough and far enough to speak clearly before she was catching his lower lip between both of hers, then kissing him fully again.

"Probably. Yes."

"We live in the middle of nowhere," he pointed out breathlessly, ducking his head to kiss along the line of her jaw, teeth grazing her skin. The implication was clear enough -- they needed an alternate venue. By the time they got back to the hut, there was every chance he'd change his mind.

She tilted her head to the side, stretching the line of her neck, arching her back slowly. Totally at odds with this, she said, in a chipper tone, "Trampoline?"

"You wanna-- On the trampoline, seriously?" he said with a laugh, pulling back -- though not very far -- to fix her with an incredulous stare. "Little... bouncy, don'tcha think?"

Layla laughed, catching his hands and pulling him, not toward the trampoline, but just around the side of the compound, toward the garden, out of the light.

"I really don't wanna anything on the trampoline."

He followed her easily after an initial stumble, picking his way through discarded drinks and beads. If he'd had anything resembling a normal childhood, he might've said he felt like a kid, chasing her in the dark.

"Good," he said, relieved. He'd been a gymnast in another life, and hadn't intended on revisiting that tonight. "Got any real suggestions? I'm all ears."

Layla didn't, actually. She was too busy falling back against the wall and pulling him with her, catching his jaw in both hands to kiss him again, deeply. Coming up with ideas required thinking and that the exact opposite of what she wanted to do right now.

Surprised, but by no means displeased, Jamie pressed against her with the length of his body. Bracing himself on the wall with one hand, the other drifted down the front of her dress, resting high along her thigh. Heart racing, his fingers curled in the fabric, insistently pulling it upwards to expose long, lean legs, though standing in the dark meant he couldn't fully appreciate them outside of touch.

But touch, it has to be said, is plenty.

Layla gasped. She pressed back against him with her body, her mouth; hitched one knee up slightly, leg on the outside of his, still kissing him.

Ruby would have died.

Layla wasn't one hundred percent sure she, herself, wasn't going to. She knew- remembered- what it was like to... be with Jamie. Of course, it hadn't been exactly like this. It hadn't been anything like this. This was different. It felt different, and new. And she wanted it very, very badly.

And it was starting to freak her out.

Sliding his hand under her thigh, Jamie lifted her leg until it was hooked over his hip, rocking against her with a moan stifled by her mouth. His better judgment was quickly becoming less and less of a factor, his body superseding any sort of higher reasoning. There were far too many clothes, but they were still in an incredibly public place -- not that that stopped him from pulling at his tie, loosening the knot.

"Ah- Jamie..."

She pushed her hand under the tie as it was pulled away and brushed the button of his shirt open so she could push her hand against the skin of his chest, fingers tracing scars, palm smoothing them over. She kissed him, over and over, because she finally could.

With Layla taking care of his shirt, he let his hand fall to the other side of her dress, pulling it up just as he did the first time. His mouth strayed from hers, ghosting the line of her jaw so that he could make his way down her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he went.

The back of her head didn't quite hit the wall. The messy coil of her bun, getting messier by the second, provided a barrier. Her breath caught, audibly, and she shivered. No one had ever- not anything close to this, before, because she'd known- she'd been waiting- for a moment that wasn't this one.

But this one felt so good.

It's my job to make sure things happen a certain way. Well, that implies I get paid for it. It's my responsibility to make sure things happen a certain way. It's what I do, it's what I'm for. It requires a degree of what people who think we have free will would describe selflessness. You have to have a choice, to be selfless. But I will tell you this, right now: In this moment, I want nothing more than to make the choice to be completely selfish.

"-Jamie," she gasped, fingers dragging through his hair, arching off the wall. Her pulse felt heavy, but fast and the heat flushing through her that she'd known happened, but apparently not understood, made the night feel even warmer than it actually was.