Derrica doesn't know. What she knows is that she'd suspend them both here for ages if she could. Her entire body is oversensitized, skin prickling under the sweep of his hands, the heat of Loxley's palms lingering even after he's set his hands elsewhere on her body, and the way they move together is almost unbearable but for the control she exerts over the pace.
But Derrica isn't interested in setting Loxley up for failure. There is no doubt in her that he wants to give her exactly what she asked of him.
It's why even when everything goes blurry with heat and sweat and the clutch of hands, there's a murmured recall, "I've got you," against his mouth, hands in his hair, thumbs light at his temples as she watches every shift of expression across his face. A soft kiss between whispers. "Talk to me."
"I," Loxley breathes out, and it takes him longer than that to draw his focus back around, to engage in his ability to speak again besides just making sounds against her mouth.
But it's good, to focus. To pull back from the things she is doing to him—inasmuch as that's possible, inasmuch as he'd even want to. "I love this," he settles on, simply, a flutter of a smile unstoppable against her mouth. "Everything about you is beautiful, Derrica. I want to know every part of you. I want to touch you everywhere you want me to. I want to stay just here, like this, keeping you warm and wet and—"
Some deep thrum of sensation hitches his words and breath, hands clasping, loosening. "Gods," groaned out. Another subtle roll upwards, slow and barely there, more impulse than meaningful contribution. "You feel so fucking amazing."
What can she do but hold him tighter? Loxley says such sweet things. He says I want and unspools all of this, a particular kind of wanting.
To know her. What a heady thing to consider. Later, she can decide whether or not it's something to worry over or not. Right now, there is a shivery laugh, right against his mouth, that melts into a fractured, gasping moan for the feeling of his fingers on her skin and the movement of his hips.
"You're so good," she tells him again, voice thick and honeyed over the words. Her hands have tightened in his hair, clinging on as she repeats up against his mouth, "You're so good, Loxley."
Words that will need to stand in for all other things. She'll trip over herself if she tries to tell him.
It is with great effort that she untangles her fingers from his hair to reach down and find his hand. She grasps him about the wrist, draws his palm away from where has been clutching at her hips and her back and her waist, to guide him down between their bodies.
"Touch me here," she breathes. "I want to come with you."
Her request gets a keen and quiet sound, doing as she asks as she asks it. His palm flat against her abdomen, sliding down, the slide of his fingers pushing into place. Stroking her while his other arm wraps around her, keeping them both close as they kiss and give the bed some distress, the occasional thump of the headboard to the wall.
Loxley holds on as long as it might take to feel Derrica begin to shudder. Some words fall out of him, echoing her, so good, repeating himself, so beautiful, and then there's not really any room for it.
Beneath her, she can feel that tension lash through him as that moment arrives, likely as sudden the sharp inhale, the tightening of his hold.
In the midst of everything, Derrica has a passing thought: What if we break the bed?
Not that it matters. Not that she could bring herself to stop. Loxley's so very good with his hands, and it is so good to be crushed in tight against him. The press of his fingers makes the sinuous roll of her hips into something clumsier, a hitch in the movement all for the work of his hand on her.
Even in spite of her request, there is some nonsensical urge to hold off. To stay here, in this place, with him. It isn't possible, but still. She tries. And she comes apart anyway. Even without the press of his fingers, the sound Loxley makes under her might have pushed her there anyway. She feels it deep in her belly, that gasp like a hook yanking her forward. She rocks down hard into his lap, making soft, broken off sounds against his mouth.
Her fingers flex in his hair, stopping just short of pulling. The shivers ease at nearly the same rate as her grip on him relaxes. Her nose bumps against Loxley's as she tries to catch her breath, panting there with his arm cinched around her.
Later, Loxley will have enough presence of mind to like the way they sound together, that shuddered, insensible sort of collapse, sharing in something that is otherwise deeply individual. He holds onto her for his own sake and then hers, too, easing his hand away from between them to loop both arms around her.
His scalp tingles at that near-pull to his hair. An odd constellation of aches in muscle and bone from those last few vigorous moments, of his own tension pulled through his body, but they all feel good too. Blood rushing where it ought. He rests his head back, brings a hand to up to touch her hair, breathes for the moment, refocusing on her face to watch her, his own expression open and soft.
Her hand don't leave his hair but she adjusts her grip now, combs her fingers through mussed waves, lingers at the base of his horns. Held so close, she can feel his chest rising and falling, commit the expression on Loxley's face to memory. The distant impulse to disengage is crowded out, looking at him.
What is there to say? Breathless and just a little shaky, Derrica comes up with nothing that equals the way Loxley looks at her now. Her habit has been to roll up and away at first opportunity, but she kisses him very softly instead.
It's so easy, wanting to be good to him. The impulse comes naturally to her, slotting in alongside every other aspect of their relationship as if it had been there all along.
"We're going to have to do that again," is as close as she gets to an acceptable sentiment. It comes with a smile, pressed against the corner of her mouth.
Loxley wanders his hand up to press over hers, flattening her palm more firmly against where his horn forms into its shape. Not normally something he urges anyone to do, but he'd like, he thinks, Derrica to be perfectly at home in doing so. He thinks there's the danger of being conscientious and uncertain with such things, when it's really just fine.
It's not a gesture that lingers too long, sliding his hand down Derrica's arm. "Right now," Loxley says, but can't quite keep it from being a joke with a laugh hidden in his tone.
Very wishful thinking, on his part.
"Or later," he concedes. He lifts his head, kissing her, as if to get in some of that before they fall back into a pattern with less of it. "Another day."
Right now isn't an unwelcome suggestion, only unachievable. Derrica understands this, laughing softly against his mouth before she lifts and then realigns herself against him with a deep inhale that tapers into a sigh.
"Another day," she agrees. The pressure of her fingers at the base of his horn lifts away as her hands return to his shoulders, slide up along the nape of his neck to toy with the curling locks of hair there. "Do you want me to go?"
A very carefully posed question.
Her habit is to collect herself, leave directly. It has felt more necessary to establish such a boundary, so as not to create expectation where there should not be one.
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charmoffensive) wrote2019-10-19 02:48 pm
no subject
Derrica doesn't know. What she knows is that she'd suspend them both here for ages if she could. Her entire body is oversensitized, skin prickling under the sweep of his hands, the heat of Loxley's palms lingering even after he's set his hands elsewhere on her body, and the way they move together is almost unbearable but for the control she exerts over the pace.
But Derrica isn't interested in setting Loxley up for failure. There is no doubt in her that he wants to give her exactly what she asked of him.
It's why even when everything goes blurry with heat and sweat and the clutch of hands, there's a murmured recall, "I've got you," against his mouth, hands in his hair, thumbs light at his temples as she watches every shift of expression across his face. A soft kiss between whispers. "Talk to me."
no subject
But it's good, to focus. To pull back from the things she is doing to him—inasmuch as that's possible, inasmuch as he'd even want to. "I love this," he settles on, simply, a flutter of a smile unstoppable against her mouth. "Everything about you is beautiful, Derrica. I want to know every part of you. I want to touch you everywhere you want me to. I want to stay just here, like this, keeping you warm and wet and—"
Some deep thrum of sensation hitches his words and breath, hands clasping, loosening. "Gods," groaned out. Another subtle roll upwards, slow and barely there, more impulse than meaningful contribution. "You feel so fucking amazing."
no subject
To know her. What a heady thing to consider. Later, she can decide whether or not it's something to worry over or not. Right now, there is a shivery laugh, right against his mouth, that melts into a fractured, gasping moan for the feeling of his fingers on her skin and the movement of his hips.
"You're so good," she tells him again, voice thick and honeyed over the words. Her hands have tightened in his hair, clinging on as she repeats up against his mouth, "You're so good, Loxley."
Words that will need to stand in for all other things. She'll trip over herself if she tries to tell him.
It is with great effort that she untangles her fingers from his hair to reach down and find his hand. She grasps him about the wrist, draws his palm away from where has been clutching at her hips and her back and her waist, to guide him down between their bodies.
"Touch me here," she breathes. "I want to come with you."
no subject
Loxley holds on as long as it might take to feel Derrica begin to shudder. Some words fall out of him, echoing her, so good, repeating himself, so beautiful, and then there's not really any room for it.
Beneath her, she can feel that tension lash through him as that moment arrives, likely as sudden the sharp inhale, the tightening of his hold.
no subject
Not that it matters. Not that she could bring herself to stop. Loxley's so very good with his hands, and it is so good to be crushed in tight against him. The press of his fingers makes the sinuous roll of her hips into something clumsier, a hitch in the movement all for the work of his hand on her.
Even in spite of her request, there is some nonsensical urge to hold off. To stay here, in this place, with him. It isn't possible, but still. She tries. And she comes apart anyway. Even without the press of his fingers, the sound Loxley makes under her might have pushed her there anyway. She feels it deep in her belly, that gasp like a hook yanking her forward. She rocks down hard into his lap, making soft, broken off sounds against his mouth.
Her fingers flex in his hair, stopping just short of pulling. The shivers ease at nearly the same rate as her grip on him relaxes. Her nose bumps against Loxley's as she tries to catch her breath, panting there with his arm cinched around her.
no subject
Later, Loxley will have enough presence of mind to like the way they sound together, that shuddered, insensible sort of collapse, sharing in something that is otherwise deeply individual. He holds onto her for his own sake and then hers, too, easing his hand away from between them to loop both arms around her.
His scalp tingles at that near-pull to his hair. An odd constellation of aches in muscle and bone from those last few vigorous moments, of his own tension pulled through his body, but they all feel good too. Blood rushing where it ought. He rests his head back, brings a hand to up to touch her hair, breathes for the moment, refocusing on her face to watch her, his own expression open and soft.
no subject
What is there to say? Breathless and just a little shaky, Derrica comes up with nothing that equals the way Loxley looks at her now. Her habit has been to roll up and away at first opportunity, but she kisses him very softly instead.
It's so easy, wanting to be good to him. The impulse comes naturally to her, slotting in alongside every other aspect of their relationship as if it had been there all along.
"We're going to have to do that again," is as close as she gets to an acceptable sentiment. It comes with a smile, pressed against the corner of her mouth.
no subject
It's not a gesture that lingers too long, sliding his hand down Derrica's arm. "Right now," Loxley says, but can't quite keep it from being a joke with a laugh hidden in his tone.
Very wishful thinking, on his part.
"Or later," he concedes. He lifts his head, kissing her, as if to get in some of that before they fall back into a pattern with less of it. "Another day."
no subject
"Another day," she agrees. The pressure of her fingers at the base of his horn lifts away as her hands return to his shoulders, slide up along the nape of his neck to toy with the curling locks of hair there. "Do you want me to go?"
A very carefully posed question.
Her habit is to collect herself, leave directly. It has felt more necessary to establish such a boundary, so as not to create expectation where there should not be one.
But is that necessary with Loxley?