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.
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?