trigger_man | OOM: Night Before the Allpocalypse

"A bit, yeah," he says softly, giving her a small smile before leaning in to kiss her again. Now that he can move away if he needs to, he can feel the knot deep in his stomach beginning to loosen.

Once they're settled, he glides his hand down her abdomen again, over her hip to the juncture of her thighs. His touch feather-soft at first, he starts to stroke her through the material of her panties as moves his kisses to her throat.

She swallows visibly, the next sound lost there as her eyes slowly fall shut, giving herself the freedom to focus in without the distraction of sight, concentrating solely on the touch of his hand, his lips, both drawing that fire within her to new heights.

"Jack," she breathes, a quiet utterance of his name, a hitch in breath punctuating the single word as the brush of fingers between her thighs sends her trembling.

He doesn't need to ask her if what he's doing works for her; he can feel as much as hear the hitch in her breath, feel the shiver that goes through her.

He begins to stroke a little harder, slowly moving elastic and fabric aside until he can dip his fingers between her folds.

Her breath catches again - once, then a second time when he parts the fabric away from her skin to touch her - and her hand clutches at his bicep, gently squeezing.

If anything, the anticipation has only made her need for him more obvious, and she blushes at the fact that he can feel it for himself now, whimpering through her gasps.

She's not the only one whose breath is catching in their throat; every whimper, every movement of her hips under his hand makes him more and more aroused. He'd forgotten how this felt, the deep burn of pure want deep inside.

His mouth moves lower, over her collarbone, over the curve of her breasts. He takes the nipple in his mouth, sucking gently, as he finds the hard bead of her clitoris, slowly circling it with his thumb.

She feels like she needs to do more, wants to do more, but then he brings his mouth low to her breast and all coherent thought leaves her brain for a moment as she gives in, to everything she's feeling.

There's nothing hasty or rushed about this. He takes his time, and she wills herself to lay back, to enjoy it, even if every instinct she has is screaming for more.

He drags his teeth against her nipple, flicks it with his tongue, as his hand strokes up and down her slick folds. He circles her clit for a moment, before moving away, not wanting to push her too high too quickly.

He has no problem concentrating on her for now; he wants her to give in, to hear her gasp and moan. Wants to give her all the pleasure he can.

He teases her for another minute before his fingers find her entrance. As his thumb rubs her clitoris, he slowly pushes one finger inside her.

Her response is another gasp, a quiet moan, and her fingers slide up along his back into the short strands of his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

It's been a long time, a long damn time, but there's no resistance at the nudge of his finger when it slides in slick, her arousal making it more than easy as she clutches at him, his name falling from her lips in a near-whine.

He starts to stroke in and out of the wet warmth of her, first one finger, then two, and he can feel the heat building in his groin as he moves. His hand feels rough against her softness and he tries not to rub too hard, trying to judge what's a pleasant friction and what's too rough for her most sensitive spots.

Her breathing quickens until every exhale is a soft pant falling from her lips, her hips slowly rising to meet the press of his fingers. The roughness of his hand is just enough friction, but she can already feel herself beginning to spiral, each stroke bringing her to new depths.

The tension's building; she can feel it deep down in her core, vibrating harder with every passing moment until it threatens to snap.

He can feel her getting closer in the tightening of her hand in his hair, the roll of her hips toward his hand and he starts to stoke a little faster, to rub her clitoris a little more vigorously. He curls his fingers inside her, trying to find that one elusive spot that will send her over the edge.

He moves to kiss her mouth, her throat, feeling the hammer of her heart under his lips.

"Come on, Kate," he says, whispering the words against her mouth.

In the end, the sound of his voice is what she needs, that low rumble that pulses from his lips against her own at the same time that his fingers curve deep, wringing the tension from her body until she shudders and comes with a soft cry.

When she manages to utter a sound again, it's a deep moan, residual shudders coursing through her.

He keeps moving as she begins to shudder with release, the strokes of his hand slower, more gentle. He can feel her inner muscles spasm against his hand, and and he lets out a small moan himself, imagining what it would feel like with his cock inside her; the kind of thought he hasn't had for years.

Eventually, when she relaxes again, he pulls his hand back, kissing the corner of her mouth so she can breathe.

"Good?" he asks in a hoarse whisper.

She nods, wordless at first, her breath still quick until she can get it back under control again, even if it feels as though her heart is close to beating straight out of her chest, tendrils of inner fire licking steadily inside her as she opens her eyes to look up at him.

"Yeah," she manages, shaking slightly. "More than."

"Good." He stretches out next to her on his side, propping himself on one elbow so he can keep kissing her. He free hand rests on her stomach, his thumb drawing a slow arc against her skin.

He has to admit, it does something for his confidence knowing that he can give her pleasure. The fact that he can still feel arousal is both comforting and...frightening. Comforting because he knows he hasn't been stripped of that little element of his humanity as well, frightening because it involves emotions that he's hasn't been sure he wants to learn to feel again.

But on this night, quite possibly their last night, he's not as willing to let the fear take over and make him push the comfort away.

"What about you?" she asks, whispering against his lips. Her hand moves to his wrist and then slides up, over his forearm and around the bone of his elbow, along his bicep and rounding the muscle of his shoulder.

There's no denying she wants this, wants him, but only as far as he's willing to give. A part of her doesn't want to be selfish, and yet - there's the not knowing whether she'll get a chance like this one that makes something ache deep in her chest, makes her tilt up to kiss him with a sigh of longing.

"I want this, I...I want you," he says a little hesitantly. Expressing his feelings isn't exactly his strong suit, though if she needs evidence, the sizeable bulge in the front of his sweats should be ample proof.

"I'm just...not sure whether I can...follow through."

"Slowly?" she whispers, her thumb gently caressing the side of his face, mapping the angle of his jaw.

"I want this too. You."

"Slowly could help," he says, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her again, deeper this time.

They don't have anything to get to tomorrow - nothing she's exactly eager for, at least.

She winds both arms around his neck, slowly coaxing him to lay over her, thigh sliding up to notch at his hip.

He moves with her, pulling their bodies closer until he can feel his hips fit against hers. He runs a hand down her thigh, though she might be able to feel it tremble a little with nervous anticipation.

She murmurs something that ends up lost in the kiss, sighing when he fits in against her and she can feel the weight of him, his hardness against her inner thigh.

It's possibly close to embarrassing, how badly she wants it, and there's no doubt in her mind that he can feel it too by now.

He wants her as much as she wants him; that much should be clear. Almost involuntarily, he rocks his hips against hers, letting out a small groan as the pressure in his groin increases.

He pulls his lips from hers just long enough to swallow and take a deep breath. "Help me get these off," he says, his voice wavering just a little.

Edited 2012-03-11 03:59 (UTC)

She nods quickly, hastily, her hands slipping down to shove fingertips under the waistband, curving slightly to push the fabric down over his hips.

She'll seize the opportunity to slip out of her one remaining piece of clothing, leaving herself completely bare beneath him, palms sliding up his sides in a gentle kneading.

He pushes his sweats off his hips quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid, doing it before self-consciousness about his scars outweighs the arousal that's clouding his mind. Besides, the faster he does it, the faster he can lean against her again, and the less time either of them has to see the scars on his lower half.

He moans again as he presses his body against her, bare skin against bare skin, his heart beating so hard he's sure she can feel it.

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