[The light shivers are all the encouragement he needs; the little hums of enjoyment are just icing on the cake.]
[He wants more than that, though - wants her the way she was before, breath too shallow and cheeks flushed - wants to make her feel good, as much as she'll let him. He knows how to do it, too; or at least, he knows what she asked for.]
[The feather-light brushes against her nipples give way to something firmer, and bolder. The pads of his fingers rub and circle, a deliberate drag across the sensitive nubs.]
[Through it all, he's still aware of her hands on his back - on his legs - and the fact that, though he isn't pressed up against her anymore, the sight of her spread out beneath him makes the heat that seems to be swallowing him from the inside out burn even higher.]
[She can't say she'd never wondered if his general dexterity would carry over into more carnally oriented skills but seems like the answer is pretty well, actually. His fingers are a little thicker, thumb stubbier, and it's like she can feel every whorl of his fingerprints when he swipes them over her skin. She feels his eyes on her; shivers at the weight of his gaze.
It feels different to think he can see her face as he plays with her--to think that he'd want to look. Flushing darker, she can only meet his gaze in short shifts, too self-conscious to watch him watch her as she shivers closer, or makes a sound. His hands on her just feel too good, brushing bright little sparks from her nipples that trail all the way to her core. It doesn't take all that long for her to start chewing on her lower lip again, or absently shift into his knee. Her hands continue to squeeze at his sides, urging him closer]
[It's hard not to give in to the tug of her hands drawing him nearer - hard to resist, when he's all but aching with want.]
[He manages for another long couple of seconds before he lets himself be guided down on top of her, his knee nestled firmly at the crux between her legs, her thigh tucked between the both of his. He can't help but squirm, shifting restless against her; he's aware of the way his knee must be moving against her, but more than that, he's aware of the way he's moving, and the heat, and the pressure. He takes a shaky breath in, and then another - forces himself to stillness with great, great effort.]
[He can't resist kissing her, though - soft at first, and then, rapidly, more thorough. His hand, the only one he has access to, now that the other is back to taking some of his weight, trails down from her breast, wandering and greedy, to explore the skin of her stomach and the curve of her hip.]
[Her arms wrap around his shoulders to greet him when he comes in for another kiss. For as good as his touches felt--still feel, as she goosepimples in their wake--she likes him close. It feels right to feel his heat and his pulse and his breath, and she arches up towards him automatically, to press in chest to chest.
She meets his kisses with relish, one hand threading in his hair, the other trekking over his back and over his hips, up and down his legs. It's incredibly easy to roll her hips nice and gentle into his, hitch up against the firmness of his knee just so. Her legs rise, restless, and she presses, solid, into him as well, because that's easy, too]
[He makes a shaky kind of sound into the kiss, when her hips begin to move against him - makes another, even more undone, when her leg lifts to press in closer.]
[It's impossible not to reciprocate - impossible to keep still, in the face of that. His hips twitch forward once, and then again, and then again, a shallow rocking motion that lights sparks of pleasure up and down his spine. His hand trails up to her shoulder and then down again, tracing along the curve of her breast, her ribcage, her hip, fingers at last finding the shape of her thigh through the fabric of her slacks.]
[He breaks the kiss to breathe - presses in again immediately, half-desperate.]
[Good is all she can think as they fall into each other's rhythm, not too fast, but certainly with purpose. The feeling of him heavy and warm against her is intoxicating, and she's happy she doesn't have to pretend she doesn't want to just lose herself in it. The feel of his hands on her is good, and the flutter of his pulse beneath her fingers and the taste of his swollen lips and the reliable firmness where his knee digs into her slacks. Finding that bracing her feet against the cushions means she can press up into him that much more is very good, especially how harsh his breath gets when she does. Her hands continue to run up and down his legs, cupping the back of his thighs, gentle but eager]
[The kisses are getting clumsier, now, open-mouthed and distracted; as more of his brain gets short-circuited by the pleasure, he's not able to worry so much about what he should be doing, or how, or if he's doing it well enough.]
[He just lets himself feel it: the heat of her skin beneath his palm, and the too-fast rise and fall of her breathing, and the way it feels like lava washes over him when she braces her feet and presses up like that.]
[He makes another noise into the kiss, soft and needy, and though he flushes at the thought of how he must sound, he can't bring himself to stop. His hips are shifting constantly now, shallow little rocking circles. He kisses her, traces his fingertips along the line of her hip, and presses his knee up, deliberate this time, to give her that little bit more when she lifts against him the next time.]
[She finds very early on that she enjoys making him make noise just as much as she enjoys making him blush. Which she is curious about--is it possible for him to blush so much he blends in with his freckles--but every time she breaks the kiss to pull away and catch a breath, the thought that 'what if instead more kissing' occurs and she can't think of a good reason to refuse.
It still means she can suck on his tongue, or lightly scrape her teeth over the plushness of his lower lip, or rub a little circuit from his thighs to his back, cupping over his rear and squeezing sometimes, to hear his reaction and feel the heat over his skin. She can still rock up to meet his shallow rhythm with little encouraging hums and voiced breaths--she groans when he presses into her, as into the fact he'd chosen to do it to her as much as the sensation, the sweet pressure at her core]
[Lucky her, it's easy to make him make noise; he isn't loud, but he's definitely sensitive, and also very, very weak to the wandering path of her hands. Pressed this close against him, she probably catches a handful of small sounds, half buried in the kiss or stifled before they can escape. He has to break the kiss to gasp for air, though - shudders, hard, when her hips meet his at just the right angle, and the friction is just so - and this time, he doesn't at all manage to tamp down on a breathless sort of whimper.]
[When she groans, it shoots straight through him, jangling along his nerves like lightning. All he knows is that he wants to hear it again - so he nudges his knee up for an encore, rubbing up against her.]
[This is certainly very lucky, and her hands run up and down his bare skin, mismatched trails down his back and up his sides, brushing over his chest through the wedge of space he keeps between them. The goal of course is his delicious reactions, each sound or shudder both a joy and a success.
She is barely doing better herself, but does it really matter at this point, where they've finally figured out that if she rocks up like this and he moves like that it's like fireworks? It's fine if the kisses seem more open-mouthed panting than lip lock, and that her breaths as she rides against the blunt pressure of his knee start sounding more and more desperate.
She breaks the kiss this time with a whimper of her own, nipping at his cheek and jaw rather than getting any proper gulps of air, but what had air ever done that touching him hadn't?]
[He out and out whines at the little nips along his jaw - has to put his head down, to rest it at the crook between her neck and shoulder. He mouths at the exposed skin there - pants, and pants, feeling like he can't quite get a full breath and not entirely sure it's the fault of the corset.]
[His hair is damp with sweat; his hand, where it traces the line of her hip, is shaky.]
[The rhythm of his hips is less steady, now - more erratic. He's rubbing against her thigh with a restless, needy sort of energy, every shift or nudge or brush of her fingers ratcheting the pressure at the center of him higher.]
[He keeps the knee moving, as best he's able - hyper aware of the way she's responding, of the small noises she's making - but there, too, the rhythm falters. It's hard to concentrate past the sparks of pleasure threatening to swallow him whole - hard to scrape together the coordination necessary, when he feels a little like he's drowning in lava.]
[He can probably feel how her pulse jumps as he tastes her neck, shamelessly leaning into the touch with breathless curses. But before too long she goes to catch the soft skin beneath his jaw or behind his ear between her lips or light between her teeth, sucking as gently as she can while so preoccupied. Which--honestly isn't very, so hopefully he doesn't mind.
That said, she's pretty sure something is going right-- She can feel his pulse thudding heavy against the soft part of her thigh, and she rocks up more to meet that restless energy with her own, calls him to do the same with hands and hips and distracted encouragements murmured against his ear--a feedback loop to climb as high as they can before having to come back to Earth.
Though there's only so long until even her movements turn more helpless, and her hands scrabble at his back, her leg goes up around his waist to pull him tighter. Still, she trusts that like in so many things, even if she rushes ahead, he'll follow close behind.]
[By the way he shudders when her lips and teeth start to work at the sensitive skin around his jaw, he doesn't mind at all that she's less than gentle - just tips his head a little, to give her better access, and presses open-mouthed kisses to the column of her throat.]
[It's good, all of it - better than good, her voice in his ear and her hands running over him, and the way that every tiny touch seems to wind a spring inside him, tighter and tighter, until he's sure that something has to give.]
[He's aware, vaguely, that he's managing words, somewhere between mouthing at the skin of her neck - her name, and "god" and "please."]
[When she hooks her leg in around his waist and pulls him nearer, it's just enough: the heat, and the pressure, and the feel of her, pressed so close against him. He chokes on a cry - stills, and scrabbles to hold on to whatever might be able to ground him.]
[It's her, of course - there's nothing here but her, nothing that matters - and his hand holds tight to her, desperate for an anchor point. His eyes squeeze shut; his hips roll forward, working shakily for an endless moment of white-hot pleasure, his gasped breaths warm against her ear.]
[She curses again, no better words she can think of to respond to the feel of her name being called--the desperation in his voice--the hot tremble of him pulsing against her, and--
The sound she eventually lets out is mostly wordless, low and accompanied by a whole-body shiver. Her hips judder up and up and up, not quite enough until it's suddenly too much, and she's lost.
Eventually she falls lax against the couch cushions with a long, explosive breath, panting as if having just run a 10k. Pulls him flush against her nevertheless, hip to hip and chest to chest, to feel the race of his heart against her own, to take his heat and his weight and his scent and everything. Her hands move up to his sandy hair, to cup those flushed cheeks, and when she goes to kiss him again it's fueled by a different type of desperation but no less intense.]
[It isn't much work, to pull him up against her; at some point, lost in the pleasure, the arm propping him upright gave way, too shaky to support him any longer. He's boneless and pliant against her, now; pressed this close, she can probably feel the tremors still running through him, the warmth of his body, the too-fast rhythm of his heart.]
[When she leans in to kiss him, there's nothing he can do but kiss her back - nothing he wants to do but kiss her back. The kiss is unsteady; he's dazed, and more than a little wondering.]
[It takes a beat or two, for his brain to come back online. When it does, finally, he lifts a shaky hand - smooths his thumb along her cheekbone - touches her gently, like she's something precious.]
[It's good, the feel of him draped over her like a living weighted blanket, warm and full of life, still shuddering from what she had done. She squirms a little beneath him, just to settle more securely beneath him--it's hardly the first time he's chosen to take his weight. That said, she's barely any steadier than he, wobbly fingers running over his jawline somewhere awkwardly between careful and possessive, staying put despite feeling like jelly. Her cheek is ruddy under his hand but she leans into the touch readily enough, breaking the kiss only enough to nose against his face and his cheek instead.
She's--exhausted, all of a sudden, but pleasantly so, a warm haze settled over her. Hums, softly, continuing to nuzzle against him]
[He's aware, vaguely, that he ought to move at some point - that he's heavy, and he's probably squishing her. But it's nice to just lie here, pressed up against her so completely. It's nice to have her this close, without one of them in pain, or falling apart, or recovering from something awful. It's nice not to need an excuse to hold her, for once.]
[When she nuzzles in against him, something in his chest goes hot and tight - feels like it does a slow flip that catches somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He can't stop the smile that spreads over his lips, slow and crooked and warm - can't try and tamp it down, when he feels a little like he's floating.]
[He really ought to move. He knows that. But another minute won't hurt, surely; so instead, he lets his hand wander up to pet her hair, and he nuzzles back against her, and he presses a kiss to her cheek.]
[She hums again at the warm gesture, and looks back over at him with a soft smile. It's nice, the way they fit together, despite the still speedy heart rate or the uncomfortable stickiness in her shorts.
She noses in against him in return, pressing another gentle kiss to him before letting her eyes fall shut]
[He really ought to move, he reminds himself - but it seems like a lot of effort, when all he wants to do is stay right where he is, for as long as he's allowed to keep this.]
[He nuzzles in against her - tucks his face a little nearer, so that he can smell the earthy-sweet almond scent of her hair.]
[Now's the perfect time to move, he tells himself, even as his eyes slip shut. Any second now, he's going to move.]
[Any second. In the meantime, she slides a hand to splay warm over his back. It's perhaps not heavy enough to prevent him from moving, but is solid enough to feel the soothing rise and fall of his breaths. With another satisfied sigh, her own breathing easily matches his rhythm, slowing along with his.
For some reason the normal worries or concerns that bubble up whenever she shuts her eyes stay away, and wrapped in him, she drifts away, to calm, dreamless sleep.]
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[He wants more than that, though - wants her the way she was before, breath too shallow and cheeks flushed - wants to make her feel good, as much as she'll let him. He knows how to do it, too; or at least, he knows what she asked for.]
[The feather-light brushes against her nipples give way to something firmer, and bolder. The pads of his fingers rub and circle, a deliberate drag across the sensitive nubs.]
[Through it all, he's still aware of her hands on his back - on his legs - and the fact that, though he isn't pressed up against her anymore, the sight of her spread out beneath him makes the heat that seems to be swallowing him from the inside out burn even higher.]
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It feels different to think he can see her face as he plays with her--to think that he'd want to look. Flushing darker, she can only meet his gaze in short shifts, too self-conscious to watch him watch her as she shivers closer, or makes a sound. His hands on her just feel too good, brushing bright little sparks from her nipples that trail all the way to her core. It doesn't take all that long for her to start chewing on her lower lip again, or absently shift into his knee. Her hands continue to squeeze at his sides, urging him closer]
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[He manages for another long couple of seconds before he lets himself be guided down on top of her, his knee nestled firmly at the crux between her legs, her thigh tucked between the both of his. He can't help but squirm, shifting restless against her; he's aware of the way his knee must be moving against her, but more than that, he's aware of the way he's moving, and the heat, and the pressure. He takes a shaky breath in, and then another - forces himself to stillness with great, great effort.]
[He can't resist kissing her, though - soft at first, and then, rapidly, more thorough. His hand, the only one he has access to, now that the other is back to taking some of his weight, trails down from her breast, wandering and greedy, to explore the skin of her stomach and the curve of her hip.]
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She meets his kisses with relish, one hand threading in his hair, the other trekking over his back and over his hips, up and down his legs. It's incredibly easy to roll her hips nice and gentle into his, hitch up against the firmness of his knee just so. Her legs rise, restless, and she presses, solid, into him as well, because that's easy, too]
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[It's impossible not to reciprocate - impossible to keep still, in the face of that. His hips twitch forward once, and then again, and then again, a shallow rocking motion that lights sparks of pleasure up and down his spine. His hand trails up to her shoulder and then down again, tracing along the curve of her breast, her ribcage, her hip, fingers at last finding the shape of her thigh through the fabric of her slacks.]
[He breaks the kiss to breathe - presses in again immediately, half-desperate.]
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[He just lets himself feel it: the heat of her skin beneath his palm, and the too-fast rise and fall of her breathing, and the way it feels like lava washes over him when she braces her feet and presses up like that.]
[He makes another noise into the kiss, soft and needy, and though he flushes at the thought of how he must sound, he can't bring himself to stop. His hips are shifting constantly now, shallow little rocking circles. He kisses her, traces his fingertips along the line of her hip, and presses his knee up, deliberate this time, to give her that little bit more when she lifts against him the next time.]
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It still means she can suck on his tongue, or lightly scrape her teeth over the plushness of his lower lip, or rub a little circuit from his thighs to his back, cupping over his rear and squeezing sometimes, to hear his reaction and feel the heat over his skin. She can still rock up to meet his shallow rhythm with little encouraging hums and voiced breaths--she groans when he presses into her, as into the fact he'd chosen to do it to her as much as the sensation, the sweet pressure at her core]
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[When she groans, it shoots straight through him, jangling along his nerves like lightning. All he knows is that he wants to hear it again - so he nudges his knee up for an encore, rubbing up against her.]
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She is barely doing better herself, but does it really matter at this point, where they've finally figured out that if she rocks up like this and he moves like that it's like fireworks? It's fine if the kisses seem more open-mouthed panting than lip lock, and that her breaths as she rides against the blunt pressure of his knee start sounding more and more desperate.
She breaks the kiss this time with a whimper of her own, nipping at his cheek and jaw rather than getting any proper gulps of air, but what had air ever done that touching him hadn't?]
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[His hair is damp with sweat; his hand, where it traces the line of her hip, is shaky.]
[The rhythm of his hips is less steady, now - more erratic. He's rubbing against her thigh with a restless, needy sort of energy, every shift or nudge or brush of her fingers ratcheting the pressure at the center of him higher.]
[He keeps the knee moving, as best he's able - hyper aware of the way she's responding, of the small noises she's making - but there, too, the rhythm falters. It's hard to concentrate past the sparks of pleasure threatening to swallow him whole - hard to scrape together the coordination necessary, when he feels a little like he's drowning in lava.]
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That said, she's pretty sure something is going right-- She can feel his pulse thudding heavy against the soft part of her thigh, and she rocks up more to meet that restless energy with her own, calls him to do the same with hands and hips and distracted encouragements murmured against his ear--a feedback loop to climb as high as they can before having to come back to Earth.
Though there's only so long until even her movements turn more helpless, and her hands scrabble at his back, her leg goes up around his waist to pull him tighter. Still, she trusts that like in so many things, even if she rushes ahead, he'll follow close behind.]
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[It's good, all of it - better than good, her voice in his ear and her hands running over him, and the way that every tiny touch seems to wind a spring inside him, tighter and tighter, until he's sure that something has to give.]
[He's aware, vaguely, that he's managing words, somewhere between mouthing at the skin of her neck - her name, and "god" and "please."]
[When she hooks her leg in around his waist and pulls him nearer, it's just enough: the heat, and the pressure, and the feel of her, pressed so close against him. He chokes on a cry - stills, and scrabbles to hold on to whatever might be able to ground him.]
[It's her, of course - there's nothing here but her, nothing that matters - and his hand holds tight to her, desperate for an anchor point. His eyes squeeze shut; his hips roll forward, working shakily for an endless moment of white-hot pleasure, his gasped breaths warm against her ear.]
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The sound she eventually lets out is mostly wordless, low and accompanied by a whole-body shiver. Her hips judder up and up and up, not quite enough until it's suddenly too much, and she's lost.
Eventually she falls lax against the couch cushions with a long, explosive breath, panting as if having just run a 10k. Pulls him flush against her nevertheless, hip to hip and chest to chest, to feel the race of his heart against her own, to take his heat and his weight and his scent and everything. Her hands move up to his sandy hair, to cup those flushed cheeks, and when she goes to kiss him again it's fueled by a different type of desperation but no less intense.]
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[When she leans in to kiss him, there's nothing he can do but kiss her back - nothing he wants to do but kiss her back. The kiss is unsteady; he's dazed, and more than a little wondering.]
[It takes a beat or two, for his brain to come back online. When it does, finally, he lifts a shaky hand - smooths his thumb along her cheekbone - touches her gently, like she's something precious.]
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She's--exhausted, all of a sudden, but pleasantly so, a warm haze settled over her. Hums, softly, continuing to nuzzle against him]
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[When she nuzzles in against him, something in his chest goes hot and tight - feels like it does a slow flip that catches somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He can't stop the smile that spreads over his lips, slow and crooked and warm - can't try and tamp it down, when he feels a little like he's floating.]
[He really ought to move. He knows that. But another minute won't hurt, surely; so instead, he lets his hand wander up to pet her hair, and he nuzzles back against her, and he presses a kiss to her cheek.]
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She noses in against him in return, pressing another gentle kiss to him before letting her eyes fall shut]
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[He nuzzles in against her - tucks his face a little nearer, so that he can smell the earthy-sweet almond scent of her hair.]
[Now's the perfect time to move, he tells himself, even as his eyes slip shut. Any second now, he's going to move.]
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For some reason the normal worries or concerns that bubble up whenever she shuts her eyes stay away, and wrapped in him, she drifts away, to calm, dreamless sleep.]
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[Pressed up against her, lulled by the slow motion of her chest as she breathes, it doesn't take him long to follow her off into sleep.]