ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100 -- For Tommy Gavin

The way her body reacts to his touch turns him on so much that his hips start to grind against hers.

"You really wanna stop to do that?" he pants breathlessly through a smirk as he continues to kiss her, and he pulls her hoodie down past her shoulders.

"Mmmno."

She whimpers into his mouth when his hips start moving, one of her legs curling around the back of his knee. She feels like a lightning rod in the middle of a thunderstorm, humming with sensations she hasn't felt in years. It's leaving her oversensitive and breathless.

She would be nervous as well, if it were anyone else. But he smirks and it makes her laugh — at least what passes for a laugh when their lips are hard-pressed to part.

"But if I don't ... y'run th'risk of'm runnin' laps over you in th'middle of th'night."

She lifts her shoulders off the mattress to help him work at her clothes, pulling at the hem of his shirt at the same time.

"M'guessin' y'don't want that."

He manages to get her hoodie down to her elbows when she makes her point. And he can't help but bow his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder to let out an exasperated growl, his breath hot on her skin.

"Rrrgh. Shit. Okay."

Picking his head up, he stares down into her eyes, panting through his teeth, the fringe of his hair brushing her brow.

"You have ten seconds to get those cats into the bathroom before I tear all your clothes off."

She sucks a breath in through her teeth.

"Ah, ow, careful — "

Moving gingerly, she wriggles her arms out of the jacket. Her gaze connects with his, wicked intent quickly shooing away any discomfort.

"Promise?"

She smirks, fingertips grazing his neck as she gives him one last kiss — and then shoves him onto his back. She bites her lip to rein in her smile, and swiftly scoots off the bed.

He eases his weight off of her, thinking that that's what's causing her to wince slightly. But once she's free of the hoodie, she recaptures his attention with her eyes, a wanton little word, and a kiss--

--and she shoves him again.

With a low, growling chuckle, he raises himself up onto his elbows to watch her, a leering grin on his lips.

"One... two... three..."

Oh, is he going to count? Well. She's just going to take her time, then.

"C'mon, boys. C'mon."

With the hoodie gone, there's little mystery to her silhouette anymore. She's small, but lithe and lean, soft and shapely.

The boys hop to the floor, completely fooled into thinking it's supper time, or dessert time, or maybe even second breakfast.

Edited 2012-08-15 07:30 (UTC)

"Four... five... six..."

At least the cats actually listen to her.

Even in the dim light, the thin fabric of her camisole doesn't leave much up to the imagination, but then again, Tommy doesn't like to work that hard.

She starts working at the knot she tied to the end of her braid, fingers less graceful than usual from the nerves and the cats weaving between her legs. She manages to corral them into the bathroom by pure bribery — catnip mice may have been involved.

She's not going to make it back before he reaches ten, but she does get the door closed and the knot undone. That still counts, right?

"Seven... eight... nine..."

Nope. She's not going to make it.

"Ten."

Just as she turns to close the door, she'll be surprised to find the pair of long arms that have wound themselves around her middle and the mouth that is ravenously kissing the back of her neck.

She gasps, wood creaking as her palms come flat against the door.

"Don't y'know you shouldn't sneak up behind an outlaw?"

She arches her back against him, forcing her shoulders to relax despite the little tendril of fear as he works over her neck.

"Except I guess I ain't the one with the gun this time."

He only grunts a hot chuckle against her skin.

The tenseness in her body, whether it's from being startled or just plain nerves, actually spurs him on. His lips skim her shoulder as the fingers of his other hand comb through her braid, loosening her hair until it falls freely.

He then pulls her away from the door, turning her around so that her back is against the wall -- he's not physically pinning her there, nor is he hemming her in -- he simply looms over her, his hips grazing hers, his hands peeling her camisole off her torso.

Edited 2012-08-15 08:31 (UTC)

He's strong, and quick, and if he weren't being careful it might be a little frightening.

Her eyes are wide open and riveted on him, chest heaving as he works the fabric from her body. There's a moment of hesitation where she keeps her arms against her sides. This is the moment that puts all of her coquettishness to the test.

This is really happening.

She slowly raises her arms over her head, helping him discard the camisole. In addition to the scar on her right bicep, there's another on her left hip. A long, jagged line that sits below her waist.

The warm light casts shadows between them, over her curves and the lean lines of his limbs.

He takes a moment, his lusty gaze lowered, before he dips his head to kiss her under her ear, a tender bite.

His hands travel up her bared body, caressing her with callouses.

She hums quietly, the delicate hairs on her arms going on end. Her fingers slip into his hair, stroking a few times before her nails rake down his nape. She presses her lips to his ear.

"Tommy? Can I ask y'somethin' without you — "

What's the expression?

" — losin' it?"

Her fingernails on his skin inevitably elicit a deep, rumbling purr from him, his face buried against her neck and in her hair.

"Mmmmh?"

She arches against his open palms.

"How many women have y'been with recently?"

He pauses.

He goes so still for a moment that he can feel his palms tingling with the heat of her skin.

"Um--"

Picking his head up, he frowns and gapes at her, bewildered.

"You couldn't ask me this before?"

His hands are staying where they are, thank you.

"I was preoccupied."

She breathes a dry laugh, searching out his eyes. Her fingers grow ever more tender; feathering his hair, drawing lines down the sides of his neck.

Remember the cheesecake, Tommy? And the strawberries? And the kissing?

"I'm not tryin' t'bait you. I don't expect it's a small number, an' that's all right. I don't mind if y'have multiple women, but this is only gonna work if I know. I need t'know that we're — all right."

She isn't sure she's getting her Significant Look across well enough, and she's already committed. She might as well be implicit.

Her voice drops.

"That you're healthy."

Blinking.

"That I'm--?"

Brain. Not working. The strain of thinking is visible on Tommy's face.

"Jeezus Christ, I don't--"

Still gaping, he shrugs, shaking his head.

"I mean-- okay, recently? Like, since I met you? None."

The blood supply to Tommy's brain is severely limited, and therefore he lacks the capacity to formulate lies.

"None?"

The thrum of her heart still echoing in her ears severely limits her math skills, but she knows it's been several months since they met.

"Y'do realize I can hurt you if you're lyin' t'me, right?"

More blinking.

"Honey, most of the blood in my system is in my groin right now. I can't lie. I can barely form-- complete--"

He trails off, eyes wide and pleading.

"All right, all right."

She's equal parts soothing and smiling; she wouldn't laugh at him, not now, but he just looks so pathetic. She doesn't want to risk pushing him to the point of frustration.

She cups his face, getting on her tiptoes to kiss him, soft and sweet.

"Okay. Thank you. Jus' — tell me if that changes, hm?"

Her nose brushes his, hands sliding down his arms to come to rest over his knuckles. She encourages his hands to her waistband. Lips inches from his, she breathes a too-soft 'please?', catching his bottom lip and sucking lightly. She's trying to relax him again, every small movement — hips brushing up against his, thumbs slipping across his bare stomach, lips feathering his mouth, chin, cheeks, jaw — accompanied by a soft word.

"Promise me?"

He's quickly brought back to the same point to just before the moment she'd asked her question, because he's easy that way.

With her encouragement, his fingers slip under her waistband, pushing her sweatpants down over her hips by increments. As she plies him with the most intoxicating of touches and kisses, he'd say yes to anything.

"I promise."

He might have to be reminded at a later date, but for now, he'll agree to it wholeheartedly if it means getting her pants to slip further down her thighs.

She presses a kiss to his sideburn, and smiles against his ear.

"Okay."

Her teeth scrape the dampness of her exhalations off his skin. Biting, kissing, tasting — holding him at her level, while her body shifts against him. She's helping encourage her pants off without pulling away.

Eventually the cotton pools at her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her silk knickers. A satin ribbon holds them up, like a gift wrap bow sitting against her belly.

His hands sweep over the incredibly smooth fabric that clings to the curves of her hips and thighs, and as he gets caught up in her teeth and tongue and lips, something primal clicks in his brain. He decides that it's time.

He pulls away, and without warning, he wraps one arm around her middle and sweeps her legs out from under her with the other. Destination: bed.

The last time he did this was when she was drunk. And fully clothed. Her being sober and nearly naked is much more fun.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject