the_gene_genie | OOM: Texas, 1888. Just outside Oakville

She works her jaw, fingers pressing into his thigh so hard he'll end up with little moon-shaped indentations in his skin, all to keep herself from crying out.

"No."

It takes her a few seconds to pull herself back together and breathe. The hand she had at his back curls around his jaw, gently cupping his face in an attempt to get his attention. She looks at him through her lashes; her eyes have grown dark again.

"Don't stop."

She wants to feel him move inside her.

His eyes flick up to meet hers, showing all the pent-up lust he's trying to hold back.

'Sure?'

He forces himself to sound neutral about it, so she doesn't feel pressured into taking the pain for his sake. But oh God, he wants to so bad. Give anything to be able to move.

She tugs at him gently, nodding before she tips her head and moves in to kiss him.

"Gently?"

She kisses him again, deep and full of passion.

"Slow."

But she wants him to. She wants him to hold her, and move with her. She wants him to take her.

She just wants him.

'Yeah. Yeah, OK.'

He speaks between kisses, as tiny spasms of arousal flare through him in anticipation, pads of his fingers rubbing tiny circles between her legs. He has to take his hand away though, just for a bit. Just to steady her as he leans back against the wall, and draws his knees up until his feet are flat on the bed.

Perhaps he should give her a heads up. But he doesn't, because he doesn't want her to tighten up in anticipation. He just holds her hips still, and pulls back an inch or so, then pushes up into her, so slowly he's barely sure he's doing it. He must be though, because a bolt of pleasure shoots up into his gut, and blossoms outwards, seeping through his system as he pulls back to do it again.

'How's that feel?'

Her breath shudders in her lungs.

For a moment, she can't speak, she can't breathe — she can't even see. It isn't until he's pulling back to do it all again, his sandpaper whisper in her ears, that she can feel how tight her stomach has gone, her hands wrapped around his thighs, and the pulse of pleasure working its way through every inch of her.

"Good."

She can't help but feel a little tense, feel that urge to draw back when he thrusts up; but with the discomfort comes the most exquisite relief having him work with her. It pools in her chest, as if a great weight has been lifted.

"Perfect. Jus' li-like that."

''K.'

He swallows hard, and shuts his eyes again, forcing himself to keep it gentle. He's holding his breath as he pushes up , carefully not going any further than last time, feeling the squeeze lock up his body, muscle by muscle, as the sensation swells through him.

'Tell me...if you...wan' more.'

She's biting her lip again, playing with it, the sensation of her teeth dragging over her skin a counterbalance to the rocking of his body. The flesh sneaks out from under her ivory whites, a pop of cherry pink to her pale skin. She moans quietly.

"Please."

She touches one of his hands, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. Carefully rolling her hips to his rhythm. Upping the tempo just slightly.

The other tightens on her hip. It might seem like it's so he can control this but really, he's trying to resist his body's desire to just give in and move, properly, to relieve this ache.

A bit more, though. A bit faster, but only to match her speed. He has to breathe, and it chokes out of him as he pushes up, louder than he intended but he can't help it. This is torture.

The thought that they're being too loud keeps racing through her brain; that they need to be absolutely quiet, or else they'll be found out. In reality, they're barely making noise. But everything, even the tiniest exhale, sounds like cannon blasts with the way her heart is racing. And she can't keep quiet, no matter how hard she tries.

It adds a delicious layer of excitement to the already building pulse in her body. It hints at another amazing release; but it's also making it hard for her to catch her breath. Every time he makes a sound she's sure she's going to burst.

She holds onto him, both to steady herself and to encourage him to watch her. She's watching him, watching every breath he takes, watching the way his face contorts and she's not ever sure if it's out of enjoyment or displeasure, watching for the way he reacts when she moves faster. Because she needs him, all of that pent up lust, to take her over the edge.

He bites his lip, head down and eyes screwed up in an effort to maintain control. And he's holding his breath again, because she's moving faster and if she's not careful, he's going to go off before she does.

Only one thing for it. He heaves in a deep breath, exhales it as a groan and wraps his hands ever more firmly around her hips to steady her. And then he moves again, like she asked only...well, not quite like she asked. Not any deeper, and still gently but defnitely faster. Quick, shallow strokes, and he's panting hard to relieve the pressure, trying to get it out of him so it doesn't lock up inside and make him explode. He can't stay silent, but he tries not to be as loud as he wants to be. Quiet, desperate moans, to match the painfully tight muscles in his arms and shoulders.

"Oh."

She clamps her mouth shut. Every inch of her goes tight, like a coiled spring. Toes curled, she arches against him and just holds on. He controls the tempo, gets her climbing, and as much as she wants to keep her eyes open they're closing, head tipped back, fingertips pressing into the hard, tight muscles in his shoulders, stomach going rigid...

And then the spring is sprung.

Whatever air was left in her lungs is exhaled sharply, what could have been a scream if she had a voice. She jerks, pulsing from head to toe; and, for one glorious moment, positively on fire.

....ohhhhhh, that is beautiful.

He stills, with effort, letting her ride it out at her own pleasure, knowing that if he keeps going now he's liable to push too hard, and ruin it for her. So he huffs out a tight, breathless laugh and just drinks in the sight, aching to get his mouth on that body and finish off happy. But he waits, thrumming with need, counting the seconds until he can go again.

Her body comes forward, and without even comprehending her movements she wraps her hand around the headboard and shudders. The cold brass is a shock to her sticky-hot skin, and it helps to clear the haze from her vision. Everything is shrouded in the most wonderful, thick fog. Blood is pulsing through her ears, and her legs are shaking, and, suddenly, there he is. Grinning and quiet, and — waiting?

"M'sorry ... I did somethin' wrong?"

The tips of her fingers soak up the sweat at the back of his neck. They're close enough to kiss without having to move anything but their mouths, but she's still caught up, struggling to catch her breath.

'No, luv.'

God, no.

'Didn' do anythin' wrong at all.'

He presses his lips to hers, light as anything, and rocks up into her a tiny bit. The simplest movement is enough to make him moan, another flush of heat running up through him. It's almost painful, it feels so good.

'Jus' hold still. I won' hurt ya.'

She closes her eyes when he moves, echoing his moan. She hasn't come down yet; every bit of her is hyper-aware of his touch.

She nods, sucking in a few more desperate breaths, and looks at him through her lashes.

"Okay."

He swallows and nods, then lets his head fall back so it's leaning against the wall. A moment to collect himself, and he starts again, no deeper than before and about the same speed becuase he knows she can take that.

From the off, it's hard to control. All his body wants to do is give in and take her, but he can't. He can only groan with the sheer agony of restraint; the pleasure knotted up through every sinew, tangled with the tension of holding back. It's so hard to keep quiet. Right now, he can't even remember why he's supposed to, just that it's important foe some reason. So he bites his tongue, straining out every moan.

'...nearly...'

It's not easy telling herself to hold still. Not when she's watching the agony on his face, the choked way he's holding it all in; wanting to move from the sharp, rippling sensations his movements awaken in her. She's gasping, waiting for his climax with nearly as much focus as she had hers.

She dips her head and presses her lips to his throat. Ever so gently, she drags her nails across his belly.

As soon as her lips touch his neck, there's a stifled grunt. And then her nails are pulling over the sensitive skin of his abdomen, and he chokes, thrusts faster; once, twice and then...

...oh yes. He buries his face in the side of her neck, pushing into the sweat and smell of her, hiding his cry in her skin. His muscles lock all over, and he rocks back and forth, blood pounding in his ears. It aches, and it's like no other orgasm he's felt before but Christ, it's a release and he'll take it.

She wraps him up immediately, the second his mouth is on her neck, hot and wet and muffling his cries as he finally lets go. He traps her hair, so she presses her cheek to his temple and just holds onto him. One hand curls in his hair, and the other slides around him, wrapping him up in a tight embrace.

She moans, voice high and strained and halfway to a whimper. He's still rocking, hot and heaving from head to toe. She can feel his heart pounding, every hard breath against her neck, and now she starts to feel heavy and sated. Wrapped in him like a warm glove, humming with relief.

It takes a while for him to relax, and even then his pulse still pounds through him, making him throb all over. Because he couldn't move, and half the pleasure still seems to be locked inside. It's not a comfortable feeling, but enough of the tension is gone that he can let it go, and start to calm. He doesn't move from where he is for a long time though, breathing her in, rubbing one tired circle on her hip where he thinks he may have grabbed too hard.

'Mmm,' he says, eventually.

After he's said it, it seems like too much effort to come up with more, so he lapses back into silence, and trying to regulate his breathing.

Her eyes slip shut once more. She's perfectly content to nurture the quiet, while she tries desperately to put out the fire in her lungs. She presses soft lips to the cuff of his ear once she feels more in control, and starts rubbing his back.

"Are you uncomfortable? I can move."

She's never felt quite this heavy before. The tail end of all the day's adrenaline is finally catching up with her, and all she wants is to curl up with him and will it all away.

'Mmmno.'

Presumably it's a response to both the question and the statement, as he doesn't move, or let her go. He's drowsy, if anything; he was tired before they did this, and right now, this seems a perfectly acceptable place to go to sleep, comfortable as he is.

Impractical, probably. But still, he doesn't move. It's nice.

She smiles gently.

"Okay."

Incredibly impractical. But she doesn't move either; she doesn't want to. She might entertain the passing thought of just how sore she's going to be come morning — hell, she might not even have to wait that long — but right now he's still inside her, and she's in no hurry to change things. She buries her face in his hair, breathing him in, and lets their fingertips do the talking.

His head leans heavier on her shoulder with each passing minute. His eyelids feel like they've got lead weights on them. And it's soothing, feeling her fingers play through his hair.

But right, no. This is not manly behaviour. And he could go a fag. A drink too.

In a minute.

His breathing slows, and he's still telling himself 'in a minute'. It's only when he can't physically pry his eyes open any more that he rouses himself, dragging his head up with a sigh.

'Should lie down.'

And yet, not moving. She's got him locked in her, and he has no complaints about that. She does get a kiss though, seeing as she's there.

She kisses him back slowly. The moment she realized he was drifting off in her arms, she told herself to tug him to the bed and tell him to lay down. But it got lost in 'in a minute.' The gentle slowing of his heartbeat and breathing started lulling her to sleep as well. So she kisses him, but slowly, steeling herself to move.

"Yeah," she whispers against his lips. "We should."

They should.

She pulls in a deep, deep breath, and carefully untangles herself from him. Her eyes are on his, a shock of blue on blue, as she tries getting back on her knees. She moans as he slides out of her.

Yeah, she's definitely going to be sore come morning.

She doesn't much want to move, so she only goes as far as she has to. She tips to one side and pushes herself down on the bed until she's recumbent, then tugs on his feet to insist he do the same.

OOM: Texas, 1888. Just outside Oakville

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