the_gene_genie | OOM: Room 6620, #6

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OOM: Room 6620, #6

He knows he's probably in trouble as he drags himself up the stairs. He only went down to have a quick pint, and pick up some more wine. He's been gone about five hours now, he estimates, though it's really hard to care. Sitting on the garage floor after a scrap has left him stiff as a board, and freezing cold. The half bottle of Scotch - not to mention Guppy smacking him on the melon a few times - means his head's pounding. Everything aches, and he wants nothing more than to climb into a warm bed, and stay there forever.

But he can't do that. Enough of this. He's been trying so hard, but it's time to throw in the towel. He can't go through another encounter like that. All that's left is to tell her.

He lets himself into their room quietly, half hoping she'll be asleep but knowing he'd have to wake her up anyway.

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He breathes hard through his mouth, watching her, feeling her clench him tight at every point of contact. It's like she's using every part of him to make herself feel good, and the notion lights him up from within, a spark to the fuse. But he grits his teeth and forces it to slow, because he wants to watch every second of this.

It leaves him taut, though; shaking slightly by the time she starts to come back down, vibrating with need. When it looks like she's slowing, he pushes up so he's sitting, and releases her hands so he can wrap his arms around her back and kiss her neck.

He'll finish in a minute. It's nice to be able to savour this, and taste the sweat on her skin as he anticipates his own end.

'OK?'

He wraps her up in his arms and she curls around him, burying her nose in his hair, nodding and gasping for breath. 'Don't let go.' Her hands pull him close. She always needs him close after, like he's the only thing in the world that can keep her safe. It feels like that, anyway.

She's keenly aware of everywhere he's touching her now. His skin feels hot against her own, after the cool of the room. And he's still hard inside her, making it easy to keep moving, chasing the fading wave and tasting the promise of another, if he asks it of her. But that's a distant concern right now. All she can think about is how good it feels to be wrapped up in him, to breathe him in and feel his heart beating under her hands.

She pulls back just enough to seek out his mouth with her own, a tender, breathless kiss, trying to share the wonder of the moment with him.

He moans into her mouth, and his hands slip under her arse, lifting her a tiny bit and letting her back down. It eases the ache for him; not meant as active encouragement for her to move faster. He's quite happy to have her curled all the way around him, and she can stay there until he can't wait any longer.

He breaks the kiss to breathe, and drops his face to the crook of her neck and shoulder. A few seconds later, and his teeth sink lightly into her flesh as a spasm of pleasure takes him, and makes him moan again. Nothing exists but the taste of her, and the feel of her skin against his.

She can't help but keep moving with him, her breasts crushed against his chest, sweat trickling down her back. The sound of his voice, the fullness of his hard length inside her, the sweet sharpness of his teeth right there, all of it threatens to overwhelm her senses. Her voice matches his, and her nails bite into his shoulders, marking her pleasure on his skin. Her cries are smothered against his throat, and her thighs tremble with the effort of holding to him.

He sucks in a breath, moaning again, rubbing a small circle on her back with one hand. He loves the way her skin is damp, the way she works for her pleasure. She knows what she wants from him and takes it, and it makes him pulse inside her, the idea that she lets him be the one to give it to her.

'One more, luv,' he murmurs, breathless, his head hazy with need. She's so close, all over him, glorious tits rubbing up and down him, impaling herself on him and loving it. He can't let her go without feeling her break again.

She nods, a throaty moan her only vocal response. Her hips scribe languid, rolling circles, working about half his length. He is all she wants, and he's letting her take her time, take her fill of him. And it feels like she'll never get enough.

Her mouth paints a line of wet heat along the top of his shoulder, gentle sucking kisses, tasting the salt of his skin, indulging her oral fixation. He's drowning her in bliss, and she wants nothing more than to give it back to him tenfold.

She hits a sensitive patch, and his chest caves in with lack of air, and the sudden hit of pleasure that fires along his nerves. It tingles through him, gathering strength as it heads down his body, into the furnace of tension and heat between his legs. He's left with his head tilted back, eyes closed, groaning at the ceiling. It feels like he's losing his grip on her but when he focuses, his hands are holding tighter than ever, helping her move and bringing her to meet his small thrusts.

She moves with him, letting him lead the dance. He huffs out a breath and she presses him deep, grinding against the root of him, chasing that sweet ache again. She gasps, drawing a deep, shuddering breath, her body pulsing around him, her temple pressed against his jaw.

So many things she has to tell him before he goes. If this is the last chance they'll have, she has to make every heartbeat count. Her arms wind around his neck, her fingers weaving in his hair. All the while, she moves, using her body to tell him, all the things he'll never let her say out loud.

He makes a sound that he'd be embarrassed about if he weren't too far gone to care. A desperate, high-pitched sound that tears from his throat, and he's trying to move faster now but he's pinned under her weight. There's only so much he can do from sitting up, and anyway, he doesn't want to come like this.

But it's more than enough to keep him on the edge - Christ, just her skin slipping against his is like the brush of velvet on an open, exposed nerve. He just wants to give in, but can't; wont. She's sinking into his skin, and he never wants to be rid of her.

She feels the urgency in his touch, and lets it quicken her pace. Soon, she's breathing hard again, flexing her thighs to rise and fall, to curl and grind on the inner curve of his cock. She fumbles to keep her grip on him, relying on his hands to keep her hips steady.

This time, the tension builds slowly, rooted down somewhere deep, hard pulses of electricity rocking her body as she strives. He wants another, and she can't -- she won't deny him anything. He asks, and she answers. With everything she has.

He rouses himself enough to fold back into her, mouth on her neck, murmuring her name in a whisper weighed down by tension so strong, he barely knows he's saying it. Every time she pushes down on him, stars erupt behind his eyes; his teeth press into her again to stifle the way he's keening, and to relieve the shaking in his muscles as he does his best to hold together for her.

There's no pain from his knee, from anything that's happened, from anything they've said. There's no later, no leaving, no yesterday. Just her, gripping his centre and riding him, forcing his world to be just this, just them.

It's the sound of her name on his lips that sparks the fuse, the raw desire in his voice searing into her. She pushes him back down to the bed, falling with him, her mouth finding his again, breathless, messy kisses.

'Cover me,' she breathes, already rolling to one side, urging him to join her, needing to stay all tangled up in him until the last possible moment.

'Yeah...yeah.'

It's what he wanted. To not be passive when they finished, so his last memories would be of her writhing underneath him. Stupid maybe, but he doesn't care. He just slips on top of her, kissing her hard as he grasps his cock, and pushes roughly back inside.

He's in trouble right away, pushing deep, the tension finding an outlet as he has room to move. He tenses and moans, and while his thrusts are hard, they're not careless. He wants to take her, but his hand holding her thigh is careful too, not gripping too hard. He doesn't want to cause her any pain.

He settles into the cradle of her hips and she winds around him again, moaning out loud as he finds his rhythm. It's exactly what she needs, the weight of his body pinning her, keeping her safe, shutting out everything else. She's not at all passive like this, kissing him back, her touch and her voice fierce now, making her demands known with her heels and her hands, her hips rising to meet him with all the strength she can muster.

It isn't long at all before her head falls back. She's distantly aware that she's murmuring something, pleading, begging him to not hold back anything, shameless as she hurtles towards the end.

He gasps against her throat, no longer able to remember when they weren't doing this. He feels like he's been fucking her forever, and never wants it to stop. But she's pulling him along, and begging, and there's no way he can resist it. He thrusts harder, pushes deeper, faster and faster with her encouragement, barely able to catch a breath and not giving a damn. His voice is nothing but one ragged groan after another, louder and louder, drowning out the wet slap of their bodies coming together. He makes one attempt to curb his enthusiasm but it's hopeless; he's lost in rhythm, demanding now, forcing her along, wanting nothing more than to feel this connected until the end of days.

How can she tell him, how can she explain, all the mistakes she made, all the times she wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to tell him the truth of it all, no matter how crazy it sounded? How can she show him that without him, she is nothing? That she came back not because she wasn't ready to cross over, but because this is Heaven to her. That he is all she wants now, all she needs.

They're alive when they're together, like this, or asleep in each other's arms, or shouting at each other across the office. They're alive and nothing can take that from them. She knows, even if he goes through that door and doesn't come back for a long, long time, she knows that she'll always be with him. And he will always be with her. Under her skin, in her hair, under her nails, written on her bones. He is as much a part of her as her daughter ever was.

Her body cannot contain the fullness of this truth, and her nerve endings catch fire, her passion for him burning hotter with every thrust of his hips. There is no moment when she stops rising and falls. There is only the pinnacle, and she soars with him.

'Oh, God.

...oh God.'

There's no moment when he knows he's hit the peak. He just keeps going, tense all over, tendons cording in his neck and through his shoulders. Some part of him registers that he's coming, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't, can't, stop, and that raw cry must be from his own throat but that doesn't matter either. There's only sensation, and her body underneath him. There doesn't have to be anything more than that.

Her spine curls, her head thrown back in ecstasy, and she feels his voice resonating in her chest, her own breath, a keening cry, loud enough to be heard over the blood roaring in her ears. Her heels dig into the backs of his thighs, keeping their bodies locked as she bucks beneath him, chasing that sweet detonation as it blossoms and unfurls within her. Her nails bite into the flesh of his broad shoulders, the instinct to hold onto him too strong to deny. His weight on her body, the intense sensation of his breath on her throat, his power rooted between her thighs, hot and slick and glorious, pinning her down so she can't escape it.

All she can do is cling to him. It's all she wants to do, in this moment. Never let him go.

He drops his head, actively pressing down to control the frantic jerking of her hips. It draws his pleasure out, already receding from sharp and bright, to the softer warm flush that spreads through muscle and curls around bone. He's panting hard, and registers pain where her nails dig into his skin. Not so much that he wants to object. The only thing he actually wants is to stay still, and remain in this moment. Forever, if possible.

She buries her nose in his hair, breathing him in, feeling his pulse, his living body all along her own. Her thighs ache, and that sweet pulse is still echoing along her nerves. Her breath hitches in her chest, and she swallows, pressing her lips to his temple.

Her hands release their white knuckled grip on his back, sliding up to catch his face, drawing it up to her for a kiss so gentle, so soft and full of promise.

He lets her kiss him; kisses her back, and looks at her face from under half-lidded eyes. He can feel his heartbeat like his skin resonates with it, like he's nothing but this mockery of life. For the first time, it doesn't seem to matter. It feels too good to care.

He doesn't know what to say. So he just turns his head, and rests his cheek on her shoulder, blinking at nothing. He can smell her from here. Still feel her.

She wraps him up in her arms, holding him close, her hands stroking through his hair.

'Stay with me. Just until morning. Stay the night...'

Her voice breaks, and she draws in a breath, holding it. And then letting it go in a long, shivering sigh. Surrendering to the reality of it all. Taken all at once, it's too much for one person to handle all on her own.

That's what she thought, her first night in Fenchurch, in that ridiculous black and white decorating disaster of a flat over an Italian restaurant.

And yet, here they are.

'Dinner will be here soon.'

He nods, drowsy but not wanting to sleep. Her touch is soothing, and her words bring reality back; the large, and the small. He's leaving her. And his leg hurts.

He stretches his neck an inch or two, and kisses her under her ear. Then eases himself to the side, out of her body and fully back into his own. Things hurt, but at least he's not cold any more.

Edited 2013-05-13 23:02 (UTC)

She follows, as if she can't bring herself to stop touching him. She props herself on one elbow above him. It's hard to watch him pull back into himself, but she thinks she understands. Idly, she brushes a lock of hair back from his forehead.

They've been through worse, haven't they? Her lips twitch, and a sad smile emerges.

'I know just the thing.'

Gingerly, she rises, retrieving her robe from the foot of her bed, slipping it on as she moves through the room. A bottle of Scotch is retrieved, and a couple of glasses. She finds his cigarettes and lighter as well. She sets them all down on his bedside table, pausing briefly to touch his arm before moving away again.

She drags her hands through her hair, long and straight now, twisting it up into a knot at the base of her skull, disappearing into the bath. He can hear her moving about a bit, and then the sound of the bath taps being turned.

She returns, looking a bit more composed, a bit more self-contained. She pours them both a measure of Scotch, and settles at his hip, holding his out to him.

He lights a cigarette when she's in the bathroom, and thinks about nothing.

When she returns, he smiles and takes the drink.

'Ta, luv.'

He holds the glass and his fag in one hand, and rubs her knee with the other.

'You all right?'

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