songofsong | AU } Maybe in another life, we wouldn't be alone tonight

He doesn't answer at first, too enthralled by simply watching her. His head is tilted down and his lips parted a little.

While his one hand still sits against her hair, his other is now on her other hip, his body a little closer and his breath a little more drawn. The touch shifts, sliding inside her cardigan that falls gently open, his touch pushing it aside a little, hand raising.

He's not ripping her clothes off, not pushing her up against a wall, it's not some drunken hurried rush of bodies against bodies. Two fingers curl against the soft silk of her blouse, and his eyes flick down to where the buttons meet. His gaze moves back to hers, just a moment, before back to the buttons as with one hand he carefully begins to open it.

"Me?" he says eventually. "Isn't that obvious? I want you." He knows it isn't really what she was asking, but it's the answer she's going to get.

Her eyes drop downward when she feels his hand slide over the silk of her blouse, coming to the topmost button. The sensation of that button coming undone seems to trigger something in her, an understanding, and she breathes a little heavier at something so simple.

She can feel it all building, the desire between them, the anticipation, all while knowing just how long it had been since she'd been with someone like this. And yet never like this.

"You barely even know me," she whispers softly, almost frowning as she looks up at him. They don't have the same connection she's shared with other partners, an understanding of each other before it becomes anything more. Their connection is a different emotion entirely, one she doesn't quite understand. She hasn't felt like this in quite some time. Perhaps ever.

With one button open his fingers drift lower, another getting the same treatment as the first, enough to give room for a hand to slip past the fabric, should he so chose to do that.

His eyes glance down again, taking in the bra beneath her blouse, plain, functional, a little off white and covering most of her skin. But it's what lies beneath it that he's more interested in.

Her question brings a wry smile to his lips. He doesn't know her, no, barely knows her at all. He can't even remember her last name, but isn't that just a little bit exciting? She has no idea who he is, not really, and nor he about her. But the best books are the ones without covers, the ones who's pages are a mystery to be discovered.

"I think we're getting a little better acquainted," he says as his hand slips inside her blouse and inside her bra too, his fingers sliding over her breast, feeling the soft supple skin beneath.

"And anyway, who said we have to do things in the right order?"

She lets out an unsteady breath when his hand slips into her bra, the touch seeming to lull her eyes closed. She exhales softly as she stands there, summoning up the strength to open her eyes again and look up at him, meeting that gaze with a meaningful one of her own, determined. Determined to get what she wants, despite her uncertainty.

His words twist her smile somewhat, and she blinks up at him, repeating them in her head. They sound so familiar to her, like a strange sense of deja vu. But then Melody has a habit of remembering strange things, and she dismisses her thoughts. It means nothing.

"We don't," she replies, shaking it off by concentrating on him, doing so with a little more confidence. He's bringing it out of her now, and she smirks a little as she brings her hands towards his waist, eyes wandering him appraisingly. After all, he's quite the catch himself.

"So where would you like to start?"

Edited 2014-09-17 21:38 (UTC)

Her question makes him laugh. With his hand in her bra, he thought maybe they'd already done that. Oh she's going to be a tricky one, isn't she? He has no doubt she'll keep him on his toes.

His hand palms her breast a little more firmly, less gentle than the initial steps, pushing tighter into her bra, thumb over her nipple and flicking against the skin.

"I think I already have," he tells her, voice low and breathy. He moves up against her a step, making her step back once, the edge of the desk meeting the back of her thighs. He leans in further, tilting his head down, his lips seeking out her skin and finding it as he slowly begins to kiss her neck.

As his hand still grabs at her breast, his other moves to continue opening the buttons of her blouse, only half giving it attention as his lips move over her skin.

It had been a worthwhile tactic, and she chuckles as she finds herself being backed into the desk, feeling his actions turn all the more amorous. Somehow she had guessed he was a man who liked to prove his worth.

Leaning her head back, her eyes fall closed against as he kisses at his neck. She tries to come to terms with all that's happening, the many incredible ways in which he is touching her right now. This whole thing is madness, of course. But what a delicious madness it is.

"So you have," she approves throatily as she lets her head fall back some more, already breathless from his actions and easily wrapped up in his touch.

There's something in the way she laughs that he finds utterly thrilling. He can't pin it down, can barely recognise it's there, but he knows he wants her, and knows with each passing moment he wants her even more.

With his urgency to open her blouse, one of the buttons pops off in the process, but he doesn't care or notice, he'd gladly rip every shred from her if she'd let him.

The fabric now freed, he lets his hand pull back from her bra, hurried movements shoving her blouse back from her shoulders, her cardigan falling with it too, letting her do the rest as it slides along her arms. Both hands then around her, hurriedly working on the bra clasp that comes quickly free (it's not his first bra). Only then as it slips away does he allow his lips to stop their trail against her skin, his head drawing back a little to look down at her newly exposed body. One hand reaches to grasp about one of her breasts, and he lets out a slight hiss of a breath.

"Oh you've got incredible tits," he tells her.

She gives a small gasp of surprise when she realises one of the buttons has popped off her her blouse, part of her about to start looking for it, thankfully a bigger part of her realising its insignificance. Insignificance to the fact that he was taking off said blouse, and everything else.

Her arms pull to free themselves from the clothing, it soon fluttering to the desk behind her. Barely a second passes and he's working at her bra, and she's almost dizzy with how fast everything is progressing. To go from no touch at all, to all this, is almost too much to bear. She gasps and tries to focus herself, realising soon enough that her bra is now gone too and she looks down to find him gripping at her breast.

"Oh, God," she manages to utter under her breath, her eyes lifting to look up at him again, staring at him with something akin to wonder, before she launches forward off the desk, grabbing at the shirt he's wearing and making quick work of it, yanking it up and over his head.

Edited 2014-09-17 22:07 (UTC)

The spurt of her action has him feeling almost vindicated. A smirk spreads across his face as he shifts, lifting his arms for her to make light work of his tshirt.

"Oh I knew it," he says, mostly to himself. He knew she wasn't all gentle and uncertain. He sees a fire in her, in those eyes, she controls it well perhaps, but it's there.

"I'm gong to fuck you so hard, you know that?" he promises, stepping back against her once more, pushing her back again to the table. His hand reaches back to grasp for her breast once more, the touch hardly gentle as his head lowers and lips close around her nipple, tongue flicking eagerly over the skin. There's a noise, almost a groan, and his head pulls back a little.

"God these are amazing," he mumbles. "I want to come on these. Come so hard all over your tits." His head lifts again, eyes on hers, a glint in his own. "If you'll let me."

Her hands fall to rest on the heat of his bare back, on which she can still feel the damp of his shirt. Her grip tightens as he speaks, her breaths still shaking and her eyes a little wide. She's never been touched like this, never been spoken to like this, and it's so exhilarating, so wrong, that it's dizzying.

She moans breathlessly as his mouth devours her breast, her hand coming up to grip the back of his head, holding him to her as her body shifts needfully against the desk behind her.

"Y-you.. you really want to do that?" she mumbles through a gasp, her thoughts sidetracked by visions of everything he says, hardly able to keep up with what's happening.

"Oh you bet I do," he confirms. "God I'm so hard just thinking about it."

He looks at her, his eyes down to watch his hand as it kneads her breast between his fingertips, clearly enjoying the task, but equally mindful that she does too.

"What would you like?" he asks quietly. "Do you want to go to the bed? Do you want my head between your legs? Do you want me to fuck you? You tell me."

It's her opportunity, he won't shove her on the bed and get carried away, he remembers how she said it had been a long time, he remembers how uncertain and nervous she seemed. Even if she doesn't answer, he has to give her the chance.

Her lips move, but it takes a moment before words come out. Of all those options, she goes for the smallest step, wanting to take it slowly. As slowly as one could when half naked and pinned against a desk in a Travelodge.

"Let's go to the bed," she says, because that's something she can understand, get to grips with. It's a place to start, and then they can see what happens next. His other options, well, maybe they'll come later. Including the one he has his mind set on. She might need another drink before that happens.

"Gladly," he says before stepping back from her with a smile. He doesn't take his hands from her though, not at first at least, his palm sliding along her side before he moves to let her get to the bed.

A step back and if she should look at the crotch of his already rather tight jeans, the bulge there should be obvious, his body pressing against the fabric, eager for release. He keeps a step away, letting her settle as she wishes, watching her all the while.

From his pocket he pulls one of the condoms he retrieved from the machine earlier, and sets the packet down on the small wooden bedside plinth.

When he pulls away from her, she finally feels like she can breathe again. She stands there, drinking in air like he'd been keeping it from her, it seeming to cease the whirling of her head, or maybe that's because he's not stood so close to her. Apart, she can look at him properly, see him in his entirety, stood there with his shirt off, and his jeans leaving very little to the imagination. But it's not just him she sees now. It's everything.

With another deep breath, she pushes herself slightly forward so she's no longer perched on the desk, her eyes wandering down and offhandedly noticing her button on the carpet. But it's that that seems to settle everything in her mind, and she slowly looks up at him again, seeing the way he's watching her.

It does things to her, things that terrify her, and that's how part of her feels right now. And that's wrong, she doesn't want to be scared, not of him, not of this. But it's all so much, too much even, and for as much as she wants to ignore that voice in her head, she can't.

Swallowing, Melody begins to shake her head slightly looking around the room and all it represents.

"I'm sorry," she begins quietly, frowning, almost disappointed in herself. "I.. This. This isn't me."

For a moment, James looks shocked. But shock just as quickly gives way to an expression that's more guilt.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, his expression full of concern.

"No! No," she's quick to say, quick to relieve him of any blame. She doesn't want him to think he's done anything he shouldn't, or forced her here in any way. She made a choice, she's just not so sure if it was the right one.

"You haven't done anything wrong." Her head shakes, and she takes a small step forward towards him, so he can see that. "It's just me. I'm not.." she hesitates, trying to explain herself without sounding foolish, but she thinks that's a given so she carries on with a sigh. "I'm not very good at things like this."

Not the sex part, she's fairly sure she's ok at that part, given the feedback. But she's not so good at leaving emotions at the door, particularly not the guilty ones.

He doesn't quite understand, and he looks over her, still concern in his eyes.

"Good at what?" he asks. He doesn't know what she's expecting of herself, but he thinks maybe it's too much. "Melody..." he sighs. "You don't have to do anything. If you've changed your mind, that's up to you. I just wanted you to have a good night. I think we all deserve that every now and then."

Her lips part to speak, but instead she just sighs, because as far as she's concerned, either way, she's ruined everything. She runs a hand through her hair, making those wild curls ever wilder, and she shakes her head slowly as she tries to reply.

"No, I know. And you're right. I guess I'm just not very good at giving myself a break." She smiles somewhat uncertainly, shrugging her shoulders at herself. She's not a woman who knows how to let go, how to take risks. She's never been able to, she's lived for her son, worked to keep them safe and happy, now he's gone, she's carrying on that same old routine, but with nobody benefitting from it. Not even her.

"It's okay to relax, you know," he tells her as though perhaps she really might not.

He shifts a little, and looks to the side, noting her cardigan discarded nearby. He turns towards it, holding out so that she might drape it about her. He doesn't want her to feel uncomfortable, and he'll do all he can to prevent that.

"Do you want to just talk?" he asks.

She looks down as he hands her the cardigan, taking it in her hands. She smiles gratefully at the sentiment, but she doesn't move to wrap it about her. If anything, she's actually quite comfortable being naked around him. It's everything else she needs a little help with.

"Oh, I don't know," she murmurs, absently picking a stray piece of fluff off the fabric. "I'll probably bore your ear off."

Her response brings about a new frown, and he shakes his head a little.

"It's not going to work, you know," he tells her. "You're not going to convince me that you're someone I should find boring or something. Because I don't. You're not. I asked you here because I wanted to spend the night with you. So yeah, I want you to talk. Talk my ear off, talk both of them off, then put them back on and do it again. I'll listen gladly."

She laughs slightly when he says that, still finding it rather difficult to believe. But he insists, and so she has to.

"Well," she begins, opening her arms either side of her before she trudges forward to go and sit on the bed. If they're going to talk, let's talk. "I wasn't lying when I said it had been a while. My last relationship didn't end too well." If she was honest, none of them did.

As she starts to talk, he takes that as invitation, and moves over, sitting on the bed and dragging himself up onto it, crossing his legs under him.

"How long?" he asks with gentle curiosity. He wouldn't usually ask, but given she's broached the topic, he feels perhaps it's okay.

She's not so surprised he's asked that question, and it makes her smile wryly to herself, because surely the answer will make him baulk. "Almost three years now."

Perhaps now it wasn't so surprising why she was so conflicted.

Three years. That's as long as he's existed. As long as James has, at least. He doesn't remember further back, though he wishes he did. His head dips a moment, and then lifts once more.

"Let me guess, just too busy? Or a bit easier if you're keeping people at arm's length?"

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