latino_menace | OOM: Bogotá, post Maria

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OOM: Bogotá, post Maria

Perhaps it wasn't really the manly thing, letting Fi deal with getting her out. Under normal circumstances, he'd just give her a smack and be done with it. But isn't shock bad for unborn kids? He doesn't know and he's still struggling with mixed emotions about the baby - on one hand, he wishes it had never happened. But on the other...it has. And it's going to be born now, no matter what so shouldn't he start getting used to the idea?

None of this is easy. He's glad of the half-minute or so that Fi is out of the room because it gives him just a little space to breathe and think about what he's going to say, if he has to say anything. He really had no idea she'd show up here.

When Fi comes back, she'll find him sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, smoking a cigarette and staring at nothing in particular.

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And he's helpless to do anything but move, groans spilling from his mouth at every pulse, every thrust of his hips, every time she clenches around him. It's like pushing into a tight, wet vice, threatening to push him over the edge at any second but he's managing to hold himself back without even thinking about it.

It's good here, doing this. It's better than anything that's going on outside of this bedroom and he doesn't want it to be over.

Her breathing settles a little as the second climax releases its hold on her. He's still moving in her and she relaxes beneath him, still holding him close. She would have thought it too much, but no, it feels amazing. The weight of his body and the heat and hardness of him, slicking through her flesh. Her muscles ache in all the right ways, still rippling around him, trying to urge him on.

Her hands slip from his neck, down to his chest, pushing him up so she can look into his face.

"Here, let me..." She shifts, urging him up for just a moment, not even far enough to break their connect. One knee lifts, and with a bit of manoeuvring, she rests her foot on his shoulder. "Try this." Another shift, a low hiss and her other foot joins the first, closing her pussy around him even tighter. She can feel everything like this.

"Lean forward. Kiss me."

He keens quietly as she moves, clamps him closer, pauses just long enough to let her settle and then does as she asks. The break gives him the few beats he needs to stabilize himself, then he leans forward and kisses her deeply as he starts his rhythm again. Hard and fast and deep but careful not to slip out of her, not breaking the connection.

She moans into his mouth, her hands finding their home in his hair again. She loves the sound of his voice, loves the intensity of his touch, loves the way he seems to want to fuck her into next week.

This position really does leave her at his mercy, and that's fine right now. He's magnificent, and she just wants to feel him move, wants to listen to the sound of their bodies meeting, wants to feel him hit that glorious point of no return buried deep inside her.

She'll be able to tell he's close; his movements are starting to become erratic, jerking into her rather than an even pace, moaning louder and more freely because he's not aware he's making any sound now. He pants rather than breathes, eyes closed and focused entirely on pleasure, starting to tense all over.

'You...done?'

It's gasped out; he's not going to be able to hold out much longer.

She's just as vocal, just as far gone and not caring who hears. Another searing kiss, and she's nodding, a small motion he feels more than sees. She growls the answer against his temple.

"Come for me, caro. Inside me. Deep."

He nods wordlessly and it only takes about another ten seconds. When it hits, it's silent but no less powerful for that. He shoves forward as far as he can, buried to the hilt, every muscle rigid and vibrating, the tension almost unbearable but he can't stop, can't relax, can't do anything but stay locked in her until it lets him go.

It takes a little while. And then he practically collapses, limp and exhausted; fit as he is, he's still gasping for breath. It's been a long day but that was the perfect way to end it.

She shifts, winding her legs around him, locking him in close, not wanting to let him go. Her fingers comb his hair back from his face, and she tries to remember how to breathe. She kisses his cheek, breathes in the smell of him, fixing this moment in her memory. She can feel his heart pounding, can feel his sweat all over her body.

She draws a long breath and lets it out slowly. He can't see the wistful smile that curls across her lips.

He's fine with staying where he is. Right now, he's not sure where he is but it feels nice so it's OK. She's locked him in close and has hands in his hair, the warm afterglow is starting to spread and eventually, his breathing starts to even out.

Still not moving though. No way.

She doesn't want to move, doesn't want this to end. Doesn't want this to be anything more than this. Simple. Good.

You can't hurt my son.

And for a moment, she lets him be the only thing in the universe holding her together. Her eyes press closed and she just holds him.

"You feel good."

'You too.'

Inch by inch his muscles unclench, leaving him in a state of extreme relaxation, the kind of deep looseness that needs a lot of sleep to overcome. He does try and keep most of his weight on his arms to avoid squashing her but it's difficult after a while. The earlier stiffness from the fight is starting to return but he's almost too comfortable to move even to the side.

'If you want another go, you'll have to go on top.'

He's joking, weakly. He could get it up again but he's not sure he's got the energy to physically do it now. But if she wants him to, he will.

There's a quiet laugh at that. She shifts again, just a little, easing him over onto his side, still keeping him close, a few gentle kisses at the corner of his mouth. No, she can't help herself. She wants another long deep kiss, her heart in her mouth. Her hand curves down his jaw, and she takes her fill.

That done, she rises on one elbow, looking down into his face.

"I should go. Let you get some sleep."

He'll be waiting for her when she gets back to the bar. Smug as ever, thinking he wore her out.

'You're not staying?'

He assumed she'd stay the night. Of course, he assumed they'd be fucking all night too but she's more physically demanding than women he's used to, especially after what went down earlier in the evening.

Her hands smooth over his skin, as if she's trying to memorise every inch of him.

Ask me to stay.

"I -- really shouldn't."

'Why?'

Not staying seems pretty stupid. Besides, he wants her to.

'There's an alarm clock right there if you need to get up for something.'

Oh any number of reasons, she thinks. Starting way back when she decided to let him into her bed in the first place, going back even further, to the moment he followed her over that bridge and into her flat.

She studies his face, one fingertip tracing along his brow, down his jaw.

"I have someone waiting for me."

Ask me to stay.

He smirks and slides his arm around her waist, holding her tight. If she wants to get up, she'll have to fight it off.

'I'll understand.'

He will, too.

There is a moment when she wonders, will you? Do you understand?

It's not the same as him asking the question, but he knows, she's doesn't have the will or the desire to fight him off. He pulls her close and she goes to him, submits willingly. She nuzzles under his chin, her eyes closing.

"I'll tell him you said that."

''f I don't remember saying it, I'm obviously too old to be with you.'

He musters up the last of his energy and pulls the quilt over them, keeping her close. He hopes she'll still be here when he wakes up but part of him admits to himself its unlikely. And maybe it'd be better that way. Easier for everyone. Less awkward.

"Caro?"

'Yeah?'

It's easy to ask, curled up here like this, boneless and sated, tangled up in him. She needs just one more thing from him, and for some reason, he's made her feel like she can ask for that.

"Say my name?"

He looks down at her sleepily, confused by the request.

'Fiona?'

It sounds unsure because he doesn't know what she wants from that. He doesn't know what she would get from it.

She smiles, and he can feel it.

"Not a question," she corrects gently. "Just -- like you --" She swallows hard, trying to find the words.

"Just like someone was asking you, who was that crazy puta with the shotgun? The one you were dancing with in the club? The banshee who threw your fiancée out by her hair, who was she?"

Edited 2010-03-18 23:17 (UTC)

Now he feels like he's under a spotlight, like he has to do it right or everything goes wrong again. He tenses, not so sleepy any more.

'Fiona.'

It's said pretty much without inflection. A touch resentful perhaps, if she's really looking to hear it.

OOM: Bogotá, post Maria

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