[for reese]

[more_flexible]

[from here]

Jack's arms slipped around her waist and held her lightly, the softness of her body conforming to the angles and lines of his. He closed his eyes and the whole world slipped away until all he had was the pinpoint focus devoted entirely to her. Just her...no name.

There was no need for names. No need for anything but touch and taste, for breath and balance as Jack slowly walked her back toward the bed. Even in the bright sunlight, it was dark in the hut. Dark enough that the bruises and scratches of someone else's activities wouldn't be quite as noticeable. It was cooler, but only by a couple degrees--just enough that when his hands moved beneath her shirt and it lifted, it was noticeable.

His focus was absolutely devoted to her, to herin his arms, to her against his body, to her beneath his hands. To her against his mouth and in his nose, overwhelming his senses until he had no choice but to ignore the rest of the universe in favor of her.

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[9mmshotglass.livejournal.com]

She was quiet, her fingers at her belt, the tiny chink the only sound to break the silence but a few soft moans that slipped by. The coolness felt good, raised goosebumps, and her head fell back to spill her hair everywhere (it was getting so long). The startling, near manic energy that had found its way into words after the grogginess had worn away found new purpose as her hands found his skin.

Reese had a light touch, as light as a tentative tongue tip, tasting, flicking out, smoothing over fabric (she worked her shirt free, folded it deftly, dropped it, wanted to unfold it, be messy and couldn't), slipping against his skin. Eventually, though, her fingers stilled against his hips as she hit the edge of the bed.

Her skin was warming, like she was a piece of the sun come alive, shaking off the goosebumps as she kissed him long and slow. Her breasts brushed against his shirt and the texture felt good. So damn good. It's fine, see? Everything's fine. This is what it used to be, don't you know? Give up and just feel.

Reese buried her lips against his neck, arched into him, a low sound stuck somewhere deep in her throat. It couldn't decided what it was, a moan, a soft groan, a purr, a growl.

Dani Reese was surprisingly quiet, but her fingers were not. They were careful-clever, dipping and slipping, skimming, taking notes of cuts and bruises by feel (getting to know you, getting to know all about you, shut up), and just learning what made him twitch.

She was good at learning.