(Untitled)

[keira_nightly]

Later that night.The lingering traces of alcohol, Nic and the late hour combine to make her feel like she's underwater, movements slow and exaggerated as she strips in the dark of her bedroom. The weave of her top catches in her fingers and nipples and hair, sticky from sweat (his and hers) and she shimmies out of her trousers awkwardly, smiling

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[billboyd]

He ignores the question -- he sees in her eyes that she already wishes she hadn't asked it. The back of his neck is itching, even though he knows there isn't anyone out there, knows that he hasn't been followed. "Can I come in?" he asks quietly when she doesn't move out of the doorway, and she starts, eyes going wide. Bill hopes it's the realization that she's blocking his way that makes her look like that, and not his tone of voice. He can't help the way it sounds right now. Either way, she backs further into the room so Bill can step inside, which he does at once. He pulls the door out of her loose-fingered grasp and closes it softly, engaging the lock on the knob and the deadbolt. Keira doesn't have a chain

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[keira_nightly]

The calm heaviness of her limbs dissipated the moment he moved past her through the doorway, and has now been replaced by a thicker, stickier feeling weighing much more at her. His snapping at her only made the sudden knot in her chest tighten further.

The expression on Bill's face frightens her and she wants to reach out to him and smoothe it out with her fingers, but the twitchiness of his body and the nervous darts of eyes stops her and she ends up just standing by him, clutching her own fingers against her chest, watching him worriedly.

"Bill?"

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[billboyd]

Her voice is tiny, a little hoarse (there had been screaming and laughter at the party, and maybe it's because of that, or maybe he's just scared her enough to render her nearly voiceless, dammit), and he turns to look at her sharply, at the curl of her fingers between her breast and the wide and startled look in her eyes.

She's scared, he's frightened her, and his first instinct is to curse, to spit out fury and dismay with words, but he bites down on it, because it isn't likely to fucking help, is it?

The fact that she's standing in her own living room, afraid of him, makes his throat close and his chest tighten with inward rage and self-loathing.

Hi's such a fucking bastard, coming to her like this, knowing better, knowing what he is like, he's so fucking stupid, and she's right to be afraid of him, but he had wanted to see her, he had thought it might help, might soothe him or make him forget; he had wanted to take comfort in her, and he is clearly selfish in the worst fucking way

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[keira_nightly]

The idea of letting him go, of seeing him walk out like this frightens her even more than the blood splattered on his shirt. Her hand finally connects with his back, over the tense shoulderblade; the muscles twitch at the contact, and his eyes flicker back to hers.

"Please... don't. Stay. Stay here, with me."

The way the words are strung together echo her earlier invitation inspite of her, but it's much more driven by worry than desire this time. It is, however, slightly more desperate. He isn't the kind to fancy desperation unless it's from Orlando, so she quashes it down along with the questions burning on her tongue.

[keira_nightly]

She watches him curiously, body alive but her mind racing at the idea of someone wanting her so much it nearly pains him. She wants to see his eyes on her again, she wants to feel the way she felt there for a few seconds, under his stunned scrutiny

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[billboyd]

He hears her, distantly. There is a great rushing sound in his ears, and he can't tear his eyes away from her. No fucking wonder Nic had looked like he had, no fucking wonder. He cannot imagine anyone being able to focus on anything else,, having her like this.

He's moving without needing to think about it anymore, turning his hand (the silken prickle of her pubic curls glide against the backs of his knuckles), parting those curls with his thumb to press it against the slick folds of her, slide it up to her clit. She gasps sharply, like he's surprised her, and her hips rock upward. He flicks his eyes to her face, and she has risen up to her elbows, but her head has fallen back, eyes closed, the long, slender line of her throat arched. Her lips are open -- her tongue slides out and swipes along her lower lip as he watches, and he presses harder with his thumb without intent -- and she groans, hips bucking up again.

Oh, he thinks dazedly. Oh.The taut skin of her thighs gleam in the early morning light, fresh sweat, and he

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[keira_nightly]

His breath is puffing warmly inside her thigh and her arms give at the feel, sending her flat to the mattress again, back arching along with the press of his thumb. His touch is precise and relentless and she doesn't want to tell him to stop or she'll come too soon, but she wants to come like this, as many time as he'll let her, so she doesn't tell him to stop.

A hard swipe of his thumb makes her buck again and she doesn't bite off the moan, the thick groan at the back of her throat, the whine of her breath, becoming erratic. He needs to know this is what he's doing to her, nothing faked, nothing controlled. Just her, and this.

It almost feels foreign even to her.

"Oh. Oh. Yes, please, like that..." she breathes, sotto voce, without really wanting to. She can feel his breath closer, staccato too, as his finger gain assurance, become bolder in their caress. She squirms under them and cants her legs in invitation, as if he needed any. She reaches out and feels a soft tuft of his hair, slightly damp from behind his ear.

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[billboyd]

Her fingers twine in the hair at the nape of his neck and he nips at her skin, feels it shiver under his lips, feels her fingers tug at his hair. She tastes like sex, and Bill discovers that he has quite a taste for it. He doesn't know if it's because of earlier, because of the party after the party (and Nic), or if she always tastes like this, but he feels like he's starving for it, ravenous

[keira_nightly]

"Mmm, yes." And she knows she does; she can still taste him, too, behind her teeth, mixing with Bill against her palate. She presses her tongue there and wonders at Bill's tone just now, as if he'd been sweet-talking her instead of mentioning the guy she's had sex with mere hours ago. Whom Bill also happens to half-hate, at least according to the shiner on Nic's cheekbone. The other half of Bill's opinion of Nic is still unclear, but Keira stores it along with the unspoken for now, and it almost feels like it belongs there.

"I can shower if you want." She would if he gave any indication that he'd prefer it, but gravity is keeping her against him and he shows no sign of letting go either.

[billboyd]

"No," he says quickly. "It doesn't bother me."

And it really doesn't. He isn't even sure why he said it, except that it's an oddity, just something that had occurred to him and slipped of his tongue without thought. He isn't particularly crazy about that, but there's nothing to be done about it now. He really must start thinking before he speaks, though.

He winds his fingers into her hair and she makes a soft, contented sound against his collar bone. She fits perfectly, curved into his body, but she's going to have to get up soon, or they're going to be sticky. And he should probably leave.

Yeah, right, he thinks, and curls his fingers into her hair. She nuzzles at his neck a little, open-mouthed and sleepy. Like you're going to leave this. For what? To sleep in your fucking car? That's bloody likely.And he isn't, of course. He's going to stay -- he already knows what she'll say if he asks her -- and sleep with his limbs tangled with hers. Even if he doesn't sleep, he can watch her sleep, which beats the hell out of not-

[keira_nightly]

There are a few minutes of silence and stillness, breaths synchronizing and fingers soothing, and Keira forgets to keep up. When she lets her eyes flutter open again on a half-surprised moan, she feels the languor of sleep pulling her down. She moves before it immobilises her completely, just slips off of him slowly enough to make both of them breath a little harder for a beat or two.

Getting off of him completely proves much harder.

She lets her hip slide off him to the mattress and cradles him like this, against his side, wordlessly for a minute, letting sleep taunt her again, before she pats his chest lightly. She mumbles into his shoulder. "Clean up. But come back or I'll go get you."

[billboyd]

He smiles at the top of her head for a moment before shifting the rest of the way out from beneath her.

"Where's your loo, love," he asks, because frankly, the idea of wandering around her flat in nothing but a condom doesn't particularly appeal to him. She mutters something into a pillow that he can't understand, and the grin that comes to his lips feels perfectly natural, perfectly normal, and the events of earlier in the evening (after the party and in the seedy pub on Santa Monica) seem impossibly distant. The line of her back is soft and smooth, and he bends and traces it with his lips for just a moment, just long enough to hear her sigh and feel her shiver.

"Your loo, quaen," he murmurs again. "Where is it?"