wesleynotponcy | Room 504, Laaaaaate Wednesday Night

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Room 504, Laaaaaate Wednesday Night

Wesley couldn't quite clamp down on the small pained noises that rose instinctively in his throat as he made his way agonizingly slowly up the last set of stairs to the fifth floor. It just figured, didn't it, that his room would be on the top floor when he was in this condition. Well. At least it wasn't too far from the stairwell to his room.

He limped the few steps to his door and unlocked it. He knew that he would have to do inventory of the injuries later, but right now he was focused rather single-mindedly on making sure Katniss had enough food and then collapsing in bed. He rather hoped he'd find her sleeping -- he didn't much fancy the idea of her seeing him like this. It would just be another piece of evidence that he wasn't equipped to take care of someone.

[[For the mockingjay. Up early for probable eventual SP.]]

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"If you're comfortable, it's perfect," Katniss murmured, leaning over to kiss him. "I don't know what I'm doing," she added again, between soft little kisses, because that was a thing she could do now, too. She was experimenting! "Tell me if it's...bad, or too much, or...just keep me updated."

"I somehow doubt that'll be an issue," he murmured in between kisses of his own. As the tingles that accompanied being kissed began resparking in his chest, he found himself oddly motivated, and reached a hand out to settle on her side.

And after everything in the last few moments, how a simple hand on her side could send that kind of flutter through her was beyond Katniss. She shifted a little, skimming her fingertips out to graze his chest. She was mindful of his wounds but...well, he was warm and there and touchable and hers. How could she not?

Mid-kiss, Wesley let out a small noise of pleasure at that. While before he'd had just his fingertips just tenatively brushing against her side, now he took her touch as an indication that it was okay. So he got more comfortable, and lay his palm flat against the shirt that was entirely too worn and baggy on her, and just... felt.

How could something so unfamiliar be so comfortable? And more importantly, how could something so comfortable be so exciting at the same time?

Katniss would need two hands and possibly her toes to count how many shirtless or outright naked men she'd seen in her life, on her mother's table or thanks to the Games. And yet, before now, she'd never felt a bit attracted to a man's chest.

Things were different now.

And the thing was, she was comfortable. Comfortable, but like her skin was too tight, too, and she couldn't quite think straight, and that hand at her waist was so warm and she was tingling and Katniss leaned closer, crossing her body gently across his to deepen the kiss.

Wesley couldn't say the same, truth be told; his understanding of the female form was limited to the textbooks he'd studied as a child and one painful two-hour lecture from primary school that he'd done his best to repress. But he'd grown up with a Watcher's reverent respect for women, bordering on idolatry, and he'd imagined too many times what it might be like to be so close and so comfortable with one.

In his head, it had never been this tangible, or ever in full-color. His visuals were always abstract and vague, whereas this was sharply, starkly real.

He let out a contented sigh into her mouth, his hand slowly traveling up her side. Not so far up as to be uncomfortable for her -- he was a gentleman, after all. Just... up.

Katniss had never had time to daydream, or moon over boys, or wonder what this would be like. Now she finally understood what the other girls she'd known had been blushing over, and the appeal of certain outfits. Outfits that generally weren't her style, but right now she was deeply regretting her general policy of modesty. She liked being in his shirt, but there was a hand and there could have been skin -- her skin -- being touched, but some part of her knew that there needed to be a pace to this.

She finally understood it, though. Not...how to be good at this, but the why behind a lot of things. Congratulations, Katniss. You've discovered hormones and lust.

In any case, that hand traveling up wasn't getting any sort of halt from her, though it had earned a large amount of her attention. The rest was focused on balancing above him, one hand steadying herself on the bed as she experimentally nipped lightly at his lower lip. She was curious about nearly everything, it seemed.

Wesley gasped an "Oh!" into her mouth, but he certainly wasn't pulling away. The sudden sharpness of the nip had been startling, but even more so was the fact that it set off more of those adrenaline-like sparks that were firing in his chest. Before tonight, with a few confusing exceptions he didn't often dwell on, he'd only ever thought of intimacy as soft kisses and gentle touches, if even that. The fact that something like a bite, even an experimental one like that, could feel inviting? It was strange.

So, naturally, he had to try it out for himself, and he reciprocated with a quick nip of his own.

Katniss let out a happy gasp of her own, that weird fluttery want drifting through her abdomen again. She squirmed, trailing one of her feet along his leg. She wanted to climb over him and or pull him on top of her and feel all of him and she'd never wanted anything like this before, not really, and it was strange and new and exciting and she needed to focus.

Focus.

Focus, perhaps, on very gently exploring places to kiss aside from his mouth. Like maybe his neck. She was careful, though.

As it turned out, Wesley liked that a whole lot, judging by the quick gasp of breath and sudden pleasured shudder that ran through him. Though she wasn't exactly lacking for access routes, he instinctively tilted his neck away from her, baring more exposed skin where she could repeat that maneuver.

Kissing thus rendered more complicated, he went about finding something to do with the rest of his body, and settled on entwining one leg with hers and, as an afterthought, beginning to massage his fingertips feather-lightly into her side.

And now she had no shortage of places to target. Katniss ran a trail of light kisses along his jawline, mindful of his abraisions, and found the crook of his neck. She pressed a soft kiss there too and, because it seemed like a good idea (she didn't know. It could be the worst idea she'd ever had, but she wanted to try anyway), she flicked her tongue out against the soft skin there.

She was curious. And when Katniss was curious about things, she experimented to understand.

Wesley's whole body trembled at that last one, and the hand cupping her side tightened just a bit as a result. Dozens of ideas popped up in his head as a response, all of them more assertive than he'd been to this point. So, after a moment of psyching himself up for this, he made to roll the two of them over, which would -- if she allowed it -- put him on top of her, propped up on one fortunately uninjured elbow.

Oh. Oh. Katniss hadn't realized that having him on top of her, feeling the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, could seem so right. In any other situation, being pinned like this would have had her fighting, feeling claustrophobic, and thinking of a way out.

With Wesley, though, she was at ease -- well, sort of. At ease in the sense that she wanted him there and wanted him to stay there and her heart was beating so fast she thought it might jump right out of her chest.

She shifted, sliding an arm up around his back to skim, lightly, over his shirt. And then her fingertips were ducking under it, hesitantly, to graze up his spine.

Inappropriately, Wesley was suddenly grateful that Faith had done most of her work on him while he was tied to a chair -- it meant that his back was uninjured. So any sensitivity that he felt was because Katniss' fingers were there, soft and feather-light and impossibly dexterous (and truth be told he'd always had a fascination with her hands).

Settling both of his hands lightly on her neck, he dipped down for a slow, deep kiss.

And clearly the best plan of action was to slide her other hand up his back, too, so that both were lightly splayed. She could feel his muscles twitching under her fingers, could feel every movement he made, and well -- she'd always found the fact that Wesley did exactly not look like how she knew Wesley was actually built to be highly attractive. She'd just always relied on sight, rather than touch.

It was different, in the most exciting way it could be.

She arched her neck slightly, to meet his kiss, because Katniss found herself wanting more. Or at least not wanting this to stop, ever, if she could help it.

Wesley stroked the pads of his thumbs over her neck, grazing gently and amazing himself with the fact that he could feel her pulse and she was right there, and any hitches in her breath could even perchance, very possibly, just maybe be attributed to him and what he was doing.

It was sort of incredible.

As he kissed her, he hooked one ankle under hers, entwining their legs.

Every response from Katniss was definitely to his credit, as the fact that the winding of their legs produced a soft hum against his lips might have proved. She could feel things now -- they were so close, and he was on top of her, and she was naive but she wasn't stupid -- and her mind was racing and she was wondering things like whether they should stop (answer: no, never) or what the next steps were and whether they needed to talk about this and -- that train of thought sort of skidded off the rails every now and then, because kissing made it hard to think, and kissing with the whole length of Wesley pressed against her made it entirely impossible, actually.

She hooked her leg around his, keeping him close against her. That much was instinct, if also rather entwined with whatever cobbled-together thoughts she was managing.

He wasn't going to stop to talk if she wasn't going to, that was certain, and while he was vaguely aware of the unfortunate consequences of this particular position, as far as he was concerned, it was worth it.

Really, really worth it, actually.

The sweatpants he'd given her were baggy and loose on her legs, and having his ankle against her leg meant that the hem was now bunched up just above her ankle, letting his skin touch hers. It wasn't a spot he'd ever thought of as being particularly sexual, but that didn't stop the shiver from running through him upon that contact.

Katniss had never found herself attractive or -- god forbid -- sexy, in the slightest. She was too skinny, a girl too thin to afford curves and opted for angles, instead. Her leg (like the rest of her, as Wesley had undoubtedly noticed) wasn't feminine, soft, or anything that she'd ever show off.

But oh, how it tingled right then.

His too-big pants slipped up higher on her leg as she wound her foot against his, revealing a stretch of muscled (but thin -- always too thin) calf, and that hint of skin of hers against skin of his, even if it was just legs and feet and ankles, made Katniss ache for more.

Sensing that Katniss was, very possibly, a fan of this new kind of touching they were doing, Wesley had an idea. One that he wasn't sure would work, and which required him to move his arms away from her neck and shoulders and onto the mattress, one hand on either side of her. Now effectively propped up, he was able to lift his lower body (this was almost like exercise!) and slowly graze the toes of both his feet down the flat of her foot.

Belatedly, he hoped she wasn't ticklish.

She wasn't, but she was sort of squirmy at that touch. Which, given their positions, sent her arching against him a bit.

...and that was a whole new kind of interesting, and Katniss' breath hitched because hi. That bare foot of hers twitched against his, and Katniss maybe needed a minute to remember how breathing worked, period.

Oh. Um, wow.

That had Wesley's heartbeat speeding up a little, and he drew back just far enough to swallow hard and wet his lips a couple of times. Breathlessly, he managed, "That was--", before cutting himself off and realizing that he didn't even know what that was.

"You," she finished, swallowing thickly. "A-and me. Wesley, I...." She didn't even know. Her gut told her that she wanted that again, and more.

Her head told her that that kind of rashness was probably a bad idea. There wasn't a lot of 'waiting for the right moment' back in Twelve -- when there had been a Twelve, anyway.

"Maybe we should slow down?" she guessed softly, and she was sure it was written all over her that she didn't want to. At all.

For a fleeting, worrisome second, Wesley thought that he might have gone too far, and did a quick inventory of the placement of his hands and, er, the rest of him. But then he caught her eye and realized that she didn't mean that at all, flooding him with relief.

"Yes, right," he agreed, blinking a few times. "We should -- and -- right." To reduce the awkwardness, he added, "Before, er, Alex returns."

There, see? No awkward. Note to self: Blaming it on the roommate? Always a good idea.

She laughed (giggled, really) a little uncomfortably, and agreed, "Yeah, for Alex's sake." She played with the hair at the nape of his neck, because slowing down didn't mean stop touching and she had no plan to.

"I just -- " She was struggling for words here, more than usual. "I don't want to stop, so I think maybe we should? Just...'cause that seems like an indication that I'm not thinking like I should be."

Phrase that a little more awkwardly, Katniss. Try.

Edited 2011-10-22 17:43 (UTC)

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