ol_yellow_eyes | OOMM: Data and River in London

The is a clear change in his facial expression when she offers to wait. The thought of not being with her in that manner tonight is actually a little distressing to him.

"I would like to," he tells her. "Although you may have to be somewhat... patient with me. It is a lot to assimilate..."

He is stroking her cheek now, softly, carefully. He traces down the side of her face to her lips, and stops. The skin on her lips is so much softer than the rest of her face... and warmer. He knew that would be true, of course-- it is true for humans in general-- but the realization did not make any difference before. He likes touching her cheek, but at the moment he is rather more enamored with the feeling of her lips. He traces them gently with his index finger, then adjusts to do so again with his thumb, so that his other fingers can rest underneath her jawline.

Edited 2010-11-20 13:51 (UTC)

Her lips part under his touch and she lifts her chin to accommodate his touch, but that thumb is far too much temptation. Her tongue comes out to taste his skin, washed fresh from when he tended her wound. She tastes salt and something not unpleasantly like raw silk, the barest hint of synthetic compounds following after.

She opens her eyes, not wanting to miss this part, and catches his thumb between her teeth, tongue and lips creating a gentle suction. The scientist in her wonders idly if his neural pathways will make the connection that most males make at this kind of stimulation.

It is not necessarily a natural connection for Data to make, but he has done enough research on symbolism in certain forms of art and literature that the possible association does occur to him. He gasps lightly at the feeling.

His eyes are glued to her mouth. He had not realized that there were further connections to be made between his emotional programming and his optical sensors, but they are there now, and they are quite obvious. It is an oddly pleasant (oddly stimulating) image, watching her tongue and lips move in that way.

He shifts forward on the bed, closer to her. His other hand reaches up to stroke loose strands of her hair, eventually burying itself in her curls. His breath is still uneven, and his eyes are wide, focused intently on the beautiful human in front of him.

She hums under her breath, her eyelids falling closed as she nudges against his hand. Slowly, oh so slowly, she rises in front of him, standing between his knees, her hands lightly caressing his face. Her voice is low for a woman's, her accent becoming more pronounced as she succumbs to desire.

"Now. Where do you want to begin?"

He lets out a breath, almost like a nervous laugh. He is smiling now in anticipation.

"I am not sure... where to begin," he admits. His hands are now resting just above her hips, his fingers lightly caressing the back of her waist. "Do you have any preference?"

If she does not, he might just have to start kissing her, wherever his lips find their way. Her skin is so soft, and so warm...

Edited 2010-11-21 07:02 (UTC)

"Well... I could quiz you on human erogenous zones."

Her fingertips trail along the shell of his ear, down to the lobe, exploring his skin with her own senses. Curious to know if he has the same fine hairs at the edge of his hair line.

"But that would be better done with less clothing, one thinks."

He does not, sadly. All of his hair is uniform in texture, and is only located (she will find) on his head. But it is possible that he has extra nerve endings in all appropriate areas.

"I suppose it would be," he replies, trailing his fingers around to the front of her hip, just above her thigh. He removes his hands from her, though, to undo the zipper on the shirt of his uniform. He pulls it off, revealing a black, short-sleeved undershirt underneath (and very pale, very toned-looking arms).

"Though I could quite easily take such a quiz with only one of us unclothed," he points out. He is unable to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her waist, if only for a few moments, so he can feel her warm, soft skin against his bare arms.

Her arms encircle his neck, and her fingers tease up into his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp.

"You could, but where's the fun in that?"

Her body leans into his embrace, and she grins down into his face, her midriff pressed against his sternum. He is much warmer to the touch than she'd anticipated, and the synthetic feel of his skin is strangely arousing. Goosebumps flare across her shoulders, down her décolletage, and across the tops of her breasts, her nipples rising to sharp little peaks under his breath.

He's strong, she can feel that much, and the more forward he is, the more she responds.

The goosebumps are noted (and they are certainly easy to spot, from this distance). Certain rarely-used subroutines are gradually being activated, and he will start responding according to her responses.

He removes one hand from her back to cup one of her breasts, simultaneously giving it a featherlight kiss. His other arm is pressing against her back, pulling her closer, still carefully but with far less hesitation now. He is slowly (slowly for an android, at least) learning how to concentrate in the midst of all these new sensations.

"I could attempt to show you where the fun would be in that, but you informed me that was not what you wanted," he says, looking up into her eyes again. His voice is slightly lower now, and just barely above a murmur.

Strangely enough, the more responsive he becomes, the more subroutines go offline in her brain. Like language, for instance, at least for a moment. She takes a shuddering breath at the feel of his lips. He pulls her closer and her back arches. A shiver runs down her spine, grounding in her hips.

She chuckles under her breath at his words, her eyes considerably darker now.

"Tell me what you want," she whispers, easing him back onto the bed. "Tell me in exquisite detail."

She may notice that he is supporting her a little bit, to make sure that the descent is gradual. Call him paranoid, but he still wants to be somewhat careful in light of her recent injury.

He brings his hand under her shoulder and around to the back of her head, teasing the edge of her ear lightly with his thumb. And he pulls her into a kiss, to see what experimenting he can do there. He keeps it light at first, even separating it into more than one, so there is time for their breaths to hit and tickle each other's lips.

Meanwhile, the arm that was around her back is sliding gradually down to her thigh, where he tugs gently, suggesting that she bring it higher and around to the outside.

Her eyes fall closed as she sinks into him. She follows him down, painting his mouth with soft, breathless kisses, licking and nibbling, letting him guide her until she is straddling his hips, her weight resting along his torso.

In the same breath, she deepens the kiss and can't help but let her hips press against his, curious what she'll find there, aching for a little friction and pressure right where she needs it.

He continues to kiss her, deepening his own kiss as she deepens it. She may notice that he is copying her movements from time to time, as he is programmed to do, under the assumption that she will find what she is doing to be pleasurable as well. (For the first time, though, he can see why she would find those things to be so.)

There is a slight intake of breath when he realizes what she is doing with her hips. The process had been started and he had not really noticed it, but now the pressure in that area is increasing at a significantly accelerated rate. He kisses her a little more desperately. The nerve endings in that area are very active, and affecting him. He has never actually wanted it like this before. He can even feel the heat that his own systems are generating, and he is finding it oddly difficult to ignore...

She has to breathe at some point, so she pulls back a bit, smiling down at him, stilling the motion of her hips now that she's established that yes, it is having an effect. Her fingers toy with the edge of his shirt, lightly brushing his skin.

"Tell me, Captain. I want to hear it from your lips."

Data shudders at the light feeling of her fingers against his side.

He blinks at her for a moment, remembering the question. He had not forgotten it, exactly, but his cognitive processes had certainly been distracted from it (not to mention that his lips had been busy).

He pulls her face back down to kiss her cheek again, and then bring his lips right next to her ear. His voice sounds different when he talks quietly-- deeper, less precise, maybe-- but he answers just slightly faster than is possible for humans, who require time to breathe.

"I would like you to make contact with every single nerve ending that is present on my external structure, and would similarly like to make contact with every one of yours. I want to memorize the texture, scent, taste, and temperature of every square centimeter of your surface area. I want you to allow me inside of you. I want you to let me feel so connected to you that I temporarily forget that I am not human."

(She asked for exquisite detail, did she not? Of course, this is Data; he could always manage more...)

If he's listening, he can feel her heart rate accelerate at the sound of his voice, at his very words. Her respiration quickens, her cheeks flush with heat, and her body curls against him, a slow wave that rolls up from her hips.

"I was hoping you'd say something like that," she purrs, her voice languid and low for the greatest possible erotic effect.

"It might take a few hours, or days even, to fully appreciate all the possible combinations of hand and mouth and cock and cunt, but I'm game if you are." She enunciates the key words and punctuates the sentiment with a twist of her pelvis against his erection.

Data is listening. He is paying careful attention to every one of her physical reactions, and their presence only encourages him to tighten his grip on her, to hope he can find ways to cause more such reactions. The sound of her voice triggers still more reactions in his systems, from his pulse to his respiration to his surface temperature, and a shuddering vibration running through his own body to echo hers.

He is not bothered by her rather... colorful choice of terms, though he does raise his eyebrows slightly. (He cannot help it-- it simply registers a certain way with his pre-programmed sense of propriety.) At the moment, however, he is finding that in some odd way it intrigues him.

"I am 'game,'" he tells her, repeating the colloquialism. (It will always sound awkward when he says it.) "In that case, I suppose we should begin to explore those combinations as soon as possible."

He rises off his back a few inches, indicating that he would like to sit up. He is still all but fully dressed, and it is rather imperative that he remedies that fact quickly.

She moves with him, sitting back as he rises to a seated position, and helping him ease his shirt off over his head. She's grinning like a mad woman now, her hands skimming down his chest, finding the clasp for his trousers. Her own urgency now showing quite blatantly in the way her hands are shaking and the way she's painting the side of his neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

"Might I make a suggestion?" Her question is voiced in a breathless whisper against his skin.

Her urgency at this point is noted. It is only a little familiar, but it triggers something in him automatically. Suddenly all of his mental processes are focused on the desire to satisfy her craving. Well, not all of his mental processes-- this time, he is also focused on wanting to satisfy his own. He grasps for her almost as desperately as she is kissing him, able to enjoy the feeling of her warm skin against his entire upper body now.

"Of course. What is it?" he asks, shifting almost a little uncomfortably. He is also in the process of trying to kick off his boots.

She rises a little further, urging his trousers down over his arse, taking advantage of all this glorious skin to skin contact.

"Well, I'm not one to hold with tradition, usually, but," she has to lower one foot to the floor to give him enough room to strip completely, and there's a moment when her eyes darken at the sight of him naked.

"Gods, Data." Her hand briefly curls around the length of his cock, gently caressing, silently weighing and measuring and finding him not at all wanting.

"Hard and fast. The first time, at least. And maybe again, later, after..." Language is failing her fast as she moves back into his embrace, resting her forehead against his, hands on his shoulders. She kneels above him, acutely aware of his proximity and her own nakedness as she breathes his breath. "Hard and deep and slow, all good too."

He gazes up at her, studying her face as she looks. But he closes his eyes when she touches him, inhaling and exhaling several shallow and audible breaths. He shudders more than once, a movement in his systems that is somewhere between a normal, human quivering and a mechanical sort of vibrating. When she pulls closer again, he locks his arms firmly around her waist, keeping her there. He stares into her eyes, enjoying the moment.

He would enter her in this position, but her use of the word "tradition" in reference to the first time makes him think that perhaps they should try starting with the basics, and explore other possible permutations later. So he lifts her, standing to turn and place her on her back on the mattress, swiftly but gently, still being careful to support the back of her head with his hand, just in case. The action takes no visible amount of effort on his part. He lowers himself on top of her, taking a moment to wet one of his fingers with his tongue. He uses it to stimulate her clitoris, simultaneously wrapping his other arm around her back and kissing whatever sensitive areas he can find on her face and upper body-- her ears, her neck, her breasts. He will not penetrate her until she is ready, until he is certain that she will reach her climax at the right moment.

"You may have it however you want it, however many times you would like," he tells her almost breathlessly, between kisses-- he is currently focusing on the area behind her earlobe and beneath her jawline. "Though I feel I should warn you, I might possibly drive you to the point of exhaustion."

He is not going to get tired, after all, and the idea of exploring all of those combinations she was talking about in rapid succession is rather tempting now, though likely impossible in one night.

Edited 2010-11-29 01:29 (UTC)

It's certainly one of the strangest sexual encounters she's had in her life. His touch is both gentle and sure, and she knew he was strong, but being lifted like it's nothing, and put where he wants her? That's almost as incredibly erotic as the way he thinks. She lays back and curls around him, hands in his hair, heels skimming down the backs of his thighs. She gasps and arches when he touches her directly, and his fingertips find her slick as an eel, and very, very responsive to his flickering touch.

She whimpers and groans, a hard shiver running down her spine and grounding in her hips. She opens to him, hips rising off the bed, shameless trying to get more touch where she needs it.

"That sounds like a fantasy come true, Mr. Data. Now, please," her voice stutters, and she whispers against his ear. "Fuck me."

He seemed to appreciate the direct approach before and River has no shortage of bluntness.

The instruction is appreciated, though not strictly for its bluntness (though it is quite an efficient use of language, Data cannot help but note mentally). Humans know their own bodies, and he trusts her judgment as to when she is ready. So even though his lips were rather preoccupied and on their way down her shoulder, he does not make her wait, pausing only to adjust, to get in the proper position before entering in. And then he does.

The sensation is... more than he anticipated.

Coherent mental processes are drowned out by the flood of sensory information entering his positronic matrix. Every one of his millions of racing thoughts is taken with her-- her warmth, her face, her scent, the sounds that she is making... At the same time, he is strangely aware of his own systems, of the way that every nerve is active and almost tingling with pleasure, of the rapid bursts of air he is exhaling, of the way even his vocal faculties are emitting slight noises in natural reaction. He is all but lifting her completely off of the mattress with his arm around her back, pulling her closer, desperate for more, closer, harder... (Hopefully, he is not hurting her...)

At this point in the process, he no longer has control over what is happening to him. The routine has been activated; it cannot be terminated. He is not focused. He is losing himself in her; it is almost frightening, it is almost--

--human.

And again, as his subroutines go offline, more ancient ones buried in her genetic code take over. She growls, and wraps her long legs around his hips, opening herself even further to him, taking him deeper until his hips are flush against hers. Her hands skim down his back to his ass, as if she could pull him deeper still. Her eyes are unfocused, her lips parted as she tries to breathe and laugh and groan all at the same time.

Hard and fast and deep, all good and right and just the way she wants it. She meets his strength, hips curling to meet his thrusts, and he can feel her heat pulsing around his cock, can feel the pleasure he's giving her telegraphed back to him in a very direct and unequivocal way.

The bed rocks with the force of their exertions, and she holds even tighter to him, heels digging into his thighs. A tremor runs through her body, and she hisses, "Don't stop!"

His reaction to her words is to grasp tighter and push harder, aware that he is pushing the limits of what he knows for certain is safe and gentle enough. He slides one hand behind her head and breathlessly brings his lips to hers, anxious for her taste, for more contact.

He is tracking every signal that is passing between them. He knows the exact temperature of every area of her body he is touching, has counted the number her heartbeats and the frequency of her breaths, has an equally careful record every pulse and wave of heat that is passing from her body into his... But he does not need these indicators anymore to tell him what he is doing. He is rather shocked at how natural it feels.

He pulls back slightly to let out a few breaths. His fingers tighten in her hair and behind her waist as he pushes again; his systems are getting close... The bed rocks and creaks again, bumping the wall behind.

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