OOMM: Data and River in London

[ol_yellow_eyes]

[OOC: Continued from here.]

It had been going so well.

What started as a casual evening stroll through Highgate Cemetery in 19th-century London somehow turned into a flight for their lives. Data did not know why they were running, only what they were running from-- three rather large human males, who seemed quite angry about something. He had also caught glimpses of weapons in their possession, namely a pistol and what seemed to be a horsewhip. (He might have wanted to observe them more closely if he had not been so concerned for River's safety.)

She knew the city better than he did, and she was the one who suggested they take advantage of the city's sewage system.

And that is how they ended up here.

Data turns to River finally. "Now that we are no longer in immediate danger, may I ask why those men might have been pursuing us?"

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[hell_in_highheels]

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."

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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...)

[hell_in_highheels]

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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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."

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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!"

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

No human male she's ever been with could keep up such a steady, ridiculously even pace that he's keeping, and she wouldn't complain even if she had the breath to find the words. No, he's not giving her any quarter, hips pounding into hers, hitting every sweet spot. She twists tighter and tighter around him, and his hand clenches in her hair and she's dimly aware that she's making quite the ruckus. Her hands have to reach over her head to anchor herself, and it's just that extra bit of resistance that pushes her over the top. Her eyes roll back and she keens, her entire frame going rigid.

He can feel the pulse when it hits, can feel her muscles tightening around that newly aware piece of his anatomy like a velvet vise, squeezing him into sweet oblivion in intense contractions.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

His reaction is vocal-- a brief exclamation that is significantly louder than any he has made up to this point (he has not been completely silent, of course, but he certainly has not been making a lot of noise for what he is doing). The feeling of her contractions quickly sends him over the edge and the pressure releases itself all at once, exploding into her in a manner that she can possibly feel.

Oblivion is one way of putting it. Sweet, definitely. Technically what registers with his systems is a brief power surge that renders several of his cognitive functions temporarily offline, as his neural network attempts to process the information, the amount of feedback which is now streaming back and forth between his senses and his emotional programming as a result of those new connections.

But the technical description is nothing next to what it feels like.

The sensation is nothing short of overwhelming.

His head twitches from the base of his neck; his entire body tenses, then shakes. He lets go of her and tries to brace himself on the mattress and the headboard, worried that he might be exerting too much force onto her.

He tries to slow his breath, then, but his systems are only allowing him so much control. He bites his lip, and moans a little at the slight pain he was not expecting. But the sensations slowly become less overwhelming, and he is able to dedicate more processes towards visual information-- he sees River now, looks into her eyes in this moment. But he is overwhelmed again, and he closes his eyes, turning away slightly. In fact, he is a little ashamed.

He has started to cry.

[hell_in_highheels]

She still holds tight to him, one hand coming up to curl along his jaw, not letting him look away. Her eyes sheen, but she's smiling, a soft expression.

"Oh Data, it's all right," she murmurs, rising up to press gentle kisses against his jaw, her voice a gentle, soothing hum along his skin. She's still breathing hard, still shimmering with aftershocks, nerve endings still bleeding off energy in ripples of sensations. Her hips subtly dance against his, slippery and decadent, unable to keep still with him still pressed deep inside her. But she seems more than content to keep him close, urging him back down to rest above her, caged beneath him, nuzzling and painting soft kisses across his cheeks.

"If there's a connection -- a real connection, it's more than just a physical release."

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

He looks into her eyes for another few moments before easing down to rest his head on her shoulder. He slips his arms around her again, holding her close, enjoying the occasional shivers he can feel running through her. He is still shaking a little bit, too.

He pulls out of her finally, shifting to straddle one of her legs so that most of his weight is now on the mattress beside her. But he continues to hold her tightly, stroking the side of her other thigh and covering her face with soft but passionate kisses, tears still escaping intermittently down his cheeks.

It is not often that Data finds himself at a loss for words. But now is one of those moments. She is right, he thinks, but he cannot think of any way to fully express how deeply he agrees with her, except to continue kissing her.

[hell_in_highheels]

Her body shifts with him as he rolls, not wanting any space between them. She brushes his tears away with her thumbs, returning to his mouth to drink deeply. Slowly, she urges him to his back, moving to cover him from knee to shoulder. A light sheen of sweat covers her body, making her a bit slippery in his grip, and she's making it abundantly clear from the surety of her movements, she's not done with him yet.

Her knees straddle his hips and it takes but a bit of negotiating until she's poised above him. She pulls back, looking down into his face, wanting to watch this time as she impales herself on him, oh so slowly, taking her time, revelling in every sensation.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

When her lips meet his, he kisses her back just as deeply, shivering at the taste of sweat lingering at the edges of her mouth. He does not protest when she silently suggests that he lie on his back, though it takes him a few moments before he realizes what she is doing.

He rests his hands firmly on her hips, and looks back steadily into her eyes. A smile is playing at the corners of his lips now, and he gasps a little, every time the sensation of her shifting against him is particularly potent.

[hell_in_highheels]

His smile is both a relief and a rush, and she grins at him, shifting again, teasing now, trying to find what makes him react, what makes him shiver and groan. Slowly, she lets her weight fall back, until he's buried inside her again, and only then does she begin to rise.

She takes her weight on her hands, gently shifting to draw her knees up, until she's sitting astride him, rocking forwards and backwards with a slow rhythm, like waves against the shore. This position lets him see all of her, breasts and belly and if he lifts his head to look, the place where he disappears into her.

She likes being watched, it seems, judging by the flush of her cheeks and the way her lips part to let slip a quiet sigh. She's shameless, really. She's a woman in her prime, and she knows it. And she's not afraid to take her pleasure from him, and not afraid to give it back to him in spades.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

She likes being watched, and Data likes watching her. He knows that many humans are more self-conscious in the way they go about this, dimming all lights and hiding under covers. And he would respect it, were it the case with River, but he much prefers the chance to observe everything, to memorize and take it all in.

And that is exactly what he is doing. His gaze flickers eagerly around her face and her body, and he does lift his head to see where he is connected to her. She is a natural work of art, he thinks, her form soft and organic and full of beautiful imperfections he could never recreate. It would be difficult for her to look more beautiful than she does now, skin flushed and glistening, eyes dark with arousal, the edges of her hair shining gold in the dimming sunlight. The image of what he sees is enough to make him shudder every now and then, to send yet another wave of heat into the space between his legs.

He brings one hand around just above her tail bone, holding her close and firmly, allowing her to move when she wants to. His other hand trails over her hips and up her side, stopping to cup one of her full breasts gently in his palm.

[hell_in_highheels]

Her hand covers his at her breast, showing him how firm he can be and still not hurt her. (Perhaps firmer than he'd expected.) His synthetic skin contrasts against hers, silver against gold, and she looks down at his expression, wanting to see everything about him. He'll give up his secrets sooner or later, and she's patient, cataloguing every shiver, every soft exhalation, learning him just as surely as he's learning her.

She licks her lips, rocking forward as he guides her, letting her clit grind against the curve of his cock. The pressure makes her moan softly, makes her clench around him, wet and hot. There's something more going on here, but just what, she can't put her finger on, not yet. It's hard to be objective when he fills her so deeply she can barely remember her name.

"I could get used to this," she drawls, rising up and sinking down again, a little quicker now, just a little swirl added to her hips to get him deeper, if that was even possible. "I could -- really get used to this."

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

The amount of pressure that she demonstrates with his hand is more than he expected, though he was well aware that he has been trying to "play it safe" somewhat (as the human expression goes).

He also happens to notice the same contrast in their skin tone, now that his hand is in his line of sight. He is not certain how it makes him feel. It is aesthetically pleasing, in its way, but perhaps it is difficult for him to forget that it highlights their differences, that there is none of the same sweat or flush gracing his features, that he is still not quite as warm as she is. On the other hand, it is that very contrast that makes him marvel at the fact that this beautiful creature is in his arms, that she wants to be close to him in the most intimate—most natural, most biological—possible way.

Not only that, but it reminds him how incredible it is that she has brought him to this point, feeling closer to human than he ever dreamed was possible. He shudders again.

"I believe my… mental pathways could also become accustomed… to these… sensory input patterns," he manages. A few more sharp breaths, and he moans again, at a spot she just hit that feels particularly good. His hands find their way to her hips again, holding her closer, even more firmly now that he has a better idea of how much force he can use.

[hell_in_highheels]

She grins down at him, still undulating against him, the movement a gentle adagio. When he moans, she tilts her head just a bit, and repeats the exact same set of motions, letting his hands guide her. His vocal responses telegraph the pleasure, and she can feel him respond instinctively. She groans, and does it again.

"Feels good, doesn't it? Makes you want more."

Her experience is taking over, this position allowing her a greater range of motion. He's quickly finding out that tradition is overrated.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

Overrated, indeed. It suddenly crosses his mind to wonder how many times she has done this-- she is quite good at it.

It appears that a subtle, emphatic nod is about all he can manage at this point, in response to her statement. It could not possibly feel any better than it does; it is like giving sight to a blind man and immediately introducing him to the most beautiful image in the universe. Data is slowly coming close to losing it again-- gradually, but mere minutes after the last time.

He moans a little quietly, his speech processors seemingly compensating for the loss of volume with an increase in duration. The sound is somewhat uncomfortable, maybe a little desperate. His hands are still holding her to himself, and his eyes are closed, as he processes her scent, her voice, and most of all the feel of her around him.

[hell_in_highheels]

With his eyes closed, she's allowed to look. She watches his face as she moves, watches the smallest changes in his expression. Her movements slow, and her hands caress down his arms, savouring the feel of his skin, the muscle and tendon beneath. He is exquisite, she thinks. In that moment, she thinks she wants to give him everything. Teach him everything. Let him take whatever he wants from her, knowing that he'll carry it with him for lifetimes after she's gone.

"Data." Her voice is quiet, a gentle plea. "Look at me."

She doesn't want this to be over yet. She has so much left to learn about him. So much yet to show him.