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Vertigo (VivifiedVanityxSeven)

RE: Vertigo

Lisa's world seemed to halt for a minute; it was a subtle gesture, so warm but so very... Her fingers clutched at his, her thumb rubbing along one of those digits and up over his knuckles -- she was careful though, his hand had a cast for a reason... It was the oddity of the gesture that told her clearly why he'd done it; it wasn't the same as what he was doing now, making her shiver and want to squirm, it was... comfort. And then his lips were back, and she found it almost impossible to hold entirely still. She'd hadn't done this in years, and in that time she rarely... Sensitive was an understatement, and she ached, for something... something that wasn't quite a simple release. Maybe it was because of where his fingers were teasing... but she wanted him to fill that void, she wanted them both writhing against one another instead of it just being her, alone, writhing on the bed, sounding between desperate breaths. Left on display... Unfair. This was unfair. What was also unfair was that she tried speaking again -- though by now she'd learned not to expect a response, and it was apparent by how she hadn't lapsed into total silence that she wasn't taking this to heart.

"Are you going to let me put you in the same sort of compromising position...?" It was her direction, the only one she could give; one that only told him where she wanted things to progress, vague as it was. Her thumb moved, finding its way to his palm, and it traced a slow circle there on what skin was exposed from beneath his cast while her other hand left the security the bedding beneath her provided it. Fingers found his head and drifted against his scalp; she was touching whatever part of him she could reach...

Her words had been a direction, but her touch wasn't, and she was careful of that.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson could hear Lisa's breath speeding up and he could feel the thrum of her blood via a pulse in her thigh that throbbed against his palm when his hand slid over it - she gave every physical indication of enjoying it, but her words made it clear that an amount of her focus was elsewhere. That wouldn't do.

"How about," Jackson said, nipping Lisa's inner thigh, his voice a quiet murmur that had taken on a different sort of roughness, "Letting the focus be on you, Leese. On this."

He drew his tongue along her again for emphasis, flicking the tip of it against her clit once more before he shifted, putting one of her slim legs over his shoulder, giving him better leverage. His fingers curled against hers before he leaned in and began to work his tongue against her in earnest, shifting away from the light, teasing motions of before.
 
RE: Vertigo

Her hazels would have flicked down the length of her body to look at him if it wouldn't have been such an awkward thing for her to actually do, so instead her eyes fluttered closed and she shifted only slightly at the feel of his breath against places one often didn't feel such things. That's what he wanted her to do -- to just relax and not dwell on the little things. That's what he had been wanting her to do... They both were aware that there was a small little tangled web between them both detailing why they shouldn't be doing this -- why she should have just let him leave, and why he shouldn't have needed to leave in the first place... Her entire body tightened at the emphasis he'd added to what he'd said. Though she didn't resist his shift and where her leg ended up, she'd wanted to protest this more for his sake, because of the added weight to his shoulder. He wanted the focus on her, she reminded herself of this -- of the inward shiver those words had induced because of how he'd said them... and her worrying over him didn't quite work out so well even at the best of times. It was why she'd ended up drugging him.

Even in the brief lulls of activity, she never felt herself easing down from the plateau he'd worked her up to -- the soft little touches and nips... the feel of his breath teasing against her skin, even the simple fact of that he was so very close to her... And that he was no longer teasing her.

Her fingers curled slightly, a gentle squeeze of his hand and a loving tangle in his hair with hands that remained mindful enough not to cling too tightly to or pull at anything, and eventually that hand left those comforting locks so that the back of it could press to her own lips. Her hips had arched, almost lifting from the bed, and thighs spread a little further more as a reaction to what he was now doing to her than as any conscious effort on her part. The back of her hand served its purpose of muffling the sounds that tried to escape those lips; breathless gasps, unintentional moans, and all the little things she made in between, as well the sound of her panting -- at first a rapid rhythm that quickly worked itself up to something almost erratic.

It was the slight tremble of her legs that she both couldn't hide and gave away how close she was to tipping over the edge...
 
RE: Vertigo

The tremors in Lisa's limbs and the tension in her muscles made it clear that she was precariously close and made it even clearer that it had been a long time since she had been given this kind of attention - it seemed even the lightest touches ensured a reaction from her. Jackson took the hand in his hair as encouragement and the shift of her hips doubly so; her hand slid away from him and a glance up showed she was smothering her voice with it.

He pulled her other leg over his shoulder, raising himself on his knees a little, enough that Lisa's hips would be elevated slightly off the bed as he worked his tongue against her, varying between rolling his tongue against her core and against the sensitive bud that made her twitch while his hands slipped along her skin, mapping her out with his touch.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa couldn't say that she wasn't enjoying what he was doing -- more than enjoying actually -- but it was when her other leg left the bed, something she'd pushed back into nothing but a quiet little nagging sprang to life. She tried her best to ignore it, to follow along with what he'd said -- to let the focus be on her, like it had been on that red eye flight, but she couldn't. She didn't want him straining himself. At all. Her verdict of him not being up and about was still in play, she just hadn't been enforcing it; she'd been distracted... they both had. Lisa Reisert wasn't comfortable with the focus being entirely on her, not with Jackson Rippner as he was. Her weight shifted off him, both of her hands finding his to offer them a gentle squeeze of what seemed like reassurance before moving them back down her body so her legs could slide off his shoulders... and so her feet could find the floor. She was untangling herself from him, sitting up, and both of her hands found his chin and lifted his head up.

Leaning down she kissed his forehead once, and it was evident she was still somewhat lost in what he'd been doing to her even in the pause she'd forced between them.

A thumb traced his lips and her other hand brushed his hair back in a rather loving gesture; pleasantly disoriented as she was... she had the presence of mind not to tell him why she'd stopped him. Lisa didn't want him trying to tell her otherwise. She kissed him again, once over each eye, forcing them to close. Fingers eventually laced with his, pulling his hands onto the bed on either side of her so that those soft digits could stroke the backs of them. Her knees parted, grazing the sides of his torso along his ribs, and she nuzzled his face slightly while keeping her lips just out of range almost teasingly.
 
RE: Vertigo

Jackson wasn't clear on precisely what was going through Lisa's mind in that moment, but the shift in her position and the movement of her hands on his arms was more than enough to indicate he should stop. Lisa sat up, and Jackson's eyes flicked up to meet hers, head tilting back slightly when her hand went through his hair.

He had no doubts that Lisa had been enjoying herself a moment ago, but still there was the nagging thought that he might have somehow done something incorrectly - it hadn't been that long for him, had it?

But no, the way Lisa was touching him, the gentility of her movements and the kiss that she placed on his mouth - followed by the tease afterwards - also told him that he hadn't exactly killed the mood. He just wasn't clear on what he had done to the mood -

- of course, that was when it hit him.

As had been the case with everything else, with walking on his own, showering, taking out his sutures, even just getting out of bed - Lisa was fretting.

In that instant, Jackson's thought showed in his expression, in a flat, deadpan look that would tell Lisa he knew.

"Leese," Jackson said, his face still between her hands, though he tried to nip at her lips just as she pulled out of range - his voice was quiet, low, and there was something vaguely amused in his tone. He slid his hands along her bare thighs, fingertips moving up along her hips, grazing her skin before he put his hands on her lower back, locking his fingers, thumbs stroking her tailbone,

"This isn't going to hurt me." he said finally, never one to skim over topics; a strange light was in his eyes then, something that betrayed his usual severe look, and if the word 'impish' could ever be applied to Jackson Rippner, that moment would have been ideal for it:

"Really, it's pretty much the opposite." he murmured.
 
RE: Vertigo

Fingers stroked gently at the side of his face; she'd pulled away a little ways further to allow her eyes to flick gently over his face, taking him in, realizing the expression that was staring back at her... He knew why... Maybe she would have been more attentive with herself if she realized exactly how revealing each of her little touches were... They had changed from something trying to offer comfort to something a bit more needy without any conscious effort on her part; from something to soothe and the settle, to something more sensual... To now... where her touch was something almost apologetic as those soft fingers of hers stroked down the back of his head only once. Her eyes turned away from him, closing at length, and she leaned back down to nuzzle at the side of his face. Lisa was hiding from the look that was in his eyes, not because it was threatening, but because... the expression in their depths had changed, and it was suddenly so very inviting. His fingers had left pleasantly warm trails along her thighs, drifting up to her hips and then wrapping around her; it drew her to the edge of the bed, closer to him, and she nudged his head further back with the lower half of her face. Her hands had sought out his; they left his face and seemed to follow the path of his arms, eventually working their way between her skin and those stroking digits of his. Fingers laced, slowly, the action drawn out, and she kissed at the side of his neck where she could.

It was her turn to be at a loss for words. She drew away from him then, only a little, pausing with her mouth near his ear; the breath she took made it seem as though she was about to say something, but nothing ever came tumbling out. He never voiced his physical complaints anyway. Lisa didn't sit well letting other people do things for her, there was always a slight bit of awkwardness that followed such transactions, not enough for her to make a fuss over anything... and maybe it was only who Jackson Rippner should have been to her, and what he was so adamant on doing... but this? This was awkward, and she couldn't just turn off her need to worry over him.

Her hands trailed his knuckles back to her hips, hands clasped securely; their direction shifting and taking a detour up her sides as the inside of her knees rubbed against his torso. The manner of these gestures had shifted again, the slow and somewhat careful pressure...

Lisa was laying back, her little surrender to him; her eyes carefully avoiding the mirror above her head, and her hands eventually leaving the relative safety of his. She had no real argument; none that she could intelligently grasp at this moment anyway, and her silence betrayed that... and even if she did have one, there had been that look in his eyes... The sort of look that didn't show in his eyes, the type of thing was so very hard to go against when one really didn't want to be saying any form of 'no' in the first place...
 
RE: Vertigo

There seemed to almost be doubt, though Jackson didn't feel it was related to whether or not she wanted this, but rather in regards to whether she was able to accept the idea of someone being - focused - on her. Though Lisa was a capable woman and was more than able to come across as being confident, it seemed this was a subject that made her shy, and to that end, Jackson found he could understand.

That, and she was concerned that she would somehow damage him further.

But then Lisa was leaning back again, and there was something about the slow and careful movements that struck some strange chord deep inside of Jackson, something about her willingly allowing it - not submitting or surrendering, that wasn't the sort of thing Lisa Reisert did - but that she was letting him continue caused an odd wave of heat up his spine, and it showed in the way he watched her right then.

He ran his hands along her ankles, fingers grazing over finely-structured bones and up her calves; he kissed the inside of her right knee and began a tender trail up her inner thigh, arms sliding to hook under her legs, hands moving along her hips until his fingers curled against them, holding her securely as he reached the sensitive spot where her thigh met her most delicate area. Jackson kissed her there, and again as he drew close to her centre, a slow build up, his warm breath ghosting over her before he began to roll his tongue against her again.
 
RE: Vertigo

His touch wasn't supposed to be so light, so attentive... so gentle. Calloused or otherwise, those fingertips felt almost supple with how they were slowly working their way up her calf; starting from the furthest point from that sensitive little place that was still so hot and bothered from what he'd been doing before. Her own fingers tickled over his when his found her hips, only once, before they dropped to the bedding beside her. She didn't have to be so gentle with that, and though she'd laid back on the bed, she wasn't about to stop fretting. If he wasn't going to give himself the rest he needed to simply mend, one of them had to be sensitive towards that goal to make up for it...

That and... some small part of her actually enjoyed worrying over him. He'd taken her along with him, because their chances of survival were better increased together rather than alone -- but with this... With how he'd acted at the door, the desire to do this hadn't been stirred inside him just today... and with what he was doing now...

Lisa had tried to force her breathing to remain slow and measured even though her mind had turned into a little whirlwind again, trying to puzzle out why his touch felt so... Indirectly, they'd both been edging her closer to that unavoidable tumble, and when his tongue finally found her again -- his slow tease up her leg intensifying her anticipation of that moment; her mental whirlwind stopped. She'd settled down a little bit in the reprieve she'd indirectly forced upon herself; the only indirect of the current situation. The rest was on him, with how he slowly built up to the moment, pausing from time to time, knowing where she wanted him and not quite giving that to her, thus making her want it all the more... Jackson was pulling her strings, and she was dancing.

The measure she'd tried to force her breath to adhere to failed her, and she gasped, loudly, that inhale not being exhaled for longer than it should have.

When it was expelled it came as a shudder. Her back arched again, her hips pressing down into the bedding while her head fell back. More of her strings were pulled with how he managed to keep her there, right there, the sensation never quite building until his tongue started to roll again. Thighs spread a little further, and her back arched a bit more; try as she might, it was impossible to hold herself completely still, trembling and writhing from time to time. And while her breathing rose to an almost desperate pace and pitch, she managed to keep it strangely composed. Sensitive as she was, she wasn't overtly noisy with this sort of thing; the occasional moan did slip passed, but it was soft, barely more than a loud search for air backed by the barest lilt of her voice.

Her fingers could be felt on the backs of his hands; they'd left the bed and found their way to one of the only places she could feasibly hold to, but those fingers of hers didn't try to find purchase. They continued on around the same time Lisa's body seemed to remember that it did need to breathe, tickling along his forearms as far as she could comfortably reach and then back up again.

Their pressure was comfortably firm, but the progress of her hand's movement was slow, needy even, and silently voicing the words she refused to voice herself. One more push, and I'm there...
 
RE: Vertigo

The sound of Lisa's shuddered exhale was enough to make the corners of Jackson's mouth twitch upwards, a small smile against her skin - her reactions were quiet and understated, controlled the way Lisa controlled everything she did.

He turned his hands, palms up, so when Lisa's hands skimmed back up his arms, their fingers would tangle again.

The gentle roll of her hips told him how close she was and he continued the steady pressure, his tongue firm against her, alternating between indirect and direct contact with her clit. Jackson's fingers curled against hers, his shoulders pressing against her thighs as he pressed towards her, perhaps slightly more invested in their current activity than he was fully aware of.
 
RE: Vertigo

Her fingers did tangle with his almost on instinct when her hands came upon those upturned palms, they seeking the comfort those entwining digits offered her... Seeking him... And when her body suddenly went rigid, her spine holding its almost painful arch, she trembled slightly; it the only movement from her as she finally tumbled over that edge... The rest of her held almost motionless. Her world had stopped on that pinpoint. No desperate breath or faint little sound escaped her lips; only a soft little pant, and of the two hands that clung to his, one disentangled itself, her fingers reaching instead for the bedding just over her head.

She'd released his injured hand; a thoughtful gesture even with where she was. ...And then... eventually... she was coming down again.

Her back seemed to melt with the bed as her body relaxed suddenly; her flushed face pointed both away from him and the mirror above for varied and vastly contrasting reasons. Both his eyes and the mirror above felt like reflective surfaces...

She'd not released that single hand yet, though her other had released the bedding. Her feet found the floor, her legs gathering themselves together to the sides of him, knees close but not tightly pressed against him... and her hands reached for him; her hand had released his finally, her palm leaving a strange trail of warmth down his forearm as far as she could with any sort of ease, while her other hand made for the side of his face. Fingers played against the fluff covering his cheek, and eventually followed it upwards into the still-messy strands of hair she seemed to love so much.

That touch was inviting; exhausted as she was, she still wanted him. Wanted him close to her, wanted him comfortably within reach... wanted his warmth... Something hadn't quite been sated within her... but she wasn't able to voice it, wasn't able to bring herself to pose the required question or make the appropriate statement... and it was obvious with how her lips parted for a minute, seeming to form the beginnings of a word... that soon faded away behind pursing lips.

She still wanted him... and he'd hardly been touched.
 
RE: Vertigo

There. There it was; the gentle arch of her spine, the hitch in her breath and the way her thighs tensed on either side of them, her legs shifting and the soles of her feet sliding against his back, bunching the material of his shirt; Lisa's gentle writhing continued until she came down from the high of orgasm, her hands gripping at the sheets because even now, she was being mindful of his injuries. Some part of Jackson wondered if Lisa even had the capacity to be selfish - it was clear enough that she'd had trouble allowing any attention to be put on her despite her desire.

Save for the rise and fall of her bare chest, Lisa was still for a moment - and Jackson took that time to absorb the sight of her, post-orgasm, her face flushed pink, the way her hair was splayed around her with the traces of gold in it that he'd noticed so many times before, the scar that had become an integral part of her despite what it had come from.

And then she was sitting up; Jackson remained in place, peering at her from under unruly hair that had only managed to become more unruly during their tryst, his lips kiss-swollen, shirt opened and pants undone, the back of one hand tracing her calf as he looked up at her. Her hand was in his hair and against his cheek, her touch was soft and the silence fell over them, warm despite the strangeness of it. He recognized the look Lisa was giving him - and even if he had been terrible enough to try and deny his desire for her, he couldn't have, not with the way his body was reacting, not with the way his hands seemed to find their way to her skin again and again seemingly without his permission. Not with the way he was looking at her, or the way he had just touched her, or the way he could feel a very distinct hard-on being made incredibly uncomfortable under his clothes.

But then there was that other part of him. The part that he had been shoving aside from the moment Lisa's lips had met his, the voice of reason, the one that had been a welcome presence through most of his life and was now informing him that the woman in front of him was dangerous - it was something he was already aware of, given that Lisa had hospitalized him - but now she was dangerous for different reasons. She was dangerous because she could do this to him, because she had seen so much of him.

That voice informed him that he couldn't let himself be any more vulnerable, that while there wasn't really a job for him to do anymore, there were still things he needed to do, things he would have to do, things that - for just a moment in time - they had both forgotten he did for a living.

It was the voice that informed him he was a killer, and that killers don't get the girl for a reason.

Jackson's hand remained against her leg, his head still tilted towards her, but his eyes dropped away, to the side, a rare time that Rippner had broken the eye contact. He brought his other hand up to hers, where it rested against his jaw, and he drew it away, still holding her wrist, placing a kiss against her palm, against her wrist, trying to force his body to fade to lukewarm, to ease away from the inferno that was lurking somewhere inside of him.
 
RE: Vertigo

There was a shift in him; his eyes dropped -- the immediate sign, followed by the gradual fading of the Jackson she'd been allowed to see -- a glimpse... of someone so very expressive it was almost frightening compared to how he normally behaved. He'd pulled her hand away from him, his fingers gently encasing her wrist, and for a split second Lisa Reisert was a normal girl, worrying over all the things that girls tended to worry over... She'd done something wrong, or something was wrong with her... Maybe she hadn't been aggressive enough... or hadn't reacted the way he'd hoped... The constant stream of unspoken questions and concerns flitted behind her eyes, merged into the driving reason that caused her eyes to flit across his face -- a face that, for once, didn't have his unreadable blues staring back out at her. She had no idea what that meant... But then his lips pressed gently to her palm, and then her wrist... Her racing thoughts stopped at that; his lips were still warm and so very soft.

Her fingers stretched out for him, and their tips grazed his throat despite her not attempting to pull her hand free from his grasp. She found herself allowed an overhead view of him; from his rumpled shirt to his rumpled mess of hair, his head tilted towards her still, eyes downcast, pants unbuttoned and somewhat askew from where she'd left them... his very distinct need given but the barest amount of breathing room from that...

Her head turned, lips brushing against his still-bruised temple, "Jack...?" His name wasn't entirely an attempt to steal his attention away from her offending limb, but it wasn't entirely a question either; it was an attempt on her part to get him to verbalize, and to convey in that small little petname she'd developed for him... that everything was still alright. Something needed to be asked of him, but she wasn't quite sure what -- even at the best of times, he was near-unreadable.

Lisa Reisert could try and puzzle out the creature before her all she wanted, but in the end... she was only just guessing, and right now she didn't dare verbalize those guesses.

She was nuzzling now, the side of his face, her eyes seeking his almost boldly when they finally opened from when they'd closed at her whisper. Fingers lost themselves in the sensation of the fabric covering his forearm -- his forearm -- their touch once more heated and now almost desperate. These small things she did to try to coax that slowly simmering fire within him back to life.
 
RE: Vertigo

Some things were difficult to say.

Other things were impossible to say.

Given that Jackson had spent a great deal of his life in silence - and despite being capable in so many other aspects of his dark, severe life - the task of formulating those words seemed to be beyond him. He could feel Lisa watching him, questioning his sudden hesitation when he could still taste her, when he was still positioned between her legs and the driving urge was there, the urge to throw her back and take her - it was clear enough that he wanted her.

And as he had done so many other times when it came to interacting with other people - at the worst possible moment - Jackson Rippner encountered an insurmountable wall. His best efforts to scour his mind for an answer, for an explanation, for the intrinsic honesty he was known for - had drawn only a blank.

He managed to make his voice work, but he couldn't control the roughness of it, and this time it wasn't from the damage to his throat.

"We should stop." he said finally.
 
RE: Vertigo

He hadn't pulled away from her; he hadn't made any sort of movement beyond saying what he had. "Jack, it's al--" It wasn't because of that... His voice revealed that. It wasn't because of what had happened to her... It wasn't because of her... Lisa could feel the firmness of his arms beneath his shirt, and she remained close to him for a minute -- so very tempted to use her lips to lead him back into it. 'We should stop,' he'd said, not 'I want to stop'... She'd known that going into this -- knew from the beginning that they shouldn't have allowed themselves to get this far... knew even now that she shouldn't have wanted to push things further... That they should stop was nothing new to her. Her lips parted, brushing his skin; a sound came from her, it was soft, the stammer of a partial word before it was swallowed by a sigh.

With closed eyes her head tilted down, her forehead pressed lightly to his. Normally she would have wrapped her arms around him or straightened his hair; she would have let her little fingers redo the buttons of his shirt... but instead she withdrew. She placed her hands on the bed beside herself.

It came suddenly, her first rational thought directed towards how very exposed she was -- how exposed she had been to him, and he...

Pants slightly undone, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair messed -- he'd been wearing less their first night here. The night his hand had accidentally brushed her thigh... Lisa's face flushed the barest hue of pink, and her arms crossed in front of herself; she was acutely aware of her sweater not too far away from him. She'd lost it when they'd gotten to the -- It was the finality of his tone that stopped her from trying to press them both forward -- knowing that he wanted to go further, that the only thing stopping them from losing themselves in one another was just three little words...

He wanted her, and she wanted him. She had stopped him at the door, pulled him to her instead of pushing him away -- even now, at this point she wasn't shying away from him, hadn't said or shown him a 'no'... But this had all been one sided since the beginning, hadn't it? He'd stopped her -- every time she'd tried to do something for him... Maybe when she wasn't feeling so dizzy she could sort out what that meant -- when she wasn't feeling so much like breathing a 'thank you' into his ear for servicing her...

Whatever his reasons -- he didn't need that from her, not for this.

She swallowed back her desire as best she could, "You don't need a shave, Jack," It ebbed from her voice only slowly, "or a trim..." Her head tilted back, allowing her to nuzzle along the side of his face; the soft strands of his hair tickled against her nose and cheeks, "You look fine..." But you don't -- whatever's going on behind those eyes... She was trying to make up for all of the times she'd told him he needed to look at himself in the mirror. It was her soft nuzzling while she did it that hinted at him looking a little bit more than merely fine. Lisa pulled away only at length, long after her voice had faded; she'd ended on that note to soothe herself more than him.

To ease herself out of being mad at him or feeling at fault... or to try to push him into continuing with pleases, kisses, and well-placed caresses. "My sweater...? Could you hand it to me?" Her fingers curled nervously, and her attentive gaze seemed to be looking anywhere but at him. The flush was still there, and she could still hear her heart thrumming in her throat. He didn't like being touched when most men craved it more than anything else -- he didn't understand comfort, seemed confused by all of the little things she did to try and ease him and the situation... Had been driven to this by them...

Lisa's mulling was evident on her rosy features, mingling almost sweetly with everything else trapped there.
 
RE: Vertigo

He should be pulling away, taking his hands off of her, moving from his spot where he was kneeling beside the bed - he should have been putting distance between them because it was the sensible, rational thing to do. He had done enough by letting it get this far, letting himself lose control while somewhere along the way, Lisa had wrested it - somehow things had become unbalanced and he was just tipping the scales more and more. Reisert was completely bared to him, but somehow he felt as though he was more exposed than he'd been in his life.

But then Lisa was moving the side of her face against his and her skin felt warm and he could smell her hair and he didn't pull away even with the full knowledge that he should - and maybe it was because he knew that once he pulled away, he wouldn't let himself go back to this place again. He couldn't let himself, because when they stepped out of the hotel, reality would come tumbling back - the reality where they had a crew of vicious killers trailing them, the one where he was a vicious killer, and the one where she was an upper-middle-class hotel manager.

What was going on in that hotel room, Jackson told himself, wasn't real. Somehow they'd shut the door and made an alternate world where it could happen and that -

- that was dangerous. It was more dangerous than anything else they had encountered and it was the sort of mentality that would get both of them killed.

"I look like an Irish hobo." Jackson replied flatly, reaching for Lisa's sweater and bringing it over to her; he glanced behind himself, realizing Lisa's clothes were scattered across the room - he could scarcely remember doing it, but he must have. He had gotten caught up.

He got to his feet, his leg protesting to the movement but he ignored it. Other parts of him protested as well, but he ignored those, too; those would subside on their own eventually. He ran his hand back through his hair, an effort that only made it worse before he began to button up his shirt.
 
RE: Vertigo

Lisa's small fingers instantly seized hold of her sweater, but she didn't go about slipping it on until Jackson had managed himself to his feet. Her actions came with almost a delay as she eventually went about soothing her need for modesty; eyes were wide as she looked at the visual evidence at what they'd just let happen -- and what Jackson had stopped from happening. It all felt so completely one-sided. Her fingers were buttoning, faster than his, and her mind had latched on to the need to be thankful for how her sweater fit around her. It'd save her from needing to redress herself any further until Jackson stepped away... but it wouldn't save her from the almost shameful task of retrieving everything she'd shed in getting here. ...It was a single word Jackson had said that captured her attention away from her emotions singling themselves into nothing but a dull anger. 'Irish.' Jackson Rippner was... Her slender brows drew together. Unintentionally, he'd just pushed Lisa toward another step in humanizing him...

Jackson Rippner was unquestionably of Irish decent. Taking to her feet and smoothing her sweater down around her thighs, she stepped towards him.

Her hands found his hair and worked through it quickly, smoothing it down from where she'd mussed it earlier. She knew that touching him wasn't altogether helpful for him at present, and though the gesture had been a caring one... a small part of her wished to drive that point home. Lisa tried to keep the speed of her fingers quick and functional, but gradually they slowed. Their similar heights allowed her to see what she was doing with only the slightest tilt of her head, and an expression that had once allowed the barest of her displeasure to bleed through softened noticeably, "I'm sorry, Jack, but hobos aren't this irresistible when rumpled."

Realizing that she'd more than finished with his hair, her fingers curled away from him and her hands withdrew. She looked around briefly -- anywhere but towards him -- before stepping around him to collect her things. Her own personal walk of shame. She wished she was the sort of girl to stomach punishing him for this...

The words were there to voice her unrest at the situation, they were on on the very tip of her tongue, but what actually came from her lips was something far different, "You're Irish...?" It wasn't entirely a question as it was brought to the light. She doubted he would have described himself as such if there wasn't some truth to it... but she was leaving herself open to be corrected just the same. "Born here or...?" That was her question, what she'd been leading into. He'd mentioned something off-handedly, and Lisa's social tendencies were taking over: she was latching onto the crumb he'd dropped in front of her... and she was running with it. And she was using that time too to physically distance herself from him. Hopefully, to alleviate the tension that ran nervously from her throat to the very bottom of her stomach and to give him the space he needed so as not to be cruel to him; the tension quietly whispered to her to reach for him and to do the opposite.

One by one, she picked up the articles of clothing that had been discarded, taking the effort to put back on a few of them while he was facing the other way when last she'd looked to him.
 
The heat of the moment hadn't faded, but Jackson was doing his best to get it under control; Lisa had pulled on a sweater that skimmed mid-thigh, but she could have been wearing a HAZMAT suit right then and he still would have had to struggle with his base urges. He watched her for a long, painful moment and briefly wanted to strangle himself for the choice he had made, for stopping himself, for having willpower just a little too late.

It shouldn't have happened to begin with. He should have shoved her out of the way and left the room, though the idea of committing violence against her now seemed like an impossibility, despite having engaged in a number of atrocities during the time he'd had her captive. He should have done anything except allow himself to give in to the want that Lisa's presence compelled in him. He knew better.

Or he'd thought he did. It was why he had survived as long as he had in his job, he'd always had common sense - but it had blown away at some point, cast out on the breeze somewhere between Chicago and Miami. He had made one mistake after another, and while even then he couldn't call what he'd just done a mistake - he didn't regret it, there was no room to regret the sight of Lisa arching on the bed, to regret her bare skin, or to regret her lips against his jaw - but he knew it was a misstep. He knew it couldn't happen again.

He cast his eyes towards a wall, aware as he was of the awkwardness that had fallen over the room, the embarrassment lingering between the two of them, both of them feeling painfully exposed for different reasons. He gave Lisa the time to put her clothes on while some distant part of him told him there was still time to change his mind, time to just step up to her and undo what little redressing she had done, time to stop fighting her and just let her--

He shook off the thought. He mercilessly kicked it in the ribs and left it to die, though all it did was languish because she was combing her fingers through his hair. Both of them avoided eachother's eyes.

"Born here, or --"

How much more personal could he let himself get with her?

How much less personal could he be without making her feel like he'd somehow just used her?

And when had it become important to him, what she thought of him?

He finished the last button on his shirt, though somehow felt it wasn't enough, not when he could still feel the heat of her on him. He swallowed hard, his throat twinging, his body racking up its complaints,

"I'm more of an import." he said.
 
'I'm more of an import.' Lisa turned to look at him, her hazels peering over her shoulder as her fingers saw to the button of her skirt. He wasn't... She blinked, a slow thing, her lips parting with it and turning the expression thoughtful even though it was his back she was staring at. The back of his rumpled shirt and his messed hair... Her shoulders heaved with her breath even though it wasn't a quite a sigh, and she made herself move towards the love seat to tuck away the few articles that hadn't quite made it back onto her person out of sight. She hadn't redressed, not fully, but with no idea if he was going to turn around or not... She realized only after she'd straightened back up that her eyes had found him again. If he'd started in Ireland... that would mean that his mother and father were from there... His childhood -- friends, neighbours, a family dog...? Lisa's hands set themselves to trying to smooth the wrinkles from her that couldn't wouldn't be so easily brushed aside as she walked towards him, her bare feet all but padding softly against the carpeted floor.

"How old were you when you ...imported?" Her voice matching her gentle approach, "You don't have an accent..." she offered, letting him know where the question stemmed from. He had to have been young when he came here...? Her hazels were fluttering over the back of his shirt -- over the collar, and the way it fit against his shoulders, and in that flutter her hands were being subjected to a struggle, one that they seemed to be losing as she hesitantly reached for him.

"At least not one that I've ever noticed," and her smile was a timid thing, more a reassurance for herself than the man who wasn't looking at her. She doubted she could face his eyes so soon anyway...

Lightly, her fingertips dusted against the side of his shirt as she stepped up to him, those tips only catching to the fabric that hung from him at first as she touched her soft lips to the curve of his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt would have stood as a barrier between him and that softness, but as she inhaled faintly...

Her hands found their way around him, her fingers brushing against one another as her palms pressed to his abdomen. She could feel the buckles of his pants through the fabric of his shirt -- the buttons of it too, little things that were tempting to her fingers... He was warm in her arms, and it was against that warmth that she closed her eyes -- her hug a fragile thing, because she had to be mindful of what else lurked beneath his clothing. The flyaway strands of his hair tickled against her left temple and brushed against her forehead as her head lifted and turned, she pressing her lips to the side of his neck in an almost kiss. "Jackson, please..." The words were whispered against his skin, soft enough that even she barely heard them, and they veered in a direction completely opposite from the questions that had tumbled from her before them. She didn't want to stop.
 
He could hear her coming up behind him, her bare feet striking lightly across the carpeting; she stopped behind him, not near enough that there was contact, but close enough that he could feel her body heat. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, his instincts nudging him as though ensuring he had noticed there was someone behind him.

Someone his brain supplied helpfully, Who shot, stabbed, and drugged you.

Lisa Reisert had managed to do more harm to him in two meetings than a lifetime of run-ins with violent criminals had, though none of them had damaged his calm the way she had. He wanted to attribute his undoing to the physical trauma and the sedatives, but he knew it wasn't that simple, not when he had to curl his broken fingers to remind himself of the pain and take his mind off of the throbbing elsewhere.

"Twenty-two." he said, though he wasn't sure why he was telling her; she stepped up to him and Jackson's eyes shifted slowly towards her, though he wasn't turning his head. He could see a tinge of pink still in her skin, a wan smile on her face.

"Accents attract attention." he added; she was pressing her lips to his shoulder, her hands were curving around his waist, splaying out across his stomach, the heat of her skin easily felt through the thin material of his shirt, her body pressing to his back. He critically inspected the cloth of his willpower and found it was stretched dangerously thin, that the feeling of her frame against his was nearly undoing him.

He needed to get his head on straight.

"Jackson, please."

He let out an audible breath; she was so quiet that he could almost convince himself he hadn't heard it - that her lips against his throat hadn't just formed a plea on his skin. He closed his eyes; there was no end of reasons why it couldn't end well.

"We should leave soon." he said, his voice hoarse.
 
Everything about him felt so fragile in her arms, and Lisa wasn't sure if it had something to do with the bandages she could feel rubbing against the tip of her nose as she dusted her lips against the side of his neck... or if it had more to do with what had been in his voice. The very sound of it -- it made her hands tremble.

Maybe what he'd done to her -- maybe it had soothed some part of him... but the rest of him... the physical side of him couldn't have found any relief yet...

"Shh," Lisa breathed the sound against his skin, and she followed after it with a soft kiss. Her arms tightened around him gently as her fingers walked themselves against his shirt, they easing it up in those tiny steps until she could feel the denser material of his trousers. He had desires too... Things that could be done to him that would make him shudder and moan... Her teeth pinched at her lower lip as she tilted her head, her nose tracing a faint line to the shell of his ear. Things he thought about when he was alone... or even with someone -- and if what he'd done to her was any indication... His only experience hadn't been with her. Her thumbs had found their way over the edge of his trousers and to his skin, and there they traced an obscure pattern before falling into step with the rest of her digits in undoing that first button. It was a moment when she should have said something to him, something inviting -- something to make him shiver in her arms as her words sparked ghosted sensations across his skin with what they implied...

Something to make him throb and ache for her in a way that stopping was no longer on his mind... But she had nothing like that in her vocabulary, or at least nothing that wouldn't feel odd or scripted if she tried saying it. Her fingers curled as the edges of rounded nails found their way lightly to his skin, they feathering a soft line from hip to hip -- teasing across the slack they'd created in his trousers. ...He'd only been twenty-two when he'd made the move to America? "I won't believe you have an accent until I hear it with my own ears," Lisa dared softly. Had he come alone...? That had been her initial question, but with the direction she was now trying to push things...

Had she moved countries at that age, it would have been her family she would have moved with -- and there was a time and place for such conversations.

Leaning against him, she melded herself to him in a way that was meant to urge him gently towards the bed, and as if to add to that suggestion -- as if to dispel any question as to why she would want him there... the hand that had been settled against his abdomen while her other hand played against his skin started to ease itself downward.

The edge of his trousers was passed in that slow descent, and it was soon after that threshold was crossed that her fingers found themselves tip to tip with the evidence of what the two of them had been up to. Hiding the lower half of her face back against his shoulder, her tiny hand set itself to exploring what it had found. Two of her fingers had taken the lead, they ghosting over the head of him and across the distinctive ridge that separated that spongy tissue from the rest of him... before settling into a halting downward path against the underside of him.
 
Lisa's mouth pressed to the thin strip of skin available between his bandages and the collar of his shirt and she hissed a soft breath at him - she was shushing him, something that Jackson would have regarded with disbelief in any other circumstance because people, normal people, didn't shush hitmen.

But then, he was perpetually being reminded that the woman pressed against his back was by no means normal, she'd merely cultivated the likeness of it. Normal, well-adjusted, banal people didn't put their arms around men who had strangled people to death, they didn't place kisses on skin they had broken in self-defense, and they didn't --

-- they didn't --

Jackson drew in a breath that Lisa would be able to feel while she was pressed against his back, something sharp and sudden when her hands tugged up the hem of his shirt and she opened up his fly. The world was still moving sluggishly for him, still soft around the edges, but there was a sharpness in her touch, as though his mind was focusing on sensation above all else. Her fingertips left a blazing trail of heat along his abdomen and he reached for her wrists, intent on stopping her, but only one of his hands was working properly and his grip was negligible; he wasn't sure if it was because of the sedatives, the injuries, or if his heart wasn't in it.

"Leese." he said, but he didn't seem to have anything to follow it with because her fingers were trailing over him. A dominant part of his mind told him it was pertinent to stop, that this was damaging for reasons he hadn't even identified yet - there hadn't been a lot of time to think - while a more often ignored part was gently suggesting he let it happen.

"Leese." he repeated, but there was something raw in his voice this time, it didn't even sound like his, but he told himself it was because of the pen she'd jammed in his throat, that it had nothing to do with the location of her hand - she was barely touching him, after all.

He was never this easily undone.

She was leaning towards him, the press of her body was directing him back to the spot he had just pried himself away from; his bright eyes slid slowly to the ceiling, back again to the mirror that had been the bane of his existence. He took a single step with her urging, but then his hand was settled on her wrist, caught between the rational, fact-based mentality that had led him through his entire life and something entirely new.
 
The way his hand was on her arm, his fingers near lifeless save for the slightest pressure from those calloused tips... Lisa closed her eyes, because if it wasn’t in the way he was trying to hold on to her -- if it wasn’t hidden in the air that had been drawn so suddenly into his lungs or lost in the voice that held her name so close to his lips -- then it was in what was throbbing so steadily beneath her fingers. This was him straining for something... Straining and aching, and he hadn’t breathed a word of complaint to her. Even now... Feeling his messed hair catch lightly against her soft curls, her hazels fluttered open so that she could look at him, and though she could only see his profile and those soft lashes of his... His eyes weren’t even on her, and still looking to them made her breath catch in her throat. Jackson was looking at the mirror above them -- at that monstrous thing that lived there...

He’d moved only a step, and so she tried to urge him into another. The wrist that he had a hold of slid upwards, her hand moving to his stomach as her fingers spanned themselves outward. She was giving him that something to hold onto... Trading out one small hand for the other, and there was nothing timid about how that other hand found him.

Lisa’s small hand melded to the underside of that engorged organ in a slow, downward travel, and she could feel the warmth of him pressing back against her soft palm.

And that warmth brought a shiver down her spine. “...You need relief from this,” She whispered against his skin, and her voice was softer this time. Her fingers wrapped around him, and though her thumb could have tried to finish off that easy entrapment, it was too busy leading the way back up the length of him. The line that digit drew was a firm one, and she was very mindful to only use the soft pad of that finger. “Do we stay as we are...?” He’d seen all of her while she’d hardly a glimpse of him, but for now... feeling him was enough. Feeling that slight play of skin that dulled the steady throb that pulsed so faintly beneath her fingertips... Her hand was trembling; a blend of nerves and desire.

She was starting to ache for him again, and her voice quivered because of it, “Or would you rather...?” What she wanted was so vividly clear in her eyes, and as her hazels studied the fine-boned features of who she was pressed up against, her thumb made it back over that raised ridge. Her digit moved onward as the rest of her hand stopped, and it offered only a firm pressure as it circled around the head of that crown.
 
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