Murphy's somewhat surprised to find Wren on the other side of the door, and not just because it's almost eleven o'clock at night. They didn't do that sort of thing – showing up, unannounced. She looked good – a little flushed, and maybe her eyes were brighter than normal, but she looked better than she had in the past few days. She'd been distracted as of late, on edge, even, ever since that night she spoke Russian. It's a vague recollection now, and Murphy still isn't sure if it had actually happened.
"Hey," he murmurs gently, hanging off the door. "Come on in."
"Sorry about dropping in like this," Wren starts as she steps inside. She's already peeling her jacket off and tossing it onto Murphy's bed.
"S'fine," Murphy shrugs. He holds up a copy of The Hobbit. "I was just readin'. Conn's down at the pub wit' Pam."
Wren smirks playfully. "You didn't feel like drinking?"
He smiles shyly and ruffles the hair on the back of his neck. "Eh…s'not the same when yer not around ta take the piss outta Connor, aye?" He watches as her fingers tug the zippers on her boots and she peels the leather back from her legs. She only takes off her boots when she's staying. She only takes them off when she wants to…
"I missed you," she says gently, dropping her boots to the floor. She steps into his space and takes his book, dog-earing the corner of the page he's left off on before tossing it to the couch. She takes his hands and puts them on her hips, drawing them up her torso to cup her breasts through her shirt.
"Really?" Murphy purrs, ducking his head and stealing a quick kiss. "I just saw ya last night."
Wren shrugs. "I've grown attached," she reasons, reaching for the button on his jeans.
Murphy laughs lowly. "Attached to what, exactly?"
She gives him a playful smile and sinks to her knees, opening his jeans at the same time. Her eyes drop as her hands slide into the back of his boxers, pulling the fabric down over the curve of his ass and dragging her nails over the backs of his thighs. He hisses and touches her hair, then her jaw, and he tilts her head up so that he can see her face. She licks her lips as she slides one hand around the base of his cock and squeezes sharply before tugging the half-hard flesh to full attention. He's groaning by the time she's got him straining back towards his belly; he's sweating as her warm breath ghosts over his hypersensitive skin. There is no other preamble; she opens her mouth and swallows him, taking him all in with the first dive and Murphy's torso curves forward with the surprise of it. He chokes on a moan and soon both hands come to her face, her hair, holding her to him as she works her mouth over and over him again.
He comes gently in Wren's mouth, his bare toes curling into the concrete floor. He whispers, "Fuck," and moans. He shakes as she continues to suck him, until he's soft and spent and murmuring her name. When she finally pulls away, he staggers, and then stoops to grab her by the arms and lift her to her feet. He can taste himself on her tongue as he kisses her deeply, and for a man with his pants around his ankles, he is surprisingly graceful as he manoeuvres them to his bed. He pulls her down into his arms and turns so he is above her, and all around her.
She sees it in his eyes, just like she's sure he sees it in hers, but they're both too chicken shit to say it first. The feeling is there, though, in their heartbeats, and the gentle glide of fingertips over skin as they undress each other. She kisses the freckles on his shoulders and sucks his earlobe into her mouth because that's what he likes. His beard scrapes her neck and collarbone, and she presses her thighs together at the delightful sensation of it. The moan in his ear makes him grunt and press against her before moving further down.
He worships her breasts, taking one in each hand, easily palming the small, firm globes, and he pulls and pinches her nipples almost too softly. He has her writhing beneath him when his mouth descends on one peak. Over and over he tongues it, lapping at the beautiful strawberry peak. The feel of that perfect bud hardening in his mouth makes him harden in return, and he loves the way her fingers thread through his hair as he moves from one breast to the other. His cock presses into her hip insistently and he pulls back, cupping her face and kissing her sweetly as her thighs part and cradle him.
He swallows his name as it falls from her mouth; he pushes in, sighing at her heat and her wetness; and it is snug and safe. She relaxes under him, having been wound up from her previous meeting. She shakes her head once, ridding herself of the thought. Murphy. Murphy above you. Murphy inside of you, she chants to herself. Her knees are already rising, already hugging his ribs as he sets a slow, deliberate pace. Her hands glide over his shoulders and the sheen of sweat clinging there.
It's not enough, not for him, and not for her, and he hooks an arm under her hips, pulling her up to meet him. She can feel him trying to get deeper and she moves with him, desperately wanting him deeper, too. Their movements are born of frustration, of unspoken words and salted, tangy lust. He pulls and she pushes, and then she finds herself in his lap, his legs stretched out beneath her, knees bent up, while she tries her best to hook her ankles at the small of his back. Her breasts press against his broad, solid chest, heart to heart and belly to belly. Skin to skin and Wren finds that she is at the perfect spot to rest her forehead on his shoulder and just feel as he moves her, and him, to that solid, spiralling end.
He's never felt this before – not with her, or anyone else. There is a burning in his chest, and somewhere in his guts or his belly, things are pinging into place as his mind screams out that this is right, he's complete, he can die a happy man. She feels so small and perfect in his arms and he shudders at the way her breath ghosts over his chest. He likes the feel of her hands clinging to him, of her fingers combing through his hair, sweeping up his neck and down his spine. She is tight, and she is hot, and she is burning him up from the inside out. It's on the tip of his tongue while they are in this face-to-face embrace, and it scares him. He pauses the ebb and flow of his hips and tilts back, pulling her with him to drape across his chest, his palms gliding down her hips and thighs.
She hums, delighted with the new angle, and pretends not to see the gleam in Murphy's eyes. Instead, she closes her own eyes and ducks her head, her mouth seeking out his ears, his jaw, and finally his lips. These she fuses with her own, and she pants into his mouth as her hips take over, a steady canter in his saddle, until she needs more and leans up, and then back, and holds onto his thighs for leverage. Now she can feel him everywhere, and his hands slip over her breasts, stretch to caress her neck, and then her jaw, fingers tangling in her hair and tugging her back down to meet his insistent kiss once more.
"Murph," she mumbles, her hair tumbling over his chest and around his face in a soft, sweet cloud. She hisses, pulling her lips from his, and takes over once more, rocking back and forth until suddenly they are blissfully in synch. Once more, she arches back, and this time Murphy lets her go, his eyes narrowing on the point where they are joined. He watches closely, and every time he disappears inside of her body, it ratchets his arousal up. He slides out, slick and wet, and his hands fumble, grabbing her hips to pull her down once more. But then he lifts her, because, oh, he wants to see it again, see her take him inside, and he arches back, his head pressed into the mattress. He gulps for air.
Her fingers wind with his on her hips, and then she is guiding him between her thighs where she is slippery with want. Her head nods frantically, her lips breathe out a plea, and as she continues to ride him, his fingers slip and slide up and down her clit, rolling it and tugging it until he feels her start to shake. He loves watching her come undone, as she does it so unabashedly. A flush of heat surges through him as he feels her contract, and then flutter, and then contract once more. Her face is determined and she swivels her hips until he's grinding against that spot inside of her that makes her see stars. She pants, tiny gasps turning into choppy moans. She pauses on a downstroke and quakes hard, her fingertips digging into his thigh as she wails and rocks their pelvises together.
He hisses as she sweetly clasps him, and when she slows down, Murphy grins, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. "Turn 'round," he mutters gently, helping her from his lap. Together, they arrange her on all fours and it is times like these he loves the difference in their height. He drapes himself over her back, his shoulders brushing against hers as he braces a hand on the bed next to hers. His other one guides him swiftly into her and they both sigh at the fullness. His breath his hot against her ear and the hand that held her hip is once more searching out between her thighs. "M'not gonna last long," he warns softly, before his teeth close on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He feels her nod and he leans back up, taking a hold of both hips.
His first thrust is a jolt, making a breathy cry burst from Wren's lungs. It is followed by another, smooth, but no less searching, and then another one comes, and another, and soon he's pounding into her quick and deep. She can almost feel him in her throat, he's so deep now, and her head hangs between her shoulders as she sobs at the miraculous friction Murphy is creating. Her eyes squeeze shut; her fingers claw the sheets. She calls his name and moves to furiously rub at her clit, desperate to come once more before he's done. His hips falter; it won't be too much longer, and he tries to make his thrusts less shallow, and not as quick, but Wren cries out, frustrated, and begs him.
"Don't stop," she groans, shaking her head. Her vision is becoming blurry.
"I can't wait fer ya," he growls, sucking in rapid breaths in an effort to calm himself. It is useless, as he's stated, and soon he's looking down the barrel of a shotgun orgasm. "Ohhh, fuck, Wren, I'm goin' ta come," he moans. "Come with me," he urges. "Come with me, I want ta feel it."
Her breath catches in her throat at his words and then she explodes, and he rockets with her. She's certain their cries can be heard down the hall, but she doesn't really care at this point. Her face is pressed into the mattress, her knees ache and her back is arched in a ridiculous curve. She feels amazing, melting and warm and so light as she comes back down and hears Murphy whimper, feels his hips stutter against her, his hands smoothing up her flanks to her shoulders. He pulls her up so that her back is against him and he slips gracelessly from her body. The wetness that pools between her thighs makes her blush but his hand is cupping her jaw and turning her mouth towards his in a kiss that causes her to become aroused all over again. She tears her lips from his and sucks in a much needed breath, and manages to half turn in his embrace, her hip digging into his lower belly.
"Whoa," she sighs, staring at Murphy as she pants.
He swallows and nods, his blue eyes bright in the dim of the flat. "Aye," he agrees, hoarsely. "I think I'm gonna die now." He gives her a loopy smile and collapses flat onto his back, hooking an arm around her hips and bringing her with him. He hums with pleasure as she lets him curve around her back and wedge a leg between hers. "That was…vigorous," he muses into her damp hair.
She shakes as she laughs. "That's one way of putting it."
There is silence and then the click of a lighter, the dry crackle of tobacco burning. He inhales and exhales and she turns and lays her cheek on his chest.
"That was different," he admits a few moments later. His voice is gentle, a little rough, but that's Murphy.
She knows he's telling the truth. She knows it was different. She tells herself it's because she's armpit deep in shit and it's only getting deeper and she needs something to keep her afloat. But really, it's because she's different now. She's changing, even if she doesn't see it yet. Murphy does, but he doesn't mention it. He sees something in her eyes now, something hollow and cold. It doesn't stay around for long, but it is there in her gaze long enough for him to notice. Her voice is different, too. He hopes that this change isn't because of him. Because of something he's done. Her coming here was such a surprise, such a non-Wren thing to do that he can't help but hope that the change is for good.