ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100

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OOM: Room #100 - for Doc Scurlock

[following this:]

It's been a while since Kate has spent any considerable amount of time in her own room, so it has remained rather tidy. The only real exceptions are a stack of clean laundry on her desk chair she hasn't gotten to yet, and the bedspread, which is a little disheveled from stolen naps here and there between checking on and being with Doc. On her desk is the book of poetry she had taken from his room, along with the little orange paper crane that marks her place. The poetry and favors from the wake are spread out, including several little steel green cranes, which sit awkward and deformed in some small way ('first attempts' at origami that weren't so bad as to throw away). There's also a rather extraordinary little music box, and a half-eaten box of chocolate. On the table in the corner, there are a few newspapers and posters, handmade notes about Cuero, and the like.

The real focus of attention, however, is the bathroom; complete with all its fancy little soaps, and relaxing scents, and nice, hot water. That's Kate's focus, at least, once she unlocks her door and steps inside.

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"If y'want me to stop, I will."

He doubts she does, which is why he traces her spine as his hands sink to her back.

She doesn't answer. Not straight away, at least.

She arches her back in response to his touch, yet more soft moans leaving her mouth.

"No, don't stop."

Doc keeps his hands above the midpoint of her back, and stays away from the sensitive zones at her waist and hips -- knowing exactly what that would do to her, and how unfair it would be.

He seeks out knots and works to remove them, varying light strokes with firm pressure.

And Kate doesn't speak for the duration of it; she couldn't even if she wanted to. What he's doing to her feels so good, it's too difficult to focus on anything else.

Eventually she gives up trying entirely, just letting his hands mold and control her, carried away by the sensations he's awakening in her flesh.

Her fingers stay firm at his thigh, pressing into his skin when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, and wandering the soft flannel of his sleep pants when he hasn't.

The fingers pressing into his thigh remind him of the touch of her hand against his waist, the feeling of her palm against his stomach, and the closeness of her body against his as they wrestled in the snow.

He shivers.

"Feelin' better?"

"Much."

She doesn't shift or move; she doesn't even open her eyes. But the barest hint of a smile crosses her mouth. Perhaps he can hear it in her next words.

"Shall I do you now?"

"Let me brush your hair, first? I certainly won't turn you down, though."

He reaches for the brush on the bed and sweeps her hair back over her shoulder.

She responds only with another soft moan, but it's hard to tell whether it's disappointment or pleasure in the sound.

It doesn't really matter; she certainly isn't going to turn him down.

"Y'really have a knack fer gettin' into trouble with those hands of yers, y'know," she murmurs, her voice deep and husky.

He loves it when her voice sounds like that, which is why he leans in to press a kiss against her ear.

"I know how to git outta trouble with 'em, too."

There are so many chills ripping through her skin at this point, it's useless trying to keep track.

"S'that right?" she breathes, sounding more than a little dubious.

It's time for her other hand to circle back and mimic the placement of the first, thumbs running along the inseam of his britches on both inner-thighs.

"Yer gonna hafta teach me that trick."

"I'll t-teach y'everythin' I know."

A quiet groan escapes his mouth as sighs, pulling back as he begins to brush through the strands of her hair, working out any tangles.

"I'll hold y'to that."

She sighs contentedly. There are few things in life more comforting to a woman than the feeling of someone playing with her hair.

He's quiet while he begins his 'work', but after a few moments he's humming that old ballad under his breath, savoring the stillness of the room.

No words, just the tune.

From his angle, he won't be able to see the expression on her face when he starts humming.

After quite some time, when he's nearly finished with her hair:

"Josiah?"

She turns her head slightly, until her profile is only just visible.

"C'mere."

"Yes, darlin?"

He shifts a little on the bed, leaning so that he can glance at her face.

When he leans in, she twists her shoulders and reaches around for the back of his head, tipping her head until she can claim his mouth in a kiss. Her fingers lace through his damp hair, pulling tightly at the nape of his neck.

He's surprised by the kiss (but he's certainly not complaing) but doesn't hesitate to return it, moaning against her mouth when her fingers tighten in his hair.

"Kate."

Praying for her to keep kissing him like that.

Her stomach jumps when he moans her name like that, heart beating a little fast. She didn't have any intentions of stopping before, but now she certainly isn't going to pull away.

Heat's spreading like wildfire through her blood, warring with the chill he had put in her skin only moments before.

"I love you," she moans against his mouth, unable to think past what he's doing to her. She's spent too many long months dreaming about his touch and his taste.

He allows one hand to drop to rest against her leg as he continues to kiss her, grateful for the pillow and tangle of sheets and blankets around them. Contact with his legs gives him the sensation of still being on the bed -- without it, he might feel like he's flying away.

"I love you, too. So fargin' much."

She's grateful for the pillow between them as well, as she pushes her body back against his knees, itching to get closer. She's kissing him like she means it (she does), the tip of her tongue shyly touching his, the rake of her teeth over his bottom lip, the soft moans she lets warm his skin.

"I've missed this. You, in my room. In my life. I've missed you."

She shifts until she's sideways, inching her way closer to his lap.

"I spent a lot of nights dreamin' 'bout you, wakin' up alone in bed and if I just kept my eyes shut I could see y'there, with me..."

He angles his body and pulls her into his lap, still peppering her mouth with kisses.

She slips her arms around his neck, settling so easily it's as if they were just made to fit together. His stubble is burning her already hot cheeks, making her lips tingle, but she doesn't mind.

"M'glad."

She kisses the length of his jaw, before breathing a quiet chuckle and returning to his mouth.

"M'sorry if it sounds cruel. I jus'... didn't know. If you'd gone t'stop thinkin' 'bout me. So I'm glad y'didn't forget me. I didn't forget you."

"I would never want t'forget you, darlin'. Not one moment, they're all too special. I keep 'em locked up safe in my heart where nothin' can take 'em away from me, no matter what happens."

He rests his forehead against hers, breathing steadily for a moment.

"When I was out there...caught like'a rat...I kept tellin' myself that I'd find a way t'git free 'cause I had t'get home t'you."

She runs her fingers through his hair steadily as he speaks, her dark eyes focused on his face. She eventually drops one hand down to the mattress, where he left her brush, and picks it up. She tilts her head and tenderly kisses his cheek.

"Home?"

She brushes her nose past his, the barest of smiles on her lips.

"As long as I have you, I am home. It don't matter where I am."

He smiles softly as her nose brushes his.

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