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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"When we was wrasslin'."

'Wrasslin'.'

She giggles, amused.

"That all?"

"Well...when y'was..."

He blushes a deeper hue of scarlet, voice trailing off.

"When y'was kissin' me all over, felt like heaven, didn't care that I was lyin' in a snowpile."

She, of course, knows all this already. But she can't resist the opportunity to tease him some.

"T'be honest," she whispers, tipping her head to leave slow, wet kisses across his breast, "when y'had me in your arms in the washroom, I thought I was gonna burst into flames. An' hearin' y'moan my name..."

Her hands curl into fists at his waist with the memory.

He swallows down a moan as her hands curl into those fists; aching for her fingertips against his hips, wishing that she'd touch him.

"Yeah, I know the feelin'," he rasps.

Kind of how he's feeling right now, actually.

Her mouth stills over his collarbone. She stills for a long moment, just breathing in his scent.

"T'be honest..."

She sighs, laying her cheek flat against his breast again. Her thumb is feathering his waist.

"...I'm relieved."

"Y'are?"

Doc smiles and reaches down, his hand coming to rest against the small of her back, fingers trailing along her spine.

Without lifting her head, she nods.

"I wasn't sure y'wanted me anymore."

She draws her hand back, until her palm is covering his bellybutton and her fingers are tracing his scar.

Her mouth quirks softly.

"But I can see I was wrong. It was silly of me t'worry."

His skin is jumping under her touch, and he shivers as a warm shudder ripples its way down his spine.

(That scar has always been sensitive. Now, it especially is.)

"I'll always...want you. Always."

Doc closes his eyes and tips his head back against the mattress, pulling in a gentle breath.

She knows he's not lying.

(She can tell from the pleasured reaction she's getting out of him. It's not fair, really. She knows all of his spots -- or, at least, all of his future spots, but they seem to be working just fine right now -- but he has yet to learn hers.

But he's learning fast.)

"Even when I'm old an' gray?"

She gently drags her nails across that scar, tickling the damaged skin.

That gets a groan out of him.

"...g-grey, white, don'matter what color y'are, darlin'."

She chuckles quietly.

She considers kissing the hollow of his throat, wanting to hear more of that smoke-and-a-shot-glass whisper he reserves just for her, but decides against it. She presses her lips to the old scar on his left shoulder instead, and carefully scoots up his body.

She's sharing his pillow when she comes to rest, watching every expression, every emotion, flicker over his face.

"Y'know what I've missed?"

"Hmm?"

He's lost in thought, words tangling with sensation in his mind.

"Whas'it y'missed, darlin'."

She pauses, smiling at him.

When she doesn't answer right away, he turns his head and meets her eyes.

"When y'came back so much older, you was... confident. Hardened. Sure. Y'knew what y'wanted. An' y'knew how t'get it."

She drags her hand up his body, letting her fingers trace his bottom lip. She reaches up to the cuff of his ear.

"S'been a while since I've seen y'blush. That bashful look y'git in your eyes whenever we're touchin'. The shy slur of your words when yer embarrassed. Reminds me of the first day we met. You ducked your head t'hide your eyes, and the tips of your ears turned pink."

Her smile broadens.

"S'the first time I've felt my heart skip a beat."

His ears are more than just pink right now -- they're practically gone scarlet, thanks to the pounding heartbeat raging in his chest and the fire burning in his belly.

"I don't blush."

Doc attempts to be serious as he says it, clearing his throat to regain his true voice.

(And then he ducks his head to lower his eyes, laughing nervously under his breath.)

She's out and out grinning by the time he clears his throat.

"Well, that's a shame," she whispers, attempting solemnity through the mirth in her eyes. "Considerin' I think that's the moment I fell in love with you. Considerin' how beautiful I think y'are."

Now it's her turn to glance away shyly.

"Handsome, I mean."

He looks up, again.

"Really?"

A beat.

"You...y'think that?"

Maybe he blushes sometimes, then. Just for her.

She lifts her shy blue eyes back to his face.

"I've always thought you were beautiful. Ever since I was fifteen, an' a boy callin' himself Jay Gordon came t'work for my daddy."

"It was so hard not t'tell you 'bout this place, 'bout how I knew we'd meet up here, someday..."

Doc sighs and trails his fingers up her spine, rubbing circles over her shoulderblade.

She sighs happily at the tender touch.

"Can't imagine."

Her hand sinks back down his body, rubbing his ribs all the way to his waist. She then curls her arm around him to get at his low back.

"I think if y'had... I might'a run off with you t'Colorada, then an' there. Would'a made y'take me on them adventures of yours."

He grins.

"I think if you'd have done that, your daddy would have been leadin' the posse t'come hunt my hide down and git y'back."

As much fun as they might have had, it wouldn't have ended well.

Doc smirks, and looks at her.

"Guess we'll have t'just settle for runnin' away t'gether now, then."

Her eyes are shining with equal parts laughter and adoration.

"Guess so."

Her hand pauses just east of his spine.

"Lay on your belly, honey?"

He shifts on the bed, taking a moment to get situated on his stomach, arms stretched out and tucked under the pillow he rests his head on.

"Play nice."

No tickling.

She laughs wickedly, shifting up onto her hip.

"Wouldn't dream of anythin' else."

Of course, Doc may disagree when her hands go from slow, tender strokes up and down the length of his back, to his shoulders where she returns the favor for his earlier neck rub.

Of course, to get at the right angle, this means she has to slip her leg over the small of his back and straddle his waist, her meager weight balanced on his hips.

As she rubs his shoulders, she leans down until her lips are at his ear.

"Where we gonna run 'way together, cowboy?"

He is very grateful for the fact that his hips are pressed against the mattress, and not her body, for a variety of reasons.

(Most of which are probably pretty obvious, given how his fingers curl around the fabric of the pillowcase.)

"M'gonna show y'the world, darlin'. Wherever y'like t'go."

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