ikissdhimbck | AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt

Entry tags:

AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt - 1888

**NOTE: This is part of a plot arc that was meant to occur in Milliways over the Spring/Summer of 2011 in Bar Time. It has since become an AU, and should be treated as a standalone plot not associated with any game, and not fitting into Kate's continuity.**

A door opens out of thin air, admitting a pair of riders. The gentleman in proper Victorian dress astride a perlino gelding is the first to ride out, followed not long after by the woman on the starred bay. It's late April, and Texas lays open on every side of them. Behind them, to the north, is a low rolling mountain range leading to Kenedy; descending ahead is desert plain, pocked with scruff and scraggly trees. Some ways off to their left are train tracks.

It's midday. The sun is hot, but despite being a little muggy the air is withstandably balmy. It's just the way Kate left it when last she was here. She can even see the dust clouds Beaut kicked up still settling behind them. They're just south of Beeville now, and likely there ain't anybody from Kenedy still chasing after her.

She combs a few renegades from her messy braid back behind her ears, and sets her hat down on her head to ward off the winking sun. Glancing at Gene from the corner of her eye, she just manages to bite back a smirk.

"Home sweet home."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Kate's eyes follow his silhouette as he retreats, lingering at the curve of his jaw and his neck before finally falling away.

Setting up camp has become such a routine that she can do it without much thought; which is convenient, given she can't seem to concentrate on much other than the pleasant little bundle of nerves in her belly.

Dinner is simple: pork and beans with a few buttermilk biscuits. She sets a pot of water going for coffee (and for washing), and sets out the bedrolls and nightly supplies before the last hint of daylight has left the sky.

He's not quite as easy with the horses; getting the tack off properly isn't too hard even in the failing light, and giving them a rubdown doesn't take long. But he's never fed a horse before, and doesn't really want to go rifling through her stuff looking for food.

'What d'they eat, then?' he calls out, looking at the saddlebags dubiously.

'Distinct lack of grass aroun' here.'

"There's feed in that bag there by your feet," she calls back, gesturing with her chin. "They'll graze a bit on the brush overnight. It ain't so tender as what they're used to at the bar, but it'll suit them 'til we next hit water."

She made sure Beaut and Concession both had more than their share of good hay before they left the bar this morning, so they should do fine with what they've snagged over the course of the day.

"We're headin' for wet country soon."

'What, in Texas?'

That doesn't tally with what the movies have taught him. At all. Still, he shoots her a disapproving look - that she won't be able to see, given the light and the way he's facing away - and gets on with feeding the mounts. He makes quick work of it because he's bloody hungry himself, and his muscles definitely want to lie down.

'Wha's for tea?' he asks, unceremoniously, as he ease himself down on to one of the bedrolls, and lights another tag.

She smirks, watching him carefully from the corner of her eye.

"Texas is a big place, honey."

Once he's settled, she passes over a plate of food. Sure, it doesn't look like much; but it'll taste good, so long as Gene doesn't have an aversion to pig meat. Kate's fairly confident that won't be a problem, given the way he was tucking in to a full English breakfast not too long ago. She takes a biscuit off a pot lid where she'd been warming them, and adds it to his plate.

"I know it ain't much, but it should hold you over t'mornin'."

Beat.

"Y'want some coffee?"

'Aye, ta. An' it looks grand.'

Gene is, in no way, a fussy eater. Unless he thinks something's foreign (this does not include curry). This is probably obvious by the way he tucks in. Who knew sitting on a horse could be so tiring, and make you so hungry?

'We anywhere near the Rio Grande?'

"Mm, not very," Kate answers after swallowing, licking the corner of her mouth. "We're mostly in the middle of the low country, I reckon. Closer t'the sea than Mexico."

She watches him quietly, a thoughtful smile on her face. He'll sleep hard tonight, no doubt.

"We keep goin' west an' south, we'll hit it eventually. But that could take a while. Why d'you ask?"

'No reason. It's jus' famous, that's all.'

He scoops up some beans, then pauses as something scuttles across the ground close to his foot. Some sort of lizard, by the look of it. Interesting.

He stuffs the fork in his mouth, and eyes her speculatively over the fire.

'It goin' t'get much colder?'

"Famous even in your time an' place?"

She takes her sweet time in answering his last question, not bothering to hide her grin.

"Very likely. I'll gather up s'more tinder 'fore we turn in t'keep the fire goin'." She gestures to the low flames with her three-pronged fork. "It'll help keep the critters away, too."

You know. In case he's worried about that.

'Yeah. s'legendary.'

If you like Westerns, that is. Or the desert, or big rivers.

'Only bugs, aren' they?' Nothing to mither about.

Beat.

'Can think of better ways to keep warm.'

Just sayin'.

"Legendary."

She smiles dryly, and shakes her head.

"Do they make movin' pictures 'bout that, too? The 'legendary' great rivers of America?"

Her eyes dance with mischief.

There's a pregnant pause.

"Are you suggestin' we cuddle?"

She might be teasing, but he still nods.

'Rio Grande. 1950. Starred John Wayne. Not bad, as it happens.'

Not that it was about the river, exactly.

And his eyes are indignant, and...also a bit shifty.

'No! Gene Hunt does not bloody cuddle.'

The corner of her mouth twitches.

"How come y'don't keep posters of John Wayne hangin' over your bed?"

It's true that she's deliberately deviling him to see what kind of rise she can get, but her intentions aren't malicious in nature. If he'll notice, she hasn't exactly said 'no' to this suggestion, either.

"I remember things a bit differently."

What happens in Baby doesn't necessarily stay in Baby, Gene.

He looks positively mutinous. It's probably clear he recalls exactly what she's talking about.

'Hey! There were only one bed, an' I wasn't about t'sleep on the floor.'

And he's such a gentleman, he wasn't going to make her do it either. Ergo, they had to share.

That's all it was.

Really.

"Two's company," she shrugs, the picture of nonchalance; "but three's a crowd. I recall that as well."

She's innocent as the driven snow, and very invested in her meal it would seem.

He looks down at his own plate.

'What d'you mean?'

It would be easy to assume she's on about his wife, here. But he doesn't want to make that jump in case he's wrong, and it's just a flippant comment. He doesn't see what she would have to do with a conversation about cuddling.

Kate's hardly veering off-topic, here; for all his blustering gruffness, she has at least one good reason to believe he secretly likes a good snuggle now and then.

"Your lips say no, but your inability t'keep your pecker in your pocket tell a different story."

She might be giving him too much of a big head by crediting Lil' Gene as a third individual, but he did, after all, knock her off the bed.

'Oh.'

Right. Now he gets it. And grins.

'You didn' give me a stiffy because your arse was rubbin' him all night, Kate. That happens when you're not even in the room.'

As at the time, he's not in the least bit embarrassed about it. He's a man. There'd be something wrong with him if she didn't excite him.

Besides. He has the suspicion she was trying to make him blush there, so he reckons it's only fair that he have a go as well.

He gets more than a blush out of her; she genuinely doesn't even know what to say.

He's the only man she knows that can leave her speechless in the middle of a debate. It frustrates the hell out of her, and might be one of the things about him she likes best.

"Well — "

She's visibly flustered.

(She hates that.)

"I — "

Oh, look. The coffee is ready.

He cackles a laugh, then lights a cigarette and stretches out on his bedroll so he can look at the sky.

'Don' look so worried. If he can push you out of bed when we're not even tryin', imagine what'll happen when we are.'

He may be looking a bit happy about the prospect, as it goes.

Pursing her lips, she cuts her gaze to that lit cigarette.

There's a quiet shuffling of fabric.

She stretches herself over his body like a cat, hips nudging his, bracing her arms on either side of his chest. She lowers into his field of vision, avoiding the glowing end of his cigarette. The tip of her braid spills over her shoulder, tickling his jaw.

"If it's havin' the bed t'yourself y'like," she murmurs, lips close enough to lightly brush his ear; "I can make sure that's arranged."

She slowly levers herself back to her knees, expression betraying nothing, and moves to her saddlebags.

Oh no she doesn't. She's not getting away with that.

His arm stretches out to hook around her waist, and he pulls her right back onto him. The fag gets chucked at the fire, not loosening his grip on her for an instant even though he doesn't rise from his back.

'An' you'd be alrigh' with that, would you?'

His gaze flicks down to her lips and back uo to her eyes.

'I doubt it. 'cos I reckon,' he leans up a bit, so he's speaking against her ear, just as she was, 'you want it jus' as much as I do.'

That didn't end up going as smoothly as she envisioned.

She gasps when he tugs her back over, barely catching herself in time to keep her full weight from coming down on him hard. It still leaves them nose-to-nose; that is, until his breath is tickling her ear.

She closes her eyes, a quiet little puff of air leaving her lips.

"You'll be sore in the mornin'."

Beat

"From th'horse."

He snorts softly, and turns his head just a fraction, so his lips are on her cheek.

'I'll survive.'

And then they're trailing down her jaw, heading inexorably for hers.

'You could always give me that massage. That'd take the edge off.'

"Hmm."

Her fingertips skate across his ribs, finding the peaks and valleys of each bone on her way to his hip. It's been a long time since she's been touched like this; her whole focus is bent on the warm, wet wake left by his lips as they move closer to hers.

"Y'think?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject