Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (
ikissdhimbck) wrote2011-06-25 11:40 am
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AU: Oakville, Texas. The morning after.
**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.**
Kate doesn't sleep well. Once she gets to her room and undresses (for the last time tonight), slips on her chemise, and slides into bed (alone), she finds she can't stop playing their conversation out again and again. As she stares at the ceiling in her darkened room, driving their words so deep into her memory it'll be a while yet before she can erase them, she finds herself growing more and more agitated.
Stupid man.
Stupid drink.
Stupid her.
She wakes up later than she normally does. The light outside her window is already starting to yellow, hinting closer to seven o'clock than to six. She rises and gets dressed, mind still cranking, making sure she looks a smidgen more 'respectable' than when they first rode in. More womanly. More businesslike. And by the time she's finished she has a rehearsed speech all set in her mind. This constant arguing is pointless, and she won't do it anymore.
She steps out into the hall, catching sight of her wearied boots on worn and shabby carpeting. The rug was likely quite fine in its day, but like the knotted old wood it's trying to hide it's grown bedraggled and thin. She contemplates knocking on his door and quickly dismisses the idea. Her day doesn't hinge on whether or not Gene Hunt is happy with her.
She makes her way down to the dining room where the senorita from yesterday is cleaning shot glasses and tumblers, asks for a hot breakfast, and sits herself down at a table.
"Has my associate been down this mornin'?"
"No, ma'am. Only you."
Kate nods.
And waits.
By noon Gene still hasn't come down. She wonders if this is ordinary for him, but she's run out of reasons to linger in the bar without looking like a fool. She leaves a few coins for the barmaid, and debates whether she should go on and head out and just hope he gets the idea whenever he comes to. No. Things are mendable, ignorable, and shouldn't be left to fester simply because of their pride.
She scales the stairs and stops in front of his door, takes a breath, and resists rolling her eyes. She reminds herself that this is the last time this is going to happen. By god, this is the last time. And she knocks.
There's no answer.
She knocks again.
Perhaps he slipped out early, and no one noticed he left? She figures he wouldn't bother to tell her, especially if he's upset about last night. He could've just decided to take a look around town, or —
Her heart sinks.
Or he could've gone back to The Bar.
She opens his door — it's unlocked, just like he said it would be — and takes a look inside.
"Gene?"
He's definitely not here. Perhaps it should be comforting to note that his bags are still in the room. It doesn't look like he bothered to pack or clean up. But he's gone, along with his coat, which leaves only two equally unhappy possibilities. He's gone back to Milliways, left, had enough of her and this; or he's out, and likely been out all night. All night with...
She rubs at her forehead. Sighs heavily. Sits on the edge of his bed and just... just sits.
Her rehearsed apology and the amendment she planned to offer suddenly feel utterly childish. She feels utterly childish, for so whole-heartedly believing she was going to set things right. For actually believing, after so many failed attempts to overcome her doubts, her worries, this — this curse she can't ignore despite how fervently people tell her to, that she could get it together long enough not to mess another good thing up.
She considers feeling angry. For the briefest second, she does. But then all she feels is disappointed. It was never going to be part of the deal to let him in enough for her to get hurt. She wasn't going to care when everything went to hell. And eventually it would, she knew that, and that was okay. It is okay. This all blew up in their faces, just like it was always going to. And she's still okay with it. It's fine.
Just don't mind the gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach.
Kate doesn't sleep well. Once she gets to her room and undresses (for the last time tonight), slips on her chemise, and slides into bed (alone), she finds she can't stop playing their conversation out again and again. As she stares at the ceiling in her darkened room, driving their words so deep into her memory it'll be a while yet before she can erase them, she finds herself growing more and more agitated.
Stupid man.
Stupid drink.
Stupid her.
She wakes up later than she normally does. The light outside her window is already starting to yellow, hinting closer to seven o'clock than to six. She rises and gets dressed, mind still cranking, making sure she looks a smidgen more 'respectable' than when they first rode in. More womanly. More businesslike. And by the time she's finished she has a rehearsed speech all set in her mind. This constant arguing is pointless, and she won't do it anymore.
She steps out into the hall, catching sight of her wearied boots on worn and shabby carpeting. The rug was likely quite fine in its day, but like the knotted old wood it's trying to hide it's grown bedraggled and thin. She contemplates knocking on his door and quickly dismisses the idea. Her day doesn't hinge on whether or not Gene Hunt is happy with her.
She makes her way down to the dining room where the senorita from yesterday is cleaning shot glasses and tumblers, asks for a hot breakfast, and sits herself down at a table.
"Has my associate been down this mornin'?"
"No, ma'am. Only you."
Kate nods.
And waits.
By noon Gene still hasn't come down. She wonders if this is ordinary for him, but she's run out of reasons to linger in the bar without looking like a fool. She leaves a few coins for the barmaid, and debates whether she should go on and head out and just hope he gets the idea whenever he comes to. No. Things are mendable, ignorable, and shouldn't be left to fester simply because of their pride.
She scales the stairs and stops in front of his door, takes a breath, and resists rolling her eyes. She reminds herself that this is the last time this is going to happen. By god, this is the last time. And she knocks.
There's no answer.
She knocks again.
Perhaps he slipped out early, and no one noticed he left? She figures he wouldn't bother to tell her, especially if he's upset about last night. He could've just decided to take a look around town, or —
Her heart sinks.
Or he could've gone back to The Bar.
She opens his door — it's unlocked, just like he said it would be — and takes a look inside.
"Gene?"
He's definitely not here. Perhaps it should be comforting to note that his bags are still in the room. It doesn't look like he bothered to pack or clean up. But he's gone, along with his coat, which leaves only two equally unhappy possibilities. He's gone back to Milliways, left, had enough of her and this; or he's out, and likely been out all night. All night with...
She rubs at her forehead. Sighs heavily. Sits on the edge of his bed and just... just sits.
Her rehearsed apology and the amendment she planned to offer suddenly feel utterly childish. She feels utterly childish, for so whole-heartedly believing she was going to set things right. For actually believing, after so many failed attempts to overcome her doubts, her worries, this — this curse she can't ignore despite how fervently people tell her to, that she could get it together long enough not to mess another good thing up.
She considers feeling angry. For the briefest second, she does. But then all she feels is disappointed. It was never going to be part of the deal to let him in enough for her to get hurt. She wasn't going to care when everything went to hell. And eventually it would, she knew that, and that was okay. It is okay. This all blew up in their faces, just like it was always going to. And she's still okay with it. It's fine.
Just don't mind the gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach.
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"Aren't you upset with me?"
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'Can' you tell?'
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"I'm honestly quakin'."
She nuzzles his jaw, her thumb sliding up from his shoulder to stroke his throat. Her skin is simultaneously burning and shivering in the wake of his attentions.
"Never been so scared."
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He pulls back a little to see her face. He has no idea whether she's joking or not, but that doesn't stop him starting to undo the little buttons on the front of her blouse.
He wasn't intending this to happen. All last night, in the bar, he was telling himself that it wasn't worth it. But now, it's all he wants.
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And then she grins.
She doesn't give any more answer than that. She had been teasing him, and it shows in her face. But this morning she'd been sure he'd had enough of her, and that was unsettling.
She doesn't stop him from working open her blouse, but she does touch his face to make sure she has his attention, and gently wraps her other hand around his wrist.
"You left on purpose, didn't you?"
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He says it without hesitation, but as soon as the last button's done he's pushing it off her shoulders, her hand on his wrist or not.
It has to be said, it had never once occurred to him that Bar wouldn't let him back out to here again. If it had, he wouldn't have gone.
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She doesn't question him any further. For one, she's tired of the constant back and forth verbal matches that come from trying to reason out where his head is. For another, she can see that he didn't leave to leave for good. He meant to come back, he cared enough about what happened while she was on her own to do something about it — admittedly, something stupid, but the thought was there all the same — and now this. She thinks finally she's figured something out about him, so there's no need for pointless grilling.
She tilts her head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and starts on the buttons to his shirt.
"I didn't think you was comin' back."
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He lips at her throat, hands covering her breasts over her underwear, squeezing lightly.
'Well, I did.'
Simple as that, to him. He could've stayed away, he didn't, and now they're here and doing this. Nothing else really matters to him, or if it does, it can wait until later. After, hopefully.
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She still has her speech memorized, rehearsed, and running through her head. Everything she was going to say, before she opened his door and found him gone. But those words seem to say it all.
Anything else can wait until after.
She gets as far as his waistcoat with the buttons and has to stop, running her hands over his undershirt while she gives him better access to her throat. She arches into his hands — he's getting a definite reaction out of her — but, at the same time, quiet, breathless laughter starts to spill from her mouth.
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Though, to be perfectly frank, that doesn't tend to happen. But there's always a first time, and she would be the exception to the rule.
His fingers tug at her chemise, encouraging her to take it off for him. His mouth never moves to kiss along her collarbone, pressing his teeth lightly to the bone which is all too obvious.
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He's leaving a light little rash along her skin, everywhere his mouth goes. Not that Kate minds it much, it's just that it tickles now and again. She bends down to drag her teeth across his grizzled jaw.
"We might should move t'your room. Y'think?"
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'C'mon then.'
He taps her lightly on the arse, pulling back and rubbing his other hand across his jaw.
'I can shave if you want. If you can wait that long.'
He'd rather not but heigh ho, sacrifices must be made.
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His tone seems to have changed, but she's halfway afraid to ask. Gene's obviously the sort who'll say something when he feels like it, and not say something when he doesn't. Asking just gets her in trouble.
She sets one foot down and then the other, easing herself off his lap and looking at him all the same. Her hands curl around his collar and gently tug, as if she could pull him out of his seat on her own strength.
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She doesn't have to pull him up. He rises easily at the first tug, and for a second he looks like he's going to pull her in for a kiss. But he stops and pulls his key from his pocket instead.
'You go first. It won' look weird, you comin' out of your own room.'
Just in case there's anyone out there.
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"Right."
She stands there for a beat longer.
He hasn't kissed her since last night.
"I'll get you mine an' ... an' you can lock up when y'leave," she murmurs, gathering her blouse up off the floor and turning to her dresser.
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'I'm not plannin' on stayin' in here more than abou' three seconds, luv. You make it soun' like there has t'be an hour between us.'
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"No, jus' that y'need t'lock up when you leave," she murmurs, tilting her head back against his breast so she can see his face.
She slips her key into one of the hands at her waist, and then gives them both a squeeze.
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'Get goin' then. I'm right behind you.'
Literally.
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Her gaze trails from his eyes to his chin and back again, looking for ... she doesn't know what. She smiles tightly and pulls away from him, skipping every other button on her blouse for the sake of speed.
She steps out into the hall once she's back in order, walking with purpose even as her eyes are darting around for random passersby. There's someone at the base of the staircase, but they shouldn't be able to see her as long as she follows the wall.
Her fingers graze the horsehair plaster, burning the sensation into her skin.
She unlocks his door and slips in, takes a calming breath, and moves to light the oil lamp as she had done last night.
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That little encounter out of the way, he just waits until he hears him go into another room, and then walks into his own.
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The cigar gets stubbed out, and somewhere on the way over to her the waistcoat hits the floor and the rest of his shirt buttons get flicked open. His hands come to rest lightly on her shoulders befores sliding down her arms and stopping on her hips.
'Sure this time?'
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"Are you?"
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He was sure last time, but there's no way even he's going to say that.
The suspenders drop, and his fingers bunch in her chemise, pull it upwards. When it's over her head and off, he leans down to kiss her. It's gentle but insistent, no hesitation in it.
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Though, any tension that forms quickly dissipates when he kisses her. She relaxes into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kisses him back. Relieved, letting out a soft moan — and a smile pulls at her lips.
She pulls his shirt free of his waistband and pushes it off his body, licking her lips when they break.
"You were right. That is good whiskey."
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