ikissdhimbck | AU: Oakville, Texas. The morning after.

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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.

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She lets him get away with the name calling. It's becoming more and more an endearment, rather than an insult.

"You'll have your turn."

Maybe.

She sets her hairpins on the closest surface, surprised to feel his hand in her hair as she's turning to him. She doesn't move for a moment, save to reach for his hand. Her expression softens.

It is nice.

She presses her lips to his fingers, and then eases herself down on her hands and knees. She slips one leg between his, stretching herself out over his body until she can just touch his lips with her own, hair curtained to the side of their faces.

He lets out a small murmur of appreciation at the feel of her leg pressing against him. His free hand runs down her back, feeling the ridges of her spine, the sharp edge of her shoulderblade. He pulls his nails lightly over it, and moves his head up just a fraction to kiss her lightly; his wandering fingers find the band of her knickers.

'Take 'em off, sweet'eart,' he says quietly, the fingertips dipping underneath and stroking her skin.

'Let me see.'

She sucks in a sharp little breath when she feels his nails scratching across her skin, and arches her back ever so slightly.

She opens her eyes as he starts talking, the sharp blue irises dark with excitement. For a moment she only searches out his face, letting his words settle over her like molasses. She shifts against it, mired and slow, sticky and warm.

He isn't shy, and for the first time tonight she loses a bit of her confidence. But only for a moment. She swallows to moisten her throat, and rolls her hips carefully to encourage his hands lower.

Shifting her knees underneath her, she hooks her thumbs in the waistband and encourages the silk down her thighs, past milky white scars and smooth skin, holding his eyes as she works to kick the fabric to the floor.

His eyes run down her body slowly, that one hand resting on her naked hip. His lips purse and he shifts a little, starting to swell in anticipation. The arm he's been resting his head on comes free and it joins the other on her body, stroking his thumb over a nipple, light as anything, while the other rubs a small circle on her inner thigh.

'Like I said. Gorgeous.'

He means it too. Scars mean nothing to him except curiousity to be dealt with later. The knot of excitement forming at the base of his belly needs to be nurtured first.

'You OK? Not scared?'

He wants her to enjoy it. And wants to know how careful he's got to be. It seems easier to ask than to make a mistake at some crucial point.

"'Course I'm scared."

She's terrified, deep down. As much as she wants to believe that she has this all figured out, that last night was just a test run that didn't go well and now, this, is precisely what she's been wanting, she can't. Her mind keeps drifting to last night, to this morning, to his empty room and her empty heart. A little voice keeps nagging at the back of her mind, asking her if she really knows what the hell she's doing. Her mind has drifted to Doc a dozen times, and she's ripped it right back to this. Here and now. And though she sounds nonchalant, inside she's a maelstrom of uncertainty.

"But I'm not gonna tell you that."

Her lips twitch just barely, hinting at a joke that's only half-funny if you tilt your head and squint. She drops her head and kisses him, one after another. Not particularly forceful, but insistent. She's okay. He doesn't have to treat her like a china doll.

The kisses do more to convince him than the words, and they have the added bonus of being distracting. And it's OK,'now she's said that. He's not going to keep asking. She's showing him she's alright, and that's good enough for him.

He presses for a deeper kiss, and the hand on her leg moves upwards to start stroking between them, nice and easy, just like they started off that night by the campfire. That had been good. He's really bloody hoping this'll be better. He's told her it will be enough times, he'll feel stupid if he's wrong.

She melts into the kiss, her hand mussing his hair while his moves up her thigh. She sighs pleasurably, softly, sucking on his bottom lip as she pulls back between kisses. Her teeth drag over his whiskered skin.

She spreads her knees just slightly, bracing herself on one arm. Her free hand then skates down his body, featherlight fingertips and the gentle drag of her nails over his belly, until they're moving over fabric. She rubs the swell in his underwear, mimicking his same easy, relaxed pace.

Her touch feels light but the fact that it's there at all is enough to get his pants feeling uncomfortably restrictive. But it's nice in it's own way, tightening the band of anticipation in his gut. No way in hell is he going to encourage her along though. He wants it to be good for her, so he'll ignore himself for the time being. And it's easy enough; the heat between her legs is more than enough to distract him; hell, even the way she just spread her knees a bit is exciting. He takes full advantage, slipping a finger through her folds to find her clit, letting out a quiet moan as he kisses her again and starts to rub over it gently.

She moans in response, low and from the back of her throat, fingers pressing into the mattress. Her legs shift again, encouraging more of his touch even as her other hand moves up to his waistband, tracing the line across his low belly before dipping underneath. Her mouth cuts across his jaw, leaving a series of hot kisses and gentle nibbles across the bone. She presses her lips to that patch of skin behind his ear, and then begins moving down.

His eyes fall shut; he's always been faintly, internally, embarrassed at how turned on he gets by a woman's mouth on his neck. It seems girly somehow, but he can't help it. A touch there and he'll be groaning, as quietly as he can make it. Add into it her fingers skimming perilously close to Sergeant Rock there, as he builds up to his full height, and she's got one aroused man underneath her.

Not so aroused that he can't take his cues, of course. If she's encouraging him to give more, then that's what she'll get; his finger stays light, gentle as anything, but speeds up to a constant flicking. He's just trying to heat her up the way he did the other night before moving on. And anyway, her mouth is all over him. It's hard to concentrate. She's already far more involved than she was two nights ago and he's surprised, but loving it.

She takes note of each sound, each movement of his body, making a mental list of what he seems to like as she explores. She'll exploit that later. Or, maybe at the present. It's easier to be involved when the focus is off her; she's always been more focused on the man's needs, thanks mostly to her upbringing.

Her mouth cuts the curve across his throat, tongue dipping into the hollow, teeth scraping over his collarbone. He's pulling soft moans from her, each more desperate than the last. It doesn't stop her steady trek downwards, but it does slow her some. She's not eager to move away from his attentions anytime soon.

He swallows hard when her teeth hit his collarbone. He's faintly confused. She seems to be heading south, but he can't imagine she's going to...

...is she? No, surely not. He'd be bloody surprised if she's ever done that before.

Mind you, he hopes she has.

He puts it aside. Has to focus. So he pushes himself up to rest on one elbow - all the better to see what he's doing - and tries to ignore the feel of her mouth on him, and the lovely sounds she's making. Bloody hardwired into his cock, those sounds. He can't resist going for more though; swaps finger for thumb on her clit, keeps up the pace, and if she's not groaning when he presses inside her then he bloody is.

Oh, she is. The instant he starts to shift she's bracing herself, pulling up until she knows how far he's going, and then he slides that finger inside her.

"Ohh, Gene."

She rests her forehead against his shoulder, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her hand slides around his erection, fondling him almost absently. Of course, the goodly portion of her attention is on his hand, and the pleasant friction starting to bundle in her belly like catching fireflies in a jar.

And he, in turns, lets out a deep breath when he feels her hand circle him, pressing up into the touch automatically. He can't decide whether to stop to get the damn pants off but really, there's no decision to make. Not when she's all wet and her voice sounds like that, and she's leaning against him. He's not going to spoil that.

'Golf ball through a straw,' he mutters, almost to himself, and slips a second one in, just like he had before. He is absolutely not thinking about the way she's touching him. Also like before, that can bloody wait its turn.

Her free hand curls around the back of his neck, fingers sliding across his nape until they're tangled in his hair. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, muffling the sounds she makes when that second finger joins the first. Jesus.

She pushes the elastic away from his skin to set a proper rhythm with her hand. It's trickier than it looks. She's had little to no experience with elastic. So she pulls back, pressing a kiss to his chin.

"Y'wanna get these off?"

She lets the band snap gently back in place, smiling softly as she slightly rolls to her back.

'...yeah. S'pose.'

He sucks a breath in when the elastic pings him. Because, y'know. Ow. He's a bit sensitive in that general area at the minute. No matter though; he reluctantly pulls free of her so he can shuck the offending underwear away. It ends up somewhere on the other side of the room, and he turns to her, his turn to press his leg between hers. He kisses her, gentle but insistent, his fingers already getting back to work.

It's a moment later that he realises two things; one, that he feels way more comfortable being on top the first time and two, perhaps that's inconsiderate.

'...did you wan' t'stay on top?'

Three; this is easier with tarts that just do what you tell them. But not as nice.

Edited 2011-07-03 00:50 (UTC)

Her eyes stay on the ceiling as he rids himself of the very last article of clothing separating their skin. It isn't until his leg is pressed up between hers that she looks back, just in time to raise her head to meet his lips.

She shifts, never breaking the contact between them, but still noticeably seeking out a comfortable position. The bed creaks beneath them, and she stills.

It takes a moment to pull her attention away from the growing heat between her legs when he speaks.

"...I hadn't — hadn't thought 'bout it."

Not yet, anyway.

'OK, well...'

Why isn't she looking at him? That's a bit weird.

He presses his lips to hers gently, and presses his fingers harder. He knows she likes that, and it seems safer to stay with what he knows at the moment. She's not any easier to read when she's naked.

'...like this for now, then.'

What is he doing? This isn't him. He's been doing this to women for more years than he can remember, why the bloody hell is she making him nervous? No idea, but he has a solid word with himself in his head. Time to sort himself out.

So his lips trail up her jaw, a copy of her own on his a few moments before, biting gently at her jawline. He presses his groin firmly against her thigh, thinking how much nicer it is like this, with nothing between them the way it was last time.

'Remember the other night? Think how much better this'll feel in a minute.'

Her eyes flutter shut and she gasps as he presses up harder, a spasm of anticipation rocketing through her. Her arms loop around his neck and she kisses him back, until he moves away.

"Mmm."

Her hips are starting to rock against him.

"Thought — thought it was gon' hurt."

She doesn't sound too concerned just yet. She is nervous about that, but right now she's more focused on the bundle of nerves underneath his thumb, and the way his stubble is setting her already warm skin ablaze in its wake. Her nails pull lightly down his spine.

'Might.'

OhhhhGod, is there anything more arousing than the sight of a turned-on woman? He doesn't think so.

'But not if I have my way.'

He's keeping the rhythm steady, pulling on her earlobe with his teeth. Now that she's where he always planned on getting her, he's a bit more relaxed. And he hadn't planned on sex until she was properly ready. Which means they're not done yet.

"Mmm. I, ah. I see."

She runs her leg along his side, lazily hooking her calve over his hip. She arches a little, using her other leg to press up against him while her hand continues down his spine. Down, down, past the dimples in his backside, until she's squeezing his rump.

She tips her head to nibble at his jaw, alternating teeth and tongue until she has his skin red.

'Bloody cannibal.'

He sounds amused, affectionate even, but it dissipates when he pushes up higher, his hand flat on the bed next to her head, braced on a straight arm so he can look down on her. He wants to see her face, and this also has the advantage of being able to properly press into her thigh. With her leg around his hip and hand on his arse, it's almost like shagging for real (soon, soon), only without the penetration.

His thumb is pulling faster over her clit now, and he makes sure to angle up into her g-spot, doing his best to run over the nerves constantly. She's arching and rocking, so he figures it must be doing the job.

She lies back, her blonde curls a tangle of warm sunlight against his sheets. The hand she had around his neck falls next to her head, slightly curled, and she watches him as he presses against her, as his hand works faster over her sensitive skin.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She doesn't want to break the contact. She doesn't want to look away. But he has her steadily approaching the precipice, and she's struggling to stay quiet. Her eyes squeeze shut of their own volition, a murmuring moan caught in her throat.

"Gene."

Her hand curls in the sheets.

(The other curls in the flesh of his backside).

Edited 2011-07-03 02:08 (UTC)

He groans quietly, his eyes half-closing as he writhes gently against her, in time with the movement. He's pulsing softly, but it's not urgent, not desperate.

'Beautiful, luv. C'mon sweet'eart...'

It's a gentle cajoling, his tone low and tight. He's really pushing her now, not letting her back off from it even a tiny bit. He even moves his leg, pushing it up so that hers are pulled a little further apart, opening her up for him.

'C'mon, luv...'

He really wants to watch this. Couldn't see much, last time.

She arches, pressing her head back against the mattress, and groans. It's becoming ever increasingly difficult to stay quiet, to the point where she's almost certain she's going to draw blood biting her tongue.

Her eyes refocus on his for a single moment, burning dark and wanton, and she sucks a breath in through her teeth as he angles up and she —

"Oh!"

She throws her head back as she climaxes, jerking against his hand with that first, fierce throb of ecstasy. The whole room narrows into a pale gray cylinder, just big enough for their bodies, wrapping her up tight until the waves of pleasure carry her away. She's rocking against him long after that first burst, content to concentrate on the thrum of her heartbeat in her own ears.

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