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 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.

'...JesusbloodyChrist.'

Yep, nothing, nothing more arousing than this. He breathes out a looooong breath, trying not to rut into her solid thigh and only half succeeding, moaning helplessly at the sight of her face. And there's a sense of relief too; no matter how the rest of it goes, at least she's had this.

He withdraws his hand from her carefully, bringing it up to caress her breast while she rides the rest of it out. He has half a mind to slip into her now, as she's probably ready. But no, he doesn't want to spoil it. And anyway, he reckons she can be got a bit more ready. So he dips his head when she starts to calm, sucking lightly on her tit, gentle as anything. They're not done yet, not by a long shot.

She watches the candlelight throw shadows across the ceiling as she slowly comes down. She can feel him moving against her, the press of his body to hers, his hand on her breast and then his mouth, gently suckling. Her arm feels heavy as she brings it up to tangle her hand in his hair.

"Mmm."

She's tender there, and his attentions are more than welcome.

"God, Gene. Oh, that felt amazing."

He snickers softly, kissing the skin between her breasts and raising his face just high enough so that she can see it. All trace of nervousness seems to have disappeared with her orgasm.

'Ain' seen nothin' yet, luv.'

He's moving, mouth running down her belly, brushing his stubble gently over the base of her abdomen. One hands stays on her breast though, still teasing over the nipple with the pads of his fingers. It's probably pretty obvious where he's headed.

She sucks in a sharp breath — a sharp snicker — when he rubs his face first between her breasts and then across her abdomen. Her other hand joins the first in his hair, feathering the locks between her fingers as she grins at him.

Serene. Amused. Satisfied.

"I haven't?"

Her focus is on those teasing fingertips, and the way her nipple turns hard beneath them. The path he's cutting with his mouth doesn't even strike her at first. He's just kissing down to her navel and doubling back, isn't he?

Not so much, no.

Of course, he has to stop and swear because this bed has a proper old-fashioned frame, and the ironwork gets in the way when his mouth is on her stomach. He has to slide off the bed to the side, and ease her body round so his mouth can get low enough. Not that he goes straight in for the kill. He spends a good few minutes working his lips along her hipbones, nibbling and tonguing at the base of be abdomen.

'Nope.'

Truth be told, he always has to work himself up to this a bit. It's not his favourite pastime, but the ends justify the means in this case. So he takes a breath and eventually takes the plunge, slipping his tongue into her folds to find her clit again, lapping at it like a cat.

"W-what are you doin'?"

She realizes as he's sliding off the bed that he isn't stopping, isn't doing anything she's familiar with. She lifts her head and watches him, and sucks in a breath when he pulls her body to him.

He's not...?

She only gets the first syllable of his name off her tongue before he's between her legs. Her stomach jumps, back arching involuntarily. His tongue is sliding wet and hot across her already swollen flesh, and everything that had once been relaxed is no longer so.

He pauses, and looks up enquiringly.

'Makin' a cake. What do you think I'm doin'?'

She doesn't answer.

Aside from the fact that she doesn't know how, she doesn't really need to. Her face is flushed, and her bright blue eyes are glued on his, showing all the surprise and confusion of someone who's never had this happen before.

He's torn between sighing, and wanting to laugh.

'You look jus' like a deer caught in the headlights.'

He swipes his tongue over her again, holding her gaze.

'Jus' lie back an' enjoy it. I don' do it often.'

That's not an illustration she readily understands, but she doesn't say so. For one, it's certainly not the time for questions; and for another, she doesn't have the ability to think about anything other than his tongue.

She licks her lips, suddenly gone dry (along with her throat), and tries to settle. It's not easy with a man pressed up to your vagina like that.

His tongue is definitely busy, and he hopes it'll take away her ability to think entirely, after a while. It's even lighter than his fingers were, because he knows she's bound to be a bit oversensitive at the moment. His arm curls around one of her thighs to hold her open; his other hand is still playing with her breast.

As sensitive as she is, he's pulling an even sharper reaction from her than he did before. She's still as quiet, pressing her lips together to dam back a series of gasps and moans. In that kind of silence, each creak of the bed frame as he gets her writhing sounds like fireworks in her head.

"Jesus."

One hand is knotted in his hair, while she pulls the bedsheets into a fist with the other. It isn't natural for her to open up to him; having gone from the idea that she'd be wearing a nightdress, or at least be covered with a sheet, to having him eye level with her privy parts is jarring, and more than a little nerve-racking. So, it's with slowness that she bends a knee, positioning her heel on the bed to give him better access.

She isn't ignorant to the idea of oral sex, but she'd always thought of it as something that was done in the whorehouses, or snuck behind the forts and barracks. She would never dream of asking for it, or offering it, and now here Gene is with her wrapped entirely around his little finger.

The muffled noise that falls from her lips very well could be a pleasured 'yes'.

And it's this sort of reaction that reminds him why he ever does it in the first place. The idea of it doesn't appeal to him overmuch, but when a beautiful woman is tugging on your hair and trying not to moan out loud, it's hard not to love it.

He had been a bit tentative, realising that she really hasn't done this before and not knowing whether she'd like it - there are women out there who don't, apparantly, but he's never met one - but all that's disappearing. He presses forward, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking, taking his hand off her breast so he can push inside again.

He's determined that in a few minutes time, she bloody will be ready for him. Which is good, because he's aching like a teenager in a blue cinema.

"God damn it."

She's never been worked up like this before. She didn't think she could be, to be honest. Her hips are arching against him, and she's fighting to keep air flowing in and out of her lungs at a halfway steady pace.

She's slowly, slowly coming back around again, each flick of his tongue and stroke of his hand bringing back gentle waves of excitement. She tips her head to the side so she can watch him, wishing she could touch his body.

"If we were in a lonely place..."

Well. There'd be a lot more sounds falling from her lips, that's for sure.

He snorfles a laugh against her, which is OK, because he needs to breathe anyway.

'What, you'd be yellin' for me? We'll have t'try it.'

Enough of a break. He gets back to it, teasing and flicking, rubbing inside her. He can't decide whether it'll be better to bring her off again, or just wait until she's nothing but a ball of melted nerve endings, and go for it then.

Decisions decisions.

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip.

"I'd prob'ly be shoutin' obscenities at you."

Same difference.

Her hips are finding a rhythm, and if he keeps this up much longer the decision won't be up to him anymore.

He mumbles something that could be 'gives me the horn', but seeing as he's not stopping what he's doing, she'll probably not hear it.

He can't ignore the rhythm she's fallen into, and he can't get out of it either. Doesn't want to; she tastes good, and bugger it, it's her first time, so why spoil it now?

She's absently debating whether she should ask him to speak up, a bare smile hinting at her lips. But, for how slow the build up was, she finds her climax fast approaching, and she only has time to tighten her fist in his hair and arch before he's pushing her over the edge again.

She gasps, the small of her back arching off the bed when she peaks. Lights burst behind her closed eyelids and she gives his hair a tug, thighs shaking with relief. She's a little embarrassed at how fast she came, but as this is the first multiple orgasm she's had in years she can't feel much but happily sated.

Result.

He rocks back onto his heels, absently wiping his mouth off on his forearm, watching her face with a look of amusement on his own. He gives her a minute - just a minute - and then crawls back up on to the bed next to her and kisses her neck.

'OK, then?'

"Perfect."

She wastes no time in bringing her hands to his body. Her fingertips drag across sweat-slicked skin, painting an outline of him with dry brush strokes. She lets out a long, deep sigh, shifting to feel the linens clinging to her flesh. She lightly drags her nails up his spine.

"Now, what am I t'do with you?" she whispers, with the utmost serenity.

'Absolutely anythin' you like.'

Seriously. Anything. As long as it's something. He's already pulling one of her hands down between his legs, groaning quietly as he runs his mouth up her jaw, and moves to press her legs open again with the obvious intention of moving between them.

She tilts her chin as his mouth moves up her jaw, encouraging their lips to meet. She threads her fingers in his hair and pulls him into a deep kiss, while he leads her other hand to his erection. She wraps her fingers around him and squeezes, stroking from base to tip. The size of him in her palm makes her groan.

"I'm not sure I have it in me t'come again."

She whispers against his mouth, licking the sweat from his bottom lip. She draws her taste from his skin, curiosity and innocence dancing dirty in her eyes.

He let's out an indeterminate sort of noise into her mouth when she takes him in hand, and does move now, sliding easily on top of her without breaking lip contact.

'We'll see, eh?'

He hasn't made a woman come three times in an hour for bloody years. He's not going to complain either way.

He raises himself up, braced on his hands again, pushing firmly into her grip. The playful amusement that he's been wearing on his face has dropped away, replaced with something more urgent.

'G'on, luv. Slip him in.'

He's giving her the control? She hasn't begged, or squirmed, or otherwise asked for it. It throws her off just long enough to feel a barb of nervousness, present with every slight movement she makes. He totally eclipses the room, so much bigger and broader that she feels swallowed up by shoulders, and hips; barred in by arms.

She tips her chin to her chest to see what she's doing as he levers himself into position, though there's more shadow than light between them. She guides him to her opening and swallows a breath, rubbing against his head before she lets him push inside her.

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