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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"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.

There's a hitch in the breath he lets out when she rubs him against her, and while he'd like to be able to just do this now, he knows he has to be careful. Ready or not, he's not about to go too hard and hurt her.

So he eases forward, feels some resistance, pulls back, nudges forward again. There's give, this time, so he presses on but Christ, this is going to be hard. Or really, really good, he can't decide yet. He's barely breached her and it already feels like she's squeezing the life out of him.

'...Christ luv, you are tighter than a virgin Catholic schoolgirl on a first date.'

'...you OK?'

Aside from a quiet, strangled little grunt when he first eases into her, she doesn't make a sound. She's holding her breath, hand pressed to the feather mattress and gripping hard. Jesus, this is as painful as her first time, if not worse. But he's careful and slow, and she's putting a good deal of effort into trying to stay relaxed.

She doesn't dare open her mouth, but she nods, shifting her leg around his hip to encourage him to keep going. She reminds herself it'll get easier — it should get easier, anyway.

Her staying silent isn't the most encouraging, but he has to take her word for it. Later, he might admit that in part, it's because he doesn't want to stop. But right now, he's going with trusting her to tell the truth.

He keeps his eyes on her face as he pushes in and pulls back, pushes further, using the natural lube of two orgasms to hopefully ease it for both of them. Maybe it would work better if he went faster, but he can't risk it, so it's slow and...excruciating, in a great kind of way. She is so tight and it's not comfortable, but all the hints are there that if they can get past this, then it'll be amazing. His breath is already coming hard with the effort of restraint, her skin feels sticky against his in the heat of the room, and she is slowly, gloriously, crushing him to death.

She doesn't stay completely silent for much longer. She does have to breathe eventually, and, as he starts to move deeper, faster, she murmurs for him to take it slow, slow, slow, keeping her hand curled tight in his hair and the other braced firmly against the bed.

She doesn't speak more than an occasional whisper and moan. She's having a hard time finding her air, keeping herself from panting as each new thrust steals her breath away. The only reason she's not writhing is because she's stubborn, and because she's half afraid it'll make this more difficult.

She cups the side of his neck, tilts her face against his throat. Shallow puffs of air leak across his sticky skin, catching the moisture left by her mouth.

"Gene."

In the heat of it all she has another one of her moments of uncertainty, where it's all too much and she is so very out of control. What are you doing? There's no turning back, no do-overs, no eraser for this particular blackboard. He's covering her like a heavy fur in the dead heat of summer, and she feels overwhelmed. There's a weight on her chest, his arms boxing her in, she feels caged, and...

And then she snaps back into control.

"Oh, please, Gene..."

She's nudging him, encouraging him to his back in a way that might give him the impression he doesn't have much choice. Her thighs squeeze tight around him, keeping him from pushing in any farther.

He's trying his best, really his best, to take it slow and he does hold back more when she asks him to. Snail's-pace slow, so that all the good bits of this are stacking up inside his muscles and nerves, with nowhere to go. He has no idea whether she's enjoying it or not, whether those few moans are from pleasure or pain, but her hand is in his hair and she's not telling him to stop.

Until she does. He can't argue with those thighs, rock-hard as they are from a lifetime of horseriding. If they say he's not going any further, then he's not going any further.

'...yeah. OK.'

He pulls back, out of her, hissing with the way she drags at him. Fight to get in, fight to get out. It's the story of her all over, really. But he's happy enough to sprawl on to his back, reaching for her at once, with his other hand reassuring Sergeant Rock that it's all going to be OK. (Got to keep his self-esteem up. Very important, that.)

She breathes deep, rolling with him as soon as her lungs are full. She doesn't require much encouragement from him. She's used to having an animal between her legs.

She straddles him in one smooth motion, flattening her torso against his long enough to pull him into a kiss, probing and passionate. She pulls his bottom lip between her teeth as she leans back, dragging her hands down his body, fingertip circling his bellybutton and then reaching down to circle his erection. Her eyes smolder as she brings him back to her center and slowly eases him in, watching his expression as she does so.

Edited 2011-07-03 23:47 (UTC)

His kiss is hungry and insistent, his hands roam her body as soon as she's straddling him, hips and ribs and breasts. They stay there while her hands run down him, a pout on his lips that disappears as soon as she's got her hand on his cock again, melting into something pained and desperate when she sinks down on him again.

One hand falls away to grip the sheets, and he groans, pushing up to meet her as she clenches around him again. He can't help it, can't control it.

'...you alright? Not hurtin'?'

He fairly gasps it out, arching up again, gripping her hips to keep her steady. It's still almost painful but it's almost making it better, somehow.

She's doing all right until he arches up, pushing deeper than before. It's easier this way; there's more room to move and adjust, more control over the pace, over how deep he goes. But his hands are on her hips and she's groaning, nails leaving little half-moon shapes in his shoulders as she adjusts to him.

"I'll be fine," she murmurs, dragging her mouth over his chest.

Her lips circle one of his nipples, sucking and then biting gently, giving her something to focus on until she's ready to start moving. The first roll of her hips is a combination of glorious relief and tender torture, and she's slow to sink back down on him.

She pushes herself back, finding the right angle, humming low in her throat, and she rocks. Slow and shallow, hands light on his abdomen as her legs do all the work. She'll continue like this for a minute, until it's easier to take more of him in.

He squeezes his eyes shut while her mouth plays over his chest. He's exercising more restraint than he knew he had, waiting like this. The relief when she starts to move is glorious for him too, but then she stops again, and readjusts and he's reduced to breathing hard to tamp down the desire.

But it's OK. She's finding what works for her and it's fine. It's just torture as well, because she's right on the most sensitive bit of him, rocking where it feels best. He attempts to distract himself by watching her face, but it doesn't really help. No escaping the fact that he's flat on his back with a beautiful girl riding him.

'Suits ya, this. You look good up there.'

She rolls her head to the side, slowly opening her eyes to watch him. His words pull a slight smile out of her, and she looks all the world like a tousled angel thrown down to the Earth for mischief.

"Y'feel good down there."

Not great; not yet, anyway. But it's a little easier with each passing moment. Still tight, and she doesn't expect that will go away for a little while yet. She'll be sore in the morning, if she makes it through tonight. But his hands are gentle and rough at the same time, his body hard and soft, his movements both deep and shallow. She licks her lips, moving a little faster, groaning before she can clamp it down.

Her face twists briefly.

"Fuckin' golf ball through a straw."

Damn him for being apt for once in his life.

Jesus.

He snorts a breathless laugh, half in surprise. He's never heard her swear like that before. Not sure he likes it but hell, if there were ever a situation that called for it...

'It'll get easier.'

He doesn't know if it will. Not for sure. It should, but he's not going to try and put her off the prospect. He wants the opportunity to do this again, and again, and some more after that. Every time she speeds up a little it brings the promise of all kinds of heaven. It's probably lucky that she's this tight really; if there weren't that element of discomfort, he'd have a hard time controlling this.

He needs distraction. If she's going to start groaning, he needs to not think about it. It's hard enough now, when she's still going so slow, with them both slippery with sweat and heat and, at least in his case, bone-deep arousal that's ready to ignite properly.

'You really never 'ad a bloke go down on you before?'

She wasn't expecting conversation.

She looks at him, brow slightly furrowed, breathless and — understandably — distracted.

"...What?"

He does conversation when he feels like it.'some birds lend themselves to it, some don't. Sometimes he just needs to take his mind off the woman on top of him, so he talks.

'Oral sex,' he clarifies, encouraging her back into rhythm with hands on her hips. 'Really never 'ad it?'

She looks partially concerned, though mostly just confused. Her eyes slip shut for a moment and she pulls in a breath, keeping to the rhythm of their bodies even as he has her worrying she's doing something wrong.

"No."

Her hands slide from his belly to his breast and she leans forward, her hair falling from her shoulders and touching his chest.

"Mph. No, I've never h-had it before."

Edited 2011-07-04 01:36 (UTC)

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