ikissdhimbck | AU: Oakville, Texas; for Gene Hunt.

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AU: Oakville, Texas; for Gene Hunt.

**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.**

It's still dark outside when Kate wakes. The room is bathed in warm lamplight from the oil that was left burning overnight, but through the window she can see the first hint of dawn.

It's not the first thing she sees. She finds herself pressed to a warm body, naked and masculine, and feels totally disoriented. For the briefest, cruelest second she believes she's with Doc, his scarred arms wrapped around her middle; and then the heat of the room registers, thick and heavy, and she's brought back to Texas.

Back to Gene.

She blinks slowly, butterfly kisses against his breast, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Her mind is trapped in a haze of sticky dreams and clutching memories, unable to shake them even as the wheels start going. She tips her head back, and watches him sleep.

It seems like hours later, but really it's only a matter of minutes when she shifts away from him. She's taking care not to wake him at first, but the moment she moves her legs — good god, is she sore.

How she manages to get out of bed without waking him is a mystery. How she manages to quietly get dressed when every inch of her feels like it's been crushed by a boulder is another honest mystery. At least he's a heavy sleeper, and by the time she's snuffed out the lamp and rid the room of every last trace of her, light is starting to turn yellow while he slumbers on.

She gets to her room without anybody noticing, but doesn't stay long. She's in desperate need of a long, hot bath. She changes clothes, uses the basin and a small chunk of soap to try and mask the smell of sex, tidies her hair and goes downstairs to see the innkeeper.

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Hilarious, even.

She doesn't say anything when the young woman approaches. She just turns on her heel, smoothing her fine business attire into place, and heads for the stairs.

It gets hotter the higher she goes. The fault of the kitchen downstairs and the humidity in the air, no doubt. Once she reaches her room she immediately goes for the window, parting the lace curtains to get a breeze going. There's little breeze to speak of, but the simple action alone makes Kate feel cooler.

He doesn't exactly wolf his breakfast down. He's not going to ruin the effect by looking like he's dying to get through it and back to 'work'. So he's efficient with it, chatting to the girl between her other jobs, downing another large coffee and a couple more fags. He's got to wait for the bath water anyway.

Couldn't be said he lingers either, though. And he's got a built-in excuse not to linger. So he heads off to get cleaned up, and it's maybe half an hour before he's knocking quietly on her door, unshaven, and hair still damp.

'Reportin' for duty.'

Because this is all business, obviously.

"C'mon in."

Kate is, actually, filling in some notes and numbers, bent over her bureau with her back to the door. She looks over her shoulder just to be sure he's alone when he enters.

There's murmuring outside her window; people are getting thick in the streets as the hour approaches noon. A sudden breeze rustles the pages of her tablet and steals her attention back. She's quick to keep the papers in place so she can finish her scribbling.

"Better?"

'Cleaner, anyway.'

He walks up behind her, and slides his arms around her waist.

'What're you doin'? Apart from puttin' me in my place every chance you get.'

She grins.

"Tell me y'don't like it."

She's daring you, Gene.

"Jus' figurin' out what we'll need by way of supplies, how much t'settle with the stable master an' innkeeper ... Oh. I found a tanner who took that alligator hide."

One of her arms — her left, as she's still writing with her right — slides over his, her hand coming to rest on top of his knuckles. She pulls in a deep breath.

"Y'do smell better."

'Gives me the horn.'

Truly. And there's not many he'd really admit that to.

He's also reading the numbers over her shoulder. If his mouth should accidentally find her neck from time to time, well, what of it?

'You've been busy. Should've woke me up, I'd have come with you.'

Beat.

'After, like.'

Edited 2011-07-11 23:14 (UTC)

Her fine cursive hand gets a little sloppier each time his lips brush over her skin, but she's determined to finish this line. Just ... one last line.

Her eyes slip shut, and she knows all is lost.

"Mm, I did all that yesterday, if we're bein' honest," she whispers, canting her head to the side. "Haven't been up t'much this mornin'."

Just one of the longest soaks in a tub she's indulged in since ... well, for a long time.

His hands roam up her front to cup her breasts, as much as he can through her layers, anyway. And he's close along her back, easing her against him and keeping her close.

'We could've been up t'stuff, if you'd woke me,' he murmurs against her neck.

He's already far less tentative than he was last night, she'll probably notice.

'Please tell me that comment down there abou' another go wasn' just t'wind me up.'

She tosses her pencil away, letting it land in the crease of her ledger with a soft thud. She eases her back against him at his prompting, looping one of her arms up behind her so she can slip her fingers into his hair.

"Yes, your first two subtle hints escaped me entirely," she whispers, her voice a Saharan wind.

Bells are ringing outside. Is it noon already? What a perfectly good day gone to waste.

"An' what if I was jus' tryin' t'wind you up?"

He curls around her so he can kiss her lips, his fingers finding the buttons of her blouse.

'Well then,' he murmurs, watching her from half-lidded eyes, 'I'd be very upset. You'd have t'think of ways t'make it up t'me later.'

He would never think of this as a waste of a day. Quite the opposite, actually.

She makes a soft sound against his mouth, melting into the way he's wrapped around her. He's just so big. If she wasn't so convinced that he's a soft touch under all that gruffness, she might actually worry he could hurt her. As it is now, there's something comforting about the way he envelopes her.

"Please," she scoffs, keeping her grinning lips close to his as she turns in his embrace. "The real question y'gotta ask yourself is if I'm that cruel."

Her fingers curl around his collar, and she can't hardly keep herself from biting her lip, leading him the few steps toward the wall. She should probably see about closing the window beside her, but she's a little tied up at the moment.

Tied up in him.

One day, he'll have to do something to properly throw the 'soft touch' label into doubt. But not today. Today he's just going to press her lightly to the wall, lean down and pick her leg up so he can wrap it around his waist.

'Reckon you could be, if you wanted.'

His teeth tug at her earlobe, and he starts on her bodice.

'....when we're back at the bar, you fancy wearin' a few less layers?'

She grunts quietly when he hooks her leg around his hip, a sudden reminder of just how sore she is after last night. With a little effort the sound melts into a chuckle, and her hands shift from his collar to his neck.

"No."

She curls her arms around him, tipping her cheek against his while he nibbles her ear.

"Y'might stop workin' for it."

And they can't have that.

"Town meeting!"

She blinks herself back to awareness and glances toward the window. The voices in the street are growing loud over the bells.

"Gene? Listen t'that."

'You'd find ways t'make it difficult,' he mutters, darkly.

'An' y'know, if you'd wear skirts, I could jus'...'

He's stopped short by the cry, and then by her interest in it. But he only pauses a moment, before he resumes trying to unwrap her.

'Mus' be somethin' goin' on.'

But it's nothing to do with them, right?

"...Have me 'gainst the wall right now like a doxy?"

It's almost with detached curiosity that she asks, as her attention is still on the open window. Her leg slides from his hip.

"Sounds like they're rallyin' folks. That's the mayor, innit?"

Pretty much what he was thinking, yeah.

He looks ruefully at her leg, and then glances down to the street.

'Yeah. So? Weren't thinkin' of inviting him up, were ya?'

She shoots him with a flat look.

"I ain't the one entertainin' more'n one potential."

And, perhaps because he's not so far off in thinking she can be cruel when she wants to, she gives the bulge in his pants a quick squeeze before turning to face the window.

But Kate's fine with him doing whatever (and whomever) he likes. Honestly. No jealousy here.

He blinks.

'I bloody am...'

And then she squeezes him and he's shocked into silence for a moment. But just a moment.

'...not entertainin' 'more than one potential'. I told you, I was coverin'.'

He'd go and molest her a bit more, but he's a bit put out by that comment, and anyway, she seems a bit interested in whatever's going on out there. So he sighs (loudly, and dramatically), and lights a cigarette with a pointed snap of his Zippo.

'In your own time, luv. Wouldn' wan' t'distract you from the matter at hand.'

"Gene."

She sighs, and grabs him (gently) by the jowls, directing his attention outside.

"Look."

His young friend, the cattleman, is walking down the street. A man of forty, limping a sight and leaking blood from his forehead, is leaning heavily on one of the young man's shoulders. They, along with scattered groups, are heading toward the town square.

Kate allows the lace curtains to fall back into place and turns to the room, tightening the laces of her corset.

He looks.

And frowns.

'...right then. Let's go an' see what's goin' on. An' then come back up here.'

He is all about compromise. Also, now he's just as curious as she is.

She smirks.

Compromise, right.

"Try t'restrain yourself out there, Gene."

She finishes up the last button on her blouse and quickly catches him by the arm, her fingertips pressed gently to the crook of his elbow.

"Those men from last night could be hangin' around out there somewhere. I don't want any trouble."

Which is her heavy-handed way of saying she'd like him to stay in one piece. Ain't nobody's going to be reducing him to pieces but Kate, and hopefully for entirely different reasons.

'You make me soun' like a racehorse that might bolt any second,' he tells her, with (entirely faked) wounded pride.

'An' if they're around somewhere, then we'll deal with 'em.'

Beat.

'Are we goin' right now? Only I've got a semi on, an' I'd rather not display it in front of an entire town.'

She says nothing in response to his first comment. Doesn't really have to, anyway. The crooked little smirk on her face says it all.

Well, aren't you?

Her brow furrows. She drops her gaze.

"Oh."

That could be problematic, then.

He rolls his eyes, and sucks in a lungful of smoke.

'Go on down. I'll meet you out there in five minutes. You can tell me what's goin' on if I miss any good bits.'

"Sorry."

She doesn't sound — or look — the least bit sorry. It would seem Gene's not the only one here who can be smug.

"Whatever y'do," she mutters, pressing a kiss to his throat; "do it in your own room."

Kate really doesn't want to know.

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