Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2011-10-02 12:24 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2011-10-02 12:24 pm
Entry tags:
AU: Oakville, Texas - 1888 - Morning, with Gene
**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. This thread was never finished.**
She wakes with a start.
The light streaming in through the window is cut by lace curtains, casting patterns against the far wall. Little flowering shadows fall on Gene's shoulder.
Her skin is damp, pasting down the hair at her temples. It's stuffy inside the room, but as she pulls herself to wakefulness she knows it's not the heat making her sweat. It's the hammering of her heart.
She's still wrapped up in Gene. His stomach is rising and falling in even intervals under her hand, and her bones hurt so she's wondering if she moved at all during the night. She can't remember moving, or screaming; she just remembers torches, and broken bottles, and suddenly her eyes were open and her vision was swimming with lacy shadows.
She takes a deep breath, and pulls away from him. Slowly, so as not to wake him. Cautiously, so the bed won't make a peep. She rolls onto her back and squints at the window. It's already bright outside, and she realizes with a curse that she must have slept in late. Bare feet touch sagging hardwood. She plucks the chemise from her dressing screen and pulls it over her head, creeping up on the window so she can have a look outside. The street is busy. It must be seven or eight o'clock already. Dagnabbit.
She's quick about dressing. She needs a bath to wash last night's stink off, so she only needs to look presentable enough to go downstairs and pay for one. And she needs to wake Gene up, or he'll be late meeting the judge and lawman. She emerges from behind the screen wearing a dress, simple white with a floral print, and lace-up heels.
"Gene."
She pulls her loose hair over one shoulder, twisting it into some order. Leaning over, she touches his shoulder.
"Gene, wake up."
She wakes with a start.
The light streaming in through the window is cut by lace curtains, casting patterns against the far wall. Little flowering shadows fall on Gene's shoulder.
Her skin is damp, pasting down the hair at her temples. It's stuffy inside the room, but as she pulls herself to wakefulness she knows it's not the heat making her sweat. It's the hammering of her heart.
She's still wrapped up in Gene. His stomach is rising and falling in even intervals under her hand, and her bones hurt so she's wondering if she moved at all during the night. She can't remember moving, or screaming; she just remembers torches, and broken bottles, and suddenly her eyes were open and her vision was swimming with lacy shadows.
She takes a deep breath, and pulls away from him. Slowly, so as not to wake him. Cautiously, so the bed won't make a peep. She rolls onto her back and squints at the window. It's already bright outside, and she realizes with a curse that she must have slept in late. Bare feet touch sagging hardwood. She plucks the chemise from her dressing screen and pulls it over her head, creeping up on the window so she can have a look outside. The street is busy. It must be seven or eight o'clock already. Dagnabbit.
She's quick about dressing. She needs a bath to wash last night's stink off, so she only needs to look presentable enough to go downstairs and pay for one. And she needs to wake Gene up, or he'll be late meeting the judge and lawman. She emerges from behind the screen wearing a dress, simple white with a floral print, and lace-up heels.
"Gene."
She pulls her loose hair over one shoulder, twisting it into some order. Leaning over, she touches his shoulder.
"Gene, wake up."
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"I'll be fine."
Her lips twitch, punctuating the remark.
"Might even catch up on some sleep, if I've got you outta my hair."
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He smirks, not looking the least bit sorry.
'You can't say you didn' love it, sweet'eart. No foolin' the Gene Genie.'
He leans down to kiss her, seeing as she's there, and all.
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Her incredulity is cut short by the press of his mouth. She chuckles, sliding her arms up around his neck.
"Jus' wish it was easier," she sighs, once they come up for air. "For both of us."
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'It's still fun. An' you said it was gettin' easier, or were you jus' yankin' my chain?'
Beat.
'Metaphorically speakin'.'
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"I've only been yankin' one chain. An' only when y'want me to."
She rests her head against his chest. She figures sooner or later he'll gripe at her about this being girly, but at the moment she doesn't care. She'll enjoy it while it lasts.
"We've only been intimate like that twice. S'not a helluva lot to go on."
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He pretends to think about a possible solution to this, but his hands appear to be way ahead of him. They're sliding down her backside, and starting to bunch her dress up, making it creep inch by inch up her legs.
'...we could always give it another go.'
He thinks he can hardly be blamed. It's morning. He's always randy in the morning.
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"I think you're jus' insatiable."
She thinks about smacking his hands away, but she's too comfortable the way she is. So, she'll just have to sound extra threatening.
"I don't want my bathwater t'go cold. An' when did that deputy wanna see you, anyhow?"
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Her dress is at the top of her thighs, and he drops his head to kiss her neck.
'An', I don' know. He said...'ave you got no knickers on!?'
Colour him shocked.
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"I'm wearin' a shift," she says, looking down at her bare legs. "I wasn't plannin' on leavin' the hotel yet."
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And then bends, locks his arms under her arse, picks her up and carries her to the bed, where she's deposited unceremoniously on her back.
'Good.'
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She lets out a little gasp, powerless to resist him. Her hands press flat against the mattress when he lets her go.
"What the devil — "
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'Women with no knickers on,' he says, between kisses, 'rgive me the right 'orn.'
As evidenced by his hand already skimming up the inside of her thigh.
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She's — well, frankly, she's stunned. It isn't until he's kissed her a few times that she relaxes, and starts to laugh quietly, against his lips.
God, he should smile more.
"Is there anythin' that doesn't turn you on? Oh, Jesus. What'm I gon' do with you?"
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He lies down half on top of her, pressing his leg between hers, still kissing her. Truth is, he often goes weeks without bothering all that much about sex, but that's when things are bad at work, and he's got more important stuff on his mind. The more relaxed he is, the more he gets in the mood.
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She sighs, arching slightly. To be honest, now that he has her relaxing she's really not all that opposed to the idea. She's enjoying kissing him, anyhow. Wrapping him up in her arms. Feeling him press against her body.
"If you're late," she hums between kisses; "I'm not gon' be held accountable."
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His hand has roamed higher, cupping her breast, thumb dragging light over her nipple. He raises up enough to look at her face properly, because he wants to check for an honest reaction.
'This gonna hurt too much?'
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If he'd paid a little more attention yesterday, she might not be so worried about that. But, even if he blows their cover, the consequences can't be all that bad, can they? No one's going to assume he's from an intergalactic eatery, and criminals don't generally volunteer to catch cattle rustlers.
She arches into his touch, pulling up short when he leans back. She catches her breath, taking a moment to think about the answer.
"I dunno. It might."
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He gives her an appraising once-over, then gets off her.
'Roll onto your side, luv.'
Might as well make it easy as possible.
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"Should I ask why?"
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Why else would he suggest it?
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She — what?
She exhales, propping herself up on her elbows. She's a little frustrated, but it's not Gene's fault. All this planning and thinking and orchestrating when what she wants is just for him to take her, spur of the moment and impassioned, gets her all ruffled.
"Facin' away from you?"
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'Yes, facin' away from me.'
He's already shucking his briefs, flinging them away randomly, and pressing himself along her back. He has to negotiate her hair out of the way before he can kiss her neck, but it doesn't take long.
And there's nothing more he'd like in the world than to just take her, but it's not really option, and he's trying his best to take it easy.
'Jus' relax.'
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She doesn't sound entirely encouraged, but his mouth on her neck is doing a good deal to relax her. He's gotten her all wound up with excitement.
"Jus' like this?"
She hasn't shed a scrap of clothing, and she can't touch him or see the expression on his face.
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He's easing her dress up her legs, pulling back just enough to let it gather around her waist, leaving her exposed to him. He's already most of the way to fully hard, and isn't afraid to let her know; he lifts one of her legs and drapes it over his own, leaving room for his erection to settle between her thighs.
'Jus' like this. You'll love it, trust me.'
One arm slides under her head so she can rest on it; the other settles on her hip as he kisses her neck, wet, open-mouthed tugs that give away his desire.
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"I do."
They wouldn't be here right now if she didn't. She uses that thought, that one solid fact, to chip away at her discomfort. Her leather boot runs along his calf, head nestled against his arm. She closes her eyes, just letting herself enjoy the little marks he's making on her neck.
Her hand curls around rumpled sheets.
"I do trust you."
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