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."
no subject
She's only half-teasing, obviously struggling to keep her voice even and pull in a good breath. But there's a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she nuzzles against him.
"Mmmmy'better not make me miss it."
Her fingers are still pressed against the base of his erection, rubbing the exposed flesh firmly.
no subject
Not even that, maybe.
He starts a gentle rhythm, to see how she takes it before stepping it up. Just a press of his hips, and a slow pull back, nice and easy so he doesn't slip out. His fingers play lightly on her clit, and he stays pressed up against her back, wrapping himself around her as he moves.
no subject
They're the very picture of romance. Most men go to great lengths to assure their women they'll be pleasured all night long, until they just can't take it anymore; but the true testament to affection is the man who promises to finish in time so his sweetheart isn't late for her bath.
She'd try and laugh, but as soon as he starts moving she's moaning. So quiet, barely to be heard over her heartbeat, but steady with every breath she takes. Her free hand curls in the sheets and she presses herself back against him, having to put all her concentration into not moving.