ikissdhimbck | OOM: Outside, Stables -- For Tommy Gavin

Bottom would be the key word.

"Not a problem," he replies as cheerily as he can through slightly gritted teeth, doing his damnedest to settle into the rhythm of the trot.

"Just hafta-- figure out a way to-- get you through the firehouse without too many people noticing-- ow, Jeezus. Are there cushions for saddles?"

And she's laughing again.

"Line your shoulders up with your heels. Look."

She has perfect posture. It doesn't make the ride as smooth as being in an automobile, but it helps to keep certain things from getting jostled too much.

Arching an eyebrow, her lips take on a familiar twist.

"You ashamed t'be seen with me?"

Prone to slouching in his seat -- any seat, apparently -- Tommy mirrors what she's doing as best he can and finds that it does lessen the pressure somewhat, and it's easier to sync up with the horse's movements.

He eyes her with a light smirk. "What? No, 'course not. Just that my door opens up in the firehouse, and civilians usually aren't allowed inside, so it'd be pretty hard to explain to my coworkers what a woman wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots was doing coming out of the kitchen or the locker room with me. I'll think of something, though."

"Ah. I wouldn't want t'make you the subject of gossip."

She's sure he must worry about such things.

"Y'let me know when it wouldn't be an inconvenience, an' I'll see Miss Bar 'bout gettin' some clothes that'd look right in your where an' when."

He barks out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised how fast word travels in a firehouse. Everybody gets to know everything about everyone else at lightning speed. And don't worry too much about the clothes, really -- in New York City, nobody cares what you dress like. If you walked down 5th Avenue dressed like you are now, I wouldn't be surprised if you started yet another fashion trend, maybe something called 'cowgirl chic' or whatever. And besides, I can't see you wearing anything else."

"Cowgirl chic?"

That sounds like something Alice Whitlock would say. Though, she had no problem trying to introduce Kate to a broader wardrobe.

She smiles at Tommy.

"All right. S'a deal."

Beat.

"But y'aren't allowed t'knock me on my backside if it don't come natural. There's a difference between turnabout an' vengeance."

"Now, hey, I would never do anything like that."

His tone is sincere, and maybe even a little hurt that she'd think he'd stoop to that.

Of course he then says, quite pleasantly,

"I'd let you fall on your ass on your own."

"Mm, a real gentleman."

However, like him, there's no insincerity in her grin. Falling is a part of learning. The trick is getting back up.

As soon as the boys catch sight of the stables, they pick up the pace a little. Eager to get back, it's not long before they reach their quarry, and Kate brings her mount to a graceful stop.

"Exactly, except when I'm not," he reminds her, flashing a grin of his own.

Either Duncan is too eager to get back inside for some treats, or Tommy has a little trouble stopping him -- or possibly a combination of both -- they overshoot Kate and Rachat by several yards before slowing down. "Hey, whoa, take it easy, pal, take it easy," Tommy murmurs, tugging on the reins as evenly as he can, and eventually Duncan calms down and stops with a snort and shake of his head.

"Yeah, I think he's tired of me by now."

Behind him, Rachat makes a sound that could be described as braying laughter.

"But y'handled it well."

It's been a long time since Kate's laughed this much in one morning. It's a nice feeling.

She ties Rachat off in front of his stall, and makes a quick stop on her way to help Tommy off of Duncan. She looks a mite sheepish, like she's extending a hand to a snapping dog.

"Now, don't think I think any less of you, 'cuz that ain't my meanin'. This is good for the horse's back, an' lots of folk use one..."

She sets a mounting block down by his right side.

And smiles.

(With that gold hair and those big doe eyes, to call the smile charming would be an understatement.)

The smile and the blonde hair and the big blue eyes--

Tommy's not going to snap at her.

He's just going to give her a look.

"Good for the horse's back," he repeats, his grin sharp with skepticism. "You're kidding me, right? I don't need that thing. Really. Believe me, I can do this, I know what I did wrong the first time and I ain't gonna screw up again."

Stubborn, meet Stubborn.

Yep. She's starting to get an inkling of what's so familiar when she looks in his eyes.

"If y'fall on top of me, I'll be forced t'assume you're tryin' t'flirt."

In other words, are you sure you can't be convinced, Tommy?

He utters a hoarse (ha) laugh.

"Hey, you can assume whatever you want if I do fall on you, but I ain't gonna fall, period."

It would be easier to convince a brick wall to move two inches to the left.

She holds her hands up in surrender, and gathers up the mounting block.

"All right, cowboy. Have it your way."

At least he stands the chance of falling in a stall this time. Maybe he'll find a new girlfriend.

When Tommy's pride and his big mouth join forces, they are an unstoppable combination, as he's usually too determined to second-guess himself and actually listen to reason -- whether the situation involves getting off a horse, or jumping from a window five floors up a burning building.

Before he dismounts, he makes sure that his boot won't get stuck in the stirrup. The actual act of dismounting is a literal pain in the ass (and the back and the legs...) but he's quit whining about it. When his numbed foot touches the ground there's a moment of wobbliness, but as he reactively hops back, his other foot slips out of the stirrup this time.

Not the most perfect landing, but at least he's upright. He's even surprised himself.

Turning toward Kate with his arms spread in a ta-da gesture, his smile is not at all smug, which is to say, it is.

"Told ya."

Oh, the machismo on this one. Tommy would be in trouble if Kate weren't having so much fun. She shakes her head, grinning broadly.

"Good boy. D'you wanna treat?"

Maybe it's Kate who's in danger of getting in trouble, but she can't seem to help herself. Still, if Tommy's looking beyond the wicked spark in her eyes, he might notice the way she's biting her lip like she's got to hold the apologies back.

Yeah, he walked right into that one.

His grin is completely unapologetic, as he ambles right up to her, hands in his pockets, and stands close enough to bend slightly and murmur just above her ear:

"Maybe. Depends on what kinda treat you're thinking of."

She walked right into that one, too.

She cuts a sidelong Look at him, not retreating an inch.

"Don't be sassy. You're forgettin' my reputation."

Her tone is too mild to call it a threat; there's an unrelenting curiosity there. She's wondering how worth it he'd think it would be, or if it's just a matter of course. Is he interested, or just flirting for the sake of flirting? Her eyes glimpse his mouth, and look to the horses.

She thinks of how things were left with Teja.

"You've got a date with a hot tub of water anyhow, an' I've got some horses t'square away."

She doesn't step away. Her glance lands on his mouth. She thrums with a certain willingness, although there's some hesitation. Tommy easily picks up on all these signs, and as far as he's concerned, there's only one direction for him to take this.

"They can wait two seconds, can't they?"

Before she can answer, he lightly grasps the side of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair, and he bends to kiss her -- chaste by his standards, but heated and passionate with just a trace of desperation for contact. It's the contact he craves, that high that comes from giving in to the attraction, consequences be damned.

He's bold — bolder than she'd given him credit for, because she doesn't have time to react to the hand on her neck, the quick lean, or the words coming off his tongue before his mouth closes over hers. She bristles, shoulder tightening defensively around that hand on her sensitive skin, and flattens her palms against his collarbone.

"Tommy."

Desperation mingles with surprise. She doesn't push him so much as pull back, like he's burned her, breath caught in her throat. And as much as she wants to reject him totally, the fear — you only kiss the men you kill — wars with the memory of the last time she was kissed. The last time she was touched. It's been the better part of a year, and even as brief as the contact was, it's still left her dazed.

It's a moment before she pulls her body away from his, eyes opening, gaze fixedly on the ground.

"You should go."

Edited 2012-07-04 20:38 (UTC)

When she tenses up and pulls away, breaking the kiss, it confuses him. He thought she'd wanted it. Or at least like it.

His fingers slip from her hair when she puts space between them. But still, she doesn't storm off or turn away from him or shove him or slap him, and somehow, that confuses him even more.

And when she tells him to go...he won't.

"Your reputation -- the curse -- you think I care about that?" he says, defiant. "That it's actually gonna affect me?"

"I don't care what y'think."

She touches her lips like she's never been kissed before, and takes another step back.

"I — I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I can't — I can't — I jus' can't."

She takes another step back and that's when he feels it, when he starts to get the picture.

But he would never have imagined the phrase I can't ever coming out of Kate's mouth. Not from her.

"You can't what?"

As soon as he says this he regrets it. It comes out too rough, demanding, maybe even hurtful, and he's quick to apologize.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-- I'm--"

And then everything she's told him punches him in the gut.

Because it's not the curse itself, you selfish asshole. It's her pain and her loss that she's had to bear, curse or not, and thinking that just because you think you're immune to it doesn't make it any easier for her to let go of that I can't. Because you can't save everyone.

shit.

He ducks his head in a nod.

"I'm an ass, and-- I'll go."

Eyes straight head, he strides past her to get his jacket where he left it with their breakfast on the desk.

Edited 2012-07-04 23:42 (UTC)

She usually knows what to say. Even when she's outnumbered, outgunned, whether she's joking around with her pals or standing her ground to someone twice her size. Things like this knock her flat, leave her reaching for what to say.

He's angry.

Sure, he has every right.

But then he's brushing past her, and she's standing there deaf and dumb, thinking the last thing she wants to look is vulnerable.

"It ain't your — fault."

Her words come out fierce at first, and she has to temper them. She turns on her heel, watching his back as he retreats.

"I shouldn't have — I ain't used t'men bein' so forward, an' I should've said somethin'. I'm sorry. I — I didn't mean t'lead you on. I really don't have good luck with men."

She toes the dirt, clenching and unclenching her jaw. God damn, but she's embarrassed.

"I won't blame you if'n you're angry, but I — I hope this isn't the last time we'll talk."

Dadgum.

"Anyhow."

She drags her hand through her hair.

"I'll let you go."

It ain't your fault.

She doesn't need saving.

You can't do it anyway.

Goddammit, why can't I?

She doesn't. need. saving.

He swallows hard and grabs his jacket off the table, and when he turns around he finds her looking like she does, and shit, it breaks him just a little bit.

God, why is it so easy to be an asshole sometimes.

Leveling his voice and his expression as best he can, he holds up a hand.

"I'm not angry. I'm not. Not at you."

I can't, either.

He heaves a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"Look, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, okay? It's me. I'm the insensitive idiot here. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or confuse you or-- I just-- I dunno, I just thought-- I was only thinking of myself. Of what I wanted. From you. That's what I do, apparently. I ain't proud of it or anything, but it's a hard habit to break, and..." His gaze drifts to the ground, at the toes of her shoes, the hoofprints in the dirt. "I'd be surprised if you still even wanna look at me after what I just said there, but that's the way things are."

He slings his jacket over his shoulder and starts on his way out, but this means walking past her, and he slows down, unable to do it just yet.

OOM: Outside, Stables -- For Tommy Gavin

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