Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-06-27 10:47 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-06-27 10:47 pm
Entry tags:
OOM: Outside, Stables -- For Tommy Gavin
[continuing from here:]
It's mid-morning by the time any of the other hands show up, and all the animals are squared away. Kate has Rachat and Duncan out back, saddled up and ready to go.
The sun's come out, and the path around the lake looks clear. If they make it around the lake, Kate will be impressed. But Tommy seems diligent, at least, and stubborn if all else fails him. He should be all right, so long as he's half as good at listening.
Kate will endeavor not to hold her breath.
It's mid-morning by the time any of the other hands show up, and all the animals are squared away. Kate has Rachat and Duncan out back, saddled up and ready to go.
The sun's come out, and the path around the lake looks clear. If they make it around the lake, Kate will be impressed. But Tommy seems diligent, at least, and stubborn if all else fails him. He should be all right, so long as he's half as good at listening.
Kate will endeavor not to hold her breath.
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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.
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"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."
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"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.
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"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."
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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?"
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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."
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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.
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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."
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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.
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But he probably won't miss the way she reaches for his wrist before he moves past, grip light.
She'll be damned, but she still can't look at him, even as she starts talking.
"I don't think less of you."
That's it. That's all she says before she lets go, slipping her hands into her back pockets. Because it's all that really needs to be said, until she answers his remark about how she probably doesn't want to look at him by lifting her chin and catching his eyes. There's a line between her brows.
It's just too soon.
He doesn't even know her.
But she'd like him to have the chance, even if it'll scare him the hell away.
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But -- her fingers on his wrist stop him in his tracks, and turn his self-loathing on its head. If only for a second.
You might, though, once you get to know me.
He forces himself to lower his gaze. He turns and walks away toward the stable entrance, the light touch of her fingertips still lingering on his skin and the blue of her eyes seared onto his consciousness.
Two can'ts don't make a can. That isn't how it usually works.
But screw the rules. They never suited Tommy anyway.
Before he gets too far away, he stops and turns and calls out to Kate,
"So, um-- if you still wanna go to New York-- y'know, to go ice skating or whatever-- just, y'know, let me know whenever. If you want."
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"All right."
She glances down, lips twitching.
"S'a deal."
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"Cool."
A beat.
"Thanks for the riding lesson. It was-- it was fun."
He clears his throat.
"Well. See ya 'round."
Finally turning to leave, he sidesteps a bit to reach over and give that obnoxious pinto a goodbye rub on the nose, before emerging into the sunlight and disappearing down the path.
I can't absolutely will not be part of Tommy's lexicon. He refuses to allow it to be, in any way, shape or form.
He broke this; he'll fix it.