ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100 -- For Tommy Gavin

He'll feel her smile first, followed by the hot exhalation against his skin. She laughs softly, opening her eyes to seek out his attention. This close, she could stare into his eyes forever.

"You're not puttin' up much of a fight."

Pulled out of some kind of Wild West fantasy he didn't even know he had, he turns his head slightly, meeting her eyes, smiling and just a little breathless.

He slides one hand around her waist with a fond, light touch. It's different, but infinitely nicer, to not feel a corset under her clothes.

"Would it be more fun for you if I did?"

Her eyebrows arch slightly, that smile spreading until she looks like a kitten in cream.

"I'm jus' talkin' about strawberries."

She's the innocent party, here! Never you mind the way her hand slips to his inner thigh before going around his neck, her movements smooth and languid.

She settles herself in his lap.

"I dunno what you're talkin' 'bout."

"I'm..."

Words. What are they? How do you use them?

His hands inevitably find their way to her waist, her hips, her thighs and back up again, fingertips slipping in between the waistband of her pants and the hem of her hoodie in search of bare skin.

"I-- can't remember what I was talkin' about."

She makes a considering noise — a low hum in the back of her throat.

Turning her head, she carefully twists toward the cheesecake, reaching out to snag her quarry between two nimble fingers.

His hands find their way under her camisole, and she gasps. With her body angled the way it is, he'll see the way her stomach constricts, the muscle running the length of her neck tightening.

It doesn't take much. Just skin on skin.

"Well. Then I guess that makes this mine. Fair an' square."

She straightens, biting into the sticky strawberry.

He can't take his eyes off the lines and curves of her upper body under her almost tissue-thin camisole as she twists and leans back. His thumbs sweep against her sides, her skin soft yet sensuously taut.

Jeezus.

Exhaling a heated sigh, his gaze becomes fixed on her teeth biting into the fruit, the syrup and juices staining her lips.

"You win."

And the victor sits upon her throne, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. She takes her time eating, letting her gaze sweep over his face. His eyes, his mouth, his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple, the hollow of his throat.

"You gonna do anythin' about it?"

She sucks syrup from her thumb.

An eyebrow arches as his eyelids narrow, a sly smile spreading his lips.

"Depends. You want me to?"

He slowly slips one hand up her back, palm pressed flat against her skin.

She sucks in another breath, shivering. Her pupils grow a touch larger.

She chews on her bottom lip.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

She traces his lower lip with her index finger, still sticky with strawberry sauce.

"What'd y'come up here for?"

The tip of his tongue trails after her finger. He catches it between his lips, briefly sucking at it before letting it slip free.

"I told you. I wanted to see you."

That was the original intention, at least.

"Just t'see me?"

Her eyes linger on his lips. She smiles softly, keeping her voice low and sweet.

"Not t'touch me?"

She shifts in his lap, drawing herself lower and closer until their mouths are only inches apart.

"Not t'kiss me?"

He inhales sharply when she shifts, and swallows hard when she brings her lips close to his.

In a breathy murmur he replies,

"I just figured that the touching and the kissing would follow the seeing. It's working out pretty good so far."

His eyes briefly flick up to hers, sharp and devilish, before he immediately closes the gap between their mouths.

She draws in a steadying breath, eyes slipping shut to savor the taste of him. Salty and sweet, wicked and divine.

Her hand curls in his hair, and after a few moments she slowly pulls back.

"Then I guess y'have your answer."

She wouldn't have agreed to seeing him if she didn't know what she was getting into.

She smirks against his mouth.

He tingles with the lingering warmth of her mouth as he licks away their mingled sweetness, the tip of his tongue brushing her lips in the process.

There's a few moments of indulging in the way her bare skin feels, her warm breath, her fingers in his hair.

Then, keeping that one hand pressed to her back, his other hand circles 'round to grab her ass, and holding tight, he stands, easily lifting her up as he counts on those thighs of hers to wrap around him.

A thrill races through her belly, eyes widening when his hand squeezes her bottom. Her long legs encircle him, helping keep her snug against him when her arms fumble around his neck. The bruises on the insides of her elbows are still tender, and she needed to adjust a bit to avoid hitting them.

A dozen cute quips pass through her mind; a smile flickers at the edge of her lips. But any taunt she might have uttered gets lost in his eyes, his warmth, and his strength. Her breathing quickens, and for this one moment she simply holds on tight.

Her legs tightening around his waist drives a breathy grunt through his teeth. It's all he can do to keep from pushing her up against the nearest wall.

But if the cats aren't awake yet, they are now, because Tommy's just laid Kate across the bed. He hovers over her for a moment, sipping kisses from her lips. One hand shoves the hem of her camisole up, his rough, heavy palm sliding over her belly and up her side, until his thumb grazes the soft curve of her breast.

The cats lift their heads and yawn, the only alarm in their eyes being the fear that somebody might try to dislodge them soon.

Naptime is sacred.

Kate gasps, purring against his lips while his fingertips roam. Her heart is beating so hard now that every touch is electric, making her skin jump under his palm. Her arms spill from his neck, palms sliding down his breast, down his stomach, finding the slack of his shirt so she can get at his skin. She tucks her thumbs under his waistband.

"Mmmph. I should ... put th'cats away."

The way her body reacts to his touch turns him on so much that his hips start to grind against hers.

"You really wanna stop to do that?" he pants breathlessly through a smirk as he continues to kiss her, and he pulls her hoodie down past her shoulders.

"Mmmno."

She whimpers into his mouth when his hips start moving, one of her legs curling around the back of his knee. She feels like a lightning rod in the middle of a thunderstorm, humming with sensations she hasn't felt in years. It's leaving her oversensitive and breathless.

She would be nervous as well, if it were anyone else. But he smirks and it makes her laugh — at least what passes for a laugh when their lips are hard-pressed to part.

"But if I don't ... y'run th'risk of'm runnin' laps over you in th'middle of th'night."

She lifts her shoulders off the mattress to help him work at her clothes, pulling at the hem of his shirt at the same time.

"M'guessin' y'don't want that."

He manages to get her hoodie down to her elbows when she makes her point. And he can't help but bow his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder to let out an exasperated growl, his breath hot on her skin.

"Rrrgh. Shit. Okay."

Picking his head up, he stares down into her eyes, panting through his teeth, the fringe of his hair brushing her brow.

"You have ten seconds to get those cats into the bathroom before I tear all your clothes off."

She sucks a breath in through her teeth.

"Ah, ow, careful — "

Moving gingerly, she wriggles her arms out of the jacket. Her gaze connects with his, wicked intent quickly shooing away any discomfort.

"Promise?"

She smirks, fingertips grazing his neck as she gives him one last kiss — and then shoves him onto his back. She bites her lip to rein in her smile, and swiftly scoots off the bed.

He eases his weight off of her, thinking that that's what's causing her to wince slightly. But once she's free of the hoodie, she recaptures his attention with her eyes, a wanton little word, and a kiss--

--and she shoves him again.

With a low, growling chuckle, he raises himself up onto his elbows to watch her, a leering grin on his lips.

"One... two... three..."

Oh, is he going to count? Well. She's just going to take her time, then.

"C'mon, boys. C'mon."

With the hoodie gone, there's little mystery to her silhouette anymore. She's small, but lithe and lean, soft and shapely.

The boys hop to the floor, completely fooled into thinking it's supper time, or dessert time, or maybe even second breakfast.

Edited 2012-08-15 07:30 (UTC)

"Four... five... six..."

At least the cats actually listen to her.

Even in the dim light, the thin fabric of her camisole doesn't leave much up to the imagination, but then again, Tommy doesn't like to work that hard.

She starts working at the knot she tied to the end of her braid, fingers less graceful than usual from the nerves and the cats weaving between her legs. She manages to corral them into the bathroom by pure bribery — catnip mice may have been involved.

She's not going to make it back before he reaches ten, but she does get the door closed and the knot undone. That still counts, right?

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