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

Those blue porcelain eyes go just as wide as could be. No baby deer could hold a candle to Kate right now.

"You wouldn't."

Edited 2012-08-18 05:32 (UTC)

There's a long pause.

He may or may not be taking her eyes into consideration.

"Nah, I wouldn't."

He grins and hands the glass of water to her.

"Besides, you're wearing my shirt and I'd hafta wait for it to dry."

"I'm glad y'have your priorities in order."

Her tone is as dry as the Sahara. She takes the glass from him and drinks about half before attempting to speak again.

"Thank you," she sighs. "You in a hurry t'get your shirt back?"

He gives a non-committal shrug.

"Not really."

It's her call.

His gaze wanders idly up her bare legs, pausing at the scar on her thigh. And then shifting up to the accompanying scar on her bicep.

"What's this?"

Sitting down on the edge of the bed by her hip, he reaches over and runs his hand lightly down her arm, stopping at the inside of her elbow, where the pad of his thumb fits almost exactly over the oval-shaped bruise.

"Shit."

He notices the same kind of mark on her other arm.

"Did I do this?" he says, apologetic. "Was it during the last time we-- y'know, when we were out by the barn and the rabbits attacked? 'Cause I remember-- well, I hardly remember exactly what happened, everything was such a blur. I must've grabbed you hard. Was it when we fell? Or before that, when I was on top of you and--? Probably when we fell."

She's just waiting for him to run out the door. She doesn't know what to expect; she's never done anything like this before, and, when it comes to men who keep a number of women on their hip, she's lost.

But he isn't running. Not yet, anyhow. She shifts to accommodate him when he sits beside her, eyes dropping to the graze on her bicep.

"That's when I was shot, out in the stables — "

His hand stops at her elbow and he curses, and she realizes he hadn't meant the scar. Her eyes flick to the bruise. It takes a minute for her to answer, and in that time he starts talking so much she isn't sure how to interrupt him. She shakes her head.

"No. No, this wasn't you. This was jus' an accident. Shh, don't worry."

She breathes a soft laugh, tipping forward to drop a kiss to his collarbone.

Edited 2012-08-18 07:46 (UTC)

He blinks at her, his palm still resting on her arm.

"Oh. Okay."

They still kind of look like finger-shaped bruises to him, but with the work that she does, they could've been from anything.

"What happened? One of your horses got the better of you?" He presses a lightly smirking kiss to her forehead.

"Somethin' got the better of me."

She smiles wanly in response to his kiss, turning her hand slightly to brush her fingers along his forearm.

She considers telling him the whole story, only the whole story ends with her and Voodoo kissing. Tommy's feelings aside, she's still upset about that. And in the deeply superstitious part of herself, she thinks maybe if she doesn't ever talk about it it'll be like it never happened, and Voodoo will stand a better chance of avoiding her cursed bad luck.

She swallows.

"I'm always gettin' bumps an' bruises. At least these are nothin' permanent. They'll fade in a few days, hopefully before Carlotta's weddin'. Guess I'll hafta be more careful 'til then."

She runs her hands down his arms, grasping his hands lightly, and smirks.

"If I'm gonna wear that purple dress."

"Mmm, that purple dress," he purrs into her hair. "Can't wait to see you in it."

He sits back a bit, his hands in hers.

"I think you'll look a lot better in the dress than you do in my t-shirt, but even so, you're still pretty cute in it."

She narrows her eyes playfully.

"Again with the t-shirt. You're awfully attached."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, leaning in to give him a slow, close-mouthed kiss.

Just to remember how it feels, if this is the end of their evening.

"D'you hafta go?"

You're awfully attached.

He blinks a little, and he can only huff out a breathy chuckle at that, his eyes flicking down to her mouth.

But she kisses him first, and he holds on. To the touch of her lips, to her fingers grasped in his.

Running the tip of his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, he shakes his head.

"No, I don't hafta go. I could stay. D'you want me to? To stay, I mean. Or, y'know, I could also go if you wanted me to. I mean, y'know-- whatever you want."

He clears his throat.

Edited 2012-08-18 08:49 (UTC)

She glances from his eyes, to his mouth, and back again. A slight smile tugs at her lips.

Is there a right or wrong answer?

"Y'don't hafta go. If y'wanna stay."

She's toeing the edge of shyness. She's comfortable with where they stand; this connection, this attraction, just seeing where things go. In theory, anyhow. In practice, he's the first man she's taken to her bed in nearly three years, and the only man she's done so with no regard to a proper future. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing and scare him off.

"I reckon you're already here, an' neither of us would hafta change again ... "

"Good point..."

He doesn't make a habit out of blurring the line between the physical and the emotional, but with someone like Kate, it would be surprisingly easy to let happen if he's not careful. Even he is aware of his own bad ideas, sometimes.

But goddammit, he likes being with her. There's enough shit going on in his life to make him miserable. He's not going to deny himself this one thing that makes him feel something better than that.

"I'll stay."

She runs her thumbs over the heels of his palms.

"Okay."

Tugging his hands to her waist, she gently positions them on her body. With another crooked smirk, she bends to retrieve the half-full drinking glass from the floor, and takes another grateful gulp. The fingers of her free hand follow the soft ridges up his forearm, muscle and vein, breaking at his elbow to ghost along his ribs.

She offers him what's left of her water.

"D'you wanna make out?"

See, she's learning.

He tenses involuntarily when her fingers skate over his ribs. She can touch his sides and he'll be fine -- it's only when she uses her nails that might send him into fits.

But as he takes the glass, he pauses with the rim just at his lips as a grin spreads across his face in reply to her question.

Tossing back the mouthful of water as if it were a shot of liquor, he sets the glass back down on the floor, and slips his hand back around her waist, thumb stroking her skin under the t-shirt. He leans in, and for a moment, his parted lips hover a hair's breadth away from hers, savoring the heat, the hum, the closeness between them. And then he kisses her, warm and tender.

She'll just take that as a yes, then.

The grin on his face inspires a laugh out of her, and she's still snickering when he leans in, arms automatically twining around his neck. She savors him in the same way he does her, and when he finally kisses her she's already leaning in to meet him.

She only breaks the kiss once, and that's because her grin is too broad. She breathes a gentle laugh and stretches out on her back, tugging him down on top of her. Maybe in a moment she'll take the time to peel the covers back.

Her kisses sprinkled with giggles keeps a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. This lightheartedness is infectious.

It doesn't take much effort to pull him down on top of her. Once again they find their bodies pressed against one another. Grasping her more firmly around her waist, he rolls them both over so that he's on his back, and she's the one straddling him.

And if she's been paying attention so far, this is exactly how he likes it.

He grins up at her as her hair falls around their faces in a wavy blonde curtain.

"This time, how 'bout you be on top."

He tilts his head up and kisses her chin, the grin barely leaving his lips.

There may be a quickly disguised wince, but he'll hear no complaints from her. The lightheartedness is new and different, it's intoxicating, and all she can think about is more.

They'll figure everything else out as they go along.

Before she knows it, it's dawn.

She wakes with a start, whether from the advancing position of the star in the sky or a nightmare she can't quite remember (they're all the same anyhow). It's grey light, but she's usually dressed and on her way to the stables by now.

She shifts her hand, and it drags over warm flesh.

She takes a moment to remember last night, smiling up at Tommy, who appears to be fast asleep. The smile vanishes the instant she tries stretching her legs.

Ouch.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, she drags herself out of bed. She pads to the bathroom with one goal in mind: a very long, very hot bath, with lots of Epsom salts.

By the time Tommy wakes, there will be hot coffee on the small table in the corner of the room, and a couple of covered plates.

It's the first deep sleep Tommy's had in a long time.

There may have been dreams -- possibly involving fire, or smoke, or blackness, or the faces of people no longer in his life -- nothing he hasn't seen before. But it all seemed farther away. Less vivid. Less haunting.

So he doesn't feel it when Kate wakes and gets out of bed. And he sleeps right through her bath (dammit!). He even sleeps through the arrival of breakfast.

The coffee, though.

That gets him.

He stirs.

The first thing he notices: an unfamiliar bed.

Sprawled on his belly with the sheets tangled around his waist and legs, he picks his head up, bewildered for a moment.

Did I drink? Was I drunk?

Squinting in the daylight, he rolls over and drags his fingers through his hair.

No hangover. It's just...early.

He manages to prop himself up on his elbows and has a bleary-eyed look around the room.

"Coffee," he croaks. "Awesome."

Kate peeks her head out of the bathroom door when she hears his voice.

"Good mornin'."

She smiles. She's pinning her hair up, dressed in her red silk robe. She doesn't linger at the door long, however.

"Help yourself t'breakfast. I'll be out in jus' a minute."

It takes a few seconds for him to respond.

"'Morning," he grunts out as he gradually starts to wake up.

Slowly rolling out of bed, he checks around him for his clothes. His underwear and jeans are on the floor, and he picks them up and pulls them on. His t-shirt, though, is nowhere to be seen.

Whatever. He'll look for it after his much-needed first cup of coffee.

Kate emerges a few minutes later, hair messily pinned in a Gibson Tuck. She looks vaguely nervous, so that you could almost hear her wondering:

What now?

"Hi."

She comes up beside him.

After a few gulps of coffee, he feels somewhat human again. Not enough to sense Kate's vague apprehension, but he turns to her and drops an almost automatic kiss to the top of her head, her hair still damp from her bath.

"Hey."

Another gulp of coffee.

"I'll just be a sec."

And he plods off into the bathroom.

His voice and manner are gruff, but that's just Tommy in the morning.

"All right."

None of the men in Kate's life have ever been morning people. She doesn't think much of it.

While he's off, she pours herself a fresh cup of coffee and finds the dish with the tea cakes.

He washes his face with icy cold water, gasping and shivering as his senses fully awaken and the previous night comes back to him in a flood. And at that, his lips twitch and a low chuckle to himself echoes off the porcelain sink. Combing his fingers through his hair, he regards his dripping reflection in the mirror for a moment before noticing a small red welt on the side of his throat.

Well. At least the guys at the firehouse will know he got some without having to ask.

After drying off his face, he emerges from the bathroom. He goes to the bed and shakes out the rumpled sheets in search of his t-shirt, eventually fishing it out from between the folds, before he approaches Kate at the table.

"How're you doin'?"

She sits with her legs tucked under her chair. Crossing them just isn't comfortable this morning.

"M'all right."

She eyes him from over the rim of her cup.

"I meant t'have that laundered for you before y'woke up. M'sorry."

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