ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100, for Tommy Gavin

Tommy had tried to keep an eye on the back door during the rest of his shift in case Kate would come through. He might have not seen her. She might still have been too upset to stop and talk. He wasn't even sure if she still wanted to see him tonight. So when Bar woke up and let him go, Tommy went upstairs to check if she was in her room.

He knocked. Repeatedly called her name. Knocked some more. Either she wasn't in or was ignoring him, but he could be very persistent. Despite his persistence, though, it eventually became obvious to him that she wasn't in.

He could go home. Come back tomorrow, or in a couple of hours if he got bored.

But the way time sometimes works strangely between worlds, they could miss each other. And Tommy's too impatient for that sort of thing.

He'll wait. Right there. By her door.

Which is why when Kate turns down the hallway, she'll see Tommy, shades on, sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms folded, with his head tilted back against the wall.

He's just napping.

Also: there's a bouquet of wildflowers and a box of chocolates on his lap.

She'd completely forgotten, what with everything that happened with Voodoo.

There Tommy is, long legs sprawled into the hallway. She stares at him for a time, surprised he showed up, and even more surprised he waited this long for her. Her eyes dip to the flowers and candy.

The corner of her mouth tics up.

"Tommy?"

Her hat's hanging by its leather cord, hair full and frayed and wild. She nudges him with her boot.

"Wake up, hon."

He wakes with a start, bewildered for a moment, not knowing where he is.

"Wha- huh-? --Oh. Hey."

He's a little wobbly as he gets to his feet, as his left ass cheek has gone numb, but he quickly picks up the flowers and the candy and sort of sheepishly stands there for a second or two.

"Uh. These're for you." He presents her with the bouquet. It's nothing fancy, just simple and earthy with white daisies and other yellow and purple things and sprigs of stuff Tommy can't identify.

"Are you, uh-- are you alright?"

She knits her brow.

Fingers curling around the bouquet, she takes it from his hands. Daisies happen to be her favorite flower. She used to grow them in her little garden back in Green Lake. She gingerly fingers the petals, biting her lower lip.

"Thank you."

She lifts her chin, fixing him with her bright blue eyes.

"D'you wanna come in?"

He eyes her from behind his sunglasses as she accepts the flowers, trying to gauge her reaction. She...seems okay with it? Taking the shades off, he folds them up, and meets her bright gaze.

"Um, yeah, sure," he says agreeably, nodding. "I mean-- you said before that it'd be okay if I stopped by, but then that whole-- thing happened and I didn't know if you'd still be up for any company tonight, but I thought I'd check in on you anyways..."

She slips around him as soon as he says sure, unlocking her door and holding it open for him.

"Lemme put these in some water."

She's more reserved than she was earlier, but she isn't sullen. Quiet, thoughtful; just gently touched with sadness.

She leaves him to his own devices as she hunts for a vase, taking it and the wildflowers to the washroom to fill it with water. When she's finished, she sets the flowers on her little table.

"I didn't say goodbye."

Matter-of-fact.

"M'sorry 'bout that."

He follows her inside. He doesn't take off his jacket, still unsure if she wants him to stay for long, so he'll play it safe. When she goes to the washroom, he sets the box of chocolates down on her desk and lingers there, lightly leaning against the back of the chair.

She returns with the flowers in a vase and an apology that kind of confuses him.

"Oh. Well. You had other things on your mind than sayin' goodbye, so I ain't gonna hold that against you."

A pause, a sigh.

"Look, I'm the one who's sorry. Okay? For that whole mess. For what I said. About you, to Voodoo. Now, I ain't apologizing for him, but he did say he was sorry, too. Listen, I can explain..."

There's that phrase again.

She comes right up to him, hands slipping under his jacket at the shoulders to encourage it off his arms.

He can stay.

There's an empty peg on the coat rack, so it's not as if it's an inconvenience.

Pulling the leather free from his body and walking over to hang it up, she listens quietly, not making much eye contact. But she doesn't seem shy about being near him. She doesn't seem unhappy about what he's saying. And when she returns, she begins gathering the hem of his shirt into her hands, tugging him further into the room before attempting to pull it off his body.

She seems to be listening as she takes the jacket off him, but now he's just a little distracted.

"Y'see, I really didn't wanna say anything about-- about us, but he jumped to the conclusion that we were a couple, and I said it wasn't like that, 'cept I didn't do a very good job of convincing him, and so I-- what-- what're you--"

Now she's trying to take his t-shirt off him. Usually it's him trying to take her clothes off.

"Um. Okay."

Should he keep explaining? Should he shut up?

Well, one thing he knows he should probably do is take his shirt off. As he tugs it over his head, his hair is swept forward into his eyes.

"Seriously, though, are you alright?"

She hooks him by his belt loops, walking him backwards toward her bed. This time, she catches his eyes and doesn't break contact the whole time they move.

"M'all right."

She starts working on his belt.

"I jus' don't wanna talk 'bout this anymore right now."

Slipping her cold fingers into his hair, she tugs him down to her level for a kiss. Her skin is chilled, taut, the rosy hue growing brighter the longer she's indoors.

"...'Kay."

Shutting up now.

Their lips meet and he exhales a warm breath against her skin. As he deepens the kiss, he lightly slides his hand up the side of her neck, his thumb sweeping over her cheek.

She shivers quite noticeably, pressing closer to him. She isn't clinging — not yet — but she isn't leaving much space between them either.

The touch on her skin is divine.

Without breaking the kiss, she fumbles with his fly. Zippers still baffle her on occasion, but tonight she manages all right, slackening the material enough to get her hand inside.

He inhales a sharp little gasp when she slips her hand down his pants. It surprises him, and not just because her fingers are cool on his skin. Despite their having been intimate before, she hasn't been that much of an initiator, usually following his lead and warming up as they go along. But her eagerness and confidence has increased lately, and that's definitely a turn-on.

His other hand slides low around her waist, brushing over the leather of her gun belt.

Her calves bump against her bed.

Hanging onto his neck, she lightens their kisses, dropping back just a touch. She watches him with heavily-lidded eyes while she strokes the growing bulge in his pants.

Without a word, she turns them so that he's the one backed against her bed. She pushes him down into a sitting position, pressing her body between his legs, her mouth resuming its quest to leave him breathless.

"Kick off yer boots."

It'll make ripping his pants off much easier.

His lips insist on clinging to hers amid soft grunts of arousal, eyelids fluttering as his head grows lighter. So it's fairly easy for her to maneuver him however she wants, and he finds himself sitting before her, subjecting himself to her kisses, his hands grasping at her hips.

Breathless indeed, and wordless, he does what he's told and toes off his boots, quickly yanking the left one off when it gets stuck and tossing it aside somewhere.

She's quick on the draw. With a deftness that stirs thoughts of an old tablecloth trick, she wrangles his jeans from his body, ridding him of his socks while she's at it, and in a blink she's straddling his lap.

She presses her hips against his, enjoying the moment for a few seconds more. She's beginning to warm. Slowly, sucking on his lip, she pulls back.

Arms around his neck, thighs firm around his hips; she looks like she has something to say, but the words don't come. She has a lot to say, point of fact. All she does, however, is sweep her gaze over his face, eyes the color of twilight. Underneath the bravado, the lust, is wild vulnerability.

She takes each of his wrists, guiding his hands up her body; brushing her breasts, her stomach — stopping at the four brass buttons on her vest. She holds them there, mutely asking him to do for her what she did for him.

Undress her.

Touch her.

Make her feel something good.

Holy shit.

He's never seen her this eager.

Running his hands up her thighs, he rakes his teeth over his lip, waiting for more as he tries to read her face, anticipating her next move, her next request, her next demand. His gaze flicks from her dusky eyes to her mouth and back again.

Instead of telling him what she wants, she shows him. And he's good with that.

He quickly flicks each vest button loose and immediately starts on the buttons of her blouse. Shoving both garments down her arms, he bends his head to plant heated kisses down the side of her throat and over her shoulder.

When he leans in it frees her from the pull of his gaze, giving her the liberty to close her eyes, tilt her head back, surrender to his attention.

Her chest begins to heave.

She rolls her shoulders, trying to free herself from her clothing without pulling away or opening her eyes. Her breathing is audible in the quiet of the room.

The cloth makes a fluttering sound as it hits the floor.

Her corset is trimmed in black lace. Nothing too showy but still fine, hand-stitched. She pulls off her hat herself, waiting until his affections have moved on to her shoulder before tugging the leather cord away from her neck. She, too, will take care of her gun belt.

She's far too tense tonight to let him touch that.

His lips and tongue sweep along her clavicle, then to the tops of her breasts, heaving against the constraints of her corset -- which he's suddenly gained a newfound appreciation for. He slides his hands up her sides then around to her front, fingertips dipping into her cleavage to undo that first hook, then the second and third, all the while his breath growing hotter on her exposed skin.

Her fingernails play a chord up his spine, like strumming a harp. As he gets her corset substantially loose, she exhales a soft moan.

She places kisses in the bed of his hair — and anywhere else she can reach. She's begun to fidget, hips grinding against him, impatience mixing in with her eagerness.

The last couple hooks are tight as he undoes them, and the backs of his fingers rub against the smooth, warm skin of her belly, just as her hips begin to move. Finally the corset falls away from her body, and with a hot sigh against her bared breast, he wishes he had another pair of hands to simultaneously caress her while unfastening the buttons on her trousers. As it is, he gets those buttons unfastened really quickly.

She chokes back a whimper, forcing herself to stay still until the last button is undone. However, once he has it loosed, she quickly gets him on his back with a shove.

She steadies herself, arms braced on either side of his head, hovering close enough to brush his naked flesh with the silk of her camisole. Her eyes are dark, exhalations hot on his lips. She doesn't linger, however. Sliding down his body, she hits the floor long enough to toe her own boots off. She grunts impatiently as her trousers come off first, followed by her camisole, both ending up in a rumpled pile on the floor. She stretches across his legs to move her gun belt off the bed, laying it out on the chest at the foot.

And then she's back, hovering, spread out over his body like a warm blanket. Hair spilling over her shoulders; a golden corona. She indulges in the inticement of being so close to his lips, brushing her nose against his, leaving wet trails along his skin from her panting, like breadcrumbs connecting all her favorite paths. And, just when it looks like she's moving in to end the foreplay, she pulls back.

Eyes on his, she carefully climbs off his body and crawls back up the bed, laying herself out before him. Her chest is bare, save for a small silver charm hanging against her breastbone. Her lower half is covered by her silk knickers and stockings to her knees, held in place with lacy garters. The gold serpent anklet rests on the outside of her right stocking.

It's not an outfit soon to be seen in a dirty magazine, but Kate manages her own allure. Especially when, keeping eye contact, her hand skates over her belly to pointedly tug the satin bow on her knickers free.

Edited 2012-09-16 18:23 (UTC)

He hits the bed with a breathless grunt. And she teases him, repeatedly, hovering over him, his mouth desperate to make contact with hers, allowing his hands to skim up her sides before she pulls away.

But she reels him in with her eyes. Keeps his gaze, his focus, his everything on her where she wants it. When she lays herself out like that, his breath leaves him again, and he swallows as his throat goes dry.

He's never seen her like this before. As he slowly sits up at her feet, he wonders vaguely if she's been holding back or if it's something new. Either way, he can't take his eyes off her -- from her hair spilled out over the pillow, to her full breasts as they rise and fall with each breath she takes, to her legs, those legs that drive him crazy when they wrap around him.

His attention becomes fixed on her hand resting low on her stomach, the satin ribbon between her fingers. He's torn between watching and helping.

He can only watch so long.

The fabric hushes as the knot comes free. She tugs, loosening the waist, face warm as she watches him watch her. It's terrifying and sensual in the same breath.

She nudges the silk down as far as halfway past her hips, and then stills, stretching out her hand to bid him closer to help.

Reaching for the waistband of her knickers, he slides the silk all the way over her hips, his palms sweeping over her skin. He tugs them down her legs, caressing her stocking-clad shins and calves at the same time, before flinging the garment over the side of the bed among their other clothes.

Parting her legs with a sure touch, he kneels between her thighs, and leans over her on his hands on either side of her shoulders. She's in his shadow, under his heated gaze, under his hot, heavy breath that singes her cheeks and lips.

Every muscle, every nerve ending thrums, seems to say to her, Show me what you want.

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