ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100, for Tommy Gavin

Time passes.

She loses all sense of the world outside of their bodies. Nothing seems to matter but the way he touches her, kisses her; the heat building between them, the dampness, the way their pace steadily quickens. She doesn't know how long it's been, hands still clutched, lips breaking only when it's too hard to breathe. Her ecstasy is muffled by his, the taste of the moment heady when she feels the rise toward release.

She drags her nails down his spine, whispering his name, arching hard. She needs closer. Just a little closer to unravel completely.

Edited 2012-09-19 01:31 (UTC)

His back rolls under the scrape of her nails, shuddering with pleasure.

Breathing a guttural growl into her mouth, he digs his fingertips into her thigh as he matches the insistent push of her body. His hips buck harder, faster, punctuated by rough, hot grunts against her lips, driven by the need to get her closer to that edge.

If he loses focus, he'd come right now, every nerve is wound so tight his insides could snap at any second...

Almost there, almost there--

He drives strangled moans out of her that get caught behind clenched teeth. Jesus.. The line between pleasure and pain blurs, her heels digging into him, her fist curling in the bed cloths.

She yanks her head back, teeth dragging sharply over his jaw, and reclaims eye contact. Dark, fierce, and impassioned, holding his gaze, making him watch as the pleasure peaks —

"Ah — !"

Sound stops.

Her jaw works.

She squeezes his hand tight

and the whole world crashes in on her.

She jerks against him, her orgasm hitting so hard she sees stars, every inch of her going completely rigid, seeking his support. Her legs are wrapped around him so tight his hips might leave bruises.

Sweat runs into his eyes but he blinks the sting away just to keep watching, her gaze burning into him and spurring him on until-- until--

Her body reacts like it's been touched with a live wire and it's more than enough to shove him straight into oblivion.

She wrenches a strangled cry from him, half-growled, half-hissed; half-pleasure, half-pain.

His hips still buck erratically, even though he can barely move with her legs clamped so tightly around him, keeping him deep inside her.

He holds on for as long as he can to the mind-and-body-numbing high.

He holds on to her.

Just a few. More. Moments...

She relaxes slowly. Her muscles are burning, but she doesn't want to let go of the ecstasy or the pain. It settles between her shoulders, in her calves, keeping her lit even as the waves of bliss begin to subside.

He's still rocking erratically, and she opens herself up to him, holding on as long as she can to every throb of pleasure. She runs her silk-clad foot down the back of his thigh, rising against each press deeper, moaning as the dimming sparks of release turn to a low, hot hum.

Just a few more moments...

Drowsy-eyed, she pushes his hair back and cups his cheek, her everything focused on him as they spend each other completely.

Eventually his body gives out, utterly, deliriously exhausted, and his limbs turn stiff and heavy. As his fingers loosen from her hand, he leans his face into her palm, eyes closed, turning his head slightly to brush his lips against her wrist.

For a lost second or two, he has to remind himself where he is.

"Oh my god...," he mumbles almost incoherently through a deep, groaning sigh.

He opens his eyes a crack, then drops his head to her shoulder to bury his face in her hair. Resting the leaden weight of his upper body on his elbows so he doesn't smother her, he remains where he is until the rest of him decides it wants to move.

Sex with a woman who rides horses is one of Tommy's favorite things.

He'll be able to feel her heart racing when he kisses her pulse point. Everything feels heavy, sated, her lungs aching like never before.

She breaks a rule with herself. She wraps her arms around him, and hugs him close. It's a rule made mostly on the assumption that Tommy would balk at the intimacy, that it's something they just don't do. She's discovered she doesn't have any idea what they do or don't do, and right now she needs him. She needs the closeness, the intimacy. She needs the minute to come down.

Perhaps now she'll be better able to attempt words. Not right this minute, however. She nudges him to suggest he roll onto his back, still breathing quick and deep.

Her arms slide around him, holding him in an embrace -- and he's brought back down, to this room, to this bed, to her, to himself.

It's not something she's ever sought from him, to be held. He hasn't exactly been one to give them out either, but...

He won't pull away. Not until she's through.

And he takes her cue easily enough, first leaving a kiss on the side of her neck before slowly raising himself up off of her. Their bodies break contact, goosebumps sweeping up and down his limbs, and he flops onto his back beside her with a rough sigh.

She grimaces as he leaves her, groaning just under her breath. The eagerness and confidence that had been such a turn-on for him will leave her aching, but she can't convince herself to regret it.

After a moment, she follows. Ending up on her hip, one arm draped across him, she drops a kiss to his breast before resting her chin there. Her face is turned toward him; she blinks lazily, chasing the stars from her vision.

The moment skin touches skin again, he folds his arm around her shoulders, pulling her body close against his side. Saying nothing, he just gazes back at her from under heavy-lidded eyes as he slides his free hand along her arm laid across his middle.

The silence stretches on for a few more moments. Words don't seem important right now.

"You all right?"

Was that all right?

A corner of his mouth pulls back and he breathes out a short chuckle.

"'Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

His voice is low and raspy and rumbles in his chest.

He reaches up and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear, brushing the backs of his fingers against her damp temple.

"And you?"

Her eyelashes flutter, and she tips her head closer to his touch.

"Dunno. Nothin' says y'would be."

She tilts her chin down, almost obscuring her mouth against him. It's just as well, as her next words come out more shy and sweet than accusatory.

"This time I didn't — bang all your brains out?"

He kind of...winces at that, chuckling sheepishly through a groan as he rubs his face in his hand.

"Uh. Heh. Um."

She doesn't sound annoyed, but he can't help it -- there's only one thing to do: explain himself.

"That's-- that's an expression. Y'know, 'to bang one's brains out.'" (Yes, he actually presented the verb in its infinitive form.) "It's complimentary, really. It just means that when we-- y'know, uh, bang each other's brains out, we have really great, really intense-- uh--"

Has he ever used the S-word with her before? He can't remember.

"--sex. Which kinda just leaves you dazed and kinda at a loss for anything else, so-- uh. Yeah. Uh. This counts."

Her gaze is steady on him.

"Complimentary?"

It's not really a question.

"So it's somethin' you'd say to a lady in your world if y'wanted t'give your regards?"

"No!"

Oh god, more explaining. Some of it from behind a partial facepalm.

"I mean-- no. It's meant to be, y'know, a good thing, and the way I said it, I definitely meant it to be a compliment, but it ain't really something you say-- uh, in polite company?"

He's never had to use the phrase 'polite company,' ever.

"Lemme put it this way, it's usually a phrase that guys like me and Voodoo use when we talk about women."

Hmm. What's that sinking feeling?

"Not that I've ever talked about you. Except for this once. Okay, maybe twice. But! Listen, I can explain. I was only tryin' to get Voodoo off my back. We bust each other's balls all the time, but when he steered things toward, well, you, I didn't wanna say much, 'cause I didn't think it was appropriate--"

Tommy has just used the word appropriate.

"--so, y'know, I just told him, look, man, I ain't gonna use her beautiful tits, her awesome ass, her gorgeous legs, or the look in her eyes after we've banged our brains out as material, so you can just forget it. And that was the only time I ever said anything like that about you, and I only said it to throw 'im off, to shut 'im up. 'Cept he latched onto that last part, obviously. He wasn't supposed to repeat the damn thing in front of you, but he's an idiot, so."

He sighs, wondering how deep this hole he's dug himself has gotten so far. At least they had sex first?

"'M sorry."

Apologies seem to be the flavor of the evening.

And Kate, whose moods usually flash across her features as gay as a spring day or as dark as a thunderhead, is still quietly reserved. She watches him evenly, doing little more than blink when he gets to the recounting of his conversation with Voodoo.

Looking at her, he might have the feeling he could dig and dig for the next one hundred years and never see light.

"It ain't much of a compliment if y'wouldn't say it t'a lady's face."

She shivers, sweat cooling in the small of her back. She unconsciously draws closer, etching absent patterns across his chest with her fingertips. Her attention drops to his collarbone.

"D'you talk 'bout all the women you're with like that?"

He rubs his forehead and sighs again. He's grateful that she presses closer to him instead of pulling away, although in the back of his mind he's counting down the moments before she deliberately slips out of his arms.

Would it be worth the effort to try to explain that some women from his time even use the phrase themselves and might even consider it a legitimate pick-up line? Probably not. Because then he'd have to explain what kind of women he'd been hitting on.

"No. Well, sometimes. It depends on who I'm talkin' to and the woman I'm talkin' about." ~~For example, Clementine probably wouldn't mind.~~

"Look, does it really matter now? 'Cause I ain't gonna talk about you like that. Not to Voodoo, not to anybody. I didn't mean for all of that to happen, I shouldn't have said what I said in the first place, and I'm sorry. When you left, I felt like shit, 'cause believe me, honey, I would never say anything to hurt you or degrade you or anything like that. At least not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose. I might say something stupid every so now and then, but cut me some slack, I'm a guy, and, like, almost 120 years separates us, so, y'know, the whole thing about what's socially acceptable and what's not might be a problem, and I ain't always gonna get things right, but-- y'know, I try."

A line forms between her brows.

"Why would y'think I'd expect you t'treat me any different than your other women?"

She barely picks her chin up off his chest to speak, so her voice comes out muted and a touch husky.

Therein lies the matter entirely. For her, anyhow. It occurs to her now that Tommy might feel like she's interrogating him, trying to catch him up, looking for a reason to be angry. She is angry, but it's not the primary thing on her mind right now. The primary thing on her mind is what happened in the bar, and her not knowing where they stand.

"I ain't gonna ask you t'stop doin' somethin' for my sake. For one thing, I'd never be able t'make you. I walked into this knowin' full well what I was gettin'. An' I made a deal I intend t'keep."

She keeps her eyes on her fingers, still tracing patterns on his chest.

"I guess, maybe, I'm askin' you the same question. Does it matter? I jus' — I dunno why you was talkin' 'bout me at all."

Tommy is used to being interrogated by women. However, he's usually not so forthright with the truth, or at least some version of the truth, as his method is to start with lies.

But lying to Kate is something he hasn't quite leveled up to. Mostly because she owns guns.

"Is that-- is that all you wanna know? Why we were talkin' bout you? Well, for starters, Voodoo told me you hit him with a bucket. And then I apologized to him for losing my temper over thinking he'd felt you up, 'cause I just wanted to clear the air with him on that. And then things just-- went from there."

He shrugs, a little at a loss of what else to say, or what exactly she isn't asking him to stop doing, or what. Her fingertips are still idly tracing figures on his chest, but he still wonders when or if her claws will come out.

"And just so you know, you're not like any of my other-- the other women I've been with."

In answer to his questions, she slowly shakes her head, leaving it at that as he continues. It's not all she wants to know, but they have to start somewhere.

His closing comment gives her pause.

"Because I'm from a different time."

It's half question, but after what he just said about the gap between them she jumps to the most reasonable conclusion.

When she shakes her head, he expects her to follow up on that, and he can't help feeling that she's saving up for it. He shifts his body a little with some unease but masks it by tightening his arms around her and lacing his fingers at her shoulder.

"Well, yeah, obviously," he murmurs, glancing down to her mouth, then sighing and settling his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes as if wanting to go to sleep.

After a moment or two, he adds, his eyes still closed: "More to it than that, though."

After the first few seconds of silence, she figures he is trying to drop off. Goosebumps rise on her arms.

She shifts her attention to the rumpled pillows, pulling back the bedspread as much as she can from her angle. She pauses when he speaks again.

"How d'you mean?"

Gently, she pulls away from his embrace enough that she can brace herself on her elbows. She continues turning down the bed, tossing throw pillows to the floor. Suddenly, a cat leaps into the melee, disappearing under the bedspread up to the tail. There are clearly evil bed monsters that require defeating before Kate can proceed any further.

Tommy opens his eyes when she moves to pull back the sheets, and he sits up halfway, about to explain...

"Well--"

The cats had thankfully non-present -- up until this point.

Tommy stares at the tail and the lump huddled under the bedspread.

"I ain't getting under the covers with the cat," he says flatly, and he merely flops back down with his arms folded behind his head.

The other cat also tries leaping into bed, only he's used to doing so from the side Tommy's currently occupying. Startled to see the man in his spot, he jumps and falls off again.

"This's jus' their nightly routine. S'usually jus' the three of us; they'll get down when I'm through."

The cat under the covers is killing imaginary mice, by the looks of things. In any case, Kate's protecting Tommy from his advances, still half-draped over his body.

"What were y'sayin'?"

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