ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100, for Tommy Gavin

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'?"

Yeah, that other cat better jump off.

"About what-? Oh."

He closes his eyes again and rubs his forehead. With her draped over him like that, she'd feel him tense up slightly.

It's not that he doesn't want to say. Just that he doesn't know how to put it without it sounding like he cares for her a little too much.

Anything more than that would be a bad idea...

"Remember what I said before, about that-- connection? You know what I mean, right?"

Opening his eyes, he looks at her but doesn't meet her gaze, opting to stare at her mouth, her chin nestled on his chest, the way her hair tumbles over her bare shoulders.

"That's the difference, basically."

"Oh."

She absently plays with Roz as he darts about, ruffling his belly when he emerges from under the blankets, batting at her hand.

That connection.

You know what I mean, right?

She nudges Roz off the bed during a particularly epic wrestling match. It's all right; he lands on his feet. Unencumbered, she returns to Tommy, bracing herself on the heels of her palms. She hovers over him, eyes nearly teal after sex, hair slipping past her shoulders and resting at his throat.

"I mean somethin' t'you?"

Her words skate across his mouth.

"More'n attraction? More'n — sex? More'n jus' wantin' t'know I'm all right?"

The tussle with the cat gives him something else to look at as he waits for her to process what he'd just said.

And then she's leaning over him, her eyes like jewels, her hair falling like blonde curtains, pooling at the pit of his throat. He swallows hard. Glancing up to meet her gaze, he quickly looks away again, feeling as if she could see right through to his core.

"Yeah. Pretty much."

He keeps his gaze lowered, watching his hand as he lightly runs his palms up her arms.

"Listen, I like you, okay? Yeah, I care about you, and yeah, you mean more to me than just sex, 'cause you're-- y'know, I--"

His brow knits when a word he hadn't thought to associate with Kate before comes to him.

"--I trust you."

It's weird to say it, and it's almost weird to think it, but it sort of makes sense to him. That was part of the connection. That he could so quickly tell her about his son when they barely knew each other, even when the wound was still fresh. About his wife and the trouble they'd been through, and knowing she wouldn't judge him for it.

And if he ever found the time and place and reason to tell her about Jimmy, he'd trust her to understand.

His eyes finally flick up to meet hers, and he holds her gaze this time.

Oh.

For a while, their eyes do all the talking. She searches him out, pulled in by him the way the tide pulls at her ankles; the way a wind at her back pulls her forward, unrelenting.

Trust.

She simultaneously feels appreciative and wary. She'd never do anything to betray his trust, and the fact he knows that is good; however, so too comes the guilt that she'll only hurt him. She's too wounded, too unpredictable. Even she knows that. She can't rely on anyone, and no one should rely on her.

Her eyes are a sea storm.

"Good."

Is it, Kate?

Is it good?

Her attention dips to his chin.

"Tommy... Y'know, with me, you're never gonna get a normal kinda courtship, don't you? I know y'said y'weren't lookin' for that, but I — I don't wanna hurt you. An' I like you, too. I'm jus' — I'm not the kinda person a body wants t'bank on. I'm in too many pieces."

She pulls her fingers through his hair slowly, gently, like she's stroking one of her cats. His hair is healthy, and the action is comforting.

"I'd only let y'down."

I don't wanna hurt you.

I'd only let y'down.

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, the furrow between his brows deepening even as she strokes his hair, her touch reminding him of better times.

Better times before the broken promises, and the broken hearts, and the broken feelings of nearly everyone he was supposed to care about. Before the disappointment, and the resentment, and the blame.

"Don't worry about it."

When he opens his eyes, the intense sharpness in them masks the enduring sadness and regret.

"I can't see that far ahead. I dunno what's gonna happen tomorrow or a week from now or a month from now, but I ain't gonna be thinking about the day you might let me down, or the day you might hurt me, or the day I might do the same to you or what. Even if that day's gonna come for sure, I ain't gonna dwell on it. I won't. I can't.

"And I don't want normal. A guy like me-- I can't have normal. I don't know what normal is, I don't know how to be normal anymore."

He grasps her shoulders.

"I just-- want this. You. Here. Now. This's all I want.

"'Cause this? This-- this's all I can give you."

Her skin sings under his touch. It almost feels like it's burning.

This's all I want.

She didn't expect he'd feel that way. It'd be safer for them both if he didn't. That's why she took him to her bed, ain't it? He was safe. Somebody who would make her feel good for a little while, fill up the empty spaces, and move on once he was bored. Someone who wouldn't judge her for needing this.

He isn't asking more from her than she can give — not yet, anyhow — and so she forces back the dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. Here and now she can give him. This she can give him. She brings herself lower, laying herself over him like a heavy fur. There is no world beyond the golden curtain hemming them in; nothing outside their eyes, their ears, their mouths. The cats could run laps over them. Dug could stroll in. The entire bar could come down around their ears, and she wouldn't look away.

"Okay."

She's not sure what else to say, and nods helplessly. It's undeniable now that he cares more for her than she does for him. The guilt gnawing on her bones, however, is due to her realization that this could all change in a blink. She could care so easily. She could give in.

But she will not hurt him. She won't.

She kisses him, tentatively, eyes staying open. Like she's tasting him, checking the temperature of her morning tea so she doesn't scald her tongue.

"I need you t'promise me a couple things."

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