Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-09-13 01:24 am
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-09-13 01:24 am
Entry tags:
OOM: Room #100, for Tommy Gavin
[following this and later this:]
It's late.
So late, in fact, it's practically the time she gets herself out of bed in the morning.
Her body is humming with the rhythm of packed earth, drumbeats under thundering hooves. Her face is wind-chapped and cerise. She spent a long time with Beaut, beating every trail in the dark with the stars overhead like millions of laughing eyes, sparkling and winking while she runs. She's chilled and stiff, but her tears have long since stopped and she's almost found her center once more.
She's grateful when she reaches the last step, turning in the direction of her room.
It's late.
So late, in fact, it's practically the time she gets herself out of bed in the morning.
Her body is humming with the rhythm of packed earth, drumbeats under thundering hooves. Her face is wind-chapped and cerise. She spent a long time with Beaut, beating every trail in the dark with the stars overhead like millions of laughing eyes, sparkling and winking while she runs. She's chilled and stiff, but her tears have long since stopped and she's almost found her center once more.
She's grateful when she reaches the last step, turning in the direction of her room.
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But he can still feel the hesitation in her lips, and he realizes that he might have to work harder at not screwing this up.
promise me a couple things.
Annnd there's the hitch.
More than one promise?
Fingertips squeezing her shoulders, he exhales a sigh as his eyes fall closed again. The sigh is part reluctance, to commit to something that he might not be able to; and part resignation, to commit to something that would be the only way to make her stay.
He reminds himself that he wanted this. That he wanted her.
And it's going to take some effort to keep what he wants.
"Like what?"
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"Don't ever tell me what I can an' can't do; I know how t'take care'a myself. I may walk out that door one day an' never walk back in. I'm wanted out there, dead or alive. But I ain't lookin' for somebody t'save me, so don't you try."
She means it. She's heard well and enough from men about how she should stand back and let them take care of things for her, how she's not doing things straight, how she's not smart enough. But here she is now, on her lonesome, and she ain't about to let another body dictate how she behave.
"Second thing is, don't ever tell me somethin' that ain't true. 'Specially if you're doin' it 'cuz y'think it's what I want t'hear. I don't want no false promises; don't you tell me things is one way when they're another, or act like y'love me when y'don't. Don't hide things from me. An' I don't mean y'gotta tell me everythin' — I'll be perfectly happy if I never hafta hear what y'say 'bout me behind my back again. However, like I said before 'bout you tellin' me if y'lie with another woman while you're with me — don't make up fish tales. Jus' be honest. I've been lied to enough, an' I swear t'you, Tommy Gavin, I will bring hell down on your head if you deceive me."
There's no 'ifs' about it.
In this moment, ever so much more noticeable than the scars on her skin are the ones she carries underneath.
Just as she won't hurt him, she won't let him hurt her. Not like that.
"If I'm t'trust you, y'gotta promise me that."
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What she's making him promise isn't unreasonable. It's nothing he hasn't been told to do before. To not be so controlling, to be honest. And it's not like the women in his life ever listen to him anyway, or ever fall for his lies.
But also, it's not like he's finally learned that being a lying, controlling, sneaking sonuvabitch always comes back to bite him in the ass.
When she's said her piece, he swallows (perhaps a bit audibly), and blinks up at her.
"Okay," he finds himself saying as he nods. "I promise."
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It's silent for one more long stretch.
"Okay."
She nods, and kisses him. Now they're back on the same page. It isn't where she thought they'd be, but so long as she knows what he's thinking maybe she won't try and run.
(But she's eying those fence posts, low to the ground though they are, as the corral is built around her.)
Sucking in a deep breath, she pushes herself off him, rolling to the edge of the bed. Her limbs are heavy and dumb, tired, sated — sore. But she sits herself up, her bare back to him, and starts working on taking her garters off.
"How many folk have y'told? 'Bout us."
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Sometimes, Tommy really wonders what he gets himself into, usually seconds after committing to it.
He doesn't regret this, though. He'll stick to it. For as long as he can. Or for as long as she wants him around. Whichever comes first.
When she sits up, he lays there for a moment, his gaze fixed on her back. Her hair falling between her shoulder blades. The graceful slope of her spine. The curve of her hips.
Sitting up himself, he pulls aside the covers on his side of the bed just enough for him to scoot under and lie back down.
"Just Voodoo," he sighs, folding one arm behind his head. "Uh. And I sorta mentioned you to Elrond, 'cause I told him we went to that wedding, but I didn't actually say we were-- uh, together, 'cause that conversation got a little awkward 'cause it was like I was talking to your dad or something and I got really nervous for some reason, so-- uh. Yeah. Oh, and a woman from around my time named Clementine, but I never said your name, only that I was-- y'know, with you, 'cause me and Clem used to-- uh, fool around, and I just wanted to make it clear that I couldn't do that anymore, but she's a really cool chick for a cop, so there was no hard feelings or whatever. Besides, I think she likes someone else anyways."
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To his credit, what he says about Elrond makes her laugh. It's soft, choked — almost not there at all — but it's still the first time she's even smiled all night.
"Why's that? Master Elrond's very dear t'me, but he ain't nothin' like my daddy. Maybe an uncle. I've never had one'a those."
She slips off her silk stockings, maneuvering the fabric around her anklet as if she's done it a thousand times. Once she's completely naked, she sits there, still, debating their discarded clothing. Despite this being the second time they've, ah, coupled, she's not wholly comfortable being naked in front of him. Her blouse won't do much for her. Her chemise is on the other side of the room. This is how she finds herself shrugging on his t-shirt for a second time.
She slips under the covers on her side of the bed, brow beetled at his closing words. She takes a moment to answer.
"Oh."
Beat.
"So you're — not 'seein'' anyone else?"
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He watches her pull on his t-shirt, and decides that he wouldn't mind at all if she did that every time from now on. She looks cute in his shirts. In an anachronistic kind of way.
As she settles in under the covers, he turns his head to look at her with a slight frown, a little surprised that she still has to ask that. Except that he really shouldn't be surprised.
"No. Nobody here, nobody back home. Just you."
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She wouldn't take her choices back.
She isn't ashamed of where she's ended up.
However, sometimes, she does wish she still had her good reputation back home.
(Screw 'em.)
"I'm glad t'hear that."
She doesn't bother distinguishing whether she's glad to hear that Elrond likes her a lot or that he made Tommy feel he had to be on his best behavior. He can sweat it out.
She fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, looking pensive, if not uncomfortable, by this revelation.
"Oh. Jus' me?"
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But he eyes her, his brow still a bit furrowed.
"Yeah. Just you, honey. Look, I wasn't lying when I told you I hadn't slept with anybody since we met. ...Okay, actually, y'know what, now that I really think about it -- and now that I ain't in the middle of undressing you when you're asking me this, so I can actually think clearly -- I'm pretty sure I was still messing around with Clem, but now I distinctly remember after our, uh, horseback riding lesson-- well, y'know, that was it. I swear."
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"I didn't know if, maybe, y'had someone ... "
She shrugs, gesturing vaguely.
Someone back home. Someone he just hadn't seen for a while. His wife.
"It's all right."
She hunts for his one free hand underneath the covers, settling down against the pillows. Her eyes flick back to his.
They're running out of reasons why they ain't 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'.
"Jus' tell me when that changes."
Beat.
"An', Tommy — don't – don't tell anybody else. 'Bout us."
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"No, nobody," he reassures her.
It's not a lie.
He just needs some cracks of his own to be filled in.
Shifting onto his side to face her, he brings their linked fingers up from between them and kisses the back of her hand, his stubble scratching her skin.
"Alright. I promise. About the not tellin' anybody and also the other thing."
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"Thank you."
She brushes his lips with the backs of her fingers. She traces his chin, his cheek, his jaw. After a sober moment, letting the quiet of early morning wrap them up, her eyes heavy, she scoots toward him.
"You tired?"
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She moves closer, and the narrowed space between their bodies grows warm.
"Mmmnot really," he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Are you?"
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She shrugs.
"Not really."
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"Well. We could probably do something to pass the time until we do get tired..."
His voice is a deep rumble that makes the humid air between them vibrate.
And he slowly presses his lips against hers.
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Their legs touch.
Their joined hands rest at her bosom.
She can let herself enjoy this. Caution gives way to softness, confusion to closed eyes; she whispers all her secrets into his mouth with slow, thorough kisses, discarding the uselessness of words. She can stay in this moment, and not think about the future, or the past. She can let him care about her, just for a while.