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

She settles her weight on him, careful not to jab him in any sensitive areas in the process. She's light, and he dwarfs her like this.

"S'a popular method, I'd say."

The quirk of her mouth says the rest.

A beat passes.

"You're kiddin' me. Holy crap. Who'd you hit?"

He can't contain his look of bemused surprise.

She breathes a laugh, dropping her face to the crook of his neck. Just for a moment.

She rests her bandaged hand on his shoulder.

"A couple'a no-accounts who needed hittin'. Men I'd hired, who didn't do what they were s'posed to."

He's caught between being impressed and warily cautious (although that particular sensation coincides with being a little bit turned-on). But he's definitely curious now.

"Really. What'd you hire 'em for?"

She grows pensive.

She's always leery of having this conversation; having to watch as the way people look at her changes. If he were anyone else, she might sidestep around the details and give him some vague story about delicate business, but as it is she's convinced herself that what they have is impermanent anyway. If she's sharing her bed with him, she might as well share the rest. Consequences be damned.

"A few years ago, I started pokin' around this town north'a Green Lake. I followed the Walker's assets to a bank there, an' I wanted t'see how easy it'd be t'break in. Only, while I was there, I started talkin' t'the townsfolk. Met this woman named Viktoria, who told me how the railroad an' the banks were gobblin' up estates, an' puttin' honest folk outta business. Hafta admit, her story reminded me a li'l bit of losin' my daddy's ranch t'the bank. It ain't about what's fair, y'know. It's about who has the most money."

She traces idle patterns across his collarbone.

"Anyhow. My plans changed, an' I decided t'go after this railroad man an' the banker he had in his pocket. Me an' five others. The plan was t'go in, get 'em t'open up that safe, an' make out with the cash without anybody gettin' hurt. Only somebody did. One'a the men I hired ... I don't rightly know what he was thinkin'. We got outta there, left the wounded t'get attention I only hope, an' once we'd all split the cash I gave 'em what for, an' sent 'em on their way."

Oh, right. He's not supposed to care about what she does when she's on her side of the door. He told her as much. He told her with the full understanding that she is an outlaw.

Tommy has two main references when processing the idea of someone robbing a bank: grainy security camera footage shown on the evening news; and scenes from old Western movies. Either one is still far enough removed from his own dealings that it's a little difficult to grasp when the woman he's been sleeping with tells you that she pretty much organized a stick-up while she was away.

His reaction might be hard to read. A deep line forms between his brows, his lips part. His gaze falls to her mouth when she speaks. His hold on her doesn't shift, although his heart thumps a mite harder against her chest.

"Huh."

There's a sort of Robin Hood aspect to the caper anyway. It can't be so bad.

But it's not the crime that concerns him. It's what happens afterward. She's wanted, and she's always in danger of getting caught, of getting shot -- and never making it through the door again. She can tell him that she can take care of herself all she wants, and he'll believe her, but part of missing her was rooted in worry that her luck had run out.

"How much money did you get?"

"A li'l more'n two thousand apiece."

She smiles lazily, but there's a glint of excitement in her eyes. It's good money. In Tommy's currency, it would be close to $50,000.

"More for Viktoria. I tossed her the first bag, an' it was by far the heaviest. It should go a long way for the town, assumin' it all goes right."

She tilts a kiss to his shoulder without breaking eye contact. As unreadable as his expression may be, she has her suspicions. Her movements are slow, shifting her weight back to her hands, knees sliding to either side of his waist.

"You're 'freaked out', ain't you?"

In Tommy's world, two thousand dollars is what someone earning roughly around minimum wage would earn in a month -- before taxes -- but he understands that it's worth a whole lot more in Kate's era. So he'll consider it a nice haul for her, and it was apparently for a good cause.

As she shifts her position, his arms slide from her body, his hands sweeping down her sides to rest on her hips.

"Freaked out? No! No, 'course not, honey. No, no. ...Yes, actually-- but no. A little. Maybe. I dunno."

He sighs and utters a dry chuckle, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair.

"It's just-- I ain't used to being with someone who-- does what you do. But believe me, baby, I'm tryin' to get my head around it, okay, and-- I swear, I remember what you said, I ain't gonna tell you what you can or can't do, but--"

Frowning, he purses his lips and glances away as he runs his palms up and down her thighs. After another deep sigh, his eyes flick back up to hers.

"Can I just maybe say-- I wish you didn't hafta do that? I mean, of course I know you're gonna do it anyways, but I'm just sayin'. It ain't even a suggestion. Or an actual wish. Y'know. Just a statement. Of how I-- y'know-- feel."

She watches him evenly. She's never been good at schooling her expressions. Emotion tends to flash across her features as violently as a thunderstorm; however, ever since the apocalypse, she's gotten in practice with looking like a mirror. Undisturbed, whatever tries to peer inside just bounces right off.

"I ain't used t'bein' with someone who does what I do, either."

The corner of her mouth twitches. He never knew her before. Sometimes it feels like there's more than one voice in her head, and she can't be sure what's up and what's down. She's only ever sure of what she feels in the moment.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, pushing herself into a sitting position. She's straddling his hips, fingertips grazing his belly.

"I'm a bad girl, Tommy. I don't have any illusions 'bout that. I'm a bad, bad girl, an' I do what I have to. Sometimes I wish it could be different, too. But it can't."

I'm a bad, bad girl...

And now he wishes she hadn't phrased it exactly like that because of reasons.

But looking up at her, he props himself up onto his elbows.

"I know, I know. You don't need to explain, I get it. It's just that since we first met, it's been all-- talk. Now that you've just pulled off an actual-- job--"

He glances down at her bandaged hand.

Her fingertips. Her thighs spread over him. Her weight on his hips.

Sitting up, he clasps his hands at the small of her back, meeting her eye-to-eye.

"You shouldn't have given those guys their cut for fucking up your plan."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

She's surprised.

(And a touch scandalized by the obscenity.)

Searching out his face, she breaks into a smile of her own, laughing under her breath. She glances at her bandaged hand, too.

"I may be a criminal, but I'm not a bitch."

She runs her hands over his shoulders, reclaiming eye contact. Now that he knows she's not all talk, what is he gonna do?

He...is going to roll with it.

And laugh. And kiss her. Because that is all he can do, and all he wants to do.

"Oh, you're a bad girl, alright, but yeah, I think you're a little too nice to be a bitch."

The muscles in her back relax when he kisses her, melting into his touch. She kisses him back, slow, thorough, testing the waters.

"Jus' be sure y'never make me angry."

She hangs a crooked smile on her lips, the humor a little dry. She's waiting for him to bolt.

"Might be best t'ply me with gifts. Jus' in case."

Peppering kisses along his jaw, she nips at his ear lobe, hands skating down his front.

He has to laugh again, his arms sliding around her waist.

"I know better than to piss you off, honey."

That doesn't mean he lacks the potential to do it by accident, though. No guarantees.

Her lips, her teeth, her hands make it hard for him to string thoughts together, but after a few indulgent moments with his nose buried in her hair, he manages to say,

"So, let's go to New York. As soon as you can, we'll go. I mean it."

"Hmm?"

Her voice hums in his skin. She drops one last kiss to his throat, and pulls back.

"New York? To ... meet your family?"

That's what he'd suggested, the last time they spoke. She's every bit as freaked out by the thought now as she was then.

His turn to blink.

"No-- to go ice skating and sight-seeing. I mean-- well, I'm gonna make sure that none of my family will be at home when you visit just so we can spend some time alone together, but I'm sure there'll be other times. That is, if you'd still want to someday."

He shrugs.

"Oh."

She closes her eyes, laughing quietly. Of course, the ice skating lesson. She'd almost forgot.

And it's a much more appealing offer. It isn't just that she's nervous about getting too close, moving too fast; December just isn't the best time of year for her.

She looks down.

"All right. Sure."

He eyes her expression, her downcast gaze.

"Okay. Just lemme know when you're ready to go, alright? I really, really wanna take you. It'll be fun."

Tilting her chin up, he kisses her gently on the lips, hoping to bring her back from wherever she'd retreated.

"While we're on the subject of New York," he adds, stroking her cheek and her hair, "I dunno if you'd be interested, but-- I got an invitation to a holiday party. From Aphrodite. Y'know, the goddess an' all. It's at her place in her own version of New York City, and-- I dunno-- would you wanna go?"

It's hard to tell if she's blushing in her post-sex flush, tousled hair creating a halo around pink skin, lips rosy and eyes wide. She blinks at him.

"What's this about?"

She intentionally keeps laughter in her voice, though she isn't really feeling it.

He gives another shrug.

"'S just a party. Food, music, all that stuff. I mean, I figure if a goddess throws a party, you can't really say no. And of course there's gonna be other Milliways patrons there, so I wasn't sure if you'd wanna go, since you don't really want people to-- uh, know we're-- uh--"

With each other? Dating? Sleeping together?

"Y'know."

Now he's looking uncertain.

"But hey, you don't hafta make a decision now, the party won't be for a little while, I'm just putting it out there."

Wrapping his arms around her waist again, he leans into her, giving her a warm squeeze as he dips his head to kiss her shoulder.

She tilts her cheek against him, letting his long hair tickle her skin. A line forms between her brows.

"You accompanied me t'Carlotta's weddin' already. We could go as friends."

Two invitations in as many minutes? It's odd, like he's rushed for something. Like he wants to keep her near. Like he can't get close enough. She holds him, uncertain in his embrace.

"I might not make a very good companion. I don't do much 'round the holidays."

She brushes his temple with her lips, and pulls back.

"But, I — I could try."

Friends.

Yeah, they're friends. But anybody who looks at them when they're near each other can see that they're a lot more than just friends.

As she voices her reservations, he plants more kisses up the side of her neck, inhaling her scent, indulging in the softness of her skin--

And then he picks his head up and meets her eyes. He doesn't know why she's suddenly withdrawn -- he had her just a few moments ago, before he asked her to come to New York. He thought she'd be excited about it.

But he nods, one of his hands sweeping up and down her back.

"Okay. Trying is good."

He smiles a little, his mouth close to hers.

She shivers.

Her smile is wan when he catches her eyes, her kiss quick and careless. She is excited about New York. It's just the timing.

And — other things they haven't talked about.

However, she's not going to offer up the discussion if he isn't going to ask, and so she takes a breath to settle her nerves and gives herself a little shake, making her smile a little wider. She gives him another peck, and slides off his lap.

"So what happened t'me gettin' everythin' I deserve, hm?"

He's relieved to see her smile again. It always seems that way -- if she loses the will to smile for whatever reason, he tries to bring it back. He's not always successful, but he tries.

They're both trying. And they have the whole night to catch up and figure things out.

But as of this moment, Tommy has some big talk that he has to make good on.

With a spreading grin, he leans in toward her, his hands on the mattress on either side of her hips.

"Hmmm," he purrs thoughtfully, his breath hot on her cheek as he skims his lips along her jaw. Shifting his position, he eases her down on her back, and her hair spills over the edge of the bed. He looms over her, just taking in her jewel-blue eyes, the delicate curve of her lips.

And then he bends down to press his mouth to her skin, starting at her pulsepoint; moving lower to the pit of her throat; and lower, to each breast, her belly, and beyond, until he covers her entire body with the kisses he would've given her had time and space not separated them.

This is easy.

It's comfortable.

She smiles as he hems her in, hands by her hips, the warmth of his skin jumping to hers without them ever needing to touch. And then he lowers her to the bed, and she breathes a quiet, gentle laugh into his skin.

She's ready to explore. To find every sweet spot, to touch every inch of him. Only, he has the idea first, and she bites her lip as he descends her body, arching as he scatters kisses across her breasts, squirming when his lips close over her hipbone.

She hasn't shed her shyness, not entirely, and this is something new — her legs draw together a little more modestly, her breathing quickens, her eyes follow his trek. Watching him, curious, nervous, and raw.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject