Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-12-15 09:04 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-12-15 09:04 pm
Entry tags:
OOM: Room #100 -- for Tommy Gavin
[following this:]
The room is dim.
Clothes are scattered here and there; on chairs, tabletops, hooked on books and baubles, scrunched under the bed. A pair of candles burn on the table in the corner.
The cats have had their fill of cream, and are curled quite happily in Dug's basket in the corner of the room.
The room's other occupants, sweat-slicked and tangled in sheets, are sprawled across the bed in wild positions, limbs dangling where they may, hands sneaking under damp cotton to touch each other. Pleasantly exhausted, they sip lazy kisses from each other's mouths.
And they've only just begun.
The room is dim.
Clothes are scattered here and there; on chairs, tabletops, hooked on books and baubles, scrunched under the bed. A pair of candles burn on the table in the corner.
The cats have had their fill of cream, and are curled quite happily in Dug's basket in the corner of the room.
The room's other occupants, sweat-slicked and tangled in sheets, are sprawled across the bed in wild positions, limbs dangling where they may, hands sneaking under damp cotton to touch each other. Pleasantly exhausted, they sip lazy kisses from each other's mouths.
And they've only just begun.
no subject
The corner of her mouth tugs up into something reluctantly warm. She reaches for his hand again — don't worry, Tommy, it isn't remotely sticky.
"But y'don't hafta tell me sugarcoated stories. An' before y'start in again, all I mean is — you don't gotta tell me anythin' you don't want to. But not 'cuz y'think I can't handle it. I ain't ever gonna make you talk, but when y'need to? Don't fuss over me. I've seen a lot worse than y'may realize."
She squeezes his hand, and takes another bite of her pastry, chewing thoughtfully.
"I don't need stories 'bout kittens t'make me 'feel better'. I'm fine. I've jus' come back from hellfire, for pete's sake. Y'wanna talk t'me, then talk. Y'don't? Don't. S'as simple as that."
She pinches his chin again, looking serious in the way mothers do when they're trying to impress something important upon their children.
"Jus' remember I don't gotta tell you anythin', either. I did 'cuz you asked, an' 'cuz I wanted to."
no subject
Wondering what she means by having 'come back from hellfire,' he lets it pass, because he's tired of talking about what they can and can't and should and shouldn't and might or might not talk about. It's too draining and frustrating. And he doesn't like where it puts him in his head.
But he is grateful to her, deep down somewhere. For letting him in. And opening up. It's those moments when she does let him in, that remind him that this thing, this connection, is a two-way street.
Nodding, he sighs, meeting her eyes. "I know. I get it. I really do."
Sometimes he feels as if he's still chasing after her, the wild mustang that she is, and she only allows him to take the reins for short periods of time before yanking them out of his hands again with a toss of her head.
no subject
The words come out reflexively. You can almost see the flicker of panic in her eyes before it's gone, and she glances away.
"I believe you."
She's got no reason to beat a dead horse. It's late, and lord knows they're both exhausted. She's said an awful lot tonight, but somehow it doesn't make her feel panicked about what he'll think; she realizes that he missed her, and all these questions and invitations might be his way of expressing that.
She's not sure how she feels about that. However, the aggravation, for one, is gone.
"I won't double-cross you, Tommy. I swear."
no subject
believe
There hasn't been much trust or belief in Tommy's life lately. Squandering the trust people had put in him; people no longer believing his promises. Slowly building things back up again only for him to knock everything down. Trying, failing.
Why can't he do something right?
He has to believe that she can trust him. He has to believe that she can believe him.
"Okay." He nods, gently squeezing her hand in return.
He'll do this.
"You gonna finish that?"
The pastry.
no subject
A fledgling smile quirks her mouth.
"Y'want some?"
She holds the pastry higher, closer to his lips. There's still plenty of gooey raspberry filling and sticky, flaky crust to share.
no subject
What he actually goes for is more than just a nibble, as he leans in to take a sizable bite out of what's left of the pastry, his lips brushing her fingertips as his teeth close down on the crust. He holds a hand under his chin to catch any crumbs when he leans back, a smear of sweet raspberry goo at the corner of his mouth as he chews.
"Oh my god, that's really good," he mutters through his mouthful.
no subject
"That's one helluva nibble!"
She can't hide her smile, though. Soon, her slackjawed look fades away, and she's all but laughing. She can't really blame him; it is one hell of a good pastry.
She swipes the raspberry filling from his mouth with her thumb, and presses it to his lips, inviting him to suck it off.
"Yeah? Y'want one of your own?"
no subject
There's a distinct twinge when she presses her thumb to his lips. Licking things off other areas isn't a bad idea, but he'll get to that eventually. For now he purses his lips around the tip of her thumb, his tongue sweeping the tart sweetness off of it.
"Mmmf. Sure. I think there's a few other flavors. Surprise me."
no subject
She leans in to give him a quick peck, the sugars mingling on their tongues. It pulls a pleased little sigh out of her when she pulls away, licking her lips.
Finishing off her pastry on her way back to the table, she returns with another — peach, naturally — and a napkin, resettling beside him.
"How're y'feelin'?" she asks softly, rubbing his chest. "Is you an' me all right?"
no subject
"'Course we're all right," he assures her as he brings the pastry to his mouth. But he pauses before taking a bite, giving her a sidelong look. "Uh...right?"
no subject
She appraises him carefully for a long moment.
Finally, she answers — by way of leaning in and taking a rather large bite of his pastry.
"Mmm. Reckon so."
She smirks, licking filling from the corner of her mouth.
no subject
Amused, he grins broadly, and instead of wiping away the smear of filling, he leans in to kiss it away.
"Delicious," he hums, licking his lips. "And so's the peach."
See what he did there?
no subject
She chuckles, low in her throat.
"Good."
The peach, the kiss, the fact that they're on steady ground — it's all good. She's been longing to get back to her soft bed and his rough hands for a long time now. She much prefers it when things aren't complicated.
She steals another kiss, running her tongue along his bottom lip.
"I thought perhaps I could use the energy, unless you're snugglin' down for bed."
no subject
They're back to where they both want to be.
"You kiddin'? I'm up for anything you are."
He takes another healthy bite out of the pastry, down to the last corner of crust. Some of the filling oozes out over his fingers.
"Can you wear the hat again?"
no subject
Her grin spreads like butter in a hot pan, and her eyes dart to his sticky fingers. Unconsciously, she licks her lips.
"Are y'more interested in the hat, or me?"
no subject
"I'm interested in you, wearing the hat, on me, without my britches. How's that?"
With a teasing smirk, he pops the last bit of pastry into his mouth. But he reaches up to lightly touch her moist lower lip with the pad of his finger.
"Deal?"
no subject
With another slow grin, she draws the tip of his finger into her mouth and thoroughly sucks the peach filling off his skin, never breaking eye contact.
"Deal."
no subject
After he slips his finger from the between her pursed lips, he leans in to kiss her, slowly and deeply, sharing the sugary sweetness between them.
They're here again -- the warmth, the contact, the desire that they can so easily give in to. It's a good place to be, right here, for now.