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

"I ain't nervous, I'm just-- tryin' to understand some things."

Which means, yeah, he's kind of nervous about getting something wrong.

After watching her fingers curl around his hand, his eyes then snap up to meet hers.

"Threw away your--? What? No, I-- I didn't. Honey, I ain't stopping you from doin' what you want, so why would you--?"

A deep line forms between her brows.

"Because we talked 'bout it before I ever let you into my bed. Dontcha remember? No picket fences, no happily ever after ... ?"

She shakes her head, searching him out for any glimmer of recollection, any hint of understanding. She thought she'd exposed herself rather neatly back then, but now she's questioning whether he was ever on the same page with her at all.

"Why didja think I got so mad when y'got all suspicious of John an' Jim? Or when y'left the way y'did over Christmas an' came back demandin' answers from me? Tommy, I'm — I know y'do this sorta thing every day, an' I was jus' another notch in your bedpost by the time we got together, but what I meant when I said 'that's why you're the only man I'm seein',' is you're the only man I'm seein'. When y'leave me, there ain't gonna be nobody else comin' t'call. No respectable man is gonna bed a woman who's slept around. No weddin' ring, no picket fences, no happily ever after. With anybody."

She pauses to see if any of that is sinking in.

"Don't y'know how much of myself I trusted you with when I invited y'up t'my room that first time? How terrified I was? D'you have any idea how hard it would be t'do that with anybody else?"

Edited 2013-08-30 03:40 (UTC)

He realizes what she means (some of it hitting him like a Brick of Obvious), and he nods quickly.

"I remember that, honey, really, I do... It's just that sometimes, when I'm with you, I forget that your world and your time is different from mine, and-- I dunno, just-- the way you said 'threw away' made me think that you are totally capable of getting whatever you want and doin' whatever you want 'cause you are just that great, and..."

Trailing off his ramble with a shake of his head, he gives a small, sheepish shrug.

"But I do understand-- a lot better now. 'Specially after spending all this time with you. I mean, yeah, of course, I always knew that us bein' together was a big deal for you from the start, and-- it's why I worked so hard to earn your trust. And to get it back when I lost it. And even though you keep tellin' me that you don't expect anything from me, I just-- I just wanna make this whole thing worth it for you for as long as it lasts."

Oh.

"I never forget how different our worlds are."

And she never could now, not since — well. It's constantly in her mind and in front of her face. And, to be fair, she's not all that fond of his future.

"Y'think gettin' letters with 'bitch' an' sexual propositions is bad, y'wouldn't wanna see how I'd be treated in polite society. Funny, though — I guess the future ain't all that different after all. But that's neither here nor there. I reckon what I should've said is I chose t'throw my future away. What chance did I really have, anyway?"

She breathes a quiet, wry laugh.

"Jus' — remember another thing we got outta the way 'fore we was ever intimate is that y'wouldn't lie t'me. That means makin' promises y'can't keep, too. I dunno what it means t'you t'make this whole thing worth it; I've realized that we see things awful different since gettin' back together. But, like I told you, I knew what I was gettin' into, Tommy, an' I chose t'get into what it was at face value, an' if y'go actin' different an' tryin' t'make things better an' treatin' me like somethin' special, an' y'get my heart all tied up in it, an' in you, an' then y'walk away—"

She's getting visibly upset now. That would be more cruel than just using her for sex.

Suddenly Tommy is confronted with several things-- 'bitch'? chose to throw her future away? making promises he can't keep? something special? heart all tied up?-- and it takes a while for him to pick a reaction and go with it.

"Kate--"

He cups her cheek as it grows flushed against his palm, turning her face so he can look her in the eye.

"I already promised you that I wouldn't lie to you-- and that's a promise I'll keep. And whatever happens down the road, just know that I don't wanna hurt you. Okay? Now, we've got this far. We've been through some rough spots. But bein' here, in your room, with you, in my lap and reading to me--"

He utters a half-laugh in amused disbelief, because he'd never thought that he'd ever want anybody to read anything to him--

"Honey, this right here is worth it."

Stroking her temple with the pad of his thumb, he sighs, pursing his lips.

"I just hope you never regret choosing to be with me."

"I know."

She covers the back of his hand, leaning just a smidgen into his touch. Her eyes practically glow with earnestness.

"I know, I'm jus' — m'just postulatin'. You've been so good t'me over the last four months that it worries me. But I–I know."

Her lips twitch at his half-laugh, eyes flicking away for a moment. That last remark tightens the noose around her heart.

Her voice drops to a whisper.

"Tommy, I'm not gonna regret choosin' t'be with you. I admit that I was selfish at the start. I was lonely, an' you were — there, an' persistent. I thought it'd jus' be — a tryst. Somethin' t'fill the lonely hours. An' I didn't much care; I didn't think we'd become friends."

She squeezes his hand.

"But we did. That is worth it."

They are friends, before anything else. And that is worth it.

He nods faintly, her whispered words warm against his lips, the curl of her fingers drawing him in. He knows how it is, how not caring eventually evolves into actual caring because it's too hard to avoid those feelings. He might even get a little too tied up in her, if he'd let himself. But he chooses not to. For her sake, and for what might happen down that road.

He closes the gap between their mouths, kissing her tenderly, almost chaste, though his hand slips from her cheek to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. When they break after a few indulgent moments, he touches his forehead to hers.

"Wanna go to bed?"

There's no smirk, no unnecessary sly insinuation. It's only a suggestion, something to do, together.

She wasn't expecting the tenderness. It warms her to her core, and she sighs, sated. They're professionals when it comes to wrapping themselves up in each other in hurried moments of desperation and passion, needing the closeness, unable to keep their hands off each other. However, this comes less often; the sweetness, the comfort in just being this close, like an extension of themselves. It's grounding. She'd stay here the whole night if she could.

"I couldn't really stop you if that's what y'wanted. You're like a jolly giant compared t'me. Your hand's as big as my head."

She smirks. She's installing a little levity into the moment. He's often so serious, and lately her thoughts have been heavy; sometimes she tires of all the doom and gloom. It's no less true, however. Tommy dwarfs her completely, and if he wanted to he could pick her up just like she was nothing.

They keep their faces close together, murmuring in hushed, almost secretive tones into the small, warm space between them.

"What--?"

Tommy breaks into an amused grin, relaxed and easy, and exhales a quiet chuckle. As much as it feels good to make Kate smile, she has her ways of lifting the world off his shoulders.

"For your information, Miss Barlow, I ain't jolly."

But she is smaller than him by an almost comical degree. That's just a perk in his book. Easier to curl up with. More fun to carry around.

That small space between them will light up with her laughter. Her eyes crinkle, grin broad and amused.

"Bet I could make you jolly if'n I tried."

She tosses her head, affecting a proud air. That smile doesn't go anywhere, though.

Pressing his forehead against hers, he tightens his arm around her shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

"Oh, if'n you tried? Well, maybe you should, if'n you really can."

He'll never get tired of her little colloquialisms.

"Are you doubtin' me, Tommy Gavin?"

Surely not. He must be smarter than that.

The corners of her eyes crinkle, and just as quickly her expression settles into one of longing. She drinks him in, fingers ghosting along his jaw. Tilting her chin forward the few inches it takes to catch his mouth, she kisses him; soft, warm, lingering. A quiet moan caught between them.

And then, hand snaking down his chest, tugging at the hem of his shirt—

She tickles his belly.

He never doubts her. He just likes to poke her and see what she does next.

And the way she proves herself, with a delicate touch and a kiss that sends a familiar warm thrill down his spine-- well, that's his kind of jolly. Returning the kiss, he's perfectly happy to believe her. Especially when her hand slips further down his body--

"GAH no-- stop--!"

Half-laughing, half-yelping, he tries to catch her offending hand as he wriggles frantically underneath her as if trying to escape into the cracks between the armchair cushions.

Buck all you want, Tommy. You're not-dating a cowgirl.

A cowgirl who, with a wicked laugh, immediately pounces upon him while he's distracted, straddling him and clenching tight. He'll have a devil of a time getting her off of him now, so she concentrates on digging her fingers into his ribs.

"Y'didn't say puh-lease!"

Deft fingers skitter over his bare skin.

"NononononoAHH--"

That startled noise is a result of her doing the thigh thing that she does. He doesn't need reminding how strong her legs are as he tries to twist and turn his torso away from her in an attempt to deflect her hands. But she's got him pinned to the chair-- and frankly, he likes it. He could do without the tickling part, though.

"I don't hafta-- say please!" he gasps defiantly.

Goddamn, her hands are fast.

"Then I guess I don't hafta stop!"

Suits her just fine. She's actually having a ball of it, watching his face contort with shock and laughter. There's something about his laugh, hard-won and sometimes coerced. It makes her fly.

She taunts and teases him, trying her luck. Either he'll give in, or he'll remember he's twice her size — and then they might have a real battle on their hands.

Yeah, she does make him laugh, the genuine kind-- the jolly kind, even.

But nope, he's not giving in, as he doesn't know the meaning of the phrase.

"Then I guess-- ack!-- I don't hafta-- stoppit!-- sit here and take this!"

Her hands be damned, he wraps his arms around her waist and swings his legs off the ottoman, and shifts his weight forward. With her thighs still clamped around his hips, he stands up with a grunt, having sat for so long, and now breathless with laughter.

"What're you gonna do now, cowgirl?"

She yelps when he manhandles her right off her feet — or knees, in this case — and throws an arm around his neck to keep them both from tumbling right over. Her other hand fists in his shirt; she's so out of breath, she's not sure she can hold on.

"Y'think that's gonna stop me, Fireman?"

She's got that devil-may-cry look she gets when she's been out in the desert, riding hellbent for leather. She's never more alive.

She grabs the hem of his shirt and quickly yanks it up over his head. It'll catch under his chin, what with the way he's holding onto her, assuming she gets that far before he tries to move.

"Hey, what-- what're you-- hey--!"

He manages to take a few staggering steps before he finds his face full of t-shirt, and he stops in his tracks, trying to shake his head free. Finally he just stands there, emanating sarcasm.

"Oh yeah, that's great, cover the eyes of the guy who's holding you like four feet off the ground, yeah, good move, honey, it ain't like I'm gonna fall over or drop you 'cause I can't see or anything."

He might feel the subtle shift of weight in his arms as she tilts her head back, completely overcome with laughter. He'll certainly be able to hear her, if nothing else.

She's having a hard time seeing her own self, what with the tears forming in her eyes from all that giggling, but she somehow manages to right herself and pull his t-shirt the rest of the way over his head.

"Then I guess y'better put me down."

Without waiting for a reply, she stuffs the bunched up cotton into his mouth, making something akin to a gag. Or a pair of reins. Or something to bite down on, because now that his back is exposed it is just too much temptation to resist. Tickling resumes.

It is really...really...really hard to stay annoyed when she giggles. It's nigh impossible. No, it is impossible.

So when she tugs his shirt down over his face, as much as Tommy tries to show his severe displeasure at her behavior, his expression dissolves into severe amusement.

Which turns right back into displeasure when she stuffs his t-shirt into his mouth.

"Mraf!"

His eyes widen when her fingers go in for another attack, and he utters another muffled yelp.

"Mrrgh!" he growls oh-so threateningly, because now he can see, and now he can see the bed. Making his way over, he starts to rock back and forth, swinging her from side to side as if getting ready to toss her.

"Mun! Tmoo! Tmoo-ana-half--!"

That's him counting with his mouth full of fabric.

She shrieks accordingly, but the 'terror' is drowned out by the unrelenting amusement.

"Y'wouldn't dare!"

He would. She knows he would. But with her wrapped around him so tightly, he's bound to come crashing down with her.

And he knows that she knows he would. Her hold on him is indeed tight, and he may come tumbling after her, but it's a risk he's willing to take.

"Fwee!"

(...Which translates into "Three!")

He swings her toward the bed, simultaneously loosening his own hold on her, and as predicted, the momentum carries them both away. As she lands on her back, he collapses on top of her but breaks his fall by landing on his hands first. Hovering above her, he shakes free of his gag and immediately dips his shaggy head into the crook of her neck, nosing underneath her collar to nibble away at her bare skin.

"You wanna tickle me again, you're gonna hafta get rough with me."

She yells, airborne, landing with a loud flop and bursting into peals of laughter. She cries no no no as he noses his way into that sensitive crook, her squeals drawing attention from the duo of vicious attack cats who jump on the bed and — passively watch the proceedings with their ears cocked back.

Thank you, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

"I can — tickle you all I want!"

Tommy's too heavy to push away, particularly when she's breathless with laughter, so she's reduced to flailing defensively.

He can't get enough of her laughter. It lightens his soul, reminds him what it's like to have fun again.

So she can flail all she wants, but the most he'll do is switch from the left crook of her neck to the right. He growls against her skin.

"I'd like to see you try..."

Tommy's gotten used to two pairs of watchful eyes whenever he and Kate fool around, but every so now and then, the cats' staring gets the better of him. He can feel their gazes boring into the top of his head-- judging him. Eventually he eases up on his nibbling and overindulgent kissing, and he picks his head up out from the crook of Kate's neck to give the cats a look.

The cats might have saved her after all by providing this momentary distraction.

OOM: Room #100 -- for Tommy Gavin

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