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

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OOM: Room #100 -- for Tommy Gavin

Tonight isn't any different than most other nights. Tommy stops in late, long after Kate returns from her nightly chores, washes up, and changes into something clean and comfortable. He brings along dinner, and the two sup together in comfortable silence.

It's been a tiring period for them both. Sometimes a quiet dinner is just what they need.

They're only just finishing up. Soon, she'll tenderly peel him out of his clothes and put him to bed with her, watching over him until he's relaxed enough to fall asleep.

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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.

She squeaks at that growl, chills skittering up and down her spine. It's no secret her neck is sensitive; whether or not Tommy knows it, it's the utmost sign of trust that she lets him anywhere near it. Still, instincts kick in, and as he's distracted by the cats she does just as she's taunted.

Her leg hooks around his waist and she pushes against his chest with both hands, stern enough to flip him onto his back. The cats bound for the safety of the pillows as she sits astride him and digs her fingers under his arms.

"Cry mercy!"

Landing on his back, he barks out a surprised yelp when she gets the advantage, and the instant her fingers hit their target, he squirms underneath her and clamps his elbows tight against his sides.

"Like hell I will!"

Oh, he's well aware that he's dealing with an outlaw who knows how to get what she wants.

She yanks her fingers free from his trap, giggling under her breath.

"Cry mercy—"

She starts tickling his stomach, leaning closer so he'll be sure to hear her next words over his own laughter.

"—an' I promise I'll git rough with you."

She drops a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

He's caught between a guffaw and a gasp when she murmurs her ultimatum.

Boy howdy, does she know how to get what she wants.

And so he's left speechless-- partially because he's still sputtering up laughter as he grabs halfheartedly at her hands.

"You play dirty, y'know that?"

Eventually he catches one hand, and then the other.

She grins at him, breathless and frayed, hair wisping around her face like stray sunbeams.

"Never claimed otherwise."

She stretches over him, heaving stomachs pressed together.

"We got a deal?"

His breathy chuckles fade away but his grin remains, reaching his eyes as he gazes up at her.

"Mmmhm."

Threading their fingers together, he tilts his chin up to snatch a kiss from her lips, his mouth twisting in a smirk when he pulls back.

"Have mercy, baby."

She's smiling right back at him.

"I'll think 'bout it."

She can be an awful brat at times.

As her snickers once again fill the air, those fast hands of hers work on making good her promise. She doesn't want his scowl to come back until after morning breaks.

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OOM: Room #100 -- for Tommy Gavin

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