ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room 25, Doc Scurlock's (Adult Content Warning)

He's been avoiding this since she got back, as much as he's wanted to press his lips against her hair, her cheek, her hands. Her words have been echoing around in his head. She kissed Sam, and they shot him. He knows. But he...

Kiss me.

...he shifts his head a little, lips inches from her ear.

"I trust you. D'you trust me, Kate?"

She sniffles, taking a long moment to consider the question carefully.

"Yes?"

Despite it all... yes. She trusts him.

"Good, cause you always can."

Remember that.

He leans in and gently presses his lips against her cheek.

She closes her eyes at the contact, two fresh, hot tears snaking down her face with the action.

She doesn't say anything.

She simply raises her eyes to meet his.

He meets her gaze.

"I trust you, and I trust my instincts."

A beat.

"Let me do what I'm about to do."

She doesn't understand what he's saying. The words make her nervous, and under any other circumstance she might pull away. Run.

I'm not runnin'.

But... she trusts him. Even with her heart racing and her fingertips trembling... she trusts him.

She shakes her head a little, brow furrowed.

"What -- ?"

"Shh."

He presses his fingertips against her lips, shaking his head slightly.

"You ain't cursed. And I ain't scared."

He removes his fingertips.

And then he leans in and kisses her.

An iron fist curls around her belly when his lips meet hers, and she pulls in a short breath and holds it. For a long time she doesn't move -- doesn't kiss him back -- back arched as if she might want to escape from him.

But after a desperate pause, and the realization of just how very alone she's been feeling this past week, she lets one hand rest on his shoulder near his neck, thumb in the hollow of his throat, and she leans into the kiss.

Deepening it.

When he swallows, she'll be able to feel it underneath her thumb, and her touch right there gives him reason to slide his hand down through her hair and wrap his arm around her body, not pulling her close but just a little closer, the wool afghan falling from her shoulders.

He can't lose her. He can't.

"Y'won't...hurt me....swear it."

His words come rasped in a low whisper during the breaks for oxygen. Eventually he rests his forehead against hers when they break.

(He doesn't want to break.)

"Swear it."

She feels weak for needing him so much. Wanting him so much. When just days before--

'You kissed the onion picker.'

Something in her belly tightens.

'Oh, Sam! My heart is breaking!'

'I can fix that.'

He had comforted her, like this. Lips warm and soft and gentle and loving. Love. He loved her. She loved him.

(She pulls Doc closer.)

When eventually he breaks, forehead resting against hers, she keeps her eyes closed. Concentrating on breathing. Trying to kick the tremble.

'God will punish you!'

"We can fix this."

She swallows down the sickness rising in her belly again, licking her lips. She nods, to assure herself.

"I can... I can be better. I can... can start over."

She shifts on the couch to get her body closer to his, still nodding her head.

Two things flash through his mind:

You're both half-drunk.

You can't turn her down.

And two more:

She needs you.

You want her.

"Together...we can..."

Doc swallows down the nerves that are rising in the hollow part of his chest. Something's screaming at him in the back of his mind she isn't sober she's not thinking straight and something is giving his hands reason to shake.

(It's not nerves.)

I love you so much but we can't right now you're not...

...he kisses her again.

She returns it, hands threading up into his hair. She's breathing hard already, a whisper and a thrill racing through her body.

(The whisper is telling her that this is all wrong.

The thrill is telling her to screw the whisper.)

"I can start over," she repeats, breaking briefly from his lips. "It'll be better. I can... be better. Normal. Normal life."

Her hands fall from his hair, tracing the ridge of his spine.

You don't need to change a thing.

I love you just how you are.

"Darlin'," he moves his lips to her jaw, tracing a path along her skin with his teeth and tongue, leaving a trail of kisses as he goes for her neck. "Darlin' if we...I want this, wanna...I wanna do this but I gotta know...won't ever...won't ever hurt you..."

He slides a hand to settle at her waist, fingertips curling against the thin cotton of that chemise.

"Don't want to hurt you."

You're an outlaw and a refugee, running for your life. But if you can just make it to Refugio, just start over... start over...

You can make it better. You can fix this.

She clings to him when his lips start to move over her jaw, stomach turning flips and breath catching in her throat. Every nerve in her body is tingling in a way she's never felt before, making her fingers curl tight against the cotton of his tank top.

Her brain misfires a few times before she finds the words to speak.

"Not... you're not... don't... don't stop."

She draws her body closer to his, needing to feel his solidity against her.

He's feeling hot thanks to the whiskey in his blood and he's hot thanks to the adrenaline running through his veins and he's feeling hot thanks to her pressing her body against his.

Don't screw this up Doc don't screw this up Doc please don't--

"Won't, swear it."

They're in a damn awkward position on the couch like this but he can't quite process the motions needed to suggest that they move to the bed.

(If they take this to the bed he's not going to be able to stop himself.

He doesn't want to stop himself.)

"I love you more'n the world. Everything."

She's fidgeting, feeling damn well near the same warmth he has spreading through his body. Her hands smooth down his back, up into his hair, across his bare arms, as she shifts, gasping a little when his teeth and lips find sensitive bits of flesh.

She has no words to speak. She just closes her eyes, and concentrates on this moment.

He's putting the moment to memory.

(Even if it's damn hard to focus.)

"Y'sure...we can...I don't want t'rush y'into this darlin' if you'd rather wait 'til we..."

Until we're married.

Until we're a little more sober.

Until we talk about this.

His thumb is tracing a line along the bottom of her ribs.

She hears every word, even the ones that go unspoken. They're reasonable, they're right, and they make her stomach twist with nerves that have nothing to do with his lips on her neck and his fingers at her chest.

You're a sinner already; what's one more indiscretion, when you're already bound for hellfire?

(Your daddy would be rolling in his grave if he knew.)

"Shh..."

It's almost a plea.

"Don't speak. Don't... don't stop."

She turns her head and reclaims his mouth with her own.

He doesn't speak.

don't speak don't stop

He doesn't break that kiss.

don't stop I don't want to stop

"We need to...we need to move...couch s'nice but...s'not..."

(If his back is out in the morning, he won't particularly care, but still. He wants to do this proper and take his time.)

"...c'mere."

He needs her closer.

"Okay."

She obeys, moving closer, letting him gather her into his embrace.

(Without breaking contact with his mouth for more than a second, of course.)

It's an odd combination, brandy and whiskey - but he's finding that he's growing pretty damn fond of it, and fast - and he's sliding his arms over her sides while he deepens the kiss.

"You ever...want t'stop...y'just say so..."

He's never forced a woman into anything, and he would never force himself on her. He'd put a loaded gun to his head and pull the trigger or face the hangman's noose a thousand times before he willingly hurt her.

"...y'ever want me...to do somethin' different...do somethin' again...y'just say so."

They're in this together.

They're in this together.

Her heartbeat is throbbing in her own ears so loudly, she can barely hear him speak. She's nervous. So very nervous. Her hands are shaking and her lungs are aching and she can't stop the tremble in her body or the dizziness in her mind -- she's scared. She trusts him, but she's still scared.

What are you doing?

She nods, but she's afraid the gesture is lost to the wrestle of their lips and the shift of their bodies, so she murmurs:

"Okay."

She curls her arms around his neck, paying little attention to the still-bruised flesh. There are other sensations to concentrate on, and she is. Every touch is setting her body aflame.

He slides a hand down her side and settles it on her knee.

(And suddenly, he's damn grateful for the long, hot shower he took yesterday afternoon while she was out of the room, because he doesn't want this to be over before they've even had a chance to start.)

"Okay."

Eventually, he'll get up off this couch and move them to the bed.

For the moment, however, he's content to kiss her, his fingertips trailing slow and steady circles over the bare skin just above her knee, just under the hem of that nightgown. There's a tremble in his fingertips, his other hand sliding to her shoulder, his mouth catching her lips again.

Kissing her, he decides, is more intoxicating than any alcohol he's ever had. Even more than if he'd decided to down that entire bottle of Connemara. He simply cannot get enough.

That's just fine by Katherine. She isn't showing any signs of breaking from his mouth, either.

The fingers sneaking under the hem of her gown, however, make her heart speed up dangerously.

This is really happening.

Her fingers snake up into his hair, holding his head in place as her lips wander his jaw in much the same fashion as his had, settling on that little patch of skin below his ear.

Given the shake in her hands, she's worried about doing this right.

He figures as much, which is why he decides to be encouraging.

(It's just that words are hard to come by, when she's doing that to him.)

"Mmm, you...oh...I like that."

Doc tips his head back to give her better access to that patch of skin, groaning quietly under his breath at the contact. Idly, he wonders if he should have shaved.

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