the_gene_genie | OOM: Kate's room again.

Entry tags:

kate,
oom

OOM: Kate's room again.

It's been a few weeks since he last saw her. The first one, he spent making up for not being able to drink the week before. The few after that - well. He's well aware that their last conversation didn't go too well. It seemed sensible to steer clear, and he wasn't all that happy with her either, was he?

But the awkwardness of the thing with Guppy has ebbed away a bit now, and he's been wondering what she's up to. Even if their last conversation was a bit crap, that's no reason not to see where they're at. So, in typical Gene Hunt style, he decides to take the bull by the horns. He still wants to go to Texas, and he still wants to see her. If that means another awkward conversation - well, so be it.

After checking she's not in the bar, and not in the stables, he heads up to her room. His knock is as bold as ever, no sign of nerves.

'You in there?'

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"You're the most capricious man I know. What happens if I git you out t'Texas an' you suddenly decide you're angry with me? An' you go off an' get snatched up by a gang, or walk my pony plumb into a snake hole? Y'can be as fitful as y'want here, but I can't risk your quicksilver temper out my door."

'Capri-what?'

Moving on.

'I've already told you - more than once - that I get it's your world out there. What the bloody hell d'you think I am, a kid or somethin'?'

He takes a deep breath, to stop his voice rising to a yell. It's a measure of control not often utilised.

"Yes," she says, simply and bluntly. "On occasion."

Rosencrantz swipes at the swath of silk acting as a bookmark for the story Kate's reading, snatching it cleanly from between the pages. She sighs, and shoves the book back inside the bookcase, abandoning the marker to the cat.

"Your childlike enthusiasm t'see Texas ain't no bother t'me. It's even kinda sweet. But, when it's coupled with the fact that we can't seem t'get along, an' I have no idea how else t'make you happy, warnin' bells start ringin'."

'We do get on sometimes.'

He illustustrates the point by stepping forward into her space, looking down on her with an expression part confused, part defiant.

'An' I reckon we'll get on better out there.'

Because he does realise that he's different - a little - when he's away from people who know him as the Guv. Plus, he reckons all the shagging will help too.

'You don' need to worry abou' makin' me happy. You're not me wife, or me best mate. I'm not a kid that needs entertainin'. I just wanna see it, and I thought you an' me were...y'know.'

"Don't."

She holds out her hands, keeping a little distance between them.

"Y'get t'touchin' me an' I'll lose my nerve. Again."

It's pathetic, really, just how much the quietest whisper of intimacy makes her weak. How desperate and lonely she's been, how sad, since she lost Doc. She promised herself that she wouldn't let her heart lead her head around again. She promised.

"'Sometimes' isn't good enough. I spent two years of my life holdin' onto 'sometimes'. I don't wanna do it again. I don't wanna fight an' argue, I don't wanna wonder what I've done t'make you reticent an' distant, I don't wanna worry 'bout the things you're not sayin', the things you're hidin', an' spend all my time waitin' for it t'get better. An' I don't wanna be used, neither. I don't wanna be convenient."

'You're not. Bloody hell, you're a complete pain in the soddin' arse. No way anyone could think you were convenient.'

It's said affectionately. Or amusedly, one of the two. And there's a moment when he pouts, thinking, weighing up how much pushing is overstepping the mark.

Then he steps into her space again. He does want her to lose her nerve, and while he may be a gentleman when he makes the effort, he's also famous for being a complete bastard. So one hand takes one of those hands she's holding out, and pulls her into him, and the other goes to her waist.

'If I'm reticent, you can be sure it's nothin' t'do with you, luv. Because you should know by now, if you piss me off, I will tell you about it.'

Loudly.

'An' I'm not usin' you. You should know better than that, an' all.'

Edited 2011-10-09 19:45 (UTC)

She tenses up so much when he pulls her to him she could be mistaken for solid stone.

"Should I?"

Her words are addressed to the folds in his shirt. She's not looking at him. She hasn't been, all this while.

'Yeah.'

He leans down, and kisses the top of her head. Only because he can't easily reach her lips this close.

'You bloody should.'

He makes her so angry sometimes, in that upside down way when you're not angry at all but you still want to hit something.

"An' jus' how am I supposed t'know that?"

''cos I'm here.'

There is no way he'd be here if he didn't care.

Her brow crinkles like dried out wallpaper.

She tips her head back to get a look at his face. He fails all logic, all sense, and unreservedness; but that is nothing new. Maybe there'll be something in his expression that'll speak, where his lips fail to.

The hand wrapped around hers moves so that their fingers interlock, and he smiles, just a little bit.

To his mind, what he just said makes perfect sense. And the way he kisses her, soft and easy - he'd dispute that his lips ever fail.

The tension doesn't leave her body, but she doesn't push him away, either. Damn it. Why can't he just be hot, or be cold? When he gets like this she forgets every reason she has to push him away.

She licks the taste of him from her lips.

"I'm not gonna be dictated to by your whims, Gene," she whispers, trying to hold on to her dignity. "I'm not gonna do somethin' jus' 'cuz you tell me to."

'Wouldn' be a woman if you did that,' he says, still leant down to her, still smiling a bit.

'Not the sort of woman I like, anyway.'

He kisses her again. The novelty of being able to do it hasn't worn off yet.

She's still not 100% comfortable when he does. Even if that desperate, lonely, sad part of her is reaching out for the affection, the cursed woman with the ball of aggravation shoved between her shoulder blades is enough to overpower it.

She pushes him away.

"That means I'm not changin' my mind jus' because y'want me to."

'Don't then.'

He doesn't go far. He's not that easy to move when he doesn't want to go. But he does back up out of her space a bit.

'Change it because you like me enough t'do me a favour.'

It's quiet for a handful of heartbeats.

"Y'don't get any favors."

She fingers his jacket. The same long, dingy jacket that looks like overripe corn he always wears. The same jacket that she's imagined herself sneaking inside more times than she can number. Her thumbs slide up the collar, and once they reach their limits she slips her hands inside.

"Y'hafta earn it."

A corner of his mouth turns up. He leans down again, so they're eye to eye, making sure not to dislodge her hands.

'And how do I do that?'

She leans back, her hands ending up somewhere nearer his throat, and their faces only inches apart. She studies him, equal parts unsettled and — amused.

"Y'can start by comin' to the stables an' learnin' t'ride Concession, like y'promised y'would. Learn basic wilderness survival. Prove t'me that you're takin' this seriously."

Her fingers glide across the muscles in his shoulders, reading his body like braille.

"An' you can take me on a picnic."

'I was in the Army, luv. I know basic wilderness survival.'

And she's one of the few people in the bar for whom his knowledge won't be completely outdated. But the basics hold true in any era.

His hands go back to her waist, and then slide to her hips. He leans a fraction closer.

'Ridin' the other nag - fine. Wha's the picnic about, though?'

By the time he reaches the final question, his lips are murmuring against the corner of her mouth; barely touching, but there all the same.

Her jaw works soundlessly. She's sure she's taken one step back for every step forward he's inched, and yet she can still feel the wet heat of his mouth hovering over her skin.

She swallows.

"Y'wanna prove t'me that we can get along, an' that I ain't jus' your ticket t'Texas ... so, take me somewhere. Jus' you an' me."

'Alright.'

He kisses her then, with more intent than before, one hand running up her body to come to rest at the side of her neck. The other slides around her hip, lying just above the slight swell of her buttock.

'Tomorrow. If it's not pissing down.'

She flushes with heat. Eyes closed, she can still see the way his hands move over her body. Every touch is like electricity that hums in her skin long after he's gone.

"T'morrow."

She's acutely aware that under his hands is her dress, and under her dress is her chemise, and under that ... is nothing at all. It makes the way he's touching her just this side of naughty.

"Fine. Okay. S'a deal, then."

Her hands slowly push under the shoulders of his jacket, encouraging it off of him.

'Mmm. 'K.'

He lets her do most of the work, because then he can keep feeling her up. Only when the thing is stuck on his arms does he let go, and allow the jacket to fall to the floor. When his hands go back on her, one returns to her backside, and the other rests high on her ribs, just to the side of her breast. He kisses her again, harder, pulling her against him.

'Were you in the bath when I knocked?' he murmurs, when he comes up for air. His breathing is a tad heavy.

She may have to wait to reply. He's snogging her again.

Every time he moves in it pulls a little gasp out of her. She's half-suspicious he keeps doing it just to hear her.

"No."

It's all she can get out before he has her flush against him, and she's gasping against his mouth. But her hair is damp from being braided fresh out of a bath, and she smells like lilacs and vanilla.

Her arms go around his neck.

"But I was earlier. Why?"

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