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?'

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

'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?"

He has high hopes for the sounds he'll be hearing out of her mouth, it's true.

'Gives me the horn.'

If he's any judge, he's not the only one suffering that particular fate at the moment.

His mouth finds her neck; his fingers bunch her dress where he's holding her arse. And his other hand creeps onto her breast, cupping it gently, like he's convinced she's going to shove him away any second, but is hoping his lips are distracting her attention from it.

Her breath catches. He should be able to feel the way the muscles in her neck tense, and how her heartbeat picks up the pace a little.

Right, now his hands have wandered over the line, full-force into 'naughty' territory.

"You filthy bastard."

It's whispered without the slightest ounce of heat. She curls one hand in his hair, while her other does in fact slide down his arm and carefully removes his hand from her breast. But she doesn't push him far, and once he's at a more respectable position her hand sneaks under his suit jacket, following the waistband of his trousers to the small of his back.

'Oh, you don' know the half of it, luv.'

Rebuffed, his hand tries a different tack, slipping around her until it's also on her backside, pulling her dress up an inch or two. And he moves, pressing one leg between hers, as his lips pull at the fair skin of her throat.

'But you will.'

The way his lips pull at her throat jars her. She tenses again, and this time pulls back a little; her shoulders hunch noticeably, like she's trying to protect herself. But it's been a long enough time since she was touched like this that she reacts to his hands, the press of his leg, and at length she relaxes. She moans quietly, digging her fingers into his dress shirt. Her thigh slides against his on reflex, toes curled.

Exhaling:

"Only half? Well, that ain't nothin' t'be ashamed of."

'We'll see if you're sayin' that when the time comes, sweetheart.'

Which he really, really hopes is now. His leg presses into her, and he brings a hand up so he can brush the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone; her hesitation doesn't go unnoticed, but neither does the way she's relaxing. So he keeps kissing her, soft and hungry, hoping that this time nothing's going to get in the way.

The way he kisses her leaves her breathless. There isn't even time for fear or reservation to pull her back; there's only his mouth, and hers, the way his breath tickles her skin, and the touch of his tongue.

The next time he presses into her she shudders; her hips shift against him, ever so gently.

"Gene."

She reaches up to cup his face, pulling back just far enough to catch her breath.

He's grinning - a touch smugly - when she pulls away. He didn't miss that movement of her hips.

He doesn't pull away. He stays right where he is, and edging in for more.

'Gonna let me stay, then?'

She tips her face just enough to keep him from kissing her again. She feels lightheaded and warm, and that smugness doesn't go unnoticed. He's not out of the doghouse, yet. They still have a lot to figure out. And her mind is too foggy to make a proper decision right now.

But he's ... he's warm, and solid, and surprisingly tender; all she can think about are the bad dreams she's been having. The conversation with her daddy. And she doesn't really want to be alone.

Her hand slides up under his jacket, following the path of his spine before stopping between his shoulder blades.

"Maybe."

She brushes her lips over the hollow in his throat, dragging her thumb along his jaw.

"Not sure it's a good idea."

'You wouldn' be sayin' that later.'

His hand runs up her ribs, coming to rest at the side of her breast, while the other inches her dress a touch higher at her backside.

Hey, she didn't say no.

"You're awful sure of yourself."

She tries to keep her breathing even, so he'll be sure to hear the full measure of disdain in her voice. Those creeping fingers haven't gone unnoticed, however.

She returns her gaze to his face, eyeing him through heavy lashes.

"Did — did y'ever see someone? About — ?"

He grins, at least until she says that. It makes him pull back, frowning a bit.

'...yeah. Guppy gave me the all-clear, that las' night I saw you.'

Her hand falls from his back when he moves.

"... Guppy?"

Suddenly, her lust-heavy eyes are as bright as firecrackers.

"Y'mean you saw someone here? Y'saw Guppy?"

'...yeah?'

She never said he shouldn't.

'It'd be a bit tricky doin' it at home.'

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject