milliways_bar | EP: Kate Barlow | Rachel -- Main Bar

Entry tags:

EP: Kate Barlow | Rachel -- Main Bar

The door swings open to a moist, hot desert night, all dark save for the woman who strolls in outlined in firelight. She's wearing her customary boots and britches, gun belt swung over her hips, but only a silk and lace camisole on top. She's also drying her face with an old scrap of linen, and looks completely surprised to see the bar.

She freezes like a deer in the headlights.

"Um. Rachel? Could y'bring me my blouse?"

She's shortly joined by the slender blonde, wearing her lycra morphing outfit under an open blouse. She does have her skirts in hand, however, and after a hushed conversation shrugs and goes to buy them a couple of drinks. Better sleeping in a real bed than a bedroll out in the middle of nowhere, at least for tonight. Kate quickly shrugs on her blouse, taking care as the cuffs drag across her ruddy knuckles, and heads toward Miss Bar while buttoning up.

She's got a smile on her face tonight, despite the embarrassment, and only a few flecks of blood at best remain on her skin. Aside from those split knuckles, in fact, one might even say she hasn't looked so good in months.

After a square meal and a cold drink, she'll go check on the stables. But for right now, both women are utterly botherable.

[ooc: Two pups, two muns! Feel free to catch Kate inside the bar or out in the stables, as you like. When tagging, specify Kate, Rachel, or Both in the subject line, please. Open forever, and slowtimes are always welcome. ^__^

Edit: WARNING for semi-handwaved adult content in the Tommy Gavin thread!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She watches the succession of thoughts play over his face. There's always so much he keeps underneath the surface; just once she'd like to lift the lid, but part of her enjoys the thrill of uncertainty, the surprise.

He looks at her, smiles at her, and for a moment she pictures him pinning her to a table and having his way with her right here.

She lets out a breath.

"Y'have?"

"Mmhm."

It's as sincere a grunt as he'll ever make. Deep, throaty, for her ears only.

"Every time I came in here, I looked for you. Waited for you. Wanted you."

The space between them becomes heated, charged, as he shifts his stance, one hand tucked into his jeans pocket, the other brushing the loose cuff of her sleeve, covertly reaching for her fingers.

It's stunning how quickly she goes from chilled to hot — not just warm, but genuinely prickling from the heat. Her lips part, a thrill racing through every part of her so quickly that her knees almost buckle.

His fingers brush over her fresh bandage, and she lowers her eyes.

He can feel her burn, and melt, and he absolutely has to lean in closer...

When his fingertips touch cotton gauze, he frowns slightly and follows her lowered gaze. He lifts her hand, his thumb sweeping over the backs of her fingers left exposed by the bandage.

And he immediately recalls his meeting with Marston. The fact that she's an outlaw. He's not supposed to care about what she does on the other side of her door. Just that she comes back in one piece.

"What happened?"

Her mouth's too dry to answer, and she swallows a few times, willing herself to cool down.

"Nothin'."

Her fingers tighten around his slightly, despite the discomfort.

"Split my knuckles. I'll be all right."

She's hyper-aware of their surroundings, of every voice, every clinking glass, every rattle of silverware. Still, she chances reaching for his other wrist with her free hand, fingertips brushing his pulse.

"Sorry I kept y'waitin'."

She never expected he would.

There are things they're just not telling each other. Neither of them are dumb, they both can sense it, they both know it. Whether or not she tells him everything without his pressing her remains to be seen. The same goes for him, given their shared stubbornness and tenacity. But he'll let it pass for now, because goddammit, he doesn't want to ruin this.

Her good hand finds his, and his palm slides against hers, fingers tangling.

He shakes his head and gives a little shrug. "S'okay."

There were ghosts, and nightmares, and sleeplessness, and he saw her dead. It wasn't okay. But hopefully, maybe, it would be okay now.

"I mean, whatever you had to do out there, back home, y'know-- whatever. You're back, and you're here, and so, y'know, I just--"

There's a restless energy in his hands as they grasp and cling to her fingers.

I just wanna kiss you.

He bites his lower lip, then tics his head to the side, still holding her hands.

"Can you come this way for a second?"

He never ceases to surprise her. She thinks she has him figured out, and then he does something completely unexpected. It's little, and soft; barely there. The way he half-shrugs, the look in his eye, how he loses himself in thought; how quiet his voice is, betraying how it's not okay, but she doesn't know what it is, and she doesn't want to ask.

Not here.

Her jaw works silently, fingertips finding comfortable old callouses. She hadn't expected those words to come out of his mouth, and she's debating whether or not she should get into it now when he bites his lip, and her eyebrow arches.

"Sure, sweetheart."

She takes a half-step back, letting him lead the way, a worried look on her face.

Her warm-honey voice calling him simple pet names turns his knees to jelly, and he sort of has to laugh inwardly at that.

"Nothing's wrong," he assures her, going off her expression, as he leads her from the main room of the bar in the general direction of the back door.

"I just wanted to-- uh, y'know, talk to you a bit while you have a little time, 'cause you must be busy an' whatever, catching up on stuff, talking to all your friends--"

Except he's not really aiming for the back door as they turn down an empty hall. Ah, here's the door he was looking for. It's marked

UTILITY CLOSET

Perfect.

He pushes it open, and quickly pulls her inside.

"I'm not — "

Busy with friends, is what she was going to say. She's been waiting for him, looking for him...

Wanting him.

But she never gets the chance to finish her thought.

"Tommy?"

It's dark inside the room, but before the door closes behind them she sights a cord, and when she tugs on it a dim light overhead sparks to life.

"What — ?"

The word is barely out of her mouth before he takes her head in his hands, tilting her face up into the light, and leans down to kiss her, his shadow eclipsing her.

Her lips. Oh God, her lips. The heat and slickness of her tongue. The scrape of her teeth.

He would devour her, if she wouldn't swallow him first.

Days and weeks of waiting are in the past. It's now again.

Her words are muffled by his mouth, everything tumbling away like dominoes until she's nothing but firing nerves and rushing blood and the soft, sultry moan of someone who was desperately ready for this moment.

As the surprise wears off, she wraps her arms around him, climbing to her tiptoes. The silk of his hair between her fingers. The roughness of his jaw. The heat of his mouth. The scent of his skin. The way he touches her, like he can't get enough of her.

" ... Mmm."

Her hands slide to his neck, his throat, his shoulders; her hands slide down his chest, balling his shirt in her fists and pulling him against her.

Christ, her hands on him, stroking, grabbing, pulling.

Keeping his lips locked with hers, he shakes off his jacket, the leather dropping heavily to the floor behind him, before he grasps her hips and pushes her back against the door.

It's then that he realizes that she's much softer under her clothes than he expected.

No corset.

His fingers fly down the front of her blouse, undoing the buttons as fast as he can.

She sucks in a sharp moan, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

She's lost, like a dingy in rough waters with no berth in sight. She's dizzy, almost stupid with the sudden rush of desire beating against the shore of her skin, causing little whirlpools in her mind. She tips her head back just to get air, moaning as the wet heat of his mouth drops to her jaw.

"Tommy."

She holds onto the back of his neck, nails dragging lightly over the exposed flesh.

"Wai– nnn– we shouldn't. Here. What if — ?"

He exhales a grunt when her legs wrap around him.

"Shhh. Don't worry 'bout it."

Keeping his lower body pressed flush against hers to support her weight, he parts the fabric of her blouse, hands sliding heavily over the thin, silky camisole that clings to her curves.

Dipping his head with a low growl, he mouths down her bared throat with teeth and lips and tongue, leaving moist, pink trails on her skin.

She shrugs the blouse off, impatient as the cuffs catch and she has to carefully work each sleeve off, trying not to rip her bandage off in the process.

"But what if they need–need — utilities?"

She lets out a sound caught between a whimper and a sigh as he descends her neck. She goes electric, goosebumps rising over every inch of her.

"Oh, t'hell with it. Yes."

She arches, hands fumbling under his shirt.

She just answered her own question, which leaves him to continue kissing her throat.

The second her hands start grabbing at his shirt, he pulls away just briefly enough to yank it over his head and toss it behind him. He then grasps her under each thigh, hefting her up to adjust her position, making their bodies fit more comfortably. The buckle of her gun belt presses cold against his bare stomach, the softness of her breasts warm against his chest.

Eye-to-eye with her in the dimness, his breath is hot and quick on her lips. Other than running headlong into fires, he hasn't felt this exhilarated in weeks.

He kisses her, hard and thorough, reveling in having her all to himself again.

They produce their own heat. They could live in a one-room bungalow somewhere in Antarctica with no stove, and survive off each other. His eyes burn on her, and she feels slick silk begin to stick.

She counts the digits of his spine, musses his hair, returns every kiss with fervor; she's drunk without a single nip, lost in the way he touches her.

"I need t'take this off."

Her hands slip between them, nails catching his bare belly as she starts on the buckle of her gun belt. She doesn't want it far, though. Glancing through the mingling haze of blonde hair she notices an industrial shelf system for cleaning supplies. If he braces her against that, she can slide her belt to a shelf without having to break away.

She really, really doesn't want to break away. Not yet.

"No, no, no, keep it on," he whispers quickly into her mouth.

"It doesn't bother me."

The chafe of the well-worn leather. The danger slung around her hips.

It's hot, actually.

His grip tightens on her thighs as he grinds his hips against hers, working himself up. He'll have to break contact and put her down to pull her pants off eventually.

But his kisses are too desperate at the moment, too needy, too hungry to stop.

Not yet.

She can barely get a word in edgewise.

She barely wants to.

She'd missed him, but she didn't realize how much until right now. Everything he does pulls a groan from her lips; she can't think, she can't breathe, she can't form sentences. All she wants is him. Right now.

"'K. B'careful. S'loaded."

Let's move this along, shall we? Pulling back sharply, she catches his eyes and holds him there as she untucks her camisole, pulling it off her body.

He nods shortly, the warning giving an extra thrill.

But before he can even get a handle on that, she's pulled off her camisole and his breath leaves him in a rush.

"Hogod."

Call it a sigh, a whimper, whatever.

Hefting her up an inch or two higher, he dips his head to plant open-mouthed kisses leading downwards from the pit of her throat.

tap tap tap

She has to admit, hearing him make that sound is a turn-on. Knowing it's for her, because of her. She grins breathlessly, bracing herself against his shoulders as he lifts her —

"I hope that's li'l Tommy knockin' t'get out."

She closes her eyes.

A second later, she can feel the doorknob jiggle against her hip.

Sigh.

Unfortunately, it's not Tommy Jr.

"Shit."

Panting heavily against her skin, he slowly raises his head, his hair sweeping over her clavicle. He meets her eyes, the distinct look of what the fuck on his face.

The doorknob rattles again.

"Whaddya want?" Tommy barks hoarsely.

Silence.

Then...

Is that...

Squeaking?

Tommy throws his head back and growls at the ceiling.

"Utilities would be my guess."

She leans back against the door, eyes closed, catching her breath before she has to move.

He purses his lips and grits his teeth against the stream of obscenities that wants to escape.

"Just a sec!" he calls through the door.

Seriously. This is ridiculous.

Lowering Kate back down so her feet can touch the floor, the first thing he can grab is his jacket, and he drapes it around her shoulders. (Funnily enough, she isn't the first naked chick in the bar for whom this jacket has provided coverage.) He pulls her aside, away from the door, into the not-at-all helpful shadows cast by the lightbulb.

tap tap--

"It's open!"

The knob turns, the door creaks open.

The waitrat twitches its whiskers at them.

Judging them.

Oh, Kate can but imagine the bounteous buxom beauties who must have been draped in Tommy's clothes before her.

It doesn't look bad on her, however. It practically swallows her up, brown leather grazing the tops of her thighs, and when she wraps it around her she could almost wrap it twice. She shrugs the collar closer to her face, breathing in his warm scent.

The waitrat gets an apologetic look, but no move besides that.

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Adult Content Warning -- probably applicable to a few tags previous. ^__^;

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