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

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.

Tommy, however, is far less apologetic.

"Hey, don't you look at us like that!" he snaps at the rat, one arm protectively wrapping around Kate. "At least we ain't out in the bar, give us some credit here!"

The waitrat rolls its eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, go twitch your whiskers at someone else."

After it fetches a mop and bucket, the waitrat crosses the room back toward the door, only to pause and exhale a little rat sigh and shake its little rat head.

"Great. Yeah, thanks for that. Are you done? Jeezus, get outta here already!"

Kate's shoulders shake with barely contained laughter, though what escapes is quickly muffled when she covers her face with her hand. Why not laugh? Tommy has the bitching covered, and the waitrat seems to be a master of guilt, and really this is all just ridiculous.

"Stop."

She pinches his side, giving him a sharp look as the door clicks shut behind the rat.

"You should be glad I'm in such a good mood."

"Ow!"

Admittedly, he's missed her pinches, too.

"I am glad, honey, I'm as glad as a glad thing having an awesome day, I'm like super glad," he rambles while rubbing his side. "When you're in a good mood, I'm in a good mood, which is why I'm tryin'a make the most of both our good moods by gettin' into your pants, no thanks to that goddamn waitrat, now c'mon, where were we..."

Slipping his hands under the jacket to grasp her hips, he starts backing her up against the door again.

"How charmin'. Now, wait a minute!"

She grabs his left wrist with her hand — his right is merely covered, as her grip in that hand won't be strong for a few days at least — and plants her feet. The laughter's still on her tongue, dancing in her eyes, blonde hair frayed and wild, but her voice is stern.

"You've forgotten somethin'. Now, before you pin me t'the wall again, I suggest — "

Her hands slide up his forearms, curling inward toward his belt buckle. She's a little clumsy as her eyes stay honed on his, but she gets it loosened quick enough, and moves on to his pants.

" — y'make sure this time y'don't hafta put me back down."

There's just something about the give-and-take, the push-and-pull between them that never fails to light that spark, and a wicked smirk twists his lips as she takes charge of his pants.

"Yes, ma'am."

As soon as she undoes his fly, he shoves his jeans and underwear down around his thighs. He'll do whatever the teacher/outlaw wants.

His enthusiasm pulls a startled bark of laughter out of her, and she catches him in a kiss before he can straighten up. Her smile's broad against his mouth, but she's willing to give it as many tries as it takes to kiss him properly.

She slips her hands around the front of his jacket, ready to shrug it from her body.

The door opens. It hits her rear end, which makes her hit his chin, which makes her reach for him and her six all within the same breath.

Click.

It's another waitrat.

This one is on a mission, and if he's bothered by their display he certainly doesn't make a show of it. He goes straight to the back of the room, grabs a bottle of Windex, and heads straight for the door again. He only pauses to chitter angrily at the loaded gun.

"Mrf!"

Door!

Rat!

Gun!

"Jeezus!"

Tommy covers his crotch with his hands.

Rooted to the spot, he stares wide-eyed at the intruding waitrat and the revolver.

Probably best not to say anything else at this point.

Kate lets out a breath, immediately tilting the barrel of her gun toward the ceiling.

"Sorry."

The waitrat glances at Tommy's cupped hands. His whiskers twitch, and if they were collecting little rat sighs tonight, they've just managed another one. He leaves, and as soon as he's gone Kate pulls away from Tommy so she can rub her chin.

"Mph. I think I bit my lip."

She laughs haplessly, sliding her gun back into its holster, and runs a hand over her spoiled braid.

Grabbing the waistband of his jeans, Tommy hikes them up just enough so he can shuffle over to the door and lock the stupid thing, because goddammit, they are going to have sex now.

He turns toward Kate and grasps the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss, pressing her still-tender bottom lip between his own. After a few moments, he breaks away, breathless. "Feels fine to me."

His fingers immediately zero in on the fly of her trousers, working their way under and around the buckle of her gun belt. He was serious when he said to keep it on, maybe even more so now.

She inhales sharply.

Everything blurs with Tommy. Pain. Happiness. Arousal. Sorrow. Fear. Lightness. Heat. She melts against him, running the tip of her tongue over her swollen lips. Surrendering to him, hands in the air, she lets him undo each button keeping her trousers fastened.

"I kinda like you not settlin' for defeat."

His intensity is catching. She smiles at him; dark eyes, and lust on her lips. Her boots are quickly kicked aside, body singing.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

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

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