scurlock | oom, doc's room upstairs, for kate

oom, doc's room upstairs, for kate

Even after ten years, not much has really changed about Doc's room. In the month since he's been back, he's moved a few things here and there, changed the sheets and blankets - no need for winter cover when it's a warm summer season, and so on - and added a good deal more books.

As Doc opens the room, he steps aside to let Kate in ahead of him. She's spent several nights here as well, over the last month. It's familiar territory.

Safe.

There's a few more shreds of that silk scarf on the bed, along with several other various cat toys that have been dragged out of the ~~ridiculously enormous~~ basket near the couch and strewn over the cushion.

The desk is covered with a ledger and the pages full of his handwriting, neat and precise. A book of Shakespeare is on the bed, closed with a book marking a particular chapter he left off on.

He moves to open the windows, to let the cool summer night's air in, after he's shut and locked the door.

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She sets the kittens down once the door is shut behind them, stroking their velvety little backs before they scurry off after some shiny bit or toy.

With the door locked and Doc at the windows, she feels comfortable enough flipping the 'safety' back on her guns and unbuckling her belt -- after she's given the room a cursory appraisal, of course. She sets the holster down on top of his ledger, pausing to review the pages it's open to.

It's a catnip mouse with bells on - which promptly gets dragged from the bed and 'killed' on the floor as the boys wrestle for it - and Doc merely smirks as he loosens his belt and drapes his holster across the back of the chair near his desk.

The pages reveal stock records - feed usage for the current month of the year, cost, and how much to bill each patron for feed. Other pages go on to detail care or other expenses.

(He's always kept very good notes.)

She was just idly perusing it, really; more interested in the sweeping strokes of his penmanship than the actual records themselves. But then her eyes fell on a certain name

Blanco

and her focus on the notes intensified.

Doc steps up behind her, when he notices the way she's stilled to read the words on the paper.

"...interested in somethin'?"

She startles slightly, snapping her head back to catch the look on his face. She turns her gaze away promptly, idly loosening the buttons at her cuffs.

"No," she lies.

He looks down at the paper.

Ramon Salazar

And shifts her holster, so that the muzzle is pointed right at the 'o' in his name, before he steps away from the desk.

His attention turns to the kittens as one lets out a particularly loud shriek, obviously not thrilled with the way the wrestling match is going.

"Boys."

Kate peels out of her vest -- a dark paisley print halter style -- and leaves it draped next to Doc's holster. She turns to eye the kittens as she toes off her boots.

"They're gettin' themselves all harried, proddin' the devil outta one another," she comments absently.

Once she's more comfortable, she strolls over to the nearest toy and picks it up, giving it a shake so the little bells and balls will jangle for them. Once she has the kitten's attention, she sets the toy to flight, watching them scamper after it.

"I ain't gotta clue what the hell's gotten into them, tonight."

Doc crosses the room to the dresser, shedding his vest as well - his goes onto another chair, and he reaches down to begin unbuttoning his shirt, eyes on the orange fuzzballs as they retrieve the toy...and bring it back to Kate, dropping it at her feet.

He nudges a suspender strap off his shoulder.

"They don't bring 'em back to me."

That gets a gloating grin out of her. She picks up the sacrifice, and repeats her earlier motions.

"That's just 'cuz they like me more, is all," she informs him.

"Suppose it's 'cause y'didn't drag 'em halfway cross the Texas desert, feedin' 'em your own supper for weeks 'til you found a door," he grumbles (teasingly) as he shoves the other strap off his shoulder and then peels out of his shirt, tugging the hem out of his waistband before he strips it off entirely. "You just showed up and started feedin' 'em those treats and such."

Not like he doesn't feed them treats, or anything. Nope, not at all.

She turns her back to him as she begins to unbutton her own shirt, but as he speaks she clucks her tongue at him and turns over her shoulder to shoot him a mock-scolding look.

"Really, Doc. Such shenanigans from a man of four-and-thirty. It's rather unbecomin' of you."

Doc snickers as he toes off his boots.

"Promise I'll tone down 'such shenanigans' in the future, wouldn't do t'ruin my image, now."

He waits until she's turned her gaze away from him once more, before silently slipping across the room and sneaking up behind her - all she gets as a warning is a faint rush of air before he's got his arms around her in a bear hug from behind, a wicked cackle leaving his throat.

"Gotcha."

Shenanigans? What shenanigans?

For a split second, there's that rush when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you know something's coming behind you but you're frozen with surprise -- and that moment is all it takes for him to strike.

She gasps and lets out a shrieking sort of laugh. Her arms come up around his own, and she again tips her head back to look at him.

"Oh, y'have an image now?" she breathes, her heartbeat hammering through her ribs. "Daresay there ain't much y'can do to muck it up; likely folk are thinkin' of the Doc Scurlock as nothin' but an overgrown boy with a penchant for mischief!"

"Mmmm, maybe."

He slides one hand around her front, to the middle of her stomach so that he can continue undoing those buttons on her shirt.

"Course, that could work t'my advantage. People think I'm just a boy, they ain't got any sense of self-preservation or thoughts t'keep a close eye on me when I decide to be the man, the outlaw..."

His fingers are very careful with those buttons.

Wouldn't do to ruin that fine shirt, after all.

Her eyes grow a little smokey as that hand of his wanders down, her back arching against him slightly.

"You sayin' y'need supervision?" she murmurs, arching one of her eyebrows.

"Nope. M'sayin' that ya'll should be watchin' out for yourselves when the outlaw's makin' somma 'is mischief. Cause he c'n be mighty," he reaches the last button, then moves to peel one shoulder of that shirt off. "Devious, when he wants t'be."

A beat.

"Like now."

Her stomach is trembling by the time he finishes his second sentence, a chill racing down her spine as she helps him get that shirt off her body.

Her eyes never leave his face for an instant, though.

Times like these make it so hard when she wants nothing more but to reach up and kiss him until his head spins, just so he can feel what it's like when his voice slips into that husky southern accent, and his rough, calloused hands are moving over her body. But every time she thinks she's going to crack, something stills her, and fear replaces her arousal.

She drops her chin, lowering her gaze to his collarbone, and slowly twists around in his embrace until they're facing each other. Letting her teeth gently wander from his shoulder to the hollow of his neck, following the line of his collarbone, she ghosts her fingertips down his bare abdomen, and reaches around to undo the snap of his britches.

"Y'know what I need, Doc?"

"I've got several guesses, floatin' 'bout inside this skull."

He wants nothing more than to kiss her - not just in times like this, but all the time - but each time she's tried and frozen up, he's changed course and backed away, not wanting to drag up fears and bad memories to ruin a good moment.

It's just so damn difficult sometimes.

Doc exhales as her teeth scrape over his neck, shivering as she hits his collarbone.

"Whas'it y'need, darlin'?"

"I need..."

The button comes undone with a soft noise, and she slips her hands under his waistband. She tips her head back to nuzzle up under his chin, and then switches to the other side of his throat, mouth on his hot skin. She gets on her tiptoes, close to his ear...

"...For you t'go pour me a glass'a whiskey, an' give me that back rub you promised."

She settles back on her feet, pulling her hands up to his waist. Resting her chin on his breast, she looks up, into his eyes, and beyond the smokey haze of desire tinting her deep blue irises there is a spark, wicked and full of mischief.

Doc's not the only one who can be devious when he wants to be, it would seem.

Doc simply stares, mouth ajar, eyes both dark with lust and bright with amusement.

He's speechless.

Absolutely speechless.

His eyebrows quirk as he shakes his head, grin pulling at his mouth, then he moves to the bookshelf to grab the bottle of whiskey off the top and uncork the mouth. He stays quiet - his back half-turned - as he pours a measure of liquor into the glass.

He glances over at her.

And then raises the glass to his lips, and downs the alcohol with a toss of his head.

She grins, managing to look both sultry and triumphant as she works open her own trousers and saunters over to his dresser. Her eyes stay focused on his until she absolutely has to look away.

She bends down and begins searching in one of the bottom drawers for a pair of his pajama pants, when noises from the drawer he had pulled open earlier catch her attention.

"...What in blazes...?"

One of the kittens has somehow managed to get himself up inside, and is attacking yet another one of Doc's neck rags.

"Doc, y'better--"

Her words fall short when she reaches in to grab the tyrant, and catches sight of a wad of hundred dollar bills spilling out from the handkerchief instead.

When she shifts the silk aside, the bills slip apart from each other - each stack of bills is banded in $10,000 increments - revealing $30,000, plus an additional handful of hundred-dollar bills floating loose in the 'stack'.

The second kitten pops his head up from among the socks, mewling pathetically, while the first merely blinks at Kate and attempts to look Innocent.

(It's very convincing, and probably because of the eyes he's giving her.)

Doc, after pouring the second glass of whiskey, glances over as he re-corks the top.

"I'd better, what?"

Ignoring the kittens for a moment (which is more difficult than one might think), she cautiously pulls out one of the stacks, eyes widening when she sees just how much money is there.

She turns her head over her shoulder to look at him, her expression reading 'you'd better explain.'

"Where'd y'git all this?"

Doc steps over to the dresser, to see just what she's looking at.

He glances down, before setting down the whiskey glass.

"I did some doctorin' for a patron here, years back..."

He swallows down a bitter taste of guilt.

You needed the money.

"...Ramon."

She freezes.

"Ramon Salazar?"

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