03.03.08

no apology necessary

earson: mid-winter rain, howling wind .. the cabdriver said women shouldn't be president because they might press the wrong button
eyeson: my car, it still has damage on one side, boo
thoughton: LNAing is OK i guess, once you get past the grossness

Casey Weldon - AT-AT (the Playground) from this cool place i found looking for steampunk items

.. continued from the previous entry, we said we should write harlequin romance novels together after this one ..

* TuckerHarrelson 's eyebrows perk instinctively as the word rolled so easily out of her mouth. In the eternal winter that the world had become, fuck was a curse when four wheelers failed to start, when cattle ended up dead. Fuck was not something that had been an available option since he had come across the Circle Bar, and not much of one since the snow started to fall in Houston. He hung on it naturally, stupidly, his nod to her comment barely a conscious effort. "Yeah, yeah it is." He'd come around to the retardation of his comment. "We still get visitors coming around." he said, nodding to her. "Usually they are after something a little stronger than insulin."

* folded in that corner of the couch with cup of coffee she had the remains of something elegant, and like him something far too old hung ghosts from the corners of her eyes .. in the trailer's dim her skin was pearls and watercolor, small mouth was the door upon which her true thoughts were hinged .. now it was hidden behind mickey mouse and she nodded a few times, answering slowly. "i used to trade that once upon a time .. liquor, it was .. . not the wisest choice? asked for more trouble .. hey, do you have a place i could sleep? this looks alright." she points to the couch below her.

* TuckerHarrelson "Guests usually sleep in the barn." he declared flatly. His stony expression only lasted a few moments before he cracked a grin. "There's another bedroom in the back," he said, ratching back the shaky recliner contraption as he set down his tea. "Usually the vagrants are looking for food. Sometimes there are gangs that need to be handled." he left the adjudicating phrase open ended, suggesting anything from rapping on the knuckles to sleeping with the fishes. His stride was quick and awkward, the company of a woman jarring and disabling. He would walk through the hallway of the house, past a washer and dryer that hadn't been used in years. A small bathroom that collected dust bunnies; the family portraits of the previous owners still hanging on the walls. The light would flick on immediately - almost a magic trick by the day's standards. He stood by the door. "Chateau de Tucker" a poor attempt at a humourous accent. "Finest bed to be had for miles I would say." The decor straight out of a grandmother's home. As it was, well, a grandmother's home. Floral print quilt with a red, yellow, and blue afghan. A night stand that looked antique, and a dresser that looked knockoff ikea.

* bedroom. .. eyes at great distances as she considered this, it had been a long time since any particular -room- with any particular -bed- were offered in such an easy way. almost opened her mouth and took that breath, filled those ribs and half hummed .. nearly said she preferred the barn, but the luxury of sleeping warm caught her by the chin and she shut her mouth again. it was because of this that he had a chance to completely pass her and thunder down the hallway before she returned to here and stood, peering at her cup, wondering where to put it .. abandoning it on a nearby table, then followed him, pulling her arms out of her jumper as she went. noticed the washer and dryer; quick brain translated these to valuable parts, gears, screws, salvage metal, knobs .. she let it go, retreating for her pack, then joining him in the bedroom. again .. her silver-spoon eyes noticed nothing of pattern, nor 20th century monetary value .. simply that there was unburn'd furniture intact, there were covers, there was a mattress. she marvelled a moment, tucked hands against hips. "you live pretty well."

* TuckerHarrelson chuckled bashfully. Living with a ranch full of senior citizens was not at all how he planned to spend his residency. "I suppose. These days, anyway." 6He walked in and open an infrequently used closet, pulling a few old comforters out. "It gets pretty chilly at night." You don't say, Einstein? "The fire will go out in a few more hours. These should be enought to keep you warm." 6He'd set them down on the bed, his eyes looking to her, her hips, her shoes. Finally a convenient patch of floor.

* she studied him awhile, these lookings, noticed them. half smiled, it appled one of her cheeks and dimpled it .. contributed some twinkle to her eye. shimmied the rest of the way out of her jumper and threw it over the edge of the bed. she must have been wearing 3 pair of pants, two belts .. that greyknit sweater, shirts .. one might wonder what shape or grace was hidden beneath so -many- articles of clothing that she already looked sickle-slender, bright black ponytail flicking across her back. had thoughts .. a glance grazed the breadth of his shoulders. she took another breath and thanked him, having a seat on the edge of the bed. "so i keep a pistol under my pillow. .. so that you know," she blurted, uncareful, regreting it .. ".. i'm grateful to you, you've .. done more, given more .. than you probably should have."

* TuckerHarrelson "So do I." he blurted, untruthfully. This is my rifle, this is my gun. "Well, it's a fair trade. You'll be off tomorrow morning... then?" he trailed off. The dickies were industrial strength work gear, hiding muscles hewn from scare food and hard labor. As he shuffled reluctantly towards the door, the definition of his torso would peak out from the overalls. The tight thermals clenched around a back thick from lifting feed, hips narrow from bucking bales. He would linger at the portal to the grandmother room, his expression somewhat sheepish and country.

"don't know, we'll see. if you have work that needs to be done, i might do it," she answers while she's unabashedly staring at his shape. -definately- hadn't been short on protein. she rubbed at her nose and redirected lookings to the pebble-painted ceiling, expression screwing into a wrinkle of effort. no no. "i still need potatoes and grain .. i would be willing to stick around and do a little something if you had some sugar." peeling off the sweater, eyeing the comforters. they were dusty but they were bug free .. mattress was soft, pillows, she marvelled again .. nested her legs in front of herself and crossed her ankles, leaning on her knees. couldn't help it, refocused on his backside and would be caught doing so if he happened to turn around.

* TuckerHarrelson God, he thought. The last woman he saw that was under forty was a crazed inhuman, front teeth bashed out by a crack pipe, a stark raving lunatic. The first real *woman* he had seen since he could well remember... turning about. "Yeah sure. We have a system set up. Sweat equity for what you eat. We need some more grunt work." Again he trailed off. Were she a man, she might have been run off the property at once - or worse. But she wasn't. She was dimples and watercolor. Snowy white concave feminity and nestled legs. The space between them was gone before he realized what he was doing. Hands shiny from ax handles had seized her hips, lifting her into his lips. The kiss inelegant and forced.

* both hands startled and an unintentional, sharp knee might catch him in the middle .. a noise hurried from lips to his tongue powered by root muscle that could have been the beginnings of a protest .. something like a thin fist was mashed against his shoulder while the opposite hand clutched at his thermal collar, overall strap and yanked it up beside his ear. her breath was hot and hiccuping on his upper lip, hips maybe delicately narrow with pelvic bones conveniently handled .. she hesitated, her kiss hesitated, then she filled his lungs with a groan and twisted her face, smearing saliva and her dusty cheek was turned to his breath. still she clutched at him with one hand and shuddered, gooseflesh covered, a high flush .. she swallowed and gathered her thoughts, brows gathered concentration and abrupt want. "i don't. i don't do this. i want you to know i don't do this," she hissed, dragging her mouth under his chin.

* TuckerHarrelson His exhale would hit her cheek like a dustbowl wind, simultaneously defeat and relief. His breath was absolutely *baited*, tongue savoring the unfamiliar taste while his hands checked tentatively around her waist. "i'm sorry... i . don't know what happened." The apology came from upbringing and had the sincerety of the sixteenth Hail Mary in a rosary. His broad hands indelicately slid up from her hips, under hips, under what frumpy winterwear remained to sliver purchase on that snowy white skin he had seen before. Again his kiss would seize upon her; awkward and compulsory, his lips prying open her own to taste her tongue.

0 on the vine

written at 9:38 p.m.

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