Date: 2012-09-30 03:46 pm (UTC)
jack_f_twist: (when you wake up)
From: [personal profile] jack_f_twist
He tenses, for a second, hand pausing mid-air before awkwardly flattening itself between her shoulderblades, pulling her closer. He can smell cigarette smoke, tack oil, leather and cotton and dust, and it's damn sweet, pulls an ache out of his chest from the corner he'd shoved it to.

There ain't no reason for her to do it, when they've only met twice, and he's just a fuck-up of a rodeo cowboy who likes her smile and her style and her company, but she does. Wraps him up, all small and warm against him, curves and softness against his chest and stomach and legs. He drops his head to press his face into her hair, breathes in, smells dust and cigarette smoke and cotton. Something earthy and sweet as river water.

Her smiles've got nothing on her hug, her arms around his neck, body close and sweet like they're dancing. It reaches like a hand behind his ribs, tugs. Like a cool palm against a forehead hot with fever. He's got the vague notion she could sweep him away without his noticing it was happening, or caring if it did, and that ought to worry him -- does, somewhere -- but it's far away, because when the hell was the last time anybody reached out touch him, just because they wanted to?
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