(no subject)

[jack_f_twist]

Seems to him, sometimes, the stables're just as busy as the bar itself.  There's forever people milling around: newcomers or stablehands or folks who've just gotten lost on their first day or week, not to mention all the horses that have arrived since he was here last.

And, sure.  Ain't like Jack's exactly ever been a contracted employee, so to speak, but nobody's ever given him a hard time about bein there, neither, which is good, because even with the people coming in and out and the work that's never got an end to it and his own loose ends that keep flapping around just out of eyesight, he kinda prefers it here.  It's quiet, for the most part, and it's all familiar smells and sounds, which ain't always the case inside the bar or out, considerin.

Not that he particularly sounds like he's enjoying himself at the moment, tugging on a stubborn piece of leather that's supposed to be a useful part of the unnamed mare's halter, and swearing to high heaven while the creature in question lips at the hay in her trough and flicks an ear now and again in response to the frenzy of curses being pelted in the direction of the hapless thing.

Probably a good thing Ms. Kate ain't around just now.  It ain't the sorta language appropriate for a lady.

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[jack_f_twist]

She moves light enough he don't hear her until her boots sound from right behind him, just before her finger taps against his shoulder, making him turn, a lopsided smile already pulling itself up one corner of his mouth before making its way slowly across to the other side. Blue eyes crease a little at the corners, and Jack, he don't always look all that young, sun-weathered and all lazy, good-for-nothing smiles, but those eyes of his are still clear enough.

She's awful close, standing there. He's got the sudden urge to lean closer, see if her hair smells like hay and leather the way the rest of the air does in here.

"Got me beat," he says, tipping his head towards the bridle he's working on, but his hands are sure, even with his attention caught elsewhere.

[headed4hell]

Hay and leather, smoke and sin.

"I was motivated."

Grace's eyes, weathered around the edges from years of laughter and squinting in the sun, give Jack a good, long look. Appreciation flickers in the depths of her gaze, but there's something else, too. Something larger, deeper, more concerned.

When he finishes with the bridle she steps in, flicking a look up at him through her lashes and smiling like a self-aware, practiced flirt, only there's no real come-on in the way she reaches out and wraps him up in a hug. Arms twining around his neck, she brings her body in close. It's all-encompassing like Grace herself, and she buries her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent like it's the best of colognes, the kind that makes her knees go weak from one whiff.

Grace's hugs might well be the least selfish thing about her. Sure, she likes the contact, but this... this is about wanting, needing, to make someone else feel a little better in this crazy-ass universe.

[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?

[headed4hell]

A quiet little hum, practically a purr, and Grace nuzzles in, trying to soothe a little of that tension from Jack's neck. She can feel it. She understands it. Sometimes a good hug feels almost more intimate than sex.

This one does.

It's good though, like they don't need a whole lot of words to talk in that moment. Grace doesn't worry about should or shouldn't, too soon or inappropriate, and breathes in before kissing him under his ear.

"C'mon, Cowboy," she whispers, teeth catching his earlobe, just playful for now. "I want to see you ride."

Grace pulls back with a whole lot of wicked in her grin and sparkling eyes.