A Good Day's Work
Author's Notes: It's already happened. Reprisal is in my brain and it's here to stay. I just have a LOT of thoughts about it, okay? The characters are so fascinating and there is SO MUCH TO EXPLORE (I'm looking at you, season 2. And 3. And… you get the idea) Especially about backstories. Here are some thoughts on Doris/Katherine.
Dedicated to all my Timeless gals. May this be a transition from the world of Timeless into the twisty madhouse that is Reprisal. (Not that I'm leaving Timeless behind) And to Matt Lanter; Thank you for losing the blonde. If you choose to cast him as "The Business Man" in this, you may do so with my blessing 😉 Otherwise, cast as pleases you.
Major Shout Out to my girl Jessica. Thank you for your patience with my ongoing stream of consciousness messages, and your willingness to stay up till all hours discussing and debating every detail of Katherine/Doris' past.
Warning: Lots of various adult themes
Setting: Directly following the end of the finale episode.
It was like being high, this feeling that was taking over her senses. Her hands shook and she teetered on her stilettos as she walked towards the car. Every one of her breathing tricks was utilized to keep herself steady as she approached.
"Could you do me a treat and drive us back to the room, please?"
Molly frowned, but slowly got out of the car and moved into the driver's seat without question. Thank god.
Doris couldn't handle questions right now. She also knew she shouldn't drive, likely to veer right off the road in her state. If she talked, they would support her, there was no question of that. This bizarre team she'd found. But she didn't want that. She didn't want the looks, the questions, not even companionable silence. She didn't want to see anyone she knew, anyone related to her past life, or her continuing mission. She needed some time to herself.
They got back to the motel quickly, Molly's driving growing more brazen by the day. Bless her. As they exited the car, a significant look passed between Molly and Cordell. Doris sighed as the former housewife turned her big eyes to her and opened her mouth
"I'm heading out," Doris quickly interrupted, a fake, bright smile on her face. "Just for the night. Be back tomorrow morning."
"Where you goin?" Cordell frowned.
"Oh, don't you fret about me. Just need to do something."
Doris cut her off again. "We'll discuss things in the morning."
She swiftly got into the driver's seat. If she crashed at least it would only be her now.
"You two have fun now," she said with a wink before speeding off.
She kept the windows open, wind blowing through her hair. Her hands still shook and the buzzing in her ears grew louder. She hadn't felt like this in a long time. She felt like her body was lifting right off the seat, her mind floating out of her skull and hovering above, somewhere. She wondered if the car might well lift off the road, fly up, up into the sky. Take her away to another place, any place. Away from brawlers and ghouls and the ghosts of days long past.
He was gone.
The man who was once her brother was gone. Doris had looked him in the eye and this time, she didn't hesitate. She could tell he'd been surprised. He hadn't even considered that, after all these years, she could have changed. Evolved. Forged in the ashes of her former self, Doris had emerged a new entity. For all Burt's talk of her having her mother's strength, he'd never believed it. It was always just words, used to bend and manipulate and cajole.
In the moment between the first and second shots, he had finally believed. She'd shown him the strength, finally recognized and honed and now wielded like a sword. A sword that had delivered her vengeance.
After all these years, he was gone. She was free.
As quickly as the high had come it started to fade, the shaking of her hands growing worse as the lightness in her heart turned leaden and sank down into the pit of her stomach, nauseating.
Bash was still alive.
So was Joel.
So were all the mindless pawns in their idiotic spider-bearing shirts.
The Banished Brawlers.
The family who, when told by their power-mad leader that she was the enemy and had betrayed them all, had believed him without a second thought. Even if Katherine had lived to tell the tale of what she'd seen, they wouldn't have believed her, too loyal to Burt. The seed had been planted in their heads and since grown into a legend.
The Great Katherine Harlow. The Betrayer. The cause of the war that had cost so many so much. Enough loathing and fear to last generations.
There was a lot of work yet to be done in her quest for reprisal.
But not tonight.
She'd done enough for one day, hadn't she? What more could be asked of her?
She drove, and drove, until she didn't recognize the streets, or the motels, or the bars. Finally, she chose one. There was no specific reasoning or logic behind the decision. Her hands just turned the wheel and suddenly she was parked. She peered up at the sign. There was a picture of a glass and what looked to be a mini fridge. Whiskeys and Wet-Bars? Wow. They were really pushing it with the names, these days. Lord only knew what kind of clientele would frequent such a place.
It was perfect.
With a glance in the rear-view mirror for a quick fix of her hair, she grabbed her purse and left the car.
The bell didn't even jingle as she entered. The few patrons didn't stir, staring glassy eyed into their half-drunk drinks. The bartender was wiping a towel through a pint, presumably just cleaned. As she approached, he didn't stop, just kept wiping, round and round, as he stared off into space.
She stopped in front of an empty stool at the bar and delicately cleared her throat. The wiping stopped. Suddenly she felt every eye in the room turn to her. She held her head high.
"I believe the sign said there was whiskey?" she smiled sweetly.
The bartender gaped at her. She waited. When he continued to gape, she opened her mouth to repeat herself but before she could he sprung into action. With an efficiency born of countless years of experience, a whiskey appeared before her before she could even blink.
"Thank you," she nodded. The man's cheeks turned red and he looked away.
Doris finally sat down, primly fixing her skirt into a comfortable yet proper position, crossing her ankles. She took hold of the thick rocks glass and sighed. She hadn't felt the sweet burn of whiskey slide down her throat in a long, long time. For Katherine it was a daily occurrence. All part of the life, the act. In the days following Katherine's death, once Queenie had deemed her fit for travel and shipped her far, far away, it became a daily need. Anything and everything to numb the pain. Physical, mental, emotional. Everything. She hadn't known what to do with herself. She had no formal education, no practical job experience, no money, no home, no person on Earth she could call for help. But she knew how to drink.
Then one night she drank too much. She somehow ended up passed out against the wall of a library, covered in her own vomit, bleeding from the head which she'd apparently hit against the bricks on her way down. She hadn't meant to let things get so bad. She hadn't, really. The one truth Burt had spoken: She had her mother's strength. Or stubbornness. She would never try to purposely end things. If she sometimes wished Queenie hadn't found her out in that field, hadn't nursed her back to health… that was something else.
A man named Tommy found her. Helped her to the hospital. Stayed to make sure she was okay.
She hadn't touched alcohol since. She couldn't lose herself like that again. Could never lose control. Look what had happened when she did. Her brother, friend, and husband had murdered her. And then she, subconsciously, had tried to finish the job.
The kindly man who had saved her, who had taken her back to the library and said "The books on the inside are much more interesting than the wall on the outside" had showed her how to take control of her self, and her life, back. But that was a story for another time.
Doris was in control, now more than ever. She was stronger than a little whiskey. She could reward herself with the taste of sweet fire again and not get lost in it. She could celebrate her success. With a determined narrowing of eyes, she tossed the drink back in one fell swoop. She kept her head tilted back, eyes closed, savouring every sensation as the liquid gold slid down her throat and burned its way through her body. Her tongued peeked out, catching the final drop that lingered on ruby lips.
Someone coughed. A man. Too close. Right beside her. Her eyes flashed open and her head whipped around, hawk-eyed on high alert. Her hand automatically clenched, but she had no weapon and gripped only air.
The man startled, empty hands rising in defense.
"Sorry," he half laughed, half frowned. "I, uh… just… I mean, you just really seemed to enjoy your drink."
Her eyes narrowed and he shifted uncomfortably.
"Sorry," he apologized again. "You just, I mean…" he trailed off and his eyes darted down. He was staring at her lips. Suddenly Doris understood, and the lips he was transfixed by quirked up in amusement. He blinked furiously and looked away, knowing he was caught. Her smirk grew. When he finally met her gaze again, he was bashful.
Doris discovered his eyes were blue. Not just any blue, but the bright, vivid blue you usually only saw in the movies. The blue you would swear was fake. No real person had eyes that blue.
He started talking, but for a moment Doris didn't hear the words. The blue eyes frowned, and she saw his lips move again. It was her turn to blink and look away.
"May I get you another?" he was asking.
No. She shouldn't. She was in control, but she wasn't reckless. She wouldn't push it. She had to say no.
"Thank you, that's so sweet," her mouth spoke instead.
The man smiled, relieved, showing a hint of perfect white teeth. He turned to deal with the bartender, and she took a quick moment to observe.
He was far too well dressed for such a place, too clean, too put-together. His suit was expensive, but not obnoxiously so, a deep blue that only enhanced the light blue of his eyes. It was tailored, perfectly formed to his well-built body. The tie was expertly knotted. His shoes shined. Not a single dark hair was out of place. Amidst the sweat and gasoline and grime he looked like a breath of fresh air. An oasis in the dessert.
He held up a whiskey to her and she accepted it. As she took the glass from his hand their fingers brushed, and she felt something she hadn't in a long, long time. A stirring deep within her. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he held up his own glass. Had he felt it as well?
She coyly raised an eyebrow and tipped her glass against his, then took a sip. He laughed; a short huff of confusion laced with intrigue.
"Cheers." He shrugged and took it all in one swig before signalling for another.
She took a dainty sip of her own as he spoke.
"I'm here for a meeting. A big new deal. The mucky-mucks back home don't like it here, so they sent me to be fed to the sharks." He took a sip of the next whiskey and sat up in his seat, his shoulders rolling back and chest puffing out. "But I'm the one still standing."
She snorted and rolled her eyes.
He pinned her with a look, the macho bravado fading as the blue eyes became far too inquisitive for her liking.
"Okay," he said slowly. "You're clearly not from around here either."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. Warning him to stop, or daring him to continue?
He shifted in his stool to face her more fully. He raised an eyebrow of his own. The man was rather infuriating, wasn't he?
"Oh, I don't know anything about business," she demurred with a little laugh. Most men were fine with that. Silly little woman, of course she doesn't know, let's just continue to talk about ourselves.
Apparently, this man wasn't fine with it.
Her voice hardened. "Excuse me?"
"You are too well-dressed, too well-spoken and obviously far too intelligent to be from the same place as these guys." He jerked his head to the side, and she glanced at the men in the table behind him. There were some playing cards between them, but they were all just staring dumbly down at them, no one making a move.
"Not to mention far too beautiful."
Her hand tightened around her glass and she avoided his gaze. The bashful, bumbling man was sure finding his confidence. She absently took a sip, staring down at the pale auburn liquor. It just swirled and swirled, a never-ending, self-defeating wave.
"I said I didn't mean to overstep."
She startled and looked up. He was looking at her with concern. How much time had passed?
"Oh, it's fine," she shrugged and laughed airily. "I just drift off sometimes."
He looked at her like he didn't buy a word of it. Who was this guy?
"I… I'm here on business too," she finally conceded.
"Oh? What type?"
She didn't correct him.
"How'd it go?"
Her hand tightened on the glass again. She tried to keep the air in her voice but failed, her register dropping as she stated, "I won."
He cocked his head, eyes piercing, seeing too much. But he didn't question her, didn't push. He smiled, half of his mouth quirking up an extra bit as he loosened his tie. Her eyes gravitated to the knot, his deft hands working at the fabric. She swallowed, her throat feeling tight, hot under the neat, pink bow. Her thighs rubbed together as she crossed her legs. Then he held his tumbler up, the spell broken. He clinked the glass against hers and said, "To a good day's work." before he threw the whiskey down his throat.
She did the same.
She peered into the blue depths of his eyes and considered.
She'd started experimenting with men at a young age. Too young. But what else could you do, in a place like that? Burt had laid down the law early on. No one touched Katherine, or else. The men were afraid of him.
When she started dancing, it became a game. Who could she tempt to take the risk, to defy the great Burt Harlow. It wasn't even so much about the sex itself as the thrill of victory. The men meant nothing to her. It was the power, the control. Just a game.
They'd been mad for each other. There were times at the beginning she couldn't even remember, her memories just a haze of lights and music and naked skin. The nights she danced were the best. All those eyes on her, but his were the ones that burned. They often couldn't even make it home, afterwards. She just barked at the girls to clear the dressing room. Katherine was always amazed that he never got jealous. She saw red when a woman flirted with him but when she asked him, he would just shrug and say "At the end of the night you come home to me."
She never did figure out what was different about him. How he got to her. How he got Burt to approve of him. But he did. Oh, how he'd gotten under her skin.
And look how that had turned out.
She swore she wouldn't ever risk her heart again. And she wouldn't. Looking her companion up and down she was confident she wouldn't have a problem. He was a classic example of a Bangarang guest. The well-to-do gentleman, out for a thrill on the dark side. Burt would have had him for lunch if he'd so much as looked at her wrong.
But Burt was gone. It was the start of a new age, for her. The next chapter.
Why not start it on her own terms?
Did she want another drink?
"No," she finally decided.
He deflated, eyes cast downwards in acceptance before he steeled his shoulders and nodded. "Of course. Have a good night, Miss."
He stood, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. She lifted a hand and stilled him.
"A good day's work deserves some proper celebration," she declared. "Wouldn't you agree?"
His eyes went wide, the bravado disappearing again for a moment in favour of the genuine. He coughed, and his eyes shuttered, soft lips curving up in a devilish smirk.
"I sure would."
He offered his arm, and she took it. He threw some bills on the bar, far too great a tip, but she knew it wasn't to impress her. The pace of their exit and the tenseness of his arm belied his calm. It revealed his anticipation. Excitement. Desire.
Doris was used to men desiring her. Well, Katherine was. They would stare and drool and shout and paw. Doris garnered more scoffs, and rolling eyes, and pats on the head. That had been her goal. Better to be underestimated, glanced over, written off. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a man so blatantly desire her.
After Bash, she'd been shattered. Had had no desire for sexual activity whatsoever. Her heart was broken, and her body followed suit. She'd found sensational fulfillment in alcohol. And sometimes other things. But never another body.
She couldn't even remember his name. Had she known it in the first place? She'd been at a bar. Of course. He'd bought her drinks. A lot of them. He'd been cute. Brainless. She'd figured it would be easy to try again. Thoughtless. Nice.
Until she'd slipped her dress off and he'd seen her scars. They'd been fumbling and sloppy, both too drunk for finesse. She'd turned around, dropped her dress, bare underneath and ready to fulfill her plan. She'd climbed onto the bed and gotten on her hands and knees for him. Then waited. And waited. With a sobering chill climbing up her spine she'd sat up and twisted to look at him.
At his face. Full of disgust. Horror. Revulsion.
"Fuck happened to you?" he slurred.
Her hands rose to her chest, covering herself as she looked away. "Umm…"
"Whatever," he spat. "That's fucked up. Who would want that?"
And he'd stumbled out of the door, slamming it behind him.
She hadn't even made it to the toilet, throwing up over the bathroom floor, blinded by tears. She'd woken up slumped against the dirty bathtub, muscles seized in the awkward position and hand full of bloody glass. She'd punched the mirror, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces that littered the floor around her like jewels. She didn't remember doing so. She still had a tiny, faint scar on one knuckle.
Doris hadn't tried to be with a man since.
Not until Tommy.
When she'd first revealed the scars to him, he'd said nothing. Asked no questions. He'd just looked at her with heartbreak in his eyes. Then he'd pulled her to him, simply holding her in his arms as she cried, unable to articulate her gratitude at his acceptance.
He gave her everything. A home, a life, a career. His heart. His kindness. She had loved him, in her own way. Making love with him had never done anything for her, but she hadn't wanted it to. It was always for him, the only way she could thank him, repay him, for all he'd done for her.
Maybe it was time to enjoy it again. To embrace and explore what she knew she was capable of.
They were at the businessman's room in under a minute, door number 169 opening to admit her to its shabby interior. Shabby, but clean. Far better than some of the other places she'd been staying at lately.
Her study of the room was cut short as she felt large hands softly grasp her waist. He leaned into her; broad chest warm against her back. He smelled good. Really good. No engine oil or paint or stale cigarette. She closed her eyes and breathed in, full and deep. His hands tensed and he gently turned her to face him before switching their positions, so her back was to the door. He stepped forward, slowly, using her body to shut the door behind her. Without breaking eye contact he reached out and locked it.
Then his gaze finally fluttered down to her lips. He leaned in, slow enough that when an inexplicable fist of panic tightened around her heart, she had time to turn her head, his lips touching her cheek instead. He pulled back, searching her face.
"Okay," he nodded. "I get it."
He leaned in again but went purposely to the side, glancing against her cheekbone, down her cheek to her jaw before lowering to kiss the top her neck, just under her ear. She shuddered, eyes falling closed. Oh God it had been so long since she'd felt that. The thrill, like electricity, lighting up her veins on its way down.
His hands coasted up her sides, appreciating her curves, brushing the sides of her chest before grasping the pink bow at her neck. He looked into her eyes again, holding her still as he effortlessly undid it. The long, pale column now exposed, he continued his exploration. Slow, soft touches all the way down, flirting with the modest V-line of the top itself. Her breath was starting to come short. She could feel him smirking against her skin and she flushed. What was wrong with her? She was losing herself so fast. It had been a long time, yes, but good lord. It was the day she'd had. The mad, mad day. Her emotions, her control, were all over the place. This was probably a bad idea. But God, his lips were so soft, and the touch of his hand felt like a spark lighting up her skin. The hand moved to her neck, coaxing her head to the side to give him yet further access and she went willingly, eyes fluttering shut. His hand went further, wrapping around her neck…
And then he froze.
Fuck. Fuck. He'd felt it. Felt them. The scars. She'd known it. She'd known this was a bad idea. What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she have to try again? She should have known better. Fuck. Why did she do something so stupid? To her horror, moisture started to fill her eyes. Her body went cold as he pulled away from her. She couldn't even look at him, couldn't bear to see the loathing in those sweet, blue eyes.
She waited for him to speak, to express his rejection in whatever colourful way he deemed best. But he didn't speak. She waited for him to just open the door and throw her out. But he didn't.
Instead he turned her around again, once more facing her back. She stared at the door, inches from her face, willing the tears not to fall. His hands gripped her waist and she gasped as he hauled her top out from the skirt. Her body trembled as he drew it up, arms woodenly rising to let him pull it off and toss it aside. She should have just run out the door on her own. Why was she doing this to herself, drawing it out? She should have just thrown him onto the bed, hiked her skirt up and been done with it.
But now the canvass of her back was exposed, the scars that twisted and snaked and pitted her skin. The sickening, patchwork art of what they'd done to her.
Doris jumped when he touched her again, taking hold of her hips. Her hands rose, bracing against the wall. Bracing against what, she didn't know. What the hell was he doing?
The last thing she'd expected him to.
One hand rose and swept her hair to the side. She felt his hot breath only a moment before his lips came down on the scar, kissing it so, so gently.
A single tear escaped, dripping a traitorous trail down her cheek.
Who was this guy? What the hell was happening? Doris was in no way prepared for something like this. Not today. She didn't want intimacy, she didn't want feelings, she wanted to fuck, goddamnit.
She sucked in a harsh breath and whirled around. She almost laughed at the look of shock on his face during the second before she grabbed his face and fused her mouth to his. He grunted, arms flailing at the sudden change, but he adapted quickly and wrapped them around her, pulling her in tight. Bodies aligned and holy shit, he still wanted her. Even after seeing her. He really wanted her.
She released his face and grabbed his jacket collar instead, pushing brazenly at the fabric. He unraveled his arms from her and let her divest him of it. She grabbed at his tie. For just a moment she tightened it, sliding the silky fabric taught against his neck. He tore his mouth from hers, chest heaving, looking down at her with fire in his eyes and fuck, okay, that would have been amazing but that's not what she wanted that night. She loosened it again, leaving it slack for him to deal with while she grasped at his shirt. To hell with buttons. She tore it open, the little plastic discs still scattering as the shirt hit the floor. She heard a strained curse and grinned. But then he reached around and unclasped her bra on his first try, pulling it off and tossing it vaguely towards his jacket. He wasted no time reaching out and cupping both breasts. He pushed her back against the door so he could really grip her, knead the flesh, run calloused thumbs across the now hard peaks as he claimed her mouth again.
When Doris couldn't stand anymore, she pushed back, starting the journey to the bed. His undershirt was yanked out and gone in seconds and she nearly gasped. He was broad and toned, but fine lines marred the smooth skin. Little white marks littered here and there, some larger than others. Knife wounds? Shrapnel? A distinctive, round mark marred his lower right abdomen. Her hand reached out of its own volition, stroking the ridged edges of the old bullet wound. Who was this man? What had happened to him? She looked up at him, frowning. His eyes were blank, veiled, but as she looked at him, they started to come to life.
Wait, no, shit. That was not why she was here. She didn't care who he was, didn't want to know his story. She tore her eyes away and boldly cupped him between the legs. He grunted and cursed and whatever moment they'd been having was broken. She moved to his belt as their mouths locked again, slick tongues sharing whiskey as his long fingers started to fumble with the belt of her skirt. His shoes were kicked off with his slacks at his feet when he finally made it to her skirt zipper. The bright fabric was left in a puddle on the floor as the back of his knees finally hit the bedframe. He sat back onto it and she stepped out of her leopard print stilettos to climb after him, pushing him back and straddling. There was only one pillow on the bed, and he settled into it. She went for the final barrier between his skin and her touch, rushing them down his legs and fuck, yes, he was perfect. Her mouth watered and her body burned at the sight of him beneath her, sculpted and naked and desperate for her.
Though not as desperate as she'd thought.
He surprised her yet again when, as she moved to take him in hand, he stopped her. She didn't even get a question out before he was suddenly gripping her hard and the world was spinning around her. She was flat on her back, his smirking face above her before she realized what had happened. He'd picked her up and flipped her like she weighed nothing. She craved control, but he'd taken it from her.
In the case of this, him, her mysterious businessman, it was hot as fuck.
He must have sensed her approval because the smirk deepened. As his hands went to the lace between her legs, she realized his bright eyes had gone dark, nearly black. Heat flooded her as fingers curled under lace and a ripping sound cut through the air. He held up the broken garment and gave a pointed look to his ruined shirt, grinning roguishly all the while. She felt a bubble of laughter rise up her chest, shocked when the sound rang out.
All laughter died when he fearlessly took hold of her legs and spread them wide. He gave her a final, dark-eyed look before dropping down and tasting her and fuck, oh god it was good. Her fingers scrabbled at the thin blanket, searching for grip, an anchor, because it had been so long and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed it, needed it. Lord knew her methods of releasing tension were not the healthiest. Or most legal.
As if reading her mind, he paused a moment. Had she really just made that whining sound?
"Relax," he urged in a low, drawling voice. God, even his voice was sexy.
She attempted to comply but was soon wound higher than before, his deft tongue doing seriously sinful things. Holy shit, how did he know how to… oh fuck!
A hand flew to his head, threading through soft hair until nails scraped his scalp as he did it again and holy fuck!
Her body arched, eyes slamming shut and half choked cries falling from her throat as she tipped over the edge into white hot oblivion. How the hell had she gone without this for so long? Oh god, she wanted to melt into the mattress but his mouth was still on her, licking through her, circling around. Really? He thought he was good enough to get another? Well fuck it, why not let him try. Her knees lifted, legs rising as she rocked her hips up, trying to be closer, to get more. His hands gripped behind her knees and slammed them back down to the side. Then he went even further and pushed them up towards her waist, stretching her impossibly wider and goddamn. Her second hand joined the first in his hair, pulling him into her, more, more, more.
He sucked on her, hard, earning an "Oh god, yes!"
He did it again and she was keening, long and low and then he just barely scraped his teeth over her and sweet fuck she couldn't even speak anymore, breath robbed and body quaking silently as she crossed over the line again.
She might well have melted into the mattress this time, numb hands dropping from his head to her sides. Her body thrummed like it hadn't in years, languid and loose and god, it was fucking fantastic. His hands were running lightly up and down her legs, soothing, as he peppered kisses along her hipbone. She hummed, and he started up her body, open mouthed kisses here and there. He teased the side of her breast, just featherlight brushes of his lips until she made a disgruntled noise at him and he pressed the flat of his tongue against her. Little flicks of it along the soft, pink skin, before enveloping it all and gently sucking. A hand drew up her waist to take the other, pinching her taut peak and causing a breathy moan. As soon as the hand had arrived it was gone though, his mouth switching over to give it but one good suck before disappearing as well.
She opened her eyes to see his face hovering above her, smirking, but with soft eyes. He gently squeezed her waist, still soothing. He thought she was done, spent, too far gone to carry on with anything else quite yet.
Doris being underestimated yet again.
Oh, but he had no idea.
She wound a leg around his and with a move she'd mastered long ago, flipped them. She didn't have to be bigger or stronger to take control of a man. His eyes went wide, arms up beside his head. In a perfect straddle, she was leaning forward and gripping his wrists, holding them down. It was her turn to smirk down at him.
"Hell yes," he breathed, in awe of her.
She released his wrists and ran her hands down his arms, appreciating the muscles that rippled underneath. She mapped his skin, all down his chest, a little tweak of his nipples on the purposeful journey downwards. She wasted no time taking him firmly in hand, his throat bobbing as he fought to maintain steady breath. She planted her free hand on his chest for balance as she shifted forward, bringing him to her folds. God, she was so fucking wet. It was easy to slide along him, coat him with her essence as she teased the head of him along her clit. His hands left the bed to claim her hips, gripping hard and she chuckled. It would be so easy to keep teasing him. She knew she could do it. Drive him insane with want, all night long, never letting him finish until he was mindless with need.
But this wasn't about that.
She held him still, rubbing along him a final time as she rose up and into position. Much as she wanted to just impale herself on him, she knew she couldn't, not after all this time. So she took him in slowly, letting herself adjust, learn, feel. She didn't know how long it was before every inch of him was inside her, thick and pulsing and rock hard and goddamn perfect. Fuck. He was big enough to stretch her just right, almost painful but in the best of ways, filling her so full. He was a perfect fucking fit.
The bruising grip on her hips led her to believe he felt the same way.
She experimentally tightened her inner muscles, squeezing him.
"Fuck!" he growled.
Doris laughed again, low and deep. "That's the idea."
Her hand joined its mate on his chest and she wiggled, finding her best balance and making him curse again. When she was ready she pushed down on him as she raised her hips up, slowly, savouring every bit of him. For the first few times she stayed slow, easy, stretching herself until any edge of pain was gone. Then she sped up, rising faster and dropping harder until he had to lift his knees and plant his feet on the bed to keep up with her. He slid even deeper when he did, and she let loose a string of profanity. The rhythm was perfect now, sweat slicking their skin and she was loud, cries of pleasure falling freely because fuck the thin walls, she didn't care who heard them. She always held everything back, kept every goddamn thing hidden and repressed. Tight lipped. For this night, this once, she was letting everything out, setting herself loose.
She rode him like a wildcat, hips driving and twisting and rolling, selfishly taking every ounce of satisfaction she could from him. It took only one swipe of his thumb between her legs to finish her, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open in a scream of pure, carnal ecstasy. The tensing of her body, like a vice clamp around him, pulled the man right after her, flooding her with heat. After the initial moment of near paralysis, they both kept moving, as long as they could, rutting against each other to draw it out as long as possible. When she finally couldn't hold herself up any longer, Doris collapsed onto his chest. He managed to sling one arm across her back while the other remained limp beside him.
"Holy shit," he drawled, voice slow, like he was drugged. She giggled, shaking lightly against him.
"Uh-huh," she agreed.
"I mean… holy shit."
"You were… and then… just… fuck."
She grinned. She wanted to kiss him. But she couldn't force herself to move quite yet. She touched her lips to his chest instead before laying her head on its side. For a while, time slowed and drifted away. She could feel the thundering staccato of his heart beneath her ear, hear the beat of it. That was the only marker she needed.
She realized they'd fallen asleep when her eyes opened, and she noticed her skin was cool. A warm hand was softly stroking her back. She hummed and raised her head, resting her chin on him as she looked up.
"Hey," he smiled.
"Hi." Her voice was breathy and light.
His hand was tracing lazy patterns across her, no special attention paid to her scars. "How you feeling?"
She hummed again. "I've had worse nights."
He snorted, chest moving and bouncing her chin.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
He shrugged sarcastically. "Oh, you know, okay I guess. Average."
She laughed and cheekily bit her tongue between her teeth. Sneaking her hand beneath her, she found him and caressed. His body jerked and he groaned.
"I'd say you feel pretty damn good myself," she husked.
He blinked and she swore his eyes turned ten shades darker.
His hands moved intentionally down her back to her ass. He grabbed her firmly, squeezing and massaging the tight cheeks and then one hand slipped between them and down. She gasped and tensed.
"You feel pretty good yourself," he offered in a rough voice.
She surged up and took his lips, hot, open kisses, sucking his tongue into her mouth. A finger slipped into her and she mewled, undulating against him to try find a better position, a better angle for his hand to get to her. Almost in perfect unison they moved, his arms trying to push her onto her back while she was already willingly doing so herself. He loomed above her, grinning.
"We're pretty good at this," he noted.
"Practice makes perfect," she shot back.
He kept grinning and leaned down. She opened her mouth and reached for him but he skirted her lips with a laugh, dipping down to her neck instead. She huffed. He opened his mouth and casually bit her. She gasped, grabbing onto the silky strands of his hair. He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin, and nibbled at her again. She was going to have to wear scarves for a while. Worth it. When he was satisfied his mark had been left, he travelled further, finally paying full due to her breasts. As he took the rosy flesh into his mouth, he dipped his hand between her legs, circling around just once before sliding into her. She spread her legs further for him and a second long, calloused finger joined in. He worked her body until her nipples were aching with pleasure and his hand was soaked with her arousal and she was writhing on the bed. When she was finally at the precipice, he quickly pulled his mouth from her with a wet pop, his hand working furiously. Wave upon wave of release swept over her but this time she kept her eyes open, watching him watch her fall apart.
When he finally withdrew his hand, he asked her if she could handle more.
Hell yeah she could.
He asked what she wanted.
"Just fuck me," she purred. "Fuck me as hard as you can."
His eyes were black as he nodded.
Grabbing a hold of her right leg he confidently placed it over his shoulder before moving forward. Her leg stretched, further and higher and she was wide open for him to slam right into her. Her whole body rocked as he did so and fuck, she asked, and he was going to comply. She hadn't danced in years but was sure as hell thankful she'd maintained her flexibility because she sure needed it then. He pounded into her with abandon, a new kind of fire in the depths of his eyes. A vein in his neck throbbed as his clenched teeth were bared, growling in effort, heaving for air, animalistic. She growled right back and demanded more.
More, more, harder, come on and fuck me!
The cheap bedsprings were squealing and the headboard was thudding against the wall and maybe the whole thing would break apart but who the fuck cared. The whole room could have lit up on fire around them and neither would have noticed. Their goal was singular, and nothing would stop them.
Nothing did, their passion unbridled, speeding towards their goal like a car in top gear, racing down the highway. They came together again, loudly, messily, perfectly, shaking and blind with pleasure.
They didn't pass out this time, bodies jittery with exhaustion and minds high with a strange, new awareness. When Doris' heart had stopped racing and her breath was under control, she sat up against the mercifully unbroken headboard. He joined her moments later.
He spoke quietly. "That was something else."
She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. "Yeah."
"Working some stuff out, huh?" he hedged, voice carefully controlled.
She tensed, throat tight. She risked a glance over at him but he was looking down at his own hands, fingers working over one specific digit. There was a faint, thin band of skin circling his ring finger that was paler than the rest.
"I'm not the only one who needed to work some stuff out, though, am I?" She raised an eyebrow pointedly at his hand.
He instinctively covered the finger. "I'm not married," he quickly assured her. "I would never…" He frowned, looking down at his hands and purposefully unclasping them. "She's out of the picture. Don't worry."
"Are you… is there any…"
Her voice dropped low. Cold. "I have no one."
He reached over and took one of her hands in his.
No! That wasn't what this was about. That was not the point of this night, goddamnit.
But she couldn't pull her hand away.
When he laid down and gathered her into his arms, his chest a warm presence at her back, she didn't pull away. She nestled onto the now shared pillow, closed her eyes, and soundly slept.
Doris was, yet again, woken by stroking hands. He was hard behind her, pressed against her ass and even in sleep she must have sensed so. The fingers between her legs were wet with her. Her eyes fluttered open. There was a dim glow to the room. The night was creeping away, giving way to the dawn. Their time was almost up.
There were no words this time. She rolled over onto her stomach and widened her knees. He hefted her hips up, placing the pillow underneath for comfort and support before pressing into her from behind. It was deep and slow, so slow, the liquid heat seeping into her soul in pace with the rising sun. When his hand nudged between her and the pillow and rubbed, round and round, she buried her face in the mattress. She didn't want him to hear these cries. Or see the few, stray tears that escaped. It took him a few extra thrusts to follow this time. She could feel his hands shake as he tugged the pillow out. He touched the back of her neck softly, coaxing her to raise her head so he could place the pillow back under it.
"Ssssh," she shook her head. "Sleep. Just a bit more."
She turned to face him. Gazed up into his beautiful, blue eyes.
"Please," she begged.
He frowned, deeply, searching her face. Finally, his shoulders dropped in defeat, light fading from the blue as he nodded. "Give me one thing, though, please."
He cut her off with his mouth. One, final kiss. She whimpered against him, clutched his body as he poured so much into the embrace that she couldn't give back.
His thumb stroked her cheek and wiped away a tear. He finally pulled back, looking at the moisture on his skin.
"At least you gave me that," he smiled sadly.
He kissed her once more, deeply, but swift. Then he pulled her tight to his body, cocooned safely in his arms. He touched his lips to the scar on the back of her neck.
"Good night, Miss."
Doris was back in her car, driving away as fast as she could before he ever woke. She hadn't glanced back as she quietly closed the door behind her. She couldn't do it. Give her heart away. Never again.
Maybe in another life, another time, they could have been together. Her sweet, mysterious, blue eyed man could have wooed her, married her, given her a real family.
But not in this life. Not in her life.
Her life was about other things. A different family. A family that needed to be dealt with.
And only Doris could bring them down.
She pushed her leopard print heel to the pedal and the engine roared.
PHEWWWWWWWWWW. Okay. There it is. My first Reprisal fic. As I said… I have a lot of thoughts about Doris and her story. And then, apparently, her methods of "working things out."
Please let me know your thoughts, good, bad, and ugly. I could talk about this fascinating character till the end of days, I think, and would love to hear about and discuss what you think about her! Or any of the other characters or show in general, really.
Yes, there were a few Timeless references and parallels. Did anyone catch what they were?
Also Bonus Points if anyone caught the reference to a behind the scenes tweet from the hairstylist who did Abigail's hair for the dance flashback. Anyone? Let me know.