A Hotel Room in Oklahoma

EMAIL: pix@angelpixiedust.com
RATING: NC-17. Quick copy it to disc before the net-police take it away.
SPOILERS: 'A-plenty. This is an AU story; post a Luka/Abby break-up, based on the spoilers and not the actual episode of "Sailing Away." Carter and Abby are doing the more than friends less than lovers dance.
Or, alternatively, this could just be read as a missing scene from that eppy...you decide <vbg>.
DISCLAIMER: My words, Warner Brother's characters.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Based on a challenge from my Carter/Abby crazed friend, Elaine, whose name has been changed in order to protect her identity ("What if my mom finds out what smut means?") <g>.
SUMMARY: Abby, Carter and a hotel room in Oklahoma.


It had been hours.

They had bargained, begged, pleaded, put sugar, cherries, threats, and lawsuits on top and all to no avail.

Carter looked back at Abby from across the hotel room door. Dark rings of grey were beginning to shade eyes that were already sore from anger and tears, although Carter pretended that he hadn't been there as she had cried those.

Her fists tightened again and she thumped the chipped wood door again, thud, thud, "Maggie, Maggie?" No answer. "Maggie," and she turned to look at Carter, "Y'know what? Fine, fine, just stay there, just stay in that god dam room and see if I give a shit about it, *we're* going to go and get breakfast. If you get thrown in jail then don't hesitate to ask someone else to get your ass out OK? I'm not doing this again, Maggie, I'm not, I can't."

And with an exasperated sigh, and a final swipe at her eyes with the back of her hands, she turned and walked away. Carter looked at her and then back at the door, feeling like he should maybe do something, fix it all somehow, chant some spell, perform some secret Doctor trick and have it all made better.

He sighed, shook his head and followed behind her.

Abby needed him more.

He remained several steps behind her. She was crying and she didn't want him to know and he had to make believe as if he had no idea that she had emotions, pretend that screaming at your mother, pleading with your one and only mother wouldn't leave you shedding a few emotional tears. She'd already lost so much today, he needn't steal that last piece of dignity, of pride.

The first thing she did on being outside was light up a cigarette, taking two desperate puffs, turning to face him on her third, with an apologetic smile, "Do you want breakfast?"

Carter shook his head, No.

She nodded with this, "I pretty much lost my appetite too."

The Oklahoma air was humid at, he checked his watch, five fifteen in the morning, and the sun had been around for the past hour. He nodded his head towards their parked car. "I think that we should try to get some sleep...it's been a hell of a day."

She took another drag off her cigarette, "No kidding." She smiled. "Hotel?" He nodded, "Not this one," a shake of the head and a wry grin, "I think I remember seeing one on the way over here."

He nodded, she puffed and puffed until all the tobacco had burnt into smoke and then crunching the butt against her shoe they got in their car and rode away, nothing wanting to be said, nothing being said.


Their hotel rooms weren't amazingly amazing or amazingly awful.

After almost ten hours of pacing and screaming and hovering they weren't in a position to care.

He could hear a shower being turned on it the other room, the harsh sound of water thudding against a ceramic basin and then the faint sound of pain.

He sighed, debating with the inner daemons playing five-a-side in his head what would be his best recourse, what best to do. Should he go and demand that she let him be there, demand that she not isolate herself like this, or should he just let her let it out and let it go. Should he let her do this alone?

He didn't have to decide.

There was a knock on his door.

He didn't have time to permit her entry as she strode in, wearing jeans and an old tee shirt, hair dripping, eyes flashing with raw emotion. "I heard a phone..."

And he shakes his head sadly at her.

Teeth pinch lips. She turns as if to leave but then hesitates by the doorframe.

And then she starts speaking, her voice low, calm, collected, strained. She's telling him things, she's telling him about her mother about her childhood about everything. She stumbles across her voice, back turned towards him, and she forgets he's there, talking as you would to a diary; openly, honestly, sadly.

He stands and watches her, listens to her voice, knowing that it's more important to just let her talk than to actually pay attention to all the words.

Her voice slows to a stop and she's raw, open, bleeding. Her voice a thin rough whisper. Scream-sore and child-scared.

Turning to face him, she smiles, and doesn't need to thank him, and then as if nothing had ever happened crosses back into her room.

And with a sigh he finds himself sitting on his bed, weak with being so powerless to stop it all.


It was early morning when she called to him.

He didn't even pretend to have been sleeping. She could hear the low murmur of infomercials coming from his room anyway.

She was sitting on her bed, phone beside her, expression expressionless.


She turned to look at him and smiled weakly. "The police. She's being kept in for observation. Said she's OK. They're watching her and she should be OK, Carter, they said that she was going to be OK."

He can hear the tightness in her words. She's phoning it in. They both know it but he says nothing and nods and smiles.

There's a silence shared as they stare at the other. The words are there, and they speak them noiselessly, eyes and smiles doing all the talking.

"Carter..." Her eyes plead with him silently, finally.

He continues to watch her. The demons in his head returning to the play field.

Oh god.

Her voice is more pleading this time. Almost pained with want.


He should be going, he should be.

Go, go, go his head commands.

She was weak and he was leaving as fast as he could get up and get out of there. But he didn't go. He sat there staring at her quilt -astrological symbols of blue velvet squares juxtaposed with red roses on yellow squares. She looked at him looking.

"I think there's some unwritten law about hotel quilts," she says and smiles "Have them as unattractive as possible so that no-one in their right mind would want to steal them."

She stops.

His knees felt like they had rusted but somehow he walked. Away from the curtains, fighting the light, away from the red roses on their yellow squares. The door was not far. He would get there.

Against the deep mauve drapes she is whiter than white lace.

Bones are revealed in stark relief as she strips away her clothes. Her body is an elongated tear. He is standing. His feet move, but not where he tells them. He is kneeling beside her now, helping her slide the hard boots of her feet, one, and then the other. Now, the jeans. He gasps at the cavern between the two pale flares of her pubic bones. He pulls her pants off, dropping them beside the bed. Her arms go around his neck like a hook.

"Wait," he pleads. Her smell is harsh -fear, nicotine, perfume. No heat, no sex odour.

Her breasts drop from her bra, warm with the heat of her body. Dropping his pants on the floor next to hers he pulls back the quilt, pulls up the wrinkled sheet, and slides under the covers like a little boy. His hand on her arm tells her to do the same. Her eyes are silent beggars. He pulls her on top of him and she seeps into him like sand. His hands move slowly across her and sadness fills him. His hands span her thigh, her buttocks. Hold her, hold her, hold her, his soul screams. And it feels so good to hold someone that he stops being horrified at what she has lost and marvels at what she has -life, breath, her legs between his opening thighs.

"Turn over," he whispers. Prayerfully, his hands begin to move over her body like the wind, everywhere, finding armpit, shoulder, neck, lips, thighs, knees, breasts, stomach, buttocks, eyebrows, hair. He is putting a shell to his ear, trying to hear the sea. She begins to talk like the sea does, in whispers, moans, churnings. He moves down in the bed and pulls her vagina to his mouth. His tongue searching for life between her legs. One orifice pressed to another, to suck. First thing we know to do when we are born, suck -or die. His tongue beats her clitoris, joy spreading over his face as the sea begins to flow in his mouth.

"Please," she whispers.

He keeps on, his mouth a warrior in a pink battlefield pushing back pain. Feel, feel, feel, he will. She pulls herself onto his erection, and she begins to move with him, and he knows that it won't be long. He keeps on and on, her body his, his hers. He feels the soft moans coming from her throat before he can hear them and his will is transformed to power. She comes again and again. He pulls her on top of him and they press their bodies together. They hold each other quiet, long. She laughs like a warm soft bird in his arms. Stroking his face she whispers, "It's OK Carter..." she sees the dark concern in his eyes. The dark feelings of uncertainty as his hands continue to stroke her skin, soft, soft. Her voice almost disappearing beneath the sheets, "What is it? What do you want?"

The words are lost in his throat. He wants to say things, he wants to tell her that she's changed everything -they're right here, those words, and all he has to do is start speaking. But it's been a long day and she's holding him and maybe whatever he should say can wait.


Quick author note: My first time at smut, their first time at it, it's a world of firsts... Let me know if I should change that over at: pix@angelpixiedust.com

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