Categories > Books > Outsiders
That's What You Get
1 ReviewsDallas Winston spends one last night with a lover before she has to leave Tulsa.
Disclaimer: I don't own "The Outsiders" or "(That's What You Get) For Loving Me" by Elvis Presley.
" ... that's what you get for loving me/everything we had is gone, you see ... "
She pressed herself against the heat of his body, wanting to touch every available inch of skin. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders and his back, the muscles moving under his smooth skin as he strove to bring them closer to the edge. He had the body of a jockey -- lean, lithe and strong. She clung to him and their breath mingled as his mouth came forcefully down on hers.
As hungry as she was to touch him and be touched by him, she needed something more from him tonight. She wanted to remember the way his fine blonde hair kicked up over his collar and curled around his ears; the way his cold eyes could darken with lust or anger; how the grim, hard line of his mouth could turn up in a crooked, self-depricating grin or, very rarely, into a genuine smile that softened his rough edges; the tone and timber of his voice, saracastic and rarely tender; and how his calloused hands touched her with such gentleness. She didn't care if they slept at all tonight. Even if this was their last night together, she promised herself she wouldn't cry, although she was desperate and half-wild with grief.
She needed to store up these memories for the long and barren months without him that stretched ahead of her. This was their last night together and they both knew it. She had to leave -- promises had been made and papers signed. She couldn't explain to him that she was afraid not to go. She was afraid of what would happen if she stayed here with him. He was without direction and the idea of flying without a net scared her silly. When she returned several months from now he would be a stranger to her. His pride would demand nothing less.
His breathing had quickened into a harsh pant and his eyes were as dark as she'd ever seen them.
"Tell me you love me," he demanded.
"I love you, Dallas," she said, breathlessly. "Only you. Always you."
Then he sent her flying and followed soon after. It should have been impossible, like a kite following its own tail. But it was.
He repeated her name again and again in a tone she had never heard him use before and that she would never forget.
XXXXX
Dawn was beginning to brighten the horizon.
He was standing at the window, watching the sky turn gold, making even the switching yard across the street from Buck's look better than usual.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" she asked.
He only grunted noncommittedly and sat down on the bed. She sat up and began rubbing his shoulders, burying her face face in the nape of his neck. He was stiff and tense. She heard the snap-hiss of a match being lit, but he was quiet for a long time. She continued to kneed his shoulders, finding a little comfort in touching him. She supposed it was too much to hope that he loved her. Somewhere along the way, he had gone beyond needing anyone else.
"Stay," he said in a low voice she could hardly hear.
"What?" she said, surprised, sitting back and looking at him.
"Stay," he repeated, avoiding her eyes.
She looked at him, wonderstruck and confused, not speaking for a long moment, during which he smoked and watched her with a blank expression.
"I can't," she said.
He looked at her for a few seconds before nodding. He stood up and pulled on his jeans while she watched him covetously.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
He looked back at her over his shoulder as he opened the door.
"I'm outta here," he said, before stepping out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him.
She collasped back into the sheets, still warm from his body, and broke her promise to herself.
" ... that's what you get for loving me/everything we had is gone, you see ... "
She pressed herself against the heat of his body, wanting to touch every available inch of skin. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders and his back, the muscles moving under his smooth skin as he strove to bring them closer to the edge. He had the body of a jockey -- lean, lithe and strong. She clung to him and their breath mingled as his mouth came forcefully down on hers.
As hungry as she was to touch him and be touched by him, she needed something more from him tonight. She wanted to remember the way his fine blonde hair kicked up over his collar and curled around his ears; the way his cold eyes could darken with lust or anger; how the grim, hard line of his mouth could turn up in a crooked, self-depricating grin or, very rarely, into a genuine smile that softened his rough edges; the tone and timber of his voice, saracastic and rarely tender; and how his calloused hands touched her with such gentleness. She didn't care if they slept at all tonight. Even if this was their last night together, she promised herself she wouldn't cry, although she was desperate and half-wild with grief.
She needed to store up these memories for the long and barren months without him that stretched ahead of her. This was their last night together and they both knew it. She had to leave -- promises had been made and papers signed. She couldn't explain to him that she was afraid not to go. She was afraid of what would happen if she stayed here with him. He was without direction and the idea of flying without a net scared her silly. When she returned several months from now he would be a stranger to her. His pride would demand nothing less.
His breathing had quickened into a harsh pant and his eyes were as dark as she'd ever seen them.
"Tell me you love me," he demanded.
"I love you, Dallas," she said, breathlessly. "Only you. Always you."
Then he sent her flying and followed soon after. It should have been impossible, like a kite following its own tail. But it was.
He repeated her name again and again in a tone she had never heard him use before and that she would never forget.
XXXXX
Dawn was beginning to brighten the horizon.
He was standing at the window, watching the sky turn gold, making even the switching yard across the street from Buck's look better than usual.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" she asked.
He only grunted noncommittedly and sat down on the bed. She sat up and began rubbing his shoulders, burying her face face in the nape of his neck. He was stiff and tense. She heard the snap-hiss of a match being lit, but he was quiet for a long time. She continued to kneed his shoulders, finding a little comfort in touching him. She supposed it was too much to hope that he loved her. Somewhere along the way, he had gone beyond needing anyone else.
"Stay," he said in a low voice she could hardly hear.
"What?" she said, surprised, sitting back and looking at him.
"Stay," he repeated, avoiding her eyes.
She looked at him, wonderstruck and confused, not speaking for a long moment, during which he smoked and watched her with a blank expression.
"I can't," she said.
He looked at her for a few seconds before nodding. He stood up and pulled on his jeans while she watched him covetously.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
He looked back at her over his shoulder as he opened the door.
"I'm outta here," he said, before stepping out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him.
She collasped back into the sheets, still warm from his body, and broke her promise to herself.
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