fiction: only one who knows just who i am
carleece has never seen a man more glorious
beau/carleece >> original fiction >> pg
a.n. inspired by this gif on tumblr
fiction: only one who knows just who i am
Carleece has never seen a man more glorious, stunning, dangerous than Beau Baxter. He saunters in with every intention of captivating the saloon, double Plexiglas doors swinging open and the breeze whipping in at his feet, and the room quiets instantaneously. His boots clank on the creaking floorboards, they groaning as his footsteps pause momentarily to survey the regulars littering the tables and bar counter. They stare right back his way, albeit cagier, tinted with suspicion but all the more regarded concern.
He’s whisked back into town, they’ll whisper of gossip later when Beau’s vanquished once more, still the mystery and much a phantom. He’s not the best company to be mixed with, they’ll reiterate, fluctuating between the rumors of a past indiscretion and his womanizing tendencies. Only a fool of a woman would chase him down, they’ll murmur mostly to themselves, the younger ones reluctantly agreeing out of mere spite that they won’t be the one to capture the handsome bad boy who has come to symbolize nothing but the worst of times for the town.
Well. Carleece never has been one to partake or concur with old crows. Especially the birds that haven’t a clue about Beau and his dealings.
Smirking to herself from the back table, hidden by the shades of the overhead ceiling fan spinning vigorously in the summer afternoon, Carleece smoothes the wrinkles in her skirt and reappears to the general public (easily forgotten yet not so decidedly invisible if her wardrobe and companionable attitude are any consolation) just as Beau maneuvers his way to the bar, the buckles fastening his leather jacket clinking sonorously. He exchanges pleasantries with the bartender, the heavyset older gentleman roving his eyes over Beau, and hastily orders a beer.
“Put his drink on my tab, Marlin,” Carleece instructs as she sidles up to the bar beside Beau, catching his slight smile out of the corner of her eye.
Marlin shakes his head, rolling his eyes for emphasis as he rotates a rag along the insides of a beer glass, but responds anyway, “All right, Miss Morgan.”
Smiling at him in gratitude, Carleece steals her attention to Beau, who’s taken to eyeing her sideways, ever sententious, head bent low, lips still festooned with that faint smile. He looks the same as he did when she last saw him four months ago: dazzling green eyes, smooth pallid skin only blemished by thin lines of stubble, delectable full lips, chiseled to ravenous body, arms built for field and holding a woman-all the good and a little bad for excitement.
She hears the patrons tittering with comments as the interaction takes place before their very eyes, calculating just how much fun she could have by really putting on a show for them.
So, propping her left elbow on the counter, she greets him demurely. “Hello stranger. What misfortune of life has landed you back in Cadence?”
Beau chuckles under his breath, tipping his head pensively. Marlin breezes by right then, pushing Beau’s beer across the counter to him; Beau catches it easily in the curve of his palm, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous sip, tongue travelling along his lower lip for any lost drops. “The town was calling, Carleece,” he answers insouciantly. “And I’ve missed you terribly.”
Glancing over at her, his eyes twinkle of mischief. Carleece bites the inside of her lip, drawing closer to Beau, placing a coquettish hand on his arm as their faces come within centimeters of one another. “I’ve missed you as well. You always did light a fire in me,” she whispers and then presses her lips to his.
She feels his arm wrap around her waist, thumb coiling a lace keeping her corset tied, and she presses closer to his body, welcoming the secure warmth he has a habit of providing for her. He’s unlike what everyone believes, isn’t the desperado that leaves women high and dry at the seams after a casual romp. That’s one side, but only she’s bear witness to the other.
Parting an extra kiss, Carleece regards him earnestly, stroking his cheek, rough but velveteen under her fingertips. “What adventure did you bring me?”
And then an uncontainable grin stretches across Beau’s face and he speaks against her lips, “You wouldn’t believe.”
She cants her head to the left, perplexed by his deceptive reply. “Meaning?”
“I haven’t an adventure. This is purely a case of me wishing to see you. And no one knows I’m here.”
“The town knows,” Carleece expostulates teasingly, mythical violet eyes careening over the examples spying on their every move and eavesdropping on their every word.
Beau shrugs half-heartedly, giving her hips a squeeze. “Who are they going to tell?”
Carleece releases a purely delighted giggle, resting her forehead against his. How glad is she to have Beau Baxter returned and unaltered to her life.
you make it real >> james morrison
beau/carleece >> original fiction >> pg
a.n. inspired by this gif on tumblr
fiction: only one who knows just who i am
Carleece has never seen a man more glorious, stunning, dangerous than Beau Baxter. He saunters in with every intention of captivating the saloon, double Plexiglas doors swinging open and the breeze whipping in at his feet, and the room quiets instantaneously. His boots clank on the creaking floorboards, they groaning as his footsteps pause momentarily to survey the regulars littering the tables and bar counter. They stare right back his way, albeit cagier, tinted with suspicion but all the more regarded concern.
He’s whisked back into town, they’ll whisper of gossip later when Beau’s vanquished once more, still the mystery and much a phantom. He’s not the best company to be mixed with, they’ll reiterate, fluctuating between the rumors of a past indiscretion and his womanizing tendencies. Only a fool of a woman would chase him down, they’ll murmur mostly to themselves, the younger ones reluctantly agreeing out of mere spite that they won’t be the one to capture the handsome bad boy who has come to symbolize nothing but the worst of times for the town.
Well. Carleece never has been one to partake or concur with old crows. Especially the birds that haven’t a clue about Beau and his dealings.
Smirking to herself from the back table, hidden by the shades of the overhead ceiling fan spinning vigorously in the summer afternoon, Carleece smoothes the wrinkles in her skirt and reappears to the general public (easily forgotten yet not so decidedly invisible if her wardrobe and companionable attitude are any consolation) just as Beau maneuvers his way to the bar, the buckles fastening his leather jacket clinking sonorously. He exchanges pleasantries with the bartender, the heavyset older gentleman roving his eyes over Beau, and hastily orders a beer.
“Put his drink on my tab, Marlin,” Carleece instructs as she sidles up to the bar beside Beau, catching his slight smile out of the corner of her eye.
Marlin shakes his head, rolling his eyes for emphasis as he rotates a rag along the insides of a beer glass, but responds anyway, “All right, Miss Morgan.”
Smiling at him in gratitude, Carleece steals her attention to Beau, who’s taken to eyeing her sideways, ever sententious, head bent low, lips still festooned with that faint smile. He looks the same as he did when she last saw him four months ago: dazzling green eyes, smooth pallid skin only blemished by thin lines of stubble, delectable full lips, chiseled to ravenous body, arms built for field and holding a woman-all the good and a little bad for excitement.
She hears the patrons tittering with comments as the interaction takes place before their very eyes, calculating just how much fun she could have by really putting on a show for them.
So, propping her left elbow on the counter, she greets him demurely. “Hello stranger. What misfortune of life has landed you back in Cadence?”
Beau chuckles under his breath, tipping his head pensively. Marlin breezes by right then, pushing Beau’s beer across the counter to him; Beau catches it easily in the curve of his palm, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous sip, tongue travelling along his lower lip for any lost drops. “The town was calling, Carleece,” he answers insouciantly. “And I’ve missed you terribly.”
Glancing over at her, his eyes twinkle of mischief. Carleece bites the inside of her lip, drawing closer to Beau, placing a coquettish hand on his arm as their faces come within centimeters of one another. “I’ve missed you as well. You always did light a fire in me,” she whispers and then presses her lips to his.
She feels his arm wrap around her waist, thumb coiling a lace keeping her corset tied, and she presses closer to his body, welcoming the secure warmth he has a habit of providing for her. He’s unlike what everyone believes, isn’t the desperado that leaves women high and dry at the seams after a casual romp. That’s one side, but only she’s bear witness to the other.
Parting an extra kiss, Carleece regards him earnestly, stroking his cheek, rough but velveteen under her fingertips. “What adventure did you bring me?”
And then an uncontainable grin stretches across Beau’s face and he speaks against her lips, “You wouldn’t believe.”
She cants her head to the left, perplexed by his deceptive reply. “Meaning?”
“I haven’t an adventure. This is purely a case of me wishing to see you. And no one knows I’m here.”
“The town knows,” Carleece expostulates teasingly, mythical violet eyes careening over the examples spying on their every move and eavesdropping on their every word.
Beau shrugs half-heartedly, giving her hips a squeeze. “Who are they going to tell?”
Carleece releases a purely delighted giggle, resting her forehead against his. How glad is she to have Beau Baxter returned and unaltered to her life.
you make it real >> james morrison