Keeping Score

by Lilyjack (steamy bits) and Ladybrit (slick pool moves only, I swear)

This story is dedicated to Lady G.  The pool table was all her idea… 

The following fic is intended for mature readers only due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult relationship.

ljlbljlbljlb

“You wanted me, Cowboy?”  A musically low, throaty voice sounded from the door of the deserted pool hall, accompanied by a slightly arched brow aimed in Marshal Dillon’s direction as he racked the billiard balls on the table. 

He gave a playful smile.  “You closed up for the evening, Miss Russell?”

“Sure, Matt, but…”  Her tone was inquisitive as she peered around, spotting no one else in the room.  “Chester told me you wanted to see me here…” 

Matt grinned at her mischievously.  “Doc told me a while back that you were a pretty good player.  I just wanted a chance to see for myself.” 

She pursed her lips.  “What stakes are we playing for?”

“Stakes?” Matt huffed in surprise.  “You wanna play for stakes?”

“You want to make it interesting, don’tcha?  What’s the matter?  You scared?”  She wrinkled her nose at him in amusement.  “Hey, where’s Dan, by the way?  You’re not here by yourself, are you? ”

“Now, see here, Kitty…”  He pushed his hat back on his forehead with an index finger and hung his thumbs lazily in his gun belt.  “I happen to have a lot of influence with the business owners of this town.”   The marshal grinned.  “I told Dan Binny I’d lock up for him if he’d let me borrow his table for a while.”  Matt took a swallow of the whiskey that sat on a nearby table and poured another glass for Kitty.

“Mmm-hmmm…” she squinted at him.  “So you’re telling me we won’t be interrupted, huh?”  Kitty deliberately bolted the door behind her and crossed her arms as she took a step toward him.

“Nope,” he answered smugly.  “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”  Matt grabbed a cue stick and chalked it as he eyed her.  She was wearing one of his favorite dresses, very elegant and sleek, the red satin gleaming richly in the lamplight, her nearly bare shoulders tantalizingly smooth and inviting.

While he adjusted the wooden rack on the table, Kitty sidled over and slipped out the black ball, turning it deftly in her palm. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve got an idea, Cowboy,” she murmured.  She stepped closer and breathed in his ear, “I know I can beat you, but just to make things interesting, how about…” Her sapphire eyes looked to the ceiling as she deliberated while she bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. “…for every ball you have left on the table when I pocket the eight ball, I get to choose what articles of clothing you must remove...” She eyed him coyly and dropped the ball with a clunk back onto the felt.

Matt’s eyebrow crept up his forehead at Kitty’s suggestion. He chuckled, answering, “What makes you think you're gonna win?”  Then, placing his finger beneath her chin, he whispered conspiratorially, “I want the same conditions, Miss Russell.”

 “You’re on, Marshal…”  Kitty grabbed a cue and looked at Matt questioningly.

He bowed.  “Ladies first?”

She shook her head and tossed back her whiskey, carefully dabbing her crimson lips with the back of one hand.  “Such a gentleman…”  Polishing the tip of her cue stick with a small piece of chalk, she eyed him meaningfully, before she slowly leaned low over the table, giving him an unobstructed view of her creamy, voluptuous décolleté as she took careful aim at the white cue ball.

He cheerfully objected, “That’s unfair.”

Poised to break, she gave a low chuckle and asked innocently as she peered up at him, “Whatever do you mean, Marshal?”  Then she made her move and hit it with such force that the balls scattered all over the table. Matt’s blue eyes widened in surprise as he watched two solid and one striped ball fall into pockets.

“I’ll take solid,” she said, walking round the table to find the next shot, brushing softly against the front of his body.  She continued matter-of-factly, “You know what they say, “All’s fair--”

“…in love and war.  I know, I know…” he groused good-naturedly as he appreciatively watched her sashay around the table until she found a fairly easy shot into a side pocket, lining up the cue ball again, and by hitting the solid slightly off center, putting a little spin on it. The little white ball obediently knocked the target into the side pocket and came back to line up for her next target.

Kitty continued to accurately pocket the solid balls until only two remained. Matt began to feel a little uncomfortable – there were still six stripes on the table. Mentally he began to take stock of his clothing.  Did a gun belt count, he wondered…

Fortunately, Kitty missed her next shot. The solid she had been aiming for just missed its mark, and ricocheted off the corner cushion.  She gave him a look. “It’s all yours, Marshal.”

He chalked his cue and scanned the table. From the position she had left the cue ball near the corner pocket, he had no clear shot. He would have to try using the cue ball to rebound off of one of her solids and push a stripe into the side pocket across the table.   Potentially a good plan, but if he pocketed her solid instead, he would lose this turn and she would have only one ball left before the eight ball.  

He scratched his head beneath the rim of his hat.  This might not turn out so well for him.  Carefully he aimed, hitting the cue ball squarely, but then his plan fell apart and the striped ball he was aiming at failed to drop.  His heart sank as he tried not to show his disappointment.

“Marshal Dillon,” Kitty purred, “I’m going to have you naked on this table before the night is out.”

Matt’s spirits unintentionally lifted a bit at what he thought she was suggesting.  Maybe this game wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

Sadly, he had left her a clear shot and with two clean cracks, her unerring cue pocketed both the remaining solids. She turned to the black ball and managed to leave the cue well positioned to drop it. “Corner pocket,” she expertly called, indicating the left-hand pocket furthest from them. Of course the ball fell, and Matt groaned.

“Now let me see, Marshal,” Kitty declared with a ladylike smirk.  “That leaves six striped balls on the table…”

“You don’t have to tell me, Kitty.  I can count,” he grumbled.

She placed a thoughtful finger on her chin and began looking him up and down.

“I don’t have as many clothes on as you, Kitty…”

“I know…” she smiled.  “Seems I have a definite advantage over you.”

“You can say that again.”

“Let’s start easy, Marshal.  Off with the boots,” she ordered.

“That counts for two.”

“Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes, Kitty.  I already said you have an advantage over me.  Give a fella’ a break, why don’t ya’?”

“Oh, alright…”

He tugged off his boots, and she held out her hand.  He questioned, “You want my boots?”

“Yep.  Hand ‘em over, Cowboy.”

Pressing his lips together, he handed her his dusty, weather-beaten boots, which she quickly deposited on a table behind her. 

Just then, a knock sounded at the billiards parlor door.  “Mr. Dillon?” came a plaintive voice.

“Aww…” groaned Matt.  He gave Kitty an apologetic look and shuffled soundlessly to the door, opening it just wide enough so that he could talk to his assistant.  “Yeah, Chester?  Is this an emergency?”

“Well, Mr. Dillon, I guess you could call it that.”  Chester attempted strategically peeping around Matt to see what was going on in the room beyond, but Matt’s imposing figure conveniently blocked the way.  Chester resignedly continued, “Miss Gertrude Finney, who lives down to the edge o’ town, she’s got a niece visiting her and there’s a bit of a ruckus goin’ on…  Mr. Dillon, what happened to your shoes?”

“What?” Matt uttered, confused at the abrupt shift in topic.  He noticed Chester looking down at his sock feet and offered, “Oh, Chester, I, uh…I had a rock in my shoe.”

“Both of ‘em?”

“Yeah, both of ‘em, Chester…  Now what’s this about Gertrude’s niece?”  He shifted his feet restlessly, leaning an elbow on the door to block Chester’s view towards the part of the room where Kitty stood, quiet as a cat, fingers over her lips to hold in her amusement.

“Violet Dowdy is her name.  It seems she’s been lobbing pies at a stranger, a man by the name of Cletus or Clevon or somethin’ like that…”

Matt sighed.  “Chester, I think this is something you can handle.  Why don’t you go over to Miss Finney’s house and tell this Cletus fella’ to go on and leave those women alone or we’ll hafta’ throw him in jail.  He had to be doin’ somethin’ wrong for them to be pitchin’ pies at him.”

“Miss Gertrude’s famous gooseberry pies.  It’s a real shame.”

“There ya’ go, Chester.  All the more reason.  You head over there and tell him to leave them alone, if he hasn’t left already.  I’ll just be…uh, locking up here for Dan Binny…”

Chester’s eyes dropped to Matt’s sock feet once more.

“…after I get the rocks outta my shoes, and then I might see you later.  But you go on to bed after you take care of this pie-chucking Violet, okay?”

Chester didn’t sound very sure, but he agreed.  “Alright, Mr. Dillon.  Maybe I kin get me slice o’ pie for my troubles, ya’ think?  Miss Gertrude makes some purdy good pie.”

Matt began closing the door.  “Alright, Chester, good night.  Don’t eat too much, you hear?”

“I won’t, Mr. Dillon, I---“ 

But Matt had already shut the door and slid the latch firmly into place, so that he and the beautiful redhead standing in silent amusement behind him wouldn’t be disturbed anymore.  His game had to improve or he wasn’t going to have much fun here tonight.  He turned to face the music. 

She held out a hand and unceremoniously demanded, “Gun belt.”

He sighed and began unbuckling. 

“Next I want the belt from your pants.”

“How am I gonna keep my britches up?”

“That’s not my problem, now, is it, Marshal?” she drawled.  “Hand it over.”

“That’s four.  What now?  You’ve only got two left.  How about my hat?” he suggested brightly.

“Oh, no, I think the hat stays.  I like the hat, Cowboy.”  She added both belts to her collection on the table.  “I think we’ll finish up with the vest and the shirt,” she smiled.

“Great,” he muttered as he shucked his clothing and handed it to her. 

She folded it as she eyed him appreciatively and placed it on her pile.  “Ready for the next game, gamblin’ man?”

“As I’ll ever be…  Rack ‘em up, Miss Russell.  I’m ready to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

Kitty racked the balls for their second game.  “I’ll let you break this time,” she offered charitably to him, once again chalking her cue a bit suggestively.  He hated to admit, she threw him off his game with that business, but he blew out a cleansing breath and attempted to line up for a clean shot.  Being shoeless and missing several items of clothing also did its part to distract him.  He had to get hold of himself, or Kitty was going to whip his sorry hide.

He managed to fire a good clean shot and three striped balls fell into pockets.  “I’ll take stripes again,” he said with feigned confidence.  Things started to go better for the big man, and by the time he missed a shot, he only had one striped ball left to pocket.

Kitty picked up her cue again.  Now it was her turn to be distracted by the sight of the half-naked Marshal.  She tried not to be diverted from the task at hand by the enticing expanse of his broad bare chest, wide strong shoulders, and long, muscular arms, with pants slung very low on his hips for lack of a belt, her fault admittedly.  Her shot went wide, much to his delight.

Matt’s confidence was boosted by her poor performance, and he cleared the lone remaining striped ball, leaving all seven solids on the table.  “My turn now to pick now, little lady,” he declared, carefully considering his options as he gazed at Kitty, who stood with hands on curvaceous, red satin-draped hips, eyes narrowed warily at him.  Oh yes, it was going to be difficult to choose…

She rolled her eyes impatiently and pronounced with a sigh, “Go ahead…”

He held out a beefy hand, “Hand over the drawers.”

Her jaw dropped.

“You heard me, Miss Russell.  I want your pantaloons, little lady.  Hand ‘em over.”

At first she looked like she was prepared to object, but then changed her mind and lifted her skirts with resignation.  “I declare, Matt Dillon, you don’t waste any time, do you?”

He grinned, “Not when it comes to you, honey.”

After much rustling of silky fabric and careful loosening of bindings, the garment in question hit the floor and Kitty Russell stepped out of her pantaloons gracefully, leaning over to pick them up and place them delicately in her opponent’s waiting hand, wriggling her skirts back into place.

He grinned at her quiet frown.  “Much obliged, pretty lady.” 

Her expression quickly changed as she watched him rub the soft garment between his calloused fingers and quietly inhale its fragrance.  He breathed, “Now, I’ve got six to go…”

“Don’t remind me,” she scowled as she carefully smoothed the crimson fabric of her dress.  “Don’t you dare hang those up in the jail, Matthew Dillon.”

“I’ll sleep with ‘em underneath my pillow, sweetheart.  Next, let’s see…”

She crossed her arms across her chest.  “I don’t think I can get my corset off under this dress, if that’s what you’re thinking…”

“Oh, no, nothin’ like that…”  His eyes raked over her and she held her breath.  “I think I’d like that comb from your hair.  I like your hair down.  Take it down for me, Kitty,” he grinned shyly.

Her mouth dropped open again at his newest suggestion, but she reached up obligingly and pulled the comb from her silky hair and handed it gently to him, her fingers warmly brushing his.  Silently pulling loose a few more pins, her copper red curls tumbled down her back as she smoothed them as best as she could without a mirror.  Matt reached for her tentatively and combed his long fingers carefully through her hair once and then again, brushing a few strands from her face.  “That’s just what I had in mind,” he murmured.  “Now, five more to go…”

She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes again.  “Here we go…”

“I think shoes…”

“That’s two, remember?” she said as she sat on a chair to remove both her shoes, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of long, shapely stocking-clad legs. 

“Yeah, it’s only fair.  And the dress has to go.”

“Of course,” she grumbled.  “Can you help me unfasten this?”

“How do you do this by yourself?”

“With a lot of difficulty.  I usually get one of the girls to help me.  But I’ve been known to have to call on Sam’s help on occasion, as a last resort…”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I wish I were…”

He helped her unfasten and then crossed his arms to watch as she stepped out of the soft crimson dress.  He gently placed it over a chair along with her other clothing, then approached her to run a finger under the strap of a filmy cotton garment she wore over her corset.  “This thing…what do you call it?”

“A corset cover.”                                                                                             

“Yeah, that next.”

She pulled it over her head and held it out to him as she waited for his final decision, holding her breath in the soft lamplight of the deserted pool hall.

“How about this fluffy thing?”

“My bustle?  Good choice, Marshall,” she sighed in relief as she unfastened and stepped out of the voluminous undergarment that gave shape to the back of her dress.

He chuckled and gazed appreciatively at the sight of Kitty Russell standing in her corset and petticoat.  “I knew you were under there somewhere.”

As she handed the bustle to him she muttered, “I don’t know what you’ve got planned for this, but I don’t think I wanna know.”

He snickered as he took the garment from her hands and added it to his growing pile of feminine clothing.  The sight of two respectable citizens of Dodge cavorting half naked around a pool table in the dead of night, would, if seen, have promoted serious doubts as to the sanity of the marshal and his lady, but luckily, the town was asleep with the possible exception of Chester who perhaps might have been eating gooseberry pie with Miss Gertrude and her niece at that moment.

The third game commenced. Once more Matt racked the balls and Kitty broke.  She immediately pocketed two stripes. “I’ll take stripes this time,” she said with her best poker face. 

She took two fairly easy shots, pocketing two balls. The Marshal could not help feeling something coming up at the sight of this partially disrobed beauty bending over the table.  She missed her third shot and he took his turn. 

“Something getting in your way, Cowboy?” she asked, commenting on the growing object that had distracted her and made her miss that easy shot.

He grunted a reply and tried to put such things out of his mind.  Leaning over the table he had a problem reaching the cue ball to fire his next shot, and missed.

Kitty picked up her cue again and played teasingly with it. “Your mind’s not on your game,” she laughed.  With several skillful shots she managed to down the rest of the stripes which left only solids, all seven of them. She looked triumphantly at her opponent.  “Hmm,” she murmured, “I think I am going to get my way with you tonight, Marshal.”

He watched as the eight ball fell obediently where she had called it –into the side pocket.

“Come here,” she said to him, “There are seven solids left on the table, big man.  You know what that means…”

“Aw, Kitty, do I have to?”

“Pay up, big man,” she said as she held out her hand. 

“I guess next time Doc tells me something, I’ll take him a little more seriously…”

“Socks,” she requested. 

He sat wearily and peeled them off, one by one, handing them to her.  “That’s two… Honey, I don’t think I have five more items of clothing left on my body…”

“Let’s see, shall we?  Pants now.  That’s three…”

“Aww…”

“Whoa, Cowboy, looks like all you’ve got left is your long underwear.  Hand ‘em over.”

“But I won’t have any clothes on.”

“You can leave your hat on.  I kinda’ like that.”

“Alright…” he sighed in resignation.  “Here ya’ go.”

She accepted her prize and crossed her arms, standing back to admire him.  “Mm-mm-mm, Cowboy.  You do strike a fine figure of a man.”

“Thanks, Kitty,” he smiled, blushing at her scrutiny.  “Now, come ‘ere.”

“Just as long as you remember you still owe me three.  I could collect when you least expect it.”

“Just as long as it’s not in public…”

“Oh, Matthew Dillon, you know me better than that.”  She raised a brow at him.  “But I think I may be able to help you out with that little problem you have down there.”

“Little?”

She stepped closer and murmured, “Well, you do have a big problem, Cowboy, I must admit.  Need some help?”

“I’d be pleased to take you up on your offer, Miss Russell.  You’re a mighty fine pool player, you know that?”  He reached out a hand for her.

“So I’ve been told…”  And with that, Kitty Russell wrapped her arms around her opponent’s neck and kissed him thoroughly until they both had to come up for air.  She peeped down at what was pressing into her stomach and giggled low in her throat.

“Don’t laugh at me, woman.  This is all your doggone fault, you know.”

She looked archly at Matt Dillon, naked as the day he was born except for a cowboy hat rakishly perched on his dark, riotous curls, and purred, “Now just you climb up on that table, Marshal Dillon…”  Placing her hands flat against his chest, she grunted as she pushed his considerable bulk back towards the pool table.  “I am going to have my way with you--part of the deal…”

“I think this is what you call a win-win situation, honey.”  He half-smiled and warily questioned, “Are you sure this table will stand up to that?”

She gave a crooked grin and wrapped one leg around his waist.  “It looks pretty sturdy to me, but there’s one surefire way to find out…”

ljlbljlbljlbljlb

The morning sun streamed warmly through the plate glass windows of the Long Branch, illuminating four friends who amiably sat at a table drinking coffee, catching up on all the news and swapping stories.

Chester set down his cup with emphasis and proclaimed, “Why, I never saw so much wasted pie in all my born days!  It was a dadgum shame, I tell you.”

Doc shrewdly inquired, “How many pieces did you eat?”

“Just two.”

“That’s all, huh?  That’s pretty good for you, Chester.  Miss Finney is darn lucky you didn’t eat all her pie.”

“Those were her last two pieces, Doc.  The rest got throwed at that Cletus feller.  A plumb cryin’ shame.”

“Ohhh, that explains it.”  Doc shook his head and looked to Matt and Kitty who both rolled their eyes silently.

Just then Dan Binny darkened the door of the saloon.  The marshal and the red-headed saloon owner quickly glanced at each other, then smiled and nonchalantly greeted the pool hall owner, “Dan, come on in here!  Cup o’ coffee?”

“Oh no, thanks, Miss Kitty.  ‘Preciate it, though.”  Dan looked at Matt.  “Thanks for lockin’ up for me last night.  The wife appreciated me getting’ home a little earlier than usual.  You enjoy yourself?”

Kitty cleared her throat and smoothed her intricate titian updo as Matt rushed to say, “Yeah, Dan, I sure did.  Had a good game of pool before I locked up for ya’.” 

“Good, good, Marshal…  Always glad to let the local law enforcement enjoy the amenities of my little establishment!”  Dan reached into his pocket.  “Say, Marshall - when you locked up the pool hall last night you didn't find any, uh, cowboy in there looking for a sock, didya’?”

“Huh?”

“He must’ve been a big fella by the size of this sock I found.”  Dan held out the aforementioned garment for viewing.

Kitty choked on her coffee.

Matt stammered, “Well, I…uh…” 

Kitty noticed his ears starting to turn pink around the edges and rushed to distract Dan.  “Sure you don’t want any coffee?  Sam made it fresh just a little while ago…”

Not easily swayed, Dan shook his head with a smile and thoughtfully added, “Thought I better bring it to you, Marshal, in case you had him locked up in the jail.”

“No, I…”  The pink flush was spreading.

Chester helpfully jumped in, “Mr. Dillon, when you asked me to send Miss Kitty over to the pool hall, maybe she noticed somethin’.” 

Matt glowered at Chester and Doc’s eyes widened nearly imperceptibly. 

Chester’s voice faded out slowly, “..or somebody…  lookin’ fer a a sock….  Hey!  Mr. Dillon, you had rocks in yer shoes!”

Doc sputtered a laugh, “What in tarnation?”

Kitty just closed her eyes.

“I went to the billiards parlor to tell Mr. Dillon about the pie run-in over to Gertrude Finney’s, and Mr. Dillon was in his sock feet.  He said he had rocks in his shoes…”

Doc’s eyes searched heavenward, and he gently patted Kitty on her back.

Chester continued, “…both of ‘em…”

Doc wriggled a finger in his ear and added, “You are so helpful, Chester.  You’re not usually quite so observant.”

“Well, Doc, I just thought that maybe when Mr. Dillon had that rock in his shoe last night… well I'm thinking maybe you could have dropped the sock.  It sure looks like one of yours…  Mr. Dillon...”

Matt finally found his tongue, ignoring Chester’s helpful remarks.  “Uh, no, Dan, I don't have anybody in the jail this morning.  I'll, uh, take it though just in case.”

Matt’s face continued turning a bright shade of red while Kitty did her best to smother a laugh.  Matt hastily took the sock from Dan and shoved it in a pocket as Doc swiped his face and mustache, grinning from ear to ear.

Matt hurriedly got up and said, “I just remembered a telegram I need to send.  I’m going to head down to the telegraph office.”

Chester hurriedly spoke, “You want me to do that for ya’, Mr. Dillon?”

“Oh, no, Chester,” he grimaced.  “You’ve done enough already.”

Kitty had to turn her head to hide her smile while Doc cleared his throat noisily and slurped his coffee.  Dan just looked confused.

“Kitty, thanks for the coffee…”  Matt tipped his hat and hastily headed for the door.  “And thanks, Dan, for… everything…” 

Chester called after him, “Maybe you and me can play a little game o’ pool sometime, Mr. Dillon…” as Kitty collapsed in helpless giggles against Doc’s shoulder…

End

ljlbljlbljlbljlb