It was nothing like the frantic performance that descends after their reunion. It was raw and honest, peacefully slow.
Sleep still glossed their eyes as Dessie wrapped strong arms around Catherine. He sat on the edge of the bed, she in his lap. Her legs loosely curled around as he helped guide the lazy rhythm. She nestled one hand in his hair, the other on his shoulder. Their lips grazed, every so often coming together for an unrushed kiss.
She holds him close; slick foreheads pressed together. His fingers bite into her backside as he thrusts one last time, overtaken by euphoric release. Before the sunlight of a new day even caresses their skin, she feels the pulsation of him coating her walls.
Running his fingers through her damp hair, Dessie pushed it away from her face. He smiled, revealing the crooked teeth she adored.
"Maidin mhaith," he said.
Good morning. Finally, some Irish she understood.
"It most certainly is."
Uncurling her legs from his waist, Catherine climbed off Dessie and disappeared into the bathroom to clean up. He pulled a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand, lighting it. He leaned back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head. When Catherine came back into the room, he blew smoke rings in the air and watched her slip on his t-shirt. As much as he loved seeing her naked body, there was something about her wearing only his shirt Dessie found incredibly sexy.
"Think they heard us?" she asked, straddling his thigh.
Dessie handed her the cigarette and all he could think about was how her bare pussy was rubbing against him. "Who cares? Plenty'a times I've had to listen to 'em. And never once did the lasses sound nearly as satisfied as you, if I may say so me'self."
He laughed as her face turned three shades of pink. Catherine smacked a hand over her eyes and dipped her head, shaking it. Dessie took the cigarette from her fingers to place it in the ashtray. He ran his hands under the shirt, lightly tickling her soft curves.
"You've nothin' to be embarrassed of. But if you keep sittin' on me like that, they're gonna hear ya again."
Catherine raised her eyebrows, gliding her fingers through his coarse chest hair. The way she leaned forward meant Dessie could feel her slickness even more.
"I dunno if you've another round in ya."
Was she fucking serious?
She shrugged, "Maybe in about a half-hour... "
Dessie took the bait. He friskily tossed her onto her back, proving he didn't need a half-hour.
Mid-morning, they finally managed to drag themselves out of bed and get dressed. They were greeted by three men with sly grins on their faces as they sipped their coffee.
While Catherine made breakfast, she tried to overhear the hushed conversation at the table. Dessie's brow severely furrowed and his jaw tightened as Connor and Rory spoke in his ear. She sensed there was something they weren't telling her, but she knew better than to ask questions.
Handing off plates piled high with eggs, sausage, and toast, they thanked her, immediately digging in. When she placed one in front of Dessie, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down into his lap. Her giggles were muffled when he kissed her.
Rory dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter and an eye roll. "Literal chunks risin'."
"Leave 'em be, gobshite," Jack chide with a mouthful of food.
"Easy for you to say. Ya weren't woken up at the ass-crack of dawn by a headboard damn near comin' through the wall."
"That's because I had the pleasure of bein' woken up durin' the first act."
"I'm sure t'was a pleasure for ya there, Jack." Connor rasped. "Twenty quid says ya were standin' outside the door chockin' the chicken listenin' to 'em go at it."
"I wasn't standin' outside the door...pressed my ear to the wall."
Dessie broke his lip-lock with Catherine and reached across the table to punch Jack in the bicep. "If I find out you're havin' a wank listenin' to us, I'll rip your cock off an' shove it down your goddamn throat. Got it, Shrinky Dink?"
Jack swallowed hard, heeding Dessie's warning. Catherine felt like she was going to implode at any second from the embarrassment, while Rory and Connor choked back laughter.
"Shrinky Dink?" she asked.
Picking up a link of sausage, Jack pointed it at her. "I'm a grower, not a shower."
Another round of snorted laughter erupted.
"That's okay." She swiped the sausage from his hand and took a bite. "What matters is ya know how to use the lad."
"While I appreciate the pep talk, I gotta say it's not helpin' comin' from you considerin' you're with the Loch Ness Monster over there." Jack pointed to Dessie.
Catherine wrapped an arm around Dessie's shoulders, and he avoided eye contact with her as he started eating his breakfast.
"Hell's he talkin' about?"
"Nothin'. Don't listen to 'em, they're eejits."
"Ya see, Catherine," Connor began, "Dessie's mickey is like Nessie. All the birds talk about how big it is, but we've never actually seen it for ourselves."
"It's like south Armagh's own urban legend." Rory chuckled.
Dessie could feel Catherine stiffen against him. She dropped her arm from his shoulder and placed her hands on her thighs.
Ignoring the fact Dessie had an active sex life would be naive and Catherine knew that. With two kids of her own, she was mature enough to not let the jealousy get under her skin. She did that by simply not thinking about his life before her, but that was rather difficult to do when Jack, Connor, and Rory were throwing it in her face.
Dessie wasn't proud of his past exploits, just as she wasn't proud of hers. The problem, the notches on his belt far outnumbered hers, and the last thing he wanted was for Catherine to think there was any competition.
"Is it true, though, Caitie? Is it as big as all the birds say it is?" Jack asked.
Dropping his fork, Dessie leaned back in his chair. "Enough already!"
Jack stupidly opened his mouth one last time. "Jeez. Why so cranky, Dess? Between all the sex you're havin' and the operation planned for the peelers tonight, you should be shittin' rainbows and leprechauns."
Catherine turned to look at Dessie. He was beyond irritated and so was she. "What PSNI operation?"
As soon as the question left her mouth, the three quickly gathered their plates, silverware, and coffee heading out of the kitchen.
I'm gonna fucking kill him, Dessie thought.
He nudged her off his lap, getting up to lean against the counter.
"Ya can't be doin' this," she said. "Can't risk gettin' picked up again."
Dessie kept his eyes forward, feeling the guilt settle in his gut. Three days after he'd taken her out on their first official date, he'd been picked for questioning on a gun attack on the PSNI station in Crossmaglen. With the little news that did leak from the station, Catherine was a nervous wreck thinking he would be charged. At three o'clock in the morning when he'd been released, Dessie found Catherine standing in the freezing cold waiting for him. With the boys sound asleep in the backseat of her car, he drove them back to his flat where he promised her he'd make sure to never put himself in that situation again.
To some extent, he was upholding his end of the bargain.
"I'm not goin'. I planned it, but I'm not goin'."
"Doesn't matter. You're the first one they'll nab."
"There's nothin' for ya to worry about because we'll be in Belfast when it goes down."
"...because ya need an alibi."
He nodded.
She didn't smile, but Dessie saw the twinkle in her eye. "I guess that's all I am to ya, huh? An alibi."
"Shut your bake," he snorted, pulling her into him. His knuckles brushed her jawline. "If only ya knew what ya really are to me."
Catherine knew. She could see it in the way he looked at her. She was everything to him and he was everything to her.
Neither of them would ever diminish what she had with Darragh or what he had with his ex-wife. But this time around, they felt something different in their bones. After seeing her shivering outside of the station, Dessie realized she was a keeper. For her, it happened a little more innocently. Instead of turning down the volume on her favorite Cranberries song - like Darragh and Jimmy would do - he cranked it up and together they belted out the words to Linger.
And then again whenever she saw him with Eamonn and Sean.
What made her chisel away the concrete walls she'd spent so many years building, was Dessie's simple act of asking her two questions:
"How was your day?"
"You gonna be okay?"
Hardly anyone asked if she was okay. Not her parents, not her brothers. Never Jimmy. Darragh asked only once when she was in labor.
For the first time, she truly felt cared for, loved. She'd do whatever it took to keep him by her side. If that meant having to deal with Dessie being arrested or holding down the house when he was on the run in the Republic, then she'd do it. Dessie was a hardened IRA man just like her father, but for some reason, she believed he had the common sense to step away from operations he felt would destroy their relationship.
Like he had trusted her instincts when she was his commanding officer, Catherine trusted him.
He said there was nothing to worry about, so she held his words close to her heart.
Catherine sat on the floor with her legs tucked under her and one elbow resting on the coffee table. Dessie was on the couch, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he disassembled an Armalite to clean and oil it.
"This isn't a good idea," she muttered.
He didn't respond.
"Third attack in seven weeks; you'll put the Brits back on the streets, so ya will."
Dessie set the cigarette in the ashtray and removed the bolt, then the firing pin. "If I wanted your opinion, I'd've asked."
She rolled her eyes. Picking up the smoldering cigarette, she took a drag. "That's not my opinion, it's fact."
"Let 'em patrol then. I'll teach 'em army boys not to wander through Cross again."
"Ya really wanna see that bloody look-out post towerin' over Cross again, too? We're so close to peace."
"Peace? They speak nothin' but lies in London and Dublin. Any day now they'll be breakin' their doubletalk and when that happens, the south Armagh sniper'll be back to work."
It was like talking to Patrick, Darragh, and Jimmy.
"Ya need to give Gerry Adams time. He's-"
Dessie wryly laughed. "Adams, the Kings, Jimmy - they went from tiocfaidh ar la to tiocfaidh Armani. The only reason the lot don't fight harder for peace is because they know there's no money to be made in a unified Ireland. So long as the six counties are hot, youse in Belfast keep sellin' the guns and laugh all the way to the bank while we in south Armagh do the real fightin'."
"Youse in Belfast...you're a real sonofabitch." Catherine stubbed out the cigarette as she shook her head. She didn't appreciate him lumping her into the group which sold-out the cause to pad their pocketbooks.
As he lubed the rifle, he quickly glanced at Catherine. He pursed his lips to hide the smile threatening to break out. He got the exact response he wanted. He knew she didn't care about the money.
Dessie loved riling her up, getting her head back where it belonged. He poked the bear even more. "If ya believe so much in Sinn Fein, why'd ya come back?"
"Because I learned ya can take the girl outta the Ra, but ya take the Ra outta the girl. Sometimes a couple'a bullets and some Semtex speak louder than doubletalk."
He stopped working to light another cigarette. "Atta girl." He pointed to the rifles lined up on the floor beside the table.
Catherine smiled cunningly and picked one up. They worked in silence, mainly because she couldn't get it out of her head as to what the Real army man had said before she spiraled down the depths of a panic attack. She wondered if that's what Dessie and the guys had been talking about at the table as she made breakfast. Desperate to know what was up, Catherine took a shot in the dark.
"I think the Kings are tryin' to have you and I killed, and I think they paid off the Real army to do it. That's why the shipment was hijacked, to lure us."
The cigarette fell out of Dessie's mouth. He picked it up just as it left a burn mark on the carpet. "What - why the hell would ya think that?"
She was quiet for a moment, then decided now was the time to tell him. "Because they had the UVF take out Darragh, so it makes sense they'd do the same to you. I'm sorry for what I did to the fella who I thought killed Simon Townsend, Dessie, he was just the fall-"
"Back the fuck up!" he roared. "What do ya mean they had the UVF take out Darragh?"
Catherine started shivering despite the warmth from the fire going in the fireplace. "I only just found out. All of the bombin's youse were doin' in Belfast must'a pissed the Kings off or they saw him as a threat."
Dessie sank onto the floor. He covered his face with his hands mainly since he didn't want Catherine to see the angry tears pooling in his eyes.
"Who told ya that?"
"Liam."
"Liam's a tout, ya can't trust anythin' he bloody says!"
"He wouldn't lie to me about that! He had no reason to."
"Where is he, Catherine? He still on the isle?"
Catherine didn't answer him. She couldn't. If any of the fellas found out she had given him safe passage out of Ireland, they'd string her up in the barn until they got it out of her as to where he was.
"Where is he?" He calmed his voice, but the tone was still frighteningly dark.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Dessie startled her by slamming his hand down on the table. She flinched, then slowly scooched back putting some space between them.
"We promised each other when it comes to the cause, there'd be no lies. I know you know where your brother is. Where's Liam?"
"Why? Why does it matter where he is?"
She'd never forgive herself if something happened to Liam. Being off the island didn't mean he was safe from punishment.
"I wanna talk to him; find out what else he knows."
"I can't tell ya where he is, but I can arrange a call."
Catherine watched as Dessie's jaw flexed. He understood why she refused to give up Liam's location. Truth was, he greatly admired her loyalty. She was exactly the kind of woman he needed in his life, especially when he would inevitably need to dip for the Republic when the PSNI came knocking.
He nodded. He could compromise with a phone call.
"The old bloke we're lookin' for; blonde, goatee, glasses. Short and pudgy. Sound familiar?"
"Mother'a Christ," she hissed.
"Indeed. Looks like the priest in Belfast may be doin' a little more than offerin' guidance to the Kings."
"Did he say who the bomb was meant for?"
"No one specific," Dessie re-lit the cigarette and handed it off to Catherine after taking a drag. "But they were told to take out as many True lads as possible. Considerin' it's only my crew who does those shipments, they obviously wanted to get rid of us. I guess they're gettin' tired of us doin' our own operations down here."
She rolled her lower lip between her fingers, clearly deep in thought. "Reroutin' the shipment to Kerry for 'em to pick up makes sense, yeah? But why shoot at us if they were just gonna blow up the van? All it would look like is an internal feud if they found us lyin' dead in the road."
"When I was in the Provisional back in the '80s, we used the same tactic on Brit convoys. Sprayin' 'em down with bullets would lower their guard for a second attack because they'd think that was it. But once they were out of the vehicles, we'd trigger bombs we buried near the road. That's why I felt so uneasy when we got out of the car...it looked too familiar. What doesn't make sense to me, is that they blocked the road so the other fellas couldn't get through."
"They probably thought we'd have the entire crew on 'em. We easily would've outnumbered and outgunned 'em if they let us all through."
"Aye," he breathed, drumming his fingers on the table. "What do ya wanna do about the Kings, though? Can't just let 'em get away with it."
"Tiocfaidh ar la, Dessie. Their day will come, too."
"Care to share with the class, O'Toole?"
Moving on to his lap, Catherine laced their fingers when he wrapped her in his arms. She rested her on his chest telling him exactly how she planned to bring down the True Irish Republican Army and usher in the new era of Oglaigh na hEireann.
Dessie avoided Belfast as much as possible. He didn't hold any personal grudges against Northern Ireland's buzzing capital, he just preferred quiet living in the countryside instead. But he needed an alibi and a night out with the girlfriend was always a safe bet.
He sat on the couch in the living room of her house, as she was upstairs getting ready. It was Jimmy's agreed upon weekend with Eamonn, and Sean insisted on being with his Uncle Brien. Without the two high-energy boys running around, the house seemed too quiet for Dessie's liking. When they walked through the door and he wasn't immediately ambushed by them, he filled with a sort of sadness he hadn't expected, nor could explain.
As Catherine strolled down the stairs, he was taken back by how utterly stunning she looked. A deep emerald dress hugged her figure, the color of the fabric bringing out the youthfulness of her creamy skin. Her hair flowed loosely down her breasts in beach waves. It was a sin, Dessie thought, for her to be covering those magnificent legs with a pair of tights, and he chuckled when he saw her worn Dr. Marten boots on her feet.
She was always wearing those damn boots.
"Seamus said he's workin' at the Rock tonight, and the Irish Brigade are playin' so I figured we'd check 'em out."
He slowly stood, thinking over her suggestion. It was times like this where the generational gap between them was painfully obvious. Dessie wasn't too keen on being at a pub where a rebel band would be playing. A quiet place where no attention would be drawn was more his taste.
"I dunno, Cate. I don't want trouble."
"Oh," she said softly. "I get it; we can go to the Felons instead then."
Dessie watched the smile fall from her face as she put on her wool peacoat. The disappointed look she wore was a kick to the groin; no wonder why she was a spoilt brat.
He helped pull her hair out of the collar of the coat, then placed his hands on her hips. "No, we can go to the Rock, but the first sign of trouble, we're outta there. And ya gotta promise me you'll behave."
Catherine didn't take offense; she understood his apprehension. The night could go from being absolute fun to completely disastrous in the blink of an eye.
She promised she'd be on her very best behavior, then they headed out.
Closing the front door behind her, she grabbed his wrist. "Dess, I gotta show ya somethin'."
He gave her a quizzical look. Curling her fingers around the hem of her dress, Catherine pulled it up just enough to reveal her surprise.
Dessie bit his knuckle and his cock instantly stiffened. Those weren't tights she wore. He nearly lost his damn mind at the sight of her in a garter belt and stockings.
"You're the biggest fuckin' tease, ya know that?"
"Aye," she said, dropping her dress back into place. "And you love it."
Dessie huffed, admitting defeat. "I'm gonna be chubbed up for the rest of the night."
Staring right into his deep brown eyes, Catherine reached out a hand and cupped him. "Would ya look at that; so ya are."
When they arrived at the Rock Bar, it was packed. Dessie managed to snag a spot at the bar, letting Catherine have the barstool as it was the last one.
Once he saw them get settled in, Seamus Doherty set two pints and two shots of Bushmills in front of them. After clinking shot glasses, they each tapped their glass on the bar, then tossed it back.
A shiver ran down Catherine's spine as the warmth of the whiskey tingled in her belly. She chased with a gulp of Guinness. Licking the foam from her upper lip, she scoped out the crowd to see if anyone she knew was there. She spotted a few girls she'd gone to St. Dominic's with, and they waved to her.
"Motherfucker," Dessie muttered into his glass. He caught it the same time she did.
At the other end of the bar nursing what Catherine knew to be Johnnie Walker, sat Jimmy.
He was supposed to be at home spending time with Eamonn. Not drinking alone in a pub. If she would have known he would just pawn their son off on Fiona and Kerrianne, she and Dessie would have stayed home with the boys instead.
As badly as she wanted to storm up to him and ask why he wasn't with Eamonn, Catherine knew she couldn't. All he'd do is point out the fact she was there, too, then make a snide comment implying she was a bad mother.
She could also tell Jimmy's unexpected presence irritated Dessie.
"Ya wanna head down the road to the Felons?" she suggested.
Dessie set the glass on the bar. He wasn't going to be run out of a pub because Jimmy was there, too. West Belfast was Catherine's territory; he had no business being on this side of the river.
Then again, he didn't want her to feel awkward.
"I'm fine so long as you are. If you're uncomfortable, we can leave."
She shook her head and that was a good enough answer for him.
When the band started playing, her old school mates came over to steal her away from Dessie. Grabbing her pint, Catherine kissed his cheek then pushed her way through the crowd to get closer to the makeshift stage.
Dessie slid onto the barstool and ordered another pint as he polished off the first one. If he drank enough, he'd be able to forget Jimmy was on the other end of the bar staring him down. When he glanced up, he cursed to himself seeing Jimmy was making his way over.
Standing beside him, Jimmy ordered another scotch for himself and a whiskey for Dessie.
"I can buy me'self a drink."
"I dunno about that," Jimmy said arrogantly. "Takin' care of a lass and two bastard kids that aren't even yours, I can imagine money's tight."
It was true Dessie often struggled to bring in a steady income, nevertheless his finances were none of Jimmy's concerns.
"Hell of a way to refer to your kid."
After one of the bartenders filled their glasses, Jimmy took a sip raising his eyebrows. "She's spread her legs for so many of the fellas, who knows if he's even mine."
Dessie knew that was a damn lie. He also had a very low tolerance for bullshit fathers who tried denying their children simply because they were upset with their mothers.
"The wee one looks just like ya. Now, stop talkin' before ya say somethin' stupider," he warned.
Jimmy pushed the three fingers of whiskey in front of Dessie before resting his back against the bar to look out into the crowd. His eyes instantly found Catherine.
"Christ, she's gorgeous," he loudly gushed. "Wouldn't ya say so, Dess?"
Unamused, Dessie gave Jimmy a side-eye. "Aye, she is."
"Ya know, green's my favorite color on her. Her dress is the same color her knickers were the first time I got a taste of her sweet cunt." Jimmy slapped Dessie on the arm. "And I'll have ya know, it happened down in Cross, so it did."
Dessie picked up the glass of whiskey and gulped it down. He bared his teeth when the rough burn of the booze slid from his chest to his stomach.
"How does she feel now that I've loosened her up for ya?"
"Ya did a piss poor job then because she feels brand-new after the first two-inches."
What Jimmy failed to understand is, unlike Patrick and Darragh, Dessie wouldn't dignify anything he said with the physical response he was seeking. Instead, Dessie would take the words being spat at him and throw them back in Jimmy's face.
Jimmy tore his eyes away from Catherine and huffed, not expecting the comeback. Dessie slid off the barstool and grabbed his pint when he heard the opening lines to Fighting Men of Cossmaglen being played.
"Here's what's gonna happen, Jimmy. I'm gonna go be with my girl; you're gonna finish your drink. Then, you're gonna quietly go home and spend as much time as ya can with Eamonn, because once Catherine and I are married, you'll never be seein' her or the boy ever again."
"Please...she'll never marry a fella like you. Once she gets ya outta her system, she'll be right back with me."
Dessie could only chuckle. "I'll let ya think that."
