shatterverse | (no subject)

Current Location: US 34, Western Iowa

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It starts the usual way: A flash, a bang, a person standing, disoriented, near a long stretch of deserted road.

But this man falls to his knees-

(thousands of voices; screaming, crying in his head; anger and despair and everything in between, and he can’t fight, can’t ignore, can’t resist them; stop, stop, Goddess why won’t it STOP)

-and clutches his head, letting loose an agonized shout of surprise.

Then it's over, and it's like it never was.

Jamie lowers his hands, noticing in a detached manner that short strands of blond hair come away in his fingers, and sits back on his haunches, blinking. The last thing he remembers is laughing at a joke -- a bad one, with three tavern wenches and a statue -- and climbing a ladder to get at the apples high in an Olau tree. His shirt still smells like the orchard: sun and fruit and green, growing things. Had he fallen? Is this a fevered hallucination brought on by his broken body and healing magic gone wrong? Grace never could get the hang of it. She’s probably given him an extra thumb.

No. All’s right with that.

Digging his fingers into the earth beside the road, he watches it sift back to the ground. It's chunky and rough, but not dry. Even so, it's clearly not the smooth, dark soil of Olau. Jamie sniffs his hand, frowns and pulls himself to his feet. The road crests a hill to the west. Maybe there's something on the other side to explain what's happened; maybe not. Nothing to do, he supposes, but to start walking.

He'll get back to the pain (voices) in his head later. When the mood strikes.

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Oh, of course. After he's done staring at the way her hair falls around her shoulders, Jamie is quickly captivated by the view. He has no doubt that Eleanor's practicality has positioned them in the best possible spot for overnight survival and comfort, so he ignores the vehicles and what he knows he should probably be doing to help set up camp, instead wondering closer to the lake until the crunch of gravel under his feet gives way to soft grass.

"There should be birds," he comments lazily.

Birds and insects and small animals scrounging for their evening meal. The lack of them doesn't alarm him, just makes him a little sad at what's happened to this world.

After a quick door-testing circuit, Eleanor lies down on her back and scoots under the body of the camper. Her slightly muffled voice drifts out in reply.

"Dunno what to tell you about that. Apocalyptic mass migration?"

A couple of Leatherman slices later, she emerges again with a long length of rubber tubing in her hand.

"When you're done with... whatever you're doing," she says, conversationally, "we could use your lock picking skills on the side door. Either that or you can just jimmy it with something. I doubt the lock's too sturdy."

One end of the tube is thrust into the RV's now uncapped gas tank. Dropping to her knees, Eleanor starts sucking hard on the other end.

Watching this curious behavior with a bemused smile on his face, Jamie feels his breath grow uncomfortably short and is forced to clear his throat.

He doesn't know what she's doing, but it's downright suggestive.

He pulls his eyes away and focuses on the door, as it would be unforgivably rude not to honor her request. And to continue staring. He could pull out a lock pick. Restless and distracted, he decides instead to test the door, then smiles at its base lock and structure. It would be easy enough to apply enough force with his shoulder to break the lock, so that's just what he does, and feels irrationally better for it.

Inside, low levels of light go a long way toward hiding dust and shabbiness, and his occasionally fickle attention is immediately captured by an open pantry.

"I think I found some food," he announces, peering at a box of instant mashed potatoes.

"Pfftooey!"

Eleanor spits out a mouthful of gas and removes the pipe from her mouth. Fuel starts glugging freely out of it.

After a few more splutters, she grins. "Excellent."

It's not clear whether she's replying to Jamie, remarking on the taste of the gasoline, or celebrating the success of her siphoning efforts. Regardless, the hose is stuffed into the bike's open gas tank and left to transfer for a while. She then drops the steps under the newly opened door, and hops up them to join Jamie, admiring his brawny handiwork on the way.

Her nose immediately wrinkles at the mustiness of the interior. There are no signs of ransacking though. It will definitely do.

"Oooh, Rice-A-Roni," she says. "And instant coffee. Score!"

Jamie frowns.

"I'm not sure potatoes and rice in boxes is cause for celebration."

Oh, for a nice venison stew...

"What were you doing?"

"It is when we've got no idea where our next meal is coming from," Eleanor counters, and elbows him in the ribs for his skepticism. She did pick up some canned goods from the aliens' house before they left. These stores should complement them nicely.

"I was getting fuel out of this vehicle and into ours."

She lifts her eyebrows and smirks at him. "It's good practice."

Well, that's just putting it out there, isn't it? He manages not to clear his throat again and mimics her expression.

"You need practice?"

Good to know, his teasingly irreverent smile says.

"Asshole," Eleanor snorts.

"You'll find out soon enough. Unless you keep being a dick."

To be fair, that's not going to stop her. Beyond monster attacks or some kind of natural disaster, it's hard to see what will.

Interesting word choice, Eleanor.

"It's good to know romance is alive and well," he smirks at her, one hand still exploring a shelf. "But what makes you think I intend to let you ravish me so easily?"

Was that flour he just brushed down her nose?

Yes. Yes, it was.

"Oh. Real cute," Eleanor drawls, rolling her eyes.

She grabs his arm and uses his shirt sleeve to wipe off the offending substance.

"I dunno. Maybe the fact that you've already let me once. I don't remember you putting up much of a fight this morning."

Was that a whole handful of flour that she just lazily tossed into his face?

No. Actually it was cornmeal. There's a difference.

Since it's already soiled, the shirt comes off to wipe his face as he's laughing.

"Many a woman has called me mysterious."

More often than not because he enjoys farming more than any noble should.

Eleanor snickers and starts heading back outside.

"The only mystery is how you've managed to survive so long in this world without taking your eyes off me."

She very purposefully does not ogle his naked torso this time around. Because that would be hypocritical.

"You're fantastic at telling me when to duck."

Jamie follows, grinning, very purposefully ogling her rear.

"Shall I start a fire?"

"I'm fantastic at lots of things."

Glancing back, Eleanor notes where he's looking and adds a subtle wiggle into her gait.

"Yeah. Go for it," she says as she reaches her bike. "We're gonna need one."

Satisfied that enough fuel has been transfered, she carefully removes the hose from each of the gas tanks and caps them again. The tubing is held in a U-shape and brought to Jamie.

"Use what's left in here to get it started. The vapor is very flammable."

She also hands over her precious Zippo lighter. She's sure he can start a fire with two sticks if he has to, but she doesn't want him to be out here too long.

He nods and takes the tubing and Zippo like he has more than half an idea what to do with them, which is just not the case. After she goes inside, he lets the easy grin fade and experiments with the lighter over the spot he's staked out as both safe and convenient. He doesn't particularly want to be out here very long himself; that said, he rather likes not having to rely on traditional means.

But it ends up being a quick job, if not a terribly graceful one. And maybe he misjudges the height of the Zippo flame, or how hard to flip and spin the mechanism. Or maybe he, like any number of Zippo enthusiasts before him, lets the repetitive clink and snap as he opens and closes the lighter lull him into forgetting that he is, essentially, playing with fire.

In any case, the flames catch on with a bit more fervor than he would have liked, and when he comes back inside, his eyebrows look as if they've tried to escape up his forehead and he's sucking on a slightly scorched thumb.

"Whoops," he grins around his wounded digit, returning the Zippo with an underhand toss.

Eleanor catches the lighter smoothly, and places it back in her pocket. She's been busy while Jamie's been making the fire. She's stripped the camper's modest bed and put new sheets on it. And that's not the only thing she's stripped. Her boots and socks have been removed, and her top half is bare.

Standing at the foot of the bed, she unfastens the final button on her jeans and gives her hips a little shake. The pants slip to her knees, and then to her ankles.

"Whoops," she echoes, eyes rolled upwards in a show of innocence.

She kicks the jeans towards him and brazenly perches herself on the end of the mattress, awaiting his reaction.

If she was hoping for Jamie to fall all over himself, slobbering, then his reaction is sure to disappoint. He stands still, staring at her with an inscrutable expression. For shame, Eleanor! Men like a little mystery. A little romance. They don't want to be used.

The narration pauses for laughter.

It's much more likely that Jamie, confronted with a suddenly naked Eleanor, has forgotten how to move or breathe.

And how to use language, as is suggested by his quiet, monosyllabic grunt.

Eventually, he licks his bottom lip and rallies with a small grin. "It's not fair to do that to an injured man."

Was that his voice? It didn't sound like his voice. He should probably clear his throat.

Despite what Eleanor might have been hoping for out of him, she seems satisfied enough with the stupefaction. Her gaze falls onto his bandaged ribs.

"It's fair when I'm injured too," she points out, and pats the dressing on her thigh wound. She then crosses her legs and leans back provocatively, supporting herself on her palms.

"Take it or leave it."

Like he actually has a choice in the matter.

Oh, he has a choice.

It's just that there's no chance he'd choose to walk away.

He does choose, however, to enter into this on equal ground. Eleanor is too sure of herself, and far too certain of him. Jamie grins. Before he's done he'll topple some of that assurance and self-control with his own.

A long night awaits, but it'll be worth it.

His grin turns predatory. Hurt thumb forgotten, he slowly peels off his own jeans and comes to stand beside the bed.

"Only a fool would leave," he remarks blithely, running his eyes over her body. The look in them is clear: he could walk away if he wanted to, but he doesn't. An index finger traces along her collarbone then down between her breasts, as he drops both hands to the bed and leans over her. "I'm no fool."

Eyes fixed on his, Eleanor arches into the touch. It's a dark tempestuous gaze, full of lustful urges and wanton desires. Almost boiling over. She's waited nine hours for this. Relatively speaking, not long. But it's seemed like an age.

"Good," she replies, huskily.

Fingers rake lightly down his arm. She cranes her head up and trespasses her lips against his ear.

"I'll be gentle. This time."

Jamie feels like it's been much closer to six months than nine hours. Just sayin'.

"I don't recall asking you to be gentle," he growls, insistently cupping the back of her head and finally, finally, kissing her with no thought of stopping until they are both too boneless and exhausted to move.

It's a fantastic kiss, and it only gets better from there.

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