Smokin'
By Felicia Ferguson
Rating: R (it's skirting the edge)
Keywords: M/R
Spoilers: Camelot, Resurrection, Unnatural Selection
Summary: Just what happened when Roxton ran out of cigarettes?
1/1
"Bloody hell," Lord John Roxton muttered slamming shut his dresser drawer. He
tossed a dark scowl toward the offending item of furniture and tried to remember
the last time he had so indulged. Right after Marguerite had almost married
that damn boy king. If there ever was a time he had needed a cigarette it had
been then. 'Unless,' he thought with grim resolve, 'it's now.'
Between the heated kisses he had shared with her while snuggling for warmth in
the tent then his death and subsequent resurrection, the longing to take a
soothing drag of the smooth Cuban leaves was nearly overwhelming.
Unfortunately, not one blasted cigarette was to be found. He remembered
Marguerite remarking at the smell after Challenger and Summerlee had finally
roused the exhausted would-be Round Table compatriots from their resting places.
Marguerite. She could have easily hidden them. After all, the next day they
had split up; she going with Malone and Summerlee and he with Veronica and
Challenger. She did have plenty of time to do so. Certain of the accuracy of
his assumption, he rushed out of his room and down the hall toward his
tormentor.
"Marguerite!" he called as he pushed the curtain that acted as a doorway aside
and stalked into her room. "Where the hell are they?"
"Excuse me?" she asked in an imperious tone, thoroughly surprised by his mood.
Though they both still had residual feelings to deal with regarding everything
that Osric had revealed to each of them, they had at least returned to the tree
house on friendly terms. She herself had been shocked not only by the depth of
emotion that had overcome her on seeing John die but also by the words he had
spoken on the balcony.
True, she had known many men, in many ways, but she had never met a man like
him. A man who also possessed a physical and emotional draw whose heartfelt
promises and soft caresses left her head spinning in awareness. In quieter
moments as she pondered his words and actions, she had been forced to admit that
she cared deeply for him, a reality which awed and frightened her at the same
time.
At times like these, however, as she watched him anxiously pawing through her
dresser, it was easy to forget those tender emotions. Roxton, what the hell do
you think you're doing?"
"Where are they, dammit?" He paused for a second to pierce her with a ferocious
glare then returned to his search.
Marguerite flew to his side and jerked his hand away from the dresser. "Need I
remind you that a gentleman never goes through a lady's personal items --
especially her lingerie drawer?"
Roxton pursed his lips, gauging the furious gleam in her gray eyes, then nodded
once. "Fine, then just tell me where they are."
"It would help if you would bloody well tell me what you're looking for!"
Marguerite clamped down on her tongue to keep from screaming at him. John
Roxton was the singularly most irritating man she had even known and she took
delight in returning the favor on every occasion possible.
"My cigarillos. Where did you hide them?"
Marguerite rolled her eyes. "All this furor over your damned smelly cigarettes?
Really, Roxton, I would have thought you able to control your cravings better
than this." She shot him an impudent glance, which combined with her barely
concealed breasts only served to inflame his other burning desires.
"You think so?" he murmured, his voice lowering to that all-too-familiar depth
that sent shivers down her spine. He turned and slowly advanced on her. "Well,
my dear, those 'cravings' as you call them do extend to more than mere tobacco
leaves. Care to assuage those as well?"
Roxton's sudden change from nicotine freak to ardent suitor threw her forcing
Marguerite to draw in a steadying breath. His murky green-brown eyes traveled
leisurely from her face down to her chest which heaved with the effort. He eyed
the camisole-encased mounds with slow amusement. "You must be careful, my
dear," he murmured raising his hands to close the two top-most buttons of her
blouse. His deeply-tanned fingers traced her sensitive skin sending a tremor
through her. "One of these days your penchant for flaunting your assets will
only land you in trouble."
Marguerite bit back her automatic response of, "Like now?" and instead brushed
his hands away to fasten the buttons herself. She stifled a curse when she
realized a moment later that she missed the heated touch of his fingers. Eyes
flashing, she mentally regrouped from the sudden onslaught to her senses and
reminded herself that she wasn't a green deb that she had dealt with men more
amorous than one Lord John Roxton. Unfortunately, none of those amorous men had
held her heart as did the man before her.
"First of all," she began willfully tugging her voice from the throaty depths of
seduction to her normal tones, "I don't see how it is my responsibility to
assuage anything for you, Lord Roxton." She looked up from her fumbling fingers
into his amused gaze and shot him a dark look. "And second of all, I believe
you smoked all of your precious cigarillos."
Finished with the job of buttoning her blouse, a task which took much longer
than usual, Marguerite turned on her heel and returned to sit on her bed.
Cursing herself for the second time in as many minutes, she read the appraising
gleam in Roxton's eye and forced herself to lean back against the pillow instead
of beating a hasty retreat to the door. She adopted an impatient tone and
asked, "Was that all?"
Roxton glanced around her room and was snagged by the frothy concoction she no
doubt considered a nightgown which lay on a nearby table. Caressing the silky
material, he shifted his pointed gaze to her watching the rare blush steal
across her cheeks. He flashed a slow, flirtatious smile and murmured, "For
now," then quit the room.
Thankful to finally be alone, Marguerite rolled her eyes and tried to rein in
her racing pulse. She heaved an unsteady sigh and watched the lean hunter, his
movements a heady combination of grace and danger, walk toward the stairs, long
legs and perfectly formed butt lovingly encased in those light khaki pants.
With effort, she dragged her eyes away.
Damn, but she needed a cigarette.
By Felicia Ferguson
Rating: R (it's skirting the edge)
Keywords: M/R
Spoilers: Camelot, Resurrection, Unnatural Selection
Summary: Just what happened when Roxton ran out of cigarettes?
1/1
"Bloody hell," Lord John Roxton muttered slamming shut his dresser drawer. He
tossed a dark scowl toward the offending item of furniture and tried to remember
the last time he had so indulged. Right after Marguerite had almost married
that damn boy king. If there ever was a time he had needed a cigarette it had
been then. 'Unless,' he thought with grim resolve, 'it's now.'
Between the heated kisses he had shared with her while snuggling for warmth in
the tent then his death and subsequent resurrection, the longing to take a
soothing drag of the smooth Cuban leaves was nearly overwhelming.
Unfortunately, not one blasted cigarette was to be found. He remembered
Marguerite remarking at the smell after Challenger and Summerlee had finally
roused the exhausted would-be Round Table compatriots from their resting places.
Marguerite. She could have easily hidden them. After all, the next day they
had split up; she going with Malone and Summerlee and he with Veronica and
Challenger. She did have plenty of time to do so. Certain of the accuracy of
his assumption, he rushed out of his room and down the hall toward his
tormentor.
"Marguerite!" he called as he pushed the curtain that acted as a doorway aside
and stalked into her room. "Where the hell are they?"
"Excuse me?" she asked in an imperious tone, thoroughly surprised by his mood.
Though they both still had residual feelings to deal with regarding everything
that Osric had revealed to each of them, they had at least returned to the tree
house on friendly terms. She herself had been shocked not only by the depth of
emotion that had overcome her on seeing John die but also by the words he had
spoken on the balcony.
True, she had known many men, in many ways, but she had never met a man like
him. A man who also possessed a physical and emotional draw whose heartfelt
promises and soft caresses left her head spinning in awareness. In quieter
moments as she pondered his words and actions, she had been forced to admit that
she cared deeply for him, a reality which awed and frightened her at the same
time.
At times like these, however, as she watched him anxiously pawing through her
dresser, it was easy to forget those tender emotions. Roxton, what the hell do
you think you're doing?"
"Where are they, dammit?" He paused for a second to pierce her with a ferocious
glare then returned to his search.
Marguerite flew to his side and jerked his hand away from the dresser. "Need I
remind you that a gentleman never goes through a lady's personal items --
especially her lingerie drawer?"
Roxton pursed his lips, gauging the furious gleam in her gray eyes, then nodded
once. "Fine, then just tell me where they are."
"It would help if you would bloody well tell me what you're looking for!"
Marguerite clamped down on her tongue to keep from screaming at him. John
Roxton was the singularly most irritating man she had even known and she took
delight in returning the favor on every occasion possible.
"My cigarillos. Where did you hide them?"
Marguerite rolled her eyes. "All this furor over your damned smelly cigarettes?
Really, Roxton, I would have thought you able to control your cravings better
than this." She shot him an impudent glance, which combined with her barely
concealed breasts only served to inflame his other burning desires.
"You think so?" he murmured, his voice lowering to that all-too-familiar depth
that sent shivers down her spine. He turned and slowly advanced on her. "Well,
my dear, those 'cravings' as you call them do extend to more than mere tobacco
leaves. Care to assuage those as well?"
Roxton's sudden change from nicotine freak to ardent suitor threw her forcing
Marguerite to draw in a steadying breath. His murky green-brown eyes traveled
leisurely from her face down to her chest which heaved with the effort. He eyed
the camisole-encased mounds with slow amusement. "You must be careful, my
dear," he murmured raising his hands to close the two top-most buttons of her
blouse. His deeply-tanned fingers traced her sensitive skin sending a tremor
through her. "One of these days your penchant for flaunting your assets will
only land you in trouble."
Marguerite bit back her automatic response of, "Like now?" and instead brushed
his hands away to fasten the buttons herself. She stifled a curse when she
realized a moment later that she missed the heated touch of his fingers. Eyes
flashing, she mentally regrouped from the sudden onslaught to her senses and
reminded herself that she wasn't a green deb that she had dealt with men more
amorous than one Lord John Roxton. Unfortunately, none of those amorous men had
held her heart as did the man before her.
"First of all," she began willfully tugging her voice from the throaty depths of
seduction to her normal tones, "I don't see how it is my responsibility to
assuage anything for you, Lord Roxton." She looked up from her fumbling fingers
into his amused gaze and shot him a dark look. "And second of all, I believe
you smoked all of your precious cigarillos."
Finished with the job of buttoning her blouse, a task which took much longer
than usual, Marguerite turned on her heel and returned to sit on her bed.
Cursing herself for the second time in as many minutes, she read the appraising
gleam in Roxton's eye and forced herself to lean back against the pillow instead
of beating a hasty retreat to the door. She adopted an impatient tone and
asked, "Was that all?"
Roxton glanced around her room and was snagged by the frothy concoction she no
doubt considered a nightgown which lay on a nearby table. Caressing the silky
material, he shifted his pointed gaze to her watching the rare blush steal
across her cheeks. He flashed a slow, flirtatious smile and murmured, "For
now," then quit the room.
Thankful to finally be alone, Marguerite rolled her eyes and tried to rein in
her racing pulse. She heaved an unsteady sigh and watched the lean hunter, his
movements a heady combination of grace and danger, walk toward the stairs, long
legs and perfectly formed butt lovingly encased in those light khaki pants.
With effort, she dragged her eyes away.
Damn, but she needed a cigarette.