DISCLAIMER: All characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World"
series are the property of John Landis, Telescene, Coote/Hayes, DirecTV,
New Line Television, Space, Action Adventure Network, Goodman/Rosen
Productions, and Richmel Productions
General Comments: Since, for some reason, I am getting none of the S3 eps, this is going to have to take place after S2. I love the tension between M/R and the innocence between N/V, so it's mainly about that, with some extra carnage added.
Where the Wild Things Are
The jungle was a beautiful, if not sweltering place to live in. The exotic calls of the local "wildlife" could be inviting or warning to the band of explorers. However, there was one call not normal, and one that was driving the two men crazy.
"Roxton, seriously, do we have to walk so damn fast? It'll still be there when we arrive," a dark haired woman complained. The hunter turned around and shook his head, hiding a smile. He passed a look to the red haired man at his side, who shrugged in response.
"What do you think, Challenger? How much further to that village?" He turned and gave another smirk at the woman, looking at her up and down very openly. "I wouldn't want our darling Miss Krux to get any sores or aches within her legs. She'll be needed later." She shot him a look that would have withered anyone else.
"One thing to be sure, Lord Roxton, you'll never get these legs around you," she hissed back, having caught the sexual innuendo. He made sure not to gape at the open comment she had just made. Usually their worst games of verbal fights were saved for when they traveled alone. Challenger, blessed saint that he was, ignored them, looking down at Malone's notes.
"Ten miles if Malone's notes are accurate," he said, looking up at the sun. He looked back at the tense pair. "We could make camp or go on; it's your choice, you two." Marguerite looked at Roxton clashingly before moving to speak.
"Let's continue onwards. Couldn't hurt to get there," Roxton interrupted. Challenger grinned and nodded, starting to walk off. Marguerite gaped at them.
"Don't I get a vote in this? We should make camp!" she snapped at them as she broke into a jog. Roxton didn't even look back.
"All in favour of moving on?" he asked aloud. Challenger and he raised their arms and continued on. Marguerite bit back a harsh reply and instead looked up at the trees that loomed over them. She noted at a strange marking on one, but dismissed it, walking on.
**************************************************************************** ****************
"Remind me to hand you over to the next Voodoo Queen wishing to make you her love slave," Marguerite snapped at Roxton as she sat down on a log to rest for a moment. She removed her left boot, knocking out several pebbles as she began to rub her foot in pain. He looked over at her from where he was cleaning his gun.
"And I'll delightfully tell you to leave me there," he answered, setting the gun down. "Give me your foot."
"So says the wolf to the sheep. I bloody well think not," Marguerite answered a look of defiance in her eyes. Roxton continued to look at her steadily, wearing her down until she finally gave her foot over. He inspected it lightly, and in a surprisingly friendly move, rubbed it gently. Marguerite won control over her breathing as he continued it, damning him for making it seem so intimate yet so innocent at the same time.
"You'll be fine," she heard his voice say, and she looked away to where Challenger had gone. She struggled to maintain her choke hold on her boot as Roxton began to devilishly slip his one hand along her khaki covered leg. Instead of focusing on his hands, she studied his bent head intently. Since he had cut his hair, she found him looking outrageously handsome, but even more dangerous, like a wolf of some sort. Veronica had done it for him when he commented on feeling too warm, since he didn't trust the other woman with sharp objects anywhere near his person. Small patches of grey were now hidden, and there was no sign he was aging at all. Marguerite quickly turned her eyes, and slapped his hands away as she pulled on her boot.
"Thanks, Roxton. Now I have to thoroughly wash," she commented, standing up. He did so as well, and she involuntarily swallowed hard, looking up at him slightly. He got that damnable glint in his eyes as he trailed his hand up her waist.
"Do I get to watch?" he shot back, his head half bent towards hers. A sudden loud cough startled them both. Marguerite turned, an innocent look plastered on her face, while Roxton just looked on.
"Ahem. If it is alright with you two, I'd like to get moving," said Challenger, passing them a canteen now filled. Roxton quickly latched it to his pack and couldn't help but smile as he saw a reddish tinge on his female comrade's face. He bent his head to her ear.
"I'm going to take that as a yes when we get back home," he said, walking off. She bit her lip. Home, it sounded so simple. Not that is was her home really. It was Veronica's, and London was hers. Was it though? Home tended to be where she laid her gems at, as she had told Veronica once. But the plateau was becoming more than that. It was becoming her sanctuary, where she didn't have to keep her guard up all the time, a false persona all the time. True, around Roxton she kept her walls up, and she knew he did as well. She knew she should stop the games with him, with herself, but he seemed to enjoy them as much as she did, and in truth, it felt like a source of verbal, if harsh, foreplay for them. It led to moments of heated tension that always went incomplete, but she wasn't stupid. She knew if they ever got off the plateau, he would split in a moment, leaving her wanting. Or would he….
**************************************************************************** ****************
General Comments: Since, for some reason, I am getting none of the S3 eps, this is going to have to take place after S2. I love the tension between M/R and the innocence between N/V, so it's mainly about that, with some extra carnage added.
Where the Wild Things Are
The jungle was a beautiful, if not sweltering place to live in. The exotic calls of the local "wildlife" could be inviting or warning to the band of explorers. However, there was one call not normal, and one that was driving the two men crazy.
"Roxton, seriously, do we have to walk so damn fast? It'll still be there when we arrive," a dark haired woman complained. The hunter turned around and shook his head, hiding a smile. He passed a look to the red haired man at his side, who shrugged in response.
"What do you think, Challenger? How much further to that village?" He turned and gave another smirk at the woman, looking at her up and down very openly. "I wouldn't want our darling Miss Krux to get any sores or aches within her legs. She'll be needed later." She shot him a look that would have withered anyone else.
"One thing to be sure, Lord Roxton, you'll never get these legs around you," she hissed back, having caught the sexual innuendo. He made sure not to gape at the open comment she had just made. Usually their worst games of verbal fights were saved for when they traveled alone. Challenger, blessed saint that he was, ignored them, looking down at Malone's notes.
"Ten miles if Malone's notes are accurate," he said, looking up at the sun. He looked back at the tense pair. "We could make camp or go on; it's your choice, you two." Marguerite looked at Roxton clashingly before moving to speak.
"Let's continue onwards. Couldn't hurt to get there," Roxton interrupted. Challenger grinned and nodded, starting to walk off. Marguerite gaped at them.
"Don't I get a vote in this? We should make camp!" she snapped at them as she broke into a jog. Roxton didn't even look back.
"All in favour of moving on?" he asked aloud. Challenger and he raised their arms and continued on. Marguerite bit back a harsh reply and instead looked up at the trees that loomed over them. She noted at a strange marking on one, but dismissed it, walking on.
**************************************************************************** ****************
"Remind me to hand you over to the next Voodoo Queen wishing to make you her love slave," Marguerite snapped at Roxton as she sat down on a log to rest for a moment. She removed her left boot, knocking out several pebbles as she began to rub her foot in pain. He looked over at her from where he was cleaning his gun.
"And I'll delightfully tell you to leave me there," he answered, setting the gun down. "Give me your foot."
"So says the wolf to the sheep. I bloody well think not," Marguerite answered a look of defiance in her eyes. Roxton continued to look at her steadily, wearing her down until she finally gave her foot over. He inspected it lightly, and in a surprisingly friendly move, rubbed it gently. Marguerite won control over her breathing as he continued it, damning him for making it seem so intimate yet so innocent at the same time.
"You'll be fine," she heard his voice say, and she looked away to where Challenger had gone. She struggled to maintain her choke hold on her boot as Roxton began to devilishly slip his one hand along her khaki covered leg. Instead of focusing on his hands, she studied his bent head intently. Since he had cut his hair, she found him looking outrageously handsome, but even more dangerous, like a wolf of some sort. Veronica had done it for him when he commented on feeling too warm, since he didn't trust the other woman with sharp objects anywhere near his person. Small patches of grey were now hidden, and there was no sign he was aging at all. Marguerite quickly turned her eyes, and slapped his hands away as she pulled on her boot.
"Thanks, Roxton. Now I have to thoroughly wash," she commented, standing up. He did so as well, and she involuntarily swallowed hard, looking up at him slightly. He got that damnable glint in his eyes as he trailed his hand up her waist.
"Do I get to watch?" he shot back, his head half bent towards hers. A sudden loud cough startled them both. Marguerite turned, an innocent look plastered on her face, while Roxton just looked on.
"Ahem. If it is alright with you two, I'd like to get moving," said Challenger, passing them a canteen now filled. Roxton quickly latched it to his pack and couldn't help but smile as he saw a reddish tinge on his female comrade's face. He bent his head to her ear.
"I'm going to take that as a yes when we get back home," he said, walking off. She bit her lip. Home, it sounded so simple. Not that is was her home really. It was Veronica's, and London was hers. Was it though? Home tended to be where she laid her gems at, as she had told Veronica once. But the plateau was becoming more than that. It was becoming her sanctuary, where she didn't have to keep her guard up all the time, a false persona all the time. True, around Roxton she kept her walls up, and she knew he did as well. She knew she should stop the games with him, with herself, but he seemed to enjoy them as much as she did, and in truth, it felt like a source of verbal, if harsh, foreplay for them. It led to moments of heated tension that always went incomplete, but she wasn't stupid. She knew if they ever got off the plateau, he would split in a moment, leaving her wanting. Or would he….
**************************************************************************** ****************