Lynchburg honey and lemonade - a whiskey fic…

A Revolution fic for the Good Ship Charloe - Charloe 500 fic fest. Bass Monroe, Charlie Matheson. Charloe. Blackout AU. After Pottsboro, Bass and Charlie are still at the bickering, filled with sexual tension stage in their relationship on the road to Willoughby. They badly need supplies and find a little town that looks ok according to Monroe, although Charlie has a bad feeling, especially after what happened last time…

AN: Hi and thanks so much for coming back for part 2 and I underestimated things a little bit so there'll be a part 3. J

…..

The Olde Antique Shoppe, New Lynchburg, somewhere in the Plains Nation.

Charlie shifted her weight from butt cheek to butt cheek on the Shaker wooden bench set in front of the lace curtained, olde worlde bay window at the front of the shop, trying to get a bit more comfortable, her wrists and ankles aching and toes going numb because the stupid ropes were tied too tight.

She and Monroe were sitting straddled back to back on the bench, their wrists, elbows and torsos tied together, legs stretched out and ankles tied to the end legs of the bench. Her back and butt were pressed hard up against Monroe's because of the ropes pulled tight around their middles and to make matters worse, no matter how hard she tried to keep it from happening, with their hands tied together hers kept tangling up with his.

His fingers were long, strong and calloused, his palms big and firm and she could feel the coiled strength in his hands every time they brushed against hers. In a totally weird and disconcerting way his strength was reassuring, but still, holding hands with Sebastian Monroe had definitely not been on her agenda for the day.

Shit. She gave up and tried to ignore everything, including him. Leaning back, she sighed heavily and let her head rest against his shoulder, not caring what he thought about it.

He shifted a bit to take her weight but didn't say anything, which was a good thing because she was completely and utterly not in the mood for conversation although her body didn't seem to care about that. Having him so close was like sitting near a fire, the heat radiating through her spine into her belly sending flames leaping southward. Even his butt was hot and as muscled up as the rest of him, firm and springy against hers.

At least it took her mind off the pain in her ankles and calves, and the galloping pins and needles in her thighs.

Their fingers tangled up again, and this time she just let them do it. His fingers and palms were hard, but the skin was kind of soft just where his fingers joined the palm, her fingertips slipping between just smooth and easy as... A tiny little groan escaped before she could stop it leaving her lips.

Damn it.

He laughed a little, low in his chest, letting her do it, his hands relaxed, welcoming, warm on hers.

She could feel his breath getting faster. Like hers.

Oh no.

She cleared her throat and straightened up, pulled her hands away and tried to think of other things. Like the fact that they'd been taken prisoner by bee-keeping, lemon growing, whiskey spoiling fanatics and were being held in the local antique shop because the town was so freaking small it didn't have a jail. Like the fact that the weirdo townsfolk were outside holding a town meeting to decide whether to lynch them or shoot them.

Right on cue, Monroe chuckled, his back vibrating against hers, breaking the tension that was spiralling between them. For now anyway. 'At least they're keeping us somewhere interesting. There's a clock on the desk that I think's genuine eighteenth century, and they've got some Civil war memorabilia that I'd love to have a closer look at.'

He actually sounded interested in all this dusty junk, which was irritating and slightly weird given that they were About To Fucking Die.

Bastard.

She breathed in, then out. Staying calm. So there were some actual antiques in this antique shop in this stupid, antique town? How quaint. 'I'm not talking to you.'

He shrugged, his shoulders jostling hers, his fingers brushing against hers. Again, on purpose this time, deliberately stroking, coaxing. 'That's being a little immature, isn't it, Charlotte?'

Breath in. Breath out. She rallied, keeping her hands determinedly stiff and still. 'Keep your hands to yourself, Sebastian. And next time I choose the town, Ok?'

He actually had the balls to sound offended, pulling away and leaving her feeling strangely bereft. 'How the fuck was I to know the Mayor of this two bit town was from the real Lynchburg and that his wife knew me from when they attended a ball in Philly?' He stiffened up, shoulders flexing as his fists clenched, which in turn made the ropes tighten up around her wrists.

'Ow…' She protested. 'Careful.'

He huffed. 'Sorry. Are my dirty hands inadvertently touching your precious pinkies?'

She rolled her eyes, cursing the fact that he couldn't see her do it and that she couldn't forget the way the Mayor's horse faced wife had fussed and fawned over Monroe, almost climbing into his lap for crying freaking out loud. Her hands had itched wanting to throw the stupid woman into the horse trough. 'Don't worry on my account. I'll just scrub my hands with lye until they're raw if we ever get out of here.' She was so angry she was vibrating.

He snorted. 'You won't get rid of my cooties as easily as that, sugar. Once you've had a taste of Bass Monroe everything else is just cotton candy.'

She felt her jaw drop and for a moment she was too stunned to speak. 'You… you self-centred, narcissistic, conceited moron. You're the reason we're in this mess. If you hadn't made cow eyes at that woman no one'd know we were ever here.' She struggled to pull away from him, then gave up in disgust. The ropes were too tight.

He laughed, dry, mocking. 'For your information I wasn't making cow eyes, I was trying to work out where I knew her from and if she was a threat.'

'She wasn't a threat until you let her slobber all over you.'

Slobber was a total understatement, the woman had positively flung herself at Monroe when she saw him in the street, smarming around him like a cat on heat until her husband came back with a posse, then it was all 'Oh, I was trying to stop him running away, darling.'

Fuming, Charlie paused for breath. 'And not only did the Mayor find you kissing his wife, but he and the rest of his little honey drinkers think you blew up their town when you blew up Atlanta, so I can totally understand why they're pissed at you. What I don't know is why they took me prisoner too and why you fucking let them.'

He turned too quickly, trying to look at her and nearly tipped them and the bench over. He caught it just in time, both of them breathing hard. 'I'll tell you why, Charlotte. One. They had guns, lots of guns. Two. It was probably because you were busy strangling Sharlene or whatever her name is. Three, for your information, I didn't kiss her, she was kissing me and four, I didn't fucking blow up Atlanta and Lynchburg wasn't blown up at all, it got caught in the fallout and none of it was My. Fucking. Fault.' He took a deep breath then shrugged. 'Wasn't my fault she was here either.' Then he mumbled something else…

'What did you say?'

'I said, she was a lousy lay anyway.' He had the grace to sound a little embarrassed.

'Now who's being immature.' Charlie spotted a statue of a little boy with wings and a bow on a pedestal in the corner of the crowded little room. He was looking straight at her, his stupid little stony arrow pointed square at her heart. Damn, she didn't like being in anyone's sights. On instinct she jerked sideways, forgetting where she was.

Monroe braced, solid as a rock, just stopping them tipping over again. 'Hey, cut it out.' It sounded as though he was talking through gritted teeth. 'And I'm not being immature, just stating the facts.'

She swallowed, heart slowing back down again once her body realized it wasn't falling. 'If you say so.' She sat up as straight as she could with the rope around their waists digging into her ribs. 'So, how are we getting out of here?'

'How the fuck should I know. And why's it up to me anyway?' He sounded smug.

Bastard. She stiffened, not quite able to keep a tiny smidgen of panic from her voice. 'Because it's your fault and you always get out of things. It's what you do.'

There was a loaded silence. 'Ok.' He shrugged again, 'then I guess I'm working on it.'

Somebody's shadow moved past the frosted glass panels of the front door. Could be the solitary guard on duty outside, but could also be that the little antiques committee had worked out what they wanted for dessert. Charlie turned to check the window, bumping her head against Monroe's as he turned too, trying to see past her to the door.

'Ow. Damn it. I can't work on getting us out of here if I've got concussion.' He sounded pained.

Pathetic. She ignored him. 'They're coming, work faster.'

…..

An: Thanks for reading and well… ok, I got a bit carried away. Part 3 up soon, cheers, Magpie