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 again for coming back. I really appreciate the kudos and kind comments, they are fuel for the fire. Cheers, M
Part 3.
Charlie felt the ropes around her wrist slacken off a little and sucked in a sharp breath, her heart pounding with relief despite an unexpected and slightly unnerving expectation that he would find a way to get them out of this. Still, she had a reputation to maintain. 'Took you long enough, Monroe.'
'Had to get my boot off first, Mini Miles.' He was doing something with his left hand, his fingers brushing hers along with something cold, hard and sharp. He hissed and jerked a little once but kept on going.
'Mini Miles?' She considered that, didn't mind, in fact it felt ok. The copper tang of fresh blood stung her nostrils and something warm dripped onto her palm, but by the small amount he hadn't hit anything vital so she didn't worry too much. Then she remembered the wound on his thigh, it would've made getting out of his boot hard and painful but he hadn't made a sound. 'How's the leg?'
He kept working on the ropes. 'Should've moved my knife to the other boot, but don't worry, it won't slow me down.' One of the ropes fell, brushing the base of her thumb. Then her hand was free.
'It better not, not with the whole town after us.' Wouldn't slow him down? Did he think she'd leave him if he couldn't keep up? She thought about that as the rest of the ropes fell away and was still thinking about it when she stood up, stretched out the kinks in her legs and arms and noticed him struggle a little putting his boot back on. He was good at surviving as well as killing and she was beginning to think he was right. Her family would need him and maybe she needed him too. It was another weird thing in a long list of weird things connected to Monroe, but being with him made her feel more alive than she had for a long time.
She decided not to leave him. Not yet anyway.
She glanced around the crowded shop. It was crammed full of old junk, most of it totally useless except for target practice maybe. 'Anything in here we could use or trade?' Her eyes caught on the statue on the pedestal. The little stone guy with wings and a bow and arrow was smirking at her, at both of them. She gave him the finger. Definitely not taking him.
Monroe was over at the civil war cabinets, sorting through the stuff there. 'Found something.' He held out a sword, obviously well cared for and maintained, the blade shining, edge glittering as he pulled it out of its scabbard and swung it once, twice. The metal sang…
She admired it, impressed. 'Nice.' Then she spotted something hanging on the wall that was even nicer. 'But that's more my style.' It was a bow, not as good as her lost crossbow, but it was supple and well sprung and like the sword, in good working order. Whoever owned the store obviously liked their weapons and looked after them. She took it down, fingers caressing the smooth wood, slung the fat leather quiver of arrows that hung next to it over her shoulder then went to a gap in the curtains over the bay window, cautiously peeking out.
The guard was still there, standing smoking a pipe and looking bored. She couldn't see anyone else so the others were probably still somewhere having a cup of tea or something and debating the merits of a firing squad versus a good old fashioned hanging.
'Hey, Charlie?' There was a devilish tone in his voice.
She turned, Monroe was at the back door to the shop tying a bit of fabric tied round his hand and pulling the knot tight with his teeth. He looked hot and sweaty but his eyes were vibrant blue, alight with excitement and he was wearing a wicked grin. In fact if he wasn't limping because of his sore leg he'd be practically skipping.
She couldn't help but grin back. 'What?'
He opened the door a crack, glanced out, and beckoned her over, 'well, I figure that while all those nice folks are busy working out the evening's entertainment, no one's watching the store, or our wagon. We've got time to go get our supplies and maybe even some of that whiskey liqueur.'
She went over to join him, picking up a set of throwing stars and an interesting multi-tool thingy on the way, slipping both into her jacket pocket. 'Then I guess I can force myself to drink some.'
….
'It's not bad.' Charlie took another swallow of the lemony sweet whiskey liqueur, feeling the warmth fill her mouth then set her belly burning as it slid down her throat.
'See? I said you should try it before you dissed it.'
She gave him a look. 'I said it's not bad, not that I'd drink it for preference. I told you, I like my whiskey straight.' She put her glass down, then reached over to the fire, ladled a third helping of hot, rich, venison, corn and potato goodness from the iron pot hanging from a tripod over the coals into her bowl and sat back, eating happily and watching the sparks and little flames dancing into the clear air, bright against the dark. Some of them rose so high it was like they joined the stars spread out high above them. She was so full already she'd had to undo the top button on her jeans, but damn, she didn't care. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything as good. 'I gotta say the stew's pretty tasty though, Monroe.'
The horses were chomping grass nearby getting a deserved rest after going hard for a few hours straight to put distance between them and Lynchburg. It was a familiar, homely sound but apart from that, the crackle of the fire and the occasional night bird calling it was quiet, peaceful, beautiful. She felt almost relaxed for the first time in forever. Almost.
'Why thank you, Charlotte,' Monroe put his own empty bowl down, sighed, patted his belly and lay back against one of the big rocks that surrounded the camp, 'I always liked cooking, got pretty good at it. Miles…'
'Isn't. Yeah, I know.' She groaned, remembering some of Miles' attempts at cooking. She could laugh about it now although it hadn't been funny at the time. Even being half starved hadn't made the stuff go down any better. 'He can't boil water without making it taste like crap.'
Monroe chuckled, 'have you tried his coffee? Stuff can dissolve metal.'
'Didn't have much coffee after the Tower.' She frowned, smile gone, eyes full of pain and bad, bad memories, her mind taking her back to that awful, endless walk to Willoughby. 'Once we found out how bad he was at cooking, we made Miles take the night watch while I did the hunting and Aaron was on meal duty.' She flicked a bug off her knee. 'My mom didn't do anything much except stare into space. Too busy going out of her brilliant mind with guilt.'
'Sorry. It must've been bad.' He actually sounded as though he meant it.
Another surprise. She looked up, he had that look on his face again, the look from the pool when Adam was a little rough putting the honey on her wounded shoulder. As though he actually cared.
She didn't know if it was real this time either. Didn't really matter.
She shoved the memories back in their box and slammed the lid shut, then took a deep breath. 'It's ok. We made it to Willoughby, that's the main thing.' Then she got back to cleaning up the last little traces of stew with a hunk of the bread they'd liberated along with the rest. Soon her tastebuds were singing again.
It had been just as tasty sneaking into the shops and stores and stealing whatever they could find. There'd been no one around at all. It seemed like every single person in town except the poor idiot left guarding them had apparently been involved in the meeting, and as every one of them were planning on murdering her as well as Monroe she didn't feel any guilt at all at taking whatever they wanted. None. Nada. Her only regret was finding nothing in the way of clothes for her or Monroe, but there hadn't been time to do a real search.
She put the bowl down and lifted her glass for a refill as he held out the bottle of whiskey. 'Do you think they'll come after us?'
He shrugged, sitting back again, wincing as the movement caught the wound on his leg, a hand reaching down to tug at the dirty, blood smeared bandage. 'Maybe, although they didn't seem like the posse type, more the 'let's pay someone else like those nicely dressed Patriots to do it,' type.' He took a sip from his drink, winced again and stretched his leg out, hand rubbing his thigh. 'So I'm thinking we'd better get a few more miles behind us tomorrow.'
She nodded, then stopped, blinking. They were actually having a real and almost civilised conversation. Another thing for the list. 'Yeah.' Then her eyes followed his hand and she frowned. 'But before that..'
He glanced over at her, puzzled. 'What?'
She pointed at his leg. 'I think you need to let me have a look at that first.'
He shook his head, 'Nah, It's ok, I'll check it later.'
She rolled her eyes, lips tight. 'No. You won't. You'll go on pretending it's ok until you fall over. And you won't be any use to me or my family if it gets infected and you lose a leg, you moron.' She looked him up and down, an eyebrow lifting, eyes full of Matheson determination. 'I can do it. My mom might be bat shit crazy but my grandpa's a real doctor and I helped out in his clinic for long enough to know a bit about nursing.'
He knew that look. She was a lot like her mother as well as Miles. She wasn't going to stop until she got her way.
She drained her glass, put it down and got to her knees. A smirk curving her full lips. 'I also happen to know you don't have any spare clothes, so unless you want to walk around in short pants because I had to cut the legs off your jeans, man up and drop 'em, soldier.'
His jaw dropped and if it wasn't totally impossible, she'd have sworn he blushed.
He cleared his throat, lips twitching a little, went to say something then stopped and started again. 'Ok, but you'll need to turn around.'
She stopped halfway between on her knees and up, actually surprised. 'Didn't think modesty was one of your faults, Monroe.'
He drained his glass in one swallow then very deliberately put it down on the ground next to him. 'Kind of a surprise to me too but I'm trying to be a gentleman here. Turn around.'
She shrugged and got to her feet. 'Sure. No problem. I need to get a couple of things from the wagon anyway.' She walked away, curiosity and anticipation helping the whiskey start a little fire in her belly because she was pretty sure he was commando under the jeans and that was why he'd gone all bashful. A slightly breathless chuckle escaped her lips. The former president of the Monroe Republic, the scourge of wherever it was, fearless killer, deadly swordsman, bareknuckle fighter and alleged womaniser Sebastian Monroe was shy about showing her his dick. It was priceless.
When she got back with a lantern from the wagon, a bucket half full of water, a spare bowl for dirty stuff and the med kit they'd found in back of the supply store he was lying on his bedroll in his shirt, leaning back against one of the wagon wheels with a towel draped across his hips, most of it bunched up between his legs and over his groin. The wound on his thigh was loosely covered with the bandage, his jeans were a crumpled mound of fabric around his ankles and he was holding a glass full of whiskey in one hand and a gun in the other.
She looked at him, trying not to laugh out loud. 'Cute towel and I get the whiskey, but are you going to shoot me if I do a bad job?'
He huffed, although there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. 'I'm a dangerous man, remember? I'll keep watch.'
She smirked, then got down to serious. 'This might hurt, do you want something to bite down on? Don't want anyone hearing you scream.'
He shook his head. 'Don't worry, I've had plenty worse than this. I'll be fine.'
She held his gaze for a minute. Knew he was telling the truth. She nodded, put everything down, arranged the lantern to give the best light, spread her blanket out as a work space, then dropped to her knees next to him and started laying out her gear.
He was bigger than she'd expected close up, his legs long and powerful and covered in fine curly hairs that flickered gold in the lamp and firelight. His chest was broad and strong under the thin shirt, the bronzed hollow at his throat gleaming with sweat, chest rising and falling with his breath and doing interesting things to his pecs. He was even more good looking close up too. She had to admit that, his scruff caught the light, so did his eyelashes...
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a deep swallow.
Her eyes followed the hand holding the glass, tracing those strong fingers, travelling back to the bandana around his wrist, the thick, ridged scars on his forearm just visible under the shirt sleeve. She wondered briefly when he'd done it, what made him want to wipe out his past like that when he could've just had it tattooed over, turned it into a ship or something? Then her eyes found his chest again, and drifted lower to that ridiculous towel, and what she knew was underneath it. As she watched the towel twitched, as though something was…
Shit. She tried to concentrate but it was hard, he even smelled good, a spicy, sweaty, male scent that tickled her nose and made something deep down inside her sit up and take notice. A lot of notice. Sucking in a breath, she cleared her throat again and twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her neck, suddenly hyper aware of her breasts under the threadbare tank, her nipples pebbled and tingling. The worn fabric seam of her pants felt too tight, riding up between the lips of her pussy and her ass cheeks, the ridge teasing the tender, acutely sensitive flesh between. She felt him watching her too, the space between them filling with an electric tension that made the air thick, heavy.
He shuffled a little, bunching the towel up more between his legs with the hand holding the gun, his voice deep, hoarse. 'Are we going to do this or are you waiting for me to beg?'
A strangled gasp escaped her lips but she turned it into a cough, hoping she'd hid it fast enough. For a moment there she'd thought he was talking about something else, which had made her think about how it might be to hear him beg for her to... Damn it. Face flaming, she cleared her throat, 'I need to get everything ready first.' Shit. She sounded just as breathless as he did.
He tore his gaze away from her, looked down at the bucket and other stuff and nodded, his knuckles white around the glass. 'Oh. Yeah. Just… let's get it done, ok?'
'Ok...' She nodded, pulled herself together with an effort and finished setting things out, soaking her swab cloths in water and alcohol and warming the honey by the fire, the familiar drill helping. Then she reached for the bandage on his thigh. It came away easily, thick and wet with fresh blood from where he'd torn it away from the wound getting his pants down over it. 'At least I won't have to soak this off.'
He winced a little, grunted something and took a deep swallow from his glass.
She looked at the wound. The bullet had gouged a path across the outside of his thigh, tearing through skin and the top layers of muscle and flesh. The edges were dark, cauterised by the bullet but the centre was still oozing blood. The actual wound looked surprisingly clean though despite the state of the old bandage but she washed and cleaned it thoroughly anyway then spread honey dressing on it.
Through it all he kept his word, staying perfectly still, occasionally sucking in a sharp breath but that was it. No screaming, not even a whimper.
She didn't think she could've done the same.
Reaching for one of the clean muslin bandages from the med kit she nudged his knee, 'Almost done. Lift up.'
He raised his leg, putting a hand down to keep the towel in place over his groin as she wrapped the bandage round his thigh. 'Thanks. You did a good job.'
She looked up and couldn't help giving him a smug grin. 'Don't sound so surprised, Monroe, I told you I could do it.' It was a good job he'd volunteered to keep watch though because she'd been so involved with what she was doing as well as trying to keep a lid on her hormones she wouldn't have heard a bomb going off. 'Grandpa made sure I learned how to do a good job,' she shrugged, 'Miles…'
He chuckled, 'knows squat about nursing. I know. He was always better at inflicting wounds than healing them.'
'True.' And it was. Miles was great at giving it out, not so good at cleaning it up. She glanced up at him then tied the bandage off with a neat knot, leaning back a little to inspect her work.
The skin of his thigh was rough with golden hair, the taut muscles rippling as he held his leg still for her, the other leg stretched out straight and his torso bent towards her, the lamp light sending shadows dancing over powerful masculine curves and that oh so handsome face.
One of her hands was still resting on the bandage, but the tips of her fingers were touching the flesh above it and almost without her telling them to, they were exploring the warm, smooth skin, floating over the short, soft hairs that thickened like an arrow towards… Shit. She realised suddenly how close she was to the towel and stopped moving with an effort that had her biting her lip so hard it hurt. She cleared her throat again, although it sounded more like a strangled squeak, her voice not much better. 'You're lucky it wasn't any higher.'
'Damn straight.' He choked off a laugh, carefully not moving, watching her hand on his thigh, gaze intent, fascinated. His eyes flashed up to hers, the blue luminous in the lamplight, a gleam of something wicked and very, very male in their depths. 'Would you still have helped out if it had been?'
She looked down at the bulge beneath the towel, then back up at him, an eyebrow lifting and her lips curved in a smile that was all insinuation. 'Might've needed a bigger bandage.'
This time he let the laugh out.
….
AN: Hi, hope you enjoyed this, I really love that 'before they really get it on' stage, and things are hotting up. Not sure if there'll be another part in this or if I'll catch up with them a little further down the road. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, hope to see you at the next one, cheers, Magpie