FIC: "Beards and Grapple" - Joe/Ned - PG - Ned Kelly fandom
Title: Beards and Grapple
Author: Lemur (Lemur710@aol.com)
Fandom: Ned Kelly
Pairing: Joe/Ned (sorta)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Foul language and drug use
Disclaimer: This didn’t happen. Ever. Not that I know of, anyway.
Feedback: That’d be great. Especially constructive criticism.
Archive: List archives; otherwise, just ask. :)
Summary: Months out in the bush can muss a man’s memory.
Author’s Notes: I really have no idea where this came from - Ah, the glory of improv. Written in 90 minutes for the contrelamontre “December” challenge.
And since this fandom is small...
Useful info: These characters are based on real people - Ned Kelly, Joe Byrne, Dan Kelly and Steve Hart - who were known as the Kelly gang. They were a band of outlaws in Australia in the 1880s and were in opposition to the Victorian Police and Queen Victoria herself. They spent nearly 18 months living as fugitives out in the wilds. The character of Joe was, in real life, an opium addict.
Beards and Grapple
By Lemur
Joe pulled the familiar burning deep in his lungs. His thoughts swirled pleasantly, his heart beating a thrilled rhythm and the smoke revealed to him all the unseen colors of the night. The ground beneath his back hurt less, and seemed less hard as his bones melted lethargically. He even stopped sensing the broken and oozing blisters on his heels, a soothing that he expressed with a long, content sigh. A few thin and stretched clouds marked the dotted blackness above them. Joe knew the sky was black and the stars shone crystal white, but he saw greens and reds, purples edging clouds and soft, beautiful blues in the twinkling.
Each night sky was a touch different, he’d learned; some more blue than red, and others even managing a pale amber and gold. He’d seen a lot of nights, admired each one and looked forward to the day’s end when he could lose its toil and worry in a good pipe. So long as Ned was armed and comfortable beside him, which he was, sitting on a log edging their campsite keeping watch and listening for the subtle footfalls of the trackers in the darkness.
They’d seen nothing so far, nothing for weeks, but Ned still insisted upon vigilance. Some nights, though, Joe reckoned Ned kept watch because he was too outraged to sleep. He’d stay up hours thinking over events, thinking of his mother in goal, and figured he might just as well be watchkeep if he wasn’t going to get any shut-eye anyway. No one argued anymore since Joe pointed out the dangers of fatigue and exhaustion only to receive Ned’s angriest glare, the sort that made you glad he wasn’t holding his pistol. Joe hadn’t seen signs of fatigue, though, not really, despite Ned seeming a tad worn out. Ned still had blazes in his eyes and when he did sleep, his body jerked and his trigger finger twitched. If pressed, Joe would admit he worried. It’d been like that for months, maybe five or more.
Joe slung himself into a sitting position, putting out a hand to keep from toppling bonelessly forward and doing himself an injury. He turned onto all fours and crawled smilingly toward Ned’s back, seated upon that old, rotting log.
“A defenseless woman,” Ned muttered. “Bastards. Shit-covered, dim-witted, goat-fucking bastards. Wha’cha doin’, Joe?”
Joe winced and let out a bit of a giggle as he hoisted himself atop the log beside his friend. “What’s the month, eh, Ned?”
Ned looked blandly at Joe’s intoxicated and blissful grin. “You’ve had too much of that stuff, mate, if you can’t remember the month.”
“No such. What is it?”
Ned thought for a long moment, batting away the smoke Joe exhaled. “Shite. I can’t remember.”
Joe laughed, then lowered his volume when Ned nudged him with an elbow and nodded toward Dan and Steve still sleeping behind them. Ned pulled a hand through his hair and let it trail down to his thick beard. “It’s been a few months,” he said. “But Christ and Joseph, I can’t remember which one it is. Weren’t it September when we saw Wild?”
Joe nodded eagerly. “Aye, it was his sis’s birthday. She were born just after my ma toward end of September. That was a long time ago, though, weren’t it?”
“Seems it.” Ned sighed. “Shite, Joe, why do you have to be waking up in the middle of the night asking questions like this?”
“What, am I distracting you from your stewin’? The police ain’t worth the thought, Ned. Tell me what month it is.” Joe took the rifle from Ned’s hand and propped it between his knees, effectively taking over the watch.
Ned slipped off the log and stretched out long in the dirt. “Well - ” He tucked his hands behind his head. “Saw Wild in September, but that were weeks ago now. Did Dan have a beard when we saw Wild?”
“Don’t go by Dan’s beard. Wild’s sister’s got more of a beard than him and it grows faster, too.”
Ned snorted. “Right. Well, can’t go by yours. By the sides, it’s gotta be near January, but your chin’s only about mid-March.”
Joe kicked a toeful of dirt at Ned’s narrow legs, but it didn’t stop Ned from laughing. “Stand up, Ned. Let’s see if we can tell by the shadow of the moon from your big head what’s the month.”
Ned shot up and pushed the rifle from Joe’s hands and, in the speed that made him a winning fighter in the local bets, he had Joe on the ground with his arm twisted beneath him behind his back. Chuckling through gritted teeth, not even angry about his lost pipe, Joe gave Ned a friendly knee to the groin and flipped them over. Ned let out a guffaw, seeming not to care that Dan or Steve might awaken from the noise. He stretched his arm out straight, shoving Joe’s jaw up firmly, bending that smugly smiling face to the sky. Joe retaliated in a way only a friend could: He wedged his hands deep under Ned’s shirts until he felt bare skin and he tickled.
Ned shrieked, laughed, and reared, fighting to buck Joe off him. Joe held tight with tensed thighs and kept his fingers wiggling against Ned’s sensitive rib cage, even when a flailing arm cracked him right across the skull.
“You bastard,” Ned howled at the start of a laugh. “You sodding arse!”
“Relent!” Joe shouted. “Tell me how you love my beard!”
At that, Ned’s chuckle wasn’t only from the tickling. “Ah! You fucking - I love your mangy, flea-infested - Ah!”
One of Joe’s hands moved upward into the crease of Ned’s armpit, a weaker target than even his sides. Ned’s arm clamped down hard on the invasion, but it didn’t stop Joe’s hand from retreating and finding safe ground on Ned’s abdomen again.
“Say it, Ned,” Joe demanded with a mad laugh.
Ned let out an anguished, frustrated, painfully amused sigh. “Okay! Your beard’s beautiful, you cunt! Never have I seen a fuller, more gorgeous beard. I’ll bet the ladies cream just to see it and they all want to run their fingers through it, don’t they? ‘Cause it’s so magnificent. I want to, too!”
Joe squealed and flopped off Ned when a wildly swinging hand stilled and stroked through his beard. “Feck! Get off me, poofter!” Joe shrieked with laughter as his legs were seized and he was yanked backwards into Ned’s strong grasp.
“I love your beard, Joe. I must love it.” Ned pawed over Joe, his hands grabbing wantonly to match the mocking passion in his voice. “I want it. Oh, let me touch it, let me stroke it.”
Joe kneed hard with no intent to hurt. “Molly! It’s Ned Molly! Molly boy! Molly boy!” Rough hands grabbed Joe by his grinning jaw and chafed harshly back and forth over his hairy cheeks.
“Ah, I have touched heaven!” Ned sighed and ended his assault, collapsing on his back beside Joe. “Yes, indeed.” He snorted a laugh.
“Poof,” Joe countered weakly.
“Oh, Joe, what have you done to me?” Ned arched his back and plunged one hand down the front of his trousers. “I want to fuck your beard.”
“That’ll be a dream.” Joe shoved Ned’s arm and Ned removed it from his pants. “My beard’s taken an oath of chastity.”
“Naw. Why’d it do a fool thing like that?”
“Weren’t with my permission, I’ll tell you that.” The smile on Joe’s face felt permanent, even though his cheeks ached from it. He looked overhead to see Dan standing on the other side of the log, staring down at them.
“We all can’t sleep now, I s’pose?” He rubbed his eyes, face in full grump.
Joe expected Ned’s body to tighten and his grave expression to descend once more, but instead, Ned rolled over onto his belly and looked up at his little brother like an infant just discovering Up. “What’s the month, Dan?” he asked.
Dan’s gaze narrowed in confusion. “December. Why?”
“Joe here couldn’t recall and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling.”
Joe gave Ned a good-natured but still bruising punch on the arm.
“All right,” Dan said. “Quiet now? Me and Steve want to sleep even if you two don’t.”
“We’ll be silent as the grave,” Joe assured as he propped his boots - clop, clop - up on the log.
“We will.” Ned nodded. “And Dan, your beard’s coming in real fine.”
Joe snorted as Dan flipped his brother a meaningful finger and walked back to his bed-down. Ned’s playful laugh was a long time in fading. Joe felt his heart thrumming with happiness, even though the sky was only black and white.
“Eh, Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“Think Dan knows what day it is, then?”
Joe barked out a laugh. “Dan!” he called, and was joined a breath later by Ned. “Dan!” Their voices echoed around them, billowing into the December air.
“Shut the feck up, you two!” Dan hollered.
Joe and Ned glanced at one another.
“Daaan!”
The End
Author: Lemur (Lemur710@aol.com)
Fandom: Ned Kelly
Pairing: Joe/Ned (sorta)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Foul language and drug use
Disclaimer: This didn’t happen. Ever. Not that I know of, anyway.
Feedback: That’d be great. Especially constructive criticism.
Archive: List archives; otherwise, just ask. :)
Summary: Months out in the bush can muss a man’s memory.
Author’s Notes: I really have no idea where this came from - Ah, the glory of improv. Written in 90 minutes for the contrelamontre “December” challenge.
And since this fandom is small...
Useful info: These characters are based on real people - Ned Kelly, Joe Byrne, Dan Kelly and Steve Hart - who were known as the Kelly gang. They were a band of outlaws in Australia in the 1880s and were in opposition to the Victorian Police and Queen Victoria herself. They spent nearly 18 months living as fugitives out in the wilds. The character of Joe was, in real life, an opium addict.
Beards and Grapple
By Lemur
Joe pulled the familiar burning deep in his lungs. His thoughts swirled pleasantly, his heart beating a thrilled rhythm and the smoke revealed to him all the unseen colors of the night. The ground beneath his back hurt less, and seemed less hard as his bones melted lethargically. He even stopped sensing the broken and oozing blisters on his heels, a soothing that he expressed with a long, content sigh. A few thin and stretched clouds marked the dotted blackness above them. Joe knew the sky was black and the stars shone crystal white, but he saw greens and reds, purples edging clouds and soft, beautiful blues in the twinkling.
Each night sky was a touch different, he’d learned; some more blue than red, and others even managing a pale amber and gold. He’d seen a lot of nights, admired each one and looked forward to the day’s end when he could lose its toil and worry in a good pipe. So long as Ned was armed and comfortable beside him, which he was, sitting on a log edging their campsite keeping watch and listening for the subtle footfalls of the trackers in the darkness.
They’d seen nothing so far, nothing for weeks, but Ned still insisted upon vigilance. Some nights, though, Joe reckoned Ned kept watch because he was too outraged to sleep. He’d stay up hours thinking over events, thinking of his mother in goal, and figured he might just as well be watchkeep if he wasn’t going to get any shut-eye anyway. No one argued anymore since Joe pointed out the dangers of fatigue and exhaustion only to receive Ned’s angriest glare, the sort that made you glad he wasn’t holding his pistol. Joe hadn’t seen signs of fatigue, though, not really, despite Ned seeming a tad worn out. Ned still had blazes in his eyes and when he did sleep, his body jerked and his trigger finger twitched. If pressed, Joe would admit he worried. It’d been like that for months, maybe five or more.
Joe slung himself into a sitting position, putting out a hand to keep from toppling bonelessly forward and doing himself an injury. He turned onto all fours and crawled smilingly toward Ned’s back, seated upon that old, rotting log.
“A defenseless woman,” Ned muttered. “Bastards. Shit-covered, dim-witted, goat-fucking bastards. Wha’cha doin’, Joe?”
Joe winced and let out a bit of a giggle as he hoisted himself atop the log beside his friend. “What’s the month, eh, Ned?”
Ned looked blandly at Joe’s intoxicated and blissful grin. “You’ve had too much of that stuff, mate, if you can’t remember the month.”
“No such. What is it?”
Ned thought for a long moment, batting away the smoke Joe exhaled. “Shite. I can’t remember.”
Joe laughed, then lowered his volume when Ned nudged him with an elbow and nodded toward Dan and Steve still sleeping behind them. Ned pulled a hand through his hair and let it trail down to his thick beard. “It’s been a few months,” he said. “But Christ and Joseph, I can’t remember which one it is. Weren’t it September when we saw Wild?”
Joe nodded eagerly. “Aye, it was his sis’s birthday. She were born just after my ma toward end of September. That was a long time ago, though, weren’t it?”
“Seems it.” Ned sighed. “Shite, Joe, why do you have to be waking up in the middle of the night asking questions like this?”
“What, am I distracting you from your stewin’? The police ain’t worth the thought, Ned. Tell me what month it is.” Joe took the rifle from Ned’s hand and propped it between his knees, effectively taking over the watch.
Ned slipped off the log and stretched out long in the dirt. “Well - ” He tucked his hands behind his head. “Saw Wild in September, but that were weeks ago now. Did Dan have a beard when we saw Wild?”
“Don’t go by Dan’s beard. Wild’s sister’s got more of a beard than him and it grows faster, too.”
Ned snorted. “Right. Well, can’t go by yours. By the sides, it’s gotta be near January, but your chin’s only about mid-March.”
Joe kicked a toeful of dirt at Ned’s narrow legs, but it didn’t stop Ned from laughing. “Stand up, Ned. Let’s see if we can tell by the shadow of the moon from your big head what’s the month.”
Ned shot up and pushed the rifle from Joe’s hands and, in the speed that made him a winning fighter in the local bets, he had Joe on the ground with his arm twisted beneath him behind his back. Chuckling through gritted teeth, not even angry about his lost pipe, Joe gave Ned a friendly knee to the groin and flipped them over. Ned let out a guffaw, seeming not to care that Dan or Steve might awaken from the noise. He stretched his arm out straight, shoving Joe’s jaw up firmly, bending that smugly smiling face to the sky. Joe retaliated in a way only a friend could: He wedged his hands deep under Ned’s shirts until he felt bare skin and he tickled.
Ned shrieked, laughed, and reared, fighting to buck Joe off him. Joe held tight with tensed thighs and kept his fingers wiggling against Ned’s sensitive rib cage, even when a flailing arm cracked him right across the skull.
“You bastard,” Ned howled at the start of a laugh. “You sodding arse!”
“Relent!” Joe shouted. “Tell me how you love my beard!”
At that, Ned’s chuckle wasn’t only from the tickling. “Ah! You fucking - I love your mangy, flea-infested - Ah!”
One of Joe’s hands moved upward into the crease of Ned’s armpit, a weaker target than even his sides. Ned’s arm clamped down hard on the invasion, but it didn’t stop Joe’s hand from retreating and finding safe ground on Ned’s abdomen again.
“Say it, Ned,” Joe demanded with a mad laugh.
Ned let out an anguished, frustrated, painfully amused sigh. “Okay! Your beard’s beautiful, you cunt! Never have I seen a fuller, more gorgeous beard. I’ll bet the ladies cream just to see it and they all want to run their fingers through it, don’t they? ‘Cause it’s so magnificent. I want to, too!”
Joe squealed and flopped off Ned when a wildly swinging hand stilled and stroked through his beard. “Feck! Get off me, poofter!” Joe shrieked with laughter as his legs were seized and he was yanked backwards into Ned’s strong grasp.
“I love your beard, Joe. I must love it.” Ned pawed over Joe, his hands grabbing wantonly to match the mocking passion in his voice. “I want it. Oh, let me touch it, let me stroke it.”
Joe kneed hard with no intent to hurt. “Molly! It’s Ned Molly! Molly boy! Molly boy!” Rough hands grabbed Joe by his grinning jaw and chafed harshly back and forth over his hairy cheeks.
“Ah, I have touched heaven!” Ned sighed and ended his assault, collapsing on his back beside Joe. “Yes, indeed.” He snorted a laugh.
“Poof,” Joe countered weakly.
“Oh, Joe, what have you done to me?” Ned arched his back and plunged one hand down the front of his trousers. “I want to fuck your beard.”
“That’ll be a dream.” Joe shoved Ned’s arm and Ned removed it from his pants. “My beard’s taken an oath of chastity.”
“Naw. Why’d it do a fool thing like that?”
“Weren’t with my permission, I’ll tell you that.” The smile on Joe’s face felt permanent, even though his cheeks ached from it. He looked overhead to see Dan standing on the other side of the log, staring down at them.
“We all can’t sleep now, I s’pose?” He rubbed his eyes, face in full grump.
Joe expected Ned’s body to tighten and his grave expression to descend once more, but instead, Ned rolled over onto his belly and looked up at his little brother like an infant just discovering Up. “What’s the month, Dan?” he asked.
Dan’s gaze narrowed in confusion. “December. Why?”
“Joe here couldn’t recall and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling.”
Joe gave Ned a good-natured but still bruising punch on the arm.
“All right,” Dan said. “Quiet now? Me and Steve want to sleep even if you two don’t.”
“We’ll be silent as the grave,” Joe assured as he propped his boots - clop, clop - up on the log.
“We will.” Ned nodded. “And Dan, your beard’s coming in real fine.”
Joe snorted as Dan flipped his brother a meaningful finger and walked back to his bed-down. Ned’s playful laugh was a long time in fading. Joe felt his heart thrumming with happiness, even though the sky was only black and white.
“Eh, Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“Think Dan knows what day it is, then?”
Joe barked out a laugh. “Dan!” he called, and was joined a breath later by Ned. “Dan!” Their voices echoed around them, billowing into the December air.
“Shut the feck up, you two!” Dan hollered.
Joe and Ned glanced at one another.
“Daaan!”
The End