Quatermain Snippets
Hi, all! Hope everyone is set to have a fabulous Friday! I actually have the day off, so I'm plotting all sorts of writing things (and, let's be honest, some napping/watching Netflix as well.) I've had several plot bunnies bouncing around for my Fake TV Show/Original!Fic, The Quatermain Society. But as I was planning to post a couple of those stories, it occurred to me that I actually have several snippets floating around in the comments of my LJ, so I thought I'd put them all up in one biggish post of sexy, achaelogyish, adventuresome goodness. :) Hope you enjoy! (Also, I'm now relaizing that Jackson has been SADLY neglected! Have to find a plot bunny for him next! :) )
Geneva and Mac
"Come on, Princess, put your back into it!" Mac shouted over the pounding rain.
Geneva, her high heels sliding in the mud, glared at him. Or at least she tried to. Her hair had started sliding out of its elaborate up-do and was currently covering half her face.
"I told you not to take this road!" she shouted back. "Simon said it always floods when there's a storm and-,"
"And it was the fastest way back to the harbor," Mac replied, grunting as he once again tried to lift the jeep's hopelessly stuck rear wheel. "If someone hadn't shrieked and made me swerve-,"
Geneva stepped back from the jeep, stumbling as she stepped on the hem of her ball gown. "And if you hadn’t hit that pot hole, I wouldn’t have nearly dropped this," she said, reaching into a secret pocket hidden in her voluminous skirt and pulling out a tiny golden statue.
She had no idea why such a little thing- in the shape of a rather stupid looking monkey at that- was worth so much to her Uncle Simon, but she and Mac had just spent the better part of the evening stealing it from the private collection of one Calum O'Neil, and damned if she was going to lose it in the jungle just because some idiot was driving too fast down muddy trails in the dark.
Mac reached for the statue, “Lemme hold that,” he said, stepping forward, but Geneva jerked it back.
“No. This was my assignment. You were just supposed to escort me and keep me safe. At which-,” she threw a pointed look at
the jeep, “you have so far failed spectacularly.”
Rolling his eyes, Mac pulled his tuxedo jacket off and tossed it into the backseat. “Whatever, Princess.”
“Don’t call me-,”
“Just stay out of the way.”
Now Mac was tugging at his bowtie, and soon it was lying on the jungle floor. As his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, Geneva’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Can’t move in this monkey suit.” The shirt sailed through the air, landing in a sodden heap on top of his jacket.
He gave her a grin that was somewhere between cocky and charming. How did his eyes still look so blue in such dim light? “Don’t worry, I’ll put it back on when I’m done. Wouldn’t want you to faint and get that pretty dress all muddy.”
As he turned back to the jeep, the muscles in his back working in positively… interesting ways, Geneva gritted her teeth, the rain feeling very cold on her heated skin.
Mac glanced over his shoulder, and there was that flash of teeth again. “Need to sit down, Princess?” And then his grin vanished. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his smooth voice suddenly sounding strangled.
Geneva gave him the most innocent look she could muster as she shimmied out of her dress. It collapsed at her feet in a puddle of sky blue tulle, leaving Geneva standing in the rain, in the jungle, in nothing but her ivory silk bra and knickers. Mac just stared at her as she carelessly kicked the dress out of the way and walked forward. “I believe my attire was hampering my movements as well.”
She leaned down next to him, their faces inches apart as she gripped the back of the jeep. His mouth was opening and closing, but no sound was coming out, and Geneva smiled a wicked little grin as she said, “Come on, Mr. McKade. Put your back into it.”
It only took the two of them a few minutes before the jeep’s rear wheel finally came unstuck, the vehicle lurching forward slightly. Geneva and Mac both straightened up, Geneva giving a breathless laugh of relief.
The rain continued to pour down on them, her in her underwear, him in just his tuxedo pants. Both of them were streaked with mud and breathing hard, and Geneva wasn’t so sure it was just from exertion.
“Well,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “We’re done then.”
Mac’s hand shot out, his fingers clutching the back of her head, tightening in her hair in a way that should have been painful but most definitely wasn’t. “Like hell we are,” he murmured before pulling her close and lowering his lips to hers.
Bryony and Simon
Simon was already frazzled when he walked into the warehouse currently housing the Quatermain Society's office. His class schedule was driving him mad, he still hadn't heard from Mac and Geneva in Belize, and Emma had refused to work with Declan since Havana, which was highly inconven-
He came to a stop just a few steps inside the door, his train of thought thoroughly derailing. "Bryony."
She stood in the middle of the room, wearing jeans and a black cashmere sweater that probably cost more than his yearly salary. Her blonde hair was spilling in messy waves over her shoulders and she looked so beautiful and so...touchable that Simon shoved his hands in his pockets. Why wasn’t she wearing a suit? One of those severe wool things that made her look like James Miller's widow (wife. Wife, he wasn't dead, not for sure) and not like the girl he'd first met in London 15 years ago?
"Hullo," she said with a little wave.
"What-what are you doing here?"
She smiled nervously and gestured to the row of shelves. "I had the afternoon free, and I thought I might as well see what all my money is paying for."
He stared at her for a moment too long before stammering, "Oh, r-right, of course. I can have Emma make up a spreadsheet for you if you like. She's somewhere around here...,"
Bryony laughed and the sound was like a direct hit to his stomach (and, if he were honest, regions somewhere south of there as well.) "No, I don't want anything that technical. I just wanted to see what you've been up to for the past few months." She turned back toward the shelves, and a shaft of late afternoon sunlight turned her hair to molten gold. "There are so many things here. I can't make heads or tails of any of it."
Now it was Simon's turn to chuckle. "Bryony, you read Art History at Cambridge and went with James on innumerable expeditions for over a decade. You probably know more about the items in this collection than anyone on my team."
Ducking her head, Bryony gave him a shrewd look. "I'm offering you the chance to show off here, Simon. Take it."
He should leave. Have Emma make her that spreadsheet. Or maybe let Jackson give her the tour. He was awfully good at it.
Instead, Simon moved forward, hands clasped in front of him. "Right. Okay, then. Where would you like to start? Artifacts? Documents? Jewelry?"
"Do you really have to ask?"
"Documents it is then."
They both laughed, and it struck Simon that there was something very intimate about laughing together. About the ways eyes met, and cheeks flushed, and lips moved...
Pushing that thought aside, Simon swept an arm out in front of him, gesturing toward the shelf nearest the window. "We've actually recovered several pieces of jewelry recently. This-," he walked toward a truly stunning opal and diamond choker, "allegedly belonged to Empress Elisabeth of Austria. The largest opal there? In the center? Was found in a cave in Australia. Said to have mystical powers bestowing beauty onto the wearer."
Bryony quirked an eyebrow. "And does it?"
Simon shrugged. "Who can say? It's been owned by some of the most devastatingly beautiful women in the world, so perhaps that's where the rumor started."
"And you obtained this with my funding?"
"Yes."
Bryony pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and a surge of lust shot through Simon. As he had so many times in Bryony's presence, he began recitation in his head. William I, William II, Henry I, Stephen...no, Maude, then Stephen...
Usually, the boring list did a fair job of cooling if not killing his desire. But Bryony's long, slender fingers were dancing over the sparkling jewels, and Simon wasn't sure if even the rules of cricket could quell his ardor now.
"So I own this necklace?" Bryony asked with cheeky grin.
Flustered, all Simon could say was, "Um...yes. Technically."
"In that case, let's test it out," she said, and before Simon could stop her, she'd scooped the choker up. Holding it out to him with one hand, she swept her hair up with the other. "Go on then," Bryony said, turning her back to him.
Simon looked at the pale column of her neck, the soft curls twining around her ears, and for the first time since James had gone missing, he hated his brother. Hated that James had kissed that throat, touched that hair.
Hated that he'd woken up every day next to this glorious woman, never once realizing what he'd had.
If Bryony noticed the trembling of his hands as he fastened the choker around her neck, she didn't say anything.
Whirling back around, she lifted her chin and sucked in her cheeks. "Well? Am I devastatingly, world-endingly beautiful?" she joked.
He could've joked back. The retort was already forming on his lips. Instead, he brushed her hair back from her forehead and said, "No more than usual."
The amusement drained from her face, and Simon called himself an idiot in three different languages. He went to pull his hand back, but Bryony caught it, pressing his palm against her cheek. "Simon," she said softly.
If he lowered his face by just a few inches, he could kiss her. Again. He wondered if she tasted the same.
She shifted slightly, and the light bounced off the jewels at her throat. The jewels James had found.
Simon stepped back, letting his hand fall to his side. "Anyway, that's our most recent acquisition. Is there anything else you'd like to see, Mrs. Miller?"
Bryony reached up and unfastened the clasp, and as she pressed the choker back into his palm, Simon wasn't sure what was colder, the gold or her eyes. "No, thank you, Dr. Miller. I think I've seen enough for today."
Emma and Declan
“I don’t normally do this sort of thing,” Emma managed to gasp between kisses. Then she laughed, her head falling back against the door. “Oh, God, and I usually don’t say that sort of thing. I’m actually allergic to clichés, and…ohhhh,”
Declan was kissing her neck now, and while Emma had been kissed there plenty of times (okay, twice) by plenty of men (okay, one) she didn’t remember it ever feeling this…this…melty.
She sunk her hands into Declan’s dark hair and moved her hips against his in a way that should’ve felt inappropriate if not downright illegal. They were in public, after all. Granted it was past 2AM and Emma hadn’t seen a single soul in the hallway, but someone could come by at any second.
Emma waited for the cold-water reality of that thought to sink in, but if anything, the idea of someone catching them, of seeing Emily Annabeth Callahan pressed against her hotel room door, her skirt hitched up her thighs, her hair a mess, her fingers clutching a man who was almost certainly a criminal…
Moaning, Emma tugged Declan’s face back to hers, and their kiss was all heat and tongues and the occasional nip of teeth. He tasted like mint and expensive rum, and Emma knew she did, too.
I’m drunk, she told herself, even though she’d only had two mojitos. I’m drunk, and there’s a huge storm outside, so we couldn’t search the beach like Simon told us to, and that is the only reason I’m doing this. I don’t even like Declan.
Except that he had made her laugh even before they’d ordered the mojitos. And she’d felt a little frisson of…something when they’d stepped off the plane and he’d guided her through the airport with his hand on her lower back. But none of that was the reason she was letting this happen. It was the alcohol. Had to be.
“Emma, get your key out,” Declan mumbled against her jaw when they finally pulled apart.
“What?” she asked, her brain scrambled by whatever it was his hand was doing on her upper thigh.
“If you don’t open that door, Emma my darlin’, I’m going to shag you right here in the hallway. And that may get us kicked out of this fine establishment.”
Emma giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck, moving her leg higher up on his hip. “I dare you.”
She leaned in to kiss him, but Declan pulled back, studying her face. He had such nice eyes, Emma mused. How could someone so-so disreputable have eyes like that?
Declan gave a little groan.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Just…bit of a conscience attack. Which, to be honest, is a something of a shock since I was pretty sure I was not actually in possession of a conscience.”
“Conscience attack? About what?”
He sighed and ran a hand over his unruly curls. “It’s just… Emma Callahan, joking about sex in a hotel hallway? You must be well and truly pissed.”
Emma blinked at him. “I’m not angry. Do I look angry? That happens. Sometimes my neutral face goes a little, ‘grrrr,’” she said, making claws with her hands, “but I’m not-,”
Declan chuckled. “Not that kind of pissed, luv. I meant drunk. And while I usually pride myself on being something of a bastard, I’m not enough of one to take advantage of you when you’re this sloshed.”
Emma frowned. “So…we’re not…,”
“No.”
“And you’re going to-,”
“Go back to my room,” Declan finished. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Emma heard him take a deep breath, and then he was walking away, muttering something that sounded like, “Feckin’ hate being honorable sometimes.”