(no subject)
TITLE: Interlude
AUTHOR: eudaimon
WORDCOUNT: 2238
RATING: R
PAIRING: Marcus Wright/Blair Williams, implied Blair/Marcus/Kyle Reese
DISCLAIMER:: Don't own, and am making no money.
SUMMARY: In the desert, the dust clings to everything and they take every chance that they get.
A/N: This is eventual going to form part of a series that I'm working on involving a journey across America, but, right now, it's just a little smutty thing for melloniel and bzzinglikeneon, with my compliments.
At night, she sits in the circle of firelight and braids her hair, feathers and pieces of glass worn soft by the weight of the wind and the sand, silver and wooden beads. She sits with her knees drawn up, the light painting her face in interesting ways as she watches Kyle and Star getting ready to sleep. It's the night-time when Kyle actually looks his age, skinny in too big clothes, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and then they slip down again as he touches Star's head with both hands and leans in to whisper something.
This whole thing would probably be quicker and easier without them, but there's no way any of them were leaving anybody else behind.
There's been enough of that.
More than enough.
Marcus knows better than to interrupt Kyle and Star during this; they've been together for a long time, since Star was little enough to need to be carried everywhere and they've got a routine. They've got a way of doing things. Kyle carefully wipes Star's face and she gives him this look, a look that she could only possibly have learned from him. He hands her the cloth and she wipes his face just as carefully.
In prison, Marcus learned that routines help.
He's so busy watching them that it takes him a moment to realise that Blair's looking straight at him. She stands up, hair hanging loose around her face. She tucks it behind her ear and a pearl kisses the smooth bronze of one cheek.
She holds her hand out to him, her arm tan and bare in the warm night.
"Come on," she says, quietly. "They're alright."
He does the only thing that he can do. He takes her her hand.
Kyle looks up and watches them go. Blair puts up one hand, her ring sparking in the light, and her fingers say that they won't be long. Kyle nods, just barely, and gets Star to lie down with him. There's only one fairytale that he knows and he tells it to her over and over, and sometimes, Marcus lies there with Blair's head on his chest and listens to him tell it, and it's one of the ones about a kid who fell down a well and never got to go home.
Marcus is working on teaching him everything that he can remember with a happy ending.
Some days, it's easier to remember them than others.
Tonight, they're camped near a stand of trees, spare and sparse and dry, and it's easy enough to slip among them, Marcus in his t-shirt, Blair with her arms long and smooth and bare. She's wearing a silver bangle so thin that it bends out of shape if when he takes hold of her wrist with metal fingers, pulling her in against him, and bending his head to catch her mouth with his. They're far enough into the trees that he can't hear Kyle talking anymore.
Once upon a time, there was a boy who fell down a well and kept falling, all the way to the bottom.
Marcus knows the feeling. He nudges Blair's mouth until her lips part for him and he can kiss her deeper, fingers pressing into her hair to hold her tight. What they're doing here is spreading the good word, more or less; going places where the signal doesn't reach. Spreading the gospel of John Connor, which doesn't mean that Marcus can't expect something good in return. Sometimes it's Blair, sometimes it's Kyle, but it's always fucking good.
Blair's a creature of precise movement; he's learned that from watching her when she's flying or when she's putting on her clothes or braiding Star's hair. She turns them precisely and leans back, looking up at him through her hair. She paints the band across her eyes whenever they go into the cities, wherever other people are, and he kisses her forehead and tastes paint and tells her that she looks like something out of her own past.
Good, she tells him. Good. It means that I'm remembering what we lost.
For a long time, Marcus just wanted to forget everything that he'd ever known, done or been, but he can see the benefit in remembering as he presses her back against the tree with his hips, pushing both hands up to cup her tits over her shirt and squeeze gently. He spent a long, long time stripping away everything of himself that was soft or giving. Makes sense that all of that would come flooding back over cast metal bones. A smile curves her lips, just a little, and there's no breeze to stir her hair against her cheek.
"What?" he says, pinching her nipple through her shirt, bending his head to kiss her neck, sucking at the pulse underneath his lips. You've got a strong heart. He presses his knee between her thighs and feels her pulse there as well. Blair arches, graceful as anything. Marcus dated a stripper once, three sweaty months, and the way she moved didn't hold a candle to the way Blair's hips twist and her fingers slide up, tracing over the scar t the back of his skull. HIs hair's getting longer every day.
"That look you get."
Slowly, rationally knowing that Kyle could look through the trees and see them (he doesn't care if Kyle doesn't care), Marcus sinks down onto his knees in front of her. Blair traces her thumb against his bottom lip and Marcus opens his mouth just enough to suck as he pulls her pants undone. That look he gets, it's because he's amazed that he gets to do things like this, whenever they've got the time and space, and sometimes it's the three of them, when they've got somewhere safe for Star to sleep. He doesn't talk about it, which doesn't make those things any less remarkable, in his eyes.
He's keeping a record. He's collecting these things, in case he's ever down in the dark again.
Which could happen. He's off the map here.
Blair trails her damp thumb against his skin as he leans in, pressing a sucking kiss to the flat of her belly. Sometimes, she looks like there isn't anything to spare on her, but then she curves at times like these and takes him by surprise. He kisses down over her panties which, surprisingly, as lace, some hoarded antique, fragile and lovely.
Since the first moment he met her, she hasn't stopped surprising him.
She kicks out of her pants and Marcus pins her, hands on her hips as he leans in and kisses her cunt through her panties, sucking at the taste of her, and remembering being younger, before the world ended, doing this with beautiful girls, but not one of them was as beautiful as her and not one of them ever mattered so much.
Fuck, he dreams of a day when he's got time to go down on her for as long as either of them want. Maybe there'll be time. Once they get to the ocean.
Blair pushes her fingers back through his hair, tilting his head back until he looks up at her and gives he a sweet, breathless sort of smile. He can taste the way she smells, and he licks his lips. Sometimes, just sometimes, with one of them or both, it's easy to forget how long this road could be.
"Come here," she says, softly and Marcus has always had a problem with authority, since he was a kid, but there's nothing wrong with the note of command in Blair's voice and Marcus resists the urge to salute as he gets back to his feet again. There's a sort of sanctuary that a woman like Blair sells, her body a cathedral, her hands folding and making a door through which there is no war. His hand drops, guiding her leg up against his thigh, higher, pushing her up onto her tiptoes. His hips tilt forward as she unfastens his pants, worn without underwear, curls her fingers around his dick and jerks him gently. He's hard and ready for her. Under the collar of his shirt, there's a spot where the skin's worn away and Blair finds it with her fingers, rubbing gently, and he catches on to her heat like a coin carried in a pocket.
"Come on then, machine gun man," she murmurs, her dark eyes laughing because she knows that it baffles him that she used to listen to the same music as his kid brother did, before the world ended in more ways than one.
In doesn't take much to twitch her panties out of the way and she's already got him in hand.
"Now?" he asks her, almost teasing himself as much as he's teasing her, resting against all of her heat like that. Blair grins, arching, pressing down against him, curling one arm up over her head to rest the back of her hand against the tree.
"I don't know what the fuck you're waiting for, Wright."
It's all he needs. When he's inside of her, the world stops spinning, stops talking, all of it, and he just centres in, his eyes on her face. It's her who starts to move first, rocking between his body and the tree. For a moment, all he could do was watch her as she rise and fell, her body above him, arms draped over his shoulders. He presses one hand against her ribs, the other on her thigh, urging her up off the ground, wrapping her around him as he pushes deeper. She groans softly, biting her lip to keep from being too loud. At first, he thought Star couldn't hear, but then he saw the way that she reacted to the robots, to the music, to Kyle.
They're careful around her so that, just for a little while, she gets to be a kid.
With Blair's legs wrapped up around his waist, everything feels like it's slipping away from Marcus too quickly. He presses up, kissing her hard, desperate, his free hand shoving up under her shirt to cover her tit, squeezing hard. This time she does moan, shoving the noise into his mouth and he swallows it down. He leans his forehead against hers, looking down as Blair drops a hand down between them, her fingers grazing over her clit. Marcus supports her with one hand, fucking her harder now, hard enough to move her back against the tree, her tit bouncing in his hand. She cradles his chin with her free hand, turning his face so she can kiss his jaw, sucking hard on his stubbled skin.
"Christ, Blair. Fuck."
"Come on, Marcus," she murmurs, mouth moving to his ear, nipping at his earlobe with the edges of her teeth. "Keep up."
"One day, I'm going to do this to you for fucking hours," he groans, softly, hand sliding to her ass and squeezing hard, tugging her down onto him.
With her hand on the back of his neck, Blair looked straight into his eyes.
"Promises, promises," she says and then, the next moment, she's coming, coming hard and it's impulse that makes Marcus shift his hand pressing it over her mouth so she's screaming against his palm and it's that, the hot rush of her breath and the way that she trembles that brings him off too , helpless for her as always but, at the same time, it feels like the only fucking thing that he's got any control over anymore. If they can still do this, then anything's fucking possible.
They come down together, clinging to each other, the tree supporting more that it's fair share of their weight. Blair kisses Marcus' palm and he smooths his free hand over her hair.
"Alright?" he asks her, his throat sore like he's been shouting, and he kisses her forehead gently. He finds such quietness in himself sometimes that it startles him.
"Alright," she says, putting one leg down onto the floor as he slips out of her, and they're both still trembling.
Back at the fireside, Star and Kyle are sleeping, heads bent together, snoring softly, Star's little hand curled around Kyle's bicep, holding on tight. Marcus stands over them for a minute, just watching. He scratches his neck and he can still smell Blair on him and she curls her arm around him, leaning her chin against his shoulder and the silver and glass in her hair catches the firelight and he reaches up and brushes his fingers over them and then he crouches down and smoothes the hair back from Kyle's forehead.
And, in that moment, it feels like everything might be alright.
He doesn't really believe it, but it's nice to feel it with Blair on one side of him and Kyle on the other, under a sky full with more stars than seem possible.
It's pretty good, and he tucks the feeling away and keeps it, in case they ever end up down in the dark again.
AUTHOR: eudaimon
WORDCOUNT: 2238
RATING: R
PAIRING: Marcus Wright/Blair Williams, implied Blair/Marcus/Kyle Reese
DISCLAIMER:: Don't own, and am making no money.
SUMMARY: In the desert, the dust clings to everything and they take every chance that they get.
A/N: This is eventual going to form part of a series that I'm working on involving a journey across America, but, right now, it's just a little smutty thing for melloniel and bzzinglikeneon, with my compliments.
At night, she sits in the circle of firelight and braids her hair, feathers and pieces of glass worn soft by the weight of the wind and the sand, silver and wooden beads. She sits with her knees drawn up, the light painting her face in interesting ways as she watches Kyle and Star getting ready to sleep. It's the night-time when Kyle actually looks his age, skinny in too big clothes, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and then they slip down again as he touches Star's head with both hands and leans in to whisper something.
This whole thing would probably be quicker and easier without them, but there's no way any of them were leaving anybody else behind.
There's been enough of that.
More than enough.
Marcus knows better than to interrupt Kyle and Star during this; they've been together for a long time, since Star was little enough to need to be carried everywhere and they've got a routine. They've got a way of doing things. Kyle carefully wipes Star's face and she gives him this look, a look that she could only possibly have learned from him. He hands her the cloth and she wipes his face just as carefully.
In prison, Marcus learned that routines help.
He's so busy watching them that it takes him a moment to realise that Blair's looking straight at him. She stands up, hair hanging loose around her face. She tucks it behind her ear and a pearl kisses the smooth bronze of one cheek.
She holds her hand out to him, her arm tan and bare in the warm night.
"Come on," she says, quietly. "They're alright."
He does the only thing that he can do. He takes her her hand.
Kyle looks up and watches them go. Blair puts up one hand, her ring sparking in the light, and her fingers say that they won't be long. Kyle nods, just barely, and gets Star to lie down with him. There's only one fairytale that he knows and he tells it to her over and over, and sometimes, Marcus lies there with Blair's head on his chest and listens to him tell it, and it's one of the ones about a kid who fell down a well and never got to go home.
Marcus is working on teaching him everything that he can remember with a happy ending.
Some days, it's easier to remember them than others.
Tonight, they're camped near a stand of trees, spare and sparse and dry, and it's easy enough to slip among them, Marcus in his t-shirt, Blair with her arms long and smooth and bare. She's wearing a silver bangle so thin that it bends out of shape if when he takes hold of her wrist with metal fingers, pulling her in against him, and bending his head to catch her mouth with his. They're far enough into the trees that he can't hear Kyle talking anymore.
Once upon a time, there was a boy who fell down a well and kept falling, all the way to the bottom.
Marcus knows the feeling. He nudges Blair's mouth until her lips part for him and he can kiss her deeper, fingers pressing into her hair to hold her tight. What they're doing here is spreading the good word, more or less; going places where the signal doesn't reach. Spreading the gospel of John Connor, which doesn't mean that Marcus can't expect something good in return. Sometimes it's Blair, sometimes it's Kyle, but it's always fucking good.
Blair's a creature of precise movement; he's learned that from watching her when she's flying or when she's putting on her clothes or braiding Star's hair. She turns them precisely and leans back, looking up at him through her hair. She paints the band across her eyes whenever they go into the cities, wherever other people are, and he kisses her forehead and tastes paint and tells her that she looks like something out of her own past.
Good, she tells him. Good. It means that I'm remembering what we lost.
For a long time, Marcus just wanted to forget everything that he'd ever known, done or been, but he can see the benefit in remembering as he presses her back against the tree with his hips, pushing both hands up to cup her tits over her shirt and squeeze gently. He spent a long, long time stripping away everything of himself that was soft or giving. Makes sense that all of that would come flooding back over cast metal bones. A smile curves her lips, just a little, and there's no breeze to stir her hair against her cheek.
"What?" he says, pinching her nipple through her shirt, bending his head to kiss her neck, sucking at the pulse underneath his lips. You've got a strong heart. He presses his knee between her thighs and feels her pulse there as well. Blair arches, graceful as anything. Marcus dated a stripper once, three sweaty months, and the way she moved didn't hold a candle to the way Blair's hips twist and her fingers slide up, tracing over the scar t the back of his skull. HIs hair's getting longer every day.
"That look you get."
Slowly, rationally knowing that Kyle could look through the trees and see them (he doesn't care if Kyle doesn't care), Marcus sinks down onto his knees in front of her. Blair traces her thumb against his bottom lip and Marcus opens his mouth just enough to suck as he pulls her pants undone. That look he gets, it's because he's amazed that he gets to do things like this, whenever they've got the time and space, and sometimes it's the three of them, when they've got somewhere safe for Star to sleep. He doesn't talk about it, which doesn't make those things any less remarkable, in his eyes.
He's keeping a record. He's collecting these things, in case he's ever down in the dark again.
Which could happen. He's off the map here.
Blair trails her damp thumb against his skin as he leans in, pressing a sucking kiss to the flat of her belly. Sometimes, she looks like there isn't anything to spare on her, but then she curves at times like these and takes him by surprise. He kisses down over her panties which, surprisingly, as lace, some hoarded antique, fragile and lovely.
Since the first moment he met her, she hasn't stopped surprising him.
She kicks out of her pants and Marcus pins her, hands on her hips as he leans in and kisses her cunt through her panties, sucking at the taste of her, and remembering being younger, before the world ended, doing this with beautiful girls, but not one of them was as beautiful as her and not one of them ever mattered so much.
Fuck, he dreams of a day when he's got time to go down on her for as long as either of them want. Maybe there'll be time. Once they get to the ocean.
Blair pushes her fingers back through his hair, tilting his head back until he looks up at her and gives he a sweet, breathless sort of smile. He can taste the way she smells, and he licks his lips. Sometimes, just sometimes, with one of them or both, it's easy to forget how long this road could be.
"Come here," she says, softly and Marcus has always had a problem with authority, since he was a kid, but there's nothing wrong with the note of command in Blair's voice and Marcus resists the urge to salute as he gets back to his feet again. There's a sort of sanctuary that a woman like Blair sells, her body a cathedral, her hands folding and making a door through which there is no war. His hand drops, guiding her leg up against his thigh, higher, pushing her up onto her tiptoes. His hips tilt forward as she unfastens his pants, worn without underwear, curls her fingers around his dick and jerks him gently. He's hard and ready for her. Under the collar of his shirt, there's a spot where the skin's worn away and Blair finds it with her fingers, rubbing gently, and he catches on to her heat like a coin carried in a pocket.
"Come on then, machine gun man," she murmurs, her dark eyes laughing because she knows that it baffles him that she used to listen to the same music as his kid brother did, before the world ended in more ways than one.
In doesn't take much to twitch her panties out of the way and she's already got him in hand.
"Now?" he asks her, almost teasing himself as much as he's teasing her, resting against all of her heat like that. Blair grins, arching, pressing down against him, curling one arm up over her head to rest the back of her hand against the tree.
"I don't know what the fuck you're waiting for, Wright."
It's all he needs. When he's inside of her, the world stops spinning, stops talking, all of it, and he just centres in, his eyes on her face. It's her who starts to move first, rocking between his body and the tree. For a moment, all he could do was watch her as she rise and fell, her body above him, arms draped over his shoulders. He presses one hand against her ribs, the other on her thigh, urging her up off the ground, wrapping her around him as he pushes deeper. She groans softly, biting her lip to keep from being too loud. At first, he thought Star couldn't hear, but then he saw the way that she reacted to the robots, to the music, to Kyle.
They're careful around her so that, just for a little while, she gets to be a kid.
With Blair's legs wrapped up around his waist, everything feels like it's slipping away from Marcus too quickly. He presses up, kissing her hard, desperate, his free hand shoving up under her shirt to cover her tit, squeezing hard. This time she does moan, shoving the noise into his mouth and he swallows it down. He leans his forehead against hers, looking down as Blair drops a hand down between them, her fingers grazing over her clit. Marcus supports her with one hand, fucking her harder now, hard enough to move her back against the tree, her tit bouncing in his hand. She cradles his chin with her free hand, turning his face so she can kiss his jaw, sucking hard on his stubbled skin.
"Christ, Blair. Fuck."
"Come on, Marcus," she murmurs, mouth moving to his ear, nipping at his earlobe with the edges of her teeth. "Keep up."
"One day, I'm going to do this to you for fucking hours," he groans, softly, hand sliding to her ass and squeezing hard, tugging her down onto him.
With her hand on the back of his neck, Blair looked straight into his eyes.
"Promises, promises," she says and then, the next moment, she's coming, coming hard and it's impulse that makes Marcus shift his hand pressing it over her mouth so she's screaming against his palm and it's that, the hot rush of her breath and the way that she trembles that brings him off too , helpless for her as always but, at the same time, it feels like the only fucking thing that he's got any control over anymore. If they can still do this, then anything's fucking possible.
They come down together, clinging to each other, the tree supporting more that it's fair share of their weight. Blair kisses Marcus' palm and he smooths his free hand over her hair.
"Alright?" he asks her, his throat sore like he's been shouting, and he kisses her forehead gently. He finds such quietness in himself sometimes that it startles him.
"Alright," she says, putting one leg down onto the floor as he slips out of her, and they're both still trembling.
Back at the fireside, Star and Kyle are sleeping, heads bent together, snoring softly, Star's little hand curled around Kyle's bicep, holding on tight. Marcus stands over them for a minute, just watching. He scratches his neck and he can still smell Blair on him and she curls her arm around him, leaning her chin against his shoulder and the silver and glass in her hair catches the firelight and he reaches up and brushes his fingers over them and then he crouches down and smoothes the hair back from Kyle's forehead.
And, in that moment, it feels like everything might be alright.
He doesn't really believe it, but it's nice to feel it with Blair on one side of him and Kyle on the other, under a sky full with more stars than seem possible.
It's pretty good, and he tucks the feeling away and keeps it, in case they ever end up down in the dark again.