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“You know…” Robin drawls, weary, eyes fixed on a very specific point across the room. At her side, she can feel her current companion go stiffer. She ignores him, obviously, and sighs, “I had a normal life once.”She had too. And it’d been a nice life; she’d had a nice job with nice co-workers, who she’d liked and who’d liked her right on back, and her work had been nice and helpful and fulfilling, and every once in a while she’d gotten to beat the shit out of drug runners or poachers or drunken bar brawlers or whatever, which had been nice.Then the entire world had collectively decided to be a massive dick one day and started dropping nuclear bombs everywhere.Less nice.She’s still not entirely sure what cruel trick of fate had landed her next to John Seed – of all people – when the Collapse had started… but enough time’s passed that she can acknowledge that it’d probably saved her life. They’d both been so wired – coming off the events at the church and the dogfight and everything – that they’d nearly froze solid when the first mushroom cloud went pluming up. Nearly.Grabbing John and hauling him after her as she’d sprinted for the nearest vehicle hadn’t been a conscious decision – she’d just done it. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to return the favor when – the world going directly to hell around them, fire and explosions and shaking ground and screams screams screams – something had sent their ATV careening, upending and crashing hard enough to make the ghost of Clutch Nixon gasp in horror. John’d been thrown clear, but Robin’d ended up with the full weight of the wreck pinning her leg.She’d honestly expected him to leave her there.Instead she’d barely had the time to blink before he was there – John Seed looming over her again, eyes burning like stars and face like a thunderstorm, only this time he was helping her, lifting the heap of metal up off her leg (pretty damn easily too, hot damn, so much for being the little bitch brother) until she managed to scramble her way backwards, biting back screams as she clawed her way across the dirt and tried not to look at the dead weight of her leg. And then John’d been at her side again, doing something to her leg that’d made her scream, made her vision go white for a second, and when it’d started to blur back to life she’d been upright, one arm slung around John’s shoulder and one of his around her waist, and he’d been moving them, had started shouting and –Robin had fully blacked out for a bit.She woke back up as their truck came skidding to a halt in front of John’s Gate, John himself half carrying her while the Peggies with them helped the little group of Resistance soldiers inside, one big burly guy carrying someone over his shoulder, everyone gray-faced and wide-eyed, most of them swearing or crying, and they’d gotten through the bunker doors and –And for a second time that day, John Seed had surprised her.(He probably did it on purpose too.)She’d expected them to slam the doors the second their precious Herald was safely inside, leave all the Sinners and stragglers to burn in the cleansing fire of Joseph’s Collapse. Instead John’d set her down against the wall (more gently then he’d probably needed to, honestly), barked for a medic, and immediately thrown himself into coordinating the final moments of the evacuation.She hadn’t managed to stay awake for most of it, and – judging by the trying-not-to-scare-the-patient level of restrained panic in the medic’s voice – she’d probably been moved to the infirmary PDQ… but she had stayed awake long enough to watch John Seed, long plane-spotted coat swirling all dramatically as he moved, standing before the doors of the bunker, facing down the Apocalypse as the frightened and desperate of Holland Valley raced for the safety he offered.The image of it is pretty well burned into her mind – John Seed, the living icon of heroism.The absolute bastard.She got more of the details later, about how John’d kept the bunker open past what his own people had recommended, had actually sent some of his people back out into Holland to pick up whoever they could, flares and fireworks going up above the Gate in a desperate attempt to draw in as many survivors as possible before, finally, they’d had to close the doors, seal the bunker, and wait out the end of the world.The surprised hadn’t stopped there, either. When enough time’d passed that the initial shock and crippling horror/terror started to wear off, when the Peggies had started talking salvation and atonement and conversion again, and the collected Resistance members who were – as yet – uncaged reacted by staging a mass break-out and barricaded themselves into the control room, and John’s attempts at breaking their will fell through when Robin – at that point firmly secured to an infirmary bed by no fewer than three pairs of handcuffs (because John wasn’t actually stupid) – had ended up laughing too hard to serve as a credible hostage… then John had shocked everyone by actually negotiating. And, even more astoundingly, he’d actually kept to the negotiated terms.Petty bastard had probably done it just to screw with her mind.But... well whatever his reasons were, the end result was that the End of the World was… kind of tolerable.The Resistance had been granted their own areas of the bunker, their autonomy, and – though, obviously, everyone was required to pull their weight and keep everything running – no one got cut into or tatted up without their own uncoerced consent.It’s all weirdly civil.Hell, they’ve reached the point where people are kind of getting along.And that's downright unsettling.Though… the look on John’s face when some of the Resistance folk’d started showing up for Services, when some had actually – willingly – converted, and it’d finally hit Mr. John Seed that an open invitation worked better than abducting people from their homes and torture-murdering them and their friends and families… well, that image is also burned into Robin’s mind. And honestly it’s very nearly worth the Apocalypse to have it. So yeah. They’re alive, they’re not at each other’s throats, and they’ve finally managed to contact other survivors (no one outside Holland, though; radiation’s still too strong for anything beyond that) so they know they’re not alone. It’s… as nice as it can be, really.There’s even some… side benefits to the whole situation; ones that Robin’d never expected but that she honestly can’t complain about.Though if one more person – on either side – gives her a side-eye and a smile and mentions “political unions” then somebody’s getting cut. And it won’t be John doing the honors this time.And Kim Rye can damn well stop signing off her radio transmissions with the reminder that Robin owes Addie and Sharky fifty bucks each, fuck you very much.At least Joey hadn’t gotten mad at her.Though… given the way the senior deputy had just sighed for a second before going about her day – like she’d only been confronted with the confirmation of an annoying inevitability that she’d long since resigned herself to – Robin kind of feels like she should be insulted.So, all told, everything’s weirdly tolerable, weirdly weird, occasionally hellish when the fact that they’re actually living in a nuclear winter reasserts itself, and altogether nothing like her nice, normal life of the days of yore.
Case in point…
“Now, on the list of things I never thought I’d have to ask another human being…” she cants her head to the side – still staring and still ignoring John’s growing tension – and thinks for a second. “This… probably makes it into the top twenty. Which is sad, honestly; but apparently this is now my life. So…” She turns at last, very slowly and very pointedly to give him the flattest side-eye she can give, catching the full-bodied flinch that turns instantly to stone under her Medusoid gaze. “John? Why do you have an alligator in your doomsday bunker?”For perhaps the first time ever, John looks appropriately embarrassed. “And don’t you dare try and sell this as some kind of Noah’s Ark bullshit, because you’ve only got the one and alligators don’t reproduce through mitosis.”John’s mouth -clicks- shuts.“And I know it’s not so you can be assured of stylish footwear in the Post Apocalypse, because even I don’t think you’re that much of a primadona, so…” Robin trails off for a second, waving one hand towards the giant lizard in the hopes that the motion would somehow cause understanding – she’s long since given up on reason – to spring to life from nothingness. “Just… what, was Jacob going on about his wolves one day and you got self-conscious and decided ‘I’ll show him!’ and this is how you compensated for not being as rugged and manly as your brother?”That makes him sputter back to life. “I’m –” Righteous indignation and moral offense make him squeak like a preteen boy, and the flush on his face jumps up a few notches. “I,” his voice, once he gets himself together and finds it again, is perfectly level and about an octave lower than normal, “am abundantly rugged and manly.”She doesn’t even dignify that with a raised eyebrow. “John, please. I have seen your skincare regimen, and you,” eh, what the hell, the raised eyebrow makes for excellent punctuation (and it makes John flush so prettily), “are about as rugged as a silk orchid.”There’s a sudden shift across the room, accompanied by a growl that sounds like the boat engines of hell, and they both go abruptly still.For about a second.“Apparently your… alligator,” just saying the word, acknowledging that this is now her life, causes a flare of physical pain, “agrees with me.” An utterly done sigh breaks free from her, “And the scaly apex predator would know.”“You are –!” John strangles whatever he was going to say in its linguistic crib – not the best metaphor to use in proximity to a Seed, but there you go – and takes a deep, fortifying breath. “You are making this weirder than it is.”Robin gestures towards the bunker-dwelling reptile again, “Yeah, I don’t actually think that’s possible.”“Look, the alligator serves a purpose, alright?! A very important, reasonable –”“You got it so you could feed people who’ve displeased you to it, didn’t you?”The room goes utterly silent.Then…“… No.”Robin side-eyes him again, expression flatter than an entire desert of judgment. “What? Couldn’t you work out the logistics for a shark tank to drop people into?”The room goes silent again.Despite herself, Robin realizes that she is actually feeling a swell of shock and disbelief sweep over her, her eyes going wide and her jaw going slack as she stares at him. “Sweet fuzzy monkey god… you are literally a Bond Villain.” How is this her life? How is he? Just… just how? “You… you are… actually Ernst Blofeld right now. All you need’s the cat.”John stutters back to life at that, again, gaping and sputtering silently for a few moments. Then, face red enough to approach apoplectic, he turns away – pouting and all but crossing his arms in petulant embarrassment and –“Emilio Largo was the one with the shark tank.”Robin’s pretty sure she’s developed a twitch in her left eye that’ll probably be with her until she dies, and it’s all John’s fault. “And Kananga was the one who had people fed to alligators.”
For the love of –
“You’re not helping your case here, oh Herald Bond Villain.” She turns back to glare through the cage bars at the (reptilian) beast – which is completely unimpressed by her ire, so far as she can tell, but is also much less annoying than John, so – and a little scoff breaks free from her. “Next thing I know you’re going to be strapping people to overly complicated deathtraps and demanding... well… nuclear launch codes are a little irrelevant now I guess so… I don’t know, the location of people’s chocolate stashes or something.”The room falls back into silence.Sighing a little, and very much anticipating the approach of a truly epic tantrum, Robin glances back over to the (mammalian) beast.And promptly freezes.John’s not pouting anymore.He’s smiling.And every survival instinct and danger-sense inside Robin goes nuts.“Well…” Trust John Seed to make an innocuous little one syllable word as weighty and suggestive as a Russian Masterpiece length smut novel. It’s kind of impressive, really. Much like how he can pack an entire library of salacious intent into one raised eyebrow as he purrs, “if you insist…”Staring at John in complete disbelief, Robin can feel something in her brain break.“You… cannot be serious right now.”John breathes a little hum of laughter, head cocked rakishly to one side, any and all trace of embarrassment or offense gone as he smirks at her. “Please darling,” one of his pretty painted hands goes towards her hair, and she bats it away with – depressingly well-practiced – ease and glares. He – rather irritatingly – just chuckles at that, nothing but warm amusement and simmering arousal in his continued purr, “you’re the one who brought it up. What with your little fixation on the whole,” his hand goes for her waist this time, the distinct flavor of leering slipping its way into his grin, “‘Bond villain’ thing.”She bats his hand away again, and follows the bat up with a scolding punch to the gut – barely a tap and yet enough to make him gasp and take a wary step backwards (Pansy) – and another glare. “Yeah, well John, I’m standing here in your Secret Lair and staring at your damn alligator,” John recovers enough to snicker at that, because apparently he’s secretly twelve. Robin ignores him, for the sake of her own sanity more than anything else, and sighs again, “it’s a little har- difficult,” fucking twelve, seriously, “to think of anything else at the moment.”“Oh, of course.” He smiles down at her, all condescending and not at all pretty – Smug patronizing asshole – and eyes growing darker and hungrier by the second. “Though, you know… if I really were the Bond villain you take me for, my dear Deputy,” he drawls out the title even more than his usual overarticulated manner, the dark hunger gone up to Lovecraftian entity levels, “I doubt you’d have the time to waste worrying about my little friend there. No… you’d be a bit… tied up.” He lets that absolute gem hang in the air for a moment, one eyebrow cocked and eyes sparkling, grin sharp and hungry and proud enough of itself to fit right on in at the shark tank. Then, because John Seed is simultaneously an utter bastard and a complete dork, he winks at her and purrs, “With other matters.”Seriously? Robin thinks, mind a little numb with pained disbelief.“Seriously?” Robin says, staring flatly at John. With pained disbelief. Because, yeah, there’s no other response to that.The smug dorky bastard just grins at her, like he’s as clever and attractive as he thinks he is. “Why certainly.” Wariness gone, he takes a step towards her, hands reaching for her again and, eventually, managing to avoid her own batting hands – also with depressingly well-practiced ease, damn her entire life – and get a hold on her hips. “I could hardly allow an enemy agent unrestrained access to my… Secret Lair,” the way he waggles his eyebrows and grins around the words could probably constitute an act of sexual harassment in and of themselves, “now could I?” Robin rolls her eyes, shoves at his shoulders, and doesn’t bother to bite back the groan of pain.John isn’t dissuaded in the least. Hell, if anything, it looks like her annoyance and cheese-related pain is spurring him on (and turning him on too, but with John that’s kind of a given).He takes another step closer, nudging her backwards towards the wall as he does, tugging a little on her hips as his grin gets hungrier and hungrier. “No, Deputy,” if his purr gets any thicker he’s probably going to choke on it (if only), “you’d be kept somewhere – quite secure and very well kept.” He grins and chuckles right over her groan of disgusted pain, and takes advantage her momentary distraction to back her all the way up against the wall. “Struggling.” His voice dips abruptly down into a husky little whisper, his hands following suit and slowly whispering up and down along her ribcage, one stealing up under her shirt to rest warmly against her stomach as he leans over her. “Helpless.” The hand under her shirt glides slowly upwards, and the other falls back down to curl around her waist, and his lips brush lightly against the shell of her ear. “Completely,” his lips brush down her jaw and his teeth nip at her throat, his voice barely even a whisper now, all the raw hunger thrumming through her skin as he breathes, “at my mercy…”Robin sighs, gets a hand into his ridiculously well-coiffed hair, and yanks. Horny bastard mewls at that, damn him. “Seriously?” The eye-twitch is back, full force, and she does her damnedest to glare through it. “Yeah, I don’t know if you even remember this John… but we’ve done all that.” Her lips pull away from her teeth in a type of smile, and she gets a hand up to shove him back a step. He keeps grinning at her, and the hand that’s still under her shirt makes a play for getting up under her bra too. Internally debating the possibility of driving her knee up into his junk – cons, he’ll whine like a bitch for days and she’ll probably want the use of that piece of equipment, properly functioning, again at some point; pros, it’ll probably get him to knock these cheesy, triggering shenanigans the fuck off – Robin shoves at him again and snarls. “And this may come as a shock to you, but reminding me of that time you started torturing me isn’t exactly a turn-on.”Presumably unaware of the potential danger his groin is in, John just tugs a little against the hand in his hair, grinning sharper and brighter and smugger, eyes bright with Lust (damn hypocrite) and amusement. “Oh?” And then – because, obviously, the jackass’s favorite word isn’t no – he surges forward again, grinning through her swears and snarls, humming low in his throat as he beats her to the metaphorical punch, his leg slipping between hers and pressing up and –Robin’s eyes roll back in her head, a rush of heat washing over her as she bites down hard into her lower lip, fighting against the raw moan that surges up from somewhere deep inside.From somewhere beyond the heat, she can hear John’s low chuckle, feel his hand slid upwards and under her bra, feel his leg roll up against her again. “Are you entirely sure about that, Sweetheart?”Through the haze of electric heat, panting and shivering, Robin forces her eyes open and onto his stupid grinning face.The prick winks at her.
Mother…
Pulling her lips back into another technical smile, Robin curls her fingers into claws where they’re still clutching John’s hair, and purrs back at him. “Fuck you, John.”Masochistic little bitch just moans again, smile and eyes brilliant in smug triumph. “Well, we can certainly work our way there if –”Robin yanks him down with another snarl.After all, she has much better things for John to do with his mouth than gloat.And, though a cocky bastard he might be, John Seed is a damn good kisser.Hot damn but he’s a good kisser.And then, before she could snarl “this proves nothing, you jackass” – if, indeed, she was physically capable or mentally inclined to snarl – they’re going at it like damn teenagers and nothing else really matters.John’s got her part way up the wall, one of her legs kicking up and wrapping around his waist, all the better for them to press against each other, Robin snarling and biting into the kiss each time he rolls – hot and hard and exquisite – up against her, one hand scratching and clawing against his scalp while the other copies him, slipping underneath his expensive shirt and raking blunt nails across his chest, John wailing into her mouth, surging up against her, arm tugging them closer together and hand squeezing on the border of too rough and –Robin pulls back just enough to get his lower lip between her teeth and bites down hard, in the exact moment that her thumb brushes feather-light circles over his nipple, and if John was wailing a second ago he’s sobbing now, breaking away and head falling against her shoulder the second her teeth retreat, gasping and whimpering and moaning against her skin, and Robin throws her head back and laughs, the sound breaking off into a sobbing moan of her own when John snarls and sinks his teeth around her collarbone.The hand under her shirt retreats – just long enough to frantically tug free the top few buttons of her shirt – and she’s always been a t-shirts girl but damn if John isn’t making great lengths in his quest to sway her into button downs (even if she knows it’s all so he can occasionally have the pleasure of ripping her clothes off her without having to worry about her killing him for permanently destroying them) – and his mouth’s making its way southward, licking and kissing and biting possessively over glossy black Wrath that cuts across her chest – and she’d be so much more pissed over him bragging over his own damn handiwork like this if it didn’t feel so fucking good – while his hand finds its way back up under her bra and –Robin’s head knocks hard back against the wall, eyes falling shut and hands just holding on as she takes a second to let John work.Damn but the side benefits of the whole bunker situation are nice.Her one hand’s still fisted in his hair while the other’s going down between them, fumbling at the fastenings of her jeans (because apparently John can’t be assed to do it himself at the moment, and wet denim’s a bitch), and she’s only just got the button undone when John does that thing with his long, clever fingers, accompanied by a little flick with his tongue, the sensations burning through her skin and sending her into an arch so sharp it hurts, and shaking and moaning and panting through it as she keens, presses up against him, her eyes sliding open and –Her arousal vanishes so quickly that it feels like her ladyparts have got whiplash.“Oh, shi- John. John stop.”There’s a low growl against her tattooed skin, followed by a sharp bite that would – under just about any other circumstances – be a compelling argument.As it is, Robin abandons her grip on his hair and starts shoving in earnest at his shoulders. “Yeah – no, I – no I can’t. John, John seriously, stop, I can’t do this right now, the alligator’s looking at us.”There’s another growl against her skin, “Just ignore it.”“I can’t,” her skin’s so flushed she can feel the heat, and not in a good way this time. “I can feel it judging me.”He actually starts at that, the bewilderment giving her the window to shove him back a bit, and next thing John’s big blue eyes are staring up at her in utter disbelief. “Judgi- it’s an alligator!” His voice, still thick and raw with arousal, is going increasingly squeaky with incredulity and desperation. “A big stupid lizard!”“Yes,” Robin detangles her leg and gets her foot back on solid ground, the reestablished balance giving her the leverage she needs to shove him back a step, John’s shock enabling the shove and giving her the opening to grab his wrist and tug his hand back out from underneath her bra. “And I can feel that lizard judging me. There’s a… an entire lineage of judgment, leading all the way back to the days of its dinosaur ancestors.” Completely unmoved by his squawk of protest, Robin slips away from the wall, flushed with shame and doing up her shirt as fast as her fingers will go. “We are being judged all the way back to the damn primeval world, John, and I just… I can’t…” Final button done up tight she throws her hands in the air, the Jazz Hands of Nope going full force as she stutters and shudders and starts moving back up the stairs. “Yeah, nope, this is too weird. I jus- hhhng!”Watching her expeditious retreat in desperate horror, still flushed and rumpled and hard enough to hurt, John yelps and stumbles after her, “Bu- we coul- I – Robin! Sweetheart, come o-” The familiar sound of a bunker door closing cuts him off, pulling him to a halt about halfway up the stairwell. Eyes wide, jaw slack, and dick aching, John Seed stares upwards for a long moment.Then, hands fisting into his hair in blind frustration, he indulges in the momentary solitude and just drops down onto the stairs in what he will – only privately – admit to being an outright pout. “Damn it!”He flops back against the stairs, releasing his hair to throw an arm over his eyes as he swears and breathes and tries to calm himself down.And then, from the depths below him, comes a low sound.Very, very slowly, John opens his eyes, lifts his arm, and glares back down into the room below. “Thanks.” An entire lifetime of practice – and, more importantly, a career as a lawyer – turns the single syllable word into one of the vilest curses imaginable. The alligator stares back, unmoved and unrepentant, and snorts.“What?!” He surges upwards, one arm bracing on his knee and the other pointing with lethal intent and barely restrained fury as he snarls at the offending reptile, “It’s not too late to turn you into shoes, you know; you stupid, oversized gecko.” The alligator only stares.Unimpressed.Disbelieving.In judgment.John flinches backwards, accusatory finger dipping sharply before he can catch himself.Then, after a moment of frozen shock, a deep flush sweeps over him and he jumps to his feet, swearing and spitting and snarling all the way up the stairs. He pauses at the top for a split second, to prove that he’s damn well leaving of his own volition and not because of some... some stupid… Another sound echoes up from the blackened depths.Swearing, John bolts for the door.And down below, alone within its lair, the alligator watches him leave - its judgment rendered and hunger unsated - and waits.