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Title: The Bitch Is Back
Author: batmouse
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Roxton/Malone (Don’t even think Marguerite would be in this! {*shudder! *} Yyyyuck! That‘s just not normal!)
Rating: Violence, dinosaurs and language?
Notes: It’s been four freakin’ years since I last posted anything to do with the Alien Gods story. A lot has taken place since then. I’m more or less handicapped. I figgered I’d just post this, the last chapter in this series so it can be over. A word of warning, tho’, the end of this story isn’t much passed the rough-outline stage. If I’m lucky, I’ll be coming back to it and fill it out. Hopefully in the near future.
Archive: Archive? Of course! You think I wrote this drivel to keep to myself? I want people to marvel at it through the ages, wondering why anyone sane would write such nonsense! Umm . . . That didn’t come out right.
Email: batmouse@rocketmail.com
Series: Yup. With sugar and spice please! At least on the sticky parts . . .
Notes: Notes? But, Ossifer! I ain’t got no notes!
Web Page URL: Where d’y’getta web page? Do spiders make ‘em?
Disclaimer: If I was makin’ money doin’ this, y’think I’d be writing slash fiction? Okay, maybe I would, but none of this stuff is mine nor am I makin’ bucks at it! Wanna know why? The characters an’ stuff b’long t’Sir A. C. Doyle (f’th’ book) an’ Coote/Hayes (f’th’show).
Warnings: Slash an’ I ain’t talkin’ about two guys bein’ t’gether in a roh-man-tickle way, as th’warnin’! This story has claws! Interstellar God wars . . . sorta. Violence. Words of love. No BETA, whatever that is.

~~~oO0Oo~~~ ALIEN GODS ~~~ EPILOGUE: THE BITCH IS BACK ~~~oO0Oo~~~

It had been a good day. They’d finished their work for the day and the others were due back from their trip the next day. So, with most of the day left, they’d gone swimming at the safe pond. Since the day had been so unbearably hot, the two men hadn’t put their clothing back on, except for their boots and gun belts. Neither wanted to get dressed just yet, since the South American heat would’ve negated the refreshed feeling of their noon time dip, all too quickly. They’d enjoyed their relaxing swim and the other things they’d gotten into. Now, Ned and Lord John were headed back to the tree house. Since the day was still quite warm, they hadn’t donned all their clothing, just bundled them up into makeshift backpacks for the walk home.
“No,” Malone answered Roxton’s question with a puzzled expression, “I’ve never noticed. We just always get to where we’re going.”
“Okay,” Roxton glanced back at his lover, Yep; the man’s watching my bum instead of our surroundings, “For instance, does this look like the trail we took to the swimming hole?”
Malone stopped short and looked around, seemingly aware of where they were for the first time.
“You know,” he looked back at Roxton and his big creamy tanned expanse of chest, “You’re right, this isn’t the way we came.”
“Once,” Roxton glanced back at the younger man, “. . . I made the mistake of asking Challenger about that, and I didn’t know that Summerlee was within earshot . . .”
Malone winced at the thought of such a question being asked of Challenger, let alone having not one, but both scientists trying to answer and explain such a concept. The ensuing debate had been long and loud! And Roxton still hadn’t gotten his answer.
“I’ll never make a mistake like that! Ever again!” Roxton laughed.
“Were you able to understand anything of what they said?” Malone asked.
“Let’s see,” Roxton paused, “There was some comments about shifting planes of realities, some other stuff concerning nexus points, some shouting about dimensional portals and rifts in reality . . . Then something about massive tears in the fabric of reality . . .”
“I’ve got a headache just listening to you talk about it!” Malone groused, though he was smiling, “I’d never have survived if I was there to hear it all first hand!”
“Who said I stayed?” Roxton laughed, “After the first few moments, they forgot all about me and I was able to escape! But, for all their scientific talk, all I know is that the Plateau changes”
“How so?”
“Well,” Roxton sighed, “Say you head off one day and you come across a city of Lizard men. Then the next day, for whatever silly reason, you go the very same path, but you find a city of dwarves instead of great scaly creatures in armor and you learn that the Lizard men live off to the west or somewhere.”
“So, you think nothing’s ever in the same place twice?”
“Not all the time,” Malone noticed that Roxton started walking slower and his voice got quieter, “The tree house is always in the same place, the Zanga village mostly stays put and the windmill . . . but, haven’t you noticed that we rarely take the same path to the swimming hole?”
“Nope, at least until you mentioned it.” Malone answered just as softly.
“Odd, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.” Malone answer was barely audible as he froze at Roxton’s signal for no movement and silence.
Malone watched in silence as Roxton crept forward until he came to the ridge of the hill they were about to cross. At the ridge, he slowly rose up and peeked at what lay on the other side. He quickly ducked, trying to avoid being seen by whatever was over there.
“Damn.” He breathed as he crept back to Malone’s side.
“What is it?”
“Saber-toothed cats. Big ones.” Roxton glanced back at the hill crest, “We’d best circle around and hope we can sneak by.”
“What’re they doing around these parts?” Malone asked, not really expecting an answer, “I thought their range was farther south!”
“Remember what I said about the plateau moving around stuff?” Roxton whispered as he led the way back down the trail they’d just came up, “Well, I think this is more of that plateau-moving-around-thing.”
~~~oO0Oo~~~
“That must be some kind of record!” The sound of laughter in his voice, Malone commented as they neared the edge of the clearing where they kept the windmill that supplied electrical power for the tree house. Malone was tossing his bundle of clothing in the air and catching it, “First we almost run afoul those Saber-toothed cats, then that big t-rex. Hey, Roxton, between the saber-tooth cats and the raptors which do you think would win? If they had a fight?”
“Just between you, me and the sabor-tooths,” Roxton laughed, “I ‘don’t want to be around to find out!”
“What more can we run into?” Malone grinned, tucking his bundle of clothes under his arm as if it were a ball.
“Don’t say that, Malone,” Roxton exaggerated a shudder, “You never know what or who’s listening and might show you what more can happen!”
They were on the look out for trouble as they walk along, because you must always be alert on the plateau. One moment of not paying attention can mean death or worse.
Walking down another path, wary of running into any wild game that might be hunting instead of veggie eaters, Roxton stopped short when he saw movement ahead. Both men quickly ducked and hid . . . almost melting into the jungle.
“Oh, shit!” Roxton and Malone stereo-ed when they saw what . . . who was in the windmill clearing ahead of them.
Unbelievably, it was Bug-ugly and the last of her team of Jaffa warriors. They didn’t even question how she . . . it came to be alive again, though they did momentarily wonder about her supposed godhood. It was too bad that in getting resurrected it didn’t improve her looks any. Li’liath was still as ugly as sin.
“It looks like their headed for the tree house!” Malone whispered, “What’ll we do?”
“I’m not sure,” Roxton answered, “But, give me a little time to think of something . . . and Malone, if you think of something, please feel free to share.”
“Okay . . .” Malone pondered, but the matter was taken out of their hands, when one of the Jaffa gave a sudden cry and pointed them out to the resurrected goddess. The Jaffa had spotted the humans peeking at them from behind the trees.
“Bring them to me!” Bug-ugly stabbed her hand at them as if lightning would spring from her finger tips. The Jaffa, except for three, peeled off like a pack of hunting dogs headed for the pair of humans.
“C’mon!” Malone dropped everything he was carrying, except for his guns, and took off running at a diagonal from the path they’d just traveled, clapping Roxton’s shoulder as he took off. Roxton did a double take then dropped his stuff and charged after Malone, bitching and moaning as they vanished into the trees.
“If you’ve got a better idea, Roxton,” Malone shouted over his shoulder, “Don’t keep it to yourself and let’s hear it!”
“I don’t even know what you’ve got planned!” Roxton shouted.
“Those saber-toothed cats!” Malone snapped his fingers.
“What about them?” Roxton glanced at his lover, “Yup! They’re chasing us!”
“We get the sabor-tooths to eat these doggy-guys!” Malone’s face was lit with excitement.
“Are you sure?” Roxton glanced at Malone again, “How?”
“We’ve just gotta lead them to where those big cats are,” he points off to the South, “then let those kitties have a doggy meal!”
“What if they don’t all follow us?”
“Take a look behind us!” Ned shouted.
“Run faster!” with a hand holding his hat onto his head, Roxton refused to look back at their pursuers and poured on the speed.
~~~oO0Oo~~~
Images/Ideas of the dog-Jaffa running. How they looked & how they ran. Were they noisy? Were they quiet? What did they do as they ran?

~~~oO0Oo~~~
“How much further?” Roxton shouted. Like Malone, he could feel himself getting tired, “Those dogs are starting to get a little too close!”
“Not too far!” Malone called back, “In fact, just ahead!”
“How do we . . . ?”
“Keep running!” Malone reached over the same time Roxton did, each grabbing the other as they drew near where the Saber-toothed cats’ were lounging around. Both ran as hard as they could, as they entered the clearing.
Here, play with ideas of how Roxton and Malone ran through the relaxing cats and how the cats reacted to their sudden appearance and disappearance
“Ohhhhhh, Ssshhhhhhit!” Their sudden appearance and barreled through their midst, startled the pride of saber-toothed cats. The big cats peered around, stood up, looking back and forth, where the two humans had come from and where they’d gone. Nothing and no one had ever run through their . . . Well, just never! It just wasn’t done! They’d just decided to give chase, when another group of bipeds ran into their chosen resting place.
They were not happy about it. The pride had been taken unawares by the men’s sudden appearance and disappearance, but when the pack of dog-things ran amongst them, they were ready.
~~~oO0Oo~~~
“Whadda we gonna do, Roxton?” Malone asked, staring at the false goddess and it’s Jaffa warrior.
“I’ve got an idea, Malone.” Roxton grinned at his blonde companion, “I’m taking a page from your book.”
“Oh?” Malone glanced at his raven-haired lover, “What kind of page?”
“You remember that pack of raptors we spotted?”
“No. Just no.” wide eyed Malone caught onto Roxton’s idea.
“Don’t worry, Malone<” Roxton said still staring at the Alien-goddess, “I can do this by myself.”
“Aww maaan!” Malone whispered in frustration. Roxton grinned. He knew Malone all too well.
The two men snuck off to find the raptors.
Luckily the raptors aren’t that far away from where they want them to go.
~~~oO0Oo~~~
They lead the raptors on a quick but merry chase . . . right toward the false goddess and the Jaffa!
~~~oO0Oo~~~
“Behold, Goddess!” one of the Jaffa pointed when he noticed the pair of Tau’ri running straight at them, down the animal trail. Odd, they were shouting something as they ran and their arms flopped about in an odd uncoordinated manner, “The Tau’ri return!”
“Our brothers return,” Another spoke up, “Herding them back to us!”
“Something is wrong, “Li’liath stared hard, “Something is not right! I cannot see the other guards!”
Just as the two men entered the clearing, they peeled off, angling back in the surrounding trees.
“JAFFA! AFTER THEM!” Li’liath screamed in rage! Not one taunted her like . . . What were those!?! They seemed to have be pursuing the humans and . . . “JAFFA! TO ME!”
The three Jaffa skidded to a halt, finally noticing the bi-pedal reptiles charging out of the jungle. Instantly, they knew them to be predators. The Goddess! Should they ! ? ! the Goddess screamed for their return to protect her.
Hell with that! The trio shared a momentary glance, each knew the decision they’d made as a last act of defiance. As one, they charged the raptors, then threw themselves to the ground so the raptors mostly passed over them. They knew they wouldn’t escape the beasts, but at least they knew the goddess would know what they thought of her as she was torn apart.
L’liath’s screams were grand to hear, as the Jaffa fought to survive and if they didn’t survive, at least they’d out live the ugly god-thing .The battle is short, violent and sweet with Roxton and Malone watching from a safe vantage point.
They stayed where they are through out the battle and only once they’re sure that the Jaffa and the so-called goddess are complete raptor food did they continue on home, happy that the goddess and her minions were no match for the plateau’s wild life.
The plateau hopefully safe, the two men head back to the tree house, neither thought to stop and make sure that their worries were over . . .
~~~oO0Oo~~~
The raptors finished their grisly meal then moved off to find other things to interest themselves. What did the raptors look like? Who was the leader and who wasn’t? Just before they entered the dark of the rain forest, the big female, though not the largest in the pack, paused from her grisly task and looked in the direction she was sure that the humans had gone . . . and her eyes glowed with an evil golden-yellow light, before she turned and vanished into the jungle . . .

RECOLLECTIONS

Title: Recollections
Author: batmouse
Fandom: The Lost World
Genre: Slash
Pairing: R/M (Roxton/Malone)
Series/Sequels: No thanks, got some.
Rating: FRAO . . . sorta? Kinda?
Summary: Lord John Roxton, after Ned Malone left the tree house to “find himself” . . .
Notes: Didn’t use any.
Warnings: Don’t walk there, the floor’s wet! Oh, sorry. A full grown man missing the hell out of his heart’s desire . . . another man. If this type of material’s offensive to you, then you shouldn’t be here in the first place! So leave, now! Naww, Just keep reading this blog until you read all about the slash and have become used to it and gay-reality no longer bothers you.
Disclaimer: Ain’t got me no claims, dagnabit! ‘Cept maybe the story line, ‘cause the book b’longs t’Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and th’show’s done by Coote/Hayes. URL: Ain’t got none’a that neither!

~~~oO0Oo~~~
RECOLLECTIONS
by batmouse
~~~oO0Oo~~~

My first impulse was to grab a backpack, my guns and hell off after him. But, listening to the others talk about him, how he’d grown up . . . then to read and listen to his penned farewell . . . I did my best to curb that first impulse I’d had. But, Lord, it was difficult . . .
I did my best to remember that he was a grown man. No longer the brash young man I met that night in the pub, before this all began . . . He looked so . . . young and beautiful, so . . . so . . . alone. Lost.
And that’s what drew me in . . .
For all his book learning and knowledge, he was still an innocent young man. Wide eyed . . . beautiful . . . the kind of lover any man would be proud to call beloved . . . To him, the world was still a wonderful place . . .
How little I’d known about him . . .
But, then we’d just met . . . or had been about to . . . to hopefully do what many men in the pub were hoping to do with him. And, he chose me, to allow me to sit with him at his small lonely table . . .
I recall a past conversation about his times during the Great War. Of seeing the war from high above, from a hot air balloon . . . and now, I wish I could take back my own brash words and the boastful tone I took . . . when I told him that until he’d been in battle, seeing friends and comrades falling, dying . . . he’d never truly know or understand what real war was like . . .
Then, to my horror, that he’d known war. Seen it in all its bloody reality . . . but, still he wasn’t able to understand it. He’d lost no friends. No companions or comrades. But, strangers. Strangers who mocked him and laughed at him . . . then died for him. Men he’d barely met. Had never known before. How could they let themselves be killed so he could live? How could they die for someone they didn’t know? A total stranger. A callow youth . . . and they’d shown him what war was like. The horror of its reality. The mindless violence . . . the willful killing . . . the willful dying . . .
And, he couldn’t understand any of it . . . Even as he willfully killed other men himself. With weapons, with his bare hands . . .
Oh, Ned Malone knew war . . .
I recall, as we drank and spoke of the Great War, the others left us alone. Drifted away, busied themselves elsewhere, with other things, so we could talk in private, of things only we would know. Things only we could . . .
It was much like that first night we met, back in London. . .
~~~oO0Oo~~~
“May I join you?” I mildly startled him. His bright blue eyes flashed a momentary annoyance as he came to himself and looked up at me. The minor displeasure quickly vanished and was replaced by kindness and welcome. I still don’t know if the welcome was for me or the bottle I was carrying. But, no matter, I had the envy of the gathered men to please me. I was seated where they wanted to be. “Roxton, at your service. John Roxton.” Once comfortable, I extended my hand.
“Malone.” He took my hand in friendship and I was impressed with the way he looked when he smiled, “Edward Malone, though I prefer to be called Ned.”
“Ned, it is then.” I smiled and after a moment, came to realize that I still held his hand in greeting, though now, I think that I held it in something more.
We sat and visited. Shared our lives the way strangers did. He was a reporter, who’d grown up on the streets of New York. Raised by free-thinking parents who taught him to love the written word, but wanted him to become a priest . . . thus his escape to the streets. And I, an adventurer, of noble birth and lineage, haunted by the ghost of a painful accident and not feeling worthy of my title and name . . .
We drifted into the foggy night and walked nowhere, yet everywhere as we spoke of nothing and everything. I recall the thrill of anticipation in my chest and gut that I was going to bed this young American. Knew that we were going to share intimacies . . . That I would feel his flesh on my flesh, have his lips touch mine . . . that I would . . . Big Ben tolled the hour and realization of time came.
My hotel was just around the corner and I invited him up for a nightcap. To my delight, he accepted. A gentle drizzle had begun and the bourbon would take off the chill . . .
~~~oO0Oo~~~
“Can we walk?” He asked me. I don’t think he wanted the others to hear what we had to say. I smiled and with a simple gesture, we were off. It was and still is so natural to gather our weapons when we go out, that neither of us seemed to notice that we did so before we entered the elevator.
Once on the ground, we headed off in no particular direction. We just wanted to walk. We spoke of things that only men scarred by battle can know. Memories. Nightmares. Knowledge of me gone forever. Faces frozen in time. We held hands. Our shoulders touched and softly brushed against each other. It was as if we didn’t need to speak. We were together. We had each other. Safe with one another and that was all we needed.
Soon, in silence, we found ourselves on the cliffs over the small grotto where the safe pool was, where we’d bathe or swim or . . .
~~~oO0Oo~~~
The soft rumble of the muffled thunder echoed thru the drizzle outside and the bourbon was as warming as the fireplace we sat beside. He’d point out a photograph and I’d tell him a story of it. Pictures of me in Africa, other pictures of me, this time in India or of several of me back at Roxton Manor . . .
Finally, I asked him about his sadness . . . the cloud of loneliness that seemed to follow him.
He had planned to get married, but had a slight problem. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to. He was sure that he loved the girl. Reasonably sure. But, not definitely sure and the odd thing was she didn’t see him as a heroic type of man and truth be told, he didn’t see himself as that kind of man. And that was she wanted a heroic man. A man she could look up to and adore, to live in his reflected glory.
Sounded like a silly girl to me, with a silly girl’s dreams.
I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need that kind of a woman. From what he’d told me of her, I knew that if they married, there would only be grief borne of such a union . . . then, he shocked me by his admission . . .
He wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe he wanted to be with a heroic man. Or just a man, period.
“I . . . Mr. Malone . . . Edward . . .” I set down my glass to stand before the chair he sat in, “. . . Ned . . .”
“Oh God . . .” he covered his face, “You probably hate me now . . . I don’t know why I said that. I’ve never told anyone that . . . I think I’d better leave . . .”
“No . . .” I took his glass and set it beside mine. He looked up at me. Not a little fear and uncertainty in his crystal-cut blue eyes, “I . . . had planned on seducing you tonight . . .”
“S . . . seduce me . . . ?” A hard swallow, “But, why . . . ? I’m just . . .”
“Beautiful. A man to treasure.” I caressed his cheek, “But, now, I don’t think I should . . .”
“No . . .” Nervous, he stood up with a little fear in his blue eyes, his breath, like the bourbon, warmed me. I could feel the heat of him, he was so close to me, “I . . . I want to . . . I need you to . . .”
His unsure hands slid under my coat and up my chest, almost afraid that I would make him stop . . . Then, I reached for him . . . Pulled him closer, enfolding him in my arms . . .
We shared a kiss . . .

~~~oO0Oo~~~
The soft cries of the night birds . . . the chirp of insects here and there . . . to this background music, his hands undressed me with the tenderness and care that only an experienced lover could.
He lifted the braces from my shoulders and dropped them to my sides. He kissed me gently as he tugged my shirt from my trousers and pulled the shirt off of my body. His hands caressed my chest, while his lips traced the line of my collarbone. With experienced fingers, he undid the buttons of my trousers . . .
His warm lips grazed mine. He kissed and tasted my flesh as he uncovered my body. He slowly loved me as never before. It was almost as if he were worshipping my body with his every touch . . .
Soon, I was naked before him as he loved me . . . then we were laying upon the banks of the safe pool. I don’t remember when or how he had removed his clothing, but we lay there, naked. Loving. Touching. Sharing.
I was his to command. He owned me body and soul . . . yet, he only wanted to make love to me. To gave me pleasure. I wanted him to touch me. To love me . . . and he did . . . with a gentleness that made me come alive. He gave me such love that I knew I’d remember it for the rest of my life . . . it filled me with such desire and emotion, that I wanted to die of it . . . Then, then . . . it came upon me. Silently. Suddenly. Like a hunting beast in the night, stalking its prey . . .
I gasped. Shocked. Engulfed as my essence filled his loving mouth . . .
~~~oO0Oo~~~
I gently took him by the hand and led him into my bedchamber, this handsome young man questioning himself and his sexuality . . .
I remember the uncertainty with which he submitted to my touch. He seemed almost . . . afraid. But, he wasn’t. His trembling was merely anticipation. His eyes told me that he wanted this. He wanted to feel another man on his skin. He wanted to know a man’s love. He just didn’t know what to do . . .
I slid my hands under his coat, my fingers dusting against his vest as I slid my hands under the lapels of his coat, my hands traveling over his shoulders as I removed his outer garment. I walked him slowly backwards, directing him towards my bedchambers. His eyes never left mine as we walked.
Once in my bedchamber, I draped his coat over an armchair beside the door. As we shared small kisses, then deeper ones . . . his hands gently holding my forearms as I undressed him. I unbuttoned his vest, undid his necktie then his shirt. The vest joined the jacket and I unhitched his braces and they fell to the floor.
He lifted his head, tilting back to expose his neck to my kisses.
He didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on. We could’ve been in the middle of Piccadilly Square, at noon, for all he cared.
I tugged his shirt from his trousers, sneaking my hands under the cloth to caress the soft skin beneath. He softly moaned as my hands glided along his sides and lifted his undershirt and pulled it over his blonde head. Casting aside his undergarment, I tasted the salts of his flesh . . . of his chest and his small pink nipples. He shuddered and sighed and remembered why I often turned to the touch of other men . . . but, he was different from the others. He was new to this . . . a virgin if you will . . . my young willing American . . .
I still recall that first taste of his submission to my touch . . . his soft mewling sounds . . . his breathy gasps as I carried him to the heights of what a man could do for anoth – –

“John?” Damn and blast! Marguerite . . . No, somehow, I know that she only wants to comfort me. Why, I don’t know. I also know that she can’t know what Neddy-boy means to me.
Her eyes aren’t the blue of Ned’s eyes. And though her kisses are sweet . . . they aren’t the filled with the delicious heated taste of Malone’s shared moments . . . I know I’ve played at becoming her lover . . . a husband and wife . . . but, she is too much her own woman. I never really had a future with her, though we both play at the I-think-I-could-love-you-game . . . I can, but I won’t consummate whatever relationship we have, even though my title demands a son to carry on my family line . . . I mean, I will have a son, just not here, on the Plateau. It would be too dangerous for a pregnant woman. Pregnant, the journey back to England and civilization could kill her. We must never . . . at least until London . . .
But, she’s not Ned . . .
She could never replace Ned . . . it would feel too much a betrayal . . .
I turn back to the night. I close my eyes and easily recall the scent of his flesh after the loving . . . or, fresh from a swim . . . The touch of his skin on mine . . .
Marguerite rested her head on my shoulder, trying to comfort me, though she didn’t know why I needed comforting.
I exhaled softly as a lonely tear carved a wound down my cheek and across my heart . . .

~~~FINIS . . . ?~~~

Andrew

Nasty commerial!