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Slash for Conan Arthur Doyle's The Lost World

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to asterflame, who sought Lost World femslash [Oct. 27th, 2010|09:10 pm]
Slash for Conan Arthur Doyle's The Lost World

You are not alone. :) I wrote this back in 2002:

In Vino Veritas

They'd done it. They really had. They'd carried it off. Marguerite glanced sideways at the sharp profile of her friend, impressed with Adrienne's self-control. The Frenchwoman strode along through the dark streets of the city, as brisk and self-contained as ever, giving no sign that the two had just become significantly wealthier. Marguerite wanted to laugh, to take the jewels from her purse and look at them once more, to somehow express the exhilaration that surged in her heart, and, most of all (surprisingly), she wanted to see her friend's cool gaze light with the same excitement that Marguerite herself felt. But, since the day she had arrived, alone, young, and defiant, in Paris, Marguerite had modeled her behavior on Adrienne's, and she did so even now; her steps remained measured, and her face a mask.


Marguerite Krux was no innocent maiden when she came to the City of Lights; her sense of self-preservation and her rapaciousness for the good life had been well honed over the years. But she was still young, and relatively unpolished, and had yet to meet a truly professional survivor such as Adrienne Montclair. The evenings the English girl had spent in the Fat Man's bar were an investment; Marguerite already knew how to recognize an opportunity when it presented itself, and she recognized also the smell of corruption, and potential profit, that lingered in that nightspot's smoke-filled air. If she did not yet understand how to take advantage of it, she soon would learn. And there could be no better teacher than Adrienne Montclair.

Adrienne's senses were keen; she immediately saw in Marguerite the hunger and the strength that she knew could be directed to her own benefit. Besides, the girl was enchantingly beautiful, and that would provide an asset that Adrienne herself could not. From across the bar, Adrienne would slowly sip her drink, and study the bewitching gray eyes, the unruly mane of dark hair, and the elegant figure of the younger woman, and, purposely refraining from questioning why her gaze lingered so hotly on Marguerite's lovely face, calculated and planned, and befriended the newcomer. She invited Marguerite to share her lodgings, and introduced her to the Fat Man, and steered her deftly through the intricacies of the Paris fast life. Marguerite was a quick learner; her pragmatism and intelligence pleased Mlle Montclair, and her charm and beauty pleased the Fat Man's clientele. Yet there was something in Marguerite that remained beyond the reach of her older friend. She was not cold. Adrienne could see that Marguerite was possessed of a passionate nature, that could not quite be extinguished, despite being well constrained. Adrienne was both worried by this, as it was a potential liability to any scheme, and intrigued by something so foreign to her own character. She praised Marguerite for her efficiency in swindling drunken and ardent Monsieurs, and, privately, wondered about the turmoil inside the girl, and how well Marguerite had managed to suppress it. The bizarre combination of fire and steel that was Marguerite Krux remained a mystery to Adrienne, and she was confounded as to how to best make use of it - or even how to remain unmoved by its force.

And Marguerite, who had long ago decided to be dependent on no one, and to remain (outwardly, at least) untouched by human weakness and emotion, fought determinedly to ignore the suggestive images that filled her mind at the sight of Adrienne's long legs, or slim, white hands. So well disciplined was Marguerite, so automatic had the reigning-in of any impulse that threatened her concentration become, that she was almost completely unaware of these feelings. Life, and now Adrienne, had groomed her well. Marguerite was cool, she was focused, and she was tough . but she was not yet thoroughly frozen. And her mentor was unsure as to whether that was a good thing, or not.

And, so, the weeks passed.


Tonight was the culmination of a careful and well-thought-out plan to divest a fat and besotted target of a goodly portion of his wealth, in the form of jewelry and valuables. Adrienne had endlessly coached her young charge, and engineered a strategy that was brilliantly successful, although dangerous. The tension of the previous weeks had taken a toll on Marguerite, and her nerves were frayed; Adrienne, more patient and experienced than her friend, remained unperturbed. She was satisfied with the results of her work with Marguerite, appreciative of the myriad possibilities that she saw in the girl, and affectionately exasperated as she sensed the energy that pulsed beneath her companion's composed surface.

Now, the two women arrived at the small suite of rooms they inhabited, in a winding, dark street filled with buildings that were not new, but stubbornly maintained traces of their former elegance. Marguerite, desperate to feast her eyes on the sight of their takings, almost galloped up the narrow stairway to their flat; Adrienne followed more sedately behind, shaking her head as she once more inwardly debated the usefulness and desirability of Marguerite's vibrancy, and whether or not the lid that covered the boiling pot was securely fastened. By the time Adrienne entered their small front room, Marguerite had already spilled the little velvet bag of gems out onto the table, and was examining them with a careful eye.

"Adrienne! We're rich! We did it!" With an exultant laugh, Marguerite rose from her seat, and gave a little twirl. Her hair was in disarray, and she impatiently brushed it off her glowing face. She had kicked her shoes off, and they lay on the floor where they had been tossed.

"Ah, tsk, Marguerite, we are not yet out of the woods. You know the danger has not yet passed," the Frenchwoman rebuked her friend. Nevertheless, she smiled at Marguerite's joy. "Very well, ma cherie, I suppose a celebration is in order, non? Do we have any wine?" She was not surprised to see that Marguerite had anticipated her question, and had already uncorked a bottle from their small cabinet. As Marguerite took out the glasses and prepared to pour the wine, Adrienne removed her tight- fitting jacket, and then, intending to change into her comfortable robe, unbuttoned her white blouse. Its severe line and high collar had negated the charm of Adrienne's long neck, and, once the plain, unbecoming jacket had been discarded, Marguerite was struck by her friend's softened appearance. A glass in one hand, and open bottle in the other, Marguerite came near to Adrienne, intending to fill a glass for her. Then she stumbled over a fold in the carpet, and started to fall forward. Catching herself just in time, Marguerite remained on her feet, but wine from the open bottle splashed out, landing on Adrienne's bare shoulder.

Marguerite giggled. "Sorry!" And then, carried away by some crazy urge that seemed to spring out of nowhere, Marguerite swiftly leaned forward and lapped up the drops of scarlet wine from her friend's shoulder. She was totally unprepared for the jolt that surged through her. Suddenly, her playful silliness had turned into a suggestive, sensual gesture, and it seemed only natural, with that smooth, pale skin beneath her lips, to caress it with her tongue, to kiss it hungrily. But Adrienne's startled gasp shocked Marguerite back to normalcy, and, flustered and embarrassed, she drew back. With a guilty laugh, Marguerite stammered, "Well, we don't want to waste any, do we?"

Adrienne's hand rested lightly over the spot where Marguerite's mouth had seared her. "No," she said slowly. She thoughtfully eyed her friend's flushed face. "No. It's much too good to waste."
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RELAX [Aug. 31st, 2010|11:43 pm]
Slash for Conan Arthur Doyle's The Lost World

Title: RELAX
Author: batmouse
Genre: slash
Pairing: R/M (No! not her ! I mean Roxton / Malone!)
Rating: M . . . for somewhat mature?
Summary: Roxton’s all tensed up, Malone unwinds him and Veronica has to educate Challenger.
Archive: Whazzat? A hive for arch-bees? Just joking! Go ahead, I don’t mind! Just let me know if you post the story somewhere, ‘kay?
Email: batmouse@rocketmail.com
Series: Not even
Notes: Notes for what? Passing in class?
Web Page URL: Do I got one’a those? Do I need a shot to cure it?
Disclaimer: Do you really believe I’d be able town somethin’ this cool? An’ who here don’t know that these characters b’long t’Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, f’th’book, and Coote/Hayes, f’th’show?
Warnings: Man-to-Man stuff . . . Not disturbing to me, but there are some undeveloped brains out there that it really freaks out. If wanting love is too foreign a subject for you, go away.

by batmouse

It had been a hard fifteen days. One harrowing adventure after adventure. Now, everyone was glad to finally be back at the tree house safe and sound and that all the adventure was behind them. Everyone had been resting and relaxing; catching up on much needed rest and sleep . . . well, except Roxton, who was currently prowling back and forth on the balcony, watching the surrounding jungle with a wary eye. The rest of the group was seated at the table finishing up a nice leisurely breakfast and preparing to face a nice quiet day . . .

“Has he been up all night, again?” Veronica asked nobody in particular.

“I’m getting worried about him.” Marguerite looked worried.

“He has to get some rest.” Summerlee advised.

“He’s still all keyed up from these last two weeks.” Challenger informed the group.

“I can fix that.” Malone swallowed his coffee and set the cup aside.

“How’ll you do that?” Marguerite knew how hard headed the British Lord could be.

“I think I know how.” Malone mused and started getting up from the table, “but you guys’ll have to clear out for a couple of hours . . . and no matter what you hear, stay away.”

“. . . o – okay.” Challenger gestured with a tilt of his head for everyone to follow him out, before he spoke in a louder voice so Roxton could hear the group’s intentions, “We have some chores to do outside. We’ll be gone a couple of hours.”

“I’ll get my guns.” Roxton turned and announced.

“Wait, Roxton,” Malone blocked his path, “I’ll need your help with some things here in the tree house, first.”

“The others will need protection, Malone . . .”

“I’m sure they’ll stay safe, won’t you?” Malone said without turning to look at the others.

“Malone . . .” Roxton started to push past the young man.

“No worry, Roxton.” Challenger and Summerlee quickly jumped into the elevator to join Veronica and Marguerite below, “Malone’s right, we’ll keep ourselves safe!”

“Challenger, you can’t b . . .” Roxton began, but saw a certain look in Malone’s blue eyes and Challenger heard a rare note of uncertainty in Lord Roxton’s voice, “Malone . . . why’re you looking at me like that? Wait . . . what’re you doing . . . ?”


Marguerite began washing some of her garments, but paused when she heard Roxton’s voice, urgent, but trying to keep quiet, echoing down from the tree house above. Roxton didn’t sound too sure of his high-born and titled self.

“Malone . . . what’re you . . . let go’a that! M – Malone! That’s mine!” then, “OOooooOoo! . . . OH! OH! . . . mmmmMalone!” Roxton’s voice continued with . . . “How . . . how can you do that!?! Oh. My. God! O – O – okay . . . so, that’s how you can . . .!”

Roxton’s continued babble wandered off into garbled inanities, punctuated by faint moans, groans and comments.

“What is Malone doing to that man!?!” Marguerite went back to her wash after staring up at the tree house.

“I’m bored.” Veronica stood up, “I’m going hunting.”

Veronica couldn’t believe Marguerite. How could a supposed woman of the world, like Marguerite was supposed to be, be so dense? Anyone with any common sense could guess at what was going on up in the tree house.

“What . . . what’re you doing, Malone . . . Malone, what are you doing . . . going to do with that!?!” Summerlee lay on a hammock with his eyes closed, his hands pillowing his head and his pith helmet discretely covering his lap. His lips wore a small smile. He quietly snickered to himself, recalling the days of his own randy youth . . . He chuckled when he heard a faint, “Ohmigawd! Malone! Put that away! . . . You’re . . . you’re gonna do what with that!?!”

Challenger was off in the woods, studying some strange little beasts, as he chuckled to himself. He remembered Malone’s amused admonishment that Roxton should quit whining and take it like a man and Roxton’s complaints of how difficult it was . . . though Roxton had called it hard, not difficult.

“Old Man?” Roxton’s indignant voice could be heard, “I’ll show you who’s the old man around here!”

Two and a half hours later . . .

Marguerite had finished hanging up her clothing, when Challenger returned, dogging Veronica’s every step. He was trying to get her to tell him where she’d gotten the rather large prong-horned rabbits that Veronica carried. Amused, Veronica wouldn’t tell the explorer what he wanted to know.

“It’s gotten quiet.” Challenger paused and looked up at the tree house.

“Not long ago,” Marguerite smiled up at their jungle home, “Malone peered over the balcony and said that Roxton was sleeping and that he was also worn out and he was going to sleep, too.”

“That boy’s amazing . . .” Challenger, his hands on his hips, finally noticed that Veronica was heading toward the elevator and ran after her. He still wanted to know where those strange prong-horned jackrabbits had come from.


Well, that was a bust. Challenger had learned that Veronica’s father had named them Jackalopes, but not where she’d gotten them . . .

“- * - !” Challenger stopped dead and stared into the sleeping cubicle that English Lord and the American Reporter shared.

“What’re you looking at . . . ?” Challenger spun and grabbed the young jungle girl, trying to shield her from the cubicle’s contents.

“No, Veronica, don’t look!” Challenger had his hand over her eyes and she was fighting to escape.

“At what!?! Challenger! Let . . . go . . . !” Veronica got her face free and looked into the cubicle, seeing what Challenger didn’t want her to see . . .

Fear colored Challenger’s face as the blonde woman looked into the small room. She saw the walls, clothing strewn about, the beds, the men sleeping peacefully . . . then turned to look at the older gentleman.

“What are you hiding, Challenger?” She asked curiously.

“I . . . uh . . . you’re not . . . uhh . . .”

“Not what?” She peeked back into the room.

“Upset by . . . by that?!?” He gestured. How could the woman of such obvious intelligence be so dense?

“By what . . . ?” Clearly, she didn’t understand. After a moment of looking into the room, she figured out what had upset the older man. She turned back to Challenger with an indulgent smile as if at a backward child, “Oh, you out-world people! You’re ways are so primitive!”

“Primitive!?!” Challenger’s eyebrows rose incredulously.

“Yes, primitive,” she crossed her arms as if imparting a great wisdom, “in the outer world, don’t women die from too many child-birthings?” a nod, “Here, to avoid that, it is called Eunika. A man takes a male lover to keep his woman from having too many children and possibly dying during her pregnancy or her delivery.”

“Don’t the women . . . care?” He gestured again, “That . . . that her man’s lying with . . .”

“No,” Veronica rolled her eyes, “It’s a dangerous world out there! Though a child’s birth is a wonderful thing, most women don’t make it to child birth because of how dangerous it is. Let’s see you try to out run a t-rex while pregnant!”

“Well-l-l,” Challenger planted his fists on his hips, getting ready for a long argument, “What about the women? What do they do?”

“What do you think other women are for?” Veronica moved off down the hall, “I think the world of Malone and Roxton, but why do you think Assai comes around so often?”

“What?” Challenger squeaked and followed Veronica.

Behind them, Malone cuddled Roxton, who snuggled in until both men were more comfortable as they slept in one-another’s arms.

FINIS - - ?

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Comprehensive rundown of TLW slashfic already out there! [Sep. 30th, 2006|10:43 am]
Slash for Conan Arthur Doyle's The Lost World


So I'd previously found exactly ONE example of The Lost World slash out there on the internet, but then the site was sadly down. Fortunately, thanks to the power of the web archive, I was able to ressurect it! It's just fantastic, capturing a great Ned/Roxton dynamic that I'd love to see continued.

Today, after extensive searching of fanfiction.net, I found what appears to be another Ned/Roxton slash story, but it is in Hungarian, which I do not speak. The most I could get out of an online translation program was that Roxton "once even [Ned's] arse also smack." Tantalizing, but the rest was incoherently translated by the software. I really would like to know what "Eloise" is doing repeated so many times in the story... gives me all kinds of ideas!

I also located the following Marguerite/OFC story, in three parts! (The first chapter says "End" at the end of it, but it's not really...)
Please leave this girl some nice reviews, because people have jumped all over her story for being femmeslash, and that's clearly wrong!
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