Nights in white satin, sweet dreams…

A Revolution fic: Bass Monroe/Charlie Matheson, Charloe; Mention of characters from the show. The story is based on prompt #97 from the Orgy Armada's fan fic all Ships challenge…

After the Tower, and before he found New Vegas, Bass travelled through the wilderness heading towards Philadelphia, aiming to see what was left of the Monroe Republic… Somewhere along the way, something happened that made him wonder about the power of dreams, and why Charlie Matheson had turned up in his…

Rating M

Author's note:

Hi there and thanks so much for having a look at this… hope you enjoy … I took a little time off to recharge my Charloe batteries and exercise my writing muscles with some stories about other characters in the Revolution universe. I loved doing that but I must admit that it feels really good to write Bass and Charlie again

I don't own any part of Revolution and am writing this purely for love of the show and its characters.

Nights in white satin, sweet dreams…

The faded and broken neon sign announced that the Mountain View still had vacancies… The sprawling wind and weather worn hotel/motel sat just back off the road heading out of a deserted tourist town with a glorious view somewhere between Colorado and what used to be the Monroe Republic – and it would do just fine, thank you very much… In fact it looked pretty damn good to a ragged and shell shocked ex President, ex General, ex whatever…

Bass Monroe picked the lock on one of the faux mountain log cabins set in the overgrown gardens out back of the hotel and dragged his weary self in, shutting the door behind him and carefully lifting his water bottles into the sink. He'd been travelling through the days and nights for close to two weeks now since Miles set him loose and he badly needed somewhere safe to sleep – well he hoped to sleep, lightning cracked the sky and mushroom clouds bloomed on his horizons every single fucking time he closed his eyes…

He'd seen the news written large on broadsheets out of Texas, and had heard it on the lips of every man, woman and child he'd come across in every two bit town since… Philly and Atlanta were gone; nuked for crying out loud… And it had to be something to do with Randall Flynn, Rachel Matheson – and whatever had happened in the fucking Tower. His beautiful city was gone, burned to ashes; his staff, his troops, the storehouses, treasury, Independence Hall, his collection of Civil war artefacts, his books - his favourite horses, all turned to radioactive fucking dust.

It was all anyone was talking about, and now they were saying that he did it; Bass didn't know who started that rumour yet, but somehow Sebastian Monroe had been promoted to public enemy number one. He shook his head, face set and eyes hard; his money was on Randall Flynn having something to do with it, the guy was a snake…

After checking the bedroom, bath (with spa) and out the back window for any signs of life (none) he tossed his backpack onto one of the faded and dusty lounge chairs and stretched to get out the kinks out of his shoulders and neck. Stopping in front of the mirror on the hall robe doors he ran a hand though his dirty curls and along the scruff that disguised his jaw… The dirty, dishevelled man with haunted eyes looking back at him was a stranger, someone he almost didn't recognise, and if he couldn't, well, maybe no one else would…

He shrugged and unclipped his sword belt, placing it in easy reach wherever he was in the room. One of the first things he'd done after Miles had set him free and told him to run, had been to find some weapons, and a couple of unsuspecting militia deserters had donated theirs when he caught them napping, along with their packs, food, lamps, a pack of playing cards and an old Playboy. It had been so easy he was almost ashamed to think that he'd been paying them a wage…

He looked around… The afternoon sun, struggling to get through the dirty windows and decaying drapes, caught floating dust motes in its beams and lent the place a sort of romantic haze. Strangely, the place seemed to have escaped being looted over the years since the blackout; the cabin looked completely untouched, ready for the next guests… There were glasses, cups, plates and cutlery in the cupboards and drawers, cleaning supplies under the sink, and little sachets of sugar, coffee, tea bags on the courtesy stand by the kettle, a small, ornate sign welcoming him to a Mountain View deluxe honeymooner cabin, tv and phone on the wall; Bass felt a moments deep nostalgia for times gone when this was all…normal…

He shrugged, took out the small oil lamps and flint that were part of his booty and lit them, closing the blinds, drawing the curtains and throwing the bolt on the door. He'd eaten earlier, and finding somewhere safe for the night was the priority with bears and wolves and other things roaming in increasing numbers in the mountains and rapidly spreading forests. He was doing ok in the wild, all things considered, but even Bear Grills had taken a break every now and then…

He went into the bedroom, taking his gear with him… A king size bed took up a decent percentage of the room and when he stripped off the dust layered sheets and duvet the mattress looked almost new, no sign of rats, mice…he couldn't believe his luck…

Even the memory foam pillows were still good. He grinned; they deserved their lifetime guarantee. Then, and this time he had to admit to being impressed, he found two sets of white, satin sheets, still in their just laundered plastic wrap, still white, as good as any he'd enjoyed as President Monroe and he made the bed up again, with fresh sheets, adding a couple of the blankets from the cupboard for extra warmth against the cool mountain night...

He decided that the bed warranted his having a wash first…

In the bathroom there were cakes of soap, little heart, spade, club and diamond shaped tablets, individually wrapped, with the scent of something expensive still clinging to them; tubes of guest shampoo and body wash, no toothpaste… robes hanging on the hooks behind the door… courtesy slippers in little bags – and toilet paper, the ends folded into points...

He used two of his bottles of clean river water, washing the dirt of weeks off his face and body, and watching the brown water disappear down the sink with the fascination due a strange phenomenon… Then he shook out one of the robes, poured himself a nightcap from his last bottle of whisky, sipped it while he did a last perimeter check, put his knife and swords in easy reach and turned out the lamps.

The moonlight sent shafts of silvery light in through the blinds across the bed and striped his skin in stark blacks and whites as he peeled off the robe and relaxed back on the cool satin covered mattress, the softest thing he'd laid down on in weeks, his bones and muscles not quite believing that it was real, unclenching, relaxing in gradual waves of sheer, fucking relief…

Then, when his body felt like melted butter, he just lay there, the roughened skin of his hands and fingers catching on the shimmering, smooth, cool fabric of the satin sheets as he spread himself out over the luxurious width of the bed. He lay there, just breathing in and out, listening to the quiet, getting to know the sounds, the feel of the place; the gentle shush and song of the wind through pines, a night bird, the clear notes startlingly beautiful, the rustle and grunt of deer, foraging; the moonlight, dappled with patterns of leaf and branch...

And gradually, his body grew heavy, breath slower, his thoughts slowing to a crawl under the weight of exhaustion, the lightning flashes far away, for now anyway, over the horizon, ghostly echoes…

Then sometime after that, he slept.

…

The next thing he knew, she was there, his heavy, full cock told him she was there, his arms knew she was within them, his body knew she was on top of him, her skin smooth and warm, lithe body muscled and strong from the hunting, walking, fighting. Her legs woven between his, the lightly hair roughened skin of her calves catching on his own, sending whispers of sensation from his toes up to his lips, sending them searching for hers… Strands of her long, moon bleached, brown blond hair caught on his scruff as she moved, sliding across his face and throat like long fingers…She stretched her length against him, sighing, her hands tracing the heavy muscles of his arms, her soft breasts, nipples pebbled and teasing, cushioned against his chest, her pussy, all soft curls and wet, luscious folds, clit a firm nubbin against his belly…

His cock rose, hard and ready, filling the hot valley between her legs, her ass cheeks parting around him like warm, soft flesh pillows… He caught her face in his hands, and damn, she felt real; solid, her face that of the girl he'd saved in the Tower, although the lines of loss and sadness were deeper around her eyes… 'Charlie?'

Her deep, moon grey eyes fell crashing into his and he felt a rush of anger, frustration, loneliness - and a despair that almost matched his own…

'Monroe? What the fuck?' She pushed away from him, hands on his chest, her legs struggling for purchase on the soft bed, the satin sheet falling away like pale wings above her… Then she stopped moving, her eyes glinting down at his in the soft light… 'This is a dream… isn't it? I'm not here, I'm… So it doesn't matter that you're him, does it…' She circled her hips over his, her warm, wet pussy stroking over his cock, making him gasp with the feel of it. 'It doesn't matter, I can do whatever I want…' She grinned down at him, the look on her face somehow feral, hungry, tongue snaking out over her full lips and her eyes intense, fascinated, on him… 'So what are you anyway? Some kind of weird wet dream?'

'Damned if I know…' He grinned back and moved his hips, just to test things out, his cock head searching for her core, finding her slick and ready, her legs stretching out wider, opening her up for him… So he slid inside, feeling her stretch out around him, tight, hot, delicious… 'But I'll be whatever you want if we can keep doing this…'

She gasped, her eyes closing, her hands going to his shoulders, hips sinking down over him…

He ran his hands over the smooth, muscled thighs and up to her hips, his fingers gripping, holding her there while he pushed his cock up into her in hard, jerking thrusts that had them both panting, breath coming faster…

She laughed, a little breathless…'in the Tower, when you killed that guy for me? For a moment then, I wondered … what it would be like…' her eyes caught his and she squeezed her inner muscles, her elastic walls tightening even more on his cock, then releasing. 'To fuck you, Monroe…' She tightened again, her eyes drifting shut; then she opened them again, searching for his, finding them…'Did you want me too?'

Then she gasped as he stretched his thumbs over the sensitive flesh of her belly to her clit, circling and playing there, his hands big enough to span the distance while keeping her held hard on him, thrusting up into her fast and hard. Forget gentle, she was taking everything he could give… 'The thought… did… cross my mind…once or twice, Charlotte…'

Her head fell forward, her hands clutching his shoulders, short nails digging into his flesh and she moaned, her breasts swinging above him in time with his thrusts like beautiful ripe fruit…

He wanted more of her, wanted her beneath him, so he swung her round, their bodies sliding easily over the satin sheets until she was there, her hair flung out over the pillows, her eyes wide, burning up at him, her breasts pink tipped and so, so tempting… He bent down to suckle at one, then the other, his tongue leaving them gleaming, beautiful, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh until she cried out, her eyes rolling back and her neck curving… he kissed her there next, slow pulling kisses that would leave marks if this was real….

He slowed his thrusts down… going slower, deeper… then holding himself inside her tight warmth, ripples and streaks of bright pleasure flowing from his cock to his toes…

She laughed, the movements rippling down to where their bodies joined…'If I'd known it'd be like this I'd have dreamed about you before, Monroe…'

He lifted one of her knees so he could fuck her harder, deeper, and he could feel his balls tighten as he got closer… 'Dream about me as often as you like, Charlie, please…' Hell if this was a dream, they could do whatever they wanted, right? He could feel her getting closer too…

She must have read his mind, or something…

She reached down, circling her clit with her thumb, her fingers brushing his cock as he thrust in and out of her… 'Don't pull out, Monroe…' her voice was hoarse, her breath coming in short panting gasps…

He gazed down at her, the moonlight making her look like some magical creature lying there, her eyes wild and excited, her lips full and luscious, open, tongue flickering out… and then he saw the moment she came, saw her face go still, her eyes wide as she stopped breathing while the wave took her and for a moment he was lost in the beauty of it, of her; and then his own climax came in a rushing, bright explosion of colours and release as he emptied himself deep, deep inside her in white hot spurting thrusts of heat and sweet, sweet, sweet relief…

He collapsed, sliding down beside her, his body lying next to hers, their legs twined together, and his arms cradling her against him.

And for a little while, he held her, and she lay with him and Bass felt a sort of peace, something that he'd almost given up on, and maybe she felt the same…

'Monroe?'

'Yeah?'

'That was…a pretty good dream, wasn't it?'

He nodded, a laugh bubbling up, because, damn, he felt good for the first time in… well, a long fucking time…'yeah, the best I've had in a while…'

She chuckled…'me too…' she looked up at him, her fingers reaching up to stroke over his scruff…

He must have fallen asleep then, maybe, because the next thing he knew, the first rays of sunshine were coming in through the window, warm on his skin, shining in his eyes… and he was alone, the white satin crumpled and folded around him like a soft cocoon, wet in places…

He grinned; stretching out in the sun. What a dream… Maybe the ghost of honeymooners past had soaked into the walls of this place or something? And what on earth had made him dream about Charlie Matheson? He shrugged and reached for his drinking bottle… There was no denying that she was a gorgeous woman and there was a spark about her that had caught him by the balls in Philly first, then in the Tower. If she'd been anyone else he'd be prepared to knock down the competition and make a play… But, there was the little matter of her being Miles' niece – and Rachel's daughter…

That didn't seem to matter to his imagination though, and the dream played over and over in his mind as he lay there in the soft as her skin satin sheets, hands stroking his cock like he was a love struck teenager… and damn, if he didn't hope like hell that she'd visit him again…soon…

…

Camped for the night somewhere on the road to Willoughby, Texas, with Aaron, Miles and her mom, Charlie Matheson woke with a start and her hand down her pants, her clit pulsing and pussy feeling heavy and full and the afterglow of a really fucking good orgasm still floating through her… She looked around, almost expecting in some weird transposition of time and place to find him beside her…

The dream had left her feeling exhilarated and vaguely guilty. She was supposed to hate him, wasn't she? So what the fuck was she doing dreaming about having amazing sex with Sebastian Monroe?

…

AN: Hi, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it, cheers, Magpie