obediences | for ltbrownnoser.

A part of her is certain that Luther's not actually going to join her at all and, well, she supposes that's his loss. But he surprises her by appearing outside the car, having shucked off his wet coat. That surprises her, too, actually, even though it's the practical thing to have done. In spite of the number of times that she's seen him naked by now, Luther is still incredibly protective of his body, especially in the light where he can actually be seen. That's a shame, she reckons, since she'd really love to see more of him more often. She understands the self-consciousness, though, even though she's grateful that she can't relate to it at all.

Spinning in the air as she leaps up, arms spread slightly and raised to the sky, Sarah makes sure she'll be facing him when she hits the ground again, mud splashing up beneath her feet which, if he looks, he'll notice are now bare; the sneakers she found in one of the houses they squatted in and she's been wearing since turned upside down so that the soles are facing the sky.

"Come on, my love," she laughs, holding her arms out to him again, opening and closing her hands in excitable beckoning gestures toward him. "No one's here. No one cares. It's fun, Luther, you know what that is, yeah? Fun?" The last word is punctuated when she jumps up and lands again, splashing more mud around like a gleeful child might in a puddle.

I think we're alone now, there doesn't seem to be anyone around, Luther thinks, an echo of a refrain and a memory humming through his head, and he considers the capering Englishwoman in front of him.

Because. Really. What she doesn't actually realise is that there is something like that, buried deep beneath the topsoil of that stoic facade: the childish, exuberant dancing that he can break into when the doors are closed and nobody else can see (or, when he's out of his mind inebriated and inhibitions dropped). So the corner of Luther's mouth twitches with a smile he can't quite repress.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you," he says, and then—

It's not exactly the light carefree footloose jumping thing Sarah's doing; he's still too big for that, too slow, but after another ponderous pause where the rain just keeps trickling down his neck and into his shoes, Luther slowly breaks into the absolute dumbest dance to distract himself from his soggy boots. At first it's just fists clenched and pumping arms, and then the shoulders and kicking knees get in on it: just him bopping along to whatever imaginary music they're not hearing, while Sarah jumps and twirls.

And then, oh dear god, there's the the crab move.

Both mentally hearing their own favourite songs, she suspects, Sarah's glad to see Luther at least trying to join her. She's a tiny ball of movement, burning off pent up energy as she hops along, twirling and splashing about the mud. It takes him a moment to get into it, too, but she laughs freely and gleefully when he does; not a sound of derision, but of actual joy, something in short order at the end of the world. "There you go, darling!" she crows happily.

Sarah's dancing style right now is very different to what she's used to doing; she's separating this gleeful expression of pent up energy from the more erotic movements she generally imagines when she thinks of dancing. Instead, it's more leaping and bounding; spinning and splashing. It only lasts a few more minutes before she starts to slow down, having tired herself out.

Once she gets to that point, she eventually slows to a stop, watching Luther until he notices that she's not dancing anymore. "Oh, don't stop on account of me, Luther," she hurries to assure him, breathlessly. "I like seeing you like this. Like you're not worried about what I think because you've lost yourself. It's nice," she confesses.

He can't actually remember the last time he was caught in a downpour like this— the closest thing was his father's funeral, maybe. Because it's a cliché, but the Hargreeves were always armed with those well-crafted umbrellas, their father's pride and joy, the company he'd founded. They were always prim, dignified, never to be caught out or looking anything less than impeccable.

In short: absolutely nothing like this, the unselfconscious carefree dancing like no one's watching and getting muddy in puddles, because the only person who can see him is Sarah and she looks just as fucking stupid as he does. Luther waggles his way across the street and back over to her side before he comes to a stop. Still drenched, but it's a hot enough summer that it's actually refreshing; it cuts some of that oppressive heat they've been dealing with, the skies holding in all this humid moisture, just hanging onto it for weeks before dropping it all on their heads in one fell swoop.

He squints at her as water rolls down his forehead and off his brow, dripping in his eyes, relishing how it cools him off and not, for once, minding that it's making the concept of a shirt pretty tenuous right now.

"I don't think I've ever played in the rain," Luther admits, also a little breathless, half-laughing. "Like, ever? No exaggeration."

"Oh my God, Luther, whatever did you do before you met me?!" Sarah gasps, only half-joking as she snatches her sneakers up and moves closer to him, finally having released the energy she needed to get out in order to keep her from feeling restless. She's ready to go when he is, but as the rain pours down on them both, rendering their shirts pretty goddamned useless for better or worse (for better, if you ask her, except for how uncomfortable the wet fabric is when it's clinging to her), she gets the feeling that some part of him needs this. So Sarah doesn't say so just yet.

Instead, she grins up at him a little, gesturing at him, soaked to the bone. "Darling, this is a strangely good look for you," she teases. It isn't true; they both look ridiculous; drowned rats in an Earth-sized sewer and Sarah knows it just as well as she's sure Luther does. "At least we'll sleep well tonight, yeah?"

They're both painted with splatters of mud which she knows are probably her fault. "Christ, I guess we're washing these," she laughs, looking (hopefully) appropriately sheepish as she shrugs. "Got a bit carried away, I reckon. Dunno about you, but I needed it."

"Maybe," Luther says cagily — and then after a pause, he amends with, "Yeah. Actually. I did, probably."

Everyone has always, always been telling him to loosen up, to learn how to have fun, to drop that Atlas-sized weight of the world from his shoulders for once. But he's never been able to, not without anyone else around to push him like this, to shove him out of his comfort zone; and now that there isn't the shadow of his father to live in anymore, either...

"Before you? I was a huge stick in the mud." And there's an arch of an eyebrow, a faint ghost of humour at the pun there: he's huge and literally splattered with mud right now, but for once in his life Luther doesn't mind stripping away that dignity and gravitas. It's the end of the world as they know it, and they feel fine. Take away everything about him, and it's time to find out what's left.

He steps a little closer in the pouring rain, enough that he has to look down at her again to meet her eye: sneakers dangling from her fingertips, chin tipped upwards. Sarah might look like a drowned rat, but she also looks like a drowned rat in hip-hugging see-through fabric, which is. Something. Luther leans in, one hand bracketing her cheek and jaw as he impulsively catches her lips in a kiss.

Grinning slightly, Sarah rolls her eyes at the pun. She'll take any and all attempts at humor from Luther, but puns are still painful in her opinion. "I, for one, am shocked," she replies playfully as he moves closer to her and leans in. Sarah rises onto tip-toe to meet him halfway. It's a little more domestic and intimate a gesture than she'd typically prefer, but she's gotten used to that softer side of Luther and if he's willing to bend for the enigma that is Sarah Sanders, she's willing to bend a little toward the domestication his personality seems to project outward. It doesn't feel like a tether when there's bloody nowhere to go, so she doesn't mind it so much as it just feels slightly unnatural for her.

Lowering herself back to flat feet, Sarah breaks the kiss and pauses for a moment before hopping up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist and sneakers hanging from her fingertips over his shoulder after her arms circle his neck. She leans in for another kiss but stops short, smirking slightly.

"I'm glad you were able to pull the stick out of the mud for a few minutes. D'you feel better?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows as she leans back to look at him again.

"Much," Luther says, his own eyebrow arching in bemusement once she stops just short of his mouth and hovers there tantalisingly. "Tease," he adds, as if it wasn't apparent, as if she doesn't tease in practically every word and breath.

But at least it's easier with Sarah not having to lean up on tiptoe anymore, and him not having to stoop all the way down in order to reach her. Instead, Luther's hands settle on her ass, propping her up so that she doesn't have to carry so much of her own weight in her thighs and arms; she's strong, but he's stronger, and he barely notices it while he's carrying her. It's an echo of the first time she jumped on him, and that fact makes him peer down and consider her.

"Do you like being carried like this, or is it just easier because I'm so much taller? Or both?"

There's something almost scientific in Luther's curiosity, in the way he's been gathering data, information, experience, learning what she likes and how best to please her. The question isn't as direct as something like do you want me to fuck you against a wall, but it's still more frank and forthright than he would've been able to ask weeks ago. His hands settle on her more comfortably these days, with less hesitation to touch her. He doesn't even really notice or mind the water anymore either; they're both soaked through, so it's like they've already jumped in the shower or in a lake.

Sarah hums her amusement, grinning at him when he calls her a tease. "You love it," she replies languidly before closing the rest of the space between them to acquiesce his implied request for her to actually complete the kiss. That, too, she draws out a little as he adjusts her in his arms.

When she draws back again, she notices the way he looks down at her for a moment, like he's considering. Sarah's quiet because she's learned that that look usually means that there's a question on the tip of his tongue and he's just trying to get the words together to ask it. He doesn't disappoint, but the question is a little unexpected.

"Little bit of both," she replies with a small nod, one that says she's considering and realizing what her answer to the question is as she's giving it. Sarah blinks rainwater out of her eyes and moves one of her hands away from him to push her outgrown bangs back out of her face to prevent it from continuing. "Do you like carrying me like this or do you do it just because you don't want to make me feel bad when you put me back down straight away?" she counters curiously.

"The first one," Luther says without hesitation, a small smile curling at the edge of his mouth. Not even a little bit of the second; he's not carrying her out of some form of pity.

"Didn't even know until you tried it." He'd never had opportunities until now to learn what he even liked, what could actually rev his engine. "I've carried my teammates a lot, but— obviously not like this, so it's a nice change of pace. And it means I can reach you better. But it also, uh. I have some ideas on things we could try. Back at the house. Eventually."

This tentative broaching of the subject of sex is so vanilla compared to what Sarah's used to, but it's surprisingly daring for Luther; she's been steadily dismantling his prim, proper facade and helping him loosen up. Just the sheer fact of being able to experience (and act on) desire at all, rather than exist solely for the mission, a living weapon with little else to it, is such a new lesson that he's still wrapping his mind around. A luxury he's learning to appreciate.

He glances back up, squinting to where the sky is still dark and stormy, the clouds still pouring water. Every single item of clothing is drenched and sticking to them, and the storm doesn't look likely to stop anytime soon. "Speaking of. Should we head back and dry off?"

Her eyebrows lift a little at Luther's response. Over time, she's willing to credit herself for having been able to peel back his protective layers slowly, but slowly is the keyword there. The filler word and the stunted structure of his sentences when he elaborates implies a subject matter Luther seldom discusses and never initiates conversations about.

He looks up at the sky, still pouring rain down on them and Sarah leans forward to take the opportunity to nip playfully at his adam's apple before unlinking her ankles at his back and letting her legs drop so that, when he lets go, she can drop back to the ground. "Well when you put it like that, absolutely we should head back," she agrees, the tone in her voice suggesting that he hadn't really needed to even pose that question; he had to have already known the answer.

"I would love to hear these ideas, by the way," she adds, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Perhaps you can regale me on the drive, my darling," she suggests, though some part of her doubts he'll indulge that particular request.

There's that faint heat in his cheeks that is, predictably, Luther starting to blush again. "Maybe," he says, although it's unlikely. Still, the man wanders gamely back over to the car, where they indulge in a quick little bout of rock-paper-scissors in the pouring rain to decide who sits behind the wheel (no more standing on formality and Number One always needing to be the one in the driver's seat).

He does not, in fact, regale her with his salacious thoughts on their drive back home — Luther's still too easily-embarrassed, too buttoned-up. He has ideas, fantasies he'd like to try, but trying to force those words out through his tight-clenched jaw to actually talk about them is, so far, impossible. Pinning nebulous thoughts into the blunt stark words of speaking out loud about it, well. He still can't do it.

So they talk about safer things instead: logistics, their plans for repairs around the makeshift house, their supply run for tomorrow. When they get back, the first thing they have to do peel themselves out of their drenched clothes. Luther winds up in boxers and his usual rumpled tank top, scrubbing at his hair with a towel until it stands up disheveled at unruly angles, then draping the towel around his neck as he rejoins her in the kitchen. Then afterwards they'll be onto dinner, bed, sleep; it's becoming a routine.

"I miss real showers," he muses.

Mild disappointment, but not surprise, settle over the conversation in the car as it becomes increasingly clear that his ideas for things they could try are not going to be making an appearance in it. Instead, discussion settles around more practical things which, as always, is a necessary bore so far as Sarah's concerned.

When they return to the house in which they've been squatting, Sarah stands in the downpour a little longer, washing free some of the mud she'd splashed onto her clothes in her dancing about. Then, she strips them off and stands in the rain a bit longer, taking the closest thing to a shower as she's had in entirely too long. Soap, she thinks, would've been nice, but they haven't run across any in a bit and they've been rationing what little they do have. Seeing as how it's been less than a week since she last used it, it seems unfair to take more than her due just because. Besides, they're both filthy. They've learned to stop noticing and/or caring, by now. At least, she has.

When she's finished, Sarah changes into a pair of panties and pulls on an overshirt so that the bra and the rest of her clothes can dry when they're hung in a back bedroom with Luther's wet clothes. The overshirt does little to actually hide the body beneath it, but at least she's not walking around topless when it's soon to be dinner. Sarah prefers her nudity, to be sure, but not when she's eating. There's something distasteful about that which even Sarah cannot move past to indulge.

Sarah looks up from the makeshift stove they've built out of a little firepit created on the stovetop and an old baking rack propped up by two metal coffee cans when she hears his voice. "That makes two of us," she agrees. Cold, sporadic showers in the rain or sponge baths never feel as satisfying, as it turns out. "Maybe one of these days, we gather enough water to boil and fill the tub," she suggests, "and then when it cools, we can share. Equal parts practical and incredibly sexy, no?" she asks, only half-joking.

There's a smirk on her expression as she goes back to stirring the soup — a mix of two dented cans they'd found among the rubble of what looked like a convenience store on today's supply run: cream of celery and cream of chicken — they'll be using as a base. Sarah had also had the fortune of stumbling across an abandoned sack of potatoes and while it had been half-empty, none of them had been soft, bruised, or growing any eyes yet, so Sarah considers it a pretty big win. It's pretty easy to ignore the blood dried onto one corner of the sack when one is hungry enough.

"Don't suppose you'd like to take a couple of those out on the porch to hold out in the rain and try to wash them before you cut them up for me, would you?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows slightly. "Then maybe we can talk about something more interesting while we're cooking than we discussed while we were driving, hey?" If she sounds a little hopeful under the playful tone, there's a reason for it.

It's just practical enough to intrigue him, so Luther's completely serious in his response: "That actually sounds like a really good idea. Not sure if we'll both fit in the tub at the same time, though, but it's worth a try."

The perpetual straight-man, as ever. But at her suggestion, he gamely hangs up his towel and then takes the potatoes. "Yes, ma'am. I dunno if you've noticed, though, but I'm a pretty boring guy," he says with a tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth, a bout of self-deprecating humour. It had been one of the running jokes back at the Academy: Luther and how he only cared about the job, the missions, training, astronomy, flight training, marksmanship, (Allison), reading, music, and more training. His life was a limited scope.

That, though, made him start thinking. Firelight and their stack of salvaged books and comics meant that he could at least indulge his passion for reading, but...

By the time he returns with the rinsed potatoes, he's had time to think over it and come back prepared with a better conversation topic than repair logistics: "You know what else I miss? Music. I used to have a huge vinyl collection. The odds of finding a working old-fashioned wind-up gramophone don't seem great, but if we could get a working generator going and get some electricity for a record player..."

He sounds a little wistful.

"And, well, anything else we could use electricity for. Could you recharge Vortex Manipulator if we found a generator?"

"We'd fit just fine if we position ourselves just right, although perhaps that's not ideal for being clean..." she replies loftily, shrugging.

When Luther returns with the potatoes, Sarah smiles and moves to join him with two cutting boards and two knives, one of each which she gives to Luther. So they can each do some of the work. The more potatoes they add, the more sustaining the soup will seem, as far as she's concerned, so the more they can do, the better.

"Mate, I love music as much as the next bird, but if we get a generator, the first thing I want is a hot shower instead of a bloody cold one," she points out. "It would be nicer to be dancing to the same song, though, yeah?" she asks with a small smile as she gets to work chopping up the potato she's taken first after deciding she might as well leave the skin on for a little bit more...something, she guesses.

Considering briefly, Sarah shrugs. "Dunno, I never actually tried to recharge it in the 21st century," she says honestly. "Probably? But even if it's charged up, unless they've fixed the Vortex, that doesn't really change much, I'm afraid," she sighs. Still, maybe they have done, but without a charged Vortex Manipulator, there's exactly fuck all that Sarah can do to take advantage of it.

After a long moment as she quietly goes on chopping, Sarah speaks up again. "I miss alcohol," she confesses. "I'm not a lush, but Christ, I miss it a lot more than I thought I would. It's really nice at the end of a rough day and here, we haven't anything. Oh, and the Leisure Planets...fucking hell...I really miss those..."

Hearing her initial confession, Luther glances over from his spot at the counter, an eyebrow raised. "That's much easier to get a hold of than a generator or working music, though. I mean, we could fix that. There's got to be some wine cellars where some bottles are still intact. If we widen the search a little, we could probably scavenge some stuff."

At the inevitable surprised look from her — Luther Hargreeves, wanting to build a liquor collection? — he shrugs a sheepish shoulder. "It takes the edge off. I'd just started getting a taste for alcohol when the world ended. So I wouldn't mind a drink every once in a while, either."

He isn't ever planning on full-tilt drowning himself in a boozed-up haze again, but Sarah was right: just unwinding at the end of a rough day? Could be nice.

"And judging by past escapades, am I gonna be completely scandalised if you provide more details about Leisure Planets, or...?"

Sarah first gives Luther a look of surprise that he might actually have an idea for this very thing. Then, it shifts into something closer to dubious. "I don't reckon it would be as strong as the stuff in my time, which is what I meant, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers, actually," she relents, giving him a small smile. Her eyebrows lift again, though, to circle back to her initial surprise.

"It does, agreed. You just seemed a lot more of the boy scout type to me, so I'm a bit surprised that you'd put any thought into not only looking for some but, from the sounds of it, gathering a small stockpile," she adds with a little laugh. Blimey, all this time with no one but Luther to connect with and he still finds ways to take her off her guard without even trying.

Humming a soft laugh, Sarah shakes her head and uses the blade of the knife to push the diced pieces of potato out of her way so that she can start on a second. "The Leisure Planets are just a cluster of small planets devoted to, well. Leisure. Some have themes. Think amusement park only an entire planet, yeah? Bit like that. Some are quite literally planet-sized theme parks, but others are more like giant all-inclusive resorts. There's one that would almost definitely scandalize you but I am heartbroken to report that I have never had the luck to be assigned to a mission there and the fees for a legitimate stay there are astronomical, so I'm afraid I can't tell you much about that one. Disappointing, that, given I love making you blush," she comments with a little smirk.

Sarah finishes with the potatoes and then adds hers to the makeshift stew. "I reckon once you finish and add yours, we can simmer it for a few hours. That should help make it a bit less...bland, I should think, but...I can crank the heat and get it done a lot sooner if you're hungry and don't want to wait. What do you say, Luther?" she asks, genuinely interested to know how he'd prefer to proceed. This isn't just about her, after all. She's increasingly growing comfortable with the idea that everything, now, is about them and not her. It's...an interesting change, to say the least.

for ltbrownnoser.

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yay pay day lol

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