Fic: Culture is Never Wasted (2/3) (Eagle of the Ninth)
Title : Culture is Never Wasted
Author : Gunbunny
Fandom : Eagle
Pairing : Esca/Marcus
Rating : sex! Unexpurgated sex!
Word count: 13,111
Summary : Step-Up/Billy Elliot AU, aka 'I have no shame and am a Matthew Bourne obsessive'.
Disclaimer : Not mine. Rosemary Sutcliff's. Also gratuitous Matthew Bourne fangirling. Esca's career is based on Richard Winsor's.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol. ta to Taz, Pete and Jane for beta-ing.
AO3 link
Part 1
Marcus is checking his email at the airport, waiting for the connection to their next date. Top one is from his cousin Livia, with 'LIFE OR DEATH, READ THIS NOW!' in the subject line. Considering it's from a thirteen year old with a thing for drama (which describes most of them, admittedly), he'll take that with a pinch of salt, so he clicks on it just to see what she's going on about. And... huh. Turns out the company that did Edward Scissorhands are doing Dorian Gray at Sadler’s Wells in London on the dates his crew's in London. Modern day allegory for fame and celebrity, whatever. Sounds interesting. And it's starring the guy who played Edward Scissorhands. Checking the website, there's still a few seats available for the Sunday when they're not performing, so he buys himself one. He checks the production photos, all arty black and white, bare torso twisted to look more skeletal. Looks familiar, but then the amount of people he's met for five minutes over the past few years of working, could be anyone.
----
They're getting food before the show on Saturday, and Dion looks up from his fries. "What're you doing tomorrow, Marcus? A bunch of us were going to go to Camden."
"Can probably join you there later, but got a ticket for a matinee." Marcus replies.
"Theatre? Seriously? Tell me it's not a musical."
"Dance thing at Sadler's Wells." Marcus says.
"We are going up in the world." Obie says around his mouthful of burger. Jamelia throws a fry at his head for talking with his mouth full.
"Fuck off, you know they do all kinds." Marcus says. "Promised my little cousin I'd see it since she can't. Company they took me to see in New York's new piece."
"Isn't your cousin the ballet nut?"
"Different stuff." Marcus shrugs. "No tutus."
At Sadler's, Marcus settles into his seat - and doesn't quite get the giggles from the audience at the alarm clock. He guesses it's some sort of in-joke that Livia would get. Come the photography scene. There's a turn of head, and - okay, definitely familiar. Maybe he saw him perform or do some modelling once. And then the scene turns from ghostly to really hot. That's a lot of lust up on stage there.
Second act takes a turn for the seriously dark. Murders and overdoses and really fucked-up decor. The giant sparkly skull being the least of it. If this goes to New York, he's telling Uncle Aquila that there is no way Livia is seeing this til she's 40. But fuck, Esca MacCunoval's mesmerising as Dorian.
They go out later in the week. Some bar. Jamelia puts the drinks down on the table. "I want table service. Why can't they have waitresses in Brit bars?"
"Because they're evil. And British. Their metro map bears no relation to reality, they have a queen, their soaps are depressing, but their chocolate is to die for." Leon says, then pauses to watch a girl go by. "And their accents are hot."
"Accents or women?" Obie asks.
"Both. Either. It's all good." Leon says, watching the next one go by.
Marcus goes to the bar to get another drink. He turns round too fast, spilling a bit on the guy in front of him. "Hey, whoa, steady now." The guy says, putting his hands on Marcus' arms to stop the drink going further.
"Shit, sorry." Marcus curses. The drink's gone right down the guy's shirt.
"Nah, no harm done, it's not like it's new." The guy grins, lighting up his face, reaching round Marcus to get a napkin from the bar, blotting the worst of it. "See, all better. Nothing a wash won't solve."
"Still, let me buy you a drink." Marcus says, feeling a bit sheepish and inwardly cursing his luck tonight. On closer inspection, the guy is really easy on the eye.
The guy shrugs. "If you insist." He replies, continuing to blot his front. "Brown Ale."
"That's a drink?"
"It's the one with the blue star on it." the guy says, pointing at the fridge behind the bar. "Unlike what you spilled over me, it tastes of something."
"Bud is a great drink." Marcus protests, signalling the barman. "Brown ale, please."
"American beer is just wrong. It's practically water." Shirt guy says on getting his drink.
In the middle of talking about Jason Statham films (no, no idea how they got onto that from beer) some girl who's clearly part of a hen night flicks her feather boa and Esca gets a rain of feathers over him. He reaches up to brush them off his shoulder, shirt sleeve riding up. "Anyway, as I was saying, Snatch and Lock Stock are -" He pauses, since Brick Shithouse is frowning, tilting his head to look at something, then lifting Esca's sleeve to see the rest of his tattoo. "Problem?"
"The tattoo's familiar." Brick Shithouse says, tracing it slowly.
Esca raises an eyebrow. He doesn't think it's in any of the Dorian Gray promo shots, so unless the bloke's met him before or seen him on stage, it's not likely. "Could be we've run into each other before." He shrugs. "I've been to America once or twice before."
"Cool." Brick Shithouse says, hand now resting on Esca's arm, thumb shifting gently over Esca's ink. "So, got any more?" Curious with a hint of flirting, that tone is. Esca can cope with that.
"Just this. You?" He asks, sipping his ale.
"Thought about it." Brick Shithouse says, tone dropping lower. Esca's aware of how close they've shifted since the start. It's crowded, but it's not so crowded they need to be this close. "Like it on other people though."
"That so." Esca says, leaning forward that bit more to kiss him, wrapping one hand as far as he can around Brick Shithouse's fucking massive bicep. The kiss is wet, Esca licking insistently into Brick Shithouse's mouth, the bloke responding enthusiastically, Esca nipping at his lip as he withdraws.
"Hey, lovebirds, shift it somewhere else, you're blocking the bar." Someone to their side grunts.
"Will do." Esca says, grabbing Brick Shithouse's hand and pulling him to what sort of constitutes a dance floor here. One group they pass make 'Niiiiice' noises, whistling and yelling what sounds like the American equivalent of 'get in!' to Brick Shithouse.
Esca turns his head. "Friends of yours?"
"Yeah, they're not what you'd call subtle." Brick Shithouse grins, turning Esca towards him, hands gripping his hips. Really big hands.
"Subtle's overrated." Esca says, hooking his hands into the back of his belt and pulling him close, nipping a line up his neck. Brick Shithouse pauses, tipping Esca's chin up and frowning. "Something wrong?"
"Remembered why you're familiar. New York, friends who could start a fight by saying 'hello'?"
Esca backtracks. Oh. Yeah. That night he was really knackered and ended up snogging some really big bastard. Surprised he remembered. "Good memory."
"I was impressed. It's a talent." He looks round. "They not here tonight?"
Esca shakes his head slightly. "All on my lonesome."
"And you're not going to yawn in my face."
"I'd been dancing in a really heavy bodysuit and wig for two hours, can you blame me?" Esca says, hooking his hand around Brick Shithouse's neck and kissing him again. Brick Shithouse freezes for a second, but it's only a second, since next moment he's pulling Esca's hips against him and starts a slow grind to the music.
Marcus shifts his hands to Esca's ass, using his other hand to cup the back of his head, leaning down to kiss him again, really resisting the urge to hitch him up his leg so he won't get a crick in his neck, but thinks he'd probably get thumped. As it is he can feel how hard Esca is where he's pressed against his leg. Fuck. He's going to have trouble getting out of this bar with his dignity intact. Doesn't help that he (and god knows how many hundred others) know exactly what Esca looks like under those jeans and shirt, as well as what he looks like crawling all over someone.
Esca pulls back, lips swollen and hands fisted in the bottom of Marcus' t-shirt. He grins slightly, cupping Marcus through his jeans, lifting himself up to say in his ear "It's too fucking far to my flat. You want to do something about this?" Marcus swallows and nods. "Great minds think alike." Esca smirks, pulling back and grabbing Marcus' hand, towing him in the direction of the men's bathroom. Fortunately there's a stall free, and Esca pivots them and slams Marcus against the door, frantically struggling with the other's belt and fly.
----
Esca has no idea how he's ended up at this club, handing over his coat at the coat check. He's blaming Cottia, one of the wardrobe girls, who tugged at his arm as they were leaving Sadler’s Wells after that night's performance of Swan Lake with the fateful phrase "Come on, Esca, you need a night out. It's Friday, it's practically a law, you have to go out and enjoy yourself. And remember, weekday matinees start up in a week or so, you need to get some fun in while you can."
It's a hip-hop club. Esca looks around helplessly at everyone throwing shapes or grinding up against each other. "...I have no idea how to dance to this."
"If in doubt, just dance in rhythm and move your hips." Cottia says. "I know you can do that." She taps him on the nose. "You need a shag. This is perfect for pulling."
"Maybe for you. I suspect I'm going to look like a puppet with its strings cut."
Marcus looks around the club. It's a couple of days before they're due to start at the Barbican for a two-week stint in early December, and Jamelia declared that they needed to check out the local competition. And have fun. The music's pretty good - some US, a lot of Brit stuff Leon says is called grime, which is a bit harder and more dance-y than what he's used to.
They've been there about an hour when he notices Rosa's gawping at something behind him. "Shit. Ballet training at 2 o'clock."
"Huh?" He turns to see a guy in the process of doing a perfectly controlled spin that screams ballet, his friend lifted up high, all lines and muscle. They come down to earth, followed by wolf-whistling and cat-calls from the people who noticed. Including Rosa, who claps. The guy turns, and the lights flash at just the right moment to show off his ink. Marcus knows that ink, and he knows the body it's attached to.
Esca ignores the reaction they got, and goes back to dancing. Well, sort of. He still can't dance to this, and Cottia can't stop giggling.
"I do not get how you can do that perfectly but fail so badly at this." Cottia says, going back to rolling her hips. It still looks better than anything Esca has managed to achieve so far.
"You work with how many ballet dancers and you have to ask? My knees don't work that way." Esca complains.
"Oh, please. Club scenes are practically law in our company."
"Yeah, but that's normal dancing! Not bloody dislocating my sodding spine!" Esca hisses.
Someone behind him says in his ear "I could help you with that." The phantom voice is joined by a pair of big hands just resting on his hips. Esca turns to see Brick Shithouse, a fucking massive American bloke he remembers pulling a couple of times. He'll admit he mostly remembers him because of his size.
"What makes you think I'm interested?" He retorts, ignoring the fact that he's not pulling away.
Brick Shithouse lifts his hands in a 'no harm, no foul' gesture. "Just offering. You seem like you could use some help in moving your hips."
"And you think you could help with that?" Esca says, giving the bloke his best sceptical look.
"I am an expert in moving my hips." Brick Shithouse grins.
Cottia giggles. "I bet you are."
"See? She agrees. C'mon, one dance. It's not difficult."
"Maybe for you." Esca mumbles.
Cottia sniggers, shoving him at Brick Shithouse. "Oh, get on with you."
Brick Shithouse puts his hands on Esca's hips, moving them in time with the beat. Esca can do that, it's just how he wants them moved that's escaping him.
Marcus is mostly watching Esca's frown. He's clearly trying to concentrate on trying to dance in the way the music demands, brow furrowed in an intense way that's seriously hot. Probably the same expression he has when learning new dance moves. The only problem is Marcus is trying and failing to stifle a grin at the fact that Esca's more like a slightly ungainly scarecrow right now. Kind of like he was in Edward Scissorhands but less graceful. He catches eyes with Esca's friend, a girl with a mass of red hair, and she nods at Esca, giggling, and mouthing 'I have no idea'.
They limp through three songs, and Esca eventually shakes his head in frustration. "It's no good, I'm fucking useless at this."
"Hey, you're not too bad." Brick Shithouse says, rubbing a circle into Esca's hip with his thumb. Esca's not sure how much of his crapness is due to being distracted by his teacher's hands and how they feel on his hips. "At least you were moving in time, which is more than some of the guys in this club are."
"No, seriously. I'm going to take a break and get a drink." Esca sighs. "Maybe see you later if you can bear to be seen with me."
"Be happy to keep trying as long as it takes." Brick Shithouse grins, cupping Esca's elbow and running a hand up his arm, stopping just short of his tattoo, before letting go, leaving what feels like a tingling imprint on Esca's skin. "See you later."
Cottia grins evilly when they get to the bar. "So, on the subject of finding a shag, I think you've got a willing victim there."
"Maybe." Esca says, scratching his arm where he can still feel the imprint of the bloke's hand. He glances back over his shoulder, and the bloke tips his head in acknowledgement, before doing a hip-knee combo that Esca considers impossible for anyone with normal joints.
"If you're not sure, I will happily take him off your hands." Cottia says, leaning over the bar and pointing at the beer on the bottom shelf of the fridge, holding up two fingers to the barman. "And climb him like a tree. It's tough, but someone has to do it."
"Your sacrifice has been noted." Esca says dryly as she hands over the money and takes the beer she hands him.
They lounge for a while by the bar, watching the floor. Brick Shithouse and his mates are currently doing something that looks very complicated involving spins and rolls over each other. And when it changes to the next song, some sort of face-off... thing. Showing off their moves. Beside him, Cottia claps and hollers along with the rest of the crowd.
Esca shakes his head. "How are they doing that?"
"I would ask how you manage to do some of those jumps, but I gather it's a trade secret that involves torturing your body for years into some kind of dancing machine." Cottia says, then says "Oooo." admiringly as one of the girls makes it look like she's turned all her joints to water and collapses to the floor on her knees.
Near the end of the song, they all leave the floor, shoving and laughing. Then a familiar bass starts up, and Cottia grabs Esca's hand, towing him towards the dancefloor. "Cottia, I told you -"
"Do. Not. Care. I love this song. We will dance." She commands, lifting her hair off her neck and rolling her shoulders as she settles into the groove of the song. Esca sighs and tries to follow as best as he can, half-closing his eyes so everything's a blur after a bit, just so he doesn't have to remind himself how good everyone else is at this. Being not good at dancing is fucking depressing. He's no Carlos Acosta, but it's what he *does*. At least this one is one of the slower ones.
Next song is the same tempo, and part way through he gets a hand on his shoulder. Turning his head, it's Brick Shithouse, who grins and slides in against his back, slotting his chin over Esca's shoulder, one hand on his hip and controlling how he moves. "Looks like you still need some help."
"I don't think I'm ever going to get this." Esca complains.
"So just close your eyes and let me do the work." Brick Shithouse says, lips brushing his ear so he can feel it as he grins.
Okay, it's a bit easier when he's got someone else physically moving him, but he's still awkward. So he concentrates on the feel of Brick Shithouse down his back instead, and moving with him. Done it enough times on stage. After a bit they break, and Cottia dances with Brick Shithouse. She's nowhere near his level of skill, but at least she looks good dancing to this. At one point she says something, and the pair of them laugh. Esca finds himself following the line of Brick Shithouse's neck as he throws his head back, but then Brick Shithouse is grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to face him again, demonstrating a move and getting Esca to follow.
Two more songs and Esca is... nope, still feeling like a scarecrow. But starting to feel a bit warm from some of the heavy-lidded looks Brick Shithouse is throwing him and the constant touches. One of Brick Shithouse's mates grabs him, pulling him over to talk.
Cottia cocks her head in the direction he went, and then grins filthily. "So, considering how hot it's getting in here, I suggest you drag him off to have your wicked way with him when he gets back."
"It's not that hot." Esca mutters.
Cottia taps her knuckle against his forehead. "Oh, sweetie. Don't lie, you're eye-fucking something chronic. Go caveman on him, you know you want to."
"Might be a bit difficult considering his size." Esca points out.
"All about leverage." She grins.
Brick Shithouse gets back, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I was going out to get some fresh air." He says, pulling at his collar, and Esca follows the extra bit of skin revealed.
"Good idea." Esca nods. "I'll join you."
They hurry out, and Brick Shithouse curses as the temperature changes from the warm club to the chilly December air. "Fuck, it's freezing."
"Let's see if I can distract you." Esca grins, stepping in close and pulling his head down for a kiss. Brick Shithouse grins against his lips, hands going round his waist and onto his bum, squeezing there as Esca keeps one hand on his neck and slides the other down his arm, feeling the muscles flex.
Esca could seriously snog this bloke for ages, but he starts shivering. Esca steps back, and the bloke starts rubbing his hands down his arms immediately. "Sorry, just a bit cold. Can we go back in?"
Esca grins, hooking his hands into Brick Shithouse's belt loops. "How about we go back in, get our coats and we go back to my flat where we can get you properly warmed up?"
Brick Shithouse grins, running his hand down Esca's t-shirt to where his nipples are peaking in the cold air. "Sounds like a plan."
Inside, both of them start looking around for their mates, to tell them they're off, and find a pretty weird sight. Cottia and one of Brick Shithouse's mates are arguing.
Brick Shithouse grabs one of his other mates, who're looking fucking bemused by the two girls. "Leon, you got any idea what the bitchfight is about?"
"Something about you going off with this guy. I think they both went into mamma hen mode. Or something." He shrugs. "Women, man. I do not get them."
"I'm just saying, there are -"
"Please, like you give a shit -"
"He's my boy, I gotta look out for him!" Brick Shithouse's mate says.
"Well he's my boy!" Cottia retaliates. And then they blink. And stare at each other.
And simultaneously say "Oh."
Brick Shithouse takes that moment to cut in. "I don't even want to know what you two were fighting about, but we were going to head off. See you later, okay?"
"Sure thing." Leon fistbumps him. "Have a good time, and do not tell me the fucking details."
"You know it." Brick Shithouse replies.
Esca looks at Cottia. "So, I'm heading off. Don't tell me what that was about, it sounded insane."
"Good, I'm going to keep dancing with people who don't do their best impression of a scarecrow." Cottia grins. "And I will want details."
"Which I'm not going to tell you." Esca says firmly.
Getting from Esca's front door to his bedroom is kinda awkward, Marcus has to admit. Since they're trying to keep kissing and pressed against each other but at the same time pulling at clothes. Jackets were easy, but Marcus still has his scarf on, and Esca's half out of his t-shirt, one sleeve still on, by the time they slam into the room Esca steers them towards, and ow, that was a bookcase his elbow just bounced off. Still, he manages to get to the bed and sit on it, pulling Esca into his lap with a hand on his ass.
Esca buries his hands in Marcus' hair, grinding down and he clearly knows exactly what to do with his hips now. Marcus busies his hands with learning the muscles of Esca's back and ass, the muscles rippling as they move against each other. Esca bites at Marcus' lip, moving his hands to their waists, struggling with their flies and belts.
"C'mon, your belt is an utter bastard - there." Esca says, mumbling words against Marcus' mouth as he finally manages to get his jeans open, kissing him harder as he pushes Marcus back on the bed, tugging at his waistband. Marcus gets the picture. Clothes off is a damn good idea, so he tugs at Esca's jeans, trying to get them down his legs but still trying to keep their mouths attached. It's only half successful, as every other kiss misses and lands on his cheek or chin. Esca keeps pausing to kiss him swiftly, then shove some more at his jeans. As a technique for getting clothes off it's not a very successful one.
Finally they manage to get them down past their knees, Marcus smiling triumphantly against Esca's mouth, since it's only a matter of kicking them off now. Except they forgot to take their shoes off in their rush to get to the bedroom, and it's just not happening. Esca sits up, cursing as he fights with his laces, Marcus toeing his off and kicking his jeans and underpants off. He pulls Esca back once Esca's got his shoes and jeans off, rolling them onto their sides and kissing a line down his shoulders before going back up to his mouth, both of them trying to get their hands on as much skin as possible in as short a time. They've been hard since the club, they can go slow later. Esca worms a hand between them, fisting their cocks together, working the pre-come down as lube, twisting hard and - they both groan, Marcus coming first over their hands and stomachs, Esca following him over, the jump and pulse enough to trigger his orgasm.
Marcus groans as he comes back to his senses, blinking the haze out of his head. He rolls onto his back, bringing Esca with him to rest on his chest, both still panting hard.
"Fuck." Esca swears muzzily. "I'm normally better'n that."
Marcus wipes some of the sweat out of his eyes, looking down. "Hey, half of it was me." He grins slightly. "Clean up and go again?"
Esca levers himself up on one arm and flashes a grin, reaching over to the nightstand for the tissues. "Sounds like a plan."
----
Morning. Esca wakes up, desperate for a slash. He stumbles to the bathroom, relieves himself, and splashes a bit of water on his face, glad he didn't drink much last night - performing with a hangover's no fucking fun, doesn't matter your age. Clicking on the bathroom light shows off a bit of stubble burn and a few marks on his chest. Whoops. Still, the makeup'll cover it. Could be worse, could be doing Dorian Gray. Mind you, he could probably argue that was method acting. Not that it'd wash, but it'd be worth the effort to see how high wardrobe'd raise their eyebrows. He walks back to his bedroom, and blinks slightly on seeing the size of the bloke in his bed. Could've sworn he didn't look that big in the club, even if he's mentally dubbed him Brick Shithouse all this time. Then he remembers the size of his hands and cock and the feel of that bulk holding him up. Esca shakes his head, and slips back into bed, tired enough that he falls back asleep nearly immediately.
Marcus is woken up by an alarm. The body snuggled up against his chest just shifts slightly. He lies there for a couple of minutes staring at the ceiling figuring out where he is, before guessing he really should wake Esca up, nice as he does feel. He shakes Esca's shoulder. "Hey, sorry about this, but your alarm just went off. You got somewhere to be?"
Esca blinks awake, rubbing his eye with one hand, groaning and mumbling something that doesn't sound like English, but he probably needs coffee for that. He pushes himself up, swinging his legs out of bed and heading out of the room, still rubbing his eyes. There's the sound of the shower running. Marcus dozes off, and next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake and Esca’s saying something in what sounds like a foreign language.
"Uh, in English?" Marcus asks.
Esca rubs his face again. "Fuck. Sorry, accent's a bit stronger in the morning. I've got a couple've errands to run before I get to work so you need to get up. You want breakfast?"
"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Marcus says, getting up and fumbling for his boxers as Esca walks out, watching his butt in some really, really nicely fitting jeans. And then realises how cold it is, desperately grabbing his jeans and the hoodie on the chair for warmth, tucking his hands into his armpits to try to stay warm. It's snug, which means it probably swamps his host. He stumbles in the direction Esca went, cursing the trend for wood floors as his toes recoil in horror. What was so wrong with carpet? He tries to touch as little floor as possible for the sake of his toes and comes up short in the kitchen to see Esca stretching for something in the cupboard. Shirtless, so he can see the muscles ripple in his really well-toned back. Nice as the view is, it just reminds Marcus of his major case of goose pimples here. Does the guy not believe in sweaters? Marcus leans up against the doorway, rubbing his arms against the cold. "Did the heating go off?"
Esca turns round, mug in hand. "Oh. Sorry. I forget not everyone's Geordie, I don't feel the cold and don't tend to turn the heating on until evening." He pauses, looking down at his mug. "Turns out my mates inhaled the last of the coffee. There's tea. How d'you take it?"
"Uh, no milk. Anything hot is good." Marcus replies.
"Good one there, since there's no cereal. We have toast or toast." Esca opens the fridge to get the milk out. The fact that he has to bend over to do this is no bad thing. "And bacon. You're in luck." He turns his head to look at Marcus. "However, there's a rule in this kitchen: no ketchup, so it's brown sauce on your bacon sandwich or nothing."
Marcus tears his eyes away from Esca's butt. Last time he saw it? Not this close up. Damn that is one fine ass, as his hands can confirm. Okay, bacon? This morning is getting better. "Bacon sandwich is fine by me, but what's brown sauce? Is it like barbecue?" He's seen the brown bottles in Britain in cafés on previous tours, but never tried it.
Esca narrows his eyes. "Wash your mouth out with soap." He straightens, putting the bacon and milk on the counter and shutting the fridge door with his foot, before reaching into the cupboard above the nearly-boiled kettle and pulling out a bottle with 'HP' on it and unscrewing the lid, tilting it up to get some on his finger and holding his hand out. "This is brown sauce. Try it."
Marcus takes hold of his wrist, and licks the sauce off, sucking the finger slightly. Kind of spicy-fruity. With a touch of salt from his skin. He sucks a bit more, then pulls off with a pop. Esca flushes slightly. "Not bad. I'm open to new experiences."
The flush clears. "Okay, first rule of the kitchen. No trying to seduce me when I've only got enough time to make breakfast."
"Blowjobs or bacon, it's a hard decision." Marcus grins.
Esca glares at him. "I'm ignoring that." He gets the frying pan out of the cupboard and turns the gas on. The kettle turns off with a loud click, and Marcus gets a hot mug shoved into his hands. "Weren't you the one shivering a minute ago? Get that down you." He says, turning back to the important task of frying the bacon, gesturing occasionally with the spatula to keep Marcus at bay once the tea's warmed him up.
The bacon sandwich - complete with strange brown fruit sauce - is possibly the best thing Marcus has tasted in Britain so far. Pigs should die happy knowing that they'd become this. His involuntary moan gets a smirk out of Esca. "Told you it was worth it." He glances at the clock on the microwave. "Anyway, you've just got time for a quick shower once you've finished that before I've got to be gone."
Marcus swallows the remains of the sandwich, giving thanks that he's not a girl and can burn it off really easily. "How is it no-one told me about these before?"
"Trade secret we keep from you yanks." Esca says, then frowns. "You've got sauce - here, let me." He says, reaching up to brush something from the corner of Marcus' mouth, but his fingers linger as he catches Marcus' gaze.
Marcus turns his head to nip at them, still keeping eye contact. "Sure you don't want to join me in that shower?"
Esca pulls his hand away. "I said a *quick* shower." He retorts, dumping the pan in the sink and pushing Marcus out of the kitchen. "Towels are on the rail, there's no spare toothbrush but there's mouthwash."
Part 3
Author : Gunbunny
Fandom : Eagle
Pairing : Esca/Marcus
Rating : sex! Unexpurgated sex!
Word count: 13,111
Summary : Step-Up/Billy Elliot AU, aka 'I have no shame and am a Matthew Bourne obsessive'.
Disclaimer : Not mine. Rosemary Sutcliff's. Also gratuitous Matthew Bourne fangirling. Esca's career is based on Richard Winsor's.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol. ta to Taz, Pete and Jane for beta-ing.
AO3 link
Part 1
Marcus is checking his email at the airport, waiting for the connection to their next date. Top one is from his cousin Livia, with 'LIFE OR DEATH, READ THIS NOW!' in the subject line. Considering it's from a thirteen year old with a thing for drama (which describes most of them, admittedly), he'll take that with a pinch of salt, so he clicks on it just to see what she's going on about. And... huh. Turns out the company that did Edward Scissorhands are doing Dorian Gray at Sadler’s Wells in London on the dates his crew's in London. Modern day allegory for fame and celebrity, whatever. Sounds interesting. And it's starring the guy who played Edward Scissorhands. Checking the website, there's still a few seats available for the Sunday when they're not performing, so he buys himself one. He checks the production photos, all arty black and white, bare torso twisted to look more skeletal. Looks familiar, but then the amount of people he's met for five minutes over the past few years of working, could be anyone.
----
They're getting food before the show on Saturday, and Dion looks up from his fries. "What're you doing tomorrow, Marcus? A bunch of us were going to go to Camden."
"Can probably join you there later, but got a ticket for a matinee." Marcus replies.
"Theatre? Seriously? Tell me it's not a musical."
"Dance thing at Sadler's Wells." Marcus says.
"We are going up in the world." Obie says around his mouthful of burger. Jamelia throws a fry at his head for talking with his mouth full.
"Fuck off, you know they do all kinds." Marcus says. "Promised my little cousin I'd see it since she can't. Company they took me to see in New York's new piece."
"Isn't your cousin the ballet nut?"
"Different stuff." Marcus shrugs. "No tutus."
At Sadler's, Marcus settles into his seat - and doesn't quite get the giggles from the audience at the alarm clock. He guesses it's some sort of in-joke that Livia would get. Come the photography scene. There's a turn of head, and - okay, definitely familiar. Maybe he saw him perform or do some modelling once. And then the scene turns from ghostly to really hot. That's a lot of lust up on stage there.
Second act takes a turn for the seriously dark. Murders and overdoses and really fucked-up decor. The giant sparkly skull being the least of it. If this goes to New York, he's telling Uncle Aquila that there is no way Livia is seeing this til she's 40. But fuck, Esca MacCunoval's mesmerising as Dorian.
They go out later in the week. Some bar. Jamelia puts the drinks down on the table. "I want table service. Why can't they have waitresses in Brit bars?"
"Because they're evil. And British. Their metro map bears no relation to reality, they have a queen, their soaps are depressing, but their chocolate is to die for." Leon says, then pauses to watch a girl go by. "And their accents are hot."
"Accents or women?" Obie asks.
"Both. Either. It's all good." Leon says, watching the next one go by.
Marcus goes to the bar to get another drink. He turns round too fast, spilling a bit on the guy in front of him. "Hey, whoa, steady now." The guy says, putting his hands on Marcus' arms to stop the drink going further.
"Shit, sorry." Marcus curses. The drink's gone right down the guy's shirt.
"Nah, no harm done, it's not like it's new." The guy grins, lighting up his face, reaching round Marcus to get a napkin from the bar, blotting the worst of it. "See, all better. Nothing a wash won't solve."
"Still, let me buy you a drink." Marcus says, feeling a bit sheepish and inwardly cursing his luck tonight. On closer inspection, the guy is really easy on the eye.
The guy shrugs. "If you insist." He replies, continuing to blot his front. "Brown Ale."
"That's a drink?"
"It's the one with the blue star on it." the guy says, pointing at the fridge behind the bar. "Unlike what you spilled over me, it tastes of something."
"Bud is a great drink." Marcus protests, signalling the barman. "Brown ale, please."
"American beer is just wrong. It's practically water." Shirt guy says on getting his drink.
In the middle of talking about Jason Statham films (no, no idea how they got onto that from beer) some girl who's clearly part of a hen night flicks her feather boa and Esca gets a rain of feathers over him. He reaches up to brush them off his shoulder, shirt sleeve riding up. "Anyway, as I was saying, Snatch and Lock Stock are -" He pauses, since Brick Shithouse is frowning, tilting his head to look at something, then lifting Esca's sleeve to see the rest of his tattoo. "Problem?"
"The tattoo's familiar." Brick Shithouse says, tracing it slowly.
Esca raises an eyebrow. He doesn't think it's in any of the Dorian Gray promo shots, so unless the bloke's met him before or seen him on stage, it's not likely. "Could be we've run into each other before." He shrugs. "I've been to America once or twice before."
"Cool." Brick Shithouse says, hand now resting on Esca's arm, thumb shifting gently over Esca's ink. "So, got any more?" Curious with a hint of flirting, that tone is. Esca can cope with that.
"Just this. You?" He asks, sipping his ale.
"Thought about it." Brick Shithouse says, tone dropping lower. Esca's aware of how close they've shifted since the start. It's crowded, but it's not so crowded they need to be this close. "Like it on other people though."
"That so." Esca says, leaning forward that bit more to kiss him, wrapping one hand as far as he can around Brick Shithouse's fucking massive bicep. The kiss is wet, Esca licking insistently into Brick Shithouse's mouth, the bloke responding enthusiastically, Esca nipping at his lip as he withdraws.
"Hey, lovebirds, shift it somewhere else, you're blocking the bar." Someone to their side grunts.
"Will do." Esca says, grabbing Brick Shithouse's hand and pulling him to what sort of constitutes a dance floor here. One group they pass make 'Niiiiice' noises, whistling and yelling what sounds like the American equivalent of 'get in!' to Brick Shithouse.
Esca turns his head. "Friends of yours?"
"Yeah, they're not what you'd call subtle." Brick Shithouse grins, turning Esca towards him, hands gripping his hips. Really big hands.
"Subtle's overrated." Esca says, hooking his hands into the back of his belt and pulling him close, nipping a line up his neck. Brick Shithouse pauses, tipping Esca's chin up and frowning. "Something wrong?"
"Remembered why you're familiar. New York, friends who could start a fight by saying 'hello'?"
Esca backtracks. Oh. Yeah. That night he was really knackered and ended up snogging some really big bastard. Surprised he remembered. "Good memory."
"I was impressed. It's a talent." He looks round. "They not here tonight?"
Esca shakes his head slightly. "All on my lonesome."
"And you're not going to yawn in my face."
"I'd been dancing in a really heavy bodysuit and wig for two hours, can you blame me?" Esca says, hooking his hand around Brick Shithouse's neck and kissing him again. Brick Shithouse freezes for a second, but it's only a second, since next moment he's pulling Esca's hips against him and starts a slow grind to the music.
Marcus shifts his hands to Esca's ass, using his other hand to cup the back of his head, leaning down to kiss him again, really resisting the urge to hitch him up his leg so he won't get a crick in his neck, but thinks he'd probably get thumped. As it is he can feel how hard Esca is where he's pressed against his leg. Fuck. He's going to have trouble getting out of this bar with his dignity intact. Doesn't help that he (and god knows how many hundred others) know exactly what Esca looks like under those jeans and shirt, as well as what he looks like crawling all over someone.
Esca pulls back, lips swollen and hands fisted in the bottom of Marcus' t-shirt. He grins slightly, cupping Marcus through his jeans, lifting himself up to say in his ear "It's too fucking far to my flat. You want to do something about this?" Marcus swallows and nods. "Great minds think alike." Esca smirks, pulling back and grabbing Marcus' hand, towing him in the direction of the men's bathroom. Fortunately there's a stall free, and Esca pivots them and slams Marcus against the door, frantically struggling with the other's belt and fly.
----
Esca has no idea how he's ended up at this club, handing over his coat at the coat check. He's blaming Cottia, one of the wardrobe girls, who tugged at his arm as they were leaving Sadler’s Wells after that night's performance of Swan Lake with the fateful phrase "Come on, Esca, you need a night out. It's Friday, it's practically a law, you have to go out and enjoy yourself. And remember, weekday matinees start up in a week or so, you need to get some fun in while you can."
It's a hip-hop club. Esca looks around helplessly at everyone throwing shapes or grinding up against each other. "...I have no idea how to dance to this."
"If in doubt, just dance in rhythm and move your hips." Cottia says. "I know you can do that." She taps him on the nose. "You need a shag. This is perfect for pulling."
"Maybe for you. I suspect I'm going to look like a puppet with its strings cut."
Marcus looks around the club. It's a couple of days before they're due to start at the Barbican for a two-week stint in early December, and Jamelia declared that they needed to check out the local competition. And have fun. The music's pretty good - some US, a lot of Brit stuff Leon says is called grime, which is a bit harder and more dance-y than what he's used to.
They've been there about an hour when he notices Rosa's gawping at something behind him. "Shit. Ballet training at 2 o'clock."
"Huh?" He turns to see a guy in the process of doing a perfectly controlled spin that screams ballet, his friend lifted up high, all lines and muscle. They come down to earth, followed by wolf-whistling and cat-calls from the people who noticed. Including Rosa, who claps. The guy turns, and the lights flash at just the right moment to show off his ink. Marcus knows that ink, and he knows the body it's attached to.
Esca ignores the reaction they got, and goes back to dancing. Well, sort of. He still can't dance to this, and Cottia can't stop giggling.
"I do not get how you can do that perfectly but fail so badly at this." Cottia says, going back to rolling her hips. It still looks better than anything Esca has managed to achieve so far.
"You work with how many ballet dancers and you have to ask? My knees don't work that way." Esca complains.
"Oh, please. Club scenes are practically law in our company."
"Yeah, but that's normal dancing! Not bloody dislocating my sodding spine!" Esca hisses.
Someone behind him says in his ear "I could help you with that." The phantom voice is joined by a pair of big hands just resting on his hips. Esca turns to see Brick Shithouse, a fucking massive American bloke he remembers pulling a couple of times. He'll admit he mostly remembers him because of his size.
"What makes you think I'm interested?" He retorts, ignoring the fact that he's not pulling away.
Brick Shithouse lifts his hands in a 'no harm, no foul' gesture. "Just offering. You seem like you could use some help in moving your hips."
"And you think you could help with that?" Esca says, giving the bloke his best sceptical look.
"I am an expert in moving my hips." Brick Shithouse grins.
Cottia giggles. "I bet you are."
"See? She agrees. C'mon, one dance. It's not difficult."
"Maybe for you." Esca mumbles.
Cottia sniggers, shoving him at Brick Shithouse. "Oh, get on with you."
Brick Shithouse puts his hands on Esca's hips, moving them in time with the beat. Esca can do that, it's just how he wants them moved that's escaping him.
Marcus is mostly watching Esca's frown. He's clearly trying to concentrate on trying to dance in the way the music demands, brow furrowed in an intense way that's seriously hot. Probably the same expression he has when learning new dance moves. The only problem is Marcus is trying and failing to stifle a grin at the fact that Esca's more like a slightly ungainly scarecrow right now. Kind of like he was in Edward Scissorhands but less graceful. He catches eyes with Esca's friend, a girl with a mass of red hair, and she nods at Esca, giggling, and mouthing 'I have no idea'.
They limp through three songs, and Esca eventually shakes his head in frustration. "It's no good, I'm fucking useless at this."
"Hey, you're not too bad." Brick Shithouse says, rubbing a circle into Esca's hip with his thumb. Esca's not sure how much of his crapness is due to being distracted by his teacher's hands and how they feel on his hips. "At least you were moving in time, which is more than some of the guys in this club are."
"No, seriously. I'm going to take a break and get a drink." Esca sighs. "Maybe see you later if you can bear to be seen with me."
"Be happy to keep trying as long as it takes." Brick Shithouse grins, cupping Esca's elbow and running a hand up his arm, stopping just short of his tattoo, before letting go, leaving what feels like a tingling imprint on Esca's skin. "See you later."
Cottia grins evilly when they get to the bar. "So, on the subject of finding a shag, I think you've got a willing victim there."
"Maybe." Esca says, scratching his arm where he can still feel the imprint of the bloke's hand. He glances back over his shoulder, and the bloke tips his head in acknowledgement, before doing a hip-knee combo that Esca considers impossible for anyone with normal joints.
"If you're not sure, I will happily take him off your hands." Cottia says, leaning over the bar and pointing at the beer on the bottom shelf of the fridge, holding up two fingers to the barman. "And climb him like a tree. It's tough, but someone has to do it."
"Your sacrifice has been noted." Esca says dryly as she hands over the money and takes the beer she hands him.
They lounge for a while by the bar, watching the floor. Brick Shithouse and his mates are currently doing something that looks very complicated involving spins and rolls over each other. And when it changes to the next song, some sort of face-off... thing. Showing off their moves. Beside him, Cottia claps and hollers along with the rest of the crowd.
Esca shakes his head. "How are they doing that?"
"I would ask how you manage to do some of those jumps, but I gather it's a trade secret that involves torturing your body for years into some kind of dancing machine." Cottia says, then says "Oooo." admiringly as one of the girls makes it look like she's turned all her joints to water and collapses to the floor on her knees.
Near the end of the song, they all leave the floor, shoving and laughing. Then a familiar bass starts up, and Cottia grabs Esca's hand, towing him towards the dancefloor. "Cottia, I told you -"
"Do. Not. Care. I love this song. We will dance." She commands, lifting her hair off her neck and rolling her shoulders as she settles into the groove of the song. Esca sighs and tries to follow as best as he can, half-closing his eyes so everything's a blur after a bit, just so he doesn't have to remind himself how good everyone else is at this. Being not good at dancing is fucking depressing. He's no Carlos Acosta, but it's what he *does*. At least this one is one of the slower ones.
Next song is the same tempo, and part way through he gets a hand on his shoulder. Turning his head, it's Brick Shithouse, who grins and slides in against his back, slotting his chin over Esca's shoulder, one hand on his hip and controlling how he moves. "Looks like you still need some help."
"I don't think I'm ever going to get this." Esca complains.
"So just close your eyes and let me do the work." Brick Shithouse says, lips brushing his ear so he can feel it as he grins.
Okay, it's a bit easier when he's got someone else physically moving him, but he's still awkward. So he concentrates on the feel of Brick Shithouse down his back instead, and moving with him. Done it enough times on stage. After a bit they break, and Cottia dances with Brick Shithouse. She's nowhere near his level of skill, but at least she looks good dancing to this. At one point she says something, and the pair of them laugh. Esca finds himself following the line of Brick Shithouse's neck as he throws his head back, but then Brick Shithouse is grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to face him again, demonstrating a move and getting Esca to follow.
Two more songs and Esca is... nope, still feeling like a scarecrow. But starting to feel a bit warm from some of the heavy-lidded looks Brick Shithouse is throwing him and the constant touches. One of Brick Shithouse's mates grabs him, pulling him over to talk.
Cottia cocks her head in the direction he went, and then grins filthily. "So, considering how hot it's getting in here, I suggest you drag him off to have your wicked way with him when he gets back."
"It's not that hot." Esca mutters.
Cottia taps her knuckle against his forehead. "Oh, sweetie. Don't lie, you're eye-fucking something chronic. Go caveman on him, you know you want to."
"Might be a bit difficult considering his size." Esca points out.
"All about leverage." She grins.
Brick Shithouse gets back, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I was going out to get some fresh air." He says, pulling at his collar, and Esca follows the extra bit of skin revealed.
"Good idea." Esca nods. "I'll join you."
They hurry out, and Brick Shithouse curses as the temperature changes from the warm club to the chilly December air. "Fuck, it's freezing."
"Let's see if I can distract you." Esca grins, stepping in close and pulling his head down for a kiss. Brick Shithouse grins against his lips, hands going round his waist and onto his bum, squeezing there as Esca keeps one hand on his neck and slides the other down his arm, feeling the muscles flex.
Esca could seriously snog this bloke for ages, but he starts shivering. Esca steps back, and the bloke starts rubbing his hands down his arms immediately. "Sorry, just a bit cold. Can we go back in?"
Esca grins, hooking his hands into Brick Shithouse's belt loops. "How about we go back in, get our coats and we go back to my flat where we can get you properly warmed up?"
Brick Shithouse grins, running his hand down Esca's t-shirt to where his nipples are peaking in the cold air. "Sounds like a plan."
Inside, both of them start looking around for their mates, to tell them they're off, and find a pretty weird sight. Cottia and one of Brick Shithouse's mates are arguing.
Brick Shithouse grabs one of his other mates, who're looking fucking bemused by the two girls. "Leon, you got any idea what the bitchfight is about?"
"Something about you going off with this guy. I think they both went into mamma hen mode. Or something." He shrugs. "Women, man. I do not get them."
"I'm just saying, there are -"
"Please, like you give a shit -"
"He's my boy, I gotta look out for him!" Brick Shithouse's mate says.
"Well he's my boy!" Cottia retaliates. And then they blink. And stare at each other.
And simultaneously say "Oh."
Brick Shithouse takes that moment to cut in. "I don't even want to know what you two were fighting about, but we were going to head off. See you later, okay?"
"Sure thing." Leon fistbumps him. "Have a good time, and do not tell me the fucking details."
"You know it." Brick Shithouse replies.
Esca looks at Cottia. "So, I'm heading off. Don't tell me what that was about, it sounded insane."
"Good, I'm going to keep dancing with people who don't do their best impression of a scarecrow." Cottia grins. "And I will want details."
"Which I'm not going to tell you." Esca says firmly.
Getting from Esca's front door to his bedroom is kinda awkward, Marcus has to admit. Since they're trying to keep kissing and pressed against each other but at the same time pulling at clothes. Jackets were easy, but Marcus still has his scarf on, and Esca's half out of his t-shirt, one sleeve still on, by the time they slam into the room Esca steers them towards, and ow, that was a bookcase his elbow just bounced off. Still, he manages to get to the bed and sit on it, pulling Esca into his lap with a hand on his ass.
Esca buries his hands in Marcus' hair, grinding down and he clearly knows exactly what to do with his hips now. Marcus busies his hands with learning the muscles of Esca's back and ass, the muscles rippling as they move against each other. Esca bites at Marcus' lip, moving his hands to their waists, struggling with their flies and belts.
"C'mon, your belt is an utter bastard - there." Esca says, mumbling words against Marcus' mouth as he finally manages to get his jeans open, kissing him harder as he pushes Marcus back on the bed, tugging at his waistband. Marcus gets the picture. Clothes off is a damn good idea, so he tugs at Esca's jeans, trying to get them down his legs but still trying to keep their mouths attached. It's only half successful, as every other kiss misses and lands on his cheek or chin. Esca keeps pausing to kiss him swiftly, then shove some more at his jeans. As a technique for getting clothes off it's not a very successful one.
Finally they manage to get them down past their knees, Marcus smiling triumphantly against Esca's mouth, since it's only a matter of kicking them off now. Except they forgot to take their shoes off in their rush to get to the bedroom, and it's just not happening. Esca sits up, cursing as he fights with his laces, Marcus toeing his off and kicking his jeans and underpants off. He pulls Esca back once Esca's got his shoes and jeans off, rolling them onto their sides and kissing a line down his shoulders before going back up to his mouth, both of them trying to get their hands on as much skin as possible in as short a time. They've been hard since the club, they can go slow later. Esca worms a hand between them, fisting their cocks together, working the pre-come down as lube, twisting hard and - they both groan, Marcus coming first over their hands and stomachs, Esca following him over, the jump and pulse enough to trigger his orgasm.
Marcus groans as he comes back to his senses, blinking the haze out of his head. He rolls onto his back, bringing Esca with him to rest on his chest, both still panting hard.
"Fuck." Esca swears muzzily. "I'm normally better'n that."
Marcus wipes some of the sweat out of his eyes, looking down. "Hey, half of it was me." He grins slightly. "Clean up and go again?"
Esca levers himself up on one arm and flashes a grin, reaching over to the nightstand for the tissues. "Sounds like a plan."
----
Morning. Esca wakes up, desperate for a slash. He stumbles to the bathroom, relieves himself, and splashes a bit of water on his face, glad he didn't drink much last night - performing with a hangover's no fucking fun, doesn't matter your age. Clicking on the bathroom light shows off a bit of stubble burn and a few marks on his chest. Whoops. Still, the makeup'll cover it. Could be worse, could be doing Dorian Gray. Mind you, he could probably argue that was method acting. Not that it'd wash, but it'd be worth the effort to see how high wardrobe'd raise their eyebrows. He walks back to his bedroom, and blinks slightly on seeing the size of the bloke in his bed. Could've sworn he didn't look that big in the club, even if he's mentally dubbed him Brick Shithouse all this time. Then he remembers the size of his hands and cock and the feel of that bulk holding him up. Esca shakes his head, and slips back into bed, tired enough that he falls back asleep nearly immediately.
Marcus is woken up by an alarm. The body snuggled up against his chest just shifts slightly. He lies there for a couple of minutes staring at the ceiling figuring out where he is, before guessing he really should wake Esca up, nice as he does feel. He shakes Esca's shoulder. "Hey, sorry about this, but your alarm just went off. You got somewhere to be?"
Esca blinks awake, rubbing his eye with one hand, groaning and mumbling something that doesn't sound like English, but he probably needs coffee for that. He pushes himself up, swinging his legs out of bed and heading out of the room, still rubbing his eyes. There's the sound of the shower running. Marcus dozes off, and next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake and Esca’s saying something in what sounds like a foreign language.
"Uh, in English?" Marcus asks.
Esca rubs his face again. "Fuck. Sorry, accent's a bit stronger in the morning. I've got a couple've errands to run before I get to work so you need to get up. You want breakfast?"
"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Marcus says, getting up and fumbling for his boxers as Esca walks out, watching his butt in some really, really nicely fitting jeans. And then realises how cold it is, desperately grabbing his jeans and the hoodie on the chair for warmth, tucking his hands into his armpits to try to stay warm. It's snug, which means it probably swamps his host. He stumbles in the direction Esca went, cursing the trend for wood floors as his toes recoil in horror. What was so wrong with carpet? He tries to touch as little floor as possible for the sake of his toes and comes up short in the kitchen to see Esca stretching for something in the cupboard. Shirtless, so he can see the muscles ripple in his really well-toned back. Nice as the view is, it just reminds Marcus of his major case of goose pimples here. Does the guy not believe in sweaters? Marcus leans up against the doorway, rubbing his arms against the cold. "Did the heating go off?"
Esca turns round, mug in hand. "Oh. Sorry. I forget not everyone's Geordie, I don't feel the cold and don't tend to turn the heating on until evening." He pauses, looking down at his mug. "Turns out my mates inhaled the last of the coffee. There's tea. How d'you take it?"
"Uh, no milk. Anything hot is good." Marcus replies.
"Good one there, since there's no cereal. We have toast or toast." Esca opens the fridge to get the milk out. The fact that he has to bend over to do this is no bad thing. "And bacon. You're in luck." He turns his head to look at Marcus. "However, there's a rule in this kitchen: no ketchup, so it's brown sauce on your bacon sandwich or nothing."
Marcus tears his eyes away from Esca's butt. Last time he saw it? Not this close up. Damn that is one fine ass, as his hands can confirm. Okay, bacon? This morning is getting better. "Bacon sandwich is fine by me, but what's brown sauce? Is it like barbecue?" He's seen the brown bottles in Britain in cafés on previous tours, but never tried it.
Esca narrows his eyes. "Wash your mouth out with soap." He straightens, putting the bacon and milk on the counter and shutting the fridge door with his foot, before reaching into the cupboard above the nearly-boiled kettle and pulling out a bottle with 'HP' on it and unscrewing the lid, tilting it up to get some on his finger and holding his hand out. "This is brown sauce. Try it."
Marcus takes hold of his wrist, and licks the sauce off, sucking the finger slightly. Kind of spicy-fruity. With a touch of salt from his skin. He sucks a bit more, then pulls off with a pop. Esca flushes slightly. "Not bad. I'm open to new experiences."
The flush clears. "Okay, first rule of the kitchen. No trying to seduce me when I've only got enough time to make breakfast."
"Blowjobs or bacon, it's a hard decision." Marcus grins.
Esca glares at him. "I'm ignoring that." He gets the frying pan out of the cupboard and turns the gas on. The kettle turns off with a loud click, and Marcus gets a hot mug shoved into his hands. "Weren't you the one shivering a minute ago? Get that down you." He says, turning back to the important task of frying the bacon, gesturing occasionally with the spatula to keep Marcus at bay once the tea's warmed him up.
The bacon sandwich - complete with strange brown fruit sauce - is possibly the best thing Marcus has tasted in Britain so far. Pigs should die happy knowing that they'd become this. His involuntary moan gets a smirk out of Esca. "Told you it was worth it." He glances at the clock on the microwave. "Anyway, you've just got time for a quick shower once you've finished that before I've got to be gone."
Marcus swallows the remains of the sandwich, giving thanks that he's not a girl and can burn it off really easily. "How is it no-one told me about these before?"
"Trade secret we keep from you yanks." Esca says, then frowns. "You've got sauce - here, let me." He says, reaching up to brush something from the corner of Marcus' mouth, but his fingers linger as he catches Marcus' gaze.
Marcus turns his head to nip at them, still keeping eye contact. "Sure you don't want to join me in that shower?"
Esca pulls his hand away. "I said a *quick* shower." He retorts, dumping the pan in the sink and pushing Marcus out of the kitchen. "Towels are on the rail, there's no spare toothbrush but there's mouthwash."
Part 3