Shaken, not stirred (Freddie & Bel)
Wow, I seem to be on a roll! Two fics in two days is a very rare thing from me. I'm just finding it incredibly easy to think of things to write about these two. I also wanted to try and do something from Freddie's POV.
Fandom: The Hour
Title: Shaken, not stirred
Characters: Freddie, Bel, Lix, Isaac
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hour!
Summary: My take on how Bel's nickname came about. Set pre-show.
The name comes about one night when they are drunk. Names like that often do.
They’ve known each other for exactly two months and two days. Freddie likes remembering the day exactly, mostly because he likes to remember all of his moments with Bel and partly because every time he brings it up, she gets annoyed and hits him with whatever she has near to hand.
They’ve gone out drinking with some of the team and now all that’s left is the new boy, Isaac, who no-one pays much attention to and the formidable Lix, who everyone is in awe of (and quite frankly, intimidated by) and who is currently nursing her eighth whiskey whilst talking to a terrified member of the public about Soviet Russia.
Freddie is at the bar, deciding what to order. He’s had far too much to drink already, but Bel is still around and just as inebriated so he figures he can’t embarrass himself that much in front of her. He’s tempted to have another whiskey, but then he remembers how much Bel talks about the James Bond novels and decides to order a martini.
The girl in question saunters over, one hand clasped around an empty tumbler and the other winding through her hair. Freddie thinks she looks exquisite, all golden, tumbling locks and a green dress that accentuates her figure marvellously. His throat goes rather dry and he wishes the bartender would hurry the hell up with his drink.
“What did you order?” Bel leans against the bar, against him, their elbows and feet touching as she places her glass down.
“Martini,” Freddie manages to reply, eyes darting to look anywhere but at her. He sees Lix cornering Isaac at the other side of the bar and almost decides to go and help. Almost.
He hears a giggle to his right, close to his ear. Bel is looking up at him, eyes sparkling and lips set in a grin that promises mischief and heaven knows what else.
“Alright, Mr. Bond. Shaken, not stirred?”
“Of course.” The bar-tender hands him his drink, Freddie orders another for Bel and pays for both before she can protest. They settle down at a booth near the dance floor, Bel studying Freddie and Freddie studying his drink.
He frowns.
“I’ve never tried a martini before.”
Bel lets out an unladylike burst of laughter, her hand going over her mouth to try and stop herself. She fails and ends up laughing more, shoulders shaking.
“Alright, Moneypenny, we all have to start somewhere.” He manages to retort, inwardly berating himself for looking like a fool in front of her. Again.
“Moneypenny?” She repeats incredulously, between laughing, “And I’m sorry, but why on Earth did you not just order whiskey?”
“Because I like to try new things. Spirit of adventure and all that. Santé.” He tips his glass towards her in a toast and tries to salvage the situation, taking a large gulp of liquid down his throat. It burns his oesophagus and Freddie chokes, trying not to wince.
Bel is off again, laughing herself silly. He’d be a bit more annoyed at the fact she was laughing at him, except she has a beautiful laugh, and knowing he’s caused that kind of makes up for the vile after-taste he’s now experiencing in his mouth.
Freddie smiles, “Delicious!”
She elbows him in the ribs, almost making him spill the drink. He places it down on the table and pushes it as far away from him as possible, making a disgusted face and resting his chin in his hands.
“Idiot,” Bel mutters from the side of him, though she is still smiling, “And I am nothing like Moneypenny.”
Freddie pauses for a moment, taking her in. Her cheeks are flushed with alcohol and laughter and her eyes have even more sparkle in them than before. Something in the area of his stomach constricts painfully and he’s pretty certain it’s got nothing to do with alcohol. Bel gazes back at him, almost challenging him to say something cutting. It comes easy to Freddie, mocking her, giving her sarcastic comments instead of meaningful conversation. It’s easier than trying to explain how he feels.
“Hmm,” He gives a non-committal shrug and stares off into the rapidly depleting crowd of dancers, smile tugging at the corner of his face as he sees Bel’s expression shift out of the corner of his eye.
“I am not!” She insists, face incredulous, shoving him with a hand this time, “I am definitely not like Moneypenny.”
“Well...” Freddie teases her for a moment more, enjoying riling her, before shaking his head, “Nah, you’re not. I mean, you are completely infatuated with me, so you have that in common with her...but no, I suppose you’re right.”
Bel splutters and succeeds in spilling drink over the seat of the booth. Freddie grins widely, knowing he’s been successful.
“I am not....infatuated with you!” She replies vehemently, but he notices the blush beginning to creep up her neck and her eyes crinkle up. Bel always looks piggy when she lies.
Satisfied, Freddie merely shrugs again and folds his arms, leaning back in his seat. Bel hits him, properly whacks him and he bursts out laughing. She hits him again and he holds his arms out in defence.
“All right, all right, you’re not infatuated with me. Happy now, Moneypenny?”
Bel’s expression holds for one moment more before his laughter infects her too. Soon, they’re both hysterical and are still laughing ten minutes later when Lix comes up to them and tells them to go home; they all have work in the morning.
Later, as Freddie manages to get the door to her apartment open seventh time lucky (“Lift and shove!” cries Bel, being no use at all as she collapses into another round of hysterics) he finds himself standing toe to toe with her. Close, dangerously close and his eyes lose focus as he tries very hard not to concentrate on her lips.
“You really are very sweet,” She says, that same mischievous smile on her face once again. Bel moves a fraction of an inch closer and Freddie almost forgets how to breathe, forcing himself to stand deathly still.
Her lips brush his cheek for the briefest of moments, the feel of them burning into his skin.
“But you’re definitely no James Bond.”
Bel pulls back, grinning. Freddie exhales again, allowing himself to relax. He ushers her to bed with a glass of water and a promise to fix the lock on the door, shutting it behind him with a mix of relief and longing that he doesn’t want to focus on.
From then on, the name sticks.
Fandom: The Hour
Title: Shaken, not stirred
Characters: Freddie, Bel, Lix, Isaac
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hour!
Summary: My take on how Bel's nickname came about. Set pre-show.
The name comes about one night when they are drunk. Names like that often do.
They’ve known each other for exactly two months and two days. Freddie likes remembering the day exactly, mostly because he likes to remember all of his moments with Bel and partly because every time he brings it up, she gets annoyed and hits him with whatever she has near to hand.
They’ve gone out drinking with some of the team and now all that’s left is the new boy, Isaac, who no-one pays much attention to and the formidable Lix, who everyone is in awe of (and quite frankly, intimidated by) and who is currently nursing her eighth whiskey whilst talking to a terrified member of the public about Soviet Russia.
Freddie is at the bar, deciding what to order. He’s had far too much to drink already, but Bel is still around and just as inebriated so he figures he can’t embarrass himself that much in front of her. He’s tempted to have another whiskey, but then he remembers how much Bel talks about the James Bond novels and decides to order a martini.
The girl in question saunters over, one hand clasped around an empty tumbler and the other winding through her hair. Freddie thinks she looks exquisite, all golden, tumbling locks and a green dress that accentuates her figure marvellously. His throat goes rather dry and he wishes the bartender would hurry the hell up with his drink.
“What did you order?” Bel leans against the bar, against him, their elbows and feet touching as she places her glass down.
“Martini,” Freddie manages to reply, eyes darting to look anywhere but at her. He sees Lix cornering Isaac at the other side of the bar and almost decides to go and help. Almost.
He hears a giggle to his right, close to his ear. Bel is looking up at him, eyes sparkling and lips set in a grin that promises mischief and heaven knows what else.
“Alright, Mr. Bond. Shaken, not stirred?”
“Of course.” The bar-tender hands him his drink, Freddie orders another for Bel and pays for both before she can protest. They settle down at a booth near the dance floor, Bel studying Freddie and Freddie studying his drink.
He frowns.
“I’ve never tried a martini before.”
Bel lets out an unladylike burst of laughter, her hand going over her mouth to try and stop herself. She fails and ends up laughing more, shoulders shaking.
“Alright, Moneypenny, we all have to start somewhere.” He manages to retort, inwardly berating himself for looking like a fool in front of her. Again.
“Moneypenny?” She repeats incredulously, between laughing, “And I’m sorry, but why on Earth did you not just order whiskey?”
“Because I like to try new things. Spirit of adventure and all that. Santé.” He tips his glass towards her in a toast and tries to salvage the situation, taking a large gulp of liquid down his throat. It burns his oesophagus and Freddie chokes, trying not to wince.
Bel is off again, laughing herself silly. He’d be a bit more annoyed at the fact she was laughing at him, except she has a beautiful laugh, and knowing he’s caused that kind of makes up for the vile after-taste he’s now experiencing in his mouth.
Freddie smiles, “Delicious!”
She elbows him in the ribs, almost making him spill the drink. He places it down on the table and pushes it as far away from him as possible, making a disgusted face and resting his chin in his hands.
“Idiot,” Bel mutters from the side of him, though she is still smiling, “And I am nothing like Moneypenny.”
Freddie pauses for a moment, taking her in. Her cheeks are flushed with alcohol and laughter and her eyes have even more sparkle in them than before. Something in the area of his stomach constricts painfully and he’s pretty certain it’s got nothing to do with alcohol. Bel gazes back at him, almost challenging him to say something cutting. It comes easy to Freddie, mocking her, giving her sarcastic comments instead of meaningful conversation. It’s easier than trying to explain how he feels.
“Hmm,” He gives a non-committal shrug and stares off into the rapidly depleting crowd of dancers, smile tugging at the corner of his face as he sees Bel’s expression shift out of the corner of his eye.
“I am not!” She insists, face incredulous, shoving him with a hand this time, “I am definitely not like Moneypenny.”
“Well...” Freddie teases her for a moment more, enjoying riling her, before shaking his head, “Nah, you’re not. I mean, you are completely infatuated with me, so you have that in common with her...but no, I suppose you’re right.”
Bel splutters and succeeds in spilling drink over the seat of the booth. Freddie grins widely, knowing he’s been successful.
“I am not....infatuated with you!” She replies vehemently, but he notices the blush beginning to creep up her neck and her eyes crinkle up. Bel always looks piggy when she lies.
Satisfied, Freddie merely shrugs again and folds his arms, leaning back in his seat. Bel hits him, properly whacks him and he bursts out laughing. She hits him again and he holds his arms out in defence.
“All right, all right, you’re not infatuated with me. Happy now, Moneypenny?”
Bel’s expression holds for one moment more before his laughter infects her too. Soon, they’re both hysterical and are still laughing ten minutes later when Lix comes up to them and tells them to go home; they all have work in the morning.
Later, as Freddie manages to get the door to her apartment open seventh time lucky (“Lift and shove!” cries Bel, being no use at all as she collapses into another round of hysterics) he finds himself standing toe to toe with her. Close, dangerously close and his eyes lose focus as he tries very hard not to concentrate on her lips.
“You really are very sweet,” She says, that same mischievous smile on her face once again. Bel moves a fraction of an inch closer and Freddie almost forgets how to breathe, forcing himself to stand deathly still.
Her lips brush his cheek for the briefest of moments, the feel of them burning into his skin.
“But you’re definitely no James Bond.”
Bel pulls back, grinning. Freddie exhales again, allowing himself to relax. He ushers her to bed with a glass of water and a promise to fix the lock on the door, shutting it behind him with a mix of relief and longing that he doesn’t want to focus on.
From then on, the name sticks.