Five Valentines: The State Within
Title: Five Valentines: 'Stolen Moments' I
Summary: Nicholas was drunk, he knew it, more drunk than he should be.
Pairing: Nicholas/Mark
Rating: PG
Spoiler Warnings: None.
Word Count: ~1700
Disclaimer: The State Within and all characters involved belong to the BBC and others. I just can't get them out of my head.
Notes: I'm going to give this to morganmuffle because a) she was my first cohort in TSW squee and b) she gave me the opportunity to see John Barrowman in panto, something which rates very high on my 'Best moments Ever' scale. Unbeataed, as usual, so any and all mistakes are mine. Pre-series with a lot of fudging background details we don't really know. This is part of my Five Valentines personal challenege. Enjoy
Nicholas was drunk, he knew it, more drunk than he should be - but there was something about the way that Sir Mark offered him drinks that kept him coming back for more.
He hadn’t even been on his assignment a week when he found himself developing an unhealthy infatuation with his pseudo-boss. Now, several months later, that infatuation had blossomed into something quite embarrassing. And Nicholas knew that getting drunk was the best way to ensure the embarrassment became public.
That wasn’t what he had intended, of course, when Sir Mark asked if Nicholas wanted to come along to the Valentine’s dinner he was holding for the embassy staff. He would have refused, knowing it was a bad idea to put himself and alcohol so close to Sir Mark, but his real bosses had insisted that he befriend the ambassador and a formal dinner party was certainly a start.
Nicholas felt his thinking was becoming woolly , knew that it was the result of the uncounted scotches settling in his stomach, but had reached the point where he didn’t care so much any more. Plus - he was sure that Mark had been making eyes at him across the table over dinner.
Mark was easy to subtly flirt with, an accidental touch on the arm, brushing past him a little closer than necessary in the office, a sly smile every now and then. He seemed a little oblivious to it, really, and Nicholas was wondering if he’d read the man wrong when he met him.
Not that Nicholas thought that Mark was completely gay, closeted or not, that was far too much to hope for. But the man did have exceptionally good taste for someone who maintained a straight lifestyle. Nicholas knew he was stereotyping, of course, and that was also the scotch’s fault. But Sir Mark had too good an arse to waste on women.
And there seemed to be plenty of women. Not that Nicholas blamed them - Mark was charismatic and handsome, with captivating eyes and a keen intelligence.
The dinner party had actually wound up some time ago, guests thanking Mark profusely before leaving the residence. Nicholas wasn’t sure how he managed to be the last guest, although he had the vague idea that it had something to do with football. Truly God’s own sport, Nicholas offered a silent prayer of thanks.
“You’re looking a little unsteady there, Brocklehurst,” Mark said, setting another scotch on the table beside Nicholas. As the guests had retired for the evening the party had moved into one of the drawing rooms, full of comfortable leather chairs and warmed by a fire that Nicholas had been surprised to find was completely necessary at this time of year in the States.
“Combination of the heat and the alcohol, I suspect,” Nicholas said, doing his level best to sound more sober than he was, distracted somewhat by the way Mark kept tracing a finger around the rim of his own glass.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drive home tonight,” Mark said thoughtfully, sipping slowly from the glass and closing his eyes in contentment.
“I’m not sure I was planning to,” Nicholas said, drink making his words careless. Mark raised an eyebrow at him.
“Indeed?” he made the word a question by curving his lips around it in a way that Nicholas decided could only be called sinful.
“By which I mean, of course, that I intended to call a cab,” Nicholas said, inwardly congratulating himself on a good save. Brocklehurt’s hands are the safest in the business, his inner commentator crowed. God, he really was drunk.
“’Cab’?” Mark managed to make the word sound distasteful, “You’ve been here barely a few months and you’re already going native”
“It’s, you know,” Nicholas waved a hand unsteadily through the air, “All part of the job. Assimilate to the culture, so forth”
“Oh, please don’t,” Mark said, leaning forward in his seat and clapping Nicholas on the knee with his empty hand, “We deal with the American’s every day - there doesn’t need to be any more of them”
“Not one of your most eloquent points,” Nicholas said, proud of himself for managing to get the word out with out stumbling, especially considering he could still feel the heat of Mark’s hand on his leg, “But I think I get your meaning”
“Good,” Mark nodded and downed the remnants of his drink before standing and crossing to an internal phone, “I’m going to see about a room for you”
“Sir Mark - there’s really no need,” Nicholas stood up a little too quickly and staggered slightly.
“There’s every need I think,” Mark said, giving him the look Nicholas had come to think of as ‘don’t be foolish’, “And I’ve told you that there’s no need for the ‘sir’. I don’t put much personal stock in titles”
Nicholas leant gracelessly against the chair and waited for the room to stop spinning gently, watching Mark as he spoke into the phone. He really was unreasonably attractive, Nicholas had decided somewhere between scotch five and six, and the flickering firelight was only serving to prove his point.
“Right,” Mark said, settling the phone in it’s cradle and crossing the room to offer Nicholas a steadying arm, “It seems the staff have foreseen your need for a room and prepared one early this evening. Somewhere around your fifth drink they said”
“Can’t think why,” Nicholas said, gratefully leaning into Mark’s support and trying very hard not to think of how warm the other man felt against his side. How comfortable.
“No, neither can I,” Mark said, turning his head and raising his eyebrows wryly at Nicholas. From the scent of good scotch on Mark’s breath Nicholas realised that maybe the ambassador wasn’t quite as sober as he seemed. That would make two of them then.
Nicholas found himself hoping that the room the ‘staff’ had prepared was very far away, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get a chance to be this close to Mark again and he was quite enjoying it. Perhaps he’d take up drinking again despite the counselling of his MI6 mentor. The man couldn’t be right all the time, could he? Even if he was the best agent MI6 would ever have according to his superiors. It’s not like he drank real men’s alcohol anyway, not for him the simple pleasure of good scotch, no, he was much more at home with his martinis. Pah, Nicholas would say, often, try drinking something real! Not that concoction made from the very best Russia had to offer -
“And here we are,” Mark said, interrupting Nicholas’ increasingly off track thoughts. Mark propped him up against a wall to open the door and Nicholas took a moment to admire the line of Mark’s back through his jacket.
“I do believe you’re drunker than you look,” Mark said as he helped him through the door, “Either that or you really are anyone’s after a few drinks”
“I’ll have you know I’m not cheap, you know,” Nicholas said as Mark sat him down on the bed. Mark made to remove Nicholas’ jacket but Nicholas raised his hands to grip Mark’s and stop him, “And I’m perfectly capable of taking of my clothes by myself, thank you”
“I’m sure,” Mark murmured, mouth curving into a sly smile.
Nicholas found himself staring at that smile, absently tracing his thumbs over the other man’s hands. Mark was making no move to escape Nicholas’ grip and there was something about that last sentence the ambassador had spoken that was tickling at Nicholas’ slightly addled brain.
“What do you mean, ‘anyone’s’?” he asked, thoughtfully running his tongue along his bottom lip.
“Rumours and happenstance, I’m sure,” Mark said, his voice seeming a little deeper, his eyes seeming to focus on Nicholas’ tongue, “There’s a suggestion in the office that you…score own goals”
Nicholas stared at Mark unable to quite grip what the other man was trying to say when Mark raised an eyebrow suggestively. Nicholas laughed and tugged him a little closer.
“That may be the most unwieldy euphemism for gay I’ve ever heard,” he said, delighting in Mark’s bright smile.
“Is it true?” Mark asked, leaning a little closer, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Nicholas swallowed and barely resisted the impulse to pull Mark to him then.
“What do you think?” he asked, lowering his voice, make it growl a little.
“I think you like to play games, Nicholas” Mark said, close enough that his breath huffed across Nicholas’ face.
“You’d be right,” Nicholas said, finally giving in and leaning forward to catch Mark’s lips with his own. Mark made no effort to reciprocate and for a heart-stopping moment Nicholas was convinced he’d read the situation really wrong. Then Mark’s lips parted beneath Nicholas’, allowing him to dip his tongue into the ambassador’s mouth - to taste the scotch and the after dinner mints. Mindful of another of his mentor’s suggestions Nicholas pulled back after a moment and was rewarded by Mark following slightly before the other man’s eyes snapped open again. He was smiling.
“That’s new,” he said, running his tongue over his lips again before leaning in to kiss Nicholas more thoroughly. Mark pushed at Nicholas until Nicholas moved back up the bed allowing Mark to cover him with his body. Now this was something Nicholas hadn’t expected; but he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth and even if they were both too drunk to know better there was no way he wasn’t going to turn this situation to his advantage. He trailed his hands down Mark’s back as Mark twisted his hands into Nicholas’ hair, and finally grabbed at the arse that had been tormenting his more vivid dreams of the last month. God, he was acting like a randy teenager, groping at his date. Mark broke away at the touch and looked fuzzily into Nicholas’ eyes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Nicholas,” he said, dipping his head to kiss the corner of Nicholas’ mouth.
“Happy Valentine’s, ambassador,” Nicholas murmured back, capturing Mark’s mouth with his own. And something struck him as funny, in true drunken fashion, enough to pull back and run a hand over the other man’s short hair before speaking, “You really are spoiling me, ambassador”
Mark rolled his eyes and chuckled, a deep warm sort of sound that ran a shiver though Nicholas’ body, before leaning down to whisper into Nicholas’ ear, “I haven’t even started yet”
Summary: Nicholas was drunk, he knew it, more drunk than he should be.
Pairing: Nicholas/Mark
Rating: PG
Spoiler Warnings: None.
Word Count: ~1700
Disclaimer: The State Within and all characters involved belong to the BBC and others. I just can't get them out of my head.
Notes: I'm going to give this to morganmuffle because a) she was my first cohort in TSW squee and b) she gave me the opportunity to see John Barrowman in panto, something which rates very high on my 'Best moments Ever' scale. Unbeataed, as usual, so any and all mistakes are mine. Pre-series with a lot of fudging background details we don't really know. This is part of my Five Valentines personal challenege. Enjoy
Nicholas was drunk, he knew it, more drunk than he should be - but there was something about the way that Sir Mark offered him drinks that kept him coming back for more.
He hadn’t even been on his assignment a week when he found himself developing an unhealthy infatuation with his pseudo-boss. Now, several months later, that infatuation had blossomed into something quite embarrassing. And Nicholas knew that getting drunk was the best way to ensure the embarrassment became public.
That wasn’t what he had intended, of course, when Sir Mark asked if Nicholas wanted to come along to the Valentine’s dinner he was holding for the embassy staff. He would have refused, knowing it was a bad idea to put himself and alcohol so close to Sir Mark, but his real bosses had insisted that he befriend the ambassador and a formal dinner party was certainly a start.
Nicholas felt his thinking was becoming woolly , knew that it was the result of the uncounted scotches settling in his stomach, but had reached the point where he didn’t care so much any more. Plus - he was sure that Mark had been making eyes at him across the table over dinner.
Mark was easy to subtly flirt with, an accidental touch on the arm, brushing past him a little closer than necessary in the office, a sly smile every now and then. He seemed a little oblivious to it, really, and Nicholas was wondering if he’d read the man wrong when he met him.
Not that Nicholas thought that Mark was completely gay, closeted or not, that was far too much to hope for. But the man did have exceptionally good taste for someone who maintained a straight lifestyle. Nicholas knew he was stereotyping, of course, and that was also the scotch’s fault. But Sir Mark had too good an arse to waste on women.
And there seemed to be plenty of women. Not that Nicholas blamed them - Mark was charismatic and handsome, with captivating eyes and a keen intelligence.
The dinner party had actually wound up some time ago, guests thanking Mark profusely before leaving the residence. Nicholas wasn’t sure how he managed to be the last guest, although he had the vague idea that it had something to do with football. Truly God’s own sport, Nicholas offered a silent prayer of thanks.
“You’re looking a little unsteady there, Brocklehurst,” Mark said, setting another scotch on the table beside Nicholas. As the guests had retired for the evening the party had moved into one of the drawing rooms, full of comfortable leather chairs and warmed by a fire that Nicholas had been surprised to find was completely necessary at this time of year in the States.
“Combination of the heat and the alcohol, I suspect,” Nicholas said, doing his level best to sound more sober than he was, distracted somewhat by the way Mark kept tracing a finger around the rim of his own glass.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drive home tonight,” Mark said thoughtfully, sipping slowly from the glass and closing his eyes in contentment.
“I’m not sure I was planning to,” Nicholas said, drink making his words careless. Mark raised an eyebrow at him.
“Indeed?” he made the word a question by curving his lips around it in a way that Nicholas decided could only be called sinful.
“By which I mean, of course, that I intended to call a cab,” Nicholas said, inwardly congratulating himself on a good save. Brocklehurt’s hands are the safest in the business, his inner commentator crowed. God, he really was drunk.
“’Cab’?” Mark managed to make the word sound distasteful, “You’ve been here barely a few months and you’re already going native”
“It’s, you know,” Nicholas waved a hand unsteadily through the air, “All part of the job. Assimilate to the culture, so forth”
“Oh, please don’t,” Mark said, leaning forward in his seat and clapping Nicholas on the knee with his empty hand, “We deal with the American’s every day - there doesn’t need to be any more of them”
“Not one of your most eloquent points,” Nicholas said, proud of himself for managing to get the word out with out stumbling, especially considering he could still feel the heat of Mark’s hand on his leg, “But I think I get your meaning”
“Good,” Mark nodded and downed the remnants of his drink before standing and crossing to an internal phone, “I’m going to see about a room for you”
“Sir Mark - there’s really no need,” Nicholas stood up a little too quickly and staggered slightly.
“There’s every need I think,” Mark said, giving him the look Nicholas had come to think of as ‘don’t be foolish’, “And I’ve told you that there’s no need for the ‘sir’. I don’t put much personal stock in titles”
Nicholas leant gracelessly against the chair and waited for the room to stop spinning gently, watching Mark as he spoke into the phone. He really was unreasonably attractive, Nicholas had decided somewhere between scotch five and six, and the flickering firelight was only serving to prove his point.
“Right,” Mark said, settling the phone in it’s cradle and crossing the room to offer Nicholas a steadying arm, “It seems the staff have foreseen your need for a room and prepared one early this evening. Somewhere around your fifth drink they said”
“Can’t think why,” Nicholas said, gratefully leaning into Mark’s support and trying very hard not to think of how warm the other man felt against his side. How comfortable.
“No, neither can I,” Mark said, turning his head and raising his eyebrows wryly at Nicholas. From the scent of good scotch on Mark’s breath Nicholas realised that maybe the ambassador wasn’t quite as sober as he seemed. That would make two of them then.
Nicholas found himself hoping that the room the ‘staff’ had prepared was very far away, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get a chance to be this close to Mark again and he was quite enjoying it. Perhaps he’d take up drinking again despite the counselling of his MI6 mentor. The man couldn’t be right all the time, could he? Even if he was the best agent MI6 would ever have according to his superiors. It’s not like he drank real men’s alcohol anyway, not for him the simple pleasure of good scotch, no, he was much more at home with his martinis. Pah, Nicholas would say, often, try drinking something real! Not that concoction made from the very best Russia had to offer -
“And here we are,” Mark said, interrupting Nicholas’ increasingly off track thoughts. Mark propped him up against a wall to open the door and Nicholas took a moment to admire the line of Mark’s back through his jacket.
“I do believe you’re drunker than you look,” Mark said as he helped him through the door, “Either that or you really are anyone’s after a few drinks”
“I’ll have you know I’m not cheap, you know,” Nicholas said as Mark sat him down on the bed. Mark made to remove Nicholas’ jacket but Nicholas raised his hands to grip Mark’s and stop him, “And I’m perfectly capable of taking of my clothes by myself, thank you”
“I’m sure,” Mark murmured, mouth curving into a sly smile.
Nicholas found himself staring at that smile, absently tracing his thumbs over the other man’s hands. Mark was making no move to escape Nicholas’ grip and there was something about that last sentence the ambassador had spoken that was tickling at Nicholas’ slightly addled brain.
“What do you mean, ‘anyone’s’?” he asked, thoughtfully running his tongue along his bottom lip.
“Rumours and happenstance, I’m sure,” Mark said, his voice seeming a little deeper, his eyes seeming to focus on Nicholas’ tongue, “There’s a suggestion in the office that you…score own goals”
Nicholas stared at Mark unable to quite grip what the other man was trying to say when Mark raised an eyebrow suggestively. Nicholas laughed and tugged him a little closer.
“That may be the most unwieldy euphemism for gay I’ve ever heard,” he said, delighting in Mark’s bright smile.
“Is it true?” Mark asked, leaning a little closer, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Nicholas swallowed and barely resisted the impulse to pull Mark to him then.
“What do you think?” he asked, lowering his voice, make it growl a little.
“I think you like to play games, Nicholas” Mark said, close enough that his breath huffed across Nicholas’ face.
“You’d be right,” Nicholas said, finally giving in and leaning forward to catch Mark’s lips with his own. Mark made no effort to reciprocate and for a heart-stopping moment Nicholas was convinced he’d read the situation really wrong. Then Mark’s lips parted beneath Nicholas’, allowing him to dip his tongue into the ambassador’s mouth - to taste the scotch and the after dinner mints. Mindful of another of his mentor’s suggestions Nicholas pulled back after a moment and was rewarded by Mark following slightly before the other man’s eyes snapped open again. He was smiling.
“That’s new,” he said, running his tongue over his lips again before leaning in to kiss Nicholas more thoroughly. Mark pushed at Nicholas until Nicholas moved back up the bed allowing Mark to cover him with his body. Now this was something Nicholas hadn’t expected; but he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth and even if they were both too drunk to know better there was no way he wasn’t going to turn this situation to his advantage. He trailed his hands down Mark’s back as Mark twisted his hands into Nicholas’ hair, and finally grabbed at the arse that had been tormenting his more vivid dreams of the last month. God, he was acting like a randy teenager, groping at his date. Mark broke away at the touch and looked fuzzily into Nicholas’ eyes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Nicholas,” he said, dipping his head to kiss the corner of Nicholas’ mouth.
“Happy Valentine’s, ambassador,” Nicholas murmured back, capturing Mark’s mouth with his own. And something struck him as funny, in true drunken fashion, enough to pull back and run a hand over the other man’s short hair before speaking, “You really are spoiling me, ambassador”
Mark rolled his eyes and chuckled, a deep warm sort of sound that ran a shiver though Nicholas’ body, before leaning down to whisper into Nicholas’ ear, “I haven’t even started yet”