fic: Nights at the Opera (3)
Title: Nights at the Opera (number 3 in an occasional series)
Author: fengirl88
Category: Crossover (BBC Sherlock; E.M. Forster, Maurice; Merchant Ivory, film adaptation of Maurice)
Pairing: Lestrade/Maurice established relationship
Wordcount: ~930
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None in the conventional sense. More shameless self-indulgence. More opera.
Disclaimer: I do not own ACD's or the BBC's Lestrade or E.M. Forster's or Merchant Ivory's Maurice. It was kopoushka 's idea to put them together in the first place.
A/N: Really not supposed to be writing this today. This episode was caused by kalypso_v , aided and abetted by et_cetera55 . The scene you asked for will materialize eventually but apparently this had to happen first.
Nights at the Opera 3
"Christ, I'd like to get my hands on that bastard," Lestrade hisses.
"I'll tell Gerry you said so next time I see him," Maurice says. "I'm sure he'll be delighted."
On Maurice's very fancy TV, Countess Almaviva holds her hand to her cheek where her husband's just slapped her.
"You know him?" Lestrade says.
"He was in my year at King's," Maurice says. "Nice man. We don't see much of each other these days, but he's always friendly."
Lestrade's still getting used to this sort of thing from Maurice, but it's the first time it's happened with an opera singer. Never mind one as scarily, hatefully good as Gerald Finley's currently being.
Another night at the opera. Mozart again, since the Così outing was such an unexpected success. But this time Maurice had suggested a night in. DVD, nice bottle of wine (which from Maurice means, as usual, a very nice bottle of wine), and a light supper so they wouldn't be too sleepy to watch the opera.
Lestrade's not a bad cook himself but he can't keep up with Maurice, and quite enjoys not even trying. Wash up after him, sure, though it would be easier to do that if Maurice didn't take the opportunity to kiss the back of Lestrade's neck when he's up to the elbows in soapy water. Managed not to break anything, though, and now they're lounging comfortably against each other on the sofa watching The Marriage of Figaro.
Which is all about class, right from the overture. Big room full of servants busy with this and that: stretching out their hands for inspection by the butler or whatever he is, mopping the floor, carrying baskets of bread, or slop-pails, or eating apples, larking about and being cheeky and getting told off, flirting, quarrelling, teasing. Must be a fucking enormous house, staff that large. So it's no wonder the master thinks he's God Almighty. A God Almighty with a divine right to shag any woman he fancies, including Figaro's bride-to-be Susanna on her wedding night. Shuttles between neglecting his Countess and psychotic jealous rage if he thinks she's so much as looked at anyone else.
"You don't usually get a production quite this dark," Maurice says, as the Count works himself up to a fever pitch of rage and lust again, "but I think it works better this way."
"Mm," Lestrade says, shifting awkwardly. Watching a vicious head-case like that really shouldn't be erotic, however good the singer is. Particularly if the singer's an old college chum of Maurice's. Fuck.
"Are you in trouble?" Maurice asks, clearly trying not to laugh.
"Don't you dare say anything about this to him," Lestrade growls.
Maurice looks surprised. "No, of course not." He glances at Lestrade, assessing the state of the problem. Picks up the remote.
"Pause or stop?" Maurice asks, pushing his free hand through Lestrade's hair.
"Stop," Lestrade says thickly. Pause isn't going to be enough.
Another good thing about a light supper: doesn't get in the way if your opera viewing leads to something requiring more active participation.
"You know what I'd really like to do with you?" Maurice says, some time later when they've put the DVD back on. Amongst other things.
"No, what?" Lestrade asks. He's still feeling a bit dizzy after that rather energetic interlude, and he's certainly nowhere near ready for another go, so he hopes whatever Maurice has in mind isn't too immediate.
"Rosenkavalier," Maurice says, looking dreamy.
Oh. More opera.
"Another DVD?" Lestrade asks hopefully, leaning heavily against him.
"I was thinking more of the real thing," Maurice says. "There's a new production coming on at Covent Garden."
Covent Garden? Bloody hell. If that isn't going all the way, Lestrade doesn't know what is.
"It's a very sexy piece of music," Maurice says persuasively, and kisses Lestrade's neck. "Always does terrible things to me."
Which does sound quite appealing. But Lestrade knows there's a catch.
"Covent Garden," he says. "Dressing up, right? I don't have that sort of gear and I don't want it."
Maurice looks crestfallen. Looks like he's kicking himself as well, thinking he's blown it by making his move too soon.
"I know it's not your sort of thing," he says apologetically. "I shouldn't push you. I'm sorry."
Lestrade kisses him, to show there's no harm done.
Maurice kisses him back enthusiastically.
On the TV, the opera carries on regardless. Lestrade's surprised to find he's getting to like Mozart, though he suspects that may be because it's starting to have some very pleasant associations.
Getting near the end now. In the garden of the château, Susanna sings her song of desire, calling her love to come to her in the beauty of the night. Of course her husband's overhearing the whole thing and getting the wrong end of the stick, typical stupid fucking operatic misunderstanding, but bloody hell the song is gorgeous. Maurice's arm is around Lestrade, Maurice's breath is stirring his hair, and Lestrade feels so relaxed he's almost boneless.
"All right then," he says.
"All right what?" Maurice murmurs into his hair.
"All right, Rosenkavalier," Lestrade says. "Covent Garden. Penguin suit. Whatever you want."
Maurice hugs him tightly, like he can't quite believe his luck.
"If you're sure," he says, a bit shakily.
"Still don't really know why it gets you going like that," Lestrade says.
"Rosenkavalier and you in black tie?" Maurice says. "I may spontaneously combust." He groans.
Lestrade picks up the remote and says "Pause or stop?"
"Leave it on," Maurice says hoarsely, pulling him closer.
Happy endings all round.
what they're watching: David McVicar's production of Le Nozze di Figaro
Susanna's song is here:
www.youtube.com/watch
Previous instalments: A Night at the Opera
Nights at the Opera (2)
The exchange about opera that started all this is in Beginning To See The Light, a sequel to The Old Bad Songs (the long fic in which Lestrade first meets Maurice).
Author: fengirl88
Category: Crossover (BBC Sherlock; E.M. Forster, Maurice; Merchant Ivory, film adaptation of Maurice)
Pairing: Lestrade/Maurice established relationship
Wordcount: ~930
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None in the conventional sense. More shameless self-indulgence. More opera.
Disclaimer: I do not own ACD's or the BBC's Lestrade or E.M. Forster's or Merchant Ivory's Maurice. It was kopoushka 's idea to put them together in the first place.
A/N: Really not supposed to be writing this today. This episode was caused by kalypso_v , aided and abetted by et_cetera55 . The scene you asked for will materialize eventually but apparently this had to happen first.
Nights at the Opera 3
"Christ, I'd like to get my hands on that bastard," Lestrade hisses.
"I'll tell Gerry you said so next time I see him," Maurice says. "I'm sure he'll be delighted."
On Maurice's very fancy TV, Countess Almaviva holds her hand to her cheek where her husband's just slapped her.
"You know him?" Lestrade says.
"He was in my year at King's," Maurice says. "Nice man. We don't see much of each other these days, but he's always friendly."
Lestrade's still getting used to this sort of thing from Maurice, but it's the first time it's happened with an opera singer. Never mind one as scarily, hatefully good as Gerald Finley's currently being.
Another night at the opera. Mozart again, since the Così outing was such an unexpected success. But this time Maurice had suggested a night in. DVD, nice bottle of wine (which from Maurice means, as usual, a very nice bottle of wine), and a light supper so they wouldn't be too sleepy to watch the opera.
Lestrade's not a bad cook himself but he can't keep up with Maurice, and quite enjoys not even trying. Wash up after him, sure, though it would be easier to do that if Maurice didn't take the opportunity to kiss the back of Lestrade's neck when he's up to the elbows in soapy water. Managed not to break anything, though, and now they're lounging comfortably against each other on the sofa watching The Marriage of Figaro.
Which is all about class, right from the overture. Big room full of servants busy with this and that: stretching out their hands for inspection by the butler or whatever he is, mopping the floor, carrying baskets of bread, or slop-pails, or eating apples, larking about and being cheeky and getting told off, flirting, quarrelling, teasing. Must be a fucking enormous house, staff that large. So it's no wonder the master thinks he's God Almighty. A God Almighty with a divine right to shag any woman he fancies, including Figaro's bride-to-be Susanna on her wedding night. Shuttles between neglecting his Countess and psychotic jealous rage if he thinks she's so much as looked at anyone else.
"You don't usually get a production quite this dark," Maurice says, as the Count works himself up to a fever pitch of rage and lust again, "but I think it works better this way."
"Mm," Lestrade says, shifting awkwardly. Watching a vicious head-case like that really shouldn't be erotic, however good the singer is. Particularly if the singer's an old college chum of Maurice's. Fuck.
"Are you in trouble?" Maurice asks, clearly trying not to laugh.
"Don't you dare say anything about this to him," Lestrade growls.
Maurice looks surprised. "No, of course not." He glances at Lestrade, assessing the state of the problem. Picks up the remote.
"Pause or stop?" Maurice asks, pushing his free hand through Lestrade's hair.
"Stop," Lestrade says thickly. Pause isn't going to be enough.
Another good thing about a light supper: doesn't get in the way if your opera viewing leads to something requiring more active participation.
"You know what I'd really like to do with you?" Maurice says, some time later when they've put the DVD back on. Amongst other things.
"No, what?" Lestrade asks. He's still feeling a bit dizzy after that rather energetic interlude, and he's certainly nowhere near ready for another go, so he hopes whatever Maurice has in mind isn't too immediate.
"Rosenkavalier," Maurice says, looking dreamy.
Oh. More opera.
"Another DVD?" Lestrade asks hopefully, leaning heavily against him.
"I was thinking more of the real thing," Maurice says. "There's a new production coming on at Covent Garden."
Covent Garden? Bloody hell. If that isn't going all the way, Lestrade doesn't know what is.
"It's a very sexy piece of music," Maurice says persuasively, and kisses Lestrade's neck. "Always does terrible things to me."
Which does sound quite appealing. But Lestrade knows there's a catch.
"Covent Garden," he says. "Dressing up, right? I don't have that sort of gear and I don't want it."
Maurice looks crestfallen. Looks like he's kicking himself as well, thinking he's blown it by making his move too soon.
"I know it's not your sort of thing," he says apologetically. "I shouldn't push you. I'm sorry."
Lestrade kisses him, to show there's no harm done.
Maurice kisses him back enthusiastically.
On the TV, the opera carries on regardless. Lestrade's surprised to find he's getting to like Mozart, though he suspects that may be because it's starting to have some very pleasant associations.
Getting near the end now. In the garden of the château, Susanna sings her song of desire, calling her love to come to her in the beauty of the night. Of course her husband's overhearing the whole thing and getting the wrong end of the stick, typical stupid fucking operatic misunderstanding, but bloody hell the song is gorgeous. Maurice's arm is around Lestrade, Maurice's breath is stirring his hair, and Lestrade feels so relaxed he's almost boneless.
"All right then," he says.
"All right what?" Maurice murmurs into his hair.
"All right, Rosenkavalier," Lestrade says. "Covent Garden. Penguin suit. Whatever you want."
Maurice hugs him tightly, like he can't quite believe his luck.
"If you're sure," he says, a bit shakily.
"Still don't really know why it gets you going like that," Lestrade says.
"Rosenkavalier and you in black tie?" Maurice says. "I may spontaneously combust." He groans.
Lestrade picks up the remote and says "Pause or stop?"
"Leave it on," Maurice says hoarsely, pulling him closer.
Happy endings all round.
what they're watching: David McVicar's production of Le Nozze di Figaro
Susanna's song is here:
www.youtube.com/watch
Previous instalments: A Night at the Opera
Nights at the Opera (2)
The exchange about opera that started all this is in Beginning To See The Light, a sequel to The Old Bad Songs (the long fic in which Lestrade first meets Maurice).