Fic: Inappropriate Socks, Daniel/Marc, PG-13
I am far too old to go out and play in the snow, this is patently unfair. This is for emony2 because I promised something Ugly Betty flavoured and she has the flu. It's not crazy office porn, unfortunately, maybe I'll write some of that later. Also, everyone has seen more episodes than me, which is grossly unfair....
Title: Inappropriate Socks
Author: Corona
Fandom: Ugly Betty
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Daniel/Marc
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: There are socks, and then inappropriate-ness
Notes: Comment, critique, buy me stripey socks.
A spray of rival magazines currently occupied Daniel's desk. He wasn't sure if that was the collective noun but it sounded right. They certainly looked attractive the way Wilhelmina had laid them out. Possibly they had, originally, been in order of importance but Daniel had rearranged them twice under some strange whim and now they appeared to be ranked in order of the amount of flesh that was on display. He didn't know whether to be ashamed or amused at his own subconscious.
He was supposed to be picking one to use for a comparison on placement and coverage of new trends. He hadn't opened any of them yet, mostly because he'd only just got back to his office and was loathe to be buried straight away. But the longer they sat there the more they suggested inactivity and with the glass walls people could see you being inactive, and Daniel in turn could see everyone scurrying around.
A hive of business to his inactivity.
He flipped one open, apparently socks were in this season, all the way up to the thigh, and stripey, more desirable if they had a section chopped out where the knee went. It probably would have been easier to concentrate if the models hadn't been given incredibly tiny hot pants to show off the stripey socks better.
Hot pants, and stripey socks, six whole pages worth, he lifted the magazine, tried to decide how many women made up all the legs, possibly thirty, though one pair of legs was definitely used at least three times. So many socks, so many legs. He shifted the magazine, lowered it...found himself looking straight at Marc.
"Jesus!" Daniel managed not to throw a magazine at him...just.
He was leaning on the desk in a way that suggested he not only knew how to balance, that he in fact owned balance, thank you very much. Fingers drumming on an article which promised the 'wet look fabric' was going to be huge.
Marc raised his other hand, pulled the magazine forward just a little so he could see which page he was on. Daniel refused to feel guilty about the socks, and the legs and the hot pants. They were fashionable and hence...items of interest.
Short, complex noise from Wilhelmina’s assistant, which managed to suggest that his 'items of interest' argument was being thrown out of court. He shut the magazine, flung it on the desk.
It would probably be safe to wager that Wilhelmina wouldn't be striding into the office in hot pants and stripey socks any time soon...though now, of course, he'd put that image in his head and it was scaring him just a little, more than a little...quite a lot now actually.
"Have you decided on this one?"
"Yes," he offered cautiously, then watched Marc's expressions twitch into something pained. "...or possibly no, definitely no, no?"
"Maybe the Roma-" Marc visibly flinched and Daniel stopped, made a noise.
"Alright, lets try this another way for a change. Why don't you tell me what Wilhelmina wants my opinion to be, and why, and I'll consider it."
Marc slithered round the desk, dragging the magazine he'd been tapping with him, he folded next to Daniel's chair and flung it open on the glass with a clear sense of purpose, all pointing fingers and flicking of pages.
The rustle of paper, and the brief waft of air that it produced told Daniel that one of the sachets had broken, and if he was any judge of the day so far it would probably end up all over his desk, and in turn anything he put down on the desk and his pants and probably his jacket as well and he'd go round smelling like....
He didn't know what it was, moisturiser, and something else, something darker, wine or spices, faint but thick under the rest and it made Daniel want to inhale. Made him want to do more than inhale if he was going to be honest. Warm and liquid smooth, but without doubt exotic enough to have him lowering his head just slightly over the magazine, frowning and trying to place it.
Because it was familiar, he'd definitely smelled it somewhere before. Never so strongly though, and he was almost sure that if he took a very deep breath he'd be able to taste it, and he knew without doubt that it would roll over his tongue like a living thing. The thought made his fingers slip into the magazine, shifting back through the pages, searching, while Marc flicked the other way.
Obviously it wouldn't be cheap, if it was tucked into one of these magazines, they paid people in laboratories millions of dollars to mix, complicated exotic things. Things that made wolves roll on their backs and weasels want to mate and so forth, if he remembered it properly.
He was distracted by a very quiet tapping on the carpet which was without doubt Marc's shoe, suggesting restrained impatience and Daniel couldn't really blame him. Since he had technically been ignoring him in favour of trying to surreptitiously sniff the magazine.
Determined to be a better audience Daniel dropped the page, laid his hand flat on the glass. Then turned his head so he could at least look as if he was paying attention.
Which immediately brought the scent into sharp relief, and when his eyes focused on the curve of Marc's throat barely two inches away he realised that there was no broken sachet, and yes, that was why it had been familiar.
He was so startled that he missed whatever Marc had just suggested, definitely missed an arm stretching out to flick back several pages and for a second Daniel's nose was buried in Marc's hair.
Oh...
This was very unexpected, and also very disturbing, and Daniel had never been very good at being shocked which was probably why he wasn't moving, it was almost definitely why he wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving?
Daniel was briefly, horribly confused. No one should be allowed to smell like that. No one should be allowed to provoke inappropriate physical reactions by going around smelling like that, and clearly this was going to be the most inappropriate day at work ever.
Daniel was most certainly going to ignore the way his nose slid against the edge of Marc's ear when he shifted back to his original position, he was going to ignore it...he'd jump up and down on it if necessary.
He was dragged out of his own quietly growing hysteria by the pointed flick of a page. Marc wanted him to concentrate on something- oh, something else, more socks, of course.
"Don't you agree?" He probably did, should? He just nodded, which seemed to work.
He stared at the stripey socks, nodded again occasionally, made what he thought were appropriate enthusiastic noises, although god, not too enthusiastic he hoped...could you be too enthusiastic over socks? Daniel wasn't sure he should be allowed to make important decisions while this confused.
He was so confused in fact, that he barely managed to tell Marc that Wilhelmina could have whatever she wanted. He was also certain that he smiled a little too enthusiastically when he said it. Marc clearly now thought he was up to something, or possibly drunk, or insane, or both.
Which forced Daniel to try and find an expression which was more appropriate, something quietly authoritative, possibly a little bored. Judging by the look he got it wasn't a total success, he didn't have a clue what expression he was actually wearing, which was worrying. He wondered, hysterically, if he should take a picture with his phone and check later. By the time he finished worrying if he should actually do that, Marc had already swept out of his office.
Daniel sat very still for at least a minute. Then, after a quick check, to make sure no one was looking, he very cautiously lifted the magazine and sniffed it.
It still smelled like a magazine, and only a magazine, he wafted it a little, just to make sure.
Now people were looking at him.
He put it down, pretended to be thoroughly engrossed in an article about bikini waxing.
There was a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe Wilhelmina was experimenting with chemical warfare? Or possibly the air conditioning had broken and he was suffering from oxygen deprivation. Failing that it had to be the socks, an overload of socks had done irreparable damage to his brain.
Very carefully he pushed the magazine containing the socks to the edge of the desk.
Title: Inappropriate Socks
Author: Corona
Fandom: Ugly Betty
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Daniel/Marc
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: There are socks, and then inappropriate-ness
Notes: Comment, critique, buy me stripey socks.
A spray of rival magazines currently occupied Daniel's desk. He wasn't sure if that was the collective noun but it sounded right. They certainly looked attractive the way Wilhelmina had laid them out. Possibly they had, originally, been in order of importance but Daniel had rearranged them twice under some strange whim and now they appeared to be ranked in order of the amount of flesh that was on display. He didn't know whether to be ashamed or amused at his own subconscious.
He was supposed to be picking one to use for a comparison on placement and coverage of new trends. He hadn't opened any of them yet, mostly because he'd only just got back to his office and was loathe to be buried straight away. But the longer they sat there the more they suggested inactivity and with the glass walls people could see you being inactive, and Daniel in turn could see everyone scurrying around.
A hive of business to his inactivity.
He flipped one open, apparently socks were in this season, all the way up to the thigh, and stripey, more desirable if they had a section chopped out where the knee went. It probably would have been easier to concentrate if the models hadn't been given incredibly tiny hot pants to show off the stripey socks better.
Hot pants, and stripey socks, six whole pages worth, he lifted the magazine, tried to decide how many women made up all the legs, possibly thirty, though one pair of legs was definitely used at least three times. So many socks, so many legs. He shifted the magazine, lowered it...found himself looking straight at Marc.
"Jesus!" Daniel managed not to throw a magazine at him...just.
He was leaning on the desk in a way that suggested he not only knew how to balance, that he in fact owned balance, thank you very much. Fingers drumming on an article which promised the 'wet look fabric' was going to be huge.
Marc raised his other hand, pulled the magazine forward just a little so he could see which page he was on. Daniel refused to feel guilty about the socks, and the legs and the hot pants. They were fashionable and hence...items of interest.
Short, complex noise from Wilhelmina’s assistant, which managed to suggest that his 'items of interest' argument was being thrown out of court. He shut the magazine, flung it on the desk.
It would probably be safe to wager that Wilhelmina wouldn't be striding into the office in hot pants and stripey socks any time soon...though now, of course, he'd put that image in his head and it was scaring him just a little, more than a little...quite a lot now actually.
"Have you decided on this one?"
"Yes," he offered cautiously, then watched Marc's expressions twitch into something pained. "...or possibly no, definitely no, no?"
"Maybe the Roma-" Marc visibly flinched and Daniel stopped, made a noise.
"Alright, lets try this another way for a change. Why don't you tell me what Wilhelmina wants my opinion to be, and why, and I'll consider it."
Marc slithered round the desk, dragging the magazine he'd been tapping with him, he folded next to Daniel's chair and flung it open on the glass with a clear sense of purpose, all pointing fingers and flicking of pages.
The rustle of paper, and the brief waft of air that it produced told Daniel that one of the sachets had broken, and if he was any judge of the day so far it would probably end up all over his desk, and in turn anything he put down on the desk and his pants and probably his jacket as well and he'd go round smelling like....
He didn't know what it was, moisturiser, and something else, something darker, wine or spices, faint but thick under the rest and it made Daniel want to inhale. Made him want to do more than inhale if he was going to be honest. Warm and liquid smooth, but without doubt exotic enough to have him lowering his head just slightly over the magazine, frowning and trying to place it.
Because it was familiar, he'd definitely smelled it somewhere before. Never so strongly though, and he was almost sure that if he took a very deep breath he'd be able to taste it, and he knew without doubt that it would roll over his tongue like a living thing. The thought made his fingers slip into the magazine, shifting back through the pages, searching, while Marc flicked the other way.
Obviously it wouldn't be cheap, if it was tucked into one of these magazines, they paid people in laboratories millions of dollars to mix, complicated exotic things. Things that made wolves roll on their backs and weasels want to mate and so forth, if he remembered it properly.
He was distracted by a very quiet tapping on the carpet which was without doubt Marc's shoe, suggesting restrained impatience and Daniel couldn't really blame him. Since he had technically been ignoring him in favour of trying to surreptitiously sniff the magazine.
Determined to be a better audience Daniel dropped the page, laid his hand flat on the glass. Then turned his head so he could at least look as if he was paying attention.
Which immediately brought the scent into sharp relief, and when his eyes focused on the curve of Marc's throat barely two inches away he realised that there was no broken sachet, and yes, that was why it had been familiar.
He was so startled that he missed whatever Marc had just suggested, definitely missed an arm stretching out to flick back several pages and for a second Daniel's nose was buried in Marc's hair.
Oh...
This was very unexpected, and also very disturbing, and Daniel had never been very good at being shocked which was probably why he wasn't moving, it was almost definitely why he wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving?
Daniel was briefly, horribly confused. No one should be allowed to smell like that. No one should be allowed to provoke inappropriate physical reactions by going around smelling like that, and clearly this was going to be the most inappropriate day at work ever.
Daniel was most certainly going to ignore the way his nose slid against the edge of Marc's ear when he shifted back to his original position, he was going to ignore it...he'd jump up and down on it if necessary.
He was dragged out of his own quietly growing hysteria by the pointed flick of a page. Marc wanted him to concentrate on something- oh, something else, more socks, of course.
"Don't you agree?" He probably did, should? He just nodded, which seemed to work.
He stared at the stripey socks, nodded again occasionally, made what he thought were appropriate enthusiastic noises, although god, not too enthusiastic he hoped...could you be too enthusiastic over socks? Daniel wasn't sure he should be allowed to make important decisions while this confused.
He was so confused in fact, that he barely managed to tell Marc that Wilhelmina could have whatever she wanted. He was also certain that he smiled a little too enthusiastically when he said it. Marc clearly now thought he was up to something, or possibly drunk, or insane, or both.
Which forced Daniel to try and find an expression which was more appropriate, something quietly authoritative, possibly a little bored. Judging by the look he got it wasn't a total success, he didn't have a clue what expression he was actually wearing, which was worrying. He wondered, hysterically, if he should take a picture with his phone and check later. By the time he finished worrying if he should actually do that, Marc had already swept out of his office.
Daniel sat very still for at least a minute. Then, after a quick check, to make sure no one was looking, he very cautiously lifted the magazine and sniffed it.
It still smelled like a magazine, and only a magazine, he wafted it a little, just to make sure.
Now people were looking at him.
He put it down, pretended to be thoroughly engrossed in an article about bikini waxing.
There was a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe Wilhelmina was experimenting with chemical warfare? Or possibly the air conditioning had broken and he was suffering from oxygen deprivation. Failing that it had to be the socks, an overload of socks had done irreparable damage to his brain.
Very carefully he pushed the magazine containing the socks to the edge of the desk.