FICLETS! Holiday: Day Twenty-Eight
For musesfool
Michael/Fiona
It should not bother Michael how much Fiona’s relishing this role. High-class call girl connoisseur isn’t something he would think would fall into her repertoire so easily, but obviously he’s wrong. He’d be amused if it didn’t bother him so much that she still surprises him.
It bothers him even more that he likes that she still surprises him.
As it goes though, Michael’s a man, and as such, standing here watching Fiona fondle attractive young women is a little distracting, but not as much as the bored look on Fiona’s face. She had the ‘been there, done that’ expression mastered when he met her, so it shouldn’t still get to him, but spies get off on getting away with things, so he kind of wants to shock her enough to slip her out of character and back into her face.
Of course, that would get them both killed, so it’s an impulse he curbs, just barely. He likes Fiona in her face, eyes flashing and accent slipping and fighting him every inch of the way. He likes that she gives as good as she gets, if not better, and she lets him get away with shit just long enough to think he’s gotten away with it before she kicks his ass.
If he didn’t think he’d get her killed, he’d think about a future. Of course, having a future with her requires he have a future, and given the fact that his past is now in question, that doesn’t look so hot.
“You look bored, Michael.” She saunters over to him like a woman with more money than God and a stable of hot young things waiting for her, running her fingers along his jaw. He manages not to move, staying in character. “Do these pretty girls not excite you?”
“Seen one, seen ‘em all.” He lets his eyes linger on her smile, predatory and promising all at once. “Never met a girl yet that could surprise me.”
Fiona nods and turns her attention back to the mark - drugs, prostitution and porn, the Miami trifecta. Michael watches her, letting himself smile a smile that matches hers. There’s something to be said for having Fiona prove him wrong.
For inlovewithnight
Ioan
He’s scared to death when he leaves London. He tries not to show it, and he thinks he does a decent job of it. It’s easy really when everyone seems so excited for him. Of course, his Mum is worried, as that’s what she is and what she does, and he’s given her cause enough to be so over the past few years, so he can’t really blame her. But the rest of the family is giving him a hard time about celebrities and parties and how they’d best not see him in the National Enquirer.
Everyone else is thrilled as well, including his agent, even though he hears enough about not getting his hopes up and how everything can fall apart in a moment, and he’d best be ready to work his arse off. It’s funny in a way, given that as he can see it, most people in Hollywood work about a third less than he does here in England. He knows what they mean though, and he’s given it a world of thought. Made the decisions that he had to. Made the right ones. Or so he hopes.
It’s a lie though. Not everyone is thrilled. Matthew’s hurt in ways that Ioan can’t fix, even if he were sure how that was to be done. It’s not as if they don’t both know it’s time to move up, move out, move on. It’s not as though Matthew wouldn’t come across the pond if he had the chance. It’s not as though he won’t be there time and again, visiting and working and staying in Ioan’s flat and Ioan’s bed. It’s not any of those things, and yet it’s all of them. And it’s not just for Matthew.
It’s for both of them, because Ioan’s not sure he knows how to be in the bed alone anymore, not sure he knows what it’s like to go to sleep without someone nearby. It’s not just the sex - though he’ll miss the sex, he won’t deny - but the companionship. It’s like leaving home for the first time, only it’s leaving Matthew, which is infinitely harder.
They turn over the keys to the agent and walk out to Matthew’s car. It’s a broken down sort of thing that he got for cheaper than leasing when they drove up to Scotland two summers past and got drunk on whiskey and sat at Cawdor Castle quoting Macbeth to each other until the break of dawn and the arrival of three very irate security guards. Ioan’s to take a train down to Cardiff, say a proper goodbye to his family before he flies to his new life. Matthew’s headed to his new flat by way of his new local pub and his first night alone in his new life.
“It’s the land of opportunity,” Ioan reminds him softly, quietly. They don’t need the words between them, but he needs to say them.
“It is.” Matthew nods and lights a fag, taking a deep breath and sucking the smoke in. He blows a perfect ring, like always, but Ioan swears he can see it tremble. “You’ll be aces.”
“I’ll miss you.”
Matthew nods. More things that can be left unsaid. More things Ioan has to say. “I know. I’ll miss you too. But I promise, you’re not rid of me.”
“Never be so lucky.” It’s their way, their banter. In a lot of ways, that makes it hurt even more. “Goodbye, Matthew.”
Matthew nods but doesn’t say the words. And they go their separate ways.
Michael/Fiona
It should not bother Michael how much Fiona’s relishing this role. High-class call girl connoisseur isn’t something he would think would fall into her repertoire so easily, but obviously he’s wrong. He’d be amused if it didn’t bother him so much that she still surprises him.
It bothers him even more that he likes that she still surprises him.
As it goes though, Michael’s a man, and as such, standing here watching Fiona fondle attractive young women is a little distracting, but not as much as the bored look on Fiona’s face. She had the ‘been there, done that’ expression mastered when he met her, so it shouldn’t still get to him, but spies get off on getting away with things, so he kind of wants to shock her enough to slip her out of character and back into her face.
Of course, that would get them both killed, so it’s an impulse he curbs, just barely. He likes Fiona in her face, eyes flashing and accent slipping and fighting him every inch of the way. He likes that she gives as good as she gets, if not better, and she lets him get away with shit just long enough to think he’s gotten away with it before she kicks his ass.
If he didn’t think he’d get her killed, he’d think about a future. Of course, having a future with her requires he have a future, and given the fact that his past is now in question, that doesn’t look so hot.
“You look bored, Michael.” She saunters over to him like a woman with more money than God and a stable of hot young things waiting for her, running her fingers along his jaw. He manages not to move, staying in character. “Do these pretty girls not excite you?”
“Seen one, seen ‘em all.” He lets his eyes linger on her smile, predatory and promising all at once. “Never met a girl yet that could surprise me.”
Fiona nods and turns her attention back to the mark - drugs, prostitution and porn, the Miami trifecta. Michael watches her, letting himself smile a smile that matches hers. There’s something to be said for having Fiona prove him wrong.
For inlovewithnight
Ioan
He’s scared to death when he leaves London. He tries not to show it, and he thinks he does a decent job of it. It’s easy really when everyone seems so excited for him. Of course, his Mum is worried, as that’s what she is and what she does, and he’s given her cause enough to be so over the past few years, so he can’t really blame her. But the rest of the family is giving him a hard time about celebrities and parties and how they’d best not see him in the National Enquirer.
Everyone else is thrilled as well, including his agent, even though he hears enough about not getting his hopes up and how everything can fall apart in a moment, and he’d best be ready to work his arse off. It’s funny in a way, given that as he can see it, most people in Hollywood work about a third less than he does here in England. He knows what they mean though, and he’s given it a world of thought. Made the decisions that he had to. Made the right ones. Or so he hopes.
It’s a lie though. Not everyone is thrilled. Matthew’s hurt in ways that Ioan can’t fix, even if he were sure how that was to be done. It’s not as if they don’t both know it’s time to move up, move out, move on. It’s not as though Matthew wouldn’t come across the pond if he had the chance. It’s not as though he won’t be there time and again, visiting and working and staying in Ioan’s flat and Ioan’s bed. It’s not any of those things, and yet it’s all of them. And it’s not just for Matthew.
It’s for both of them, because Ioan’s not sure he knows how to be in the bed alone anymore, not sure he knows what it’s like to go to sleep without someone nearby. It’s not just the sex - though he’ll miss the sex, he won’t deny - but the companionship. It’s like leaving home for the first time, only it’s leaving Matthew, which is infinitely harder.
They turn over the keys to the agent and walk out to Matthew’s car. It’s a broken down sort of thing that he got for cheaper than leasing when they drove up to Scotland two summers past and got drunk on whiskey and sat at Cawdor Castle quoting Macbeth to each other until the break of dawn and the arrival of three very irate security guards. Ioan’s to take a train down to Cardiff, say a proper goodbye to his family before he flies to his new life. Matthew’s headed to his new flat by way of his new local pub and his first night alone in his new life.
“It’s the land of opportunity,” Ioan reminds him softly, quietly. They don’t need the words between them, but he needs to say them.
“It is.” Matthew nods and lights a fag, taking a deep breath and sucking the smoke in. He blows a perfect ring, like always, but Ioan swears he can see it tremble. “You’ll be aces.”
“I’ll miss you.”
Matthew nods. More things that can be left unsaid. More things Ioan has to say. “I know. I’ll miss you too. But I promise, you’re not rid of me.”
“Never be so lucky.” It’s their way, their banter. In a lot of ways, that makes it hurt even more. “Goodbye, Matthew.”
Matthew nods but doesn’t say the words. And they go their separate ways.