fic: drinks. (original: spyverse) | 14a
drinks.
original: spyverse, vaughn & marsh
689 words
14A, mentions of consensual hitting
One of various occasions on which Captain Marsh tried to make a joke at Vaughn Parker's expense, and failed.
"Parker, right? That's you?"
Vaughn turns around at the bar and standing in front of him, all of a sudden, is goddamn fuck shit bastard Marsh, sporting a tuxedo jacket and bowtie. Vaughn nearly chokes on his drink.
"I thought you knew my name," he says, with perhaps a bit too much peevishness.
Marsh is already waving at the bartender with two fingers, gesturing for whatever it is that he normally gets, which is unnerving in and of itself because Vaughn's pretty sure he's not even supposed to be here in the first place. "Courtesy, kiddo. Atwood calls you Vaughn. I'm not Atwood."
That you are not. "Would it dissuade you at all if I told you my uncle Tom called me 'kiddo'? When I was five?"
Marsh turns back to him and graces him with an absolutely saintly smile. "Decades ago, I'm sure. Honestly, how old are you now, Parker?"
"Twenty-seven." A bit of pride-- and acid-- creeps into his voice with the admittance. "And you must be in your early eighties now. Heavens. That's when the incontinence sets in, isn't it?"
"Don't be mean." That condescending little smirk again-- Vaughn gets a bit of a sticky feeling from it. Marsh leans one elbow on the bar and Vaughn feels a flush creeping up the back of his neck. "You don't know how old I am, and you don't know my first name. I think that's a point for my team."
"Why are you even here?"
It's not as if this party is exclusive-- Vaughn barely knows half the people here, or how many of them he works for-- but Marsh barely ventures out of his little hermit-hole up north, especially not for company matters. He gets a laugh. "To see your boss. There's something I need sorted out. And hey-- christ, why does it matter? I'm technically your superior."
He can't help glancing around briefly for an excuse to turn on his heel and walk away. "Marsh, I'll be completely honest-- rank is about the only thing you can claim to be my superior in." He can feel himself reddening a bit, and raps on the bar with his knuckles to get the bartender's attention. He needs a really strong drink.
"Apparently Jack taught you attitude and no diplomacy." There's plain amusement in his voice now-- he seems completely entertained and it makes Vaughn want to do something highly unprofessional and possibly violent to him in public. He's very determinedly not looking in Marsh's direction. Nevertheless, Marsh edges a little closer, invading his personal space just a bit. "Sorry, but I mean-- has he ever hit you?"
"What?" It comes out a bit louder than he intended, and I swear to god you bastard I will break your nose, but he's too appalled to even say anything for a second. He's not even sure where that question came from. Marsh puts a hand on his arm, glancing around with the barest of grins.
"Hey, shh." He fixes Vaughn with a look, one eyebrow raised. "Okay, maybe not? Fair enough." Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, Vaughn sees the bartender put both their drinks down, but it barely registers. He shakes Marsh's hand off, breaks the little staring contest he's sure they're about to start, grabs the nearest tumbler off the bar and starts to storm off.
"I had this notion you might enjoy that."
"Marsh." Fuck, this is easily the most unprofessional thing he's ever done on company time. He turns around to meet Marsh's smarmy fucking stupid gaze. "I believe I've said this before but you are not my superior and I will not treat you as one. If you would like to discuss this with my boss I'll be over there, by the desserts table, with him--" there's some wild pointing and gesticulating "--and you can tell him all about how much you'd like to hit me, okay? Also, for the record, I do the hitting, and you're a pig."
Satisfied in having slapped the grin off his superior's face, Vaughn Parker turns around and walks off to find his partner.
original: spyverse, vaughn & marsh
689 words
14A, mentions of consensual hitting
One of various occasions on which Captain Marsh tried to make a joke at Vaughn Parker's expense, and failed.
"Parker, right? That's you?"
Vaughn turns around at the bar and standing in front of him, all of a sudden, is goddamn fuck shit bastard Marsh, sporting a tuxedo jacket and bowtie. Vaughn nearly chokes on his drink.
"I thought you knew my name," he says, with perhaps a bit too much peevishness.
Marsh is already waving at the bartender with two fingers, gesturing for whatever it is that he normally gets, which is unnerving in and of itself because Vaughn's pretty sure he's not even supposed to be here in the first place. "Courtesy, kiddo. Atwood calls you Vaughn. I'm not Atwood."
That you are not. "Would it dissuade you at all if I told you my uncle Tom called me 'kiddo'? When I was five?"
Marsh turns back to him and graces him with an absolutely saintly smile. "Decades ago, I'm sure. Honestly, how old are you now, Parker?"
"Twenty-seven." A bit of pride-- and acid-- creeps into his voice with the admittance. "And you must be in your early eighties now. Heavens. That's when the incontinence sets in, isn't it?"
"Don't be mean." That condescending little smirk again-- Vaughn gets a bit of a sticky feeling from it. Marsh leans one elbow on the bar and Vaughn feels a flush creeping up the back of his neck. "You don't know how old I am, and you don't know my first name. I think that's a point for my team."
"Why are you even here?"
It's not as if this party is exclusive-- Vaughn barely knows half the people here, or how many of them he works for-- but Marsh barely ventures out of his little hermit-hole up north, especially not for company matters. He gets a laugh. "To see your boss. There's something I need sorted out. And hey-- christ, why does it matter? I'm technically your superior."
He can't help glancing around briefly for an excuse to turn on his heel and walk away. "Marsh, I'll be completely honest-- rank is about the only thing you can claim to be my superior in." He can feel himself reddening a bit, and raps on the bar with his knuckles to get the bartender's attention. He needs a really strong drink.
"Apparently Jack taught you attitude and no diplomacy." There's plain amusement in his voice now-- he seems completely entertained and it makes Vaughn want to do something highly unprofessional and possibly violent to him in public. He's very determinedly not looking in Marsh's direction. Nevertheless, Marsh edges a little closer, invading his personal space just a bit. "Sorry, but I mean-- has he ever hit you?"
"What?" It comes out a bit louder than he intended, and I swear to god you bastard I will break your nose, but he's too appalled to even say anything for a second. He's not even sure where that question came from. Marsh puts a hand on his arm, glancing around with the barest of grins.
"Hey, shh." He fixes Vaughn with a look, one eyebrow raised. "Okay, maybe not? Fair enough." Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, Vaughn sees the bartender put both their drinks down, but it barely registers. He shakes Marsh's hand off, breaks the little staring contest he's sure they're about to start, grabs the nearest tumbler off the bar and starts to storm off.
"I had this notion you might enjoy that."
"Marsh." Fuck, this is easily the most unprofessional thing he's ever done on company time. He turns around to meet Marsh's smarmy fucking stupid gaze. "I believe I've said this before but you are not my superior and I will not treat you as one. If you would like to discuss this with my boss I'll be over there, by the desserts table, with him--" there's some wild pointing and gesticulating "--and you can tell him all about how much you'd like to hit me, okay? Also, for the record, I do the hitting, and you're a pig."
Satisfied in having slapped the grin off his superior's face, Vaughn Parker turns around and walks off to find his partner.