'Hit and Miss'
I’ve gone either mad or enlightened. It’s for you to judge.
My musings about the characters may soon follow.
I'm counting on all of you, because there is a way (a highway!) to go after this.
I think we also need a new pairing tag...
Title: 'Hit and Miss'
Pairing: Bertie/Tug
Rating: PG(-13)
Warnings: Tug is being particularly evil. (another evil aspect of the story is my attempt of Cockney)
Summary: “You don’t like him, huh?” asked Ferocity, who was sitting beside the sturdy cockney.
A burst of laughter shook the Mess. Smyth had rummaged out and repaired an old projector and the No. 666 Squadron was watching an old American comedy. The blackouts were properly fixed on the windows so not a single ray of light escaped to threaten the airfield with German air raid.
All members of the ‘Biggles set’ were seated around the canteen sitting on whatever means they had found handy. Their ties loosened, they were enjoying the movie after a long day spent in the air.
Flight Lieutenant Lord Bertie Lissie was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace slowly sipping at his tea. Not a muscle moved in his even face decorated with thin black moustache and an eyeglass. He seemed not to be paying attention to the movie at all.
“Hullo there, Lissie. You don’t seem to be enjoying the movie back there. Bored?”
“Oh, not at all, my boy! I’m very well entertained by watching you laugh.”
“Don’t you like the movie?” asked Henry Harcourt and yawned widely as if mocking his own words.
“Well, not really, to say the truth. These jolly old movies are not my cup of tea, if you see what I mean. In fact I find them particularly... tedious.”
“Hear hear, the voice of landed gentry,” the canteen burst into laughter but this time it wasn’t due to the happenings on the screen.
Bertie just smiled indulgently and took a puff on his cigarette placed in an ivory cigarette holder.
Tug Carrington glanced back at the voluntary outcast, regarding him with a sneer.
“You don’t like him, huh?” asked Ferocity, who was sitting beside the sturdy cockney.
“I haven’t got anythin’ against ‘im personally. A crazy bloke ‘e is but... ‘e can fight. That’s what matters. There’s certainly much more in ‘im than ‘e’s lettin’ people see,” with that Tug turned back to watch the screen.
“To your beds, gentlemen. We have a morning watch tomorrow. I don’t want to see you yawning as if you wanted to swallow me alive again. Yes, I’m talking to you as well, Algernon.”
Algy made a wry face and rolled his eyes causing the squadron to burst into the last fit of laughter of the day. Biggles stepped behind his back at once and pretended to give him a box on the ears. “Move it,” he said calmly.
They left the Mess and headed towards their rooms. Bertie stopped and stood for a while by the corner of the now quiet canteen looking at the darkened sky contemplating tomorrow’s weather. He reached for his eyeglass and slipped it into his breast pocket mechanically.
“’ey, Lissie...”
Bertie turned his head to face the speaker. “What is it, old boy?”
“Just wanted to ask you somethin’,” Tug was approaching him slowly.
Bertie frowned slightly. He couldn’t help but feel awkward every time Carrington was around. There seemed to be an aura of uneasiness emanating from the bitter Londoner.
“Do ask,” Bertie prompted with a little hint of cautiousness in his voice. Tug was now standing only two steps from him.
The next thing he realised was a heavy blow of Carrington’s fist onto his chest. The hit was delivered with such a force it almost knocked the breath out of him. He staggered and his back thudded against the wall of the Mess. Tug’s both palms were now on his chest pressing him firmly onto the wall. The boxer‘s lips curled into a crooked smile. Before Bertie was able to respond to the assault, which had thrown him off balance in more than one way, the cockney’s lips was crushing his own violently.
Tug was shorter than the slender tall aristocrat, so he had to stand on his tiptoes in order to reach him the way he did. There was no resistance at all. Not that he had counted on any. Attack swiftly with the maximum impact. The rule he followed no matter whether he was in a boxing ring, in the air, or anywhere else. It often gave people the impression that he was acting like a rabid terrier. He could feel the quickened heartbeat under his palms. The lips of the aristocrat tasted of tea and quality tobacco. A delicate flavour indeed, as delicate as the man himself.
The assault ended as quickly as it had began. Tug broke their contact before the other could gather his wits and react in any way. He made a few steps backwards watching the effect of his action, then turned around and left in the direction of their sleeping quarters.
Bertie watched Carrington’s quick departure with a bewildered expression. Then his face darkened. He was breathing rapidly, shaken. “Sod...” he hissed threateningly and clenched his fists.
Second part of the series: 'Why so grim?'