Fic: Culture is Never Wasted (1/3) (Eagle of the Ninth)
Title : Culture is Never Wasted
Author : Gunbunny
Fandom : Eagle
Pairing : Esca/Marcus
Rating : sex! Unexpurgated sex!
Word count: 13,111
Summary : Step-Up/Billy Elliot AU, aka 'I have no shame and am a Matthew Bourne obsessive'.
Disclaimer : Not mine. Rosemary Sutcliff's. Also gratuitous Matthew Bourne fangirling. Esca's career is based on Richard Winsor's.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol. ta to Taz, Pete and Jane for beta-ing.
AO3 link
The physio looks up from digging his thumbs into Marcus' thigh, having made him do some weird flexes. "Stay off it for six weeks. Nothing strenuous. Walking's fine, but no running, jumping and definitely no dancing."
Marcus freezes. "...What? We're in the middle of final rehearsals, we go on tour in a week."
The physio looks up at him unsympathetically. "That's what understudies are for."
Marcus swallows. "What about if I take it gently? Just leave out the jumps? Strap it up during performances?"
The physio narrows his eyes, getting up from his crouch. "You dance hip-hop. It's nothing *but* jumps and stomping. The only way it could be worse is if you took up ballet, and then you'd be fucking up your feet too. Six weeks or you'll fuck it up and end up having to stay off it for six months with regular physio into the bargain."
"Fuck." Marcus groans.
The physio turns away and starts noting things down on a pad. "Start on the anti-inflammatories. Basic shit will do. Not aspirin or painkillers. Oh, and talking of fucking - keep that off the strenuous list too. Missionary or on the bottom in some way, by which I mean your ass stays glued to the sheets. Work your stomach and hips, not your thighs."
"...You actually hate me, don't you." Marcus mutters.
The physio looks down his nose at him. "Suck it up and discover the joys of being tied to the bedstead."
To rewind, the crew had been in the middle of rehearsals in the studio they were renting in Brooklyn, Leon had turned the wrong way, crashing into Marcus as he landed from a spin. Getting up from that tangle caused his thigh to start screaming. Cue Jamelia kicking his lunkhead ass to the physio.
Jamelia is now staring him down in her very scary way as Marcus reports the physio's edicts. "...So it's no dancing for six weeks. Six weeks you'll be in Baltimore, right? I can join you there, or come along on tour to keep updated, do admin and shit."
Jamelia clicks her nails together, which is a sure sign she's unimpressed. "On a swing basis, Marcus. You'll still be taking it easy."
"Seriously? A swing?" Marcus protests. "J, I'm one of the damn leads."
"Six weeks of inactivity, you still gotta get up to fighting shape after that." She points out. "I do not allow for half-assed dancing in my crew, especially in my leads. And hell no you're not coming on tour, you'll just try and wheedle your way in or Leon'll trip over your leg again."
"Okay, okay." Marcus shoves his hand through his hair in frustration. "What'm I going to do for six weeks?"
"Take up a hobby and find somewhere to crash. Your uncle lives in New York, right? Go sit in his spare room and stare at the ceiling." She jabs a nail in the direction of his leg. "But do not fuck up your leg or I will come after you and insert these where the sun doesn't shine."
Uncle Aquila, when he gets the call, sounds amused. But then he always does. "But of course, dear boy! Recuperate here as long as you like. Your cousin and I will be glad to have you, you'll be a welcome source of entertainment."
Marcus spends the first week mooching around the house, watching dancers on one of the music channels resentfully. His cousin Livia comes into the room and pokes him as she sits down. "This is called masochism."
"What do you know about masochism, you're a kid." Marcus says, aiming a cushion at her head. "And don't knock music videos, I've been in a couple."
"Watching this stuff *is* masochism. It's boring." She says, batting the cushion aside. "Besides, it's not like the dancers are getting to do much, it's mostly T&A."
Marcus nearly defends it, glances at the current video and sighs. "Okay, you're right about most of them. But at least they're not wearing tutus like the stuff you like."
She sniffs. Way too much like her dad. "There is nothing wrong with tutus. Besides, not all ballet involves tutus and you know it. I know you've seen some." She grabs the remote and turns it to Nickelodeon. Some teenage girl thing.
"Hey!"
Livia holds the remote away. "Even you can't reach it from here, giant-features."
"I can try." Marcus lunges for it and his thigh twinges. "Ow."
"Told you." She says smugly.
"I am not watching this shit."
"So go get your ass off the couch and find something else to do, it's not like you're a cripple." Livia retorts. "And you're not supposed to swear in front of me."
Marcus grabs the cushion again, scoring a direct hit this time. "You're nearly a teenager, you've heard it all."
---
Marcus is playing games on his phone with his headphones in, trying to block out the sound of teenage girl tv when Uncle Aquila comes in, clapping his hands together. "Get changed, we're going out."
"We are?" Marcus asks.
"Indeed. You, my boy, have been cooped up in here feeling sorry for yourself for too long, and you require society. So we are going to see Edward Scissorhands. It'll do you good."
"We're going to the movies?" Marcus blinks, still not quite sure how his uncle gets away with using words like ‘society’.
"Don't be stupid, Marcus." Livia says haughtily, jumping off the couch. "It's a dance production of it. It's awesome and got really good reviews in London." She looks down her nose at him. He has no idea how she does this considering she's three feet shorter than him, last he looked. "I don't know why he's going, the ticket'll be wasted on him."
"Now, now culture is never wasted." Uncle Aquila says. "The education will be good for him. Go change, child."
Marcus is still blinking. "Seriously, a dance version of Edward Scissorhands?" Knowing Livia, it's probably ballet. Or at least kissing cousins with ballet.
"You never know, you might learn something." Livia calls as she runs out of the room.
On the ride there, in Marcus' opinion, he learns *way* too much. Livia is in full ballet-babble mode. "So, this company are the guys who did the male Swan Lake - you've heard of that, right? That's what Billy becomes at the end of Billy Elliot."
Marcus has only seen bits of Billy Elliot. He considers it a minor miracle considering how many dancers he knows and how obsessed his cousin is about it. But he's seen pictures and a few snippets of that version of Swan Lake. "The guy in the feathery pants, right?"
Livia eyerolls. "You are *so* lacking. Anyway, they're deeply awesome." Marcus tries to tune her out, but he still catches snippets of 'nutcracker that's an acid trip in a candy store' 'kilts' and 'world war 2 pilot'. He thinks that had something to do with Cinderella, but he's not sure since there was also something about nightclubs. "And then there's Car Man, which dad will not take me to see. So unfair." She pouts.
"How come? What's wrong with Carmen?" Marcus leans forward to question Uncle Aquila. "I thought you'd be all in favour of opera."
"Car. Man." Uncle Aquila enunciates from the front seat. "It uses the music of Carmen but is somewhat different."
"How different?"
"Set in a ‘50s diner and garage and has an adult rating." Aquila says dryly. "I'm told at one point there's an orgy on the garage floor. I can't imagine why they'd have an age limit."
"Still mean." Livia pouts.
"And yet, my equilibrium is undisturbed. I'll get you the dvd when you're older."
In the foyer, Livia carefully marks off who's playing who off on her programme from the list on the wall. "Ooo. Esca MacCunoval is playing Edward Scissorhands. I knew he'd joined the company, but lead!"
"That'll be a sight to see, certainly." Uncle Aquila says, peering interestedly at something in the programme.
"Who?" Marcus asks. The name's vaguely familiar.
Livia gives him a scornful look. "If you have to ask, you'll never know." Great. Save him from snobby teenagers. They put in orders for interval drinks, then settle into their seats. Both Uncle Aquila and Livia refuse to pass over the programme.
"Just settle back and enjoy." Uncle Aquila admonishes him. The lights go down, the music goes up, a bunch of dancers playing comedy squabbling teenagers creep on.
Marcus settles into his seat, chuckling. So far, so okay-ish. Then Edward comes on, all shock hair and confused and awkward body language in a leather bodysuit and ... wow. This Esca can dance. Then he gets caught up in the story, and before he knows it, it's the interval. Livia is looking distinctly smug. "So, what did we think?" Uncle Aquila asks, grin on his face.
"You were right." Marcus says, scratching his neck. "How do they get it so funny?"
"Company trademark." Aquila says. "There have to be several moments of inducing the audience to giggle, if not guffaw."
"It was awesome. And beautiful. Esca as Edward, you could just *feel* his confusion..." Livia sighs.
Second act. Marcus may have had something in his eye at one point, alongside the laughter.
After the performance, Livia and Uncle Aquila are deep in discussion about the dancing and set design. Marcus flexes his leg to work out the kinks from being stuck in cramped theatre seating for so long. "I'm going out, see you in the morning, okay?"
"Certainly, dear boy, we won't wait up." Uncle Aquila grins. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Now, Livia, what did you think of the Christmas party?"
----
Esca rubs the last of the water out of his hair to prevent dripping down his neck. He rolls his neck to get the kinks out, but the rest of his limbs still have that post-performance jelly feeling, even after a hot shower. "Oh fuck. I'm so fucking knackered." He moans. "I need a fucking drink. Who's with me?"
Cottia finishes pinning her hair up, frowning. "I wanted to go clubbing."
"Do I look like I can move? You can go clubbing, I just want to collapse in a bar." Esca says, turning to look at Tina. "And not one of those olde English ones that still somehow manage to be full of tv screens."
"It's not my fault I have a radar for cheese." Tina protests.
"Yeah, as seen in your taste in shags." Cottia says dryly. "All right, we'll drop you off at a bar on our way, Mr. knackered."
---
Marcus is scanning the crowd in the bar, having begged off going back with his uncle and cousin in favour of going out. He might not be able to dance right now, but he really needs to burn some energy off. After getting a drink and brushing a few people off, a bunch of Brits enter the bar, chattering loudly. Amongst them is a really cute one with an intense look that really needs checking out. They push through to the bar, hollering for the barman's attention and passing out the drinks. Barmen love serving Brits in his experience - cute accents, generally polite, and pay upfront on automatic.
The crowd parts just enough for him to spot cute guy again. He's half-listening to the guy talking to him, but mostly involved in his drink. That's when his friend sees where Marcus is looking.
Sean pauses in his babble about the latest Pina Bausch project. Esca's only been catching one word in five, but looks up at the pause. Sean nudges him. "Someone's giving you the eye."
Esca looks up to see what Sean's talking about to see a big bloke - tall, built like a brick shithouse - looking back with interest. He quirks a slight smile on seeing that Esca's noticed him looking, not turning his gaze away. Esca turns back to Sean. "Not exactly subtle, is he?"
"Subtle is overrated." Sean says dismissively. "What would happen to the likes of Sally if people relied on subtlety to get her attention? Horrendous droughts with possible virginity side-effects, that's what." Sean grimaces. "And as we know, virginal just equals teeth in the wrong places."
"True." Esca agrees, glancing back at the giant. Who's still looking. "Christ, he's as big as Alan got for the tenth anniversary tour."
"Taller, I think. Not sure if he's quite as broad as Alan got, we'd have to see him with his shirt off." Sean pauses, remembering he's got a drink and taking a mouthful. "Question is, can he use it?"
"Sean." Esca groans.
"What, he's good-looking in that square-jawed carved from granite all-American way." he nudges Esca. "At least get a drink off him."
"In this state?" Esca asks. "I'm going to be pissed after fucking two, amount I've sweated into that bloody leather sofa of a costume. To quote Sam, just let me get my hands on Tim Burton. Johnny Depp would be with us all the fucking way."
Sean laughs and shoves his hand into Esca's hair, ruffling it. "Get on with you, you're scowling again." He uses the hand to give Esca's head a shove. "I'm off to find some totty, I'll see if I can find you later, all right?" With that, Sean's eeling off through the crowd. Esca rubs at the spot where Sean pushed him, then tries to get his hair back in order.
"Leave it." A voice rumbles next to him, and Esca looks up. And up. It's Brick Shithouse. "Bedhead looks good on you." Esca raises an eyebrow. Brick Shithouse stares back, bemused. "What?"
"I'm trying to decide whether that was a compliment or a really bad line." Esca says, taking a sip of his drink.
"It can't be both?" Brick Shithouse says, signalling the barman for another beer. "You want one?"
"This one's fine. Any more and I'll be under the table." Esca says.
"You don't look that far gone." He says, handing over his cash as the barman hands him his drink.
"Absolutely fucking knackered." Esca states. "And who says I'd accept one?"
Brick Shithouse grins, taking a pull of his beer. "You haven't told me to fuck off yet, so there was a chance."
"I'm too bloody knackered." Esca says, glancing over at him. "Can't be arsed to make the effort."
"Still talking to me." Brick Shithouse grins.
One thing leads to another, and by that Esca means he's blaming the alcohol and the bloke's broad shoulders for the fact that they're snogging lazily. Not a bad kisser, Esca has to say. Break, and Esca can feel the bloke's wormed his fingers under his waistband, fingertrips stroking the skin there, when there's a yell from the other side of the bar. Esca groans, letting his head fall against the very broad shoulder in front of him.
Brick Shithouse snorts. Esca can bloody hear him grinning. "Friends of yours?"
"They can't be left alone for five minutes, I swear..." Esca says, pulling away and making his way towards the sound of a bunch of dancers with a chronic case of foot in mouth disease. He gets over and into the middle of the yelling and shoving, and ... huh. Brick Shithouse is right behind him. He turns to face Sean. "Look, it's okay. Sean, what did you say?"
"Why would it be me?" Sean asks, looking offended.
"It's always you." Esca sighs. "Explain it to me later. Tina?"
"Hey, the girl can stay," the guy next to her says. "This jerkwad, on the other hand-"
Brick Shithouse looms. It's a good loom. Size has its advantages, clearly. "No she can't. Look, they're going to leave, you're going to forget about it."
Esca shoots him a grateful look, hustling them out and putting a hand over Sean’s mouth to forestall any further trouble. Once they're out, Esca leans against the wall, taking a breather while everyone puts themselves together and decides who's moving on and where. Brick Shithouse comes out the door. "You going?"
"Yeah. Think I'd better get 'em elsewhere before they manage to start a fight with a lamppost."
"Wasn't my fault." Sean grumbles.
"Not the time, Sean." Esca says, then scrubs his neck. "Thanks. For stepping in. You didn't have to. The looming helped, you're pretty good at that."
"It comes naturally. And hey, it was nothing." Brick Shithouse grins. "Good thing it stopped there, my leg wouldn't have stood up to it."
"You've got a bad leg?" Esca frowns, since he didn't note a limp.
"Pulled or bruised. Something like that. Just means nothing strenuous for six weeks."
"Oh. Right. thanks anyway."
Brick Shithouse breaks the stare, glancing at Sean. "So what do you think he said? Some Brit slang?"
"Considering I've seen him do it all over Britain, I can safely say what he probably said was 'hello'." Esca says dryly. Then yawns. "Fuck. Knackered. Sorry. But yeah, I owe you one. Thanks."
"No big." Brick Shithouse grins. "You can pay me back right now, if you want." He says, hooking his fingers in Esca's belt, and that he doesn't have to reach far says a lot for the chances of Esca protesting much as Brick Shithouse cups Esca's jaw and tilts his head up to kiss him.
Break, mostly because Tina has just said "Get in there! Go on, my son!" And someone's whistled. He's blaming Mei for the whistle.
Esca glares at them. "You can shut up." And then yawns. Again.
Sean hooks an arm around him. "Time to let go of the very nice man and get all good little boys to Bedfordshire if they want to function tomorrow."
Brick Shithouse grins, letting go of Esca's belt. "See you around, then." He watches them go before going back into the bar.
Part 2
Author : Gunbunny
Fandom : Eagle
Pairing : Esca/Marcus
Rating : sex! Unexpurgated sex!
Word count: 13,111
Summary : Step-Up/Billy Elliot AU, aka 'I have no shame and am a Matthew Bourne obsessive'.
Disclaimer : Not mine. Rosemary Sutcliff's. Also gratuitous Matthew Bourne fangirling. Esca's career is based on Richard Winsor's.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol. ta to Taz, Pete and Jane for beta-ing.
AO3 link
The physio looks up from digging his thumbs into Marcus' thigh, having made him do some weird flexes. "Stay off it for six weeks. Nothing strenuous. Walking's fine, but no running, jumping and definitely no dancing."
Marcus freezes. "...What? We're in the middle of final rehearsals, we go on tour in a week."
The physio looks up at him unsympathetically. "That's what understudies are for."
Marcus swallows. "What about if I take it gently? Just leave out the jumps? Strap it up during performances?"
The physio narrows his eyes, getting up from his crouch. "You dance hip-hop. It's nothing *but* jumps and stomping. The only way it could be worse is if you took up ballet, and then you'd be fucking up your feet too. Six weeks or you'll fuck it up and end up having to stay off it for six months with regular physio into the bargain."
"Fuck." Marcus groans.
The physio turns away and starts noting things down on a pad. "Start on the anti-inflammatories. Basic shit will do. Not aspirin or painkillers. Oh, and talking of fucking - keep that off the strenuous list too. Missionary or on the bottom in some way, by which I mean your ass stays glued to the sheets. Work your stomach and hips, not your thighs."
"...You actually hate me, don't you." Marcus mutters.
The physio looks down his nose at him. "Suck it up and discover the joys of being tied to the bedstead."
To rewind, the crew had been in the middle of rehearsals in the studio they were renting in Brooklyn, Leon had turned the wrong way, crashing into Marcus as he landed from a spin. Getting up from that tangle caused his thigh to start screaming. Cue Jamelia kicking his lunkhead ass to the physio.
Jamelia is now staring him down in her very scary way as Marcus reports the physio's edicts. "...So it's no dancing for six weeks. Six weeks you'll be in Baltimore, right? I can join you there, or come along on tour to keep updated, do admin and shit."
Jamelia clicks her nails together, which is a sure sign she's unimpressed. "On a swing basis, Marcus. You'll still be taking it easy."
"Seriously? A swing?" Marcus protests. "J, I'm one of the damn leads."
"Six weeks of inactivity, you still gotta get up to fighting shape after that." She points out. "I do not allow for half-assed dancing in my crew, especially in my leads. And hell no you're not coming on tour, you'll just try and wheedle your way in or Leon'll trip over your leg again."
"Okay, okay." Marcus shoves his hand through his hair in frustration. "What'm I going to do for six weeks?"
"Take up a hobby and find somewhere to crash. Your uncle lives in New York, right? Go sit in his spare room and stare at the ceiling." She jabs a nail in the direction of his leg. "But do not fuck up your leg or I will come after you and insert these where the sun doesn't shine."
Uncle Aquila, when he gets the call, sounds amused. But then he always does. "But of course, dear boy! Recuperate here as long as you like. Your cousin and I will be glad to have you, you'll be a welcome source of entertainment."
Marcus spends the first week mooching around the house, watching dancers on one of the music channels resentfully. His cousin Livia comes into the room and pokes him as she sits down. "This is called masochism."
"What do you know about masochism, you're a kid." Marcus says, aiming a cushion at her head. "And don't knock music videos, I've been in a couple."
"Watching this stuff *is* masochism. It's boring." She says, batting the cushion aside. "Besides, it's not like the dancers are getting to do much, it's mostly T&A."
Marcus nearly defends it, glances at the current video and sighs. "Okay, you're right about most of them. But at least they're not wearing tutus like the stuff you like."
She sniffs. Way too much like her dad. "There is nothing wrong with tutus. Besides, not all ballet involves tutus and you know it. I know you've seen some." She grabs the remote and turns it to Nickelodeon. Some teenage girl thing.
"Hey!"
Livia holds the remote away. "Even you can't reach it from here, giant-features."
"I can try." Marcus lunges for it and his thigh twinges. "Ow."
"Told you." She says smugly.
"I am not watching this shit."
"So go get your ass off the couch and find something else to do, it's not like you're a cripple." Livia retorts. "And you're not supposed to swear in front of me."
Marcus grabs the cushion again, scoring a direct hit this time. "You're nearly a teenager, you've heard it all."
---
Marcus is playing games on his phone with his headphones in, trying to block out the sound of teenage girl tv when Uncle Aquila comes in, clapping his hands together. "Get changed, we're going out."
"We are?" Marcus asks.
"Indeed. You, my boy, have been cooped up in here feeling sorry for yourself for too long, and you require society. So we are going to see Edward Scissorhands. It'll do you good."
"We're going to the movies?" Marcus blinks, still not quite sure how his uncle gets away with using words like ‘society’.
"Don't be stupid, Marcus." Livia says haughtily, jumping off the couch. "It's a dance production of it. It's awesome and got really good reviews in London." She looks down her nose at him. He has no idea how she does this considering she's three feet shorter than him, last he looked. "I don't know why he's going, the ticket'll be wasted on him."
"Now, now culture is never wasted." Uncle Aquila says. "The education will be good for him. Go change, child."
Marcus is still blinking. "Seriously, a dance version of Edward Scissorhands?" Knowing Livia, it's probably ballet. Or at least kissing cousins with ballet.
"You never know, you might learn something." Livia calls as she runs out of the room.
On the ride there, in Marcus' opinion, he learns *way* too much. Livia is in full ballet-babble mode. "So, this company are the guys who did the male Swan Lake - you've heard of that, right? That's what Billy becomes at the end of Billy Elliot."
Marcus has only seen bits of Billy Elliot. He considers it a minor miracle considering how many dancers he knows and how obsessed his cousin is about it. But he's seen pictures and a few snippets of that version of Swan Lake. "The guy in the feathery pants, right?"
Livia eyerolls. "You are *so* lacking. Anyway, they're deeply awesome." Marcus tries to tune her out, but he still catches snippets of 'nutcracker that's an acid trip in a candy store' 'kilts' and 'world war 2 pilot'. He thinks that had something to do with Cinderella, but he's not sure since there was also something about nightclubs. "And then there's Car Man, which dad will not take me to see. So unfair." She pouts.
"How come? What's wrong with Carmen?" Marcus leans forward to question Uncle Aquila. "I thought you'd be all in favour of opera."
"Car. Man." Uncle Aquila enunciates from the front seat. "It uses the music of Carmen but is somewhat different."
"How different?"
"Set in a ‘50s diner and garage and has an adult rating." Aquila says dryly. "I'm told at one point there's an orgy on the garage floor. I can't imagine why they'd have an age limit."
"Still mean." Livia pouts.
"And yet, my equilibrium is undisturbed. I'll get you the dvd when you're older."
In the foyer, Livia carefully marks off who's playing who off on her programme from the list on the wall. "Ooo. Esca MacCunoval is playing Edward Scissorhands. I knew he'd joined the company, but lead!"
"That'll be a sight to see, certainly." Uncle Aquila says, peering interestedly at something in the programme.
"Who?" Marcus asks. The name's vaguely familiar.
Livia gives him a scornful look. "If you have to ask, you'll never know." Great. Save him from snobby teenagers. They put in orders for interval drinks, then settle into their seats. Both Uncle Aquila and Livia refuse to pass over the programme.
"Just settle back and enjoy." Uncle Aquila admonishes him. The lights go down, the music goes up, a bunch of dancers playing comedy squabbling teenagers creep on.
Marcus settles into his seat, chuckling. So far, so okay-ish. Then Edward comes on, all shock hair and confused and awkward body language in a leather bodysuit and ... wow. This Esca can dance. Then he gets caught up in the story, and before he knows it, it's the interval. Livia is looking distinctly smug. "So, what did we think?" Uncle Aquila asks, grin on his face.
"You were right." Marcus says, scratching his neck. "How do they get it so funny?"
"Company trademark." Aquila says. "There have to be several moments of inducing the audience to giggle, if not guffaw."
"It was awesome. And beautiful. Esca as Edward, you could just *feel* his confusion..." Livia sighs.
Second act. Marcus may have had something in his eye at one point, alongside the laughter.
After the performance, Livia and Uncle Aquila are deep in discussion about the dancing and set design. Marcus flexes his leg to work out the kinks from being stuck in cramped theatre seating for so long. "I'm going out, see you in the morning, okay?"
"Certainly, dear boy, we won't wait up." Uncle Aquila grins. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Now, Livia, what did you think of the Christmas party?"
----
Esca rubs the last of the water out of his hair to prevent dripping down his neck. He rolls his neck to get the kinks out, but the rest of his limbs still have that post-performance jelly feeling, even after a hot shower. "Oh fuck. I'm so fucking knackered." He moans. "I need a fucking drink. Who's with me?"
Cottia finishes pinning her hair up, frowning. "I wanted to go clubbing."
"Do I look like I can move? You can go clubbing, I just want to collapse in a bar." Esca says, turning to look at Tina. "And not one of those olde English ones that still somehow manage to be full of tv screens."
"It's not my fault I have a radar for cheese." Tina protests.
"Yeah, as seen in your taste in shags." Cottia says dryly. "All right, we'll drop you off at a bar on our way, Mr. knackered."
---
Marcus is scanning the crowd in the bar, having begged off going back with his uncle and cousin in favour of going out. He might not be able to dance right now, but he really needs to burn some energy off. After getting a drink and brushing a few people off, a bunch of Brits enter the bar, chattering loudly. Amongst them is a really cute one with an intense look that really needs checking out. They push through to the bar, hollering for the barman's attention and passing out the drinks. Barmen love serving Brits in his experience - cute accents, generally polite, and pay upfront on automatic.
The crowd parts just enough for him to spot cute guy again. He's half-listening to the guy talking to him, but mostly involved in his drink. That's when his friend sees where Marcus is looking.
Sean pauses in his babble about the latest Pina Bausch project. Esca's only been catching one word in five, but looks up at the pause. Sean nudges him. "Someone's giving you the eye."
Esca looks up to see what Sean's talking about to see a big bloke - tall, built like a brick shithouse - looking back with interest. He quirks a slight smile on seeing that Esca's noticed him looking, not turning his gaze away. Esca turns back to Sean. "Not exactly subtle, is he?"
"Subtle is overrated." Sean says dismissively. "What would happen to the likes of Sally if people relied on subtlety to get her attention? Horrendous droughts with possible virginity side-effects, that's what." Sean grimaces. "And as we know, virginal just equals teeth in the wrong places."
"True." Esca agrees, glancing back at the giant. Who's still looking. "Christ, he's as big as Alan got for the tenth anniversary tour."
"Taller, I think. Not sure if he's quite as broad as Alan got, we'd have to see him with his shirt off." Sean pauses, remembering he's got a drink and taking a mouthful. "Question is, can he use it?"
"Sean." Esca groans.
"What, he's good-looking in that square-jawed carved from granite all-American way." he nudges Esca. "At least get a drink off him."
"In this state?" Esca asks. "I'm going to be pissed after fucking two, amount I've sweated into that bloody leather sofa of a costume. To quote Sam, just let me get my hands on Tim Burton. Johnny Depp would be with us all the fucking way."
Sean laughs and shoves his hand into Esca's hair, ruffling it. "Get on with you, you're scowling again." He uses the hand to give Esca's head a shove. "I'm off to find some totty, I'll see if I can find you later, all right?" With that, Sean's eeling off through the crowd. Esca rubs at the spot where Sean pushed him, then tries to get his hair back in order.
"Leave it." A voice rumbles next to him, and Esca looks up. And up. It's Brick Shithouse. "Bedhead looks good on you." Esca raises an eyebrow. Brick Shithouse stares back, bemused. "What?"
"I'm trying to decide whether that was a compliment or a really bad line." Esca says, taking a sip of his drink.
"It can't be both?" Brick Shithouse says, signalling the barman for another beer. "You want one?"
"This one's fine. Any more and I'll be under the table." Esca says.
"You don't look that far gone." He says, handing over his cash as the barman hands him his drink.
"Absolutely fucking knackered." Esca states. "And who says I'd accept one?"
Brick Shithouse grins, taking a pull of his beer. "You haven't told me to fuck off yet, so there was a chance."
"I'm too bloody knackered." Esca says, glancing over at him. "Can't be arsed to make the effort."
"Still talking to me." Brick Shithouse grins.
One thing leads to another, and by that Esca means he's blaming the alcohol and the bloke's broad shoulders for the fact that they're snogging lazily. Not a bad kisser, Esca has to say. Break, and Esca can feel the bloke's wormed his fingers under his waistband, fingertrips stroking the skin there, when there's a yell from the other side of the bar. Esca groans, letting his head fall against the very broad shoulder in front of him.
Brick Shithouse snorts. Esca can bloody hear him grinning. "Friends of yours?"
"They can't be left alone for five minutes, I swear..." Esca says, pulling away and making his way towards the sound of a bunch of dancers with a chronic case of foot in mouth disease. He gets over and into the middle of the yelling and shoving, and ... huh. Brick Shithouse is right behind him. He turns to face Sean. "Look, it's okay. Sean, what did you say?"
"Why would it be me?" Sean asks, looking offended.
"It's always you." Esca sighs. "Explain it to me later. Tina?"
"Hey, the girl can stay," the guy next to her says. "This jerkwad, on the other hand-"
Brick Shithouse looms. It's a good loom. Size has its advantages, clearly. "No she can't. Look, they're going to leave, you're going to forget about it."
Esca shoots him a grateful look, hustling them out and putting a hand over Sean’s mouth to forestall any further trouble. Once they're out, Esca leans against the wall, taking a breather while everyone puts themselves together and decides who's moving on and where. Brick Shithouse comes out the door. "You going?"
"Yeah. Think I'd better get 'em elsewhere before they manage to start a fight with a lamppost."
"Wasn't my fault." Sean grumbles.
"Not the time, Sean." Esca says, then scrubs his neck. "Thanks. For stepping in. You didn't have to. The looming helped, you're pretty good at that."
"It comes naturally. And hey, it was nothing." Brick Shithouse grins. "Good thing it stopped there, my leg wouldn't have stood up to it."
"You've got a bad leg?" Esca frowns, since he didn't note a limp.
"Pulled or bruised. Something like that. Just means nothing strenuous for six weeks."
"Oh. Right. thanks anyway."
Brick Shithouse breaks the stare, glancing at Sean. "So what do you think he said? Some Brit slang?"
"Considering I've seen him do it all over Britain, I can safely say what he probably said was 'hello'." Esca says dryly. Then yawns. "Fuck. Knackered. Sorry. But yeah, I owe you one. Thanks."
"No big." Brick Shithouse grins. "You can pay me back right now, if you want." He says, hooking his fingers in Esca's belt, and that he doesn't have to reach far says a lot for the chances of Esca protesting much as Brick Shithouse cups Esca's jaw and tilts his head up to kiss him.
Break, mostly because Tina has just said "Get in there! Go on, my son!" And someone's whistled. He's blaming Mei for the whistle.
Esca glares at them. "You can shut up." And then yawns. Again.
Sean hooks an arm around him. "Time to let go of the very nice man and get all good little boys to Bedfordshire if they want to function tomorrow."
Brick Shithouse grins, letting go of Esca's belt. "See you around, then." He watches them go before going back into the bar.
Part 2