Management
Characters: Claude/Thompson (and implicit Claude/other)
Word count: a little over 1,400.
Rating: R, mainly (but not entirely) for language.
Warnings: Dub-con, I guess.
Summary: Thompson calls Claude in to his office at Primatech for a little chat.
A/N:
mossymermaid asked me for Claude/Thompson, and threw lots of prompts at me. None of which stuck, exactly, but they did get me this. It's ... twisted. I feel sorta' dirty. Written for the
rare_heroes Brave New Ship challenge.
The thing about Thompson was that he was too fucking conversational.
Claude remembered the first time Thompson had called him in to the office. Thompson, of course, had been all honeyed tones. Menace barely glinting beneath pleasant, reasonable syllables, and Claude honestly couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Eyes drifting to look out of the window at Texas sun staining the yard white. Yeah, just get the damn bollocking over with so I can go, all right?
"Claude," and Thompson was suddenly right there in his face with the same determined, friendly intensity, "I don't think you're listening to me."
Oh, for Christ's sake.
"It's very important, Claude-" and he noted with irritation Thompson's pointless repetition of his name, as though it would make him focus, or something. They both knew it wasn't actually his real name "-that security at Primatech remains tight."
Like your arse, yeah? Only he hadn't said that, obviously. Just stood there thinking cheerily insolent thoughts until Thompson had delivered his point, which was that Claude should take more care in cleaning up after assignments, and why couldn't he just have said so, instead of endlessly talking around it. Circumlocutory, was what.
So now, summoned again to Thompson's office for Christ only knew what, Claude was already tuning out, mentally. Running over his inventory of things he needed for his and Bennet's upcoming trip to some sweaty little suburb of Austin.
Inside, Thompson's office was noticeably cooler than the rest of the building, which made Claude wonder if the building's air-conditioning (or "air-con" as everyone here insisted on calling it) wasn't actually broken after all, but just switched off everywhere else.
Thompson, on the phone, nodded him in and gestured to Claude to sit - which he had already done (so that was all right, then). Thompson, the receiver cradled in the crook of his neck, made a gesture with his hands that said plainly Sorry about this - I'll be off the phone in a moment. Snarled up in the platitudes of telephone goodbyes; something Claude didn't usually bother with, himself.
The phonecall over, Thompson put down the receiver and smiled at him. He'd forgotten how disturbing it was when Thompson smiled. He was sure it must be perfectly charming if you were, say, a myopic ninety-year-old grandmother, but when you knew what the man did for a living, that kind of smile just, well, didn't fit.
"So, Claude. How are you and Noah getting along?"
He should have guessed it was going to be about that. Claude tried not to do the predictable things like rolling his eyes and shifting in his chair.
"All right," he hedged.
"No ... problems, at all?"
He must know. Sadistic bastard. But this was between him and Bennet, and if Thompson really wanted everything to run smoothly, he'd just let them have it out. Stupid bloody argument anyway, and he knew Bennet would be the first to cave. Bennet would always cave. Cave, and then find a way of blindsiding him at some completely fucking inappropriate moment, much later; orthogonal revenge that would make Claude want to set fire to him.
It was just what they did, and afterwards, things would be back to normal between them. Thompson really didn't need to get involved.
"Claude." Thompson smiled warmly. "We know you have, shall we say, a problem with authority. And that's all right," he added, seeing the beginnings of a scowl on Claude's face, "because the kind of work we do here requires a certain kind of person. And because we value individuals with your sort of talent-"
Individuals? As in, more than one? Got a whole bunch of invisible men in a cupboard somewhere, have you, for when I -
"-we're generally willing to overlook your ... idiosyncrasies."
Nice of you.
Thompson paused for a moment, head cocked slightly to one side as though waiting for Claude to say something.
Claude didn't give him anything. Would sit there, stock still, all day long, if he thought it would make Thompson start sweating. He made a mental note not to blink for the next two minutes, and they'd see how Thompson liked that.
Thompson's sigh became a tolerant smile. "Yes. Well, Claude, I just thought we should have a little chat."
Oh, right, here it comes. Another bloody lecture.
He was therefore a little surprised when Thompson stood up and walked around the desk. Stood looking down at him with a mixture of benevolence and calculation that Claude found rather disquieting.
What the-
"Get up."
He pushed the chair back and got to his feet. Well within punching range, though he didn't think Thompson was the type to-
-step right into his personal space. Claude liked his personal space. And Thompson was in it.
Claude took half a step back until he could feel the gentle pressure of the chair-leg against his left calf.
It really was an unpleasant smile. Thompson must have been a good three inches shorter than him, but he just stood there with that cheery, smug expression, and suddenly all Claude wanted to do was bolt.
"Now, Claude," and Thompson raised an eyebrow, just a fraction, "It has come to my attention that you and Noah have an ... unusual working relationship."
He tried not to let it, but something must have flickered in his eyes because Thompson said "Yes, yes," and waved his hand dismissively. "I know about that."
Shit.
Thompson actually looked amused, for Christ's sake, and Claude gave some serious thought to just flattening the guy and running. But he needed to hear what was at stake, first.
"There are certain ... activities still prohibited by state law." Thompson gave him an indulgent nod. "This isn't New York, or Paris; the people of Texas are," he shrugged, "a little more conservative than I daresay you're used to."
"Your point?" If you even have one, you loquacious bastard.
"I'm simply saying that I'd like you to keep me informed of everything that you and ... your partner," and there was really no room for ambiguity in the way Thompson phrased that, "get up to. So that I can ensure Primatech's reputation. Control the story, if you like."
Claude snorted. "Is this supposed to frighten me?"
"Oh, I'm not threatening you," said Thompson, sunnily. "But Noah has so much more to lose, wouldn't you agree?"
You son of a bitch.
Okay, so he was seriously pissed off with Bennet - but that was just how things got, sometimes, between them. This, though - this was completely unacceptable. Because Bennet did have something to lose: a family. He loved them, he really did - and even Claude, not much of a people-person, could see that. And Claude, in his own, twisted way, cared as much for Sandra, Claire and Lyle as Bennet did.
And, yeah, he knew what Texas could be like. Knew it like you knew a bruise on your jaw, every waking moment of every day for a week, and worse when you talked.
"So, what- you want me to tell you about it?" Is that honestly how you get off? Pathetic.
"No, Claude," and Thompson shook his head, wearing the expression of someone refusing a very generous favour -No, it's fine, really, you shouldn't have- "No, that would just embarrass you - and it's really not something I need to hear."
Thompson paused, then, just for a moment, and looked Claude right in the eye." I want you to show me." Voice like polished gravel.
Show you-?
Claude schooled his features and stared right back at Thompson, unblinking. "Best get on your knees, then."
Thompson actually laughed. Threw back his head and laughed aloud as though Claude had told him the funniest joke he'd heard all year.
And then gave him a flat smile like plate glass. "Now, Claude."
As Thompson's belt slithered out through the loops on his trousers, Claude gave him what he hoped was a murderous look. As though that was going to make any sodding difference.
*
Bennet glanced up from his paperwork as Claude banged the office door open and threw himself into the chair behind his desk. "So, what was that about?"
Claude sighed and rolled his eyes. Exhaled his disgust in a single, spat-out epithet.
"Management."
x-posted to
rare_heroes and
heroes_fic
Word count: a little over 1,400.
Rating: R, mainly (but not entirely) for language.
Warnings: Dub-con, I guess.
Summary: Thompson calls Claude in to his office at Primatech for a little chat.
A/N:
mossymermaid asked me for Claude/Thompson, and threw lots of prompts at me. None of which stuck, exactly, but they did get me this. It's ... twisted. I feel sorta' dirty. Written for the
rare_heroes Brave New Ship challenge.
The thing about Thompson was that he was too fucking conversational.
Claude remembered the first time Thompson had called him in to the office. Thompson, of course, had been all honeyed tones. Menace barely glinting beneath pleasant, reasonable syllables, and Claude honestly couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Eyes drifting to look out of the window at Texas sun staining the yard white. Yeah, just get the damn bollocking over with so I can go, all right?
"Claude," and Thompson was suddenly right there in his face with the same determined, friendly intensity, "I don't think you're listening to me."
Oh, for Christ's sake.
"It's very important, Claude-" and he noted with irritation Thompson's pointless repetition of his name, as though it would make him focus, or something. They both knew it wasn't actually his real name "-that security at Primatech remains tight."
Like your arse, yeah? Only he hadn't said that, obviously. Just stood there thinking cheerily insolent thoughts until Thompson had delivered his point, which was that Claude should take more care in cleaning up after assignments, and why couldn't he just have said so, instead of endlessly talking around it. Circumlocutory, was what.
So now, summoned again to Thompson's office for Christ only knew what, Claude was already tuning out, mentally. Running over his inventory of things he needed for his and Bennet's upcoming trip to some sweaty little suburb of Austin.
Inside, Thompson's office was noticeably cooler than the rest of the building, which made Claude wonder if the building's air-conditioning (or "air-con" as everyone here insisted on calling it) wasn't actually broken after all, but just switched off everywhere else.
Thompson, on the phone, nodded him in and gestured to Claude to sit - which he had already done (so that was all right, then). Thompson, the receiver cradled in the crook of his neck, made a gesture with his hands that said plainly Sorry about this - I'll be off the phone in a moment. Snarled up in the platitudes of telephone goodbyes; something Claude didn't usually bother with, himself.
The phonecall over, Thompson put down the receiver and smiled at him. He'd forgotten how disturbing it was when Thompson smiled. He was sure it must be perfectly charming if you were, say, a myopic ninety-year-old grandmother, but when you knew what the man did for a living, that kind of smile just, well, didn't fit.
"So, Claude. How are you and Noah getting along?"
He should have guessed it was going to be about that. Claude tried not to do the predictable things like rolling his eyes and shifting in his chair.
"All right," he hedged.
"No ... problems, at all?"
He must know. Sadistic bastard. But this was between him and Bennet, and if Thompson really wanted everything to run smoothly, he'd just let them have it out. Stupid bloody argument anyway, and he knew Bennet would be the first to cave. Bennet would always cave. Cave, and then find a way of blindsiding him at some completely fucking inappropriate moment, much later; orthogonal revenge that would make Claude want to set fire to him.
It was just what they did, and afterwards, things would be back to normal between them. Thompson really didn't need to get involved.
"Claude." Thompson smiled warmly. "We know you have, shall we say, a problem with authority. And that's all right," he added, seeing the beginnings of a scowl on Claude's face, "because the kind of work we do here requires a certain kind of person. And because we value individuals with your sort of talent-"
Individuals? As in, more than one? Got a whole bunch of invisible men in a cupboard somewhere, have you, for when I -
"-we're generally willing to overlook your ... idiosyncrasies."
Nice of you.
Thompson paused for a moment, head cocked slightly to one side as though waiting for Claude to say something.
Claude didn't give him anything. Would sit there, stock still, all day long, if he thought it would make Thompson start sweating. He made a mental note not to blink for the next two minutes, and they'd see how Thompson liked that.
Thompson's sigh became a tolerant smile. "Yes. Well, Claude, I just thought we should have a little chat."
Oh, right, here it comes. Another bloody lecture.
He was therefore a little surprised when Thompson stood up and walked around the desk. Stood looking down at him with a mixture of benevolence and calculation that Claude found rather disquieting.
What the-
"Get up."
He pushed the chair back and got to his feet. Well within punching range, though he didn't think Thompson was the type to-
-step right into his personal space. Claude liked his personal space. And Thompson was in it.
Claude took half a step back until he could feel the gentle pressure of the chair-leg against his left calf.
It really was an unpleasant smile. Thompson must have been a good three inches shorter than him, but he just stood there with that cheery, smug expression, and suddenly all Claude wanted to do was bolt.
"Now, Claude," and Thompson raised an eyebrow, just a fraction, "It has come to my attention that you and Noah have an ... unusual working relationship."
He tried not to let it, but something must have flickered in his eyes because Thompson said "Yes, yes," and waved his hand dismissively. "I know about that."
Shit.
Thompson actually looked amused, for Christ's sake, and Claude gave some serious thought to just flattening the guy and running. But he needed to hear what was at stake, first.
"There are certain ... activities still prohibited by state law." Thompson gave him an indulgent nod. "This isn't New York, or Paris; the people of Texas are," he shrugged, "a little more conservative than I daresay you're used to."
"Your point?" If you even have one, you loquacious bastard.
"I'm simply saying that I'd like you to keep me informed of everything that you and ... your partner," and there was really no room for ambiguity in the way Thompson phrased that, "get up to. So that I can ensure Primatech's reputation. Control the story, if you like."
Claude snorted. "Is this supposed to frighten me?"
"Oh, I'm not threatening you," said Thompson, sunnily. "But Noah has so much more to lose, wouldn't you agree?"
You son of a bitch.
Okay, so he was seriously pissed off with Bennet - but that was just how things got, sometimes, between them. This, though - this was completely unacceptable. Because Bennet did have something to lose: a family. He loved them, he really did - and even Claude, not much of a people-person, could see that. And Claude, in his own, twisted way, cared as much for Sandra, Claire and Lyle as Bennet did.
And, yeah, he knew what Texas could be like. Knew it like you knew a bruise on your jaw, every waking moment of every day for a week, and worse when you talked.
"So, what- you want me to tell you about it?" Is that honestly how you get off? Pathetic.
"No, Claude," and Thompson shook his head, wearing the expression of someone refusing a very generous favour -No, it's fine, really, you shouldn't have- "No, that would just embarrass you - and it's really not something I need to hear."
Thompson paused, then, just for a moment, and looked Claude right in the eye." I want you to show me." Voice like polished gravel.
Show you-?
Claude schooled his features and stared right back at Thompson, unblinking. "Best get on your knees, then."
Thompson actually laughed. Threw back his head and laughed aloud as though Claude had told him the funniest joke he'd heard all year.
And then gave him a flat smile like plate glass. "Now, Claude."
As Thompson's belt slithered out through the loops on his trousers, Claude gave him what he hoped was a murderous look. As though that was going to make any sodding difference.
*
Bennet glanced up from his paperwork as Claude banged the office door open and threw himself into the chair behind his desk. "So, what was that about?"
Claude sighed and rolled his eyes. Exhaled his disgust in a single, spat-out epithet.
"Management."
x-posted to
rare_heroes and
heroes_fic