Fic: "Dressing Down" (Fantastic Four movieverse)
For poisontaster. Sorry it took so damn long.
Strictly movieverse...comics are the one medium I haven't tried yet. I'm sure the day is coming.
Reed/Victor, suit!kink that wound up far more mild than originally planned.
Next on the agenda...revising the Firefly Book-fic. Right. ::tired nod::
Reed could vaguely remember a time when a phone call from Victor was a pleasant, or at least a neutral, event, instead of a harbinger of something awkward and more than likely humiliating. But that was years ago, and the comfortable interval where they hadn't spoken at all had ended with that handshake at VDI. The fact of the matter was that for the foreseeable future, he was living in an era of watching his ego serve as Victor Von Doom's pet, and he might as well get used to it.
The image looking back from the mirror was hardly reassuring. The fact that he hadn't bothered to get a haircut lately was suddenly reading as a glaring oversight instead of inconsequential trivia. His suit was out of style, his tie faded. He bit his lip and remidned himself that it didn't matter. The work was important, the substance of his ideas and methodology. Surface appearances were irrelevant.
But not to Victor. That was made more than clear by the look on Von Doom's face when Reed got into the limo. This was the third time since they struck the deal that Victor had dragged him out of the Baxter Building for dinner at an expensive restaurant and an ostensible planning session. Really, they served no purpose beyond letting Victor smile and flash his credit card and add something else to the list of things Reed had sold his pride for. But he had sold it, that was the plain and simple fact, and so any objections would be exercises in futility.
"That's the same suit you wore last time," Victor said flatly, looking at him with a mixture of contempt and amusement that he'd never seen anyone but Von Doom pull off.
"And the time before that," Reed said, attempting a smile. "And for the meeting at your office. It's the best I have."
"Reed, Reed, Reed," Victor sighed, stretching his legs across the limo and shaking his head. "I'm a public figure, remember? When you're out with me, there's a good chance you'll be photographed. I can't be seen with a man who only owns one suit. How would that look?"
"Then maybe I should just go back to the lab." He tried not to sound too hopeful, but by the smirk on Victor's face, he didn't quite make it.
"Don't be silly. We can take care of this." Two cell phone calls, a muttered conversation with the driver, and ten minutes later, Reed found himself standing on the sidewalk with Victor gripping his arm slightly harder than was really necessary.
"Victor," he said as reasonably as he could manage, trying not to wince. "This is an Armani boutique."
"Yes."
"I'm having difficulty buying food." There was no reason to feel so bitter about admitting that; Victor probably knew more about Reed's finances than Reed did. "There's really no way I can afford to even look at Armani."
"For a genius, Reed, you're not too bright sometimes." Victor nodded at the sleepy-looking security guard who was unlocking the door for them. "I'm buying, of course."
"I can't let you do that." He caught himself scrambling after Victor like a puppy as the man strode into the dark store. The guard went to turn on the lights at Victor's impatient gesture, and Reed forced himself to stand still-- which was difficult when Victor turned and glared at him.
"You don't really have a choice, Reed," Victor said icily. "I've already made up my mind. I am investing a lot of money into this project of yours, and public image is part of that. Which means that your image falls under my control as well. Now," his face suddenly morphed into a bland, pleasant smile as a white-haired man hurried into the room, "stop complaining and let Alec here take your measurements."
"I know my measurements," Reed muttered, feeling himself blushing furiously and hating it.
"Defer to the expert, Reed," Victor said, nodding curt thanks as the security guard brought him a chair. "Just this once."
Forget dinner. Reed was getting a balanced diet out of swallowing his pride, these days.
***
"You really should admit that sometimes I know best, Reed," Victor said, raising his wineglass in mock-salute. "The waitress was absolutely fawning over you."
"And it's all due to the suit, of course," Reed said, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on his plate. It was a gorgeous suit; dove-grey, and it certainly felt perfectly fitted to him, although Alec had done a great deal of moaning and sighing over how much better he could've done if only he had more time. Reed wasn't sure what terrified him more: the price of the suit, the casual way Victor had told Alec to put it on his tab, or the fact that dinner would probably cost just as much.
"Fishing for compliments?" Victor shook his head. "Not going to work, Reed. You know exactly how pretty you are. I remember college."
He looked up, stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that I remember the hours you spent in front of the mirror when you and Susan were getting together in college." He laughed at the look on Reed's face, refilling both of their wineglasses. "God, you're still so touchy, Reed. Susan and I were just talking about that, the other day--"
"Could we not bring her into this?" He didn't want to drink what Victor had poured him. He wanted to down the rest of the bottle until he passed out under the table. Or maybe just beat himself over the head with the bottle, that might be equally effective.
"Of course." Victor watched him glare at the wineglass. "You haven't touched your food."
"I'm not hungry." Objectively, he knew he was behaving like a sulky child. Subjectively, it was hard to care.
"I get the impression that you're trying to rush this dinner along." All pretense of relaxation suddenly vanished from Victor's body; it could have been the statue from his office sitting there across the table. "So let me make something very clear, Reed. I am funding a very expensive project for you. I gave you the opportunity to pursue your precious research, and I can take it away. I do hate that you've made me be so crude, but the fact of the matter is that you are going to do things my way. Until absolutely every penny from applying this research is accounted for, you will do whatever I say." He wasn't smiling; his face was as blank as stone, his eyes flat. Reed couldn't recall ever seeing this side of Victor before, and it made him shiver. "And I say that you're going to eat your dinner. And enjoy it. Are we clear?"
He could get up and leave. He could call off the whole thing, break the deal, decide that going into space and conducting experiments in the cloud was not worth this. He ached to do that.
But the objective part of him, the part he kept detached and away from such foolish things as hurt feelings, pointed out that this research was the end of the line. There was no plan B. If this went up in smoke, it was the end of his career as an independent researcher. The cloud experiment was all he had.
He picked up his fork and started eating, and knew without looking that Victor smiled.
***
Having learned that objections would not be tolerated, Reed stayed quiet when the limo drove them to VDI instead of the Baxter Building after dinner. He always had been a fast learner.
He caught himself doing the scrambling-puppy walk again as he followed Victor through the halls. He had no idea where they were going; with any luck, not to smoke cigars or drink brandy or whatever it was that excessively wealthy CEOs did in their spare time. Reed wasn't too clear on proper CEO behavior, which was probably why his company was quietly bleeding to death while Victor's appeared poised to take over the world...
"After you, Dr. Richards," Victor said dryly, opening a door. Startled out of his thoughts, Reed almost ran into the doorframe. But when he saw what was inside, he forgot to be embarrassed.
It was a lab-- no, it was a holy place. It was the Sistine Chapel of laboratories. If he didn't believe quite so firmly that religion was an irrational crutch, he would've knelt in awe.
Victor laughed. "You're impressed."
"Yes." How could he not be? "It's...well, it's impressive."
"Of course it is." Of course indeed; the Von Doom name would not be associated with anything less than cutting-edge. Or bleeding edge, as the case might be-- Reed didn't think that machine in the corner was even off the military-classified list yet--
"It could be yours." It took a moment for the words to settle into Reed's mind. Victor was still standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, watching Reed gawk at the room like a starstruck teenager. "We could make our arrangement permanent."
Reed tried to laugh. "I already have a lab, Victor, but thanks for the offer."
"I'm serious," Victor said, smiling a little. It was a strange smile-- metallic, Reed thought for a moment, before dismissing the idea as figurative and ridiculous. "You could come work for me, Reed. All this would be yours, and you wouldn't have to waste any energy on budgets, or any of your precious brainpower on dealing with the media. I'd take care of you, so you could just come down here with your work." He smiled wider and gestured around the room. "You would be invisible."
"I never wanted that." The words are out before he quite realizes which statement they refute-- the idea of being invisible, or of Victor taking care of him. "That is, I'm flattered, but--"
"Save it." The smile was gone, replaced by the chilly, blank face he'd worn for those few minutes at dinner. "I thought you had more sense than this, Reed. You've proven over and over that you can't be trusted to manage your own career. We could call it the Richards Theorem: hubris leaves Reed Richards unable to see that he cannot count business among his prodigous talents." He gestured around the room again, but this time the motion was short and choppy, like he wanted to break the things it encompassed. "My funding is saving your project, probably your career, and probably not your company. Yet you can't even manage to be grateful."
"It's not that I--"
Victor shook his head and Reed cut off instantly. "I think our business is complete. You can find your way out of the building, I hope."
Reed just nodded, his heart sinking in his chest. He'd made some massive mistakes tonight. Ben was going to kill him. He turned and headed for the door, not allowing himself a last wistful glance at all the lovely equipment that could have been his for the price of just one more bit of himself.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Reed?" The sound of Victor's voice made Reed think metallic again for a moment. He glanced over to see that the man had switched back to his pose of casual amusement. The elaborate theatricality of Victor's moods made Reed's head hurt. It always had.
"What?" he asked after a moment, unable to think of anything he could possibly be expected to say or do.
Victor nodded slowly, indicating a slow pan up and down Reed's body. "Take off the suit."
Reed stared at him for a moment, waiting for the joke that didn't come. "Victor..."
"You heard me. Take off the suit, Reed."
"Come on, what--" He forced out another dry attempt at a laugh, but once again Victor was unmoved.
"The suit's mine, Reed. I paid for it, and I want it back."
"It wouldn't even fit you." Grasping at frail straws of rationality, but true ones. Victor was taller than Reed, broader across the shoulders, solid the way scientists shouldn't have to be, or so Reed told himself.
"I don't care. I don't give gifts, Reed. I expect payment, or at the very to be able to expect a return on an investment."
"I thought you were worried about pictures," Reed said, remembering Victor's smug laughter at his lack of photogenic preparedness. "I thought dressing me up was part of your investment in the project as a whole."
"I reclassified it." Victor was smirking again, on the verge of breaking into a full grin at Reed's confusion and embarrassment. "My prerogative as CEO."
Only one tactic left: accusing Victor of the thing he found most distasteful. "Why are you making this so personal? What happened to just business?"
Victor's expression didn't waver. "This is business. It's a recruiting expense that fell through, and now I have to balance the books." He nodded again, just once. "Now take off my suit."
End of the line again. Reed couldn't recall a single time, in all of the years he'd known the man, that Victor Von Doom hadn't managed to outthink and outmaneuver him in the end. He suddenly felt exhausted, and ill, and oddly numb as he fumbled with the buttons of the jacket, then the vest, then the trousers, folding each item neatly without having to be prompted and placing them on the counter.
Victor studied him, still smiling, then gestured slightly with one hand. "I believe I paid for those as well."
Reed's hands shook as he took of the tie and unbuttoned the crisp white shirt, and he had to lean against the counter for support as he removed the shoes and socks and added them to the pile of clothing. He turned and faced Victor again, silently begging for approval and permission to leave, cold and vulnerable in his boxers under the harsh laboratory light.
"Very good," Victor said, a professor praising the slow student who had finally done right. "There's a pay phone in the lobby. I'm sure you'll be able to convince a cab driver that you're good for the fare. I'll see you at the launch, Dr. Richards."
He switched the lights off and left the room, striding down the corridor without a backward glance. Reed stood shivering in the dark for another moment, unable to decide if he wanted to scream, or laugh at the absurdity of it all, or break down and cry. He'd always believed in solving one problem at a time, and not looking too far ahead to manage. In this case, that meant worrying about getting home, and saving the rest for later. But he couldn't quite help thinking of the launch and beyond, and wondering if this last scrap of pride he'd managed to keep was going to be enough to be worth it.
Strictly movieverse...comics are the one medium I haven't tried yet. I'm sure the day is coming.
Reed/Victor, suit!kink that wound up far more mild than originally planned.
Next on the agenda...revising the Firefly Book-fic. Right. ::tired nod::
Reed could vaguely remember a time when a phone call from Victor was a pleasant, or at least a neutral, event, instead of a harbinger of something awkward and more than likely humiliating. But that was years ago, and the comfortable interval where they hadn't spoken at all had ended with that handshake at VDI. The fact of the matter was that for the foreseeable future, he was living in an era of watching his ego serve as Victor Von Doom's pet, and he might as well get used to it.
The image looking back from the mirror was hardly reassuring. The fact that he hadn't bothered to get a haircut lately was suddenly reading as a glaring oversight instead of inconsequential trivia. His suit was out of style, his tie faded. He bit his lip and remidned himself that it didn't matter. The work was important, the substance of his ideas and methodology. Surface appearances were irrelevant.
But not to Victor. That was made more than clear by the look on Von Doom's face when Reed got into the limo. This was the third time since they struck the deal that Victor had dragged him out of the Baxter Building for dinner at an expensive restaurant and an ostensible planning session. Really, they served no purpose beyond letting Victor smile and flash his credit card and add something else to the list of things Reed had sold his pride for. But he had sold it, that was the plain and simple fact, and so any objections would be exercises in futility.
"That's the same suit you wore last time," Victor said flatly, looking at him with a mixture of contempt and amusement that he'd never seen anyone but Von Doom pull off.
"And the time before that," Reed said, attempting a smile. "And for the meeting at your office. It's the best I have."
"Reed, Reed, Reed," Victor sighed, stretching his legs across the limo and shaking his head. "I'm a public figure, remember? When you're out with me, there's a good chance you'll be photographed. I can't be seen with a man who only owns one suit. How would that look?"
"Then maybe I should just go back to the lab." He tried not to sound too hopeful, but by the smirk on Victor's face, he didn't quite make it.
"Don't be silly. We can take care of this." Two cell phone calls, a muttered conversation with the driver, and ten minutes later, Reed found himself standing on the sidewalk with Victor gripping his arm slightly harder than was really necessary.
"Victor," he said as reasonably as he could manage, trying not to wince. "This is an Armani boutique."
"Yes."
"I'm having difficulty buying food." There was no reason to feel so bitter about admitting that; Victor probably knew more about Reed's finances than Reed did. "There's really no way I can afford to even look at Armani."
"For a genius, Reed, you're not too bright sometimes." Victor nodded at the sleepy-looking security guard who was unlocking the door for them. "I'm buying, of course."
"I can't let you do that." He caught himself scrambling after Victor like a puppy as the man strode into the dark store. The guard went to turn on the lights at Victor's impatient gesture, and Reed forced himself to stand still-- which was difficult when Victor turned and glared at him.
"You don't really have a choice, Reed," Victor said icily. "I've already made up my mind. I am investing a lot of money into this project of yours, and public image is part of that. Which means that your image falls under my control as well. Now," his face suddenly morphed into a bland, pleasant smile as a white-haired man hurried into the room, "stop complaining and let Alec here take your measurements."
"I know my measurements," Reed muttered, feeling himself blushing furiously and hating it.
"Defer to the expert, Reed," Victor said, nodding curt thanks as the security guard brought him a chair. "Just this once."
Forget dinner. Reed was getting a balanced diet out of swallowing his pride, these days.
***
"You really should admit that sometimes I know best, Reed," Victor said, raising his wineglass in mock-salute. "The waitress was absolutely fawning over you."
"And it's all due to the suit, of course," Reed said, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on his plate. It was a gorgeous suit; dove-grey, and it certainly felt perfectly fitted to him, although Alec had done a great deal of moaning and sighing over how much better he could've done if only he had more time. Reed wasn't sure what terrified him more: the price of the suit, the casual way Victor had told Alec to put it on his tab, or the fact that dinner would probably cost just as much.
"Fishing for compliments?" Victor shook his head. "Not going to work, Reed. You know exactly how pretty you are. I remember college."
He looked up, stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that I remember the hours you spent in front of the mirror when you and Susan were getting together in college." He laughed at the look on Reed's face, refilling both of their wineglasses. "God, you're still so touchy, Reed. Susan and I were just talking about that, the other day--"
"Could we not bring her into this?" He didn't want to drink what Victor had poured him. He wanted to down the rest of the bottle until he passed out under the table. Or maybe just beat himself over the head with the bottle, that might be equally effective.
"Of course." Victor watched him glare at the wineglass. "You haven't touched your food."
"I'm not hungry." Objectively, he knew he was behaving like a sulky child. Subjectively, it was hard to care.
"I get the impression that you're trying to rush this dinner along." All pretense of relaxation suddenly vanished from Victor's body; it could have been the statue from his office sitting there across the table. "So let me make something very clear, Reed. I am funding a very expensive project for you. I gave you the opportunity to pursue your precious research, and I can take it away. I do hate that you've made me be so crude, but the fact of the matter is that you are going to do things my way. Until absolutely every penny from applying this research is accounted for, you will do whatever I say." He wasn't smiling; his face was as blank as stone, his eyes flat. Reed couldn't recall ever seeing this side of Victor before, and it made him shiver. "And I say that you're going to eat your dinner. And enjoy it. Are we clear?"
He could get up and leave. He could call off the whole thing, break the deal, decide that going into space and conducting experiments in the cloud was not worth this. He ached to do that.
But the objective part of him, the part he kept detached and away from such foolish things as hurt feelings, pointed out that this research was the end of the line. There was no plan B. If this went up in smoke, it was the end of his career as an independent researcher. The cloud experiment was all he had.
He picked up his fork and started eating, and knew without looking that Victor smiled.
***
Having learned that objections would not be tolerated, Reed stayed quiet when the limo drove them to VDI instead of the Baxter Building after dinner. He always had been a fast learner.
He caught himself doing the scrambling-puppy walk again as he followed Victor through the halls. He had no idea where they were going; with any luck, not to smoke cigars or drink brandy or whatever it was that excessively wealthy CEOs did in their spare time. Reed wasn't too clear on proper CEO behavior, which was probably why his company was quietly bleeding to death while Victor's appeared poised to take over the world...
"After you, Dr. Richards," Victor said dryly, opening a door. Startled out of his thoughts, Reed almost ran into the doorframe. But when he saw what was inside, he forgot to be embarrassed.
It was a lab-- no, it was a holy place. It was the Sistine Chapel of laboratories. If he didn't believe quite so firmly that religion was an irrational crutch, he would've knelt in awe.
Victor laughed. "You're impressed."
"Yes." How could he not be? "It's...well, it's impressive."
"Of course it is." Of course indeed; the Von Doom name would not be associated with anything less than cutting-edge. Or bleeding edge, as the case might be-- Reed didn't think that machine in the corner was even off the military-classified list yet--
"It could be yours." It took a moment for the words to settle into Reed's mind. Victor was still standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, watching Reed gawk at the room like a starstruck teenager. "We could make our arrangement permanent."
Reed tried to laugh. "I already have a lab, Victor, but thanks for the offer."
"I'm serious," Victor said, smiling a little. It was a strange smile-- metallic, Reed thought for a moment, before dismissing the idea as figurative and ridiculous. "You could come work for me, Reed. All this would be yours, and you wouldn't have to waste any energy on budgets, or any of your precious brainpower on dealing with the media. I'd take care of you, so you could just come down here with your work." He smiled wider and gestured around the room. "You would be invisible."
"I never wanted that." The words are out before he quite realizes which statement they refute-- the idea of being invisible, or of Victor taking care of him. "That is, I'm flattered, but--"
"Save it." The smile was gone, replaced by the chilly, blank face he'd worn for those few minutes at dinner. "I thought you had more sense than this, Reed. You've proven over and over that you can't be trusted to manage your own career. We could call it the Richards Theorem: hubris leaves Reed Richards unable to see that he cannot count business among his prodigous talents." He gestured around the room again, but this time the motion was short and choppy, like he wanted to break the things it encompassed. "My funding is saving your project, probably your career, and probably not your company. Yet you can't even manage to be grateful."
"It's not that I--"
Victor shook his head and Reed cut off instantly. "I think our business is complete. You can find your way out of the building, I hope."
Reed just nodded, his heart sinking in his chest. He'd made some massive mistakes tonight. Ben was going to kill him. He turned and headed for the door, not allowing himself a last wistful glance at all the lovely equipment that could have been his for the price of just one more bit of himself.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Reed?" The sound of Victor's voice made Reed think metallic again for a moment. He glanced over to see that the man had switched back to his pose of casual amusement. The elaborate theatricality of Victor's moods made Reed's head hurt. It always had.
"What?" he asked after a moment, unable to think of anything he could possibly be expected to say or do.
Victor nodded slowly, indicating a slow pan up and down Reed's body. "Take off the suit."
Reed stared at him for a moment, waiting for the joke that didn't come. "Victor..."
"You heard me. Take off the suit, Reed."
"Come on, what--" He forced out another dry attempt at a laugh, but once again Victor was unmoved.
"The suit's mine, Reed. I paid for it, and I want it back."
"It wouldn't even fit you." Grasping at frail straws of rationality, but true ones. Victor was taller than Reed, broader across the shoulders, solid the way scientists shouldn't have to be, or so Reed told himself.
"I don't care. I don't give gifts, Reed. I expect payment, or at the very to be able to expect a return on an investment."
"I thought you were worried about pictures," Reed said, remembering Victor's smug laughter at his lack of photogenic preparedness. "I thought dressing me up was part of your investment in the project as a whole."
"I reclassified it." Victor was smirking again, on the verge of breaking into a full grin at Reed's confusion and embarrassment. "My prerogative as CEO."
Only one tactic left: accusing Victor of the thing he found most distasteful. "Why are you making this so personal? What happened to just business?"
Victor's expression didn't waver. "This is business. It's a recruiting expense that fell through, and now I have to balance the books." He nodded again, just once. "Now take off my suit."
End of the line again. Reed couldn't recall a single time, in all of the years he'd known the man, that Victor Von Doom hadn't managed to outthink and outmaneuver him in the end. He suddenly felt exhausted, and ill, and oddly numb as he fumbled with the buttons of the jacket, then the vest, then the trousers, folding each item neatly without having to be prompted and placing them on the counter.
Victor studied him, still smiling, then gestured slightly with one hand. "I believe I paid for those as well."
Reed's hands shook as he took of the tie and unbuttoned the crisp white shirt, and he had to lean against the counter for support as he removed the shoes and socks and added them to the pile of clothing. He turned and faced Victor again, silently begging for approval and permission to leave, cold and vulnerable in his boxers under the harsh laboratory light.
"Very good," Victor said, a professor praising the slow student who had finally done right. "There's a pay phone in the lobby. I'm sure you'll be able to convince a cab driver that you're good for the fare. I'll see you at the launch, Dr. Richards."
He switched the lights off and left the room, striding down the corridor without a backward glance. Reed stood shivering in the dark for another moment, unable to decide if he wanted to scream, or laugh at the absurdity of it all, or break down and cry. He'd always believed in solving one problem at a time, and not looking too far ahead to manage. In this case, that meant worrying about getting home, and saving the rest for later. But he couldn't quite help thinking of the launch and beyond, and wondering if this last scrap of pride he'd managed to keep was going to be enough to be worth it.