1st post & Ficlet
Arthur punched the guy in the face, following closely when he reeled back to drive a punishing elbow into his gut. The larger man went down with a muted grunt but his friend was already lunging forward. Sidestepping quickly, Arthur grabbed him by the collar and expedited his lunge into a face-first smash into the wall.
The scrape of heavy soles against sticky floor behind him was enough warning for him to whip around and grab the wrist of the man about to knife him from behind.
“You asshole,” groused Arthur even as he was twisting the man’s arm so the knife was dropped with a cry of pain.
He kicked the knife away and twisted further so that the asshole dropped to one knee with a shocked shout.
“You don’t fucking pull a knife in a bar fight, you son of a bitch,” instructed Arthur tightly.
Then he kicked the guy in the face. Hard. While still holding onto his arm. He heard and felt the arm pop out of its socket before the loser was howling in pain. He let go off the arm and shoved him into an undignified sprawl with his foot.
Hmm…he was sure there were more people than that… He turned around in time to see Eames throw a guy over his shoulder, smashing him through a flimsy table. Two other men lay in various states of injury, groaning in pain.
Eames immediately straightened up, smiling at Arthur. “That was lovely to watch. One would think you choreographed your fights beforehand, what with all those fancy moves.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Did you have to turn it into such a common brawl?”
He gestured at the smashed table and broken chair, lying in sad, scattered pieces. From the look of things, Eames had probably used a chair leg at some point to give someone a good whacking. He always did enjoy improvising with potential weapons.
“Of course I did, darling. Not all of us can be pointy-toed, deadly ballerinas when delivering our blows,” said Eames with a wide smile. “And you know you like it when I’m all manly and thuggish.”
The bartender interrupted their banter at this point by shouting furiously, “Get the fuck out of here, you bastards!! I’m calling the cops!”
Arthur tugged his coat down and straightened his collar as he snapped back, “What the fuck are you complaining for? If you could control your regulars, this shit wouldn’t happen. You should be glad I minimized the property damage, asshole.”
“Get out, get out!” the bartender screeched, waving his arms madly with a bat in one hand, though he stayed conspicuously behind the bar. “You fucking troublemakers, get the fuck out!”
Arthur had a few more choice words to deliver but Eames was at his side, tugging at his elbow even as he laughed, “Christ, I think the man is going to have an aneurysm. Let’s go before we get charged with murder as well.”
Grudgingly, Arthur allowed himself to be steered out of the bar by Eames’ hand on his back. They flagged down a taxi quickly and hopped on board to avoid any potential run-ins with the law.
“I don’t know whether to be touched or horrified that you felt the need to defend my honor by insulting the person’s mother and then beating him into the ground when he dared to almost-punch you,” Eames commented.
Arthur shrugged, still a little grumpy. “Making limp-wrist cracks just because you called me darling in public deserves a beat down. People so stupid need to be made aware of their stupidity.”
“So were you actually defending my honor or defending your pet name?” drawled Eames.
“It’s not my pet name,” muttered Arthur.
Eames shook his head in obvious amusement, refusing to comment further.
It annoyed Arthur enough to continue, “And it’s not like you really needed me to defend your honor, since you had no trouble handling them yourself.”
“Oh, darling, I’ll let you beat up those rude men for me next time while I watch from the side, fluttering breathlessly over your masculinity,” said Eames gleefully.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Eames.”
The taxi driver spoke up, “Young people these days, so rude to their boyfriends.”
Arthur shot a glare at the driver. “You shut the fuck up too.”
Then he yanked Eames closer by his shirt and kissed him hard to ensure his silence on this ‘boyfriend’ topic.
Eames smiled into the kiss, obliging this particular demand, while cradling the back of Arthur’s perfectly coifed skull with a gentle, slightly bruised hand.
-END-
So...this definitely isn't a Christmas ficlet...but Merry Christmas anyway! :)
The scrape of heavy soles against sticky floor behind him was enough warning for him to whip around and grab the wrist of the man about to knife him from behind.
“You asshole,” groused Arthur even as he was twisting the man’s arm so the knife was dropped with a cry of pain.
He kicked the knife away and twisted further so that the asshole dropped to one knee with a shocked shout.
“You don’t fucking pull a knife in a bar fight, you son of a bitch,” instructed Arthur tightly.
Then he kicked the guy in the face. Hard. While still holding onto his arm. He heard and felt the arm pop out of its socket before the loser was howling in pain. He let go off the arm and shoved him into an undignified sprawl with his foot.
Hmm…he was sure there were more people than that… He turned around in time to see Eames throw a guy over his shoulder, smashing him through a flimsy table. Two other men lay in various states of injury, groaning in pain.
Eames immediately straightened up, smiling at Arthur. “That was lovely to watch. One would think you choreographed your fights beforehand, what with all those fancy moves.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Did you have to turn it into such a common brawl?”
He gestured at the smashed table and broken chair, lying in sad, scattered pieces. From the look of things, Eames had probably used a chair leg at some point to give someone a good whacking. He always did enjoy improvising with potential weapons.
“Of course I did, darling. Not all of us can be pointy-toed, deadly ballerinas when delivering our blows,” said Eames with a wide smile. “And you know you like it when I’m all manly and thuggish.”
The bartender interrupted their banter at this point by shouting furiously, “Get the fuck out of here, you bastards!! I’m calling the cops!”
Arthur tugged his coat down and straightened his collar as he snapped back, “What the fuck are you complaining for? If you could control your regulars, this shit wouldn’t happen. You should be glad I minimized the property damage, asshole.”
“Get out, get out!” the bartender screeched, waving his arms madly with a bat in one hand, though he stayed conspicuously behind the bar. “You fucking troublemakers, get the fuck out!”
Arthur had a few more choice words to deliver but Eames was at his side, tugging at his elbow even as he laughed, “Christ, I think the man is going to have an aneurysm. Let’s go before we get charged with murder as well.”
Grudgingly, Arthur allowed himself to be steered out of the bar by Eames’ hand on his back. They flagged down a taxi quickly and hopped on board to avoid any potential run-ins with the law.
“I don’t know whether to be touched or horrified that you felt the need to defend my honor by insulting the person’s mother and then beating him into the ground when he dared to almost-punch you,” Eames commented.
Arthur shrugged, still a little grumpy. “Making limp-wrist cracks just because you called me darling in public deserves a beat down. People so stupid need to be made aware of their stupidity.”
“So were you actually defending my honor or defending your pet name?” drawled Eames.
“It’s not my pet name,” muttered Arthur.
Eames shook his head in obvious amusement, refusing to comment further.
It annoyed Arthur enough to continue, “And it’s not like you really needed me to defend your honor, since you had no trouble handling them yourself.”
“Oh, darling, I’ll let you beat up those rude men for me next time while I watch from the side, fluttering breathlessly over your masculinity,” said Eames gleefully.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Eames.”
The taxi driver spoke up, “Young people these days, so rude to their boyfriends.”
Arthur shot a glare at the driver. “You shut the fuck up too.”
Then he yanked Eames closer by his shirt and kissed him hard to ensure his silence on this ‘boyfriend’ topic.
Eames smiled into the kiss, obliging this particular demand, while cradling the back of Arthur’s perfectly coifed skull with a gentle, slightly bruised hand.
-END-
So...this definitely isn't a Christmas ficlet...but Merry Christmas anyway! :)