Advent Shorts, Rival #5, #6
Pairing: there's a few of them going on here - just for kicks!
Rating: Still pretty much 'G"
RIVAL #5
“Come to the back room, Monsieur. I have all number of animals there,” the Count smiled - or rather, he showed his teeth.
“Large ones, small ones, wild ones, even a few impossibly rare species, dear sir. I’m sure you’ll find one that would keep you warm at night or provide you companionship…if you are lonely, of course. A Pet is a marvelous thing, I find. So…comforting; so…available.”
The teapot was returned to the table without even a clink; Count D’s expression as bland as puddle of cream. Richard’s face went carefully blank, and the company smile he’d been wearing seemed to magnify in its intensity, the only sign that the Count had angered him.
Jill’s cell shrilled in the uncomfortable little silence that followed. She picked it up and when it was the Chief, she left her seat on the couch and went off to the corner of the Parlor, talking softly and furiously all the while.
In a moment she was back, clicking her phone shut with a snap and frowning angrily.
“I have to go, Count D, Richard. We’re so shorthanded they need me in a motorcade, of all things!” she exclaimed, gathering her purse and one last Madeleine for the road. “I’m so sorry, Count, but could Richard brief you? The Chief wants me down the station right now!”
“But of course, Miss Jill,” the Count answered with a smile. “And take these, too.” He handed a care package quickly made up in one of his embroidered linen napkins. Richard nodded after her as she rushed out the door, leaving the bells jangling madly in her wake.
“And now it is just we two, Monsieur. I believe you have something to ask me?”
Despard started and gathered his thoughts. The Count had been so, so - well, subtly angry all this while: he wasn’t sure if he should actually ask for help. But Jill and Leon expected it, and especially Leon, who’d made it a point to brief Richard on what questions he should ask, so he explained briefly about the dead hobo that had been discovered, and the claw marks that had clearly caused his death, spreading an array of polaroid photographs on the tea table for the Count to examine.
“Hmm, yes,” the Count nodded, entirely serious now. “I see that you think they may be the possibility of a large cat. But the slices are too thin and fine for that type of attack. I agree, Monsieur, it is a puzzle. Would you care if I took a look at the body?”
“Merci,” Richard nodded, and they made arrangements for the Count to visit the morgue the next day.
“I cannot come today, I fear. I’m expecting another visitor this afternoon,” the Count smiled, exquisitely polite. Richard took the hint and finished off his second cup of tea, getting ready to depart.
“I’ll tell him, if you like, that we’ve made this plan.” Count D stood up, ready to show Despard to the door.
“Him?”
“Leon Orcot, of course, Monsieur. He’ll be here momentarily - nothing like a cup of tea with an old friend for whatever may ail one. Tea is the great panacea.”
The Count’s unusual eyes were sparkling; he had a curve of anticipation on his painted scarlet lips.
Despard stopped, rocking on his heels. He whipped his head around to peer at the Count more closely, the suspicion he’d been harboring in the darkest corners of his heart bursting into full bloom.
“You know him well?”
“V’raiment, m’sieur. Very well. Intimately.”
“I…see. How well, Comte? Well enough to have had him in your bed?” The detective’s face flushed with tamped down annoyance - he’d been horribly afraid of something like this.
“Mnn.” The Count’s satisfied smile was a work of art, silently encouraging Richard’s feeling of dread. He stepped forward and reached out a casual hand, tapping Despard just above the heart with his long polished nails.
“What do you think, Monsieur? If you were in my shoes, would you have left him untouched?”
“No!” Richard burst out and then took a step backward, angrily avoiding the Count’s claws. “I mean - of course not. But I would treat him a little better than you do, Comte, letting him suffer through his pain alone! Weren’t you the one who sent him to that merciless Chinese woman? Jill told me about her - she is quite the sadist, Comte! How could you? ”
“I beg to differ, my dear sir. I never let my Leon suffer - he has always the option of fleeing to my arms, tout suite. I find great pleasure in comforting my dear Detective - and he is well ‘comforted’, if yu know what I mean. You have nothing to worry about there.”
Richard glared at the Count, his mask of friendly imperturbability askew. He said nothing; only set his firm lips together in a thin line and turned back to the Pet Shop door, eager to take his leave.
“Well, bonsoir, Monsieur! Enjoy your day!” Count D waved him out merrily, his eyes twinkling with good-natured malice.
But Richard Despard had the last word.
“Humph! I am not through yet, Comte. He has yet to experience my brand of ‘comfort’, so be warned!”
And....
RIVAL #6
“How dare you send him here, Detective? I was very offended, even if it was Miss Jill bringing him! Do you know what he had the nerve to say to me?”
“No, what?” Leon wasn’t listening. He was eating - carefully, very carefully, so as not to disturb his sore tooth.
“He said he’d ‘comfort’ you, Leon! Can you believe it?”
“Mmm,” Leon’s eyes closed in enjoyment. It had been three days without any real solid food and the bite of cinnamon streusel crumb cake in his mouth was heaven.
“Comfort you! I don’t see how you can just sit there and ignore that, Detective! The man is a pervert!”
“Huh? Richard is?”
“Yes! That’s what I’ve been saying, Leon! Pay attention!”
Leon swallowed his crumbcake and regarded the next bite with speculation. Finally, he shook his head in patent disbelief just before he popped the final morsel into his mouth.
“Naw, don’t think so, D. Not him. The guy’s got too much testosterone going to be gay.”
“Leon! Testosterone levels have nothing to do with this! He came right out and declared that you were his next target, so perhaps you should take heed to what I’m telling you! What if he backs you into a dark corner or some such? You’d be helpless!”
Leon finished chewing, having successfully digested the cake. He eyed a crumpet next, one bursting with melted butter and apricot preserve, still steamy hot from the toaster.
He shook his head again, decisively, just before he attempted a bite of that.
“Nope. Can’t see it. Besides, he likes women. You should see the way he reacts to Jill.”
“Nnh!” It was a little sound of disgust that escaped the watching Count. He swallowed it and leaned forward to top up his guest’s teacup. Leon masticated, entirely unconcerned.
Stymied, Count D bit his lip, his white teeth making little indentations in the rose red flesh. He shook his own head in silent frustration, causing the blue-black sweep of his hair to sway, the tips brushing the shoulders of his deep green cheongsam, and eyed his visitor with intense annoyance. Leon hadn’t come yesterday - and he’d not even said he was sorry. He hadn’t, in fact, even bothered to pick up the telephone and let D know he wasn’t coming.
It had been rude - and completely unlike the Leon Count D had come to know and love over these last few months. Leon might actually be rude and loud and obnoxious, but he always kept his promises. The incident had left a sad and sour taste in D’s mouth, especially after he’d managed to put that upstart French person who was pursuing his detective so soundly in his place!
But now…now the Count wondered briefly if he’d read all those silent clues - those glances, those all too ‘casual’ and increasingly frequent touches, that particular soft and sweet expression the Detective wore sometimes when he looked at D - if he’d read them all wrong. Perhaps Leon really was interested only in the knowledge D could offer - maybe that spark of physical attraction and latent amorous interest he’d sensed between them was nothing more than his own overactive imagination?
It chilled him, that possibility. He’d been so certain they were only a step away from a kiss - and then, after that - after that, he’d finally be able to feel the real Detective, touch him, caress him - have him all to himself for once. No interruptions - no ‘business’ to come between them.
D looked forward to that moment with great pleasure.
But if he was wrong - if this was nothing more than Leon’s innate friendliness, his infernal curiosity - then it would be a blow, one of major proportions. D’s fragile feelings would be wounded; his newly awakened heart would be trampled, and all because Leon was an oblivious idiot!
“Don’t eat that one!” D slapped Leon’s reaching hand away just in time. “There are nuts in that - you’ll hurt your tooth.”
Leon glanced up from the silver tray and smiled ruefully.
“Thanks, D.” He waved his hand vaguely. “You wanna choose for me?”
D smiled back, the little thrill of fear dissipating in the warmth of his detective’s grin.
“This one, then. It has a cream filling - and I’ve gotten you a soft toothbrush, by the way. It’ll be better for you till your mouth has recovered.”
The outstretched hand cupped his, warm fingers wrapping around D’s folded knuckles, engulfing D’s smaller hand and the creamcake. Their eyes met for a long moment, searching, gazes filled with silent questions and equally muted answers, and then Leon took the cake and drew back, settling his back into the sofa cushion as if he were going to stay there for quite a while.
“Thanks, D,” he mumbled, lashes sweeping down to shield his blue eyes, and D blushed, the warmth on his pale cheeks reflecting the glow in his heart.
“My pleasure, Leon. Always.”
.
Rating: Still pretty much 'G"
RIVAL #5
“Come to the back room, Monsieur. I have all number of animals there,” the Count smiled - or rather, he showed his teeth.
“Large ones, small ones, wild ones, even a few impossibly rare species, dear sir. I’m sure you’ll find one that would keep you warm at night or provide you companionship…if you are lonely, of course. A Pet is a marvelous thing, I find. So…comforting; so…available.”
The teapot was returned to the table without even a clink; Count D’s expression as bland as puddle of cream. Richard’s face went carefully blank, and the company smile he’d been wearing seemed to magnify in its intensity, the only sign that the Count had angered him.
Jill’s cell shrilled in the uncomfortable little silence that followed. She picked it up and when it was the Chief, she left her seat on the couch and went off to the corner of the Parlor, talking softly and furiously all the while.
In a moment she was back, clicking her phone shut with a snap and frowning angrily.
“I have to go, Count D, Richard. We’re so shorthanded they need me in a motorcade, of all things!” she exclaimed, gathering her purse and one last Madeleine for the road. “I’m so sorry, Count, but could Richard brief you? The Chief wants me down the station right now!”
“But of course, Miss Jill,” the Count answered with a smile. “And take these, too.” He handed a care package quickly made up in one of his embroidered linen napkins. Richard nodded after her as she rushed out the door, leaving the bells jangling madly in her wake.
“And now it is just we two, Monsieur. I believe you have something to ask me?”
Despard started and gathered his thoughts. The Count had been so, so - well, subtly angry all this while: he wasn’t sure if he should actually ask for help. But Jill and Leon expected it, and especially Leon, who’d made it a point to brief Richard on what questions he should ask, so he explained briefly about the dead hobo that had been discovered, and the claw marks that had clearly caused his death, spreading an array of polaroid photographs on the tea table for the Count to examine.
“Hmm, yes,” the Count nodded, entirely serious now. “I see that you think they may be the possibility of a large cat. But the slices are too thin and fine for that type of attack. I agree, Monsieur, it is a puzzle. Would you care if I took a look at the body?”
“Merci,” Richard nodded, and they made arrangements for the Count to visit the morgue the next day.
“I cannot come today, I fear. I’m expecting another visitor this afternoon,” the Count smiled, exquisitely polite. Richard took the hint and finished off his second cup of tea, getting ready to depart.
“I’ll tell him, if you like, that we’ve made this plan.” Count D stood up, ready to show Despard to the door.
“Him?”
“Leon Orcot, of course, Monsieur. He’ll be here momentarily - nothing like a cup of tea with an old friend for whatever may ail one. Tea is the great panacea.”
The Count’s unusual eyes were sparkling; he had a curve of anticipation on his painted scarlet lips.
Despard stopped, rocking on his heels. He whipped his head around to peer at the Count more closely, the suspicion he’d been harboring in the darkest corners of his heart bursting into full bloom.
“You know him well?”
“V’raiment, m’sieur. Very well. Intimately.”
“I…see. How well, Comte? Well enough to have had him in your bed?” The detective’s face flushed with tamped down annoyance - he’d been horribly afraid of something like this.
“Mnn.” The Count’s satisfied smile was a work of art, silently encouraging Richard’s feeling of dread. He stepped forward and reached out a casual hand, tapping Despard just above the heart with his long polished nails.
“What do you think, Monsieur? If you were in my shoes, would you have left him untouched?”
“No!” Richard burst out and then took a step backward, angrily avoiding the Count’s claws. “I mean - of course not. But I would treat him a little better than you do, Comte, letting him suffer through his pain alone! Weren’t you the one who sent him to that merciless Chinese woman? Jill told me about her - she is quite the sadist, Comte! How could you? ”
“I beg to differ, my dear sir. I never let my Leon suffer - he has always the option of fleeing to my arms, tout suite. I find great pleasure in comforting my dear Detective - and he is well ‘comforted’, if yu know what I mean. You have nothing to worry about there.”
Richard glared at the Count, his mask of friendly imperturbability askew. He said nothing; only set his firm lips together in a thin line and turned back to the Pet Shop door, eager to take his leave.
“Well, bonsoir, Monsieur! Enjoy your day!” Count D waved him out merrily, his eyes twinkling with good-natured malice.
But Richard Despard had the last word.
“Humph! I am not through yet, Comte. He has yet to experience my brand of ‘comfort’, so be warned!”
And....
RIVAL #6
“How dare you send him here, Detective? I was very offended, even if it was Miss Jill bringing him! Do you know what he had the nerve to say to me?”
“No, what?” Leon wasn’t listening. He was eating - carefully, very carefully, so as not to disturb his sore tooth.
“He said he’d ‘comfort’ you, Leon! Can you believe it?”
“Mmm,” Leon’s eyes closed in enjoyment. It had been three days without any real solid food and the bite of cinnamon streusel crumb cake in his mouth was heaven.
“Comfort you! I don’t see how you can just sit there and ignore that, Detective! The man is a pervert!”
“Huh? Richard is?”
“Yes! That’s what I’ve been saying, Leon! Pay attention!”
Leon swallowed his crumbcake and regarded the next bite with speculation. Finally, he shook his head in patent disbelief just before he popped the final morsel into his mouth.
“Naw, don’t think so, D. Not him. The guy’s got too much testosterone going to be gay.”
“Leon! Testosterone levels have nothing to do with this! He came right out and declared that you were his next target, so perhaps you should take heed to what I’m telling you! What if he backs you into a dark corner or some such? You’d be helpless!”
Leon finished chewing, having successfully digested the cake. He eyed a crumpet next, one bursting with melted butter and apricot preserve, still steamy hot from the toaster.
He shook his head again, decisively, just before he attempted a bite of that.
“Nope. Can’t see it. Besides, he likes women. You should see the way he reacts to Jill.”
“Nnh!” It was a little sound of disgust that escaped the watching Count. He swallowed it and leaned forward to top up his guest’s teacup. Leon masticated, entirely unconcerned.
Stymied, Count D bit his lip, his white teeth making little indentations in the rose red flesh. He shook his own head in silent frustration, causing the blue-black sweep of his hair to sway, the tips brushing the shoulders of his deep green cheongsam, and eyed his visitor with intense annoyance. Leon hadn’t come yesterday - and he’d not even said he was sorry. He hadn’t, in fact, even bothered to pick up the telephone and let D know he wasn’t coming.
It had been rude - and completely unlike the Leon Count D had come to know and love over these last few months. Leon might actually be rude and loud and obnoxious, but he always kept his promises. The incident had left a sad and sour taste in D’s mouth, especially after he’d managed to put that upstart French person who was pursuing his detective so soundly in his place!
But now…now the Count wondered briefly if he’d read all those silent clues - those glances, those all too ‘casual’ and increasingly frequent touches, that particular soft and sweet expression the Detective wore sometimes when he looked at D - if he’d read them all wrong. Perhaps Leon really was interested only in the knowledge D could offer - maybe that spark of physical attraction and latent amorous interest he’d sensed between them was nothing more than his own overactive imagination?
It chilled him, that possibility. He’d been so certain they were only a step away from a kiss - and then, after that - after that, he’d finally be able to feel the real Detective, touch him, caress him - have him all to himself for once. No interruptions - no ‘business’ to come between them.
D looked forward to that moment with great pleasure.
But if he was wrong - if this was nothing more than Leon’s innate friendliness, his infernal curiosity - then it would be a blow, one of major proportions. D’s fragile feelings would be wounded; his newly awakened heart would be trampled, and all because Leon was an oblivious idiot!
“Don’t eat that one!” D slapped Leon’s reaching hand away just in time. “There are nuts in that - you’ll hurt your tooth.”
Leon glanced up from the silver tray and smiled ruefully.
“Thanks, D.” He waved his hand vaguely. “You wanna choose for me?”
D smiled back, the little thrill of fear dissipating in the warmth of his detective’s grin.
“This one, then. It has a cream filling - and I’ve gotten you a soft toothbrush, by the way. It’ll be better for you till your mouth has recovered.”
The outstretched hand cupped his, warm fingers wrapping around D’s folded knuckles, engulfing D’s smaller hand and the creamcake. Their eyes met for a long moment, searching, gazes filled with silent questions and equally muted answers, and then Leon took the cake and drew back, settling his back into the sofa cushion as if he were going to stay there for quite a while.
“Thanks, D,” he mumbled, lashes sweeping down to shield his blue eyes, and D blushed, the warmth on his pale cheeks reflecting the glow in his heart.
“My pleasure, Leon. Always.”
.