Tintin: Masters of Disguises (SLASH)
Title: Masters of Disguises
(Former Title: In the Darkest Night)
Author: ArethaHelena (with much help and pressure from Seer M. Anno)
Pairing: Haddock/Tintin
Rating: light R
Genre: AU, Slash. Set years after Alpha-Art. Tintin is of age.
Warning: Slash, Badass!Haddock *winks*
Disclaimer: Tintin etc. (c) Hergé. Only own the plot and Undercover!Haddock :P
Summary: A stranger helped Tintin. Coincidence? Don’t think so. Besides, they didn’t sell Loch Lomond.
A/N: Written for nonick4now in tintin_kinkmeme. Sorry for being late, I had a difficult family issue. After finishing When a Black Butterfly Comes, I decide to work faster on this story. When Seer knows about this prompt, she, too, wants me to fill it. I hope you like this, Nonick, although this lame fic is not like what you want.
I don’t make Haddock shave, because I love his beard a bit too much *runs away from a jealous!Tintin*. A bit modernized, with some contact lenses, Seer’s brother wears it, and she thinks it’ll be fit our dear Archie, which I finally agree. I picture Haddock first disguise as Draco Malfoy (I love Draco!) in Deathly Hallows’ epilogue, and the second is like Andy Serkis with brown hair and darker skin. Seer’s explanation about the mask is in the end.
Meanwhile, Tintin’s first disguise referred to one in The Calculus Affair, and the second as Ron Weasley with Harry Potter’s glasses (goodness gracious, Seer has a thing for glasses, it seems).
Tintin’s devilish side of mind.
Tintin’s angelic side of mind.
(This is like Snowy’s in Tintin in Tibet)
Now, on with the story.
MASTERS OF DISGUISES
ARETHAHELENA
When Haddock first heard about Lucien Thierry that afternoon, his face was as blank as an unused paper. The man was a kind that Tintin would like to chase around the globe for good. Yes, that interplanetary goat was a foe for a certain do-gooder like Haddock’s lad.
Lucien Thierry was a first-class criminal who was responsible of money laundering in several companies. Or so the newspaper told him. He had a private club in a secluded area on the heart of the city, and had his private goons around the place.
Haddock looked up from the newspaper he was reading and stared out the window. He knew that today would be one of the darkest nights in Belgium. And that confounded lad was nowhere in sight, since yesterday. Haddock didn’t want to mother the reporter (because he knew that Tintin could watch his own back much better than Haddock himself), but he couldn’t help but to worry. Now, now, where’s that confounded ginger?, Haddock thought.
“Nestor,” he called. “Do you see Tintin?”
“I don’t know where Monsieur Tintin is, sir. But he has left a message in his room, sir.”
“Thundering typhoons, why didn’t you tell me?” Haddock asked as he rose from his comfortable armchair.
“Monsieur Tintin doesn’t want to worry you, sir. I have to tell you if he hasn’t back for a day.”
Haddock hurriedly ran into Tintin’s room. His eyes automatically spotted a small letter on the nightstand. Picked it up, and some words were shown to him.
Capt,
I’m stalking Thierry. Will be back soon. Be nice to Signora Castafiore.
Tin
Haddock gaped. This never, ever, meant good. He looked down and saw a small suitcase on the bed. Curious, Haddock’s hands snapped the locks open and found himself staring at some unfamiliar clothes. Although unfamiliar, he felt that he had seen those, at least once. He lifted his eyebrows and realized what those were.
Those were Tintin’s usual disguise. “Blue blistering barnacles, he’s using these again.” Haddock muttered.
At that time he heard the front door opened and rushed to the window. The old Castroili was home already, and Haddock had to snort. She was staying for several weeks due of her hiatus from her opera shows. Haddock caught the sight of Irma, her loyal servant, carrying such an ordinary suitcase (that mustn’t be Castafiore’s, Haddock thought) and was talking to Nestor. Haddock shrugged and was back into Tintin’s suitcase when he heard a knock.
“Madame Castafiore is looking for you, Sir.” Nestor said when Haddock opened the door. Haddock groaned, and he swore he saw Nestor’s grin.
“Tell her that I’ll be there immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
After Nestor left, Haddock hurriedly packed back Tintin’s suitcase and finally walked to the living room. The blonde woman was smiling at him (well, actually she was grinning, but grinning seemed too low for her), and the suitcase rested on the table.
“Good afternoon, Captain Capslock,” she greeted with a sing-song voice. “I have something for you and Tintin.”
“And what is it?” Haddock asked gruffly. Castafiore lifted her eyebrow, but didn’t comment. She merely opened the suitcase and showed him a white mask. The mask had different cheekbones from Haddock’s face, but the captain could see that it would fit him. “What’s that for?”
“Oh, darling Captain, disguises are good for some old fools that call themselves as criminals,” she said softly, but Haddock could sense some determination in her voice. “You’re going to need these.”
You sound like Wagg, Haddock thought miserably. “And in your opinion, Signora, what these are for?”
“I don’t know, Captain. Maybe for another performance? Which I don’t do these times? You know, this is actually for me, but I don’t need these. Or maybe...” she looked thoughtful for awhile. “... for stalking someone? La! For you, it can be it! You two are talented stalkers!”
Haddock didn’t listen to her ramblings anymore, since his mind finally formed an idea. He hurriedly took the mask and pulled the suitcase toward his body, didn’t want to change his own mind. “I’ll take it, Signora.”
**
This place isn’t crowded as a pub, Tintin thought as he looked around. Maybe because it’s not that late. The day had changed into the darkness of the night, and Tintin hadn’t seen Thierry yet. He was lucky that he could go past the goons unnoticed. He knew that Thierry was still in his private room inside the pub. Now when is that gangster come out his lair?
His mind flew to Snowy. Poor boy. Tintin had to lock him in the small storage room behind the pub, and hoped that nobody would open it. He repositioned the fake glasses and moustache, scratched his itchy black wig before ordering another mineral water. Captain would love to be here, he thought. Although they didn’t sell Loch Lomond, some alcohol would satisfy the captain’s needs enough.
“I’m a business association of Lucien Thierry. You can trust me,” suddenly Tintin heard a deep voice. He looked up and saw a white man, probably Englishman, with blond hair and a pair of hard eyes, was talking to a stupid-looking goon. “Not letting me in? Now, now, let’s choose between these two options; you let me in or Thierry can do his way after I’m done with you.”
The goon was indeed as stupid as he looked, because after that he easily let the man in. Tintin practically whistled when he saw the man’s body. He looked younger than Haddock, but surely older than Tintin himself, and much, much paler. His long blond hair was tied behind his back, and some tidy fringe on his forehead. He wore a jet black suit and white gloves, such contrasts. He brought a briefcase in his hand, surely was a true businessman.
Tintin shook his head, wanting to concentrate. He didn’t come here to check out some dude’s body, did he?
And remember, suddenly a voice in his mind said. There’s the Captain.
So what if there’s the Captain?, another voice said. An eye candy is there! You aren’t going to waste it, are you, Tintin?
But you always say that you want no more than an adventure with him on his four-poster bed!
The Captain isn’t even here, so who cares? Besides, that man is as straight as a ruler.
It’s...
The angelic side within Tintin’s mind died completely when the blond man looked up at him. Tintin stared right back, wanting to know who looked down first. The stare... it felt quite familiar, but Tintin couldn’t interpret who the man across the room was. Those eyes were stormy grey, and Tintin never saw eyes like those before.
The man’s thin lips slowly curled up... into a smile. Yes, that kind of smile. A seductive one. Tintin bit his lip, flabbergasted. He smiled back below the fake moustache. The man was indeed striking, although he wasn’t quite Tintin’s type. Tintin preferred sturdy, burly man who could take care of him. Like the...
The man’s smile widened, and before Tintin could think, he winked at him. Great snakes!
The images of his best friend vanished completely as the man winked back at him. Tintin grinned.
“You alone?” the man mouthed, somehow managed to keep the seductive smile.
Tintin beamed at him before nodded. People were passing in front of them, but Tintin still could see the blond man from the table he was occupying. The man lifted his blond eyebrow teasingly before lifting the bottle in his hand. A bottle of Loch Lomond, Tintin mused. Captain’s favourite.
He hurriedly shook his head, not wanting the image of his best friend-someone you secretly loved, Tintin my darling-interrupting his flirtatious moment with this good-looking stranger. The man took his action as a refusal for drinking together, so he only nodded and put the bottle down.
“I’m waiting for Thierry. Are you waiting for someone?” he mouthed again, and somehow, Tintin felt that it was familiar.
The reporter only shrugged. “Can say so,” he mouthed back.
“I see,” the man lifted his eyebrow again, greatsnakeshowdidhedothat, and Tintin’s face felt twice hotter than before. He was lucky that the pub was quite dark his blush was well-hidden. “Buy you another drink? Wine, maybe?” the man mouthed again.
Tintin smiled sweetly. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“What’s your name?”
Tintin worked his brain. This man was the business association of Thierry, and he couldn’t let himself into a dangerous situation by telling him his real name. “Augustin,” he mouthed, saying a name which actually nearing his own. “Yours?
The man was going to answer when the closed door opened and revealed a familiar face Tintin often saw from the newspaper, followed by some goons. Thierry, about time! Tintin almost jumped out his seat, almost dropping his fake moustache to the table. He tried to reposition his glasses as calm as possible. When he was ready, he stood up and walked some steps behind the people.
A rustling sound behind him made him stop. He looked back and saw the blonde man; his smile had turned into a smirk. Tintin smirked back and blew him a seductive kiss. The dumbstruck expression on his face was the last thing Tintin remembered from the pub.
He refocused his mission, his purpose of stalking the bald man, before he left and Tintin couldn’t trace him anymore. He sneaked into an alley, where Thierry’s secret garage was located. He hid below the darkness, staring at the goons who were opening the secret door, which was covered by fake ‘bricks’ it couldn’t be easily seen. Tintin could feel his gun settled nicely on his pocket. All ready to go, then.
His eyes widened when the nearest goon suddenly fell to the concrete. “Wh...?” he was going to ask when another one fell too. Tintin’s breath hitched when he saw a small, venomous looking dart on the back of the goon’s neck. Poison! Someone is helping me!
Thierry was looking around, but the only light from the opening garage couldn’t support his vision. He surely couldn’t see Tintin, and also the mysterious shooter. Another goon fell, and Thierry decided it was enough. He was lucky that he stood a bit further than the goons, and that probably made the shooter difficult to shoot him. “I’m going. Watch out, a fucking coward is here with us.”
With that, Thierry was gone with two of his men, leaving five goons behind. “Show yourself!” one of them shouted, directing his gun to the darkness. He was the first one who fell, a dart on his Adam’s apple. That must be painful.
Tintin almost died when he saw the other goon’s gun was directed at him. Great snakes! He looked up and saw another lamp was lit, showering his body with dim light, but bright enough for them to see him. Great snakes!
“There he is!”
“Hands up!”
Tintin hurriedly pulled out his gun, but a sound of glass against a human body started all of them. The goon who stood nearest to Tintin fell, remnants of Loch Lomond scattered around his body. The three other goons were going to attack him, and their fate wasn’t any different.
After all the goons were unconscious on the concrete floor, Tintin, too, directed the gun to the darkness. “Show yourself. Friend or foe?”
Tintin slowly could make out a shape coming toward him. He gasped when he saw the familiar face. “You!”
“We meet again,” the deep voice of the blond man answered.
“But why... why did you...?”
Tintin’s words died in his mouth because the other man swept up and kissed him deeply. He was slammed against the brick wall, but he was past caring. The man’s mouth was warm and sweet...
Just like what you imagine your Captain will be.
Oh, shut up!
Tintin responded eagerly, kissing just as deeply, his tongue twirling with the man’s. The man’s hands were holding his waist tightly, while Tintin’s was wandering everywhere on the man’s face, before settled on his forehead. Tintin’s thumbs stroked the man’s forehead, and almost froze when he felt something odd on his hairline, covered with blond fringes.
And that was the last thing he remembered, before a huge, box-shaped thing knocked him out.
**
“Tintin, wake up.”
Tintin woke up groggily and realized that he had already in his bedroom in Marlinspike. Haddock’s face was the first thing he saw. “Where am I?” he asked dumbly.
Haddock stared at him before took another drag from his pipe. “Where do you think you are? Blue blistering barnacles, boy, don’t tell me you have an amnesia running.”
Tintin shook his head. Flashes of yesterday night hit him. Great snakes, what did he do? His thoughts were cut by a familiar bark. “SNOWY!” he shrieked as the white terrier jumped onto his bed. After some cuddly moments with his dog, he looked up at the Captain, his face serious.
“Captain, how did I...?”
“Someone took you home and left you on the doorstep. Now, mind to tell me what tripped you up in your recent adventure?”
“Er...”
**
Tintin had a plan in his mind. Now was a week after he was ‘defeated’ by the blond man. Well, ‘defeated’ was a strong word, but that was how he felt right now. Tintin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Great snakes, the problem wasn’t the stunning blond stranger, it was Thierry.
He was reading in a small cafe when he heard two of Thierry’s goons talking near him. It seemed like their boss was involved into a new ‘project’ and was gaining much profits from it. Tintin’s luck did nothing to catch Thierry, so he was going to stalk the man again.
You also want to see that blond man again, right?
Tintin shook his head forcefully. Why would he do that, anyway? He had to admit that their heated kiss was incredible, although the fake moustache he had worn got in their way, and his fake spectacles had been steamy, blurring his vision.
But he has hit you with his suitcase, that gangster!
Well, yes, but...
You still enjoyed it, didn’t you?
Tintin jumped from his seat, startling his white terrier. He had to go there again, and if he met that blond stranger... he had two alternatives: hit him with his famous uppercut, or snog him senseless. Depends on the situation.
Now, first thing first. Tell the captain and Signora Castafiore he would go this evening.
He rushed into Haddock’s room. “Captain!”
**
Haddock’s panicked expression and Castafiore’s womanly laugh were the last thing Tintin remembered from Marlinspike. Now he was lurking in his corner of the same pub, his freckles easily seen. He wore a ginger red wig, with wavy fringes on his forehead. He wore round, thick glasses (thicker than the last one) which, he was sure, making him so nerdy.
His luck worked again, since he was able to avoid the goons and now could enjoy several bottles of mineral water. The bartender had eyed him suspiciously and oddly before gave him a bottle to enjoy. He knew his appearance wasn’t fit to be here; a nerdy little lad like him should be staying at home, studying.
He let his mind wonder to Marlinspike. He had insisted to leave Snowy in there, since he couldn’t bear to lock his poor dog in the storage room anymore. Then his mind wondered to Haddock. The captain was stunning in his own way, which was why Tintin liked him.
He looked up when he saw a brunet man walked in, carrying a worn suitcase, bigger than the blond stranger’s. Tintin snorted as he looked to the front door. Thierry should stop hiring that stupid goon if he wants his pub to be safe. He knew that the brunet man actually wasn’t allowed to come in, just like himself. That man had the same skin colour with the Captain, which made Tintin (almost) misrecognized the stranger.
The man sat across the table where Tintin was sitting on. He looked up and winked at Tintin, his hand holding a bottle of Loch Lomond.
Tintin’s breath hitched. Not again!
For the first time, Tintin had to thank Thierry, because he walked out his private room exactly in that moment. The brunet man looked away from Tintin and stood, following Thierry and his goons out the pub. But before he was gone, he blew a kiss toward the disguising reporter.
Tintin was dumbstruck for a while before his mind reminded him of the thing that made him come here. He rose and rushed out the pub as fast as he could. He slowed his steps when the certain alley was near. He could make out a human shape below the darkness. He couldn’t see who he (Tintin recognized the shape as a man’s) was, but when one the goons started to fall, he knew who it was.
The goons fell one by one, poisonous darts stabbed nicely on their necks or hands. Something solid rolled near Tintin’s feet, which he hurriedly took and threw toward Thierry. The thing, which appeared to be a new bottle of Loch Lomond, collided against the criminal’s shoulder and he fell, unconscious. This time, Thierry can’t get away, he thought triumphantly.
Suddenly something attacked him from his side, and Tintin found himself was snogged, rather fiercely, with the same heat, same warm mouth which knocked the air out of him. But now, he wasn’t a dumb man with a fake moustache and black hair. He was a nerdy redhead, and nerds always knew what to do.
He was pushed, rather gently (which belied the intensity of the kiss), against the wall. His hand slowly took his gun and the other kept caressing the other’s face. He reached the man’s hairline and could fell something odd in there, just like before. The man tensed, his hand reached for something, but Tintin knew better.
“You better don’t do anything,” he hissed. “Something is wrong with you.”
With all his strength, he pushed the man to the light. The man stumbled, almost tripped the unconscious Thierry. Tintin gaped when he saw that it wasn’t the blond man he had expected. It was the brunet man who had winked at him before Thierry came. “What…?”
“Tell me,” the man interrupted, and to Tintin’s shock, his deep voice was actually same with the blond man’s. “How can I
drink something in a pub which isn’t available there? Tell me.”
“What…?” but then Tintin remembered. “You mean… they don’t sell Loch Lomond.”
“Yes. And do you have a friend who loves this?” he opened the suitcase and played with a bottle of Loch Lomond in there. “Tell him that I like his beloved reporter. Guess his name is Tintin.”
Tintin’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know… Thompson or Thomson?”
The man gaped at him. “Billions of blue blistering barnacles! You dare to equalize me with those two diplodocuses?!”
“Ca…Captain?”
“Oh, for Navy’s sake! I never know you’d be so blind!” he kicked the suitcase and Tintin could see a familiar blue jumper and bottles of Loch Lomond. The man-the brunet Captain-stood and walked toward Tintin, colliding him against the wall.
“Well… I think I too, am blind, not to see your… preferences. You see… thundering typhoons… I’ve been dreaming about those alley kisses for so long… Sorry for hitting you… I’m just… panicked… billions of thundering typhoons… I took you home... and...”
Tintin beamed at him. See? He loves you. “It’s okay, Captain.”
“Oh, and you may pull it down.”
“What is?”
“This,” Haddock kissed him, but his hand took Tintin’s to his hairline, touching the small space between the mask and Haddock’s forehead. Tintin automatically pulled the mask down, but kept kissing him like there was no tomorrow. They parted a bit when Tintin pulled the mask down Haddock’s mouth, revealing his dark beard.
“How… how can it do…?”
Haddock scooped him into his arms. “Thank Castroili.”
“She is the one behind this?” Tintin said breathlessly, surprised. Haddock smiled as he pulled Tintin’s red wig down the concrete.
“Well yes she was, that old crow-nosed diva. The idea of stalking you came from me, and she offered me her pack of masks and disguising equipments. Maybe we should send her a thank you note.”
“After we’re done with this,” Tintin answered as he pulled down the brunet wig off Haddock’s hair. The captain grinned and kissed him deeply again, throwing Tintin’s thick glasses away.
Today might be one of the darkest nights in Belgium, but for two men inside a certain alley, everything surely was much brighter than before.
**
“Irma, do you see Captain Capslock and Tintin around?”
“No, Madam.” Irma answered. “I wonder where they are.”
“Oh, no need to wonder. I think I know where they are.” Castafiore said in her usual sing-song voice. “And, to be honest, Irma, I’m expecting a thank you note.”
**THE END**
seerstella's little explanation:
Hello! :) I’m Seer, who actually managed to make Tintin and Haddock’s disguises. I don’t need to talk about Tintin’s, since his disguises were simple enough to imagine. I’m here to say things about Haddock’s masks. I personally don’t know if in their era these kinds of mask had existed or not really *shrugs*.
The mask actually has a shape like a normal face with a certain skin colour. It can shape your face with its own fake cheekbones, and starts from a little bit below your hairline (that’s why Tintin felt something odd on Haddock’s hairline/forehead, and Haddock had to cover it with fringes) to your upper neck (it can end in the base of your neck, too, it depends).
The colour of the mask can cover your face completely, including Haddock’s beard. I know that sounds absurd, but I can’t imagine Haddock without his beard, so I told Reth to keep it, which she agreed immediately.
The mask is actually based on this video, which Anjelica Huston wore as Grand High Witch. I’m a big fan of Roald Dahl. ^^