FICLETS! Holiday: Day Nine
For black_hound
Bush/Barbara
“Captain Bush?”
Bush looks up from his desk, setting his glasses aside as he looks at his secretary, the young man’s typically harried look replaced with something bordering on awestruck. “Yes, Mister Henderson?”
“There’s a…well, there’s a lady to see you, sir.”
“A lady?” Bush frowns and stands, stepping from around his desk. His wooden leg is loud on the planks as he clears the corner, his eyebrow rising sharply as he sees the pale green spread of skirt sway across the floor. He rounds the door and stops, more than surprised to see Barbara Hornblower standing across from him. “Lady Barbara.”
“Mister Bush.” She nods, her regal bearing gracing even the small gesture. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”
“Of course.” He looks at Henderson, about to dismiss him when she continues.
“In your office.”
“Of course.” He steps back, letting her proceed him into the room, following her slowly, his mind working, wondering what she could wish from him. He enters the room and glances at her, taking her second nod to mean he should close the door. He gestures to the lone chair in the corner of the room. “Would you like a seat?”
“No. What I have come for will be quick.” She approaches him, her eyes holding his. There’s something hypnotic in them, a force of will that he first noticed on Lydia, that drew all the men to her, even the most hardened of them. “My husband worries on your behalf, Mr. Bush.”
“You can tell Captain Hornblower that I am quite well.”
“He knows you miss the sea. Long for it. Yearn.” She closes the distance between them, her skirts brushing his shoe. Her long fingers brush his cheek and the line of his jaw as she leans in. “Don’t you?”
“Of course I miss the sea. I am a sailor.”
“Yes,” Barbara breathes as her lips brush his, as she presses her body against him, pushing him back against the door as her free hand skates down the length of his jacket. “I know.”
For storydivagirl
Ioan/Matthew
Los Angeles is nothing like London. Even if you did away with all the things that were inherently wrong like driving on the wrong side of the road and rudeness and the fact that they all bloody insist on saying ‘hi’ instead of a proper ‘hello’, there would still be the fact that it’s simply different. The weather and the people and the fact that people look you in the eye, the clothing that they do and don’t wear, the fact that not a single one seems to smoke and the strange realization that, at least to some of them, Ioan’s actually a movie star.
Oh, he’s not a real star like Brad Pitt or even Ben Affleck, but he’s done a serviceable job in getting his name out there. And so it’s strange that there’s paparazzi everywhere, and they’re reasonably well-respected outfits some of the time, not the typical hack and slash jobs that you find on the London streets at two a.m. when you’re just trying to take a piss.
“You hate it here.”
“I don’t.” Matthew lights a fag, just to be defiant, much to the annoyance of nearly everyone else on the sidewalk. He’s in the bloody out-of-doors, so he’s not quite sure why they’re wrinkling their noses, especially as it’s not going to get him to stub out the fag, and it’s probably ruining their plastic surgery and botox injections. “It’s just different.”
“Yes, well, that happens when you move a good three thousand miles, mate. End up somewhere different.”
“You’re not funny.” Matthew takes a hit off the fag and smiles as he sees Ioan eyeing it. “Want a drag?”
“Like fucking mad, but I can’t. Image and all that.”
“You’ve not got an image, you wanker.”
“I’m trying to have an image. I’m a good, clean-cut bloke. Upstanding citizen and all that.”
“And yet you still can’t keep your hands out of your pockets when you’re in a suit. My father’s been smacking the back of your hands since you were eight and you’ve still not mastered the art of it.”
“I don’t know what else to do with them.” Matthew laughs and Ioan blushes, bumping into him hard with his shoulder. “You’re not funny.”
“Then why’re you blushing?” Matthew takes another draw off the fag and holds it in, exhaling and blowing the smoke in Ioan’s face. “Everybody looks at you here.”
“Well, yeah. You never know when you’ll casually bump into someone famous.”
“Have you bumped into someone famous out walking on the street?”
“Careful, mate. Walking the street means a little something different here.” Ioan shrugs. “I ran into David Hasselhoff.”
“You must be so proud.” He stubs out the fag on the brick wall of Ioan’s building as Ioan messes with the card key. There’s a distant buzzing and the door opens and Ioan holds it for Matthew then follows him inside. They take the lift, neither of them talking, Matthew studiously avoiding Ioan’s eyes, avoiding the thought of the last lift they shared, moving out of the flat, the broken lift working for the first time since they’d moved in years before.
Ioan guides him to the flat, pleased with himself as Matthew walks in and looks out over the city. It’s a decent view, but there’s no fire escape and the air smells like smog instead of the stench of the Thames. “Home sweet home.” Ioan smiles as he comes up behind Matthew, standing close enough for it to be a question.
Matthew turns and returns his smile, shaking his head. “Does your image involve shagging your best mate who heinously smokes fags in public?”
Ioan shakes his head, his breath catching. “No.”
“Mmm. In that case-” Matthew takes Ioan’s hand and leads him into the flat toward the hall to the bedroom. “We’d best get away from the window.”
Bush/Barbara
“Captain Bush?”
Bush looks up from his desk, setting his glasses aside as he looks at his secretary, the young man’s typically harried look replaced with something bordering on awestruck. “Yes, Mister Henderson?”
“There’s a…well, there’s a lady to see you, sir.”
“A lady?” Bush frowns and stands, stepping from around his desk. His wooden leg is loud on the planks as he clears the corner, his eyebrow rising sharply as he sees the pale green spread of skirt sway across the floor. He rounds the door and stops, more than surprised to see Barbara Hornblower standing across from him. “Lady Barbara.”
“Mister Bush.” She nods, her regal bearing gracing even the small gesture. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”
“Of course.” He looks at Henderson, about to dismiss him when she continues.
“In your office.”
“Of course.” He steps back, letting her proceed him into the room, following her slowly, his mind working, wondering what she could wish from him. He enters the room and glances at her, taking her second nod to mean he should close the door. He gestures to the lone chair in the corner of the room. “Would you like a seat?”
“No. What I have come for will be quick.” She approaches him, her eyes holding his. There’s something hypnotic in them, a force of will that he first noticed on Lydia, that drew all the men to her, even the most hardened of them. “My husband worries on your behalf, Mr. Bush.”
“You can tell Captain Hornblower that I am quite well.”
“He knows you miss the sea. Long for it. Yearn.” She closes the distance between them, her skirts brushing his shoe. Her long fingers brush his cheek and the line of his jaw as she leans in. “Don’t you?”
“Of course I miss the sea. I am a sailor.”
“Yes,” Barbara breathes as her lips brush his, as she presses her body against him, pushing him back against the door as her free hand skates down the length of his jacket. “I know.”
For storydivagirl
Ioan/Matthew
Los Angeles is nothing like London. Even if you did away with all the things that were inherently wrong like driving on the wrong side of the road and rudeness and the fact that they all bloody insist on saying ‘hi’ instead of a proper ‘hello’, there would still be the fact that it’s simply different. The weather and the people and the fact that people look you in the eye, the clothing that they do and don’t wear, the fact that not a single one seems to smoke and the strange realization that, at least to some of them, Ioan’s actually a movie star.
Oh, he’s not a real star like Brad Pitt or even Ben Affleck, but he’s done a serviceable job in getting his name out there. And so it’s strange that there’s paparazzi everywhere, and they’re reasonably well-respected outfits some of the time, not the typical hack and slash jobs that you find on the London streets at two a.m. when you’re just trying to take a piss.
“You hate it here.”
“I don’t.” Matthew lights a fag, just to be defiant, much to the annoyance of nearly everyone else on the sidewalk. He’s in the bloody out-of-doors, so he’s not quite sure why they’re wrinkling their noses, especially as it’s not going to get him to stub out the fag, and it’s probably ruining their plastic surgery and botox injections. “It’s just different.”
“Yes, well, that happens when you move a good three thousand miles, mate. End up somewhere different.”
“You’re not funny.” Matthew takes a hit off the fag and smiles as he sees Ioan eyeing it. “Want a drag?”
“Like fucking mad, but I can’t. Image and all that.”
“You’ve not got an image, you wanker.”
“I’m trying to have an image. I’m a good, clean-cut bloke. Upstanding citizen and all that.”
“And yet you still can’t keep your hands out of your pockets when you’re in a suit. My father’s been smacking the back of your hands since you were eight and you’ve still not mastered the art of it.”
“I don’t know what else to do with them.” Matthew laughs and Ioan blushes, bumping into him hard with his shoulder. “You’re not funny.”
“Then why’re you blushing?” Matthew takes another draw off the fag and holds it in, exhaling and blowing the smoke in Ioan’s face. “Everybody looks at you here.”
“Well, yeah. You never know when you’ll casually bump into someone famous.”
“Have you bumped into someone famous out walking on the street?”
“Careful, mate. Walking the street means a little something different here.” Ioan shrugs. “I ran into David Hasselhoff.”
“You must be so proud.” He stubs out the fag on the brick wall of Ioan’s building as Ioan messes with the card key. There’s a distant buzzing and the door opens and Ioan holds it for Matthew then follows him inside. They take the lift, neither of them talking, Matthew studiously avoiding Ioan’s eyes, avoiding the thought of the last lift they shared, moving out of the flat, the broken lift working for the first time since they’d moved in years before.
Ioan guides him to the flat, pleased with himself as Matthew walks in and looks out over the city. It’s a decent view, but there’s no fire escape and the air smells like smog instead of the stench of the Thames. “Home sweet home.” Ioan smiles as he comes up behind Matthew, standing close enough for it to be a question.
Matthew turns and returns his smile, shaking his head. “Does your image involve shagging your best mate who heinously smokes fags in public?”
Ioan shakes his head, his breath catching. “No.”
“Mmm. In that case-” Matthew takes Ioan’s hand and leads him into the flat toward the hall to the bedroom. “We’d best get away from the window.”