(~(~)~)
"I am so bored."
Monty rolled his eyes. "So you've said--" He checked his watch. "Every four minutes for the last quarter hour."
"Well, I am." Eddie looked around the ballroom at the knots of guests in black tie conversing quietly at their tables. "You people do not know how to party."
The sharp retort that came to Monty was swallowed before it could pass his lips. No one was paying them much attention, but public allusions to their most private lives didn't strike the inspector as a particularly good idea. "I'm sorry that Scotland Yard can't satisfy your exacting American standards for constant entertainment," he said instead.
Eddie snorted and draped his arm across the back of Monty's chair. "Listen, I'm a guy whose measure of a good night was if I got a new matchbook for my map of Manhattan. So if I'm telling you your party's boring, you know you're in trouble."
Monty sighed and tried not to lean back into the warmth of Eddie's arm. "You could always talk with Fiona."
Eddie blinked at him. "What?"
Sighing again, Monty motioned past the detective at the very peeved-looking woman sitting on Eddie's left. "Fiona. You know - your date?"
Eddie's eyes narrowed. "Why would I do that?"
At the sound of a snicker from his right, Monty turned and shot a glare at Audrey. She winked at him and murmured a wholly unrepentant "Sorry, love." Monty shook his head and turned back toward Eddie, looking past him to Fiona. Officially, Eddie and Fiona were here together, as were he and Audrey. But whereas Audrey was a long-time friend and sometimes lover with whom Monty could talk easily on nearly any subject, Fiona and Eddie had maintained an unwieldy silence all evening. It was as though, out of the flat and unable to throw around their usual vituperations, there was nothing they could say to one another.
If it had been anyone else sitting in Eddie's chair, Monty would've decked them. The detective had been truly horrid to Fiona all night - and little better to anyone else. Audrey had been given looks that clearly said, 'Hands off my man,' and even Monty had been treated to his best whine and petulance. Why on Earth did Monty put up with it?
Monty's mother had not been one for giving advice, but when she did, he treasured every syllable of it. One day - he wouldn't have been much more than ten at the time - she'd poked a skeletal, nicotine-stained fingertip at him and said, "Love makes people stupid." He'd lived by that drop of wisdom since puberty, always preferring detached casual sex to romantic entanglement, but Eddie - Eddie with his accent, and his enthusiasm, and his sparkling eyes - was making Monty's resolve a very shaky thing these days.
Sighing, Monty decided that someone ought to be nice to Fiona. Leaning forward - away from Eddie's arm - he said, "Having a good time, Fiona?"
She turned a perfectly composed face to him. "The best night of the social season, Monty," she said pleasantly. The look that slid across her face informed him that she could cheerfully eviscerate Monty and Eddie both with her shrimp fork, should an opportunity present itself.
He cleared his throat and leaned back. "That's good," he said faintly. As he returned his attention to the front of the room, his gaze caught Superintendent Johnson's. The Superintendent smiled ruefully, jerking his head toward the droning Yard bureaucrat who had obviously been monopolizing all conversation at that table for quite some time. Beside him, Carol propped her chin on her hand, looking ready to kick off from sheer boredom. Monty nodded at the Superintendent. It looked as though everyone was having a miserable time of it.
And it was about to get worse.
A tall, florid man in a tuxedo that was ten years past fashionable and five years past fitting climbed onto the stage at the front of the ballroom and stood behind the rostrum. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he boomed. "I trust everyone is having a lovely time tonight."
On Eddie's left, Fiona snorted and took a scarily large swig of champagne. "Lovely," she muttered. Monty was right with her at this point. The speeches were about to begin.
They would be interminable, if last year's event was anything to go by, and Eddie would be insufferable, if the last hour and a half was anything to go by. He risked a glance at the detective and felt a twinge of masochistic pleasure that he had guessed absolutely correctly - Eddie already looked like a two-year-old winding up to a temper tantrum. He spent the entirety of the first (twenty-five minute) speech looking like he might, at any second, stand up and start dashing the stemware and cutlery to the floor.
But then, somewhere in the middle of the second speech, Eddie apparently decided to adopt a different tactic. The bored look in his eyes was replaced by a sly one. Monty barely had time to note it before Eddie's hand landed on his leg, just above the knee. Monty jerked and looked over at Eddie, who grinned at him and then turned back to the front of the room, appearing engrossed by the speaker at the podium.
So, this would be all right, Eddie's hand on his leg. It was...nice, even. Comforting. Monty relaxed again, settling back in his chair.
Eddie's hand started moving.
Monty gritted his teeth and reached under the table, returning the offending appendage to Eddie's lap.
Less than two minutes later the hand was back, this time about mid-thigh.
"Stop," Monty hissed out of the corner of his mouth. Audrey and Fiona both looked over - Audrey's look one of curiosity, Fiona's of undisguised hostility - but Eddie seemed oblivious to the censure. Monty removed the hand again.
When it came back five minutes later, the same fool was still droning away on stage, and the hand slid into the juncture of Monty's hip and thigh. In an instant, Monty realized that he was doomed now, no matter what he did. One more removal of Eddie's hand would surely earn its return directly in his crotch. But leaving it there would lead to it ending up in his crotch eventually anyway. He gritted his teeth and stared stonily ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he was pretty sure he saw Eddie grinning.
Inch by sweetly agonizing inch, Eddie's hand worked its way across Monty's lap. Even when it wasn't moving it forward, it never kept completely still, fingers always lightly stroking Monty's leg. Monty was feeling rather faint as all of the blood in his body rushed from his upper extremities to pool in his groin. His bowtie felt cruelly restrictive around his throat, and his face was flushed. He was bracketed by smirks - Eddie's and Audrey's - and Fiona's eyes were burning into her errant date with the promise of dire retribution. Monty couldn't be bothered to give a damn about anything but Eddie's hand.
The first touch of Eddie's fingers to Monty's erection, even through the thick fabric of his tuxedo, sent him jerking up, spine stiffening, ass almost sliding off the chair. He clamped his hand over Eddie's. At last turning his head, he met Eddie's eyes with a heat and hunger echoed resoundingly in Eddie's expression. "Not here," he whispered.
Eddie jerked his head toward the exit out of the ballroom. Monty nodded and slid out of his chair. "If you'll excuse us for a moment, ladies," he murmured, avoiding eye contact with either woman and hoping that the table was hiding his erection. Eddie stood, too - not bothering to say anything to the others at the table - and led the way out of the room. Waves of heat were pounding against the inside of Monty's skull, and he couldn't keep himself from crowding up against Eddie's back, his hand drifting down repeatedly to grab Eddie's ass.
Out in the hallway, Eddie looked at Monty with a mix of lust and panic. "Where?" It was little more than a grunt.
Monty grabbed the lapel of Eddie's tuxedo jacket and hauled him down the hallway. "There has to be - somewhere - these places always have - ah-hah!" Triumphantly, Monty turned the door handle and jerked it open. Shoving Eddie savagely, he commanded, "In here."
Eddie looked around in bewilderment. "This is a linen closet. How are we going to--mmmph!"
His back suddenly slammed against the door, Eddie's protests were swallowed by Monty's full-out assault on his body. He pawed desperately at Eddie's tux. Between kisses and bites scattered along Eddie's jaw and throat, he panted, "You - are - an - unforgivable - tease."
"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Would an unforgivable tease do this?" And in a blurred half a second, Monty's trousers were unzipped and around his knees, and there was a hand wrapped around his dick.
"Fuck," he hissed, arching into the touch. Eddie grinned wider and got a firmer grasp. Monty gripped Eddie's arms and rested his head on Eddie's shoulder, but Eddie jerked his shoulder to move Monty away.
"Look at me, Monty," he commanded, and damn him, anyway, because Monty found he had no choice but to obey.
"Eddie--"
"Right here," Eddie promised, the motion of his hand speeding up. "I'm right here."
Monty was a little lost, a little disoriented, a little crazy. Eddie's hand felt like its sole purpose was to set Monty's cock on fire. Eddie's eyes were burning him from the inside out. "Pride goeth before destruction," Monty muttered, as his eyes practically rolled back in his head. And, oh, he had been proud - so very proud of how many partners had dented his mattress without denting his armor. And then suddenly there had been Eddie. Eddie was blond, and insufferable, and American - and Eddie was destruction.
"What?" Eddie asked, his pupils dilated wildly.
"Nothing," Monty gasped, jerking his hips impatiently. "For God's sake, don't stop."
Eddie grinned. His free hand smacked lightly at Monty's ass, and his other hand dipped down to do that...that thing - that thing he did that Monty, who'd been with so many more men than Eddie that he usually forbore mentioning ratios in deference to Eddie's frail American ego, could never figure out - and Monty came, in a rush, in a shudder, in a fervor not seen since the Biblical prophets.
The thought that maybe this was where the Old Testament prophets had gotten their inspiration made Monty snicker, as soon as he had thought enough to think it and breath enough to laugh.
Eddie looked at him with a look of such pure...fondness that Monty's breath caught and he closed his eyes against it. "What's so funny?" Eddie asked, but Monty could only shake his head.
"Inside joke," he said finally.
"Inside, huh?" Eddie's voice was back to a comfortable leer, and Monty's eyes popped open.
"You can't be serious."
"Why not?"
Monty's eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead. "In a linen closet?"
"Actually," Eddie said with his customary smirk, "I was thinking more of in--"
"Oh, all right," Monty cut him off, his fingers, traitorous things, already at the zipper of Eddie's trousers. "But be careful. I'm not as flexible as you think I am."
Eddie kissed him fiercely, then turned him around so he could brace himself against the door. He expected pain, but when Eddie slid inside of him he was well-lubed, and Monty knew he was better off not asking what he'd used. "Shit!" Monty hissed, leaning his head against his forearm, wanting for the other man just to move but knowing that trying to hurry Eddie brought nothing but prolonged agony.
Eddie moved so slowly at first, trying to find his rhythm, testing his limits in the narrow room. Monty's nerve endings screamed with the delicious torture of it. He dared reach his other arm around behind him and grab the back of Eddie's leg, dragging him closer. Eddie gasped and sped up involuntarily. "Jesus, Monty," he whispered and buried his face in Monty's hair, because he was a man with a little obsession. Monty's head dropped back, and his fingers twitched on Eddie's leg, and he pushed back against every jerk of Eddie's hips, grinding them together in a frenzy that threatened to consume them both whole.
Eddie's thrusts fell out of rhythm, his hot breath against Monty's neck fast and erratic. Monty clenched his ass hard around Eddie - just once - and Eddie gasped, and stiffened, and cursed, and came.
Monty had no idea how much time passed while they stood, catching their breath, slowing their heartbeats, regaining normal. His face still resting on the back of Monty's head, Eddie murmured, "Do we have anything to clean up with?" This time, Monty simply could not hold back his shaky laughter. His shoulders shook with it, producing the strange sensation of Eddie bouncing against his back. "What?" Eddie demanded.
"We are in a linen closet, Eddie," he said when he could manage it.
"Oh, yeah," Eddie said sheepishly, and Monty felt the heat of Eddie's blush against his skin.
"I mean," Monty continued, still laughing, "I think if we looked around really hard--"
"Okay, yeah," Eddie muttered darkly.
"We might be able to find something that would work."
"All right, fine, I get it," Eddie said, pulling out of Monty faster than he'd probably planned to, drawing a sharp breath out of them both. "Sex makes Eddie stupid. Hah hah. Sadistic English bastard."
Monty turned fast - almost tripping over his trousers in the process - and caught Eddie's hand before he could get too far away. Feeling like a bargain-basement Lady Astor who could never quite learn the lines, he kissed Eddie and said softly, "Yes, but in five minutes, you will be smart again, and I will still be stupid."
Eddie favored him with a sweetly befuddled smile and then turned away to grab a towel. He cleaned them both off and dropped the towel into the industrial-sized hamper in the back corner of the closet. "We should put ourselves back together," he said, looking at their general state of disarray.
They set to work on their clothes, though Monty suspected that no amount of fussing was going to return them to true 'presentableness.' It was hard to care, at this point. Once they were at least to a point where they could safely venture into public again, Monty looked over at Eddie. "Ready?"
Eddie gave Monty one of those looks that precede the making of beautiful, stupid declarations, and Monty's breath caught sharply in his chest. But then Eddie just grinned and held up a matchbook with the hotel's name and logo embossed on the cover in gold. Monty immediately concluded that he absolutely did not want to know when or where he'd come by it. "Now this is a good night," Eddie said.
Laughing too hard, Monty opened the door and checked for other guests who might be around. Eddie obviously didn't think it was that important to wait, and he plunged forward, spilling Monty into the hallway. Swallowing a curse, he looked around quickly.
And found himself staring at Fiona.
For the briefest instant, Monty was certain that he was facing his last moment on Earth - that Fiona was about to reach out and use one of those fantastic 'forty ways to kill a man with my bare hands' that people were always boasting about. He only knew about ten, himself, and he was sure that Fiona would use one of the really fascinating ones that he'd only heard rumors of. A pity that he'd only learn it by having it used on him. "Hi, Fiona," he ventured lamely.
Like a jungle cat suddenly distracted from the pounce, Fiona snorted and walked away, not even deigning him worthy of a rude gesture. He turned his eyes to watch her go, and when he looked back, he was looking into Carol's equally ferocious eyes. He opened his mouth to ask if Fiona was all right, but she held up her hand.
"Inspector," she said coolly.
Monty nodded. "Carol."
He wasn't sure what Eddie had been doing in the linen closet all this time - enjoying the irony of his location, maybe, or possibly just hiding from Fiona, but he finally arrived on the scene, slamming up against Monty as though he'd had no idea the other man was there. "Whoops. Sorry, Monty," he said, blatantly groping Monty's ass as he 'struggled' to right himself. Thought you'd be..." He gestured towards the ballroom. "Up there." Suddenly wondering if Eddie realized there was still someone behind the door, Monty caught the other man's gaze and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in Carol's direction. Eddie's eyes followed the gesture, and he beamed when he saw Carol. "Oh, hey, Miss Moneypenny!" he greeted her cheerily. "What's the good word?"
The two men had had more than a dozen arguments about what the Superintendent's assistant did or did not say to Eddie when he greeted her around the Yard, but even Monty could not mistake that she gave her head a defiant toss, looked the detective straight in the eye, and said, "Cunnilingus." Eddie's jaw dropped. Monty didn't imagine he looked much better. Carol nodded once to Monty, hitched the strap of her back higher on her shoulder, and sauntered back toward the ballroom. He wasn't sure, but he thought she was humming "The Girl from Ipanema."
Slowly, Monty turned back to Eddie, who still looked poleaxed. "Eddie?" He got no reaction. "Eddie!"
Eddie blinked a few times, rapidly, and stared at Monty. "What the hell--"
Suddenly remembering that there was nothing else down this hall but the women's lav, Monty looked after the two retreating women and laughed. He reached around Eddie to close the door of the linen closet, taking advantage of the position to wrap his arm around Eddie and pull the detective flush against him. For a reckless moment, he didn't give a damn if anyone saw them. He had his suspicions that pretty much everyone knew about them anyway. Kissing Eddie soundly, he said, "And you say we don't know how to party."
END