Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

Jack/Vaughn, part 5



V.

"Was that really necessary?" Sydney hissed across the table when Mislov had left to visit with the club manager. She was flipping out, waving a hand between Jack and Vaughn, eyes like firecrackers about to pop. "With the kissing--and the--the tongue? Oh my god." She covered her mouth in a lady-like way as if forcing back nausea. It was actually pretty funny. Or possibly insulting.

"This is neither the time nor the place." Jack could make the most commonplace turn of phrase sound ominous.

With inappropriately violent movements, Sydney took a sip of her cocktail and refolded the napkin in her lap. The ice rattled like hail against glass and the starched cloth made a snapping noise. Meanwhile Weiss caught Vaughn's eye and asked a silent question with his face. Vaughn shook his head.

"I think it's time I took a tour of the club," Jack said, standing and placing his own napkin on the table.

Sydney immediately followed suit. "I'll join you."

"Sit. Down."

After three seconds, each one a glacial era, Sydney broke eye contact with her father and took her seat again. She threw Vaughn a guilty look, as if she'd failed him. He managed a rueful smile before Jack hooked a hand under his arm and conducted him away.

"Okay," he said, shoving Jack against a wall as they found themselves alone in a corridor--hard to do with your hands cuffed behind your back, but not impossible. "This is no longer funny. Not that it was ever funny, but I was willing to give you some line. But that? Back there? What was that shit?"

In a more normal situation, he'd have expected some crisp, terse command from Jack to let go, but the man spun him around, slammed him into the opposite wall, and held him there, mouth close to his ear, voice low.

"If Mislov had seen that, we might both be dead now."

God, the man was melodramatic. It had to be a genetic thing, passed down from Bristow to Bristow. Ignoring the warning, and deciding with a flex of muscles that escape wasn't in the cards, Vaughn tried to inject command into his voice. "Get off me." Sadly, his voice sounded merely bad-tempered to his own ears.

"I think you need to calm down."

"I'm not supposed to be calm," Vaughn said, matching his low, harsh voice. "I'm supposed to be a captured CIA agent being used as some sick bastard's fucktoy. A situation I'm not finding it all that hard to fake, by the way. What do you want me to do, kiss your feet?"

After a moment, Jack eased off. "That would be a nice change. But you're right," he went on as Vaughn turned around and glared at him. "A show of resistance is in keeping with appearances."

Vaughn just stared at him, lips pressed tight against the lava flow of sarcasm that wanted out. Down the hall, someone opened a door. In a flash he was up against the wall again, this time with his back to the plaster and Jack pressed flush to his front. They were kissing. They were kissing *again*. This was like one of those nightmares where he arrived naked at a briefing and was forced to deliver his report from atop the conference table.

One of Jack's hands cupped his ass, while the other one caressed his neck. There was grinding at hip level. The man had to grind? Who was going to care if he didn't? It was possible to take verisimilitude too far and this was a great example. Unbelievable.

The bastard kissed me in the hallway, he imagined telling Weiss when they were safely back home. Weiss would shake his head in equal mind-blown amazement and pour him another shot. That was the future, after this was over; he'd make sure of it. A few benders and it would all be behind him, washed away, an occasional twinge of memory like a healed wound.

"Ohhh," he groaned into Jack's mouth, shocking himself with the noise. He'd picked up a rhythm without meaning to, hips and mouth, tongues and grinding. Someone was walking toward them; their pace didn't even slow as they passed.

As soon as the footsteps died away, Jack stopped kissing him. It was like he flipped off a switch. His face was smooth, his eyes like a shark's in the hall's shadows.

"You seem to be getting the hang of this," he said. There might have been approval in his tone. It might also have been complete indifference. And then he smiled as if he'd played a highly successful joke on Vaughn, and guided him onward toward the back rooms.
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