Fic: The Five Ws (Plaude)
The last piece of fic I uploaded was on 11 June?! Damn. It's been forever. Stupid thesis. Well, in any case, here's a little something I wrote before leaving for... somewhere. I needed amusement. Oh, wait, I remember. I think a conversation with visiblemarket might have inspired this.
Title: The Five Ws
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Claude decides to ruin Nathan's day.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Who: Claude Rains
What: The political scandal of the season
When: One week before Election Day
Where: Some fancy venue in Washington D. C. where the waiters all wear suits designed by Armani.
Why: A philosophical disagreement a few hours before the oh so important campaign dinner party, involving two desperate calls from the front desk, a broken glass, furious shouting liberally peppered with obscene language that would have made an HBO writer blush, four innocent bystanders who all decided that they absolutely must go to the bathroom at the exact same time, a bloodied nose, a torn lip, and what was sure to be one hell of a good black eye in the morning, which was quickly covered up in two millimeters of makeup.
How: Millennia of vengeful backstabbers agree that when it comes to getting your point across, short and sweet is often the most satisfying solution. Claude would not have classified himself as a backstabber, not only because he wore his intense dislike for the person he refused to think of as his brother-in-law so clearly in his glare that it was shocking that Nathan hadn’t spontaneously burst into flame already, but also because he had every intention of exacting his sweet revenge right to Nathan’s over-righteous face. Which is why Claude Raines, the invisible and anonymous “family friend” of the Petrelli family who only a very, very small selection of people knew about entered the tastefully decorated hotel ballroom and crossed through the cluster of tables decked with the East Coast’s finest, colourful $20,000 dresses and slick black tuxedos magnifying the frivolous pomposity Claude could feel leeching through his pores like a slow poison from the instant he came in, making him feel ill yet oddly exhilarated at the same time. For this would be no routine “get their checkbooks in your pocket” occasion for Nathan Petrelli, oh no. Tonight was special. Surprises galore awaited. Or perhaps just one. But oh, it was going to be good. Oh yes. Which is why, to squeeze every moment of glorious, cackling joy out of this night, Claude chose not to don his normal attire of invisibility, but walked among the crowd in his blue jeans and hole chewed grey t-shirt in full, crystal clear view, ensuring that everyone, down to the most jaded socialite falling asleep in the left hand corner would see him. To maximize his exposure even further (and because he just felt like it), he snatched a random shrimp from here, a cupcake from there, always straight from some rich sap’s plate, never lingering long to enough to hear more than an indignant, “hey!” for he must be quick. Nathan’s suspicious eyes were already on him, narrowed in seething warning from his stellar position at the head table situated at the end of the hall. He glanced towards Peter, who sat beside him, but the boy was too embroiled in a conversation with some cousin or other to notice Claude’s presence yet. Good.
He hurried to the table before Nathan could summon his minions to chuck Claude out on his arse (not that he could without having Peter rush up in Claude’s defense, which could cause quite the commotion in itself and Nathan wouldn’t risk that, the fool). Finally, Peter looked up, his mouth bending into a soft moue of surprise as he glanced down Claude’s ratty clothes, eyes widening in totally warranted panic, no doubt stoked by the massive grin Claude couldn’t keep from his face any longer.
“Claude,” Peter said, more like whimpered. “What are you doing here?”
He rose from his chair so quickly that Claude almost feared he might freeze time and defuse the bomb Claude had so carefully planned before he could have his fun, which would be bad. Very bad. Claude couldn’t let that happen. Not when it was so perfect. He dearly would have loved to take an extra moment to admire the adorable confusion ruffling Peter’s face, giving his eyes such a delectable, dark sheen, but time was pressing. Nathan would request a private, vicious word any second now. Claude would merely have to content himself with enjoying Peter’s lips.
“This,” he said and wrapped his arms around Peter’s back, kissing him so deeply that Peter would have to thrust him on his arse if he wanted to get a word in edgewise, but Peter wouldn’t be so inconsiderate. Though he could at least apply some of the reflexes Claude had been working so hard to beat into him and not simply freeze in shock, but since at present it was working in Claude’s advantage, he decided not to grill him about it later. Mmm, cherry pie. He’d have to steal a piece on his way out. Before Peter could regain his motor functions, Claude took advantage of the moment to give his audience a better view (just to make sure there would be no confusion or claims that the many pictures that were guaranteed to make the tabloids were Photoshopped), he bent Peter back, delivering a sweeping kiss that only the splendour of Hollywood was supposed to offer. Numb hands weakly gripped his shoulders, the mouth on his responding with reluctant compliance, pulling back almost at the same instant at which he pushed forward, clearly torn by the divided loyalties to his lover and his brother. Couldn’t blame him, really. But he had cast his lot now. And it tasted so divine.
Mission accomplished, Claude straightened them back up, grinning with unabashed glee at the hundreds of stupefied faces staring at them. Not even the music was playing anymore, the hall rife with a rumble of murmurs that thanks to the wonder of Smartphones would become nationwide gossip within minutes and international gossip in just a little longer. Headlines were already being launched in guffawing news editors’ heads. Bill Maher would doubtless have a field day with it this very Friday. While in every other circumstance, Claude would feel incredibly self-conscious with having his photograph splashed around the media (and there plenty of cameras flashing), he was comforted by knowing it was all for a good cause (for what better cause could there be than having the last hysterical laugh?). And there was the cause, standing right there next to them seething in silent, artery popping fury, clutching his fork so tightly that Claude almost felt a smidgen of fear, but Nathan wasn’t going to compound this media disaster with public homicide. Surely.
“Want to check out the hotel’s room service?” Claude whispered into Peter’s ear, feeling a little guilty about the embarrassment reddening Peter’s cheeks.
“Okay,” Peter said, grabbing Claude’s hand and yanking him towards the exit.
Claude grinned at Nathan on the way out.
Title: The Five Ws
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Claude decides to ruin Nathan's day.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Who: Claude Rains
What: The political scandal of the season
When: One week before Election Day
Where: Some fancy venue in Washington D. C. where the waiters all wear suits designed by Armani.
Why: A philosophical disagreement a few hours before the oh so important campaign dinner party, involving two desperate calls from the front desk, a broken glass, furious shouting liberally peppered with obscene language that would have made an HBO writer blush, four innocent bystanders who all decided that they absolutely must go to the bathroom at the exact same time, a bloodied nose, a torn lip, and what was sure to be one hell of a good black eye in the morning, which was quickly covered up in two millimeters of makeup.
How: Millennia of vengeful backstabbers agree that when it comes to getting your point across, short and sweet is often the most satisfying solution. Claude would not have classified himself as a backstabber, not only because he wore his intense dislike for the person he refused to think of as his brother-in-law so clearly in his glare that it was shocking that Nathan hadn’t spontaneously burst into flame already, but also because he had every intention of exacting his sweet revenge right to Nathan’s over-righteous face. Which is why Claude Raines, the invisible and anonymous “family friend” of the Petrelli family who only a very, very small selection of people knew about entered the tastefully decorated hotel ballroom and crossed through the cluster of tables decked with the East Coast’s finest, colourful $20,000 dresses and slick black tuxedos magnifying the frivolous pomposity Claude could feel leeching through his pores like a slow poison from the instant he came in, making him feel ill yet oddly exhilarated at the same time. For this would be no routine “get their checkbooks in your pocket” occasion for Nathan Petrelli, oh no. Tonight was special. Surprises galore awaited. Or perhaps just one. But oh, it was going to be good. Oh yes. Which is why, to squeeze every moment of glorious, cackling joy out of this night, Claude chose not to don his normal attire of invisibility, but walked among the crowd in his blue jeans and hole chewed grey t-shirt in full, crystal clear view, ensuring that everyone, down to the most jaded socialite falling asleep in the left hand corner would see him. To maximize his exposure even further (and because he just felt like it), he snatched a random shrimp from here, a cupcake from there, always straight from some rich sap’s plate, never lingering long to enough to hear more than an indignant, “hey!” for he must be quick. Nathan’s suspicious eyes were already on him, narrowed in seething warning from his stellar position at the head table situated at the end of the hall. He glanced towards Peter, who sat beside him, but the boy was too embroiled in a conversation with some cousin or other to notice Claude’s presence yet. Good.
He hurried to the table before Nathan could summon his minions to chuck Claude out on his arse (not that he could without having Peter rush up in Claude’s defense, which could cause quite the commotion in itself and Nathan wouldn’t risk that, the fool). Finally, Peter looked up, his mouth bending into a soft moue of surprise as he glanced down Claude’s ratty clothes, eyes widening in totally warranted panic, no doubt stoked by the massive grin Claude couldn’t keep from his face any longer.
“Claude,” Peter said, more like whimpered. “What are you doing here?”
He rose from his chair so quickly that Claude almost feared he might freeze time and defuse the bomb Claude had so carefully planned before he could have his fun, which would be bad. Very bad. Claude couldn’t let that happen. Not when it was so perfect. He dearly would have loved to take an extra moment to admire the adorable confusion ruffling Peter’s face, giving his eyes such a delectable, dark sheen, but time was pressing. Nathan would request a private, vicious word any second now. Claude would merely have to content himself with enjoying Peter’s lips.
“This,” he said and wrapped his arms around Peter’s back, kissing him so deeply that Peter would have to thrust him on his arse if he wanted to get a word in edgewise, but Peter wouldn’t be so inconsiderate. Though he could at least apply some of the reflexes Claude had been working so hard to beat into him and not simply freeze in shock, but since at present it was working in Claude’s advantage, he decided not to grill him about it later. Mmm, cherry pie. He’d have to steal a piece on his way out. Before Peter could regain his motor functions, Claude took advantage of the moment to give his audience a better view (just to make sure there would be no confusion or claims that the many pictures that were guaranteed to make the tabloids were Photoshopped), he bent Peter back, delivering a sweeping kiss that only the splendour of Hollywood was supposed to offer. Numb hands weakly gripped his shoulders, the mouth on his responding with reluctant compliance, pulling back almost at the same instant at which he pushed forward, clearly torn by the divided loyalties to his lover and his brother. Couldn’t blame him, really. But he had cast his lot now. And it tasted so divine.
Mission accomplished, Claude straightened them back up, grinning with unabashed glee at the hundreds of stupefied faces staring at them. Not even the music was playing anymore, the hall rife with a rumble of murmurs that thanks to the wonder of Smartphones would become nationwide gossip within minutes and international gossip in just a little longer. Headlines were already being launched in guffawing news editors’ heads. Bill Maher would doubtless have a field day with it this very Friday. While in every other circumstance, Claude would feel incredibly self-conscious with having his photograph splashed around the media (and there plenty of cameras flashing), he was comforted by knowing it was all for a good cause (for what better cause could there be than having the last hysterical laugh?). And there was the cause, standing right there next to them seething in silent, artery popping fury, clutching his fork so tightly that Claude almost felt a smidgen of fear, but Nathan wasn’t going to compound this media disaster with public homicide. Surely.
“Want to check out the hotel’s room service?” Claude whispered into Peter’s ear, feeling a little guilty about the embarrassment reddening Peter’s cheeks.
“Okay,” Peter said, grabbing Claude’s hand and yanking him towards the exit.
Claude grinned at Nathan on the way out.