Lewis Fic: Metaphor (Mixtape Part 3/3)
I just wrote a shithot paragraph for my thesis conclusions, because I'm just that shithot. Thusly, fic.
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Title: Metaphor (Mixtape Part 3/3)
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Lewis
Pairing: Hathaway/Lewis
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Word count: 1,825
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Summary: “I thought we talked about the dangers of jumping to conclusions.”
Author notes: This is a conclusion of the story I began in Deeper Meaning and Significance. Unlike those, this one turned out a respectable fic length and thus received a proper beta from baskervwatson who was lovely and incredibly helpful. Thank you also to pushkin666 for cheerleading.
The next day was Saturday and since they had no active cases there was no need to go to the station. And thus no need to face his DI for a while yet.
James had to admit he was feeling more than a little relieved about that. Not that he thought there was any chance of Robbie having read anything else but the obvious to the gift. More than likely he would only be bemused by Hathaway’s attempts at broadening his musical horizons.
No, the problem was not Robbie, James thought, idly plucking at the guitar strings. It was him. He’d put his feelings to words - not quite his own words, but still - and now he needed to make his peace with them. Well, at least he had plenty of time for that now with the weekend stretching ahead of him filled with nothing but unwanted introspection.
James was contemplating whether it was too early in the day to open a bottle of wine, when his phone rang. He grabbed the Blackberry from the sofa table, completely unsurprised to see the words ‘Lewis calling’ flashing on the screen. Of course. So much for his quiet weekend of avoidance.
“Hello,” he answered, already setting his guitar down and rising to his feet. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what, Hathaway?” Robbie sounded confused though there was also a distinctive thread of amusement, winding around the words.
“The body, sir. I assume you’re calling about a new case.”
“You assume wrong, lad.” The laughter in his voice was clear now, and full of warmth. James could feel himself smiling automatically in response. “I thought we talked about the dangers of jumping to conclusions.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, smirking. Falling into the familiar work banter was easy, which only made Lewis’ next words all the more unexpected.
“There’s no new case and don’t go tempting fate by even talking about it,” he said. “I’m calling to see if you’re free for dinner.”
Hathaway blinked slowly. “Sir?”
“Oh don’t ‘Sir’ me.” James could almost hear the frustrated eye-roll his boss was doing. “It’s my birthday and thought I’d cook something more complicated than a frozen ready-meal, if you fancy it?” A few seconds of silence and then Robbie took an audible breath before starting to backpedal: “You’re probably busy though, never mind, I’m-”
“I’d like that,” James interrupted quickly before Robbie withdrew the invitation completely. “Only... I think you’ve misunderstood something.”
“...and what’s that?”
The question was uncharacteristically hesitant and James closed his eyes, forging ahead before he lost his nerve: “It’s your birthday; surely I should be the one doing the cooking.”
A surprised bark of laughter greeted his announcement and James grinned, happy to have diffused the situation.
“You can do that the next time,” Robbie said. “See you at seven, bring wine.” And with that he hung up, leaving James staring at his phone unsure whether he was looking forward to the evening or dreading it.
Probably both.
***
It was pissing down by the time he got there. Even the short dash from the car to the front door left James half-soaked.
The door was flung open before he had a chance to knock and James felt warmed by the idea that Robbie had been waiting for him, keeping an eye out.
“Quickly now,” Robbie said, pulling James in by the sleeve. “Damn British summer. Sometimes I think Mark had the right idea, moving to Oz. At least it’s mostly dry there.”
“Ah, but you’d miss Oxford,” James smiled, twisting around to hang up his jacket. When he turned back he was surprised to find Robbie still standing right next to him.
“I probably would,” he said quietly, regarding James with an unreadable expression on his face. “Terribly.”
The hallway was narrow and shadowed, the rain beating on the windows adding to the sudden sense of intimacy. There was something in Robbie’s eyes that made James think he wasn’t talking exclusively about the city. He had just gathered a nerve to ask when a loud sound of a timer effectively ruined the moment.
Robbie took a step back, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Food’s ready,” he said, voice oddly gruff.
***
After the dinner - a more than passable roast with all the trimmings - James wandered into the living room, taking his wineglass with him. Robbie had refused to let him help with the cleanup, despite James’ objections about it being Robbie’s birthday.
“Don’t be daft,” Robbie had said, nudging James out of the kitchen. “I’ll just put the rest of the food in the fridge. The dishes can wait until tomorrow.”
So here he was, absent-mindedly poking around the bookshelves, cataloguing recent additions. It seemed that Robbie had treated himself to a couple of new books and James found himself smiling with approval. Robbie should indulge himself more and it was good to see him slowly coming out of his self-imposed social isolation and austerity.
James crouched in front of the stereo and caught his breath when he saw a familiar CD-cover lying on top of it. Robbie hadn’t said anything about the gift over the dinner and he had managed to push the whole thing to the back of his mind. But there it was now, staring him right in the face.
James sighed, standing up and turning the CD around in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to regret making it, even though it left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. He tried to shake off the nervous flutter at the bottom of his stomach. There was no need for it; Robbie would not have read anything to the songs beyond his questionable taste for slightly maudlin singer-songwriters.
“Why don’t you put it on?”
The question was startling in the quiet of the room. James glanced up to see Robbie leaning on the doorway. He looked good. The top two buttons of the shirt were undone and the deep green colour brought out his eyes. It was clear that Robbie had taken more than usual care with his outfit, and fleetingly James wondered if maybe it was for his benefit.
He flashed what he hoped passed for a casual grin and opened the case, only to find it empty.
“It’s already in. I listened to it last night. And again earlier today.” Robbie walked over, putting his glass down on the table and reaching around James to press play on the stereo. Their arms brushed together as the first strains of the music drifted out of the speakers. Neither of them pulled away from the contact.
James swallowed, licking his suddenly dry lips. There was an undercurrent of... of something here, he could almost feel it tugging at his heart, but he was scared to allow it carry him along until he was sure it led to where he hoped.
“What did you think?” he asked instead. “I know it’s not your kind of music.”
Robbie raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “What does that mean: ‘my kind of music’? I thought you didn’t believe in putting people into neatly labelled boxes?”
James opened his mouth to say something - what, he had no idea - but Robbie put a hand on his arm, effectively derailing any thought.
“No, hold on. Just... let me finish.” He looked determined but slightly apprehensive and with a jolt James recognised it as the same expression Robbie tended to wear to court; sure of his facts but knowing that a cross-examination was likely.
“You made the CD, didn’t you?” he asked.
James nodded. It wasn’t so much of a question as it was an opening gambit in an interrogation and since the CD obviously wasn’t store bought, it was an easy truth to admit to.
“Which means you selected the songs on it for a reason. Ah-ah!” Robbie raised his finger pre-emptively to stop any protests. “Don’t try to argue. I know you; you do nothing without a reason.”
That, James had to admit, was a fair cop. “They’re some of my favourites,” he shrugged. It wasn’t a lie. “I thought you could use something new to listen to.” He swallowed the ‘Sir’ that lurked around the end of the sentence because this was not the time to remind Robbie of their professional relationship.
“I could use something new...” Robbie quirked his lip in that half amused, half self-deprecating way of his. “It sure isn’t the kind of music I’ve listened to before.”
James didn’t realise he’d been trying to pull away until Robbie’s hand on his arm tightened, holding him in place. He glanced down, then back up to Robbie’s face.
“That doesn’t mean it’s not ‘my kind of music’,” he was saying, completely serious. “It doesn’t mean I don’t like it or... or want to listen to it again. More.” Robbie was looking at him intently, as if willing him to understand something, something important. It was like in the early days of their partnership when he had let James work out the crucial piece of evidence for himself, except this time James could only stare, unsure of what layer of meaning to respond to.
Luckily, Robbie made that decision for him. “Damn it all, man! I thought you were supposed to be good with metaphors,” he huffed, running an impatient hand through his hair. “Look, I... Oh, to hell with it!” and with that he grabbed the open collar of James’ shirt and yanked him down for a kiss.
It was... okay, for the first five seconds it was not great - Robbie grimly determined and James stiff with surprise, bent in an awkward position and off balance - but then James made a low noise of pleasure somewhere deep in his throat, curling his arms around Robbie and then... Well, then it got amazing.
They kissed for a long time, long enough for the first song to end and the second and then the third to begin. Robbie’s grip relaxed, his hands travelling up to cup James’ neck, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. Slowly, they eased apart and James only noticed he’d closed his eyes when he needed to open them again.
“I...” he licked his lips, feeling a curl of heat in his stomach when Robbie’s eyes followed the movement. “I take it you liked the songs then, Sir?” he asked, unable to suppress the happiness that threatened to take over his entire face.
Robbie poked him in the chest and grumbled: “I like you, you overeducated, infuriating buffoon! Why does everything have to be an exercise in subtlety and hidden meanings with you? Songs and gifts! You could have just-”
James pressed closer, leaning down and effectively shutting him up with his mouth.
“That direct enough for you?” he asked, some long minutes later.
Robbie blinked and then grinned. “I think so,” he said, reaching to press the ‘repeat all’ button on the stereo before pulling James into another kiss. “But let’s play it again anyway.”
Fin.