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fellowshippers2004-12-01 05:33 pm
cool-like-dom.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-12-01 05:33 pm
mothers, lock up your sons...
title - "metropolitan glide"
author - eri
pairing - AU monaboyd.
rating - will get to NC-17. PG now.
warnings - angst. violence. smut.
disclaimer - if you can prove this happened, i will do a little dance.
feedback - will make me squeal with delight.
summary - monaboyd meets film noir, set in 1940’s los angeles. detective monaghan gets a new client, and finds himself getting more than he bargained for. beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shaded_infinity who, contrary to popular belief, is not really an ass. x-posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
monaboyd and fellow_shippers.
Even now, I can still remember how it all began. I’m bad with dates, but it must have been summer. One of those afternoons that was so stifling everything slowed to a crawl. The traffic, the kids outside, even time itself. I remember the windows of the office were open, trying to grasp the illusive bit of cool breeze, but all that was coming in was more heat.
I was sweating at my desk, but not just because of the temperature. Things were tight nowadays, and we were down to our last pennies. Summer days meant crime was up, ‘cos when temperatures flared, so did tempers, but they were all trivial things, like gangsters shooting up each other, and the blue boys could handle that, easy. No one had the patience to go through someone like me for answers, they just shot first and asked questions later. Bad for my side.
Too bad, really, because I was down to my last bottle of good whiskey. I wanted a drink, but things like that you don’t want to waste. Client comes in, you offer them a drink, ease their spirits and their tongues, maybe squeeze an extra buck from them. Can’t go drinking it yourself, no matter how hot it was or how bored you were. Just not the way things are done, professional-like, which is how I liked to do things.
I had just thought, hell with it, and was about to pour myself a drink, when I heard a knock on the door outside. I had the bottle in hand, and was fishing for a clean glass, but froze when I heard my secretary invite the visitor in. I figured it would be the landlord, Serkis, looking for his rent, and I was trying to figure out the next excuse I could give him, and trying to find a place to hide the whiskey. Don’t mind being friendly with the guy that owns my office, just mind it when he helps himself to my dwindling stash of alcohol.
A tap on the door, and Miranda poked her pretty head in.
“Someone to see you, Detective,” she said, voice calm, but eyes betraying her excitement at the new prospect. “Shall I let him in?”
Miranda, she’s a smart kid, got a nice head on a nicer body. And she only gets to looking eager like this when the bloke looks to have some money on him. Good thing I didn’t drink all the whiskey.
“Certainly,” I said, winking at her. I rummaged around the cabinet for a couple glasses, and took a glance at my reflection. My tie and jacket had been lost earlier, and I looked a bit wilted, but it was forgivable, I thought. Still looked good. Tried to straighten my hair a bit, when the door opened. I turned, and got a first look at my new client.
Now, I’m not one for romantics, but when this bloke looked at me, I swear I got a little shaky inside. Deep, green eyes, the kind that you can feel on you, the kind that turn your knees to jelly, like mine were threatening to do. He wore a grey suit, fashionable, and held himself like he was nobility, but he still had that lower-class air about him, like he had just come into his wealth and wasn’t quite sure about liking it. He was built smaller, like myself, but I got the feeling that I wouldn’t want to be messing with him.
“Detective Monaghan?” he asked, and oh, that did it. Scotland. Always had a thing for Northerners, and the accent did a number on my brain. Didn’t help that I was hypnotized by how his lips curved over the words of my name.
I shook myself out of my reverie, and adopted my professional attitude. “That’s me,” I said, taking a step forward, extending my hand.
He shook it, grip sure, and said, “William Boyd.”
“Pleased. Have a seat, Mr. Boyd. I was just about to pour myself a drink, you care for whiskey?”
Stupid question, I thought, as 35% of a Scot’s blood is the stuff, but he smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
An inch for him, and an inch and a half for myself, and I set the bottle down and made my way back to my desk, handing him his share.
“Now, what can I do for you?” I asked, sitting back in my chair and watching him raise the tumbler to his lips.
He set the glass down on my desk, and fixed his gaze on me. “It’s my fiancée. I’d like you to follow her.”
Well, then. “And why do you think she needs following?” I asked, taking a sip of my drink.
William sighed. “I think that she’s seeing another man. I’m not certain, but she spends a lot of time out of the house. She told me she was seeing a friend for lunch the other day, and I ran into Cate that afternoon, sans Alison.”
“Alison, huh?” I said, reaching for a pen. “I’ll need some information on her. Address, what she looks like, who she goes with.”
He provided me with what I needed, giving me the names of a few men she knew, and that he’d seen her with. Something didn’t feel quite right with it, though. Don’t get me wrong, I get a lot of people coming in, asking me to find out if their lovers are cheating. Most of them are women, and most of their husbands are shacking with broads much nicer looking than them. This bloke, though, he was a looker, for sure. And he didn’t have the same, desperate tone to his words. I decided I’d let it go, for now, and start to get to know him a little better.
“So, Mr. Boyd, tell me why a Scotsman like yourself is in Los Angeles,” I said, lighting a cigarette and offering one to him.
He waved a hand at my offer, and smiled enigmatically at me. “Will you tell me why an Englishman like yourself is in the city as well?”
I grinned at him. “Sure. I’ll even go first, if it’d make you feel better.”
“By all means.” He sipped his whiskey, and the way his lips curved around the glass made me a little jealous.
I took a drag of my smoke, and put my feet on the corner of the desk, looking at him sideways. “Manchester, born and raised, made a living doing a lot of nothing special back home. Then all the news turned sour, and lads started signing into the military, and I didn’t want to get involved, so I looked for other options. They say I have a gift for seeing people, like I know what they’re thinking, so I decided I’d try my hand at it.”
I ashed my smoke, and looked away from William, at the photo on my desk of my family. Always got me choked up, looking at it, and didn’t want to show it now. “Then the Nazis decided to attack the world, and I decided it’d be safer on the other side of the Atlantic. What’d I know, huh?” I said, grinning. “Stuck in the middle, after all.” I finished the last of my whiskey, not noticing the burn.
William nodded. “Aye, there’s no avoiding it.”
My cigarette was extinguished, and I folded my hands across my lap. “So, it’s your turn, Mr. Boyd.”
“Fine, but you’ll have to call me William,” he replied.
“Then I’m Dominic.”
He smiled. “Alright, Dominic.” He shifted a bit in his seat. “Similar sort of circumstances. My father owned a publishing company in Glasgow, and I was his heir. He died recently, and I inherited his business, and decided I wanted to start over in America, as it was a little safer over here. I met Alison here, and thought that she and I would get along well together. It seems now that she’s only really in love with my money,” he said, frowning.
Broad doesn’t know what she’s doing, then. “I’ll find her out, William. No worries. At least you’re doing it now, before she’s got a right to your money, yeah?”
He shrugged. I decided I shouldn’t try to lighten the mood anymore. Didn’t get a chance to say much else, though, as he rose and said that he was due for a meeting with his investors.
So I shook his hand, told him I’d contact him when I’d found out more about Alison, and then he and his pretty green eyes were gone. I picked up his glass, absently swirling the last swallow left in it. “William,” I mumbled, running my tongue over his name, and downed it easily.
author - eri
pairing - AU monaboyd.
rating - will get to NC-17. PG now.
warnings - angst. violence. smut.
disclaimer - if you can prove this happened, i will do a little dance.
feedback - will make me squeal with delight.
summary - monaboyd meets film noir, set in 1940’s los angeles. detective monaghan gets a new client, and finds himself getting more than he bargained for. beta'd by
shaded_infinity who, contrary to popular belief, is not really an ass. x-posted to monaboyd and fellow_shippers.Even now, I can still remember how it all began. I’m bad with dates, but it must have been summer. One of those afternoons that was so stifling everything slowed to a crawl. The traffic, the kids outside, even time itself. I remember the windows of the office were open, trying to grasp the illusive bit of cool breeze, but all that was coming in was more heat.
I was sweating at my desk, but not just because of the temperature. Things were tight nowadays, and we were down to our last pennies. Summer days meant crime was up, ‘cos when temperatures flared, so did tempers, but they were all trivial things, like gangsters shooting up each other, and the blue boys could handle that, easy. No one had the patience to go through someone like me for answers, they just shot first and asked questions later. Bad for my side.
Too bad, really, because I was down to my last bottle of good whiskey. I wanted a drink, but things like that you don’t want to waste. Client comes in, you offer them a drink, ease their spirits and their tongues, maybe squeeze an extra buck from them. Can’t go drinking it yourself, no matter how hot it was or how bored you were. Just not the way things are done, professional-like, which is how I liked to do things.
I had just thought, hell with it, and was about to pour myself a drink, when I heard a knock on the door outside. I had the bottle in hand, and was fishing for a clean glass, but froze when I heard my secretary invite the visitor in. I figured it would be the landlord, Serkis, looking for his rent, and I was trying to figure out the next excuse I could give him, and trying to find a place to hide the whiskey. Don’t mind being friendly with the guy that owns my office, just mind it when he helps himself to my dwindling stash of alcohol.
A tap on the door, and Miranda poked her pretty head in.
“Someone to see you, Detective,” she said, voice calm, but eyes betraying her excitement at the new prospect. “Shall I let him in?”
Miranda, she’s a smart kid, got a nice head on a nicer body. And she only gets to looking eager like this when the bloke looks to have some money on him. Good thing I didn’t drink all the whiskey.
“Certainly,” I said, winking at her. I rummaged around the cabinet for a couple glasses, and took a glance at my reflection. My tie and jacket had been lost earlier, and I looked a bit wilted, but it was forgivable, I thought. Still looked good. Tried to straighten my hair a bit, when the door opened. I turned, and got a first look at my new client.
Now, I’m not one for romantics, but when this bloke looked at me, I swear I got a little shaky inside. Deep, green eyes, the kind that you can feel on you, the kind that turn your knees to jelly, like mine were threatening to do. He wore a grey suit, fashionable, and held himself like he was nobility, but he still had that lower-class air about him, like he had just come into his wealth and wasn’t quite sure about liking it. He was built smaller, like myself, but I got the feeling that I wouldn’t want to be messing with him.
“Detective Monaghan?” he asked, and oh, that did it. Scotland. Always had a thing for Northerners, and the accent did a number on my brain. Didn’t help that I was hypnotized by how his lips curved over the words of my name.
I shook myself out of my reverie, and adopted my professional attitude. “That’s me,” I said, taking a step forward, extending my hand.
He shook it, grip sure, and said, “William Boyd.”
“Pleased. Have a seat, Mr. Boyd. I was just about to pour myself a drink, you care for whiskey?”
Stupid question, I thought, as 35% of a Scot’s blood is the stuff, but he smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
An inch for him, and an inch and a half for myself, and I set the bottle down and made my way back to my desk, handing him his share.
“Now, what can I do for you?” I asked, sitting back in my chair and watching him raise the tumbler to his lips.
He set the glass down on my desk, and fixed his gaze on me. “It’s my fiancée. I’d like you to follow her.”
Well, then. “And why do you think she needs following?” I asked, taking a sip of my drink.
William sighed. “I think that she’s seeing another man. I’m not certain, but she spends a lot of time out of the house. She told me she was seeing a friend for lunch the other day, and I ran into Cate that afternoon, sans Alison.”
“Alison, huh?” I said, reaching for a pen. “I’ll need some information on her. Address, what she looks like, who she goes with.”
He provided me with what I needed, giving me the names of a few men she knew, and that he’d seen her with. Something didn’t feel quite right with it, though. Don’t get me wrong, I get a lot of people coming in, asking me to find out if their lovers are cheating. Most of them are women, and most of their husbands are shacking with broads much nicer looking than them. This bloke, though, he was a looker, for sure. And he didn’t have the same, desperate tone to his words. I decided I’d let it go, for now, and start to get to know him a little better.
“So, Mr. Boyd, tell me why a Scotsman like yourself is in Los Angeles,” I said, lighting a cigarette and offering one to him.
He waved a hand at my offer, and smiled enigmatically at me. “Will you tell me why an Englishman like yourself is in the city as well?”
I grinned at him. “Sure. I’ll even go first, if it’d make you feel better.”
“By all means.” He sipped his whiskey, and the way his lips curved around the glass made me a little jealous.
I took a drag of my smoke, and put my feet on the corner of the desk, looking at him sideways. “Manchester, born and raised, made a living doing a lot of nothing special back home. Then all the news turned sour, and lads started signing into the military, and I didn’t want to get involved, so I looked for other options. They say I have a gift for seeing people, like I know what they’re thinking, so I decided I’d try my hand at it.”
I ashed my smoke, and looked away from William, at the photo on my desk of my family. Always got me choked up, looking at it, and didn’t want to show it now. “Then the Nazis decided to attack the world, and I decided it’d be safer on the other side of the Atlantic. What’d I know, huh?” I said, grinning. “Stuck in the middle, after all.” I finished the last of my whiskey, not noticing the burn.
William nodded. “Aye, there’s no avoiding it.”
My cigarette was extinguished, and I folded my hands across my lap. “So, it’s your turn, Mr. Boyd.”
“Fine, but you’ll have to call me William,” he replied.
“Then I’m Dominic.”
He smiled. “Alright, Dominic.” He shifted a bit in his seat. “Similar sort of circumstances. My father owned a publishing company in Glasgow, and I was his heir. He died recently, and I inherited his business, and decided I wanted to start over in America, as it was a little safer over here. I met Alison here, and thought that she and I would get along well together. It seems now that she’s only really in love with my money,” he said, frowning.
Broad doesn’t know what she’s doing, then. “I’ll find her out, William. No worries. At least you’re doing it now, before she’s got a right to your money, yeah?”
He shrugged. I decided I shouldn’t try to lighten the mood anymore. Didn’t get a chance to say much else, though, as he rose and said that he was due for a meeting with his investors.
So I shook his hand, told him I’d contact him when I’d found out more about Alison, and then he and his pretty green eyes were gone. I picked up his glass, absently swirling the last swallow left in it. “William,” I mumbled, running my tongue over his name, and downed it easily.
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