karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,

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"Negotiation at the Nineteenth Hole" Flight of the Phoenix/Spooks (Hugh Laurie all the way.)

Title: Negotiation at the Nineteenth Hole
Fandom: Crossover-Flight of the Phoenix/Spooks (MI5)
Pairing: Ian/Jools Siviter
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 910
Notes: Written for vanillafluffy's comment pr0n meme. Kink prompt: Crossovers (characters thrust into other universes; canon universes merged; sex between characters played by same actor.)
It didn't come out as porn-tastic as I would have liked, but I thought I'd share it with like-minded fans.
ETA-Additional editing done on October 23, 2013.

Summary: The desert changes a man.
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“Quite the ordeal, then?”

Ian shrugged. Nearly six months after the fact, he sometimes woke up thinking he was still in the desert, tasting sand in his mouth. He’d recovered from the sunburn, the dehydration and the malnutrition, but nothing would ever take away the memories, especially the fear that he was going to die out there, completely abandoned and forgotten.

Not that he had any intention of sharing those thoughts with the man calling himself Jools Siviter, who’d shown up at the club house asking if he might have a word, in a tone that heavily implied this wasn’t really a request he could decline..

Why now, he wondered? He’d already run the gamut of government officials, both British and American, reporters, lawyers and Amacor executives wishing to avoid a major scandal who were willing to write a substantial check to make sure one didn’t break out. So who was this fellow wearing a perfectly tailored suit, complete with a tie whose high quality silk Ian could assess by just looking at it, and wanting him to go over the whole thing again?

He accepted the drink that was offered and covered the high points, realising as he spoke that Siviter was watching more than listening. He already knew what had happened in Mongolia; he was looking for something else.

Ian decided to bait the hook, complete with a touch of a lower class accent.

“That Elliot bloke. He was a piece of work all right.”

Siviter was good. He barely took his attention off the whiskey he was drinking, but there was just enough of a change in demeanour to tell Ian his suspicions were true. Somebody was very interested in Elliot’s design skills.

“But was he genius or a madman?”

“We made it out alive,” Ian answered bluntly.

“And Her Majesty’s government is grateful, of course. But now that that’s been taken care of, we’d like to have his intelligence at our disposal, rather than the Americans.”

“Ah,” he said, draining his gin and tonic, and signaling the bartender for another one. Might as well drink on the Queen’s shilling. “I think that train’s long since left the station. I hear he’s signed a lucrative contract with NASA.”

For a man drinking the McCallan, Siviter had quite a sour look at the mention of NASA.

“We thought you might be able to render some assistance with that.”

“I barely talked to the man.”

“Perhaps you have other persuasive techniques.”

Ian narrowed his eyes at the implications.

“Exactly which branch of the Her Majesty’s government do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Is it a pleasure?”

How did Siviter manage to turn every something vaguely disreputable, although strangely appealing?

“SIS? I find it hard to believe that MI5 would take this tack.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what our sister service might take.”

Two could play at this game.

He reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and watched Siviter’s graceful fingers extract one from the pack after he made the silent offer. Ian did the lighting for both of them, as well, and went out of the way to accentuate the delight he took in the first luxuriant inhale. He held the other man’s eyes, as blue as the sky he remembered from Mongolia, a blue one rarely saw over London, especially in these murky days of summer.

“And what might you take, Mr. Siviter?”

The eyes told all, or they told nothing; the thin smile even less. Was this a negotiation or a seduction or was there even a difference for men in their positions?

“What I need,” Siviter replied, putting a hand on the bar as he leaned slightly closer to Ian than absolutely necessary.

Ian put down his own hand, leaving a fraction of respectable space between them, yet feeling an almost magnetic pull. The desire to intertwine with those fingers was something that might drive him to make foolish promises.

“I think I can give you that.”

He heard a roughness in his own voice that belied the lubricating effects of the alcohol and he could feel sweat breaking out on his upper lip that had nothing to do with exertion of the eighteen holes he’d played earlier.

Siviter took a shallow puff of his cigarette before placing it in the ashtray. Without breaking eye contact, he took out the pocket silk that matched his tie and reached over to dab at Ian’s face, leaving him breathless with the faint scent of after-shave that emanated from the rich fabric and the sense that he was over-matched and happy to be so.

He watched Siviter resume his smoking as if an incredibly intimate moment hadn’t just transpired in full view of the club house, none of whom would really have noticed anything. Ian did wonder if they might notice something odd in his gait as he left, a slight imbalance caused as much by dizziness and drink as the arousal that moment had unleashed.

“Perhaps some dinner,” Siviter was suggesting as he laid a few notes on the bar. The detached amusement in his voice made it clear that Siviter fully intended for other hungers to be satisfied first.

Ian had enough experience in business to know a deal had been struck, and he’d be asked to do things he’d once have thought beyond him, but that was before the desert. Now Ian knew exactly what he was capable of.

Jools Siviter was about to find out.
Tags: fanfic, flight of the phoenix, jools siviter, spooks/mi5

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