Murder, They Tweeted #8
Dec. 1st, 2018 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe wedding ultimately goes off without a hitch, which brings Quentin and Hank closer than ever before.
All things considered, the weekend had turned out much better than Quentin could have possibly predicted. Sure, some jackass was murdered and dumped into a barrel of wine he'd drunk from, but he and Hank had solved the mystery, the food was good, the untainted wine was plentiful, and the band actually played music he could dance to. So he returned to their shared suite in unusually good spirits. First thing he did was loosen his tie and open one of the bottles he had pilfered from the reception, pouring himself and Hank each a glass.
"Cheers, Henry."
"To your health," Hank replied, lifting his glass. It was unfortunate it was too late for the toast to reach Trevor, but at least the perpetrator was in custody where he couldn't hurt anybody else. Sinking down into a chair he swirled the wine a little before taking a sip, feeling the relaxation - and exhaustion - seep through him. "I suppose, all things considered, that we should consider this weekend a success. I hope Raph and Diane's day won't be forever overshadowed by Felix's crime."
"It probably ensures they stay together forever, because if they split up, then Portsmouth died for nothing." Though even a blind man could see how stupidly in love they were with each other so Quentin bet they would at least beat the national average on marriage. "I didn't say it yet, but thank you for your help. I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
Hank gave an embarrassed shrug; he had all but volunteered himself to help, and really his contributions had been minimal. Save for examining the dead body... with a shudder he hauled his mind out of that particular perambulation. "I was glad to help. Raph seems like a good person, and it was an honour working alongside you to clear his name. It was an unexpected treat, watching you work. You're very talented."
If later asked, Quentin would assert any red on his face was from a mixture of East Asian genetics and alcohol. "Well, of course I am," he said, adding further fuel to the fire by finishing his glass. His tone held his normal bravado, but he did not look Hank in the eyes when he spoke. "I said I'd do it, I wouldn't lie. Raph is . . . If I weren't already the black sheep of the family, then he'd be. He's a bimbo, but he's always been kind and sees the best in people. He doesn't take advantage of others. The polar opposite of his parents and mine and our other cousins. You'd almost think he's the adopted one. So I owed him no less than what I did."
"He's lucky you were here," Hank said with a warm smile. He leaned forward to top up Quentin's glass, though it was a decidedly meagre pour. "Your family is... well. They make me feel fortunate for my family. Yet they managed to produce you, and Raph. So they have something worth being proud of."
Clinically unable to accept a compliment, Quentin shook his head. "They didn't produce me," he said, "they bought me. What is your family like?" Changing the subject, it did not escape his notice this way have been the first time in his life he ever asked someone else about that topic.
"Small. I'm sure there are many second-cousin McCoys out there, but of my immediate family it's mostly just my parents and myself. They're also much older than your parents - at least, I assume so. I suppose judicious application of plastic surgery could help maintain a perpetually youthful appearance," Hank mused.
Quentin squinted and looked around the room. "Henry, where are you? I can't see you in all that shade you just threw."
Blinking, it took Hank a moment to realise what had just happened. It seemed shade was shade, unintentional or not. He knew Quentin well enough to at least be reassured that he wouldn't be insulted by the accidental insult, and gave a short laugh before taking another sip of his wine. "I didn't mean it like that," he said unnecessarily. "Of all your parents' imperfections I doubt bone structure is one of them."
"It's certainly one of the lesser important ones on that long list," Quentin agreed. "Do you get along with your parents?" Do you have a normal family, he meant, the quintessential picture of an American family, straight out of a Rockwell.
"Yes, but..." Hank hesitated; what he was about to say could be construed as unkind, and he didn't want to give the wrong impression. "I love my parents, and they love me - unconditionally. I don't know how much they understand me, however. My research, my being a mutant, moving away to a big city... it's not really something we will ever connect over. But we do love each other, and that's just as important, I think."
It's more than many other people had. What Quentin wouldn't have done when he was younger to have even a sliver of that. Ugh, this talk was making him maudlin, and he'd had much too good a day to end it on that note. He stood up and finished his drink. "I am a mess after that party. I'm going to take a quick shower before bed. Good night, Henry."
"Good night, Quentin."
Hank contemplated his glass as Quentin disappeared into the bathroom. He tried not to fixate on the sound of the other man moving around, the noise of the shower spray hitting the tile. Perhaps it was the nuptials they had just witnessed that turned his thoughts towards intimacy, or the flush of having solved the murder, or just the growing respect and affection he had for Quentin. Whatever the case, after a few minutes he could resist no longer. Tossing back the rest of his wine in an impulsive gulp Hank stood and strode towards the bathroom, letting himself in and then unbuttoning his shirt with trembling hands. "Mind if I, er, join you?" he said into the steam.
The hot air carried Hank's voice to Quentin's ears, and for a moment, the psychic thought the shower was playing a trick on him. He had fantasized about this since the day he had met Hank, just another target of his irrepressible lust. That longing had only grown stronger since the first time they went out. He had hoped spending this weekend together would lead to this moment. He just did not expect it to actually happen. Nor that, when presented with the opportunity, he would second-guess himself. But, after wiping the water from his eyes, he saw Hank's silhouette displayed on the shower curtain. No joke, no fantasy.
Quentin pulled back the curtain, revealing himself in all his unadorned glory to Hank. No makeup, no product, no clothes, no attitude. Just his plain naked body under the hot cleansing rain. He stepped aside to make room, and when Hank stripped the rest of his clothes and joined him, Quentin closed the curtain and wordlessly engulfed Hank's lips with his.
All things considered, the weekend had turned out much better than Quentin could have possibly predicted. Sure, some jackass was murdered and dumped into a barrel of wine he'd drunk from, but he and Hank had solved the mystery, the food was good, the untainted wine was plentiful, and the band actually played music he could dance to. So he returned to their shared suite in unusually good spirits. First thing he did was loosen his tie and open one of the bottles he had pilfered from the reception, pouring himself and Hank each a glass.
"Cheers, Henry."
"To your health," Hank replied, lifting his glass. It was unfortunate it was too late for the toast to reach Trevor, but at least the perpetrator was in custody where he couldn't hurt anybody else. Sinking down into a chair he swirled the wine a little before taking a sip, feeling the relaxation - and exhaustion - seep through him. "I suppose, all things considered, that we should consider this weekend a success. I hope Raph and Diane's day won't be forever overshadowed by Felix's crime."
"It probably ensures they stay together forever, because if they split up, then Portsmouth died for nothing." Though even a blind man could see how stupidly in love they were with each other so Quentin bet they would at least beat the national average on marriage. "I didn't say it yet, but thank you for your help. I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
Hank gave an embarrassed shrug; he had all but volunteered himself to help, and really his contributions had been minimal. Save for examining the dead body... with a shudder he hauled his mind out of that particular perambulation. "I was glad to help. Raph seems like a good person, and it was an honour working alongside you to clear his name. It was an unexpected treat, watching you work. You're very talented."
If later asked, Quentin would assert any red on his face was from a mixture of East Asian genetics and alcohol. "Well, of course I am," he said, adding further fuel to the fire by finishing his glass. His tone held his normal bravado, but he did not look Hank in the eyes when he spoke. "I said I'd do it, I wouldn't lie. Raph is . . . If I weren't already the black sheep of the family, then he'd be. He's a bimbo, but he's always been kind and sees the best in people. He doesn't take advantage of others. The polar opposite of his parents and mine and our other cousins. You'd almost think he's the adopted one. So I owed him no less than what I did."
"He's lucky you were here," Hank said with a warm smile. He leaned forward to top up Quentin's glass, though it was a decidedly meagre pour. "Your family is... well. They make me feel fortunate for my family. Yet they managed to produce you, and Raph. So they have something worth being proud of."
Clinically unable to accept a compliment, Quentin shook his head. "They didn't produce me," he said, "they bought me. What is your family like?" Changing the subject, it did not escape his notice this way have been the first time in his life he ever asked someone else about that topic.
"Small. I'm sure there are many second-cousin McCoys out there, but of my immediate family it's mostly just my parents and myself. They're also much older than your parents - at least, I assume so. I suppose judicious application of plastic surgery could help maintain a perpetually youthful appearance," Hank mused.
Quentin squinted and looked around the room. "Henry, where are you? I can't see you in all that shade you just threw."
Blinking, it took Hank a moment to realise what had just happened. It seemed shade was shade, unintentional or not. He knew Quentin well enough to at least be reassured that he wouldn't be insulted by the accidental insult, and gave a short laugh before taking another sip of his wine. "I didn't mean it like that," he said unnecessarily. "Of all your parents' imperfections I doubt bone structure is one of them."
"It's certainly one of the lesser important ones on that long list," Quentin agreed. "Do you get along with your parents?" Do you have a normal family, he meant, the quintessential picture of an American family, straight out of a Rockwell.
"Yes, but..." Hank hesitated; what he was about to say could be construed as unkind, and he didn't want to give the wrong impression. "I love my parents, and they love me - unconditionally. I don't know how much they understand me, however. My research, my being a mutant, moving away to a big city... it's not really something we will ever connect over. But we do love each other, and that's just as important, I think."
It's more than many other people had. What Quentin wouldn't have done when he was younger to have even a sliver of that. Ugh, this talk was making him maudlin, and he'd had much too good a day to end it on that note. He stood up and finished his drink. "I am a mess after that party. I'm going to take a quick shower before bed. Good night, Henry."
"Good night, Quentin."
Hank contemplated his glass as Quentin disappeared into the bathroom. He tried not to fixate on the sound of the other man moving around, the noise of the shower spray hitting the tile. Perhaps it was the nuptials they had just witnessed that turned his thoughts towards intimacy, or the flush of having solved the murder, or just the growing respect and affection he had for Quentin. Whatever the case, after a few minutes he could resist no longer. Tossing back the rest of his wine in an impulsive gulp Hank stood and strode towards the bathroom, letting himself in and then unbuttoning his shirt with trembling hands. "Mind if I, er, join you?" he said into the steam.
The hot air carried Hank's voice to Quentin's ears, and for a moment, the psychic thought the shower was playing a trick on him. He had fantasized about this since the day he had met Hank, just another target of his irrepressible lust. That longing had only grown stronger since the first time they went out. He had hoped spending this weekend together would lead to this moment. He just did not expect it to actually happen. Nor that, when presented with the opportunity, he would second-guess himself. But, after wiping the water from his eyes, he saw Hank's silhouette displayed on the shower curtain. No joke, no fantasy.
Quentin pulled back the curtain, revealing himself in all his unadorned glory to Hank. No makeup, no product, no clothes, no attitude. Just his plain naked body under the hot cleansing rain. He stepped aside to make room, and when Hank stripped the rest of his clothes and joined him, Quentin closed the curtain and wordlessly engulfed Hank's lips with his.
