I should be in bed. But. Advent.
Dec. 4th, 2006 01:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anotherusedpageWarnings for m/m, a bit of violence, and slight implied nastiness.
He ducks, rolls, and comes up running. The shots ricochet off the wall where his head was just moments before. He dives for cover. Three bullets left, just three bullets, and three of them still alive. He’ll have to make every bullet count. Breath heaving, he gathers himself for a moment, and then risks a momentary glance over the top of his make-shift bullet-shield. Shots hammer home into the woodwork around him, but he’s clocked their positions now.
He shifts the shelter slightly, as though he’s making to glance over again, and then rolls to the side. As he’d expected, they aim high, expecting him to be shooting over, but he’s already running at a half crouch. One shot, one man down, then a tumble to avoid the hale of retaliatory bullets. He comes up laughing, and sends the next shot home into its victim’s face, spinning to place the third without stopping.
But the third man’s not there. The bullet shatters glass; he ducks for cover again, cursing his own stupidity. No bullets left. He’ll have to run for it, let him live. It’s not ideal, letting one get away, but there’s no choice.
He’s between him and the exit now, standing framed in the shattered window. He wonders how many bullets he’s got left, and whether he’s had time to reload.
Then, without warning, the sound of a shot rings out loud, and the man falls forwards, as if in slow-motion. The bullet wound is in the back of his head; someone took a shot at him from outside the window.
Without pausing to think, he makes a dash for it, leaps through the window, rolls with the fall. If the person out there with the gun is hostile, he’ll deal with whatever happens.
He catches a glimpse of a military coat, a wink and a wave.
‘Thanks,’ he calls.
‘Now we’re quits,’ the other man calls back, and then he is gone.
James Bond makes for the Aston Martin and drives away into the night.
*
‘Was there a CIA man out there with me last night?’ he asks.
‘Not that I know of. Why?’
‘An American came to my rescue. If he wasn’t anyone official, then we have an unknown on our hands. Extremely good shot.’
The information gets filed away. Just another unknown to look out for.
*
He sees him again, maybe a year later, drinking in the bar of some exotic hotel, and canoodling up with the man he’s supposed to be dealing with. He backs away – it’s not disgust, he tells himself, more embarrassment – and when he’s pulled himself together enough to look again, his contact has vanished.
‘I think I owe you a drink,’ he says.
The man looks him up and down, and raises an eyebrow.
‘Perhaps.’
‘I’m sure it was you,’ he says. ‘It was a fine shot. Right across the carpark and through the broken window. It was like you knew exactly where was standing.’ The man nods.
‘Yes. I’ll remember that next time,’ he says. ‘It saved your life, that shot.
‘I’d have managed. But it made my life easier.
‘Well, in that case, you can buy me a drink,’ he says. ‘I’m Captain Jack Harkness. You are…?’
‘Bond. James Bond.’ Giving him the name won’t hurt. ‘Captain of what exactly?’
‘Nothing you’ll have heard of.’ Jack leans in close. ‘You know how it is,’ he says, and lays a finger to his lips.
Bond orders in whisky too expensive to waste on an American, without really knowing why.
‘That man, who was with you before,’ he asks, trying to sound casual. ‘He your boyfriend?’
Jack looks him up and down.
‘I’d only just met him. What’s it to you?’
‘Need to talk to him.’
‘You need to talk to him. But you don’t know whether he has a boyfriend or not.’
Bond shrugs.
‘His personal life is nothing to do with me,’ he says.
‘Apart from the fact that it seems to offend your sense of masculinity,’ Jack says.
‘It does not!’
‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ Jack says. Bond scowls.
*
Jack sidles up to him while he’s waiting by the pool for the woman to bring him the copy of the micro-chip he needs before he can make his next kill. He’s watching the women swim, watching perfect arses slide clad only in lycra, and perfect cleavages wet and shining.’
‘You look at women like they’re objects,’ Jack says. Bond scowls, and then follows Jack’s gaze to a particularly lovely specimen.
‘So do you,’ he says. ‘I thought you were gay.’
Jack shakes his head.
‘Bisexual.’
‘You mean you’ve got the choice and you go with men anyway?’
Jack shakes his head.
‘Something like that,’ he says. Then he grins. ‘I bet you’ve limited yourself only to the pleasures that women can bring without even trying the other options. Don’t get me wrong,’ he adds quickly. ‘Women can bring quite considerable pleasures. But, well. So can all the other options.’
Bond is taken aback for a moment.
‘Was that a come on?’ he asks.
‘Will I get shot if it was?’
Bond can’t quite answer that one.
‘Not by a crowded swimming pool,’ he answers eventually.
‘It wasn’t the crowded swimming pool I was worried about,’ Jack quips.
*
The girl with the micro-chip is as alluring as girls-with-micro-chips and their like always are. Bond considers taking her back with him and fucking her to within an inch of her life, and is overcome with boredom. Across the pool, Jack raises an eyebrow at him, and he catches himself raising an eyebrow right back.
*
The first time, he enjoys it, for the adrenalin, the sense of danger, of rule-breaking. It doesn’t change his world. His masculinity remains intact. His caring side does not miraculously assert itself.
He has always objectified men, through the sites of a gun. Fucking and killing and killing and fucking. There’s little difference, when it comes down to it. He’s not bisexual. It’s women he wants to fuck, and men he wants to kill. He’s pretty clear on that one. It’s just that sometimes the lines get a little blurry. Sometimes, something in him forces him to fuck where he ought to kill, or kill where he ought to fuck. In the end, it makes little difference. He is above the law, and morals were forced from him a long time ago.
*
Jack watches the way he watches men and women, thinking of sex and death and nothing else. It makes his spine crawl. Several years later, when the carpark and the shattered window make their appearance, he has the urge to withhold his fire, and rid the world of one more twenty-first century misogynist. But seeing Bond outlined in the window, facing death with his head held high, he finds himself drawing his gun to let the man live again.
*
Fandom: James Bond
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it.
He ducks, rolls, and comes up running. The shots ricochet off the wall where his head was just moments before. He dives for cover. Three bullets left, just three bullets, and three of them still alive. He’ll have to make every bullet count. Breath heaving, he gathers himself for a moment, and then risks a momentary glance over the top of his make-shift bullet-shield. Shots hammer home into the woodwork around him, but he’s clocked their positions now.
He shifts the shelter slightly, as though he’s making to glance over again, and then rolls to the side. As he’d expected, they aim high, expecting him to be shooting over, but he’s already running at a half crouch. One shot, one man down, then a tumble to avoid the hale of retaliatory bullets. He comes up laughing, and sends the next shot home into its victim’s face, spinning to place the third without stopping.
But the third man’s not there. The bullet shatters glass; he ducks for cover again, cursing his own stupidity. No bullets left. He’ll have to run for it, let him live. It’s not ideal, letting one get away, but there’s no choice.
He’s between him and the exit now, standing framed in the shattered window. He wonders how many bullets he’s got left, and whether he’s had time to reload.
Then, without warning, the sound of a shot rings out loud, and the man falls forwards, as if in slow-motion. The bullet wound is in the back of his head; someone took a shot at him from outside the window.
Without pausing to think, he makes a dash for it, leaps through the window, rolls with the fall. If the person out there with the gun is hostile, he’ll deal with whatever happens.
He catches a glimpse of a military coat, a wink and a wave.
‘Thanks,’ he calls.
‘Now we’re quits,’ the other man calls back, and then he is gone.
James Bond makes for the Aston Martin and drives away into the night.
*
‘Was there a CIA man out there with me last night?’ he asks.
‘Not that I know of. Why?’
‘An American came to my rescue. If he wasn’t anyone official, then we have an unknown on our hands. Extremely good shot.’
The information gets filed away. Just another unknown to look out for.
*
He sees him again, maybe a year later, drinking in the bar of some exotic hotel, and canoodling up with the man he’s supposed to be dealing with. He backs away – it’s not disgust, he tells himself, more embarrassment – and when he’s pulled himself together enough to look again, his contact has vanished.
‘I think I owe you a drink,’ he says.
The man looks him up and down, and raises an eyebrow.
‘Perhaps.’
‘I’m sure it was you,’ he says. ‘It was a fine shot. Right across the carpark and through the broken window. It was like you knew exactly where was standing.’ The man nods.
‘Yes. I’ll remember that next time,’ he says. ‘It saved your life, that shot.
‘I’d have managed. But it made my life easier.
‘Well, in that case, you can buy me a drink,’ he says. ‘I’m Captain Jack Harkness. You are…?’
‘Bond. James Bond.’ Giving him the name won’t hurt. ‘Captain of what exactly?’
‘Nothing you’ll have heard of.’ Jack leans in close. ‘You know how it is,’ he says, and lays a finger to his lips.
Bond orders in whisky too expensive to waste on an American, without really knowing why.
‘That man, who was with you before,’ he asks, trying to sound casual. ‘He your boyfriend?’
Jack looks him up and down.
‘I’d only just met him. What’s it to you?’
‘Need to talk to him.’
‘You need to talk to him. But you don’t know whether he has a boyfriend or not.’
Bond shrugs.
‘His personal life is nothing to do with me,’ he says.
‘Apart from the fact that it seems to offend your sense of masculinity,’ Jack says.
‘It does not!’
‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ Jack says. Bond scowls.
*
Jack sidles up to him while he’s waiting by the pool for the woman to bring him the copy of the micro-chip he needs before he can make his next kill. He’s watching the women swim, watching perfect arses slide clad only in lycra, and perfect cleavages wet and shining.’
‘You look at women like they’re objects,’ Jack says. Bond scowls, and then follows Jack’s gaze to a particularly lovely specimen.
‘So do you,’ he says. ‘I thought you were gay.’
Jack shakes his head.
‘Bisexual.’
‘You mean you’ve got the choice and you go with men anyway?’
Jack shakes his head.
‘Something like that,’ he says. Then he grins. ‘I bet you’ve limited yourself only to the pleasures that women can bring without even trying the other options. Don’t get me wrong,’ he adds quickly. ‘Women can bring quite considerable pleasures. But, well. So can all the other options.’
Bond is taken aback for a moment.
‘Was that a come on?’ he asks.
‘Will I get shot if it was?’
Bond can’t quite answer that one.
‘Not by a crowded swimming pool,’ he answers eventually.
‘It wasn’t the crowded swimming pool I was worried about,’ Jack quips.
*
The girl with the micro-chip is as alluring as girls-with-micro-chips and their like always are. Bond considers taking her back with him and fucking her to within an inch of her life, and is overcome with boredom. Across the pool, Jack raises an eyebrow at him, and he catches himself raising an eyebrow right back.
*
The first time, he enjoys it, for the adrenalin, the sense of danger, of rule-breaking. It doesn’t change his world. His masculinity remains intact. His caring side does not miraculously assert itself.
He has always objectified men, through the sites of a gun. Fucking and killing and killing and fucking. There’s little difference, when it comes down to it. He’s not bisexual. It’s women he wants to fuck, and men he wants to kill. He’s pretty clear on that one. It’s just that sometimes the lines get a little blurry. Sometimes, something in him forces him to fuck where he ought to kill, or kill where he ought to fuck. In the end, it makes little difference. He is above the law, and morals were forced from him a long time ago.
*
Jack watches the way he watches men and women, thinking of sex and death and nothing else. It makes his spine crawl. Several years later, when the carpark and the shattered window make their appearance, he has the urge to withhold his fire, and rid the world of one more twenty-first century misogynist. But seeing Bond outlined in the window, facing death with his head held high, he finds himself drawing his gun to let the man live again.
*
Fandom: James Bond
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 02:45 am (UTC)though i'm still thinking about stopwatches... <grin>
no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 10:13 am (UTC)‘It wasn’t the crowded swimming pool I was worried about,’ Jack quips.
*giggles*
This is much harder hitting than I'd've thought a Bond/Harkness crossover would be, but you pull it off with flair.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 11:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 12:14 pm (UTC)"Why not? I think in this day and age, fans would have accepted it. I mean, look at (British TV series) Doctor Who - that has had gay scenes in it and no one blinks an eye."
no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 12:22 am (UTC)But then Jack was only the sidekick in Who, and Torchwood is only a spinoff
no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 08:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 08:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 02:49 pm (UTC)This is better than any daily chocolate!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 08:02 pm (UTC)It is also making Billy and Bond poke each other. As with so many people I think Billy probably hates Bond, partly because he genuinely thinks he's an insane tosser and partly because he doesn't see why he should get away with being so much of an insane tosser without being, well, insane or in jail.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 10:13 am (UTC)