tampered | Log; Complete

Log; Complete

When; Sept. 14 (night)
Rating; PG-13 for language, for now
Characters; Christopher Styles

under_secretary, Nicholas Brocklehurst

razrsharp
Summary; Just a casual conversation in which secrets are spilled and orchids are praised.
Log;

"The English have changed, Christopher," Brocklehurst explained to the dark haired American. "Corporal punishment no longer consists of traditional floggers and riding crops. I prefer canes."

He quipped with a handsome smile while closing his sleek brushed titanium colored laptop. He set the machine on the coffee table, almost sure that Styles hasn't caught his conversation with Inara. That was more trouble than it was worth, at least tonight. Nicholas leaned back to sink into the plush sofa chair that completed their living room set and watched Christopher, surely the other knew he was joking about the cane.

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"Oh, really?" Styles asked, smirking. "Caning? You should call Dr. House, then, I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige." He reacted to Brocklehurst closing the laptop by shutting his own, and moving to the small, under construction wetbar.

Of course he knew that Nicholas was kidding; even he had a better sense of humor than that. Further, his hobby of stalking Brocklehurst's dealings on the Network had led him to Inara's comments, but he hadn't done more than glance them over. He wasn't really interested in that particular aspect of Brocklehurst's work.

He poured himself a scotch. "You want one?" he offered.

"House is too old. I like them young, like interns," said the Englishman. He'd never let Christopher ever get away from that one. The mistake made their initial meeting all the more unique and endearing.

"If you don't mind, good sir," he nodded to Christopher, more than prepared should the man tell him to get up and pour it himself in that case. Ahh but speaking of giving thanks for small favors... He rose to his feet and approached the attorney turned bartender. "I didn't want to tell you this so soon, Christopher, but I thought it only fair that you know."

Nicholas waited for a reaction first.

Styles laughed, remembering not the meeting but the following morning. Brocklehurst's face had been classic.

He would have made the other man pour his own, but he felt rather endeared to him, having just gotten his heartbeat back again, so he poured another one while Nicholas crossed the room.

He turned and handed the scotch over. "What did you want me to know?" he asked, waiting for something like, Your new life will end in a week, that's all my secrets bought you.

"Well, and I assure you I sought counsel on this before deciding to speak with you," said Nicholas as he accepted the glass of scotch.

His vibrant blue eyes glanced left then right, as if anyone should hear his next words their entire livelihood might be compromised. When he was sure they weren't being watched, that there were no bugs stuck against the new wetbar, he leaned towards Christopher. Brocklehurst's voice was low and careful, smooth and subtle like his very profession.

"Someone's been sending flowers to me at work."

Styles listened and held back a smile. He loved the sound of Nicholas' voice when it was deep and smooth, even when he was obviously being silly. He took a long, slow sip of his scotch and appeared to think about it.

"Flowers, huh?" he asked, nodding sagely.

He paused for a moment and narrowed his eyes. "Probably from a secret admirer. Like Elle Driver, or one of the other ladies you've flirted with since you've gotten here."

"Orchids. Black and gold ones. I believe they're Coelogyne," Nicholas nodded, maintaining his tone of voice that paralleled the very scotch that swirled in his glass.

"Oh I don't doubt that it might be a secret admirer. The problem at hand is you. I don't think they know with whom they're really dealing," Brocklehurst suggested. He leaned farther in to close the distance between them, specifically their lips. "What are you going to do about it, Christopher Styles," his tone took a devious turn.

Styles took another sip. "Someone who knows you well, then," he said setting the glass down. "Well enough to know that a rare orchid would be just the way into your heart."

Styles tipped his head just enough, watching the other man's lips as they moved. "You think I should do something?" he asked, moving closer, his cupid bow lips curving in a smile. "I thought you would be much more proud if I just allowed them to continue sending you flowers, Brocklehurst. No harm in some orchids, are there?"

"Very well. I'm almost concerned this individual might know me better than I do myself," he nodded, brows furrowing in feigned concern.

He set his scotch aside, tipping his own head opposite Christopher's. "Beyond the fact that your altruism is showing, you do have a point, good sir. I do enjoy the pleasure of having them around the office. They brighten my day," Nicholas smiled then took over those last few centimeters of personal space, "thank you."

"Oh, I'm sure they do," Styles whispered against Brocklehurst's lips. "You're welcome," he added after a moment.

He pushed away from the kiss and took another sip of the liquor, his smile now slightly more blissful. "I take it, after the delivery of the orchids, your day went well?"

Christopher liked to know those things; especially now. He would never say it, but in Washington his mistake had been isolating his personal and public persona. It was something that with Brocklehurst, at the very least, he didn't intend on doing again.

He could taste the scotch on Christopher's southern skin, amber burn on his lips. Near divine. Nicholas reflected the blissful smile before finally sipping from his own glass.

"Yes. That's the power of Orchidaceae, but I'll spare you the boring details," Brocklehurst smiled, "they're on the end table right where I can see them. And your day?" It seemed almost domestic to question each other's work after the end of the day, but it felt like an old habit too. The inquiry just came naturally to him.

Styles rubbed the new scar over his chest for a moment and nodded, "Far be it for me to deny the power of orchids," he said. He knew, despite Brocklehurst's secretive attempts to hide the plans, about the orchid terrace he was planning once they opened up the second floor of the apartment. "You probably love than more than you love me," he said, smirking.

"It was a usual kind of day," he transitioned smoothly. "Longbottom asked me to hire one of his friends, so tomorrow the kid is coming to the office."

As long as those plans didn't mysteriously go missing it wasn't an issue, right? Brocklehurst insisted on having an orchid terrace, but he also promised it would be small and far from ostentatious. The orchid colors would draw enough attention on their own. He also would shoulder the responsibility of maintaining the plants alone, not that he'd mind having Christopher working with him, ie. reading the paper under the roots while Nicholas watered.

"Come now. Sometimes when they're hanging with their naked roots aching for me to water them I think of you, sweetheart," Brocklehurst grinned. "Your office is expanding," he took another sip, "I'll have to visit again. You need to come visit me and tour the Palace grounds."

Christopher wasn't adverse to Nicholas having his own hobby and habit, and he really did think that some of the orchids were pretty. Besides, if he had his way, soon he would be introducing a whole new affair into the apartment.

Besides, Nicholas sweaty, covered with dirt and in a T-shirt and jeans made Christopher shiver.

"You think of me when the plants need water? Nice," he laughed.

He thought about the Palace. "When exactly do I have time for that, I wonder? I'm already having to work tomorrow to make up for the day I missed yesterday."

What Styles needed to do was join Brocklehurst on his jogs and spars with Logan. Jeans and a t-shirt hardly factored in the forest, just shorts would do. Though that brought to mind... they hadn't gone out to play squash in some time. Nicholas almost missed the sight of Christopher's tense legs, fortunately he could indulge in that without rackets.

"Yes, sometimes they beg," he laughed, "why don't I open the doors on Sunday? It can be just you and me, and the wine cellar." The Englishman gave the other a knowing look.

There had just been no time, which was a complaint that they often suffered from when they were in Washington, as well.

He thought of the Palace, and the wine cellar, and Brocklehurst, and nodded slowly, licking the rim of his teeth. "Agreed," he said, moving across the room to sit on the couch. He watched, waiting for Brocklehurst to join him there.

They had no supernatural skills, no supernatural nature, and no superadvanced technology off which they could profit. Two ordinary men from their seemingly ordinary world had to work real jobs to keep their apartment. While they could plead for handouts and no doubt receive them, doing so just wasn't their style. Nicholas enjoyed knowing they worked hard for what they owned, and all of it theirs completely.

"Then it's a date," Brocklehurst's eyes lit up again. As expected, he followed Christopher back to the couch, his scotch in tow. "I'll give you a personal tour, and a taste of the wine."

"Rosiel sent us some wine," Christopher said, relaxing even more when Nicholas sat down. "Said every household needed some."

The apartment was under construction, always half-finished and in need of constant work. But it was theirs, and when it was finished it would be perfect. He rested his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, feigning sleep for a moment.

"I'm glad you liked the orchids," he said finally, taking Nicholas' hand in his own.

"The port and claret barely scratch the surface of what we've managed to procure in the cellar," he took another sip of his scotch then set the glass on the table, near his working laptop.

The biggest step would be adding stairs between the two apartments then sealing off the old entrance in the hall. It could be done, and it would cost money (some of it he was saving privately for another special occasion), but they had both the income and time to see it to fruition. Sometimes Nicholas questioned if this endeavor was worth their effort, he much preferred to do this in their home world... some place in New York City or London. But what if they were to never return? He didn't want to waste his time thinking about what could have happened either. They would expand their apartment here, and should they have the opportunity to return home, they'd do it there too.

"You knew I would, sweetheart," said the blond, feeling those darker fingers around his own. He returned a light squeeze to Christopher's hand.

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