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Dec. 16th, 2004 10:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palace_seanEverything seemed normal. Sean glanced around as he walked through Palace-Proper for the first time in [too many] weeks, but he couldn’t see anything that might account for the strange goings-on of the other night.
Not that he was overly concerned anyway. If there was something he needed to know, he’d be told in good time. It was just curious how abruptly Sala had taken off and the mumbled excuses on Saturday. Right now, however, he was more interested in finding Marton and talking to him about Eric.
The offices were empty which wasn’t surprising considering the time. But he checked Marton’s office anyway as sometimes he stayed back working after the staff had gone home. But he wasn’t there tonight, so Sean carried on, headed for the second best place to look, Marton’s bedroom.
Marton had his shirt untucked and half the buttons dealt with, his tie hanging loose around his shoulders when he heard the soft knock on the door. He sighed and briefly considered a succinct ‘Fuck off!’ as a response. Not a moment’s peace to be had, obviously, and he was sick of it.
The last few days his mind had been a maelstrom of guilt and confusion, over Jake and over Will and compounded by the brain-numbing contortions required to deal with all the fall out. He was tired, beyond exhausted, and not in the mood for anything more than dinner and sleep.
“Who is it?”
“Marton, it’s Sean.”
Marton’s head came up. A social call? Unlikely. Some new problem sent to plague him most likely and Sean to deliver it. Just what he needed . . .
“Come in.”
Sean pushed on the door and entered, turning to close it quietly behind him before he swung around again. God, he thought, he looks so tired. Marton was smiling a greeting, but it was a pale, wan thing by comparison to his usual bright grin. Sean could detect a strained edge to it as well, a tightness around the eyes and in the set of his shoulders that was not normal.
Still, he looked damned good to Sean’s eyes. Not that he needed to, but when Marton shifted slightly as he unbuttoned his cuffs, Sean’s keen gaze noted a subtle loss of weight. But the loss seemed to have been more than adequately compensated for by a new tautness in the play of muscle beneath the tanned flesh of his stomach. Been working out? And his hair was longer, the curls Marton so completely despised were now in riotous evidence and coupled with a day’s worth of stubble were more than enough to have an effect on Sean’s senses. But then, just being here again, in the warm familiar room, was enough for that. Sean returned the smile as he closed the distance between them.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Good.”
“So, what brings you?”
Marton ducked his head while going through the ritual of polite small-talk, supposedly to deal with the recalcitrant cufflink in his left sleeve, but in reality to avoid looking at Sean. A heavy lump had settled in his chest and set up a dull ache. Avoiding him these last few weeks hadn’t helped any, he thought with resignation. One look into the sparkling green of his eyes, seeing that smile, the shock of flaxen hair and there it was, twisting and roiling around in his belly. He dropped the cufflink onto his nightstand.
“I need a favor.” Sean was saying.
“’Course. Anything. You know that.”
Sean smiled briefly but his face became troubled and tense as he explained. When he was done, Marton’s expression was a mirror of his own. He nodded and folded his arms across his chest. “First thing in the morning.” he told Sean. “We’ll have someone watching his children twenty-four hours a day.” Sean’s relief was palpable. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Marton wandered across to his dresser and opened a drawer in search of a t-shirt. “At least it sounds as if you’re beginning to take this seriously at last.” And it took Eric being threatened to make you.
“I am. You’re right, I was an idiot.” Sean leaned back against the end post of the bed, his arms folded and watched Marton as he searched for a change of clothes. Marton turned back, a folded t-shirt in his hands and Sean ducked his head, studying his shoes. “I’m moving in with Eric too.” he said, unwilling to look up and see what expression this announcement bought to Marton’s face and so missing the flicker of pain he was unable to hide.
“You’re moving in with Eric.” Marton said carefully, taking great care with his tone of voice, keeping it even. “Don’t you mean he’s moving in with you?” He dropped the t-shirt on the bed to slide his shirt from his shoulders.
Sean looked up. “No, I’m moving back down onto Uppers.” he told him, adding quickly, “Eric point-blank refused protection for himself and I figured at least this way he gets a share of Sala, no?” Marton, who had his arms in the sleeves of the t-shirt and was poised, ready to tug it over his head, halted the movement and looked at him. “And, I was thinking” Sean went on quickly, giving voice to the notion that had only occurred to him on the way up here. “that a camera or two in the hall . . .?” Marton pulled the t-shirt on and Sean watched regretfully as the broad chest and flat stomach with it’s light coating of hair vanished inside the white material, his fingers unconsciously flexing with the desire to touch.
“Bait.” Marton was watching him and Sean nodded, seeing the dark eyes narrow in consideration and the quick mind behind those eyes turning over the idea. “I like it.” Marton said finally as he pulled the t-shirt down. “Maybe one or two inside the room, covering the entrance?”
“Yeah.” Sean stayed where he was, watching Marton as he moved to the dresser and began routinely emptying his pockets, his mind obviously still mulling over the possibilities.
“We need an excuse to close off that hallway for a day.” Marton was saying. “Have to be an outside team, of course, since we think this person is in the building already. Perhaps some work on the mainframe. We could get the security people into official uniforms and shut the hall off at both ends for a few hours during the day. Then they could fit out Eric’s room without anyone seeing.”
Sean nodded, relieved that Marton liked his idea. Marton swung around. “But that’s not why you’re moving downstairs.” he stated flatly. Sean stifled a curse. Damn! He should have known he couldn’t slide anything past Marton. “I . . .” He steadied himself and looked up, meeting Marton’s eyes. “I don’t have the right to that room anymore.” he said.
It was a challenge but Marton wasn’t having any of it. “Phht.” He waved a hand negligently. “Of course you do.” he retorted. “If not for the reason you’re not saying, then because you’re Palace Administrator.”
“Marton . . .” Sean took a step toward him.
“Sean.” It was a warning and Sean stopped moving. Marton walked around him and past him and Sean tensed his arm to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing. “The room will stay yours, whether you’re in it or not.” Sean followed his progress with his eyes, twisting his upper body to do so. Marton was calm, matter-of-fact. “When this is done,” the king was saying “it’ll still be there.” He looked over his shoulder at Sean, a wry smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “And I dare say you’ll get tired of Uppers pretty quickly.”
“I . . .” There was no point, Sean could see that in the way Marton held himself, the determined look in his eyes. He sighed and bit his bottom lip. Marton took the gesture as a signal.
“I’ll have all this organized by morning.” he told Sean and it was obvious he was ending the conversation. “Tell Eric about it, but no one else. Right?”
Nodding his understanding, Sean moved his reluctant feet toward the door, halting with his hand on the doorknob to look back at Marton. Christ, he thought. I ache for you. However, “Thanks, Marton.” was all he said.
Marton nodded. “Night, Sean.”
“Night.”
Not that he was overly concerned anyway. If there was something he needed to know, he’d be told in good time. It was just curious how abruptly Sala had taken off and the mumbled excuses on Saturday. Right now, however, he was more interested in finding Marton and talking to him about Eric.
The offices were empty which wasn’t surprising considering the time. But he checked Marton’s office anyway as sometimes he stayed back working after the staff had gone home. But he wasn’t there tonight, so Sean carried on, headed for the second best place to look, Marton’s bedroom.
Marton had his shirt untucked and half the buttons dealt with, his tie hanging loose around his shoulders when he heard the soft knock on the door. He sighed and briefly considered a succinct ‘Fuck off!’ as a response. Not a moment’s peace to be had, obviously, and he was sick of it.
The last few days his mind had been a maelstrom of guilt and confusion, over Jake and over Will and compounded by the brain-numbing contortions required to deal with all the fall out. He was tired, beyond exhausted, and not in the mood for anything more than dinner and sleep.
“Who is it?”
“Marton, it’s Sean.”
Marton’s head came up. A social call? Unlikely. Some new problem sent to plague him most likely and Sean to deliver it. Just what he needed . . .
“Come in.”
Sean pushed on the door and entered, turning to close it quietly behind him before he swung around again. God, he thought, he looks so tired. Marton was smiling a greeting, but it was a pale, wan thing by comparison to his usual bright grin. Sean could detect a strained edge to it as well, a tightness around the eyes and in the set of his shoulders that was not normal.
Still, he looked damned good to Sean’s eyes. Not that he needed to, but when Marton shifted slightly as he unbuttoned his cuffs, Sean’s keen gaze noted a subtle loss of weight. But the loss seemed to have been more than adequately compensated for by a new tautness in the play of muscle beneath the tanned flesh of his stomach. Been working out? And his hair was longer, the curls Marton so completely despised were now in riotous evidence and coupled with a day’s worth of stubble were more than enough to have an effect on Sean’s senses. But then, just being here again, in the warm familiar room, was enough for that. Sean returned the smile as he closed the distance between them.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Good.”
“So, what brings you?”
Marton ducked his head while going through the ritual of polite small-talk, supposedly to deal with the recalcitrant cufflink in his left sleeve, but in reality to avoid looking at Sean. A heavy lump had settled in his chest and set up a dull ache. Avoiding him these last few weeks hadn’t helped any, he thought with resignation. One look into the sparkling green of his eyes, seeing that smile, the shock of flaxen hair and there it was, twisting and roiling around in his belly. He dropped the cufflink onto his nightstand.
“I need a favor.” Sean was saying.
“’Course. Anything. You know that.”
Sean smiled briefly but his face became troubled and tense as he explained. When he was done, Marton’s expression was a mirror of his own. He nodded and folded his arms across his chest. “First thing in the morning.” he told Sean. “We’ll have someone watching his children twenty-four hours a day.” Sean’s relief was palpable. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Marton wandered across to his dresser and opened a drawer in search of a t-shirt. “At least it sounds as if you’re beginning to take this seriously at last.” And it took Eric being threatened to make you.
“I am. You’re right, I was an idiot.” Sean leaned back against the end post of the bed, his arms folded and watched Marton as he searched for a change of clothes. Marton turned back, a folded t-shirt in his hands and Sean ducked his head, studying his shoes. “I’m moving in with Eric too.” he said, unwilling to look up and see what expression this announcement bought to Marton’s face and so missing the flicker of pain he was unable to hide.
“You’re moving in with Eric.” Marton said carefully, taking great care with his tone of voice, keeping it even. “Don’t you mean he’s moving in with you?” He dropped the t-shirt on the bed to slide his shirt from his shoulders.
Sean looked up. “No, I’m moving back down onto Uppers.” he told him, adding quickly, “Eric point-blank refused protection for himself and I figured at least this way he gets a share of Sala, no?” Marton, who had his arms in the sleeves of the t-shirt and was poised, ready to tug it over his head, halted the movement and looked at him. “And, I was thinking” Sean went on quickly, giving voice to the notion that had only occurred to him on the way up here. “that a camera or two in the hall . . .?” Marton pulled the t-shirt on and Sean watched regretfully as the broad chest and flat stomach with it’s light coating of hair vanished inside the white material, his fingers unconsciously flexing with the desire to touch.
“Bait.” Marton was watching him and Sean nodded, seeing the dark eyes narrow in consideration and the quick mind behind those eyes turning over the idea. “I like it.” Marton said finally as he pulled the t-shirt down. “Maybe one or two inside the room, covering the entrance?”
“Yeah.” Sean stayed where he was, watching Marton as he moved to the dresser and began routinely emptying his pockets, his mind obviously still mulling over the possibilities.
“We need an excuse to close off that hallway for a day.” Marton was saying. “Have to be an outside team, of course, since we think this person is in the building already. Perhaps some work on the mainframe. We could get the security people into official uniforms and shut the hall off at both ends for a few hours during the day. Then they could fit out Eric’s room without anyone seeing.”
Sean nodded, relieved that Marton liked his idea. Marton swung around. “But that’s not why you’re moving downstairs.” he stated flatly. Sean stifled a curse. Damn! He should have known he couldn’t slide anything past Marton. “I . . .” He steadied himself and looked up, meeting Marton’s eyes. “I don’t have the right to that room anymore.” he said.
It was a challenge but Marton wasn’t having any of it. “Phht.” He waved a hand negligently. “Of course you do.” he retorted. “If not for the reason you’re not saying, then because you’re Palace Administrator.”
“Marton . . .” Sean took a step toward him.
“Sean.” It was a warning and Sean stopped moving. Marton walked around him and past him and Sean tensed his arm to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing. “The room will stay yours, whether you’re in it or not.” Sean followed his progress with his eyes, twisting his upper body to do so. Marton was calm, matter-of-fact. “When this is done,” the king was saying “it’ll still be there.” He looked over his shoulder at Sean, a wry smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “And I dare say you’ll get tired of Uppers pretty quickly.”
“I . . .” There was no point, Sean could see that in the way Marton held himself, the determined look in his eyes. He sighed and bit his bottom lip. Marton took the gesture as a signal.
“I’ll have all this organized by morning.” he told Sean and it was obvious he was ending the conversation. “Tell Eric about it, but no one else. Right?”
Nodding his understanding, Sean moved his reluctant feet toward the door, halting with his hand on the doorknob to look back at Marton. Christ, he thought. I ache for you. However, “Thanks, Marton.” was all he said.
Marton nodded. “Night, Sean.”
“Night.”
