posted this dinky little thing on the kink meme awhile back in response to a request ("Diego and Mia go to a fancy dress party as Gomez and Morticia Addams"), and since it's basically a follow-up to Dancing Lessons i figgered i'd post it here, too
because gomez and morticia are my literal dream relationship and i just really love Miego
uwu
"You did what?" Mia hissed, pitching her voice low to avoid being heard by the guests passing by them.
Her companion just grinned at her, teeth gleaming white in the darkness of the hallway. "I bribed the band," he responded nonchalantly. "What? Did you think I'd let these costumes go to waste just being paraded around?"
"But..." Mia said faintly, and hesitated. She craned her neck around the corner, looking through the archway and into the main room.
13th Annual Los Angeles Bar Association Halfway to Halloween Bash! proclaimed the banner hanging over the open bar, behind which a bartender dressed as an angel was shaking cocktails. Costumed attorneys and their plus-ones were milling about; some were out on the floor, enthusiastically dancing to the live band, while others munched on appetizers, gabbed, drank, and generally schmoozed around the high-top tables scattered here and there.
Mia had always wanted to attend the event, ever since she'd heard about it in law school - what could be better than celebrating Halloween at the end of April? - but had never been able to convince anyone to go with her. But now that she finally had a very enthusiastic date, she'd just been shanghaied into... well, what exactly did Diego want her to do?
She turned back to him: and the sarcastic question on the tip of her tongue died a premature death. Diego was just looking down at her, eyes burning intense with something suspiciously like lust. He'd slicked back his hair, and it had only taken about two days for him to grow a pencil-thin mustache. Yet it was his outfit Mia couldn't stop staring at; a three-piece hairline pinstripe suit, with brocaded vest and upright collar, it fitted him like a glove.
And he seemed similarly impressed with her own outfit, from the way he was looking at her. Mia swallowed and plucked at her waist again, where the clingy black fabric swept down her legs into an graceful tail that trailed behind her. She'd used temporary black dye on her hair; had spent an hour in front of the mirror applying her makeup as heavily as she dared; and had painted her nails a dramatic dark maroon.
They had both loved the television show and movies as kids. So as a couples costume, it was the obvious choice.
But... a tango? "It'll be fun," Diego said softly, and smiled. Mia was so used to seeing him grinning like the Cheshire Cat that she was almost startled at the warmth in his eyes.
She sighed. "Fine."
Without another word, Diego took her hand and kissed it, then tucked it under his arm and, from a pocket, produced a cigar and placed it between his lips. "Cara mia," he declared, with a little bow.
Mia grinned, reluctantly. "Mon chèr," she replied, dramatically pitching her voice deep, and Diego laughed.
They stepped into the main room; Mia held out her free hand, fingers poised elegantly, as they swept toward the open bar. The tight skirt was making her take little mincing steps—but then, she usually wore a pencil skirt when they went to tango lessons, and she rounded her gait to move more smoothly.
There was a gasp from their left; Mia glanced from beneath lowered eyelids to see another attendee clapping her hands with glee. "Oh my gaaaaaawd!" squealed the woman to her companion, whose jaw dropped as he, too, noticed them.
Diego, meanwhile, was now in his very finest form as they advanced to the bar. "Ah, Marshall, old man!" he cried, waving his cigar at a young man standing at the bar, with his back toward them.
As he turned, Mia recognized him as a prosecutor. She rarely went into court anymore, but he was someone Lana knew well; and surely Diego, who was notorious for taking controversial criminal cases, must butt heads with him all the time.
Neil Marshall grinned at them, his eyes twinkling. "Well, I'll be," he drawled, giving Mia a once-over that was just on the right side of polite. He was dressed as a devil, pitchfork and tail and all, but with a rather incongruous cowboy hat perched atop it all. "I never expected to meet real celebrities at this here party."
He offered a hand; Diego obligingly stuck the cigar back in his mouth and gave Marshall a handshake. "How you doin', Arman... or should I say, Mr. Addams?" asked the prosecutor.
Diego gestured toward the heavens. The party was being held in a conservatory located in an urban park, and the lights of the city were visible through the glass far above them. Fittingly enough, so was the absolute downpour of rain outside, rivulets streaming down the arched roof and cascading down the sides of the building. "How could a man be happier? A radiant evening... a celebration to rival that of even the richest of kings!" he proclaimed, over-articulating each word and rolling every 'r.'
Then he glanced down at Mia, eyes sly, slapped a hand over his heart, and finished dramatically, "But of all things, we are blessed by the most stunning woman in the land, gracing us with her presence."
On any other day, Mia would either have punched him or started furiously blushing. Or both. But with a tremendous effort, she kept her composure and smiled, a slow expression. "Gomez," she said dismissively, and flicked an eyebrow in appreciation.
Marshall laughed with delight, slapping his leg, and a woman next to them at the bar was giggling. Even the bartender was grinning now, enjoying the little show. "Well, I sure hope you two win the costume contest," Marshall said. It was his turn to reach out and take Mia's hand for a demure kiss. "Enjoy the party now. See you round the court!"
"Until next we battle, old man!" bellowed Diego, eyes flashing with glee. Then he turned to the bartender. "Ah, my friend! A drink for the lady, if you please!"
They'd paid good money for the tickets, and it was an open bar. Mia was surprised to find that she knew a lot of folks who were attending—evidently she wasn't the only one of her law school classmates who'd been dying to come. They were each about three drinks deep by the time someone from the band snuck over and whispered something to Diego.
"Thanks," Mia's companion answered, and slapped the man on the back. Then he turned to Mia; "Well, Kitten?"
An hour ago, she might have felt a stab of nerves in her stomach at the expression of mischief on Diego's face, and at the prospect of dancing a tango — probably just the two of them — in front of a whole room of her peers. But now she was too in character.
Mia tipped up her martini glass and drained the last of her cosmopolitan, then set it on the round table in front of them. The band had momentarily quit playing, and the dance floor was nearly empty. If they were going to do something dramatic, it was now or never.
"Let's do it," she said, recklessly.
Just then, one of the violinists in the band stood up, and began to play a slow tune, a haunting, atonal melody that wove a ribbon of notes above the crowd. The other party guests paused, obviously unsure what was going on; a few took the hint that something was about to happen and skittered from the dance floor.
More room for us, Mia thought smugly, just as Diego took her by the hand and fearlessly led her out into the open space beneath the chandelier. The violinist's tune was getting more dramatic now, rising by arpeggios into a frenzied introduction.
"Such a beautiful night, Gomez," she said clearly, her voice carrying. There were giggles and murmurs of appreciation.
Diego clicked his heels smartly, and bowed to kiss her hand. "Capital, Tish," he answered dramatically; now the crowd laughed, and there was scattered applause.
The rest of the band suddenly struck up, the violins crying in sharp scratches as the bassist plucked a mournful supporting tune beneath and the vocalist began crooning a dark rendition of Entre tu amor y mi amor. Mia found her feet moving without hesitation in response to Diego's lead, as he drew her close and they stepped in tandem; she was spun out, then back in. They crossed the floor, crossed back, moving always with the syncopated rhythm of the music. Their audience was rapt.
Once, Mia leaned back too far, and thought she might trip on the hem of her long dress. She put out an arm for balance, and as her long silken sleeve fluttered in exaggerated pantomime, she realized it looked purposeful.
The song began drawing to a close, the singer's voice rising into a plaintive falsetto. As far as bribes go, this one was pretty good, she thought dimly, with sublime pleasure.
As the lead violinist took over for the vocalist and brought the song to its finale with a shrieking vibrato, Diego, his eyes shining with passion and a slow-burning love, dipped her low. Mia stretched out her neck, leaning back so that her hair touched the floor, her lips parted; and before she knew it, he was kissing up the front of her chest and up her neck and right to her lips.
"Cara mia," he murmured; but this time, it was only for her.
"Mon chèr," Mia replied in a low voice, with a mocking smile, as their audience burst into applause.