Summary: Fisk and Michael have to pretend to be dating .
Notes:
Because of reasons. No really. I had some really great reasons that had to do with Rosamund and Michael's father and all sorts of plausible stuff. But most of it never got written, so just take this snippet instead.
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"Boys! Come one out!" shouts Makejoy to the delight of the crowd. Fisk glares at him from behind the curtains, but Gloria shoves both of them fiercely and they stumble onto the stage, reaching out instinctually to steady themselves against one another. A loud hum of 'aws' erupt from the audience at the contact and Fisk pulls away hastily, face burning.
"Well, here they are," announces Makejoy joyfully. He catches sight of the dirty look Fisk is shooting him and lowers his voice to say, "You two have been more trouble than I deserve, so you can damn well play along."
A hand drops to the squire's shoulder and Fisk glances over to see Michael smiling ruefully. "The man has a point," he says and Fisk grumbles out a sulky 'fine.'
"All right. Ladies and gents, boys and girls, and all my fine furry friends! Now that we've got them, what would you like them to do?"
Shouting and hollering erupt from the mass of onlookers and Fisk can feel Michael wince beside him. It's hard to make out distinct words from the jumble, but one in particular is hard to miss. The audience seem to have one thing on their mind and one thing only.
"Kiss!" booms Makejoy, grinning evilly at Fisk. "A kiss you say? Then a kiss you shall have! Go on boys, give 'em your finest."
Heart suddenly pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears, Fisk gulps, keeping his face away from the knight at his side. Unfortunately, that puts the nasty Harris right in his line of view, skulking just at the corner of the stage and watching avidly.
"Fisk," says Michael quietly and Fisk starts to turn from the sight, whispering, "Harris is watching—"
He gets no chance to finish as Michael's lips catch his own in a kiss, sudden and disorienting. The knight pulls away slowly after a few seconds to loud cries from the crowd and Fisk blinks, staring dumbly at Michael's mouth.
Michael quirks him a bashful smile, opening his mouth to speak when he's interrupted. Makejoy doesn't seem to have satisfied his revenge yet, and he roars, "That's your finest?" to the audience, eliciting immediate booing. "Come on boys, these folk paid for a show."
Fisk can feel his cheeks heating again and he curses himself and Makejoy and Harris all in one breath, causing Michael to choke out a laugh. He's still glaring stubbornly at Makejoy when Michael announces, loud enough for the crowd, "I'm afraid my squire is a bit shy when it comes to public displays."
The onlookers titter and coo appreciatively. It's Fisk's turn to choke, eyeing the teasing lift of Michael's eyebrows with affront. "You git."
"Just trying to appease them," Michael tells him, though his mouth is twitching.
Fisk can't just let that slip, can't stand the thought of facing the town tomorrow as they whisper and giggle at his apparent 'timidity.' No, that needs a response.
There is an explosion of hysteric screams when Fisk grabs Michael by the hair and slams their mouths together once again. Makejoy wants a show? Fisk will give him one.
Michael seems a bit shocked at the outburst and struggles to keep up as Fisk pulls all the moves he's scene other actors use to showcase passion on the stage. He throws an arm around Michael's neck, twists their heads about and bends backwards, leaning gratefully on the arm Michael hooks around his waist. Fisk is barely concentrating on the actual joining of their lips, too involved in the demonstration aspect, so he's caught off guard when Michael gets a hand on his jaw and forcibly slows the kiss down. The moment goes from frantic competition and showing off to confusing heat and spine-numbing fervor instead.
Taken aback by his own reaction, Fisk's addled brain informs him that Michael must be trying to outdo him and he immediately responds by licking into Michael's mouth and sucking on his tongue. It's a trick he learned while working with Jack, from a girl he knew for no more than two days. The reaction is just what he's looking for, Michael's knees buckling just enough that those in the front rows notice. There's raucous applause in the background and Fisk nips Michael's bottom lip victoriously.
"Fisk," Michael breathes hoarsely, right before Makejoy yanks them apart to stand between, an arm slung over each of their shoulders.
"Ain't they somethin'? Be sure to buy tickets to the next show and don't forget to tip your actors!" He's still rambling out his finishing speech but Fisk isn't listening. He's staring straight ahead, rigid as a board, and trying not to acknowledge how unbelievably turned on he is right now. He doesn't need to look at Michael to know he is suffering much the same.