Jan 05: You're so messy. Please, marry me.
A/N: Actually the 'tbc' in New Year's Resolution was a typo. / However, thankfully I got this plotbunny today…
The very best part
James loved this part of his missions best, where the villains were dead, imprisoned, or otherwise incapacitated, the deaths and the scorched memory of explosions but as fluttering leaves in the breeze, in his memory; where he could finally enjoy a walk in one of the world's most beautiful cities, with a pretty thing on his arm that he fully intended to bed tonight. The girl who currently decorated his side, finer than even the cut of his suit, had a tendency to giggle a little too much, but she had the face of a model and the figure of a dancer (the flexibility was proving… inspirational). Her low-cut, white designer dress revealed the curve of her breast and the narrow sweep of her hips to beautiful, beautiful long legs, elegant, fashionable, and young.
Besides, Paris in autumn was about one of the best places for romance that he could think of, and it just so happened that his mission had ended on its outskirts, in a gritty shootout with a shrieking female behind him and far too many men in ski masks in front. Now he needed to work out some stress before returning to England, M was happy (as much as she could be happy anyway, that old axe), and that meant his credit card limit was temporarily removed, which made him happy (and that was what was important, after all).
Strolling along one of the wide boulevards, bypassing a quaint café which he made a mental note to return to later, perhaps tomorrow after his slated rendezvous with the pretty thing in the hotel tonight, the perfect end to a stressful, dirty mission was spoiled by the sight of someone very familiar emerging from said café.
Villiers blinked to see him, as though surprised, then he glanced at the pretty model-faced girl on James' arm, and smiled politely, as though he were a passing acquaintance who admired his luck with women. James was mildly astonished to realize that there was nothing of jealousy or annoyance in the aide's expression at all, and even more astonished to realize that this realization… irked him, just a little.
His annoyance worsened when an Asiatic girl (likely a mix of Indonesian and Chinese blood), tanned and gorgeous in a thin, almost filmy white shirt and a short green skirt, with almond eyes and a curved bob of black hair, glided out of the café with feline grace and looped one perfectly formed, small arm in Villiers' elbow, murmuring something low in accented English that James could not quite catch. When Villiers laughed, James frowned.
"You definitely growled," the pretty girl at his side giggled, with a little tug on his arm. "Someone you know?"
James hesitated. "Only fleetingly," he said, dismissively and loud, and turned pointedly away, reminding himself that this was not England, and since it was not England, they had no business in each other's lives. He was uncontrollably angry now, and he disliked that feeling; disliked anything but a sense of lazy contentment, when enjoying his break before the next impossible mission.
The girl was staring at him quizzically, and she grinned, with the perfect smile of a woman who knew very well her effect on men, and liked to cause them trouble. "Introduce us. He's very cute."
Perfect, James thought, bitterly, but obeyed (English gentleman), allowing the girl to tug them to Villiers' side. The aide arched an eyebrow at them, but did not speak, allowing James to cue him as to whether he was wearing an assumed guise. "I was just telling James that he should introduce us," the girl on his arm said, with a blushing flutter of fingers. "I know so few people, here in Paris."
"I am British, actually," Villiers smiled, and shook her hand firmly. "Amherst. Glad to meet you. This is Zhiyi." He glanced apologetically and playfully at his companion. "Did I get that right this time?"
"No, but it's okay," Zhiyi replied, with a confident smile, and the women launched into typically mindless female chatter about Parisian shopping. James contented himself with the occasional glower at Villiers, who ignored him.
Eventually, when the women moved from perfumes to skirts to shoes, he muttered, "Excuse us for a moment. I just remembered, there is something urgent I have to speak to Amherst about."
"Sure," the girl said vaguely, before turning back to chatter to Zhiyi about the gorgeous designs native to Parisian fashion. James took Villiers firmly if unobtrusively by the arm, and half-dragged him to the alley behind the café.
The aide had the bloody gall to look amused. "Enjoying your holiday, James?"
"What are you doing here and who is she?" James bit out, before realizing that 007 certainly had no call being the 'jealous lover', and no right, at that.
"It happens to be a labor law right for me to be able to take leave as well," Villiers drawled. "Zhiyi is… a friend."
The pause was the proverbial straw on the camel's back: James growled, grabbed Villiers by the shoulders, shoved him up against the crumbling brick and kissed him roughly, angrily, hooking fingers into the cotton of the bloody ugly cyan shirt that the man was wearing. Hesitant hands stroked up expensive sleeves to the back of his neck, and yes, there was that little whimper…
James just barely stopped the hiss of 'You're mine', from his throat; instead, he snapped, "Where do you stay?"
Villiers looked irritated, then he frowned, as though there was something he felt he had to say. "Listen, James…"
But James was in no mood for recriminations or protests of how it would be terribly un-English and rude to strand two ladies in the middle of nowhere without an escort; he kissed the man again, for good measure, rubbing against him, and snarling into his ear, "Where?"
Villiers sighed, and named a passable hotel, which was fairly close by. "James."
"Later."
--
Once within the suite (seeing that it was for two pissed James off beyond measure), he pushed Villiers up against the door and ground his erection roughly against the aide's rump, listening to the little gasp with savage satisfaction. Certainly the man's body, at least, knew where its loyalties lay. "James. I need to tell…"
"You can talk to me about whatever it is after I make sure you'll be far too sore to walk tomorrow," James hissed, reaching before the body sandwiched between his and the door and squeezing. Villiers shivered, and keened.
--
James was by habit and necessity a light sleeper: he sat up when he heard a faint noise coming from the entrance to the suite, as though someone opened the door. He spared the bed a brief backward glance at its other occupant, curled and deeply asleep, pale body liberally marked with bites and imprints that would bruise tomorrow (such a beautiful mess; warmth crept into his belly, if not his heart, but he forced his mind back to the problem at hand). Carefully getting out of bed, James reached for his Walter PPK under the pillow, and crept stealthily to the door. Dressing would only delay him, and perhaps make unnecessary noise.
A man's back was turned to him, at the bar, picking at the sugar packets. Since that did not appear like typical burglar or assassin behavior, James growled, "Who's there?"
004 turned around, wearing a shirt that managed to look even more of a fashion obscenity than the cyan shirt (ripped now, consigned to the foot of the bed): it was some sort of pink tie-die, worn over brown slacks and loafers, with a cane-weave hat. He arched an eyebrow at James' state of undress, and looked over at the small kitchen.
James followed his eyes. Zhiyi stared at him, then blushed furiously and averted her eyes.
"Get dressed," 004 drawled, "I am not lending you my hat."
--
Things seemed a little less insane and random when they sat around the couches with coffee. Exhausted from making good on his promise to Villiers, James realized he could only listen with a certain sort of detached professionalism when 004 related how the girl he had intended to sleep with just yesterday was really employed by SPECTRE, which was still embarking on its campaign to get him killed in a humiliating fashion. She would have injected him with infected HIV blood, while he slept.
"So we put out a little bait to lure you away from the fish," 004 said, with a little nod at Zhiyi. "This is Agent 4310, on vacation from Vietnam."
"Pleased to meet you," Zhiyi said, all trace of her accent gone, as crisp as 004.
"So what did you do to the bitch?" James asked, feeling a little off-balance and light-headed, which he blamed on the sex.
"Stabbed her with a tranquilizer and shipped her out for questioning," Zhiyi said promptly. "While 004 took out those who had been following you."
"Very professional," 004 said approvingly, and James was not quite sure who he was referring to.
"Actually, given how much of a softie Amherst is, I'm rather surprised he didn't try to tell you before we made the catch," Zhiyi mused out loud.
James was glad for his ability to school his expression, honed from gambling. "It probably slipped his mind."
-fin-