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fic: Madeira

Title: Madeira
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: BBC Sherlock/Maurice (1987) crossover
Pairing: Lestrade/Maurice
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Wordcount: ~500
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the film, or the song.  Spoilers for Theatre of Blood. 
Summary: The guilty pleasures of late night TV.
A/N: written for ginbitch, who requested Lestrade/Maurice at my writing meme.  Thank you to rusty_armour for reminding me about the film in her comment on Obvious.  

Madeira

Any minute now Vincent Price is literally going to start chewing the scenery, Lestrade thinks.

The guilty pleasures of late night TV: camp melodrama and black comedy. So far in Theatre of Blood they've had a multiple stabbing, a corpse dragged behind a horse, a beheading, and a gruesome new twist on the trial scene in The Merchant of Venice. And now some unfortunate sod's being drowned in a barrel at a private wine-tasting.

“Almost enough to put you off drinking,” Lestrade says reflectively.

“It's supposed to be malmsey, not Chambertin '64,” Maurice says, and winces.

Malmsey,” Lestrade says. “What's that when it's at home?”

“It's a kind of Madeira,” Maurice says with a shudder. “Very sweet and absolutely lethal. First hangover I ever had was because of that. I thought I was going to die.”

Lestrade looks at him affectionately. “Even your bloody hangovers aren't like anyone else's,” he says. “How on earth did you manage to get plastered on Madeira?”

“Got asked to dinner with one of the masters at my school and his wife,” Maurice says. “Boozy evening from start to finish, but it was the Madeira afterwards that did it. Haven't been able to face it since.”

“Can't say I've ever had that problem,” Lestrade says. “Nearest I ever got to the stuff was that song when I was a kid.”

Have Some Madeira, M'Dear. He hadn't understood half the jokes in it, same as usual with Flanders and Swann, but he loved it. Loves it a bit less now he understands what it's about. Some lecherous old Edwardian git getting a girl drunk so he can shag her.

Maurice is looking very uncomfortable all of a sudden, which is a bit odd.

“What?” Lestrade says. Then the penny drops. “Maurice. Don't be so bloody daft.”

Maurice doesn't say anything. Goes on looking guilty.

Oh, for crying out loud. It's true that it all started with that very nice red wine, the one Lestrade ended up spilling on the sofa when Maurice kissed him for the first time. And OK, there were quite a few other very nice bottles of wine along the way before they finally ended up together. But it's hardly the same thing.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if there'd been any milk in the fridge?” Maurice asks.

Lestrade pulls him close and kisses him until he stops looking guilty. Looks flushed and dishevelled instead, which is definitely an improvement.

“Probably just have spilt tea on your sofa,” Lestrade says fondly. “Or made a pass at you first.”

“I'm not sure I could have kept my hands off you, even on tea,” Maurice says.

He's certainly not doing that now. Lestrade closes his eyes for a moment and concentrates on breathing.

“Do horror films always make you this randy?”

“Never,” Maurice says happily. “Must be you.”

“Only one way to be sure,” Lestrade says. “Turn Vincent off and come to bed.”


This entry was originally posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/42283.html where there are comment count unavailable comments.

Comments

fengirl88
May. 1st, 2011 05:23 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! *beams*
that's a lovely comment to get. very pleased you liked it.

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