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penknife's piece Latest Style, and for grav_ity. I hope I haven't overstepped?
Title: Waistcoat
Rating: PG
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Nikola, Helen. Nikola/Helen-ish
Summary: "Helen! I'm utterly shocked! Think of the scandal. You, all alone in that little room, with your hands on a man's buttons ..."
Wordcount: 956
Warnings/Notes: Set sometime in the early 20th century. And no, I've no idea what led up to it ... *grins sheepishly* My first Helen fic, too, so beware
Disclaimer: Not mine
penknife's piece Latest Style, and for grav_ity. I hope I haven't overstepped?Title: Waistcoat
Rating: PG
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Nikola, Helen. Nikola/Helen-ish
Summary: "Helen! I'm utterly shocked! Think of the scandal. You, all alone in that little room, with your hands on a man's buttons ..."
Wordcount: 956
Warnings/Notes: Set sometime in the early 20th century. And no, I've no idea what led up to it ... *grins sheepishly* My first Helen fic, too, so beware
Disclaimer: Not mine
Waistcoat
"Helen! I'm utterly shocked! Think of the scandal. You, all alone in that little room, with your hands on a man's buttons ..." He was full sure she could see his grin through an inch of solid oak, but then, that was rather the point of the exercise.
"Nikola? Do shut up."
Her voice was sweet and light as any poison, deadly little barb, but she couldn't hide the humour. Not from him. He grinned all the wider, and leaned more casually against her bedroom door.
"Now, would that be any fun? Come, Helen. You must at least allow me the pleasure of guessing."
There was a pause, the rustles of moving cloth going quiet for a moment, and then her voice. Her voice with such a grin in it, Nikola defied anyone to resist the chance. "Guess," she said, deliberately flat. So marvellously restrained, his Helen.
"Guess," he confirmed, crossing his arms as he watched the corridor, his mind almost entirely on the other side of the door, and all the happier for it. "For example, what material will you grace us with. It must be ... yes. Only the smoothest for such a fine lady. Tell me. Is it silk?"
She laughed, a little bite of sound, but played along. "Oh, definitely."
He grinned to himself. "Yes, of course. Let's see. Embroidered?"
"Naturally."
"Hmm. And the buttons. Pearl?"
She laughed again, and oh, this grin must have teeth, for the playful little sting in her voice. "Oh, Nikola. Would I do that to you? I know how much you hate pearls, after all."
He bit his lip, feeling the distinct urge to tap his fingers delightedly, only barely restraining himself. "The things you do for me, Helen," he commiserated, sighing cheerfully to indicate the depth of her long-suffering. "You spoil me, you truly do."
"And don't you forget it," she shot back, but he knew she was grinning. He knew she delighted in even the little favours. She did spoil him terribly, but well, it was only natural. He was simply that charming.
"Never, my dear," he assured. "But you must let me finish guessing, before you present yourself and I lose all ability to think in your presence."
She laughed, rich and bright, and threw something with a soft thump against the door. "Then you have about two minutes, Nikola. And you haven't even touched the upper layers."
Well. What could a man do, when presented with an opportunity like that. He couldn't be expected to help himself. He really couldn't. "But Helen," he purred. "It's not the upper layers I'm interested in ..."
He stood forward from the door with a laugh as whatever she threw this time hit solidly enough to quite probably leave a dent, and was grinning irrepressibly as he turned to face the vision of loveliness that threw open the door behind him. Turned to meet those dancing eyes, that delicious glare, the unwilling quirking of her lips as she tried desperately to hide her smile.
And down, to an equally intriguing sight. The waistcoat was in fact silk, he noted. And embroidered, with rather fine silk buttons, though really, that wasn't at all what drew the eyes, when she was the one wearing it ...
"Well?" she asked, tartly and with that wicked smile in her eyes that said she knew exactly where his mind had wandered. He managed to pull his eyes back to her face, with considerable effort and a grin that was wholly beyond his control, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Focus, Nikola. Will I pass?"
He gave that all the consideration it was due, and made a show of reluctance at passing his judgement. "As a man? Regrettably not, I'm afraid. Though allow me to assure you, you wear that suit far better than its intended owner ever could." Indeed she did. Far, far better.
Helen growled at him, exasperation and still that reluctant, laughing amusement, and lobbed something white and silky and very interesting at his head. Presumably as a weapon, though he couldn't say he found it so, and his very happy eyebrow probably told her that in rather short order, if her faint flush was anything to go by. She snatched the offending item back out of his hand, and delivered one of her special glares.
He couldn't say he found that offensive, either. In his defense, it wasn't his fault she was so damnably attractive.
"Nikola!" she snapped, but he didn't miss, could never miss, the laughter bubbling underneath it. "Will you please focus? If this isn't going to work, then there's no point ..."
She made to move back inside, to change out of her oh-so-intriguing outfit, and really, he couldn't allow that. Not in good conscience. At least not until ...
"Ah, but there is a point," he said, catching her arm gently, and couldn't have kept the grin from his face if he tried. She looked up at him, those dancing eyes narrowing in suspicion, and Nikola could feel the old rush, the old laughing buzz of mischief between them. There was a time he could talk her into anything, and if he was honest the reverse was still more than true, and this ... this was simply far too good an opportunity to pass up.
"And that point would be ...?" she asked, with that pointed little lilt to her voice, but there was more than a little mischief in her eyes, too. More than enough for his purposes.
"Helen," he said, with utmost sincerity. "I must absolutely forbid you to remove those garments." And as her eyebrow shot up, at perhaps the most unlikely phrase ever to pass his lips, he let his grin spread to full, angelic radiance. "At the very least, not until after we have shown your new look to James ..."
And oh, he did so love the wicked shine of her eyes when she followed him down the less trodden paths ...
Sequel (James): Ambush
"Helen! I'm utterly shocked! Think of the scandal. You, all alone in that little room, with your hands on a man's buttons ..." He was full sure she could see his grin through an inch of solid oak, but then, that was rather the point of the exercise.
"Nikola? Do shut up."
Her voice was sweet and light as any poison, deadly little barb, but she couldn't hide the humour. Not from him. He grinned all the wider, and leaned more casually against her bedroom door.
"Now, would that be any fun? Come, Helen. You must at least allow me the pleasure of guessing."
There was a pause, the rustles of moving cloth going quiet for a moment, and then her voice. Her voice with such a grin in it, Nikola defied anyone to resist the chance. "Guess," she said, deliberately flat. So marvellously restrained, his Helen.
"Guess," he confirmed, crossing his arms as he watched the corridor, his mind almost entirely on the other side of the door, and all the happier for it. "For example, what material will you grace us with. It must be ... yes. Only the smoothest for such a fine lady. Tell me. Is it silk?"
She laughed, a little bite of sound, but played along. "Oh, definitely."
He grinned to himself. "Yes, of course. Let's see. Embroidered?"
"Naturally."
"Hmm. And the buttons. Pearl?"
She laughed again, and oh, this grin must have teeth, for the playful little sting in her voice. "Oh, Nikola. Would I do that to you? I know how much you hate pearls, after all."
He bit his lip, feeling the distinct urge to tap his fingers delightedly, only barely restraining himself. "The things you do for me, Helen," he commiserated, sighing cheerfully to indicate the depth of her long-suffering. "You spoil me, you truly do."
"And don't you forget it," she shot back, but he knew she was grinning. He knew she delighted in even the little favours. She did spoil him terribly, but well, it was only natural. He was simply that charming.
"Never, my dear," he assured. "But you must let me finish guessing, before you present yourself and I lose all ability to think in your presence."
She laughed, rich and bright, and threw something with a soft thump against the door. "Then you have about two minutes, Nikola. And you haven't even touched the upper layers."
Well. What could a man do, when presented with an opportunity like that. He couldn't be expected to help himself. He really couldn't. "But Helen," he purred. "It's not the upper layers I'm interested in ..."
He stood forward from the door with a laugh as whatever she threw this time hit solidly enough to quite probably leave a dent, and was grinning irrepressibly as he turned to face the vision of loveliness that threw open the door behind him. Turned to meet those dancing eyes, that delicious glare, the unwilling quirking of her lips as she tried desperately to hide her smile.
And down, to an equally intriguing sight. The waistcoat was in fact silk, he noted. And embroidered, with rather fine silk buttons, though really, that wasn't at all what drew the eyes, when she was the one wearing it ...
"Well?" she asked, tartly and with that wicked smile in her eyes that said she knew exactly where his mind had wandered. He managed to pull his eyes back to her face, with considerable effort and a grin that was wholly beyond his control, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Focus, Nikola. Will I pass?"
He gave that all the consideration it was due, and made a show of reluctance at passing his judgement. "As a man? Regrettably not, I'm afraid. Though allow me to assure you, you wear that suit far better than its intended owner ever could." Indeed she did. Far, far better.
Helen growled at him, exasperation and still that reluctant, laughing amusement, and lobbed something white and silky and very interesting at his head. Presumably as a weapon, though he couldn't say he found it so, and his very happy eyebrow probably told her that in rather short order, if her faint flush was anything to go by. She snatched the offending item back out of his hand, and delivered one of her special glares.
He couldn't say he found that offensive, either. In his defense, it wasn't his fault she was so damnably attractive.
"Nikola!" she snapped, but he didn't miss, could never miss, the laughter bubbling underneath it. "Will you please focus? If this isn't going to work, then there's no point ..."
She made to move back inside, to change out of her oh-so-intriguing outfit, and really, he couldn't allow that. Not in good conscience. At least not until ...
"Ah, but there is a point," he said, catching her arm gently, and couldn't have kept the grin from his face if he tried. She looked up at him, those dancing eyes narrowing in suspicion, and Nikola could feel the old rush, the old laughing buzz of mischief between them. There was a time he could talk her into anything, and if he was honest the reverse was still more than true, and this ... this was simply far too good an opportunity to pass up.
"And that point would be ...?" she asked, with that pointed little lilt to her voice, but there was more than a little mischief in her eyes, too. More than enough for his purposes.
"Helen," he said, with utmost sincerity. "I must absolutely forbid you to remove those garments." And as her eyebrow shot up, at perhaps the most unlikely phrase ever to pass his lips, he let his grin spread to full, angelic radiance. "At the very least, not until after we have shown your new look to James ..."
And oh, he did so love the wicked shine of her eyes when she followed him down the less trodden paths ...
Sequel (James): Ambush
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