Beefsteak and Shoes

by Nienor

It was all very posh.

There was a maitre'd. There was a great deal of very good wine. There were snowy white tablecloths, candles, live-flower centerpieces, and actual china plates. There was John and Orlando and Elijah and Billy and Viggo and Ian and John had ordered half the menu, and it was piling onto the table, dish after dish after dish. And last but not least, there was Sean, sitting neatly next to Dominic with his napkin laid across his lap.

Billy was watching from his perch across the table, watching Dom and wearing a knowing smirk that curled the corners of his mouth in a way that might otherwise have been irresistible.

Might have been, that is, if Dom weren't already engaged in sneaking his foot out of his shoe under the snowy-white tablecloth and trying to find a decent angle.

He turned his chair towards Sean, knowing as he did that he was facing more than his usual challenge. This man had been an actor almost since before Dom was born. "Do you like the steak?" he inquired pleasantly, and Sean nodded.

"It's very tender. Perfect!" All bright-eyed enthusiasm. Poor sod had no idea what he was in for.

"Isn't it, though?" Dom purred, sliding his foot forward. Putting his best foot forward, really. You should always put your best foot forward.

Sean's eyes flickered and he frowned when Dom's sock-clad toes found his shoe. He wouldn't be able to tell what it was yet, of course-- just a strange pressure on his foot. Which he moved, but not far enough. Dom pursued, sliding down just a little in his chair, which caught Sean's eye, and his face smoothed out just that quick, an unreadable mask, as Dom's toes slid up his trouser leg and found his sock, clenching in it to drag it down.

"I like a good bit of steak," Dom confided to him. "Hot and rare and juicy."

Sean swallowed his mouthful carefully-- and Dom would have bet his last nickel he'd chewed it a careful thirty or forty or however many his United States Recommended Daily Allowance of times was, to chew filet mignon-- and laid down his knife and his fork. "Yes, well, I... find many people do." He picked up his glass and, to his credit, did not gulp from it, but took a more or less poised mouthful.

Billy was tittering, and Dom didn't look at him, keeping his gaze focused on Sean. He'd found the top of the sock, and his own stocking-clad toes were now against Sean's calf, feeling the hard ridge of the bone. Nudging Sean's suit-trouser-leg upwards. Keeping his face pleasant and polite, Dom turned his chair another couple of inches to extend his reach, casually twitching the drape of the cloth so that his occupied leg remained concealed.

"I've got to admit, I'm surprised to see you eating a piece of beefsteak. I'd have thought you'd prefer chicken. You seem so health-conscious." Dom extracted his toes from Sean's pants-leg and curled his foot around the back of Sean's calf. Sean resisted the pressure to move his leg forward, muscle hardening delightfully. Ian was watching now, hiding a smile behind his glass.

"Are we going to spend all evening discussing dinner, or are we going to eat?" Sean hitched his chair a futile inch away from Dom.

"I'm definitely going to eat," Dom told him. "I'm very hungry."

That made Sean flush darker, and Dom attacked the other leg, not much caring how Sean would manage to get his trouser legs rearranged at his ankles without alerting half the table what was going on.

"John, this is lovely. A feast! You shouldn't have." Sean rallied valiantly.

"We all spend so little time gathered together," John raised his glass in toast. "I thought we should try to spend more. I hardly feel I know some of you. As Bilbo Baggins would say, not half so well as I should like."

"I agree completely," Dom commented, amiable, pushing the trouser leg as far as it would go and leaving it there. He reached over to his plate casually and picked up a butterfly shrimp, placing it on his tongue and wrapping his mouth around it, letting his eyes close and his chin tilt as he tugged it out of the bit of shell at its tail. He chewed slowly, aware of Sean's eyes resting on his mouth. "We should get to know one another better. Don't you agree, Sean? I'd like to see a great deal more of you, myself."

Now Elijah was tittering, leaning close to Billy, and his eyes were making the trek to rest on Sean's red face. Perhaps Dom had pushed his game far enough, at least for now. He abandoned Sean's leg and twisted back to his plate adroitly. Picking up his glass, he swallowed the blood-red wine in three satisfying gulps.

Sean's face was flushed, and he still had not picked his silverware up after setting it down. Dom watched him shift--probably working on his pants-legs, using his toes, under cover of the table. Now that would be amusing.

He reached out quickly, groping blind with his toes, and found an empty shoe-- and its mate. He dragged them across the thick carpet to lie between his own feet, taking a second shrimp and chewing with gusto. Black dress shoes, if he remembered rightly. Very stylish and correct. His own were white, because he had on a pale grey suit and he didn't give a damn. He smiled and took his right foot out of its shoe and placed it inside Sean's. It fit well enough, just a little tight. Black shoes would not be noticed amiss with pearl grey, he decided.

Sean looked inward, absorbed-- doubtless his feet were searching for the missing shoes. Dom lazily moved his left foot and nudged his own white shoes towards Sean's feet. The shrimp were quite good, sautéed in a scampi sauce, and the wine was excellent.

"If you'll excuse me," he made a warm smile and flashed it at the entire table, "I'll be right back." Dom stood up and sauntered away towards the men's room, wondering if Sean would use his absence to check under the table.

He'd had quite a bit of wine, so it took time to relieve himself, standing lazily slouched before the wall and watching over his shoulder in the conveniently placed mirror. He was not startled when the door swung inward.

"Are you still letting your mother dress you?" His white shoes stood out under Sean's dark suit like... something very, very obnoxious and white.

Sean didn't bother answering him, walking straight up behind; there was something distinctly strange about his expression.

"Did Elijah and Billy set you up to do this?"

"Do what, mate?" Dom shook himself and went to tuck himself away.

"It's very amusing. Very funny." Measured, not warm. So much for liking beefsteak better than chicken.

"It's strange you should think so." Dom buttoned his fly deftly. "I thought you'd be all in a huff, demanding your shoes back."

"This is about the shoes?" Intense, that look, and unreadable.

"Isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Is it about the shoes?"

"Are we here to piss, or are we auditioning for a screenplay by David Mamet?"

"What's it about?" Sean was relentless, eyes not releasing Dom's.

"It's about yanking your chain," Dom told him.

"Is that what you want to do?" The room seemed uncomfortably small all of a sudden, and the wall too close to Dom's back. Sean wasn't as tall as Dom, but he was big, solid in some inflexible way that made Dom's spine tingle. "Yank my chain?"

"Yeah," Dom licked his lips. "I like yanking your chain."

"Is that all you like?" Sean ought to look ridiculous wearing a black suit and white shoes, but Dom licked his lips again. "I thought you were hungry for some nice juicy beefsteak."

"Do you want your shoes back?"

"Eventually."

Dom wouldn't back up any further; the tile wall was right there, and some guys couldn't aim for shite. Or, well, for whatever. But Sean was still coming forward. Dom reached out, putting one hand in the center of his chest and giving him a good shove. Sean went-- but not without catching Dom's arms, not without swinging them around, and Dom's back hit the aluminum wall of a stall, his hand still in the center of Sean's chest, right over his tie. And Sean was still coming forward, all the solid heavy heat of him, till he pressed against Dom from the chest down, Dom's hand trapped between them.

Dom bared his teeth, feeling his skin crackle with electricity.

"This isn't about shoes." Sean's voice rumbled through Dom, which Dom wasn't expecting. Sean's voice was too much of a tenor to rumble properly, except it did. His eyes were green-gold and very close.

Dom wouldn't have thought he had this in him, wouldn't have thought a hundred things, but he did know one thing: Sean was hard against his thigh, and his breath was coming fast in his chest, and he wanted to get them the fuck out of here, to somewhere he could shove his hand down inside Sean's trousers without half of New Zealand walking in the instant after he did.

"More than you bargained for?" Sean's teeth were very white, and his breath was hot.

"Wanker." That pissed Sean off, and he pushed forward again. Dom pushed back, because well, he was the sort of fellow who didn't scare easily. Sean's eyes darkened, green-gold shading to amber, and his knee slid between Dom's legs, and his hand in between their bodies, the pressure of his palm trapping Dom's cock and adjusting it just so and then pushing upwards ruthlessly, hot and fast, so that Dom whimpered in spite of himself.

Sean watched him, hand moving, breath warm on Dom's face, eyes half-lidded, until Dom couldn't look back anymore and let his head fall against the cool metal of the stall's wall, spiraling up towards the point of--

And then the bastard stopped, stopped and took his hand back and stepped away, just as though his cock hadn't just been burning a hole in Dom's thigh! Dom gave a little despairing bleat that he immediately hated himself for, his fists clenching with frustration.

"Now," Sean said, taking a deep breath and settling back into his customary calm, "I want my shoes."

"Fuck you, mate." Dom toed off the shoes, eyeing Sean narrowly, and then stepped into his white ones.

"In your dreams." He'd never seen a smile of Sean's look so wicked. With a quick tapping of dress heels on tile, Sean was gone, the door swinging behind him.

"I'll make your life a living hell," Dom told the innocent door. Cursing, he shut himself into the stall to take care of business.

-finis-

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