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"Good evening, madame."
"Oh," an older woman purrs, fixing up her hair so obviously dyed, unsuccessfully hiding her age. She gives the young man a chilling once-over, and her lips curl into an appreciative smile. She likes what she sees – very much, too. "Why hello there, young man. Aren't you too young to be playing with fire?"
The young man chuckles and shakes his head, dashingly handsome and wonderfully put together. "You flatter me, madame." His English accent is smooth and rich and simply delectable; he’s aware that the American women love it especially. "I barely think that twenty-five is too young for anything. Unless, it is for you?" His tone is teasing.
The woman likes it, clearly.
"Not at all, my handsome prince." She chuckles darkly, voice hoarse from the multiple packs of cigars she likes to go through per day. The man knows it well. He’s studied it. Her perfume and nicotine make for the most terrible combination, but the young man says nothing, instead holding his hand out for her to take. Her eyes shine with eagerness and she gladly puts her hand atop of his. He leads her to the dance floor, smoothly reeling her in for a dance. He's refined and experienced, typical of those raised in the upper class.
Or those trained to emulate such.
"So, does the handsome devil have a name?" The woman asks, and the young man chuckles.
"Well, if the stunning goddess would like to know, he does. It's James Franklin Abbott, my most candescent madame."
The woman lets out a laugh; it's grating to the ears, but James continues to smile. "You flatter me too much, Sir Abbott!"
"Please, James would do."
"Well, James," the woman moves even closer to him, brimming with intrigue, "would you happen to have any relation to Abbott Laboratories?"
"I do," James lies as easily as he breathes. "I’m a distant relative, you see."
The woman is clearly pleased to hear that. "I can see the resemblance. The only thing better than a young man is a wealthy young man."
"And the only thing better than a wealthy woman is a wealthy older woman." James humours.
"You're a charmer, James." The woman coos. "I assume you already know who I am, then."
"Why of course, madame." James chuckles. “An Abbott wouldn’t dance with just anyone , after all.”
"Hm," Audrey muses, "so, what do you know?"
"Why, you're Madame Audrey Moreau, the most wanted widow in Manhattan, wife of the late Donovan Moreau."
"You've certainly done your homework." Audrey titters, another awful noise. "What is it that you want from me, James?"
James smirks at her. "I want what every young man wants from you."
"Oh," Audrey returns his smirk at that, "I'll have you know I don't spread my wallet to strange and handsome men so easily, Mr. Abbott."
"Madame, please, I insist on James." James beams handsomely, emerald green eyes glimmering with mischief. "And a spread wallet tempts boys. As a man – an Abbott , no less – I’d prefer other things to be spread tonight."
Audrey's eyes glimmer with interest and barely concealed lust. Oh, yes. She likes that very much, and it’s just what James needs. "James," she breathes, "how scandalous of you."
"I heard you liked a little scandal."
"I'd never been asked so straightforwardly before."
"First time for everything, yes?" James has moved closer to Audrey, and their lips nearly press together when–
"Ahem."
James and Audrey turn their heads to the same direction, and Audrey doesn't notice it, but James's smile falters ever-so-slightly. His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth.
A handsome and even younger blonde man stands there, towering a few centimetres over James. He has broader shoulders, a nice navy blue suit that brings out his dashing blue eyes, a brighter smile, and an overall youthful, cheekier look unobscured by his glasses. His hair is rather neat, save for a single stubborn section of hair. It only adds to his boyish charm. He's holding a wine glass in each hand, one of chardonnay and the other of rosé.
It seems that he’s also done his own research.
"I'm out for a jiffy to get drinks and you're already off to another guy?" The new younger man pouts. "C'mon, Auds, I expected more from you..."
Audrey is clearly taken with the younger man, and James can't have that. Still, he holds his tongue from releasing any sharp quips as Audrey giggles. She openly leers at the blue-eyed stranger, accepting the glass of rosé. The young man smiles at James, and James very nearly murks the man for that smug expression alone.
"Who's this?" The new man asks, scrutinising James closely. James shifts but somehow maintains his composure. The new man is perceptive, however, and his eyes narrow teasingly. "Looks like a leech to me."
James really wants to punch the man.
"What manners." James chuckles dryly. "I expect no less from a child. Shouldn't you be in bed, child?"
"Boys!" Audrey laughs rambunctiously, fanning herself. She clearly enjoys the attention. "Didn't your moms teach you about sharing?"
James steps up first, determined to win Audrey's favour. "I'm sorry, madame, but I'm just too selfish when it comes to you. After all, you deserve nothing but the best.”
"I'm sure Audrey here isn’t opposed to sharing. How does that saying go, again? Two is better than one or something?" The younger man winks at James, and James feels himself grow hot with fury and, well, something else. Audrey is obviously happy with the younger man's enthusiasm, giving him an affirming nod.
James can't have that. He needs Audrey
alone
.
“A fan of sayings, are you?.” Kirk replies with a tight smile. “Here’s another: two’s company, and three’s a crowd.”
“I’ll do you one better: first
come
, first
serve
.”
James knows that the younger man needs her alone, too.
"Don't be so quick now, tiger." Audrey purrs at the blue-eyed stranger (though he was anything but a one to James), squeezing his strong arm. Now James is annoyed with Audrey, but fortunately for him, it appears that she views this as jealousy over the younger man being provided with more attention. "Why don't you boys introduce yourselves first?"
James hesitates but ultimately holds out his hand. This is humiliating. Absolutely positively humiliating. "Pleasant meeting you, young man. I'm..." he inhales and mumbles out, "James Franklin Abbott."
"An Abbott!" The younger man muses, taking his hand. He's not even shaking it, just holding it, and James doesn't like that he is. The younger man knows it. "I'm a fan of your initials."
"Is that so?" James is getting really annoyed. "How curious."
"Would you like to know why?"
"That won't be necessary–”
"J.F.A." A pause, and James holds his breath. "I know someone with...similar initials."
James wants to jam a knife down the man's throat.
"And what's your name, good sir?" James presses with a tight grin. He doesn't want to linger on his initials anymore.
The younger man smiles easily. It's taunting. Provocative. "It's Kirk Adams."
"K.A., you say?" James really wants to hurt him now. "What a coincidence. I, too, know someone with similar initials."
" Curious ." Kirk mocks with a smirk.
"You know what, gentlemen," Audrey giggles, blissfully unaware, "I think we'll be getting along just fine." She downs her rosé and takes Kirk's glass, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Why don't you two fine young men become...acquainted with each other? Come back to me when you’re both ready to… come with me.”
James cannot believe this.
"That won't be necessary." James tries to protest, but Kirk pulls him deeper into the dance floor, and Audrey disappears into the crowd. James is very angry, and he intentionally slams his foot down on Kirk's as they sway to the music. Kirk winces, but he only continues smiling. "You think you're so funny, don't you, Kirk ?" He hisses.
Kirk laughs. It's annoyingly attractive. "I do, actually." He leans a little closer, and he whispers into James's ear: "J.F.A., dude? Really? You’re that obsessed with me?"
'James' shudders and steps on 'Kirk's foot again; this time he actually says 'ow'. "Don't you dare compromise my mission, you cretin."
"I think you're mistaken, sweetcheeks. This one’s mine."
"Don't call me that." Is all 'James' can manage, still allowing himself to be swept by 'Kirk'.
"What do I call you, then? J.F.A.? Frankie? Mr. Abbott? James?" 'Kirk' chuckles, and his voice gets low. "James, Jones…not much of a difference there, huh?"
"You’re one to talk, Kirk ." 'James' tuts, “Honestly, boy, was there even an attempt at creativity?"
"It's a chicken-and-egg situation, sweetheart." 'James' feels the rumble of 'Kirk's chuckle against his chest, indicative of how close they've gotten.
"What, who thought of the most idiotic alias of all time first?"
"Nah." 'Kirk' slides his hand lower down the shorter man’s back. "It's who wanted to fuck who first."
'James' hates that he knows he will never get tired of the way 'Kirk' says that very special word. "That doesn’t make any sense. Do you really think it goes down that way?"
"I mean, why not?." 'Kirk' beams, and 'James' flushes. "Speaking of which, what're you doing after this, hot stuff?"
'James' snorts. "What do you think?"
'Kirk's eyes darken with competition. He presses his lips to 'James' ear, and 'James' sighs. "I think you're gonna go home to your little league of assassins and mope about how you lost to me again ."
"Ha! You wish." 'James' snorts, now feeling a swell of pride. Still, his head remains close to the other’s. "As if I'd lose to another lowly hitman like you. You know what you're going to be doing later on tonight?"
"Talk to me, baby."
'James' spins 'Kirk' before dipping him, and 'Kirk' grins up at him, impressed. Even then, there’s a fluster in his cheeks that does not go unnoticed by ‘James’. "You're going to tell that boss of yours to stop interfering with my assignments." 'James' whispers, and 'Kirk's pupils dilate. "Then you're going to cry and stuff your face with cookie dough all weekend until you die of an unfortunate heart attack."
"I'm impressed. You've got my typical routine down to a T." 'Kirk' purrs. "And by the way, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you totally sporting two boners for me right now?"
"You're hilarious," 'James' mocks as he returns them to their original position. "As per usual, your humour is as sharp as those pathetic weapons of yours - that is, not at all."
"They're still pretty damn good for penetration, I'd say." 'Kirk' chuckles. "But I bet there's something else on me you wanna get penetrated with, huh?"
"Your dirty talk is sub-par as always, Jones."
"You say that but your hand's already on my ass."
"Is it?"
"Yeah." 'Kirk' snorts, sliding his own hand behind him and pulling the latter’s hand up. "Anyway, wanna ditch that old lady for the night? She'll still be here tomorrow. Then the real fun can begin."
'James' hums. "I'd say the fun begins tonight."
"Is that a yes?"
"Always." Arthur whispers, and Alfred grins.
Then, the assassin and hitman disappear into the dead of night, just like they’d done several times before.
It’s just history repeating.