Work Text:
Jeremy doesn’t know when the invitation had arrived or how it got to lie on that platter on his table but it is quite clearly there: creamy paper with an elaborate but tasty design and paper so crisp he can feel it just by looking at it. The card seems to be staring back at him, mockingly almost, Jeremy thinks. He recognises the little symbol in the centre and opens the folded paper.
What surprised him when he saw the invitation was the fact that someone had actually thought of inviting him. He had been working with his charity for years but never been invited to one of those events. The world of charity work was just as elitist as ever other club and his clearly hadn’t made the cut to be elevated to the upper echelons so far. He usually mingled with has-been actors and local celebrities, lovely people with good hearts, but not A-list with a capital ‘A’ stars like Angelina Jolie.
Although the invitation very clearly states his name and charity on one site and the date, requirements and schedule of the event on the other, Jeremy can’t believe the invitation is meant for him. Next to it, however, he notices a bit of writing that definitely is meant for him and answers a few of his questions; or those related to the invitation anyway.
In a handwriting that doesn’t require, and therefore naturally doesn’t give, a signature, Jeremy reads “Thought it would give us an opportunity to catch up.” No flourishes, no frills. The statement itself a signature of its own.
There is this tight place low inside Jeremy that suddenly twists alive and a heartbeat that quickens with excitement but turns into a hollow drumming with the slight onset of panic. It has been weeks since he has seen that handwriting, months since he has seen the man himself even. And it is always far too long since he has heard that voice that resonated through his dreams and sleepless nights, the voice he could never deny whatever it asked of him.
At the day of the event Jeremy is wearing his best shirt and tie, the golden glow of it repeated in his freshly cut hair. After some days of debate with himself, he has also opted to shave and the cool evening air makes his face feel odd.
It’s not just the evening air that produces an odd sensation. Seeing the scale of the event hits home how unused he is to this even after his time of representing the government on overseas trips. Cuddling a panda or investigating drug use in other parts of the world doesn’t exactly compare to having to charm money out of people without any distractions or props but his own face. He has done this before as well; though today, somehow, feels more important and he doesn’t want to mess it up.
Jeremy fiddles with his cufflinks while he makes his way inside, invitation tucked away in his breast pocket. He chose the good cufflinks for today, specifically, the heavy ones, a weight he once thought he might get used to when William had complimented Jeremy on them. He remembers a handshake that had lingered, a strong hand that had turned his own around to get a better look at the metallic pins holding together the sleeve ends of his shirt - and a finger brushing over the fabric, then tracing the two grooves that ran across the smooth surface of the studs.
Inside, he finds William in conversation with someone and is far enough away for neither of them to notice him. He knows he should go over and say hello, needs to, and the stiff card in his pocket makes him feel bold enough to do it. There is a reason he is here, a purpose he has been given. Today is not the day to wait and hang back like he used to do at parties in parliament. There he had been watching from afar until they had downed enough beers between them to drift closer together over the course of the night, inhibitions loosened and finally ending up sticking their heads together in unspoken enjoyment of each other’s company.
Seeing William from the side and this close is something Jeremy has tried to prepare himself for mentally but clearly failed to achieve. Something about the suit William is wearing commands him to stare. If Jeremy has ever seen a bespoke suit, this is a prime example. It’s not that William’s usual suits are shabby, far from it, but this one is especially nice, tailored precisely to emphasise the shoulders, tightened in just the right places to form curves and pleasing lines the eye can follow easily.
Jeremy gives himself another minute to simply admire the way the jacket falls before he steps closer, into William and the other man’s field of vision. The other men looks a bit confused but William’s face transforms the mask of charming friendliness into something Jeremy recognises as genuine delight because instead of artificially beaming with open eyes, William’s get smaller and sort of crushed together when he smiles like this.
“Jeremy!” William extends a hand and greets him warmly.
Jeremy swallows hard at the sound of the sonorous voice, so much deeper than he remembers but as effective as ever. His reply comes out a bit croaked and he tries to cover it up with an awkward laugh that makes all the things he wants to hide just that more obvious. William introduces him to the other man but Jeremy doesn’t hear a word of what is being said. He is functioning on years of Westminster training and must be convincing enough for none of them to comment on it.
After some polite exchanges, William takes Jeremy by the elbow and ushers him through a crowd that seems to vanish in the face of that little point of contact. He can feel the dents William’s fingertips produce even through all the layers of clothing and can’t help imagining, wishing for, the way it would feel to have those fingers dig directly into his skin. They would leave little marks; countless handshakes and his fair skin so prone to bruising have convinced him of it. Succeeding in banishing that line of thought, he is glad they arrive at a table near the edge of the room where a waiter stands ready with drinks. William turns to Jeremy and hands him one of the glasses, holding his gaze.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he says earnestly.
Jeremy gives a little laugh at that and thinks there is no way he would have missed this. He says so but tries to strip the remark of all the undertones that are so prominent in his head.
He makes a wide gesture towards the decorated room, the rich people in expensive clothes, the indirect light reflected and broken up by glass. “I mean, how could I have passed this up.”
“Indeed,” William chuckles.
Jeremy admires the way William effortlessly guides them into conversation about what they are both up to these days, glad to find none of those thoughts confirmed that in odd hours nudged him to believe they might have nothing to say to each other.
They are interrupted by a runner for the hosting charity whose cause they ought to champion tonight.
“Work calls, I’m afraid,” William says good-naturedly but Jeremy thinks he can fool himself into detecting a hint of regret.
“I’ll be still here, if you have time to find me later,” he tells William. “I’ll be waiting,” he stresses and raises his glass to the man who is already being swallowed by the crowd.
During the course of the evening, Jeremy manages to do a few things that astound him. He counts not embarrassing himself in front of other people to be his biggest achievement. Among that is also the unexpected experience of making new and even useful contacts. People are eager to hear about the charity he represents and he is glad for the opportunity.
All the while, though, his eyes dart around the room in the hope to keep track of William. He concludes that he probably wouldn’t make a good spy, at least not without some proper training, but he sees William on the far end of the room in earnest discussion one time, hears him laughing with a large group of people nearby at another, sees him stop the waiter with the canapés and lick his fingers clean-
“-you alright?” A high voice cuts through his observations.
“Sorry,” Jeremy turns his head “You were saying?”
“I asked you if you were alright, Mr Browne,” the woman repeats. “You look quite flushed.” There was a hint of concern in her voice but then she said, more to herself “It is awfully hot in here this evening,” she shakes her head in disapproval. “You think they could have opened a window or two.”
“I- yes, you are right,” he sat down his empty glass. “Maybe I should get some fresh air. If you would excuse me, it was very nice meeting you,” he shakes her hand and bows his head just so before hastily making his way to the terrace.
Jeremy closes his eyes and lets the cool air wash over him for a moment. A part of him thinks he should maybe just leave. Earlier, he had seen the way William had looked at Angelina and something inside Jeremy tells him he must have deluded himself into thinking this could ever have been something more than just a friendly invitation. Another part, that seems to carry more weight, tells him to stop being ridiculous and go back inside to see what will happen.
The moment he tries to immerse himself in the crowd again, he feels a hand on his elbow .It’s so sudden that Jeremy thinks it must be his mind playing tricks. He turns his head all the same and finds William there.
“For a moment I thought you had already left,” William tells him.
“I would have said goodbye,” Jeremy assures William and tries to sound as cheerful as possible.
“Good,” William replies and his hand leaves the place on Jeremy’s elbow in favour of placing it at the small of the taller man’s back as he navigates them towards another table.
William gets them another round of drinks and Jeremy can feel how the alcohol has already relaxed him a bit too much, how he has entered the place that is equally pleasant and dangerous.
William tells him about some ridiculous person he met earlier, obviously recalling it in great and exaggerated detail for Jeremy’s entertainment.
“You seem to meet a lot of interesting people,” Jeremy muses and pauses deliberately. “Like Angelina Jolie.” He tries to go for teasing, which is, apparently, not a good idea in this state. He can hear his voice slip into spikes that speak of something else entirely.
William looks at Jeremy, pensive and bemused and something Jeremy cannot place because William avoids his eyes and looks at his drink.
“One could think you were jealous, Jeremy,” William says in a voice that is much quieter than before.
His fingers play with the stem of the glass, waiting for a denial that doesn’t come. Then he is looking up at Jeremy again and there is a twinkle in William’s eyes that makes Jeremy want to throw all caution into the wind.
Instead, Jeremy’s crosses his arms, one hand pressing against his mouth. It’s supposed to convey an air of reflection; in reality, it makes him look pained. It’s a look William has seen all too often when they were fortunate enough to still be working together closely. Jeremy has many qualities William appreciates; subtlety is not one of them.
William downs the rest of his drink and is forced to check his watch. There is another runner trying to make his way through the crowd towards them and William wishes he had more time for whatever they are finally starting to figure out together.
“Jeremy, you must know how glad I am you came tonight,” William starts and Jeremy nods. “If you are free next week, I’d like to continue this somewhere more,” a slow smile plays on his lips. “Private.”
Jeremy’s eyes grow wide and a grin forms behind the hand that obscures half of his mouth but is unable to hide the upturned corners. His hand falls a bit, thumb hovering at his bottom lip and he nods again. ”I’d like that.”
William follows the movement of Jeremy’s thumb with his eyes when he sees the runner is already unfortunately close and halts him with a small gesture.
He fixes Jeremy with a smile, deliberately letting his eyes wander from lips over fingers and back to his eyes again. It has the desired effect of making Jeremy swallow hard. The faint blush is an added pleasure, an image William tucks away for later contemplation.
He then takes a step towards Jeremy, inclines his head and taps a finger against Jeremy’s breast pocket. “I’ll send you a card.”