what's up danger

nick's mask

…

“I made interesting progress on my personal projects and I took my clothes off for money. Standard day, really.” Imogen shrugged, a hand lifting so that she could examine her fingernails, look as uninterested as possible. It was the easiest way to maintain the mask without slipping. “And how did you bug Jackson? Playing little pranks?”

--

“Interesting progress, hmm?” She didn’t often share her personal projects and it drove Nick wild with curiosity. Maybe someday Imogen would share, but he didn’t want to jinx himself. “Every time he left his desk I moved all his shit a few inches one way or another. Watching him reach for a cup that wasn’t there was entertaining.”

…

“Alright. We’re sitting.” Her grin was teasing as she settled back a bit further into the couch, pulling her shoulders up for a moment before letting herself relax fully into the comfort she managed to allow herself. “How was your day? Anything interesting happen?”

--

For a moment Nick let himself just watch her. She was gorgeous, and she was his. No matter how many men she danced for and flirted with, she was his. “I wish. Didn’t even have any assignments to get out of the office for, just had to bug Jackson all day for entertainment. What about yours?”

“I wouldn’t know about that.” She reached underneath the counter, pulled out a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. “My name.” Her eyebrow raised in challenge; just because she had parted ways with her family, did not mean that she was no longer a Black. It would take more than a increasingly common feud (among their blood) to remove generations of breeding and superiority. “Do you call your girlfriend Mulciber, little deatheater?”

--

“I can’t call you by your name, we’re not friends.” Nick pointed out. Andromeda was more interesting than Narcissa, it was a shame she’d gone and thrown everything away. He frowned, “Imogen’s not my girlfriend, and she’d hardly let me call her Mulciber.”

…

“I wasn’t aware you had a problem with mouthfuls.” Her humor bled into that mask that she was quickly trying to slip back on, to become the Imogen that Nick liked, the one that he payed for and the one that he seemed to want to be around. It felt like too much weight, a heavy task that she forced onto herself as she blew out a slow breath and put on one of those dazzling smiles that people didn’t tend to pay enough attention to to notice the strain. “Mm, I’m done tantalizing and teasing men for money, though I suppose if you want to throw on some music, I have one more dance in me while I make something to eat.”

--

“You’re a mouthful and I had problems with you for ages.” Nick snorted in laughter, slinging his legs up to tangle together with hers. It felt odd to let himself relax this much with anyone else. He liked her smile but he’d always liked her smile. It was just that now he wanted to kiss it rather than destroy it. “Can we sit for a moment? You’re welcome to dance later, I won’t complain seeing you dance. I’d like to sit a moment.”

Imogen had a tendency to disappear into herself after a long night. Work was far more draining than anyone ever gave it credit for. It wasn’t just being hot and dancing, it wasn’t just serving drinks, Mo had to basically slip on an entirely new mask every single time she walked in, and keeping track of all of them was exhausting. Sometimes she just wanted to be herself, whoever that happened to be, but even Imogen was lost as to who that was. 

The little place was like a sanctuary, a hiding place where she got to figure it out. Sometimes, she was alone, and sometimes, Nick would come. Either way, it was privacy she occasionally longed for. His voice broke through the silence as she shifted on the couch, glancing toward him. “Are we allowed to call it ‘home’ when we don’t actually live here full time? I suppose it would be crass to call out ‘Imogen, are you at the sex den?’, wouldn’t it?”

--

Nick snorted as he crossed the room to drop himself down on the couch next to her. “’Imogen are you at the sex den?’ is a bit of a mouthful. Besides, pretty sure I like it better here than I do at my other place.” 

He didn’t call the other place home. It was a house, and he lived there and liked it well enough, but it wasn’t home. This shouldn’t either by any rights. They ought to be at each others throats for something other than hickeys or love bites. But the fighting was only fun when it lead to something better. 

“You done for the day? Just you and me and the sex den for the night?”

Nick made a point to trust one person and one person only: himself.

He wasn't sure when Imogen had changed that. She was a filthy little blood traitor and he hated her, he hated her.

Except that he hadn't hated her for months now. Maybe longer if he really looked at it which was something he made a point to avoid.

This could get him offed and he wouldn't care because at least he'd die happy. She made him happy.

"Imm, love," the place he sometimes shared with her was well-lit and usually he could tell when she'd shown up before him. Keyword: usually. "You home?"

send me ‘X’ to see how your muse appears in my muse’s NIGHTMARES

…

“I find that there’s a certain charm in the mundanity of boredom, Nicky. It distracts from the constant need to entertain that a job like this thrusts on me.” Imogen’s hand twisted up from her lap, and she went about the extremely dull task of examining her nails. The polish on them, a stark, startling shade of red, was starting to chip. She would have to do something about that tomorrow, she decided. She went about the mundane task of picking at the frayed edges of the polish as she looked up at Nick again, grin still firm on her face as she tilted her head this way and that. “I’ve got offers. No solid plans, as of yet, though. I’ll certainly be going, whether I take a date or not. I like weddings.”

--

“You want me to bore you?” He asked, baffled. It had never once crossed his mind that someone would want that. Sure he enjoyed his habits and routines but boredom? Lord no. Wasn’t it called boredom for a reason?

“Come with me.” He said without thinking. Surely he was better company than any of the other offers. “Maybe you’ll make it all the more tolerable.”

“Perhaps, but no less important.” Ludovic smiled politely, though made a note never to turn his back on the other man. His eyebrow shot up at the comment, confusion flooding his expression. “You seem to have me confused with someone else. I haven’t been benched, in this season or the last. If I had, well, I certainly wouldn’t have been chosen for the England national side this summer.” He turned away as the drinks were brought over, paying the bartender and pushing the second bottle over to Nick. “So, who do you really support then?”

--

Of course Nick was important. That was never actually in doubt. Unlike Bagman’s importance, which grew more questionable by the minute.

“Really?” Nick winced in feigned embarrassment, looking away like Severus always had when Evans trounced past back at school. “Well this is bloody embarrassing, sorry. Must’ve gotten you confused with one of the other players. You are Bagman though, aren’t you?

“I’m rooting for Ireland this year, but mostly because it really annoys some of the other Oblivators. Apparently I’m a tasteless arse. Do you think you’ve got a shot at it, then? The title.”

“Why on earth would you need is kidneys,” Severus snorted, furrowing his brows as he glanced at Nick. “What stuff is he touching? Is he touching your kidneys? In that case, I get it.”

--

“Why wouldn’t I?” He muttered darkly. “Context, Sev, for fucks sake. Macdonald. He’s touching Macdonald, and she’s my plaything. Not his, mine. She looks happy. It’s horrible. I want his kidneys in a jar.”