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piecesofalice Oct. 22nd, 2009 11:24 pm)
piecesofalice Oct. 22nd, 2009 11:24 pm)I had to get these two out of my system before even attempting anything else resembling fic, mainly because I refuse to believe they didn't do it at least once. Even if it makes no sense, timeline wise.
Look at them. Totally did it.
TITLE: An Englishman Never Assumes, He Simply Makes Sure
FANDOM: Inglourious Basterds (Lt. Archie Hicox/Bridget Von Hammersmark)
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: T'ain't mine. They're QT's.
An Englishman Never Assumes, He Simply Makes Sure
Inglourious Basterds-verse, 22nd October 2009
---
Your sweet face seems
To haunt my dreams
'Lili Marlene'
---
When told of his involvement, she insisted they meet before the rendezvous.
"I must know your face, Mr. Hicox, so to make it seem like we are old friends to even the most suspicious of men."
But she was an actress, he thought later, and a rather good one, and she insisted on calling him 'mister' because, as she put it in the most darling of terms, "my English is terrible, ruined" - still, he gathered his things and dressed in civilian garb and headed towards the tiny provincial hotel, the best and the worst of scenarios playing and suddenly, he needed a cigarette and a good, stiff brandy.
---
He was a gentleman, and gentlemen knock, his fist light against the dark wood door; surprised (slightly, he was an Englishman after all, and the English were never surprised) when she flung it open like she had been waiting for the sound.
She looked like snow after summer. Her hair was up, her neck dipping at the nape, a copy of some long-forgotten literature in one hand and a smoke in the other that seemed to work around her like a well-planned mise-en-scene.
"Miss Von Hammersmark, I presume?"
"Mr. Hicox."
"Lieutenant, m'am. Or Archie, rather - whichever's more to your liking."
She smiles, and takes a drag, leaving blood-red stain on the end before stepping aside to allow him access to the room.
"Then you must call me Bridget."
He hears Big Ben's chimes right in the back of his head and it's suddenly - not entirely - all for England and he's entirely - suddenly - certain he's not getting out of this room in one piece.
For England!, and the door closes behind him like a punctuation mark.
---
"It will be very dangerous, no?" Because she's trying to speak in the Queen's English and everything's punctuated with an affirmative negative, like she almost expects him to praise her for the correct turn of phrase.
"You're quite the famous lady, Bridget, and I'm jolly well hoping it to be a rather easy time for you."
She seems disappointed at this, for some reason, and he imagines her holding an Army issue pistol in front of her, the tip of it grazing her thighs and he decides it's much easier to think of the Prime Minister and the gin and soda she's presenting him instead.
"My apologies for not having any whiskey, Lieutenant," and she turns away from him to lie on the bed, almost like a sulking child but more like Louise Brooks in Pandora's Box and he can't help but smirk.
"Now, now, Miss Von Hammersmark - I do think you'll see a little action."
And it's here that she's suddenly on him, her mouth pressing against his and he can taste the sweet cake she'd had for afternoon tea; and it's suddenly long past gentlemanly and well towards debaucherous.
"I read your books."
"Did you now."
The coat he'd had bespoked landed on the floor, her slight breath of a dressing gown following, her legs pressing against him and the lips of a world famous actress at his ear.
"I like to know who I am with."
"Well, I rather think that's a good stance to take, considering."
The tail of the curtain blowing behind her, blending into the fabric from her day dress as he slipped it over her head, her red nails contrasting nastily against the white herringbone of his shirt.
"You were rather mean to some of my films."
"Was I now."
He thinks of the pistol, and it's here he stands up into her, lifts her and places her on the bed; his mouth running down her neck, through her breasts, across her stomach and she's squirming in a most unladylike way.
"You should make it up to me, no?"
Affirmative, Lieutenant.
They pause for a second and he moves his hands slightly under her ribcage, her hair falling behind onto the oh-so-French bedspread and over her eyes, breath uneven as she seems to be challenging him in the most delightful of ways.
He smirks and raises and eyebrow.
"Well, I'd best be getting on with it, then."
---
Fin.
---
It should be noted for prosperity that I did not once use "jolly good, ol' chap!" or "pip, pip, captain!" anywhere in this fic, nor did Archie suddenly have a monocle that fell out in surprise as he exclaimed "I SAY, OLD BEAN!" Despite wanting to, really badly.
(Don't worry, Shosanna and Fredrick! I have forgotten you not!)
Look at them. Totally did it.
TITLE: An Englishman Never Assumes, He Simply Makes Sure
FANDOM: Inglourious Basterds (Lt. Archie Hicox/Bridget Von Hammersmark)
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: T'ain't mine. They're QT's.
An Englishman Never Assumes, He Simply Makes Sure
Inglourious Basterds-verse, 22nd October 2009
---
Your sweet face seems
To haunt my dreams
'Lili Marlene'
---
When told of his involvement, she insisted they meet before the rendezvous.
"I must know your face, Mr. Hicox, so to make it seem like we are old friends to even the most suspicious of men."
But she was an actress, he thought later, and a rather good one, and she insisted on calling him 'mister' because, as she put it in the most darling of terms, "my English is terrible, ruined" - still, he gathered his things and dressed in civilian garb and headed towards the tiny provincial hotel, the best and the worst of scenarios playing and suddenly, he needed a cigarette and a good, stiff brandy.
---
He was a gentleman, and gentlemen knock, his fist light against the dark wood door; surprised (slightly, he was an Englishman after all, and the English were never surprised) when she flung it open like she had been waiting for the sound.
She looked like snow after summer. Her hair was up, her neck dipping at the nape, a copy of some long-forgotten literature in one hand and a smoke in the other that seemed to work around her like a well-planned mise-en-scene.
"Miss Von Hammersmark, I presume?"
"Mr. Hicox."
"Lieutenant, m'am. Or Archie, rather - whichever's more to your liking."
She smiles, and takes a drag, leaving blood-red stain on the end before stepping aside to allow him access to the room.
"Then you must call me Bridget."
He hears Big Ben's chimes right in the back of his head and it's suddenly - not entirely - all for England and he's entirely - suddenly - certain he's not getting out of this room in one piece.
For England!, and the door closes behind him like a punctuation mark.
---
"It will be very dangerous, no?" Because she's trying to speak in the Queen's English and everything's punctuated with an affirmative negative, like she almost expects him to praise her for the correct turn of phrase.
"You're quite the famous lady, Bridget, and I'm jolly well hoping it to be a rather easy time for you."
She seems disappointed at this, for some reason, and he imagines her holding an Army issue pistol in front of her, the tip of it grazing her thighs and he decides it's much easier to think of the Prime Minister and the gin and soda she's presenting him instead.
"My apologies for not having any whiskey, Lieutenant," and she turns away from him to lie on the bed, almost like a sulking child but more like Louise Brooks in Pandora's Box and he can't help but smirk.
"Now, now, Miss Von Hammersmark - I do think you'll see a little action."
And it's here that she's suddenly on him, her mouth pressing against his and he can taste the sweet cake she'd had for afternoon tea; and it's suddenly long past gentlemanly and well towards debaucherous.
"I read your books."
"Did you now."
The coat he'd had bespoked landed on the floor, her slight breath of a dressing gown following, her legs pressing against him and the lips of a world famous actress at his ear.
"I like to know who I am with."
"Well, I rather think that's a good stance to take, considering."
The tail of the curtain blowing behind her, blending into the fabric from her day dress as he slipped it over her head, her red nails contrasting nastily against the white herringbone of his shirt.
"You were rather mean to some of my films."
"Was I now."
He thinks of the pistol, and it's here he stands up into her, lifts her and places her on the bed; his mouth running down her neck, through her breasts, across her stomach and she's squirming in a most unladylike way.
"You should make it up to me, no?"
Affirmative, Lieutenant.
They pause for a second and he moves his hands slightly under her ribcage, her hair falling behind onto the oh-so-French bedspread and over her eyes, breath uneven as she seems to be challenging him in the most delightful of ways.
He smirks and raises and eyebrow.
"Well, I'd best be getting on with it, then."
---
Fin.
---
It should be noted for prosperity that I did not once use "jolly good, ol' chap!" or "pip, pip, captain!" anywhere in this fic, nor did Archie suddenly have a monocle that fell out in surprise as he exclaimed "I SAY, OLD BEAN!" Despite wanting to, really badly.
(Don't worry, Shosanna and Fredrick! I have forgotten you not!)
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