Random stories

Sparkle when the lights are on

"I hope you're taking me somewhere nice tonight," Porter says and Hugo looks up over his newspaper to watch him expertly slick a top coat on his nails.

They're red today; a deep, almost bloody crimson - Hugo's favourite on him, if he had to choose, though Porter looks good in everything - and he'd done them all himself after the woman at the salon had botched his last manicure.

She doesn't work there now, needless to say. Hugo had made sure of that. Technically she's not even a French citizen anymore.

"Of course, love," Hugo says. "I've already made reservations."

Porter looks up from his nails and shrugs, quirks a condescending sort of smile. "I'm sure it'll be passable." His dressing gown, a silky black thing, slips down to expose his collarbone and the arch of his shoulder.

Hugo cocks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Although Hugo himself has had a rather nice day - making a deal worth nearly a million euros has put him in an agreeable state - Porter's been in one of his darker moods today and Hugo knows he's better off keeping his mouth shut.

He's proven right a second later when Porter tilts his head expectantly like he's waiting for an answer. He's trying to pick a fight; Hugo looks back down at his newspaper. He's not interested in being baited today.

Porter sniffs haughtily and stretches one bare leg out, languid and deliberate, over the arm of the chaise he's been lounging in. "Well, I'll need something to wear-,"

"A new dress, hanging in the wardrobe, amour," Hugo says, turning a page and pointedly ignoring Porter's obvious trap. "And a lovely new necklace on the dresser that I think you'll find quite fetching."

The room is quiet for a moment and Porter's leg drops to dangle over the chair arm. Hugo flips back to the page he'd just finished.

"Fine," Porter snaps. Hugo doesn't look up when he straightens from his chaise and yanks his dressing gown closed. He keeps his eyes on his newspaper but reaches out to catch Porter by the wrist as he comes by.

"Kiss," he murmurs, lifts his head to look into Porter's pouting face.
They stare at each other like that, Hugo's hand around Porter's dainty wrist, until Porter sighs petulantly and bends to kiss him.

"Thank you," Hugo says with a smile and Porter yanks his arm away, then stomps off to the bedroom.

Hugo thinks he'll likely be paying for that tonight.

The ride to the restaurant is mostly silent.

Porter's still pouting; he'd spent hours getting ready, pushing until he'd known they would be late for their reservation. Hugo doesn't mind terribly. Porter's thrown worse tantrums before and his own good mood seems to be lasting.

And anyway the hours spent preparing seem to be worth it. Porter looks devastating, as usual. Dark hair a perfect cascade of curls to one side of his face, lips a deep red to match his nails and heels.

He hadn't thanked Hugo for the dress - Chanel, black and strapless and a perfect fit - or the necklace - a diamond choker from Cartier that Porter's been eyeing for weeks - but Hugo brushes it off. Porter will come around over dinner, he's sure.

He shoots Hugo a derisive look when they pull up to the restaurant.

"We've been here before," he says icily.

Hugo smiles patiently as the driver opens Porter's door. "They have a new chef, cher, she's meant to be very good."

Porter huffs dramatically, mutters, "whatever," and steps out of the car.