le_russe_satan

Title: "Christmas Ball"
Author: le_russe_satan
Main Characters or Pairing: Sharpe/Wellington, Hogan and a surprise guest, who some of you may recognise and who is terribly OOC, I'm sure. ((
Rating/Type: PG, maybe PG-13
Summary: A Christmas Ball in Lisbon
Disclaimer: Sharpe, Hogan and other characters don't belong to me, I'm just playing with them.
A/N: Written for

aninfamousarmy Christmas challenge, is therefore schmoopy and way too romantic.

“Hogan, I don't like him.”
Arthur grimaces as he takes a sip of champagne: it's warm and almost flat; he completely forgot that he had a glass in his hand, so intent he is on watching the tall, haughty looking man now talking to Sharpe.

“Indeed, sir. May I ask why?” Hogan is right next to him, sweating in the heat of Queluz palace. He too glances at the pair that is the focus of Arthur's attention. Sharpe is laughing now, and though they are standing quite close to them, they can't hear the man's laugh over the din of the chattering crowd and music.

There's a pause, because he can't really say “He is talking to Sharpe, that's why” so instead he says:

“Just a feeling, I suppose,” which really doesn't sound much better at all. Hogan makes a sort of gurgle, which sounds suspiciously like smothered laughter.

“Well, sir, it is certainly... unusual that Mr. Root invited Sharpe of all people to accompany him to the ball, but, perhaps, Sharpe interests him.”

Arthur's fingers tighten unconsciously around the glass stem: Hogan's comment makes him like Mr. Root even less. He finishes off the the champagne in two gulps, ignores Hogan's raised eyebrows and walks off to find a partner for the next dance.

At first he manages to show a little interest in the inane conversation, no, monologue of Miss Stewart, but as they turn and start another figure of the dance, he can see Mr. Root again. The man's hand is on Sharpe's shoulder, descending lower onto his arm, which makes Arthur nearly step on Miss Stewart's foot. It's more than embarrassing that the simple fact of Sharpe talking to someone, smiling at someone, can make him act like a jealous fool, especially when he has no right to, when Sharpe doesn't even know that Arthur can be jealous of him.

He abandons Miss Stewart almost as soon as the dance is over, and makes a beeline for the terrace doors. They are not locked, for there are to be fireworks later tonight, and open easily, letting him out into the wintry air. He moves out from the pool of milky light coming from the ballroom, as if darkness can hide everything he is feeling right now. At least he can't see Sharpe. In fact all he can see, as he puts his hands on the cold stone balustrade, is the garden beyond, it's ground covered in snow just as it should be on Christmas.

“My Lord?” Athur whips around, startled by the voice that comes from behind him. Of course it's Sharpe he sees, resplendid in the new dress uniform.

“Sharpe? Surely you are not already thinking of leaving. I doubt you get many chances to be present at Christmas balls.” Arthur's words are sharpe and hurtful, and he regrets them the moment they are out.

“No, I don't, my lord.” Answers Sharpe calmly, as he steps closer, and Arthur is suddenly nervous, trapped as he is between the balustrade and the man before him. “Are you thinking of leaving, then?” The question is impertinent and the tone is certainly more than insoburdinate and at any other time Arthur would have certainly rebuked him, but now he simply says:

“I don't know.”

“Perhaps, you will consider leaving... with me.” Arthur is quite sure he must have misheard but Sharpe comes even closer and touches his face lightly, briefly and Arthur simply nods, feeling a strange warmth spreading in his chest. With it his confidence returns, as if a spell just broke, and does what he longed to do for months, he reaches up and kisses Richard.

***

The black-haired beauty next to him smiles sleepily.
“So tell me, Enoch Root, have you created your little Christmas miracle?” Enoch turns and kisses her forehead.
“Oh, yes. My self-appointed task was really quite easy, just a little something to lower the inhibitions and ease the way, so to speak.” The woman's expression is suddenly quite serious.
“Are you sure it won't backfire?”
“My dear, a little morning after embarrassment never hurt anyone.”