[fic] Dress to Kill

[clayangel.livejournal.com]

Title: Dress to Kill
Author: Clay
Pairing: Greg/Eddie Izzard
Rating: PG-13? There's some cursing and sexual implications, but nothing overt.
Summary: Fed up with the usual, Greg goes looking for something different.
Author's Notes: This is for PDGlyph who wanted: "UK era Greg/Eddy Izzard where Greg finds Eddy's genderbending dress more than interesting, if you catch my drift. There doesn't need to be graphic sex, but some steamy cat and mouse would be loverly :D" I tried my damndest, but damn, it's hard to write Eddie. ^_^ Oh, and there's a tiny little Lost reference in there to amuse myself.


Light filtered through the amber liquid, coloring the polished mahogany counter a warm, golden yellow. It sparkled over the rim of the glass, accenting it’s clear, flawless perfection. With a slight, self satisfied smirk, Greg swished the contents lazily before taking an experimental sip. The scotch went down smooth, and with a nearly orgasmic groan, Greg set the glass back down on the counter.

“Now that’s how you celebrate a wrap,” he murmured to himself, giving the bartender a nod. He drank deeply, then motioned the man over for a refill. Glass in hand, he spun on his stool and leaned back against the bar, surveying the room with a smile.

The establishment was far more upscale than his usual haunts and far more to his liking. “I could get used to this,” he murmured to himself before taking another sip. And why not? He could afford it. Just because Ryan played their undisputed leader more often than not, they’d usually find themselves in his choice of dive on any particular evening, but Ryan wasn’t there, and Greg was sick of playing follower.

Turning back to the bar, the scotch suddenly sour on his tongue, Greg frowned. He’d run out on the wrap party after only five sickening minutes, when it was immediately evident that he’d be spending the night on the fringes of Ryan’s corona, visible only in the refracted light of his sun. Well fuck that.

Even those that hated Ryan revered him as a god, and Greg was tired of being just another sheep in the herd. Besides, Ryan was too busy in his role as glory monger to partake in any decent conversation, not to mention after party activities. Colin was just as bad, soaking up Ryan’s light and spitting it back out as if it were his own, safe in his assurance that his meal ticket and bed partner would never leave him by the wayside. And then there was Clive, blatantly reserved at the best of times, though the addition of Jane at the party had sucked any remaining snark from his veins until he was so undeniably British that Greg just had to get out of there. It was the last straw.

He’d told the cabbie to take him to one of their usual dives, but after stepping onto the street and paying the man, he couldn’t force himself to go in. So he’d walked for the better part of an hour, navigating London’s maze until he found himself standing before the fine establishment he now inhabited. He was sick of the usual and craving something different, but even though the scotch cost twenty quid more a glass, it was still scotch, and he feared the night would take him back around full circle before it’s end.

Sighing, Greg looked over the bottles lining the back wall of the bar, but the glass of MacCutcheon in his hand was all he wanted.

“Jesus Christ, I suck,” he grumbled, downing the scotch and getting yet another refill.

“Maybe if we get a few more in you, yeah?” a new voice suddenly chimed in.

Snapping his head around, Greg’s frown faded away instantly. “Eddie fucking Izzard,” he greeted the newcomer. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Eddie was a sight in a faux velvet, spaghetti strapped shirt and black, patent leather pants. Deep, plum red lip gloss coated his lips with matching eye shadow and alluringly tousled hair to top it off. Eddie gave him a grin before motioning the barkeep over for a glass of merlot, sipping on it daintily before turning his attention back to Greg.

“Can’t a girl stop off for a drink?” he quipped, raising his glass in a toast before taking another long sip and then closing his eyes in joy.

“Merlot?” Greg asked. “You drink that shit straight?”

“I like something a little fruity,” Eddie replied. Then, with a wink, he added, “and a little tart.”

Chuckling, Greg shook his head. If different was what he had been looking for, he couldn’t do much better than Eddie, himself. Suddenly his night was looking up. “Seriously, though,” he said, sipping on his scotch again. “I haven’t seen you in, God, it must be years. We miss you down at the Store, you know.”

“I might stop in,” Eddie said, nodding pleasantly at the thought. “Yes, I’d like that. Don’t get around as often as I’d like these days with the touring, but you know how it is.” Before Greg had a chance to respond, he continued, talking quickly, almost as though monologuing to himself. “Of course I wouldn’t go in this,” he said, running a hand down his side with a grin. “I look far too fabulous. Far, far too fabulous, and I wouldn’t want to take away from all the…” he squinched up his face, making vague gestures with one hand as he thought. “…all the togetherness I suppose. The whole group thing. No, wouldn’t want that. So…yeah, but I’d love to go. Are you going to be?”

Stifling a laugh, Greg could only nod for a moment. He drank deeply of his scotch, then licked his lips, shaking his head. “Uh, yeah. I think so. If I have the time.”

“Time,” Eddie agreed, holding up one finger and nodding. “That’s the problem. Always, but yeah…I definitely want to come round, just can’t upstage Josie. Nooo. Not that I could. God, I’d love to see her, though. Do you think she’ll be? Oh, I’m sure she’ll be,” he answered for himself, waving a hand dismissively. “But do you know what they say? They say I was nothing until I started cross dressing on stage, which is bullshit. Absolute bullshit, but that’s what they say, yeah? I just think they’re jealous they don’t look half this good.”

Greg looked him over again. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Eddie so dressed up, but it was certainly the first time in quite a while, and his sense of style only seemed to have heightened in the mean time. The way the material fit and flowed was almost devastatingly attractive, made somehow even more so by the very masculine body beneath. Greg tended toward hiding his flaws while Eddie seemed to exalt in them, bringing them out and making the gorgeous.

Greg gestured with his glass. “I’m getting a hard time getting over those leather pants, though”

“What?” Eddie bent down, examining his own behind. “These? You’ve got to be kidding! Have you felt these? Okay come here. Come here.” He gestured Greg over a little erratically, and with a light chuckle, Greg complied.

Eddie took his hand and almost forced it down on his thigh, trailing the back of his knuckles from hip to knee with a wink. “You’re honestly telling me you aren’t wishing you were wearing these right now. Leg wear is what makes the woman, if you ask me, whether you’re in frock or skirt or whatever, it’s the legs. It’s always the legs. And the ass, but mostly the legs.

“And the pants!” he said after a moment, a little too loudly for Greg’s liking. It was bad enough being a celebrity in a pub without your companion attracting attention on top of it. It didn’t help matters when Eddie leaned to one side, drawing the waist of the trousers away from his body just enough to draw out the top of his red, satin underwear. “Can you imagine,” Eddie continued, a sultry note lowering his voice, “how amazing these feel. Men have no idea what they’re missing. These are the most comfortable pants I’ve ever worn in my life.”

The sight of the panties and feel of the leather were having an unexpected effect on Greg, and he cleared his throat, lowering his face for fear of a blush as he retook his seat. “Well, what about the shoes, then?” he said, turning Eddie’s attention back to his outfit. “Don’t tell me you derive any comfort from them.”

“You must be joking!“ Eddie said with a laugh. He waved a hand haphazardly as his ankle, then lifted a foot, showing off a platformed heel before aiming a cheeky grin at Greg. “They-they’re just fantastic,“ he stuttered enthusiastically. “They make me feel just gorgeous.”

Greg stared at him for a beat, thankful to be getting his mind off the panties, then let out a barking laugh. “Gorgeous?” he practically snorted. “So you’re telling me that the inability to run and consistent foot pain is gorgeous?”

Crossing his legs, Eddie’s smile widened. “Ohhh,“ he said, drawing the word out, “Just because you’re absolutely incapable of pulling it off, that doesn’t say a thing about me. It takes practice. Balance. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Rolling his eyes and taking another sip of his drink, Greg shook his head. “Now you’re just starting to sound like my wife.”

With a chuckle and a touché head cock, Eddie agreed, “Well, then I’m doing just fine, aren’t I?”

At Greg’s curious glance, Eddie continued, swirling his merlot and studying the cloy of the liquid against the sides of the glass with a quirk of his lips. “It’s all a part of your sexuality, isn’t it? So…I mean, let’s take your suits.” He nodded at Greg’s pressed outfit. “It’s all a part of who you are, wouldn’t you say? Take what’s inside and show it to the world. These shoes represent who I am—”

“Action transvestite,” Greg cut in with a mix of sardonic candor and just the barest hint of curious respect.

“Right!” Eddie agreed. “And your suit tells me you’re an insufferable prick!”

“Then I suppose I’m doing just fine, too, huh?”

“Fine, indeed,” Eddie murmured. He uncrossed his legs, the patent leather swishing softly, then used one heeled foot to part Greg’s knees. He slid the foot up the inside of Greg’s thigh before resting the toe against his crotch with the barest of pressure. “Can’t say I’ve gotten any complaints, either.”

Greg felt a deep heat spread over his crotch, and he shifted unconsciously, pressing his burgeoning erection against the shoe a little harder. “In this position,” he murmured, “I think any man would be stupid to say otherwise, though.”

Eddie shrugged, massaging Greg’s crotch softly with his shoe. “Well, it’s just a matter of preference, isn’t it? It’s not up to me if a man likes what he sees or not, and if not, to decide whether that makes him stupid or straight.”

“I am straight.”

Eddie let out a high pitched chuckle. “Ah, yes, I forgot. You’re just about as straight as I am.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “I thought you preferred women.”

“Oh, by far, by far,” Eddie agreed. “Very much so. Men do very little for me, but it’s hard to deny the appeal of a man after your own method of thought.”

Greg’s breath caught a moment, stirred in more ways than one by the continued pressure over his crotch. “And what thought would that be?” he prompted, rasping the words out in just above a whisper.

Finally removing his foot, Eddie scooted his stool closer and leaned in, taking Greg’s tie in one hand and tightening the knot. His breath ghosted over Greg’s lips as he replied, “Dress to kill.”

Greg’s eyes widened dramatically and he felt his breath catch in his throat. As he fought to find the breath to speak, Eddie drew back slightly, trailing his hand down Greg’s tie before slipping his fingers beneath the suit jacket to feel the skin warmed cotton beneath.

“Very fine, indeed,” he was murmuring softly to himself. “Expensive jacket, cheap oxford, but no one would see it, so….well, I think I might see it, that is, if you’d like to show me, Greg, dear.” Finding a nipple, he ran his thumb around it lazily, blood red press on nails tracing and teasing the flesh.

“Yeah,” Greg said eventually with a jerky nod. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Pulling away completely, Eddie picked up his wine, downing the remains, and Greg followed suit with his own drink.

“Pay the man,” Eddie said, standing, and Greg didn’t even think to argue. “Is anyone expecting you home tonight?”

Looking up from dropping a handful of bills, Greg gave him a slight, deprecating smirk. “No. Jen probably expects me to be with…someone…tonight.”

“Well,” Eddie moved forward, grasping Greg’s tie once more and tugging him close. “Let’s not disappoint her.” Winding his fingers in the hair at the nape of Greg’s neck, he drew him down, whispering against his mouth. “You can show me a little of that tartness you’re so famous for, eh?” And he pressed his mouth to Greg’s.

The gloss covering his lips made them delightfully slick and silky, and Greg leaned eagerly into the kiss, pressing his half hard cock against Eddie. He snuck a hand down, inching it beneath the leather pants to cup the other man’s half hard member through the soft satin, groaning low in his throat. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he muttered as he pulled away, smirking and giving Eddie’s cock a gentle squeeze.

Chuckling softly, Eddie nodded and took Greg by the tie once more to bodily drag him from the pub. “One more question,” he said just as they reached the door. “You asked me what I was doing here, but what the fuck are you doing here all alone, Mr. Proops?” He waved down a taxi, then looked to Greg expectantly.

Greg smiled. “Looking for something different, I think.”

Chuckling again, Eddie dragged him down into the cab, and with a wink, he said, “Well, you found it.”

End!