What The Holly Demands
-> Pairing: Mr. Reca x Grady Mallory
-> Summary: Mr. Reca says he has a surprise in store for Grady at work, leading to a sweet moment beneath a mistletoe. 3.1k
-> Warnings: Potentially OOC, the words "Grady" "Reca" and "he/him/his" are used one million times. Usage of "-" but, as always, not AI generated I prommy. Other than that, there's no warnings needed; just pure fluff folks!
-> Currently listening to: Gymnopedie No. 1 - Philippe Entremont.
-> Merry Christmas everyone and a special shoutout to my lovely friend @frag-grenade for inspiring this fic! I hope you all enjoy :]
-> ©hnnnnnnnm All works are mine; reposting, feeding to AI, and plagiarism are not allowed
The day had started off like any other.
Grady had woken up, albeit reluctantly, to the feeling of his beloveds hand; fingers, slender and deft, running through his white-black tresses. Delicately pulling apart knots that had formed in the night before smoothing the hair over, stopping every now and then to twiddle a lock or two between forefinger and thumb. Occasionally, his love would lean forward, bring the locks to his nose and breath in the scent; old cedar wood with the faintest underlying tinge of smoke – the result of a lifetime of pipe smoking, not that his lover ever seemed to mind [though there were chastises towards this habit, often said when the other man was himself holding a cigarette].
It had gone on for a few minutes, as it always did, before the man beside Grady laughed – something light and playful, reverberating throughout the silence of the bedroom. Still he had not truly woken, eyes having remained shut even when there was the press of a body against his; the sensation of fingers moving from his hair to his shoulder, feather light and tickling the skin as they slipped beneath tar black silk. The hand had come to rest on his chest, lazy caresses of his beloveds thumb trailing over old scars paired with the tickling of hair against his face, the press of soft lips to cheekbone.
Gradys’ face scrunched at the sensation, furthered only when those same lips started trailing along warm skin; fleeting and playful, from cheek to jaw to chin before, finally, placing themselves on his lips in a sweet kiss. It was slow, still blanketed by fatigue until his love pulled away with an over dramatic “mwah” and Gradys’ eyes finally fluttered open. Reca had appeared in his view, wearing the same smug look he always did on such mornings, though it never could cover up the love-struck gaze.
It could never get Grady out of bed, either. He had simply returned his lovers gaze for a moment, a scarred hand briefly rising from its rest on silken sheets to brush the hair from the mans face before, with as much strength as the tired limb could muster, pushing him away. Reca had let out an offended gasp, body falling back onto the bed with the flair of a heartbroken damsel as Grady turned away to continue his rest; an already faint mumble of being far too old to get up at such an ungodly hour further muffled by the pillow.
Eyes only properly opened [and stayed as such] when a steaming cup of green tea clinked on the bedside table, followed by another clink and the aroma of freshly toasted fruit loaf.
There had been the lightest tease about a lack of proper work ethic as Reca passed the cup to Grady, his own hands replacing the directors and bringing the brim to his lips. The taste had been refreshing, the warmth seeping into Gradys’ body and earning a huff of approval. For a moment, Grady had closed his eyes and let the feeling linger while his mind kicked into gear, uncaring of the eyes watching him with rapt interest, only really paying Reca mind when the man reached over to pry the cup from his fingers.
Grady had watched as Reca brought the cup to his lips, no doubt stealing a sip to test his own handiwork before passing over the plated toast, telling Grady to hurry up and eat - there would be no time for dawdling today. The sentiment had raised suspicion from Grady, an inquisitive [and apprehensive] look being shot Recas’ way as he took a bite from the food before him but the other man had merely insisted that it was imperative that they arrived at work as soon as possible. Promises of something truly important happening, though he would not elaborate on what said important thing was, nor when it would be happening. But the look on his face told Grady that there was no falsehood to his words; something important [at least to Reca] would be occurring today and the idea had filled him with as much trepidation as it did excitement.
Yes, the day had started off normally, for even these mysterious promises of excitement and surprise were not unusual. Even if Grady, at times, wished they were [at one point, he thinks back to the glitter bomb and a shiver runs down his spine].
It had continued like expected, too, with the filming of Recas’ latest movie; an artsy horror flick bringing back all of Penaconys’ old and forgotten horror tropes with the aims of breathing new life into them. He had labelled it as a love letter to the genre and the genius’ behind it, something that had earned an eye roll from Grady at the time [though thinking back on it always caused the corners of his lips to twitch up in a smile]. The announcement of this project and Gradys’ label of co-director had been one of the best surprises that had come from Reca in the past, and while Grady knew that this one wouldn’t be able to best it he hoped that, at the very least, it too would be joyous.
Not that he had paid it much thought once he was in the [co] directors’ chair, far too focused on the horror story unfurling before him to care for the anticipation that had bubbled in his chest just hours before. He had watched the scene with an analytical calm bordering on obsession, eyes – honed from years upon years of passion and practice alike observing every detail of the set and the actors within it; the line delivery, the lighting, the sound design, every prop and its’ placement – ready to step in as soon as something failed to meet his standards and expectations. A professional yes, but perfectionist would be nearer the mark than any other label. It was a trait that Reca shared, but his had always had a kinder lilt to it.
Thankfully, there had been no need for it. Everything had gone as it was meant to. No mishaps with lines, no blunders with technique or camera work, the cast [usually a rowdy bunch] well behaved and serious – perhaps even professional. Aeons, Grady couldn’t think of a single thing that had gone wrong and, when Recas’ voice sliced through the air in an energetic and jovial “cut!”, he wondered if this was the surprise that had been planned for him. A day without stress, without worry of falling behind deadlines, without a blasted headache from it all.
Naturally, such a thing deserved thanks. So when Reca had finished addressing the cast and crew alike, congratulating them on such a brilliant performance and telling them to take a break – that they would all reconvene in an hour to shoot a different scene, Grady had approached with the intent of showing his appreciation. A hand, garbed in white cotton, had come to rest of Recas’ hip once in front of him, body leaning forward so as to place the quickest kiss to the directors cheek – much to his delighted surprise.
“Thank you.” The look in Gradys’ eyes had conveyed nothing but sincerity.
“Why,” the huff of a laugh, fondness crinkled the lines of Recas’ mouth, “you’re welcome! Though I haven’t a clue what you’re thanking me for, my star.”
Gradys’ eyebrows had furrowed together, the hand on his cane flexing ever so slightly.
“Hm? Has this not been the surprise you’ve been raving about? A day of peace?”
“Ah I wish it was, my star. But no, everything here has been the work of our spectacular cast and crew [although of course having a director such as I on set no doubt helped]. No, no, your surprise is still coming, though I fear now it won’t surpass what you thought it was,” playfully, Reca had cast his gaze downward, a contemplative shake of his head and shoulders heaving in a sigh before he continued to speak. “A dreadful shame. I suppose you won’t want it anymore…”
Grady had grunted at that, lifting his cane off the pristine floor of the studios to hit his beloveds leg with it.
“Don’t be a fool, Reca. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Perhaps not, my star. You truly know what to say to make my heart flutter.”
At this, Reca had pulled away from Grady with mischief pooling in his eyes and the anticipation in Gradys’ chest only grew. If that was not the surprise, he was unsure what else it could be, mind running along all possible avenues as he watched Reca retreat from him with a hop to his step; only coming to a still when he was by the rooms’ exit. His voice reverberated throughout the mostly empty set.
“Well, are you coming my star? Or do you plan to stand there like a fish out of water for the remainder of the hour?
It was with curious reluctance that Grady had followed after the other director. If Reca managed to ruin his mood with this little surprise, then surely he would kill him.
-
Grady sits now on a leather love seat in Recas’ office, watching as the man scurries about the cramped space with the agility of a mouse, expertly dodging and stepping over objects with a speed that has his head spinning. Grady is certain he would have tripped numerous times if he were in Recas’ shoes, watching with quiet amusement as his beloved darts to and fro, occasionally stopping with the parts to set up an old fashioned tripod camera by his desk.
A vintage lamp sits on the said desks polished surface, illuminating the office space in a warm yellow glow that does wonders for Gradys’ eyes, sensitive to light as he is. Lazily, he looks away from his love, coming to rest his cheek on his hand as he gazes about the room in waiting. It’s cluttered with files and paperwork and needless amounts of equipment and the walls are no better, covered in polaroids and posters and drafts connected by string; decorated further by mounted racks of film reel [although they are thankfully sparring, with most properly shelved]. Despite the outward mess, the space is organised [and, somehow, not a fire hazard. Much to Gradys’ continued bafflement]. Everything in its’ right place, labelled and secure and the delicate items haven’t seen a single scratch nor tear. Grady doubts they ever will; he knows Reca to be a skilled and careful archivist and director as much as he knows him to erratic and reckless.
Even now, when flitting around the room in search of Aeons knows what, Grady can see the careful calm lacing every single one of Recas’ movements; the sharply calculated mind at play, though Grady still has no idea what it is that he’s planning. The camera is worrisome to him, if only because he dislikes being in the limelight. Nervously, Grady taps a finger against his cheek, back to watching Recas’ every movement.
“Just another moment, my star! You patience is very much appreciated.” His love announces, coming to a stop in front of the camera once more to fiddle with loose parts and the like.
His brows knit together in concentration and Grady can’t help but admire how handsome the other man looks when engaging in his livelihood like so. The passion for his craft was infectious; indeed, it had been that passion that had breathed life back into Gradys once lost love for it. A fact he has remained ever grateful for, but especially at times like these, where he is in the midst of it.
Perhaps Reca notices the love struck gaze on Gradys’ face, looking over at him momentarily before turning back to the equipment with a fond, nearly flattered, laugh. With the flick of a switch, Reca steps back and into the cameras’ lens.
“There!” a hand moves up in excitement, fingers snapping together before Reca turns on his heels to face the man on the love seat. “Action, my dear Grady~!”
The smile on Recas’ face is as gorgeous as it is troubling, toothy and wide and in response Grady merely quirks an eyebrow. An attempt to downplay his own growing enthusiasm, although he knows doing so around a memokeeper is pointless.
“Hm? Don’t tell me you’re going to perform for me, sweetheart.”
And Recas’ eyes twinkle at the prospect, a coy laugh leaving him as he approaches the seated man and for a moment Grady thinks that he may just sit down on his lap. A subtle redness washes over his face as Reca stands before him, eyes averting from the directors in a bout of shyness and instead coming to focus on one of the many polaroids lining the walls – a reaction that earns another laugh from his love, paired with a playfully scolding click of his tongue.
“I’m sure you’d love a movie like that, my star,” this earns an eye roll from Grady, “but as tempting as that prospect may be, sweetie pie, I had something else planned for the two of us.”
As he speaks Reca bows forward and extends a hand, motioning for Grady to grab a hold of it with the twitch of his fingertips. Like an invitation to dance, causing another quirk of Gradys’ brows before he, too, reaches to Reca. The feeling of his beloveds hand is welcome, even when the director is pulling him upwards off the loveseat and dragging him to the middle of the office without even giving him time to grab his cane; landing them directly within the heart of the cameras’ view. Grady spares a glance at it once they’ve come to a still and then lets his eyes drag across the room, looking for what could possibly be about to happen. Not once does he look upwards, a fact that causes Reca to smile to himself.
“Is the surprise a dance?”
“Close but no cigar, I fear! Why don’t you try guessing again for me, my star?”
The look in Recas’ eyes is earnest, his spare hand coming to grab Gradys’ with an excited squeeze. Grady returns it in a manner that he hopes comes off as reluctant.
“Aeons, you’ll be the second death of me,” regardless of his words, the hint of a smile crosses his face, “I haven’t a clue, Reca. Can’t you just tell me and be done with all this teasing?”
“Oh but there’s no fun in that, is there? Come now, put that handsome head of yours to use Grady. I know you can do it.”
Again, Grady lets his eyes wander around the room, lips pursing together in thought and, again, there’s nothing. Surely something as built up as this meant extravagance but there was nothing here that matched that. At least, nothing that would count as a surprise for him, unless Reca planned to hand over that pretty new camera of his? The thought causes Grady to release the huff of a laugh; now that would be a surprise.
Eyes - crinkled in barely suppressed amusement - look back at his lover, who has been watching him with bemused interest this entire time.
“Can I at least get a hint, doll?”
The other man merely hums in response, pulling one of his hands from Gradys’ to point upwards at the ceiling, sending a wink to him in the process.
Quizzically, follows the hand upwards and to the ceiling, from which a bundle of mistletoe hangs from red string. For a moment, Grady simply looks at the plant, fingers tapping against in thigh in thought while the pieces slip into place in his mind.
And then it does, and Grady releases an exasperated sigh at the realisation, gaze turning downwards to the man before him who has, invariably, moved closer to his person. Almost chest to chest.
“Mistletoe? Really?” The tone is neither harsh nor disappointed, and is accompanied by colour once more spreading across Gradys’ face.
“Correct, my beloved. What better way to celebrate the holiday season?” The energy from Recas’ voice has been replaced with a calmer lilt, something low and warm that causes butterflies to flutter in Gradys’ chest. A feeling heightened when Reca moves, arms coming to loop around his neck with a smile. Fingers go to play with white-black strands of hair, tousling them around slightly.
Damn this man. Why must I always be reduced to a love struck fool in his presence?
“Hmph. I suppose you’re right,” hesitantly, betraying the attempted steady of his voice, Grady comes to rest his hands on the small of Recas’ waist and moves to pull the director closer to him. In the process, he leans forward, an affectionate press of his nose to the other mans as the colour on his cheeks deepen. “Still, you’re the sappiest man I’ve ever met, sweetheart.”
At this Reca giggles once more, looking at Grady through now lidded eyes.
“And yet I fear I’m not the one blushing, ciel.” Quickly, a glance to Gradys’ lips.
Grady doesn’t say anything in response, simply letting out a grunt as he takes in the sight of the man before him. Reca looks nothing short of statuesque in the light of the lamp and Grady can’t help the appreciative noise he lets out, eyes coming to settle on his supple lips as he leans in closer. For a moment he stays like that, lips hovering above the others before his eyes flutter shut and the distance is closed fully.
The kiss is as tender as it is passionate and Grady can’t help but sink into the sensation fully, his arms coming to wrap around Recas’ waist with a soft tug, pulling the man as close to him as he can get. In turn, Reca tightens his arms around Gradys’ neck, lips twitching into a smile as he goes to deepen the kiss. It remains unhurried, even when one of Recas’ hands thread through Gradys’ hair, the press of the others lips slow and all but brimming with a love that’s returned in full.
When they finally pull away from each other [though barely] Grady can’t stop the smile that spreads across his lips, looking at Reca like he’s the loveliest thing in the cosmos. And Reca returns the gaze, eyes pooling with an affection that causes Gradys’ heart to skip a beat in his chest as he leans back in, lips pressing to Gradys’ in a soft peck before Reca goes to rest his head on the other mans shoulder; a soft nuzzle of his neck and the tickle of his loves hair causes Grady to let out a slight laugh, the hand on Recas’ back moving upwards until it rests between his shoulder blades.
Quietly, Grady goes to speak.
“No better way indeed, my dearest sacimün,” his tone grows quieter still, the next words whispered as if a secret. “Uo ai ciel.”
And in the calm of his office, Reca smiles against Gradys’ skin.
“Uo ai ciel amtét, my star. Uo ai ciel amtét.”