Title: To the Future
Pairing: Union Jack/Destroyer, all other invaders and Howling Commandoes referenced
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Some mild swearing, and WW2 attitudes to Homosexuality.
Summary: No one wanted to ask how Nick Fury got hold of the
No one wanted to ask how Nick Fury got hold of the Champagne, it would have been rude.
Bucky did ask why he didn’t liberate some glasses at the same time, but quailed under Spitfire’s glare, as she thanked the sergeant, and set about hunting out cups.
Unfortunately, there had barely being enough cups and mugs that could hold liquid for everyone, before the bombing raid.
This means that Steve ends up sipping his out of a toothpaste mug, Jim and Namor share a vase and Bucky and Toro (who aren’t supposed to get some, but as Jac argues it’s a celebration) have an egg cup each. Nick, Dum Dum and the rest of the Howling Commandoes get a jug between them (though He suspects they would have been happier if Jac had just left the bottle, but no one argues with Jac) and Brian has an old tin can. Jac sit serenely on what was once an old kitchen cupboard, sipping her champagne from a plant pot.
The last time he’d drunk Champagne had been 3, no 4 years ago. They had taken a boat out on the Thames, all the way up to Henley. There, in the trees that edged the island of the Regatta, they’d kiss and hugged and basically done everything you could do, fully clothed. There were fireworks on the island, and after a while, Brian had rolled over and pulled the Champagne out, only to discover they had both been so distracted, neither of them had thought to bring glasses. They’d drank it straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth between them. It had felt rebellious, decadent, and when he kissed Brian, he tasted of Champagne.
There are no fire works here. Just the incinary bombs, and not even all that many of them, with Command knowing the Invaders location and ordering the RAF to ease off. Thank god for the scared kids flying those things, else the Nazi might actually figure out what’s going on here.
The champagne was good, but with a slightly bitter aftertaste, as though it had absorbed the death and destruction that had brought it here. Or maybe it was just he was drinking it out of a saucepan with a slightly burnt base.
If he walked over and kissed Brian right now, he would undoubtedly taste of champagne. And it would be rebellious, decadent and oh so right. A two fingers gesture to the Nazis and those on the home front who thought they were fine to fight, to die for them, but not to live.
He looked up to see Brian offering him his tin.
“Champagne and Condensed milk.” He said. “I think they might make a go of it, got a certain... je ne sais quoi”
His eyes as he held out the battered article said that he knew and understood the thoughts rushing though his head, but also a plea for patience and peace, two things Roger’s never being very good at. He reaches out and sips from the can though.
It’s far too sweet, the caramelised milk clinging to the side, turning what is actually quite a good champagne into something far too sweet and slimy, like the first time Jac attempted to make lemonade, but misread the instructions, so that there was two pounds of sugar, instead of two onzes. but there’s something else, mixed in with the sweetness, in the way that Brian hasn’t forced the tin into his hands, in eyes. That he’s not ashamed of Roger, that he loves what they have and one day, when the time is right.
Carefully, he leans his head back and swallows the mixture. “Yes.” He muttered. “I can see what you mean.”