Rating FRT-FRAO Language, D/s, graphic scenes in later sections.
Summary: Boris may not show impatience very often, but he feels it. Evan is about to find out what happens when the baron finally gets tired of waiting.
Disclaimer: Not mine, (tho I'm grateful that I can wish and hope and not get sued) and I made no money. Written strictly due to my love of the show and my recent persistent dreams involving Dom!Boris and sub!Evan. Pretty, pretty pictures...
SUNDAY - 7:30 A.M : THE GUEST HOUSE
"Henry? Henry, get in here!"
One shoe still untied and his polo shirt not quite pulled down, Hank strolled into the main area of the small home he shared with his brother. Despite the angst in his younger sibling's voice and the use of his full name instead of the shortened form, Hank was sure nothing was actually wrong, so he felt no need to rush to the seemingly frantic summons.
"I'm right here, Ev. What is it?"
"This!" Evan shouted, waving an envelope in the air. "It just... showed up on the counter! I know it wasn't there last night!"
Hank held out his hand and the object in question was relinquished. He studied the front as he moved to the sofa and sat down, but it was blank except for Evan's name; first, middle and last. The precise, elegant handwriting, however, told him instantly who had left the message.
"It's from Boris."
"Great... just what I was afraid of. I'm dead..."
"No, you're paranoid, which is status quo for you."
"Hey, it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. Or... stare at you until you turn into a pillar of, like, kosher salt or something..." Evan mumbled.
Hank shook his head, in mild awe, as usual, at the weird and wonderful phrase combinations Evan's mind created when he wasn't really focused on what he was saying.
"Yeah, or something." Hank chuckled. His brother plastered on his version of a charming smile and slid out of the kitchen, halting after a step or two.
"Open it?" Evan pleaded halfheartedly.
"Uh, I don't think so. It's addressed to you. Not my business." Hank responded, tugging on his now secured shoelaces and rising to his feet.
"He hates me, you know that! It can't be anything good!"
"Hate you? No way. Annoyed, probably. Bewildered, frequently..."
"No. Whatever it is, trust me, you'll survive." Hank insisted, handing the envelope back and turning to leave. He paused just as he reached the door, however, to indulge in a favorite pastime; teasing his ever-gullible little brother. "Of course, if he even mentions the shark tank, run for your life..."
No idiot, Hank ducked and ran before Evan could snatch a pillow off the couch and launch it at his head. After suffering another few moments of angst and indecision, Evan slowly eased the flap up on the envelope, his caution and his pinched expression clearly saying he believed it was wired to explode. When it, and his immediate surroundings, remained intact, he breathed a sigh of relief and gently extracted the single piece of paper inside.
" 'One hour'. That's it? Two words, that's all I get? Crap... what did I do? He must wanna see me on his turf... and if he does that means I did something stupid. What though? I can't think of anything... Crap! I have to go. If I stand him up it'll be worse. Whatever he's pissed at me for, he might think Hank... I can't let that happen. Okay... so I'll march through the gates of Hell, but I'll do it dressed in my best suit and showing off every move I ever learned from James Bond." He decided, whirling around and heading for the shower. "And not whimpering like a Chihuahua. Yeah, whimpering is definitely not suave and cool..."