Title: The Look Of Love

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters, the show or the song I used. I'm not getting rich from playing with them either.

Summary: Sometimes no words are necessary to say everything you want.

A/N: I apologise to Dusty Springfield and Burt Bacharach who probably never imagined something like this would happen. I'd like to thank ShadowSamurai83 for the beta (and reminding me of the difference between horizontal and vertical - ooops), the entire OHT, and the Piccadilly Line.


The Look Of Love

It is a surprise, but at the same time it is not.

Tongues started wagging the moment they entered the room and nobody is even subtle about it. Neither are they, which makes the display all the more spectacular for the amused onlooker.

Which Eve is.

Anybody who knows them well, and there are very few, notice that they have planned this, probably right down to the smallest detail. They can be malicious like this, and they are. This time. The display has been carefully planned, but for what reason is a mystery to Eve for the moment.

They have a plan, that much is certain, what it is, however, will be revealed in good time and on their terms.

It's a black tie affair and they've meticulously followed the demand - well, he has. Except for a tiny visible detail. Her...tie...is white or...only the select few in the know even dare to look, much less notice...gold. Except for the scarf - pristinely white like his shirt - she's in black.

Seeing them together like this, the effect is stunning and it is no wonder that all conversation momentarily screeches to a halt. They have planned that too, or better, they've counted on it, because they are observant, smart and just a tad bit malicious in their appearance. Those are a number of traits that Eve appreciates very much in people she knows and calls friends. They are her friends, which is why she even detects what she sees for what it is.

Their presence fills the room. Not just his: predatory, edgy and physical as it is. Hers is equally breathtaking, obliterating her small physical size. They both bask in it, both with an edge of pitiful amusement for the other guests. They definitely have a plan and it doesn't just show through their entwined hands.

Almost painfully obviously they haven't let go of each other since entering. It's a statement of proud ownership, of territoriality. On both sides.

It's a bit like a neon white flash of teeth in a predator, screaming: Dare to take me on?

Nobody does, of course. Not directly. But then, most people in this room have been wimps all their life, back-stabbing ones at that. They don't act, they just gossip, and quite a bit of that is quite vitriolic. They've both been on the receiving end of this nastiness, and maybe that is the plan. Cheap and obvious, so Eve all but discounts it for the moment.

This time, they don't care. In fact, the gossip seems to amuse them more than anything.

They step further into the room, serene and undisturbed. They both smile, but there are visible differences in sincerity, depending on who it is aimed at. For most of the guests it nowhere near reaches the eyes. Friends receive a wink along with a hug.

The number is markedly and demonstratively small. Dutiful greetings are done with a minimum of courtesy, abandoned in favour of friends or twosome time with almost unseemly speed. There is nothing coincidental about it.

It looks a lot like the proverbial finger given to everybody who has troubled them over the years.

It seems poor manners of them to stoop to the level of their former - hidden - tormentors, but Eve knows that it's anything but that. They are making a statement: he makes his and she makes hers. It's very loud and very brash and easily clear that they won't apologize for any toes they stomp on tonight.

They've expected it of him, naturally. What shocks them is her part in it. Eve considers that sardonically. It would probably knock them sideways if they realized that she's the mastermind behind this show. They've underestimated them both - again. They can't imagine that while he gets revenge, she gets even. They can even less imagine that he defers to her gladly, when it comes in handy and she is deviously inclined. She is and it is handy now.

Guileless fools.

They know nothing, can't fathom anything and are blind on top of it.

The music starts and the discerning spectator - Eve in this case - is tempted to laugh.

The song is so very appropriate, so very telling, it's ridiculous. And nobody in this room can even remotely imagine, despite the blatantness.

It is a slow and sexy number, very...obvious...and they don't hesitate to take it to the floor.

As they slowly sway and then lazily pick up the sensual steps, there's nothing remotely innocent or appropriate about them. No distance, no look for other couples. They are in their own world, focused on each other, absorbed in their bodies brushing and rubbing and in hands wandering lazily.

They don't notice anything around them, but nobody dares coming near them anyway, which is equally amusing and bewildering. The other guests give them space, now nervous about the entire display. Maybe that is the plan, but Eve doesn't think so either. It gives 'the others' too much credit and too much thought, and during the song the mood, as well as its aim, have shifted.

The song draws to an end and almost every person in the room expects them to top off their vertical sex with something even more blatant.

They are disappointed, though, because there isn't and won't be any snogging.

It is, for God's sake, not necessary.

Apart from pointing to the flash of gold on their fingers, they have already stated everything they need to.

Eve, leaning against a pillar next to Spencer, sips her wine and quietly admits that if nothing else, both Grace and Boyd certainly announced their news with flair.

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.