AN: Written for lanna_kitty's prompt "black tie".

Spoilers: That would require a plot.

Disclaimer: I should be so lucky.

Rating: M

Characters/Pairing: Helen Magnus/James Watson

Summary: There is something to be said for dressing down.

Dressing Down

After cravats and frock coats, waistcoasts and thick wool trousers, not to mention entirely ridiculous layers of underthings, dressing for a black tie party doesn't seem so bad.

James fastens cufflinks and buttons, straightens starched collar and sleeves, and shrugs the dark jacket on to his shoulders. His tie is perfect, of course, but he straightens it out of habit anyway, and then fixes the line of his waistcoat. Alone in his rooms, he doesn't even try to conceal the smile when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Helen will not be the only one turning heads tonight.

She's there when he opens the door to the hallway, far too much heel and far too little skirt for his staid Victorian sensibilities, though at the moment, he can't remember why he is supposed to mind.

He can't really remember the party either, though he is sure he said entirely the right things to entirely the right people, and he's nearly positive that he solved at least two positively stultifying domestic mysteries over the soup course, because her dress is stitched with fine sequins, and every time she moves there's a new path of light for his eyes to follow between the neckline that's too low and the hemline that's too short. He's not the only one to look, of course, but he's the only one she smiles at when she catches him.

It's late when they return to the Sanctuary, but she pulls him towards the lab anyway and for a moment he's confused. Because he's reasonably certain he's figured out how this evening is going to end, and he hadn't thought work would factor into it.

Her fingers are pulling at his tie when he realizes his mistake. It isn't the action he's misjudged, but the location, and once she makes it clear what her intentions are, he is more than willing to play along.

It's not particularly sporting of him. He has a belt, a tie, braces, and 15 buttons in five separate places, but she's sitting on the bench with her legs around his waist and it's too easy for his hands to be under her skirt. She arches her back, pushing against his exploring fingers and he's starting to think that maybe he should have taken off his jacket before he began this, because it's new and she clearly has no intention of slowing down.

"James," she says, breathless, and he presses kisses along her collarbone, dragging his tongue across her skin. "James."

He works her with his fingers, so intent on her quickening pulse than he doesn't pay attention to what her hands are doing until she's got his tie loose and used the ends to reel him up. Whatever else she might have said is swallowed in a kiss, and then something snaps, and her legs tighten around him and her head goes back and he holds her close with his free hand until she's ridden out the wave.

He shrugs off the jacket, one arm at a time so he's never not touching her, and she leans forward, her forehead against his. He listens to her as her breath returns to normal, and kisses her one more time before taking a half a step back to throw the jacket over the closest stool.

"Upstairs?" he says, and runs his thumb along the bottom of her hem.

"Keep the tie," she says, and slides towards him.

finis

Gravity_Not_Included, August 6, 2011