Hello, hell? I'd like to make a reservation.
The Trial of the Fourth Monkey
Apprentice S2 RPS ficlet (Wes/Andy OTP!!!1!eleventyeleven!1!!), PG-13ish.
(Also, it should go without saying, but: this is fiction. As in, entirely made up.)
Rationally, Andy knows that there are jobs more difficult than hiding these totally-not-homosexual-because-he's-so-emphatically-NOT-gay-and-besides-it's-a-stressful-situation-and-therefore-totally-understandable mutual wanks. It's just that he doesn't actually know anyone who tightrope-walks across Niagara Falls, so there's no way to find out if the thundering water is more frightening than trying to find a way to follow Wes into the bathroom so that neither their suitemates nor the camera crews notice.
Not that Andy's trying to find a way to do that. Actively seeking it out would turn whateverthefuck this is -- which is nothing -- into something more. Right now, it's nearly accidental, just cocks and fumbling hands and god that feels good and right there yessss and stifled groans and a swift, quiet end with some manly cleanup as an afterthought.
So Andy doesn't pay extra attention when Wes stands behind him in the mirror in the mornings. He doesn't breathe a little faster as Wes helps him fix his collar. And he doesn't find excuses to brush against Wes during the day, or to stand close enough to smell his cologne in the elevator, or to stare at the curve of his jaw when he shaves. He absolutely does not imagine what it would be like to shove Wes against the unforgivably tacky bathroom counter and take Wes' cock in his mouth.
What he doesn't realize until Wes corners him by the linen closet and stares at him with wide eyes for a few seconds before leaning in and giving Andy the most thorough, mindblowing kiss of his life is that Wes might be spending time not imagining things, too.
___
Title from Larry's Random Pulp Novel Title Generator, because I am feeling supremely uncreative today.
BTW, if anyone knows how to take slash goggles off, please let me know. It's getting to the point where I can't watch TV with other people.
Apprentice S2 RPS ficlet (Wes/Andy OTP!!!1!eleventyeleven!1!!), PG-13ish.
(Also, it should go without saying, but: this is fiction. As in, entirely made up.)
Rationally, Andy knows that there are jobs more difficult than hiding these totally-not-homosexual-because-he's-so-emphatically-NOT-gay-and-besides-it's-a-stressful-situation-and-therefore-totally-understandable mutual wanks. It's just that he doesn't actually know anyone who tightrope-walks across Niagara Falls, so there's no way to find out if the thundering water is more frightening than trying to find a way to follow Wes into the bathroom so that neither their suitemates nor the camera crews notice.
Not that Andy's trying to find a way to do that. Actively seeking it out would turn whateverthefuck this is -- which is nothing -- into something more. Right now, it's nearly accidental, just cocks and fumbling hands and god that feels good and right there yessss and stifled groans and a swift, quiet end with some manly cleanup as an afterthought.
So Andy doesn't pay extra attention when Wes stands behind him in the mirror in the mornings. He doesn't breathe a little faster as Wes helps him fix his collar. And he doesn't find excuses to brush against Wes during the day, or to stand close enough to smell his cologne in the elevator, or to stare at the curve of his jaw when he shaves. He absolutely does not imagine what it would be like to shove Wes against the unforgivably tacky bathroom counter and take Wes' cock in his mouth.
What he doesn't realize until Wes corners him by the linen closet and stares at him with wide eyes for a few seconds before leaning in and giving Andy the most thorough, mindblowing kiss of his life is that Wes might be spending time not imagining things, too.
___
Title from Larry's Random Pulp Novel Title Generator, because I am feeling supremely uncreative today.
BTW, if anyone knows how to take slash goggles off, please let me know. It's getting to the point where I can't watch TV with other people.