(flashfics) untitled Mercer / Harper
Pairing: Rick mercer / Steven Harper
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, is it untrue
Rating: R
Sometimes - sometimes meaning the time between the first bottle of wine being finished and the second opened and Rick always made sure to keep the cork because he wasn't going to finish the second bottle - Rick would wonder how far he would - they would - have to fall off the planet to be unrecognised.
Canadians -damn their eyes - were travelers, Newfs the worst of all. What place would be far enough away that he wouldn't be shopping one day and hear 'my old son what are you doin' here?'
Further away than even he could imagine. And even if he left, even if he fled, people would recognise Steve, so they would end up right where they started, circling around each other pretending to be merely acquainted.
Rick would wake up nursing the type of hang-over that would kill people who hadn't worked comedy club tours before. He'd shuffle to the kitchen and eye the half empty bottle of red sitting uncorked on the counter. He'd stand there wondering about getting socks, wondering about getting a robe, watching the black drips and wondering at how that first cup of coffee tasted every bit as good as he dreamed it would.
Wondering why he dreamed last night of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and what it would be like to planet hop so far away that you forgot why you left in the first place.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, is it untrue
Rating: R
Sometimes - sometimes meaning the time between the first bottle of wine being finished and the second opened and Rick always made sure to keep the cork because he wasn't going to finish the second bottle - Rick would wonder how far he would - they would - have to fall off the planet to be unrecognised.
Canadians -damn their eyes - were travelers, Newfs the worst of all. What place would be far enough away that he wouldn't be shopping one day and hear 'my old son what are you doin' here?'
Further away than even he could imagine. And even if he left, even if he fled, people would recognise Steve, so they would end up right where they started, circling around each other pretending to be merely acquainted.
Rick would wake up nursing the type of hang-over that would kill people who hadn't worked comedy club tours before. He'd shuffle to the kitchen and eye the half empty bottle of red sitting uncorked on the counter. He'd stand there wondering about getting socks, wondering about getting a robe, watching the black drips and wondering at how that first cup of coffee tasted every bit as good as he dreamed it would.
Wondering why he dreamed last night of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and what it would be like to planet hop so far away that you forgot why you left in the first place.