HOW THE HELL DO I ALWAYS DELVE INTO NEW FANDOMS BY WRITING RPS. HOW. WHAT.
Fandom: Grimm (RPS)
Title: A stolen moment under three umbrellas
Pairing: David/Silas
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is fiction, completely untrue and with no actual basis in reality, must not be seen as such. The real people depicted herein are completely fictionalised.
A/N: I was saving Grimm for Easter holidays because I wanted to have time to enjoy it. I caught up with the aired episodes in around three days. And then I discovered
the kink meme, and everything stopped ;) I saw this prompt and went from there.
Prompt: Maybe Silas slipping a bit into his Monroe character and snarking at David playfully. Perhaps some wonderful, teasing banter between them. What do they get up to behind the set when the cameras aren't watching?
Warnings: First time writing this fandom/pairing, rustiness, rambliness, as usual
It starts pouring in the evening and keeps at it until the frustrated crew sends them all on a prolonged break between takes while they try to salvage what's been shot so far.
David splashes into a few fast-forming puddles while he seeks some sort of shelter, soaked to the bone. He's shivering by the time he reaches the umbrella-covered haven Bree and Silas are sitting under and tries to shake raindrops out of his hair with his fingers.
"Oddly enough, the drowned Reinigen look doesn't quite suit you, my friend," Silas says, amusement lilting his words, making Bree laugh.
David scowls at him, crossing his arms in front of himself in a futile attempt at staving off the sudden cold brought in by the rain. He mutters a chosen array of swearwords under his breath, barely audible, and Silas pokes him in the shoulder with a bright smile that seems incongruous in this situation.
"Awww, come on, man, be nice to me and I'll give you a towel and a tuna sandwich. Might even hunt down some coffee to warm you right up," Silas prompts, towel in his hands, just out of David's reach.
David rolls his eyes, grabbing the towel and wiping his face. He knows that he's never going to get dry again, he just knows it. He's about to shrug off the tiredness and the effects of the weather when Silas decides to kill his good intentions by playfully ruffling his hair. David swats at him with the towel in his hands, almost knocking over the umbrellas keeping them safe, and Bree laughs even more, until she is called away by a harried assistant, disappearing in the chaos of crew members running around.
Silas takes hold of the other end of the towel and pulls David in closer, faux-menacing, and before David can figure out what's happening, he's almost close enough to be in full contact with Silas' body, Silas leaning down to snarl in his ear, a trick he seems to have mastered for his role.
David tenses, the shock of the sound or his momentary loss of balance making him reach out, his hand curling around Silas' hip. Silas grabs his shoulder to steady him, and David, looking up to meet Silas' laughing eyes, seems to have forgotten how to breathe. David's mind seems unable to compute this sudden closeness, and the sound Silas just made in his ear, Silas' warm breath fanning over chilled skin. Silas puts him out of his misery by drying his hair off for him, which is in itself distracting but allows him a few seconds to think. He clears his throat and moves a safe distance away when Silas is done, but the look in Silas' eyes is too predatory for comfort.
"Stop trying to wolf out on me, man, it's only cute when you're wearing prosthetic ears," David says, an almost-pathetic attempt to bring back some sort of normality to this moment.
Silas lets him off the hook, arching an eyebrow at David and looking even more dangerous while handing him one of the usual tuna sandwiches they have on set.
"I can now totally see why you always play psychopaths, thanks," David says, looking away from Silas' face and trying to regain some composure.
Glaring at the sandwich doesn't seem to work with the sudden turmoil in his thoughts, and he wonders what Silas is playing at. They're always bantering between takes, they always renegotiate the concept of personal space, but this seems different, and if David's noticed a change in their behaviour towards each other before, he hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge it until now. There are things that are completely off-limits, and the casual brushing of shoulders and Silas' fingers occasionally wrapping around his elbow to grab his attention never had to mean anything, not faced with those limits.
Silence stretches between them, but David is acutely aware of Silas looking at him, and it feels like he's missed a few beats in this dance, because he has no idea what he's supposed to do.
"So where's my coffee?" he asks, aiming a benign smile at Silas, wishing for someone to come whisk them away back to filming.
"You haven't eaten your sandwich yet," Silas replies, his voice too low, and it does things to David that David can't even begin to explain.
His lips feel dry all of a sudden, and his cheeks feel like they're burning, and for a second he considers acting on the urge to walk back out in the rain and let it fall on his face, soothe the burn.
"I think I should go back out there," David says, and he hasn't even begun to move away by the time Silas grabs his elbow, a familiar touch, pulling him close again.
What is not familiar is the Monroesque-snarl Silas aims at him, again, and what is not normal is how it makes David's brain turn to mush, along with his knees. The thrill of the foreign makes his pulse stammer, and when he catches Silas' eyes, he's torn between running away and getting closer, pressing himself to Silas from head to toe.
"What...?" is all David can manage, too many words trying to struggle free at once, too many questions that die out on his tongue because Silas is just looking at him like it's all the explanation he'll ever need.
David's hand has managed to find its way back to Silas' hip, again, denim under his palm, and Silas is just looking at him, eyes slightly narrowed, corner of his lips slightly curved in the genesis of a smile, like this is all normal, like they always do this in front of the crew, where anyone could turn and see them if everyone else weren't so busy.
"The way you look right now, you have no idea, do you?" Silas' voice again, low, so damnably low, just for David to hear, and David tries to make sense of the words but he probably looks stupid while doing so because Silas just laughs at him.
And then Silas casually brushes damp hair away from David's forehead with his thumb, and David's brain shortcircuits, and he leans into Silas and they could almost be holding each other now, sheltering each other, but there are a still a few infinitesimal inches between their bodies.
David tilts his head up and Silas' thumb trails a path from his forehead, down his right temple and his cheekbone, a fleeting caress past David's lips, and further down, following the curve of his neck until it dies out, hidden by the collar of his coat. David shivers, and it has nothing to do with the rain. Silas gently pushes David away, regaining some distance between them, and David almost moans in protest but catches himself in time.
"We're going to finish our take and then you will take me back to your place and I can wolf out for you some more. It seems to trigger interesting reactions," Silas says, and David feels completely disconnected from reality still, like he's fallen asleep leaning against a wall between takes or something, and he'll wake up and none of this will be real.
"But...but what about...? I mean, won't there be consequences?" he asks, trying to cling to his sanity, and Silas smiles, soft and sweet, and David forgets to breathe all over again.
“It’s fine,” he says, and his hands are a gentle pressure on David’s shoulders, and David tries not to think of Silas’ fingers on him and fails, and then Silas looks past him to someone who’s approaching to take them away, and the moment is broken.
But when David looks back, Silas is standing there, smiling, waiting, holding David’s sandwich and making David laugh. And it’s all fine.