Fic/Drabble
So hello anyone and everyone! Er, hopefully I'll be on more often at this point. Done quit my job that had me working evenings. X]
I know. Let it never be said I'm responsible or, y'know, whatever. Anyway.
Anyone watch the Report tonight-- last night? Am I the only one who was silly-thrilled about the mere mention of another of the pundit posse?
Stephen hears the front door open but does not move from his place on the coach. He hears the rustle and stomp of graceless lumbering and tries not to smile, only cracking open an eye when he hears the beer hit the coffee table.
"Watch the glass top, friend." He says, eye closing once again. He does not hide his impish smile. There is a gruff snort somewhere over his left shoulder.
"I'd watch your glass top, pally. Saw you talkin' about me a few nights ago."
"You love it, you raving diva, and what kind of threat is that?" Krsht. Stephen opens his eyes. Keith grins sharp and playful over the mouth of his cooler ("--because it's not as if I can have honest-to-God beer, and watch who you're calling 'girly'--").
"I always knew you had a disturbing fascination with my... penile leakages." Keith cocks an eyebrow and mentally counts down from ten. He gets to seven before Stephen breaks with a gasped 'Leakages?!' between giggles. His eyes are dark brook pebbles, all mischief. Keith would never admit how much he loves to make the man laugh.
"Where're Jon and Andy?" Stephen shrugs, reaching across the gap between table and couch to snag a beer. His shirt, a few buttons undone, gapes open to expose smooth skin over gentle tendons, a hint of delicate collar bone. The limp ends of his red tie brush his thighs and Keith wonders distractedly what the sudden warmth of Stephen's skin might smell like there at the nape of his neck, or at the tender skin of his wrist. Abruptly, he regards his over-sized feet where they are propped on the coffee table with apparent interest.
"Probably contemplating your leakages."
I know. Let it never be said I'm responsible or, y'know, whatever. Anyway.
Anyone watch the Report tonight-- last night? Am I the only one who was silly-thrilled about the mere mention of another of the pundit posse?
Stephen hears the front door open but does not move from his place on the coach. He hears the rustle and stomp of graceless lumbering and tries not to smile, only cracking open an eye when he hears the beer hit the coffee table.
"Watch the glass top, friend." He says, eye closing once again. He does not hide his impish smile. There is a gruff snort somewhere over his left shoulder.
"I'd watch your glass top, pally. Saw you talkin' about me a few nights ago."
"You love it, you raving diva, and what kind of threat is that?" Krsht. Stephen opens his eyes. Keith grins sharp and playful over the mouth of his cooler ("--because it's not as if I can have honest-to-God beer, and watch who you're calling 'girly'--").
"I always knew you had a disturbing fascination with my... penile leakages." Keith cocks an eyebrow and mentally counts down from ten. He gets to seven before Stephen breaks with a gasped 'Leakages?!' between giggles. His eyes are dark brook pebbles, all mischief. Keith would never admit how much he loves to make the man laugh.
"Where're Jon and Andy?" Stephen shrugs, reaching across the gap between table and couch to snag a beer. His shirt, a few buttons undone, gapes open to expose smooth skin over gentle tendons, a hint of delicate collar bone. The limp ends of his red tie brush his thighs and Keith wonders distractedly what the sudden warmth of Stephen's skin might smell like there at the nape of his neck, or at the tender skin of his wrist. Abruptly, he regards his over-sized feet where they are propped on the coffee table with apparent interest.
"Probably contemplating your leakages."