It's a Love Story
Title: It’s a Love Story
Fandom: Love and Other Disasters (2006)
Characters: David Williams, Peter Simon, Tom, Finlay McMillian
Summary: Quick little companion to one of my favorite movies. That brunch scene when David and Peter finally meet up and laugh over all the mistaken identity and misunderstandings gave me all sorts of feelings, and I wanted to write fluff from David’s POV, filling in scenes between that brunch scene and their eventual meet up in the train station.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, unfortunately, despite me wanting to have the contents of Jacks’ wardrobe and wanting to be best friends with Peter and Tallulah and have daily brunches and participate in all those meta conversations. Also, I am not British, and do not have a Brit-pick beta, so bear with me in any anachronisms and/or Americanisms.
“I suppose I never would have been able to live up to your fantasy, anyway,” David said softly, managing to keep any self-pity and bitterness out of his voice. Then, to put the icing on the cake, his ex-assistant Tom showed up and proceeded to turn Peter into a speechless, openmouthed idiot. Well, not so much idiot; everyone who met Tom usually ended up with goofy grins on their faces, his utter gorgeousness having that uncanny ability to make jaws drop and pants tighten.
This always happened, he inwardly sighed. He knew it was too good to be true, having a blatant admirer pursue him all the way across the Atlantic, nearly everyone he knew trying to set him up with what sounded like his absolute soulmate. And five minutes into actually meeting Peter, he was instantly smitten, wanting to reach out and pet his hair and listen to him talk all day in that self-deprecating way that was at both endearing and ridiculously attractive.
Twenty minutes later, it was just David and Finlay left at the table, Finlay awkwardly clearing his throat in an attempt to distract David from the fact that the supposed love of his life just left their cozy brunch table to follow Tom out of the restaurant.
“So, that could’ve gone better,” Finlay laughed sheepishly. David just shrugged and attacked his eggs Benedict with renewed gusto.
On the bright side, Tom and his irritating self-assured ramblings about his talent in acting were out of his life, and he’d never been more productive at work. On the not-so-bright side, his hair was still receding, he hadn’t gotten laid in the past eight months, and he was strongly reminded at just how nice it had been for someone to be pursuing him instead of the other way around.
Also, it had been a while since he’d properly drowned his sorrows in drink, and he’d always had the penchant for confessing all sorts of things while drunk. Tonight was no exception.
“Peter has this thing,” Finlay began, sympathetically clinking his glass against David’s empty one. “He makes all these fantasies in his head and nothing ever really ends up the way he imagines them to be.”
“Figured I would’ve fallen for the artsy one,” David mumbled.
“You auction off paintings for a living,” Finlay said exasperatedly.
“Stupid Tom and his hair and his face,” David scowled. He raised his glass to his lips and blinked mournfully into it. “Who drank all my Guinness?”
“You did,” Finlay said in a tone that could be identified as fond. He paused before slowly revealing, “They’re not together, you know.”
David snorted, a little inelegantly, and a lot unprofessionally. “Why? Had Peter been blinded by Tom’s gorgeousness and now he’s just escaped?”
“Come off it,” Finlay said, sounding a little angry. He reached over and yanked the glass out of David’s hand, and poked him, hard, on the shoulder with his other hand. “You’re successful and attractive and moderately sane. Peter’s a good guy, just a little misguided.”
David congratulated himself on managing to string together a coherent response to Peter’s “hi” and keeping his grip on the very expensive painting he was in charge of. Of course today of all days, wearing the only suit he had left in his flat, the one that he’d specifically stuck in the back of the closet because of its weird bruised color and the too-big shoulders, the man that had been constantly on his mind had reappeared in his life. And then because he was a little bit of a chicken shit, he’d just nodded congenially and walked out of the tube station, cursing himself at not grabbing Peter by his suit jacket and hauling him in for a kiss.
Not that David was that sort of spontaneous, passionate kind of person anyway.
But then Peter came running up from behind, panting and wheezing, only to bowl David over with an earnest “let me take you to dinner?”
David gaped at him. “I don’t know, see I’ve had this fantasy in my head, having dinner with you, what if you don’t measure up to it?” he finally said, hopefully a little cheekily.
He was gratified to see a smile spread across Peter’s beautiful face. “Then I just have to keep taking you out until I get it right.”
“Yeah?” David asked hopefully.
Peter nodded happily and reached for David’s hand. “Yeah.”
“You cooked for me?” David asked, touched. He laughed when Peter bowed theatrically, gesturing to the extravagant feast of roast chicken and a mixed green salad. He walked around the small kitchen table and impulsively pressed a kiss against Peter’s cheek. He could feel his blush spread rapidly to the tips of his ears and he scooted back hastily, tugging at his tie.
“You’re really cute when you’re all nervous and blushing,” Peter teased. He sat down, seemingly undisturbed by the kiss, and motioned for David to do the same. “It makes you seem much more approachable.”
“Am I intimidating?”
“Oh, god, yes. You couldn’t have come any more highly recommend,” Peter grinned. “And then you have me, the desperate and hysterical queen who stalked you from across international waters.”
“I think that was the highlight of my summer actually,” David said, biting his lip. He took a sip of some really great wine. “I’ve never had a stalker before, especially one who’s a writer. Finlay told me you’re writing a screenplay.” He paused. “And that I’m in it.”
Peter choked and grabbed for his water. “Er, well not you per say, I’m in it, you know, and that whole “tracking down David Williams” thing was funny and audiences would appreciate it.”
David laughed and decided to put the other man out of his misery. He set down his wineglass, leaned forward and slanted his mouth over Peter’s, effectively shutting him up.
Fandom: Love and Other Disasters (2006)
Characters: David Williams, Peter Simon, Tom, Finlay McMillian
Summary: Quick little companion to one of my favorite movies. That brunch scene when David and Peter finally meet up and laugh over all the mistaken identity and misunderstandings gave me all sorts of feelings, and I wanted to write fluff from David’s POV, filling in scenes between that brunch scene and their eventual meet up in the train station.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, unfortunately, despite me wanting to have the contents of Jacks’ wardrobe and wanting to be best friends with Peter and Tallulah and have daily brunches and participate in all those meta conversations. Also, I am not British, and do not have a Brit-pick beta, so bear with me in any anachronisms and/or Americanisms.
“I suppose I never would have been able to live up to your fantasy, anyway,” David said softly, managing to keep any self-pity and bitterness out of his voice. Then, to put the icing on the cake, his ex-assistant Tom showed up and proceeded to turn Peter into a speechless, openmouthed idiot. Well, not so much idiot; everyone who met Tom usually ended up with goofy grins on their faces, his utter gorgeousness having that uncanny ability to make jaws drop and pants tighten.
This always happened, he inwardly sighed. He knew it was too good to be true, having a blatant admirer pursue him all the way across the Atlantic, nearly everyone he knew trying to set him up with what sounded like his absolute soulmate. And five minutes into actually meeting Peter, he was instantly smitten, wanting to reach out and pet his hair and listen to him talk all day in that self-deprecating way that was at both endearing and ridiculously attractive.
Twenty minutes later, it was just David and Finlay left at the table, Finlay awkwardly clearing his throat in an attempt to distract David from the fact that the supposed love of his life just left their cozy brunch table to follow Tom out of the restaurant.
“So, that could’ve gone better,” Finlay laughed sheepishly. David just shrugged and attacked his eggs Benedict with renewed gusto.
On the bright side, Tom and his irritating self-assured ramblings about his talent in acting were out of his life, and he’d never been more productive at work. On the not-so-bright side, his hair was still receding, he hadn’t gotten laid in the past eight months, and he was strongly reminded at just how nice it had been for someone to be pursuing him instead of the other way around.
Also, it had been a while since he’d properly drowned his sorrows in drink, and he’d always had the penchant for confessing all sorts of things while drunk. Tonight was no exception.
“Peter has this thing,” Finlay began, sympathetically clinking his glass against David’s empty one. “He makes all these fantasies in his head and nothing ever really ends up the way he imagines them to be.”
“Figured I would’ve fallen for the artsy one,” David mumbled.
“You auction off paintings for a living,” Finlay said exasperatedly.
“Stupid Tom and his hair and his face,” David scowled. He raised his glass to his lips and blinked mournfully into it. “Who drank all my Guinness?”
“You did,” Finlay said in a tone that could be identified as fond. He paused before slowly revealing, “They’re not together, you know.”
David snorted, a little inelegantly, and a lot unprofessionally. “Why? Had Peter been blinded by Tom’s gorgeousness and now he’s just escaped?”
“Come off it,” Finlay said, sounding a little angry. He reached over and yanked the glass out of David’s hand, and poked him, hard, on the shoulder with his other hand. “You’re successful and attractive and moderately sane. Peter’s a good guy, just a little misguided.”
David congratulated himself on managing to string together a coherent response to Peter’s “hi” and keeping his grip on the very expensive painting he was in charge of. Of course today of all days, wearing the only suit he had left in his flat, the one that he’d specifically stuck in the back of the closet because of its weird bruised color and the too-big shoulders, the man that had been constantly on his mind had reappeared in his life. And then because he was a little bit of a chicken shit, he’d just nodded congenially and walked out of the tube station, cursing himself at not grabbing Peter by his suit jacket and hauling him in for a kiss.
Not that David was that sort of spontaneous, passionate kind of person anyway.
But then Peter came running up from behind, panting and wheezing, only to bowl David over with an earnest “let me take you to dinner?”
David gaped at him. “I don’t know, see I’ve had this fantasy in my head, having dinner with you, what if you don’t measure up to it?” he finally said, hopefully a little cheekily.
He was gratified to see a smile spread across Peter’s beautiful face. “Then I just have to keep taking you out until I get it right.”
“Yeah?” David asked hopefully.
Peter nodded happily and reached for David’s hand. “Yeah.”
“You cooked for me?” David asked, touched. He laughed when Peter bowed theatrically, gesturing to the extravagant feast of roast chicken and a mixed green salad. He walked around the small kitchen table and impulsively pressed a kiss against Peter’s cheek. He could feel his blush spread rapidly to the tips of his ears and he scooted back hastily, tugging at his tie.
“You’re really cute when you’re all nervous and blushing,” Peter teased. He sat down, seemingly undisturbed by the kiss, and motioned for David to do the same. “It makes you seem much more approachable.”
“Am I intimidating?”
“Oh, god, yes. You couldn’t have come any more highly recommend,” Peter grinned. “And then you have me, the desperate and hysterical queen who stalked you from across international waters.”
“I think that was the highlight of my summer actually,” David said, biting his lip. He took a sip of some really great wine. “I’ve never had a stalker before, especially one who’s a writer. Finlay told me you’re writing a screenplay.” He paused. “And that I’m in it.”
Peter choked and grabbed for his water. “Er, well not you per say, I’m in it, you know, and that whole “tracking down David Williams” thing was funny and audiences would appreciate it.”
David laughed and decided to put the other man out of his misery. He set down his wineglass, leaned forward and slanted his mouth over Peter’s, effectively shutting him up.