Fic: Sherlock Holmes Investigates the Diabolical Curse of Gary Oldman’s Moustache
Title: Sherlock Holmes Investigates the Diabolical Curse of Gary Oldman’s Moustache
Pairing: Gary Oldman/Tim Roth/Edward Norton RPS
Rating: PG-13
Warning: whee, crack! (Do I need to warn for crack?)
Word Count: 1660
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I mean nothing by it. I gain nothing from it (but glee). No slander intended. I love you Gary Oldman. Marry me.
Author’s Notes: Though this fic may start out like some normal piece of RPS, rest assured, it is actually crack. Sherlock Holmes is not the main character (the title is a lie). This is for thimpressionist who encouraged me in the direction of this RPS, but - in her innocence - didn't know that the path there would be lined with crack. Thanks go to rhosyndu for the beta. Comments/feedback, as always, welcomed and loved. If you want some visual references for the hotness, check out the relevant picspam. Additionally, Tim's floral error (regarding wattles) is his own, not mine.
Summary: Gary’s hand was on Tim’s face, his fingers stroking over the smooth skin of Tim’s cheek and jaw, over and over. Gary spoke: “I want you to do something for me.”
After all that time, the way Gary’s face lit up when he saw Tim was just the same. Tim felt something leap inside him. He smiled.
They embraced and Tim felt Gary’s bristles on his cheek. The shadow of a kiss. Gary held him back at arm’s length, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder, and examined him.
“You look well,” he said, smiling.
“You too,” replied Tim. But Gary looked thin, he noticed. Not Sid Vicious thin, but thin nonetheless. “Your moustache,” he said. “It’s amazing.” He saw it twitch. “It’s like a bottle-brush,” Tim said.
“A what?” asked Gary.
“A bottle-brush. The tree, a wattle-”
“Aah,” said Gary. His eyes were blue and sparkling and fixed on Tim’s face. He took a step closer. “It’s good to see you,” he said, with a slight tilt of his head.
“Yes,” said Tim.
And Gary kissed him.
It had been 18 years, but it made no difference. Gary smelt the same. His kiss, the things he did with his lips and tongue still made Tim’s insides jump. It was just like being back on the set, young men again, surrounded by all that brown; the dusty earth, brown costumes and wooden props. And Tim’s arms inside Gary’s billowy white shirt, his hands on Gary’s thin white body and Gary’s beating heart under his fingertips. It made Tim quake. Gary curled his arm around the back of Tim’s shoulder and it was like being back there. But for Gary’s moustache. That was new. He had to find Gary’s lips beneath it and even then, it was always there.
They hugged again and Tim pressed his face into Gary’s neck and shoulder. He breathed in the scent of his skin. He felt like if he let go, the ground would fall away and him with it.
They lay in bed facing each other. Gary was looking into Tim’s face and Tim couldn’t look away. Gary’s hand was on Tim’s face, his fingers stroking over the smooth skin of Tim’s cheek and jaw, over and over.
Gary spoke: “I want you to do something for me.”
It wasn’t very difficult. Tim thought he’d have to buy Ed at least a couple of drinks, apply him with his best dose of charm. But it wasn’t needed. He leaned against a wall near to where Ed was standing and when Ed turned around to look at him, he smiled and raised an eyebrow. Ed gave a slight nod. Later, they slipped away, back to Tim’s place.
Tim wondered what it was with him and thin men. Maybe they were shape-shifters, buffing up or slimming down as roles demanded. Ed had just come from being something else and was returning to the shape of himself. Tim acquainted himself with Ed’s body, the rhythm of Ed’s desire, the taste of his sweat, his pressure points and breaking points.
He got Ed into the bath and found, to his surprise, that he had to get in there with him. He sat behind Ed and trailed wet fingers along Ed’s skin. He examined the back of Ed’s neck and pushed his hands up through Ed’s hair. He avoided touching Ed’s goatee.
“And what they don’t understand,” Ed was saying. “Is that it’s not the way you…”
Tim tried to listen but he was filled with small itching coils of tension. Ed didn’t smell like Gary. It wasn’t right. He wrapped his arms around Ed’s chest and rested the side of his head against Ed’s back, feeling the vibrations of his voice, sensing the cadences rather than listening to them. It was a strange thing, to be taking comfort in the very thing that was giving you discomfort.
He heard the door open and felt Ed stop speaking.
“Tim, get out of the bath please,” said Gary.
“Hold on!” said Ed, his hands closing lightly around Tim’s wrists. Tim shook himself free and stepped out of the bath. Gary greeted him and wrapped him in a towel. Tim wanted to remain standing in his arms, but it wasn’t going to happen. He dried himself and made for the door, but Gary’s voice stopped him. “I want you to stay,” he said.
Tim turned and, still wrapped in the towel, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet. Ed was still sitting in the bath, looking small and perplexed and slightly forlorn. “What’s going-?” he said, but Gary silenced him with a sharp look. Ed brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He looked darkly from Tim to Gary. Gary regarded him coldly.
“I’ve never done this before,” said Gary, his voice blank. “Just so you know.” Tim shivered and thought about his dressing gown. “But it’s necessary,” Gary continued. “It’s time.”
Ed seemed unable to move. With a single fluid motion, Gary was at the edge of the bath, leaning over Ed. Tim saw Ed recoil jerkily and someone gave a yell. Then Gary fell back and landed on the floor. Tim was surprised to see Gary was suddenly without his moustache. He was pale and shaking. Tim looked back at Ed and didn’t know what he was seeing. Something strange was happening on Ed’s face. There was a flurry of movement, as Gary’s (former) moustache seemed to be attacking Ed’s goatee. The whole thing looked to be causing Ed much pain, or confusion, or both. The moustache seemed to be dragging his head down towards the water.
Tim didn’t know what to do. He looked at Gary, but Gary was unconscious on the floor. He looked at Ed and had the thought that he should get up and help him, but found he couldn’t move. Ed’s face was pulled into the water and his whole body was violently shaking. Tim suddenly leapt up and dragged Ed from the bath, yanking him tightly to stop him from slipping wetly back into the water. They landed, sprawled naked on the floor (Tim’s towel lost) by the unconscious form of Gary. They were both breathing heavily.
“What-?” Ed gasped.
“I don’t know,” answered Tim.
They leant over the bath and peered into it. In the murky water, Gary’s moustache was still doing things to Ed’s goatee. Tim glanced at Ed’s face and saw that he was now clean-shaven. (Maybe ‘shaven’ wasn’t the correct word, he thought.) Small dots were dispersing from the hairy coitus, expanding in the water, transforming into bushy fingers at an alarming pace. Soon the water was a seething mass of identical disembodied moustaches. Tim and Ed drew back, sharing an alarmed glance.
“What the fuck?” said Ed.
“Quick,” said Tim. “Open the window.”
They jumped up and scrambled for the window, opening it as wide as it would go. Ed roughly elbowed the fly-wire out of place until it fell off with a crash outside. They stumbled back and Tim made a grab for Gary’s body, trying to pull him as far away from the bath as he could. Tim was surprised to find Ed helping him.
The three of them were pressed up against the far wall when the furry beings in the bath moved. The swarm of moustaches moved as one, scurrying out of the bath and up the wall. They spread out, larger in number and volume than Tim thought possible. But then he’s never really considered just exactly how many individual moustaches his bath could hold. It had just never come up before.
There was a second when it looked as though the hirsute mass was going to overwhelm the room, with Tim and Gary and Ed in it. But then they found the open window and poured through it, into the outside world. It took many long minutes before they were all gone.
Tim was shaking, holding tightly onto Gary’s body. He heard Ed let out a short breathy laugh next to him.
“Again,” said Ed, “What the fuck?”
And Tim laughed too and looked at Ed. It was good to be alive.
They got Gary into bed and curled up next to him, Tim holding one of both Gary and Ed’s hands in his own. Tim and Ed’s breathing eventually steadied, while their minds tried to digest what they had been witness to. At one point, Tim found himself saying, “You know, I don’t think Gary was wearing that moustache. I think the moustache was wearing him.” He didn’t recognise his own voice, it sounded so small, saying things he never thought he’d say.
When they felt Gary stirring, Ed murmured into Tim’s ear, “What are we going to tell him?”
Tim thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. “Do you want a cup of tea? I think we might need some tea.”
Ed smiled. “That might help, yes.”
Tim worried about walking along the street and seeing someone wearing Gary Oldman’s moustache. More than once, he did double takes on men with full bushy moustaches. But some detail was always different - they were a different shade or shape or texture. He tried to console himself.
He flipped through a trashy magazine in the checkout queue at the supermarket and felt a pang of terror looking at the size of Angelina Jolie’s lips. He wondered if lips like that could reproduce the same way the moustache did. Perhaps an epic battle was coming; perhaps the fate of the world was at stake. He bought his McVitie’s and juice and toilet paper and razors and whisky, and tossed the magazine back on the rack. Gave the checkout girl a smile.
Back at the flat, Gary was sitting on the couch, reading Tim’s copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles. He looked up when Tim came in. He was still pale and thin, but he was gaining weight. He was recovering. Tim saw something of the old Gary returning in him.
“Hi,” said Tim and leant down to kiss his hairless mouth.
Pairing: Gary Oldman/Tim Roth/Edward Norton RPS
Rating: PG-13
Warning: whee, crack! (Do I need to warn for crack?)
Word Count: 1660
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I mean nothing by it. I gain nothing from it (but glee). No slander intended. I love you Gary Oldman. Marry me.
Author’s Notes: Though this fic may start out like some normal piece of RPS, rest assured, it is actually crack. Sherlock Holmes is not the main character (the title is a lie). This is for thimpressionist who encouraged me in the direction of this RPS, but - in her innocence - didn't know that the path there would be lined with crack. Thanks go to rhosyndu for the beta. Comments/feedback, as always, welcomed and loved. If you want some visual references for the hotness, check out the relevant picspam. Additionally, Tim's floral error (regarding wattles) is his own, not mine.
Summary: Gary’s hand was on Tim’s face, his fingers stroking over the smooth skin of Tim’s cheek and jaw, over and over. Gary spoke: “I want you to do something for me.”
After all that time, the way Gary’s face lit up when he saw Tim was just the same. Tim felt something leap inside him. He smiled.
They embraced and Tim felt Gary’s bristles on his cheek. The shadow of a kiss. Gary held him back at arm’s length, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder, and examined him.
“You look well,” he said, smiling.
“You too,” replied Tim. But Gary looked thin, he noticed. Not Sid Vicious thin, but thin nonetheless. “Your moustache,” he said. “It’s amazing.” He saw it twitch. “It’s like a bottle-brush,” Tim said.
“A what?” asked Gary.
“A bottle-brush. The tree, a wattle-”
“Aah,” said Gary. His eyes were blue and sparkling and fixed on Tim’s face. He took a step closer. “It’s good to see you,” he said, with a slight tilt of his head.
“Yes,” said Tim.
And Gary kissed him.
It had been 18 years, but it made no difference. Gary smelt the same. His kiss, the things he did with his lips and tongue still made Tim’s insides jump. It was just like being back on the set, young men again, surrounded by all that brown; the dusty earth, brown costumes and wooden props. And Tim’s arms inside Gary’s billowy white shirt, his hands on Gary’s thin white body and Gary’s beating heart under his fingertips. It made Tim quake. Gary curled his arm around the back of Tim’s shoulder and it was like being back there. But for Gary’s moustache. That was new. He had to find Gary’s lips beneath it and even then, it was always there.
They hugged again and Tim pressed his face into Gary’s neck and shoulder. He breathed in the scent of his skin. He felt like if he let go, the ground would fall away and him with it.
They lay in bed facing each other. Gary was looking into Tim’s face and Tim couldn’t look away. Gary’s hand was on Tim’s face, his fingers stroking over the smooth skin of Tim’s cheek and jaw, over and over.
Gary spoke: “I want you to do something for me.”
It wasn’t very difficult. Tim thought he’d have to buy Ed at least a couple of drinks, apply him with his best dose of charm. But it wasn’t needed. He leaned against a wall near to where Ed was standing and when Ed turned around to look at him, he smiled and raised an eyebrow. Ed gave a slight nod. Later, they slipped away, back to Tim’s place.
Tim wondered what it was with him and thin men. Maybe they were shape-shifters, buffing up or slimming down as roles demanded. Ed had just come from being something else and was returning to the shape of himself. Tim acquainted himself with Ed’s body, the rhythm of Ed’s desire, the taste of his sweat, his pressure points and breaking points.
He got Ed into the bath and found, to his surprise, that he had to get in there with him. He sat behind Ed and trailed wet fingers along Ed’s skin. He examined the back of Ed’s neck and pushed his hands up through Ed’s hair. He avoided touching Ed’s goatee.
“And what they don’t understand,” Ed was saying. “Is that it’s not the way you…”
Tim tried to listen but he was filled with small itching coils of tension. Ed didn’t smell like Gary. It wasn’t right. He wrapped his arms around Ed’s chest and rested the side of his head against Ed’s back, feeling the vibrations of his voice, sensing the cadences rather than listening to them. It was a strange thing, to be taking comfort in the very thing that was giving you discomfort.
He heard the door open and felt Ed stop speaking.
“Tim, get out of the bath please,” said Gary.
“Hold on!” said Ed, his hands closing lightly around Tim’s wrists. Tim shook himself free and stepped out of the bath. Gary greeted him and wrapped him in a towel. Tim wanted to remain standing in his arms, but it wasn’t going to happen. He dried himself and made for the door, but Gary’s voice stopped him. “I want you to stay,” he said.
Tim turned and, still wrapped in the towel, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet. Ed was still sitting in the bath, looking small and perplexed and slightly forlorn. “What’s going-?” he said, but Gary silenced him with a sharp look. Ed brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He looked darkly from Tim to Gary. Gary regarded him coldly.
“I’ve never done this before,” said Gary, his voice blank. “Just so you know.” Tim shivered and thought about his dressing gown. “But it’s necessary,” Gary continued. “It’s time.”
Ed seemed unable to move. With a single fluid motion, Gary was at the edge of the bath, leaning over Ed. Tim saw Ed recoil jerkily and someone gave a yell. Then Gary fell back and landed on the floor. Tim was surprised to see Gary was suddenly without his moustache. He was pale and shaking. Tim looked back at Ed and didn’t know what he was seeing. Something strange was happening on Ed’s face. There was a flurry of movement, as Gary’s (former) moustache seemed to be attacking Ed’s goatee. The whole thing looked to be causing Ed much pain, or confusion, or both. The moustache seemed to be dragging his head down towards the water.
Tim didn’t know what to do. He looked at Gary, but Gary was unconscious on the floor. He looked at Ed and had the thought that he should get up and help him, but found he couldn’t move. Ed’s face was pulled into the water and his whole body was violently shaking. Tim suddenly leapt up and dragged Ed from the bath, yanking him tightly to stop him from slipping wetly back into the water. They landed, sprawled naked on the floor (Tim’s towel lost) by the unconscious form of Gary. They were both breathing heavily.
“What-?” Ed gasped.
“I don’t know,” answered Tim.
They leant over the bath and peered into it. In the murky water, Gary’s moustache was still doing things to Ed’s goatee. Tim glanced at Ed’s face and saw that he was now clean-shaven. (Maybe ‘shaven’ wasn’t the correct word, he thought.) Small dots were dispersing from the hairy coitus, expanding in the water, transforming into bushy fingers at an alarming pace. Soon the water was a seething mass of identical disembodied moustaches. Tim and Ed drew back, sharing an alarmed glance.
“What the fuck?” said Ed.
“Quick,” said Tim. “Open the window.”
They jumped up and scrambled for the window, opening it as wide as it would go. Ed roughly elbowed the fly-wire out of place until it fell off with a crash outside. They stumbled back and Tim made a grab for Gary’s body, trying to pull him as far away from the bath as he could. Tim was surprised to find Ed helping him.
The three of them were pressed up against the far wall when the furry beings in the bath moved. The swarm of moustaches moved as one, scurrying out of the bath and up the wall. They spread out, larger in number and volume than Tim thought possible. But then he’s never really considered just exactly how many individual moustaches his bath could hold. It had just never come up before.
There was a second when it looked as though the hirsute mass was going to overwhelm the room, with Tim and Gary and Ed in it. But then they found the open window and poured through it, into the outside world. It took many long minutes before they were all gone.
Tim was shaking, holding tightly onto Gary’s body. He heard Ed let out a short breathy laugh next to him.
“Again,” said Ed, “What the fuck?”
And Tim laughed too and looked at Ed. It was good to be alive.
They got Gary into bed and curled up next to him, Tim holding one of both Gary and Ed’s hands in his own. Tim and Ed’s breathing eventually steadied, while their minds tried to digest what they had been witness to. At one point, Tim found himself saying, “You know, I don’t think Gary was wearing that moustache. I think the moustache was wearing him.” He didn’t recognise his own voice, it sounded so small, saying things he never thought he’d say.
When they felt Gary stirring, Ed murmured into Tim’s ear, “What are we going to tell him?”
Tim thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. “Do you want a cup of tea? I think we might need some tea.”
Ed smiled. “That might help, yes.”
Tim worried about walking along the street and seeing someone wearing Gary Oldman’s moustache. More than once, he did double takes on men with full bushy moustaches. But some detail was always different - they were a different shade or shape or texture. He tried to console himself.
He flipped through a trashy magazine in the checkout queue at the supermarket and felt a pang of terror looking at the size of Angelina Jolie’s lips. He wondered if lips like that could reproduce the same way the moustache did. Perhaps an epic battle was coming; perhaps the fate of the world was at stake. He bought his McVitie’s and juice and toilet paper and razors and whisky, and tossed the magazine back on the rack. Gave the checkout girl a smile.
Back at the flat, Gary was sitting on the couch, reading Tim’s copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles. He looked up when Tim came in. He was still pale and thin, but he was gaining weight. He was recovering. Tim saw something of the old Gary returning in him.
“Hi,” said Tim and leant down to kiss his hairless mouth.