Balls (Bret Mckenzie/Jemaine Clement, RPS)
Pairing(s) in the story: Bret Mckenzie/Jemaine Clement, RPS
Author Name/Pen Name: Lye
Author LJ Name: lye
Disclaimer: I don't own either of the Conchord men! But I do own a blanket with a wolf on it.
Title of story: Balls
Rating of story: I would say PG-13? I don't know.
Word count of story: 1,100
Chapter: 1/1
Brief summary: Bret and Jemaine have a disagreement.
Authors note: Wow, it's been forever since I've written anything! I'm extremely rusty, so this is too, but I wanted to sort of get back on the bandwagon. This isn't really anything, just me trying to get comfortable again. I'm not sure if it worked, haha.
“I’m just saying I like the fuzzy blanket with the wolf on it, is all,” Bret says, typing nonsense onto the laptop screen and then watching it project onto the larger screen on the wall. They’re in Burbank, working on the second series for the TV show. The room has become a sort of prison for them, with HBO acting as the warden. It’s not as bad as some other prison portrayals HBO has had, though. Nobody has been shanked or anything.
“I don’t like it,” Jemaine replies, elbow resting on the table and chin resting against his clenched fist. When Bret doesn’t respond right away he starts to turn around in his chair a little, bored. “I don’t know why you’re so keen on it. The sheets and the blanket we have are fine, Bret.”
James has left the room, taking a phone call. He’s left them to their own devices for the better part of fifteen minutes. For some reason when that happens in this room, disagreements happen. For the most part they are the perfect partnership. After years of friendship and collaborating, they are well tuned into each other.
Bret lets out a sigh and leans back in his chair, sliding so far down he thinks briefly that he won’t even be able to get back upright. “The sheets are the T-shirt kind, and they wrap around me and force me into a cocoon.” Jemaine gives him a look of disbelief, so Bret forces himself to get back up, leaning forward. “They are stretchy. It’s like a cling wrap, I don’t like it.”
“What are you suggesting?” Jemaine huffs, annoyed, tapping his fingers on the table and waiting for James to come back and distract them with work.
“I’m suggesting we ditch the top sheet,” Bret says with a form nod. “It’s the only logical way.”
“No it’s not, Bret. Think about it,” Jemaine says. Bret does think about it, and responds a few moments later with a confused shrug. “Would you rather we wash just the sheets every time we--” Jemaine looks to the door, then back at him, voice quieter, “you know? Or would you prefer we wash the entire comforter. That thing takes a decade to dry!”
“Oh, it does not,” Bret pulls a face, frowning. “And that’s what I’m saying! The wolf blanket is fuzzier, but it dries much faster, I bet. We’ll be just as warm and we won’t need that stupid stretchy death trap anymore.”
“It’s not a death trap,” Jemaine remains firm, shaking his head.
“It is, though,” Bret enthuses. “I woke up the other morning and I couldn’t even move my arms. I had to kick you in the shins to wake you up, remember? You got mad at me because my toenail cut you.”
“Well, if you trimmed them more often,” Jemaine lets out a long suffering sigh.
“Then you would have bruised shins because I would have still been stuck! Why can’t we just use the wolf blanket? We haven’t even given it a proper try.”
Jemaine rolls his head around on his neck dramatically, wiping his hands over his face before slapping them down in the table. “The wolf blanket makes my balls sweat, Bret. You know that! Who wants to wake up in the middle of the night with sweaty balls?”
“It’s not my fault you’ve got sweaty balls, Jemaine,” Bret folds his arms across his chest and looks around the room. It feels smaller in there than usual.
“No? Well it’ll be your problem when you come face to face with them later,” Bret looks mildly appalled. Jemaine shrugs and adds, “I’m only looking out for you.”
“With an attitude like that, your balls won’t be my problem for some time,” Bret says, shortly. It’s Jemaine’s turn to look appalled.
“Who’s got sweaty balls?” James comes in at the end of the conversation, flipping his phone closed and taking his seat at the table.
Both Bret and Jemaine sit up straight and forget their argument, going back into work mode. Another good element to their partnership is the ability to focus when the time calls for it.
“Nobody,” Jemaine says, getting up and walking over to where Bret is sitting, patting him on the shoulder so he’ll vacate the chair. They take turns being the note keeper during these brainstorming sessions. “We were thinking we should bring back the hair helmet,” Jemaine suggests. James is enthusiastic, and they get back to work.
Things are a little bit tense during the drive home, but neither of them likes fighting in traffic, so they are pleasant during the drive.
They go about the evening in a sort of silent war. Bret takes out beef to make burgers for dinner, and while he’s watching Wheel of Fortune Jemaine puts it back in the fridge and takes out chicken.
Jemaine goes to have a shower, and Bret waits until he is in the middle of it to do the dishes. He smiles a little to himself when he hears a scream coming from the next room.
Jemaine is fixing them a snack before bed when Bret finally gets sick of their little fight. He slides up behind Jemaine (who is busying himself with a can of peaches), wraps his arms around his chest and squeezes. Bret feels Jemaine’s whole body go from tense to relaxed, and he smiles against the back of his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean what I said about your balls,” Bret mumbles against the warm fabric of Jemaine’s T-shirt. He slides a hand down Jemaine’s front and gives his crotch a fond squeeze.
“I know,” Bret doesn’t have to see his lovers face to know that he’s smiling. “They’re irresistible; they’ve got magnetism to them that you can’t resist.”
Bret offers a sleepy snort and kisses the side of Jemaine’s neck, before standing on the tips of his feet and seeing what Jemaine’s getting up to. “Peaches, aye? Good choice.”
“A bloody good choice,” Jemaine affirms, and hands Bret a bowl.
They stand side by side against the kitchen counter, eating their peaches. Their silence is an amicable one, now, and they hold hands on their way to bed. They leave the dishes for tomorrow.
They are warm in their bed after a few minutes of sleepy kisses. Jemaine’s chest is starting to grumble a little, which means he’ll be snoring in no time. Bret lies snuggled against him, fighting against the weight of his eyelids.
“Jemaine,” He mumbles.
“Mm,” Jemaine shifts a little. “What?”
“What if we used the T-shirt sheet with the wolf blanket?” Bret yawns and finally closes his eyes. Jemaine doesn’t respond right away, and Bret thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep and missed out on his stellar plan.
“Then we both win,” Jemaine says sleepily, getting the idea. He gives Bret a kiss on the top of the head.
“Yes we do,” Bret smiles, snuggling just a little bit closer. "I like it better that way, anyhow."
Author Name/Pen Name: Lye
Author LJ Name: lye
Disclaimer: I don't own either of the Conchord men! But I do own a blanket with a wolf on it.
Title of story: Balls
Rating of story: I would say PG-13? I don't know.
Word count of story: 1,100
Chapter: 1/1
Brief summary: Bret and Jemaine have a disagreement.
Authors note: Wow, it's been forever since I've written anything! I'm extremely rusty, so this is too, but I wanted to sort of get back on the bandwagon. This isn't really anything, just me trying to get comfortable again. I'm not sure if it worked, haha.
“I’m just saying I like the fuzzy blanket with the wolf on it, is all,” Bret says, typing nonsense onto the laptop screen and then watching it project onto the larger screen on the wall. They’re in Burbank, working on the second series for the TV show. The room has become a sort of prison for them, with HBO acting as the warden. It’s not as bad as some other prison portrayals HBO has had, though. Nobody has been shanked or anything.
“I don’t like it,” Jemaine replies, elbow resting on the table and chin resting against his clenched fist. When Bret doesn’t respond right away he starts to turn around in his chair a little, bored. “I don’t know why you’re so keen on it. The sheets and the blanket we have are fine, Bret.”
James has left the room, taking a phone call. He’s left them to their own devices for the better part of fifteen minutes. For some reason when that happens in this room, disagreements happen. For the most part they are the perfect partnership. After years of friendship and collaborating, they are well tuned into each other.
Bret lets out a sigh and leans back in his chair, sliding so far down he thinks briefly that he won’t even be able to get back upright. “The sheets are the T-shirt kind, and they wrap around me and force me into a cocoon.” Jemaine gives him a look of disbelief, so Bret forces himself to get back up, leaning forward. “They are stretchy. It’s like a cling wrap, I don’t like it.”
“What are you suggesting?” Jemaine huffs, annoyed, tapping his fingers on the table and waiting for James to come back and distract them with work.
“I’m suggesting we ditch the top sheet,” Bret says with a form nod. “It’s the only logical way.”
“No it’s not, Bret. Think about it,” Jemaine says. Bret does think about it, and responds a few moments later with a confused shrug. “Would you rather we wash just the sheets every time we--” Jemaine looks to the door, then back at him, voice quieter, “you know? Or would you prefer we wash the entire comforter. That thing takes a decade to dry!”
“Oh, it does not,” Bret pulls a face, frowning. “And that’s what I’m saying! The wolf blanket is fuzzier, but it dries much faster, I bet. We’ll be just as warm and we won’t need that stupid stretchy death trap anymore.”
“It’s not a death trap,” Jemaine remains firm, shaking his head.
“It is, though,” Bret enthuses. “I woke up the other morning and I couldn’t even move my arms. I had to kick you in the shins to wake you up, remember? You got mad at me because my toenail cut you.”
“Well, if you trimmed them more often,” Jemaine lets out a long suffering sigh.
“Then you would have bruised shins because I would have still been stuck! Why can’t we just use the wolf blanket? We haven’t even given it a proper try.”
Jemaine rolls his head around on his neck dramatically, wiping his hands over his face before slapping them down in the table. “The wolf blanket makes my balls sweat, Bret. You know that! Who wants to wake up in the middle of the night with sweaty balls?”
“It’s not my fault you’ve got sweaty balls, Jemaine,” Bret folds his arms across his chest and looks around the room. It feels smaller in there than usual.
“No? Well it’ll be your problem when you come face to face with them later,” Bret looks mildly appalled. Jemaine shrugs and adds, “I’m only looking out for you.”
“With an attitude like that, your balls won’t be my problem for some time,” Bret says, shortly. It’s Jemaine’s turn to look appalled.
“Who’s got sweaty balls?” James comes in at the end of the conversation, flipping his phone closed and taking his seat at the table.
Both Bret and Jemaine sit up straight and forget their argument, going back into work mode. Another good element to their partnership is the ability to focus when the time calls for it.
“Nobody,” Jemaine says, getting up and walking over to where Bret is sitting, patting him on the shoulder so he’ll vacate the chair. They take turns being the note keeper during these brainstorming sessions. “We were thinking we should bring back the hair helmet,” Jemaine suggests. James is enthusiastic, and they get back to work.
Things are a little bit tense during the drive home, but neither of them likes fighting in traffic, so they are pleasant during the drive.
They go about the evening in a sort of silent war. Bret takes out beef to make burgers for dinner, and while he’s watching Wheel of Fortune Jemaine puts it back in the fridge and takes out chicken.
Jemaine goes to have a shower, and Bret waits until he is in the middle of it to do the dishes. He smiles a little to himself when he hears a scream coming from the next room.
Jemaine is fixing them a snack before bed when Bret finally gets sick of their little fight. He slides up behind Jemaine (who is busying himself with a can of peaches), wraps his arms around his chest and squeezes. Bret feels Jemaine’s whole body go from tense to relaxed, and he smiles against the back of his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean what I said about your balls,” Bret mumbles against the warm fabric of Jemaine’s T-shirt. He slides a hand down Jemaine’s front and gives his crotch a fond squeeze.
“I know,” Bret doesn’t have to see his lovers face to know that he’s smiling. “They’re irresistible; they’ve got magnetism to them that you can’t resist.”
Bret offers a sleepy snort and kisses the side of Jemaine’s neck, before standing on the tips of his feet and seeing what Jemaine’s getting up to. “Peaches, aye? Good choice.”
“A bloody good choice,” Jemaine affirms, and hands Bret a bowl.
They stand side by side against the kitchen counter, eating their peaches. Their silence is an amicable one, now, and they hold hands on their way to bed. They leave the dishes for tomorrow.
They are warm in their bed after a few minutes of sleepy kisses. Jemaine’s chest is starting to grumble a little, which means he’ll be snoring in no time. Bret lies snuggled against him, fighting against the weight of his eyelids.
“Jemaine,” He mumbles.
“Mm,” Jemaine shifts a little. “What?”
“What if we used the T-shirt sheet with the wolf blanket?” Bret yawns and finally closes his eyes. Jemaine doesn’t respond right away, and Bret thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep and missed out on his stellar plan.
“Then we both win,” Jemaine says sleepily, getting the idea. He gives Bret a kiss on the top of the head.
“Yes we do,” Bret smiles, snuggling just a little bit closer. "I like it better that way, anyhow."