Cube/ Sherman's March Crossover.- Beginning There be slash!!!
Okay, it took me a week to figure out how to do this…. I’m going to write this how I should have to begin with- in non-linear segments ranging from pre-canon, canon, post-canon, & far future. Most should be post-canon, but keep paying attention.
This is only the beginning (i.e. the only part I'm happy w/ so far.)
Concrit= love.
Pairing- Pete Sherman/David Worth.
---------------
David winced, blinked, and cursed the idiot who invented light. His head was still fuzzy and full of dream woven cobwebs of half-thoughts. He scratched his belly, and looked in the mirror. Most folks he knew looked at their faces first, but he, being the masochist he was, looked at his midsection. Not at the soft bulge of aging & not going to the gym near enough, not at the man-boobs that were threatening to grow, not at the hair that was turning grey faster than his head. He looked at the scars.
There was the round hole, the puncture that was made by a lunatic playing into a game started by sadists then left to it’s own devices by a public that stopped caring long ago. There were the precise lines of surgery and all the operations that restored him to the health he had before David was plunged into his own greatest design’s depths. There were the old scars of childhood mishaps and a car crash that left him alive but three others not. His scars were a map of his penance and sorrows, but the debts still far out-weighed the payments.
David ran his fingers through his short thinning hair. No grey, but he was getting a fantastic widows peak that only made his nose look that much more pointy and sloped. His stubble was short enough for him to go a day without shaving. He didn’t have any pressing engagements where he had to look polished and professional, so he let his had skip past the razor and grab the toothbrush and pumped a bit of the mint toothpaste onto it. It was the type that smelled like mouthwash too, and was supposed to do the job, but David just liked it because it tasted awful, medicine-y, like a hospital. He needed that daily reminder that he was out and alive and it wasn’t a dream.
He started scrubbing at his teeth: up, down, back, & forth. His hand stilled and he bit down as another’s hand trailed across the round scar. A bony chin rested on his shoulder, which was annoying, but he allowed the irritation. A lazy smile greeted him from the mirror.
“Hey.” The hand kept trailing over his scars, lightly, just tracing them. It was their morning ritual. Pete was sure that someday, he wouldn’t feel like David was uglier for the past. David was sure that Pete was full of shit. Pete was always full of shit; it was why he was good at his job. Pete also had the most interesting bed-head; soft jagged spikes of hair that only could be tamed after a shower and liberal use of hair products that David was sure cost more than most pieces of his wardrobe just because they had the right label. David turned his head just enough to bump Pete’s and let his hand rifle through the mussed hair as he took his toothbrush out of his mouth with the other.
“Hey.” Pete kissed his cheek then started stripping off for his shower. David finished brushing his teeth and then turned just enough to admire the striking silhouette of Pete through the fogged up clear plastic curtain. The man was all limbs and just such a bright cheerful extrovert that there where many days where David was still waiting for the man to get distracted by another, more engaging person, to forget that he had David, or to just get tired of David’s now numerous phobias & neuroses.
==================================
“Oh my God, you are an idiot.” Nina stated and Pete watched as Nina alienated yet another employee. The woman had the people-skills of an ox, but she was very good at her job, which was why she was his boss. Pete looked over at his secretary, no sorry, administrative assistant, and nodded to her. She, being the kindly lady she was, would swoop in on the poor newbie’s lunch, take him out, let her repressed mothering instincts out, and the poor sob would stay on, and the cycle would repeat the next time Nina would come out of her cave to snarl at the sap. Pete in turn paid his assistant time and a half, put the lunch bill on his expense report, and overlooked the personal calls and the number of sick-days she took off.
It was a system that worked very well, and meant that as opposed to going through help like tissues, the ones that dealt with the tiger-lady stayed on for at least a year & got a few glowing letters of recommendation from the rest of the more senior staff. Rick came out of his studio/office and took his place at the beverage stand, next to Pete.
“What set her off today?”
“Don’t know, but I haven’t seen her this fired up since, well, you know.” Pete winced. Yeah, he knew. It was the time he pissed her off by pissing off a client. It was just not talked about because it was bad, very bad. But her level of anger wasn’t quite as high as it was that day she was just…
“PMS?” asked Craig the Intern, Rick’s little over-achiever sidekick.
“Nah, I have at least three alarms set for those days. I think this might be half for show. She hasn’t been as pissed off lately. Not like normal anyhow.” Rick said sagely, the few others that had drifted into a huddle nodded.
“No, I don’t think, that’s it. I think maybe she got some bad news that she can’t do anything about.” Pete said. Rick cocked his head, made a humming sound and took a sip of his water.
“Yeah. Could be. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Since when?” Pete quipped, Rick could be such a know-it-all at times & Pete ribbed him for it when he wasn’t.
“Man, one of the many reason’s I’m gay & loving it, is because I just don’t get women. Contrary to the stereotype, I don’t spend my time bitching about men over tea with my fag hags.”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m going to cut out early for coffee instead of lunch on my way to see Tele.com.” Pete said, “So we still on for the game tonight?”
“Yeah, Gus’s.” Pete knew that Rick hadn’t been feeling a hundred percent in love with his first choices in bars, so he let the guy pick. Usually, they were better than the dives Pete would have picked out, but there was that memorable night where he had to stay sober and fend off the flaming cruisers while Rick got shit faced and laughed at him.
“Why?”
“Better crowd.”
“You mean you found a real gay sports bar? An actual sports bar, appealing to the y-chromosome only?”
“Mixed, but yeah. So we’ll both have a chance to find some sweet lovin’.”
“Engaged.” Pete sing-songed at Rick who just waved a hand, dismissively.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s why there’s still no date after a year.” Pete shrugged.
“Whatever. See ya.” Pete drifted back to his office to pick up the portfolio full of examples and ideas, his attaché case, and let his assistant know where he was going to be.
This is only the beginning (i.e. the only part I'm happy w/ so far.)
Concrit= love.
Pairing- Pete Sherman/David Worth.
---------------
David winced, blinked, and cursed the idiot who invented light. His head was still fuzzy and full of dream woven cobwebs of half-thoughts. He scratched his belly, and looked in the mirror. Most folks he knew looked at their faces first, but he, being the masochist he was, looked at his midsection. Not at the soft bulge of aging & not going to the gym near enough, not at the man-boobs that were threatening to grow, not at the hair that was turning grey faster than his head. He looked at the scars.
There was the round hole, the puncture that was made by a lunatic playing into a game started by sadists then left to it’s own devices by a public that stopped caring long ago. There were the precise lines of surgery and all the operations that restored him to the health he had before David was plunged into his own greatest design’s depths. There were the old scars of childhood mishaps and a car crash that left him alive but three others not. His scars were a map of his penance and sorrows, but the debts still far out-weighed the payments.
David ran his fingers through his short thinning hair. No grey, but he was getting a fantastic widows peak that only made his nose look that much more pointy and sloped. His stubble was short enough for him to go a day without shaving. He didn’t have any pressing engagements where he had to look polished and professional, so he let his had skip past the razor and grab the toothbrush and pumped a bit of the mint toothpaste onto it. It was the type that smelled like mouthwash too, and was supposed to do the job, but David just liked it because it tasted awful, medicine-y, like a hospital. He needed that daily reminder that he was out and alive and it wasn’t a dream.
He started scrubbing at his teeth: up, down, back, & forth. His hand stilled and he bit down as another’s hand trailed across the round scar. A bony chin rested on his shoulder, which was annoying, but he allowed the irritation. A lazy smile greeted him from the mirror.
“Hey.” The hand kept trailing over his scars, lightly, just tracing them. It was their morning ritual. Pete was sure that someday, he wouldn’t feel like David was uglier for the past. David was sure that Pete was full of shit. Pete was always full of shit; it was why he was good at his job. Pete also had the most interesting bed-head; soft jagged spikes of hair that only could be tamed after a shower and liberal use of hair products that David was sure cost more than most pieces of his wardrobe just because they had the right label. David turned his head just enough to bump Pete’s and let his hand rifle through the mussed hair as he took his toothbrush out of his mouth with the other.
“Hey.” Pete kissed his cheek then started stripping off for his shower. David finished brushing his teeth and then turned just enough to admire the striking silhouette of Pete through the fogged up clear plastic curtain. The man was all limbs and just such a bright cheerful extrovert that there where many days where David was still waiting for the man to get distracted by another, more engaging person, to forget that he had David, or to just get tired of David’s now numerous phobias & neuroses.
==================================
“Oh my God, you are an idiot.” Nina stated and Pete watched as Nina alienated yet another employee. The woman had the people-skills of an ox, but she was very good at her job, which was why she was his boss. Pete looked over at his secretary, no sorry, administrative assistant, and nodded to her. She, being the kindly lady she was, would swoop in on the poor newbie’s lunch, take him out, let her repressed mothering instincts out, and the poor sob would stay on, and the cycle would repeat the next time Nina would come out of her cave to snarl at the sap. Pete in turn paid his assistant time and a half, put the lunch bill on his expense report, and overlooked the personal calls and the number of sick-days she took off.
It was a system that worked very well, and meant that as opposed to going through help like tissues, the ones that dealt with the tiger-lady stayed on for at least a year & got a few glowing letters of recommendation from the rest of the more senior staff. Rick came out of his studio/office and took his place at the beverage stand, next to Pete.
“What set her off today?”
“Don’t know, but I haven’t seen her this fired up since, well, you know.” Pete winced. Yeah, he knew. It was the time he pissed her off by pissing off a client. It was just not talked about because it was bad, very bad. But her level of anger wasn’t quite as high as it was that day she was just…
“PMS?” asked Craig the Intern, Rick’s little over-achiever sidekick.
“Nah, I have at least three alarms set for those days. I think this might be half for show. She hasn’t been as pissed off lately. Not like normal anyhow.” Rick said sagely, the few others that had drifted into a huddle nodded.
“No, I don’t think, that’s it. I think maybe she got some bad news that she can’t do anything about.” Pete said. Rick cocked his head, made a humming sound and took a sip of his water.
“Yeah. Could be. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Since when?” Pete quipped, Rick could be such a know-it-all at times & Pete ribbed him for it when he wasn’t.
“Man, one of the many reason’s I’m gay & loving it, is because I just don’t get women. Contrary to the stereotype, I don’t spend my time bitching about men over tea with my fag hags.”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m going to cut out early for coffee instead of lunch on my way to see Tele.com.” Pete said, “So we still on for the game tonight?”
“Yeah, Gus’s.” Pete knew that Rick hadn’t been feeling a hundred percent in love with his first choices in bars, so he let the guy pick. Usually, they were better than the dives Pete would have picked out, but there was that memorable night where he had to stay sober and fend off the flaming cruisers while Rick got shit faced and laughed at him.
“Why?”
“Better crowd.”
“You mean you found a real gay sports bar? An actual sports bar, appealing to the y-chromosome only?”
“Mixed, but yeah. So we’ll both have a chance to find some sweet lovin’.”
“Engaged.” Pete sing-songed at Rick who just waved a hand, dismissively.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s why there’s still no date after a year.” Pete shrugged.
“Whatever. See ya.” Pete drifted back to his office to pick up the portfolio full of examples and ideas, his attaché case, and let his assistant know where he was going to be.