[advent 07] december one
Day one of Advent 07 and we have a little bit from the TWW academic AU. Which will never be finished. But here's a scene near-ish the end-ish.
***
advent - day one
tww: white college christmas party
***
There's a faculty Christmas party every year. Rather, there's a University Faculty Holiday Celebration and then there's a faculty Christmas party, usually held at Leo's house, usually overstocked with alcohol and sweets. It impresses Sam, for various reasons. For one, it reminds Sam of how strong Leo is, five years sober, to allow that level of drunken debauchery in his own living room. Also, it reminds him that every single person that works at White College is a total freaking lightweight.
"You just don't get it!" CJ is saying. It's probably the fourth time she's said it, actually, and Sam can't remember what no one gets.
"I do!" Toby insists. "You're just a drunk, belligerent woman."
Okay. Every single person but Toby.
"If you got it, you'd... you'd get it!" CJ says. "But you don't! Get it, I mean."
"She's totally right, Toby," Amy says. "You have a penis. You'll never get it."
Josh makes a noise from where he's passed out on the carpet. If he were to hear the story later, Josh would probably insist it was a tiny grunt of masculine solidarity with Toby. In reality, Sam knows that it's probably a whimper in pavlovian reaction to Amy's angry voice.
Sam stops paying attention, though, when there's a tug at his shirt. He doesn't have to turn around to know that it's Will pulling him out of the living room and into the hallway; he can see everyone else in the room. Additionally, it's getting to the point where he can sense Will's presence.
"Hey," Will says once they're alone in the hallway. There's a pleasant flush to his cheeks, the kind that makes Sam want to forget their agreement to put their burgeoning flirtation on hold. HIs eyes are soft and warm beneath his glasses, and he's got Sam backed into a doorway. Sam's starting to think that Will is regretting their agreement as well.
"Hi," Sam says. "You smell a little like scotch."
"I've been drinking a lot of it," Will says. "I really... you guys... I like it here." He smiles, leans into Sam's space. "A lot."
"Says the writer," Sam says. He means it as a joke, but the closer Will gets, the more the air gets harder to breathe, twists his tone into something else.
"You're the writer," Will says. He's still leaning. "You're better than me, you're brilliant and--" He stops. Takes a step back. Looks confused. "Wait, that's not what I wanted to say."
"What did you want to say?" Sam asks, a hint of amusement in his voice now that he can suck in a lungful of cool, sweet oxygen.
"I wanted to say," Will says, taking a step forward again, eyes lighting up as his memory clicks back into place, "that..." He glances at his watch.
And glances.
And glances.
Just as Sam is about to ask him if he's forgotten again, Will triumphantly holds up his wristwatch for Sam to see.
"Okay, so, Elsie has this thing about 11:11, apparently there's a song and a thing and you make a wish and--anyway, it's 11:11, and you're supposed to make a wish."
Will looks at him expectantly.
"Um," Sam says. "World peace?"
If looks could kill, Sam would be dead five times over. "Sam," Will says patiently, "We're standing under the mistletoe and I made sure that I'm drunk enough that we can forget this tomorrow if you want. Try again."
Sam gets it, this time, and then he stops thinking about it because he's kissing Will, in the doorway to what appears to be Leo's library, while all of his colleagues are sitting two doors down.
Not that any of the second part matters because he is kissing Will. Again.
"What about--" Sam starts to ask when they pull apart for air, gasping and pulling weakly at each other's clothing. "The... the thing! The... agreement. About. This." Will nips his earlobe. "Okay, right!" Sam gasps. "Stupid idea."
They go back to kissing, curled snugly against each other in the corner of the doorway, holding on to each other until Sam forgets exactly how much shit he's going to get for this in the morning.
***
In non-advent news, I just need the world to know how very much I love alanafish and how proud I am of her.
In other non-advent news, I also want the world to know that Steven Tartick just offered to defend my honor and I literally snorted orange juice up my nose. It hurt. But it was very sweet.
***
advent - day one
tww: white college christmas party
***
There's a faculty Christmas party every year. Rather, there's a University Faculty Holiday Celebration and then there's a faculty Christmas party, usually held at Leo's house, usually overstocked with alcohol and sweets. It impresses Sam, for various reasons. For one, it reminds Sam of how strong Leo is, five years sober, to allow that level of drunken debauchery in his own living room. Also, it reminds him that every single person that works at White College is a total freaking lightweight.
"You just don't get it!" CJ is saying. It's probably the fourth time she's said it, actually, and Sam can't remember what no one gets.
"I do!" Toby insists. "You're just a drunk, belligerent woman."
Okay. Every single person but Toby.
"If you got it, you'd... you'd get it!" CJ says. "But you don't! Get it, I mean."
"She's totally right, Toby," Amy says. "You have a penis. You'll never get it."
Josh makes a noise from where he's passed out on the carpet. If he were to hear the story later, Josh would probably insist it was a tiny grunt of masculine solidarity with Toby. In reality, Sam knows that it's probably a whimper in pavlovian reaction to Amy's angry voice.
Sam stops paying attention, though, when there's a tug at his shirt. He doesn't have to turn around to know that it's Will pulling him out of the living room and into the hallway; he can see everyone else in the room. Additionally, it's getting to the point where he can sense Will's presence.
"Hey," Will says once they're alone in the hallway. There's a pleasant flush to his cheeks, the kind that makes Sam want to forget their agreement to put their burgeoning flirtation on hold. HIs eyes are soft and warm beneath his glasses, and he's got Sam backed into a doorway. Sam's starting to think that Will is regretting their agreement as well.
"Hi," Sam says. "You smell a little like scotch."
"I've been drinking a lot of it," Will says. "I really... you guys... I like it here." He smiles, leans into Sam's space. "A lot."
"Says the writer," Sam says. He means it as a joke, but the closer Will gets, the more the air gets harder to breathe, twists his tone into something else.
"You're the writer," Will says. He's still leaning. "You're better than me, you're brilliant and--" He stops. Takes a step back. Looks confused. "Wait, that's not what I wanted to say."
"What did you want to say?" Sam asks, a hint of amusement in his voice now that he can suck in a lungful of cool, sweet oxygen.
"I wanted to say," Will says, taking a step forward again, eyes lighting up as his memory clicks back into place, "that..." He glances at his watch.
And glances.
And glances.
Just as Sam is about to ask him if he's forgotten again, Will triumphantly holds up his wristwatch for Sam to see.
"Okay, so, Elsie has this thing about 11:11, apparently there's a song and a thing and you make a wish and--anyway, it's 11:11, and you're supposed to make a wish."
Will looks at him expectantly.
"Um," Sam says. "World peace?"
If looks could kill, Sam would be dead five times over. "Sam," Will says patiently, "We're standing under the mistletoe and I made sure that I'm drunk enough that we can forget this tomorrow if you want. Try again."
Sam gets it, this time, and then he stops thinking about it because he's kissing Will, in the doorway to what appears to be Leo's library, while all of his colleagues are sitting two doors down.
Not that any of the second part matters because he is kissing Will. Again.
"What about--" Sam starts to ask when they pull apart for air, gasping and pulling weakly at each other's clothing. "The... the thing! The... agreement. About. This." Will nips his earlobe. "Okay, right!" Sam gasps. "Stupid idea."
They go back to kissing, curled snugly against each other in the corner of the doorway, holding on to each other until Sam forgets exactly how much shit he's going to get for this in the morning.
***
In non-advent news, I just need the world to know how very much I love alanafish and how proud I am of her.
In other non-advent news, I also want the world to know that Steven Tartick just offered to defend my honor and I literally snorted orange juice up my nose. It hurt. But it was very sweet.