Laurie\Fry RPS
RPS fluff, very slight slash, romance and sweet thing.
Dis. Nothing is mine
Word count: 315
Laurie\Fry
“Game”
It would never be poker. Only chess. Or backgammon at least.
It all started as a joke. It would always start that way. And it would never stop being a joke though, till the very end. Till the exact moment when Stephen took off his last item of clothing.
It would never be anything but a jolly joke or a game between the two brilliant comedians.
Chess, at it's been said before. And Stephen's woolen sleeveless vest, dress jacket, and now crispy shirt on top of the chair back.
Chess. No strip poker. Never. They didn't own even a hand of cards in house. It was so out of their style.
Thin woolen pants soon followed the rest to said place on the back of the chair.
“Now stay in your socks. I love them. No one wears colorful patterned socks but you, Stephen.” he heard a familiar voice. The voice that he'd loved so much.
He didn't mind to lose. Neither his clothes, nor the chess match actually. (No pun intended).
He was a clever man, he would win no doubt. He was pleased with losing willingly. Because it was Hugh whom he was losing to.
“I don't like my body.” Stephen said almost without a flirting attempt. After which Hugh's gentle protest followed.
“I love your body. It's gorgeous, just as you are. And the thing that I become acting like a fool” Hugh paused, “is because I forget my head completely near you.”
“Then we have problem with working together” Stephen smiled.
Chess or nard. No one cared anymore. It didn't matter any longer.
And it lost its initial importance that very moment when Hugh, getting closer to him, placed kiss after kiss on Stephen's neck, shoulders and collar bone...
It would never be poker. Because you can afford being a little inventive, creating a “strip chess” instead.
Dis. Nothing is mine
Word count: 315
Laurie\Fry
“Game”
It would never be poker. Only chess. Or backgammon at least.
It all started as a joke. It would always start that way. And it would never stop being a joke though, till the very end. Till the exact moment when Stephen took off his last item of clothing.
It would never be anything but a jolly joke or a game between the two brilliant comedians.
Chess, at it's been said before. And Stephen's woolen sleeveless vest, dress jacket, and now crispy shirt on top of the chair back.
Chess. No strip poker. Never. They didn't own even a hand of cards in house. It was so out of their style.
Thin woolen pants soon followed the rest to said place on the back of the chair.
“Now stay in your socks. I love them. No one wears colorful patterned socks but you, Stephen.” he heard a familiar voice. The voice that he'd loved so much.
He didn't mind to lose. Neither his clothes, nor the chess match actually. (No pun intended).
He was a clever man, he would win no doubt. He was pleased with losing willingly. Because it was Hugh whom he was losing to.
“I don't like my body.” Stephen said almost without a flirting attempt. After which Hugh's gentle protest followed.
“I love your body. It's gorgeous, just as you are. And the thing that I become acting like a fool” Hugh paused, “is because I forget my head completely near you.”
“Then we have problem with working together” Stephen smiled.
Chess or nard. No one cared anymore. It didn't matter any longer.
And it lost its initial importance that very moment when Hugh, getting closer to him, placed kiss after kiss on Stephen's neck, shoulders and collar bone...
It would never be poker. Because you can afford being a little inventive, creating a “strip chess” instead.