It's Hard to Freeze a Flowing River
Title: It’s Hard to Freeze a Flowing River
Pairings: Colin/Paul Merton, also some brief mentions of Clive/Paul
Rating: PG-13, just to be on the safe side.
Word Count: 2,770
Summary: It’s been so long, but feelings stay the same.
Author’s Notes: Hello, Mister Obscure Pairing. There’s something about Paul that I absolutely love. And when I learned that Colin once appeared alongside him, Richard Vranch and Jim Sweeney at the Edinburgh festival a few years ago… this practically wrote itself. :D
“Richard, it’s not that big a deal,” Paul threw the rolled up piece of paper up into the air, then caught it in his hand one more time.
“It is a big deal. You’ve not seen this guy since… well, I don’t remember. It’s that much of a deal.”
Paul just smiled to himself - he knew the exact year he’d last seen him. And the month. The day. And pretty much to the hour. He didn’t mention that to Richard, though, he was far too amused by the excited look on his face. “When was the last time you saw him, then?”
Richard Vranch looked up thoughtfully. “It was the last show we did before they moved Whose Line to America. 1997, something like that.”
The ball of scrap paper went up… then down again. “Lucky you.”
Richard crossed his arms. “There’s no need to be bitter about it, Merton,” he smiled. “Are you jealous of him or something?”
The paper ball fell, the older man having missed it by inches - it hit the floor with a dull clutter near the base of the chair he was leaning on in their dressing room. His blue eyes softened for a moment as he gazed up at the bland ceiling, but then he spoke. “No. Clive is.”
The misled smile on Richard’s face dropped at the sound of that name. “Oh… has he been trying to call you?”
Paul’s head rose from where it had been laid back, his usual cheery face grim. “He’s pissed that I’m in Scotland. He doesn’t know Colin’s here.”
“Who doesn’t know I’m here?”
Both men were so used to their own voices that it was a bit of a reality check that a Canadian accent had joined in the fun. They turned to the dressing room door where the tall balding man had appeared. While Richard exclaimed his delight and moved in for a hug, Paul stood up so fast he almost fell back again and watched on, curiously. Colin’s hair was now white and few on top, but otherwise the man hadn’t seemed to change. He heard Colin murmur something about a Hoedown to Vranch who just laughed in return and shook his head apologetically.
“Paul Merton,” Colin greeted admiringly as he walked the few steps toward him. Paul wasn’t sure if he’d opt for a hug or perhaps a more customary, and safe, handshake. He didn’t have much time to think about it before the other man engulfed him briefly. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Paul smiled and was about to say something, about to break the silence he’d swear he’d maintain when Colin was in the room, but only managed to take a breath before Colin turned back to Richard. “And it’s good to be back in Scotland. I can’t even begin to remember when I was here last.”
“We’ve sure missed you over here. Well, more me than him,” Richard giggled to himself, leaving Paul to look at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “Anyway, I have to go and do sound checks. Plus, find Jim. No doubt he’s gotten lost somewhere, poor sod.”
As he walked out and closed the door behind him, Paul decided at that moment that the next time he saw Richard, he would throttle his scrawny neck - now he was alone, in not an entirely big dressing room, with Colin. Anything could, and probably will, happen. “Thanks for coming, I didn’t think you’d say yes to this,” he began, shuffling his feet.
“Well, I could hardly miss an opportunity to see old Sponge Man again, could I?”
“Old?” Merton sounded mildly amused. “I’m only a few months older than you.”
“You’re older compared to when I last saw you.” Colin found a chair, which Paul had been sitting in not five minutes ago, and relaxed into it after his long trip. “I hope you remember.”
Paul frowned. Of course I remember, damn it.
He had been obligated to appear at the Whose Line wrap party, which was odd seeing as he had only appeared in the one episode that series. It was also the series Colin had joined up with the gang, and at the time this had pissed Paul off - the performers in the beginning had all been thoroughly British but the cast were starting to grow more and more American, much to his disliking. It wasn’t that the foreigners were bad for the show per se; it was just a very deep-rooted thing in his psyche that made him feel intimidated by the new talent.
At the wrap do, Colin had approached Paul at the bar and expressed his admiration for how he performed. The older man had blushed and, as he remembered the most vividly, Colin had grinned.
“I need your help,” he’d asked over the music. “England hates me. I don’t know if you saw that one show I did but you’d never seen a guy fail so much. I need to know how to appeal to them.” He’d reached out and grasped his arm before leaning over to say directly into his ear, “Teach me.”
Paul knew what had happened next, but didn’t go there after shuddering pleasantly at the mere memory. Get a grip. It was a long time ago.
“So, when are we on?” Colin asked brightly, fiddling with a ball of scrap paper he’d found on the floor.
Shaking his head quickly, Paul smiled and leant against the desk opposite Colin. “Our call’s at four. There are some really promising comedians on before us though - I’m wondering whether we’ll be upstaged.”
“We don’t need the competition,” Colin shrugged. “You don’t, anyway.”
Paul was unsure what Colin had meant by that, whilst Colin just swallowed and flicked his gaze away curiously.
“Right, well…” Merton’s gaze held fast to the floor in distraction. His sentence remained unfinished, much to Colin’s amusement.
“C’mon then, let’s get to the stage. If we’re going to sit in stony silence we might as well be watching something.”
Paul wasn’t entirely certain if Colin’s statement was intentionally cold, because that’s what it seemed like to him. He wanted to feel comfortable round Colin, enough to bring out that surreal, mischievous side to him and break all the bloody tension in a riot of laughter.
“The stage is this way,” he murmured once they’d left the dressing room and led the other man down the snaking corridors that led to backstage. He was only half paying attention to the route though because the majority of his conscience was replaying that one wrap party from years and years back…
Paul had looked at Colin, eyes dancing as the various coloured lights drifted over his face vividly. He was taken aback by the whispered statement and wondered if the ambiguity was intended.
“Teach you?” he’d repeated and put his drink on the bar, now forgotten. “Teach you what exactly?”
By this point, Colin’s fingers had moved from his arm to his hand, curling them together flirtatiously. “You know.”
Paul had glanced across the room to Clive who looked incensed at what was happening. It had confused Paul at the time, but hadn’t let it faze him as he happily gave into Colin’s advances. How was he supposed to know that Clive had the most major crush on him? The bastard hadn’t told him back then.
It’s so bizarre to think of now - Paul had never thought himself particularly attractive, whereas that night there were two guys interested in that dorky Londoner. He flushed at the memory and couldn’t help a rare nostalgic smile appear on his face.
The recollection after that was a bit fuzzy - there was some slurred conversation, with slight touches here and there, before finding themselves collapsing drunkenly into a hotel room. It could have been anyone’s room really, but when you’re that intoxicated you don’t notice these things in detail.
There’d been something of a drunken, heated frenzy then, a mixture of displacing clothes with inspired uses of hands and mouths soon followed until both men tumbled into the bed where they’d both surrendered to alcohol-induced sleep almost immediately.
Paul was brought back to the present day by the sound of laughter and applause echoing down one of the corridors, the noise intensifying once the door to backstage had been opened.
“I imagine the stage is a second home to you isn’t it?” Colin turned to him and smiled, a friendly hand to his back as he ushered the older man through.
“It’s like opium,” Paul responded truthfully but Colin had been distracted by the sight of Richard and Jim Sweeney, huddling near the back like boys in trouble, and walked over to greet them.
The small group of improv veterans then gathered and watched the young performer on stage captivate the audience expertly. Well, three of them were watching: Paul was distracted by the past once more, despite how much the memories hurt.
The morning after was awkward and plagued by a hangover. Paul had rolled over in the bed and tugged the covers over himself to protect his sensitive eyes, only to find that someone else had had the same idea. Colin was looking back at him with bloodshot eyes, arms folded and a strange, curious look on his face. The hazel hair on his head had flopped over, draping over his forehead scruffily. At any other time he’d look beautiful, but because of the situation…
“We really did this, didn’t we?” Colin asked, his voice low and thin, almost disowning.
“Guess so,” Paul had replied whilst fidgeting with the sheets. “How’d you know I was gay?”
Colin smirked, his eyes looking up in amusement. “Richard told me.”
Paul decided at that moment that the next time he saw Richard, he would thank him.
He didn’t remember who had moved in first, but suddenly they were kissing beneath the covers, trapped and enticed by collective body heat.
“You were so great last night…” Paul said it in the spur of the moment, surprising himself even with the suddenness that had overtaken him.
Colin had sat up then, looking around the room at his carelessly discarded clothes from the night before. Now, his face showed a determined frown as the previous night slowly dawned on him.
He reached for his pants and tugged them on, not looking back at the tender-headed, stubble-sporting Brit still curled up under the covers. “I have a girlfriend back in Canada,” he said proudly, fastening his shirt and cursing when he discovered that one of the buttons had been torn off during last night’s activities.
“Am I supposed to be happy for you?” the other man had retorted and poked his head from under the duvet, eyeing him carefully.
Colin was now sitting on the edge of the bed where Paul couldn’t reach him. “Do whatever you want.”
“You’re the one who came onto me,” he felt he had to point out. “So am I just a cold fuck in the night before you piss off back to Canada?”
“Stop it, Paul.” Colin turned to face him directly with a tired acceptance. “That’s not…”
Paul never did find out the end to that sentence, because Colin had stood up and left without a single look back, the line of his spine was stiff and defensive. And that had been the last time they’d seen each other. Paul had refused another season of Whose Line for precisely this reason.
“Oi, Paul!”
Richard’s voice shook him from reverie once more and he’d been poked and prodded back into existence by the jaunty young man.
“Huh, wha?” he murmured.
Richard grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “We’re on, mate!”
Sure enough, Jim and Colin were already walking on stage to an enthusiastic crowd. The stage was his second home, the laughter was his opium, and the others were his rocks - the ones that kept him steady out there.
He smiled to himself and put best foot forward - with Colin on board, anything could happen.
~~~
That night, the four had gone back to their hotel for drinks and reminiscence. And now that his musing over Colin was out the way, Paul did feel a lot better. The buzz of the show had helped a lot, too, as he made joke after joke with the others and settled right in. He even felt confident enough to lean into Colin slightly, not finding his presence remotely awkward anymore.
Richard managed to drink more than he’d planned in the jovial atmosphere and ended up passing out with his head on the tiny pub table, drooling inelegantly.
“Looks like this one needs to be put to bed,” Jim laughed and helped the pianist up, supporting most of his weight expertly. Colin and Paul had agreed, both smirking and resisting the urge to draw on the sleeping man’s face with permanent marker.
Together, the three had managed to manoeuvre out of the bar and through the lobby, Colin throwing an apologetic look to the receptionist on the way, who in turn just blinked at them blandly.
“Thanks, you two, but I think I can manage him from here. I’m lucky this sod’s room is on the ground floor,” smiled Jim. “Imagine taking this dead weight upstairs.”
Colin and Paul watched him go, but the relaxed casual atmosphere seemed to go with them and the pair were left in silence once more.
Paul rubbed his arm in distraction. “Umm… I’m going to get to bed, I think. Kinda tired after all that.”
“Yeah, me too,” yawned Colin and headed to the elevators, neither man wanting particularly to heave themselves up the stairwell.
The lift was called and the silence descended once again. Paul bit his lip and wrestled with his inner thoughts. You’ve got to say something now, you’re gonna look like a complete idiot otherwise!
“You were really great tonight. Seriously,” he smiled to the Canadian, meaning every word. “I’ve never seen so much finesse while improvising.”
Colin looked away in accordance to trying to hide his blush; he never believed anyone when they complimented him like that. “I think that British crowd were just humouring me because I’m odd and foreign,” he shrugged.
As the elevator chimed its timely arrival, Paul continued. “No, no, I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like it. You totally made that crowd your own - I wish I could do that.”
The doors closed and two buttons were selected: Colin for the third floor, Paul for the fourth. As the elevator moved, Paul chanced a look at Colin. His cheeks were full with rosy blush, eyes distracted by the floor numbers going up one by one. The man hadn’t seemed to age at all and if anything, the balding just made him look too damn adorable. Paul wanted to laugh at himself more than anything and play in the face of this chemistry but maybe…
Maybe…
His hand sought Colin’s and curled into it briefly before sliding up slightly to grasp his wrist. Paul moved in with purpose to whisper directly into Colin’s ear, “Teach me?”
Slowly, much slower than Paul would’ve liked, Colin’s head turned towards him and gave him a knowing look, his lips slightly parted and cheeks blushing even more. Without a thought beyond how appealing the man looked to him, Paul leant in for a kiss only for his lips to be greeted insistently by Colin’s cheek instead.
Colin sighed heavily, a bitter, “Fuck,” leaving his mouth as his eyes slipped slowly closed. There was so much going on inside his head that he almost caved in but managed to stay resolute.
“Paul, I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he revealed tiredly and Paul looked up at him in surprise.
“And?”
The other man shook his head, blinking Paul into focus for a moment. “I have a wife back in Canada.”
Paul nodded, irked by the finality of it all. “Right,” he said quietly, looking to the floor.
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and his soft Canadian voice spoke once more. “But just so you know…”
The elevator doors opened revealing the third floor and chiming happily. Paul remained quiet and waited for Colin to finish, but then the warm hand left his shoulder, the familiar presence was lost and Colin had walked away, the line of his spine slack and defenceless. Paul watched him slowly retreat before the elevator doors closed, holding him back.
Another decade, another unfinished sentence.
He slumped glumly against the wall and felt his heartbeat again, fearing that it’d stopped.
Shit.
Fin.