The "Perfect" Moment
The Trick or Treat fic and art exchange over at wl_fanfiction is in the final stages and it´s time to share my fics with you as well. I´ve written 5 all in all but some haven´t been guessed yet, so I´ll post as we go along.
For blamography - with Greg and Clive, things can never be easy and normal, but they still work out.
Title: The "Perfect" Moment
Author: zuzivlas
Pairing: Greg/Clive
Rating: approaching fluff... or as close to fluff as those 2 can get
Words: 977
Greg was in trouble, he knew it the very day he laid his eyes upon the snarky feisty half-bald neckless Brit. He was screwed, royally. If only there was a way to run away, to get out before it was too late... unfortunately he knew those chances got crushed the very first time they met. He was sure that he was the only one feeling the spark, the electric charge that pulsated between them as their eyes met. The electric charge that travelled his whole body when he heard him speak for the first time. The electric charge that pooled in one specific area as they exchanged jabs at each other. It was torture, a perverse form of masochism that Greg forced upon himself with each show as he couldn´t stop his mouth from running and went into long mock arguments with Clive. He was screwed, absolutely screwed as his heart demanded more than just the meaningless battle of wit. Greg tried to shut his heart up with a hearty doze of alcohol.
Clive meanwhile couldn´t help but notice the snarky American more and more. Not that he hadn´t noticed him right of the bat, Greg was quite hard to miss. No, the scary part was what he began noticing, the little details that made Greg who he was without being too obvious. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he hid behind snark and cutting wit. The way he smelled, the way he bit his lip as he read, the way his lips would quirk up almost unnoticeably as the others praised his jokes. The way he would fluff his hair until it was perfect before a show, the way he would clean his glasses when nervous. Clive knew he was in trouble when he realized he knew the name of Greg´s cologne, the name of his wipes for glasses, the names of his favourite hangout places. Yes, there was no denying it, Clive was lost.
Deciding to chase away his thoughts with a glass or two of liquid courage, he let his legs carry him to a bar, any bar that he could crash. Damn traitorous legs taking him to one of Greg´s common spots. Shrugging, Clive decided to just go for it, Greg was most probably hanging out somewhere with the other American performers anyway. How mistaken he was.
Clive noticed him immediately, even though the body was slouched low, practically lying on the table. He decided not to analyze why he could recognize the shape and posture as Greg´s immediately and went closer. His inspection showed an alarming number of shots that had been drowned and he briefly wondered what could have happened to make Greg want to drown it in cheap alcohol. Shaking his shoulder lightly, Clive was rewarded with a groan and a half-hearted swat of a palm that couldn´t quite hit the intended target. Irritation at Greg´s choices, wonder at his reasons and worry about his wellbeing warred within him as he decided to take Greg home.
Easier said than done as Greg wasn´t in the mood to go home just yet, maybe never and fought the bastard trying to take him away. As alarming as Greg´s pitiful attempts were, Clive was glad for them now since it made the whole action easier. Unfortunately, he couldn´t remember Greg´s address for his life and cursing his brain, he took a taxi to his own home. Bringing Greg inside was harder than expected but he managed. Now it was a question of what to do next. Not much that he could do as he looked at the man passed out cold on his bed. Preparing a glass of water and pills for the morning after, keeping a bucket close just in case, Clive got ready for a sleepless night. No way would he be able to sleep with his interest in his bed.
The morning was cruel and Greg felt like stabbing his eyes out as he opened them. He was sure that the ray of sun positively blinded him. Once the spots cleared, somewhat, he began noticing other stuff. Most importantly, he didn´t recognize his surroundings. He was in a bed, warm comfortable bed but he had no idea where. Or more importantly, with whom. His worst nightmare, and greatest dream, came true as Clive entered the bedroom looking haggard and ready to pass out himself. Greg hoped, prayed, that it was all just an alcohol induced hallucination. No such luck. Noticing Greg was as awake as he could be, Clive sat on the edge of the bed and asked him how he was. Greg just looked at him wide eyed until Clive explained everything that happened from the moment he found him.
Greg felt an odd warmth in his chest hearing that Clive cared enough but was filled with self-righteous anger when he asked him why he felt like drowning in alcohol, what could possibly be so bad. Greg wanted to blame the residue vodka in his blood for his rash action as he grabbed Clive and kissed him hard. It wasn´t clear which man was more surprised by it but it was very clear what Clive thought of it as he drew Greg in for a second and then third kiss, each one getting less aggressive and more tender. Once they separated after a few more, Clive began laughing.
“Of all the times to start this, we had to pick this one. As much as I want to continue, we both need a good shower, a few rounds of teeth brushing and preferably some more sleep.”
“You´ll be in this bed with me when I wake up?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, you got yourself a deal mister A.”
“Wanker.”
“Tosser.”
“How very British of you Greg.”
“What can I say, you´re rubbing off on me.”
“Smartass.”
For blamography - with Greg and Clive, things can never be easy and normal, but they still work out.
Title: The "Perfect" Moment
Author: zuzivlas
Pairing: Greg/Clive
Rating: approaching fluff... or as close to fluff as those 2 can get
Words: 977
Greg was in trouble, he knew it the very day he laid his eyes upon the snarky feisty half-bald neckless Brit. He was screwed, royally. If only there was a way to run away, to get out before it was too late... unfortunately he knew those chances got crushed the very first time they met. He was sure that he was the only one feeling the spark, the electric charge that pulsated between them as their eyes met. The electric charge that travelled his whole body when he heard him speak for the first time. The electric charge that pooled in one specific area as they exchanged jabs at each other. It was torture, a perverse form of masochism that Greg forced upon himself with each show as he couldn´t stop his mouth from running and went into long mock arguments with Clive. He was screwed, absolutely screwed as his heart demanded more than just the meaningless battle of wit. Greg tried to shut his heart up with a hearty doze of alcohol.
Clive meanwhile couldn´t help but notice the snarky American more and more. Not that he hadn´t noticed him right of the bat, Greg was quite hard to miss. No, the scary part was what he began noticing, the little details that made Greg who he was without being too obvious. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he hid behind snark and cutting wit. The way he smelled, the way he bit his lip as he read, the way his lips would quirk up almost unnoticeably as the others praised his jokes. The way he would fluff his hair until it was perfect before a show, the way he would clean his glasses when nervous. Clive knew he was in trouble when he realized he knew the name of Greg´s cologne, the name of his wipes for glasses, the names of his favourite hangout places. Yes, there was no denying it, Clive was lost.
Deciding to chase away his thoughts with a glass or two of liquid courage, he let his legs carry him to a bar, any bar that he could crash. Damn traitorous legs taking him to one of Greg´s common spots. Shrugging, Clive decided to just go for it, Greg was most probably hanging out somewhere with the other American performers anyway. How mistaken he was.
Clive noticed him immediately, even though the body was slouched low, practically lying on the table. He decided not to analyze why he could recognize the shape and posture as Greg´s immediately and went closer. His inspection showed an alarming number of shots that had been drowned and he briefly wondered what could have happened to make Greg want to drown it in cheap alcohol. Shaking his shoulder lightly, Clive was rewarded with a groan and a half-hearted swat of a palm that couldn´t quite hit the intended target. Irritation at Greg´s choices, wonder at his reasons and worry about his wellbeing warred within him as he decided to take Greg home.
Easier said than done as Greg wasn´t in the mood to go home just yet, maybe never and fought the bastard trying to take him away. As alarming as Greg´s pitiful attempts were, Clive was glad for them now since it made the whole action easier. Unfortunately, he couldn´t remember Greg´s address for his life and cursing his brain, he took a taxi to his own home. Bringing Greg inside was harder than expected but he managed. Now it was a question of what to do next. Not much that he could do as he looked at the man passed out cold on his bed. Preparing a glass of water and pills for the morning after, keeping a bucket close just in case, Clive got ready for a sleepless night. No way would he be able to sleep with his interest in his bed.
The morning was cruel and Greg felt like stabbing his eyes out as he opened them. He was sure that the ray of sun positively blinded him. Once the spots cleared, somewhat, he began noticing other stuff. Most importantly, he didn´t recognize his surroundings. He was in a bed, warm comfortable bed but he had no idea where. Or more importantly, with whom. His worst nightmare, and greatest dream, came true as Clive entered the bedroom looking haggard and ready to pass out himself. Greg hoped, prayed, that it was all just an alcohol induced hallucination. No such luck. Noticing Greg was as awake as he could be, Clive sat on the edge of the bed and asked him how he was. Greg just looked at him wide eyed until Clive explained everything that happened from the moment he found him.
Greg felt an odd warmth in his chest hearing that Clive cared enough but was filled with self-righteous anger when he asked him why he felt like drowning in alcohol, what could possibly be so bad. Greg wanted to blame the residue vodka in his blood for his rash action as he grabbed Clive and kissed him hard. It wasn´t clear which man was more surprised by it but it was very clear what Clive thought of it as he drew Greg in for a second and then third kiss, each one getting less aggressive and more tender. Once they separated after a few more, Clive began laughing.
“Of all the times to start this, we had to pick this one. As much as I want to continue, we both need a good shower, a few rounds of teeth brushing and preferably some more sleep.”
“You´ll be in this bed with me when I wake up?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, you got yourself a deal mister A.”
“Wanker.”
“Tosser.”
“How very British of you Greg.”
“What can I say, you´re rubbing off on me.”
“Smartass.”