Fic: Faceplant (Eureka, Vincent/Fargo, PG)
Okay. So here's kind of a crazy thing: I wrote some fic.
The paper is half-finished, see, but I'm kind of stuck and I needed a break, and since I had this idea running around in my head I figured what the hell, I'll jot it down. It's all girlnorth's fault, really. Back when I asked for first kisses ideas, she mentioned Eureka, which I sometimes watch but not religiously. Then she announced the onebedficathon, and this idea sort of got stuck in my head. I was going to use it as a backup in case my Mickey/Jake fic didn't work out, but then I finished that and so I sort of back burnered this one for when I had time to get to the first kisses.
Needless to say, I don't really have time for fic right now, but apparently that is beside the point, since I wrote some. Again, not a fandom I've ever written before, and for all I know, this could fly completely in the face of canon. But it was fun, and it's the first of the first kisses fics, so I'm posting it anyway. Eventually I will write the rest of them. Just as soon as I finish this damn paper.
Title: Faceplant
Fandom: Eureka
Pairing: Vincent/Fargo
Rating: PG
Summary: There's a reason they don't bring booze to movie night.
A/N: For girlnorth, whether she wants it or not. A Faceplant is a drink involving Peppermint Schnapps, rum, and hot chocolate.
Vincent knew the drinking game was a bad idea. It was Spencer's fault for suggesting it in the first place, but the real blame laid with whoever decided to bring the Peppermint Schnapps. And really, he didn't see why a drinking game was necessary in the first place, because movie night was fine just the way it had always been.
Of course Vincent hadn't participated; he certainly wasn't interested in drinking a shot every time C3PO lost a body part, but somehow he'd still gotten stuck taking Fargo home. Fargo who smelled of peppermint and could barely walk on his own, which was a sure sign that he had enjoyed movie night.
"Wait a second, wait a second," Fargo mumbled, stopping short in the middle of the road and Vincent had to act fast to keep him from tipping over. "Everything's…spin-y."
"That's what happens when you drink half a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps on an empty stomach." Vincent hooked one arm around his waist and levered Fargo's arm over his own shoulders, cursing himself for not just leaving Fargo to sleep it off on Spencer's floor. "Really, why you'd all want to eradicate the memory of watching the original trilogy in high definition…"
He trailed off when he realized Fargo wasn't actually listening to him. In fact, Fargo had managed to break away from him again, taking a sharp right to lurch down the center of the road and away from his house. "You're going the wrong way," Vincent called after him as he hurried after Fargo.
"Your place. Closer." At least that was what Vincent thought he'd said, but it was hard to tell when he was mumbling that way. Still, at least he knew where they were, that had to be a good sign. And if Fargo was going to pass out on someone's floor, Vincent's was probably just as good as his own. If he asphyxiated in his own vomit Vincent would never forgive himself, after all, so keeping an eye on Fargo probably wasn't such a bad idea.
Then again, cleaning up after him wasn't really high on Vincent's list of things to do, either.
Apparently he didn't have a choice, though, because Fargo was still weaving his way rather unsteadily in the direction of Vincent's place, and it was all Vincent could do to keep up. When he finally did catch up Fargo was already leaning against his front door, mouth slightly open and Vincent was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep. But as soon as Vincent got the front door open Fargo pushed himself off the wall and stumbled inside, struggling with and then apparently giving up on shedding his jacket.
He didn't even pause in the living room, and Vincent braced himself for the inevitability of Fargo missing the bathroom and throwing up in his hallway. But when he reached the bathroom Fargo took a sharp left and disappeared into Vincent's bedroom, leaving Vincent to stare after him as he tried to figure out how he'd managed to land himself in this situation.
It was one thing to see Fargo safely home. Even letting Fargo crash on his couch wasn't so bad, but he hadn't agreed to give up his bed. He wasn't even sure how Fargo knew where his room was, but apparently that was exactly where he'd been headed, because he hadn't reappeared yet and Vincent was starting to get the impression he wasn't going to.
He locked the door behind them before he followed Fargo down the hall, stopping in his bedroom doorway to take in the sight of Fargo spread out in the middle of the bed, jacket still hanging off one arm and his shoes still on. And Vincent hated himself a little for thinking it, but it was almost…cute. Granted, it had been a long time since he'd had another man in his bed; Eureka wasn't exactly the height of the gay dating scene, and Vincent had grown accustomed to spending his nights alone.
Except for movie night, of course, and he wasn't about to ruin that for himself by thinking untoward thoughts about Fargo. Still, he couldn't just leave Fargo like that, so he let out a sigh and crossed the room to do what had to be done.
He started with Fargo's shoes, pulling them off and setting them on the floor next to the bed. Next were his glasses, already askew so Vincent pulled them off carefully and set them on the bedside table. Then he turned his attention to Fargo's jacket, easing it off the remaining arm and folding it carefully before he set it down on the only chair in the room. Fargo mumbled something and rolled over, but he didn't wake up and Vincent knew the rest was going to be harder than just getting Fargo out of his clothes. Because there was no way he was spending the night with Fargo, and he wasn't about to sleep on his own couch when Fargo was the one who'd invited himself to crash at Vincent's house in the first place.
"Fargo," Vincent said, gently at first because really, he did look quite peaceful. The only answer was a barely audible murmur, so Vincent swallowed another sigh and leaned in to shake Fargo's shoulder. "Fargo, wake up."
"Mmm," Fargo answered, reaching up to hook an arm around Vincent's neck, and for a second Vincent thought he might actually cooperate. Then Fargo gave a surprisingly strong tug, considering, and a second later Vincent found himself more or less sprawled on top of the other man.
The muffled grunt didn't really surprise him; he wasn't a small guy to begin with, and Fargo was definitely on the scrawny side. What did surprise him was finding himself sprawled on top of Fargo, especially when Fargo leaned up and pressed a clumsy kiss to the corner of Vincent's mouth.
Before he had a chance to react to that Fargo's hand pressed between them, fumbling lower with each endless second and when Vincent realized what he was up to he scrambled backwards as gracefully as he could manage under the circumstances. "What are you doing?"
"What, did I do it wrong?" Fargo asked, and good lord, was he pouting?
"You're drunk." An accusation, but Vincent wasn't all that concerned with Fargo's feelings at the moment. Not when he was…when he was…well, Vincent wasn't exactly sure what Fargo was up to, but it definitely had something to do with the fact that he tasted distinctly of peppermint.
"Probably," Fargo agreed, eyelids fluttering closed and Vincent wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. "Do you want to wait until I'm not drunk to kiss?"
Vincent started to say that he didn't want to kiss at all, but the way Fargo said it made him pause. It was almost as if Fargo had thought about this before, as though maybe he really did want to kiss Vincent. And maybe the Schnapps had helped him work up the courage to do something about it, but now that it had happened once, maybe it could happen again.
Vincent opened his mouth to answer, to say that yes, he'd prefer to wait, if it was all the same to Fargo, but the sound of soft snoring stopped him. He shook his head and stood up, reaching over Fargo to tug the comforter over him. He grabbed an extra pillow off the bed and stopped at the closet for an extra blanket, resigning himself to an uncomfortable night on his couch. He wouldn't get any more sleep if he stayed here with Fargo, though, and considering the circumstances, the couch was probably the safest choice.
"You so owe me," he told the sleeping man in his bed as he crossed to the bedroom door. "And you better not puke in my bed."
The paper is half-finished, see, but I'm kind of stuck and I needed a break, and since I had this idea running around in my head I figured what the hell, I'll jot it down. It's all girlnorth's fault, really. Back when I asked for first kisses ideas, she mentioned Eureka, which I sometimes watch but not religiously. Then she announced the onebedficathon, and this idea sort of got stuck in my head. I was going to use it as a backup in case my Mickey/Jake fic didn't work out, but then I finished that and so I sort of back burnered this one for when I had time to get to the first kisses.
Needless to say, I don't really have time for fic right now, but apparently that is beside the point, since I wrote some. Again, not a fandom I've ever written before, and for all I know, this could fly completely in the face of canon. But it was fun, and it's the first of the first kisses fics, so I'm posting it anyway. Eventually I will write the rest of them. Just as soon as I finish this damn paper.
Title: Faceplant
Fandom: Eureka
Pairing: Vincent/Fargo
Rating: PG
Summary: There's a reason they don't bring booze to movie night.
A/N: For girlnorth, whether she wants it or not. A Faceplant is a drink involving Peppermint Schnapps, rum, and hot chocolate.
Vincent knew the drinking game was a bad idea. It was Spencer's fault for suggesting it in the first place, but the real blame laid with whoever decided to bring the Peppermint Schnapps. And really, he didn't see why a drinking game was necessary in the first place, because movie night was fine just the way it had always been.
Of course Vincent hadn't participated; he certainly wasn't interested in drinking a shot every time C3PO lost a body part, but somehow he'd still gotten stuck taking Fargo home. Fargo who smelled of peppermint and could barely walk on his own, which was a sure sign that he had enjoyed movie night.
"Wait a second, wait a second," Fargo mumbled, stopping short in the middle of the road and Vincent had to act fast to keep him from tipping over. "Everything's…spin-y."
"That's what happens when you drink half a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps on an empty stomach." Vincent hooked one arm around his waist and levered Fargo's arm over his own shoulders, cursing himself for not just leaving Fargo to sleep it off on Spencer's floor. "Really, why you'd all want to eradicate the memory of watching the original trilogy in high definition…"
He trailed off when he realized Fargo wasn't actually listening to him. In fact, Fargo had managed to break away from him again, taking a sharp right to lurch down the center of the road and away from his house. "You're going the wrong way," Vincent called after him as he hurried after Fargo.
"Your place. Closer." At least that was what Vincent thought he'd said, but it was hard to tell when he was mumbling that way. Still, at least he knew where they were, that had to be a good sign. And if Fargo was going to pass out on someone's floor, Vincent's was probably just as good as his own. If he asphyxiated in his own vomit Vincent would never forgive himself, after all, so keeping an eye on Fargo probably wasn't such a bad idea.
Then again, cleaning up after him wasn't really high on Vincent's list of things to do, either.
Apparently he didn't have a choice, though, because Fargo was still weaving his way rather unsteadily in the direction of Vincent's place, and it was all Vincent could do to keep up. When he finally did catch up Fargo was already leaning against his front door, mouth slightly open and Vincent was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep. But as soon as Vincent got the front door open Fargo pushed himself off the wall and stumbled inside, struggling with and then apparently giving up on shedding his jacket.
He didn't even pause in the living room, and Vincent braced himself for the inevitability of Fargo missing the bathroom and throwing up in his hallway. But when he reached the bathroom Fargo took a sharp left and disappeared into Vincent's bedroom, leaving Vincent to stare after him as he tried to figure out how he'd managed to land himself in this situation.
It was one thing to see Fargo safely home. Even letting Fargo crash on his couch wasn't so bad, but he hadn't agreed to give up his bed. He wasn't even sure how Fargo knew where his room was, but apparently that was exactly where he'd been headed, because he hadn't reappeared yet and Vincent was starting to get the impression he wasn't going to.
He locked the door behind them before he followed Fargo down the hall, stopping in his bedroom doorway to take in the sight of Fargo spread out in the middle of the bed, jacket still hanging off one arm and his shoes still on. And Vincent hated himself a little for thinking it, but it was almost…cute. Granted, it had been a long time since he'd had another man in his bed; Eureka wasn't exactly the height of the gay dating scene, and Vincent had grown accustomed to spending his nights alone.
Except for movie night, of course, and he wasn't about to ruin that for himself by thinking untoward thoughts about Fargo. Still, he couldn't just leave Fargo like that, so he let out a sigh and crossed the room to do what had to be done.
He started with Fargo's shoes, pulling them off and setting them on the floor next to the bed. Next were his glasses, already askew so Vincent pulled them off carefully and set them on the bedside table. Then he turned his attention to Fargo's jacket, easing it off the remaining arm and folding it carefully before he set it down on the only chair in the room. Fargo mumbled something and rolled over, but he didn't wake up and Vincent knew the rest was going to be harder than just getting Fargo out of his clothes. Because there was no way he was spending the night with Fargo, and he wasn't about to sleep on his own couch when Fargo was the one who'd invited himself to crash at Vincent's house in the first place.
"Fargo," Vincent said, gently at first because really, he did look quite peaceful. The only answer was a barely audible murmur, so Vincent swallowed another sigh and leaned in to shake Fargo's shoulder. "Fargo, wake up."
"Mmm," Fargo answered, reaching up to hook an arm around Vincent's neck, and for a second Vincent thought he might actually cooperate. Then Fargo gave a surprisingly strong tug, considering, and a second later Vincent found himself more or less sprawled on top of the other man.
The muffled grunt didn't really surprise him; he wasn't a small guy to begin with, and Fargo was definitely on the scrawny side. What did surprise him was finding himself sprawled on top of Fargo, especially when Fargo leaned up and pressed a clumsy kiss to the corner of Vincent's mouth.
Before he had a chance to react to that Fargo's hand pressed between them, fumbling lower with each endless second and when Vincent realized what he was up to he scrambled backwards as gracefully as he could manage under the circumstances. "What are you doing?"
"What, did I do it wrong?" Fargo asked, and good lord, was he pouting?
"You're drunk." An accusation, but Vincent wasn't all that concerned with Fargo's feelings at the moment. Not when he was…when he was…well, Vincent wasn't exactly sure what Fargo was up to, but it definitely had something to do with the fact that he tasted distinctly of peppermint.
"Probably," Fargo agreed, eyelids fluttering closed and Vincent wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. "Do you want to wait until I'm not drunk to kiss?"
Vincent started to say that he didn't want to kiss at all, but the way Fargo said it made him pause. It was almost as if Fargo had thought about this before, as though maybe he really did want to kiss Vincent. And maybe the Schnapps had helped him work up the courage to do something about it, but now that it had happened once, maybe it could happen again.
Vincent opened his mouth to answer, to say that yes, he'd prefer to wait, if it was all the same to Fargo, but the sound of soft snoring stopped him. He shook his head and stood up, reaching over Fargo to tug the comforter over him. He grabbed an extra pillow off the bed and stopped at the closet for an extra blanket, resigning himself to an uncomfortable night on his couch. He wouldn't get any more sleep if he stayed here with Fargo, though, and considering the circumstances, the couch was probably the safest choice.
"You so owe me," he told the sleeping man in his bed as he crossed to the bedroom door. "And you better not puke in my bed."