"Shiny" - A Greg/Clive, by Red

[rudelypinioned.livejournal.com]

Wow. Writing Fanfiction is harder than I realised. I sat down tonight determind to write a drabble after being inspired by the song lyric which I've put at the top of the story, but it mutated so much I gave up. This is my second "proper" Fic, and first ever Whose Line one.. so be nice!

Title: Shiny
Author: Red
Rating: R
Pairing: Greg/Clive
Summary: Jokes onstage turn into something else after recording. Man, that sounds cheesy. Word Count - 412.

At the after bars
Think I was sullied by a dream
In the killing jar
You and me at war, at arms
All falling in embrace
- "Shiny", The Decemberists

Every joke, every snide remark leaves behind a roomful of laughter and butterflies in your stomach. You swagger through games punctuated with teasing banter. Performing for him, shamelessly. Loving every criticism as if it were the kindest compliment. Ryan; looking away, vaguely smirking to himself and Colin staring blankly out into the crowd with embarrassment in his eyes and a worried expression on his face usually reserved for hoedowns. It’s a battle of control as you pretend to hold the door shut during Party Quirks. It’s a battle of control when he buzzes you out mid-joke. You meet his eye through Lets Make A Date. Sometimes he lets you win.

In the bar after the recording. Sliding shiny coins into the fruit machine and cursing to yourself, before walking over to the bar to join him. A flick of a lighter and a spark of conversation. His eyes gleaming through a cloud of cigarette smoke. Sitting across the table so calmly, so nonchalantly like you don’t know what he’s really thinking. Close enough to lean over and whisper into his ear an invitation.

Back in your apartment; you pouring the whiskey as he laughs at the paintings on your walls and staggers past the shirt draped over the back of the sofa to join you, slurring; “Who on Earth are Nine Inch Nails?” A clink as the bottle hits glass. It burns your throat. The room is spinning already and you’ve both sunken into a drunken haze, but neither of you is too far gone not to notice how close you are sitting to each other. Your creased, tie-less shirts the only thing between neighbouring shoulders as he leans heavily against you. When you turn towards him you can feel his hot, alcohol soaked breath in your face. The room grinds to a halt. He raises an eyebrow, amused by the silent intimacy and it strikes you how this is the first time you’ve ever really been alone with him.

And then you’re kissing him and his hands are at your cheeks, cupping round your neck, in your hair. His moist, hungry tongue slides past your lips. His whole body presses against you and into you, your teeth clashing together as he grunts into your mouth. Thrusting forward at the pelvis, moaning at the touch and for a split second you’re just coherent enough to realize that this is really happening before desire takes over…

In this game, the points do matter.