![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
crabby-monkey.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wl_fanfiction2007-08-30 09:50 pm
FIC: Blind/sighted 4 of ?
Words: 830-something
Stone-cold, out cold, let's fold...
It had been a bad day – first his plane was late, then they had to return to the airport because of “technical difficulties”, and then it took forever to find a cab in the worst rainstorm of the year. Wayne was sodden, tired, and totally fed up with most of humanity before he got to Greg’s apartment.
The lights were off, but they usually were when Eve and Wayne weren’t around. Wayne flicked the switch nearest the door, and the apartment blazed with light. Everything was quiet, and Wayne tiptoed down the hall to put his things in the guest room.
Eve was away, he rarely ‘slept in’ but had his own room. Wayne stopped at Greg’s door and knocked softly. No answer. As he opened the door, the light from the hallway streamed in. No one was in the master suite.
(Where could he be?)
The inspection tour eventually took Wayne to the recording studio. At first, Wayne didn’t see Greg. He was sitting on the floor, guitar in hand. The air around him was swirling with gray smoke – a joint dangled loosely from his lower lip, forgotten. Wayne quietly switched on the studio microphone.
The Beatles had a song, ‘While my guitar gently weeps’. Wayne never understood that phrase before, but this must have been what it sounded like. Greg’s eyes were closed, his fingers almost a blur as he played. The sound was wild, angry, hopeless and hopeful at the same time as the guitar screamed, moaned, pleaded and sobbed. It wailed, as frustrated as an overtired toddler who has just been told “No” for the fiftieth time. Wayne felt the hair on his neck rise. What he was hearing was everything that had happened to Greg, a wordless rant against the unfairness of life.
~Sshtwang~ “Fuck!” Greg screamed as one of the strings gave way under the abuse his fingers were dishing out. He dropped the guitar to the ground, kicking at it. He continued to swear while trying to stand. Wayne watched as Greg managed to get one leg stabilized, only to have his balance thwarted as his arms wind milled. “Fuckin’ high seas… ‘Bandon shrimp motha…” He managed to pitch forward onto his nose swearing and snorting – and Wayne decided he’d seen enough. He switched off the studio mic before heading into the studio.
The thick smell of marijuana wrapped around him as soon as Wayne opened the door. Greg was still trying to fold his legs underneath himself to try and stand up, but instead ended up looking more like an upside down turtle.
“Fuckin’ fucker fucked an’ fucked ‘er!” Blind eyes rolled searching for something that only he could see. With a hiccupping giggle, he managed to roll over onto his back. “I know what you’re thinking!” Wayne startled before realizing that the statement was being directed to the ceiling light. “’m not stoned – ‘m just buzzin’ like a busy bee. ‘Sides, I don’ want to get up, not no how.”
Wayne couldn’t help it, the smell of the pot was getting to him, and he sneezed.
“Who’s dere?”
“It’s me, Greg… C’mon, let me help you.” Wayne moved in closer to the older comedian – who managed to prop himself up on one elbow.
“No! Not ‘sposed to see m’ like this!” Greg smacked out at Wayne. Unfortunately, that caused him to overbalance… and he landed painfully at Wayne’s feet. “Quit fuckin’ moving the floor on me!”
“Come on, dude… the captain has turned on the no smoking sign, and we need to get you up and into your seat.” Wayne cautiously lifted the older comedian onto his feet, where Greg stood unsteadily.
“Yer a good pookie, man!” With a hiccupping sigh, Greg gently began to fold in half as he passed out.
“Dayum.” Wayne scooped him up and walked carefully out of the studio. The older man was lighter than expected… Just how much weight had Greg lost? Granted, he had put on some weight during the last year of taping, but he looked good now… or would have, if he hadn’t been slack-jawed and snoring.
Wayne carried Greg into his bedroom and gently set him down on the bed. Now, leave him as is? No. Better to undress him. Wayne unbuttoned the fly of Greg’s jeans and inched them off. Underneath, a pair of silk Dr. Seuss boxers proudly proclaimed ‘Thing One’ in front… and ‘Thing Two’ on the back. As a father, Wayne was more than familiar with the story and bit back a grin. The boxers weren’t new, so it was quite probable that Greg had bought them before he’d lost his sight. It was rather ironic that a man who proclaimed that children had no business being out in public until after puberty had been the voice of a children’s cartoon hero.
The tee shirt was a bit harder to remove, but Wayne finally managed it. Greg’s skin glowed in the dim light of the room, his cheekbones, ribs, and hips casting vague shadows on the surrounding skin. Even in this condition, he was beautiful – something that Wayne had never thought he’d say about another man. He gently brushed a stray curl from the sleeping man’s forehead, and was surprised when his hand was captured.
“Don’ go…” Greg’s eyes were still closed, his breathing regular, but he didn’t let go of Wayne’s hand.
no subject
More please!
no subject
And I could also hear him saying, "Quit moving the damn floor on me!"
no subject
The version I was hearing was that remix by Jake Shimabukuro where he plays it on a ukelele. It's absolutely heart rending and very, very lovely
Ha! Let's hope it works
Gently Weeps on Transbuddha (http://www.transbuddha.com/mediaHolder.php?id=576)
found it! You should really check this out *g*
no subject
The atmosphere u create is absolutely fascinating, i can say its almost kafkan...I like that story!good job!