FIC: Barometer 1/1

[lorenafire.livejournal.com]

Figured it was okay to post my Secret Santa for everybody...also Clay's journal sounds like there's an imminent explosion if I don't disclose my authorship.

So here's Barometer, written for Clay's request of a "Greg/Jeff fic, and sarcasm or wordplay would be much appreciated." Also asked for not uber-sap or uber-angst. Thus emerged this.



Title: Barometer

Pairings: primarily Jeff/Greg, but with references to Greg/Ryan and Jeff/Brad

Rating: R for language

Summary: Green Screen's been an awkward experience for Jeff so far. And it doesn't appear to get any better when he admits to Greg he really, really wants to do him.

~~~
I can't believe I'm sitting here.

It's all Ryan's fault, you know.

If Ryan had just done Green Screen like the rest of us, this would never have happened. But no, the bastard had to run off after the first taping, leaving me alone on a show where the rest of the cast is constantly in a bad mood.

I'm not kidding. Everyone.

Without Ryan, Colin is lonely and can't justify being in LA, as much as he hates the city. So he's grouchy. Without Ryan, Greg has no one to think about, so he's stuck with his midlife crisis. Without Ryan, Drew has no one to snipe at full-out; for whatever reason, he edits himself around the rest of us.

Since Colin and Greg are both no fun, Brad mopes and bitches. And the new guys - Sean, Kathy, everyone - they just back off, a little unsure what role they're expected to play.

Leaving me, a Whose Line vet who still misses it, wondering why the hell I signed on for this show.

I mean, I think what Drew's trying to create here is a great idea, and I appreciate getting the spot, but it's personally infuriating. Once we're on stage and there's a live, excited audience, we all get our groove on, but in the meantime the air's a little strange.

We have a few drinks together back at our hotel, we talk and tease and relax...but no one's really having a good time.

Doesn't help that I think Greg's hot when he's bitchy.

Yeah, yeah, I know, we're all wrong for each other and it's a really, really bad idea to think about him like that. Believe me, I've overanalyzed it enough for the both of us.

Well, okay, Brad and I have overanalyzed it enough for the both of us.

And, I mean, that just proves my point- this whole thing is messed up. Because who sits around with their current boyfriend and talks about how disturbingly attractive a much older guy is?

Yeah, that would be me.

Brad thinks it's funny; I just keep thanking God he isn't upset. It's not like the two of us are serious or anything - we're just frustrated and tense.

We've talked about that, too.

This past week has just been awkward silence after awkward moment after awkward silence.

And somehow it's all rolled together into right now, this giant ball of uncomfortable quiet as Greg stares at me over his cigarette. I think I may have just told him I want him, and I think that may have been a bad idea.

His lips are slowly curving into a smirk, and yep, definitely a bad idea.

"You know what? Nevermind. I'm just going to go upstairs now-"

He reaches out and grabs my wrist as I stand. Apparently he doesn't want me to leave.

"Jeff." His smile is sharklike, and suddenly I'm more than a little nervous. "Sit. Let's talk."

Instinctively I glance around, looking for someone to save me from the sudden brightness in Greg's eyes, and Brad meets my gaze from across the room. I want him to walk over and drag me back to his room to fuck, want him to go all possessive and...boyfriendish...on me, but no, the bastard has to be a *friend* and *supportive* and leave the bar with a wink.

Abandoning me with Greg and a roomful of strangers.

Shit.

"So, Jeff," and crap, Greg sounds way too delighted with my state of mind, "Do I correctly get the impression that that was your pathetic attempt to hit on me?"

I wince, because he's right. If my blurted, poorly phrased confession had been a pick-up line it would have been sad and desperate...but it hadn't been a pick up line.

"Hardly. I just...thought there were a few details about our working relationship you should know." There. Dignified, but not standoffish.

His mouth twitches. " 'I wish you'd fuck me, Greg' is a detail?"

I reach across the table and jerk a cigarette out of the pack he's left lying on the table. I get the feeling I may need one.

Greg hands me his lighter, and maybe I imagine it but his fingers brush mine a lot more than they really have to, in handing me a Bic.

I light up and he watches. There's something calculating in his gaze; I'd be freaked out, but...it's Greg.

"The thing with the monkey was funny," he says abruptly, changing subjects entirely.

I shrug.

"What the hell made you think of a monkey?"

"What made Colin say 'animal porn'?" It seems like a logical response to me - both skits had been equally ridiculous.

"Ryan."

"What?"

"Colin says stuff like that to see Ryan's face. He gets a kick out of cracking him up on stage." Greg takes a deep drag and continues. "So who're you trying to entertain?"

I hesitate. "Just the audience, Greg."

"Bullshit. No one does it just for the crowd, Jeff. Everyone's got a person they use as a barometer, to make sure you're on the right track. Colin uses Ryan, I use whoever's hosting - Clive in Britain and Drew here - who do you watch while you're performing?"

"Usually...usually I watch you."

Greg nods sagely. "You really do have a crush on me, don't you?"

I nod, slowly. "Though I object to use of the term 'crush' - isn't it just a little prepubescent?"

Greg's grin is sudden, and it makes me feel a little better about this whole nightmare of a conversation. "So are you, comparatively."

"There are advantages to that."

Oh, hell. I'm flirting. Cheesily.

I'm just one step away from actively leering at him.

Screw it.

I leer, a little.

Greg's laughing outright now, and well, that's something, I guess.

"You do know I'm like twice your age?"

"And this matters because..." I trail off, letting my smile say everything. I think I may be winning, here.

"And that I'm still a little in love with Ryan?"

That throws me for a momentary loop. Didn't expect an emotional statement of any sort.

"I'm screwing Brad?" I offer, hoping it's enough of a counterattack to let us move on - hopefully up to Greg's room.

He snorts. "Should have known."

"Look...Greg, I'm not saying I'm in love with you. I'm not saying I want to move in or start a relationship with a capital R or anything. I'm saying I really, really want to see you naked. Is this a problem?"

He stubs out his cigarette, and I follow suit, hoping.

"Come on," he says finally, pushing back from the small table. "I want to show you my room. I've got a great balcony."

"Um...okay." I'll take the bait.

"I wonder if it would be suicidal to fuck a guy who was leaning on the railing?" Greg's voice is perfectly calm as he takes my elbow and leads me, unresisting, out of the bar.

"Probably."

He nods, walking slowly so I stay in perfect time with him.

"I'm kind of a nutjob, though," I say helpfully, and startle a laugh from him.

Brad's leaning casually against a wall in the lobby, and smirks at me as he sees the way Greg's leading. Yeah, laugh it up, asshole - I get to sleep with Greg, so "ha" back at you.

There's a swift pressure against my side and suddenly Greg's kissing me, hard and messy, going for sheer overwhelming sensation and not any particular technique.

*Hell* yes.

I'm just getting into it properly - settling in, one hand in his hair, the other holding his waist against me - when he shoves me backwards, sending me off balance.

"Balcony?"

"Sure, whatever, wherever - here?" I pant, a little disjointed but apparently it makes sense to Greg as he laughs again. It's nice to see him so openly giddy, not all cynical and harsh.

Barometer, huh?

Thanks for ditching Green Screen, Ryan, I think, and let Greg pull me upstairs.

~Fin.