wl_fanfiction | Fic: Lights And Music

I thought it was about time for my first post here. Can I request an author tag?

Title: Lights And Music
Author: Sinead
Pairing: Chip/Wayne (or, as my sister and I like to call it, ‘Chocolate Chip’ - think about it!), incidental Greg/Brad
Word Count: 1,742
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with any persons mentioned in this story, and I am making no claims about their actual lives. No offence is intended, I’m not making any money, and this is all for fun.
Warnings: Weird format. (Mostly) Greg POV.
Summary: Greg overhears a conversation between Chip and Wayne, and the line between dream and reality is blurred.
Author's Notes: Cross posted to

wliialove. My first Whose Line fic. Not what I imagined I’d write for my first contribution to the fandom, but I think I’m okay with it. This is for my dear sister

sinful_teddy, who loves Chip/Wayne.
Comments are love, constructive feedback is welcome.
Enjoy! ^_^

I have something to tell you.

I’m listening...

I have this habit of observing people. I listen to their conversations, follow their body language, and interpret the scenes in my own way. It’s like eavesdropping I suppose, only more creative. Story telling for the uninspired and lazy. Or just a way to pass the time, less harmful than that inevitable next cigarette.

You were in my dream last night.

He’s nervous. It’s not so much evident in his voice, but I can see it in the way he’s holding himself. Barely sitting in his chair, body angled away from his addressee, shoulders slightly hunched. His foot is tapping erratically as if to some electro rhythm, though the room is silent. He’s not at all himself, and I’m undeniably intrigued.

Really?

There’s a smile, casual and friendly. A sort of obligatory half interest that most people extend upon the subject of their friends’ dreams. But there’s something more. The slight flicker in his eyes, a hidden excitement concerning his involvement indicates to me that he’s more interested than he’s letting on.

(Silence)

Chip and Wayne are never like this, especially not around each other. Wayne has always been the epitome of confidence; the smooth talking, chocolate skinned comic with a killer voice and a smile that I’m quite sure could blind someone. Right now he’s acting more like an awkward teen on his first date. Chip, too, seems more reserved than usual. He leans back in his chair, fiddling with a loose thread on his trousers, and shoots a questioning look in Wayne’s direction.

You going to tell me about it?

As I watch Wayne fidget and avoid extended eye contact with Chip, I settle down into my own green room chair, ready to listen.

It’s kind of strange...

I don’t care, I’d like to hear it.

He’s being polite, but it’s also true. That flicker of greater interest flashes in his eyes again, and I find myself drawn to Chip, subconsciously putting myself in his position. I’ve already made the decision to tell this story, and now I feel the need not just to hear it but to experience it.

We were in a club.

A silhouette on a dimly lit stage. Fake smoke brushes his ankles, curls around his legs. Everything is silent, still.
A single drawn out chord, piano, vibrates around the room.
There’s an awe struck crowd, surely. But only one person is watching.
Dark skin that should cloak him stands out.
Eyes glitter.
Heart beats.
The figure on stage bows low.
The quiet anticipation of everybody and nobody hums through the air.

You were on a stage.

The silhouette, darker somehow than his glowing observer, straightens up. There is more piano music, disjointed chords limping across the floorboards and up the walls. They echo in the ear, falling slowly into silence.

There was a light.

Movement breaks the sound barrier. A twirl, simple and quick. The figure on stage is illuminated in harshest white, and his skin is almost translucent. His audience falls into shadow, skin blending with the darkness.
High eyes scan the empty crowd.
He smiles.

I was watching you.

Eyes meet. Everything is black and white. Off stage, on stage. Low and high. Observation and exhibition.
The music is sudden.
The figure doesn’t falter.
A thousand lights sparkle from the rafters.
All attention is on him.

And you danced.

Lights, music, pounding bass.
He moves with impossible grace, perfect timing.
Arms out, hips sway, body turns.
Mesmerising.

...You danced for me.

Above, the performer is unstoppable.
Stage lights and artificial smoke curl around him, swirling, dancing with him. He warms the air, sweat and unbounded energy.
Below, the other watches.
Breathing is stifled, the air is hot and suffocating. He can’t draw his eyes away, and he knows it’s all for him.

Was I good?

You were hypnotic.

He can’t move. Nothing exists but the man on stage, the lights and the music, his own hammering heart.
It feels like the dancer is reaching out towards him. Down from the stage, eyes trained on him, hips swinging with the fading music.
A pale hand on his cheek.
Hot breath.
For a few seconds, this is everything.
Then suddenly, there’s nothing at all.

(Silence)

Time has stopped.
He knows he’s dreaming.

Then what happened?

But the fantasy is over. Tinkling piano music and the soft glow of a stage light rainbow echo in the background of his mind.
It had all been so real.
More real though, is the reappearing green room. Drew’s voice piercing the silence, Ryan chuckling off to one side. The room is busy now, full of people running this way and that, and my involvement in Wayne’s story is brought to a finish.

I woke up.

Brad flops down in an empty seat beside me and breaks my connection. I smile at him like I always do, but I sense that the dream wasn’t the end of the story. I keep my focus on Chip and Wayne as Brad chats idly to me, seemingly unphased by my non-interest.
Something in the way Chip is looking at Wayne tells me he is disappointed that that’s how the dream ended.

You woke up?

Yeah.

Damn.

I was right. Apparently though, Wayne is surprised to hear Chip’s disappointment. Figures. His eyes widen minutely, barely noticeable. Chip grins at him, and there is something devious in that expression.
Next to me, Brad has stopped talking. I realise he’s watching Chip and Wayne as well. Without looking away from them, he asks me what’s going on. I reply in the same manner, although I feel somewhat guilty sharing Wayne’s dream, and Brad is drawn in too.
I get the feeling neither of us are going to move until this story is finished.

What do you think would have happened next?

It’s a mixture of embarrassment and surprise that crosses Wayne’s face then. Bless him though, he manages to remain almost totally composed as he turns to face Chip properly for the first time.

Do you really want to know?

He’s stalling. Chip looks slightly miffed. Impatience is threatening to break out and attack. Wayne should know better than to push Chip’s patience. I know he must be nervous as Hell, and I think I know what’s coming.

Yes.

(Beat)

Wayne glances speedily around the room. Brad and I are partially obscured by a runaway costume rack, and he doesn’t appear to notice us. Colin and Ryan are on their feet, following Drew out the door. He decides to jump at the moment of aloneness.

You were going to kiss me.

Beside me I can feel Brad’s sharp intake of breath. We both sit there, motionless, hardly daring to exhale. Suddenly I feel we’ve overstepped the boundary of privacy.
I tap Brad’s shoulder gently, and indicate towards the hall. He nods, and we silently get to our feet, making for the exit.
This is Wayne and Chip’s story, not ours.

~

“You were going to kiss me.” I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Chip looks at me firmly, and there’s something like determination in his eyes. I don’t know what to think.

He says nothing, and I’m starting to feel fairly stupid.
I really wish he’d speak.

~

Wayne is embarrassed. I can’t think of what to say. Does he want to kiss me?
I look around us.
We’re alone.
I want to kiss him.

~

“Chip...”

It’s all I can manage. It’s too quiet, and he’s too close. I can’t form coherent thoughts.

~

I smile at him. His glossy skin shines in the warm light of the green room.
He looks panicked. I lean towards him, and it’s too close to be friendly. I can feel his uneven breaths against my skin.

“You know what?” I say. “I think I would have kissed you.”

~

I think I would have kissed you.

Okay, so I came back. There is some level of guilt and intrusion mounting in my mind, but the pull of curiosity is greater. Brad’s beside me again. It’s not our business, but we need to see how this ends.

(Beat)

Do it.

Wayne shocks me with the sudden return to his usual confident self. Chip looks shocked too, but there’s no question that he plans on following through.

The air is thick with tension, and I feel a nervous tingle down my own spine. Brad grabs onto my wrist, wringing the effect of the suspense out of his system. I can feel the clammy sweat on his palm.
We are both overly invested in this.

Then it happens. It’s abrupt, and both Brad and myself have to contain our reactions. He squeezes my wrist tighter, and I let my hand slide up into his. It feels oddly intimate, and I’m not sure either of us realise what we’re doing. We’re too focussed on Chip and Wayne.

They are still seated, but leaning in to one another. Chip has a shaking hand pressed into the back of Wayne’s shoulder, and the other on his forearm. Wayne’s free hand is in Chip’s hair, hesitant and gentle. Their lips press together tightly, and the spark in the room in almost palpable. I feel their energy buzz through me, and I shuffle subconsciously closer to Brad. It’s amazing to watch.

Watching them kiss, everything seems to make sense. The perfect connection they have when they sing, the sizes and shapes of their bodies. It’s all made for this. They’re made for this.

Brad is sighing, and I can feel it on my neck. I don’t know when we got so close, but I find it doesn’t bother me. It seems fitting. Part of Chip and Wayne’s story somehow, or because of it.

Their kiss is long and tender, an ideal first time. I can tell they’ve both been thinking about this moment for a long while.

When they break apart, they don’t separate. Chip leans his head against Wayne’s, and they are breathing as one. Black and white melt together. Brad rests his head on my shoulder. My vision swims.

I can see them in the club, Chip on stage, Wayne watching him. The dancing and the mesmerised eyes. Sweat, colour, lights and music. The dream and the reality. A kiss, long overdue.

And I know that this, right now, is how it was meant to end.

Wayne sighs contentedly.

I think that’s what would have happened.

...I like it.