but you're coming back again (Conan/Andy fic)
Title: but you're coming back again
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: 1831
Disclaimer: The events in this piece of fiction are, in fact, fictional, and do not in any way reflect real life. I am not, nor do I know, either of the people depicted herein, and I am not profiting from this in any way.
Summary: Conan/Andy. Very slow progression. AU, set following Andy leaving LNwCOB.
Title from "Finding Me" by Vertical Horizon.
I am blaming this on sleep deprivation and finals and stress. I've never even seriously considered pairing them before.
...but you're coming back again...
Conan and Andy are straight.
They never experimented in college, never had their imaginations get away from them, never looked at another man and thought what if?
Oh, they make jokes and they tease and they grope each other inappropriately, but it’s because they’re comfortable, and they’re friends, and they’ve never thought anything of any of it.
They’re just having fun.
Andy leaves Conan in 2000.
(In the Year 2000, that’s one they never saw coming)
They hang out, of course. They call each other. They bicker back and forth and prank each other long distance and drop by unexpectedly.
It’s not the same, but they try to pretend it is.
Conan backs Andy 110%. He supports him and laughs with him and is completely sure that Andy will get the break he needs.
Andy sort of knows he never should have left Conan, but he doesn’t mention it.
Conan wishes Andy hadn’t left him, but he answers the phone every time Andy calls and let’s Andy talk about the latest interview or possible project for more time than he really has to give. Andy knows how much time Conan’s job takes up.
He still keeps talking long after he knows he should hang up.
One year after Andy leaves, Conan is newly single and Andy is helping him get drunk. Really, truly smashed. Trashed for an Irishman.
They talk-really talk.
Andy almost breaks down when he says he wishes he hadn’t left, and Conan has a hard time letting go after he hugs him.
They take a cab back to Andy’s around three in the morning-Andy’s place is closer, Andy’s place is smaller, Andy’s place is less likely to make Conan feel like an absolute ass.
Andy grabs more beers out of the fridge while Conan moves things off the couch and the coffee table. They never were quite roommates, but they’ve known each other and lived in close enough quarters for the show that it mostly seems like they were.
Conan is feeling nostalgic, throwing Andy’s sweatshirt onto the beanbag chair that’s in the corner-the beanbag chair that used to be in Andy’s office, that Conan used to try to sprawl upon, his long legs tripping up anyone in the room.
Conan is feeling nostalgic and maybe something else, and when Andy leans against the doorway, two cold ones in his hand, that something else kicks it up a notch.
Andy sets the two open beers on the newly clean coffee table and walks over to Conan. They’re drunk, they’re so entirely drunk, and they’ve always been like this, haven’t they?
Andy buries his face in Conan’s chest and Conan wraps his arms around him, and they end up half-sprawled on top of the beanbag chair and Andy’s sweatshirt, Conan wrapped around Andy as if he can make everything better, make everything go back to how it used to be.
He can’t, of course.
But for the night they pretend the year 2000 is still some future far-off place.
They don’t get awkward around each other. They don’t talk about waking up in the morning, Conan’s shirt still damp from Andy’s combined tears and drool, but that’s more because they’ve been friends for too long, and they shouldn’t have to talk about it, because what’s there to talk about?
They call each other up on the phone, as Andy explores new options in the world of entertainment and Conan settles into his moderate fame.
Andy doesn’t come back. Andy doesn’t want to come back, and Conan knows that. Andy wants to make a name for himself, and he thinks that’s something he has to do on his own.
Conan listens to him talk about interviews and auditions, and doesn’t ask him to come home.
By the time 2002 rolls around, Conan has settled down to working with Max, playing off of Max.
Andy had never asked about when Conan was going to get his replacement, and Conan had never admitted that he couldn’t imagine anyone replacing Andy.
Finally, though, finally Andy asks him.
And Conan tells him.
And maybe Andy realizes he never needed to stray so far away to find what he was looking for.
Christmas of 2002, Andy stays at Conan’s place.
They don’t want to go home to their families; they don’t want to be alone. It’s an old story, and Conan doesn’t think twice about telling Andy to get his ass over to his place because he’s lonely.
They make eggnog and curl up by the fire.
Conan plays a few Christmas songs on his guitar, and Andy sprawls out on the ground.
Two hours later Andy’s playing with Conan’s hair while Conan giggles about some late night joke Johnny Carson said almost two decades ago.
The next morning, Christmas Eve, Andy makes breakfast, and Conan is properly appreciative of the fact that he didn’t burn the place down.
They wrap gifts and decorate the tree and Andy teases Conan about how much he likes the old traditions.
Christmas morning Conan wakes up entirely too early, and goes in to wake up Andy. Andy categorically refuses to get up, so Conan crawls into bed and they end up cuddled up against the cold air.
Andy stays until New Year's.
(Neither of them admits that they rather wish they were roommates for real.)
Easter of 2003, Andy informs Conan with a telephone call that he’s coming over. Conan, despite the fact that it’s less than two weeks from Easter, has yet to make any plans, and he sounds delighted on the telephone.
(He’s actually thrilled, not delighted.)
Andy insists on hiding Easter eggs. Conan insists on decorating Easter eggs.
Between the two of them, they make a passable Easter dinner.
They watch It’s the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown. Andy insists on talking through it, so Conan starts translating what the adults are actually saying.
Somehow it ends up with the both of them asleep on the couch, half on top of each other.
August of 2003, Conan calls Andy and asks him to come over.
Andy comes.
Conan asks Andy to stay for dinner.
Andy stays.
Conan suggests that maybe, since Andy is between projects, he could stay for a couple of days.
Andy agrees.
October of 2003, Andy officially moves in.
He leaves his sweatshirt on the coffee table and his dishes in the sink.
Conan, oddly enough, doesn’t mind.
Andy-Andy doesn’t want to lose face, so Conan resists, and resists, and resists trying to convince him to come back.
Jeff Goldblum is on the show one night, poking Conan and pinching his nose and Conan tries on Jeff’s glasses with a flourish. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Which doesn’t explain why Andy’s in such a bad mood the next day, when he’s seen the show.
“Why don’t you have Jeff be your new sidekick?” he spits, frustrated and furious, and Conan-Conan who has been waiting and wishing since the day Andy walked out of the studio for the last time as an employee, stares at him, utterly confused.
“I don’t want him to be my sidekick,” he says, voice trying for even.
Andy stalks off to the other side of the house.
“I should pay rent,” Andy says.
Conan says it’s ridiculous.
Andy swears.
Conan rolls his eyes.
Andy yells.
Conan says, “Why, why-you walk away from the show, you walk away from me, and now I can’t even pay the fucking rent on my own house because you what-you can’t stand me? You have to-to prove that you’re separate from me, because-because-”
Conan’s hands are shaking, and he wipes viciously at his face, because he’s not-he’s not-
Andy grabs him, pulls him in, and Conan tucks himself into a smaller form, slides his face into Andy’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” Andy whispers.
“Come back,” Conan says.
Andy comes back.
He thinks, vaguely, gnawingly, that he should feel like a failure, that he’s accomplished nothing, that he’s right back where he started.
The audience gives him a standing ovation on his first night back.
…and his second.
People want autographs.
People want pictures of Conan and Andy.
Andy blinks, and wonders why he ever thought something was missing.
Conan watches, silent, and grins.
Summer of 2004, Andy starts drinking one Friday night with a purpose. Conan is not far behind.
They take shots.
(Conan hates shots, but refuses to admit it. Tonight, however, they don’t care.)
They watch really terrible old B-movies with monsters that you can practically see the zippers on.
Conan’s legs are stretched out across the couch, across Andy, across the opposite armrest.
Andy tries to get up to get another beer, and Conan refuses to let him. Naturally, this results in an impromptu wrestling match, except they’re both too drunk to quite keep their balance.
It ends with Andy sitting on Conan’s waist.
It ends with Andy sitting on Conan’s waist, leaning over him, smirking.
It ends with Andy sitting on Conan’s waist, leaning over him, mouth warm on his.
They don’t get awkward around each other. They don’t talk about waking up in the morning, curled up on the floor, Conan’s hand tangled in Andy’s shirt and Andy’s head pillowed on Conan’s chest, the taste of alcohol in their mouths. What’s a few drunken kisses?
They’ve been friends for too long, and they shouldn’t have to talk about it, because what’s there to talk about?
That night, before they go to bed, Andy presses a kiss to Conan’s lips.
The next afternoon, Conan catches Andy in the hallway.
A few stolen kisses amongst friends, is all.
Nothing to see here.
Fall of 2004, Andy tries to wake Conan up one Saturday morning to go see a movie. Conan is adamant that he is not getting out of bed, and Andy basically says fuck walking all the while back to his room and crawls in with Conan.
Two weeks later, Conan’s bed is entirely, ridiculously too far away, so he climbs in with Andy.
Eventually, they’re sharing a bed more often than not.
But plenty of friends like to cuddle.
New Year’s Eve 2004, Andy goes down on Conan.
Maybe they’re drunk. Maybe they’re bored. Maybe they’re tired, or on a sugar high, or playing chicken, or tired of being alone.
Maybe they’re just tired of waiting.
New Year’s Day 2005, Conan and Andy wake up in the same bed.
Conan kisses Andy good morning.
Andy slides a finger down Conan’s arm.
The start of a new year is for promises and beginnings, out with the old and in with the new.
“You aren’t going to leave me again, are you?” Conan asks, failing miserably at any sort of stoic face.
Andy kisses the worry lines away.
“No,” he says. “I know where I want to be.”
They've been friends long enough, they don’t have to say anything else.
Maybe it’s time to try being something more.
Finis
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: 1831
Disclaimer: The events in this piece of fiction are, in fact, fictional, and do not in any way reflect real life. I am not, nor do I know, either of the people depicted herein, and I am not profiting from this in any way.
Summary: Conan/Andy. Very slow progression. AU, set following Andy leaving LNwCOB.
Title from "Finding Me" by Vertical Horizon.
I am blaming this on sleep deprivation and finals and stress. I've never even seriously considered pairing them before.
...but you're coming back again...
Conan and Andy are straight.
They never experimented in college, never had their imaginations get away from them, never looked at another man and thought what if?
Oh, they make jokes and they tease and they grope each other inappropriately, but it’s because they’re comfortable, and they’re friends, and they’ve never thought anything of any of it.
They’re just having fun.
Andy leaves Conan in 2000.
(In the Year 2000, that’s one they never saw coming)
They hang out, of course. They call each other. They bicker back and forth and prank each other long distance and drop by unexpectedly.
It’s not the same, but they try to pretend it is.
Conan backs Andy 110%. He supports him and laughs with him and is completely sure that Andy will get the break he needs.
Andy sort of knows he never should have left Conan, but he doesn’t mention it.
Conan wishes Andy hadn’t left him, but he answers the phone every time Andy calls and let’s Andy talk about the latest interview or possible project for more time than he really has to give. Andy knows how much time Conan’s job takes up.
He still keeps talking long after he knows he should hang up.
One year after Andy leaves, Conan is newly single and Andy is helping him get drunk. Really, truly smashed. Trashed for an Irishman.
They talk-really talk.
Andy almost breaks down when he says he wishes he hadn’t left, and Conan has a hard time letting go after he hugs him.
They take a cab back to Andy’s around three in the morning-Andy’s place is closer, Andy’s place is smaller, Andy’s place is less likely to make Conan feel like an absolute ass.
Andy grabs more beers out of the fridge while Conan moves things off the couch and the coffee table. They never were quite roommates, but they’ve known each other and lived in close enough quarters for the show that it mostly seems like they were.
Conan is feeling nostalgic, throwing Andy’s sweatshirt onto the beanbag chair that’s in the corner-the beanbag chair that used to be in Andy’s office, that Conan used to try to sprawl upon, his long legs tripping up anyone in the room.
Conan is feeling nostalgic and maybe something else, and when Andy leans against the doorway, two cold ones in his hand, that something else kicks it up a notch.
Andy sets the two open beers on the newly clean coffee table and walks over to Conan. They’re drunk, they’re so entirely drunk, and they’ve always been like this, haven’t they?
Andy buries his face in Conan’s chest and Conan wraps his arms around him, and they end up half-sprawled on top of the beanbag chair and Andy’s sweatshirt, Conan wrapped around Andy as if he can make everything better, make everything go back to how it used to be.
He can’t, of course.
But for the night they pretend the year 2000 is still some future far-off place.
They don’t get awkward around each other. They don’t talk about waking up in the morning, Conan’s shirt still damp from Andy’s combined tears and drool, but that’s more because they’ve been friends for too long, and they shouldn’t have to talk about it, because what’s there to talk about?
They call each other up on the phone, as Andy explores new options in the world of entertainment and Conan settles into his moderate fame.
Andy doesn’t come back. Andy doesn’t want to come back, and Conan knows that. Andy wants to make a name for himself, and he thinks that’s something he has to do on his own.
Conan listens to him talk about interviews and auditions, and doesn’t ask him to come home.
By the time 2002 rolls around, Conan has settled down to working with Max, playing off of Max.
Andy had never asked about when Conan was going to get his replacement, and Conan had never admitted that he couldn’t imagine anyone replacing Andy.
Finally, though, finally Andy asks him.
And Conan tells him.
And maybe Andy realizes he never needed to stray so far away to find what he was looking for.
Christmas of 2002, Andy stays at Conan’s place.
They don’t want to go home to their families; they don’t want to be alone. It’s an old story, and Conan doesn’t think twice about telling Andy to get his ass over to his place because he’s lonely.
They make eggnog and curl up by the fire.
Conan plays a few Christmas songs on his guitar, and Andy sprawls out on the ground.
Two hours later Andy’s playing with Conan’s hair while Conan giggles about some late night joke Johnny Carson said almost two decades ago.
The next morning, Christmas Eve, Andy makes breakfast, and Conan is properly appreciative of the fact that he didn’t burn the place down.
They wrap gifts and decorate the tree and Andy teases Conan about how much he likes the old traditions.
Christmas morning Conan wakes up entirely too early, and goes in to wake up Andy. Andy categorically refuses to get up, so Conan crawls into bed and they end up cuddled up against the cold air.
Andy stays until New Year's.
(Neither of them admits that they rather wish they were roommates for real.)
Easter of 2003, Andy informs Conan with a telephone call that he’s coming over. Conan, despite the fact that it’s less than two weeks from Easter, has yet to make any plans, and he sounds delighted on the telephone.
(He’s actually thrilled, not delighted.)
Andy insists on hiding Easter eggs. Conan insists on decorating Easter eggs.
Between the two of them, they make a passable Easter dinner.
They watch It’s the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown. Andy insists on talking through it, so Conan starts translating what the adults are actually saying.
Somehow it ends up with the both of them asleep on the couch, half on top of each other.
August of 2003, Conan calls Andy and asks him to come over.
Andy comes.
Conan asks Andy to stay for dinner.
Andy stays.
Conan suggests that maybe, since Andy is between projects, he could stay for a couple of days.
Andy agrees.
October of 2003, Andy officially moves in.
He leaves his sweatshirt on the coffee table and his dishes in the sink.
Conan, oddly enough, doesn’t mind.
Andy-Andy doesn’t want to lose face, so Conan resists, and resists, and resists trying to convince him to come back.
Jeff Goldblum is on the show one night, poking Conan and pinching his nose and Conan tries on Jeff’s glasses with a flourish. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Which doesn’t explain why Andy’s in such a bad mood the next day, when he’s seen the show.
“Why don’t you have Jeff be your new sidekick?” he spits, frustrated and furious, and Conan-Conan who has been waiting and wishing since the day Andy walked out of the studio for the last time as an employee, stares at him, utterly confused.
“I don’t want him to be my sidekick,” he says, voice trying for even.
Andy stalks off to the other side of the house.
“I should pay rent,” Andy says.
Conan says it’s ridiculous.
Andy swears.
Conan rolls his eyes.
Andy yells.
Conan says, “Why, why-you walk away from the show, you walk away from me, and now I can’t even pay the fucking rent on my own house because you what-you can’t stand me? You have to-to prove that you’re separate from me, because-because-”
Conan’s hands are shaking, and he wipes viciously at his face, because he’s not-he’s not-
Andy grabs him, pulls him in, and Conan tucks himself into a smaller form, slides his face into Andy’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” Andy whispers.
“Come back,” Conan says.
Andy comes back.
He thinks, vaguely, gnawingly, that he should feel like a failure, that he’s accomplished nothing, that he’s right back where he started.
The audience gives him a standing ovation on his first night back.
…and his second.
People want autographs.
People want pictures of Conan and Andy.
Andy blinks, and wonders why he ever thought something was missing.
Conan watches, silent, and grins.
Summer of 2004, Andy starts drinking one Friday night with a purpose. Conan is not far behind.
They take shots.
(Conan hates shots, but refuses to admit it. Tonight, however, they don’t care.)
They watch really terrible old B-movies with monsters that you can practically see the zippers on.
Conan’s legs are stretched out across the couch, across Andy, across the opposite armrest.
Andy tries to get up to get another beer, and Conan refuses to let him. Naturally, this results in an impromptu wrestling match, except they’re both too drunk to quite keep their balance.
It ends with Andy sitting on Conan’s waist.
It ends with Andy sitting on Conan’s waist, leaning over him, smirking.
It ends with Andy sitting on Conan’s waist, leaning over him, mouth warm on his.
They don’t get awkward around each other. They don’t talk about waking up in the morning, curled up on the floor, Conan’s hand tangled in Andy’s shirt and Andy’s head pillowed on Conan’s chest, the taste of alcohol in their mouths. What’s a few drunken kisses?
They’ve been friends for too long, and they shouldn’t have to talk about it, because what’s there to talk about?
That night, before they go to bed, Andy presses a kiss to Conan’s lips.
The next afternoon, Conan catches Andy in the hallway.
A few stolen kisses amongst friends, is all.
Nothing to see here.
Fall of 2004, Andy tries to wake Conan up one Saturday morning to go see a movie. Conan is adamant that he is not getting out of bed, and Andy basically says fuck walking all the while back to his room and crawls in with Conan.
Two weeks later, Conan’s bed is entirely, ridiculously too far away, so he climbs in with Andy.
Eventually, they’re sharing a bed more often than not.
But plenty of friends like to cuddle.
New Year’s Eve 2004, Andy goes down on Conan.
Maybe they’re drunk. Maybe they’re bored. Maybe they’re tired, or on a sugar high, or playing chicken, or tired of being alone.
Maybe they’re just tired of waiting.
New Year’s Day 2005, Conan and Andy wake up in the same bed.
Conan kisses Andy good morning.
Andy slides a finger down Conan’s arm.
The start of a new year is for promises and beginnings, out with the old and in with the new.
“You aren’t going to leave me again, are you?” Conan asks, failing miserably at any sort of stoic face.
Andy kisses the worry lines away.
“No,” he says. “I know where I want to be.”
They've been friends long enough, they don’t have to say anything else.
Maybe it’s time to try being something more.
Finis