Fanfiction - Hold Your Applause - Dale/Saul
Title: Hold Your Applause
Author: shadowpoet89
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing(s): Saul/Dale
Author's Note: Originally written for japanpeterpan, upon whose suggestion I cleaned it up and posted it here. It's also a bit on the angsty side, but not too much, I hope.
Sometimes Saul steals Dale's glasses when he's asleep, groping around in Dale's pockets until he feels the smooth plastic of Dale's old frames. He doesn't do it to be weird or date rape-y or anything, he just likes to try them on. Dale can lie knocked out for hours on Saul's couch. What else can he do? A guy has to entertain himself somehow. And he would just watch more episodes of Good Times but what's the point if he has to laugh really quietly so Dale won't wake up and start bitching at him? Fuck that.
So he takes Dale's glasses and wanders around the apartment, looking at himself in every mirror, squinting until he can see himself properly. He poses with random items that he thinks a person with glasses would have - an ink pen in his mouth, a really big dictionary, a cardigan thrown over one shoulder.
Eventually Saul makes his way to the bathroom, trying not to trip over anything or bang into any sharp corners. Once inside he quietly pulls the door into and heads straight for the sink. He squints at his reflection in the mirror but it doesn't look right - something is off. It takes him a minute, but he figures out what.
He roots around underneath the sink, feeling past bottles of bathroom cleaner until he finds what he's looking for - a brush. It's kind of old - there's some lint in it and when he shakes it he thinks maybe a spider falls off - but whatever, it'll do. He places the end of the brush in his mouth and turns the water on so that he can wet his hands and bring them up to pat his hair. It takes too long to wet his hair like that, though, so eventually he just says fuck it. He puts the brush down and dips his entire head into the sink, right underneath the spray. When his hair is wet enough he grabs the brush again and begins to comb his hair back as best he can. He grits his teeth when it hurts, and after a minute grabs the lone elastic band he keeps in his pocket for emergencies and pulls his hair into a ponytail at the back of his head. When he looks into the mirror again, he looks sort of respectable - a civil engineer on his day off.
A small smile on his face, he pushes Dale's glasses higher up his nose. He grabs the nearest bottle of shampoo (that fruity shit he bought like six months ago) and holds it up in his hands.
A deep breath and a smile.
"This is so unexpected," he says. The mirror does not respond. Saul looks again at the bottle in his hands and then back up at the mirror, laughing softly. "I don't know what to say. There's just so many people to thank, oh my god." He clears his throat. "Well, first, I'd like to thank my Bubbe for buying me my first set of legos. Without her I probably wouldn't be here today, accepting this Nobel Prize for being the World's Best Civil Engineer Ever." He pauses for applause and a gracious smile before he continues. "And my best friends, Red and Dale, for being the best fucking friends a guy could have. This one's for-"
"Saul?"
Dale is standing at the door, looking sleepy and bleary-eyed. Saul drops the shampoo bottle and it falls heavily into the sink with a dull thud.
"What the fuck, man, don't you knock?" he yells. "I'm in the bathroom!"
"Dude, are those-" Dale starts.
Saul grabs the door knob and shuts the door before Dale can say anything else. He leans against it for a moment, feeling his face heat up. His heart is thundering in his chest; he doesn't do surprises. He exhales slowly through his nose and starts to rubs his eyes but he forgets he's wearing the glasses. His palms crash into them and they knock into his face, digging into the bridge of his nose. It fucking hurts. Cursing, Saul returns to the sink. Without looking into the mirror, he picks up the shampoo bottle and returns it to its rightful place. He pulls out the elastic band and runs his fingers through his hair, shaking it out. Finally, he takes off the glasses and folds them in his hands.
When he looks into the mirror again his reflection is clear: he's the same old Saul.
In the living room Dale is sitting on the couch, watching Good Times and finishing off the joint from earlier. Saul drops down on the couch next to him, sitting so close that their legs touch. He nestles his head in the crook of Dale's neck and waits for Dale to tense up. He doesn't, and Saul reaches blindly across Dale's chest, returning the glasses to his inside pocket. Dale doesn't say anything, just squeezes Saul's knee with his free hand and with the other offers Saul the joint. Saul leans forward, catching the end of it in between his lips and taking a slow pull. He leans back against the couch and can feel how damp his hair still is against the back of the couch. Water slowly drips down the nape of his neck and in between his shoulder blades.
Saul closes his eyes. He exhales. When he opens them again Dale is looking at him and without a word he shifts to throw an arm around Saul's shoulders. Saul leans into him without a second thought, and if Dale minds his damp hair he doesn't say anything. When Dale starts to rub his shoulder, so slow and easy, Saul thinks he could fall asleep right there.
"There's a marathon on," Dale says quietly, even though they both know it's been on all day.
"Nice," Saul says, and smiles just a little bit.
Author: shadowpoet89
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing(s): Saul/Dale
Author's Note: Originally written for japanpeterpan, upon whose suggestion I cleaned it up and posted it here. It's also a bit on the angsty side, but not too much, I hope.
Sometimes Saul steals Dale's glasses when he's asleep, groping around in Dale's pockets until he feels the smooth plastic of Dale's old frames. He doesn't do it to be weird or date rape-y or anything, he just likes to try them on. Dale can lie knocked out for hours on Saul's couch. What else can he do? A guy has to entertain himself somehow. And he would just watch more episodes of Good Times but what's the point if he has to laugh really quietly so Dale won't wake up and start bitching at him? Fuck that.
So he takes Dale's glasses and wanders around the apartment, looking at himself in every mirror, squinting until he can see himself properly. He poses with random items that he thinks a person with glasses would have - an ink pen in his mouth, a really big dictionary, a cardigan thrown over one shoulder.
Eventually Saul makes his way to the bathroom, trying not to trip over anything or bang into any sharp corners. Once inside he quietly pulls the door into and heads straight for the sink. He squints at his reflection in the mirror but it doesn't look right - something is off. It takes him a minute, but he figures out what.
He roots around underneath the sink, feeling past bottles of bathroom cleaner until he finds what he's looking for - a brush. It's kind of old - there's some lint in it and when he shakes it he thinks maybe a spider falls off - but whatever, it'll do. He places the end of the brush in his mouth and turns the water on so that he can wet his hands and bring them up to pat his hair. It takes too long to wet his hair like that, though, so eventually he just says fuck it. He puts the brush down and dips his entire head into the sink, right underneath the spray. When his hair is wet enough he grabs the brush again and begins to comb his hair back as best he can. He grits his teeth when it hurts, and after a minute grabs the lone elastic band he keeps in his pocket for emergencies and pulls his hair into a ponytail at the back of his head. When he looks into the mirror again, he looks sort of respectable - a civil engineer on his day off.
A small smile on his face, he pushes Dale's glasses higher up his nose. He grabs the nearest bottle of shampoo (that fruity shit he bought like six months ago) and holds it up in his hands.
A deep breath and a smile.
"This is so unexpected," he says. The mirror does not respond. Saul looks again at the bottle in his hands and then back up at the mirror, laughing softly. "I don't know what to say. There's just so many people to thank, oh my god." He clears his throat. "Well, first, I'd like to thank my Bubbe for buying me my first set of legos. Without her I probably wouldn't be here today, accepting this Nobel Prize for being the World's Best Civil Engineer Ever." He pauses for applause and a gracious smile before he continues. "And my best friends, Red and Dale, for being the best fucking friends a guy could have. This one's for-"
"Saul?"
Dale is standing at the door, looking sleepy and bleary-eyed. Saul drops the shampoo bottle and it falls heavily into the sink with a dull thud.
"What the fuck, man, don't you knock?" he yells. "I'm in the bathroom!"
"Dude, are those-" Dale starts.
Saul grabs the door knob and shuts the door before Dale can say anything else. He leans against it for a moment, feeling his face heat up. His heart is thundering in his chest; he doesn't do surprises. He exhales slowly through his nose and starts to rubs his eyes but he forgets he's wearing the glasses. His palms crash into them and they knock into his face, digging into the bridge of his nose. It fucking hurts. Cursing, Saul returns to the sink. Without looking into the mirror, he picks up the shampoo bottle and returns it to its rightful place. He pulls out the elastic band and runs his fingers through his hair, shaking it out. Finally, he takes off the glasses and folds them in his hands.
When he looks into the mirror again his reflection is clear: he's the same old Saul.
In the living room Dale is sitting on the couch, watching Good Times and finishing off the joint from earlier. Saul drops down on the couch next to him, sitting so close that their legs touch. He nestles his head in the crook of Dale's neck and waits for Dale to tense up. He doesn't, and Saul reaches blindly across Dale's chest, returning the glasses to his inside pocket. Dale doesn't say anything, just squeezes Saul's knee with his free hand and with the other offers Saul the joint. Saul leans forward, catching the end of it in between his lips and taking a slow pull. He leans back against the couch and can feel how damp his hair still is against the back of the couch. Water slowly drips down the nape of his neck and in between his shoulder blades.
Saul closes his eyes. He exhales. When he opens them again Dale is looking at him and without a word he shifts to throw an arm around Saul's shoulders. Saul leans into him without a second thought, and if Dale minds his damp hair he doesn't say anything. When Dale starts to rub his shoulder, so slow and easy, Saul thinks he could fall asleep right there.
"There's a marathon on," Dale says quietly, even though they both know it's been on all day.
"Nice," Saul says, and smiles just a little bit.