fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 4
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 4: resting
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: SS2 ‘A New Cup’, 'Friends' - still nothing too spoliery
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Notes: People keep asking for the p0rn. I swear it's coming peeps, but suspense...oooo, suspense is good for the soul!
Back to Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
It had taken Jemaine a few tries, but eventually he managed to do a rather passable job on playing with Bret’s hair. Despite Bret’s help, Jemaine had had a hard time of it at first, because the peculiarity of what he was doing kept eating away at him. It was just so unnatural to touch Bret this way - actually, to touch Bret in any way.
Before this, when Jemaine had touched Bret, it had been on accident or had happened involuntarily. Now he was making a conscious effort to put his hands on his friend and his mind couldn’t help but be tormented by anxiety. Was his touch too firm? Too soft? Too…god, was it too gay?
He didn’t want to incite any emotional, or, even worse, physical, reactions from his friend through his touch alone. This was just supposed to a be completely platonic, completely neutral, affair. And yet his mind kept scurrying over it, unable to simply detach and look at this whole thing analtically.
All he kept thinking about was how he was touching Bret. How his hands were on him, passing through his hair leisurely, or at least, as leisurely as possible considering his hands kept sweating and the curls kept getting entangled around his fingers.
Jemaine just kept picturing someone walking in and seeing them. Someone pointing out how wrong this was. This wasn’t what friends did. Well, this wasn’t what two straight friends did, anyway, and god, Murray knew and Murray hadn’t batted an eye but that was Murray and he thought Jemaine was just vaccuming and doing dishes. He didn’t know Jemaine was doing this and if he did…
Jemaine let out a troubled sigh and looked down at Bret, who seemed perfectly content. Bret’s mind worked in a completely opposite way in comparison to Jemaine’s. Bret didn’t worry about how things looked or how they sounded, all he cared about was how things were. He was much more…simple than Jemaine was, or, at least, this was how Jemaine felt.
Oh Bret had his moments where he looked at a things with a critical eye. Such as the spooning incident or the threeway, but for the most part, things that would embarrass a normal person (such as Mel’s questionable painting) went flying right over Bret’s head.
This too, didn’t seem to give Bret any pause, as he lay languidly back against Jemaine, his eyelids heavy again as he focused on the television in front of them. Jemaine supposed that Bret was pretty lost in the program and if Jemaine himself could just focus on something else, he too, would be more at ease.
He could pretend he was combing his fingers through a girl’s hair. A girl with really short hair and a really bony, masculine body. Though this, again, was an issue. Yes, Bret’s body was bony and masculine but that was just the thing. The fact that Bret’s body was this way didn’t really bother Jemaine. Or at least it didn’t bother him the way he felt it should.
In fact, he felt…it was almost like…it was all too comfortable. It was like a puzzle piece clicking perfectly into place. The fact that the piece fit into the puzzle should be a good thing, a happy thing, as that was what the puzzle piece was supposed to do, but instead of feeling that way about it, Jemaine felt inexplicably frustrated. Frustrated and confused. He pulled one hand from Bret’s hair to scratch at his temple. God, he was so confused, and the puzzle metaphor that had blossomed in his mind wasn’t helped any.
He lay his head back against the couch and continued playing with Bret’s hair and tried to float his mind off in a different direction, any direction, and before he knew it Bret yawned loudly, announcing softly, “I should go to bed. Got work in the morning.”
Jemaine noticed vaguely that his hands were still moving about in Bret’s hair, fingers raking through the springy tendrils languidly. Jemaine drew his hands away and noted dimly that his now free hands were strangely colder than usual, and then when Bret sat up, pulling his body away, the coldness spread all over.
Bret turned to him, remarking shyly, “You…did a better job this time.”
“Did I?”
Bret nodded and rose to his feet. He shuffled about a second or two and it was obvious he was facing some internal struggle. At last he spoke, voice almost a whisper, “…especially at the end. You…it was nicer then.”
Jemaine blinked stupidly. Nicer at the end? He reflected that this was around the time that his mind had finally let go of some of its apprehension and started to float off into a different direction that had nothing to do with their current arrangement. In fact, the last thing he could remember, he had been entertaining a fantasy where he had been at a bar with some beautiful woman, trying various pick up lines on her.
Jemaine gave him a guilty smile, “Good.”
Bret turned on his heel and the next thing Jemaine heard was the unmistakable sounds of Bret brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. Jemaine lumbered to the bedroom and frowned when he noticed the disarray of the room.
Murray’s idea for a blanket fort, or bivouac, as he called it, had initially been to Jemaine, a ridiculous idea. But once he had had a chance to experience it, Jemaine had to admit that he rather enjoyed the sheet blanketed little paradise. He often found himself reconstructing it, and it now stood before him, dilaptated yet homey.
He sighed, ready to take it apart, when Bret suddenly spoke up behind him, causing him to start slightly, “Don’t.”
“Bret! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to.”
Jemaine just grunted and Bret spoke again, “Don’t take down the bivouac, it’s fine where it is.”
“Bret, it’s hard to sleep when it’s up. When I climb into bed the top sheet is always right over my mouth, I almost suffocated the first time we had it up.”
“Yeah, I know, but, I mean…I was thinking,” Bret’s teeth worried his lower lip as he said timidly, “I was thinking maybe we could…you know, sleep on the floor. In the bivouac.”
One of Jemaine’s eyebrows rose as suspicion set in, “But…if we do that…I mean…there’s not much room on the floor we’d be…sort of-”
“Resting together.” Bret offered helpfully, his face turning red as he swallowed thickly, “Yes, I know, um, I’d…I mean, that’s ten dollars.”
Jemaine’s other eyebrow rose with this knowledge, as he had forgotten that this particular service was technically the most expensive. Still…
“Bret, we agreed that resting was, you know, more of an…an awake activity. If you’re asleep and-and I’m asleep then it’s…it’s like we’re…” Jemaine struggled with the words as he continued, because he really, really, didn’t want to say that they would be sleeping together.
Bret valiantly pushed forward into the dicey territory, despite his red face, “Yes, well, I mean, it’s just sleeping, Jemaine. We won’t be…there won’t be anything…untoward. ‘Sides, we’ve…shared a bed before on tour. In fact, this really shouldn’t even be a new experience for you, considering the wig-spoon…thing...”
”Told you, never happened, was just for a song-” Jemaine muttered, arms crossed, face unhappy with where the conversation was leading.
Bret’s face faded to a normal hue as he said with calm persuasion, “It’s just…it’d be nice not to…sleep alone. To have someone near and we wouldn’t be…I mean, it is ten dollars.”
“True…” Jemaine envisioned the ten dollars, his mind working over it. If he got ten dollars for this, Bret would only have ninety left, which did bring Jemaine ever closer to his goal. Not to mention that the sooner Bret spent his money, the sooner this whole thorny situation would be over and the sooner things would go back to some semblance of normal.
Jemaine sighed, mind made up, “Okay. Fine. But…no touching.”
“You mean no spooning?” Bret offered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “Shouldn’t I ask you not to do that?”
“Shut up.” Jemaine muttered and then remarked, “You’ve got to have a shower too.”
“Jemaine, I’ve all ready taken two baths today!”
“It’s policy.”
Bret shook his head, “No.”
Jemaine let out an annoyed breath, why did Bret have to be so stubborn? He finally relented with a nod and went to brush his teeth. When he came back, Bret had settled their blankets and pillows on the floor. Jemaine felt sort of jittery as he clicked off the lights and then arranged himself on the floor near his friend.
It was true that they had shared a bed before on tour, but that had been more a matter of convenience (or more like inconvenience). They couldn’t afford more than one room and more often than not, the hotels’ two bed bedrooms were all ready filled up. This time, what they were doing now, was more from choice than anything. And a choice made all the difference in the world.
Still, it was surprisingly comfortable on the floor, their beds rising up on either side to create a sort of cradle in which they rested. Jemaine lay on his back, his eyes focused up on the sheet stretched high over their heads. Even in the dark of the apartment, the lights from the outside street showered in and sort of worked its way through the weaved fabric, making almost a strange artificial night sky above them.
Bret whispered, “Jemaine?”
“Hmm?”
“You awake?”
“Yes, Bret.”
Bret lay on his side, his back to Jemaine, his eyes peering under his bed, “I think I can see that missing tin of mints.”
“What?”
“Remember that tin of mints you got from Mel for Valentine’s Day?”
Jemaine shuddered at the memory, “Unfortunately.”
“Yeah, well, you said you lost them. The mints I mean and…I think I see them. I think they’re here, under my bed.”
“That’s fine. They can stay there. Now go to sleep.”
Bret sighed and rolled over on to his back, his body next to Jemaine’s yet far enough away that they weren’t touching. Nevertheless, Bret could feel the heat of Jemaine’s body rolling off of him like waves. It was disconcerting that he noticed this and he cleared his throat, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine didn’t answer, so Bret said his name again and Jemaine groaned in annoyance, “What?”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, surprisingly.”
“Me too. I heard once that it’s good, you know, every now and then, to sleep on your back on the floor because-”
“Bret?”
“Yes, Jemaine?”
“Shut up and go to sleep.”
Bret sighed, frowning as he rolled on to his side again, facing away from Jemaine once more, “Fine, fine…don’t have to be rude about it…”
Jemaine didn’t respond, eyes firmly closed, as he tried to ignore the strange feeling of intimacy in regards to Bret’s body in proximity to his own.
88888888888
Jemaine came to life slowly; his eyes fluttering open and close several times. He noticed that there was a strange amount of weight on him and he shuffled his body a bit to try and extract himself from it. He didn’t quite remember his blankets weighing so much but then things always did seem more out of focus when you had just woken up.
The weight lifted reluctantly and Jemaine realized slowly, and with some trepidation, that the weight had not, in fact, felt like blankets. In fact, it had felt more like flesh and bone. Limbs.
Jemaine blinked owlishly a few more times and stretched a questing hand out for his glasses. He found them buried near a pile of clothes and slipped them on to see that Bret was curled close to him, one of his arms and one of his legs at an odd angle, almost as if…
No, no. There was no way Bret had draped himself over Jemaine in sleep. No way. Jemaine firmly clung to this as he began to struggle to sit up. As he did so, he looked over at Bret who was still lost in slumber and sort of stopped.
Bret lay there, facing Jemaine, his mouth slightly open and Jemaine was torn, because part of him thought he looked ridiculous and another part of him thought he looked-
No. He looked ridiculous. He looked ridiculous and, more importantly, he looked unattractive. End of story. End of story. Jemaine got to his feet quickly, cursing as his head met with the roof of the bivouac. He managed to detangle himself from that and went into the bathroom where he began viciously brushing his teeth to distract his errant thoughts.
Focus on brushing, focus on brushing, his grouchy mind muttered over and over again. Jemaine brushed his teeth diligently until he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
His hair was an absolute wreck but past that he looked…
Jemaine spat out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth out before looking into the mirror again and deciding, almost disappointingly, that he looked more rested than he had looked in a long time.
Not that he had necessarily looked unrested before, but…now he just seemed, he just noticed…dammit.
Jemaine sniffed and then froze. He sniffed again, a pleasant scent wafting through the air. What was that? Jemaine lifted up his shirt at the collar and smelled it curiously, then clutched it tightly. Dammit. He knew he should have had Bret shower, because he swore now he could smell Bret on him.
Oh that was gay, so, so gay…
Jemaine released his shirt and began to rub at his temples when Bret came into the bathroom yawning, but with his eyes sparkling, voice cheerful, “Mornin’ Jemaine.”
Damn morning people.
Jemaine replied with an undignified noise and exited the bathroom so Bret could use it at his leisure. He was unwilling to reveal that he felt just as good as Bret did. God, he hoped his eyes weren’t sparkling like that too.
He went back to the bedroom and looked at the messy pile of sheets and blankets on the floor. For a crazy second, he was taken with the wild urge to go back there, to bury himself there. He shoved the feeling away and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
On to Part 5
Part 4: resting
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: SS2 ‘A New Cup’, 'Friends' - still nothing too spoliery
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Notes: People keep asking for the p0rn. I swear it's coming peeps, but suspense...oooo, suspense is good for the soul!
Back to Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
It had taken Jemaine a few tries, but eventually he managed to do a rather passable job on playing with Bret’s hair. Despite Bret’s help, Jemaine had had a hard time of it at first, because the peculiarity of what he was doing kept eating away at him. It was just so unnatural to touch Bret this way - actually, to touch Bret in any way.
Before this, when Jemaine had touched Bret, it had been on accident or had happened involuntarily. Now he was making a conscious effort to put his hands on his friend and his mind couldn’t help but be tormented by anxiety. Was his touch too firm? Too soft? Too…god, was it too gay?
He didn’t want to incite any emotional, or, even worse, physical, reactions from his friend through his touch alone. This was just supposed to a be completely platonic, completely neutral, affair. And yet his mind kept scurrying over it, unable to simply detach and look at this whole thing analtically.
All he kept thinking about was how he was touching Bret. How his hands were on him, passing through his hair leisurely, or at least, as leisurely as possible considering his hands kept sweating and the curls kept getting entangled around his fingers.
Jemaine just kept picturing someone walking in and seeing them. Someone pointing out how wrong this was. This wasn’t what friends did. Well, this wasn’t what two straight friends did, anyway, and god, Murray knew and Murray hadn’t batted an eye but that was Murray and he thought Jemaine was just vaccuming and doing dishes. He didn’t know Jemaine was doing this and if he did…
Jemaine let out a troubled sigh and looked down at Bret, who seemed perfectly content. Bret’s mind worked in a completely opposite way in comparison to Jemaine’s. Bret didn’t worry about how things looked or how they sounded, all he cared about was how things were. He was much more…simple than Jemaine was, or, at least, this was how Jemaine felt.
Oh Bret had his moments where he looked at a things with a critical eye. Such as the spooning incident or the threeway, but for the most part, things that would embarrass a normal person (such as Mel’s questionable painting) went flying right over Bret’s head.
This too, didn’t seem to give Bret any pause, as he lay languidly back against Jemaine, his eyelids heavy again as he focused on the television in front of them. Jemaine supposed that Bret was pretty lost in the program and if Jemaine himself could just focus on something else, he too, would be more at ease.
He could pretend he was combing his fingers through a girl’s hair. A girl with really short hair and a really bony, masculine body. Though this, again, was an issue. Yes, Bret’s body was bony and masculine but that was just the thing. The fact that Bret’s body was this way didn’t really bother Jemaine. Or at least it didn’t bother him the way he felt it should.
In fact, he felt…it was almost like…it was all too comfortable. It was like a puzzle piece clicking perfectly into place. The fact that the piece fit into the puzzle should be a good thing, a happy thing, as that was what the puzzle piece was supposed to do, but instead of feeling that way about it, Jemaine felt inexplicably frustrated. Frustrated and confused. He pulled one hand from Bret’s hair to scratch at his temple. God, he was so confused, and the puzzle metaphor that had blossomed in his mind wasn’t helped any.
He lay his head back against the couch and continued playing with Bret’s hair and tried to float his mind off in a different direction, any direction, and before he knew it Bret yawned loudly, announcing softly, “I should go to bed. Got work in the morning.”
Jemaine noticed vaguely that his hands were still moving about in Bret’s hair, fingers raking through the springy tendrils languidly. Jemaine drew his hands away and noted dimly that his now free hands were strangely colder than usual, and then when Bret sat up, pulling his body away, the coldness spread all over.
Bret turned to him, remarking shyly, “You…did a better job this time.”
“Did I?”
Bret nodded and rose to his feet. He shuffled about a second or two and it was obvious he was facing some internal struggle. At last he spoke, voice almost a whisper, “…especially at the end. You…it was nicer then.”
Jemaine blinked stupidly. Nicer at the end? He reflected that this was around the time that his mind had finally let go of some of its apprehension and started to float off into a different direction that had nothing to do with their current arrangement. In fact, the last thing he could remember, he had been entertaining a fantasy where he had been at a bar with some beautiful woman, trying various pick up lines on her.
Jemaine gave him a guilty smile, “Good.”
Bret turned on his heel and the next thing Jemaine heard was the unmistakable sounds of Bret brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. Jemaine lumbered to the bedroom and frowned when he noticed the disarray of the room.
Murray’s idea for a blanket fort, or bivouac, as he called it, had initially been to Jemaine, a ridiculous idea. But once he had had a chance to experience it, Jemaine had to admit that he rather enjoyed the sheet blanketed little paradise. He often found himself reconstructing it, and it now stood before him, dilaptated yet homey.
He sighed, ready to take it apart, when Bret suddenly spoke up behind him, causing him to start slightly, “Don’t.”
“Bret! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to.”
Jemaine just grunted and Bret spoke again, “Don’t take down the bivouac, it’s fine where it is.”
“Bret, it’s hard to sleep when it’s up. When I climb into bed the top sheet is always right over my mouth, I almost suffocated the first time we had it up.”
“Yeah, I know, but, I mean…I was thinking,” Bret’s teeth worried his lower lip as he said timidly, “I was thinking maybe we could…you know, sleep on the floor. In the bivouac.”
One of Jemaine’s eyebrows rose as suspicion set in, “But…if we do that…I mean…there’s not much room on the floor we’d be…sort of-”
“Resting together.” Bret offered helpfully, his face turning red as he swallowed thickly, “Yes, I know, um, I’d…I mean, that’s ten dollars.”
Jemaine’s other eyebrow rose with this knowledge, as he had forgotten that this particular service was technically the most expensive. Still…
“Bret, we agreed that resting was, you know, more of an…an awake activity. If you’re asleep and-and I’m asleep then it’s…it’s like we’re…” Jemaine struggled with the words as he continued, because he really, really, didn’t want to say that they would be sleeping together.
Bret valiantly pushed forward into the dicey territory, despite his red face, “Yes, well, I mean, it’s just sleeping, Jemaine. We won’t be…there won’t be anything…untoward. ‘Sides, we’ve…shared a bed before on tour. In fact, this really shouldn’t even be a new experience for you, considering the wig-spoon…thing...”
”Told you, never happened, was just for a song-” Jemaine muttered, arms crossed, face unhappy with where the conversation was leading.
Bret’s face faded to a normal hue as he said with calm persuasion, “It’s just…it’d be nice not to…sleep alone. To have someone near and we wouldn’t be…I mean, it is ten dollars.”
“True…” Jemaine envisioned the ten dollars, his mind working over it. If he got ten dollars for this, Bret would only have ninety left, which did bring Jemaine ever closer to his goal. Not to mention that the sooner Bret spent his money, the sooner this whole thorny situation would be over and the sooner things would go back to some semblance of normal.
Jemaine sighed, mind made up, “Okay. Fine. But…no touching.”
“You mean no spooning?” Bret offered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “Shouldn’t I ask you not to do that?”
“Shut up.” Jemaine muttered and then remarked, “You’ve got to have a shower too.”
“Jemaine, I’ve all ready taken two baths today!”
“It’s policy.”
Bret shook his head, “No.”
Jemaine let out an annoyed breath, why did Bret have to be so stubborn? He finally relented with a nod and went to brush his teeth. When he came back, Bret had settled their blankets and pillows on the floor. Jemaine felt sort of jittery as he clicked off the lights and then arranged himself on the floor near his friend.
It was true that they had shared a bed before on tour, but that had been more a matter of convenience (or more like inconvenience). They couldn’t afford more than one room and more often than not, the hotels’ two bed bedrooms were all ready filled up. This time, what they were doing now, was more from choice than anything. And a choice made all the difference in the world.
Still, it was surprisingly comfortable on the floor, their beds rising up on either side to create a sort of cradle in which they rested. Jemaine lay on his back, his eyes focused up on the sheet stretched high over their heads. Even in the dark of the apartment, the lights from the outside street showered in and sort of worked its way through the weaved fabric, making almost a strange artificial night sky above them.
Bret whispered, “Jemaine?”
“Hmm?”
“You awake?”
“Yes, Bret.”
Bret lay on his side, his back to Jemaine, his eyes peering under his bed, “I think I can see that missing tin of mints.”
“What?”
“Remember that tin of mints you got from Mel for Valentine’s Day?”
Jemaine shuddered at the memory, “Unfortunately.”
“Yeah, well, you said you lost them. The mints I mean and…I think I see them. I think they’re here, under my bed.”
“That’s fine. They can stay there. Now go to sleep.”
Bret sighed and rolled over on to his back, his body next to Jemaine’s yet far enough away that they weren’t touching. Nevertheless, Bret could feel the heat of Jemaine’s body rolling off of him like waves. It was disconcerting that he noticed this and he cleared his throat, “Jemaine?”
Jemaine didn’t answer, so Bret said his name again and Jemaine groaned in annoyance, “What?”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, surprisingly.”
“Me too. I heard once that it’s good, you know, every now and then, to sleep on your back on the floor because-”
“Bret?”
“Yes, Jemaine?”
“Shut up and go to sleep.”
Bret sighed, frowning as he rolled on to his side again, facing away from Jemaine once more, “Fine, fine…don’t have to be rude about it…”
Jemaine didn’t respond, eyes firmly closed, as he tried to ignore the strange feeling of intimacy in regards to Bret’s body in proximity to his own.
88888888888
Jemaine came to life slowly; his eyes fluttering open and close several times. He noticed that there was a strange amount of weight on him and he shuffled his body a bit to try and extract himself from it. He didn’t quite remember his blankets weighing so much but then things always did seem more out of focus when you had just woken up.
The weight lifted reluctantly and Jemaine realized slowly, and with some trepidation, that the weight had not, in fact, felt like blankets. In fact, it had felt more like flesh and bone. Limbs.
Jemaine blinked owlishly a few more times and stretched a questing hand out for his glasses. He found them buried near a pile of clothes and slipped them on to see that Bret was curled close to him, one of his arms and one of his legs at an odd angle, almost as if…
No, no. There was no way Bret had draped himself over Jemaine in sleep. No way. Jemaine firmly clung to this as he began to struggle to sit up. As he did so, he looked over at Bret who was still lost in slumber and sort of stopped.
Bret lay there, facing Jemaine, his mouth slightly open and Jemaine was torn, because part of him thought he looked ridiculous and another part of him thought he looked-
No. He looked ridiculous. He looked ridiculous and, more importantly, he looked unattractive. End of story. End of story. Jemaine got to his feet quickly, cursing as his head met with the roof of the bivouac. He managed to detangle himself from that and went into the bathroom where he began viciously brushing his teeth to distract his errant thoughts.
Focus on brushing, focus on brushing, his grouchy mind muttered over and over again. Jemaine brushed his teeth diligently until he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
His hair was an absolute wreck but past that he looked…
Jemaine spat out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth out before looking into the mirror again and deciding, almost disappointingly, that he looked more rested than he had looked in a long time.
Not that he had necessarily looked unrested before, but…now he just seemed, he just noticed…dammit.
Jemaine sniffed and then froze. He sniffed again, a pleasant scent wafting through the air. What was that? Jemaine lifted up his shirt at the collar and smelled it curiously, then clutched it tightly. Dammit. He knew he should have had Bret shower, because he swore now he could smell Bret on him.
Oh that was gay, so, so gay…
Jemaine released his shirt and began to rub at his temples when Bret came into the bathroom yawning, but with his eyes sparkling, voice cheerful, “Mornin’ Jemaine.”
Damn morning people.
Jemaine replied with an undignified noise and exited the bathroom so Bret could use it at his leisure. He was unwilling to reveal that he felt just as good as Bret did. God, he hoped his eyes weren’t sparkling like that too.
He went back to the bedroom and looked at the messy pile of sheets and blankets on the floor. For a crazy second, he was taken with the wild urge to go back there, to bury himself there. He shoved the feeling away and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
On to Part 5