Fic: Honeymoons
Title: Honeymoons
Author: Dha (twenty_til_12)
Fandom: The Office (U.S.)- Set sometime between Season 5's Stress Relief and Blood Drive
Pairing: Oscar/Andy
Words: 1187
Rating: PG-13 for man/man kissing and other implied relations
Summary: Oscar tries to convince Andy to go on his honeymoons.
“Dude, that’s totally the worst idea ever.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow at the irritated and pacing Andy that currently attempted to put a hole in his carpet. The accountant could understand the anxiety of doing this by himself. He had been in and out of the dating scene since Gil broke up with him and watching Frost/Nixon certainly wasn’t at all the same by himself, especially without the stimulating commentary his ex would have contributed, Gil being the biggest 70s-nut of the Greater Scranton area, but at this point he had grown used to it. The fact that Andy Bernard now paced to and fro in his living room had nothing to do with being lonely. No, really. It didn’t.
“Go on my honeymoons by myself? Seriously?” the salesman paused in his nervous gait to make a floundering gesture with his hands.
“Seriously,” Oscar couldn’t quite grasp what the problem was; with Andy out of the office, their first Valentine’s Day as a sort-of couple could be avoided, especially considering how uncomfortable Andy was with potentially losing his reputation as a ladies’ man.
Well, Andy’s self-proclaimed reputation as a ladies’ man, Oscar knew the other man had had some problems with women, especially with one particular woman who worked in the office with them.
“You have the vacation time for it,” the accountant continued, following the urgent pacing with his eyes. “and you already paid the deposits for them. And it’s a good time to go.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna look totally stupid doing all that stuff by myself. On Valentine’s Day. It’s called a honeymoon for a reason. ‘Honey,’ duh.”
Oscar gave Andy what he hoped appeared to be a sympathetic grimace; however, the expression simply fueled the other man’s furious strides. Frustrated with the awkward dilemma of trying to calm the other man down, and, more importantly, potentially wounding his pride, Oscar considered a few different options. The explosive side of Andy’s temper made the salesman infamous, not excluding the incident in which he punched a hole in the office wall. The last thing Oscar wanted at this point in their barely even fledgling relationship was a similar outburst; his apartment walls and neighbors could only take so much and the family living left of him were already prejudiced enough without them adding “violent boyfriend” to the list.
“Andy?,” the accountant attempted to sound stronger than his usual timidity allowed. “Andy.”
“I’m gonna like a fa-reaking loser,” mumbling now accompanied the pacing and, in an imitation of a woman’s voice, “ ‘For two?’ No. For effing one.”
“Andy.”
“I am so beyond SOL on this one. Stupid spawn, spawness, spawnette of Satan.”
“Andy.”
“Like all the little kids are gonna be all ‘Why is that weirdo, yet surprisingly charming, dude all by himself?’ Well, duuuh, ‘cause he’s an idiot.”
With a forceful shout that surprised both men, especially considering Oscar had only yelled like this at Michael’s roast and his ridiculous cable guy that winter, “ANDY!”
Andy stopped mid-step.
“Dude, what?”
Oscar made a motion for Andy to sit. The salesman deliberated before obeying and sinking morosely into the olive green couch, his head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat. Preferring the happy, tune-belting ‘Nard-Dog,’ an obnoxious yet endearing combo of frat brother and musical nut, the accountant stretched a comforting arm along the shoulders of the sulking mess beside him. Oscar’s heart went out to him. Angela had cheated on him, knew she was doing wrong, and continued, which what bugged Oscar so much. The fact that Andy had had the stones to break off the engagement displayed courage and self-determination but had to have dealt some serious emotional damage that Oscar could see still gripped the salesman tightly.
Andy shrugged off Oscar’s touch in a gesture that irritated but the accountant figured his new partner had enough to worry about right now. With Stanley nearly dying last week of a heart attack, Andy had fallen headfirst into a diet, trying to keep off any weight he could. The salesman had said something about still wanting those washboard abs someday and that he was just trying to hurry the process along but the arguments that had ensued left them in a shaky place, not shaky enough to keep Andy from bursting out into “Staying Alive” during a CPR dummy demonstration or “What I Hate About You” at Michael’s roast, but still enough for Oscar to doubt. He completely understood that Andy didn’t want anyone dictating his life for him anymore, not after Angela, but there was a certain point where worry wasn’t just an attempt to curb suspicion. So, the accountant settled for simply clasping his hands in his lap.
“Andy,” the usual sensitive tone returned as he looked out across the living room at the powered-off TV. “I really think you should go on those honeymoons.”
“Yeah right, there’s no way I’m going,” Andy harrumphed in response.
“I’m serious. You’ll get to go to Disneyworld, ride in a hot air balloon---”
“Alone, dude.”
Andy finally looked up from the spot on the floor he had been glaring down and, when Oscar turned his head, the latter could clearly see a bitter defiance wrestling with a desire to trust again. With a truly sympathetic grimace this time ---Andy’s responding frown confirmed it---, the accountant reached for one of Andy’s hands. Still unsure of their new ‘bromance,’ as Andy liked to call it, Oscar just placed his hand over the other’s. Andy briefly glanced down at their hands before back up. The accountant couldn’t even begin to identify all of the emotions amongst the confusion in the baby blues. For a moment, he wondered if Andy was going to ask him to come along. After a pregnant pause, Oscar decided to speak up.
“You can call me any time you need to, e-mail me, whatever,” the assurance dulled some of the sharp emotion and the accountant swore he saw a lip quiver.
In an attempt to quell that said quiver, Oscar leaned into Andy’s bulk and pressed what he thought had to be the most awkward and unsure kiss, since his freshman high school homecoming dance with Sara Romano of course, to his partner’s lips. Most men new to his side of the playing field pulled back, sank back in disgust or intimidation, but instead of that usual reaction, the salesman instead not only met Oscar’s lips but pressed closer yet. There, the accountant thought he tasted the alcohol he smelled earlier. Surprising himself, Oscar pulled away first, much to the chagrin of the ‘boner champ.’
“C’mon, dude,” Andy insisted, “if I’m gonna be gone for like a week and a half, I’m gonna need more than that.”
Oscar could tell just how wide his eyes were by Andy’s devilish grin as he burst out into a cheerful, albeit unnecessary, rendition of “Do You Think I’m Sexy,” his falsetto giving the accountant the beginnings of a headache. To quiet him, Oscar scooted himself closer to Andy, pushing the salesman back against the couch and pressing his mouth firmly to the one still trying to sing another chorus.
Author: Dha (twenty_til_12)
Fandom: The Office (U.S.)- Set sometime between Season 5's Stress Relief and Blood Drive
Pairing: Oscar/Andy
Words: 1187
Rating: PG-13 for man/man kissing and other implied relations
Summary: Oscar tries to convince Andy to go on his honeymoons.
“Dude, that’s totally the worst idea ever.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow at the irritated and pacing Andy that currently attempted to put a hole in his carpet. The accountant could understand the anxiety of doing this by himself. He had been in and out of the dating scene since Gil broke up with him and watching Frost/Nixon certainly wasn’t at all the same by himself, especially without the stimulating commentary his ex would have contributed, Gil being the biggest 70s-nut of the Greater Scranton area, but at this point he had grown used to it. The fact that Andy Bernard now paced to and fro in his living room had nothing to do with being lonely. No, really. It didn’t.
“Go on my honeymoons by myself? Seriously?” the salesman paused in his nervous gait to make a floundering gesture with his hands.
“Seriously,” Oscar couldn’t quite grasp what the problem was; with Andy out of the office, their first Valentine’s Day as a sort-of couple could be avoided, especially considering how uncomfortable Andy was with potentially losing his reputation as a ladies’ man.
Well, Andy’s self-proclaimed reputation as a ladies’ man, Oscar knew the other man had had some problems with women, especially with one particular woman who worked in the office with them.
“You have the vacation time for it,” the accountant continued, following the urgent pacing with his eyes. “and you already paid the deposits for them. And it’s a good time to go.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna look totally stupid doing all that stuff by myself. On Valentine’s Day. It’s called a honeymoon for a reason. ‘Honey,’ duh.”
Oscar gave Andy what he hoped appeared to be a sympathetic grimace; however, the expression simply fueled the other man’s furious strides. Frustrated with the awkward dilemma of trying to calm the other man down, and, more importantly, potentially wounding his pride, Oscar considered a few different options. The explosive side of Andy’s temper made the salesman infamous, not excluding the incident in which he punched a hole in the office wall. The last thing Oscar wanted at this point in their barely even fledgling relationship was a similar outburst; his apartment walls and neighbors could only take so much and the family living left of him were already prejudiced enough without them adding “violent boyfriend” to the list.
“Andy?,” the accountant attempted to sound stronger than his usual timidity allowed. “Andy.”
“I’m gonna like a fa-reaking loser,” mumbling now accompanied the pacing and, in an imitation of a woman’s voice, “ ‘For two?’ No. For effing one.”
“Andy.”
“I am so beyond SOL on this one. Stupid spawn, spawness, spawnette of Satan.”
“Andy.”
“Like all the little kids are gonna be all ‘Why is that weirdo, yet surprisingly charming, dude all by himself?’ Well, duuuh, ‘cause he’s an idiot.”
With a forceful shout that surprised both men, especially considering Oscar had only yelled like this at Michael’s roast and his ridiculous cable guy that winter, “ANDY!”
Andy stopped mid-step.
“Dude, what?”
Oscar made a motion for Andy to sit. The salesman deliberated before obeying and sinking morosely into the olive green couch, his head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat. Preferring the happy, tune-belting ‘Nard-Dog,’ an obnoxious yet endearing combo of frat brother and musical nut, the accountant stretched a comforting arm along the shoulders of the sulking mess beside him. Oscar’s heart went out to him. Angela had cheated on him, knew she was doing wrong, and continued, which what bugged Oscar so much. The fact that Andy had had the stones to break off the engagement displayed courage and self-determination but had to have dealt some serious emotional damage that Oscar could see still gripped the salesman tightly.
Andy shrugged off Oscar’s touch in a gesture that irritated but the accountant figured his new partner had enough to worry about right now. With Stanley nearly dying last week of a heart attack, Andy had fallen headfirst into a diet, trying to keep off any weight he could. The salesman had said something about still wanting those washboard abs someday and that he was just trying to hurry the process along but the arguments that had ensued left them in a shaky place, not shaky enough to keep Andy from bursting out into “Staying Alive” during a CPR dummy demonstration or “What I Hate About You” at Michael’s roast, but still enough for Oscar to doubt. He completely understood that Andy didn’t want anyone dictating his life for him anymore, not after Angela, but there was a certain point where worry wasn’t just an attempt to curb suspicion. So, the accountant settled for simply clasping his hands in his lap.
“Andy,” the usual sensitive tone returned as he looked out across the living room at the powered-off TV. “I really think you should go on those honeymoons.”
“Yeah right, there’s no way I’m going,” Andy harrumphed in response.
“I’m serious. You’ll get to go to Disneyworld, ride in a hot air balloon---”
“Alone, dude.”
Andy finally looked up from the spot on the floor he had been glaring down and, when Oscar turned his head, the latter could clearly see a bitter defiance wrestling with a desire to trust again. With a truly sympathetic grimace this time ---Andy’s responding frown confirmed it---, the accountant reached for one of Andy’s hands. Still unsure of their new ‘bromance,’ as Andy liked to call it, Oscar just placed his hand over the other’s. Andy briefly glanced down at their hands before back up. The accountant couldn’t even begin to identify all of the emotions amongst the confusion in the baby blues. For a moment, he wondered if Andy was going to ask him to come along. After a pregnant pause, Oscar decided to speak up.
“You can call me any time you need to, e-mail me, whatever,” the assurance dulled some of the sharp emotion and the accountant swore he saw a lip quiver.
In an attempt to quell that said quiver, Oscar leaned into Andy’s bulk and pressed what he thought had to be the most awkward and unsure kiss, since his freshman high school homecoming dance with Sara Romano of course, to his partner’s lips. Most men new to his side of the playing field pulled back, sank back in disgust or intimidation, but instead of that usual reaction, the salesman instead not only met Oscar’s lips but pressed closer yet. There, the accountant thought he tasted the alcohol he smelled earlier. Surprising himself, Oscar pulled away first, much to the chagrin of the ‘boner champ.’
“C’mon, dude,” Andy insisted, “if I’m gonna be gone for like a week and a half, I’m gonna need more than that.”
Oscar could tell just how wide his eyes were by Andy’s devilish grin as he burst out into a cheerful, albeit unnecessary, rendition of “Do You Think I’m Sexy,” his falsetto giving the accountant the beginnings of a headache. To quiet him, Oscar scooted himself closer to Andy, pushing the salesman back against the couch and pressing his mouth firmly to the one still trying to sing another chorus.