Fic: Look
Title: Look
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, set premovie
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Author's Notes: A very short fic, about nothing in particular, and it's a one-shot. Perhaps I've finally gotten over my love affair with plot.
There was a long line at the bar, but Eric didn’t mind as it afforded him the chance to study the crowd without feeling obliged to make idle chit chat with the people around his table. By now, though, a good number of couples had deserted their seats to make their way to the dance floor where the mediocre cover band was serenading the room with one sappy love song after another. Not that Eric had expected any less from a wedding, but when the dancing music had started he’d felt it was an appropriate time to make a temporary exit from the scene.
From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the bride, dressed in white but not looking all that heavenly. She had a scowl on her face that caused a deep crease to appear between her perfectly plucked brows, and the way her lips were coated with layer upon layer of lipstick only served to make her frown all the more ugly. She had one finger out and was shaking it at the poor schmuck who had just agreed to be her husband-- Mildred’s son, George Jr.
He looked appropriately contrite for whatever transgression he had committed, his eyes downcast and submissive, although Eric couldn’t imagine what had made the bride so angry since everything seemed to have gone as he would have expected for such an affair. In fact, the only thing that was marring it was the way she was carrying on right now, and though she’d pulled her husband to the side of the room she was hardly out of the public view.
Eric shook his head softly, feeling a surge of pity for the so obviously whipped man. He certainly didn’t envy George’s Jr.’s current lot in life, and strangely he felt a moment of gratitude that he would never be saddled with this particular affliction.
It was an odd thought for him because he could hardly say that he was thankful to be gay. Most of the time it still felt like a cruel joke, since he’d never considered anything about his personality or his interests remotely “gay.” Except, of course, for the tiny part about being physically attracted to men.
Eric’s eyes drifted from the irate woman over to his table where Sam sat, waiting patiently for Eric’s return. He was tapping one finger on the table to the beat of the music that thrummed through the room, wearing his default neutral expression, which just so happened to be a slight smile. Reflexively, Eric felt his own mouth twitch upwards.
No, Sam was certainly nothing like the bitching bride. He was calm and fairly analytical about most situations, as he usually applied his lawyerly eye to the events that transpired throughout life. He’d certainly done his fair share of calming Eric down when Eric took a much less rational approach to everything under the sun. Sam would never be the type to berate him in public for some minor transgression.
Which was not to say that Sam never lost his temper. From time to time Eric’s less than orderly habits had irked him enough for minor explosions of frustration, but even those little moments of anger didn’t seem to last long, and they were almost always soothed over with a simple apology and a well-placed kiss. Sam’s brother Billy could bring out more aggression in him, but even then Sam looked like he was struggling to utter curses and to come up with appropriately indignant things to say. He was just not a naturally spiteful person.
As Eric looked on a petite brunette in a slip of a silver dress made her way over to their table, settling down next to Sam and chatting with the couple to her left. Within a few moments, though, the couple got up to dance and she quickly turned her sights on Sam, which in Eric’s opinion had probably been her intention all along.
Eric was used to this, of course, because Sam was a bit of a chick magnet. In fact, it seemed he got far more attention from the female gender than Eric ever did. Sam didn’t deny that fact, either, and he’d even developed a little theory as to why this occurred. As he’d explained it, Eric was “hot,” and hot men intimidated girls; they were not likely to make the first flirtatious move if they felt they didn’t stand a chance. Sam, on the other hand, was “cute,” as many a girl had told him, and cute guys were seen as much more attainable, and thus ripe for the picking. Eric wasn’t sure if he bought the whole explanation, but whatever the case, he didn’t really mind that women flocked to Sam. He much preferred it that way, actually, since he was fairly uncomfortable with female admirers, whereas Sam handled them with his polite grace.
This particular opportunist, however, seemed to be laying it on rather thick. She kept laughing demurely at everything Sam said and touching his arm repeatedly, and though Eric was too far away to determine what they were talking about, he was sure Sam hadn’t told her he was gay because there would have been a noticeable change in her demeanor.
He watched for a minute or two as he progressed to the front of the bar, growing oddly annoyed by the fact that Sam seemed to be leading her on. Or perhaps Sam was just enjoying the attention, since Eric had deserted him at a table full of relative strangers . . . at a wedding full of relative strangers, actually, because the only people they knew there to any real degree were Mildred and George. Maybe he was just trying to pass the time, as Eric was doing in the ungodly long drink line. Honestly, Eric thought, growing impatient now, a wedding this size should have more than one bar.
By the time he had two beers in hand he was expecting to see Little Miss Slinky Silver Dress head off on some new socializing adventure, but she was still right there, in his seat, as a matter of fact, batting her eyelashes coyly. So Eric sat down on the other side of Sam at the now otherwise vacant table, placing Sam’s beer in front of him.
“Here you go. Sorry it took so long . . . the line was ridiculous.”
“Thanks,” Sam said, ignoring the beer and taking a sip from his wine glass instead. “Eric, this is Angie, she’s an old friend of George Jr.’s.”
“Used to just call him Junior.” Angie laughed softly, extending her hand. “So how do you know Junior?”
“Don’t, really,” Eric said, “But I’m Mildred and George’s neighbor.” He shrugged and took a swallow of his beer. How Mildred had talked him into attending this event was still a mystery. She was quite a persuasive woman.
“Oh, so you’re both their neighbors?” Angie asked.
Eric shot his eyes over to Sam, raising his brows slightly. “Uh, yeah, we’re both their neighbors,” he said with a grin, unable to mask the amusement in his voice.
Sam shot him a responding grin, but Angie appeared oblivious. She’d started to chat away about what a great lady Mildred was and how she missed it when she’d gotten to hang out with her and enjoy her culinary masterpieces. Sam smiled and nodded at her as she talked, appearing fully vested in her story. By now Eric was more than a little surprised, as whenever Sam had permission to reveal, he usually did so-- not in an over-eager sense, but in a more matter-of-fact way. And yet he’d obviously kept quiet so far.
It would never have occurred to Eric to do the revealing, so he sat there and smiled and nodded as well, although he noticed Angie’s eyes were still directed at Sam as she spoke.
“Boys, there you are,” Mildred’s voice rang out from behind him. She made her way over and draped an arm over both Sam and Eric. “And I see you’ve met George Jr.’s friend, Angie.”
“It’s a lovely wedding,” Sam said, turning his head to smile up at her.
Mildred nodded, but her eyes shifted to the side a bit as if she were scanning for someone. “Yes, well, it’s gone well enough.”
Angie, who in Eric’s opinion had come across as rather daft before, now seemed strangely perceptive. “Is everything okay?”
Mildred sighed, pulling her burgundy taffeta bolero jacket more securely around her shoulders. “Yes, of course. I just hope everything works out well for the two of them. I want my son to be happy after all.” She looked wistfully around the dance floor, where everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves--except for George Jr., who by this time was dancing with his bride, wearing a look that said he’d rather be elsewhere. “I’d certainly never wish them ill, but sometimes I get the feeling they’re not quite right for each other.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over table, as apparently no one was sure of what to say.
“Listen to me babble on.” Mildred laughed, her cheeks a bit flushed, and Eric had to wonder how much wine she’d had to be expressing her concerns so openly at her son’s wedding. “Everything will probably settle down after the wedding and I’ll be able to see things more clearly. I’m usually pretty good at sensing these things, you know. Like with these two boys. I can just tell by the way they look at each other how right they are for one another.”
Ordinarily, Eric hated to be outed, even if it was a given that he was at a social function with his partner, and a decent number of people would figure it out on their own. But at this moment, Mildred’s timing seemed perfect, and he couldn’t help but feel a smug satisfaction as he saw the exact second the light bulb went on behind Angie’s confused eyes, the exact second her smile went from genuine to polite and somewhat strained. Even if he didn’t actually agree with Mildred’s assessment of their “look”, getting the chance to see Angie deflate like that was definitely worth it.
George appeared beside their table, wrapping his arms around Mildred’s waist. “Come on now, Millie. Can’t let you be a wallflower at your own son’s wedding. I think it’s time for a dance.” He smiled and nodded his greeting to Eric, Sam, and Angie before yanking Mildred away for a twirl around the dance floor. Eric was surprised to see how gracefully the big man moved, as he hadn’t exactly struck him as a dancer.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Angie said, her face still plastered with that polite smile. She looked a little embarrassed to be there with them now, and Eric experienced another burst of satisfaction at her discomfort. “I’d . . . I’d . . . better get back to my friends, don’t want them to think I abandoned them.” She laughed awkwardly, pushing back her chair and flipping her hair behind her ear. “See ya ‘round,” she concluded with a wave as she quickly made an exit.
Eric watched her go and felt an evil smile cross his face.
“You enjoyed that way too much,” Sam said, as he’d evidently been studying Eric’s expression.
“Enjoyed what?” Eric asked innocently, nonchalantly tugging at his beer.
“Her, being embarrassed like that.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’re the one who was enjoying himself a bit too much, if you ask me.”
Sam chuckled. “Jealous?” he asked.
Eric scoffed mid-swallow and had to struggle to keep from coughing. “Yeah right, Sam. She wouldn’t even be your type if you were straight. But I am rather surprised you led her on like that.”
“And what was I supposed to do, wave my rainbow cross to ward her off?”
Scowling slightly, Eric knocked back the last of his beer. “You could have told her you were with me. I mean we’re already here together, so it’s obvious to most people. Or you could have just told her you were taken.”
“Well, in the eyes of the law, technically I’m perfectly available,” Sam replied smugly.
“Oh, come off it, Sam. Like there’s any way I would ever let anyone else have you,” was Eric’s immediate retort. “You know you’re mine.”
Sam’s eyes locked on his with a fiery glow of amusement behind them, but he said nothing. Then he shifted away for a moment to study the couples that littered the dance floor before turning back to Eric, his expression unchanged.
“Want to cut out of here early?” he asked, nudging Eric’s knee gently under the table with his own and raising one eyebrow suggestively.
Eric would have liked to leave early under any circumstances, but with that suggestive eyebrow thrown in the mix neither hell nor high water could have stopped him.
He grinned back stupidly at Sam for a moment, getting warm in anticipation as he haphazardly grabbed for his suit jacket which hung on the chair behind him. Sam did the same and by mutual agreement they stood at the same time, eyes still locked on one another.
Maybe Mildred was right. Maybe they did have a look, after all.
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, set premovie
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Author's Notes: A very short fic, about nothing in particular, and it's a one-shot. Perhaps I've finally gotten over my love affair with plot.
There was a long line at the bar, but Eric didn’t mind as it afforded him the chance to study the crowd without feeling obliged to make idle chit chat with the people around his table. By now, though, a good number of couples had deserted their seats to make their way to the dance floor where the mediocre cover band was serenading the room with one sappy love song after another. Not that Eric had expected any less from a wedding, but when the dancing music had started he’d felt it was an appropriate time to make a temporary exit from the scene.
From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the bride, dressed in white but not looking all that heavenly. She had a scowl on her face that caused a deep crease to appear between her perfectly plucked brows, and the way her lips were coated with layer upon layer of lipstick only served to make her frown all the more ugly. She had one finger out and was shaking it at the poor schmuck who had just agreed to be her husband-- Mildred’s son, George Jr.
He looked appropriately contrite for whatever transgression he had committed, his eyes downcast and submissive, although Eric couldn’t imagine what had made the bride so angry since everything seemed to have gone as he would have expected for such an affair. In fact, the only thing that was marring it was the way she was carrying on right now, and though she’d pulled her husband to the side of the room she was hardly out of the public view.
Eric shook his head softly, feeling a surge of pity for the so obviously whipped man. He certainly didn’t envy George’s Jr.’s current lot in life, and strangely he felt a moment of gratitude that he would never be saddled with this particular affliction.
It was an odd thought for him because he could hardly say that he was thankful to be gay. Most of the time it still felt like a cruel joke, since he’d never considered anything about his personality or his interests remotely “gay.” Except, of course, for the tiny part about being physically attracted to men.
Eric’s eyes drifted from the irate woman over to his table where Sam sat, waiting patiently for Eric’s return. He was tapping one finger on the table to the beat of the music that thrummed through the room, wearing his default neutral expression, which just so happened to be a slight smile. Reflexively, Eric felt his own mouth twitch upwards.
No, Sam was certainly nothing like the bitching bride. He was calm and fairly analytical about most situations, as he usually applied his lawyerly eye to the events that transpired throughout life. He’d certainly done his fair share of calming Eric down when Eric took a much less rational approach to everything under the sun. Sam would never be the type to berate him in public for some minor transgression.
Which was not to say that Sam never lost his temper. From time to time Eric’s less than orderly habits had irked him enough for minor explosions of frustration, but even those little moments of anger didn’t seem to last long, and they were almost always soothed over with a simple apology and a well-placed kiss. Sam’s brother Billy could bring out more aggression in him, but even then Sam looked like he was struggling to utter curses and to come up with appropriately indignant things to say. He was just not a naturally spiteful person.
As Eric looked on a petite brunette in a slip of a silver dress made her way over to their table, settling down next to Sam and chatting with the couple to her left. Within a few moments, though, the couple got up to dance and she quickly turned her sights on Sam, which in Eric’s opinion had probably been her intention all along.
Eric was used to this, of course, because Sam was a bit of a chick magnet. In fact, it seemed he got far more attention from the female gender than Eric ever did. Sam didn’t deny that fact, either, and he’d even developed a little theory as to why this occurred. As he’d explained it, Eric was “hot,” and hot men intimidated girls; they were not likely to make the first flirtatious move if they felt they didn’t stand a chance. Sam, on the other hand, was “cute,” as many a girl had told him, and cute guys were seen as much more attainable, and thus ripe for the picking. Eric wasn’t sure if he bought the whole explanation, but whatever the case, he didn’t really mind that women flocked to Sam. He much preferred it that way, actually, since he was fairly uncomfortable with female admirers, whereas Sam handled them with his polite grace.
This particular opportunist, however, seemed to be laying it on rather thick. She kept laughing demurely at everything Sam said and touching his arm repeatedly, and though Eric was too far away to determine what they were talking about, he was sure Sam hadn’t told her he was gay because there would have been a noticeable change in her demeanor.
He watched for a minute or two as he progressed to the front of the bar, growing oddly annoyed by the fact that Sam seemed to be leading her on. Or perhaps Sam was just enjoying the attention, since Eric had deserted him at a table full of relative strangers . . . at a wedding full of relative strangers, actually, because the only people they knew there to any real degree were Mildred and George. Maybe he was just trying to pass the time, as Eric was doing in the ungodly long drink line. Honestly, Eric thought, growing impatient now, a wedding this size should have more than one bar.
By the time he had two beers in hand he was expecting to see Little Miss Slinky Silver Dress head off on some new socializing adventure, but she was still right there, in his seat, as a matter of fact, batting her eyelashes coyly. So Eric sat down on the other side of Sam at the now otherwise vacant table, placing Sam’s beer in front of him.
“Here you go. Sorry it took so long . . . the line was ridiculous.”
“Thanks,” Sam said, ignoring the beer and taking a sip from his wine glass instead. “Eric, this is Angie, she’s an old friend of George Jr.’s.”
“Used to just call him Junior.” Angie laughed softly, extending her hand. “So how do you know Junior?”
“Don’t, really,” Eric said, “But I’m Mildred and George’s neighbor.” He shrugged and took a swallow of his beer. How Mildred had talked him into attending this event was still a mystery. She was quite a persuasive woman.
“Oh, so you’re both their neighbors?” Angie asked.
Eric shot his eyes over to Sam, raising his brows slightly. “Uh, yeah, we’re both their neighbors,” he said with a grin, unable to mask the amusement in his voice.
Sam shot him a responding grin, but Angie appeared oblivious. She’d started to chat away about what a great lady Mildred was and how she missed it when she’d gotten to hang out with her and enjoy her culinary masterpieces. Sam smiled and nodded at her as she talked, appearing fully vested in her story. By now Eric was more than a little surprised, as whenever Sam had permission to reveal, he usually did so-- not in an over-eager sense, but in a more matter-of-fact way. And yet he’d obviously kept quiet so far.
It would never have occurred to Eric to do the revealing, so he sat there and smiled and nodded as well, although he noticed Angie’s eyes were still directed at Sam as she spoke.
“Boys, there you are,” Mildred’s voice rang out from behind him. She made her way over and draped an arm over both Sam and Eric. “And I see you’ve met George Jr.’s friend, Angie.”
“It’s a lovely wedding,” Sam said, turning his head to smile up at her.
Mildred nodded, but her eyes shifted to the side a bit as if she were scanning for someone. “Yes, well, it’s gone well enough.”
Angie, who in Eric’s opinion had come across as rather daft before, now seemed strangely perceptive. “Is everything okay?”
Mildred sighed, pulling her burgundy taffeta bolero jacket more securely around her shoulders. “Yes, of course. I just hope everything works out well for the two of them. I want my son to be happy after all.” She looked wistfully around the dance floor, where everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves--except for George Jr., who by this time was dancing with his bride, wearing a look that said he’d rather be elsewhere. “I’d certainly never wish them ill, but sometimes I get the feeling they’re not quite right for each other.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over table, as apparently no one was sure of what to say.
“Listen to me babble on.” Mildred laughed, her cheeks a bit flushed, and Eric had to wonder how much wine she’d had to be expressing her concerns so openly at her son’s wedding. “Everything will probably settle down after the wedding and I’ll be able to see things more clearly. I’m usually pretty good at sensing these things, you know. Like with these two boys. I can just tell by the way they look at each other how right they are for one another.”
Ordinarily, Eric hated to be outed, even if it was a given that he was at a social function with his partner, and a decent number of people would figure it out on their own. But at this moment, Mildred’s timing seemed perfect, and he couldn’t help but feel a smug satisfaction as he saw the exact second the light bulb went on behind Angie’s confused eyes, the exact second her smile went from genuine to polite and somewhat strained. Even if he didn’t actually agree with Mildred’s assessment of their “look”, getting the chance to see Angie deflate like that was definitely worth it.
George appeared beside their table, wrapping his arms around Mildred’s waist. “Come on now, Millie. Can’t let you be a wallflower at your own son’s wedding. I think it’s time for a dance.” He smiled and nodded his greeting to Eric, Sam, and Angie before yanking Mildred away for a twirl around the dance floor. Eric was surprised to see how gracefully the big man moved, as he hadn’t exactly struck him as a dancer.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Angie said, her face still plastered with that polite smile. She looked a little embarrassed to be there with them now, and Eric experienced another burst of satisfaction at her discomfort. “I’d . . . I’d . . . better get back to my friends, don’t want them to think I abandoned them.” She laughed awkwardly, pushing back her chair and flipping her hair behind her ear. “See ya ‘round,” she concluded with a wave as she quickly made an exit.
Eric watched her go and felt an evil smile cross his face.
“You enjoyed that way too much,” Sam said, as he’d evidently been studying Eric’s expression.
“Enjoyed what?” Eric asked innocently, nonchalantly tugging at his beer.
“Her, being embarrassed like that.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’re the one who was enjoying himself a bit too much, if you ask me.”
Sam chuckled. “Jealous?” he asked.
Eric scoffed mid-swallow and had to struggle to keep from coughing. “Yeah right, Sam. She wouldn’t even be your type if you were straight. But I am rather surprised you led her on like that.”
“And what was I supposed to do, wave my rainbow cross to ward her off?”
Scowling slightly, Eric knocked back the last of his beer. “You could have told her you were with me. I mean we’re already here together, so it’s obvious to most people. Or you could have just told her you were taken.”
“Well, in the eyes of the law, technically I’m perfectly available,” Sam replied smugly.
“Oh, come off it, Sam. Like there’s any way I would ever let anyone else have you,” was Eric’s immediate retort. “You know you’re mine.”
Sam’s eyes locked on his with a fiery glow of amusement behind them, but he said nothing. Then he shifted away for a moment to study the couples that littered the dance floor before turning back to Eric, his expression unchanged.
“Want to cut out of here early?” he asked, nudging Eric’s knee gently under the table with his own and raising one eyebrow suggestively.
Eric would have liked to leave early under any circumstances, but with that suggestive eyebrow thrown in the mix neither hell nor high water could have stopped him.
He grinned back stupidly at Sam for a moment, getting warm in anticipation as he haphazardly grabbed for his suit jacket which hung on the chair behind him. Sam did the same and by mutual agreement they stood at the same time, eyes still locked on one another.
Maybe Mildred was right. Maybe they did have a look, after all.