Fic: The 'It' Factor
Title: The 'It' Factor
Characters/Pairings: Greg/Brad, Colin, Ryan, and mentions of the other guys
Rating: R
Word Count: ~3100
Summary: The abridged history of Greg and Brad, from 1992 to the present.
Disclaimer: None of these people belong to me.
Genre: angst, attempted humor, minor smut, PWP
Spoilers/Warnings: Some dialogue has been taken from The Green Screen Show (this part of S01E08). Also, there is lots and lots of swearing in this :P
A/N: I didn't know whether or not I should address the guys' wives, so I deliberately made the whole issue ambiguous in here.
“Oh, I meant to tell you this earlier,” Colin told Brad as they waited for their beers, “I had a dream about you last night.”
Brad didn't miss a single beat. “Did we use protection?”
Colin laughed. “No. See, if we were actually having sex in my dreams, we wouldn’t need it. Anyway, I can’t remember what it was about, but you were there.”
“And Aunty Em too?”
Ryan leaned over to grab his mug and jump into the conversation. “Y’know, recently I had a dream about you, too. Something about...” He waved his free hand in the air. “...Castanets and eating pies. You gotta get out of my head, Sherwood.”
That time, Brad laughed. He ambled away from the bar with his drink, putting it down when he got to the table - their table - and nudged Greg. Who, for some reason, wasn’t joining in on the conversation with their other friends.
“Did you hear the news? Apparently I’m a dream slut now,” he said when Greg looked up at him.
“You are?” Greg replied, sounding a little distracted. “Well, I hope you’re getting compensated for it in your own subconscious.”
Grinning, Brad pulled out the last free chair to sit down in it. He couldn’t help himself; he had to finish what he’d started.
“So, what about you? Come on, you can tell me if I’ve ever made an appearance in there.” He thought about reaching over to tap Greg’s forehead, but he settled on doing it to himself instead.
Greg chuckled, but apart from that, he didn’t miss a beat either.
“Only in my daydreams, babe. Only in my daydreams.”
It took them a while, a good long while, to truly warm up to each other, and when they finally got to that point, they realized that there was this... something... between them. Neither of them could deign to figure out what ‘it’ was, and most of the time they didn’t even care too much to try pinpointing the feeling.
However, it was there, all the same. Maybe it had something to do with how fucking smart Greg was, how he knew just about anything and everything yet wouldn’t flaunt his superiority - well, he wouldn't do that too much, anyway. Or maybe it was somehow rooted in Brad’s smugness being balanced out with his own brand of self-deprecation, which was what made him such an easy-going guy.
Whatever that thing between them was, it was way too ambiguous to try to nail down. Ultimately, it generated a mutual, unspoken agreement to just let it be.
So when they found themselves touching each other - lightly at first, and then there was the awkward necking; they were juggling politeness and release at the same time - both of them were surprised, yet not, at the same time.
It was when Greg slipped his hand down Brad’s pants that Brad shuddered a little and shifted away from Greg, and then the two of them stared at each other, both of them having been unfortunately snapped back into stark, awkward reality.
“I’m - I'm not gay,” Brad protested. It was the first thing that came out of his mouth, but he still meant it.
Greg said, "Well, neither am I, but you don't hear me braggin' about it, do ya?" He started to unbuckle Brad’s belt, then froze when Brad grabbed onto his wrist.
“Not here.”
With a quick nod, Greg lifted his hands up and, weaving slightly, he made his way out of the bar's bathroom.
They were silent as they slipped into the apartment - or flat, rather, because when in Rome, et cetera - and acted as though they were tiptoeing around roommates that didn’t exist, but when they shucked off their clothes and climbed onto the squeaky mattress, their anxiety and eagerness deflated in one long, shared chuckle. Which, really, made a lot of sense.
After all, comedy was in their blood.
“What now?” Brad asked as his laughter and Greg’s snorts subsided.
“I... don’t know,” Greg said, both answering the question and implying his own. This was supposed to be the part he was really good at, but right then and there, he felt just as clueless as Brad looked. He thought about cracking a joke, but then he realized that if they started getting too funny about the whole thing, they’d never stop laughing, and the moment would be forever lost to them afterward.
In the end, Brad reached for him first. It was ironic in a way, but then, Greg suddenly realized, it wasn't, because he knew that this was the kind of thing Brad had needed for a long, long time.
They laughed a little more between their eager, open-mouthed kisses, mostly out of sheer wonder and giddiness than anything else. Then there was the shock factor, even though they’d known what they were dealing with since the bar bathroom. There were flat nipples instead of breasts, neither of them had extra hair on their heads that went too far past their necks - though Brad did pull on Greg’s curls a little to compensate for this, which Greg didn’t mind at all - and, of course, the whole setup down under was a mirror image rather than what both of them were used to.
Either they were really drunk, horny, or simply couldn't help themselves, because the little surprises didn't stop them at all. They pushed and rocked against each other; Greg eventually landing on top of Brad and grinding his hips in time with Brad's as they tested the mattress's durability.
After a few minutes, Brad drew away from Greg to fumble around in his pants for a condom. Oddly enough, it was the sudden lapse in fevered motion that made Greg realize he was still wearing his glasses. He started to take them off, but Brad noticed what he was doing and quickly put his arm up to stop Greg.
“Keep them on,” he said, still a little out of breath, and Greg pushed himself back on his haunches.
“Didn’t know you had a fetish,” he teased, just as breathlessly, then paused when he saw that Brad wasn’t smiling. “Fine,” he relented. “But if I happen to call you ‘Brenda’, don't be getting all pissy at me.”
What he did to Brad next was... weird. Weird, but in a good way. Getting himself inside took an excruciating amount of patience, but, in a strange sort of way, it was worth the work and the wait, and when Greg made it 'there', for lack of a better word - working up a rhythm that grew faster and more frenetic - he was there.
It was oddly surreal and intimate and cathartic all at once, and when Greg finally came as he thrust himself in all the way, the shadows brightened and darkened around him in waves.
From the sound of Brad’s moans rising underneath him, he could tell that he wasn’t alone.
For a fleeting moment, it felt better than anything ever had, better than anyone Greg had ever been with before. Right then and there, it was even better than getting an entire roomful of applause, and even as his vision ebbed, rolled back, and then began to fade away, he told himself not to forget, not to ever, ever forget what it felt like to finally grasp onto something that had once seemed so elusive.
Eventually, Greg did end up forgetting. He didn’t know which was worse: losing his grip of that special something, or wondering whether Brad had already discarded it long before he did.
It was the nature of their lifestyles. That’s what they told themselves. They had to forget, or they’d go absolutely insane trying to piece together the memories and aftermath, to make it all fit in some bizarre, yet lovely, jigsaw puzzle. It was a lot like ridding their minds of particular lines that had bombed on stage, because if they thought about those moments too much, then they’d never be able to snap back and focus on what was coming next.
So, when they saw each other, they pretended that nothing had ever happened between them, that things had never progressed beyond amiable politeness. Whenever those inevitable encounters occurred, they’d joke around while keeping their distance, and they both pushed away how good it had felt to collide, just that one time, like it had never happened.
Though they were both regretful over not being in the same shows for the new version of Whose Line, it was probably for the best. That way, they wouldn’t have to keep their faces set and their eyes constantly away from each other. They wouldn’t have to grope and flirt with each other on camera like they did with the others to get the crowd going wild. If they were to do so together, if they were to kiss like Colin and Ryan would all the time, they might have gone long past the time the laughter would die down, and then everyone would know about them, and it would all be over for them because of one fuck-up.
One lengthy, delicious fuck-up. There might have been a joke to go along with that punchline, but neither of them could think of one.
Getting to do the Improv All Stars gigs turned out to be a blast. In some ways, those shows were even more fun than taping Whose Line. Performing for All Stars proved that they could master the art of nonchalance and casual professionalism around each other even while on a stage and occasionally ending up in a scene together. For the most part, those shared moments were pretty touch-and-go, like when they’d lightly slap each other on the back and say “That was great,” after a game, but it was still fun to be together, with the others, and getting paid to do what they loved.
During the Vegas tapings, Brad wondered whether Drew had somehow known about them all those years since he kept saying “Brad and Greg,” when he meant Brad and Chip. However, it was a fleeting thought, and Brad focused on consoling the poor guy while they got to their places. Drew had always been like that with all their names, anyway. Earlier that night he called Brad ‘Wayne’ backstage, which got Greg alternately roaring with laughter and snorting uncontrollably for at least a minute.
“Is that guy on a work furlough program? 'Cause he seems to haven't have had human contact in quite some time.”
Brad winced. Then, after remembering where he was, he changed his expression to a more neutral one as he tried to ignore the audience's response.
He wouldn’t look at Greg. He wouldn’t. He didn’t even have the energy to sigh or pretend to laugh.
He wasn’t getting annoyed or pissed off at Greg. Not exactly. Brad was just giving into the exhaustion for a moment and soon, soon, the moment would be over and they could all move on to something that would hopefully be less forced.
“I love the feeling of a man's hands all over my body.”
Brad snapped back into the present to discover that no, they hadn’t moved on yet, and he groaned inwardly, helplessly. He thought, Stop. Please, just stop already, and, after blowing off a little more steam, Greg finally let the whole thing go.
Just then, Brad suddenly couldn’t figure out which made him feel worse: realizing that he and Greg seemed to be crossing a line which they could never go back over again, or failing to recall the last time the two of them had actually made each other laugh themselves silly.
It happened, sooner or later. It didn’t mean anything bad, necessarily. It was simply one of those uncomfortable truths in life. Former co-workers - no, friends - one-time lovers - people end up growing apart, and before Brad knew it, more and more time had gone by since he'd last seen Greg. Brad still got second-hand news from Colin about how the other guys were doing during their Whose Live tours; Brad and Colin still constantly talked about combining the two shows. However, the cards never seemed to fall in just the right way, so the group and the duo remained separated.
For the most part, Brad was actually fine with that, and maybe even moreso than Colin seemed to be. Yet there was that thing, that unattainable something, that kept flitting around in the back of Brad's head, especially during the moments when he’d let himself zone out and relax.
Then Colin would come into the room, prompting Brad to crack a bald joke out of sheer reflex, and the thought would be completely gone until returning much later, when Brad would be drifting off to sleep or finding himself idly staring at bathroom wall tiles.
When Brad and Colin finally got to see the others again due to a sleight of serendipity in hotel booking, the first few minutes were simultaneously awkward and comfortable, refreshing yet predictable at the same time. They were all hugs and sweet greetings at first, but then things fell into a more casual, familiar rhythm once they all had some drinks and started to bitch about their co-stars.
Brad didn’t get a moment alone with Greg until about a couple hours into the makeshift reunion. After Jeff and Ryan left Greg at the bar to go outside for a smoke, Brad sidled up next to Greg.
“So,” Brad said after a moment's hesitation. “What’s with the hair?” He didn’t mention that he’d been sitting on that question for at least a year.
If Greg were truly annoyed at having been asked that for what probably was the zillionth time, he didn't showcase his irritation.
“I was just going to ask you the same thing about your shirt.”
Well, not too much, anyway.
“This?” Brad gestured dramatically at his striped multicolored top. “Y'know, I liked my shower curtain so much that I thought it might be fun to wear it.”
Greg snorted, though a little half-heartedly, like he was only being polite.
Brad let the silence slide back in between them, the way it usually did whenever they found themselves alone together. They both sipped their drinks until Ryan and Jeff returned, and Jeff immediately proceeded to goad them into doing a round of shots with him.
After they slammed their tiny glasses down, Jeff practically bounced back to the table at which the others were all sitting. Brad considered making a Tigger-related joke, but he closed his mouth, then opened it again.
“Remember when we used to have that much energy?” he ended up saying. The words were out, as usual, before Brad could stop himself, and he winced a little for sounding so melodramatic.
“We?” Greg countered. “What do you mean, ‘we’? I don’t know about you, but I still have decades to burn before you can hang me out to dry.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Would you like it to be one?”
Greg froze when he realized exactly whom he was addressing. He took another long, slow sip of his drink, then set it back down, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Brad’s.
“Do you think...” Brad started, then closed his mouth. He looked over at the others and began to let his mind wander a little.
“No, no, no, don’t do that,” Greg said, bringing him back to the moment. The pause had visibly emboldened him; he was staring directly at Brad over the rims of his glasses. “Come on, do I think... what?”
Brad shook his head dismissively. “Never mind.”
“Do I think it would have been better if things had happened differently between us?” Greg finished for him in a lowered tone. “On the record, no. I love how things have been going for me, and you won’t hear about me shedding tears night after night because I’m not spending them cuddling up with you. Off the record?” Greg tilted his head back and adjusted his glasses back to their original position. “From time to time, I do think about how it might have been if we... Well. It does sting a little to look back and wonder. Wouldn’t it be nice, isn’t it pretty to think so - all that fucking jazz.
“But unless you’ve got a time machine stashed up your sleeve there, Bradley, it is what it is. That’s all I can really give you. Except, since we’re still being off the record here," - Greg shifted both his stance and his expression just a tad to the mischievous - “I think you should know that Davis is a fantastic spooning partner. We’ll trade you him for Colin, if you’re interested.”
He finished then, waiting for a reaction, though he didn’t show whether he was almost holding his breath until he'd get it.
Brad barely registered the crack about Jeff. He was too preoccupied with letting the sudden rush of emotions surge through him, one right after the other. Relief, amusement, regret... He just stood there, looking at Greg, and he let their attraction - their tension, their whatever it was that had existed between them for so, so long - just hang in the air where it had always been incredibly close, yet just barely out of reach. He felt a grin start at the corners of his lips until it reached his eyes.
Then he said, “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to come check out the time machine I’ve got upstairs. It may be a little rusty, but it’s still fully functional.” He paused, then, as he leaned forward a little, he added, “If you know what I mean.”
Greg let out a low, uncontrolled laugh, which was coupled with another snort.
This time, it was a real one.
"Oh, you're just a real peach; did you know that? Here I am, pouring my fucking heart out to you, and all you can think about is that stupid, shitty joke of yours! So, fuck you very much." Greg lifted a hand and poked Brad's chest to add injury to insult. "Fuck you and your shower curtain shirt."
Brad blinked, his grin faltering a little.
After a couple of seconds, it came right back in full force as he said, "Now that's an invitation."
"Damn straight it is," Greg retorted.
For some inexplicable reason, this caused them to both burst into fresh bouts of pure, uninhibited laughter. They clutched onto each other and just let themselves go, so much so that they could barely breathe.
The rest of the group fell silent and looked up at them in mild amusement from across the bar.
“What’s so funny?” Chip asked.
Ryan shrugged as he began to turn his attention away from the other two, though he was still smiling a little.
“I guess we’ll never really know.”
Characters/Pairings: Greg/Brad, Colin, Ryan, and mentions of the other guys
Rating: R
Word Count: ~3100
Summary: The abridged history of Greg and Brad, from 1992 to the present.
Disclaimer: None of these people belong to me.
Genre: angst, attempted humor, minor smut, PWP
Spoilers/Warnings: Some dialogue has been taken from The Green Screen Show (this part of S01E08). Also, there is lots and lots of swearing in this :P
A/N: I didn't know whether or not I should address the guys' wives, so I deliberately made the whole issue ambiguous in here.
“Oh, I meant to tell you this earlier,” Colin told Brad as they waited for their beers, “I had a dream about you last night.”
Brad didn't miss a single beat. “Did we use protection?”
Colin laughed. “No. See, if we were actually having sex in my dreams, we wouldn’t need it. Anyway, I can’t remember what it was about, but you were there.”
“And Aunty Em too?”
Ryan leaned over to grab his mug and jump into the conversation. “Y’know, recently I had a dream about you, too. Something about...” He waved his free hand in the air. “...Castanets and eating pies. You gotta get out of my head, Sherwood.”
That time, Brad laughed. He ambled away from the bar with his drink, putting it down when he got to the table - their table - and nudged Greg. Who, for some reason, wasn’t joining in on the conversation with their other friends.
“Did you hear the news? Apparently I’m a dream slut now,” he said when Greg looked up at him.
“You are?” Greg replied, sounding a little distracted. “Well, I hope you’re getting compensated for it in your own subconscious.”
Grinning, Brad pulled out the last free chair to sit down in it. He couldn’t help himself; he had to finish what he’d started.
“So, what about you? Come on, you can tell me if I’ve ever made an appearance in there.” He thought about reaching over to tap Greg’s forehead, but he settled on doing it to himself instead.
Greg chuckled, but apart from that, he didn’t miss a beat either.
“Only in my daydreams, babe. Only in my daydreams.”
It took them a while, a good long while, to truly warm up to each other, and when they finally got to that point, they realized that there was this... something... between them. Neither of them could deign to figure out what ‘it’ was, and most of the time they didn’t even care too much to try pinpointing the feeling.
However, it was there, all the same. Maybe it had something to do with how fucking smart Greg was, how he knew just about anything and everything yet wouldn’t flaunt his superiority - well, he wouldn't do that too much, anyway. Or maybe it was somehow rooted in Brad’s smugness being balanced out with his own brand of self-deprecation, which was what made him such an easy-going guy.
Whatever that thing between them was, it was way too ambiguous to try to nail down. Ultimately, it generated a mutual, unspoken agreement to just let it be.
So when they found themselves touching each other - lightly at first, and then there was the awkward necking; they were juggling politeness and release at the same time - both of them were surprised, yet not, at the same time.
It was when Greg slipped his hand down Brad’s pants that Brad shuddered a little and shifted away from Greg, and then the two of them stared at each other, both of them having been unfortunately snapped back into stark, awkward reality.
“I’m - I'm not gay,” Brad protested. It was the first thing that came out of his mouth, but he still meant it.
Greg said, "Well, neither am I, but you don't hear me braggin' about it, do ya?" He started to unbuckle Brad’s belt, then froze when Brad grabbed onto his wrist.
“Not here.”
With a quick nod, Greg lifted his hands up and, weaving slightly, he made his way out of the bar's bathroom.
They were silent as they slipped into the apartment - or flat, rather, because when in Rome, et cetera - and acted as though they were tiptoeing around roommates that didn’t exist, but when they shucked off their clothes and climbed onto the squeaky mattress, their anxiety and eagerness deflated in one long, shared chuckle. Which, really, made a lot of sense.
After all, comedy was in their blood.
“What now?” Brad asked as his laughter and Greg’s snorts subsided.
“I... don’t know,” Greg said, both answering the question and implying his own. This was supposed to be the part he was really good at, but right then and there, he felt just as clueless as Brad looked. He thought about cracking a joke, but then he realized that if they started getting too funny about the whole thing, they’d never stop laughing, and the moment would be forever lost to them afterward.
In the end, Brad reached for him first. It was ironic in a way, but then, Greg suddenly realized, it wasn't, because he knew that this was the kind of thing Brad had needed for a long, long time.
They laughed a little more between their eager, open-mouthed kisses, mostly out of sheer wonder and giddiness than anything else. Then there was the shock factor, even though they’d known what they were dealing with since the bar bathroom. There were flat nipples instead of breasts, neither of them had extra hair on their heads that went too far past their necks - though Brad did pull on Greg’s curls a little to compensate for this, which Greg didn’t mind at all - and, of course, the whole setup down under was a mirror image rather than what both of them were used to.
Either they were really drunk, horny, or simply couldn't help themselves, because the little surprises didn't stop them at all. They pushed and rocked against each other; Greg eventually landing on top of Brad and grinding his hips in time with Brad's as they tested the mattress's durability.
After a few minutes, Brad drew away from Greg to fumble around in his pants for a condom. Oddly enough, it was the sudden lapse in fevered motion that made Greg realize he was still wearing his glasses. He started to take them off, but Brad noticed what he was doing and quickly put his arm up to stop Greg.
“Keep them on,” he said, still a little out of breath, and Greg pushed himself back on his haunches.
“Didn’t know you had a fetish,” he teased, just as breathlessly, then paused when he saw that Brad wasn’t smiling. “Fine,” he relented. “But if I happen to call you ‘Brenda’, don't be getting all pissy at me.”
What he did to Brad next was... weird. Weird, but in a good way. Getting himself inside took an excruciating amount of patience, but, in a strange sort of way, it was worth the work and the wait, and when Greg made it 'there', for lack of a better word - working up a rhythm that grew faster and more frenetic - he was there.
It was oddly surreal and intimate and cathartic all at once, and when Greg finally came as he thrust himself in all the way, the shadows brightened and darkened around him in waves.
From the sound of Brad’s moans rising underneath him, he could tell that he wasn’t alone.
For a fleeting moment, it felt better than anything ever had, better than anyone Greg had ever been with before. Right then and there, it was even better than getting an entire roomful of applause, and even as his vision ebbed, rolled back, and then began to fade away, he told himself not to forget, not to ever, ever forget what it felt like to finally grasp onto something that had once seemed so elusive.
Eventually, Greg did end up forgetting. He didn’t know which was worse: losing his grip of that special something, or wondering whether Brad had already discarded it long before he did.
It was the nature of their lifestyles. That’s what they told themselves. They had to forget, or they’d go absolutely insane trying to piece together the memories and aftermath, to make it all fit in some bizarre, yet lovely, jigsaw puzzle. It was a lot like ridding their minds of particular lines that had bombed on stage, because if they thought about those moments too much, then they’d never be able to snap back and focus on what was coming next.
So, when they saw each other, they pretended that nothing had ever happened between them, that things had never progressed beyond amiable politeness. Whenever those inevitable encounters occurred, they’d joke around while keeping their distance, and they both pushed away how good it had felt to collide, just that one time, like it had never happened.
Though they were both regretful over not being in the same shows for the new version of Whose Line, it was probably for the best. That way, they wouldn’t have to keep their faces set and their eyes constantly away from each other. They wouldn’t have to grope and flirt with each other on camera like they did with the others to get the crowd going wild. If they were to do so together, if they were to kiss like Colin and Ryan would all the time, they might have gone long past the time the laughter would die down, and then everyone would know about them, and it would all be over for them because of one fuck-up.
One lengthy, delicious fuck-up. There might have been a joke to go along with that punchline, but neither of them could think of one.
Getting to do the Improv All Stars gigs turned out to be a blast. In some ways, those shows were even more fun than taping Whose Line. Performing for All Stars proved that they could master the art of nonchalance and casual professionalism around each other even while on a stage and occasionally ending up in a scene together. For the most part, those shared moments were pretty touch-and-go, like when they’d lightly slap each other on the back and say “That was great,” after a game, but it was still fun to be together, with the others, and getting paid to do what they loved.
During the Vegas tapings, Brad wondered whether Drew had somehow known about them all those years since he kept saying “Brad and Greg,” when he meant Brad and Chip. However, it was a fleeting thought, and Brad focused on consoling the poor guy while they got to their places. Drew had always been like that with all their names, anyway. Earlier that night he called Brad ‘Wayne’ backstage, which got Greg alternately roaring with laughter and snorting uncontrollably for at least a minute.
“Is that guy on a work furlough program? 'Cause he seems to haven't have had human contact in quite some time.”
Brad winced. Then, after remembering where he was, he changed his expression to a more neutral one as he tried to ignore the audience's response.
He wouldn’t look at Greg. He wouldn’t. He didn’t even have the energy to sigh or pretend to laugh.
He wasn’t getting annoyed or pissed off at Greg. Not exactly. Brad was just giving into the exhaustion for a moment and soon, soon, the moment would be over and they could all move on to something that would hopefully be less forced.
“I love the feeling of a man's hands all over my body.”
Brad snapped back into the present to discover that no, they hadn’t moved on yet, and he groaned inwardly, helplessly. He thought, Stop. Please, just stop already, and, after blowing off a little more steam, Greg finally let the whole thing go.
Just then, Brad suddenly couldn’t figure out which made him feel worse: realizing that he and Greg seemed to be crossing a line which they could never go back over again, or failing to recall the last time the two of them had actually made each other laugh themselves silly.
It happened, sooner or later. It didn’t mean anything bad, necessarily. It was simply one of those uncomfortable truths in life. Former co-workers - no, friends - one-time lovers - people end up growing apart, and before Brad knew it, more and more time had gone by since he'd last seen Greg. Brad still got second-hand news from Colin about how the other guys were doing during their Whose Live tours; Brad and Colin still constantly talked about combining the two shows. However, the cards never seemed to fall in just the right way, so the group and the duo remained separated.
For the most part, Brad was actually fine with that, and maybe even moreso than Colin seemed to be. Yet there was that thing, that unattainable something, that kept flitting around in the back of Brad's head, especially during the moments when he’d let himself zone out and relax.
Then Colin would come into the room, prompting Brad to crack a bald joke out of sheer reflex, and the thought would be completely gone until returning much later, when Brad would be drifting off to sleep or finding himself idly staring at bathroom wall tiles.
When Brad and Colin finally got to see the others again due to a sleight of serendipity in hotel booking, the first few minutes were simultaneously awkward and comfortable, refreshing yet predictable at the same time. They were all hugs and sweet greetings at first, but then things fell into a more casual, familiar rhythm once they all had some drinks and started to bitch about their co-stars.
Brad didn’t get a moment alone with Greg until about a couple hours into the makeshift reunion. After Jeff and Ryan left Greg at the bar to go outside for a smoke, Brad sidled up next to Greg.
“So,” Brad said after a moment's hesitation. “What’s with the hair?” He didn’t mention that he’d been sitting on that question for at least a year.
If Greg were truly annoyed at having been asked that for what probably was the zillionth time, he didn't showcase his irritation.
“I was just going to ask you the same thing about your shirt.”
Well, not too much, anyway.
“This?” Brad gestured dramatically at his striped multicolored top. “Y'know, I liked my shower curtain so much that I thought it might be fun to wear it.”
Greg snorted, though a little half-heartedly, like he was only being polite.
Brad let the silence slide back in between them, the way it usually did whenever they found themselves alone together. They both sipped their drinks until Ryan and Jeff returned, and Jeff immediately proceeded to goad them into doing a round of shots with him.
After they slammed their tiny glasses down, Jeff practically bounced back to the table at which the others were all sitting. Brad considered making a Tigger-related joke, but he closed his mouth, then opened it again.
“Remember when we used to have that much energy?” he ended up saying. The words were out, as usual, before Brad could stop himself, and he winced a little for sounding so melodramatic.
“We?” Greg countered. “What do you mean, ‘we’? I don’t know about you, but I still have decades to burn before you can hang me out to dry.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Would you like it to be one?”
Greg froze when he realized exactly whom he was addressing. He took another long, slow sip of his drink, then set it back down, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Brad’s.
“Do you think...” Brad started, then closed his mouth. He looked over at the others and began to let his mind wander a little.
“No, no, no, don’t do that,” Greg said, bringing him back to the moment. The pause had visibly emboldened him; he was staring directly at Brad over the rims of his glasses. “Come on, do I think... what?”
Brad shook his head dismissively. “Never mind.”
“Do I think it would have been better if things had happened differently between us?” Greg finished for him in a lowered tone. “On the record, no. I love how things have been going for me, and you won’t hear about me shedding tears night after night because I’m not spending them cuddling up with you. Off the record?” Greg tilted his head back and adjusted his glasses back to their original position. “From time to time, I do think about how it might have been if we... Well. It does sting a little to look back and wonder. Wouldn’t it be nice, isn’t it pretty to think so - all that fucking jazz.
“But unless you’ve got a time machine stashed up your sleeve there, Bradley, it is what it is. That’s all I can really give you. Except, since we’re still being off the record here," - Greg shifted both his stance and his expression just a tad to the mischievous - “I think you should know that Davis is a fantastic spooning partner. We’ll trade you him for Colin, if you’re interested.”
He finished then, waiting for a reaction, though he didn’t show whether he was almost holding his breath until he'd get it.
Brad barely registered the crack about Jeff. He was too preoccupied with letting the sudden rush of emotions surge through him, one right after the other. Relief, amusement, regret... He just stood there, looking at Greg, and he let their attraction - their tension, their whatever it was that had existed between them for so, so long - just hang in the air where it had always been incredibly close, yet just barely out of reach. He felt a grin start at the corners of his lips until it reached his eyes.
Then he said, “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to come check out the time machine I’ve got upstairs. It may be a little rusty, but it’s still fully functional.” He paused, then, as he leaned forward a little, he added, “If you know what I mean.”
Greg let out a low, uncontrolled laugh, which was coupled with another snort.
This time, it was a real one.
"Oh, you're just a real peach; did you know that? Here I am, pouring my fucking heart out to you, and all you can think about is that stupid, shitty joke of yours! So, fuck you very much." Greg lifted a hand and poked Brad's chest to add injury to insult. "Fuck you and your shower curtain shirt."
Brad blinked, his grin faltering a little.
After a couple of seconds, it came right back in full force as he said, "Now that's an invitation."
"Damn straight it is," Greg retorted.
For some inexplicable reason, this caused them to both burst into fresh bouts of pure, uninhibited laughter. They clutched onto each other and just let themselves go, so much so that they could barely breathe.
The rest of the group fell silent and looked up at them in mild amusement from across the bar.
“What’s so funny?” Chip asked.
Ryan shrugged as he began to turn his attention away from the other two, though he was still smiling a little.
“I guess we’ll never really know.”