Title: Continental Drift Pairing: Greg/Clive Rating: PG-13 Summary: Getting together with Clive was nothing like fireworks (I'm of the opinion that this drabble is much too sappy). Getting together with Clive was nothing like the fireworks trashy romance novels suggested. Not that Greg read trashy romance novels. Highly convoluted fiction aside, based on personal experience, he found that some amount of intensity was par for the course. With Clive it was more of a slow burn, like one of those candles you only light on your birthday. It developed so slowly, in fact, that he didn't realize it was happening. And Greg liked to think he was decently good a reading people, at anticipating. They were friends -- after they got past their first size-each-other-up fight -- and then one night Greg found himself collapsed on top of Clive, breathing heavily but comfortably sated. When Greg extracted himself and rolled off of Clive, he didn't regret what happened (and was already looking forward to it happening again), but he did try to piece together how it happened: how their handshakes came to be (manly) hugs, when their sarcastic commentary on the world around them became more personal and ultimately more flirtatious. But then Clive's fingers were on his wrist, pulling his hand to his lips for a kiss, and Greg figured introspection could wait for another night. -- end --