Title: Games We Play Pairing: Greg/Clive, Ryan/Colin briefly in the background. Rating: R Summary: Greg always gets under Clive's skin. Clive realizes he might be letting it happen. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No harm is intended. A/N: Unbetaed, Clive's POV, working my way up to some actual Greg/Clive banter. About 1500 words. We had finished our last taping of the series and Greg had cornered me, asking if I'd join him and Colin and Ryan for a few drinks as we wouldn't all be together for nearly a year. I tried to make my excuses. When Greg didn't relent I made some snide comment about pushy Americans. Greg followed with a more direct comment about it only being one drink and it couldn't possibly take very long -- something about my lack of neck making the alcohol reach my stomach more quickly -- and we were off and running with our usual give and take. We'd argued like this almost since the moment we met, and I would like to think that it's all good-natured, but with Greg I'm never quite sure. All I know for certain is that he gets under my skin. I got swept up in our words and without registering how, ended up in a seedly little pub I'd never been to before, pint in hand. I decided to stay for one drink after all -- when in Rome and all that. It ended up being substantially more than a drink, and substantially less company than I expected. Ryan and Colin had disappeared after about an hour when they went to get another round and never came back. Not that they were the best of company. Colin spoke in soft tones unsuited for a loud pub unless you were right next to him. Ryan filled that space. Conversation with Ryan was out of the question; his world centered on Colin and any attempts I made in that direction were met with unfriendly looks and clipped replies. My failed efforts must have registered with Greg, because at some point he had leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. "You know, if you'd just stop trying to talk to Colin, Ryan'd stop giving you the ax-murderer look." "But I was just--" He patted me on the shoulder in mock sympathy. "I know. Don't take it personally. They're just not going to see each other for a few months." Then he frowned, considering. "Though I don't know what their excuse is ther rest of the time." Ryan had glared at Greg for the words he couldn't hear and moved closer to Colin, who looked across the table at us apologetically. I just wondered why they came out to begin with. Still, as much as I found myself enjoying the rest of the evening with Greg, talking politics and nonsense, it was getting late and it was only polite to inquire after our companions' mysterious disappearance. "Did they possibly get lost on the way back to the table?" Greg seemed amused by this. "I don't think they're coming back." I moved to speak, but he cut me off. "They're probably off fucking somewhere," he stated bluntly. "Most likely they're back at the hotel by now, but just in case, you might want to avoid the toilet." He watched me carefully to see how I'd react. "You're kidding." I said uncertainly. His reply was accompanied by his best poker face. "Am I?" It was a line of thought I didn't want to go down. Not that I didn't have my fair share of similar indiscretions at university, but I had no desire for a mental picture of the two of them. I just shook my head and turned away. I think Greg snickered. I know I took a deep swallow, hiding behind my glass. We're always competing and Greg had won that round, catching me off guard and leaving me unable to counter. He knew it; the satisfaction practically oozed from him. I was sadly out of practice with verbal sparring. Our brief banter between games wasn't enought to really stretch the mind -- I should have never given up the law. But then again, were I still a barrister, I wouldn't have been sitting there. I'm still not quite sure if that's a good thing or not. When I finally looked at him, Greg had stubbed out his cigarette, already lighting another while the last smoldered in the ashtray. He scanned the room, eyes settling on three rather shapely women by the bar, and at least one returned the look. "Well," he said. "I don't intend to head back to the hotel alone." He was gathering up his things -- wallet, lighter -- and spoke with an air of finality. "I'm off to find a decent lay. I trust as a native you can find your way home." I was feeling indignant as he was the one who wouldn't take no for an answer and demanded I come out with him. I wasn't about to let him leaved me pissed and alone in a pub in the south of London. Tongue thick, mind stupid, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Why get up, there's one sitting right here next to you." I wasn't so far gone that I didn't regret it the moment it passed out of my mouth. For all our talk on and off the show, I actually know very little about Greg and I didn't know how he would react. Or more to the point, how he'd react to such a statement from me. Greg just stared for a few ticks. Then a slow smile slid across his face and he inched his chair closer, the scrape of its legs across the floor loud to my ears even with the heavy din around us. His hand was suddenly on my knee, heading north, and I got the sinking feeling he orchestrated this whole thing. Quite frankly I fell in all too easily. "Why, Mr. A, is that an offer?" Greg didn't wait for an answer. It was just as well, because I don't think I had one. "Only decent?" I gulped down the last remaining dregs of whatever it was I'd been drinking. Maybe it was at the bottom of my glass, but I found the confidence I'd been missing all night and I didn't really care where it was coming from. I looked him straight in the eye. "I'm damn good." He laughed, loud and genuine, and I have to admit that I love his laugh. It's abrupt, it comes out of nowhere like he can't contain it, and when he's laughing at me, it's enough to nearly bring a blush to my face, but when he's laughing with me, it's the easiest thing in the world to get caught up in. Right then he was definitely laughing with me. Greg stood suddenly, groping wildly in my direction for purchase. "Let's get out of here." He was just a touch too drunk for the words to come out properly seductive, but we both knew what he was suggesting. It appeared Greg wasn't heading back alone after all. Out on the street, I got into the cab first. Greg practically fell in behind me. In the ensuing jostle he kissed me. He got more of my cheek than anything else, his lips were somewhat dry, his breath impossibly hot, his grip on my shoulder just a touch too tight to be comfortable. But all that aside it was rather perfect, or if not perfect, exactly what I needed. It was something I didn't know I'd been missing, but something I think he and I had been leading up to for years. Greg gets under my skin, all right. *** I wake and it's dark. As it must be in the area of half four, the darkness is only to be expected. It's also quiet. And isn't that just about the most shocking thing ever. Because Greg is here with me and quiet is probably the last word I would ever use to describe Greg. I shift a little, and I have to smile because I'm wonderfully sore. Most likely I'll not feel the same enthusiasm about this soreness later and the thought flashes that I'm getting too old for this sort of thing, but I quickly push it aside. Plenty of time for that later. After the cab, my memory isn't exactly clear. It doesn't really matter, because the truth is laid out before me, plain as can be. I'm in Greg's hotel room, his bed, even. With the help of a pale sliver of streetlight that's found its way through the heavy drapes I can just make out the scattered heaps of our clothes. If that wasn't enough to hint at what when on here, Greg's wrapped around me, oddly possessive and clingy for a man I've come to understand over the years as incredibly self-sufficient. I want to get up and leave because I'm not quite sure what time the other performers get up, and I'm certain I'd be mortified if I ran into Ryan or Colin in the lobby -- regardless of whether what Greg said about them was true. But a small nagging part of me thinks it improper to slink away under cover of darkness like that, without a word. But perhaps more shockingly, a larger part of me likes it here with Greg and wants to stay. I find I don't really have a choice in the matter as my eyelids grow heavy and I drift off back to sleep. Last night is still largely a blur, but it will come back. If it doesn't, I'm fairly confident Greg will indulge me again. It's only a question of what price it will come at. Greg plays to win -- we both do. He won soundly tonight. I fully intend payback in the future. -end-