Title: Roads Less Traveled Pairing: Greg/Clive Rating: PG-13/R Summary: Actions have consequences, but Clive wishes he could forget that. A/N: 1683 words. Sequel to Time and Place. Angsty and guilt-ridden -- which was not at all my intent when I started writing. Funny how that works, huh? Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to imply anything about any real person. No harm is intended. Clive turned the corner not a block from his house, and nearly ran into Greg. To say he was surprised would be a massive understatement. "What are you doing here?" "Happy coincidence?" Innocence was never something Greg had been able to pull off. "You don't do coincidences," said Clive. "Sure I do." "Let me rephrase. Anything that involves flying five thousand miles isn't a coincidence. This required planning." The two fell into step and headed up Clive's front walk. "I'm doing a European tour. I thought I'd surprise you." Clive nodded. "Congratulations, you succeeded." "You're the one who said I should visit." Clive smiled at the memory, roughly three years in the past. He put his key in the door. "That I did." He stepped inside and made a sweeping gesture. "Come in, Greg." No sooner than Clive had shrugged his coat off then Jane walked in the room -- and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Greg. The two of them had never gotten along particularly well. Both were opinionated, which in the ordinary course of things wouldn't have stopped them from being civil, or even friendly. But Jane had fought with Clive in the past that when Greg was around he monopolized all of her husband's time. Those were fights he usually lost; he found they fought much less once Whose Line ended. "Think we can stretch dinner out for one more?" Jane's eyes narrowed and her smile was forced when she replied, "Of course." And then addressed Greg, "I hope you're not expecting a gourmet meal." His return smile was polite and nothing more. "I'm sure whatever you have will be fine. Thanks for your trouble." *** Dinner was an awkward hour consisting of long stretches of silence between aborted conversation. The tension between Greg and Jane fell heavily in the air and Clive found he couldn't really connect with Greg because of it. He hadn't seen him in years and Greg felt like a stranger at their table. Thus, instead of finding camaraderie with an old friend, or pleasant conversation with his wife, Clive found himself relegated to the role of moderator. He would be the first to admit that it wasn't a role that suited him: far too many guests had left his talk shows offended, and he only got by hosting Whose Line by forcing himself to stay out of things as much as possible. When the meal was over and Greg excused himself for a smoke, Clive followed him outside. Greg's face was illuminated briefly as he lit his cigarette. "Well, that was fun." "Perhaps it would have been better if you'd bumped into me somewhere else." They were both irritated, and it felt wrong -- they were off balance. Clive had always worked without a script when it came to Greg, had always expected the unexpected. But that had worked for them because they understood each other on some level. Now Clive was getting the sinking feeling that their connection was irreparably severed. "Do you want me to go?" But their shared history was too much to give up on so easily. "No," said Clive. "No, maybe we can go out?" When Greg smiled at him, genuinely, Clive felt a flood of relief. "Just give me a minute, would you?" Clive headed back to the kitchen, and watched Jane load the dishwasher. Her movements were mechanical. She only got mechanical when she was angry; he hadn't been lying all those times he told Greg she didn't like him. He grabbed a couple of glasses off the table and placed them in the dishwasher. "Greg and I were thinking about going out for a drink." "I guess I shouldn't wait up for you." "We'll probably be out late. Quite a lot of catching up to do," he agreed. When he leaned in to kiss her, Jane turned away. Clive coughed uncomfortably. "Right. We'll just be going, then." *** "Our options are someplace close, or someplace familiar." Their positions were reversed from the last time they were in a car together, back in LA. And this time it wasn't raining, which Greg surprisingly hadn't commented on. "I'm thinking --" "Forget the pub. I haven't seen you in years, I don't want to go somewhere where I won't be able to hear a fucking word you say. We'll grab a bottle of Scotch and go somewhere more private." Clive could feel Greg's eyes on him, watching carefully. This was a potentially important moment, Clive knew. Even though things had thus far been awkward since their reunion, Clive could hear the hidden meaning in those words. They had been teetering on the edge of more-than-friendship for years, and the suggestion of "somewhere private" was laden with implications. A pub would be safer: a distant politeness would carry them through the night and then Greg would leave for his tour. Privacy, on the other hand, could rekindle their connection -- and potentially lead to more. In fact, Clive always done his best to carefully avoid their being alone together for any stretch of time, not trusting himself around Greg. Whether it was because he was afraid Greg would rebuff him, or that he wouldn't and they'd ruin both their lives, Clive couldn't say. "I'm up for that." He exchanged a look with Greg, and could tell that the other man saw this as a turning point as well. But then, of course he did: he may have had other, more pressing reasons to fly halfway around the world, but stopping in to see him had likely caused Greg some degree of inconvenience. Things could get messy. Clive found himself filled with nervous anticipation, and drove faster. *** He had waited in the idling car while Greg ran into the liquor store; they had stood side by side and impossibly close in the hotel lift, and their arms had brushed as they walked down the hallway towards Greg's room. Greg unlocked the door, walking quickly to the back of the room to place the liquor on the table. Clive remained near the door, doubt filtering in. They stood like that, at opposite sides of the room, for what felt like an eternity, contemplating each other. Then Greg began to move toward Clive with slow, deliberate steps, neither of them breaking eye contact. When Greg got so close that they were nearly touching, Clive swallowed thickly and stepped backwards. After only two steps he found himself trapped between Greg and the door. Greg placed his palms flat against to door, just above Clive's shoulders. "I want you," Greg said, and Clive was sure it was barely above a whisper, but the words echoed in his mind like a roaring jet engine. It ended up being Clive who took the definitive action when he reached out and grabbed Greg's shirt with both fists, pulling them together for a hungry kiss. It was Greg who deepened that kiss, slipping his tongue out to run along Clive's upper lip before meeting Clive's. Clive could feel the beginnings of Greg's arousal pressing against his thigh, and he was certain Greg could feel his as well. Greg broke the kiss long enough to say, "Bed," and began pulling Clive in that direction. As much as Clive couldn't deny wanting this, it was much too much, much too fast. He stood his ground. "Wait." Greg grunted in frustration and stopped leading them towards the bed -- but he didn't take his hands off the other man. "Just so you know, Mr. A, I don't think I'm capable of stopping right now." "This is a bad idea." "Of course it's a bad idea." Clive couldn't stop touching him, either. "Then why are we doing this?" Greg barked out a laugh. "The fuck if I know." It would be better to stop, of course, but Clive gave into his weakness; he'd be wearing this albatross around his neck for a long time. "This can't happen again." "I know." In the physical, they found their voices -- their connection -- that had been missing earlier in the evening: "Want you." "Need you." "There." "So fucking good." "Please." "Like that." "Don't stop." "Fuck, yes." and a dozen other half-formed sentences and inarticulate phrases that conveyed lust and desire. *** It was a while before Clive had recovered enough to speak again. He propped himself up on his elbow and rested his other hand on Greg's shoulder, needing the contact. "So where are you going on your tour?" Greg cleared his throat. "Well, it's not so much a European tour as a tour of England." "Oh?" Greg shifted a little, looking even more uncomfortable. "Actually, it's not so much England as a Clive's street tour." You came all this way just to see me? Clive wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He feared he'd just embarrass them both. He also considered saying, you came five thousand miles for a booty call? but he didn't think that was appropriate either -- though he was sure Greg would have see the humor in it. Instead he said, "I see," and watched Greg continue to fidget. He slid his hand down to cup Greg's ass; he both watched and felt Greg relax in return. "And just how many engagements were you planning on for this tour?" "Let me think," Greg leaned forward, drawing Clive's lower lip into his mouth, eliciting a whimper in return. He bit down lightly, then spoke against the other man's lips. "At least two more," he said, "tonight." "That sounds like a busy schedule." Clive's voice broke mid-sentence as Greg trailed his hand up his inner thigh. Greg pulled back just far enough so that Clive could see his smirk. "I have a captive audience." Clive couldn't help thinking of their wives. "For now," he said as a warning. Greg squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. "That's all I'm asking for," he replied, and pressed them closer together. -- end --