Title: Virtue and Vice Pairing: Greg/Clive Rating: PG? Summary: The game they played wasn't about winning and losing, but neither of them was going to admit that to the other. That's simply not how it was done. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No harm is intended. Clive walks down the dimly lit studio hallway, taping schedule in hand, newspaper and journals tucked under his arm. It's an all-American lineup today -- well, if one uses American in the broad sense of the term. He'll have to remember to guide some of the games so that the audience suggestions aren't completely unfamiliar; it makes for a bad show if the audience and performers lose each other. Greg's part of that All-American lineup, and he can handle himself better with the local culture, Clive knows. He can also almost guarantee they'll have some back and forth about their home country's differences. He's looking forward to it. After all, it's among his favorite things to do with Greg, though perhaps it doesn't top the list. Greg is far more fun in different settings, when the only person he thinks he has to prove himself to is Clive. He gets to the green room and tries to ignore its shabby condition. Maybe if he were a bigger star he'd complain; or if he thought it would do any good. Instead he just sits on the worn couch, gives the schedule one last glance, and starts on the paper. He's halfway through it before he has company. That Greg doesn't immediately sit down next to him and invade his personal space tells him that Greg's come looking for conversation. Clive tries to keep his smile to himself, and says nothing. The silence only lasts for a minute before Greg speaks. "Aren't you going to ask me how I've been?" Clive continues reading, taking his time before he answers. "I didn't really think it was necessary. I'm sure you'll tell me eventually." "I thought you Brits were supposed to be all proper and polite." "Must be your bad influence, then." He knows he's giving Greg the exact answer he wants. But this is the game they play, and he's a willing participant. Greg laughs and says, "Oh, I'll fully take blame for that." When Clive goes back to reading yet again instead of throwing himself full force into the conversation, Greg continues, "But then you people also have a reputation for being uppity and condescending." He pauses -- for effect, Clive's sure. "Or maybe that's just you, not all your countrymen." "You certainly fit the rude American stereotype." In his peripheral vision, Clive can see Greg nodding. "What can I say? You bring out the best in me." Somewhat surprisingly, they fall into silence after that. The ball was in Clive's court, of course, but that usually didn't dissuade Greg from picking up any slack in the conversation; Clive has often felt that Greg considered any silence an awkward one. But Greg's just standing there, oddly patient, and eventually he outlasts Clive. "Something I can do for you, Mr. Proops?" "Mmhmm." Clive doesn't look up. He's not going to give Greg that satisfaction just yet. He can feel the other man's eyes on him as Greg continues to stare. "Well, what is it, then?" "What are you reading?" "The Legal Times." "Sounds fascinating." "It is. There's this article here about the evolution of the equity courts and whether it might be worthwhile to reengage some rather old traditions in order to--" "And you find that interesting? You are far too educated for your own good." Clive looks up then. He was done with the article anyway. "This from a man who has kept me up far into the night on more than one occasion to argue politics on issues we agree on." Before Greg can respond, he continues, "And from a man who takes great joy from demonstrating how much smarter he is than everyone around him." "I do not." With that, Greg pays back the perfect answer Clive gave him earlier. "Is there anyone you could convince with that lie?" Greg's eyes grow brighter as the conversation continues. Challenging him always bring out some fire and it never fails to fascinate Clive; he's almost sorry he didn't look up from his paper sooner so he could have watched the transition, but that's not how the game is played. "Okay, Cambridge boy. Like you aren't filled with smug satisfaction every time you talk someone into a corner?" "I won't deny it. But suddenly this conversation is about me, and you still haven't told me what you want." And what Greg Proops wants, Clive thinks to himself, lies at the heart of every conversation he has with him. "I'm here for the same reason you are: we have a show in about an hour." He says it innocently enough, but his eyes are still sparkling. Clive's pretty sure neither of them is going to be able to keep up the pretenses much longer. "You're very early. Punctuality isn't a virtue of yours, Greg. Usually you're too busy indulging in one of your vices to even be on time, let alone early." That earns Clive a self-satisfied smile from Greg, who takes a pack of cigarettes -- his primary vice -- out of his pocket and tosses it on the coffee table, instantly forgotten. "And there's your answer." Greg steps around the table so he's directly between it and Clive, and waits. Clive takes his time, neatly folding his newsletter and placing it aside. When he's done, Greg climbs onto the couch, knees on either side of Clive's legs, and then lowers himself slowly into his lap. If he was aiming for seductive with this move, it's certainly working for Clive. Greg's hands move to Clive's chest, comfortably familiar, and just as demanding as always. Greg leans in, until their lips are nearly touching and his breath causes a pleasant shiver down Clive's spine. "Indulge me." -- end --