"It's obvious," Guy says, rolling his eyes. "The hair. The pointing. And you're terrible at sport."
"Surely not all gay people are terrible at sport," Mac says. "There was that one chap. What's his name, the diver. Louganis."
"Pff, well, divers," said Guy, as if it were obvious. "All those little trunks. I'm surprised more of them aren't diving, if you know what I mean. Anyway, it's not a sport. It's just-" his hand described a somersault in the air "-falling with a little bit of intent."
"Runners, boxers, footballers," said Mac. "Some of them have got to be batting for the other team."
"Only a pouf would say 'batting for the other team'," Guy complained.
"You've got to have more proof than that," Mac pointed out. "Can't have me struck off for poor figures of speech. On the other hand, I have got my hand down your pants."
"There is that," Guy said, biting his lip. "And that was going to be my next point."
"My question," Mac said carefully, his hand working a little faster, "was why we are doing this in the shower without the water even turned on?"
"Every now and then you make a good point," Guy said, seemingly unable to focus, given that his first couple of grabs for the faucet missed by several inches, but then warm water spilled down over them. He wrestled with the wet edge of Mac's scrubs and passed a palmful of liquid soap over Mac's stomach and back. Mac arched into the touch.
"Theoretically," he said to Guy, who was rapidly losing mental ground, "that would also make you a pouf."
"It's not gay unless there's kissing," Guy panted, and jammed his soapy hand down Mac's trousers, fiddling inside his boxers, wrapping long fingers around Mac's erection. Mac groaned and leaned forward and somehow his mouth ended up against Guy's, which was hot and hungry and didn't pull away. And magically continued not to pull away as Guy thrust into Mac's hand, grunting and urgent, and continued not to pull away even after Mac's hand got considerably warmer and stickier. In fact, Guy's lips didn't draw away until Mac himself had groaned his way to adding to the slick coating on Guy's hand, and even then, Guy didn't pull away entirely, just trailed his lips across Mac's cheek.
"The water was a good idea," Guy panted.
"That the proof you needed?" Mac gasped.
"Might need to gather some more evidence later," Guy said, dragging his hand out of Mac's scrubs and rinsing it under the spray. "For now we should get clean, though. Theatre this afternoon."
"I'm supposed to be the responsible one," Mac grumbled.
"Don't worry," Guy said. "No chance of me reforming any time soon. Wouldn't want to deprive the world of my depraved magnificence."
"Thank God for that," Mac said. "Want me to wash your back?"
Guy stripped off the top of his scrubs and threw it into the corner of the showers. "Don't touch the hair."
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timeasmymeasure
Evidence of Things Unseen, Green Wing, Mac/Guy, proof, R
Date: 2007-04-01 07:02 pm (UTC)"Yeah?" Mac says. "Why do you say that?"
"It's obvious," Guy says, rolling his eyes. "The hair. The pointing. And you're terrible at sport."
"Surely not all gay people are terrible at sport," Mac says. "There was that one chap. What's his name, the diver. Louganis."
"Pff, well, divers," said Guy, as if it were obvious. "All those little trunks. I'm surprised more of them aren't diving, if you know what I mean. Anyway, it's not a sport. It's just-" his hand described a somersault in the air "-falling with a little bit of intent."
"Runners, boxers, footballers," said Mac. "Some of them have got to be batting for the other team."
"Only a pouf would say 'batting for the other team'," Guy complained.
"You've got to have more proof than that," Mac pointed out. "Can't have me struck off for poor figures of speech. On the other hand, I have got my hand down your pants."
"There is that," Guy said, biting his lip. "And that was going to be my next point."
"My question," Mac said carefully, his hand working a little faster, "was why we are doing this in the shower without the water even turned on?"
"Every now and then you make a good point," Guy said, seemingly unable to focus, given that his first couple of grabs for the faucet missed by several inches, but then warm water spilled down over them. He wrestled with the wet edge of Mac's scrubs and passed a palmful of liquid soap over Mac's stomach and back. Mac arched into the touch.
"Theoretically," he said to Guy, who was rapidly losing mental ground, "that would also make you a pouf."
"It's not gay unless there's kissing," Guy panted, and jammed his soapy hand down Mac's trousers, fiddling inside his boxers, wrapping long fingers around Mac's erection. Mac groaned and leaned forward and somehow his mouth ended up against Guy's, which was hot and hungry and didn't pull away. And magically continued not to pull away as Guy thrust into Mac's hand, grunting and urgent, and continued not to pull away even after Mac's hand got considerably warmer and stickier. In fact, Guy's lips didn't draw away until Mac himself had groaned his way to adding to the slick coating on Guy's hand, and even then, Guy didn't pull away entirely, just trailed his lips across Mac's cheek.
"The water was a good idea," Guy panted.
"That the proof you needed?" Mac gasped.
"Might need to gather some more evidence later," Guy said, dragging his hand out of Mac's scrubs and rinsing it under the spray. "For now we should get clean, though. Theatre this afternoon."
"I'm supposed to be the responsible one," Mac grumbled.
"Don't worry," Guy said. "No chance of me reforming any time soon. Wouldn't want to deprive the world of my depraved magnificence."
"Thank God for that," Mac said. "Want me to wash your back?"
Guy stripped off the top of his scrubs and threw it into the corner of the showers. "Don't touch the hair."