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Characters: Apollo and Asclepius
Date/Time: Late one autumn night in 1997.
Location: Oxford, UK
Rating: TBD
Warnings: Innuendo, and much of it.
Summary: Godlings respond to rumors-- and end up inspiring a few more.



There was a decided cold nip in the wind that blew down the length of the street, smacking right into Dorian's and Galen's faces as they left the pub. Apollo shivered slightly, drawing his scarf a little tighter around himself to block out the wind.

"Bloody weather" he muttered to himself, his voice still a little rough from the vindaloo he'd eaten earlier (not to mention the pint of lager he'd used to wash it down). It was their usual Thursday-night ritual ever since they'd gotten parts in the Dramatic Society's performance of "The Rocky Horror Show" earlier in the year-- after a rehearsal or a show, he and Galen would go for a late-night curry at the Jaipur Gardens, followed by a pint at the Coachman's Arms around the corner.

He looked over at Galen, still in his eye make-up from playing Frank that night. Strangely enough, he didn't seem to be as bothered by the wind as Dorian was. With a grin mostly hidden by his scarf, he turned to Dorian as they walked and said "What do you say we skive off class tomorrow and pop down to Ibiza for the weekend, eh?"

Comments

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Dorian attempted to look innocent, and failed miserably.

"Oh, why, nothing at all," he said. "In fact--" Dorian looked up and pointed to a point somewhere over Galen's shoulder. "I say! Isn't that the Winged Victory of Samothrace?"

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"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Paean?" Galen asked, turning his head to figure out what he was pretending to point out.

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Because Galen's head was turned away, he didn't see Dorian moving up on his blind side to gently but firmly take hold of Galen's face and pull it towards his. Before Galen even properly knew what was happening, their lips were meeting--and this was no mere stage-peck, but a deep lover's kiss.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian noticed the shocked expressions on the faces of their audience as his hands slipped around Galen's body. He grinned to himself. So worth it, he thought.

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Galen jerked back reflexively.
"What the fuck was that?!" he demanded, wiping his mouth.

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"Well, these people so obviously wanted a show," Dorian purred. "You would not be so un-gallant as to disappoint them?" He smirked again. "Besides, I think they've found it edifying. Quite bracing, even."

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For a moment, all Galen could do was stare, dumbfounded. He gritted his teeth, feeling his cheeks burning with mortification. Then, suddenly...

BAM!

Galen's fist swung to catch Dorian solidly in the face, giving him a good-sized black eye.

"You ever pull a stunt like that on me again, Paean, and I'll break you so badly, your pretty-boy days will be nothing but a bittersweet memory," he spat.

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Dorian shook his head slightly to clear it. Damn, but Galen hit hard, and he could already feel his face starting to puff up.

"I'll let that slide. Once. Only once." His voice was still a purr, but this time, it was the growling purr of a wild cat about to pounce.

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Galen absently massaged his knuckles. The blow had been hard enough his hand ached from it.

"Fine. Don't give me a reason to do it again," he retorted.

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"And you need to learn to calm down and not take things so seriously," Dorian said, perfectly mimicing Galen's tone.

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"You know damned well I don't go for that," Galen grumbled, "Not funny, Paean."