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Greg opened the door to his flat before Alex even got to the top of the stair, which earned him a bemused look that he ignored, opening his arms to give Alex a hug. “Rachel messaged,” he said by means of greeting and explanation. “Said you’d be by.”
“Should’ve guessed,” Alex said, his voice muffled against Greg’s broad chest. He tilted his head up to look at him. “Does somewhat take the wind out of the sails of my apology for dropping by unannounced.”
Greg rolled his eyes and ushered Alex inside. “Because it’s such a hardship for me,” he said dryly, “taking a few minutes out of my packed schedule to faff around with a mate.”
Alex hummed in agreement as he followed Greg into the lounge. “You have got a deadline,” he pointed out, even as he accepted the beer that Greg offered him.
“Not til the end of the week, and you know I do my best writing between the hours of 1 and 3 in the morning.”
Alex hummed again, this time with something like disapproval. “I think you’re confusing ‘best’ and ‘most frantic’,” he said, slumping bonelessly down onto Greg’s sofa.
Ordinarily, Greg would feign offence, Alex would make some joking attempt at soothing his hurt feelings, and they’d carry on their merry way, but something about the look on Alex’s face made Greg abandon their usual script. “What’s wrong?” he asked instead, plopping down next to Alex. “And don’t even give me the ‘nothing’ horseshit you normally try to pull, I know you too well for that.”
Alex pulled a face but didn’t deny it. “It really is nothing,” he said, hastening to add, “in sort of the grand scheme of things, at least.”
Greg took a sip of his own beer before offering, “I’ve no clue what the fuck you’re on about.”
Though Alex honked a laugh in response, it was short-lived, and he sighed, fiddling with the ring pull of his beer can. “Been thinking about the future of the show, I guess.”
Greg very nearly choked on his beer. “Did we get bad news about the recommission?” he managed without spluttering too badly, fairly certain that if it was bad news, it’d come from his agent, not Alex. “I was mostly joking about my salary expectations, if that’s the issue—”
Again Alex managed a laugh, and a somewhat more genuine one at that, though it still didn’t last as long as Greg would like. “No, we’re pretty well locked in on the recommission,” he assured Greg, who let out an only slightly exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Thank God,” Greg said. “Then what is it?”
Alex jerked a shrug, suddenly very interested in squinting at the small print on the side of his beer can. “The studio wants me to bring in some help,” he mumbled. “A writing team, for the tasks.”
Greg blinked. He had sense enough to realise that this was what was bothering Alex, though what he didn’t see was why. “I think that’s probably not a terrible idea,” he hedged, and knew immediately from the look on Alex’s face that it had been the wrong thing to say. “What?”
“Nothing,” Alex said dismissively, shaking his head. “I just– I thought you’d get it.”
“Get what?” Greg asked blankly. “That sometimes the best ideas take a team?” Alex scowled and Greg gave him a look. “Mate, literally everything I’ve ever written for telly has been a group effort.”
Or at least, as much of a group effort as writing with his mates could be, but he figured that wouldn’t be what Alex wanted to hear.
Not that it mattered, since Alex’s scowl deepened. “Not your standup, though,” he said, as if that proved anything.
Greg arched an eyebrow at him. “No, but this isn’t your standup either,” he pointed out, and when Alex’s expression didn’t shift, he poked him lightly in the side and added, “And I’m sure your twerpy little puns will make it through unscathed.”
But Alex didn’t smile, barely even flinched away from Greg’s prodding. “I suppose,” he muttered, and Greg frowned, trying to put himself in Alex’s shoes enough to get to the bottom of what was really bothering him.
He couldn’t, of course. Alex was an enigma on a good day, his brain so fascinatingly different from Greg’s that it sometimes didn’t even seem like they were the same species. Which made things quite fun, of course, though it did also make things slightly more difficult in the moment.
After a not particularly long moment, he gave up on trying and resorted to just asking, “What?”
Alex didn’t quite meet his eyes as he shrugged again and said, “I just– this is really all I’m good at, in the end.”
Greg blinked. “Right,” he said, somewhat automatically, before glancing pointedly down at his watch. “How long?”
Alex frowned up at him. “Pardon?”
“How long have I got to let you sulk before I can tell you to pull your head out of your arse?”
Alex recoiled, looking genuinely offended for perhaps the first time since Greg had known him. “I am not sulking—”
But Greg knew Alex well enough to not capitulate. “Mate.”
“I’m not!” Alex protested. “I’m a mediocre standup—”
“Perrier-award nominated,” Greg corrected mildly.
Alex ignored him. “—I’m really not great as a musician—”
“Says the man who just played Glastonbury.”
“—and writing the tasks is the only thing I’m really good at on my own,” Alex finished in a determined sort of way. “It’s what I’m known for.”
Greg gave him a look. “It’s really not.”
“Sorry?” Alex said, a dangerous edge to his voice. Or, well, as dangerous as Alex Horne ever really got, which was somewhere between mildly annoyed and genuinely cross.
Greg patted Alex’s leg, the gesture just as condescending as his tone as he reminded Alex patiently, “Mate, we’ve been doing this for 20 series now and you still get asked in interviews who comes up with the tasks.”
Alex jerked away, his scowl back in place. “That’s not—” he started, but Greg’s patience had just about run dry.
“You won a Bafta, not for being my assistant, not for being the task writer, but for being the executive producer of the show,” Greg told him firmly. “That’s what you’re good at. You are good at making a show that so many people love to bits.” Alex shook his head but Greg didn’t let him interrupt, instead telling him, sincerity plain in his voice, “You could never write another task in your life and you would still be one of Britain’s most beloved comedians.”
Alex’s ears went red, and he stared down at his jeans. “Well, that’s– I mean, very generous of course, but—”
“It’s not,” Greg told him. “I’m not being generous, I’m being truthful.”
Alex jerked a nod. “Right.”
Greg sighed, sitting back against the sofa. “You don’t seem convinced.”
Alex glanced over at him. “Mm. It’s mostly…”
He trailed off and Greg raised both eyebrows. “What?”
For a second, something almost like hesitation flickered across Alex’s face, the same kind of hesitation as when Greg had ‘yes, and’ed him to a point he really didn’t want to go to, even though he inevitably would. “You and I have said that we’ll keep doing this so long as we’re having fun.”
“Yeah?” Greg said, his brow furrowed.
Alex worried his lower lip with his gapped teeth before he asked, even more hesitantly than before, “What if– what if I stop writing the tasks and it stops being fun?”
That possibility was so remote that Greg almost laughed, though he somehow managed not to. “For me or for you?”
Alex scrunched his nose and scratched the side of his head. “Both?”
Greg took a long pull from his beer if just to buy himself some time. “If you’re only having fun because you’re writing the tasks, then I think you and I have a very different understanding of what makes doing the show fun,” he said finally.
Something softened in Alex’s expression. “That’s not the only thing I have fun with.”
Greg nodded. “Good.”
Alex glanced up at him and away again. “But what if the tasks aren’t as fun for you either?”
Again, the idea was laughable, and this time Greg did allow himself a small, slightly dry chuckle before telling Alex with as much patience as he could muster, “Mate, I have fun because it’s you. Half the time I don’t give a shit about the tasks. I have fun with you – the tasks are just an excuse.” He nudged him with his shoulder. “You could have a task where we have to sit and watch paint dry the entire time and I’d still have fun because it’s with you.”
A small but genuine grin flitted across Alex’s face. “Now that is an idea,” he said thoughtfully, and Greg rolled his eyes.
“Fucking hell,” he huffed, draining his beer and setting it down on the coffee table before standing and holding his hand out to Alex. “Come here,” he ordered, and Alex didn’t hesitate, letting Greg pull him upright and into a hug. “You are stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me, yeah?” Greg told him, delivering the words mostly to the top of Alex’s head. “And if you don’t want help writing the tasks then tell the studio to fuck off. But don’t not accept help just because you think it’ll somehow mean the end of this.”
“Mm,” Alex hummed without lifting his head off of Greg’s chest, and Greg sighed, recognising far too well the particular tenor of that hum.
“What?” he asked tiredly.
Alex pulled back just far enough to grin up at him. “‘Don’t not’ – I don’t like the wording.”
Greg just sighed again and gathered Alex close once more, resting his chin on top of Alex’s head. “Of course that’s what you’d get out of that, you prick.”
They stayed that way for a long moment, long enough that, if it had been anyone else, Greg would’ve cleared his throat and tried to shuffle apart.
But this was Alex. And Greg had nowhere he’d rather be.
After what could have been five minutes or five hours for all Greg knew, Alex pulled away again, still just far enough to look up at Greg. “This is meant to be my job, you realise.”
Greg glanced down at him, not loosening his grip. “What’s that?”
“Reassuring you.”
Greg snorted a laugh. “Luckily for all involved, I’m certain I’ll need reassurance sooner rather than later,” he said dryly, leaning in to give Alex a smacking kiss on the forehead before telling him, “In the meantime, I’ve got you.”
“Thank you, Greg,” Alex said softly.
“Of course, my silly boy,” Greg said, pulling him close once more. “And I mean it – for as long as you’ll have me, in whatever way you’ll have me.”
Alex was still and quiet for long enough that Greg almost asked if he’d accidentally suffocated him in his fat. “In whatever way?” Alex repeated finally and it was Greg’s turn to pull back, searching Alex’s expression for the answer to the question he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “In whatever way.”
Alex’s eyes met his and then before Greg could react, before he could remember any of a dozen reasons why this was a terrible idea, he ducked his head and Alex surged forward to meet him, kissing him with a fierce sort of determination that almost left Greg lightheaded.
As it was, it left Greg grinning like an idiot against Alex’s lips, at least until Alex licked into his mouth, and then Greg found himself far too occupied to manage anything other than matching him as best he could. Like the perfect partners they’d become over all this time.
In more ways than one.
When they finally broke apart, Greg couldn’t tell whose grin was wider, his or Alex’s. “Even like that?” Alex asked, and it took Greg a moment to even remember what that was in response to.
When he did, he laughed lightly, his grin so wide it almost hurt. “Especially like that,” he said, hesitating for only a moment before adding, even though he was fairly certain he already knew the answer, “If, er, if that’s what you want. And what Rachel wants.”
Alex nodded emphatically. “It is,” he assured Greg. “It very, very much is.”
“Good,” Greg said. He bent to kiss Alex again, trailing kisses along his cheek before saying into his ear, “Then think of how much more time you’ll have to do this if you’ve got a team of writers helping you.”
Alex honked a laugh. “That is tempting.”
Greg smirked. “Thought you might say that.”
He kissed Alex once more before pulling him in for one more hug, knowing they had several long conversations in their future but not willing to let go of this moment just yet. As if following his train of thought, Alex buried his face in Greg’s chest, gripping the back of his shirt with both hands. “Thank you,” he told Greg, the words more of a hum against Greg’s skin than an actual sound.
Greg kissed the top of Alex’s head. “Anytime, love,” he promised. “Anytime.”