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Even after all this time, even after as many years as they had been doing Taskmaster, had been friends, it still made something in Alex’s chest do roly-polys whenever Greg lit up like he did when he saw him, lingering awkwardly by the canapés. “You came!” Greg exclaimed, sounding genuinely thrilled, though Alex wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Of course I came,” he said, shuffling forward automatically so that Greg could fold him into a hug, grateful that Greg had changed shirts after getting offstage at the Apollo. Not that Alex wasn’t used to Greg’s very sweaty hugs, but he did always appreciate not feeling like he needed to wring his own shirt out after one of Greg’s very enthusiastic hugs. “Why wouldn’t I have?”
“Dunno,” Greg said, letting Alex go so that he could grab something deep-fried that Alex couldn’t quite recognise, popping it into his mouth. “Could’ve gotten a better offer,” Greg said through his mouthful of food.
Alex wrinkled his nose but chose not to comment on it, instead offering, “Well, Kiell Smith-Bynoe is the special guest on Off Menu Live tonight.”
Greg rolled his eyes, his grin not fading. “Hilarious.”
“And Key’s got a show in Brighton.”
Greg snorted a laugh and took a sip of his drink. “Sorry you had to miss it.”
Alex nodded. “He won’t speak to me for days.”
“Weeks, even,” Greg said, sounding delighted at the prospect.
It was Alex’s turn to laugh, directing it mostly into his glass of wine. “I could never be that lucky.”
Greg grinned and slung an arm around Alex’s shoulders, tugging him in close as he turned to survey the afterparty from his final ‘Full Fat Legend’ show at the Hammersmith Apollo. “I am glad you’re here,” he told Alex, turning his head to press a kiss to the side of Alex’s head.
Were it anyone else, Alex would’ve been more than tempted to squirm away, to politely shrug out of Greg’s grip and put a polite distance between them. But this was Greg, and even if he had been tempted, which he wasn’t, Greg never would’ve let him go. “You invited me,” he reminded Greg instead, glancing up at him.
“I invite you to lots of things,” Greg said dismissively, and Alex raised both eyebrows.
“You do not.”
Greg took another sip of his drink and shrugged. “Fair play, yeah,” he said easily. “In my defence, I’d have to have things to invite you to.”
Alex nodded. “Ah yes,” he said dryly, “and as we both know, you’ve absolutely nothing on.”
Greg prodded him in the side and Alex wheezed a laugh. “Not like you, at least, Mr Busiest-Man-in-Comedy,” Greg told him.
Alex pulled a face. “I think I’ve just about relinquished that title,” he said dismissively.
“The jig is up, I guess,” Greg said. “Everyone finally catching on to how little work you actually do in your day to day life.”
He said it with enough sarcasm that Alex was almost surprised it wasn’t accompanied by an exaggerated eyeroll. “Mm,” Alex said with his most noncommittal hum, just because he knew it would drive Greg mad. “Something like that.”
They both fell silent for a long moment, long enough that Alex was about to suggest, however reluctantly, that Greg stop neglecting his far more important guests, but he was mercifully saved from having to do so by Paul, Greg’s tour manager, who had also accompanied them on their brief US tour earlier in the year, popping up on Greg’s other side. “Alex, don’t tell me you were missing Greg already,” he teased.
“What can I say,” Alex said, his lips twitching as he glanced up at Greg once more. “He grows on you.”
Paul nodded in understanding. “Like a cancer,” he agreed brightly, deftly dodging Greg’s half-hearted cuff aimed at his head. “Greg, the, er, the execs from Netflix wanted a word when you have a moment—”
“If they want a word that badly, they can come and find me themselves,” Greg said grumpily. “Last I checked, I wasn’t paying you to be my message boy.”
“Last I checked, you weren’t the one paying me at all,” Paul said, “and I’m fairly certain Avalon would like you to talk to Netflix sooner rather than later.”
Greg rolled his eyes and Alex stifled a laugh. “I can fend for myself, you know,” he said, patting Greg’s back. “I won’t even slip out without saying goodbye, which is more than you can normally say.”
“That was one time,” Greg huffed, though he was cut off from his inevitable rant by two Channel 4 execs making their way over. “Greg, Alex,” the first said, nodding a greeting. “You know—”
He gestured at his female companion and Alex nodded, giving them both a tight smile. “Of course,” he said. “Great to see you both.”
“Greg, you look like you need another drink, can I—”
“Vodka Red Bull,” Greg said smoothly, “and Alex, what are you drinking?”
“Oh, erm—” Alex glanced down at his half-full glass of white wine. “I think it was a pinot grigio.”
He screwed his face up as he mangled the French, knowing that if nothing else, it would make Greg laugh. Sure enough, Greg chuckled, low in Alex’s ear, and he squeezed Alex’s shoulder before finally dropping his arm to pass his own empty glass to the Channel 4 exec to get fetch refills.
Unfortunately for them both, the other executive stayed, giving them both a bright smile as she tapped one long, manicured finger against her own glass. “It was a great show, Greg,” she assured him, before switching her smile to Alex. “Did you enjoy yourself, Alex?”
“It was fine,” Alex said mildly, as Greg coughed his laugh into his hand.
He smile flickered for just a moment. “Was it your first time seeing the show?”
“Second,” Alex told her. “I saw it– last May, was it?”
He directed that last bit to Greg, who nodded. “Just before we started recording Taskmaster, I think.”
That didn’t quite sound right to Alex, but he was hardly going to contradict him. “Or just after, something like that.”
“No afterparty last time, though,” Greg reminded him, his lips twitching because while there hadn’t been anything formal, they’d all gone out to the pub after the last time, which was frankly a better afterparty by half. Though he’d had to actually pay for drinks last time, so swings and roundabouts, really.
Judging by the smirk on Greg’s face, he was thinking much the same thing, and Alex cleared his throat before reminding him, “Well, it also wasn’t at the Apollo.”
Greg nodded. “No, it was– oh, it was June,” he said, brightening at finally remembering when it had been. “Royal Albert Hall. Unless you came to the O2.”
Alex shook his head. “I wouldn’t have dared,” he told Greg, for once being entirely sincere, though he knew Greg well enough to know he wouldn’t believe him regardless. “That would’ve been one of your biggest shows to date, I’d’ve hated to potentially draw attention from your big night.”
He really would have, even if he privately doubted he’d’ve drawn much if any attention whatsoever. Greg’s eyes narrowed as he glanced down at Alex. “That’s normally my excuse for why I don’t go to your gigs,” he teased, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth, and the Channel 4 exec cleared her throat.
“Right,” she said, a little awkwardly. “Well, erm, I should—”
She gestured vaguely before making her escape, leaving Alex and Greg both staring after her. “Dear God,” Greg said after a beat of silence. “We somehow bored someone into making an excuse to leave at my own afterparty.”
Alex honked a laugh into his fist. “Not sure we bored them,” he said, shaking his head. “Their loss, anyway.”
Greg nudged him with his elbow. “You’re better company, anyway,” he said.
Alex raised both eyebrows. “How much did you drink backstage before coming to the afterparty?” he asked, amused as much by the genuine compliment as anything.
“Fuck off,” Greg said without any real heat.
“Yes, Greg,” Alex said. He glanced around the party before adding, just a little pointedly, “I thought this was just meant to be a friends and family sort of do, anyway.”
Greg shrugged, his smile slipping, just slightly. “Friends, family, important executives I was required to send invitations to in order to get someone else to pay for this whole thing.”
Alex’s lips twitched. “Ah, and now it makes sense,” he said, nodding. “Explains why you won’t see a shindig like this after a Horne Section gig.”
It was one of many reasons, at least. Greg just shook his head. “Never say never, you might get in a proper bidding war for the next recommission and then you’ll be wooed from left and right by all the channels.”
Alex wrinkled his nose. “Big might, I think.”
But Greg didn’t smile at the routine joke. In fact, he frowned, his forehead furrowing as he looked down at Alex with no hint of his prior amusement. “Does it bother you?”
“Does what bother me?”
“That I don’t usually come to your gigs,” Greg said. “And you’ve come twice now to this show.”
Alex opened his mouth and then closed it again, torn as always between his instincts of reassuring Greg and also making the best possible joke. In the end, he opted for somewhere between the two options. “I told you, I had no better offers.”
“As opposed to all the offers I’ve received on nights of Horne Section gigs,” Greg said dryly.
“I think the offer of staying in wearing sweatpants might be the hardest offer to beat,” Alex said. “Besides—”
He broke off at his own realisation, and Greg frowned down at him. “What?”
Alex scratched his cheek, suddenly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had gone. “I, er, I don’t think I invited you,” he mumbled.
Greg blinked. “Sorry?”
Alex sighed. “To any of the Horne Section shows,” he elaborated, wincing as he did. “Not on this tour, at least.”
Greg’s brow furrowed. “Why—”
Alex shrugged. “Probably didn’t want to have to put you in the position to have to say no.”
“Who says I would’ve said no?” Greg demanded in the way he had a tendency to when he hadn’t thought through what the answer would be.
As such, Alex cleared his throat somewhat delicately before answering, “Maybe the fact that you already assumed you did?”
Greg pulled a face. “I might not have,” he protested, scowling at the look on Alex’s face before adding, petulantly, “Well, we’ll never know, now will we. You just always assume that I’ll say no to things.”
“In my defence, I’m not usually wrong,” Alex said.
Which was true. There were any number of things that he would ask Greg to attend if he didn’t know better, didn’t know what it took to drag Greg from his flat, or far more commonly these days, his place in Cornwall. And he didn’t like putting Greg in a position where he had to say no, because he also knew that Greg would feel guilty after awhile and force himself to attend something he didn’t want to in the first place, and then Alex would have to hear about it for the rest of all time, how Greg had been forced to attend some boring show or something.
So it was better for the both of them if he just didn’t extend the invitation in the first place.
Greg was still scowling, though. “If it’s important to you, you should at least ask,” he said. “I’ll only say no if I have a really good excuse.”
Alex didn’t laugh, but only just. “Really,” he said instead, not pitching it as a question.
“Really,” Greg said stubbornly.
There wasn’t really any point in arguing with Greg when he was like this, so Alex just shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind, I suppose.”
For a moment, it looked like Greg might argue further, but then he bit his lip before asking, “So it doesn’t bother you, then?”
It took Alex a moment to even remember what Greg was talking about. “Would it bother you if I didn’t come?” he asked, turning the question back on Greg.
“Of course,” Greg said, surprised, wincing almost immediately at his own answer, and almost tripping over himself to add, “I mean, er– well, it’s just– you like showing up for things. You like being there for stuff. And if you didn’t come, especially if you didn’t have a really good excuse, then what would that say about me? Or about us?”
Alex nodded slowly, reading through the lines of what Greg wasn’t saying almost as much as what he was. “Do you still want me to come down to yours in a few weeks?” he asked.
Greg frowned down at him. “What?” he asked, confused. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Alex shrugged pointedly. “If you didn’t want me to come down to yours, if you didn’t want to put me up, and feed me, and share your precious alone time with me, then what would that say about me?” he asked lightly. “Or about us?”
For one long moment, Greg just stared at him. Then he relaxed, a small smile lighting his expression. “Ah,” he said, nodding. “I see.”
“Do you?” Alex asked mildly.
“Your time is the most important thing you can give,” Greg said, which was true, even if it wasn’t exactly how Alex would say it.
Still, he nodded before offering, “And your peace is your most important thing.”
Greg’s smile widened. “Something like that, anyway,” he agreed before asking casually, in a way that told Alex it wasn’t remotely casual at all, “Are you spending the night at mine?”
Alex pretended to consider it for a moment. “Well,” he said, “Tim is in Brighton.”
It was as close to a yes as he needed to give, especially since there was no world in which the answer would have been no.
Greg grinned at him before looking out at the crowd again, something almost rueful slipping into his expression. “I should go make the rounds, I suppose,” he said bracingly. “And actually track down where our other drinks went.”
Alex nodded. “I won’t be going anywhere,” he assured Greg, before pausing and adding, “Maybe to the toilet for a wee.”
Greg shook his head affectionately. “I would expect nothing less,” he said, before turning to press one more light kiss to the top of Alex’s head. “I really am glad you came.”
“I know,” Alex said, squeezing his arm for just a moment. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Yeah,” Greg said in understanding. “I know.”