Oh, The Places You'll Go

Twisting in the Wind

Notes: Comment fic written for the on-line con rat_jam. What a fantastic weekend that was. Fangirls are awesome!

Prompt: Guy/Mac, proof


"The thing is, Secretan, you're all talk. You have no follow-through."

"I do. I finish what I start. Except The Times cryptic crossword. Oh, and that noughts and crosses game when you ran out of thread. And that disgusting yoghurt Martin started bringing in. But other than that."

"Prove it then, you tosser."

"The thing is you can't handle it."

"Who said anything about handling? I'd have to sterilise afterwards."

"The truth, you great poofter, you can't handle the truth."

"Guy, haven't I told you about not watching A Few Good Men before bed. You always come to work the next day thinking you're Jack Nicholson and then you get mixed up and we get complaints about you rampaging with an axe. We had to replace three perfectly good doors last time."

"Yeah, well," mutters Guy, "it was all that haematology nurse's fault. I was just trying to show her my back swing."

"So that's what the hip kids are calling it these days. Anyway, what's the truth that I can't handle?"

"That I'm a better man than you are, Gunga Din."

Mac smiles his enigmatic smile. Guy spends half his time being irritated by it and the other half... He'd rather not think about the other half.

"You really want to see it?"

"I really do."

"And then you will bow down to my superiority and worship me always?"

"I will buy you a pint, if that's the same thing."

"Three."

"Two."

"Done. Shut the door."

Mac complies and sits loose-limbed in a chair, looking expectantly at Guy.

Guy removes his white coat and unbuttons his cuffs. Slowly, deliberately he rolls up his sleeves and then kicks off his shoes. He unbuckles his belt and starts to slide his hands inside his trousers. He stops.

"Two and a half?"

"Two."

Guy nods and starts to move again, hands, wrists and forearms disappearing. He performs a series of contortions, face reddening with effort until triumphant he waves his underpants in Mac's face.

"See!" he gloats. "Told you I could get them off without removing my trousers. Yes!"

"Indeed," says Mac, smiling that enigmatic smile once again. "You were right, I was wrong. You know what this means?"

"What?"

"It means you win."

"Yes! I win! I am the best. I should have been a Chinese acrobat I'm so bloody flexible. It's why I'm so fucking good at sex. Oh yes!"

Guy gets right into Mac's personal space, grinning his grin of victory. Out of the corner of his eye he sees something glint, the sun off a screen. It's only then he realises that Mac is holding a videophone.

Guy might have to rethink the winning thing.


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