Life's Pageant
folder
Casts RPF › Monty Python
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
1,704
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Casts RPF › Monty Python
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
1,704
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Monty Python. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Five
***
As the years passed Michael felt less and less sure of himself and of his marriage. He and Terry were continuously injecting scripts into the vein of Light Entertainment and so were spending most of their time with each other, which he knew annoyed his wife. But which didn't annoy him at all.
Terry was a much better companion than Helen. Helen who often had nothing better to do than to moan about how he needed to find another job.
He'd proposed to her almost the minute he came down from Oxford. Ever since they'd met, one ill-fated summer holiday when he was a teenager, their families had been thrusting the two at each other. They went on innocent dates now and then and it made their families feel immensely pleased. He supposed she was pretty enough but he never really cared for her that much. He'd never been all that happy with it, in fact he'd never really seen any appeal in dating. But then Terry came along...
Memories of the date were still fresh in his mind. Walking through the park with Terry, the smell of cigarettes, the sun's last rays clinging to Terry's raven hair, Terry's musical laugh, Terry's breath bittersweet with cigarettes and coffee as he leaned in to kiss Michael.
Terry had no doubt forgotten that but Michael hadn't. The kiss. It plagued him, his thoughts and his dreams. The coal-black eyes smouldering, the lips parting and closing in on his, creeping beneath his consciousness and springing up every chance it got. He began to feel another type of affection for Terry, no matter how desperately he tried to ignore it and he knew what it was... lust.
Lust and just that. Nothing more. But every time he was with Terry he became less convinced of this.
"Erm... not good."
"What?" said Michael, confused. Terry was leaning over his shoulder inspecting the sketch they were writing.
"It's a bit slow... there, you see," murmured Terry.
Michael knew better than to argue with Terry. If Terry didn't like something - Terry knew much more about these things than he did. He was sitting at a table in Terry's parents' house with a cup of black coffee and their labour of love. He liked being in this house, everyone made him feel so welcome and certainly a member of the family. Terry's mum was certainly very fond of them both; Terry's dad perhaps to a lesser degree.
Terry was still leaning over his back, so he flashed him a grin. "What d'you think so far?"
"Pretty good - I like the bit about the centrefold," laughed Terry. "That's brilliant." They grinned at each other before Terry pulled himself away and sat in a chair opposite Michael's.
Terry started to scrawl something while Michael turned his attention onto his own sketch papers. It was silent again; the sort of silence that Michael hated. He felt Terry pressed against him still and he wanted to say something. He didn't.
The summer of love had come and gone and the sixties were slowly dancing on into oblivion. As '68 drew to a close, Michael began to accept the fact that he couldn't have Terry. Their friendship meant more, much more to him than sex. And Terry had a girlfriend anyway, no doubt he didn't even think of Michael in that way anymore, it was all Oxford and Oxford was in the past.
As he sat on Terry's sofa tapping his empty can of beer, Michael felt the silence start to rattle him again, with two pairs of eyes holding him in two very different gazes. One in amusement and the other in carefully controlled anger. He waited for one of them to speak. The angry eyes were dark and silent in the corner; amusement shone at him from the opposite side of the room.
"Oh dear, this isn't John's idea?" Eric Idle snorted his trademark laughter. He stood staring at Michael in smug disbelief. "He wants to do a show? With us?"
"Yeah. He does." Michael tapped the empty can on the table, but soon stopped tapping and began to shiver under Eric's piercing blue eyes. They were still on him.
"Mike, why don-"
"He rang Mike up," muttered Terry, "And told Mike to bring us along. For what reason, I haven't the faintest." Terry gave Eric a strained smile and looked down at the beer in his hand. His eyes locked onto Michael's again.
Surrealism with a sharpened edge. Five brilliant minds and one American. It was with considerable carelessness that the BBC gave them the task of creating a new comedy programme. They were very excited about it, and they were sure it was going to be the best thing they'd ever done; they just weren't sure what to call it.
Python burst from the womb, Terry married his girlfriend and life carried on.
Michael went to bed with his wife, each night ignoring the fact that he wanted someone else. He woke up each morning and went straight for the shower. And standing under the stream of water, he closed his eyes and began to stroke himself, up and down firmly with his fingers wrapped around his cock and his thumb under his foreskin while a familiar silky voice played in his head.
***
As the years passed Michael felt less and less sure of himself and of his marriage. He and Terry were continuously injecting scripts into the vein of Light Entertainment and so were spending most of their time with each other, which he knew annoyed his wife. But which didn't annoy him at all.
Terry was a much better companion than Helen. Helen who often had nothing better to do than to moan about how he needed to find another job.
He'd proposed to her almost the minute he came down from Oxford. Ever since they'd met, one ill-fated summer holiday when he was a teenager, their families had been thrusting the two at each other. They went on innocent dates now and then and it made their families feel immensely pleased. He supposed she was pretty enough but he never really cared for her that much. He'd never been all that happy with it, in fact he'd never really seen any appeal in dating. But then Terry came along...
Memories of the date were still fresh in his mind. Walking through the park with Terry, the smell of cigarettes, the sun's last rays clinging to Terry's raven hair, Terry's musical laugh, Terry's breath bittersweet with cigarettes and coffee as he leaned in to kiss Michael.
Terry had no doubt forgotten that but Michael hadn't. The kiss. It plagued him, his thoughts and his dreams. The coal-black eyes smouldering, the lips parting and closing in on his, creeping beneath his consciousness and springing up every chance it got. He began to feel another type of affection for Terry, no matter how desperately he tried to ignore it and he knew what it was... lust.
Lust and just that. Nothing more. But every time he was with Terry he became less convinced of this.
"Erm... not good."
"What?" said Michael, confused. Terry was leaning over his shoulder inspecting the sketch they were writing.
"It's a bit slow... there, you see," murmured Terry.
Michael knew better than to argue with Terry. If Terry didn't like something - Terry knew much more about these things than he did. He was sitting at a table in Terry's parents' house with a cup of black coffee and their labour of love. He liked being in this house, everyone made him feel so welcome and certainly a member of the family. Terry's mum was certainly very fond of them both; Terry's dad perhaps to a lesser degree.
Terry was still leaning over his back, so he flashed him a grin. "What d'you think so far?"
"Pretty good - I like the bit about the centrefold," laughed Terry. "That's brilliant." They grinned at each other before Terry pulled himself away and sat in a chair opposite Michael's.
Terry started to scrawl something while Michael turned his attention onto his own sketch papers. It was silent again; the sort of silence that Michael hated. He felt Terry pressed against him still and he wanted to say something. He didn't.
The summer of love had come and gone and the sixties were slowly dancing on into oblivion. As '68 drew to a close, Michael began to accept the fact that he couldn't have Terry. Their friendship meant more, much more to him than sex. And Terry had a girlfriend anyway, no doubt he didn't even think of Michael in that way anymore, it was all Oxford and Oxford was in the past.
As he sat on Terry's sofa tapping his empty can of beer, Michael felt the silence start to rattle him again, with two pairs of eyes holding him in two very different gazes. One in amusement and the other in carefully controlled anger. He waited for one of them to speak. The angry eyes were dark and silent in the corner; amusement shone at him from the opposite side of the room.
"Oh dear, this isn't John's idea?" Eric Idle snorted his trademark laughter. He stood staring at Michael in smug disbelief. "He wants to do a show? With us?"
"Yeah. He does." Michael tapped the empty can on the table, but soon stopped tapping and began to shiver under Eric's piercing blue eyes. They were still on him.
"Mike, why don-"
"He rang Mike up," muttered Terry, "And told Mike to bring us along. For what reason, I haven't the faintest." Terry gave Eric a strained smile and looked down at the beer in his hand. His eyes locked onto Michael's again.
Surrealism with a sharpened edge. Five brilliant minds and one American. It was with considerable carelessness that the BBC gave them the task of creating a new comedy programme. They were very excited about it, and they were sure it was going to be the best thing they'd ever done; they just weren't sure what to call it.
Python burst from the womb, Terry married his girlfriend and life carried on.
Michael went to bed with his wife, each night ignoring the fact that he wanted someone else. He woke up each morning and went straight for the shower. And standing under the stream of water, he closed his eyes and began to stroke himself, up and down firmly with his fingers wrapped around his cock and his thumb under his foreskin while a familiar silky voice played in his head.
***