Oh Vic, you've got lovely hands!'s Journal (original) (raw)

Hi everyone!!! I've Just joined this great community! I LOVE Vic and Bob and I've been brought up watching them :D

I'll post a new fic very soon :D

Current Mood: cheerful

RPS w/ Bonus Jonathan Ross Greetings sadly tiny community! I come bearing an entourage of two (that's TWO) and this piece of slash, how about that?

Title: An Evening With Jonathan Ross
Pairing: VicstrokeBob, with a bit of Wossy on the side
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: A silly bit of fiction!
Summary: Jonathan Ross invites Vic and Bob over for the weekend, drunken confessions are made, sloppy kissing occurs
Author's Notes: Triangle!fic, circa 1992, inspired by Jonathan Ross's obvious man-crush on Vic, particularly when they were as young as this http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=jjwdQ7XbE9s
but there's plenty of other YouTubic evidence. Brit-picked by authentic Yorkshire lass mothers_ruin!
Warnings: 99% dialogue

( An Evening With Jonathan Ross Collapse )

2:01 pm
[colacancol]

Love Potion No. Eight, rated:15

Well, I searched for a Vic & Bob slash community... and here I am *smiles* I can't believe there were only two people here... Like, where is everybody? How can people not agree that R/M slash is totally for the win? Anyway, I'm making third man, because I've written fic ^_^ It was done for a 'sex pollen' challenge, and after watching six Smell Of episodes nonstop in one night, I just went back to my comedy RPS-writing roots for this... I hope you guys enjoy!

Title: Love Potion No. Eight
Author: "colacancol"
Fandom: Comedy RPS
Pairing: Vic Reeves/Bob Mortimer
Rating: (15)

Synopsis: Written for a 'sex pollen' prompt... The well-loved (at least by all slashers) 'junior voodoo sketch' brings the idea of being with Bob to the forefront of Vic's mind... He sort of can't let it go, not now that he's thought about it... What if it was true? And can the fake spray explain why he suddenly feels so attracted to him?

Disclaimer: It's fiction (though one can hope!) and I don't own them, though I do own the story so if you want to use it for anything, feel free but leave my name on it and let me know *grins*

( Vaulting onto the worktop, old vein-coated formica, he pushed nearer to the mirror and removed the biro from his ear. He assumed thick-rimmed glasses - the pair he had started wearing lately in order to aid his ailing eyesight - and examined his partner as he shrugged off his ill-fitting orange suit, closely scrutinising bare legs and fleecy suede loafers, half-mast trousers slumping to the ground. Vic blinked. 'You know... I don't think it's the spray.' )

12:50 am
[trickseybird]

Title: Randall and Hopkirk (Gay): Part 1.
Pairing: Jeff/Marty from 'Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)'
Word count: 700
A/N: This is Vic and Bob slash, from their detective show - they're partners, and Vic's character Marty dies, hilarity ensues. The fic is an alternate scene from episode 3.

Jeff had walked for far too long. He felt an almost pleasant pinch in the muscle of his leg, and he sat carefully on the nearest bench. The man beside him, in a tweed coat and tie, shifted and gave him a pointed stare of distaste. Bugger him. Jeff dismissed him as a buttoned up Toff, and busied himself with his paper.

The day was piercingly bright, and the park seemed washed with a muted blue.

“What a lovely day.”

Jeff felt a sharp thrill in his gut, as he always did when Marty appeared; a mixture of surprise and, something he couldn’t put a name to. “Hello there,” he said, lightly.

“I can almost smell the flowers,” Marty continued, as if uninterrupted. “I miss being able to smell things, you know. Touch things,” he added, without particular emphasis, looking down.

“Have you no feelings at all?” Jeff asked him, unconscious of the other man listening.

“If I concentrate I can sit down like this, and...” Jeff looked distracted, and Marty had an urge to shake him, stun him out of that careful restraint. Could he not listen for a minute altogether? Feckless arse.

“Can you touch me?” Jeff said, his voice measured. The tweedy man beside him made to leave, looking horrified.

“Course I can’t Jeff, course I bloody well can’t. I’m a ghost, aren’t I?” Marty sent a long legged kick at the man’s arse, his pants pleated and too white. He looked enormously pleased with himself as he caught Jeff’s smile. “That’s a karate move, that. I learned it off…Jackie Chan.”

Jeff did his best to look painfully bored. “You lying get. You’ve never met Jackie Chan.”

“The point is, Jeff,” Marty railed, self-importantly. “That I can’t touch anyone –.” He met Jeff’s eyes, letting the sentence hang.

“Can you touch yourself?” Jeff asked, innocently. Marty grinned widely at him, and Jeff cursed himself.

“Yeah.” Marty said, his eyes bright with teasing.

“I didn’t mean,”

Marty wavered. “I can touch me,” he pulled at his tie, annoyed. Jeff turned for a moment to find him gone. “Or the hood of this car!” Marty shouted from across the park, to better prove his point.

Jeff caught his breath in a hiccup when Marty appeared back on the bench, considerably closer. His white tailored arm draped behind him, their thighs almost touching - if they could touch.
Jeff frowned, inside his own thoughts.

The other man looked at him, his eyes very blue. Jeff started again. He hadn’t noticed the silence.
Marty continued, with renewed impatience, gripping the wood of the bench. “I can touch this bench, but I can’t touch –.” He looked down, balling his hand into a fist.

Jeff felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. He willed Marty to say something, but he hardly knew what. The wind had changed, stinging his face a little. Jeff waited.

Marty lifted his head, his mouth quirking, and his face lit with fun. He opened his mouth a little wider. His breathing slowed. Jeff caught every detail as Marty leant in, serious. He became aware of his own breath, faster, and the wild thoughts flitting through his mind: of the wind blowing at Marty’s coat, or that he was breathing at all, and nothing made a bit of sense.

Marty’s hand hovered above Jeff’s thigh. He wet his lips, painstakingly slow. Time seemed to speed up, or slow down, or it didn’t matter because he couldn’t stand to meet the hunger in Marty’s face. Jeff knew something was expected of him. He felt his pants tighten, knew he couldn’t move from panic.

With a quick move, Marty snatched at the chocolate bar in Jeff’s pocket - empty air - and laughed bitterly. “I can’t touch that kette, there.”

Jeff let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and gasped a little. Not quite in relief. He cursed himself for being easy, and waited for Marty to gloat.

He couldn’t resist. Will power never held much sway with Marty Hopkirk. But he wasn’t entirely sure whether the joke was on him, or Jeff.

“And, you know, I’d die for some marzipan.” He considered for a moment, and then grinned at his mistake “Again.”

Current Mood: happy