alcohol fuelled smoffat fic, part 2

Matt took a deep breath. “Do you mean what I think you mean?”
“I mean what I think you think I mean,” the Moff responded crypticly.
“And what do you think I think you mean?” said Matt, squeezing Moffat’s arm a little tighter.
“I… I…” it was strange to see Steven Moffat completely lost for words, trembling and staring into his lap. “Matthew Robert Smith, I am in love with you. I am in love with your perfect inhuman jawline. I am in love with your clumsy set-wrecking. I am in love with your stupid hupster clothes. I am in love with your kindness to children and your utter bewilderment in the face of adults. I am in love with the story of how sixteen-year-old you had to abadon a promising sports career and pick himself up and I’m in love with the man in front of me who did tht and is all the stronger for it. I am in love with your mind-blwoing talent. I am in love with the fact you conveyed a thousand-year-old’s face perfectly before you were 30 and then minutes later acted like a five year old. I was in love with your perfect floppy hair and I am in love with your stubbly little head. I am in love with your terrible accent in party animals. I am in love with your perfect portrayal of Christopher Isherwood and your love of his prose. I am in love with the muscles of your neck and your unnaturally beautiful hands. I am in love with every millimetre of your body and every flicker of a thought in your soul. I am in love with you, Matthew Robert Smith.”
Matt looked directly and unblinkingly at Steven and began running his hand up and down his arm. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke, they just stared at each other. Then Matt said “Does Sue know?”
“She knows. She knew before I admitted it to myself. She’s been nagging me to ask you out, as a matter of fact,” Moffat said, smiling sadly.
“She doesn’t mind, then?”
“I love my wife. She loves me. That doesn’t mean we don’t lvoe other people. I mean, did you really think Mark Gatiss and I were just friends? And she and… well, I can’t betray her confidence. I mean, sometimes when it’s antoher lady, I watch. Not with the men; they’re all so pretty and they make me feel ugly. Is that sexist? Don’t tell the fans, they already think I’m a misogynist. But anyway, Sue is free to love whomever she chooses, as am I. Not every couple can be like that but Sue and I are happy with an open relationship.”
“That’s great,” said Matt, swallowing. (Omg if this fic gets smutty I should use that sentence again but I doubt it will.) “And, for the record, you are not remotely ugly.” Matt moved his hand up towards Moffat’s shoulder.

alcohol fuelled smoffat fic, part 1 (will keep updating until I fall asleep)

Matt Smith looked down at his large and very pretty hands. They were shaking. He didn’t want to say it, but it had to be said. He hated upsetting Steven. He tried to ignore just how cuddly his boss looked on the other side of the restaurant table
“Steven. I want to stay. Really. This is the best job I have ever had. The best job I will ever sad. But if I stay another year, then why not two? Why not three? Why not ten? Because I love being the Doctor -that’s just it. I love it so much it’s hard to leave. But I have to. I’m thirty - I have most of my career left. I don’t want to be Tom Baker. I don’t want to be typecast.”
Steven Moffat took a deep breath. “Of course you don’t. You’re a talented young man. You’re going to take Hollywood by storm. You’re amazing. You’re going to do so much. You’re going to…” and at that point his voice cracked and he let out a small, involuntary sob “you’re going to be incredible, Matthew. And I’m… I’m going to miss you.” The Doctor Who showrunner put his head in his hands.
“Are you… are you crying Steven?” said Matt. He’d expeted nagging, persuasion, maybe even anger. But not tears. “I’ll miss you too. I mean, I’ll miss everyone. I already miss Karen and Arthur and I just… I’m stealing David’s line, but I don’t want to go. I just HAVE to. It’s not personal, honestly. I mean, it’s not like this is a break-up.” This only made Moffat cry more. Matt had expected to cry a little himself, but not this. He reached out and touched the older man’s arm comfortingly.
“Do you not know, Matt? Do you honestly not know? I mean, I never told you but… I assumed you worked it out.” said Steven, lacking his customary self-assurance.
“I… Steven… are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you ill or something? Oh God Steven, is it serious?”
Steven stopped crying and gsve a mirthless chuckle. “Oh Matthew. Sweet darling Matthew. I’m fine. Really. I just want something I can’t have. Don’t mind me. Go off and be amazing. Find a pretty girl to be amazing with. I wish you all the success and happiness in the world. You deserve it. Really.”
Matt still hadn’t taken his hand off Steven’s arm. “No. You can’t fob me off like that. We’re friends now. Real friends. Please, please tell me.”
Moffat looked down at his uneaten risotto and whispered, with uncharacteristic nervousness “Matthew, it’s you. It’s always been you.”
Matt Smith’s hand remained on Steven Moffat’s arm.

I can't sleep so here's some smoffat fic, part 7

Steven stood in the kitchen, waiting for a pot of pasta to boil and absentmindedly fiddling with his phone. The boys were playing MarioKart in the next room, arguing loudly about blue shells, but he was in such a good mood that even their bickering was endearing. He was lucky, so lucky, to have beautiful healthy children with someone he loved. Sue was out with friends - well, more-than-friends. “You got a night with Matt, I get a night with them. You watch the kids. It’s only fair,” she had said, and kissed him, giggling, and he had kissed back. Steven had never, in all his years of marriage, been fully able to believe his luck. If he could time-travel back to when he’s first met her seventeen years ago*, and told a younger Steven Moffat “That woman will be your wife” he didn’t think that his past self would have believed it. He thought of himself, reeling from the break-up of his first marriage, trying not to blush every time she spoke when they worked together on The Curse Of Fatal Death, back in a time when he thought Doctor Who and his own love-life had both been cancelled forever. How could he have known that years later he’d be the Doctor Who showrunner and Sue’s husband? Or that his beautiful, amazing wife would be happy for them to have an open relationship, and that he would find himself loving and making love to all sorts of other amazing people? Or that one of those people would be, oddly enough, the Eleventh (and, despite fierce competition, sexiest **) incarnation of the Doctor? For him , the TARDIS truly was a snog box. He sometimes worried that the universe would see fit to balance out all his good fortune by giving him some horrific terminal illness, but so far the closest he’d come to karma was the passionate hatred of strangers on the internet.
His pleasant reverie was interrupted by the familiar noise of the TARDIS landing, coming from his phone. He picked it up and heard Matt’s voice “Hello sweetie. Just finished my interview. You busy? ” Steven felt his heart beat a little faster, but responded with feigned nochalance “Watching the boys, sorry. See you when I can.” Matt was impatient “I could come over. I’d be a better babysitter than the Doctor. I wouldn’t let them play blind man’s bluff. Or just stand around playing games after you collapsed.” Steven chuckled to himself, “We wouldn’t be able to have any…” Steven searched for a word that would communicate his meaning to Matt but hide it from eavesdropping children “ahem, “fun” if you know what I mean. You’re in that blessed interlude in your life between hiding your “fun” from parents and hiding your “fun” from children. Treasure it while you can,” said Moffat, although he and Sue managed to have plenty of fun, together and apart. But it did require more cunning and discretion than it had before the boys. “We can’t have “fun” but we can still have fun,” said Matt, not giving up. Steven couldn’t pretend he didn’t want to see Matt, and he knew the boys would love to see him too, so he said, “Okay, if you’ve nothing better to do than hang out with me.” Matt chuckled, “See you soon sweetie,” he said, then hung up.

*At the Edinburgh Television Festival. Thanks, wikipedia.
**With the possible exception of Joanna Lumley

I don't even have the excuse of alcohol any more but here's Smoffat fic, part 5

[assume there was naked cuddling, then sex, then more naked cuddling, then sleep. Not gonna write that bit. Just imagine it if you really want to. Anyway, cut to the next morning.]

Steven Moffat woke up from what he thought was another Matt Smith dream, then wondered why he wasn’t in his own bed. He was in Matt’s bed. So it really happened. He really did the do with Doctor Who (who, at least in Classic Who, was referred to as both The Doctor and Doctor Who, as Moffat knew, which is why he called the character Doctor Who in his BAFTA acceptance speech you complaining numpties of tumblr.) Well, as the Doctor would have said “I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS.” Steven Moffat sat in bed grinning and Matt came in (still naked) with some tea and toast on a tray.
Matt smiled, uncertain of what to say. What DO you say to your boss, whom you’ve just slept with after finding out he’s bisexual and in an open relationship (well, two open relationships, if you count Mark Gatiss as well as Sue Vertue) the morning after a night of passionate sexual experimentation?
“Hi.” said Matt. That would do for now.
“Morning,” said Moffat. “Five star-treatment, I see.”
“Actually, the toast’s a bit burned. Sorry,” said Matt, nervously.
“I’m not Gordon Ramsey, don’t worry,” said Moffat and reached out for Matt’s hand and stroked it. Matt attempted to put the tray down and sit next to Steven but the tray slipped from his hands, soaking his duvet in tea.
“Dammit, I’m SOOO sorry,” said Matt, trying to right the teacups and reaching for a towel to soak up the mess (haha I could have used that line in the smutty bit if I’d written it too but nvm.) In doing so, Matt managed to knock over a lamp from his bedside table, which fell to the floor and shattered.
“Bugger!” exclaimed Matt.
“Hey,” said Steven, reaching for Matt’s arm “don’t worry. Clen that up later. Climb back into bed and cuddle me.”

I have turned from a person who found the whole idea of RPF just WRONG to someone who wrote this whilst sitting on a train. Smoffat fic part 6

Matt climbed into bed and put his arm around Steven Moffat. Steven kissed his forehead gently. They lay in each other’s arms, smiling wordlessly, until Matt removed his arm from Steven’s shoulders.
“Much as I’d love to just stay her forever, I have an interviewer to meet in two hours,” he said, sadly.
“Two hours is plenty of time,” said Steven.
“They’re doing a photoshoot. They’ll have to pretty me up,” sighed Matt.
“Just go down as you are. I’m sure a lot of people would enjoy those photos,” Steven replied, grinning.
Matt rolled his eyes and giggled, but got out of bed anyway. Steven lay there, looking up at him.
“You know, Matthew dear, I kind of regret that what you’re wearing now isn’t your Doctor’s costume,” said Steven, staring hungrily at Matt Smith in his birthday suit.
“You’d have some trouble getting that on a family show. Anyway, it’s not exactly Doctor-y,” said Matt, blushing.
“I don’t know. The socks make it a bit Doctor-y,” said Steven.
Matt looked down at his feet and saw that in last night’s excitement, he’d failed to remove his pink socks (the same ones he wore on his second Graham Norton interview - the one with the football trick. Yes, I am the sort of person who pays attention to celebrities’ socks. I’m writing a Smoffat fic, what did you expect? Wittgenstein?) Matt facepalmed with embarrassment.
“I can’t believe I fell into the sock gap,” he said.
“Oh, the sock gap happens to all of us. Dammit, on my first wedding anniversary with Sue I…” said Moffat, then paused “Did you just make a Coupling reference?”
“I like the things you write. Not just the things you’ve written for me to act,” said Matt, coyly.
“Well, so you should. I’m brilliant,” said Steven, trying to sound arrogant and casual, but blushing deeply.
“Yes, you are,” said Matt, leaning over and kissing Steven, “at writing. And… other things,” he whispered suggestively
“And you are also a man of many talents,” Steven replied, grinning. Neither of them wanted to leave each other’ side.
Matt summoned all his willpower and pulled himself away. “Well, that’s why I’ve got an interview to go to. Anyway, don’t you have a family, and two shows to run?” he said.
“You’re kicking me out, then?” said Steven, attempting a mock-offended tone but sounding genuinely crestfallen.
“Just for now. I’ll call you later, ok?” said Matt.

alcohol fuelled smoffat fic, part 3

"You’re very kind," said Steven, clearly disbelieving the compliment, "but I know you’d never be interested in an old man like me. I hope this doesn’t run our friendhip."
Matt moved his hand upfrom Moffat’s shoulder to his neck. “Steven, I had no idea.”
“I said you had the body of an underwear model in an interview. I banned you datng costars. I had you naked for spurious reasons in your first episode and I got another writer to have you wet and naked again when it hd nothing whatsoever to do with the plot. You’re a smart young man. How did you not figure it out?”
Matt’s hand was now cupping Steven Moffat’s face. The tracks of his previous tears were still there. Matt wiped them away with his thumb.
“I just… I never thought you would. Because of Sue. And well, I just didn’t think you liked men that way.”
“Well, I do. Especially you. I’m sorry.”
“Who says there’s anything to be sorry for?” said Matt, his heart beating loud in his ears. He gently pulled Moffat’s face toawrds his, until their lips touched, then slowly slipped his tongue between Moffat;s lips. Their kiss was gentle but passionate and both men were panting when they pulled their faces apart.
“You.. you kissed me!” said Moffat, wiht surprised delight.
“You blushed,” responded Matt. “Let’s get the bill and go somewhere a little more private, perhaps?”

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