Title: Goodnight kiss
Author: Ligeia
Fandom: Depeche Mode
Pairing: Andy/Martin
Rating: PG-13
Category: Humour, Romance
Summary: Hyper Martin. Sleepy Fletch. A fluffy vignette.
The following story is a mere work of F I C T I O N, meaning it is 100% made up. None of the situations described here ever happened, and even if they did, I have no way of knowing. This is not about spreading rumours or, worse, libel. The people portrayed in this story are real, but I am NOT claiming they did what I wrote. I use their "public personas" and build stories around them as if they were fictional characters.
I wake up to the sound of insistent knocking on the door. I groan into the sheets and roll over, bury my head under the pillow, silently praying for the pounding to stop.
"Aaandyyy... Are you sleeping? Come on, open the door."
Oh. My. God. Not again. I thought Martin had stopped his random night visits. Not that the problem was mine really, he usually went to Dave or Alan and generally left me alone. One might think the three of them were up to something...
"Go away Mart, I wanna sleep!" Having to deal with that pixie is the last thing I need right now.
"Please Andy, just for five minutes, I promise. Pretty please?"
I can just imagine him standing in the hallway pouting and blinking his eyes. I get up with a sigh, not bothering to put my glasses on, and go to open the door.
A rush of blond, feathers, glitter. "Fletch!" Arms around my neck, drunken giggles in my ears as I stumble backwards.
"Martin, what the hell? It's 3 am." I free myself from his hug and close the door.
"I know, but I'm bored!" He chirps tilting his head back. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, then closes his eyes, spreads out his arms and starts spinning right in front of me.
I roll my eyes and rub my temples, trying to find a way to send him back to his room as soon as possible. "What did Dave give you this time?"
"Mmh?" He stops moving and looks at me through slit eyes. "What do you mean?" The giggle that follows tells me he knows perfectly well what we're talking about. Probably that funny smelling cake someone brought backstage after the show.
"Never mind. Why are you here anyway?" I go to the bedside table and pick up my glasses. Hyper Martin is bad, but a blurred hyper Martin is even worse. Guaranteed headache, twice as bad and in half the time.
"Fletch?" I feel a fingertip run slowly down the centre of my back and turn around. He smiles up at me and gently removes my glasses, carefully dropping them on the bed. "Have I ever told you you're pretty?"
I don't move as he leans up and kisses me, my still sleepy brain not quite able to put the pieces together. Martin. Kissing. Me.
Me??
He puts his hands on my waist and suddenly I'm very aware of my lack of clothing: standing here in just a t-shirt and boxers doesn't feel comfortable at all. It all lasts only a few seconds and before I know it, Martin is pulling back and looking up at me, sleepy eyes fighting to stay open just a bit longer.
"Well, I think I can go to bed now." With that he spins on his heels and goes to the door. On his way out he turns only to say, "Night Andy, sweet dreams." A little wave of his hand is the last thing I see before the door clicks shut.
How am I supposed to go back to sleep now?
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September 2002