Breakfast in Bed
A Real Ghostbusters ficlet
(c) 11/15/2003 Lucidscreamer
Warnings: humor, Peter/Egon fluff; my first attempt at slash. Please note that I have warned for male/male content both here and in the summary. If this is not your cuppa, please do not send me comments or PMs flaming me for writing RGB slash. (No, it isn't canon. That's half the point of slash, a non-canon relationship between members of the same sex (old-school definition). The guy who left me a lovely "it's not canon!1eleventy0" review? Yeah, he's written an entire non-canon series of Marty Stu fics. Pot, kettle. The irony, it burns.) My other published RGB fic is gen. Go read that if the idea of a bit of humorous male/male fluff offends you. Otherwise, please enjoy the story.
Disclaimer: The Real Ghostbusters belongs to Columbia Pictures, DiC, and a bunch of other people who aren't me. No copyright infringement is intended nor should be implied.
Author's Note: Fixed the formatting. I have no idea why so much of my punctuation disappeared on upload, but it should be okay, now.
"I made you breakfast," Peter said, collapsing onto the bed beside a just-awakened Egon and flinging his arm up to hide his green eyes. The unburnt portions of his sleeve were coated in an unappetizing mixture of pancake batter and neon-colored goo. Much like the rest of him. Peter groaned.
Egon looked blearily at him, then the fuzzy red numbers on the clock (7:00 a.m.), then back at Peter. He fumbled his glasses into place… and stared at Peter in surprise. He had meant to comment on the unusual phenomenon of Venkman glands being active before noon. What came out was "Is that a tux?"
"It used to be."
Egon recognized that tone and let it drop. "Breakfast?"
"In the dumb waiter."
"Peter. We don't have a--"
Slimer, still sporting the remains of Peter's bowtie strapped around his spud-like head and carrying a slime-encrusted tray empty of everything but a denuded rose stem, swooped through the doorway and waved cheerily. He gave a loud, sated belch, then spun in a circle above the bed. Peter growled. It had a distinct undertone of "where's my proton pack?" to it that did not bode well for Slimer's continued survival.
"Oh." Egon shooed the little ghost away and turned his attention back to Peter, who was still hiding behind his upflung arm. "Peter?"
"I wanted today to be special," Peter said, scrubbing at his hair. His hand came away coated in green -- and sticky. Very sticky. He scowled at it. "Instead, Slimer wrecks the kitchen and my tux, eats your breakfast and slimes me to within an inch of my life. Some 'special'."
"It's the thought that counts." Egon tugged at Peter's tattered sleeve until Peter let his arm drop and reluctantly met the physicist's warm blue gaze. "And today is special."
Peter raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I'm with you."
Peter started to smile. "In that case..."
Peter twisted his hand in Egon's grip and gave a quick jerk, so that the taller man fell on top of him. Peter promptly wrapped his arms around him. "How about joining me in the shower, Dr. Spengler?"
"Seeing as how you've just seen to it that I am thoroughly coated in ectoplasm and... pancake batter, Dr. Venkman?... I don't see how I can refuse," Egon said, his stern tone belied by the sparkle in his eyes.
"That was the general idea," Peter agreed smugly. He leaned up and covered Egon's mouth with his own. The kiss went from teasing to demanding in less than a heartbeat, and they both melted into it.
"Happy anniversary," Egon whispered, when they finally came up for air.
And it was.