Heather (lightningrapier) wrote in lightningfanfic, @ 2007-12-09 06:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | ed helms, rob corddry, the daily show |
TDS - Rob/Ed - PGish - Play On
Title: Play On
Author: Emily lightningrapier
Fandom: The Daily Show
Pairing: Ed Helms/Rob Corddry
Rating: PGish
Warnings: Mentions of sex, slight angst
Summary: Ed invites Rob to hear the band.
Disclaimer: These people own themselves. 'The Daily Show with Jon Stewart' is property of Viacom, who likes to delete my music videos on YouTube. This is purely fiction. Please don't sue me.
Notes: Writen for contrelamontre on LJ prompt "music". LJ cut text taken from Ed Helm's song "All Gone to Hell", which you can download here, at the band's website.
Originally posted at LJ on February 23, 2007. Moved over because SixApart are fucking whores. :D
Music was a big part of Ed's life. He'd learned to play banjo at an early age, unimpressed with his mother's preoccupation with the piano, but still filled with that spirit, that desire to create and feel and see and hear music. He mastered it quickly, making his own tunes (it was easy to do that with banjo, just play how you feel and see where it goes), and picked up guitar, too. That one was a little harder, but Ed liked the challenge. As long as he was making music, he was happy. It felt so perfect, to feel the rush he felt when he was making something, feeling it get bigger as he played on, feeling the threads spin together to create a flowing piece of something that was going to live on forever, long after everyone was dead.
Making the band, playing together with people was like second nature, and in a way Ed felt like he couldn't trust anyone better than the people he made music with. They had access to a secret part of him, a part no one else could see. It was something so intimate and personal, and sometimes Ed didn't like to share it with people. That was why he liked to play alone, too.
Rob was coming back to their shared office early from lunch break when he heard the music for the first time. He'd paused outside the closed door, wondering if his officemate was doing something a little too private. It was private, in Ed's opinion, but it wasn't like Rob was thinking. Rob had listened for a moment before opening the door to see Ed, guitar in his lap, strumming quietly. He stopped when the door opened, but Rob asked him to continue, and he listened with minimal comments for the rest of lunch.
Rob wasn't interested in the style of music Ed played ("You know electric guitar gets you way more chicks, right?"), but he listened anyway. Ed was actually almost excited. To be able to share something this intimate (and yet completely comfortable) for once with Rob was kind of... thrilling.
"You could come to where we're playing," Ed said, suddenly, when the two were crashed out on Ed's couch, clothesless and spent and nearly falling asleep. Rob made a noise of understanding.
"Yeah. Sure. I'll do that."
Ed gave him the date and time the next day, directions to the bar, everything. He watched Rob write it down, and, the day of the concert, told Jake and Ian (almost proudly) that someone special was coming to see them.
Everything was set up, and people started streaming in, smoking and drinking and talking. The three sat out on stage, tuning, and Ed glanced out at the crowd, amongst the smoke and faceless people. Rob wasn't there.
"We have to play, anyway," Ian told him, nudging his side.
"I know that," Ed murmured. Rob was probably stuck in traffic or looking for parking. He'd come in later, definitely.
Only the night went on, and people did more leaving than coming in.
At the end of the night, drifting into early hours of the morning, the band stopped playing and the three said goodbye and parted ways back home.
Ed stayed, nursing a drink and his wounded self-confidence.