thieving_gypsy, who is quite eeeevil, but loved anyway, Withnail/Marwood. With rubber gloves."Do you remember that?" Peter asks, as they lie in bed. It's years later, and he's a moderately successful actor in the provinces, with occasional forays into the West End. Withnail's still hanging around on the fringes - Peter sometimes gets him short-term jobs, but he's never had the temperament for the longer-term things. The same performance, night after night after night and twice on Saturdays, would destroy him even quicker than he could destroy himself.
"Do you remember? That vile little flat, and the washing up with things - colonies of things - reproducing in it? And the day we thought there was a rat in there, just before that horrible holiday? 'Never attempt anything without the glove!'"
He laughs a little, shifting closer. "That holiday... for all the sheer bloody trauma you helped put me through there, there was one good part. It was the first time we shared a bed, d'you remember?"
Withnail looks up at him with the devil in his eyes and pounces without warning, pinning him to the bed.
"Of course I remember, you fool. Why do you think I kept following you?"
