Chapter Text
"Iiiiiiiiiiiiit's... Little Alex Horne!"
Alex bobs his head appreciatively to the audience, as they cheer his introduction. "Thank you, Greg."
"How are you today, Little Alex Horne?" Greg asks, leaning over the arm of his throne with a grin.
"I'm very well today, Greg, thank you, thank you for asking," Alex replies, straight-faced. "I've been busy," he continues, with a brief pause to look at Greg. "I've been doing one of my favourite chores that you ask me to do, that I'm happy to do for you, I spent the day folding all your socks." He pauses and furrows his brow to emphasise the final word, and the audience laughs.
"Been folding my socks, have you?
"Yes, Greg. All your socks."
There are chuckles from the audience. Jessica Knappett is giggling behind her hand.
Greg looks out at the audience, a smile playing around the edges of his lips. "Do I have you to thank for this, then?" he asks in exasperation, and he tugs his trousers up so the hem rises a few inches, revealing two wildly mismatched socks; pink with cats and green with aubergines.
The audience is laughing and Alex leans forward and down to look at Greg's socks, looking between the socks and the audience with his brow furrowed. Then he sits up straight and, slowly at first but then with a final quick tug, lifts the hem of his own trousers to reveal the matching mismatched socks on his own feet. The audience roars and he can hear the contestants laughing too, and he finishes the bit with a big gap-toothed grin.
The laughter dies down and Alex looks to Greg, who is characteristically unimpressed. "You seem very pleased with yourself. Wearing my socks." Greg frowns at the audience, tapping his cards on his knee. Alex brings his fist to his mouth, trying to hide his smile. He is, in fact, very pleased. He loves this part, Greg's indifference to his jokes, bordering on disgust. Even when Greg was in on the joke to begin with.
Then Greg slightly leans towards Alex, lifting a hand to crook a finger, and Alex responds, leaning in. This is beyond what they had planned, so he focuses entirely on Greg, who beckons Alex closer, then closer again. Alex looks up at Greg's face, just inches away, and Alex is thrown back to the last time they did this, last season, when Greg had dared him into a kiss. But this is... different. Greg is still wearing that disapproving expression, settled comfortably in his throne while Alex is leaning over far enough that he's practically falling out of his, and Alex finds that everything around them seems to fade away like a dream, while some other part of him awakens.
"And when, exactly, did I give you permission to wear my socks?" Greg whispers, and Alex feels like he's forgotten how to breathe. He opens his mouth but no air enters his lungs, air he needs to explain and apologise and beg and grovel for forgiveness, because he hadn't had permission, he hadn't thought to ask...
Greg grins and the world comes rushing back, the clapping of the audience, the voices in his earpiece telling him to move on to the prize task. Alex blinks as Greg turns away, settling back in his seat looking smug, and Alex feels heat rising from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears.
~~~~
Alex finally entered his dressing room, flushed and sweating. The show had been magnificent, the audience brimming with energy that he and the other comedians onstage drank in greedily. He'd been stopped a number of times in the hallway to hear congratulations for an excellent show, from the Andys, stagehands he couldn't quite remember the names of despite how much he tried, the contestants who had, just like him, felt the energy like static in the room. The air in his dressing room felt stale and heavy in comparison, yet somehow still provided some relief as he took off his suit jacket. He rolled up the white cuffs of his sleeves, moving to the washbasin to splash some water on his face, the day's episode replaying in his mind.
After the incident with the banter, he barely remembered the items being described for the prize task. His brain had been stuck on that stupid sock bit. Somehow he had managed to get the first video task on screen and then sighed with the relief that soon they'd have something new to banter about.
But he had been wrong.
Greg took the laundry bit and elevated it, using every chance he could to mock his Assistant. When Kerry tore a task while opening it, he berated Alex for not being able to fold paper, never mind socks. When Rhod made Alex remove his trousers, Greg feigned relief that Alex wasn't wearing his pants as well, delivered with a dark grin that insinuated just how perverted that would be. And when Alex made a mistake in tallying the contestants scores after the stage task, Greg had looked straight at the audience and boomed "Good Lord, now he's forgotten how to count!" while Alex felt the tips of his ears turn red with embarrassment. The crowd had loved it.
Alex had loved it.
Looking in the mirror, he noted the red patches on his cheeks. Perhaps normal after a day under the heat of the stage spotlights. But his ears, God. Red as aeroplane beacons. Anyone who knew him well knew how easily he flushed, how his body delighted in projecting to the world how embarrassed he was. But only Alex knew it was a particular brand of embarrassment, the one that was inexplicably tied up with pleasure, that made the blood rush to his ears. He sighed, turning the tap to cold and running his hands under until they were ice, before pressing them to his ears to try and get them to calm down. They were hot to the touch.
He did that a few more times while changing out of his Assistant suit into his everyday clothes—comfortable jeans, a lightweight shirt, and an oversized jumper. Each item felt like a layer muffling the thoughts racing around his brain, grounding him back in the real world, and when he looked back in the mirror he felt a bit more put together rather than unravelled. At least enough to make it through the studio hallways. He wanted nothing more than to escape to the peace of the A413 and then collapse at home.
He left the socks on though. Cats and aubergines.
With a sigh that carried just a hint of resignation, he headed out the door, bracing himself to make a quick excuse to anyone who tried to make conversation. Lots of work to do, he'd say. Have to be back early tomorrow morning. Sorry, got to run.
He was heading around the last corner when he nearly ran into someone. A big someone.
"Alex! Great show tonight, mate!"
Alex opened his mouth but the excuses didn't come. He couldn't brush off Greg.
His feet were glued to the floor.
Alex looked up at Greg, hoping that his face wasn't flushing more than it already had. "Yeah, it was great," he stammered out with a smile. "The audience loved it."
Greg leaned in, a smirk on his lips. "Well I'm glad someone did, because the Taskmaster wasn't very pleased with his Assistant today. Can't even fold a pair of socks."
Alex felt the wall against his back. When had he turned his back to the wall? "I, um..." He swallowed. "What are you... What does the Taskmaster want to do about that?"
Greg chuckled, taking a step back, and Alex released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding with a weak laugh of his own. How could Greg seemingly make all the air disappear, and then with a laugh bring it all crashing back again?
"Well... it seems to me that if the Taskmaster is judging the contestants, it's only fair if he judges his Assistant, yeah?" Greg grinned, a glint in his eye. "It seems like something he'd be into, anyway... And how else would his Assistant know if he's done a good job?"
"Oh yes, he'd definitely be into that," Alex laughed, as he made a small side step, an inch further down the hallway, closer to the door. "You could... hmm. He would mark him from one to five, probably, on how well he'd put together the tasks." Alex felt his stomach flip as the words came out of his mouth. The idea of being judged by the Taskmaster... It was so tantalising, but he tried to push it out of his mind as he felt his face heating up. He did not need to think about this now. He was still reeling over the socks.
"Listen Greg, I've got to go," he rushed the words, his voice a slightly higher pitch than normal. "Late night... I mean, early morning, and all that..." He glanced down the hallway, hoping his face didn't betray how desperate he was for an escape.
"Yeah, go on then, can't say I never give you a night off," Greg huffed, crossing his arms in mock authority.
"You know, technically, I am your boss," Alex grinned,
"Well you're a shit one, if I'm the one giving out the points!" Greg called after him. "A one out of five boss!"
"Yes, Greg. Thank you, Greg!" Alex gave a cheeky wave before pushing against the door to the outside, to freedom, and as he walked through the parking lot to his car, the night air was ice on the tips of his ears.