The first TW/DW RPF COMMENT-FIC CARNIVALE!

[amand_r]

Oh hallo. Are you here for something?

Of course you are.

What's your name? You're Candy?

Of course you are.

On behalf of Myself, cruentum, and degenerates everywhere, welcome to:


Thanks again to laurab1 for this gorgeous art!



1. THE TW/DW RPF CARNIVALE is Torchwood/Doctor Who centred. At least one of the individuals in your story/stories should be associated with either show. "Crossovers" are fine.
2. Stories may be RPF or RPS and may contain some or no sexual content.
3. The idea is to write comment-sized stories. Story length of 1 to 4 comments is fine (that's 0 - ca 2500 words). Alternatively, post the story to your LJ and link it here.
4. When posting, please use the subject line to indicate who the story involves (individuals' names or pairings) and if the story contains explicit sexual content or not.
5. WIP snippets are fine, but the story shouldn't be published earlier.
6. Anon commenting is turned on, IP logging is off
7. No bashing, no nastiness. Let's try to keep the themes and vibes of this positive (trusting your judgment here)
8. Pairing individuals with significant others is fine (for example, John/Scott). Pairing individuals with significant others that are not their own is fine (for example, Burn/Gemma). Making up individuals (ie. fans as long as not identifiable as a specific person in fandom) to pair them with someone is fine (for example, Naoko/fan).

ON POSTING: We recommend that if your story is over one comment long, you thread it by posting part 2 in a reply to part one, and part three in a reply to part two, etc. Also, it's nice to be able to edit, so people, try to give the poster a few minutes to look over their comment. Sometimes you see a typo you want to fix and you can't. Well, unless it's anon.

IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS, please do not post them here, but instead in Crue's cyus lj here.

SO FAR:

Gareth/? (NC-17) by anon
Dream Sequence, David/John (R) by anon
The Last Kiss (or Strike the Set, Lights Out), GDL, John, Eve by anon
Sweet Smell of Success, GDL/RTD (PG) by anon
Hub 3, GDL, JB (PG-13) by anon
Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes, Gareth, Gemma, Scott, John (PG-13) by anon
Scott, Gareth, John, (gen-ish) by anon
TorchSong, GDL, JB (PG) by anon
Wrap Partay, SG/JB (PG) by anon
John, Eve, Gareth, trailer time (R) by anon
For A Song, Scott (PG) by anon
Spending Time Apart, John and Scott (PG) by anon
Suite Life, John, Gareth (PG-13) by 51stcenturyfox
Must Love Dogs, SG/JB (G) by wynkat1313
Life imitates art, John/Scott (NC-17) by electrogirl09
Baby Love, Eve, gen (warning for sap) by blue_fjords
After the TARDIS, John/David (teen for language only) by ebineez01
Naoko, John, a song and a dance (PG) by laurab1
What really happens in the TARDIS, John/David (PG) by ebineez01
Crack!RPS John/Gareth, Gareth/Gemma, (NC-17) by marita_c
John thinks Hard, John/David (NC17) by ebineez01
IM(aginary) between John and Scott (verbal song and dance) by ask_theharkni
John/Scott (PG) by topgeargirl2
Desperate Debut, John/David (NC17) by ebineez01
Wrap party & a song and a dance, John/Scott (PG-13 aka 12) by laurab1


Thanks so much. Have fun, pervs.

Comments

Re: Tropisms (Jack, Ten, evil!kink)

[(Anonymous)]

oh mousie I love the story as I adore Jack and Ten but uh this is a real person fic event?

Gareth/?, NC-17

[(Anonymous)]

Gareth rubbed his cheek across the silky smooth calf, causing a gasp above him as his stubble caught on flesh, reddening it slightly. He was pleased they had dispensed with the stockings earlier.

"Smooth." He breathed the word out over skin and was rewarded with a shudder and a soft 'hmmm'.

He sucked lightly before nipping his way slowly up the calf until he reached the juncture at the back of the knee. Gareth exhaled, his breath drifting over the spot which he knew, from previous experience, was ticklish.

"Gareth." Soft, pleading.

Now it was Gareth's turn to hmm in response, letting the sound vibrate over flesh as he pushed the sequined red dress higher, still slowly kissing and sucking on his journey upwards.

Settling the dress around a nipped in waist Gareth felt a pang of jealousy. So trim, whereas he had a tendency to thicken around the middle the second he stopped exercising.

"Gareth, please." The pleading had turned to begging but Gareth was determined to take his time. This was his prize. Everyone knew he hated musicals, no matter who was in them. This was his reward for sitting through two hours of song and dance and he would take it slow if that was what he wanted. No matter how much his knees ached from the hard concrete floor or the voices reminded him there were people passing in the corridor outside all the time. At any moment someone could walk in and see him on his knees worshiping this glorious creature.

With his eyes closed he had relied on feel and smell so far; the soft feeling of skin beneath his lips and the sweet creamy smell of coco butter moisturiser. But now he opened his eyes to be confronted by the most hideous pair of knickers he had ever seen. He knew there was a reason for them but he couldn't stifle the chuckle which threatened to escape. That earned him a sharp tap on the head as if he were one of the dogs.

To stop any further inappropriate laughter he buried his face into the thick elastic and breathed out, moist and heavy. A moan echoed low in the small room.

Tugging the elastic panties down with his teeth he buried his nose in the small patch of soft light brown hair, inhaling deeply. It never failed to surprise him how intoxicating he found that smell.

"Oh God please."

Relenting slightly in his go slow plan, mainly because his own dick was ramrod hard in his pants but also because he couldn't resist the begging tone, Gareth ran his tongue along the silky skin stopping at the very top to dip his tongue into the moist hollow he found there. He lapped up the liquid, hips pushing up eagerly into his face. Pulling back just a fraction he was urged on by a hand in his hair gripping tightly and a decidedly masculine growl.

"Jeez Gaz, get on with it. You're killing me here."

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Gareth glanced up into the face of his lover; cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, blonde wig askew. He chuckled, his laugh ghosting over the cock inches from his face causing his lover to shiver.

"Hell John, even in a dress you are so bossy."

Re: Gareth/?, NC-17

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

This was his prize. Everyone knew he hated musicals, no matter who was in them. This was his reward for sitting through two hours of song and dance and he would take it slow if that was what he wanted.

OMG YES.

This was made of win.

Suite Life: Gareth, John - PG-13

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

"Oh, that's just wrong," John intones upon seeing Gareth's huge jacuzzi bath. There's a damp-ish towel hanging off the side covering two of the multiple jets, and an open bottle of hotel shampoo tipped to drizzle a thick honey-coloured stream down the drain. Clearly Gareth's already had a bask in the thing.

"What?"

"Hello. Where's mine?"

Gareth grins at him. He'd got in late for the publicity interview weekend, asked for a smoking room, was told there were none, hotel counter clerk recognised him (though pretended she didn't because that's not cool in a five-star hotel) and upgraded him to a suite. Which he could have just explained to John, but he didn't feel like it. Let him wonder why Gareth had got the honeymoon suite and he ended up with the very-posh-but-not-this-posh queen double down the hall.

John had a place to stay in London, but the interviews were here in the hotel, and hey, convenient. Plus, Scott was doing surprise renovations on their flat AND the house in Sully.

"I haven't had a real soak in weeks. You lucky bastard."

"You can have a go. I'm going down for a drink."

John strokes his lip with a finger, raises an eyebrow. He's considering it, Gareth knows. "All right then," he decides, unbuckling his belt already.

"Jesus. I'm leaving."

"Get me a drink, too?" John says, and pauses with his boxers showing to steeples his hands beseechingly.

"I'm not your bitch."

"I'm half-dressed," John protests, pulling his jeans down hurriedly.

Gareth is unimpressed. "Just ring room service."

"They're not going to bring me a drink in the bathtub, Gaz," John says, logically, and he's right. Or actually, the counter clerk probably wouldn't mind arranging a tubside delivery to his room, Gareth thinks. He's about to tell him the story about the suite when John turns the water on.

"And the water's on."

"Right," Gareth sighs, dramatically. "I'll order something." And he doesn't know why he's doing it (oh yes he does, it's the goddamn charm -- and though John's pulling his diva act he's a genuinely nice guy who'd bring him a drink if he asked) but he could fetch John a scotch, neat, then head off back downstairs. He's got a song half-written and he likes writing things in places like hotel bars. But if John goes with him, he'll be kept chattering all evening anyway and won't be able to hear himself think. Which is fine but he's in a writing mood, so on the spur, he decides to ring down for a bottle and just write in the room.

"You could join me..." John says and miraculously manages not to wink.

Re: Suite Life: Gareth, John - PG-13

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

Gareth rolls his eyes, imagining how much effort the not-winking probably took, even though he knows John's not serious, and he'd say worse to Eve were this her room. She was clever not to answer her mobile. "Predictable. How about... no?"

"Oh, come on."

"Still not gay," Gareth says, and John looks mock-affronted.

"Chicken."

"Prat." And he shuts the door behind him, because Barrowman's already fucking singing. Gareth settles at the desk, rings down for Glenlivet because he and John agree on that and plugs his iPod in, because it's oddly fun to write music to other music -- and there's the "drowning out 'I'm just a little girl from Little Rock'" consideration, too, and if it keeps up after the bottle arrives he'll have to leave anyway, because Gentlemen Prefer Blondes? Just... no.

"Play something I like!" John hollers.

"No! Bugger off." Gareth yells back and turns up Massive Attack on the portable speakers. He sits back and starts to pen a line. He'd been thinking... apocalyptic blues... something about the earth vomiting emotion via lava. An angry surge? No. Streams of rage? Mayyybe. He jots that down and wonders how long it'll be before he gets his drink.

"Gaz!" he hears John call out faintly.

"What?"

"You used all the hotel shampoo?"

Gareth gets to his feet and leans against the bathroom door to repeat himself. "What? Yeah. I guess."

"Huh. Maybe you could get-"

"No. And shut up. I'm working on something."

"Oh, all right," he hears John laugh and shakes his head.

"I've got Gemma's shampoo if you want it -- I took her toiletries bag by accident," Gareth offers, through the door. "Banana... creme fraiche. Organic."

"Pass. Girly!"

"It's not... bad." Gareth waves a hand in the general direction of the loo and picks up his notepad, then drops it and strolls to the window to investigate the view. This really is a fantastic hotel, and London looks a little bit magical tonight.

He's about to pick up his pen again, but a soft rap at the door signals room service, so he drops the notepad on the bed and makes his way to the door. It's the front-desk staffer, with a napkin-wrapped bottle and a small ice bucket.

"Beverly", he reads on her name tag, and as he smiles and is about to offer an autograph because since when do check-in clerks bring guests a bottle of scotch --but just then the iPod changes songs to Teardrop and John opens the bathroom door, steam pouring out behind him and spa robe wide open, rubbing his eyes, and before he can say a word, John does:

"Okay, Gaz, you talked me into it. Gimme the banana." And with that John shuts the door again and presumably heads back to the tub.

And in the space between turning red and signing off on the bill with a generous tip, Gareth wonders if he can possibly explain unexpected naked Barrowman to Beverly, who's biting her lip and, he can tell, trying desperately not to giggle.

"Thank you very much, sir," she says, and backs out of the room, pointedly pulling the "do not disturb" door hanger with her.


And as she leaves, Gareth desperately hopes she doesn't have a twitter.

Dream Sequence [David Tennant/John Barrowman, R for wanking and stripping] Part 1

[(Anonymous)]

David is fairly certain he is dreaming, and he is also fairly certain that he would like to wake up. Not as certain about the latter as he is about the former, but it's a close thing.

He is currently sitting in bed and watching the telly (or at least he is dreaming that he's sitting in bed and watching the telly) with good ol' John laughing his arse off on the couch across from Alan Carr, and David's mobile is in one hand and a glass of Tequila is in the other and David is having a hard time remembering which went to his mouth and which went to his ear. He's already switched the two up several times in the last minute, and he now had a wetness in his right ear which might disprove the theory that he was dreaming except that he always was the realistic sort of dreamer (his sister still tells of the time he was five and he used his pillow as a urinal because he dreamed he was in the loo) so maybe he was drooling onto the pillow and it was causing the feeling. Who knew with these dream sequences anyway, right?

On the phone is also John, talking a mile a minute and only partially drowning out the real (or is it fake? David was probably too pissed to know or care) John on the telly. Surprisingly enough, both were talking about John's new role on "Desperate Housewives" which David didn't understand half the talk about--he'd ask John, but the words are still coming and just won't stop and David's too tired to try to interrupt John when he's on a roll, because as he knows from filming with him on "Doctor Who" it's impossible, really.

Suddenly the John on the telly gets up from the couch and stares straight at David through the LCD screen as if the whole thing's been planned from the beginning. "And now it's time for the whole package, baby!" John crows in his gayest impression of what must be the Doctor that David's ever heard before grinding his hips and starting to unbuckle his white leather belt that he's been toying with ever since he came on the interview. (Oh Jesus David's even said 'came' now. John must really be rubbing off on -- STOP IT CHRIST'S SAKE.) David can't help but stare, mesmerized. The jewels on the belt sparkle, just like every damn inch of Barrowman sparkles as John slowly unbuttons his shirt...

David isn't surprised as the telly audience suddenly falls silent as John tosses the shirt to the side and begins working at his pants again. Sure, John might be just a little flabby but it's nothing compared to the hotness that is inherently Barrowman. The tan's doing wonders, too, and David feels himself getting harder under the bedsheets.

Goddammit, he's straight. Not like it matters, it's just a dream sequence, after all.

Re: Dream Sequence [David Tennant/John Barrowman, R for wanking and stripping] Part 2

[(Anonymous)]

And then the pants go down and David feels his jaw drop with it because John was wearing nothing under there. Which is impressive as that means that the bulge in John's pants was entirely his. David's vaguely shocked that there is now dead silence coming from the telly because his cock is screaming with delight at the moment. The glass slips from his fingers and spills all over the bed, soaking through particularly at the rising mountain that is Mount David. It's so very warm and cold at the same time that David can't tell which part of the mess is his and which part is the Tequila's.

"Doing it all for you, Doctor!" John says, his lips moving but his voice coming through the phone in David's other hand, which David nearly drops in surprise as he'd forgotten he was even on the phone any more, as entranced as he's been by John's performance on the telly. The John on the telly starts to grind again, and this time the audience screams approval, though oddly enough the screams are pretty shrill and metallic and they are all chanting the same word over and over again like a cheerful bunch of robots with eyestalks and exterminators.

TARDIS TARDIS TARDIS TARDIS...TARDIS TARDIS TARDIS TARDIS...

David jolts awake at the sound of his mobile buzzing happily on his nightstand and belting away the Happy Dalek Tardis Song. He is slumped down against the headboard of his bed, not very different from his position in his dream, with one hand resting on his laptop keyboard (which had finished playing the Alan Carr Chat with John Barrowman clip most likely hours ago) and his other hand still under the covers.

That other hand is gripping a still-pretty-enormous erection and no doubt contributing to the large stain growing on the top sheet.

Well. Bugger.

Half an hour later, David's just finishing making his bed (with clean sheets) when his mobile rings. He checks it, the screen announces the calling of a John Barrowman. David hesitates, then sends the call to voicemail.

If John ever finds out David wanked off in his sleep to a dream of John dancing naked on the telly, David is so very very dead.

"It's nothing, all right? It was just a dream," David says to his now-silent phone. "Just a dream. Yeah, that's it. I'll just blow it off as just...a...dream..."

And then David smacks himself in the face. He just said 'blow it,' dammit.

GDL (John, Eve) open rating

[(Anonymous)]

Title: The Last Kiss (or Strike the Set, Lights Out)

He leans back against the wall, then straightens up quickly. Not allowed to crease the suit, yet. He wants to go outside for a coffee and fag break. Except John will make that face and complain if he smokes.

Speak of the devil. John strides past, stops and turns back. “Gaz, you ready for our last kiss?”

Gareth smirks and shakes his head. “It’s not. We’ve still got the, uh, other scene after this.”

John grimaces. “It doesn’t count if half of us is dead.” He’s still disappointed and upset about that. Or… well, maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Gareth’s part. He’s still a bit disappointed about it. There was so much more they could have done with his character, and damnit if he hadn’t been having ideas about it. He’d wanted to do a real space adventure episode. Some more time-travel. He’d wanted to do an ‘evil doppelgänger’ episode and play a really nasty version of Ianto. He’d wanted to snog Naoko. So much wasted potential.

This will all be gone soon. They’re going to blow up The Hub. Well… not actually. But they’ll be dismantling it, moving everything out, making room for the new, out with the old and all that. Gareth remembers the first time he’d walked in here, had a look around; it had been overwhelming. Though, supposedly your first big job always feels like that, he guesses. But it’s hard to see what will come next. For him. He sort of thinks maybe the show is over, even though everyone’s been saying that series 4 is set, just waiting for the green light. Really, though, after this where could they possibly go? Make a whole new show, maybe. Probably move it to London, too. Or… god, America. Unless HBO produces it. That would be awesome. Except he wouldn’t be in it anymore.

They could always bring him back. The fans love him. Plus, it’s sci-fi, anything goes. His fingers itch for a cigarette and now he’s got Barrowman’s voice singing that song stuck in his head.

In the corner, John and Eve are laughing together. The show would do fine centered around them; Ianto probably won’t even be missed. This will be a good move for his career, too. He doesn’t want to play Ianto Bloody Jones for the rest of his life. He can work on his music, get the band going, maybe finally get some bigger and better gigs, get a full LP out. His fans will follow him to whatever comes next. They’re good like that.

John twirls, coat swirling round his legs, and slaps Eve lightly on the bum. She laughs, loud, mouth open wide, and slaps him back. Gareth would never get away with something like that, but everyone lets John off the hook because he’s BARROWMAN and it’s expected. Especially at conventions. Oh, fuck, the cons. They’ve got a bunch of those lined up to promote the series and everyone’s going to fucking ask. He’ll be putting those acting skillz to good use, lying his arse off, or maybe just not saying anything: ‘You’ll have to watch to find out!’ That old line never works; people will twist whatever he says. But he’ll sure as fuck have some fucking fun while he’s there. The fangirls love it when he’s drunk and stupid.

And they’ll follow him. Be there, front and center, when he’s onstage singing.

Re: GDL (John, Eve) open rating

[cruentum.livejournal.com]

Aw man :( Poor guy needs a hug. Nice insight there and yeah, must have been a weird time filming that, also with all the fans watching the filming and whatnot. Aw sadface. Butlove the fic you made out of it :)

Sweet Smell of Success (GDL/RTD - PG)

[(Anonymous)]

Written with tongue firmly in cheek. Not meant to be taken seriously! Inspired by Russell T. Davies’ SFX Award Acceptance Speech (http://www.sfx.co.uk/page/sfx?entry=russell_t_davies_s_sfx), in which he said GDL was no longer playing Ianto, but would be his houseboy.

His hand shook just a bit as he poured the coffee and it slopped over the side of the cup. Too much to drink last night, he supposed. Shit. Russell wouldn’t like that. He gave him all kinds of crap if there was coffee in the saucer. Who the hell drinks coffee out of a cup and saucer these days anyway? Fuck.

A cigarette. That’s what he needed. He spent almost every minute of every day thinking that same thought, over and over. But noooo, Russell didn’t like cigarettes. Wouldn’t let anyone smoke in his house, or even in the immediate vicinity outside. Said it would make him go right back to smoking and he’d been through hell trying to quit and he wasn’t going through that again. The one time Gareth had snuck outside for a smoke, Russell waited for him inside, walked right up to him, sniffed, and had made him hand-detail his car for the entire rest of the day.

Wanker. He ground his teeth in frustration.

He arranged the coffee and cream and sugar on a tray, making sure it was all to Russell’s liking. Cream three centimetres to the left of the sugar, which had to be exactly 4 centimetres above the cup and saucer. At first, he’d had to measure with a ruler, but now he could eyeball it. Then, the thermal pitcher of coffee filled with exactly four more cups, enough to last an afternoon’s writing session. Or playing with his iPhone, more likely.

Gareth scowled. He wanted an iPhone. Maybe when all this was over.

Before hoisting the tray, he sucked in his stomach and pulled down the edge of the waistcoat so it lay just so over his belt and didn’t ride up to show any of the dark red shirt. He checked his hair in the mirror, smoothing the sides down. A mirror in the kitchen, that was so fucking gay. He tried to remember if Barrowman had one in his kitchen. Probably. Along with an extra container of hair product. He probably had one in every room of his house.

He made a mental note to stop by the barber this week. It was getting a tad long, curling behind his ears. Russell would say something soon.

He sighed.

He should be used to this by now, really. The suits, the waistcoat, the short hair. He thought of those few months when he’d let his grow long and it got all curly and he could slick it back. He loved that. Made him feel all retro, James Dean or somebody. Someone bad. He could wear the same T-shirt every day, or until Gemma told him he had to change. As much black as he wanted. Head to toe, if he felt like it. Jeans whose pockets you could fit all kinds of things in. Especially cigarettes. And a lighter. Maybe a condom or two.

His pockets were empty now. Russell wouldn’t let him keep anything in his pockets. Said it ruined the line of his trousers.

He checked his watch. It was time. Up the stairs he went, watching the tray very carefully to make sure the coffee didn’t spill.

He cleared his throat and rapped on the door frame, one, two, three. The man himself was on that goddamn phone talking way more loudly than was necessary. He waved Gareth in. Gareth set the tray on the desk and waited dutifully.

Re: Sweet Smell of Success (GDL/RTD - PG) PART 2

[(Anonymous)]

“What? They want them to kiss at the end?” Russell heaved a huge sigh. “Listen, how are they going to justify that? Jack doesn’t do relationships. Oh. They want Barrowman kissing someone. I’ve created a monster.” He barked out a laugh. “Listen, you tell them it doesn’t matter what the audience wants. I’m the creator, it’s my vision.” He mouth settled into a disapproving line. “Hmmm, yes, well, we’ll see about that. If it’s good drama, the ratings will follow.”

Gareth was sorely tempted to roll his eyes, Ianto-fashion. If Russell was talking about series four of Torchwood, he was sure Russell would want a main character to die at the end. That was his idea of “good drama.” Except now Fox had its mitts on the show and Americans didn’t do dark; it was all about the ratings.

As long as there was a series five and he was in it, Gareth didn’t care.

Finally Russell tossed his phone on his desk and flicked his eyes up at Gareth. Then he surveyed the tray of coffee things and, finding everything to his liking, began to stir cream and sugar into his cup. He glanced into the saucer when he lifted the cup to his lips. Gareth pretended he didn’t see the faint stain of coffee edging the indentation where the cup fit into the saucer. He looked determinedly out the window at the cloudy sky just visible between some trees in Russell’s garden. ‘Please don’t notice, please don’t notice’, he thought, his heart speeding up.

Russell didn’t say anything, but he looked at Gareth with a frown.

He’d noticed. Gareth suppressed a sigh. He knew what that meant.

Russell slowly put down the cup and saucer, keeping his eyes on Gareth’s face. The iPhone trilled Lady Gaga, but he ignored it. Gareth could feel his armpits getting moist. He hoped he put on deodorant that morning, but he couldn’t remember. Gemma hadn’t been there, so he may not have. He supposed Russell would notice that too. Fucking hell.

Russell made a small gesture with his hand and Gareth stepped toward him, as the other man spread his legs and leaned back in his chair.

“Gareth,” Russell intoned in a schoolmarmish fashion. “You know the rules.”

The younger man started to kneel, but Russell stopped him. “Actually, I think this time I’d like a song first. Hm? What do you say? A nice little ditty to get us started?”

Gareth stared at him.

“Go on. You like to sing – you actually get paid for it, isn’t that right? Getting all sweaty, slobbering all over the microphone. This should be right up your alley.”

Gareth raised an eyebrow. He felt a trickle of sweat slip down his side. He cleared his throat. “What should I sing?”

Later, he wasn’t quite sure how he got through it. But somehow he croaked his way through The Impossible Dream. Russell clearly had him confused with Barrowman. But he appeared to be delighted, a smirk on his face and his hands laced over his middle, as Gareth tried not to look too ridiculous, an impossible dream itself.

Bastard.

He’d sung the song. Now he stood there, waiting. Again.

Russell was distracted, checking his e-mail on the iPhone for the hundredth time that day and making a tssking sound about something he was reading. Finally, he tossed it on the desk and rolled his chair back. Looked at Gareth expectantly as he put his hands behind his neck and leaned back. Cleared his throat.

It was time to get on with it. Gareth was still getting used to this part. But he seemed to be improving, if Russell’s reactions were anything to go by. He couldn’t put it on his C.V., but he figured it was probably a good skill for an actor to have anyway.

You never knew when it might come in handy.

He knelt between Russell’s legs, the wool trousers pulling uncomfortably across his thighs. His fingers settled on the zip of Russell’s jeans and he licked his lips to moisten them.

This was not what he had in mind when Russell had asked him at the Children of Earth wrap party what he would do to bring back Ianto.

GDL, JB, PG-13: Hub3

[(Anonymous)]

The hotel TV, left on after the game and turned low, emits a blue glow and a hissing staccato, cheerful thin voices nickering at the edge of sound. Gemma's asleep in the other room, exhaling those bubbly little snores she claims she doesn't make, and that he finds endearing as hell when it's late at night and he's sentimental. Which he isn't right now, or not yet. He's four beers into a drunk and it's not getting him anywhere.

As a good Welshman, Gareth has a fairly impressive repertory of drunks. There's his down-the-pub-screaming-rugby drunk, and that's for his mates and home turf, for street cred and flipping off the industry switch now and then. There's the gig-and-con drunk where he can get away (mostly) with being a right Welsh arse and it still plays to the peanut gallery. And to the girls, mustn't forget that, even if it's got him in the doghouse a time or five. There's the epic drunk he connects with wrap parties and industry mates who have to scrape him off the floor of lounges and bathrooms. These days there's a more domestic drunk, and that's takeaway and telly and greasy kisses and sloppy, heated sex wherever he and Gemma happen to land.

This one's none of the above. It's one of the introspective ones, where he can soak his head in the booze from now til morning and his brain will still refuse to disconnect.

Gareth doesn't need a reason, but this time he's got one. He's getting pissed (Brit) because he's pissed (American). He's pissed (both ways) because pissing John Barrowman has pissed off from this con and left him to piss along on his own.

The part of his brain that won't switch off tells him this is stupid. He's known for months that John wouldn't be here. He knows why. But he's been in a tailspin since he got the text from Marsters today, and even the knowledge that Kai's coming round to take up the slack can't get him out of the funk.

John could have put in an appearance. The Energizer Bunny West End star has been cramming more interviews and appearances into Zaza's schedule than should be humanly possible. It's the Barrowman superpower, and as long as there's exposure (ha) and fan-love involved, he bloody feeds off it. Skipping off to Birmingham for a morning would take some doing but he's John, he'd make it happen, or rather Rhys would.

The thing that eats at Gareth a little, between pulls of beer, is that this might be John's idea of doing him a favour. Because they both know that he's incapable of not hogging the limelight, and maybe he thinks it's Gareth's turn. Given that, well, Torchwood is bloody over, for Gaz at least, and unlike John he doesn't have a West End show or American TV beckoning or a full line-up of interviews and crap telly presenter gigs. He's back to being a striver with a provincial accent and a garage band, and the cons are a way of milking cult star status for a bit longer.

Pretty pathetic, put like that, he thinks, his fingers worrying the bottle label. He's already shredded the first three.

Then there's the whole Ianto-is-dead fallout, which is bloody easy for John to take in stride but affects Gareth a bit more personally, thank you very much.

Gareth might not have much to go on for comparison, but he knows (and John probably does, too, he's no fool about anything in the business) that Torchwood was both a huge bit of luck and something way fucking out of the norm -- and it's largely down to John on both counts. John was the glue that held the set together and just as often made it fall hysterically apart. John was The Star, and for all that he makes a big deal of not having diva perks in his riders, he always took it out in trade.

Meaning: dropping trou, groping and snogging co-stars, filthy texts, constant pranks and innuendo. Harassment, sir, in any other job, and shit that would get Burn or Gaz himself called on the carpet if they'd tried it on. Naoko and Eve always seemed fine with it, Naoko maybe because she knew John already, Eve because she's the textbook definition of "good sport," and both were wholly capable of egging John on from time to time. If Burn had an issue with it, he never let it show.

Re: GDL, JB, PG-13: Hub3

[(Anonymous)]

It's Gareth who's been left to wonder since day one how he gets away with it, because as professional as he can be when the cameras are rolling, the set reverts to John's personal playpen the minute "cut" is called. The wattage actually goes up, if anything. It would be bloody insufferable if he weren't determined that everyone else have just as good a time as he does. Almost as bad as the way he cheerfully assumes all will be forgiven.

And Gareth always has, along with everyone else, because he knows there isn't a grain of malice in John's perfectly-coiffed head, and because he's been the beneficiary of the hijinks as often as he's been the butt.

It's one of his quiet points of professional pride, all the times the Powers That Be took him aside and praised him for his scenes with John. Getting the best out of him, you are, keep up the good work. Nice to hear that it went both ways. He and John only got into the habit of discussing their characters after the terrifying baptism by fire of shooting "Cyberwoman." John's idea, and he can't pretend it didn't help. Mostly.

He remembers the run-up to "Meat," when he and John were hanging with the script and beer in John's trailer, on that poncy sofa of his. Mostly done with the script at that point and on to the beer, and Gareth was sliding quickly into another of his drunks, the one where he disconnects the filter between his brain and mouth. "So, who do you think tops?" he heard himself saying.

(Early days, and it will be awhile before he hears that question at a con. Still, it sometimes gives him the willies, not to mention embarasses the fuck out of him, that he'd actually asked John first.)

John, languid for once, was resting his head on the back of the sofa, profile and jawline attractively displayed and eyes closed, but at that he'd rolled his head to one side and looked directly at Gareth. "Why, do you think it's that simple?" he'd said, amused in some not exactly obvious way. "Straight boy."

"Well, we've already decided Ianto is," Gaz protested, not exactly caring that he'd just waded in deeper. "So..."

John stared at him a long moment, then slid his eyes down to his beer bottle. "Jack switches. That I'm sure of. Hey, he's into threesomes, after all." He traced one finger up and down the condensation on the bottleneck, idly, and Gaz would have sworn it wasn't deliberate -- innuendo from John is usually fucking obvious -- but the sight delivered a small jolt all the same. John went on, "But what he really likes is getting fucked. With a big, thick, uncut cock."

The last was said in John's porno-Jack voice, and there'd been no pretending that it hadn't had the intended effect, even if the waggled eyebrows had camped up the impact a bit. Gareth had reached for another beer and concentrated on getting to the next stage of intoxication (the one that renders him incapable of acting on the smallest hormonal urge).

He woke up on the crap sofa with his shoes off and that damn red-and-orange hand-crocheted afghan spread over him.

They don't ever discuss it, but Gaz would bet that conversation had something to do with the number of times "Jack" put "Ianto's" hand over his knob while they were shooting "Meat," and his mock-disappointment that none of the shots made the final cut.

Which brings Gaz right back to where he started, about beer number two: John getting away with shit. John having no fucking boundaries at all. And whether it's a star thing, a gay thing, or a John thing.

John watching his back, and enjoying the view while he's about it, which he knows is a John thing.

It's for the best that he's ducking out of cons after March. Money's good, and there's plenty of shits and giggles even without the fangirl come-ons, but he really doesn't want to spend the next five years answering the same questions about his fictional character's sex life.

Still. It's been good, yeah? Yeah. It's just always been more fun with John around.

He looks down, blearily, at the shredded labels at his feet, and wanders off to grab another beer.

Must love dogs (JB/SG - G) pt 1

[wynkat1313.livejournal.com]

While they both adore the dogs, Scott and John would really love to get a cat as well. They need someone… something… some “person”… to rule the roost and help corral the dogs, since John is terrible at it and Scott just likes watching them all herd John. The problem is Scott is hopelessly allergic to cats.

Of course, being allergic to cats means that Scott pets every cat they meet. He just can’t resist them, and really, cats seem to know which humans are allergic to them anyway, so it’s not like he can stay away from them when they go visiting friends. John used to pick the cats up and toss them away with a glare and a kiss. That just meant that the fur went from the cat to John to Scott, and Scott still ended up taking an antihistamine, except without the pleasure of petting the damn thing first. Okay, he got to pet John, depending on where they were, or really depending how many people were watching. But damn it, if he was going to get the itchy eyes and god-awful stuffed-head from the beasts he could at least have the fun of rubbing his face in their fur directly.

He said as much the night of the Panto wrap party, after taking a few too many antihistamines.

Don was hosting the official to-do, a “Friar Tuck Goes ‘Round the Bend” themed thing with pretty boys (and a few girls) dressed up in mini skirted monk’s robes while they wandered around with odd sounding hors d’oeuvres. As luck, or fate, Scott supposed, would have it, Don happened to have one of the most beautiful Himalayan cats Scott had ever seen. Being the true Queen of the house, she strutted around knowing that she owned the upper levels even as the cast and families took over the main floor. The cat was truly gorgeous, all soft cream fur with a splotch of black on the right side of her face. John said it made her look like she was auditioning for Phantom. Scott’s hands itched to stroke the silky fur, but he resisted. John naturally watched him like a hawk, between hot pink martinis.

Mid-way through the night John found Scott tucked into an alcove on the second floor, the cat draped over his lap. The clumps of two inch long cream and black hairs on his blue oxford a testament to how long the two had been loving on each other.

“Figured I’d fine you here,” John said with a sigh.

“Too noisy downstairs.” Scott hugged the cat to his chest, rubbing his already itching nose in her fur.

“And you couldn’t just nick into the library? You had to come up here and snog the cat?”

Scott grinned winsomely up at John through watery eyes, his cheeks as pink as the cat’s nose. “She asked very nicely.”

“And you call me hopeless,” John reached a hand down to his partner. “Come on. Let’s get you home before you stop breathing.”

“’Already took meds.” Scott kissed the cat’s head and put her down with a final stroke along her back. When he stood up only John’s arms stopped him from landing face first at the bottom of the stairs. John peered into Scott’s unfocused eyes.

“How many did you take?”

“Two… I think? Maybe three.”

Re: Must love dogs (JB/SG - G) pt 2

[wynkat1313.livejournal.com]

The argument really picked up steam once they got home, with John insisting that Scott couldn’t be trusted with cats on his own. Scott batted at the Naughty Friar Tuck award hanging around John’s neck in annoyance.

“But it’s my face!”

“True,” John said pushing open the front door and ducking away from a second attempt on his award. He tightened his hold around Scott’s waist with his free arm. “It’s a very lovely face, and I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Itz not like I’ll turn all furry or something,” Scott said, laying his overly heavy head on John’s shoulder. His nose was running and his eyes itched horribly. He desperately wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, but the front step was in his way.

“Again true. You will, however, feel like crap for days, kinda like now.” John got them maneuvered into the house to the sound of three insanely happy dogs.

“Shit,” Scott said, trying to cover his ears with arms that only sort of worked. His joints were grinding over each other backwards to the sound of the mariachi band in his head.

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll deal with them,” John said, guiding Scott gently toward the living room. “Come on boys, leave daddy alone, he was a bad kid and had unprotected play with another critter.”

“Wanker.”

“You know it!” John called from the head of his parade of dogs.

Scott fell heavily onto the couch and instantly regretted it. The throbbing in behind his eyes flared into a full blown 1812 Overture. He twisted so his head was flat on the cushions, one leg still on the floor, the other hanging off the end of the couch bouncing in mid air.

“Here,” John’s voice came from above him just before a warm cloth settled over his eyes. Scott groaned. The couch sagged as John sat down and took Scott’s head in his lap, running his fingers lightly through his hair.

“Idiot,” John said fondly.

“Cat lover.” Scott retorted with a pout.

“Idiot cat lover,” John replied.

Scott shrugged.

“You’re never going to let me get a cat are you?” Scott asked from under the rapidly cooling cloth.

John lifted a corner and peered down at Scott. “Are you going to go to the allergist? And take the bloody shots?”

Scott made a disgruntled noise.

“Then no, I am never going to let you get a cat.”

“But they like me.”

John dropped the cloth back over Scott’s eyes. “They like your histamine reaction.”

“Since when do you get to be the grown up in this relationship?” Scott asked not caring that he sounded about five years old, maybe three.

“Since you stuck your face in a Himalayan pussy.”

Scott resisted the urge to kick John, even if the angle weren’t impossibly bad, the impact would certainly make his head hurt worse, and John would stop petting his hair.

Scott sighed. “I suppose this means you want another dog?”

John’s hand stopped moving. Scott could feel John’s body convulsing around him, silent laughter rippling through the abs above his face. John lost the fight, a long barking chain of laughter erupting from his chest, startling the dogs in the kitchen. They of course came running to see what the fun was, jabbering the whole way, which only made John laugh harder.

Finally John caught his breath and leaned down to kiss Scott.

“Maaaybe.”

Life imitates art. John/Scott- NC-17 Part one

[electrogirl09.livejournal.com]

Scott groaned as John quickly stripped him of his polo shirt and took a hard nipple into his mouth, bit it softly, then soothed the slight pain with the flat of his tongue.

“Nnggh, John someone will-” the rest of Scott's sentence was cut off by the loud moan that vibrated through his chest as John slid his hand further down the Englishman's torso and past the waistband of his jeans to cup him through the rough material. Squeezing with just enough pressure to push all coherent thought from Scott's mind.

John quickly rid the other man of his belt, sliding it smoothly out of the loops and throwing it across the trailer before he deftly opened the button and zip whilst peppering kisses on his chest, occasionally nipping at the toned skin to make Scott release a deep moan that went straight to his already half-hard cock making it twitch in the confines of his, now too tight, jeans.

Once Scott's jeans were off and thrown somewhere in the direction of his belt. John stood up properly and pinned the other man firmly against the wall of the trailer with his whole body. He kissed his way slowly up Scott's throat before planting a hard, long kiss on his partner's lips and nipping lightly on the bottom one, sucking it into his mouth as Scott clawed at his back with aroused desperation to keep skin-on-skin contact as much as possible.

John pulled back from the kiss, releasing Scott's lip and whispering hotly into his ear, “You're so fucking hot like this.”

Scott moaned and tugged at the bottom of John's polo shirt until John pulled away slightly to let him pull the top up and over his head flinging it in a similar direction to the rest of the clothes. As soon as the top was off, Scott crushed their lips together again in a passionate, bruising kiss that sent shivers down both of the men's spines.

Tongues and teeth clashed as John pressed Scott further into the wall...

Re: Life imitates art. John/Scott- NC-17 Part Two

[electrogirl09.livejournal.com]

Half an hour later

Eve wandered through the maze of trailers in the car park behind the warehouse where they'd been filming Torchwood.

She'd just finished her last scene of the day and was wondering where John had disappeared to after he finished his last scene an hour or so before. Maybe they could go for a drink or something before going home. She knew he was still around because she'd passed his 4x4 on her way out of the warehouse so she decided to make her way through, past her trailer, to John's and see what he was doing.

The lights were on which was a good sign; maybe he'd had a shower and settled down for a nap before driving home or was watching TV or something.

Eve walked up to the door and knocked lightly on the hard plastic surface. When there was no response from inside she knocked again and opened the door slowly. It wasn't like she'd never seen him naked before, he always got out 'the boys' out on set so there wasn't anything that she was too worried about intruding on if he had gone for a shower and passed out on the bed.

Well, there were a couple of things she wouldn't want to see but they were unlikely to- “Oh God!” she shrieked slightly and gasped at the sight before her. In the corner of the room, on the sofa in a tangled heap and completely naked, were John and Scott.

Both had a thin sheen of sweat covering their tanned skin and their chests were heaving slightly as they both basked obviously in the afterglow of what looked like, considering the way their clothes were strewn all over the room, some rather heated trailer sex. The two men were kissing languidly and only took their focus off each other when they heard her gasp.

They broke apart after a moment, muttered “Woops!” simultaneously and burst into a fit of giggles. Scott buried his face in John's chest as he tried to smother his laughter but failed rather miserably considering how violently his shoulders were shaking.

Eve tried to keep a straight face, but after a few moments of struggle, collapsed into hysterics herself. “Sorry!” She said in between giggles, “I didn't realise Scott was here.”

“It's okay.” John replied, trying to stifle any further outbursts, “Scott just finished work and was going to take me out to dinner but then things got a bit erm......heated?”

“Yeah, I noticed!” Sniggered Eve, “do you two ever leave each other alone.”

Scott and John looked at each other for a moment and shrugged, “Nope!”

“God, you're like a pair of old women when you talk at the same time like that!” retorted Eve.

“Oi!” John shrieked, “I would never shag an old woman! Or a woman for that fact! Wait, I'm not even old.....”

Scott rolled his eyes at Eve as John carried on ranting incredulously, “see what I'll have to cope with for the rest of this evening?”

Eve giggled, “Yeah, poor you but you know; I really have to go!” she said quickly and winked before rushing out of the trailer. As she got to the bottom of the trailer's steps she heard a deep moan coming from one of the men she'd left behind. “Well, that's one way of shutting him up!” she thought with another giggle.


Fin.

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes (Gareth, Gemma, Scott, John) PG-13

[(Anonymous)]

There's a chord from his laptop, and Gemma gives him that look, the one that says, "I'm not going to make fun of you again for making your email alert sound a clip from one of your own songs but know that I could." He moves from the sofa over to the table and flips the laptop open, expecting a funny forward from Rhys. Instead, it's a notification.

He can't help it. He grins. Then he opens the link in the email.

A few minutes later, but only a few because it's still early, he gets up to find his mobile. He finds it under the jacket he threw on the floor last night, and going back to the table, he makes the call.

Gemma sighs, loudly and on purpose.

Scott answers. "Hello?" In the background, he can hear John singing. He hopes it's John, anyway. The thought of Scott listening to John's new CD at that volume when John isn't home is too bizarre to contemplate.

"It's me. Is he home?"

"Yeah." Scott muffles the phone and shouts, "It's Gaz!" The singing stops. Moments later, John picks up on another line.

"They're doing it again."

"Already?"

"You're going to love this. This time it's all about us." At John's confused noise, he explains.

John says, "Oh! I like those!"

"Of course you do," Scott says. "They always make your cock out to be enormous." His voice has the same tone that Gareth can see over on Gemma's face as she is pointedly not watching him and losing at her attempt not to laugh. Sometimes he forgets how loud the speaker is on this thing.

"Want the address?"

"Send it," John says, before Scott can object, and Gareth is certain he's already planning on telling David. They say their goodbyes and Gareth forwards the notification.

Gemma is clearly torn between wanting to be annoyed with him, and laughing even harder, and she settles for patting the spot on the sofa.

He nods, ready to rejoin her. But he refreshes the page first, and sees another anonymous post featuring himself sitting on his own sofa drinking, and two more with John and Scott messing around. It's still on page one.

"You are not to comment, 'Needs moar porn.'" It's scary how she reads his mind sometimes.

"Fine." Besides, they always post the porn on Sundays.

Re: Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes (Gareth, Gemma, Scott, John) PG-13

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

I. FUCKING. LOVE. THIS.

Baby Love -- Eve (song prompt), gen (warning for sap)

[blue-fjords.livejournal.com]

Matilda is sleeping. Finally. Her tiny lips are trembling in her sleep, as if she's still eating, and her delicate fingers are curled into perfect little fists, as if she's Torchwood's newest recruit, protecting Earth from the scum of the universe. Eve stares at her, fascinated. Music wafts over from the bookcase, John's voice softly enunciating that Ms. Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today. Eve runs a finger gently down her daughter's cheek. "He sings happier stuff, too," she whispers, her voice low and conspiratorial, as if her message held much more import.

Every word she says to her baby feels weighted with meaning. "Mummy is going to have curry tonight," and it's front page news. "Mummy found your nappies on sale," is tantamount to peace in the Middle East, and "Uncle Kai bought you these story books," averts natural disasters.

"Weekend in New England" comes on the shuffle, and Eve glances curiously at the bookshelf. Had she made a John mix on her iPod? She can't remember. There are lots of little things she can't remember lately. Pretty much all the minutiae that doesn't deal with Matilda. Because what else is important right now? She joins in the chorus, her off-key voice warbling softly along with John's heartfelt "when will this strong yearning end?"

Matilda coos in her sleep, and Eve's heart flutters madly. Oh, it's love, it's love, love, love. No one else has ever appreciated her singing, probably because she has a terrible singing voice. But her daughter here coos, and when she's awake, she watches her mummy with wide, trusting eyes. She's endlessly fascinated. Eve's eyes prick with tears. Fucking hormones. But never before has she been in such a Mutual Adoration Society.

The next song comes on, and Eve frowns, walks over to the iPod and touches the screen. She doesn't recognize the name at first, and then a wide grin spreads across her face as the voice begins. She must have made a work playlist. Only explanation, as Gareth recites poetry, rolling his R on "thrusts," and my, that's suggestive. She hums along when it changes to singing. She has no idea what he's singing; indeed, she has no memory of buying his music. She leans down as the song ends to whisper a confidence to Matilda: "Mummy thinks Uncle Gaz added this himself."

Matilda makes a noise and stretches in her sleep, and a lump forms in Eve's throat. She can't resist any longer, and bends down, scooping the baby out of the bassinet and carrying her to the rocking chair. The next song is Naoko singing a show tune that Eve doesn't recognize, but no matter. She holds Matilda to her chest and begins rocking, humming a completely different song. The rocking, the nearness of her baby and the sweet tone of Naoko's voice wrap around her, and within moments she, too, is fast asleep.

Re: Baby Love -- Eve (song prompt), gen (warning for sap)

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

THIS IS THE BEST RPF THAT EVER EFFED.

Scott, Gareth, John, gen-ish, 1

[(Anonymous)]

Being the one to fuck John Barrowman on a regular basis doesn't come attached to a VIP sign nor the desire to have one necessarily. It comes with money and vacations and far more cameras than he'd ever wanted in his lifetime. Lately it comes with someone sleeping in their spare bedroom and John's half-aborted night-time conversations that are surprisingly tongue-tied for someone who can't keep his mouth shut on anything otherwise until Scott tells him to go to sleep and try again in the morning.

A half-shouted goodbye has John leaving early, meetings of some kind, Scott manages a nod hello to Gavin before the door slams and the dogs squeeze out a few more high-pitched whines, then find something more entertaining for their day.

Gareth's not the first kid John has dragged home after a drunken night or week when the pressure is too high (actors, the lot of them) and Scott didn't ask, but something had happened, and he's seen it before when John's job had him on the stage and pep-talking the just-out-of-drama-school boys over heartbreak or being out of jobs for more than a year. He figures it's about a girl with Gareth, not that he knows the guy really, and just thrusts the coffee at him when, wearing jeans and the t-shirt he's slept in, Gareth hovers in the kitchen doorway.

"Remotes are on the telly, I'll be back there." Scott grabs his tea and calls for the dogs.

"Ah, I'll get going, meeting someone today. Mate's picking me up in thirty or so."

Scott nods in reply.

"We're filming again next week." Gareth stares into his coffee cup.

John has noted that on a schedule somewhere that he'd be spending the weeks back in Cardiff, but Scott has enough dates and places to remember himself to pay attention until the mad dash for clean laundry happens the night before the dash along the M4. Scott hums something in reply, not his scene exactly, caught them both by surprise when Doctor Who changed it all, well, surprise and delight for John, plain surprise for him, and Torchwood was promising even more if the production meetings and dinner invitations are any indication.

"If you want to stay until then, the room's there."

John brings home the strays, usually with a speech tumbling out, and Scott has long ago learned to roll with it. Gareth nods, smiles and Scott walks off to settle in for work for the day, registering the shower and Gareth in the kitchen and the door and the shouted bye over the bark of the dogs, later.

Scott, Gareth, John, gen-ish, 2

[(Anonymous)]

Gareth's drunk when he stumbles back in that night thirty minutes after the last pub has closed down in the neighbourhood, muttering something about godforsaken English pricks and sorry excuses for sportmanship in more expletives and less orderly language. John is still out, has called earlier that it'd be later and sorry and he'd make it up to him when he comes in.

"Need to learn my lines," Gareth says, pulling at his jacket as he leans into the doorframe, arms caught in the sleeves.

Scott pulls the spaghetti sauce off the heat and can't help the chuckle as he drags the jacket off Gareth's twisting arms and drops it over the arm of a chair. "Good luck with that tonight."

Gareth leans against the wall, arms wrapped around himself, looking out blearily, mouth moving as if to mumble but not saying anything.

"Spagbol fine by you?" Scott asks and leaves him standing there. "Late night supper? Food?" He's worked until an hour ago, deadline on a proposal.

Gareth's eyes look drunk-wet, and he seems the messy crier, but he pulls himself together as he plops down at the kitchen counter and tucks in when Scott sets a plate down in front of him, sniffling into his spaghetti every so often with hitching breath and shaking shoulders before he catches himself.

"Had a good night then?" Scott tries for conversation and gets nothing much in return, so he shrugs and tucks into his food. He leaves Gareth with a bottle of beer in the kitchen for John to find as he makes off for bed. Not his job to be the babysitter for John's pet projects out of the deep humanity of his heart or whatnot. He's too tired and the deadline doesn't switch itself around for something like that. He's used to the late nights and off-schedules, with John slinking home after one last night party or another. A bit of a funny moment two or so years before, pouring with Gavin over schedules in their kitchen when it was "you're filming Doctor Who then, you can't do that one" when it's been a job that John would have never passed up on before. Used to it, but with his own life, thanks very much, John.

Better a drunken bloke than a cat pissing itself.

He doesn't peel himself out of the sheets just to check for that.

When the door creaks later and Lewis jumps on the bed with less grace and more enthusiasm, Scott blinks into the light coming in from the hallway.

"Only me," John whispers, then high-pitch giggles as he steps onto a squeaky toy. Scott pulls the pillow over his face. "It's been a good day! We- hey, are you listening?"

Scott manages a grunt John takes for affirmation as he keeps on talking through undressing and teeth brushing and the running water from the toilet. Scott is drifting off by then and only kicks back when cold feet press against his calves and John wraps himself around him in octopus fashion, body heat penetrating through sleepwear. A brushed kiss for a smile and sleep. As long as that still happens then, they're good.

It's Scott's alarm that wakes them before the dogs have a chance to and John cusses and waits for Scott to fumble for it, turning it off.

"Plans?" John's mutter is caught under the sheet.

Scott waits for awareness to hit him with his schedule and it inevitably does. He manages a yes before he forces himself out of bed and through his morning routine in the bathroom before he goes to put on coffee. Gareth's beer bottle from the night before is empty but still on the counter alongside the now-crusted plate. Scott dumps both in the sink before starting the coffee machine.

"Sorry for that, should've cleaned up," Gareth says from the doorway, then steps inside, jeans and t-shirt and red-rimmed rabbit eyes from too much booze and not enough sleep, sticky-looking skin.

"Feeling better?" Scott asks as he puts out cups for coffee, two for them, John will sleep a few more hours, maybe.

GLD, JB, TorchSong - PG

[(Anonymous)]

He has never felt more alone than he does right at that moment. Sitting in the small hotel bar, drinking by himself. He hadn't found out until he was in Chicago that John wouldn't be there, just like so many of the attendees for this convention as well.

Of course Barrowman had to do something stupid and make a mess of this thing. Leaving Gareth on his own now that Tom's arm was broken. Sure there were a few other guests still there, but it just wasn't the same anymore. The only reason he'd agreed to do this convention in the first place was so he could see John. He had to admit to himself, that seemed like a real stupid idea right now.

John was always so busy doing one thing or another lately, that all he ever got anymore were a few texts from the man every once in a while to “check up” on him. Phone calls were a very rare occasion. He never felt like he could just call John up and have a chat, never knowing what his schedule was, so that he wouldn't catch him at a bad time.

Pathetic, that's what he was right now. Coming all the way to America just to spend some fucking time with John, only to have that all cocked up because the fucker had to trip and mess up his ankle. He knows it wasn't John's fault, probably just some great big cosmic joke letting him know he should just give up on wanting to see John again now that Torchwood was over for himself and everyone would know that in just a month's time.

He was on his fourth beer, trying to avoid the fangirls he knew were looking at him right now. He just wanted to be home, with Gemma, keeping his mind off Barrowman. Hell, they didn't even let him bring her along on the trip, so he was well and truly on his own. At least if Barrowman had been there, he would have had someone to spend a bit of time with. Even with despite telling himself otherwise, he really did miss the other man.

They always spent a lot of time together on set and in each other's trailers. Whether it was for one reason or another. Especially when alone in together in John's trailer, they never spoke of the things they got up to. It was an unspoken agreement between them. He didn't know if Scott had any clue, but he'd never told Gemma about anything, knowing she just wouldn't understand.

He glanced at his watch, noting the time and finishing off his beer. It was time to go get ready for that cabaret they'd had planned for John to do. Now it would be his show after a short link up with John at some ridiculous time in the UK for him, just so he wouldn't disappoint the people that were at this thing. After all, they'd paid a lot of money to see John, and now they'd get himself instead. Poor fuckers. It definitely wouldn't be what they were expecting, that's for sure. But it was time to put on a show, and he knew he was good at that. All those masks in place, keeping them up for the fans. That was his job. Even if he knew they were sitting there, wanting John to be up on that tiny stage instead. Not knowing that he was wishing for the exact same thing. The show must go on, after all. Even if he felt like some cheap unworthy understudy for John.

Re: GLD, JB, TorchSong - PG

[cruentum.livejournal.com]

Cool to see something from that particular event, because yeah, that must have been not fun and not unlike the situation he later found himself in with Hub 3. Poor guy. Interesting undercurrent of his relationship with John there. Hmmmmm, I wanna know more.

After the TARDIS - John/David teen for language only

[ebineez01.livejournal.com]

“I don’t want to go...” he murmured sitting in his chair. “Too bloody late now MacDonald!” he chastised himself. David knew he had to do it – but it still hurt like hell.


“C’mon my boys!” John yelled as he hi-tailed down the hall to the kitchen to get his phone, CJ, Charlie and Harris hot on his heels; he laughed at them bouncing around their equally excitable dad then checked the caller ID on his phone. “Hey there buttercup!” When no reply came, he frowned checking the phone screen to make sure the call hadn’t ended. “David?”

“Hey John,” he replied sombrely.

The penny dropped quickly. “Last scene in the can huh?”

“Yep!”

John could hear the desolation in his voice and his heart ached for his friend; he sat down on the family room sofa and quietened the dogs not quite sure what to say. Then it was out before he’d even realised the thought had formed. “Do you wanna come over?” After a short pause he added, “Scott’s away for a while...if you wanna talk you know?” He screwed his eyes shut thinking that that was about the lamest thing he’d ever said.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” David replied quietly and hung up the phone.


John paced uncontrollably, making him think of the nervous tension he had before a performance. “Oh God! Don’t start thinking of this like a performance!” he muttered to himself. He made himself stop and take a few deep breaths. “Calm down Barrowman! It’s just David.” Yeah! his subconscious snorted. Just David... His heart flew into his throat at the sound of the door bell.

“Don’t you have a wrap party to goto?” he joked as he opened the door to his friend.

David looked at him a moment. “Fuck the wrap party!”

John stepped back from the door to let David past him, following him down the hall to the lounge.

“I brought this,” David said handing John what appeared to be a very expensive bottle of wine. He shrugged. “And I didn’t really mean that about the wrap party either. They’ve still got some other minor scenes to shoot, so it’s not til next week.”

John grinned. “I know you git! I was invited!” He reached out and took David’s hand pulling him along behind him. “Come on outside and be completely jealous of my fabulous view while we get completely pissed on your fabulous wine.”

Re: After the TARDIS - John/David teen for language only

[cruentum.livejournal.com]

Love the last line, can so see Barrowman say that. And sad for David :(

Wrap Partay (JB/SG) PG

[(Anonymous)]

Claws skitter on the floors. Something goes thump followed by a tiny Ourrr. That'd be the Thug. More skittering claws, and it's really time to trim those little suckers, except they're out of treats and no amount of belly rubs will get the Thug to consent to a nail trimming without getting a few nips in of his own. Besides, they don't have time, they have to hurry. Scott is on the phone with someone, arguing about safety regulations. It's all astrophysics to John, so he hums Copacabana under his breath, practicing for future shows, and feels the Thug tug at the bottom of his jeans where they're frayed.

"Not now, daddy has to go to a party and doesn't have time to play."

Jack looks at him, "I jus' supervise, I sware!". He is not swayed by John's megawatt grin.

John folds the paper over once. Then twice. He smooths it out with his fingertips. A cuticle is about to become a real damned nuisance. He folds the paper again, over the edge of the box and tapes it down. Repeats the procedure with the other side. The paper is blue with silver stars and he's got silver cloth ribbons with silver stars in them because anything this pretty deserves stars. He'd use gold, but gold is for glamazons and exceptionally tacky. The Thug has hopped up on a dining room chair and is now aiming his wet snout at the edges of the blue paper. John shoves him sideways gently, and rolls his eyes when Jack takes it as an invitation to play.

"No, stop, damn it..."

Jack's got a mouthful of wrapping paper that goes SHRRRIPPPPP!!! John growls. Jack shakes the paper to death, mauls it in his tiny mouth, huge fangs gleaming.

"Shit! Get down!"

Scott pokes his head out of the kitchen, phone jammed between his shoulder and ear. He's got a notepad and pencil in his hand and is jotting down notes even as he aims an impatient look at John. Efficient bloody minder...

"You done yet?"

"No!"

He has to start over. This is the third time, damn it. He folds the edges closer, makes them neat and this is the Special Paper. For Special Occasions. And Jack thinks it's a ferret or a gopher or whatever those ugly little critters are that are wreaking havoc on their lawn.

"Paper cut!" John yells and Scott insteantly appears from the kitchen like a Fairy Godmother with Captain America band-aids, wraps one gently around the cut and kisses it better before he's off again.

"It's not in the contract. No. Yes, you still need a project manager, and I wouldn't recommend..."

John growls at Jack who's now aiming for the ribbon. "Go play with your brothers."

But the brothers aren't interested, and are lying curled up on the couch. They won't go anywhere near the gift wrapping A&E scene that is spread out across John and Scott's dining room table. At the most, they'll raise their heads and look for noms. There are none, so they go back to sleep.

Re: Wrap Partay (JB/SG) PG

[(Anonymous)]

"John! Stop messing with the dog. We have to hurry!" But Scott's still on the phone with whomever it is that wants an extension for a pool house or whatever.

"If it's so important, why don't you do it?!"

Scott won't do it, because Scott says he's no good at wrapping, and besides, he's got an important phone call to finish before they can go. John snarls, frustrated as the paper tears but instead of starting over he tapes the tear down. The edges are crinkled but it doesn't matter. It's the thought that counts. And amount of effort. He ties the ribbons around it, snarling again as they won't stick on the slick paper and Jack jumps up, grabs the end of the ribbon and runs like a bat out of hell.

"Get back here, you son of a-!"

"Not in front of the children, dear," Scott grins. He's finished his phone call and is putting his jacket on. John thrusts the present at him and tells him to write their names on the card. Or else. "Fine. Where is it?"

"On the table!"

Jack won't budge and he won't release the ribbon. John grins and tugs really hard, sending Jack spinning back down the hallway and toppling over the stairs.

"JACK!" he shrieks in horror as the dog goes thump-thump-thump ass over nose and lands at Scotts feet, still shaking the ribbon like a rodent that only deserves to die-die-die. The Brothers Grim raise their heads to take a look at the mayhem before they go back to sleep.

"He's fine. I can't find the card. John, we've got to-"

"C'mere, daddy's good boy, oh yes you are," John coos at his poor injured baby. He picks Jack up and lets him kiss him all over his face. Scott grimaces. John turns and reaches for him, pulls him in close and presses his dog-licked lips against Scott's cheek. The hypocondriac shrieks. John laughs, earns himself a slap on the bum.

"Shoes, jacket, keys, gift." Scott cradles the gift against his chest as if it were the Holy Grail itself. John frowns, decides to forego the ribbons. Too many stars is just as tacky as gold.

"Do we even know these people?" John ties his shoes. Jack tugs on the lace, untying them. Charlie and Harris - good sons both - don't even raise their heads this time, just turn dark brown eyes at their rumbunctious brother, give soft snorts, and go back to sleep.

"Yes. We do. We shook hands with them after the premiere of Tonight's... Remember?"

"No. Shit. Jack, stop it!" He gets the keys for the car. "You're driving back."

"Only if you stick to soda water and promise not to serenade the birthday boy with 'I made it through the rain'..."

John rolls his eyes and looks around to see if he's forgotten anything. Jack looks up at him with a look of utter betrayal and abandonment. Don't leeeeave me daddeeeeh. John sighs. He really, really doesn't want to go.

"Can we leave early if I do?"

"This is important, you said so yourself. Gavin said so. Get in the car."

"Yes, ma'am." He blows one final kiss at his kids, saunters out the door and slides into the car while Scott locks the door. Scott slides into the passenger seat and buckles up. John starts the car. He's about to put the car in reverse when Scott reaches over, slides a hand up his neck and kisses his cheek.

"Two drinks, one song, and then we can leave."

John grins. He might not want to go, but then neither does Scott. It's stupid how perfectly in sync they are.

John. Eve, Gareth, trailer time 1/6

[(Anonymous)]

He doesn't really care if she finds him. It's the end of shooting, and he's been hiding in his trailer, rolling the joint back and forth in his fingers and wondering what would happen if he were to just smoke it right here. Just, light up. Burn one. Scott used to call it getting pistol-whipped. What are they going to do to him, anyway? The first time Russ had called him and told him the good news about Torchwood being picked up to film a first season, he'd been higher than a…person who was very high. Half the people on this set like to go home at the end of a full week of filming and smoke up.

He hadn't had to ask very far, and he had a short list of people he felt okay asking, because one wrong thing and all the sudden the Daily Mail is screaming, 'John Barrowman: secret ganja king?'

So he went to the best and most discreet source he could think of.

"Gaz was looking for you," Eve says through the door. He doesn't answer, lets the dim light in the trailer try to communicate that he's not there, that he's somewhere else, when he's really sitting in the dark next to his shit in boxes, ready to be moved home or away because it's the end of the season, and they're not sure there'll be another one. Hell, it's just the two of them now, sort of, and what kind of show could they build out of…oh, he thinks, David carried Who himself. Sure, he always has Billie or Freema or Cath, but it's a two-person team, and he and Eve could--

"I know you're in there, because it's too quiet everywhere else," she says, and he smiles as he runs the very thick joint under his nose like a Montecristo. It's rolled expertly, he'd asked Gaz to do it and had sat here while the man had set the amount and rolled the paper, mumbling that no one used joints anymore and that he'd loan John a bowl if he wanted it. Then John had smiled as the very tip of Gaz's tongue had slid across the paper and he'd caught John's eyes and snorted, mumbled something about perverts and sex and innocent joint rolling.

Then he'd let John offer to blow him before stumbling out into the harsh light of well, the harsh light of not-trailer time.

So here he is, looking at the perfect roach, and the tight paper, smelling this thing that's thick enough to be a cigarette and guaranteed to set his voice back a few days and also possibly interact with the three glasses of vodka he's had, mostly because he doesn't know what do to with himself. Wardrobe had come for the coat, but he'd not had extra clothes to change into since the ones he'd work to set this morning were covered in salsa (long story). He's wearing Jack's trousers and shirt, having surrendered the cufflinks, but the braces are dark blue and he's taken off the boots, so he feels like Jack unpeeled, maybe. Jack—the squishy fleshy bits.

Jack would totally smoke this fucker.

Eve opens the trailer door and peeks in, her eyes wide and her mouth a little smiley, always smiles for him, she has. She doesn't usually act like his PA, but ever since they had found out about well, the thing, Eve's moved to be his second, like she's phantom playacting Gwen to his Jack.

"You're conspicuous by your absence," she says, squeezing through the door as tightly as she can.

"It's true," he mumbles, "It's not a party until I'm there."

Eve blinks in the dimness and leans on one of the cleared counters. "Are you sulking?"

"I don't sulk," John says, rolling the joint in between two fingers and examining it from afar. "I brood."

Eve snorts, and they freeze as two people walk by the outside of the trailer, chatting about something, gaffing, lighting, something. John doesn't think anyone would ever care about one joint, and he's John fucking Barrowman which isn't like being Barry Manilow or Barack Obama or anything, but it's got a lot of weight on the BBC set of Torchwood.

Eve sits down next to him on the sofa and sighs, a big exhale. "Gaz said this is for you," she whispers, opening her palm and showing him the plastic disposable lighter with an Ed Hardy tiger on it. "Said he bought it special this morning."

John plucks the lighter out of her palm and wags it back and forth at her. "Rowr," he whispers. "Thanks."

Eve looks at the joint. "Are you going to light that?"

John. Eve, Gareth, trailer time 2/6

[(Anonymous)]

He shrugs. "Maybe," he returns, voice still library-quiet, like all the times they conspire while the set is live and they have to be vewwy vewwy qwiet so that Burn can emote or something.

Eve grabs his wrist up and bends his arm at the elbow so she can smell the joint. "He didn't give you that Newport bottom barrel shite, right?" she murmurs. "That'll ruin you."

John shrugs. "I don't remember what I paid, but it was folding money, not coins."

Eve snickers. "Why are we whispering?"

John kicks the little table in front of them when he stretches out, and Eve puts her legs on top of his, leaning into him, so that they are tangles up on the sofa, sitting in the dark, whispering conspiratorially, like they're plotting to overthrow the government. Or maybe just break a few laws.

John will admit that he doesn't know shite about pot. Yeah, he's been there, but he's rarely had to ever buy it for himself. It's always someone else's pot, he has a voice to preserve, blah blah. He's done the pills and once for a wild youth weekend, a little bit of coke, but instead of getting high and fun and shit it just made him High! On! Coke! And he already jumps about enough. Once Claire had convinced him to snort a Pixie stick up his nose, and that had produced similar effects, so he's fairly sure coke is a lie anyway.

"Okay so here's the thing," Eve says. "I know you're going to get caned and I want in." She looks at him, blinks. "So come on."

He laughs. "I don't get caned. Gaz gets caned. I'm going to—"

"Enjoy a smokeable herbal refreshment," she finishes for him, grinning. Not in here you aren't." She glances up at the smoke alarm. "We could disable it."

Hrm. John stares at the door to the trailer when someone runs by it, footsteps thudding on the pavement. Even if they locked it, someone--

"What about Operation: Baby Bump?" he asks, because he doesn't want his first act for Eve's kid to be bombarding its splitting cells with THC. Uncle John: Best. Influence. Ever.

Eve sighs. "No movement since the test I took this morning." She folds her arms. "You only blow up a secret military base for the telly once in your life, and I think we deserve to celebrate the explosion."

John eyes her face, pale, freshly washed, all the makeup gone, just her left and her crap taste in ASDA George-brand clothes, and her crossed arms and her little sock feet rubbing on his shins and he realises that they are going to get…whatever the word is for it.

"Okay I have a plan." He stands and waves a hand. "Come."

Eve gets off the sofa with effort and a grunt and slaps his hands when he offers to help. "Is this like your clever plan at the Pret with the plastic bags and the piss?"

John turns away from her. "That would have worked. It would have been gross, but it would have worked." Eve's response is to snap his braces from the back, but he ignores her and opens the accordion folding door to the loo.

The trailer is actually more like a travel trailer because they've had to move them. Auntie Beeb hadn't given them their nice trailers back, not for this, they had said, five eps was nothing like a full season, and they could make do with the portable trailers, and so for the most part it was like living in a luxury camper. But even luxury campers too often had the dreaded tiny loo small as an airplane toilet but with a shower.

"Oh, you sick bastard," Eve says, but he turns and backs into the stall, sitting on the toilet lid.

"Come on, then, no smoke alarms," and when she parts his knees so that she can stand in between his legs it occurs to her then that she has to shut the door. John enjoys the view (look, sometimes an ass is an ass. He doesn't want to fuck it. He just wants to spank it a little) and he grabs her waist and yanks so that she settles in his lap with a squeak. The magnets on the door latch shut and they sit there in the dark, before he turns the shower light on and then it's all dimness and poor sick yellow fluorescence. She scooches a bit in his lap so that she's sitting him sidesaddle and they can see each other's faces, she's really rather light, and her back is to the sink on his right.

Naoko, John, a song and a dance, PG

[laurab1.livejournal.com]

Toshiko might not necessarily be able to dance, but Naoko certainly could. And, through long experience, she especially could with John, who was doing his usual trick, relieving the boredom of “hurry up and wait” that comes with filming.

This story, she knew, would be what the Americans called a “water-cooler episode”. And, with any luck, today’s changing times, Jack’s charm, and the romance of the story would be enough for the right-wing UK tabloid press to not drag them and the rest of the BBC over hot coals for choosing to tell it.

They’d been waltzing, but they were now performing a tango. Arms straight, huge smiles on their faces (which was completely wrong, of course), they were da-da-da-ing away as they did so. They reached the last note of the tune; John dipped her as they finished the dance. He pulled her back up, and they collapsed in hysterical laughter, the pair of them.

“Another one for the bloopers reel on the DVDs!” John exclaimed.

She’d contributed her fair share to it, but this was a particular badge of honour for all the men, so Naoko briefly sobered and said, indulgently, “Yes, dear.”

Then she gave him the long-suffering smile. At the first read through, she’d see that Eve, Indira and Julie had their own versions of the smile. She’d known, there and then, just how much use the long-suffering smile would be getting on this show. In return, John gave her the massive toothpaste smile, the one with too many teeth.

In her head, Naoko made the sparkly cartoon noise.

She knew that John did, too.

“Ready to roll again, John and Naoko, please,” the director called.

With his cheerful wink, and saucy leer, John said, “Back to work, then, Coco. More dancing to be done, honey.”

“Yes, dear,” Naoko repeated, with the accompanying smile, resettling Toshiko’s laptop bag. Back to work.

-end-

Re: Naoko, John, a song and a dance, PG

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

In her head, Naoko made the sparkly cartoon noise.

She knew that John did, too.

THAT is brilliant.

What really happens in the TARDIS - John/David - pg

[ebineez01.livejournal.com]

A/N: a little retro here - set around when they would've been filming S3 of DW

“Having trouble Captain?” asked David in an amused tone as he watched John attempting to stretch his shoulders in the cramped space of the old blue timber box.

John opened his eyes and looked over to his friend. “Feeling a bit tense, yeah,” he replied wincing a little. He secretly loved it when David called him ‘Captain’, the thrill starting deep in his gut, with a hair trigger to his groin.

“Turn around then,” ordered David.

John stayed put, merely raising an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” David smiled as he flexed his fingers. “I’m a Doctor!”

Shaking his head and smiling – this could certainly be classed as the aforementioned ‘hair trigger’ - John did as he was told and turned so his back was to David.

“Well that’s not working,” complained David as he attempted to massage Johns shoulders through the material of Captain Jacks greatcoat. “Turn back around.”

Dutifully obeying, John turned, and had great difficulty in holding in the gasp that arose when David firmly planted both hands on his chest. Seemingly all business, he slid his hands up John’s chest to rest on his shoulders, this time underneath the greatcoat. “That’s better,” David exclaimed smiling. “If somewhat backwards.”

John had to admit as he let his head fall back a little, a soft moan escaping his lips – his mate wasn’t half bad at this.

“If I had of known this is all I had to do to get a moan out of you...” David breathed.

At the closeness of David’s voice, Johns head snapped back up, his eyes opening to look into David’s. It seemed he had moved a step, or two, closer whilst John had his eyes closed. Before he knew what he was doing, John saw his hand shoot out to grasp the back of David’s neck, his lips on David’s an instant later. He realised with dread that David was not kissing back. Had he misread the signals? Then he felt a hand on his hip beneath his coat, David’s lips parting to allow him entrance. As he was pulled hard against the other man he realised he definitely hadn’t misread anything.

After a minute John broke the kiss, his hand still in David’s hair, he rested his forehead against David’s. “What the hell are we doing?” he rasped.

“You’re right,” David said simply. “I’m sorry, I had no right.”

John pulled back a little so he could look him in the eyes. “I kissed you,” he said a little bemused.

David’s mouth quirked up a little at this. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But I didn’t give you much choice.”

Pulling David back to him, John brushed his lips lightly across his, this kiss filled only with affection and respect, not the hunger and passion that ruled their first kiss.

“I’m not saying no,” said John softly, his eyes still on David’s, his hands still on him as well. “I just need some time to think.”

Johns whole being was screaming at him. What the hell is there to think about!? This is David! David - the stuff of his fantasies for the last couple of years, offering himself to him, the Doctor to his Captain Jack – as great an unrequited love story as John could think of.

“In ten David,” came the director’s voice from outside their little blue box breaking the moment.

“Think hard Captain,” David whispered in his ear.

When he pulled back, John watched as David transformed into the Doctor before his eyes. As the director called ‘action’, the Doctor’s huge manic grin spread across his face and he bounded out the TARDIS door.

Re: What really happens in the TARDIS - John/David - pg

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

YAY. CRAMPED TARDIS BOX LOVING.

Crack!RPS John/Gareth, Gareth/Gemma, NC-17, parody, 1/2

[marita-c.livejournal.com]

One morning Gareth David-Lloyd woke up gay.

He’d been perfectly straight the night before, he was sure of it, yet come morning, as if struck by a flash of OOC-rendering-lightning, he just… turned gay.

Next to him in bed, his fiancé, Gemma, stirred, and then blinked up at him sleepily. “What…?” she murmured as she saw the troubled expression on his face.

Gareth opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. The words he was about to speak seemed bizarre even in his own mind. Alas, the truth could no longer be denied, and he finally admitted, “I want to have sex with John Barrowman.”

Gemma groaned and turned over, burying her head in the pillow. “Go back to sleep,” she muttered.

“I’m… completely serious,” Gareth insisted.

“You don’t even like him. Why on earth would you want to shag him?”

Gareth shook his head. “I’ve no idea. I just have this sudden, uncontrollable urge to go over to his house, profess my undying love and ask him to introduce me to the joys of gay sex.”

Gemma sighed. “On your way back, could you buy some milk? We’re all out.”

***

John Barrowman didn’t seem to find it at all unusual when Gareth David-Lloyd showed up on his doorstep unannounced.

“Hey Gareth. Long time no see,” John greeted cheerfully.

“Hey John. I really need to talk to you.”

John moved aside and gestured him in. “Come on in. What’s on your mind?”

“Is Scott here?” Gareth asked, looking around the house.

“No, he’s conveniently absent,” John replied, closing the door. “What’s up?”

Gareth turned to face John and took a deep, steadying breath. “I want to have sex with you.”

John’s eyebrows rose as much as the Botox allowed them to. “That’s a little unexpected,” he replied.

Gareth shrugged. “I was surprised myself. I guess all that on-screen snogging finally got to me.”

John looked at him skeptically. “Well, I am an exceptionally attractive man, so I can’t really blame you, but I never thought I was your type, seeing as I’m an annoyingly cheerful, camp gay man who sings pop ballads and has a close, loving relationship with both his parents, whereas you’re a morose, straight man who’s into heavy metal and is rapidly veering into severe alcoholism.”

Gareth nodded vehemently. “I know. It doesn’t make any sense!”

Crack!RPS John/Gareth, Gareth/Gemma, NC-17, parody, 2/2

[marita-c.livejournal.com]

John seemed to be pondering this for a moment, and finally shrugged. “I doubt over-analyzing this would get us anywhere. How about we shoot first and ask questions later?”

Gareth frowned. “Shoot what?”

John sighed melodramatically, then poked his tongue into his cheek suggestively.

“Oh! Right!” Gareth’s face brightened. “Might as well just get it over with.” He looked around the living area as he started unfastening his jeans. “Are we doing this right here?”

“We can start here, and then move to the bedroom to try out my vast collection of sex toys…” John replied with a leer as he came closer. Once Gareth’s jeans were undone, John sank to his knees in front of him and deftly pulled the younger man’s cock out.

“Ooohhhh…” Gareth groaned appreciatively as the head of his cock was thoroughly licked before being sucked into John’s eager mouth. Clearly, Barrowman knew what he was doing.

Gareth let his head fall back, closing his eyes against the sun coming through the large window in John’s living room. It felt warm and pleasant, and Gareth sighed in contentment. John was applying some serious suction now, and the wet, hot tightness around his cock soon had him right on the edge.

Bright spots of light were dancing inside his eyelids. Gareth reached down and tangled his hand in silky, long hair, keeping John’s head in place as he pumped his mouth full of spunk. “Oh… fuck, yeah…” Gareth moaned, his voice suddenly sounding strange in his own ears; Croaky and gravelly.

The answering chuckle sounded nothing like John’s. It was… feminine…

Slowly, Gareth blinked his eyes open.

That ceiling sure looked familiar.

Oh... Of course. It was the ceiling above his bed at home. And it was the morning sun filtering through his bedroom window that had felt so warm and bright on his face. He looked down blearily to see Gemma smiling up at him from between his legs, licking a drop of come from the corner of her mouth.

“Good morning, baby…” she purred as she crawled up his body.

“Good morning…” Gareth murmured hoarsely, body still sated and tingling from his orgasm.

Gemma kissed him lightly and then curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “you sounded like you were having a nightmare, and I wanted to wake you up in a nice way…”

Gareth wrapped a hand around her and kissed the top of her head. “Oh…” he muttered.

“Was it really bad…?” Gemma asked quietly.

Gareth sighed and closed his eyes. “It was really, really bad…”

John thinks Hard - John/David - NC17(1of5)

[ebineez01.livejournal.com]

A/N: sequal to 'What Really Happens in the TARDIS'. No excuses for this one - I just love John & David together - so smut ahoy! Sorry.

David could feel John’s eyes on him as he stood talking to Catherine over the pudding tray; he smiled inwardly knowing he’d seriously given John something to think about. As it was David was having a hard time concentrating on making small talk with his co-star when all he could think about himself was having John pressed up against the console of the TARDIS, or his counter at home, he wasn’t really too fussy about it, but the TARDIS would be cool he decided. He let his eyes meet Johns but only fleetingly before turning back to Catherine, sure his glance had had the desired effect.


And John was thinking hard, he was so engrossed in his thoughts he didn’t even notice Liz sit down at the table with him.

“Earth to John...” Liz Sladen called as she ran a hand in front of his face.

Starting, John turned to her. “Sorry Liz,” he said smiling. “I was miles away.”

She looked over to where he’d been looking, a small smile on her lips. “Well...the view is really quite distracting.”

“Oh,” John began. “No...I...wasn’t...”

Liz laid a hand over his. “It’s okay John,” she said. “I’ve been where you are.”

John’s eyes widened. “You mean you and David?”

“Oh God no,” she replied laughing. “I’m old enough to be his mother!”

John laid his other hand over the top of hers. “Well I know for a fact he doesn’t think that way,” he said to her with a smile. “He has a massive crush on you.”

A blush creeped up her cheeks as she waved him away.

“It’s true...he does have a massive crush on you...all us boys do,” he said adding that wink of his.

“Now I know you’re having me on,” she said.

“Just cause I tend to lean towards the gay side...” he whispered as he leaned in close to her. “Doesn’t change the fact that you were...are...one of my biggest schoolboy crushes.” John could feel her pulse start to race as his thumb brushed lightly, suggestively over her wrist.

“John...” she managed.

Sitting back John gave her hand a small squeeze before turning back to see David staring straight at him; he locked eyes with him, coming to his decision.


“I’ve been looking for you,” David said as he ran his hand along the TARDIS console.

“I know,” John replied softly.

David stopped and looked at him. “Have you been hiding from me?”

John smiled not looking up as he felt David move around behind him to place an arm either side of him, hands resting on the console.

“I saw you with Liz earlier,” David whispered in his ear.

The feel of David pressed close behind him, his lips at his ear, the sound of his native Scottish brogue did things to John he wasn’t sure he could hide – even if he wanted to. “And?”

“Were you teasing me?” David rasped.

“If I were...would it have been because you were thinking about me?” he asked. “Or Liz?”

“Both,” David replied.

“Then yes,” replied John.

David pressed hard up against John pushing him into the console. “Did it work do you think?”

John groaned, his eyes drifting closed as he felt David’s arousal. “Here?” he asked his voice sounding husky to his own ears.

“Would you?” questioned David.

John pushed back a bit allowing him to turn in David’s embrace, grasping his hips he pulled David back to him. “Fuck the Doctor on the TARDIS?” he asked as he ground his own hard cock against David’s. “What boy in his right mind wouldn’t?”

Re: John thinks Hard - John/David - NC17(2 of 5)

[ebineez01.livejournal.com]

David groaned as he moved to capture John’s lips.

John broke their kiss yet again. Again he laid his forehead against David’s. “My answer is...obviously...yes,” he said as he looked up into his eyes. “But are you sure this is the best place?”

David looked around. “This would be the ultimate place for me,” he replied. “But I do know what you mean.”

John laughed suddenly.

“And what’s so funny?”

“Could you imagine the look on the faces of the ‘high and mighty’ at the Beeb if a picture turned up on the front page of the paper of the Doctor screwing Captain Jack against the console of the TARDIS!?”

David joined in John’s contagious laughter which had now turned into an uncontrolled giggle. “You...are priceless,” he said suddenly sober as he let a finger trail down John’s perfect cheek.

John took David’s hand and brought it to his lips looking into his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

“But we haven’t changed yet,” David smiled.

The lascivious grin he received in reply let him know in no uncertain terms that’s exactly how John wanted it.

“Oh you are a bad boy Captain,” he breathed as he moved in close to him again.


“I’ve missed the old building,” John said as he followed David into his flat.

David reached his kitchen counter, his earlier thoughts flashing through his head, he turned to face John. “I’ve missed having you downstairs.”

It was John’s turn to lean into David, placing a hand either side of him on the counter, he looked at those lips – so longed for. “Touch me,” he whispered as he brought their lips together. He moaned into the kiss as he felt David’s hand snake under his greatcoat pulling him close.

David took advantage of the moment, slipping his tongue past John’s soft lips, entwining his hand in his short hair.

John couldn’t believe this was happening, he’d dreamed of this moment so many times, and now...not breaking the kiss he brought his hands around to unbutton David’s shirt leaving his long brown hero coat in place. Pulling the tail of his t-shirt from the band of his pants he ran his hands up David’s chest, his skin hot to the touch.


David sank back against the counter as he felt John’s strong hands on him, their eyes locked as John’s hands moved to his belt. It felt as if the world had slowed down, his breathing slowing, deep but shallow at the same time – but his heart felt as if it were about to explode it was beating that fast. Adrenalin surged to his gut as John dropped to his knees before him.


A smile crossed his lips as he pulled David’s pants down over lean hips to free his pulsing cock. Oh this was so worth the wait, he thought to himself. Running his hands firmly up David’s thighs he ran one hand around to cup his tight ass, the other he used to lightly grasp the base of his cock. Looking up to those amazing chocolate eyes his gaze never wavered as he brought his tongue to run along the tip of him.


“You have to stop,” David choked out.

“Spoil sport,” John replied pouting up at him.

RPS - IM(aginary) between John and Scott (verbal song and dance) Part 1/2

[ask-theharkni.livejournal.com]

Scoot: John, have you seen the pancake mix?
SmexyJohn: Um, well, I sort of fed it to the dogs. CJ and Harris had these ravenous looks in their eyes so I made them some silver dollar pancakes.
Scoot: But it was the good blueberry stuff! We have talked about this.
SmexyJohn: But the babies wanted it!
Scoot: BUT I WANTED IT.
SmexyJohn: and it was for CJ's birthday!
Scoot: You say that EVERYtime you do something like this. Can you try another reason?
Scoot: please?
SmexyJohn: Um, we were out of kibble and I had to supplement? It was either that or the caviar and I know how you like Beluga.
Scoot: you would have fed them the Beluga? John. I love you but I don't want to have to slap you around.
SmexyJohn: Because I would enjoy it too much?
Scoot: Point.
Scoot: So, what am I going to fix for breakfast?
SmexyJohn: You should be thanking me. You know how much you hate it when I feed them fish and fish byproducts
SmexyJohn: Eggs? Toast?
SmexyJohn: Cereal? Why not fix yourself a nice bowl of shredded wheat?
Scoot: *shudder* YOU ARE THE ONE WHO LIKES HAY BALES.
SmexyJohn: Oh shit, I just realized I used the last of the milk!
Scoot: …and thank you for that.
SmexyJohn: I got some breakfast Hot Pockets?
Scoot: Seriously?
Scoot: you can’t see it, but I am giving you *the look*
SmexyJohn: There's some Eggos in the freezer
Scoot: If I make them, are you going to make puppy dog faces at me until they are done?
SmexyJohn: No, I had some pancakes with the boys
SmexyJohn: But you can help yourself. I'll even take the cover off the toaster for you if you'd like
Scoot: so, what you are telling me is - NOT ONLY did you make them breakfast, you didn't make enough for me?
Scoot: thanks.
Scoot: thanks for that.
Scoot: you are a prince among men.
SmexyJohn: Didn't want to wake you. Plus you know how CJ has that appetite. I swear that dog comes from Mars
Scoot: couldn't you have slipped out and taken him to the petstore or something? He could have dined in the petfood bins, like the snooty gourmet he is.
SmexyJohn: Plus when I picked the blueberry mix you said it looked weird and would never eat anything purple so I didn't think you'd mind
Scoot: I DID NOT.
Scoot: that was YOU
SmexyJohn: You did too
Scoot: you better be lucky this is on messenger or i would pinch you
SmexyJohn: Once again, I would enjoy that too much
SmexyJohn: my left cheek is still stinging from the spanking you gave me last night
Scoot: behave.
SmexyJohn: You wish
Scoot: and don't make that face at the screen, it will freeze that way

RPS - IM(aginary) between John and Scott (verbal song and dance) Part 2/2

[ask-theharkni.livejournal.com]

SmexyJohn: Damn you and your psychic vision
Scoot: when will you learn?
Scoot: and put that away -
Scoot: waving it at the screen does NOT make it a magic wand.
SmexyJohn: Damn I can't have any fun can I?
SmexyJohn: :-p
Scoot: you can. just not when you eat the pancakes I wanted so badly. I may die of hunger now.
SmexyJohn: lol
SmexyJohn: awww
Scoot: john. lol is not the best answer. it makes it sound like you don't care.
SmexyJohn: Well I'll pop 'round the shop and pick up some more mix
Scoot: when? one of your midnight runs?
Scoot: b/c that last one almost got us kicked out of ASDA
SmexyJohn: You just have no sense of adventure my dear Scoot
Scoot: you have no sense of decency, my darling john.
SmexyJohn: Can you expect nothing less than that from me?
Scoot: nothing less than nothing? pretty tall order.
SmexyJohn: Why did you want pancakes at his hour for anyway? I swear I'll go first thing in the morning before you're even awake my love. Then I'll surprise you with breakfast in bed. Well it won't be a surprise because I'm telling you about it now but the time I bring it in will definitely be a surprise!
Scoot: what am i going to do with you?
SmexyJohn: Put me over your knee and spank me?
Scoot: No, as discussed you would like that too much.
SmexyJohn: Precisely
Scoot: Right. So, grabbing a flake and heading to bed, you want anything?
SmexyJohn: so will I be forgiven if I surprise you with breakfast in bed?
Scoot: besides a spanking, pinching, or rough foreplay?
Scoot: YOU BETTER.
SmexyJohn: Um, well........
SmexyJohn: ;;)
Scoot: OKAY FINE. MAYBE JUST A LITTLE. FUCK.
SmexyJohn: Shit, I was hinting at a bj but if you want to take it that far then I'm game
Scoot: too bad there is no emoticon for a blowjob.
Scoot: that would have saved me from selling my soul
SmexyJohn: hmmmm I'm sure one of us could come up with one
Scoot: no, john.
Scoot: please.
Scoot: now, do you want to keep typing, or do you want my fingers elsewhere?
SmexyJohn: It'll be fun!
SmexyJohn: Okay, come and find me!
Scoot: *sigh* you're a piece of work, you realize?
SmexyJohn: Really? I am? I had no idea!
Scoot: john. signing out. put the boys to bed.
SmexyJohn: Be there in 5
Scoot: make it four.
Scoot: you owe me for the pancakes.

John/Scott, PG

[topgeargirl2.livejournal.com]

"Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl"

Scott smiled while he straightened his jacket. John was in the lounge with the dogs, starting the karaoke without him. Dinner was yet to be made but a bottle of wine stood opened on the coffee table. Scott had no idea what they were celebrating but it was nice when it was just the two of them spending the night together.

“Scott, are you coming?” John yelled from the lounge, “You’re missing Copacabana!” He added before, "At the Copa, Copacabana"

Scott knew that by now John would be miming maracas and waiting to shake his arse in Scott’s face. Ok so a little bit over the top but he didn’t mind, especially since it was going to be fun. Then he remembered that John was wearing the purple sparkly jacket.

“Oh I agree with Chris Moyles,” Scott said and sat down on the couch, “You are camp.”

John stopped and put his hands on his hips, “I’m not camp, just over the top.” He gave a smirk, “Maybe I’ll make you sing Rhinestone Cowboy again.”

Scott rolled his eyes and flipped a v, “So where’s the entertainment?”

John smiled and picked up the microphone,"You're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you" He walked around the coffee table and plopped himself next to Scott, "I love you baby and if it's quite alright I need you baby"

Scott sat up and pulled John into an embrace. Their lips touched while the instrumental track played in the background. There was always something about that song which caused him to feel embarrassed and with John singing it; he felt his cheeks turn slightly red. Right now he wanted to do something else with John.

With every song there is a dance.

And it doesn’t always mean moving with your feet.

Re: John/Scott, PG

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

Awwwwww, he's camp for Scott.

[paragraphs.livejournal.com]

Okay you, this was wonderful. I swear you keep getting better and better, the way you wield words and pack a sweet punch...short but awesome, hello!

And oy! Copa Cabana has been plaguing me all week! NOooo!!! LOL!!!

[topgeargirl2.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the lovely comment.

Sorry about that, my brain picked those songs.

For A Song (Subtitle: Worst Use of Song and Dance Prompt in the History of Forever) | Scott | PG

[(Anonymous)]

---

His watch read 11:02 when he stepped outside LAX International. He hadn't been here in over two years, and, to be perfectly honest, he had no real intentions of returning this soon. But when he heard his voice—and the traffic lonelily drone in the background—spit out a mellow stead of unconvincing phrases, I'm great, really. There're crazy amounts of work to do. Everyone's brilliant here . . . what he really heard was a silent, I need you, and he knew it was already time to come.

The heavy, wasted smell of LA smacked him in the face and he felt chemicals entering his system, sticking in his tissues and gluing him to the concrete, but the exiting ex-passengers crowded around him so he hurried through the crosswalk and found himself a place on the platform, awaiting the arrival of the car service hired to transport him to the hotel. He climbed to the tips of his toes to peer over shoulders of those even taller than he and stretched his neck around to see what everyone would too if his driver had arrived. A sign with Gill across its front.

Not yet.

He stood his suitcase upright and leaned on its extended handle. Just a few drags of the smoggy air and the ratting deceleration of vehicles filling his ears gripped him (he was no travelling pro), leaving him feeling light headed from the flight. And from what he remembered about California highways he had a bit of a trip still ahead of him in which he would stare out windows at the awful urban landscape lined with buildings in styles that made him flinch.

Bad train of thought, get off it.

He turned to look at the people wearing very brightly coloured clothes and realised a young woman was looking at him directly, her brow crinkled a tiny notch in the middle of her forehead and mouth slightly open. He put together he'd been recognised and it almost drove him away, blow through crowd to stand elsewhere, but a speaker croaked about not leaving your car unattended and after he'd blinked, someone had come and replaced her, not paying attention to him in the slightest.

A nearly empty bused passed by and he wondered, should he board it could it take him to where he needed to go? It may actually make for an interesting misadventure if he were a more patient man. And he knew he had the patience of a brick wall.

He traced the wedding band on his middle finger with his thumb. He childishly wore it from time to time. What they created together was an illusion to so many and that emotion still wound him up, but it could also make him laugh, people being certain it was wrong without trying to understand. So laughing until they cried, crying until they laughed, that's what they did in complicity together.

He didn't want them to be here, not really.

A honking cabbie, the hollering of a security guard yelling, yield to the crosswalks! and knocking tram-tracks in the distance brought him back to reckon with the present where he was standing alone and secretly he wished that he was already with him, although for now it was just enough knowing he was near.

---

Re: For A Song (Subtitle: Worst Use of Song and Dance Prompt in the History of Forever) | Scott | PG

[(Anonymous)]

OMG, I wrote bused instead of bus and my only excuse is the lateness of the hour. Sadface.

[(Anonymous)]

Let's say it's the only error I noticed, not wanting to look closer.

TY ♥ and thanks for hosting such a liberating event for RPFicers. Totally worth the price of admission.