Genre: Dr. Who/Torchwood RPS
Pairing: John Barrowman/David Tennant (Guest appearance by Captain Jack.)
WARNING: THIS IS RPS. It references significant others, co-stars, managers, family-members, and pets. If you think RPS is bad, icky, disgusting, evil etc-DON'T READ IT.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. I MADE IT UP. IT DIDN'T REALLY HAPPEN.
Thanks once again to beta_goddess who worked on this under trying circumstances. It made the two of us happy and that's what really matters.
Summary: John and David get into hot water.
Previously in my twisted mind. (But you don't have to read either one, if you hate multi-parters as much as I do.)
Interview Day My first John/David fic.
The Morning After - RPF crack!fic featuring a visit from the Captain.
And now for your reading pleasure:
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
John lay on the bed with one hand fisted against his forehead, feeling a rare bout of melancholy hitting at the worst possible time. It was the week of the album release and he’d been on the promotion trail for nearly a month with no end in sight. Sunday, he’d be back on the train to Cardiff to finish work on Torchwood, then came the panto and the book would be out before that was over. When the hell was there going to be any time for him?
Of course, he’d put himself in this position. He was the one encouraging Gavin to book as much publicity to promote the work as possible. It wasn’t just his mum’s oft-quoted reminder, You’ll be a long time dead, son, as much as fear. Even before he played Joe Gillis, he knew how easy it was to become a Norma Desmond by taking the audience’s love and attention for granted. He didn’t want to be 65 years old watching old tapes of himself as Captain Jack, wondering what had happened to his career while he was snowboarding in Gstaad or partying at Stringfellows.
He could stand a few jibes in the paper about being a ‘media whore’ as long as they spelled his name right, especially on a night like this, when it all came together. The singing, the arrangement, the dance number and the love, so much love coming from the audience. There should have been enough adrenaline to carry him straight through till Christmas, if necessary. Instead he was staring at the ceiling contemplating the possibility of chucking it all, his career…everything.
“What’s that, John? This fellow was yapping up a storm and I couldn’t hear a blind thing you said.”
Scott came into the room, followed by the soft jingle of a dog collar indicating a visit from Lewis. The spaniel immediately jumped onto the bed and situated himself next to John for a session of petting and cooing. He missed the dogs like crazy when he was away.
“Oh, good boy. Such a good boy. Yes you are.”
The dogs weren’t allowed on the bed, but since the loss of Penny and Teagan, discipline had been somewhat lax. Scott tried to enforce the rules but John was a total pushover on his rare visits home and Lewis clearly knew it.
“Nothing, babe,” he muttered, focusing his attention on the dog. Even if he was having those thoughts, he’d never meant to say something like that out loud, especially when “this” could be taken to include the relationship.
He hadn’t meant it that way. Not at all. Scott was his world, the one who could keep him centered in the midst of the craziness, yet the thoughts were there. Something else. Some one else. And not just a generic someone.
Funny how he could see David almost every day when the shows were both in production, say “hi,” wave, share a few jokes and shrug it all off, but now that they happened to be in London at the same time, he couldn’t forget that afternoon at the Crowne Plaza.
It had been years since anybody had gotten to him like this.
He couldn’t claim to have been one hundred percent faithful, and he wasn’t sure Scott could either, but in his experience it wasn’t worth the guilt, and until he’d invited David to join him for a lie-down in a hotel room, it had nearly a decade since he was seriously tempted. Now there was no excuse, especially when he’d been so public about their commitment. People looked up to him as a positive example, and here he was harboring thoughts about ways to have fun without crossing the line, including moving the line. A little hypocrisy didn’t hurt either. If he caught Scott texting another man to meet for drinks, he’d probably blow a gasket, which is why John had sent his own message long before he left the studio.
He needed to get out for a walk and relax. Scott would understand. He always did.
DRINKS AT THE LOBBY BAR. 10:00PM. PLS
Maybe it was the PLS that had him pacing the flat like a madman or perhaps just the effect of seeing John on the telly earlier that night, when Freema called to remind him that John was going to be on Strictly Come Dancing to promote his new album. David had heard John sing before and he’d seen him dancing like a fool at the Madonna concert, but this performance was something else entirely. The black pants, the hands on hips, the raw sexuality, all combined to bring back that day in the hotel room. Not that he’d ever really forgotten it.
What was that song? Always Something There to Remind Me? Like having dinner with John and Scott when Scott was in Cardiff, or hearing Freema’s stories about John parading all over the Torchwood set with his frank and beans hanging out, and especially a friend from the States taking the trouble to email the link to an interview John had given to an American publication, along with a note saying, Cheeky Bugger!
Sort of an understatement, really. Who else but John would go on at length about his fantasy of being blindfolded and brought into a room full of leather-clad muscle men or provide the world with a graphic description of his partner’s physique? The quote that really got his attention was, You may have a little wank somewhere, but it’s not a relationship killer.
He couldn’t even see the word “wank” in the same place as John’s name without thinking about lying on a bed with their hands on each other’s pricks and the sound of John’s voice, talking absolute filth in his native accent the whole time.
Was that what he’d been to John? A little wank? Something they never spoke about but David couldn’t forget, especially now that he and Sophia had sputtered out. Breaking up long distance wasn’t a treat, although it beat having the big emotional confrontation. At least he hadn’t done it by text message. Just as well. It was time to focus on Shakespeare, but it would be a lot easier without Barrowman hovering in his consciousness, showing up on some talk show at least once a week, and sending him text mails.
Which didn’t stop him from sending one back.
It was a crisp night, but at least it was dry. Perfect weather to put on a leather jacket and go for a walk. Not a Captain Jack coat. That would be asking for trouble. Sometimes he wondered if the damn coat was more famous than he was. He could still be anonymous, even this close to the theatres, as long as he didn’t go out of his way to be seen. Hence the Lobby Bar at One Aldwych, and not the Ivy or some paparazzi magnet, and certainly not the Ritz Carlton where he’d have to put on a tie. He’d gone for jeans and one of his more worn-in button-down shirts. Strictly comfortable and understated.
He held off taking the first sip of his vodka martini until he spotted David taking off his slightly Doctor-ish coat to show khakis and a RADA sweatshirt while looking around. John had been able to walk, but David’s flat was in North London, so he’d probably taken a cab. The Lobby Bar crowd was too self-absorbed to trouble themselves with two blokes wearing glasses and sharing a drink in the corner booth. Even if they did, everybody knew that he and David were chums and furthermore that John was the poster boy for gay pride, while David was rumored to have shagged every female to work on Who since he took over from Eccleston, including the old broad who played Queen Victoria.
There’d be privacy while they talked and a room upstairs if they wanted more. That was the decision that still had to be made and John honestly had no idea what was going to happen next.
Watching David walk toward the table, he felt himself starting to smile. He knew exactly what he wanted.
“John, you bastard, how’ve you been,” said David, adding a gruffer tone to his accent for just a second, and then deciding he didn’t have to act all that butch. There were a few surreptitious glances, but no blatant gawking. It’s not like he was Beckham or something, although he wouldn’t mind having that particular set of abdominal muscles, seeing as how you could hardly open a newspaper or magazine without having them thrust in your face.
“How’re the plans for our revue going?” he continued in a more normal tone, while sitting down to the Newcastle that John had thoughtfully ordered for him. “I’ve been asking my costume mistress at the RSC if she wouldn’t mind doing my gowns.”
“Hey, I don’t know about you, but I want Bob Mackie.”
The “revue” was a running gag that had started during a lull in the filming of Doctor Who, when David had loudly demanded to know when John was going to stop farting around with this television rubbish and get back to the stage where he belonged, and John had replied that he was preparing his triumphant return in a one-man show playing Dusty Springfield, at which point David announced he had his own production planned as Lulu. They decided to consolidate the two shows into a full scale spectacle called “Birds of a Feather” and decided that that John Simm had to join them as Petula Clark.
Simm had nodded and smiled indulgently, the way he always did when David and John were messing about between takes, as though he were the grown-up in a roomful of adolescents. Bloody brilliant actor, though, nearly acted them all off the damn screen. Not to mention having a way cooler screwdriver, which doubled as a microphone when they’d refused to continue filming until he lip-synched “Downtown” on the bridge of the Valiant.
“Gareth wants in on the show.”
“Who’s he going to be, Cilla?”
“Nah. I told him about the whole thing and he’s incensed that Wales isn’t being represented, so he wants to be Tom Jones.”
“Sort of missing the point, isn’t he? Birds of a feather?”
“I know,” John replied, shaking his head, “but hey, the honor of Wales and all. He demanded that I let him audition on the set. Eve and Naoko went out and bought new underwear to throw at him. At least I hope it was new.”
“Eve seems to have trouble keeping her scanties on as it is.”
Maybe he was being a bit catty, but he was tired of hearing tales from Chibnall’s madhouse about Eve with her boobies hanging out, John’s three-piece set on nearly constant display and he certainly didn’t like the idea of Gareth David-Lloyd, in the excessively form fitting trousers that Russell had mandated for the character, gyrating his pelvis anywhere near John while crooning ‘It’s Not Unusual.’
“I tell you, the boy’s got some nice moves.”
John had a smile on his face and a teasing note in his voice. Typical Barrowman, but somehow it didn’t feel as funny as it should to David. He took another swig of ale before meeting John’s eyes and responding, his voice low and serious.
“Nothing on yours. That was quite a show you put on tonight. Couldn’t take my eyes off.”
“Glad you liked it.”
John’s voice had gone a bit husky too, he noticed, the smile not just warm and cocky, but enticing. Their hands had moved closer to each other’s on top of the table and David felt the urge to look around again to make sure no one was watching even though there was nothing the slightest bit suspicious going on.
“What’s happening here?” he asked, hyper-aware of the minimal space between John’s fingers and his, and how easy it would be to “accidentally” touch him.
“I dunno. Just one of those things, I guess.”
John was using his Scottish accent, which always managed to make David’s heart beat just a bit faster, even when he was doing it for comic purpose, which didn’t seem to be the case at the moment. So this wasn’t just two mates meeting round the pub for a pint. This was something with lyrics by Cole Porter and nothing could be more serious to John than that.
“You got a trip to the moon on gossamer wings for me?”
“Will the fifth floor do?”
Like a magician doing sleight of hand, John had produced a key card and was sliding it across the small distance between their hands on the table.
David looked from the card to John’s face and back again. John wasn’t kidding or teasing and that key was definitely real. It was one thing to be sitting in his own flat, watching John on the telly with pornographic thoughts running through his head, but to be sitting here, forced to make a decision that affected him and John and Scott didn’t seem fair.
“I hate to raise the issue, but while I’m not exactly known as a paragon of fidelity, you…”
“I know. And normally, I wouldn’t…I don’t do this….but tonight, right now, you….”
The normally glib Mr. Barrowman seemed unable to form a coherent sentence, which David found oddly endearing.
“John,” he said, with no idea what should come afterwards.
“If you don’t want to do this, all you have to do is say so. We’ll have another round and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”
“No!” That came out faster and louder than he’d intended. “I mean, no, I don’t want none of this to have happened.”
Great, now he was babbling like a dolt.
“Tell you what. I’m going to go up to the room right now. I got the Jacuzzi suite and I could definitely use it. I’ve been rehearsing that dance routine for two days and my legs aren’t all that happy with me. If you want to come and relax, that’s great. Otherwise, I’ll see you in Cardiff next week.”
He watched John get up and leave the table, putting down a few quid for the drinks, and attracting several smiles and stares along the way, David’s among them. Unencumbered by a long coat, the man made quite an exit. Now if he could just rid his mind of the image of those jeans being removed, and the hot water…and if he couldn’t forget, then he needed to get up there and join him.
You’re really going to do this?
“That’s up to him, isn’t it?”
The Jacuzzi was filling up and John had taken off his shoes before making a trip to the bathroom. While he was washing his hands and checking out the soap, shampoo and hand lotion on the marble countertop, he found himself having a conversation with the fictional character who tended to turn up in the mirror, grinning a little too broadly, when he’d had a few drinks.
I like the hotel room. Hot tub. Good move. Not like you had a choice. You can’t really bring him home. Not yet, anyway.
“Did I ask for your opinion? Or your presence for that matter?”
Are you kidding? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?
“That’s you and the Doctor, not me and David. Just keep your own issues out of it. Besides, I thought all that was resolved.”
I told you not to believe everything Russell tells you. Anyway, this is going to be hot. Unless you chicken out again.
“Again?” He didn’t appreciate the accusing tone.
Let me count the ways. That thing with Eve. In bed. And you being a wuss?
“A wuss? When did you start talking like that?”
Since you started getting all these great offers and turning them down.
“And I am telling you…”
I’m not going, Jack sang mockingly, and to John’s trained ear, somewhat off-key.
“I like women, but not in that way.”
Yeah, that explains the kissing, the boob-grabbing….Fine. You want to write off half the species just because you don’t like what they’ve got down below, be my guest. What about all those guys who are throwing themselves at you left and right?
“One word: Scott. I love him. We had a ceremony for crying out loud. In front of God and everyone, and don’t give me that look. I know you’ve done it at least once. It matters to me. I don’t screw around with every cute boy who comes along!”
Now he was yelling at a fictional character in his head, and realizing the trap he’d just walked into.
But here you are.
“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “But this is different. It’s David.”
Jack didn’t bother with any triumphant snark, and John wondered if it was really that much easier in the 51st century and then decided he was losing his mind.
You could do some crunches while you’re waiting.
He’d been doing his best to keep the face-stuffing under control, although he still hadn’t quite eliminated the muffin top.
I’ve seen those panto costumes. The big shirt isn’t going to hide everything.
“Thanks for pointing that out.”
No problem. And tell Gareth to lighten up on the lunch tray.
Before John could ask why Jack was so concerned with his weight, he heard the door click open and David’s voice calling out, “Honey, I’m home.”
Somewhere in the mirror or maybe just in his mind, Jack winked and disappeared.
Now he was on his own.
Hotel room. John’s smile. A bed. Hadn’t he played this scene already? Yes, but this was both the repeat and the sequel, if that was possible. Last time he’d been able to pretend that he was just an innocent bystander caught up in the irresistible Barrowman charisma, rather than an active participant.
He’d had plenty of time to think it all out while he was sitting at the table in the bar dithering over the dregs of his Newky. So many good reasons to go home and forget this madness, including the fact that John was both a friend and a co-star – and, for want of a better term, married. John and Scott were an incredible couple. He’d be lucky if he ever found a relationship as good as that one. Just because John was feeling something strange right now, fatigue, stress or a rare spell of moodiness was no reason to take advantage and do something they’d all regret in the morning, if not sooner.
And it was all rubbish. He hadn’t screwed every actress he’d worked with, but he’d never turned one down just because he had to face her on set in the morning, and he’d hadn’t always been that respectful of other people’s relationships either. The only thing keeping him from making a beeline toward the elevator was the simple fact that John was a man.
Fine. He wanted to screw a man. Had for months. Might at well just admit it and figure out the rest later.
He had a bunch of quips ready for his entrance, settled on the lamest and ran out of things to say when he saw John with his shirt unbuttoned nearly to the waist. God, the man was beautiful. No other way to put it.
David was grateful for a tub full of hot water and jets throwing up steam along with the chance to pretend he was just enjoying a relaxing soak after a day of working with the RSC’s fight choreographer. Hamlet’s prop sword was bloody heavy and his back was just as cranky as John’s legs. Sure they were both sitting naked and sweaty with their legs immersed in the nearly scalding bubbling water, breathing heavily with a small container of lotion near at hand, but that was just so John could offer to massage his neck, right?
He’d used variations on the ploy plenty of times, but it all just felt so good, especially since John had cracked open the mini-bar and they were drinking scotch out of those ludicrous miniature bottles while swapping tales of back-stage naughtiness.
“So I’m in the dressing room and one of the dancers comes in and starts icing her nipples so they’ll stand up in her costume.”
He giggled at the image, not to mention the implication.
“As if your very presence wasn’t enough make them stand at full attention.”
“Look what you’ve done to me,” he said, lowering himself further into the water, which caused his erection to bob up, rather more evident than he’d wanted. It was unlikely that John had failed to notice his effect on David at any rate.
A round of giggles broke out and David lost his footing in the tub, sliding down so that he was fully submerged. In a second, John had joined him in the tub, embracing him, pulling him into a kiss, letting him taste the salt on his skin, making him dizzy, unless that was the steam or the booze. The stayed like that, crouching in the water. David felt like he might be melting, from the water or from John.
When he finally pushed himself up and back toward the side of the hot tub, feeling the jets working on his upper legs, sighing just a little, he found that he hadn’t worked all the silliness out of his system. Maybe he was getting a little too relaxed, although there was still stiffness where it needed to be.
“You know,” he said, assuming an arch tone, “Auntie Beeb might not approve of this.”
“Captain Jack and the Doctor in a compromising position? What could possibly be wrong with that?” John replied, coming over to nuzzle his neck and face, while they were still talking.
“Nothing at all. You know what open-minded folks they are. I meant the danger. I’m sure there’s something in our contracts that says we can’t risk life and limb with slippery tiles before the series is finished filming. Somebody might get hurt.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
John wasn’t joking and his American accent was firmly in place. This kiss permitted no room for giggling. They held each other tightly, the water bubbling against their hips, hands sliding and exploring. He could feel the muscles in John’s back and arms tensing as the kiss intensified, moans echoing against the tiles. His erection wasn’t funny any more either. It was hard and throbbing, pressed against John’s cock. He wondered if he’d need much more than a touch, but they’d done that already and he had a feeling John wanted more this time.
“I know you won’t.”
He didn’t actually. There were the usual nerves about this sort of thing. Not a lot of experience, certainly never with a man and John was…well, he might be “Ten Inch Tennant,” but John had nothing to be ashamed of, and David was trying to envision exactly how it was going to work. Maybe John wasn’t even talking about that.
“Should we go into the bedroom?" David suggested, tentatively. "Might be easier.”
“So much for our pornographic Jacuzzi party.”
“I’ll show you pornographic. You try getting this out of your head.”
The kissing continued and David became vaguely aware of John’s fingers moving over his buttocks and toward his arsehole. His gasp of realisation was lost in John’s mouth but John must have felt his body tense up.
“I’m in a bloody Jacuzzi, three sheets to the wind. If I’m not relaxed now, I don’t think I’m going to be.”
“Okay. Turn around.”
Christ, the water was hitting his balls like a giant vibrator and John had pressed up against his back. He could feel John reaching for the lotion, tapping the bottle against his hands. “David.”
That damn voice. And then the finger, stroking against his crack, the lotion easing the way. He bent over, spreading his legs, braced against the edge of the tub. He moaned at John’s touch, but pushed back into it, tried to stay calm, but the panting gave him away.
“I’ve wanted to get in you for so long. You don’t even want to know what I’ve thought about.”
“But I bet you’re gonna tell me.”
“So many times we were on the set and I wanted to drag you into my trailer and push you down on the bed, pull all your clothes off.”
John’s hand was stroking him now, reminding David of the first time and all the times he’d replayed it in his mind since then, along with his own fantasies of what else could have happened if he’d been willing to let it.
“I’ve dreamed of sucking your cock, making you come in my mouth. I wanted to fuck you with everybody standing outside, knowing what was going on.”
He normally didn’t share John’s exhibitionistic tendencies, but the images were too powerful to ignore, even before he felt John’s finger move into him, causing his voice to leap an octave and something like fire to fill his lungs. So this was it. He was getting fucked by a man. No, actually it was just a man’s finger. Maybe that was enough. He didn’t think he could take more. While he was still adjusting to this feeling, John continued with the details of his fantasies, but David was barely registering words anymore. Just images, the lilt of John’s voice, the finger moving in and out of him and the hand on his cock and the heat and the water and the vibrations. John squeezing him, fucking him, talking, kissing his neck, biting and oh god, he was coming, shaking, pumping into John’s hand, stickiness instantly dissipating into the water.
“Oh, dearie. That was. Oh…”
He felt dizzy again. Good job that John had a towel and was helping him out of the Jacuzzi and into the bedroom, so he could lie down.
“You okay there?”
He opened his eyes. John’s smile. As smug as he’d ever seen it, even when he was playing Jack.
“Yeah. I think so.”
It was sort of a hazy, floating feeling, compounded by John kissing him again, hands stroking the side of his face, reminding him that he had a bit of stubble and all the jokes about giving Simm razor burn during the Master’s dying scene. He vaguely wondered if John would have trouble explaining this to Scott, but sent those thoughts away.
John was on top of him now, grinding against his legs sensuously and only then did David realize that John was still hard. He’d been so busy getting David off that apparently he hadn’t had time to see to himself. David knew he could be a bit of a bastard, but he wasn’t selfish, not that way.
“So, how come in these fantasies, you’re the one who gets to do all the sucking?”
That was bold. Oh well, in for a penny…
“I’m the one with experience.”
“A boy’s gotta learn sometime.”
“You sure about this?”
If John kept talking, he’d wind up talking him out of it and that wasn’t quite fair to either of them. Maybe it was part of whatever arrangement he had with Scott. Sticking your finger up another bloke’s bum? No problem. Get your knob polished and all bloody hell breaks loose?
Only one way to find out.
He gathered his strength and pushed John onto his back, taking the opportunity to look down into those incredibly blue eyes, with shades of gray and even hazel depending on the angle. Either way, he wasn’t getting any messages of stop as he took control of the kissing, letting John know he was determined to hold up his end of the encounter.
There was a temptation to linger, tease at John’s nipples, make a full discovery of his sensitive spots, but John had already been patient with him and David sensed a certain urgency as he worked his way down John’s chest and stomach leaving fluttering kisses and hearing the building tension in his breathing.
“Oh. Pushy, pushy.”
“Shut up and suck it already.”
Well, if John was going to be that way, David was going to do exactly that. Not completely comfortably, mind you. It wasn’t something he had a script for, but whatever he was doing seemed to be working and the feeling of John’s erection in his mouth, against his tongue, the mental image that he was actually doing this, was mind-boggling. On his knees on a bed, sucking John’s cock. He wouldn’t be hard again for a while, but there was a certain thrill to be gained from giving this much pleasure to another human being, to someone he cared about so much. He didn’t try for much depth, concentrating on intensity and a bit of imagination, as he closed his eyes and thought of exactly what he’d want done to him. The suction at the head worked wonders, producing absolute gibberish out of John’s mouth as his hips rose, pushing into David’s mouth, almost too much, but he kept a firm hand on the situation and he somehow knew when John was close, possibly from the gasping and screaming.
“Oh my god. DAVID! NOW! FUCK! FUCK AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”
He didn’t think John noticed that he was holding him in both hands, but not his mouth at that point. First timer’s privilege, he thought, trying not to focus on whether there would be a second time.
There was something absolutely enchanting about John’s face as he curled up in the blankets afterwards. David mused on what it would be like to see that expression more often and then told himself to stop being a jackass.
It couldn’t last. There was a partner at home and responsibilities in the morning, but David couldn’t resist the opportunity to pull a blanket over them for a few minutes of pure relaxation against John’s warmth. He didn’t know he’d dozed off until he woke up to the sound of John’s singing and the sudden conviction that he had fallen asleep watching TV and dreamt the whole thing.
But my silent fears have gripped me
Long before I reach the phone
Long before my tongue has tripped me
Must I always be alone?
He opened his eyes. However sexy John in his black on black get-up might have been, it wasn’t nearly as provocative as John bare-arse naked dancing around the room while brushing his hair into respectability.
At least he didn’t have to go home and lie to anybody.
“So what happened between you and Kylie?”
“Nothing,” he called, because John had already walked into the outer room to fetch his clothes.
“Oh come on. You expect me to believe were on a set with Kylie Minogue and you didn’t even get some dressing room nookie?”
“You’ve got a filthy mind, Barrowman, you know that?”
“Lucky for you, huh?”
John was back in his Levis and buttoning up the shirt. David knew he should follow suit, but couldn’t break out of the post-orgasm/hot tub languor that had fallen over him.
“Lucky for me.”
“You can stay for the night. Room’s paid up.”
“And we should leave separately anyway.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Okay, boyo, you can stop playing the wounded heroine of a bad melodrama now. “I’m sorry, John. That was crap, wasn’t it.”
“A little bit.”
“Look, I just don’t know what to say.”
“What would you say if it was Kylie?”
“Oh my god, Kylie’s got a cock?”
John started guffawing, which devolved into one of his full-blown giggle fits. He practically fell on the floor laughing while trying to put his socks on.
“Kylie’s got a cock, Kylie’s got a cock,” he sing-songed. “We should start a rumor.”
“Maybe we can get Posh and Becks off the covers for a change,” he mused, knowing that would never happen.
“But it would sure send Murdoch into a tizzy,” John replied, looking much happier than when David had first walked into the bar. Whether it was ravishing David, getting a half-way decent blow-job or the possibility of Kylie Minogue being a she-male, something had definitely brightened him up. David was happy to have contributed.
“You know, some people go on holiday when they need a break.”
“Yeah. It’s been….I can’t even remember. We didn’t even get a proper honeymoon. Branson’s been offering us a week on Necker Island forever, and I just never seem to get the time.”
“You should take him up on it.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Sure you will.”
John shrugged and smiled. David tried not to let it affect him as much as it did. They were walking out of this room and back into real life where John didn’t screw around and David didn’t do this sort of thing with men, even if Kylie had a surprising appendage.
There was a hug at the door and then John was on his way back to Scott and his unbelievably hectic life. David wondered if and when John would text him again, looking for something a bit more than a friend.
He watched John walk down the hall and heard him singing until he was almost to the lifts.
Every little thing she does is magic
Everything she do just turns me on
Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on.