karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,

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MMOM Day 4-"Backstage" JB/DT RPS Rated-R Wordcount-1680

Title: Backstage
Fandom: RPS-John Barrowman/David Tennant
Notes-THIS IS RPS-It uses REAL PEOPLE and includes references to REAL significant others, family members and dogs. If you think that's sick, yucky, or otherwise disgusing-DON'T READ IT.
Takes place after John's concert in Nottingham.

These are my previous John/David stories, but this one can be read as a standalone.
Interview Day

The Morning After - RPF crack!fic featuring a visit from the Captain.

Every Little Thing

And now for your wanking pleasure-

John felt exhausted but still totally wired. These concerts were amazing. Not even his best nights in theater produced a rush like the unadulterated love that poured out from the audiences and made him want to give it back ten-fold. On the other hand, he was glad he’d followed his instincts in limiting the number of shows. He wasn’t holding anything back and the shows were as draining as they were exhilarating.

Is this the way to Amarillo…every night I’ve been hugging my pillow…

He sang to himself as he toweled off his hair, acutely aware of being alone. Mum had taken the dogs to the car and Dad was probably entertaining the crowd at the stage-door with one-liners at his son’s expense. Eventually he’d have to go out there and face them himself, feeling guilty because he wouldn’t have any time to chat or sign autographs because if he started it would be at least an hour and there was a long ride ahead of him. He might doze off a little, but there was also the possibility of a Barrowman party breaking out in the limo and nothing but jolly japes all the way to Glasgow.

He missed Scott. Always did, whether they were apart for a day or a month. His crazy schedule had made their separations a fact of life and he could throw in a few choruses of There’s No Business Like Show Business in his best Merman to explain why, but he would have given anything to have Scott here right now for a quick hug. OK, more than a hug. He was lonely, he was horny and Scott had firmly insisted he was not going to go to every show. He said that hanging around backstage made him feel like a groupie.

John had told him he wouldn’t have to blow the roadies unless he really wanted to. Scott grinned back, but remained firm. John suspected it wasn’t the dressing-room groping he minded as much as the emotional content of the show, especially when John talked about Sandy. Hell, it made John cry almost every night; for Scott, it would have been excruciating. They’d settled on three shows, including Hammersmith, but that was four days away and right now John needed to do something or he’d never be able to go outside.

Before he could lock the door, his mobile started playing “Downtown.” David couldn’t let the joke go and John was glad of it. He’d actually considered throwing a Dusty number into the show, but the set-list was already in need of pruning, and besides, that was their joke, not necessarily something to share with the teeming millions.

“Hey, boyo. I hear you’re taking my good name in vain in your little extravaganza every night.”

John smiled at his dressing room mirror and what grinned back at him wasn’t his shy-boy smile either. It was something a lot more Jack-like, although his alter ego seemed to be taking the night off. The sound of David’s voice even when they were just talking rubbish…
“They go nuts when I do that number.”

“’Course they do. You sultry panther procured from the depths of Hades you.”

That produced a wince. John knew he’d never live down that particularly fulsome review. He could imagine his Torchwood co-stars having way too much fun with it. Oh well, something to put in his obituary next to Frank Rich quoting Sondheim saying he was the best Bobby ever.

“Will I see you soon?”

He could almost visualize a smirk and an eye-roll on the other end of the line.

It was a silly question given that he’d seen David at Capital One just a week earlier. He meant to sound ironic and casual, like, hey dude, when are you coming to see my sultry panther self in action, but it came out sounding almost plaintive, as though he really missed David. Which he did. Not just their friendship, but that way that David could look at him sometimes and make him think things he really shouldn’t be thinking and he knew damn well David shouldn’t. They needed to stop this. And they had. Nothing the least bit naughty since November. If John sometimes devoted too much time to wondering what else he could do to David without breaking his own rules, that was his problem.

Obviously David had moved back to his well-known love-em/leave-em dynamic. Scott had taken one look at David with Bethan and privately told John he didn’t give it three months. He’d missed only by one, although if you counted the time they’d actually spent together it was probably less than that.

Meaning that David was a free agent again and John was already feeling the slightest bit of guilt for what he was thinking, but not enough to stop. He’d locked the door while they were chatting and had arranged himself comfortably in one of those beat-up leather chairs that seemed to be standard issue in the UK’s older theatres. He let one hand play over his torso, imagining that it was David touching him.

“John…” David said with a slightly Doctor-ish intonation that made John’s breath catch in his chest. “Are you taking your trousers off?”

“Never had them on. You got me right out of the shower. Nice and wet. Just the way you like me.”

He moved his hand lower, just starting to stroke the head, almost tentatively, the way David had that first time.

There was silence on the other end and John wondered if he’d just pushed things too far by reminding David of their close encounter in a hotel Jacuzzi. Damn. He had one hand gripping the phone and the other holding his cock, waiting for David’s voice to help him move things along.

“Look, I know you flounce all over the set with your John Thomas sticking out like you’re playing hockey with it, but I don’t think you want to give the security blokes a cheap thrill.”

“My thrills are never cheap. And they’re outside flirting with the fans.” He could do this on the sly or ask for help. “Will you talk to me for a while?”

“I am not going to talk filth on an unsecured line just so you can have a wank.”

“It doesn’t have to be filth.” David could be reading an insurance policy and it would be hot, but maybe he really didn’t want to be a part of this and maybe it wasn’t fair of John to ask him.

“Well, that’s all right then.”

David’s voice, along with the memories of that first kiss, and he was already hard, hand moving at a faster pace, with a tight grip as David talked about Hamlet, which was pretty much all he’d been talking about lately.

“So I talked to Sir Ian and he thinks I should consider the possibility that Hamlet really wants to shag Laertes.”

He really couldn’t comment on that because it was all he could do to hang on the phone and keep his hand moving without offering opinions on Hamlet’s sexuality. By the time he could feel his balls tightening with an incipient orgasm, he’d lost the thread so completely that he had no idea if David was saying, “Laddie, I need to take you somewhere and give you a proper fucking,” to him, to Laertes, or only in his own lust-addled imagination, but it was certainly enough to push him over the edge, leaving him breathing heavily into the phone.

“Oh, oh. Oh. Oh God!”

“Good lord. Do you always sound like an asthmatic badger when you do that?”

“Uh. No. I don’t think so. Maybe it’s the phone.”

“It’s not the phone. It’s you being a pervert.”

Pervert? What about the sultry panther?

“I’m a pervert, am I?” He was slipping into Scottish and his pitch was rising. He was about to volunteer to return the favour when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Mr. Barrowman, sir? Are you ready? The girls are going a bit mad out there. I think Rhys has already had a few marriage proposals.”

“Few minutes, Alan. We’ll need to go through quickly. Gotta get on the road.”

John returned his attention to the phone, which had grown slippery in his hand.


“I know,” he said with what John hoped was put-on wistfulness “Wham…bang…”

“Oh, stop. I have to get dressed.”

“That’s a change, isn’t it?”

“The next time I’m on Who, we’re both going to walk out of the Tardis buck naked. I dare you.”

“Should I give the Confidential staff a heads up for that?”

“Sure.” He wished he could just talk a little longer. Joking with David was nearly as much fun as getting off had been, but the car was waiting. “Good night sweet prince,” he said softly.

He set about getting his gray sweatshirt and comfy jeans on for the long ride ahead,
before opening the dressing room door.

“Okay, guys. Let’s go.”

The screaming when they got outside was nearly deafening. He almost felt bad that he’d taken the time for himself instead of coming out sooner and signing autographs. Almost. He felt one hand on his bum and another on his shoulder as the security phalanx escorted him to the car.

Mum and Dad didn’t ask what had taken him so long, but John felt like Lewis was giving a particularly suspicious sniff as he jumped into John’s lap. He closed his eyes, thinking he might start a snooze.

I belong to Glasgow,
Dear old Glasgow town.

Dad’s booming bass filled up up the car and it was only a matter of time before Mum chimed in.

So much for sleep.

He patted the dog’s head and gently eased him out of the way so he could reach into his pocket and check the messages on his Blackberry. He wasn’t looking for one from David, honestly, but he had to smile at the one that was waiting for him.

Next time you do the talking.

Tags: barrow-mania, fanfic, john barrowman/david tennant, rps

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