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"Hooray For Hollywood" RPS-John Barrowman/David Tennant NC17

Title: Hooray For Hollywood
Genre: RPS
Characters: John Barrowman/David Tennant (includes references to significant others)Special appearance by Captain Jack.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1630
Notes/Warnings: You know the drill. It's RPS. REAL PEOPLE!!! Including their significant others and alter-egos. If you've got a squick-do not click. Or gut it out and risk finding that you love it. Fabulous beta and amazingly quick turnaround time by beta_goddess. Special thanks to hllangel for saving me from a serious factual error.
DISCLAIMER: This is fiction. It never happened and I'm not make any money for saying it did.

Summary: Captain Jack takes John on an all-expense paid guilt trip.


These are my previous John/David fics, but you don't have to read them to enjoy this:

Interview Day
Every Little Thing
Backstage
Talk Talk

And now for your smutastic reading pleasure:



“I hear you and young Gareth put on quite a show the other day.”

That was quick. Less than forty-eight hours since he’d been in Northhampton giving a bit of lip for the cause, and now he was in LA fighting off jet-lag. Meetings, recording sessions, publicity photos. It was all one giant blue-skies-and-palm-trees blur. He had a few hours to chill at the Standard in West Hollywood, which meant he should probably be taking a nap before meeting the photographers for a magazine shoot. Except he wasn’t napping, because in England it was already half past eleven and David had just gotten off-stage at Stratford.

How could he say no to David’s nightly post-show wind-down call?

“That stuff is just for the fans.”

”Must drive your fella a bit mad.”

“He understands. Besides he knows how pissy Gareth got when I forgot about our so-called sex scene at the Comic-con panel. Make the girls scream, get the bug out of his arse. Win-win.”

“How’s LA?”

“It’s hot. It’s sunny. It’s Hollywood.” He couldn’t stop himself from singing, “That screwy, ballyhooey Hollywood.”

“I should let you go. You sound a bit punchy.”

No doubt about that, but he didn’t want to let David’s voice fade away just yet. He hadn’t spoken to Scott yet today, but he wanted a few more minutes of David. Not a good thing.

“How’d the show go tonight?”

“It’s odd. The longer the run goes on, the more convinced I get that I’m going to go up on my lines. It never actually happens, but I’m convinced I’m going to start spouting Love’s Labour’s Lost in the middle of Hamlet and vice versa, complete with an accent switch. It’s not quite full-blown stage fright, but it’s a way to keep myself off balance. Sometimes I think Burton is laughing at me.”

David had mentioned his occasional consultation with the late Mr. Burton, but John had kept his own odd visitations to himself, although he wasn’t sure if dead actors were preferable to fictional characters or not.

“He’s probably drunk.”

“Always. And I don’t even get a Liz Taylor out of the deal.”

He sounded slightly wistful, leaving John to wonder about the current state of things with Georgia. Not that he’d bring it up himself.

“You couldn’t afford her.”

“Truer than you know. John, I need to tell you something. I don’t want you to see it in the papers and have one of your little moments. I’m not signing up for another tour of duty as it were.”

John tried not to wince. He’d known for months that David was ready to go. The reviews he’d gotten in Hamlet had proven he didn’t need to be the Doctor anymore. Meanwhile, John had made two years’ worth of career decisions, including not doing Barnum, specifically so that he could keep doing Torchwood. Of course the Doctor was always changing; only he could play Jack.

“’Bout time. Good for you.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re having the going-away party anytime soon. You’re stuck with me for another series.”

“Longer than that, I hope.” That was definitely a wincer, requiring a quick change of subject. “Dusty’s made the final cut.”

“At least for this week.”

The final song-list for John’s album had been a soap opera of many months standing, with songs being added, tossed and brought back on a nearly daily basis. John wasn’t inclined to be too much of a diva, but he was determined that the world would hear his version of “You Don’t Have To Say I Love You,” even if the reason he was doing it was a secret. He ended the phone call laughing over the possibility of doing the number on-stage in full Dusty drag, complete with wig and heavy eye-liner.

Believe me, believe me, I can’t help but love you, but believe me, I’ll never tie you down. (Unless you really want me to, he added in his mind.) He desperately needed a nap, but he was going to settle for a shower, a wank and some very hot coffee.

Once he was under the spray, he lathered up with some hotel soap and started stroking his cock, which was already hard. David, he thought, remembering the last time…

Nope, said a voice that sounded like his own, but wasn’t.

“Do you mind?”

He was getting used to these appearances, but having Jack show up in the shower was still disconcerting. His alter-ego was fully dressed, missing only the coat, perhaps in deference to the water and steam, although he didn’t seem to be getting wet.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

The only thing obvious here is you, screwing up your life.

Jack leaned against the shower wall, as obnoxiously self-assured as John had played him in his first scenes on Doctor Who.

“Excuse me, Captain Pot. You wanted me to sleep with David.”

Once! Maybe twice to apologise.

Where had he heard that line before?

“But you always cheat.”

Yeah. And I’m damn good at it. You apparently suck.

John decided not to grace that with any lewd comments, no matter how many sprung to mind. Unfortunately Jack didn’t need to hear him to know what went through his mind and the smirk showed it as Jack smoothed back his hair, still untouched by the water.

“What exactly do I have to do to make you happy?”

Eve!

“Not gonna happen.”

Never say never. But you’ve got to stop this thing with David.

“Why?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was whining.

Because it’s getting out of hand.


Jack was a pain in the arse, but he definitely had a point, John thought, drying off. He’d finally been left alone, if not in peace, but by then the urge had passed or at least taken a breather for a guilt trip.

Things had been out of hand with David for a long time, longer than he really wanted to admit. Probably starting with the first kiss, if not the first thought of the first kiss. He’d crossed so many lines, broken all his own rules, and kept telling himself that he could do it without risking anything. Leave it to a fictional character to show up in the shower and read him the riot act. It was only surprising that he hadn’t shown up sooner, specifically two and a half months sooner.

Opening night of Hamlet at Stratford. That was when he did what had been unthinkable since he met Scott and there was no way he could pass it off as flirting, joking, foreplay or anything else but out-and-out cheating.

Unthinkable until he’d met David. After that he’d thought about it far too much, and even managed to get his supposedly straight co-star to think and talk and fantasise about the exact same thing until there was no way it wasn’t going to happen.

It was time to leave. A car service was taking him to the photo shoot, but he was locked into a replay of that night and getting hard all over again. He’d probably get a reputation as a temperamental diva, but he really had to deal with this now.

He’d sat next to Scott, watching David’s performance, planning his own, with his tension building the whole time. Up to the last minute he thought he might not go through with it. Too dangerous, even if Scott had already gone back to the hotel, not wanting to be part of the paparazzi frenzy. But then Jack popped into his head, calling him a wuss, and the sight of David in his dressing room, exhausted but euphoric, was too much… far too much. He’d been wanting this since the first read-through and all he had to do was wait until David cleared out the dressing room, promising to meet everyone at the opening-night party. They didn’t have long, but for the time it took, nothing else mattered. Not Scott; not Georgia. Not all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this. Just David’s body, lean and smooth under his hands as he kissed his way down the spine to the small of the lower back and the beautiful arse that waited for him, that he’d been dreaming of fucking for so long. He couldn’t even blame it on method acting. This wasn’t about Jack and the Doctor. This was John and David, and John was lapping between David’s cheeks, getting him ready for what they both wanted so much.

John squeezed himself, stroking faster, remembering the feel of entering David for the first time, gripping his hips and feeling the heat close around him. The sound, god, he’d never forget that, it was beautiful, the sound of David opening up to him completely, pushing back against his cock, taking him in, giving him everything he wanted.

Fuck!

There was no time for another shower, but at least he’d be able to concentrate on doing his job.

*****

The next day, he was back in the air, heading for home, looking forward to seeing Scott and the dogs. He’d missed CJ and Charlie and English weather and just feeling Scott’s arms around him, smelling his familiar scents. Living his life instead of some Hollywood delusion.

John loved playing Jack, but he didn’t want to be him. Jack could fuck anyone he wanted and none of it meant anything to him. That was no way to live. John cared about David, but he loved Scott. After all these years, he loved him more than he’d once believed he would ever love anyone. Nothing was worth losing that, no matter how good it felt or sounded.

Now he had just had to figure out how to tell David.

Tags: john barrowman/david tennant, nc17, rps
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