The first TW/DW RPF COMMENT-FIC CARNIVALE!
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:
( Read more... )
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:
( Read more... )
"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.
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"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.
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I would hope to God that she DOES have a Twitter. "OMGZ JOHN BARROWMAN NAKED IN GARETH'S ROOM guys I think they're banging SOMETHING!"
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Where is MY tub, huh? WHERE? ;)
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Unexpected!Naked!Barrowman, and passing the banana, is a fucking force of nature.
Brill, bb, brill.
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