[Fic] My Name is David [RPS David Tennant/John Barrowman]
Title: My Name is David
Author: hllangel
Fandom: RPS: David Tennant/John Barrowman
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,600
Author's Notes: THIS IS RPS. That means slash involving real people. There is mention of significant others, as well as addictive and self destructive behavior. If that's not your cup of tea, don't read this. Many, Many thanks to Karaokegal for the handholding, and wonderful beta-work. It wouldn't have been possible without you. Additionally, this is written for karaokegal's Come as You Aren't Party. This is not what I normally write. While I have no issues with RPS in general, I do have a problem with RPS involving John Barrowman. This was extremely difficult for me to write, but I've done it. The outcome is very dark and angsty. You have been warned.
Summary: David has a problem.
David wondered just how he'd come to this, lying face down on his bed while being buggered by Barrowman. Surely he wasn't that hard up for a shag? He knew he had a bit of a reputation for going after every woman in town, and he knew that a few of the girls working the St. David hotel had talked. But they didn't see the whole picture. It wasn't just the girls, it was the men as well, and many nights at the clubs, too; the upscale ones known for discretion and the seedier ones where he constantly skirted disaster. He was truly surprised that no one had run to the Sun straight after to tell the world exactly what the Doctor got up to in his spare time.
The closer they got to the end of filming on the series, the more he ended up spending late nights on set, with no time to himself, and even less time to go out and find someone. There were plenty of willing women (and men) at work, but if he'd learned one thing on long shoots it was not to fuck the crew. He had no such rules about other actors, and he'd considered wandering over to the Hub to chat up Eve, but he had a feeling that Barrowman would have his head. Eve was his girl. John himself was the easy solution; on the surface, at least.
It felt good right now, and even better when John reached around to grab David's prick. It was almost enough to make David forget about the guilt that was waiting for him as soon as this was over.
They lived in the same building, and worked in the same place with a lot of the same people, but even so, David didn't see John much. Tonight, though, they'd arrived home simultaneously: John returning from taking the dogs out one last time, while David was stumbling back from 12 hours on set, most of it waiting for the effects people to set up the various fireworks and explosions that they'd need for the scene. The long reset put more pressure on David to get it right the first time, and he knew he'd flubbed a few takes. Luckily, it was in spots without explosions so he'd just had to wait a few seconds, say the line again and leave it to the brilliant editing team. It always worked out in the end, although he sometimes wondered what the public would really think of his acting if they could see all the takes that had been cut.
When they'd met at the door, David had found himself uttering an invitation for a nightcap before realising that he'd done it. He was astonished to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Before running into John, he'd thought that all he wanted to do was shower and sleep. Drinks and company hadn't been on the agenda at all.
Neither was sex, but here he was, arching his back and pushing his hips against John, moving together, grunting and mumbling, listening to John spew filth in his native Scots accent as he screwed David. It had been years since he'd been fucked like this; it was brutal and perverse and exactly what David needed.
Would it be fair to blame the dogs for this? If he hadn't stopped to pet Charlie, Lewis and CJ, he'd probably have just said a quick 'hello' at the door, and gone home alone. Not that a conversation with Barrowman was ever anything but pleasant at the very least. Then again, none of their conversations had been followed up in such a spectacular fashion before. There'd been plenty of hinting ever since they met (especially after John learned of Billie's ridiculous nickname), but John was happily settled and David had filed away the possibility of a night with John in the small folder labeled, 'impossible.'
Except that tonight, it wasn't. David had made small talk as he poured the drinks, asking about the dogs, ("They're doing pretty well. Jack's driving the others insane.") about filming, ("They still haven't given us the official green light.") about John's upcoming tour, ("I can't believe they've sold out already.")
The small talk didn't really matter now, and whatever they'd talked about was far from David's mind as John thrust harder, moving so that he was truly pinning David to the bed, groaning in his ear as he came. Clearly it was important for John to make this as good for David as himself, because he wasted no time in flipping David over and sucking David's cock into his mouth. David threw his head back, closed his eyes and thought of nothing aside from how soft John's lips were, and how much John seemed to enjoy this, even more than the fucking. Within minutes he was coming, John continuing to swallow until David grew soft and lay still.
David didn't move as John fidgeted around a bit, pulling off the used condom and tossing it in the bin. That taken care of, John settled into an unnatural stillness and David didn't quite know what to say. Predictably, John broke the silence.
"They have me wanking the TARDIS tomorrow," he said as he lay back on the pillows.
"You Woodies get all the fun parts. I just get to walk about a bit," David said, making an effort to match John's apparently light mood, despite his own utter exhaustion.
"We've got plenty of bits in the Hub. You should stop by sometime. I might even show you mine."
David knew John was smirking, but he didn't respond. The conversation felt stilted. They were good friends, but as varied as his encounters had been over the years, David had never been in a situation quite like this before. How do you talk to a close friend that's just given you one of the best fucks of your life?
"John - "
"David - "
They both started talking at the same time.
"You first."
"I'm sorry," David said quietly.
"So am I," John responded, "but that doesn't change anything."
"I know." John was right; simply saying sorry wasn't the absolution David was looking for.
"Why tonight?"
David hesitated. He didn't think he could really put into words why he'd kissed John at the door when he'd been intending to send him home. "I - ," he stumbled over what to say. "I didn't mean to, really. I wanted a quiet night."
"If that's what you call quiet, I'm not sure I want to know what 'loud' is."
Even though he was staring at the ceiling, and not looking at John, David could hear the smile in his voice. But now wasn't the time for jokes. It would just make things more difficult. After another minute of silence, David decided that since he was already naked, he might as well lay himself bare emotionally as well. He'd never actually said the words, though he'd thought them more than once. Saying them out loud would mean facing the facts and doing something about his life, and the way he was living it.
"I think I’m a sex addict."
Now that it was out in the open, David waited for the response. To his credit, John turned absolutely serious.
"Have you talked to anyone else about this?"
" Who else can I tell?" David shrugged. "There's enough speculation about my sex life already. I don't need to add to it. And can you imagine the headlines?" He forced a laugh, but it fell flat.
"This isn't about the tabloids, David. It's about you, your health." John paused. "Fuck, I'm no good at this. Scott would know what to say. He's a lot better at this than I am."
The casual mention of Scott made David realise for the first time the true extent of the night's repercussions. All the people he'd slept with previously had said they were single, like himself, or else they'd been his girlfriend. This time, though, it wasn't just about the two of them. The very nature of John's relationship meant that even though he wasn't there, Scott was involved, too. Very suddenly, the guilt that David had been ignoring since he'd first kissed John came crashing down.
Neither of them said anything else, and after another minute John rolled out of bed and started picking up his clothes from where they were scattered around the flat. David even heard the faint clink of glass and realised that John was doing the dishes. David wondered if John was trying to physically clean up a huge metaphorical mess.
David lay still, listening to John move around the flat with the nearly manic energy that had been absent earlier. After what felt like an age, John came back in with a glass of water, and handed it to him. David drank, knowing that it was expected. Some part of him wished that John really was the dashing Captain Jack, and that the water had been laced so that he'd forget this night ever happened.
Real life didn't work like that, though, he thought as John walked out the door. Tomorrow, David would have to see him again, smile, laugh, joke around with Catherine, and everyone else that they were bringing in for the shoot. He'd watch Captain Jack do lewd things to his TARDIS, remembering the feel of John's hands on him. He'd watch John flirting with everyone and remember John kissing him.
Tomorrow, he'd forget about everything to do his job. Tomorrow night, he'd push the guilt aside with someone else.
Author: hllangel
Fandom: RPS: David Tennant/John Barrowman
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,600
Author's Notes: THIS IS RPS. That means slash involving real people. There is mention of significant others, as well as addictive and self destructive behavior. If that's not your cup of tea, don't read this. Many, Many thanks to Karaokegal for the handholding, and wonderful beta-work. It wouldn't have been possible without you. Additionally, this is written for karaokegal's Come as You Aren't Party. This is not what I normally write. While I have no issues with RPS in general, I do have a problem with RPS involving John Barrowman. This was extremely difficult for me to write, but I've done it. The outcome is very dark and angsty. You have been warned.
Summary: David has a problem.
David wondered just how he'd come to this, lying face down on his bed while being buggered by Barrowman. Surely he wasn't that hard up for a shag? He knew he had a bit of a reputation for going after every woman in town, and he knew that a few of the girls working the St. David hotel had talked. But they didn't see the whole picture. It wasn't just the girls, it was the men as well, and many nights at the clubs, too; the upscale ones known for discretion and the seedier ones where he constantly skirted disaster. He was truly surprised that no one had run to the Sun straight after to tell the world exactly what the Doctor got up to in his spare time.
The closer they got to the end of filming on the series, the more he ended up spending late nights on set, with no time to himself, and even less time to go out and find someone. There were plenty of willing women (and men) at work, but if he'd learned one thing on long shoots it was not to fuck the crew. He had no such rules about other actors, and he'd considered wandering over to the Hub to chat up Eve, but he had a feeling that Barrowman would have his head. Eve was his girl. John himself was the easy solution; on the surface, at least.
It felt good right now, and even better when John reached around to grab David's prick. It was almost enough to make David forget about the guilt that was waiting for him as soon as this was over.
They lived in the same building, and worked in the same place with a lot of the same people, but even so, David didn't see John much. Tonight, though, they'd arrived home simultaneously: John returning from taking the dogs out one last time, while David was stumbling back from 12 hours on set, most of it waiting for the effects people to set up the various fireworks and explosions that they'd need for the scene. The long reset put more pressure on David to get it right the first time, and he knew he'd flubbed a few takes. Luckily, it was in spots without explosions so he'd just had to wait a few seconds, say the line again and leave it to the brilliant editing team. It always worked out in the end, although he sometimes wondered what the public would really think of his acting if they could see all the takes that had been cut.
When they'd met at the door, David had found himself uttering an invitation for a nightcap before realising that he'd done it. He was astonished to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Before running into John, he'd thought that all he wanted to do was shower and sleep. Drinks and company hadn't been on the agenda at all.
Neither was sex, but here he was, arching his back and pushing his hips against John, moving together, grunting and mumbling, listening to John spew filth in his native Scots accent as he screwed David. It had been years since he'd been fucked like this; it was brutal and perverse and exactly what David needed.
Would it be fair to blame the dogs for this? If he hadn't stopped to pet Charlie, Lewis and CJ, he'd probably have just said a quick 'hello' at the door, and gone home alone. Not that a conversation with Barrowman was ever anything but pleasant at the very least. Then again, none of their conversations had been followed up in such a spectacular fashion before. There'd been plenty of hinting ever since they met (especially after John learned of Billie's ridiculous nickname), but John was happily settled and David had filed away the possibility of a night with John in the small folder labeled, 'impossible.'
Except that tonight, it wasn't. David had made small talk as he poured the drinks, asking about the dogs, ("They're doing pretty well. Jack's driving the others insane.") about filming, ("They still haven't given us the official green light.") about John's upcoming tour, ("I can't believe they've sold out already.")
The small talk didn't really matter now, and whatever they'd talked about was far from David's mind as John thrust harder, moving so that he was truly pinning David to the bed, groaning in his ear as he came. Clearly it was important for John to make this as good for David as himself, because he wasted no time in flipping David over and sucking David's cock into his mouth. David threw his head back, closed his eyes and thought of nothing aside from how soft John's lips were, and how much John seemed to enjoy this, even more than the fucking. Within minutes he was coming, John continuing to swallow until David grew soft and lay still.
David didn't move as John fidgeted around a bit, pulling off the used condom and tossing it in the bin. That taken care of, John settled into an unnatural stillness and David didn't quite know what to say. Predictably, John broke the silence.
"They have me wanking the TARDIS tomorrow," he said as he lay back on the pillows.
"You Woodies get all the fun parts. I just get to walk about a bit," David said, making an effort to match John's apparently light mood, despite his own utter exhaustion.
"We've got plenty of bits in the Hub. You should stop by sometime. I might even show you mine."
David knew John was smirking, but he didn't respond. The conversation felt stilted. They were good friends, but as varied as his encounters had been over the years, David had never been in a situation quite like this before. How do you talk to a close friend that's just given you one of the best fucks of your life?
"John - "
"David - "
They both started talking at the same time.
"You first."
"I'm sorry," David said quietly.
"So am I," John responded, "but that doesn't change anything."
"I know." John was right; simply saying sorry wasn't the absolution David was looking for.
"Why tonight?"
David hesitated. He didn't think he could really put into words why he'd kissed John at the door when he'd been intending to send him home. "I - ," he stumbled over what to say. "I didn't mean to, really. I wanted a quiet night."
"If that's what you call quiet, I'm not sure I want to know what 'loud' is."
Even though he was staring at the ceiling, and not looking at John, David could hear the smile in his voice. But now wasn't the time for jokes. It would just make things more difficult. After another minute of silence, David decided that since he was already naked, he might as well lay himself bare emotionally as well. He'd never actually said the words, though he'd thought them more than once. Saying them out loud would mean facing the facts and doing something about his life, and the way he was living it.
"I think I’m a sex addict."
Now that it was out in the open, David waited for the response. To his credit, John turned absolutely serious.
"Have you talked to anyone else about this?"
" Who else can I tell?" David shrugged. "There's enough speculation about my sex life already. I don't need to add to it. And can you imagine the headlines?" He forced a laugh, but it fell flat.
"This isn't about the tabloids, David. It's about you, your health." John paused. "Fuck, I'm no good at this. Scott would know what to say. He's a lot better at this than I am."
The casual mention of Scott made David realise for the first time the true extent of the night's repercussions. All the people he'd slept with previously had said they were single, like himself, or else they'd been his girlfriend. This time, though, it wasn't just about the two of them. The very nature of John's relationship meant that even though he wasn't there, Scott was involved, too. Very suddenly, the guilt that David had been ignoring since he'd first kissed John came crashing down.
Neither of them said anything else, and after another minute John rolled out of bed and started picking up his clothes from where they were scattered around the flat. David even heard the faint clink of glass and realised that John was doing the dishes. David wondered if John was trying to physically clean up a huge metaphorical mess.
David lay still, listening to John move around the flat with the nearly manic energy that had been absent earlier. After what felt like an age, John came back in with a glass of water, and handed it to him. David drank, knowing that it was expected. Some part of him wished that John really was the dashing Captain Jack, and that the water had been laced so that he'd forget this night ever happened.
Real life didn't work like that, though, he thought as John walked out the door. Tomorrow, David would have to see him again, smile, laugh, joke around with Catherine, and everyone else that they were bringing in for the shoot. He'd watch Captain Jack do lewd things to his TARDIS, remembering the feel of John's hands on him. He'd watch John flirting with everyone and remember John kissing him.
Tomorrow, he'd forget about everything to do his job. Tomorrow night, he'd push the guilt aside with someone else.