RPFic - Torchwood
"We'll Do The Show Right Here"
By Hazelayes
A respectful RPF involving two actors and an architect - Real People being themselves (as I imagine they are) and it's NOT a threesome. The story was inspired by that bit in John's autobiography, Anything Goes, where he kinda boasts about his flexibility..? I got to thinking, 'how might that work?'
No harm, distress or disrespect intended to anyone, alive, dead or imaginary. This is just for the fun.
The ubiquitous swimming pool was long and large and it sparkled in the bright sunshine. Gareth's eyes, even shaded by his sunglasses, were glad of the cool colours of the tiles that lined the sides and decorated the curving, half-submerged steps. He was having a ball out here in the States. Torchwood was getting good ratings, for a 'cult' show, and they were getting a lot of attention. Their current 'comfortable' state, however, was much more to do with John's theatrical reputation and contacts than with Torchwood.
There were other guests at the house that weekend, and if not all were 'friends' of theirs, John, Scott and Gareth at least knew them, so it was a relaxed, and relaxing, occasion. As ever the grounds were theirs to roam in and all the facilities of a multi-millionaire director's home were at their disposal. The young Welshman was enjoying the sun, stretched out on a lounger which was fitted with, among other things, an ice-bucket and a magazine rack.
And Gareth was very grateful for all of it; especially for John's generous nature and the way he looked after his friends, for the creative genius of the show's writers, and for the friendship and love he'd been given, so freely it seemed, by everyone he'd met or had to work with. John may have been living his dream, as he claimed in his book, but on the way he'd helped a certain young Welsh actor towards his dreams too.
Gareth stretched out to his full length and closed his eyes, his pleasure showing in the gentle curve of his lips and in the slow sigh that ruffled the hairs on his chest. He loved the heat and, curiously for one of his pale complexion, he seldom burned.
He huffed to himself at the thought. That had been really tested while filming Torchwood hadn't it? Buttoned up in suits and ties, waistcoats and overcoats all the time, night shoots in the pouring rain, and interiors... also with pouring.
Not here though. He hadn't had to pour anything, throw trays of biscuits or whistle for taxis. He'd never been so 'attended to. It was incredible. He only had to ask for the salt and pepper and several of his fellow diners would stop eating and stare at him. Did they expect him to recite Dylan Thomas or something - or speak in tongues?
Okay, best not even GO there! He usually had to repeat the request anyway, so they got more of those gorgeous vowels they were always going on about.
He wasn't uncomfortable with the attention, though. For heaven's sake, he was an actor - it'd be like getting on a horse and then being upset because it started moving. Why get on it in the first place?
The young Welshman's reverie was interrupted by a shadow that dimmed the red glow from the sun on his eyelids. He opened his eyes carefully, sheilding them with a long hand, to see their host bending over him. The older man was alone and was smiling. He was also, Gareth noted, enjoying a leisurely eyeful of his young guest... in Speedos.
Gareth wanted to stare right back, but realised he couldn't make the old man feel embarrassed. This man was used to looking at, and possibly even possessing, whatever he chose to, but he didn't intend to make Gareth feel uncomfortable... well, not for too long anyway.
"You wanna see something?" he said, his white eyebrows lifting.
Gareth sat up. When someone with such creative clout as this man had asks you if you 'wanna see something', you don't question what. "I'd be delighted, Mr H-------"
The old man chuckled and handed Gareth his shirt, "Yeah, that's what I figured." And he led the way across the hot patio and into the cool, air-conditioned gloom of the main house.
Gareth perched his sunglasses on top of his head and shrugged into his shirt. After the white heat of the poolside, he was glad of the extra layer. Besides, he wasn't sure about sitting on the furniture in just his swim trunks, even if they were dry now.
And then he was taking his ease on the most expensive-feeling sofa he'd ever seen, and looking out through an enormous picture window which offered a view across the horse paddocks and a small lake to a group of statuesque old trees.
It was an idyllic scene and the window made it look like a classical painting, but without the ruins, the maidens or anyone struggling with a leopard. Except, there were some figures out there in the trees, almost at the limit of his vision. The young man shielded his eyes with a hand but it didn't help. He turned to the man next to him to ask for an explanation, but instead was silently handed a pair of binoculars.
Without a thought Gareth lifted them to his eyes and trained them on the trees across the lake. There were the branches, now he just needed to focus a little more and move the glasses down slightly, following the red tree trunk as it grew thicker towards the base.
He gasped. There were men in the tree. Two of them. And they were... naked!
Gareth looked away. Then back. Then away again, turning to his host in confusion. "Did you know...?"
"Why d'ya think I brought ya' in here? To admire the decor, maybe?"
The binoculars rose to his face almost unbidden and Gareth looked again at the couple in the tree.
"But this isn't right, we shouldn't..."
"Well you can always stop lookin'," their host drawled, a definite amused twinkle glinting in his dark eyes, "but I think it'd be a shame to miss John's performance myself."
"That's John out there?" Gareth's voice had gone up a whole octave.
"Yup. Scott too. John's pretty good, but he can't carry the whole show by himself, whatever he claims."
Gareth swallowed hard. Scott was hanging by his arms from a low branch and was swinging his long legs over John's shoulders and the view that that move offered left nothing to be imagined. John leaned his butt against the tree and reached for Scott's legs, kissing and nipping the inside of thighs as he wriggled into position, his knees framing John's head.
Gareth's mouth fell open and he gasped. He could see John smiling and saying something, his white teeth flashing in the green/blue shade of the tree. Scott's head moved, saying something in reply no doubt, then John's head dipped down, and began to slowly bob.
Gareth almost jacknifed off the sofa with the speed of an almost instant erection. He felt he couldn't have reacted more if it had been his cock that just got swallowed, like it was his body being held and caressed in mid air while his life was being sucked out through his dick.
He'd forgotten their host, who sat silently across the room from the young Welshman... watching him, watching them.
It was crazy! He shouldn't be doing this! "stop!" said a voice in his head, but it was tiny and weak in the face of the lust that was coiling tightly in Gareth's belly and raging in his groin. Fuck, but they looked hot, and so beautiful, like only they existed in the world, and he found he didn't care what the old guy thought of him for not being able to tear his eyes away from this.
Then his spine straightened completely as he realised what else was happening out there. Slowly but surely, John was lowering Scott's buttocks, while all the time following and drawing on the proud member he had his lips locked around. The dark head bent lower as the limber form hanging from the tree swung closer and closer to the cock jutting below, straining upwards from between John's legs.
Gareth licked his dry lips. They couldn't be serious...
But they were.
It was slow, and it looked damned difficult, but Scott was managing to ride John's cock and fuck his mouth at the same time - controlling both the angle and the depth of penetration with the way he swung from the tree, while John bent, impossibly supple in the hip, neck and back, and gave as good as he got 'from right where he was'.
Gareth groaned aloud and he didn't give a shit who heard him. The binoculars were digging into his face and the sofa was fucking swallowing him. Which was proably a good thing as his trunks weren't the most modest item to wear when you'd a hard on like he had. What he wouldn't give for something firm to hump against right now!
Just then he felt a gust of air past his neck and he jerked around, suddenly alarmed that he was being approached. But there was nothing and no-one there, their host had left and he was alone. At last.
Gareth eased himself back into the luxurious seating and raised the binoculars again... in his left hand.
By Hazelayes
A respectful RPF involving two actors and an architect - Real People being themselves (as I imagine they are) and it's NOT a threesome. The story was inspired by that bit in John's autobiography, Anything Goes, where he kinda boasts about his flexibility..? I got to thinking, 'how might that work?'
No harm, distress or disrespect intended to anyone, alive, dead or imaginary. This is just for the fun.
The ubiquitous swimming pool was long and large and it sparkled in the bright sunshine. Gareth's eyes, even shaded by his sunglasses, were glad of the cool colours of the tiles that lined the sides and decorated the curving, half-submerged steps. He was having a ball out here in the States. Torchwood was getting good ratings, for a 'cult' show, and they were getting a lot of attention. Their current 'comfortable' state, however, was much more to do with John's theatrical reputation and contacts than with Torchwood.
There were other guests at the house that weekend, and if not all were 'friends' of theirs, John, Scott and Gareth at least knew them, so it was a relaxed, and relaxing, occasion. As ever the grounds were theirs to roam in and all the facilities of a multi-millionaire director's home were at their disposal. The young Welshman was enjoying the sun, stretched out on a lounger which was fitted with, among other things, an ice-bucket and a magazine rack.
And Gareth was very grateful for all of it; especially for John's generous nature and the way he looked after his friends, for the creative genius of the show's writers, and for the friendship and love he'd been given, so freely it seemed, by everyone he'd met or had to work with. John may have been living his dream, as he claimed in his book, but on the way he'd helped a certain young Welsh actor towards his dreams too.
Gareth stretched out to his full length and closed his eyes, his pleasure showing in the gentle curve of his lips and in the slow sigh that ruffled the hairs on his chest. He loved the heat and, curiously for one of his pale complexion, he seldom burned.
He huffed to himself at the thought. That had been really tested while filming Torchwood hadn't it? Buttoned up in suits and ties, waistcoats and overcoats all the time, night shoots in the pouring rain, and interiors... also with pouring.
Not here though. He hadn't had to pour anything, throw trays of biscuits or whistle for taxis. He'd never been so 'attended to. It was incredible. He only had to ask for the salt and pepper and several of his fellow diners would stop eating and stare at him. Did they expect him to recite Dylan Thomas or something - or speak in tongues?
Okay, best not even GO there! He usually had to repeat the request anyway, so they got more of those gorgeous vowels they were always going on about.
He wasn't uncomfortable with the attention, though. For heaven's sake, he was an actor - it'd be like getting on a horse and then being upset because it started moving. Why get on it in the first place?
The young Welshman's reverie was interrupted by a shadow that dimmed the red glow from the sun on his eyelids. He opened his eyes carefully, sheilding them with a long hand, to see their host bending over him. The older man was alone and was smiling. He was also, Gareth noted, enjoying a leisurely eyeful of his young guest... in Speedos.
Gareth wanted to stare right back, but realised he couldn't make the old man feel embarrassed. This man was used to looking at, and possibly even possessing, whatever he chose to, but he didn't intend to make Gareth feel uncomfortable... well, not for too long anyway.
"You wanna see something?" he said, his white eyebrows lifting.
Gareth sat up. When someone with such creative clout as this man had asks you if you 'wanna see something', you don't question what. "I'd be delighted, Mr H-------"
The old man chuckled and handed Gareth his shirt, "Yeah, that's what I figured." And he led the way across the hot patio and into the cool, air-conditioned gloom of the main house.
Gareth perched his sunglasses on top of his head and shrugged into his shirt. After the white heat of the poolside, he was glad of the extra layer. Besides, he wasn't sure about sitting on the furniture in just his swim trunks, even if they were dry now.
And then he was taking his ease on the most expensive-feeling sofa he'd ever seen, and looking out through an enormous picture window which offered a view across the horse paddocks and a small lake to a group of statuesque old trees.
It was an idyllic scene and the window made it look like a classical painting, but without the ruins, the maidens or anyone struggling with a leopard. Except, there were some figures out there in the trees, almost at the limit of his vision. The young man shielded his eyes with a hand but it didn't help. He turned to the man next to him to ask for an explanation, but instead was silently handed a pair of binoculars.
Without a thought Gareth lifted them to his eyes and trained them on the trees across the lake. There were the branches, now he just needed to focus a little more and move the glasses down slightly, following the red tree trunk as it grew thicker towards the base.
He gasped. There were men in the tree. Two of them. And they were... naked!
Gareth looked away. Then back. Then away again, turning to his host in confusion. "Did you know...?"
"Why d'ya think I brought ya' in here? To admire the decor, maybe?"
The binoculars rose to his face almost unbidden and Gareth looked again at the couple in the tree.
"But this isn't right, we shouldn't..."
"Well you can always stop lookin'," their host drawled, a definite amused twinkle glinting in his dark eyes, "but I think it'd be a shame to miss John's performance myself."
"That's John out there?" Gareth's voice had gone up a whole octave.
"Yup. Scott too. John's pretty good, but he can't carry the whole show by himself, whatever he claims."
Gareth swallowed hard. Scott was hanging by his arms from a low branch and was swinging his long legs over John's shoulders and the view that that move offered left nothing to be imagined. John leaned his butt against the tree and reached for Scott's legs, kissing and nipping the inside of thighs as he wriggled into position, his knees framing John's head.
Gareth's mouth fell open and he gasped. He could see John smiling and saying something, his white teeth flashing in the green/blue shade of the tree. Scott's head moved, saying something in reply no doubt, then John's head dipped down, and began to slowly bob.
Gareth almost jacknifed off the sofa with the speed of an almost instant erection. He felt he couldn't have reacted more if it had been his cock that just got swallowed, like it was his body being held and caressed in mid air while his life was being sucked out through his dick.
He'd forgotten their host, who sat silently across the room from the young Welshman... watching him, watching them.
It was crazy! He shouldn't be doing this! "stop!" said a voice in his head, but it was tiny and weak in the face of the lust that was coiling tightly in Gareth's belly and raging in his groin. Fuck, but they looked hot, and so beautiful, like only they existed in the world, and he found he didn't care what the old guy thought of him for not being able to tear his eyes away from this.
Then his spine straightened completely as he realised what else was happening out there. Slowly but surely, John was lowering Scott's buttocks, while all the time following and drawing on the proud member he had his lips locked around. The dark head bent lower as the limber form hanging from the tree swung closer and closer to the cock jutting below, straining upwards from between John's legs.
Gareth licked his dry lips. They couldn't be serious...
But they were.
It was slow, and it looked damned difficult, but Scott was managing to ride John's cock and fuck his mouth at the same time - controlling both the angle and the depth of penetration with the way he swung from the tree, while John bent, impossibly supple in the hip, neck and back, and gave as good as he got 'from right where he was'.
Gareth groaned aloud and he didn't give a shit who heard him. The binoculars were digging into his face and the sofa was fucking swallowing him. Which was proably a good thing as his trunks weren't the most modest item to wear when you'd a hard on like he had. What he wouldn't give for something firm to hump against right now!
Just then he felt a gust of air past his neck and he jerked around, suddenly alarmed that he was being approached. But there was nothing and no-one there, their host had left and he was alone. At last.
Gareth eased himself back into the luxurious seating and raised the binoculars again... in his left hand.