John/Gareth RPS PWP
Title: You’re My Bitch Now
Rating: NC-17 I should think.
Author: jemariel
Length: 2,121 words.
Summary: What possible thing could Gareth and John text each other pictures of? In various states of biological fervor? John/Gareth RPS. Porn, and a little bit of awkwardness.
AN: This has been sitting on my harddrive for over a year, since a certain infamous youtube video of Gareth telling stories from the set (which, if you've not seen, you're missing out). He gave us leave to use our imaginations, and this is where my dirty dirty mind went to.
Disclaimer: This is NOT intended to represent real events or any slander against Gareth David Lloyd or John Barrowman. This is a work of fiction.
~*~
With a great sigh, Gareth flopped onto the flimsy sofa in his trailer, glad for the opportunity to slouch for five minutes. Ianto Jones never slouched. It made for an aching back by the end of the day. Stick up the arse bastard. Gareth stretched, cracked his neck, and rubbed one hand over his jaw. He’d probably have to shave again too. Damn.
But that wouldn’t be for another… forty minutes, they’d said, which meant an hour and a half in on-the-set time. Probably John’s fault, really, what with his larking about. You could almost fault the man for being downright unprofessional sometimes. Almost. He usually calmed down just before he crossed the line, but today was a bit close to call. Gareth had been mooned no less than four times in the five hours they’d been on set, and always when he was about to do a Very Serious Scene to boot. It served the bastard right that he’d been kept longer after everyone else had been let off for lunch.
A sneaky grin crept over Gareth’s face as he thought of a way to get his own back. With a clink and a zip and a shimmy and his suit pants and briefs were down to his hips. He’d taken off the jacket and waistcoat because they would show wrinkles, but the shirt and pants didn’t matter so much. All the same, he figured he’d best try and keep clean, so he unbuttoned his shirt and tucked it out of the way. Then he set to work, his hand busy, and tried not to think about why he was so, er, up to the challenge after contemplating nothing more than John Barrowman’s bare buttocks.
Well. They were nice buttocks anyway.
He stroked until he felt the tingling start behind his balls, until the head had emerged from its hood. With his other hand he reached for his cell phone. He barely had the concentration to ready the phone camera, aim, and snap the photo - just as his fingers were pulling the foreskin back. He grinned and titled it - “Suck it.” And hit send before he could think twice.
~outside the trailer~
“Thanks kids, see you after lunch!” John called with a friendly wave. He sauntered through the trailers toward his own, loving the swish of the Action Great Coat around his hips, not quite out of character yet and riding high. He was Captain Jack Harkness, and the world could go fuck itself if it liked.
He was surprised when his mobile buzzed in his pocket, glad it hadn’t done that five minutes earlier and ruined his concentration and the rest of the crew’s. He pulled it out just as he was passing Gareth’s trailer, and found a multimedia message. He raised an eyebrow, opened it - and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. His mouth dropped open, then started to water. God. That boy. Given half the chance...
Then again, he was right there.
Just on the other side of that trailer door.
No. Can’t. Straight, he’s fucking straight.
But. ‘Suck it’, the text had read.
And would Jack Harkness back down from a challenge like that? Then John Barrowman wouldn’t either.
~in the trailer~
Now that Gareth had started the process, it was difficult to think of a reason to stop. There was something a little naughty about wanking in costume, and that just made it better. He kept thinking about John opening up that photo, his eyes going all goggle, trying to keep in character and go back to the scene. Ha! Try acting with a hard on.
… Shit, was he actually jerking off thinking about John’s hard on?
John getting a hard on from looking at him?
Shit.
Before Gareth could quite process that, the door burst open, and suddenly John filled the whole trailer. The door was slammed shut, and the look on his face was one of unmistakable hunger. Shit.
He was on his knees. Oh God, John was on his knees, swinging Gareth’s legs over the side of the couch - for better access, oh god - that big mouth that had got them all in trouble so many times was wrapped around his cock, tasting him, licking precome from the head, a warm hand was sliding down the foreskin. Holy fuck, but he was good at that.
“John, what the fuck…”
And god damn him, he just looked up with this devil-may-care look in his eyes, popped off and said in a hoarse and husky voice, “Do you want me to stop?” And bloody fuck him, because his hand was entirely too talented, entirely too quick in bringing him to the bloody edge, and it was all he could do to shake his head no, and thrust up when John’s mouth descended again. It was hotter, wetter, faster this time, and John’s hands curved around his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, pulling his briefs down further. Gareth felt his cock hit the back of John’s throat, felt it open for him, felt himself totally engulfed and swallowed whole. He pushed up, couldn’t help it, and damn if John didn’t just moan around him like he was gonna fucking come just from Gareth fucking his throat. Fuck. Fuck.
“Fuck!”
And he was spilling, coming hard into John’s mouth, and he couldn’t quite believe it. John pulled off at the last second, milking him with a tight grip right up until the point when it became painful - and without Gareth even having to say a word, he let go and reached for the wet wipes on the makeup table. Gareth just lay there panting, arse hanging half off the cushions, in a state of stupor and no small amount of shock, while John cleaned him up.
He finally opened his eyes when he felt John sit on the couch next to him. “That was intense,” he managed, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.
John grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Gareth shimmied up so that he was actually sitting on the couch instead of slouching. The shirt was irretrievably wrinkled. He hoped the waistcoat and jacket would hide it. Then he remembered his rather exposed state and hurriedly pulled himself back together.
John laughed. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, I promise.”
“Er.” Gareth flushed.
“Hey.” John touched his shoulder and Gareth managed not to flinch away. “Don’t freak out on me, ok? I mean… I hope I didn’t…” John’s eyes went wide with sudden doubt, and it hurt Gareth to think of what he might be thinking, so he turned back to face it like a man.
“Don’t worry, John, that wasn’t… I mean, you didn’t…” Damn words. They never worked when you needed them to.
That’s when he noticed that John was most definitely still aroused. His cheeks were flushed, and he kept shifting nervously on the sofa, almost bouncing up and down. And there was a tent in his trousers when he got up the guts to look there.
“Um. You…”
John looked down, almost embarrassed. “You don’t have to do anything. In fact, I think I’ll go to my trailer now.” Gareth almost let him stand up and walk away, almost let the whole freaky-hot-woah-did-that-just-happen situation just walk right out the door, but for some reason he didn’t. Carpe diem, or something. He stopped him with a hand on his wrist and pulled him back down on the couch. John stared at him, mouth hanging open and blue eyes wide, as Gareth got on his own knees between John’s legs and started to fiddle with the trouser flies.
John hissed a breath when Gareth’s fingers brushed his hard on. “You don’t have to,” he whispered in a voice that made it clear that he really would like him to.
“Don’t talk me out of this.” And then with John’s help his pants and trousers were down his hips and Gareth was face to face with his first homoerotic experience. Nothing left for it but to lick his lips and take the plunge.
Familiar taste, that was good. (What adolescent boy hadn’t gone there?) Unfamiliar feel, the soft-over-steel, feeling it firm up further against his lips and tongue, the way it filled his mouth entirely. Wow.
Intense. Right.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to take it the way John had. Lots and lots more practice, he’d had. Oh god, and he would have had practice on this end of it too. The last thing he needed right now was performance anxiety. But when he chanced a look up at John’s face, he saw his eyes closed, cheeks almost glowing, back arching, and this beatific little smile on his face and for some reason Gareth was touched by that. It was all the encouragement he needed.
His hands got involved, learning how to stroke from this angle, how much easier it was to get at his bollocks - oh, and if John didn’t love that, for the way he squirmed and started to pant. Gareth could feel in his thighs that John was holding back - desperately not thrusting, and for that he was grateful. Not sure he could handle that this time around. He tried to make up for it - strong suction on the upstroke, taking it as far as he could without gagging on the down, and then just a little farther. And that’s what got the words flowing.
“Oh, shit yeah, fuck… that’s good, keep doing… oh yeah, that, that’s it, suck it JUST like that, c’mon baby you can take it….” And so on. He should have known John would be a talker.
It didn’t take nearly as long as he would have expected, given his inexperience, for John to start murmuring “I’m gonna… god, Gareth, I’m about to…” and fuck, but he wasn’t quite ready for that. He pulled off and jerked with the hard, fast rhythm that he knew brought him to this point, and within seconds John was undone, hips snapping to meet his hand, spilling over his fingers. Gareth watched his face because he couldn’t quite bring himself to look down. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, and a red flush was flaming over his face.
Then John was stopping his hand, and Gareth realized he was still stroking. Right. Without comment he picked up the wipes and cleaned up his hand, and handed one to John to take care of his own mess. Only once John was safely tucked back in and had collapsed back on the couch did Gareth allow himself to haul back up to the cushion and flop back in a similar manner.
“Well that’s one way to spend a lunchbreak,” John quipped. Gareth was glad he could still easily laugh.
“Is it mandated law that every potentially awkward post-coital moment must be broken with some terrible cliché one-liner?” Gareth asked.
John nodded. “I think it is. Makes everything so much easier in the long run.”
Their eyes met and Gareth had to force himself not to look away like a great big nelly. “I’m alright, John,” he said with a smile.
Something in the other man’s gaze cleared at that, and he nodded. “Good.” There was silence again, not quite awkward, not quite comfortable. “That was your first time though?”
Gareth nodded. “That obvious?”
John bobbed his head noncommittally, then grinned. “Kind of exciting, actually.”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “You’re a letch.”
“And you like it.”
Another silence. “Do we… I mean. Scott.” That hadn’t even entered into his mind until now. He felt cold settle in his stomach, but John just smiled.
“We have an agreement. So long as we don’t keep secrets, and we’re not in the same postal code.”
“So… so you’ll be telling Scott about this?” He didn’t quite know how to feel about that.
John shrugged. “I don’t have to name names, if you’d rather I didn’t.”
Gareth shrugged one shoulder.
“… Do we do it again sometime?”
John shrugged. “If the mood strikes.” Gareth nodded. That was good. Nice and noncommittal. One way or the other.
“I’d better shave,” he said.
John nodded, and clapped him on the knee. “See you on set!” he called, and was out the door in a flash of gray wool. Gareth wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved.
He got up, went to the tiny excuse for a bathroom, and began the ritual of shaving. Usually he hated it, but today he found it rather soothing.
He looked up at himself in the mirror, and paused. He looked the same. Looked just fine. Then he grinned and said to himself, “Cocksucker.” And for some reason, it made him laugh.
~fin~
How do you like them apples? Comments are love!
Rating: NC-17 I should think.
Author: jemariel
Length: 2,121 words.
Summary: What possible thing could Gareth and John text each other pictures of? In various states of biological fervor? John/Gareth RPS. Porn, and a little bit of awkwardness.
AN: This has been sitting on my harddrive for over a year, since a certain infamous youtube video of Gareth telling stories from the set (which, if you've not seen, you're missing out). He gave us leave to use our imaginations, and this is where my dirty dirty mind went to.
Disclaimer: This is NOT intended to represent real events or any slander against Gareth David Lloyd or John Barrowman. This is a work of fiction.
~*~
With a great sigh, Gareth flopped onto the flimsy sofa in his trailer, glad for the opportunity to slouch for five minutes. Ianto Jones never slouched. It made for an aching back by the end of the day. Stick up the arse bastard. Gareth stretched, cracked his neck, and rubbed one hand over his jaw. He’d probably have to shave again too. Damn.
But that wouldn’t be for another… forty minutes, they’d said, which meant an hour and a half in on-the-set time. Probably John’s fault, really, what with his larking about. You could almost fault the man for being downright unprofessional sometimes. Almost. He usually calmed down just before he crossed the line, but today was a bit close to call. Gareth had been mooned no less than four times in the five hours they’d been on set, and always when he was about to do a Very Serious Scene to boot. It served the bastard right that he’d been kept longer after everyone else had been let off for lunch.
A sneaky grin crept over Gareth’s face as he thought of a way to get his own back. With a clink and a zip and a shimmy and his suit pants and briefs were down to his hips. He’d taken off the jacket and waistcoat because they would show wrinkles, but the shirt and pants didn’t matter so much. All the same, he figured he’d best try and keep clean, so he unbuttoned his shirt and tucked it out of the way. Then he set to work, his hand busy, and tried not to think about why he was so, er, up to the challenge after contemplating nothing more than John Barrowman’s bare buttocks.
Well. They were nice buttocks anyway.
He stroked until he felt the tingling start behind his balls, until the head had emerged from its hood. With his other hand he reached for his cell phone. He barely had the concentration to ready the phone camera, aim, and snap the photo - just as his fingers were pulling the foreskin back. He grinned and titled it - “Suck it.” And hit send before he could think twice.
~outside the trailer~
“Thanks kids, see you after lunch!” John called with a friendly wave. He sauntered through the trailers toward his own, loving the swish of the Action Great Coat around his hips, not quite out of character yet and riding high. He was Captain Jack Harkness, and the world could go fuck itself if it liked.
He was surprised when his mobile buzzed in his pocket, glad it hadn’t done that five minutes earlier and ruined his concentration and the rest of the crew’s. He pulled it out just as he was passing Gareth’s trailer, and found a multimedia message. He raised an eyebrow, opened it - and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. His mouth dropped open, then started to water. God. That boy. Given half the chance...
Then again, he was right there.
Just on the other side of that trailer door.
No. Can’t. Straight, he’s fucking straight.
But. ‘Suck it’, the text had read.
And would Jack Harkness back down from a challenge like that? Then John Barrowman wouldn’t either.
~in the trailer~
Now that Gareth had started the process, it was difficult to think of a reason to stop. There was something a little naughty about wanking in costume, and that just made it better. He kept thinking about John opening up that photo, his eyes going all goggle, trying to keep in character and go back to the scene. Ha! Try acting with a hard on.
… Shit, was he actually jerking off thinking about John’s hard on?
John getting a hard on from looking at him?
Shit.
Before Gareth could quite process that, the door burst open, and suddenly John filled the whole trailer. The door was slammed shut, and the look on his face was one of unmistakable hunger. Shit.
He was on his knees. Oh God, John was on his knees, swinging Gareth’s legs over the side of the couch - for better access, oh god - that big mouth that had got them all in trouble so many times was wrapped around his cock, tasting him, licking precome from the head, a warm hand was sliding down the foreskin. Holy fuck, but he was good at that.
“John, what the fuck…”
And god damn him, he just looked up with this devil-may-care look in his eyes, popped off and said in a hoarse and husky voice, “Do you want me to stop?” And bloody fuck him, because his hand was entirely too talented, entirely too quick in bringing him to the bloody edge, and it was all he could do to shake his head no, and thrust up when John’s mouth descended again. It was hotter, wetter, faster this time, and John’s hands curved around his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, pulling his briefs down further. Gareth felt his cock hit the back of John’s throat, felt it open for him, felt himself totally engulfed and swallowed whole. He pushed up, couldn’t help it, and damn if John didn’t just moan around him like he was gonna fucking come just from Gareth fucking his throat. Fuck. Fuck.
“Fuck!”
And he was spilling, coming hard into John’s mouth, and he couldn’t quite believe it. John pulled off at the last second, milking him with a tight grip right up until the point when it became painful - and without Gareth even having to say a word, he let go and reached for the wet wipes on the makeup table. Gareth just lay there panting, arse hanging half off the cushions, in a state of stupor and no small amount of shock, while John cleaned him up.
He finally opened his eyes when he felt John sit on the couch next to him. “That was intense,” he managed, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.
John grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Gareth shimmied up so that he was actually sitting on the couch instead of slouching. The shirt was irretrievably wrinkled. He hoped the waistcoat and jacket would hide it. Then he remembered his rather exposed state and hurriedly pulled himself back together.
John laughed. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, I promise.”
“Er.” Gareth flushed.
“Hey.” John touched his shoulder and Gareth managed not to flinch away. “Don’t freak out on me, ok? I mean… I hope I didn’t…” John’s eyes went wide with sudden doubt, and it hurt Gareth to think of what he might be thinking, so he turned back to face it like a man.
“Don’t worry, John, that wasn’t… I mean, you didn’t…” Damn words. They never worked when you needed them to.
That’s when he noticed that John was most definitely still aroused. His cheeks were flushed, and he kept shifting nervously on the sofa, almost bouncing up and down. And there was a tent in his trousers when he got up the guts to look there.
“Um. You…”
John looked down, almost embarrassed. “You don’t have to do anything. In fact, I think I’ll go to my trailer now.” Gareth almost let him stand up and walk away, almost let the whole freaky-hot-woah-did-that-just-happen situation just walk right out the door, but for some reason he didn’t. Carpe diem, or something. He stopped him with a hand on his wrist and pulled him back down on the couch. John stared at him, mouth hanging open and blue eyes wide, as Gareth got on his own knees between John’s legs and started to fiddle with the trouser flies.
John hissed a breath when Gareth’s fingers brushed his hard on. “You don’t have to,” he whispered in a voice that made it clear that he really would like him to.
“Don’t talk me out of this.” And then with John’s help his pants and trousers were down his hips and Gareth was face to face with his first homoerotic experience. Nothing left for it but to lick his lips and take the plunge.
Familiar taste, that was good. (What adolescent boy hadn’t gone there?) Unfamiliar feel, the soft-over-steel, feeling it firm up further against his lips and tongue, the way it filled his mouth entirely. Wow.
Intense. Right.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to take it the way John had. Lots and lots more practice, he’d had. Oh god, and he would have had practice on this end of it too. The last thing he needed right now was performance anxiety. But when he chanced a look up at John’s face, he saw his eyes closed, cheeks almost glowing, back arching, and this beatific little smile on his face and for some reason Gareth was touched by that. It was all the encouragement he needed.
His hands got involved, learning how to stroke from this angle, how much easier it was to get at his bollocks - oh, and if John didn’t love that, for the way he squirmed and started to pant. Gareth could feel in his thighs that John was holding back - desperately not thrusting, and for that he was grateful. Not sure he could handle that this time around. He tried to make up for it - strong suction on the upstroke, taking it as far as he could without gagging on the down, and then just a little farther. And that’s what got the words flowing.
“Oh, shit yeah, fuck… that’s good, keep doing… oh yeah, that, that’s it, suck it JUST like that, c’mon baby you can take it….” And so on. He should have known John would be a talker.
It didn’t take nearly as long as he would have expected, given his inexperience, for John to start murmuring “I’m gonna… god, Gareth, I’m about to…” and fuck, but he wasn’t quite ready for that. He pulled off and jerked with the hard, fast rhythm that he knew brought him to this point, and within seconds John was undone, hips snapping to meet his hand, spilling over his fingers. Gareth watched his face because he couldn’t quite bring himself to look down. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, and a red flush was flaming over his face.
Then John was stopping his hand, and Gareth realized he was still stroking. Right. Without comment he picked up the wipes and cleaned up his hand, and handed one to John to take care of his own mess. Only once John was safely tucked back in and had collapsed back on the couch did Gareth allow himself to haul back up to the cushion and flop back in a similar manner.
“Well that’s one way to spend a lunchbreak,” John quipped. Gareth was glad he could still easily laugh.
“Is it mandated law that every potentially awkward post-coital moment must be broken with some terrible cliché one-liner?” Gareth asked.
John nodded. “I think it is. Makes everything so much easier in the long run.”
Their eyes met and Gareth had to force himself not to look away like a great big nelly. “I’m alright, John,” he said with a smile.
Something in the other man’s gaze cleared at that, and he nodded. “Good.” There was silence again, not quite awkward, not quite comfortable. “That was your first time though?”
Gareth nodded. “That obvious?”
John bobbed his head noncommittally, then grinned. “Kind of exciting, actually.”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “You’re a letch.”
“And you like it.”
Another silence. “Do we… I mean. Scott.” That hadn’t even entered into his mind until now. He felt cold settle in his stomach, but John just smiled.
“We have an agreement. So long as we don’t keep secrets, and we’re not in the same postal code.”
“So… so you’ll be telling Scott about this?” He didn’t quite know how to feel about that.
John shrugged. “I don’t have to name names, if you’d rather I didn’t.”
Gareth shrugged one shoulder.
“… Do we do it again sometime?”
John shrugged. “If the mood strikes.” Gareth nodded. That was good. Nice and noncommittal. One way or the other.
“I’d better shave,” he said.
John nodded, and clapped him on the knee. “See you on set!” he called, and was out the door in a flash of gray wool. Gareth wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved.
He got up, went to the tiny excuse for a bathroom, and began the ritual of shaving. Usually he hated it, but today he found it rather soothing.
He looked up at himself in the mirror, and paused. He looked the same. Looked just fine. Then he grinned and said to himself, “Cocksucker.” And for some reason, it made him laugh.
~fin~
How do you like them apples? Comments are love!