MMOM Day 8-"Luvvie Alarm" RPS Hugh Laurie/Stephen Fry Rating-R Wordcount-945
Title: Luvvie Alarm
Fandom: RPS-Hugh Laurie/Stephen Fry (includes appearance by John Sessions)
Rating: R
Wordcount: 945
WARNING: It's RPS, including mentions of significant others, children and friends. Mass quantities of name-dropping. Read at your own risk.
Notes: Written for MMOM 2012, Day 8. Prompt from chocolate_frapp, who wanted Stephen thinking about Hugh. Major thanks to evila_elf for beta, Brit-check and saving me from myself. Remaining glitches are my fault. Comments and concrit welcome.
Summary: There's an Elephant in the Room. Naturally Johnny brings it up.
Also available at:
Dreamwidth
A03
There was no official “last call” at Artesian, but Stephen could see the bartender ostentatiously wiping down the bar surface and stacking up glasses.
It had been a long evening of literary allusions and historical references, along with the usual gossip about their far flung cohort of mutual friends. Emma had taken a villa in Taormina for the summer. Ken was in Latvia, which was posing as Sweden for another series of Wallander. Tony was said to be hiding out in the Algarve on his latest rest cure and rumour had Rowan somewhere in Indonesia. Alan was probably off diving somewhere and wouldn’t come up for air until it was time to film the next QI series, and only then would Stephen discover whether Alan would be sporting his Jonathan Creek tresses or not. It wasn’t until they’d killed most of a bottle or maybe it was two, that a certain Elephant in the Room was actually mentioned.
“So, tell me, darling,” said Stephen’s drinking companion, camp as only Johnny could be after five, or maybe it was six, rounds, “is your Hugh coming back to us?”
Stephen’s reply was a deep sigh, and he considered finishing off the bottle. It had been considerably easier to affect indifference when Daniel was still around. Now that they were through, everybody seemed to suspect that Stephen was spending his evenings waiting for a call from the States.
“Surely, he’s not going to stay in that dreadful place,” Johnny prodded.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
It was several questions, actually. There were Hugh’s actual plans, now that House was officially coming to an end. He could remember long transatlantic calls punctuated by Hugh’s heartfelt conviction that Greg House was too abrasive for American audiences and the show would be cancelled in less than a month.
Stephen couldn’t begrudge Hugh the success. No one was more deserving, but things were different now. Becca’s school term would finish up in June, and then Hugh had a few gigs in support of his album. There’d been? vague discussions of Stephen flying over and meeting Hugh in San Francisco. It sounded like good fun, but Stephen knew Hugh. If he were serious, Stephen would already have a plane ticket and hotel reservation. Maybe Hugh was coming home; maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was starting to think of LA as home. Stranger things had happened.
A bigger question was the matter of “his” Hugh. Mr. Laurie hadn’t properly been “his” in many, many years. Even before House, if he were going to honest. Hugh was so very easily distracted; never sure what he wanted. When he had Emma, he wanted Stephen. When he had Stephen, he wanted Jo. Once he was married to Jo, he went after Audrey, and lord only knew what exactly he’d got up to in Hollywood.
Furthermore, “his” Hugh, was the smooth-faced young man he’d fallen in horrible, tragic, sloppy love with almost from the day they’d met. That boy with the bluest eyes anyone had ever seen, who could look so very innocent and yet perform deliciously perverse act with nearly acrobatic flexibility. The one, whose angelic lips were capable of uttering truly base profanity, urging Stephen on to the sort of man-on-man action he’d barely dared to dream about during his days of self-imposed celibacy.
That Hugh was the one he still wanked over on a regular basis, recreating those halcyon days of top drawer blow-jobs, stroking himself to hardness with the memory of Hugh's beautiful, debauched mouth, distended with Stephen’s prick.
Sometimes he used a cock ring that Hugh had given him as a “gag” gift when the second series of A Bit of Fry and Laurie had been commissioned. He’d keep himself erect as long as possible, mentally replaying their greatest hits, including the time they’d gotten drunk on cheap wine (before they could afford the kind of stuff that he and Sessions were guzzling tonight) and defiled the hallowed Blue Peter set.
With that image and the leather holding him snugly at the base, he could pleasure himself at length, poking, prodding and teasing, until he was ready to let go and relive the incomparable feeling of spraying spunk on Hugh’s pristine bottom.
He felt a flush come to his cheeks and hoped the lights were dim enough to cover for him. The slight smile on Johnny’s face said that ship had long sailed.
“Sorry dearie. Didn’t mean to raise a sore subject.”
“It’s all right, love,” he replied with an equally effeminate inflection.
Sessions stood up, slightly wobbly on his feet, but still with a vestige of dignity. Stephen used the table in front of him for added balance in getting to his own feet. He would have said he was getting too old for this, if he didn’t hate that line so much. Good thing he only had to get upstairs to a hotel room. He and Johnny were shooting a piece for Sport Relief in the morning. The make-up girls would have their work cut out for them.
“Nightcap in your suite?” Johnny simpered. It was hard to tell if he was being suggestive or merely making a suggestion.
“No dear boy, I think we both need some beauty sleep.” In spite of the alcohol, Stephen could still feel the imminent tingle of some quality time with his cock ring and his memories.
Johnny arched his eyebrows, a little too knowingly, as he staggered in the direction of the elevators.
“Yes, I’m sure. Well, do give Hugh my love.”
Stephen looked Johnny right in the bleary eyes, suspecting there might be a lewd smile on his own face.
“I most definitely will.”
Fandom: RPS-Hugh Laurie/Stephen Fry (includes appearance by John Sessions)
Rating: R
Wordcount: 945
WARNING: It's RPS, including mentions of significant others, children and friends. Mass quantities of name-dropping. Read at your own risk.
Notes: Written for MMOM 2012, Day 8. Prompt from chocolate_frapp, who wanted Stephen thinking about Hugh. Major thanks to evila_elf for beta, Brit-check and saving me from myself. Remaining glitches are my fault. Comments and concrit welcome.
Summary: There's an Elephant in the Room. Naturally Johnny brings it up.
Also available at:
Dreamwidth
A03
There was no official “last call” at Artesian, but Stephen could see the bartender ostentatiously wiping down the bar surface and stacking up glasses.
It had been a long evening of literary allusions and historical references, along with the usual gossip about their far flung cohort of mutual friends. Emma had taken a villa in Taormina for the summer. Ken was in Latvia, which was posing as Sweden for another series of Wallander. Tony was said to be hiding out in the Algarve on his latest rest cure and rumour had Rowan somewhere in Indonesia. Alan was probably off diving somewhere and wouldn’t come up for air until it was time to film the next QI series, and only then would Stephen discover whether Alan would be sporting his Jonathan Creek tresses or not. It wasn’t until they’d killed most of a bottle or maybe it was two, that a certain Elephant in the Room was actually mentioned.
“So, tell me, darling,” said Stephen’s drinking companion, camp as only Johnny could be after five, or maybe it was six, rounds, “is your Hugh coming back to us?”
Stephen’s reply was a deep sigh, and he considered finishing off the bottle. It had been considerably easier to affect indifference when Daniel was still around. Now that they were through, everybody seemed to suspect that Stephen was spending his evenings waiting for a call from the States.
“Surely, he’s not going to stay in that dreadful place,” Johnny prodded.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
It was several questions, actually. There were Hugh’s actual plans, now that House was officially coming to an end. He could remember long transatlantic calls punctuated by Hugh’s heartfelt conviction that Greg House was too abrasive for American audiences and the show would be cancelled in less than a month.
Stephen couldn’t begrudge Hugh the success. No one was more deserving, but things were different now. Becca’s school term would finish up in June, and then Hugh had a few gigs in support of his album. There’d been? vague discussions of Stephen flying over and meeting Hugh in San Francisco. It sounded like good fun, but Stephen knew Hugh. If he were serious, Stephen would already have a plane ticket and hotel reservation. Maybe Hugh was coming home; maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was starting to think of LA as home. Stranger things had happened.
A bigger question was the matter of “his” Hugh. Mr. Laurie hadn’t properly been “his” in many, many years. Even before House, if he were going to honest. Hugh was so very easily distracted; never sure what he wanted. When he had Emma, he wanted Stephen. When he had Stephen, he wanted Jo. Once he was married to Jo, he went after Audrey, and lord only knew what exactly he’d got up to in Hollywood.
Furthermore, “his” Hugh, was the smooth-faced young man he’d fallen in horrible, tragic, sloppy love with almost from the day they’d met. That boy with the bluest eyes anyone had ever seen, who could look so very innocent and yet perform deliciously perverse act with nearly acrobatic flexibility. The one, whose angelic lips were capable of uttering truly base profanity, urging Stephen on to the sort of man-on-man action he’d barely dared to dream about during his days of self-imposed celibacy.
That Hugh was the one he still wanked over on a regular basis, recreating those halcyon days of top drawer blow-jobs, stroking himself to hardness with the memory of Hugh's beautiful, debauched mouth, distended with Stephen’s prick.
Sometimes he used a cock ring that Hugh had given him as a “gag” gift when the second series of A Bit of Fry and Laurie had been commissioned. He’d keep himself erect as long as possible, mentally replaying their greatest hits, including the time they’d gotten drunk on cheap wine (before they could afford the kind of stuff that he and Sessions were guzzling tonight) and defiled the hallowed Blue Peter set.
With that image and the leather holding him snugly at the base, he could pleasure himself at length, poking, prodding and teasing, until he was ready to let go and relive the incomparable feeling of spraying spunk on Hugh’s pristine bottom.
He felt a flush come to his cheeks and hoped the lights were dim enough to cover for him. The slight smile on Johnny’s face said that ship had long sailed.
“Sorry dearie. Didn’t mean to raise a sore subject.”
“It’s all right, love,” he replied with an equally effeminate inflection.
Sessions stood up, slightly wobbly on his feet, but still with a vestige of dignity. Stephen used the table in front of him for added balance in getting to his own feet. He would have said he was getting too old for this, if he didn’t hate that line so much. Good thing he only had to get upstairs to a hotel room. He and Johnny were shooting a piece for Sport Relief in the morning. The make-up girls would have their work cut out for them.
“Nightcap in your suite?” Johnny simpered. It was hard to tell if he was being suggestive or merely making a suggestion.
“No dear boy, I think we both need some beauty sleep.” In spite of the alcohol, Stephen could still feel the imminent tingle of some quality time with his cock ring and his memories.
Johnny arched his eyebrows, a little too knowingly, as he staggered in the direction of the elevators.
“Yes, I’m sure. Well, do give Hugh my love.”
Stephen looked Johnny right in the bleary eyes, suspecting there might be a lewd smile on his own face.
“I most definitely will.”