Fic: "There's Nothing Worse Than a Midget With a Mid-Life Crisis," TW RPF.
Much like Kylie Minogue, I can't get this out of my head. It's wrong, wrong, WRONG. Every time I fall off the RPF wagon, I weep a little bit for my soul. It's so hard to stay *clean*. Now that I've gotten this out of my mind, I've really got to resist doing another Richard/Jonas/Lucy Robin Hood ficbit!
Title: "There's Nothing Worse Than a Midget With a Mid-Life Crisis"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Torchwood RPF
Rating/Classification: PG-13 for abject silliness, John Barrowman/everybody
Disclaimer: This totally did not happen. I am making this up and absolutely going to Hell.
Summary: 705 words. A sequel to There's Mr. Reach and Then There's Mr. Reach-Around. Burn feels very left out.
Burn is offended when he realizes Barrowman has fucking snogged everyone but him. The man's got a reputation, of course. Everyone knows he got Piper and Chris Eccleston and sodding Tennant (Who hasn't kissed Tennant? He walked right up to Burn at the company Christmas party and planted one on him.), and Jack's been written to snog practically everyone who sets foot in Torchwood… speaking of which, Burn's pretty sure Barrowman's gotten Russell and Steven, too. So, yeah, when he realizes he's the only one the man hasn't attacked in a dark hallway or a loo, he's pretty goddamn offended.
Naoko tells him he's got to get over it. Especially when he tromps around their whole first day back from hiatus in a snit. He counters this by pointing out that John already got her good during the series 2 press tour, when he wasn't too busy sticking his hands in that midget Marsters' pockets.
"Oi, Burn… who are you to be calling Marsters a midget?" Eve leans over the railing of the new Hub --a sight uglier than the old Hub-- and he flips her the double bird. He can call Jimmy a midget if he wants to. The prat is fifteen years older than him and acts fifteen younger. Not to mention that he's read the script pages, so he knows that the midget prat S.O.B. gets to be snogged, too. He and John are probably practicing it in makeup right now.
G-D swans in wearing an obnoxiously pink shirt -- Ianto's Out and Proud this season, is he?-- and Burn can't help but scowl at him, too. "Your face is gonna stick that way and then John will *never* kiss you," Gareth says, loftily… braggart… just because he got his notch on the Barrowman belt *last* series…
"Oh, stuff it."
It's a matter of pride, you see. If John's gone and snogged everyone on the bloody planet except him, does that mean there's something *wrong* with him? Is he too short? Is he too ugly? (He's heard that from a few truly awful casting directors who were lucky they kept their teeth.) It's giving him a complex… breaking his personal rule of only having complexes well after he's turned 40.
A flurry of script pages fall from above right as he's worked himself into a good state about the whole mess, and Burn wheels around ready to swear a blue streak at whoever's decided to take the piss out of him next.
"Well, you're certainly looking cheery this morning, Doc. Not getting enough sleep?"
Oh, of course. It's the Kissing Bandit himself, the Swami of Snog. Looking all refreshed from 'blocking' with Marsters, no less. The man's husband is a right saint, he is.
"If you must know, I'm practicing Owen's resentment at having Jack waltz back into the HQ like nothing's changed," Burn mutters, bending down to pick up pages and making a face at the scribbles in the margins. 'John loves Scotty 4Eva'? Get bloody real.
After a few minutes, Barrowman comes round to get his script, and the smile on his face is ridiculous. It's that shit-eating Captain Jack Harkness smile that ought to be in toothpaste adverts and is absolutely impossible to stay angry in the face of.
"You're jealous," he accuses.
"Am not," Burn huffs.
"Are too."
"What have I got to be jealous *of*, Cap'n?"
"As if everyone doesn't know? I hear there's even an office pool!"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're going on about." He crosses his arms over his chest, mutinously, trying to block out the fact that G-D, Naoko, and Eve are now all standing above them laughing their bloody heads off.
"Green is not your color."
"Shut it."
"Make me."
"As if that's even possible."
John sighs, theatrically… and with him, that's *very* theatrical. "Must I do *all* the work around here?" he wonders.
"Well, yeah. You've got a reputation, you know."
"Hmm. Good point."
It's not a dark hallway or a loo. In fact, the lights are all on and everyone's watching.
John grabs him by the neck and hauls him in for a good, thorough, snog and he's not offended. Not goddamned offended at all.
--end--
January 27, 2008
Title: "There's Nothing Worse Than a Midget With a Mid-Life Crisis"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Torchwood RPF
Rating/Classification: PG-13 for abject silliness, John Barrowman/everybody
Disclaimer: This totally did not happen. I am making this up and absolutely going to Hell.
Summary: 705 words. A sequel to There's Mr. Reach and Then There's Mr. Reach-Around. Burn feels very left out.
Burn is offended when he realizes Barrowman has fucking snogged everyone but him. The man's got a reputation, of course. Everyone knows he got Piper and Chris Eccleston and sodding Tennant (Who hasn't kissed Tennant? He walked right up to Burn at the company Christmas party and planted one on him.), and Jack's been written to snog practically everyone who sets foot in Torchwood… speaking of which, Burn's pretty sure Barrowman's gotten Russell and Steven, too. So, yeah, when he realizes he's the only one the man hasn't attacked in a dark hallway or a loo, he's pretty goddamn offended.
Naoko tells him he's got to get over it. Especially when he tromps around their whole first day back from hiatus in a snit. He counters this by pointing out that John already got her good during the series 2 press tour, when he wasn't too busy sticking his hands in that midget Marsters' pockets.
"Oi, Burn… who are you to be calling Marsters a midget?" Eve leans over the railing of the new Hub --a sight uglier than the old Hub-- and he flips her the double bird. He can call Jimmy a midget if he wants to. The prat is fifteen years older than him and acts fifteen younger. Not to mention that he's read the script pages, so he knows that the midget prat S.O.B. gets to be snogged, too. He and John are probably practicing it in makeup right now.
G-D swans in wearing an obnoxiously pink shirt -- Ianto's Out and Proud this season, is he?-- and Burn can't help but scowl at him, too. "Your face is gonna stick that way and then John will *never* kiss you," Gareth says, loftily… braggart… just because he got his notch on the Barrowman belt *last* series…
"Oh, stuff it."
It's a matter of pride, you see. If John's gone and snogged everyone on the bloody planet except him, does that mean there's something *wrong* with him? Is he too short? Is he too ugly? (He's heard that from a few truly awful casting directors who were lucky they kept their teeth.) It's giving him a complex… breaking his personal rule of only having complexes well after he's turned 40.
A flurry of script pages fall from above right as he's worked himself into a good state about the whole mess, and Burn wheels around ready to swear a blue streak at whoever's decided to take the piss out of him next.
"Well, you're certainly looking cheery this morning, Doc. Not getting enough sleep?"
Oh, of course. It's the Kissing Bandit himself, the Swami of Snog. Looking all refreshed from 'blocking' with Marsters, no less. The man's husband is a right saint, he is.
"If you must know, I'm practicing Owen's resentment at having Jack waltz back into the HQ like nothing's changed," Burn mutters, bending down to pick up pages and making a face at the scribbles in the margins. 'John loves Scotty 4Eva'? Get bloody real.
After a few minutes, Barrowman comes round to get his script, and the smile on his face is ridiculous. It's that shit-eating Captain Jack Harkness smile that ought to be in toothpaste adverts and is absolutely impossible to stay angry in the face of.
"You're jealous," he accuses.
"Am not," Burn huffs.
"Are too."
"What have I got to be jealous *of*, Cap'n?"
"As if everyone doesn't know? I hear there's even an office pool!"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're going on about." He crosses his arms over his chest, mutinously, trying to block out the fact that G-D, Naoko, and Eve are now all standing above them laughing their bloody heads off.
"Green is not your color."
"Shut it."
"Make me."
"As if that's even possible."
John sighs, theatrically… and with him, that's *very* theatrical. "Must I do *all* the work around here?" he wonders.
"Well, yeah. You've got a reputation, you know."
"Hmm. Good point."
It's not a dark hallway or a loo. In fact, the lights are all on and everyone's watching.
John grabs him by the neck and hauls him in for a good, thorough, snog and he's not offended. Not goddamned offended at all.
--end--
January 27, 2008