FIC - Jammies Make The Man - 1/1 - RPS
Title: Jammies Make The Man
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who RPS
Rating: PG (maybe PG-13 for the suggestiveness and some language)
Characters/Pairings: John Barrowman/David Tennant, small mention of John/Scott Gill (if you blink for a nanosecond you will miss it!)
Spoilers: DW S2-The Christmas Invasion
Warnings: M/M, Is there such a thing as Fluffy!Crack!RPS? If so, then this might just qualify.
Length: 1/1, roughly 2085 words (Complete)
Summary: From the day they arrive on the planet, blinking step into the sun. There’s more to see than can ever be seen, more to do…no, hold on. Sorry, that’s ‘The Lion King.’
Disclaimer: Anything Torchwood or Doctor Who related belongs to RTD and the BBC, unfortunately. Anything John Barrowman or David Tennant related belongs to JB and DT respectively (though one might argue that JB belongs slightly to SG.) This is a work of fiction and lest we forget Fiction = False, Fake, Not Real (and any of those other handy dandy synonyms found in Webster’s big book.) No offense is meant to any of the parties represented.
Beta: Many thanks to luvinthe88and20 and shayasar for reading over this for me!
A/N: In case you missed it above, I would probably classify this as Fluffy!Crack!RPS. LOL. All dialogue segments ripped from the episode are courtesy of the ever magnanimous RTD. Thanks Uncle Rusty!
(John’s POV)
When Russell called me earlier to tell me that David was sick and asked me to stop by and check on him, I never imagined that I would be propped up in bed next to said sick man, wiping his brow and face with a cool flannel.
He’s sort of out of it, running a slight fever and mumbling random things every once in a while. I’m pretty sure what David has isn’t serious, just that simple viral bug that has been fighting its way around Cardiff (and pretty much all of the UK) over the last couple of winter months. Had it myself not too long ago actually, took it with me to Birmingham and the pantomime. Luckily I got over it fairly quickly; I’m betting David will as well.
It had taken David a good full minute to answer the door when I had arrived and when I saw what he looked like afterwards, it had me wishing I would have used my key instead.
Yes, I have a key to David Tennant’s Cardiff flat. He has a key to mine and Scott’s house as well. That’s kind of what happens after you have known someone as long as I have known David and have a friendship like the one that we do.
A friendship that doesn’t make me in his bed a strange thing. Or him in mine.
Now tending to a sick David is something new though. He’s usually rather healthy. Minus the whole back thing obviously.
And I kind of like it. Taking care of him that is. Well, I like him healthy too. Lots of things one can do with two healthy males in the same room. The same bed for that matter.
Actually, what I might like even better is the fact that David is dressed in a pair of pajamas, or as he likes to cheekily refer to them as, jammies.
I don’t think David is aware of my ‘Doctor in Pajamas’ fetish that I have. I’ve never mentioned it and it is not like we wear pajamas when in bed with each other. Not like we wear anything at all. Usually the clothing is left scattered in piles around the bed, if not through the entire flat. Trails from the front door to the bedroom or from the couch to the bedroom are rather common sights.
The fetish is all David’s fault anyway. If he wouldn’t have looked so damn adorable in his first full-length Doctor Who episode, fighting off a Christmas invasion by the Sycorax in nothing but his jim-jams, then I wouldn’t have my current problem.
That problem being fighting back my raging hormones while David is just laying in front of me all flushed and looking downright delectable.
It isn’t fair.
I cannot (and will not) take advantage of a sick friend. Must think of something less appealing than David Tennant in a pair of striped pajamas.
Daleks. Crazy things that scream ‘exterminate’ and look like pepper-pots. Pepper. Reminds me that I haven’t eaten today. Eat. I’d love to nibble on David right now.
Okay. The Daleks aren’t working.
Shadow Proclamation. Yeah, lay down the law on my hormones. Law. Handcuffs. Reminds me of this past New Year when David came to visit in Birmingham and he had me locked to the bed. Oh, wasn’t that fun.
Um, no. That is definitely what I need to be steering clear of.
Raxacoricofallapatorious. That should do it. Nothing worse than the planet of the green, bulbous Slitheen. Margaret was turned into a cute harmless, little egg. Shit. There is the food thing again.
The Gelth?
Maybe the mighty Jagrafess?
Hell. Nothing is working.
My hands start to wring the flannel that I have been using on David’s face as I mentally chant to myself ‘no sex with David right now’ over and over.
After about the hundredth mantra I realize someone is speaking to me.
Looking down, David’s brown eyes are focused on me. Well, sort of focused. They look a little clouded over.
“Do you mind?” He asks, indicating the wet spot I had wrung out onto his chest.
“Sorry” I say, quickly tossing the rag to the side.
“John, if you want me out of my clothes that bad, all you have to do is ask.” Ah, there is that cheeky grin I love so much.
“Well, see, the thing is…” How do I say this?
David’s eyebrows arch up at my pause. He’s probably wondering why I am not asking in a millisecond for him to get naked. Because me and David in bed usually leads my brain, upper and lower ones, straight to that conclusion.
“See, I rather like you in your pajamas. Very Arthur Dent.”
“Been watching the Christmas episode have we?”
Trying not to blush, knowing it was not working, I quickly reply, “Maybe.”
“John, just how many times have you seen that episode?”
Sheepishly, I quickly answer, mumbling my words as well, “About fifty.”
David tries to not smirk, but he can’t seem to help himself. His only reward is a scowl from me.
“How about we go get a bit of fresh air. Might help me clear the stuffiness in my head and help you cool down just a bit.”
So, David has noticed the state of my jeans.
“Of course I noticed, John. I’m a wee bit sick, not dead.”
Getting off the bed, I grab David’s dressing gown, where it is laying over the open wardrobe door and help him to slip it on. I can’t stop myself as I kiss the nape of his neck while I slide the soft material over his shoulders. David pauses in his movements, once he has tied it closed, which has us both looking directly into his dressing mirror. My arms involuntarily find their place around David’s waist, pulling him flush against me while I rest my chin on his shoulder.
David busies himself with fussing with his hair for a few moments. Hair that has a mind of its own and is not cooperating one bit. Sometimes I think it just might be sentient. It seems to like it when I grasp it lightly during sex.
“I know we’re just going out onto the balcony, but, be honest, how do I look?”
“Different,” I say, smirking back at him.
“Good different or bad different?”
“You look a little under the weather.”
“And you call that cheering me up?” He asks, turning in my arms, my hold never loosening on his thin frame.
“It’s just different that’s all. Normally when we are in the bedroom you’re not so covered.”
“But you like me in my jammies.”
“Oh yeah!”
“Am I sexy then?”
“What do you think big fella?” I ask, grinding my hips into David’s. His eyes open wider as I know he feels my full length. And even though David may not be feeling well, his body is definitely responding. Chuckling lightly, as I let my hands wander south of David’s waist, I add, “That struck a chord.”
“Nothing but a simple bit of blood control. How else am I going to react when I see this?” He says, indicating me with an up and down motion of his hand.
“No arguments from me! You’re starting to get noticed more and more, especially by my hips.” He may not feel well, but he is undeniably not having a problem communicating arousal to a certain part of his anatomy.
“Better get used to it.”
“I’m used to it all right. Every inch of it. But what the hell is in your pocket?”
David reaches into his dressing gown and pulls out a small orange. “Just a satsuma. I do like my snacks. Plus, Vitamin C is good for the sniffles.”
Now it was my turn to raise up an eyebrow. Sometimes I wonder just how much of Doctor Who and Torchwood Russell pulls from our real lives. Well, I guess it could always be how much we actors pull from the show and put into our own lives. Might work both ways. Russell can be such a crafty bastard.
And lord, do I ever have to admit how much David, looking a ton like he did for the Christmas Special, is turning me on. He really doesn’t need a full blown case of John Barrowman hormones though. I need him to get well. The fans need him to get well considering filming for the rest of David’s specials is starting back up soon. His end in the TARDIS is coming quicker than we realize. Speaking of coming.
“Come here you,” I say, taking the orange from David’s hand, where he has been intimately studying it, and bringing his body back in line with my own while tossing the orange off to the side. David watches it hit the floor and roll under his bed.
“Did you miss me so much that you had to manhandle my satsuma?”
“You’re the most remarkable man I’ve ever met. Here I am trying to seduce you, to help you feel better and you are worried about a little bit of citrus.” And yeah, I know. I said I was going to try and control the hormones. You try and control the hormones when you have David Tennant, half hard, in your arms.
As David breaks out in laughter at my remark, he is caught by a bout of coughing. I should have realized he isn’t up for all of this yet. Bad choice of words. He is up after all. Just not how I mean it.
“Back to bed with you.”
Shuffling us back towards the bed, I remove David from his dressing gown and tuck him in before telling him I will be right back. Within a few moments I return with a steaming cup, sitting myself on his bedside.
“Tea! That’s all I need. A good cup of tea.”
He sits up a little and takes the hot cup from my hands before slowly drinking a couple of sips.
“Oh yeah, that helps. Thanks, John.”
“It comes with a price.”
“I quite like the state we are in, but honestly, John, I can’t do anything. I really do feel like shite. I’ve barely got just enough residual cellular energy to do this,” he says, sitting his tea cup on the bedside table and leaning over to give me a soft, kiss.
Giving David my best put-off face, I exclaim, “I’m not always after sex. I am just hoping for a chance to lie down with you and those jammies.”
“I’d love you to come,” he gives back, winking at me in reference to the innuendo in his statement. “Maybe in more ways than one after I’ve rested some more.”
“This is gonna be fantastic!” I tell him as I climb under the duvet with him before he sides up to me, head resting on my chest.
With a smile that I can feel through the material of my polo shirt, David asks, “Are you sure you’ve only seen the episode fifty times?”
“Well, I kind of lost count after the tenth time,” I answer guiltily.