Birthday crack for Callisto: Spring in Vancouver - Part One: The Hook
Okay, so my crackdoms have officially collided in a multi-fandom pile up on Interstate 70. This is the first part of a three parter starring in a very particular order: Stephen Fry, David Soul, Paul Michael Glaser, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. I'm certain other players may show up in the festivities. So Jeeves meets Starsky and Hutch meet Supernatural in Canada. I'm surprised Fox hasn't called me for rights to the pilot.
So, here's the scoop: Stephen Fry has been cast in an episode of Supernatural and asks David Soul (his friend and enemy and furry pull toy) to join him for a little mayhem with the new kids on the block, Jensen and Jared.
Happy Late Birthday to callistosh65
Spring in Vancouver - Part One: The Hook
Crack
RPS
DS/PMG
J2
Spring in Vancouver
A very late birthday crack gift for Callisto
PART ONE: THE HOOK
It all started with an email:
TO: Rabid Lion
FROM: Svelte Brit
RE: The Olympics have only just begun
Dearest David Hutchinson Soul,
I will be brief. Get your gorgeous ass (no, not him - YOU) up to Vancouver, BC as fast as your geriatric albeit sexy legs can carry you. I have found a most delightful mission to kiss away our winter blues and usher spring into our hearts and other various nether regions. What is it, you ask? Well, it would seem that I, through no fault of my own, have been utterly miscast as Messiah in one of those little hour long teledramas you colonists are so fond of. Sort of like yours, but with a dash of the dark arts thrown in for those viewers who’ve grown tired of the Law and Order yawn fests of late.
Usually, I would not allow your kind of shenanigans to interfere with my professional life as a tele-thespian, but this is just too juicy to keep to myself.
Intrigued yet?
Meet me at the Shangri la Hotel in Vancouver. I’m in the Orchid suite. (Yes, dear boy, I know how to negotiate a guest contract . . .) All will be revealed when you arrive. And don’t bring the lovely one quite yet. Consider this the advance scouting team. We must suss it out and carefully consider our plan of action, but dear boy, mark my missive, there will be action.
Always yours,
Stephen
Soon followed by a phone call:
Paul: Hello?
David: What’s shooting in Vancouver?
P: Davey?
D: X-Files is gone, right?
P: For about a decade - why do you want to know what . . .
D: Paulie, I’m on a deadline - do you know what shoots up there or not?
P: You call me and you get to be the asshole?
D: Well, I could Google it, but China took my laptop.
P: Took it where?
D: She’s on tour, you know - and hers broke and mine has all her stuff on it . . . so can you help me here, Paulie? Weren’t you supposed to direct something up there last fall?
P: First tell me what’s got you so hot and bothered . . .
D: Not now, Paulie, I need to know this.
P: Kripke.
D: Krupke? Like Officer Krupke? They’re filming West Side Story up there?
P: I should really just let you hang with that one, but I have things to do.
D: Again with your things to do, Paulie - she standing right there?
P: You better rethink that, Davey - you want something from me, remember?
D: Please, Paulie, I’m kinda working on a deadline here.
P: You’re starting to make me nervous. What are you up to?
D: Come on . . . I’ll make it up to you on Thursday . . .
P: I’m regretting this already but it’s Kripke as in Eric Kripke - and it’s called Supernatural - lots of blood and demons. Tagged me for an hour last fall but it fell through - creative differences . . .
D: Great, so you pissed him off . . .
P: No, he pissed me off. Told me I was shooting too dark. Fucking kid, he’s got demons crawling out of walls and goddamn vampires and I’m shooting too dark.
D: I thought vampires lived in the dark.
P: Exactly. But according to this little wunderkind, that’s all bullshit - vampires can go out in the daytime, they just don’t like to. Also, a wooden stake doesn’t work - or garlic. You have to chop off their heads to kill them.
D: What the fuck?
P: So it wasn’t me this time. Probably something they’re all smoking up there in the woods.
D: So, Supernatural. I think that’s it. Thanks Paulie.
P: Not so fast, Davey. Why are you so interested in Vancouver?
D: I’ll tell you Thursday. Okay?
P: No, but I’ll wait for your call.
D: I thought we were meeting at the place.
P: We are - I’m talking about the call I’m going to get from the Mounties.
D: Man, you really think . . .
P: I don’t think - I know Davey. Have known and will know. You, inside out in all tenses.
D: I love it when you get all strict with me, Paulie . . . I wish I didn’t . . .
P: But you do. Be careful. And I’ll see you Thursday. And tell Fry hello.
D: What?
P: Again, David Solberg, I know you. And him. Just fucking be careful. Bye.
Meanwhile, up in Vancouver, things are heating up . . .
“Okay, Stephen, here’s where the hounds from hell are chasing Sam and Dean into your house . . .”
Stephen rolled his eyes and nodded. Three days of hellhounds and demons and syrupy blood dripping off everything had just about done him in. “Yes, so you want me to look up from my book when I hear the ghastly beasties or when the lovely Sam falls through the door into my lap?”
He saw Jensen smirk and knew his plan was moving along splendidly. Granted, these two were quite young, comparatively - why even Hugh’s little Robert Sean Leonard Wilson had seen almost forty candles before they lured him into their gingerbread house. But what these two lacked in age was certainly taken care of in . . . everything else.
Plus, what even he didn’t realize when he stumbled upon this lovely happenstance is that the two of them were ridiculously and not at all secretly in love with each other. Which made for a delightful playground in which to teeter totter . . .
“You okay, Steve?” Nancy, the strident first AD looked at him.
“Why yes, my efficient little nymph. All okay. And it’s Stephen. Not Steve.”
“Well, Stephen, I think we’ll just do one more shot and be done for the day.”
He looked over Nancy’s head to where Jensen and Jared were coiled together, talking. Reminded him of someone else . . .
“You Canadians are so accommodating, Nancy. I was just about to ask for a small respite - I’ve not been assailed by so many ghoulies in one day since Bowie, Iggy and Twiggy showed up on my doorstep for Boxing Day . . .”
“Uh, okay, so . . . let’s take it from Dean’s line “You want to talk to me about the law when a hellhound is sniffing my balls, Sammy . . . okay, Jared, Jensen . . . settle everybody. And . . . action.”
The crew broke for the day and Stephen watched Jensen whisper something in Jared’s ear and disappear around a trailer. Jared stood for a minute, and then waved to a grip and disappeared around the same trailer. Stephen tried not to rub his hands together in glee. He stopped at his own trailer, grabbed two bottles of champagne and walked to Jensen’s trailer, whistling.
He knocked. He knocked again. He heard movement and whispers and more movement and had to step back as the door swung open and Jared, his hair even more unkempt than Stephen thought humanly possible, stumbled out.
“Stephen . . . oh . . . I was just . . .”
“I’m sure you were, my dear boy - care to share the joy?” Stephen held up the champagne. “You and Deansen want to keep an old man company? I’ve got all this bubbly . . .”
Jensen stuck his head out the door. “Stephen, awesome - come on in.”
Stephen settled into a chair, legs crossed, a plastic cup of Clos des Goisses (a criminal offense in most countries) in his hand, watching. Jared flung himself on the end of the couch, and Jensen sat beside him. Again Stephen was reminded of another pair, on another couch, in another trailer . . .
“Sorry about the cup, Stephen. We’re not exactly swigging champagne on a daily basis up here.” Jensen smiled and managed to move even closer to Jared.
“No worries. This particular brut is bred for versatility.”
Jared took a gulp. “Not bad.”
“Oh, Robert Parker will be relieved to hear that.” Stephen watched the boys glance at each other and shrug. He shook his head. “So, it would seem you fellows have a bonafide hit on your hands.”
“Yeah, the fans love this show.” Jensen smiled.
“The fans love you.”
“It’s the writing - we love it.” Jared lifted a ridiculously long leg and laid it over Jensen’s. They performed a lovely little dance wherein Jensen decided the leg was oh so heavy and Jared lifted it off his lap, only to have it pulled back down tighter and closer into Jensen’s crotch.
“Amateurs,” Stephen murmured over the lip of the plastic cup. “So, my precious little angels . . .”
“Well, except him,” Jensen elbowed Jared in his ribcage. “He’s a demon.”
“Whatever.” Jared pressed his leg into Jensen’s crotch.
“Good god, you’re like little puppies.” Stephen set his glass down and leaned forward in his chair. “So if you two can just settle down a bit, Uncle Stephen will weave his tale and then you can get back to the festival bacchanal and I can get back to finding someone a little more intellectually appropriate. Comprendre?
Jensen emptied the bottle of champagne into his cup. “Sure thing. How can we help you?”
“Lord, you tempt me. You really do. If I didn’t have my hands wrist deep in another cookie jar . . .” Stephen sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I was just wondering if you boys would be available for a small supper party tomorrow night in my suite. A friend of mine is flying in tonight, and I thought it would be a splendid way for you to meet.”
He watched them look at each other and turn toward him, decision somehow made in the lift of an eyebrow, and chuckled. “Oh, yes, this is going to be, what do you fellows say? Awesome? Yes, indeed, this is going to be awesome.”
“Who's your friend, Stephen? Hugh Laurie, maybe?” Jensen said.
“He’s got a hard one for House.” Jared swung his legs to the floor and sat up.
“Who doesn’t? But no, my darlings, not the delicious Doctor House. You’re not ready for that party.”
“Then who?” Jensen tipped some champagne into Jared’s glass.
“Well, let’s just call them your godfathers.”
“Pacino?” Jared slapped his leg. “Man, that would be . . .”
“. . . awesome, I know. But no. You boys watch any TV when you were . . . embryonic I’d hazard, so no, well, hmmm. Do you know who David Soul is?”
“Oh yeah, we love him. He’s Hutch, right?” Jensen slapped Jared on the back. “He’s Hutch, you know? I’m Starsky.”
Jared threw a punch at Jensen’s stomach. “Yeah, you’re the one with the boner for your car that runs around getting the crap kicked out of you all the time.”
Jensen stepped around the punch, reached for the other bottle of champagne. “Yeah, well, you’re the one with the mommy issues who’s always in a panty-twist over some demon chick.”
“You’re right, I am Hutch.” Jared held his hands up.
“There’s only one Hutch, my mewling babies. And he will be over the moon to meet the two of you.” Stephen hoped he had the stamina for the weekend.
“Cool. What time?” Jensen held the champagne bottle between his legs, twisted the top.
Stephen’s grabbed at his chest. “Good goddamn Maggie Smith, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Jared laughed. “Funny, Stephen. What in heaven? You’re really getting into the show, aren’t you?”
Stephen ignored the big puppy, keeping his eyes on the bottle, on Jensen’s arm, twisting, his bicep straining, his mouth barely open, his tongue pressed against his lips. The pop of the cork startled all of them. Champagne shouted out the top, and Jared leaped over to Jensen, holding his cup under the stream, licking champagne off his fingers as he tried to stop the spill. They were both laughing and bumping and spilling champagne on the floor and on each other. Their heads touched, and Jared came up under Jensen’s chin and Stephen was sure he heard a snick of recognition and then Jensen tilted, brushed his lips across Jared’s neck. Jared leaned in, for just a second, and then they broke contact, shoving each other, spilling more champagne, and Jared took Jensen’s wrist and pulled it toward his mouth. Stephen almost lost consciousness and then he realized they were both looking at him and Jared was sucking on Jensen’s fingers and he crossed his legs like a proper lady and settled in for the show.
David could get a cab from the airport.
To be continued . . .