Famous On TV
Title: Famous On TV
Wordcount: ~2900
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "No flirting. I need to snog you." "Straight boys send such mixed messages."
Warnings: This is RPS. Fairly warned. While theoretically JB/GDL, I'm not sure what this actually is.
Notes: I was hoping to post more of the Club!AU, but this came a little easier (heh). It was inspired by the extra two seconds of kiss in this clip, which was shared with me by some fellow shy anons who also deserve beta thanks.
***
It's almost an idyll, if anything could be said to be idyllic about the cold Cardiff weather and the grueling filming schedule and the burgeoning fame.
But it is, away from John's star shining brighter and Gaz's just beginning to gleam -- who knows how far this whole Torchwood thing will go but the ratings are great so far and there's bound to be a second series at least. Gareth's got money in his pocket, real money for the first time in ages, with all the tribulation that comes with it, and John's days off are booked so solid that sometimes Scott just calls his PA to schedule time with him. There will be conventions, signings for John, new gigs for the band, parties, auditions, life is so full and yet...
It used to make Gareth feel twitchy, like life was passing too fast even though every minute was crammed. So much to think about, so much to manage, so many things to remember. They'd give him thirty while they filmed some scene he wasn't in, even as the set-dressing he practically was for half the series, and he'd go outside and smoke and pace.
Which was what he was doing when John found him, on his own thirty, and grinned like an arse, and offered him a binder.
"New draft, one-thirteen," he said. "Series finale."
"You read it?" Gareth asked, tossing the cigarette against the wall and accepting the script.
"Yup," John said, rocking back and forth on his feet. He was so smug that Gareth immediately suspected a nude scene. Well, after all, this was Torchwood, and John appeared to be made for nudity. Nudity on camera? Just a perk.
"I'm not naked," John said regretfully, as if he'd read his bloody mind. "Turn to -- here -- "
He licked his thumb, brushed Gareth's hand out of the way, and flipped to a dogeared page near the back. Gareth watched, bemused, as John sidled around and tilted his head so he could scan the text, their foreheads almost touching.
"There," he said, voice hushed with triumph. Gareth rolled his eyes. John Barrowman, diva.
TOSH runs to JACK, throwing herself into a hug as IANTO notices what is happening behind him.
IANTO hurries forward, first offering a hand and then, hapless, uncertain what to do.
JACK reaches for him, takes his hand and draws him into a long, searing kiss.
Gareth looked up at John. "We kiss?"
"Snog, Gareth. Snog. A long, searing kiss."
Standing in the Cardiff chill, breath frosting just a little in the air, mouths so close in fact that it's just one cloud of mist between the two of them...there was a momentary flash of something, meeting John's eyes. After all, this was John Barrowman, and it occurred to Gareth that despite John's inflated sense of his own self-image, he might be in a form of danger, here.
So he flipped his fingers, slammed the binder shut on John's hand, and grinned as John jerked back with a startled yelp. John pointed an accusatory finger at him, but Gareth was already walking away, script under his arm.
"You're not getting in my pants, Barrowman!" he called over his shoulder.
"What about your mouth?" John demanded, laughing.
***
Rehearsal for one-thirteen was still four weeks out, the day John brought him the script, and Gareth had calmly returned it to the production assistant and gone on his way, focusing on the moment, on the scene-by-scene ahead of them. He'd all but forgot it by the time Eve got hold of it and started razzing him about snogging John Barrowman. Giving him tips, 'cause she'd done it, and warning him to make sure John's hands stayed above-the-waist, and offering to show him a little knee-manoeuver she'd learned, as if he were some kind of blushing virgin.
He hadn't been nervous about it until Eve started making such a big bloody deal about it. But it wasn't in Gareth to be subtle, and nerves weren't good for anything, so clearly the thing to do was get it over with.
"Right, so," he said, throwing himself down in a chair opposite John, who was slurping noodles out of a styrofoam cup. John looked up at him, mouth full of noodles, blue eyes curious. "Swallow," Gareth ordered. John bit down, let half the noodles fall back into the cup, and swallowed.
"Yes sir," he said, setting it aside. "Are you going to spank me if I talk with my mouth full?"
"No," Gareth said, pointing at him. "No flirting. I need to snog you."
John's eyebrows shot up. "Straight boys send such mixed messages," he complained.
"Eve's being horrible," Gareth continued. "About the snogging. I'm going to be professional about this and not nervous when we're in front of the cameras so we need to just, you know, rehearse the stage kiss, get it over with, and then it won't even be like kissing. It'll just be like shaking hands."
"Honey, if kissing ever feels like shaking hands, you're kissing the wrong person," John replied.
"John, I'm serious."
"So am I. Look, okay, fine," John said, holding up his hands. "Stage kissing. You've done it, I've done it, we've both eaten the breath mint. What's to be nervous about?"
"You told Matt when you kissed him for this episode that you were faithful to your partner," Gareth said.
"And I am."
"So why'd you have to tell him?"
John leaned forward. "Seriously? Have you seen him?" he whispered.
"This is why! Why we have to snog so we won't snog."
"Gareth, you're a good looking man but I'm not irresistibly attracted to you," John said. "Brush your teeth, close your eyes, and think of your girlfriend. It'll be fine."
He picked up his cup of noodles and went back to eating. Gareth fidgeted in the chair.
"Oh, for -- " John set the cup down again, tugged Gareth forward by Ianto's tie, and planted an extremely wet, somewhat chicken-flavoured kiss on his lips. Distantly, someone cat-called. "See? Didn't turn you gay."
Gareth licked his lips. Definite hints of noodle broth.
"Okay," he said, and got up and walked away quickly.
***
The problem was, then, that after about half an hour of being totally cool with kissing John Barrowman, Gareth replayed those last few seconds in his head, particularly the didn't turn you gay part, and realised that John probably thought he was afraid of Catching Gay. And he wasn't a homophobe or anything like that, whatever, he didn't care, and he definitely didn't want John thinking he cared. Not that John would, surely, they'd been working together for months, so John would know better. But John had still said that, so maybe not?
He never used to be this nervous. Show business obviously wasn't for the weak.
And then it just tumbled out of his head, during a scene, or rather during the ten seconds' break between shooting a scene and reshooting it.
"You know I'm not afraid of catching your gay, right?" he asked John, who blinked at him in confusion.
"Is that a metaphor?" John asked.
"No. I don't think it's contagious. And if I were gay, I wouldn't mind."
"Wouldn't mind me kissing you?"
"No. Being gay."
"Seriously, I know we're all screwed up in our twenties, but you really have to get over this," John said.
"ACTION," the PA yelled, and oh look, Gareth had to haul John bodily along a street and stare up at an imaginary giant cow-headed demon thing over the rooftops of Cardiff.
***
So that was embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as going home after being released from filming for the day, pouring himself a beer, settling into his sofa to watch one of the matches he'd recorded, and getting snogged on his doorstep by John Barrowman.
Well, all right, there were a few intermediary steps, like the doorbell ringing and him getting up to answer it and John standing there looking faintly curious but mostly sort of attractively annoyed and demanding to be let in.
Then there was John smouldering in his hallway, god he was such a diva, reiterating the fact that Gareth had to get a grip and this was no way to run a television show and then there was, well, John's mouth on his and John's tongue sliding over his teeth and the wall of his flat under his back and --
"So. Handshake?" John asked, leaning back, and Gareth's head thudded against the wall.
"No," Gareth said, swallowing. "Some misread signs, maybe."
"Oh?"
"I wasn't coming on to you, Barrowman."
"Okay, that's fine. I'll come on to you," John answered, and kissed him again. He tasted minty. And he was definitely wearing lip balm. He was very...warm.
"Wait, all right, what's -- " Gareth pushed him back gently.
"We went over this, I'm coming on to you," John said.
"What happened to you love your partner and you're faithful to him?" Gareth asked.
"I want to kiss you, not adopt kids with you," John said impatiently. "Besides, I asked him. He said 'fine'."
"You what?"
"He said, and I quote, That's fine. I'd hit it," John said. "Do you want to do this or not?"
"Not!" Gareth retorted. "I just wanted to -- well, fine. But I thought, stage kissing."
"Step outside that comfort zone," John said. "Then when we get back into it, you'll do great. No, seriously, I mean this," he said, as Gareth started to laugh. "That's not a line. Hey."
He caught Gareth's chin in his fingers and turned his head so that they were facing each other again, his eyes on Gareth's.
"Once you've done something real with someone, I mean real, acting doesn't cut it. You know it's just the motions. Great motions, maybe, but it's -- a handshake," John continued. "Besides, I really want to kiss you."
Gareth cut his eyes away, looked back again, tipped his chin out of John's fingers and touched their lips together. Just barely, a little tilt of the head, enough to feel pressure and the soft way John's lips gave just a little, and John's surprised huff of breath.
All in service of art, naturally, he thought, sliding his tongue against John's lower lip. Good for the show which was good for his career, as John's mouth gave easily and there was that tang of mint again. Learning important lessons from an experienced actor, when John held his head still with both of his annoyingly gigantic hands and nuzzled in close.
It was -- nice. It wasn't especially arousing, and he couldn't quite ignore the hint of beard-stubble against his skin, but it was warm and comfortable and John didn't make him work very hard for it. Just held him there against the wall with his hips and hands and kept kissing him slowly. A minute before he'd been all impatient but now that they weren't having to talk about this anymore he'd gone a little lazy.
Or. Er. Predatory, Gareth thought, as John leaned back and caught his gaze again.
"Scott's going to be so glad he let me do this," he said, and grinned huge and shiny. Gareth grinned back, like it was a conspiracy instead of two guys making out in a dark hallway. "So. Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Thanks," Gareth replied.
"Great. Let's do this again sometime," John said, and left.
Gareth went back to the sofa, picked up his beer, looked at it, and wondered if he'd hallucinated the whole thing.
***
The next day he knew he hadn't, because the sexual tension between them was almost a visible thing, like a third actor in every scene they were in. Hell, it followed him into scenes John wasn't in, because John was sitting there in his chair watching, fingers steepled in front of his face and tapping thoughtfully against his lips.
At one point Gareth looked up from a consultation with the director to find that John was gone, and when he got his break a few minutes later he wandered out into the parking lot. To smoke and pace, really, but John's door was open, so he stopped in the middle of tapping his cigarettes and put his head inside. John was standing at the little stove in the trailer, still in costume, humming.
"Tea?" John asked, without turning around.
"Yeah, thanks," Gareth said, and came inside, and very decisively closed the door behind him. John glanced at him, turned off the kettle, and pivoted to settle his hands on Gareth's hips. Gareth kissed the corner of his mouth, turned so that John couldn't quite get his own mouth full-on, and then grunted in surprise when John nipped his lower lip.
"I was serious," John said, around short, almost dry kisses, "about not wanting to adopt kids with you."
"You don't turn me on," Gareth mumbled, into his mouth.
"Good, because I don't want to -- mm," John paused to tilt his head a little for better leverage, " -- fuck you. I just want -- "
"Yeah," Gareth breathed. And he got it, he did; kissing him, someone John couldn't actually have, must make evenings with Scott really interesting. And as nice as the kissing was, it didn't really do anything for him in the sex department, so it was just...something new to pass the time.
"Look at you," John said, rubbing Gareth's cheek with one hand. "You're really...young."
"I'm not twelve, John."
John kissed him again, tongue and teeth, hand warm on the back of his neck now.
"Yeah, I know," he said. Gareth could see, when he smiled, the age of him -- Jack Harkness was immortal but John Barrowman was not, with faint lines on his forehead and crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He wondered what exactly was going through John's head, to make him talk about being young.
"My break's almost over," he said, a trifle regretfully, and stepped back. John nodded.
"Bring you that tea when it's ready," John replied, switching the kettle back on.
"Cheers," Gareth said, and walked back to the sound stage only to find his makeup assistant fussing at him for smearing the foundation on his cheek.
***
Which is sort of how it just...happened. It was easy to kiss John, to find him in his trailer or let him in when he showed up at his flat, to nip into some dark corner of the sound-stage for a quick scene-rehearsal and a quicker snog when no-one was looking.
It was, oddly, a form of escape. It calmed him down, kept him from pacing, gave him a few minutes' peace from all the things he had to do and be and remember. It was safe, really, though the risk of getting caught was there, but safe in that neither of them were especially bothered to do anything more.
And in that moment, when they actually did have to kiss for the camera -- the first time, anyway -- it really was like shaking hands; after the rest of the time they'd spent together, to be pulled as Ianto into Jack's grip seemed almost dishonest. John kissed him, mouth closed at first and then open but without tongue, still chaste for all its external passion, and that was going to be the end of it.
Then John snorted a little and pushed, and Gareth's head tipped up a little as John added an extra moment of passion, of suggestion.
"CUT," someone called, and Gareth stepped back, laughing.
"What the hell was that?" he asked. John grinned.
"Verisimilitude?" he said.
Gareth wasn't surprised they cut the end, where John had pushed and Gareth had reacted -- not because it wasn't good, since it was, he'd seen the dailies of it. More because he knew that, on some level, they knew that it wasn't really acting.
"Hey, guess what I saw today," John said at the wrap party for the series, arm slung over Scott's shoulders, sitting at the bar with Gareth and Burn.
"I'm afraid to ask," Gareth replied, sipping his pint.
"Roughs for series two."
"Well, nice to know I'll have a job for a bit," Gareth said. "Unless I die. Do I die? Don't say yes."
"I don't die, do I?" Burn asked.
"No," John said. "It's only the first few episodes. But guess what we get to do..."
Scott looked like maybe it was his own personal Christmas.
"Snog?" Gareth asked, in a very good impression, so he thought, of tolerant resignation.
"Snog!" John agreed, laughing. Gareth glanced at Scott, who gave him a very I dare you look.
"Old hat," Gareth said, and to prove it he hauled John forward by his shirtfront and gave him a thorough kiss. Burn cracked up laughing and Naoko hooted from nearby and half the bar applauded. John made an exaggerated show of wiping his mouth, but then he leaned in and kissed Scott and said something quietly in his ear.
"Keep it up, kid," he said, rising from his bar stool and leading Scott towards the exit. "With a mouth like that you'll go places."
"You're a shameless bastard, John Barrowman!" Gareth called after him.
"You're cute when you're angry!" John called back, and disappeared into the crowd.
END
Kiss me on my salty lips
I bet you feel a little crazy
But for me
We'll be famous on TV
-- Merril Bainbridge, "Mouth"
Wordcount: ~2900
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "No flirting. I need to snog you." "Straight boys send such mixed messages."
Warnings: This is RPS. Fairly warned. While theoretically JB/GDL, I'm not sure what this actually is.
Notes: I was hoping to post more of the Club!AU, but this came a little easier (heh). It was inspired by the extra two seconds of kiss in this clip, which was shared with me by some fellow shy anons who also deserve beta thanks.
***
It's almost an idyll, if anything could be said to be idyllic about the cold Cardiff weather and the grueling filming schedule and the burgeoning fame.
But it is, away from John's star shining brighter and Gaz's just beginning to gleam -- who knows how far this whole Torchwood thing will go but the ratings are great so far and there's bound to be a second series at least. Gareth's got money in his pocket, real money for the first time in ages, with all the tribulation that comes with it, and John's days off are booked so solid that sometimes Scott just calls his PA to schedule time with him. There will be conventions, signings for John, new gigs for the band, parties, auditions, life is so full and yet...
It used to make Gareth feel twitchy, like life was passing too fast even though every minute was crammed. So much to think about, so much to manage, so many things to remember. They'd give him thirty while they filmed some scene he wasn't in, even as the set-dressing he practically was for half the series, and he'd go outside and smoke and pace.
Which was what he was doing when John found him, on his own thirty, and grinned like an arse, and offered him a binder.
"New draft, one-thirteen," he said. "Series finale."
"You read it?" Gareth asked, tossing the cigarette against the wall and accepting the script.
"Yup," John said, rocking back and forth on his feet. He was so smug that Gareth immediately suspected a nude scene. Well, after all, this was Torchwood, and John appeared to be made for nudity. Nudity on camera? Just a perk.
"I'm not naked," John said regretfully, as if he'd read his bloody mind. "Turn to -- here -- "
He licked his thumb, brushed Gareth's hand out of the way, and flipped to a dogeared page near the back. Gareth watched, bemused, as John sidled around and tilted his head so he could scan the text, their foreheads almost touching.
"There," he said, voice hushed with triumph. Gareth rolled his eyes. John Barrowman, diva.
TOSH runs to JACK, throwing herself into a hug as IANTO notices what is happening behind him.
IANTO hurries forward, first offering a hand and then, hapless, uncertain what to do.
JACK reaches for him, takes his hand and draws him into a long, searing kiss.
Gareth looked up at John. "We kiss?"
"Snog, Gareth. Snog. A long, searing kiss."
Standing in the Cardiff chill, breath frosting just a little in the air, mouths so close in fact that it's just one cloud of mist between the two of them...there was a momentary flash of something, meeting John's eyes. After all, this was John Barrowman, and it occurred to Gareth that despite John's inflated sense of his own self-image, he might be in a form of danger, here.
So he flipped his fingers, slammed the binder shut on John's hand, and grinned as John jerked back with a startled yelp. John pointed an accusatory finger at him, but Gareth was already walking away, script under his arm.
"You're not getting in my pants, Barrowman!" he called over his shoulder.
"What about your mouth?" John demanded, laughing.
***
Rehearsal for one-thirteen was still four weeks out, the day John brought him the script, and Gareth had calmly returned it to the production assistant and gone on his way, focusing on the moment, on the scene-by-scene ahead of them. He'd all but forgot it by the time Eve got hold of it and started razzing him about snogging John Barrowman. Giving him tips, 'cause she'd done it, and warning him to make sure John's hands stayed above-the-waist, and offering to show him a little knee-manoeuver she'd learned, as if he were some kind of blushing virgin.
He hadn't been nervous about it until Eve started making such a big bloody deal about it. But it wasn't in Gareth to be subtle, and nerves weren't good for anything, so clearly the thing to do was get it over with.
"Right, so," he said, throwing himself down in a chair opposite John, who was slurping noodles out of a styrofoam cup. John looked up at him, mouth full of noodles, blue eyes curious. "Swallow," Gareth ordered. John bit down, let half the noodles fall back into the cup, and swallowed.
"Yes sir," he said, setting it aside. "Are you going to spank me if I talk with my mouth full?"
"No," Gareth said, pointing at him. "No flirting. I need to snog you."
John's eyebrows shot up. "Straight boys send such mixed messages," he complained.
"Eve's being horrible," Gareth continued. "About the snogging. I'm going to be professional about this and not nervous when we're in front of the cameras so we need to just, you know, rehearse the stage kiss, get it over with, and then it won't even be like kissing. It'll just be like shaking hands."
"Honey, if kissing ever feels like shaking hands, you're kissing the wrong person," John replied.
"John, I'm serious."
"So am I. Look, okay, fine," John said, holding up his hands. "Stage kissing. You've done it, I've done it, we've both eaten the breath mint. What's to be nervous about?"
"You told Matt when you kissed him for this episode that you were faithful to your partner," Gareth said.
"And I am."
"So why'd you have to tell him?"
John leaned forward. "Seriously? Have you seen him?" he whispered.
"This is why! Why we have to snog so we won't snog."
"Gareth, you're a good looking man but I'm not irresistibly attracted to you," John said. "Brush your teeth, close your eyes, and think of your girlfriend. It'll be fine."
He picked up his cup of noodles and went back to eating. Gareth fidgeted in the chair.
"Oh, for -- " John set the cup down again, tugged Gareth forward by Ianto's tie, and planted an extremely wet, somewhat chicken-flavoured kiss on his lips. Distantly, someone cat-called. "See? Didn't turn you gay."
Gareth licked his lips. Definite hints of noodle broth.
"Okay," he said, and got up and walked away quickly.
***
The problem was, then, that after about half an hour of being totally cool with kissing John Barrowman, Gareth replayed those last few seconds in his head, particularly the didn't turn you gay part, and realised that John probably thought he was afraid of Catching Gay. And he wasn't a homophobe or anything like that, whatever, he didn't care, and he definitely didn't want John thinking he cared. Not that John would, surely, they'd been working together for months, so John would know better. But John had still said that, so maybe not?
He never used to be this nervous. Show business obviously wasn't for the weak.
And then it just tumbled out of his head, during a scene, or rather during the ten seconds' break between shooting a scene and reshooting it.
"You know I'm not afraid of catching your gay, right?" he asked John, who blinked at him in confusion.
"Is that a metaphor?" John asked.
"No. I don't think it's contagious. And if I were gay, I wouldn't mind."
"Wouldn't mind me kissing you?"
"No. Being gay."
"Seriously, I know we're all screwed up in our twenties, but you really have to get over this," John said.
"ACTION," the PA yelled, and oh look, Gareth had to haul John bodily along a street and stare up at an imaginary giant cow-headed demon thing over the rooftops of Cardiff.
***
So that was embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as going home after being released from filming for the day, pouring himself a beer, settling into his sofa to watch one of the matches he'd recorded, and getting snogged on his doorstep by John Barrowman.
Well, all right, there were a few intermediary steps, like the doorbell ringing and him getting up to answer it and John standing there looking faintly curious but mostly sort of attractively annoyed and demanding to be let in.
Then there was John smouldering in his hallway, god he was such a diva, reiterating the fact that Gareth had to get a grip and this was no way to run a television show and then there was, well, John's mouth on his and John's tongue sliding over his teeth and the wall of his flat under his back and --
"So. Handshake?" John asked, leaning back, and Gareth's head thudded against the wall.
"No," Gareth said, swallowing. "Some misread signs, maybe."
"Oh?"
"I wasn't coming on to you, Barrowman."
"Okay, that's fine. I'll come on to you," John answered, and kissed him again. He tasted minty. And he was definitely wearing lip balm. He was very...warm.
"Wait, all right, what's -- " Gareth pushed him back gently.
"We went over this, I'm coming on to you," John said.
"What happened to you love your partner and you're faithful to him?" Gareth asked.
"I want to kiss you, not adopt kids with you," John said impatiently. "Besides, I asked him. He said 'fine'."
"You what?"
"He said, and I quote, That's fine. I'd hit it," John said. "Do you want to do this or not?"
"Not!" Gareth retorted. "I just wanted to -- well, fine. But I thought, stage kissing."
"Step outside that comfort zone," John said. "Then when we get back into it, you'll do great. No, seriously, I mean this," he said, as Gareth started to laugh. "That's not a line. Hey."
He caught Gareth's chin in his fingers and turned his head so that they were facing each other again, his eyes on Gareth's.
"Once you've done something real with someone, I mean real, acting doesn't cut it. You know it's just the motions. Great motions, maybe, but it's -- a handshake," John continued. "Besides, I really want to kiss you."
Gareth cut his eyes away, looked back again, tipped his chin out of John's fingers and touched their lips together. Just barely, a little tilt of the head, enough to feel pressure and the soft way John's lips gave just a little, and John's surprised huff of breath.
All in service of art, naturally, he thought, sliding his tongue against John's lower lip. Good for the show which was good for his career, as John's mouth gave easily and there was that tang of mint again. Learning important lessons from an experienced actor, when John held his head still with both of his annoyingly gigantic hands and nuzzled in close.
It was -- nice. It wasn't especially arousing, and he couldn't quite ignore the hint of beard-stubble against his skin, but it was warm and comfortable and John didn't make him work very hard for it. Just held him there against the wall with his hips and hands and kept kissing him slowly. A minute before he'd been all impatient but now that they weren't having to talk about this anymore he'd gone a little lazy.
Or. Er. Predatory, Gareth thought, as John leaned back and caught his gaze again.
"Scott's going to be so glad he let me do this," he said, and grinned huge and shiny. Gareth grinned back, like it was a conspiracy instead of two guys making out in a dark hallway. "So. Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Thanks," Gareth replied.
"Great. Let's do this again sometime," John said, and left.
Gareth went back to the sofa, picked up his beer, looked at it, and wondered if he'd hallucinated the whole thing.
***
The next day he knew he hadn't, because the sexual tension between them was almost a visible thing, like a third actor in every scene they were in. Hell, it followed him into scenes John wasn't in, because John was sitting there in his chair watching, fingers steepled in front of his face and tapping thoughtfully against his lips.
At one point Gareth looked up from a consultation with the director to find that John was gone, and when he got his break a few minutes later he wandered out into the parking lot. To smoke and pace, really, but John's door was open, so he stopped in the middle of tapping his cigarettes and put his head inside. John was standing at the little stove in the trailer, still in costume, humming.
"Tea?" John asked, without turning around.
"Yeah, thanks," Gareth said, and came inside, and very decisively closed the door behind him. John glanced at him, turned off the kettle, and pivoted to settle his hands on Gareth's hips. Gareth kissed the corner of his mouth, turned so that John couldn't quite get his own mouth full-on, and then grunted in surprise when John nipped his lower lip.
"I was serious," John said, around short, almost dry kisses, "about not wanting to adopt kids with you."
"You don't turn me on," Gareth mumbled, into his mouth.
"Good, because I don't want to -- mm," John paused to tilt his head a little for better leverage, " -- fuck you. I just want -- "
"Yeah," Gareth breathed. And he got it, he did; kissing him, someone John couldn't actually have, must make evenings with Scott really interesting. And as nice as the kissing was, it didn't really do anything for him in the sex department, so it was just...something new to pass the time.
"Look at you," John said, rubbing Gareth's cheek with one hand. "You're really...young."
"I'm not twelve, John."
John kissed him again, tongue and teeth, hand warm on the back of his neck now.
"Yeah, I know," he said. Gareth could see, when he smiled, the age of him -- Jack Harkness was immortal but John Barrowman was not, with faint lines on his forehead and crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He wondered what exactly was going through John's head, to make him talk about being young.
"My break's almost over," he said, a trifle regretfully, and stepped back. John nodded.
"Bring you that tea when it's ready," John replied, switching the kettle back on.
"Cheers," Gareth said, and walked back to the sound stage only to find his makeup assistant fussing at him for smearing the foundation on his cheek.
***
Which is sort of how it just...happened. It was easy to kiss John, to find him in his trailer or let him in when he showed up at his flat, to nip into some dark corner of the sound-stage for a quick scene-rehearsal and a quicker snog when no-one was looking.
It was, oddly, a form of escape. It calmed him down, kept him from pacing, gave him a few minutes' peace from all the things he had to do and be and remember. It was safe, really, though the risk of getting caught was there, but safe in that neither of them were especially bothered to do anything more.
And in that moment, when they actually did have to kiss for the camera -- the first time, anyway -- it really was like shaking hands; after the rest of the time they'd spent together, to be pulled as Ianto into Jack's grip seemed almost dishonest. John kissed him, mouth closed at first and then open but without tongue, still chaste for all its external passion, and that was going to be the end of it.
Then John snorted a little and pushed, and Gareth's head tipped up a little as John added an extra moment of passion, of suggestion.
"CUT," someone called, and Gareth stepped back, laughing.
"What the hell was that?" he asked. John grinned.
"Verisimilitude?" he said.
Gareth wasn't surprised they cut the end, where John had pushed and Gareth had reacted -- not because it wasn't good, since it was, he'd seen the dailies of it. More because he knew that, on some level, they knew that it wasn't really acting.
"Hey, guess what I saw today," John said at the wrap party for the series, arm slung over Scott's shoulders, sitting at the bar with Gareth and Burn.
"I'm afraid to ask," Gareth replied, sipping his pint.
"Roughs for series two."
"Well, nice to know I'll have a job for a bit," Gareth said. "Unless I die. Do I die? Don't say yes."
"I don't die, do I?" Burn asked.
"No," John said. "It's only the first few episodes. But guess what we get to do..."
Scott looked like maybe it was his own personal Christmas.
"Snog?" Gareth asked, in a very good impression, so he thought, of tolerant resignation.
"Snog!" John agreed, laughing. Gareth glanced at Scott, who gave him a very I dare you look.
"Old hat," Gareth said, and to prove it he hauled John forward by his shirtfront and gave him a thorough kiss. Burn cracked up laughing and Naoko hooted from nearby and half the bar applauded. John made an exaggerated show of wiping his mouth, but then he leaned in and kissed Scott and said something quietly in his ear.
"Keep it up, kid," he said, rising from his bar stool and leading Scott towards the exit. "With a mouth like that you'll go places."
"You're a shameless bastard, John Barrowman!" Gareth called after him.
"You're cute when you're angry!" John called back, and disappeared into the crowd.
END
Kiss me on my salty lips
I bet you feel a little crazy
But for me
We'll be famous on TV
-- Merril Bainbridge, "Mouth"