Matinee
Title: Matinee
For: GREAT PORNING.
Wordcount: ~3500
Rating: Strong R (sex, language)
Summary: John Barrowman gets the best get-well present ever from his husband. (Scott Gill/John Barrowman/Gareth David-Lloyd)
Warnings: Threesome, voyeurism, infidelity. Sheer unrepentant pornography about real people.
Beta credit: Other shy anons!
"This fucking sucks."
"Yes, John, I know."
"No, I mean, it really sucks. I could have spent last weekend in America."
"I know."
"Drinking on someone else's tab and singing my fine ass off."
"Yep."
"And I could have -- "
John stops ranting, not so much because he's noticed that Scott isn't listening as because he's noticed that Scott is distracted. In the normal course of a day there are multiple times where Scott doesn't listen to him -- that's their deal, John talks a lot of rubbish and Scott listens to the important parts. But ordinarily it's just Scott not listening. At the moment, Scott's not listening because he's listening for something else.
John narrows his eyes.
"Had sex with eager American women," he finishes.
"Mmh," Scott grunts, still staring through the front window of the house.
"Met Barack Obama. Have you seen him? Gorgeous."
"Hm?" Scott asks, turning around. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
John tilts his head. "Are the neighbours over the road having sex on their lawn or something?"
Scott laughs. "No."
"Well, then what?" John asks, moving to stand. Scott pins him with a stern glare and he wilts back, but one of these days he's going to stand up and damn the consequences. Scott is not the boss of him.
(Scott is totally the boss of him.)
But it's been days since he fucked his ankle up, and he's sore from the fall and the painkillers make him twitchy and his ass hurts from sitting all day and if he doesn't move around soon he's going to either explode or put on weight, neither of which is appealing. He can't fix himself food, he can't hum around the house like he normally does poking into everything and pestering Scott. He can't even dance with Scott, his number one all-time favourite activity. Dancing's what got him into this mess in the first place, which just goes to show that it's a horrible world.
And the sex is so awkward!
"I'm waiting for a delivery," Scott says, turning back to the window and leaning against the frame. "I got you a present."
"A present?" John asks, all resentment forgotten. Then suspicion creeps in. "It's not a wheelchair, is it?"
"John!"
"Glittery crutches?"
"You are the campest invalid ever," Scott scolds.
"What's wrong with glittery crutches? If people are going to stare, shouldn't they get some wow for it?" John asks, and does jazz-hands. Scott finally gives in and laughs.
"It's not glittery crutches," he says, coming to sit next to John on the sofa, pulling John's head down a little to rest against his. "It's something to cheer you up. You've been deathly cranky, you know. I'm considering divorce."
"If you did that, we could get married again. One more opportunity to see David in a kilt," John suggests.
"Mm," Scott agrees, grinning. "But you have been in the dumps, love."
"I can't help it," John complains. "I'm bored and I hurt."
"I know. Thus, my surprise. Which -- " Scott leans forward to look out the window again and John almost tumbles over on the sofa, " -- is here! Back in a minute," he announces, with a quick kiss for John's forehead and a gentle tap-tap of fingers against the toes of his injured leg.
John cranes his neck to try and see through the window, but all he can see is a car. He pushes himself up and is almost all the way off the sofa when Scott shouts "STAY THERE, PRINCESS!" from the front hallway, and John sulks back into the cushions.
He can hear Scott open the door, hear voices and laughter and then the door closes again. When Scott comes back into the room he's carrying a paper bag, which is weird, because presents that have to be delivered don't usually come in paper bags --
Then there's movement in the doorway and someone steps in behind Scott. Gareth, grinning sheepishly, hands shoved in the pockets of his threadbare jeans, one of his horrible hats perched on his head. John laughs in sheer delight.
"Gareth! Scott didn't say you were coming," he exclaims.
"Excuse him for not getting up," Scott says with a meaningful look at John. John rolls his eyes and Gareth laughs.
"I'm not fussed," he says, wandering into the room, stopping in front of John with a pleased grin on his face. "Scott said you needed cheering. I've brought you grapes."
Behind him, Scott pulls a bottle of wine from the bag and waggles it.
"Well, sort of grapes," Gareth amends.
"Best kind of grapes," Scott decides, wandering into the kitchen. His voice drifts back. "Oh, he brought DVDs and chocolates, too!"
"Come to woo?" John asks. "Sit down. Take that awful hat off."
"I like this hat," Gareth says defensively, but he takes it off and tosses it on the arm of the sofa. He sits on the coffee table next to John's injured, elevated ankle and leans forward, hands clasped between his knees. "How are you?"
"Pissy," John sighs. "Making Scott crazy."
"HE IS!" Scott calls.
"How was the con?" John continues.
"Pissy," Gareth grins. "You put on a show though, given you were a few thousand miles away."
"I try. Sorry you had to go it alone," John says.
"It's fine. Poor Tom's as fucked up as you are, by the way, but at least he can walk."
"I told you Chicago was dangerous."
"He didn't get shot, John, he got hit by a cyclist."
"Gangster cyclists. Rumrunners on Raleighs," John replies. "Clearly we are cursed."
"Tom thinks I made it happen." Gareth gives him a wide, wicked grin. He is so pretty when he's evil. "So about that cursed amulet I gave you..."
"I always knew you were a witch," John says, and then sobers a little. "How's Kai?"
Gareth frowns. "I haven't seen him," he admits. "I called a few times. He says you did too. I think it's hard, you know."
"Give him my love if you see him?"
"Yeah, of course."
John hears a clank from the kitchen, and the slosh of liquid, but it's a little bit early for wine. As they lapse into silence Scott returns with a tray -- a beer for Gareth and one for himself, and sparkling water and the prescription bottle for John.
"Here you are," he says, presenting the tray. Gareth takes his beer with a "Ta, Scott" and then swipes the bottle of pills before John can reach for them. He tips out two, passes one to John, and with another naughty-lad look downs the other one himself.
"Degenerate!" John accuses.
"It's good to be bad," Gareth informs him.
"Suits you," Scott says.
"Surprised he hasn't been sneaking them on the sly if you're as cranky as he says," Gareth continues. "Or double-dosing you to keep you quiet."
"They don't work on him," Scott sighs, settling into a nearby chair. "They make him distracted. If I slipped him two he might start hallucinating."
"Really?" Gareth asks, mock-fascinated, studying the bottle. "Fun times."
"Youth," John says to Scott, who chuckles. "So you're the present Scott got me? Do I get to unwrap you?"
"John," Scott warns, but Gareth just grins.
"Well, I've cheered you up, haven't I?" he inquires. "Scott called and said you might like to talk to someone who has no regard at all for your feelings or injury." He accentuates the last part by poking John's ankle, then grabbing his foot and shaking it lightly. It doesn't hurt, but John screams dramatically and clutches his heart. Gareth's wide-eyed look of panic does brighten him up considerably.
"Fuck's sake, Barrowman!" he cries, as John and Scott both dissolve into laughter. "That's not funny!"
"Your face," Scott wheezes.
"If I crippled John Barrowman for life!" Gareth protests. "Millions of reality telly fans would never forgive."
"So they wouldn't. Cheers," John says, and holds up his water glass. Gareth tips the neck of the beer bottle against it in a toast and then takes another sip. John's about to say something filthy and amusing when he catches Gareth giving Scott a discreet questioning look, and Scott's small nod. John frowns. He's not used to people talking around him in looks and gestures, doesn't like it. Before he can form his objection, however, Gareth stands up and takes his water glass, setting both that and the beer on the side table, and then settles down again.
On John's lap.
Straddling his thighs in those scruffy jeans of his, nose about level with John's.
"Well," John can hear that his voice is pitched a little higher than normal. "Hello, Gareth."
He glances at Scott, who looks overwhelmingly smug, long legs stretched out, enjoying the show.
"Actually," Gareth says, just sitting there, hips cocked a little to keep his weight off John's bad leg, "He called and asked if I fancied a shag."
"It was a little more complicated than that," Scott adds.
"He explained your arrangement," Gareth announces.
It is a good arrangement, never better when it's being discussed by an eager young man sitting in John's lap. If John is going to fuck around, and it is in John's nature to fuck around as much as possible, then they both agreed that it should be with someone Scott thinks is pretty and interesting, someone Scott picked for him. John and Scott fit together like an obscure puzzle, the exhibitionist and the voyeur. Besides, if Scott brings someone home specifically for John to play with, it's hardly adultery, is it?
Jesus Christ, Gareth's gorgeous up close. It's not like he and Scott haven't discussed this, and other assets of John's male colleagues (Gareth's arse, Burn's abs, David's legs that go on forever). And it's not like he's never been this close to Gareth before. But when you put on the costume and you know the other man hates wearing his necktie and you're both in eight pounds of screen makeup, it kills the eroticism a little.
Gareth's eyelashes are long and dark, framing really lovely blue eyes.
"So, do you mind?" Gareth asks, snapping John back into the present.
"You're a terrible straight boy," John informs him. Gareth's laugh is almost sultry. Oh god.
"People kept asking me, what's it like being a straight actor playing a gay man, or whatever the hell the writers think he is," he says, inching a little closer, more comfortable now that John's relaxed. "Nobody bothered to ask if I was actually straight."
Scott, when John looks sidelong at him, has his beer in one hand and his other hand resting on his stomach. He's just watching, but with that fire in his eyes that John adores to see, the light that reminds him they'll both enjoy this.
"Fuck," John mutters, getting an arm around his waist to hold Gareth secure, a hand clenching in his shirt. "You mean we could have done this two years ago?"
"I hardly knew you weren't exclusive," he points out. "Besides, maybe you weren't into me."
Gareth leans back and takes John's hand off his hip, flattening it instead over his belt-buckle, running it down to the bulge of his erection. The denim is soft and thin and John's fingers twitch. Gareth moans and finally kisses John properly, wet and slow, full of tongue.
"This is a great present," John says to Scott, when Gareth leans back and starts working John's shirt out of his trousers. He lets himself be manhandled a little, Gareth's palms sliding up the sides of his ribcage as he pulls the shirt off, and then he pins Gareth tightly with one arm, so that he can't squirm backwards and undress himself. His other hand cups Gareth's arse for a really proper grope.
"Give him some room, John," Scott growls. Gareth mock-struggles to get away, rubbing delightfully against John. He gets his hands on John's chest and a little leverage, thumbs brushing over John's nipples as he pushes himself back.
"So," Gareth says, businesslike, "what's best for you, invalid?"
"What's on offer?" John drawls -- amused, but also intent to know, because half an hour ago he thought Gareth David-Lloyd was a straight young hipster. He's not sure if he can actually ask for something like a blowjob or a thorough fucking or anything remotely kinky.
"Gareth," Scott puts in, one hand now rubbing slowly up and down over the front of his trousers, "I think the bed might be a bit more comfortable."
Gareth obediently swings himself up, holding out a hand to help John to his feet. John stands and looks at his walking cast, then at Scott, questioning. Still, it's only a few steps down the hallway to the bedroom. Scott shakes his head with a grin.
"Got you on a tight leash," Gareth observes.
"Nice idea," John agrees, hooking fingers in Gareth's t-shirt to pull it off. Without the body-makeup for shooting, Gareth's skin is freckled. The flush of it shows he's not quite so self-contained and confident about this as he'd like them to believe. Scott slides up behind Gareth, nuzzling the back of his neck, and John catches his mouth in a kiss when he opens it to moan.
For a moment they stand there, Scott casually sliding his hands inside Gareth's pants from behind, John kissing him, Gareth with his palms flat on John's chest, fingers twitching a little. John is aware of the particular beauty of things, and he knows how they must look, but he suspects Gareth has not yet developed an older actor's acute awareness of this. So he breaks the kiss and gently nudges Gareth's face to the side, where a mirror in the hallway is visible, so Gareth can see.
Gareth stiffens and groans. "Can we -- in the bedroom, because -- "
John laughs. He can feel the slight fuzziness of the painkiller kicking in, which means Gareth's should be too -- it'll soften him a little, take the edge off, and now he's glad Gareth swiped one.
Scott leaves Gareth to come around and pull John in for a quick kiss before gently offering his shoulder to lean on for the walk. John would rather walk slowly than limp quickly, but it's obviously not fast enough for Gareth, who wraps his arms around from behind and nips at John's shoulder as they go.
"Biter," John says to Scott. Gareth makes a muffled noise of protest against his neck.
In the bedroom Gareth releases him long enough for Scott to ease him onto the bed, sitting, braced on the one leg with the other stretched out. He's almost ready to swing back, as he's had to do just to get into the bed, when Gareth drops to his knees and rests a cheek on John's thigh, nuzzling. There's a slight judder of movement and Scott's suddenly behind John, kneeling, taking his weight, breath warm on his skin.
"Easy," Scott warns, as Gareth lifts his head to kiss John's stomach. "When he tenses up, it -- "
Gareth's hand raises to push up the leg of John's trousers and cup the back of his calf, thumb smoothing over the skin. Scott breaks off into silence at the sight. John tilts his head to see Scott watching, mouth slightly open. After all these years it's amazing that Scott loves so much to see another man's hands on John's skin. Supreme confidence in his proprietorship or simply a total lack of jealousy, John has never known what it is...just been glad of it, that's all.
He's so distracted by this wonderful thing, the look on Scott's face, that he's taken by surprise when Gareth lazily takes him in his mouth. Didn't even notice Gareth undoing his zip. Good drugs.
"You're cute," Scott whispers in his ear, as John gasps and frees a hand to catch in Gareth's unruly hair.
"Jesus," John swears, hearing the old Scots accent creeping in. "He's really -- Jesus good at that."
Gareth pulls back, chuckles, nips his thigh, all youthful stoned self-indulgence. John spares a moment to wonder if he should warn Gareth to mind those teeth, thank you, but then there's Gareth's tongue and wet mouth and the rasp of his stubble on John's skin, and Scott muttering filthy things in his ear. What they're going to do with this pretty boy he got for John, how lovely John is when he's getting his cock sucked --
Gareth, finally, leans back and looks up at him through those eyelashes.
"So?" he says, and John can't quite figure out what he's asking until Scott speaks over his shoulder.
"How d'you like it?" he asks. John closes his eyes, because this is his favourite part.
"It's his show," Gareth's voice is rough.
"Well, actually, it's my show," Scott says, amused. "But I usually let my performers choose their roles."
Oh god, this turns him on more than any of it, this back and forth, because John's basically up for anything and what really gets him off is knowing Scott's pleased.
"The few times I've done this," Gareth starts, as John opens his eyes, then hesitates. "What's easiest on him?"
He catches on quick. Talk to Scott. He's the boss.
"Why don't you fuck him?" Scott asks. John laughs a little as Gareth nods eagerly. Scott begins pulling the remainder of his clothing off, Gareth stripping without concern or much apparent display in front of them. John finds himself on his side on the bed, Scott in his arms, his bad leg curled around Scott's legs. Gareth looms behind him, pleased and unhurried.
"Stuff?" Gareth asks, but John's become distracted by Scott's chest, licking a little soft spot under one clavicle. Scott can make sense of the question, and apparently does, because while John's still fascinated with his husband's skin, there's the crackle of a condom wrapper and then Gareth's hand lifting his thigh, opening him more. He hooks it around Scott's hip and sighs contentedly.
"Beautiful mine," Scott mumbles, lifting John's face for a messy kiss just as Gareth slides a slick finger inside John. He's not exactly deft at it, but he's apparently also not any more interested in foreplay than John is. And John is relaxed enough that it doesn't take very long to have him slick and open and groaning into Scott's mouth.
Gareth's cock is startlingly thick inside him -- John makes a note to explore that later, because he hardly even got to see Gareth naked, let alone play with him as he'd really like to: feel him up, find out what makes him groan, lick him all over. Not now, though, because Gareth pushes in with a few shallow thrusts, silently, and Scott leans over John's shoulder to laugh.
"He's so determined," he says to John in a whisper, as Gareth tries to find the right position, the right angle and rhythm. Scott's cock rubs against John's and Gareth's just about hitting his prostate with every experimental stroke and this is the best thing ever, and then Gareth starts to swear out loud. Filthily, and in that rolling Valleys accent. "Shit" and "Fucking brilliant" and "Jesus Christ" and incoherent moans against the back of his neck.
"I think he's enjoying you," Scott says, one palm flat on John's cheek, thumb tracing across his skin. He looks -- tender, affectionate, like John's something special. For just a moment, John is in this small skin-tight world of pleasure, just before his mind goes blank. He tilts his head against Gareth's (Gareth's teeth still marking up his shoulder) and comes all over Scott's belly. Gareth, not a second behind him, almost draws blood when he snaps his hips forward and moans through his teeth against John's skin.
Scott, laughing, holds John's body flush against him and thrusts with lazy amusement, rocking them both gently, until he sighs with pleasure and follows.
Gareth is still swearing. Softly, a half-conscious mumble, but John can hear a few choice words about his arse and its finer qualities and something about missing his calling as a porn star. Scott says something in reply, John hardly catches what, and then Gareth is bracing him while Scott pulls away. His ankle twinges, but it's far off and hardly even felt through the rush of endorphins.
He drifts on the low murmur of Gareth's voice -- a biter and a talker, interesting quirk -- until Scott returns with a washcloth to clean them up. Warm and damp, John rolls over to face Gareth, who is lying on his back looking obscenely pleased with himself. Almost hesitantly, because this is new, he spreads a possessive, covetous hand on Gareth's stomach. Gareth glances at him, gives him a shit-eating grin, and shifts a little closer.
"I thought this might be kind of fucked up," he says.
"You still came round," Scott points out, crawling up the foot of the bed and folding his arms on John's chest, so that John can get an arm around him, too.
"Yeah, well, who's going to turn down a threesome?"
"He has a point," John feels obliged to say.
"I just thought it'd be about...jealousy or something. Dunno. Like -- all about you, maybe," poor Gareth is trying to find words for this, when John and Scott haven't ever bothered. "I didn't really believe you got off on it," he says to Scott, who laughs.
"Neither did John, at first," he answers. John's eyelids are heavy, and he is careful not to dislodge Scott as he settles a little deeper into the pillows. Sleep is nice, after sex, and maybe when he wakes up Gareth will let him...play a bit more.
"He's out," he hears Scott say distantly. "Such a bloke. Settled in, kid?"
"Sure. Do you...do this sort of thing a lot?" Gareth asks.
"From time to time."
"What about -- "
"With you?" Scott asks. "Well. You're getting married, but...yeah, our door's always open, if you like."
"That's not the only thing," Gareth says drily -- all that biting sarcasm in the show did come from somewhere.
The last thing John hears as he drifts off is Scott laughing, and for the first time since he fell he actually feels at peace with the world.
END
For: GREAT PORNING.
Wordcount: ~3500
Rating: Strong R (sex, language)
Summary: John Barrowman gets the best get-well present ever from his husband. (Scott Gill/John Barrowman/Gareth David-Lloyd)
Warnings: Threesome, voyeurism, infidelity. Sheer unrepentant pornography about real people.
Beta credit: Other shy anons!
"This fucking sucks."
"Yes, John, I know."
"No, I mean, it really sucks. I could have spent last weekend in America."
"I know."
"Drinking on someone else's tab and singing my fine ass off."
"Yep."
"And I could have -- "
John stops ranting, not so much because he's noticed that Scott isn't listening as because he's noticed that Scott is distracted. In the normal course of a day there are multiple times where Scott doesn't listen to him -- that's their deal, John talks a lot of rubbish and Scott listens to the important parts. But ordinarily it's just Scott not listening. At the moment, Scott's not listening because he's listening for something else.
John narrows his eyes.
"Had sex with eager American women," he finishes.
"Mmh," Scott grunts, still staring through the front window of the house.
"Met Barack Obama. Have you seen him? Gorgeous."
"Hm?" Scott asks, turning around. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
John tilts his head. "Are the neighbours over the road having sex on their lawn or something?"
Scott laughs. "No."
"Well, then what?" John asks, moving to stand. Scott pins him with a stern glare and he wilts back, but one of these days he's going to stand up and damn the consequences. Scott is not the boss of him.
(Scott is totally the boss of him.)
But it's been days since he fucked his ankle up, and he's sore from the fall and the painkillers make him twitchy and his ass hurts from sitting all day and if he doesn't move around soon he's going to either explode or put on weight, neither of which is appealing. He can't fix himself food, he can't hum around the house like he normally does poking into everything and pestering Scott. He can't even dance with Scott, his number one all-time favourite activity. Dancing's what got him into this mess in the first place, which just goes to show that it's a horrible world.
And the sex is so awkward!
"I'm waiting for a delivery," Scott says, turning back to the window and leaning against the frame. "I got you a present."
"A present?" John asks, all resentment forgotten. Then suspicion creeps in. "It's not a wheelchair, is it?"
"John!"
"Glittery crutches?"
"You are the campest invalid ever," Scott scolds.
"What's wrong with glittery crutches? If people are going to stare, shouldn't they get some wow for it?" John asks, and does jazz-hands. Scott finally gives in and laughs.
"It's not glittery crutches," he says, coming to sit next to John on the sofa, pulling John's head down a little to rest against his. "It's something to cheer you up. You've been deathly cranky, you know. I'm considering divorce."
"If you did that, we could get married again. One more opportunity to see David in a kilt," John suggests.
"Mm," Scott agrees, grinning. "But you have been in the dumps, love."
"I can't help it," John complains. "I'm bored and I hurt."
"I know. Thus, my surprise. Which -- " Scott leans forward to look out the window again and John almost tumbles over on the sofa, " -- is here! Back in a minute," he announces, with a quick kiss for John's forehead and a gentle tap-tap of fingers against the toes of his injured leg.
John cranes his neck to try and see through the window, but all he can see is a car. He pushes himself up and is almost all the way off the sofa when Scott shouts "STAY THERE, PRINCESS!" from the front hallway, and John sulks back into the cushions.
He can hear Scott open the door, hear voices and laughter and then the door closes again. When Scott comes back into the room he's carrying a paper bag, which is weird, because presents that have to be delivered don't usually come in paper bags --
Then there's movement in the doorway and someone steps in behind Scott. Gareth, grinning sheepishly, hands shoved in the pockets of his threadbare jeans, one of his horrible hats perched on his head. John laughs in sheer delight.
"Gareth! Scott didn't say you were coming," he exclaims.
"Excuse him for not getting up," Scott says with a meaningful look at John. John rolls his eyes and Gareth laughs.
"I'm not fussed," he says, wandering into the room, stopping in front of John with a pleased grin on his face. "Scott said you needed cheering. I've brought you grapes."
Behind him, Scott pulls a bottle of wine from the bag and waggles it.
"Well, sort of grapes," Gareth amends.
"Best kind of grapes," Scott decides, wandering into the kitchen. His voice drifts back. "Oh, he brought DVDs and chocolates, too!"
"Come to woo?" John asks. "Sit down. Take that awful hat off."
"I like this hat," Gareth says defensively, but he takes it off and tosses it on the arm of the sofa. He sits on the coffee table next to John's injured, elevated ankle and leans forward, hands clasped between his knees. "How are you?"
"Pissy," John sighs. "Making Scott crazy."
"HE IS!" Scott calls.
"How was the con?" John continues.
"Pissy," Gareth grins. "You put on a show though, given you were a few thousand miles away."
"I try. Sorry you had to go it alone," John says.
"It's fine. Poor Tom's as fucked up as you are, by the way, but at least he can walk."
"I told you Chicago was dangerous."
"He didn't get shot, John, he got hit by a cyclist."
"Gangster cyclists. Rumrunners on Raleighs," John replies. "Clearly we are cursed."
"Tom thinks I made it happen." Gareth gives him a wide, wicked grin. He is so pretty when he's evil. "So about that cursed amulet I gave you..."
"I always knew you were a witch," John says, and then sobers a little. "How's Kai?"
Gareth frowns. "I haven't seen him," he admits. "I called a few times. He says you did too. I think it's hard, you know."
"Give him my love if you see him?"
"Yeah, of course."
John hears a clank from the kitchen, and the slosh of liquid, but it's a little bit early for wine. As they lapse into silence Scott returns with a tray -- a beer for Gareth and one for himself, and sparkling water and the prescription bottle for John.
"Here you are," he says, presenting the tray. Gareth takes his beer with a "Ta, Scott" and then swipes the bottle of pills before John can reach for them. He tips out two, passes one to John, and with another naughty-lad look downs the other one himself.
"Degenerate!" John accuses.
"It's good to be bad," Gareth informs him.
"Suits you," Scott says.
"Surprised he hasn't been sneaking them on the sly if you're as cranky as he says," Gareth continues. "Or double-dosing you to keep you quiet."
"They don't work on him," Scott sighs, settling into a nearby chair. "They make him distracted. If I slipped him two he might start hallucinating."
"Really?" Gareth asks, mock-fascinated, studying the bottle. "Fun times."
"Youth," John says to Scott, who chuckles. "So you're the present Scott got me? Do I get to unwrap you?"
"John," Scott warns, but Gareth just grins.
"Well, I've cheered you up, haven't I?" he inquires. "Scott called and said you might like to talk to someone who has no regard at all for your feelings or injury." He accentuates the last part by poking John's ankle, then grabbing his foot and shaking it lightly. It doesn't hurt, but John screams dramatically and clutches his heart. Gareth's wide-eyed look of panic does brighten him up considerably.
"Fuck's sake, Barrowman!" he cries, as John and Scott both dissolve into laughter. "That's not funny!"
"Your face," Scott wheezes.
"If I crippled John Barrowman for life!" Gareth protests. "Millions of reality telly fans would never forgive."
"So they wouldn't. Cheers," John says, and holds up his water glass. Gareth tips the neck of the beer bottle against it in a toast and then takes another sip. John's about to say something filthy and amusing when he catches Gareth giving Scott a discreet questioning look, and Scott's small nod. John frowns. He's not used to people talking around him in looks and gestures, doesn't like it. Before he can form his objection, however, Gareth stands up and takes his water glass, setting both that and the beer on the side table, and then settles down again.
On John's lap.
Straddling his thighs in those scruffy jeans of his, nose about level with John's.
"Well," John can hear that his voice is pitched a little higher than normal. "Hello, Gareth."
He glances at Scott, who looks overwhelmingly smug, long legs stretched out, enjoying the show.
"Actually," Gareth says, just sitting there, hips cocked a little to keep his weight off John's bad leg, "He called and asked if I fancied a shag."
"It was a little more complicated than that," Scott adds.
"He explained your arrangement," Gareth announces.
It is a good arrangement, never better when it's being discussed by an eager young man sitting in John's lap. If John is going to fuck around, and it is in John's nature to fuck around as much as possible, then they both agreed that it should be with someone Scott thinks is pretty and interesting, someone Scott picked for him. John and Scott fit together like an obscure puzzle, the exhibitionist and the voyeur. Besides, if Scott brings someone home specifically for John to play with, it's hardly adultery, is it?
Jesus Christ, Gareth's gorgeous up close. It's not like he and Scott haven't discussed this, and other assets of John's male colleagues (Gareth's arse, Burn's abs, David's legs that go on forever). And it's not like he's never been this close to Gareth before. But when you put on the costume and you know the other man hates wearing his necktie and you're both in eight pounds of screen makeup, it kills the eroticism a little.
Gareth's eyelashes are long and dark, framing really lovely blue eyes.
"So, do you mind?" Gareth asks, snapping John back into the present.
"You're a terrible straight boy," John informs him. Gareth's laugh is almost sultry. Oh god.
"People kept asking me, what's it like being a straight actor playing a gay man, or whatever the hell the writers think he is," he says, inching a little closer, more comfortable now that John's relaxed. "Nobody bothered to ask if I was actually straight."
Scott, when John looks sidelong at him, has his beer in one hand and his other hand resting on his stomach. He's just watching, but with that fire in his eyes that John adores to see, the light that reminds him they'll both enjoy this.
"Fuck," John mutters, getting an arm around his waist to hold Gareth secure, a hand clenching in his shirt. "You mean we could have done this two years ago?"
"I hardly knew you weren't exclusive," he points out. "Besides, maybe you weren't into me."
Gareth leans back and takes John's hand off his hip, flattening it instead over his belt-buckle, running it down to the bulge of his erection. The denim is soft and thin and John's fingers twitch. Gareth moans and finally kisses John properly, wet and slow, full of tongue.
"This is a great present," John says to Scott, when Gareth leans back and starts working John's shirt out of his trousers. He lets himself be manhandled a little, Gareth's palms sliding up the sides of his ribcage as he pulls the shirt off, and then he pins Gareth tightly with one arm, so that he can't squirm backwards and undress himself. His other hand cups Gareth's arse for a really proper grope.
"Give him some room, John," Scott growls. Gareth mock-struggles to get away, rubbing delightfully against John. He gets his hands on John's chest and a little leverage, thumbs brushing over John's nipples as he pushes himself back.
"So," Gareth says, businesslike, "what's best for you, invalid?"
"What's on offer?" John drawls -- amused, but also intent to know, because half an hour ago he thought Gareth David-Lloyd was a straight young hipster. He's not sure if he can actually ask for something like a blowjob or a thorough fucking or anything remotely kinky.
"Gareth," Scott puts in, one hand now rubbing slowly up and down over the front of his trousers, "I think the bed might be a bit more comfortable."
Gareth obediently swings himself up, holding out a hand to help John to his feet. John stands and looks at his walking cast, then at Scott, questioning. Still, it's only a few steps down the hallway to the bedroom. Scott shakes his head with a grin.
"Got you on a tight leash," Gareth observes.
"Nice idea," John agrees, hooking fingers in Gareth's t-shirt to pull it off. Without the body-makeup for shooting, Gareth's skin is freckled. The flush of it shows he's not quite so self-contained and confident about this as he'd like them to believe. Scott slides up behind Gareth, nuzzling the back of his neck, and John catches his mouth in a kiss when he opens it to moan.
For a moment they stand there, Scott casually sliding his hands inside Gareth's pants from behind, John kissing him, Gareth with his palms flat on John's chest, fingers twitching a little. John is aware of the particular beauty of things, and he knows how they must look, but he suspects Gareth has not yet developed an older actor's acute awareness of this. So he breaks the kiss and gently nudges Gareth's face to the side, where a mirror in the hallway is visible, so Gareth can see.
Gareth stiffens and groans. "Can we -- in the bedroom, because -- "
John laughs. He can feel the slight fuzziness of the painkiller kicking in, which means Gareth's should be too -- it'll soften him a little, take the edge off, and now he's glad Gareth swiped one.
Scott leaves Gareth to come around and pull John in for a quick kiss before gently offering his shoulder to lean on for the walk. John would rather walk slowly than limp quickly, but it's obviously not fast enough for Gareth, who wraps his arms around from behind and nips at John's shoulder as they go.
"Biter," John says to Scott. Gareth makes a muffled noise of protest against his neck.
In the bedroom Gareth releases him long enough for Scott to ease him onto the bed, sitting, braced on the one leg with the other stretched out. He's almost ready to swing back, as he's had to do just to get into the bed, when Gareth drops to his knees and rests a cheek on John's thigh, nuzzling. There's a slight judder of movement and Scott's suddenly behind John, kneeling, taking his weight, breath warm on his skin.
"Easy," Scott warns, as Gareth lifts his head to kiss John's stomach. "When he tenses up, it -- "
Gareth's hand raises to push up the leg of John's trousers and cup the back of his calf, thumb smoothing over the skin. Scott breaks off into silence at the sight. John tilts his head to see Scott watching, mouth slightly open. After all these years it's amazing that Scott loves so much to see another man's hands on John's skin. Supreme confidence in his proprietorship or simply a total lack of jealousy, John has never known what it is...just been glad of it, that's all.
He's so distracted by this wonderful thing, the look on Scott's face, that he's taken by surprise when Gareth lazily takes him in his mouth. Didn't even notice Gareth undoing his zip. Good drugs.
"You're cute," Scott whispers in his ear, as John gasps and frees a hand to catch in Gareth's unruly hair.
"Jesus," John swears, hearing the old Scots accent creeping in. "He's really -- Jesus good at that."
Gareth pulls back, chuckles, nips his thigh, all youthful stoned self-indulgence. John spares a moment to wonder if he should warn Gareth to mind those teeth, thank you, but then there's Gareth's tongue and wet mouth and the rasp of his stubble on John's skin, and Scott muttering filthy things in his ear. What they're going to do with this pretty boy he got for John, how lovely John is when he's getting his cock sucked --
Gareth, finally, leans back and looks up at him through those eyelashes.
"So?" he says, and John can't quite figure out what he's asking until Scott speaks over his shoulder.
"How d'you like it?" he asks. John closes his eyes, because this is his favourite part.
"It's his show," Gareth's voice is rough.
"Well, actually, it's my show," Scott says, amused. "But I usually let my performers choose their roles."
Oh god, this turns him on more than any of it, this back and forth, because John's basically up for anything and what really gets him off is knowing Scott's pleased.
"The few times I've done this," Gareth starts, as John opens his eyes, then hesitates. "What's easiest on him?"
He catches on quick. Talk to Scott. He's the boss.
"Why don't you fuck him?" Scott asks. John laughs a little as Gareth nods eagerly. Scott begins pulling the remainder of his clothing off, Gareth stripping without concern or much apparent display in front of them. John finds himself on his side on the bed, Scott in his arms, his bad leg curled around Scott's legs. Gareth looms behind him, pleased and unhurried.
"Stuff?" Gareth asks, but John's become distracted by Scott's chest, licking a little soft spot under one clavicle. Scott can make sense of the question, and apparently does, because while John's still fascinated with his husband's skin, there's the crackle of a condom wrapper and then Gareth's hand lifting his thigh, opening him more. He hooks it around Scott's hip and sighs contentedly.
"Beautiful mine," Scott mumbles, lifting John's face for a messy kiss just as Gareth slides a slick finger inside John. He's not exactly deft at it, but he's apparently also not any more interested in foreplay than John is. And John is relaxed enough that it doesn't take very long to have him slick and open and groaning into Scott's mouth.
Gareth's cock is startlingly thick inside him -- John makes a note to explore that later, because he hardly even got to see Gareth naked, let alone play with him as he'd really like to: feel him up, find out what makes him groan, lick him all over. Not now, though, because Gareth pushes in with a few shallow thrusts, silently, and Scott leans over John's shoulder to laugh.
"He's so determined," he says to John in a whisper, as Gareth tries to find the right position, the right angle and rhythm. Scott's cock rubs against John's and Gareth's just about hitting his prostate with every experimental stroke and this is the best thing ever, and then Gareth starts to swear out loud. Filthily, and in that rolling Valleys accent. "Shit" and "Fucking brilliant" and "Jesus Christ" and incoherent moans against the back of his neck.
"I think he's enjoying you," Scott says, one palm flat on John's cheek, thumb tracing across his skin. He looks -- tender, affectionate, like John's something special. For just a moment, John is in this small skin-tight world of pleasure, just before his mind goes blank. He tilts his head against Gareth's (Gareth's teeth still marking up his shoulder) and comes all over Scott's belly. Gareth, not a second behind him, almost draws blood when he snaps his hips forward and moans through his teeth against John's skin.
Scott, laughing, holds John's body flush against him and thrusts with lazy amusement, rocking them both gently, until he sighs with pleasure and follows.
Gareth is still swearing. Softly, a half-conscious mumble, but John can hear a few choice words about his arse and its finer qualities and something about missing his calling as a porn star. Scott says something in reply, John hardly catches what, and then Gareth is bracing him while Scott pulls away. His ankle twinges, but it's far off and hardly even felt through the rush of endorphins.
He drifts on the low murmur of Gareth's voice -- a biter and a talker, interesting quirk -- until Scott returns with a washcloth to clean them up. Warm and damp, John rolls over to face Gareth, who is lying on his back looking obscenely pleased with himself. Almost hesitantly, because this is new, he spreads a possessive, covetous hand on Gareth's stomach. Gareth glances at him, gives him a shit-eating grin, and shifts a little closer.
"I thought this might be kind of fucked up," he says.
"You still came round," Scott points out, crawling up the foot of the bed and folding his arms on John's chest, so that John can get an arm around him, too.
"Yeah, well, who's going to turn down a threesome?"
"He has a point," John feels obliged to say.
"I just thought it'd be about...jealousy or something. Dunno. Like -- all about you, maybe," poor Gareth is trying to find words for this, when John and Scott haven't ever bothered. "I didn't really believe you got off on it," he says to Scott, who laughs.
"Neither did John, at first," he answers. John's eyelids are heavy, and he is careful not to dislodge Scott as he settles a little deeper into the pillows. Sleep is nice, after sex, and maybe when he wakes up Gareth will let him...play a bit more.
"He's out," he hears Scott say distantly. "Such a bloke. Settled in, kid?"
"Sure. Do you...do this sort of thing a lot?" Gareth asks.
"From time to time."
"What about -- "
"With you?" Scott asks. "Well. You're getting married, but...yeah, our door's always open, if you like."
"That's not the only thing," Gareth says drily -- all that biting sarcasm in the show did come from somewhere.
The last thing John hears as he drifts off is Scott laughing, and for the first time since he fell he actually feels at peace with the world.
END