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Entry tags:
RPF: "Golden (We still sparkle, baby)"
Title: Golden (We still sparkle, baby)
Characters: TW RPS, JB/SG/GDL
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~ 10,000 words
Disclaimer: The events in this story are fiction, as much as the interpretation of the real people as shown in the story is a fictionalization of them and their lives. It should not be inferred that this is an attempt to represent reality.
Summary: Gareth stays the night.
Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
51stcenturyfox, amand_r and paragraphs for the beta. Originally posted as dinoegg.
"Where are you at then?" Fuzzy long-distance still killed the mobile lines every now and then. Something was clicking in the line.
John looked at the phone for the ID, then brought it back to his ear. Wales qualified for long-distance indeed. "LA." John squinted at the sun through the window in the hotel room. Los Angeles didn't have the decency to give him some clouds for a rotten mood or a bit of rain.
"Oh." Static crackled.
John stood from the bed, thumbed open the top button of his shirt and walked over to the window. "You called me, call the The Sun, exclusive story." Scott was rummaging in the bathroom, the sound of piss hitting the toilet bowl, then running water, and John opened the window to the small balcony.
"Wanker." Gareth laughed over the line.
“Why’d you ring?”
Scott stepped out of the bathroom. John looked over his shoulder and gave a shrug in reply to Scott's questioning eyebrow.
"I-" There was laughter in the background, not Gareth's, some music. "I-", Gareth cleared his throat over the noise of wherever he was even when some voices shushed others, "I miss your big, wet snogs." Laughter erupted louder, from suppressed snickers to full-on drunken Welsh bellows.
John turned to face Scott, leaned against the window, Californian breeze brushing through his hair at the open balcony door. "You miss my big dick," John replied. Scott sat on the bed, rolled his eyes and gestured to his watch. John nodded. "You know you like it when you swallow it all down."
Hooting laughter travelled across the line from Wales, well past midnight on a drunken Saturday night out in a pub. "Shit, John," Gareth said, a little strained, the laugh a faint echo underneath the alcohol and the catcalls of his mates.
"Bye bye now, love! I have to go and be fabulous!" John shouted, affected the flaming gay and kissed the phone with a big smack, before he hung up.
"Gareth?" Scott asked, doing up the buttons on his shirt.
John nodded, a smile on his face, as he shut the door to the balcony.
"Miss him then?" Scott's sly tone played in the quirk of his eyebrow, a suggestive kissy face.
"Oh shut up," John replied, laughing, as he tucked the phone back into the little pocket on his belt.
Scott just smiled and tugged on his sleeves, straightening them. "I don't like LA much," he said to the room at large, his sleeves in particular.
John stared at the brown-leafed palm trees surrounding the hotel's pool. "Still, you came."
"Still, you asked," Scott gave back, a bit too sharp.
John leaned his forehead to the glass of the window, stared at the sun. "Is this a crisis?" he said to the cloudless sky and did up the top button of his shirt again. They were going for more business less tourist today. Meetings. Things to sign.
"Don't be daft," Scott said from behind him, then brushed a kiss to the back of John's neck.
"You wouldn't live here?" John turned, the slight mocking of any melodrama replaced by seriousness. "If things worked out, you wouldn't want to-"
"Too early is it?" Scott searched John's face, shrugged. "Do you?"
John's phone vibrated on his belt, Gavin's number shone.
"You are too bloody moody for your own good," Scott said, punctuated it with a push to John's shoulder.
John turned, rested his hands on Scott's hips. "I just missed my morning wank to thoughts of Gareth because you sucked me off. It would make anyone moody." He grinned.
Scott rolled his eyes and stepped back. "Yeah, that's exactly what it is."
*
The beach played cloudy and mysterious; the tide was out and lapped waves a few hundred yards in the distance. Gareth hadn't brought his dogs. John's were too posh and pampered to walk the stones and much preferred the easy grass of the backyard. They'd walked out along the coast, then turned back when the early spring sun began to disappear down the horizon.
"Any new big revelations to share then?" Gareth walked with his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, hoodie zippered closed to his chin.
John shook his head, jumped up on one of the rocks and down from there after a step to cross it. "You're doing the Hub again, then, when is it, April?"
"Kai's there, Tom. Will be good without you, old man."
John snorted. "I'm the life of any party."
"Yeah." Gareth picked up a small stick, turned it over in his hands, glanced at John. "You still thinking of moving over there? You just bought the house."
"It's not me who's cruising LA for roles," John returned and shrugged. "No, I don't know. Scott wouldn't. I wouldn't, not really. You?"
"Leave Wales? Yeah, I mean, yeah, why not. It's Wales. 'm still young," Gareth added pointedly.
"Hey!" John turned to Gareth, toed one of the rocks, a bit curious now. "Gemma game?"
Gareth shrugged. "Suppose. Still weird, y’know, with the show. Rubbish really, missing the set, been since November." He hunched into his shirt, squinted at the waves. "'m an idiot, aren't I? Shit." He shook his head at himself.
John shrugged in non-reply. "First big job, instant celebrity-"
"Oi-"
"No, well, it was. It is."
Gareth shook his head. "Still rubbish. We're doing a new EP," he added in the same breath, changing topics in half a second.
John narrowed his eyes at him. "Please say you won't make me listen."
"Please say you won't give me tickets to your show," Gareth retorted, laughing as John's house came back into view, dogs barking excitedly at the gate.
Scott was standing inside the house, watching them through the terrace doors. John caught his eye, the question to which he had a shrug of his shoulders and smile. He always had a smile for Scott. The dogs jumped them with happiness as they trotted back up the path.
Scott opened the door for them. "Have a good walk?"
"Yeah." Gareth shrugged out of his hoodie, rubbed his hands. John's were prickling with warmth now. "Good after that." He nodded at the plates from dinner that were now stacked on top of the sink, the dishwasher washing another load first.
"Gavin called," Scott said, "something about the show. I told him you'd call him back."
John nodded, hanging up his coat and stretching in the comfy warmth of the house. Gareth had made his way over to the sofa and sunk down in the cushion, playing with CJ, tug-of-war with a toy. John took his phone from Scott's hand, mouthed, "give me five" and disappeared to his office.
Something about the dancers, and he doodled on a throwaway paper calendar as he listened. Gavin had it in hand really, but while they were talking they went over the schedule for the next week, three days in London, one in Cardiff, one in London, one in Cardiff, the usual nightmare of endless travels along the M4, dozing or driving himself didn't make much of a difference, and he'd rely on the briefing the night before to have his PA, Rhys, get him where he needed to be.
The phone call finished, he walked back out, still cataloging information from the call. On the sofa he found Gareth staring at Scott, Scott turning to John when the door creaked open as he walked in, corner of his lips turned up.
"You look like you just stole cookies out of the secret jar," John said, eyes narrowed at the two of them: Scott's smile quirking his lips, Gareth's faux-pokerface holding.
Gareth leaned down to tickle CJ's belly, laughed when the dog flopped onto its back for more attention. He gave it two beats -- they felt like television tension timing -- then shrugged, smirk settling on his face. "You use the same toothpaste." He looked up as Scott gave John a there you go smile.
John raised an eyebrow at Scott, turned the look on Gareth, grin broadening on his face. "You-"
A hint of nervousness flickered somewhere on Gareth's face, on the edge of interest and more interest, but undeniably there and undeniably straight and I kissed a boy and I liked it. John tugged the smile back a notch, from sun splitting skies to shallow autumn afternoon, in an effort to do the right thing. "Do you want to... talk about it?"
"Oh fuck off, John," Gareth replied, a bit incredulous, laughing now. "I'm not a blushing virgin."
"Not a virgin anyway," Scott said pointedly, stretching off the sofa and walking towards John and past him, pressing a kiss to John's lips. "Wine for either of you?"
John smacked his lips. "You taste nothing like him." Half-accusing, he shook his head. "Water for me."
"Coke, thanks," Gareth said and sat up, arms on his thighs and fingers dangling between them. "I just- I've thought about it after-"
"And talked about it with Gemma-"
"And not talked about it with Gemma." Gareth pulled a face, glanced up at John. "She's not my keeper."
"You are getting married."
"She is not my keeper."
"Look, Gareth, I won't-"
"You enjoyed the blowjob enough, John."
John snapped his mouth shut.
"Ouch," Scott said from the kitchen, carried the glasses to set them on the coffee table.
"Fucking hate these conversations," Gareth muttered. "More shagging, less talking."
"And then it's your girlfriend on my doorstep."
"Fiancée," Gareth said under his breath. "Whatever happened to no strings attached, do any hole..."
"Don't be an ass," John replied and plunked down on the sofa.
"Right." Gareth ran a hand through his hair, leaned back on the sofa. Outside the clouds were playing catch, the wind pushing them around. "I didn't start this."
John raised an eyebrow over his glass of water and wished he was drinking a vodka tonic now. That's why you didn't fuck with straight boys. They only turned around and fucked with you. He smiled instead. "No, you didn't." Then his phone vibrated on his belt and, setting his jaw, he pressed the button to take the call when he saw it was Gavin and got up off the sofa, carrying his glass with him as he walked out into the hallway.
Some rescheduling mess foiled most of the next day's careful planning and John gave Gavin the courtesy to pretend he was listening at least while Gavin explained how they'd steal five minutes there, to have them elsewhere. The sun had disappeared down, leaving him with his own reflection in the window of his office and the dismayed frown to stare at. This hadn't quite been his plan here, more the type for playful seduction than moody shifting of insecurities. See above. That's what you get for fucking straight boys.
Or trying to.
Exchanging the last pleasantries with Gavin, John stepped back into the living room as he hung up the phone again, glad to see Gareth still there. "Thought you'd left already," he said quietly, still very much interested and relieved now, curious, and got himself a vodka tonic from kitchen and bar.
Gareth shook his head, looking every bit the mid-twenties kid. John rubbed a hand over his face, watched him. Interest and indecision flitted across Gareth's face, and John smiled a bit at that, sipping his drink. Scott's arm was stretched along the sofa, lazily taking in both of them in the slowest tennis match of the century. Then Gareth stood from the sofa and crossed the room to John, stood in front of him, dropped to his knees and rubbed his knuckles over John's crotch.
"Whoa," John exclaimed, taking a half-step backwards as he caught Scott's eye.
"Less talking, more shagging," Scott said with a shrug and a chuckle of serves you right.
And apparently that meant that the straight-boy sensibilities were flying out of the window. John curled his fingers around Gareth's shoulder, keeping him a distance away. "Not that I'm stopping you..."
Gareth sat back on his heels, face firm in resolve. "Well you are. It's a shag, John. Don't be such a pussy."
John rolled his eyes.
"Bit too late to grow a conscience," Gareth added, flashing John back to his lips around Gareth's dick in the restroom during the wrap party.
"I was drunk."
"Right," Scott said from the sofa, watching them and sipping his wine.
Gareth gave a laugh and pressed the palm of his his hand to John's crotch. "You want a blowjob or not, Barrowman?"
John looked up and caught Scott's eye. Scott shrugged, shaking his head on a laugh. "I'd do him," he said, rolling his eyes. "You started it, John."
And then Gareth was the straight boy who didn't mind trying out dick on his knees. When John didn't protest, he reached for John's belt and opened it, thumbed open the button on the jeans and pulled down the zip.
"You're not drunk now," John had to point out, wrapping all their possible excuses in a trash bag and binning them instantly.
Gareth's face hardened. "Stuff it, John."
So John did and settled his weight on his heels as Gareth pulled open his fly and pushed down his jeans.
"You're gay for my cock," he said, taking a sip from his vodka tonic and marveling just a little at the unshaven, hair-slightly-too long guy who was on his knees for him. "You're a cliché now," he added, running his fingers through Gareth's hair.
"Happen to you often?"
"Did," Scott said. "He's getting old now."
John looked up, catching Scott's smirk just as it was fading. "Gee thanks," he replied, tugging on Gareth's hair, running his thumb over his ear.
"Ever done fans?" Gareth placed his hand on John's cock, drew his thumb along its length, circled the head.
"Again, used to," John said with a pointed look at Scott. "Back when it was theatre and the gay boys were in it for me." He laughed. "Fantasy of yours?"
"Who says I haven't," Gareth shrugged and leaned forward, eyes narrowed a little as he stared at John's cock inside the cotton, then he pressed a kiss to it, licked his lips, seemingly working out what the fuck he was doing on his knees. "They are young. And hot. Not like-"
John pushed his crotch into Gareth's face, shutting him up, a laugh on his lips. "Sucked someone before?"
Gareth glanced up at John, the angle making him strain his neck as he inhaled through and exhaled into John's underwear. His eyes flickered like he was considering how to deliver a lie, then he shook his head no and settled into a smirk for defensiveness, body tense.
John smiled down at him. "Mine's of course a bit big to learn on."
Scott chuckled from the sofa, set his glass down with a clink. John looked up to see him leaning forward, watching them.
"Bold liar," Gareth said, and pressed his lips to the length of John's cock, breathed into the cotton.
John jerked, fingers curled into Gareth's hair. "Yeah."
Gareth licked his lips, brought his fingers to wrap around John's hard-on through his briefs. John was watching over his glass when determination settled in Gareth's forehead even as the fingers still tangled with insecurities for a moment.
"You don't-"
"Shut it, Barrowman," Gareth interrupted him without ever looking up, and tugged on jeans and briefs at the same time to get them down to mid-thigh.
John inhaled and couldn't resist brushing his fingers through Gareth's hair. A number of cheap porn lines came to mind. His hips pushed forward, the tip of his dick brushed against Gareth's cheek. It made Gareth jerk back, his eyes widen. John widened his stance, kept his hand in Gareth's hair, and brushed his thumb over Gareth's brow, a steady back and forth.
Gareth's lips opened, hot breath, and his t-shirt caught tight on his arm when he lifted his hand to John's cock. John kept his breath low, trying not to disturb that moment of someone's first dick, how symbolic, and looked up from Gareth to Scott. Scott had pushed his hand into his jeans, now opened the fly with the other hand to give himself a little more space. His fingers curled, bumping out the crotch of his jeans, and he smiled at John, arousal playing around the edges. It made John push towards Gareth, even as he managed to keep his mouth fucking shut. This was not the time to spook anyone who was still trying to figure out what the hell he was doing on his knees.
Gareth shook his head, straightened his shoulders and his fingers closed around John's cock, squeezing him lightly as he tightened them from small finger to thumb like the idea of a wave. John's grip on his glass of vodka tonic got sweaty and his hips jerked into that touch for a moment, and again, when the muscles in his stomach pulled tight in arousal.
The sofa creaked as Scott shifted on it. His fingers closing around John's cock, Gareth looked up, neck craned back. John wanted to fuck him just for those eyes, just for that look, just for that hint of arrogance and forwardness that had been in the smirk and was now something a little more unsure. John slid his hand to the back of Gareth's head and shifted himself a little closer, a half-shuffle with his jeans around his thighs.
John raised an eyebrow at Gareth, felt that smile on his own face, blood thrumming in his ears. Then Gareth pushed forward, not even a half-second's indecision and closed his lips around John's cock, giving a hard suck. John's fingers tightened on glass and head, and the yelp past his lips of surprise and FUCK, that was good made Scott laugh from the sofa. Gareth, down on his knees, still in his scruffy clothes, smirked around John's dick.
John caught his breath, slipped his hand around and traced his thumb over Gareth's lips stretched around his cock. "So?" John's thighs tensed, wanting more of that very sweet mouth.
Gareth's smirk slipped back into confused and surprised, eyes darting down to look at John's hand, knuckles brushing his lips, then up again at John's face, and John chuckled, watched as Gareth pulled off his cock, smacked his lips and sat back on his heels.
Gareth turned for Scott, taking him in, on the sofa, legs splayed, hand inside his jeans, and Gareth looked back to John, his fingers still around John's cock. Hard to tell what he was thinking, what was going on in his head there.
"Weird," Gareth said and leaned up again, pressed his lips to John's cock in a kiss.
"Looks good from here though," John replied, teasing tone and just enough arousal playing over his vocal cords, placed his own hand over Gareth's and moved them both on his cock. "From over there, too."
"Yeah." Gareth frowned at John's cock, at both their hands moving on it.
"Second thoughts?" John took a sip from his drink, halting question and moved his hand off Gareth's, let it dangle by his side.
Gareth stared at his hand, shrugged, shook his head and leaned forward, moving his lips over the tip of John's cock and gave a tentative suck, just enough for a real taste, just enough to make John want to fuck his face. Instead he was left with impotent little movements that made Scott snicker. Gareth shook his head no belatedly, making John chuckle somewhere in his throat, and curled his hand around the back of John's thigh for a bit of balance as he slipped his mouth lower.
John stretched in his stance. His toes curled into the carpet and inched his feet further apart, and he couldn't not watch how Gareth's lips looked on his cock, how the cheeks and the swallowing throat translated from the hot wetness of Gareth's mouth. Just the tip of his cock, a little more, and John aborted his movements, no need to scare anyone with a facefuck, but how good would his cock look slipping all the way inside. Gareth sucked, and the wet sound of spit on skin made John push deeper, made Gareth's eyes and his hand tighten on John's thigh, pull off just enough in surprise to keep his lips around the tip of John's cock, head cushioned between too fucking soft and hot and wet, and John's hand twitched up for Gareth's head again, unable to resist brushing his fingers through Gareth's hair, cupping his head lightly, his own knees bending to soften any jerking movements.
Lips around cock, Gareth glanced up at John, and pushed his tongue against John's slit, lips curling in a smirk when John breath came as a bit of a pant, less of a controlled exhalation.
"I should take a picture and sell it," Scott said from the sofa.
Gareth's smirk broadened and turned into a laugh. He slipped his lips off John's cock but curled thumb and index finger around it just under the head, sliding them over spit-slick skin. Asscheeks drawing tight, John pushed his hips into the movement, content to let his hand drop from Gareth's head when Gareth shifted his weight and kneeled up, rolling his shoulders.
"Where'd you sell them?" John asked and lifted his gaze from the hand on his cock, eyebrows raised.
"Ebay." Scott stretched his legs. "With big bold letters in red." The dry tone slid easy from his lips, the slightly mocking smile.
"And then you'd have to answer messages of, who's that guy sucking John Barrowman's cock then?"
"Funny, Barrowman," Gareth said from below, hand moving easy on John's cock.
It still looked fucking surreal from where John was standing. Nothing like this for a bit of excitement in the living room, and it was stupid and there'd be regrets and what-the-fucks, but it was hard to care with that hand on his cock, those lips and eyes, and Scott watching, knowing, and the easy relaxation of arousal in each of his movements, eyes tracking everything and promising something there.
Hard to be rational when someone was holding your cock, harder to even want to be.
Gareth's attention had slipped lower again and John wasn't protesting that at all when those lips closed around his cock and Gareth slipped his hand a little higher.
Hard to worry about straight boys' fiancées when the boys wanted to give head that bad, and he was shit at playing daddy when someone was sucking him.
"Tighten your lips a bit," John said, kept his voice low.
The grip of Gareth's lips got a little stronger and John pushed his hips forward, wincing when it made Gareth splutter but unable to resist the easy grip of that suck for just a moment, a few jerks of his hips until Gareth pulled off, lips and chin spit wet, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Sorry," John muttered, fisted his own cock now, as Gareth watched. John didn't need to look up to see Scott rolling his eyes.
"He's eager," Scott commented.
Gareth laughed, maybe a bit nervous now. He glanced at John's cock, up at John's face, then got up off his knees and stood.
"Okay?" John asked again. "Sorry didn't mean to-"
"No!" Gareth interjected, then softer, hidden underneath a chuckle, "no, just, knees."
But the straight boy arrogance had tipped just a smidge in favor of nervous gay virgin again and the broadening shoulders and defiant look, chin jutted, reminded John of himself in his mid-twenties and the first guys he pulled for a handjob behind a club.
John closed the distance to Gareth and pulled his chin around to him, pressed a kiss to slick lips. "You can always leave."
Gareth turned his face from John's lips but didn't step back, only reached down to curl his hand over John's around his cock as he shifted closer, pressing John's cock to his shirt, resting his face against John's cheek, exhaling against his ear. "I'm not sixteen."
"I wouldn't fuck you if you were sixteen," John gave back with a snort of laughter and a little push of his hips as he went onto his toes and down again as he pushed into Gareth's touch.
"Thank fuck," Gareth replied, then slipped into silence.
John caught Scott's eye over Gareth's shoulder, questioning. Scott nodded and stood from the sofa, glass of wine in hand, fly of his jeans open, erection denting the fabric of his boxer shorts through the gap. He came to stand behind Gareth, shifting closer, then bent down and brushed a kiss to the nape of Gareth's neck.
"Bedroom?" Scott asked, kissed the top of Gareth's ear and stood back again, watching John and Gareth for a moment. "If you still want to," he added, then took John's glass of vodka tonic, melted into ice water with a bit of alcohol, and turned, carrying both into the kitchen.
Gareth stepped out of the hand-job embrace with John, watched Scott put the glasses down on the counter in the kitchen, watched Scott walk back, eyes flickering between face and groin. "This is fucking weird."
"You don't-"
"No, I want to, yeah. Yeah." Gareth scowled at John.
John laughed.
"You'll be there?" Gareth turned to Scott.
Scott shrugged. "I can stay out here and get off on hearing you make him scream."
Gareth grinned. "Oh yeah, I'm that good."
It was that funny in-between of time for a thought during relocation where Gareth's eyes flickered and he, no doubt, thought of Gemma, if John knew anything about these things, but then it was gone, and when Scott walked ahead to the bedroom Gareth followed with a big-boy strut, leaving John to tuck himself back in perfunctorily. It wasn't the most sexy of smooth transitions, but when they stood in the bedroom and John walked up to Gareth it was getting there again.
Scott was moving around, drawing curtains maybe, cock hanging out and hard, John stepped up to Gareth. "Kissing okay?"
Gareth stared at him as if he'd grown two heads, rolled his eyes. "Done it before, John."
John shrugged and kissed him, opened Gareth's lips with his tongue and pushed his tongue into his mouth as his fingers fumbled for the buttons on Gareth's shirt, getting the first one open, then the second and he had to shift a little closer when Gareth's tongue moved over his. His fingers curled into the fabric he was just trying to unbutton, stubble scratchy against his skin but he didn't mind much. He shifted his leg between Gareth's, pushed forward to push his cock against rough material.
Gareth was hard, good to fucking know, and there was that first gasp, that first swallowed moan of arousal when John shifted his lips just so. It played between them as John sucked on Gareth's lower lip, then sucked on his tongue. One hand playing with the buttons and opening them, John moved his other hand down and brushed the back of his hand over Gareth's crotch, then cupped him through his jeans, thumb stroking across the bulge. Gareth moved into the touch.
The mattress creaked behind them, the sound of sheets moving.
"You are fucking gay for me," John breathed against Gareth's lips. The indignant yelp in reply returned into a groan that he buried in the crook of John's neck. Scott chuckled.
Gareth pushed his crotch against John's thigh and hip, muscles of his thighs tensing under the jeans, and after a few flailing, skittering touches, he settled one arm around John's shoulders, the other hand on John's hip, fingers hooked into a belt loop to keep John just right there.
John got the buttons of Gareth's shirt open, his own hips jerking, when another hot puff of breath made it across his collarbone, and he pushed the shirt off Gareth's shoulders, followed that with his hands, moving them over shoulder blades and back, down to the waistband of Gareth's jeans, just above his ass, up again.
Gareth moved his arms, wriggled to slide the shirt down, shimmying out of the fabric. His fingers found their way back to John's belt loops, and John found it hard not to find it a little adorable how Gareth was happy to just cling to him there, and just a little worrying if he was honest. He slid his hand up Gareth's chest, curved it around his jaw and drew Gareth's face to him like they were playing Jack and Ianto and someone would be yelling cut sometime soon.
"I'm not your office boy," Gareth muttered against John's lips and stepped back, took in John and grasped the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.
John smirked. "Too creepy for you?"
"You've no idea the fantasies he's had," Scott commented from the bed. "Oh Ianto, oh take me," he impersonated with breathy moans.
John felt his face heating. He glared at Scott for good measure and got caught in that moment. Scott was stretched on his side along the bed, legs easily splayed and fully relaxed, just watching, as usual, still in jeans and polo shirt.
"I'm joking," Scott amended, still smiling, and broke the eye contact with John to glance past him at Gareth, only took another moment for a hint and nudge and stern look to have John turn around, too.
Gareth stood, all but with his hands buried in his jeans' pockets, cock creating a sweet outline that begged for a good wank against a wall, but his body angled back now, eyes flitting between John and Scott and John's hard-on and shirtless body.
"Sorry, no tits," John said into the silence.
Gareth's face jerked up. He tried for a brave smile but it didn't easily settle anywhere near where it should have been, and he cleared his throat instead.
Back to the straight boy insecurities, John rested his fingers on the waistband of his own jeans. "I'm not making you do anything, Gaz, you don't have to be here."
"No, I'm good. I'm good." Gareth looked up, scowl in his face as he advanced on John. "Stop making me out to be such a girl."
"Oh I'd pay to see you wear heels," John gave back. "You'd strut your stuff, wouldn't you? Maybe a bit of rouge here and-" John reached out drew his thumb over Gareth's lids and down his cheek.
"You don't fuck girls," Gareth replied and took one step forward and another until he was pressed up against John, chest hair to smooth and his nipples hard as they rubbed against John's chest.
"I'd make an exception for you," John replied and thumbed open the buttons on Gareth's jeans, pulled down the zipper. "I'd make you pretty," he whispered against Gareth's cheek and then mouthed his lips in every pretense of a kiss, "and then I'd mess you up." He chuckled. "You don't need messing up now." He pushed down Gareth's jeans and pressed up close to him, fingers closing around Gareth's cock to jerk him for a moment or two.
"Do you always wax poetic, John?" Gareth whispered into John's ear as he moved his face to John's neck, bit at the muscle there and traced nervous fingers over John's jeans-covered ass.
Scott snorted laughter on the bed, had the decency to muffle it in a pillow from the sound.
John snorted. "You want it without all the frills and sexy talk?" John squeezed his fingers around Gareth's cock, used his free hand to step out of his jeans, waited for Gareth to do the same, then stepped backwards until the back of his legs hit the bed, sat down, shimmied back and drew Gareth on with him, in a smooth move that had Gareth's knee end up somewhere it most certainly wasn't supposed to go and Scott's elbow somewhere in John's back with the lack of advance warning.
Gareth managed to hold himself on his knees, legs spread over John's thighs, hand holding him up somewhere between John's shoulder and Scott's crotch.
"Bloody smooth, Barrowman," Gareth remarked, raised an eyebrow at the tangle of limbs. "Is that how you seduce them all?"
"He isn't one for the elegance," Scott replied. "Remember Dancing on Ice."
John still had his eyes closed to the mess, but it didn't keep his hands from making their way up the back of Gareth's thigh.
Gareth laughed. "I'd have been fine with an old-fashioned hand-job-"
"-blow-job," John interjected, and cracked an eye open. "Hand jobs were what you did when you didn't want to catch shit." It brought a fair onslaught of memories of sailing the last of the AIDS scare wave, and Scott's fingers in the hair at the back of his nape made him mutter a "sorry," Gareth's way. John propped himself up on his elbow. "You are clean, aren't you?"
"Wanker," Gareth muttered and sat back on his haunches, legs still splayed over John's thighs.
"You never know, fucking fangirls and-"
"John," Scott said in dark tone, and fingers that squeezed a little warningly on his neck at Gareth's darkening expression.
"Bit late for you to ask, isn't it?" Gareth replied, and the pitying look he sent down his body was probably meant for his erection that wasn't quite that impressed or impressive anymore, to be fair.
"You're the one who-" John shut up because Gareth looked at him just so. He did want to get some. He moved his hand from the back of Gareth's thigh to the front, drew it from his knee up to Gareth's crotch.
"I'm making my decisions here," Gareth added to make his point, "so stop fucking harping on them. If you had issues with-" he broke off, "you're the one who offered the fucking blowjob."
John wasn't quite sure now if that was only straight boy sensibilities or more something he should have kept his fucking mouth shut on. If Scott's groan was anything to go by, more the latter than the former. It was apparently only so far he managed to put out of his mind that Gemma was right there and that he'd be the one to look her in the eye -- then something wet and hot engulfed his cock and John looked down to see slightly greasy brown hair and feel wet heat and slick tongue on his cock, then bathing his balls. He turned his head for Scott, and Scott shrugged and breathed just a little heavier, his cock hard against the back of John's head. They were only gay men after all; it's what they fucking did.
And Gareth was eager, part puppyboy, part straight boy cockiness, part wanting to do as much as possible as fast as possible to notch it down as done and moving on. He wrapped his fingers around John's cock again, thumb rubbing up and down along the underside as he sucked on the head then moved his mouth down lower, John's cock slipping along palate and inching towards the entrance of his throat. On cue, Gareth drew back spluttering, making both Scott and John chuckle.
Gareth looked up and took both of them in and in turn they both watched him. John pushed up further and had to steal that kiss from those spit-wet lips. "You are fucking hot," he whispered against Gareth's lips, and he knew that Scott felt the same, like they were introducing someone new to something mind-blowing. If you were John Barrowman you couldn't not think in superlatives and sparkle. Scott's hand was on John's back, thumb pressing a slow line down his back parallel to his spine, and it made John arch up, pushing his cock up and out and into the grasp of Gareth's fingers.
It was a little like long-term repayment, like Gareth was happy just to have his lips around John's cock to pay him back for that one drunken blowjob when John couldn't keep his hands to himself and hadn't even thought of Gemma because she'd not been there that night. Not quite how it worked, not that tally of notches and one on one's, but he was happy to have Gareth happy with a cock in his mouth because they all liked to desecrate straight boys and have them on their knees.
"Tastes different," Gareth said after another slurping taste of cock, then John's lips, alternating knob and hole.
"Different to what?" Scott asked from behind John, fingernails scratching at John's skin to keep him right there.
"Pussy."
"You're the expert on that, love," John replied, and then crooning, "You're sucking cock."
"You're composing your Daily Mail contribution?" Gareth said and sat back for a moment before he leaned forward, forcing John to lay back as he lowered himself to his elbows, spread his thighs further and sucked on John's lips as he pushed his crotch against John's, rolled his hips for maximum contact. Still not quite sure what to do with his hands they flitted about John's hair, then along his shoulders, then down his side and up again, to eventually curl his fingers into sheets next to John's body.
John watched him, roaming eyes and all, widening at a touch of tongue to his own, the way Gareth's brows drew when a thought seemed to enter his head and smoothed out when he forgot about it altogether. Then, smacking lips and all, Gareth pushed up and away from John and stretched just little to angle his head forward. John turned his head and watched Gareth push the hem of Scott's polo shirt from his stomach and press his lips to the bit of naked skin just under the hipbone. Gareth's swallow was audible in the room as he pulled back. John smiled, danced his fingertips over Gareth's stomach and down his sides. Scott twitched behind him.
"Didn't think you were just a decorative element," Gareth mumbled in semi-Welsh semi-embarrassed, body thrumming.
"But oh so decorative he'd be," John said. "Why do you think I keep him around? Coffee table book, that's all."
Scott snorted, limbs rustled the sheets and John had to turn more fully when Gareth's knee caught him in the side as he stretched up to watch Gareth's lips on Scott's, chaste and there was nothing hotter than your boyfriend, partner, snogging someone else hot, and John was happy to settle in to watch that. "You planning to publish a book about the night you did-"
"Daily Mail article," Gareth interrupted John, smirk curling his lips around the edges of that smile. Then he pushed back into that space left by the two sides of the angle made up by John and Scott and sat back on his heels, watching them.
John looked to Scott, maybe for affirmation but he had to settle for a smile and a nod and then it was all about Gareth as he sat up from his sprawl and leaned forward, crowding Gareth against the headboard. Gareth was inching back with every forward shift of John's body, waiting and watching him intently.
"I'm gonna kiss you," John said, and ignored Scott's laughter but still pushed into the hand rubbing at his thigh.
Gareth swallowed, eyes flitting, and John caught his mouth in that moment, that one moment of almost dropping from the mood into dated awkwardness again and kissed him. He moved closer, straddling one of Gareth's thighs, pushing his knee up close enough to Gareth's crotch to feel the heat there, soft balls against his skin.
"I'm still kissing you," John said against Gareth's lips, spit stringing between them.
"Get on with it, then," Gareth gave back from somewhere low in his throat and bit at John's jaw in retribution.
"Listen to the man," Scott said from the side, and then so much closer.
"Not a porn movie," John interjected, but bent down, a hasty line of kisses that served as arrow dots and he was nuzzling at Gareth's cock like a good gay man looking for his fix.
"He got offered a role in one," Scott said above him, dinner conversation, his hand playing with John's hair before it moved away.
Gareth barked a laugh. John glared up, dick between his lips like a resentful whore.
"Did you have to audition and show off your skills?" Gareth asked.
John started to say something about his skills being good enough, thank you very much, but it came out garbled and wet.
"Bet I could find you on xtube."
Scott rolled his eyes, then turned his head just enough to press a kiss to Gareth's ear. Gareth's breath hitched, and John suddenly couldn't shake the feeling of two old queens feeling up an innocent straight boy, like the 1960s films or some bad fairytale, and pulled off Gareth's cock with a slurp to sit back.
Gareth's eyes were wide, mouth slightly open and John closed his fingers around his cock just watching that. Gareth's eyes flickered to Scott, to John, to John's cock and Scott pulled back to lie on his side. He shrugged, and it looked answer enough for Gareth to pitch himself forward and press his lips to John's cock. John kept his fingers around the base of his cock and caught Scott's eyes over Gareth's bobbing head and hairy back stretched awkwardly, ass half in the air.
Scott grinned and stretched backward, reaching for a water bottle on the nightstand, uncapped it and drank slowly, throat bobbing with each swallow.
Gareth kept his lips tight, forehead pulled into a frown, then slid just off the cock, precome bubble from cock to lips and he licked his lips, pulling a face, to burst it. That's how dreams went.
"S'he watching?" Gareth asked, and drew his fingertips over John's cock, spit and precome, over the head, and he looked like he was itching to suck it up and John would have liked that very much.
John glanced up at Scott, watching indeed, and back down to Gareth. "Yeah."
"Must be weird."
John followed the path of Gareth's fingertips with his thumb and from the head of his cock to Gareth's lips, wet. He dragged his thumb over the crease just past the corner of Gareth's mouth, the stubble. He shrugged. "What he does." Like that explained it all. "Weird for you?"
"No," Gareth said quickly. "No," just a bit slower, then.
"Better than it just being me?" It meant to be a joke, really, but Gareth thought about it for that one second too long, that John brushed his finger through his hair, down the side of Gareth's face and made him not answer. "Gemma and you, never-" he started but broke it off before Scott's groan travelled past his throat.
"I don't go around advertising," Gareth gave back.
"That you're into cock."
Gareth laughed. "You wish. Threesomes and shit, you don't go around advertising that."
"The Daily Mail would love it," Scott said from the other side of the bed.
"They don't care about me," Gareth and the implication was clear enough.
John looked at the morose eyes and greasy hair, and mostly at his naked cock, and thought this whole affair- wait blowjob, let's not go there - lacked a bit of sparkle and chutzpah.
"This should be sexy," he said and looked down his body, a bit mournful. Scott snorted laughter.
"Gee, thanks Barrowman," Gareth replied but slipped his lips over John's cock anyway, sucking a bit too hard, with slightly too many teeth digging into sensitive skin to make it more a mild punishment than something with an enjoyable edge.
Scott trailed his fingers up Gareth's side, crawled forward a little and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Scoot over," he whispered, stage-whispered, really, into Gareth's ear and John wasn't sure he liked the easy familiarity, but not sure he wanted to dislike it either. His favorite man and the boy whose lips looked good around his cock, both in his bed.
Maybe there was a reason they didn't pick up boys in Soho anymore and bring them home, other than the Welsh countryside offering as much in the way of clubs as their house-dogs-and-garden lifestyle. Maybe it was less age and more time spent together that made you so used to the other and their reactions that you didn't want to lose any of that familiarity in sex and go back to the awkwardness.
He hadn't seen Scott like this in a while. It smarted somewhere in his gut, and at the same time made his cock hard for the boy he'd brought home like a present. Scott shrugged out of his shirt and jeans one-handed, twisting and winding and with more body control than he should rightfully have until he was naked and aroused and the man John had been with for sixteen years and fell for all over again every day. Well, every other day, maybe.
"Watch him," he heard Scott whisper and that was all for him then as Scott twisted his hand underneath Gareth to look for his cock, and Gareth locked eyes with him. Wet, wide open eyes that strained when he tried to take the cock a little too deep, and John's catty little laugh at that got stuck in his throat when Gareth tried it again, as if he had something to prove.
John curved his hand around Gareth's jaw, just stroking his cheek as he pushed his cock slowly into his mouth, let it slip out again before he moved his hips up and forward to slip it further inside.
"Sometimes I hate that you're straight," John said, one of those private admissions he wished he'd kept his mouth shut on.
Scott leaned up and over Gareth, pressing him closer to John, to kiss John. He ran his fingers through his hair and drew his head back a little, pressed a kiss to those grey roots and the crow’s feet and the wrinkles around the laugh lines, the side of the nose, then caught his mouth in a kiss again. "You'd hate it more if he was gay," Scott said. "Think of it, gay and young and too good with a cock in his mouth. You'd hate his guts." Scott laughed, catching the sting. "And then you'd fuck him just to have him."
Gareth swallowed, coughed.
Scott grinned against John's lips, then leaned down to press his lips against Gareth's ear, to his lips stretched around John's cock. Hot breath when Scott exhaled, hot tongue when he gave the side of John's cock that one suck.
"Don't worry, he's not going to shag you," Scott said around his cock.
Gareth pulled off, rubbed the back of his hand over his lips. "What if I wanted to?" And the straight boy arrogance gleamed in prism colours.
John choked on a laugh and jazz hands before he settled into a chuckle. "You're not that good an actor. I'm not buying that."
Gareth looked insulted for a moment, then John canted his hips up and his cock smeared over Gareth's lips until he opened them and sucked him down, eyes closing, full concentration and John let his head fall back. He wanted a chapter in his next book about this, stacked between tales of Carole and vacations with Scott and writing his millionth autograph, he wished he'd kept count. Whenever he tried to calculate he got stuck around ten thousand and Scott was no help laughing at him trying to figure it out with the calculator on his blackberry in filming breaks or whatnot. He wanted this in there, the story of how he seduced Gareth David-Lloyd while his partner was watching with a hard dick.
Maybe because he was greedy, maybe because it made him look less aging queen and more hip.
Well, he said seduced. Gareth's eyes flickered open as if to check for approval. Guilt twinged somewhere, but he'd be the last to make choices for other people.
He picked up an easy rhythm of cock into mouth, deeper then more shallow when Gareth spluttered, and still soft, even as his fingers curled into the sheets and around Gareth's jaw respectively.
Another thing: when you were that young you didn't think about fucking, you just did it.
He missed that sometimes.
Gareth sucked hard and John reached down to his own balls, fondled them in absence of another hand. "Coming," he pressed out, and Gareth pulled away, rubbed his mouth on his shoulder and watched John instead who moved his hand in an easy grip over his cock, twisting upwards, hips pushing into the movement and coming. The sounds from his throat were the little jerky aftershocks of hotel room orgasms when you pretended to be decent if you didn't pretend to be outrageous. Come slid over his fingers and to the base of his cock as he stroked a few more times, then uncurled his fingers from around his cock and dropped his hand to the sheets, watched Gareth through slitted eyes.
"You could have swallowed," John joked.
"I could have vomited," Gareth gave back pointedly, laughing. "I'm not that gay for you, Barrowman."
And then, come cooling around John's cock and sweat cooling on his body, Scott reached for Gareth and kissed him like they must have done earlier when John was on the phone, tentative nibbles as they knelt in the middle of the bed and right there for John. It was a show -- no panto dramatics -- only naked bodies.
Scott glimpsed him sideways, then closed his eyes, then Gareth opened his, like they were both checking he was still watching, and he was. Hands went for cocks, and John mourned a little that he'd come already or he'd have enjoyed this more. The footboard was digging uncomfortably into his back, the sheets stuck to the sweat under his thighs.
He wanted Gareth for a trophy, like all good gay men, to show off to his neighbours as an I can still do it wink the way you would golf trophies or YMCA memberships. He reached for Scott's body instead, and he loved that body, every inch of it. Now Gareth's fingers were exploring it like he was learning something new.
Scott didn't only watch. Life's too short to be the guy with your own hand on your dick.
Scott thrust against Gareth's hip, tightened his grip on Gareth's dick and Gareth's eyes didn't open to check back with John again. Neither did Scott's. They were doing their own private thing, the curse of a triangle, maybe, and John was relegated to watch and enjoy when he would have preferred to be right in the middle of it all, spotlights on and cameras rolling.
Breaths hitched, bodies twisted and Gareth had Scott pressed backwards just far enough to control the contact for friction and pace and Scott let him, indulging a guest, but he had fingers more experienced with other cocks, and he opened his eyes to John as he drew his thumb along Gareth's cock, then jerked him. Gareth did something and Scott's eyes fell closed, his mouth open on a moan and he sank his teeth into Gareth's shoulder, coming first and drawing Gareth along half a minute later.
Scott was so sexy and he was his. John grinned to himself. It didn't matter much then that he couldn't really lay claim to Gareth.
They breathed against one another, still knelt on the bed, until Gareth was the one to draw back and shuffle towards the headboard for something solid to hold onto.
Scott smiled, looking from John to Gareth, and at his own hand. "Paper towels?" he asked John.
John laughed, feeling a bit foolish with drying come around his cock himself and shook his head. Scott grabbed them from somewhere anyway; he must have put them there earlier.
Scott dropped back on the bed and sat cross-legged next to Gareth, brushed his knuckles over Gareth's side, from armpit over ribcage to his stomach, just to touch him in aftersex affection, and John liked him like this, both of them, Scott toned and Gareth not so much. He missed the skin on skin and shifted forward on his knees, crawled closer and bit at Gareth's stomach just under his belly button and to the side. Gareth's fingers curled into his hair and pushed him away.
"Not everyone can be..." Gareth squinted at them, "...that," he finished and pointed at Scott, smirk on his scruffy face, not John, and John smacked his hip.
"I'm only trying to be beautiful," he simpered and felt a bit the panto princess, trying to impress the young prince she wanted to marry. Too many princes, only one princess. John glanced away from Gareth to Scott, "I was watching." Begging for approval and rolling it into half complaint only sweetened with a kiss and an obvious choice made.
Maybe they were too old for affairs.
Scott was rolling his eyes; he didn't have to check for that. John leaned forward and kissed Gareth for symmetry and now he could taste Scott on the lips, and he liked that. That hand on Gareth's body was hypnotic the way it moved and tangled, until Scott pushed away and off the bed. John flopped backward with his arms stretched out.
"Wine, water," Scott paused, then shrugged and with a chuckle and a funny little English stress, "Jack Daniels?"
Gareth grabbed a pillow and pitched it across the room. It hit John on the shoulder and rolled off the side of the bed before it even touched Scott. John reached back and Scott was right there behind him, well, his knee was. He groped for it and felt a bit an idiot that he got all sappy after sex like it was a religious experience or something to put in his diary.
He stretched back, throat stretched and kissed the side of Scott's knee. Affirming contact.
"I should probably go-" Gareth started.
John was already halfway nodding before Scott's hand in his hair arrested the movement, and Scott interjected, "Another drink and you can take the guest bedroom. You don't want to..." He trailed off but pointedly looked at that love bite or mauling on his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow at John. John felt the pout somewhere, but at least one of them was tactful enough not to spell out the girl's name.
He hated after-sex conversations. Sparkle, rainbows, sweaty sheets. Shit. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and leaned back against the foot of the bed, propping himself up. His legs lay alongside Gareth's and he couldn't resist drawing his toes along Gareth's calf, scratching along there for a while before he noticed what he was doing it.
Gareth reached down and scratched at the same spot before he lay back against the headboard, hand not quite but rather obviously across his crotch like he was itching for the blanket that had slid off the bed to hide himself behind. John stretched daringly to show off his body and felt an ass, cheap at that, a moment later. Gareth was still the straight boy from earlier. Sucking cock, sadly, didn't turn anyone.
"You've done this kind of thing before though, yeah?" Gareth said to the backdrop of Scott clanking glasses in the kitchen.
"Not in a while," John answered, opened his mouth for more then shut it again, not really feeling that laying out his love life to a shag, not a random one, but one nonetheless, was that wise a choice.
He hated how sex ended with the climax, all the fun bits were gone and the air was always too cold. He angled for the blanket from the floor, drew it over both their legs and Gareth hitched it up to his chest.
"Right. He lets you do it with blowjobs in bars now?"
"You don't even tell her." John ran a hand through his hair. "Shit, sorry." Where were his leading men qualities now? He'd keep this anecdote for Carole. Where was his iPod? He'd go record it now and email it tonight. Have it make it into the new book under Affairs of and maybe Gareth would get his own initials so they wouldn't have to write out his fucking long showbiz name over twenty pages.
"It's not you, he's always like that after," Scott said from the door, carrying three glasses and letting Gareth take one. It was JD, as promised, and Gareth seemed happy with that. "I usually push him over to his side of the bed, stuff a pillow in his face and tell him to sleep it off."
"Ass," John said, and frowned at Scott's pointed look.
Scott had put on jeans, probably dirty ones from the laundry, and settled cross-legged across from both of them on the bed, sipping his wine. Scott's fingers looked like they wanted to go back to fondling Gareth, and John couldn't help but watch them twitch. He scowled into his drink which was wine he didn't like much and nearly sighed dramatically.
"You plan more with your band then?" Scott inquired, like they were making dinner conversation.
Gareth grunted something in reply, still watching John before he focused on Scott, only pressed his leg to John's under the covers, like some forced psychic connection. The taste of Gareth's lips mixed with the wine in John's mouth and he didn't mind that overly much. Now, it masked the taste of both.
CJ whined at the door, John exchanged a look with Scott then scrambled off the bed himself, he could use the night air when the thrum of anticipation got all sucked up and spat out backwards again. Barefoot, he padded through the living area, cursing CJ under his breath when paws and claws managed to skirt over his feet in all the excitement. The other two followed as he opened the sliding door. He gave a look to the laundry room, then leaned naked inside the door. He made sure to stay out of the light sensors and just watched the dogs jump around, before he decided otherwise and grabbed a pair of boxer shorts.
Scott and Gareth were talking. He wished Gavin would call to give him something to do at, well, two in the morning. The grass was spiky and wet under his feet, fucking freezing, but he walked past the pool and onto the deck anyway, stretched out on one of the chairs, his yell at the wet cold of dew or frost making CJ bark before he shushed him.
If he listened past the scratching of dogs' play fights he fancied he could hear the water lapping at the beach. Overactive imagination. He was shivering and considered walking back in when Scott appeared in the doorframe, walked outside and stood in front of him.
"You don't have to play dramatic, you know."
John managed a grunt in reply that was slightly more childish and he felt more the idiot now.
"He wasn't that bad a lay," Scott added, held out a glass and John sipped the wine as Scott tipped it for him before pushing up to press a wine-laden kiss to Scott's lips. He brushed at the drops that spilled between them.
"All you wanted?" Scott asked.
John shrugged. "He still there?" At the nod, he stole another sip of wine. "Better really. And worse?" He laughed, self-deprecating, bubbling in his throat, singer's laugh he fancied. "Enthusiastic, but-"
"Twenty-seven."
He couldn't quite read Scott's voice there but they were both well on the way to grey.
"Twenty-seven, yeah." John looked their feet. "Straight," he added pointedly, and laughed as Scott did. "All these fantasies come true," he tittered in higher voice of utter gay village. He was sure Scott was also thinking engaged to add to the list but neither of them said anything of it.
Maybe the last time they'd brought someone in, and not because it was bad. Maybe because it had been too close for comfort.
"Is he getting pissed on the expensive stuff?" John said eventually when the dogs got impatient and they got too fucking impolite if they stayed out any longer.
"I left him at the bar," Scott said. "He's taking it better than you."
"I'm taking it just fine, thank you very much." John bent down to play with CJ who was rolling in the wet grass out of joy.
"You are-" John cut him off with a kiss, and relaxed into Scott's hand on his back before that hand snapped at his boxer shorts and shooed him back up to the house. Scott never continued the sentence and John patterned his thank you in pseudo-morse code onto the naked skin of his hip.
The heat of the house hit him after the cold and he half stopped in the doorway, took in Gareth lounged against the bar as that one decorative element the interior designers add last and that you throw away first, no pun or anything intended.
The end of Torchwood still smarted, and how inane to think of that then.
If he was gay John would snog him for a thank you and a goodbye but Gareth was straight as they come and he wrung his hoodie in his hands that he had retrieved from somewhere.
"Wasn't sure I was allowed to come out," he said, gesturing.
John managed a straight face and a grin. "We don't keep prisoners."
"He's saying sorry for being a diva," Scott interjected as he moved around John, hiding a yawn behind the palm of his hand. He disappeared in the guest bedroom, probably to put on sheets.
"You'd think you're the blushing virgin," Gareth said.
John groaned.
"He behaves like it," Scott called from the bedroom.
John walked towards Gareth, clear intention to walk past him, but he couldn't resist brushing his thumb over Gareth's shoulder. Not so much lovebite as a bite, and from Scott. And he knew it was his, too, just by being Scott's.
He longed for the ease of the earlíer evening. He usually did.
"You good?" he asked, to check.
Gareth rolled his eyes. "Diva."
John pressed his lips to Gareth's in a kiss that was more playacting from the set and less a one-night affair when they should all know better. Gareth spluttered in the right spirit of it and smacked him on his bare chest, then wiped his lips on John's shoulder. They broke into laughter until Scott poked his head around the doorway, taking them both in.
"All yours. Bathroom's down the hall as you know." Scott gestured to the room and Gareth nodded his thanks.
Will you tell her, John wanted to ask as Gareth walked off to take a piss or faux-brush his teeth, but it was none of his business. Part of him would have liked to be someone's gay trophy on a mantel. In glitter of course.
Scott disappeared into their bedroom. "Night, Gareth," John called down the hallway and took the answered grunt for a reply before he followed Scott and closed the door behind him. There was a wet spot on the bed. "You're sleeping in that," John said, shrugging out of his boxers.
"Your spot, your side," Scott replied as he slipped under the blanket and curled up on his side, faking deep snores.
John slipped into bed and shifted up to Scott's back, wiggled under the covers all the way up and close, until a hand on his thigh pushed him backward. "Cuddle?" John intoned in a Teletubby voice.
"You are..." Scott muttered into the covers. He shook his head. "Just go to sleep. And I'm not making breakfast for him."
John pulled a face. "I don't think he eats breakfast."
Outside their door steps paused, turned and then the guest bedroom door closed.
"He'd do it again, y'know," Scott said into the darkness of them both listening.
"I know."
"You'd only have to ask."
John flopped back on the bed. "But I'm not."
Scott snorted. "I know." His hand inched towards John's thigh, touching just for contact, and John fell asleep when he closed his eyes, or sometime soon after. He wouldn't ask again, much as he was tempted. Well, maybe in a year, a few months, maybe when-
Then he slept.
Characters: TW RPS, JB/SG/GDL
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~ 10,000 words
Disclaimer: The events in this story are fiction, as much as the interpretation of the real people as shown in the story is a fictionalization of them and their lives. It should not be inferred that this is an attempt to represent reality.
Summary: Gareth stays the night.
Notes: Thanks to
51stcenturyfox, amand_r and paragraphs for the beta. Originally posted as dinoegg."Where are you at then?" Fuzzy long-distance still killed the mobile lines every now and then. Something was clicking in the line.
John looked at the phone for the ID, then brought it back to his ear. Wales qualified for long-distance indeed. "LA." John squinted at the sun through the window in the hotel room. Los Angeles didn't have the decency to give him some clouds for a rotten mood or a bit of rain.
"Oh." Static crackled.
John stood from the bed, thumbed open the top button of his shirt and walked over to the window. "You called me, call the The Sun, exclusive story." Scott was rummaging in the bathroom, the sound of piss hitting the toilet bowl, then running water, and John opened the window to the small balcony.
"Wanker." Gareth laughed over the line.
“Why’d you ring?”
Scott stepped out of the bathroom. John looked over his shoulder and gave a shrug in reply to Scott's questioning eyebrow.
"I-" There was laughter in the background, not Gareth's, some music. "I-", Gareth cleared his throat over the noise of wherever he was even when some voices shushed others, "I miss your big, wet snogs." Laughter erupted louder, from suppressed snickers to full-on drunken Welsh bellows.
John turned to face Scott, leaned against the window, Californian breeze brushing through his hair at the open balcony door. "You miss my big dick," John replied. Scott sat on the bed, rolled his eyes and gestured to his watch. John nodded. "You know you like it when you swallow it all down."
Hooting laughter travelled across the line from Wales, well past midnight on a drunken Saturday night out in a pub. "Shit, John," Gareth said, a little strained, the laugh a faint echo underneath the alcohol and the catcalls of his mates.
"Bye bye now, love! I have to go and be fabulous!" John shouted, affected the flaming gay and kissed the phone with a big smack, before he hung up.
"Gareth?" Scott asked, doing up the buttons on his shirt.
John nodded, a smile on his face, as he shut the door to the balcony.
"Miss him then?" Scott's sly tone played in the quirk of his eyebrow, a suggestive kissy face.
"Oh shut up," John replied, laughing, as he tucked the phone back into the little pocket on his belt.
Scott just smiled and tugged on his sleeves, straightening them. "I don't like LA much," he said to the room at large, his sleeves in particular.
John stared at the brown-leafed palm trees surrounding the hotel's pool. "Still, you came."
"Still, you asked," Scott gave back, a bit too sharp.
John leaned his forehead to the glass of the window, stared at the sun. "Is this a crisis?" he said to the cloudless sky and did up the top button of his shirt again. They were going for more business less tourist today. Meetings. Things to sign.
"Don't be daft," Scott said from behind him, then brushed a kiss to the back of John's neck.
"You wouldn't live here?" John turned, the slight mocking of any melodrama replaced by seriousness. "If things worked out, you wouldn't want to-"
"Too early is it?" Scott searched John's face, shrugged. "Do you?"
John's phone vibrated on his belt, Gavin's number shone.
"You are too bloody moody for your own good," Scott said, punctuated it with a push to John's shoulder.
John turned, rested his hands on Scott's hips. "I just missed my morning wank to thoughts of Gareth because you sucked me off. It would make anyone moody." He grinned.
Scott rolled his eyes and stepped back. "Yeah, that's exactly what it is."
*
The beach played cloudy and mysterious; the tide was out and lapped waves a few hundred yards in the distance. Gareth hadn't brought his dogs. John's were too posh and pampered to walk the stones and much preferred the easy grass of the backyard. They'd walked out along the coast, then turned back when the early spring sun began to disappear down the horizon.
"Any new big revelations to share then?" Gareth walked with his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, hoodie zippered closed to his chin.
John shook his head, jumped up on one of the rocks and down from there after a step to cross it. "You're doing the Hub again, then, when is it, April?"
"Kai's there, Tom. Will be good without you, old man."
John snorted. "I'm the life of any party."
"Yeah." Gareth picked up a small stick, turned it over in his hands, glanced at John. "You still thinking of moving over there? You just bought the house."
"It's not me who's cruising LA for roles," John returned and shrugged. "No, I don't know. Scott wouldn't. I wouldn't, not really. You?"
"Leave Wales? Yeah, I mean, yeah, why not. It's Wales. 'm still young," Gareth added pointedly.
"Hey!" John turned to Gareth, toed one of the rocks, a bit curious now. "Gemma game?"
Gareth shrugged. "Suppose. Still weird, y’know, with the show. Rubbish really, missing the set, been since November." He hunched into his shirt, squinted at the waves. "'m an idiot, aren't I? Shit." He shook his head at himself.
John shrugged in non-reply. "First big job, instant celebrity-"
"Oi-"
"No, well, it was. It is."
Gareth shook his head. "Still rubbish. We're doing a new EP," he added in the same breath, changing topics in half a second.
John narrowed his eyes at him. "Please say you won't make me listen."
"Please say you won't give me tickets to your show," Gareth retorted, laughing as John's house came back into view, dogs barking excitedly at the gate.
Scott was standing inside the house, watching them through the terrace doors. John caught his eye, the question to which he had a shrug of his shoulders and smile. He always had a smile for Scott. The dogs jumped them with happiness as they trotted back up the path.
Scott opened the door for them. "Have a good walk?"
"Yeah." Gareth shrugged out of his hoodie, rubbed his hands. John's were prickling with warmth now. "Good after that." He nodded at the plates from dinner that were now stacked on top of the sink, the dishwasher washing another load first.
"Gavin called," Scott said, "something about the show. I told him you'd call him back."
John nodded, hanging up his coat and stretching in the comfy warmth of the house. Gareth had made his way over to the sofa and sunk down in the cushion, playing with CJ, tug-of-war with a toy. John took his phone from Scott's hand, mouthed, "give me five" and disappeared to his office.
Something about the dancers, and he doodled on a throwaway paper calendar as he listened. Gavin had it in hand really, but while they were talking they went over the schedule for the next week, three days in London, one in Cardiff, one in London, one in Cardiff, the usual nightmare of endless travels along the M4, dozing or driving himself didn't make much of a difference, and he'd rely on the briefing the night before to have his PA, Rhys, get him where he needed to be.
The phone call finished, he walked back out, still cataloging information from the call. On the sofa he found Gareth staring at Scott, Scott turning to John when the door creaked open as he walked in, corner of his lips turned up.
"You look like you just stole cookies out of the secret jar," John said, eyes narrowed at the two of them: Scott's smile quirking his lips, Gareth's faux-pokerface holding.
Gareth leaned down to tickle CJ's belly, laughed when the dog flopped onto its back for more attention. He gave it two beats -- they felt like television tension timing -- then shrugged, smirk settling on his face. "You use the same toothpaste." He looked up as Scott gave John a there you go smile.
John raised an eyebrow at Scott, turned the look on Gareth, grin broadening on his face. "You-"
A hint of nervousness flickered somewhere on Gareth's face, on the edge of interest and more interest, but undeniably there and undeniably straight and I kissed a boy and I liked it. John tugged the smile back a notch, from sun splitting skies to shallow autumn afternoon, in an effort to do the right thing. "Do you want to... talk about it?"
"Oh fuck off, John," Gareth replied, a bit incredulous, laughing now. "I'm not a blushing virgin."
"Not a virgin anyway," Scott said pointedly, stretching off the sofa and walking towards John and past him, pressing a kiss to John's lips. "Wine for either of you?"
John smacked his lips. "You taste nothing like him." Half-accusing, he shook his head. "Water for me."
"Coke, thanks," Gareth said and sat up, arms on his thighs and fingers dangling between them. "I just- I've thought about it after-"
"And talked about it with Gemma-"
"And not talked about it with Gemma." Gareth pulled a face, glanced up at John. "She's not my keeper."
"You are getting married."
"She is not my keeper."
"Look, Gareth, I won't-"
"You enjoyed the blowjob enough, John."
John snapped his mouth shut.
"Ouch," Scott said from the kitchen, carried the glasses to set them on the coffee table.
"Fucking hate these conversations," Gareth muttered. "More shagging, less talking."
"And then it's your girlfriend on my doorstep."
"Fiancée," Gareth said under his breath. "Whatever happened to no strings attached, do any hole..."
"Don't be an ass," John replied and plunked down on the sofa.
"Right." Gareth ran a hand through his hair, leaned back on the sofa. Outside the clouds were playing catch, the wind pushing them around. "I didn't start this."
John raised an eyebrow over his glass of water and wished he was drinking a vodka tonic now. That's why you didn't fuck with straight boys. They only turned around and fucked with you. He smiled instead. "No, you didn't." Then his phone vibrated on his belt and, setting his jaw, he pressed the button to take the call when he saw it was Gavin and got up off the sofa, carrying his glass with him as he walked out into the hallway.
Some rescheduling mess foiled most of the next day's careful planning and John gave Gavin the courtesy to pretend he was listening at least while Gavin explained how they'd steal five minutes there, to have them elsewhere. The sun had disappeared down, leaving him with his own reflection in the window of his office and the dismayed frown to stare at. This hadn't quite been his plan here, more the type for playful seduction than moody shifting of insecurities. See above. That's what you get for fucking straight boys.
Or trying to.
Exchanging the last pleasantries with Gavin, John stepped back into the living room as he hung up the phone again, glad to see Gareth still there. "Thought you'd left already," he said quietly, still very much interested and relieved now, curious, and got himself a vodka tonic from kitchen and bar.
Gareth shook his head, looking every bit the mid-twenties kid. John rubbed a hand over his face, watched him. Interest and indecision flitted across Gareth's face, and John smiled a bit at that, sipping his drink. Scott's arm was stretched along the sofa, lazily taking in both of them in the slowest tennis match of the century. Then Gareth stood from the sofa and crossed the room to John, stood in front of him, dropped to his knees and rubbed his knuckles over John's crotch.
"Whoa," John exclaimed, taking a half-step backwards as he caught Scott's eye.
"Less talking, more shagging," Scott said with a shrug and a chuckle of serves you right.
And apparently that meant that the straight-boy sensibilities were flying out of the window. John curled his fingers around Gareth's shoulder, keeping him a distance away. "Not that I'm stopping you..."
Gareth sat back on his heels, face firm in resolve. "Well you are. It's a shag, John. Don't be such a pussy."
John rolled his eyes.
"Bit too late to grow a conscience," Gareth added, flashing John back to his lips around Gareth's dick in the restroom during the wrap party.
"I was drunk."
"Right," Scott said from the sofa, watching them and sipping his wine.
Gareth gave a laugh and pressed the palm of his his hand to John's crotch. "You want a blowjob or not, Barrowman?"
John looked up and caught Scott's eye. Scott shrugged, shaking his head on a laugh. "I'd do him," he said, rolling his eyes. "You started it, John."
And then Gareth was the straight boy who didn't mind trying out dick on his knees. When John didn't protest, he reached for John's belt and opened it, thumbed open the button on the jeans and pulled down the zip.
"You're not drunk now," John had to point out, wrapping all their possible excuses in a trash bag and binning them instantly.
Gareth's face hardened. "Stuff it, John."
So John did and settled his weight on his heels as Gareth pulled open his fly and pushed down his jeans.
"You're gay for my cock," he said, taking a sip from his vodka tonic and marveling just a little at the unshaven, hair-slightly-too long guy who was on his knees for him. "You're a cliché now," he added, running his fingers through Gareth's hair.
"Happen to you often?"
"Did," Scott said. "He's getting old now."
John looked up, catching Scott's smirk just as it was fading. "Gee thanks," he replied, tugging on Gareth's hair, running his thumb over his ear.
"Ever done fans?" Gareth placed his hand on John's cock, drew his thumb along its length, circled the head.
"Again, used to," John said with a pointed look at Scott. "Back when it was theatre and the gay boys were in it for me." He laughed. "Fantasy of yours?"
"Who says I haven't," Gareth shrugged and leaned forward, eyes narrowed a little as he stared at John's cock inside the cotton, then he pressed a kiss to it, licked his lips, seemingly working out what the fuck he was doing on his knees. "They are young. And hot. Not like-"
John pushed his crotch into Gareth's face, shutting him up, a laugh on his lips. "Sucked someone before?"
Gareth glanced up at John, the angle making him strain his neck as he inhaled through and exhaled into John's underwear. His eyes flickered like he was considering how to deliver a lie, then he shook his head no and settled into a smirk for defensiveness, body tense.
John smiled down at him. "Mine's of course a bit big to learn on."
Scott chuckled from the sofa, set his glass down with a clink. John looked up to see him leaning forward, watching them.
"Bold liar," Gareth said, and pressed his lips to the length of John's cock, breathed into the cotton.
John jerked, fingers curled into Gareth's hair. "Yeah."
Gareth licked his lips, brought his fingers to wrap around John's hard-on through his briefs. John was watching over his glass when determination settled in Gareth's forehead even as the fingers still tangled with insecurities for a moment.
"You don't-"
"Shut it, Barrowman," Gareth interrupted him without ever looking up, and tugged on jeans and briefs at the same time to get them down to mid-thigh.
John inhaled and couldn't resist brushing his fingers through Gareth's hair. A number of cheap porn lines came to mind. His hips pushed forward, the tip of his dick brushed against Gareth's cheek. It made Gareth jerk back, his eyes widen. John widened his stance, kept his hand in Gareth's hair, and brushed his thumb over Gareth's brow, a steady back and forth.
Gareth's lips opened, hot breath, and his t-shirt caught tight on his arm when he lifted his hand to John's cock. John kept his breath low, trying not to disturb that moment of someone's first dick, how symbolic, and looked up from Gareth to Scott. Scott had pushed his hand into his jeans, now opened the fly with the other hand to give himself a little more space. His fingers curled, bumping out the crotch of his jeans, and he smiled at John, arousal playing around the edges. It made John push towards Gareth, even as he managed to keep his mouth fucking shut. This was not the time to spook anyone who was still trying to figure out what the hell he was doing on his knees.
Gareth shook his head, straightened his shoulders and his fingers closed around John's cock, squeezing him lightly as he tightened them from small finger to thumb like the idea of a wave. John's grip on his glass of vodka tonic got sweaty and his hips jerked into that touch for a moment, and again, when the muscles in his stomach pulled tight in arousal.
The sofa creaked as Scott shifted on it. His fingers closing around John's cock, Gareth looked up, neck craned back. John wanted to fuck him just for those eyes, just for that look, just for that hint of arrogance and forwardness that had been in the smirk and was now something a little more unsure. John slid his hand to the back of Gareth's head and shifted himself a little closer, a half-shuffle with his jeans around his thighs.
John raised an eyebrow at Gareth, felt that smile on his own face, blood thrumming in his ears. Then Gareth pushed forward, not even a half-second's indecision and closed his lips around John's cock, giving a hard suck. John's fingers tightened on glass and head, and the yelp past his lips of surprise and FUCK, that was good made Scott laugh from the sofa. Gareth, down on his knees, still in his scruffy clothes, smirked around John's dick.
John caught his breath, slipped his hand around and traced his thumb over Gareth's lips stretched around his cock. "So?" John's thighs tensed, wanting more of that very sweet mouth.
Gareth's smirk slipped back into confused and surprised, eyes darting down to look at John's hand, knuckles brushing his lips, then up again at John's face, and John chuckled, watched as Gareth pulled off his cock, smacked his lips and sat back on his heels.
Gareth turned for Scott, taking him in, on the sofa, legs splayed, hand inside his jeans, and Gareth looked back to John, his fingers still around John's cock. Hard to tell what he was thinking, what was going on in his head there.
"Weird," Gareth said and leaned up again, pressed his lips to John's cock in a kiss.
"Looks good from here though," John replied, teasing tone and just enough arousal playing over his vocal cords, placed his own hand over Gareth's and moved them both on his cock. "From over there, too."
"Yeah." Gareth frowned at John's cock, at both their hands moving on it.
"Second thoughts?" John took a sip from his drink, halting question and moved his hand off Gareth's, let it dangle by his side.
Gareth stared at his hand, shrugged, shook his head and leaned forward, moving his lips over the tip of John's cock and gave a tentative suck, just enough for a real taste, just enough to make John want to fuck his face. Instead he was left with impotent little movements that made Scott snicker. Gareth shook his head no belatedly, making John chuckle somewhere in his throat, and curled his hand around the back of John's thigh for a bit of balance as he slipped his mouth lower.
John stretched in his stance. His toes curled into the carpet and inched his feet further apart, and he couldn't not watch how Gareth's lips looked on his cock, how the cheeks and the swallowing throat translated from the hot wetness of Gareth's mouth. Just the tip of his cock, a little more, and John aborted his movements, no need to scare anyone with a facefuck, but how good would his cock look slipping all the way inside. Gareth sucked, and the wet sound of spit on skin made John push deeper, made Gareth's eyes and his hand tighten on John's thigh, pull off just enough in surprise to keep his lips around the tip of John's cock, head cushioned between too fucking soft and hot and wet, and John's hand twitched up for Gareth's head again, unable to resist brushing his fingers through Gareth's hair, cupping his head lightly, his own knees bending to soften any jerking movements.
Lips around cock, Gareth glanced up at John, and pushed his tongue against John's slit, lips curling in a smirk when John breath came as a bit of a pant, less of a controlled exhalation.
"I should take a picture and sell it," Scott said from the sofa.
Gareth's smirk broadened and turned into a laugh. He slipped his lips off John's cock but curled thumb and index finger around it just under the head, sliding them over spit-slick skin. Asscheeks drawing tight, John pushed his hips into the movement, content to let his hand drop from Gareth's head when Gareth shifted his weight and kneeled up, rolling his shoulders.
"Where'd you sell them?" John asked and lifted his gaze from the hand on his cock, eyebrows raised.
"Ebay." Scott stretched his legs. "With big bold letters in red." The dry tone slid easy from his lips, the slightly mocking smile.
"And then you'd have to answer messages of, who's that guy sucking John Barrowman's cock then?"
"Funny, Barrowman," Gareth said from below, hand moving easy on John's cock.
It still looked fucking surreal from where John was standing. Nothing like this for a bit of excitement in the living room, and it was stupid and there'd be regrets and what-the-fucks, but it was hard to care with that hand on his cock, those lips and eyes, and Scott watching, knowing, and the easy relaxation of arousal in each of his movements, eyes tracking everything and promising something there.
Hard to be rational when someone was holding your cock, harder to even want to be.
Gareth's attention had slipped lower again and John wasn't protesting that at all when those lips closed around his cock and Gareth slipped his hand a little higher.
Hard to worry about straight boys' fiancées when the boys wanted to give head that bad, and he was shit at playing daddy when someone was sucking him.
"Tighten your lips a bit," John said, kept his voice low.
The grip of Gareth's lips got a little stronger and John pushed his hips forward, wincing when it made Gareth splutter but unable to resist the easy grip of that suck for just a moment, a few jerks of his hips until Gareth pulled off, lips and chin spit wet, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Sorry," John muttered, fisted his own cock now, as Gareth watched. John didn't need to look up to see Scott rolling his eyes.
"He's eager," Scott commented.
Gareth laughed, maybe a bit nervous now. He glanced at John's cock, up at John's face, then got up off his knees and stood.
"Okay?" John asked again. "Sorry didn't mean to-"
"No!" Gareth interjected, then softer, hidden underneath a chuckle, "no, just, knees."
But the straight boy arrogance had tipped just a smidge in favor of nervous gay virgin again and the broadening shoulders and defiant look, chin jutted, reminded John of himself in his mid-twenties and the first guys he pulled for a handjob behind a club.
John closed the distance to Gareth and pulled his chin around to him, pressed a kiss to slick lips. "You can always leave."
Gareth turned his face from John's lips but didn't step back, only reached down to curl his hand over John's around his cock as he shifted closer, pressing John's cock to his shirt, resting his face against John's cheek, exhaling against his ear. "I'm not sixteen."
"I wouldn't fuck you if you were sixteen," John gave back with a snort of laughter and a little push of his hips as he went onto his toes and down again as he pushed into Gareth's touch.
"Thank fuck," Gareth replied, then slipped into silence.
John caught Scott's eye over Gareth's shoulder, questioning. Scott nodded and stood from the sofa, glass of wine in hand, fly of his jeans open, erection denting the fabric of his boxer shorts through the gap. He came to stand behind Gareth, shifting closer, then bent down and brushed a kiss to the nape of Gareth's neck.
"Bedroom?" Scott asked, kissed the top of Gareth's ear and stood back again, watching John and Gareth for a moment. "If you still want to," he added, then took John's glass of vodka tonic, melted into ice water with a bit of alcohol, and turned, carrying both into the kitchen.
Gareth stepped out of the hand-job embrace with John, watched Scott put the glasses down on the counter in the kitchen, watched Scott walk back, eyes flickering between face and groin. "This is fucking weird."
"You don't-"
"No, I want to, yeah. Yeah." Gareth scowled at John.
John laughed.
"You'll be there?" Gareth turned to Scott.
Scott shrugged. "I can stay out here and get off on hearing you make him scream."
Gareth grinned. "Oh yeah, I'm that good."
It was that funny in-between of time for a thought during relocation where Gareth's eyes flickered and he, no doubt, thought of Gemma, if John knew anything about these things, but then it was gone, and when Scott walked ahead to the bedroom Gareth followed with a big-boy strut, leaving John to tuck himself back in perfunctorily. It wasn't the most sexy of smooth transitions, but when they stood in the bedroom and John walked up to Gareth it was getting there again.
Scott was moving around, drawing curtains maybe, cock hanging out and hard, John stepped up to Gareth. "Kissing okay?"
Gareth stared at him as if he'd grown two heads, rolled his eyes. "Done it before, John."
John shrugged and kissed him, opened Gareth's lips with his tongue and pushed his tongue into his mouth as his fingers fumbled for the buttons on Gareth's shirt, getting the first one open, then the second and he had to shift a little closer when Gareth's tongue moved over his. His fingers curled into the fabric he was just trying to unbutton, stubble scratchy against his skin but he didn't mind much. He shifted his leg between Gareth's, pushed forward to push his cock against rough material.
Gareth was hard, good to fucking know, and there was that first gasp, that first swallowed moan of arousal when John shifted his lips just so. It played between them as John sucked on Gareth's lower lip, then sucked on his tongue. One hand playing with the buttons and opening them, John moved his other hand down and brushed the back of his hand over Gareth's crotch, then cupped him through his jeans, thumb stroking across the bulge. Gareth moved into the touch.
The mattress creaked behind them, the sound of sheets moving.
"You are fucking gay for me," John breathed against Gareth's lips. The indignant yelp in reply returned into a groan that he buried in the crook of John's neck. Scott chuckled.
Gareth pushed his crotch against John's thigh and hip, muscles of his thighs tensing under the jeans, and after a few flailing, skittering touches, he settled one arm around John's shoulders, the other hand on John's hip, fingers hooked into a belt loop to keep John just right there.
John got the buttons of Gareth's shirt open, his own hips jerking, when another hot puff of breath made it across his collarbone, and he pushed the shirt off Gareth's shoulders, followed that with his hands, moving them over shoulder blades and back, down to the waistband of Gareth's jeans, just above his ass, up again.
Gareth moved his arms, wriggled to slide the shirt down, shimmying out of the fabric. His fingers found their way back to John's belt loops, and John found it hard not to find it a little adorable how Gareth was happy to just cling to him there, and just a little worrying if he was honest. He slid his hand up Gareth's chest, curved it around his jaw and drew Gareth's face to him like they were playing Jack and Ianto and someone would be yelling cut sometime soon.
"I'm not your office boy," Gareth muttered against John's lips and stepped back, took in John and grasped the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.
John smirked. "Too creepy for you?"
"You've no idea the fantasies he's had," Scott commented from the bed. "Oh Ianto, oh take me," he impersonated with breathy moans.
John felt his face heating. He glared at Scott for good measure and got caught in that moment. Scott was stretched on his side along the bed, legs easily splayed and fully relaxed, just watching, as usual, still in jeans and polo shirt.
"I'm joking," Scott amended, still smiling, and broke the eye contact with John to glance past him at Gareth, only took another moment for a hint and nudge and stern look to have John turn around, too.
Gareth stood, all but with his hands buried in his jeans' pockets, cock creating a sweet outline that begged for a good wank against a wall, but his body angled back now, eyes flitting between John and Scott and John's hard-on and shirtless body.
"Sorry, no tits," John said into the silence.
Gareth's face jerked up. He tried for a brave smile but it didn't easily settle anywhere near where it should have been, and he cleared his throat instead.
Back to the straight boy insecurities, John rested his fingers on the waistband of his own jeans. "I'm not making you do anything, Gaz, you don't have to be here."
"No, I'm good. I'm good." Gareth looked up, scowl in his face as he advanced on John. "Stop making me out to be such a girl."
"Oh I'd pay to see you wear heels," John gave back. "You'd strut your stuff, wouldn't you? Maybe a bit of rouge here and-" John reached out drew his thumb over Gareth's lids and down his cheek.
"You don't fuck girls," Gareth replied and took one step forward and another until he was pressed up against John, chest hair to smooth and his nipples hard as they rubbed against John's chest.
"I'd make an exception for you," John replied and thumbed open the buttons on Gareth's jeans, pulled down the zipper. "I'd make you pretty," he whispered against Gareth's cheek and then mouthed his lips in every pretense of a kiss, "and then I'd mess you up." He chuckled. "You don't need messing up now." He pushed down Gareth's jeans and pressed up close to him, fingers closing around Gareth's cock to jerk him for a moment or two.
"Do you always wax poetic, John?" Gareth whispered into John's ear as he moved his face to John's neck, bit at the muscle there and traced nervous fingers over John's jeans-covered ass.
Scott snorted laughter on the bed, had the decency to muffle it in a pillow from the sound.
John snorted. "You want it without all the frills and sexy talk?" John squeezed his fingers around Gareth's cock, used his free hand to step out of his jeans, waited for Gareth to do the same, then stepped backwards until the back of his legs hit the bed, sat down, shimmied back and drew Gareth on with him, in a smooth move that had Gareth's knee end up somewhere it most certainly wasn't supposed to go and Scott's elbow somewhere in John's back with the lack of advance warning.
Gareth managed to hold himself on his knees, legs spread over John's thighs, hand holding him up somewhere between John's shoulder and Scott's crotch.
"Bloody smooth, Barrowman," Gareth remarked, raised an eyebrow at the tangle of limbs. "Is that how you seduce them all?"
"He isn't one for the elegance," Scott replied. "Remember Dancing on Ice."
John still had his eyes closed to the mess, but it didn't keep his hands from making their way up the back of Gareth's thigh.
Gareth laughed. "I'd have been fine with an old-fashioned hand-job-"
"-blow-job," John interjected, and cracked an eye open. "Hand jobs were what you did when you didn't want to catch shit." It brought a fair onslaught of memories of sailing the last of the AIDS scare wave, and Scott's fingers in the hair at the back of his nape made him mutter a "sorry," Gareth's way. John propped himself up on his elbow. "You are clean, aren't you?"
"Wanker," Gareth muttered and sat back on his haunches, legs still splayed over John's thighs.
"You never know, fucking fangirls and-"
"John," Scott said in dark tone, and fingers that squeezed a little warningly on his neck at Gareth's darkening expression.
"Bit late for you to ask, isn't it?" Gareth replied, and the pitying look he sent down his body was probably meant for his erection that wasn't quite that impressed or impressive anymore, to be fair.
"You're the one who-" John shut up because Gareth looked at him just so. He did want to get some. He moved his hand from the back of Gareth's thigh to the front, drew it from his knee up to Gareth's crotch.
"I'm making my decisions here," Gareth added to make his point, "so stop fucking harping on them. If you had issues with-" he broke off, "you're the one who offered the fucking blowjob."
John wasn't quite sure now if that was only straight boy sensibilities or more something he should have kept his fucking mouth shut on. If Scott's groan was anything to go by, more the latter than the former. It was apparently only so far he managed to put out of his mind that Gemma was right there and that he'd be the one to look her in the eye -- then something wet and hot engulfed his cock and John looked down to see slightly greasy brown hair and feel wet heat and slick tongue on his cock, then bathing his balls. He turned his head for Scott, and Scott shrugged and breathed just a little heavier, his cock hard against the back of John's head. They were only gay men after all; it's what they fucking did.
And Gareth was eager, part puppyboy, part straight boy cockiness, part wanting to do as much as possible as fast as possible to notch it down as done and moving on. He wrapped his fingers around John's cock again, thumb rubbing up and down along the underside as he sucked on the head then moved his mouth down lower, John's cock slipping along palate and inching towards the entrance of his throat. On cue, Gareth drew back spluttering, making both Scott and John chuckle.
Gareth looked up and took both of them in and in turn they both watched him. John pushed up further and had to steal that kiss from those spit-wet lips. "You are fucking hot," he whispered against Gareth's lips, and he knew that Scott felt the same, like they were introducing someone new to something mind-blowing. If you were John Barrowman you couldn't not think in superlatives and sparkle. Scott's hand was on John's back, thumb pressing a slow line down his back parallel to his spine, and it made John arch up, pushing his cock up and out and into the grasp of Gareth's fingers.
It was a little like long-term repayment, like Gareth was happy just to have his lips around John's cock to pay him back for that one drunken blowjob when John couldn't keep his hands to himself and hadn't even thought of Gemma because she'd not been there that night. Not quite how it worked, not that tally of notches and one on one's, but he was happy to have Gareth happy with a cock in his mouth because they all liked to desecrate straight boys and have them on their knees.
"Tastes different," Gareth said after another slurping taste of cock, then John's lips, alternating knob and hole.
"Different to what?" Scott asked from behind John, fingernails scratching at John's skin to keep him right there.
"Pussy."
"You're the expert on that, love," John replied, and then crooning, "You're sucking cock."
"You're composing your Daily Mail contribution?" Gareth said and sat back for a moment before he leaned forward, forcing John to lay back as he lowered himself to his elbows, spread his thighs further and sucked on John's lips as he pushed his crotch against John's, rolled his hips for maximum contact. Still not quite sure what to do with his hands they flitted about John's hair, then along his shoulders, then down his side and up again, to eventually curl his fingers into sheets next to John's body.
John watched him, roaming eyes and all, widening at a touch of tongue to his own, the way Gareth's brows drew when a thought seemed to enter his head and smoothed out when he forgot about it altogether. Then, smacking lips and all, Gareth pushed up and away from John and stretched just little to angle his head forward. John turned his head and watched Gareth push the hem of Scott's polo shirt from his stomach and press his lips to the bit of naked skin just under the hipbone. Gareth's swallow was audible in the room as he pulled back. John smiled, danced his fingertips over Gareth's stomach and down his sides. Scott twitched behind him.
"Didn't think you were just a decorative element," Gareth mumbled in semi-Welsh semi-embarrassed, body thrumming.
"But oh so decorative he'd be," John said. "Why do you think I keep him around? Coffee table book, that's all."
Scott snorted, limbs rustled the sheets and John had to turn more fully when Gareth's knee caught him in the side as he stretched up to watch Gareth's lips on Scott's, chaste and there was nothing hotter than your boyfriend, partner, snogging someone else hot, and John was happy to settle in to watch that. "You planning to publish a book about the night you did-"
"Daily Mail article," Gareth interrupted John, smirk curling his lips around the edges of that smile. Then he pushed back into that space left by the two sides of the angle made up by John and Scott and sat back on his heels, watching them.
John looked to Scott, maybe for affirmation but he had to settle for a smile and a nod and then it was all about Gareth as he sat up from his sprawl and leaned forward, crowding Gareth against the headboard. Gareth was inching back with every forward shift of John's body, waiting and watching him intently.
"I'm gonna kiss you," John said, and ignored Scott's laughter but still pushed into the hand rubbing at his thigh.
Gareth swallowed, eyes flitting, and John caught his mouth in that moment, that one moment of almost dropping from the mood into dated awkwardness again and kissed him. He moved closer, straddling one of Gareth's thighs, pushing his knee up close enough to Gareth's crotch to feel the heat there, soft balls against his skin.
"I'm still kissing you," John said against Gareth's lips, spit stringing between them.
"Get on with it, then," Gareth gave back from somewhere low in his throat and bit at John's jaw in retribution.
"Listen to the man," Scott said from the side, and then so much closer.
"Not a porn movie," John interjected, but bent down, a hasty line of kisses that served as arrow dots and he was nuzzling at Gareth's cock like a good gay man looking for his fix.
"He got offered a role in one," Scott said above him, dinner conversation, his hand playing with John's hair before it moved away.
Gareth barked a laugh. John glared up, dick between his lips like a resentful whore.
"Did you have to audition and show off your skills?" Gareth asked.
John started to say something about his skills being good enough, thank you very much, but it came out garbled and wet.
"Bet I could find you on xtube."
Scott rolled his eyes, then turned his head just enough to press a kiss to Gareth's ear. Gareth's breath hitched, and John suddenly couldn't shake the feeling of two old queens feeling up an innocent straight boy, like the 1960s films or some bad fairytale, and pulled off Gareth's cock with a slurp to sit back.
Gareth's eyes were wide, mouth slightly open and John closed his fingers around his cock just watching that. Gareth's eyes flickered to Scott, to John, to John's cock and Scott pulled back to lie on his side. He shrugged, and it looked answer enough for Gareth to pitch himself forward and press his lips to John's cock. John kept his fingers around the base of his cock and caught Scott's eyes over Gareth's bobbing head and hairy back stretched awkwardly, ass half in the air.
Scott grinned and stretched backward, reaching for a water bottle on the nightstand, uncapped it and drank slowly, throat bobbing with each swallow.
Gareth kept his lips tight, forehead pulled into a frown, then slid just off the cock, precome bubble from cock to lips and he licked his lips, pulling a face, to burst it. That's how dreams went.
"S'he watching?" Gareth asked, and drew his fingertips over John's cock, spit and precome, over the head, and he looked like he was itching to suck it up and John would have liked that very much.
John glanced up at Scott, watching indeed, and back down to Gareth. "Yeah."
"Must be weird."
John followed the path of Gareth's fingertips with his thumb and from the head of his cock to Gareth's lips, wet. He dragged his thumb over the crease just past the corner of Gareth's mouth, the stubble. He shrugged. "What he does." Like that explained it all. "Weird for you?"
"No," Gareth said quickly. "No," just a bit slower, then.
"Better than it just being me?" It meant to be a joke, really, but Gareth thought about it for that one second too long, that John brushed his finger through his hair, down the side of Gareth's face and made him not answer. "Gemma and you, never-" he started but broke it off before Scott's groan travelled past his throat.
"I don't go around advertising," Gareth gave back.
"That you're into cock."
Gareth laughed. "You wish. Threesomes and shit, you don't go around advertising that."
"The Daily Mail would love it," Scott said from the other side of the bed.
"They don't care about me," Gareth and the implication was clear enough.
John looked at the morose eyes and greasy hair, and mostly at his naked cock, and thought this whole affair- wait blowjob, let's not go there - lacked a bit of sparkle and chutzpah.
"This should be sexy," he said and looked down his body, a bit mournful. Scott snorted laughter.
"Gee, thanks Barrowman," Gareth replied but slipped his lips over John's cock anyway, sucking a bit too hard, with slightly too many teeth digging into sensitive skin to make it more a mild punishment than something with an enjoyable edge.
Scott trailed his fingers up Gareth's side, crawled forward a little and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Scoot over," he whispered, stage-whispered, really, into Gareth's ear and John wasn't sure he liked the easy familiarity, but not sure he wanted to dislike it either. His favorite man and the boy whose lips looked good around his cock, both in his bed.
Maybe there was a reason they didn't pick up boys in Soho anymore and bring them home, other than the Welsh countryside offering as much in the way of clubs as their house-dogs-and-garden lifestyle. Maybe it was less age and more time spent together that made you so used to the other and their reactions that you didn't want to lose any of that familiarity in sex and go back to the awkwardness.
He hadn't seen Scott like this in a while. It smarted somewhere in his gut, and at the same time made his cock hard for the boy he'd brought home like a present. Scott shrugged out of his shirt and jeans one-handed, twisting and winding and with more body control than he should rightfully have until he was naked and aroused and the man John had been with for sixteen years and fell for all over again every day. Well, every other day, maybe.
"Watch him," he heard Scott whisper and that was all for him then as Scott twisted his hand underneath Gareth to look for his cock, and Gareth locked eyes with him. Wet, wide open eyes that strained when he tried to take the cock a little too deep, and John's catty little laugh at that got stuck in his throat when Gareth tried it again, as if he had something to prove.
John curved his hand around Gareth's jaw, just stroking his cheek as he pushed his cock slowly into his mouth, let it slip out again before he moved his hips up and forward to slip it further inside.
"Sometimes I hate that you're straight," John said, one of those private admissions he wished he'd kept his mouth shut on.
Scott leaned up and over Gareth, pressing him closer to John, to kiss John. He ran his fingers through his hair and drew his head back a little, pressed a kiss to those grey roots and the crow’s feet and the wrinkles around the laugh lines, the side of the nose, then caught his mouth in a kiss again. "You'd hate it more if he was gay," Scott said. "Think of it, gay and young and too good with a cock in his mouth. You'd hate his guts." Scott laughed, catching the sting. "And then you'd fuck him just to have him."
Gareth swallowed, coughed.
Scott grinned against John's lips, then leaned down to press his lips against Gareth's ear, to his lips stretched around John's cock. Hot breath when Scott exhaled, hot tongue when he gave the side of John's cock that one suck.
"Don't worry, he's not going to shag you," Scott said around his cock.
Gareth pulled off, rubbed the back of his hand over his lips. "What if I wanted to?" And the straight boy arrogance gleamed in prism colours.
John choked on a laugh and jazz hands before he settled into a chuckle. "You're not that good an actor. I'm not buying that."
Gareth looked insulted for a moment, then John canted his hips up and his cock smeared over Gareth's lips until he opened them and sucked him down, eyes closing, full concentration and John let his head fall back. He wanted a chapter in his next book about this, stacked between tales of Carole and vacations with Scott and writing his millionth autograph, he wished he'd kept count. Whenever he tried to calculate he got stuck around ten thousand and Scott was no help laughing at him trying to figure it out with the calculator on his blackberry in filming breaks or whatnot. He wanted this in there, the story of how he seduced Gareth David-Lloyd while his partner was watching with a hard dick.
Maybe because he was greedy, maybe because it made him look less aging queen and more hip.
Well, he said seduced. Gareth's eyes flickered open as if to check for approval. Guilt twinged somewhere, but he'd be the last to make choices for other people.
He picked up an easy rhythm of cock into mouth, deeper then more shallow when Gareth spluttered, and still soft, even as his fingers curled into the sheets and around Gareth's jaw respectively.
Another thing: when you were that young you didn't think about fucking, you just did it.
He missed that sometimes.
Gareth sucked hard and John reached down to his own balls, fondled them in absence of another hand. "Coming," he pressed out, and Gareth pulled away, rubbed his mouth on his shoulder and watched John instead who moved his hand in an easy grip over his cock, twisting upwards, hips pushing into the movement and coming. The sounds from his throat were the little jerky aftershocks of hotel room orgasms when you pretended to be decent if you didn't pretend to be outrageous. Come slid over his fingers and to the base of his cock as he stroked a few more times, then uncurled his fingers from around his cock and dropped his hand to the sheets, watched Gareth through slitted eyes.
"You could have swallowed," John joked.
"I could have vomited," Gareth gave back pointedly, laughing. "I'm not that gay for you, Barrowman."
And then, come cooling around John's cock and sweat cooling on his body, Scott reached for Gareth and kissed him like they must have done earlier when John was on the phone, tentative nibbles as they knelt in the middle of the bed and right there for John. It was a show -- no panto dramatics -- only naked bodies.
Scott glimpsed him sideways, then closed his eyes, then Gareth opened his, like they were both checking he was still watching, and he was. Hands went for cocks, and John mourned a little that he'd come already or he'd have enjoyed this more. The footboard was digging uncomfortably into his back, the sheets stuck to the sweat under his thighs.
He wanted Gareth for a trophy, like all good gay men, to show off to his neighbours as an I can still do it wink the way you would golf trophies or YMCA memberships. He reached for Scott's body instead, and he loved that body, every inch of it. Now Gareth's fingers were exploring it like he was learning something new.
Scott didn't only watch. Life's too short to be the guy with your own hand on your dick.
Scott thrust against Gareth's hip, tightened his grip on Gareth's dick and Gareth's eyes didn't open to check back with John again. Neither did Scott's. They were doing their own private thing, the curse of a triangle, maybe, and John was relegated to watch and enjoy when he would have preferred to be right in the middle of it all, spotlights on and cameras rolling.
Breaths hitched, bodies twisted and Gareth had Scott pressed backwards just far enough to control the contact for friction and pace and Scott let him, indulging a guest, but he had fingers more experienced with other cocks, and he opened his eyes to John as he drew his thumb along Gareth's cock, then jerked him. Gareth did something and Scott's eyes fell closed, his mouth open on a moan and he sank his teeth into Gareth's shoulder, coming first and drawing Gareth along half a minute later.
Scott was so sexy and he was his. John grinned to himself. It didn't matter much then that he couldn't really lay claim to Gareth.
They breathed against one another, still knelt on the bed, until Gareth was the one to draw back and shuffle towards the headboard for something solid to hold onto.
Scott smiled, looking from John to Gareth, and at his own hand. "Paper towels?" he asked John.
John laughed, feeling a bit foolish with drying come around his cock himself and shook his head. Scott grabbed them from somewhere anyway; he must have put them there earlier.
Scott dropped back on the bed and sat cross-legged next to Gareth, brushed his knuckles over Gareth's side, from armpit over ribcage to his stomach, just to touch him in aftersex affection, and John liked him like this, both of them, Scott toned and Gareth not so much. He missed the skin on skin and shifted forward on his knees, crawled closer and bit at Gareth's stomach just under his belly button and to the side. Gareth's fingers curled into his hair and pushed him away.
"Not everyone can be..." Gareth squinted at them, "...that," he finished and pointed at Scott, smirk on his scruffy face, not John, and John smacked his hip.
"I'm only trying to be beautiful," he simpered and felt a bit the panto princess, trying to impress the young prince she wanted to marry. Too many princes, only one princess. John glanced away from Gareth to Scott, "I was watching." Begging for approval and rolling it into half complaint only sweetened with a kiss and an obvious choice made.
Maybe they were too old for affairs.
Scott was rolling his eyes; he didn't have to check for that. John leaned forward and kissed Gareth for symmetry and now he could taste Scott on the lips, and he liked that. That hand on Gareth's body was hypnotic the way it moved and tangled, until Scott pushed away and off the bed. John flopped backward with his arms stretched out.
"Wine, water," Scott paused, then shrugged and with a chuckle and a funny little English stress, "Jack Daniels?"
Gareth grabbed a pillow and pitched it across the room. It hit John on the shoulder and rolled off the side of the bed before it even touched Scott. John reached back and Scott was right there behind him, well, his knee was. He groped for it and felt a bit an idiot that he got all sappy after sex like it was a religious experience or something to put in his diary.
He stretched back, throat stretched and kissed the side of Scott's knee. Affirming contact.
"I should probably go-" Gareth started.
John was already halfway nodding before Scott's hand in his hair arrested the movement, and Scott interjected, "Another drink and you can take the guest bedroom. You don't want to..." He trailed off but pointedly looked at that love bite or mauling on his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow at John. John felt the pout somewhere, but at least one of them was tactful enough not to spell out the girl's name.
He hated after-sex conversations. Sparkle, rainbows, sweaty sheets. Shit. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and leaned back against the foot of the bed, propping himself up. His legs lay alongside Gareth's and he couldn't resist drawing his toes along Gareth's calf, scratching along there for a while before he noticed what he was doing it.
Gareth reached down and scratched at the same spot before he lay back against the headboard, hand not quite but rather obviously across his crotch like he was itching for the blanket that had slid off the bed to hide himself behind. John stretched daringly to show off his body and felt an ass, cheap at that, a moment later. Gareth was still the straight boy from earlier. Sucking cock, sadly, didn't turn anyone.
"You've done this kind of thing before though, yeah?" Gareth said to the backdrop of Scott clanking glasses in the kitchen.
"Not in a while," John answered, opened his mouth for more then shut it again, not really feeling that laying out his love life to a shag, not a random one, but one nonetheless, was that wise a choice.
He hated how sex ended with the climax, all the fun bits were gone and the air was always too cold. He angled for the blanket from the floor, drew it over both their legs and Gareth hitched it up to his chest.
"Right. He lets you do it with blowjobs in bars now?"
"You don't even tell her." John ran a hand through his hair. "Shit, sorry." Where were his leading men qualities now? He'd keep this anecdote for Carole. Where was his iPod? He'd go record it now and email it tonight. Have it make it into the new book under Affairs of and maybe Gareth would get his own initials so they wouldn't have to write out his fucking long showbiz name over twenty pages.
"It's not you, he's always like that after," Scott said from the door, carrying three glasses and letting Gareth take one. It was JD, as promised, and Gareth seemed happy with that. "I usually push him over to his side of the bed, stuff a pillow in his face and tell him to sleep it off."
"Ass," John said, and frowned at Scott's pointed look.
Scott had put on jeans, probably dirty ones from the laundry, and settled cross-legged across from both of them on the bed, sipping his wine. Scott's fingers looked like they wanted to go back to fondling Gareth, and John couldn't help but watch them twitch. He scowled into his drink which was wine he didn't like much and nearly sighed dramatically.
"You plan more with your band then?" Scott inquired, like they were making dinner conversation.
Gareth grunted something in reply, still watching John before he focused on Scott, only pressed his leg to John's under the covers, like some forced psychic connection. The taste of Gareth's lips mixed with the wine in John's mouth and he didn't mind that overly much. Now, it masked the taste of both.
CJ whined at the door, John exchanged a look with Scott then scrambled off the bed himself, he could use the night air when the thrum of anticipation got all sucked up and spat out backwards again. Barefoot, he padded through the living area, cursing CJ under his breath when paws and claws managed to skirt over his feet in all the excitement. The other two followed as he opened the sliding door. He gave a look to the laundry room, then leaned naked inside the door. He made sure to stay out of the light sensors and just watched the dogs jump around, before he decided otherwise and grabbed a pair of boxer shorts.
Scott and Gareth were talking. He wished Gavin would call to give him something to do at, well, two in the morning. The grass was spiky and wet under his feet, fucking freezing, but he walked past the pool and onto the deck anyway, stretched out on one of the chairs, his yell at the wet cold of dew or frost making CJ bark before he shushed him.
If he listened past the scratching of dogs' play fights he fancied he could hear the water lapping at the beach. Overactive imagination. He was shivering and considered walking back in when Scott appeared in the doorframe, walked outside and stood in front of him.
"You don't have to play dramatic, you know."
John managed a grunt in reply that was slightly more childish and he felt more the idiot now.
"He wasn't that bad a lay," Scott added, held out a glass and John sipped the wine as Scott tipped it for him before pushing up to press a wine-laden kiss to Scott's lips. He brushed at the drops that spilled between them.
"All you wanted?" Scott asked.
John shrugged. "He still there?" At the nod, he stole another sip of wine. "Better really. And worse?" He laughed, self-deprecating, bubbling in his throat, singer's laugh he fancied. "Enthusiastic, but-"
"Twenty-seven."
He couldn't quite read Scott's voice there but they were both well on the way to grey.
"Twenty-seven, yeah." John looked their feet. "Straight," he added pointedly, and laughed as Scott did. "All these fantasies come true," he tittered in higher voice of utter gay village. He was sure Scott was also thinking engaged to add to the list but neither of them said anything of it.
Maybe the last time they'd brought someone in, and not because it was bad. Maybe because it had been too close for comfort.
"Is he getting pissed on the expensive stuff?" John said eventually when the dogs got impatient and they got too fucking impolite if they stayed out any longer.
"I left him at the bar," Scott said. "He's taking it better than you."
"I'm taking it just fine, thank you very much." John bent down to play with CJ who was rolling in the wet grass out of joy.
"You are-" John cut him off with a kiss, and relaxed into Scott's hand on his back before that hand snapped at his boxer shorts and shooed him back up to the house. Scott never continued the sentence and John patterned his thank you in pseudo-morse code onto the naked skin of his hip.
The heat of the house hit him after the cold and he half stopped in the doorway, took in Gareth lounged against the bar as that one decorative element the interior designers add last and that you throw away first, no pun or anything intended.
The end of Torchwood still smarted, and how inane to think of that then.
If he was gay John would snog him for a thank you and a goodbye but Gareth was straight as they come and he wrung his hoodie in his hands that he had retrieved from somewhere.
"Wasn't sure I was allowed to come out," he said, gesturing.
John managed a straight face and a grin. "We don't keep prisoners."
"He's saying sorry for being a diva," Scott interjected as he moved around John, hiding a yawn behind the palm of his hand. He disappeared in the guest bedroom, probably to put on sheets.
"You'd think you're the blushing virgin," Gareth said.
John groaned.
"He behaves like it," Scott called from the bedroom.
John walked towards Gareth, clear intention to walk past him, but he couldn't resist brushing his thumb over Gareth's shoulder. Not so much lovebite as a bite, and from Scott. And he knew it was his, too, just by being Scott's.
He longed for the ease of the earlíer evening. He usually did.
"You good?" he asked, to check.
Gareth rolled his eyes. "Diva."
John pressed his lips to Gareth's in a kiss that was more playacting from the set and less a one-night affair when they should all know better. Gareth spluttered in the right spirit of it and smacked him on his bare chest, then wiped his lips on John's shoulder. They broke into laughter until Scott poked his head around the doorway, taking them both in.
"All yours. Bathroom's down the hall as you know." Scott gestured to the room and Gareth nodded his thanks.
Will you tell her, John wanted to ask as Gareth walked off to take a piss or faux-brush his teeth, but it was none of his business. Part of him would have liked to be someone's gay trophy on a mantel. In glitter of course.
Scott disappeared into their bedroom. "Night, Gareth," John called down the hallway and took the answered grunt for a reply before he followed Scott and closed the door behind him. There was a wet spot on the bed. "You're sleeping in that," John said, shrugging out of his boxers.
"Your spot, your side," Scott replied as he slipped under the blanket and curled up on his side, faking deep snores.
John slipped into bed and shifted up to Scott's back, wiggled under the covers all the way up and close, until a hand on his thigh pushed him backward. "Cuddle?" John intoned in a Teletubby voice.
"You are..." Scott muttered into the covers. He shook his head. "Just go to sleep. And I'm not making breakfast for him."
John pulled a face. "I don't think he eats breakfast."
Outside their door steps paused, turned and then the guest bedroom door closed.
"He'd do it again, y'know," Scott said into the darkness of them both listening.
"I know."
"You'd only have to ask."
John flopped back on the bed. "But I'm not."
Scott snorted. "I know." His hand inched towards John's thigh, touching just for contact, and John fell asleep when he closed his eyes, or sometime soon after. He wouldn't ask again, much as he was tempted. Well, maybe in a year, a few months, maybe when-
Then he slept.