The TARDIS. He's in the TARDIS! David can hardly contain himself he's so excited.
"Oh, this is brilliant," he says, gleefully bouncing around the console. All the switches and buttons and weird objects glued in. He can't resist pulling down a lever, pushing around that odd green globe. Who'd have thought that him begging his way into Big Finish would lead to an actual visit to the actual TARDIS? It's the best day of his life, ever.
"Oops," he says, when a wee plastic fiddly bit breaks off in his hand. He grimaces and holds it up. "Er, seem to have broken this. Sorry."
"Happens all the time," says one of the crew, and takes the proffered part. "Don't worry, we'll just glue it back on."
"Gluing the TARDIS," David says, amused. Of course, it's just a prop, and most props are held together with spit and cellotape more than anything else, but it's the TARDIS console. It's not any old prop, it's the most important prop in the history of props. Well, after the TARDIS exterior, of course, and followed closely by the sonic screwdriver. Oh, he has to see if he can hold the new sonic!
He's vaguely aware that he's grinning like a madman, and he can't keep still. It's just so exciting. He's going to have to thank Russell with flowers or something. Lucky bastard that he is. David would give his right hand to even have a guest role. Maybe if there's a second series...
As David walks off the TARDIS set, he sees someone and stops dead. Oh my god, is that? It is.
Christopher Eccleston. Luckiest bastard of them all. Glowering over a cup of coffee. David really, really wants to walk up to him and fanboy all over him, because he's an amazing actor and David's been able to wheedle a sneak at his Doctor, except it's Paul McGann and Peter Davison all over again, and all David can do is stand there like a fool, struck dumb and staring while inside he's so excited he's practically vibrating.
Christopher glances his way, looks even grumpier, and then walks off. The moment broken, David ducks through a door and leans against the wall. His palms are sweating, and he wipes them on his jeans. At some point he hopes he can stop making a fool of himself in front of every actor who's played the Doctor.
David blinks and turns to find a man standing there, watching him. He's dressed up like a 1940s officer, and David's first thought is that the costume works for him. It goes with the chiselled jaw and the movie-star handsome looks. David looks past him and realizes he's walked onto a set for some sort of alien spacecraft. Well, a different alien spacecraft.
"Nice, isn't it?" the man says, gesturing at the set. "It's mine."
"Doesn't really match the clothes," David says, prying his eyes away from the elaborate set, so as not to be rude. He's embarrassed himself enough for one day.
"Captain Jack Harkness," the man says, with a grin and a wink. He holds out his hand, and David steps forward and shakes it. "John, actually."
"David," David says. John's hand is large and warm, and when John meets his eyes he feels suddenly quivery inside. He lets go after the handshake goes on a bit longer than expected.
"So what brings a guy like you to a place like this?" John asks, noting the guest pass hanging from David's neck.
"Oh. Well," David says, the grin creeping back onto his face. "It's Doctor Who!"
"Ah, a fan," John says, knowingly.
"Only since forever," David says, happily. "I can't get over the fact that it's actually back. Proper series and everything. Have you seen the sonic screwdriver?"
John laughs. "Definitely a fan. Though I think I've seen you somewhere before..."
"Oh, I've been here and there," David says. Casanova is still in post, though he has seen his face plastered about in the trades recently.
John gives him a considering look, up and down. "I got it," he says. "Blackpool, right? You were that singing detective."
David isn't normally recognized, so it's rather flattering. "Peter Carlisle, at your service."
"You can interrogate me anytime," John says.
David fights a blush and laughs nervously. He's never met anyone who flirted quite so enthusiastically before. He rubs at the back of his neck. "Yes, well. Enough about me. What are you supposed to be, then?"
"Intergalactic conman," John says.
"Oh, sounds like right trouble," David says.
"You know it," John replies, with a playful leer that makes David all quivery again. Then John gives an easy laugh. "You should see yourself. I'm not gonna bite. Oh, damn, break's about up, but-- you doing anything tonight?"
"Tonight? Um, no, no plans." David had only intended to spend the day and then drive back.
"Ever been to the Taurus?"
David shakes his head.
"Okay, tonight, seven o'clock, Taurus Steakhouse. Trust me, you'll love it."
"That's very kind, but--"
"No buts," John says. "I've got a reservation and no one to go with, and I hate to eat alone."
"Taurus it is," David agrees. John doesn't seem the type to take no for an answer. Besides, David could do with a night out. He's still in that post-filming recovery period when he's trying to have a social life again.
"Great," John says, and pats him on the shoulder. Grins that big American grin. "See you at seven." And then he's striding away, coat flapping behind him.
As David walks down St Mary's street, he reflects that he did actually have enough sense to ask around about John before leaving the set that afternoon. John Barrowman, late of West End musical theatre. It's surprising David hasn't bumped into him before, but David's drama and their circles must have never overlapped. He's also, apparently, all but married to a bloke called Scott, so despite the eyebrow-raising amount of flirting earlier, David assumes his honour is safe. Apparently flirting is how John says hello.
He's still not sure how he got roped into dinner with a complete stranger. Not that he's averse to making new friends, especially new friends who work on Doctor Who. More excuses to visit the set is never a bad thing, and he doesn't want to be too much of an endless nag to Russell since the man is so busy. He's already managed to snag the voice-over for one of those clip/interview shows, and if he pesters Russell any more he might compromise the holy grail of a guest spot. If only he hadn't been so busy with Casanova and everything else this past year, he could have been free. Ah, well, too late now. All he can do is cross his fingers that the series doesn't sink like a stone.
In the meantime, though, it's good to have an excuse to have a night out. During filming all he wants to do is curl up on the couch and zone out on his downtime, but now that he's recovered he's at loose ends again. Whatever John's reasons for insistently inviting him, David's grateful for the push.
Once he's at the Taurus, he doesn't have long to wait. He sees John's grinning face and waving hand across the crowded waiting area, and John weaves his way through to join him.
"You showed!" John says, pleased, slapping him on the back. "Excellent."
David cocks his head. "Since when are you Scottish?" He wonders if John is taking the piss.
"Born and bred," John says, proudly. "Moved to the States when I was a kid."
"Ah," David says. "You pass very well as an American."
"I usually stick with that," John admits. "But you know how it is. The moment you hear another Scot--"
"--the thicker the accent gets," David says, feeling his own involuntarily thicken. The same thing happens whenever he travels north, or talks to his parents.
John laughs, warm and friendly. "Come on, let's get our table."
The server guides them to an intimate little corner table, and they settle in with their menus. It's a straightforward listing, as this really isn't the sort of place you visit unless you're in the mood for a large slab of meat.
"Hm, the steak, the steak, or the steak?" he jokes.
John pretends to consider this. "I'd go for the steak," he says. "Seriously, though, fillet's the best."
"Come here often, then?" David says, and too late realizes how it sounds. It's all John's fault for flirting with him earlier, putting thoughts into David's head.
John looks amused, then replies, "Something tells me you're sweet. Can I have a sample?"
David gives a surprised bark of a laugh, then bites his lip as several people turn to look at him. "Please tell me we're not going to be trading lines all night."
"Hey, you started it."
"I did not!" David says, with mild indignance. "I distinctly remembering you starting it."
"Hey, you walked into my ship with that arse," John says. "I'd say that qualifies as starting it."
David is busy gaping at him when their server arrives.
"Two fillets, medium-rare," John says, ordering for the both of them. "And a bottle of Chateau Clarke 1999." He slips back to his American accent when he talks to the server.
By the time the server leaves, David has pulled himself together. Clearly he was wrong about his honour being safe, and while that isn't at all a bad thing, he doesn't want to get himself into something he'll regret.
"Um, I'm not sure how to say this," he begins. "But aren't you with someone?"
John sobers. "Yes, I am."
"Then perhaps I should leave," David says. "You're very nice, and under other circumstances--"
"David, stop," John says, calmly. "It's all right."
"Yes," John says, honestly. "We have an arrangement. Scott likes to say I'm too much for one man," he says, a fond look on his face. "The reservation was for him, but something came up."
"Oh," David says, taking this in. "So you have an open relationship, then?" he asks, lowering his voice, aware of the proximity of the other diners. This isn't the sort of thing he's used to discussing in public.
John nods. "Scott won't mind. Really."
"Okay," David says, letting go of his concerns. He gives John a crooked smile.
"That's more like it," John says.
When the wine comes, David drinks his first glass too quickly, and munches on a bread roll to keep it from going straight to his head. He's a bit nervous, he realizes. Not terribly so, but John is a force of nature. A force of nature that wants to have his arse, at that.
He babbles when he's nervous, and the second foremost thing on his mind is John's day job, so he makes a fool of himself blathering on about Doctor Who. John doesn't seem to mind, however, being a good sport and answering David's questions -- up to a point.
"I can't tell you that!" John says, shaking his head. "You don't want me to give everything away. It'll ruin the surprise."
David pouts. "I won't tell anyone."
"That's not the point," John says, stern but amused.
"Oh, very well," David relents. "What was it like, growing up in the States? I've only been there for a movie, a few years back."
"Anything I'd know?"
"I doubt it," David says, with mild chagrin.
"Ah," John says, wisely. "You should see my masterpiece, Shark Attack 3: Megalodon."
David's glad he wasn't drinking just now, or he'd have just spit wine all over the table. "Mega-what?" he says, laughing.
"Megala-who," John corrects. "And yes, it was just as bad as you think. Usual Jaws rip-off. The best thing about it was how bad the dialogue was. I had to ad-lib most of my lines, and they kept all the ad-libs because anything was better. Even the ones they weren't supposed to!"
"Oh Jesus," David says, wiping his eyes.
"What's the worst thing you've ever been in?" John asks.
"I don't know, I've been quite lucky so far," David says. Not that everything he's been in has been brilliant, but he's never been in anything as bad as Shark Attack 3 sounds to be. "Most of my disasters have been on stage, really."
"There's gotta be something I can rent," John insists. "What's your most recent job?"
"Ah, well... Casanova, actually," David admits. "The lead."
"Russell's Casanova?" John says, eyebrows raised. "You sneak! I'm sitting across the table from a heartthrob and he doesn't tell me until now."
"It's nothing like that," David says, tugging at his ear. "It's not a very conventional Casanova, or I wouldn't have got the part."
"You're too damn modest, you know that?"
David laughs. "Too modest and too nice, I've been told. My apologies."
"Lucky for you, modest and nice is my type," John says, with a wink.
The steaks are as good as John promised, and they've worked their way through too much wine by the time they've finished eating. David is pleasantly tipsy and in no condition to drive -- not that John is much better, though he's a bit steadier on his pins.
"So are you staying in town?" John asks, after he pays their bill.
"Oh, no," David says. "I just drove down for the day. I was going to drive back tonight. Oops!" He trips on the mat as they walk outside, stumbles, and John steadies him. And then doesn't take his hand away, but turns it into an escorting press against the small of his back as they walk to the kerb.
"You're coming to my place," John tells him, as he hails a cab.
"Did anyone ever tell you you're very forward?" David says, but finds himself leaning towards John's warmth in the chill evening. He rather likes the way his hand feels, and likes it even more when it slides onto his hip.
"I've heard that a few times, yeah," John says. "Can't really apologize for it."
"That's all right," David says, and shivers as a cold gust of wind comes up off the bay. He's dressed for London, not Cardiff, and he's grateful when the taxi arrives.
"Is it okay if we leave your car overnight?" John asks, as they're on their way.
"Should be," David says. "I don't think anyone would bother with it anyway. It's a Skoda."
John snickers. "Sorry, I shouldn't laugh."
"It's an underrated car," David protests.
"I'm sure it's a wonderful car," John says. His hand is back again, this time on David's thigh. David feels a twitch of arousal as John's fingers brush against his inner thigh, creeping slowly upwards.
"Yes," David says, his voice catching. He feels a delicious thrill of naughtiness as he spreads his legs just an inch wider, and John's hand moves more confidently up and in, until it's just below his crotch. It stops there, a steady heat through his jeans, and doesn't move through the rest of the journey, even as David's cock fills enough to press against the side of his fingers. David lets out a squeak of a moan when that happens, then concentrates on keeping a straight face.
He doesn't normally do this, go home with veritable strangers on a whim. But it's a very nice whim, and John has a very nice hand, and David can't seem to think about anything other than having it wrapped around his cock as soon as possible.
The taxi stops, and John's hand lifts away. David slides out into the cold air and waits as John pays and walks over and guides him to his door.
The moment they're inside, David's back is against the wall and John's arms are on either side of him, and John is leaning in close, brushing his mouth lightly against the back of David's cheek. David barely dares to breathe.
"I've got something for you," John murmurs.
David swallows. Tries to remember where his voice went. Squeaks as John kisses his neck, as one hand slides inside his jacket and caresses his side, his hip. David's own hands seem paralyzed along with the rest of him.
"Do you?" he manages, his voice embarrassingly high.
"Uh huh," John says, mouthing at David's neck, kissing and sucking in a way that's sure to leave a mark. David flushes at the thought, and bares his neck and oh. John closes the distance between their bodies and presses full against him. David's paralysis breaks and he clutches at John's coat and groans.
John pulls back with a satisfied look on his face and extricates himself from David's grip. "Right back," he says, and walks over to a bag and starts rifling through it.
David takes the opportunity to collect himself, or at least attempt to. One less glass of wine would have probably been wise. After the second glass, his inhibitions tend to escape him.
"I snuck this off the set," John says, as he finds what he was looking for and hides it behind his back. "Close your eyes."
David closes his eyes, then opens one just slightly.
John gives him another stern look. "No peeking."
"Fine, fine," David says, and squeezes them shut.
"Hold out your hand."
David complies. "Is this going to be something naughty?"
"Only in the sense that if you break this or take it, my ass'll be in a sling," John says, dryly. He gently places something in David's hand. "Okay, open your eyes."
David opens his eyes. Opens them wider. "Oh my god!" he exclaims. "The sonic screwdriver! The actual sonic screwdriver!"
"I heard you were asking to see it and didn't get a chance," John says.
"This is so utterly cool," David marvels. He points it around the room, and fiddles with the slide, pushing it up and down. It even has a working light. The old sonic screwdriver didn't have a light.
"It'll make a noise onscreen," John says. "Of course, it's not as cool as Jack's sonic blaster."
"Jack's-- Oh, your character," David realizes. "Nothing's as cool as the sonic screwdriver," he says, protectively.
"Who looks at a screwdriver and thinks 'Oho, this could be a little more sonic'?"
David gives an affronted sputter. "The sonic screwdriver is far superior to any old blaster."
John just laughs. "You're sound more like the Doctor than Chris, and he's working off a script."
David's drunken annoyance quickly evaporates under the flattery. "I sound like the Doctor? Really?" he preens.
"Uh huh," John says. He plucks the sonic from David's hand and puts it safely aside. "What I want to know is, do you dance like him?"
"Dance?" David echoes, confused.
John takes him by the hand and wraps one arm around his waist, and David whoops and laughs as John takes him spinning around the room. He's uncoordinated on top of not being much of a dancer, but John certainly knows what he's doing so David follows his lead as best he can. It makes him dizzy, and he giggles and then laughs as they fall onto the couch, and then his mouth is too busy with kissing for laughter.
John tastes of wine, and he's a very good kisser. But what David likes best is the weight of him between his legs and the way their crotches rub together. David pulls at the back of his shirt and runs his hands up John's back and just down the back of his jeans, and my goodness he's fit.
John leaves his mouth and starts on his neck again, while his hands are busy pushing up David's layered shirts. "I don't normally do this on a first date," David says, voice slurred from alcohol and arousal.
"Kiss?" John jokes.
"Noo," David drawls. "I don't normally..."
"Fuck?" John asks, much more heatedly this time. There's a pop as the top button of David's jeans is tugged open.
David swallows a whimper. "Fuck. Get fucked."
"You're a good boy, huh?" John asks, darkly. "Nice and modest. Or is that only until someone gets your pants off?"
"Not always good," David says, wondering where all the air in the room is going. He feels his zipper being opened more than hears it, and then -- oh god, there go his jeans. His jockeys. Oh god. "Not good now," he says, breathlessly.
"Good boy gone bad," John murmurs. "Just how I like it."
There's heat as John's hand closes around David's erection, and David cries out as John strokes and strokes. Makes him squirm beneath him, moaning, grasping at what he can reach -- John's arms, the cushions. He cries out again as John moves out of reach and there's the wet heat of his mouth around David's cock.
"John," David moans.
John falters suddenly, but only for a moment, and then he's redoubling his actions, sucking and licking in a way that makes David's brains dribble out his ear. He seems determined to make David come, even pushes down his legs when David restlessly moves them. And he's good, he's very good, especially when David's had nothing but his own hand for a while and even the confidence of John's touch is as intoxicating as the wine.
David's just starting to decide agreeing to everything tonight as the best idea he's had in ages when John works a wet finger into his arse and crooks it, and then he stops thinking about anything at all except John's hands and his mouth and the fact that he's going to be fucked very soon and maybe he'll stay until Sunday, he doesn't have any reason not to spend the whole weekend in Cardiff and maybe just John's bed if they ever make it there. And then his moans and his hips quicken and John's finger rubs back and forth inside him. His head presses back against the sofa as his hips rise, and he pulses into the heat of John's mouth.
When his head clears, he's surprised to find John not eagerly alongside him but sitting on the far end of the couch, looking away from him.
"John, what..." David says, still breathing fast.
"I lied to you," John says, soberly.
"What?" David says, confused.
"I think you should go," John says, and stands. "I'll call you a cab. I know a hotel you can stay at."
"A hotel?" David echoes, feeling completely lost. "What?"
"I'll pay for that too," John insists.
David sits up and struggles into his clothes. "You don't have to pay for anything," he protests. "What's going on?"
"I lied, all right? I lied about Scott."
David's stomach sinks. "You're cheating on him?"
"No," John insists. "It's not like that. He'd be fine with this. But I always check with him first. That's the arrangement."
"Then what was this?" David asks, suddenly hurt and guilty. "You used me?"
"I was mad at him. I'm sorry," John says. "David, wait."
"Shove your bloody apology," David says, already pulling on his jacket and heading out the door. The cold feels bitter as the night air hits him, but it's probably the lateness of the hour.
"I'm sorry," John says, almost pleading.
David ignores him and stomps off down the street. He doesn't need John to call him a bloody taxi or find him a bloody hotel. He's done enough.
"How would you like to be the new Doctor?" Russell asks.
David stares at him and laughs in disbelief. "Very funny," he says. He's only been bothering Russell for a guest role for months now. Typical of him to tease him with the role he really wants and has wanted for his entire life.
"No, really, I'm serious," Russell insists. "You're the top of the list."
"You're serious?" David says, stunned. "You're actually serious."
"Yes, I'm actually serious."
David shakes his head and chuckles, laughs, can't seem to stop himself. It's too surreal, too absurd. This has to be a dream. He wonders if he should ask Russell to pinch him.
"I think you've broke him," Julie says, wryly.
Russell snorts. "Give him a minute."
"I'm all right," David says, wiping his eyes. He's grinning like a madman. He can't believe it. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything now," Russell says, holding up his hand. "I know how weird this is."
"Give yourself a few days to think it over," Julie suggests. "Call us when you're ready."
Almost a week later, and David still hasn't decided. He's torn, he's stuck, he has no idea what to do. It's the role of his dreams. He's wanted to be the Doctor longer than he's known how to read, it's the reason he became an actor, he'd be mad not to take it. But what if it's a disaster, career suicide? What if it ruins the show for him, takes something he's loved for so long, that's been so much a part of his life, and sucks all the joy from it? And look at all the press attention, the tabloids. Even the commitment is huge, almost a year of constant filming, and wasn't that why Eccleston left?
It's an impossible decision. He's been fretting over it for days on end and he's no closer to an answer than when Russell made the offer. The only thing that's saved him from driving himself completely round the bend has been rehearsals for Quatermass. He's been dreading the weekend because the last thing he needs is to be alone with himself.
Unfortunately, the weekend is upon him.
When the doorbell rings, he's almost absurdly grateful for the distraction. It's a bit late for a delivery and he's not expecting anyone, but at this point it could be Jehovah's bloody Witnesses and it'd be an improvement. He opens the door with a welcoming hello and his jaw drops in shock.
"Hey," says John.
"What are you-- How did you--" David stammers, baffled that John not only knows where he lives but has the gall to visit him. If he's come here for a shag he's going to be sorely disappointed.
John must see that he's still mad about Cardiff, and he looks regretful. "Look, before you slam the door in my face, hear me out."
David frowns. "I'm listening."
"I'm sorry about before. It was stupid and selfish and I want to make up for it."
"And what about..." David tries to remember his name.
"Scott," John finishes. "He knows. I called him as soon as you left and told him everything."
"So what, this time you have his permission?" David says, tartly.
"This time I'd like you to come to dinner at our house and meet him," John says, patiently. "Please?"
David's frown deepens. "I don't appreciate being used, and I really don't appreciate being used to hurt someone."
"I know," John says. "I'm sorry, I really am. I wouldn't have asked except that Scott wants to meet you."
"He does?" David says, warily curious.
"You'll like him," John says, fondness displacing his apologetic expression. "He's a great guy. Very understanding."
David can feel his resolve weakening, but this is still all very sudden. "I don't know..."
"And I heard about Russell's offer," John adds. "I thought you might need someone to talk to."
"Of course you did," David says, tiredly. But John is right about that. David stares at the door frame for a long minute, then gives in. "All right. Dinner, and that's it. And only because of him, not you."
"That's fair," John says.
"Wait here," David says, and closes the door on him. Let him stew while David gets ready. He deserves a little petty revenge.
On the drive over, David reflects that this is one of the stranger experiences of his life. He's not quite certain why he even agreed to it, no more than he knew why he said yes to John's invitation back in Cardiff. Better than sitting home alone with himself, is probably the answer to both. Anything is preferable to spending another evening gnawing over the Doctor Who decision, even meeting the significant other of a one-night stand.
Still, when they arrive at the house, David follows John inside with trepidation. They're greeted by two excited Cocker Spaniels, and John returns their greeting with equal enthusiasm.
"Hello," Scott says, giving David a wry smile. He holds out his hand, and David shakes it. David had imagined Scott would be as much of a bundle of energy as John, but the he's a marked opposite to John's restlessness.
"Er, hello," David says, shoving his hand back into his pocket. God, this is awkward.
"Let me take your coat," Scott offers. "Can I get you a drink? Beer?"
"Beer's good," David says, slipping off his jacket and handing it over. John walks past him, taking the dogs down the hall, but Scott gestures for David to take a seat in the living room. He takes a chair and Scott settles across from him on the sofa.
"This must be pretty weird, huh?" Scott says.
"Weird doesn't quite cover it," David says, privately relieved that John wasn't lying about Scott wanting to meet him. "I feel I should apologize."
"Don't," Scott says, calm but certain. "Actually, I should apologize to you. John and I don't fight much, but when we do..." He shrugs. "You were caught in the crossfire."
David nods in acceptance. "Well, I hope he grovelled sufficiently," he says, letting some of his annoyance show.
"Oh yes," Scott says, like he means it. "Did he tell you he called me right away? He felt terrible about the whole thing. We talked it out, though."
Some knot of tension relaxes in David when he hears that. "That's good."
"In fact, once he got going it was hard to stop him," Scott says, like he's telling a private joke. "When I say he told me everything, you should know that John never met a personal boundary he didn't want to cross."
"Oh," David says, self-conscious. "Well. Honesty is important."
Scott laughs, and it's about then that John enters the room with beers in hand. He hands one to each of them, then sits down next to Scott with his own. He looks concerned and wary in a vague sort of way; apparently Scott's laughter isn't enough to satisfy whatever his reasons are for this evening.
"Lewis and Penny are all set in the spare room," John says. He's back to his American accent, presumably because of Scott. "Everything okay here?"
David's not sure how to answer that, but he doesn't have to.
"Getting there," Scott replies. "No thanks to you," he adds, bopping John lightly on the arm with his bottle.
"I am really, really sorry," John says, honestly, and then a playful look creeps over his face. "Should I tell David how I showed my remorse?"
"Maybe after dinner," Scott says, tolerantly amused. "You're going to scare him off."
"Oh, I'm all right," David says. He's not exactly, more like uncertain and curious and warily trying to find how he fits into this surprisingly domestic arrangement. Relieved that his actions didn't result in any lasting damage to their relationship. He'd been feeling quietly guilty about that since walking out of John's flat, but had filed the whole evening away as something to learn from and try not to regret.
"So what's on the menu?" he ventures.
"My specialty," John says. "I make a mean duck a l'orange."
David's impressed. He's a microwave man himself.
"It's keeping warm in the oven. Shall we?" John says, standing up.
Scott follows him, and David tags along, ending up taking his seat at the kitchen table. Apparently no matter how the evening turns out, he's going to get a good meal out of it. His initial concerns are gradually fading in the face of John and Scott's domestic bliss. It's almost unreal how well they fit together, John's expansive personality and Scott's almost shy good nature. He can also see why John would be too much for one man, but he could tell that from the moment he met him on the Doctor Who set. John doesn't seem to do subtle.
Over salad, David discovers that Scott is an architect, that they first met during John's run of Rope, that one of John's dogs was a gift from a famous fashion designer.
"She's getting old, though," John says, a bit sadly. "It's hard for her to keep up."
"He wants to buy her a pram," Scott says, with fond amusement.
David laughs. "I can't quite see you pushing around a dog in a pram."
"Oh, he'll do it," Scott says. "John doesn't have any dignity to lose."
"Hey!" John protests. "Not even a little dignity?"
"You ran out years ago," Scott tells him, and turns back to David. "He's been losing mine, these days. That's why I won't let him talk about me in those interviews he does. God knows what he'd say."
"I would be the perfect gentlemen," John insists.
"Uh-huh," Scott says, clearly not believing a word.
"I'm gonna get the duck," John says, wisely making an exit.
"So John tells me you're up for Doctor Who," Scott says, as he uncorks the wine.
"Yes," David says. He gives a nod of thanks as Scott fills his glass. "I've been mulling it over all week. Still can't decide."
"The series seems to be a hit," Scott says. "John's been working on his action figure."
"He's getting an action figure?" David says, surprised and suddenly jealous.
"Not if he keeps sending it back," Scott says.
"If they're not gonna do it right I don't want it," John says, carrying in a platter.
"Fair point," David says. "Mm, smells good."
"Wait til you taste it," John grins.
"If I were to have my own action figure..." David says, feeling a bit giddy at the idea of actually having his own action figure. Because of course if John is getting one, the Doctor is as well. Which means if he was the Doctor... God, he can barely believe it, even after a week.
"I think you should take it," John says, pulling David out of his thoughts. "Be the next Doctor."
"Sure," John says. "I've seen your work. Casanova was great, by the way."
"Thank you," David says, reflexively.
"You've got the energy, the talent," John says. "You obviously love the show. Seems pretty simple to me. Besides, if you're the Doctor, I get to play with your action figure."
"Captain Jack can play with the Doctor," John continues, unashamedly leering. "How many points of articulation will you be worth?"
David decides this is a good moment to start drinking his wine.
"Let's see, there's neck, waist," John begins, looking down David's body like he's measuring him up, which he probably is. He reaches out and catches David's wrist, runs his hand up his arm. "Wrist, elbow, shoulder."
David knows he really ought to protest, but he's so stunned at John's forwardness that he can't even muster speech. And then John's hand moves from his shoulder down to his thigh, and David's cock stirs in response. "Ankle, knee, hip. That's eight. Of course, the bigger the figure, the more points. How about a ninth?" David gives a choked sound as John's fingers brush over the growing bulge in his jeans.
"John," Scott says, admonishing.
John's hand lifts away and he sits back in his chair. He exchanges a whole conversation with Scott by eye contact alone, and all David can make out of it is that at the end, neither of them is upset and John is chastened but satisfied.
"Um," David says, reeling.
"Eat your duck before it gets cold," John says.
David obediently takes a bite. It is rather good. He focuses on that instead of everything else.
"Sorry about that," Scott says. "I've considered a leash and a muzzle--"
"But he knows that'd just turn me on," John finishes, with a wink.
Scott rolls his eyes. "See what I have to put up with?"
"Indeed," David says, eyebrows raised. "At least he's a good cook."
"I suppose that will just have to be enough," Scott says, with a long-suffering sigh.
"I don't think I like this two-against-one," John frowns.
"With you, two against one just makes it even," Scott teases.
"Not with the size of your cock," John replies.
David chokes on his duck and coughs. Waves them off as he takes a drink of wine--a long drink--and calms his throat.
"God, you're terrible," Scott laments, giving John a thwack on the arm.
"That's why you love me," John says, proudly.
David finds that once he's had enough wine, he's less shocked by John's complete lack of personal boundaries. Scott wasn't kidding about that. The man must have the patience of a saint.
Fortunately, along with his endless supply of innuendo and outright verbal pornography, John also has an endless supply of amusing stories about fame and family. From being wrapped in brown paper as a newborn to stuffing himself full of caviar with Shirley Bassey, John is clearly a born entertainer. Scott fills in the parts he's heard countless times before and adds his own asides, and between the two of them David finds himself at ease.
Still, when he excuses himself to use the loo, it's a relief to have a quiet moment alone. John is full of so much energy it's both energizing and exhausting to watch him. David wanted a distraction this evening, and he certainly found one.
He stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment, then dries his hands and walks out into the hall. Stops in surprise when he sees Scott there, leaning against the wall.
"It's all yours," David says, thinking he was waiting for his turn.
Scott gives him a crooked smile. "No, I was waiting for you."
"I wanted to talk to you about something. In private."
"All right," David agrees, feeling willing to go where the evening takes him.
"Do you still want John?"
David doesn't know how to respond to that. He supposes he's forgiven John for using him; it's hard to stay mad at someone so full of life, and it's obvious that he and Scott worked through the matter without much difficulty. His body certainly still wants John, after that stunt earlier about the points of articulation. But there's more important things than lust.
"Not if it's a problem," David says, at last. "It was very kind of you to invite me over, but--"
"It's not a problem," Scott says, stopping him with a hand on his arm. He takes a half-step forward. "Tonight was my idea."
"Oh," David says, feeling the atmosphere suddenly thicken.
"John told me all about you," Scott continues. "We don't have any secrets. I give him permission, and he tells me everything. We share everything."
David swallows. "Everything?"
Scott shifts closer again. His other hand comes to rest on David's waist. "Everything," he says, softly, and leans in very slowly and kisses David on the lips.
David wonders for a moment if he's dreaming all this, then brushes the thought away in favour of kissing Scott back, because he's quite good at it.
Scott pulls away. "Sometimes we even share people," he continues. "People like you."
David breathes, because that seems to be the only thing he can concentrate enough to do. Especially when John is suddenly there, suddenly resting his hand on the small of David's back and kissing the nape of his neck.
"If you want this, say yes," Scott says, meeting his eyes.
"Yes," David breathes, and closes his eyes as Scott smiles and leans in to kiss him again. There seem to be hands everywhere, moving on his body. He's never done something like this, never been between two men, much less ones so determined to have him. It's intoxicating and he can't think, only feel and react and moan as one of the hands closes around the front of his jeans and squeezes.
"Time for dessert?" John murmurs.
"Yeah," Scott replies, pushing up David's shirt and caressing his side.
"Oh god," David breathes, overcome with arousal. Even as an actor he's never felt so intensely observed, as if they've already stripped him naked. He's dessert, he's their action figure, the toy that John brought home.
Hello, I'm David and you're going to be taking me from behind, David thinks. That was his joke for the supporting artists on Casanova, but with the tables turned. Very, very turned.
Scott takes David's hand and tugs him towards the bedroom, even as John keeps hold of his waist, unwilling to stop touching him. Some distant part of his mind that's still functioning notes that Scott seems to be in the lead tonight, wonders briefly about personality and dominance, and then gives up entirely as the both of them start pulling off his clothes and each other's.
Skin. Lots of skin, hot and against him and hands on his arse, his cock, their mouths on either side of his neck. It's all he can do to hold on to whoever's in front of him, which is Scott and then John. And then somehow they're on the bed and wow, John was right about Scott's cock, not that John has anything to worry about himself, and it's funny that he didn't see it until now because he was the only one who was at all naked that night and this is much better.
It's John kissing him now, broad hands pawing at his arse as Scott kisses his shoulder and caresses his chest, his stomach, his cock. Confident under his shy exterior, and of course he'd have to be to be with someone like John. Their hard cocks brush against him, and he fumbles for John's and is rewarded with a warm chuckle.
"Like that?" John says, low and sultry. "I'm gonna fuck you. So's Scott. That okay?"
David makes a noise that's probably a yes. They share everything, they're going to share everything of him. He rather thinks he wants them to. It'd only be fair.
It's Scott's fingers that brush his jaw, his mouth. That push between his lips so David can suck on them. They taste faintly of wine, spilled from pouring the bottle. It's John's hand that slips between his thighs and teases behind his balls and at his arsehole. David hitches his leg up, moves against John's busy hand. It's all happening so fast, but he can't imagine slowing down.
They're both broadly-built and well-muscled, and he's thin and wiry between them. John is as shameless in bed as he is everywhere else, eagerly grasping at what he desires, forceful and playful. Scott is steady, controlled, but all the more intense for it. He touches David with deliberation, and David catches him silently directing John more than once. He can sense the dynamic between them and how he's fitting into it.
David finally comes up for air when Scott moves away and John sits up. But he doesn't have more than a few moments before Scott tosses something to John, and when he pops open the bottle David sees that it's lube. Scott settles at the head of the bed, slumped against the pillows, legs spread and cock tall. He gives John a nod and John nudges David up onto all fours. A smart slap on his arse makes him yelp and crawl forward, to Scott who looks hungrily down at him as he strokes himself.
David licks his lips.
"Scott thought this would be a good way to make up for before," John says, as he caresses David's arse. "You had my mouth, he gets yours."
"Seems fair," David manages.
Scott's hand comes to rest on the back of David's neck. His thumb rubs a slow circle behind his ear. A gentle pressure is all it takes for David to bow his head and wrap his mouth around the head. He feels a shiver of lust at the implicit surrender.
And then there are slick fingers at his arsehole, rubbing and pressing shallowly inside. David moans around Scott's cock and sucks at it, wetting it with spit.
"Didn't I tell you?" John says, as he works his fingers deeper.
"Uh huh," Scott says, voice tight. His fingers run through David's hair, lightly grasping and then letting go again. Another light pressure urges David to take him deeper, and with a shift of position he does.
John's hand nudges his thighs wider, and then toys with his balls as his fingers press and stretch. "I knew you'd like him," he says, pleased.
"Mm," Scott says. "Great mouth. Too bad you won't have it."
"Aww," John pouts.
"Be grateful I'm letting you fuck him first," Scott says, as sternly as he can when David is sucking hungrily at his cock.
"Oh, I am," John says, and curls his fingers until David whimpers. Adds a third and more lube and pushes his fingers deep, spreads them wide. David clenches around them, and John gives a rumbling laugh. "I'm definitely grateful."
"Maybe next time," Scott says, as his hands tighten in David's hair.
When John's fingers pull out of him, David braces himself for what's coming next. He feels the blunt pressure of the head of John's cock, broad as the rest of him, and a hand gripping firmly at his hip. When he gasps, Scott pulls his head up and off his cock, then lets him down, his cock slapping wetly against David's face. David leans heavily on his forearms and his fingers curl into the bedsheets as John pushes his way inside.
When John pulls out, David is tugged by the grip of his cock, then wobbles forward as John pushes in again. Scott's hands rest on his shoulders, steadying him. Scott's cock brushes against his jaw, and it leaves a wet trail behind.
"You need to get laid more often," John tells him, and grunts as he eases in another slow inch.
"Good idea," David slurs.
"Think we can take care of that?" Scott says, lightly.
"Definitely," John replies, with clear enthusiasm. He redoubles his efforts, prying at David's arse with his thumbs while Scott holds him steady. When he's all the way in, he gives David a few long, firm fucks, and then pushes deep and rests there, half-curled over his back. He gives David's cock a set of confident strokes, and David clenches around him as he moans.
"Been wanting this since I met you," John says, and kisses David's back. "Casanova."
"I think... I'm the conquest," David says, his body clenching around the thickness of John's cock, again and again. He can't seem to stop himself, wouldn't want to even if he could.
John's hands return to David's hips again and he straightens up, and then pulls back. Starts a slow yet determined rhythm. Scott leaves one hand on his shoulder to steady him, and with the other cards through his hair, strokes his back. Takes him by the jaw and feeds him his thumb, and David sucks sloppily at it.
"Okay," John says, breathily. "Then I'm Casanova."
"No, you're the manservant," Scott says, wryly.
John laughs and quickens his thrusts.
"Don't remember this..." David gasps. "In the script."
"This is the porn version," John says, a grin in his voice. "Direct to video."
David grunts as John stops holding back and fucks him hard. Presses one hand against his chest and pulls him up onto his hands so he can get a better angle. John is strong and coiled with energy, and he pours it out with every rough thrust, leaving David breathless. If it wasn't for Scott bracing him, he'd be fucked right into the headboard.
He wonders if this was what it would have been like if John hadn't been stopped by his conscience. If John would have bent him over the couch and driven bruisingly into him, or tied him to the bed to keep him in place. He's not so much dominating as overwhelming, overpowering him physically the same way he did in conversation. He takes what he wants without hesitation.
John fucks harder with each thrust until he comes with a victorious shout, pushed as deep as he can, fingers bruising David's hips. He leans heavily against his back, mouthing at his skin, thrusting shallowly inside him. When he pulls out, David can feel his body clinging to John's cock, and then he feels stretched and tender inside. He rests his forehead against Scott's chest, breathing hard, his own cock straining into the air.
When David's gathered his wits enough to sit up, John presses something into his hand. It's the lube, and David looks up questioningly. He sees John moving onto all fours, the message obvious. David finds himself looking to Scott for confirmation, fallen into the power dynamics of their bedroom.
"Go on," Scott says, with that crooked smile.
David is more than happy to go on. John has a lovely arse, firm and muscled. David trails a hand down the small of his back, along one cheek. He sets aside the lube and grips his arse with both hands, massaging and spreading. He notices faded bruises on one side and touches the darker skin.
"It's from ice skating," John says, before David can ask.
"Singing, acting, dancing, and now ice skating. Is there anything you can't do?" David asks, bemused.
"Not fall on my ass," John replies.
David laughs. "Should I be gentle with you?"
"Hell no," John says, as if outraged by the suggestion. He waggles his arse, and David laughs again.
"Want to be fucked, do you?" David says, narrowing his eyes. He wets his fingers and pushes two firmly into John's arsehole, and they sink in to the hilt. John gives a breathy moan and clenches tight. David shivers in expectation.
"You don't need much preparation," David says, knowingly.
"Nope," John says, proudly.
David shakes his head. He doesn't bother stretching John's arse, just plays with it, seeking out the sensitive spots that make John moan. Takes the time to admire John's naked body from this new angle, and with a vaguely clear head. He really is beautifully built, a classic v-shape to his back, strong shoulders, and thighs David would really like wrapped around him sometime soon. With his free hand, he touches everything he can reach.
"He's really quite lovely," David says absently to Scott. John seems to have abandoned himself to the moment, eyes closed and body relaxed under David's hands. Such a contrast to his normal energy.
Scott moves, kneels behind him and rests a proprietary hand low on David's back. "He's like you," he murmurs, quiet at David's ear. "He needs someone to give himself to."
David's eyes lose focus for a moment, and he closes them. His attention centres on Scott's hand. "And that's you?" he says, a waver in his voice.
"Me and him," Scott says. "You fit very well."
"Passed the audition, then?" David says, lightly.
Scott's hand slides down, squeezes one cheek. "Just about," he says. "I want to watch you fuck him."
David opens his eyes, looks down at his fingers embedded in John's arse. He pulls them out, strokes his own cock until it's slick, and shifts into position. With Scott's hand still on his back, he eases his cock into John, sinks in with a firm push, and oh, it's so very good.
John might not have the tightest arse he's ever fucked, but even in this relaxed state he knows how to ride a cock. He clenches tight when David is deepest, almost so he can't pull out, and then relaxes and pulls forward, only to push back to meet the next thrust. It's almost like he's the one who's fucking David, in some strange combination of control and surrender. And there's Scott's hand, steady but not pushing, as if he's so in control he doesn't need to do anything but remind David with his touch.
David loses himself in the easy rhythm, long thrusts and the tilt of hips as if this wasn't the first time David's fucked John. It's like between the two of them they're making everything happen, even though David is sweating lightly from the effort.
He's not sure how long they stay like this, but he's pulled out of the erotic reverie by the loss of the constant heat of Scott's hand. His hand moves down, and he presses one finger into David's arse, throwing off his rhythm. David stills inside John as the finger probes deep, moving wetly inside him, making a squelch in the lube and come. Scott shifts behind him, and the finger is replaced by two thumbs, spreading his cheeks and tugging at the rim of his arsehole.
Scott's cock is big, bigger than John's. David gives a choked moan as it's pushed inside him, the stretch a burn right from the start.
"Easy," Scott murmurs.
David whimpers, clutches at John's body. He's surprised when John takes one of his hands in his own, holding it. Holding him. He's pressed tight between them, pinned, held. His eyes shut, his lips parted, his stomach tensed. David knows he's supposed to give himself over to this but he's so full it almost hurts.
Scott pauses and touches him soothingly. Strokes his front, his sides, his neck. Kisses the nape of it, the join of his neck and his shoulder. John keeps holding his hand, relaxed and strong with David deep inside him. They're fitting him between them, easing him into a new shape. All he has to do is let it happen.
He concentrates on breathing, slow in and out. Scott gives an approving murmur, pulls back and then pushes in again, and it feels easier now. David relaxes for him, opens for him.
"That's it," Scott murmurs. "Relax. Good."
David gives a faint noise of assent. Gives himself over to Scott, to John. To being theirs, if only for tonight. Maybe more, but he can't think about that now. The moment is everything, has to be, or it's too much.
And then Scott is flush against his back, kissing his shoulder and cupping his face gently. David trembles around him, too stretched to clench down, and lets out a ragged sigh.
"I'm going to fuck you, David," Scott says, quietly. "I'm going to fuck you into John."
David openly whimpers, nods against his hand. His hands are damp against John's body. He cries out as Scott pulls back, seemingly pulling David's insides with him, but then he's pushing in again and it's better. God, he's so full. His body tries vainly to clench, fails, and David shudders between them.
"You're both so beautiful right now," Scott says. His fingers slide down David's body to tease at the root of his cock, at the point where he and John are joined. John's arse is a perfect heart-shape, pressed against him, taking all of him. John is simply there, taking this, the mortar for Scott's pestle. He's already been taught how to surrender.
Scott pulls back, an extra inch this time before pushing back inside. He gives David a moment to adjust, and then does it again, again. Slowly rocking David back and forth, so his cock slides out and into John's body. Just an inch, maybe two. Scott's arms hold him, steady him as the terrible burn eases to a satisfying ache, as he's forced loose inside.
And then they're fucking, and David moans. Moans as he sinks into John, as Scott sinks into him. Moans as Scott pulls back, pulls David back and almost out, before pushing them both into the bodies beneath again. Into himself, into John, who's let go of his hand to brace himself on the bed. Who's surrendered to this so beautifully, yet is still somehow the one in control of the way David fucks him.
The two of them fuck him, and David gives in to all of it. Doesn't fight it or try to set his own rhythm, simply lets himself be guided and invaded and held. And Scott was right, it is glorious, it is what he needs. Everything else falls away, all the stress, all the worry he carries inside. They've taken him away from it by taking him. For once, his head is quiet.
"Perfect," Scott murmurs, pleased with him, with his surrender. David likes how that feels. He wants more of it, it's so good. He feels light, even as he's battered, as their fucking becomes fast and rough. As pleasure builds inside him, draws him up.
Scott's breath is hot against his back, short puffs of air that almost match his own, just slightly out of sync, sharper. David's breathing quickens, grows ragged, and he whimpers with every breath, pawing mindlessly at John's body.
When he comes, he loses whatever vestige of control he had over himself. Quivers and shudders and groans pleadingly, fingers tight and slipping on John's hips, curled the way his toes are curled, hips juddering to a halt. But Scott isn't done yet so he's still moving, still being fucked into John even as his cock starts to soften, as the aftershocks run through him.
Scott's grip goes from firm to painfully tight, and he bites at David's shoulder, marking him. Fucks him wildly as he comes, with harsh, low grunts and bruising force. He pants against David's neck, slowly cooling.
His arm holds David tight and he guides them down to the bed, still joined. John is left behind, but he moves at last and comes to them, lying down alongside David, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. John kisses him, deep and loving, strokes his sweaty body, tastes the salt of him. His hand reaches around to feel the join of Scott's cock in David's body, and he kisses David's arm.
"So good," John murmurs. "You did so well." He kisses along David's arm, his shoulder, his chest.
David tries to reply, but can't seem to muster anything coherent. He still feels floaty, blissed out. Safe between them. Theirs. He tries to clench and just barely manages it, and gives a quiet moan.
John hushes him with a kiss and presses full against him. He's embraced.
David wakes up, head stuffed with cotton and body aching, but not unpleasantly so. At first all he's aware of is that his arse is sore but empty, and he's trapped in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets. His eyes are gummy and he rubs at them. He's slept in his contacts and has to blink them clear.
He's not entirely sure what happened to him last night, but whatever it was it was amazing. Mind-blowing. The kind of mind-blowing that really needs repeating. Fortunately, from the way they're both holding him, David doesn't think it'll be hard to get another invitation.
John's arm is awfully heavy, though. David pushes it down so it's not pressing on his chest, and that's better.
He closes his eyes and rests in the quiet, listening to them breathe, feeling held and safe. He thinks about the decision that's been weighing on him for a week, and realizes that it's not such a difficult decision after all. John was right: he has the talent, the love. If he says no, he'll end up buying someone else's Doctor action figure, and he doesn't think he could forgive himself if he had that regret. If he had to watch someone else take the job of his dreams because he was too afraid of the consequences and expectations. He'd be kicking himself for the rest of his life.
After breakfast, he'll call Russell and tell him he's agreed. He'd do it now, except he doesn't think he can coordinate his fingers enough to find Russell in his mobile's contact list, and he doesn't want to leave this bed.
He's going to be the Doctor. He is. But for now, he's going to snuggle cosily between John and Scott, because it feels like he belongs here.