Birthday Crack for Callisto - WARNING!

[peg22]

For my identical cousin and Cymru sistah - it's CRACK.  There be RPS ahead. As in S.E.X.
It's actually from a little thing I wrote ages ago - spiffed and shined just for you. A nod must go to L.S. on this one as well.

It's not DSPMG - It's DSSF with allusions to HL/RSL and HL/PMG and HL/SF and maybe even a little DS/HL

I hope your birthday is swell. And comes with chocolate.

Crack of the Titans

by Kaye

 

 

"Invite me to dinner."

 

"Who is this?"

 

"Your wet dream. Invite me to dinner."

 

"Stephen?"

 

"You have other wet dreams?"

 

"Fuck off." David rolled back over and buried his head in the pillows. He kept the phone to his ear, though. He wasn't stupid. Just tired.

 

"Yes, well, after you invite me to dinner."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I am the best in all of Britain."

 

"No, I mean, why dinner?"

 

"Because my handsome man, you and I need to have a little talk. A convo. A prattle."

 

"A prattle?"

 

"About you and my dearest."

 

"Stephen, you're going to have to be more specific."

 

"Hugh. I want to talk to you about Hugh."

 

He came out of the pillows and sat up a little. "So does everyone else. I'm not going to tell you what happened."

 

Stephen chuckled. "Oh dear, no, I already know about the Savoy - Jacques and I go way back, way, way back."

 

"Then what? Talk now so I can go back to sleep."

 

"Tsk, tsk, how soon you forget my contribution to your last little debacle."

 

"I paid. In full."

 

"Well, yes, but you still owe me. Last summer. Hampstead Heath. Prince's Trust. Jorge. Ring any

bells?"

 

David groaned and sat up. He was going to have to deal with this. "Okay, okay. But make it lunch. I work at night."

 

"Of course - that little ditty in the West End. Robbie told me it was dreadful, but I never believe a word he says."

 

"Tomorrow? One?"

 

"Make it two, my dearest. I'll be up very late tonight."

 

"Okay - where?"

 

"Well, not the Savoy. How about White Cross Arms? Then if you're too tired to go back to your hotel, you can just shuffle right over to your skit."

 

"Fine. Now fuck off."

 

"Oh, I can't wait. The most talented dick and the most talented mouth together at last. The screaming will be heard for decades."

 

"Stephen. It's lunch. That's all."

 

"Yes. Whatever you say, dearest. Just make sure you're rested and hydrated."

 

David sighed. And was irritated that his dick had stirred awake. He was not going to fuck Stephen. No. Even as revenge for Hugh and Paul. No. He rubbed his face.

 

"Yeah, yeah, you're a gas. Now shut up before I change my mind."

 

"Shutting up. Ta."

 

David shut his phone and fell back on the bed. Damn. He massaged his half-awake dick. He thought of Paul. He slipped his hand under his shorts and conjured up his favorite fantasy. Paul lying naked beneath him, hot sweaty, whispering his name, begging for it. Then Paul morphed into Hugh, all legs and fingers and that beautiful mouth descending on his dick. He rubbed faster and tried to bring Paul back. But it was all Hugh and he groaned as he imagined Hugh under him now, those eyes glazed . . .

 

He arched off the bed as he came. He fell back to the bed and expelled a sigh. Jesus. Every time he thought things couldn't get more complicated . . .

 

**********

 

David got there first. He slid into a back booth and ordered two fingers of bourbon and a beer. He should have ordered coffee, but he'd been up half the night trying to figure out why everyone he knew suddenly wanted to fuck Hugh Laurie. And suddenly felt the need to tell him. The other half of the night he had tried to call Paul, but just filled up his voice mail with rants instead. Which would surely come back to bite him in the ass. So he needed a drink.

 

Stephen waltzed in two highballs later, resplendent in hat and ascot, both of which he tossed at the bartender as he purred in beside David. He leaned over and sniffed.

 

"You smell marvelous. Cigarettes and bourbon. Quite the turn-on. Want to skip lunch? Go right to dessert?"

 

"I thought you were here to talk about your boyfriend."

 

"He'd understand. Besides, he hasn't been my boyfriend in a decade."

 

Stephen laid a hand on David's thigh. "I mean it, all we have to do is slip over to my hotel and all your troubles would melt right away."

 

David picked up Stephen's hand and laced his fingers between Stephen's. He watched the other man's eyes grow wide as he lifted their hands to his mouth and he began sucking on one of Stephen's knuckles. He murmured, "Honey, you couldn't handle an afternoon with me in your hotel. I'd cripple you."

 

Stephen pulled his hand away and reached for David's beer. He took a gulp and set it back down.

 

David chuckled and lit another cigarette. "Okay, so now the foreplay is over, tell me about Hugh."

 

"Hugh is my dearest and oldest friend."

 

"So you've said."

 

"He's also the love of my life and I don't want you poking his mind full of ideas."

 

"I'm not the one who's been poking him."

 

"Yes, that's the problem isn't it? Had it been your gorgeous claws that found themselves raking down his back, it'd be over already. But no, my dear, dear Hugh has gone and found himself a real one. A keeper. An Ivy League genuine."

 

"I thought you and he were . . ."

 

"Oh for fuck's sake, Hutchsky. Must I rehash? Here's how the saga played out. And listen carefully. I don't want to have to repeat myself. Cambridge Footlights? Fuck buddies. Soul mates. Fry and Laurie? True loves. Randy sex. Loads of trouble. Jeeves and Wooster? Shared skin. Image killer. Guilty conscience. Major hemorrhage. The rest? I broke his heart and he up and married the first skirt that passed his way. I regret none of it. And we haven't had sex - well proper sex - in five years. Satisfied?"

 

"For now. So what do I have to do with it?"

 

"Stop taking him to lunch and filling him with ideas. He cannot sustain a deep and abiding love and a marriage. He is not you. Or your gorgeous Paul. He couldn't handle your little . . . arrangement. He needs commitment."

 

"I'm committed to Paul."

 

"Yes, well - there's committed and then there's Jorge . . ."

 

"That was a mistake."

 

"That was a threesome on the beach is what that was."

 

"I was drunk."

 

"You, my dear man, are always drunk. Which negates it as an excuse."

 

David leaned in. "Don't mistake my agreeing to have lunch with you as an opportunity to fuck with me," his voice was low and menacing. "You keep your fucking nose out of my business. I mean it."

 

"Oh dear, scraped a boo boo,  did I? Paul doesn't know about your randy jaunts, does he. Well, mums the word. I just want you to tell Hugh that it's not going to work and he should cease and desist. Stay away from the Wilson boy."

 

"Tell him yourself."

 

"Yes, well, he doesn't always take my advice. Says it comes from an impure place."

 

"Hugh is smart."

 

"Hugh is dumb. He's an idealist. Of the highest realm. That's why you need to show him that this kind of affair can only lead to heartache."

 

"Why do I have to do this?"

 

"Just show him some of your bad side. 1987 should suffice."

 

David reached angrily into his pocket and pulled out a 20 pound note. "Lunch is officially over. Fuck off, Stephen, I mean it."

 

David stood. Stephen rose and towered over him. Placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

"Sorry. Low blow. But you can see how desperate I am. I don't want him hurt. Or divorced. Or married to that Robert Sean Penn Warren. He doesn't get over things the way you or I do. He's like Paul - tradition, convention, normalcy is very important to him."

 

He pressed his hand and David sat back down. Stephen sat next to him.

 

"Now you and I can dance around all day long. In fact, any other time, I'd love to evoke that famous foul temper of yours and see where we went, but all I really want is for you to stop thinking that everyone can do it."

 

"Do what?"

 

"Do what you and that heavenly assed Starsky Michael Glaser do."

 

"What do we do?"

 

"Survive. Thrive. Under the worst of circumstances. It gives others false hope and the one thing that my Hugh does not need any more of is false hope."

 

David sighed and finished his drink, waving for another one as he stubbed out his cigarette. Stephen, in his fucking irritating way, had a point. He wouldn't change his own situation for all the pussy in England, but he didn't know if he ever could recommend it. Was that what he had been doing with Hugh? Teaching him how to be miserable for the rest of his life?

 

Stephen's phone rang.

 

"I'm busy . . ."

 

David chuckled. Sometimes he looked at Stephen and forgot he wasn't Oscar Wilde. He acted like him most of the time - hell, he was a casting director's wet dream. . . .

 

"Hughie," Stephen winked at David. Fuck. Did Hugh have radar? He certainly hoped he didn't notice that he had starred in all of David's dreams last night.

 

"Yes, dear, just having lunch with an old friend. What can I do for you? New York? Really? My dearest, you can't wait even an entire week before you straddle the boy . . . now that's just not nice, Hugh."

 

Stephen rolled his eyes at David. "Yes, dear, I'd love to come to New York so you can get laid. Fuck me? Dear, we don't have to go to New York for that. All right, all right - ceasing and desisting. So when are we going? Yes I think I'll be fine with that - just a moment."

 

He pulled the phone from his ear and whispered to David, "think we'll be done fucking by next week?"

 

"Fuck off."

 

"Yes, dear, David says he'll be done fucking me by then . . . oh didn't I? Yes, we're having a little

foreplay here at the Arms and then it’s all balls in the air for the rest of the day . . . oh, don't. Yes, well, he's the only one who understands . . . I'm still furious about . . . sure."

 

He handed the phone to David. David and took it and cleared his throat, suddenly and oddly nervous.

 

"Hello."

 

"What do you think you're doing?"

 

For some reason, Hugh's tone, although arousing, pissed him off. "I'm just working my way through your rolodex. I've got a call into Emma Thompson already. Gorgeous legs."

 

"Fuck off."

 

"That's my line."

 

"I mean - I hope you're not discussing what we discussed with Stephen. He can't take it."

 

"According to him, it’s you who can't take it."

 

Stephen glared and tried to take the phone back. David held his forearm up to stop him.

 

"Says you can't deal with casual sex. I think he's wrong - want to find out?"

 

"Let me talk to Stephen."

 

"I mean it, Hugh. I think it's high time."

 

"Yes, well, I think you're high."

 

"Could be, but the offer stands."

 

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or appalled."

 

"Hey, I don't give a shit, just as long as you're in my bed."

 

Stephen let out a strangled cry and threw himself at David, dislodging the phone as David tried to keep the drinks from tumbling to the floor.

 

"What the hell are you doing?"

 

Stephen reached down and picked up the phone. "Hugh, it’s been swell – but I need to talk to David now. Call me later to shore up the details." He didn't say goodbye, but snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket and glared at David.

 

"Under no circumstances are you to come within fifty feet of him."

 

"Weren't you the one who mentioned my claws . . . his back?"

 

"That was banter. Meaningless. This is truth."

 

"I need a damn dictionary with you."

 

"Stay away from him."

 

"Fuck you."

 

"Yes, now you understand. Fuck me. Please. For long periods of time punctuated with brandy and cigars. I'm totally your man. But him? No. Under no circumstances would I ever find that appropriate."

 

"How bout because he fucked my boyfriend? Tit for tat and all that other English crap."

 

"Tit for tat is more biblical that Anglican. And it was one night in a bad hotel. And they were both drunk. And walking the moors over the likes of you and that Wilson boy. See how complicated it has become? You must cease and desist. I'm begging you, David."

 

"You're begging me?"

 

"Amusing, I'm sure."

 

"Get on your knees," David growled. This lunch was fast turning into some surreal fantasy.

 

"I beg your  . . ."

 

"I don't want you to beg until you’re on your knees."

 

Stephen's mouth fell open and silent. David raised an eyebrow. "Chicken?"

 

"Whaaaa. . . ?"

 

"Can't do it?"

 

"Do what?"

 

"Get down on your knees?" David moved so that both his legs were under the table. "How bout if I say I'll stay away from your Hugh if you climb under this table and finally put your mouth where my money is."

 

Stephen made a little squeak as the idea made its way through his brain. David lost a little bravado when he saw Stephen's mouth curve into an evil smile.

 

"Well, now Mr. Soul, that is in fact, an intriguing idea. But I am nearly a tree and that  combined with your legendary monster would most definitely toss this table and we would be exposed in the most delicate of moments."

 

"You are chicken."

 

"No, I'm just suggesting that we take this conversation over there." He pointed to a door that read Private.

 

"Let's just get one thing straight."

 

"Well, if it’s just one thing . . ."

 

"This ends it. The favors, the conversations. Over. Done. We're through with each other."

 

Stephen stood and held out his hand to help David up. "My dear - I'll agree, but I warn you. Once these lips go to work, it is never over."

 

David just scowled, but somewhere in his brain, he knew that Stephen just might be right.

 

**********

 

The minute the door closed, Stephen reached around David, snicked the lock and shoved him against the wall. They were in a little office. With a little window. And a little computer. And not very little hard-ons. David wondered if his assistant had been slipping Viagra into his pre-show meals – he’d jacked off twice last night and now, with this interesting, but not especially his particular quirk of a man, he was hard like he was 20 years old.

 

Stephen wasted no time on kisses, touches, or other pleasantries. He kept David pressed against the wall and he roughly unzipped his pants and yanked. David slammed his head against the wall and his eyes rolled back in his head and Stephen found his dick and took it between two fingers, rolling it like a good stogie.

 

"Jesus," David hissed as Stephen went to his knees and replaced his fingers with his mouth. And then everything was gone except the sound of Stephen sucking and him moaning and then Stephen wrapped his fingers around his balls and David saw stars. He could hardly hold himself up and then all of a sudden, Stephen stopped. David gasped and slid halfway down

the door, his dick throbbing, jerking.

 

He watched as Stephen smiled and undid his own pants, pulling out his own long hard dick, and he teased it even harder. David was frustrated and reached for his own and Stephen stopped him, pulling him down until their dicks were touching.

 

"Hey . . ."

 

Stephen just put a finger over David's mouth and thrust his hips forward, crashing against David, pinning their dicks together. And then Stephen began rocking. And thrusting. And David started to match him thrust for thrust. And Stephen grabbed his ass and they were grinding and moaning and their dicks starting sliding and the moisture made the motion better and he couldn't get close enough and his grabbed onto Stephen's shoulders and tugged and they thrust harder and harder and then David exploded. His orgasm sent his back arching up the door, pulling Stephen with him over the edge.

 

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck . . ."

 

Stephen didn't stop. He kept his dick crushed against David and began ramming him into the door. David's dick quickly came alive again. Stephen then reached into his shirt and twisted a nipple. David whimpered, so close again. But he wanted it to go on forever. The sound of his body hitting the wall, the sound of their dicks slapping together - he never wanted it to end.

He was panting and growling and every fiber of his body was about to short circuit.

 

And then he shouted and came and tumbled into Stephen, whose sharp cry and sudden thrust served as exclamation point. And then it all went dark.

 

When he opened his eyes, he was sprawled on the floor, papers were strewn everywhere, a bulletin board was hanging precariously from the wall, its contents lying on his leg, on Stephen's chest, which was still heaving.

 

"Jesus Christ."

 

"Mmmhmm. I don't lie."

 

"Fucking you don't."

 

"Never, not about fucking."

 

They managed to help each other off the floor, cleaned each other up, and straightened as best they could. Stephen left a hundred pound note on the desk and David scribbled a promise of theatre tickets.

 

They walked through a side door out into the afternoon sunshine. Stephen slicked his hair and winked at David.

 

"Now, about that lunch . . ."

 

"What?"

 

"I don't know about you, my dear, but I'm famished. I could eat . . ." he pointed looked at David's crotch, “an entire lion.”

 

David just groaned and let Stephen lead him back into the front of the pub. Through the ninth gate of hell.

fin (for now)

 

Comments

[mashfanficchick.livejournal.com]

Do you sell tickets to your world? I think it would be quite a fun place to visit, kind of like an X-rated version of Disney. Reading all these wonderful stories of yours without ever getting to be in your head is a bit like watching travel shows about far-off places on TV: so much fun in the short term, but when it's over, you really wish you could go there. :-D

[peg22.livejournal.com]

so glad you're enjoying your time in CrackPorn Disney! Yeah, I wanna go there too - sit at the Savoy, overhear all kinds of naughty bits . . . sigh.