CrackFic: Dinner With Davey

[peg22]

Blame this on Sue - who suggested I get over my HouseFunk by writing older guys schmoop. Well, the guys kinda write themselves, ya know? And what with the sighting of them in a restaurant in Santa Monica, coupled with House and Co. filming just up the street on the beach . . . 

I think we all deserved the REST OF THE STORY (God Bless Paul Harvey). Respectfully transcripted from actual crack events.

It's RPS
It's Crack
It's DS/PMG with a little Laurie and Leonard for good measure.

It's always dedicated to LS, my crack partner in crime.  

Dinner with Davey

 

They walked into the restaurant together. A few heads turned in the bar, but he was glad to see he’d picked the right place. It was always a risk, even in jaded post modern Los Angeles, to be seen out in public without some purpose, some reason, some security. No, he was not laboring under the illusion that he and Davey were still famous. Well, they were still famous, which was why they were being led to the dark booth in the back, but they were not still famous in the way they used to be famous. For that he was grateful.

 

He watched Davey weave around the tables, deftly sliding a hand across the back of Billy Crystal’s shoulder, give a cool nod to the hot new kid producer from Fox, a wink to the starlet wannabes by the window, all the while sliding his scarf from around his neck in that way that used to cut these kind of dinners way, way short. Which could still cut this dinner short, especially when he turned and smiled at Paul as he slid into the booth.

 

Paul slid in opposite. “You always tell me you hate this city, but you cruise these waters better than most of the sharks.”

 

David chuckled. “Yeah, well, it’s like riding a bike – except if you fall off, you’re eaten alive.” He nodded to the table of girls who were now looking at them. “Especially those little piranhas. Jesus, think their mothers know they’re out this late?”

 

Paul picked up the menu. “You are now officially old. Time was you would have already ditched me, and ordered them fancy drinks with umbrellas.”

 

“Ha! I’d never ditch you, Paulie. I’d bring you with me.”

 

“Gone are the days.” Paul smiled as the waiter appeared. “Scotch. Neat. And iced water, please.”

 

“Make that two. And bring the bottle.” David handed the waiter the menu. “And just bring me a steak. Medium rare. With a salad.”

 

Paul closed the menu. “I bring you to one of the best new restaurants in southern California and you’re going to order a steak?”

 

“Should be a good steak, then, huh?” David nodded to the waiter. “Bring him an overpriced piece of fish on a radish.”

 

“You’re a riot.” Paul frowned and handed his menu to the waiter. “I’ll have the same thing he’s having.”

 

The waiter disappeared and Paul looked around the room. Nice lighting, good space, just enough noise and music. Just enough stars and assholes. Good location-

 

David snapped his fingers in front of Paul’s face.  “Stop scouting the joint and talk to me.”

“I’m not . . . okay, I was. It’s a good place. I wonder what they charge . . .”

 

“Unless you’re gonna shoot Starsky and Hutch Get It On Under the Back Booth in Nothing But Their Badges, I’m not interested.”

 

“Well, I’m not interested in that.” Paul saw the waiter coming toward them with drinks. “Now, that is service.”

 

“I’d hope so.” David took the glass and drained it. “Nice. At least the hooch is good.”

 

“Are you always such an old bastard or is it just around me?” Paul took a sip of his Scotch. “You’re right, nice.”

 

Paul watched Davey look around the room, and felt his shoulders loosen. Always happened when they were together. Unless of course he was rescuing him or fighting with him or trying to convince him not to do the hundred and one stupid moves he’s tried in the past hundred and one years. But when they were like this, in a back booth, in a good mood, in that elusive space they sometimes fell into where it was just them. And they were just them.  He sighed. They were so goddamned good together when they were good together. He took a drink and wondered if he was getting tipsy already, all this pondering while his dinner companion was running his foot up his leg . . .

 

“Cut it out, Davey.”

 

“Ah, come on Paulie, what’s a clandestine dinner without some fooling around?” David looked over the rim of his glass. “Besides, everyone knows I’m doing you now that you’re single.”

 

“You’re not doing me.”

 

“Sorry, I guess I should say I plan on doing you. Future tense.”

 

Paul drained his glass. Fucking Davey and his fucking eyes and hands and the way his neck moved when he swallowed and the fucking way he knew he was always right. “Just drink your Scotch – we’ll see who’s doing what after you eat that steak.”

 

David chuckled and tipped the bottle toward Paul’s glass. The restaurant’s hum suddenly grew louder and they both looked toward the bar. Paul wondered what celebrity du jour had just walked in.

 

“Fucking hell.” David sat the bottle on the table. “You arrange this, Paulie?”

 

Paul looked where David was pointing and saw the head of Hugh Laurie above the crowd at the bar. He turned back quickly.

 

“No I did not arrange it. I didn’t know he was going to be here tonight. I haven’t talked to him since . . .”

 

Neither man spoke for a minute. Paul cursed under his breath. This was all they needed. Hugh Laurie. And probably Bobby right behind him. Or worse – Stephen. Of all the women and marriages and affairs they had both endured over the years, the one person who had legitimately threatened to tear them apart was the man now standing at the bar, looking too uncomfortable and too British – Hugh. Paul had directed two House episodes and they had grown close. Too close. Something about Hugh’s melancholia combined with a wicked sense of humor had managed to crack Paul’s carefully constructed barriers – the ones only Davey was allowed over and in.  They had met just one too many times, had gotten drunk just one too many times . . .

           

Davey of course, had reacted in his most charming fashion – retaliation by fucking – he’d managed to seduce both Stephen and Bobby, somehow also tossing Emma Thompson in for good measure (a move Paul had yet to understand) – but that was over two years ago and since then both he and Davey had turned a very particular corner and were, for the first time in a long time, happy and together.

 

“Well, let’s get this party started.”

 

Paul recognized the edge in his voice and was glad they were at the beginning of the night – and the bottle. He put his hand over David’s on the table. “Come on, just cool it. He doesn’t even know we’re here – just ignore him.”

 

David pulled his hand out from Paul’s and signaled the waiter. “See that tall asshole standing at the bar – I want to buy him and whoever he’s with a drink.” The waiter nodded. “And you know who I am, right?”

 

The waiter nodded again. “Oh, yes, Mr. Schneider. I watched you two on TV all the time when I was young. I even had a replica General Lee.”

 

Paul burst out laughing. “Perfect.”

 

“Fucking hell,” David rubbed a hand over his eyes. “That fucking show has nothing to do with us – just go order them a drink and tell them it’s from the two assholes in the corner. Okay?”

 

The waiter practically knocked over a busboy getting away from the table.

 

“Okay, now that was funny.” Paul shook his head. “But I didn’t come here to witness another night of some old fucking lion trying to out roar all the other old fucking lions. Can’t we just have a nice dinner?”

 

David drained his glass. “Jesus, Paulie – you sound like my wife.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Watch it.” David looked over at the bar. “I don’t see who he’s with, do you?”

 

Paul looked over and saw that Bobby – Robert – Wilson was standing next to Hugh. “No, I don’t see anyone. You wanna forget about them and talk to me about what you’re doing next? Or why you gave up your union card? Maybe tell me what the grandkids are doing . . .”

 

“Here he comes.” David sat up.

 

Paul watched Hugh weave around the tables, noticed the hush and then the murmur that followed him. Now Hugh was famous. Really famous. Unlucky bastard.

 

“Hello, fucker.” David smiled and then held up a glass.

 

“David Soul.” Hugh smiled and nodded. “Still a raging alcoholic I see. Good for you.”

 

“Hiya, Hugh.” Paul hoped he sounded . . . calm. There was still something about Hugh that made his heart race just a little fast. His hands sweat. His leg shake. His therapist said it was chemical and to ignore it. Which is why he stopped going to therapists.

 

“Paul. Hope I’m not disturbing you. Bobby and I-“

 

“The kid’s here? Where?” David interrupted and then leaned around Hugh to where Bobby had been standing. Hiding more like, Paul thought. “Hey, kid – what’s up? What the hell are you doing out with this old asshole? Aren’t you married yet?”

 

Paul watched Bobby turn a deep shade of red. Felt sorry for the kid for a minute. Then remembered all the nights he’d tried to convince him to stay away from Hugh. From David. From all this . . . this. Wasn’t a life for the faint of heart or someone like Bobby, theatre guy who liked to read the Times and walk the dog. He didn’t listen, and as far as Paul knew, he and Hugh were the worst kept secret in town.  Or would be after tonight and the David Soul special.

 

“Hi David, Paul.” Bobby waved.

 

“Leave him alone,” Hugh leaned down into David’s personal space. “Seriously. We’re just here meeting our producers and I’m really not in the mood to go round with you.”

 

David leaned up and patted Hugh on the shoulder. “Buy a guy a drink and he thinks I’m after his tail . . . man, what is this town coming to?”

 

“Davey.” Paul said it soft and low but knew by the slight wince in David’s face that he heard.

 

“Ah, hell, Laurie, sit down. Join us. And bring those bastard producers over. I’d like a few words with them, anyway. What the fuck are they trying to do to you? Methadone? Really? I used to like your show. Loved Paulie’s stuff. Even the kid here had some moments, but they are really trashing you this season, aren’t they?”

 

Hugh stood up straighter and the mask fell firmly back in place. “Oh you know how producers can be. I’m just looking forward to hiatus. I’m going back to England. Spending a few weeks at Stephen’s place. I’ll tell him you said hi. You’re not allowed in England anymore, is that right? Threw you out right proper I hear. Treason and all that. Too bad, really. Not enough old saggy pop stars in England anymore. Cliff Richards has absolutely no competition . . .”

 

David started to scoot out of the booth, but Paul leaned over and put a hand on his arm. He stopped, looked at Paul, looked at Hugh, and hissed out a “fuck” before he held up his hands.

 

Paul turned to Hugh. “Good to see you, Hugh. Good luck on the rest of the season.”

 

Hugh was still staring at David, and Bobby grabbed his arm and tugged. “Good to see you, too, Paul. Hopefully you can direct another episode next season . . .” Bobby smiled and turned Hugh away from the table.

 

“Over my dead body,” David growled into his glass.  Looked up and said loudly, “my dead COLD body.”

 

Paul watched the men walk back to the bar, noticed that almost every table in the restaurant was now looking at him and David, and kicked him under the table. “You are an insufferable asshole.”

 

David stared at the bar, turned and sighed and shook his head. “Fuck, I know. He just pisses me off. Sorry. I just . . . god I am an asshole.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re my asshole.”

 

David’s mouth turned up. “That’s a little kinky, don’t you think?”

 

Paul shook his head. “Damn, one minute you’re about to get into a fight and the next you’re trying to what?”

 

“Trying to make up for the last five minutes. Damn, that man makes me want to hit something.”

 

Paul leaned over and straightened David’s watch, smoothed out his cuff. “Actually, it’s flattering, you getting all heated – all ready to ride into battle. Kinda turns me on.”

 

“Well, you turning into a woman before my eyes does not turn me on.” He pulled his hand away under the table. “We are in public, Paulie. Man it up.”

 

The waiter appeared with two salads. “Is everything all right?”

 

Paul looked at David, who was pulling a cigarette out of his jacket. The waiter looked alarmed.

 

“Uh, you can’t smoke in here, sir.”

 

“Yeah, I know, I know.” David slipped the cigarette between his lips and slid to the end of the booth. “You ready, Paulie?” He wriggled his eyebrows and stood, wrapped his scarf around his neck and headed towards the entrance.

 

Paul looked at his salad, at the waiter, and at the two men at the bar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills, slid out of the booth and patted the waiter on the shoulder.

 

“Uh, sorry, but Mr. Schneider has been called away on urgent business. Daisy lost her Dukes.”

 

The waiter stared as he followed David out the door and into the night. David handed him a lit cigarette and they stood smoking for a moment.

 

“You think we’ll ever be able to finish dinner sometime? Somewhere?”

 

David blew smoke out the side of his mouth and looked at Paul. “You really want a steak, Paulie? You can have a steak. I’ll order one from room service, okay?”

 

“Room service? You’re awful cocky, Solberg, thinking there’s going to be room service.”

 

“Oh there’s always room service, Manfred. But you’re paying this time.”

 

Paul gave his ticket to the valet and turned back to David. “You’re also very sure of yourself. How did you know I’d follow you out here?”

 

“You gotta ask? You been following me out of restaurants since the first time Kate Jackson threw that bottle of Perrier all over your goddamn sweater.”

 

Paul chuckled. “She was aiming for you. You ducked behind me, remember? What did you do that pissed her off, anyway? I can’t remember.”

 

The valet pulled to the curb and Paul walked around and collected the keys.

 

David took a last drag from the cigarette. “Who knows . . . people just have a tendency to get pissed off when they’re around me, Paulie – haven’t you noticed?” “Hard to believe with all this charm and good looks, isn’t it?” He winked and pulled the car door open.

 

Paul shook his head and got into the car beside David.

 

“Hard to believe.” Paul turned the ignition and pulled the car away from the curb. “Where we going?”

 

David reached over and put a hand on Paul’s thigh. “I don’t care where we go. I’m just glad I’m in the right car. You know you fell in love with me in a car. Maybe I should stick to cars.”

 

“Hated that fucking car.” Paul turned onto Santa Monica, headed for the beach.

 

“Hated the car, loved the driver.”

 

They turned north on the coast highway and Paul turned on the radio. David rolled down his window and lit another cigarette.

 

“You know, Paulie. Been a long time since we did it in a car.”

 

“We are not doing it, Davey. Remember.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m just saying, if you think you’re too old to  . . .”

 

“And baiting me is not going to work.”

 

“Baiting you always works, buddy.” David reached over and slid his hand up and down Paul’s thigh. “But you gotta use the right kind of bait.”

 

Paul shifted and sat up straight. “Davey, I do not need to drive us off a cliff. The headlines alone would kill me.”

 

David moved his hand to the inside of Paul’s thigh, rubbing into his crotch. “What I got planned may also kill you. You’re not young anymore Paulie. Don’t know if your heart can take it.”

 

Paul lifted his hips into the caress. Involuntarily. Out of habit. Out of need. Davey was right. Whatever he did always worked. “Malibu Beach Inn?”

 

David moved back to his side of the car and laughed. “Malibu Beach Inn sounds great. But you’re paying.”

 

Paul stepped hard on the accelerator. “I always pay, Davey. Always.”

 

fin

Comments

[dipslikeramon.livejournal.com]

I will always willingly take the blame, my dear, just as long as I get to read more of this luciousness. *G* I especially loved the Solberg/Manfred banter.

Glad it was good for what ails ya! Remember...Nurse Sue's all Purpose Tonic. :D

[peg22.livejournal.com]

glad you made me do it - now off to read your flashslash . . .

[lauramcewan.livejournal.com]

“I don’t care where we go. I’m just glad I’m in the right car.

**melty** :-)

And that last line. Oh, god, right to the heart.

[peg22.livejournal.com]

yeah, they're awful sweet sometimes . . . gotta love those boys

[mlmcats.livejournal.com]

How fantastic! Loved some of those lines! The last one was just perfect -- I love RPS stories and they are far too few. Thanks!

[peg22.livejournal.com]

thanks! and I agree about the RPS - feel free to join in!!!

[lyricalsoul.livejournal.com]

perfect!

Love how we've turned Davey into such sex machine. He's done them all... gotta go back and read the epic again!!!

Oh, and by the by... if Hugh is going to London, the gang will surely follow...

[peg22.livejournal.com]

yes, Davey is well, growl-able. and you are evil for planting London in my brain - you know what happens when they're all in london!

[lolabobs.livejournal.com]

And here's why I shouldn' be dipping my toe into the crack pool - who could compete with this!

Fantastic.

[peg22.livejournal.com]

oh no way girl, I was about to hand you the lifeguard whistle - you can't leave the pool!!!

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

I died and went to heaven. Seriously. In two words of the current parlance? AWESOME,DUDE. And the Mr Schneider thing?? Had me hugging myself at what a comic genius you are. And then there was this: Unless you’re gonna shoot Starsky and Hutch Get It On Under the Back Booth in Nothing But Their Badges, I’m not interested.” .. which was when my coffee came out my nose.

[peg22.livejournal.com]

oh glad you liked it girly! Now if I can get Paul to direct some "awesome dudes" . . .

congrats, btw, on the rec of supernatural fic - you go girl!

[birggitt.livejournal.com]

This is perfect. The banter, the moods, the humor...
so, so perfect! I love it :)

[provencepuss.livejournal.com]

just seen this for the first time......I needed a good laugh and I got one!