peg22: (stephen)
[personal profile] peg22

Title: Spring in Vancouver - Part Two: The Line

Author: Kaye
Stephen Fry
David Soul

Here's the first part:





David Soul wondered for the tenth time how he let fucking Fry convince him this was a good idea. They were sitting at an out of the way table at West, which, according to Fry, was the best restaurant in Vancouver, with Jared and Jensen, deep into their second bottle of Veuve Clicquot, deep into a conversation David swore he’d never have with anyone, ever. Again.


“So, do you think they were gay?” Jared looked at him, smiling behind his bangs.


“Of course they were gay, we’re gay. Everyone’s gay on TV.” Jensen stuffed a mushroom in his mouth. “This is a great place, Stephen.”


Stephen sat with glass in hand, smiling. Looking so smug, so satisfied, David was sure something very, very wrong had taken place before he had found the three of them in the lobby of his hotel. He had the urge to call Paul. For a rescue. For a quickie. These men – boys, really, were certainly interesting. Certainly entertaining. But why did Stephen need him?  Stephen could handle both these boys with one hand tied to his dick – in fact he’d probably prefer it that way. He emptied his glass and wondered where Paul was tonight.


Jared’s phone rang and he excused himself to answer the call. Jensen’s phone started singing Eye of the Tiger and he looked at the caller id and excused himself, walking over to Jared.  Stephen rolled his eyes and leaned over to David, whispering, “You know, Hutchie, you could be a little nicer to your protégée. I mean, you’ve barely met them and already Jensen James Dean has given you the look.”


“The look?”


“Oh, please, coy never suits you, old man, even in Canada.”


“They’re fucking babies.”


“They don’t look like babies. And I’ve looked. Trust me. I’ve looked.”


“You’re freaking me out, Fry. Why am I up here?”


Jared and Jensen walked back to the table and Stephen put a hand on David’s thigh. “All in good time, my grouchiness.” He turned to the boys.  “Whatever has pulled the storm clouds over those ridiculously delicious faces? You look positively gutted.”


“We’re fucked.” Jensen sat, downed his drink and wiggled the empty glass at a waitress.


David was struck by how much he was reminded of Paul, who had the same annoying habit.


Stephen wagged his eyebrows at David, who kicked him under the table.


“Do tell,” Stephen purred, reaching down to rub his shin.


“Well, Eric called. Nutter just bailed.”


“Could you translate that dear Sammy Jared Junior?” Stephen purred.


Jared tugged at his pant leg and sighed. “I guess David Nutter-“


“Herr Director,” Stephen whispered into David’s ear. David nodded and pushed Stephen away.


“Well, he’s pissed at something in his contract. And something Eric said or did and now he’s gone.”


“In the middle of shooting our little demon drama? How rude.”


David sighed. “Yeah, I remember that. Fucking directors get a better gig – they bail.”


“Jared forgot to tell you the best part.” Jensen muttered. “Go ahead, Jay – tell em the best part.”


Stephen leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him in anticipation.


David felt a shiver down the back of his neck when he realized they might all have been unknowingly drafted into some demented fairytale that the fucking giant fairy had concocted.


“Well, he also said that after he saw the video, he wasn’t coming within ten miles of the set, the show, or the fucking perverts.”


Jensen pointed first to himself, then Jared, then Stephen. “Us being said perverts. Although I don’t ever remember the fucking part.”


David raised his hand for the waiter. This was going to need a bottle. “Fry?”


Stephen held his hand to his chest. “Video? Video? There was video?”


David ordered and then turned to Jensen. “So, what are you guys supposed to do? Can’t Kripke get another director?”


Jensen and Jared exchanged looks. “Well, it’s not that easy,” Jared said and grabbed Jensen’s water glass and drained it. “He also withdrew his script.”


David wondered if déjà vu was in the water in Vancouver. “His script?” He took the bottle from the waiter, who distributed the glasses.


“Yeah, he’s pissed.” Jared held out his glass.


“Apparently, it’s been brewing for a while. He directed the pilot and another episode and didn’t get the back end or something . . .” Jensen started.


“ . . . and Eric’s already called seven directors and we can’t use any footage we’ve done already and the execs are breathing down his neck . . .”


“Like those pesky hellhounds, I’d expect,” Stephen interrupted and then laid a hand on Jensen’s. “Dear Dean Wean, I know it sounds completely dire . . .”


“Fry . . .” David growled. Futile, he knew, but maybe, just maybe his role here was as referee. Umpire. Grown-up.


“I’m just saying that these boys should relax. I’m sure all those stiff little suits I saw lurking about their set will take care of the problem. And we’ve got a splendid evening before us, so why worry?”


David shook his head and filled his glass. “Well I don’t really know how it all works up here, but I’d be worried.” He held out his glass. “Here’s to working in television.”


The rest of the table held out their glasses – Glenfiddich, neat – and clinked.


“So I take it you guys have a free day tomorrow?”


JaredJensen, which was what David was going to call them from now on, nodded.


Stephen just raised an eyebrow and smiled.


 “Okay, so let’s see what damage we can do to this town. Anyone know where Mulder lives?”




Jensen woke up to a pounding headache and a bale of cotton in his mouth. Before he could open his eyes, a huge log landed on his chest. Jared’s arm. He cracked his left eye and saw Jared sprawled over three fourths of the bed, while he was hanging ass out on the edge. As usual. He let gravity take him down to the floor and he lay there for a moment, trying to remember how they had gotten home. How they had gotten undressed. How they had . . . had they?


He remembered a limo, lots of booze, Stephen’s cackle, David’s breath on his neck – what? He sat up. Did he? With David. Soul. Hutch? He scrubbed his eyes and leaned over and tugged on Jared’s arm.


“Hey, wake up.”


Jared moaned and flopped the other way.


Jensen felt sick and fell back. Tried to remember. Tried not to remember. Was there a clown? Did they really go fishing? Maybe Stephen slipped him something.


“Oh hell no, he better not have slipped me something.”


“Hey, I’m trying to sleep up here. Can you have regrets somewhere else?” Jared tossed a pillow off the bed. “And yes, Jensen, we went fishing.”


Jensen pulled himself up and onto the edge of the bed. “Aspirin?”


“I don’t know. Look in the bathroom.”


Jensen turned his head to the bathroom and the room spun with him. “Hell.” He finally realized they weren’t in their house. He didn’t know where they were. But the bathroom was a mile and a half away and the windows were wide open and he could see the harbor and the hills. So he knew it had to be a good hotel. He hoped.


“At least we’re still in Vancouver.” He got up and limped toward the bathroom.


“Barely – you and Davey wanted to go to Montreal.”




“Yeah, about the time you two stole the Vespa from that clown – man he was pissed.”




“No, the clown. But then Stephen said something to him and then we had those Tequila shots-you don’t remember any of this, do you?”


Jensen had stopped halfway to the bathroom to rest on the couch. “I’m still back at when did David Soul become Davey. I thought only Saint Starsky could call him that.”


“Next time I’ll get you a transcript.” Jared rolled over, stood and stretched.


Jensen was glad he was sitting. A naked stretching Jared should not be taken on an empty stomach. “Damn, Jay . . .”


Jared walked over to the door, tugged a robe off the hanger, shrugged it over his shoulders, leaving the belt off, the front open. “Better, Mary?”


Jensen groaned. “I feel like shit.”


“You look like shit – could be that henna tattoo. Eric’s gonna be pissed if you can’t get that off before tomorrow.”


“What henna . . .” Jensen bolted up, staggered to the full length mirror beside what he could only guess was the sitting room. He saw an ornate henna tattoo from his eyebrow, down his cheek, his neck, his chest. “Oh, hell no.”


“That’s what I said. But you and your new best friend Davey thought it was cool. He was cooler, though. He got one on his dick. Seriously, Jen, we can’t keep up with those guys. They are hardcore.”


The knock on the door startled them both.


“Cheerio, my darling cheerios.” The door opened and a cart preceding a showered, shaved, and very dapper Stephen was filled with coffee and pastries and orange juice. Jensen took one look and stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.


Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Our little disciple feeling a bit under the weather today?”


Jared walked over, eyeing the cart. “Yeah, he barely remembers anything.”


“Tsk, tsk, although I can’t say I’m surprised. It takes a particular breed of television hero slash pin-up doll to maintain the pace of our dear old David Hutchinson. He invented the genre after all.”


Jared just nodded and grabbed a croissant. Stephen poured a cup of coffee and walked to the bathroom door.


“Jensen Winnie Chesterfield, come out now and let Uncle Stephen fix all your ills.”


“Fuck off.”


Stephen turned back to Jared. “Oh dear, he sounds like the growling lion, too. I knew I should have paired us up differently.” He walked back over to Jared, who was pouring a cup of coffee and stuffing a donut into his mouth. “Although I wouldn’t give up last night for anything – you were magnificent, my demon droplet of delight. Magnificent.”


Jared tipped his cup to Stephen and walked over to the bathroom door. “Come on Jensen, eat something. You’ll feel better. And we’ve gotta get rid of that tattoo. Eric texted me that the new director is supposed to be here at four.”


Stephen sat primly in the bed. “Ah yes, our little skit must go on.”


Jared joined Stephen on the bed. “Yeah, and they’re making us pay for everyday we’re not shooting.”




Jared nodded. “You ever check your messages? They’ve got some Canadian lawyer with some obscure play or pay clause – basically, up here, they make us fix our own messes.”


Stephen sighed. “Canadians. What is one to do? Passive aggressively the most superior haughty bunch I’ve run across. Really.”


Jared tugged at his robe. Stephen laid his hand on Jared’s. “Oh no, dear boy – the sight of you all oot and aboot is what’s keeping me upright this fair morning. I’d almost forgotten you’re a Maple Leaf yourself aren’t you?”


Jared looked down at himself and then back to Stephen. “You can tell that

from . . . this?” He pointed to crotch.


“Oh yes, my little love puppy. Just think of me as the Henry Higgins of dicks – I can separate by provinces as well – well except for Quebec. It’s not just the language that’s confusing over there . . .”


“Is that coffee?” Jensen, a towel around his waist, walked out of the bathroom.


“Ah, the dead have risen.” Stephen stood and joined Jensen at the cart. “You my friend are going to need something much stronger, but start with the coffee. And may I say . . .” Stephen leaned back and took in Jensen from toe to top, “Your tattoo only enhances your tendency to look tantalizingly tossable. And of course I mean that in the very best way.”


Jensen nodded and slumped against Jared on the bed. Jared patted Jensen on the leg and put his arm around his shoulder.


“Now isn’t that a photo. Terrycloth never looked so good.”


“Yeah, thanks Stephen – now can you use that overblown vocab to figure out a way to get our terry cloths out of the ringer?” Jensen took a sip of coffee.


Stephen chuckled. “My boys, my boys, my second favorite prime time toys – the fix is in. The time is nigh. All will be revealed.”


“What the hell is he . . .” Jared started.


Stephen held up a finger. “Hush my babies. I must away. You stay here and recupe – wait for my call. I’m sure you can find something to occupy your time.”


He was gone before either J could speak.


“Fucking hell.”


“Yeah, fucking hell.”




David answered the phone on the fourth ring.






David cracked an eye, saw it was morning. Coughed. “Yeah, Paulie?”


“What the hell is wrong with you? You sound like shit.”


“You woke me up.”


“But Stephen said . . . never mind. Are you going to pick me up or do you want me to get a cab?”


“Pick you up?”


“Are you awake? Yeah, pick me up. I’ll be there at three – am I coming to your hotel or to the studio?”




“You know I usually love these one sided conversations, but my flight’s boarding.”




“Okay, so I’ll get a cab to your hotel. Leave my name at the desk so I can get up. What’s your room number?”


“I don’t know . . . you’re coming here?”


“Are you drunk?”


“I don’t think – I don’t know.”


“Great. Remind me to kill Fry when I get there. He said you’re the one who suggested it.”




“I gotta go, Davey. Just make sure you’re still there at three. I don’t want to search all over goddamn Vancouver for you. We’ve got like thirty scripts to go over.”




“I’m hanging up now, Davey. It’s been swell. Let’s never do it again.”




“Bye Davey – sleep it off and make sure we’ve got the good coffee. You’re going to need it.”


“Bye Paulie.”

to be continued . . .



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