Title: Three Things That Never Happened To Jack Davenport
Disclaimer: These were written based on storylines in the parody communities, celeb_wtf and celebs_on_crack. No profit is made, and is strictly for entertainment purposes.
Three Things That Never Happened to Jack Davenport
As far as premieres went, this was the most laid back one that Jack had ever attended. Circus performers, rock music blaring over the sound system, and he was in jeans. JEANS! It didn't get more American than that. He didn't mind all of the mincing and bowing that Depp felt he had to do every three feet along the red carpet. Execs wanted the leads to enter the theater together to try and impress upon everyone that it was an ensemble cast. Everyone knew better: this was the "Depp Pirate Movie." But what the execs wanted, they got.
Kiera was pleasant, as usual, Orlando was smiling with his mouth, but searching the crowds with his eyes for something else, and Depp insisted on throwing his arm around Jack's waist and dragging him into every photographer's face. Smile, Jack, smile. You just signed on for two sequels with this clown. The red carpet was long and there seemed to be a never-ending supply of photo-ops. After three or four pictures, Jack noticed that Johnny was leaving his arm around the taller man's waist. To ease the awkwardness, Jack was forced to drape his arm over Depp's, causing his linen shirt to blouse open more in the front. Depp took that opportunity to clap Jack's chest with his hand, and damned if his thumb didn't make the smallest of circles, bringing it just under the shirt, the cool metal of his thumb-ring causing Jack to suck in a quick breath at the shock of heat and cool in such an intimate place.
"What are you doing, Depp?" Jack whispered, smiling as the flash popped.
Quiet, breathy chuckle. "Just giving the fans something to write about, Jack. What? Are you telling me you don't like my touching you? Or is it that I'm not touching you enough?"
Johnny's other hand slid slowly up and under the black sports coat Jack's rep made him wear, fingers splayed against the small of Jack's back. "More?" An amused laugh, practically silent, and warming Jack's shoulder as Johnny moved in closer for another photo. Fingers rucked up the back of the shirt, warm flesh exposed, rough fingertips tracing, teasing, tickling the tender flesh just below Jack's waistband.
Jack broke away, hand in the air waving to the fans in the cheap seats behind the camera crews, tossed Johnny a smile that was anything but kind, and muttered, "Meet me inside. Now."
Jack walked over to Kiera, kissed her cheek, explained he was going to freshen up before the viewing, and strode to the inside of the theater, taking the carpeted steps three at a time. A raised eyebrow and sheepish grin to the usher, and he was directed to the left to the facilities. Jack turned on cool water, let it run over his wrists for a moment, then splashed a bit on his face. Hands gripped the side of the free-standing basin, water dropping off his nose, eyes closed.
A click as the bathroom door closed and locked.
"I can't imagine your reaction when I do a bit more than just tickle your... fancy, Jack."
That smug voice. Jack kept his eyes closed, willed his breathing to slow. He couldn't help the small moan that slipped from his lips as Johnny slid his hand back up and under Jack's jacket, moved to stand closer so his hip was rubbing against Jack's backside and warm breath coursed over his shoulder blade. "We don't have to stay in the theater, you know."
Jack willed himself to be still - to not react. There were two hands now. One working high up the back of his shirt, stroking his broad back, the other slowly making its way around his side, to his belly, fingers tangling in the soft curls nested below Jack's navel.
"I mean, it's not like we don't know how it ends, right?"
Jack turned to face him. Depp let his hands circle Jack's ribcage under Jack's shirt as he turned, thumbs tracing the hard outline of bone. Jack reached up and ran his fingers through Johnny's unruly hair, brushed it back from his face, traced the hard edge of Johnny's cheek, fingers coming to rest in the crook of his neck. "We do, don't we? You escape."
A knock at the door.
"I don't have to." Johnny leaned forward, head tilting up and lightly rubbed his lips across Jack's, then pressed more firmly, lips insisiting. When Jack felt a tongue trace along the sharp edge of his teeth he pulled back, rubbed his hands over his face and into his hair, put a wry grin back on his face, and straighted his clothes.
"Yes, you do. There has to be a sequel, right?"
The only way to get any peace on set was to be as far away from Jude as possible. Jude wanted to be a star, and Gwyneth Paltrow was the star, thank you. Well, and that Matt Damon fellow, but he was too American for Jack to really relax with and get past their professional relationship. Matt said "dude" too much and was on the phone with his mate, Ben, in between every take. That left Gwyn and Jack to escape and try and enjoy the beautiful village where they were filming. She was quite lovely, actually. A bit stuffy at first, but Jack realized that was her defense mechanism. She was an American - a Californian, no less - who was an up and coming British star. She had learned to protect herself behind a cool exterior to protect from the insults and slings that were constantly coming her way for upstaging so many fine British actresses.
After a few days of coffee at outside cafès, and crazy rides on the Vespas everyone seemed to use here, a comfortable relationship had sprung up. Gwyn's relationship with that friend of Matt's seemed to be deteriorating - one of the reasons for all the phone calls, Jack suspected. Jack took it upon himself to befriend Gwyn and help ease some of the tension she seemed to always carry around.
They had two days off as an integral scene between Matt and Jude was being set up and shot, so they decided to book a room on the water and enjoy the Riviera on a more secluded section of the water and enjoy a little peace. Jack drove them on his rented Vespa the few miles down from the casts' hotel to the tall, narrow building that would serve as their escape for the next few days. Jack shouldered her bag, hefted his in the other hand, and climbed the narrow staircase between the old stucco buildings, pulled out a key and opened the heavy wooden door, allowing Gwyneth to walk in first.
"Oh, Jack! It's wonderful!"
He brought the bags in, set them on the tiled entryway and was confronted with a floor to ceiling view of the turquoise water of the Mediterranian. "Good lord."
Gwyn walked across the main room and opened the French doors to the large balcony overlooking the water. "I have three books that just may not get read. Look at this view!"
Jack walked outside, noted that there were only four units on this stretch of beach, and it seemed to be blocked off to the general public. Absolute silence, save for the steady ebb and flow of the late afternoon's waves pulling further and further out to sea.
"We can unpack later." A bright grin and a hop, and Jack plopped onto one of the overstuffed chaise loungers, leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, and sighed in relief. Gwyn ran her fingers through his unruly hair, placed a sweet kiss on the top of his head and smiled. "Thanks for this. God, I needed a break."
She went back indoors and returned a moment later with a book, sat down, pulled the sunglasses off her head and got comfortable on the adjoining lounger. Jack tilted his head sideways and watched her relax. It was physical: her shoulders dropped, her face relaxed into a small smile, her hair blew in the wind, toes curled.
Without taking her eyes off her book, she reached out, took his hand, gave it a squeeze. Held his hand a bit longer than necessary. Jack couldn't help but stroke her soft, small hand with his thumb. He leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss on the top of her hand, released her hand, leaned back and closed his eyes.
He woke up a few hours later. The sun had almost set. A check to his watch, rubbed hands over his face, a long stretch, stood and crossed to the railing. There were a few boats on the water, their party lights strung up on the rigging and twinkling in the receeding light.
"You're up, oh good!" Gwyn stood next to him, encircled his waist with her arms and leaned against him. He let his arm wrap around her thin shoulders and they stood in silence looking at the water for several minutes. He hadn't noticed that his hand was sliding up and down her arm. Or that his hip had shifted, pressing against her slim form. That his head was tilting towards hers. He did notice, however, that one of her hands was making small circles on his chest, that her face was moving closer to his, and that his breathing had sped up.
Her voice was soft and quiet. "Jack?"
"Mmm?" The smallest of turns to bring her body closer to his.
"I really needed this... break. From everything."
Two fingers worked their way under his button placket, thumb smoothing over the soft material of his shirt - an invitation. Jack let his right hand leave the railing and smooth a stray lock of her hair away from her face and behind her ear; trace a path down her neck and over her shoulder. His hand tightened its grip on her waist, leg pressed against hers. Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, leaned forward and rose up on her toes and kissed the small puckering of skin at the corner of his mouth, breathed, "Are you sure?" and sighed in relief as Jack turned his head to kiss her back. Thoroughly. With hands sliding up her back, fingers in her hair holding her to him, shoulders curling forward to press against every inch of her.
She pulled her body back just enough to release her hands from between their bodies and snake around his neck, wrists crossing and up high on his head, body arching to press up against his. Jack slid one hand down her side, toying with the seam of her blouse, fingertips ghosting over the side of her breast. She moaned slightly into his mouth and moved her body closer to his. He traced the curve under her breast with his thumb, pulled back, hair hanging in his face, and traced the edge of her ear with his tongue.
Gwyn managed to walk backwards the few steps to one of the chaises, dragging him by his hand to come sit with her. With his one hand in her hair again, the other cradling her body, he leaned her back against the full cushion, kissing her cheek, her eyes, her lips, her neck. As her hands found their way back into his silky hair, his moved to the front of her blouse, fingertips lifting and tracing the silken neckline, barely touching the creamy skin underneath. He kissed down her neck and over her collarbone, long bangs ticking her skin. She arched up to keep his warmth as a protective sheild over her body, hands gripping his broad back.
Jack sat up briefly, looked into her green eyes and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, the flat of his hand smothing over the rise of her breast, moving the material aside and exposing her to the cool air. He lowered his head and breathed hotly against her skin, gently rubbed his cheek against the skin there, lifted her small breast in his hand to his mouth, thumb rubbing over her nipple and then covering the raised bud with his mouth, rolling it about with his tongue, fingers massaging the firm flesh underneath.
Gwyn snaked one long, slim leg up along the outside of his body, draped sinewy calf over his legs, and rose up and against his body. Jack rocked forward and against her slightly, pulled back and blew cool air against her breast, smiled wickedly at her gasp and gave her other breast the same treatment, fingers quickly unbuttoning the remaining buttons, silken blouse hanging useless at her sides. His broad hands slid between the silk and her skin, underneath to hold her narrow waist and bring her body up to his mouth. He drug his cheek down her torso, hair tickling the exposed flesh of her chest.
"Are you sure?"
She arched upwards, nails raking over his skull in answer. A cell phone cut into the quiet. A second cell phone began to ring.
If they were both getting a call... Jack stood, ran his hands over his head to smooth his hair back, offered Gwyn his hand to help her stand, and discreetly turned to allow her to pull herself back together, then walked back inside to answer the phone. A quick look back out to the patio to make sure she had enough time to pull herself together.
"Darling? It seems Jude has had some kind of emergency back home with his child, so they'll need us on set at 6 am. I'm... I'm afraid we can't stay here tonight after all."
"Oh, well, that's just... Sure." A bit too bright. She turned back to the water, bit her lip, tried to put her usual cool reserve back on her face. Jack steped forward, stroked her back with his hand, then turned her and took her in his arms. Swayed slightly and kissed the top of her head. "I'm so very, very sorry. I shouldn't have-. Damn."
She stiffened in his arms. "No, you're right. We shouldn't. Besides - good friends like you aren't easy to come by, Jack."
He looked at her face where all traces of warmth were replaced with the too-bright smile of the rejected. "Friends? Always, darling." Held her close, cheek resting on top of her head. "Always."
There was no reason for them to be friends, let alone talk to one another. None. Granted, Jack had worked with Ben's best friend, had gone to pubs a few times when he came out to visit on set, knew all about him and his... proclivities from his talks with Gwyn during filming. Ben liked beer and crisps, talking loud, tipping obscene amounts of money as a sign of his largesse, and insisted on clapping Jack on the back everytime they saw each other.
Plus, there was that smirk. That goddamned smirk that Jack wanted to wipe off his face. He wondered about breaking the shillelagh over that smirk some nights as he sat in his study and read, some sarcastic encounter with Ben still fresh in his mind. Granted, a proper argument or verbal sparring was hard to come by most days - Depp was so full of his own not-success - why he insists on hiding and not accepting his fate as a Star is beyond me, the stupid monkey - and was rarely around to give a satisfactory point/counterpoint.
So that left... Colin Farrell. So easy to get a rise out of, it almost failed to entertain. Almost. But of course, as soon as Colin's nostrils began to flare, Ben would turn up. And Ben could give as good as he got. And it was... pleasant. Jack was growing weary of the mental midgets that seemed to plague him in his new neighborhood. But that smirk. How could someone that worshipped a losing sports team be so damned smug? The man starred in some of the worst movies ever put on film and- Okay, that wasn't fair. Jack had his fair share of bad movies under his belt, but at least they were small movies.
And Ben stood entirely too close. And was far too handsy for an American male. Jack was used to his mates being close, but it was completely unexpected for this smug, grinning... dude to constantly drape his arm over his shoulders. To have nick-names - oh, how he loathed "Jacky-boy." To grab his cheek and give it a little shake which made him... angry. Yes, it made him angry. That's why his heart raced and he snarked back. He argued to prove he was the greater intellect, not to keep him there, not to see if Ben would take one step closer, not to see if-.
Jack grabbed his jacket out of the closet, hastily threw it on and with one hand jammed deep in his pocket, flung the front door open to find-
"Ben? What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
Ben's hand was raised to knock, and he dropped his hand to his side with a grin. "Hey, there, Jacky-boy. I'm on an quest."
"Do NOT call me that."
A chuckle - insufferable ass! - and then he was leaning - leaning! As if he owned the place! - against the door frame, hand running through his hair. "Well, I've come to try and collect something."
"I'm terribly sorry, but I've lent the shillelagh out to some urchin up the block. Something about smashing out the windows of some automobile belonging to a surly and wee Irishman."
"Nice fucking mouth, Jack. Well, that's not entirely what I've come to collect. Mind if I come in?" Without waiting for an answer, Ben pushed off the doorframe and walked inside.
Yes. Get out. No. Damn.
"Nice place you have here, Jacky-boy."
Jack ground his teeth together. "Yes, I find I don't enjoy living in squalor as some do. Tell me, has your friend Colin had the fumigators around to rid his house of vermin? Oh. I guess the answer is evident as you are here. Excellent exterminator. I'll have to retain their number. Perhaps they could help rid me of my current... pest."
Jack closed the door and followed Ben into the study where he was reading book titles, head tilted to the side. "Have you even read any of these, Jack? Or do you have them for intimidation purposes? 'Cause I gotta say, I don't think you read law books for fun."
Ben turned with a smirk, noted the haughty expression on Jack's face and quickly retorted, "Hmm. Second thought... You just might."
Heavy sigh as Jack checked his fingernails - anything to not look at that smug- "Did you come for a particular purpose? Please - thrill me."
"Thrill you? Hmmm. Interesting choice of words, Jack. Now, that's a thought."
Jack looked up to see Ben walking straight towards him. "Thrill. Thrill you. You actually said that, didn't you? Heh. And without our normal verbal Olympics, you've just cut right to the chase."
Unable to help himself, Jack took a step back, and then another until he hit the wall. Ben walked right up to him, grabbed Jack's shoulders and roughly kissed him, tongue forced between stiff lips, hips grinding up and against Jack's. Unprepared, unexpected, but not unwanted. Hands relaxed from fists to tentatively, then with passion, grip at Ben's back. Lips relaxed, tongues stroked, hips ground into each other. Ben nipped at the tender flesh behind Jack's ear, smiled into warm flesh at the small moan that elicted.
Pulled back. Checked his watch. "Three minutes."
Jack, eyes heavy lidded with desire, looked at Ben confused, "What?"
Ben turned slightly away, straighted his shirt, used his thumb and forefinger to wipe at his mouth, then looked at the three inches of space next to Jack's face - would not meet his eyes. "Three minutes to get you to moan. Colin said I'd have to argue and take the piss out of you for at least an hour before- "
Jack licked his lower lip, tasted the whiskey from Ben's lips, saw the too-bright eyes, felt a cold-trickle down his back. Hands returned to fists at his side. "Get. Out. Get out of my home."
"Aw, Jacky-boy, don't-"
A fist connected with jaw. Ben rocked back, almost lost his balance, then took a shakey few steps forward, holding his face and laughing a bit. "What? Fuck, Jack, don't act like you didn't-"
Jack grabbed Ben's free arm, swung it behind and high up between Ben's shoulder blades, man-handled him out the door, shoved a bit too hard and felt cold delight as Ben did lose his footing and stumble to his knee on the hard sidewalk.
"Get the hell out of here, Ben."
Jack turned, closed the door, and missed entirely the look of pain and loss on Ben's face as the front porch light switched off.
(Cross posted to wtf_fic)