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Spit or swallow?

Vae (vae)

dirty diana (torri13)


John Barrowman/Naoko Mori


for the prompt John Barrowman/Naoko Mori, blue jeans, blushing, pink martinis. I could only get it as far as friendship and teasing, John's FAR too gay for anything else.

John's not James Bond, and Daniel Craig would never drink anything pink.

It's a completely different atmosphere to last year's wrap party. Last year was a kind of giddy exhilaration, nerves prickling tight that hell yeah, they'd made something good, something new, something bold and no fucking clue how the press or the public or, more importantly, the fans were going to react to Torchwood or Jack in his new setting.

This year it's lighter. It's still hyper, energy in the room enough to power the whole of Cardiff and all its Christmas lights for the entire holiday season, and it's fantastic to see. Cast and crew laughing and drinking and eating and filling John's new house with happiness. Of course, his house - their house – won't stay as it is for long, Scott's designs are already lodged with the local planning office, but it's a hell of a beautiful start.

The dogs are sleeping, or more likely trying to sleep, in one of the bedrooms, and Scott's off in London checking in at the office, and, John suspects, not at all sorry to have an excuse to miss the party. Fair enough. He can't stand Scott's office outings, either. Except for the karaoke one, that was kind of fun.

Still, tonight's on an entirely different scale. Somewhere across by the kitchen, Eve's trying to chat up one of the sound men (and John's pretty damn sure she's got no chance there), and Naoko's wielding one of his chef's knives on – oh, shit.

Excusing himself and kissing Julie's cheek, John makes his way across to the kitchen, winks at the sound man just to see the blush spreading across his face, and goes to confront his erstwhile colleague.


She frowns, not looking up, carving the fruit into cubes. "Shh. I don't want to...there!" Triumph is clear in her voice as she scoops the pink cubes into one hand, and tips them into a cocktail shaker.

John shudders. "Naoko. For the love of everything that's holy, please, tell me who went Dirty Dancing on my kitchen?"

"What?" Distractedly, she shovels ice into the shaker, and then glances around, giving him a bright smile. "Is Gareth dancing again?"

After a quick check (because it's always possible and more, always kind of funny), John shakes his head, and clamps his hand over hers. "The melon, kid. Who brought that thing into my house?" He can't quite disguise the horror. What the hell was the point of anything that tasted of so little, and Christ, the texture, that stomach churning lack of resistance that was just...oh, God, yeah, really definitely revolting.

"Oh." The smile turns positively wicked, and John gets a forceful reminder, yet again, that Naoko is definitely not Tosh. "I did. Honestly, John, you should try it."

"No, I really shouldn't," he tells her firmly, watching in bemusement as she spoons sugar in as well. "What the fuck are you doing?"

She crosses the kitchen to fetch his vodka – his best vodka – out of the freezer, and adds that to the shaker, tip of her tongue protruding as she watches the liquid creep up to the mark. "Martinis," she says, as if that's the only explanation needed.

John wonders briefly if he's already into his hangover, because he's not stupid, but that didn't make any sense at all. "Martinis," he repeats. "As in, shaken and not stirred?"

"If you're about to make a pussy joke then I'm going to stuff your mouth full of melon," she replies calmly, and closes the lid on the shaker.

Closing his mouth on the inevitable and pretty nearly irresistible Pussy Galore joke, which fits so incredibly neatly with Tosh, if not actually with Naoko, John watches, bemused. "Martinis as in vodka and vermouth and no fucking watermelon?"

"Pink martinis," she clarifies, looking far too pleased with herself, shaking vigorously. "Get me some glasses?"

With a raised eyebrow at the whole concept, John goes to do so, sliding the Grey Goose back into the icebox on his way past. "Pink martinis for a gay James Bond? You know, Gavin was trying to -"

"Yes, John," Naoko says patiently, rolling her eyes. "You've told me before. And about your crush on Daniel Craig."

Well, it wasn't like that one was any kind of secret. "Did I tell you that Scott - "

"Yes, John," she repeats, pouring the pink and suspiciously melony-looking liquid into two glasses, and pushing one across the counter to him.

He eyes it dubiously. "I'm pretty sure that James Bond wouldn't be caught dead with a pink martini."

"I'm pretty sure James Bond wouldn't be caught dead wearing blue jeans, either," she parries. "Just...try it. For me?"

There's no way he can resist that flutter of eyelashes. John capitulates, taking the tiniest sip and screwing up his face with the attempt to swallow it rather than spray it all over her. "Gah, that's...fuck, Naoko, I wouldn't lick that from Daniel Craig's naked chest!"

It's worth it, though, just for the look on her face.

And hey, at least he hadn't voiced his first thought about potential licking locations.


 Left By:
dirty diana (torri13)

2007-12-25 10:39:18

Yes.That was *exactly* the story I wanted. I love naughty John and dancing Gareth and Naoko chopping melons, it cheers me so incredibly much. Thank you, Santa!

 Left By:
llaras (llaras)

2008-01-01 01:15:53

Hee! This made me laugh and laugh!