|Tom/Michael fic for elandrialore
||[Apr. 28th, 2009|09:48 pm]
Today is elandrialore's birthday. She writes amazing RPS & I always want her to write MORE! This story is in tribute to a screenplay idea she had a few months back - I loved the idea and borrowed the notion of "Tom the seducer."
Pairing: Michael/Tom, Tom/others
Warning: RPS is not to everyone's taste. If it's not your thing, please skip this one :)
Disclaimer: No real people! Absolute make-believe from start to finish!
Plot: Tom has a few things to figure out...
Michael is a flirt. Tom recognizes this from their very first handshake; Michael gives him a sly look from under his eyelashes and grips his hand tight.
"So, you're going to be my nemesis…hello!"
The teasing escalates throughout the first season. Michael pinches Tom's ass, rests his chin on Tom's shoulder. He breathes heavily into Tom's ear. He finds a little pink barrette in the make-up trailer and frowning with concentration, works it into Tom's hair. In between scenes, he casually plonks himself in Tom's lap.
"You have the patience of a saint," John Schneider tells Tom.
Tom is patient; Tom is also biding his time.
They're on the barn set, running lines. No one else is around. Michael leans in for his umpteenth fake-out kiss.
Tom pounces and gives him a kiss that practically lifts him off the ground. Michael gasps into his mouth.
Michael pulls back, flushed.
"You….you are not as innocent as you appear." He shakes his finger sternly at Tom. "Who are you, Tommy?"
Tom tilts his head:
"Ask me over tonight and find out."
And later, when Tom's tongue is busy and Michael is wriggling underneath him, Michael lifts his head and says, in an almost pleading voice:
"You know, I really am straight. Swear to god…."
Tom waits patiently, a thigh resting in each hand, Michael stares up at him, eyes dark and wild, lips parted. Then he says:
"Okay, maybe I'm not as straight as I thought."
Tom grins, and lowers his head.
* * * * *
The next day, Tom worries that everything will have changed, that suddenly Michael will have expectations, want more from him than he's able to give. But then, perversely, he's almost disappointed to find that nothing has changed. Michael flirts just as usual, throws his arm around Tom's shoulder, tries to steal his sandwich at lunch…but he also wanders away from Tom to talk hockey with the crew and chatters to Kristin about his upcoming weekend in L.A.
Michael's clearly not going to cling, which should fit in perfectly with Tom's arrangement. He has a wife who accepts him completely and is a partner in every respect. He doesn't want to lose that-
Michael is his friend, his best friend on set. But Michael has also refined teasing to a high art and knows exactly how to get Tom to the point of desperation, where there's no choice but to put a hand on Michael's back and propel him into Tom's trailer. There's nothing as exciting as Michael's mouth moving across Tom's collar bone while the crew chats outside, knowing that at any moment they could be called back to set.
Tease, Michael's such a tease. Tom can't get enough of him, and the truth is, he isn't getting enough of him. Michael is always enthusiastic in his arms, a wildcat in bed, but he shares Michael with an assortment of women, a number of platonic (God, they better be platonic) male friends, the New York Rangers, and the city of Los Angeles.
"You could spend more time in L.A.," says his wife. He hasn't complained much, but she can read him like a book.
But following Michael back to L.A. means surrender. And Tom likes to win. The ideal would be for Michael to spend more time in Vancouver.
And this is when Jensen enters the picture.
Tom looks at him and knows, instantly. Very few people would see through the slight Texas swagger and the courtly good manners; Tom recognizes, and admires, the act. Jensen is gay and he's hiding it well. When Michael shouts his morning greeting "Ackles!" and heads over to flirt, Jensen quickly re-routes him into sports talk. It is brilliantly done.
Jensen is shy with Tom at first, and tends to stick close to Kristin's side. The girls all adore him.
"He's waiting for your approval," Kristin tells Tom. "He's worried you might feel awkward around him because he tried out for your part years ago."
Tom thinks this over.
* * * *
"Thanks, Coach!" says Tom, and lets his hand linger a few extra seconds on Jensen's arm.
"….and scene!" calls the director. "That's a wrap, boys."
"So, I hear you're a golfer?" says Tom. "I've got green time this Sunday. Are you in town?"
Tom doesn't usually bother to shower after golf, and when he does shower, he doesn't generally move his hands all over his body in slow, soapy strokes. Perhaps some of Michael's teasing technique has rubbed off. Jensen watches him, wide-eyed, from across the locker room.
"I could go for a drink," says Tom, stretching. "How's your hotel room stocked?"
While Michael enjoys play-fighting with Tom for dominance in bed, Jensen submits completely. He's huge-eyed as Tom casually strips in front of him, yet is shy to reveal his own incredible body. He actually trembles when Tom touches him.
There's something faintly illicit about this; the corruption of an Innocent. It only makes it hotter. Tom pushes Jensen's legs apart, and gently drives himself home. Jensen moans and bucks, and Tom bites the back of his neck. A good time, thinks Tom. A very good time. That's all.
But Monday morning reveals that for Jensen, it’s only the beginning. Jensen is a good actor, but he can't hide the fact that he's achingly, transparently, in love. He watches Tom's every move; even when they're not in a scene together, Tom can feel Jensen's eyes following him around the studio.
Trouble is, Tom is not in love, at least not with Jensen. He'd wanted a casual fling and a serious golf buddy. Jensen wants a boyfriend.
"Jason is suspicious of Clark in this scene," says the director. "Jensen, you're looking a little too….too…."
The word is smitten.
"Too intense?" suggests Tom, and is rewarded with a relieved smile from the director and a yearning look from his co-star.
Every time they golf, they have sex. Tom always means to put an end to it, but he can't ever quite manage to resist those pleading eyes, nor that perfect tight body. But he has to do something. Jensen's practically picking out china patterns, and Tom hasn't had any alone time with Michael in weeks.
"Don't you hurt his feelings!" warns Nathalie in the make-up trailer. She applies her hairbrush with excessive force.
"Ow!" says Tom.
"You need to distract him," says Michael, at lunch. "Find him someone new and shiny." He glances slyly at Tom. "Maybe I should try him on."
The mere thought of Michael with another man is enough for Tom's sight-line to turn red. He carefully sets down his fork and takes Michael's arm. After an energetic twenty minutes in Tom's trailer, they emerge to face a reproachful Jensen and an angry director:
"I don't know what you've been doing, but you both need to head back to make-up."
Nathalie knows exactly what they've been doing and Michael gets a very rough re-application of his scalp make-up.
In the end, it's Jensen's ambition that solves Tom's dilemma. There's this script, he confides to Tom: Two brothers, who travel around having adventures. Should he go for it?
Tom is suffused with relief.
"Absolutely. Dude, it sounds perfect."
Brief flicker of disappointment in Jensen's eyes. Was this a test, to see how Tom would react? Tom adds, quickly:
"We can still hang out, golf."
And they do, but once Jensen has met his new co-star, "golf" ceases to be a euphemism for sex and becomes actual golf. And Jensen becomes a good friend. Tom drops by the Supernatural set from time to time; it always amuses him to see how Jared draws himself up to his full height when Tom is around. He's unfailingly friendly, but the body language is obvious: "don't even think about touching Jensen, ever again."
Michael has always made it perfectly clear that the seventh season will be his last. "But not the last of you and me, buddy," he tells Tom. "You can drag your ass back to L.A. every once in a while."
"Or you could come to Vancouver," says Tom.
But Tom isn't prepared for the reality of a Michael-less set, the gap Michael will leave. It's not even the sex he misses so much as the pranks, the shared jokes, the way Michael can make him laugh until his sides ache, and how amazing it feels to get a huge laugh out of Michael.
Where Tom sees a gap, a missing piece, someone else sees an opportunity. An arm that is not Michael's twines around Tom's waist; Tom turns, and there is Justin.
Justin's been waiting, Tom realizes with amusement, biding his time since season six. He's moved up in the credits, and now he's moving in on Tom. Justin has made assumptions.
The thing is, it's hard to resist him. Justin talks all the time, always sharing information, even through a mouthful of Tom's cock. He never stops smiling for an imaginary camera, even when his smile is pressed into a pillow. He's bendy and flexible from yoga; he's never in a bad mood, and everything Tom says makes him laugh. His enthusiasm is endearing.
Justin also likes to talk to the press.
"Have you read this?" texts Jensen. "He name-drops you like crazy."
Tom clicks on the link, and sees his name dotted through the interview, with references to how much fun he and Justin have on set, how they laugh all the time. It's not untrue, exactly, but it still makes him wince.
Michael's voice that night, silky over the phone:
"So I hear that the set is a place of unceasing merriment in my absence-"
"Go to hell," says Tom, smiling at his phone.
"That's what I miss most, Tommy, the laughter-"
"Then come back to Vancouver," says Tom, and waits for the inevitable response.
"Or you could come to L.A."
The second half of the season seems to pass in a blur. Kristin returns for a few episodes; she and Tom crack up over her hair extensions. "Weird without Michael around," she says, and Tom just nods.
He gets sick, a flu bug that just won't let go of him. Allison and Erica help him out as much as they can, urging the directors to shoot Tom's close-ups first so that he can sneak naps in his trailer. Justin offers miso soup. But it's Michael's daily barrage of texts and emails that cheers him up the most, three word summaries of how his latest auditions have gone: "Belly flopped, dude."
Tom gradually shakes the flu, but is still over-tired. With his schedule, there's never time to catch up on sleep; the days pass by in a blur. At some point during the "blur", he signs on for another season, then frets that he has made the wrong decision.
Two days after shooting wraps, Michael emails him:
"You're finished…why are you still in Van?"
Tom replies: "Apathy."
"Come see me. Meet my new dog."
Tom texts back:
"I've met lots of dogs." Nonetheless, he books a ticket for the evening flight to L.A.
He hadn't realized how tired he really was, until he's standing on Michael's doorstep, swaying a little.
"Whoa," says Michael. "You're a zombie, buddy. C'mon."
He swings an arm around Tom and steers him towards the bedroom. Tom nearly trips over an excited dog, winding around his legs.
"That's Irv," says Michael.
"Hi Irv," says Tom.
Michael eases Tom onto the bed and starts tugging at clothes.
"This is not the sexy kind of undressing," says Tom, eyes half-closed. Michael laughs and pulls off his own t-shirt. Tom lets the weariness wash over him. The bed is soft and Michael, who has just climbed in next to him, is warm. Tom shifts closer and rests his head on Michael's shoulder. Michael's hand comes up to stroke his hair. Tom sleeps.
* * *
He wakes to the sound of dog toenails clicking across the floor.
"Bagels!" says Michael, following Irv. "Bagels in bed. Now, that's service."
Tom sits up, stretches and takes a bagel. He looks at Michael:
"I miss you."
Michael sits on the edge of the bed, and smiles at him.
"You always keep me running," says Tom. "Make me work for it."
"That's the way to keep you interested, isn't it? If it comes too easy, you don't want it."
There's some truth to this, but Tom isn't keen on the phrasing:
"You've been playing me?"
"No, I love you," corrects Michael, and leans forward and kisses him. "Mmmm, you taste of bagel."
Tom just stares at him. Michael throws the word "love" around fairly freely. "Love ya, buddy!" and so forth. But he's never said it like this before. Suddenly Tom realizes that the distance between Los Angles and Vancouver doesn't matter. Michael leaving Smallville and joining a new show doesn't matter. Thirty years from now they will be joking and teasing and sharing bagels, and he will still adore Michael.
"What are you thinking about?" says Michael.
"Continuity," says Tom, and jumps on him.
(Happy birthday, elandrialore!)