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[psykotropik.livejournal.com]

Title: Words are loaded pistols, use them at your peril.
Author: cryforthemoon and psykotropik
Rating: PG (We reckon)
Main Character(s): John Sessions/Tony Slattery.
Summary: This is the first chapter in (hopefully) an ongoing story. We start in 1988, at the recording of Tonys first show, episode four of the first season. These stories are an insight as to what went on behind the scenes, perhaps explaining some of the onstage behaviour, and off stage affairs that were adored and displayed by the press.

. . . . .

Tony had seen the show, he made the tape up, and sooner than he could wonder about how the whole thing was going, he was called to the studio to take part in his first episode. Nervously, he walked along one of the halls backstage, unsure as of where he was going. One of the stage hands was kind enough to give him directions, but still...
He wore a grey suit with a red and white pinstripe shirt and a tie... smart enough. But it wasn't as if any clothing could take away the first time nerves. He eyed the slip of paper he was carrying before walking into one of the rooms. It appeared to be a sitting area, with a coffee table and a few couches. Hopefully this is where he was meant to be after all.

"Hi, are you Tony?" A blonde woman sitting on one of the couches got up and walked towards him, smiling. She stuck her hand out for him to shake. "I'm Betty and that's John." A man with black, curly hair and wearing a light suit nodded at him. Betty chatted on, "Paul's late but John says that he was late the first time."
"He likes to keep us on edge," John added.

Tony smiled that little way he did, not letting much of his nerves show at first. Although, as much as he tried to remain confident and calm, the excitement and anticipation showed in his movement. "Hello Betty" he paused and nodded to John, hands still behind his back. He jumped a little before shaking the woman's hand, a look of mild embarrassment on his face.
His eyebrows flickered up at Johns comment and he clasped his hands together in front of him. "Oh, I see..." he replied, bouncing a little on his toes. These people were all new to him... he'd seen some of them, heard about them and now he was working along side some of them.... what exactly was he going to say that would carry any relevance?

Betty raised an eyebrow at him. "Nervous?"
John laughed. "He looks like he's about to bolt out the door! Here," he patted the area of sofa next to him, "come and sit down."

Tony just smiled softly and walked over to sit on the sofa. "Just a little..." he replied, leaning his elbows on his legs, fingers clasped between them as he leaned forward a touch. "I know things will be okay" he said, trying to make it out like everything was okay... in reality, he had an idea as to what was making him nervous... working with John... not the cameras, or the audience...

John placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "It'll be fine. Look, if things start to die, just say something rude. Here, sit up a bit," he turned Tony towards him and started fiddling with his tie before giving it a hard yank. "There's no need to quite so smart, either. Did they tell you to think of an author?"

"Well yes..." he started, looking a little startled. His eyebrows furrowed but not out of anger, more out of sheer confusion. "I chose William Burroughs..." he said, looking at John oddly. He cleared his throat a little. John had yanked the tie a little hard but he was going to let on... "I'll take it you don't get nervous then?" he said, obviously kidding a bit around as he smoothed the tie off.

John lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. "Of course I do; everyone does. Anyone who says they don't is either a liar or shouldn't be in the business. Paul won't ever admit it but he was nearly as shaky as you are now." He drew back, smiling. "William Burroughs, eh? Good choice - you might shock the audience into submission."

Tony laughed ever so softly, nodding and listening to this man. He was very confident... his posture, the way he spoke, everything... and Tony wanted to learn a little more about this person. In time he would. That was if the show kept him on after this episode... "Might I ask what your choice was for this evening?" he asked, pausing to scratch his earlobe a little.

"Anthony Burgess," John replied, watching Tony's hand before flicking his gaze back to his face. "He's a bit of a polymath - critic, composer, poet, journalist - and, of course, a novelist. Invented a cocktail called 'Hangman's Blood' that'll send your liver running for cover."
"I've heard of him," Betty chipped in. "Smokes eighty cigarettes a day and yet he's in his seventies."

"The irony of that is he'll probably die from something completely unrelated to smoking" Tony decided to add with a little smile. "Or burn his house down..." he added to his previous sentence. Where was Paul? And how much longer were they going to be stuck here? All of a sudden, he was very glad that he wasn't late after all.
He flicked at his hair a little, before resting his hands in front of him, just as the door opened and a taller man walked through.
"The bloody traffic's right up past the lights!" the man exclaimed, looking rather annoyed. "Some git went and got his truck stuck on the road and nearly caused a crash" Paul... so there he was.

"Paul!" John had got up and in two easy strides across the room was shaking the tall man's hand. "Good of you to turn up," he added drily.
Paul's annoyed look didn't leave his face. "Like I said, traffic and some idiot." He walked away from John to sit on the couch that Betty was occupying. She leaned forward, her hand outstretched.
"Hi, I'm Betty. This is Tony," she gestured at Tony.
Paul nodded, shaking her hand briefly before turning to Tony. "I think I saw you on 'Saturday Stayback' a couple of times. Looking forward to the show?"

Tony watched the scene in front of him. Well this was going to be interesting... He looked up at Paul from where he sat on the couch. "Yes, I am... " he replied, trying to keep his cool. It wasn't like this was his first performance... but still... "The sooner it starts, the less of a tit I'll feel... in theory" he said, standing up and smoothing his trousers off as he did.
"You'll be fine," Paul replied airily, leaning back into the couch with every inclination that he was completely relaxed. "I was on my first show, right, John?"
"Never seen anyone quite so at ease," John said, winking at Tony and leaning against the wall.
The door opened again and the head of Clive Anderson poked round its edge, looking around the room. "Good, you're all here."
The door opened further to reveal the rest of Clive and he smiled at the four of them. "We've got about two minutes before we're due on, just wanted to pop in and say hello. Tony, Betty, nice to see you, good luck." He turned and walked back out, leaving the door open.
John leaned forward and nudged it closed with his foot. "That was our charming host, Clive. We'd better get going."

"For a minute I thought he was going to call us his angels and set us a mission" Tony said, a hint of comical disbelief in his tone as he stood up, quietly clapping his hands together as he did. He smiled to Betty before waiting on Paul opening the door and walking out, followed by Betty, and then himself.

He was halted by a hand on his shoulder. It exerted a gentle pressure, turning him until he was facing John. The man had a slightly shy look on his face. He brushed an imaginary bit of lint off Tony's shoulder, not meeting his eyes. "I just wanted to say...good luck, Tony."

Tony looked down at John's hand before scanning his eyes up his arm to look back at his face. "Thank you" he replied, looking into the other mans eyes. "Good luck to you too... " he said, smiling a little and turning away to start walking. 'Not that you need it, of course' he thought to himself. Best to just keep walking.... there would be plenty of time for observations.

The studio wasn't how it looked on television. Larger, for a start. The audience applauded politely as the performers were shown to their seats, John and Tony ending up at opposite ends while Paul and Betty were seated between them.
"Two minutes, everybody," called a woman who was holding several sheets of paper and looking slightly harassed. "Sessions, back in your seat!"
The audience laughed as John kept on walking towards Clive's desk, bending down to whisper something in the man's ear and look slightly pleading before half-running back to his seat, managing to settle himself just before the cue was given for the audience to start applauding.

. . . . .

The show had come to an end. And luckily, Tony felt like he had done well enough. They walked off and back the way the came, down the hall, Tony walking along with his hands held together behind his back. He licked over his lips once and followed the rest back into the sitting room they were in before, unsure as to what was going to be happening next.

John grinned up at him from the couch he'd been sitting on before, evidently buzzing from the show and his win. "That was great, Tony! You had them eating out of the palm of your hand!"
"Pretty shocking start." Betty was eyeing Tony, looking slightly uneasy. "Nipples, buttocks..."
John waved a dismissive hand. "They lapped it up. If Dan doesn't invite you back I'll be very surprised."
"Pub, anyone?" John added.
Betty shook her head. "No thanks. I'm on the red-eye back to Chicago."
John shrugged. "Fine. Paul, you coming?"
Paul nodded, looking slightly disappointed at Betty's refusal.
John turned to grin at Tony. "What about you, hm? Care for a couple of pints?"

Tony smiled a touch, looking from person to person, just taking in the conversation, observing them, like he had been during the show. Each persons reactions to each other and himself... all of it noted mentally. When John asked him, he looked at him, as if snapping out of his thoughts.
Join them or not... he wasn't sure... he'd rather just go back home and relax... unwind... but at the same time... he had a chance to get to know these two a little better... especially John. "Yeah, sure" he replied, his slight smile flickering up a little as he finished his sentence. "It was really nice to have met you, Betty" he said, turning to her, forgetting her comment.

Betty nodded at him. "You too." She got up and walked towards the door before turning and smiling suddenly. "I gotta say, you were good with the 'having no spine' thing. Bye, guys." She walked out of the door.
"Right!" John stood up and clapped his hands together. "Pub, then."
"Does being the winner mean that you're buying the first round?"
John grinned at Paul, who was smirking.
"No, it means that you're getting them in, seeing as I won and Tony's new."

Tony couldn't help but chuckle to himself a little, watching the two of them when Betty had left the room. He had absolutely no objections to this choice, and the look on Paul's face amused him all the more as he watched him.
"Well are we going to the pub or starting a staring contest?" Paul said, opening the door.
"I'd be interested to see who would win between you and John" Tony piped in, starting to follow after Paul. As Paul left the room, Tony turned on his heel to look at John. "Thank you, by the way... you helped... tonight" he said. He'd leave it at that though. He was never one for giving anything away.

John looked slightly surprised before his face relaxed into a broad, genuine smile. "No problem. I meant what I said about you being good. I really hope that they invite you back." He raised a hand as if to squeeze Tony's shoulder, but instead patted him on the arm. "Come on, there's a great little pub just round the corner." He went out of the room, walking quickly to catch Paul up.

Tony thought it was odd, that there seemed to be so much similar human contact... the same actions... pats and all that on the arm.... hesitations? They were usually done as a distraction for the person doing it and the person they were in contact with. All in good time.... all in good time... Tony followed the two out into the hall and eventually out of the building and onto the streets again. At least it wasn't cold... that was always a good start... and it looked like the roads were still busy... Tony shook his head, an amused expression on his face as he followed the two.

He caught up with them as they entered a cosy-looking pub that was, according to the peeling gold letters on the wall, called 'The Cowshed'. John waved him over to where he and Paul were settling into a low-lit corner. "Sorry it's a bit dark, but I once had some madman come up to me and start ranting about what a shit actor I was."
"Then I passed out and he had to carry me home," Paul added with a smirk. "Pint for you, Tony?" he added as he got up, obviously ready to go to the bar.

Tony found a seat in the dark little area they had picked out, straightening his jacket as he sat down and dusting the front off. "Ah... yes please" he said, still musing over the previous comments.
"How unusual for you, Paul" he decided to comment at length, raising an eyebrow a little, before resting his hands on the table, held together. "Although the idea of John carrying you is still amusing"

Paul grinned and walked to the bar, his height making him obvious to the barmaid. John watched him flirting with her and shook his head. "He'll probably be forever with those drinks." He grinned and shrugged, leaning back and patting around his pockets before producing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He opened the box and held it out to Tony. "Fag?"

Tony glanced over at the bartender and Paul and shook his head, returning his glance to John. "No thank you" he said, holding his hand up a little, palm facing John. "Staying away from them is probably going to be one of the best things I choose to do with my life" he added with a little smirk. "I can almost hear my Mother... 'Those are bad for your health, and they cost so much!'" he laughed.

John shrugged. "Fair enough. I suppose she's right, really." He chuckled and lit the end of a cigarette for himself before dropping the lighter into the small box and putting it back into his jacket pocket. He inhaled and held his breath for a few seconds before exhaling, blowing the smoke away from Tony and closing his eyes with a smile. "We all have our little vices, though."

"I suppose so" he replied thoughtfully, looking down at one of the beer coasters a moment before looking back at John. "Some choose to smoke, others choose to drink... others over think" he smirked a little. "And then some do all of the above" he added, before looking back over to the bar to see what Paul was doing.

John also glanced at the bar. Paul was smiling at the barmaid, saying something that was making her giggle. She wrote something down on a piece of paper and gave it to him before starting to pull pints, blushing at something else Paul said.
"Paul tends to drink and flirt with pretty girls," John commented, taking another drag on his cigarette. "What about you?" he asked, again making sure to blow the smoke away from Tony. "What helps you switch off?"

"Reading" he replied simply. "Medical journals... I've been reading them since I was a teenager" he said with a smile. "And what about yourself? Smoking can't be it..." he asked curiously, picking at one of his fingernails.

John raised an eyebrow. "Medical journals? Makes an interesting contrast with William Burroughs." He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the nearby ash tray, seeming to take great interest in watching the orange embers die out. "I'm not very good at admitting my faults," he said softly, watching the curls of smoke drift up from the cigarette stub. He suddenly looked up. "Tony, I- "
"Three pints! Sessions, you're buying the next round." Paul planted the brimming glasses onto the table, managing to slop beer over the edges, some drops landing in the ash tray and extinguishing the last sparks in John's cigarette stub. John cleared his throat and reached for one of the glasses, evidently not wanting to continue whatever it was he had been about to say.

Tony was listening to John, when he was cut off. He looked up at Paul, eyebrows flickering up that way they did, before he looked back at the pint glasses. "Thank you" he had said, offering a flicker of smile in Pauls direction.
Whatever John was going to say... had Tony curious now. What was so important or bad that he couldn't say it in front of Paul?
Choosing to move on instead of perhaps causing discomfort, he looked to Paul. "So... were you giving her your number or directions to your flat?" he asked cheekily, lifting one of the glasses up to his lips.

Paul smirked. "She may have given me her number and I may have arranged to meet her after her shift."
John laughed. "The day you turn down sex, Paul, will be the day Clive Anderson does an interview in the Mirror telling everyone that he's a raging fairy."
He glanced at Tony. "Clive's probably the most heterosexual man I've ever known."

Ah, the ever popular topic of sexuality.... how wonderful that they should bring up such a topic. "It's always the ones you least expect" he said, placing the pint glass back down on the table. "Especially in our profession... campness just comes with the territorial outfit, so to speak" he smiled.

Paul smirked into his glass. "It also excites the audience for some reason," he said. "Load of perves."
"Well, if it gets a laugh, who cares?" John asked, fumbling in his jacket pocket, then looking at his watch and shaking his head regretfully.
Paul watched him. "Trying to cut down?"
"Mm," John nodded and lifted his glass again. "Tony reminded me of how it's bad for me."

"Now I really do feel like my Mother" he scoffed a little, before taking another long drink from the pint glass. His throat was a little parched... dry. Not that beer would help that, but it was worth a shot. He held the glass up and looked at it, trying not to get lost in his thoughts too much, but failing miserably. What the heck was John trying to say before he was cut off? He had to find out..
"I might leave after this..." he said, placing the glass back down. "Get back home and sleep..." That might have been true... but he wasn't tired... a little worn out after the buzz of the first show, but not tired enough to sleep.

John frowned. "But it's your first show, we should celebrate!"
"Paul?" The three of them looked up to see the barmaid, smiling down at Paul and blushing while fiddling with a stray thread on her - incredibly short - skirt. "You ready to go?"
Paul winked at Tony and drained the last inch or so of his pint, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed rapidly. "Lads, I bid you farewell."
He stood up, pulling on his jacket. "I'd love to stay, but Tracy- "
"Trudy," she interrupted, frowning a little.
"Trudy, sorry, has much more appeal than either of you two." He patted an area of the short skirt and Trudy giggled, slipping her arm into one of his.

Tony made a rather amused face, looking from the backs of Paul and his new lady friend, to John, unable to stop himself from laughing a little. "Does he do this often?" he asked, half pointing in the direction Pal and the barmaid had wandered off in. "Or just when he's made to buy the first round?"

John was also laughing. "Put it this way. The first time we went out together, it was about two pints in before he got propositioned by two girls who said that they were lesbians." He looked at his watch and reached inside his jacket pocket. "Load of bollocks, of course - they can't have been lesbians or he wouldn't have been on the phone to me the next day congratulating himself."

He just smiled and listened to John speaking, nodding a little as he did, watching his movements carefully. Now John was either just giving into his craving for a smoke, or he was nervous about something... which one it was Tony wasn't sure. Best to let things course the way they were meant to and not force anything, he though. "So why aren't you running off, chasing younger women in bars?" he asked, half joking, half not so.

John looked slightly uncomfortable. "It's...complicated." He looked around him before leaning in. "I'm not really into that sort of thing. Not the chasing in bars bit..." he trailed off and took another drag on his cigarette, exhaling over the table before speaking again. "The whole...women bit." He bit his lip and looked down at the table, drawing the pad of his finger through a small puddle. "It's not something I'm proud of," he said softly.

"Why not?" he asked. His initial reaction might have been to splutter and laugh. But the fact that he said he wasn't proud of his sexuality... that did make Tony wonder. Tony was an odd one too that way... saying his sexuality was 'work in progress, neither gay, nor straight, or anything in between'. But to hear John say he knew he didn't like women, was strange. In a way Tony figured it... But one cannot always assume with matters like these. "I mean.... how long have you known?" he asked, hand clutching the glass, elbow on the table, fingers by his mouth.

John sighed. "Twelve years, I suppose. Before then there was a feeling that there wasn't something quite right. It's - it's being different in a way that I can't control. I love the acting, the improv, being well-read. But this is something I can't make a decision about. Plus there's certain stigmas attached to being a gay man in the eighties. AIDS was called GRID - 'Gay Related' - 'only six years ago. Imagine what it might do to my career." He raised his pint again.

So concerned with reputation. Well everyone has their little things to surpass, get over in time. It seemed this was one of Johns. And in a way he had a point. "Do you think the gay community will ever recover from that blow?" he asked, before lifting the glass to his lips again, taking a long drink and putting the glass back down. He wasn't sure if it was a real question or if he meant,"Will you"

John shrugged. "It might. Anglo-German relations are pretty friendly even though the Blitz was less than fifty years ago." He paused and seemed to shake himself slightly. "God, I'm being horribly serious. I don't think we're drunk enough. Another pint?"

'Why are you so in the mood to get drunk?' he asked over and over again in his head. 'To forget? To do something, what is it?' although he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "If you're in the mood..." he replied subtly with a slight nod of his head.

. . . . .

A few pints later and John is definitely swaying slightly. The ash tray is almost full, the number of cigarettes in his pack noticeably diminished. "So there's Peter Cook, one of the great comedy geniuses of this country, hero-worshipped by yours truly, wearing a bloody feather boa!" He leaned back against the wall, giggling uncontrollably.
"I tell you, I've rarely been so lost for words in my life."

Tony was definitely feeling the effect of the alcohol, but felt he was in enough control of himself not to collapse in a drunken stupor. "Maybe you should draw some inspiration from that?" he suggested before draining the last of the glass that sat before him. God, how long had they been in the pub now? It felt like hardly any time had passed, but alot had. Tony looked at his watch before looking at John. "I think it's time we got a taxi" he said, smiling a little, laughing a little, seeing Johns facial expression.

John nodded. "I don't actually live too far from here, so I can walk it. The fresh air'll do me good. I'll come with you to find a taxi, though." He stood up, trying hard not to wobble. "Come on, there's a good corner for hailing them about two minutes away." He grinned at Tony, brushing against him as he walked towards the door.

Tony stood up, looking down at the full ashtray before looking at John. "Are you sure you won't be needed a hand to get home?" he asked, walking along side
John, letting him walk through the front door first and into the open street.

John breathed in the cold air and shook his head, smiling. "No, I'm fine. Taxi corner's down this road." He started off down the the street, obviously expecting Tony to follow him. They turned into a narrower street that wasn't lit quite so well as the previous one. "It's just a bit further," John said to Tony, who was occasionally having to job to keep up with him.
They came to the end of the street and John halted, "We're here. Now we just need to wait, then do impressions of windmills." He giggled and threw an arm around Tony's shoulders. Their faces were suddenly very close together, John's warm breath gusting onto Tony's cheek.

"Windmill impressions?" Tony scoffed, trying to keep both himself and John balanced upright as John had wrapped his arm around him. Yes, he was definitely drunk... and making a fool of himself. But at least this way he wasn't criticising himself or his ways. Tony looked at John, trying to catch his glance. "You're sure we can get a cab from here, right?"

"Yeah, y'know, waving your arms at them. And I'm perfectly sure - I may be drunk, but I'm sure." John turned his head to look at Tony, smiling. "You're very funny. I think I mentioned that. Don't think I mentioned that you're very handsome." His gaze flicked down to Tony's mouth.

"I don't know...." he said, keeping himself upright, arm around John. "Did you...." he paused mid sentence, eyes looking at Johns, following where they went. "What were you going to say earlier...." he said more as a statement than a question, looking at Johns eyes still, face close to his so that he couldn't really escape. Would it be so wrong to just kiss him here and now?

"I was - " John paused and straightened, leaving his arm around Tony's waist and bringing his other hand up to stroke fingers across the hair at the nape of Tony's neck. "I was going to ask how you'd react if I did this," he whispered, leaning in and brushing his lips against Tony's.

He whispered against Johns lips, "What about your career?" It was obviously in a joking way, but still... and then he let go altogether. Not his grip, not his balance, but let go and pressed his lips to Johns, pulling him into a kiss. The taste of alcohol lingered on the tongue and traced over lips like salve, a seasoning of cigarette smoke, but he didn't mind. Standing in the cold, they kissed under the stars in a mildly drunken haze.

As the hand on Tony's waist slowly slid past the edge of his jacket, slightly chilly fingers brushing against the red and white-striped shirt, a car horn tooted at them. John broke the kiss, moving away quickly. He looked up the road and stuck his arm out, waving it in a fashion not entirely removed from that of a windmill. He didn't look at Tony as a taxi drew up next to him and he opened the door. "I'll probably see you again," he said, speaking nervously. "I - yeah. See you soon." He nodded at a spot somewhere near Tony's shoes and walked away briskly, leaving the cabbie asking Tony where he wanted to go.

First he was kissing John. Next thing he knew he was standing next to a taxi cab. What had happened? Did John even mean that kiss? He stood staring at John as he left him, hardly paying attention to the cabbie who was trying to get his attention until the cabbie tapped him on the back roughly and snapped, "For the last bloody time, where are you off to?!"