iskytheisk (iskytheisk) wrote in __sebastian,

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Anthony Head/David Walliams RPS fic

I have returned *flourish*

Sorry, got a little carried away there! I’m so thrilled to see that a few more people have taken an interest in this comm again, in celebration of which I present a fic I wrote over a year ago but never posted as there was no one to read it!  It’s Anthony Head/David Walliams RPS – yep, the real people behind the characters, so if that offends or squicks anyone I’d recommend you not read this, although it’s very PG.  I have a few other RPSs festering away on my harddrive, to be completed and posted if this goes down well…this is my way of testing the waters! :)


(This was written a year ago and I’m not wild about it, but thought I’d post anyway to get the comm. moving again – any and all constructive criticism is much appreciated!)


Title: Layers

Pairing: Anthony Head/David Walliams RPS

Rating: PG

Words: 1032

Summary: David and Tony discuss some costume choices (bonus points to anyone who can spot which episode inspired this!)

Disclaimer: I own nothing and nobody, this is a work of fiction intending no harm and in no way claims to represent real events.




“Or then there’s the silk black ones,” David muses, holding up the dark boxer shorts, “but I think the Prime Minister’s more a checks man, myself.  What do you think, Tony?”

The older man shrugs, frankly not thinking it that important, but he was getting used to David’s perfectionist tendencies.


“Oh come on Tony, this is important!”  And David’s eyes…drop.  Anthony does his best not to shift uncomfortably and waits until his younger co-star’s gaze travels back up his body to his face. 


He was getting used to other things about the infamous David Walliams, too. 


His endless flirting, for one, and his less than subtle checking out of Anthony’s own body.  Anthony had even heard that David had said, next to Steve Martin, he was the only person who David would turn gay for.  He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.


David raises his eyebrows in question, apparently unabashed.

“Well, I suppose the checks are more suitable.  Although the black could take me back to my Frank-N-Furter days…”


Anthony has to admit, he likes being around David.  He can flirt back, can banter and camp it up in a way that he hasn’t been able to for quite a while, and he enjoys the only part acted scandalised expression on David’s face at his last words.


“Pity they’re not leather, eh?” David adds, as always taking the conversation, taking the joke, further than it really warranted, further than some people would be comfortable with, and Anthony merely chuckles and raises his eyebrows at this.


“Try ‘em on them!” David impatiently demands in his campest tone, throwing the checked boxer shorts to Anthony, who catches them deftly with a bemused expression.

“I hardly think that’s necessary, do you? Boxers are boxers.”

“No no, we have to see how they look on – do you think Matt and I perfected our ‘laydee’ dresses just by looking at them? You have to see how they move, how they…fit.”

Anthony shakes his head, smirking,

“That’s hardly the same thing! And I’m not even wearing the rest of my costume.  You’re just trying to get me naked!”


“Nooo,” again the high camp voice returns “I just think it’s important to –”

“Alright, alright.”  Something about David just made Anthony give in to every one of his increasingly preposterous requests.  That, and the slight flush to the younger man’s skin, the suggestion that he had flapped the unflappable David Walliams…appealed to Anthony in a way that he decided not to examine too closely.


Besides, what was a little underwear between friends?


“Turn around then.” Anthony flaps the checked boxers at David, who purses his lips and grins a little, but does as he is ordered. 


Anthony toes off his old trainers and socks and kicks them aside in the relatively small space of the dressing room.  His hands move to his belt and he unbuckles it and the jeans beneath deftly, then drops them down his legs and steps out of the pooled material.


He stared at the back of David’s dark head, wondering at the usually voluble man’s silence.  A half-formed thought dances in and out of the back of his own head, and he finds himself bending to pick up the jeans and tossing them casually onto a chair slightly in front of him and just in the other man’s line of sight.  Anthony sees David’s head turn a fraction at the movement in his peripheral vision before facing forward again.


“This isn’t a strip-tease you know,” David interjects, but his normally teasing voice is unusually tight.


Anthony makes no answer but simply draws his own, navy blue boxers down his legs, steps out of them and throws them, too, onto the chair.  This time David’s head turns further to the side and Anthony watches his pale throat moving just past the line made by his shirt collar. 


For a moment, Anthony stands, half naked, the boxers in his hand, and stares at the man in front of him.  Wonders what would happen if he just…didn’t put them on.  Or reached forward and touched David’s shoulder, just beneath the curve of his chin where his still-turned head brought it near to his arm.


In the next moment, Anthony quickly steps into and pulls up the underwear, willing away the flush that now touches his own skin.

Clearing his throat, for his own benefit as much as David’s, he says, “Well?”


David turns around, suspiciously slowly.  Anthony holds out his arms to let the other man examine him, attempting to lighten the mood once more.  David flickers his eyes down quickly, but they rise again almost in the same movement.  He nods briskly, “Yep, they’re fine,” and smiles a fake smile.


“Yeah?”  Anthony scrutinises the other man’s face, “Sure you don’t want me to try the others?”

“No!” David’s reply is too quick and decidedly flustered, “No I think the checks are good, Tony.  Thanks.”

“David –” Tony actually had no idea what he was going to say to follow that low, questioning utterance of his colleague’s name, but he was saved from adding anything at all when a brisk knock preceded the distinctive head of Matt Lucas.


“David, I’ve been looking for you, we’ve had a written complaint.  Oh, hello Tony!”

The bald man’s words are brisk and good-natured, even when mentioning one of the many criticisms that the show received, one that must have been bad for him to seek out his partner to discuss it, but his eyes miss nothing of the tableau before him.


“Oh, I’d better go,” David looks more relieved than apologetic, Anthony muses, but the backward glance that the man gave him after he’d excused them and arranged to meet in an hour for rehearsal was an oddly shy smile. 


Tony watches the two men walk away, such a perfect oddball couple, little and large, light and dark, David bending his head to hear Matt’s softly spoken but somehow sharp tone, then he turns back into the room, closing the door.


David had left the black boxers on the dressing table and Anthony picks them up, fingering the smooth silk with a small thoughtful frown on his face.



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