If you hate this, blame Tardis-BadWolf. She made me do it. If you love it, you can still blame her. ;)

The worst part of acting, or rather, being recognized for your acting, is the girls. Not the women, but the twenty-something wanna-have-your-baby have-seen-everything-you-have-ever-done-except-the really-good-honest-stuff girls who attach you to a role and then want to take photos with their iphones while you're trying to get a coffee. He thought that getting his work recognized, becoming a household name and all that, he thought it would feel satisfying. He'd expected a touch of smugness and maybe a wave to the press now and then, but the reality was a disgusting rush of admiration he didn't realize he'd asked for that made him retreat further into himself, further away from the media and the press and the god forsaken girls.

It had been a mistake to agree to the interview those weeks ago. The girls had just begun to forget him, had begun clinging to the newer, younger actors who he was sure were doing brilliant things, but he did become an actor for a reason. He loved it, and if people forgot about him, so would the people who let him act, gave him jobs. So the interview had been a stunt, he could have avoided the man outside the theatre easily, but he walked up to him and let him ask those ridiculous questions. Knew it would only be a matter of time before the 50th anniversary special was brought up, before he had to find a tactful way of saying that he didn't want anything to do with the show ever again, even if it was under new management and all that. But he wasn't so tactful, had given the press that one stupid quote to hold on to- "If I told ya that, I'd have ta kill ya."-and it was back. A full year without a fangirl, and now suddenly they were back, creeping into his peripheral as he jogged, shopped, drove.

It could have been much worse, he knew that. His contemporaries were much better looking than he, much more desirable to the genre of girls that obsessed themselves with that damned show, and he had seen how their lives were swarmed with invasions of privacy. He didn't want that for himself, was glad he'd only let himself do the one series. He enjoyed being able to tell the barista "Chris", and not have her ask him his surname, not glance up at him as he had seen happen to a fellow actor once, and have to then sign autographs or take photos. He was the actor that had photos taken of him, while he drank his coffee, because he didn't like to pose with people and they rarely asked anyway. "Too intimidating!", his agent had told him. And that was fine, really.

Which is why the woman across the table from him perplexed him so very much.

"'scuse me, 'm sittin' here." He wagged his eyebrows, gave her his best impression of incredulous, and gestured around the table. Full range of actor, him. The damned woman, or rather, more likely, girl, had just sat down at his table, settled herself in like he had been waiting for her to arrive.

"Oh really? You're sitting here? In this chair, over here? The one that I am sitting in?" There was an air of humor in her voice, and he knew she was mocking him. Could see it in the little creases around her eyes, too, that she would have busted into laughter right there if she weren't controlling herself.

"Do you make a habit of just barging in on people's private moments? I was sitting 'ere, at this table. Alone. Now you've ruined it." He was not amused, but he found himself talking anyway, knew he should just storm off, but his agent had been on him about that. Had warned him that if too many fans saw him storming off and being moody, he'd get bad press, and he knew that bad press was worse than no press.

"Was this a private moment, then? Sitting here in the middle of a busy cafe, you think this is private? God, what must your life be like!" She laughed then, obviously unable to keep it in any longer, and he sort of liked the way she looked while she laughed. Total abandonment, as if she didn't know she'd just sat down with a fairly recognized actor and were making fun of him. She did know, didn't she?

"Look, can I help you with somethin'? Kind of want to go back to my not-so-private moment."

"Help me? Ha! No, I do not require your help, thanks. Just the chair will do." Her hand was up, gesturing, and she ordered food as if this were her table and she were just now joining him. As if she were his guest, they were old acquaintances. As if this wasn't completely rude and inappropriate.

"Fine. Well, you can 'ave the table then, too. Good day." The time for storming off was then, he decided and he stood. Childish, rude woman, and he was antsy to get away. Tossed a few bills on the table, gathered up his coat.

"Wait—you should stay. It's still your table." There was a playfulness in her face that, rude or not, he sort of liked. He had no reason to stay, but she did look a bit apologetic. He sat back down gingerly, giving her a skeptical glance. "There, there. Much better. Look, I'll buy you a pasty as an act of goodwill!" Her smile was large, toothy, and it reminded him of someone from so long ago that he relaxed a bit.

"Alright, tell me—why shouldn't I just have you tossed out of here? Come in an' take my seat, order food on my bill, rudest thing I have seen in a while, and you want me to stay?" It was a fair question. Or, several questions.

"You won't have me tossed out because I know you're much kinder than all that." The woman looked so sure of herself that he wanted to laugh. What did she know?

"And how do you know that? Do I have good energy?" He was making fun of her, poking a jab at her age and maybe her generation as a whole, but what did he care? She was a rude woman with far more pomp than seemed appropriate.

"Sorry, don't read energy, but I know you're kind because I've been watching you for years. No unkind man could play the roles you do the way that you do. So you're kind, and you'll not have me tossed out." She smiled happily as her tea arrived, wrapped her fingers around the cup and watched him in a way that was both irritating and endearing.

"Ah. You're one of those. Now I'll really be goin'." But he didn't stand up.

"No, you'll stay." She poured sugar into her cup, and his lip curled at how sweet that tea must be. She was arrogant, he decided, predicting him like he was playing a part she had seen him play a thousand times. This was real life, ya know? She had no right to predict him when he was busy living his life.

"Why's that?"

"Because you are dying to know what else I think." She had a matter of fact way about saying it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like he should be the one pulling out a piece of paper and recording everything she said, like she were the famous one or something.

"'m not, actually." It was lie.

"Fine. Suit yourself. But I do have notes."

"Notes? On what?" Who the hell was this woman?

"On your roles. Like I said, been watching you for years. I'm a fan. And I'm sitting here having tea with you. Well, I'm having tea. You're having a coffee or something, god, why would order that? Smells awful from here."

"'s not awful! It's for a more refined pallet, I think." He didn't owe her any explanations, and he wasn't quite sure why he bothered.

"Mhm. And what do you know about my pallet, sir?" More laughter in her eyes, but, bless her, he could tell she held it in because he didn't like it. Could tell this woman was teasing him with the way she opened her mouth and seemed to dare him to inspect her mouth.

"I know it's too young. Refined is a nice way of saying too young," He took a drink just to prove his point.

"Ah! You think I'm young! Flattery will get you everywhere. And I do mean everywhere." Did she just wink at him?

"Quite the confident one, aren't you?" He'd be lying if he said he didn't find it...arousing. Annoying and irritating and absolutely maddening, but arousing. A woman who was not afraid of him, who teased him, who flirted with him, who had not once even mentioned his role on that show. It was refreshing, even if it was also wildly inappropriate.

"Confident? Sure! Why shouldn't I be? I see a man who's work I admire, why shouldn't I come over and chat with him? Let him know he can flatter me all he likes?" Another sip of her tea, and he found himself dragging his eyes from the little red stain she left behind on the glass, had to shut off the idea of her leaving the same stain in a ring around his dick.

"Ever think maybe this man you admire might not want to chat with you?" He settled back in his chair, crossed his lanky legs at the knee.

"You're still here."

"What's your name? Since you clearly know mine already." It was an effort to keep the smirk off his face.

"You don't want to introduce yourself? Nice and proper, say 'hello, I'm Chef Robert Irvine, and you are?'" His mouth dropped open, and she practically cackled with laughter. "'m kidding!" Rude. Absolutely rude, and he revised his earlier opinions of her laugh. "I'm Lisa!" She stuck her hand across the table and he found himself taking it, shaking it.

"Chris." He didn't trust her. Her cleavage and her smile and laughing eyes made him skeptical, but he didn't find himself storming off either. Had nothing better to do, really, now that he thought about it, and a part of him was curious. "Really now. What's your motive? You want a quote you can sell? A photo for your scrapbook? A lock of m'hair?" He could tease her, too. He could be funny, could be wildly inappropriate also.

"Motive? Eat a bit of brunch. Drink a bit of tea. Chat with a man. See what else the day brings!" Her pasty arrived, all covered in sugar and sweets, and he had an image of her teeth rotting and falling right out of that smart mouth of hers. He ought to get up then, wouldn't even have to storm off, could just walk away because he didn't owe her anything, didn't even know her. But her mouth wrapped around the tart, and that print of her lips on the cup, and the low cut blouse...Well, what the hell. If she were bad news, he could always sue her. Have his lawyers offer her a but of money to stay quiet, not talk to the press and all that. He could do with a little excitement in his day, and even though he never, ever encouraged fans like this, she seemed exciting. Exciting in a just-had a-root-canal but gonna-have-a-bite-of-that-ice-cream-anyway kind of way.

"Alright, you got me. You said you had notes?" Another drink of his strong but not at all awful coffee.

"Bit egocentric, aren't ya? Just met me and already he wants me to sit here and talk all about him!" She shook her head, smile on her lips, and he noticed a piece of her ridiculous breakfast had fallen into her blouse, and he could almost see where it went...

"You brought it up! You are the one who approached me and promised me opinions of all my roles." He didn't really give a shit what she thought of his roles. Had probably only seen him in Doctor Who and maybe, if she were a little bit cultured, The Others. Might have heard of him on Our Friends in the North, but he doubted it. She seemed too young for that. No, he was pretty sure she was full of garbage, and he kind of wanted to do certain things to her that would make her shut up.

"All in good time!" Another wink, and it was infuriating.

"Maybe I don't have a lot of time." He crossed his arms. She was annoying. What was he thinking—she was just a fan who had gotten lucky finding him here today, was just trying to milk her time in his presence.

"Oh! Got a big audition to rush off to, then? Sorry, forgot you're so important and so sought after!" Mockery, but she didn't meet his eyes, knew she was poking jabs at him a tad too much, kept her eyes on her tea. And for some reason, probably the sheer ridiculousness of what she'd said and how right she was to be making fun of him, he laughed. A full, throaty laugh that wrinkled the corners of his eyes and put her even more at ease. And then it was easy from there, his ego removed and the conversation became somewhat natural.

He didn't really know why he walked her home. She wasn't his type. Charismatic and sort of sexy, but not his type. 15 years his junior at least. But she just kept talking, reeling him with this or that, and it was nice to be doing something unusual. It was nice to listen to the lilt of her voice and to chatter on with someone who didn't seem to want to talk about his image or his next gig or what event he would be attending next.

Her flat was nice, but he didn't have to take her up to the door. Could have said goodbye out on the street, wished her well, been off. But he stood in the doorway and she jutted her chin out at him in that infuriating way, that way that spoke to him and said she was all grit and didn't really care what he thought, and reason went out the window.

"Ya gonna invite me in?" He knew he was using his bedroom eyes. Deliberate, calculating. He wasn't ashamed.

"Mr. Hot Shot actor wants to come into my flat?" She gave him her skeptical glare, the one he'd seen a half dozen times already that afternoon.

"That's not a very good invite at all. Usually 's more like, 'Care for a drink?'" Teasing, because, he decided, that's what they did. If they could really be considered a 'they' after four hours, which he thought they might.

"Oh, well, you're the expert! By all means!" She made a grand sweeping motion with her arm, welcoming him in, and they both chuckled as he strolled in, tossed his coat on her sofa.

"Care for a drink?" She imitated him, her voice thick with what he knew she thought was a good Northern accent.

"Nah, it's far too early for a drink." Smiling at her was easy now, and she huffed in fake exasperation, falling down on the sofa and patting the cushion beside her. He fell down next to her, his knee bumping hers, and she poked him in the ribs.

"You shouldn't be here." One of her eyebrows quirked up, her face somewhere between concern and laughter.

"Why's that, then?" He leaned forward and began unlacing his trainers, kicking them off, enjoying the way she seemed flustered with him.

"Lots of reasons. You're too old for me, too cocky, too famous." Ticked off reasons on her fingers.

"You're the one who invited me in." His voice was smooth. He knew what he was doing, knew he would enjoy her, knew what he wanted.

"There you go. So cocky." She kicked her own shoes off then, swiveling in her seat to face him.

"Yep." He didn't hesitate to close the gap between them, grabbing her roughly by the hips, bringing her on to his lap. He liked the way he managed to make her breathless with the move, liked the way she was speechless for the first time since he'd met her. Her lips hovered over his, and he could tell she was debating, deciding, and he thought that was rubbish. She'd probably been planning this since she first spotted him in the cafe, and that was fine, because now he wanted it too.

"Chris-" But he cut her off, crashed his mouth into hers, let his tongue slip over her teeth as she reluctantly opened her lips to him. She reminded him of women he'd had to snog in films, so often younger, their bodies tighter than his, and he didn't mind that he was taking advantage of the idea that she wasn't being paid to do this. He didn't mind the way her hips rocked down against his jeans, didn't mind the way her hands suddenly joined the party and scraped up and down his neck, shoved her own tongue into his mouth.

She tasted sweet, like the desert she ate for breakfast, and he rolled his tongue around her mouth. It almost felt casual, the way they let their tongues glide together, the way he didn't know her at all. Had no idea where she'd gone to school, if she was closer to twenty or to thirty, if she had a boyfriend or husband that was out of town. If he was being brutally honest, which he rarely was, it was exciting to slip her blouse overhead, and it was glorious to roll her nipples between his thumb and finger while she fought with the clasps on her bra. They were hurried and yet relaxed, manic but slow. Bare from the waist up, he stopped to marvel at the breasts he'd been eying all morning. The ones that had practically been the only reason he kept staying seated when she'd been annoying him, the breasts he was sure were real but squeezed anyway, for confirmation.

"Oh, god!" Shouting when his mouth descended on her, and he had to stop. Grabbed her chin in his hand.

"That's fine, just don't call me Doctor." They grinned at each other stupidly, and he resumed his work on her nipples, his hands skating up and down her thighs. She pleased him when he felt his button being undone, when he felt her wiggling around, trying to find his cock. The way she struggled, like she wanted it but just couldn't get the right angle, made him smile, stand up, drop her back down into the cushions.

"Do you—do you want to go to the bedroom?" The woman panted, her cheeks rosy and her eyes hooded. Instead of answering, he pulled his t-shirt over head, dropped it on the floor, raked his eyes up her body while he finished the job she'd started and removed his jeans. She unfastened her own trousers then, scooted out of them, and wasted no time dropping to her knees and tugging his pants down. When she ran her tongue along the length of his cock, he wondered if she were thinking about him or about a character he played. She'd mentioned earlier that her favorite role had been in Jude, and he'd liked that, had been proud of that, but wondered if she were sucking Jude's cock or his. He wasn't sure if it mattered, really, because he was going to fuck her regardless. Had already crossed that line, was going to finish what he started. At this point she could even tell him that she wanted to be called Rose and he would have still shagged her.

He liked the way that she cupped his balls—not enough women did that, and he grabbed a handful of her hair to steer her. She accepted the movements, slid her mouth at the pace he set, and let himself think about all the things he'd still like to do to her and her teasing, infuriating, somehow charming little mouth. She raked her nails down his thighs, over his behind, and he came back to reality. When she stood, he spun her by the hips hard, made her fall forward on the sofa. But she was a bright girl, he could tell, because she scurried into position, her hands gripping the back of the sofa, her knees spread, her bum out. The urge to enter her was strong, but he knew he had to exercise some control. Needed a condom, at least.

"Do you have a rubber?" He asked, his mouth biting her hip, his cock rubbing against the back of her thighs.

"You don't have one?" She sounded breathless, and he felt smug. Loved that she wanted this.

"'m asking, aren't I?" He moved his mouth to her shoulder.

"Er..um. Yeah. Yeah, I think so." She backed up against him, groaned as he moved away from her, and scurried to another room. Pumping himself calmly, he wandered around the living room. Noted the little bird knick-knacks on the mantle, the photos of smiling faces here and there, and he had to stop. Didn't want to know. Wanted to fuck her.

"Eureka!" She carried the little package over her head like she was crossing a finish line, and he couldn't help grinning. Couldn't help appreciating the way she ran through her flat naked and uncaring, came right up to him again. He ripped the foil and guided her hands as she rolled it along him, couldn't resist licking her lip that she was biting, clearly concentrating.

When she resumed her position on the sofa, her bum out for him again, he could have laughed. She was an obedient little one now that he had her naked, and he loved it. Loved how much she challenged him right up until her clothes were off and his fingers were stroking her clit. Loved the way she looked at him over her shoulder, watched him as he lined himself up, rubbed his tip against her.

"Do it, you!" She giggled, and he pushed in, no more smiles on his mouth. He pounded into her, setting the pace immediately, and she whimpered and pushed back into him. It was typical, he thought, that she was impatient. He'd slept with many women around her age, and they were always too vocal. Too fake. Too ready to get him off because he was Christopher fucking Eccleston and they were lucky to have him inside them. He hated that, and steadied her hips with his hands. He was going to make her come, and he was going to do it his way. Raising one knee up to the sofa, a palm against the small of her back, he dove into her. She cried out, and he knew what she wanted. Knew she wanted him to find that spot on her, but he angled his hips and continued his movements. He caught her arm in his hand as he saw it ducking underneath her, no doubt headed to take care of things herself, which he would not tolerate. Hands on her biceps, he pulled her up from the back of the sofa, his cock now buried inside of her, his hips making shallow thrusts upward.

Her back pressed into his chest, he let one hand slide up her body, loosely grip her throat, pull her head to the side so he could suck on the sensitive flesh by her ear, by her neck. Her hands wound up around him, into his hair, one hand on his ear, and moved his other hand. Freed her arms, and cupped her sex. He stopped his movements then, his cock deep inside her, her pussy in his palm, her neck beneath his fingers, and pressed his palm down hard. Her moaning turned to yells, filthy words sliding out of her smart mouth, and he loved it.

His own climax close, he stroked her where she wanted, gave her that bit of pleasure. She screamed, her orgasm crashing around his cock. He wrapped his arms around her middle, pulled her to his lap as he sat down on the sofa, her hands falling forward to his knees, her bum deliciously in front of him. Hands on her hips, he let her bounce up and down on him, his erection sliding all the way out of her before she slammed back down.

"Come for me, Chris." And she didn't say Doctor, or Jude, or anything else. She said Chris, and he came with a shout, pulling her back to his chest, gripping her there as he relaxed.

"You're brilliant." He panted into her hair, rubbed his chin along her shoulder.

"Aw, brilliant? How about fantastic?" She teased, and he tossed her to the sofa, smiling despite himself.

END