Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,
Snow
sweptawaybayou

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House of Cards

My chapter of Lies We Tell Ourselves by ely_jan and sweptawaybayou

House of Cards
By Snow
David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
RPS
NC/17

Not mine.
Not hers.
No profit.
No gain.




“Think you know me?” David pushed up into Chris’ hands on his shoulders. He stretched his neck, brushing his lips across Chris’ full, wet swollen mouth.

“If you think that this is a game, Chris, then you don’t know me at all.”

He pushed Chris back and away again. Reached down and pulled up his jeans. Tucked his cock in his pants, buttoned up without looking. Stripped his shirt over his head, wiping his chest dry and tossed it off into a dark corner of the garage. The shocks of the Mustang squeaked, protested in the gloom when David lifted himself off the hood. Brown eyes locked with blue.

“Change of rules, Chris? Did we ever had any?” David stalked through the cool gloom of the garage until he stood close enough to Chris to see the blue of his eyes in the dark. To smell the familiar, intoxicating scent of him, sharp enough to taste in his mouth.

David trailed the tips of his fingers down the front of Chris’ shirt, through the wet of his own come that had soaked into the material, to the buttons of the jeans that hung open and undone. Grazed his nails over the start of the thick, black curls that grew around Chris’ cock. He felt skin tremble beneath his touch, the muscles of Chris’ abdomen tightening with desire. With rage? And he looked up. Into the face of the man that had haunted his dreams, filled his waking hours with fantasies come true. Taken him in so many ways, pushed him down, hit him, fought with him … loved him ….

“Has this been a game to you, Chris?”

All those nights spent together, drunk and high. Nights he thought he should have forgotten, should have never remembered in the first place. Fingernails scraping over skin, sweat in his mouth, the smell of semen and salt in the air around them. Smoke and pot and beer and whiskey, cocaine raging through his blood, through his mind, leaving David with a hard-on that burnt and hands that couldn’t stop touching Chris. In the front seat of Chris’ truck. In the alley behind a bar. In Chris’ bed, on David’s couch. Rug burns, bruises from the stick shift, the quiet talking in the dark afterwards. Hands still slipping over wet skin, lips brushing, eyes open or closed, it didn’t matter, they were filled with each other’s scent, living in each other’s minds.

“I could write a song about this.”

“How would it start?”

“With this …”

“ … fuck …”

“And this …”

“ …stop …”

“Just playing the chords, Dave. Haven’t even gotten to the chorus. Or the solo.”


David’s hands never stopped moving on Chris, his expression didn’t change. But the look in his eyes was warm, chocolate brown, deep fathomless love and trust.

“Do you think that this is what I want, Chris?”

David’s voice was as low and quiet as the whispers that floated in from the party beside the pool, as deep as the bass that vibrated through the concrete under their feet. The sound of laughter and conversations, all echoing in the dark of the garage and David’s fingers drifted over Chris’s body. Over his face and his chest, over the seams of his shirt and the belt loops of his jeans as he loomed over Chris. As he stared down into his eyes and spoke close enough to lick Chris’ skin with the tip of his tongue. David brought the palm of his hand to his mouth, wet his own skin and moved it back down to Chris’s groin. Pushing back the open zipper of his jeans, pushing Chris back into the wall of the garage. David’s hand wrapped around Chris’ cock, moving in a familiar motion.

“Don’t you know what you mean to me? Who you are?”

David’s free hand sliding over the soft cotton of Chris’ shirt to the back of his neck to tangle in the thick, sweat-damp hair that he found, pulling Chris’ head back. Focusing his eyes on, in the blue of Chris’. His fingers tightening as his hand moved over the hard, hot length of Chris’ cock, thumbing through the sticky drops of precome at the head.

David could see the confusion in Chris’ eyes, read it in his expression. Never could hide anything, the man was an open book. Wore his emotions on his sleeve and David loved him for it. Expected it from him, expected to see the hurt every time he got up out of bed and went into the shower. Every time he pulled away and said ”Time to go home, Kane.” And this time he hadn’t, this time David had asked for more and Chris seemed lost, dazed. David rolled his forehead against Chris’, staring into eyes that he could so easily drown himself inside of, eyes that owned him.

“Don’t ever bring my son between us, Chris. Say what you want about the bitch, call me a pussy, a cock sucking motherfucker, but don’t ever bring my son into this.”

David’s fingers loosened, trailed down to the base of Chris’ cock, snuck around his balls. Pulling and seperating, rolling them softly. Watching Chris’ face so fucking close to his, David could taste the air that came from Chris’ lungs, feel his own cock harden, trapped in his jeans again. His hand moved back up to jerk and pull, caress and stroke.

“Don’t you think it’s time we really got to know each other, Chris?”

*bites you*
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