David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
and the slashthedrabble numbers challenge.
100 words each.
Really Not Mine.
Trust me and take my hand.
When the lights go out, you'll understand.
That’s all it took. Wandering hands and sideways glances, that was shit Chris could handle. Teasing and jokes and David’s twisted sense of humor, demented smile. The way he would look at a script read-through; glasses perched on his nose, tongue poked out between his lips.
Made Chris lose his place and there would be the gentle nudge from the toe of David’s boot against his, under the table. Those lips curved into a smirk.
Just one kiss.
They were naked. Already fucking. Thighs over shoulders. Bent nearly in half.
Those lips. On his.
That’s all it took.
Two perfect nipples.
Flat and brown, on a chest that stretched wider than some roads in Oklahoma. Shoulders and narrow hips, that big, long cock that just begged to be sucked. But those nipples… Chris couldn’t stay away. He would pin David to the mattress, hands covering forearms. Or David let himself be held down. It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was the access. Chris’ teeth sliding over smooth skin. Catching on a tiny, hard nub. Sucking up, up, until David arched and his arms wrenched from Chris’s hands to sink into his hair and push his head … down.
Three days in a hotel room. Whiskey and coke. Pot and beer. Bottles of water that were sucked off of skin and there were two beds in the room. One left to dry and one kept warm. The TV played sports, porn, Bonanza and they bonded over jerking off to Adam because he was the most bad~ass Cartwright on the Ponderosa.
They ordered pizza. They found out that the shower was not made for two, but it was good. Face pressed to tiles, hands sliding and Chris couldn’t believe that no one complained when David’s name echoed loudly around them.
Four months and not one phone call. Not a word. The messages stopped. The emails dried up. They moved in different worlds and Chris was happy.
He had his music. He had his contract. He had the concerts, the girlfriend and the fame was growing, even if he still got in trouble for drinking too much.
He kept trying to hit that stride and keep it. To find the endorphin high and ride it.
He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like he did with David. The last time he came and bright lights went off in his mind.
Five years. Five months. Five days.
Down to this…
Wet palms on denim.
Longer hair. Tighter muscles. A little more tan and a little less leather. An added wrinkle or two that only showed when they smiled. Blue eyes just as bright, brown eyes just as deep. Wide, doorway filling shoulders. That perfect ass encased in tight jeans. Too many memories, water rushing under the bridge.
Chris put down the beer, because it wasn’t what he wanted to hold.