David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
For anonymous_sybil who requested ~ I just know that someone wants to have sex in the snow. and alanna_zero ~ David/Chris. Kisses. Missing each other.
I know I left too much mess and
destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble.
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"
then I'm sure that that makes sense.
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door.
There really wasn't any snow in Texas.
When he moved to Oklahoma the winters were harsh and windy and cold. Snow only came with dreams and in white-out blizzards that broke pipes and closed school but didn't leave enough behind to enjoy. Not that Chris had all that much to love about being the cousin and the house-guest. The one without real family around the dinner table.
Ten winters later and a million miles from being the one that wasn't wanted. Inside with a fire burning under a mantel. Warm with hundred-dollar jeans on his legs, cotton and flannel over his shoulders and a thick, new sheepskin and suede coat. Well-fed and much admired and snow fell on the other side of the windows.
He had a bottle of Jack and a cigarette in his lips when he stepped out into the night. It wasn't dark. He'd never seen anything like it. The temperature stole the warmth trapped under his clothes, it fogged his breath. Crystals floated down from a moonlit black sky. They landed on his face, on his eyelids, on his lips and tongue as he tasted the snow and the moon reflected up into the trees that surrounded him.
The voice from behind was as familiar as his own. The hands that slid up and under the suede moved as if they owned what they touched. And Chris supposed that they did. Own him.
Warm air behind one ear. Blowing through his long hair. Lips touched the silver and turquoise. Wet tongue just there... and there...
Breath flavored with smoke and whiskey, time and blondes and a child. Another show. Another space. Another world apart from his.
Sex in the snow was cold. It was wet. It was fast and hard and it hurt. Tears froze on Chris' cheeks. Lost somewhere between eyes and lips. The orgasm came too quick and he was left wanting more, wanting something...
Jeans pulled up. Jockeys wet. Cocks still hard.
Used to last longer. Used to take longer. Used to have time.
They used to make time.
But there was the same smile. Those strong arms. That damn net pulling him deeper and Chris gave up that last of his oxygen in a steam covered breath.
“You always come back.”
“You're always there.”