Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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Best Laid Plans Part 2

Best Laid Plans

Part 1

Another Not for Profit Venture by Snow
David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
Not Real People.
This Never Happened.
Except in my brain.
Written for ckanerock
*loves her fiercely*
And Thank You to stir_of_echoes for the quick read~through.
*adores Jules without reservation*

~~ David kicked Chris’ boots out of the entry way as he walked in, saw the shirt lying on the floor and a spilled bottle of whiskey that had fallen from the chair.

Chris’ eyes slowly opened, bloodshot and filled with pain. He brushed his hair out of his face as he looked blearily up at David.

“Looks like I missed the party.” David’s grin grew wider at the instant flash fire he saw brewing in Chris’ face.

“You mother-fucker.”

David dropped his suitcase and shut the door behind him. Making sure it slammed, very loudly. ~~


David stood in the shower, hot water raining down on the top of his head. Running down his back, the pounding of it working the tight knots out. He moved so that the spray washed over his face, winced as it hit a sore spot on his jaw. He opened his eyes and looked down, saw traces of pink run into the drain.

That little punk ass bitch.

He closed his eyes again, letting the water wash off the last of the dried blood. He’d had worse. Been in bar fights that had left him with stitches and bruises for days. Been manhandled by stunt men that thought it was their job to show him his place on the set. A car accident or two that brought back instant memories every time the weather changed and the sharp ache in his back and his knee would remind him of the fragility of life.

But damn, when had he asked for this?

Oh, yeah. That would be the very day that he met Mr. Christian bow the fuck down before me Kane. The very day that those dark blue eyes had smiled at him, the attitude that had intrigued him and that cocky, shit-eating smile that had snared him.

Yeah. That would be the day that he lost his soul.

David turned again, reached up to the showerhead and adjusted the hard spray to a focused, rhythmic beat. He let it drum onto his shoulders, his head down, palms pressed against the wall. At least the man had a decent shower. There had to be some kind of a payback for this morning.

David walked into the living room, circling Chris, keeping his eyes on him. Drinking in the sight of the man. Even unshaven, dirty, hung-over and tired, David could not get enough.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Chris growled and pushed himself up, out of his chair. His voice still low and hoarse from the concert.

David smiled, “I think, um, no. I was invited, remember?”

“Yeah, you shit. You were supposed to be here last fucking night. Not now. Not this morning. Where the hell where you?”

David watched Chris’ body tighten as he woke, as anger filled him. Saw it light his eyes. He sat on an arm of the couch, let his gaze run down Chris’ bare chest to where his unbuttoned jeans remained up only just by the curve of his ass, the semi hard on of his cock, then back to his face. David couldn’t stop a smirk from creeping up on his lips. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite as exhausted as he had on the drive from the airport, when he’d been fighting just to keep his eyes open.

“Storm. All the flights were delayed. I’ve been up since yesterday morning, trying to get here and I don’t need a hassle. I don’t need your shit. I need a shower and a shave, a smile and a blow job from you. Not necessarily in that order. I’m tired and I’ve been wearing these clothes too long. And if you think that I missed your show because I’d rather have been sitting around that fucking airport all Goddamn night, then you are more incredibly stupid than I originally thought.”

Chris’ lips thinned. He cut the distance between them, stood right in front of him, forcing David to look up to keep watching him. David knew better than to turn away from Chris. Even for a second.

The man was dangerous.

“Don’t give me your sad excuses. You missed a hell of show last night and you didn’t even fucking call.”

At that moment, there were two directions David could take. Hit that mother fucker right square in the mouth, turn around, grab his suitcase and head to the nearest hotel. Order in a huge breakfast, coffee and eggs, pancakes with real butter and thick maple syrup and rare steak and watch Sports Center on ESPN. Eat until he was in agony and then crawl into a soft, comfortable bed. Turn off the phone and sleep for two days.

Check in with his agent and go back to work. Back to his real life. His sane life. Back to dating Playboy Bunnies and foreign starlets that were simple to impress and looked pretty on his arm and didn’t require explanations and reasons and never asked him why he didn’t want them to stay the night. The only hard part would be remembering their names and forgetting that there had ever been an evil like Chris that had infected his world.


David could feel the heat coming off of Chris, smell him. Sweat and cologne, cigarettes and liquor. He had to stand up to gain some room in his jeans. Chris wouldn’t back off and now only a couple inches separated them.

David smiled down at him, “Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t want to be here. I was enjoying myself too much, standing around, waiting for a plane I didn’t want to catch. I didn’t want to do this . . .”

David ran the back of his hand up the smooth, tight skin of Chris’ abdomen to his chest, to his shoulder, ending at his neck. “And I sure didn’t want to feel this.” He held Chris’ face in his palms, rubbed his thumbs along the rough stubble of his jaw.

David leaned in, kissed Chris softly. Tasted the salt of Chris’ lips with his tongue. “And you know I wasn’t thinking all night about fucking you ‘til you dropped. Not even once.”

David’s hand dropped down and pulled Chris’ cock out of his open jeans. He heard Chris’ quick intake of breath as he held the weight of his dick wrapped in his fingers. David kept his expression neutral, his lips curved up in a smile and his eyes locked with Chris and let his head tilt to the right. “So, do you want to fight and argue and bitch and cry some more, you big damn baby? Or do you want me to make your brain leak out your ears?”

There had been torn clothing at that point. A broken coffee table. Two lamps in the living room that David hoped hadn’t been heirlooms from the old Kane homestead in Bumfuck, Oklahoma, because he didn’t think that there was enough Super Glue in LA to put back all the pieces. There were punches and bites and grabbing fingers and hands, curses and shouts, colorfully descriptive death threats and low, deep, groans.

David had ended up on top of Chris, both of them naked, crushing him down into the thick carpet. And he figured it was only because he wanted it more at that instant. Wanted that boy beneath him, his skin slick with sweat, his dick wet with precome and his mouth, open and needy and hot, kissing David’s face and neck and chin. David had held Chris’ arms down by the wrists. Spread Chris’ legs wide with his knees and his thighs and then David was thrusting into him hard, forcing moans from Chris’ throat that would’ve made a young girl sob with desire and lust and want and an old man remember his youth with a bright, crystal clarity.

David remembered talking through it all, unable to stop even though his mouth hurt. Because although that Jack Daniel’s bottle hadn’t shattered when it came upside of his jaw, it had made him see stars for a moment. Constellations he didn’t think existed. He had taunted Chris about everything from his choice of clothing to his acting, which David did happen to respect, but it was all fair game in this battle. His heritage, his parents, his music and his hair. His earrings and his eye color and his devotion to his stupid monster truck that he’d even given a name and his fucking ability to blend into a crowd and live like a normal person, without fanfare and bodyguards and

“ . . . damn, don’t you feel like velvet from the inside? So hot and so tight and so. Damn. Good. And how did I even live before you? and please, Chris, don’t ever, ever leave me . . .”

Chris forced his arms out of David’s grip and grabbed his face in his hands, pulling David’s lips to his.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Chris whispered in time with David’s thrusts and kissed him, sucked on his lips and his tongue and pulled the breath right out of him when he came, still making noise. Unintelligible growls and moans as David’s eyes rolled back in his head and he shuddered and trembled, sweat dropping from his short hair to fall on Chris’ cheeks and temples.

David slid down between Chris’ legs, the sudden separation made them both gasp. He filled his mouth with Chris’ hard, weeping cock, pushed his thumbs hard into hipbones and dug his fingers into Chris’ lower back. David’s nose filled with the smell of Chris and himself, sex and smoke and the faint, astringent aroma and taste of plain old Ivory soap. Never anything fancy or perfumed for this country boy and it always made David feel like home.

Chris’ hands on his head, squeezing his skull, trying to move him to whatever Grand Ol’ Opry rhythm he was feeling at the time. David ignored him, ignored the ache in his jaw and the bruised feel from his lips and just kept sucking and pulling and scraping his teeth. Running his tongue through the slit at the tip of Chris’ dick, licking the come as it started to dribble, then burying his forehead against Chris, breathing deep to open his throat and take him all the way in. Listening through the choked and ragged groans that came from above him for the sound of his name, when he knew Chris was finally there and he swallowed him down. Hot and tart and singularly Chris.

David rolled onto his back, stretched out his long legs. Wiped the last from his lips with his hand. Chris moved a bit closer, rested his head on David’s bicep.

“Still want me to leave, Cowboy?” David asked, as if he seriously thought he had the physical ability to even stand up at this moment. His eyes still closed, exhaustion overtaking him. Chris’ tired, whispered answer was the last thing he heard for the next six hours.

“Will you please just shut the fuck up.”


Chris heard the water running in his bathroom as he stumbled, naked, into the kitchen. Poured out the last of some three day old coffee and rummaged through his cabinets for more. His shoulders and back ached with muscle strain and if his kneecaps weren’t made of anything but grape jelly, then he’d eat his own cowboy hat. He set the coffee to perking and briefly entertained the idea of starting breakfast, but shit. He wanted a shower. And who the hell did that big dork think he was? Getting to shower first? This was Chris’ fucking house. His water bill. And as long as Boreanaz had been in there, it could be the last of his hot water.

Chris left the kitchen.

He opened the door to the bathroom, felt the steam blow past him. Chris could see David through the shower curtain. Could see the broad outline of his back, his legs, see his hands on the wall. He shut the door behind him.

Chris stepped over the edge of the large, square tub, pushed the sheer shower curtain back into place. He knew that David had to realize that he was there, but the other man didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Didn’t look in his direction. Chris ducked his head under the spray, closed his eyes and gasped at the extreme temperature. He looked at David’s back. Skin that was red from the heat of the water, marked here and there with the faint purple blush of bruises. Chris leaned forward, put the tips of his fingers on David’s hips and ran his tongue up the straight, slight dip that marked his spine.

David still did not move.

Chris took the soap and worked up a thick lather in his hands. He reached up and started massaging the slick foam into David’s arms, the back of his neck, worked out a knot found just under a large shoulder blade. He leaned his forehead on the large, wet back in front of him and pushed his fingers into the tight muscles of David’s thighs, gently moving them slightly apart, then back up to his firm, round ass. Sliding over the smooth skin and in between each cheek, his finger nails just grazing David’s balls, then back up to his hips.

Chris felt the tremor run through David when he reached around with one hand and ran his soapy palm over the length of David’s cock. The skin there hotter than the water that poured down around them and David finally moved on his own just a little, arched his back into Chris, bent his knees so that he was lower, more accessible. Chris kissed David’s skin, licked up the water that ran down as he tightened his grip, moved his hand faster. He used the soap that was still on his other hand to run down the crack of David’s ass again, push a finger inside of him, then two. He watched David lift his head, felt him stiffen and the hands that were pressed to the wall turned white at the knuckles.

Chris replaced his fingers with his dick, holding on to David’s hip, closed his eyes as he pressed into him, working his hand on David’s hard cock in time with his thrusts. Riding out the feeling inside of him, the rushing wave of heat and lust and something else, something indefinable that made him want to stay here forever, under the water, pushing up against and into this man, this perfect body.

Seeing David’s face in his mind, his smile, his scowl and his eyes and the wonderful, surprised, then relaxed look that only happened when he was held tight in the throws of passion and when he came, like he was now. Pumping out over Chris’ hand and fingers to hit the wall of the shower and run down the drain. Pushing back against him, driving Chris in deeper than before and Chris held him. David’s hips in both of his hands, filling him, driving hard into him and Chris was mumbling words that he’d never said before and meant. Whispered words that were thankfully lost in the sound of the shower and the deep, throaty moans that he forced out of David as he pounded into him and against him and Chris came. Throwing his head back, wet hair sticking to his cheeks and lips, his eyes tightly closed, then collapsing against David’s back.

David turned, leaned against the wall and pulled Chris onto his chest, into his embrace. Chris buried his face in David’s arms and they just stood still, catching their breath, listening to their heartbeats slow.

“Same here.”

Chris heard the slow rumble of David’s voice in his ear. He didn’t move, couldn’t move, wouldn’t move.

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah. Like I said. Same here.”

~~ End


I know that this cannot even come close to making up for missing a Kane concert. Damn, I've never even seen him live and would *die* for the chance. But it's all that I've got to offer.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!!

Thanks Jules!!

*kisses and hugs*
Tags: david boreanaz, david/chris, db/ck, fic, rps
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