Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

  • Mood:

RPS fic and Icon Thanks!

A couple months ago, I asked for someone to make me a RPS icon. And the wonderful debvel stepped forward. She ended up making me not one, but two lovely David/Chris icons.

::smooches her::

And I asked if there was anything I could do for her . . . she replied that she'd like to read about the boys *thinking* about each other.

Sorry it's taken me so long Deb. I didn't forget. Just couldn't find the right moment.

Thank you for the icons.

Past Midnight

by Snow
David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
Not real people. This never happened.
For debvel

David woke abruptly, eyes open in the dark, heart thudding in his chest, sweat cooling his skin. Without looking, he reached out, his hand skimming the cotton sheets. He pushed aside the blankets and found nothing. There was no one.

No. That was not right. He was not alone. He couldn’t be.

He closed his eyes, forced himself to breathe deeply, to slow his thoughts down. Reached out once again and opened his eyes.

There. Yes.

Chris lay sprawled out on his stomach beside him. In the dim, pre-dawn light, David saw the long, dark hair covering his face, the pillow pushed up against the head board of the bed and the curve of muscle in the arm his forehead rested upon. David pulled the sheet slowly, uncovering the smooth, naked slope of Chris’ back, watching the gentle rise and fall as he slept, on down to the round, firm butt cheeks that fit perfectly in David’s palms.

David felt the pressure build in his groin as his mind was filled with Chris. He slid his hands down his chest, his own skin hot to his touch and breath caught in his throat as the tips of his fingers grazed his cock.

His gaze moved up Chris, thinking of how many times he’d held Chris against him, tasted the sweat in the dip of his spine. The bite of salt as he ran his tongue down Chris. Felt him shake as David spread him, pressed his lips in hidden places, bittersweet. Then back up, look over tense shoulders, to see Chris’ knuckles white against the wall.

Damp with perspiration and pre-come, David’s hand moved on his dick slowly, in time with Chris’ soft snores, his touch light, barely moving the skin back and forth. Just enough to make his jaw clench, the muscles in his neck corded and he kept his eyes open. Not willing to look away.

David heard the sound of Chris’ voice. His drawl that became deeper between kisses, and they never stopped talking. Their words slipping, finishing each other’s sentences as cheeks scratched on stubble, tongues plunged deep, lips were sucked and bitten and still they spoke a continuous dialogue of lust and heat and passion.

Dave, yes. God. Fuck me. Jesus, Kane, you taste so good. Feel so good. How long has it been? Need you. Now. Inside me. Want in you. Want to rip you open. Need to feel you. In me. Dave. Chris. Fuck.

Drowning in the smell of Chris, and the taste of him and realizing that he craved him. That he had to be with Chris. That, right now, this moment was more important to him than anything else.

Clothes taken off, pulled off, torn off, boots kicked across the room. Fingers scrabbling on skin, trying to bring each other closer and closer and closer. Never turning away from the stare, neither one willing to break. David would bring Chris up to the edge with his mouth and with his hands, wait for the special quiver in Chris’ thighs, listen for that gasp. Push him just a little further each time, force him to take another finger or wait one minute longer.

Sometimes David turned him, bent him over, and fucked him from behind, quick and hard and fast. Pulled him up and buried his face in the back of Chris’ neck, David’s hands moving down Chris’ chest to find his cock and jerk, his grip tight and relentless. The rhythm determined by how long David could hold his breath between each thrust.

And sometimes David would take him from the front. Spread Chris’ legs wide and enter him slow. Need to see the twitch of skin around Chris’ dark blue eyes, wanting to watch his teeth bite down on his bottom lip as David forced the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle. Inch into slick heat that burnt, until he was deep, until all he could think about was the man beneath him and how fucking good he felt inside. Until Chris was filled, and finally gave in and pushed up, scratched David’s shoulders and cursed and moaned and needed David to do something, anything. Now.

David’s hand moved faster when he saw the blue of Chris’ eyes watching from behind the veil of his hair. And all David thought was what it felt like to be inside of Chris when he came. When Chris tightened, when his toes curled and there was the shock of sudden spasms and helpless shudders. Wet and hot in David’s hand or on his chest or both.

David bit down on the inside of his cheek, but it didn’t help. His back bowed. He closed his eyes and let it come, a kaleidoscope of colors danced in his mind and he could feel Chris beside him, the body heat, and the dip in the mattress as Chris moved. His hand held his own cock, perhaps drawn by the smell of sweat and sex and David, perhaps woken by the quiet sound of David whispering his name.

The last long pull and David’s hand fell away from his cock. He kept his eyes closed, kept the vision of Chris there. In his bed, beside him, a smile playing on his lips, long hair falling in his eyes as he looked over at David.

David’s hand reached out, slid over the soft cotton of the sheets and blankets and he found nothing. There was no one.


Chris stood at the bar, leaning on it for support. He was drunk. Very drunk and he didn’t want to be here. His head pounding and his vision blurred. The party raged on around him, although everyone was careful to not bump him. The air around Chris was charged with anger and pain and untouchable loneliness. He was a living, breathing, walking country and western song.

Chris motioned to the bartender for another whiskey shooter and drained the last of his beer. Steve shot him an inquiring look and Chris flipped him off. He was the last person Chris wanted around him. What he wanted, what he needed . . . was David. Chris couldn’t get that man out of his head. Deep brown eyes that watched him, constantly, and hands, shit, those big, strong, mother-fucking hands. There had to be more than two, the way David used them. The way he seemed to know how Chris wanted to be touched, and more importantly, how Chris needed to be touched. How he needed to be fucked. Hard and raw and fast and without pity. No one knew that but Dave. And how he knew that was a mystery to Chris, but not one that he spent much time thinking about. Not when there was so much else . . .

The feel of David, standing behind him. Right behind him. Warm and big and strong. Chris could lean back into David and never failed to feel the hardness of David’s cock fitting against him, bumping him. He had yet to make David want him. He always did.

David’s arms would circle around, pull him closer and his mouth would be on Chris’ neck, sucking and kissing and biting. His hands pulling Chris’ pants open, reaching in and grabbing his dick. There was no question that they were going to fuck, it was just a matter of how soon, how fast, how long could they hold out, touching each other, tasting each other, talking, constantly talking. Their voices hoarse, sandpaper on skin. The words didn’t matter, they talked just to vocalize the desire they both felt as if it didn’t heat the very air around them.

Chris had to reach down between the bar and adjust his cock, pull it up, make room and he bit his lip when he touched himself, closed his eyes and moved his hand away quickly. Wouldn’t do a damn thing for his reputation if he jerked himself off here, in the bar, in front of his fans. Or, he grinned, maybe it would. He lit a cigarette and tasted David. Smoke and beer and salt on his tongue.

The feel of those thighs in his hands as he knelt in front of David, and took his cock in his mouth, sucked him deep. Chris inhaled and smelled him, musk and man, rare steak and a fine dry wine. David would fuck his mouth, tell him how good his lips felt, how smooth his tongue was and yes, bite me right there. And David would shudder, pull back, wanting it to last longer. Chris could taste pre-come rolling in his mouth and fight, try to hold him still, make him come right the fuck now. Drugged by the power he held.

It didn’t matter if he did come though, David would still be hard, still need to be inside of Chris. He was never completely satisfied, it seemed, until he held Chris, shuddering in his arms, helpless. Until he felt him come from the inside and heard those words Chris would say every damn time. The ones that made David return, over and over again.

Chris would bend for him, or spread for him, lost. He never bottomed before David, and wouldn’t for anyone else. But there was no choice here. Chris had to have David inside him, perhaps more than David needed to be there. Feel that huge cock slide into him, the heat and hiss of David’s breath through his clenched teeth, his lips pulled back. Taste the sweat along his tense jaw, and put his hands in David’s hair, short and soft. Just enough to pull between his fingers when David wouldn’t move. When the beat of David’s heart hypnotized him from inside of his own body.

The bar was finally emptying out around Chris, the band’s fans realizing they all had real lives to go back to. Those 9 to 5 jobs that would be expecting them in a few hours, and that Chris was not going to sing again, or even acknowledge them. Another night chalked up to his bad-boy persona, and he knew that no one would complain. He wondered if his jeans were wet from his aching cock and ordered another beer. Glared at the bartender when he told him that this was last call, looked over his shoulder and found that even his friends were gone.

He was alone.


The jukebox pounded out the latest hit from some lucky bastard with a recording contract and the chairs were being stacked on tables by the wait staff. Chris thought he could probably turn away from the bar now, thought he might be able to walk to the door. Didn’t even want to consider what might come after that.

“Need me to call a cab, buddy?” The bartender asked, wiping down the already clean top of the bar.

“No. I’ll take him.”

Chris looked up at the voice, the deep inflection that he heard in his dreams.

“David? What the fuck are you . . .” Chris blinked, sure that he was hallucinating.

David shrugged, big shoulders rolling under his t-shirt, “Came to find you, bring you home. I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

Chris nodded, relief and exhaustion and lust. He leaned on David as they left. Let the strength that flowed between hold them both up.


  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.