Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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Fic Distraction Post

By Snow
These are not real people. This did not happen.
Beta by menomegirl
Set middle Ats5

Chris could feel David’s stare. Heat on his back. He knew if he turned, David would be standing across the room, talking to someone else, perhaps going over a script. Wearing his glasses, his face serious and intent and it would appear that David didn’t even know Chris was in the same room.

But then, there would be the slow wink, the half smile. One corner of his mouth lifting and the ‘come here’ gesture with one of those long fingers. And Chris would smirk, pretend there were not bolts of lightening between them, burning the air. Wave David off and force himself to walk away. Get back to his trailer as fucking fast as he could.

Why had he returned to this insanity?

It was a question he asked himself often. He had the movies. He had the music. Why come back to a dying television show? Why subject himself to David’s advances, the emotions that even flighty, silly Amy noticed when David and Chris were alone on set, shooting a scene that involved just their characters. And Chris knew this, because he’d passed the half open door to a makeup room when Amy was talking to Charisma. About David and Chris. About the scene she’d just watched them film.

“I swear to God, Charisma, you could feel the tension between them. I think that they hate each other. I just can’t figure out why, I mean, didn’t Dave campaign the hardest to bring back Chris?”

And then the very unladylike snort from Charisma.

“Honey. They don’t hate each other. Not even a little bit.”

Chris had walked away at that point. Not wanting to hear anymore. Not needing to.


In a bar that evening, the smoke billowing around Chris, despite the laws. A cigarette burning down to the filter in his own fingers, a half-empty tumbler of whiskey, neat, sitting in front of him. Not his first of the night. Wouldn’t be his last. He wore his bad attitude like a shirt, and it kept him from being approached. By anyone.

Chris thought about his first season on the show. Christ. Had he ever been that young? That easy? That fucking dumb?


He remembered shooting a night scene. Who was there? Steph and some others. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that he was standing alone, everyone on set turned to look at him. And David had been off to the side, just at the edge of the lights. Alexis standing in front of him, his back to David’ chest, in his arms. And David was stroking him. Petting him. David’s mouth to Alexis’ ear and Chris wondered what he was saying that made Alexis blush furiously, made him close his eyes and bite his bottom lip. David’s large, white hands travelling over Alexis’ clothes, over his slim, hard body and Chris had blown line after line after line. The AD was sure Kane was taking drugs.

“You okay, Chris? Need to take a break?”

“No. I’m fine. Let’s do it again.”

And they had. And no one had seemed to notice the couple off in the dark. Alexis’ head back, David’s hand moving under his shirt now and David’s eyes were locked on Chris’ for the entire shoot. Until the take was finally finished and Chris went home, his hands shaking on the wheel, palms wet. He got in the shower and just stood there, hot water pounding down over him, his cock hard and aching, his brain a pounding mess. What the fuck had that been about? Chris had heard the phone ringing and got out, wrapping a towel around his waist. It was David. Of course.

“Want some company? I’ve got beer. And weed.”

Chris couldn’t speak, his throat tight, his jaw locked.

“Kane? You there?”

Chris managed to force out an unintelligible reply.

“I’m outside. I’m coming in. Unless you’re saying no.”

And why the hell hadn’t he said no? It would’ve been the smartest move he had ever made in his life, but didn’t say a word, hung up the phone and Dave had opened his front door. A twelve pack of long neck Bud under his arm, cigarette hanging off his lips and that predatory look in his eyes that Chris couldn’t turn away from.

“Interrupt something?” Dave had asked, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, snapping it out into Chris’ front yard and shutting the door behind him.

“No, just cleaning up. Make up, long day, you know.” Chris stood still, watching as David walked into his living room like he belonged there, like he owned the place. Set the beer on the coffee table and pulled two out. David popped the tops off of both of them, using his class ring. A neat trick Chris thought David used just to impress people, but apparently it was something David did all the time. He wouldn’t be trying to impress Chris. Not after tonight. Not after that scene with Alexis. Chris had to will back the surge of heat in his groin at the memory, his fists clenched. He was not going to stand here in front of David in a towel, with a hard on.

David walked over to him, holding out one of the bottles. Chris took it automatically, his eyes caught up in the size of David’s hands, the almost freakishly beautiful length of his fingers and the heat as they brushed over his, letting go of the glass. Chris took a long drink, draining half the beer, before noticing that David hadn’t moved away. He pulled the bottle down from his mouth and saw David’s hand moving in slow motion, reaching out and his fingers slid from Chris’ diaphragm to his abdomen, catching drops of water that had fallen from Chris’ short hair, then back up to David’s mouth. David licked the tips and smiled.

Chris was immediately, painfully hard, blood rushing up to his face and was he fucking blushing? Like some girl on a first date?

David turned away, walked back over to the couch and sat down, found the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found ESPN. Chris felt a bead of sweat run from his temple to his cheek.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to go get dressed. Be right back.” Dave nodded and didn’t even look over as Chris left the room, heading for his bedroom and safety, if not sanity.


Chris downed the whiskey, motioned to the bartender for a refill and lit another cigarette. His throat was getting sore and he realized he’d almost smoked an entire pack while sitting here. Not good for the singing, not good for the acting, and at this moment? He really didn’t give a shit.

He could feel the heat creeping up his face as he thought about the rest of that first night. Still. Even after all this time had passed . . .


He’d gone to his room, dropped the towel and yanked on a pair of jeans, smashing his cock inside, wincing at the pain. Pulled on a T-shirt and went back out into the living room. David was sitting forward on the couch, leaning over the coffee table. A clear plastic bag of marijuana open and half spilled out on the glass. David was sorting through it, picking out the good leaves. Chris sat down at the opposite end of the couch, finishing his beer and taking another from the pack. He watched as David rolled a joint, his brown eyes fixed on the television, watching the score breakdown of the day’s hockey games. David licked the edge of the rolling paper and sealed it. Then pulled his Zippo out of his pocket and lit the weed. Taking a few quick puffs to get it started, then a deep pull and handing it over to Chris. All without looking at him.

Chris reached over for the joint, plucking it out of David’s fingers and breathing in the sweet smoke, holding it, then doing it again and handing it back. It was powerful stuff. Pure. Chris could feel it hitting his bloodstream, seeping into his brain, slowing everything down and he sat back, drinking the beer. David took another hit, then held it out for Chris.

After his fourth inhale and hold, and working on his third beer, Chris was feeling the warmth return to his fingers and the tension seeping out of his thighs.

David finally turned and looked at him, “Better now?”

Chris nodded, “Yeah. Good shit, man.”

David laughed, “Should be, after what I paid for it. You were wound tighter than tight. You do know that I want you, right? I mean, I’m not hiding it. I’ve done everything but buy you roses and candy. Although, if that’s what it takes, I might. Want another beer?”

Chris felt the world stop.

You do know that I want you, right?

Had David actually said that?

“I, yeah, I noticed.” He finally managed to spit out some words, “But you and, uh, Alexis? That’s not a, you know, thing?”

David laughed, almost choking on a mouthful of beer, “No,” He laughed again, “Alex just likes to be teased. Hurt. Used. And I’m more than happy to give it to him. But we’re not a thing.”

Chris blamed his next words on the pot, on the beer, on the long day and the pounding lust and the pull of the man sitting next to him, “What were you saying to him?”

David sat up, looking at Chris, leaning toward him. His dark eyes completely unreadable, his lips curved in a slight smile, “How much I wanted to fuck him. How good it was going to feel to bend him over and slam my dick right up inside him. How I wasn’t going to use any lube and he was going to bleed and cry and beg me to stop.”

Fuck. Chris was fucked.

“And he likes that?”

David had just taken another pull off of the burning roach, pinching it between his finger and thumb. He was holding his breath as he spoke, that’s why the words were short, Chris told himself. That’s why David’s tone was harsh.

“Loves it. Needs it. Wants it.”

Chris felt David’s hand on the back of his neck, didn’t realize David had moved closer. David brought their foreheads together and kissed Chris, filling his mouth and lungs with smoke, then sat back, but not far. “Last hit.” And Chris was coughing, drinking down the end of his beer so he would stop, smoke coming out his nose. His lungs were burning, his lips on fire. His brain fried and he could still feel the strength and the heat of David’s hand on him as if it was still there.

They sat for a while longer, drinking, talking, sharing another joint. Short questions and monosyllabic answers. Chris realized that this was how Dave fooled people. He played the big, dumb jock role so perfectly, put everyone at ease around him. He was the joker, the party boy, and the pussy hound. Then he’d turn his head to the side and come at you with some random intellectual theory or Shakespearean quote or political statement that would spin your brain. And everyone would look at him, wondering where the fuck that came from and he’d rattle off the line up for the 1963 World Series like it was the bible. No one who spent any time with David ever knew just what he was thinking. And Chris was beginning to see why. Because David liked it that way.

David finished his sixth, seventh, or whatever beer and set the empty back in the box. He turned to Chris with heat in his eyes, with pupils so enlarged they were almost completely black. He reached over and ran his fingers down Chris’ jaw, to his neck. David had moved again, sliding up so that he filled Chris’ view with his shoulders, his chest, his intensity. And Chris couldn’t move at all, mesmerized by the touch of just the tips of those fingers on his face.

David moved as if they were underwater, slowly, carefully, bringing his mouth to Chris’, “Want this. Want you.” Then David’s lips were there, soft and warm. Defining need and spelling lust, totally focused on him.

Working his mouth open and flicking his tongue inside until Chris was responding. Answering David taste for taste, both open and greedy, swallowing each other. Mixing beer and pot smoke and spit.

David’s hands moving down Chris’ chest, massaging the muscles there, squeezing the skin and going straight for Chris’ crotch, where his almost finished bottle of beer was held, between his legs. Chris thought David was going to take it, set it on the table, but instead David held it, pressing it back gently, against Chris. Chris groaned into David’s mouth at the feeling on his hard cock, through his jeans, the unexpected push and rub and pressure on his balls.

“Put your hands on me, Kane. Touch me.” And Chris’ arms moved without his approval, as if he was a puppet to David’s whims. His fingers suddenly filled with David’s heat through his clothes, he could feel him breathing, his heart beating and oh, God, I’m so screwed the huge, hard bulge at his crotch. “Yeah, just like that. You’ve done this before, haven’t you? You’re not afraid of me.” David sighed and licked from Chris’ mouth to his earlobe, sucking on it, then biting down on his neck and Chris was lost in the sensation, fighting to retain his slim hold on reality.

“Not afraid of you.” He gasped as David moved the bottle away and covered Chris’ groin with the warmth of his palm.

“Then let’s find somewhere more comfortable. I feel like I’m back home and your parents might walk in on us at any minute.”

“Uh. Yeah. More comfortable.” Chris couldn’t move, he could barely think. And David smiled knowingly, as if he was used to this reaction.

“Yeah. Like your bedroom?”

“It’s, uh, back down the hall to the right.” Chris’ head was swimming as he arched into David’s practiced, squeezing fingers. Biting his lip when they were removed.

David stood up, pulled another beer out of the case, popping off the cap, “You coming?”

David followed him down the hall and Chris was just beginning to have second thoughts, or really, any thoughts at all when David spun him at the door and pushed him back against the wall. Kissed Chris, hard, sucking the breath right out of him. That hand back on his jean-encased dick, pulsing, and Chris couldn’t remember what he’d been worried about.

Then David stood back, took a drink from the beer and looked around. The room was dim, the only light coming from the bathroom where Chris had been showering. Back when he had a brain. David turned to him, that predatory smile back on his face. The same smile Chris had seen all night, over Alexis’ shoulder.

“Take off your clothes. I want to see you.”

Chris looked back at him, little tendrils of anger stirring through the marijuana and alcohol and lust.

“Fuck you. I’m not a show dog.”

David laughed and moved closer again, just a step away now. “That’s why I like you, Chris. More than anyone, you don’t take my shit. You haven’t from the first day we met.” He leaned forward, kissed Chris again, softly this time. “I do want to see you, though. Want to feel you. Want to taste you.”

“Don’t see anyone stopping you.”

David grinned at Chris, “Just take off your shirt for me. Please.”

And Chris smiled back. “See? Courtesy will get you what you want. Every time.” Chris pulled his T-shirt over his head and leaned back again, resting against the wall. He could feel David’s eyes eating him up. Feel the track of his stare as he looked at Chris. David handed him the beer and Chris took it automatically, fingers tightening around the glass as David’s mouth went straight to his neck, biting at his collarbone. David’s palms were hot on his skin, his wet kisses leaving a cooling trail down Chris’ chest. David caught his nipples in between his fingers, pinching them, flicking them as he moved lower, all teeth and tongue and lips. Tasting Chris, until he reached his belt line. Then the hands left his chest and unbuttoned his pants, opening them wide, pulling out his cock.

“Nice.” Chris could barely hear David’s hissing voice over the rush of blood through his brain. The heat of the tongue that started at the base of his cock, licked up the vein on the underside, the tight lips that circled the head, sucked just at the tip.

“Fuck.” Chris moaned. Dropping the bottle of beer on the carpet and putting his hands on David’s head, fingers buried in the soft spikes. David leaned back on his heels, smiled up at Chris.

“Want more? Take off your pants.”

Chris let go of David’s head, slid his jeans off his hips, let them fall past his knees and kicked them from around his ankles.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” David’s fingers dug into Chris’ thighs and David looked at him, all over. Chris felt as transparent as hand blown glass, and as easy to shatter.

“Fuck you.” Chris growled and David shook his head.

“No. Tonight is mine.” Then David’s mouth latched back onto Chris’ cock and Chris couldn’t draw a breath from the tight lips, the swirling tongue and the scrape of teeth at the bottom. He felt David sliding two fingers into his mouth, joining his dick in the wet, sucking heat, then they were rolling his balls and moving back to his ass, tracing circles. “Tell me what you want, Kane. Tell me what you need.” David asked, his voice low vibrations Chris could feel reverberate through his groin.

What he wanted? What he needed? Shit. He could hardly remember his own name.

“Need you, D. Want you inside of me.” And a finger pushed into him, slowly, twisting up. “Yes, more. Dave, just like that.” Chris felt another finger join the first, moving against the other, curving up and scraping and David suddenly deep-throated, swallowing on his cock. Chris was grinding his teeth, clenching his fists and hitting the wall behind him, moaning. “Fuck. Yes. Jesus, Just. Like. That.” And coming in David’s mouth, blindingly hot and hard and fast, pumping into that mouth and melting. Dying. Crying.

David sat back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Fuck, Kane. How long has it been for you?”

Chris slid down the wall, ignoring the question and the automatic answer, None of your fucking business. And David leaned in, licked Chris’ lips, kissed him as he panted, “Ready for round two?”

David didn’t wait for a response, just stood up, pulled Christian to his feet and toward the bed. Turned him around, cupping Chris’ ass in his hands. Pulling Chris’ groin up against his own hard cock, still trapped in his pants. Chris gasped at the sensitivity, at the rush.

“Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think straight. ‘Til you can’t breath. ‘Til you can’t remember where you were born.” Then David pushed Chris back onto the bed and stripped out of his clothes, pulling at his cock when it was free, pointing it at Chris, like a hunter directing his dog. “Where do you keep the lube, Kane? I know you have it here. Somewhere.”

Chris reached for the night stand drawer and David beat him to it, pawed through the contents until he found what he was looking for and Chris was helpless to do anything but watch as David squeezed some out into his palm and slicked himself. David reached down, in between Chris’ legs. Cold hand, wet fingers. One, two, coating Chris. Inside and out. Three, making him gasp again, reach for David’s arm and whimper with want.

Then David was on him, trapping Chris under his weight and his strength and his will. Pushing his thighs apart with his knees. Moving into him, slow and steady and completely unstoppable and so fucking big. So hard. So good. Pulling Chris’ arms above his head, holding them in the tight grip of one wrist. Teasing a nipple with the other, pinching and pulling and thrusting in and out and in and out and Chris was burning underneath David. Wrapping his legs around him, bringing him deeper with each motion, arching into the pain, and the sensation and into the need.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” Chris repeated with each push and David countered with his own whispered stream of consciousness. Speaking in Chris’ mouth, on his skin, to his soul.

“So good. So hot. So tight. Chris. Chris. Been waiting so long. Need you. Want you. More. Now.” And David was jerking on top of him, shuddering, moaning, fingers digging into his hips, his back, his ass. His words became jumbled, meaningless and important and Chris felt him come inside. Felt the heat and pump of David’s cock and the pulse of his heart.

They lay locked together. Breathing fast, sweat cooling and drying.

“Texas.” Chris whispered.


“That’s where I was born.”

“Fuck you.”


Chris pushed the memory aside, fought off the others. The many, many others; nights of hot wax and handcuffs, and afternoons with honey and chocolate sauce, the mornings that were sweet and long and left bruises that he couldn’t hide and didn’t try. Swollen lips and messy hair and dazed grins.

Chris slammed down his whiskey, asked for a shot of tequila and beer. If he was going to get trashed, he might as well go all the way, in style. And he knew the next part would hurt. The next thought, the next memory, the undying pain.

Losing David.

No, not actually losing him. Pushing him away. Rejecting him. Refusing to share. Unwilling to be a pawn, a toy, a possession any longer.


David kept a low profile. Wasn’t mentioned in the tabloids. Wasn’t featured in People Weekly. Didn’t do many interviews. He ate humble pie for breakfast and strutted around his set as if he were King. Which he was, his ideas, if not utilized, were always taken seriously. His script changes were acknowledged. And when Christian found him with Alexis for the second time? Once in the studio bathroom, David leaning, his back against the tiles, Alexis on his knees sucking furiously as David held his head in his hands, moving him. The next in David’s trailer, Alexis bent over the table, hands gripping the edge with white knuckles as David pounded into him, sweat running from his face, his chest.

Chris went directly to Joss.

“I want out.”

So they let him free. And Chris ran. Far away. Off to exotic movie sets. To new directors and challenging parts and different lovers. And he never said goodbye. Never called. Never answered an email. He wrote new music. Played obscure venues. Made new friends. Changed his phone number. Went home for long visits and found, if not peace, then a happy medium within himself.

So when Joss called him one afternoon he was actually surprised. He’d buried that part so deep he’d almost forgotten. Almost. Not quite.

And yet another point in his life he’d said yes when he should’ve said no.


Now all the feelings of betrayal and hurt were there again. Up close and personal. And David was seemingly oblivious. Still playing the part of King. Still benevolent and kind and supported by his cast and crew. And Chris walked on the edge, stayed on the blade. Avoided confrontation and pain by pretending to be above it all. Removed.

“I’ll have what he’s drinking.” The crushed velvet voice at his side spoke. Chris looked over. David was there. “Got a smoke?” Chris pushed over the pack and his lighter and drank the tequila shot in one swallow.

“Missed you, Kane.”

“Fuck off, Dave.”

“Gave you a job, Kane.” David lit a cigarette and drank his tequila.

“Didn’t need it, Dave. If you haven’t noticed, my movies don’t go straight to video.”

“Ouch. Truer words have never been spoken. So why did you take it? Slumming?”

Chris turned, looking at David, closer than he’d been to him in years, without cameras and directors and cast surrounding them. His face was leaner, sharper. The man was actually getting better looking with time. He had bulked up, worked out, but so had Chris. They were both stronger, older, and probably not any smarter.

“Old times. Good memories. Nice people. Not enough pain in my life, I suppose.”

“I have missed you.” David’s whisper was liquid silk, wrapping around Chris’ skin and tightening like a noose.

“Not enough to stop fucking around, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t realize we were exclusive.”

Chris sighed, took a long pull of his cigarette. “And that’s really sad. Because we were. And you couldn’t be.”

“Wanna try again?”

Chris snorted a laugh that sounded more like a sob than he liked, “Really Dave, are you fucking kidding?” Chris watched as David stared back, sucked his bottom lip in, his tongue sneaking out. So tempting. So beautiful. So poisonous.

“Let’s just work on the friends part first.”

David nodded and Chris smiled for the first time that night.

“And yeah. It will take roses and candy this time. And more.”


Tags: ats, dave/alexis, dave/chris, david boreanaz, db/ck, fic, rps
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