David Boreanaz/Vincent Kartheiser
For elucidate_this’s birthday.
She wanted kissing and not so much smut. Well … I tried.
Beta by grammar_glamour
This club was absolutely not David’s scene. Blaring crap that he assumed someone was calling music, played by a band with members that didn’t look old enough to have graduated from high school, let alone be here on a weekday night. Bright lights flashing so fast they could cause epileptic seizures and a fog machine rolling wet, clammy, musty smelling clouds across the dance floor. A fucking fog machine. How pathetic was that?
It was hot. It was crowded, and the bottle of beer in his hand tasted like it had been opened three hours ago. Flatter than tepid water. If Jamie had not insisted … shit and where was the Barbie? He stood against the wall, looking over the swirling, gyrating bodies on the lowered, dark dance floor until he found his wife. There. Dancing with, no. David corrected himself, practically finger-fucking her newest fling and damn, didn’t Jamie’s taste run to the butch? David was pretty sure he’d look better in a dress than that woman. But whatever, he wasn’t putting her down for liking the girls, he just didn’t appreciate being used as her beard when everyone already knew she wasn’t into dick. Just as he figured it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he wasn’t all that interested in pussy anymore.
What was that saying? Once you go black, you never go back? Well, with David it was ‘once he tried cock, he never …’ he never regretted it. There was just something more about touching another man. Something he never realized he was missing and once he had it, girls just didn’t get it for him anymore. Or from him anymore, something along those lines. That left his marriage to Jamie a pretty happy place. They got along great, didn’t get in each other’s way and didn’t ask questions. Took turns with the kid and except for nights like this, when Jamie was feeling insecure about her status in this plastic bubble they lived in, they really didn’t spend all that much time together. Goddamn, why did he let her talk him into taking her out?
New club. Paparazzi outside the doors, the general public clamoring to get in on the other side of red velvet ropes. Inside nothing but coke and X, heroin in the bathrooms and meth in the hallways. Everyone was too young, too skinny, too wasted and David was fucking bored. He could be at home, watching ESPN for fuck’s sake.
He abandoned the crappy beer on the closest table and pushed through the standing, staring, doping celebrities and wannabes down the stairs and through the crowd. Barely managing to control his temper as the fourth elbow was jabbed into his back. Jesus, was this dancing or simply out of control flailing? The music pounded so loud he could feel each bass note through the soles of his boots and the fog machine had created a pocket of humidity that made his shirt cling to his chest and arms as though he’d been walking on a beach in Florida.
“Jamie.” David caught his wife’s arm in his fingers gently. She turned to him, lipstick smeared, mascara blotted around her eyes, her blonde hair sticking in sweaty streaks to her cheeks and neck and a smile on her face that David recognized. She was fucked up.
“Jamie, I’m leaving. Have you got a ride?”
“Oh, yeah, baby.” She reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck. “I got the best ride here.” She laughed, grinding her pelvis against his with a skill that couldn’t be taught. David pulled her arms down, holding her tiny wrists carefully.
“Jamie. Do you have a way to get home?” David spoke very slowly, trying to reach through the drugs to the person he knew was inside. Someplace.
“I’ll make sure she gets home.” David looked over into the face of the woman his wife was currently sleeping with, at least, with more regularity than anyone else.
“Thank you.” He finished carefully disentangling himself from the petite blonde.
“Byeeee!” Jamie laughed. Moving her long, perfectly -- and fuck they’d better be exquisite for as much as they cost him every week -- manicured fingernails and returned to dancing with her lover.
David rubbed his forehead, pinched his temples and looked for the quickest way out of this place. He ended up bulling his way through the crowds of twenty-somethings, really trying to not hurt anyone and ending up by the door not caring at all if he had. A few more steps and he’d be out. Fuck, even the crappy downtown L.A. air would feel good. The toe of his boot caught on something and David stumbled forward, ending up putting all his weight on his bad knee and he could feel the twinge all the way up into his shoulder blades.
“Fuck.” David growled, turning on his feet, favoring his hurt side. Looking down to see what he’d tripped on and finding out it wasn’t a what, it was a who. Then he did a double take when he realized just who it was.
David held his hand out, caught the one that rose up. Pulled the boy to his feet, holding him while he moved drunkenly.
“Vince.” David forgot about his knee for a moment. He stepped to the side to keep Vincent upright and white lights of pain exploded in his brain. “Goddamn it.” David hissed, immediately lifting his leg and hunching forward.
Vincent smiled back at him, his eyes bleary and bloodshot.
“Do I know you?” Vincent asked and laughed. “Should I know you?”
David rolled his eyes, leaned precariously on Vincent’s swaying shoulder and started to move them both out of the club.
“Jesus, Vince. David. Ring any bells? Do you have any bells left to ring?”
David led them both out, handing a valet his ticket. He glanced over and saw Vincent squinting up at him. Comprehension dawning on the boy’s face.
“David!” Vincent grabbed him, turning David toward him and hugging him tightly. David bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming when it felt like the bones in his knee were being ground together, gravel at the joint.
“Are you here with friends? With someone? Is there someone I should tell that you’re leaving?” David asked as he patted Vincent’s back and groaned when the valet practically drove his SUV up on the curb. Trying to negotiate the vehicle and watch the scene that Vincent was creating at the same time.
“Friends, yeah. Came with a blonde that had lips like this.” Vincent pursed his mouth together in a dramatic kiss shape and leaned toward David.
“I’ll bet you did.” David pushed Vincent back, failing miserably about not putting any weight on his leg.
“Really. Dude got me off in all kinds of ways.”
“Did he?” David answered distractedly. Thinking that random sentence just answered a hell of a lot of unanswered questions for him. Thinking that he was really too old to be taking Vincent home right now. Thinking that he was going to do it anyway.
David pushed Vincent into the passenger seat, shut the door and limped around to the driver’s side. He grabbed the steering wheel and pulled himself up on the leather, taking a deep breath at the instant relief of thank you, God, no pressure on his knee.
Fuck fuck fuck. David chased the fleeting thought of yet another surgery out of his mind like it was a rabbit in front of a snarling pack of Rottweilers. He put the engine in drive and turned to Vincent who lolled on the passenger seat.
“If you puke in my car, Vince, I will throw you out on the interstate while driving ninety-five miles per hour. And I will not look back.”
“D – a – vid …” Vincent smiled at him and David felt tendrils of warmth creep from his thighs to his groin. Felt that heat. Fuck. He felt his cock twitch and his balls tighten. He tried to ignore it. Really hard. Oh, fucking hell, really, really hard.
“Still live in the same place, Vince?”
“Uh~huh. I do. Gonna take me home, D – a – vid?” Vincent’s voice was soft. A song that a year ago David would have answered with a heavy hand clapped around Vincent’s neck as he pulled Vince to his trailer and locked the door behind them. Hell, two days ago. Last night.
But not tonight.
“Yes, Vince. I’m going to take you home.” David kept his eyes on the road, watching the brake lights of the car in front of him. He felt Vincent’s hand creep over into his lap, the smell of alcohol and pot stronger as Vincent moved closer. David glanced over and immediately wished he hadn’t. Vincent was slithering towards him on the big, slick seat. He felt the heel of Vincent’s hand press down on his cock. His fingers traced the outline through David’s jeans.
“Gonna fuck me, David?” Vincent whispered in his ear. Hot breath tickled the short hair on David’s face and David shivered. Grabbed Vincent’s hand away from the crotch of his jeans and pushed the boy back hard.
“Not with breath like that.” David growled. “Put your seatbelt on.”
Vincent laughed, fumbled with his seat belt until it clicked around his waist. David glanced over again, and groaned. Could this night get any more interesting? Vincent had his wrists bound down under the belt, his jeans undone and his cock lay swollen and wet in the palm of his hand. Looking up at David through thick lashes and still fucking smiling. Licking his lips.
“I like to be restrained, D – a – vid.”
David drove faster.
By the time he found Vincent’s apartment complex in the dark, found a place to park in the maze of ‘No Parking, Tenants Only’ signs, somewhere he hopefully wouldn’t get towed, David could feel his jeans tight around his knee. Fucking swollen. Again. Vincent had passed out, his head on the window. Long hair covering his face and his cock was still hard in his fingers.
David sighed, turned off the engine and sat back in the seat. He was afraid to step out of the SUV. Afraid to put any weight on his leg. Afraid to know just how badly he was fucked. But there weren’t going to be any little drunken boy apartment fairies flying out of his ass to help him get Vincent into his place.
Setting his jaw, David ground his teeth and opened his door. Stepped gingerly away from the SUV and oh fucking shit Goddamn mother fucker. It was just as bad as he thought it was going to be. He hobbled around the side of the car and opened Vincent’s door. Vaguely happy that he had felt the need to tell Vincent to put on a seat belt as the boy fell half way out, hung from the belt around his waist.
“Just fucking great.” David braced himself and lifted Vincent up. Set him up in the seat and unlatched the belt. He tucked Vincent’s cock back in his jeans and buttoned his fly. Reached in the pockets of Vincent’s jeans and fished out his keys. Along with a condom, three round blue pills and one big white one. David put the drugs in his own pocket, stuffed the condom back in Vincent’s and put the leather ring on the keys between his teeth. He scooped Vincent up in his arms; shut the door of his car and started walking toward what he hoped, fuck, what he prayed was the right apartment building.
Later David was sure he had blacked out. He sat in Vincent’s surprisingly clean and well decorated living room, his jeans carefully peeled off and a bag of ice on his knee.
He couldn’t remember a single fucking thing. Didn't want to remember. Not the part about climbing the stairs, fumbling at the door, trying ten different keys until he found the right one. Didn't want to remember taking Vincent to his bedroom, putting him down on his bed. Taking off his tennis shoes and throwing a blanket over him.
He did remember leaving the bedroom door open. He wanted to be able to hear if Vincent started puking. Didn’t want the little fucker to asphyxiate in his sleep and David knew he wasn’t going any further than the couch. Knew he wasn’t able to, that he wasn’t even going to attempt it. He hopped on one leg into the kitchen. Dug through the cabinets until he found a big Ziploc bag and filled it with ice cubes from the freezer. Started to pour a glass of whiskey, then just grabbed the bottle and moved slowly to the couch.
The television remote in one hand, Jack Daniel’s in the other. Ice on his knee and David didn’t look too closely at the swollen, bruise under the Ziploc bag. He flipped through the channels until he found a hockey game from ten years ago. Thank God for ESPN2, otherwise he might have to watch soccer and that was just wrong.
Half the bottle was empty, the bag of ice and the whiskey had numbed his knee past the point of mind-numbing pain and the ashtray resting on his thigh was full of crushed butts when David heard a door in the hallway squeak. He muted the television, tilting his head back on the couch and listened until he heard a toilet flush and the shower starting. It was still dark outside and David used the remote to find out what time it was. Four a.m. Great. And now he was drunk. Half-naked on Vincent’s couch. Perfect.
David lifted the bag of ice off his knee, wincing at the pretty colors that didn’t blend with his tan. He moved his leg experimentally and did more than wince. He whimpered. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If he never went to some new club with Jamie again it would be too soon. Bitch would be lucky if he even let her back in the house. Wasn’t it easy to blame everything on her? David sighed and put the bag back carefully.
The shower stopped, David heard the sound of the door’s hinges again and looked to see Vincent walking into the living room. Hand on his face, pushing wet hair back. He’d slipped on a loose pair of gray sweats and headed straight for the kitchen. David laughed out loud when Vincent glanced over at him and ran smack into the wall.
“What the fuck are you … oh, shit. You brought me home, didn’t you?” Vincent’s hand came back up to his face, his fingers on the faint mark the drywall had left. David couldn’t tell if he was rubbing out the pain or trying to hide the blush that blossomed so pretty on his cheeks.
“Yeah.” David tried to keep his expression neutral, but a small smile played around his lips.
“Tell me that I didn’t, um, say what I don’t remember saying to you.”
“Yeah. You didn’t.”
Vincent shook his head. Immediately groaning with the apparent pain that caused. He walked over to the couch and sat down. David held up the half-empty Jack.
“Hair of the dog?”
Vincent just looked at him, then grabbed the bottle and took a long drink. Biting his lips as he swallowed and gave it back.
“Why are you sitting on my couch with no pants and ice on your knee, Dave?”
“Thought it would be fun to trip over your skinny ass, wrench the fuck out of my knee. Bring you home, carry you up too many Goddamn stairs and toss you in your bed. And then I thought, hell, since I’m here, I might as well drink your booze and watch some sports. Not like I had anything better to do.”
“You can’t walk, can you?”
David knew that Vincent was remembering how he hobbled around on set for a year and a half. Pushed away anyone that offered to help and insisted that it wasn’t that fucking bad.
Until it was.
“Not right now. Not without some help. But I’ll—“
Vincent finished his sentence for him, smiling ruefully.
“ … be fine. Right. Heard that song before, David.”
David looked back to the television, lit another cigarette and took a deep pull.
“Why did you bring me home, Dave? Why didn’t you just leave me there?” He heard Vincent ask. Heard that smooth, quiet voice and felt the coil around his spine tighten. Links of a chain.
“Couldn’t just leave you, man. You were passed out. On the floor. In front of the fucking door.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
David looked over. Vincent had moved closer. David could smell his toothpaste fresh breath, could feel the heat that moved in waves off Vincent’s skin and soaked right the fuck into his.
“What are you doing, Vince?” David asked. Trying to be the grown up here, but damn, the Jack and the pain and the late hour were all working against him. Add in Vincent fucking Kartheiser, smelling fresh and clean. His hair still wet from a shower and he’s only wearing thread bare sweats that do fucking nothing to hide the hard on he’s sporting between his legs and … yeah, David was pretty fucking proud of himself for this stunning amount of self-control.
“What do you want, David?”
That amazing control didn’t stop him from looking over at the fine piece of candy that was beside him. Didn’t stop him from letting the rush move through his body. Didn’t stop him from licking his lips in anticipation. Didn’t stop him from speaking in that low, breathy, bedroom voice. The one that he’d been told made girls curl their toes and boys have to excuse themselves to the bathroom, leaving the room with poor posture and a quick step.
“I want it all, Vincent.”
“Let me give it to you, Dave.” Vince leaned closer and David could taste his breath. That close. Hot air on his lips and he closed his eyes. Dug his fingers into the leather of Vincent’s couch.
A brush. A sensation that went straight to David’s groin. Wet lips on his. A flick of a tongue just inside of his mouth. The sound of Vincent sucking in his next breath and David was gone. Moving his chin forward and finding those lips again. Teeth clicking, tongues tangling. Heat building and building and building. Spit wet and still that was all that touched between them. Chins and lips. Tongues and teeth. Shared oxygen and exhaled air. Crest and whiskey. Youth and experience and a new old hockey game on the television a million light years from where they were. From this moment.
“I want you.”
David heard Vincent’s whisper. Heard it and refused to acknowledge it. Gentle bites on his lips for a response. Kissing Vincent again for an answer.
“Come back to my bed, David.”
A swirl of emotions that filled him, drowned him. Need. Lust. Want. Desire … passion.
David’s hand moving finally, rising up and running through Vincent’s soft hair, his thumb moving over the stubble on Vincent’s jaw. Scrape and scratch and lips that pressed into his again. And again.
“I can’t.” David said.
And he meant so much more.
“I’ll help you.” Vincent said.
David could tell that he meant every single word.
The bag of ice slipped from David’s knee to the floor as Vincent pulled him, pushed him. Moved his larger body on the couch. Fingers digging into David’s muscle, into his skin. Lifting his legs, sliding him. Kisses that kept him from talking, that kept him from saying no. A kiss that took his breath away and kisses that stole his heart. David felt himself fall even as his fingernails tore, trying and failing to keep himself safe. To stay on that ledge where he was aloof and alone and couldn’t get hurt.
Vincent’s groin rocked against his, his cock hard in those thin sweats. Hard and perfect and David could feel every inch of it though the material. His tongue explored Vincent’s mouth and his hands moved of their own accord, without his permission. Vincent sighed and moaned and moved on top of David as if he were a finely tuned instrument.
David’s fingers traced patterns down Vincent’s back to his hips. Thumbs on the sharp bone, pressing the soft skin on the inside. Feeling the muscles of Vincent’s abdomen tighten under his touch.
“Oh, fuck, David … please …” Vincent ground his cock into David’s thigh and practically sucked his tongue right out of his mouth.
Long fingers that pushed Vincent’s loose sweats out of the way, wrapped around his cock and coated themselves in drops of precome on the head. Strong fingers that slid behind his balls and teased over his opening. Wet fingers that pushed inside and David sucked in air at the tight clench of Vincent’s body. He curved and scissored and found just.that.spot and pressed. Scratched. Dug. Swallowed around Vincent’s tongue in his mouth and felt the boy jerk and writhe on top of him. Felt the hot come soak through his shirt and warmcoolwet on his chest. Heard Vincent’s voice crack as he called his name and shook. Shuddered. Came, riding out the wave to the end.
David felt the soft, drowsy kiss. Felt the silk of Vincent’s hair against his cheek as he buried his head in the space between David’s neck and shoulder. The palm of David’s hand slid up the indentation of Vincent’s spine to his shoulder blades, he reached over to the coffee table to grab the remote and turn off the television. Plunging the living room into predawn darkness and silence.
“Thanks for staying, Dave.” Vincent’s voice was muffled and slurred as sleep overcame him, again.
David smiled, his eyes closed. His body covered by Vincent’s lean, incredible warmth. His lips swollen, still tingling from hard kisses. His mouth filled with the taste of Vincent.
“Happy birthday, Vince.”
**hot wet kisses**