Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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Lies We Tell Ourselves: Holding On to Nothing at All

My chapter of Lies We Tell Ourselves by ely_jan and sweptawaybayou

Holding On to Nothing at All
By Snow
David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
Not hers.
Not mine.
No profit.
No gain.

Continued from here.

“Yeah, think it’s past time we got to know each other. I’ll pull the truck around back…wait for you.”

David stood still when Chris pushed him back. Didn’t move when Chris stepped away, his voice was quiet and calm, but his eyes were on fire. Blue flames that belied the smooth exit. He stood in the doorway, sweat damp hair hung over his face in streaks and David’s lips still stung from their last kiss. His breath still coming too fast, his hands still clenched, his cock still hard crushed in his jeans. He could still feel the heat of Chris’ body against him, still taste the flavor of Chris’ skin in his mouth.

David watched as Chris walked away in the fading sunlight through and around the small groups of people that clustered around his pool and in his backyard. Smoke from the bar-b-que hung in motionless air, laughter and music and conversations floated past him unheard.

David remembered the first time Chris had walked away from him, left the set for good after almost two years. The sound of his own voice ringing in his ears, the argument that fell silent and unanswered when Chris had shook his head and said, "You just don’t understand.”

Lame excuses of a plastic hand, a character that had no where to go, a career that was waiting. Waiting for … what? Freedom and time and dedication.

"I’m not going to play your foil for the rest of my life, Dave. There is so much more out there and I want it.”

“I’m not asking you to give that up, Chris. Take all the time you want, just don’t … go.”

A smile and a wink that covered the knowledge that this meant much more than it should.

“I’m only a phone call away, Bo. Always.”

And at first, Chris was right. Nothing changed, weekends spent watching sports, going to bars and parties. Fucking playmates and groupies and each other. Drinking and snorting and smoking and alarms were thrown across rooms when they rang too fucking early on Monday mornings.

The first movie Chris made coincided with one that David was hired for and they spent hours on the phone comparing sets and directors and planning for futures spent at award ceremonies. Laughed at each other’s thank you speeches, trying to out do the other’s lists of family and friends and coming up with outrageous political statements.

David returned to Warner Brother’s back lot and Chris went on tour with his band. Chris attended conventions and played the bad boyfriend in another movie. David flew overseas on a whim and appeared in a music video. Chris auditioned and David agreed to appear on the season finale of Sarah’s show. Chris went to Nashville and wrote music under contract and David went to the hospital for one more surgery on his knee and started the fifth season with a limp and ate handfuls of painkillers for breakfast.

And the phone calls grew more sporadic and contained less laughter.

"When are you gonna be back in town, Kane?”

“Next week, I think. Have to check with Steve. We’re supposed to be playing some benefit back home, I’m just not sure when.”

“Give me a call then, when you know.”

“I’ll do that. Hey, how’s work? Heard Jimmy was helping you guys out this season.”

“Yeah. It’s good. Different though, without Charisma or Vince hanging around. Got used to that little shit. We had some fun together last year.”

“Really? Found someone else to put up with your dumb ass jokes?”

“No. I found someone who laughs at them.”

“You sure he’s not just laughing at you?”

“Fuck you, Kane.”

“Anytime, Bo.”

At the one-hundredth-episode party, David didn’t look for Chris. Didn’t expect him to show up and that way he was not disappointed when it didn’t happen. He spent the evening with his son in his arms and a smile plastered on his face.

Directly after that, came the news that they were cancelled. That it was over. Joss called him at home and David never let on how much it hurt, how unfinished he was with this character. How his balls crawled back up into his body and all he could see were the credit card bills that lay in a stack on his desk beside the mortgage papers, the insurance and utilities and car loans. The bank statements and tax assessments and the only thing to balance it all was his checkbook.

David picked up his cell and dialed the number without looking.

“It’s over.”


“The show. Fuckers dropped us. Said we can finish out the season and that’s it.”

“Bad joke, Dave.”

“Not joking, Chris.”

Joss went into overdrive, wanting to tie up all the loose ends he could. Telling everyone that the fans deserved it. That they couldn’t leave everything open and empty and that there had to be some kind of closure for his characters. When David overheard him call Chris and ask him to come back, his fingers dug into the arm of his chair and he didn’t know if he was hoping for a yes or a no.

For a while it was business as usual. Getting up every morning for a show that was already in the grave, talking to his agent every day, doing more of the photo opp things he had avoided. Premieres and award ceremonies and taking Jaime with him to every function, to every white envelope invitation.

And then there was Chris. Standing in the doorway of his trailer with a smile that David liked to pretend was only meant for him. Casual talk of sports and family and David suddenly realized that he was nervous and it pissed him off. This was Chris, for fuck’s sake and he stood, locked the door and backed Chris into the edge of a countertop.

“Missed you.”

“Sure you did.”

“Gonna kiss me?”

“You first.”

“Not a problem.”

Dropping to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain that motion shot straight into his spine. Buckle and belt and buttons and zipper and finally, finally skin and skin and skin.

“Too long since...”


And then Chicago in May and Chris and cocaine and three days of too many beers, no sleep.

“I don’t do conventions, Kane.”

“Do this one, Dave. For me.”

Hundreds of fans and five years of memories as close in David’s mind as Chris’ body was every night in his bed. Too fast, the weekend was over and their time was up and they returned to real lives and more movies and pilots and music and continents separated them. Jobs separated them. Work and time and even when they were in the same place, they couldn’t seem to make that connection again.

Until now.

Back in LA, both working on television again. Different networks, but … when David called, Chris answered. When Chris asked, David would show up. They fell back into a rhythm that was only disturbed by David’s having to leave before dawn, by the nanny’s days off, by Jaime’s mood swings and David knew that Chris was tired of it. Fuck, he was tired of it. He wanted more.

David shook his head, Chris was out of sight. Past the gate and probably in his truck and starting it up now and David smiled as if he could hear the country music that pounded through the speakers, feel the engine vibrate the seats. As if he was already there with Chris.

He walked out of the garage and headed into the house, to his bedroom. Ignored the looks he received from the last of the guests at his missing shirt. In his room, he found a shirt to replace the one left on the concrete, in the gloom, left smelling like Chris. He grabbed his cigarettes and made sure he had his lighter, his wallet and keys and when he turned to leave, Jaime waited at the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Where I should have been this afternoon, instead of here at this party I didn’t want in the first place.”

“To him.”

“Yeah, Jaime. To him.”

“I’m done with this, David. Done pretending that he is just your friend.”


David walked past her without looking back. He knew by morning when the pills and booze wore off, she’d return to what passed for normal for her. He knew she liked being his wife too much to leave it, him, behind. He didn’t ask her to work, he had never asked her for anything but to knock off the drugs and alcohol while she was pregnant with their child and there was an unspoken agreement between them after that. He knew she loved the boy as much, if not more than he did, if that was possible and despite their sometimes-conflicting lifestyles, they had a good thing going. They made a good pair, an attractive couple, a team.

Through the living room and into the kitchen, David grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge and a small tin of rolled joints out of a drawer.

“Dude. What do you think about the Flyers this season?”

David grunted and shrugged, glanced over his shoulder and tried to place the face. No one he could remember. It had to be one of the boys that followed Jaime’s crowd from place to place.

“Did you hear about the game last week? They totally kicked ass.”

David smiled noncommittally and nodded, headed for the back door.

“Yeah. Going for the cup.” He answered, mentally rolling his eyes. Like every team in the league wasn’t, and who the fuck was this and why was he talking to him? “See you around.”

“I wouldn’t leave if I were you.”

David stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He turned around slowly.

“What the fuck did you say?”

The man imitated David’s earlier shrug with a smile on his face that didn’t even try to meet his eyes.

“Just saying. The girls were talking while you were … out.”

David’s hand tightened around the copper antique that he had found and bought and installed himself.

“If you leave? She’s filing in the morning. Taking the kid and the house, your bank account and your balls. She already has a lawyer.”

“Who the fuck are you?” David asked quietly, his jaw clenched until the muscles burned.

“No one, dude. No one at all.”

“Good, because she won’t. She might talk big when the main ingredient in her blood stream is Jose, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Glad you think so, David.” Jaime said from the doorway.

David let the air he was holding in his lungs out in a rush and opened the door.

“I’m leaving, Jaime. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“If you leave now, David, don’t bother coming home again.”

He was halfway out, the smoke from the ‘que stinging his eyes and David turned around one last time.

“Don’t worry about it, Jaime.” He said, and the door shut behind him.

Curious glances thrown his way as he walked to the back gate and for the first time in too long, David felt good again. Felt like he was making the right choice, felt like he could breath. Even though he knew it was not the easy choice, it would not be the smoothest road, it was the one for him.

He opened the privacy fence with a real smile on his face, in a hurry to see Chris. To sit back in that fucking huge truck and light up a smoke and open a beer and laugh all the way to Chris’ house. To listen to incredibly loud, damn awful country music on the highway, reach over and stroke that molten iron hard-on he knew Chris had to be sporting by now, along with a pair of incredibly blue balls. To get inside just as the sun was setting and rip that boy’s clothes off his body. Leave at trail of them in the hallway all the way to Chris’ bedroom. Bend him down on that big, soft bed and hear his name fall from lips bruised and swollen from too many, never enough kisses.

David slammed the gate closed behind him and looked up just in time to see the taillights of Chris’ truck pull out into the street and disappear.

Too late.


*smooches you*
Tags: dave/chris, db/ck, fic, rps
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