For a Moment
David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
Not Mine. Not Hers.
No Profit. No Gain.
Continued from here.
For a moment, David could hear everything magnified. The smallest crunch of gravel under his boots to the high-pitched female laughter that sang shrill through the afternoon and cut into his mind like a knife. The taillights of Chris’ truck disappeared, exhaust hung motionless, tainted and flavored the air around him.
Too late. Took too long.
He thought I wasn’t coming … thought I’d changed my mind. Thought I never was … Thought I didn’t …
David’s fingers dug into the palms of his hands and he stood completely still. His mind raced blindly forward, tried to find a way out of this situation. Cars all around him and none of them were his. A street below him, but this was not New York. There wouldn’t be a cab just happening along.
He turned back to the closed gate behind him. Six feet of solid wood that kept him from sight of the people in his back yard. A house, a sidewalk, a pool, a garage full of automobiles that he had the keys to, but he’d be fucked by a twelve inch dildo on pay per view before he’d go back into that yard again.
David did the only thing he could do. He lit a cigarette and started walking. Down the long dirt and gravel alley behind his house, to the street and toward the highway. His boots scuffed on the pavement, the filter between his lips and his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The tail of his long sleeve shirt fluttered in the soft breeze behind him, smoke whipped around his face and disappeared in the air behind him. The falling sun felt good on his shoulders and his mind stayed empty and quiet. The decision had been made, the choice given and taken and David only had one thought left to concentrate upon. To get to Chris as soon as he could, to find him, touch him, kiss him, be with him. No time constraint, no saying goodbye when all David wanted to do was stay and stay and stay.
He got all the way to the boulevard that led to the interstate before he noticed the car following him. David turned, his eyes squinted in the sunlight and he recognized the vehicle. He got in and sat back in the leather seats, holding his hand up before the man driving had even started to speak.
“Don’t say a word. If you’re giving me a ride? Do it. If you’re giving me a lecture? Let me out right the fuck now.”
David lit a cigarette and waited. The younger man smiled, his hair looking windblown and shaggy around his face.
“Where can I take you?” Eric asked.
David grinned, his lips thin and his eyes cold. He gave his coworker the directions and cracked open his window, let the smoke curl around his face and blow out, his head back on the seat and his eyes closed. When he felt the car slow and opened his eyes to find that they were in the driveway of Chris’ house, David glanced over at his co-worker.
“Thanks for the lift and I’m sorry you had to, you know, see all of that.”
Eric smiled again, shaking his head.
“No problem, dude. I, uh, my parents split up when I was a kid.”
David didn’t pause as he reached for the handle and opened the door. He wished he could keep the pain out of his voice when he spoke. He wished it didn’t hurt as much as it did.
“What? Was that yesterday?” David said and immediately wanted to take the words back. “Sorry, Eric. I’ll see you on the set Monday.”
David watched as Eric nodded and he shut the door, waited in the driveway watching the car leave, then he turned and looked at the house he knew was empty. Chris’ truck was not here, the windows were dark against the setting sun and David didn’t even try the front door.
He walked around the side and into the back yard. He found the window that Chris never kept locked, that he had pushed Chris’ denim clad ass through one night when keys were lost and they were both in too much of a hurry to get into the privacy of a house. Too much of a hurry to get out of clothes that seemed to cut into their skin with folds and wrinkles, buttons and zippers. Too much a hurry to fall into each other’s arms.
The glass slid back and David pulled himself through, kicked his boots off and shut it. The house was quiet and empty. David walked soundlessly through the hallways to the kitchen. He found a bottle of Jack and poured himself a glass, sat down in Chris’ big leather chair that faced the television and the front window. Three full tumblers later and David was still waiting, the ashtray beside him overflowing and the sun had set. He had the television on ESPN and he wished he could say his concentration was there, but if the truth were told, he couldn’t even tell you the name of the teams that were playing … something.
Blue eyes in his mind. Thick lipped smiles and white teeth that felt so good on his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his cock. Fingers that pinched and pulled, hands that maneuvered him as if he wasn’t going along with everything Chris wanted. As if they could move him if he didn’t. A temper that unnerved him with it’s ferocity, that reminded him of relatives at holiday parties and fighting over who carved the turkey and who made the best marinara and who took the best care of Great Grandma when she was dying. It always made David smile because apparently Oklahoma and Italy had more in common then he ever thought possible.
That temper. Those eyes. The heat from the lips and the bite of the teeth and the rough feel of his fingers on David’s skin, on his cock. The taste of precome in his mouth, the way he would get down on his knees for Chris without a second thought. The sound of denim sliding over skin, the smell of pot and stale beer and sour whiskey and David pulled himself out of the chair and up, swaying before he found his balance. He walked down the hallway to Chris’ bedroom, his fingers sliding along the painted plaster of the walls and he dropped his shirt, slipped out of his jeans and stretched out on the faded comforter that smelled of Chris.
David pushed his face into the pillows, the alcohol, the day catching up with him. Too many sensations, too many choices, too many memories, too much Chris and he was not here. Not here to touch, not here to kiss, not here at all …
David’s hand slid down his chest, slipping over smooth skin, damp with sweat and his mind was filled with Chris and Chris and Chris. His fingers wrapped around the hard length of his cock, pulling the silken skin back over what felt like iron and brick beneath. David rolled to his back, his breath came out in one long gasp and he kept his eyes closed.
“Do you like this? Do you want this? Tell me, David … can you handle me? Do you even want to try?”
“Please …” A low moan, a whisper that begged for more. Dark in his mind, dark surrounding him. Shadows that filled the empty spaces as cars drove by and their headlights ran across the ceiling and David didn’t see any of it.
His fingers moved on his cock, reached down and pulled his balls away from his groin and traced wet circles around his opening and his tongue ran over his dry lips. His breath came with quick pants and his heart beat like a stone in his chest.
“Nothing like this … nothing like us … nothing like you … David …”
In his mind, in his memory, in his now Chris was under him. That hard, tight body writhing, moving. Skin slick with sweat, his voice a pitch that David only heard in moments like this. Higher, full of need and want.
“Come on, Kane … fuck me …”
“Well, only because you asked so nicely, Dave.”
Nothing like feeling that cock inside of him, that burn and pain when Chris would thrust inside of him. Push his thighs apart and smile. That smile. That special smile that only curved his lips when the head of his cock breached David’s ass and he would push inside and David’s back would arch up, his fingers would dig into Chris’ hips and the air would grow thin around them.
David would push Chris down to his knees, tangle his fingers in hair too pretty and thick to belong to a man and pull that mouth down around his cock. Push Chris back on the bed and fuck into him as if he’d never felt that tight ring of muscle warp his mind. As if he’d never scraped stubble against stubble, lip on lip, teeth and tongue and Chris would never stop talking, never stop.
“Fuck me, Dave. Do me. Break me. Tear me open. Bend me, please … don’t stop … don’t ever stop …”
David’s hand moved on his cock, his mind a thousand miles, a thousand nights, a thousand hours away.
The only word that slipped from his lips as he came on empty, hot thighs. A long sigh, a shuddered breath. The room dark around him, the house silent and he didn’t even know if Chris was coming home. He might’ve hopped a plane. He might be in Oklahoma, he might be on his way to New York or London. He might be gone forever, he might be out of reach and David would have only his memories to fuck, to live, to love.
He whispered again as he fell asleep in the bed of the only person that had haunted his dreams, his fantasies, his waking desire for too long, for too many years.