David Boreanaz/Jason Behr
David Boreanaz/Christian Kane (implied)
Set during the filming of Ats 4.3 and Roswell 2.15
David sat in the VIP lounge of the casino. A half empty scotch in front of him, a half-smoked cigarette slowly burning in the ashtray. He rubbed his head with one hand, his thumb and middle finger massaging into his temples. This fucking headache wouldn’t go away, it made him want to reach in his skull, find the nerve that was pinched and rip it out.
The sound of bells from the slot machines was muted in here, but it didn’t matter at any rate. He’d been up in his room all evening, in complete silence, the lights out, curtains drawn and even that hadn’t helped. Sleep was a long way off and he had nothing to do but drink and smoke and call that mother fucker again and again.
Voice mail and David had stopped leaving messages. Texted until he didn’t have anything left to say that could be put in words. David knew it was pointless, knew that his phone was either turned off or he was out of range on the coast. He knew it, but it hadn’t made him stop trying.
“Two weeks, just me and Steve and our guitars. No phones, no agents, no appointments or meetings or scripts to memorize. Fuck, it’s been a long time since we’ve done this. I can’t wait. We’re gonna come back with some fuckin’ awesome music.”
“Great. Have fun.”
“We’re not going for fun, Dave. It’s something I need to do, something we need to do. For the band.
“Right … then, don’t have fun.”
David knew when he was being an asshole. He could taste the bitter flavor of it in his mouth mixing with the acid of jealousy, of possessiveness, of greedy lust. He saw the hurt in Chris’ eyes, the look that he quickly covered with a fake smile and a turn of his head. He knew he had nothing to say about where Chris went, who he went with, when he left and how long he was going to be gone. He knew it and he believed it and he couldn’t fucking stop.
Wasn’t like it mattered anyway. David wasn’t even in LA this week, Fury had taken them all to Vegas for three days of filming, but Chris should be here. Sitting here beside him, getting drunk with him, telling him dirty jokes and flipping lit matches at the waitresses.
David leaned back in the chair, tipping it up on two legs and looked around the dimly lit room. J. wasn’t here, Charisma was probably already asleep and Andy hadn’t been around since the A.D. had told them they were free for the rest of the night, what little there was left of it. David didn’t even want to think about what or who Amy had found to occupy her time. A few of the crew sat around a table with some people David didn’t know, playing poker. They’d invited him over twice, but David knew in the mood he was in right now, he wouldn’t be able to bluff his way out of a two-card draw and ultimately he’d end up saying something he’d regret in the morning, or next week.
A couple sat in a dark corner, they both appeared too young to be drinking in a lounge in Vegas and were somehow, vaguely familiar. The girl’s long, blonde hair had caught his eye from the moment he’d walked in the room. Fuck, he could never stay away from the blondes. Her friend had watched him without a smile until David had looked away and ordered what was not his first and sure as hell wouldn’t be his last drink of the night. David changed his mind as he felt the slow heat of the alcohol down his throat, she had looked old enough, twenty-two or there about, but the boy … dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, did not. Although that didn’t mean anything, Vegas was as unreal as Hollywood, just a neon-lit, higher hair, less clothing, legal prostitution version.
His head pounded with vicious, relentless pain and David wondered if he lit up a joint right here, if he’d get busted. Fuck, if he was even asking himself that question, he sure as hell hadn’t drank enough. He held up his empty glass, waved it at the bartender. After the cursory nod, David set it down on the table in front of him and looked through the smoke he blew out back to the corner and the pretty couple that had become just a single. The dark-haired boy sat alone, nursing his beer and David ran through files in his head, trying to fit a name with the face. He knew him. From some where, some time.
His drink delivered and David stopped the waitress before she could move away.
“Send one of the same over there.” He nodded to the table, feeling every crease of his worn jeans press into his thighs, into his groin. What the fuck was he doing? and did it matter? Boredom had taken over and orneriness loneliness had him by the seat of his pants. If he were five, his mother would have sent him to bed long ago, smacking at his ass with a wooden spoon from the kitchen.
David kept his eyes down on the table when fingers set the full glass of scotch in front of him and the air around him moved with another body pulling back a chair and sitting down.
“Didn’t think you’d remember me.”
David glanced up, bringing another Marlboro to his lips and lighting it with his Zippo without looking. He inhaled, exhaled. Tasted cologne he didn’t know mixed with smoke and scotch. Light brown eyes met his, short hair and soft, wet lips. Lips too pretty to be on a boy’s face.
A soft laugh, quiet against the canned music, the bells and buzzers from just outside the doors.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Where?” David kept thinking that if his head didn’t hurt so fucking much, he would know.
“Dave.” David held his right hand up, the filter of his cigarette caught in his lips.
The hand that slipped in his was warm and dry and David tried not to hold it for longer than what was socially polite.
“I don’t usually drink scotch.” The boy picked up his glass and sipped, grimaced at the taste.
“Learn. Start. It’ll keep you from going crazy.”
There was that soft, low laugh again and the eyes that met his were old. Old and alone and empty and David knew his looked just the same.
“And you sound so sane.”
They drank and they didn’t talk. They smoked all of David’s cigarettes and the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. David’s knee brushed against Jason’s under the table and Jason’s thigh didn’t move away and that was when the pain started to fade in David’s head. Just a little, just enough.
David stood up, stuffed his lighter in the tiny front pocket of his jeans.
“I’ve got something better than this shit in my room.”
He left the lounge without looking back, headed for the bank of elevators and pushed the button. When the doors slid open, David walked into the small space and glanced down beside him. Dark hair, dark eyes, jean jacket over a black polo and the brighter light picked up the shadow of stubble over Jason’s jaw and around his mouth. He leaned against the mirrored wall, his hands on the wooden rails.
“How old are you, Dick Clark?”
The elevator bounced as it came to a stop and David stumbled off, digging in his back pocket for the key card.
“I fucking knew it.”
“But you still don’t remember me, do you?”
Two tries and a green light and David pushed open the suite’s door, kicked his shoes off and headed for the small bar, shaking his head.
“Not a clue.”
He poured two tumblers full of scotch, dropped an ice cube in Jason’s and handed it to him.
“Don’t tell me.” David held up one finger, reaching behind him for the chair that should be there because he was going to sit down whether it was or not. “Have I bought you a drink before tonight?”
David found the arm and lowered himself, pulled a matchbox out of his shirt pocket and opened it. He lit up the joint and took a deep toke, then another before handing it off to Jason.
“Have we partied together? At Hefner’s place? At somebody’s club? Were you at one of those crazy fucking nights when I was renting that house on the beach?”
“Fuck. I give.” David held his hand out for the joint. He raised his eyes to Jason’s when their fingers met and Jason’s touch lingered on his skin.
“Does it matter?” Jason’s voice was low and quiet and it seemed to cut through the pulsing, pounding noise in David’s head. He leaned on the back of David’s couch and looked at him through thick lashes.
“No.” David said. He felt as if he wasn’t in his body as he stood and left his drink on the table, the joint burning in the ashtray. As if he wasn’t in control of his legs as he moved toward Jason. As if he couldn’t stop when he slid the palm of his hand along Jason’s neck, his fingers disappearing into that short, thick hair.
“It doesn’t matter at all.”
David leaned down, but not for those pretty, soft lips. He rubbed his cheek against Jason’s, listened to the scrape and felt the stutter of skin on skin. He inhaled with his mouth open and found that exotic, different cologne here. He tasted the acrid flavor of smoke and the faint salt of sweat on his tongue. He reached with his other hand for Jason’s hip, moved forward and traced the outline of his erection through his jeans with the tips of his fingers.
“This matters.” David whispered.
He slipped his fingers just under the denim and pulled Jason into the dark bedroom. His bed was still rumpled from his earlier attempt at sleep, the heavy curtains drawn against the neon night and the television was on. It played muted drama to an audience that wasn’t there.
David pushed Jason’s jacket off of his shoulders, he pulled the black polo up and over Jason’s head and unbuttoned his jeans. Down the curve of Jason’s ass, David’s hands splayed wide over thighs to knees and ankles and the jeans were off with Jason’s shoes still in them when he stepped out. His breath was hot through the soft cotton boxers that hung low on Jason’s hips and he pressed his lips against the hard cock that he found there. His fingers reached up, under the material from either side, sliding over skin that was a soft as silk until he felt the wiry, short curls of hair.
David opened his mouth, dragged his teeth over the cotton. He left a wet trail up and down and then up again until he felt Jason’s hands on his shoulders and the barely there tremble that ran though Jason’s thighs. He pressed his fingers in a circle at the base of Jason’s cock, his thumbs pinching the skin that connected Jason’s balls to his groin, pushing down.
David heard the hiss of his name above his head and looked up. Shadows from the television flickered over Jason’s face, his mouth was open, his teeth looked too white, glowing glimpses in the dark. David watched as the tip of Jason’s tongue licked over his bottom lip and left behind a wet shine. He groaned and lowered his vision back to the strained material in front of him. He moved his hands up, caught the elastic waistband and pulled it down. The dark, spicy smell of musk and heat, trapped air that fermented with sex filled David’s senses and he stripped the boxers off of Jason, pushed him back until Jason fell on the mattress.
David spread Jason’s legs, cupped the perfect half spheres of his ass in his palms and pulled him open. Short, dark swirls of hair curled around his balls. They hung heavy and full and his cock curved up hard toward his chest. David leaned closer, his shoulders brushing Jason’s thighs, his body blocking the light from the television and he closed his eyes. He licked around Jason’s balls, pulling them one at a time into his mouth. Gentle sucks, the taste of new skin and he took his time, played with them, with Jason and then down. His thumbs dug into tender flesh as he spread Jason wide. The bittersweet and sour flavors of Jason’s body filled his mouth and here, for now, David forgot to think. He forgot to obsess about Chris and Steve. He forgot, for a moment, to keep wishing that Chris was here, with him and the pain lost another aching inch of his brain.
David licked and sucked and teased. He bit Jason’s inner thighs, his teeth grazing pale white skin. David slipped two wet thumbs inside him, stretching the tight ring of muscle and pushed his tongue past that point. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips through the tickle of wiry, black curls and up to find skin that shivered when he left a trail of hot, open-mouth kisses on the inside of Jason’s hipbones. Muscles that trembled when he pressed his tongue in Jason’s belly button on a slow, meandering path to the other side.
“David. David, please …”
Jason’s voice cut through the trance David had lost himself in and looked up. Jason was writhing on the blankets in front of him, his hands clasping material and pulling. His eyes wide and wild, his chest moving with each rapid breath pulled in and out of his open mouth.
David pushed up off the bed, standing, swaying in place. He pulled his shirt over his head, popped the buttons of his jeans through worn, frayed holes and pushed them off his hips, down his legs. His cock hung in an arch from his groin, a dark, curving shadow. The small foil packet of a condom in his fingers and David watched as Jason sat up, grabbed it from his hand and tore it open. Jason slid it over his cock with a light touch, with expert fingers that wandered once they rolled the end to the base. Dark eyes that met David’s through thick lashes as he felt Jason’s fingertips pressing around his balls, holding them in his palm as if he was weighing them and them sliding behind and stroking, sliding along the crack of his ass.
A quick fuck and this is over. David warned himself. Just an orgasm to relieve the pressure in his brain, just the feel of another body under his to take the pain away. Just one goddamn minute where he didn’t have to think about miss Chris.
Just sixty goddamn seconds. Please.
A little lube, a hard thrust forward and Jason’s legs lifted, wrapped around David’s hips. Breath was held and counted. Jason had his arms up, elbows pointed to the ceiling. His fingers curled under the wood of the bed’s headboard as if to keep himself in place and David pulled out until only the tight ring of Jason’s body held the head of David’s cock inside. A pause, another breath, a second of sanity and then the tip of Jason’s tongue slipped out of his mouth again. Licked over the thick, softness of his lush bottom lip and he smiled, looked straight up into David’s eyes.
“Fuck me, David.”
So David did. Hard, rutting, animal thrusts in and out. Without rhythm or grace or emotion, straight, simple fucking that drove them both over the edge. Jason’s come coated David’s chest, covered his long fingers when he smeared through it and wrapped them back around Jason’s dick just to feel the jump and jerk of his hips again. The unbelievably tight spasms that pushed his half-hard cock out and the condom stripped off, tossed in the plastic lined trashcan beside the bed as David rolled to his back and took a deep breath.
“Who was I standing in for, David?”
David heard Jason’s question after long moments of nothing but the sound of air moving, inhale, exhale.
“Who was the blonde?” David asked. He reached to the nightstand for a pack of cigarettes and the light from the hotel match made him squint and blink. Smoke rose in the space above them, white in the glow from the television.
“Why aren’t you with her? Why are you here with me?”
“She’s waiting for a ring.”
David felt the mattress shift beneath him as Jason reached over him for the pack. He shook one out and took the cigarette from David’s fingers, lighting his with the cherry.
“Going to give her one?”
A hesitation, clouds above them that made David think of rain, of thunder and lightning and storms in the desert and Chris.
“Probably. Isn’t that what we do?”
Silence again and it was all David could do to not move to the other room. Find his cell phone and try to call again and again and again until the pain in his skull returned.
“He makes me feel-” David whispered and he searched for a word, for any word, for the right word. Special. Wanted. Needed. Sexy. Strong. Funny … Loved. “He makes me feel.”
“He matters.” Jason said and there was another shift in the bed.
David glanced over, watched him crush out his cigarette in the glass ashtray on his side. Watched him stretch and run fingers through his short hair.
“Can’t fucking wait until this Goddamn show is cancelled for good. I’m going to let my hair grow down to my fucking balls.”
David laughed, the little puzzle pieces in his head finally came together and he knew.
“Behr.” He laughed, knocking the long ash off his cigarette. “I know you.”
Jason smiled, perched on his elbow and looked down at David.
“Always the bridesmaid. Never the bride.”
“Getting a little old to be playing a high school boy, aren’t you?”
“Fuck you, Dave. At least I can.” Jason scooted down to the edge of the bed and reached for his jeans. He pulled them on, standing up and toeing into his shoes. Stuffed his boxers in the front pocket of his pants and pulled on his shirt.
David slid out of the bed, pulled on his jeans, left them unbuttoned. They walked back into the suite’s main room and Jason drank the now warm, watered down scotch David had poured for him earlier. David followed him to the door, his fingers moving, itching to get to his phone.
“Going to kiss me once?”
Jason asked, turning back. His hand rested on the doorknob and David saw something in Jason’s eyes that cut straight into his soul. Something familiar, some feeling he knew all too well. His arms moved, his fingers on Jason’s neck, tilting his head back and David leaned in. He pressed his lips against Jason’s and closed his eyes. The heat hit David first; the softness was second. The tentative warmth of Jason’s tongue tangling with his, the way his body fit as he pressed him back into the solid wood without realizing it. The stubble that scraped over the calluses on his thumbs and the way Jason kissed him back. The potential for more, for this, for something David was afraid to explore.
The tingle that stayed even after Jason was gone and the door was shut and locked and David had found his phone. Fingers dialing the number without looking and the electricity that stiffened his spine when Chris’ voice shouted in his ear.
“Fucker! I’m on my way home. Where are you?”
“Shut up, Kane.” David whispered against the laugh and scream. The sound of wind and blaring country music.
“I’m in Vegas, for the show. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I just wanted to call you … just wanted to tell you … I just wanted to say … I miss you.
“I just wanted to let you know … you matter to me.”