James Marsters/David Boreanaz
Christian Kane/David Boreanaz
Beta by ely_jan Thank you. Any mistakes that are left, are mine alone.
For felisblanco who wanted James and David, first kisses. Sorry it took so long, babe.
Shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be doing this. Older than anyone in the room, too old for this shit that’s for sure. But it didn't matter, almost every time he was invited, despite all his excuses and all his reasons to himself James ended up here. At the house that David rented in the Hollywood hills. Surrounded by boys, some just a little more than half his age, music he didn't listen to, and cheap beer he wouldn't drink.
He brought his own scotch or vodka and drank it straight from the bottle. Stood back and pretended to laugh at the drug and alcohol fueled insanity around him and he didn't know why.
Starlets clustered in groups, brightly colored birds, chattering incessantly. All blonde and plastic perfect smiles and Xeroxed bodies. Wanna-be actors strutted around them, flexing and posing and drinking until they puked in the bushes or on the lawn or in the house. Interchangeable Barbies and Kens, a few Christies thrown in for color.
Chaos after midnight, when the one that was always there, Chris something ... Kane, would start a fight. James would watch as David, depending on what mood he was in and how much he had drank or smoked or snorted, would either watch and laugh or studiously pretend that he wasn't. The cowboy had a redhead's temper and James could never tell what it was that had set him off. A look from across the room at the girl that he was finger-fucking under her mini-skirt or an offhand remark about some college team that James had never heard of before and Chris would lose whatever tenuous hold he kept on his rage.
It took more to bring the anger out of David. James had only seen it a few times. David appeared to keep his emotions under lock and key. Held close and tight behind dark eyes that even when he wasn't looking at anyone in particular, James had the feeling David saw everything that went on around him. He laughed and joked, he had a nickname for everyone and a sharp teasing barb that might or might not bring a smile. And every once in a while, James would see David's eyes darken and a tiny tick at the corner of his mouth. He would stop smiling and his fingers would curl into fists.
Only once had Chris needed James' help to pull David off of another man. Blood dripped from David's knuckles and James had to wipe away the spittle that flew when, for just a moment, David cursed and fought them both and James thought he was, that they were fucked, and then it was over.
Most nights they'd end up playing endless games of pool on the table David had in his garage. Stripped down to their jeans, barefoot, bare-chested. Cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, sweat running in dirty streaks down their backs because there was no air conditioning out here and from the constant tequila shots before and after and during. Tempers would flare like dry leaves and lit matches and burn out just as quick and James would head home with the sun in his eyes, his head pounding, his hands shaking and something resembling a knot in his stomach for no reason at all. No reason he could think of.
He'd walked in on them once, David and Chris. Looking for another bathroom because the main one was full of Chris' dumb-ass hick-town friends and a beer bong hung in the shower. He opened a door in the hallway and found Chris on his knees, his mouth full of David's cock. David’s jeans halfway down his thick thighs and Chris’ hands were on his own dick, jerking in time. David's fingers wrapped around the back of Chris’ head, disappearing in short, dark hair, pushing and pulling.
James had stood there for what might have been an eternity, slack-jawed, embarrassed. Until David's head fell forward and his lips curled in that slow smile. He winked, and James liked to think, fuck, he had to think that he had imagined David had tilted his head in a come here gesture.
... Come on, come and get some ...
James had shut the door, backed down the hallway. Found his car and left in a flurry of gravel that spun up into the air from under his tires.
He'd spent the rest of the night in his apartment, unable to sleep. The half-empty bottle of Chivas on his nightstand and a hard-on that would not go away and he refused to touch himself. He refused to give in to it and he could still feel the heat that burnt in David's dark eyes when his alarm went off in the morning.
... Come on. Come here ...
Nothing said about it the next day on the set. Nothing at all and James tried to tell himself it was just David's stupid sense of humor when he leaned down over him in that goddamn wheelchair, tilted James' head back and kissed his forehead. That he really hadn't felt the wet heat of David's tongue there, behind his lips for that half of a second. Not the first take or the second and not the fifth one either.
James fed off the anger and frustration. He pumped it into his character and his acting and Joss even called him aside after the day's shoot was over to tell him what a good job he was doing. If Whedon only knew and that thought finally brought a humorless smile to James' face because he was sure that fucker did know.
James didn't go over to David's the next time that he was asked. Not then, and not for a couple months of Fridays and Saturdays and holidays between the weeks of work. He hung out with some boys that wanted to start a band. He visited his son and fought with his ex. He took a couple of girls out for dates, but they were vapid, clueless transplanted California children, the kind that he was supposed to like, and he was bored before the night was half over. Dropping them off and heading home to sit on his bed, his guitar in his hands and an untouched woody in his jeans.
He was too old for this shit.
They finished filming the season, had the cast wrap party and James wasn’t the only one that noticed David was not there. He left the lot and drove in the direction of his apartment, only to find himself parked in the front of David’s house. He scuffed his boots up the concrete and through the open front door. Two men and a woman were passed out in front of the television as it played on, unaware it had already lost its audience. Pizza boxes and empty twelve packs were stacked along the walls and someone had broken yet another chair from the dining room. It leaned on three legs against the wall.
James walked through the quiet house to the backyard and the pool glittered under the dim light from the stars. The glowing red of a cherry caught his eyes and he saw David standing by the back fence. His arms crossed over the wood as he smoked.
“You were missed tonight.”
David turned when he spoke and James saw the half-empty bottle of scotch in his hand, dangling from his fingers. A coyote howled not far away and David turned so that his back was against the fence.
“Only time I can come out here, you know? Have to keep that pale dead look going for another year or so.” David’s speech was slurred just enough that James knew he was drunk. Knew that he had probably been drunk for a while now. “Did you get a call back from Joss?”
James shook his head and David handed him the bottle.
“Sorry, man. That’s rough.” White smoke puffed around David’s words as they drifted through the air. “Hey, though, God and his best friend are giving me my own series after next season. I’ll talk to them about bringing you on. Angel will need Spike around. You know, if you don’t already have something on the wire.”
“That’s great, Dave. Good for you.”
“I don’t know, Jimmie.” David took back the bottle and swung it up as he drank. A little of it spilled out down his chin and James watched as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.
There were a couple minutes of silence between them. So quiet James could hear the snap of tobacco and paper as they smoked.
“I’m fucking terrified. It’s one thing to be the squeeze of the show’s star. Sarah has all the pressure and I get all the good scenes. I’m just not sure that this character has enough potential for … shit.”
David raised his eyes and looked at James. Met his eyes for the first time since he’d walked outside and found him, James realized.
“I just don’t want to fall on my ass.”
“You won’t. Joss won’t let that happen.”
David laughed and his eyes, which in the dark where harder to see and impossible to read, slid away from James face and returned to looking at everything. At nothing.
“You’re right. Joss is God. He’s on a fucking roll right now. S’even talking about shooting some space cowboy thing. I told him Lucas had already done that.”
David’s elbow slipped on the wood as he tossed off his cigarette and James stepped forward. Caught his arm and shoulder as David leaned too far to compensate and almost fell. Jesus, he was fucking heavy. Solid as rock.
“Want some help getting back inside?” James laughed and groaned as David leaned all his weight on James’ shoulders for a moment, swaying in place.
“Yeah. Probably better lie down.”
They staggered across the lawn and around the pool. James took the bottle out of David’s hands so it wouldn’t drop and shatter and mix with all the rest of the trash, some spinning in the light breeze that blew through the yard.
“Where is your friend? The one from Texas? Wyoming?” James asked, trying to keep David awake and somewhat focused until he found his bedroom. Trying to not think of all the Tigerbeat teens that would be so disappointed if they saw their pin-up boy now.
“Kane? He’s off writing songs with his butt-buddy. Hasn’t been acting, so he thought he’d follow his first dream or some shit like that.” David’s shoulder brushed the frame of a picture in the hallway and it fell from the nail to the floor. James winced at the sound of glass chipping out.
He helped and led and followed David to his bedroom and let him fall into the big unmade bed. Clothes scattered the floor, beer bottles sat on the nightstand and dresser. Ashtrays overflowed and David was still for a moment, face down on rumpled sheets. James was just about to turn and leave when David started moving again.
“Hey, get me that pan over there, would you? I need a joint.”
James glanced over his shoulder and saw the metal tray with a box of Zig-Zags and a baggie of pot sitting on the bureau. He laughed and shook his head.
“Dave, dude, you need to sleep. Not get more fucked up.”
“Can’t sleep, Jimmie. Haven’t slept for days.”
David started to get out of the bed and James walked across the room. He pushed David back to the mattress.
“Just slee-” James started to walk away when he felt David’s hand on his arm. David jerked him down on the bed and pulled him up on the other side. “Jesus, Dave.”
“Talk to me, Jimmie. Talk to me.”
“Fucking needy bastard.” James growled, but he didn’t move from the bed. The light of one lamp washed over them and David wouldn’t stop staring at him. There was no smile on his face and for a moment, James wasn't sure that David actually was as drunk as he seemed to be.
"You afraid of me?"
James snorted, leaning on his elbow. He rubbed his hand over his face and then back through his hair.
"Should I be, Dave?"
James watched as David’s arm lifted off the bed between them, moving in slow motion. His palm covered the back of James’ hand where his head rested, his fingers pressing up. David shrugged, shoulders moving under a white t-shirt.
“Talk to me or kiss me.”
James felt David’s hand tighten a little more as if he was afraid James would move away. Jerk away. Get up and walk away and suddenly James couldn’t think of a goddamn thing to say. His mouth went dry and he swallowed hard, a smile on his lips that had to cover for the sudden stiffness of his entire body.
“Not going to be your substitute just because your country boy is out of town.”
David moved his head from side to side.
“No, always wanted to find out what you taste like. Since the first day we met.”
David rolled on his side and faced James. The fingers of his other hand coming up to trace his thumb over sharp cheekbones, to feel the silken skin just under James’ eyes.
James couldn’t move. Fuck. He didn’t even want to try to move. He closed his eyes for a moment, shut out the yellow light from the lamp, the dark intensity of David’s stare.
“Just want a kiss, Jimmie. Just one.”
And James leaned forward, before he even knew he was moving. His mind screamed. Never just one … never … can be … A roar inside his head, the sound at odds with the silence of David’s bedroom and his eyes stayed closed even when he could feel David’s warm, humid breath, scotch and cigarettes.
His aim a little too high, a little too far to the right. His lips brushed on stubble and the corner of David’s mouth and James almost pulled back, almost shivered with the current down his spine, but David moved his head up and his mouth opened. A soft, wet lick of David’s tongue on his lips opened them and slipped inside and then James did lean away. His eyes opened and he found David’s still staring right back at him. His pupils almost obscuring the brown, his lips shiny and James knew that moisture was from his own mouth.
… My kiss …
David’s hand moved to the back of his head, James felt his fingers tangle in his hair and a gentle pull forward.
“Come back here.”
This time there was no hesitation. James met David’s mouth open and wide, their tongues sliding together with a searching intent, with something more than curiosity and geniality. James felt the scrape of David’s chin on his and David’s hand in his hair sliding down the back of his neck to his shoulders, to his hips. The air around them became thick and heavy and hard to breathe.
His bottom lip caught between their teeth and the spark of pain made him groan and move. David’s head lowered to the pillow, his eyes only half-open. David’s hand that had held James so tight, so close, had drifted down to rub the hard-on that lifted the denim of David’s jeans.
“I have to go now.” James whispered and wished what he said didn’t come out sounding so much like a question.
David nodded and rolled to his back, his fingers sliding into his pants now. His eyes closing completely.
“Sure. Whatever. See yah later, Marsters.”
Dismissed, James slid out of the bed. He stood for a moment, let the room stop dipping and swaying around him. He watched as David unbuttoned his jeans, reaching with both hands now. He opened them up, stroking his cock, teasing himself and when James forced his eyes back up to David’s face he saw those dark eyes watching him again. Staring at him. Challenging him.
James wanted to stay. He wanted to go. He wanted to feel David’s hands just like that on his own dick that right now, felt trapped and hot and hard in his tight, black jeans. He wanted another one of those kisses that stole the air from his lungs. He wanted to keep David’s eyes on his face.
James wanted to do this again sometime, when he was sure David was not drunk or high or missing the short man that he’d never seen take off his sweat-stained, used to be white cowboy hat. Except for that one time.
“Yeah. Later, Dave.”
And all the way home, James licked his lips. He popped the buttons on his jeans and winced when his cock swelled harder. He had wanted to know what David tasted like too … for a very long time and it pissed him off. He was too old for this shit.
Special thanks to tesla321 for sending me this article ages ago about David and his ... rental issues way back when.
Roger Hostin v. David Boreanaz and Patrick Bradley
Filed: November 5, 1998
Los Angeles Superior Court
The Case: Seems "Angel" is no heavenly creature.
Actor David Boreanaz, Buffy the Vampire Slayer's good/bad vampire, is
being sued for breach of contract by his former landlord, Roger Hostin.
The Boston native claims "willful, oppressive and malicious" behavior led
Boreanaz and roommate Patrick Bradley to trash the vintage house they
rented from him and swipe its furnishings.
During their four-year tenancy, Hostin claims Boreanaz (who once starred
as Kelly Bundy's biker boyfriend on Married...with Children) and Bradley
caused at least $100,000 damage to his Los Feliz residence--a
3,500-square-foot home built in the '20s and once belonging to silent star
Charlotte Du Puis.
Beginning in 1996, the lawsuit states, Hostin began receiving complaints
from neighbors concerning "raucous, lewd, disruptive and sometimes
violent" parties at the residence. After an incident in which a partygoer
was chased and beaten, Hostin's neighbors threatened to sue him if he
didn't evict Boreanaz and Bradley.
Hostin also claims his former tenants "intentionally and negligently
inflicted mental anguish" on him by continuing their errant ways, even
after finding out Hostin had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. Because
of this, Hostin says, he "suffered shock to his nervous system,
resulting...in the necessity of psychological counseling."
After Boreanaz and Bradley were evicted in July 1998, Hostin claims he
discovered the house was "physically ravaged": The electrical system had
been destroyed; the floors had been scratched and stained; and unreported
leaks had caused water damage to the ceilings and walls.
Among the items Hostin claims were lifted: mattresses, antique records and
phones, light fixtures and drapery accessories. He also says both Boreanaz
and Bradley have refused repeated requests to return certain Civil War-era
For all this, Hostin is trying to collect unpaid rent, attorney's fees and
unspecified damages. Boreanaz's lawyer has denied the allegations.