for killerweasel's b~day and the slashthedrabble 'forgive' challenge.
they're not mine
more than a passing nod to knotted_rose's Sugarverse.
He asked about the kid first. Better to get the small talk out of the way and God knows, fuck, he knew that was the quickest way to get David to talk unless you knew the current stats on whatever game was going on right this moment.
“He’s great. Took him out on the rink this weekend, for a little guy, he’s goddamn fast. Good with his hands.”
“Like his father.”
Which brought about the current silence. Another awkward moment to chalk up on the blackboard Chris thought they’d already broken into a thousand pieces and crushed to dust.
“And the show? Back at work?”
Why the hell was he trying so hard? Why should this be so difficult?
“Yeah. Never really quit, you know. Took a few weeks off and took the boy to London over Christmas. Em and I are back working with the coach every weekend. On the set from dawn to dark, as usual. Glad the strike is over, that was fucked up. Heard you got another new one?”
Was that a dig? Like it was his fault the fucking lawyer-wife show tanked and they killed him off as if that would help. He bit down the snark.
“Yeah. Nice to be back at work every week.”
More breathing. Time ticking away and Chris wondered when they had become acquaintances. Fuck it. Fuck this. He let go of the anger that simmered just under his skin.
“I was gonna go out drinking tonight, but thought I’d stay in for a change. Come over here.”
David hemmed and hedged and talked about dinner plans and scripts to be read and Chris cut in with an edge to his voice. His fingers curled white around his cell. He was not going to fucking beg.
“Whatever. You know where I am.”
Two minutes in the door. David’s shirt is pulled off over his head. Chris’ hands on all that smooth, tight skin and they couldn’t kiss without hurting each other. Bitten lips and tongues, they didn’t even pretend to talk.
Chris pushed David down to his knees, callused palms on wide shoulders. It wasn’t only the JD that had him swaying on his feet. It wasn’t the fact that he’d given up and was in bed and the pounding on his door had pulled him out of a dreamless, drunk sleep.
It was the old, familiar feel of that sweet, hot, needy mouth on his hard cock. That ageless ache of looking down into bottomless brown eyes and feel those big hands cup the curve of his ass, pull his thighs apart.
Insistent. Demanding. Topping from the bottom and Chris had to laugh out loud. His head falling back, long hair brushing his shoulders. It was thrust or hit. Punch or fuck. Put his hands on David’s skull and pull him close or step away and leave a bruise, break his nose out of simple childish behavior. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Come back to my bed, Dave.”