for the slashthedrabble challenge 'lucky'
David Boreanaz/Christian Kane
So very, very not mine.
“Are you feelin’ lucky?”
“I was born lucky, punk.”
If anyone else at the table could feel the tension between the two men, they didn’t show it. After all, it was a poker game. Smoke heavy in the air above them, a single light over a green felt table. Even though they were in a big room, they could have been alone. Cards in their hands, beaded condensation on crystal glasses of Jack and Coke, Chris with a smirk curling his lips because he was sure the boot that nudged his under the table was David’s.
“You’re a hard man to pin down lately.” Chris tossed two cards and waited for the dealer to hand him two more.
“Didn’t know you were looking for that kind of action, Kane.” David kept his hand the way it was dealt, a cloud around his words from the cigar clamped in his teeth.
The game was quick - one player called, another upped it. Christian put down his cards and emptied his drink.
“I’m out. Nice seeing you again, Boreanaz. Don’t be a stranger.” And he got up, chair sliding on the floor behind him. He scooped up his cigarettes and lighter, tucked them in the inner pocket of his jacket.
He wasn’t half surprised to feel a hand on his arm in the hallway of the casino. Long fingers dug into his bicep through the leather jacket and shirt and he swore he could feel the heat coming off that big palm like there was nothing separating them at all.
“You’re not getting away that easy, pretty boy.”
There was a bar right there, of course. A table out of the way of foot traffic and close enough to get their drinks refilled before they’d finished. David was smoking his cigarettes after the third, leaning way too close after the fifth.
Christian had forgotten how fucking tall - how fucking easy it was for David to take whatever personal space he thought he owned and make it his own. The conversation veered from family to co-stars and directors and back to what they’d been doing when no one was looking. Carpentry and song-writing. Hockey and a new Sensei. Wistful dreams of days past that could only be shared with someone that had lived what they had - smoked, snorted and shot up and drank, fuck, the drinking and the laughter and,
“I still can’t believe we’re alive after that night.” That party. That fight. That crazy scene on the beach with the good ol’ boys from that band and all those girls. Those women.
Last call. Too early. Too soon. After so long and they both made the motions of saying good-bye. Getting together again. Making plans that they knew neither one would keep.
“You never answered my question, Christian.” David’s voice was low, his words carefully spoken. His eyes so fucking dark.
“What was that, Dave?”
“You lookin’ for a hard man? Or to be pinned down?”
“You feelin’ lucky?”