Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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RPS . . . What? Again?

Playing Pool

Another Not for Profit Venture by Snow
Beta by stir_of_echoes
David Boreanaz/James Marsters
Not Real People. Not Real Names.

This was inspired by:

entrenous88's wonderful GotR RPS The Pitch.

A conversation with stir_of_echoes.

Someone posting about Joss Whedon's Birthday. (sorry, I don't remember who it was)

Sitting in the High Noon Saloon here in Leavenworth. Drunk, smoking, watching two very pretty men play pool.

Not that you needed to know all that before reading, but I felt that I needed to Thank all those people that created this particular bunny.

Playing Pool

~for Jules~

The birthday party had gone on too long. There had been too much to drink, to smoke, to inhale. Too many shapely starlets to watch, too many pretty boys, being teased. David had to admit that Joss had some interesting friends, that he knew some different types, and that it had been probably a good decision for him to show up. Independent directors, producers, money men and lots and lots of other actors. Hopeful, good and bad, they were all here. It was three a.m. and David felt as if he’d met each and every person, answered the inevitable questions . . . What are you doing now? What’s next for you? What about those Angel movie rumors? Any truth to that? Over and over. Again and again. Hollywood gossip mills were much more viscous than any tabloid reporter could ever hope to be.

He’d smiled until his cheeks ached, laughed at inane jokes, made more golf and lunch dates than he’d ever be able to keep in one lifetime, but he still hadn’t left the party. David didn’t know where Joss had gotten off to, didn’t really care. His sole purpose for being here, for staying this long, for putting up with everything, was bending over the pool table in Joss’ den.

A cigarette dangling from his lips, his blue eyes planning a complicated shot that David knew he couldn’t make, even when he was sober. His torn, faded-to-almost-white jeans snug, curving with the shape of his ass as he shifted his weight, adjusted his stance. The tight black, sleeveless T-shirt that emphasized his lean stomach and rounded biceps. David leaned against the dark wood of the doorframe, a warming bottle of beer in his hands, not his first of the night, and watched James.

Wondering for the thousandth time why he was still here, waiting for something to happen. Waiting to make something happen. What was he doing? They had spent the entire evening, just as they’d spent the entire season, avoiding each other. Nodding when they met in the kitchen, at the bar, near the buffet table. But not speaking, not talking to each other, at all.

This was not a fresh hell, but it was something that David was tired of dealing with, hurt that they’d let it go on for so long. Furious that James was right there. In front of him, not six feet separating them and they’d built a wall between them so tall and so strong . . . he was afraid it was impenetrable and he hated that feeling, that fear. But he had to try, he missed, needed, craved James and it had been so long.

The weekends they’d spent in James’ apartment, never leaving, never dressing, hardly remembering to eat. David showing up on the Buffy set Monday morning in the same jeans and shirt he’d left wearing Friday night. Not caring if anyone noticed. The makeup woman clucking her tongue because she had to work magic to cover the sleep deprived shadows under David’s eyes, or the perfect fingerprint bruises that James wore around his hips and on his wrists.

Then, too quickly, it seemed, David left for his own show. Married a woman that looked good on his arm, one with too many secrets of her own to question where he spent his nights. James started a band and David watched from an audience, or the back of a jam session. He’d wait until James was done, then take him away from his new friends, silence his constant chatter about music and guitar riffs with his lips, his tongue, his cock. Make him forget, for just a little while and bring him back until it was just him and James.

It wasn’t jealousy or envy on either side. It was the sudden limit on the time they had together. The weekends that had shortened to a few hours, the stolen moments spent in feverish, sweaty, over-to-quick embraces. No time for slow caresses, no time to fall asleep, wake up sticky with come and lube and shower together. Kissing and fucking until the water ran cold. No time for laughter and jokes and quiet talks about nothing at all.

The space between seeing each other grew from a week to three, then a month would go by and David would start calling James’ cell. Too angry to leave a message. Knowing James would see the missed call. The missed calls. Then the one night David didn’t call. Instead he just went out to the bar where he knew Ghost of the Robot was playing. Hung out in the back, rage and lust and need darkened his face, muted the warmth there. He drank beer after beer, chased each one with shots of whiskey. Waiting. And then, as they finished their last set, played the last encore, David saw it. Saw the look that passed between James and his guitar player, Charlie. And he knew. That little smile that James had, even from the audience David could feel the heat between them. And Charlie’s innocent, young eyes, tracking James’ every move with complete utter adoration.

Dave left, driving home, fists tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white, hurt and rage sobering him.

David lit a cigarette and finished off his beer, headed back to the kitchen to get another. He’d wait all night for James to speak to him, if that’s what it took. It’s not like he had anywhere else to be, anywhere else to go.

There were just a few stragglers left, Joss was standing at the open front door, ushering them out. He motioned to Dave as he shut the door and walked across the room trying and failed to stifle a yawn.

“I’m headed upstairs. Stay as long as you want.”

David nodded, tried to smile. His face still sore.

“Thanks for the invite.”

“I know it wasn’t your scene, but I’m still glad you came by. I don’t want to loose touch with you.”

David nodded again, not sure of what to say to that. He felt as though he owed Joss a debt that couldn’t be repaid with mere words.

“You going to patch this up tonight?”

Joss asked as he pointed at the hallway that led to the den. To James. David just looked at Joss.

Joss laughed softly. “You really think that I, of all people, didn’t know? I saw it happen a long time ago. And I watched it fall apart. Why did you think I lobbied so hard for James to be with us this season? The chemistry between you two ate up the screen, always did. From the very beginning.” Joss stopped suddenly, a short sigh escaping from him. “I just wish we could’ve taken the story where it deserved to go.” He shook his head hard, as if trying to dislodge the anger. “I’m tired. Going to bed. Just lock up when you leave.”

David watched him walk slowly up the stairs. And then David headed back to the den.

He’d thought he was over James, at least that’s what he kept telling himself. That he’d moved on. Chris had been there, sending all the right signals. And even when Chris had left his show, he was in constant contact. David was attracted. Flattered by the attention, by the steady phone calls, invites to parties and football games, bar-b-ques and concerts.
And always from the road when Chris traveled. David would meet him in small southern towns on free weekends, on hiatus, between movies and conventions. In small hotels where they would drink themselves silly and fight to be on top.

Chris worked out endlessly, developed an arm strength that could throw David to the mattress and hold him there. If not with weight, then with sheer will. It was not the same, but it softened the hurt, the constant ache. And David enjoyed Chris’ hot, wet kisses. The feel of his silky, long hair against David’s chest as they slept. His insane competitiveness, quick temper and even faster forgiveness.

David couldn’t fall in love with Chris though. He knew it. He felt the part inside that Chris kept to himself, the same part that he kept reserved for James. Something hidden that he didn’t share and wouldn’t even try. No matter how hard David would pound into him, slick with lube, his fingers digging in Chris’ shoulders, his neck, his back. No matter how soft he would swirl his tongue over Chris’s thick cock, suck him into his mouth, scrape his teeth against skin, drinking him down. No matter how deeply he would kiss him, inhale his breaths, his curses, his whispers . . .

Chris was ultimately untouchable.

David didn’t enter the den, just stood back in the hallway. He watched as James kept playing pool by himself. Watched his hands slide up and down the cue. Listened as he talked to himself, moving around the table. David knew the band had broken up. He’d heard the inside gossip, the public reasons. He was curious if there was more to it.

He wondered if James knew about the Chicago convention he’d done with Chris. Where they had put on a great show, the buddy show, the best friend show, and in private, had mutually decided to not see each other anymore. Chris felt that David needed too much from him, wanted parts that he refused to give. And David agreed. It wasn’t as if he’d ever kept from Chris the pain he carried inside, the way James had hurt him.

David did need everything. He demanded everything. That’s just who he was, how he loved. He was never going to settle for second best, or for not getting all he desired.

David had known as soon as they’d finally been given the green light for the fifth season that Joss was going to bring James over. Just the thought of working with James again, seeing him everyday, smelling him, made David’s stomach tighten with anticipation. He wanted it to happen and he didn’t, he spent the hiatus in a daze of contradictions, tense and irritable.

It hadn’t been uncomfortable when he’d gone over to Buffy for the last two episodes, there was no interaction between their characters. No pressure. Although just seeing James on the set had stirred up the heat, the need. And remembering that feeling made the wait for the new season of Angel to begin just that much more nerve wracking.

Then it had. And still they did not speak. Oh, their characters talked. A lot. Forever. Endlessly chatted and argued and fought. David held James in his arms at least twice a week. No. Angel held Spike. And did James tighten up every single time? Did David imagine hearing the quick intake of breath when his character was directed to touch James’? Joss seemed to take particular delight in ending each show with Angel and Spike moments. Which, David had to admit, worked perfectly, for the show.

If not for them.

The shooting schedule was fast and furious, even more so after the next season was cancelled. Story archs to clean up, everything rewritten and modified. David hurt for the fans and guiltily, privately, reveled in the freedom he felt. The open horizon he could see ahead of him. Might be nothing there, it might be spectacular. Didn’t matter to him. He’d find work somewhere. Doing something. Different.

The one and only part that nagged, ate at his conscience, that made the days speed by in a rush of lights, camera, action . . . was losing touch with James. David needed closure on their relationship. Needed to know why and what if and please, let me kiss you one last time.

He wondered if James had felt the crush of his hard on through their clothes when David had held James’ back up against him as they filmed the last show. Held him tightly, more tightly than was needed. One arm around his neck, the other holding his elbow bent back, between them. And hadn’t James’ fingers stroked his hand, his chest? Just a bit? Back where no one could see and only David could feel. And hadn’t James leaned into him? His ass fitting up snug with David’s cock. Just as it always had. And it had felt so good. So right.

So even after he’d thrown the invitation in the trash, made plans to be somewhere else tonight, sent Joss a card with a personal note inside, Chris’ voice on the phone had made his breath catch in his throat.

“You need to go to the party, bud.”

“Why? The show’s over. Joss knows how I feel. Why hang out somewhere, rehashing everything again? Seeing everyone I don’t want to see right now.”

“Because. Marsters will be there.”

David said nothing. He couldn’t find the air.

“Did you hear me? I have it on very good authority. He’s going. And he’s going alone.”


David’s voice was strangled. He had to force the words out through his lips.

“Why are you doing this?”

David heard Chris’ long sigh through the phone line. He could see his face in his mind. See his green eyes rolling back into his head with exasperation at David’s perceived thick-headedness, his hand ruffling through his unruly hair.

“Because. You need to see him, talk to him. Finish it or start again. You will never be able to move forward in your life if you don’t. Even a dumb-ass Texan like me knows that.”

“I thought that you were trying to loose that brooding, lurking thing.”

David was jerked out of his memories by James’ voice. He looked up from the place on the carpet that he’d been staring at and into his face.

“Wanna play some pool?”

David took a long drink of his beer, finishing it. For as much as he’d drank tonight, he was surprised that he didn’t feel a thing. There was nothing inside of him but a dense fog of emotion, and the clarity of James’ expression as he looked at him.

“You’re talking to me?” David walked into the room as he spoke, coming to a halt in front of James. Standing closer than they had for weeks, as themselves, no characters here. No acting, no pretending, no one else in the room.

James shrugged. David watched as he sucked in his cheeks, pursed his lips, remembered that habit so well.

“Hard to avoid you tonight. Something you wanted to talk about?”

David had thought so long about having this conversation. Rehearsed it, had eloquent statements prepared and clear ideas about what to say, and how to say it. And right now, this very moment, he couldn’t remember one single fucking word.

“You. Me. What happened. Why. I miss you.”

James laughed, rolled the pool cue in his hands, and shook his head.

“After all this time? Now you’re direct? Now you have to understand? Why now?”

David couldn’t look at James anymore, it suddenly hurt too much. He focused on the dark wood edge of the pool table where he rolled his empty bottle, bit his tongue, hard.

“Because it’s over, James. The show. I don’t know what your plans are, I don’t know where you’re going. I don’t know if I’ll ever get this chance again. And didn’t any of it mean anything to you? Was it all so easy to forget, to move past? Is it just me here? Still needing you?”

David heard James move away, the clunk of wood against wood as he put the cue back in the fancy rack on the wall. The clink and rasp of James’ Zippo as he lit a cigarette.

“Want one?”

David nodded, still not looking up. James handed him the cigarette and lit another.

“It’s not you. It was never you.”

David finally lifted his head, squinted through his lashes at James. Watched as James pulled at his smoke, coughed, cleared his throat. He waited.

“I’m sorry. I really, really am. I was wrong. It was wrong. Not us, what I did. I,” James chewed on the inside of his mouth for a second. “I needed you so much, but I never felt like you needed me.”

David started to interrupt him, but stopped when James held up his hands.

“I’m telling you. This is how I felt. It may not be right, it probably wasn’t, but it was then, for me. You were, you are everything to me, but I didn’t feel like I was it for you. And then you left, and I met the guys, started the band . . . I felt like I was in charge of something in my life. I was the one everyone looked up to, and it was wrong, but it was good. For a while. And it was easy to not see what I’d done because you weren’t around to remind me. Then I thought it was too late. Too much had happened. Too much had changed. And you’d moved on and all I thought about was being with you. All the damn time. And yes, God, yes. I miss you and I need you and I fucking want you.”

James pulled his hand up to take another puff off his cigarette and David took it out of his fingers. Set it to burn in the glass ashtray along with his and turned back to James.

“Then kiss me.”

David didn’t wait for James to respond. He leaned in, James’ face in his hands. David’s thumbs pressed into his cheeks and did what he’d wanted to for so long, what he’d missed all these years, been thinking about the entire season. He softly, gently touched his lips to James’. The tip of his tongue darting out into James’ mouth.

David could feel the heat of James’ palms on his shoulders and waited, as he kept barely kissing him, for the push back, for the shove away. Instead James fingers curled into his muscles, slid around his arms, brought him closer. And David surrendered to James. To his taste, to his warmth, to the pull that had been there, between them, from the beginning.

From the first moment they’d met, shook hands. From the joking around on set to hanging out in bars, chatting up the ladies. Pretending that they weren’t spending most of the evenings giving each other long, sideways glances. Pretending that they didn’t laugh harder, smile more, feel better, when they were together. That the natural progression from drinking in bars and clubs to spending time in each other’s apartments was just because they wanted to get away from the ever growing numbers of fans. That touch on James’ arm, on David’s back, was just friendly camaraderie. That strong, warm, hug goodbye was just David being David. That first hot, slow, wet kiss was just the combination of pot and beer and tequila and Goddamn, didn’t it feel good. Didn’t it feel right, and yes, touch me, and take me there and fuck me, hard. Do it right now. Here.

David felt James melt into him, his arms tighten, the kiss deepened, his tongue filled James’ mouth. He pulled away just enough to allow them both to breathe, buried his face where James’ neck met his shoulders, sucking, licking, biting. His hips thrusting against James. David heard himself whisper, his voice sounded distant as blood rushed in his head.

“Need you. Want you. James, ah, God, James. Love you.”

And David felt James’ hands at his belt, pulling it off, yanking his pants open. James fingers finding David’s cock, wrapping around it.

“Still don’t wear any?”

David sucked in his bottom lip at the rough touch, looked into the smile in James’ eyes.

“You taught me that.”

David felt James’ low laugh at the base of his spine.

“And you’ll never know how happy that makes me.”

“Show me . . . ”

David whispered, and forced his hands to move, the colors of the room swirling in his eyes as he opened James’ jeans, pushed them down as he knelt, and filled his mouth with James’ cock. James’ fingers on his head as he sucked him in, and pressed his nose into the soft, curly hair. David swallowed the salty pre-cum that leaked down his throat. He slid two fingers into his mouth, alongside James’ cock, soaking them, sliding them out and around, behind tightened balls. Pushed one inside James, slowly, turning it, feeling his way, listening to the moans above him, feeling the tremble and shake of the legs in front of him. And just kept going, not using any rhythm at all. Trying to drive James out of his mind. He added another wet finger and ignored the pull on his hair and the whimpers as he scissored them inside, slid against James’ sweet spot, pushed his thumb up from the outside.

David felt James tighten and let his cock slip gently out of his mouth. He stood slowly, pushing James’ T-shirt up as he moved, his tongue tasting the familiar sweat and cologne and just James flavor all the way to his mouth.

“Sorry, I have to feel this from the inside.”

James nodded, his lips slack and swollen from being bitten and kissed. James’ blue eyes hooded under his long lashes, his face flushed and David stared for a moment, thinking he’d never seen anyone, anything as desirable. He slipped free from James’ arms, kicked off his shoes, pushed his pants off after taking out the tiny cellophane container of lube he’d stuck in his front pocket. Tore it open with his teeth.

“Planning this, were you?”

David looked at James as he emptied the packet in his palm.

“We live on hope and dreams, James. We make money, selling fantasies. Do you blame me for wanting tonight to end this way?”

James shook his head, reached up and pulled David’s face down, close to his. Spoke against David’s lips, into his mouth, his breath hot.

“I want you inside of me now. I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want,” David kept listening, even as he backed James up on the edge of the pool table, spread his legs. Kept listening as James’ voice broke, gasping when David pushed his cock inside, rough and fast, past the ring of muscle and tissue, into James. “I need . . . you. I love you. Oh. There. Yes. Deeper.”

David’s head fell back as he thrust into James over and over, bright lights flashing in his brain, behind his closed eyes. Heat boiling in his balls, every scrape in and out, from head to hilt, drawing him higher, deeper, further.

These were James’ legs wrapped around his thighs. These were James’ fingers pressing into his arms, and David held James’ hips still on the felt material. His still slick hand moving between them, grabbing James’ weeping cock, covering it, squeezing it. Now, in time with his movements. And they both stopped breathing as they came in hot spurts, hard, jerking motions against each other, over each other. Dave inside James, James wrapped around Dave, kissing and licking and grabbing, holding, pulling, at sweat slicked skin.

James lay back on the table as David pulled out slowly, not ready to lose what he’d missed for so very long. His hand dripped with cum and he slid it back around James’ softening cock, tightened his fist, just to hear him moan again.

David leaned down over him, nuzzled into James’ neck, licked up his jaw to his cheeks. Kissed him, both their lips dry. He ran his tongue over James’ teeth.

“Got anything going on today?” David asked quietly.

“Waking up with you. Fuck you ‘til you can’t walk.”

David smiled at James’ answer.

“And maybe some more pool.”

End ~


I need to get out more often.

::tight hugs::
Tags: david boreanaz, fic, rps
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