It’s been a while since a script has come through James’s door and this isn’t the kind of script that he was expecting. Not that it isn’t great. The story is powerful, the words evoking a deep sense of loneliness in him from the very first lines. It’s just-
James sighs and lights a cigarette, knowing exactly what the problem is but not even daring to voice it in his head. That last season working on Angel made him very uncomfortable. He’s not homophobic, but neither is he gay. All the subtext and the rumour and the things Joss Whedon actually came out with after it was all over still make him squirm a little. He used to blame his lack of work on that very thing, but over time he’s had to wise up and be realistic. It’s more a case of type casting and the fact that he’s too old to be a hero and too short to be a bad guy that has led to his unemployment crisis rather than the fact that he played a gay vampire for several years of his life.
He thumbs the script feeling fucking terrified. It’s not as if it’s a porn movie, hell, it’s not even erotica. It just tells the story of how friendship can evolve over the years. Old college friends meet up and find that they’ve got things in common. A simple human movie that rings true - something that James finds very important.
So he’s sitting outside the producer’s office, feeling sicker than ever before in his life with the script clutched in his cold and sweaty palms and an ache in the head that’s born from too much coffee and smoke and not enough self confidence. Once upon a time he was young and arrogant, then, when Angel finished, he was old and more full of himself than ever. Now he’s older still and wiser and he’s had a bellyful of knock backs. Enough to tell him that it’s insane to throw away a decent script when it’s handed to him on a plate.
“James, come through,” says the producer, shaking him enthusiastically by the hand as soon as he gets to his feet. “Good to meet you at last.”
The office is small and there are a few posters of low budget art house movies dotted around the walls. The young man follows his gaze and shrugs.
“We’re not a huge company yet, but we make damned good films. Can I ask what you thought of the script?”
James leans forward and stubs out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on the desk. “Well to be honest, Mr Weinard, when I read the synopsis I thought no way. I didn’t think it was my kind of material.”
“Call me Ed,” says the producer in a no-nonsense way, placing a mug of coffee in front of James and offering him a cigarette.
James lights up and breathes in deeply, needing that hit of nicotine. “Thanks, Ed. Well, then I read the whole script and it was excellent, really moving. Maybe one of the best pieces of writing I’ve seen for a long time and so that’s why I’m here to audition.”
“No auditions necessary - just a screen test with the guy who’ll be starring opposite you and a nod from Graham Barker our director.”
“But why me?” asks James. He’s confused. He’ll give it a go and he’ll try his hardest to make those words come to life, but it’s not as if he’s ever attempted anything like this before.
“Because he likes our onscreen chemistry,” says an amused voice behind him and James is all quiver and sick and shake, but he has balls--fucking big brass bollocks as Spike would say--and he swivels around to look at the king of all assholes, David fucking Boreanaz.
Onscreen chemistry? Oh, that’s just great. James has to admit that they worked well together in front of the cameras but what wasn’t so great was the mutual offscreen indifference. He and David spent their entire time on set stalking around, keeping a wary eye on each other like true alpha males. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer they say, but the last thing he and Boreanaz ever wanted was to be cosy with each other. Maybe it was the hate that made the sparks fly from the camera’s eye view but it didn’t lead to a comfortable friendship. The rumours about their enmity were greatly under-exaggerated.
The thing he hates most in the world however is to back down and so does David. He can see it in the other man’s eyes; that constant wariness that’s reinforced by sheer bravado. He’ll do the film and so will David. They’ll do their utmost to outclass each other and it’ll be good - the way it was before on Buffy and subsequently Angel. They’re more than actors; they’re fallen stars with sun-sized egos to boot and there’s a small inner part of James that’s looking forward to the showdown.
~~****~~
“Again. Try and get the line right this time,” says the director in a resigned voice.
Fuck, it’s only the screen test and he’s already screwing it up big time. The thought of being able to make child support payments without selling off more of his personal belongings is making him edgy. That and the subject matter of this film.
And there’s another thing that’s bugging him. Why is Marsters so goddamned relaxed when he’s about as jittery as a cat on a hot tin roof? Dave is beginning to wish more and more with every passing second that the script they’re reading from is Tennessee Williams rather than this. He’s never going to be able to do it. He can’t even stand being in the same room as the man, so how is he going to deal with those scenes that happen later on?
But at the end of the day Dave’s no quitter. He thinks of the money and of the joy he gets from acting and the next test is good. They work off each other the way they always did and there’s a ripple of satisfaction in the air when everyone in the rehearsal studio knows that it’s buzzing.
“Wanna grab a coffee?” asks James two hours later after they’ve talked terms and signed contracts. It’s a level playing field. Not much upfront, but a nice big percentage and they’re both getting identical billing and money. David can see how much that means to James by the look of relief in his eyes. James has this typical short man attitude problem. He carries his lack of stature around like a huge great chip on his shoulder and yet, in a weird way, David envies him for it. James always looks perfect on screen whereas Dave ends up hulking and ungainly.
They find a nearby Starbucks and James goes up to the counter to order, returning with cappuccinos and a plate full of those sticky chewy cookies. He sits on the sofa opposite David, elbows on knees, chin on laced fingers. “Man, what the fuck have we got ourselves into?” he says with a grin and then jumps up and scurries off to fetch sugar and vanilla and chocolate and cinnamon. As soon as he’s back, he running off again for stirrers and paper napkins.
“Sit the fuck still, you’re making me jumpy,” says Dave.
James gives him this half-hearted shrug of apology and busies himself adding dustings of everything to his cup. God, Dave’s forgotten how annoying the man can be when he’s in his Mr Hyperactive mode, which, if he remembers rightly, is most of the time.
“You comfortable with doing the film, 'cause I’m sure as hell not?” Dave says quietly, noticing the glances of almost recognition from a group of customers. A few years ago the internet would have been buzzing with women reading far more into this meeting than they should have done and now people are struggling to even place who they are. “Man,” he continues, still people watching because it’s far more relaxing than staring at hyper James, “That shit they were all saying about us on Angel was bad enough to deal with, but this? I don’t know if I can do it.”
Dave looks at the other man tentatively, wondering if he’s made an asshole of himself, but the utter relief and understanding on James’s face makes him feel a thousand percent better.
“Thank Christ for that,” says James and finally sips at the coffee he’s been playing with for the last ten minutes.
“So what we gonna do?” asks Dave, breaking off a piece of cookie and eating it.
“The best we can, I guess - like always,” replies James, following Dave’s lead, but taking the whole of one giant cookie and biting into it with a sigh of pleasure.
Dave realises that it’s the first time he’s ever seen the man eat. James has actually gained some weight and he’s lost some, mostly due to the stress of his divorce. They both look good in those test shots, but they don’t look gay. How are they ever going to convince people that they’re falling in love with each other? Then he remembers the Spike and Angel affair and feels himself blush.
The initial rush of conversation dwindles down to trivialities and as soon as Dave has finished his coffee he leaves the café feeling a little less uncomfortable.
~~****~~
The shoot is going well and James sits back while they’re dressing the set and thinks about the chemistry that exists between Jason and Andy, his and David’s on screen personas. He wonders what it would be like to have a male friend like that. One you could open up to and tell all your problems. He doesn’t have anyone, male or female, in his life to offload on – he never has had. It’s easier to keep your distance because that way you don’t get hurt. He used to watch the way David would clown around with Christian and Alexis, talk about football, make arrangements to meet up for a drink and it made him feel lonely. He had the guys from his band for a while, but he never connected – that was far too dangerous.
David bounces over, so damn pleased with himself and James recognises the look. It’s how every true actor feels when the words are flowing through them like fire. Funny, he never really thought of David as an actor before. Maybe he is an arrogant jerk, an actor snob. The thought is sobering.
Leaning down to his right, he picks up the ashtray and his copy of the script from the floor and lights a cigarette as he reacquaints himself with the next scene. The voices are so well written that he hardly needs to learn the lines. It’s there inside him – all the loneliness anyone could imagine.
“Mind if I?”
James looks up and David has picked up his packet of Marlboros and is waving them at him, “Sure,” he replies “Didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t often,” says David flicking the zippo open and closed, open and closed. “It’s just been a difficult couple of days. Personal shit getting too personal, you know?”
James nods even though he doesn’t do personal shit. He’s surprised; David always seems so happy. Is he expected to ask about it? he wonders as Dave sits in the chair next to him. How does he ask?
“Anyway, seeing as I have to kiss you in a couple of weeks I better get used to the taste,” says Dave with a grin that makes James flush red with embarrassment. He’s been having nightmares about being naked in bed with David for the past month. Inferiority complexes rear their way into his screwed up head.
~~****~~
They have a couple of days break from filming due to a major set re-design and the whole crew have met up in this bar in Santa Monica to celebrate forty eight hours of freedom. Dave sits nursing his fourth beer. He’s not in the mood for this, but then he’s not in the mood for being alone either. He knows everyone’s giving him speculative glances but it’s easiest just to ignore them.
After a couple of hours the group begins to disperse and thirty minutes later when Dave looks up there’s just him and James and a fresh pitcher of beer.
“What’s up?” asks James pushing the packet of smokes in his direction and looking awkward as fuck.
Dave grows to like him a little bit more. He knows James isn’t pulling out some once learned character from his acting repertoire, he’s just being him and that doesn’t happen often.
“’S nothing much,” Dave says refilling both glasses from the jug and licking the foam from his finger. “It’s just I had these days off and wanted to see my son, but the ex is being a bitch about it as usual, says I have to stick to the days the court appointed me. It’s-” He tails off not knowing what it is. Is it unfair? He was unfair to her. Ended up in bed with countless other women, rubbed her nose in it too when she didn’t treat him with respect. He was an asshole, but he’s learning not to be one now so when’s she gonna start giving him some credit for that?
“How long have you been divorced?” asked James, lighting both their cigarettes.
“Ten months since it was final,” replies Dave. “Feels like years.”
“It gets easier.” James shifts in his seat. He hates talking about his failures. There have been too many of them. “Mine was like that to begin with, but now she’s okay and I get to see my kid whenever I want.”
Dave looks up, taps his ash, and watches the expression in James’s eyes. “Yeah, but thing is I was a fucking prick. I treated her like crap.”
“Same here,” says James sheepishly. “Never seemed to figure out that being married meant I was supposed to keep my dick in my pants when I wasn’t at home.”
Dave splutters a mouthful of beer over the table and wipes it up with a serviette.
“Yeah, and the worse thing is I’m still shit at understanding that concept,” grins James “Lost my last girlfriend over the same fucking thing six months ago. Not far enough off fucking fifty and I still act like a shit-for-brains teenager.”
Dave inhales more beer and the choking sound eventually turns into laughter. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he snorts, stubbing out his cigarette and looking over at James who has this honest smile of amusement plastered all over his face – a face that looks nowhere near forty let alone fifty. He notices that James isn’t fidgeting half as much as usual, whether that’s because of the alcohol or because he’s finally being himself Dave isn’t sure.
~~****~~
James feels a sudden pain in his chest as his breathing quickens. Dammit, he’s either having a heart attack or a panic attack and all over one stupid scene in a low budget movie. He’s a wreck. Suppose he freezes. Or worse.
It’s been much easier with him and David than he ever thought it could be. They’ve been talking--really talking--like friends and he doesn’t want this to change things.
An arm slaps tight around his shoulder making him jump.
“Hey, buddy. Got your breath mints ready for tomorrow?”
David’s smiling. How can he be smiling? James finds himself focusing on the swell of David’s lips, wondering what they’re gonna feel like against his own. He’s kissed other guys for a joke, Nicky Brendon for one, but that was just a peck. This has to be slower, softer, deeper – more meaningful. How can he make it meaningful when he’s only just got to the point where he can ask the guy out for a couple of games of pool after work?
Actually the pool’s an automatic thing now, no need for asking. They stroll off to the nearest bar near where they’re filming and within five minutes have beers and smokes and an ashtray lined up next to the table.
“Have you ever-?” asks James, sliding the thicker end of his cue through his fist in an unintentionally sexual way.
“Have I ever what?” asks Dave, “Stop jerking that stick off, man, you’re making me nervous.”
James grins and leans over to break, potting two stripes from sheer fluke.
“Have you ever kissed another man?” he asks, concentrating on lining up his next shot which goes totally wrong due to the tremble in his arms.
David bellows with laughter and almost doubles up. “You’re shitting yourself aren’t you, Jimmy?”
“Well yeah,” agrees James standing back from the table and hiding his blushes in a glass of beer. It’s the first time David has called him that. It’s what he’s always been called back home.
“Me too,” says David. “Maybe we should practice?” He grabs James and manhandles him onto the baize. “Darling, I need to kiss you, your lips are like rosebuds. I need to feel your heart next to mine,” he says in a bad rendition of a forties Hollywood romance. The other customers laugh at their antics, but the jeers and catcalls are all friendly.
“Fucking freak,” laughs James, kneeing David gently where it has the potential to do a lot of damage. “Let me up.”
“You won’t be saying that tomorrow,” says David with even more of a grin as he pulls James up off the pool table.
~~****~~
They’ve both fucked up their lines over and over, but now it’s got to the point that David’s been dreading since the script first landed in his mailbox. Two months ago sitting here with Marsters in front of him would have been the worst case scenario, but now things have changed. It’s not the fact that he has to kiss James that’s scaring him the most--although that’s still a huge big part of it--it’s that everyone’s gonna be standing around watching them.
His arm slips naturally around James’s shoulder which is nothing new; he’s been quite comfortable with that for the last month, after all he’s an affectionate kind of a guy. Pulling James towards him is more nerve wracking, but the look of fear in those intense blue eyes makes David feel protective of James and himself and this damn movie. It’s gonna be great and they’re not gonna fuck it up all over something as dumb as a kiss and some pretend sex.
He tries to reassure James with his eyes right up to the moment when their lips brush together, but then fear and confusion takes over and it's exactly what Graham the director asked for. It's a shame Dave can’t put it down to acting ability. This is truly terrifying. His mouth is on James’s and they screen kiss from slow to fake French with grinding lips and hint of visible tongue.
“Cut,” yells Graham and they pull away from each other and heave a mutual, loud and very exaggerated sigh of relief to the amusement of the crew.
“That was amazing, guys, really incredible. Thank you. That’s it for today and have a nice weekend off,” says Graham.
“One take,” grins James as he puts on his jacket after changing back into his own clothes, “We did it in one take. Thank fuck for that.”
They pause at the corner of the lot, at that same ‘to beer or not to beer’ moment they go through every single working night.
“Wasn’t so bad, although there are about a million places I’d rather have my mouth than on yours, Marsters.”
“Kiss my ass,” says James as they head off in the direction of the little bar. It’s not as if either of them have anything better to be doing.
“Shit! Please don’t tell me there’s ass kissing as well. Now that’s something I really draw the line at,” says David clowning around. He’s so fucking happy. For once he hasn’t screwed things up.
“Beer, Ricky,” yells James to the barman and they set up the balls and line up the drinks and the mood is better than ever.
Four hours later Dave’s wondering if maybe their mood isn’t a little too good. Everything seems a little spinny and swirly and he’s not entirely sure he should drive. He’s also not entirely sure he can find his car.
“Jimmy!" he slurs. "You can’t drive, you're too drunk.”
“Wha' bou' you?” says James falling off the edge of the kerb and ending up lying on his back in the road flailing like a beetle.
He grabs David’s arm and gets pulled upright and just about manages to stay on his feet. “We’ll walk then,” he says, grabbing David’s arm and they stumble off up the street for half an hour or so until the area gets less populated.
“Where d’you live?” asks Dave. He doesn’t think he knows this part of town, not that he can see too clearly.
“Fucked if I know,” answers James with a drunken giggle as he leans at a bizarre angle against a convenient wall and searches every pocket thoroughly about ten times.
“Whatcha doing?” asks David looking at him curiously.
“My smokes!” says James with a look of sheer panic on his face, “I lost ‘em.”
“I got 'em.” David takes the packet out of his jacket pocket and gets one out then tries to put it in between James’s lips, but he has about three different mouths to choose from and he keeps getting the wrong one. “I can’t do it,” he says feeling for James’s mouth with his fingers, “It’s there, but I can’t get the fucking thing in.” He falls against James and they laugh and laugh.
“It wasn’t that bad was it?” says James slowly. “The kissing wasn’t the worst thing’s ever happened.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was nice. Except it wasn’t proper kissing and there were cameras and lights and people, but apart from that it was good."
“I don’t mind doing more of the kissing now. I think my whatjamacallits have been broadened.”
“Your horizons,” says David helpfully.
“Yeah, that’s it. My broadens have been horizoned,” grins James, propping himself up by hanging onto David’s shoulders.
“It so wasn’t scary,” says David. “I thought it would be scary, but it was just same as any other kiss.”
“No tongues,” said James shaking his head and then holding on to it as if it’s about to fall off.
“Yeah,” says Dave, and then something strange happens and they’re kissing for real and this time there are tongues sliding against each other and lips pressing together with enough force to bruise. There are slow licks and sucks and not even a hint of teeth clashing. Pushing James against the wall David wraps his arms tight around the slim body and makes out with him like a teenager.
~~****~~
Ow.
Owow.
Bright lights go away. Hammer action drill go away. Everything go away.
James rolls over in bed and wonders who, what, where, why, when? How? How did he get home? He is home, isn’t he? Opening his eyes he takes a quick glance around him and, yes, he’s in his apartment and, no, his bed isn’t full of puke and, yes, he’s alone and …
Fuck!
Oh no. Oh no. Oh please, God, no.
He kissed David. He spent hours last night kissing David. Oh shit, he has this horrible memory about making out in the back of the taxi and he thinks they might have had the drunken conversation with the driver about how they were just rehearsing for a movie.
Oh God. James goes back to sleep. It seems the best possible solution.
He wakes up a couple of hours later, makes coffee and toast and then takes everything, plus a bottle of Tylenol, back to bed. Thank god they have a day off. Maybe, by the time he needs to go back to the studio, someone will have given him a frontal lobotomy and he won’t remember and if he remembers he won’t care.
He eats his toast and drinks his coffee and then goes back to sleep. It still seems the best possible solution.
Next time James wakes up he’s hard and his hand is busy working at his cock. That’s almost normal, at least it would be for a teenager, but the not-so-normal thing is that he was dreaming about David. He can remember it vividly. The scenes from the movie where Jason and Andy have sex for the first time are playing out in his head, but it’s far more graphic than it’ll ever be onscreen.
His cell phone rings and he answers it automatically with more of a grunt than a word.
“James?” says the person at the other end of the line.
Shit! Christ on a cross. Go away.
“Hey, David.” Be cool, don’t stutter, don’t tell him you’re lying here jerking off to the sound of his voice. Stop fucking jerking off to the sound of his voice. “How are you?”
His words come out all throaty and choked up and he can’t help thinking of last night and the way David tasted and how good it felt to be overpowered by this big man. And he can’t help sliding his fist up and down his cock some more.
“I’m good.” replies David. “Well as good as can be expected after drinking Lake Michigan dry. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
‘Keep talking, David,’ thinks James as he rubs his erection harder now. He’s so close and he’s got to pull himself together enough to speak. “Well I guess I must've done seeing as I’m here. Can’t say I remember much,” he pauses. Has to say something to ruin it, doesn’t he? His common sense has been swallowed by his man-eating perverted libido. “Except for some kissing.”
There’s a sigh at the other end of the phone and James isn’t sure what kind of a sigh it is. He pulls harder, waiting for David’s response.
“Yeah, there was kissing. Also making out in front of people. I think we kind of lost our heads for a while there, but see we’re lucky 'cause we can just say it’s just the same shit we do at work everyday.”
There’s this silence and James is too close to the edge to fill it with anything. He bites his lip and holds his breath as his fist flies over his cock.
“The kissing was good, James. I remember that.”
James drops the phone and clamps a hand over his mouth to muffles the cries as he shoots hard, come spattering over his belly in long strings of white.
What a dirty fucking loser.
~~****~~
“We need to talk about this.” James pulls away from David and disentangles himself from where they’re entwined on the couch. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I think I’m falling in love with you…”
“Cut,” yells Graham as James and David collapse into laughter for the fifteenth time in a row.
“I’m sorry, man, but that is such a cheesy line,” says David. “I mean would Andy really say that to Jason? Wouldn’t he just go for his dick? Show him he loved him that way?”
“This film is trying to show how friendship and love are interconnected and, specifically, how it’s not about ‘going for the dick’ as you put it,” says Graham, but he has a smile on his face all the same. “I’ll talk to the writer see if he can re-work this scene, in the meantime let’s set up for the next one. You’ve earned yourself a break, Dave, well played.”
“Coffee?” says James and David nods looking through his script to see what they’ll be shooting next. He follows James back to their shared dressing room and takes a cigarette from him. He’s getting too hooked on smoking again. Needs to help James wean himself off the tobacco by the sound of that cough, not get himself addicted instead.
“Go for his dick,” James doubles over laughing, spilling his coffee onto the floor, “You totally crack me up. The look on Graham’s face. Fuck, it was funny.”
“Well it’s true. I mean we say shit like that to girls to get into their panties but wouldn’t a couple of guys just be honest about what they want?”
“I guess. I mean you could say the love thing after when it means something but before, yeah that is totally pathetic, you’re right.”
David’s done nothing but think about James for the last three days. And yesterday after work when all he wanted to do was talk things over and maybe kiss a little more he had to take his son to a birthday party. Dave could see by the look in his eyes that James thought it was an excuse, but how could he tell him different? He spent the rest of the evening with the phone in his hand wanting to call and explain, but never finding the right words.
“So if I said I wanted to meet up after work for some pool and maybe more of the kissing what would you answer?” David stares at his feet for while and then dares to look up. “I’m being direct,” he adds when he sees that James is still smiling and not getting ready to punch him in the mouth.
“Well, I’d most likely say ‘let’s talk about this later,’” says James in a shy twelve year old voice.
Dave frowns and stands up taking James’s cigarette from him and dunking both of them in the inch of coffee at the bottom of his plastic cup. “Hmm, looks like I was wrong and guys are cheesy and girly after all,” he says with a grin, wrapping his arms around James and reaching down for one of those hot hard kisses that he’s been thinking about for every one of the last seventy two hours. Yes, even when he was at Playland with his kid.
“We can’t do this now,” says James, pushing David away from him.
David stumbles back, startled, hurt and completely confused.
“Not because I don’t want to, but they’re setting up for the first bed scene and if I’m- If I’ve been- If I think of you like that when we’re having to fuck for the cameras then, shit, it’s gonna get embarrassing,” stammers James.
David gulps, wonders what the hell is going on inside his head. When did he go from hating James, to hanging out with him, to thinking about what’s inside the man’s pants twentyfour/seven?
“Later,” says James with a look that says a whole lot more as he leaves the comfort zone of the dressing room and heads out to wardrobe. David follows a few minutes later. He has no idea why he waited. They share a room; they’re expected to be in there at the same time. Christ, even if someone discovered them interlocked it could easily be explained as rehearsing. Everyone’s seen them kissing now, throats working, tongues brushing gently together just enough for it to be convincing. Too convincing. After all it’s convinced David into believing it.
He gets to wardrobe and Rachel unbuttons his shirt in a no-nonsense manner, holding up a couple of flesh coloured pieces of material to check for a colour match.
No, please no. He can’t do the modesty sock thing.
“Told you,” says James mournfully, holding up his own piece of almost clothing.
“But the next scene’s when they talk in the park,” says David in complete confusion.
“Yeah and, hello, we need a park for that to work better,” smiles James, “which leads us inevitably to bed.”
“But the park scene has kissing in it and if it’s a location shoot then we’ll be doing it in public.” Dave shuts up. After all he and James did spend at least two hours necking outside a Chinese restaurant from what he can remember. He’s thinking they never got as far as ordering the take out.
David grumbles from behind the screen as he strips out of his clothes and changes into the ‘sock,’ slipping a robe on as quickly as possible. "These things are hell."
“You got no right to moan,” laughs James.
He laughs a lot more just recently.
“Think of how much time I spent wearing one of these things on Buffy and then I get to your show and four episodes in, gee, guess what? Jimmy’s all naked again.”
“Have to say I wasn’t looking,” says David with a big grin.
Not back then, anyway. Now he’s wanting to do a lot more than look and that need just keeps growing. Putting on his running shoes then taking them off again because nothing looks weirder than a bathrobe and Nikes, David follows James down to the bedroom set.
Oh God, he can’t do this. He has to do this. It could be worse, he thinks looking over at James who’s slipping out of his robe and sliding between the sheets and it’s all slink and slither and Dave stupidly imagines the way mostly naked James is going to feel beneath him. Big mistake. He tries to take his mind off sex by thinking about that dead cat he saw on the way to the studio and the fact that his utilities needing paying and he can’t afford the bill and his ex-wife- That’s all it takes; the pump of blood has been immediately extinguished with one hint of her icy cold features.
Dave shucks off his robe with forced bravado and jumps into the bed, trying not to think of what this could be like in another time and place.
“Happy, guys?” asks Graham.
“Oh yeah, fucking dream come true,” says James, all deadpan expression. “How can I ever thank you, man? You’ve made my wildest, most secret fantasy of being in bed with a naked six foot guy become a reality.”
“Don’t forget the voyeurs, sweetheart.” says David, coy as anything as he flutters his eyelashes.
“How could anyone not want that, my darling? To be surrounded by a group of sweaty technicians while we’re making love is the most amazing thing to ever happen to a man,” says James, batting his lashes right back at him.
“Oh yeah,” sighs David dreamily.
“When I’m making a comedy, someone remind me NOT to call these guys,” smirks Graham. David and James snort with laughter, everything loosens up and David’s left feeling relaxed and happy and looking forward--looking forward?--to the scene. He imagines how different this would be if they hadn’t talked things through. If they hadn’t made out for real.
Even this pretend kissing is good. They sneak in a couple of tongue fucks and their dirty little secret makes it so much more of a buzz. When it’s time for the big moment and David covers James with his body, he doesn’t understand why this is way easier than any staged sex has ever been before. He’s scared, but then so is James, in fact he's trembling as they press against each other, taking direction. When James wraps his legs around David’s waist and they crush mouths together, David hopes he can do this without coming.
~~****~~
“We need to talk,” says James as they stand on the wide concrete step outside the studio. They’ve finished the first sex scene and Graham is more than happy and James is amazed that no one has figured them out. They’re good. They’re very good.
“You’re not gonna give me some cheesy line about falling in love with me are you?” says David, hooking an arm around James’s shoulders and sneaking a cigarette out of the open pack in his hand.
“Why? Do you want me to? Sigmund Freud would find you a real interesting subject.” James lights both Marlboros with his zippo, “Tell me about your dreams, young man.”
For a second Dave looks totally thrown and James laughs and then he tries to think of what he wants to say and his words get all tangled on his tongue.
“Beer?” asks Dave, obviously confused as to why James is lingering around the entrance.
“Not tonight.” James hurts--hurts?--when he sees Dave look crestfallen. “I meant, maybe we could do something else, you know.” You could come back to my place.
“Like what?” says David. “Go to the movies? Go bowling? Hey, we could go out for a meal.”
James is so freaked now he can’t tell if David’s serious or not. He looks around him nervously. His throat’s dry and his eyes are stinging and he wants to get the fuck away before he makes an even bigger ass of himself.
“Or we could go back to my place and get a take out?” say David, gripping his wrist and swinging him around to face him. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I fucked up. Forgive me?”
There’s sincerity in the dark brown eyes, but James is still wary. He wonders when everyone’s gonna jump out and push him over then start laughing at him the way they always used to in school. David looks a little too much like those bullies for comfort.
“Come on,” says David. “Let’s go back to my place and talk. And kiss.”
James is still unsure and he knows he looks it.
“Jesus christ, Jimmy. I’m standing here practically holding your hand, asking you come back to my apartment and make out with me. What more do you want?”
James cocks his head on one side and looks around as if he’s still expecting to see a Candid Camera crew, but there’s no one here except him and David.
“I-I-” he says and he can see a retort spring to David’s lips and he can see the way the man swallows it down and he likes him a whole lot for it. See, he’s not the most confident man in the world. He tries to pretend he is and make like he’s a big mouth arrogant fucker and sometimes he is – just not as often as he’d like to be.
David’s pulling him over in the direction of his car and that seems weird. Is that okay? Does that scream wannabe gay actors going off to make out somewhere?
“It’s fine,” reassures David as he unlocks his car door. “We’re friends, we go drinking every night. Maybe we’re going to a gig. Or to the gym.”
James thinks of watching David work out and he misses the rest of the conversation.
David parks in the driveway of a small unimpressive house that’s not so different from James’s small and unimpressive apartment building.
This time when they get out of the Honda, Dave holds his hand rather than his wrist. It's just for a second, but it’s enough to make James smile and look around and wonder how good it would be if he didn’t have to do the looking ‘round so much.
“You wanted to talk?” says David once they’re inside the house, popping the top off a couple of beers and then handing a bottle to James.
James nods, finding an ashtray on the kitchen windowsill. Why are they always there? Even in non smoker homes there are ashtrays in the kitchen.
He searches around for the right words and he’s getting to the point where he’s gonna look in the refrigerator to find them soon, but then he latches on to the idea of the truth which makes a lot more sense than the crap he was trying to force out as an explanation.
“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, leaving the ashtray and the Marlboro and the beer on the kitchen counter. He’s more scared than he’s ever been, hopefully than he ever will be again, and he saunters, swaggers, runs casually over, closing the distance and ending up wrapped in a blanket of man, exploring David’s mouth with swipes of tongue and panting out these little breathless sounds that make David press up against him and moan back. Then David’s pushing harder with his hips and they’re tripping over each other through doorways, bumping off furniture -- stumbling backwards onto the couch.
Greedy, hot and skin are the only things James can think of as their tongues slide against each other and they’re both hard in their pants. It’s all so fucking real and honest and terrifying.
Tugging at Dave’s shirt and wondering, not for the first time, why the man keeps wearing these rodeo type clothes, he finally gets to touch what’s beneath that checked material. When it’s private and they’re not drunk and there’s no excuses to be made.
“Do you want this?” he asks between kisses, feeling his way across the broad back that he knows is tanned and muscular. He has to be sure how things are between them.
“What do you think?” says David and James expects a smile, but he doesn’t get one, just a face full of serious need and a hard cock grinding into him followed by more mouthfuls of tongue that literally make James’s toes curl up.
If Dave had been a woman James would have fucked him by now. It never takes him long to get his cock inside and do the business, but then after the business is done he’s always left wanting something else. Maybe he’ll feel the same after Dave – or just maybe this is what he was always left wanting.
“Bed,” says Dave when the old lumpy couch is getting a little too uncomfortable for them. He gets to his feets pulling James with him and find his way backwards up the stairs and into his bedroom without ever leaving James’s mouth.
It’s the most James has ever felt wanted and when they fall onto the unmade bed and he’s pinned with his arms above his head and this wide wide grin on his face he knows that, however David feels, he’ll be left wanting this for a long time after it's over.
With one big hand keeping James’s wrists restrained David kneels over him, investigating what lies beneath the black tee-shirt with fingers and lips and then tongue.
God, that tongue.
“Fuck,” groans James as David latches onto a flat nipple and sucks so hard it feels as if the swollen nub of flesh is about to burst along with his aching cock. They play acted this scene today on set. It never felt like this then.
Panting now, James pushes his body up against David’s and he knows what he needs, but he doesn’t know how he wants it to happen. David is still restraining him with the clamp of those fingers and he’s kneeling over him breathing hard, tongue wetting his lips. He looks so fucking good that James can feel his erection push harder against his fly. It wants David almost as much as he does.
“I-I-I-,” stammers James and then he gives up and goes with the flow as his shirt is pulled over his head and his hands are freed and he has a whole new playground to have fun in.
Running his fingers though David’s thick dark hair James is surprised at its softness. Softness that matches the smoothness of the man’s skin. Oh fuck! James is falling and with each new burst of sensation the tumble to oblivion gets faster.
A kiss to David’s lips followed up by a teasing lick, the slow unfastening of every button, the slide of the material as it falls free from David’s chest and then a smile of delight as they both get in a mess struggling to free him from the sleeves all play their part in making James as giddy as a teenager. When they’re lying on their sides half naked, looking, touching, tongues and fingers playing together, it dawns on James that this is real and this is good and he’s not scared.
The distance between them closes as their lips melt together and it’s all about the kissing as they wrap themselves up in each other and learn how to be more than friends.
This slow relaxed kissing is the best thing Dave has ever experienced since he was fourteen and making out with Mallory Keane in the sanctuary of her bedroom with the all noise of a teenage party going on in the background. That was the night he felt like a man even though he ended up with come in his pants and a feeling that something better was supposed to happen. This will be just as good, but he hopes the ending will be happier. He knows it will.
How did they get here? he asks himself again as he buries his tongue into that smoky warm wet space that’s so fucking tempting. Some nights he lies awake wondering if he’s been kidding himself for the last thirtysome years, but, however hard he tries, the answer is no. He’s never fantasised about doing Johnny Depp or secretly been watching the guy in a porno while he’s jacking. Brad Pitt has never made his prick stiffen up or even do that pulsing twitch that’s the precursor to erect and wanting.
“Jimmy,” he breathes and he pulls back and opens his eyes to see if maybe he’s veered off course a little and this is one fucked up decision that he’s gonna regret. Wide wet blue eyes and kiss swollen lips tell him otherwise and he reaches down and runs his palm over that taut stomach. Braver still, he reaches down and lays his hand over the hardness that’s there for him and he gulps because he wants it too much. He doesn’t know what to do.
James takes Dave's mouth again, sucking at his tongue and now there’s a hand covering his own erection and he’s swallowing hard trying to make sense of this and get closer, still closer, closer please. He needs more touching, more everything.
They’re still kissing, hands sliding gently up and down denim covered cocks and it’s James who takes the next step, flicking open fly buttons with a twist of his fingers until Dave pulls back and gasps in a breath of air as he watches his erection spring out solid from the slit in his shorts. There's no going back. James is looking too and his mouth is hanging open and his tongue is wetting dry lips as he reaches out. Dave has to try so damn hard not to come from that first slip of palm over his wet cock.
Is it pathetic to say he’s dreamed of this? Most likely that’s a yes, but as his fingers tug at James's zipper he knows this is what he’s been thinking about every night for a while -- awake and asleep both.
Christ! Dave’s holding a thick hot prick in his palm and he and Jimmy are staring at each other and it’s all gone so damn quiet except for these soft pants of breath. Dave wants to get them both more naked but there's no time and he gives up and gives in as they kiss and begin this slow jerking off of each other with slick wet fingers.
The sounds have changed now as right handed and left handed they lie pumping into each others fists, mouth joined, free hands exploring. The slow timeless stroke becomes frantic jacking as they suck and slurp at wet sore mouths until James screws up his face and cries out.
It’s all Dave can do not to- No, he has to. He’s flying now and saying James’s name over and over again, “Jimmy. Jimmy. Jimmy," as he’s coming harder than he’s ever come in a lifetime.
“We did it,” says James grinning and sliding sticky hands around David’s neck.
They did it and it was fucking amazing. Awesome. He is in awe of this man – always was in a way.
“And we need to do it again as often as possible,” smiles David, “because maybe that’ll stop me coming all over you on set.”
James doubts if anything could stop him from doing exactly that. When did he stop thinking about how pretty Angelina Jolie was and start thinking about the colour of Dave Boreanaz’s eyes? It’s the biggest mystery to him. A fucking wonderful confusion that’s made him happy inside for the first time in years.
“Pizza?” asks Dave, kissing him as if what they’ve just done is the most natural thing in the world. It feels like it is.
“Maybe a shower first,” says James, looking down at their streaked slimy bellies.
“You shower. I’ll call for food,” says David kissing him again and James is so freaking relieved that they don’t suffer from that over intimate, must wash together, must remained conjoined at all times syndrome. Although conjoining would be good.
Stripping off his jeans and socks he climbs under the hot spray trying to wash that oh-so-happy grin off his face. It’s more than his usual lethargic 'got fucked' feeling; it’s way more far reaching that that. So good it makes his heart hurt in the best way.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, James pads out and gets swept off his feet and pushed up against the wall. His arms are raised above his head and his wrists are held tight and he’s kissed so fucking well that if he was anything under forty he’d be hard and leaking all over the towel.
“Beer and smokes are in the living room,” says David, “Don’t go away, will you?”
He disappears into the bedroom and James finds himself watching the empty space where David was standing. Grinning at his stupidity he tightens the towel around him and bounces down the stairs. His knees don’t seem to hurt at all anymore.
Sprawled out on the couch, James turns on the T.V. then mutes it, lighting his cigarette and watching the way the smoke curls upwards to the ceiling. He hears the bell chime and watches David answer the door wearing nothing but a towel, some droplets of water and a grin. It’s at that moment that James goes into full on panic mode--don't they they say that when things are too good to be true they most probably are?--but when David walks into the room swearing and cursing out the hot boxes of food the worry goes away. He gets pushed up and pulled around as if he’s a rag doll and finally when David’s comfortable with James settled in between his legs they eat pizza and drink beer.
James lies there, a quarter of him listening to the movie the remaining part enthralled by David: the way he jokes, the way he laughs and touches him all the time. This is all totally new.
When the movie’s over and his smoker’s cough has died down and he’s had his lecture about quitting the cigarettes the mood changes suddenly. Is it the darkened atmosphere now that the T.V.’s off? Maybe the quiet?
James has stayed sprawled back against David’s chest for the entire evening, but now he twists and turns, pushing up on his arms and dipping in for long deep kisses. He listens to the voice inside him that’s telling him it’s time to learn all about himself and begins this unhurried exploration of David’s body which is big and solid, but shaped to perfection and as beautiful as any woman. More so? James licks and laps and kisses his way over the skin, tasting the hint of fragrance mixed with salt that he’d recognise anywhere now.
He loves the sounds David makes: the low whine and soft pants, the growls of frustration and repressed giggles as James finds all the ticklish spots with his tongue. Then as he moves lower, sliding off the couch onto his knees, the laughter dies away and the breathy sounds become more needy.
James kneels, running his hands up and down David’s thighs, watching the tent of the towel that twitches urgently with each upward glide. His mouth is actually watering; he’s drooling for a taste of what’s hidden underneath the damp material.
Finally unable to resist the pulse of both erections, James eases back the towel and buries his face in David’s warm crotch, breathing him in, enjoying each new sensation. His tongue pushes its way free from between his lips and he strokes the tip over the hollows of David’s hips and down that oh-so-tempting join where leg meets body until he’s lingering a fraction away from resting his tongue against the wrinkled skin of David’s scrotum.
“Please, Jimmy, please.”
Begging works nicely and he brushes his lips over the soft strange sac of skin, testing the taste on his tongue then wanting more and taking each swollen ball into his mouth in turn, playing with it, learning.
David’s shivering now, moaning again and his erection is as stiff as a board, leaking trails of glossy fluid over his smooth belly.
“Look good enough to eat,” James says with a grin then sucks cock for the first time in his life. The wet bulbous head is like silk inside his mouth and he rubs it over the inside of his cheeks, whining softly at all these new feelings.
There’s another litany of “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,” from above him and he looks up and David’s eyes are wide open to what’s going on and his jaw is hanging loose and that expression of need teaches James everything he ever needed to know about blow jobs. He runs his hands over David’s thighs and begins this long slow suck with occasionally licks around the rim of the swollen head. Taking the shaft in his left hand he jacks it, gripping it tight as he plants kisses over the tip so fucking gently, wanting to hear David moaning for him all over again. When he does it’s time for more fierce sucks and then he’s working his lips over the long thick shaft, exploring every inch of cock as he pulls at David’s balls and squeezes just enough.
God, he wants this to last. He’d never have dreamt in a million years that he’d ever be in this position, on his knees pleasuring David Boreanaz, rubbing himself off against the roughness of the towel and the solid face of the couch. Never. But he is and, right now, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be in the world.
Jimmy Marsters is sucking him off. He’s getting a blow job from Spike. That hot wet mouth is taking him as close to orgasm without coming as he can get and he’s doing it over and over again until Dave can’t feel anything but his prick and James’s lips. He hopes he looks more together than he feels, 'cause right now he’s fourteen years old back in Mallory’s bedroom and about to come in his pants.
Coming is allowed now he’s thirty six but now he doesn’t want to. Ever. He wants to stay floating on this plateau of fucking brilliant forever and he really doesn’t care if his balls explode from a saturation of sperm.
There’s mood lighting coming in from the hallway and he looks down at the pretty man’s mouth that’s swallowing his cock and knows if he tries to last too long he’ll fuck this up and he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want Jimmy to think he’s no good because damn it he’s fucking perfect.
With one hand on the arm of the couch and the other trailing through James’s longish dark hair he pushes up squeezing his prick between James’s lips and up into fucking heaven.
“Yeah,” he cries holding James in place. He’s far too into this to be as careful as he should.
“Oh fuck,” he yells as he comes in this series of shudders and waves, feeling his cock bounce off the back of James’s throat. James is swallowing him down and licking the come off him then he’s straddling him and kissing him. Something Dave’s never done with a woman is share a mouthful of sperm.
***
James slides back down David’s body, his tongue slick with a thick coating of spunk. His hands press David’s thighs apart and, with one swift glance upwards at the head thrown back in oblivion, James plants kisses lower and deeper, careful not to even graze over the deliciously curled up cock which is still twitching and hyper-sensitive. Even his breath makes David shiver.
The skin is so smooth and tight and James licks it lasciviously, tasting sperm and salt and spicy shower gel. Intrigued, he wriggles down and the tip of his tongue drifts lower into that taboo area that he’s never thought about exploring with his mouth before.
Never on a girl, so why is this different?
Spreading David wider he circles the puckered ring, feeling the way it twitches and opens up for him. Next thing he knows nerves are pushed aside and he’s licking David out. The moans and cries of spaced out pleasure sound so good. It’s all good. Better than good.
His cock is bursting with need, but he squeezes the base and flicks the tip hard and, making sure he doesn’t think, he licks and sucks and buries his fingers inside Dave, opening him up for his tongue to go deeper.
James pulls back and stares as David clamps down and howls with excitement and his cock goes from soft to hard like the flick of a switch.
“God, do it again, Jimmy please.”
James doesn’t even know what he has done except run his finger over this slight swelling that’s knuckle deep and spongy to touch. He crooks his finger and pushes up into the knot of tissue and David yells and James is gripped so tight he thinks he’ll never be released. Then David’s pushing him away and kissing him, not caring where his mouth's been for the last ten minutes.
“I want you,” says David pulling him back up the stairs to bed. “I want you. Fuck, I want you,” and he's saying it like he can't beleive it and James understands exactly.
They hesitate at bedroom door, stopping to kiss soft and then hard and then harder. James is scared and thinks that David must feel worse because this is something way more important than cock rubbing and blow jobs, but David doesn’t seem the least bit freaked, not the way he’s pulling James into the room and down onto the bed. He doesn’t even seem scared when he’s kissing him and leaning over to the nightstand for condoms and lube.
“I want you,” he says again and James believes him and rolls the man over onto his stomach, sprawling over him and kissing every inch of skin while he lubes up his fingers.
David’s still open and ready for him and James has three fingers in easily in no time at all. He’s kneeling over him, his cock twitching and trying to nudge its way between Dave’s ass cheeks, and all the while he’s fucking him with his fingers, he’s stroking his other hand over the expanse of smooth warm skin that smells like the sun and the sea and all the things James adores.
“Need you. Need your cock in me,” mumbles Dave into the pillows, fucking back on James’s hand so fiercely it’s like riding in a freaking rodeo.
James’s self control goes flying out the window. Ripping at the foil wrapper he slides the condom on and slicks himself ready and he’s so fucking relieved that he’s already come once because otherwise just the thought of this would make him shoot.
With an arm around Dave’s waist, James hauls him up onto all fours and presses the head of his cock up against the ring of muscle. Then he hesitates again because this is gonna hurt like hell and the last thing he wants is to do that.
“Jimmy, for fucks sake,” growls David, wriggling his ass and James gulps, holding the shaft of his cock with one hand and holding on tight to David’s hips with the other. And he can’t say no.
He pushes and nothing happens, but then Dave relaxes and he’s sucked an inch inside this hot incredibly tight place that no one has ever been before. He finds himself wondering a whole load of crap to take his mind off of things--like whether this is why everyone thought he was gay--then he hears this grunt of pain and it makes him want to pull out and run away, but David leans his head onto the pillows and reaches back to press his own hand over James’s.
“Just gimme a second, okay?”
“All the time you want,” replies James. He can wait. He can wait here forever. Forever is a good word when it’s to do with a house in the suburbs filled with all this potential happiness.
Rubbing comforting patterns over David’s back, James feels the muscles loosen and David’s sighing these erotic little pants that make James’s balls draw up tight against his body. He feels like he’s in shock. Or maybe dreaming one of his adult wet dreams where he wakes up rubbing himself off to the thought of fucking David. He’d pinch himself if the burning heat around his prick didn’t tell him it was all real. He could never imagine anything as good as this.
“Slowly,” groans Dave into the pillows and James gulps in deep breaths and thinks of nothing in particular as he inches forward, easing his erection into David a fraction at a time, leaning in and reaching under and stroking the soft line of hair on Dave’s belly, up and down, up and down.
There’s no word to describe the feeling of being balls deep inside this man. There should be a word though, a real important word that he can write down and savour later on. He drapes himself across David’s back, kissing away the blisters of sweat. His arm is still clamped tight around him and it’s not about soothing or preparing, it’s all about clinging in a way that he knows is no good for his sanity.
“Move,” says Dave and his voice is stretched tight like elastic. James tries to pull out because sex isn’t supposed to be like this and he’s almost free when David thrusts backwards, squeezing tight around James and he’s crying out, “Oh God, oh fucking God, oh God,” over and over again.
After that all heaven breaks loose and James’s nails are digging into David’s skin and he’s clawing and arching and heaving his cock in and out of David in this pumping, shimmying dance that’s speeding up and full of dripping sweat and bursts of swearing that are so intense his ears are ringing.
He fucks David hard, searching out that special place that makes the man stutter, stumbling over every expletive that tries to fall out of his mouth. And when James is brave enough to reach below and stroke his way downwards, he finds himself with a handful of solid cock and his palm is all heat and pulse and wet slide of skin meeting skin. He pulls with his fist and listens to the groan and the squelch and then he aims his cock so it jabs into that sweet sweet spot inside David’s body, timing the jerk of his hand perfectly until there’s this mind-blowing synchronicity.
***
“Oh God, oh fucking God, oh God...”
He never knew he could feel like this. Dirty and nasty and so good that he’s needing every pump of James’s hips like an addict needs his dope. This candy coated pain is everything.
“More,” he cries, fucking back hard and squeezing tight until James shudders and digs his nails into ribs with one hand and jerks him with other. Dirty images fly through Dave’s mind; he sees himself naked outside being mounted like a bitch, sees them on set, his legs wrapped around that slimmer body, moaning like a whore and taking all Jimmy can give him right there for the whole world to see.
“Yeah,” he cries and every punch to his insides makes his cock expand and his balls tighten and, Jesus, he’s gonna come and he can’t fucking come again because that’ll be three times and he’s an old man now. But the slide of that fist says different and the insistent push of the newly discovered switch inside him completes the circuit. Dave’s roaring and burning up with fever, almost delirious as he clenches and James slams and he tenses and fingers squeeze and glide and then there’s this silent leap of faith that’s like free fall until he hits the ground with an explosive rush that should be more than just a dribble of semen. Vaguely aware of James shuddering and collapsing onto his back, David’s head and his heart fill with all these different feelings that are edgy and uncomfortable, but he can’t do anything about them.
They flop down onto the bed, James’s cock still buried inside him, then there’s this wriggle of sweaty bodies and they end up with arms and legs and fingers entwined and mouths close enough together to kiss without effort.
“So?” says James, pulling out then stripping away the condom and knotting it.
“What?” replies Dave and he knows he looks bashful mixed up with major amounts of dopehead happy but he doesn’t give a shit.
James half-sits up and throws the rubber into the trash. “What’s it like?” he murmurs, tracing ticklish patterns across David’s skin with the nail of his forefinger.
“I’ll show you in a week or two,” yawns Dave, hauling James onto his chest and wrapping him up tight in a bear hug that's mostly designed to put an end to the irritating tickling. Mostly.
~~****~~
Twenty four hours later James gets fucked for the first time. They go out drinking after work and then they go back to Dave’s place and make out together on the couch until they’re both so freaking desperate it couldn’t be anything other than amazing.
It turns out to be more than amazing and as James spoons against David, his ass wet from Dave’s tongue and slick from lubed fingers, he’s not nervous like he should be. David strokes the smooth dry skin of his back and the wet gloss skin of his cock and he’s saying all these words that make James feels safer than he ever has done before and when he’s taken for the first time it’s this hot rupturing sensation that’s good. How can that feel good? Slow first time sex becomes urgent and they fuck like animals, hard and needy with something extra in there that makes everything fit together just right.
After that night they fuck all the time. At home. In the car. On set...
Overheated from the intensity of shooting a scene that’s nothing but making out with each other outside, they barely have time to close the door before modesty socks and robes are discarded and James’s face is mashed against the cream panelled walls of the trailer and his ass is filled with Dave’s cock. Then James switches the play, taking Dave on all fours on the cheap nylon carpet. They’re so overwhelmed by this need that neither of them give a fuck who walks in on them.
“This is crazy,” says David afterwards as he steals the cigarette from James and towels the droplets of water from his body.
“Wanna stop?” asks James with a smile because he knows the answer to that question.
~~****~~
It’s not a big Hollywood premiere but Second Time Around gets a centrepiece showing at one of the top gay film festivals in L.A..
“Nervous?” asks David as he stacks the dishwasher while James makes coffee.
“Nah,” says James, putting the mugs down on the table then sliding to his knees and unzipping David’s fly. “Just horny.”
“You’re always horny,” groans Dave threading his fingers through James’s hair and wondering how he got this lucky.
Three hours later they arrive at Orpheum Theatre, faces burning slightly from
making out in the limousine and as they walk in to the foyer their fingers touch,
just enough for people to notice.
DONE