No matter what they say
And words won’t bring you down.
But the thing is words can bring you down, they really can, and David knows
this. Then again sometimes it’s the absence of words that can do the most
harm.
And so it’s over. Seven years of playing Angel, the vampire with a soul, is all done and dusted and somewhere along the way David knows he’s lost his soul. He hasn’t gone out of the way to say anything or do anything to hurt James and Christian. He hasn’t gossiped, he wouldn’t gossip. The whole messy situation has the potential to backfire in very nasty way -- a ton of repercussive waves rippling out from the epicentre: that night he got down on his knees and begged for some attention.
He thinks about everything for a while, sitting on his couch with his head in his hands, all alone in the house with just some crappy movie scripts for company. Jaime packed up the SUV with Jaden and the dogs and left straight after the wrap party, heading north into a less oppressive climate that was nothing to do with the weather. David doesn’t blame her; he’s been a crap husband and a worse father since the news about the cancellation of his show. At least that’s what his wife thinks is the source of the problem but David knows better. The truth is he can’t get past the erotic images that push their way, all muddled up, into his brain: jutting cheekbones, dark silky hair, throaty come-to-bed voice, lithe fluid body.
He feels hot and aroused and sick to his stomach all at the same time and he wants it go away. He’s tried his best to get over it. He’s lashed out at James with cruel, cold looks. He’s ignored Christian, one of his best friends, when the man has tried to talk to him. He’s falling, falling hard from that pedestal that everyone has put him on and all because he wanted to fit in. The problem is he thinks he’s found his niche and it’s a very uncomfortable fit.
He knows James is on the Seacrest show tonight. He looks at his watch and scrubs his fingers through his hair and tries not to fumble for the remote that’s hidden under the cushions, but he finds it anyway and selects the channel.
David has a morbid fascination with his co-star now. Since that night he’s reverted once again to a little boy, but now he’s a cruel child who pulls the legs off spiders just to see what effect it has. The barrage of icy stares interspersed with occasional derisive smirks have done their damage, James has carried the look of a beaten man over the last few months. His acting has gone off, he looks older and careworn and at last David feels like he’s achieved something. Yeah, he’s achieved a new level of hurtful bastard.
He remembers staring at James’s face during the wrap party and seeing a look of relief that cut him to the quick. He thinks that’s mostly why he cried during his speech. He stares at the only man he’s ever fucked who’s shining away in front of him lighting up the TV screen. James is doing his best performance for the public. He’s happy and jokey and flirty and he looks good and for a second David truly wants to hate him, wants him to look like shit with all his hair shaved off. He hates the way Ryan touches James, the way everyone touches James. Before that night he touched James all the time, he didn’t speak to him but his fingers were drawn towards the little man with an electromagnetic attraction.
He’s feeling sick to the stomach again and he idly rubs at his cock through the thick denim of his jeans. The clippers start up and he watches the bleached hair fall onto James’s shoulders and he thinks about the way it tangled between his fingers. It looks like straw on the TV; it didn’t feel that way.
David knows what he’s feeling is insane, but he also knows that James is playing a small private gig tomorrow night and as the hair falls from James’s head his resolution slips slowly away down to his groin.
*
The venue is small and friendly, hidden away from the main thoroughfare of passing clubbers. It’s a jazz club by name, but it hosts an eclectic range of performers and is renowned for being one of those little venues where bands can get into the swing of things before going on tour.
David overheard them talking about it when he was busy lurking around ignoring them. He had been perfecting the art of ignorant obsession for months and would soon be a master at it, except that everything was all over now and there would be no more opportunity to hone his skills. No more show, no big paycheck, no James and Christian crawling over him and fucking him with their eyes and their pretty bodies. It’s all gone and Dave is having a hard time deciding which part he’s gonna miss the most. He knows the answer if he listens to his cock which readies itself to erupt every time he thinks about that night.
Sometimes it’s good being a star. It feels nice to be able to walk in anywhere, tip the sunglasses and never have to beg entry. Sometimes, though, he wants to be anonymous and slink his way around the bars of Los Angeles. (Hasn't he been doing far too much slinking and sneaking recently?) He stands tall and proud and removes his shades for a fraction of a second, just long enough to gain entrance.
He’s ushered to a private seating area with surreptitious bouncers present to ward off any potential star fuckers. He wants to be a star fucker. He wants to bury his cock in James one last time and apologise for being such a prick. But he’s just here to watch, to imagine his fingers rubbing at the nape of James’s neck then grazing upwards through the shorn hair, to imagine pushing that head down between his thighs and thrusting his cock between slightly feminine lips and feel the burn of the stubble.
The waitress comes over and asks what he’d like to drink. She casts her eye greedily over him and he stares into the deep recesses of her cleavage and knows that she’s his for the night if that’s what he desires. His cock, which seems to be responsible for all his decision making of late, says an emphatic no. He orders a pitcher of beer and she returns at warp speed with the jug and a glass and stands there waiting. He hands her a large tip and feels like shooing her away. The star bar is filling up with so called names, but he can’t spot anyone he knows. Perhaps they’re all what he’s destined to become – a room full of has-beens.
David checks his watch and stares at the empty stage, if you could call it a stage, it’s more of a platform really. The waitress disappears irritated by David’s lack of interest; once upon a time he would have signed autographs all over her perfect Californian body with his tongue but not now. He tells himself it’s because he’s married.
He’s woken from his dream state by a jarring power chord and stares into the now darkness to see James standing in front of the microphone looking shy. How does a forty-one year old man manage to look like a kid? Ghost in the Machine or whatever the fuck they’re called start playing the first song and he’s transfixed, not by the music--which is raw but catchy--but by the man onstage. He seems different to the James that David knows intimately, whether it’s more self-assured or less self-assured David isn’t sure, but whatever it is David’s cock grows hard in his jeans. He’d like to take his sweatshirt off, however it’s the only thing concealing his erection and so he sits and sweats cupping his rigid length under the table and not wanting it to go away until he covers it in rubber and slides it into some ass. He accepts that now. Just one last fuck is all he needs and he hopes that James feels the same way.
Five songs in and he and James are sweating mutually. David watches the diamonds of perspiration trickle down the man’s throat and travel an unknown path beneath his thin navy shirt. He wants to take James home and lick him clean, but he realises this is just another jerk off fantasy for him. No way is the man going to let him tongue bathe the sweat from his body after the way David has been treating him. He pours more beer into his glass and lets his mind visit imaginary places where the borderline between gay and straight is blurry and people are allowed to dip their toes into the otherlife and test the waters. Thing is he’s tested those waters now and there’s nothing he’d like better than to dive in and go for full immersion therapy.
Ten songs in and David’s harder than ever. James hasn’t spotted him yet. David would recognise that distinctive look of fear anywhere. He’s concealed on a raised dais as befits his status and he’s looking down slightly as befits his attitude and he wants everything to change. He watches as James unwraps something and nearly comes in his pants as the once blond man tongues that little lollipop then pops the whole thing into his mouth and sucks at it ‘til his cheeks hollow. He has a sudden surge of pride as he watches how the audience react. He’s seen that exact same face when it was intent on pleasuring him.
Lick, suck, sing, grin, lick, suck, sing, grin.
The cycle is pushing Dave to his limits already but when James takes the microphone in the other hand and holds it horizontally out from his crotch in an obscene mimicry of a cock, David has to stifle a small gasp of pleasure. It wouldn’t be too good for his image to be seen getting all excited over a fellow actor. He’s sure the waitress is still watching him.
Fifteen songs in and they’re done. James grins and sucks on another lollipop and then leaves the tiny stage. David can’t help but follow. He needs to talk to the older man, to make things right between them. Who the fuck is he trying to kid? He needs to have James one last time before they part company and James heads off on his tour to fuck all the pretty little European boys and girls.
His cock is still hard, pushing against the zipper of his fly and he really doesn’t care. He has no pride left anymore, he’s here to beg forgiveness and beg for James to give his cock one final lollipop swipe with his tongue. He watches the band clear away their gear and James looks up and nods disinterestedly. He knows he’s been dismissed, but he’s not going anywhere, not until they have a chance to talk somewhere private.
Once they’re in the tiny backstage area James casts the candy to one side and lights up a cigarette. David sees the nicotine patches that decorate the man’s arm and realises that is one heck of an addiction he has going on. Almost as deep seated as his own.
“If I wasn’t so hyper I’d tell you to fuck off.” James leans against the wall and smokes, looking just like Spike, defences up and attitude locked firmly in place.
“I guess you’d have the right. I was a fucking prick.”
“Don’t bother with sorrys; they don’t mean fuck all to me.”
James discards his cigarette and his mouth is closing in and David is so frightened. He’s here in this semi public place and he’s about to make out with his male co star. He wants it so bad that when James pushes him to his knees he succumbs willingly and takes James’s half hard cock out of his pants. David sucks the glistening head, like he’s licking one of those lollipops, but it tastes so much better, sweeter than candy.
James pulls David’s head away from his crotch and looks down at him. “You really wanna do this?” he asks.
“Mmm,” mumbles David, trying to get his mouth back onto James’s cock, but he’s restrained by a pair of deceptively strong arms. He looks over his shoulder and realises that the rest of band are milling around. They don’t seem surprised. He wonders if they’ve seen Christian doing the same thing. He wonders other things then pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind.
“Your place or mine?” James grins down at him and he manages to give that cock one last long slow swipe with his tongue before it’s tucked away.
He thinks about what James has just said and remembers the small, kind of sad, apartment and doesn’t want to feel anything other than lust for this man. He wants to see him spread out on the white Egyptian cotton sheets of his king sized bed. It’s good to be rich enough to have housekeeping staff who change the bed linen every day. He loves climbing in between crisp freshly laundered sheets, drinking in the combined scent of the clean material and naked skin. It won’t be his wife’s favourite perfume that he breathes in tonight. David gets to his feet and brushes away the dust from his knees then presses his hands to the graffiti covered wall either side of James’s head and leans in.
The kiss is surprisingly soft and gentle. David expects it to be pain-filled and venomous and after stroking his tongue slowly inside James’s mouth for a few moments he pulls back and looks questioningly down at the smaller man who is intent on not meeting his gaze. Instead he pushes against David, hungry, wanting more and David is fully prepared to offer it to him.
“My place.” His voice sounds exactly the way he expects it to, low, throaty, needy. They stumble out of the back exit to the club and into James’s car. There’re no words but the silence is comfortable, broken only by the necessary directions and the flick of a zippo as James lights himself a cigarette.
Once through the gauntlet of security, James parks in the driveway and stares up at the opulent house. David feels like apologising, but he has no idea why. He’s earned the right to live this lifestyle and has no need to feel ashamed of himself for world poverty and fellow actors with complicated lives.
The house seems as deathly quiet as ever. No Jaden playing with his toys and giggling. No Jaime exercising away in the gym listening to her goddamn dance music. No dogs barking their welcome and running up to greet him. Just him and James and a whole big playground at their disposal.
“Mind if I use your shower, man. I’m pretty rank?”
James looks so calm. David wonders if he looks the same way. He hopes so; he doesn’t want this man to know that inside he’s twisting himself into tight knots of panic.
“Mind if I join you?” The only thing that isn’t too tense to function properly is his cock and that’s doing a great job of whispering directions in his ear.
David has this bizarre urge to hold James’s hand and lead him upstairs into his boudoir. He’s overcome with a fit of laughter as he imagines himself as a returning war hero all set to tame his little lady into submitting in the bedroom.
James looks at him strangely and then takes him by the hand and leads him up the Buzby Berkeley staircase.
Perhaps he’s got this all back to front.
“Show me your shower then.” James smiles at him and allows David to lead him through the house and through into the master suite.
“Fuck! Don’t leave me here on my own, I’ll get lost.”
“The house isn’t that big.” David toes lines into the lush cream carpeting.
“I just meant the bedroom.” James throws one of the five hundred dollar scatter pillows at him and sits down on the bed, kicking off his Nikes and tucking his feet up under him. David lobs the cushion straight back and it all dissolves into childish fun as they end up tussling on the acres of comforter.
David doesn’t want to be having this kind of fun. This is far more personal than sex. This is the kind of thing that relationships are built on. He pins James down on the bed and kisses him anyway. The slither of tongues is slow and intoxicating.
“I need that shower.” James tries to wriggle away but he has no chance.
David buries his nose into James’s armpit and breathes in the smell of clean, fresh sweat marred only by citrus deodorant. “You smell good to me.” He opens the buttons on the navy shirt and paints glossy rings of saliva around James’s nipples, pulling away and blowing gently then watching as the areolae darken and pucker.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
James arches up from the bed as David remembers last time and bites hard at the tender skin just below James’s ear. He straddles the man and runs his fingers across the rough-smooth hair. It feels sexy and he knows it shouldn’t. He should be thinking about a cascade of white blonde silk twining itself around his cock.
“It looks good. I like it,” he says quietly and then his tongue gets busy with more important things.
This time James is all his and he feels a sense of overwhelming satisfaction that he’s catching Christian up with every delving kiss and splay of fingers. Is it just a game? Is he so competitive that he’s willing to take part in such a risky contest? He’s the one who has everything to lose.
David pulls away the thin cotton button down and strips off his own shirt, slightly self conscious of the few extra pounds of weight he’s carrying at the moment. He’s reassured when James reaches upwards and explores him with fingertips that tremble slightly against his skin. David covers James, stretching himself over the smaller frame, enjoying the feel of a man’s body beneath him. It might never happen again but he’s pretty sure that it will – with somebody.
They grind against each other keeping the pace slow and leisurely. Eyes lock as they roll over from back to side, legs twisting and pushing, trying to gain that extra bit of necessary friction. It can never be enough while they’re still half dressed and they pull away from each other and scramble out of their clothes, jeans and underwear littering the pristine bedroom floor.
“Fuck,” yelps David as he gets tangled up in a knot of Diesel and Calvin and James laughs happily as he lounges on the bed watching the comedy act.
David finally frees himself and slides alongside. He can’t help but smile at the gleeful expression on James’s face. His cock leaks pre-come and he wipes up the dribble with his forefinger and presses it to lips which open eagerly.
Now that they’re both naked and shivery with need it all seems to be so much more equal. David pulls his finger free from James’s mouth and replaces it with his tongue. They kiss a lot more than David expected that they would. He likes kissing this man far too much; even the taste of smoke doesn’t diminish his enjoyment in the slightest.
He wants… He doesn’t know what he wants. No that’s wrong, he wants everything and when James slides down his body and spreads himself out between his legs he smiles and waits and knows just how good this blow job will be.
Sometime later, when he’s been brought to the point of climax so goddamn many times he doesn’t know which way is up any longer, he sighs slightly as James slips off his twitching cock.
“S’okay,” is all James says as he wriggles around and crawls over him.
The cock is bobbing just out of his reach above him and his own erection is being sucked at a slow languid pace. It’s torture and he clasps his hands over James’s butt and pulls him lower so they can enjoy some mutual pleasure.
David listens to the sounds of the sixty-nine and he enjoys the licking-slurping-panting like he’s never really heard it before. He so relaxed now, sprawled across the bed that he’s supposed to share with his wife, totally in control as each swipe and suck is replicated and he’s filled with a horrifying sense of rightness. It’s too frightening for him to comprehend. This should be a dirty, desperate fuck in the back of the car because then it would fit better in his head.
He pushes James off him and forces him onto all fours ignoring the dark look that flickers across the other man’s face. He doesn’t give a shit about feelings. He just wants his prick inside that tight hole. To have the anaesthesia of one last unforgiving uncaring fuck. Squirt of expensive feminine hand lotion. No preparation. No condom. Sudden slide into James’s body. A slide that turns into an avalanche as James yells at him in anger but nevertheless is throbbing and rock hard in his hand.
Anger is good. Anger makes the fuck even better. But even this animalistic rut is ruined when he can’t help but slide his free hand over the fuzz of dark hair, stroking James with a possessive hand.
The man whines and David knows what he wants… what he needs. He digs his nails in and etches long scratch marks in the pale skin, dipping underneath and squeezing the smooth velvety balls with a firm grip until James yowls with arousal.
David’s never been this turned on. He pounds into the man, pinching and clawing at skin, digging his fingertips into James’s hips, all the time watching the path of his cock as it’s gripped then released by this body. The sound of the slap rings out around the room and James clenches and screams and David brings his palm down again and again until his own skin is burning and James’s buttocks are flushed red.
“Prick.”
James wriggles away from him and lands a punch to David’s nose, getting up from the bed and trying to gather up his clothes.
“Fucker.”
David grabs for him and they fall to the floor, biting and groaning and sucking at each other’s tongues until their faces are tingling with the burn of stubble. It’s harsh and glorious and they grow impossibly harder as they struggle for dominance on the pale luxurious carpeting.
David bests the other man after a long struggle.
“Remember, I know what your kinks are, Marsters,” laughs David, lifting James’s legs and mounting him again.
He stares at the wide eyed submission written all over the man’s face and screams out a rebel yell of victory, jack hammering away inside James with a series of short sharp thrusts that leave the other man howling, almost sobbing, with the need to be filled up with cock.
“Want this do you?” whispers David licking the words onto James’s ear as he stabs deep and feels the man tighten around him. A few more bites has James arching up and trying to bring himself off. David knows James would use his fingers but he has both skinny wrists trapped, pushing them down into the cream carpeting, nails biting into flesh just the way they both need. James has his legs hooked around David’s neck now and it might look intimate to a peeping tom but it’s far from it, just the usual power play, or is that just the way David wants to see it? Another big illusion, just like his marriage.
“Tell me how you want it, James?” says David, biting at James’s ear until he’s moaning away beneath him like an unpaid whore.
“You know how, you fucker. You know how I want it.” James is red faced and panting and his eyes are bright blue with excitement and David wants to see them widen and sparkle the way they do just before he starts to come. They’ll get there eventually.
David unhooks James’s legs and reaches up to grab a candle and a box of matches from the table. The strike of the match makes James hiss with pleasure and David can see he’s played this game before. He hates the thought it might be with Christian. Why is he so obsessed?
He discards the matches watching the wick burn down and a pool of wax begin to form, the fluid rippling and reflecting the orange glow of the flame. James is staring too, both of them intent on the game, still as statues, cocks as hard as granite, David buried deep inside James.
Slowly James lifts his legs and places them over David’s shoulders and David gasps as he’s gripped by the coil of muscle. Bracing himself on an arm he holds the candle out over James’s chest. The wax spills as he begins to fuck James with slow firm strokes. The first trickle solidifies on the shaft of the candle and James moans with disappointment but then the sex becomes more vigorous and as the first few droplets begin to spatter James’s body he lets out this low whining sound and his eyes grow even bluer. David stills and paints his name in clear wax on smooth skin watching as it grows white and solid. But always impermanent.
“Please.” James is grinding his words out between clenched teeth and grinding his cock against the frustration of thin air.
David’s scared. He doesn’t want to hurt James. He dips his finger into the pool at the tip of the candle and wonders how pain could possibly feel anything but painful.
“Please.” Impossibly wide blue eyes and that hint of little boy begging make David give in. He starts that slow rhythmic fuck again and lets just a dribble of wax pour onto the shaft of James’s cock. Wincing at the thought, his grimace soon turns to excitement as he sees a look of unadulterated ecstasy flicker over James’s face. He pulls away the wax and moves higher once more leaving reddened batik patterns over the pale skin of James’s abdomen. He can’t think straight, the wax is flowing everywhere, the flame dangerously near the carpet. He does the only thing he can think of and snuffs out the candle, pulling James over onto all fours and fucking him like a bitch as he reaches around to pull at his cock with fierce tugs and scraping, scratching fingernails.
“Needed this, didn’t you?” he says with a firm slap. As James murmurs his agreement David loses all rationality and drags James out onto the balcony until the smaller man is facing the ironwork, legs spread, hips canted, waiting to be fucked.
David obliges, positioning himself then pounding away, wrapping an arm around James, lifting him and working him with his other hand leaving great welts of teeth marks in his neck until James is yelling and thrashing and David pulls the shorn head back to see the look on that face. James is panting, tongue wetting his lips, his eyes staring into nothing and he’s so damn pretty that David just growls and rides that ass until he’s filling James with semen and James is coming over the balcony onto the Spanish tile below.
James leans back against him; blue eyes are closed now. David is still thrusting leisurely in and out, enjoying the feel of the after fuck, holding James up and working him down with slow steady hand movements.
When they’re both too tired to stand they just about make it through the doors and collapse onto the bed. David picks the remains of the wax off James’s skin and licks at the reddened trails that etch their way across his body.
“Why?” he asks softly as he soothes the soreness with his tongue.
“I let anyone hurt me,” James says matter-of-factly, getting up and getting dressed then walking out without a backward glance.
David says nothing as usual.
*
Three months later David has picked the last of the candle wax off the carpet, his family are back home and life is normal. Jaime has invited Aly and Alexis over and they’re enjoying a nice friendly meal. David knows there’ll be none of the usual kind of fun on offer; his wife doesn’t have the same taste for swapping and sharing that the rest of them do.
Instead Aly has to make do with spreading the gossip. “Did you hear about Christian and James?” she squeals.
David feels cold and sick and desperate to know all at the same time.
“What?” squeals Jaime in return.
“They came out and they’re so cute I wanna take them home and love them to bits.”
Alexis grimaces at David “I keep telling her they’re not puppies but she won’t listen.”
David tries to smile back.
“How do you know?” squeals Jaime, flapping her hands with excitement.
“There are pictures in all the magazines.”
David watches his wife run off to fetch her celebrity gossip crap then he watches as she and Aly flick through the pages, laughing at clothes and picking on their most hated actors. He sees the photo before they do. A close up shot of Chris and James kissing, tongues sliding together, eyes closed… happy.
Jaime and Aly giggle and Alexis shakes his head and David just looks at more pictures of the men holding hands and laughing and walking along with their arms wrapped around each other.
Brave, defiant and strong.
That night he sneaks the magazine up to the bathroom and cries tears that drip down over the pages and fall wet onto glossy lips.
But he’s made his bed.
So he blows his nose and washes his face then walks quietly through to the bedroom to climb between the sheets and lie next to his wife.
DONE