GLITTER

Title: Slow Burn
Author: Chrislee Octaves
Pairing: JM/VK/DB
Rating: R

James licked the salt from his hand and then tipped the caballito of tequila into his mouth, wincing at the sharpness of the agave against his tongue.

“You’re doin’ it all wrong.”

James lifted his eyes and watched Vincent straddle the empty chair across from him. The boy leaned forward, a lock of lank hair falling forward across his thin cheek.

“Yeah,” James said, lifting the lime to his mouth. “What would you know about it?” He bit into the lime and sucked; one bitter tang replacing another.

Vincent shrugged. “I know you’re supposed to sip it. The salt, the lime…that’s Hollywood shit.”

James took the lime from his mouth. “Look around, asshole. We’re in Hollywood.”

Vincent smiled. “Really? No kidding?” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be damned.”

James reached for the bottle of Oro and poured. “Did you want some?”

Vincent shook his head. “Are you pissed at Dave again?”

“No.” James spilled some more salt into the fleshy bowl between his thumb and forefinger and dipped his tongue down to soak it up. He downed the tequila and reached for another wedge of lime.

“Really.” Vincent said. Not a question.

“Really. Really,” James said.

Vincent smiled again. It was a sly smile and it made James uncomfortable. He was just a kid. It pissed James off when Vincent acted like he knew him, had some special insight.

“Okay, well, that’s great.”

“Fuck off,” James said, pouring again.

“Is it because of what Joss said?”

James could feel his mouth pull into a tight line.

“He says that crap for the fans, you know,” Vincent continued. “He, what you call it…panders.”

“Panders, my ass. Look, I’ve been here since the beginning and no offence, Vinnie, but I’ve been around the block on my bicycle a few more times than you have.”

“All I’m sayin’ is that just because Joss says Spike and Angel may have…doesn’t mean people are going to…” Vincent leaned back, swiping his slender fingers through his hair. His eyes were wide, innocent. James knew he was goading him.

“You didn’t mind when people thought you were puttin’ the blocks to Sarah,” Vincent said quietly. “What’s the diff?”

“The difference is I was, as you so eloquently put it, ‘putting the blocks’ to Sarah,” James said. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business.”

“So you and Dave…”

James reached for his smokes and shook one out. He held Vincent’s gaze while he lit the cigarette and took his first long drag.

“What do you want?” James asked.

“I’ll have some of that tequila now.”

*

James poured two more glasses of the golden liquor. He lifted his salted hand and Vincent leaned forward, slid his eyes up to James and sank down, sucking the salt and the flesh of James’s hand into his mouth.

Jesus.

James shifted in his seat. Maybe he had underestimated Vinnie; he sure as hell had underestimated Dave.

Vincent bit down lightly and dragged his teeth across the little web of flesh between James’s fingers. Then he straightened up and reached for the caballito. He sipped once, twice and then tipped his head back. James watched Vincent’s throat close, his Adam’s apple lift and fall once.

“Lime?” James asked. He figured he was safe with just the one word.

“Thanks.”

*

James followed Vincent into the can. After only a couple shots of tequila, Vincent was slit-eyed and loose-limbed. It was easy to get the boy to his knees. He fumbled with the zipper on his jeans before Vincent lifted his hands to help.

James ignored the fact that Vincent’s hands were trembling. He reached behind him and braced himself on the sink, waited that impossibly long second before Vincent fell on him, his warm mouth devouring the length of him with the practiced ease of a sword swallower. James groaned.

Everything fell away: his earlier tequila rush and spin, the sounds of other bar patrons cracking peanuts, bottles clanking together, David’s earlier anger, the fact that the show was over- eight years of his life. Over.

But this was just beginning.

James looked down. He watched, fascinated, as Vincent swallowed him whole. He slid his hands into Vincent’s hair and adjusted the pace.

“Not too fast,” he whispered. “There you go. Like that.”

James was fascinated by Vincent’s perseverance, by the tight hole of his mouth, the strong tongue swirling around the head of his cock, stoking its underside, the teeth used to scrape lightly, the bottomless throat. And then Vinnie’s fingers at his balls, between his legs, in him.

“Fuck,” James said. His stomach muscles convulsed and he surged forward, came in Vinnie’s mouth. “Fuck me.”

Vincent rocked back on his heels and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Next time,” he said.

James looked down. Vincent’s mouth was a bruised flower, red against the pale of his skin. The boy barely had stubble.

James adjusted himself. His anger was gone. Everything was gone.

“Where did you…” He stopped himself from finishing the question.

Vincent paused at the door, turned back.

“Dave taught me.” He pulled the door open. Paused again. “Hey. Thanks for the drink.”

-End