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Title: Dirty Little Secret Author: Tesla Genre: RPS Pairing: DB/VK It was ending, really, as an average day on set. Vinnie sat around in his chair, behind the production crew and the monitor banks, playing computer Scrabble with J. He just had to re-shoot a scuffle with DB, because one of the camera angles had been off. Massa had blocked the shot, Vinnie had walked through it again while the star was shooting other scenes, and tomorrow could probably be any second-unit or pick-up shots. J. froze the game and saved it when he went to shoot his scenes. Typical Angel/Connor stand-off; low, throbbing voice of the father, blah blah blah, Connor all misunderstood and furious, yeah yeah yeah, and the scuffle. David and Vinnie hit their marks, then action was called, and they shot the scene. Vinnie knew he'd connected with David somehow, and said, "Sorry, dude!" as they lay on the floor. David made a noise in his throat, and asked, looking towards the director, "Get what you need?" "Yeah, we're wrapped for today, DB." The set immediately began shutting down. David looked over at Vinnie. "Help me up, okay, man?" Vinnie got to his feet, and gripped David's forearm. David levered up. The Wardrobe Mistress immediately came over and got Angel's leather coat, and David began to walk offset to his trailer. Vinnie shook dirt out of his hair. "You all right?" he asked, uncertainly. David waved a hand, not turning around. Vinnie went to his dressing room, and changed out of Connor's Young Destroyer clothes into his own saggy khakis and vintage Stones shirt. He stood, irresolute, tossing his keys up and down, until he came to a decision. "Come in," David said, through his closed trailer door. When Vinnie swung up into the trailer, David gave him a startled look. "Thought you were Mike," he mumbled. David had taken off Angel's shirt and trousers, and was in tee-shirt and boxers. He was sprawled on the narrow couch, holding a wet towel to his knee, his face creased with pain. "Fuck," Vinnie said. "I popped you in the bad knee, didn't I?" "You didn't mean it." David winced. "It hurts like a bastard when I move." "You got any ice?" Vinnie asked, opening the little refrigerator. "I'll go get some from the machine." He looked around and snagged a plastic Ralph's bag from the wastepaper basket. "I called Mike, but---" David broke off, gripping the edge of the couch. "I'll see if he's still here, but everyone's going," Vinnie said, over his shoulder. When he got back with a sack of ice chips, David had spilled a large prescription bottle of pills all over the floor, and was trying, ineffectively, to reach them. Vinnie closed the door, and leaned over and plucked a fat white tab. "I think this might help," he said, and scooped the rest up into the brown bottle. "Here." Vinnie was going to give him the ice, and go, but he saw that David wasn't being brave or sulky, he was sweating and speechless with pain. So he snagged a bottle of water and opened it, and found himself holding it for the bigger man to swallow. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept saying, even as he efficiently wrapped up more ice in a make-up towel. The bad knee was going up like a balloon. He knew why David was toughing it out; didn't want to give the suits any excuse not to renew the show, or insurance to go up. "It's all right," David said. "It'll ease off in a little while." He rattled the pills in the bottle. "I'll take another one in five minutes." His head fell back against the back of the couch. "You'll get stoned," Vinnie said, not caring. "Early call?" "Shit, I can sleep here, if it'll just stop," David said. He couldn't get the towel placed right. "Let me," Vinnie said. He sat down on the rug and folded the ice over David's swollen knee. "Jeeze, yeah, right there," David said. Then, hearing what he said, he giggled. Vinnie looked up, grinning. "Does that feel good, big boy?" He held the ice with one hand, and fumbled for the remote. Naturally, the television was set to ESPN. "Watch what you want," David said, his voice slurring just a bit, but his posture still cramped. It was the first time Vinnie had ever been alone with the big man. Not that David was unfriendly, far from it; he just wasn't the kind of guy Vinnie would hang with, ten years older and all sports-shit, all the time. Did his work, was there all the time, asked matter-of-fact non sequitors just before the most wrenching Angel/Connor scenes. Vinnie hadn't any idea how much better David looked without his clothes. In fact, Vinnie had heard the rumors about David's equipment, and been curious; especially since he'dbeen nick-named "Tripod" in high-school. And Vinnie liked helpless things, puppies, newborn calves, drunk and giggling girls and, apparently, large, stoned co-stars. He unfolded the towel, and got up for more ice. David had beer in the mini-fridge, so he got a bottle. He sat back down, this time between David's splayed legs, and casually leaned against the good knee. "Better?" he asked, looking backward. "Yeah," David sighed. "You don't have to stay." "Want to," Vinnie said. All around them, the studio was quiet. He relaxed, and sipped the beer. Under his arm, he felt David's muscles relaxing, too. After a while, he rolled his head back, as if stretching, trying to get comfortable. He felt a light touch on his hair. "You tryin' to take advantage of me?" David asked, his voice low and amused. He brushed his hand through Vinnie's hair. "Thinkin' about it," Vinnie said, calmly. He turned, getting on his knees, and put David's hand on the ice bag. "Can you hold this for a sec?" "Not that stoned," David said, smiling small, but his large hand held the bag firm, even as Vinnie licked his lower lip. "Not stoned at all," David whispered. "Good," Vinnie said, into David's mouth. And he must not have been stoned, because damn, the man could kiss. Vinnie hadn't realized that he'd wanted to explore David's chest with his fingertips and tongue, wanted to make David groan, hadn't realized that he wanted to wrap his hand around a cock that was as long and thick as the stories had said, didn't realize any of that until he did it. Vinnie was careful not to jostle the sore knee, and pulled his mouth off David's cock with a wet pop, to rasp, "Don't move, Dave." And David froze in place, although he was shaking. Vinnie noticed that, and wondered about it for a half-second, before getting back to it and making David come with a low, gutteral moan. The towel slipped to the floor, unheeded. When he got his breath back, David held Vinnie to him with one hand on Vinnie's hip, his thumb bruisingly hard, and gave Vinnie one of the best blow jobs ever. Vinnie bent over David's back, holding onto his broad shoulders. Turned out that the couch opened out into a bed. Turned out that David didn't snore, or hog the bed. Turned out that Vinnie got a great nights' sleep. Turned out that David was a lot of fun in the shower, and that he was enough of a jock to know how to wrap up his knee, while Vinnie went to his own dressing room before his set call. That day, on set, nothing was changed. David was exactly the same to Vinnie as he had been the day before, neither colder nor friendlier. Maybe David thought he was just another notch on Vinnie's belt, and Vinnie was going to let him think it. Because he didn't plan on repeating the night with David. Not because he didn't care about the big guy, but because he was afraid he could care too much. Vinnie had plans, dude, and they didn't include falling for a co-star. He touched his mouth, brushing his thumb over his lower lip. -End