Title: My Body Rhymes With Yours Author:: Tesla Pairing:  CK/DB Rating: R Dave wants to know why every guy he's attracted to has a fucking guitar. Every. Fucking. One. Dave collects old guitars, but would never play them around James, or Chris, or Seth. Maybe Seth, because Seth doesn't have a god damned band and an excuse to be an artist, thank you very much, a craftsman, a trained actor, instead of Dave, who is only the fucking title character on the show, thanks for the respect, guys. Chris and James are sitting in Dave's trailer playing dueling fucking banjos and joking about summer stock and road companies and shit, like Dave never did stage work, like--- Like Dave's not there. And that's the problem, isn't it? James and Chris are into the music, and into each other, and Dave wants someone to turn around and see him, the big guy, the guy that wants someone to fucking see him. Dave has got to stop the nicotine and the caffeine, they make him too wired, and that ephedra shit'll  give him a fucking heart attack.  For now, it's the paranoia. He sighs, and opens a beer. Why shouldn't they have fun? Why shouldn't Chris and James hit it off? They're more like each other than either is like Dave. Both trained, both tightly muscled and compact, both with the glint in their eyes, the way they can come up with a sound bite, a quip.  They make Dave feel too big and clumsy for his own trailer, and he should go soak in a hot tub, work the kinks out from the latest stunt fight. He thought Chris was visiting the set to see him, but apparently, not. The television set is on mute, and Dave watches a hockey game, and tries not to see the intimate looks the two guitarists are exchanging. He must have fallen asleep, because the television is off, and there is only Chris' face in his vision. "Huh," he says, and almost blushes. "James?" "James took off," Chris says, his whisky-and-cigarettes voice a sexy rasp.  Chris puts a hand on his chest and keeps Dave from sitting up.  "Sorry we bored you," he says, and unbuttons Dave's pants. And, true to form, Dave is already getting hard. "Maybe I should have left," he has to say, even though Chris is taking his dick in his hand. "Shut up," Chris says, and dips his head to kiss him. But the kiss is sweet instead of hard, and Dave sighs into Chris' mouth. "Gonna make it up to you," Chris says, and kneels between Dave's legs. And he does. -End