HOME    STORIES    LINKS   INFO

Title: To Repent Author: Abbie S. Rating: NC-17 Pairing: CK/DB, JM/JAR, JM/CK This piece can be read as a standalone, without the other stories. However, if you'd like to start from the beginning, the stories in the Sugarverse so far are: To Covet To Watch To Want Chris knows his circling makes James nervous. Doesn't matter that they haven't had sex in weeks. That James seems to believe he's somehow over Chris, thinks he's finished and is ready to leave the table. It's like when you've eaten one of Aunt Mary's pecan pies all by yourself, and you swear you're never going to touch another piece, ever. But the next time it shows up, you just can't help yourself. And James wants too much, doesn't know how to keep his sticky fingers to himself. So Chris walks around the room. And talks with people. And keeps an eye James, on Dave. And the fresh meat. # James can't help but bounce as he talks with Jay. He knows he would sound like a thirteen-year-old girl if he ever said it out loud, but he thinks Jay likes him. A lot. If he really is channeling a teenager, he would also add, that maybe, possibly, hopefully, Jay likes him that way. Jay's never touched him, except to punch him on the arm in greeting, or to steady him that one time he was practicing with the stunt guy and the punch he took nearly knocked him over. But Jay does look at him sometimes. Soft, like. Not hungry. Not like Chris. James glances over his shoulder. As he expects, Chris is looking at him, watching him. Tracking him. He turns back, forces himself to pay attention to Jay again. Nice Jay. Kind Jay. Jay who would freak if he knew the kinds of things that James does with Chris. No, no, not does. Had done, because there is no doing now. No nights spent whimpering, denied release while Chris marks him, licorice-red lines slapped across his thighs for some imagined infringement. No hot back pressed to his, skin sweaty and slick while his spine is crunched together by the power of Chris's thrusts. No soft southern voice curling around his ears, whispering of more pain, more pleasure, more attention sprinkled on James's thirsty soul. "You still with me man?" Damn it. James doesn't want to give Jay an excuse to leave. He wants to stay with Jay, in this easy place, where they're talking acting and Bond and old flicks and avoiding topics like what they're going to do next. James shoots Jay his most goofy grin. "Yeah, still here. Sorry." James wraps his arms around his chest and bounces up to his toes. "You still want to go out and get some beers?" He doesn't add the "Please" he hears floating in his head, the begging tones of the single word staining everything crimson. He can keep it cool. "I seem to recall still owing you at least one or two . . . " Jay gives him an easy smile. "You're on. Let me go grab my coat." James hugs himself a little tighter to prevent himself from reaching out and clutching Jay, offering to go with him. He doesn't need rescuing from Chris. He's a big boy. He can save himself. Really. Because he knows it's coming. He doesn't know why Chris's interest in him has reawakened tonight. But like a pika in a field, far from his bolt hole, he knows when the hawk's eyes are on him. Or the rattlesnake's. # "Hey James," Chris says, keeping his voice low, quiet, calm. James still starts, his eyes wide. Gonna take more settling than Chris had thought. "Whatcha up to tonight?" James bites his lips nervously. Chris wants to steady him, put a hand out, touch his bicep, squeeze gently, let him know that it's okay. Soothe him, let those blue eyes widen with wonder at the softness. Then break him. Again. Slowly, giving James plenty of time to evade, Chris reaches out. Suspicion flares, brighter than fireworks down by the river on the fourth. Chris can practically smell it. But by the time he's actually stroking James's arm, there's arousal too. "You okay?" he asks, solicitous, quiet, like they're sharing secrets. They'd never talked about what they were doing while they'd been doing it. What they weren't doing, when they'd stopped. Mostly it had just been a matter of timing--Lindsey's part was finished, Chris wasn't on the set every day anymore, and the band had started laying down tracks for their new CD. But he'd been invited back for a one-episode special appearance, and now it's time for James to remember his place, where he looks best: on his knees, in front of Chris. When James shrugs his shoulder, Chris lets his hand fall gracefully to his side. "I'm fine. Just wired, you know?" "Think playing a little would help?" Chris asks, smiling, teasing. "Naw, probably too wired for that." Chris doesn't let his eyes flick toward Jay, who's now in earshot. Doesn't acknowledge that he might have a rival. Just lets the plan unfold, rise up like baking bread. "Come on, you haven't played music with me for weeks," he says in a wheedling tone. "But--" James can't get a word in before Jay interrupts. "Hey man, it's cool. We can catch a brew some other time." "No." The word shatters between them, like a thin-shelled egg. Chris finds that he's already reaching for James, that his arm is already halfway raised, ready to take his boy in hand. "I'm going out with Jay tonight." Chris nods and drops his arm. "Sure thing. Next time then, okay?" Wide smile, easy and relaxed. Nothing wrong here, nothing to see. Sweet southern politeness thicker than cold corn syrup and smothering every hint of anger. Jay invites Chris along, but he declines. They say their good-byes. Chris waits. Stands in the same spot, watching them go toward the door. And there it is. That glance James gives him, over his shoulder, still biting his lower lip. He'll be back. Soon. In the meanwhile . . . Chris turns, and goes to find Dave. # Somehow, it doesn't surprise James that Jay has a truck. More tricked out and fancier than Gunn's, but still, a truck. With bucket seats in the front and a long, crowded bench in the back. It does surprise James that he manages to forget Chris, those searing eyes and candy-cracked voice, for almost the entire night. Jay is silly and makes him laugh and they trade awful jokes and just hang out like buddies should. It's relaxed and smooth and nice and James doesn't remember smiling like this in a long time. James is the one who reaches out his hand, laying it on a muscled thigh, when Jay parks up in the canyons, supposedly to prove to him that Venus really is brighter than most of the stars right now. James who leans across the space between them for that first kiss, though Jay presses toward him as well. More kisses then, gentle, sweet, deep hops and Jay's spicy cologne swirling across his tongue, astringent and citrusy. There's no hair to hold onto, so James wraps his hands around Jay's head, palms cupping his cheeks. When they pull back, Jay leads then, pulling James into the back seat, laying down first and draping James over him, reaching up for more soft kisses, and maybe a quiet groan, spilling between them, sweeter than fountain syrup. Now James remembers Chris. He doesn't want Chris. He doesn't need Chris. He has better friends. He doesn't need to be needed like that. He can be enough without it. Without thinking, he bites down, harder than he means to. Jay rewards him with a sharp blow to the head and a yelped, "Ow!" "I'm sorry Jay, I'm so sorry," James says, sitting back, forcing himself up and away from the comforting heat of Jay's body. "It's all right man, shh," Jay says, stroking James's arms up and down for a moment, looking into his eyes, obviously thinking. "Now, I don't know what kind of games you and that crazy white boy are up to--" "I--I don't know what--" Jay holds up a warning hand. "Don't try to play me for stupid." James bites his lip, shakes his head. The truck is warm but James still feels so cold. "Pain is not sexy. Not for me. You okay with that?" James nods, quickly. But he's still holding his breath, still waiting to be told that maybe this is a bad idea, that it isn't going to happen tonight, that they should just leave. The rich, low chuckle that Jay gives him coats his skin with caramel, and suddenly everything is slow and hazy. "Then come back here and show me what else you can do with that mouth of yours." James eagerly lays down and gently, gently starts to worship Jay again, doing his best to obey and please and be the one. Jay gives him quiet sighs, occasional words, tender hands. And James tells himself it's enough. # "Please." Chris almost doesn't recognize Dave's voice anymore. It's blackened and cracked like an overcooked pie. He doesn't slow his thrusts, even though he's already come twice that night and isn't sure when that third, magic time is going to arrive, if at all. He doesn't stop fondling Dave's cock either, letting his nails scrape lightly across oversensitive skin, tug at the bolo-tielike cock ring snuggled against Dave's balls. "Please what baby?" Chris asks, rum smooth and dripping like the sweat from his chest. "You wanna come? That it? Why should I let a dirty little whore like you have that? Why you?" The tremors in Dave's arms travel in waves up his biceps and across his shoulders, only to be met by shakes coming from his thighs. They generally cancel each other somewhere in the middle. But this time, Dave gives a shake, like a dog waking from a bad dream. "Not him," he manages to croak out. Chris slaps him hard for his insolence. Then again, because he likes the sound in the echoing trailer, and his dick climbs another gear higher, bringing him closer to the edge. How dare Dave presume he knows what's going on between Chris and James? Chris isn't mad at James, or worried about him coming back. James will be back. Chris isn't taking out his frustration on Dave. But, maybe, the boy has waited long enough. Chris leans over and bites Dave's shoulder fiercely. He continues to thrust, keeping his teeth adhered to Dave's skin, his mouth moving in time with the motion of their bodies. The taste of sweat and salt and faint ink from Angel's tattoo sweep into him unexpectedly, and the tip of the knife is suddenly under his feet, sharp and heady, like marmalade and cream. With one hand he yanks the fastener on the ends of the constrictive tie down and frees Dave's cock. Shouting, Dave clenches around him, carrying him along for the ride, milking him long after he's finished pumping the venom out of his system. In the quiet afterwards, after the boiling point is reached and receded from and their panting has slowed, Chris thinks he hears a click. Like a door opening and shutting. When they get up from the floor in James's trailer no one else is there. But Chris knows. He lets Dave clean up the mess they've made, though the boy is barely able to stand, and his hands shake with palsy worse than his granddad's. Chris would just leave it, let James see what they'd done. Chris has no regrets. # James doesn't know what's wrong with him. Jay is nice to him, supportive, kind, funny, sexy even with his quiet moans and breathy sighs. It's cute how Jay loses all his words as he undulates under James, legs spread, eyes unseeing, panting while James pushes into him. His skin is smoother than butter, and James loves to slide his hands all over it, every chance he gets. Jay is there for him. Available, ready, loving. All the time. So why does James keep creeping back to the set, peeking at the nightly play, when Jay is waiting for him at his place? Why can't he be happy with a good thing? Why does he watch and want and need? Why can't Jay be enough? # Chris waits, feet up on the coffee table, taffy loose and grinning. It took longer for the call to come than he'd expected. Maybe he'd been mistaken that first night. Maybe they hadn't had a visitor, that night, other nights. But the call did come. And maybe their silent spectator is tired of just watching. He didn't check with Dave, to see if he'd been invited or not. Didn't matter. The boy was his. James enters the trailer silently, guitar case clenched tightly in his hands, held partially in front of him, defense, excuse, ancient reliquary that's long lost it's ability to protect. "Hey," Chris says, nodding, not moving, arms still spread across the back of the couch, legs still up. Already hard. The smile he gets almost makes the waiting worth it. Hope and fear. Greed. Want. James puts the case down and approaches Chris from the side, tentatively, like how he'd walk up to a spooked colt. Chris smiles again, encouraging. James sinks slowly onto the couch next to Chris, watching, tense, ready to bolt. Chris curls his fingers around James's shoulders, strokes and tries to calm. It doesn't work--James is too skittish. Chris knows what he wants, what he needs. Doesn't know yet if he'll give it to him. Instead, he drinks in James's fright, first through touch, then taste, leaning forward and brushing his lips across James's, hint of a tongue, rock candy sweet. But Chris wants too. He doesn't get that moan, doesn't get that shutterstopskip jolt until he bites and squeezes hard, tight, bruising fingers into James's skin. Suddenly James is pliant in his arms, and Chris willingly lets go, lets him sink to his knees, lets him begin his penitence. -End