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Title: Sideways, Awkward Traditions Author: WG (no email provided) Pairing: DB/JM Rating: NC-17 It's a week later. The place is quiet, just like always. That's one of the reasons they liked it so much -- close to the set, but not so close that any of the other cast or crew even seemed to know it existed. James doesn't know if Dave even knew it existed, before, and he doesn't bother to try to deny, even to himself, that he likes the idea it's 'their' place. Somewhere for just the two of them. Well, them and the other dozen or so regulars who always seem to be there. He's sitting on a stool in the back corner of the bar -- no one's ever approached either of them in the times they've been there, but no point in taking chances -- contemplating the dark amber tones of a beer when Dave comes in. He looks up as the door shuts, and their eyes meet from across the room. Shit, James thinks. I've got it bad. Dave comes over, his saunter somewhat less than casual in the way that only a big guy's is, and sinks down on the stool next to James' without turning his head to look at him again. The bartender glances their way. Comes over with two beers -- one for Dave, and a second one for James, who wonders if it's that obvious that he's going to need it. "I didn't think you'd be back this way," James says after a minute, still looking at his first beer. "Didn't you?" Dave sounds mildly surprised. "I thought this was, you know. A tradition." "Four months isn't a tradition," James says. He's not sure why he's trying to talk them out of calling it that. Maybe because it'll make things easier, in the end. Dave shrugs and downs half his beer. "I thought it was. Seems like you did, too. You're here, aren't you?" James snorts. "It's not like I had anywhere else to go." "You think I did?" Dave traces the beads of moisture forming on the outside of his bottle. "It's not like..." He stops himself. That's part of the ritual, too -- they don't talk about anyone else, not anyone from their real lives. Instead, they pretend like there's nothing outside of work and this bar. Work, that's a laugh. They wrapped up the show last week. It's not like James isn't grateful for the break, on one level. He knows he'll get more work, but... fuck, he's been Spike a long time. Shrugging the persona on with the duster, letting it settle over his shoulders and make him someone else. He went to a BBQ place the other night and ate ribs, a whole rack, defiantly and until his stomach ached with the richness of the meat. Maybe he should have known better, but he thinks part of him needed to do it. Prove that he doesn't have to fucking starve himself for a part. Prove that he's not some hack just because the character he played for six seasons took on a life of its own that sometimes, in some lights and with the steady pain of a hangover like a band tightening around his head, seemed to be more three dimensional than he was, himself. They sit next to each other, him and Dave, and match each other drink for drink. They don't talk, and they rarely look at each other, but in ninety minutes' time they've had six beers each and -- for James, at least -- sitting without weaving's getting to be a problem. Dave shakes his head when the bartender looks in their direction again. Pushes his last bottle, still containing an inch or so of beer, away from him across the shiny surface of the bar. And James feels Dave's hand -- big, strong, just like always -- squeeze his thigh. "Be right back," Dave grunts, and gets up, heading for the bathroom with considerably less staggering than James thinks he'll be able to manage. After a minute, James follows. The bathroom floor looks like it could use some serious scrubbing, he thinks, just before Dave grabs the front of his shirt and spins him around, shoving him into the wall and kissing him, hard and sloppy. James doesn't protest -- why the hell would he? -- but a little sound of surprise escapes him at the roughness. It's always been like this between them, for as long as he can remember -- denial, repression -- but this is the first time Dave's just grabbed him like this. Fuck, but it makes him hard. Still, he manages to gasp, "Door," during one of the split-seconds when Dave's lips aren't on his, and Dave reaches out and snaps the lock into place, then takes advantage of the movement to rocks his hips forward into James', making it clear that they're both on the same page, as if there'd been any doubt. "Jesus," Dave gasps, grinding himself against James, one hand planted on the wall to either side of James' head. "Fuck." "No," James says. "You need to be naked for that. Or at least closer to." He palms Dave's cock through his slacks, then fumbles with the front of them, trying to get it out. Drops down to his knees on the hard, grungy tile floor, not caring that he's probably kneeling in piss and puke along with beer, not caring about anything except getting Dave's prick in his mouth. It's hard, and hot, and it slides right in like it belongs there, over his tongue, painting a stripe of thick pre-come that makes the spit spring up in his mouth. Dave's hands are in his hair -- it'll be gone in a few days, might as well get some use out of it while he can --  and Dave's cock is in his mouth, and it's the first time in a week that James has felt like he's where he should be. He sucks, making heated skin wet, the musky taste of Dave making him groan softly. Dave's grip on his hair tightens, warning him not to make too much noise -- Dave can fuck for an hour without making a sound if he wants to, but James can't, never could, is always moaning and swearing under his breath. When he can breathe, when there's not a huge cock thrusting in and out of his mouth. James lets go and Dave's cock bobs free, leaving a damp mark on his chin where it bumps, and James can't help but think that this is dirty in more ways than one. He doesn't care, just undoes the front of his own jeans, worn and soft denim threatening to tear in his trembling hands, and gets out his own cock. Starts to stroke it awkwardly as he licks Dave, around the head and over the tip, tasting the bitterness on the back of his tongue and the sweet on the front. "Fuck, yeah," Dave mutters. He tries harder to do what he thinks might make Dave come -- sucks on the tip, massages Dave's balls -- but he's the one shivering on the edge of orgasm, aching, burning. Feels a surge and has to clamp down on the base of his dick to keep from coming right then, with the taste of Dave strong in his mouth. Then James is being hauled to his feet, and he whimpers because he wasn't done, but Dave doesn't care about that. Dave just kisses him, tongue sliding more delicately than James would have thought possible along the roof of his mouth. "Shut up," Dave says kindly, squeezing James' cock. And it's not like he cares, he tells himself. It doesn't matter that this is about sex and nothing more, not even when Dave turns him around and gets him to brace his hands on the seen-better-days white porcelain sink, where he can see his reflection in the mirror the one second he glances up. After that, he doesn't anymore. Doesn't want to see. Just as Dave pushes a slick finger into James, there's a scuffle at the door, then someone knocks. "Someone's in here," Dave says, managing to sound casual despite the fact that he's shoving a second finger into James' ass. Muffled swearing outside the door. "You want me to fuck you?" Dave murmurs into James' ear. "Yeah," James whispers, trembling as Dave pulls his fingers out and lines up his cock, feeling sweat pooling in the small of his back. More indistinct words outside the door. Dave says, in a loud, irritated voice, "Fuck off," at the same time he shoves his prick into James, hard, and muffles James' cry with a hand over his mouth. Fuck, it hurts -- it always does, but this time more than most, and there's nothing James can do but close his eyes and breathe through his nose as Dave starts to fuck him in quick rough motions, in and out, in and out. Not deep thrusts, just shallow ones that make James pant, his breath hot against Dave's palm. If there's one thing Dave knows, it's how to fuck, each stroke angled perfectly so that in less than a minute James is twisting his hips in an attempt to escape the inevitable: the fact that he's going to come way before Dave does. He doesn't stand a chance, what with Dave's hand over his mouth, Dave's big dick inside him, and the strong fingers that close around his own cock. Dave barely has to touch James and he's coming, coming in viciously strong spurts, striping the side of the sink and crying out with every pulse of it. Even then, when he's whimpering, spent, Dave doesn't let up. James has to stand there and take it on legs that don't want to hold him up anymore while Dave jabs deeper, thrusts faster, the rhythm of his breathing in James' ear the only indication of his arousal. His prick rubs over James' prostate, but James has nothing left. He tightens his thighs, squeezing around Dave's cock, feeling how he's going to be fucked raw and not caring at all, not as long as Dave gets off. Dave's hands are on his hips now, holding him still while he fucks in long strokes, and James knows there are going to be bruises in the morning. He doesn't care about that, either. It's not like there's going to be anyone to see them. A couple of harder thrusts and Dave gives a soft groan as he comes, his prick twitching and throbbing inside James, the warm flood of it almost soothing on James' abraded flesh. Then there's a brief moment when they both stand there, panting and sated, before Dave eases back out of him and turns away. James never knows what to look at during this part. He pretty much doesn't look at anything until, "Same time next week?" Dave asks, bending to press a quick kiss on James' mouth, sideways and awkward like it always is, after. "You want there to be a next week?" James asks, buckling up his belt, eyes on the floor. "Well... yeah. Don't you?" Dave sounds confused, maybe even almost hurt. "I thought this was... you know. A tradition." "Four months isn't a tradition," James says again. "Maybe not," Dave says, and his voice is warm. It makes James look up in time to see a thoughtful smile. "But it's something." -End