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Title: To Want Author: Abbie S. Rating: NC-17 Pairing: CK/DB/JM A/N: This piece takes place both before the first one To Covet and after the second one, To Watch. The first time Dave heard "Rattlesnake Smile" he knew Chris had written it for him. The line "Stung with the heart of a little child," referred to his son. How when Jaime became pregnant Dave had stopped seeing Chris. Stopped going out all night drinking. Stopped hanging out on Sunday afternoons, watching whatever game was on TV. Stopped fucking. It wasn't because Dave didn't want to anymore. He wanted to. He wanted to lick those whiskey-thin lips and let that clever tongue delve into him. Wanted to feel the strength of Chris, muscles growing slick with sweat. Wanted to taste that cock, saltysweet, hard against his tongue. Longed to be on his knees again, driven out of his mind with kissing and teasing and sucking and slick fingers until finally split open and his hair yanked hard and stinging slaps against his thighs and that voice cracked like cream over ice telling him how bad he was, how dirty, how hot. Wanted it too much. They did the Hollywood thing. Stayed in touch. Sent Christmas cards and congratulations when they had news. Talked on the phone a few times, Dave calling Chris, mostly just to say hello--awkward long pauses filling most of the time. Chris only called Dave once, at 3:48 in the morning, drunk off his ass, still awake from his latest gig. Sneered at him for being such a fucking stupid pretty boy. Dave hung up before Chris said anything more. They didn't talk on the phone again after that. Then Weed came up with the brilliant idea of Lindsey's return. And Dave? Wanted. # Chris could have kissed Linda from wardrobe when she showed him his first outfit--jeans ripped through the knees, a western shirt, boots. Even a leather jacket for later. Comfortable and real. He didn't though. Just smiled and tugged on his cap and thanked her and told her how much of a pleasure it was to work with her. Then got the hell out of there and went looking for Dave. Wasn't too hard to find him, taking up so much space without a thought, broader than the sides of beef Uncle Larry the butcher donated to the church every year. Went up and socked Dave hard in the shoulder. Dave whirled and Chris saw what was in those brown-syrup eyes before Dave could shut it away. Want. Lust. Challenge. Greedy like a pig. "Since when you get to wear a suit, boy?" Chris asked, words and tone slick as Aunt Jenny's butter-peach pie. "Since when you start accessorizing?" Dave asked, reaching out a hand, a finger brushing up against his neck, flicking an earring. Oh yeah. Gonna break you, boy. # "You want to get something to eat?" Dave didn't let himself shiver at the look Chris gave him, long and complete, up and down. "I could eat." Dave did let himself grin. "That's great! Really. I, ah, I just need to go get my coat." Chris nodded, put his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. "'Kay." "In my trailer." "Right." "You, ah, want to come with?" "Naw, I'm fine here." Chris nodded at Dave, then sauntered over to a folding chair next to the craft table and sat down. Dave couldn't believe it. He knew Chris was interested. That look--he hadn't faked that look. Had he? But now . . . Chris was just sitting there. Arms crossed over his chest. Ankle from one leg thrown up over his knee. White cowboy hat down over his eyes. Stretched out and relaxed. Like it was time for nap after lunch. "Well, ah, okay. I'll be right back." So maybe they'd get together afterward. That must be it. Dave jogged up the steps to his trailer and unlocked the door. Only to have it slammed open, out of his hand, from behind. "In," was all he heard, terse and hard, with a shove to the middle of his back. Dave stumbled into the trailer, fingers skimming the floor, but he picked himself up before he fell. The door crashed shut behind him. "What the fuck are you thinking?" Dave didn't know what to say. Chris stood with lips pressed thin, fury radiating from clenched fists and locked knees. "Chris, I--" "Shut. Up." Dave tried again. "Look, Chris, I--" "You've forgotten how to shut up, haven't you Davey?" Whipcord voice lashing out at him, slicing across his shoulders. Dave didn't reply. Just watched Chris as he paced, rage apparent in his eyes, his quick steps, the way he opened and closed his hands, as if holding himself back from punching something. "So let me tell you how this is going to work. You wanted to fuck, then you didn't. Now? It's only ever going to be at my say." Dave nodded, not sure if he was allowed to speak or not. They'd never played those kinds of games--that was more Alexis's thing. "Knees, boy." # And like a parishioner seeing the light, Dave dropped down, graceful and slow as pulled taffy. Preacher Phillips, when sharing dinner with them some Sunday, had talked once about how he loved the Celebration of Renewal, when the congregation went to the river and were re-baptized, all the proud men and women kneeling, lowering themselves before the Lord, renewing their faith. Chris had snickered under his hand as he'd passed the mashed yams, but he had to agree: he enjoyed seeing men on their knees. Particularly like this, with Dave so unsure and licking his lips, making them shinysweet. Chris stalked across the room and stood over him, stared down into carmel-corn eyes, crowded eyes with no room for him to fall into. Hand into hair, and he yanked, hard, before he bit down on those lips, slicked them up, made them hot and swollen. "Take me out." Chris sneered at the slight tremble in Dave's fingers, but the glare, the almost defiant look, that Dave shot him afterward? Just made Chris smile more. Even show some teeth. "Gonna have to teach you shut up, aren't we boy?" Chris pulled on Dave's hair again. His mouth opened in a gasp and Chris shoved in. Almighty Christ, that was the stuff. Oven hot and tight. Dave groaned, and Chris echoed the sentiment without thought. Then Chris laced both his hands through Dave's hair to hold his head steady while Chris swayed with his hips, slowly thrusting in and out of Dave's mouth--not a two-step, more like a Texas waltz. When Dave brought his hands up, Chris stilled his motion for a moment. "No. Put them on your waist. Fingers spread. So I can see 'em." That brought out a little more of the wide-eyed look Chris loved, a touch more heated fear into the mix. But still, Dave obeyed. "You like this, don't you? Fucking hot little whore." Chris sped up now, pistoning in and out of Dave's mouth, relishing how Dave's jellored cheeks puffed out like a kid at the state fair after eating too much cotton candy. Tears made their way down Dave's face as he choked slightly. His fingers rhythmically clenched and relaxed, but his hands didn't move from their appointed position, stuck like jujubees to the floor of a movie theatre. And Dave's cock hadn't done anything but get harder. When Chris looked down, he could see it bulging in Dave's fancy dress pants. Knew that if he kept at this, there would be a wet spot soon, the fabric leaking, showing more than jeans would. "Fuck, yeah, that's it." Chris tugged Dave's head, letting one corner of Dave's mouth slide against the side of his cock, then the other. Dave knew well enough to try to cover his teeth with his lips, but the scrapes that he accidentally gave Chris just gave a zing to everything, like lemonade with only a pinch of sugar. "Shit. Got the sweetest whore mouth." He was getting close, snakebites down his spine, sharp venom coalescing in his balls. "Damn. Just like that." Chris pushed in one last time and held himself there, deep in Dave's throat, down his mouth, choking him more. Dave looked up, his eyes catching at Chris's, a little panic showing around the edges and Chris just grinned and pulled cruelly with his hands adding a bit more pain to Dave's tear-streaked face before Chris froze and came, pumping hard. And Dave sucked and swallowed like a good boy, eyes wide and graceless as the poor kids who got their Christmas presents from social services instead of kin. Chris felt the strength flow out of his fingers, leaving them softly wrapped in Dave's hair. He stroked down the nap of Dave's neck, petting and soothing and settling, like how he would an old mare. Leaned over and kissed Dave, silkycream taste and scorched lips. Licked up the tears on either side of his face, letting his tongue dally and chase the sweat gathered around Dave's temples. Always leaving 'em hankering for more was his motto--less you were sitting at his momma's table. So he straightened up, tucked himself in, and said over his shoulder as he walked out the door, "Don't think I'm hungry after all." # It was only after that first blowjob that Dave noticed Chris watching James. No biggie. Chris always watched people. Like Jay. Or Alexis. But then Chris and James started playing music together. Always hunched over guitars, long fingers on slick necks, glittering strings, glossy caramel notes. Dave laughed it off when they shunned his offer to join them, Chris making a crack about his singing voice, James agreeing. As if James had anything to talk about. Dave continued to play the good all-smiling guy with James, Chris, the crew. Nothing had changed. Nothing could. And Dave wanted to turn Chris down, when, after four long days, he invited Dave out for some beers. He didn't though. Knew he wouldn't. Couldn't. Went, still hungry for more. # And if Dave on his knees wasn't special? Or if his mouth full of Chris's cock wasn't a pretty enough sight? There was always him on his hands and knees, ass in the air, begging. Not like that shit Alexis did--no safewords or "Master"--though Chris did like it when Dave called him "Sir" sometimes. Just "Please," and "Now," and even "Harder." Chris always preferred "More" to "No." Chris had enjoyed himself that night, teasing Dave. He'd actually made them go out drinking first, had insisted on bottles, not glasses, to show off that long stretch of throat. Admired it when he could. Spent the whole time arguing about whoever was best on whatever game they were watching, "best" being a figure of speech, like those pretty similes Preacher Phillips had always tried to use and failed, like sharing loaves of bread or the brides of the church. Dave moaned when Chris smacked his round ass. "Can't hear you," Chris warned as his other hand drove a finger into Dave's hole, past muscles tight and tensed and clenched and not relaxing, not letting him in. He pulled out, added more lube. "Fuck it Chris, just fuck me for god's sake," Dave said, his voice a low growl. Chris speared Dave again, twisting and pumping his hand, leaning over to bite at that ass, white and soft as Wonder Bread. Dave shivered and relaxed a touch, but not enough. Not unless Dave really wanted it to hurt. Chris could always judge his audience. A little pain? Like extra chili sauce on a steak sandwich. Trying to shove in now? Too close to eating those damn habanero peppers straight. And Dave wouldn't thank him for it, no matter how demanding he was being. "So how about it? Do you think of Jimmy?" Chris asked again. Panting noises greeted him for a moment, followed by an audible swallow. "No. Yes. I don't know. Fuck!" Chris grinned and slowed down deliberately, no longer fucking Dave with his finger, just rotating it and scratching at his prostrate every now and again, feeling Dave twitch and shiver every time he did. "You think about it. Want to watch those cheekbones narrow down around your cock. That pretty boy all bent backwards in your hands." "Shit Chris! What do you want me to say?" Chris smacked Dave once more, a groan following the gingersharp sound. "Just the truth man. Set you free. Shit like that." And Dave just . . . opened. The muscles clenching tight around Chris's finger loosened and he felt like he could have shoved his whole hand up Dave without much more lube. "God yes." The words carried out from Dave on a whisper of breath. Chris didn't ask again. Got Dave prepared and on his cock and pumping so hard he was going to have chocolate-colored bruises around his crotch from where he kept hitting Dave's ass. Dug his fingers into Dave's hipbones and just kept going, blissful hottightedges scraping at him. Fucking too hard to reach for hair or any other handhold. "So good. Fuck. Dirty whore. Such a bad, bad boy." Another echoing smack resounded through the trailer. Dave whined in response--like the puppy that he was--the sound seeping out from low in his gut and raising and lowering and bobbing like donuts frying in grease. Push and pull and drone of whimpers and almost continuous litany of Dave's "Please" under Chris's swearing. Chris shoving in and out while his balls drew up and scorching heat sucked at him and he flung sweat from his body like the devil was flung from the tower and as he tensed he yanked on Dave's cock and let him come too, a reward for being so needy, for making such pretty sounds, for telling him truth that was sweeter than baptism wine. # James didn't know where Chris had gone. He'd been watching, from the edge of the set, then he'd disappeared. James shook himself, bounced on his toes as well as he could given the fucking boots wardrobe insisted Spike wear, and tried to think about the upcoming scene and making himself relax. Chris had probably left for the night. He'd done that before. Watched, then left. Without a word to James. They hadn't played music since that night. Since James had been put between Dave and Chris. Played for the dork and left behind by the cool kids. Dave had continued with goofy goodness, teasing and horsing around and acting as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed, while Chris . . . watched. But Chris was gone now. James started breathing again, watching the other actors in the scene and planning his night, when a sly southern voice came up from behind him and grabbed hold, stronger than any tar-baby. "Wanna go play some? When you're done?" The air turned desert dry around James, all the moisture sucked out as the temperature rose. He swallowed around sudden boulders in his throat. Turned to Chris. Tried to say no. But those clear eyes held him. Stopped him. Wrapped around him with heavy ropes of need and want and lust. Made him harder than rock candy. James found himself nodding. Chris smiled at him then, all mint julep polite, tipped his hat, and swaggered away. It didn't take a genius to know where he was going. To James's trailer. To wait like a rattlesnake in the shade. James found himself going through the motions, merely wearing his character instead of being him, frustration and fear and rage working through him, for him. Finally, finally they were done for the day. James didn't look for Dave, figured he'd already be there, with Chris. Waiting. Chris sat on the low couch in the back of James's trailer, guitar in his lap, fingers trailing over notes. "Where's Dave?" James asked, amazed that his voice still sounded so steady. Chris shrugged, his eyes following James while he kept pinging notes between them, as if to judge distance, mass, stickiness. "Can I get you anything?" James asked, heading toward the small kitchenette, wanting some water, something, anything, to put in his hands. To play with. To keep between the pair of them. When he came back, Chris had put the guitar to the side and was sitting, legs spread wide, cock out and ready. "I think you can get me something," Chris said, voice low and coiled, ready to strike. Relief drenched James, ran down his back cooler than the chilled bottle he held in his hands. This he could do. This demanding without asking and without games but with need--though Chris didn't need like James did. Never had. Never would. James sank down to his knees and did what he knew best. He looked pretty and sucked. # Chris kept his hands to the back of the couch, only letting his fingers curl around the planes of James's jaw once. Then he just sat back and let James work. The boy did know how to do this. And he did it well. And when Dave came in? Chris played his part. He scowled. Shook his head. Said no. Told Dave to leave without spooking the pretty boy on his knees, alerting him to the other predator's presence. After Dave shut the door quietly behind him, Chris just smiled wider. Took a deep breath and kept enjoying the ride. # Dave had seen the talk, the question, the autopilot that James had gone on. Knew it was time. Bounced a little, thinking of the play soon to be had. The images looped in his head, of him fucking James. Of James sucking the pair of them off. Of him sucking off Chris while James sucked him off. It was going to be a good night. Of course they'd already started by the time Dave got to James's trailer. Chris looked like the king of the ranch, hat pushed onto the back of his head, boots still on, one leg up on the coffee table. He hadn't expected to be warned off. Told to move along. Understood but didn't want to acknowledge the flash of anger in Chris's eyes. The way Chris dismissed him. How he left the trailer alone and unsatisfied. How he still wanted. -End