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Title: To Watch (Part of the Sugarverse series) Author: Abbie S. Rating: NC-17 Pairing: CK/JM Chris likes watching James on the set. He finds a corner, a piece of scenery to lean against, some place out of direct line of sight, pulls his gimme cap* further over his eyes, and savors. James bounces and giggles and sometimes spins around, attitude belying the fact that he's older than most of these kids. Then he slips Spike on, like that old duster, all cool and confident and leather slick. But Chris knows that cockiness is wrapped around a soft, squishy center. A center Chris wants to break into, suck dry. It's been three days since the trailer. Since he's seen that long expanse of pale back stretch before him, like the fancy tablecloths of the Sunday church picnics, covered with fried food and home-baked breads and sweet pies. That long thin line of vertebrae just asking to be bitten. That skin glowing just like the magnolia blossoms do as the sun sets, after the rest of the leaves have grown dark. Like Chris. James sometimes finds Chris watching. Fair skin blushes like his momma's azaleas. Eyes flicker between hope and caged wariness. Lips are bitten unconsciously. Chris is fixing to let James stew for another day or so. Before he fucks that mouth hard and fast. Let those cheeks close in around his dick--yes, he's seen what that boy can do. Wants to see it tighten around himself. Let that candy-sweet sweat puddle under his palms, tug on hair as crunchy as his Aunt Mary's chicken-fried steak, watch blue eyes cloud with passion and doubt. And maybe raise a hand. Maybe pull harder. Maybe add a little fear, make the mix that much more sweet. Chris watches as Spike throws down with Angel, his fighting style a bit more aggressive, more challenging than before. Uncertainty bringing James a little closer to the surface, "method" be damned. Chris shifts, plays idly with the braided leather bracelet covering his left wrist. Slips a finger under it. So tight. So smooth. Like James was that night. Bumping through that sweating heat. Fighting Dave, fucking him with his eyes, letting the puppy know who was master. Dave too lost to see them both. Drowning in babies and strangled with kudzu. James works with the stunt coordinator, squatting down, shifting, sweeping his leg back and out. Starts slowly, works up to speed. Yes, just like that. Like how Chris wants to take him. Ease him down, knees slipping onto the floor. Hold him still with a word, a look, a sudden smack. Open that fucking sinful mouth and slide in, syrupy slow and long and good. Let heat like once-feared brimstone swirl up his dick, wrap around his balls and stalk his spine. Then faster than a two-stepping whore, make it hard, make it hurt--make it bleed. Crack that boy open while he sucks, prettier, and more broken, than Dave's ever going to be. Maybe tonight. -End