![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Kane RPS/Leverage RPS
Title: Slow Like Sunday Morning, Part Six(Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five)
Pairing/Characters: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, Timothy Hutton, Aldis Hodge, Jensen Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17 (for sex but also for theme and violence)
Word Count: 3355
Summary: Steve and Chris come together after being separated by friends for a few weeks, and fireworks follow...and even after it's over, Chris thinks he can continue to hide what it's doing to him.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP FIC. Turn back now if this is not your thing. This began as comment fic and took on a life of it's own. Sixth part of probably seven or eight.
"Seriously?"
Jensen grinned and held the door of the truck open. "I promised Steve I would see you safely here and home again."
"I'm not an invalid. I can drive."
"I've seen you drive." Jensen countered, climbing into the driver's seat. "So where to?"
Chris frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"We've got at least an hour until lunch."
"I don't need a babysitter." Chris groused, crossing his arms and scowling out the window.
"I thought I was your friend, and I'm in town unexpectedly, and I want to hang out." Jensen took his hands off the wheel and looked at him. "Come on, there's got to be something you want to do.
"I want to go home and read my script."
Jensen sighed. "You're angry."
At first Chris didn't respond, but the more he thought about it the angrier he got. "Hell yes, I'm angry."
"Good." Jensen responded, taking some of the wind out of his sails. "Maybe now that you've gotten angry, you'll start to see straight and I won't have to come down here and beat you both senseless."
"You and Tim are both making this out to be more than it is." Chris said once Jensen had them moving into traffic. "He's not going to drink anymore. That'll be the end of it."
"I hope so." Jensen's voice was soft.
"And even if it isn't, don't you think that it should be between me and him?" Chris asked. "I don't go sticking my nose into whatever it is you and Jeff do."
"Me and Jeff? Why are you bringing that up?"
"You think I don't see that he marks you?"
"That's totally different."
Chris shook his head. "Whatever. Steve and I are working this out. We don't need you to stage some fucking intervention, okay?"
Jensen's face was tight. "You want me to leave you to wallow in whatever shit is going on in that head?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"No. No. You are not pulling that shit with me." Jensen pulled them off the road and into a parking lot at some shopping center. He turned completely in his seat. "I know you're probably thinking some stupid shit about how Steve shouldn't trust you and how you were the one who walked away before because you didn't think you were getting what you needed from him. You're probably telling yourself that he hasn't forgiven you and you should expect him to be a little possessive, a little jealous."
Chris wanted to deny his words, but Jensen didn't even give him the space.
"I don't give a shit what little pity party is going on in your head. There is never a reason for you take that shit from him. Ever. And believe me, I've told him so myself. So pull your head up out of your ass, get over your goddamn self and stop."
Jensen turned back to the steering wheel. "Now, I'm going to take you home and I'm going to meet up with Jared and when we come over to take you to dinner, I expect you to be dressed and ready to have some fun."
Neither of them spoke again the rest of the way back to the apartment. Chris went upstairs alone, letting himself into the very quiet apartment and limping in to his bedroom. Jensen was right, and he knew it. But what he felt was lonely.
He laid down, pulling Steve's pillow to him and breathing in deep and letting the smell of Steve quiet the longing inside.
It was obvious that Jensen had contacted Jason or Ryan…probably both, before the next gig. They flew in to Portland before Steve, and they picked Steve up at the airport and took him to their hotel.
Chris didn't even see any of them until rehearsal. It didn't keep them from talking…Chris fell asleep nearly every night with Steve talking or singing in his ear.
Still, when he walked into Dante's to find Steve there, his heart skipped a beat or two. He looked good, even hidden behind glasses and under a baseball hat. They didn't get any time alone, not until sound check was done and Chris had gone downstairs to get his hair blown out and flat ironed so it wasn't a kinky, curly mess that he couldn't even get a finger through.
Steve dropped into the chair next to his suddenly. "Hey."
Chris grinned. "Hey."
"You good?"
Chris nodded, his eyes on the mirror, looking at Steve. "Yeah. I'm good. You?"
"I think I'm finally through the hangover from hell. That took forever." He rubbed his chin with a hand.
Chris had listened to him moan about the sick stomach and headaches for almost a week. "Good. Chris fiddled with the shirt he was planning to change into.
"I want a drink like you don't even know." Steve huffed and leaned forward, pulling off the glasses. His left eye was red and slightly bruised.
"What did you do?" Chris asked, reaching for him.
"Stupid. Couldn't sleep. Tried writing, tried playing…ended up rearranging my CD's and shit. I dropped a box. Hit my eye, then my foot." He leaned into the mirror and poked at his eye, then slipped the glasses back on.
"I've missed you." Chris turned the chair and reached for him. Steve came closer, bending down for a kiss.
"I would have stayed longer." Steve's eyes were closed, his breathing tight. "Jensen…"
"I know. It's okay." Chris said. "He's trying to help."
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and they separated. "I'm going to go get some air."
Chris nodded as he left and the room was filled with guys from the club and the girl who was going to do his hair and Jason checking in on him. He took the beer someone handed him and swallowed down half of it.
He shouldn't really drink either. He had a ridiculous call time in the morning. But seeing Steve and knowing he was hurting, not being able to comfort him was more than he wanted to deal with.
If it was possible, the crowd was bigger than it had been before, though Chris felt the absences of certain people more profoundly than he expected, his eyes darting to the table Tim usually sat at over and over, when they weren't darting to Steve, making sure he was alright.
Steve stayed focused on the music, sipping off a bottle of water. Chris finished off a few beers, but barely touched the Jack he'd brought out. They finished the set to rowdy applause and headed off stage. The intent was to break down fast and beat it the hell out so he could steal a few hours of sleep.
Somewhere during the process, Chris lost sight of Steve and it wasn't until he was ready to go that he realized Steve had probably gone out to mingle, and probably shouldn't have been left alone.
Chris was grabbing his bag when he saw Steve again. Steve pulled the door shut and pressed Chris up against the wall. He tasted like whiskey and hunger, his knee pressing up into Chris' groin.
He moaned into Steve's lips, pulling back enough to get a hand up into Steve's hair, knocking the damn hat off. "Want you." Steve whispered.
"Lets get out of here." Chris panted back, licking his lips. "My place…my truck…out…out back." They headed up the stairs, moving fast toward the door. There were fans that fluttered and moved in as they emerged, but Chris growled and reached behind him for Steve, pulling him along.
He had to force himself not to touch, not to pull Steve in to kiss as they reached the car. Not where the fans could see. Never in public. Steve wasn't helping in that regard, all hands and need and before the doors were even shut he was reaching for Chris, hand on his thigh. "Hold on. Just a few minutes."
Somehow, Chris got them out of there, tearing off toward home. Steve rummaged through Chris' bag, coming out with the bottle of Jack. "Steve." Chris warned.
"Just…one. To take the edge off." Steve murmured. "I can do just one. I promise. It'll be fine." He opened the bottle, took a long drink and capped it again. "See. Easy."
Chris pulled them into the parking lot at the apartment. "Inside…" Chris grabbed his bag, while Steve kept the bottle and they raced for the stairs, up to the door. Chris fumbled with his keys, finally getting the door open and pulling Steve inside. He stripped the bottle away, setting it aside before shoving Steve into the door. "Need you."
"Right here, baby." Steve's hands touched his shoulders, caressed over his neck until he was holding Chris' face. The taste of whiskey filled his mouth with Steve's tongue, then Steve was turning them, pressing Chris into the door, his one hand sliding down to unzip Chris' jeans and ease his cock out. "Gonna make you feel so good."
Steve slid to one knee, his mouth opening and surrounding Chris' cock, coaxing it to hardness. His eyes slid closed as his mouth made obscene noises and his tongue traced out some abstract pattern over wet skin as he pulled back.
Chris reached for him, but Steve evaded his hands, blowing hot air over his cock before he lapped at it, at the head and under it, down one side and up the other. When he took Chris back into his mouth, Chris' head fell back against the door with a thunk. "Steve…" His voice was a whine of warning, his cock already leaking as Steve swallowed over and over and Chris couldn't stop the orgasm that swept through him and erupted into Steve.
Steve rocked back and stood, wiping his mouth before pressing in to kiss Chris, the whiskey taste gone behind the salty, slightly bitter taste of come. "Too many clothes." Steve breathed, his nimble fingers working to pull Chris' shirt up and off.
"You too." Chris responded, fighting to get to the buttons of Steve's shirt. Eventually they had to let go of one another to actually accomplish the removal of clothing and the separated, moving away from the door.
Steve had his jeans open, one hand stroking his cock. "Want to fuck you here, on the couch. Get the lube."
Chris headed for the bedroom, dropping his jeans in the hamper as he went to the night stand, pulling out the lube. When he got back to the living room, Steve was naked on the couch, licking his lips, his eyes half lidded as he stroked his cock slow. Chris handed him the lube, watching him smear it over himself before reaching for Chris, guiding him in.
Chris felt the head of his cock press into him and pulled away a little, reaching for the lube, but Steve pulled it away. "Not enough." Chris said breathlessly.
Steve's hands slid down his sides, tightening on his hips. "Plenty."
"Shit." He pushed and Chris sank, taking the head into himself. He pulled up before sinking down again, taking a little more, stretching around Steve with a grimace. It wasn't pain…exactly, but it burned and stretched and filled him up tight. He gasped for air and pushed down, aided and encouraged by Steve's hands digging into his skin.
"Faster." Steve gasped at him, his hips moving up to meet Chris on his down stroke.
"Can't." Chris gripped the back of the couch, rocking back toward Steve's face, changing the angle and making Steve growl up at him. It was awkward and he was going to fuck up his back, but he didn't care, it felt too damn good. Even his cock was thinking the same, half hard for a second go.
Steve shifted under him, lurching up and suddenly Chris was falling forward, his head slamming into the arm of the couch. His arms flailed out to try to catch himself, even as Steve's hands found his rib cage and squeezed, holding him in place as Steve fucked into him. "Faster." Steve grunted into his back, his actions echoing his words, slamming harder and harder until he was coming.
Chris collapsed forward as Steve released him and eased back, both of them panting. His cock was full hard again and his face ached from falling into the arm of the chair. "Shit."
He eased off the couch and padded naked into the bathroom to clean up. Steve crowded in behind him as he leaned into the mirror. "It's gonna fucking bruise." Great. Another reason for everyone to think the worst.
Steve's arms circled his waist, the bottle of Jack in one hand, and pulled him back. "Still pretty."
"Yeah and you're half way to drunk." Chris said, making a face in the mirror and reaching for the bottle. "This was a bad idea." He reached for the bottle, but Steve didn't surrender it easily. "Steve, come on man. You promised."
Steve rolled his eyes, but let go of the bottle, moving out of the way as Chris left the bathroom. "Buzzkill."
Chris turned. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Whatever, man." Chris headed for the kitchen, but didn't get much past the bedroom door and Steve was on him, dragging him into the room, bouncing them off the door and the dresser and Chris hissed when the doorknob of the closet door bit into his ribs. He slammed the bottle down on the dresser and tried to stop them, but his shin hit the bed and the crashed into the mattress and rolled off, Steve landing on top, knocking the wind out of him.
"Fuck, sorry." Steve gasped as he tried to extricate himself, managing to dig his elbow into the exact same spot the doorknob had hit.
Steve got to his feet, pushing hair out of his face. "Wow…" He shook his head.
"Fucking hell, Steve." Chris groused once he could finally breath again. He dragged himself up onto the bed, holding his ribs. "I think you broke something."
"Let me see."
Steve came toward him, but Chris pulled away. "Right, cause you're sober and shit." He pulled a hand through his hair and looked at the clock. It was after midnight. "Fuck. I need sleep. I've got a 6am call." Which meant he had to be on set no later than four thirty, especially now that he had bruises to hide.
He crawled up the bed, rolling onto his other side and fussing until he found something close to comfortable. "You coming?"
Steve muttered something, pouting as he turned toward the bed. He sat, then laid on his side of the bed and in just a few seconds, he had rolled toward the center, one arm snaking over Chris' side to pull him close. Chris closed his eyes and let sleep come, knowing it wouldn't be enough.
Steve slept through Chris getting up and out the door, and Chris figured that it was safest to remove the alcohol completely, dumping the nearly empty bottle of Jack in the dumpster on his way to his car. His plan was to get in before everyone, slip into the makeup trailer to cover the red mark under his eye and then go to his trailer. If he was careful about where he got dressed, no one should even know that anything happened, that Steve had even come home with him.
He thought he pulled it off too, no one said anything all day. Not even when Aldis bumped him and he'd hissed through the pain radiating out from his ribs.
Steve was gone when he got home, off back to Vegas or LA, Chris honestly didn't know which. All in all, it hadn't been a bad weekend. Just a few weeks before Steve and the guys came back.
He had decided nothing was broken, just bruised. The skin on his ribcage was livid with color, reds and purples, blacks and blues. His eye wasn't that bad, and it would fade inside a day or two.
Of course, he should have known it wasn't that simple.
He got through the next few days without any real incidents. Tim even invited him out to dinner on Wednesday, which was a serious step up, considering they'd been barely speaking.
It was Thursday before he realized he hadn't been as stealthy about the whole thing as he thought. He pulled up in front of his building to find Jensen waiting, and he wasn't alone.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Chris asked as he got out of the truck.
"Nice to see you too." Jensen responded, pulling him into a hug. "I had a couple days off, thought I'd come see how you were doing."
"Right." Chris flicked his eyes over to Jensen's companion.
"You remember Jeff, right?"
Chris raised an eyebrow. "We barely met, but sure." He headed for the stairs. "I'm only stopping in to pick up my gym bag. I forgot it this morning."
They followed him up the stairs and into the apartment, no one talking until after the door was shut. "Look, Jen, I appreciate what you're doing. But I'm fine."
Jensen nodded. "So you keep telling me."
"Maybe because it's true." His eyes swept the room, finding the gym bag on the coffee table.
"Chris, I'm trying to help." Jensen let his hand rest on Chris' arm. "Are you listening to me?"
"I hear you." Chris answered, though his tone was still tinged with anger.
"I don't think you do."
Chris headed for the kitchen, but he was blocked by Jeff. "Tell me why he's here again?" Chris pulled his hand away and turned back to Jensen. "Seriously? I'm okay."
"You keep saying that."
"And no one is fucking listening."
"Maybe because no one believes you." Jeff said, his hand moving fast and catching Chris around the rib cage, fingers pressing in on the most recent bruises, making him hiss and freeze. "Maybe because your skin is always bruised and bandaged."
"Like you two have never had sex that got a little too rough?" Chris pulled away.
"Is that what this is?" Jeff grabbed his shirt and tugged it up to reveal the mottled purple and blue and black of his skin. "That don't look like sex to me."
"I've seen the bruises you leave on Jensen, so don't even start--"
Jeff growled and grabbed Chris, pulling him in close. "There's a fucking difference, boy, between consensual pain and the kind that does this to you."
Chris shoved Jeff off him, his eyes narrowing. "From where I stand, there ain't no difference at all."
"And that right there is the problem." Jeff said. "And the reason I'm here."
"I'm fine." Chris growled, starting to feel like a broken record.
"Yeah, I'd believe you more if I didn't know Steve was here." Jensen's eyes narrowed and Chris knew there wasn't going to be any denying it.
Chris closed his eyes, but didn't move. "Yeah, okay. He was here. One night, not even that. A couple of hours. We…had sex and slept and I went to work."
"Where is he now?" Jeff asked and Chris scowled at him.
"Vegas maybe? I don't know." Chris pulled a hand through his hair.
"Are you going to tell me, or do I need to figure it out for myself?" Jensen asked, moving closer.
"What? Tell you what?"
"Steve isn't in Vegas, Chris. He's not in LA. No one has seen him since he left the club with you on Sunday."
Chris scowled at him. "What?" That didn't make sense. "He was gone when I got home. I assumed he got on a plane."
"Okay." Jensen pulled out his phone and stepped away.
Chris cursed and tried to imagine where Steve could have gone. It wasn't like Steve to just disappear. If he wasn't in LA or Vegas…Chris couldn't think about all the things that could have happened to him.
"Thanks." Jensen hung up the phone. "Aldis and a few friends are making a sweep of all the likely places. We'll find him."
Title: Slow Like Sunday Morning, Part Six(Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five)
Pairing/Characters: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, Timothy Hutton, Aldis Hodge, Jensen Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17 (for sex but also for theme and violence)
Word Count: 3355
Summary: Steve and Chris come together after being separated by friends for a few weeks, and fireworks follow...and even after it's over, Chris thinks he can continue to hide what it's doing to him.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP FIC. Turn back now if this is not your thing. This began as comment fic and took on a life of it's own. Sixth part of probably seven or eight.
"Seriously?"
Jensen grinned and held the door of the truck open. "I promised Steve I would see you safely here and home again."
"I'm not an invalid. I can drive."
"I've seen you drive." Jensen countered, climbing into the driver's seat. "So where to?"
Chris frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"We've got at least an hour until lunch."
"I don't need a babysitter." Chris groused, crossing his arms and scowling out the window.
"I thought I was your friend, and I'm in town unexpectedly, and I want to hang out." Jensen took his hands off the wheel and looked at him. "Come on, there's got to be something you want to do.
"I want to go home and read my script."
Jensen sighed. "You're angry."
At first Chris didn't respond, but the more he thought about it the angrier he got. "Hell yes, I'm angry."
"Good." Jensen responded, taking some of the wind out of his sails. "Maybe now that you've gotten angry, you'll start to see straight and I won't have to come down here and beat you both senseless."
"You and Tim are both making this out to be more than it is." Chris said once Jensen had them moving into traffic. "He's not going to drink anymore. That'll be the end of it."
"I hope so." Jensen's voice was soft.
"And even if it isn't, don't you think that it should be between me and him?" Chris asked. "I don't go sticking my nose into whatever it is you and Jeff do."
"Me and Jeff? Why are you bringing that up?"
"You think I don't see that he marks you?"
"That's totally different."
Chris shook his head. "Whatever. Steve and I are working this out. We don't need you to stage some fucking intervention, okay?"
Jensen's face was tight. "You want me to leave you to wallow in whatever shit is going on in that head?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"No. No. You are not pulling that shit with me." Jensen pulled them off the road and into a parking lot at some shopping center. He turned completely in his seat. "I know you're probably thinking some stupid shit about how Steve shouldn't trust you and how you were the one who walked away before because you didn't think you were getting what you needed from him. You're probably telling yourself that he hasn't forgiven you and you should expect him to be a little possessive, a little jealous."
Chris wanted to deny his words, but Jensen didn't even give him the space.
"I don't give a shit what little pity party is going on in your head. There is never a reason for you take that shit from him. Ever. And believe me, I've told him so myself. So pull your head up out of your ass, get over your goddamn self and stop."
Jensen turned back to the steering wheel. "Now, I'm going to take you home and I'm going to meet up with Jared and when we come over to take you to dinner, I expect you to be dressed and ready to have some fun."
Neither of them spoke again the rest of the way back to the apartment. Chris went upstairs alone, letting himself into the very quiet apartment and limping in to his bedroom. Jensen was right, and he knew it. But what he felt was lonely.
He laid down, pulling Steve's pillow to him and breathing in deep and letting the smell of Steve quiet the longing inside.
It was obvious that Jensen had contacted Jason or Ryan…probably both, before the next gig. They flew in to Portland before Steve, and they picked Steve up at the airport and took him to their hotel.
Chris didn't even see any of them until rehearsal. It didn't keep them from talking…Chris fell asleep nearly every night with Steve talking or singing in his ear.
Still, when he walked into Dante's to find Steve there, his heart skipped a beat or two. He looked good, even hidden behind glasses and under a baseball hat. They didn't get any time alone, not until sound check was done and Chris had gone downstairs to get his hair blown out and flat ironed so it wasn't a kinky, curly mess that he couldn't even get a finger through.
Steve dropped into the chair next to his suddenly. "Hey."
Chris grinned. "Hey."
"You good?"
Chris nodded, his eyes on the mirror, looking at Steve. "Yeah. I'm good. You?"
"I think I'm finally through the hangover from hell. That took forever." He rubbed his chin with a hand.
Chris had listened to him moan about the sick stomach and headaches for almost a week. "Good. Chris fiddled with the shirt he was planning to change into.
"I want a drink like you don't even know." Steve huffed and leaned forward, pulling off the glasses. His left eye was red and slightly bruised.
"What did you do?" Chris asked, reaching for him.
"Stupid. Couldn't sleep. Tried writing, tried playing…ended up rearranging my CD's and shit. I dropped a box. Hit my eye, then my foot." He leaned into the mirror and poked at his eye, then slipped the glasses back on.
"I've missed you." Chris turned the chair and reached for him. Steve came closer, bending down for a kiss.
"I would have stayed longer." Steve's eyes were closed, his breathing tight. "Jensen…"
"I know. It's okay." Chris said. "He's trying to help."
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and they separated. "I'm going to go get some air."
Chris nodded as he left and the room was filled with guys from the club and the girl who was going to do his hair and Jason checking in on him. He took the beer someone handed him and swallowed down half of it.
He shouldn't really drink either. He had a ridiculous call time in the morning. But seeing Steve and knowing he was hurting, not being able to comfort him was more than he wanted to deal with.
If it was possible, the crowd was bigger than it had been before, though Chris felt the absences of certain people more profoundly than he expected, his eyes darting to the table Tim usually sat at over and over, when they weren't darting to Steve, making sure he was alright.
Steve stayed focused on the music, sipping off a bottle of water. Chris finished off a few beers, but barely touched the Jack he'd brought out. They finished the set to rowdy applause and headed off stage. The intent was to break down fast and beat it the hell out so he could steal a few hours of sleep.
Somewhere during the process, Chris lost sight of Steve and it wasn't until he was ready to go that he realized Steve had probably gone out to mingle, and probably shouldn't have been left alone.
Chris was grabbing his bag when he saw Steve again. Steve pulled the door shut and pressed Chris up against the wall. He tasted like whiskey and hunger, his knee pressing up into Chris' groin.
He moaned into Steve's lips, pulling back enough to get a hand up into Steve's hair, knocking the damn hat off. "Want you." Steve whispered.
"Lets get out of here." Chris panted back, licking his lips. "My place…my truck…out…out back." They headed up the stairs, moving fast toward the door. There were fans that fluttered and moved in as they emerged, but Chris growled and reached behind him for Steve, pulling him along.
He had to force himself not to touch, not to pull Steve in to kiss as they reached the car. Not where the fans could see. Never in public. Steve wasn't helping in that regard, all hands and need and before the doors were even shut he was reaching for Chris, hand on his thigh. "Hold on. Just a few minutes."
Somehow, Chris got them out of there, tearing off toward home. Steve rummaged through Chris' bag, coming out with the bottle of Jack. "Steve." Chris warned.
"Just…one. To take the edge off." Steve murmured. "I can do just one. I promise. It'll be fine." He opened the bottle, took a long drink and capped it again. "See. Easy."
Chris pulled them into the parking lot at the apartment. "Inside…" Chris grabbed his bag, while Steve kept the bottle and they raced for the stairs, up to the door. Chris fumbled with his keys, finally getting the door open and pulling Steve inside. He stripped the bottle away, setting it aside before shoving Steve into the door. "Need you."
"Right here, baby." Steve's hands touched his shoulders, caressed over his neck until he was holding Chris' face. The taste of whiskey filled his mouth with Steve's tongue, then Steve was turning them, pressing Chris into the door, his one hand sliding down to unzip Chris' jeans and ease his cock out. "Gonna make you feel so good."
Steve slid to one knee, his mouth opening and surrounding Chris' cock, coaxing it to hardness. His eyes slid closed as his mouth made obscene noises and his tongue traced out some abstract pattern over wet skin as he pulled back.
Chris reached for him, but Steve evaded his hands, blowing hot air over his cock before he lapped at it, at the head and under it, down one side and up the other. When he took Chris back into his mouth, Chris' head fell back against the door with a thunk. "Steve…" His voice was a whine of warning, his cock already leaking as Steve swallowed over and over and Chris couldn't stop the orgasm that swept through him and erupted into Steve.
Steve rocked back and stood, wiping his mouth before pressing in to kiss Chris, the whiskey taste gone behind the salty, slightly bitter taste of come. "Too many clothes." Steve breathed, his nimble fingers working to pull Chris' shirt up and off.
"You too." Chris responded, fighting to get to the buttons of Steve's shirt. Eventually they had to let go of one another to actually accomplish the removal of clothing and the separated, moving away from the door.
Steve had his jeans open, one hand stroking his cock. "Want to fuck you here, on the couch. Get the lube."
Chris headed for the bedroom, dropping his jeans in the hamper as he went to the night stand, pulling out the lube. When he got back to the living room, Steve was naked on the couch, licking his lips, his eyes half lidded as he stroked his cock slow. Chris handed him the lube, watching him smear it over himself before reaching for Chris, guiding him in.
Chris felt the head of his cock press into him and pulled away a little, reaching for the lube, but Steve pulled it away. "Not enough." Chris said breathlessly.
Steve's hands slid down his sides, tightening on his hips. "Plenty."
"Shit." He pushed and Chris sank, taking the head into himself. He pulled up before sinking down again, taking a little more, stretching around Steve with a grimace. It wasn't pain…exactly, but it burned and stretched and filled him up tight. He gasped for air and pushed down, aided and encouraged by Steve's hands digging into his skin.
"Faster." Steve gasped at him, his hips moving up to meet Chris on his down stroke.
"Can't." Chris gripped the back of the couch, rocking back toward Steve's face, changing the angle and making Steve growl up at him. It was awkward and he was going to fuck up his back, but he didn't care, it felt too damn good. Even his cock was thinking the same, half hard for a second go.
Steve shifted under him, lurching up and suddenly Chris was falling forward, his head slamming into the arm of the couch. His arms flailed out to try to catch himself, even as Steve's hands found his rib cage and squeezed, holding him in place as Steve fucked into him. "Faster." Steve grunted into his back, his actions echoing his words, slamming harder and harder until he was coming.
Chris collapsed forward as Steve released him and eased back, both of them panting. His cock was full hard again and his face ached from falling into the arm of the chair. "Shit."
He eased off the couch and padded naked into the bathroom to clean up. Steve crowded in behind him as he leaned into the mirror. "It's gonna fucking bruise." Great. Another reason for everyone to think the worst.
Steve's arms circled his waist, the bottle of Jack in one hand, and pulled him back. "Still pretty."
"Yeah and you're half way to drunk." Chris said, making a face in the mirror and reaching for the bottle. "This was a bad idea." He reached for the bottle, but Steve didn't surrender it easily. "Steve, come on man. You promised."
Steve rolled his eyes, but let go of the bottle, moving out of the way as Chris left the bathroom. "Buzzkill."
Chris turned. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Whatever, man." Chris headed for the kitchen, but didn't get much past the bedroom door and Steve was on him, dragging him into the room, bouncing them off the door and the dresser and Chris hissed when the doorknob of the closet door bit into his ribs. He slammed the bottle down on the dresser and tried to stop them, but his shin hit the bed and the crashed into the mattress and rolled off, Steve landing on top, knocking the wind out of him.
"Fuck, sorry." Steve gasped as he tried to extricate himself, managing to dig his elbow into the exact same spot the doorknob had hit.
Steve got to his feet, pushing hair out of his face. "Wow…" He shook his head.
"Fucking hell, Steve." Chris groused once he could finally breath again. He dragged himself up onto the bed, holding his ribs. "I think you broke something."
"Let me see."
Steve came toward him, but Chris pulled away. "Right, cause you're sober and shit." He pulled a hand through his hair and looked at the clock. It was after midnight. "Fuck. I need sleep. I've got a 6am call." Which meant he had to be on set no later than four thirty, especially now that he had bruises to hide.
He crawled up the bed, rolling onto his other side and fussing until he found something close to comfortable. "You coming?"
Steve muttered something, pouting as he turned toward the bed. He sat, then laid on his side of the bed and in just a few seconds, he had rolled toward the center, one arm snaking over Chris' side to pull him close. Chris closed his eyes and let sleep come, knowing it wouldn't be enough.
Steve slept through Chris getting up and out the door, and Chris figured that it was safest to remove the alcohol completely, dumping the nearly empty bottle of Jack in the dumpster on his way to his car. His plan was to get in before everyone, slip into the makeup trailer to cover the red mark under his eye and then go to his trailer. If he was careful about where he got dressed, no one should even know that anything happened, that Steve had even come home with him.
He thought he pulled it off too, no one said anything all day. Not even when Aldis bumped him and he'd hissed through the pain radiating out from his ribs.
Steve was gone when he got home, off back to Vegas or LA, Chris honestly didn't know which. All in all, it hadn't been a bad weekend. Just a few weeks before Steve and the guys came back.
He had decided nothing was broken, just bruised. The skin on his ribcage was livid with color, reds and purples, blacks and blues. His eye wasn't that bad, and it would fade inside a day or two.
Of course, he should have known it wasn't that simple.
He got through the next few days without any real incidents. Tim even invited him out to dinner on Wednesday, which was a serious step up, considering they'd been barely speaking.
It was Thursday before he realized he hadn't been as stealthy about the whole thing as he thought. He pulled up in front of his building to find Jensen waiting, and he wasn't alone.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Chris asked as he got out of the truck.
"Nice to see you too." Jensen responded, pulling him into a hug. "I had a couple days off, thought I'd come see how you were doing."
"Right." Chris flicked his eyes over to Jensen's companion.
"You remember Jeff, right?"
Chris raised an eyebrow. "We barely met, but sure." He headed for the stairs. "I'm only stopping in to pick up my gym bag. I forgot it this morning."
They followed him up the stairs and into the apartment, no one talking until after the door was shut. "Look, Jen, I appreciate what you're doing. But I'm fine."
Jensen nodded. "So you keep telling me."
"Maybe because it's true." His eyes swept the room, finding the gym bag on the coffee table.
"Chris, I'm trying to help." Jensen let his hand rest on Chris' arm. "Are you listening to me?"
"I hear you." Chris answered, though his tone was still tinged with anger.
"I don't think you do."
Chris headed for the kitchen, but he was blocked by Jeff. "Tell me why he's here again?" Chris pulled his hand away and turned back to Jensen. "Seriously? I'm okay."
"You keep saying that."
"And no one is fucking listening."
"Maybe because no one believes you." Jeff said, his hand moving fast and catching Chris around the rib cage, fingers pressing in on the most recent bruises, making him hiss and freeze. "Maybe because your skin is always bruised and bandaged."
"Like you two have never had sex that got a little too rough?" Chris pulled away.
"Is that what this is?" Jeff grabbed his shirt and tugged it up to reveal the mottled purple and blue and black of his skin. "That don't look like sex to me."
"I've seen the bruises you leave on Jensen, so don't even start--"
Jeff growled and grabbed Chris, pulling him in close. "There's a fucking difference, boy, between consensual pain and the kind that does this to you."
Chris shoved Jeff off him, his eyes narrowing. "From where I stand, there ain't no difference at all."
"And that right there is the problem." Jeff said. "And the reason I'm here."
"I'm fine." Chris growled, starting to feel like a broken record.
"Yeah, I'd believe you more if I didn't know Steve was here." Jensen's eyes narrowed and Chris knew there wasn't going to be any denying it.
Chris closed his eyes, but didn't move. "Yeah, okay. He was here. One night, not even that. A couple of hours. We…had sex and slept and I went to work."
"Where is he now?" Jeff asked and Chris scowled at him.
"Vegas maybe? I don't know." Chris pulled a hand through his hair.
"Are you going to tell me, or do I need to figure it out for myself?" Jensen asked, moving closer.
"What? Tell you what?"
"Steve isn't in Vegas, Chris. He's not in LA. No one has seen him since he left the club with you on Sunday."
Chris scowled at him. "What?" That didn't make sense. "He was gone when I got home. I assumed he got on a plane."
"Okay." Jensen pulled out his phone and stepped away.
Chris cursed and tried to imagine where Steve could have gone. It wasn't like Steve to just disappear. If he wasn't in LA or Vegas…Chris couldn't think about all the things that could have happened to him.
"Thanks." Jensen hung up the phone. "Aldis and a few friends are making a sweep of all the likely places. We'll find him."
