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Entry tags:
Double Trouble
Title: Double Trouble
Fandom: CWrps
Pairing: Chad Michael Murray/Christian Kane
Rating: Adult. PWP. srsly.
Disclaimer: I know nothing and no one. Please to not be thinking this is in any way a true story.
A/N: Yeah, so I don't know where this one came from either, but it follows on from Take the Bitter With the Sweet, and while neither of these actually has a *plot* that you'd be missing in reading one without the other, they do inhabit the same odd corner of my brain. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
without_me for getting rid of all my extraneous uses of "that" and sticking commas in where needed and generally keeping me from embarrassing myself, at least from a grammatical standpoint.
L.A. is a small town even in the best of times; during pilot season, Chris is fucking suffocating from the same faces showing up everywhere, the same tired gossip floated by the same manipulative freaks passing around and around like a joint at a Stones concert.
Even the bathrooms in dive bars aren't safe; he's just finishing up pissing when he sees a familiar figure lounging against the door.
"That's a pretty little blonde out there," Chad says. "You good with leaving her alone?"
"Yeah," Chris answers, shaking the water off his hands, because there's no way he's touching anything more than he has to in this dump. "She's a big girl. Legal, too."
"Christ, Kane, try for something a little more original. I mean, the teenies on the gossip blogs can do better than that."
He's still got that mouth, the one Chris still sees wrapped around his dick sometimes. "What do you want, Murray?"
Chad pushes off the wall, a long slow roll of muscle in over-priced denim and cotton. "What do I want? How about what you want? You want to see if you were right?" he says, low and direct. "See if I take a cock up my ass as pretty as I take it down my throat?"
He meets Chris's eyes evenly, no bullshit that Chris can see, just that faintly mocking challenge, the one Chris had been happy to fuck off his face the last time.
"Any time, any place," Chris says, smiling at the way that pretty mouth, that fucking obscene mouth, thins when Chad gets pissy. "That's your motto, isn't it, boy?"
The irritated expression doesn't last near long enough to suit Chris, and the return of the smirk is enough to get him moving across the gritty, nasty-as-shit floor. He takes his time--no sense in hurrying; it's not like Murray's going anywhere, not after that invitation. Chris likes watching the way Chad can't quite make himself relax, no matter how hard he's trying to look like it's no big thing he just threw out there.
He gets right up in Chad's space, pushes him back to land hard against the door and grinds a thigh up between his legs. Chad's breathing rough, not quite panting, and he can't keep from rubbing his dick against Chris's leg.
"That a 'here and now,' boy?" Chris says, not asking at all, digging his hands into Chad's hips, pinning him to the door and smiling broader.
"What do you think, Kane?"
"I think," Chris says, stepping back enough that he can spin Chad, shove him face-first into the door and lean back in before he gets any ideas about doing anything but spreading his legs for Chris, "I think that door doesn't lock, so unless you want an audience, you'd best be paying attention to keeping it closed while we see if you really do take up the ass as sweet as you suck it."
He's working Chad's jeans open while he talks, button-fly so it only takes a quick, fast tug and he can shove them down over Chad's hips. He's got no reason to be surprised at finding bare skin but he can't deny the extra jolt he gets at seeing it.
"Fucking slut, aren't you, boy," he growls, kicking Chad's feet wider and bringing a hand down hard across his ass.
"Just your type, Kane." Chad gasps and drops his head forward against the door when Chris slaps him again and then once more, just to see the shape of his hand, his mark, bloom red on the pale skin. Another one and Chad groans, low and hoarse and Chris promises himself he'll hear more of that someday, but right now he wants to spread Chad wide and dick him deep.
He licks his thumb and works it up and into Chad's ass, no teasing or testing, just a fast, clean push, and leans in close to bite at Chad's ear. "Nice and tight, boy; can't wait to feel you open up on my dick."
Chad pushes back into Chris, fighting against how his jeans have him hobbled. "Rubber in my front pocket," he pants.
"Never figured you for the boy scout type, Murray," Chris says, pulling his hand free to feel for the packet.
"Are you going to fuck me or just stand around and insult me?" The smirk is firmly back in place and Chris's hand itches to slap it, but he just shoves his hip up against Chad, pinning him to the door while he tears the foil open with his teeth and gets the rubber down over his dick.
He's pretty sure he doesn't give a flying fuck how much it'd hurt Chad to do him dry, but at the last second he holds up his hand and tells Chad to spit. It's not all that much, and the noise Chad makes when Chris pushes into him is still more pain than pleasure, but he's pushing back onto Chris and shit, he's tight and hot and Chris is fucking insane for doing this but there's no stopping now.
Chad shifts and rocks under him, nonstop filth spilling from his mouth and it takes Chris a couple of seconds to realize Chad's got one hand wrapped around his own dick, jerking himself in the same rhythm Chris is fucking him, and there's no fucking way that's going to happen, not when Chris hasn't said it could.
He gets one arm up, slams it into the back of Chad's neck and keeps the pressure nice and steady until Chad shuts up long enough to hear Chris say, nice and quiet, "Thought I made that clear last time, boy."
Chad shudders against him and Chris reaches around to drag Chad's hand off his dick, twists it up high and hard behind his back. Chad goes still and Chris knows he's right on the edge, that if he puts any more weight on that arm, something's going to give, a shoulder, a bone, something. He should back off a little, he should, but all he does is start pushing into that tight, tight ass again, and whisper, just loud enough to be a threat, "Keep that other hand up where I can see it."
Every time Chris fucks in, Chad whines high in his throat, and when Chris pulls out, Chad's breath sounds like a sob. Chris half-thinks about slowing down, making it last, but somebody's pounding on the door and Chad's shaking apart under him, around him, and that's it, he's got Chad flat out into the door, free hand scrabbling at the flaking paint, voice hitching out fuckfuckfuck while Chris comes up his ass, a long, sweet rush that leaves Chris someplace where dragging air into his lungs is almost more than he can do.
Chris knows it's almost as good of a rush to make Chad beg for it, remembers how sweet it is to see that desperate need in his eyes, but they've pushed this about as far as they can take it and the last thing either of them needs is the goon who passes for security busting in on them.
It doesn't take much to bring Chad off: a couple of quick, rough strokes and a Now, boy growled into his ear and he's arched up hard into Chris, wet, slick heat spilling over Chris's hand. Chris jacks him through it, quick, tight flicks of his wrist to draw it out long past when it could possibly feel good.
Chad stays quiet until Chris pulls out of him. but when he turns his head, Chris sees blood on his mouth. It's all Chris can do not to lean in and taste, but there's no way it'd stop there, especially not with the expression on Chad's face, the one that's blasted wide open, wanting and needy. Chris makes himself step back, tosses the used rubber in the general direction of the trash and splashes some cold water on his face.
When he looks up in the mirror, Chad's got his back against the door and most of his attitude firmly in place, enough that Chris can ignore the part that isn't. "So," Chad drawls. "How'd I do?"
Before Chris can answer, the same dipshit's pounding on the door and yelling again. Chad's mouth quirks up into a smile as he stands up straight. "Never mind," he says. "You can tell me next time."
He's gone almost before the door is open, replaced by drunk, slumming fratboys, but that's fine by Chris. He's good for the rest of the night; there's a pretty blonde waiting for him.
***
***
Continued in Backdoor Man
Fandom: CWrps
Pairing: Chad Michael Murray/Christian Kane
Rating: Adult. PWP. srsly.
Disclaimer: I know nothing and no one. Please to not be thinking this is in any way a true story.
A/N: Yeah, so I don't know where this one came from either, but it follows on from Take the Bitter With the Sweet, and while neither of these actually has a *plot* that you'd be missing in reading one without the other, they do inhabit the same odd corner of my brain. Thanks to
without_me for getting rid of all my extraneous uses of "that" and sticking commas in where needed and generally keeping me from embarrassing myself, at least from a grammatical standpoint. L.A. is a small town even in the best of times; during pilot season, Chris is fucking suffocating from the same faces showing up everywhere, the same tired gossip floated by the same manipulative freaks passing around and around like a joint at a Stones concert.
Even the bathrooms in dive bars aren't safe; he's just finishing up pissing when he sees a familiar figure lounging against the door.
"That's a pretty little blonde out there," Chad says. "You good with leaving her alone?"
"Yeah," Chris answers, shaking the water off his hands, because there's no way he's touching anything more than he has to in this dump. "She's a big girl. Legal, too."
"Christ, Kane, try for something a little more original. I mean, the teenies on the gossip blogs can do better than that."
He's still got that mouth, the one Chris still sees wrapped around his dick sometimes. "What do you want, Murray?"
Chad pushes off the wall, a long slow roll of muscle in over-priced denim and cotton. "What do I want? How about what you want? You want to see if you were right?" he says, low and direct. "See if I take a cock up my ass as pretty as I take it down my throat?"
He meets Chris's eyes evenly, no bullshit that Chris can see, just that faintly mocking challenge, the one Chris had been happy to fuck off his face the last time.
"Any time, any place," Chris says, smiling at the way that pretty mouth, that fucking obscene mouth, thins when Chad gets pissy. "That's your motto, isn't it, boy?"
The irritated expression doesn't last near long enough to suit Chris, and the return of the smirk is enough to get him moving across the gritty, nasty-as-shit floor. He takes his time--no sense in hurrying; it's not like Murray's going anywhere, not after that invitation. Chris likes watching the way Chad can't quite make himself relax, no matter how hard he's trying to look like it's no big thing he just threw out there.
He gets right up in Chad's space, pushes him back to land hard against the door and grinds a thigh up between his legs. Chad's breathing rough, not quite panting, and he can't keep from rubbing his dick against Chris's leg.
"That a 'here and now,' boy?" Chris says, not asking at all, digging his hands into Chad's hips, pinning him to the door and smiling broader.
"What do you think, Kane?"
"I think," Chris says, stepping back enough that he can spin Chad, shove him face-first into the door and lean back in before he gets any ideas about doing anything but spreading his legs for Chris, "I think that door doesn't lock, so unless you want an audience, you'd best be paying attention to keeping it closed while we see if you really do take up the ass as sweet as you suck it."
He's working Chad's jeans open while he talks, button-fly so it only takes a quick, fast tug and he can shove them down over Chad's hips. He's got no reason to be surprised at finding bare skin but he can't deny the extra jolt he gets at seeing it.
"Fucking slut, aren't you, boy," he growls, kicking Chad's feet wider and bringing a hand down hard across his ass.
"Just your type, Kane." Chad gasps and drops his head forward against the door when Chris slaps him again and then once more, just to see the shape of his hand, his mark, bloom red on the pale skin. Another one and Chad groans, low and hoarse and Chris promises himself he'll hear more of that someday, but right now he wants to spread Chad wide and dick him deep.
He licks his thumb and works it up and into Chad's ass, no teasing or testing, just a fast, clean push, and leans in close to bite at Chad's ear. "Nice and tight, boy; can't wait to feel you open up on my dick."
Chad pushes back into Chris, fighting against how his jeans have him hobbled. "Rubber in my front pocket," he pants.
"Never figured you for the boy scout type, Murray," Chris says, pulling his hand free to feel for the packet.
"Are you going to fuck me or just stand around and insult me?" The smirk is firmly back in place and Chris's hand itches to slap it, but he just shoves his hip up against Chad, pinning him to the door while he tears the foil open with his teeth and gets the rubber down over his dick.
He's pretty sure he doesn't give a flying fuck how much it'd hurt Chad to do him dry, but at the last second he holds up his hand and tells Chad to spit. It's not all that much, and the noise Chad makes when Chris pushes into him is still more pain than pleasure, but he's pushing back onto Chris and shit, he's tight and hot and Chris is fucking insane for doing this but there's no stopping now.
Chad shifts and rocks under him, nonstop filth spilling from his mouth and it takes Chris a couple of seconds to realize Chad's got one hand wrapped around his own dick, jerking himself in the same rhythm Chris is fucking him, and there's no fucking way that's going to happen, not when Chris hasn't said it could.
He gets one arm up, slams it into the back of Chad's neck and keeps the pressure nice and steady until Chad shuts up long enough to hear Chris say, nice and quiet, "Thought I made that clear last time, boy."
Chad shudders against him and Chris reaches around to drag Chad's hand off his dick, twists it up high and hard behind his back. Chad goes still and Chris knows he's right on the edge, that if he puts any more weight on that arm, something's going to give, a shoulder, a bone, something. He should back off a little, he should, but all he does is start pushing into that tight, tight ass again, and whisper, just loud enough to be a threat, "Keep that other hand up where I can see it."
Every time Chris fucks in, Chad whines high in his throat, and when Chris pulls out, Chad's breath sounds like a sob. Chris half-thinks about slowing down, making it last, but somebody's pounding on the door and Chad's shaking apart under him, around him, and that's it, he's got Chad flat out into the door, free hand scrabbling at the flaking paint, voice hitching out fuckfuckfuck while Chris comes up his ass, a long, sweet rush that leaves Chris someplace where dragging air into his lungs is almost more than he can do.
Chris knows it's almost as good of a rush to make Chad beg for it, remembers how sweet it is to see that desperate need in his eyes, but they've pushed this about as far as they can take it and the last thing either of them needs is the goon who passes for security busting in on them.
It doesn't take much to bring Chad off: a couple of quick, rough strokes and a Now, boy growled into his ear and he's arched up hard into Chris, wet, slick heat spilling over Chris's hand. Chris jacks him through it, quick, tight flicks of his wrist to draw it out long past when it could possibly feel good.
Chad stays quiet until Chris pulls out of him. but when he turns his head, Chris sees blood on his mouth. It's all Chris can do not to lean in and taste, but there's no way it'd stop there, especially not with the expression on Chad's face, the one that's blasted wide open, wanting and needy. Chris makes himself step back, tosses the used rubber in the general direction of the trash and splashes some cold water on his face.
When he looks up in the mirror, Chad's got his back against the door and most of his attitude firmly in place, enough that Chris can ignore the part that isn't. "So," Chad drawls. "How'd I do?"
Before Chris can answer, the same dipshit's pounding on the door and yelling again. Chad's mouth quirks up into a smile as he stands up straight. "Never mind," he says. "You can tell me next time."
He's gone almost before the door is open, replaced by drunk, slumming fratboys, but that's fine by Chris. He's good for the rest of the night; there's a pretty blonde waiting for him.
***
***
Continued in Backdoor Man
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Loved it hun <3
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Your icon makes me smile and giggle like a smiley, giggly thing.
(You should go read my Mike/Steve fic, because it is adorable love. And we are friends now and friends read each other's shit.)
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Aaaaand that's the very hottest part. That they want there to be a next time.
Drawn together like MAGNETS, these boys.
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"You can tell me next time."
GUH!!!! I hope that is soon!
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On a sidenote: Dude, you owe me new panties ;D
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