Author:
Beta: Mally
Rating: NC17.
Pairing: David Boreanaz/James Marsters.
For: The RPS Ficathon.
James snuck out for a smoke. Some crazy middle-aged women had thrown herself at him on stage. It was bad. He'd had problems with psychotic fans before, but they paid for the rent. He saw Dave's head poke out the door. "Did you see that old woman attack me?"
Dave shook his head. "You do realize that you're the same age as her?"
James glared at him and lit up a cigarette for Dave. "I'm not. At least that's what my press says."
Dave sipped his Diet Coke. "You know you're a true star when you start believing your press. That or you were too high to remember what happened."
"Sure, Dave," James frowned. "I was almost killed by that woman's gigantic boobs." James shivered. "She's probably telling her little Spike action figures that she touched me."
"And here I thought being crushed by boobs would be every guy's fantasy way to die." Dave paused trying to illicit a smile from James. "Besides, she'd probably be as happy as a clam that you're going on and on about her." Dave opened the door. "Let's get you a drink. There's a delightful mini bar in my room. And you can forget regretting letting Marti flash those handsome abs all over TV."
"At least I have abs." James walked through the door. There wouldn't be any fans allowed in this section of the hotel.
"Hey," Dave shouted as he hustled after James to his hotel room.
When the door slammed shut, James opened the mini fridge. "Little Jose Cuervos." James tipped his head and took a swig. "Thank you, Jose." The room was insignificant, like any other hotel room – queen sized bed, lamp, table, mini bar, and copy of the Gideon's Bible in the nightstand drawer.
"Want to call room service for some actual sized drinks?" Dave asked as he downed a mini bottle of Jack Daniel's. He shook his head. "Or are you afraid some fangirl is going to hide in the bottom of the cart? Didn't they make some bad 80s movies with that as a central theme?"
James started laughing. "Probably." He fell back on the bed and grabbed the phone. "Vodka, whiskey, some of the fruity stuff...Pizza, pizza. Sounds good." James pulled the phone a little bit away from his mouth. "Pepperoni?"
Dave nodded. He picked up the TV remote and flicked through the channels. During the day, there were only soap operas and midday reruns of cancelled cop dramas 5 to 15 years old. "Porn?" he asked James who had sat down the phone.
"What else are rich actors supposed to watch?" James slumped down on the bed as Dave flipped through the titles. "Whore of the Rings." He laughed. "And I thought that I'd seen them all."
"Whore of the Rings it is." Dave started the movie. His head bounced around to the beat of the bad music. "Bow wow wa naw."
"Dork." James rolled his eyes as he stood up to answer the room service. The smell of greasy pizza filled the air. James handed the man a heavy tip; they had employees tell fans where they were before.
Dave opened the box and took a slice. The woman on the TV had taken off her clothing. "Still upset about the questions?" They always asked James about the rape scene, and how it had affected him. Really, nobody was that much of a masochist to want to relive the experience at every fucking convention.
"It was that lady, not the questions." James watched as the woman ran her hands down her own breasts and touched herself. "She's not very attractive." He scowled.
"We could get a prostitute." Dave shoved another piece of pizza in his mouth.
"She'd probably be worse. Last time..." James paused and looked down. "Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me."
"Huh?" Dave asked, drinking from his glass of brandy. "I don't get it."
"DH Lawrence. I have picked up books before," James said. "Okay, it something I had to memorize for a high school drama performance."
Dave laughed, his legs crossing over each other had he shifted his body back into the chair. "You shouldn't do these events if you're uncomfortable. Or you should always travel with me; I'm a good distraction."
"I'll toast to that." James lifted up the last little bottle of Stoli that he was determined to finish before moving on and tossed it back. "Distract me a little more."
Dave stood up and started to dance to the background porn music. His moves were off-centered because this wasn't something made for dancing; it was made for fucking. "Won't you join me?" He offered his hand to James.
James shook it off with a smile. "No, you keep going. I like to watch." He took a gulp out of the bottle of Jack Daniel's. Time to move on to the big boy stuff.
Dave peeled up his shirt; his side peaked out. His mouth made a little ‘o' that was covered by his hand in false modesty. How much had they had to drink? Dave wasn't sure, but if the line of empty bottles were anything to attest for.
"Show it sexy," James encouraged as Dave moved closer to him and faked a lap dance, his bottom barely rubbing on James' lap. Close enough to smell the alcohol and pizza on his breath.
Dave leaned in and planted a kiss. Long and sensual – like a hooker looking to make extra money. Prostitution in the name of good times and forgetting.
James reached around and stuck a dollar bill in Dave's pants. He wanted more, wanted the familiar taste of Dave on his lips.
Dave took off his hokey jersey, revealing a white wife beater that clung to his chest. James' hands trailed down, exploring every kook and cranny, familiar like the road home. "Come here," Dave said, waving James nearer. He stripped off James' t-shirt and kissed his neck and shoulders.
"Want you," James groaned. His hand ran roughly through Dave's hair as he was stripped of the rest of his clothing. "No fair," James gasped. "I don't like to be naked alone." He was always naked alone. Alone with a sock over his dick. Sarah always dressed head to toe – maybe with her shirt off if he was lucky. He used to walk around the house naked when no one was there, but after that year, he never wanted to be the only naked one.
Dave's hand stroked James' length. "You want so much." He rubbed his erection across James' thigh, the coarse material of his jean giving him just enough friction to desire James' hands on his fly.
Turning his head, James looked at the television. The unattractive woman was now fucking an even uglier man. "Why don't you suppose there aren't any attractive people in the porn business?" Dave had pushed him down on the bed.
Dave shook his head. "Depends on your definition of attractive." He finished stripping himself of his clothing. "Now we're fair." He reached in his suitcase and pulled out lube and a condom. "Always prepared; I used to be a Boy Scout." He smiled. His body loomed over James' as he climbed on top of him. Their mouths met again, hungry and eager for more.
Hands groped for cocks and balls. Mouths for tongues and the sweet taste of skin. "My god," James moaned as Dave's teeth nipped at his neck. This was what it meant to be out of the road, away from home. Away from the familiarity of everyday life and obligations and responsibilities. Dave's weeping cock in his hand to make him forget that he was ever anywhere but here.