AU RPS: Swim Your Seas And Climb Your Hills 2/14
Title: Swim Your Seas And Climb Your Hills.
Author: jeyhawk
Pairings/Characters: Jared/Jensen, Steve/Chris brief mentions of Mike/Tom.
Rating: Overall NC17
Category: Angst, Romance, Erotica, AU
Summary: Introductory post (with pictures) to the stuntman!verse can be found here. Steve's a stuntman, Chris a director, Jensen an actor and Jared's in a wheelchair. Two years ago Jared's accident changed their relationships forever, but now they find themselves on the set for the same movie. Will the past prove to be too much, or can they find their ways back to each other?
Disclaimer: I don't know them, own them or make any money from them. This is just a bunch of inventive lies.
Warnings: AU.
Wordcount: 33 196 for the entire series.
Beta: ames1010 Love you babe!
Thanks to: lissa_bear, titheniel, laugiana_fanfic and sasskitten for encouragement and character evaluations.
Notes: This story is finished, but it'll be posted in parts to give my beta some time to weave her magic wand. :0) Every chapter brings a new POV in the order Steve, Chris, Jensen, Jared and back from the start, but of course pretty much every chapter deals with all of them. :0) Title snatched from Steve with love. :0P
Chapter Specific Notes: Chris's POV.
Chapter Two
The party was already in full swing, despite the fact that it was just a little after nine. All the important people were mooching and smooching, making their rounds with glasses of really fucking expensive champagne in their hands. Chris didn’t know half the people in the room, but they all, of course, thought that he was their best fucking friend, coming up to him to thank him for the looovely party he was throwing.
He gave them a nod and a tip of his glass at best, making his by now world-famous frown work for him. Most of them took it for the brush off it was, but others, like the blonde little starlet pressing up against his side, just wouldn’t get the hint. He looked down on her, trying to remember her name, but pulled up a blank - it didn’t matter much. He would call her baby when he fucked her later and she would think she’d scored gold.
This was supposed to be a kick off party for 100 Proof, but half the people in the room, maybe more, weren’t even involved in the production. He remembered when the kick off parties had just been him and a handful of people in his ratty old apartment - a couple of cases of beer, some really good weed and something or other playing on the stereo. Come midnight, he would break out his guitar and they would have sang and joked and laughed the night away.
Come morning, when people were starting to doze off, he would have brought the prettiest thing in the room into his bedroom and fucked her, or him, into the mattress, finding his equilibrium before filming started. A party like this didn’t even come close, hundreds of unknown people mooching off his generosity, thinking they knew him when they really didn’t have a fucking clue.
Deepening his frown, he adjusted his jacket and scanned the crowd for a familiar face, the one he found made his stomach flip flop sickly, cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck. Steve was standing with his back to him, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders, or that blond hair.
“Piss off, sugar,” he hissed to the little starlet who chose that moment to squeeze his ass.
She looked affronted, but threw her hair back over her shoulder with a huff and disappeared in the direction of the pool. Chris didn’t waste any time looking after her, instead he wound his way through the crowd, finding a better vantage point, keeping his eyes on Steve's back all the while.
Steve was engaged in a conversation with Jeff Morgan, who was the stunt co-ordinator for the movie. A glass with some froofy cocktail was clutched loosely in one of his hands; the other was waving animatedly as he spoke. Jeff was smiling at him, dark eyes glittering with amusement and Chris wanted to go up there and break up their happy little party, but he had no reason to do so.
“What are you looking at?” a voice said beside his ear and he didn’t have to turn to know it was Mike, his assistant.
“Nothing,” he answered, downing the rest of the champagne in his glass in one huge gulp. “Get me another drink, would ya?”
Mike huffed, but he disappeared for a moment, returning to press another glass into Chris’s hand. Chris glanced down, smiling as he recognized the amber liquid.
“Thanks, man,” he said, downing the whiskey in a couple of swallows.
“Jesus Christ,” Mike muttered when Chris handed the tumbler back to him. “Take it easy, would you?”
Chris didn’t dignify that with an answer, his eyes following Steve as he said goodbye to Jeff and looked around the room as if he was searching for someone. He smoothly slid into the shadows when Steve's eyes turned his way, the sight of Steve's face hitting him like a punch to the gut. Steve looked old, like he’d aged ten years in the last two, tired lines surrounding his eyes and mouth, complexion sallow.
There was something wrong with the way he was standing, a slight hitch in his shoulders, alerting Chris to the fact that something was wrong. Then Steve found whoever he was looking for and started making his way through the party, Chris watched him with a frown. Something was off in the way Steve moved, like he had pads under his feet, a slight rolling with every motion and every now and then he reached out to steady himself. Was he drunk already?
“Who is that guy?” Mike asked, sounding curious.
“What guy?” Chris snarled.
“Uh… The one you’re staring at like he’s the holy fucking grail?”
“Piss off,” Chris growled, turning to face Mike. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
Mike blinked and lifted his hands with the palms out as if to ward Chris off. “Okay, man, all you had to do was say so.”
Chris spun back, nearly panicking when he couldn’t find Steve in the crowd. Then he spotted him walking up the stairs with Jensen, the two of them snuggling up to each other like a real cutesy couple. Steve's arm around Jensen’s waist, fingers tucked into his waist-band, while Jensen had one around Steve's shoulders.
Taking a deep breath, Chris turned back to the party, forcing a smile onto his face. It wasn’t like he cared or anything. This was his fucking party and he was going to have fun if it hurt him.
Ten minutes later, his resolve broke in the middle of a conversation with one of the producers and he turned on his heel, stalking towards the stairs, leaving Mike to make excuses for him. He’d be damned if he let Steve and Jensen have sex in his fucking house. He took the stairs two steps at a time, pausing at the landing to let his eyes get used to the sudden dark after the glittering lights downstairs. Jensen’s voice drifted towards him and he frowned.
“Steve, man, you gotta work with me here, which jacket is yours? I wasn’t paying attention when we got here all right? Steve…”
Eyes narrowing, Chris moved down the hallway until he found them. They were in one of the guest bedrooms, Jensen leafing through the jackets on the bed while Steve watched him. Steve was swaying slightly and a frown marred Jensen’s pretty face. Chris clenched his jaw and moved to the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.
“You boys leaving already? I thought I threw better parties than that,” he said casually, his eyes trained on Steve.
Steve spun around to face him, nearly falling over before he regained his balance and Chris froze for a second. Then he was up in Steve's face, hands like vices on Steve's cheeks as he looked into his light blue eyes.
“What the fuck are you on, man?” he snarled, grinding his teeth when Steve just blinked dumbly at him.
He turned to look at Jensen who was wearing his best deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, without letting Steve go.
“What is he taking?” he asked, his voice low and gravely.
Jensen swallowed and licked his lips. “Nothing, man,” he said, trying for casual. “He just had a little too much to drink, that’s all.”
“I know Steve when he’s had a little too much to drink,” Chris responded. “And this is not it. He’s fucking tripping.”
“Flying high,” Steve filled in, his hands coming up to curl around Chris's wrists.
Jensen rubbed a hand over his face. “Look… He…”
“Pills,” Steve said suddenly, making Chris look back at him. “Painkillers… and booze.”
“Fuck,” Chris said, shaking him. “Didn’t I teach you better than that, you moron? You. Don’t. Mix. Painkillers. With. Booze.”
“Wasn’t thinking,” Steve said, sounding ashamed, his eyes skating to the side. “Didn’t mean to.”
“Look at me,” Chris snarled, tightening his hold on Steve's face. “Fucking look at me.”
There was two years worth of anger, betrayal and hurt on Chris’s tongue, but when Steve's light eyes locked on his they just died. He smiled wryly, using one hand to push Steve's blond hair back from his face.
“Moron,” he murmured and then he kissed him.
Steve's lips parted under his, just as easily as they used to, and he made good of the invitation, delving into touch his tongue to Steve's, coaxing it into play. He made a highly embarrassing sound at the back of his throat, closing his eyes and getting lost in the sensation.
He’d spent two years telling himself that whatever they’d had was dead and gone, but apparently he’d been wrong and he could feel his world tilting on its axis, or maybe that was just the fact that they were falling down on the bed, landing sideways among all the coats.
One of Steve's hands had moved to the back of his neck, calloused fingertips playing with his neck hair while their mouths worked against each other. His own hands where raking over Steve's upper body, trying to decide where and what to touch. Steve's body was harder than he remembered it, not an ounce of fat left on his sturdy frame. Wherever he touched, muscles bunched up to meet his fingers and it was way hotter than it should be.
Caution and reason was battling for the upper hand in his brain, but they both lost to the overpowering wave of want, need, pleasure. One of Steve's lazy hands skated over his stomach until it came to rest over the bulge in his pants, making Chris's hips press into his fingers.
“Yeah,” he groaned, pulling away from Steve's mouth long enough to draw a couple of shaky breaths before he was diving back in, finding Steve's tongue and engaging it in play.
Steve rolled them over so that Chris ended up on top of him, straddling the corded muscles of one of Steve's thighs. Their feet were hanging off the bed, making the position slightly uncomfortable, but as he dragged his aching erection against Steve's hip, Chris couldn’t find it in him to care.
It was over way sooner than it should have been, in a flurry of thrusting hips, grasping fingers and tangling tongues. Chris came with a low husky growl, pushing his face against the side of Steve's neck, dragging his cock hard against Steve's hip. Steve's fingers dug into his ass, keeping him still as Steve thrust against him a few more times before he was coming too, his body trembling as he creamed his pants.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, Chris on top Steve, Steve's hands grasping his ass, then the sound of Jensen’s voice broke them out of their reverie.
“Uh… guys… I hate to break up the reunion party, but someone’s coming.”
Jensen. Chris had completely forgotten about him. He jumped to his feet and corrected his clothes as best he could. There was just nothing he could do about the way his slacks clung to his crotch, the stickiness of his come making them goddamned uncomfortable.
Steve was pushing himself up into sitting position, albeit slower, a wince on his face as he straightened his back.
Jensen was standing in the doorway, looking sheepish and a little turned on, his body barring the glimpse between the door and the hallway. Chris gave Steve one last look before squaring his shoulders and pushing past Jensen, hoping that the relative dark of the hallway would hide the state of his clothes. He had a party to host and Steve could go fuck himself for all he cared. There would be time to talk later on; right now he needed time to build his defences back up, because this was not how their first meeting was supposed to go. Not at all.
Chapter Three
Author: jeyhawk
Pairings/Characters: Jared/Jensen, Steve/Chris brief mentions of Mike/Tom.
Rating: Overall NC17
Category: Angst, Romance, Erotica, AU
Summary: Introductory post (with pictures) to the stuntman!verse can be found here. Steve's a stuntman, Chris a director, Jensen an actor and Jared's in a wheelchair. Two years ago Jared's accident changed their relationships forever, but now they find themselves on the set for the same movie. Will the past prove to be too much, or can they find their ways back to each other?
Disclaimer: I don't know them, own them or make any money from them. This is just a bunch of inventive lies.
Warnings: AU.
Wordcount: 33 196 for the entire series.
Beta: ames1010 Love you babe!
Thanks to: lissa_bear, titheniel, laugiana_fanfic and sasskitten for encouragement and character evaluations.
Notes: This story is finished, but it'll be posted in parts to give my beta some time to weave her magic wand. :0) Every chapter brings a new POV in the order Steve, Chris, Jensen, Jared and back from the start, but of course pretty much every chapter deals with all of them. :0) Title snatched from Steve with love. :0P
Chapter Specific Notes: Chris's POV.
Chapter Two
The party was already in full swing, despite the fact that it was just a little after nine. All the important people were mooching and smooching, making their rounds with glasses of really fucking expensive champagne in their hands. Chris didn’t know half the people in the room, but they all, of course, thought that he was their best fucking friend, coming up to him to thank him for the looovely party he was throwing.
He gave them a nod and a tip of his glass at best, making his by now world-famous frown work for him. Most of them took it for the brush off it was, but others, like the blonde little starlet pressing up against his side, just wouldn’t get the hint. He looked down on her, trying to remember her name, but pulled up a blank - it didn’t matter much. He would call her baby when he fucked her later and she would think she’d scored gold.
This was supposed to be a kick off party for 100 Proof, but half the people in the room, maybe more, weren’t even involved in the production. He remembered when the kick off parties had just been him and a handful of people in his ratty old apartment - a couple of cases of beer, some really good weed and something or other playing on the stereo. Come midnight, he would break out his guitar and they would have sang and joked and laughed the night away.
Come morning, when people were starting to doze off, he would have brought the prettiest thing in the room into his bedroom and fucked her, or him, into the mattress, finding his equilibrium before filming started. A party like this didn’t even come close, hundreds of unknown people mooching off his generosity, thinking they knew him when they really didn’t have a fucking clue.
Deepening his frown, he adjusted his jacket and scanned the crowd for a familiar face, the one he found made his stomach flip flop sickly, cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck. Steve was standing with his back to him, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders, or that blond hair.
“Piss off, sugar,” he hissed to the little starlet who chose that moment to squeeze his ass.
She looked affronted, but threw her hair back over her shoulder with a huff and disappeared in the direction of the pool. Chris didn’t waste any time looking after her, instead he wound his way through the crowd, finding a better vantage point, keeping his eyes on Steve's back all the while.
Steve was engaged in a conversation with Jeff Morgan, who was the stunt co-ordinator for the movie. A glass with some froofy cocktail was clutched loosely in one of his hands; the other was waving animatedly as he spoke. Jeff was smiling at him, dark eyes glittering with amusement and Chris wanted to go up there and break up their happy little party, but he had no reason to do so.
“What are you looking at?” a voice said beside his ear and he didn’t have to turn to know it was Mike, his assistant.
“Nothing,” he answered, downing the rest of the champagne in his glass in one huge gulp. “Get me another drink, would ya?”
Mike huffed, but he disappeared for a moment, returning to press another glass into Chris’s hand. Chris glanced down, smiling as he recognized the amber liquid.
“Thanks, man,” he said, downing the whiskey in a couple of swallows.
“Jesus Christ,” Mike muttered when Chris handed the tumbler back to him. “Take it easy, would you?”
Chris didn’t dignify that with an answer, his eyes following Steve as he said goodbye to Jeff and looked around the room as if he was searching for someone. He smoothly slid into the shadows when Steve's eyes turned his way, the sight of Steve's face hitting him like a punch to the gut. Steve looked old, like he’d aged ten years in the last two, tired lines surrounding his eyes and mouth, complexion sallow.
There was something wrong with the way he was standing, a slight hitch in his shoulders, alerting Chris to the fact that something was wrong. Then Steve found whoever he was looking for and started making his way through the party, Chris watched him with a frown. Something was off in the way Steve moved, like he had pads under his feet, a slight rolling with every motion and every now and then he reached out to steady himself. Was he drunk already?
“Who is that guy?” Mike asked, sounding curious.
“What guy?” Chris snarled.
“Uh… The one you’re staring at like he’s the holy fucking grail?”
“Piss off,” Chris growled, turning to face Mike. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
Mike blinked and lifted his hands with the palms out as if to ward Chris off. “Okay, man, all you had to do was say so.”
Chris spun back, nearly panicking when he couldn’t find Steve in the crowd. Then he spotted him walking up the stairs with Jensen, the two of them snuggling up to each other like a real cutesy couple. Steve's arm around Jensen’s waist, fingers tucked into his waist-band, while Jensen had one around Steve's shoulders.
Taking a deep breath, Chris turned back to the party, forcing a smile onto his face. It wasn’t like he cared or anything. This was his fucking party and he was going to have fun if it hurt him.
Ten minutes later, his resolve broke in the middle of a conversation with one of the producers and he turned on his heel, stalking towards the stairs, leaving Mike to make excuses for him. He’d be damned if he let Steve and Jensen have sex in his fucking house. He took the stairs two steps at a time, pausing at the landing to let his eyes get used to the sudden dark after the glittering lights downstairs. Jensen’s voice drifted towards him and he frowned.
“Steve, man, you gotta work with me here, which jacket is yours? I wasn’t paying attention when we got here all right? Steve…”
Eyes narrowing, Chris moved down the hallway until he found them. They were in one of the guest bedrooms, Jensen leafing through the jackets on the bed while Steve watched him. Steve was swaying slightly and a frown marred Jensen’s pretty face. Chris clenched his jaw and moved to the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.
“You boys leaving already? I thought I threw better parties than that,” he said casually, his eyes trained on Steve.
Steve spun around to face him, nearly falling over before he regained his balance and Chris froze for a second. Then he was up in Steve's face, hands like vices on Steve's cheeks as he looked into his light blue eyes.
“What the fuck are you on, man?” he snarled, grinding his teeth when Steve just blinked dumbly at him.
He turned to look at Jensen who was wearing his best deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, without letting Steve go.
“What is he taking?” he asked, his voice low and gravely.
Jensen swallowed and licked his lips. “Nothing, man,” he said, trying for casual. “He just had a little too much to drink, that’s all.”
“I know Steve when he’s had a little too much to drink,” Chris responded. “And this is not it. He’s fucking tripping.”
“Flying high,” Steve filled in, his hands coming up to curl around Chris's wrists.
Jensen rubbed a hand over his face. “Look… He…”
“Pills,” Steve said suddenly, making Chris look back at him. “Painkillers… and booze.”
“Fuck,” Chris said, shaking him. “Didn’t I teach you better than that, you moron? You. Don’t. Mix. Painkillers. With. Booze.”
“Wasn’t thinking,” Steve said, sounding ashamed, his eyes skating to the side. “Didn’t mean to.”
“Look at me,” Chris snarled, tightening his hold on Steve's face. “Fucking look at me.”
There was two years worth of anger, betrayal and hurt on Chris’s tongue, but when Steve's light eyes locked on his they just died. He smiled wryly, using one hand to push Steve's blond hair back from his face.
“Moron,” he murmured and then he kissed him.
Steve's lips parted under his, just as easily as they used to, and he made good of the invitation, delving into touch his tongue to Steve's, coaxing it into play. He made a highly embarrassing sound at the back of his throat, closing his eyes and getting lost in the sensation.
He’d spent two years telling himself that whatever they’d had was dead and gone, but apparently he’d been wrong and he could feel his world tilting on its axis, or maybe that was just the fact that they were falling down on the bed, landing sideways among all the coats.
One of Steve's hands had moved to the back of his neck, calloused fingertips playing with his neck hair while their mouths worked against each other. His own hands where raking over Steve's upper body, trying to decide where and what to touch. Steve's body was harder than he remembered it, not an ounce of fat left on his sturdy frame. Wherever he touched, muscles bunched up to meet his fingers and it was way hotter than it should be.
Caution and reason was battling for the upper hand in his brain, but they both lost to the overpowering wave of want, need, pleasure. One of Steve's lazy hands skated over his stomach until it came to rest over the bulge in his pants, making Chris's hips press into his fingers.
“Yeah,” he groaned, pulling away from Steve's mouth long enough to draw a couple of shaky breaths before he was diving back in, finding Steve's tongue and engaging it in play.
Steve rolled them over so that Chris ended up on top of him, straddling the corded muscles of one of Steve's thighs. Their feet were hanging off the bed, making the position slightly uncomfortable, but as he dragged his aching erection against Steve's hip, Chris couldn’t find it in him to care.
It was over way sooner than it should have been, in a flurry of thrusting hips, grasping fingers and tangling tongues. Chris came with a low husky growl, pushing his face against the side of Steve's neck, dragging his cock hard against Steve's hip. Steve's fingers dug into his ass, keeping him still as Steve thrust against him a few more times before he was coming too, his body trembling as he creamed his pants.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, Chris on top Steve, Steve's hands grasping his ass, then the sound of Jensen’s voice broke them out of their reverie.
“Uh… guys… I hate to break up the reunion party, but someone’s coming.”
Jensen. Chris had completely forgotten about him. He jumped to his feet and corrected his clothes as best he could. There was just nothing he could do about the way his slacks clung to his crotch, the stickiness of his come making them goddamned uncomfortable.
Steve was pushing himself up into sitting position, albeit slower, a wince on his face as he straightened his back.
Jensen was standing in the doorway, looking sheepish and a little turned on, his body barring the glimpse between the door and the hallway. Chris gave Steve one last look before squaring his shoulders and pushing past Jensen, hoping that the relative dark of the hallway would hide the state of his clothes. He had a party to host and Steve could go fuck himself for all he cared. There would be time to talk later on; right now he needed time to build his defences back up, because this was not how their first meeting was supposed to go. Not at all.
Chapter Three