Slow Like Sunday Morning, Part Three, Kane RPS/Leverage RPS, NC-17
Fandom: Kane RPS/Leverage RPS
Title: Slow Like Sunday Morning, Part Three ( Part One, Part Two)
Pairing/Characters: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, Timothy Hutton, Aldis Hodge, Jensen Ackles, Daneel Harris, mentions of Jason Southard, Will Amend, Ryan Baker
Rating: NC-17 (for sex but also for theme and violence)
Word Count: 2711
Summary: Christian's birthday night leads to new bruises, and Steve seeing things in a new light.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP FIC. There is also dub-con here. Turn back now if this is not your thing. This began as comment fic and took on a life of it's own. Third part of probably five.
It was a good show, the house was packed, Steve and Jason wailed away on their guitars, Jensen came up to sing with them, which made the fangirls scream all the louder.
Chris was happy. His face hurt from grinning. Aldis and Tim showed, and Chris introduced Jensen and Daneel. They all headed back for Chris' apartment to keep the party going. The lot of them ended up together, sharing a bottle of Jack long after the rest of the band had cleared out and headed for their beds.
Steve was in a corner laughing with Daneel. Jensen and Aldis were telling each other stories. That left Chris and Tim sitting together. Chris was fairly well drunk and had actually switched to drinking water in an attempt to not fall over and pass out.
Tim was peeling the label off his beer, his eyes flashing to Steve and back to Chris. "What?" Chris asked belligerently.
"Nothing. I find your relationship with Steve to be…interesting."
"Interesting?" Chris made a face and looked over his shoulder at Steve. "Why, cause you didn't figure me for being into guys?"
Tim shrugged a little. "Well, that's part of it, I won't lie. You clearly love women."
Chris nodded. "Hell, yeah. What's not to love?"
"And yet…" He gestured at Steve.
Chris smirked and nodded. "And yet. He's…talented and beautiful and he gets me. Like nobody else ever has."
"You love him." Tim said, and it wasn't a question, just a simple observation.
Chris nodded solemnly, suddenly feeling a lot less drunk than he had been. "Completely."
"You're always so excited for him to get here." Tim's eyes were following Steve as he crossed to the kitchen. "And so down when he leaves." His eyes were narrow now, looking into Chris.
"He's my best friend and my lover and my partner." Chris swallowed down more of his water and cleared his throat. "What are you getting at?"
Tim shook his head and set his beer aside. "Nothing." He stood, adjusting his pants before smiling. "I should go. Just because you have tomorrow off doesn't mean the rest of us do."
Chris stood, discovering where all the alcohol had gone as his knees wobbled and he reached out for Tim. Hands steadied him and Tim's face swam in front of him.
"Looks like maybe it's time the birthday boy was in bed."
Suddenly Steve was behind him, hands on his arms, tight, hard. "I've got him."
Tim ignored Steve, his eyes catching on Chris' eyes. "You okay?"
There seemed to be a hundred layers in the question and Chris nodded, stepping back into Steve to ease the pressure of his fingers as they dug into muscle. "Drunk. Way drunk." Chris shook his head.
Tim nodded. "Sleep it off. I'll see you Tuesday. Aldis." Tim waved as he headed for the door. Steve's hands didn't loosen up as Aldis called after Tim and told him to wait up.
"Hey man."
Chris pulled free when it was clear Aldis was coming in for a hug, and Steve's hand moved to his back, fisting in his shirt. "Thanks for being here." Chris said, thumping Aldis on the back and pulling back into Steve.
When Aldis was gone after Tim, Steve seemed to relax, letting go and letting Chris fall back onto the couch. "I found the tequila." Steve said, holding up the bottle.
Both Daneel and Jensen shook their heads and held up hands. "I think I've had enough." Jensen said. "I have a plane to catch in the morning."
"It's early." Steve protested, squinting at the clock which clearly declared it wasn't early. It was almost 3am.
"Dude…I'm not a musician. I don't have the luxury of sleeping until noon." Jensen pulled Steve into a hug. "I'll see you in a few weeks anyway."
"Right…Vancouver." Steve opened the bottle and took a long swallow. Jensen moved to sink next to Chris on the couch.
"You are wasted." Jensen said, smirking.
"I am." Chris agreed. "I need my bed."
Jensen leaned in to hug him, then stood. "Take care of this clown, eh, Steve? Make sure he doesn't…crack his head open or something."
Chris was only vaguely aware of them leaving. The alcohol in his body was heavy, thick…it slowed everything down and made it stretch out around him. He blinked and turned when the couch dipped beside him. Steve was talking, but he couldn't make sense of the words.
There was a bottle waving in front of his face, the smell of tequila, and his stomach lurched. "No…ugh."
The bottle came down on his thigh, and he thought it should maybe hurt, but he was mostly aware of his stomach. He struggled up, made for the bathroom, throwing up almost before he reached the toilet.
When he was done, he found Steve standing over him, the bottle still in one hand, a towel in the other. Chris climbed to his feet and took the towel. "I need to crash."
He stumbled past Steve, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his jeans before he fell into bed. He reached for Steve, wanting the comfort of having him there. "Com'ere." Chris mumbled.
Steve set the tequila bottle on the nightstand and dropped his own jeans, crawling over Chris and falling to the bed with one arm and one leg still draped over him.
Darkness settled over him and the drunk pulled him down fast.
He woke sometime later, falling out of dreams of sex and fury to Steve on top of him, inside him, cursing and fucking and Chris yelled in his confusion, trying to pull away.
"Promised me." Steve muttered, grabbing Chris' hands as he tried to push Steve off. "Fucking promised me."
Chris settled as he realized where he was and what was happening, tried to relax to enjoy it, but Steve wasn't being gentle. He leaned in, nipping at Chris' lips and rubbing stubble along his chest. "Mine." Steve growled.
Chris pulled, trying to get his hands free and Steve responded by slamming them up over his head, the left one smashing into the headboard. Chris yelled and arched up, shifting the angle that Steve's cock was penetrating him. Pain bled away into pleasure as Steve's thrust pressed into his prostate and Chris' cock responded, hardening quickly.
"Steve." Chris gasped out his name, still struggling to get his hands free, wanting to touch him, to give back some of what he's getting.
Steve's head fell back as he came, his grip loosening as he panted and eased back, looking down at Chris with dark eyes. His hands slid down Chris' chest and over his stomach, circling his cock.
Chris reached for him, grabbing his wrist as Steve jacked him, hard and slow. "Mine." Steve growled again.
"Always." Chris responded, his body tensing as he came, spilling out over his stomach.
Steve grabbed the bottle from the nightstand and staggered away. When he didn't come back in a few minutes, Chris pulled himself up, groaning with the effort and the banging in his head. He stumbled to the bathroom to pee and clean up his stomach. He squinted at himself in the mirror, then pulled out the aspirin, swallowing two with warm tap water.
Steve was in the living room nursing the bottle and messing with his guitar. Chris left him to it, crawling back into bed and praying he managed to sleep off the worst of the hangover.
It was entirely too bright. That was the first thing Steve determined when his eyes opened, and that was with the blinds closed.
He groaned and rubbed over his face, rolling away from the windows, burying his face against Chris. Strong fingers played through his hair, making the throbbing in his head switch rhythms to match.
"How's the hangover?" Chris asked, his voice soft, but gruff.
"Hung." Steve responded.
"Not surprised, you were up drinking again just before dawn."
Steve frowned and leveraged himself up to look at Chris, who was leaning against the headboard reading a script.
"I was?"
Chris bent over and kissed his head. "Right after I woke up to you on top of me." He held up his hand and Steve could see the skin all red and swollen.
"How'd that happen?"
"You were being all possessive." Chris said, though his voice wasn't angry. "Hit it into the headboard."
"I don't remember." Steve scrubbed at his hair as he sat up, frowning until his face hurt. "How drunk was I?"
"You're asking me?" Chris asked, setting the script aside. "I barely remember getting back here."
Steve pushed himself up off the bed. "Does it hurt?" Steve came around Chris' side of the bed, reaching for his hand.
"Nah…it's fine." Chris said, shaking his head and moving as though he were going to get up. As the blankets slipped, Steve could see more bruising, on Chris' arms, on his chest, on his thigh.
Steve's fingers slide over the round mark on his thigh, frowning again. "Seriously, you look like you got the shit kicked out of you."
"You should see the other guy." Chris responded flippantly, getting up and moving away from Steve. He pulled sweat pants on over his legs and pulled a sweatshirt out of the dresser, pulling it on.
"Chris…" Steve stood and followed after him. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Aside from the fact that I'm starving and still feel like food is the worst idea in the world, yeah, I'm fine."
"Would you tell me if you weren't?" Steve asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew the answer.
Chris huffed and turned, pressing a kiss to Steve's forehead. "I'm fine. Just…you know…it's been a physical couple of days."
Steve's hand slid up under the shirt, pushing it up so he can see. Small bruises pepper his skin, some looking like finger tip bruises, others smaller even than that.
Chris pulled away and pulled the shirt back down. "Stop. I don't even remember where half of them come from. You know me…always something."
"Your hand though." Steve caught his hand and lifted it, not liking the way it was bruising in.
"It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine." Chris pulled his hand up and kissed it. "I'm going to make some coffee."
Steve watched him go, rubbing at his aching head. Something was definitely not right. He didn't remember getting home the night before either. He vaguely recalled the end of the show, fangirls, Jason heading off with some girl…but not much else.
There were flashes of feelings. Anger, hurt, betrayal, need, desire, craving…but they all just fell back into the dark haze of whiskey and tequila and beer. Steve pulled on clothes of his own, following Chris out to the kitchen.
"You want food?" Chris asked, looking up. "We could order pizza or something."
Steve shook his head. "Food sounds gross."
"How about coffee?" Chris looked up from measuring the grounds.
Steve made a face and sat at the table.
"You okay?" Chris finished the coffee and turned on the pot before coming to sit next to him.
"A little fuzzy." He rubbed at his head. "I'm sorry." He took Chris' hand again, his fingers rubbing gently over the marks left from his carelessness.
"It wasn't you're fault." Chris said.
"No, I should be more…attentive. I should pay attention more. I shouldn't be so drunk I can't remember our time together."
"You have been drinking a lot lately." Chris agreed softly.
"I know."
"Is it…never mind." Chris pulled away and shook his head.
"What? Is it what?"
"I just wonder sometimes." Chris looked at him, squinting.
"About us?" Steve asked, feeling that sink in his stomach that always came when Chris was too quiet and withdrawn and started talking about "them".
"You're still upset over how things went. Before."
It wasn't a question.
"What?"
Chris stood and paced away. "I mean, I get it. I understand why you would be. I was the one who walked away. I was the one who said I needed more."
It took him a minute to force the words through the hangover enough to figure out what Chris was getting at. "Wait. You think I'm drinking because…what exactly? That I don't really want to be here?"
Chris turned to look out the window over the sink. "No…not exactly." He sighed heavily. "You don't trust me not to fuck it up again."
Steve pushed the chair back and stood. "So I drink more?"
Chris sagged against the counter. "We don't…we don't really spend the time together we used to…you and me, our guitars…there's always someone around, and the drinking always takes us away from writing or anything else."
Steve's eyes burned as he realized that Chris believed he was purposely being kept at arms reach…that Steve was physically there but emotionally distant…and that he was the reason.
"Oh, god, Chris." He slipped his arms around Chris from behind, tugging on him until he let go of the counter. "I didn't know you were…no." He turned Chris around, kissing over his face. "No. Okay? No. I do trust you. I know it hurt you as much as it did me. I know…and I love you." He stopped and looked Chris in the eye. "You know I love you, don't you?"
"Yeah, Steve. I know you love me." Chris said, though his tone was flat and his eyes skipped away.
"No, you don't. God, Chris." Steve rubbed his face with his hands. "I love you so much. I can't sleep when I'm home. Vegas is worse. I think about you all the time, talk about you until Darren's ready to punch me in the face."
Chris sniffed and breathed in deep. "Steve, it's okay."
"No it isn't." Steve answered, backing away a step. "If you're thinking I'm not all here, if you think I'm holding back or hiding behind drinking, it isn't okay." Steve dragged a hand back through his hair, then turned to Chris. "And I'm going to take all day showing you exactly how much I love you and want to be here with you. No beer, no whiskey, no tequila. Just you and me."
There were fingertip bruises on the inside of both arms from where Steve had grabbed him. There was a round ring of black and blue on his thigh where Steve slammed the tequila bottle into him. The back of his left hand was mottled red and purple from the way Steve slammed it against the headboard while they fucked.
His ribs still had a dusty darkness to them. There were tiny bruises on his chest from lips and teeth, a bigger one on his collarbone from Steve's mouth.
His body hurt all over, a dull, deep ache that settled in his bones and made getting out of bed harder than it should be. He moved through the not-quite-dawn darkness, showering, finding his clothes, quietly easing into the day.
Chris dressed slowly, in the dark. Steve was sleeping after a whole night of sex and talking and music, a whole night without alcohol and the hidden temper that bloomed only with tequila or whiskey to water it. Chris eased worn jeans up over the bruise on his thigh, hoping that the achy, stiff muscle wouldn't interfere with the stunt work he knew was on his schedule for the day.
He layered on the shirts, a dark blue t-shirt that fit tight and covered his ribs and came to his elbows to cover the bruises there. He added a button down and grabbed fingerless gloves off the dresser to hide his hands.
He pulled the gloves on with a sigh, knowing he'd have to explain the bruising to at least one person, unless he made it to the makeup trailer before anyone else and managed to cover it on his own.
He paused at the door, watching Steve sleep. He made excuses for the bruises, argued that it was just a part of their physical relationship, that they played hard, that Steve was often hurt too. He flexed his hand.
He was accident-prone. Always getting hurt.
It was the job. The drink. Heavy equipment and rough housing.
He loved Steve. Steve loved him.
Chris slipped on his sunglasses and left Steve sleeping.
Title: Slow Like Sunday Morning, Part Three ( Part One, Part Two)
Pairing/Characters: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, Timothy Hutton, Aldis Hodge, Jensen Ackles, Daneel Harris, mentions of Jason Southard, Will Amend, Ryan Baker
Rating: NC-17 (for sex but also for theme and violence)
Word Count: 2711
Summary: Christian's birthday night leads to new bruises, and Steve seeing things in a new light.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP FIC. There is also dub-con here. Turn back now if this is not your thing. This began as comment fic and took on a life of it's own. Third part of probably five.
It was a good show, the house was packed, Steve and Jason wailed away on their guitars, Jensen came up to sing with them, which made the fangirls scream all the louder.
Chris was happy. His face hurt from grinning. Aldis and Tim showed, and Chris introduced Jensen and Daneel. They all headed back for Chris' apartment to keep the party going. The lot of them ended up together, sharing a bottle of Jack long after the rest of the band had cleared out and headed for their beds.
Steve was in a corner laughing with Daneel. Jensen and Aldis were telling each other stories. That left Chris and Tim sitting together. Chris was fairly well drunk and had actually switched to drinking water in an attempt to not fall over and pass out.
Tim was peeling the label off his beer, his eyes flashing to Steve and back to Chris. "What?" Chris asked belligerently.
"Nothing. I find your relationship with Steve to be…interesting."
"Interesting?" Chris made a face and looked over his shoulder at Steve. "Why, cause you didn't figure me for being into guys?"
Tim shrugged a little. "Well, that's part of it, I won't lie. You clearly love women."
Chris nodded. "Hell, yeah. What's not to love?"
"And yet…" He gestured at Steve.
Chris smirked and nodded. "And yet. He's…talented and beautiful and he gets me. Like nobody else ever has."
"You love him." Tim said, and it wasn't a question, just a simple observation.
Chris nodded solemnly, suddenly feeling a lot less drunk than he had been. "Completely."
"You're always so excited for him to get here." Tim's eyes were following Steve as he crossed to the kitchen. "And so down when he leaves." His eyes were narrow now, looking into Chris.
"He's my best friend and my lover and my partner." Chris swallowed down more of his water and cleared his throat. "What are you getting at?"
Tim shook his head and set his beer aside. "Nothing." He stood, adjusting his pants before smiling. "I should go. Just because you have tomorrow off doesn't mean the rest of us do."
Chris stood, discovering where all the alcohol had gone as his knees wobbled and he reached out for Tim. Hands steadied him and Tim's face swam in front of him.
"Looks like maybe it's time the birthday boy was in bed."
Suddenly Steve was behind him, hands on his arms, tight, hard. "I've got him."
Tim ignored Steve, his eyes catching on Chris' eyes. "You okay?"
There seemed to be a hundred layers in the question and Chris nodded, stepping back into Steve to ease the pressure of his fingers as they dug into muscle. "Drunk. Way drunk." Chris shook his head.
Tim nodded. "Sleep it off. I'll see you Tuesday. Aldis." Tim waved as he headed for the door. Steve's hands didn't loosen up as Aldis called after Tim and told him to wait up.
"Hey man."
Chris pulled free when it was clear Aldis was coming in for a hug, and Steve's hand moved to his back, fisting in his shirt. "Thanks for being here." Chris said, thumping Aldis on the back and pulling back into Steve.
When Aldis was gone after Tim, Steve seemed to relax, letting go and letting Chris fall back onto the couch. "I found the tequila." Steve said, holding up the bottle.
Both Daneel and Jensen shook their heads and held up hands. "I think I've had enough." Jensen said. "I have a plane to catch in the morning."
"It's early." Steve protested, squinting at the clock which clearly declared it wasn't early. It was almost 3am.
"Dude…I'm not a musician. I don't have the luxury of sleeping until noon." Jensen pulled Steve into a hug. "I'll see you in a few weeks anyway."
"Right…Vancouver." Steve opened the bottle and took a long swallow. Jensen moved to sink next to Chris on the couch.
"You are wasted." Jensen said, smirking.
"I am." Chris agreed. "I need my bed."
Jensen leaned in to hug him, then stood. "Take care of this clown, eh, Steve? Make sure he doesn't…crack his head open or something."
Chris was only vaguely aware of them leaving. The alcohol in his body was heavy, thick…it slowed everything down and made it stretch out around him. He blinked and turned when the couch dipped beside him. Steve was talking, but he couldn't make sense of the words.
There was a bottle waving in front of his face, the smell of tequila, and his stomach lurched. "No…ugh."
The bottle came down on his thigh, and he thought it should maybe hurt, but he was mostly aware of his stomach. He struggled up, made for the bathroom, throwing up almost before he reached the toilet.
When he was done, he found Steve standing over him, the bottle still in one hand, a towel in the other. Chris climbed to his feet and took the towel. "I need to crash."
He stumbled past Steve, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his jeans before he fell into bed. He reached for Steve, wanting the comfort of having him there. "Com'ere." Chris mumbled.
Steve set the tequila bottle on the nightstand and dropped his own jeans, crawling over Chris and falling to the bed with one arm and one leg still draped over him.
Darkness settled over him and the drunk pulled him down fast.
He woke sometime later, falling out of dreams of sex and fury to Steve on top of him, inside him, cursing and fucking and Chris yelled in his confusion, trying to pull away.
"Promised me." Steve muttered, grabbing Chris' hands as he tried to push Steve off. "Fucking promised me."
Chris settled as he realized where he was and what was happening, tried to relax to enjoy it, but Steve wasn't being gentle. He leaned in, nipping at Chris' lips and rubbing stubble along his chest. "Mine." Steve growled.
Chris pulled, trying to get his hands free and Steve responded by slamming them up over his head, the left one smashing into the headboard. Chris yelled and arched up, shifting the angle that Steve's cock was penetrating him. Pain bled away into pleasure as Steve's thrust pressed into his prostate and Chris' cock responded, hardening quickly.
"Steve." Chris gasped out his name, still struggling to get his hands free, wanting to touch him, to give back some of what he's getting.
Steve's head fell back as he came, his grip loosening as he panted and eased back, looking down at Chris with dark eyes. His hands slid down Chris' chest and over his stomach, circling his cock.
Chris reached for him, grabbing his wrist as Steve jacked him, hard and slow. "Mine." Steve growled again.
"Always." Chris responded, his body tensing as he came, spilling out over his stomach.
Steve grabbed the bottle from the nightstand and staggered away. When he didn't come back in a few minutes, Chris pulled himself up, groaning with the effort and the banging in his head. He stumbled to the bathroom to pee and clean up his stomach. He squinted at himself in the mirror, then pulled out the aspirin, swallowing two with warm tap water.
Steve was in the living room nursing the bottle and messing with his guitar. Chris left him to it, crawling back into bed and praying he managed to sleep off the worst of the hangover.
It was entirely too bright. That was the first thing Steve determined when his eyes opened, and that was with the blinds closed.
He groaned and rubbed over his face, rolling away from the windows, burying his face against Chris. Strong fingers played through his hair, making the throbbing in his head switch rhythms to match.
"How's the hangover?" Chris asked, his voice soft, but gruff.
"Hung." Steve responded.
"Not surprised, you were up drinking again just before dawn."
Steve frowned and leveraged himself up to look at Chris, who was leaning against the headboard reading a script.
"I was?"
Chris bent over and kissed his head. "Right after I woke up to you on top of me." He held up his hand and Steve could see the skin all red and swollen.
"How'd that happen?"
"You were being all possessive." Chris said, though his voice wasn't angry. "Hit it into the headboard."
"I don't remember." Steve scrubbed at his hair as he sat up, frowning until his face hurt. "How drunk was I?"
"You're asking me?" Chris asked, setting the script aside. "I barely remember getting back here."
Steve pushed himself up off the bed. "Does it hurt?" Steve came around Chris' side of the bed, reaching for his hand.
"Nah…it's fine." Chris said, shaking his head and moving as though he were going to get up. As the blankets slipped, Steve could see more bruising, on Chris' arms, on his chest, on his thigh.
Steve's fingers slide over the round mark on his thigh, frowning again. "Seriously, you look like you got the shit kicked out of you."
"You should see the other guy." Chris responded flippantly, getting up and moving away from Steve. He pulled sweat pants on over his legs and pulled a sweatshirt out of the dresser, pulling it on.
"Chris…" Steve stood and followed after him. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Aside from the fact that I'm starving and still feel like food is the worst idea in the world, yeah, I'm fine."
"Would you tell me if you weren't?" Steve asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew the answer.
Chris huffed and turned, pressing a kiss to Steve's forehead. "I'm fine. Just…you know…it's been a physical couple of days."
Steve's hand slid up under the shirt, pushing it up so he can see. Small bruises pepper his skin, some looking like finger tip bruises, others smaller even than that.
Chris pulled away and pulled the shirt back down. "Stop. I don't even remember where half of them come from. You know me…always something."
"Your hand though." Steve caught his hand and lifted it, not liking the way it was bruising in.
"It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine." Chris pulled his hand up and kissed it. "I'm going to make some coffee."
Steve watched him go, rubbing at his aching head. Something was definitely not right. He didn't remember getting home the night before either. He vaguely recalled the end of the show, fangirls, Jason heading off with some girl…but not much else.
There were flashes of feelings. Anger, hurt, betrayal, need, desire, craving…but they all just fell back into the dark haze of whiskey and tequila and beer. Steve pulled on clothes of his own, following Chris out to the kitchen.
"You want food?" Chris asked, looking up. "We could order pizza or something."
Steve shook his head. "Food sounds gross."
"How about coffee?" Chris looked up from measuring the grounds.
Steve made a face and sat at the table.
"You okay?" Chris finished the coffee and turned on the pot before coming to sit next to him.
"A little fuzzy." He rubbed at his head. "I'm sorry." He took Chris' hand again, his fingers rubbing gently over the marks left from his carelessness.
"It wasn't you're fault." Chris said.
"No, I should be more…attentive. I should pay attention more. I shouldn't be so drunk I can't remember our time together."
"You have been drinking a lot lately." Chris agreed softly.
"I know."
"Is it…never mind." Chris pulled away and shook his head.
"What? Is it what?"
"I just wonder sometimes." Chris looked at him, squinting.
"About us?" Steve asked, feeling that sink in his stomach that always came when Chris was too quiet and withdrawn and started talking about "them".
"You're still upset over how things went. Before."
It wasn't a question.
"What?"
Chris stood and paced away. "I mean, I get it. I understand why you would be. I was the one who walked away. I was the one who said I needed more."
It took him a minute to force the words through the hangover enough to figure out what Chris was getting at. "Wait. You think I'm drinking because…what exactly? That I don't really want to be here?"
Chris turned to look out the window over the sink. "No…not exactly." He sighed heavily. "You don't trust me not to fuck it up again."
Steve pushed the chair back and stood. "So I drink more?"
Chris sagged against the counter. "We don't…we don't really spend the time together we used to…you and me, our guitars…there's always someone around, and the drinking always takes us away from writing or anything else."
Steve's eyes burned as he realized that Chris believed he was purposely being kept at arms reach…that Steve was physically there but emotionally distant…and that he was the reason.
"Oh, god, Chris." He slipped his arms around Chris from behind, tugging on him until he let go of the counter. "I didn't know you were…no." He turned Chris around, kissing over his face. "No. Okay? No. I do trust you. I know it hurt you as much as it did me. I know…and I love you." He stopped and looked Chris in the eye. "You know I love you, don't you?"
"Yeah, Steve. I know you love me." Chris said, though his tone was flat and his eyes skipped away.
"No, you don't. God, Chris." Steve rubbed his face with his hands. "I love you so much. I can't sleep when I'm home. Vegas is worse. I think about you all the time, talk about you until Darren's ready to punch me in the face."
Chris sniffed and breathed in deep. "Steve, it's okay."
"No it isn't." Steve answered, backing away a step. "If you're thinking I'm not all here, if you think I'm holding back or hiding behind drinking, it isn't okay." Steve dragged a hand back through his hair, then turned to Chris. "And I'm going to take all day showing you exactly how much I love you and want to be here with you. No beer, no whiskey, no tequila. Just you and me."
There were fingertip bruises on the inside of both arms from where Steve had grabbed him. There was a round ring of black and blue on his thigh where Steve slammed the tequila bottle into him. The back of his left hand was mottled red and purple from the way Steve slammed it against the headboard while they fucked.
His ribs still had a dusty darkness to them. There were tiny bruises on his chest from lips and teeth, a bigger one on his collarbone from Steve's mouth.
His body hurt all over, a dull, deep ache that settled in his bones and made getting out of bed harder than it should be. He moved through the not-quite-dawn darkness, showering, finding his clothes, quietly easing into the day.
Chris dressed slowly, in the dark. Steve was sleeping after a whole night of sex and talking and music, a whole night without alcohol and the hidden temper that bloomed only with tequila or whiskey to water it. Chris eased worn jeans up over the bruise on his thigh, hoping that the achy, stiff muscle wouldn't interfere with the stunt work he knew was on his schedule for the day.
He layered on the shirts, a dark blue t-shirt that fit tight and covered his ribs and came to his elbows to cover the bruises there. He added a button down and grabbed fingerless gloves off the dresser to hide his hands.
He pulled the gloves on with a sigh, knowing he'd have to explain the bruising to at least one person, unless he made it to the makeup trailer before anyone else and managed to cover it on his own.
He paused at the door, watching Steve sleep. He made excuses for the bruises, argued that it was just a part of their physical relationship, that they played hard, that Steve was often hurt too. He flexed his hand.
He was accident-prone. Always getting hurt.
It was the job. The drink. Heavy equipment and rough housing.
He loved Steve. Steve loved him.
Chris slipped on his sunglasses and left Steve sleeping.