SVU Fic: Achilles Heel
Title: Achilles Heel
Fandom: Law & Order SVU/Oz
Pairings: Chris Meloni/Chris Keller
Genre: PWP, RPS, Dopplecest (heh)
Rating: Mature Audiences
Summary: Chris Meloni is haunted by Keller.
A/N: Normally, I'm totally against RPS slash. Rarely read. Never write it, and yet, I blame this fic. I found the idea, an actor being haunted/possessed by a character they portray, so interesting I couldn't pass a little dabble into forbidden waters. If I believed in Hell, I'm sure there's now a special little place reserved for me now. The good news, I know I'll have good company!!
**
Achilles Heel
This didn't happen to him. He'd heard the rumors regarding Mariska. Had seen the silhouettes in her trailer. Heard less than hushed moans, the name of her character exhaling across her lips in ecstasy. But, he'd shrugged it off. Who could blame her, really? She was under a lot of pressure these days. Pressures that come from instant celebrity; press, network execs, studio, and all the entanglements such instant celebrity can bring.
He could understand the pressure from wearing the skin of another character. He'd felt the pressure of 'being Elliot Stabler'. Had channeled that pressure into other roles. He'd skirted the insta-fame, along with the insta-pressure. He was, after all, Chris Meloni, for Christ's sake.
So why was his mirror image staring at him through the bathroom mirror? No, not just staring at him, but standing behind him. If, IF he were one to believe it were possible to be haunted by your own character, he figured it would always be Stabler to haunt him. But, it wasn't Stabler standing behind him.
It was Chris Keller.
He could tell by the half-smirk, the steely glint in his eyes. The Christ tattoo painted across his arm. He stood behind Meloni wearing nothing more than a towel and a smile. His arms outstretched until both hands rested on either side of the walls of the tiny trailer bathroom.
Chris closed his eyes. Shook his head vigorously before reopening his eyes. Keller was still there.
"You've let us go," Keller’s eyes raked lasciviously down then back up Chris' frame.
"I still look good."
"Says you," Keller sneered derisively. "I think you should talk to Tom Fontana."
"About what?"
"Don't be an idiot. Bring the show back. You know, a sequel."
"I don't know if you were paying attention or not, but your character died. Kinda hard to bring someone back who's six feet under."
"It's TV, they can do anything. Turned you into a pussy, didn’t they?“ Chris flinched at the accusation. He knew Keller was talking about Stabler. He’d seen the season seven scripts. The turn of the character had been slow and he didn’t complain because hey, a paycheck’s a paycheck and he only had another year on his contract anyway. Plus, the core of the character still remained. He could salvage what little brought him to the role with subtext.
“Besides,” Keller continued. “You think my fans give a shit that I'm dead?"
"Your fans?"
"Yeah,” Keller took a step closer. Close enough Chris could reach out and touch him. If he wanted. “My fans. It's me they want. Me. Not Elliot, or Gene, or Bob, or even Mister Christopher Meloni. Keller. My body they want to see," he pulled the towel from his waist, letting it drop casually to the floor. "It's my cock they crave."
"Well,” Chris answered with his own patented smirk. “Your cock in Beecher's mouth."
"Those kinda details can be worked out later. I just wanted a little chat beforehand. Wanted to make sure the goods still worked."
"The goods?" He never really got that last word out. Keller had moved forward, until his body pressed Chris against the sink. His hand now gripped Chris' crotch. He would have pushed him away. Except, he got caught up in the realization that a fictional character, his character, stood in his trailer bathroom jerking him off through his pants.
"You remember don't you?" Keller leaned in, so close Chris could feel the warmth of his body. "Remember what it felt like to have Beecher's mouth wrapped around us. The perfect feel of his lips, the wetness of his tongue, that oh so perfect suction."
Chris tried valiantly not to moan. This couldn't be real. He wasn't crazy. Not like Mariska. His thoughts raced to find a logical conclusion to it all. He decided upon it all being a dream. It had to be. A dream. Crazy things happen in dreams. This was nothing more than him passed out on his couch.
"Mariska thought it was a dream too," Keller's hands began unzipping Chris' fly. "Even when Olivia had her bent over her own couch, fucking her like a bitch in heat, she thought it was nothing more than a dream."
Suddenly, images flashed through Chris' brain like headlights slammed into dark adjusted eyes. Images of Mariska, bent over her trailer room couch, flowery skirt hiked up over hips. A younger, shorter haired version of herself, thrusting wildly into her. Just as quickly, his head began to spin, all the blood rushing to one particular organ. Until he was rock hard, rigid steel. Until he was every bad pun about every erection ever told. And Chris was immediately glad Keller had already undone his pants because the ferocity and quickness of his erection surely would have ripped through them.
"I thought you'd like that," Keller purred before gripping Chris by the back of his head, forcing their faces together and shoving his tongue down Chris' throat. Wet, strong, sloppily, hungrily. Until Chris could feel his body responding, warming, aching, wanting. And then Keller's lips were on his neck, hands ripping open his shirt, until those lips were trailing down his chest, taking possessive nips from his flesh. Until he felt those lips, his lips, wrapping around his flesh and it took everything he had not to explode right then and there.
He dared to look down. Dared to stare down at intense blue eyes gazing seductively at him. Dared to watch those perfect smirking, snarling, smiling lips as they engulfed him. Again. And again. And again.
Chris placed a hand on the back of Keller's head. Urged him on with the increasing pace of his hips; until he matched Keller's rhythm. A hand reached back, gripping the edge of the sink as his legs began to go rubbery. He grunted through clenched teeth. He was close. Achingly close. And just as he was about to reach that moment where the backs of his eyelids exploded with stars, Keller pulled away. His eyes snapped open, looking down frantically.
“Jesus,” he grunted in frustration.
Keller looked up at him. With one hand, he raked his fingernails down Chris’ chest. With the other, he gripped Chris’ cock. “You’re going to call Fontana, right?”
“What?”
Keller squeezed the organ in his hand tightly. Chris grunted painfully. “You’re going to call Tom and talk about a sequel.”
He knew saying something, anything would be the best course of action. But, the words choked in the back of his throat. His body clenched from desperation, from the need for release.
“Chris?” The word came out in a taunting lilt. He smiled that brilliant predatory smile before leaning in and circling his tongue around the tip of Chris’ cock.
“Oh God, yes, YES, I’ll call him. Just..”
“What?”
“..just..”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t fucking stop!”
Keller growled slightly before pouncing onto Chris hungrily. Fast, wet, hot, tight. Now both hands gripped the sink, keeping Chris on legs close to the verge of collapsing. And then, he came. His body spasmed. Stomach twitched and churned as his insides exploded.
And, just like that, Keller was gone.
Chris‘ eyes snapped open. He jerked awake, sitting up fully. Eyes scanned the room getting his bearings. He was on a couch. His couch. His trailer. He‘d fallen asleep. That much he was sure of. He collapsed backwards, ran a hand over his face in relief. It‘d been a dream. Nothing more, nothing less. Vivid, yes. Intense, definitely. But nothing more than the machinations of his own subconscious. And he couldn’t have been happier.
It was well past midnight by the time Chris made his solitary journey across the backlot. He chuckled at himself. At the idea of being seduced by his own doppelganger. He‘d recognized the power of the character all those years ago. It was why he‘d jumped at the role. But, the Keller character had also become a burden. An Achilles heel as he hadn‘t been able to shake the ‘skin‘ of Keller as quickly as he‘d wanted. Hadn‘t been able to keep the character from creeping into his other roles. He wasn‘t one for psycho-analyzation, at least, nothing too deep. Keller had been fun. Keller was dead. He could relive the role in his studio provided DVD‘s, or the scripts he hadn‘t bothered to throw away. But, he most certainly wasn‘t going to beg for a resurrection. Of that, Chris was sure
He turned the corner passing Mariska‘s trailer as he walked. A light was still on. And, as he passed, he could see two silhouettes through the window. He slowed slightly. Noted the familiar swaying of the trailer. And the voice of his co-star through the tin walls.
“Yes..yes..harder!!”
Chris smiled to himself. She may be going insane but at least it hadn’t affected her libido.
“Say it!” he recognized the other voice. It was Mariska, but not. “Say it, Mariska!”
There was a part in the curtain, not much, but enough. He recognized Mariska immediately. It wasn’t hard, considering what she’d been doing to her hair recently. And then, he saw her. Not a fan, not Mariska but Olivia.
“Fuck me! Fuck me, Olivia!” Mariska popped up into his vision again. Her hand snaked around Olivia’s neck, her neck craning to press her lips against her doppelganger’s before pulling the two of them down out of sight.
His mouth fell open. He closed it. Opened it again as if to say something but too flabbergasted to speak. It couldn‘t have seen what he thought he saw, could he? And if Mariska could be haunted by her character, in the flesh no less, what could happen to him? What had happened to him? Even now, he couldn‘t shake the dream from the recesses of his brain.
His hand fumbled for his cell. “Hey Tom, it‘s me Chris. What are you doing Thursday? You know, dinner, a couple drinks, catch up on old time. Ideas? Sure, I might have a few.“.
END
Fandom: Law & Order SVU/Oz
Pairings: Chris Meloni/Chris Keller
Genre: PWP, RPS, Dopplecest (heh)
Rating: Mature Audiences
Summary: Chris Meloni is haunted by Keller.
A/N: Normally, I'm totally against RPS slash. Rarely read. Never write it, and yet, I blame this fic. I found the idea, an actor being haunted/possessed by a character they portray, so interesting I couldn't pass a little dabble into forbidden waters. If I believed in Hell, I'm sure there's now a special little place reserved for me now. The good news, I know I'll have good company!!
**
Achilles Heel
This didn't happen to him. He'd heard the rumors regarding Mariska. Had seen the silhouettes in her trailer. Heard less than hushed moans, the name of her character exhaling across her lips in ecstasy. But, he'd shrugged it off. Who could blame her, really? She was under a lot of pressure these days. Pressures that come from instant celebrity; press, network execs, studio, and all the entanglements such instant celebrity can bring.
He could understand the pressure from wearing the skin of another character. He'd felt the pressure of 'being Elliot Stabler'. Had channeled that pressure into other roles. He'd skirted the insta-fame, along with the insta-pressure. He was, after all, Chris Meloni, for Christ's sake.
So why was his mirror image staring at him through the bathroom mirror? No, not just staring at him, but standing behind him. If, IF he were one to believe it were possible to be haunted by your own character, he figured it would always be Stabler to haunt him. But, it wasn't Stabler standing behind him.
It was Chris Keller.
He could tell by the half-smirk, the steely glint in his eyes. The Christ tattoo painted across his arm. He stood behind Meloni wearing nothing more than a towel and a smile. His arms outstretched until both hands rested on either side of the walls of the tiny trailer bathroom.
Chris closed his eyes. Shook his head vigorously before reopening his eyes. Keller was still there.
"You've let us go," Keller’s eyes raked lasciviously down then back up Chris' frame.
"I still look good."
"Says you," Keller sneered derisively. "I think you should talk to Tom Fontana."
"About what?"
"Don't be an idiot. Bring the show back. You know, a sequel."
"I don't know if you were paying attention or not, but your character died. Kinda hard to bring someone back who's six feet under."
"It's TV, they can do anything. Turned you into a pussy, didn’t they?“ Chris flinched at the accusation. He knew Keller was talking about Stabler. He’d seen the season seven scripts. The turn of the character had been slow and he didn’t complain because hey, a paycheck’s a paycheck and he only had another year on his contract anyway. Plus, the core of the character still remained. He could salvage what little brought him to the role with subtext.
“Besides,” Keller continued. “You think my fans give a shit that I'm dead?"
"Your fans?"
"Yeah,” Keller took a step closer. Close enough Chris could reach out and touch him. If he wanted. “My fans. It's me they want. Me. Not Elliot, or Gene, or Bob, or even Mister Christopher Meloni. Keller. My body they want to see," he pulled the towel from his waist, letting it drop casually to the floor. "It's my cock they crave."
"Well,” Chris answered with his own patented smirk. “Your cock in Beecher's mouth."
"Those kinda details can be worked out later. I just wanted a little chat beforehand. Wanted to make sure the goods still worked."
"The goods?" He never really got that last word out. Keller had moved forward, until his body pressed Chris against the sink. His hand now gripped Chris' crotch. He would have pushed him away. Except, he got caught up in the realization that a fictional character, his character, stood in his trailer bathroom jerking him off through his pants.
"You remember don't you?" Keller leaned in, so close Chris could feel the warmth of his body. "Remember what it felt like to have Beecher's mouth wrapped around us. The perfect feel of his lips, the wetness of his tongue, that oh so perfect suction."
Chris tried valiantly not to moan. This couldn't be real. He wasn't crazy. Not like Mariska. His thoughts raced to find a logical conclusion to it all. He decided upon it all being a dream. It had to be. A dream. Crazy things happen in dreams. This was nothing more than him passed out on his couch.
"Mariska thought it was a dream too," Keller's hands began unzipping Chris' fly. "Even when Olivia had her bent over her own couch, fucking her like a bitch in heat, she thought it was nothing more than a dream."
Suddenly, images flashed through Chris' brain like headlights slammed into dark adjusted eyes. Images of Mariska, bent over her trailer room couch, flowery skirt hiked up over hips. A younger, shorter haired version of herself, thrusting wildly into her. Just as quickly, his head began to spin, all the blood rushing to one particular organ. Until he was rock hard, rigid steel. Until he was every bad pun about every erection ever told. And Chris was immediately glad Keller had already undone his pants because the ferocity and quickness of his erection surely would have ripped through them.
"I thought you'd like that," Keller purred before gripping Chris by the back of his head, forcing their faces together and shoving his tongue down Chris' throat. Wet, strong, sloppily, hungrily. Until Chris could feel his body responding, warming, aching, wanting. And then Keller's lips were on his neck, hands ripping open his shirt, until those lips were trailing down his chest, taking possessive nips from his flesh. Until he felt those lips, his lips, wrapping around his flesh and it took everything he had not to explode right then and there.
He dared to look down. Dared to stare down at intense blue eyes gazing seductively at him. Dared to watch those perfect smirking, snarling, smiling lips as they engulfed him. Again. And again. And again.
Chris placed a hand on the back of Keller's head. Urged him on with the increasing pace of his hips; until he matched Keller's rhythm. A hand reached back, gripping the edge of the sink as his legs began to go rubbery. He grunted through clenched teeth. He was close. Achingly close. And just as he was about to reach that moment where the backs of his eyelids exploded with stars, Keller pulled away. His eyes snapped open, looking down frantically.
“Jesus,” he grunted in frustration.
Keller looked up at him. With one hand, he raked his fingernails down Chris’ chest. With the other, he gripped Chris’ cock. “You’re going to call Fontana, right?”
“What?”
Keller squeezed the organ in his hand tightly. Chris grunted painfully. “You’re going to call Tom and talk about a sequel.”
He knew saying something, anything would be the best course of action. But, the words choked in the back of his throat. His body clenched from desperation, from the need for release.
“Chris?” The word came out in a taunting lilt. He smiled that brilliant predatory smile before leaning in and circling his tongue around the tip of Chris’ cock.
“Oh God, yes, YES, I’ll call him. Just..”
“What?”
“..just..”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t fucking stop!”
Keller growled slightly before pouncing onto Chris hungrily. Fast, wet, hot, tight. Now both hands gripped the sink, keeping Chris on legs close to the verge of collapsing. And then, he came. His body spasmed. Stomach twitched and churned as his insides exploded.
And, just like that, Keller was gone.
Chris‘ eyes snapped open. He jerked awake, sitting up fully. Eyes scanned the room getting his bearings. He was on a couch. His couch. His trailer. He‘d fallen asleep. That much he was sure of. He collapsed backwards, ran a hand over his face in relief. It‘d been a dream. Nothing more, nothing less. Vivid, yes. Intense, definitely. But nothing more than the machinations of his own subconscious. And he couldn’t have been happier.
It was well past midnight by the time Chris made his solitary journey across the backlot. He chuckled at himself. At the idea of being seduced by his own doppelganger. He‘d recognized the power of the character all those years ago. It was why he‘d jumped at the role. But, the Keller character had also become a burden. An Achilles heel as he hadn‘t been able to shake the ‘skin‘ of Keller as quickly as he‘d wanted. Hadn‘t been able to keep the character from creeping into his other roles. He wasn‘t one for psycho-analyzation, at least, nothing too deep. Keller had been fun. Keller was dead. He could relive the role in his studio provided DVD‘s, or the scripts he hadn‘t bothered to throw away. But, he most certainly wasn‘t going to beg for a resurrection. Of that, Chris was sure
He turned the corner passing Mariska‘s trailer as he walked. A light was still on. And, as he passed, he could see two silhouettes through the window. He slowed slightly. Noted the familiar swaying of the trailer. And the voice of his co-star through the tin walls.
“Yes..yes..harder!!”
Chris smiled to himself. She may be going insane but at least it hadn’t affected her libido.
“Say it!” he recognized the other voice. It was Mariska, but not. “Say it, Mariska!”
There was a part in the curtain, not much, but enough. He recognized Mariska immediately. It wasn’t hard, considering what she’d been doing to her hair recently. And then, he saw her. Not a fan, not Mariska but Olivia.
“Fuck me! Fuck me, Olivia!” Mariska popped up into his vision again. Her hand snaked around Olivia’s neck, her neck craning to press her lips against her doppelganger’s before pulling the two of them down out of sight.
His mouth fell open. He closed it. Opened it again as if to say something but too flabbergasted to speak. It couldn‘t have seen what he thought he saw, could he? And if Mariska could be haunted by her character, in the flesh no less, what could happen to him? What had happened to him? Even now, he couldn‘t shake the dream from the recesses of his brain.
His hand fumbled for his cell. “Hey Tom, it‘s me Chris. What are you doing Thursday? You know, dinner, a couple drinks, catch up on old time. Ideas? Sure, I might have a few.“.
END