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Snow fell lightly, keeping the crew constantly dusting off equipment but not hard enough to stop the annoyance of a location shoot. Runners scrambled to get the last of the release forms from the onlookers. One last form was needed from the man in the doorway, hood pulled tightly against the breeze. He looked up, snowflakes falling from his eyelashes. The runner started at his grin. “Here, give this to the director.” He handed over a slip of paper folded in half. “Don't read it.”
“What?” the director huffed. Motioning with a shoulder to the man in the navy parka who had now lowered his hood, “He said to give this to you.” The director looked over, annoyed at the delay. He shook his head in recognition of the six-footer across the street and sighed. He read the note. When you turning him loose?
Sighing again at the inevitable, the director decided practicality was better than distraction all day. “I need a pen,” he told the runner. Quickly scribbling out a note, he huffed and gave the runner hushed instructions.
~~~~~
Chris was tired, more than usual, and he relished a nap during lunch that they had to break for soon; he hoped, prayed, that they wouldn't run through for weather. “Cut! Print!” the director shouted. At last. Chris waited impatiently for the A.D. to follow with instructions. “Break 90 for lunch. Day call, that's wrap. Night call, set up has 45. Thank you.” Chris sighed. He knew he still had night shots, but sleep, and a small bite before the sun went down, just might revive him enough to keep his feet from dragging the way they were now.
As he walked to his trailer, the breathless runner trotted up behind him. “Excuse me. Mr. Meloni?”
“Chris, please.” He chuckled at the new ones. So eager and unbearably young.
“Um, yes. Chris. Um, he told me to give you this right away,” the nervous young man said, motioning to the director standing over a playback monitor. Noting the stern face and finger pointed at his trailer, he quickly grabbed and read the note, wondering if there was some sort of emergency. You look like shit. Nap. Trailer. NOW! You have two hours before I send a wake up. GO!
Chris smiled gratefully at Adam, this episode's director. They had known each other for years, and he trusted that if Adam told him he looked bad, he was in worse shape than he thought. With a small nod, Chris thanked the runner and headed toward sleep.
~~~~~
“Honey, you're home!” the familiar voice so startled Chris that he nearly slipped back through the door before it closed.
“Holy!- Lee- wha'th'fuck?” Lee choked down a chuckle.
“Eloquent. Nice to see you, too. I brought lunch.”
“Hi! Um, did anyone see you?” Chris rubbed the heel of his palm tightly over his eyes.
Lee sighed. “Nope. No one that matters. Look, I have a note from the principal and everything.” He walked forward and handed Chris a slip of paper that matched the one in his pocket. Finally giving a wary smile, Chris opened it and read, Who am I to fight Cupid? He has 2 hours, costume change for night shoot, but don't fuck up his hair head. A.B.
Chris laughed as he leaned against the door, just realizing Lee wore one of his “for-God's-sake-don't-screw-up-the-costume” robes. He looked around; the blinds were all drawn. “You have conspirators now?”
Lee stepped closer, a sly smile giving way to something tender and almost contrite. “Only when I need to apologize.”
“For what?” Chris knew he was supposed to have a conversation, but Lee in his robe and most certainly nothing else became distracting despite his fatigue.
“For being an asshole on the phone. That's what. I was demanding and bitchy, and I brought sandwiches from the place down the block you like.”
Chris' slight revery was broken by the non Sequitur. “Sandwiches?” He laughed fully this time. “It won't be a true apology unless you remembered pickles.”
Age, distance, and years hadn't dulled their easy banter, their inability to refrain from touching, their love. Sometimes they both hated it. Not today.
Lee answered Chris' quip in full seduction mode. “Oh, I remembered pickles. I even have a cucumber for you.” He ran his index finger over Chris' lips. “I know what you like,” he caressed a moist patch of skin, “What you need.”
“Y'do, huh?” Chris licked at Lee's finger, slightly breathless.
“Yup.” Lee was definite, assured, tracing Chris' bottom teeth.
“And what's that?” Suddenly dead serious, he ran his wet finger over Chris parted lips again. “Me. Today, you need me.”
A muffled “Uh huh” into Lee's shoulder was Chris' reply, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his long-loved, much-missed Complication and held on for dear life.
~~~~~
Naked, breathless, sweating despite the temperature out side. The ample R.V. bed gave Chris room for exactly what he needed – just let go. Lay down, rest, give up, give in. It was always what he needed; he couldn't always have it. He panted in Lee's mouth, grinding over him as those wide, strong hands ran over and over Chris' ass.
“Tell me,” Lee's tongue licking at his lips, chin, jaw and back again.
“Wha?” Chris always expected the question, but was always surprised when it was spoken.
“Tell me,” Lee's fingers softened, drawing tighter circles. "What do you want?"
“I-”
“Tell me.” The backs of Chris' thighs started to tremble.
“I want you. You-” he tried to kiss Lee quiet before delicate, enervating touches had him unable to speak.
“What?” A single fingertip rested matter-of-factly against Chris' asshole. He gasped.
“You. Allofyouin menow ...” If Lee was famous with Chris for his non Sequiturs that really weren't, Chris was famous with Lee for his sentences-as-compound-words approach to speaking.
“My pleasure. All you had to do was ask.” Lee answered with a wicked grin.
“Didya bring?” Chris managed to huff out, impatiently pushing back, his focus almost gone.
“Always a Boyscout, side table, bag,” Lee teased, pushing his finger a bit further, biting along Chris' neck.
When Chris almost launched himself off the bed to grab the bag, Lee rolled him over, straddling trembling thighs.
“Shh, we have two hours, remember?” As Lee retrieved the goodie bag, he listed off Chris, encouraging, “Roll over.”
“No, wannawatch you.”
“Can't. Your Head." Lee chuckled. "You thrash.”
“Aw thisfuckin' thing ...” Chris begrudgingly rolled over, head rested on crossed arms and a pillow.
“Better?”
“Mmm. Always a lovely view.” Lee swiped his hands and tongue over the “had to be in the record books” ass he had become so desperate to get his hands on over the years. He lay down between Chris' legs and settled in to do his second favorite thing in the world – rim his frequently too macho lover into whimpering incoherence.
“Ohgodyeah! MM MMM ...”
“Mmm hmm...” Lee answered, low and thrumming. It was all he needed to start Chris thrashing. Tongue flat then pointed. Slow, fast. Fucking in then lapping around. He could keep Chris on the brink for ages, and he had before, as long as his arms didn't give out holding Chris' thick thighs down. Lee loved the the struggle to take or be taken, especially the taking. He'd come before when he finally heard a hard-coaxed string of pleasepleaseplease spill from Chris' lips as he cried, truly cried, in frustration.
“Ohgod- Le- yesnow now comeON!” Three slick fingers and a constantly flickering tongue were Chris' undoing.
Sliding up Chris' back, cock snug between clenching cheeks, he whispered “One problem. Dog food bag. Kinked my back. On top is gonna hurt.” It was a blatant lie, but Lee didn't want to spend another 15 minutes coaxing Chris to ride him. It was a position they both loved, but Chris had an internal, concretized "that's TOO gay" list that took either alcohol or extreme arousal for Lee to work around.
“Wha'th'fuck- argh!” Chris growled, flipping them both over on Lee's back then quickly turning, kissing him forcefully. “You'reone BIG paininth'ass,” Chris complained, stroking Lee's cock hard and tight, rising up on his knees.
“Wait!”
“WHATNOWGODDAMN!”
“Rubber,” Lee panted, “in the bag.”
“Don'twanna rubber. S'thing to tellme?” Chris huffed through clenched teeth.
“Nope. Wanna have to change your pants twice tonight?” Lee giggled at Chris' grimace.
“Aw fuckin-A!” He grabbed the bag, fumbled with a condom. Chris leered seductively and popped it in between his lips.
“Oh yeah,” Lee moaned. “Love that trick.” Eyes smiled back as he rolled the condom on with his mouth. Chris grimaced on the way up.
“Yack! Nastylube ...” He leaned over to kiss Lee and prove his point.
“99% effectiv- OH FUCK!” Chris slid down Lee's cock with an impatient grunt.
“Shut up?” He ground his hips down tight into Lee's to emphasize his point.
“Ooofuck … yeah,” Lee nodded. He lay back against the pillow, hands lightly on Chris' hips, and watched his first favorite thing in the world – Chris fucking himself on Lee's cock. Slow sped up quickly. Gentle bounced. Pressed together became one leg kicked out to the side on the floor, bracing for harder, more. Hands caressing moved to the ceiling, bracing for moreMORE. Lee thrashed now, bucking, twisting, working every trick he knew to get Chris off -- to hear him wail -- but he just couldn't quite push him over the edge from beneath him. Bad angle.
Chris' face was pure desperation, slack-mouthed want and blow pupils, wordlessly begging to come.
“Spin!” Lee gasped, suddenly pushing up on his elbows.
“Wha? Fuckfuck WHA?”
“Bad angle, fucking turn around!” He pushed at Chris' shoulder with one hand while anchoring the base of the condom with the other.
Sweat and a glare in his eyes, Chris turned, moaning with his lover at the twisting, grinding pressure. He would never again think of “Sit and spin” as an insult. He rose and fell slowly, testing the angle.
“OHYEAH!” Lee's fucking right again he thought as lightning sparks shot up his spine from his core. He felt strong arms and legs shift beneath him, slick chest against his back.
“Wha- Babyyourback ...” he wrapped an arm backward and braced Lee's lower back the best he could.
“I'll … be … okay,” groaned out against his ear, punctuating his thrusts; Chris leaned back shuddering, head resting against Lee's shoulder.
Each braced an arm on the ceiling, the other clutching, keeping their bodies together, they pushed and pulled each other toward release. Lee bit at tight, corded muscle, licked up and over ear whorls and jaw stubble.
“Yes … just-like-that. C'mon. C'mon baby … ungh … come for me.” Chris gasped and reached for his cock. His hand was abruptly halted with a tight jerk. “No, come from me … Do it!” Lee's thrusts sped up, sharp and deep.
“Can't … c'moncan't ohgod fuck pleasepleaseplease”
“There it is … you're gonna come-from-me.”
“No idunno pleasepleasePLEASE ...” Chris' body momemtarily slacked in perfect relaxation, perfect surrender; then the shudders and waves started. No more words. Just ever-louder grunts and groans, attempts at names and curses and endearments. This was it, what Chris always needed and never could ask for. Lee always knew and pushed, ever harder, usually from the side, but he always brought them to this – surrender – to each other and for each other. Always.