Blaze

Fandom: RPF

Category/Rated: Slash, NC-17

Year/Length: 2009/~5,846 words

Pairing: Steve Carlson/Christian Kane

Disclaimer: Not real. Warped imagination is responsible.

Summary: Kane and Carlson are back together, making pretty, pretty music again, but the road back together was not always an easy one

Beta: marys_scribbles

The call came out of the blue. Steve was waiting in line to go through security at McCarron, when his iPhone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't answer it, busy pulling off his boots and divesting himself of his customary bling prior to passing through the gate, and eventually the vibrations stopped. It was a couple of minutes later, as he pulled his phone from his pocket to toss into the plastic container along with his boots and spare change that he noticed the number. He felt the sudden pooling of excitement melt through his gut.

Chris.

Chris had called him, and all the petty hurts and pain of the past year or two burst open again, little knives to carve out pieces of his heart.

There was an hour before his flight, and as he set himself to rights on the other side of the security gate, he found himself putting off checking his voicemail.

He took his time heading to the gate, and it was only when he arrived there and set down his guitar that he finally shrugged, swore under his breath and reached into his pocket for his phone. The voicemail was in Chris's usual style – short and to the point.

"Call me."

That was all, and Steve turned the air blue, because of course now he would have to call if he wanted to find out what Chris was calling about.

With a feeling of impending doom, he pressed reply and waited, hoping that his voicemail would kick in and allow him to leave a message in his turn.

No such luck. It had barely started to ring when Chris picked up.

"Steve?" Soft voiced, as if he might be worried.

"That's my name." Steve gave nothing away. If Chris wanted to hurt him, he'd have to fight his way past armor built from his years of pretending that he didn't give a flying fuck about being dumped.

"Yeah... right." The conversation seemed to stall, and Steve felt anger wash him through and through, chasing remembered pain out into the open with its sudden kick into fight rather than flight mode.

"Look, Chris, you called me, and I'm about to get on a plane, so why don't we save the small talk until later and just cut to the chase? What is it that you want?"

"Yeah, right," said Chris again, then gave a short, harsh laugh. "Fuck it. Listen. I'm sorry, man, that's all I wanted to say."

There was a pause. Steve felt the words squeeze his heart, swallowed painfully and breathed out a heartfelt, "Fuck!"

Of course, right then he heard the call for boarding his flight. "Listen, man, they just called my flight. I'll call you once I get in, right? ‘Bout an hour and a half, okay?"

"Yeah, you got it." There was a click as Chris hung up, and for a moment that made Steve smile. Chris never had been any good at the social niceties.

LAX was, as usual, in the midst of a security crackdown. The Beckhams were passing through, and it seemed as if every paparazzo in the known universe was crowding arrivals, fighting for a view of Posh and her entourage.

Shielding his guitar as best he could, Steve worked his way past the milling bystanders and out to where his truck was parked. Only when he was inside, his baggage safely stowed, did he reach for his phone once more and thumb the speed dial to call the one number he'd never been able to bring himself to delete.

"Okay," he said. "I'm on the ground now. What's going on?"

"I'm in town." Again Chris paused, and again Steve waited him out. "Can we meet? I need..." There was the faintest hitch of a breath there. "I need to see you."

Steve didn't answer immediately. His brain was racing, and he could hear Chris's breathing at the other end of the line. This was Christian, and Steve had done what he could to erase how he felt about Chris since they'd been separated, and now all that effort, all that anguish, was for nothing as his emotions had all come flooding back, swirling through his brain to carry his good judgment away with them.

Finally he heard Chris take a breath to start saying something and cut in quickly. "Okay. I'm on my way out to Studio City. I'll text you the address if you don't already know it. When were you thinking of coming out?"

"Now." The single word was a hammer, smashing his last reservations to pieces with its stark simplicity.

"Guess I'll see you then." This time it was Steve who disconnected the call. He sent a swift text with the address of the house he was renting from Jensen, and then, trembling a little in reaction to the sudden turn of events, he pointed his truck towards home.

Chris was waiting for him when he arrived, sitting on the tailgate of his battered old truck cross legged, back straight as if he might be meditating. The picture he presented was so unlike the Chris he knew that Steve just had to blink.

"Been waiting long?" Steve collected his bag and his guitar from the back of his own vehicle and headed to his front door without any further greeting. Christian unfurled himself and followed, apparently determined not to run the risk of having Steve close the door on him.

Dropping his keys on the shelf beside the door, Steve pushed his way into the living room and set his guitar down , then went through to the kitchen and reached under the sink for an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. He paused to collect a couple of glasses before returning to face Chris down, all out of ways to procrastinate.

"So?" He was trying for cool disinterest, but he could hear how his voice had thickened as he tried to choke back the emotions that he didn't want Christian to detect.

"It's all done and over." Chris wasn't looking at him, was studiously avoiding his eyes as he gazed out of the window towards Steve's attempt at a vegetable garden. "Me an' Sony didn't quite see eye to eye over certain things."

Silence stretched between them. Steve didn't want to say anything – couldn't bring himself to speak, because he knew that the one thing he could still lay claim to in all the sorry mess that had piled up between them was his dignity. So he merely shrugged and waited for Chris to elaborate. After a while, he did.

"I dunno if you even know. I've got an acting gig at the moment; I'm a series regular." Chris cleared his throat. "It's filming in Portland."

There seemed to be little to say. Steve busied himself pouring half a tumbler of JD and then, after a moment's pause, a slightly smaller one for Chris. He turned, holding out the drink, was about to speak, but Chris was already drawing a breath to start again, and he raised his own glass to cover, taking a gulp before setting it down again.

"Thing is, there's a club. It's a really nice place, and they'll let us do a series of gigs there, and it'd be a chance to get back on the same page again, get the band going again, start having fun again." Chris was gabbling, words falling over themselves as they poured from him, and now he'd started, it seemed that the floodgates had opened, and he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. "Say you'll come, just once. I need you, Steve. I miss you."

Christian stopped suddenly – as though he realized the enormity of what he was asking. He was wide eyed, one hand buried in the glossy, chestnut locks that tumbled around his shoulders, looking very much like a kid afraid of a beating. Steve felt bruised, felt his heart constrict painfully. He wanted – oh, yes, for sure he wanted – but it just wasn't that easy. Things with Chris were never going to be that easy again.

"You want me to come up to Portland for a gig?" He was trying his best to make sense of this, to stop his stupid, crazy heart from taking simple facts and building them up into something that just wasn't there.

"Will you come?" Chris hadn't moved, merely stood there looking hopeful, looking wistful and so fucking lost that Steve bit his lip and screwed his nails into the palms of his hands in his attempt to keep himself grounded.

He knew he shouldn't. He knew that what he needed to do was turn his back and walk away, because the alternative was to give Chris the weapon he'd use to flay his soul again.

Once is an accident; twice is sheer carelessness.

Swallowing, Steve nodded. "Okay."

Even as the word fell from his lips, he felt like smacking himself, but Christian's face lit up, and he raised his glass to clink against Steve's. "God love you, son!" he growled. "It'll be awesome – you'll see."

He knocked back the contents of his glass and gave Steve a beaming smile. "Listen; the first gig's going to be on June 2nd, and if we go down well we'll have the option to play again every couple of weeks through the summer." Steve could feel the protest welling up inside himself, and maybe Chris could sense it, because he jumped in very quickly. "Just the first one to start with and see how it goes." He paused again. "Jason's gonna fly in for it. So are Will and Ryan."

"Send me the details, man, okay?" Steve reached for his drink, emptied his glass and set it down beside the bottle of Jack, making a mental note to revisit it once Chris had left.

Chris made no attempt to stay longer. He murmured his goodbyes and turned to leave, making his way back to his truck without any further conversation.

Steve watched him go, his eyes glued to the stocky, muscular figure as he headed out into the late afternoon sunshine. His skin itched with remembered kisses, and he felt unaccountably lost. Portland, June 2nd, was going to be wonderful he told himself, because he'd be able to catch up with Jason and the gang, play the music he had stayed away from for the last couple of years and remind himself what a cocksucker Chris was. He certainly wasn't going because he was still in love with Chris; that would be preposterous.

May 31st, Steve found himself getting off the plane at PDX carrying his guitars, while butterflies with lead boots danced the Macarena somewhere deep down in the pit of his stomach.

The guy with the sign that said, ‘Steve Carlson' on it wasn't anyone he'd ever seen before, but he grinned as Steve emerged from behind the security barrier and rushed over to help him juggle bags and instruments. He introduced himself as Adam from the Leverage set. "Chris is still on set, and he asked me to come find you and take you over there. Hope you don't mind."

As Adam burbled happily, Steve allowed himself to be towed along towards a black SUV that stood waiting.

Portland was a glistening expanse of bridges and waterways. Steve sat back and watched as Adam wove expertly through the traffic. The Leverage crew were out on location, and the van finally drew to a halt beside a group of trailers. "Chris said to dump the luggage in his trailer and come on over to the set."

Nodding and somewhat bemused, Steve followed Adam as he led him around to where the set had been established. Chris was nowhere to be seen, but Aldis, who he had met at a convention earlier in the year, rushed over to greet him, enveloping him in a hug that drove the air from his lungs and left him laughing as he was released.

"Chris has been so amped up about you coming up here. I had no idea you were such a superstar, man." Aldis was all white teeth and flailing limbs; he had flung an arm around Steve's shoulders and was now leading him inexorably towards where Kane was waiting, grinning.

Christian was dressed in sweat pants, his hair, unstraightened, was a riotous tangle that was held back from his face by a rubber band. His broad chest glistened with sweat as the great slabs of muscle rolled and slid under smooth, tanned skin.

There was nowhere to go, no way to escape the moment. Steve's tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he wondered if fainting might be an option.

In any event, he was saved from embarrassment by a PA with a clipboard, who suddenly materialized and summoned Chris to take his mark.

"Be right back." Steve nodded and watched as Chris morphed into Eliot and turned to make his way into the interior of the warehouse where they were filming and an area that appeared to be set up as a gym.

"So you're gonna be playing on Sunday?" He almost didn't hear Aldis, and had to snap his attention back, eliciting another wide, white grin from the young actor.

"Yeah, Sunday." Steve returned the smile with a wry grin of his own. "It'll be a trip, that's for sure. I haven't seen the boys for a couple of years. We haven't played together since forever, and I don't know any of Chris's new stuff."

"Hey, man, I heard you play at the con in LA. You'll be stellar, I know it. ‘Sides, my man Kane, he got a plan, believe it!"

Another scintillating grin from Aldis, another flash of stunningly white teeth, and Steve shook his head. The day had yet to dawn that Chris had a plan that actually worked without pain and grief for all concerned.

They made their way into the gym, where Chris – or Eliot at least – appeared to be getting his ass soundly kicked. It wasn't long before they heard, "Cut and print," and Chris got up from his prone position and ambled over to them, pulling Steve into a hug despite his attempts to avoid it.

"Welcome to Portland."

It was obvious to Steve that they were going to ignore the elephant in the room, at least for the time being. He grinned, a sharp grin, and muttered something inconsequential. The moment passed, and the world continued to turn.

Steve was thoughtful for the rest of the day. Watching Chris shooting was no big deal. He'd seen it happen many times, and even shared the screen with him, but that was then and this was now. Then, he and Chris had been pretty much joined at the hip. Sweaty nights on stage making music and knocking back the shots had morphed into hot, sticky sex, and they'd seen the morning in with mouths locked and bodies joined – no room anywhere for thoughts of anyone but Christian. Now there was only this – Steve's memories and his longing for days that he could never have back.

"Jason's flight gets in at 8," announced Chris, coming up behind him as the wrap for the night was called. "Adam's gone to pick him up, and as soon as they get here we can head out to my place and rehearse. The other two are here already."

"Your place?" Steve frowned as the implications of that worked their way into his heart. He was here to play, for sure, and that was his only reason for coming to Portland. He really didn't want to be dragged back into Chris's life. He didn't want to know any more about Christian Kane than he already did. "Why your place?"

"Got me a sweet rehearsal space, that's why." Chris looked a little puzzled. "We're gonna have to play catch-up. Need to get ourselves on side. I got a bunch of new material, man, and some of it is pretty freakin' good." He looked so pleased with himself that it brought an unwilling smile to Steve's mouth. Steve didn't know how he did it, but Chris had always been able to awaken that kind of response in him. It looked as if the magic was still there.

They'd just finished grabbing Steve's bags from the trailer when Adam pulled up in his SUV, this time bearing Jason, his hair an unruly mass of pre-Raphaelite curls barely confined in a beanie, grinning like he really was pleased to see Steve.

Once in the van together, Steve stopped feeling quite so stressed – he was starting to think that it almost felt like they actually were going to be playing a gig together. As they drew up outside the house where Chris had been living during his time on Leverage, it became apparent that Chris was in earnest when Will and Ryan came to the door to greet them, and the band was complete for the first time in two years.

The rehearsal space Chris had mentioned turned out to be a huge barn in the back yard of what Chris said had been an old farmhouse, and the other two had set up the drums and amps out there ready. So when they headed out to practice, full of the takeout that they'd brought back with them, everything was plugged in and ready to go.

They started with some of the stuff Steve could play in his sleep, he knew it so well. Spirit Boy and House Rules and Track 29 – songs he'd had a hand in writing and thought never to play again. They'd jammed on Luckenbach, Texas for years, so it was easy for him to get into that, and all of a sudden he found that the years had fallen away, and he'd found his happy place again. Standing on Christian's right, losing himself in the pounding beat, he felt as if he'd come home.

Blaze was the song that sold him on the new stuff. It was Christian at his best, and as they ran through it for the third time, everything came together, music and voices blended, and just like old times, Chris was rocking right there, in his face, passing the bottle between them until the night was lost in sweat and smoke and Jack Daniels and music and... and Chris, oh, God, Chris. He was so near and so very much what he wanted.

It was 2am before they were done and laid their instruments down. All five of them were as high as kites, exhilarated by the way the music had come together and anxious to keep it flowing even though they were all just about dead on their feet.

For whatever reason, Chris had finished off the bottle of Jack he'd been sharing with Steve throughout the evening, and, for some reason best known to himself, he seemed to have decided that Steve would be responsible for getting him to bed.

The others had all dispersed by the time Steve had succeeded in manhandling Christian out of the barn and into his kitchen. Steve had been shown his bedroom earlier, but he had absolutely no idea where Chris slept these days, and Chris, laughing and foolish against his shoulder, wasn't being any help at all in locating it. A request for the location of his room brought drunken giggles and grasping hands. Steve rapidly found himself in a situation where he could do nothing but fight off Chris's drunken advances.

"Listen! Quit this right now, or I'm gonna get the first flight back to LA in the morning." Chris lifted bleary eyes to meet his, the pout on his face reminiscent of a thwarted four year old.

"Love you, man." The words were slurred, but the look on Chris's face spoke for him. "You're m'brother from another mother."

"Was, Chris. Was... before you dumped me."

A fat tear welled from Christian's eye and rolled down his cheek. He didn't say anything else, but after a moment or two he straightened up and lurched away, leaving Steve to stand and gape after him.

As Steve climbed into his solitary bed, he was wondering whether he could actually bear to do this. It had been amazing to slot into the band again so seamlessly. The music had been great, but there were penalties attached, a price to pay. He didn't know if he could afford it.

Steve muddled through Friday – Chris was shooting, and the four of them, Jason, Will, Ryan and he rehearsed until it sounded seamless, even to Steve's exacting ear. By the time Chris was home, done with Leverage for the weekend, and they were running through the playlist, he had to admit that they were pretty close to perfect.

On the Saturday, he decided that he needed a break from Chris and holed himself up in his room with his computer and his guitar, working on his musical and exchanging emails with Darren, who was currently busy mixing some of the tracks for his new album.

It was late in the afternoon when Aldis tapped on his door and came to dig him out. "Chris says you've been anti-social long enough, and if y'all want to eat, you gotta come out an' show yourself."

Reluctantly, he shut down his laptop, shouldered his guitar and headed out behind Aldis. There was a full fledged party going on in the back yard. Chris had the barbecue going and there were amazing smells wafting over from it. Aldis led him over to where there were a stack of coolers and slapped a beer in his hand. "There! Now mingle! Go on, git!"

Mingle he did. There was – of course – a plentiful supply of beer, and the steaks, when they were done, were Chris's specialty, jalapeno and cheese, bacon and garlic blending to melt in the mouth and set his tongue burning along with his soul.

It wasn't long before the music started up, and after a while they were all sitting around, trying out songs that they'd never played before – some of them would definitely never be played again, and Steve made a mental note never to ask Aldis to come and jam with him, no matter how much he liked the young actor.

It was very late – or possibly rather early – when Steve, lost and buzzing in a haze of good food, alcohol and music, realized that once again it was just he and Chris, and that somehow it felt like coming home.

He set his guitar aside for a moment, rising somewhat unsteadily to his feet. "Need to go splash m'boots," he mumbled, heading in the direction of the bathroom.

Damn, but he was drunk. His head was spinning, and that was a very bad thing under the circumstances. He should've stayed in his room – hell, if it came to that he should've stayed in LA, but it was too late now, and here he was, drunk and horny, jonesing for the one man that could really fuck him up. Grinning savagely, he zipped up and turned to open the door again.

And Chris was there – of course he was – arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall, waiting. His first inclination was to retreat back into the bathroom and lock the door, but then it was suddenly too late, and he was being manhandled, off balance and fuzzy with booze and lust, and Christian was kissing him, mouth swallowing the protests he wanted to utter.

Rational thought ceased. He was a guy, and his dick was telling him to shut up and go with it, because getting laid was always a plus, and besides, you want this, don't you?

And yes, of course he did. He really did.

Chris seemed sober enough tonight. He was managing to hold Steve in thrall, surprisingly gentle as he touched and petted, hands finding all Steve's soft spots, while he mumbled feeble protests and responded gratefully to whatever Chris wanted.

Chris's room was plain – just a bed, a chair and a chest of drawers, but the bed was comfortable, and Chris pushed him back on it as he set about reawakening all those old sensations Steve had pushed to the curb and forgotten. It took just the few remaining brain cells he had for Steve to suddenly recall where he'd been before this, and to protest. "My guitar... it's outside."

Leaning in, Chris's lips touched his ear. "It's fine. I brought it in and put it in your room. Don't sweat it."

Shortly after that, there was nothing but mouths and tongues, lips and teeth and fingers sliding against needy, slick skin. There was pleasure that throbbed, thick and dark and desperate as it pulsed between them, blooming ecstasy to pour through him and shake him to the core.

There were kisses that followed, and Chris murmuring soft things against his skin. "I'm sorry. Never meant to hurt you." As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Chris say something that sounded suspiciously like, "Love you."

Waking again, hungover, in the cold light of day he found himself tangled up in Christian Kane. The man lay half across him, virtually smothering him as he drooled into Steve's hair.

Anger burst supernova bright in his chest and left him shaking. He shoved roughly at Chris with a snarled obscenity that had the man opening his eyes, confused and owlish in the bright sunshine. "Fuck, Steve, what?"

"You cunt! What did you do to me?" Steve's fist drove into Chris's cheekbone, sending him ass over apex off the bed and onto the floor.

"What?" Chris's face reappeared over the edge of the bed, and from the reddened mark he was sporting there was going to be a bruise there by showtime.

"You couldn't just let me be, could you, fucker? You had to score points off me, didn't you? You had to prove that you're the great, irresistible Christian Kane, didn't you?" Steve was on his feet now, naked and fuming. "Well, guess what? It didn't make any damned..."

"Steve?" Chris's voice cut through Steve's diatribe and made him pause, just for a minute. "Wait up. I thought you wanted us... thought you were cool with..."

At that, Steve went ballistic. His fists flew, and ordinarily Chris would have beaten him back, emerging a clear winner from an encounter such as this, but not now, not with Steve flaring incandescent with fury. Steve was livid, transported by rage and resentment, guilt and the sudden resurgence of dreams he thought had died long ago, around the time when Chris had left him frozen out of the place he'd thought was his forever.

He'd never had the chance to tell Chris exactly how the betrayal had affected him, and now, once his fury had subsided a little, he did, with a barrage of bitter words that struck Chris as surely as if they were blows.

When he was finally done, sweat soaked and panting, he stood looking down at Christian. The man was very much the worse for wear. He lay sprawled on his back – a rapidly darkening bruise staining his cheek, and a split lip oozing bright blood.

There seemed nothing further to say. Steve turned uncertainly, searching for his clothes prior to making his escape. It was Christian who put out his hand to grab at his leg and mumbled, "no"

"What do you mean, no?" Steve's first instinct was to shake away the intruding hand.

"I mean don't go." Steve paused, face set hard in his attempt to appear stoic.

"Why not? We're done."

"No we're not!" Chris sat up heavily, wincing as he tried to find a comfortable position. "I love you; I need you. Nothing feels right without you."

Laughing, because surely this was a fucking joke, Steve shook his head. "What's the matter, Kane? Run out of other suckers to screw over?"

"Steve...?" Chris pushed himself up to his feet. "Told ya I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize until you were gone." He shrugged awkwardly. "Give me a chance to prove myself?"

Emotions warred in Steve's heart. Fear and want and hope fought with self loathing he thought he'd never be able to shake. He didn't move, still poised for flight, and then Chris was standing beside him, so close that Steve could smell the blood that had trickled down his chin, and all of a sudden he was out of options.

He turned and shoved his way past Chris, leaving the room, still naked as he was. He made for his own room down on the floor below, not caring who saw him on his way.

Safely back in the room, he crawled into his bed and lay, dry eyed and staring at the ceiling, his thoughts way too complex to allow any further sleep. Tonight they were due to play the gig at Dante's, and he was far too much of a professional to leave Chris in the lurch. Besides, the music had been good, really good. The band had meshed perfectly, and everything had flowed. He really didn't want to give that up. The kind of high that came from a truly awesome gig was a thrill he just couldn't pass up.

So there was the day to get through, and then he could go. He had just decided that his best course was to stay in his room until time for the gig, when the door opened.

Christian stood there, holding the clothes Steve had left behind, and looking nervous.

"Don't you believe in knocking?"

"Like you'd have answered the door if I had?"

"Well then, doesn't that tell you something?" Steve was tired and hungover, and he didn't want to have this conversation because... because somewhere deep down inside himself he knew that he'd give in. He wanted Chris too much for there to be any other outcome.

"Please?" Chris dropped to his knees, all his usual arrogance fled as he knelt, head drooping. "I promise things will be different now."

And that was the end of Steve's resistance. He wanted Chris. He'd never stopped wanting him, and now the thought of having him again outweighed the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that Chris had left him once and would likely do it again as soon as the next offer of stardom came along.

"Get the fuck up, you stupid shit!" There was an expression of sheer disbelief on Steve's face at Chris's gesture. "If you fuck me up again, I'll kill you; believe it."

"Yeah, gotcha." Chris had looked up, a half smile on his face. "Does that mean that we can stop with the fucking pussyfooting around and just be together again?"

Steve nodded, would have opened his mouth to say something, but Chris was up off his knees, snake-swift, pulling him into a hard embrace and kissing him, owning him.

He would remember that moment forever. Chris, his again, hard and wanting. "Get on the bed," he said, voice hoarse with the sudden surging of need, and Chris, so used to giving his orders and watching people carry them out, let him go and turned to do his bidding.

It was going to be different this time. He would call the shots, and he'd stay vigilant, because there was no way Christian was going to fool him twice. Standing watching Chris stretch out on his bed, pale, muscled skin and wanton pose, Steve suddenly knew that he'd won for once.

He knelt beside Chris, fingers trailing down over his treasure trail to circle around the rapidly filling cock. "What is it you want from me, Christian?" he whispered, lifting his hand to his mouth to lick the palm.

"Your time?" Chris gazed at him, glazed eyes full of dark secrets. "Your music... Your love."

And that was enough. Steve thought he could give him those. Bending, he pressed his mouth to Chris's throat, ran his hands down over willing flesh to part sturdy thighs and roll between them. Chris cursed and groped for lube, and Steve paused a moment, wondering how the man had known it was there. "You bastard! You were all ready for this, weren't you?" he snarled, about to lose his temper again until Chris found and rolled a condom onto him.

"Don't think, man. Just go with this. It'll be good, I promise." And there was a throaty growl to his voice that made Steve shiver. He abandoned his decision to get mad and concentrated on relearning the texture of Chris's skin, the heat of his body, and the way his hair felt sliding over his palm.

Buried deep inside Chris's body, Steve rediscovered the joy that had been missing in his life since they'd gone their separate ways. His thighs were taut with the need to drive in and claim Chris for his and brand him forever as ‘property of Steve Carlson.' It didn't take long. Chris was hot and tight and fluid beneath his touch; his body responded to each touch with a moan and a gasp and a tightening of tissues that drove Steve higher with every buck and shudder.

When he came it seemed to last forever, Chris clinging to him and shaking in a way that he never did, uttering soft, slurred words that he bit out against Steve's skin. As he voided himself, love and lust and resentment all spilled out with the force of orgasm, and he watched with satisfaction as Chris, blue eyes blown black with desire, shook himself apart after him.

This time, they slept.

The gig was awesome. Lost in a haze of lust and fulfillment, Steve and Chris passed the bottle between them and sang their hearts out, high on music, high on life itself. If they failed to notice the glow around them, they were the only ones who did. Even Aldis elbowed Kane and asked him what he'd been up to that made him look like he'd just gotten laid.

"Well, son, actually..." Chris was about to tell Aldis who knew what, when Steve appeared at his elbow.

"Christian..." The one word, spoken cold, was enough. Chris fell silent, moved closer to Steve and smiled, suddenly goofy.

Aldis nodded, getting it, even though nothing had been said. Steve grinned to himself, a warm glow in the pit of his stomach that told him he could do this, and that Christian was his again, but this time on his terms. Tomorrow he'd be heading back to Vegas, back to the recording studio and Darren, but he knew that now and forever all he'd have to do would be to crook his finger and Christian Kane, actor, singer, chef and no-account Cherokee hard nut, would come running.

Life was going to be good from now on; he'd make sure of that.

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