May 5, 2003
Disclaimers: So very much not mine. I bow before McG and McNamara.
Spoilers: Vague ones for bits of season one.
Summary: Fiiiiiiiire. Dun dun dun, dun dun dun. FIIIIIIIIRE.
Ratings Note: NC-17.
Author's Note: Bone put the idea in my head. Chronic Kilo helped. Deb put on the spanky pants.
Acknowledgments: To Deb and Jenn for audiencing, and even more love to Deb for giving me cool stuff to swipe.
Feedback: Always. firstname.lastname@example.org
Before L.A., Deaq had never seen a car blow up outside movies, much less had one of his own -- or, okay, one the LAPD was letting him pretend was his own -- go all mushroom cloud on his ass. Now, he thinks he's in danger of losing count. Beyond the inconvenience, beyond the ball-crawling terror, it's wrong.
Those cars were too pretty to die.
More wrong is this thing with Van. Not the partnership thing -- which, all things considered, is working pretty well -- and not even the get-Deaq-into-situations-wherehis -cars-explode thing, because there's always a decent enough reason. Traffic, bikers, strippers, gay arsonists... this is just part of the life they're living.
Though, if he's honest with himself, the Van thing has a lot to do with all of the above. It's all interconnected in a twisted, inescapable knot like something out of scary porn.
Which just brings him back to this, right here:
Walking -- because his car is smoking rubble -- through West Hollywood with a limp he's doing his damnedest to turn into a passable gangster lean while Van walks at his left, doing the same damned thing.
Deaq is warmed, as ever, by the fact that his is much better.
But no, that's not even it.
Van's got his babble on, talking some shit about Billie, or maybe about the relative combustibility of Porsche 911s versus American sports cars. It doesn't really matter. Tuning Van out is just another survival mechanism, as far as Deaq's concerned. Somewhere between keeping an extra clip on hand and not lying to Billie. Failure to do any of the above would just lead to pain and suffering.
The thing is that there's...
Well, the thing is that it's Van, and Van knowing him, and Van working his way into every part of Deaq's life like sand or something. Something evil, wrong, and otherwise just wrong.
And he's going to deal with it, just as soon as he figures out how to avoid it entirely.
"You're not even listening to me."
"No, I'm not. I'm walking, with a limp, because someone decided to play 'let's get burn-y!' with a bunch of arsonists."
Van just smirks. "I seem to recall a certain other someone getting the gas can."
"Only after -- I hate you. I'm not even having this conversation. I'm just going to say 'I hate you' and leave it at that. See that? That's me leaving it."
Van nudges his shoulder with his own, familiar and warm. "Admit it. The Porsche burned pretty."
"Burned -- burned pretty? Are you high? Were you sniffing the gas fumes? Because I can take you to detox."
"All orange and yellow and... flamey."
"You know, I take back everything I've ever said about you getting too deep. Because clearly, knocking boots with every mark in a skirt is just the tip of the iceberg with you. Did you set fires in your backyard when you were a kid?"
"We didn't have a backyard."
"In the bathroom? Is this some kind of weird kink with you? As your partner, I need to know these things."
"I wouldn't say it was that weird. I mean..." And Van stops in the middle of the sidewalk, hands moving as he flails for just the right words to convince Deaq that he isn't, in fact, the crazy motherfucker he so clearly is. "It's like... fire, man. The most major discovery humanity has ever made! Light, heat, food preparation and, and... smoking!"
Van rolls his eyes. "Work with me here, man. Smoked foods! Before refrigeration, that was like the only way people could preserve their food for more than a day or two."
Deaq pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You're telling me that it's not weird for you to get hot for explosions that nearly kill our asses because of beef damned jerky? Do I get to slap you now?"
"Like you don't eat Slim Jims."
"That's different. That's not even the point!"
Van crosses his arms and glares. "So what is the point?"
"The point is... the point... dammit, you made me forget the damned point, you sick, fire-humping dumbass!"
Van keeps glaring for another moment, two, then starts to snicker. Then falls down in a crouch and laughs, and that's really too much. Deaq hasn't slept in two days, nearly got his ass literally blown off, and this motherfucker is squatting in the middle of the damned street laughing his ass off.
Deaq gives up and laughs with him, offering his hand so Van can get up.
"Ow, ow, easy man. I'm singed."
"Is it my fault you got your narrow white ass burnt in your own fire? No, I think not."
"I'm just saying, the gift of fire is a two-edged sword."
"Aw, man, you need your ass whupped so bad it has a sign on it. 'Whup me,' it says. 'Open up your can of whup-ass and pour it all over me. Like syrup.' That's what it says, Van."
"Like syrup? Is this a kink of yours, Deaq? Took "Pour Some Sugar On Me" a little to heart when you were a kid?"
"Aw, man, why'd you have to bring hairbands into it?"
"I'm just saying. I would never judge you for it. You put on a little Ratt, maybe some Guns 'n' Roses, whip out the Mrs. Butterworth and a spatula..."
Deaq pauses, the red light a natural conversation emphasis. "A spatula?"
Van looks at him seriously. "Well, you have to spread it evenly."
"I'm never eating pancakes with you again."
"You bitch every time we eat together."
"And if I'd known about the spatulas and the fire? I would've bitched more."
Van snickers. "I never talked about sex this much with your brother. Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Damn. Did you have to put the words 'sex, me, you, and Dre' in the same sentence? Because I don't think that was called for."
"Oh, it was totally called for. He wired my ass so many times I got mic bruises --"
"And now your ass, and you have the nerve to wonder why I don't listen to you --"
"-- still never talked about sex this much. I think you have a thing."
" -- because you're insane, and you -- what?"
And Van puts on that smirk -- that one -- and stops entirely. Leans against the wall. "You've got a thing."
"Oh, I know you're not even going there."
"You don't want to get too close --"
"Because you scare me, Van! You have issues like other people have shoes!"
" -- and yet you're always jealous of the action I pull --"
"Okay, see, that's wrong on more levels than I count. I haven't had enough higher math to count that high. And you're high --"
Van puts up a hand and starts to tick points off on his fingers. "You let me talk you into everything -- "
"You're not talking me into this!"
" -- you practically beg me to dig inside your hard ass head to get to all the secrets --"
"You are on crack, aren't you?"
" -- we talk about sex all the time --"
"Can I help it if my sexual peak lasted longer than yours?"
"And last -- but certainly not least..." Van trails off, grinning.
Deaq thinks he'll maybe have to kill him. If he'd thought to tape this conversation, he'd get off for justifiable homicide. He knows it. In the meantime... "What? What you got? No, wait, what do you think you have on me, Pyro?"
"You sure you want to hear this?"
"Van, I swear to God, if we had a car I would've kicked you out six blocks ago."
"I mean, I just want to make sure you're ready, Deaq, that it wouldn't break your self-image into a million tiny pieces. I don't want to give you issues or anything."
He could be in New York right now. On a court, behind a desk, whatever. There would be no Van, and no West Hollywood -- and could Van pick a better neighborhood for this? And most of all, no Van. "Spill."
"First off, I want you to know that I don't judge you --"
"Oh, now that's cold. And low, I might add."
"Would you just tell me what the hell you're talking about so we can get back to walking our asses home so I can be back in the Candy Store when I kick your ass?"
A mouth twist and Van shifts against the wall like he's thinking of getting the fight started right here. Hustlers and passing cars and all. And then he's just looking at Deaq, steady and weirdly...
It makes something twist in Deaq's stomach, because suddenly he knows Van isn't going to be talking any more trash. Whatever he's gonna say, he believes.
"You look at me. All right? You look at me, Deaq."
Ah, shit. "What the hell are you talking about? I look at everyone, Van. It's the way it works, me being a sighted person, and you being a part of my everyday scenery. Jesus, man, I thought you were --"
Van takes a step forward. Pokes Deaq in the chest hard enough to move him and locks his eyes with Deaq's own. "And now you're babbling. I already told you that was one of your tells, man. When are you going to do something about it? It's funny. You even manage to tell the truth when you're lying like a rug. That's probably profound. I should think about more, work it up for my personal Deaq profile."
Deaq sucks his teeth and stares right back. "Now who's got a thing?"
Van spreads his hands. "Never said I didn't."
And Deaq nods and Van nods and it's a whole conversation in head shakes, because Deaq knows everything Van says comes down to an unspoken dare, and Van knows Deaq knows this. And they're walking into the alley, Van looking left and Deaq looking right and it's good.
On some fucked up level it's good, because at least it's something he knows Dre hasn't done before, even if every criminal ho in L.A. has. At least it doesn't involve talking.
Even if Deaq neither knows nor really wants to know what Van's reasons are. He doesn't want to know why he kisses like he'd rather be biting Deaq, why he seems to think he has to push Deaq back against the wall only to climb him like a tree.
Knee up against his waist and hand wrapped around his head and Van's mouth on his own and -- there's the bite. Van holds Deaq's lower lip between his teeth and just looks at him.
Another dare, and Deaq realizes he hasn't been doing anything but taking it. Fuck. Not even going out like that.
Deaq shakes himself out of Van's grip just hard enough to jostle him and rearranges them: one arm under Van's leg and the other one around his waist. He wants to touch more, but he wants to keep Van where he is more than that. Wants to be the one keeping him there, holding him close and tight and --
First sound Van's made other than noisy breath, and it doesn't look like he's going to try for more. Kisses Deaq again and rolls his hips up and in and that just kicks it up a notch. This thing, this thing, and Van's tongue in his mouth and his tongue in Van's mouth and their hips working like something out of a badly chaperoned high school dance.
"I want --"
"Need to --"
Simultaneous shift and they're working on each other's flies and Van is pushing Deaq's head aside to get past the beard and Deaq's going for Van's long, pretty neck and Van's not wearing underwear but Deaq is and Deaq can't decide who won or lost whatever fucked up race they were playing.
But fuck Van's hand is good on his boxers, pushing hard and working at him with the heel of his hand. Makes Deaq's rhythm on Van's cock shift, judder --
"Oh God, Deaq --"
And apparently Van likes it off-time and out of rhythm, which makes so much sense his head hurts. Or maybe that's because he just banged his head against the wall because Van stops playing and slides in.
Into his boxers and around his cock and --
"Do you like it hard? Come on, tell me." Van's panting in his ear and kissing around it and licking in --
"Jesus, can't you shut up even for this?" Squeezes Van's cock and he doesn't know which one of them is moaning, because that's Van's thumb on the head of his cock, rubbing and rubbing and getting him wet and --
And Van's laughing and pumping into Deaq's fist and groaning and generally making them even more public than they already are.
Quick glance at the mouth of the alley and there are people passing by, and that's terrible, but none of them are actually turning around, and that's good enough to keep Deaq going. Not that he has any real chance of stopping, not with all the heat between them and the smell of smoke making it hard to smell all the Van and sex.
Making him have to push closer, bury his face against Van's throat and lick it all off. Push up into Van's fist and wish he could get his other hand into it, make Van hold him tighter, stroke faster --
"Deaq, oh God oh fuck Deaq --"
Messy kisses dragged across his face and finally making it to his mouth, and Deaq always thought tongue-fucking was damned unsubtle and bad form, besides, but it makes Van push even closer, makes him swell and twitch in Deaq's fist. Makes Deaq think about all the other things he could do if he can keep himself from killing Van first.
And okay, so he understands the impulse to laugh in the middle of sex more than he wants to admit, but mostly what he understands is that he's going to make Van come in the middle of a skanky alleyway in West Hollywood.
More than that, Van's going to make him --
"C'mon, c'mon dammit --"
Hot. Tight. Van --
And it's wet between them, and he can't stop thrusting, can't stop jerking, and then it's even wetter and Van's making a noise so high and raw that it gets even wetter and if he makes a noise, he's pretty sure it's too embarrassing for him to think about.
And Van's still kissing him, over and over with the kind of blind, mindless inattention that Deaq can't help responding to. Sticky hands and public indecency and all. When he does stop, it's with his head on Deaq's shoulder and his hands slid up under Deaq's t-shirt, stroking and squeezing.
And that's pretty much... "Yeah."
"We're not talking about this, are we?"
Van bangs his head on Deaq's shoulder once, then staggers back a step. "Good." Does up his pants and pulls his over-shirt over the worst of the mess.
Deaq pulls his own t-shirt up over his head and lets it bunch behind his neck. "Yeah."
Out of the alley and back on the street and one of the basic rules of undercover is to make yourself know -- know -- that people aren't really staring at you any more than they normally would. Deaq gets busy working on that.
Knows Van's probably doing the same thing.
Or not. "What?"
"Slow down, man, I got brick burn."
Deaq squeezes his eyes shut and slows down. "You know I hate you, right? Like, really hate you? The way hippies hate water?"
Van claps him on the shoulder. "Of course you do."
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