Tangible Schizophrenia


Extras: Room Service

Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. D/s.
Pairing: Keanu Reeves/Gavin Rossdale
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: Completely fictional. I have no idea what actually happened on Constantine’s set or in these people’s private lives.
Notes: Sequel to Crack.
Summary: Keanu’s full-service, apparently.


Gavin wakes up naked. Now, this has happened before, but he doesn’t think he’s ever swum back to consciousness feeling like…this. He’s sore in places he thought only surgery could get to. His mouth feels a little like he got into a barfight and got slammed a good one there, and a little like what Gwen claimed kissing with braces was like. His hair’s sticky as hell, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just from hair gel. He’s more than a little afraid to walk into the bathroom and see what he looks like.

But nature calls, and so he humps himself to the edge of the bed. That isn’t too bad, but then he makes the mistake of sitting up. His arse is burning. “Christ!”

He does a funny little hop from sitting into semi-squatting on the floor, legs wide like that’ll help. The ache does ease off a bit, but it’s high up and inside where he can’t exactly rub at it, or shove an icepack unless he wants to make a fool of himself in the nearest ER. He moves a tiny bit and it informs him he’s its bitch for right now.

Unfortunately, he can’t stand frozen like he’s trying out for sumo wrestling forever, so Gavin grits his teeth, thinks of England and gets himself to the loo.

Well, no, he doesn’t think of England. He thinks about flashes of last night with Keanu and Djimon, and he blushes when he picks up his own prick to take a piss, and he wonders if Gwen remembered to hang up. He’s got this fuzzy memory of—of the second round, holy Mary, mother of God—and Keanu clicking off the cell for him. So much for calling every morning and every evening; Gavin’s more than fifty percent positive that Gwen won’t be up yet. She always sleeps best after a screaming orgasm.

Oh, hell. How thick are the walls? Who’s next to—he knows there’s somebody in the next suite over because he’s passed suits that can only be bodyguards while getting ice. Never had time to see or ask because Constantine’s shooting schedule for his scenes was so tight, but…they’re probably not entertainment industry. They’re too quiet. Or maybe they checked out before Keanu shoved him up against the door and sucked him off while Djimon mumbled about security camera angles.

Once he’s in the shower, Gavin hesitantly turns the knob to lukewarm. He’s only been out of bed for five minutes and he’s already tottering, his knees shaking like he has epilepsy, so he foregoes the soap and shampoo bit. He reeks of sex, and he can’t think properly because every whiff brings back another piece of memory, but even on the gentlest setting, the shower flow is threatening to bring him down. If he’s going to collapse, he’d rather do it on the damn carpet.

He gives himself the best scrub he can just using his hands, then gropes for a towel. Only surprise—all the towels are mashed up in the corner, and Gavin’s just recalled that Djimon is damned strong. Lifting up Keanu like that…

It’s pretty warm in the hotel, and it’s not like Gavin is made of Versace. He can air-dry. He makes good use of the towel bar in order to get himself out without taking an embarrassing fall on the floor, and he’s shuffling straight for the bed when somebody knocks. Shite.

In the movies there’s always a bloody robe handy, but he’s off-set now and he doesn’t see one. Cursing, Gavin stumbles around for a moment before he grabs for the sheets. One yank and the damn comforter comes off as well, which means another few seconds getting the sheet untangled from that before he can haphazardly wrap it around himself. Whoever’s there knocks again while he’s doing that. “Hang on! Be—right—there.”

He hopes he can be heard through the big suite. Sheet finally around himself, he awkwardly makes his way out of the bedroom and through the main room to the door. When he’s almost there, part of the sheet slips from his hands and trips him up so he falls shoulder-first against the wall. The jolt goes down his body, and Gavin ends up with his back to the door, hissing while his hand pointlessly tries to rub up between his buttocks.

“Gavin?” It’s Keanu. Keanu? “You all right? Because I have these great pastries and I’d really hate to have to eat them myself…”

Breakfast. Right. Hell. Gavin gives himself a quick look-over. Conclusion: he probably looks like hell tossed down the dirty laundry chute. For one crazy moment, he wonders if it might be a better idea to ask Keanu to come back later.

He never thinks well in the mornings. “Bring coffee too?” he calls back, turning around to fumble with the locks.

“Of course. I’m surprised you can’t smell this stuff—it’s 50-proof java.” When Gavin finally gets the door open, Keanu’s standing there with a huge, grease-spotted bag that’s oozing good smells and one of those multi-cup trays. He’s wearing beat-up jeans and an off-white button-down that’s seen better days, and his smile is nervous.

God knows why, since Gavin was already jumpy and now he’s feeling decidedly outclassed. “Hey—wait a minute, the blanket’s gotten tangled in the door…”

“Did you just get up?” The nervousness is clearing from Keanu’s face. He still looks concerned, but it’s of a much different nature—makes Gavin cough and shrug as he struggles with the stupid sheet. “Here, let me just…”

Keanu slides through the half-opened door and drags the sheet free with his heel in one elegant movement. While holding onto all the food and drinks. He grins, apparently unaware of how incredibly clumsy and silly he’s making Gavin feel, and elbows the door shut. Gavin belatedly does up the locks again; he might feel stupid, but he’s damn well not. Mostly. Anyway, he’d rather not have interruptions. “You’ve got this down to an art,” he says.

The other man’s eyes narrow and warm so Gavin’s chin instinctively drops a little. “I could say something about practice and look like a bastard, but you know, I really think I’d rather see you without the sheet.”

“Uh.” It’s really funny how Gavin can be so—how’d that one review go?—overly verbose at the drop of a hat, except when Keanu’s flirting with him. His eyes probably are bigger than eggs. And this is after endless music videos for MTV and those photoshoots that Gwen likes to call the public soft-core collection.

“Or hey, you can keep it, and we could go to the bedroom so you can get off your feet. I bet you’re sore right now.” Easy as a cat, Keanu’s already ambling in that direction.

Gavin gives himself a good shake—mentally, because physically jarring himself right now would be a lousy idea—and attempts to be more of a credit to human intelligence. “Yeah, well, you two did work me over pretty good. Is it always this…well…”

It’s a nice, big, cushy bed. They actually hadn’t gotten around to using it, if Gavin’s remembered everything by now, so the sheets are clean. And on the floor, but Keanu just kicks them aside and begins laying out stuff on one end of the bed. He stops to toe off his shoes, then snags the ice-bucket. “Nah. I just figured it was Friday night, so it’d be okay.” Genuinely worried glance over his shoulder. “It is, right?”

“Oh—oh, yeah.” The enthusiasm comes out a little thick and Gavin hurriedly turns away to find that fucking robe. He knows one comes with the room, and the half-toga thing is getting very idiotic very fast. “It’s—it was really good.”

“Great.” Keanu’s voice comes from right behind Gavin and Gavin startles straight back into the other man. He feels a mouth press against the point of his shoulder, hands briefly cradle his hips, and he’s just beginning to melt when Keanu lets go of him. “Go ahead and start, okay? I’m going to grab some ice.”

He’s out the door before Gavin can ask if he wants the key, but given how scarily competent Keanu’s already been, he probably has that base covered. Whereas Gavin has to spend about two minutes staring at a grand spread of croissants, danishes, jams, scones and other things that get him to drooling before he can snap himself out of his Twilight Zone daze. He fiddles with the sheet, then drops the fucking thing and eases onto the bed.

As he does, he spots a flash of color stuffed between the bed and one of the side-tables: the robe. Gavin bends down, fighting back a wince, and fishes it up.

It’s scarlet. It’s silk. It’s the kind of thing a ‘70s porn king would wear. He’s still grimacing at it when Keanu gets back. “The kind of money you have to pay to stay here, you’d think you could get a proper robe.”

“That’s probably for ‘female companionship.’ There should be some fluffy white ones around here somewhere,” Keanu says, snickering. He takes the flimsy thing from Gavin and sits down on the edge of the bed, wadding it between his hands. His eyes wander from it down to the floor, then scoop up towards Gavin’s lap. Brilliant L. A. sunlight blasts past the curtains to turn everything sunny, but Keanu’s smile somehow goes dark, like the set for Midnite’s office. “You’re okay without one anyway.”

This time, Gavin is slightly more prepared, but still uncertain. This is slower than last night, giving him a lot more time to agonize about how he really has no idea what the dance steps here are. His hands bunch in fabric and he glances down to see that he’s unconsciously pulling the one sheet left on the bed over his legs. “Thanks. And thanks for breakfast.”

Keanu’s eyebrows inch upwards, and he turns to pull one leg onto the bed. The robe flutters from his hands in an echo of Gavin’s heart rate, but one long strip seems to shoot upward. It’s an optical illusion, but the silk belt now dangling from Keanu’s hands isn’t. “I don’t think I quite heard you.”

As far as Gavin knows, Keanu has perfect hearing. But much as he stares at Keanu, he gets no explanation from the other man. Just a steady, not-quite-readable gaze that compels Gavin to lean forward. “Heard me about what?”

That strip of red winds and unwinds around Keanu’s long, pale fingers. He makes one end wiggle at Gavin. “You know, this is a huge bed. I feel like I’m drowning in this thing.”

First the right hand, then the left. Inch by inch, Gavin slides across the mattress. He still doesn’t know what’s going on, but he does know that the look currently residing in Keanu’s eyes promises good things. And…and he supposes he’s going to trust in that. Because, stupid as it sounds, Keanu had shown up with bonafide food. And coffee. “Well, I feel underdressed. Don’t suppose you’d like to make me more comfortable?”

By now he’s within a few inches of Keanu, and his nerves are starting to wear through his voice, hence the absurd line. Gavin’s shoulders hunch up.

Keanu tilts his head, face smoothing in non-emotion. Then a beautiful, non-mocking grin cracks his deadpan and he’s laughing softly, reaching over to squeeze Gavin’s shoulder. “When’s the last time you said that to somebody?”

Relief is a wonderful, wonderful feeling; Gavin relaxes beneath Keanu’s hand and grins himself. “Honestly? I think some New York chick back in 2000. Gwen’s usually on me before I can finish talking.”

“I can understand that.” And like that, Keanu goes from friendly to predatory. His fingers flash down and hook beneath Gavin’s arm, and he’s got Gavin across the bed and sprawled over his legs before Gavin can even gasp. At the other end of the mattress, things rustle and make dangerous muffled splashes.

At this end of the bed, Gavin’s hands are helplessly pawing at Keanu’s chest while Keanu drags his head back by the hair and gives him one hell of a good-morning. His mouth is still tingling thirty seconds after Keanu pulls back to closely look him over.

Something slippery and soft slides over the back of Gavin’s neck, surprising a ticklish wheeze out of him. He puts up his hands to find out what it is, and Keanu pushes them back down. Which he lets Keanu do with an odd warm surge in his gut and a shiver.

Keanu’s draped the silk belt around Gavin’s neck and now holds both ends in one hand, which he rocks so the silk rubs gently against Gavin’s skin. His fingers play with it, making twists that almost are knots. “So how are you feeling?” he asks, voice rough.

Gavin blinks. There are double meanings here and the secondary ones are of primary importance. He’s got a chance to follow up last night. If he plays this right, but unfortunately, he’s still not getting a whole script. “I’m—I am sore,” he carefully replies. “It’s new for me.”

“I figured, but I like hearing it from you.” The belt makes a low hissing sound as Keanu draws it over his thumbnail. “So I have to confess, I called up your wife when I heard you were Balthazar. Thought I’d have to do a lot of talking, but Gwen just…cuts straight to the chase.”

“Yeah. That’s what I love about her.” It’s a nice thing to say while Gavin’s mind just goes blank at the compliment inherent in Keanu’s words, but it’s a sincere thing, too. Before he and Gwen meet up again, Gavin really needs to stop over in some obscenely expensive shop and get her a gift.

Very slowly, so Gavin’s eyes can drift to them and stick there, Keanu’s fingers walk up the length of the silk. They just feather along Gavin’s jaw before dropping to touch his Adam’s apple as it bobs with a swallow. Light as the touch is, it feels like Keanu is skewering Gavin’s whole body. Unappealing as that sounds, Gavin would hand him another skewer if one was handy.

“Okay…” Keanu slowly says. His pupils contract and dilate rapidly; he spots something Gavin doesn’t. His hand pulls the belt around till his fingers are tickling the nape of Gavin’s neck and the silk is taut against Gavin’s throat; Gavin twitches at the slight pressure but is held still by the sheer heat developing in Keanu’s eyes. “Let’s do something about your soreness, then.”

His fingers twist and Gavin jerks, hands going up, but Keanu’s hand is dropping from Gavin’s neck a moment later. The silk slackens a tiny bit, but stays where it is, and after a long, breathless second, Gavin senses the tight knot nestling between two bumps of his spine. The rest of the belt falls along his back, a whisper of weight that’s just enough to tell him he’s under direction.

“Not a slipknot. I don’t really like blue faces.” Keanu does something—his hand’s still wrapped around the ends and he pulls the belt tight so Gavin is tempted to tug at it. He wraps up the silk till he can rub the turns of it over Gavin’s back, forcing Gavin’s head back just a little so he’s looking up at Keanu. “You’re right, by the way. I’m way overdressed. You want to do something about that?”

Maybe this is explainable by possession, because Gavin watches his hands unsteadily rise towards the top button of Keanu’s shirt and he has the strangest feeling that they’re not really his. They certainly aren’t responding as if they’re his; he can barely feel the plastic button beneath his fingertips. It keeps sliding away from him, eluding his attempts to shove it through the damned little hole. Finally he gets it undone and absently lets his fingers drift down the bared skin, which trembles a little bit. His fingertips hit the next button and Gavin takes a deep, dry breath, trying to get this one done in better time.

Nails gently trace his hairline, nudging his head aside so Keanu can delicately lick along Gavin’s ear. “Calm down. This shirt’s older than my bike.”

Gavin shivers, bites at his lip. He keeps rocking forward so his hair sticks in his face and he can’t see what his hands are doing, but Keanu’s mouth is persistent about keeping him that way. He fumbles open another couple of buttons, breathing faster and faster like he’s running a marathon, and tries not to hump Keanu’s leg. It’s a—a fucking leash, but it’s not rocket science. If Keanu had wanted a dog, he’d have gotten one. Or so Gavin hopes.

Keanu’s shirt peels away beneath Gavin’s hands to show soft white skin, lightly-defined muscles. Better look than Gavin had gotten last night. There’re some dark spots too and Gavin curiously touches them, only to go still when Keanu hisses in pain.

The silk tugs and Gavin leans back, curving so the mouth on his neck will stay somewhere on him. He pushes at his hair with one hand, gets his fingers a bit tangled in the messy waves into which that’s all drying. “I passed out before you and Djimon got to the really interesting stuff, didn’t I?”

“Depends on how you define interesting,” Keanu murmurs, still lipping at Gavin’s jaw. His free hand comes up to cup Gavin’s hip, riding just on top of the bone. It’s a nice, steadying weight. “Anyway, you stayed awake longer than I thought you would.”

“Well, thank you. How much older are you again?” Mock indignation sneaks into Gavin’s tone and he even pokes at one particularly odd-shaped bruise that splays across Keanu’s left ribs. When Keanu hisses again, Gavin cranes around to tease a little of that into his own mouth.

He gets some of Keanu’s chuckle as well, but after that Gavin’s too breathless to really notice much. He moans, rests his hands against Keanu’s shoulders and tries to press closer, only he’d held back. Keanu’ll give him the soft moving of lips, the languid graze of tongue and tongue, but whenever Gavin goes for something more like fuck me, the belt around his neck pulls. He strains against it, choking himself a bit, and for a second he’s managed to stab his tongue deep into Keanu’s groaning.

But the next second, Keanu has his hand at the small of Gavin’s back and he’s pulling hard on the silk so Gavin either has to bend over backward or have serious issues with breathing. Gavin bends.

He winces as they go down on the mattress, arse waking up to whine at him, but Keanu’s got him caged in arms and legs and he’s not going anywhere. Sadly, neither is Keanu; the damned tease pushes himself up on his elbows and casually reaches past Gavin. His grip on the silk keeps Gavin’s head back so he has to watch as Keanu’s hand returns with half a chocolate croissant. Keanu takes a bite, eyes closing in bliss, and Gavin has this sudden urge to smack him. Even if the smear of brown tracking over Keanu’s lips and down his chin is helping Gavin’s prick in its quest to rise high enough to jab Keanu in the stomach.

“You should eat,” Keanu mumbles. Every bite he makes flecks oily golden-brown flakes onto Gavin’s face. “Believe me, ‘s not fun to have an energy crash in the middle of something.”

“I remember swallowing quite a bit last night,” Gavin retorts. Though Keanu’s got a point, now that Gavin’s thinking about his grumbling stomach.

And Keanu’s also stopped to stare hard at Gavin, gaze intense and unrelenting and hot. Searing. He’s still holding the croissant a couple inches from his face—he’s still got that bloody streak of chocolate on his chin so the contrast should be ridiculous, but it’s not. It’s paralyzing. Gavin’s eyes don’t close when Keanu suddenly swoops down to savage his mouth. They don’t close when he reaches for Keanu’s shoulders and the band around his neck yanks hard so his hands flop back and he has to just lie there, taking it. His prick jumps and its tip grazes Keanu’s belly, making him whimper and bow up, but Keanu arches as well so his stomach is ever too high for any real friction to get started. Just low enough to torment the head of Gavin’s cock, which is beginning to swell a couple sizes too big for his skin.

He can feel the chocolate smush and melt between their faces, some of it running down with his sweat, and Gavin turns to do fuck knows what, only he never makes it because Keanu is licking him clean. Long, hard strokes that tilt his head back towards Keanu, and he tries a few messy slurps himself, only Keanu’s hand on the silk will only let him go so far.

“Jesus…” Keanu pulls himself back, glancing off to the side. He actually looks a little shaken, which makes Gavin feel better about being completely paralytic. His hand flutters along the back of Gavin’s shoulder, tickling the ends of the silk belt over that stretch so Gavin has to clutch hard at the mattress to keep in place. “Damn. You’re better at this than you think.”

“You’re dripping chocolate on the bed.” So much for the croissant, which Keanu’s crushed in his hand, but the sweet brown stuff oozing from it to slick over Keanu’s wrist tastes wonderful. Gavin’s tentative lick turns into a long suck, and he wriggles around so he can trace the chocolate back to Keanu’s fingers. They’re curled up around the remains of the pastry and the chocolate trails right into the center, which is a visual pun that Gavin’s going to mostly ignore right now. Except for shoving his tongue hard into the hole and listening to Keanu’s breath grow ragged.

He’s expecting to get yanked back into place any moment now, but the pull doesn’t come, so Gavin just…goes with it. His tongue worms in between Keanu’s knuckles, dances over them like Balthazar’s coin, and he gets a couple half-mouthfuls of croissant. They’re good. They don’t satisfy his stomach so now he’s got a growling gut in addition to the hard-on slapping against it, damn it all. Whether to eat first or to get Keanu to fuck him senseless again shouldn’t be a choice Gavin has to make.

“Okay. Okay, okay, you’re a mess…” Keanu finally moves his hand beyond Gavin’s reach. He drops it over the side of the bed—groping for napkins, to judge by the rustling—and leans over to clean up Gavin’s face with the flat of his tongue. His grin slides along Gavin’s jaw. “You have crumbs in your hair.”

Gavin shrugs, tipping his head to and fro as Keanu demands it. “Well, haven’t really taken a shower yet anyway.”

“Hmmm. Here, try this.” Something involving fruit and more flaky, buttery crust is popped into Gavin’s mouth just as Keanu’s thigh shoves right up against Gavin’s prick.

Everything momentarily explodes. When that stops, Gavin is gulping down whatever the hell Keanu had just fed him while trying his damnedest to rub off Keanu’s jeans with his prick, and to hell with dignity. His hands are digging trenches in the mattress and his nerves want to leap right through his skin.

“How was that?” Keanu asks.

“Wha?” Or the nearest approximation to that sound that Gavin can make when his prick is being squeezed against rough fabric that would be perfect for grinding him into heaven—if he could just fucking move. He opens his mouth to say please and Keanu drops more food into it.

Keanu’s a very, very cunning man when it comes to solicitous torture, Gavin dizzily thinks. The thigh presses down, straight unforgiving crush, and holds Gavin teetering on the edge of madness while he’s forced to nibble one tidbit after another. He has no fucking idea what he’s eating. His stomach is happy, in a distant sort of way, and so his mind can turn its full attention to how goddamned much he wants to come.

“Or did you like that better? Want something to rinse that down?” After every word, Keanu nips at Gavin’s mouth. His hand roams nonchalantly over Gavin’s chest, petting ribs and stroking shivers into full-blown shaking. One of his nails catches Gavin’s left nipple and then scores down when Gavin twists.

Working up to answering is roughly equivalent to climbing a mountain with a ton of rocks on his back, but Gavin does it because his prick screams at him to. “For the love of God, would you just—”

Slightest, lightest tug at the silk band on his neck, and Gavin shuts up. He’s not really sure why he does, but what doing so feels like turns his mouth dry.

“I thought you were sore,” Keanu purrs.

Gavin would reply, but the words desiccate before they ever pass his lips. All that comes out is a begging croak. He tries to express himself physically, but frantic wriggling and nuzzling at Keanu doesn’t seem to be very persuasive. Finally he lifts his hands from the bed, but they’ve barely touched Keanu’s sides when Keanu cocks his head. Looks at Gavin, runs his fingers along the top edge of the belt over the front of Gavin’s throat, soft and warning. Gavin puts his hands back. Right now he’s breathing so hard that his body is shaking with every exhale.

Keanu gives him an approving smile, then leans over to rattle things beside the bed. He comes back up with a handful of ice. One chip he slides into his mouth, crunching it cheerfully, but the rest he holds over Gavin’s face. Icy drops patter onto Gavin’s eyebrow, cheek, lower lip; he hesitantly opens his mouth and Keanu lowers his hand to run a freezing wet streak over Gavin’s lip. A fingertip strays into Gavin’s mouth, but otherwise Keanu holds himself aloof.

“On second thought, I think I’m glad you passed out,” Keanu slowly says. He moves the ice so it spots down Gavin’s throat, leaving behind chilly wet splotches on the silk, which Keanu draws tightly against Gavin’s skin. The ice keeps going and Gavin has the impression that it dips—impression, because his eyes are glued to Keanu’s face—a second before he’s suddenly arching, jerking at the intense cold Keanu is dragging along his side.

The silk cuts into his neck and he coughs, but he gets no slack in the belt. Either he makes himself hold still or he chokes.

Gavin holds still. Except for his nails, which drag so hard against the mattress that he thinks he might be making a run in the fabric. He sucks in breath as Keanu idly touches the ice to his left fifth rib, his breastbone. Eventually he gets used to the sensation. Plus the ice melts so Keanu has to reach for another handful.

As he does, he bends down to swirl his tongue over Gavin’s nipple till it’s painfully peaked. “Much as I like Djimon, I’m pretty happy to have this to myself.”

His hot mouth lifts and equally burning ice replaces it; when Gavin cries out, Keanu just smashes his hand down to keep the ice in place. He makes ironic shushing sounds, darting down to steal the occasional whimper from Gavin, and doesn’t let Gavin up till the ice has all turned to lukewarm water and Gavin’s limp from futile struggling anyway.

“Your cock’s burning a hole through my jeans,” Keanu whispers, letting the words slide up the side of Gavin’s face. His tongue flicks against Gavin’s temple, tasting the sweat-matted hair over it. “Want me to cool it down?”

“No.” Gavin blinks hard, trying to clear…everything, really. It’s all fuzzy now. “Yes. Please. Anything. Anything, just…please. Please.”

He’s rewarded with a sweet, slow kiss before Keanu’s digging in the ice again. “Music to my ears.”

Lucky Keanu, then, because all Gavin’s hearing is the boom-boom-boom of his racing heartbeat. He stares past Keanu at the spinning ceiling, every breath rasping through his raw throat, feeble as a newborn. And then he’s flailing wildly, cursing and bucking, and God that is cold but he can’t shake off Keanu’s chilly hand. He doesn’t want to because it’s pulling firm and smooth up and down his prick and he needs that, he wants that so much before the tension shatters him, but it’s so fucking cold. He can’t keep his hands to himself now, but has to grab at Keanu’s shoulders, knead them and claw over them down Keanu’s back. Which he’s not sure he’s supposed to do, but Keanu hasn’t choked him off yet so Gavin struggles closer, struggles farther, knots himself into pieces while he can. He buries his face in Keanu’s neck and mouths around till he finds an irregular pulse beneath the skin. Tongues it, worshipping one of the few signs of agitation Keanu’s shown so far.

“Son of a bitch,” Keanu hisses.

His arm goes around Gavin’s waist, accidentally tightening the belt, but before Gavin can gasp Keanu’s already loosened up. He drags them both up and over to the edge and his hand leaves. Leaves Gavin’s prick and Gavin whines, presses himself upward till he can grind against Keanu’s belly, Keanu’s own erection digging hard into his thigh. He’s mindless like a crazed dog, yes, and begging without any thought of shame, but fuck it. He wants it that badly. He wants Keanu to pry him off, to shake him by the neck, keep him straining on the leash till Keanu gets around to rambling a hand up between his legs.

Cold again. Freezing, but slippery-thick as well. Gavin’s head flops sideways as his hips move into the teasing strokes and he catches a glimpse of several empty plastic packets of butter. Butter? Did they eat that?

Well, maybe, but most of it’s on Keanu’s fingers that are still chilled from the ice. It comes off in slick trails of cold that linger long after Keanu’s hand has departed. One streak follows the crease where Gavin’s leg meets his torso. Another one tracks into his groin where it fans out through the hair, which Keanu likes running his fingertips through for some reason. Keeps petting it, running over Gavin’s tense balls and avoiding the straining prick. Keanu’s got his mouth fixed to Gavin’s neck now and he sucks along it as his hand finally tucks back behind Gavin’s balls, follows the narrow groove till his fingertips are stretching open Gavin’s arse. It hurts, it aches, it’s fucking brutal and Gavin fights it, but Keanu’s insistent. Suddenly shifts and fixes his teeth just where Gavin’s jaw and throat meet, right there so Gavin’s shuddering limp and Keanu’s fingers slide in easily as a chord comes off a guitar. But it’s two at once—two and a half? One’s bending oddly—and that’s a fucking tight fit. That’s so tight Gavin can feel the sharp outlines of Keanu’s calluses, nails digging into the thin internal skin, can barely keep his knees apart and Jesus, there’s no way they’re moving.

But they are. Slow, inexorable, they’re pushing and pulling, pressing deep and sliding out so Gavin’s head is back, back till he can hear the bones in his neck creaking under the strain. They’re squeezing through his flesh, remaking it to their shape and hell, it hurts but it also brings white bursts of ecstasy on the jagged edges of the pain. And it was cold, too. Cold at first so Gavin was clenching away from it, but now Keanu’s fingers are warming up and Gavin can almost smell the butter steaming.

He keens, pushes his hips down and Keanu doesn’t hold him there but by the belt, silk-knotted hand knuckling into the back of Gavin’s shoulder. Just enough give for Gavin to pretend he’s fucking himself for the couple moments before Keanu wrenches his fingers around inside, ramming hard into the fucking universe so it collapses around Gavin’s ears. And then Gavin’s stuck, riding helplessly shotgun as Keanu takes the wheel and just fucking breaks it off. Nothing but acceleration, lights shooting faster and faster past them till finally Gavin can’t even watch, but instead squeezes his eyes shut. Forgets to breathe. Not important, since they’ve just fractured sound anyway.

Touch comes back first: there’s actually a slight breeze in the room that tickles at the sweat soaking Gavin. And there’s the ache, coming back with a vengeance so he doesn’t want to move even if he’s apparently ended up with his head hanging over the bed. Sight’s next, closely followed by smell. “Half of breakfast is on the floor.”

“Oops,” Keanu raggedly gasps. He’d sound unrepentant if he had any breath. It’s also kind of hard to hear him through the wet rasping of flesh on flesh.

Gavin frowns, blearily trying to think that through. Then he throws out an arm and catches enough of a grip on the mattress to drag himself up and around, just in time to see Keanu throw back his head and come, prick pulsing sticky white strings out from the hand curled around it.

It’s gorgeous. It’s also…a little wrong. “I…uh…wouldn’t have minded taking care of that. Fair’s fair,” Gavin says. His arse has an opinion on that, but he’s mostly ignoring it. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Huh? What? No.” Keanu is still sitting up, but barely. He scrapes absentmindedly at the fresh come splatters on his jeans. “No, but if I fucked you now, they’d have to carry you out of here in a bucket. Can you…think you can sit up?”

Five seconds later, Gavin drops his chin on the bed and concludes that no, he definitely can’t. What Keanu says makes perfect sense—Gavin’s going to have a hell of a time hiding all the bruises anyway—and is incredibly considerate to boot, but it still bothers Gavin.

“Coffee’s got to be congealed by now,” Keanu observes, leaning over the bed. He pauses that way and glances at Gavin. Then he reaches over to pluck the end of the silk strip from the spectacularly ruined sheets, wrapping a few turns of it around his fingers. “You know, no offense, but you could use some help with your blowjob.”

“Yeah, I know.” Since it was his first, and all. Gavin shuffles up the sheets with his hand and smushes his face into the hump. He doesn’t have any real reason for doing it, except his cheeks are staying flushed a little longer than they should. Fuck. He’s really fucking brilliant, isn’t he?

The silk tugs, then tugs harder when he doesn’t immediately raise his head. When Gavin looks up, Keanu’s hand is there to take him by the chin, thumb running over his lower lip. “Something for next time, right?” Keanu says.

Gavin is suddenly, ridiculously hopeful. “Next time?”

“Well, I still haven’t met Gwen, and I want to thank her personally.” Keanu slides gracefully forward to rest on his elbows and keeps petting Gavin’s jaw. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m finding this pretty damn interesting.” He puts out his arm so they can stare at how the red silk stretches through the air from his hand to Gavin’s throat. “So what would you think of this in leather?”

“Uh. I’d…I’d say you provide one hell of a morning-after,” Gavin grins. “How about you keep talking?”