I wasn't even going to get into RPF for this fandom (I should've known, fool I am), so I haven't done any research on the filming or……anything else, you'll have to imagine with me. (p.s. I pretend the wives and children do not exist for fics, don’t bring those ppl up to me in an rpf context!!!😭) (p.p.s. Nick and David probably wouldn't be this unprofessional just be quiet!!!!)
~~~
They're hanging out after shooting one night, decide to get some drinks together, then they'll head back to one of their hotel rooms and probably end up in bed, and this has been happening quite often, Nick's noticed.
He's noticed how often his own hands have wandered, how often something silly's turned to having to keep themselves from dry humping in full costume. He's noticed David leaving him coffees and waters, little notes and jokes written on the sides of them, and the heat in his eyes when Nick makes sure to stare at him for just a bit too long.
Nick's certainly noticed that three of the last five days he's had to untangle himself from David's limbs and stand there freezing covered in cold sweat with the AC blasting mid July, creep quietly from the room for his morning run and remind himself mixing business with pleasure rarely ends well.
It so, so rarely ends well, and yet.
"You're being quiet," David says, hooking a finger into Nick's pocket before quickly withdrawing, and,
"Am I?" Nicks says, and when David looks at him and his eyes are a little too serious, Nick pulls a dumb face and says, "I figured you were talking enough for the both of us, mate."
It has the desired effect as David lets out an exaggerated huff, high-pitched and scandalized, face lit up with a happily and easily distracted smile, because Nick's certain David can feel it too—this odd tension—and that he's just as wary of it, eager to dance away for a moment from whatever raw energy Nick must be exuding.
He quite literally does just that—dances gracefully away despite his heft over to a low garden wall along the street they're walking, leaps on top of it, and Nick feels a strange, fond little squeeze in his middle, probably a dangerous feeling to have this close to the end of filming together.
"I bet it breaks some clause in your contract if you sprain an ankle," he says knowingly, and David fixes himself into his Superman pose, makes his voice all deep and stoic to project at Nick,
"Ah, but I would have to sprain the ankle, Mr. Hoult."
He doesn't move a muscle as Nick approaches, then settles his hands on Nick's shoulders when he stops in front of him, traces a thumb from Nick's left ear slowly down his neck, careful.
"Would you still act with me if I was this tall?" he says.
The absurdity of the question surprises a laugh from Nick's throat, another squeeze of fondness that makes him want to pull David down and kiss him. He settles for wrapping his arms around the small of David's back, comfortable they're alone enough on a Tuesday evening even though it still feels like something they shouldn't do. Feels like something they don't do. Not out in the open anyway, without any liquid courage or dark corners to drift off to like teenagers. He feels fucking horny enough to be a teenager.
"You wouldn't act with me," he says.
"Mmm…" David makes himself look doubtful, even though his dimples are out. "No, I'm perfectly fine with shorter actors."
Nick rolls his eyes, squeezes David tighter until David slides his hands up from Nick's shoulders to cradle the base of his skull, strokes his scalp as he likes to do when the hair starts to come in. Too intimate. Too much. Nick's heart beats a little fast.
He can tell the energy is still intense for David as well when he breaks their eye contact, slides his hands back to Nick's shoulders and then dances away again, hops down from the wall all the way at the end of it.
He stays where he's at for Nick to come to him though, and he walks close once Nick reaches him, matches their strides and lets their hands keep brushing, purposeful enough to let Nick know it’s purposeful.
Fucking teenagers.
He leaps on another wall only one more building down, this one more of a curb, really, and he takes Nick’s hand with him as if he needs it to keep his balance while they continue on their way, holds it to his chest, and ordinarily Nick might do an underarm spin for him, perhaps push him off in what he knows is their version of flirting, but it feels too serious for that somehow. Weird and high stakes without anyone having agreed to it.
"Get down from there," Nick says, and it comes out more plainly than he intends it to, quiet, almost an order because he wants to lose his everloving mind, and for a moment he thinks David will fight it, put them through a stubbornly playful few more minutes, ask why, but then his eyes droop, the pink of his cheeks deepening into a full on flush, and he does as he's told.
Nick goes still, surprised at how easy that was—or—just—surprised at how utterly easy for it David looks, all soft and hazy, dyed-black curls exactly the way Nick thinks they look nicest, washed loose and pretty across his forehead.
Nick told him he was pretty the last time they fucked, whispered it into his ear and then felt him shoot between them, legs tight around Nick's hips, mouth so warm when he dragged them together to kiss.
His warm mouth's in reach now but Nick only gets in close to it, says, "Do you really want to go get drinks?" Because he does not want to go get drinks.
David mock gasps, quiet and soft, smiles and says, "Nicholas, are you trying to take me home?"
And Nick looks at him very seriously, certain there's pink across his own cheeks too. "I'm trying to take you back to the hotel and put you on my dick."
It isn't anything David hasn't heard before, they've fucked more times than is remotely professional, embarrassing really, but he still lets himself go all loose against Nick's front, maybe involuntary, his adam's apple bobbing on a heavy swallow, and Nick really can't judge because as fogged over as his head feels it's a wonder they even manage to find an Uber between the two of them, buzzing in their skins, tortured because how did they make it this far out anyway? Neither can remember, and surely no one will see if Nick trails kisses across David's jawline as they wait, if he slips him a thigh or if their hands find ways into—
David nearly does sprain his ankle once they’re inside the hotel room, gets caught in his shorts trying to swallow Nick’s tongue and falls backward too far from the bed to land comfortably.
He has to catch himself on the side of the mattress with an elbow, nearly takes Nick with him, and, “Just—hold still,” Nick tells him, hands bunched in David's t-shirt and cock aching in his pants like it'd slap him in the face if it could.
"Sorry," David mumbles with a little smile as his shorts finish falling from his hips with a quiet 'fwump,' eyes bright and cheeks still flushed like he's already been bouncing on it.
"Revolting display of charm," Nick says. His guts are squirming with want, and it's a little bit of a blur after that because of it, hands tugging quick at underwear, sliding against the tacky skin underneath to wring gasps out of each other's throats, a long moan from David once he's been pushed into the pillows that makes Nick feel genuinely sick with lust and angry he's got to find his wallet somewhere in their pile of clothes to get the packet of lube.
He hangs off the bed to pluck it from the floor, one of David's legs hooked around him as if to keep him from going too far, and then it's quick work to tear the plastic open and drizzle it over them both, impatient impatient impatientimpatient, so much that when Nick goes to open him up, slide his middle and ring fingers inside, David stops him with a hand around the wrist, furiously red and says, "I don't need it." He sounds drunk, sounds like he'd let Nick do whatever the fuck he wanted as long as he fed him his cock. "Just rub it over me, let's go."
Nick doesn't have to be told twice, rubs the lube over David's hole with a few quick swipes, so burning fucking hot in his belly his eyes are wet. "S'fucking right you don't need it," he says into David's mouth before he licks in against his tongue, fucks in with his hips and swallows the gasp David lets out. It's too much for a moment, too bright and acute to think until he adjusts to all of David's tight heat snapped around him, sighs and goes on, "You take it so fucking well."
And he does. David cries out and opens his thighs impossibly wider, like that might get more of Nick inside him, as if to prove Nick right, dick tapping little blots of wetness against his stomach and harder than anyone Nick's ever seen in real life with something in their ass.
"Do you even know what you are?" Nick asks him, pained as he sets himself up to give David the deep, slow strokes he gags for, sets them on a steady pace. "Do you know what you fucking look like?"
Nick knows he does, they're actors, they all know exactly what they are, but Nick's not sure David really knows this—this filth he's capable of. He's not sure David knows what his hole looks like puffed up around a cock, or how purple his dick starts to get if Nick grinds in against his prostate, utterly fucking gorgeous.
He blushes so pretty, begs so pretty, opens himself up so nicely Nick's not sure what he'll do when he doesn't have this picture-perfect gay porn on tap in his bed, when it'll probably be a year before he sees him again, and by then—
He doesn't know why that thought floats up. He doesn't want it though, swats it away with a physical shake of his head and an adjustment of throwing one of David's legs over his shoulder, pleasure radiating out from his dick when David sighs like it's what he wanted.
"Unnngh, Nick—you get me so—fucking—" he moans, voice deep the way it gets when he's about to come good, nice and full-body, but Nick reacts without thinking, surprised into it because he's not ready to be finished, fucking aching for it but not ready all the same, and he takes David's cock in a tight grip just below the slippery head, stops him from rubbing between their bellies and squeezes until David's eyes fly open in confusion.
He looks adorable. Nick thinks it with a delirious little laugh when their gazes meet, blood humming with arousal, that strange intensity from earlier in the night creeping back in to mix with everything else.
He leans down to kiss David's upset mouth, gives his dick a few strokes until he gets a happy sound for it and tells him in a low voice, "I'm not done yet is all."
David's the one to laugh then, mostly a moan as he pulls Nick in even closer, hands spread wide against his back. "You're gonna decide when we're done?"
He's such a good kisser, mouth so soft and pliant it's hard to pull away but Nick does, meets David's eyes again and puts a hand to his jaw, slides it along to his neck. "I'm gonna decide when we're done," he confirms, pulse rocketing in his veins, and if David treats it silly he'll follow suit, laugh it off, but as they stare at each other, breath coming fast, David's eyes get hotter and something miniscule shifts between them.
He goes all loose against the bed as Nick watches, lets both legs splay wide open as if to say, 'decide it then,' and Nick thinks he might fucking die, makes David tilt his hips up to give even easier access to fucking him deep.
They did this their second week on set, shamefully enough. Fucked risky and quiet in David's trailer before makeup, too eager, pillows stacked three high under the small of his back so Nick could plow into him the way he seemed to want it—no different now except no pillows, David's back curled to take it. He's so delicious like this Nick has to close his eyes to get his bearings, can't stare for a second longer at David's body swallowing him in, David's voice high and tight in his ears chanting, "god, god, god, god," in time with every stroke.
He could reach down and rub at David's cock with two fingers, he knows, rub nice and easy right where the shaft becomes the head and David would shoot all over himself. God, probably shoot right in his own face the way he's positioned, and suddenly it's not enough that Nick isn't looking.
"Fuck," he lets out on a worried gasp, eyebrows knitted in the most awful sort of pleasure when he doesn't want it to come yet, stomach pulled in to avoid the crash of heat waiting behind his balls, and it's a near thing, such a near thing as David collapses under him, lets Nick slip out and lets his hips fall flat to the mattress in a heap.
Nick has to look down at him then, the big, sweating, aching mess of him, his cock leaking and somehow redder than his face.
It's such a glorious fucking sight Nick follows after him as if on a string, manhandles David's thighs back open and inserts himself between them like David had no right to pull away, and he might feel insane except for David breathing, "Back in—get back in," against his mouth, hungry for it, hands sweeping over Nick's shoulder blades to clutch onto him.
The both of them are too knocked-stupid for anything other than what they get up to then—quick, dirty thrusts of Nick's hips, David's head thrown back to let out the most distressed, hurting little whimpers because Nick knows his prostate is right there.
It's a wonder he even has the mind enough to keep his fingers in a circle around David's cock, probably wouldn't if he didn't stop moving himself each time David's voice gets too high, each time he squeezes down tightly enough it's all Nick can do to stop moving, stop David coming his head off because what a fucking waste it'd be. God. Such a sad fucking waste, and Nick cannot let it be so after all that, content to let it stretch, content to let it carry on until David's forgotten how to talk if he needs to.
He does not forget how to talk, though, not at all, groans, "You're fucking psychotic," after the fourth time Nick's certain David's orgasm's flitted away, out of reach and sweeter for it.
His hand's slimy with so much precome it’d be disgusting any other time, as if he doesn’t want to bend down and put his mouth all over it, David so blood-hot under his palm he almost feels bad for him, breathes against his cheekbone, “You’ve got to be so sore, I know, love.”
He rolls his hips forward when he can, when David’s whines quiet into something manageable, all sighs and bitten-off gasps and thick, low moans that make Nick want to abandon all intent and just jackrabbit into him, be done with it.
He might have to soon anyway, he thinks, sweat stinging in his eyes, his lower back screaming at him to fucking blow his load already, and Christ he is fucking psychotic. Absolutely fucking mad.
"Just give it to me, Nick," David gasps at him, his heels pressed so tight above Nick's ass it's all bright heat there. "Just let me have it." And the way he says it makes it obvious it’s about Nick’s orgasm and not his own. That it's about Nick filling him up, Nick getting off on doing this to him, keeping him here, and Nick feels himself short circuit at the thought of it, feels himself full-body shiver and starts to wring mean and sudden at David's cock.
It startles a shout from him, a loud bark of a sound—louder than they should get in a hotel room, but Nick does not care, pumps his fist as single-mindedly as he kept David hard, up and down and up and down and up and in time with David whining his name out, whining his name and please and holy god it's gorgeous. God it's so gorgeous—long, sticky ropes of come making an absolute mess of David’s belly, his head thrown back again, body arched like a painting while his legs squeeze desperately at Nick’s hips.
He doesn't even know why he wanted it so bad but it's exactly what Nick wanted, exactly perfectly right, the languid, pleasure-dumb look on David's face enough to send Nick over even without the disaster sight of the rest of him—hair stood on end, mouth raw, legs splayed like he'd let Nick keep going.
"Get it deep," David whispers, and Nick lets out a startled shout of his own, finishes like that with an overwhelming wave of heat that starts in his middle and spreads outwards, reaches even his face, and he has to tilt forward, no balance, plant himself into David's neck.
David takes him in like some greedy tentacled creature, arms and legs wrapped tight, his nose an annoying little pressure point until Nick turns to kiss him, unhurried now, all honey in each other's mouths.
This part stopped being awkward a little while ago—the knowing how long to stay. Knowing there aren't ever any expectations, that it's fine when David wants to go watch some old movie right after sucking Nick's brains out, or that Nick could go and have a bed entirely to himself with no feelings hurt, they're just friends. Colleagues with benefits. Just the name of the game when it comes to this sort of thing.
Except.
Right now Nick's pretty sure he wants David to stay.
He frowns because David can't see it with his eyes closed, pushes away the idea of being disappointed in David choosing to leave with revulsion, but it comes right back, a thread of the same feeling that's followed Nick around all day, an anticipatory, sick sort of not-quite-excitement he can't entirely place.
"Holy shit," David murmurs, and it gets a little worse, but Nick only kisses him some more, tries not to feel too pleased about how long David wants to lie there in filth.
"Do you know what I have to do tomorrow?" he says, lips smushed so the words come out mumbled.
Nick lifts his head to look at him properly, suppresses an urge to card his hair back. "What do you have to do?"
David smiles at him, expression dry despite this. "Fly."
How unfortunate.
Nick lifts his eyebrows, rolls his lips over his teeth. "Mmm." He'd seen them test the flying before, had made a note to himself about sex swings that he'd entirely forgotten. "Well," he says, moving his arms to squeeze David's legs where they're still wrapped around him, "this was a pre-workout then, yeah?"
He's prepared for it when David gives him a playful shove, just answers it with another kiss, a chuckle as David mumbles through it about his lack of empathy.
"You can massage me until I fall asleep," he says when Nick stops, eyes bright under his lashes, and even though it's ridiculous, nothing different from any other time, Nick feels it under his skin like it is. "Especially my thighs, god, I'm already sore."
Nick doesn't let it show on his face how he feels about that. "I'm gonna massage you until you fall asleep, am I?" he says instead.
David nods, makes his expression one that shows he thinks it's very reasonable. "I mean not in here," he says, wiggling his feet where they're still crossed at the ankles. "It reeks in here."
Nick cannot disagree with this, presses forward for a last kiss before, "So you want me to massage you until you fall asleep in the clean room and then leave me to suffer in the stinky room?"
David smiles so widely at him, dimples popped so spectacularly it makes Nick's stomach hurt. "Yes," he says. "You get the stinky room. This one we're in right now."
"You're an awful person."
"One with a good-smelling room."
Nick laughs, shakes his head, and that kiss wasn't the last one, actually, and neither is the one he gives right then, or the one in the shower a half hour later, or the one he presses to David's temple before they fall asleep in David's bed.
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Where is fandom these days? Where are the conversations happening?? I haven’t been here since covid times 😭 WHERE ARE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT LEX AND CLARK I NEED INSPIRATION HELP
