AUTHORS: DAMSKIPPY & SAMSOM
SUMMARY: For David & Charisma, it’s all about the timing, good and bad.
POSTED: 27 Jan 2008
CATEGORY: REAL PERSON FANFICTION
WARNINGS: Remember, even though this is RPF and the names are David and Charisma, we don’t know these people and this is a fantasy. So, don’t get bent out of shape. If you want to rename these people Frank and Isabelle in your mind, that’s fine with us.
FICPIC CREDIT: N/A
AUTHOR NOTES: This was a collaboration between myself and Samsom which was posted on my live journal a little while back.
This is the moment—
it always was—now proves to
just give it
a try and
you will see.
There are times like these
when nothing makes sense and you
what was that all about? and
what in hell is this?
They got to us and
we to you—what more is there
for you to get to?
–“The Timing” by Cid Corman
JUNE 2002, HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA
It is, of all things, Sarah and the premiere of “Scooby Doo,” that brings them back together.
The night they fall back into each others’ arms that last time.
He goes alone and so does she. Jaden is only little more than a month old and Jaime is…well, she’s still carrying some weight and doesn’t want to go out looking less than perfect. Secretly, he’s glad.
Damien doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t enjoy the limelight – not like her – and he really doesn’t want to see a movie about a talking dog. Since he knows she will be busy, he accepts an invitation to go partying with friends in San Diego for the night. She is relieved.
It’s early June and already the air is heavy with smog and pollen soaked with ocean drops. They stand in the parking lot saying goodbye after a long evening of avoiding being captured in the same camera shot or caught looking – wanting.
More than two months have passed since the wrap party. The new season won’t start shooting for more than another month and it’s hard. The moonlight in her eyes, the alcohol in his blood, the softness of her lips on his cheek when she kisses him goodnight – so many touches between them, so many lost moments – he can’t let one more pass by.
Before she can move away his mouth is on her neck and his massive hands circle her arms keeping her tight against him.
And just like it always was between them, one touch is all it takes.
To ignite that fire that smolders whenever they are together, the sighs that turn to moans, the hugs that turn to an embrace neither can back away from.
He can’t help it. Moving his mouth in a soft, moist trail along her throat, he backs her up to the shadows closest to the buildings, hearing the voices of the partygoers as they weave in and out of the door.
Her hands curl into fists, to clutch him closer as his mouth makes her burn hotter, or to push him away before it is too late to stop, she isn’t sure.
“David.” His name coming from her mouth has the same effect of gasoline on an open flame. David shoves her against her car, hands trailing down as his mouth crashes onto hers, tongue twisting, seducing. She responds because she can’t resist him.
It’s always been true, through boyfriends, girlfriends, marriages, and other break ups, it always comes back to David and how he makes her feel.
They both forget, for just a while, and when he’s cupping her in his hand, whispering the things he wants to do, the way she makes him feel, she responds with another invitation to further damnation. “Come home with me.”
He’s saying yes as her hand strokes him, as her tongue licks along his Adam’s apple.
He can’t resist her either, he can’t even try.
It takes them too long to separate and rearrange their clothes once the decision is made. They keep their eyes locked while they button and zip, unwilling to break the connection that keeps them tethered to this fate.
They stumble away from each other, drunk off a last, searing clash of lips, a kiss meant to keep their fires stoked until they reach her place. They take separate cars both knowing he won’t be staying the night.
It’s not okay but it’s the way it is.
The drive to her house in the hills – not so very far from his own but a whole other life away at the same time – is torture. He shifts his hips, trying to make his painful erection less so inside the tight jeans he thought made him look thinner. He’d gained weight while Jaime had been pregnant – sitting at home watching her belly expand and unconsciously doing the same to his own. He sucks in his gut.
He knows he should turn left instead of going straight. Jaden is a crier and Jaime is probably tired and needs a break.
His hand leaves the wheel and strokes his hardness. His tongue swipes at her taste still burning his lips. David knows what he should do but he can’t stop doing what he has to do.
He sees her taillights blink red a few times and then he’s pulling into her sloping driveway behind her. He watches her long, athletic legs tipped with black leather slings swing from the car. She stands tall, all grace and strength, with a beauty that pierces the shadows of the night along with his soul.
She makes him breathless.
Her car door slams and she walks away from him toward her house. There’s no decision to be made. It was made before they were born.
He leaves his car and follows through the door she’d left open for him.
She’d left the lights off, not wanting to see anything of Damien’s with David so close.
His shoulders fill the doorway, his eyes filled with her, and he comes forward like metal to a magnet, hands wrapping around her waist, kissing her, breathing her, knowing there isn’t much time – not nearly enough.
She clings to him, his big hand wrapping high on her thigh, bringing her leg snug against his pelvis so he can grind against the soft center he knows is weeping for him, for his cock. And he wants to be there, deep inside her where there is just the two of them.
Breathing like the air is thin, he picks her up and carries her, knowing without looking to avoid her glass coffee table, settling her down on her wide couch while he goes to his knees next to her.
She gazes up at him, her black eyes shining like obsidian in the dark, lips moist with his saliva and the same, familiar overwhelming sense of possession washes over him, just like it did the first time he saw her, at the cast meeting.
Hands shook as hearts fell like redwoods.
He trails his hands down her torso, marking everything he touches as his, making her tongue peek out and lick at her lips. He bends, twists and takes her mouth in another deep kiss of desire, never tiring of her taste.
He hardens even more, thinking of her legs falling open, and breaks the kiss to shrug off his clothes, pulling his jeans down and kicking off his shoes.
Climbing on top of her, he settles kneeling between her legs, eyes locking onto her gaze, smoothing her dress up her thighs, feeling the softness of her skin like the first time, fire and rain, life like death, Charisma and the dark.
He pulls her thong off, moaning at the way the cloth slides down her thighs, over her calves. He slips them off her foot one at a time, kissing her toes, pulling the big toe into his mouth and sliding his tongue around and over, making her wriggle.
“David!” She whispers, unable to believe a fetish she never understood with anyone else, is just one more way for him to tie her up in painful knots, needing to come so bad she nearly cries, thrusting her pelvis up urgently.
He eyes her as his hand caresses her arch, tongue sliding between her toes and her shoe. She pleads and his eyes just get darker, darker, and when she pulls her dress all the way up to her waist, baring her finely shaven cunt to his view, he growls, like an animal, like the animal she made him.
Letting her leg fall on his shoulder, pulling her thighs wide, he bends and opens his mouth over her pink center, tongue spearing up between the folds, making her buck, making her scream.
She comes like dying, hardly breathing, fingers convulsing in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue wraps around her clit and swirls.
“David! God!” She breathes his name out, and he keeps on her flesh with the soft flat of his tongue, and then the pointed tip, over and again, priming her like an instrument, culling yet another orgasm from her on top the first, his fingers finding the core of her body and sliding in slowly to ride the storm out.
When she comes down, when it is over, he surges on top of her body and his cock falls home, deep into her cunt, claiming again with each surge and thrust.
She’s like a wild thing bucking under him, moaning for what he’s doing to her, making it harder for him to remember who he is and what his obligations are. There’s no room for her in his life, and there’s nothing she can offer him that she hasn’t already promised to someone else.
It’s untenable and he’s crossing lines he has no right to cross, and yet the thought of having to let her go, again, is making his heart quake like a living thing in his chest, clawing to get out.
He holds her closer, desperate for something of her, begging in his throat for all that she can’t give him.
“Say you love me!” He gasps as he moves, faster, harder.
She cries out something like a denial, but arches her hips into his fucking, legs splayed, their sweat soaking each other.
Her refusal is unacceptable, he needs to hear it. Needs to take something with him when he goes.
“Fuck Charisma, fuck. Say it!”
She bites her lips, arches her neck and then lifts up, bites his neck and finally, when his fingers sweep over her clit, she screams.
“I love you, David, fuck me harder, baby, I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyou….”
He laughs and the sound is like thunder cracking, triumphant and broken at the same time.
The storm rages, the moon gives witness to a passion that never wanes, love like starlight, like the sun, burning, burning.
When it’s over and they’re shaking and breathing and smoothing hands over sweat-covered limbs, calming each other, he gazes down at her with anguished eyes.
All the walls are down, no defenses left.
She reaches up cupping his jaw, dragging her thumb across his lips. She knows that look of loss and hopelessness – and guilt. She sees it in the mirror every day.
“I just love you, ya know.”
He turns his mouth into her palm and kisses it gently before laying his head on the cushion beside hers.
He closes his eyes, takes a breath full of sex and her and sighs. “Fuck.”
He feels her shoulders shake and then the room fills with her laughter, the sound of it tearing at the walls and his mood.
Getting up on his elbows he looks down at her, her skin glistening, her blonde hair looking like the dark crown he loves in this light and suitably mussed by his fingers. Her eyes are sparkling. He can’t help but smile.
“What’s so funny?”
She tries to hold in the last round of giggles but fails. When she catches her breath, she says, “Us. We’re funny.”
He wants to be offended, but a part of him has to agree. So he says nothing.
“God, David, we’re so melodramatic.”
He drops his forehead on her shoulder and chuckles. “Yeah, yeah we are.”
Her sharp nails rake up his spine, comforting, soothing. His tongue licks a trail along her collarbone and his body curls into her stroke, the subtle movement making his softened cock slide out of her.
She mewls softly, disappointed, and tries not to think about the wet spot they’re making on the upholstery.
“How’s Jaden…and Jaime?”
He pulls out of her embrace and rests back on his haunches, their come dripping from his cock and coating his thighs. “Fuck, Chari, can we not remind me of my cheating asshole ways right now?”
He reaches down to the pile of clothes on the floor and scrambles for his shirt. She grabs his wrist.
“No, don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I…I…genuinely like Jaime and I know how much you love Jaden. I just wanted to know about your life. I wanted to…be closer somehow. I miss you. I miss us.”
He stops, closes his eyes and lets his shirt drop back down, twisting his hand from her hold. Grabbing her hand in his, he runs his thumb over the soft flesh of her palm, making her shiver in renewed arousal, even though she’s just had a mind blowing orgasm less than five minutes before.
“I miss you, too.” He gazes intently down into her eyes. “I miss watching football games with you between takes; I miss your grumpy face when we shoot past two in the morning.” He leans down and rubs her nose with his, soothing both of them. “I miss us, too.”
She wraps her arms around his shoulders, feeling the solid strength of him all over again, hating that everything is so complicated.
She loves Damien, she really does. And she knows that David loves Jaime.
But when they are together, everything else just fades into the background, like white noise. And all they feel is each other. The compulsion to touch David is sometimes so overwhelming, she goes breathless, sure everyone around them can see, like an invisible radio signal jamming their senses.
And when David looks at her with his eyes gone black and hot, she knows he feels the same.
It has always led them in circles, fed their desire for each other, as well as the guilt that comes afterwards.
It’s best to stay away from each other as much as possible, hold onto their loved ones and pretend it’s enough.
“Jaden is sleeping for longer stretches of time.” He confesses into her hair. She pulls back and sits back on her couch, getting the throw from the armrest and pulling it over both of them.
“Tell me about it.” She invites. He looks at her and smiles, slow and sexy.
“Oh no, I’m not sitting here naked and vulnerable while you’ve got that dress on.” She smiles as he gathers the dress and pulls it over her head, baring her breasts to his gaze for the first time since they stumbled through the door.
His eyes glaze over, and he reaches out with one hand, swiping her nipple roughly.
“David.” She moans, falling under that same spell again, not even fighting it. Damien is out with friends, probably passed out on Johnny’s couch from beer and chips, happy and oblivious while she sins.
David’s palm cups her breast, plumping it and she arches into it, already wanting more.
He bends and sucks the tip into his mouth, tasting her urgently, knowing nothing is resolved and that his time with her is short. He needs to get home to his family, but he wants to take as much of her as he can with him. So when he feels like the world’s biggest asshole sleeping next to his wife who just gave birth, when he thinks of Damien snuggling in close to Charisma, he’ll have this at least, to console himself with.
He pushes her back down, climbs between her cradling thighs and sucks on her nipples, alternating breasts every few seconds, and she spears her fingers through his hair, holds him to her as her body sings under his touch.
“You’d be so beautiful pregnant.” he mutters against her perfumed skin. “Full and lush, holding a baby inside you, nourishing it.” His cock hardens all over again, and the need to be inside her washes over him like a fever he can’t control.
She writhes under him, making those sounds that go straight to his cock.
“I’d love to see you pregnant, Charisma.” He whispers in her ear as he lifts his hips and settles into her body, his cock entering her slowly. She gasps again, her skin heating up.
“Oh my god,” she moans, lifting into his thrusting hips, holding his cock as deeply as she can, making him grunt as it drags against her clenching, silky walls.
Her legs wrap around his hips under the blanket, and the fuck is slow and hot, building the need inside them, feeding it like he’s fed her, with honey and dates, half closed eyes and the knowledge that nothing else comes close to what they do together.
The tight feeling in her belly takes her higher, and she mouths his shoulder as they rock like a boat in a storm, until it breaks. The orgasm travels from her belly to her clit, making her cunt squeeze his cock until his eyes pop open, until his thrusts get heavier and harder, until he comes as she bites his shoulder.
As they’re coming down, while his cock is still hard inside her, a harsh sound breaks apart their bubble, shattering the illusion.
His cell phone.
Their eyes close at the same time, neither wanting to see that anguished guilt mirrored again. David’s forehead drops down and touches hers, his breath hot – still panting – drying out her open mouth.
The ringing stops – gone to voicemail.
Her tongue licks at his lips and he closes over her mouth, hungry for one last taste. It is sad and sweet and desperate, dying poppies in the rain.
She pulls away first, always the first to say goodbye.
“You’d better call her back. It could be Jaden.”
He nods, watches himself slide from her body and feels the loneliness begin as he kneels between her open thighs. It’s always there from the moment they part until they see one another again, but this time the ache spears his gut.
This time he knows it’s the last time.
“I’m not coming back, am I?”
She sucks in her lips and turns her head into the cushion, but he can still see the pool of wetness in the corner of her eye and hear the sob.
He reaches down, cupping her cheek, his fingers moving into her hair tugging, grasping for more.
She keeps her head and eyes turned away, staring into the dark corners.
“Charisma, look at me.”
When she won’t, he lowers himself off the couch and kneels beside her, putting his face, his eyes, his heart in front of her.
“It’s not forever. I won’t – I can’t – let it be forever.”
He hears her grief break with a wet gasp and watches a glimpse of hope return to her eyes, clouds breaking over a full moon. She flings her arms around his neck and holds on.
He wraps his arms around her back, straightens and pulls her off the couch, their kneeling bodies molding, melting.
He breathes in her scent once more, storing it safely away and whispers in her ear, “I love you.”
The words scorch her like lightening. Her arms loosen, her hands palm his face, her head tilts and her lips meet his like the thunder after the strike.
The shadows cover their rumbles of moans, of lips sliding, of tongues tasting, of mouths devouring, of soft sighs as they finally part – the sounds of farewell but never goodbye.
One final kiss on her forehead and a last embrace before he stands and helps her up. She puts her palm on his chest over his heart and smiles.
“Go. Make that call. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t really believe her, but he takes her hand from his chest and kisses her palm – partly in thanks for lying but mostly for one last taste – before he scoops up his clothes with the phone somewhere in the folds.
She watches his glutes dimple and the corded muscles in his thighs glide as he heads into the dining room to dress and for a little privacy.
She can feel his mouth printed on her palm and she slides it down and joins it with the wetness between her thighs.
Not going to think about the conversation in the other room. Not going to make a scene when he leaves.
Sitting back on the deep cushions, she closes her eyes and doesn’t stop her legs from falling open. Long fingers spread the evidence, dancing around her clit – a little sore to the touch, such a lovely ache. She bites her lip and breathes in the air, turns her face towards his ghost trail trying to capture his scent.
Dark musk – wood and metal – she moans as she catches it, tastes it in the back of her throat.
Her finger slides inside slowly, gliding in and out. Unsatisfied, hallow, she pushes in two more and groans disappointed again. Not enough, never enough to fill her like he does. Gently she circles her hips, pushing, reaching for that missing piece of her.
She can feel the vastness of the dark space behind her eyes – floating in a void. The loneliness crawls into her chest and pulls a gasp from her. Her mouth flies open, her tongue wets her dry lips and her feet arch – toes rounding into the carpet.
Stars burst on the back of her eyelids as she squeezes them, willing his face to appear in their place. She moves faster, hands and hips, thighs and calves tightening, as her mind scours the darkness, the heavens for his hiding place.
She knows he’s watching her. She’s always known – could always feel him like a storm front moving in – a jolt of ozone to her senses.
Then his hand is on hers, his long finger sliding inside on top of hers. Her eyes open and there he is, the search over.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he whispers.
She doesn’t want to ever close her eyes and not see his face again.
His mouth hovers over her panting one. He bends one leg on the cushion beside her hip, one stretches to the floor for balance, and his other hand cups her face. His cock is trapped inside his jeans, long and hard against his right thigh.
He wants to pull it out, slide it inside the chasm of her mouth, taste his come when he kisses her goodbye, but there’s no time. He rubs it against the edge of the couch because he needs the friction – to feel some of what she’s feeling.
Their twined fingers pump her and the heel of his palm grinds on her clit as he licks her lips, his gaze never straying from hers.
“David,” his name – she can’t not say his name. “David.”
Her call brings him to her lips again where she sips from his mouth, his tongue, his breath as his fingers slide into her hair and her cunt.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous when you come.” He wets his lips, dry from what she takes, ready again to give her more. “I’ve got to watch your eyes when you come.”
But in that instant he closes them, overpowered by the silky feel of her cunt, the satin of her skin, the velvet tug of her lips – they brand him as hers.
Her breathing quickens, becomes crisp, and he opens wide as her core snaps. Hazel, golden awe sings from her eyes and then a burst of white heat from the black center – a passion so strong he is lifted off the planet with her – as she bucks hard and clamps her thighs, handcuffing him to her body.
They float together – smiling, loving, suspended in a moment that belongs only to them – and then they tumble from the high, not fearing the fall but only the landing.
Both hit the hard planes of earth and reality at once, but it’s Charisma who let’s go first. The thought of being the crying, clinging woman isn’t an image she can take. It’s hard enough being the other woman when she knows in her gut she should be the only woman – she’s not going to be that kind as well.
She pulls her fingers from inside her, dragging his out with them.
“It’s time.” She kisses him once more, a tiny brush of lips, and then pushes at his shoulder. “You should go.”
He doesn’t say anything. In that respect, David is just like every man – silent when what he wants to say is mostly selfish and probably unkind. And it’s okay, because she doesn’t want to hear any of his “wishes” or “what ifs.” She’s heard them before and nothing has changed.
Maybe when they’re both in their sixties and they bump into each other on a bright day on Melrose – his face lined but still gothic, his body looking like he’d given up the gym like he longs to do even now, a man women glance at but don’t dream about any more – maybe in that one moment in their lives their timing will be perfect and maybe then it can happen.
It’s a dream she thinks she’ll never get tired of and she’s never wanted to grow old so badly than now.
He rises slowly, a tinge of awkwardness and sadness in his body, his eyes, at having to leave her so naked, knowing she’ll be alone and he’ll be home with his family. He pictures her crying and he hates that image, hates that it will be because of him.
He wants to keep the vision of the one he just saw, the woman who comes alive by his touch not withers because of it.
“Yeah, Jaden needs diapers. I’ve got to stop at the store.”
And life goes on.
Charisma grabs the throw and covers herself. She’s too wobbly to stand and walk him to the door. She doesn’t really want that whole goodbye scene anyway, so she pulls her legs up on the couch, sits Indian style and feels the wetness seeping from her.
I don’t even want to think about all the stains I’ll be scrubbing out of these cushions tomorrow.
And that makes her think.
“David.” He turns at the open door. He looks surprised that she’d stop him and definitely a bit frightened.
That makes her laugh. What? Does he think I’m going to beg him to stay?
“Better buy some Wet Wipes and clean up a bit. You look like you’ve just had the best sex of your life.”
All the tension jumps out of him in one big guffaw. His smile is luminous and for a second she sees that sixty-something man and she smiles back.
“You’d know.” He winks and then he’s gone with the closing of the door and a soft click.
She waits until the sound of his car turns into the sound of summer cicadas again and then gets up. She folds the throw and puts it back where it belongs, picks up the bits of her clothing and shoes, locks the front door and heads for her bedroom.
She’s got a lot to do in the morning and she’d better get some rest. Damien will be home tomorrow afternoon and she needs to fix him something special for dinner.