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Devon Holmes
Glass Doors
Sun Aug 27, 2006 00:54
74.129.242.29

“So, you mentioned a liquor cabinet? Dare I hope it’s been filled?”

Devon had the temerity to snort at Michael’s idiotic question, motioning towards the very well-stocked liquor cabinet hiding in a corner of the dining room. Yet the actor didn’t seem all too interested in the alcohol as of yet, which he found rather surprising, considering they had managed to build a tenuous friendship based on drunken nights. But he shrugged it off and went to fetch some drinks while his partner in crime wandered about the furnished apartment amusing himself.

Fixing a few drinks, and bringing the bottles back as was per custom, Devon sacked out in his recliner – flipping Michael off for the pointing and snickering at its poor condition after the move – and began the long involved process of becoming completely smashed. It seemed as if he only got drunk when Mick was around anymore, which he found only slightly odd. Besides, it was more fun getting wasted when you had company, no matter how poor their sense of humor.

“There’s no way Wallace ever looked like that!” Devon protested when the channel was flipped over to a popular rendition of the Scotsman’s life. But he was mollified with the fight scenes and the general snarkiness of the King on his deathbed.

Mmm… toasty.

Halfway through the film, he thought he saw Michael wobbling from the sofa towards the dining room, though for what reason was beyond him. Devon was too enthralled with a particularly gruesome battle scene to ask the Brit what the hell he was doing. Merrily drinking in the fake blood and screams of death amidst the carnage, he was surprised to find a fifth of tequila being shoved into his hand. And then Michael had to go and miss the sofa entirely when attempting to sit down, which just made him laugh even harder. Wait, why had he begun laughing in the first place?

“Devon, it’s been a smashing evening, but I think it’s time for me to leave.” Huh? Managing to slowly pull his eyes away from the credits rolling across the screen – who would have thought that could be so hypnotic? – the feeb furrowed his brow at Michael. Wait, he was leaving? In this condition? Managing to stop the man, if just barely, as he wandered past, Devon managed to mumble.

“Lemme g’up ‘n hep.” Ah! A helping hand, how nice. Wondering for a brief moment if Michael’s hand would come off ala a Bugs Bunny cartoon, and having to suppress a wave of giggles that suddenly rose in his throat with the mental image, he struggled to reach his feet. In a rather ungainly manner, might we add. But things never worked out as intended, he was soon coming to find out. Oh, Devon managed to make it to his feet after a few moments, with Michael’s help. But the sod was so drunk he started falling backwards. Still fracking holding his hand! Never mind that he had already been teetering dangerously forward anyhow. No, that was not the issue here.

Once the wood flooring decided to meet his elbows, which was surprisingly pain free, Devon attempted to catch his breath. Adrenaline was flowing in his blood, pulse rising from the rush of the moment. He wanted to laugh, even say something about the situation, especially as he realized that Michael was under him. Oh shit, had he gone and managed to hurt his drinking partner? The thoughts and concerns were sluggish in his mind, as was his mouth opening to ask that very question. But he never did get to ask it.

For a brief moment, Devon thought that maybe he had gone and passed out, dropping himself right on to Michael’s face. What an inane thought. His mind was playing slow to catch up, eventually coming to the realization that the actor was kissing him once lengthy fingers wound through his hair. Simply feeling a warm body pressing against him was enough to get more than a rise out of Devon’s unexercised libido. Pressing against him and… Oh God.

“Dev—” None of that! His body had already decided exactly what it wanted, even if he did not realize it just yet. Heavy-lidded eyes hardly even took in Michael’s form as every rational thought flew right out of his mind. He never recovered again it that night.

Sometime during the pre-dawn hours a car alarm went off. It was only for a few honks of a horn, but it was more than enough to wake the agent. After a year of being on call during high stress cases, he had to possess the ability to rise from slumber on a moment’s notice, and be ready to go in less than five minutes, if that. In those few moments before fully coming to alertness, he recalled their last training exercise. Everyone had been given a night off, and they made good use of it by going to the bar and getting absolutely plastered. So when four a.m. rolled around, they were all roused for their final test, having to pull it off while either partially inebriated, suffering from a hangover, or both.

It was during that time in which Devon fully registered a warm body pressing against his side, an arm wound about the person. For a brief moment, he was absolutely panic-stricken, wondering what in the hell he had done last night. Yet all he could remember was a family dinner and drinking with Michael. Then who…?

“Oh shit.” The fateful words were whispered due to a parched throat as he stared down at the Brit’s face. What the fukk happened?! He could only recall something about watching Braveheart, and Michael missing the sofa… Swallowing a whimper that would certainly wake the actor, Devon wracked his brain for the answer. But it just wasn’t coming to mind at all, which was highly disconcerting.

Taking stock of the situation, he realized he was only in a pair of briefs, which felt stiff for all the wrong reasons. But denim rubbed up against his leg in an erotic sensation when Michael shifted minutely before falling back to sleep with a huff. They hadn’t… No, they couldn’t have… They wouldn’t have, would they? Forcing his breathing to calm before he hyperventilated, Devon wondered what to do. Try and roll away? Wake the bastard so he’d stop using him as a pillow?

Perhaps forcing his hand to stop stroking Michael’s hair would be a good place to start, the silky strands winding through his fingers—Oh God! That was it! With a sluggish hand, Devon wonderingly touched his lips, gingerly testing his cheeks and chin, which felt sore. How could this have happened? But it felt so damn good to have someone, anyone, there now… What the hell was wrong with him? Damn it, hand! Stop touching him! Yet it seemed to be a compulsion, more than anything, because he just couldn’t stop. In fact, it felt so comfortable he could just fall right back to slee…

Devon found himself being woken up in an extremely rude fashion sometime later, with his arm feeling like it was going to be wrenched out of the shoulder socket when Michael rolled away. Once his eyes opened, he could make out the blurry shape of one British actor hunkering on the corner of the bed, looking like he was going to pounce, and not in a good way.

Wait, a good way?

For a few long, tense moments, the two men merely stared at one another. Right until a jaw-cracking yawn overtook Devon, evolving into a cat-like stretch. There was a part of him that simply wanted to go with it, see what would happen. But… He wasn’t gay. Was he? No, definitely not. Which, of course, explained the quickening pulse and deep breathing, right? Certainly! So he did the only thing he could do.

Slowly climbing out of bed, and wincing with every sore muscle, Devon finally managed to make it to his feet. Frankly, he was feeling rather exposed in just a pair of briefs, but at least they were a dark solid color and could hide… well, almost everything, anyhow. Though there was an unspoken rule between men, and it was definitely spoken now. You just did not violate another male’s personal space like that, no matter how unintentionally the situation came about. A little protective bubble that only women were allowed to breach. But now… Jesus, he didn’t know what to think right now.

It took just a mere few steps to reach Michael’s side, and he had no damned clue what he was doing. It was just… He hadn’t shared a bed, literally and figuratively, with anyone since Sonnet… since Sonnet died. There, he could even think it now. Sometimes he missed her so much, but now—God, he was insane for even thinking this! Michael was her damned brother! But it didn’t stop his hand from reaching out, and before Devon realized it, his palm was brushing against the actor’s cheek, enjoying the way his prickly beard scratched his skin. What would it feel like elsewhere?

“I’m going to go shower…” The words popped from his mouth before his mind even registered the fact that he was speaking. Oh hell, his voice was low and husky! Was it an invitation? It definitely sounded like one. And it fukking felt like one as his thumb brushed Michael’s chin.

Pulling away before the man could feel him shake with anxiety – what the hell was he doing?! – Devon slowly turned and walked out of the bedroom and down the hall, drawing deep breaths along the way. Jesus, what was he going to do if Michael joined him in the shower? What the hell would he do if he didn’t?! But he left the bathroom door wide open and turned the shower on – what he wouldn’t give for multiple showerheads right now!

Carefully peeling off the jockeys and tossing the garment in a far-off corner, Devon gingerly stepped beneath the shower’s spray and slid the glass door almost nearly shut behind him. Right, he just needed a shower to cool off.

It didn’t stop his ears from straining to listen for the inevitable slammed door, though.

  • Everybody Ought to Have a MaidMichael Pierson, Fri Aug 25 18:41
    Alright, so the footsie idea had been a bad one. The first brush really had been an accident, he’d slid off one of his loafers to work out stress across his toes; something he could completely blame... more
    • Glass Doors — Devon Holmes, Sun Aug 27 00:54
      • No Day But TodayMichael Pierson, Sun Aug 27 12:14
        Oh, god. The moment Devon sauntered into the bathroom, Michael slid to the floor, legs too wobbly to reasonably support his weight. Flesh tingled everywhere that Devon had touch—no, he’d caressed.... more
        • Surprising at MarketHolmes at Large, Sun Aug 27 18:35
          Will I Lose My Dignity Will Someone Care Will I Wake Tomorrow From This Nightmare… Devon had to admit it, while being seated in the center section with a fantastic view of the stage, that Michael... more
          • Reviewing the Situation Pt 1Michael Holmes, Mon Aug 28 00:32
            How about our place… If you want? …stay over but I can't… I can't commit like… Hugh eased his head back around the corner, grateful his son and his son’s … friend hadn’t noticed his attempts at... more
            • Reviewing the Situation Pt 2Michael Pierson, Mon Aug 28 00:33
              Grazing. Wound. Conrad had actually shot his father. It didn’t matter that the bullet had only sped past without leaving any lasting damage, it wouldn’t have … Michael blinked, forcing himself to... more
              • AddendumsDevon Holmes, Tue Aug 29 01:00
                He could do this. No hyperventilating, don’t trip over the curb, and resist the urge to smack Michael on the ass when he walks in front of you like that. Hell, he wasn’t even really staring at the... more
                • EnlighteningCaleb Holmes, Tue Aug 29 13:30
                  “The only prints they’re going to lift off of that stuff are mine and those tourists,” Caleb grumbled, staring down at the forged cheques that he had managed to buy off of a few southerners the... more
                  • ParadoxHugh / Michael, Tue Aug 29 15:23
                    “He needs a lawyer.” Hugh had entered the residence some minutes behind his furious companion, quiet demeanor a stark contrast to the tall, currently raging man. Gently easing their note away from a... more
                    • NegotiationsHolmes at Large, part deux, Wed Aug 30 21:20
                      “He needs a lawyer.” Caleb frowned at Hugh’s words, and especially the ensuing explanation. It was most assuredly nothing he would have ever expected to hear coming from the life-long actor. Come on, ... more
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