Author/pseudonym: Clotho & Cathy
Email address: clothomoerae@hotmail.com and huntersglenn@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Status: 8/8
Pairing: John Carter/Dave Malucci
Date: May 24, 2001
Archive: Not without permission. The story and its prequel, "Bottoms Up", can be found at Clotho's fanfic site http://home.talkcity.com/antennaav/fatespinner/ and at the Carterfics site http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Boutique/7087/
Category: "E.R."
Disclaimer: "ER" and all its characters belong to Warner Bros. No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure. We owe a huge "Thank you" to Alice and Melissa, our wonderful editors. We couldn't have done it without the two of you!
Summary: It's New Year's Day - the morning after the night before. Contains spoiler for Season 7.
"Sorry. Sometimes pain has that effect. I'm sure it will come back." John looked up at Dave, feeling even more confused by the concern he saw there. "I'm sorry. It's not you. It really isn't. It's me."
Yeah, sure it wasn't Dave. Dave shook his head, and then stepped out of the shower to look for a towel. There were a couple hanging over a rack in the ornate bathroom. Dave picked one up awkwardly - his fingers still feeling large and uncoordinated. "Okay, Carter. Can ya come out? It might be better if ya lie down."
John got to his feet and turned off the water, then stepped out of the shower. Dave was having problems with the towel, so John took it from him and started to dry his body, moving quickly because he could feel Dave's body shake. "You're shivering. I've kept you out in the cold too long. C'mon, let's get you back in bed." John wrapped the huge towel around Dave and led him to the bedroom, pushing him down on the bed and tucking him in. "I've got a kitchen to clean up, but I'll be back. Don't leave, okay?"
Dave hated that Carter left after sex. Just hated it. He patted the bed beside him. "Stay." He tried to think of a good reason for it. "I'll rub your back?"
The offer was tempting. Very tempting. And giving in to it would make Dave stay a bit longer. John nodded, then climbed into bed beside Dave. "That sounds good. Thanks for offering." John was still hoping that he could find a way to end up with Dave's cock inside him. So it didn't happen in the shower, but maybe it could happen after Dave rested a bit more.
Dave smiled. His fingers were still clumsy, but he'd do his best, maybe with the palms of his hands. The trouble was - what he wanted to do was curl up next to Carter, skin to skin. They'd already broken the post-sex skin contact, so it wasn't as total, but it still could be good. But rubbing a back was better than nothing, so Dave pushed his palms into Carter's back, and kissed him, wanting to make Carter feel good, but not so much better that he would get up and leave.
John sighed into the mattress as Dave's hands worked magic on his aching back. And the kissing --- God, that was going to undo him. How could Dave act so tender when he didn't really care? John closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the physical feelings. He would be much better off if he could ever learn to separate the physical from the emotional, the way Dave obviously had.
Dave wasn't too sure, but he thought that Carter had gone to sleep; his breathing was deep and even. He traced his hands down Carter's sides. He didn't know why or how Carter did this to him. He didn't know why he wanted to kiss and caress Carter's back. He didn't know why he wanted to lie close to him. He didn't know why Carter in the kitchen or shower was Carter too far away. It had never been like this after the other two guys he'd fucked. But then he'd never been fucked before - maybe that was the difference. Maybe having a guy stick his cock up your ass made you want him real close, and for him never to leave. But it hadn't been like this for those other two - or he didn't think it had been - they'd just pulled up their pants and walked away with barely a glance at him. Maybe it was a first time thing - you only ever wanted the first guy who did it to you like that, maybe you wanted the next two or three a little bit, but not so badly and it just wore off. Or maybe it never wore off, it always felt like this - and those guys hadn't glanced at him when they left because if they had then they'd have been crying and begging to spend the night with him. Maybe. He didn't know which would be worse - it being a one-time deal or being something that was always wanted and never happened. He ran one of his sausage fingers over the scars on Carter's back, then reached over to pull up the covers that had fallen off the bed and snuggled down next to Carter - on the side where his arm was by his side, not sprawling, so he could be as close to him as possible.
John felt Dave settle next to him. It had been so nice to feel Dave's hands caressing him, and yet he had to fight the urge to flinch away when Dave's fingers traced over his scars. This morning John had thought that Dave didn't want to be anywhere near his scars. This was all too confusing. John knew he was dealing with feelings that he had dealt with before -- but never with another man. He was in love with Dave Malucci. Had been in love with him for some time now, he just never had the courage to admit it to himself. It was too easy to hide his feelings behind teasing words. But when Dave had fucked him on the dance floor in the bar, John knew right then that he loved the man who was taking him. And it was breaking his heart to realize that his feelings weren't being returned. God, it had been hard enough when Anna hadn't loved him back, and they had never been intimate. Now that he knew so much about Dave's body, how could he ever be content to be just Dave's co-worker?
John sighed, then turned his head and found he was looking directly into Dave's dark brown eyes, eyes that held so many secrets. John wanted too much to ask Dave why he was there. What did he want to have happen with them? But he was afraid to ask Dave anything -- he had already found out that Dave didn't like having to answer questions. And the last thing John wanted to do right now was chase Dave away -- again. John rested his head on his folded arms and contented himself with just looking at Dave.
Dave saw Carter looking at him, and looked back. Carter had to know how it was - he'd been fucked for a first time too, once. He had to know how much Dave craved every pore of Carter's skin, every touch of his lips and fingers. And Carter was just looking, straight at him, eye to eye. To Dave's intense annoyance he began to blush.
John couldn't help but smile as he watched Dave's cheeks grow increasingly pink until they were red. He slowly moved one arm out from under his head and reached over to lightly caress Dave's cheek. Would this be the last time he touched Dave this way? John hoped not, but right then, he didn't want to assume too much. He wanted -- needed, really, for Dave to love him back. But that wasn't going to happen. So this short time would have to last the rest of his life. Every little touch, every caress, mattered so much.
Dave opened his mouth to accept the finger. He licked it, he suckled it, he nibbled it. He flung an arm over Carter's shoulders so he could get nearer, and pressed his body close to Carter's.
John found himself wishing that another part of his anatomy in that warm and wonderful mouth. But Dave giving him a blowjob was not something that would ever happen. Still, the image of Dave doing that for him and to him was enough to bring his cock to attention once more, but again, John didn't know what to do or say. So, as Dave draped his body over his, John remained still and silent, not wanting Dave to discover his erection. Damn it, all, John thought. He wanted so much for Dave to be inside of him and he simply wasn't up to dealing with Dave expecting to be fucked again. So, for now, they would both have to be content with just being close to each other.
Carter's body was stiff under Dave's arm, it didn't respond to his small movements. He wasn't turning toward Dave's body. He was still watching him as he played with his finger, not saying a word or doing anything. Dave let it drop from his mouth. Not responding. Not doing anything. Directly after they'd left the shower he'd talked of cleaning the kitchen. Dave would prefer to do almost *anything* than clean his kitchen. This had to be over. Dave dropped his face to the pillow - he didn't move, he still wanted to touch Carter, but he knew that the guy would be gone soon.
John brought his now freed finger to his own mouth and slowly sucked it, savoring the taste of Dave that lingered on it. He had to ask. He just had to. But he knew he shouldn't. Still..."So, what now?"
Dave shrugged into the pillow. "It's you who knows how this goes."
"I was asking what happens after this? What happens when you leave here, and we go back to work?" John regretted asking those questions the second they left his mouth. It sounded too much as if he were begging Dave for some sign of commitment.
Dave shrugged again. He was waiting for an arm to go about him, a hand to brush his hair, anything. He despised himself for waiting and wanting - that wasn't how one-night stands went. How was he supposed to know the answer to a question like that? He'd never done this before; he didn't know how it went. "Guessing: I leave here, and we go back to work." How was he supposed to work with Carter when the redwood had broken him in two, and then nailed him together differently?
John's heart started to break as he heard Dave's words. They had been what he thought Dave would say, but he had hoped and wished that Dave would have said something different. John nodded. "I guess I should try to find you some clothes so I can take you home. I'm not sure if I have anything that will really fit you. Except for maybe sweats -- and the leather pants -- they'll fit just about anyone, and I'll never wear them again, so someone should be able to get some decent use out of them, right?" But John couldn't bring himself to move out of bed to actually look for those clothes. He didn't want Dave to leave. Not now. Not ever.
Dave couldn't imagine walking into his building in those pants. His mind just didn't go there. But his mind didn't go anywhere out of this bed with Carter either. He couldn't imagine just getting up and walking away. Couldn't imagine not touching Carter, skin to skin and pore to pore.
And Dave didn't want it to end. He didn't want to have to put on those clothes and go home. He didn't want it to end. The idea shocked him. Not wanting it to end was seriously freaky. Dave shook his head. He really didn't know what to do. He rolled to the far side of the bed, and got out. "I'm goin' to make lunch. Want some?" Dave glanced at the gathering gloom outside the windows. "Dinner maybe?"
"No, but if you could manage to find some morphine or Vicodin or something like that, I'd like a bit." John replied as he sat up, thinking he was keeping his voice low enough so Dave couldn't hear him. He needed to be numb. John didn't want to have to deal with all the emotions whirling around inside of his head.
That got Dave's attention "What? I thought you said you weren't taking that shit anymore." He glanced down at the man in the bed - who still seemed to be in pain of some kind. "You withdrawing?" That could explain the earlier outburst of anger, the throwing. Dave frowned, remembering the casual way Adam had tried to feed Carter the drugs last night. "Shit. How long you been on them again?"
John shook his head. "No, Dave, I'm not withdrawing. Do you really think I'd risk my career for a few pills?" But hadn't he almost done just that on Christmas Day when he swallowed the Vicodin without thinking? But he had thrown them up, that's what counted. No matter what Abby said to the contrary. He *had* thrown them back up. And run to an AA meeting for reinforcement. "Just because I want it doesn't mean I'm taking it. Go and have dinner. I'll be right here when you're done."
Dave shrugged. "You did before." He repeated, "You usin' again?"
John turned to look at Dave -- slowly so he wouldn't aggravate his back. He held out his arms. "You see any track marks on me, Dave? Do you? The answer is 'no' because there aren't any to see. There aren't any pills hidden away in here, no syringes with leftover narcotics in them stuck under the bed in case I need a quick hit. This isn't about drugs or me wanting to feel numb. This is about you being the first person I've been with since Elaine Nichols that I've cared about. She ran away from me as fast as a jet to Europe could take her and you don't give a damn about me, either. Just give me time to deal with that, okay? Go have your dinner. By the time you're done, I'll probably be able to fuck you again and can pretend that I never loved you. Okay?"
Dave shrugged again. He hated feeling out of his depth - and right now he was lost. Maybe the guy should see a shrink. It was beyond him. There was one thing he could deal with though, he stepped forward quickly, and patted Carter on the arm. "I do like ya, bud." Then he rapidly backed off, "Sure 'bout dinner?"
John laughed. "That's a good one, Dave. You do like me? Well, if you ever do fall in love with a guy then he'll be damn lucky, because if you do all of this with a guy you only *like*, then it'll be something else when you fall in love, won't it?"
Dave didn't have a clue how to go about even beginning to answer that statement. He turned tail, and left the room, heading for the kitchen and dinner. Everything always seemed simpler after he had eaten.
John waited until he knew Dave was out of earshot and then he went into the shower again. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it and stepped in to let the spray massage his back and side. If only he could find something to take care of the pain in his heart then he'd be in great shape, he thought. The one relationship that he so desperately wanted, he was somehow managing to get totally wrong. Of course, it would be easier to have a relationship if Dave cared, but that was neither here nor there. John cared about Dave and Dave only 'liked' him. Fine. He would find a way to live with that. He didn't have a choice.
The more John thought about Dave and the time they had spent together, the more torn up he felt inside. He knew he had to get some emotional distance between him and Dave. That would mean that Dave needed to leave now. But would he want to leave? Hell, John sat down. He didn't *want* Dave to leave. But it was an immediate solution to the problem at hand.
John sat there under the hot spray suddenly surrounded by the memory of them making love in that very spot not so long ago. No, he corrected himself. We didn't make love. We fucked. It was just sex.
But he didn't do 'just sex'. John made love.
Dave didn't.
John nodded. He needed to take Dave home. Spend some time alone or something. Maybe go to a few AA meetings. They were better than being alone and thinking about Dave. Remembering his touch and the taste of his kisses. Or how beautiful Dave's face looked when it was transformed during his orgasms.
No. John didn't want to think about any of that. And he didn't want to think about how he would find a way to walk into work the next day and not react to Dave's presence.
Unless he didn't work his scheduled shift. He could call Weaver and ask to be put on a different shift for a bit. Avoid Dave totally until he could get things sorted out in his head. Until he could find a way to un-love Dave.
John turned off the water, then reached for a towel and quickly dried off. If he hurried then he could get dressed before Dave returned to the bedroom. But, God, how could he look into Dave's eyes and tell him that he wanted to take him home now? He knew that Dave would be hurt by that. But it couldn't be helped.
John stepped into his bedroom and dressed once more in the casual clothes he had put on earlier, then he started to look for some pants that might fit Dave. Maybe a pair of sweatpants? John was sure that Dave's shirt would be dry by now. Or close enough to it. If not, then John had sweatshirts Dave could wear. And if John ever got them back again then Dave's scent would be on them. If he couldn't have Dave, then he could at least have that small comfort, John thought.
******
Dave trotted down to the kitchen. He knew the way now. He'd get some food, and things would seem better. Maybe if he took some up to Carter too - got him to eat then Carter would start acting less strange. Maybe. It was a good plan of action though.
When Dave got to the kitchen he stopped. The place looked like a disaster area. There were pots on the floor. And a burnt pan spilling its blackened contents onto the island in the centre of the floor. There was a fried egg of all things sitting, unplated, on the table. And two plateloads of greasy breakfast, now stone cold. And a kicked over chair. It was a mess.
It was illuminated by cold red light coming through the window. The sun was setting on New Year's Day, and it looked like everything had ended. Dave flicked on a switch - substituting a warm yellow glow for the sunset.
He went to the table, and picked up a fried rasher of bacon, and ate it in his fingers - it was good. It would have been a very good breakfast - but they'd never got to eat it. He didn't have the heart to eat a second rasher.
He walked to the fridge, stepping over the pile of cookware on the floor. Inside he could see ham and cheese and other sandwich fillings, he got them out - but when he put them down on the island he saw the burnt pan.
He went to slice bread - he could make some sandwiches, and half a hundred old arguments that he'd heard skidded through his mind. The neighbours, his parents. Arguing and fighting and hitting and throwing things. He'd hated it.
He didn't want to be someone who threw things. He'd always said he'd never do that.
He didn't want to be someone who had things thrown at them either.
Dave cut the first two slices of bread with his thickened fingers and stared at them. He buttered the bread, put the ham and cheese inside them, then righted the knocked over chair and sat down. His ass ached when he sat.
Maybe Carter was on drugs again. Maybe he wasn't. Dave didn't know. He did know that whether Carter was or wasn't, Dave did not want things thrown at him. No how. No way.
Dave tried eating the sandwich. Things always seemed better after you'd eaten. It was a good sandwich.
But Carter had been talking about *love* after one night. Dave shrugged hopelessly. He wasn't gay. He didn't know how gay guys did things. But that seemed just unreasonable. He'd enjoyed it - maybe he'd even wanted more. But that didn't mean he wanted people yelling at him, and throwing things at him.
The sandwich was gone. Dave stood up and made another.
He thought of getting a plate, then looking around the room decided against it - they made potent missiles. A kitchen towel.
If Carter seemed reasonable, asked him to stay, maybe he would. If he didn't then Dave'd be out of there. There were lots of other people in Chicago he could fuck. So what if no one had ever fucked him like Carter had? In all the millions out there there had to be someone else who could.
Dave took the new sandwich in hand, and went upstairs.
******
Dave stopped for a second outside the bedroom door. He didn't know what was going to happen in there. He pushed the door open and entered.
Carter was there. He didn't look like an ogre. He looked dressed. Dressed? Dave opened his mouth then shut it, then opened it again. "I made you a sandwich."
John looked up from the drawer, a pair of black sweatpants in his hand. "Thanks, but you didn't need to do that. I'm not hungry." He walked over to the bed and put the pants on the covers. "I think those will fit you. If your shirt isn't dry then I can get a sweatshirt for you to wear home." John headed back to the chest of drawers to start looking for a sweatshirt to lend Dave. He didn't trust himself to get too close to Dave, not with Dave naked. John wasn't sure he could trust himself to get near Dave with Dave clothed, either, but he would deal with that later.
"Oh." Dave put the sandwich down on top of a scotch chest. "I'm...you're...?" He hadn't thought about this back in the kitchen.
"I had to cut your pants off of you, remember? You don't have any to wear home." John said, deliberately keeping his back turned to Dave. He didn't want to see Dave's eyes as those words sunk in.
Dave's face tensed up. He'd thought about maybe going home down in the kitchen. He hadn't thought about Carter throwing him out though. "Uh. Oh. What's the cab fare from here?"
"I'll drive you home, Dave." John found the sweatshirt that matched the pants he had put on the bed. He turned and saw that Dave had not yet started to get dressed. "This should fit you. Do you need anything else? Underwear or socks?"
"Nah." Underwear and socks were optional extras to Dave. "Um. Doin' anything in town?" He started to speak faster. "Ya could go to a meeting. Talkin' 'bout drugs 'n all."
"Yeah, they have meetings on holidays, so I thought I'd track one down. Then I've got to get back here and clean up the place before anyone gets back. Corrine will have a fit if she sees her kitchen looking the way it does now." John headed for the door. "I'll be in the kitchen starting on that. Come on down once you're dressed and ready to go, okay?"
Dave let out the start of a laugh. "She the one who gets to clean up? Shit yeah." But Carter seemed to be out the door. Dave looked at the clothes that Carter had put on the bed. They seemed ordinary - sweatpants and sweatshirt. No black lace-up leather. Ordinary, as if the last day had never happened.
Dave sat down on the bed, and pulled on first the sweatpants then the sweatshirt. They covered up his marks and bruises. The hickies Carter had given him. His asshole. The punch from Adam. Where he'd slid on the marble. All covered up - gone. He bent down to put his sneakers on. His fingers were still not working right, too thick. In the end Dave just shoved his feet into the footwear and didn't bother with the laces, they'd do.
As Dave left the bedroom to walk down to the kitchen he turned and took one last look at it. Carter. Him. Who'd have thought?
