FIC: Metal Frame & A Softail Ride

[paulacas]

Title: Metal Frame & A Softail Ride
        Title shamelessly stolen from CK Song, Blaze
Author: Paula H
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson
Rating: FRM
Summary: Prompt – on a steel horse I ride

 

Disclaimer: I don't own them. They belong only to themselves. This is a figment of my imagination and a work of fiction. I'm not making any money. 

http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/13296.html?thread=1749744#t1749744

 

 

He drew desert night air into his lungs, clearing whatever the crowd was smoking. Leaning against the building, he wonders what his manager was thinking when he booked this gig. 

Situated in the hills east of LA, the outside of the bar was ramshackle and weathered, but inside was modern as any Hollywood hot spot. The crowd was eclectic and it seemed nothing was taboo. 

He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when he walked in the door to see a guy at the bar getting a lap dance that would have scored a 5/5 on a porn site. 

“Be with you in minute.” The man waved his hand toward the stage area. “Help yourself.” He said before sticking his tongue down the young man’s throat writhing on his lap. 

Blushing furiously, he’d scurried toward the stage. Out of earshot of the sex show, he called his manager. He stopped ranting when he heard laughter on the other end. 

“Sorry. Guess I should have warned you. Ken’s is a very discreet, word of mouth only place. Anything or nothing goes.” 

“I’m singing here because?” Anger made his voice hoarse. 

“I owed Ken a favor. This squares us and gets you work. Everybody wins.” He soothed. 

“Explain to me again why I hired you?” He took a deep breath and let go his anger. 

“Because I’m making Steve Carlson a household name?” He teased. 

He’d thought he’d mentally prepared, but now he stood, head buzzing, dick half hard trying desperately to hold himself together long enough to get through the next two sets. 

The deep rumble of a powerful engine brought his attention from the argument with his body to the road. 

Steve watched from the shadows as a black Harley pulled in and parked under the floodlight. The rider removed the half helmet and shook his head. Long dark hair fell over his shoulders flashing copper in the powerful lights. He swung a leg over the bike and removed the thigh length duster and draped it over the seat. 

Half hard dick came to full attention as the short muscular body bent and twisted, stretching out road kinks. Black leather chaps accentuated the tight jean covered ass as the rider secured his gear and entered the bar. The singer shook out of his stupor and prayed for strength to not embarrass himself. 

He barely remembered what he played as eyes roamed the bar looking for the man in denim and leather. He finished the set and when he turned he met blue/grey eyes offering a beer. 

“Thanks man.” He took a drink to wet his suddenly dry mouth. 

“Wanna get some air?” The voice matched the rest of the man. Rough and smooth. Velvet and sandpaper. 

“Yeah.” Steve shivered when a hand landed on the small of back. 

The dark haired man lit Steve’s cigarette. “Chris Kane.” He offered a hand. 

“Steve Carlson.” A tingle ran along his nerves. 

They made small talk until time for the next set. Afterward, Chris helped him pack his equipment and haul it to the car. 

Suddenly shy, Steve ducked his head. When he looked up it was to a knowing smile on Kane’s face. Callused hands cupped his face and drew him in for the sweetest kiss he had in a while. 

Chris pulled away and walked to his bike. Coming back to himself, Steve called out. 

“Hey Cowboy.” 

A dark eyebrow raised in answer. 

“Follow me home?” Steve’s voice was breathy from the adrenaline zipping through his veins. 

A mischievous smile spread over the rugged face. “Follow you anywhere, sweetheart.” The dark voice growled. 

Steve leaned against the car watching, fighting to get his body to behave while Kane donned his riding gear, straddling the big bike. 

The phone ringing caused blue eyes to pop open, hand groping the nightstand. 

“What!” He growled. 

“Aren’t we cranky this morning?” The voice of his agent came down the line. 

“What do you want, Sean?” Steve looked at the stocky body pinning him to the bed. 

“I forgot to tell you, my buddy, was sending a client to the bar last night. Thought you two should meet. Some actor, singer, something. His name was,” The agent rambled flipping pages, “Christian Kane, and he’d looks like the Marlboro Man meets Harley Davidson.” 

Steve snorted at Sean’s description. “Yeah we met.” 

“So what’d you think?” 

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Christian chewed lightly on the closest nipple. Arching into the sensation, Steve’s voice was breathless. 

“I think we’ll get along just fine.” 

 

  

Comments

[deluweil.livejournal.com]

I love those times *grin*