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The Importance of Going Wilde

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  A good friend will always stab you in the front.

                                                         --Oscar Wilde



 It was the 5th or 6th take when Santino decided to change the line from “...and I want to fork” to “...and I want to fuck” and David decided he’s had enough of the smug little bastard. It was supposed to be an hour--two hour tops--thing to promote the show, but the day wears on and  David wants to punch that smirk off Santino's face every time he looks the coy slut delivering his lines with pursed lips and raised eyebrows, but, and maybe this is the wine they had both agreed they wouldn't actually drink while filming talking, but he'd never once noticed how tight Santino's pants are in all their dress rehearsals. And he enjoys that view a great deal--so much he wants to pull him close and then shove that smirking face away, shove him over the bar, the arm of a chair, and tear those pants away no matter how furious the costume department will be with him.

Santino leans against the bar, lazy and inviting, and adjusts his cravat, running his hand deliberately over the sore spot where David had shoved him up against the wall earlier, yelling at him about "cues" and "marks" or something stagelike. He wasn't even listening; couldn't listen while trying to tame an erection that would surely show through the tight trousers even if he’s sure someone noticed, because it wasn’t long after that the director called for a wholly unexpected long lunch and even the bartender mumbled something about needing more Drambuie and how he was going to Queens to get it.

David's eyes follow Santino's fingers, widening when he let out a little moan as he massages the sore spot.

David swallows and Santino quirks an eyebrow. It was no wonder they'd chosen David for this play, this role. He could be so deliciously uptight. And strong, and repressed, and sexy without even trying. Innocent and befuddled and so honestly turned on by everything Santino did that Santino sometimes felt a little guilty for teasing him.

But only a little, and not even that now as what he'd been doing is *finally* occurring to the man, and the anger in his expression only lasts for a moment.

Santino smiles and it's slow and knowing and it's genuine and it's also driving David slowly out of his mind, but he's frozen with something that could be called fear if he chose to name it, even though Santino has issued an open invitation.

It’s someone's body that moves forward, he's certain of it, but it takes that split second to realize it’s his own, and Santino's clever, graceful hands spread out over his chest. A moment beyond that, a moment of his own shocked, heavy breathing, and he feels the buttons on his day coat being slid free.

"You know...they say that two actors' chemistry goes to shit after they sleep together." It's a stupid thing to say to fill the silence. Santino leans in close, nose to nose.

"I guess it's a good thing we have no love scenes, then." He kisses David and it's soft and wanting and he can taste the wine on his lips.  David pulls back in surprise, blinking and confused but also completely turned on. He absentmindedly touches his fingers to his own lips, never looking away from Santino.

“Good?” For once the little shit looks something far less than confident.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s good.” David knits his eyebrows together. He would have done this ages ago if he had know it would knock the great Santino’s world off-kilter like this. He can feel his breath still and David wants more, wants to shock him more, but clever Santino isn’t out of tricks yet.

“Oh, David. You have no idea the Situation you’re about to get in.” David wavers between wanting to rip the smirk off or swallow it whole, but Santino is staring at him with a cocked eyebrow and daring him to make the next move and David smartly chose the latter.

David knows he's fucked even if he gets his way and is the one actually doing the fucking. Santino straightens to meet David's lips and the he takes control and makes this his own--tongue frenzied and hands gripping David's arms and David wants to win , damn it, so he pushes back and they wrestle for control and, God, they both like the struggle.

David has the advantage of height and presses Santino against the bar. And Santino lets him. He's an actor. He can play the submissive.

David knows he's not really winning, but it feels so good to drag the little bastard into his dressing room and shove him to his knees and Santino isn't acting when David lifts up his chin and Santino moans as he sucks on his fingers.

David threads his fingers through Santino’s hair and yanks his head back--hard. He doesn’t have time for stupid bimbos.

“Fuck!” Santino cries out and hearing him swear only makes David harder and if he doesn’t find release soon he thinks (melodramatically, of course. This IS theatre, after all) that he might, in fact, die before they finish filming.

He can feel Santino’s fingers drag across his erection as he unbuttons his trousers. David’s breath hitches and he tightens his grip on Santino’s hair as warning that if he doesn’t intend to finish this, he better let him know right the hell now. Santino gets the hint and frees David’s cock from its restraints. He licks his lips and swallows David down as far as he can go. No teasing, no build-up, like he knows David won’t be able to function without this, like he knows that it’s all his fault and he needs to address the situation personally. David struggles to stay still enough so he won’t choke the tiny psycho, but each time a moan escapes and Santino makes an attempt to go deeper, he falters and pushes forward and he apologizes between breaths, occasionally managing only a syllable or turning it into a hiss, but Santino seems to like it, keeping pace with David’s thrusts and never complaining. David looks down to see Santino looking up at him with wild eyes and he wants to lock his hands around his head and hold him there like that until he comes, and getting David to come NOW--fast and messy--seems to be Santino’s only coherent thought.

He can feel his tongue swirl around him all hot and needy, parrying every hip thrust like an expert and David should care that he never pegged Santi as having done this before and he’ll kick himself later for not seeing how damned obvious it’s always been, but Santino flattens his tongue against the head and David suddenly passes the point of no return and he knows beautiful release is on its way.

He tugs on Santino’s hair and tries his damnedest to let Santino know he’s at the end, but Santino bats his hand away and instead caresses David’s balls and it’s, fuck, amazing.

David stifles his cry when he comes, not knowing if the crew has come back and is roaming the halls outside. He bites his lip and watches Santino take all of him and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and David wants to lick it off and taste himself on Santino’s lips and Santino finally, finally, breathes again, letting David slip from his mouth and it’s now that David notices somehow, sometime, Santino had unfastened his own trousers and he is obviously hard and ready for some kind of reciprocation.

David pulls Santino up and kisses him, reaching for his cock and feeling its warmth in his hands. Santino breathes in, eyes never leaving David’s and his breath is so ragged David thinks he may have found the only way to bring Santino down a few notches.

“Tell me how I can come, David. Tell me what you’re going to do to make me come. I want you to tell me.” And David knew what his voice did to the ladies, but never what it did for Santi. He cups his chin and kisses him once more before making his way to his ear, letting his lower lip catch on Santino’s stubble as he goes and each swipe of his tongue across sweaty skin elicits another soft moan that David wants to make him top, make him moan louder, lower, make him cry out and swear and God, just the contradiction of his co-star dressed in propriety but swearing like a sailor makes him want to lose control and rip his clothes off piece by piece in the most naughty way possible.

“You’re going to make yourself come, Santi. I’m going to watch and tell you what I want to see you do. How fast or slow I want you to go. How loud I want you to come. Got it?”

Santino nods and swallows thickly. David takes Santi’s hand and places it on his cock. “Stroke yourself, Santi.” His voice is low and demanding and Santi does as he’s told. David steps back to get the best view and Santino’s eyes are already rolling up into the back of his head.

“Not yet. Slow it down a bit.” As much as he wants to watch, as much as he likes to watch, he doesn’t want Santi to win.

Santino groans at the effort of slowing down, but dutifully obeys as he screws his eyes shut and leans in to rest his cheek on David’s shoulder. David pushes him back so he can watch the beautiful reactions on his face as he strokes himself. Santino grips the back of David’s neck with his free hand and he knows the skin is turning red and scratched, but still David leans back into it like he needs it.

“Are you ever going to tease me again, Santi? Are you going get me turned on and frustrated and then walk out like you do? Or are you going to let me fuck you next time?” He hopes it’s cheating to whisper low in his ear. “You have no idea how many nights I had to go home and jerk off after rehearsing with you, Santi. No idea how hard I wanted to fuck that grin off your face today filming. Looking coy and so satisfied with yourself. Did you know how hard you were making me even pretending that you wanted to fuck?”

Santino strokes to the sound of his voice, eyes closed, flushed, and every passing second it’s more beautiful than the last and David can hear the tremendous effort it’s taking to answer his question.

“Wasn’t pretending....” David can’t resist the urge to help Santino with his task, wrapping his hand around Santino’s and feeling sweaty, slick fingers and velvety softness underneath. He gently moves his hand to replace Santino’s and begins stroking him and Santino begins to fall apart, breath hitching and smirk nowhere on his face.

David doesn’t want to to torture the kid too much longer. He speeds up, firms his grip, and the small moans escaping from Santino’s lips get louder, more animal-like.

“Like it, Santi? This is how I make myself come after a day dealing with you. This is how I imagine you touching me. I imagine making you come, too. You’re going to show me if my fantasy lives up to the reality. Show me what you look like, Santi. Let me hear what it sounds like. Come on, Santi.” And when he stops talking, he can just hear the strained whimpers and the sound of slick flesh on flesh in between ragged intakes of breath and it’s everything he imagined it would be and suddenly Santino’s crying out, shaking, kneading David, and warmth spreads across David’s hand as Santino throws his head back, biting off David’s name.

Santino comes down like he climbed up--smiling and coy, but now flushed and wrecked and absolutely--”Beautiful,” breathes David. “Just like I thought.”

He kisses Santino and glances at the clock on his wall. “Damn. Our lunch break is over. we have to get back out there. I have to do 12 variations on ‘stumpy bastard’ and you, Santi, have to say endless variations on ‘jerk off.’ I’m not quite sure what effect that will have on me. Are you willing to meet me at my place tonight to find out?”

Santino zips up his trousers and adjusts his cravat. He’s still flushed and his hair is a wreck and anyone who sees him walk out of David’s dressing room will know exactly what they have been up to and he’s got to get back into his Jersey Shore Gone Wilde persona quickly to avoid filming into the night so he can find out exactly what effect it will have on David, so he runs a hand through his hair and pulls David close to whisper in his ear, posh English accent back on, “Pickles is my thing.”