Which was how he found himself, on one of his rare weekends off from filming, in fucking Nashville, Tennessee of all places, knocking on the front door of the house belonging to one Christian Kane. Because Jared had wheedled and cajoled and begged and threatened and done everything except go to his knees. Hell, he probably would have done that, too, except he'd been in Vancouver and Chad had been in Wilmington. Chad liked the idea of Jared owing him one, anyway. The screen door banged open and Chris strolled onto the porch, faded jeans slung low, in a sun-faded Sooner shirt that had holes in the collar and sleeve seams. It looked older than the house. His hair was pulled back into a loose topknot and the scruff on his face was a week old, at least. Didn't look like he'd showered the past few days, either. Normally steel blue eyes were bloodshot – but then, Chris wouldn't be Chris without a hangover. Even Chad knew that, and they weren't that close. "Well, well, what have we here," Chris drawled, leaning against the doorjamb. All he was missing was a piece of straw to chew on. "Murray, can't say I was expecting you." "Can I come in?" "Dunno. Can you?" Fine, they'd play it like that. Chad hadn't had a good knock-down in a while, anyway. He'd been busy lately, and fighting with Sophia these days was like fighting a kitten. He made a show of deliberately crowding Chris, heat against heat, when he brushed past him into the house. The living room looked like Monday morning after a Super Bowl party, complete with empty beer bottles and cans, pizza and chicken wings cartons on the floor, and a scattered line of clothing leading back down the hall. Chad wondered if Chris needed the trail. "Jesus, man, you ever clean?" Chris shrugged. His expression didn't change. "Maid's year off. If it offends your delicate sensibilities, you can always hightail it back to Carolina." "Why don't we pretend we're friends, and you offer me a beer instead." After a moment of silence, Chris shrugged again. "Yeah, why not. Gotten pretty good at pretending." He disappeared into the kitchen and came back a moment later with two Budweisers, dripping with condensation. Chad would be willing to bet money on beer being the only thing in the fridge. Chris pressed one into Chad's hand with a smile that dared him to say anything. Lucky for Chad, he grew up a Bud man, so he just saluted Chris with the bottle and took a long pull. At least it was cold. "So." Chris settled on the sofa, bare feet propped on the coffee table. "What can I do ya for?" Chad shoved Chris' feet out of the way, ignored the glare, and sat on the edge of the table. Seemed safer than sitting next to Chris. "Don't play dumb, man," he said. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here." "Fair enough." Chris squinted, head tilted as he studied Chad. "Lemme ask you something, Murray." "Chad." "Chad. You even know why you're here?" Because I'm a sucker for a Texas drawl and hazel eyes, Chad thought. He polished off his beer and set it on the table with a thunk. "Because Jared said you and the girlfriend were fighting." It was close enough to the truth. "Said Jen was all miserable and shit." "Alright, stop right there." Chris held up a hand. Chad could count the calluses. "You don't know, but Jensen fed Jared some story that he fed to you, and here you are, white knight, tryin' to patch it all up. That about right?" "I wouldn't call myself a white knight, but, yeah, I guess." Chris just smiled and shook his head. "Go home, Murray. This ain't your fight." "Maybe not." Definitely not, when it came down to it, but Chad was here now. May as well do the job and make the most of it. "You want a go at me anyway? You can pretend I'm Jen." The laugh was incredulous, low. "I'd tear you apart." "There's more to me than you think." Chris' derision was nothing new – Chad had been putting up with misconceptions about himself for a long time. Besides, in this case, it worked to his advantage. He stood, stripped off his shirt and necklace and stepped back, beckoning Chris with his hand. "C'mon, cowboy. Let's see what you're made of." Chris stared at Chad for another long moment – long enough for Chad to think that maybe he'd read this wrong – but then Chris stood himself. "Got a fucking death wish, you know that." His voice was full of admiration as he shrugged out of his own shirt, muscles rippling under what seemed like acres of bare skin. "Wouldn't be the first time anyone accused me of that." And, saying so, Chad took the initiative, going in head-first, butting into Chris' chest and knocking him off his feet. Chris took the brunt of it, air whooshing out of his lungs as he stumbled back, whipping out of the hold. They both circled, wrestler-style, looking for a vulnerable spot to pounce. The fight – if it could be called that – was short, messy, brutal, and was the best tension release Chad'd had in months. Chris crashed Chad into the coffee table, and Chad retaliated by shoving Chris into the entertainment center, both of them grunting and grappling. They were pretty evenly matched, despite Chris' claims to the contrary – what Chad lacked in weight, he made up for with his reach and sheer tenacity. And Chris fought just about how Chad had expected. Like a kid from the Mid-West with a chip on his shoulder, low and mean, but not dirty. It ended when Chris managed to hook a leg around Chad's ankles and send him crashing to the floor on his ass. Bolts of pain shot up his spine in a white-hot flash. He'd have felt like a bigger pussy about it, but Chris' lip was still bleeding, and a rather nice bruise was forming on his ribs. Chad knew he'd have one on his upper thigh to match it. Chad stayed on the ground, elbows on his knees, and concentrated on breathing. When he glanced up, Chris was haloed above him, chest and arms covered in a fine sheen of sweat, holding out his hand. "C'mon, now. I think I owe you a fresh beer." Chris' smile was wide, heartfelt, and just on this side of wicked. "Maybe a shot of Jack to go with." "In a minute." Chad took the offered hand and yanked Chris down. They both grunted when Chris landed on top of Chad, sprawling in a pile of arms and legs. Every place Chris touched him, Chad burned. Chad met Chris' puzzled look with a long stare, eyebrow raised, until Chris smiled again, and braced his arms on either side of Chad's head. Their mouths met each other halfway, the kiss messy and hard and exactly what Chad wanted. He could taste tobacco and beer when he slid his tongue into Chris' mouth, felt the rasp of stubble against his chin, and surged up, molding his lips to Chris' for another kiss. They were both short of breath when Chris lifted his head. "You sure?" It wasn't really a question, seeing as how Chris was grinding against him, denim rubbing against denim. "Shut up," Chad laughed, and pulled Chris back down again.
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