dontcallmedavey:

Neil’s imitation was poor- didn’t sound a thing like him- and Dave’s eyes rolled, “Really, Carter- what are we? In Junior Hi-iiigh— shit!” The wild and obviously intentional yank of the car into the next lane had Dave gripping the handle to the door all the tighter. His knuckles went white and he whirled around- hand still securely gripping to the door for all he was worth- eyes wide and slightly wild, “Are you fucking insane, Carter?!” Asshole did that on purpose, just to give him a freaking heart attack. His heart was thudding hard against his ribcage- threatening to beat right out of it- and he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. And rid himself of the irritation that flooded him. “Asshole. That wasn’t funny.” Car rides in general had grown difficult for him to handle- cabs made him sick for more than just the atrocious smells. And Neil’s driving would have been more than nerve-wracking for Dave before the accident. Now? Well. It was a wonder he hadn’t pissed himself. 

‘Almost there- yeah.’

Almost there became ‘there’ in a matter of seconds and Dave sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever God was listening- whatever God had kept his bladder in check and saved their necks from reckless driving. The car slid into park and when Neil shut it off, Dave honestly feared that the entire heap of metal was going to shudder and collapse in on them. But it didn’t. The tension in his body slowly relaxed as the rattling of the car stopped and he exhaled slowly, turning to face Neil. The line between his brow creased and his head tilted slightly at the unreadable expression on his face, “What?”

Neil leaned forward and he felt himself guided to face Neil- the two of them hovering over the center console. Neil’s breath was warm against his lips and a certain thrill ran through him, his eyes flickering from the slightly chapped lips up to the impossibly blue eyes, his tongue swiping nervously across his own bottom lip just moments before Neil’s lips were against his in a rough kiss. His hand automatically lifted, cupping the side of Neil’s face, his thumb swiping across the soft skin under his eye as he felt Neil shift. The hand left Neil’s face- moving to the lever that would lean the seat back just as Neil’s slight frame settled in his lap. The teeth that drug at his lip pulled a low sound of contentment from the back of his throat and his hands lifted- itching to touch, to memorize every part of Neil just because he could. 

“Yeah- sure— take your time,” he murmured a little breathless, one hand settling on Neil’s hip, holding him there against him and the other slowly moving down Neil’s spine. His fingers traced the slight bump of each vertebrae through the dark t-shirt, splaying against the span of his lower back, pressing him closer as his tongue swiped across Neil’s bottom lip, asking for entrance. His mind flickered back to the theatre, knowing that in a matter of moments, Neil would snap back to his senses and stop what they were doing and God, he didn’t want him to. His fingers gripped the fabric of the shirt, bunching it in his fist, his thumb moving to lightly caress the exposed skin of Neil’s hip- tracing nonsensical designs across the smooth skin, dipping past the waist band to caress the hollow of his hip.  

Dave was Dave. Dave was David. David Harris, who- in a world where trust was something needed in a relationship- was untrustworthy. What had he done to gain Neil’s complete and utter trust? Something that was especially signed, sealed, and delivered by Neil himself- had David really ever done something that proved worthy in any light?

Perhaps. But, Neil didn’t like to think so.

So, he instead focussed all his concentration and thoughts and- well- desires into the kiss. Alright, so it had been a while. A long while. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Because he did. He very much enjoyed that certain little fling he had had with his assistant stage manager. That was fun- a lot of fun. 

But God, did David kiss better.

Neil felt as if his skin were buzzing with electricity, each of the kisses and the touches shocking him, sending jolts through him- currents of heat and pangs of want and- fuck yes, the smallest caresses were the best. ‘Yeah- sure— take your time,’ David’s fingers traced curling patterns on his skin and crawled up and down his back, blunt nails peeking through the thinness of the shirt, causing his skin to rise with goosebumps.

The shirt was pulled and tightened and Neil scooted himself closer, shifting to make himself comfortable, to make it possible to feel- just- a little more of the body beneath his. This was good. Great, even. A release- as tiny as it was. A small, small release to let out the frustrations. The things that he’d felt, himself caring about this bumbling idiot, this fuckass (he didn’t notice himself mumble the word as he kissed him,) with the soft blond hair and the usual stench of liquor on his tongue, this asshole with the rough hands and talent in stagecraft, this narcissistic douche bag that deserved to be punched in the God damn face.

Fucking hell.

Neil moved his hands, previously fisting the David’s hair, to cup at his face, thumbs caressing at his cheeks for half a moment before his hands changed locations once more, sinking down, down, down to David’s chest, resting by his collarbones. His fingers crooked and gripped at the dark shirt, “Fuck,” he muttered, gulping thickly and separating his lips from David’s. Their foreheads touched and he closed his eyes, grip on the shirt slacking as he softly let out a breath, beginning to pant.

“Sorry.” 

The word came after a long pause filled with not much thought. A replay of the night, screencaps and images of how it went- the break down, the show, and its aftermath- flipped through his brain, and he sucked in a breath, “Sorry,” Neil repeated, not moving from his position, his forehead still leaning against David’s, his eyes still closed.

(Source: neilbeforethestagemanager)

dontcallmedavey:

His hand gripped the door handle, the handles to the plastic bags hanging from his wrist, and he paused for the briefest moment. In reality, it couldn’t have been longer than half of a second before his hand pulled on the handle and the door swung open, but in that half of a second, a thousand and one thoughts ran through his mind. What was he doing? What was this- David Harris didn’t do this. He didn’t press co-workers against the wall and kiss them only to turn around seconds later and agree to grab dinner and watch a movie and said co-worker’s house. He just didn’t do this. He could run. But what was he going to do with the food? Should he leave it or run with it— you’re being ridiculous, Harris, get in the damn car. 

He slid into the seat, placing the bags at his feet and mumbled something about the rice— what, the rice there was really good. Very few Chinese places managed to crack out fried rice that didn’t taste like pure vegetable oil. And Dave would know- he had practically drug Tommy across all of New York looking for the perfect place solely for fried rice. Neil snorted and Dave shrugged. It was fine. Neil would thank him when he got a mouthful of it. The shit was good. Out of the corner of his eye, Dave caught the motion of Neil pulling on his seatbelt and quickly scrambled to get his on before Neil slammed on the gas pedal, jerking them out into the line of traffic. Dave’s heart was back to pounding a million miles a minute and he was thanking every god known to man that Neil didn’t live too far from the Theatre. He wasn’t sure just how much more of this sort of insanity his heart could take. Wouldn’t that be a riot— young man dead of heart attack. And Neil would be at fault and the bastard would probably laugh at him for going out in such a manner. 

God, why was he doing this again? His mind flashed back to the heated kisses backstage. Oh; right.

‘What did you fucking get anyway.’

The demand in Neil’s tone was not lost on Dave and he turned to look at him, irritation flashing across his expression before he shook his head. Asshole could just wait until they got back to his apartment. Seriously, it was what— a few blocks? He had to know right at that very moment? ’If you got shit with the-‘ A blonde brow raised almost in a challenge. If I got the what? What are you going to do? There was a brief pause as Neil seemed to think it over before a mumbled, ‘Fuck, forgot the word’ fell from his lips. Dave’s lips tilted up almost smugly, the thought of, Yeah, that’s ri— being cut off by the way Neil’s foot seemed to glue itself to the floor. His hand instinctively flew out, gripping the door until his knuckles went white, wondering how much longer until the two arrived at Neil’s apartment. Surely not long— not with how Neil was driving anyway.

‘But what the fuck did you get- and what the- what do you want to fucking watch- when. Yeah.’

“I got food, Neil- be happy with that.” Of course he wouldn’t be. A hand ran through the feathery blonde strands; he wasn’t really sure what all he had got. A little bit of everything, he was sure. Normally when he ordered take-out, he ordered enough to feed a small army. They knew him there and they knew what to expect. He stopped paying attention to what went into the buckets aside from the rice after a while. Then there was the question of what they were to watch. And suddenly it was like Dave had never watched a movie in his entire life because that was the only explanation as to why he couldn’t recall one movie title. He opened his mouth to suggest something- what, he had no idea- only to have his mouth shut almost audibly, the line between his eyes creasing. There was a fine line with movie suggestions. What if suggesting the wrong title made it more than just two guys hanging out? Your tongue was in his mouth. This is obviously more than just hanging out. But admitting that- accepting that he was willingly going on a date without expecting sex at the end- was something Dave wasn’t quite sure he was ready for. Not just yet. That would come with time. Or. Not. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen in the morning. How all of this was going to look in the light. 

“Shit, I don’t— it’s your place. I don’t know what you have in terms of movies.” Lame excuse but at least then the responsibility of choosing between a ‘date’ or a ‘non-date’ movie wasn’t on his shoulders. He cleared his throat, the grip on the door handle relaxing the tiniest bit, “Almost there, right?”

The thing was, Neil had never been good with people. He never had the experience and never had the drive to gather said experience, no matter the fact that he dealt with people- and emotions, however over-dramatised and fake they were- on a daily basis. The extent of his knowledge was that humans had two states of being: numb and  annoyed. Yes, yes- those were merely based on his own emotions, but still. What was knowledge if not gathering one’s own intel. And which intel was best? His own.

Sure, in high school he’d been flustered at times- around the people that he was very, very interested in and very, very horny for. But that hadn’t been something that he actively felt since then. All his focus and determination had been turned to school and his internship- keeping his head screwed on right and tight and not letting his gaze waver over anyone’s  ass. Eyes on the prize, Carter, eyes on the prize.

But- he’d never freaked out so badly before a show, either. Then again, that was the first time his Assistant Stage Manager had ever not been there opening night of a show that had been completely and utterly sold out. How exactly was he supposed to handle that easily and without any heads up? How? He wasn’t. And- that was the thing. 

And- all of that. His inability to communicate properly with normal people and deal with emotions and the shrill voices of those he worked with. Mark being sick. The show being sold out and completely amazing. Lead up to him kissing the every living fuck out of David. Benjamin. Harris- who annoyed him to hell and back again, manwhore extraordinaire, and incompetent fool who just so happened to know how to work lights well enough and be there at the time of Neil’s little… Freak out.

Good God damn, he wanted to kiss him again.

‘I got food, Neil- be happy with that.’ Right. Right. He was in the car with David. Small enclosed space. With David. Who turned out to be an alright kisser. He cleared his throat and repeated the blond’s words with the best worst imitation of him he could conjure up, ending the phrase with a rather eloquent fuck you, Harris, as and finishing it all off by violently shifting lanes and quickly turning left- if only to freak David out. A little.

“Almost there- yeah,” he chewed on his lip and within seconds, reached his building, parking quickly and turning the car off immediately, going through the movies that he owned as fast as he could, getting distracted by David multiple times, fucking hell. Shit. Fuck. Okay. Breathe. S’just Dave. Asshole Dave. Asshole Dave.

Who he very much wanted to kiss another time.

And he did.

He swallowed and leant over the middle, moving David’s face so that they were looking at one another. Neil paused, just for a moment, and tilted his lips against David’s roughly, his hands pushing back to rid David’s face of the blond strands, his body twisting and his legs coming up, helping him crawl over into David’s lap. Alright- so he was desperate. But just a little. “Just one more,” he mumbled, biting his lip and pressing theirs together once again, pulling it and kissing him deeper, “Done in a sec,”

(Source: neilbeforethestagemanager)

◥

redvelvetifyouplease ASKED

…With who.

dontcallmedavey:

Dave relaxed back against the seat of the car, his fingers drumming on the interior of the door. He turned to look at Neil, his head cocked slightly to the side in question. It was like Neil hadn’t even heard him speak and Dave opened his mouth to repeat himself— very politely, as well, unlike Neil would’ve since Neil hated repeating himself- when the car lurched forward violently as Neil sped through a yellow light. Dave’s hand gripped the door and his face went white and Oh Jesus Christ Almighty, his heart was pounding violently, threatening to beat right out of his chest as Neil surpassed most of the traffic, settling back into the natural flow. His knuckles were white— one hand gripping his own knee in a vise grip and the other clinging to the door. After all, he had been afraid it would fall off just by him opening. How much more was it likely to fall with Neil driving like a bat out of hell?

‘Now what did you say?’

Dave swallowed, his grip still tight on the door, “I- uh- food. Food and a movie. At your place.” It was at that moment that Neil decided that the car was too quiet and started to fiddle with the radio. The FM station was obviously not to his liking and he pulled down the visor, eyes leaving the road to scan CD titles. Dave felt his stomach drop and his hand reached out to grab the steering wheel— Fucking idiot is going to get us killed. His hand felt like it was being held over an open flame, touching the leather of the wheel and in all actuality, it didn’t take more than a brief second for Neil to make his music selection and stuff it into the stereo. Once Neil’s eyes were back on the road, Dave retracted his hand, his face burning slightly at how he had reacted, only to be chased away when Queen filled the small car. His mouth twitched upwards, the embarrassment from his mini-freak out forgotten. Alright, so Neil’s music didn’t totally suck. At least, not yet. 

‘Yeah. Dinner and… A movie. At. My place.’

When he said it like that, it sounded very much like a date and not just two co-workers who happened to have been making out just mere moments before grabbing grub. Dave waited for the familiar unease to creep in his chest at the thought of a real date without the promise of sex and never seeing each other again. Neil jerked the car in front of another person. And Dave waited. And waited until Neil’s voice pulled him from his waiting thoughts:

‘Tell me where the closest Chinese place is.’

Dave’s mind was still wrapped in waiting for the panic and the excuses and the overwhelming urge to run to answer him right off. His head shook slightly, a hand reached up to run fingers through the feathery blonde strands, pausing to scratch behind one ear. “I- uh- there’s a place about… fiiiive blocks from here?” The actual distance escaped him but Dave knew it wasn’t far from the theatre. Tommy had met him there for lunch a few times— it was cheap and not bad as far as Chinese food could go. And it was casual enough for two co-workers who were just picking up take out. On their way back to one of their apartments. To watch a movie. And enjoy dinner. Just a celebration of opening night. Nothing more. Nope. He cleared his throat, the thought of waiting for his panic gone from his mind, “Pretty good sweet and sour chicken. And not bad fried rice.” 

They were simple enough directions to follow, Dave thought, and soon they pulled over in front of the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Dave ran in quickly— no need for Neil to get out, Lord knew that the second he turned the car off, the damn thing would fall to pieces right there in the street- returning a few minutes later with a plastic bag filled with the take-out containers. Sliding back into his seat and pulling the door closed behind him oh-so-carefully, the bag was placed between his feet and he reached for the seatbelt, shooting Neil a sheepish look and a small shrug, “I really like their rice here.”

It slipped Neil’s mind- the fact that David would naturally feel uneasy in the confines of a rickety care like the one he owned. The whole accident had happened less than three months before and- what with his horrible drinking, it was only completely obvious that it bothered him so. David grabbing the steering wheel, though, didn’t please Neil in the slightest. Eunice was his car and his car only. If anyone was going to drive her, it was going to be him— no one else.

But. Just that once, he spared him. Just once. That was it. 

Just once.

‘I- uh- there’s a place about… fiiiive blocks from here?’

Ah. The Chinese place. Right. “Alright,” he murmured, lips pursing and mind pushing all hints of that whole happenstance being a date away. Because, well, it wasn’t. He was Neil and the person next to him, in the passenger seat of his car, was David Harris- a boy notorious for sleeping with people and disappearing before morning light. He didn’t date. And, well, neither did Neil. Such things happened when one was as married to his job (‘job’ was debatable. Internship. Alright. Fine,) as he was. He loved it. He did.

‘Pretty good sweet and sour chicken. And not bad fried rice.’ Neil didn’t really acknowledge that statement— back to his thoughts which David was so rudely interrupting.

Sacrifice of personal relationships with people was something he didn’t bother with. That was simple. Who needed a vast circle of friends when they were as busy as Neil?

So dating was out of the question, and rightfully so. The majority of the people he knew, either way, with the exception of Derek and Annalie (who he didn’t like in that sort of way,) were idiotic, crass in a way he had no patience for, and generally smelled bad. David was pretty much the embodiment of annoyance.

Even so, Neil listened to his directions while simultaneously pushing their mind-blowing kiss from the confines of his memory bank. Forget it, Carter. Forget it happened. He’s a shit kisser anyway. “Right here?” He asked, immediately jerking the steering wheel to the right and going down the street, seeing the restaurant’s bright neon sign. “Here, yeah?” Neil mumbled, already stopping and parallel parking as well as he could- sloppy, that was.

David bolted from the car before Neil could make a move to even fully turn the metal hunk off. He sighed, frowning and letting the feeling of being abandoned settle as he sunk into the seat. Neil’s eyes followed David into the restaurant and, once more, he sighed, turning away and glaring blatantly at the car parked before him, wishing he could make it blow up. His hands crept up the steering wheel and his fingers drummed on the round edges, body straightening up and lips parting to give himself a pep talk.

“Alright, Carter,” he began, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. “This is Dave,” he mumbled, letting himself use the nickname, “Dave. Just Dave. We’re friends. Friends.” Not that he needed the reassurance. They were friends. They were classmates and students together, co-workers, and- yes- friends. Yes? Right? Well, “Fuck,” Neil muttered, leaning his head forward and accidentally honking the horn, “Fucking hate everything,”

His self-pep-talk lasted longer than he realised. Neil delved into the idea of possibly, maybe, slightly liking David as something more than a friend, but he immediately discarded the thought. David? As a boyfriend? That was hilarious— really, he laughed. “Just the kissing,” he grumbled, leaning away from the steering wheel and pushing his hair out of his face, tugging at the ends and sighing, jumping slightly when David got back into the car.

Neil turned to him, expression one of suspicion and distrust, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, raking his appearance. “Didn’t even see you get out of the restaurant,” he mumbled, sitting up correctly and turning the car on, “You sure left in a hurry,” he mumbled, waiting for the car to heat up.

His blue eyes watched David’s movements carefully and set into a glare when David’s lips part (fuck god damn he has nice lips god damn can I kiss them again—) and words come out, ‘I really like their rice here.’ Neil sneered and let out a snort, putting his seatbelt on and turning back to the steering wheel, putting the car into drive and checking his side mirror, pulling out onto the street and speeding off, “What did you fucking get anyway.” The words didn’t come out as a question, more as I demand to know you fucking fuckass if you got something nasty I swear to fuck I will slaughter you.

Honestly, the people who said Neil was high-strung? Liars, the whole bunch.

“If you got shit with the-” Neil paused to think, stopping the car at a red light and sighing. He shook his head, forgetting the idea, “Fuck, forgot the word,” he mumbled, pressing on the gas when the light turned green, “But what the fuck did you get- and what the- what do you want to fucking watch- when. Yeah.” He gulped, fingers thumping on the steering wheel. This isn’t a date. It isn’t. Really. It’s just. Two friends.

(Source: neilbeforethestagemanager)