Work Text:
Five fucking months.
Five months of laughs and touches and fucking fucking and after all that, after all that time spent together, after years and years of knowing Brad, he'd still fucking fallen for it. The whiskey burned his throat as he took one last swig and saw the rest of his friends out. The mood had turned sour after he'd had his little victory, as the reality of what Brad had done settled in, cold and sharp around his heart. I do like you. Yeah, sure.
David turned back to where Brad was still sat at the dining table. He had his head in his hands. He should've left. David should've kicked him out, really, should have done that the second it had become clear he was once again a pawn in some ridiculously complex scheme Brad had cooked up. He already had Dana's game, after all, had gotten it the moment Jo sent that photo. But he wanted the extra humiliation, had wanted to beat him at his own game. Had wanted Brad to understand, to know what it felt like. To be betrayed.
He walked over to the table so he could look at Brad properly. The other man raised his head. His eyes were cold, empty. He looked like his entire soul had left his body. Kick him out, his mind screamed at him, but—David remembered all the times he'd looked at him in these past five months, all the times Brad had smiled at him, his nose crinkling in that way David loved, all the times he'd lingered after poker, had touched him, slender hands sliding across his body.
Jesus, man. Five fucking months. Longer than that, really, if fucking him at the murder-mystery party had been part of it. If the threesome had been part of it. Fuck. Fuck.
"Aren't you gonna kick me out?" Brad said, his voice almost bored. It was a mask, David knew. He'd seen the horror in his eyes when David pulled out the photo. But no, he wasn't gonna kick him out. Not until he had some answers.
"When did you start this… this game?" David asked.
"What game?"
"This!" David said, gesturing wildly between the two of them. "This whole thing! Fucking me, pretending to be my friend! When did you decide you wanted to get Dana out of her contract?"
Brad stared at him. "I didn't fuck you to get her out of her contract."
"You told Ian—"
"I told Ian I had a plan worked out, yeah. Fucking you wasn't part of the plan."
David scoffed, disbelieving. "Right. It was just a nice little extra, was it? You thought, I might as well do that too? Really get him under my thumb."
"No, I—" Brad sighed, rubbed his face. "I wasn't thinking that at all."
"Oh, sure. And I'm supposed to believe that? After nearly half a year of you pretending?"
"David." Brad stood up. "You beat me. Can we just move on, forget about the whole thing?"
"No, actually," David said, walking over to him, his blood coming to a boil, "no, we can't." He stopped mere inches from Brad, saw him flinch slightly, but he didn't back down. Fuck making him uncomfortable. Fuck all of this. This whole wretched charade. "Why fuck me? Why say you like me, and then do all this?"
Brad was quiet for a moment. "I do like you," he said finally, so softly that David barely heard him. For a split second, it wasn't Brad who was standing there, but just some sad little boy. For a second, David thought about backing off.
"Then why not just ask me to void the contract?" he said, exasperated.
"You would never have said yes."
"You don't know that."
"I do," Brad said, and his voice was cool again, that little boy gone, "because I wouldn't have said yes. Because that would have been a stupid financial decision. And you would never have said yes out of the goodness of your heart, because that's not who you are anymore."
His gaze met David's, and it was steely, calculating, so like the Brad he'd known years ago, before this whole mess. The Head of Monetization was back in full force. Still, this time David would not wither under his stare.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Brad said, "that you're a soulless money-suck. A bottom-feeding corporate leech."
David felt his face heat up. "Big words, coming from you."
"I know what I am. You're still trying to hide it. Making friends with the lower classes, well, what would your Republican buddies say if they knew you were part of the elite? Never mind the fact that you were getting fucked by me on the regular."
"Oh, fuck off—" David sputtered, but Brad just laughed softly.
"You can't deny that you've changed, David. In some ways for the better, sure, but in other ways…"
"And that justifies you lying to me, does it?" David asked hotly. It wasn't fair, all these things Brad was saying. Whether David had changed or not didn't matter. Brad was the one in the wrong here.
"I did what I had to do," Brad said coolly. "For the good of Studio Dana."
"Yeah, well, good luck with that now," David spat. "She's nothing without MQ. Go ahead and find out how hard it is to run an indie studio without any money."
"Who's saying I'm going to stay with her?" Brad said. "Maybe I'll leave for another studio. Maybe I'll leave this whole shit town behind."
"Please," David scoffed, "who's going to work with you? You're a criminal. The only people crazy enough to hire you were MQ and Dana."
Brad smiled a humourless smile. "Haven't your Republican friends told you? Criminals run the world now."
"At least my Republican friends have my back!" David said, his voice getting louder and shriller. "At least they don't lie to me for months and months! At least they don't fuck me over time and time again!"
"I thought you liked me fucking you," Brad sneered.
"You're a fucking monster," David hissed, "a soulless, heartless, evil piece of—"
Brad grabbed his face and crashed his mouth against David's.
David reacted instantly, as if on autopilot, opening his mouth and letting Brad in, letting him push him against the table. His hands clutched at Brad's waist, gripping him tight enough that he knew he must be leaving bruises. He didn't care. He didn't fucking care about anything anymore. If it was gonna be like this, then so be it. He bit down on Brad's lip, hard enough that he thought he tasted blood, but Brad just groaned, his right hand sliding along David's neck and applying pressure there. David's hips bucked against Brad's, a strangled moan escaping him as he felt himself get hard. Pathetic, he knew, to let Brad do this to him, to let him touch him at all after months of lies, but he needed it. He just needed him close, despite it all, maybe because of it all.
Brad's hand was gone from his neck now, traveling along David's body to get to his crotch, rubbing his erection through the fabric of his jeans. He was fiddling with David's belt when David stopped him.
"No," David said, grabbing Brad's hands with his own. "No, that's not how we're gonna do it tonight."
Brad drew back, laughed softly. "What, you suddenly don't want me to fuck you?"
"No, I—" David swallowed a lump in his throat. He could do this. He could take control. "Not like this."
Brad narrowed his eyes. "You want to fuck me? Bold moves, Brittlesbee. But you don't have the stones."
"Yes, I do," David said, trying with all his might to suppress the quiver in his voice. "I do. I've changed, remember?"
"Prove it," Brad whispered, leaning in close enough that David could have kissed him, and so he did, grabbing him by the back of his neck into a crushing kiss, all teeth and tongues.
"Get on your knees," he murmured against Brad's mouth.
"Make me," Brad said, nipping at his lips. "Bit more conviction, D-man."
David growled in frustration. "Fine. Get on your knees." He said the words louder this time, putting both his hands on Brad's shoulders so he could push him down physically, and this time Brad relented, sinking down to kneel on the cold, hard floor with a grin on his face.
"Okay, step one," Brad said. "And now?"
"And now," David said, a little breathless, as he started undoing his belt, "now you suck my dick."
"Hm," Brad said, "I suppose I can do that." He swatted David's lightly shaking hands away and unzipped the other man's trousers, taking his cock out, started stroking it slowly. He looked up at David then, and, without breaking eye contact, licked one long stripe along his shaft. David shuddered. "You know," Brad drawled, "I always thought the one giving the blowjob had way more control over the situation. I mean," he said, sliding his tongue around the head, "I could bite your dick off if I wanted to."
"Jesus, Brad," David groaned.
Brad chuckled. "I'm not going to, don't worry." He bent down again, taking David in his mouth, cheeks hollow as he proceeded to suck him off. It was far from the first time he'd done this to David, and yet there was something new about it, about the way he did it. Other times had been slow and languid, this was fast and desperate, like Brad had needed this as much as David did. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was just some ploy to get David to forget about what he'd done. David fisted a hand in Brad's hair. Well, he wouldn't forget. And he'd make sure Brad wouldn't either.
He pushed him down, then, all the way to the base of his cock, and Brad moaned, a heavenly sound that shot a shiver down David's spine. He was getting close already, could feel the pressure building up in his body as Brad continued to make him see stars with his mouth. It was infuriating, really, how good he was at this. Still, there was some part of David that craved something more. He knew Brad could make him feel even better.
"Wait, wait—stop," he panted, pushing Brad off his cock.
"You didn't come yet," Brad said, wiping the spit from his mouth.
"I know," David said, "I…" He took a deep breath. "I want to ride you."
Brad raised an eyebrow. "You want me to fuck you?"
"No—well, yes. But I want to be on top."
"Hm," Brad said. They had never done that. It had always been David on his back, on the bed, or on all fours, or bent over a desk or a table or, once, the kitchen counters. He could tell Brad was hesitant.
"Just—just let me take control. For once," David said.
Brad shifted his jaw, was silent for a few seconds. Then, he shrugged. "Alright. If it makes you feel better."
"It might make you feel better."
Brad snorted. "Doubtful. But whatever. I suppose I owe you one."
"You owe me a whole lot more than one," David muttered, pulling up his pants again as Brad stood up. "Right. Bedroom," he said, pushing Brad gently in the direction of said bedroom. Brad rolled his eyes, but let him, and together they walked over to the bed, Brad flopping down on it and watching as David peeled off his clothes once more.
"You know," Brad said, a hint of a smile on his face, his eyes raking across David's now naked body, "next time we do this, you should wear a plug. That'll add a little bit of excitement to poker night."
"You're assuming there'll be a next time," David said, trying not to let how much the thought turned him on show on his face. The idea of sitting there with a plug up his ass, for a whole evening, with his friends none the wiser… Sure, yeah, it was an exciting thought. But he had to remember he was mad at Brad, that he had betrayed him.
"There will be," Brad said, reaching out for David's hand and tugging him onto the bed. "You don't know how to quit me."
He hated how confident he sounded. He hated how right he was. What was he supposed to do, just go back to dating normal people? After all this, after knowing what it was like to sleep with Brad Bakshi? Normal people wouldn't touch him the way Brad did, the way he did now, hands sliding down his body as he pushed David down onto the pillows, kissing him deeply. Normal people wouldn't infuriate and turn him on in equal measure the way Brad did. Normal people wouldn't make him feel this way, like his whole entire being was on fire. He let himself sink into the bed, eyes closed, luxuriating in the feel of Brad on top of him, touching him, controlling him—
His eyes flew open. No. This was not how it was going to be tonight.
He grabbed Brad by the waist, using his legs as leverage to flip them over so he was on top of Brad. Brad made a surprised sound as David pinned him down by the wrists.
"I'm in control, remember?" David said.
"Baby," Brad said, and David tried to ignore how warm and fuzzy the endearment made him feel, even if he knew Brad meant it to be condescending, "I'll still need to open you up. Unless you just wanna raw-dog it."
David felt his cheeks heat up a little bit. "Well, that's—I mean, no, obviously. But…" He took a deep breath. "I'll do it myself."
"And deny me the pleasure? David," Brad said, "I didn't know you'd grown so mean."
"Fuck off. I'm gonna do it, and you'll just have to watch," David said.
Brad hummed, but he didn't protest. David took that as approval. He leaned over to reach for his bedside cabinet, took out the lube he'd stored there. He lubed up his fingers and, reaching down, closing his eyes, started opening himself up. It was a bit odd, doing this himself. It had always been Brad doing it. It felt different, dirty, to touch himself like this while Brad was lying beneath him. When he opened his eyes again he saw Brad staring at him, eyes dark, mouth slightly open. His hands had come to rest on David's thighs and were drawing slow circles on his skin.
"That's it," Brad whispered, "touch yourself for me."
"Not doing it for you," David managed to squeeze out between ragged breaths.
Brad laughed softly, his hands gripping David's thighs more firmly. "Of course you are. You like it. You like being so good for me."
David made a strangled noise, but didn't answer, just continued pumping his fingers in and out. Maybe he should just touch himself until he came, he thought for a split second, maybe he should just deny Brad the pleasure entirely. But god, the more he touched himself, the more it felt like it wasn't enough. He needed Brad, he always needed Brad, that was the fucking problem.
"Fuck, okay," he panted, drawing his fingers out, "let's go."
"Finally," Brad said, reaching into his pocket to pull out a condom.
"Wh—you had that on you the entire time?" David asked, baffled. "You were planning to fuck me over and thought I would still sleep with you after?"
"And I was right," Brad said, grinning. David could have slapped that stupid grin off his face, if it weren't for the fact that he was deliriously horny and Brad was, in fact, completely right.
"Jesus," he said, more to himself than to Brad. Anger started boiling up inside him again, and he ripped the condom out of Brad's hand, tearing it open with his teeth so his other hand could tug Brad's pants down his legs. Whatever. Whatever. He was going to fuck him, or let Brad fuck him, whichever way you wanted to phrase it. He just needed him inside him now. He took Brad's already leaking cock in his hand, put the condom on, lined him up with himself, and sank down.
Fuck, it felt good. He saw Brad's mouth fall open, felt a surge of triumph. That's right. He was in control now. He set a steady pace, not bothering with letting Brad get adjusted. He was going to fuck himself on Brad Bakshi's cock and he would just have to take it.
"Fuck, David…" Brad's fingers were now digging into David's thighs, his eyes closed, his back arched in ecstasy. He looked so good like this, lying underneath David, dark hair stark against the white of the pillow, his mouth open, a layer of sweat forming on his forehead. David did not relent, going faster and faster, until his legs started burning from the effort. The pleasure coupled with the rush of being in control for once was almost too much, too quick, so he slowed down a bit, wanting this moment to last longer. Brad seemed to take this as an in: he sat up, wrapping his arms around David's back, lips latching onto a nipple. David groaned loudly.
"Sensitive, are we," Brad chuckled.
David screwed his eyes shut as Brad's tongue flicked out again. "Fuck you, Bakshi," he panted. His hands found Brad's face and he pulled him up further to kiss him sloppily, desperately. Brad licked into his mouth with equal desperation, and then, without warning, let himself fall backwards onto the bed again, dragging David with him so he was lying on top of him. And then he started thrusting into David, fast and hard, so hard David's mind went entirely blank and he couldn't care who was in control anymore, could not think of anything except the feeling of Brad inside him, his arms around him, nails scratching along his back, their mouths on each other, kissing frantically. And when he came, it was with Brad's name on his lips like a prayer.
Brad wasn't far behind. A few thrusts, and he groaned, his whole body tensing up, nails practically stabbing David in the back. Then, his body went limp, and they lay there, David on top, his head buried in the crook of Brad's neck, Brad still inside him, both panting.
"Fuck you too, Brittlesbee," Brad murmured after a long silence.
David couldn't help it: he laughed, untangling himself from Brad's embrace and pulling himself off of him so he could flop down on the bed next to him. He felt warm, and content, and like all the anger had been fucked out of his body.
"That was pretty good, though, right?" he said, turning his head to look at Brad. He looked thoroughly disheveled, with his sweater still on and his pants halfway down his legs.
"Hm. It was acceptable." Brad stretched, yawned. He sat up, started taking his sweater, shirt and pants off. David watched him as he did it. Acceptable. Sure. He had seen the look on his face as he came, had felt his desperation. That had been more than acceptable.
"Admit it," David teased, "you liked it. You liked me being in control."
Brad scoffed. "You weren't that in control."
"Whatever lets you sleep at night."
"Shut up," Brad mumbled, but there wasn't any fire behind it. He rolled over, pressed his body against David's, nuzzling his head underneath David's chin.
"What's this?" David asked, even as he wrapped his arms around Brad. They'd never done this, cuddling after sex. Brad had always just up and left.
"Nothing."
"Doesn't feel like nothing," David said softly, tucking a stray curl behind Brad's ear.
Brad sighed. "Can we just lie here for a bit? That's what you wanted, right? And I owe you one, still."
"Alright. Okay. We should shower soon, though."
"Yeah, yeah," Brad muttered, pressing himself closer to David.
They lay there, entangled, for a long while.