Where Does It Go When It's Gone?

by brooklinegirl

brooklinegirl@rcn.com

NC-17

12/2005


Written for Moosesal in the 2005 Pretty Lights RPS Challenge. Pairing: Hugh Dillon/Callum Keith Rennie

Summary: Hugh has a dirtier mouth, but Callum's mind is right there in the gutter, and the two of them can trade insults and stories that drive everyone else away from them.

Which is pretty much just how Hugh likes it.


Callum isn't as quiet as they all think. They talk about Callum like he's the Canadian James fucking Dean, like he's the quiet cowboy whose still waters run really fucking deep. Those people donít know shit. Callum's only quiet when he doesnít like you. Callum's only quiet when he's putting up a front. Hugh loves that, because when that happens - when they're in front of people that Callum can't fucking stand (Writers. Producers.), Callum shuts up, sure. But Hugh, who hasn't ever met anyone he doesn't like, Hugh, who - and he knows this about himself - will talk to anyone who stands still long enough to listen - Hugh keeps half an eye on Callum. And Callum's body speaks volumes. He'll rock back on his heels when he's bored. His fingers will constantly fidget for his cigarettes, even when he's just finished one. He makes eye contact when you're talking to him, when he's talking to you - intense eye contact, like, the kind that makes people really fucking nervous, because it's like he's paying too much attention. He does that even when he doesnít like you, and Hugh knows it's because it makes people fucking jumpy, and Callum sort of loves that.

People don't know what to do with Callum. Hugh tells him that it's because he's too fucking pretty for his own good, calls him Brad fucking Pitt. People just see that, see his long, lean form, see his fucking overdone hair and his blowjob lips, and then when he gets all intense and deep, they expect him to start spouting poetry.

Callum is not a fucking poet. You get Callum away from the parties and appearances and bullshit, he kicks right back and is as cool a guy as Hugh has ever met. Hugh has a dirtier mouth, but Callum's mind is right there in the gutter, and the two of them can trade insults and stories that drive everyone else away from them.

Which is pretty much just how Hugh likes it.

Cut

The first time Hugh met Callum, they hit it off right away. Hugh had half-expected him to be Hollywood chic, half-expected him to be a pompous asshole. He was neither. He hadn't shaved that day or probably the day before either, and he didn't take any shit from either Bruce or the fucking writer Bruce brought along. Bruce had set up a screening in a theatre, just the four of them watching some dumb-ass film Bruce must have made back in film school, and Callum was as bored as Hugh was.

They sat away from Bruce and Baker and didn't pay much attention to the movie at all. They spent the entire time mocking the action on screen, and Hugh was pleased to find out that Callum appreciated both Hugh's dirty mouth and Hugh's dirty humor. Neither Bruce or Baker paid any attention to them, but that didn't bother Hugh - riffing back and forth with Callum was perfection. Hugh bet that Callum smoked more than he did, because Callum was twitchy throughout the whole movie, and his hand kept going for the cigarettes in his pocket before remembering they were still in the theatre and he'd go back to drumming his fingers on his thigh and joining Hugh in making obscene call-backs to whatever-the-fuck was going on onscreen.

Hugh spent more time watching Callum than watching the movie. Callum had long fingers, and he even made obscene gestures somehow graceful. Callum wore his jeans loose and spent too much time on his hair. Callum laughed at Hugh's jokes when they were funny, and gave him shit when they weren't. Callum took everything Hugh gave out, and gave it back just as hard, and it had been ages since Hugh had met someone who could do that. Callum had a really pretty mouth that Hugh couldn't stop looking at, and the second the movie was over, the two of them shot out of their seats and headed out the door of the theatre to smoke. Bruce and that Baker guy stayed behind, talking film stuff and being boring.

Callum already had a cigarette in his hand before they even got up, and he had it lit as soon they stepped out the door. Hugh had tugged him over to the side door, figuring that when Bruce and Baker finally meandered their asses out of there, they'd head out front. They leaned against the wall in the wide alley to the side of the theatre and Hugh waited until Callum was almost done with his first cigarette before taking it away from him, tossing it away, and crowding him up against the wall.

Callum didn't look surprised at all, just slouched back and looked up at Hugh through those damn girly eyelashes. Hugh grinned. "You that easy, Rennie?"

Callum shrugged one shoulder slowly. "Not with everyone, Dillon," he said, and Hugh laughed and pressed him against the wall and kissed him rough and sloppy. Callum went for it, opening his mouth and letting Hugh taste him. His mouth tasted like smoke, and Hugh's cock got hard. He ran his hand down Callum's side, slid it around to the front of his jeans, and had just enough time to feel that Callum was hard, too, before Callum pushed him back.

Bruce and the writer guy came around the corner just as Callum lit another cigarette, propping one foot on the wall behind him. He grinned at Hugh, holding the cigarette between his teeth, and Hugh shook his head, adjusted himself in his pants - not caring about the look he got from Baker - and lit his own cigarette as the four of them headed out to look for a place to drink coffee and talk about this movie he and Callum were making together.

Blonde and Blue

The first time Hugh sucked off Callum was in a dirty hotel room somewhere outside of Vancouver two days into filming. He'd promised Bruce no drinking, no drugs for the duration of the film, so he was smoking way too many cigarettes, and he'd be really bored, except having Callum around was almost as much fun as partying. Maybe more.

Callum was barefoot, and his jeans were worn and threadbare, practically hanging off of his hips. He had the curtains pushed back, and was leaning his forehead against the glass of the hotel room and staring out at the sucky gray sky outside. "This sucks," he said gloomily.

"Suck it up," Hugh declared from where he was sprawled on one of the room's twin beds. He lit another cigarette, even though the air in the room was already blue from all the smoking they've both been doing. "This is what it's like, a whole lot of waiting around, you know."

"Oh?" Callum rolled around, slouched against the windowsill, raised an eyebrow. "Are you imparting all of your vast film experience to me?"

Hugh frowned. He had experience. Some. Not a lot, but he wasn't not a total newbie. "I am, and maybe if you fucking listened to me a little more, you'd look like you've actually held a guitar before, Mr. Thrash Guitarist."

Callum had the decency to flush a little. "I told them I couldn't play when I auditioned," he muttered. "I can fake it, a little."

Hugh laughed. Callum couldn't fake it at all, but he still managed to look sexy stumbling around stage. The way he bent forward over his guitar, Hugh could practically count the vertebrae in his spine through his thin t-shirt. There was something weirdly hot about that.

Callum lifted his chin and slanted a look at Hugh. "Whatever." He tilted his head to the side and stared out the window again.

Hugh laughed again, and rolled to his feet. "Don't get all hurt, princess."

Callum ignored him, still looking outside, where it had started to rain.

"We can't all be good at everything." Callum continued to ignore him, so Hugh edged closer. "Just because I'm a musician and an actor shouldn't make you feel like less of a man or anything."

Callum snorted, but still wasn't looking at Hugh. It was raining harder outside. Hugh gnawed on his lip consideringly. They hadn't actually done anything since that time in the alley, not one thing. But what the fuck, he was bored and whatever happened - fight or fuck - it would make things more interesting than this.

"So hey," Hugh said, stepping closer, stepping right into Callum's space, pressing his hands against the cold hotel window on either side of his head. Callum looked at him (fucking finally), and Hugh bared his teeth. "Want to know what else I'm good at?"

Callum pursed his lips, apparently fucking thinking about it, before nodding coolly.

Fuck. That.

Hugh slid to his knees with a thump, and he heard Callum suck in his breath, but when Hugh looked up at him, you'd never even know he was interested. Callum just gazed down at him, his expression a whole fucking world of "what's next?"

Hugh met his eyes, and muttered, "Fucker," and unbuttoned Callum's jeans with one hand.

The corner of Callum's mouth tilted up into a half-smile.

Hugh looked down. Callum wasn't wearing anything under those threadbare jeans. Nothing at all, and his cock was half-hard, getting harder even as Hugh watched. Hugh felt a shot of heat through his stomach, and swallowed, and hoped like hell it didn't show on his face how bad he wanted to do this.

Callum was looking down at him, the back of his head tilted back against the window. "Well?" he said softly, and Hugh growled at him, wrapped his hand around his cock, and sucked him into his mouth. Not a fucking sound from above, and when Hugh opened his eyes and looked up, Callum's eyes were closed and his lips were pressed together. Fuck that, Mr. Callum Keith fucking Rennie. Hugh shut his eyes again and concentrated on the task at hand. Got Callum's cock good and wet, sucked him hard, going at it slow and steady, not getting a real rhythm, not yet. He slid his hand up to Callum's hip, nudging his jeans down so his hand was resting on skin. Callum was hot under Hugh's hand, and Hugh's jeans were getting uncomfortably tight around his cock, but uh-uh, not yet, Callum had to give him something - something - first.

Hugh opened his mouth wide, pulled Callum in deep - it was almost a zen thing, this, where you just did it, and didn't think about it too much, and could deep-throat it, and Hugh was pretty fucking proud of that talent. Rightfully so, as that was what it took for Callum to make the slightest sound - just an "Uh," and his hips moved forward, and yeah, yeah, that was what Hugh wanted. He sucked hard, in a rhythm then, and Callum was still pretty quiet, but he was panting for breath, Hugh could hear it, could feel it. When Hugh opened his eyes, he saw Callum's hand clenched on the edge of the windowsill, his knuckles white.

Hugh reached down, tugged down the zipper on his own jeans, pulled his cock out, and gave it a few rough strokes. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to keep him focused here.

He concentrated, sucking hard, and Callum's cock was leaking steadily into his mouth. Hugh took his hand off his own cock and wrapped it around Callum's. He jerked Callum with one hand, still sucking, and held onto Callum's hip - tight, tighter, he wanted to leave a mark - with the other. Callum's hand came down suddenly, off of the desperate hold he'd had on the windowsill, to land in Hugh's hair. He held Hugh's face to his cock, thrust forward, and came down Hugh's throat, cursing breathlessly.

Hugh swalled, then sat back on his heels and grinned, his jaw aching and his mouth tasting like come and Callum. He lurched to his feet and kissed Callum, shoving his tongue into Callum's mouth, making him taste it. Callum surged into the kiss, wrapping his hands in Hugh's sweater. Hugh tried not to be surprised by anything in life, but that wasn't anywhere near what Hugh fucking expected.

He liked breaking through Callum's cool.

Anything

Callum lets Hugh fuck him in the back of the tour bus at the end of filming, during that last, long night drive back to Vancouver. They lock the thin door between themselves and the rest of the crew on the bus, and Hugh bites his lip hard through the whole thing, trying to keep quiet. Hugh doesn't think Callum makes any noise either, though the rumble of the road under them drowns things out. He watches as Callum turns his face into the thin mattress of the bunk, as Callum's sweaty back arches as he comes, clenching around Hugh. Hugh bites his lip harder, and presses his forehead against Callum's back and fucks him as hard as he can.

Afterwards, Callum rolls over, tugs his jeans up, and lights a cigarette. Hugh cleans himself up a little, wiping himself off, pulling his own jeans up. Callum has moved to sit on the floor beside the bunk, and Hugh sits down heavily next to him, snaps his fingers at him for a cigarette. Callum grins and takes a long draw on the one he's smoking before he hands it to Hugh. Hugh rolls his eyes, but he takes it. "You're such a pussy," Hugh says as he watches Callum pull another cigarette out of the pack and light it.

Callum snaps the lighter shut - he lifted Hugh's Headstones lighter somewhere along the way - and slips it back into his shirt pocket. He takes a long drag and blows the smoke into Hugh's face as a response.

Number on the Wall

Callum leaves the next day to go back to filming that queer TV show he's doing, about the kid and his dog. Hugh has three more days with the crew here in Vancouver. He goes back to his hotel room that night and scrawls down a song that he ends up putting on as a hidden track on the band's next album. Callum never says anything about the song, and Hugh doesn't know if he's disappointed or relieved.

Callum only ever returns maybe half of Hugh's calls, but that doesnít stop Hugh from calling. Callum gets another TV series after that dog one - onward and upward, Mr. Rennie - and Hugh gets roles in a couple of films. He figures they're still in the same business at least, but he doesn't see Callum around much. Still, Callum comes to the band's gigs every time he's in the same city where they're playing. He mostly stands in the back and smokes cigarette after cigarette and keeps his eyes steady on Hugh.

~end~


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