Biggest Fan

The after-party for the Oscars branched off into after-after-parties, and the splintering left the Tropic Thunder group broken apart. Kirk had searched the room as soon as he'd entered, and he'd been vaguely disappointed to find that none of his costars were present. Nearly being killed by drug lords and then making a second movie (even if there never really was a first) really brought him closer to them.

He was pretty sure Alpa had left the scene altogether, the way he'd been all over Lance halfway through the first after-party. He figured it must have been similar with Kevin and Jennifer, and probably with Tugg and his shiny new non-wooden Oscar, too. Jeff had parted ways with them before midnight; Kirk was pretty sure that had something to do with resisting temptation, and had clapped him on the shoulder and shared a smile with him that said I know what that's like.

And then he remembered that he wasn't really Father O'Malley. Sometimes it was hard, just being Kirk Lazarus. Hard and a little depressing.

He mingled and drank on his own, the icon for the film at that particular party. And then he drank some more when he realized that on his own, he wasn't interesting; he wasn't Sergeant Osiris anymore, and most of those who came up to him seemed disappointed when they heard him speak in his own voice, his own words.

So he might've been just a little drunk when he realized he wasn't the only one there anymore. Kevin came directly to him, obviously uncomfortable, and stood so close their shoulders pressed together.

"What happened to Jennifer?" he asked, mumbling around his glass. "Did she ditch you?"

Kevin shook his head and took a drink before answering, "Nah. She was just a date. We're not actually involved or anything."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Tabloids'll say different tomorrow."

The edges of Kevin's lips quirked up in a small smile. "I know."

Kirk gave him an answering smile. For once, it didn't feel wrong to be playing that sort of game.

---

"And so that's it, no more movies for a year, I decided." He was babbling, sure, but Kevin was listening attentively anyway, he was interested in what Kirk had to say, and so it didn't matter that he was drunk and talking far too much. Maybe that was Kirk— maybe he was a talker. He'd have to watch that and see. "I've got to slow down, take some time to, you know— find myself, or whatever bullshit you want to call it. For now, Kirk Lazarus is just going to play Kirk Lazarus."

Kevin nodded, eyes wide, like it was the most profound thing he'd ever heard, and he couldn't help but go on.

"...costarring Kirk Lazarus in a film called Kirk Lazarus, directed, written, and edited by Kirk Lazarus," he slurred, throwing an arm around Kevin and gesturing to a screen that wasn't there. "Fucking produced by Kirk Lazarus. Or George Lucas. No, wait— Kirk Lazarus. Yeah, that one."

Kevin laughed and didn't push him away, so Kirk had to untangle himself from the mess of his arm and Kevin's neck, which really shouldn't have been so complicated. "Casting by Kirk Lazarus?" he supplied.

"Yeah," Kirk agreed, settling back against the wall he'd been leaning against. "Casting by Kirk fucking Lazarus."

They were silent for a moment, watching the crowd move and sway before them, some dancing, others just drunk like Kirk. It was late, but their numbers had hardly thinned, although the coherency of the average partygoer there had taken a turn for the worse.

Kevin cleared his throat.

"So, since you're not working right now, does that mean you might have time to, uh..."

Kirk waited a moment, then pushed him to continue. "To...?"

"Never mind," Kevin said with a wave of his hand. "It's stupid. Forget it."

"It's stupid, I'm drunk. It'll mesh nicely." He pushed Kevin again, physically that time, shoving his shoulder. "Come on, then."

Kevin opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again to ask, "Would you train me?"

Kirk blinked. "I think I'm too drunk. Or not drunk enough. Train you in what, may I ask?"

"Acting," Kevin breathed, like it was taking all his effort to explain. "I told you, I'm pretty much your biggest fan, and— well. I want to be as good as you."

"As good as me." Kirk shook his head. "Kid, you don't want to be me. I don't even know who I am."

"I don't want to be you," Kevin said quickly, "but I want to be able to do what you do. Just— uh. Not to that extreme, I guess, but, you know. Good."

Kirk didn't say anything to that, staring at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Please? I promise I won't push you to go off the deep end. I just— I got this script, and I'm sort of nervous about it, but I really want to do it, and I don't want to be some dumb newbie when they see me and fuck it all up." And he looked so hopeful, he was almost begging, and he was Kirk's friend. How could he say no?

So he didn't; instead, he grabbed the kid by the arm, dragging him through the undulating crowd toward the exit, barely hearing the kid babble behind him.

"Wait— what? Where are we going?"

"My place," Kirk answered, and a sober part of his brain thought that sounded too suggestive, but all the drunk parts of it told him to ignore that. "We're going to start your training right now."

"Now?" Kevin asked, incredulous. "It's almost four in the morning!"

"A good part won't wait for you!" Kirk insisted, adding, "And I might change my mind when I'm sober."

---

The ride to Kirk's home was a little awkward; Kevin tried to break the silence with intermittent thanks and inquiries for directions, but Kirk remained quiet, more than a little bitter about not being able to drive his own car to his own home just because he'd only had— what? Six drinks?

Toward the end of the drive, Kevin started listing everything he loved about Kirk — or it sounded that way, anyway, the way he went on and on about about his every role. Kirk was tempted to snap that yes, he did know about the trouble they had on the set of If You Could Hear What I See with the herd of cattle, he was there, but he kept to his vow of silence until they were out of the car.

"Wow," Kevin said as they pulled up. "This place is huge."

Kirk just gestured to the garage.

As he led Kevin to his spacious, sparsely-decorated living room, flicking on lights at random, the bitterness subsided and his curiosity grew. He sat on his couch, propping his feet up on an extremely expensive coffee table. Kevin stood, almost nervously, at the couch's end, leaning against the armrest.

"So, what's this script about, anyway?"

Kevin gave him a half-smile, glad that he wasn't angry anymore. "It's this story about these three friends — kids — who make a pact to stick together if one of them ever strikes it rich, but they grow up and grow apart, right? And then one of them does get rich, makes a fortune starting his own business, and the other two show up and kind of ruin everything for him."

Kirk nodded, taking out a cigarette and his lighter. He offered the pack to Kevin, but the younger actor shook his head. "Sounds interesting. Not an award-winner by any means, but interesting. So, what, is it a drama? Comedy?"

Kevin flushed, just a little. "It's— a drama. Kind of. There's some romance in it."

"There always is," Kirk murmured, lighting his cigarette. "What's your character?'

"An artist," Kevin said. "A starving artist, really. He can't sell anything, so he turns up at Clint's — the rich friend's — place because he's got nothing left. And he's welcome, kind of, annoying but welcome, until Clint finds out that he's trying to get money by selling himself instead of his paintings."

Kirk stared at Kevin, who was blushing full-on and looking away by then. "Huh."

"And— and in the end, Clint leaves his wife for him, and they're a couple even though pretty much no one approves." Kevin ran his hand through his hair, risking a look back at his idol. "Yeah. It's— I loved Satan's Alley. Really loved it. I think it's my favorite of yours. I wanted to be able to do that."

Kirk's eyebrows went up, his still-drunk mind taking a wrong turn at that. "Have sex with men?"

Kevin blushed again, but turned toward him. "No! I mean— I mean I want to be able to play that kind of role like you did. Because this guy, he wants Clint, but he has to fight it because Clint's married and a big CEO and kind of scary. It's kind of like— I mean, not really, but it's kind of like O'Malley resisting temptation. Right?"

"Not really." Kevin's shoulders slumped, and Kirk rolled his eyes, gesturing for him to sit next to him. He put out his cigarette and dropped it into an ashtray, then leaned back, spreading his arms over the back of the couch. "Doesn't mean I can't help you."

"Oh thank God," Kevin said, relaxing visibly. "I've been really worried about this, and I really want to pull it off, so I—"

Kirk put a hand over his mouth. "Kevin? Shut up."

Kevin nodded, Kirk's hand moving with the motion.

"Good. Now, we'll work on the 'starving artist' portion of this later, but for now..." He pulled away his hand abruptly, quickly replacing it with his lips; he missed at first, catching only the corner of Kevin's mouth, but one hand on Kevin's jaw turned them both enough to get the angle right.

It didn't last long. Kevin pressed his hands flat against Kirk's chest, pushing him away almost immediately. "What the hell? This isn't what I meant!"

Kirk gave him a reproachful look, still leaning in too close. "You want to play a gay man when you've never so much as kissed a guy before?"

"Yes!" Kevin said, scrambling down the couch until he bumped into the armrest he'd been leaning against earlier. "I mean— I don't think I should have to—"

Kirk laughed, following him slowly. "Then why the crikey fuck did you ask for my help?"

Kevin made vague, fluttering gestures with his hands. "I— I just admire your work, and—"

Kirk cut him off, covering his mouth with his hand again. "You think I didn't do the same for Satan's Alley?"

Kevin pried his fingers away this time, holding his hand away from his face. "You kissed Tobey Maguire? You— oh my God, you had sex with Tobey Maguire?!"

"What? No!" Kirk laughed, pulling his back to him. "Tobey's way too uptight for that. I slept with other men. There was this one set decorator, had an ass on him like you wouldn't believe..."

Kevin frowned at him as Kirk seemed to drift off into memory. Apparently it had been a very nice ass.

Kirk shook his head after a moment, coming back to the present. "But I did kiss Tobey. We did a lot of practicing, too, if you catch my drift."

Kevin remembered those scenes; they had seemed so real, so passionate... He was jerked out of the thought by Kirk's thumb across his lower lip, brushing gently.

"Lips a lot like yours, actually. Full. Soft. Sort of girly." Kevin glared at him at that. "Well, it's true. Nice to kiss, though."

Kevin swallowed and resisted the urge to wet his lips.

"Besides," Kirk said as he leaned in again, his breath ghosting over Kevin's lips, his hand sliding away to cup his jaw, "we're all gay once in a while."

The kiss was better that time, because Kevin was expecting it. He almost pushed Kirk away again, but after a moment all he could think was Why not? It's for the role.... He buried his fingers in Kirk's hair, and he could feel the smirk against his lips, felt Kirk's other hand rest on his shoulder, thumbing the dip at the base of his neck.

It wasn't so bad.

Then Kirk pried his mouth open with his tongue and shoved it inside, and for a moment it was — messy, uncomfortable, uncoordinated, like all his bad kisses with girls in college had been when they'd been too drunk to see straight and then threw up in his lap. He really hoped Kirk wouldn't throw up in his lap. He seemed like he could hold his liquor a bit better than that, but still...

The moment passed and Kirk's tongue retreated back into his mouth, beckoning Kevin's to follow, to take some initiative and do more than just be kissed. Tentatively, Kevin licked inside Kirk's mouth, feeling like he was crossing into some sort of holy territory. He chided himself for his ridiculous hero-worship, acting like a fanboy well after he'd gotten to know the man; hell, they were friends. The time when he should have stopped being awed by the guy was long past.

And then Kirk sucked on his tongue, and he felt himself fall into holy territory all over again. He melted into the arm rest, sinking until he was partially under Kirk, hands still locked in his hair. No kiss he'd had before had ever been like it; not even his mostly sober girlfriend-for-three-weeks had kissed him like that. His cock twitched in spite of himself; he hoped Kirk wouldn't notice.

He did. Kirk drew back, biting softly at his lower lip and letting his hand fall to Kevin's chest, brushing over a nipple through his shirt. He sat up, smirking down at Kevin, disheveled and panting, his gaze drifting down to his crotch.

"Well, well," he murmured, rearranging their legs until his were between Kevin's, "looks like you're getting into character just fine."

"Yeah," Kevin breathed, trying to sit up with him, "right. I think I can do this."

"Where do you think you're going?" Kirk asked, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back down. "We're not done here."

Kevin's eyes went wide. "We aren't?"

Kirk's smirk grew devilish as he dragged his hand down Kevin's body, making no pretenses about his intended destination. Kevin gulped, but made fists at his sides, resisting the urge to stop the hand's path.

"I think I've got it," he said. "We don't really need to take this further. I mean, there won't be anything on-screen that I can't fake, so—"

"Shhh," Kirk said, his fingers pulling at the waistband of Kevin's pants. "If you're going to learn from me, you're going to dedicate yourself, body and soul, to this part, understand?"

Kevin nodded, his mouth falling open slightly as he felt the weight of Kirk's hand on his dick. He was getting harder, the bulge becoming more obvious, and he had to stop himself more than once from trying to will it away, like so many unfortunate classroom erections. It made it worse to think of Kirk as his teacher, even if that was sort of kinky. He had watched a lot of teacher-student porn after high school...

He closed his eyes, following Kirk's movements by sound and feel alone. The sound of the zipper made him tremble slightly; the feel of Kirk's hand cupping him through his boxers made his hips jerk, made precome spread over the cotton. He sighed when Kirk pushed down the waistband, letting his cock spring free.

Feather-light touches up the shaft, light caresses to his balls, and he was fighting not to moan and trying not to think about the fact that he was pretty much losing his virginity to Kirk Lazarus. And then he realized that was a lost cause, because there was no way not to think about Kirk when he was between his legs, his fingers on his dick, when he'd felt his stubble against his lips, and it was, when he let himself stop worrying so much about it, pretty hot.

"Now," Kirk said, his voice yet another reminder of just who it was making him hard, "I want you to pay very close attention to what I'm about to do. You're going to have to do it yourself after, all right?"

Kevin nodded, keeping his eyes closed. Surprisingly, it only aroused him more to think about getting Kirk off, too.

And then he had to open his eyes, because Kirk's mouth closed over the head of his dick, and the wet-hot-amazing feeling was too much, a complete shock to his system. His hands scrabbled for purchase, gripping the back of the couch and the armrest behind him, clutching as he writhed, trying not to thrust up because he'd never had head before, but he was pretty sure that normal people couldn't take it like porn stars, and he really didn't want to push Kirk's gag reflex.

After a few minutes of nothing more than sucking and licking at the head, Kirk wrapped his hand around the base of Kevin's dick, sliding down slowly. Kevin felt like his mind was going to drip out of his ears, it was so good; fantasizing about being blow had never even come close. He gripped the couch harder; he wasn't sure he'd be able to last long, and sure, it was his first time, but if he couldn't keep it going it was going to be embarrassing anyway. He closed his eyes again; watching his cock disappear into Kirk's mouth just made it harder to keep from coming.

Kirk pulled back, his tongue curling and doing the most amazing things to his dick. His free hand came to Kevin's balls, rolling and stroking them in time with the bobbing of his head, the stilted jacking of the hand at the base. It was too much, too much—

Kirk's hands acted at the same time, reacting quickly to Kevin's low keening; the one on his dick squeezed the root as the one on his balls pulled, not too hard, and Kevin groaned because as much as he didn't want to come too fast, he still wanted to come. But it was still good, and he was nearing the edge again. If Kirk didn't do that again, he was going to lose it any second...

The hand on his dick squeezed again as the one on his balls slipped back, tracing lightly across his skin to his ass, pushing gently, gently, like he was waiting for Kevin to let him in. Kevin jerked away, just slightly, and then moaned because he really didn't want Kirk's mouth further away. Kirk followed him, both with his tongue and with his finger. Before he could reach his hole, the hand pulled away, and so did the mouth, just for a few seconds; his eyes cracked open to see Kirk sucking on his own finger, his tongue doing absolutely obscene things to it, and wasn't it funny to be thinking of anything as obscene when his brain was getting sucked out through his dick?

The mouth returned, and Kevin threw his head back over the armrest. The finger came with it, trailing back again, and he steeled himself for it. He took pride in the fact that he didn't jump when he felt it, slightly wet and slippery, slide over his hole, then press in.

It was a weird feeling, but he was distracted by Kirk's mouth and found it easier to ignore it and focus on the blowjob. He'd never really understood that part of sex with men; what was it about having something up one's ass that was so attractive to then?

And then he understood, because Kirk had worked his finger all the way in, and just as he dragged his teeth ever-so-gently up Kevin's cock, he pressed something inside him that Kevin belatedly realized must have been his prostate, and Kevin came apart, shooting into Kirk's mouth without warning.

When he came down from his orgasm, he expected to hear spitting, to feel Kirk rearranging them for his turn, and he felt a little apprehension settle in his stomach. There was no way he could be that good for Kirk, he was sure.

But as it turned out, he didn't have to worry; he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows, and when he looked down at his crotch he saw Kirk's head lying against his thigh, eyes closed, breathing steady. His hair tickled the bit of exposed skin at Kevin's hip, his breath coming in warm bursts over Kevin's softening cock. He could see a tent in Kirk's own pants, and a little bit of come on his lips made him realize Kirk must have swallowed most of it. The thought was pleasant, but he couldn't dwell on it; his mind was going fuzzy with sleepiness, and he barely managed to muster up the energy to tuck himself back into his boxers before falling back against the couch and drifting off to sleep as well.

---

Kevin awoke the next morning with a start, a slight throb in his skull, and a crick in his neck from the armrest. His right leg was numb, and it took him a moment to realize it was from Kirk's weight, still on top of him. He tried to gently extricate himself from Kirk's hold, but it was no use; Kirk started to mutter and shift, lifting himself up.

"Fuck," he said, wincing in the sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. As he turned away from it, his eyes landed on Kevin; the younger actor almost expected a dismissal, or even a "What are you still doing here?", but what he got was "Morning."

"Morning," Kevin replied, a wary smile on his lips. He couldn't help the way his eyes fell to Kirk's crotch, where his pants were still tented up. Still? He was hard all night? "Do you want me to...?"

"What? This?" Kirk gestured to his crotch, and Kevin nodded. Kirk laughed, shaking his head. "No, not necessary. I've just got to piss is all."

Kevin blushed. "Oh."

They stumbled through the house, Kirk pointing the way to one bathroom while he wandered off to another.

Once he'd relieved himself, Kevin splashed cold water on his face, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He considered using the shower, feeling uncomfortable and dirty in his slept-in suit, but he didn't want to overstay his welcome; Kirk hadn't said much yet, and he didn't want to give any reason for the morning to take a turn for the worse.

When he opened the bathroom door again, Kirk was there, dressed in just a clean pair of jeans and dropping aspirin into his hand. He was already smoking, and just pointed to his temple before wandering off again. Kevin followed him, tossing back the pills without water.

"So, uh, I sort of left my car behind. Is there any chance you could give me a ride...?"

Kirk quirked an eyebrow at him as they entered his kitchen, which was just as massive as his living room was. "What's the rush? You have somewhere to be?"

Kevin shrugged. "Not really. I just thought that, after last night..."

He trailed off, and Kirk snorted, going to the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice. His cigarette left his lips just long enough for him to take a long gulp from it, wiping his mouth on his forearm after.

"I'm sorry," Kevin blurted after a moment, looking away. "I know you were drunk last night—"

"So were you," Kirk pointed out, offering him the juice. Kevin took it, feeling awkward as he drank from the same carton; it seemed almost more intimate than getting blown by the guy, but that was ridiculous. "Besides, I would have done it if I was sober, anyway."

"Really?" Sound more like a virgin, Sandusky. "I mean— uh, thanks. I wasn't thank drunk, really, so... I mean, I probably would have, too."

Kirk nodded, like that was what he expected anyway, and started digging through his cupboards. "You want anything?"

Kevin watched the muscles of his back stretch and move, following them up to his arms, to his fingers, and back down to his ass. Before he could stop himself, he replied with a strangled "Yeah."

Kirk looked over his shoulder. "I meant for breakfast."

Kevin bit the inside of his cheek; he was caught before he'd even realized what he was doing. It was funny; he felt more sure of himself with the alcohol out of his system than he had the night before, and he was sure that, however it played out, he wanted Kirk.

"You never told me your character's name," Kirk said, turning back to the cupboards. "That's more important than people give it credit. You can't be a character without the name."

"Danny Lewis," Kevin answered, approaching Kirk slowly. "Daniel C. Lewis when he signs his work."

"Nice note," Kirk praised, not turning away from his cupboards. They seemed to be mostly bare; Kirk spent most of his time on location. He probably barely ever ate at home, Kevin thought. It looked like his options were either cereal, potato chips, or rotting fruit.

Cautiously, Kevin put his hands on Kirk's waist, just above his jeans; Kirk twisted around, not pulling away from the touch.

"You planning something?" he asked, and then after a moment added, "Danny?"

Kevin wanted to correct him, because he wasn't Danny, not just then. He had no urge to paint Kirk's figure, no desperate need to be touched by anyone, and the faint pang of hunger in his belly was far from enough to make him wait until he'd eaten. Instead, he smiled, sliding his hands down, forward, until he was stroking Kirk through his jeans, feeling an electric shock of pride and pleasure when he felt the older actor getting harder under his palm. "I want to try something."

Kirk didn't say anything, but his eyes held a challenge, saying, Go ahead. Try. Kevin didn't really need the push, but it made his own dick throb appreciatively anyway.

He flicked open the button of Kirk's jeans, pulling the fly down, but didn't touch Kirk's cock. He had discovered the wonders of pleasure he could get from his own ass the night before, and he wanted to give a part of that back to Kirk in his own way.

Kevin had seen a lot of porn. He had an external hard drive full of nothing but porn, organized in folders by the number of women involved and kink. There weren't a lot of files in Porn Drive G:OneRimming, but they turned him on anyway, whether the girl was giving or getting. He wasn't sure he could reach the prostate with just his tongue, but he was pretty sure he could make it good, anyway.

He sank to floor, pulling Kirk's pants — no underwear, which sort of just figured — down to his knees with him. Kirk didn't protest, just moved his legs as far apart as they could go, bracing himself against the counter. Kevin palmed his ass, excited just by the feel of it in his hands, and then pushed the cheeks apart, exposing his hole. He breathed over it, more to steady himself than anything else, but it made Kirk's thighs shiver slightly. With that boost of confidence, he quickly swiped his tongue over it once, testing the feel of it. It wasn't so bad; he did it again, letting his tongue linger, circling the hole and then swiping over it again. Kirk made a small, low noise in the back of his throat; Kevin took it as encouragement, taking one more steadying breath and then pushing his tongue in. Kirk pushed back against him, just slightly, and he thrust his tongue in further, pulled out, thrust in again, fucking Kirk on his tongue. He picked up the pace, alternating licks around the hole with thrusts in, enjoying every small, restrained noise Kirk made above.

He almost didn't notice when Kirk started talking. "Danny. Danny, stop— hold on a second. Kevin."

Somewhat reluctantly, he pulled away, looking up. Kirk's breathing was somewhat ragged, though the cigarette was still in his mouth, hanging slightly to the side. He took it out, tapped the ash into the sink and dropped it in a dirty glass, then gestured for Kevin to stand.

"I want you to fuck me."

Kevin felt his draw drop and his dick rise; he couldn't have heard that right, could he? "What?"

"Fuck. Me." He punctuated it with a thrust and grind back into Kevin's groin, reaching around to hold him in place by his hip in an awkward grip. "Danny."

"Are you sure?" Kevin asked, though he didn't want to. He wanted to just do it, but it didn't seem right not to make sure, even if Kirk was offering— Oh, fuck. Kirk Lazarus was offering to be fucked. "I don't think I'm— I'm not really in character, anymore."

Kirk ground back again, pulling one of Kevin's hands forward to his dick. "Do you really think I care? I'm hard as a fucking rock here, and I don't need you to be in character. I already saw your dick last night, and I wasn't in character. You're a pretty nice size, by the way."

Kevin groaned, his dick aching against his pants and Kirk's bare ass. "Don't we need something to— to—?"

Kirk opened a cupboard and grabbed something, holding it back for him. Olive oil— all right. "Any more questions, or do I have to go whack off on my own?"

"C-condoms," Kevin grunted, because it seemed important.

Kirk snorted. "You mean you didn't have any on you for last night?"

Oh, right. Even though Jennifer had just been a date, he'd hoped— right. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a condom. "We should've used one last night..."

"Doesn't matter. I live on danger, anyway," Kirk said, then paused. "No, wait, that was—"

"Zack Blake," Kevin supplied, remembering the role well. A teenage cop— not one of his favorites, but not bad. None of Kirk's work was. "I don't know what—"

"For fuck's sake, let me," Kirk said, twisting around and grabbing the olive oil back. He uncapped it, pouring it over his fingers and reaching around without hesitation, pushing first one, then quickly two fingers into himself. Kevin leaned back, watching him fuck himself on his fingers. He swallowed; it was much hotter than it should have been, but it was just the precursor to what he knew was coming. He fumbled with the condom, eventually getting it open and rolling it on himself; Kirk pulled his fingers out, shoving the bottle back into Kevin's hands. He slicked himself quickly, tremors wracking through his body in anticipation, and it was all he could do to go slow when he pressed against Kirk's back, pushing in.

Kirk groaned as he pushed in, leaning forward over the counter. His hands were splayed across its top, and he pushed back, pressing himself onto Kevin's dick. When they met, Kevin's stomach against his back, he breathed a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting for it to cure some pain— and he might have been, Kevin realized. He'd read a few articles about the endorphins from sex counteracting headaches; maybe every time Kirk got a hangover, he'd call him over... or maybe not. He did have eleven kids by eleven women, after all; he probably wasn't really interested in anything even semi-permenant. Well, that just meant Kevin needed to make an impression.

"Fuck me hard," Kirk demanded with a thrust back. "Hard and fast, like a drop bear on it's prey."

"Like a what?"

"Just fuck me," Kirk growled. Kevin obeyed.

He could barely restrain himself anyway; he had thought the blowjob was good, but fucking Kirk was heavenly. Every thrust brought him so close to the edge he felt like he was teetering over it constantly; he held onto Kirk's hip with one hand, the other falling near Kirk's on the countertop. He thrust for all he was worth, glad they were close in size; he remembered, after a moment, Kirk's touch to his prostate, and adjusted his position on each thrust until Kirk dropped forward slightly, moaning.

"There it is," Kirk hissed, wrapping a hand around himself and pumping wildly. "Fuck. Fuck."

Kevin smiled against Kirk's back, bringing extra force to the next trust, enough to push Kirk forward, his heels rising from the floor. Kirk clenched around his dick; it wouldn't be long, he knew, and he didn't care, as long as Kirk got off this time, too.

"My name," Kirk said, and it seemed odd; Kevin thought that was his line. "Say my fucking name, Kevin."

"Kirk," he hissed, right into his ear, and Kirk pitched forward, coming over the counter.

The tightening of his muscles, the sight of Kirk coming was enough, and Kevin came, too, spilling inside him with a loud, embarrassingly high-pitched moan. For a moment, they rested just as they were, Kirk leaning on his elbows, Kevin resting against his back, trying to breath normally again.

Eventually Kirk nudged him, and Kevin drew back, pulling out and pulling off the condom as Kirk reached for a roll of paper towels, wiping his mess off the counter and the cabinets it had begun to drip onto below. Kevin tied off the condom and threw it in the trash, risking a glance at Kirk as he did so; the Australian seemed pleased, humming a song Kevin didn't recognize to himself lightly. He was smiling, actually smiling. He hadn't even realized it, but he hadn't seen him smile since he took the wig off back in Laos.

"Well," Kirk said, pulling his pants back up and buttoning himself off, "that was fan-fucking-tastic. Glad to see you know how to use your dick."

Kevin blushed, just a little. "Um, thanks?"

"Cigarette?" Kirk asked, pulling a pack from the back pocket of his jeans. Kevin shook his head. "You know," Kirk said, lighting up, "it's been a long time since Kirk Lazarus has been fucked. Probably since before my kids were born."

Really? "Well, it's the first time Kevin Sandusky's ever been fucked."

Kirk eyed him for a moment, like he was sizing him up for something other than sex. "I think there might be a role in Kirk Lazarus's life for a Kevin Sandusky character. What do you think?"

It took Kevin, who had only started to pull his clothing back on under that scrutiny, a moment to realize what he was saying, to bring back the conversation from the night before. "Well... I don't know. I mean, it's up to you. You are the casting director."

Kirk laughed. "Yeah, I am the fucking casting director. I think you've got the part."

Kevin grinned, trying to conceal his joy just a little; he wasn't sure if that meant anything like commitment or even a long-lasting friendship, but it sounded promising. "Great. That's great. I am your biggest fan, after all."

"Nah, kid. You're not just a fan, you're a friend." Kirk's eyes glittered, almost, bright like his smile. "The sort of friend they make films about."

"Yeah," Kevin said, meeting his eyes evenly. "You, too."

There was a silence between them, not awkward or uncomfortable, and the space separating them seemed to be filled with a warm, giddy feeling, like they'd discovered something new in each other.

The silence broke gently, smoothly, as Kirk offered him breakfast again; eventually they found an almost-expired box of pancake mix, which Kirk set up to prepare while Kevin showered quickly and changed into an offered pair of sweatpants. They sat at Kirk's too-large, unused kitchen table, reminiscing about Tropic Thunder and sharing looks that meant more than they could put into words.

"What are the chances?" Kirk said, when they brought up Alpa. "Maybe we caught something out in the jungle. Just wait and see— next it'll be Jeff and Tugg."

Kevin cringed at the idea. "Please, no. I mean, yes, it's unlikely for three out of five random guys to turn out to be interested in men, but— no."

"Hey, it's Hollywood," Kirk said with a smirk. "Everyone's gay sometimes. If we're lucky they just won't do it with each other."

Kevin tried not to think about it. "Tobey Maguire isn't gay anytime."

Kirk shrugged, and they finished off their breakfast in silence. As they picked up their plates, leaving them a mess in the sink, he asked, "So, you think I could get the role of Clint in that movie of yours?"

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "I thought you weren't doing any more movies this year."

"I might make an exception if there's someone around to remind me that I'm Kirk Lazarus."

"Well, I don't know. I'm pretty sure they've already cast Benjamin McKenzie in the role."

They had. Kirk got it anyway.