Title: When a Man Loves a …
Author: Tinnean
Fandom: The Big Chill
Pairing: Sam/Richard
Rating: PG-13
Date: 3/2001
Series/Sequel: This is Part 6 in The Connection series, and
follows Bad Moon Rising
Disclaimer: They still belong to Lawrence Kasdan, and I’m
still just filling in all the blanks.
Summary: Richard muses on his first meeting with Sam.
Warning: m/m spoilers for the movie
Note: I have been unable to find out what Richard does for a living, so I’ve deliberately kept it ambiguous. Since this is set in the late 70’s, the hotel is still using room keys.
For Silk because she writes great slash. And for Gail who
beta’d, and who wanted to see what Richard and Sam were up to, and wondered
what they’d be doing on the first day of Spring.
When a Man Loves a ….
Part 1/1
Richard sat at the small booth at the back of Hollywood’s
latest nightspot. Sam had taken him to Ariadne’s the last time he had flown
into LAX on business.
Now he was toying with the swizzle stick in his drink,
something new the bartender had come up with, called a Dirty Banana. It
consisted of Kahlua, crème de banana and milk over ice in a beer stein. Richard
liked it because he could drink as many as he liked and only get a mild buzz.
He needed all his faculties when dealing with Sam Weber.
The actor was one of Hollywood’s bright new stars, and he was making quite a
name for himself. But the name he wanted least, and struggled hardest to avoid
was fairy.
And if Richard had too many, he got very affectionate.
He had been drinking hazelnut daiquiris the first time he
had dined with the man who comprised one-seventh of the clique his wife Karen
had belonged to in college. Richard raised the glass stein, his eyes glued to
the man who was coming to mean more than an all too infrequent fuck.
****
He had gotten into LAX and marveled at the difference
between the warm California sun and the blustery Chicago winter he had left
behind.
His company had sent him out on business, and for once he
had been more than happy to leave his wife and two sons. Well, not the boys, he
didn’t like leaving them, but some bug had gotten up Karen’s ass, and she
had been surprisingly willing to see the back of him. If Richard didn’t know
better, he would have sworn she wanted him away so she could meet with a lover.
But he knew Karen would never be unfaithful to him. Not
because theirs was the love match of the ages, but because she was deathly
afraid of contracting herpes. And how would she possibly explain that, when
everyone in their circle of friends knew that Richard was as faithful as the day
was long.
He had taken a cab to the Regent Beverly Wiltshire and
checked in, trying to conceal his amazement at the domed ceiling and mirrored
walls and acres of plush carpeting. He snapped his mouth shut and filled out the
card the desk clerk had slid across the marbled expanse of counter to him.
It hadn’t taken him long to get settled. It wasn’t a
luxury suite, but it had a fully stocked complimentary bar, a bed that was so
large he was sure he would need breadcrumbs to find his way out, and an antique
desk on which to do his work.
He showered and changed into casual clothing, then went
down to the restaurant on the first level.
“Yes?” The individual guarding the entrance eyed him
disdainfully and curled his lip.
“Um, I’d like a table for one, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir. We require more formal attire than you
are currently garbed in..”
“But…I’m staying in this hotel!”
The look the maitre d’ gave him clearly said he could not
be held responsible for that!
Richard had never been treated so cavalierly before, and
had no idea how to react. He could feel the heat of his anger coloring his
cheeks, and battled it down. He wouldn’t give this little worm the
satisfaction!
“Richard? Richard Bowers?”
He turned to face a handsome, tanned man, who looked
amazingly familiar. “Yes?”
Sam Weber was enchanted. He had become a trifle blasé when
it came to appearing in public, but here was someone with ties, however fragile,
to his friends from college. He saw the exact moment Richard recognized him.
“Sam.” He reluctantly accepted the other man’s hand.
The maitre d’ had known him immediately, and was
practically salivating to have such personable actor on the premises. “Mr.
Weber! May I get you a table, sir?”
“Thanks, but I’m really not dressed for it.”
“Oh, for you we will be happy to bend the rules!”
“No, that’s quite all right. My friend and I will go
somewhere else. How does McDonald’s grab you, Richard?”
The maitre d’ looked as if he had swallowed something
particularly nasty. “Please, Mr. Weber! I insist you dine with us.”
Sam grinned and cocked an eye at Richard. “What do you
say, Richard?”
Richard had always been jealous of his wife’s friendship
with the good-looking actor. For the first time, he could see the charisma that
affected others so greatly. And it was directed at him!
He smiled. “Sounds good, Sam.”
Sam felt a kick in his gut. He had always thought of
Karen’s husband as a stuffed shirt. Now he saw something of what had attracted
her to the businessman.
The maitre d’ snapped his fingers and as if by magic, a
waiter dressed in a formal, pressed white shirt with pleated front and bow tie
appeared. “Table for Mr. Weber and his party, Peter. Somewhere out of the way,
sir?”
“Yes, that will be fine. I don’t mind signing
autographs, but not while I’m trying to eat.”
Sam smiled, and Richard felt a kick in his gut. He had
always thought of Karen’s friend as a spoiled young man who had everything he
wanted presented to him on a silver platter, without ever having to work for it.
Now he understood why there was talk of him possibly replacing the star of the
show he was on.
They followed the waiter to a table in a secluded corner.
The waiter took their drinks order and deferentially handed them menus. Richard
took a sip of water from the crystal goblet before him and opened the menu. And
began choking on the water.
Sam looked up and smiled. “It’s okay, Richard. This one
is on me.”
The waiter had returned and was placing their drinks on the
table. “Oh, no, Mr. Weber. This one is on the Beverly Wiltshire. We are
honored!”
“Thank you, Peter.” Sam was all graciousness. “I’ll
order for both of us, shall I Richard?”
Dumbly, the other man nodded and raised his daiquiri. He
took a healthy swallow and sat back to watch his wife’s friend, unable to tear
his eyes from those expressive lips.
Both men took their time eating, making it a languid,
sensual activity. Sam chose an entrée for himself that would need to be eaten
with the aid of his fingers. He didn’t make a production of nibbling on the
main course, but he made certain that Richard was watching him whenever he would
slide a fork into his mouth to gently remove a morsel, or lick his fingers
clean.
He noticed that Richard was unable to tear his eyes from
his mouth, and was in danger of spearing his mouth with his own fork.
When the meal was finally finished, Sam sat back in his
seat and sipped at his coffee. “I hope you enjoyed dinner, Richard?”
“Yes. Thank you. It was quite good.” He took another
sip of his daiquiri and looked wistfully at the actor. “I imagine you’ll
have to leave now.”
“There’s nowhere I need to be.”
“Would you care to see my room?” Richard closed his
eyes in mortification. How gauche was that? “I mean…would you like to come
up for a nightcap?”
“Sure, Richard. I’d enjoy that. Let me just sign a few
autographs and we can go on up. Oh, and don’t finish that drink. I want you
fairly sober!”
By the time they got to the twenty-fifth floor, Richard was
feeling the effects of all those daiquiris. Sam got an arm around his shoulder.
“C’mon, buddy. I’d better get you tucked into bed.”
Richard leaned against Sam as he reached into the other
man’s pocket to retrieve his room key, and found him rock hard in his
trousers. As he slid the key into the door, Richard slid his tongue into his
ear. “You gonna join me, Sam?”
Sam chuckled. Plastered, Karen’s uptight husband was one
sexy guy. “It’s what I had in mind all along!”
****
The next morning, Richard’s head felt as if the entire
Chicago Philharmonic was banging out the 1812 Overture, complete with cannon and
bells. His mouth tasted as if a herd of rampaging elephants had passed through.
He groaned and buried his head under his pillow.
A warm hand caressed his ass under the covers. His naked
ass! Oh, God! What had he done?
Heated lips teased across his shoulder, and he could feel
hairy thighs rubbing along the backs of his thighs.
Oh, God, what had he done?
The lips fastened on his ear lobe and suckled gently.
“Morning, babe.”
Cautiously, Richard eased toward the edge of the bed. And
eased toward the edge of the bed. He knew it had to be around there somewhere.
Finally his toes found empty space and he whipped himself away from that
seductive embrace, yanking the sheet with him and holding it in front of him
like a shield.
But the action upset his delicate equilibrium, and his
stomach was in revolt. Richard clapped his hand over his mouth and ran for the
bathroom, uncaring that he gave the occupant of his bed a heady glimpse of his
taut buttocks.
Sam lay back on the tangled sheets, his cock half-hard
along his thigh and slid one hand under his head, while the other stroked his
shaft to full erection.
Richard brushed his teeth and swallowed a couple of
aspirin. He regarded the bottle thoughtfully, then swallowed two more. Studying
his face in the mirror, he winced. And he needed to be at work in less than an
hour.
He rubbed his hand over his chin, which bristled with a
heavy growth of morning beard. Slapping on some ‘Lectric Shave, he turned on
his razor and ran it over his chin and cheeks, then tipped his head back to work
on his neck and jaw.
A warm, wet tongue lapped its way up his spine. “Turn
around, Richard,” Sam whispered.
Helpless to do anything else, Richard turned and leaned
back against the sink. He couldn’t believe that the actor was sinking down to
his knees before him. “You took too long in here, Richard!”
“Sam!” The name came out a moan as a hot mouth swooped
forward and took his hard cock deep into the willing throat. He shuddered at the
feel of teeth scraping along his shaft, of a tongue dipping into the slit at the
tip of his cock. Of hands rolling his balls and stroking the sensitive skin
behind them.
The razor dropped to the floor and Richard’s fingers
twisted in Sam’s thick, dark hair.
“Sam, I’m going to come!” Richard tried to pull free.
He knew how Karen hated it when he started to come in her mouth.
Sam growled and dug his fingers into the crevice of the
other man’s buttocks, drawing him closer. Like the roar of an avalanche,
Richard’s orgasm overtook him and swept him away, and he poured himself into
Sam’s eager mouth.
Letting Richard’s limp cock fall from his lips, Sam
leaned back and smiled up at Karen’s husband. “I love the way you taste,
Richard. I want to taste you again.”
“I have to meet a client!”
Sam rose to his feet, his expertise as a stunt man evident
in his graceful movement. “Tonight, then. Don’t say no to me, Richard. I
hate when people tell me no!”
“Sam, I’ve never done…whatever we did last
night…before!”
“You did great, babe.”
“Um, should I be feeling sore, Sam?”
“Well, not unless you pulled a muscle in your sleep,
babe.” He drew the other man into his embrace and kissed him, letting him
taste the remnants of his orgasm in his mouth. “You fucked me!”
****
They had one more night, before Richard had to return to
Chicago. Sam saw him off at the hotel. “I’m no good at goodbyes, babe. Tell
Karen I said hi, will you?”
And he was gone.
Richard finished packing and made sure the contracts were
all in order. Vice president in charge of pencil pushers, that was him!
He cast a last glance around the room and spotted Sam’s
sunglasses. He tucked them into his pocket and pressed his hand over them for a
second.
Then he closed the door behind him and left.
His flight was scheduled to leave on time, and he waited in
the lounge, leafing through a Playboy he had picked up. Inside was a small
article about Sam Weber, The Lords of Larrabee’s hottest player. Richard
smiled and read it.
A shadow fell across the page and he frowned and looked up.
And got shakily to his feet. “Sam!”
The actor pressed a card into his hand. “This is my
private line, Richard. Call me the next time you come to town!” He squeezed
his hand and then he turned and vanished into the crowd.
When Richard returned to Chicago, the tender green shoots
of daffodils and tulips were bursting through the soil of the flowerbeds that
dotted his front lawn. Purple crocuses and white snowdrops unfurled their
petals.
Spring had come to the windy city. And to Richard’s heart.
~End~
