Topping and Tailing
Part Eight
By Clotho & Cathy
clothomoerae@hotmail.com and huntersglenn@yahoo.com

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John Carter/Dave Malucci
Date: May 18, 2001
Archive: Not without permission. The story and its prequel, "Bottoms Up", can be found at Clotho's fanfic site http://home.talkcity.com/antennaav/fatespinner/) and at the Carterfics site (http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Boutique/7087/).
Disclaimer: "ER" and all its characters belong to Warner Bros. No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure. We owe a huge "Thank you" to Alice and Melissa, our wonderful editors. We couldn't have done it without the two of you!



Previously:

"God, if I could find a way for us to both be in each
other, then I'd die a happy man, wouldn't you?" John
said as he waited for Dave to move. When that didn't
immediately happen, John's heart sank. Dave hadn't
wanted him after all, had he? He felt his erection
falter and then disappear altogether as he bit back a
moan of disappointment. When would he ever learn?

The moan pleased Dave, he squeezed himself around
Carter. "That good?" But then heard and felt a
rhythmic thumping noise, he half turned and saw Carter
banging his head against a wall. Shit - that wasn't any
good. "Y'r back is hurtin' isn't it?" Dave
regretfully pulled himself off Carter then stood up.
He looked down, and saw Carter's flaccid dick. "You
said you were hard."


"Sorry. Sometimes pain has that effect. I'm sure it
will come back." John looked up at Dave, feeling even
more confused by the concern he saw there. "I'm
sorry. It's not you. It really isn't. It's me."

Yeah, sure it wasn't Dave. Dave shook his head, and
then stepped out of the shower to look for a towel.
There were a couple hanging over a rack in the ornate
bathroom. Dave picked one up awkwardly - his fingers
still feeling large and uncoordinated. "Okay, Carter.
Can ya come out? It might be better if ya lie down."

John got to his feet and turned off the water, then
stepped out of the shower. Dave was having problems
with the towel, so John took it from him and started to
dry his body, moving quickly because he could feel
Dave's body shake. "You're shivering. I've kept you
out in the cold too long. C'mon, let's get you back in
bed." John wrapped the huge towel around Dave and led
him to the bedroom, pushing him down on the bed and
tucking him in. "I've got a kitchen to clean up, but
I'll be back. Don't leave, okay?"

Dave hated that Carter left after sex. Just hated it.
He patted the bed beside him. "Stay." He tried to
think of a good reason for it. "I'll rub your back?"

The offer was tempting. Very tempting. And giving in
to it would make Dave stay a bit longer. John nodded,
then climbed into bed beside Dave. "That sounds good.
Thanks for offering." John was still hoping that he
could find a way to end up with Dave's cock inside
him. So it didn't happen in the shower, but maybe it
could happen after Dave rested a bit more.

Dave smiled. His fingers were still clumsy, but he'd
do his best, maybe with the palms of his hands. The
trouble was - what he wanted to do was curl up next to
Carter, skin to skin. They'd already broken the
post-sex skin contact, so it wasn't as total, but it
still could be good. But rubbing a back was better
than nothing, so Dave pushed his palms into Carter's
back, and kissed him, wanting to make Carter feel good,
but not so much better that he would get up and leave.

John sighed into the mattress as Dave's hands worked
magic on his aching back. And the kissing --- God,
that was going to undo him. How could Dave act so
tender when he didn't really care? John closed his eyes
and tried to concentrate on the physical feelings. He
would be much better off if he could ever learn to
separate the physical from the emotional, the way Dave
obviously had.

Dave wasn't too sure, but he thought that Carter had
gone to sleep; his breathing was deep and even. He
traced his hands down Carter's sides. He didn't know
why or how Carter did this to him. He didn't know why
he wanted to kiss and caress Carter's back. He didn't
know why he wanted to lie close to him. He didn't know
why Carter in the kitchen or shower was Carter too far
away. It had never been like this after the other two
guys he'd fucked. But then he'd never been fucked
before - maybe that was the difference. Maybe having a
guy stick his cock up your ass made you want him real
close, and for him never to leave. But it hadn't been
like this for those other two - or he didn't think it
had been - they'd just pulled up their pants and walked
away with barely a glance at him. Maybe it was a first
time thing - you only ever wanted the first guy who did
it to you like that, maybe you wanted the next two or
three a little bit, but not so badly and it just wore
off. Or maybe it never wore off, it always felt like
this - and those guys hadn't glanced at him when they
left because if they had then they'd have been crying
and begging to spend the night with him. Maybe. He
didn't know which would be worse - it being a one-time
deal or being something that was always wanted and
never happened. He ran one of his sausage fingers over
the scars on Carter's back, then reached over to pull
up the covers that had fallen off the bed and snuggled
down next to Carter - on the side where his arm was by
his side, not sprawling, so he could be as close to him
as possible.

John felt Dave settle next to him. It had been so nice
to feel Dave's hands caressing him, and yet he had to
fight the urge to flinch away when Dave's fingers
traced over his scars. This morning John had thought
that Dave didn't want to be anywhere near his scars.
This was all too confusing. John knew he was dealing
with feelings that he had dealt with before -- but
never with another man. He was in love with Dave
Malucci. Had been in love with him for some time now,
he just never had the courage to admit it to himself.
It was too easy to hide his feelings behind teasing
words. But when Dave had fucked him on the dance floor
in the bar, John knew right then that he loved the man
who was taking him. And it was breaking his heart to
realize that his feelings weren't being returned. God,
it had been hard enough when Anna hadn't loved him
back, and they had never been intimate. Now that he
knew so much about Dave's body, how could he ever be
content to be just Dave's co-worker?

John sighed, then turned his head and found he was
looking directly into Dave's dark brown eyes, eyes that
held so many secrets. John wanted too much to ask Dave
why he was there. What did he want to have happen with
them? But he was afraid to ask Dave anything -- he had
already found out that Dave didn't like having to
answer questions. And the last thing John wanted to do
right now was chase Dave away -- again. John rested
his head on his folded arms and contented himself with
just looking at Dave.

Dave saw Carter looking at him, and looked back. Carter
had to know how it was - he'd been fucked for a first
time too, once. He had to know how much Dave craved
every pore of Carter's skin, every touch of his lips
and fingers. And Carter was just looking, straight at
him, eye to eye. To Dave's intense annoyance he began
to blush.

John couldn't help but smile as he watched Dave's
cheeks grow increasingly pink until they were red. He
slowly moved one arm out from under his head and
reached over to lightly caress Dave's cheek. Would
this be the last time he touched Dave this way? John
hoped not, but right then, he didn't want to assume too
much. He wanted -- needed, really, for Dave to love
him back. But that wasn't going to happen. So this
short time would have to last the rest of his life.
Every little touch, every caress, mattered so much.

Dave opened his mouth to accept the finger. He licked
it, he suckled it, he nibbled it. He flung an arm over
Carter's shoulders so he could get nearer, and pressed
his body close to Carter's.

John found himself wishing that another part of his
anatomy in that warm and wonderful mouth. But Dave
giving him a blowjob was not something that would ever
happen. Still, the image of Dave doing that for him
and to him was enough to bring his cock to attention
once more, but again, John didn't know what to do or
say. So, as Dave draped his body over his, John
remained still and silent, not wanting Dave to discover
his erection. Damn it, all, John thought. He wanted
so much for Dave to be inside of him and he simply
wasn't up to dealing with Dave expecting to be fucked
again. So, for now, they would both have to be content
with just being close to each other.

Carter's body was stiff under Dave's arm, it didn't
respond to his small movements. He wasn't turning
toward Dave's body. He was still watching him as he
played with his finger, not saying a word or doing
anything. Dave let it drop from his mouth. Not
responding. Not doing anything. Directly after they'd
left the shower he'd talked of cleaning the kitchen.
Dave would prefer to do almost anything than clean
his kitchen. This had to be over. Dave dropped his
face to the pillow - he didn't move, he still wanted to
touch Carter, but he knew that the guy would be gone
soon.

John brought his now freed finger to his own mouth and
slowly sucked it, savoring the taste of Dave that
lingered on it. He had to ask. He just had to. But
he knew he shouldn't. Still..."So, what now?"

Dave shrugged into the pillow. "It's you who knows how
this goes."

"I was asking what happens after this? What happens
when you leave here, and we go back to work?" John
regretted asking those questions the second they left
his mouth. It sounded too much as if he were begging
Dave for some sign of commitment.

Dave shrugged again. He was waiting for an arm to go
about him, a hand to brush his hair, anything. He
despised himself for waiting and wanting - that wasn't
how one-night stands went. How was he supposed to know
the answer to a question like that? He'd never done
this before; he didn't know how it went. "Guessing: I
leave here, and we go back to work." How was he
supposed to work with Carter when the redwood had
broken him in two, and then nailed him together
differently?

John's heart started to break as he heard Dave's
words. They had been what he thought Dave would say,
but he had hoped and wished that Dave would have said
something different. John nodded. "I guess I should
try to find you some clothes so I can take you home.
I'm not sure if I have anything that will really fit
you. Except for maybe sweats -- and the leather pants
-- they'll fit just about anyone, and I'll never wear
them again, so someone should be able to get some
decent use out of them, right?" But John couldn't
bring himself to move out of bed to actually look for
those clothes. He didn't want Dave to leave. Not
now. Not ever.

Dave couldn't imagine walking into his building in
those pants. His mind just didn't go there. But his
mind didn't go anywhere out of this bed with Carter
either. He couldn't imagine just getting up and
walking away. Couldn't imagine not touching Carter,
skin to skin and pore to pore.

And Dave didn't want it to end. He didn't want to have
to put on those clothes and go home. He didn't want
it to end. The idea shocked him. Not wanting it to end
was seriously freaky. Dave shook his head. He really
didn't know what to do. He rolled to the far side of
the bed, and got out. "I'm goin' to make lunch. Want
some?" Dave glanced at the gathering gloom outside the
windows. "Dinner maybe?"

"No, but if you could manage to find some morphine or
Vicodin or something like that, I'd like a bit." John
replied as he sat up, thinking he was keeping his voice
low enough so Dave couldn't hear him. He needed to be
numb. John didn't want to have to deal with all the
emotions whirling around inside of his head.

That got Dave's attention "What? I thought you said
you weren't taking that shit anymore." He glanced down
at the man in the bed - who still seemed to be in pain
of some kind. "You withdrawing?" That could explain
the earlier outburst of anger, the throwing. Dave
frowned, remembering the casual way Adam had tried to
feed Carter the drugs last night. "Shit. How long you
been on them again?"

John shook his head. "No, Dave, I'm not withdrawing.
Do you really think I'd risk my career for a few
pills?" But hadn't he almost done just that on
Christmas Day when he swallowed the Vicodin without
thinking? But he had thrown them up, that's what
counted. No matter what Abby said to the contrary. He
had thrown them back up. And run to an AA meeting
for reinforcement. "Just because I want it doesn't
mean I'm taking it. Go and have dinner. I'll be right
here when you're done."

Dave shrugged. "You did before." He repeated, "You
usin' again?"

John turned to look at Dave -- slowly so he wouldn't
aggravate his back. He held out his arms. "You see
any track marks on me, Dave? Do you? The answer is
'no' because there aren't any to see. There aren't any
pills hidden away in here, no syringes with leftover
narcotics in them stuck under the bed in case I need a
quick hit. This isn't about drugs or me wanting to
feel numb. This is about you being the first person
I've been with since Elaine Nichols that I've cared
about. She ran away from me as fast as a jet to Europe
could take her and you don't give a damn about me,
either. Just give me time to deal with that, okay? Go
have your dinner. By the time you're done, I'll
probably be able to fuck you again and can pretend that
I never loved you. Okay?"

Dave shrugged again. He hated feeling out of his depth
- and right now he was lost. Maybe the guy should see
a shrink. It was beyond him. There was one thing he
could deal with though, he stepped forward quickly, and
patted Carter on the arm. "I do like ya, bud." Then
he rapidly backed off, "Sure 'bout dinner?"

John laughed. "That's a good one, Dave. You do like
me? Well, if you ever do fall in love with a guy then
he'll be damn lucky, because if you do all of this with
a guy you only like, then it'll be something else
when you fall in love, won't it?"

Dave didn't have a clue how to go about even beginning
to answer that statement. He turned tail, and left the
room, heading for the kitchen and dinner. Everything
always seemed simpler after he had eaten.

John waited until he knew Dave was out of earshot and
then he went into the shower again. He turned the
water on as hot as he could stand it and stepped in to
let the spray massage his back and side. If only he
could find something to take care of the pain in his
heart then he'd be in great shape, he thought. The one
relationship that he so desperately wanted, he was
somehow managing to get totally wrong. Of course, it
would be easier to have a relationship if Dave cared,
but that was neither here nor there. John cared about
Dave and Dave only 'liked' him. Fine. He would find a
way to live with that. He didn't have a choice.

The more John thought about Dave and the time they had
spent together, the more torn up he felt inside. He
knew he had to get some emotional distance between him
and Dave. That would mean that Dave needed to leave
now. But would he want to leave? Hell, John sat
down. He didn't want Dave to leave. But it was an
immediate solution to the problem at hand.

John sat there under the hot spray suddenly surrounded
by the memory of them making love in that very spot not
so long ago. No, he corrected himself. We didn't make
love. We fucked. It was just sex.

But he didn't do 'just sex'. John made love.

Dave didn't.

John nodded. He needed to take Dave home. Spend some
time alone or something. Maybe go to a few AA
meetings. They were better than being alone and
thinking about Dave. Remembering his touch and the
taste of his kisses. Or how beautiful Dave's face
looked when it was transformed during his orgasms.

No. John didn't want to think about any of that. And
he didn't want to think about how he would find a way
to walk into work the next day and not react to Dave's
presence.

Unless he didn't work his scheduled shift. He could
call Weaver and ask to be put on a different shift for
a bit. Avoid Dave totally until he could get things
sorted out in his head. Until he could find a way to
un-love Dave.

John turned off the water, then reached for a towel and
quickly dried off. If he hurried then he could get
dressed before Dave returned to the bedroom. But, God,
how could he look into Dave's eyes and tell him that he
wanted to take him home now? He knew that Dave would
be hurt by that. But it couldn't be helped.

John stepped into his bedroom and dressed once more in
the casual clothes he had put on earlier, then he
started to look for some pants that might fit Dave.
Maybe a pair of sweatpants? John was sure that Dave's
shirt would be dry by now. Or close enough to it. If
not, then John had sweatshirts Dave could wear. And if
John ever got them back again then Dave's scent would
be on them. If he couldn't have Dave, then he could at
least have that small comfort, John thought.



Dave trotted down to the kitchen. He knew the way
now. He'd get some food, and things would seem
better. Maybe if he took some up to Carter too - got
him to eat then Carter would start acting less
strange. Maybe. It was a good plan of action though.

When Dave got to the kitchen he stopped. The place
looked like a disaster area. There were pots on the
floor. And a burnt pan spilling its blackened contents
onto the island in the centre of the floor. There was
a fried egg of all things sitting, unplated, on the
table. And two plateloads of greasy breakfast, now
stone cold. And a kicked over chair. It was a mess.

It was illuminated by cold red light coming through the
window. The sun was setting on New Year's Day, and it
looked like everything had ended. Dave flicked on a
switch - substituting a warm yellow glow for the
sunset.

He went to the table, and picked up a fried rasher of
bacon, and ate it in his fingers - it was good. It
would have been a very good breakfast - but they'd
never got to eat it. He didn't have the heart to eat a
second rasher.

He walked to the fridge, stepping over the pile of
cookware on the floor. Inside he could see ham and
cheese and other sandwich fillings, he got them out -
but when he put them down on the island he saw the
burnt pan.

He went to slice bread - he could make some sandwiches,
and half a hundred old arguments that he'd heard
skidded through his mind. The neighbours, his
parents. Arguing and fighting and hitting and throwing
things. He'd hated it.

He didn't want to be someone who threw things. He'd
always said he'd never do that.

He didn't want to be someone who had things thrown at
them either.

Dave cut the first two slices of bread with his
thickened fingers and stared at them. He buttered the
bread, put the ham and cheese inside them, then righted
the knocked over chair and sat down. His ass ached
when he sat.

Maybe Carter was on drugs again. Maybe he wasn't.
Dave didn't know. He did know that whether Carter was
or wasn't, Dave did not want things thrown at him. No
how. No way.

Dave tried eating the sandwich. Things always seemed
better after you'd eaten. It was a good sandwich.

But Carter had been talking about love after one
night. Dave shrugged hopelessly. He wasn't gay. He
didn't know how gay guys did things. But that seemed
just unreasonable. He'd enjoyed it - maybe he'd even
wanted more. But that didn't mean he wanted people
yelling at him, and throwing things at him.

The sandwich was gone. Dave stood up and made another.

He thought of getting a plate, then looking around the
room decided against it - they made potent missiles. A
kitchen towel.

If Carter seemed reasonable, asked him to stay, maybe
he would. If he didn't then Dave'd be out of there.
There were lots of other people in Chicago he could
fuck. So what if no one had ever fucked him like
Carter had? In all the millions out there there had to
be someone else who could.

Dave took the new sandwich in hand, and went upstairs.



Dave stopped for a second outside the bedroom door. He
didn't know what was going to happen in there. He
pushed the door open and entered.

Carter was there. He didn't look like an ogre. He
looked dressed. Dressed? Dave opened his mouth then
shut it, then opened it again. "I made you a
sandwich."

John looked up from the drawer, a pair of black
sweatpants in his hand. "Thanks, but you didn't need
to do that. I'm not hungry." He walked over to the
bed and put the pants on the covers. "I think those
will fit you. If your shirt isn't dry then I can get a
sweatshirt for you to wear home." John headed back to
the chest of drawers to start looking for a sweatshirt
to lend Dave. He didn't trust himself to get too close
to Dave, not with Dave naked. John wasn't sure he
could trust himself to get near Dave with Dave clothed,
either, but he would deal with that later.

"Oh." Dave put the sandwich down on top of a scotch
chest. "I'm...you're...?" He hadn't thought about
this back in the kitchen.

"I had to cut your pants off of you, remember? You
don't have any to wear home." John said, deliberately
keeping his back turned to Dave. He didn't want to see
Dave's eyes as those words sunk in.

Dave's face tensed up. He'd thought about maybe going
home down in the kitchen. He hadn't thought about
Carter throwing him out though. "Uh. Oh. What's the
cab fare from here?"

"I'll drive you home, Dave." John found the sweatshirt
that matched the pants he had put on the bed. He
turned and saw that Dave had not yet started to get
dressed. "This should fit you. Do you need anything
else? Underwear or socks?"

"Nah." Underwear and socks were optional extras to
Dave. "Um. Doin' anything in town?" He started to
speak faster. "Ya could go to a meeting. Talkin'
'bout drugs 'n all."

"Yeah, they have meetings on holidays, so I thought I'd
track one down. Then I've got to get back here and
clean up the place before anyone gets back. Corrine
will have a fit if she sees her kitchen looking the way
it does now." John headed for the door. "I'll be in
the kitchen starting on that. Come on down once you're
dressed and ready to go, okay?"

Dave let out the start of a laugh. "She the one who
gets to clean up? Shit yeah." But Carter seemed to be
out the door. Dave looked at the clothes that Carter
had put on the bed. They seemed ordinary - sweatpants
and sweatshirt. No black lace-up leather. Ordinary,
as if the last day had never happened.

Dave sat down on the bed, and pulled on first the
sweatpants then the sweatshirt. They covered up his
marks and bruises. The hickies Carter had given him.
His asshole. The punch from Adam. Where he'd slid on
the marble. All covered up - gone. He bent down to
put his sneakers on. His fingers were still not
working right, too thick. In the end Dave just shoved
his feet into the footwear and didn't bother with the
laces, they'd do.

As Dave left the bedroom to walk down to the kitchen he
turned and took one last look at it. Carter. Him.
Who'd have thought?


The End