With a Bad Idea

a The Forsaken RPS story

by dirty diana

dirtydiana78@hotmail.com

For Caroline Crane, on her birthday. mad beta love, plus scruffy boys with guns, to Neko. And also skripka, with a little naked Sean substituted instead.


It's coming on to the darkest hours of the night when Brendan's phone rings.

"I'm coming over," Kerr says, and he's talking so fast and so low that Brendan can barely understand him. "We need to talk."

Brendan glances over at Majandra beside him in bed, naked and beautiful. She's frowning at him curiously. "Can it wait?" he asks. "Till, like, tomorrow?"

"No," Kerr answers, and Brendan can hear that he means it, and he can hear the jagged lines where Kerr is falling apart. "It's a mess, man. It's a fucking mess. We need to talk."

Brendan sighs, and hangs up the phone. "You need to go," he says to Majandra.

She sits up in bed, the sheet falling away from her bare skin, and she squints at him. "What?"

Brendan just shakes his head, because he knows that she heard him. "Go," he repeats. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Right now? It's two in the morning."

He shrugs, because it's not the first time she's left his house in the middle of the night, and they both know she shouldn't be there anyway. "Yeah," he tells her. "Right now."

"You're such an ass," Majandra says, as she gets dressed.

Brendan just rolls his eyes, because Majandra repeats herself a lot.

He kisses her quickly as she leaves. "I'll call you," he says.

"Yeah, whatever," she answers, and then she's gone.

While he's waiting for Kerr to arrive, he changes the sheets on his bed. He doesn't think that's what Kerr is coming over for, but it's Kerr and he can never quite be sure.

"This better be good," he tells Kerr, when he lets him in ten minutes later. "I was busy."

Kerr practically throws the newspaper at him. He doesn't say anything.

Brendan picks the paper up off the floor when it drops, and scans the front page. It's the New York Post, with a headline in capital letters: Brad and Jenn's Mediterranean vacation. Brendan frowns at the colour photo. "I didn't know you were a Brad Pitt fan," he says.

Kerr glares at him. "Turn the fucking page," he says. "Page six."

Brendan looks. Through the blurry newsprint he recognises Kerr's face, turned towards the camera, and he recognises the back of his own head, and his favourite pair of jeans.

He remembers that hotel, with thick, immaculate carpeting and the air conditioning turned up too high. He remembers going to New York to read for a part and running into Kerr in a featureless bar. He and Kerr spent the whole weekend in that hotel room.

"Well." Brendan puts the paper down. "Thatís too bad, man."

"Too bad?" Kerr repeats, with a hard bite on the word that makes it sound ridiculous. "Too bad? This is all your fault. My career is fucking over, and it's your fault."

And Brendan doesn't know what Kerr is more upset by, the fact that he's been outed, or the fact that the news only made page six.

He imagines the conversation when he calls Majandra tomorrow to apologise. "Sorry," he'll say. "I was busy ruining Kerr Smith's career."

"Who?" she'll ask him.

"It's not ruined. Don't freak out just yet, man. You can go on Leno and make self-deprecating jokes. People love that shit."

"Self-deprecating," Kerr repeats. "Do you even know what that means?"

"Fuck you," Brendan answers, before he can stop himself. "I'm trying to help. I'm just saying, maybe it's not too late for damage control."

Kerr glares at him as if he's stupid, a familiar look out of ice-cold eyes. "It is too late. Harmoni has seen it."

"Oh." Brendan doesn't know what to say. "How did that go?"

"How do you think it went? She called me a slut, and she called me a fag, and she kicked me out."

"I'm sorry."

Brendan starts to cross the kitchen, but Kerr moves back. "Don't fucking touch me."

Brendan shrugs, and moves towards the counter to make coffee. It's becoming clear to him that this is going to be a long fucking night.

And he definitely isn't getting laid again.

He makes the coffee strong and black, and as an afterthought pours a slug of rum into each cup.

Kerr drinks the coffee. He sits on Brendan's couch, and doesn't say a word, but Brendan can smell the fear and hate and sticky anger that's coming off him.

"My phone's ringing already." He won't look at Brendan, just his hands, and the coffee as it swirls thickly round. "My phone is ringing, and I don't know what to say."

Brendan has swallowed his whole cup down, tasting the rum burning in the back of his throat.

Kerr shakes his head. "She kicked me out, man."

"You can stay here," Brendan says uncertainly, "if you want to."

Kerr's head jerks up suddenly, eyes wide with the anger that's flashing back. "Yeah. That'll help. Brilliant fucking idea. Then the headline can say, 'Creek star's gay love nest'."

Brendan can't decide which part of that imaginary headline is funnier, so he keeps his mouth shut. "No one's going to find you here. Only about four people even have this number. Besides, man. You're messed up. You shouldn't drive."

It sounds good while he's saying it, and it only later occurs to Brendan to wonder why he bothered.

Kerr looks at him for a long moment, and then nods. "Okay," he says.

Brendan gives Kerr the guest room, the one that's never been used. He sleeps on his side, and tries not to think about what the hell he's supposed to do in the morning.


Brendan wakes up to the sound of running water. Then stumbles downstairs, barefoot and blinking sleepily.

"What are you doing?"

"Organising your dishes," Kerr says, as he stands at the kitchen sink with a towel in his hands. "How the fuck do you find anything?"

Brendan just stares at him. "How did Harmoni not know you were gay?" he asks, and then thinks, shit, but it's too late and Kerr is glaring at him.

"I'm not gay."

"No," Brendan says, and he knows that he should shut up but he can't quite seem to manage it. "It's just a carefully crafted illusion."

"Fuck you," Kerr says, and throws the towel down, abruptly. "I'll just go."

He moves towards the door, with Brendan sliding directly into his way without thinking. "Don't."

"Get out of my way."

"Stop being an idiot."

So Kerr tries to hit him. It's a sloppy punch, leaving Brendan with plenty of time to duck, then step to the side and swing in return. The punch connects, square in Kerr's stomach.

"Shit." Brendan is literally shocked, more surprised than Kerr maybe, as the force of the blow bounces back though him.

"Asshole," Kerr growls at him, and then they're kissing without warning.

Kerrís fingers hold tight to Brendanís midsection, gripping him hungrily, and then just as suddenly he pulls away.

"Iím not gay," Kerr says again. Heís breathless.

"No," Brendan takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

It's the first time that he's said it. Kerr only looks at him.

"Why? It doesn't affect you."

"It kind of does," Brendan says, and then crosses his fingers that Kerr won't ask him to explain that one. "I can finish cleaning up."

Kerr nods. He walks away. Brendan hears his shower turning on.


Brendan is sitting on his bed when Kerr appears in the doorway. Kerr is still wet in just his jeans, skin and hair glistening. His eyes are shadowed, damp and dark.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"For what?"

"For being an ass," Kerr says, and Brendan's got about a hundred possible bad jokes in response to that, but he doesn't bother.

Kerr sits down on the bed, with his hands in lap. "I'm sorry," he says again.

"No," it's fine," Brendan begins, but then he's being kissed again, Kerr pulled towards him like lightning with fingers tangled tightly in his hair.

And Brendan really wants to say that he doesn't want to be Kerr's comfort fuck, any more than he wants to be Kerr's dirty little secret. But the time for saying anything at all is disappearing out from under him, as Kerr's fingers stroke the base of his spine while they kiss.

"Fuck," he whispers.

"I know," Kerr answers helplessly against his mouth. Brendan can taste the craving on his tongue, where it matches his own exactly.

And this seems upside down, Kerr being the hungry one, fingers and mouth overtaking Brendan with a matter-of-fact hunger that makes Brendan moan. Because he's never really sure that he hasn't made the whole thing up, until this moment. This exact moment, when he's got the shallow, low breathing in his ear to remind him, as Kerr's hand slips hurriedly into his pants. Stroking the harsh line of his hip as he undoes Brendan's jeans and forces apart his thighs, as Brendan pushes him back on the bed.

This is real, and maybe it isn't a comfort fuck so much as "I'm sorry, but Brendan will take it, he'll drown in it and forget that there was ever anything else.

And maybe this isn't "I'm sorry" so much as goodbye.

Brendan can't quite breathe. Kerr's got one hand underneath Brendan's shirt, one hand inside his open jeans. Brendan knows that he needs to slow down like right now, but he can't pull back. He feels his cock rising against Kerr's hand, Kerr's hips pushing up against him. Brendan forces him into the pillows, angling for another kiss.

"Do you..." Kerr begins. Brendan doesn't even have to ask what he wants, because when Kerr wants it this bad there's only one thing on his mind.

"Yeah," he answers, and then he's reaching across Kerr to the nightstand, for the lube and the condoms.

And then he's got Kerr's pants unzipped, before either of them can think about anything else. Brendan presses his mouth, wet lips and teeth, to Kerr's bare chest. They rub together as they exchange sloppy wet kisses, breathing heavily into each other's spaces. Brendan can feel Kerr's hardness pressed against his own, and he moans.

"Over," Kerr insists.

Brendan kisses him one more time, biting gently at his lower lip, and then he rolls over without questioning.

He arches up and moans when Kerr's slipper fingers enter him.

"Jesus, Kerr," he whispers.

Kerr doesn't need a second invitation, pushing into him with a restless, greedy force. Then he thrusts back as Brendan pushes up against him in a quick, jerky rhythm.

Kerr is full and hot and hard inside him, and Brendan closes his eyes and let's Kerr take him, taking everything, taking over. Kerr thrusts again, over and over, breathing hot on the back of Brendan's neck. He comes loudly, moaning and then relaxing, still and heavy on top of Brendan's body.

Brendan rolls over when Kerr pulls out. He doesn't move towards Kerr, because he knows that Kerr likes to watch this, as Brendan reaches downwards and starts to stroke himself.

Brendan likes Kerr watching him, Kerr's eyes focused on Brendan's full cock as Brendan pulls against the length of himself, with his mouth half-open and gasping for air. Kerr reaches forward and kisses him, and that's when Brendan comes, hard and shuddering, over his fingers and belly and the inside of his open jeans.

"Fuck," he mutters.

"I know," Kerr says.

They're slow getting dressed.

"It's going to be all right," Brendan says.

"You really believe that?"

Brendan shrugs. "Sure."

Kerr nods, as if it's an answer. "I gotta go. Harmoni will be waiting."

"I thought you said she kicked you out."

"She'll still be waiting."

Brendan nods, and remembers that he's got to call Majandra, and think of a good story first. "Well," he begins. "You should come back, man. Whenever."

"I might not have a choice," Kerr answers, and then draws his mouth into a thin, tight line. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," Brendan says.

He walks Kerr to the door.

~fin.

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