Title: Once In Our Lifetime

Author: Crimsonsenya

Rating: R

Pairing: David Duchovny/Nick Lea

Genre: RPS, romance

Summary: The fine line between friendship and desire is like a brushstroke over smooth water.

A/N: Thank you, Cynegyth, for beta! The title comes from Texas’ song In Our Lifetime that was my writing soundtrack. Dear Mr Lea, if you ever stumble upon my site on one of your odysseys across the Internet, I want you to know that this story was a labour of love, written with utmost respect and admiration.

Disclaimer: This story is a purely fictional product of my twisted imagination.

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According to the Northern European folklore the rivers, ponds, lakes and wells are guarded by malevolent spirits that appear as beautiful young men or women in order to lure the oblivious, hapless passers-by into the depths of cloudy water. This somewhat inconsequential piece of trivia occurred to him as Nick’s head and shoulders cropped up from the sea, splintering the blue surface into ripples right beneath David’s feet that were dangling over the edge of the wooden pier. Nick’s dripping, spiky hair was slicked back like a stretch of black satin beaded with pearls, and the rivulets caressing his shoulders seemed almost obsolete. Not until the gasping mouth spread into a devious grin, did David realize he had been gawking. As usual when caught in action, he could only flash back a smile of feigned surprised innocence while pulling his legs away from Nick’s outreaching hand to avoid being yanked down into the stream.

“Man, it’s like being dipped into milk and honey. You’re such a wimp,” Nick snorted, bemusedly, splashing drops at him.

“I just don’t want to freeze my balls to icicles,” he quipped, casting a longing glance at the outdoors bathtub perched atop the slope, right next to the house. He was aching pleasantly from hiking around the island, and he would have liked nothing better than to soak for an hour in hot, steaming water.

It was the beginning of September, and the sea temperature –already a couple of degrees too chilly for his taste– had left David’s skin prickling with goose bumps. He had warmed up soon enough though, watching Nick’s glide across the surfs as if he was one of the graceful seals playing at the shores of the Gulf Islands. David squinted at the sunbeams that danced on the waves, as Nick climbed up to grab his towel. He was wearing a pair of infamous Speedos, black this time. David liked to watch Nick; how his movements invaded the space with a captivating blend of unselfconscious fluidity and endearing, boyish extravagancy, so unlike David’s own, energy-efficient moves.

Without hesitation, David touched the indented patch of skin at the joint of Nick’s leg and hip. Nick tensed only for a fracture of a second before going on with drying himself, and David let his fingertips wander. It was David’s favourite body part in women, that crease, soft and fragrant, a haven to fall asleep in, or to fall in love. The back of Nick’s thigh was cool, taut, and fuzzy with smooth dark hair, yet no less seductive and compelling. When Nick turned, David’s flat palm brushed around and over to the front of Nick’s swimming trunks. As if in agreement, Nick’s fingers wrapped around David’s wrist, locking it in place at the exact moment when David’s hand curled around the hardening bulge. Desire sprung up and poured down between them –not a sprout of emotion but a full blossom of sensation, a ripe fruit like the purple salal berries growing in Nick’s garden.

Even if never verbalized, it was always present, the thick molten-like undercurrent of lust, progressing slowly beneath the crystalline surface of their friendship. Nick’s eyes were ocean green and light lime, the same shade as the alluring water creature must have had. Only Nick’s gaze never bore any malice; irony, sweetness, frustration, even anger –yes–, but never viciousness. And David would let himself dragged underneath. Actually, he would willingly jump in heads first, knowing well that he would only see his own image reflected on the face of the water.

The hunger David had for Nick was that of a sated man craving for his best-loved dessert. Nick had simply been too easy-going and fair –and downright adorable– to be ignored as yet another co-star David had great chemistry with. Their encounters sparked flirtatious bantering and posing, like two gaudy peacocks ruffling their lustrous feathers in a most enjoyable mating dance. During the years, there were road signs they set for each other acknowledging the mutual attraction, such as David practically dry-humping himself off on Nick during a drunken party after shooting Piper Maru and Apocrypha (which David suspected Nick might have forgotten the next morning), or Nick sending him the link to a bizarre web site that displayed an astounding amount of erotic photo manipulations of their characters. But they dealt with the obvious pull like men –by never speaking of it.

Though they had kept in contact, had for years now. David loved witty conversations, and Nick was definitely a talker who could keep up with him and his quips. Nick’s intellect didn’t derivate as much from books as it did from life and his natural sensitivity to understand all kind of human phenomena and the surrounding nature. What more, his smart intuition made for an intriguing contrast to his seemingly carefree, street-smart, flower child, Peter Pan-who-knows-how-to-wire-cars-and-play-guitar personality. However, when they were left alone with each other, they usually preferred performing parallel actions directed towards the same goal, as in swinging the golf club or scoring points at basketball, to reciting words. In fact, the first thing David had done when he’d arrived at Nick’s new home was to check out the front of Nick’s garage and install the basket board. If they were to put names on feelings, it would have only tainted them, maybe even made them evaporate, as if dew in the exposing morning sun. Or perhaps it was magic and superstition: if the secret name had been revealed, somebody could have destroyed it.

No matter what, Nick was one of his closest friends, and sometimes –like now when they were back up on Nick’s deck after the swim– all David wanted to do was to bury his face into Nick’s crotch. He leant his jawbone on the v-shaped muscles outlining Nick’s hipbones and dwelt there, breathing in and out in the rhythm of Nick’s rippling abdomen, the impossibly long, taut legs cradling his body, fading the reality into a fairytale dream. It felt both the same and distinct and almost as right as with his wife. And Nick’s hand lay flat between his shoulder blades, light and heavy with warmth that began sliding down the slope of his back, as first the palm and then the knuckles traced the curve of his spine. Just so, teasing and promising and delivering what neither of them would ever get, and yet, had already received, lying there, so, just like lovers.

The hammock swung slowly, as the slight breeze blew through the firs and arbutus trees, orchestrating a symphony of sighs, hums and rushing. A robe was slung over David’s shivering back, but Nick’s exploring hands underneath it generated heat, and David found the full-body brush of Nick’s moist bare skin more pleasurable than terry cloth, anyway. He kept shivering still –but now from lust. There was air and space everywhere; in the distance, you could discern the hazy dark blue coastal ridge of the mainland, and beneath their feet, there was a long drop down to the waterline and the waves crashing against the rocks.

David thought about the words for love in the Ancient Greek. One of them, eros, the passionate and carnal love of the body, could help the soul to recall the knowledge of beauty and seek spiritual truths. Love for a beautiful person could become appreciation for the beauty within the person. David wasn’t the easiest person to love; sometimes, he would even admit it himself. A Chinese face reader had told him once that his element was fire, constantly in motion upwards. Intelligent and ambitious, he had the nose for acquiring money; the eyes of somebody who wanted to protect himself, a chin that indicated self-centeredness, and the lips of a person fiercely needy for love. David was successful, and still he kept aiming higher and further. Fame taught to him to let the rain sluice over him, chilling and slippery; to remain himself, he had to leave people and events behind, the adulation and misfortune, the admirers and enviers. His life was so different from Nick’s. He didn’t have to fight so hard anymore; yet, he had never ceased wanting Nick’s friendship.

That was why David had come to Mayne Island. He had asked his wife if she minded, but he didn’t ask her to join him. It didn’t strike him odd either that Nick’s girlfriend was conspicuously absent for the whole weekend. They were staying at the three-bedroom cedar waterfront home with a sixty-foot wrap-around deck Nick had recently purchased. Where David was a rationalist, Nick was a hopeless romantic –unbelievably so– as in Rick Blaine and Scarlett O’Hara dance the world away on the bridges of Madison County mushy. It was telling that when they both owned houses by the Pacific Ocean, David’s was in a city that reeked of status and wealth, and Nick’s was in the most breathtaking, untamed wilderness one could imagine, in a place where deers napped on the yard lawn and otters skittered over the boards of the dock. In truth, Nick’s unexpected and deep-running sensibility was one of his most endearing traits for David. Therefore, he had shown the first draft of House of D to Nick, to see if the story would touch the viewers. When Nick called him after two weeks to confess how heartbreaking it was that Tom hadn’t been able to sleep lest he was under his mother’s bed, so he could hear if she was still breathing, David knew he had accomplished with his movie the exact emotional impact he had thriven for.

Finally, he had gotten the chance to visit Nick’s retreat. David had babbled about it, enthusiastic like a child, even in interviews. It was a setting that could inspire a thousand atmospheres. With a family –that David believed Nick’s was now most likely going to have– the mood would be joyous and lively. In the storm, the property would have a gloomy, gothic flair of lost loves and dreams, a perfect hideout for solitary artists. What they were experiencing had the air of a beautiful, serene romance of two people already familiar with each other but still ablaze with intense craving. No matter how unintentional, there was no other way to describe what was happening –or what they both let happen. The undercurrent was there, as unhurried and profound as ever. When Nick barbecued the salmon, peppers and zucchini they would later eat with Sauvignon Blanc in casual threadbare jeans and a ripped t-shirt, David padded around in an unfastened bathrobe, popping open the lagers, and lighting a fire in the wooden stove that stood in a flagstone hearth, not even bothering to dress. It was a scene of friendly domesticity and comfort, and neither of them had any doubts they were behaving like long-time lovers.

When David arrived, he carried his backpack –the thought of bringing a suitcase hadn’t even crossed his mind– straight into the guest bedroom Nick pointed him to. They went to sleep in separate rooms too, but after an hour of restless struggling with crisp sheets, David jumped up and crossed the foyer to the master bedroom. Unsurprised, Nick rolled generously to the side, as David crawled into the plush pillow top bed. On all fours, in the strip of moonlight casting through the high-ceiling window above the headboard, he felt like some mystical, nighttime animal. Nick ran his hand over the silk boxers covering David’s flanks, his own body veiled in shadows. David wished he could see Nick’s eyes, and the way he felt they were devouring him. He sensed Nick’s arousal, how it flared David’s own into an almost unbearable thrill. But there were lines David wouldn’t cross, even if he had drawn them in the sand. He scooted smoothly behind Nick’s back, pulling Nick’s body half over his own.

“I want to watch you,” he exhaled into Nick’s ear, tugging the cuff with his teeth. “Bare and ready for me,” he husked, as he removed the duvet off them with his leg. Nick was exposed now to the silvery shimmer that contrasted the dips and curvatures of his torso. David’s arm slipped around Nick’s chest, his fingernails raking the soft skin of Nick’s pectorals and mouth lightly sucking the cords on his throat. Their fingers entwined briefly, and carefully, David laved Nick’s palm and each one of his fingers, before guiding Nick’s hand down.

He pictured them as a tableau vivant of two tangled lovers. If he looked up, he could see the stars, painfully bright in the enveloping darkness. When he looked down, his face nuzzling the crook of Nick’s neck, he caught a glimpse of one of the most staggering sights, he knew existed. He slid his hand over Nick’s arm to feel the contracting and flexing of muscles at work and the rhythm of the strokes. His knee nudged between Nick’s thighs, prying them apart. A little bit closer, and his shaft was embedded in Nick’s crevice, delicious, hot and excruciating, with just a thin layer of fabric separating them. David moaned and talked dirty. His lips and tongue and teeth scraped Nick’s neck, cheekbone and ear, bestowing cutting pleasure until Nick came and beyond. Throaty, fervent sounds, and strung out vowels uttered in the only place and time they ever voiced anything between them.

Afterwards, David would have liked to kiss him on the mouth, but he licked Nick’s hand clean instead, and Nick left a burning trail of quick kisses on David’s collarbone and a swift caresses on his stomach. Nick walked out. For a moment, his naked figure stood aglow in the light of the hallway. Still slightly dopey and a whole lot sexy, he turned and winked at David before disappearing from the doorway. David slouched spread-eagled in the bed, inhaling Nick’s scent in gasps, as he waited for the throbbing in his balls to subside. David would go unrequited. His desire for Nick was a green, murky pool, and there were days when David wanted –needed– the opaque water of giving in to temptation to engulf him, as every time he emerged back to the surface he felt more pure than before he had ever dived.

Nick was sitting at the top of the stairs that led down to the sea, when David finally joined him outside with two tumblers of Johnny Walker. A faint smell of cigarettes lingered in the air, as Nick played Bruce Springsteen’s The River with his guitar. David thought about how the English word ‘love’ completely failed to define something so kaleidoscopic and all encompassing, which even the wise philosophers had needed at least five terms for. The song was sad and evoking, even more so with Nick’s voice harsh from the scotch, yet David couldn’t help his face splitting into a goofy grin. Nick smiled back, all teeth and dimples, and David was ready for another plunge.