Late Night Desires

Featuring:
Christopher Burton and Santos Camacho

Follows hours after:  

(story summary below the wall of text, feel free to scroll on down for all your non-reading needs~)

it's a lot. i'm sorry <'''3

     Chris already felt clingy to go looking for Fang. He had already had to do it once. This was getting stupid. He needed to get some kind of phone to text with. People shouldn’t have to actually put shoes on and go poking around in the dead of night to find someone! Society was lightyears past that! But it had been hours. Fang should have been long done with work. He said he would come find him after he finished up work. He said he’d tell him about the protective order he had against him. He said it wasn’t something he’d really want to hear just out on a sidewalk in the middle of the park. He said he’d do it… but he was a no-show. Was he really a coward? Chris didn’t think he was the type. After all that blubbering he did earlier? He wouldn’t fucking dare. 

     Chris was just embarrassed to even be wandering around again. He didn’t see the usual carts roaming about either. It was pretty quiet and very late in the wee hours of the morning. This was stupid. He thought he saw, well, heard Santos first. He stayed out of line of sight for now, really not keen to interact with the… special one. He was too chipper and peppy and had the attention span of a leaf caught in a tornado. Though, honestly, he never really gave the guy a chance to be a friend either. 

     Chris sighed, not seeing Fang anywhere near him either. They were always together on these routes. He sucked it up and approached, swallowing his pride for now. He could do it. “Uh, hey, Santos.” Chris approached. “Have you seen where Fang went? The guy that works with you? He was supposed to…” Come to my house? He was not divulging that with the likes of Santos. Nope. “Uh, clean a spot in one of the barns. He asked if I could show it to him later once you guys were done. But he didn’t show up. Know where he’s at?” 

     “Ey, gnocco,” Santos had practiced balancing two cans on his head. He wanted to perfect his ‘to-can’ routine in case anyone would want to see it at some point. When he turned around the cans fell to the ground with a slight clonk as they hit each other before rolling in different directions. Santos smiled as it was his standard setting. The smile seemed to grow wider when he actually saw who it was. His dimples almost seemed to get deeper too and the light nearby looked like they made his eyes twinkle. Santos allowed himself a good look. ‘Burtonbabe’ actually called him Santos this time.

     “The Fangman? Oh...I think...” He scratched his head. Had Fang said why over the radio? Almost as soon as he got seated in the cart, Fang had said something with the implication that there had been some heated love sesh before work and it had left him a little sore. “I bet he went back for some more of that piece a hunk a hunk, ya know, ‘il capo’ of security. Fang seems to be really keen...always makes sure to tell me all about it. Il capo tho...is macho so you can't get any of the deets out of him. You know, he is quite the player...but I don't mind, I'm a two-team player too...I don't care who wants to taste a bit of spicy Italy...if you know if I mean...” Santos bit his bottom lip and gave a suggestive raise of a brow. 

     Fangman. Of course. Jesus. Chris really had to keep his poker face strong, remembering just why he was one of many that avoided Santos like he was a plague. Chris raised a brow, gathering more intel than he bargained for. Who the fuck was Capo? Momentarily forgotten as he had to physically resist the urge to gag. Deep breath. Just endure it. 

     “Fangman is so keen he even was jealous of the missus Park... got him into trouble too, made a smash and grab up at the private mansion barns...let out horses and whatnot...think he had two guns too, pretended to be like...Lucky Luke or...what's his name...well I don't know... but BAM! BAM!” Santos reenacted the scene with finger guns and made it look almost like a duel at high noon or something. Of course he hadn't seen it himself, only heard of it from Frida who had heard it from Bob who had heard it from Sam, who in turn had overheard someone from security tell Martine, so it was basically straight from the horse's mouth. “Fangman though his man had it together with her so Fangman got like raging mad and like poo-ahhh-rAAWWH!” Some more acting was done over what happened, or at least what Santos guessed had happened. A little flair to the story wasn't bad. Only with Santos acting it looked like Fang had been someone transforming into a werewolf or something.

          That motherfucker. So it was Fang that stirred all that shit up at the mansion? Firing a gun to scare off horses - what the actual fuck was wrong with him? His leg still had aches from coming off that damn horse! Because he was jealous? Chris had made it pretty goddamn clear he wasn't into an open relationship like that…not that it was a relationship. They both… Well, Fang said… no, they had both made it clear they agreed with no relationship but still… He said there hadn't been another… was technically before they crashed into each other. Then why would he be going back for more? 

     “But,” Santos picked up his smile again, “if you need help, gnocco...” he gave the other a playful little nudge on the arm along with a big smarmy grin “You got me, you know. Italian stallion packed with some real cogliones.” Santos flexed his pecs. Not that it showed that much but now he had the upper part of the overalls tied around his waist so it was at least a bit better chance that way.

     Chris furrowed his brows just slightly. He had to consider the source. He had learned and had been educated by others very early on that Santos, while generally harmless, rarely ever had his facts straight. He'd have to dig a little deeper for more info to work with. Chris returned the up-and-down look over Santos's posturing. Chris wasn't so easy to rope in just with a smile and flexing. 

     “You're kidding…” Chris crossed his arms, feigning confusion instead. “He told me he wasn't seeing anybody. I asked him just a few days ago. Another rider wanted me to find out. Shy type,” Chris rolled his eyes, feeding him make-believe so easily. “So you're saying he lied to me?” Chris sat a fist on his hip, finding it all too natural to look irate and disappointed. Well-rehearsed reactions. “Wow, I really thought he was better than a two-faced cheater… guess you can judge this book by its cover. Who's this Capo guy that's so special? I gotta tell the other guy to steer clear. Sheesh, wouldn't want Fang to come guns blazing over some lover's spat. Sounds like he's got some anger issues, huh?”

     There was no fucking way any of this was true. No one could tolerate Fang. Even Chris could only take him for so long before he wanted to throw him off a cliff or drown him in battery acid. Plus he wouldn't fucking dare lie about this shit to Chris's face. He felt his cheeks get warm just thinking about what an absolute dumbass Chris would look like if Fang really just used him and ditched him. He wouldn't fucking dare. No one would ever do that to Chris Burton. 

     "Il Capo?” Santos thought it was pretty obvious who he was. “Big beefy guy. If you see him you KNOW who it is, gnocco. You must have met him." Santos showed with both hands the rough size of the biceps, a 'guesstimate' of course. “He can't be missed! Fangman has even cooked food for him, cleaning and being all domestic in their little bungalow. The other day Fangman said Il Capo would ‘bake with him’ but fuck me, perhaps that is code for some new kinky shit." There was another nibble of the lip. Santos adjusted himself to whatever the other was keen on, top, bottom, kinky, vanilla, whatever. Santos glanced at Chris' cheeks, even in this only partially lit space, he could see a slight color change. Not always quick to pick up on social cues but...something made him doubt just a little smidge that Chris was asking for a friend anymore. "We all get a little...ssss-picy sometime… Fangman said that cough you know, yeah,” He bumped his eyebrows suggestively, “Deepthroating dick for sure.”

     "They do all sorts of sweet talk,” Santos was happy to fill him in on all the details. “They have a special line on their lil’ talkie talks nobody else can use. Il Capo even gave Fangman his own special uniform. But I guess, with Il Capo giving those little 'treats' to Fangman, if you know what I mean with 'treats'.." Santos made an exaggerated wink. "And the fact lil’ fuckboi even got his own special chores... Fangman must be really talented..."

     Durant. It was Durant. Certainly better be because that's where he told Chris he stayed and that's who he had talked to on the radio and that's who snatched him up the first time. So this was all made up. Well, certainly being told in a way that only Santos could comprehend. Because there was no way Durant would be doing any of this shit with Fang. Chris might believe it if it were literally anyone else involved but Durant? Did the dude even have anything else in his mind other than optimal security? Chris doubted that very much. 

     Chris disregarded a lot of the info he was getting back. Fang wouldn't play housewife, he could hardly put his own clothes back on. This whole “baking” thing was probably him getting high; getting baked. Probably where he was getting the nicotine patches too. Guess the term sober was being used very loosely. So much for that. Liar. 

     The deepthroat cough was just one step too far as Chris wrinkled his nose and had to close his eyes for a moment, just wishing for a second he was anywhere else. “I get it, I get it. Special fuckboy. Yea.” Chris waved his hand in surrender. “So he just goes on and on about Capo or whatever. He doesn't, like…” Chris caught himself before he said something stupid but had to quickly say something or it would just be more suspicious. “Talk about anyone else?”

     Oh my God, how transparent could he look right now? Was he a twelve-year little girl talking about their first crush? Jesus Christ. Chris wanted to peel his own skin off and start a new life on a different planet, he just embarrassed himself so hard. He could still salvage this if he stayed ahead of the punches. Wasn't like Santos was clever anyway. He probably wouldn't get just how dumb of a question that was. It was obvious Fang hadn't said anything about him. Fuck knows what Santos would be spewing about Chris to Chris if he had. 

     “Just big guy this and Capo that, huh? Damn, that's pretty cold. I know I'd be pretty disappointed…” Chris looked the part but really he was relieved more than anything. He was still pretty new at Pemberley. The last thing he needed was more of his dirty laundry being aired. And he'd be a total liar if he didn't admit just the smallest part of himself was a little dejected. Before, he had been so quick to brag and make a big deal about their relationship because of the media attention and his band at the time could use the coverage. Guess it wasn't much use to him now… and… they weren't in a relationship. 

     “Nah,” Santos confirmed. “Not that I have heard anyway...Fangman doesn't really hang out with many of the others around here. Was perhaps one...some bitch Fangman said...not sure if they were a pity booty call or not, but, like...the bitch apparently got the wrong idea about shit? Maybe wanted more of the salami in their baguette...” Santos giggled. 

     The bitch apparently got the wrong idea. Now that did sound authentically Fang. Chris scoffed at the remark, not that Santos would understand why. And Chris wasn't going to elaborate either. “I'll pass the word along, thanks,” he muttered bitterly. 

     Wrong idea. So he was just going to lead him on? That was his game? Make him look like a fucking idiot, out there trying to express genuine feelings, and then get rejected and ignored. You cold son of a bitch. That was Chris's signature tactic. Their dynamic wouldn't survive if they both were backstabbing assholes. Fine.

     “Hey, you said he was probably with Dura- whatever, Capo- his boy toy.” Chris looked at the watch on his wrist, “He's still on the clock. He can fuck around later. Take me to him with that cart of yours? Thanks.” It wasn't really a question. As much as he didn't want to ride with Santos, it was going to be a lot faster to catch Fang being fucking loser this way. 

     Perfect timing. Looked like Durant was just returning to the house. He'd know where Fang was. “I can walk from here.” He didn't exactly know what would come of this visit but he didn't need the Park's gossip monger picking up anything more. 

     Chris had just started rounding the cart when the lights came on near Durant's house. Motion-activated lights. He saw Durant's figure immediately at the back of the truck, picking up something pretty substantial. Jeez, was he hunting? He remembered hearing the faint sounds of dogs earlier while Santos was describing that disgusting imagery of made-up dick sizes but didn't think anything of it until now. Why would he be hunting- 

     That was Fang? Chris wasn’t mistaken. Who else had those dumb tattoos littering their body? Why was Fang in the back of the truck? Why wasn't he moving? Why was Durant carrying him inside? What the fuck? Chris grabbed Santos's arm before he took off. He just needed a moment longer to stare. What the fuck did Fang do now? He wasn't dead, was he? He wasn’t moving. But… Did he… but that wouldn't make sense why Durant was carrying him inside. He ignored Santos's theories of the “lovers”, Fang being brought in like a bride. That was bullshit.

     Chris's first thought - he's probably passed out drunk or overdid some kind of drug. That's who Fang was. His heart sank deeper into a pool of what he could only call disappointment. Couldn't fucking face Chris to come clean about his shit so he decides to just get fucked up and pretend it never happened. And what the fuck was this angle with Durant? Seriously. The one guy on this planet that gave a shit about Fang. Chris was pretty damn sure he was talking about Durant when Fang had said that. And yet, he was the one giving Fang all this shit; smokes and weed and patches and just give him a room and food for what… a basic bitch job that would take him nowhere. What the fuck was Fang even worth? 

     “Guess he's not gonna be able to get to that mess tonight.” Chris said with a chill in the summer air. “Could I bother you for one more ride back to my place?” He thought Fang was trying to get better. He said he was trying to get clean, make something of himself. And yet… Chris crossed his arms, setting a foot up on the dash of the cart, ready to give up that evening. Good thing about it being so dark, Santos wouldn't be able to see the way Chris's eyes watered or hear the slight sniff over the wind from driving. “Stupid…” Chris muttered to himself. Why did he even bother to begin with? He was used to Fang being a disappointment like a kind of personality trait but this? This was just fucking sad. 

     There was just a ‘slight’ swerve as Santos fished out his little pocket flask from the overalls, holding the wheel of the cart with just one hand. He gave Chris's arm a nudge with it for him to give it a taste. “Fangman calls it, uh, cat piss but it's not, I promise. It's my Italian Nana’s special brew. Makes one feel a little better. It has a little bit of kickback to it if you aren't used to it so take it slow.” Santos might not have heard or seen Chris' face, but even if he failed majorly on social cues, he was at least - at times - better at body language. That confident aura that the other had around him before seemed to have deflated some. Santos wasn't sure what exactly it had been replaced with. Disappointment? 

     Chris glanced at the flask, feeling his dejection start to bubble into a kind of sickly anger. The kind that had expected so much more out of someone, now left feeling betrayed by his own heart that he even let himself have hope. His eyes flicked up to Santos like a predator about to crush its prey’s throat. In that split second, Chris could think of horrible ways to seek revenge on Fang for trashing Chris’s confidence like that. 

     Santos was a readily available tool. Just right for the task. The perfect one-night stand that Fang would have to hear about again and again and again and again and the story would get better and better every time Santos repeated it. It would be so easy to chew Santos up and spit him out. Sure, it would be a scandalous rumor but Chris could just deny it to anyone that mattered. Who would believe the man with a pebble for a brain? Fang would. Fang would know it was true. Chris did the same shit with Fang. It would be no different. Show Fang he wasn’t so fucking special. 

     Chris blinked and looked away from Santos. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be that person again. Just like he couldn’t just walk up to Durant and ask what was wrong with Fang. It could all easily be a misunderstanding. Why did he want it to be the worst possible thing? So quick to stab trust. So resistant to having any kind of hope but so longing to have it. 

     Chris held out his hand for the flask after all. “I hardly ever get the chance,” he threw in some chuckles just special for Santos. “Special stuff, huh?” He asked as he could see his house in the distance. He steeled his nerves to the point where he knew he just kind of had to go numb and just let it happen. How bad could it really be? And he didn't just take a small sip. He threw it back and chugged the whole thing, swallowing it in gulps. 

     Chris could only hold back so much, resisting a cough and squinting his eyes hard, fighting the tears back. “Wow, that's not that bad,” he forced himself to describe it positively. That was a massive lie. It was awful. He wanted to vomit immediately. And then drink bleach until he died. It was so bad. “Thanks for that,” Chris added, handing him the empty flask. 

     “Anytime, gnocco!” Santos patted Chris’s back and leaving his arm around his shoulders - for safekeeping. Pulling up to Chris’s house, he stuck his hand into the glovebox and then handed Chris his self-made, slightly unevenly cut ‘business card’ that had his full name and cellphone number on it. A little bit under that he had also written his social media tags, just in case anyone wanted to ‘friend’ him on there. “In case you need another mess fixed or a light bulb changed and Fangman isn't around then either, gnocco. You know I have done this longer than him so I'm more experienced.” Another up and down glance “You can call me anytime.” 

     Chris was just going to toss the card in his pocket and peace out but he gave some hesitation. As much as he wanted to go scrub his mouth out first, his mind gave way to another thought. As Santos rambled on, Chris pulled out his phone and within a few taps here and there, Santos started getting multiple notifications. A text and friend requests across the platforms he had on the card. All from Chris. Pretty easy to tell since his screen name was his name in some variation. “Cool, I appreciate that. Not that I can really offer anything for you in return but,” he shrugged, letting the sentence trail off and let the imagination fill in the blanks. “But, I can get you some more friends,” Chris smiled pleasantly, not at all looking like the grumpy, cold, ego-trip rich-kid that had just considered using him as a sex puppet for revenge. 

     Chris put an arm around Santos's shoulders, putting on a pleasant grin for a selfie of the two of them. Not too close, but close enough that maybe they looked too close; maybe even friends. Chris was quick to slap on a quick tagline over the image “need a ride? call santos_italianstallion69 for all your late-night PP desires” It was a running joke amongst his following that Pemberley Park shortened down could be used in so many immature ways. Chris fully intended it to be taken so many ways. He wasn't stupid with words. He meant what he typed. 

     Chris laughed quietly to himself, pocketing his phone and flashing up a peace sign. “You're more help than you know. See ya.” Chris was only a few steps away before he started hearing Santos's phone ding with notifications. Two or three friend requests at first and then several more even so late at night. There'd be more by morning (real morning). Chris had a massive following compared to Santos; fans. Fans of him and fans of his father that followed his progress by proxy. And a friend of Chris was a friend of theirs. What if Santos posted something about Chris? They had to keep him on their radar now. 

     There. Chris felt significantly less guilty for even thinking of using Santos as some revenge tool. He'd still get some results from this and it would actually benefit Santos. Santos wouldn't be able to contain himself to spew this all over Fang. And it wasn't like Chris at all. He'd at least maybe have to pretend to be happy for Santos. Fuck you, Fang. 

     His alarm came too quickly. Chris groaned, sitting up in bed. Had he even slept? He rubbed his tired face. No. He never really dozed off. Like the fucking fool he was, his mind wouldn’t let him sleep just in case that sack of shit up the road sacked up and came to talk to him. He never did. Of course not. He was joyfully sleeping off his failures. While Chris laid awake clinging to that stupid hope he wouldn’t let go of. 

     But it didn’t matter now. That was Fang’s chance. He blew it. Chris had to carry on. He had to leave for a show. He couldn’t just wait for Fang to sober up.

     Uuuuuggggh, Chris felt like shit from that brew of Santos’s. Because of his stoic genes, Chris had a kind of immunity to getting plastered but that didn’t mean he still didn’t feel like dogshit from it. So many notifications. Chris swiped them open to see the general interest in Santos. Good. His follower count had nearly tripled overnight. The more, the merrier. Fuck you, Fang. 

(3996 wordcount)

its giant. im sorry :'''''))))

TLDR SUMMARY;

--Fang told Chris he'd meet him back at his house to talk about his protective order after Fang finished his work.

--Fang never showed up.

--Chris went looking around to see if he could find Fang but found Santos was now alone on his shift - no Fang.

--Asks where Fang is.

--Santos goes on about Fang running off with his big man macho lover that treats him all special and nice, how sweet.

--Chris quickly puts together this "mystery man" is just Durant and Santos is full of shit. But Chris still wants to know if Fang's been a total jackoff. Gives the "asking for a friend" excuse.

--Santos relays that Fang doesn't really talk about anyone else other than a "bitch" that "got the wrong idea".

--That would be Chris. Chris is that "bitch" Fang was talking about. That hurt. Chris felt that right in his heart cords. -90 health points, critical hit, near fatality

--Chris is now "fuck you" mad and has Santos take him to Durant's like he's gonna kick Fang's dick threw his skull but by the time they get there, Chris is already too sad to do that.

--Oh, lo and behold. Durant just got back in the middle of the night with who? Fang.

--Only Fang isn't all there. He's a lifeless lump getting dragged out of the back of Durant's truck bed like a corpse.

--Is he dead? Probably not? Is he asleep? No way. Is he drunk/high. The likelihood is almost guaranteed.

--So let's just double the hurt Chris feels. Fang would rather ditch the "bitch" and get fucked up than just have a conversation. Cool. -10 health points, you have died.

--Chris has a quiet sad boy ride back to his house. Briefly considers fucking over Santos (literally) just to get revenge on Fang since they both work together. But Chris isn't the revenge-sex kind of guy.

--Instead Chris helps Santos out by taking a picture with him and tagging him on his social feed. Chris has a big following so Santos will get more friends now and it might mildly irritate Fang that Chris was all buddy-buddy with Santos. That's the best "revenge" Chris could pull in his state of sads/mads/feelsbads mood

christ, even my summary is giant. again, i'm sorry.

Previous: Strum and Thump || Next: Don't Ruin It

So, who had failure on their bingo sheet for the very next Fangopher interaction? A show of hands?

I'm so sorry they are they way they are.

Honestly! I didn't actually have this planned this way!! :""D There are just other things that happened through the organic RP process and highjacked my original storyboard for this xD And this was the tragic result. (and im okay with that >: D)

--Chris feeling like he just got shafted in the worst way.

--Fang seemingly falling off the wagon so soon. We'll get his POV of what happened eventually! maybe he slipped and fell on a rock and KO'd! We don't know! Don't be like Chris and just assume~

Art is nothing to look at here :"") Quick scribbly to get this out before the next bits and pieces I have in the works! <''3 Also love getting to show more of Chris's "public" side! I often show the more personal sides of my characters and y'all get to know their true natures more than what they'd actually present to someone. Of course Chris's media is all cleaned up and super basic boy. Pemberley can't have some scandalous embarrassment with their name on them! Nay, nay!!

Also, EquiGram is just made up horse people instagram or close enough because I don't use the app so I didn't know wtf goes on it sooooo -shrug- pretend these numbers are decent? idfk im a media hermit, wtf are numbers??

Chris/Fang/Art © @Drasayer

Santos/Durant/RP Words © @decors

No specific refs for this~

Procreate/PhotoshopCS6