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beansideTitle: All Won't Be Lost
Rating: R
Pairing: CMM/JDM
Disclaimer: Totally didn't happen.
A/N: Previous parts can be found here. Totally unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.
It was just cruel, Chad thought blearily. Making him get up at six for his last day of filming. On the plus side, at least Jeff would be showing up at some point, so he wouldn’t be suffering alone.
His castmates hadn’t been bitchy about it or anything, but there was a definite coolness there. Except Hill, of course. She was her normal self, busting his balls, and poking holes in his ego. He’d miss her.
Sophia, of course, had taken coolness to a new level, fixing him with an icy stare that made his balls try to crawl up any time he’d dared to speak to her. Really, he was over it. Past giving a shit.
A wet nose pressed against his back, and he reached back absently, wondering how Joe had gotten out of the trailer again. His hand met longer softer fur than he’d expected, and he looked down into wide eyes and a doggie grin. “Bisou!”
She wriggled all over as he slid off the chair, giving him wet kisses on his cheek. It was the happiest a woman had been to see him in a while, he thought idly. “Hey, pretty lady. How are you? Such a good girl!”
A shadow fell across Bisou, and he looked up to find her owner standing there, grinning.
“Hey,” Chad murmured, coming to his feet. “How’s it going?” After a long moment, he offered his hand.
Jeff pulled him into a hug. He was a really good hugger, Chad thought. Just…folded you up in strong arms. “Hey. Good to see you. You look better than I expected,” Jeff rumbled.
Chad fought against the urge to melt against Jeff, to relax into that grip. “Thanks, I think?” he murmured, finally pulling back. “So, you ready to slum down here in Wilmington?”
“Looking forward to pronouncing someone else dead for a change,” Jeff drawled, a wicked smile touching his lips. “Ready to bite the big one?”
Chad grinned. “So ready.”
“Cool. I’ve gotta go get to makeup,” Jeff muttered, glancing around. “Which trailer is that?”
Chad grinned. “I’m heading there. Why don’t you put Bisou in your trailer, and I’ll show you.”
It was kind of nice having Jeff on set. Mostly because Sophia was pissed. She was practically fawning on the man, and he seemed fairly oblivious, smiling and treating her with the same friendly smile he gave to everyone.
On the other hand, he was treating Chad like an old buddy. Might have had something to do with the flask of tequila Chad had in his pocket. It had helped them get through the first couple scenes relatively painlessly.
When Jeff asked if Chad wanted to grab lunch off set, for a moment, Chad thought she was going to shatter her fake teeth, she was gritting so fucking hard.
The little Mexican place was nearly empty, thankfully. With the school year in full swing, there were less kids hanging around looking for autographs. Jeff ordered a burrito with extra onions, flashing a grin at Chad. “Gotta be ready for our big scene.”
Chad stared blankly, then groaned. “Oh, Jesus. The mouth to mouth?”
“Mmm…onions,” Jeff teased.
“Like I give a shit.” Chad ordered his extra spicy, and after a moment, shrugged and ordered a beer. “You want one?”
Jeff made a mock-scandalized face. “At…eleven in the morning?”
“Dude, I still have to collapse, have my Med Evac helicopter crash and have a tearful farewell scene with you giving me mouth to mouth. I need a beer for that.”
“It is a little much,” Jeff agreed. “Yeah, a beer would be great.”
“Two cerveza,” Chad added. “So, what do you think of One Tree Hill?”
“Not bad, I guess. Sophia, she’s your ex, right? Is she always that grabby?”
Chad tilted his head back, laughing. “I think she was looking to be the next ex-Mrs. Jeffrey Dean Morgan.”
“Seriously?” Jeff looked so puzzled that Chad laughed again, taking a healthy swallow of the beer.
“You’re quite the catch, you know. Handsome, clean cut. Unlikely to even know Paris, much less bang her.”
“Is that the criteria?” Jeff asked.
“After me? Pretty much,” Chad shrugged.
Jeff shook his head. “Not really my type.”
“Paris, or Sophia?”
“Either. Too young and pushy.”
“Mmm.”
They ate for a while, with Jeff happily crunching the pile of extra raw onions they’d added to his burrito.
“You are going to brush your teeth before your lips touch mine, right?”
Jeff grinned. “Hell no. Just to be a dick, I figured I’d slip you the tongue while I was at it.”
Chad snorted his beer, and Jeff nearly fell off the stool laughing. “Just kidding,” he murmured.
Chad shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat. “I know, dude. God, this is going to suck.”
“Eh, it won’t be that bad. At least it’s only two scenes.” Jeff got up, tossing his burrito wrapper, and wandered back to the counter. “You want another beer?”
“Yeah.”
They made it back to the set not long before it was time for Jeff to film his first scene with Chad. “So basically, your studly paramedic self is going to be on the gurney doing chest compressions, right?”
“Yup. I get to live out the fantasy of hundreds of schoolgirls and straddle Chad Michael Murray,” Jeff said, putting a dramatic hand to his forehead. “I may just swoon.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“I know. It’s a talent.” Jeff grinned watching as they helped Chad onto the gurney, then climbed aboard. “Jesus, I feel like I’m going to take a header any second,” he muttered.
“It’s not like we’re going off-road, Morgan. Suck it up.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The director called for quiet, and Jeff settled on him, ass resting just over the waistband of the dorky ass tuxedo pants he was stuck wearing. Chad closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the scene, on anything that didn’t involve Jeff’s body heat soaking into him, the press of big hands on his chest.
By the time they finished the scene, he’d run through the alphabet forwards and backwards about fifty times. It didn’t help that as he crawled off, Jeff made sure to slap his hip lightly. “You were right. Wasn’t that bad.”
“Glad I make a nice chair,” Chad snorted, pulling the tequila out. One more scene. His death. Then, he could get his stuff and go home, finish packing for the move to Vancouver.
Jeff got snagged by one of the script girls, so Chad went on ahead, trying to wrap his mind around the thought that after one more scene, he’d be done. Never have to set foot in Wilmington again. In another week or two his episodes of BSG would start airing, and maybe he’d be known for something other than fucking Paris Hilton.
Makeup took what felt like forever. Apparently, as the victim of a heart issue and a helicopter crash, he was required to wear enough pancake and fake blood to give the old Hammer horror movies a run for their money.
Jeff showed up a few minutes later, and was also doused with a liberal application of blood. “Just like being home,” he muttered. “Now, I just have to remember not to call you boy and threaten to blast you with rock salt.”
The makeup girl laughed, dabbing a little more blood at the corner of his mouth, as Chad started reciting the alphabet again. Jeff could call him ‘boy’ anytime he wanted to, as far as Chad was concerned.
The new set looked like something out of “Lost,” complete with enormous tree trunks and moss-covered ground. They positioned Chad in the crook of some of the roots, with Jeff kneeling at his side. Then, the rain started to fall, carefully controlled to be seen without interfering with the dialogue.
As far as crappy scenes went, this was going to be one of the worst. He was cold, he was wet, and he was forced to spout some of the worst crap ever.
Jeff went with it gamely, and Chad had to admit, delivered in that drawl, just about anything sounded reasonable.
“I—what happened? Where am I?” Chad moaned, looking around the set.
“Shh. Don’t try to talk. Help is coming,” Jeff replied firmly, checking for a pulse, fingers warm against Chad’s cold skin.
“I—my chest hurts,” Chad gasped, then let his eyes fall shut.
“Dammit,” Jeff muttered, faking another handful of chest thrusts before bending to press his lips against Chad’s.
Well, at least the sonofabitch had brushed his teeth. He tried to focus on dying. This was his big death scene, after all.
A rough rasp against his lip startled him, and his eyes opened, hands coming up to grab Jeff’s wrists.
“CUT! Chad, you aren’t supposed to be alive yet,” the director complained. “We discussed this earlier.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I forgot.”
Jeff flashed a smile at him, and Chad mentally cursed, feeling his pants tighten. Goddamn it. He was not going to be a corpse with a stiffy.
Somehow, they got through the scene, despite Chad forgetting half his lines, up to and including who he was supposed to have the deep and undying love for.
But finally, they were done, and he was free.
He’d expected to feel something when it was over. Instead, there was just a bone-deep relief that he wouldn’t be doing cross country flights twice a week. “That’s that,” Chad murmured.
“Yup. You got plans for dinner?” Jeff asked.
“Not really.”
“I was going to grab something at the Italian place down the street from my hotel. You could bring Joe, we’ll grab a bottle of wine and make it a party to celebrate your freedom.”
“I could do that.” It sounded a hell of a lot better than going home alone and staring at his packing boxes.
Jeff smiled, and Chad felt something low in his stomach loosen. Buddy. Nice guy, he reminded himself. Not a fuckbuddy. He’s so not fucking interested. “Great. You drive.”
Rating: R
Pairing: CMM/JDM
Disclaimer: Totally didn't happen.
A/N: Previous parts can be found here. Totally unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.
It was just cruel, Chad thought blearily. Making him get up at six for his last day of filming. On the plus side, at least Jeff would be showing up at some point, so he wouldn’t be suffering alone.
His castmates hadn’t been bitchy about it or anything, but there was a definite coolness there. Except Hill, of course. She was her normal self, busting his balls, and poking holes in his ego. He’d miss her.
Sophia, of course, had taken coolness to a new level, fixing him with an icy stare that made his balls try to crawl up any time he’d dared to speak to her. Really, he was over it. Past giving a shit.
A wet nose pressed against his back, and he reached back absently, wondering how Joe had gotten out of the trailer again. His hand met longer softer fur than he’d expected, and he looked down into wide eyes and a doggie grin. “Bisou!”
She wriggled all over as he slid off the chair, giving him wet kisses on his cheek. It was the happiest a woman had been to see him in a while, he thought idly. “Hey, pretty lady. How are you? Such a good girl!”
A shadow fell across Bisou, and he looked up to find her owner standing there, grinning.
“Hey,” Chad murmured, coming to his feet. “How’s it going?” After a long moment, he offered his hand.
Jeff pulled him into a hug. He was a really good hugger, Chad thought. Just…folded you up in strong arms. “Hey. Good to see you. You look better than I expected,” Jeff rumbled.
Chad fought against the urge to melt against Jeff, to relax into that grip. “Thanks, I think?” he murmured, finally pulling back. “So, you ready to slum down here in Wilmington?”
“Looking forward to pronouncing someone else dead for a change,” Jeff drawled, a wicked smile touching his lips. “Ready to bite the big one?”
Chad grinned. “So ready.”
“Cool. I’ve gotta go get to makeup,” Jeff muttered, glancing around. “Which trailer is that?”
Chad grinned. “I’m heading there. Why don’t you put Bisou in your trailer, and I’ll show you.”
It was kind of nice having Jeff on set. Mostly because Sophia was pissed. She was practically fawning on the man, and he seemed fairly oblivious, smiling and treating her with the same friendly smile he gave to everyone.
On the other hand, he was treating Chad like an old buddy. Might have had something to do with the flask of tequila Chad had in his pocket. It had helped them get through the first couple scenes relatively painlessly.
When Jeff asked if Chad wanted to grab lunch off set, for a moment, Chad thought she was going to shatter her fake teeth, she was gritting so fucking hard.
The little Mexican place was nearly empty, thankfully. With the school year in full swing, there were less kids hanging around looking for autographs. Jeff ordered a burrito with extra onions, flashing a grin at Chad. “Gotta be ready for our big scene.”
Chad stared blankly, then groaned. “Oh, Jesus. The mouth to mouth?”
“Mmm…onions,” Jeff teased.
“Like I give a shit.” Chad ordered his extra spicy, and after a moment, shrugged and ordered a beer. “You want one?”
Jeff made a mock-scandalized face. “At…eleven in the morning?”
“Dude, I still have to collapse, have my Med Evac helicopter crash and have a tearful farewell scene with you giving me mouth to mouth. I need a beer for that.”
“It is a little much,” Jeff agreed. “Yeah, a beer would be great.”
“Two cerveza,” Chad added. “So, what do you think of One Tree Hill?”
“Not bad, I guess. Sophia, she’s your ex, right? Is she always that grabby?”
Chad tilted his head back, laughing. “I think she was looking to be the next ex-Mrs. Jeffrey Dean Morgan.”
“Seriously?” Jeff looked so puzzled that Chad laughed again, taking a healthy swallow of the beer.
“You’re quite the catch, you know. Handsome, clean cut. Unlikely to even know Paris, much less bang her.”
“Is that the criteria?” Jeff asked.
“After me? Pretty much,” Chad shrugged.
Jeff shook his head. “Not really my type.”
“Paris, or Sophia?”
“Either. Too young and pushy.”
“Mmm.”
They ate for a while, with Jeff happily crunching the pile of extra raw onions they’d added to his burrito.
“You are going to brush your teeth before your lips touch mine, right?”
Jeff grinned. “Hell no. Just to be a dick, I figured I’d slip you the tongue while I was at it.”
Chad snorted his beer, and Jeff nearly fell off the stool laughing. “Just kidding,” he murmured.
Chad shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat. “I know, dude. God, this is going to suck.”
“Eh, it won’t be that bad. At least it’s only two scenes.” Jeff got up, tossing his burrito wrapper, and wandered back to the counter. “You want another beer?”
“Yeah.”
They made it back to the set not long before it was time for Jeff to film his first scene with Chad. “So basically, your studly paramedic self is going to be on the gurney doing chest compressions, right?”
“Yup. I get to live out the fantasy of hundreds of schoolgirls and straddle Chad Michael Murray,” Jeff said, putting a dramatic hand to his forehead. “I may just swoon.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“I know. It’s a talent.” Jeff grinned watching as they helped Chad onto the gurney, then climbed aboard. “Jesus, I feel like I’m going to take a header any second,” he muttered.
“It’s not like we’re going off-road, Morgan. Suck it up.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The director called for quiet, and Jeff settled on him, ass resting just over the waistband of the dorky ass tuxedo pants he was stuck wearing. Chad closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the scene, on anything that didn’t involve Jeff’s body heat soaking into him, the press of big hands on his chest.
By the time they finished the scene, he’d run through the alphabet forwards and backwards about fifty times. It didn’t help that as he crawled off, Jeff made sure to slap his hip lightly. “You were right. Wasn’t that bad.”
“Glad I make a nice chair,” Chad snorted, pulling the tequila out. One more scene. His death. Then, he could get his stuff and go home, finish packing for the move to Vancouver.
Jeff got snagged by one of the script girls, so Chad went on ahead, trying to wrap his mind around the thought that after one more scene, he’d be done. Never have to set foot in Wilmington again. In another week or two his episodes of BSG would start airing, and maybe he’d be known for something other than fucking Paris Hilton.
Makeup took what felt like forever. Apparently, as the victim of a heart issue and a helicopter crash, he was required to wear enough pancake and fake blood to give the old Hammer horror movies a run for their money.
Jeff showed up a few minutes later, and was also doused with a liberal application of blood. “Just like being home,” he muttered. “Now, I just have to remember not to call you boy and threaten to blast you with rock salt.”
The makeup girl laughed, dabbing a little more blood at the corner of his mouth, as Chad started reciting the alphabet again. Jeff could call him ‘boy’ anytime he wanted to, as far as Chad was concerned.
The new set looked like something out of “Lost,” complete with enormous tree trunks and moss-covered ground. They positioned Chad in the crook of some of the roots, with Jeff kneeling at his side. Then, the rain started to fall, carefully controlled to be seen without interfering with the dialogue.
As far as crappy scenes went, this was going to be one of the worst. He was cold, he was wet, and he was forced to spout some of the worst crap ever.
Jeff went with it gamely, and Chad had to admit, delivered in that drawl, just about anything sounded reasonable.
“I—what happened? Where am I?” Chad moaned, looking around the set.
“Shh. Don’t try to talk. Help is coming,” Jeff replied firmly, checking for a pulse, fingers warm against Chad’s cold skin.
“I—my chest hurts,” Chad gasped, then let his eyes fall shut.
“Dammit,” Jeff muttered, faking another handful of chest thrusts before bending to press his lips against Chad’s.
Well, at least the sonofabitch had brushed his teeth. He tried to focus on dying. This was his big death scene, after all.
A rough rasp against his lip startled him, and his eyes opened, hands coming up to grab Jeff’s wrists.
“CUT! Chad, you aren’t supposed to be alive yet,” the director complained. “We discussed this earlier.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I forgot.”
Jeff flashed a smile at him, and Chad mentally cursed, feeling his pants tighten. Goddamn it. He was not going to be a corpse with a stiffy.
Somehow, they got through the scene, despite Chad forgetting half his lines, up to and including who he was supposed to have the deep and undying love for.
But finally, they were done, and he was free.
He’d expected to feel something when it was over. Instead, there was just a bone-deep relief that he wouldn’t be doing cross country flights twice a week. “That’s that,” Chad murmured.
“Yup. You got plans for dinner?” Jeff asked.
“Not really.”
“I was going to grab something at the Italian place down the street from my hotel. You could bring Joe, we’ll grab a bottle of wine and make it a party to celebrate your freedom.”
“I could do that.” It sounded a hell of a lot better than going home alone and staring at his packing boxes.
Jeff smiled, and Chad felt something low in his stomach loosen. Buddy. Nice guy, he reminded himself. Not a fuckbuddy. He’s so not fucking interested. “Great. You drive.”
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