Fic - Hair - Any Other Way

[zoicite]

Fandom: Hair
Pairings: Claude/Berger
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~4,500
Disclaimer: Not affiliated with the show or the production in any way. Just a fan. Don’t mean any harm, not making any money, etc.
Summary: Claude, Berger, and an abandoned theater


Any Other Way

Claude follows close behind Berger as they dodge pedestrians in Times Square. He isn’t sure where they’re going. Berger refuses to tell him, though Claude’s asked twice. Berger was jumpy with excitement as he dragged Claude away from Jeanie and Sheila half an hour before, but that doesn’t narrow it down at all. It could be anywhere.

“Bring him back when you’re finished with him,” Jeanie requested after Berger burst into their quiet afternoon.

“I’ll be back in a -“ Claude started to assure her, but Sheila cut him off.

“He won’t be back anytime soon,” Sheila concluded after taking one look at Berger.

Berger didn’t say anything, just pulled Sheila in and kissed her. When Sheila laughed and pushed him away, Berger grabbed Claude instead, yanked at his arm as he pulled Claude from Jeanie, and then they were off.

“Just tell me where we’re going,” Claude says, thinking maybe a demand will work where questions failed. They move west away from Times Square.

Berger doesn’t respond, but two and a half blocks later he stops abruptly so that Claude walks right into his back.

“Berger,” Claude says, pushes him forward.

“Shh,” Berger hushes him, turning to set his hands on Claude’s shoulders. “We’re here.”

Claude looks around. The street is empty, worn down, boarded up.

“What’s here?” Claude asks.

Berger’s hands are on Claude, moving him twice in a circle, then positioning him so that he’s facing the boarded up façade of an old theater.

“So what,” Claude says, shrugs.

“So what,” Berger repeats with a laugh.

He steps around Claude, walks up to the wooden plank nailed to one of the doors and pushes at it with two fingers. The boards swing on the remaining nails, exposing broken glass beneath, an entrance more than large enough to fit through.

“Whoa, I don’t want to go in there,” Claude says, holding up his hands as he takes a step back.

Berger’s smile slips just slightly before he recovers and says, “Yes, you do.”

“No, thanks,” Claude insists. “Get Woof to come down here with you. You want me to go find him? Send him down?”

Berger drops the wood back into place and steps forward to take Claude’s arm. “Claude, you want to come inside. You just don’t know you want to come inside, but you do. I promise you do.”

Claude sighs. He’s pretty good at translating Berger and the emphasis on ‘promise’ pretty much confirms what Claude already guessed. Berger plans to try to have sex in some creepy abandoned building.

“Who the hell knows what might be in there,” Claude says even though he already feels himself giving in.

“I do,” Berger says. “I was in there this morning.”

Claude nods, looks up and down the street one more time, then down at Berger’s hand where it rests on his arm. He doesn’t have many more excuses and when Berger is this insistent, it’s not often that he’s wrong.

“Okay,” Claude caves. “Show me.”

Berger’s hand squeezes his arm and then Berger is back by the wood and waving for Claude to enter.

Claude hesitates a moment longer before he steps forward and slides in through the opening, careful not to brush against the shards of broken glass. Berger pretends to help him through, free hand pushing at Claude’s ass. He lingers too long to fool anyone.

The lobby is dark except for the sunlight that leaks in around the boarded up doors. The floor is littered with the broken glass.

“Did you break that?” Claude asks when Berger emerges beside him from the street.

“No,” Berger snorts. He looks offended as he takes Claude’s hand and pulls him down a hall, away from any light coming in from the street.

“It’s dark in here,” Claude observes.

“Yeah,” Berger agrees. “Just wait.”

Berger pulls Claude through another doorway.

“Just wait for it to get even darker?” Claude asks.

Berger’s hand slips out of Claude’s grip. He bends, his side bumping against Claude’s leg as he shuffles around on the floor. His hands move across Claude’s feet and then past him, touching everywhere, searching for something.

“What -“ Claude starts, but stops when the area they’re standing in is suddenly illuminated.

Berger stands, smile on his face and a flashlight in his hand.

“Why didn’t you leave that in the lobby?” Claude asks, even though he knows by now that questioning Berger’s motives in cases like this are pointless. Berger probably just enjoyed making Claude nervous as he led him around in the dark.

Berger doesn’t answer him anyway, just starts walking forward. They’re in one of the aisles of the orchestra, seats stretching into the darkness on either side of them. Claude follows close behind Berger. The theater smells old, closed up and a little musty. So far it’s not somewhere that Claude is anxious to spend a lot of time. The light from the flashlight just seems to bring attention to all of the dark corners, all of the things Claude can’t see.

Berger stops ahead of him and when Claude gets close enough Berger reaches out for him, pulls him in to kiss. Claude kisses him back, short kisses. He isn’t ready to get involved in them. He’s wary, waiting to see what Berger has planned. Berger pushes at Claude until Claude is sitting in a seat on the aisle. Berger leans over, kisses Claude one more time and then he’s leaving, abandoning Claude in the dark of the theater.

“Where are you going?” Claude asks, watches as Berger walks fast down the rest of the aisle.

“I’m right here,” Berger promises. He climbs up onto the stage. Once there, Berger turns toward Claude, bows in the little pool of light from his flashlight, and then disappears into the wings.

Claude sits in the darkness, listens to his own breathing. Something rustles in one of the far corners and Claude pulls his legs up off the floor. He can still see hints of brightness illuminating the stage as Berger moves around behind it. Berger trips over something, a loud clank followed by a few choice curses.

“You okay?” Claude calls, but he receives no answer.

There’s that shuffling noise again somewhere to Claude’s left. It’s probably a mouse, nothing horrible, but Claude’s had enough.

“Berger,” he calls. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He’s about to get up and head into the darkness in search of Berger when suddenly the stage is flooded with light, the hum of electricity loud in Claude’s ears. Claude shields his eyes at the sudden brightness. Once he’s adjusted, he looks up to see that Berger is standing back on the stage.

“Ta da,” Berger says, arms outstretched.

“This place still has power?” Claude asks, looking around.

“Some of it,” Berger calls back. “Most of the switches don’t work.”

Only the stage is lit, but it leaks out toward Claude, providing enough light that he can finally see the extent of the room. The orchestra section is large. The seats are red and might have looked lush once, but now everything is covered in a fine layer of dust. Paint is peeling from the ornamentation on the walls. The velvet curtains are ripped and stained.

Berger jumps off the front of the stage and stands on the first row of seats.

“I told you it was beautiful, man, didn’t I?” Berger says.

He didn’t, but Claude looks around anyway, considers it. He tries to imagine the building in its former glory. He imagines the shine of the gold paint on the ceiling, the bright red of the cushions. He imagines New York’s upper crust, all stiff necked and tied up, sitting straight in their seats as they watch the latest play. And now here it is, abandoned, a playground for George Berger. Claude closes his eyes and feels the room swell with everything that must have happened here, every actor and actress that walked the stage. It’s beautiful, but it still unsettles him.

“Yeah,” Claude says anyway. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Berger climbs over row after row of seats until he’s standing in the row ahead of Claude, looking down at Claude sprawled with his legs into the aisle. Berger bends forward, pretends he’s losing his balance so that Claude instinctively reaches out to catch him. Berger intertwines his fingers with Claude’s and pulls Claude up and out of his chair, pulling Claude in until Claude’s face is pressed against Berger’s stomach.

Claude sighs against Berger, holds Berger until Berger pulls away, jumping off the arms of the seat into the aisle. He pulls Claude down the aisle until they reach the edge of the stage, climbs up and waves Claude up after him. Claude follows until he’s standing beside Berger at center stage.

Berger kisses him, fingers flirting with the button on Claude’s jeans.

Claude breaks the kiss, looks down at Berger’s hands.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Screwing you on a Broadway stage.”

Claude isn’t surprised to have his suspicions confirmed. Berger had that buzz about him the entire walk to the theater. The buzz that almost always means sex.

Claude looks around the empty space from his new vantage point. It feels enormous. There are two balconies, paint peeling off the edges. The building is quiet now except for the echo of their voices. The stage is wide, dust and debris collected along the edges. The center of the stage is surprisingly free of dust, however. The wood shines beneath Claude’s feet. Claude scans the wings and eventually locates a large broom beside a pile of dirt.

“Did you sweep this?” Claude asks, trying not to smile.

Berger shrugs and looks everywhere but directly at Claude.

Claude hooks his fingers into the front pocket of Berger’s jeans. Berger continues to ignore the question. When Claude leans in to kiss Berger again, Berger’s kiss is wet and open mouthed, taking Claude by surprise. Claude pushes him away and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“Claude,” Berger says. He reaches out a hand. His fingers catch in the fabric of Claude’s sleeve.

“How about I screw you?” Claude suggests. “You wanna be screwed on stage?”

Berger turns out toward the empty seats. He thinks about it, puffs out his chest and then exhales long and hard before swinging back toward Claude.

“Hell, yes I do,” Berger concludes.

“Really?” Claude asks. He expected more of a fight. He expected that he’d be the one giving in.

“Claudio,” Berger says. “Picture it, man. You and me. On stage. Fucking. Sold out shows every night. The toast of Broadway.”

Claude laughs.

Berger shrugs, then reaches out to grab at Claude’s dick through his jeans. “You saying you don’t wanna do it?”

“No,” Claude says, stepping back. “I’m not saying that.”

“Okay, good.”

Berger moves to pull Claude’s shirt over his head and Claude stops him, hands pressing Berger’s flat against his chest.

“Leave it on,” Claude says. He isn’t sure why, but he feels nervous about this, self conscious, exposed. He lies and says, “It’s freezing in here.”

It’s a little chilly, but not that cold. Berger seems to accept it anyway. He nods then pulls his own shirt over his head instead.

Berger kicks off his jeans next, his shoes, and then he’s standing naked in front of Claude. Claude crosses his arms across his fully clothed chest and waits to see what Berger has planned next.

“What?” Berger asks, taking in Claude’s closed off stance. He looks over his shoulder, surveys row after row of worn empty seats, and when he turns back to Claude his eyebrows are raised and he’s smiling.

“Claude Bukowski has stage fright,” Berger concludes.

“I don’t,” Claude protests. He stares out off the stage, feels nerves flutter in his stomach, and then says, “Maybe. A little.”

Berger laughs and steps in front of Claude so that Claude is staring at the broad expanse of Berger’s back. Berger spreads his arms wide and then turns to look at Claude over his shoulder.

“It’s just us in here, see?” Berger says, shouting it up toward the mezzanine. He bends over in front of Claude. “Come on, man.”

Claude laughs and slaps Berger’s ass.

“Let’s go, Claude,” Berger repeats. “Everybody’s waiting for you to perform.”

Berger shuffles back, pressing his bare ass against Claude so that Claude stumbles back a step, laughing harder. Finally he gives in, grabs Berger’s hips with his hands and yanks Berger back against him, his hips knocking hard against Berger.

“Oh,” Berger says, high pitched and exaggerated, loud so that it will carry out into the open seats.

Claude smiles. Claude keeps one hand on him, thrusts against him again to distract Berger as Claude sticks his finger into his mouth, wets it. His hands press against Berger’s ass and he’s quick as he moves the finger into position, sliding it in.

Berger grunts, surprised, and takes a step forward. He recovers quickly though, supporting himself with his hands on his legs as he bends over farther. The high pitched moan returns and Claude rolls his eyes as he spits onto his fingers, moving back in with his thumb, his hand pushing at Berger’s ass for better access. He pulls out then back in quick, this time with two fingers. Claude presses them deep, feels Berger tight around him. He bends his fingertips just a little until he reaches the spot where he knows Berger won’t be able to exaggerate a reaction.

Claude knows as soon as he gets it right. Berger chokes on his act, presses back against Claude’s hand and says, “fuck,” low and quiet.

Claude feels like he’s won, but the second time he hits it, Berger’s ready for him, the exaggerated sex talk is back, though now Berger’s voice shakes a little with each moan.

“Oh, Clark,” Berger says, long and drawn out. “Harder.”

Claude’s mouth drops open and he laughs, pushes Berger away in mock outrage.

“The name is Claude,” Claude corrects.

Berger shrugs and winks, hands on his own dick as he says, “You’ve got fingers just like Clark’s.”

A pigeon chooses that moment to fly out of the wings and Claude starts, stares as it disappears somewhere in the mezzanine.

“Shit,” he says. “How did that get in here?”

Berger laughs and moves in to wrap himself around Claude, his erection pressed against Claude’s leg. He leans in until the tip of his nose is pressed to the tip of Claude’s.

Claude holds the position, stares back at Berger. Berger’s always doing this. Claude pretends to think it’s silly, but secretly he loves the way Berger looks at him when all they can see is each other.

Claude isn’t sure how long they stand that way. It isn’t until the second pigeon flies out of the wings to join his friend that Claude pulls back just far enough to say, “You don’t think it’s a little creepy in here?”

Berger lifts his chin, leans back in and kisses Claude’s mouth.

“Nah,” he says as he moves away. “I dig it.”

“Okay,” Claude sighs. He rubs his hands on his jeans and shrugs his shoulders twice in an attempt to relax. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“All the world’s a stage,” Berger says, his voice low and deep. He probably thinks it’s theatrical. It sort of is. Berger reaches for Claude’s hand and Claude takes it. When Berger pushes at his shoulder, Claude leans back, lets Berger support his weight as he lowers himself to the floor of the stage.

Berger kneels over him, leans over him to kiss him. His hand moves to the front of Claude’s jeans and he laughs when he feels Claude’s erection.

“What?”

“You had me worried,” Berger says. “Thought with the stage fright and all you might not be able to get it up.”

“You weren’t worried,” Claude says, calling Berger’s bluff.

“Not really,” Berger agrees.

Berger unzips Claude’s jeans and slides his hand inside. He strokes Claude, fingers confident and sure. Berger always knows exactly how Claude likes to be touched. Claude closes his eyes against the lights on the stage. His head knocks back against the wood of the floor when Berger shifts slightly, changes the angle of his upstroke.

Berger takes that as his queue to move things along. He slides his fingers beneath the elastic of Claude’s briefs, pushing his jeans and underwear down around Claude’s thighs to give him better access.

When Berger’s hands leave him, Claude takes over, stroking himself as he watches Berger. Berger's eyes are on Claude as he slides his fingers into his own ass, finishing the prep work that Claude had started. He fucks himself and Claude watches, sees the way that Berger’s dick responds, jumps slightly, swells when Berger hits a particularly good spot.

“Jesus,” Claude says. Berger doesn’t even need Claude. He’d sell every seat with this.

Berger smiles at Claude’s reaction. He slides his fingers out and moves, straddling Claude’s hips, positioning himself. Berger knocks Claude’s hands off his dick, spits in his palm and slides his own hand over Claude, makes sure Claude is wet and ready. Claude shifts too, props himself on his elbows, wants to see everything. He watches as Berger lines himself up, holds his breath and watches the change in Berger’s expression as the head of Claude’s dick enters him.

Claude’s head falls back and he groans as he slides in, surrounded by tight heat. Berger’s breath is a hiss as he lowers himself until he’s filled with Claude. He leans forward until his lips brush up against Claude’s neck. Claude lifts his head to meet Berger’s mouth in a kiss

“Your dick feels enormous, man,” Berger says, words sliding across Claude’s lips. “You’re so fucking hard. Everyone knows how much you want it. I bet they can see it from the last row.”

Claude’s hips jerk up and off the stage. Berger grunts, his kiss sloppy with Claude’s sudden movement.

Berger leans back away from Claude’s mouth and resumes his show. His eyes fall shut, face upturned as he supports himself, hands flat on the stage. His knees push up until only the head of Claude’s dick is still pressed inside him. Then, just when Claude thinks Berger will keep pulling away, when Claude thinks he’ll lose that heat, lose the feel of Berger pressed around him, everywhere, Berger slides back into place. He isn’t there more than a moment before he starts his slide again. Berger starts slow, but as he catches a rhythm, his movements pick up, smooth and fluid as he fucks himself on Claude.

Claude reaches out to grip Berger’s knees. He feels a little useless, lying here, a prop needed to get Berger through his final scene. Somehow the thought turns Claude on even more. He wants Berger to use him, wants Berger to take everything.

Claude holds out as long as he can, not moving, letting Berger control everything. When it’s no longer enough, when Claude can’t handle not moving for another second, he bends his knees, presses the soles of his shoes to the floor and pushes up and into Berger, tries to get deeper. Berger’s mouth falls open and his right hand leaves the floor, rushes to his dick. He strokes himself as Claude thrusts up and in again.

“A thousand people are watching us fuck,” Berger mumbles, his eyes open again. Berger doesn’t look out at his audience. His eyes are locked on Claude as they move together.

Claude imagines it now too, stares back at Berger as he imagines the gasps of the audience each time Claude thrusts up, deep inside. They aren’t gasps of shock. They’re gasps of pleasure, anticipation. They’re gasps of envy.

Claude’s next thrust hits Berger’s prostate and Berger chokes on his groan, leans forward, one hand on the floor by Claude’s shoulder, the other stroking himself harder. Claude reaches up and grips Berger’s hips to give himself better leverage. He pushes up off the floor hard, pushing Berger up with him. One more thrust and Berger loses it, comes hard across Claude chest, across his shirt. Berger collapses forward, face pressed into Claude’s neck, breath heavy.

“Fuck,” Berger says. “Fuck.”

Claude isn’t finished, isn’t close enough. He thrusts up again and Berger moans softly against his neck. Claude needs more. He needs more space to move.

“Berger,” Claude says, fingers on Berger’s back. “Berger, can we - “

Berger slides off Claude, turning so that he’s on his hands and knees, face toward the invisible audience. Claude’s quick to move in behind him. He reaches out to touch once, fingers wet as they slip in, just briefly, just for a second before Claude is lining up and shoving back inside.

Berger curses and his fingers grip at the edge of the stage. Claude’s fingers press hard into Berger’s hips as he thrusts forward again and again. His jeans fall down toward his knees with the movement. Claude stares out into the empty theater, knows that Berger turned this way on purpose. He wants Claude to look, wants it on Claude’s mind, all eyes turned on him.

Berger pushes back against him, meets every thrust and Claude stops thinking about the audience. His focus is back on Berger and he realizes that Berger’s been talking.

“Come on,” Berger says. “Come on.” Over and over, low and rhythmic.

Claude looks at Berger’s knuckles, white where they grip the edge. He watches Berger’s hair swing in toward his face every time Claude’s hips slap against him. He imagines himself in the front row, imagines watching Berger, the look on Berger’s face, over sensitive, wanting it to stop but still not wanting it ever to end. Claude knows how it is. Claude’s been there.

He imagines how Berger might look up, make contact with the crowd. His mouth is open and his eyes are dark. He’s looking, but he can’t see them. All Berger can ever see is Claude.

Claude’s orgasm surprises him, shakes through him, shivers. The applause rings in his ears as it washes over him and he curls forward against Berger’s back. He lies there, his mouth open against Berger’s skin. Berger’s elbows buckle a little against Claude’s weight, but hold fast, fingers still tight on the edge of the stage. After a moment, Claude pulls himself together, slides out of Berger, slides away. He pulls back at Berger until Berger falls against him, away from the edge of the stage.

Berger reaches out, warm hand against Claude’s face.

“Standing ovation,” Berger says.

“Yeah,” Claude agrees. He gives himself another minute, lying there. Berger’s hand leaves his face, settles on his chest, palm pressed against him to feel the rise and fall of Claude’s breathing.

Eventually Claude sits up, surveys the damage. Berger’s knees look red and sore. Claude reaches out, touches his right knee. It’s a sort of apology, but Berger just shrugs it off. Claude’s shirt is wet and Claude looks down, remembers now that Berger exploded hard across Claude’s chest.

Claude plucks the fabric away from his skin and says, “I know you did that on purpose.”

“You should have let me take it off,” Berger points out.

Clause does take it off now, takes it off and tosses it at Berger’s face. Berger laughs and throws it back. He misses Claude and the shirt disappears off the edge of the stage.

Claude stands, looks down at Berger sprawled across the stage as he pulls up his underwear and fastens his jeans. He walks over to the pile of Berger’s discarded clothes, picks up Berger’s shirt and pulls it over his own head.

Berger hasn’t moved and Claude returns to stand over him.

“I look good on you,” Berger says. He looks Claude up and down, then looks past Claude, up into the seats above.

“What?” Claude asks, turning to follow Berger’s gaze.

“Have you ever blown someone in a balcony?” Berger asks

Claude stares up toward the balcony in question. The building hasn’t been abandoned that long. There’s still power. Everything should be structurally sound. Claude feels a nudge at his backside and twists around to find Berger’s toes fondling him. He leans back against the sole of Berger’s foot, lets Berger’s leg support him. When Berger’s knee bends a little, Claude laughs and stumbles as he regains his balance.

“Have you?” Berger asks again, bringing them back to the question at hand.

“Nope, never have.”

Claude turns back toward Berger. Berger’s half hard again, stroking himself, and Claude stares.

“You wanna?” Berger asks.

Claude takes a moment, pretends to contemplate. He doesn’t really want to go up into the balcony, doesn’t think it would be that much different than if he just crawled between Berger’s legs right here. He’d rather crawl in between Berger’s legs right here. He folds down on his knees beside Berger, reaches out to touch him, his fingers sliding over Berger’s hand.

“You wanna do it?” Berger repeats.

“Yeah,” Claude says. He removes Berger’s hand from his dick and leans in. He doesn’t get far though, doesn’t get nearly close enough before Berger’s stopping him, hand at his shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa,” Berger laughs. “Not here.”

“Why not here?” Claude asks, just really wants Berger in his mouth now.

“We already did it here,” Berger points out. He pushes at Claude’s shoulder and then he’s sliding out from underneath Claude, standing. “Scene change.”

Berger’s standing in front of him now, so close, and Claude leans back in to press his mouth to Berger’s hip. Berger grips Claude’s shoulders, pulls at Claude until Claude’s cooperates and stands.

“First the balcony,” Berger says. “Then we’re on to the second act. Second act can be up to you, baby.”

Claude rolls his eyes, reaches out, hand on Berger’s dick. “Guess you’re planning to stay here a while?”

“I’m moving in,” Berger agrees.

“What?” Claude asks. “Here?”

“Why not here?” His hand reaches out to touch Claude’s side, fingers sliding beneath his own shirt to rest against Claude’s skin.

“Here is falling apart,” Claude points out.

Berger pulls at his shirt. “You should probably take this off before we get to the scene with my dick in your mouth,” he says, absently.

Claude shakes his head and knocks Berger’s hand away, but he concedes and pulls the shirt over his head anyway.

“We’ll just stay here tonight,” Berger compromises.

Claude laughs. “Who? You and the pigeons?”

Berger doesn’t respond, just pulls Claude toward the end of the stage, helps him down into the audience. Claude follows Berger up through the seats, toward the stairs at the back. When Berger reaches for Claude’s hand, Claude takes it without hesitation.

Claude looks around as they walk the stairs up into the lobby on the second floor. He tells himself that the building becomes less creepy the longer they spend in it. The ghosts of a million productions, millions of audiences watch them, keeping them company. He convinces himself, has to, because it won’t just be Berger and the pigeons here tonight. It will be Berger, the pigeons, and Claude. They both know any protests that Claude might make are empty. In the end if Berger wants to stay, Claude will stay. Claude will want to stay. Claude wouldn’t have it any other way.