Title: Sunstroke

Pairing: Clark Sawyer/Julian Larson (Juliark)

Notes: Tumblr prompt requested for Clark/Julian trailer smut during a hot summer day. Here's hoping this satisfies the prompter.

Julian Larson, Clark Sawyer, Something Damaged, and the Daltonverse plotline belong to CP Coulter.

As Something Damaged's fourth season began to film came a summer of proportions that convinced most of its cast that God was trying to scorch the earth. The sun beat mercilessly down over everything in the lot, and usually when the words, "Okay, that's a print!" were yelled, the actors ducked out and sought any cool spot they could get to away from the lights.

The days were long, and tiring as a more dramatic season was being introduced, although how much more dramatic they could get the show to be without treading into Days of Our Lives territory was beyond Julian. He almost pitied the more "main" characters of the show, the ones with more scenes and shooting time. For once, Julian loathed the smell of hot metal on the lamps.

He was finished shooting his scene. Glorious. Wonderful. He was out of there. He was running back to his trailer, desperate to change out of his sweat-streaked clothes.

And he walked in to find a blond-haired six-foot-five frame replete with the kind of gorgeousness that made hundreds and thousands of screaming fangirls throw themselves into hysterics upon sight, lying soundly asleep as though he fully belonged there.

Julian swallowed. Clark Sawyer, popstar, actor, his co-star "Matthew" in Something Damaged, and most importantly, his friend, was asleep, shirt open, on his bed.

And Julian was positive that somewhere, out there, a deity looking down at him was laughing hysterically, enjoying this torture upon his senses.

It was bad enough that Julian had positively fled Dalton in order to escape the blond demon that had plagued his nights and days endlessly with love and lust that could never be returned—but when he finds the second object of his hormones' uncomfortable desires lying with open vulnerability in his bed, there just had to be someone engineering this kind of torture.

Julian approached the bed with caution, wondering what Clark was even doing here in the first place. This wasn't unusual, of course—he's caught Clark in his accommodations enough times, usually to fiddle with his gaming consoles or borrow a book or two, and to be perfectly honest, he'd also been found in Clark's own trailer, hunting for books and games—but he had never quite found him asleep on his bed before. They were easily closest to each other among the Something Damaged cast, but this kind of familiarity had not been done before.

And not in that state of disarray that made things just so much more difficult.

He stood cogitating over Clark for a moment. His friend was so deeply, contentedly asleep, that he looked more at home in the bed than Julian must have looked. The fine honey-blond bangs were tumbling just so into his eyes, one stray lock caught on the bridge of a perfect nose, and those dark gold lashes glimmering in the afternoon heat. The sheen of perspiration over his skin told Julian that the air-conditioning wasn't enough.

He swallowed again before he began pacing.

Now, Clark was his friend, and in the standard of Hollywood celebs who had far too much to do in their lives, the kind of relationship he and Clark had could qualify him as his best friend among the supposed friends he had. So that was mainly why Julian was finding it so difficult to throw Sawyer off the bed and tell him to sleep in his own room.

After his Dalton exodus, Clark would possibly be the only "best friend" Julian would have left, following the communications blackout with both Derek and Logan. This also made it doubly difficult that he had found himself more than once staring at Clark with an attraction that was just a little more than friendship.

But this was mainly Clark's fault. Why did he have to look like that anyway? Julian grumbled and sat down at a chair, staring at the boy on the bed, older than he by two years. Julian always made it clear that he was attracted to those who looked aesthetically attractive and Clark fit into the category so well that he could be the encyclopedic example.

And worse, Clark was ingratiatingly good. Aside from his qualities, he had proven time and again on set why he was teased by fellow actors as "Hollywood's last angel". He looked after Julian in ways that Julian didn't realize could be done—he could come back from a scene of having to run after someone's supposedly dead ex-boyfriend and find Clark handing him a bottle of water the moment the director said "Cut!", and then Clark would simply melt off to do his own scene without waiting for Julian to say anything.

Not his agent, not his manager, or handler: it was Clark who knocked gently on Julian's door whenever the actor overslept, not accusing him of anything or telling him to hurry; it would always be done in the pretense that he would like to borrow something. That was Clark's main excuse: he was always borrowing something from Julian.

And while Julian, at first, found it puzzling and mildly irritating, he became accustomed to this kind of life with his friend, both of them close to each other and swapping stories and practicing scenes. They borrowed from each other so often that their things were half in each other's trailers. Laughing at the gag reel moments and sitting next to each other in interviews, exchanging complaints during events and sauntering together down the red carpet when neither deigned to bring a date. And for the first time in a long while, was starting to feel a home against amongst the bright lights—on the road to rehabilitation after being addicted to the poison of the green eyes back in Dalton.

But hormones stayed hormones and attraction was attraction; and Julian wasn't prepared to jeopardize Clark through his stupidity. He'd had it with falling for friends, so before he actually, truly fell, he had to keep Clark at bay, and not mistake the friendliness for the worst thing in the world: a chance.

There was to be no "take two" of the situation in Dalton. Julian was running this show—and he was saying "cut."

Yes, Clark should leave. Before Julian did anything stupid.

He moved forward and leaned over the archangel on the bed, the summer sun pouring onto his cut form. There was a slightest of smiles on the corner of his lips. Whatever he was dreaming off, it was far better than what Julian had on most days…

…and the few nights when he crept to his friend's room and begged to stay on the couch.

Clark always wanted him to take the bed on those nights when Julian's lips were sealed and his face was white and his hands shook just so slightly, but Julian just crashed on the couch and would usually be woken by his friend in the morning, suggesting breakfast.

He wondered if Clark had ever stood over him the way he stood over him now.

Loneliness was both their biggest enemy. He started to wonder…if Clark came to the room looking for him. And…in solitude, fell into a dreamless sleep that Julian envied him of.

The brunet actor reached out and brushed the golden bangs very gently from his face. He let out the breath he realized he was holding. "Clark…" he whispered so silently that there was no chance in Hell it would've woken his friend. Not that he was trying.

Stop, his head begged. Stop, Julian. Step back and walk away. Let him sleep. You were never here. You never saw him. Let him wake on his own, and walk out thinking nothing happened.

"Can't do this…can't. Won't." He was convincing himself. He pulled his hand back carefully.

A strong hand clasped onto his wrist before he could get it away.

Julian choked back a gasp when blue eyes, turned into a blazing, summer sky cerulean by the sunlight, now stared up at him.

"Wait…" those lips that had so very faintly smiled in sleep now spoke. Clark stared at him with no accusation, only eyes that searched Julian's stricken face, the misting of sweat on his body causing his skin to shimmer in the light. "Are you angry?"

"No." Julian answered, tugged his wrist back a little but found it hostage by that strong hold. Perspiration dripped slightly down the side of his neck, and it had to be more of nerves than the heat. "Why are you here?"

"Air conditioning in my trailer got busted."

"Oh."

This was the worst conversation they've ever had. There wasn't even a keen thought in the things they were saying. It was all being said out of the desperate attempt to negate the awkwardness they'd found themselves in.

But why wouldn't Clark let go of him?

"I'm sorry," Clark said, his voice sounding…desperate? "I didn't mean to—I know you don't like it when people just—"

"You've been in my trailer and my rooms a million times," Julian answered noncommittally. It was true that he didn't like it when people just waltzed in. But Clark was always different. Julian tossed in an olive branch. "And I've been in yours."

The taller boy didn't let it rest, looking distressed. "But I've never—"

"Slept in my bed?" Julian snorted incredulously. "You think you're the only guy I've ever had in—" He caught himself in an indiscretion.

He doesn't know! He doesn't know! his brain screamed. Stop!

Grave was dug. Julian saw the stunned look in Clark's face. He tried to tear away a little harder, but Clark pulled back, sending Julian stumbling into the sheets. Another strong hand caught his other arm to steady him, or effectively trap him, or so it felt. "Don't—"

"For the love of—!" Julian's face was crimson and his breath came hot. He fought. "Let me—"

"Wait, Julian—"

As one fought, the other clutched tighter, and then Clark pushed them both completely off the bed, Julian's back connecting with the closet of his trailer—and their bodies struck against each other almost entirely by accident. Julian's brown eyes looked golden in the sun. Their lashes touched briefly, they were so close. And as they breathed, panting in the heat, their lips brushed in a single, interminably brief moment.

Julian wondered if he was hallucinating, pinned between closet and actor. That look in Clark's eyes—was that…?

"Please…" Clark whispered, staring openly, asking without saying anything. His impossibly blue eyes flickered from Julian's bronzed ones to his lips.

Julian let out his breath the way he did when he thought Clark was asleep. When Clark spoke again, their lips touched briefly again, their closeness so tight that they could feel their pulses pounding. Everything was gone—it had all gone away, both were too focused on each other.

"…you said my name…" Clark whispered. "Why did you say it like that…?"

"Like…what?" Julian struggled to talk in spite of every misgiving that was beginning to build, and his resolve starting to shatter. There were red flags going off everywhere inside him but his body was refusing to fight back. He could feel his hands starting to clutch onto Clark's shirt.

Clark answered his question with a non-sequitur that told them both too many things: "…I want to…"

When their lips came together, the room could've burst into flames. The boiling sun poured in as their hands clutched desperately at each other, breathless and hungry, skins slick with sweat, fingers tearing at cloth.

"Clark…" Julian breathed as they broke for air. This was a hallucination. Heatstroke. Summer fever. Everything was burning. Mad with heat. Reality was burning into cinders, leaving them with this mirage. Clark kissed hungrily over his jaw, hands already under Julian's shirt. "Clark…" Julian groaned.

"Say no," Clark panted over Julian's skin, devouring every inch with his lips. A talented tongue licking, lips sucking over the pulse of his neck, causing the other actor to shudder. "Tell me no—tell me to stop—"

Only a lunatic would do that, Julian thought, delirious, as a nip to his throat elicited a moan from him that he wasn't proud of. Clark's blue eyes gleamed. Hot summer sky. Blue madness.

Julian's waist was caught by strong hands and he was pushed down onto the bed. He sank into it as Clark's weight came on top of him. The older boy leaned down and kissed him hungrily, slipping his tongue into Julian's mouth, and they failed to divine who wanted this more.

Sweat dripped from skin. Clothes were rent from bodies and left abandoned onto the floor. The air conditioner was useless. They were both panting in the heat of the day and each other, kissing hungrily, hands clutching, legs tangled in each other.

"How long have you—" Julian gasped as Clark moved his attentions down to his chest.

"I missed you…" Clark whispered, letting Julian's hands tangle into his blond hair. "Whenever you go away to school, I miss you… I've wanted this so long, that I—" He stopped and buried his mouth at Julian's throat, ardent kisses worsening the heat.

"Why didn't you—" Julian gasped sharply when a thumb calloused from playing guitar brushed over an erect nipple. "—say something?"

Clark rose like a wave over him, crushing his mouth into his, tongue tangling in Julian's, with the tang of salt taken from the skin. "You would never—" Clark panted. "—never think of me like that… We were always friends, but this…"

Julian opened his mouth to speak but Clark pressed his fingers to his lips to stop him. "Shh. Wait. I'm not done…" But even Clark bit his lip as Julian took the fingertips between his lips and sucked gently. "Julian…" he almost groaned.

"Answer," the brunet commanded breathlessly.

Clark leaned closer, hot breath wafting on Julian's exposed skin. "I didn't think you would…until awhile ago…when you came so close to me… You said my name like you wanted me…" Kisses on the collarbone, skin scarlet with the nipping—they felt like an apology.

"I do…" Julian pulled him up to his lips again and kissed him deeply, drinking him in. Clark melted into him but Julian pulled away to say, "I have. I've wanted pretty badly. I've really really wanted but you're fucking straight so I thought—"

"I'm taking you," Clark whispered hotly into his ear, so low that Julian would've groaned even without the hand crawling under his leg to pull it up against the blond's strong side. "You're mine now…" he added softly as he brought his hips down forcefully, grinding against the one pinned to the bed.

Julian tossed his head back in a moan that would've been too sinful for television of any age. Clark went for his throat, taking more of the sounds and the rivets of sensation that it sent through the other actor, knowing it was all his. Skin hot as scorching sand.

"Clark—" he panted, wanting more than ever, "—if you don't—" Julian, mad with lust, bucked up with a sharp cry as the hand that had held him so strongly now wrapped around his erect length. Scalding. All of it. Clark smiled against skin again, possessive, unseen.

"You're not patient at all, Julian…" he whispered over Julian's jaw. He began to stroke, delighting in the groans they produced. He never thought he could ever do this to him, could never have this. Never ever. Illusions. The perfect mirage.

It was everything and more than what they both wanted. Julian could feel Clark's hardness pressing down against him with each thrust of the hips coupled by a stroke of his hand, and his pulse quickened—they slid perfectly against each other with all the slickness of the wet heat. Fire through the veins, again and again with each desperate beat. "What are you waiting for?" Julian bit harshly, nails raking down Clark's back. "We don't have—"

"—much time…" Clark finished, even as he moved himself properly, and Julian's breath held as he felt the tip at his entrance.

One moment stilled: of blue eyes blazing down at him. Fire blue, never ever poison green, burning everything away even as he sank back down into him—Julian rising up to meet him, burnished gold, sunlight and hot as the summer, as Clark threw himself into him, grabbing him with such force that he practically pulled him off the bed, Clark buried to the hilt.

Mouths opening into moans before they even met to tightly stifle their screams—everything was a secret, no one but this sun will ever know—Julian clutching wildly Clark's shoulders as the older boy thrust deeply in. "All of you, I want all of you," all of Clark's kisses and bites, seemed to say, the angel holding possessive and rough as the battle in the sky, the seraphim.

Julian thought he was going on fire. Nails scraping Clark's back at a particularly powerful thrust that sent him screaming into his shoulder—as he tore skin at Clark's back, he expected wings to flush right out, blotting out the sky. Yes—yes—this—all of this—

"More—" Julian gasped. "Harder—"

"You're so hot, Julian—" Clark breathed as he devoured his mouth.

"Please—" Another muffled scream at a strong thrust.

"—love you—" Grip failing through the dripping sweat.

"No—" temperature rising. Breaths failing.

"Yes—" Haze. Boiling haze.

"I—"

A bite at the shoulder. "Do you…"

A groan. "Yes…" Parched. Drinking the other in. "…yes—!"

Swooping down in desperation before they were both lost—screams muffled by the roar of pounding in their chests, racing all to that one point of molten core, breaths gone, a climax that set their world aflame as they both came at the same time—leaving everything in ashes.

"…Clark…?"

A hand carefully brushed away the wet bangs from Julian's face. Those blue eyes smiled. "…yes…?"

Julian's eyes, half open, blinked at him through the mists in his brown eyes—eyes that looked just that bit more golden when looking into the sun—looking confused. "…what…?"

The blond boy smiled, that smile the gentlest Julian had ever seen, like the arms that cradled him—too closely in this heat, but he didn't mind. "…Well…you said my name."

"I did…?"

Clark smiled a little more. The hands tenderly touched Julian's wet cheek, bringing him close to brush his lips with him just briefly. "Yes, you did."

Julian was still flushed. Clark seemed to look him over and murmured, "I'll tell them you won't be coming back to set."

"Huh…?"

His complete overpowering seemed to amuse Clark. "You're all red, and flushed, and weak. I'll tell them you had a touch of the sun."

"Weak—after what you did to me, who wouldn't be…" Julian mumbled halfheartedly. He couldn't get up if he wanted to.

"I'm sorry…" Clark kissed his fingertips, trying to mollify him, their eyes meeting just briefly as Clark's fingers brushed over places where teeth had bit and lips had sucked. "I got carried away. I'll try to hold back next time."

From where his fingertips rested on Clark's back, Julian felt them slippery—with sweat, and the blood drawn by his nails. Clark wasn't the only one who got carried away. He pulled the other boy close, tired, hot, and far too comfortable against him in spite of the heat. He wasn't letting this one go.

"No. Don't."