Title: One For The Money
Rating: MA/NC17
Summary: Be careful what you wish for darling, you might just get it all…and then some you don't want.
Warnings: Language, Violence, RPF, Slash, Explicit M/M Sex, Daddy!Kink, Dom/sub, Dom!David/sub!Mark
Genre: Slash/Angst/Romance/Drama
A/N: So thanks for clicking on this story. Just something that's been rattling around my head. The thought of David and Mark getting it on was just too hot to resist! Comments and Kudos are appreciated!
Disclaimer: Do not own Glee or Bones or Angel or Buffy or anyone affiliated. Not accurate descriptions of persons mentioned, claim to have NO firsthand knowledge of their actual lives or to know them in any way. Merely a fan getting shits and giggles out of stretching their writing bones. (pun not intended...okay, maybe a little lol)
~D&M&C~
Chapter 1/?
Mark isn't sure what to do with his life anymore.
One day he was flying high on his Glee fame, everyone knows he is, he can get everything and anyone he wants…
And the next he's back on the bottom having to do hosting gigs in foreign countries to remind people he's (sometimes) on TV. It's pitiful to say the least. He's Mark frigging Salling, The Saw, DaMan, The Player. Who's to question is awesomeness?
Apparently Fox studios. Because three months prior to the season finale of season 4, he's staring at a buyout contract; the contract Janice, Jason and everyone told him would never come.
Because he's Mark Salling, a star. A really fucking talented star! And no one knows the amount of stress and pain and time he's devoted to getting as far as has.
No one!
And yet, there he was. Sitting in Ryan Murphy's office staring at a thick document filled with fancy words that basically say, "Nice knowing you, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."
He was surprised to find himself with tears in his eyes.
"But, Ryan," he croaked out finally, looking up to the man he thought was his friend, "why? I mean, I - " he shook his head and took a steadying breath, "I don't understand."
"Mark," the older man said in his usual crisp tone, "it's simple. You simply do not fit the show anymore. You look older than you are, your reputation is to be a player and a jackass, the people you surround yourself with are all known druggies, you can't do a proper interview to save your life, and parents tested you the lowest of everyone as a positive role model." The writer finished his explanation with a tight smile that stunk of withheld disdain.
That information hit him like a ton of bricks. Surely he wasn't that unpopular. "But, I'm Puck," he said slowly almost as if he's talking to a child. "I was the fan favorite-"
"-in the first season," the older man replied harshly. "Frankly Mark, no one really cares anymore. You show up like you just left a party, you distract others as they try to work, you caused undue stress to everyone when you went and cheated on your coworker because you can't keep it in your pants, not to mention the fact that I had to pass a no sex on set rule due to those escapades-"
"-that Naya fully participated in!" He shouted. "Why isn't she being fired? And it was 4 years ago!"
"You are not, strictly speaking, being fired," Ryan said calmly. "Your role is merely being…cut back." He stated diplomatically and folding his hands together in front of him on his desk.
Mark rolled his eyes, "Which is Hollywood code for 'FIRED'!"
Ryan huffed and sat back further in his chair, "Well interpret as you like. Point is, you have become a liability. A costly one. You're Roxanne lawsuit? Do you realize the kind of backlash I've gotten for that? Not only from parents that diligently watch this show with their kids, but also from the executives. They don't take anything you say or do, seriously."
"This is unfair," Mark snarled. "That lawsuit has nothing to do with my job. I could turn you in to SAG for firing me for that and get this whole thing shut down!"
"You could turn me into SAG and I can show where your new contract clearly states you will have time on the show, therefore 'not fired,' and that I have sufficient evidence FOR firing, if I had so chosen. Further, it'll damage any chance you have of being hired again as you will be deemed a loose cannon and difficult to manage. You'll be lucky if you do McDonald's commercials," the man tapped his fingers on the desk as all the information sank into Mark's head. He wasn't going to talk his way out of this one. "Now do you wish to sign and go quietly, or would you like to continue wasting both of our times on this ridiculous war of words?"
"You've wanted to get rid of me since I refused to sign with your friend's label and let you collect ten percent of my earnings," Mark bit out.
Ryan grinned amused, "No, actually, it was quite fun for me to sit back and watch you fail and fall apart like the near sighted hippie that you are." He chuckled, "Hilarious entertainment, really."
That had stung, bad. Mostly because Ryan was right. His first attempt had been abysmal, but he had been a nobody with Jericho. If he can't sell with his fame at full speed, that's a huge red flag for if he ever will.
"And anyway," Ryan snuffed as he grabbed a pen and placed it on top of the documents, "you were the one at the beginning of this year asking for a break so you can grow your hair out and start looking more your age. But can I just say," Ryan said pointing slightly to the top of his hair, "all this new look has done is make you look like a sad stay at home Dad, still trying to like a bachelor."
"This is harassment," Mark sighed, though he unconsciously touched his hair. "And I didn't say anything about wanting to be cut completely from the show."
"And you aren't," Ryan smiled. "One episode with your typical one liner and a nice shot of you swaying in the background as our stars sing lead is still on the show."
Mark had scoffed and stared at the contract in defeat. One signature and he was back to being a nobody. Fuck.
Which is why he's staring off into the great unknown contemplating what his next move was…or the back wall of the bar at a seedy bar in central LA.
No job. Soon to be no money. And even sooner ridicule from his brother because that jackass said from the getgo that being an actor and musician was wasting your life.
Mark didn't get it. He was a good person. He donated money, he volunteered (at the places his publicist set up a gathering to witness his good deeds and for actual known charities, because I mean, who wants to stand in the sun and not get at least some thanks for it?), he prayed (when he remembered). So why was this happening to him?
He ordered another shot and wiped his face, annoyed by the fucking tears that wouldn't go away.
Downing his shot, he looked to his left and saw a man he recognized come through. He was tall, dark hair, dark eyes, wearing a long black trench coat and ridiculous hat. What were those called? He couldn't remember. Damn the guy was so familiar, who was he?
"Can I get a whisky? Sour?" The man called and sat on stool a couple paces away. Mark couldn't tear his eye from the man, and finally he noticed, "Can I help you?"
"Uh," Mark replied intelligently.
"Oh, I know who you are," the guy said almost condescendingly in a clear East Coast accent, "Your Mark. Sally. Ryan's kid. Or were anyway, sorry about getting the boot."
"Mark Salling," he replied irritably. "And you are?"
The guy looked him over as he got his drink almost wondering if the kid was serious, than seeing that Mark hadn't budged, he laughed. "Wow. You must be living under a rock. David Boreanaz. Friends call me Dave. "
"Well Dave, you're not my friend, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your insults to yourself."
"Never said you were my friend," he answered amused and took out a cigarette. Lighting it he took a puff and smiled when Mark scrunched his face.
"That's a disgusting habit."
"Says the known pothead," Dave smiled and blew his smoke in Marks direction.
Mark rolled his eyes and flapped it away, "What do you want?" He asked angrily as Dave kept staring at him.
"You tell me," replied after another drag. "You were staring first."
"I wasn't-" he stopped when he remembered indeed he was.
"Listen, kid, you got problems, I can tell. No one comes to this shithole if their life is peachy. I got ears and time to waste, so why don't you let Daddy Davey help you through your issues."
"You ain't my Daddy," Mark snarled in his southern drawl.
Dave gave him a Cheshire cat grin, "Ah, but I could be."
Little did Mark know, the biggest thing ever to have happen to him was about to start, and the answer to his problems was about to be given. Or were they?
~D&M&C~
Thanks for reading! Reviews and faves appreciated!