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Relapse: RPF

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Relapse
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Kiefer Sutherland/Robert Downey Jr.
Summary: Robert had been out of rehab for three weeks when he ran into Kiefer Sutherland…
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1032
Rating: R
Warnings: Evil Bastard!Kiefer. Alcohol abuse, references to drug use, sexual situations, possible dubious consent.
Author’s Note: This story is set in 2000 or 2001 when RDJ was in and out of rehab. It was written for zoi_no_miko for Oxoniensis’ Porn Battle X. This is my first attempt at RPF and I feel mighty guilty.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.



Relapse


Robert had been out of rehab for three weeks when he ran into Kiefer Sutherland.

There was something between them, not exactly friendship, but years of half-remembered partying so Robert accepted an invitation to Kiefer’s hotel room.

It was an old hotel, a stately art nouveau palace. Kiefer had the executive suite, a lavish apartment with a full bar that he immediately sidled up to. Never taking his eyes off Robert he took out a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers that he filled to the brim.

“Just out of rehab, huh,” Kiefer said.

“I was in for three months. I’m 112 days sober.” Robert said.

“I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” Kiefer laughed, “but going that long without getting fucked up hardly seems like a good thing.”

“Believe me, it is.”

“To each his own, but why don’t you have one last drink with me before you put it all away. “

Robert shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can, it’s just you and me.”

“Sorry, no. You don’t know what I’ve been through these last past few months. Court, detox, rehab. If I were to touch that drink I’d be right back to square one and I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m asking you to smoke crack with me.”

“It is. It’s exactly like that. I’m an addict, I’ve finally accepted that. If I let myself have one drink I’ll let myself have another and another and another then the next thing you know I will be smoking crack. And shooting heroin and…”

“Don’t get so excited, Bob.” Kiefer said putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just one drink.” As if to stress the point he lifted one of the glasses, drained it and filled it again. “No big deal.”

“It is to me. I can’t help myself. That’s just the way I am.”

“Then why fight it? Because a judge told you to?”

“Because I want to get my life back together. I can’t work right now. No one will hire me, no one will insure me. I’m untouchable and I deserve to be. I’ve been given so many chances and I’ve blown them all. I’m tired of being a fuck up. I’m tired of waking up not knowing where or who I am. I have to make it work this time.”

“That’s very impassioned.” Kiefer said pushing a glass towards him. “It’s bullshit, but impassioned bullshit. Have a drink.”

“I told you, no.”

“For old time’s sake.” Kiefer said and smiled his most infectious smile. Robert couldn’t help being charmed.

“We do have quite a history, don’t we,” he sighed.

“Remember the first time we went out, don’t you?”

“Not much of it in all honesty…”

“It was back when I was still seeing Julia, maybe around 1990. We were in LA. We got wasted and hooked up with those girls from Jumbo’s Clown Room.”

“Oh my God, yes. We went back to your place.”

“You wanted your girl to tie you up but she wouldn’t do it…”

“She said she was ‘a designated bottom’ and she didn’t top under any circumstances…”

“Then I ended up holding you down while both girls had their way with you…”

“That I remember. God, I’m getting hard just thinking about it but I can’t do that anymore.”

“You can do anything you want. You and I are second generation royalty.”

“Now that is bullshit. Thinking that way is one thing when you’re eighteen but come on, we’ll be 40 in a few years….”

Kiefer wasn’t listening, he was downing another drink.

“Tell me something, Bob,” he said when he was finished. “When we were with those girls that time, why did you want to be tied up?”

Robert’s eyes widened.

“It’s easier when you don’t have control,” he said.

“Is that what you want? Would it be easier for you to have this drink if I forced it on you?”

“Enough with the drink, I told you I can’t…”

“You said you can’t but you didn’t say you didn’t want it. I think you want it.”

“Of course I want it but I’m not going to have it.”

“You see, that’s crazy. If you want to drink, drink. Get wasted. That’s the only way you’ve ever been happy. I know enough about you to know that for you being sober is like getting your dick cut off.”

Kiefer drained his whiskey glass and grabbed Robert by the shirtfront.

“Kiss me,” he said.

“No.”

Ignoring the refusal, Kiefer pressed his mouth against Robert’s, forcing his tongue inside. Robert tasted the whiskey, the bite of the alcohol. His whole body went limp with anticipation. It didn’t help that Kiefer was palming his dick through his pants, making him writhe in helpless ecstasy.

Kiefer broke the kiss, taking his hand off Robert’s dick he lifted the full glass of whiskey and lifted it to Robert’s lips.

“Drink it,” he ordered. Robert did. It burned down his throat into his stomach. He closed his eyes, let himself die a little. “You see,” Kiefer said wickedly. “You’re fine. Have another.” He refilled the glass. Robert, rubbing against him, drank this one without being told. After four or five glasses he didn’t even wait for Kiefer to pour, he drank straight out of the bottle.

“You are one crazy motherfucker, Bob,” Kiefer laughed. Robert was sprawled over the bar, Kiefer unbuckling his belt from behind.

“I need to call my dealer,” Robert gasped.

“Use my phone.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not doing anything to you. Like you said, you’re an addict. This is what you are, this is what you do. Stop pretending you’re someone else. Stop acting when the cameras aren’t running.” He pushed a phone into Robert’s hands. “Call your dealer.”

Robert dialed the number (he knew it by heart), had a short, pointed conversation with the man who answered and gave him the address of Kiefer’s hotel.

“He’ll be here in half an hour.” Robert said. His pants were down around his ankles and Kiefer was insistently grinding his hard-on against his ass.

“That’s more than enough time,” Kiefer said.

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