Real Genius Fic: How it Happens (Mitch/Chris, PG-13)
Title: How it Happens
Fandom: Real Genius
Pairing: Mitch/Chris
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 1300
Summary: The day Mitch signs the contract, Chris comes to the residence.
Note: Apparently Real Genius is like crack. It's eating my brain. Thank you to everyone who is encouraging me in this madness :) And thanks to valiant for grammar check.
It happens like this:
After graduation, Darlington offers him a job; the pay is great, the benefits are good, and it means that he doesn't have to leave town. Even better, it's an alternative to the military men who have started coming around, offering resources and staff, and huge amounts of money.
The Darlington job gives him the perfect out, and besides, no one in his right mind would say no.
So Mitch doesn't.
*
The day after Mitch signs the contract, Chris comes to the residence. Mitch is packing up his things - though most of it is going to charity, because nothing fits right anymore.
"Jesus," Chris says, picking up a paisley button-down shirt, and holding it at arm's length. "When did you wear this disaster?"
Mitch just grins. "You can have it, if you want it."
"Thanks. It's just the cleaning rag I've been looking for." He folds it up and stuffs it into his backpack. "Look, do you have a place to stay? Because somehow you're reminding of me again, back when I just graduated, and I'm starting to miss me." He winks. "I remember I was a very cool guy, though I'm pretty sure I dressed better. So. Wanna move in?"
He's already signed a lease on a small apartment, but Mitch doesn't hesitate. "Yes," he says, grinning.
"Great." Chris pulls the shirt back out of his backpack. "Looks like this is the cleaning rag you've been looking for."
*
They work together, they live together, and within two months, they're sleeping together. It starts with Chris insisting that Mitch needs to get drunk, drunk, drunk, and Mitch doesn't protest too much. Instead, he nurses every beer, watching as Chris drinks, and laughs, and tells stories about people at work.
The beer tastes bland, although he likes the fizz. Chris seems to like it too, judging by the way he downs can after can.
"You're not drinking," Chris says, pointing accusingly at Mitch's can, "and I'm very disappointed."
"I think you're drinking enough for both of us." He grins at the lazy way Chris shakes his head.
"I'm just getting started." Chris finishes one can, and starts on another, and then abruptly, he sets it down.
Mitch is about to ask what's wrong, when Chris leans over, closer. Maybe Mitch has had more to drink than he thought, because Chris almost seems to be moving in slow motion, or underwater. "What -" he starts, but it's too late.
Chris is kissing him, messily, his mouth opening up, his tongue sliding inside Mitch's mouth.
Mitch tries to pull away, get some distance between them, but Chris is holding him, hands on either side of his head, and he just follows when Mitch pulls back, leaning into Mitch, body pressing him down.
When Chris finally breaks away, Mitch is panting, hands around Chris' hips. "This isn't -" he starts, because it really, really isn't a good idea. It's one of the worst ideas Mitch can think of, even though his hips are rocking up against Chris, even though it was never, ever like this with Jordan.
"I think," Chris says, ignoring his words, "that we should fuck. I really, really think we should. And I'm a genius, you know that? People pay me to have great ideas like this." His breath is hot on Mitch's face, and he speaks the last few words against Mitch's lips.
He should say no. But instead, he nods his head, and then lets it fall back against the arm of the couch. Chris sucks on his neck, one hand lazily undoing Mitch's pants.
*
Maybe the sex isn't a good idea, but Mitch buys a bigger bed anyway. He can afford it, and Chris just hassles him about having a twin bed. It's better in the double, comfortable enough that sometimes Chris doesn't leave, after.
They never use Chris' bed, but Mitch doesn't mind, because his bed is new, and the mattress isn't lumpy. He honestly doesn't mind, just like he doesn't mind the mess Chris leaves all over the apartment, and he doesn't mind the endless work in the lab, where he never seems to be involved in the same projects Chris is working on.
Sometimes he even likes the mess in the apartment - it looks lived in.
But he'd really like to work with Chris on a project. Just once. Or twice.
*
It's the blondes that make him snap. He comes home one night too many to find Chris already there, a blonde woman on his lap, or sitting at the dinner table, or wearing one of Chris' old t-shirts.
A lab tech, a hair stylist, a beautician, a nurse, and once, a doctor at the general hospital. Mitch doesn't care what they do, although Chris obviously takes some kind of perverse delight in telling him details. Eventually, they all go home, and Mitch rarely sees any of them more than three times.
But one night, he comes home to find a blonde woman curled up against Chris, and this time, she's wearing Mitch's shirt.
"That's my shirt," he says, focusing in on it, grinding his teeth. He can feel his face flushing, and it isn't because he can see so much skin.
"Yeah, Cindy needed something to change into, so I -"
Mitch doesn't want to hear it. He's been working all day, the project is falling apart, he can't figure out why, and the very last thing he needs is to hear the latest details about Chris' conquests. He doesn't want to know; he doesn't want Chris crawling into bed with him later either, pretending that there was no Cindy or Terry or Amy or Heather.
He doesn't slam his bedroom door, but he does lock it. And he starts making a mental list of what he'll take and what he'll leave when he moves out.
*
Of course, he doesn't move out.
Later that night, Chris picks the lock, pushes the door open, and walks in with a pile of printouts in his hand. "Look, I need you to go over these readings, because I can't figure out what's wrong."
Mitch feels a little mean to be so glad that Chris' project isn't going well either. He holds out his hand, taking the heavy pile of papers.
Chris sits on the bed. By the time Mitch is on the fifth sheet, Chris has his hand on Mitch's leg.
Ten pages in, and the hand is stroking, slowly.
Twelve pages in, and Mitch is spreading his legs a little, because Chris is running his thumb along the inseam of Mitch's jeans.
When Mitch gets to the fifteenth page, he's starting to see what the problem is. "I can fix this," he says. "I know what's going wrong in your tests."
Chris looks up from between Mitch's legs, from where he's been licking along the waist of Mitch's pants. "Yeah?" He's grinning.
"Yes." He puts the papers down, looking at the way Chris' shirt gapes loosely at his neck. "But one thing."
"What?" Chris is looking down again.
"No more blondes. I'm really sick of it."
Chris's head snaps up, his eyes narrow. "You're sick of it?"
"I am."
"Huh," Chris says, frowning. "Weird."
*
Mitch solves the problem that Chris is having with his project; Chris offers a few ideas that get Mitch around the setbacks in his own lab.
They finally manage to convince Darlington that they should be working on the same projects, because they work better as a team.
Mitch stops coming home to blondes in various stages of undress.
They move into a bigger place, and by the end of the first week, it's full of Chris' things.
And that's how it happened.
End.
Fandom: Real Genius
Pairing: Mitch/Chris
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 1300
Summary: The day Mitch signs the contract, Chris comes to the residence.
Note: Apparently Real Genius is like crack. It's eating my brain. Thank you to everyone who is encouraging me in this madness :) And thanks to valiant for grammar check.
It happens like this:
After graduation, Darlington offers him a job; the pay is great, the benefits are good, and it means that he doesn't have to leave town. Even better, it's an alternative to the military men who have started coming around, offering resources and staff, and huge amounts of money.
The Darlington job gives him the perfect out, and besides, no one in his right mind would say no.
So Mitch doesn't.
*
The day after Mitch signs the contract, Chris comes to the residence. Mitch is packing up his things - though most of it is going to charity, because nothing fits right anymore.
"Jesus," Chris says, picking up a paisley button-down shirt, and holding it at arm's length. "When did you wear this disaster?"
Mitch just grins. "You can have it, if you want it."
"Thanks. It's just the cleaning rag I've been looking for." He folds it up and stuffs it into his backpack. "Look, do you have a place to stay? Because somehow you're reminding of me again, back when I just graduated, and I'm starting to miss me." He winks. "I remember I was a very cool guy, though I'm pretty sure I dressed better. So. Wanna move in?"
He's already signed a lease on a small apartment, but Mitch doesn't hesitate. "Yes," he says, grinning.
"Great." Chris pulls the shirt back out of his backpack. "Looks like this is the cleaning rag you've been looking for."
*
They work together, they live together, and within two months, they're sleeping together. It starts with Chris insisting that Mitch needs to get drunk, drunk, drunk, and Mitch doesn't protest too much. Instead, he nurses every beer, watching as Chris drinks, and laughs, and tells stories about people at work.
The beer tastes bland, although he likes the fizz. Chris seems to like it too, judging by the way he downs can after can.
"You're not drinking," Chris says, pointing accusingly at Mitch's can, "and I'm very disappointed."
"I think you're drinking enough for both of us." He grins at the lazy way Chris shakes his head.
"I'm just getting started." Chris finishes one can, and starts on another, and then abruptly, he sets it down.
Mitch is about to ask what's wrong, when Chris leans over, closer. Maybe Mitch has had more to drink than he thought, because Chris almost seems to be moving in slow motion, or underwater. "What -" he starts, but it's too late.
Chris is kissing him, messily, his mouth opening up, his tongue sliding inside Mitch's mouth.
Mitch tries to pull away, get some distance between them, but Chris is holding him, hands on either side of his head, and he just follows when Mitch pulls back, leaning into Mitch, body pressing him down.
When Chris finally breaks away, Mitch is panting, hands around Chris' hips. "This isn't -" he starts, because it really, really isn't a good idea. It's one of the worst ideas Mitch can think of, even though his hips are rocking up against Chris, even though it was never, ever like this with Jordan.
"I think," Chris says, ignoring his words, "that we should fuck. I really, really think we should. And I'm a genius, you know that? People pay me to have great ideas like this." His breath is hot on Mitch's face, and he speaks the last few words against Mitch's lips.
He should say no. But instead, he nods his head, and then lets it fall back against the arm of the couch. Chris sucks on his neck, one hand lazily undoing Mitch's pants.
*
Maybe the sex isn't a good idea, but Mitch buys a bigger bed anyway. He can afford it, and Chris just hassles him about having a twin bed. It's better in the double, comfortable enough that sometimes Chris doesn't leave, after.
They never use Chris' bed, but Mitch doesn't mind, because his bed is new, and the mattress isn't lumpy. He honestly doesn't mind, just like he doesn't mind the mess Chris leaves all over the apartment, and he doesn't mind the endless work in the lab, where he never seems to be involved in the same projects Chris is working on.
Sometimes he even likes the mess in the apartment - it looks lived in.
But he'd really like to work with Chris on a project. Just once. Or twice.
*
It's the blondes that make him snap. He comes home one night too many to find Chris already there, a blonde woman on his lap, or sitting at the dinner table, or wearing one of Chris' old t-shirts.
A lab tech, a hair stylist, a beautician, a nurse, and once, a doctor at the general hospital. Mitch doesn't care what they do, although Chris obviously takes some kind of perverse delight in telling him details. Eventually, they all go home, and Mitch rarely sees any of them more than three times.
But one night, he comes home to find a blonde woman curled up against Chris, and this time, she's wearing Mitch's shirt.
"That's my shirt," he says, focusing in on it, grinding his teeth. He can feel his face flushing, and it isn't because he can see so much skin.
"Yeah, Cindy needed something to change into, so I -"
Mitch doesn't want to hear it. He's been working all day, the project is falling apart, he can't figure out why, and the very last thing he needs is to hear the latest details about Chris' conquests. He doesn't want to know; he doesn't want Chris crawling into bed with him later either, pretending that there was no Cindy or Terry or Amy or Heather.
He doesn't slam his bedroom door, but he does lock it. And he starts making a mental list of what he'll take and what he'll leave when he moves out.
*
Of course, he doesn't move out.
Later that night, Chris picks the lock, pushes the door open, and walks in with a pile of printouts in his hand. "Look, I need you to go over these readings, because I can't figure out what's wrong."
Mitch feels a little mean to be so glad that Chris' project isn't going well either. He holds out his hand, taking the heavy pile of papers.
Chris sits on the bed. By the time Mitch is on the fifth sheet, Chris has his hand on Mitch's leg.
Ten pages in, and the hand is stroking, slowly.
Twelve pages in, and Mitch is spreading his legs a little, because Chris is running his thumb along the inseam of Mitch's jeans.
When Mitch gets to the fifteenth page, he's starting to see what the problem is. "I can fix this," he says. "I know what's going wrong in your tests."
Chris looks up from between Mitch's legs, from where he's been licking along the waist of Mitch's pants. "Yeah?" He's grinning.
"Yes." He puts the papers down, looking at the way Chris' shirt gapes loosely at his neck. "But one thing."
"What?" Chris is looking down again.
"No more blondes. I'm really sick of it."
Chris's head snaps up, his eyes narrow. "You're sick of it?"
"I am."
"Huh," Chris says, frowning. "Weird."
*
Mitch solves the problem that Chris is having with his project; Chris offers a few ideas that get Mitch around the setbacks in his own lab.
They finally manage to convince Darlington that they should be working on the same projects, because they work better as a team.
Mitch stops coming home to blondes in various stages of undress.
They move into a bigger place, and by the end of the first week, it's full of Chris' things.
And that's how it happened.
End.