Rescued Socks, Printed Panties, and Neck Kissing (PG, ZQ/KB and Pinto)
Title: Rescued Socks, Printed Panties, and Neck Kissing
Pairing: ZQ/KB and Pinto (a weird hybrid of pre-slash/established relationship and, yeah, I know)
Rating: PG
Notes: So, there's this love square/rhombus/hexagon that's going around with myself and theladyscribe and joans23 wrote some delicious Quinto/Ackles, because she said it needed more slash, and I (jokingly, kind of) said that if there needed to be more slash, I would be tempted to write Zach/Chris. So, um. I did. And it's STILL not rated above PG. Oh, well. (For anybody who's keeping score, this one takes place after this, but before other stuff and may or may not have a screwy timeline in regards to when Star Trek was filmed. But, semantics, right?)
Kristen doesn’t really think much of it at first.
He’s admitted it before. With a whiskey tongue (which is just an expression, because Zach’s more of a martini kind of guy) he’s let loose that he always falls for the best friend.
She’s been at Zach’s for almost a week.
His house is on the smallish side and freakishly tidy, everything placed in a meticulous ‘just so’ manner. But it’s not like he’s obsessively militant about the place being overly clean or anything. He doesn’t yell when she leaves water glasses on the nightstand and he always picks up her socks.
“My hero,” she says, and then fake-swoons and falls backward onto the sofa.
And he just gives a smile, adjusts his glasses, and pushes her nose like it’s a button. “Should the day come when you don’t want your distressingly damsel-like socks to be rescued any longer, the hamper is in the bedroom. Where it’s always been.”
“My socks have a victim complex. They like the white knight treatment. Honest.”
She sleeps in his bed because he only has the one. And so what if sometimes when he kisses her goodnight her mouth opens a just little too wide and yielding under his? That’s just something that friends do. They kiss and they touch and they cuddle and sometimes when they’re drunk, there’s awkward groping with the promise of fucking that never really gets as far as either of them would like.
But it’s her and Zach, so it doesn’t seem all that weird.
And then one day it totally is.
“Zach, I was thinking about last night-“
And, wow, there’s some random dude sitting down at the kitchen table. She stops in the middle of her sentence; tucks the toothbrush into the corner of her mouth. She’s wearing an old t-shirt that’s just a bit too tight and a pair of yellow panties that embarrassingly have the day of the week stitched across the front. She looks down at her bare feet; stretches her toes against the hardwood floor.
“Hi,” she says. A bit of toothpaste mixed with spit dribbles down her chin.
“Hey.” He smiles brightly, big and toothy, and throws his hand up in a wave. And then the smile is suddenly a smirk and he’s pointing at her. “It’s Sunday.”
Kristen has no idea what he’s talking about, so she just nods vaguely and wipes the dribbled toothpaste off of her chin, and gives a questioning, “Yeah?”
“Your, uh-” he fumbles a bit, not in a way that it seems like he’s stuttering, but in a way that instead comes off as kind of Hugh Grant charming, and his eyes flit a little too far southward for her liking, “unmentionables say Tuesday.”
“My what?” she asks. And then she gets it. She pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth and holds her hair back to spit and rinse in the kitchen sink. When she turns back around, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, I need to do laundry.”
“Ah.”
He nods so knowingly that it almost verges on some impossible combination of both cocky and sympathetic. And Kristen is just about to ask who he is exactly, and why he’s here, and then Zach walks through the door with Noah slowly trotting behind him on a leash.
“Hey,” he says, all smiles. He looks at the two of them. “So you’ve met.” An even bigger smile. “Awesome.”
Kristen only narrows her eyes, half-serious and half-playful. “He criticized my underwear.”
Zach gives a long and pointed look at her panties. His mouth quirks into something that might be disapproval and he moves up beside her and lazily plucks at the blue writing stitched on yellow. “It’s Sunday, Kristen.”
“So?” she says. She swats at his hands and then tugs at her shirt to fit it lower over her hips. “Wait, so who is he?”
“Oh,” Zach says, a little confused. He bends down to unhook Noah’s leash from his collar and his eyes dart around almost nervously. When he stands, though, he’s all smiles again. “Kris, meet Chris.”
“Pine?” she asks, smiling a bit herself.
Chris laughs and lifts an eyebrow at her. “Bell?”
And, yeah, Kristen doesn’t really think much of it.
Zach and Chris are buddies. They’re pals. They go to the same gym and they jog together and there’s this movie where they have to spend long hours on set, rehearsing scenes and reading lines.
And somewhere in between the not-so-innocent touch of Chris’s lips to Zach’s neck (not a kiss, not really, but just maybe) and “Hey, babe, you’ve got the house to yourself for a couple days. I’m just gonna crash at Chris’s place, okay?” is when she starts thinking a lot of it.
To be fair, he always falls for the best friend.
Pairing: ZQ/KB and Pinto (a weird hybrid of pre-slash/established relationship and, yeah, I know)
Rating: PG
Notes: So, there's this love square/rhombus/hexagon that's going around with myself and theladyscribe and joans23 wrote some delicious Quinto/Ackles, because she said it needed more slash, and I (jokingly, kind of) said that if there needed to be more slash, I would be tempted to write Zach/Chris. So, um. I did. And it's STILL not rated above PG. Oh, well. (For anybody who's keeping score, this one takes place after this, but before other stuff and may or may not have a screwy timeline in regards to when Star Trek was filmed. But, semantics, right?)
Kristen doesn’t really think much of it at first.
He’s admitted it before. With a whiskey tongue (which is just an expression, because Zach’s more of a martini kind of guy) he’s let loose that he always falls for the best friend.
She’s been at Zach’s for almost a week.
His house is on the smallish side and freakishly tidy, everything placed in a meticulous ‘just so’ manner. But it’s not like he’s obsessively militant about the place being overly clean or anything. He doesn’t yell when she leaves water glasses on the nightstand and he always picks up her socks.
“My hero,” she says, and then fake-swoons and falls backward onto the sofa.
And he just gives a smile, adjusts his glasses, and pushes her nose like it’s a button. “Should the day come when you don’t want your distressingly damsel-like socks to be rescued any longer, the hamper is in the bedroom. Where it’s always been.”
“My socks have a victim complex. They like the white knight treatment. Honest.”
She sleeps in his bed because he only has the one. And so what if sometimes when he kisses her goodnight her mouth opens a just little too wide and yielding under his? That’s just something that friends do. They kiss and they touch and they cuddle and sometimes when they’re drunk, there’s awkward groping with the promise of fucking that never really gets as far as either of them would like.
But it’s her and Zach, so it doesn’t seem all that weird.
And then one day it totally is.
“Zach, I was thinking about last night-“
And, wow, there’s some random dude sitting down at the kitchen table. She stops in the middle of her sentence; tucks the toothbrush into the corner of her mouth. She’s wearing an old t-shirt that’s just a bit too tight and a pair of yellow panties that embarrassingly have the day of the week stitched across the front. She looks down at her bare feet; stretches her toes against the hardwood floor.
“Hi,” she says. A bit of toothpaste mixed with spit dribbles down her chin.
“Hey.” He smiles brightly, big and toothy, and throws his hand up in a wave. And then the smile is suddenly a smirk and he’s pointing at her. “It’s Sunday.”
Kristen has no idea what he’s talking about, so she just nods vaguely and wipes the dribbled toothpaste off of her chin, and gives a questioning, “Yeah?”
“Your, uh-” he fumbles a bit, not in a way that it seems like he’s stuttering, but in a way that instead comes off as kind of Hugh Grant charming, and his eyes flit a little too far southward for her liking, “unmentionables say Tuesday.”
“My what?” she asks. And then she gets it. She pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth and holds her hair back to spit and rinse in the kitchen sink. When she turns back around, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, I need to do laundry.”
“Ah.”
He nods so knowingly that it almost verges on some impossible combination of both cocky and sympathetic. And Kristen is just about to ask who he is exactly, and why he’s here, and then Zach walks through the door with Noah slowly trotting behind him on a leash.
“Hey,” he says, all smiles. He looks at the two of them. “So you’ve met.” An even bigger smile. “Awesome.”
Kristen only narrows her eyes, half-serious and half-playful. “He criticized my underwear.”
Zach gives a long and pointed look at her panties. His mouth quirks into something that might be disapproval and he moves up beside her and lazily plucks at the blue writing stitched on yellow. “It’s Sunday, Kristen.”
“So?” she says. She swats at his hands and then tugs at her shirt to fit it lower over her hips. “Wait, so who is he?”
“Oh,” Zach says, a little confused. He bends down to unhook Noah’s leash from his collar and his eyes dart around almost nervously. When he stands, though, he’s all smiles again. “Kris, meet Chris.”
“Pine?” she asks, smiling a bit herself.
Chris laughs and lifts an eyebrow at her. “Bell?”
And, yeah, Kristen doesn’t really think much of it.
Zach and Chris are buddies. They’re pals. They go to the same gym and they jog together and there’s this movie where they have to spend long hours on set, rehearsing scenes and reading lines.
And somewhere in between the not-so-innocent touch of Chris’s lips to Zach’s neck (not a kiss, not really, but just maybe) and “Hey, babe, you’ve got the house to yourself for a couple days. I’m just gonna crash at Chris’s place, okay?” is when she starts thinking a lot of it.
To be fair, he always falls for the best friend.