Sharing is Caring | Pinto | PG-13
Title: Sharing is Caring
Series: Pinto
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~760
Warnings: Um... you may feel hungry after this?
Summary: A drabble comment fic for the Summer Luau at pintofest; in which Chris shares his food with Zach for the very first time (and all previous times which he does not).
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
“Mornin’, Chris,” Zach ventures with a half-smile. The bleary-eyed man in question trudges towards him, holding a Lamill coffee cup in each hand. “Aw, caffeine! Seriously man? Thanks, you’re a life save -”
Chris snarls a, “Like fuck,” in the vague direction of the universe, and coffee-stealing hipsters, as he sweeps past Zach; carrying away the devastating aroma of java nirvana and shower-damp hair.
Cho voices from behind him, “The Pine does not share,” along with a totally not-comforting slap on the back. “He’s like a feral dog with a steak. You’re more likely to get your hand bitten off at the wrist.”
“Oh.”
***
“May I have a bite of your Kit Kat?”
“Vending machine is over there.”
“But Kit Kats are meant for sharing - that’s what the whole jingle is about!”
“I don’t watch television.”
“For an actor, you make an awful liar.”
***
Lunch on the set generally consists of engorging yourself with as much food from the sandwich table as humanly possible -and if you’re Karl, shoving something extra in your cheeks ala chipmunk or pelican.
Which is why Zach is crushed to find every last sandwich - but for one, with a single bite taken out of it (what even?) - has been devoured before his scene finishes shooting. Glancing around with a grumbling stomach, Zach zeroes in on Chris, munching cheerfully in a corner with Anton. The two are chatting amiably, as Chris inhales a pile of sandwiches with NASCAR speed.
“Chris - hey!” Zach trots over, hand up to catch the man’s attention. Bright blue eyes swerve and lock on him, causing Zach’s stride to break for second. Collected by the time he reaches Chris, Zach begins to apologetically inquire, “Would you mind sharing your san -“
And Chris, staring intently at Zach’s face, jams the entire last croissant in his big, fat goddamn mouth. They both stop dead, staring at one another, and finally Chris begins to chew. Very slowly. A tomato plops onto his uniform.
Zach narrows his eyes. “One day you’ll have thighs like Kirstie Alley, and then you’ll regret that.”
“Mo I moant!”
***
“May I have a sip of your orange juice?”
“Uh, it has pulp.”
“That’s cool with me.”
“But you don’t like the floaty bits.”
“I’m not a diva, Chris. I can handle floaty bits.”
“... I think I hear JJ calling me.”
“Wait - what - no - get your bubble-butt back here!”
***
It’s been a long day, and sleep is well overdue. Zach is lying on the hood of Chris’ car; head on the windshield, arms and ankles loosely crossed as he closes his eyes. The sun seeps into the sky and onto his skin in pinks and oranges.
Chris will be out in a moment to give him a ride home - which is fabulous; because Zach is fairly positive that in his current state, he’d park on his front lawn. And his lawn is behind a six-foot fence.
The hood shifts with a metallic bdup, as someone slides beside him. Zach recognises Chris by the smell of makeup remover and citrus soap. Well-worn flannel brushes at his elbow; Zach shifts and cracks open an eye. Chris is munching an over-sized chocolate chip cookie that he apparently conjured from his ass or something, because there were no cookies on set today; and he’s spilling more crumbs on his chest than actually eating.
“You do know we evolved past Neanderthals, correct?”
Chris lolls his head towards Zach’s voice, cookie sticking out of his mouth in a wide saucer. The corners of his eyes wrinkle, and Zach internally scoffs at the irrational urge to trace each splayed line.
And then, a cookie is being jammed against Zach’s teeth, and sloppily shoved into his mouth. Chris’ cookie. Zach can only blink mutely (well, there’s a massive dessert protruding from his mouth, after all) at Chris. Bittersweet chocolate melts on his tongue, his cheeks flush, and his heart lurches in his chest.
Chris cocks his head to the side; one of his rarer, genuine smiles creeping up. “Yeah - definitely enjoy you like this. Silent and pretty. I’m gonna feed you more often.”
Zach pulls the cookie from his mouth and scrabbles for the passenger door, as Chris is already pulling his keys from his tight jeans and unlocking the car. They drive in companionable silence, and Zach desperately hopes that Chris doesn’t notice how it takes fifteen minutes to consume one, half-eaten cookie.
Or maybe he does want him to notice. Either way, Chris brings him a coffee the next day.
Series: Pinto
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~760
Warnings: Um... you may feel hungry after this?
Summary: A drabble comment fic for the Summer Luau at pintofest; in which Chris shares his food with Zach for the very first time (and all previous times which he does not).
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
“Mornin’, Chris,” Zach ventures with a half-smile. The bleary-eyed man in question trudges towards him, holding a Lamill coffee cup in each hand. “Aw, caffeine! Seriously man? Thanks, you’re a life save -”
Chris snarls a, “Like fuck,” in the vague direction of the universe, and coffee-stealing hipsters, as he sweeps past Zach; carrying away the devastating aroma of java nirvana and shower-damp hair.
Cho voices from behind him, “The Pine does not share,” along with a totally not-comforting slap on the back. “He’s like a feral dog with a steak. You’re more likely to get your hand bitten off at the wrist.”
“Oh.”
***
“May I have a bite of your Kit Kat?”
“Vending machine is over there.”
“But Kit Kats are meant for sharing - that’s what the whole jingle is about!”
“I don’t watch television.”
“For an actor, you make an awful liar.”
***
Lunch on the set generally consists of engorging yourself with as much food from the sandwich table as humanly possible -and if you’re Karl, shoving something extra in your cheeks ala chipmunk or pelican.
Which is why Zach is crushed to find every last sandwich - but for one, with a single bite taken out of it (what even?) - has been devoured before his scene finishes shooting. Glancing around with a grumbling stomach, Zach zeroes in on Chris, munching cheerfully in a corner with Anton. The two are chatting amiably, as Chris inhales a pile of sandwiches with NASCAR speed.
“Chris - hey!” Zach trots over, hand up to catch the man’s attention. Bright blue eyes swerve and lock on him, causing Zach’s stride to break for second. Collected by the time he reaches Chris, Zach begins to apologetically inquire, “Would you mind sharing your san -“
And Chris, staring intently at Zach’s face, jams the entire last croissant in his big, fat goddamn mouth. They both stop dead, staring at one another, and finally Chris begins to chew. Very slowly. A tomato plops onto his uniform.
Zach narrows his eyes. “One day you’ll have thighs like Kirstie Alley, and then you’ll regret that.”
“Mo I moant!”
***
“May I have a sip of your orange juice?”
“Uh, it has pulp.”
“That’s cool with me.”
“But you don’t like the floaty bits.”
“I’m not a diva, Chris. I can handle floaty bits.”
“... I think I hear JJ calling me.”
“Wait - what - no - get your bubble-butt back here!”
***
It’s been a long day, and sleep is well overdue. Zach is lying on the hood of Chris’ car; head on the windshield, arms and ankles loosely crossed as he closes his eyes. The sun seeps into the sky and onto his skin in pinks and oranges.
Chris will be out in a moment to give him a ride home - which is fabulous; because Zach is fairly positive that in his current state, he’d park on his front lawn. And his lawn is behind a six-foot fence.
The hood shifts with a metallic bdup, as someone slides beside him. Zach recognises Chris by the smell of makeup remover and citrus soap. Well-worn flannel brushes at his elbow; Zach shifts and cracks open an eye. Chris is munching an over-sized chocolate chip cookie that he apparently conjured from his ass or something, because there were no cookies on set today; and he’s spilling more crumbs on his chest than actually eating.
“You do know we evolved past Neanderthals, correct?”
Chris lolls his head towards Zach’s voice, cookie sticking out of his mouth in a wide saucer. The corners of his eyes wrinkle, and Zach internally scoffs at the irrational urge to trace each splayed line.
And then, a cookie is being jammed against Zach’s teeth, and sloppily shoved into his mouth. Chris’ cookie. Zach can only blink mutely (well, there’s a massive dessert protruding from his mouth, after all) at Chris. Bittersweet chocolate melts on his tongue, his cheeks flush, and his heart lurches in his chest.
Chris cocks his head to the side; one of his rarer, genuine smiles creeping up. “Yeah - definitely enjoy you like this. Silent and pretty. I’m gonna feed you more often.”
Zach pulls the cookie from his mouth and scrabbles for the passenger door, as Chris is already pulling his keys from his tight jeans and unlocking the car. They drive in companionable silence, and Zach desperately hopes that Chris doesn’t notice how it takes fifteen minutes to consume one, half-eaten cookie.
Or maybe he does want him to notice. Either way, Chris brings him a coffee the next day.