4 drabbles and 1 ficlet by thalia (varying ratings)
4 drabbles and 1 ficlet
(Written a bit ago from prompts gathered at a different venue.)
[The one where Chris feels bad and Karl is sick.]The one where Chris feels bad and Karl is sick.
Chris doesn’t like guilt. No, scratch that, Chris fucking hates guilt. Even, well, fake guilt. It washes away the same, stains him the same color, gets him to this same hallway where he’s got his right hand raised and paused in front of a door while his left hand clutches a Sav-On bag like his life depends on it.
He breathes in, reminds himself he’s a God damn grown-up, and knocks.
"Yeah," comes from within. Chris tries the door, and is only mildly surprised when it opens. Karl is slightly forgetful and slightly- well, naive is the best way Chris can put it. Chris who spent his whole life learning to lock doors even with full daylight and a cop across the street because you just never knew. He tries not to think about Karl’s breezy attitude about locked doors. The doorman is sweet, but Chris’s mom could probably take him down without much effort.
He pauses at the landing to toe off his Chucks. “It’s Chris,” he calls out.
"Yeah," comes back, and he can hear the hoarseness now. "Larry warned me."
"That bastard," Chris says with zero heat as he wanders into the modest living room of the suite and finds Karl on the couch, surrounded by wadded up tissues and looking like death.
"He’s watching out for me," Karl says, crooked smile on his face. The smile grows when he sees what Chris is holding. "Just like you are, I see."
"Well, sure." Chris doesn’t meet his eyes, busies himself with getting out the OJ and Nyquil and Emergen-C and eighteen bottles of distilled water.
Karl chuckles. It’s a wet sound and Chris winces. “Paying penance, then.”
"Forgive me, Father, for I have been a dickwad."
"Really?"
Chris straightens up from putting the things on the coffee table. “…kinda?” He shifts his weight. “I mean-”
"Hey." There’s a hand grabbing at his wrist, and Chris looks up, meets Karl’s gaze. "Come here."
Chris clears his throat. “I’ll catch it. Whatever it is you have.”
"Then we’ll consider your penance paid, all right?"
Chris grins. Really grins, for the first time that day. His chest feels significantly less weighed down.
He leans down, frames Karl’s pale, unshaven face with his hands, and presses their lips together. “Deal.”
---
[The one where Karl sleeps over.]The one where Karl sleeps over.
Karl’s shoes look really good in his foyer.
Chris notes this on his way to get the paper. The grey dawn has dawned, but it’s early enough that the air has a general sort of quietness, interrupted only by garbage trucks and joggers panting by. He’s tempted to stay out and have a cigarette, but he’s in only his pajama pants and that’s a hard sell, once he’s back inside where his cigarettes actually are.
After all, he has Karl Urban’s shoes.
And his jacket, thrown on the back of the couch. And his shirt, which Chris picks up from the hallway floor on his way back to the bedroom, left there in a haze of exhaustion-fueled adrenaline where normally they both wouldn’t be so untidy and cliche.
He stalls out at the bedroom door, shirt in his hand and his intention of cleaning up the rest abandoning him at the sight of Karl in the bed. In his bed. The blankets cover all of him, and he’s on his stomach so his face is all smushed, but Chris is still riveted to the sight.
That is, until he drops the paper and shirt to the ground and climbs in with him, starfishing across Karl without preamble. Karl grunts, but easily moves until they’re a pile of comfortable, if somewhat stinky, limbs. “What time is it?” Karl murmurs, because he does have a flight to catch.
Chris frowns, grumbling, and turns his head into Karl’s neck. “We have an hour.”
Karl blinks open one eye. “Until the alarm?”
"Until the apocalypse. Or the alarm."
Chris practically feels Karl thinking, then suddenly he’s feeling Karl roll them until he’s settled in between Chris’s thighs. “Well, hello,” he says.
"Hello," Karl replies with a grin.
The hour stretches out in front of them. Chris grins right back.
---
[the one about morning breath.]the one about morning breath.
Karl feels the bed shift through the haze of sleep, and reaches out sleepily, grabbing at skin when it becomes obvious that his bedmate is trying to exit said bed. “Hey, wait,” he grumbles.
Chris’s chuckle is a bit off, and Karl cracks open an eye. Chris is kind of hunched over, just enough. “I gotta-” And he gestures towards the en suite.
"Pee?"
Chris cannot lie to him, a fact Karl blatantly exploits. “…brush my teeth.”
Karl wants to laugh, but knows it’ll send Chris out of the bed even faster. “Cheater.”
"What?"
"I’m not exactly springtime fresh, here."
"Yeah, but I don’t care-" Chris stops, realizing where Karl’s going with this, then shrugs.
"You think I do?"
"I think you’re insane if you don’t," Chris says with a disbelieving noise. "I smoke, for God’s sake, and- Ooof."
That last is made when Karl yanks at his arm, knocking him off balance and into the rumpled, sleep-smelly blankets. Karl’s on him in a flash. “What if,” he says, kissing his way up Chris’s jaw as Chris tries to get out of reach, “I’m really just a dirty old man, and I like it?”
Chris laughs like he can’t help it, the jaw Karl’s examining orally tilting down as the rest of his head tilts back, and Karl grins. He loves making Chris laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
"As a heart attack," Karl murmurs cheesily as he reaches Chris’s lips, which he then captures unapologetically.
And he’s not lying; there’s something real about it, raw and basic and besides, people never, ever taste as bad as they think they do.
His hands trail down Chris’s pale, pale sides, tracing moles and scars he’s halfway to memorizing. He reaches Chris’s pajamas and slides under without worry, even as Chris twitches away. “I kinda do have to pee,” Chris breaks away to say, turning his head so his words don’t land on Karl’s face.
"I know," Karl murmurs, reaching up with his other hand to turn Chris’s mouth back to his. He doesn’t stop his exploration of Chris’s pants, though, just shifts it a little, loosely fisting the base of his cock, then cupping and lightly massaging his balls, then sliding gently along the perineum.
"You’re-" Chris sucks in a breath, a breath which is mostly Karl’s breath. "You’re really weird."
Karl chuckles. “Yeah.”
"But." Chris pauses, and Karl’s pretty sure he’s about to get rejected, at least for the moment- but then Chris is twisting, moving until they’re on their sides and face to face and Chris’s hand is mirroring Karl’s. Karl’s gasp washes over Chris’s face and Chris tilts his head, then grins. "But I’ll allow it."
---
[the one where they talk about food]the one where they talk about food
They’re sprawled on the couch watching soccer when Chris’s stomach rumbles. Audibly.
"Well, fuck," Chris says, ever erudite. "Thai sound good?"
"You cooking?"
"I usually only cook to woo women."
Karl snorts. “How’s that going?”
"I eat out a lot." Chris waits a beat, then leers his best leer. His eyebrows practically waggle. Karl shakes his head, but he’s laughing. "See what I did there? Huh? Punny!"
Karl reaches out and pushes at Chris’s face with an open palm. “Yes, yes, you’re very clever.”
Chris gets his thinky face on. “I could, I guess. I think I have some steaks in the freezer. And cauliflower. I’ve got this wicked thing I do with cauliflower.”
"Oh, really?" Karl says, his own leer springing up.
"Yeah," Chris says, ignoring the entendre for the moment. "It involves curry."
"Hmm, sounds like something my kids would turn up their noses at."
"It’s awesome, I swear." Chris moves to get up, but Karl pulls him back down, not ready to leave the bubble yet. "Have you ever?" he hears Chris ask, but he’s kind of focused on running his fingers along Chris’s stubble.
"Had curried cauliflower?"
"Used food during sex."
Karl smiles. “Course. Haven’t you?”
Chris shrugs. “Yeah, but not in a long time because it kind of sucked. Turns out there is such a thing as too much chocolate syrup. Besides, my favorite food is pasta. There is nothing sexy about pasta.”
"Oh, I dunno, there’re those tube-y things."
"I said sexy, not Freudian."
"That’s fair."
"Steaks are sexier."
"Mmm, meat." Karl grins, then kisses Chris on his smart mouth. He adds a slap on the ass for good measure as Chris finally heaves off the couch. "All this talk is making me hungry. Get back in the kitchen."
Chris salutes with one finger, grinning. “Where will you be?”
Karl grins back. “Buying chocolate syrup.”
Chris’s laugh echoes through the house.
***
[a moment in time, suspended]a moment in time, suspended (or AO3) (Bottom!Karl requested by sangueuk, Neutron creme joke by norfolkdumpling.)
They fall into the apartment, removing clothes but content for the moment to have it only be because of a need to bask in the AC.
"Beer?"
"Yeah, that'd be great."
Chris hooks fingers around two and slings one at him. "You don't have to be polite anymore, you know."
Karl shrugs. "I yam what I yam."
Chris then slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in with a dramatic groan. "And you're a giant dork," he says against Karl's lips, beer breath and all.
"You gonna complain?"
Chris's tongue does that thing it does, only this time it's licking the corner of Karl's mouth, too. "Nope. Not gonna let you finish this beer, though." He plucks said beer from Karl's grip. Karl just watches, an eyebrow cocked as only he can do.
"Why not?"
"'Cause." He leans in, runs his hands swiftly down Karl's sides and under his untucked, half unbuttoned shirt. "I'm going strip you down and fuck your dorky brains out."
Karl bursts out laughing. "Always a charmer." But he's moving towards the bedroom before Chris can give a comeback. "Gotta pee first, though."
"Okay." Chris lazily strips out of his clothes, tossing them on the squashy chair he keeps by the window for smoking when it's too cold out. Or when he's feeling like a lazy motherfucker.
When Karl comes back in, unbuttoning his shirt, Chris is unabashedly naked but for a smile, a condom, and a tube of lube resting on his stomach.
So this time, when Karl bursts out laughing, he's admittedly a little put out. "What the fuck?"
Karl shakes his head, still smiling as he steps out of his jeans and boxers while shrugging off his shirt. "Well, I saw the tube, and was tempted to make a joke about new and different uses for Neutron Cream..."
Chris laughs hard and wide, then grabs at Karl. More specifically, at Karl's thighs, pulling and pulling until Karl falls around his hips, straddling him like he was made for it. Chris feels a little short of breath. He reaches one hand out but Karl's already there, already kissing him, so Chris's hands occupy themselves other ways instead.
Karl breaks away with a choked moan when Chris reaches two fingers. "God damn you," he says, then bites Chris's lip, and Chris grins. Bites back, at least a little, but he's kind of focused elsewhere.
"Mm-hmm," he says absently as he moves, stretches, enjoys. He's hard inside the condom, but he's not frantic. They have the night. They have a little longer.
"Chris," Karl stutters after three fingers, "time to make good on your word."
Chris kisses him, hard, trying not to smile his face off. "Yeah?"
Karl pulls back his head, his hands planted on both sides of Chris, just long enough to level a hell of a face at him, before his thighs tighten around Chris and suddenly they're flipped and Chris is pushing inside and-- "Jesus fucking Christ."
"Yeah, keep talking, pretty boy--"
Chris guffaws, and drops his head down beside Karl's neck, rolling his hips, trying to get used to it, trying to savor it and not knock himself off any ledges. "You're ridiculous."
Karl just grunts, grips Chris's back tight, and goes. Chris loses himself within minutes, loses track of time and space and whose sweat is whose. He tries not to kiss too hard. He probably fails, but Karl takes it, just takes it all like it's exactly where he wants to be at that moment, and it jolts down Chris's spine to his balls and he gets ahold of himself long enough to wrap a hand around Karl's dick.
"Yeah," Karl gasps into Chris's cheek, then it's white heat and pleasure rocketing and Chris can't think any more.
---
When he comes back to it, he's flopped on his back, and he has the power of thought again. Sort of. Enough to strip off the condom and blurt out the first words that come to mind.
"You're like a vacation for my dick."
Karl guffaws, or something close to it, into the pillow, then reaches for Chris with one tan arm until they aren't so much as snuggling as much as interlocked in a different way than the fluid-exchanging version minutes previous -- There's knees over thighs and arms over elbows and it's all rather undignified but skin is touching and it's comfortable. Comforting. Chris turns his head and mumbles into Karl's hair. "Maybe for everything else, too."
"What was that?" Karl lifts his head up enough to ask.
Chris's answer is to roll onto him. They're disgusting, sweaty and come-y and Chris doesn't even give a fuck.
This, for at least a moment, is his.
(Written a bit ago from prompts gathered at a different venue.)
[The one where Chris feels bad and Karl is sick.]The one where Chris feels bad and Karl is sick.
Chris doesn’t like guilt. No, scratch that, Chris fucking hates guilt. Even, well, fake guilt. It washes away the same, stains him the same color, gets him to this same hallway where he’s got his right hand raised and paused in front of a door while his left hand clutches a Sav-On bag like his life depends on it.
He breathes in, reminds himself he’s a God damn grown-up, and knocks.
"Yeah," comes from within. Chris tries the door, and is only mildly surprised when it opens. Karl is slightly forgetful and slightly- well, naive is the best way Chris can put it. Chris who spent his whole life learning to lock doors even with full daylight and a cop across the street because you just never knew. He tries not to think about Karl’s breezy attitude about locked doors. The doorman is sweet, but Chris’s mom could probably take him down without much effort.
He pauses at the landing to toe off his Chucks. “It’s Chris,” he calls out.
"Yeah," comes back, and he can hear the hoarseness now. "Larry warned me."
"That bastard," Chris says with zero heat as he wanders into the modest living room of the suite and finds Karl on the couch, surrounded by wadded up tissues and looking like death.
"He’s watching out for me," Karl says, crooked smile on his face. The smile grows when he sees what Chris is holding. "Just like you are, I see."
"Well, sure." Chris doesn’t meet his eyes, busies himself with getting out the OJ and Nyquil and Emergen-C and eighteen bottles of distilled water.
Karl chuckles. It’s a wet sound and Chris winces. “Paying penance, then.”
"Forgive me, Father, for I have been a dickwad."
"Really?"
Chris straightens up from putting the things on the coffee table. “…kinda?” He shifts his weight. “I mean-”
"Hey." There’s a hand grabbing at his wrist, and Chris looks up, meets Karl’s gaze. "Come here."
Chris clears his throat. “I’ll catch it. Whatever it is you have.”
"Then we’ll consider your penance paid, all right?"
Chris grins. Really grins, for the first time that day. His chest feels significantly less weighed down.
He leans down, frames Karl’s pale, unshaven face with his hands, and presses their lips together. “Deal.”
---
[The one where Karl sleeps over.]The one where Karl sleeps over.
Karl’s shoes look really good in his foyer.
Chris notes this on his way to get the paper. The grey dawn has dawned, but it’s early enough that the air has a general sort of quietness, interrupted only by garbage trucks and joggers panting by. He’s tempted to stay out and have a cigarette, but he’s in only his pajama pants and that’s a hard sell, once he’s back inside where his cigarettes actually are.
After all, he has Karl Urban’s shoes.
And his jacket, thrown on the back of the couch. And his shirt, which Chris picks up from the hallway floor on his way back to the bedroom, left there in a haze of exhaustion-fueled adrenaline where normally they both wouldn’t be so untidy and cliche.
He stalls out at the bedroom door, shirt in his hand and his intention of cleaning up the rest abandoning him at the sight of Karl in the bed. In his bed. The blankets cover all of him, and he’s on his stomach so his face is all smushed, but Chris is still riveted to the sight.
That is, until he drops the paper and shirt to the ground and climbs in with him, starfishing across Karl without preamble. Karl grunts, but easily moves until they’re a pile of comfortable, if somewhat stinky, limbs. “What time is it?” Karl murmurs, because he does have a flight to catch.
Chris frowns, grumbling, and turns his head into Karl’s neck. “We have an hour.”
Karl blinks open one eye. “Until the alarm?”
"Until the apocalypse. Or the alarm."
Chris practically feels Karl thinking, then suddenly he’s feeling Karl roll them until he’s settled in between Chris’s thighs. “Well, hello,” he says.
"Hello," Karl replies with a grin.
The hour stretches out in front of them. Chris grins right back.
---
[the one about morning breath.]the one about morning breath.
Karl feels the bed shift through the haze of sleep, and reaches out sleepily, grabbing at skin when it becomes obvious that his bedmate is trying to exit said bed. “Hey, wait,” he grumbles.
Chris’s chuckle is a bit off, and Karl cracks open an eye. Chris is kind of hunched over, just enough. “I gotta-” And he gestures towards the en suite.
"Pee?"
Chris cannot lie to him, a fact Karl blatantly exploits. “…brush my teeth.”
Karl wants to laugh, but knows it’ll send Chris out of the bed even faster. “Cheater.”
"What?"
"I’m not exactly springtime fresh, here."
"Yeah, but I don’t care-" Chris stops, realizing where Karl’s going with this, then shrugs.
"You think I do?"
"I think you’re insane if you don’t," Chris says with a disbelieving noise. "I smoke, for God’s sake, and- Ooof."
That last is made when Karl yanks at his arm, knocking him off balance and into the rumpled, sleep-smelly blankets. Karl’s on him in a flash. “What if,” he says, kissing his way up Chris’s jaw as Chris tries to get out of reach, “I’m really just a dirty old man, and I like it?”
Chris laughs like he can’t help it, the jaw Karl’s examining orally tilting down as the rest of his head tilts back, and Karl grins. He loves making Chris laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
"As a heart attack," Karl murmurs cheesily as he reaches Chris’s lips, which he then captures unapologetically.
And he’s not lying; there’s something real about it, raw and basic and besides, people never, ever taste as bad as they think they do.
His hands trail down Chris’s pale, pale sides, tracing moles and scars he’s halfway to memorizing. He reaches Chris’s pajamas and slides under without worry, even as Chris twitches away. “I kinda do have to pee,” Chris breaks away to say, turning his head so his words don’t land on Karl’s face.
"I know," Karl murmurs, reaching up with his other hand to turn Chris’s mouth back to his. He doesn’t stop his exploration of Chris’s pants, though, just shifts it a little, loosely fisting the base of his cock, then cupping and lightly massaging his balls, then sliding gently along the perineum.
"You’re-" Chris sucks in a breath, a breath which is mostly Karl’s breath. "You’re really weird."
Karl chuckles. “Yeah.”
"But." Chris pauses, and Karl’s pretty sure he’s about to get rejected, at least for the moment- but then Chris is twisting, moving until they’re on their sides and face to face and Chris’s hand is mirroring Karl’s. Karl’s gasp washes over Chris’s face and Chris tilts his head, then grins. "But I’ll allow it."
---
[the one where they talk about food]the one where they talk about food
They’re sprawled on the couch watching soccer when Chris’s stomach rumbles. Audibly.
"Well, fuck," Chris says, ever erudite. "Thai sound good?"
"You cooking?"
"I usually only cook to woo women."
Karl snorts. “How’s that going?”
"I eat out a lot." Chris waits a beat, then leers his best leer. His eyebrows practically waggle. Karl shakes his head, but he’s laughing. "See what I did there? Huh? Punny!"
Karl reaches out and pushes at Chris’s face with an open palm. “Yes, yes, you’re very clever.”
Chris gets his thinky face on. “I could, I guess. I think I have some steaks in the freezer. And cauliflower. I’ve got this wicked thing I do with cauliflower.”
"Oh, really?" Karl says, his own leer springing up.
"Yeah," Chris says, ignoring the entendre for the moment. "It involves curry."
"Hmm, sounds like something my kids would turn up their noses at."
"It’s awesome, I swear." Chris moves to get up, but Karl pulls him back down, not ready to leave the bubble yet. "Have you ever?" he hears Chris ask, but he’s kind of focused on running his fingers along Chris’s stubble.
"Had curried cauliflower?"
"Used food during sex."
Karl smiles. “Course. Haven’t you?”
Chris shrugs. “Yeah, but not in a long time because it kind of sucked. Turns out there is such a thing as too much chocolate syrup. Besides, my favorite food is pasta. There is nothing sexy about pasta.”
"Oh, I dunno, there’re those tube-y things."
"I said sexy, not Freudian."
"That’s fair."
"Steaks are sexier."
"Mmm, meat." Karl grins, then kisses Chris on his smart mouth. He adds a slap on the ass for good measure as Chris finally heaves off the couch. "All this talk is making me hungry. Get back in the kitchen."
Chris salutes with one finger, grinning. “Where will you be?”
Karl grins back. “Buying chocolate syrup.”
Chris’s laugh echoes through the house.
***
[a moment in time, suspended]a moment in time, suspended (or AO3) (Bottom!Karl requested by sangueuk, Neutron creme joke by norfolkdumpling.)
They fall into the apartment, removing clothes but content for the moment to have it only be because of a need to bask in the AC.
"Beer?"
"Yeah, that'd be great."
Chris hooks fingers around two and slings one at him. "You don't have to be polite anymore, you know."
Karl shrugs. "I yam what I yam."
Chris then slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in with a dramatic groan. "And you're a giant dork," he says against Karl's lips, beer breath and all.
"You gonna complain?"
Chris's tongue does that thing it does, only this time it's licking the corner of Karl's mouth, too. "Nope. Not gonna let you finish this beer, though." He plucks said beer from Karl's grip. Karl just watches, an eyebrow cocked as only he can do.
"Why not?"
"'Cause." He leans in, runs his hands swiftly down Karl's sides and under his untucked, half unbuttoned shirt. "I'm going strip you down and fuck your dorky brains out."
Karl bursts out laughing. "Always a charmer." But he's moving towards the bedroom before Chris can give a comeback. "Gotta pee first, though."
"Okay." Chris lazily strips out of his clothes, tossing them on the squashy chair he keeps by the window for smoking when it's too cold out. Or when he's feeling like a lazy motherfucker.
When Karl comes back in, unbuttoning his shirt, Chris is unabashedly naked but for a smile, a condom, and a tube of lube resting on his stomach.
So this time, when Karl bursts out laughing, he's admittedly a little put out. "What the fuck?"
Karl shakes his head, still smiling as he steps out of his jeans and boxers while shrugging off his shirt. "Well, I saw the tube, and was tempted to make a joke about new and different uses for Neutron Cream..."
Chris laughs hard and wide, then grabs at Karl. More specifically, at Karl's thighs, pulling and pulling until Karl falls around his hips, straddling him like he was made for it. Chris feels a little short of breath. He reaches one hand out but Karl's already there, already kissing him, so Chris's hands occupy themselves other ways instead.
Karl breaks away with a choked moan when Chris reaches two fingers. "God damn you," he says, then bites Chris's lip, and Chris grins. Bites back, at least a little, but he's kind of focused elsewhere.
"Mm-hmm," he says absently as he moves, stretches, enjoys. He's hard inside the condom, but he's not frantic. They have the night. They have a little longer.
"Chris," Karl stutters after three fingers, "time to make good on your word."
Chris kisses him, hard, trying not to smile his face off. "Yeah?"
Karl pulls back his head, his hands planted on both sides of Chris, just long enough to level a hell of a face at him, before his thighs tighten around Chris and suddenly they're flipped and Chris is pushing inside and-- "Jesus fucking Christ."
"Yeah, keep talking, pretty boy--"
Chris guffaws, and drops his head down beside Karl's neck, rolling his hips, trying to get used to it, trying to savor it and not knock himself off any ledges. "You're ridiculous."
Karl just grunts, grips Chris's back tight, and goes. Chris loses himself within minutes, loses track of time and space and whose sweat is whose. He tries not to kiss too hard. He probably fails, but Karl takes it, just takes it all like it's exactly where he wants to be at that moment, and it jolts down Chris's spine to his balls and he gets ahold of himself long enough to wrap a hand around Karl's dick.
"Yeah," Karl gasps into Chris's cheek, then it's white heat and pleasure rocketing and Chris can't think any more.
---
When he comes back to it, he's flopped on his back, and he has the power of thought again. Sort of. Enough to strip off the condom and blurt out the first words that come to mind.
"You're like a vacation for my dick."
Karl guffaws, or something close to it, into the pillow, then reaches for Chris with one tan arm until they aren't so much as snuggling as much as interlocked in a different way than the fluid-exchanging version minutes previous -- There's knees over thighs and arms over elbows and it's all rather undignified but skin is touching and it's comfortable. Comforting. Chris turns his head and mumbles into Karl's hair. "Maybe for everything else, too."
"What was that?" Karl lifts his head up enough to ask.
Chris's answer is to roll onto him. They're disgusting, sweaty and come-y and Chris doesn't even give a fuck.
This, for at least a moment, is his.