Fic: Primavera, Chapter 7/10 (I think)
Title: Primavera, chapter 7 (WIP, few more to go...)
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5500
Warning: None
Summary: AU - Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N:For halfbreedchild ♥ A big thank you to emmessann for her contribution to this series, patiently discussing the subjects within, and providing insight along with a heaping dose of ZQ canon whenever I needed it.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
“Ohh, it's on. It is on.”
“You can look it up if you like.” I cross out 97 and replace it with 125, sailing past Chris's 101. He smirks at me across the board.
“I know what 'hebetic' means, thank you so much. I ruled in Biology.”
“I'm glad you guys know, but shit for brains here is totally in the dark.”
I give Ruthie a slightly patronizing smile. “It means 'fertile' or having the ability to reproduce.”
“Okay then, smart ass, use it in a sentence.” Chris, jumping to her defense. How noble of him.
“I don't know. Uh, 'Upon reaching the age of twenty two, Christopher Whitelaw Pine finally hit puberty and became hebetic'?”
Chris curses and face-palms, but Ruthie cracks up and clutches at me, “Whitelaw? Shit! No. Shit! Oh my God, Zach, I think I love you,” and I have to admit to myself that maybe I don't completely hate Chris's girlfriend.
“I'm swapping out . . . hmm. Four tiles and forfeiting a turn.”
“Forfeiting a turn, Christopher? A desperate move for a desperate man.”
“I prefer to think of it as audacious rather than desperate.”
“So it's my turn? God, I have no letters at all.” Ruthie lays out 'door' over a triple letter score and I force myself not to bitch her out for wasting the spot I was going for, but then I slowly notice something, an opening suddenly on the board and I have to smother an expression of coming triumph as she sits back next to me. “Five points. Man, I suck at this game. I swear I'm usually smarter than this.”
He points at one of her Os. “That was a triple letter score, you got eight.”
“Aww, baby, you're always looking out for me.”
Chris grins as she lies across the table, laying a kiss on him, her butt a foot to the side of my face. I doodle the word gross on the score sheet and then have to cross it out and turn it into the roof of a little house with smoke coming out the chimney before laying down the pen, ready to go to war.
“You're sure you don't want to go first? A pity turn? Because I'm about to annihilate you. Both of you, actually, but especially him.”
“Big words.” He takes a drink of his wine, shrugs. “Bring it, if you think you can.”
I lay them out one by one, taking the time to blink naively at his face each time. “Receptive. One double word score, two double letter scores, fifty point all-tile bonus. Seventy. Motherfricking. Points. I thank you.”
“Jeez, Zach, you're brutal.”
I do my best Bogey out the side of my mouth at her, “Schweetheart, you don't know the half of it.” Chris laughs into his glass and Ruthie looks at me blankly, a half-smile as she tries to figure out what she's missed. I like it too much that he laughed at my lame joke, getting a little too comfortable with this already, the back and forth of our conversation the way it always used to go after so much time being in a snot with him.
“My turn. I don't know that I can come close to the unparalleled genius that is 'receptive'.” Chris starts to lay out his tiles along the bottom row of the board with a casual air that tells me he's about to kick my ass. “However, 'excavate' over two triple word scores and one double letter score with a fifty point all-tile bonus isn't too shabby. What's that? It's how many points, Zach?”
I narrow my eyes at him and he grins at me, eyes bright, cuter than ever, his mouth a little purple from the wine. Chris keeps getting hotter the older he gets, growing into his cheekbones and jaw, filling out all over. It's like someone's put a curse on me, that every time I see him I'm going to want him a little more.
“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the crowd going wild. Two hundred and thirty one points, you say? Are you sure? Cuz that's a lot of points. That, I don't know, annihilates you, wouldn't you say? Annihilate is a good word, Zach, I'll give you that. But you know what's even better? Expunge. Say it with me, baby: Expunge.”
“Expunge.” She says it with all seriousness at me like a threat, making Chris laugh his butt off and I change my mind. I kind of hate her. I throw my pen down, dump my tiles out in front of me and stand.
“I fold. You guys finish up, I'm going to see if Joe needs any help.”
He calls after me, still laughing. “Sulking's not an attractive quality in a man of your increasing years, Zach.”
I flip him off and push through the kitchen door. Joe's bending over a pan of risotto, stirring it and half-dancing along to some dancey crap on the radio. I go over and smack him in the back of the head. “You suck. I should kick your ass for this.”
“You could try.”
“Did you choose risotto just so I'd have to sit with them while you took a million years over dinner? You did, didn't you? Asshole.”
“I chose risotto as it's all I can cook. It's nearly done, dress the greens for me.”
“'Come to dinner', he says. 'It'll be good to hang out, you've not really seen the new place yet'. You're so full of it.”
He keeps stirring, not bothering to look at me, his voice almost disinterested. “Ignoring Chris's existence was okay when you guys lived across a continent from each other. It was almost okay when you lived a few hundred miles from each other. Now we're all within a few fucking blocks of each other and you're only on monosyllabic terms with him, it makes things awkward for me and, y'know. Fuck that.”
“I wasn't ignoring him.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“What about last Thanksgiving? Two days together.”
“That was only because it was at his parents', and you didn't say two words to him the whole time.”
“Sure I did.” The two words being Fuck off when he opened the door, smiled reservedly and asked me how I was doing. “Easter dinner. Your birthday, Mom's birthday the last two years. And we do talk.”
Joe dumps the wooden spoon down in the skillet, turning the burner off and facing me. “I've never pushed you to tell me what happened between you guys, but you need to suck it up and get over it. You managed to figure a way to get along with Mom, sort of, and you need to do the same with Chris. He's family, Zach.”
“No.” I jab my finger on the counter, a visual metaphor for my foot going down. “Chris is not family. He's got his own.”
“Quit being such a whiny bitch. Of course he's family. Get out there and lay the table, and be nice.”
“You didn't have to invite his girlfriend, too.”
“Why not? Ruthie's a blast, you'll like her.”
“You didn't invite Jen.”
“Sure I did. She's working.”
“You didn't say I could bring a date. I could've brought a date, there's this guy I've been seeing -”
“Ah. Suddenly the issue becomes clear.” He nods wisely to himself, tasting the risotto. “Just slip into conversation over dinner that you've got a hot boyfriend. That'll be subtle.”
“Oh, get fucked. You're an ass.”
I grab two handfuls of flatware out of the drawer and carry it back through to the table where Ruthie's sitting on Chris's lap. Maybe he's trying to punish me or something, his arms around her, his mouth on her neck, but I meet his eyes briefly and he looks almost embarrassed, pulling away.
“You need a hand?”
“No, I'm good. You could put the Scrabble away.”
“I got it.” She swings her legs off his lap, gathering up the tiles with thin, fine-boned hands. “So, Zach, Joe was saying you got a part in a play.”
“That's right.” It's all I say, not wanting to be friendly just because we've sat in the same room for an hour. I know it's ridiculous but I'm still mad at him, even after all this time. It's stupid, because I'm not even in love with him anymore. He's not touched me, not even tried, not for years, not since that last time at Joe's. I look at Chris and how hot he is, how settled now, how confident and full of calm energy - I look at him and get mad at him for feeling this never ending ache that I've carried over him for what seems like forever. The fury, the bone-deep hurt and the ache of love, it all slowly dissolved over time, and I still see a hint of guilt in his eyes over it all when he looks at me, but the simple anger with him never entirely faded away. So I turn my shoulder to him and concentrate on setting the flatware out, placing out a stack of paper napkins that Mom would have made me fold into triangles and place under the knives if she were here.
“Which play?”
“A new one, it's small, unknown writer.”
“But that's pretty exciting, right?” I know she's only being friendly but I wish she'd take the hint and leave me alone.
“I guess. I don't have the lead or anything.” Joe finally comes through from the kitchen with plates and the pan of risotto and I try not to droop too much in relief, aware that Chris is watching me. I muster up a smile from somewhere and try a little harder. “I am excited about it, yeah. It's better than going up for commercials or whatever.”
“Can we come? When it opens?”
God, no. “I'll see if I can sort you out tickets.”
“I'll be taking Jen, maybe we could double date with you guys, go out to eat after.” I feel like lifting my plate of Joe's precious risotto and upending it over his head. Feel like doing it with the dregs of my coffee when, two hours later and I'm about to get up to drive home, and Joe stretches his arm out along the back of the couch and pats me on the shoulder.
“So, this was fun. We need to follow it up, now Chris is local. Guys' night out?”
Predictably, Ruthie thinks it's a great idea, clapping her hands with excitement. God, she's perky, I don't know how he deals. Maybe he exhausts her with sex. “Totally, oh my God, you guys have to. Chris would love that, wouldn't you, baby?”
Chris looks at me over the top of his coffee mug, his arm around her waist where she's sitting half-in his lap on Joe's recliner. “Sure, if Zach's up for it.” He might as well have crossed the room and slapped me in the face with a glove, the challenge in his voice so obvious.
Joe and I are already two games and three beers in by the time Chris shows and I nod to him, ask if he wants a beer, and go take a piss then back through to order a pitcher at the bar. Chris keeps giving me odd looks from the table then gazing around the place like he can't quite figure out how I'd fit into a place like this. I sit and sip my beer, watching them play, Chris bending over the pool table now with his fingers arched and stretched on the dusty felt, belt straining in its loops, his jeans pulling tight over his ass as he goes for a long shot and misses with a curse. Joe takes a couple of shots while I think about fucking Chris over the pool table, then Joe pockets the 8-ball by accident and throws his cue down on the table in a fit as Chris grins wide at me and spreads his arms out.
“You want some of this? Come get some.”
“Cool your balls, Pine. The night's young and there's plenty of ass-kicking time ahead.” I wipe the beer off my top lip and get up, inspecting the tips of the sticks in the rack to give my boner a little time to cool down, then pull out the one with the flattest head and go over to the table to rack up, taking my time with the pattern then resting the 8-ball over the bottom trio before quickly pushing the rack up over the foot stop so the 8-ball pops into place neatly. Chris gives me a concerned look as I smile at him and chalk my tip. “Your break.”
“What, you're a pool hustler now?”
“I wouldn't say hustler, exactly.”
“Then what would you say?”
“Enthusiastic amateur?” Then Big Stuckie, God bless his heart, chooses this exact moment to pass by our table on his way to the bathroom, bumping knuckles with me as he goes with a deep 'Whaddup, Zach my man.' I couldn't feel cooler right now if I'd paid for it.
“So I'm guessing it's you who picked the venue tonight, not Joe?” I shrug, smile, keep chalking then look directly at him while I blow the excess off the tip of my stick. He groans and slouches his way over to break. “Damn, you're after Scrabble payback. Is this going to be an out-and-out massacre?”
“Probably. He always kicks my butt.” Joe's stretched out in his seat with his beer, looking like he's settled in for the night.
“I'll go easy on you. Ooohh. Now, that's not good.” I wince dramatically as he miscues. “Foul break. Too bad.”
“Oh, God. Should I go sit down now and watch you clear the table?”
“No, I'd prefer it if you stand. It makes it easier to watch as you slump in defeat.” I crouch to squint at the table then send a pitying look Chris's way. “Man, you suck. I think I'm going to have to re-rack and break again.”
“I think I'm going to need something stronger than beer.”
The game could not go more perfectly. I down three on an explosive break, pick stripes and pocket a further two before missing an obvious shot but setting up the orange five-spot in a perfect line between the center pocket and cue ball. I give him a wide grin. “Whoops. What a mistake. Your turn.”
“Oh, fuck off, don't patronize me.” Chris pockets the five-spot and watches in horror as the cue ball follows it in, then gives me the dirtiest look he's ever managed before downing the rest of his single malt and holding the glass up to Cadee for another. After that, it's just a matter of picking off my few remaining stripes one by one before sinking the 8-ball and starting on his spots for good measure, pocketing them hard and twice two at a time, leaving the table clear.
“And that,” I drop my stick back into the rack then grab my beer, “is how you play Eight Ball. Excavate that, asshole. You guys take the table, I need to go outside for a sweet triumphant smoke of victory.”
Sweet triumph. Yeah, not exactly. The beer buzz is enough to put me in a good mood but getting one up on Chris never feels like any kind of achievement, and I smoke hard, taking long drags, annoyed with myself for being petty and a jerk. I can never rise above it with him. I never have an ounce of grace with him, he always seems to be able to turn me back into a gauche, awkward teen falling over my own feet, I have no idea why I thought tonight would be any different. I'm hotter now, more in control with the guys I fuck, more able to put myself out there and take what I want. Confidence has never been my problem but I've got the wherewithal to back it up now, a crowd of good friends who care about me, an active social life and places like here where I can kick back and chill. Even the work's coming to me, slowly. But half an hour with Chris and I'm back to feeling like I'm the eternal school drama fag, no matter what I do. It makes me pissed and I'm about to flick the butt off into the back alley in annoyance when I hear someone following me out the door, and I can already tell it's Chris.
“Please tell me you've got another one of those.”
“Here, go nuts.” He knuckles one out of the pack and I light it for him as he cups his fingers around my hand. There's no wind, it's unnecessary. He takes a deep draw, holds it for a moment then lets it out with a long ahhhh.
“Man, that's good. Oh fuck, here it comes, the rush . . . ohh, sweet Jesus. It's almost worth giving up for.”
“But not quite?”
“No, not quite.” He takes another drag, leaning against the wall with one leg tucked behind the other, looking over at the dumpster across the way. “Ruthie hates me smoking. God, I miss it.”
“She'll taste it on you, y'know.”
“Oh, she'd smell it first, but she'll be at her place tonight and I'm going back to mine, so my secret's safe.” He ducks his head towards me and lowers his voice. “This isn't my first time. I'm becoming quite adept at sneaking.”
“Way to go.” I light another one for me, leaning back against the exit rail. “She's nice. Pretty.”
“Yeah, she is.” Chris looks at me with his head ducked, cute as shit as he smiles. “Joe said you were seeing someone.”
“You know how it is. I have guys falling at my feet these days, it's becoming a little hazardous.”
“I can imagine, you look good. No, actually, you look incredible.”
“Oh, oh no, Chris. Don't do that.”
He looks genuinely puzzled. “What? I can't pay you a compliment?”
“No, you can't.” I grind out my cigarette with the toe of my boot and kick it off into the dust. “You and I, we need to keep things strictly on the table. I'll see you back in there.”
“Zach, wait a minute -”
But I wave a hand back at him in dismissal and continue back into the pool hall and over to Joe, who hands me a fresh beer and raises an eyebrow at me. “Everything kosher?”
“Did you send him out there after me? Because, seriously, this little matchmaking thing you've got going on right now is driving me up the wall. Cut it out.”
“Interesting choice of words. You're still into him after all this time? Freak.”
“Can't you just butt out? It's so far from being your beeswax that . . .” I wave my hands around uselessly, unable to come up with any kind of coherent way to complete that sentence. “Just butt out already.”
“That's why you've been in a piss with him all this time? Because you want to get into his pants? Lil bro, that's lame. Even for you.”
Staring at the toes of my boots, ankles crossed in front of me, my legs outstretched. “One day I'll tell you exactly what my problem with Chris is. But now is not the day. It will not be the day for many years to come, and I will deal with Chris however I want or feel I need to. So, just, keep your opinions to yourself on this one, okay?”
I look over to him and he considers me for a second before nodding his head once then clinking his glass to mine. “Sure thing, kiddo. You want to kick my ass at pool again?”
Chris is making his way back across the bar, eyes dark, his hair short and fuzzed and the palms of my hands itch to rub over it this way and that before pressing him down to start mouthing at my dick. I close my eyes and lean my head back until it thunks against the wall. “We should go somewhere else. This place is dead tonight.” I need some noise. I need to dance, or get really wasted, or something. Anything to distract me from him a little.
By somewhere else, I didn't mean Chris's apartment with his roommate having noisy sex in the room next door, and we crank the TV up loud and crack open a bunch more beer as Chris calls for pizza. It's too intimate, even with Joe there and the unseen roommate, all of Chris's stuff around, his scent smacking me in the face the second I walk through the door. Turns out he's not that far from the pool hall so I guess I'll have to say goodbye to that little haven as I'm sure I'll never be able to hang out there again with the cognizance of this place so close by buzzing in the back of my mind. It's just how I'd imagine Chris's adult place to be, a little shabby and stuffed with too many books, three dead houseplants, an obviously well-used PS3 with a bunch of games scattered across the floor in front of it, a beer fridge and a TV that takes up one corner of the entire room. Comfortable furniture that's all various shades of brown. He might as well hang a Man Cave sign on the outside of the door. I ask Chris if I can smoke and he digs an ashtray out of the kitchen for me, and proceeds to smoke more than I do.
“Get the - no, not that way! Go right, right, no, past the - past the car yard! Will you just - here, give it to me.”
We're playing GTA3 and I'm too a little to drunk to make my thumbs work, sitting on the floor between Chris's knees as he keeps pointing over my shoulder and getting more annoyed. It'd be so easy to sit back right now, turn my head and press my teeth into his thigh, working my way up. That Joe's sitting across from him might be the only thing stopping me, as I've had too much to drink and his roommate starting up again loudly is turning me on.
“I'll get to it, relax.”
“No, gimme.” He thrusts his beer and lit cigarette at me either side of my head over my shoulders but I shake my head, drive-by bust-up the car yard with my Uzi and jump out of the car to steal the fancy one in the showroom.
“Come on, the fire truck's fun.”
“It's my turn, Christopher. You had your go.”
I know it's infantile. This whole evening has been, just like the Scrabble at Joe's, fighting to gain the upper hand in the most juvenile ways possible. Literally game playing, it's idiotic and I can't seem to stop myself. Then Chris's knee bumps against me a couple of times, once more now like he wants my attention as I hear a low snore coming from Joe's chair, Chris's breath sparking small muscle twitches down my neck and shoulder as he leans in to murmur in my ear. “Think we should wake him?”
“He's pretty far gone. If you guys don't mind dealing with him in the morning, just let him crash in the chair.”
“Maybe I should throw a blanket over him or something.”
“He's drank about his own body weight in beer. I think he's good for the night.” Joe snores again, his mouth hanging open, his head lolling to one side as he snorts in his sleep, smacks his lips a few times, lifts a cheek to fart then starts snoring again, smooshing his face deeper into the chair. “You have to admit - Jen's a lucky woman.”
“Yeah. You Quinto boys, there's something irresistible about you alright.”
I pause the game and drop the controller, pushing up off the floor and away from the constant temptation of his thighs now I know our chaperone's out for the count. “Chris, I already told you, don't pull that crap with me.”
“Oh, come on, what crap?”
“That comfortable, flirty crap. I just, I don't need that in my life. If we're doing this, if we're going to hang out and try to be friends or whatever, I need you to treat me, like, I don't know. One of your straight friends or something. No flirting. No touching. No little comments about how I look.”
“It's been four years, Zach. Four years and we were fooling around for, what, a whole week?”
“I'm not talking this out with you. I'll leave Joe here and go grab a cab.”
“Don't go.” Chris is walking over to me, socks and Levis and softly rumpled t-shirt, hotter than any other guy I've ever been with, the short hair making his cheekbones stand out and his eyes look huge. “I've missed you. Can't we just talk? I never got to even say I was sorry, because you were mad at me for so long.”
“I don't want you to be sorry.” Lie. “I want you to leave me alone.” God, a bigger lie, everything in me reaching out towards him, a plant leaning towards the only source of light. He stands in front of me, face lit blue by the frozen TV screen, lifts a hand as though he's going to touch my arm but then drops it again. A beat, a pause between us then one finger touches me, my hip, his fingertip hooking into my belt.
“I am sorry. I should never have - not with your mom and everything. I mean, you were homeless and I . . .”
“Dumped me, Chris. You dumped me. Say it like it is.”
“I guess. I mean, we weren't -”
“No, Chris, you weren't. I sort of was.” I push him away, fumble in my pocket for a smoke but they're still on the table so I go over to grab them, needing the prop. He stays standing where he was, looking at me, his face unreadable as I sit on the couch and light up.
“What do you mean?”
“This whole conversation is a bad idea. Let it go. I'll smoke this and head out.”
“You can't ever be honest with me, can you? You were always holding something back, I knew it. I felt it.” He shrugs a little, like he's powerless. “Just tell me, Zach. I can't fix it if I don't know exactly what I did wrong.”
“You broke my fucking heart. Alright? I know you were just being you and being a teenager and being horny but,” I take another drag, hold it and close my eyes before exhaling. “It was more for me. A lot more.”
“Well, it was for me.” He sighs, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Of course it was, I told you I liked you. That I really liked you, and you never said it back so I figured you weren't interested.”
“I said I'd visit you at Berkley. I said we could be boyfriends.”
“I know. I guess. God, it was a long time ago, Zach. I didn't know what I wanted back then.”
“And you do now?”
“Honestly?” Chris laughs softly, flashes me a smile that I feel all over as he steps forward to snag the nearly-empty pack of smokes off the table to steal yet another. “No, I have no fucking clue.”
I sit back, look over to Joe who has slumped down more in his chair, his legs spread wide, a hand pillowed under his face. I drop my voice, keep it low and hope that he'll understand finally, that he'll start to listen. “That's why we need to keep things where there's no ambiguity, keep things nice and clear. You're not interested in guys the same way I am, Chris. You don't want me the same way I want you. So, if you like me or want me as some sort of friend - you'll respect that and quit messing around with me because it's not fair to do otherwise.”
He looks into my eyes, smoke curling out of his lips before he blows the rest out to the side. “You still want me?”
“Chris, don't -”
“You do, don't you?” He leans in and barely kisses me, pressing his mouth to mine so fast I could've imagined it if it weren't for a touch of his spit on my bottom lip, and I'm powerless to push him away, my heart in my throat as he drops his smoke in the ashtray. I watch as he pulls mine from my hand to do the same, watch his hand rise up from the table to touch my face, his fingertips running along my jaw to slide under my chin. I whisper it once more, a desperate 'Don't', but his mouth is already on mine and I'm gone. It's slow and hot and hesitant and he cups my face in both hands as I pull him towards me with mine. It's everything I've wanted since the last time his tongue was in my mouth like this, his hands on my neck, his skin under my thumbs. But I know he's just fucking with me, that this is nothing and that I can't do this again. I pull my mouth from his, away from him and I get up, stumble to the door knocking his hands away as he follows me.
“Stay. Joe's out, he won't know -”
“No, I'm not doing this.”
I don't know what I'm expecting Chris to do but it's certainly not to grab my shirt and push me back against the wall by his doorway, pressing his hips into mine so I can feel his dick hard against me. I shove him away but he slams back against me, kissing me so hard his teeth collide with mine, his tongue pressing into my mouth in a total mouth fuck. I boost myself off the wall, slamming him into the one opposite, thrusting against his pelvis and biting at his mouth, pissed at him, pissed at myself, so completely turned on that I'm not even thinking as I grab his package for a heavy squeeze just to have him moan into my mouth like that. But it's wrong, for me, for him, for everyone involved and, much as I want to bury myself in him and not come up for air, I can't and I know it.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
“Zach, I need -”
“No. You don't need me, that's the whole problem. Keep away from me.”
“It'll be so good.” Chris reaches out to me, his fingers sliding up under my shirt, warm across my belly. “It was always so good with us. I've never had better, nobody's come close to how it was with you.”
I knock his hand away one more time, 'Don't touch me' and he steps towards me before I reach out to push him back and hold him at arm's length, playing the only card I have left. “What about Ruthie?”
“Zach, please -” He pushes his leg between mine, shouldering my arm out the way and kissing me again, his stubble scraping my cheek as I twist my way out of it and reach for the door. I fumble with the safety latch, managing to wrench it open as his arms go around me from behind, Chris's strong, hot arms and there's nothing I've ever wanted more than to simply turn around and give in, to let myself go with it, but he tears my shirt as he pulls me back around to him once more, swallowing my curse with his open mouth and I clutch at his neck, pull back my hand and without even thinking about it, working on pure instinct, knowing deep in my gut that I have to get away - I pull back my hand and punch him square in the face.
Holy fuck, it hurts. He falls on his ass with a howl, clutching at his nose as I stuff my hand in my armpit and squeeze, whimpering 'Oh fuck, oh fuck' under my breath, curling in on myself. The white flash of pain burns itself out fast into a heavy, painful throb and I look over at Chris, who is still on the floor, holding onto his face and looking at me in dismay, his voice muddied and wet.
“What the fuck. You total asshole.”
“I told you to get away from me. This is it, Chris. I'm so done with you and your sh- your shit.” I'm shaking, my hand tight and stiff, my mouth wet with his spit, my dick harder than ever in my pants, and I grab the door again. “I mean it. We're done now. Stay away from me. You're fucking poison.”
I slam the door on my way out, stumbling down the stairs to the front door like I can't get out of there quick enough. The air's cold, a few stars visible against the dull yellow glow of the streetlights, a buzz of traffic from the interstate a few blocks away carried across to me by the wind. I lean back against the wall of his building, pressing the back of my bust-out hand to my lips, trying to breathe.
Next
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5500
Warning: None
Summary: AU - Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N:For halfbreedchild ♥ A big thank you to emmessann for her contribution to this series, patiently discussing the subjects within, and providing insight along with a heaping dose of ZQ canon whenever I needed it.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
“Ohh, it's on. It is on.”
“You can look it up if you like.” I cross out 97 and replace it with 125, sailing past Chris's 101. He smirks at me across the board.
“I know what 'hebetic' means, thank you so much. I ruled in Biology.”
“I'm glad you guys know, but shit for brains here is totally in the dark.”
I give Ruthie a slightly patronizing smile. “It means 'fertile' or having the ability to reproduce.”
“Okay then, smart ass, use it in a sentence.” Chris, jumping to her defense. How noble of him.
“I don't know. Uh, 'Upon reaching the age of twenty two, Christopher Whitelaw Pine finally hit puberty and became hebetic'?”
Chris curses and face-palms, but Ruthie cracks up and clutches at me, “Whitelaw? Shit! No. Shit! Oh my God, Zach, I think I love you,” and I have to admit to myself that maybe I don't completely hate Chris's girlfriend.
“I'm swapping out . . . hmm. Four tiles and forfeiting a turn.”
“Forfeiting a turn, Christopher? A desperate move for a desperate man.”
“I prefer to think of it as audacious rather than desperate.”
“So it's my turn? God, I have no letters at all.” Ruthie lays out 'door' over a triple letter score and I force myself not to bitch her out for wasting the spot I was going for, but then I slowly notice something, an opening suddenly on the board and I have to smother an expression of coming triumph as she sits back next to me. “Five points. Man, I suck at this game. I swear I'm usually smarter than this.”
He points at one of her Os. “That was a triple letter score, you got eight.”
“Aww, baby, you're always looking out for me.”
Chris grins as she lies across the table, laying a kiss on him, her butt a foot to the side of my face. I doodle the word gross on the score sheet and then have to cross it out and turn it into the roof of a little house with smoke coming out the chimney before laying down the pen, ready to go to war.
“You're sure you don't want to go first? A pity turn? Because I'm about to annihilate you. Both of you, actually, but especially him.”
“Big words.” He takes a drink of his wine, shrugs. “Bring it, if you think you can.”
I lay them out one by one, taking the time to blink naively at his face each time. “Receptive. One double word score, two double letter scores, fifty point all-tile bonus. Seventy. Motherfricking. Points. I thank you.”
“Jeez, Zach, you're brutal.”
I do my best Bogey out the side of my mouth at her, “Schweetheart, you don't know the half of it.” Chris laughs into his glass and Ruthie looks at me blankly, a half-smile as she tries to figure out what she's missed. I like it too much that he laughed at my lame joke, getting a little too comfortable with this already, the back and forth of our conversation the way it always used to go after so much time being in a snot with him.
“My turn. I don't know that I can come close to the unparalleled genius that is 'receptive'.” Chris starts to lay out his tiles along the bottom row of the board with a casual air that tells me he's about to kick my ass. “However, 'excavate' over two triple word scores and one double letter score with a fifty point all-tile bonus isn't too shabby. What's that? It's how many points, Zach?”
I narrow my eyes at him and he grins at me, eyes bright, cuter than ever, his mouth a little purple from the wine. Chris keeps getting hotter the older he gets, growing into his cheekbones and jaw, filling out all over. It's like someone's put a curse on me, that every time I see him I'm going to want him a little more.
“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the crowd going wild. Two hundred and thirty one points, you say? Are you sure? Cuz that's a lot of points. That, I don't know, annihilates you, wouldn't you say? Annihilate is a good word, Zach, I'll give you that. But you know what's even better? Expunge. Say it with me, baby: Expunge.”
“Expunge.” She says it with all seriousness at me like a threat, making Chris laugh his butt off and I change my mind. I kind of hate her. I throw my pen down, dump my tiles out in front of me and stand.
“I fold. You guys finish up, I'm going to see if Joe needs any help.”
He calls after me, still laughing. “Sulking's not an attractive quality in a man of your increasing years, Zach.”
I flip him off and push through the kitchen door. Joe's bending over a pan of risotto, stirring it and half-dancing along to some dancey crap on the radio. I go over and smack him in the back of the head. “You suck. I should kick your ass for this.”
“You could try.”
“Did you choose risotto just so I'd have to sit with them while you took a million years over dinner? You did, didn't you? Asshole.”
“I chose risotto as it's all I can cook. It's nearly done, dress the greens for me.”
“'Come to dinner', he says. 'It'll be good to hang out, you've not really seen the new place yet'. You're so full of it.”
He keeps stirring, not bothering to look at me, his voice almost disinterested. “Ignoring Chris's existence was okay when you guys lived across a continent from each other. It was almost okay when you lived a few hundred miles from each other. Now we're all within a few fucking blocks of each other and you're only on monosyllabic terms with him, it makes things awkward for me and, y'know. Fuck that.”
“I wasn't ignoring him.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“What about last Thanksgiving? Two days together.”
“That was only because it was at his parents', and you didn't say two words to him the whole time.”
“Sure I did.” The two words being Fuck off when he opened the door, smiled reservedly and asked me how I was doing. “Easter dinner. Your birthday, Mom's birthday the last two years. And we do talk.”
Joe dumps the wooden spoon down in the skillet, turning the burner off and facing me. “I've never pushed you to tell me what happened between you guys, but you need to suck it up and get over it. You managed to figure a way to get along with Mom, sort of, and you need to do the same with Chris. He's family, Zach.”
“No.” I jab my finger on the counter, a visual metaphor for my foot going down. “Chris is not family. He's got his own.”
“Quit being such a whiny bitch. Of course he's family. Get out there and lay the table, and be nice.”
“You didn't have to invite his girlfriend, too.”
“Why not? Ruthie's a blast, you'll like her.”
“You didn't invite Jen.”
“Sure I did. She's working.”
“You didn't say I could bring a date. I could've brought a date, there's this guy I've been seeing -”
“Ah. Suddenly the issue becomes clear.” He nods wisely to himself, tasting the risotto. “Just slip into conversation over dinner that you've got a hot boyfriend. That'll be subtle.”
“Oh, get fucked. You're an ass.”
I grab two handfuls of flatware out of the drawer and carry it back through to the table where Ruthie's sitting on Chris's lap. Maybe he's trying to punish me or something, his arms around her, his mouth on her neck, but I meet his eyes briefly and he looks almost embarrassed, pulling away.
“You need a hand?”
“No, I'm good. You could put the Scrabble away.”
“I got it.” She swings her legs off his lap, gathering up the tiles with thin, fine-boned hands. “So, Zach, Joe was saying you got a part in a play.”
“That's right.” It's all I say, not wanting to be friendly just because we've sat in the same room for an hour. I know it's ridiculous but I'm still mad at him, even after all this time. It's stupid, because I'm not even in love with him anymore. He's not touched me, not even tried, not for years, not since that last time at Joe's. I look at Chris and how hot he is, how settled now, how confident and full of calm energy - I look at him and get mad at him for feeling this never ending ache that I've carried over him for what seems like forever. The fury, the bone-deep hurt and the ache of love, it all slowly dissolved over time, and I still see a hint of guilt in his eyes over it all when he looks at me, but the simple anger with him never entirely faded away. So I turn my shoulder to him and concentrate on setting the flatware out, placing out a stack of paper napkins that Mom would have made me fold into triangles and place under the knives if she were here.
“Which play?”
“A new one, it's small, unknown writer.”
“But that's pretty exciting, right?” I know she's only being friendly but I wish she'd take the hint and leave me alone.
“I guess. I don't have the lead or anything.” Joe finally comes through from the kitchen with plates and the pan of risotto and I try not to droop too much in relief, aware that Chris is watching me. I muster up a smile from somewhere and try a little harder. “I am excited about it, yeah. It's better than going up for commercials or whatever.”
“Can we come? When it opens?”
God, no. “I'll see if I can sort you out tickets.”
“I'll be taking Jen, maybe we could double date with you guys, go out to eat after.” I feel like lifting my plate of Joe's precious risotto and upending it over his head. Feel like doing it with the dregs of my coffee when, two hours later and I'm about to get up to drive home, and Joe stretches his arm out along the back of the couch and pats me on the shoulder.
“So, this was fun. We need to follow it up, now Chris is local. Guys' night out?”
Predictably, Ruthie thinks it's a great idea, clapping her hands with excitement. God, she's perky, I don't know how he deals. Maybe he exhausts her with sex. “Totally, oh my God, you guys have to. Chris would love that, wouldn't you, baby?”
Chris looks at me over the top of his coffee mug, his arm around her waist where she's sitting half-in his lap on Joe's recliner. “Sure, if Zach's up for it.” He might as well have crossed the room and slapped me in the face with a glove, the challenge in his voice so obvious.
Joe and I are already two games and three beers in by the time Chris shows and I nod to him, ask if he wants a beer, and go take a piss then back through to order a pitcher at the bar. Chris keeps giving me odd looks from the table then gazing around the place like he can't quite figure out how I'd fit into a place like this. I sit and sip my beer, watching them play, Chris bending over the pool table now with his fingers arched and stretched on the dusty felt, belt straining in its loops, his jeans pulling tight over his ass as he goes for a long shot and misses with a curse. Joe takes a couple of shots while I think about fucking Chris over the pool table, then Joe pockets the 8-ball by accident and throws his cue down on the table in a fit as Chris grins wide at me and spreads his arms out.
“You want some of this? Come get some.”
“Cool your balls, Pine. The night's young and there's plenty of ass-kicking time ahead.” I wipe the beer off my top lip and get up, inspecting the tips of the sticks in the rack to give my boner a little time to cool down, then pull out the one with the flattest head and go over to the table to rack up, taking my time with the pattern then resting the 8-ball over the bottom trio before quickly pushing the rack up over the foot stop so the 8-ball pops into place neatly. Chris gives me a concerned look as I smile at him and chalk my tip. “Your break.”
“What, you're a pool hustler now?”
“I wouldn't say hustler, exactly.”
“Then what would you say?”
“Enthusiastic amateur?” Then Big Stuckie, God bless his heart, chooses this exact moment to pass by our table on his way to the bathroom, bumping knuckles with me as he goes with a deep 'Whaddup, Zach my man.' I couldn't feel cooler right now if I'd paid for it.
“So I'm guessing it's you who picked the venue tonight, not Joe?” I shrug, smile, keep chalking then look directly at him while I blow the excess off the tip of my stick. He groans and slouches his way over to break. “Damn, you're after Scrabble payback. Is this going to be an out-and-out massacre?”
“Probably. He always kicks my butt.” Joe's stretched out in his seat with his beer, looking like he's settled in for the night.
“I'll go easy on you. Ooohh. Now, that's not good.” I wince dramatically as he miscues. “Foul break. Too bad.”
“Oh, God. Should I go sit down now and watch you clear the table?”
“No, I'd prefer it if you stand. It makes it easier to watch as you slump in defeat.” I crouch to squint at the table then send a pitying look Chris's way. “Man, you suck. I think I'm going to have to re-rack and break again.”
“I think I'm going to need something stronger than beer.”
The game could not go more perfectly. I down three on an explosive break, pick stripes and pocket a further two before missing an obvious shot but setting up the orange five-spot in a perfect line between the center pocket and cue ball. I give him a wide grin. “Whoops. What a mistake. Your turn.”
“Oh, fuck off, don't patronize me.” Chris pockets the five-spot and watches in horror as the cue ball follows it in, then gives me the dirtiest look he's ever managed before downing the rest of his single malt and holding the glass up to Cadee for another. After that, it's just a matter of picking off my few remaining stripes one by one before sinking the 8-ball and starting on his spots for good measure, pocketing them hard and twice two at a time, leaving the table clear.
“And that,” I drop my stick back into the rack then grab my beer, “is how you play Eight Ball. Excavate that, asshole. You guys take the table, I need to go outside for a sweet triumphant smoke of victory.”
Sweet triumph. Yeah, not exactly. The beer buzz is enough to put me in a good mood but getting one up on Chris never feels like any kind of achievement, and I smoke hard, taking long drags, annoyed with myself for being petty and a jerk. I can never rise above it with him. I never have an ounce of grace with him, he always seems to be able to turn me back into a gauche, awkward teen falling over my own feet, I have no idea why I thought tonight would be any different. I'm hotter now, more in control with the guys I fuck, more able to put myself out there and take what I want. Confidence has never been my problem but I've got the wherewithal to back it up now, a crowd of good friends who care about me, an active social life and places like here where I can kick back and chill. Even the work's coming to me, slowly. But half an hour with Chris and I'm back to feeling like I'm the eternal school drama fag, no matter what I do. It makes me pissed and I'm about to flick the butt off into the back alley in annoyance when I hear someone following me out the door, and I can already tell it's Chris.
“Please tell me you've got another one of those.”
“Here, go nuts.” He knuckles one out of the pack and I light it for him as he cups his fingers around my hand. There's no wind, it's unnecessary. He takes a deep draw, holds it for a moment then lets it out with a long ahhhh.
“Man, that's good. Oh fuck, here it comes, the rush . . . ohh, sweet Jesus. It's almost worth giving up for.”
“But not quite?”
“No, not quite.” He takes another drag, leaning against the wall with one leg tucked behind the other, looking over at the dumpster across the way. “Ruthie hates me smoking. God, I miss it.”
“She'll taste it on you, y'know.”
“Oh, she'd smell it first, but she'll be at her place tonight and I'm going back to mine, so my secret's safe.” He ducks his head towards me and lowers his voice. “This isn't my first time. I'm becoming quite adept at sneaking.”
“Way to go.” I light another one for me, leaning back against the exit rail. “She's nice. Pretty.”
“Yeah, she is.” Chris looks at me with his head ducked, cute as shit as he smiles. “Joe said you were seeing someone.”
“You know how it is. I have guys falling at my feet these days, it's becoming a little hazardous.”
“I can imagine, you look good. No, actually, you look incredible.”
“Oh, oh no, Chris. Don't do that.”
He looks genuinely puzzled. “What? I can't pay you a compliment?”
“No, you can't.” I grind out my cigarette with the toe of my boot and kick it off into the dust. “You and I, we need to keep things strictly on the table. I'll see you back in there.”
“Zach, wait a minute -”
But I wave a hand back at him in dismissal and continue back into the pool hall and over to Joe, who hands me a fresh beer and raises an eyebrow at me. “Everything kosher?”
“Did you send him out there after me? Because, seriously, this little matchmaking thing you've got going on right now is driving me up the wall. Cut it out.”
“Interesting choice of words. You're still into him after all this time? Freak.”
“Can't you just butt out? It's so far from being your beeswax that . . .” I wave my hands around uselessly, unable to come up with any kind of coherent way to complete that sentence. “Just butt out already.”
“That's why you've been in a piss with him all this time? Because you want to get into his pants? Lil bro, that's lame. Even for you.”
Staring at the toes of my boots, ankles crossed in front of me, my legs outstretched. “One day I'll tell you exactly what my problem with Chris is. But now is not the day. It will not be the day for many years to come, and I will deal with Chris however I want or feel I need to. So, just, keep your opinions to yourself on this one, okay?”
I look over to him and he considers me for a second before nodding his head once then clinking his glass to mine. “Sure thing, kiddo. You want to kick my ass at pool again?”
Chris is making his way back across the bar, eyes dark, his hair short and fuzzed and the palms of my hands itch to rub over it this way and that before pressing him down to start mouthing at my dick. I close my eyes and lean my head back until it thunks against the wall. “We should go somewhere else. This place is dead tonight.” I need some noise. I need to dance, or get really wasted, or something. Anything to distract me from him a little.
By somewhere else, I didn't mean Chris's apartment with his roommate having noisy sex in the room next door, and we crank the TV up loud and crack open a bunch more beer as Chris calls for pizza. It's too intimate, even with Joe there and the unseen roommate, all of Chris's stuff around, his scent smacking me in the face the second I walk through the door. Turns out he's not that far from the pool hall so I guess I'll have to say goodbye to that little haven as I'm sure I'll never be able to hang out there again with the cognizance of this place so close by buzzing in the back of my mind. It's just how I'd imagine Chris's adult place to be, a little shabby and stuffed with too many books, three dead houseplants, an obviously well-used PS3 with a bunch of games scattered across the floor in front of it, a beer fridge and a TV that takes up one corner of the entire room. Comfortable furniture that's all various shades of brown. He might as well hang a Man Cave sign on the outside of the door. I ask Chris if I can smoke and he digs an ashtray out of the kitchen for me, and proceeds to smoke more than I do.
“Get the - no, not that way! Go right, right, no, past the - past the car yard! Will you just - here, give it to me.”
We're playing GTA3 and I'm too a little to drunk to make my thumbs work, sitting on the floor between Chris's knees as he keeps pointing over my shoulder and getting more annoyed. It'd be so easy to sit back right now, turn my head and press my teeth into his thigh, working my way up. That Joe's sitting across from him might be the only thing stopping me, as I've had too much to drink and his roommate starting up again loudly is turning me on.
“I'll get to it, relax.”
“No, gimme.” He thrusts his beer and lit cigarette at me either side of my head over my shoulders but I shake my head, drive-by bust-up the car yard with my Uzi and jump out of the car to steal the fancy one in the showroom.
“Come on, the fire truck's fun.”
“It's my turn, Christopher. You had your go.”
I know it's infantile. This whole evening has been, just like the Scrabble at Joe's, fighting to gain the upper hand in the most juvenile ways possible. Literally game playing, it's idiotic and I can't seem to stop myself. Then Chris's knee bumps against me a couple of times, once more now like he wants my attention as I hear a low snore coming from Joe's chair, Chris's breath sparking small muscle twitches down my neck and shoulder as he leans in to murmur in my ear. “Think we should wake him?”
“He's pretty far gone. If you guys don't mind dealing with him in the morning, just let him crash in the chair.”
“Maybe I should throw a blanket over him or something.”
“He's drank about his own body weight in beer. I think he's good for the night.” Joe snores again, his mouth hanging open, his head lolling to one side as he snorts in his sleep, smacks his lips a few times, lifts a cheek to fart then starts snoring again, smooshing his face deeper into the chair. “You have to admit - Jen's a lucky woman.”
“Yeah. You Quinto boys, there's something irresistible about you alright.”
I pause the game and drop the controller, pushing up off the floor and away from the constant temptation of his thighs now I know our chaperone's out for the count. “Chris, I already told you, don't pull that crap with me.”
“Oh, come on, what crap?”
“That comfortable, flirty crap. I just, I don't need that in my life. If we're doing this, if we're going to hang out and try to be friends or whatever, I need you to treat me, like, I don't know. One of your straight friends or something. No flirting. No touching. No little comments about how I look.”
“It's been four years, Zach. Four years and we were fooling around for, what, a whole week?”
“I'm not talking this out with you. I'll leave Joe here and go grab a cab.”
“Don't go.” Chris is walking over to me, socks and Levis and softly rumpled t-shirt, hotter than any other guy I've ever been with, the short hair making his cheekbones stand out and his eyes look huge. “I've missed you. Can't we just talk? I never got to even say I was sorry, because you were mad at me for so long.”
“I don't want you to be sorry.” Lie. “I want you to leave me alone.” God, a bigger lie, everything in me reaching out towards him, a plant leaning towards the only source of light. He stands in front of me, face lit blue by the frozen TV screen, lifts a hand as though he's going to touch my arm but then drops it again. A beat, a pause between us then one finger touches me, my hip, his fingertip hooking into my belt.
“I am sorry. I should never have - not with your mom and everything. I mean, you were homeless and I . . .”
“Dumped me, Chris. You dumped me. Say it like it is.”
“I guess. I mean, we weren't -”
“No, Chris, you weren't. I sort of was.” I push him away, fumble in my pocket for a smoke but they're still on the table so I go over to grab them, needing the prop. He stays standing where he was, looking at me, his face unreadable as I sit on the couch and light up.
“What do you mean?”
“This whole conversation is a bad idea. Let it go. I'll smoke this and head out.”
“You can't ever be honest with me, can you? You were always holding something back, I knew it. I felt it.” He shrugs a little, like he's powerless. “Just tell me, Zach. I can't fix it if I don't know exactly what I did wrong.”
“You broke my fucking heart. Alright? I know you were just being you and being a teenager and being horny but,” I take another drag, hold it and close my eyes before exhaling. “It was more for me. A lot more.”
“Well, it was for me.” He sighs, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Of course it was, I told you I liked you. That I really liked you, and you never said it back so I figured you weren't interested.”
“I said I'd visit you at Berkley. I said we could be boyfriends.”
“I know. I guess. God, it was a long time ago, Zach. I didn't know what I wanted back then.”
“And you do now?”
“Honestly?” Chris laughs softly, flashes me a smile that I feel all over as he steps forward to snag the nearly-empty pack of smokes off the table to steal yet another. “No, I have no fucking clue.”
I sit back, look over to Joe who has slumped down more in his chair, his legs spread wide, a hand pillowed under his face. I drop my voice, keep it low and hope that he'll understand finally, that he'll start to listen. “That's why we need to keep things where there's no ambiguity, keep things nice and clear. You're not interested in guys the same way I am, Chris. You don't want me the same way I want you. So, if you like me or want me as some sort of friend - you'll respect that and quit messing around with me because it's not fair to do otherwise.”
He looks into my eyes, smoke curling out of his lips before he blows the rest out to the side. “You still want me?”
“Chris, don't -”
“You do, don't you?” He leans in and barely kisses me, pressing his mouth to mine so fast I could've imagined it if it weren't for a touch of his spit on my bottom lip, and I'm powerless to push him away, my heart in my throat as he drops his smoke in the ashtray. I watch as he pulls mine from my hand to do the same, watch his hand rise up from the table to touch my face, his fingertips running along my jaw to slide under my chin. I whisper it once more, a desperate 'Don't', but his mouth is already on mine and I'm gone. It's slow and hot and hesitant and he cups my face in both hands as I pull him towards me with mine. It's everything I've wanted since the last time his tongue was in my mouth like this, his hands on my neck, his skin under my thumbs. But I know he's just fucking with me, that this is nothing and that I can't do this again. I pull my mouth from his, away from him and I get up, stumble to the door knocking his hands away as he follows me.
“Stay. Joe's out, he won't know -”
“No, I'm not doing this.”
I don't know what I'm expecting Chris to do but it's certainly not to grab my shirt and push me back against the wall by his doorway, pressing his hips into mine so I can feel his dick hard against me. I shove him away but he slams back against me, kissing me so hard his teeth collide with mine, his tongue pressing into my mouth in a total mouth fuck. I boost myself off the wall, slamming him into the one opposite, thrusting against his pelvis and biting at his mouth, pissed at him, pissed at myself, so completely turned on that I'm not even thinking as I grab his package for a heavy squeeze just to have him moan into my mouth like that. But it's wrong, for me, for him, for everyone involved and, much as I want to bury myself in him and not come up for air, I can't and I know it.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
“Zach, I need -”
“No. You don't need me, that's the whole problem. Keep away from me.”
“It'll be so good.” Chris reaches out to me, his fingers sliding up under my shirt, warm across my belly. “It was always so good with us. I've never had better, nobody's come close to how it was with you.”
I knock his hand away one more time, 'Don't touch me' and he steps towards me before I reach out to push him back and hold him at arm's length, playing the only card I have left. “What about Ruthie?”
“Zach, please -” He pushes his leg between mine, shouldering my arm out the way and kissing me again, his stubble scraping my cheek as I twist my way out of it and reach for the door. I fumble with the safety latch, managing to wrench it open as his arms go around me from behind, Chris's strong, hot arms and there's nothing I've ever wanted more than to simply turn around and give in, to let myself go with it, but he tears my shirt as he pulls me back around to him once more, swallowing my curse with his open mouth and I clutch at his neck, pull back my hand and without even thinking about it, working on pure instinct, knowing deep in my gut that I have to get away - I pull back my hand and punch him square in the face.
Holy fuck, it hurts. He falls on his ass with a howl, clutching at his nose as I stuff my hand in my armpit and squeeze, whimpering 'Oh fuck, oh fuck' under my breath, curling in on myself. The white flash of pain burns itself out fast into a heavy, painful throb and I look over at Chris, who is still on the floor, holding onto his face and looking at me in dismay, his voice muddied and wet.
“What the fuck. You total asshole.”
“I told you to get away from me. This is it, Chris. I'm so done with you and your sh- your shit.” I'm shaking, my hand tight and stiff, my mouth wet with his spit, my dick harder than ever in my pants, and I grab the door again. “I mean it. We're done now. Stay away from me. You're fucking poison.”
I slam the door on my way out, stumbling down the stairs to the front door like I can't get out of there quick enough. The air's cold, a few stars visible against the dull yellow glow of the streetlights, a buzz of traffic from the interstate a few blocks away carried across to me by the wind. I lean back against the wall of his building, pressing the back of my bust-out hand to my lips, trying to breathe.
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