FIC: ST RPS -- The Rubble or Our Sins
Title: The Rubble or Our Sins
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: ST RPF
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2844
Warnings: spoilers for Into Darkness, mild angst, some emotional power play and jealousy, dirty talk
Summary: They’ve spent more than a year on separate coasts, living separate lives.
A/N: Written for Pintopalooza 2013 (sorry I’m late!). Title and cut text from “Pompeii” by Bastille
The first time he sees Zach in fourteen months - and the first time he talks to him in six months - is at the table read. The fucking table read. And of course Zach’s fashionably late, so Chris has to pretend he’s nothing but pleased to see Zach after a long absence.
Has to pretend he doesn’t want to punch him in the face.
Luckily, Chris can compartmentalize. He can get through it. During his death scene, Zoe and Alice are tearing up (as is Karl, but no one is surprised) and even sitting three seats away and not looking at Zach, Chris can tell that they still have it. At least while in character.
They go out afterward at John’s suggestion and it’s not even awkward, though Alice is quiet at first and Benedict has to leave after an hour because… well, Chris hasn’t known Benedict long, but he makes everything, including excusing himself to use the bathroom, seem to be a matter of utmost urgency. Or maybe Chris doesn’t know him well enough yet to separate him from Sherlock, which is kind of shitty, but they’ll be spending plenty of time together in the near future and Chris has tequila in one hand and more pressing problems on the other.
Like how fucking edible Zach looks. “I see you’ve finally figured out how to dress yourself,” Chris says. “Really, I almost didn’t recognize you. No ugly-ass fedora or beanie or tank top.” Chris leaves out how he loves (loved) all of those things.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t started taking myself too seriously,” Zach says, his grin sharp.
Is that an implication that Chris is taking himself too seriously? Or is it just a joke? “Well, no reason to start now.”
“You’re not the one who’s going to be nearly eyebrowless in two days.”
“Last time you hid behind those enormous hipster glasses for months.”
“Last time I didn’t have an action figure made of me yet. That does wonders for the ego.”
If their verbal sparring is a little more aggressive than usual, no one says anything. Later, when they leave together, no one looks surprised.
They end up back at Chris’s place - Chris’s, not Zach’s, because Zach’s already been going on about how he’s going to lease his place out after filming’s over, even though filming hasn’t even started, and something about that makes Chris territorial as fuck. He wants Zach in his room, on his bed, somewhere that Zach can’t just pack up and leave.
It starts with hard, biting kisses as soon as they get inside, and when Chris pushes Zach back against the wall, it’s not gentle. Zach freezes, his teeth clamped lightly around Chris’ lower lip, and for a split-second, Chris’ stomach drops through the floor because he’s sure Zach’s going to push him away.
Except he doesn’t. He grabs Chris by the front of his shirt and starts tearing gracelessly at the buttons, making a sound that’s dangerously close to a growl when he gets the last one open and shoves the fabric over Chris’s shoulders. Chris almost groans with relief. They should talk, really talk instead of the verbal sniping about nothing, but after fourteen months - too busy to visit, barely enough time to call or text - the last thing Chris wants to do is talk.
They’ve both been training for the movie for weeks now, and while Zach’s still lean, he has more muscle than Chris remembers, even from the shoot four years ago. It almost angers him how much that turns him on, because it’s not quite the body he’s used to, the body that his hands and mouth still remember so well. In the breaks between rough, searing kisses, Chris wonders how Zach feels about the changes to Chris’ body - the thicker biceps and shoulders, the tighter stomach. If he’s thinking about the last time Chris was this bulked out. If he notices any difference at all.
Chris gets Zach’s shirt over his head and a thigh between Zach’s legs, wanting to feel Zach grind against him, and he’s not disappointed. Zach gets his hands on Chris’s ass and pulls, using the leverage he’s got against the wall to rut their hips together even harder, the friction almost painful through denim, but it’s so good that Chris has to stop kissing Zach just so he can pant wetly against Zach’s mouth.
They never made any promises of exclusivity and Chris has been with a few guys since Zach, but it’s never like this. Not with men or women or anyone. Zach gets under his skin like no one else, and it pisses Chris off because Zach doesn’t even have to try.
Like this: he groans, “Chris, need you to fuck me,” and everything else in Chris’s mind is instantly obliterated. He couldn’t say why, but he’d expected Zach to want to top tonight, the way he’d been eye-fucking Chris at the bar, and even though it’s hardly unusual for Chris to top, just Zach’s suggestion of it yanks the entire floor out from under him.
At least Zach remembers the way to Chris’s bedroom, walking backwards and pulling Chris by the belt loops. Neither of them can stop kissing, so they stumble more than once. From the outside, they probably look ridiculous, particularly when Chris starts to tackle the obstacle of Zach’s ludicrous skinny jeans. If Chris had the strength to tear them off, he would, along with his own. He needs to be inside Zach right now, and when he tells Zach this - a low whisper in Zach’s ear - Zach moans and somehow manages to strip the jeans off in record time.
It’s mere seconds before they’re both naked in Chris’s bed, and Chris should really take the time to appreciate the sight and feel of Zach under him, pale skin flushing and cock hard against his belly, but Chris has never wanted to skip past the foreplay so badly in his life. Besides, they’ve practically been at it all day. That the tension between Kirk and Spock during a cold script read felt more personal than professional should probably disturb him, but Zach’s been in town for days without so much as texting Chris, so it’s only fair that Chris needs to know right now whether thrusting into the tight heat of Zach’s body will feel as good as it always did.
Doesn’t mean he’s going to skip fingering Zach open until he begs for Chris’s cock. But Chris has changed where he keeps the supplies, so he gets treated to the lovely sight of Zach’s bare ass as he twists and gets up on hands and knees to open the (wrong) drawer. Chris is in the process of convincing himself not to simply hold Zach down by the back of the neck and spank him, just once, to remind himself how long a stinging red handprint will stay on that pale skin, when Zach turns back over, eyes a little wild. “Fuck, tell me you still have-”
Chris reaches for the other bedside table, pulling a tub of lube and a strip of condoms (might as well be ambitious) from the back of the drawer with a smirk. Zach grins - a genuine smile so disarming that something pulls tight in Chris’s chest - and settles back, shoving a pillow under his hips and getting comfortable. “This how you want me?”
“For now,” Chris says, shooting back a grin of his own, more wicked and challenging than Zach’s had been. He wants Zach on his toes, as off balance as Chris feels until he gets a better idea of where they stand. Sliding a slick finger into Zach with no preamble doesn’t seem to do the trick, though, because Zach just arches up and groans, “Yeah, more.”
Chris hates to rush this part - he’s always loved it, most of all with Zach - but he needs to be inside Zach about three days ago. Zach seems to enjoy the rough fingering, though, the way Chris turns his wrist and drags his fingertips a little too hard against Zach’s prostate, groaning like that’s exactly what he asked for even though he never said the words. The sounds send a burning jolt of pleasure down to Chris’s gut, spiked only a little with jealous pride.
Then Zach grips Chris’s bicep, hooks a leg around his back, and moans, “Talk to me,” and Chris has to bite back a groan in response.
“What about?” Chris asks, trying (and probably failing) to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. “How tight you are around my fingers, or how badly you want my cock?”
“Anything,” Zach gasps, shoving back on Chris’ fingers. “Anything.”
Chris is rapidly losing the upper hand here, but he’s not sure he even cares that much anymore. Maybe Zach’s making a power play - he sure as hell knows which buttons to push, but if Chris is getting his buttons pushed and they’re both getting off on it, what does it matter?
He has to pull his fingers free to roll on the condom and Zach bites back on a whimper. Now Chris can finally thrust inside, but it’s not until he falls forward on his hands and Zach reaches up to thread long fingers through his hair and pull him down for a kiss that it feels like coming home. Like exhausted rutting after sixteen hours of shooting. Like rolling around in expensive hotel sheets. Like stolen, sleepless nights in each other’s apartments, sneaking out before dawn with a soft, lingering kiss. The sense memory floods through Chris and he doesn’t even realize he’s already rocking his hips until Zach twines a leg around his lower back. Fuck, Chris has missed this.
He comes perilously close to saying it, too, but instead he manages to groan out “Oh god, you feel so good,” then latches onto Zach’s shoulder and bites. He’s sorry to disappoint Zach with the paucity of dirty talk, but right now he just can’t get the words to form, aware that he’s going too fast, already close to coming at this pace. But, his own ego aside, he knows Zach’s not there yet, so he forces himself to slow down.
Zach whines, too frustrated for it to sound sexy, and slaps Chris on the hip. “Why are you stopping?”
“Not stopping,” Chris gasps, pushing up on his arms. “Slowing down. Too close.” If only they could…
No sooner does Chris have the thought than Zach is pushing him over to roll onto his back. Chris makes a truly embarrassing noise when he slips out of Zach, but he hardly even has time to settle before Zach’s on him, sinking back down onto Chris’s cock.
Chris reaches up and behind him for the headboard and groans. It always takes him longer to come in this position, especially with his legs outstretched and no leverage to thrust, and Zach knows it. But as Zach slowly rocks back and forth, taking his pleasure, Chris has time to get his voice back.
“You - ah, fuck - you missed my cock that much?”
“Yeah,” Zach gasps, maybe an admission or maybe he just found the right angle because he’s moving faster now, practically bouncing up and down.
“You look so hot, fucking yourself on my cock. Does it feel good?” By way of reply, he gets a grunt and Zach’s hips slamming down hard, and Chris grins. He’s not giving Zach any help - not yet. “Could feel better if you jerked yourself for me. C’mon, Zach, let me see you jack that big dick.”
A deep flush spreads down Zach’s neck, but he swipes a palm through the sweat gathering on his stomach and starts stroking himself firmly. Chris wonders whether anyone else has told Zach to display himself like this - if anyone else knows how hard Zach gets off on it even as he fights the embarrassment - and whether Zach actually did it if asked. It’s a stupidly jealous thought, but Chris likes the idea of it, that he’s the only one who gets to see Zach so openly showing himself off, stroking himself slow and hard for Chris to watch rather than furtively reaching for himself between their bodies when he’s already close.
“So beautiful,” Chris can’t help but whisper, putting his hands on Zach’s thighs. They’re only just starting to tremble from the strain and Chris won’t push him too hard, but it’s just so intoxicating to watch the way Zach has started to rub a thumb over the head of his cock on every other stroke. Chris’s abs tighten in sympathy when Zach hisses with pleasure, and one look at Zach’s face reveals that he knows exactly what the sight is doing to Chris. He swivels his hips on the thrust down.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Chris says, like it was his idea. Like he’s in control of anything at all right now. But Chris can tell Zach’s forcing himself to keep eye contact instead of tipping his head back and really letting go like he wants to. Chris suddenly decides that’s exactly what he wants to see, and his voice comes out much softer than he intended. “Go on, Zach. Let go. Show me.”
Immediately, Zach’s grip loosens and his hand speeds up as he starts grinding down on Chris with less finesse and more purpose. It doesn’t take him long like that, and soon he’s falling forward, catching himself with one hand on Chris’s chest as his eyes fall shut and he tips over the edge. Warmth splashes on Chris’s stomach, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Zach’s face - the perfect O of his mouth, his eyes darting behind closed lids.
Chris is watching so closely that he’s almost shocked into orgasm when Zach’s eyes snap open. They’re dark with arousal and still look hungry, even though Chris can feel the last ripples of Zach’s climax in the fluttering of his inner muscles.
On impulse, Chris grabs Zach and moves to roll them again. Luckily, Zach goes with it, and while it probably doesn’t look terribly graceful, Chris is once again able to plunge rapidly into Zach, who barely has time to rock his hips up into Chris’s thrusts. Chris does try to kiss him, but can manage little more than rubbing their lips together when Zach whispers, “Your turn. Come for me.”
With a choked noise and a shudder, Chris does.
It hits him so hard he feels like he’s been punched, and all he can do is rock weakly into Zach as his orgasm rockets through him, taking every ounce of his strength with it. By some miracle, he manages not to collapse on top of Zach. He makes it mostly to Zach’s side, hissing at the loss as he pulls out. Zach’s the one who takes care of the condom, knotting it and pitching it somewhere in the direction of Chris’s trash can. Or where it used to be, anyway - Chris vaguely hopes he hasn’t moved it since Zach was last here.
The thought doesn’t make him angry, just a little tired and melancholy. Even though they’ve got months ahead of them, he can’t stop his brain from fast-forwarding to the day when Zach leaves again. Because he will leave. He loves New York and the bulk of his career is there now, and Chris won’t ask him to stay because he already knows what the answer would be. It’s the same answer he’d give if Zach asked him to leave Los Angeles.
But it doesn’t hurt so much, knowing that after fourteen months, they can still come crashing back together like this, hard and well enough to feel like “goodbye” is never really going to be goodbye. Chris isn’t sure he can quite hold out hope for “someday,” but he is sure that Zach’s got a grip on a bloody chunk of Chris’ heart that he’s never getting back, because Chris has a chunk of Zach’s in the same size and shape that he carries around constantly, even when he’s not aware of it.
It’s an awful metaphor, both overblown and kind of gross, but it’s also a decent description of the part of Chris that will never belong to anyone else. And he’s allowed to think in maudlin metaphors after sex that good. Somehow, through a good deal of awkward squirming, they end up in a proper cuddle, sweaty and sticky and completely sated. Maybe they’ll talk about some of this - maybe Chris will get in a good yell about the fourteen months away, even though the six months of no phone communication was mostly his fault due to spite. When they fight, they don’t fight ugly anymore - one thing that time and space apart has given them - and it’s bound to end in make-up sex.
“You ready for this?” Zach asks, his breath ruffling Chris’s hair.
He’s talking about the shoot: all the stunts, the secrecy, the long nights. Chris is pretty sure he’s talking about the shoot. “Yeah,” Chris says. “Yeah, I am.”