FIC: Star Trek RPS -- Training Wheels (2/5)
Title: Training Wheels (2/5)
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: PG-13 (this part, eventual NC-17)
Word Count: 6,718
Warnings: AU, angst, h/c, spoilers for late-19th century literature (edit: counting fail)
Disclaimer: nothing pertaining to Chris or Zach is true, but the therapy described is real
Summary: surrogate (n): one appointed to act in place of another; a substitute
A/N: Hopefully the length will make up for the fact that we're still in PG-13 territory here.
Part One
“How does it feel when you pet Noah?”
Zach gazed down at the dog in his lap, and Noah immediately gave him the Why did your hand stop? look. “What, like emotionally? Physically?”
“Whichever. What do you get out of it?”
They were seated on the floor this time, side by side with their backs against the bed and their legs stretched out in front of them. “Comfort, I guess,” Zach answered. “Affection. I feel like I’m appreciated.”
“How about physically?”
“Well, it depends. If he’s just had his hair cut, his fur’s spikier. He comes back from the groomer’s kind of… fluffy, I guess? Honestly, I need to ask them what’s in the shampoo. I half suspect they’ve got some kind of canine blow dryer somewhere in the back.”
Chris chuckled. “How about now? What does it feel like right now?”
Zach looked down at his hand, fingers carding through the fuzz at Noah’s throat. “The fur right here is much softer than what’s on his back. I like the feel of it between my fingers. This is nice - he won’t always lie so still on my lap like this. He’s so warm.” He looked back up at Chris. “It’s funny, I never really think about petting Noah. I just do it.”
Chris nodded. “You know when you pet him, you’ll enjoy touching him and he’ll enjoy being touched. No worries about what he’s thinking. No demands - well, not unless it’s closing in on dinnertime. No weird subtext.”
“I don’t have to overthink it.”
“Exactly,” Chris said.
“So how do I do that with people? I mean, not pet them, but you know.”
“Getting comfortable with being touched helps. I’d like to start that today, if you feel ready.”
“Touch me where?” Zach asked quickly, trying not to freeze up.
“Your hands, to start. Maybe your face, too.”
Zach took a deep breath. “Okay. Should we move somewhere else?”
“I’m fine here, if you are.”
“That’s- Yeah, here’s fine.”
Reaching over to scrub Noah on the head, Chris said, “Sorry, pooch. I need to steal your dad’s hands for a little while. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”
Luckily, Noah chose that moment to get up and go patrol the rest of the house, so Zach could fold his legs into a relaxed half-lotus position. Chris shifted around to sit facing Zach, their knees touching. “You can rest your hands on your legs to start,” Chris said, letting Zach do so before reaching for his left hand. “I’m just going to let my fingers wander over your hand, get to know what it feels like.”
Chris lifted Zach’s hand with his own, palm to palm, and brought his other hand up to run his fingers along the thin bones. The pads of Chris’ fingers were soft, gliding slowly over Zach’s knuckles, testing the texture of the hair on the back of Zach’s hand and fingers. Zach stared, mesmerized, at Chris’ hands caressing his own - he couldn’t remember ever having been touched like this, so slowly and deliberately. He thought back to when he’d first gotten Noah, who’d been extremely skittish at having his paws touched. The vet recommended that Zach spend a few minutes every day gently handling Noah’s paws, habituating him to the feeling. The dog had squirmed like crazy at first, but had eventually settled down. Sometimes, when they were both hunkered down on the carpet, he’d still reach for Noah’s paws, just to remind him that Zach’s touch wasn’t something to fear.
Zach flushed a little at comparing himself to the dog, but the situation was remarkably similar - Chris was just helping him get used to being touched in the most non-threatening way he could. His thumb was now pressing softly at the tender web of skin between Zach’s thumb and forefinger. “Doing okay?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm,” Zach affirmed, and Chris carefully flipped his hand over. Zach gasped softly when Chris’ fingers brushed over the sensitive palm of his hand, his own fingers curling in protectively. Chris patiently stroked each finger, willing Zach’s hand to relax again.
“This is called sensate-focused touching, and it’s a big part of what we’ll do together,” Chris said. “You don’t need to think about anything but how it feels, right this second.”
Zach’s breathing slowed and steadied as the room seemed to shrink down to the few feet of space surrounding them, and soon Chris finished with that hand. He set it down lightly on Zach’s lap and picked up his right hand, performing the same gentle ministrations again. This time, Zach felt goosebumps rise up the length of his entire arm. Chris’ touch wasn’t quite arousing, but it wasn’t particularly relaxing, either. Zach felt like every nerve in his hand was being stimulated in turn, igniting long-ignored sensations that made his skin tingle.
When he returned Zach’s right hand to his lap, Chris said, “I’d like you to do the same to me.”
Zach’s heart started pounding again - in his head, he tried to go back over everything Chris had done. Chris obviously saw the sudden tension, because he touched Zach’s knee lightly and said, “There’s no formula to it. In fact, you’re really just doing the same thing you were when you were petting Noah - concentrating on what my skin feels like under your fingers. Don’t worry about me at all. Just touch.”
Chris offered his hand, palm up, and Zach took it in both of his. It was a nice-looking hand, elegant but masculine, with long, thick fingers. Zach started as Chris had, smoothing his thumb over the palm, then up each finger in turn. Chris’ hand felt so warm in his, so solid and real. Zach let his eyes dart up to Chris’ face for the briefest moment, only to see that his eyes were gazing steadily at their joined hands. Flushing a little, Zach looked back down at Chris’ palm. He had no idea which crease was the life line, or the love line. Was there a love line? Surely all these lines had names - he would have to look it up. Not that he set any stock by palm reading, but it had been so long since he’d looked closely at someone else’s hands.
He turned Chris’ hand over to look at the back. There was a small scar across his middle knuckle, and Zach let his index finger trace over the slightly raised mark. He almost asked Chris about it before reminding himself that this was about touching, not talking. The scattering of hair across the backs of Chris’ fingers was surprisingly light in color, almost invisible until Zach’s thumb rubbed across it, petting softly at the slight coarseness. Chris’ nails were clean and blunt, neatly trimmed. Zach doubted he’d ever bitten them in his life.
Zach made a move to set Chris’ right hand down and reach for his left, but faltered. “Am I doing this right?” he asked.
“Perfectly,” Chris said, holding out his other hand.
The left hand was nearly the same as the right, save for the scar on the knuckle and the pads of the fingers. They were rougher, callused - Chris probably played guitar. It wasn’t hard to imagine him with a guitar in his lap, fingers pressed tightly to the fretboard. Zach imagined him twiddling around with it - picking out a new song, the tip of his tongue poking between his lips in concentration - and squirmed a little where he sat. But Chris either didn’t notice or didn’t bother to point it out, and Zach completed his task in silence.
“How was that?” Chris asked when both of his hands were once again in his lap.
“Which part?”
“Either. Both.”
“It was… nice,” Zach said after a minute. “Well, okay, I guess ‘nice’ is kind of a lame word. It was a little strange at first, both times. But it felt good. My whole hand felt kind of tingly afterward. And then touching your hands was… I don’t know, I’ve never really focused like that on someone else’s hands before. You have really nice hands.” As soon as it was out of his mouth, Zach worried Chris might take it the wrong way. “They’re just… neat, I guess? Well taken care of.”
But Chris just smiled and said, “Thank you. You have nice hands, yourself.”
Before he could stop himself, Zach blurted, “Is that it for today?” He winced internally at how rude it sounded. “I mean, I’m not trying to kick you out or anything. I’m just wondering.”
“There is one more thing I’d like to try, if you’re up for it.”
“Sure, okay.”
“I’d like to do the same kind of sensate-focused touching, but I’d like for us to touch each other’s faces this time.”
Zach balked. Hands were one thing, but touching someone else’s face was personal. Intimate. He searched Chris’ expression, but saw only earnest anticipation. Well, considering their ultimate goal, face-touching was a baby step. “Okay,” Zach said at last.
“Do you want to start, or should I?”
“You can,” Zach said quickly.
Chris nodded. “Lean forward a little. Put your elbows on your knees and get comfortable.” Chris reached out and Zach was suddenly unsure where to look. Chris’ eyes were so intently focused on his face that it was almost impossible to look at him, but gazing off to the side felt nearly as awkward. Luckily, Chris said, “You can close your eyes if it’s easier that way.”
Zach shut his eyes, but then realized he wouldn’t be able to see what was coming. But before he could say or do anything, Chris’ palms were pressed lightly against his cheeks. “It might feel strange again,” Chris said, “but I’m going to do the same kind of thing I did with your hands. Just touch and explore. Keep your mind quiet if you can and concentrate on how it feels.”
Zach took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to relax. Chris started with the outline of his face, running the pads of his fingers over Zach’s jaw, his hairline, out over the shells of his ears and back. Chris repeated this motion a few more times until it was more soothing than strange, and Zach began to relax into his touch.
By the time Chris touched Zach’s nose, Zach had almost forgotten to be self-conscious about it. He’d never liked his nose, and as Chris swiped his thumb down the prominent bone, Zach had to bite his lip to keep from saying something. Chris had given Zach a stern look the last time he expressed some kind of derogatory sentiment about himself, even though it was in jest, so he kept his mouth shut.
Chris continued in silence - for minutes or hours, Zach couldn’t say - touching Zach’s forehead, his cheeks, his chin. Once, Chris gently pressed his thumb into the swell of Zach’s lower lip and Zach nearly gasped. But then the touch was gone and Chris’ warm fingers were tracing his cheekbones again. He began to wonder if he was just imagining things, but he thought he could still feel the phantom pressure against his mouth.
After the hand touching, Zach had been prepared for the physical sensations, but not the emotions. When had someone else last touched his face? His mother, maybe, kissing him on the cheek when he came to visit. Not his brother. His one and only boyfriend used to cup Zach’s face in his hands sometimes, kiss his forehead, his closed eyelids, slowly making his way down to Zach’s waiting mouth. The sense memory hit him like a brick wall, and though Chris’ touch hadn’t changed, Zach suddenly felt a burning behind his eyes and a lump in his throat that he had to carefully will away.
When Chris’ hands eventually dropped down to rest on Zach’s shoulders, Zach was almost disappointed that it had to end. He kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds, wanting to stay in that warm, dark place where Chris had set his hands on him like Zach was a work of art, a living statue. Chris didn’t rush him, just waited for Zach to open his eyes. When he finally did, Chris was smiling softly back at him. “Good?”
Zach didn’t trust himself to speak, so he reached his hands out and Chris leaned forward into his touch, closing his eyes and resting his elbows on his knees. Zach reached out tentatively and touched just the tips of his fingers to Chris’ cheek. He paused, not sure what to do first, but Chris sat there patiently. Zach finally let his fingers stroke lightly down Chris’ face. He could feel the slightest beginning of stubble and rubbed lightly against the grain. His index finger trailed down to the small, pitted scars low on Chris’ cheek, but hesitated. Chris might be sensitive about those. But then Zach remembered Chris’ touch on his nose and kept going. Zach decided he liked these tiny imperfections. They gave Chris’ face character.
Leaving the scars behind, Zach moved to trace the line of Chris’ jaw with his thumb. He continued up around Chris’ face, from his ears up his temples to his forehead, then smoothed over the rough thatching of his eyebrows. Through it all, Chris sat calmly, still and relaxed as a meditating monk. Zach stroked down his nose and across his cheekbones, but his eyes kept wandering back to Chris’ lips - they looked incredibly soft and tempting, and Zach wondered if it would be crossing a line to touch them. Chris had touched Zach’s, but only briefly and Chris had known what he was doing. In the end, Zach couldn’t help himself; he traced the outline of Chris’ lips once with his first two fingers. They felt every bit as soft as they looked, and warm, with Chris’ breath puffing softly against Zach’s fingers.
Being the one to do the touching brought back memories, too. Reaching up to trace the wrinkles on his grandmother’s face before she could catch his hand and laugh, pressing a kiss to his palm. Trying to sculpt a vase in Ms. Crouse’s high school art class. On the very rare occasions he’d slept in the same bed with someone, the shock of reaching out and feeling warm skin instead of cool sheets under his fingertips. Again, emotion welled up in Zach’s throat, but he was a little better prepared for it this time.
Part of Zach wanted to keep touching, to let his fingers drift down Chris’ neck or push them into his hair, but he got the feeling that would be too much for today. With one last stroke of Chris’ chin, Zach let his hands drop, and Chris slowly opened his eyes. “How did that feel?”
“Kind of scary. More intimate than hands.”
Chris nodded. “But you did it.”
“But I did it,” Zach echoed.
&&&
His appointments with Dr. Patel seemed extremely dry after that.
“Things still working out well with Chris?” the doctor asked.
“Yes. We started the, um, sensate-focused touching, I think he called it?”
Dr. Patel nodded. “How did that go?”
“It was…” Zach sighed, face heating a little at the memory. “It was pretty intense.”
“Tell me about it.”
“He touched my hands first, then I touched his. Then faces.”
“Did any strong emotions come up?”
Zach blinked in surprise. “Yeah. How did you know?”
“Touch is powerful, Zachary, especially when you don’t experience it very often. What did you feel?”
“Sort of… nostalgia, I guess. Longing. I remembered touching my grandma’s face when I was little, and my mom kissing my cheek. And… Travis.” Zach blushed and stared down at his hands.
“What about Travis?” Dr. Patel asked gently.
“I remembered how gently he used to touch me. How good it felt, like I was someone special.”
“Good memories?”
“Yes.”
“All good memories?”
Zach took a moment to think. Amazingly, the feel Chris’ hands hadn’t brought up any recollections of unwanted or unpleasant touch. “Yeah, all good.”
“Sounds to me like you might be ready for more of that.”
“I don’t know,” Zach said, faltering. “This was just a small thing. I don’t know how I’d do with anything more.”
The doctor nodded. “And how comfortable are you with Chris? Is he going at a pace that’s working well for you?”
“Yes. He pushes me a little sometimes, but I know I need that.”
“Has he ever pushed you farther than you felt comfortable?”
“No, no, nothing like that. He’s very clear about asking permission and explaining why we’re doing something. I…” Zach wondered if he should say what he was thinking. But if he couldn’t confide in his therapist, who could he confide in? “I like him.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I think we could be- I don’t know, maybe this isn’t a good thing for a sex therapist, but I think we could be friends.”
Dr. Patel hesitated. “I know you understand that your relationship with him is meant to be therapeutic, rather than social. But… I also think there’s nothing wrong with thinking of him as your friend. For now.”
Zach nodded. “I get it. We’re never going to be drinking buddies.”
The doctor smiled. “No, definitely not.”
&&&
The bar was almost empty - not entirely surprising, since it was only about 3:30 in the afternoon. Chris chose one of the high tables against the wall and slid easily onto the stool. Zach perched on the chair on the opposite side, only a little nervous. It was a fairly high-end place, with drinks more expensive than most of Zach’s meals, though that wasn’t saying much. “You, uh, like this place?” he asked.
“Never been here before in my life,” Chris admitted with an easy smile. “Always meant to go, though, so you can help me scope it out.”
Zach glanced around at the décor - dark blue and black, mostly, with neon blue accent lights behind the liquor shelves. Clean tables and floor, lots of room to move around and a pretty spacious dance floor. “Looks pretty nice. Though I’d check the bathrooms before I made any conclusive judgments.”
Chris laughed, leaning his chair hazardously back on two legs as the waitress strode up. She started listing the happy hour specials, but Chris held up a hand. “Thanks, but I’m still on the clock. Two Shirley Temples, please, extra cherries.”
She looked back and forth between them for a moment before scribbling on her notepad and walking away. Zach looked at Chris and cocked an eyebrow. “Shirley Temples?”
“Hey, if I can’t drink, you can’t drink either. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to get my clients drunk. It’s like an actual rule or something. Sorry to presume about your nonalcoholic beverage of choice, but I’m trying to keep the mood light, and you can’t take yourself too seriously if you’re drinking something that obnoxiously pink. It’s on me, by the way.”
“Uh, thanks,” Zach said, unable to suppress a smile at Chris’ obviously buoyant mood. “So if we’re not here to sample the booze, why are we here?”
Chris’ expression became a little more serious. “I’m guessing bars are kind of a Mount Everest for you - lots of strangers in close proximity, lots of noise and commotion, an environment you don’t have the least bit of control over.”
Zach supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Chris knew him that well. “Sometimes my friends drag me along. But, yeah, it’s… not a pleasant experience.”
“It’s not my favorite thing in the world, either. And I’m not saying it’s something you need to love, or even like, but you wanted to work on social situations and flirting, right?”
Something in Zach’s chest seized up. “In a bar?”
“Yup,” Chris said with a grin. “Just with me today, no strangers. But you might as well get used to the environment, and you know how I love field trips.”
No denying that. And, with Chris at his side, it was good to get out of the house. Zach tried to calm his anxiety, grateful for the distraction when the waitress came back with their drinks, complete with multiple maraschino cherries impaled on little toothpick umbrellas. Chris picked his umbrella up and nimbly plucked a cherry off the end with his lips and teeth, setting off another small, indecipherable flutter in Zach’s gut.
“So,” Chris began, “let’s start with the basics: flirting. Some people want to make it complicated, but I’m all about simplicity - eye contact, smiling, laughing, a little small talk.”
Chris made it sound so easy. “I’m not so good with the small talk,” Zach said. “My mind just goes blank.”
“That’s actually more common than you’d think. But remember that you don’t have to be constantly talking. Pauses are fine, too. Believe it or not, whoever you’re talking to is probably feeling just as awkward as you are.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Zach sighed.
“Zach,” Chris said, his eyes narrowing. “Look at me. There’s something I need to tell you. It may be difficult for you to hear, because I don’t know if anyone’s said it to you before, but I’m all about the tough love. Are you ready?”
Zach nodded, his eyes wide.
“You are not that screwed up.”
“I’m not- What?”
“I know you feel like you are. And I know it makes it a little easier to think, ‘Well, of course my love life is slower than average - I’m a total head case.’ But you can’t think like that anymore. You’ve asked me for help, and I’m telling you, most people deal with a lot of the same feelings that you do when they’re put in new social situations. Yours are a bit more daunting to overcome, sure, but far from impossible. You’re just not that screwed up.”
His mouth agape, Zach didn’t know what to think. Not that screwed up? A bit more daunting? Slower than average? That seemed like a ridiculous understatement. His brain was screaming at him to object, to insist that no, he was that screwed up and none of this was helping, but he couldn’t find the words.
Not giving Zach any time at all to process, Chris put on that innocent grin of his and slid to his feet. “Okay, how would you feel about a little roleplaying? We’ll start easy - this time, I’ll make the first move.”
He turned, took two steps away from the table, then spun back around. Catching Zach’s eye and giving a little nod, he walked back up to the table. “Hey, mind if I sit for a minute? My feet are killing me.”
“No,” Zach said quickly, “I mean, uh, sure, ‘no’ as in I don’t mind.”
“Thanks,” Chris said with an easy smile. He hopped up on the seat and regarded Zach with an appraising eye, radiating obvious approval. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Chris.”
“Zach,” he said, shaking Chris’ hand a little awkwardly over the table. “Um, how’s it going?”
“Pretty good. Looks like my friends have all hooked up for the night, so it’s just me now. How about you?”
“Uh, me too. It’s just me.”
“Cool,” Chris said, sipping his drink and letting his eyes wander around the bar, as though it were filled with lively patrons rather than a few bored waitresses and some sad afternoon drunks.
The silence stretched out and Zach started to panic a little, not wanting to screw up this roleplaying thing on the very first go, though Chris seemed content just to sit and watch, occasionally sneaking glances at Zach accompanied by a brief smile. Finally, Zach mustered the courage to speak. “So, uh, Chris. What do you do?”
Chris grinned. “Well, I do a little of this, a little of that. Though I’m an alpaca farmer by trade.”
That threw Zach for a loop. “Alpacas? Like, the llama-looking things?”
“Hey,” Chris said sternly, wagging his finger. “Alpacas may look like llamas, but they’re far superior to those stupid bastards. Much smarter and fluffier. They’re better cuddlers, too.”
Zach couldn’t help but break into a grin at Chris’ utter sincerity, but then Chris surprised him by blurting, “There! Right there! That smile.” He pointed intently at Zach, narrowing his eyes even as his grin grew wider. “Don’t hide that, it’s gorgeous. Infectious, even. A smile like that and you’ve got the immediate attention of whoever you want. Trust me, I know whereof I speak.”
“Yeah, but flirting is more complicated than smiling. It’s the talking part that gets me.”
“Fair enough, though you were doing just fine,” Chris said, taking another sip of his drink and thinking it over. “You did theatre in college, right?”
Zach sighed. “I know what you’re about to say: ‘how are you fine with standing in front of a hundred people but freak out when you have to talk to one?’”
With a frown, Chris shook his head. “No way, they’re completely different situations. Theatre is structured and scripted. With all the stage lights, you can barely even see the audience - you don’t have to worry about their reactions on an individual level.”
Zach poked at one of the cherries floating in his drink with the straw. “Wish I had someone writing lines for me. You familiar with the work of Edmond Rostand?”
Chris laughed. “By way of Steve Martin, yes. But Cyrano’s the one who gets the girl in the end.”
“Not in the original. Roxane ships herself off to a nunnery and doesn’t find out Cyrano wrote the letters until he’s dying in her arms.”
“Bummer,” Chris said. “Well, let’s stick with the Steve Martin version. I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”
There was a long pause as both nursed their drinks. After a minute, Zach said, “Wait, what were we talking about again?"
Chris perked up. “Oh, small talk, right. My point was going to be, I’m sure you did improv at some point in your acting career, yes?”
“I did a little.”
“And I bet you were good at it, right?”
Zach felt his cheeks start to go red. “I was okay, I guess.”
“Of course you were. And what’s the first rule of improv?”
Finally, Zach started to get where Chris was headed. “Keep the scene going.”
“You see my point here, right?” Chris asked, leaning forward. “Obviously there’s less mugging for laughs, but some of the skill sets are the same. Listening to your partner, contributing to the momentum of the scene, reacting appropriately. Anything that’s funny comes across naturally instead of you sitting there and trying to think up a joke. And in conversation you’re allowed pauses and abrupt transitions that won’t fly in improv.”
It actually made some sense. Ad libbing had been harder for Zach than the scripted stuff, but once he’d gotten the hang of it, he’d felt confident. Then something occurred to him. “Hey, how do you know all this stuff?”
“I am a man of many secrets,” Chris said, waggling his eyebrows. “But seriously, my parents were both actors and I did some theatre growing up.”
“Yeah, I guess I could see that,” Zach said. It was easy to imagine Chris as a leading man - he’d make an excellent Oberon or Orsino. Zach, on the other hand, would forever be Bottom or Malvolio, stuck with the head of an ass or imprisoned beneath the stage.
While he was lost in thought, Zach felt a gentle kick under the table. “Where’d you go just now?” Chris asked, looking vaguely concerned.
Zach definitely didn’t want to voice his thoughts aloud - he knew Chris wouldn’t approve. “Uh, Illyria?”
“’If music be the food of love, play on!’” Chris quoted with a grin, lifting his glass in a toast just as “Alejandro” began playing in the background. “Though I don’t think the Bard was talking about Lady Gaga and maraschino cherries.”
“I don’t know, I think Shakespeare would love Gaga.”
“‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety?’”
“Ooh, she would make a good Cleopatra. But I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in ’t.’”
Chris snorted around a mouthful of Shirley Temple, and Zach wished flirting with a stranger were half as easy as talking to Chris.
&&&
They developed a pattern - when Zach answered the door, Chris would greet him with a light hug around the shoulders. Then they would spend a few minutes chatting idly - though it was usually Chris doing most of the chatting - while Noah got his Chris fix for the day. (On the days Chris didn’t come, Zach swore he’d catch Noah gazing longingly at the door. It was getting to be a problem.) Even Harold usually poked his head into the room. Then they’d head back to Zach’s bedroom and get down to business with whatever exercises Chris had planned. They worked more on small talk and flirting, but always did some kind of touching exercise before their time was up, even if it was just Chris setting a hand on Zach’s arm while they talked. They did the hand touching exercise so often that Chris’ hands were starting to show up in Zach’s dreams.
It went on this way for nearly a month, Chris not pushing Zach for anything more, until one day during the Noah-petting stage, Zach asked what was next.
Chris smiled. “I was waiting for you to ask.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Not at all,” Chris said. “But I figured you’d let me know when you got bored with what we were doing.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it ‘bored,’ exactly. It just gets… repetitive.”
“Ready for something new?” Chris asked, giving Noah one last scratch behind the ears before standing up.
Despite the flicker of anxiety niggling at the back of his mind, Zach nodded. Chris left his bag on the couch and led the way back to Zach’s bedroom. “It might seem like a big step,” he said as they walked down the hall, “but I think you’re ready, and as always, you have ultimate veto power.”
Zach froze. “We’re not gonna-”
“No, no,” Chris said quickly. “You think I’d just spring that on you? No, we’re still a long way from that. Trust me, you’ll know far in advance.”
“Okay,” Zach said, nodding as if to convince himself. “Sorry. I kind of freaked out a little bit.”
Chris shook his head. “My fault - I phrased that badly. I’m thinking that today, we might try taking some clothes off. As much or as little touching as you want, but I think we need to start getting comfortable with skin.”
“You want to undress me?” Zach asked nervously.
“Not today. You’ll take your own clothes off.”
“Um, alright.” He was still anxious, but Chris hadn’t led him astray so far.
“Would you be comfortable going all the way down to underwear? We can do it in stages, but in this particular case, I think it’s a little easier doing it all at once. Like jumping into cold water.”
“No, yeah, that’s fine,” Zach said, turning away from Chris and reaching for the hem of his shirt before he lost his nerve. He undressed quickly, folding his clothes neatly and setting them on the nightstand. He was pleasantly relieved to realize he was wearing fairly new briefs - no holes or stretched-out elastic. Not that Chris would say anything, but no one wanted to be caught wearing old, nasty underwear.
When Zach turned back around, he burst into nervous laughter at the sight of Chris’ boxers, festooned with bright yellow smiley faces. Fortunately, Chris was smiling, too. “What do you think?”
“There’s an ‘are you just happy to see me?’ joke in here somewhere,” Zach said, staring at Chris’ face to avoid looking at the rest of him.
“Zach. Hey, Zach,” Chris said softly, waiting until Zach met his eyes. “Don’t feel embarrassed to look at me. All of me. I want you to look.”
He held his arms out to the sides and Zach forced himself to lower his eyes to Chris’ body. No wonder Chris wanted Zach to look at him - his body was gorgeous. His skin was pale and lightly freckled around his shoulders and the top of his chest. There was just a light scattering of hair across his pecs, and Zach’s eyes were drawn downward to Chris’ flat belly. Zach felt his face go pink as his eyes skipped over the boxers and down the other man’s legs, which were skinny but muscular. A runner’s legs, maybe. Zach glanced back up at Chris’ arms and realized he must lift weights, too.
Zach suddenly became aware of the silence in the room and looked quickly down at the floor. “Hey,” Chris said, and Zach could see a pair of bare feet walking over to him across the carpet. They were nice feet - clean, trimmed nails. Well-maintained, like his hands and every other part of his body. “Zach, please don’t be embarrassed.”
“I’m not,” Zach said quickly, then realized how ridiculous it sounded. “Well, I mean, I am, but I don’t want to be.”
Chris set a hand lightly on Zach’s arm. “Follow me,” he said, leading Zach back to the master bathroom.
He flipped the light on and positioned them side by side in front of the mirror. When Zach looked at Chris’ face, the other man was smiling gently. “Tell me what you see,” he said.
Zach faltered. “You first.”
With a light chuckle, Chris said, “Alright. I see a smart, attractive guy with a really nice body. Oh, and I see you, too.” He winked and Zach couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously though,” Chris continued. “Saying you’re easy on the eyes would be a definite understatement. Yoga, right?”
“A couple times a week, yeah.”
Chris whistled softly. “Damn, maybe I ought to try it. Turn around a second, let me see your back.” Zach did. “Mmm, yeah, very nice.”
Zach stayed frozen in place until Chris said, “You can turn back around now. God, I’m totally jealous of your chest hair. I never got the lush, manly chest rug my thirteen-year-old self was always hoping for.” He rubbed a hand idly across his chest and Zach watched intently in the mirror, unable to look away. “You’ve got perfect posture, too.”
“Catholic school,” Zach said by way of explanation.
Chris smiled. “My mom was always getting on my case about slouching. Life-long Presbyterian, but she definitely would’ve shipped me off to the nuns if she’d known my spine would’ve turned out like yours. Let me guess - you can tie a half-Windsor perfectly in your sleep.”
Zach smiled a little sheepishly. “Just the thought of a sloppy tie makes my knuckles ache.”
“Pain is beauty,” Chris chuckled. “Okay, your turn now.”
“Um,” Zach started lamely, looking Chris up and down quickly. “Uh. You have freckles. On your shoulders. They’re, uh, nice? I’m sorry, I sound like an idiot.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“Your skin is pale. But not in a bad way. It looks really smooth, too, like a statue.”
Chris turned from the mirror to face Zach directly. “You can touch, if you want,” he said softly.
Zach reached out a hesitant hand and set it on Chris’ shoulder. His skin was indeed so marble-smooth that Zach was almost surprised to feel how warm it was. He took a deep breath and continued. “You have really good arms. They look strong.” He paused after that, mind going blank, and he stared down at their feet. “Chris, I don’t know what else to say. You’re gorgeous, totally and completely. There’s not anything about you that’s not perfect.”
“Thank you,” he heard Chris whisper as a hand came up to tilt Zach’s chin until he was looking in Chris’ eyes again. “You see what I did there? I took a compliment. I know I’m not actually perfect, but I’m really flattered that you think so. Now I’m going to give you some practice at that. You ready?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Chris smiled. “This may be the simplest thing I ever ask you to do. All you have to do is say ‘thank you.’ No objections, no trying to deflect. You don’t even have to believe me. Just say ‘thanks.’ Think you can do that?”
Feeling a little foolish, Zach nodded. Even though it made him uneasy, he wanted to show that he could handle something so straightforward.
Chris dropped his hand back to his side and made sure Zach was looking him right in the eye. “Zach, your hair is amazing. It’s so soft and shiny, you could do shampoo commercials. Really embarrassing ones, with lots of moaning and hair-tossing.”
Even though it made Zach blush, it made him smile, too. “Thank you.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard. It might get a little tougher, though.” Chris cleared his throat and began again. “Zach, you have a really cute butt. I’ve seen a decent number of butts in my life, but yours just might be the best. Top three, at least.”
“Um, thank you,” Zach said, blushing even harder.
“Zach,” Chris said, his voice becoming a little softer, a little more serious. “You smell really good. I don’t know if it’s soap or shampoo or just a hint of cologne mixed with the scent of your skin, but whatever it is, I really like it.”
Zach started feeling the urge to squirm in place. “Thanks,” he muttered, starting to shrink into himself.
But Chris wouldn’t let him. “Zach, you have the most beautiful, expressive eyes. I could look at them all day.”
The words started to bubble up in his throat - they’re nothing, just ordinary brown, what about your eyes, they’re so much nicer - and Zach just barely managed to keep them in. “Th-thank you.”
“Zach,” Chris murmured, voice an intimate whisper now. “You have an extraordinarily gorgeous body. You are just about as sexy and desirable as it’s possible for a man to be. When you’re ready, it will be an absolute pleasure for me to touch you, in any way you like.”
It was too much - tears stung at the back of his eyes and it was all he could do to keep his protests silent, let alone thank Chris. How could Chris say these things? Zach was just Zach; there was nothing special or enviable about that.
“Hey,” Chris whispered, stroking a single finger across Zach’s cheek. “All you have to do is say the words. That’s all.”
Much to Zach’s horror, the tears spilled over. “Thank you,” he managed, the words coming out mangled and barely audible.
“I want to put my arm around you,” Chris said quickly. “Can I do that?” Zach couldn’t manage much more than a nod, but Chris wasted no time pulling Zach into a loose hug, pressing their chests together lightly. “It’s okay, Zach. I know you don’t believe me right now, but I hope you will before we’re done. Because it’s all true, every word of it. And you deserve to hear it.”
Zach took a few gasping, gurgling breaths, trying hard to pull himself together, but Chris seemed in no hurry to back away. “Why is this so hard?”
“Because you don’t hear it enough,” Chris said evenly, resting his chin on Zach’s shoulder. “All you hear, day in and day out, is the voice in your head, the one that took up residence sometime around puberty and never quite left.”
“Oh no,” said Zach, trying to make a joke of it. “You know about the voices? You’re not gonna have me locked up, are you?”
Chris gently pulled back to look him in the eye. “If I locked you up, I’d have to lock myself up, too. And just about every other person on the planet. Everybody has that voice. You just need some others to counter it.”
“Whose voice? Yours?”
“Wouldn’t be too bad for a start, would it?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Zach murmured, wiping at his nose. “God, if that’s the easiest thing you’re going to ask of me-”
“Simplest, not easiest,” Chris said with a compassionate smile. “Sometimes the most basic things are the toughest.”
“It’s all downhill from here, huh?”
“No way. We’re about to get to the fun stuff.”
Continue to part three