FIC: Mirror!Pinto Chapter 4: Karl - The Fugitive or I am become Death - Chapter 4a
Series Masterpost with all previous and following chapters and summaries for all parts.
FANMIX byangelrox040 is here.
Chapter 4a - How they met Karl: The Fugitive or I am become Death
(title from Heroes season 3 episode 4 J.R. Oppenheimer after a quote from the Hindu text “Gita”)
Then
A lone figure stands at the window. The warehouse is empty, deserted and dark, covered in dirt and debris. Rats are scuttling around, searching for food, but the man ignores the small sounds they make. He draws his black jacket tighter around himself, trying to stay warm in the icy winds blowing through the broken glass of the windows. His free hand clutches something, holds it close to a face shadowed by the hood of a jacket. Whatever he’s holding is small and glitters golden in the light of the setting sun. A locket.
The man stares down at the locket, stares at the two pictures inside. One of them shows a woman’s face, pretty and smiling, her youth and beauty forever captured and preserved inside the photograph. The other shows two children, both boys, laughing with their arms around each other. A family, a memory, a remembrance of old, long lost days. The man stares down at the pictures, brings them closer to his face, a face that would be handsome if it were not twisted in grief. The man weeps.
Something outside draws the man’s attention. He closes the locket, hides it back inside his shirt and reaches for the binoculars on the windowsill.
The window faces a narrow backstreet, the back entrance of a club. This particular club is well-known within police circles, infamous for its clientele. A hotspot for drug dealers, hitman, bank robbers, the mafia - a meeting place for all those who want to hide from Lady Justice. Run by a man who has murdered dozens, has maimed and mutilated, has tortured and killed anyone who dared to oppose him.
Vinnie de Luca.
A man who killed a cop’s family 6 months ago, broke into their house and murdered them in cold blood. Killed them because that cop did not want to let himself be bought, did not stop investigating, would not want to be intimidated like every single one of his colleagues. One cop who wasn’t scared by de Luca, ignored the bribes and threats and lost his family for it. Lost them because of the man currently exiting the club’s back door, the man shaking hands with the manager, slapping some hooker’s ass and exchanging greetings with his body guards.
The man by the window drops the binoculars and takes up a gun. It’s some type of assault rifle, it looks big and evil, sleekly elegant and deadly. It looks like its purpose. The man peers through the rifle scope, watches Vinnie and his friends, his hitmen, his colleagues, his family’s murderers. One hand clenches briefly in the shirt above the locket.
Then Karl Urban, former cop, widower and soon-to-be mass murderer, starts firing.
Now
Chris scrambles for the phone, trying to clear his sleep-heavy head. Next to him Zach moves and scrunches his nose, but doesn’t wake up. Chris tucks the blanket around him and flips the phone open. He tries to keep his voice down, annoyed at being woken and not wanting to disturb his lover.
“What?”
“It’s Bruce.”
“What the fuck do you want at 6 in the morning?”
“I got a job for you.”
“Jesus. And you couldn’t wait for like 4 more hours?”
“I need an answer now, Chris.”
“Fuck. Okay. What is it?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Just tell me, Bruce.”
“You need to make someone disappear.”
“Fine. So?”
“The client is Vinnie de Luca.”
“Fuck no. You know I don’t do jobs for de Luca, no fucking way.”
“The target is Karl Urban.”
Chris is silent. He hears Bruce calling his name through the phone, he hears Zach’s soft breathing. Chris closes his eyes briefly. He hasn’t heard that name in a very long time.
“Chris? You still there? Will you take the job?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m here.” Chris has to clear his throat. Karl. Fuck. He glances quickly at Zach, who’s still sound asleep, good, and lowers his voice some more.
“I’ll take it, Bruce. Send me the details later, okay? Just… tell Vinnie I’ll do it.”
He hangs up without another word and worries his lower lip between his teeth. Zach is moving now, inching closer towards Chris in his sleep, searching for his body’s warmth. Chris quickly settles next to him and tugs him close. Zach snuggles into his chest and mumbles sleepily before he starts breathing deeply again. Chris lies on his back, one arm under his head, the other wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.
Karl Urban. Fuck. Chris remembers him well.
Then
Chris curses himself, curses his clumsiness, his inattention, his inexperience, everything that lead to this. And he curses Timmy Mahoney, that stupid prick, who’s probably right now sitting somewhere nice and warm and laughing his ass off. Fucker. Chris’ first job as a bounty hunter, and not only did he manage to let his target escape, but he also got caught by the cops. Fuck. Bruce is going to kill him.
He lets his head thump against the top of the police car and rolls his eyes in frustration. The handcuffs are digging uncomfortably into his wrists and his arms hurt in their twisted position behind his back. Worst day ever.
He eyes the two cops. The older one, the fat one, is speaking into his radio, checking Chris’ record. He winces and hopes Bruce is as good as he said at wiping Chris’ slate clean, or else Chris will spend a nice long time in jail. The other cop is watching him curiously. Chris blushes and looks away.
Earlier the younger cop searched him for weapons. Chris was still wheezing from being tackled against the wall, didn’t even notice the handcuffs until it was too late. He was shoved over the hood of the car, dizzy, and the cop searched him. His body had been close to Chris, uncomfortably close, warm and hard, his big hands roamed Chris back, his sides, dipped into his pocket. They were firm and sure, handled him without hesitation, and Chris felt warmth spread from the places they touched. He’d blushed and wriggled a bit when they touched his ass and between his legs. Fuck.
Chris turns his head towards the younger cop again. He’s still watching him. Chris jerks his face away and feels his cheeks grow even hotter. The cop has amazing hazel eyes, and their intense gaze is making him uncomfortable. Chris worries his lip between his teeth and doesn’t notice the cop walked closer until the guy starts talking.
“Chris, right?”
“Huh?”
“Your name.”
“Um. Yes.”
“Well, Chris, I’m Officer Urban.”
Chris grunts in reply. Officer Urban has very pretty lips. And a very nice smile. Woah. Don’t think about that. Think about Bruce’s angry face, think about that fucker Mahoney.
“Tell me, Chris, what brings a nice young boy like you to this part of the city?”
What? Urban is eyeing him with a friendly smile, Chris looks at him in confusion. Then it hits him. He doesn’t look like a bounty hunter (at least not what Chris imagines one would look like, with leather maybe and a sombrero), he looks… harmless. Jeans, soft with age, a white undershirt and a plaid shirt over that. Add to that Chris’ fake glasses and he looks normal, like a student maybe. Certainly not like a would-be bounty hunter. Apparently his carefully chosen costume works, at least on that cop. It certainly didn’t fool Mahoney, that prick. Chris thinks as fast as he can. Maybe, just maybe…
“Um. I. I just… there is this club, and I…”
Urban laughs. It’s a good laugh, friendly and full of humor, warm and deep. A nice laugh. Chris fakes a tentative smile. “I just… wanted to maybe, you know, check it out?”
“Oh, I see, I see. You saw an ad for lap dances and wanted to have a look at the girls, right?”
Chris chuckles bashfully, proud of his own acting skills. “Yeah, something like that. Stupid idea, I know. … Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, Chris! Stupid idea, yeah, but it’s not like you actually did anything wrong.” Urban smiles at him and walks closer. He unlocks the handcuffs and Chris straightens. He shuffles on his feet and looks at the cop through his lashes. Oh yeah, this will work.
“Does that mean I can, like, go?”
“Yeah, you can. He’s clear, right, Caruso?” he looks over to his partner briefly and smiles when the other cop nods. “No harm, no foul, right? You can go, Chris.”
Chris likes the way Urban says his name. His accent - Chris can’t place it, maybe Australian? - makes it sound warm, exotic. He scrambles to catch his license when Caruso throws it at him. Urban is still smiling. Chris mumbles a fake-embarrassed “Thanks” and pockets his wallet. This is going perfectly.
“Just don’t let me catch you in these parts again, okay Chris? I’d really hate to meet you again under… similar circumstances.”
Chris chuckles a bit and tries to suppress a shiver when Urban rests a big hand on his shoulder. It’s heavy and warm and the touch seems to send sparks through his entire body. He thanks the cop again, murmurs a goodbye and gets another sunny smile in return.
Then he walks off, determined to find Mahoney. He does, in the end, he finds him, brings him back to his client, collects his first bounty and accepts Bruce’s praise. His future looks bright. And still the cop’s face is ghosting through his mind.
He sees Officer Urban again, soon after. The circumstances are very different, and in a way not at all, and Karl smiles at him when they meet.
Now
Zach stirring shakes Chris from his memories. He watches his lover stretch and yawn and manages a smile when Zach blinks at him. His lover smiles back, soft and lazy. Chris runs a hand through Zach’s sleep-mussed hair. For a moment he sees hazel eyes, before the memory floats away and he gazes into his lover’s dark ones.
“Was tha’ on the phone?” Zach still sounds sleepy, and Chris grins when he yawns and scrunches his nose.
“Just Bruce, about a job.”
“Y’take it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Haven’t had a job for a while now, y’ve been all cranky an’ annoyed. Will be good for you.”
Zach’s nosing his chest now, stretching lazily. Chris intercepts a curios hand trailing towards his dick and rolls Zach onto his back. He stretches above him and Zach settles with a pleased sigh. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Chris rolls his hips against Zach’s morning wood. His lover moans and shifts underneath him. Chris remembers another, different morning, languorous smiles and laughter. He bends down and kisses Zach. It’s lazy, at first, slow and soft, but it soon becomes heated. They kiss, deeply, tongues dueling for dominance, Zach wraps long arms and legs around Chris and presses close. He thinks about strong hands, muscled arms and a firm back and shudders.
Chris pulls back, Zach tries to follow him, mouth moving wetly, but Chris shoves him back down. He nudges him over to his front, Zach complies with a breathy chuckle. Chris’ eyes roam his lover’s pale back and remembers a broader, more muscular one, tanned, with a lot of freckles. Zach rubs his ass against Chris’ erection and moans. He bites at Zach’s neck, feels his lover shiver beneath him. He feels ghost hands travel along his own hips, remembers blunt fingers against his hole. Chris shakes his head angrily and closes his teeth over soft skin. Zach doesn’t notice, shudders and twists, presses back eagerly. Chris tries to hold him still, clenches his hands on narrow hips and thrusts against the body below, but Zach is still moving.
Chris pulls back, fumbles for the cuffs hanging from their headboard. He ignores Zach’s questioning gaze, doesn’t say a word and fastens the padded leather around Zach’s wrists. His lover grins in anticipation when Chris moves towards the ankle restraints and moans when he cuffs them, too. Chris pauses and surveys Zach, spread across their bed, arms bound tight above his head and legs stretched wide. He remembers himself, on his back, another man moving above him. Chris snarls, spits into his hand and covers his dick roughly before pounces on Zach.
Zach’s yells when Chris rams into him, shoves in deep and sets a punishing pace. He didn’t bother to use lube, Zach’s hole might still hold some slickness from yesterday, but it’s barely enough. Chris fucks him hard, hard and fast, trying to ignore his memories or a different, more gentle love-making, images of two sweaty golden bodies moving against each other. Zach arches his back and wails when Chris hits his prostate, Chris clenches his hands over Zach’s hips, pulls him back to meet every thrust. Soon, Zach’s channel is slick with precome and probably blood, too; Chris’ dick moves more easily and he ups the pace. Zach is gasping with every thrust now, broken little moans escaping his mouth, Chris fucks in even deeper and leaves hand-shaped bruises on Zach’s pale flesh.
Chris feels his climax approaching, takes a hand from Zach’s hip and shoves a finger into his hole alongside his dick. Zach screams and comes, channel clenching tightly around Chris dick before his body goes limp. Chris fucks him through it, jerks Zach’s unresisting form across the bed, and then he comes and sinks his teeth into Zach’s shoulder so he won’t scream the wrong name.
Zach doesn’t move when Chris undoes the restraints. He doesn’t move when Chris wipes semen, spit and blood from his crack or when he cleans the bite on his shoulder. He doesn’t resist when Chris rolls him onto his back and settles back into the bed. Zach is unconscious, and Chris lies next to him and broods.
Later, when Zach comes to, he moves closer to him with a wince. He settles back on Chris’ chest and yawns. “Wow. That was intense.”
Chris doesn’t answer and wraps an arm around Zach when he nudges him. Zach sighs happily and rubs his cheek over Chris’ nipple. “Not that I’m complaining! I came so hard I passed out for fuck’s sake. Damn, Chris, what brought that on?”
Chris presses a kiss to Zach’s forehead and shakes his head briefly. “Nothing. You.”
“Hmm. I love you.” Zach smiles contently and closes his eyes. He yawns and snuggles against Chris. Soon, he’s asleep, breathing steadily. And Chris thinks about Karl.
Chapter 4b is here.
FANMIX byangelrox040 is here.
Chapter 4a - How they met Karl: The Fugitive or I am become Death
(title from Heroes season 3 episode 4 J.R. Oppenheimer after a quote from the Hindu text “Gita”)
Then
A lone figure stands at the window. The warehouse is empty, deserted and dark, covered in dirt and debris. Rats are scuttling around, searching for food, but the man ignores the small sounds they make. He draws his black jacket tighter around himself, trying to stay warm in the icy winds blowing through the broken glass of the windows. His free hand clutches something, holds it close to a face shadowed by the hood of a jacket. Whatever he’s holding is small and glitters golden in the light of the setting sun. A locket.
The man stares down at the locket, stares at the two pictures inside. One of them shows a woman’s face, pretty and smiling, her youth and beauty forever captured and preserved inside the photograph. The other shows two children, both boys, laughing with their arms around each other. A family, a memory, a remembrance of old, long lost days. The man stares down at the pictures, brings them closer to his face, a face that would be handsome if it were not twisted in grief. The man weeps.
Something outside draws the man’s attention. He closes the locket, hides it back inside his shirt and reaches for the binoculars on the windowsill.
The window faces a narrow backstreet, the back entrance of a club. This particular club is well-known within police circles, infamous for its clientele. A hotspot for drug dealers, hitman, bank robbers, the mafia - a meeting place for all those who want to hide from Lady Justice. Run by a man who has murdered dozens, has maimed and mutilated, has tortured and killed anyone who dared to oppose him.
Vinnie de Luca.
A man who killed a cop’s family 6 months ago, broke into their house and murdered them in cold blood. Killed them because that cop did not want to let himself be bought, did not stop investigating, would not want to be intimidated like every single one of his colleagues. One cop who wasn’t scared by de Luca, ignored the bribes and threats and lost his family for it. Lost them because of the man currently exiting the club’s back door, the man shaking hands with the manager, slapping some hooker’s ass and exchanging greetings with his body guards.
The man by the window drops the binoculars and takes up a gun. It’s some type of assault rifle, it looks big and evil, sleekly elegant and deadly. It looks like its purpose. The man peers through the rifle scope, watches Vinnie and his friends, his hitmen, his colleagues, his family’s murderers. One hand clenches briefly in the shirt above the locket.
Then Karl Urban, former cop, widower and soon-to-be mass murderer, starts firing.
Now
Chris scrambles for the phone, trying to clear his sleep-heavy head. Next to him Zach moves and scrunches his nose, but doesn’t wake up. Chris tucks the blanket around him and flips the phone open. He tries to keep his voice down, annoyed at being woken and not wanting to disturb his lover.
“What?”
“It’s Bruce.”
“What the fuck do you want at 6 in the morning?”
“I got a job for you.”
“Jesus. And you couldn’t wait for like 4 more hours?”
“I need an answer now, Chris.”
“Fuck. Okay. What is it?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Just tell me, Bruce.”
“You need to make someone disappear.”
“Fine. So?”
“The client is Vinnie de Luca.”
“Fuck no. You know I don’t do jobs for de Luca, no fucking way.”
“The target is Karl Urban.”
Chris is silent. He hears Bruce calling his name through the phone, he hears Zach’s soft breathing. Chris closes his eyes briefly. He hasn’t heard that name in a very long time.
“Chris? You still there? Will you take the job?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m here.” Chris has to clear his throat. Karl. Fuck. He glances quickly at Zach, who’s still sound asleep, good, and lowers his voice some more.
“I’ll take it, Bruce. Send me the details later, okay? Just… tell Vinnie I’ll do it.”
He hangs up without another word and worries his lower lip between his teeth. Zach is moving now, inching closer towards Chris in his sleep, searching for his body’s warmth. Chris quickly settles next to him and tugs him close. Zach snuggles into his chest and mumbles sleepily before he starts breathing deeply again. Chris lies on his back, one arm under his head, the other wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.
Karl Urban. Fuck. Chris remembers him well.
Then
Chris curses himself, curses his clumsiness, his inattention, his inexperience, everything that lead to this. And he curses Timmy Mahoney, that stupid prick, who’s probably right now sitting somewhere nice and warm and laughing his ass off. Fucker. Chris’ first job as a bounty hunter, and not only did he manage to let his target escape, but he also got caught by the cops. Fuck. Bruce is going to kill him.
He lets his head thump against the top of the police car and rolls his eyes in frustration. The handcuffs are digging uncomfortably into his wrists and his arms hurt in their twisted position behind his back. Worst day ever.
He eyes the two cops. The older one, the fat one, is speaking into his radio, checking Chris’ record. He winces and hopes Bruce is as good as he said at wiping Chris’ slate clean, or else Chris will spend a nice long time in jail. The other cop is watching him curiously. Chris blushes and looks away.
Earlier the younger cop searched him for weapons. Chris was still wheezing from being tackled against the wall, didn’t even notice the handcuffs until it was too late. He was shoved over the hood of the car, dizzy, and the cop searched him. His body had been close to Chris, uncomfortably close, warm and hard, his big hands roamed Chris back, his sides, dipped into his pocket. They were firm and sure, handled him without hesitation, and Chris felt warmth spread from the places they touched. He’d blushed and wriggled a bit when they touched his ass and between his legs. Fuck.
Chris turns his head towards the younger cop again. He’s still watching him. Chris jerks his face away and feels his cheeks grow even hotter. The cop has amazing hazel eyes, and their intense gaze is making him uncomfortable. Chris worries his lip between his teeth and doesn’t notice the cop walked closer until the guy starts talking.
“Chris, right?”
“Huh?”
“Your name.”
“Um. Yes.”
“Well, Chris, I’m Officer Urban.”
Chris grunts in reply. Officer Urban has very pretty lips. And a very nice smile. Woah. Don’t think about that. Think about Bruce’s angry face, think about that fucker Mahoney.
“Tell me, Chris, what brings a nice young boy like you to this part of the city?”
What? Urban is eyeing him with a friendly smile, Chris looks at him in confusion. Then it hits him. He doesn’t look like a bounty hunter (at least not what Chris imagines one would look like, with leather maybe and a sombrero), he looks… harmless. Jeans, soft with age, a white undershirt and a plaid shirt over that. Add to that Chris’ fake glasses and he looks normal, like a student maybe. Certainly not like a would-be bounty hunter. Apparently his carefully chosen costume works, at least on that cop. It certainly didn’t fool Mahoney, that prick. Chris thinks as fast as he can. Maybe, just maybe…
“Um. I. I just… there is this club, and I…”
Urban laughs. It’s a good laugh, friendly and full of humor, warm and deep. A nice laugh. Chris fakes a tentative smile. “I just… wanted to maybe, you know, check it out?”
“Oh, I see, I see. You saw an ad for lap dances and wanted to have a look at the girls, right?”
Chris chuckles bashfully, proud of his own acting skills. “Yeah, something like that. Stupid idea, I know. … Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, Chris! Stupid idea, yeah, but it’s not like you actually did anything wrong.” Urban smiles at him and walks closer. He unlocks the handcuffs and Chris straightens. He shuffles on his feet and looks at the cop through his lashes. Oh yeah, this will work.
“Does that mean I can, like, go?”
“Yeah, you can. He’s clear, right, Caruso?” he looks over to his partner briefly and smiles when the other cop nods. “No harm, no foul, right? You can go, Chris.”
Chris likes the way Urban says his name. His accent - Chris can’t place it, maybe Australian? - makes it sound warm, exotic. He scrambles to catch his license when Caruso throws it at him. Urban is still smiling. Chris mumbles a fake-embarrassed “Thanks” and pockets his wallet. This is going perfectly.
“Just don’t let me catch you in these parts again, okay Chris? I’d really hate to meet you again under… similar circumstances.”
Chris chuckles a bit and tries to suppress a shiver when Urban rests a big hand on his shoulder. It’s heavy and warm and the touch seems to send sparks through his entire body. He thanks the cop again, murmurs a goodbye and gets another sunny smile in return.
Then he walks off, determined to find Mahoney. He does, in the end, he finds him, brings him back to his client, collects his first bounty and accepts Bruce’s praise. His future looks bright. And still the cop’s face is ghosting through his mind.
He sees Officer Urban again, soon after. The circumstances are very different, and in a way not at all, and Karl smiles at him when they meet.
Now
Zach stirring shakes Chris from his memories. He watches his lover stretch and yawn and manages a smile when Zach blinks at him. His lover smiles back, soft and lazy. Chris runs a hand through Zach’s sleep-mussed hair. For a moment he sees hazel eyes, before the memory floats away and he gazes into his lover’s dark ones.
“Was tha’ on the phone?” Zach still sounds sleepy, and Chris grins when he yawns and scrunches his nose.
“Just Bruce, about a job.”
“Y’take it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Haven’t had a job for a while now, y’ve been all cranky an’ annoyed. Will be good for you.”
Zach’s nosing his chest now, stretching lazily. Chris intercepts a curios hand trailing towards his dick and rolls Zach onto his back. He stretches above him and Zach settles with a pleased sigh. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Chris rolls his hips against Zach’s morning wood. His lover moans and shifts underneath him. Chris remembers another, different morning, languorous smiles and laughter. He bends down and kisses Zach. It’s lazy, at first, slow and soft, but it soon becomes heated. They kiss, deeply, tongues dueling for dominance, Zach wraps long arms and legs around Chris and presses close. He thinks about strong hands, muscled arms and a firm back and shudders.
Chris pulls back, Zach tries to follow him, mouth moving wetly, but Chris shoves him back down. He nudges him over to his front, Zach complies with a breathy chuckle. Chris’ eyes roam his lover’s pale back and remembers a broader, more muscular one, tanned, with a lot of freckles. Zach rubs his ass against Chris’ erection and moans. He bites at Zach’s neck, feels his lover shiver beneath him. He feels ghost hands travel along his own hips, remembers blunt fingers against his hole. Chris shakes his head angrily and closes his teeth over soft skin. Zach doesn’t notice, shudders and twists, presses back eagerly. Chris tries to hold him still, clenches his hands on narrow hips and thrusts against the body below, but Zach is still moving.
Chris pulls back, fumbles for the cuffs hanging from their headboard. He ignores Zach’s questioning gaze, doesn’t say a word and fastens the padded leather around Zach’s wrists. His lover grins in anticipation when Chris moves towards the ankle restraints and moans when he cuffs them, too. Chris pauses and surveys Zach, spread across their bed, arms bound tight above his head and legs stretched wide. He remembers himself, on his back, another man moving above him. Chris snarls, spits into his hand and covers his dick roughly before pounces on Zach.
Zach’s yells when Chris rams into him, shoves in deep and sets a punishing pace. He didn’t bother to use lube, Zach’s hole might still hold some slickness from yesterday, but it’s barely enough. Chris fucks him hard, hard and fast, trying to ignore his memories or a different, more gentle love-making, images of two sweaty golden bodies moving against each other. Zach arches his back and wails when Chris hits his prostate, Chris clenches his hands over Zach’s hips, pulls him back to meet every thrust. Soon, Zach’s channel is slick with precome and probably blood, too; Chris’ dick moves more easily and he ups the pace. Zach is gasping with every thrust now, broken little moans escaping his mouth, Chris fucks in even deeper and leaves hand-shaped bruises on Zach’s pale flesh.
Chris feels his climax approaching, takes a hand from Zach’s hip and shoves a finger into his hole alongside his dick. Zach screams and comes, channel clenching tightly around Chris dick before his body goes limp. Chris fucks him through it, jerks Zach’s unresisting form across the bed, and then he comes and sinks his teeth into Zach’s shoulder so he won’t scream the wrong name.
Zach doesn’t move when Chris undoes the restraints. He doesn’t move when Chris wipes semen, spit and blood from his crack or when he cleans the bite on his shoulder. He doesn’t resist when Chris rolls him onto his back and settles back into the bed. Zach is unconscious, and Chris lies next to him and broods.
Later, when Zach comes to, he moves closer to him with a wince. He settles back on Chris’ chest and yawns. “Wow. That was intense.”
Chris doesn’t answer and wraps an arm around Zach when he nudges him. Zach sighs happily and rubs his cheek over Chris’ nipple. “Not that I’m complaining! I came so hard I passed out for fuck’s sake. Damn, Chris, what brought that on?”
Chris presses a kiss to Zach’s forehead and shakes his head briefly. “Nothing. You.”
“Hmm. I love you.” Zach smiles contently and closes his eyes. He yawns and snuggles against Chris. Soon, he’s asleep, breathing steadily. And Chris thinks about Karl.
Chapter 4b is here.