Inhabiting (Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto)
Inhabiting
by Charli J
Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto. 6,500 words.
In which Chris isn't completely unaware of the implications.
Thanks to stereomer and insunshine for staying up late.
;;
Chris would say he and Zach have been friends and co-workers for a good year now. Upwards of a year. They've been varying degrees of close for several months, and it's not until very late into things that Chris really discovers that the guy owns way less scarves than Chris thought someone like Zach would own. He doesn't mean to imply that he's thought that Zach was a hipster this whole time, but it's more than slightly shocking, his puny collection of scarves.
"I do not -- I have never even worn glasses with the lenses pushed out," Zach says. "That offends me. I actually need them for when I read."
"And that's valid," Chris says, although it sounds like Zach is making his own assumptions about what qualifies as a Silver Lake hipster, but Chris isn't going to say anything. He doesn't want to get too far away from the point of this conversation. "I need a scarf though. My neck is cold."
"You have a closet. It's at your own house," Zach says. "Have you checked there?"
"No reds," Chris says. "Remind me to go to JC Penny or something."
"Why?" Half of Zach's mouth quirks up in an awkward slant, confused and disgusted.
Chris picks out a striped scarf that doesn't really do the trick, but he cares less and less with each second. He says, "Fine, then take me to American Apparel."
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Zach says, but Chris still feels vindicated.
;;
They've gotten really good at it. Zach does his part by having about a hundred pet peeves, and Chris pretends to be the guy who inhabits all of them. They build each other up and then cut one another down just as quickly, but it works out that it's all for shits and giggles. As much as Zach likes to pretend that being Chris's friend is a hard job sometimes, Zach is also the same guy who will come over and eat all of his avocados without asking nowadays. He takes advantage of the fact that Chris usually forgets to lock his patio door.
Chris says, "Are you at least making guacamole? I have tortilla chips, dude. And I like dip. Make something the household can share."
"Mm. Nachos would be good for dinner," Zach says, looking down at the avocados in his hand.
From the looks of it, Chris is willing to bet that several other food items from his own fridge will play a big role in this dinner. As long as Zach makes it in his kitchen and shares, though, Chris doesn't exactly mind.
"We could really both win here." He gestures to the fridge again. "There are grape tomatoes in there too."
"Your house is like a treasure chest of delicious," Zach says, opening the refrigerator door to search through the shelves and drawers more.
Chris leans against the counter, watching Zach move. He grabs a bag of chips, reaching behind himself, and munches freely. He says, "Does this mean I'll finally get invited to one of your backyard dinners?"
"You've eaten with me. My brother made crepes, remember?"
"Yeah, but I haven't been invited back since," Chris says. "You've got me feeling like I had bad manners or something."
Zach winces, glancing back to Chris as he says, "You do put your elbows on the table when you eat. I hadn't planned on bringing it up."
"Is that all?" Chris says, tossing his head back. Zach turns back and around and bends over to open a drawer, rudely giving Chris an eyeful of ass in the middle of their conversation. "So hard to please, you Quintos."
"We have standards."
"I make an intimidating soufflé," Chris says, wiping crumbs on the front of his t-shirt. The bag crackles as he rolls it closed and sets it aside again.
Surfacing from the fridge with green pepper, cheese, and tomatoes this time, Zach says, "Now, see? I like a man that's useful. You should open with that, when you meet people."
"I'll write that down immediately," Chris says, sucking on his teeth. He's got bits of chip stuck in them.
;;
A phone interviewer asks him a handful of questions about Star Trek, and then his upcoming projects. Chris talks quickly about the play and some other casting opportunities. He ties off the conversation neatly, saying, "And, of course -- they've already announced the sequel for this movie. I'm looking forward to working with the cast again, with Zach," like it isn't already likely that he'll see Zach every other day from now until shooting starts again.
To Zach, he broaches the subject in a different way. Chris says, "I was thinking about it earlier: it's a good thing we're close. Otherwise, living in the same neighborhood would've been hard."
"A travesty," Zach says, holding his hand over his mouth to cough. Chris raises his eyebrows, but he doesn't hear a word buried in there. It seems genuine. Extending his hand, he pats Zach on the back.
"Am I still driving you to the airport?" Chris asks.
"Yes," Zach says, mildly panicked. "Did you forget? I've mentioned it to you every other day for the past week."
"No, I remember. I remember." Chris pulls out his phone to look at the to-do list for the weekend.
;;
Chris may not know Zach's calendar like the back of his hand, but they do at least exchange text messages with some frequency, despite Zach still working hard down in Mexico. Supposedly. One day, Chris wakes up to one on his cell that reads: Check out Dexter Douglas, nerd computer ace...
Chris brushes his teeth and reads the text message three times. When he gets a real moment, after his shower, he types in how much do international texts cost? and sends it.
It isn't too long before Zach replies: This was a sing-along, and you missed the point. Freakazoid theme?
Oh. Chris had thought Zach was making a reference to somebody Chris forgot he knows. Random lyrics to cartoon theme songs must mean he's bored today though. Chris gets on the internet to look up the lyrics and is kind of surprised to learn that Steven Spielberg was involved in that cartoon, until he looks up clips on Youtube and becomes really surprised. Instead of saying any of that to Zach, however, he just sends along the next couple lines in the song.
Zach sends back a smiley face, except he's too bourgeois for a simple colon and half parenthetical. He's that guy who uses the equal sign for the eyes for absolutely no reason.
When Zach calls him later, Chris says, "You're a douchebag."
"Why? I didn't do anything," Zach says. Chris can imagine him sitting cross-legged on a chair, brow furrowed. "Have you walked my dog?"
"Wait, I have to do that every day?"
"Don't exploit my paranoia," Zach says. "I'm trusting you. It would be incumbent upon you to make sure that everything is taken care --"
Chris talks over Zach a little to say, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Everything's perfect. You use that phrase a lot, by the way. 'Incumbent upon.'"
"No, I don't," Zach says, and he lets out this disbelieving huff. "Do I?"
"You do." Chris nods at his hand. He's sure. "When do you come back again?"
He doesn't want to seem like he's rushing Zach or anything. He doesn't mind taking care of his dog and cat. It's just that with the final rehearsals for Farragut North, Chris keeps forgetting other dates and times. Zach fills him in again, and Chris hums into the receiver.
He says, "Do you need me to pick you up?"
"No, I'm fine," Zach says. "But thanks."
;;
As it turns out, since Chris isn't the one to pick Zach up, he's just standing around at home when Zach gets back. Zach comes over to get his dog, and he says, "Do you know if somebody came into my house and doused it in bleach while I was gone?"
Chris bites on the corner of his lip, cracking the bones in one hand. He says, "Mmm, so. I was trying to make this pasta sauce in your place. I made kind of a mess. It shouldn't still smell like that."
"Did you use a whole gallon?"
"I didn't want there to be stains," Chris says. He opens his arms wide and angles toward Noah. "Hey, awesome, your dog is alive and healthy. Check it out. And your cat is around here too."
It's a pretty handy distraction. Zach kneels to pet his dog, making some affectionate noises and scratching at his coat, but he doesn't stay down there for too long. When he stands up, he tucks his hands in his pockets.
"I have a date tonight," he says.
Chris rears his head back, surprised. He picks up the ball Noah chews on. There's been a lot of dog slobber on it, really, and Chris would be more grossed out, but it's dry for the moment. He tosses it and watches the dog scurry across the room to fetch it and shake it in his mouth.
Wiping his palms on his pants for good measure, Chris says, "Already? You work fast."
"Ehh," Zach says, lifting a shoulder and dropping it. "It's something casual. I don't know. He's an acquaintance, and I said we could grab a bite when I got back into town."
"Nice," Chris says.
He first found out Zach was gay during a conversation about people who were too stubborn to try something new. It had started out because Zach mentioned that his grandma had been taking the exact same route during her afternoon walk for twelve years, and then veered off. Zoe mentioned that it was worse in relationships, and Zach said, "Like the last guy I dated -- not a swallower. Even after being together for several months; just wouldn't try it," and Chris pumped his fist in the air and said, "Spitters are quitters!" mostly because he'd had a shameful amount of peach schnapps and vodka, and, also, it was the truth.
Zach had high-fived him, saying, "Exactly," and then eyed Chris for a long moment before chuckling. "You're completely wasted."
"Later," Chris had said, "I'd appreciate it if you pretended I was drinking bourbon or something else impressive," and tried not to wonder if Zach admonishing his ex also indicated certain habits of Zach's own.
It's something that comes up in passing now, but Zach never really talks about his personal relationships at great length. He says, "I guess. I was about to ask if I could leave Noah and Harold here for a little longer. Unless you have somewhere to go."
"That's fine," Chris says.
And it is. He hasn't been doing much but drinking beer and watching marathons of random television programs. Days off -- real days off -- are sort of strange, but he doesn't get much time to enjoy being bored lately, so he doesn't want to complain about it. Zach also leaves his leftovers with Chris when he comes to really grab his dog after his date, and that doesn't suck either. He loves Italian.
;;
Zach comes with him to the dress rehearsal for Farragut, because they have dinner plans of their own afterward. Chris isn't one hundred percent sure it's cool, except Zach can look intimidating when he needs, so nobody bothers saying anything. He has an expression in his Rolodex that makes people think he's judging them silently, that they aren't even worth two quarters and pog, but Chris has been around Zach long enough now that he knows that that's also the same face Zach gets when he's trying to figure out if he's worn his hoodie too many days in a row without looking like someone who's unsure about that kind of thing.
It's a useful deterrent when it's necessary, but after Chris finishes up his day, he moves to sit in the chair next to Zach and leans in to sniff his shoulder. He asks, "How many days has it been?"
"Like a week," Zach says. "That's borderline repulsive, isn't it?"
"It doesn't smell bad," Chris says.
Zach tilts his head from one side to the other, still contemplating all of the facts. He purses his lips. "I think my other favorite one is already in the hamper at home."
"Screw it," Chris says, throwing in a dismissive wave for good measure. He tugs on the string for the hood once, playfully, and then pats Zach's back. "You look great. You smell like a million bucks."
Zach narrows his eyes. "That's odd. I haven't slept on my pile of money this week."
Chris laughs, tugging at Zach's elbow. It's important to get out of dodge before someone has something else they want to have a fifteen-minute discussion about. He really likes his co-stars for this play, but his mind is hard set on dinner at the moment.
They eat at a restaurant in Pasadena for the hell of it, and because Chris knows it's one of Zach's favorites. Waiters bring out a small cake halfway through the meal, and Chris claps along with their happy birthday song. Zach's mouth is half-opened the whole time like he's waiting for the punch line, but when they finish he blows out the candle and smiles from ear to ear.
"My birthday was over a week ago," he says, pulling the candle out of the center and setting it on a napkin.
Chris says, "I wasn't in Mexico," and shrugs. "The meal's on me, by the way, if you hadn't guessed."
"That's sweet," Zach says.
Lifting his shoulders, Chris says, "I know. It's why my grandmother loves me." Zach doesn't laugh exactly, but his mouth does this interesting sort of ripple that Chris is going to take as a compliment.
"So, I'm your wild night out," Zach says, swiping his finger along the side of the cake and licking his finger. "No raging parties."
"Does anyone still call them raging parties?" Chris asks seriously. He uses his fork to grab a piece of the cake and tastes. It's sweeter than he anticipated. He wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Even you know that."
"Obviously, I want to know if you're going to a rager, not whatever kind of get-togethers people are into these days," Zach says, like that makes complete sense. Chris laughs and drinks his water.
He says, "It's just porn and Nick at Nite reruns for me."
It's a joke, but it's also the kind of thing he's actually done before too. Contrary to how lonely it may seem, Chris will stand by his belief that it's a fine cap to any evening, good or bad.
"Romantic," Zach says.
"I like to treat myself right."
Zach snorts. "I'm going to have to come over to at least keep you company, aren't I?"
He does just that too, but they end up watching True Lies on TBS and no porn at all, unless you count Jamie Curtis doing a strip tease in her black underwear. As beautiful as she is, it isn't quite the same, and he turns his head to make a joke to Zach about how fucking PG-13 they've turned out, only to find that Zach's folded his arms and used them to pillow his head, knocked out cold.
;;
One thing the whole exchange does remind Chris to do, though, is to actually buy new porn. He hasn't in a while, and although he could probably order shit online, Chris still likes walking into adult shops and browsing the wall. He's not above reading titles out loud and considering them thoughtfully like he's contemplating the blurb for Night at the Museum instead of Slave Boys from Beyond Infinity.
It's probably lucky that he hasn't ever watched porn with Zach, mostly because he doesn't know how much Zach is into big breasts or girls that are unshaven. The things you don't ask in polite conversation, Chris thinks, amused at himself.
He's watched the spectrum of it: girls with girls, straight couples, guy on their knees for other guys. Since he was young, Chris has always thought that cultivating eclectic tastes was an important character trait, but he has no clue about where Zach's lines lie. His offer to come over even with the promise of porn and syndicated TV might have just been him assuming Chris was speaking in jest, and he doesn't appreciate that the porn capital of the world is just a good half-hour drive from their neighborhood at all.
No, Zach probably watches it.
Chris pulls out his cell phone and holds down a number. When Zach answers, Chris says, "Hey, you never told me how your date went the other night."
"Oh. Oh, with Greg?" Zach exhales. It's nothing over-dramatic, but Chris can picture him thinking back and weighing the pros and cons. "Not bad. We're going out again."
"Hey, hey." Chris sets down the DVD he's holding and picks up some novelty mints on a shelf nearby. They're shaped like penises. He shakes the container and sets them down too. "That's a good sign."
"Maybe," Zach says. "I feel like I'm caught in that awkward stasis. The interim period." He makes a humming noise and clears his throat. "What made you think of that?"
"I don't know," Chris says. "I'm kind of out and wandering, and it dawned on me that I didn't actually ask when you picked up Noah. Anyway, I'm in this adult shop right now. What do you think: fisting or double penetration?"
"You're buying gay porno?"
"Don't think less of me for it, but the one time I ever actually watched a guy get fisted, I almost passed out," Chris says, moving his fingers over that video and picking up the one that promises it's the lead's first time taking two at once. "You're probably in it for the plot though."
Zach huffs, just one, quick puff of air. "You've got me. I need to believe the motivation behind one person telling another, 'On your knees and suck it. Ahh, good boy.'"
"What kind of horrible domination is that?" Chris laughs and moves to yet another DVD. "Hey, here's some fantasy porn for you. Rapunzel, but instead of a princess, there's this twink."
"It's like it's waiting for me," Zach says, flat.
Chris smiles to himself, saying, "Hey, hey, don't worry. I'm gonna buy it for you. I've got your best interests in mind."
;;
Morning runs usually happen at seven. Needless to say, Chris is both startled and incoherent when Zach shows up at five-thirty a couple days later. He doesn't kick him in the stomach, but it's not for lack of trying. Zach swats at his ankle, and says, "No, come on. Get up," continuing a conversation he started on his own, because Chris had been too busy having a heart attack.
"How'd you get into my house?"
"Patio. You know," Zach says, still hovering over Chris, wide-awake as if it isn't the crack of dawn.
Chris says, "The sun is barely up."
"Early bird catches the worm," Zach says, patting Chris's hip through his blankets. Chris groans.
"I hate worms," he says, but he lets himself roll sideways and topple out of bed anyway.
A stubbed toe, several curse words, a truncated morning routine, and half a mile later, Chris finally finds out that he's awake before God intended on a day off, because Zach is the worst post-fuck ever. Chris makes him repeat himself and still feels sort of baffled.
"You left the guy in your shower?"
"I told him I was going for a run," Zach says.
"But you left him in the shower," Chris reiterates. "And you're just hoping this guy'll, what, be gone when you get back?"
Zach shrugs. The movement looks crazy when he's running, and Chris sort of wrinkles his nose as Zach says, "He has work or something, some obligation. Greg can see his way out. It's not a huge tragedy."
"You chickened out of the morning after," Chris says plainly.
"I'm not great at the whole routine: kissing, touching, and cooing at someone I had a decent but not amazing time with," Zach says. He rolls his eyes. "It feels fake."
"Harsh," Chris says, and for some reason, Paula Abdul pops into his head. "You're a cold-hearted snake..."
Laughing despite himself, Zach says, "You're going to give me shit about this all day."
"Shouldn't have woken me up," Chris says, stretching his arms, and then picking his legs up a little more. Today is a great day for running.
;;
While Chris doesn't have as big an issue with ducking out on his overnight fun, he does have the more classic problem of not knowing how to call someone back in a timely fashion. Audrina's a fun girl, and she's got a great sense of humor, and Chris doesn't really know why he keeps forgetting to hit 'send' when he sees her number in his contacts.
He spends his lunch hour at rehearsal using his mobile browser to try to figure out the best bouquet of flowers, but they kind of feel equally overdone to him. He doesn't want to seem like he's sucking up immediately.
He calls Zach and says, "Hey, so, which flowers would say, 'I like you, and I'm sorry I haven't called,' without implying that I'm going to call anytime soon?"
"You could just say that," Zach says.
"No flowers at all then, is what you're telling me." He's probably right, Chris knows, but it's throwing a major wrench in his plans. "What about a very regretful coffee drink? Can you get that across in a latte?"
He smiles on his end as Zach chuckles at him, saying, "You're worse than I am."
"I don't think so. About the same, possibly."
Zach asks, "Are you still working?"
"Yeah, but I have a break," Chris says, sitting back and putting his feet on the bench. "You?"
"I'm at home. In my bedroom, actually, if you're looking for a more specific description," Zach says. "If you're trying to picture it."
"Ohh, yeah, what are you wearing?" Chris asks, pitching his voice a little lower. He can't really hold it there though, staring out at a couple of his castmates across the way as he presses his lips together and smirks.
Zach says, "Khakis and a t-shirt. A trucker hat. I just got back from walking with Noah. I got another sound bath. It's hot outside today, for a change; I'm kind of sweaty."
Chris snorts, unable to hold back his mirth. "Sexy."
"And to top it off, I was thinking about going to yoga before I showered," Zach says, starting to let the words slide together like he's really saying some worthwhile.
"Weh-hell," Chris says. "Now we're really spicing things up." He imagines Zach in his yoga pants he likes to wear, positioned like a pretzel on his mat. He's tried to get Chris into it, but Chris doesn't have the patience. "What are you doing after?"
Zach says, "Nothing yet. You want to do something for dinner?"
"Yeah, sure." Chris clears his throat and checks his watch. He'll have to get back to work soon. "You pick the place and text it to me. I'll meet you there when I'm done here at, like, seven."
;;
His sister likes to call and say, "How're you and your gay boyfriend?"
"Kat, I told you," Chris says in return. "Just because we're dating, doesn't mean we're gay."
"Chris, I've said it a thousand times," she throws back, as quick as ever. "The penis doesn't even have to make it in for it to be pretty gay."
"Don't. Don't say penis." He waves his hand for emphasis even though she can't see him.
She laughs as he's unlocking his car and gets behind the wheel. Sobering, Katherine asks after Zach seriously, and Chris tells her that he's fine. He's addicted to chocolate truffles at a place around the corner lately and keeps talking about how he wants to see Wynton Marsalis play with the Lincoln Center Orchestra in October. He also wants to go on a hot air balloon ride before the summer ends, if he gets some time, so Chris has been looking into that a little bit. There's a place in Palmdale that looks worthwhile.
Chris isn't unaware of the speculation. They've had to sit through enough questions about a 'bromance' in the past few months that he knows all about the in-joking and tongue-in-cheek rumors. Chris doesn't really mind one way or the other, but if he is in a relationship, he's never been with anybody who puts out so little.
He and Zach do spend plenty of time together, however. They go to EdgeFest mid-July, because Zach really liked a couple of the plays put on the year before.
"I didn't even know this was here," Chris says.
Zach says, "You have to subscribe to a lot of random Los Angeles newsletters to perfect this kind of local awareness."
"I see." Chris nods. "Noted."
They have a nice time. One of the performances lays on the anarchist propaganda thicker than Chris is expecting, and then also features a character with an accent that reminds him of the days he spent as a Tremor brother. Chris has never been that grungy before or since, which was a lot of the appeal of playing someone like Darwin. He wonders how Kevin Durand is doing lately. They haven't seen each other in a while.
They get drinks as soon as the entertainment wraps, because there's really only one way to deal with anarchy. Zach has less than Chris so that he can play designated driver, and Chris appreciates it until he's more drunk than he meant to be. Walking home feels like a chore, and he sits outside in Zach's car for a good five minutes before Zach comes back out and opens the passenger door.
"I'm assuming you're just going to crash-land here then?"
"Wait," Chris says, picturing himself melting out of the passenger seat with Zach's help. That's probably not how it really looks. "This isn't my bedroom?"
"Whoops-a-daisy." Zach drapes one of Chris's arm over his shoulder. Chris can walk on own his for the most part, but he's sleepy. He gets caught up in listening to Zach hum on the way from the car to his room, a smooth stream of sound until he curses, forgetting, and starts over.
"Moonlight Sonata," Chris says around the same time that he's flopping back onto a mattress.
Zach claps his hands together, which is cruel and unfair to Chris's sensibilities, and he says, "Ladies and gentleman, a true scholar."
"Faaaack." It's the best speech Chris can think of in the moment.
He has to toe off his own shoes, to top things off, but Zach pulls up the covers and turns out the light.
;;
"My hands smell like sawdust," he says as he's toasting wheat bread the next morning.
Zach throws an arm up and snaps his fingers. He says, "That's what I forgot. You also molested that two-by-four at the bar."
"I told myself I'd stop doing that," Chris says, frowning and shaking out his fingers. Seriously. He washed his hands with Zach's eucalyptus whatever the fuck. What's the problem?
"I wasn't jealous," Zach says. "Don't worry."
One of the pieces of toast pops up too high and falls over into the sink. Chris holds it up like it might have something to say for itself, blows on it a little and sets it on his plate. The other he lays down for Zach and spreads jam on it.
"As long as I have you," Chris says. He slides Zach's plate in front of him. "A thank you gesture."
"Yeah, yeah," Zach says, setting aside his newspaper. He always starts with the arts section first and then works around it. "As long as you don't start making out with particle board next."
Chris swallows a mouthful of waffles. "Don't worry; I'm moving on to metals."
"Oh, well," Zach says. "Now that's okay."
;;
Since Farragut opened, Zach's seen the production twice, and he's picked Chris up afterward more times than that. He's been around enough that one of the make-up girls has taken to asking after him too, and it takes Chris over a month to realize that she thinks they live together.
"But we couldn't live together," Chris says to Zach in his car, as they're leaving Geffen. "You get everything drenched in water when you shower and then leave wet underwear on the floor."
"That happened one time, and we found out I had a leak in my tub." Zach looks over his shoulder as he's changing lanes to read the freeway on-ramp. "Stop passing out in my bed after you have too much to drink, and you won't have to tolerate my wet underwear."
"I almost slipped," Chris says. "It was a scarring experience. I had just woken up."
"You lived," Zach says, milking the sarcasm, but then when his cell phone rings, his earpiece is in the cupholder, and he needs Chris's help to fit his ear while he's driving. Chris snickers at him, ignoring the way Zach swats at his hands once he's set-up, like he isn't grateful.
"It's Zoe," Chris says, glancing at Zach's phone just before he answers. "Tell her I said hi."
Zach does. They set off on whatever weird code they've picked up since the beginning of the month. Chris hadn't thought about it until he noticed that they only do it around him, and now he's about eighty percent sure Zach's planning something for his birthday, even though they made plans to drink in the sun and check out Sunset Junction.
He would tell Zach and Zoe that they don't have to do anything, but he's fairly positive that would ruin the part where he's not supposed to know they're in cahoots. His mother's in on it too, he's thinking, because she usually doesn't ask him about his schedule for certain weeks in quite so much detail.
It's a sweet thing to do, anyway.
;;
"What if I am a hipster?" Zach confesses, coming back to their area of the bar and shouting over the speakers. It makes no sense that the music is still this loud between acts.
Chris leans in to talk back, switching his beer to the opposite hand. "Where'd that come from? Are the big kids picking on you?"
"Casablanca is one of my favorite movies," Zach says, cupping his hand close to his mouth. "Vampire Weekend's album really was part of my top ten last year."
Looking down at the glass in Zach's hand, Chris asks, "Is this your fourth one of those?"
"Huh?" Zach asks, and Chris laughs.
He pats Zach's cheek twice, pinching it. He says, "You're cute. You can sleep in my bed for a change."
He likes being the responsible one. Zach usually goes above and beyond by letting Chris take the left side of his bed, because he promises it's more comfortable than the couch. Chris can finally one-up him by giving him pajamas. He has SpongeBob sleep bottoms that he got as a gag gift last year, but they're surprisingly soft, and it takes Zach a minute to figure out where each leg goes. He stands upright and holds his hand up, pausing once they're on correctly.
Nodding solemnly, Zach says, "Okay. This isn't an ironic choice of clothing."
"Are you kidding? Duh, it isn't," Chris asks, tugging Zach forward so he can lie down. "That cartoon is a riot."
;;
The really funny thing is that Chris gets a phone call from Katherine's husband while they're out buying Zach hangover food in the morning. He becomes an uncle on Sunday morning. They're both wearing yesterday's outfits when Chris gets to meet the baby, and Zach trips over seven sentences when Katherine asks if he wants to hold him too.
"Just say yes," Chris says eventually.
"I really didn't anticipate holding a newborn this early in the day," Zach says, but he even takes off his sunglasses to do it, in spite of how bright the florescent lights are.
The baby drools on Zach's shirt, and Chris says, "It's just like you last night."
"Can I make a trade?" Zach asks, looking up at Katherine. "I like this kid much better than the model I have."
;;
Perhaps there's some unspoken rule: once two grown men have spent time fawning over a newborn together, there's really no reason to make a big deal out any other firsts.
Zach holds on to Chris's wrist as they get into the hot air balloon, slipping his thumb back and forth over the rounded bone.
"Are you afraid of heights?"
"There's a chance," Zach says. He doesn't let go.
Chris feels like they should celebrate the occasion once they're on the ground again. He drives by the dollar store and buys a t-shirt, markers, and some iron-on letters so that he can make a commemorative t-shirt. 'I flew and didn't even piss on myself' is what Chris is thinking. Maybe an exclamation point to add flair.
"I'm a fan of green and blue," Zach says.
The leftover colors end up on a pair of cheap boxer shorts Zach gives Chris at his surprise birthday party. All of Chris's friends are there, and the boxers end up on his head at the behest of a bunch of people drinking tequila. When he walks by, people can read 'Cap'n Fine' across the ass. There's a cut-out of his face taped over the crotch, and Chris promises Zach he'll wear them every day on set and tell any new crew about how Zach is his most dedicated fan.
"Hey," Zach says. "Careful. You still want to get cake, don't you?"
"Does that have a picture of Simon in a banana hammock?"
"What." Zach's face gets stuck halfway between a smile and a sneeze or something. "I learn something else new and disturbing about you every second."
"Me?" Chris says, chuckling pathetically, because he can't think of a comeback. "You."
The cake doesn't have a picture of Simon, but Karl does make sure that Chris imprints his face on it. It's a good thing Chris was in the market for a frosting facemask today. Zach pulls him aside and hands him a towel, swiping his finger over Chris's cheek and popping it in his mouth.
"Cheesecake-flavored," Zach says.
Angling his face close, Chris points to his chin and says, "Well there's plenty more where that came from. Take as much as you want."
Zach laughs but he goes for more, using his thumb this time. "You like red velvet cake, right?"
"Love it," Chris says. He starts to wipe the frosting from his skin and pauses to hold out his fist. Zach bumps it. "Thanks."
"My pleasure." He makes use of his pinky on his third move to get frosting. "This is good stuff."
"Is it?" Chris asks. Before Zach can take the cream himself, Chris turns and grits his teeth, edging some off. It's easier when he just licks, so he gives up the ghost, and he's smacking his lips together when he raises his eyes to actually look at Zach again. "Sweeter than I thought."
"Yeah." Zach sounds a little distracted as he says it. He drops his hand, which is lucky, since that's the same moment Chris rocks forward on the balls of his feet. He doesn't imagine that he's going for anything until he's there. He doesn't think about the fact that he's kissing Zach until it dawns on him that it's something they haven't done before. All Chris tastes is sugar.
;;
Zach lets Chris touch him after Chris has spent the evening as a cake-faced, 29-year-old man with custom-decorated boxers on his head.
He's kind of a catch. He means to make a joke about having questionable taste in men, but he's taken all the crap off by the time they reach Zach's house, and then Zach finds Chris's fly, so he forgets what he'd wanted to say.
;;
Anal sex, Chris learns, is really fucking inconvenient.
He doesn't want to seem ungrateful. Zach had been kind enough to oblige him, and he had even taken care not to be too rough, but Chris's ass is kind of suffering afterward regardless, and he would really love to get a drink of juice or something, if only moving didn't feel like the oddest thing in the world.
Zach is still asleep with his face half-buried in his pillow. Chris scoots in close to make sure he isn't accidentally smothering himself to death, and then psyches himself up to leave behind the blankets in favor of food.
He's too lazy to figure out which jeans are his, so he makes pancakes naked. Zach comes in as Chris is flipping one of the last, stopping to say, "Uhhh," like he expected Chris to have on some clothes.
"Morning," Chris says. "Orange juice or milk?"
"Hi," Zach says. He sniffs, rubbing a hand over his face, and he blinks. "Orange juice."
"You got it."
Chris stacks four pancakes each and then splits the three eggs he made between them as well. He starts to regret this whole no-pants thing when he sits down and feels his skin sticking to the lacquered wood immediately.
Zach says, "Thanks," and claps his hands together before he digs into his plate.
"I hope I don't get splinters in my ass," Chris says, and Zach snorts.
He laughs harder than he needs to. He says, "It's not real wood," and proceeds to cut his pancakes into tiny squares. He chews on a bite for what seems like a full minute and then swallows. Chris has eaten most of his eggs in that time, and Zach grinds his teeth together after he drinks his juice. "I thought maybe you'd gone for a run."
Well, shit, Chris thinks. He should've put cheese in his eggs. He says, "Why?" looking up. "I don't jog with whoever. Running is a sensitive business. I've got a routine I like."
"Yeah," Zach says. He wipes his mouth and taps his fork against the edge of his plate. Chris can feel him thinking. "There's about a metric ton of red velvet cake left."
"No kidding," Chris says. That's right. They did bring that with them. Chris is pretty sure it's still in Zach's car, if it's not already a big mess of goo. "Fuck, man. Lunch."
"I know."
There isn't much else to add on to that. They eat quietly, except when Chris scoots his chair out to get more syrup and his toes bump Zach's on the slide back. "Sorry," Chris says, and Zach shrugs. It's not a big deal. Chris leaves his foot where it is.
by Charli J
Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto. 6,500 words.
In which Chris isn't completely unaware of the implications.
Thanks to stereomer and insunshine for staying up late.
;;
Chris would say he and Zach have been friends and co-workers for a good year now. Upwards of a year. They've been varying degrees of close for several months, and it's not until very late into things that Chris really discovers that the guy owns way less scarves than Chris thought someone like Zach would own. He doesn't mean to imply that he's thought that Zach was a hipster this whole time, but it's more than slightly shocking, his puny collection of scarves.
"I do not -- I have never even worn glasses with the lenses pushed out," Zach says. "That offends me. I actually need them for when I read."
"And that's valid," Chris says, although it sounds like Zach is making his own assumptions about what qualifies as a Silver Lake hipster, but Chris isn't going to say anything. He doesn't want to get too far away from the point of this conversation. "I need a scarf though. My neck is cold."
"You have a closet. It's at your own house," Zach says. "Have you checked there?"
"No reds," Chris says. "Remind me to go to JC Penny or something."
"Why?" Half of Zach's mouth quirks up in an awkward slant, confused and disgusted.
Chris picks out a striped scarf that doesn't really do the trick, but he cares less and less with each second. He says, "Fine, then take me to American Apparel."
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Zach says, but Chris still feels vindicated.
;;
They've gotten really good at it. Zach does his part by having about a hundred pet peeves, and Chris pretends to be the guy who inhabits all of them. They build each other up and then cut one another down just as quickly, but it works out that it's all for shits and giggles. As much as Zach likes to pretend that being Chris's friend is a hard job sometimes, Zach is also the same guy who will come over and eat all of his avocados without asking nowadays. He takes advantage of the fact that Chris usually forgets to lock his patio door.
Chris says, "Are you at least making guacamole? I have tortilla chips, dude. And I like dip. Make something the household can share."
"Mm. Nachos would be good for dinner," Zach says, looking down at the avocados in his hand.
From the looks of it, Chris is willing to bet that several other food items from his own fridge will play a big role in this dinner. As long as Zach makes it in his kitchen and shares, though, Chris doesn't exactly mind.
"We could really both win here." He gestures to the fridge again. "There are grape tomatoes in there too."
"Your house is like a treasure chest of delicious," Zach says, opening the refrigerator door to search through the shelves and drawers more.
Chris leans against the counter, watching Zach move. He grabs a bag of chips, reaching behind himself, and munches freely. He says, "Does this mean I'll finally get invited to one of your backyard dinners?"
"You've eaten with me. My brother made crepes, remember?"
"Yeah, but I haven't been invited back since," Chris says. "You've got me feeling like I had bad manners or something."
Zach winces, glancing back to Chris as he says, "You do put your elbows on the table when you eat. I hadn't planned on bringing it up."
"Is that all?" Chris says, tossing his head back. Zach turns back and around and bends over to open a drawer, rudely giving Chris an eyeful of ass in the middle of their conversation. "So hard to please, you Quintos."
"We have standards."
"I make an intimidating soufflé," Chris says, wiping crumbs on the front of his t-shirt. The bag crackles as he rolls it closed and sets it aside again.
Surfacing from the fridge with green pepper, cheese, and tomatoes this time, Zach says, "Now, see? I like a man that's useful. You should open with that, when you meet people."
"I'll write that down immediately," Chris says, sucking on his teeth. He's got bits of chip stuck in them.
;;
A phone interviewer asks him a handful of questions about Star Trek, and then his upcoming projects. Chris talks quickly about the play and some other casting opportunities. He ties off the conversation neatly, saying, "And, of course -- they've already announced the sequel for this movie. I'm looking forward to working with the cast again, with Zach," like it isn't already likely that he'll see Zach every other day from now until shooting starts again.
To Zach, he broaches the subject in a different way. Chris says, "I was thinking about it earlier: it's a good thing we're close. Otherwise, living in the same neighborhood would've been hard."
"A travesty," Zach says, holding his hand over his mouth to cough. Chris raises his eyebrows, but he doesn't hear a word buried in there. It seems genuine. Extending his hand, he pats Zach on the back.
"Am I still driving you to the airport?" Chris asks.
"Yes," Zach says, mildly panicked. "Did you forget? I've mentioned it to you every other day for the past week."
"No, I remember. I remember." Chris pulls out his phone to look at the to-do list for the weekend.
;;
Chris may not know Zach's calendar like the back of his hand, but they do at least exchange text messages with some frequency, despite Zach still working hard down in Mexico. Supposedly. One day, Chris wakes up to one on his cell that reads: Check out Dexter Douglas, nerd computer ace...
Chris brushes his teeth and reads the text message three times. When he gets a real moment, after his shower, he types in how much do international texts cost? and sends it.
It isn't too long before Zach replies: This was a sing-along, and you missed the point. Freakazoid theme?
Oh. Chris had thought Zach was making a reference to somebody Chris forgot he knows. Random lyrics to cartoon theme songs must mean he's bored today though. Chris gets on the internet to look up the lyrics and is kind of surprised to learn that Steven Spielberg was involved in that cartoon, until he looks up clips on Youtube and becomes really surprised. Instead of saying any of that to Zach, however, he just sends along the next couple lines in the song.
Zach sends back a smiley face, except he's too bourgeois for a simple colon and half parenthetical. He's that guy who uses the equal sign for the eyes for absolutely no reason.
When Zach calls him later, Chris says, "You're a douchebag."
"Why? I didn't do anything," Zach says. Chris can imagine him sitting cross-legged on a chair, brow furrowed. "Have you walked my dog?"
"Wait, I have to do that every day?"
"Don't exploit my paranoia," Zach says. "I'm trusting you. It would be incumbent upon you to make sure that everything is taken care --"
Chris talks over Zach a little to say, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Everything's perfect. You use that phrase a lot, by the way. 'Incumbent upon.'"
"No, I don't," Zach says, and he lets out this disbelieving huff. "Do I?"
"You do." Chris nods at his hand. He's sure. "When do you come back again?"
He doesn't want to seem like he's rushing Zach or anything. He doesn't mind taking care of his dog and cat. It's just that with the final rehearsals for Farragut North, Chris keeps forgetting other dates and times. Zach fills him in again, and Chris hums into the receiver.
He says, "Do you need me to pick you up?"
"No, I'm fine," Zach says. "But thanks."
;;
As it turns out, since Chris isn't the one to pick Zach up, he's just standing around at home when Zach gets back. Zach comes over to get his dog, and he says, "Do you know if somebody came into my house and doused it in bleach while I was gone?"
Chris bites on the corner of his lip, cracking the bones in one hand. He says, "Mmm, so. I was trying to make this pasta sauce in your place. I made kind of a mess. It shouldn't still smell like that."
"Did you use a whole gallon?"
"I didn't want there to be stains," Chris says. He opens his arms wide and angles toward Noah. "Hey, awesome, your dog is alive and healthy. Check it out. And your cat is around here too."
It's a pretty handy distraction. Zach kneels to pet his dog, making some affectionate noises and scratching at his coat, but he doesn't stay down there for too long. When he stands up, he tucks his hands in his pockets.
"I have a date tonight," he says.
Chris rears his head back, surprised. He picks up the ball Noah chews on. There's been a lot of dog slobber on it, really, and Chris would be more grossed out, but it's dry for the moment. He tosses it and watches the dog scurry across the room to fetch it and shake it in his mouth.
Wiping his palms on his pants for good measure, Chris says, "Already? You work fast."
"Ehh," Zach says, lifting a shoulder and dropping it. "It's something casual. I don't know. He's an acquaintance, and I said we could grab a bite when I got back into town."
"Nice," Chris says.
He first found out Zach was gay during a conversation about people who were too stubborn to try something new. It had started out because Zach mentioned that his grandma had been taking the exact same route during her afternoon walk for twelve years, and then veered off. Zoe mentioned that it was worse in relationships, and Zach said, "Like the last guy I dated -- not a swallower. Even after being together for several months; just wouldn't try it," and Chris pumped his fist in the air and said, "Spitters are quitters!" mostly because he'd had a shameful amount of peach schnapps and vodka, and, also, it was the truth.
Zach had high-fived him, saying, "Exactly," and then eyed Chris for a long moment before chuckling. "You're completely wasted."
"Later," Chris had said, "I'd appreciate it if you pretended I was drinking bourbon or something else impressive," and tried not to wonder if Zach admonishing his ex also indicated certain habits of Zach's own.
It's something that comes up in passing now, but Zach never really talks about his personal relationships at great length. He says, "I guess. I was about to ask if I could leave Noah and Harold here for a little longer. Unless you have somewhere to go."
"That's fine," Chris says.
And it is. He hasn't been doing much but drinking beer and watching marathons of random television programs. Days off -- real days off -- are sort of strange, but he doesn't get much time to enjoy being bored lately, so he doesn't want to complain about it. Zach also leaves his leftovers with Chris when he comes to really grab his dog after his date, and that doesn't suck either. He loves Italian.
;;
Zach comes with him to the dress rehearsal for Farragut, because they have dinner plans of their own afterward. Chris isn't one hundred percent sure it's cool, except Zach can look intimidating when he needs, so nobody bothers saying anything. He has an expression in his Rolodex that makes people think he's judging them silently, that they aren't even worth two quarters and pog, but Chris has been around Zach long enough now that he knows that that's also the same face Zach gets when he's trying to figure out if he's worn his hoodie too many days in a row without looking like someone who's unsure about that kind of thing.
It's a useful deterrent when it's necessary, but after Chris finishes up his day, he moves to sit in the chair next to Zach and leans in to sniff his shoulder. He asks, "How many days has it been?"
"Like a week," Zach says. "That's borderline repulsive, isn't it?"
"It doesn't smell bad," Chris says.
Zach tilts his head from one side to the other, still contemplating all of the facts. He purses his lips. "I think my other favorite one is already in the hamper at home."
"Screw it," Chris says, throwing in a dismissive wave for good measure. He tugs on the string for the hood once, playfully, and then pats Zach's back. "You look great. You smell like a million bucks."
Zach narrows his eyes. "That's odd. I haven't slept on my pile of money this week."
Chris laughs, tugging at Zach's elbow. It's important to get out of dodge before someone has something else they want to have a fifteen-minute discussion about. He really likes his co-stars for this play, but his mind is hard set on dinner at the moment.
They eat at a restaurant in Pasadena for the hell of it, and because Chris knows it's one of Zach's favorites. Waiters bring out a small cake halfway through the meal, and Chris claps along with their happy birthday song. Zach's mouth is half-opened the whole time like he's waiting for the punch line, but when they finish he blows out the candle and smiles from ear to ear.
"My birthday was over a week ago," he says, pulling the candle out of the center and setting it on a napkin.
Chris says, "I wasn't in Mexico," and shrugs. "The meal's on me, by the way, if you hadn't guessed."
"That's sweet," Zach says.
Lifting his shoulders, Chris says, "I know. It's why my grandmother loves me." Zach doesn't laugh exactly, but his mouth does this interesting sort of ripple that Chris is going to take as a compliment.
"So, I'm your wild night out," Zach says, swiping his finger along the side of the cake and licking his finger. "No raging parties."
"Does anyone still call them raging parties?" Chris asks seriously. He uses his fork to grab a piece of the cake and tastes. It's sweeter than he anticipated. He wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Even you know that."
"Obviously, I want to know if you're going to a rager, not whatever kind of get-togethers people are into these days," Zach says, like that makes complete sense. Chris laughs and drinks his water.
He says, "It's just porn and Nick at Nite reruns for me."
It's a joke, but it's also the kind of thing he's actually done before too. Contrary to how lonely it may seem, Chris will stand by his belief that it's a fine cap to any evening, good or bad.
"Romantic," Zach says.
"I like to treat myself right."
Zach snorts. "I'm going to have to come over to at least keep you company, aren't I?"
He does just that too, but they end up watching True Lies on TBS and no porn at all, unless you count Jamie Curtis doing a strip tease in her black underwear. As beautiful as she is, it isn't quite the same, and he turns his head to make a joke to Zach about how fucking PG-13 they've turned out, only to find that Zach's folded his arms and used them to pillow his head, knocked out cold.
;;
One thing the whole exchange does remind Chris to do, though, is to actually buy new porn. He hasn't in a while, and although he could probably order shit online, Chris still likes walking into adult shops and browsing the wall. He's not above reading titles out loud and considering them thoughtfully like he's contemplating the blurb for Night at the Museum instead of Slave Boys from Beyond Infinity.
It's probably lucky that he hasn't ever watched porn with Zach, mostly because he doesn't know how much Zach is into big breasts or girls that are unshaven. The things you don't ask in polite conversation, Chris thinks, amused at himself.
He's watched the spectrum of it: girls with girls, straight couples, guy on their knees for other guys. Since he was young, Chris has always thought that cultivating eclectic tastes was an important character trait, but he has no clue about where Zach's lines lie. His offer to come over even with the promise of porn and syndicated TV might have just been him assuming Chris was speaking in jest, and he doesn't appreciate that the porn capital of the world is just a good half-hour drive from their neighborhood at all.
No, Zach probably watches it.
Chris pulls out his cell phone and holds down a number. When Zach answers, Chris says, "Hey, you never told me how your date went the other night."
"Oh. Oh, with Greg?" Zach exhales. It's nothing over-dramatic, but Chris can picture him thinking back and weighing the pros and cons. "Not bad. We're going out again."
"Hey, hey." Chris sets down the DVD he's holding and picks up some novelty mints on a shelf nearby. They're shaped like penises. He shakes the container and sets them down too. "That's a good sign."
"Maybe," Zach says. "I feel like I'm caught in that awkward stasis. The interim period." He makes a humming noise and clears his throat. "What made you think of that?"
"I don't know," Chris says. "I'm kind of out and wandering, and it dawned on me that I didn't actually ask when you picked up Noah. Anyway, I'm in this adult shop right now. What do you think: fisting or double penetration?"
"You're buying gay porno?"
"Don't think less of me for it, but the one time I ever actually watched a guy get fisted, I almost passed out," Chris says, moving his fingers over that video and picking up the one that promises it's the lead's first time taking two at once. "You're probably in it for the plot though."
Zach huffs, just one, quick puff of air. "You've got me. I need to believe the motivation behind one person telling another, 'On your knees and suck it. Ahh, good boy.'"
"What kind of horrible domination is that?" Chris laughs and moves to yet another DVD. "Hey, here's some fantasy porn for you. Rapunzel, but instead of a princess, there's this twink."
"It's like it's waiting for me," Zach says, flat.
Chris smiles to himself, saying, "Hey, hey, don't worry. I'm gonna buy it for you. I've got your best interests in mind."
;;
Morning runs usually happen at seven. Needless to say, Chris is both startled and incoherent when Zach shows up at five-thirty a couple days later. He doesn't kick him in the stomach, but it's not for lack of trying. Zach swats at his ankle, and says, "No, come on. Get up," continuing a conversation he started on his own, because Chris had been too busy having a heart attack.
"How'd you get into my house?"
"Patio. You know," Zach says, still hovering over Chris, wide-awake as if it isn't the crack of dawn.
Chris says, "The sun is barely up."
"Early bird catches the worm," Zach says, patting Chris's hip through his blankets. Chris groans.
"I hate worms," he says, but he lets himself roll sideways and topple out of bed anyway.
A stubbed toe, several curse words, a truncated morning routine, and half a mile later, Chris finally finds out that he's awake before God intended on a day off, because Zach is the worst post-fuck ever. Chris makes him repeat himself and still feels sort of baffled.
"You left the guy in your shower?"
"I told him I was going for a run," Zach says.
"But you left him in the shower," Chris reiterates. "And you're just hoping this guy'll, what, be gone when you get back?"
Zach shrugs. The movement looks crazy when he's running, and Chris sort of wrinkles his nose as Zach says, "He has work or something, some obligation. Greg can see his way out. It's not a huge tragedy."
"You chickened out of the morning after," Chris says plainly.
"I'm not great at the whole routine: kissing, touching, and cooing at someone I had a decent but not amazing time with," Zach says. He rolls his eyes. "It feels fake."
"Harsh," Chris says, and for some reason, Paula Abdul pops into his head. "You're a cold-hearted snake..."
Laughing despite himself, Zach says, "You're going to give me shit about this all day."
"Shouldn't have woken me up," Chris says, stretching his arms, and then picking his legs up a little more. Today is a great day for running.
;;
While Chris doesn't have as big an issue with ducking out on his overnight fun, he does have the more classic problem of not knowing how to call someone back in a timely fashion. Audrina's a fun girl, and she's got a great sense of humor, and Chris doesn't really know why he keeps forgetting to hit 'send' when he sees her number in his contacts.
He spends his lunch hour at rehearsal using his mobile browser to try to figure out the best bouquet of flowers, but they kind of feel equally overdone to him. He doesn't want to seem like he's sucking up immediately.
He calls Zach and says, "Hey, so, which flowers would say, 'I like you, and I'm sorry I haven't called,' without implying that I'm going to call anytime soon?"
"You could just say that," Zach says.
"No flowers at all then, is what you're telling me." He's probably right, Chris knows, but it's throwing a major wrench in his plans. "What about a very regretful coffee drink? Can you get that across in a latte?"
He smiles on his end as Zach chuckles at him, saying, "You're worse than I am."
"I don't think so. About the same, possibly."
Zach asks, "Are you still working?"
"Yeah, but I have a break," Chris says, sitting back and putting his feet on the bench. "You?"
"I'm at home. In my bedroom, actually, if you're looking for a more specific description," Zach says. "If you're trying to picture it."
"Ohh, yeah, what are you wearing?" Chris asks, pitching his voice a little lower. He can't really hold it there though, staring out at a couple of his castmates across the way as he presses his lips together and smirks.
Zach says, "Khakis and a t-shirt. A trucker hat. I just got back from walking with Noah. I got another sound bath. It's hot outside today, for a change; I'm kind of sweaty."
Chris snorts, unable to hold back his mirth. "Sexy."
"And to top it off, I was thinking about going to yoga before I showered," Zach says, starting to let the words slide together like he's really saying some worthwhile.
"Weh-hell," Chris says. "Now we're really spicing things up." He imagines Zach in his yoga pants he likes to wear, positioned like a pretzel on his mat. He's tried to get Chris into it, but Chris doesn't have the patience. "What are you doing after?"
Zach says, "Nothing yet. You want to do something for dinner?"
"Yeah, sure." Chris clears his throat and checks his watch. He'll have to get back to work soon. "You pick the place and text it to me. I'll meet you there when I'm done here at, like, seven."
;;
His sister likes to call and say, "How're you and your gay boyfriend?"
"Kat, I told you," Chris says in return. "Just because we're dating, doesn't mean we're gay."
"Chris, I've said it a thousand times," she throws back, as quick as ever. "The penis doesn't even have to make it in for it to be pretty gay."
"Don't. Don't say penis." He waves his hand for emphasis even though she can't see him.
She laughs as he's unlocking his car and gets behind the wheel. Sobering, Katherine asks after Zach seriously, and Chris tells her that he's fine. He's addicted to chocolate truffles at a place around the corner lately and keeps talking about how he wants to see Wynton Marsalis play with the Lincoln Center Orchestra in October. He also wants to go on a hot air balloon ride before the summer ends, if he gets some time, so Chris has been looking into that a little bit. There's a place in Palmdale that looks worthwhile.
Chris isn't unaware of the speculation. They've had to sit through enough questions about a 'bromance' in the past few months that he knows all about the in-joking and tongue-in-cheek rumors. Chris doesn't really mind one way or the other, but if he is in a relationship, he's never been with anybody who puts out so little.
He and Zach do spend plenty of time together, however. They go to EdgeFest mid-July, because Zach really liked a couple of the plays put on the year before.
"I didn't even know this was here," Chris says.
Zach says, "You have to subscribe to a lot of random Los Angeles newsletters to perfect this kind of local awareness."
"I see." Chris nods. "Noted."
They have a nice time. One of the performances lays on the anarchist propaganda thicker than Chris is expecting, and then also features a character with an accent that reminds him of the days he spent as a Tremor brother. Chris has never been that grungy before or since, which was a lot of the appeal of playing someone like Darwin. He wonders how Kevin Durand is doing lately. They haven't seen each other in a while.
They get drinks as soon as the entertainment wraps, because there's really only one way to deal with anarchy. Zach has less than Chris so that he can play designated driver, and Chris appreciates it until he's more drunk than he meant to be. Walking home feels like a chore, and he sits outside in Zach's car for a good five minutes before Zach comes back out and opens the passenger door.
"I'm assuming you're just going to crash-land here then?"
"Wait," Chris says, picturing himself melting out of the passenger seat with Zach's help. That's probably not how it really looks. "This isn't my bedroom?"
"Whoops-a-daisy." Zach drapes one of Chris's arm over his shoulder. Chris can walk on own his for the most part, but he's sleepy. He gets caught up in listening to Zach hum on the way from the car to his room, a smooth stream of sound until he curses, forgetting, and starts over.
"Moonlight Sonata," Chris says around the same time that he's flopping back onto a mattress.
Zach claps his hands together, which is cruel and unfair to Chris's sensibilities, and he says, "Ladies and gentleman, a true scholar."
"Faaaack." It's the best speech Chris can think of in the moment.
He has to toe off his own shoes, to top things off, but Zach pulls up the covers and turns out the light.
;;
"My hands smell like sawdust," he says as he's toasting wheat bread the next morning.
Zach throws an arm up and snaps his fingers. He says, "That's what I forgot. You also molested that two-by-four at the bar."
"I told myself I'd stop doing that," Chris says, frowning and shaking out his fingers. Seriously. He washed his hands with Zach's eucalyptus whatever the fuck. What's the problem?
"I wasn't jealous," Zach says. "Don't worry."
One of the pieces of toast pops up too high and falls over into the sink. Chris holds it up like it might have something to say for itself, blows on it a little and sets it on his plate. The other he lays down for Zach and spreads jam on it.
"As long as I have you," Chris says. He slides Zach's plate in front of him. "A thank you gesture."
"Yeah, yeah," Zach says, setting aside his newspaper. He always starts with the arts section first and then works around it. "As long as you don't start making out with particle board next."
Chris swallows a mouthful of waffles. "Don't worry; I'm moving on to metals."
"Oh, well," Zach says. "Now that's okay."
;;
Since Farragut opened, Zach's seen the production twice, and he's picked Chris up afterward more times than that. He's been around enough that one of the make-up girls has taken to asking after him too, and it takes Chris over a month to realize that she thinks they live together.
"But we couldn't live together," Chris says to Zach in his car, as they're leaving Geffen. "You get everything drenched in water when you shower and then leave wet underwear on the floor."
"That happened one time, and we found out I had a leak in my tub." Zach looks over his shoulder as he's changing lanes to read the freeway on-ramp. "Stop passing out in my bed after you have too much to drink, and you won't have to tolerate my wet underwear."
"I almost slipped," Chris says. "It was a scarring experience. I had just woken up."
"You lived," Zach says, milking the sarcasm, but then when his cell phone rings, his earpiece is in the cupholder, and he needs Chris's help to fit his ear while he's driving. Chris snickers at him, ignoring the way Zach swats at his hands once he's set-up, like he isn't grateful.
"It's Zoe," Chris says, glancing at Zach's phone just before he answers. "Tell her I said hi."
Zach does. They set off on whatever weird code they've picked up since the beginning of the month. Chris hadn't thought about it until he noticed that they only do it around him, and now he's about eighty percent sure Zach's planning something for his birthday, even though they made plans to drink in the sun and check out Sunset Junction.
He would tell Zach and Zoe that they don't have to do anything, but he's fairly positive that would ruin the part where he's not supposed to know they're in cahoots. His mother's in on it too, he's thinking, because she usually doesn't ask him about his schedule for certain weeks in quite so much detail.
It's a sweet thing to do, anyway.
;;
"What if I am a hipster?" Zach confesses, coming back to their area of the bar and shouting over the speakers. It makes no sense that the music is still this loud between acts.
Chris leans in to talk back, switching his beer to the opposite hand. "Where'd that come from? Are the big kids picking on you?"
"Casablanca is one of my favorite movies," Zach says, cupping his hand close to his mouth. "Vampire Weekend's album really was part of my top ten last year."
Looking down at the glass in Zach's hand, Chris asks, "Is this your fourth one of those?"
"Huh?" Zach asks, and Chris laughs.
He pats Zach's cheek twice, pinching it. He says, "You're cute. You can sleep in my bed for a change."
He likes being the responsible one. Zach usually goes above and beyond by letting Chris take the left side of his bed, because he promises it's more comfortable than the couch. Chris can finally one-up him by giving him pajamas. He has SpongeBob sleep bottoms that he got as a gag gift last year, but they're surprisingly soft, and it takes Zach a minute to figure out where each leg goes. He stands upright and holds his hand up, pausing once they're on correctly.
Nodding solemnly, Zach says, "Okay. This isn't an ironic choice of clothing."
"Are you kidding? Duh, it isn't," Chris asks, tugging Zach forward so he can lie down. "That cartoon is a riot."
;;
The really funny thing is that Chris gets a phone call from Katherine's husband while they're out buying Zach hangover food in the morning. He becomes an uncle on Sunday morning. They're both wearing yesterday's outfits when Chris gets to meet the baby, and Zach trips over seven sentences when Katherine asks if he wants to hold him too.
"Just say yes," Chris says eventually.
"I really didn't anticipate holding a newborn this early in the day," Zach says, but he even takes off his sunglasses to do it, in spite of how bright the florescent lights are.
The baby drools on Zach's shirt, and Chris says, "It's just like you last night."
"Can I make a trade?" Zach asks, looking up at Katherine. "I like this kid much better than the model I have."
;;
Perhaps there's some unspoken rule: once two grown men have spent time fawning over a newborn together, there's really no reason to make a big deal out any other firsts.
Zach holds on to Chris's wrist as they get into the hot air balloon, slipping his thumb back and forth over the rounded bone.
"Are you afraid of heights?"
"There's a chance," Zach says. He doesn't let go.
Chris feels like they should celebrate the occasion once they're on the ground again. He drives by the dollar store and buys a t-shirt, markers, and some iron-on letters so that he can make a commemorative t-shirt. 'I flew and didn't even piss on myself' is what Chris is thinking. Maybe an exclamation point to add flair.
"I'm a fan of green and blue," Zach says.
The leftover colors end up on a pair of cheap boxer shorts Zach gives Chris at his surprise birthday party. All of Chris's friends are there, and the boxers end up on his head at the behest of a bunch of people drinking tequila. When he walks by, people can read 'Cap'n Fine' across the ass. There's a cut-out of his face taped over the crotch, and Chris promises Zach he'll wear them every day on set and tell any new crew about how Zach is his most dedicated fan.
"Hey," Zach says. "Careful. You still want to get cake, don't you?"
"Does that have a picture of Simon in a banana hammock?"
"What." Zach's face gets stuck halfway between a smile and a sneeze or something. "I learn something else new and disturbing about you every second."
"Me?" Chris says, chuckling pathetically, because he can't think of a comeback. "You."
The cake doesn't have a picture of Simon, but Karl does make sure that Chris imprints his face on it. It's a good thing Chris was in the market for a frosting facemask today. Zach pulls him aside and hands him a towel, swiping his finger over Chris's cheek and popping it in his mouth.
"Cheesecake-flavored," Zach says.
Angling his face close, Chris points to his chin and says, "Well there's plenty more where that came from. Take as much as you want."
Zach laughs but he goes for more, using his thumb this time. "You like red velvet cake, right?"
"Love it," Chris says. He starts to wipe the frosting from his skin and pauses to hold out his fist. Zach bumps it. "Thanks."
"My pleasure." He makes use of his pinky on his third move to get frosting. "This is good stuff."
"Is it?" Chris asks. Before Zach can take the cream himself, Chris turns and grits his teeth, edging some off. It's easier when he just licks, so he gives up the ghost, and he's smacking his lips together when he raises his eyes to actually look at Zach again. "Sweeter than I thought."
"Yeah." Zach sounds a little distracted as he says it. He drops his hand, which is lucky, since that's the same moment Chris rocks forward on the balls of his feet. He doesn't imagine that he's going for anything until he's there. He doesn't think about the fact that he's kissing Zach until it dawns on him that it's something they haven't done before. All Chris tastes is sugar.
;;
Zach lets Chris touch him after Chris has spent the evening as a cake-faced, 29-year-old man with custom-decorated boxers on his head.
He's kind of a catch. He means to make a joke about having questionable taste in men, but he's taken all the crap off by the time they reach Zach's house, and then Zach finds Chris's fly, so he forgets what he'd wanted to say.
;;
Anal sex, Chris learns, is really fucking inconvenient.
He doesn't want to seem ungrateful. Zach had been kind enough to oblige him, and he had even taken care not to be too rough, but Chris's ass is kind of suffering afterward regardless, and he would really love to get a drink of juice or something, if only moving didn't feel like the oddest thing in the world.
Zach is still asleep with his face half-buried in his pillow. Chris scoots in close to make sure he isn't accidentally smothering himself to death, and then psyches himself up to leave behind the blankets in favor of food.
He's too lazy to figure out which jeans are his, so he makes pancakes naked. Zach comes in as Chris is flipping one of the last, stopping to say, "Uhhh," like he expected Chris to have on some clothes.
"Morning," Chris says. "Orange juice or milk?"
"Hi," Zach says. He sniffs, rubbing a hand over his face, and he blinks. "Orange juice."
"You got it."
Chris stacks four pancakes each and then splits the three eggs he made between them as well. He starts to regret this whole no-pants thing when he sits down and feels his skin sticking to the lacquered wood immediately.
Zach says, "Thanks," and claps his hands together before he digs into his plate.
"I hope I don't get splinters in my ass," Chris says, and Zach snorts.
He laughs harder than he needs to. He says, "It's not real wood," and proceeds to cut his pancakes into tiny squares. He chews on a bite for what seems like a full minute and then swallows. Chris has eaten most of his eggs in that time, and Zach grinds his teeth together after he drinks his juice. "I thought maybe you'd gone for a run."
Well, shit, Chris thinks. He should've put cheese in his eggs. He says, "Why?" looking up. "I don't jog with whoever. Running is a sensitive business. I've got a routine I like."
"Yeah," Zach says. He wipes his mouth and taps his fork against the edge of his plate. Chris can feel him thinking. "There's about a metric ton of red velvet cake left."
"No kidding," Chris says. That's right. They did bring that with them. Chris is pretty sure it's still in Zach's car, if it's not already a big mess of goo. "Fuck, man. Lunch."
"I know."
There isn't much else to add on to that. They eat quietly, except when Chris scoots his chair out to get more syrup and his toes bump Zach's on the slide back. "Sorry," Chris says, and Zach shrugs. It's not a big deal. Chris leaves his foot where it is.