FIC: Behold! Us Wayward Monsters - Act III (Part One)
Title: Behold! Us Wayward Monsters - Act III (Part One)
Masterlist: I ( One, Two) | II ( One, Two) | III ( One, Two) | IV ( One, Two)
ACT III
A month later and the production was more in swing. Zach had been fitted for his costume-a tunic with simple pants and boots, thank God-and Zach still had brutal day-long practices with the troupe. He still ate lunch with Chris, still hung out with everyone.
It was just that now-even sometimes before dinner-Zach took Chris home to fuck him, that’s all
“Focus Zach, so you don’t drop my ass.”
Zach made a face at Joey, threatening to lean back and knock him off his shoulders. It was a new part of the knife-throwing routine. Joey would jump on Zach’s back in fear, then climb him like a tree as Zach ran to safety.
“You’re heavy as fuck.” But Zach dropped him in their imaginary canoe, as planned, and off they went.
Still no word on the real canoe. But they would be seeing the stage soon enough to perform previews.
Once they had rowed off stage-left, Zach looked behind him at Karl and Bruce, who were picking up the nonsensical and juggled pieces.
“All right,” Karl conceded with a sigh as he looked at Bruce. “Break?”
“Please,” Bruce said as he rubbed his shoulder. “Gonna go grab Zoe for a massage.”
The moment he said it he winced, and Zach wondered if the performing life had started to wear at him.
Karl shook his head. “It’s cool. She’s likely in the dance studio.”
Zach wondered how he had missed Zoe being awesome at massages, but he stored that info in his brain for another day.
When Karl and Bruce left, Joey gave him a relieved look. “Man, if I can’t mention Zoe again, that’s going to be awkward.”
Zach locked up their juggling equipment. “What?”
Joey rolled his eyes. “Oblivious as always.”
“Am not.”
“With straight people, anyway.” And before Zach could protest, Joey continued. “They broke up.”
Zach had to think on that a moment. “Zoe and Karl?”
“Yeah. Zoe doesn’t want the Cirque life. She thought they’d wind up in Vegas and everything would go to hell.”
It made no sense. “What’s wrong with Vegas? It’d be a stable life in Vegas.”
Joey gave Zach a look. “Not a good environment to settle down.”
Zach squinted in confusion. “They want to settle down?” Remnants of conversation occurred to him. “I thought they didn’t want kids.”
Joey shrugged. “It’s not about kids, it’s about family. The more you’re in the Cirque, the more likely you’ll be separated from them on tour-boyfriends included.”
Zach still frowned in confusion. “So?”
Joey shook his head. “How does Chris put up with you? Seriously.”
In unspoken agreement they left the rehearsal room for lunch, and Zach was still confused. He had never been for the monogamous thing anyway, but Zach had supposed after five years that Zoe and Karl would’ve had the touring thing figured out.
And if not-breaking up was sometimes the shit that happened. They’d find someone else to fuck.
At the entrance to the cafeteria, Joey greeted Natalia warmly with a lover’s kiss. Zach rolled his eyes-awkward. Couldn’t they do that somewhere else? PDA in all its stripes was just too personal.
As Joey hugged the French Bitch, he surveyed the cafeteria. “Where’s Chris?”
Zach looked around-good question. “Probably working out.”
Chris had confessed to five hours a day-had been five hours a day for most of his adult life. Sadistic.
“I’ll go grab him.”
Joey gave a little wave as Zach left them, and even Natalia did one too, but it was irrelevant.
Now, that had to be one of Joey’s longest relationships. Three months now? Since catching them at the train museum, anyway. Zach hadn’t been sure on the beginning and didn’t even want to ask. It would likely result in TMI that required plugging his ears-although Joey never did when he asked about the wonders of gay sex with Chris.
Not that Zach was ever explicit, but noises couldn’t be helped. After that first morning when Chris left, Joey had looked at him and snickered.
Whatever, he didn’t hear moaning from Joey’s room.
Zach peeked into the window of a larger gym after the weight room had failed to yield a Chris, discovering that the trampoline was occupied.
Maybe Zach could finally get on the damn thing, for a change.
Chris gave him a quick glance from 10 feet in the air. “Fuck-is it already noon?”
Zach shook his head. “Nah, we broke for lunch a little early.” Ten minutes early, but whatever.
At that, Chris bounced higher-the room was tall for things like this, and Zach suspected Chris was now up 20 feet in the air. Body in a taut line, arms pressed to his sides, as Chris tried to keep bouncing in place.
It mostly worked, but Chris scowled. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Zach raised a brow. “Really?”
“Why didn’t I go to the Olympics for this?” At that Chris went askew and fell on his ass, and Zach couldn’t tell if he was joking. He had found out that Chris’ sense of humor was subtle and wicked-but then, the Olympics were a touchy subject.
“Sure?” Zach hedged and waited.
Chris smirked. “Did you know that’s a real sport? Medals and everything.” Chris leaned over the rim of the trampoline, grinning down at him. “Still wouldn’t have qualified, though.”
Chris offered Zach a hand, and with a few sounds of encouragement he pulled Zach onto the trampoline. They crawled to the center, facing each other, where Zach was so not okay.
“I am getting the fuck down.” The ground was wobbly, too far up, and frankly Zach was starting to get motion-sick. His arms, despite staying still, bent at the elbow as he tried to balance himself in place.
Chris smiled warmly. “Just give me your hand.”
“You can give me a hand on the fuck down.”
Chris chuckled, and that was especially aggravating. “It takes a moment. You just need to get your bearings.”
“Or, you know, I could get down-don’t fucking move, Chris. Just don’t. Or I’ll never blow you again-“
Chris, of course, stood up and was perfectly still, as if they were talking on a concrete floor instead of weightlessness. He gave Zach a patient look. “You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”
Zach gritted his teeth. “Fuck off.”
“I’m going to walk to you, and you can grab my ankles to help stand up-“
“No.”
Chris moved anyway, and Zach reached out to hold his foot-only to land on his side and accidentally roll over.
Chris bent over at the waist, his stupid fucking smile appearing upside down. “It’s all in the legs.”
“Have you seen my legs? I might as well be a chicken.”
Chris quirked a lip, and Zach’s eyes followed his hand as it moved down to touch Zach’s hair, moving a strand back into place.
“Can’t say I have. Was too busy looking at other things.”
It looked like Chris wanted to kiss him, although it would require too much flexibility on Chris’ part. Either way, Zach shook his head.
“You kiss me right now, I’m punching you.”
Chris chuckled. “Wow.”
“No, seriously.” Zach scrambled like a newborn calf out of the womb, falling all over the place and cursing loudly. “I don’t do PDAs, man.”
Chris was still laughing as Zach found the rim of the trampoline. There were a set of stairs if he kept moving to the right, using the heavy metal frame under his hands as a guide.
“What if I wanted to kiss you in public?”
“Then you can kiss somebody else in public, thanks.” Zach had almost crawled to the stairs, when he saw a pair of feet glide by him-fucking asshole.
But Chris moved below him on the landing, then offered up a hand. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”
“Oh, wait until I’m truly pissed.” Zach reached out for the hand and missed. “Fuck this trampoline.”
It was the worst case of sea legs Zach had ever had. He didn’t recall a trampoline being this difficult-although admittedly his former forays had been closer to the ground and about 100-feet less in diameter. More like his best friend’s basement as a kid, on a trampoline built for one.
So Chris had rejoined him, moving behind to help him stand up. Hands on Zach’s waist, his hips, his thighs, trying to stabilize the jerkiness and lack of balance as Zach leaned into Chris’ body, his only support.
Chris kept his hands on Zach’s hips, trying to keep them both still. It worked somewhat, although Zach’s knees still had a tremor.
Chris’ lips breathed near his ear. “Nobody is watching us in here, though.”
Zach swallowed. “Principle of the thing.” Although if they had been in Zach’s suite, he would’ve pounced Chris instantly and taught him a lesson.
Instead Zach moved like a decrepit old man, baby steps until he finally shuffled onto the stairway, breathing a sigh of relief at solid ground. He almost tripped as he leapt to the gym floor, wanting to get down on hands and knees at the non-moving ground.
“Never again.”
“For someone who works in a circus, your sense of balance is shit.”
Zach glared up at Chris, who was casually walking away-casually stripping his tank top as he moved to a duffel bag. Strong shoulders on display, muscles tightening and flexing in fluid motion, and all Zach could do was stare.
That was fighting dirty, right there.
“Don’t think you can seduce me into PDA.”
Chris glanced at him in innocence. “I’m sorry, what?”
Chris turned to the side, abs and more muscles on display as Chris took a sip of water-and oh, look, a drop of sweat magically slunk down Chris’ navel. It was appalling that someone that good-looking also knew that he was that good-looking.
Zach snorted as he finally got to his feet. “Whatever. I’m going to lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll join you in a few minutes, after I soap up my naked and sweating hot body-“
Zach slammed the door to the gymnasium, almost running into a gaggle of women who were passing him in the hall. Some gave him a questioning look, and Zach almost couldn’t resist shooting them a nasty face. But frankly he was too busy darting out to the IKEA house-begging for a little privacy before practices resumed again.
)O(
It had all been annoying. Zach had missed lunch, gone to practices feeling sour, and then been distracted the entire time. A knife had actually hit him in the hip, since Zach had failed to catch it on time-not that it hurt, but it still stun him into awareness, nonetheless.
Joey bent over and picked up the knife, then pretended to stab Zach’s arm dramatically. “Dammit, I want to go home.”
Zach was a professional, and this shit probably bugged him more than anyone else. “Sorry, man. Focus is wavering.”
“Bet I know why,” Bruce quipped under his breath, and Karl joined in with giggling and a knowing look.
Zach narrowed his eyes-it was not like that. “I don’t feel well,” he bit out.
Bruce shrugged. “It happens to the best of us. And besides, it’s getting late anyhow.” Bruce flipped the rubber chicken in his hand, making it look like a smooth, suave motion-fuck that bastard for looking cool and dismissing him at the same time. “We can reconvene tomorrow, but we mostly have it down pat, anyway.”
Joey had hands on his hips as he stared at Zach, contemplating a decision. “Yeah, that works. It’s all rote memorization at this point.”
Not rote for Zach, apparently, but he bit his tongue. Self-criticism could wait for later. “I’ll sleep and be on the ball tomorrow.”
“You better,” Karl said as he pointed a finger at Zach, then departed from the gym. Bruce followed suit, waving a goodbye before he left.
Joey, however, hung behind with a concerned look. “I know we haven’t been hanging out much lately, but-“
Zach waved it off. “I get it, don’t worry.” Joey was trying not to feel guilty for whatever shit Zach was going through, and this was his way to offer amends in either time, talk, or the usual with both.
Except, unlike the usual, Zach had no idea what Joey would be saving him from.
Joey frowned. “You sure?”
“I just need dinner and a nap.” True enough.
Joey went around to pick up the rest of the juggling supplies, still watching Zach from the corner of his eye. It was strange, honestly, to be under that much scrutiny for a change, when he’d usually be the one eyeing Joey like a hawk.
But eventually Joey went off on his own-albeit reluctantly-while Zach was left to his own devices.
Dangerous, really. It made Zach consider and then enter an empty weight room.
He didn’t want to go back to his apartment, and he didn’t really want to head to the cafeteria. Chris would be in both places, and apparently it was Chris that was bothering him right now.
Zach turned on a treadmill, his feet on the frame as he set the speed. He decided to give it a go and hoped that he still remembered how to jog. Not that people forgot how to use their legs, usually, but Zach had a phobia of working out and especially running, so the outcome was debatable.
But whoever had designed the weight room apparently had more confidence than Zach did, for one wall had the words painted, You can do it! in not only English, but also French. With such impersonal encouragement like that, how could Zach possibly fail?
He huffed a bit as he tried to keep pace with the machine. The speed was just about perfect, giving him enough difficulty so he could stop thinking for a moment-for a second, for a minute, for an hour.
Chris had been very couple-y with him.
Zach shook his head-no, not really. Wanting to kiss in public is what lots of people did, coupled or not. To Chris’ credit, he had not tried to hold Zach’s hand or hug him in public, despite how most of the troupe suspected as much-most likely thanks to Joey.
But it was all a slippery slope in Zach’s head. Chris had pushed his buttons, and Zach knew that Chris was a devious little shit. Which would be fine if it was innuendo that Chris kept between the two of them, but Zach doubted he’d have that much restraint.
Zach tapped a button and tried an incline-he’d just have to let Chris know it was strictly casual, that’s all. They could mess around on tour and even be exclusive, but once the gig was up-well-he’d go wherever Joey threw a dart on the map, most likely back to Pittsburgh.
Zach frowned. He hadn’t called Ma lately, although Joey usually checked in with her once a week. She was dating a new guy who bought her roses all the time, pleased her immensely, and even made her forget Weight Watchers existed.
Joey found it adorable as fuck. Zach, however… was happy for her. If it lasted.
Zach hung off the railings of the treadmill, starting to sweat with effort from the incline.
Ma just usually had no luck. Their father had been perfect-kind, caring, a decent family man-and Ma had been unable to find anyone like him since. She had dated throughout their childhood, becoming depressed over one failed romance after another, with one man not liking she had kids, or another man not tolerating the ones she did have. Zach needed more than one hand to count all the boyfriends, which made it inconvenient to give them a posthumous middle finger in nostalgia.
But Ma was happy now, and that’s all that mattered. A guy who didn’t try to leech her disability check and actually enjoyed playing cribbage-imagine that.
Zach could hardly breathe, glaring at the words of You can do it! on the wall with as much disdain as possible. Did an athlete actually come in here sometimes, seriously doubting that they could, then look up and bang out a set of 20? People usually knew their strengths and weaknesses. Zach knew he had limits and punched the dials, lowering the incline and slowing the speed.
Zach would just have to tell Chris. It was still early with their-everything-and it was fair to warn him. Especially since Chris always had ideas about… something.
Zach felt sweat at the small of his back when the treadmill stopped, his legs still feeling a forward motion. It was a nice resolution to keep to-to just to keep moving, moving forward.
)O(
Chris tipped his head back as he took the noodle into his mouth, chopstick hanging in the air as the skin of his neck was exposed, plain and naked like the rest of him.
Zach watched as the pale throat swallowed-what sort of hippie institution had Chris attended, anyway? Chopsticks? Seriously. Zach didn’t have time to learn that shit.
He stabbed into a piece of sesame chicken with his fork, still watching all the fluid lines of Chris’ body. He was kind of pretty, admittedly. It was awful lighting, and Chris had all the scars from years of being an athlete, but they didn’t take away from Chris’ softer qualities. His lips were still full and pale pink, with his tongue darting out occasionally to lick his mouth. His eyes were bright-stained glass in the darkness, catching odd bits of light. If Zach reached out to touch his feet, the closest thing to him, they’d be soft and smooth and clean between the toes.
Although there was “the parasite”-the scars on either side of Chris’ right ankle, shaped like scorpions, from the surgery that had ended Chris’ all-around medaling career. A vault had gone horribly wrong and fractured the bone in three places. Chris was sometimes self-conscious about it, if only to explain what it represented.
In truth, Chris was marked from head to toe. Zach had burn marks and scars from acts gone awry, but Chris looked like a warrior that survived combat. Parts of him didn’t look 31-no wait, recently 32-and it made Zach realize that an athlete’s life was short for a reason.
Chris stuffed his mouth and tried to talk at the same time. “What?”
Zach looked down at his plate and stabbed another piece of chicken. “Nothing. Just looking at your toes.”
Chris wiggled them. “Do you have some foot fetish I don’t know about?”
“Ah, yes-let me go grab the huge red clown shoes.”
Chris smirked. “Kinky.”
Zach smiled as he leaned back, ignoring the rest of his takeout box on the bed. Things were easy and it was nice. Chris had thrown off his reserve at some point, leaving him to sit cross-legged on the bed, naked as the day as he was born, eating soba noodles from a white carton. His hair was messy and he hadn’t yet showered.
“Tell me something,” Chris said as he finished his takeout, then pointed at Zach’s. “You’re not going to eat that?”
Zach pushed it over without a word. Another thing about Chris? He ate Zach out of house and home. Which was just as well-Zach never ate things he left in the fridge, anyway. It was tidier, although it meant that Zach never had crackers left over for a midnight snack.
Chris pointed his chopsticks. “No silence, come on.”
Zach sighed. He had no idea what to possibly say. “I’m blanking.”
“What were you doing last year?”
“About this time?” Zach had to think about it. “Preparing for Burning Man. Was probably working a shitty job in the downtime, though.”
“Starbucks?”
Zach shrugged. “All the coffee shops look the same to me, now.”
That was the life of an interloper. If Zach ever had to fill out a shitty-job resume, it’d likely fill three pages and be the abridged-like-whoa version.
Chris nodded when he didn’t elaborate. “How about the year before that?”
“Same.” And before Chris could ask, “And the same the year before that, and the year before that-until the dawn of time.”
“So was the first Burning Man when that meteor crashed into the Earth and killed all the dinosaurs?”
Zach pursed his lips in thought. “I thought it was when Nic Cage made that Wicker Man movie. Brilliant actor, you know. Have to commemorate.”
Chris chuckled as he stacked the takeout boxes on top of each other, then leaned to place them on a dresser next to the bed. He had to get on his knees to do it, stomach tightening and cock hanging between his legs.
When he succeeded he fell backwards, flopping down next to Zach on the bed. His head rested near Zach’s propped elbow, just in reach of Zach’s tingling hands-the blond hair was getting long, and some maniacal makeup person likely had designs to cut it.
He tucked a strand away from Chris’ boyish face, his fingers lingering behind the ear. “What were you doing last year?”
“Practicing for the Olympic team.” And before Zach could open his mouth, “And the same the year before that, and the year before that-“
Zach pinched the skin of his jaw. “Jerk.”
“So what about that first year? You know, right when you and Joey left home?” Chris’ eyes were keen. “You stuck with the Renaissance Festival, right?”
Well, wasn’t Chris a clever one. It was like he had a heat-seeking missile for the subjects Zach least wanted to talk about and honed right in.
Zach shrugged a shoulder. “Hung around. Did odd things. Joey and I switched off with other groups and helped other performers.”
“So not the same thing constantly.”
“That’s the thing-each Faire is different. You could travel across one region, then find that the guys you’re with don’t go that far. Real jobs, or something like that.” Zach rolled his eyes and Chris predictably laughed.
It was very comfortable. Zach slunk down until his shoulders hit the pillow, with Chris’ lips kissing his bicep. Zach had to swing his legs around so they wouldn’t dangle off the bed, yet still had to bend one at the knee.
“When did you guys branch off?”
Zach made a face in thought. “Probably early 2001? What do we call those now-the early 2000s?”
“So over ten years of floating around.”
“Something like that.” Zach folded his hands on his chest. “It didn’t really feel like floating. Just… adventure. Freedom.”
“Didn’t you ever have a home base?”
“Ma’s house.” Truth be told, they rarely ever went back there. They made sure to see Ma on the holidays, but beyond that was unexpected. “Pittsburgh, you know. Ma’s lived in the same house for almost 30 years.”
“That sounds nice.”
Zach wanted to shrug, but his shoulder was too close to Chris’ face. “If permanence is your thing. I guess Ma needed that after Dad died.”
It was a long, stretched moment. Zach had dangled information out there and wondered if Chris would bite. It had always been less awkward to talk about his Dad, although other people usually didn’t know how to react.
Chris turned on his side, and when Zach looked over Chris had propped his elbow, looking down at him.
“How old were you? You know, when it happened.”
Zach knew exactly what he meant. “Seven. Joey was nine, about to turn ten. Ma was a young widow.”
There was another long moment. Zach normally didn’t care about silences, but Chris was just staring at him, as if Zach would reveal something at any moment or break apart.
Truth was, Zach had never really broken apart. It had been too long ago, he had been too young. He remembered hospital rooms like faded atmospheres in dreams, a path in the woods to a place he no longer cared about. He wanted a father, sure-he remembered bits and pieces about Dad before sickness took him-but the truth was, he had all the family he needed. He had Joey, and that was enough.
Zach unfolded his hands and let a finger tap Chris’ chin. “It’s not weird, you know. Probably for Ma and Joey, but not for me.”
“I can’t imagine that. I’m so close with my dad.”
“Well, you’ve had yours longer-also, he’s likely not an asshole, like some people’s parents.” Zach quirked a lip. “It’s just normal for us. Twenty-eight years, now.”
Chris’ eyes went to Zach’s lips, but it didn’t seem like Chris wanted to kiss him. It was if he were waiting for words to magically appear.
“But it’s different for Joey.”
Zach wanted to huff-it was too simplistic a statement, too little to convey how much it had ruined Joey’s life. While Zach had been too young to care, Joey had been old enough for it to kill him. Not just in trauma, but in all the responsibilities that had weighed his young shoulders-being the oldest, being the oldest boy, being Ma’s favorite, having to help take care of the younger brother and somehow forge a future of his own. A series of struggles and impossibilities that Zach never made easy for him.
“What were you thinking, just now?”
Zach gave Chris a withering glare, but it evolved to nothing. If anything, now Chris was patiently waiting with a pointed look. How annoying to be dating someone that couldn’t scare easily.
“I was just thinking of how I raised hell as a kid.”
Chris smirked. “I’m shocked.”
“No, really-like, juvenile hall type shit.” Zach tried to stretch, tried to gain some space, but it was no good. “I’m glad Ma sealed that stuff at 18, or I doubt I’d be let into Canada.”
Chris narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t kill somebody, did you?”
Zach made a face and shook his head. “No, just-shoplifting. Brawls. Running away and tons of graffiti. Just general tomfoolery-couldn’t do it on the stage 24/7, you know.”
“While I’m impressed at ‘tomfoolery’, the rest sounds stupid.”
“Yep.” And boy, didn’t Joey agree with him. It came back fresh and new, all the fights that Joey and Zach had gotten into it-Joey screaming while Ma sat at the table, stoic, not wanting to believe the report card where Zach failed all his classes. Not wanting to believe he was a delinquent while Joey was so good, so perfect, the teacher’s pet and the apple of everyone’s eye.
Zach… had been a brat. Age made it sting more and more, the fact that he had been ungrateful and most of all unkind. Zach didn’t even know what his problem had been, just that he had wanted to break free from confines, and expectations, and be a different person out in the world. He wanted to be openly queer and revolutionary and artistic and not give a fuck about anything.
The worst was that Joey had never cared about any of that. He had never shoved Zach into a closet or asked him to be normal. He had just asked Zach to exist.
“That was probably hard on Joey.”
Zach could only sigh. “It was the worst.” Joey had gone to college to escape but never could. “Joey is practically a saint.”
Bile rested in his chest, threatening to climb his throat. He couldn’t cry about Dad, but he could cry about Joey. Everything in his life was measured from that moment. Being poor and on the streets? That was nothing. So hungry and broke that his stomach was eating itself? That was nothing, too. Being kicked in the ribs, burning off his chest hair, being rammed without lube and being told his act was shit was nothing compared to Joey’s dead, glossy eyes.
He had taken a bottle of something and tossed everything aside until Zach found him. How dare he. And yet, the note had been true-Joey had too many pressures, too many disappointments, too much to live up to.
Chris rested his cheek on Zach’s arm. “We all do bad shit. I’m pretty sure I put Katie through hell.”
“You mean you weren’t always a goody-goody?”
Chris snorted. “God. Katie would outright laugh at you for that. Especially since I was devious enough to blame it on her and not get caught.”
“We call that smart in some circles.”
“Heaven forbid what I would’ve gotten up to without gymnastics.” Chris turned his head to look at Zach properly. “When did you straighten up?”
“Never.”
“So I should be calling you Mr. Sticky Fingers?”
Zach gave Chris a patient look. “I grew up. Plain and simple.” It had been easy to do once Joey was on the line.
Chris moved Zach’s arm behind his shoulders, allowing Chris to mold to Zach’s side. A familiar position-Chris entangled their legs as he rested an arm across Zach’s stomach, his head on Zach’s chest.
“You still don’t feel guilty, do you? You know-that was a long time ago. People change.”
It was easy enough for Chris to say, but Zach supposed it had eased over time. Once Joey had been free of college, of Pittsburgh, of Ma and their old neighborhood-free to photograph mountains and wildlife and whatever stupid plants he liked in anonymity-he supposed forgetting had gotten easier, too.
“Things are better now.”
Chris kissed the skin nearest him, precariously close to the nipple. “Glad to hear it.”
Zach had not meant Chris, but in the scheme of things it was irrelevant. Life was better, in general, and he supposed that meant the attractive person laying against him, deciding that maybe he did want to mouth Zach’s nipple.
Zach sat up on an elbow, gently pushing Chris’ shoulder to make him lay flat on the bed. He was so pliant beneath Zach’s hands, so trusting. It almost made Zach angry, except he knew that Chris could probably kick his ass if he ever wanted-except he never did, never seemed to dream of it. He looked up at Zach and waited, watched as Zach hovered above him and took his mouth.
Was Chris happy? Joey was happy. Ma was happy, too. Zach wanted to rub against the curve of Chris’ ass, and Chris beckoned it-legs spread to trap Zach within, hands traveling to smooth over skin, to press him deeper.
Zach didn’t mess around. He reached over for lube and a condom, eager to spread slickness over Chris’ opening. Chris, again, was not resistant-he took one finger, then two, so quickly and without complaint.
“I’m good,” Chris hissed as Zach scissored him, and Zach didn’t believe it. But Chris started to fuck his hand, taking his fingers deeper and deeper, and Zach didn’t have the brain cells left to wonder why Chris was being a masochist.
He lined himself up, pushing in slow until Chris’ heel pressed the small of his back. There was a grunt, maybe from Zach in surprise, maybe from Chris in pain, but suddenly the world felt like a holy experience. Zach could feel something vibrating in his fingers, a sensitivity across the entirety of his skin, his chest clenched tight. He could feel Chris warm beneath him, gentle hands across his back and rubbing his shoulders. His cock was enveloped to the hilt, and he was pressed so close to Chris, so low.
Zach couldn’t breathe. Chris was murmuring things, soft and encouraging, and Zach didn’t want to look at him. Chris rocked his hips, fingers turning Zach’s face to meet his eyes.
Thumbs smoothed over Zach’s cheeks, and it was just too affectionate. It was going to thaw things that Zach didn’t want to uncover just yet.
Chris kissed him, delved inside him, then roughly grabbed his ass to move forward. It was all the incentive Zach needed-he had rested long enough, but he pulled out and plunged deeper, faster, eager to go as far as he could.
The bed didn’t rock, but Chris kept moving further and further up. He put out a hand to the headboard, gaining leverage to press back and rock against Zach, the breath knocked out of him the first time, then huffs of exertion long after.
It was wonderful to not think. Chris was everywhere and taking care of everything. He used his free hand to tug Zach’s hair, to pull at Zach’s neck, to stroke his own cock to come. All Zach had to do was thrust and keep hold and revel in the delicious pressure building up within him.
Chris wrapped arms around Zach’s shoulders, legs bent to his chest, and made Zach go harder until his hips went erratic. Chris was the best damn thing in the entire world, and Zach pounded into him until he collapsed, not caring where he fell.
Fingers carded through wet hair, sweaty skin, and a kiss on the temple. “You’re okay,” Chris whispered. “You’re fine, I got you.”
Zach felt completely the opposite. He buried his nose in Chris’ neck and breathed deep.
Masterlist | Act III (Part Two)
Masterlist: I ( One, Two) | II ( One, Two) | III ( One, Two) | IV ( One, Two)
ACT III
A month later and the production was more in swing. Zach had been fitted for his costume-a tunic with simple pants and boots, thank God-and Zach still had brutal day-long practices with the troupe. He still ate lunch with Chris, still hung out with everyone.
It was just that now-even sometimes before dinner-Zach took Chris home to fuck him, that’s all
“Focus Zach, so you don’t drop my ass.”
Zach made a face at Joey, threatening to lean back and knock him off his shoulders. It was a new part of the knife-throwing routine. Joey would jump on Zach’s back in fear, then climb him like a tree as Zach ran to safety.
“You’re heavy as fuck.” But Zach dropped him in their imaginary canoe, as planned, and off they went.
Still no word on the real canoe. But they would be seeing the stage soon enough to perform previews.
Once they had rowed off stage-left, Zach looked behind him at Karl and Bruce, who were picking up the nonsensical and juggled pieces.
“All right,” Karl conceded with a sigh as he looked at Bruce. “Break?”
“Please,” Bruce said as he rubbed his shoulder. “Gonna go grab Zoe for a massage.”
The moment he said it he winced, and Zach wondered if the performing life had started to wear at him.
Karl shook his head. “It’s cool. She’s likely in the dance studio.”
Zach wondered how he had missed Zoe being awesome at massages, but he stored that info in his brain for another day.
When Karl and Bruce left, Joey gave him a relieved look. “Man, if I can’t mention Zoe again, that’s going to be awkward.”
Zach locked up their juggling equipment. “What?”
Joey rolled his eyes. “Oblivious as always.”
“Am not.”
“With straight people, anyway.” And before Zach could protest, Joey continued. “They broke up.”
Zach had to think on that a moment. “Zoe and Karl?”
“Yeah. Zoe doesn’t want the Cirque life. She thought they’d wind up in Vegas and everything would go to hell.”
It made no sense. “What’s wrong with Vegas? It’d be a stable life in Vegas.”
Joey gave Zach a look. “Not a good environment to settle down.”
Zach squinted in confusion. “They want to settle down?” Remnants of conversation occurred to him. “I thought they didn’t want kids.”
Joey shrugged. “It’s not about kids, it’s about family. The more you’re in the Cirque, the more likely you’ll be separated from them on tour-boyfriends included.”
Zach still frowned in confusion. “So?”
Joey shook his head. “How does Chris put up with you? Seriously.”
In unspoken agreement they left the rehearsal room for lunch, and Zach was still confused. He had never been for the monogamous thing anyway, but Zach had supposed after five years that Zoe and Karl would’ve had the touring thing figured out.
And if not-breaking up was sometimes the shit that happened. They’d find someone else to fuck.
At the entrance to the cafeteria, Joey greeted Natalia warmly with a lover’s kiss. Zach rolled his eyes-awkward. Couldn’t they do that somewhere else? PDA in all its stripes was just too personal.
As Joey hugged the French Bitch, he surveyed the cafeteria. “Where’s Chris?”
Zach looked around-good question. “Probably working out.”
Chris had confessed to five hours a day-had been five hours a day for most of his adult life. Sadistic.
“I’ll go grab him.”
Joey gave a little wave as Zach left them, and even Natalia did one too, but it was irrelevant.
Now, that had to be one of Joey’s longest relationships. Three months now? Since catching them at the train museum, anyway. Zach hadn’t been sure on the beginning and didn’t even want to ask. It would likely result in TMI that required plugging his ears-although Joey never did when he asked about the wonders of gay sex with Chris.
Not that Zach was ever explicit, but noises couldn’t be helped. After that first morning when Chris left, Joey had looked at him and snickered.
Whatever, he didn’t hear moaning from Joey’s room.
Zach peeked into the window of a larger gym after the weight room had failed to yield a Chris, discovering that the trampoline was occupied.
Maybe Zach could finally get on the damn thing, for a change.
Chris gave him a quick glance from 10 feet in the air. “Fuck-is it already noon?”
Zach shook his head. “Nah, we broke for lunch a little early.” Ten minutes early, but whatever.
At that, Chris bounced higher-the room was tall for things like this, and Zach suspected Chris was now up 20 feet in the air. Body in a taut line, arms pressed to his sides, as Chris tried to keep bouncing in place.
It mostly worked, but Chris scowled. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Zach raised a brow. “Really?”
“Why didn’t I go to the Olympics for this?” At that Chris went askew and fell on his ass, and Zach couldn’t tell if he was joking. He had found out that Chris’ sense of humor was subtle and wicked-but then, the Olympics were a touchy subject.
“Sure?” Zach hedged and waited.
Chris smirked. “Did you know that’s a real sport? Medals and everything.” Chris leaned over the rim of the trampoline, grinning down at him. “Still wouldn’t have qualified, though.”
Chris offered Zach a hand, and with a few sounds of encouragement he pulled Zach onto the trampoline. They crawled to the center, facing each other, where Zach was so not okay.
“I am getting the fuck down.” The ground was wobbly, too far up, and frankly Zach was starting to get motion-sick. His arms, despite staying still, bent at the elbow as he tried to balance himself in place.
Chris smiled warmly. “Just give me your hand.”
“You can give me a hand on the fuck down.”
Chris chuckled, and that was especially aggravating. “It takes a moment. You just need to get your bearings.”
“Or, you know, I could get down-don’t fucking move, Chris. Just don’t. Or I’ll never blow you again-“
Chris, of course, stood up and was perfectly still, as if they were talking on a concrete floor instead of weightlessness. He gave Zach a patient look. “You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”
Zach gritted his teeth. “Fuck off.”
“I’m going to walk to you, and you can grab my ankles to help stand up-“
“No.”
Chris moved anyway, and Zach reached out to hold his foot-only to land on his side and accidentally roll over.
Chris bent over at the waist, his stupid fucking smile appearing upside down. “It’s all in the legs.”
“Have you seen my legs? I might as well be a chicken.”
Chris quirked a lip, and Zach’s eyes followed his hand as it moved down to touch Zach’s hair, moving a strand back into place.
“Can’t say I have. Was too busy looking at other things.”
It looked like Chris wanted to kiss him, although it would require too much flexibility on Chris’ part. Either way, Zach shook his head.
“You kiss me right now, I’m punching you.”
Chris chuckled. “Wow.”
“No, seriously.” Zach scrambled like a newborn calf out of the womb, falling all over the place and cursing loudly. “I don’t do PDAs, man.”
Chris was still laughing as Zach found the rim of the trampoline. There were a set of stairs if he kept moving to the right, using the heavy metal frame under his hands as a guide.
“What if I wanted to kiss you in public?”
“Then you can kiss somebody else in public, thanks.” Zach had almost crawled to the stairs, when he saw a pair of feet glide by him-fucking asshole.
But Chris moved below him on the landing, then offered up a hand. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”
“Oh, wait until I’m truly pissed.” Zach reached out for the hand and missed. “Fuck this trampoline.”
It was the worst case of sea legs Zach had ever had. He didn’t recall a trampoline being this difficult-although admittedly his former forays had been closer to the ground and about 100-feet less in diameter. More like his best friend’s basement as a kid, on a trampoline built for one.
So Chris had rejoined him, moving behind to help him stand up. Hands on Zach’s waist, his hips, his thighs, trying to stabilize the jerkiness and lack of balance as Zach leaned into Chris’ body, his only support.
Chris kept his hands on Zach’s hips, trying to keep them both still. It worked somewhat, although Zach’s knees still had a tremor.
Chris’ lips breathed near his ear. “Nobody is watching us in here, though.”
Zach swallowed. “Principle of the thing.” Although if they had been in Zach’s suite, he would’ve pounced Chris instantly and taught him a lesson.
Instead Zach moved like a decrepit old man, baby steps until he finally shuffled onto the stairway, breathing a sigh of relief at solid ground. He almost tripped as he leapt to the gym floor, wanting to get down on hands and knees at the non-moving ground.
“Never again.”
“For someone who works in a circus, your sense of balance is shit.”
Zach glared up at Chris, who was casually walking away-casually stripping his tank top as he moved to a duffel bag. Strong shoulders on display, muscles tightening and flexing in fluid motion, and all Zach could do was stare.
That was fighting dirty, right there.
“Don’t think you can seduce me into PDA.”
Chris glanced at him in innocence. “I’m sorry, what?”
Chris turned to the side, abs and more muscles on display as Chris took a sip of water-and oh, look, a drop of sweat magically slunk down Chris’ navel. It was appalling that someone that good-looking also knew that he was that good-looking.
Zach snorted as he finally got to his feet. “Whatever. I’m going to lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll join you in a few minutes, after I soap up my naked and sweating hot body-“
Zach slammed the door to the gymnasium, almost running into a gaggle of women who were passing him in the hall. Some gave him a questioning look, and Zach almost couldn’t resist shooting them a nasty face. But frankly he was too busy darting out to the IKEA house-begging for a little privacy before practices resumed again.
)O(
It had all been annoying. Zach had missed lunch, gone to practices feeling sour, and then been distracted the entire time. A knife had actually hit him in the hip, since Zach had failed to catch it on time-not that it hurt, but it still stun him into awareness, nonetheless.
Joey bent over and picked up the knife, then pretended to stab Zach’s arm dramatically. “Dammit, I want to go home.”
Zach was a professional, and this shit probably bugged him more than anyone else. “Sorry, man. Focus is wavering.”
“Bet I know why,” Bruce quipped under his breath, and Karl joined in with giggling and a knowing look.
Zach narrowed his eyes-it was not like that. “I don’t feel well,” he bit out.
Bruce shrugged. “It happens to the best of us. And besides, it’s getting late anyhow.” Bruce flipped the rubber chicken in his hand, making it look like a smooth, suave motion-fuck that bastard for looking cool and dismissing him at the same time. “We can reconvene tomorrow, but we mostly have it down pat, anyway.”
Joey had hands on his hips as he stared at Zach, contemplating a decision. “Yeah, that works. It’s all rote memorization at this point.”
Not rote for Zach, apparently, but he bit his tongue. Self-criticism could wait for later. “I’ll sleep and be on the ball tomorrow.”
“You better,” Karl said as he pointed a finger at Zach, then departed from the gym. Bruce followed suit, waving a goodbye before he left.
Joey, however, hung behind with a concerned look. “I know we haven’t been hanging out much lately, but-“
Zach waved it off. “I get it, don’t worry.” Joey was trying not to feel guilty for whatever shit Zach was going through, and this was his way to offer amends in either time, talk, or the usual with both.
Except, unlike the usual, Zach had no idea what Joey would be saving him from.
Joey frowned. “You sure?”
“I just need dinner and a nap.” True enough.
Joey went around to pick up the rest of the juggling supplies, still watching Zach from the corner of his eye. It was strange, honestly, to be under that much scrutiny for a change, when he’d usually be the one eyeing Joey like a hawk.
But eventually Joey went off on his own-albeit reluctantly-while Zach was left to his own devices.
Dangerous, really. It made Zach consider and then enter an empty weight room.
He didn’t want to go back to his apartment, and he didn’t really want to head to the cafeteria. Chris would be in both places, and apparently it was Chris that was bothering him right now.
Zach turned on a treadmill, his feet on the frame as he set the speed. He decided to give it a go and hoped that he still remembered how to jog. Not that people forgot how to use their legs, usually, but Zach had a phobia of working out and especially running, so the outcome was debatable.
But whoever had designed the weight room apparently had more confidence than Zach did, for one wall had the words painted, You can do it! in not only English, but also French. With such impersonal encouragement like that, how could Zach possibly fail?
He huffed a bit as he tried to keep pace with the machine. The speed was just about perfect, giving him enough difficulty so he could stop thinking for a moment-for a second, for a minute, for an hour.
Chris had been very couple-y with him.
Zach shook his head-no, not really. Wanting to kiss in public is what lots of people did, coupled or not. To Chris’ credit, he had not tried to hold Zach’s hand or hug him in public, despite how most of the troupe suspected as much-most likely thanks to Joey.
But it was all a slippery slope in Zach’s head. Chris had pushed his buttons, and Zach knew that Chris was a devious little shit. Which would be fine if it was innuendo that Chris kept between the two of them, but Zach doubted he’d have that much restraint.
Zach tapped a button and tried an incline-he’d just have to let Chris know it was strictly casual, that’s all. They could mess around on tour and even be exclusive, but once the gig was up-well-he’d go wherever Joey threw a dart on the map, most likely back to Pittsburgh.
Zach frowned. He hadn’t called Ma lately, although Joey usually checked in with her once a week. She was dating a new guy who bought her roses all the time, pleased her immensely, and even made her forget Weight Watchers existed.
Joey found it adorable as fuck. Zach, however… was happy for her. If it lasted.
Zach hung off the railings of the treadmill, starting to sweat with effort from the incline.
Ma just usually had no luck. Their father had been perfect-kind, caring, a decent family man-and Ma had been unable to find anyone like him since. She had dated throughout their childhood, becoming depressed over one failed romance after another, with one man not liking she had kids, or another man not tolerating the ones she did have. Zach needed more than one hand to count all the boyfriends, which made it inconvenient to give them a posthumous middle finger in nostalgia.
But Ma was happy now, and that’s all that mattered. A guy who didn’t try to leech her disability check and actually enjoyed playing cribbage-imagine that.
Zach could hardly breathe, glaring at the words of You can do it! on the wall with as much disdain as possible. Did an athlete actually come in here sometimes, seriously doubting that they could, then look up and bang out a set of 20? People usually knew their strengths and weaknesses. Zach knew he had limits and punched the dials, lowering the incline and slowing the speed.
Zach would just have to tell Chris. It was still early with their-everything-and it was fair to warn him. Especially since Chris always had ideas about… something.
Zach felt sweat at the small of his back when the treadmill stopped, his legs still feeling a forward motion. It was a nice resolution to keep to-to just to keep moving, moving forward.
)O(
Chris tipped his head back as he took the noodle into his mouth, chopstick hanging in the air as the skin of his neck was exposed, plain and naked like the rest of him.
Zach watched as the pale throat swallowed-what sort of hippie institution had Chris attended, anyway? Chopsticks? Seriously. Zach didn’t have time to learn that shit.
He stabbed into a piece of sesame chicken with his fork, still watching all the fluid lines of Chris’ body. He was kind of pretty, admittedly. It was awful lighting, and Chris had all the scars from years of being an athlete, but they didn’t take away from Chris’ softer qualities. His lips were still full and pale pink, with his tongue darting out occasionally to lick his mouth. His eyes were bright-stained glass in the darkness, catching odd bits of light. If Zach reached out to touch his feet, the closest thing to him, they’d be soft and smooth and clean between the toes.
Although there was “the parasite”-the scars on either side of Chris’ right ankle, shaped like scorpions, from the surgery that had ended Chris’ all-around medaling career. A vault had gone horribly wrong and fractured the bone in three places. Chris was sometimes self-conscious about it, if only to explain what it represented.
In truth, Chris was marked from head to toe. Zach had burn marks and scars from acts gone awry, but Chris looked like a warrior that survived combat. Parts of him didn’t look 31-no wait, recently 32-and it made Zach realize that an athlete’s life was short for a reason.
Chris stuffed his mouth and tried to talk at the same time. “What?”
Zach looked down at his plate and stabbed another piece of chicken. “Nothing. Just looking at your toes.”
Chris wiggled them. “Do you have some foot fetish I don’t know about?”
“Ah, yes-let me go grab the huge red clown shoes.”
Chris smirked. “Kinky.”
Zach smiled as he leaned back, ignoring the rest of his takeout box on the bed. Things were easy and it was nice. Chris had thrown off his reserve at some point, leaving him to sit cross-legged on the bed, naked as the day as he was born, eating soba noodles from a white carton. His hair was messy and he hadn’t yet showered.
“Tell me something,” Chris said as he finished his takeout, then pointed at Zach’s. “You’re not going to eat that?”
Zach pushed it over without a word. Another thing about Chris? He ate Zach out of house and home. Which was just as well-Zach never ate things he left in the fridge, anyway. It was tidier, although it meant that Zach never had crackers left over for a midnight snack.
Chris pointed his chopsticks. “No silence, come on.”
Zach sighed. He had no idea what to possibly say. “I’m blanking.”
“What were you doing last year?”
“About this time?” Zach had to think about it. “Preparing for Burning Man. Was probably working a shitty job in the downtime, though.”
“Starbucks?”
Zach shrugged. “All the coffee shops look the same to me, now.”
That was the life of an interloper. If Zach ever had to fill out a shitty-job resume, it’d likely fill three pages and be the abridged-like-whoa version.
Chris nodded when he didn’t elaborate. “How about the year before that?”
“Same.” And before Chris could ask, “And the same the year before that, and the year before that-until the dawn of time.”
“So was the first Burning Man when that meteor crashed into the Earth and killed all the dinosaurs?”
Zach pursed his lips in thought. “I thought it was when Nic Cage made that Wicker Man movie. Brilliant actor, you know. Have to commemorate.”
Chris chuckled as he stacked the takeout boxes on top of each other, then leaned to place them on a dresser next to the bed. He had to get on his knees to do it, stomach tightening and cock hanging between his legs.
When he succeeded he fell backwards, flopping down next to Zach on the bed. His head rested near Zach’s propped elbow, just in reach of Zach’s tingling hands-the blond hair was getting long, and some maniacal makeup person likely had designs to cut it.
He tucked a strand away from Chris’ boyish face, his fingers lingering behind the ear. “What were you doing last year?”
“Practicing for the Olympic team.” And before Zach could open his mouth, “And the same the year before that, and the year before that-“
Zach pinched the skin of his jaw. “Jerk.”
“So what about that first year? You know, right when you and Joey left home?” Chris’ eyes were keen. “You stuck with the Renaissance Festival, right?”
Well, wasn’t Chris a clever one. It was like he had a heat-seeking missile for the subjects Zach least wanted to talk about and honed right in.
Zach shrugged a shoulder. “Hung around. Did odd things. Joey and I switched off with other groups and helped other performers.”
“So not the same thing constantly.”
“That’s the thing-each Faire is different. You could travel across one region, then find that the guys you’re with don’t go that far. Real jobs, or something like that.” Zach rolled his eyes and Chris predictably laughed.
It was very comfortable. Zach slunk down until his shoulders hit the pillow, with Chris’ lips kissing his bicep. Zach had to swing his legs around so they wouldn’t dangle off the bed, yet still had to bend one at the knee.
“When did you guys branch off?”
Zach made a face in thought. “Probably early 2001? What do we call those now-the early 2000s?”
“So over ten years of floating around.”
“Something like that.” Zach folded his hands on his chest. “It didn’t really feel like floating. Just… adventure. Freedom.”
“Didn’t you ever have a home base?”
“Ma’s house.” Truth be told, they rarely ever went back there. They made sure to see Ma on the holidays, but beyond that was unexpected. “Pittsburgh, you know. Ma’s lived in the same house for almost 30 years.”
“That sounds nice.”
Zach wanted to shrug, but his shoulder was too close to Chris’ face. “If permanence is your thing. I guess Ma needed that after Dad died.”
It was a long, stretched moment. Zach had dangled information out there and wondered if Chris would bite. It had always been less awkward to talk about his Dad, although other people usually didn’t know how to react.
Chris turned on his side, and when Zach looked over Chris had propped his elbow, looking down at him.
“How old were you? You know, when it happened.”
Zach knew exactly what he meant. “Seven. Joey was nine, about to turn ten. Ma was a young widow.”
There was another long moment. Zach normally didn’t care about silences, but Chris was just staring at him, as if Zach would reveal something at any moment or break apart.
Truth was, Zach had never really broken apart. It had been too long ago, he had been too young. He remembered hospital rooms like faded atmospheres in dreams, a path in the woods to a place he no longer cared about. He wanted a father, sure-he remembered bits and pieces about Dad before sickness took him-but the truth was, he had all the family he needed. He had Joey, and that was enough.
Zach unfolded his hands and let a finger tap Chris’ chin. “It’s not weird, you know. Probably for Ma and Joey, but not for me.”
“I can’t imagine that. I’m so close with my dad.”
“Well, you’ve had yours longer-also, he’s likely not an asshole, like some people’s parents.” Zach quirked a lip. “It’s just normal for us. Twenty-eight years, now.”
Chris’ eyes went to Zach’s lips, but it didn’t seem like Chris wanted to kiss him. It was if he were waiting for words to magically appear.
“But it’s different for Joey.”
Zach wanted to huff-it was too simplistic a statement, too little to convey how much it had ruined Joey’s life. While Zach had been too young to care, Joey had been old enough for it to kill him. Not just in trauma, but in all the responsibilities that had weighed his young shoulders-being the oldest, being the oldest boy, being Ma’s favorite, having to help take care of the younger brother and somehow forge a future of his own. A series of struggles and impossibilities that Zach never made easy for him.
“What were you thinking, just now?”
Zach gave Chris a withering glare, but it evolved to nothing. If anything, now Chris was patiently waiting with a pointed look. How annoying to be dating someone that couldn’t scare easily.
“I was just thinking of how I raised hell as a kid.”
Chris smirked. “I’m shocked.”
“No, really-like, juvenile hall type shit.” Zach tried to stretch, tried to gain some space, but it was no good. “I’m glad Ma sealed that stuff at 18, or I doubt I’d be let into Canada.”
Chris narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t kill somebody, did you?”
Zach made a face and shook his head. “No, just-shoplifting. Brawls. Running away and tons of graffiti. Just general tomfoolery-couldn’t do it on the stage 24/7, you know.”
“While I’m impressed at ‘tomfoolery’, the rest sounds stupid.”
“Yep.” And boy, didn’t Joey agree with him. It came back fresh and new, all the fights that Joey and Zach had gotten into it-Joey screaming while Ma sat at the table, stoic, not wanting to believe the report card where Zach failed all his classes. Not wanting to believe he was a delinquent while Joey was so good, so perfect, the teacher’s pet and the apple of everyone’s eye.
Zach… had been a brat. Age made it sting more and more, the fact that he had been ungrateful and most of all unkind. Zach didn’t even know what his problem had been, just that he had wanted to break free from confines, and expectations, and be a different person out in the world. He wanted to be openly queer and revolutionary and artistic and not give a fuck about anything.
The worst was that Joey had never cared about any of that. He had never shoved Zach into a closet or asked him to be normal. He had just asked Zach to exist.
“That was probably hard on Joey.”
Zach could only sigh. “It was the worst.” Joey had gone to college to escape but never could. “Joey is practically a saint.”
Bile rested in his chest, threatening to climb his throat. He couldn’t cry about Dad, but he could cry about Joey. Everything in his life was measured from that moment. Being poor and on the streets? That was nothing. So hungry and broke that his stomach was eating itself? That was nothing, too. Being kicked in the ribs, burning off his chest hair, being rammed without lube and being told his act was shit was nothing compared to Joey’s dead, glossy eyes.
He had taken a bottle of something and tossed everything aside until Zach found him. How dare he. And yet, the note had been true-Joey had too many pressures, too many disappointments, too much to live up to.
Chris rested his cheek on Zach’s arm. “We all do bad shit. I’m pretty sure I put Katie through hell.”
“You mean you weren’t always a goody-goody?”
Chris snorted. “God. Katie would outright laugh at you for that. Especially since I was devious enough to blame it on her and not get caught.”
“We call that smart in some circles.”
“Heaven forbid what I would’ve gotten up to without gymnastics.” Chris turned his head to look at Zach properly. “When did you straighten up?”
“Never.”
“So I should be calling you Mr. Sticky Fingers?”
Zach gave Chris a patient look. “I grew up. Plain and simple.” It had been easy to do once Joey was on the line.
Chris moved Zach’s arm behind his shoulders, allowing Chris to mold to Zach’s side. A familiar position-Chris entangled their legs as he rested an arm across Zach’s stomach, his head on Zach’s chest.
“You still don’t feel guilty, do you? You know-that was a long time ago. People change.”
It was easy enough for Chris to say, but Zach supposed it had eased over time. Once Joey had been free of college, of Pittsburgh, of Ma and their old neighborhood-free to photograph mountains and wildlife and whatever stupid plants he liked in anonymity-he supposed forgetting had gotten easier, too.
“Things are better now.”
Chris kissed the skin nearest him, precariously close to the nipple. “Glad to hear it.”
Zach had not meant Chris, but in the scheme of things it was irrelevant. Life was better, in general, and he supposed that meant the attractive person laying against him, deciding that maybe he did want to mouth Zach’s nipple.
Zach sat up on an elbow, gently pushing Chris’ shoulder to make him lay flat on the bed. He was so pliant beneath Zach’s hands, so trusting. It almost made Zach angry, except he knew that Chris could probably kick his ass if he ever wanted-except he never did, never seemed to dream of it. He looked up at Zach and waited, watched as Zach hovered above him and took his mouth.
Was Chris happy? Joey was happy. Ma was happy, too. Zach wanted to rub against the curve of Chris’ ass, and Chris beckoned it-legs spread to trap Zach within, hands traveling to smooth over skin, to press him deeper.
Zach didn’t mess around. He reached over for lube and a condom, eager to spread slickness over Chris’ opening. Chris, again, was not resistant-he took one finger, then two, so quickly and without complaint.
“I’m good,” Chris hissed as Zach scissored him, and Zach didn’t believe it. But Chris started to fuck his hand, taking his fingers deeper and deeper, and Zach didn’t have the brain cells left to wonder why Chris was being a masochist.
He lined himself up, pushing in slow until Chris’ heel pressed the small of his back. There was a grunt, maybe from Zach in surprise, maybe from Chris in pain, but suddenly the world felt like a holy experience. Zach could feel something vibrating in his fingers, a sensitivity across the entirety of his skin, his chest clenched tight. He could feel Chris warm beneath him, gentle hands across his back and rubbing his shoulders. His cock was enveloped to the hilt, and he was pressed so close to Chris, so low.
Zach couldn’t breathe. Chris was murmuring things, soft and encouraging, and Zach didn’t want to look at him. Chris rocked his hips, fingers turning Zach’s face to meet his eyes.
Thumbs smoothed over Zach’s cheeks, and it was just too affectionate. It was going to thaw things that Zach didn’t want to uncover just yet.
Chris kissed him, delved inside him, then roughly grabbed his ass to move forward. It was all the incentive Zach needed-he had rested long enough, but he pulled out and plunged deeper, faster, eager to go as far as he could.
The bed didn’t rock, but Chris kept moving further and further up. He put out a hand to the headboard, gaining leverage to press back and rock against Zach, the breath knocked out of him the first time, then huffs of exertion long after.
It was wonderful to not think. Chris was everywhere and taking care of everything. He used his free hand to tug Zach’s hair, to pull at Zach’s neck, to stroke his own cock to come. All Zach had to do was thrust and keep hold and revel in the delicious pressure building up within him.
Chris wrapped arms around Zach’s shoulders, legs bent to his chest, and made Zach go harder until his hips went erratic. Chris was the best damn thing in the entire world, and Zach pounded into him until he collapsed, not caring where he fell.
Fingers carded through wet hair, sweaty skin, and a kiss on the temple. “You’re okay,” Chris whispered. “You’re fine, I got you.”
Zach felt completely the opposite. He buried his nose in Chris’ neck and breathed deep.
Masterlist | Act III (Part Two)