Fic: Primavera, Chapter 9/10
Title: Primavera, chapter 9 (WIP, this should be the penultimate chapter)
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7000
Summary: AU - Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N:For halfbreedchild ♥ like whoa. A big thank you to emmessann for her contribution to this series, patiently discussing the subjects within, and providing insight along with a heaping dose of ZQ canon whenever I needed it.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
“I did already, she's here right now.” I grimace across at Kris, who rolls her eyes at me and gimme-gimmes her hand at the phone. “She wants to say hi.”
I mouth Thank you, I love you as I hand the phone over to her and return to tugging my shoes on, checking my watch again to make sure we've still got time as Kris trills “Hey, Margo, how's the poodle?” down the phone, then laughs at Mom's reply. “Oh no, you know how it is in this place, I haven't had a poodle for years.”
I check my hair again in the living room mirror, sweeping it back. Undo another shirt button then squint at myself back and forth before doing it up again. Then undoing it again and frowning at my reflection. I start to button it up once more but Kris is clicking her fingers at me to get my attention, and does this one-handed little mime of leaving the shirt undone, including this expressive gesture that I think is supposed to be my chest hair. I let my hands drop away obediently and she gives me an Okay sign before turning her attention back to my mom. “Oh sure, it's total agony, but I'm telling you, you'd love the results. I'll take you next time you visit, my waxing lady is an absolute artist.”
I shoot her a disgusted look and she flips me off. “I'm freaking Zach out. Oh, I know. Yeah. We should! You know there's got to be a big old mess down there and they do this thing for guys called a Back, Sack and -” and I grab the phone back, smack her away.
“If you and Kris are done mentally scarring me for life, we need to get going.”
“You'll make sure he knows -”
“Mom, he'll understand. I promise.”
“And you'll remember his gift? I hate not being there.”
“I've got it right by the door so I won't forget it.” A wrapped gift that feels like Mom's traditional ugly sweater, which is stacked up along with the Beer of the Month subscription that Joe gets from me every year and a signed Yousuf Karsh lithograph that he's going to lose his shit over. “Take it easy, rest your foot, and I'll call from the party so you can speak to him.”
“Now, don't drink too much.”
“It's a party, Mom. Besides, I'm not even driving back tonight.” Checking my pockets for keys, cigarettes and lighter, and I can hear her heavy sigh over the line. “Alright, alright, I'll take it easy.”
“I'm your mother, Zachary, I'm supposed to worry about you. It's my job.”
“I know, Ma. I do, I appreciate it.” Kristen's pointing at a non-existent watch on her wrist and hoicking her thumb at the door. “We can't be late, I have to go or Margey's going to kick my butt.” I put Noah in his bed with a rawhide twist, rub over his ears and then turn the kitchen radio on low for him.
“How many times -”
“Butt isn't cursing. They even say it on Sesame Street.”
“I don't believe that for a second. Tell Joe that I love him.”
“You can tell him yourself when I call from the party. I have to go.” I've already got a cigarette out and ready to light by the time I hang up, taking a huge drag and then letting it out with a long huuuuuhrgh. Kris grabs her bag and opens the door.
“She can't see you smoke over the phone.”
“She can hear it, she's caught me out before. She knows what a lighter sounds like, too.”
“Oh my God, you're nearly thirty years old and you're worried that your mother knows you smoke?”
I take another drag and narrow my eyes at her, blowing it out. “Considering your mother's about as scary as a basket of kittens, you don't get to comment. Go get your bottom in the car.”
I see Chris the second we gets to Joe's place, my eyes seeking him out automatically and he nods at me across the room, a flicker of a slightly distant smile as he looks me over. He looks blinding, so disgustingly handsome in his glasses and in a fitted blue shirt, dark pants that cling to his ass and thighs and he's bulked out for something or other, his shoulders broad and his arms muscular. I haven't seen him for a few months and it's instant, arousal and conflicting emotions rising in my gullet like stinging bile as my dick decides to perk up and make me look desperate. Kris follows my line of vision and waves over at him, squeezing my elbow sympathetically with her other hand. “Let's find the bar and get good and wasted.”
“I should find Joe and Margey first.” I don't even recognize half the people here but then familiar faces start to appear and the awareness of Chris across the room, drink in hand, eyes following me, begins to fade as I get caught up in hugs and in conversation, in questions over the show, questions over the Spock rumors. It's difficult to remember what everyone else has been up to and I keep asking but nobody seems to mind when the conversation seems to always eventually steer back to me. Kris shoves yet another vodka lime into my hand and hauls me ever onwards towards Joe, and I relax into it, the buzz of the party around me, a tribe at meeting as we laugh into each other's faces and vaguely move around to the music that the DJ's got busting through every window in the place. Margey's already got the neighbors over here and good and drunk, even the older couple from across the way who I can see over in a corner making uproarious conversation with one of Joe's assistants.
“Baby bro! Hey, get your ass over here.”
“I'd say you get over here, but I know how your hip's playing you up these days.” I get buried in a hug and grip him back, grinning into his neck. “Happy birthday, old man. Another year forfeited to encroaching infirmity and decrepitude. It's a damn shame.” Kris brushes me out of the way to give him a hug as I lean down give Margey a kiss on the cheek. “Nice party. DJ's hot.”
“Straight and taken, I'm afraid. I already checked for you.”
I wrap an arm around her, kiss her again. “Joe, I think I'm in love with your girlfriend. Marry this woman or I will.”
“I'd say yes to you in a second, Zach, but whoever I eventually marry will be expected to have sex with me. Regularly. In my lady area.”
Joe snorts. “She's not kidding,” and she slaps his shoulder.
“I could do that. I'm an actor, I'm totally method.”
“Honey, I hate to break this to you but -” Kris cups my face with a hand, “even you're not that good an actor. I need more booze, I'm going to go jump a waiter.”
“Nice to see Kris again.” Joe's eyes on my face, seeing everything, as usual. “I missed her.”
I down the dregs of my third vodka lime and grab a glass of champagne off a passing tray. “Me too. Open your presents.”
Turns out Mom's ugly birthday sweater is this incredible grey cashmere v-neck that I tell him he's too fat for and wrestle out of his hands, tugging it on over my shirt. Kris and Margey both widen their eyes a little at me and I say “What?” and scoop back my hair in case I mussed it up. Joe's shoulders fall as he tears the paper off the lithograph's frame and he sighs in pleasure, tracing a hand over it, fingertips an inch from the glass.
“This is . . . God, kiddo. You did good.”
“Yeah?” Looking over his shoulder at it, a self-portrait of the artist in a diamond-sharp suit, silk paisley tie and heavy cufflinks, gazing up into a negative transparency of a pretty girl, his fingernails blunt, all high contrasts in black and white. I smooth the sweater out across my stomach. “It won't serve to remind you of how much you suck?”
“I'd threaten to kick your ass but, man, this is beautiful. Come here.” He pulls me down by the neck, planting an overly-sloppy kiss on my forehead that I immediately wipe off. “Keep the sweater, just don't let Mom see you in it.”
“I need a mirror, stat.”
“No, you need to take off that fucking ugly shirt then replace it with the sweater before you can be trusted to go anywhere near a mirror.” Chris, his eyes roaming all over my chest and torso, back up to my face then over to Kris with a smile. “The hell were you thinking, letting him out of the house in that thing?”
“That shirt is most definitely not my fault so don't even try to pin that on me.”
“I'll have you both know that this shirt has a waiting list, isn't even on general release right now and cost me a hundred and sixty dollars.”
“It's costing you a great deal more than that, my friend.” He reaches out and pinches an inch of cashmere between his finger and thumb, rubbing back and forth. “Wow, that's nice.”
I have to steel myself against batting his hand off or stepping away from him, but then he raises his head from looking down at his hand and our eyes meet, and I notice his get darker, a slight flush across his face as I forget to breathe and look back at him. It takes only milliseconds but Kris is already clearing her throat and pushing at the small of my back. “Let's go find a mirror and de-shirt you.”
I look back over my shoulder at him as we walk away but he's staring blankly at the floor, fingers curled tight around his drink. As I turn my head back to watch where I'm going, I catch Joe in the corner of my eye, looking at me with a slight frown.
I'm not used to this yet, I'm not sure I ever will be. I've always done okay with guys, even when I knew I looked like a total geek, but now? There's no way on earth this guy would've been all over me like this even a year ago. He's young, perhaps twenty-one, a model. And he's beautiful, more so than Chris even, his face all steeply-angled planes and impossibly wide mouth. He looks like a Caravaggio, dark, shaggy hair that frames his face, hollowed-out eyes circled in shadows and his lips flushed and almost too full for his face, the bottom one as velvet and ripe as a drooping orchid. A brooding renaissance angel one step away from falling, and he's so into me, I can see it in his eyes, in the set of his tight body as he leans against the wall next to me, the way his eyes keep straying to where the v-neck of the sweater lets a little chest fur peek out. I look deep into his eyes, lean forward to listen to the punchline of his lame, slightly-sexist joke and smile three inches from his mouth. The drinks keep coming and his fingers brush over the cashmere, against my stomach, shifting his hip an inch closer to me along the wall.
“Uh, Zach, may I interrupt you?”
God, not now. My new friend frowns at Chris, eyes traveling up and down over him in annoyance. I sigh, matching his expression. “Chris, I'm a little busy right now talking to . . . I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”
“Taylor.” Taylor looks a little annoyed, I guess he must've already told me already.
“That's right, I'm talking to Taylor.”
“I know, I see that, everybody sees that but it's getting late and I want to talk to you. I'd have talked to you earlier if you weren't avoiding me.”
“Pfhah, I'm not avoiding you.” I have been all night since that weird little moment earlier. “Call me tomorrow.”
“You never answer your phone, you're shitty at returning calls if I leave a message and this is important.”
The sincerity that deepens his voice on the important appears to be genuine and I can already feel my resolve weakening with every slow blink of Chris's eyes even as Taylor slides his hand fully over my stomach. I lift it away with my own, rubbing my thumb over the palm of his hand. “Don't move a muscle.” Of which you appear to have plenty. “This shouldn't take too long.”
“Whatever.” Taylor looks bored and pouty all of a sudden, looking away to light a cigarette and he looks so incredible that I get a little hard, internally cursing Chris for being able to snap his fingers and make me jump this way.
“This had better be good.”
Chris jerks his head, “C'mon, we need somewhere quieter.”
I follow him through the party, past a bunch of people dancing and up the stairs where the music falls away a little. “I can't believe I let you do that.”
He grins back at me over his shoulder while I check out his butt all the way up the stairs. “Me neither, I'd have told me to fuck off.”
“You said it was important.”
“It is. Which room's yours?”
“In here.” But I interrupt some biker dude getting his dick sucked by one of Margey's girlfriends on the bed I'm supposed to be crashing in, and I cover my eyes, back out with a quick “God, sorry”, bumping into Chris as I reverse. “Ocupado. Uhh, I don't know . . .”
“Down here?” He tries a guest bathroom at the end of the hallway, ignoring me when I tell him I don't want to talk to him in a bathroom because it's gross, grabbing my wrist and pulling me inside, locking the door behind us. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Is this how you seduce people these days, imprisoning them in a bathroom with you? Because, I have to say, you've been better at this in your time.”
“Sit down.”
“Where?”
“You take the toilet.” He sits on the edge of the tub and looks at me expectantly until I sigh, close the lid of the toilet and sit down.
“Well. This is just lovely.”
“Oh, quit bitching. I have to talk to you about something and I'm, I don't know, a little nervous about it and it had to be private.”
I'm finding it tough to swallow without a drink in my hand so I stick a cigarette in my mouth and offer him one, light them both when he takes it. “Talk about what?”
“About Spock.”
“ . . . what?”
“Spock. You got Spock, right?”
I tap my ash out in the sink and stare at him. “ . . . seriously, what?”
“Zach, focus. You've heard by now. You got cast. You must've.”
“Are you kidding me? You dragged me away from a party and this insanely hot twink and locked me in a bathroom to talk about work?”
He sighs, grips the edge of the tub with both hands either side of his hips and stretches his legs out, reaching up as he takes a draw on his cigarette, and I notice his hands, his strong arms, how built his thighs are these days. “Come on, you know you can tell me. You got Spock. I know you did.”
“Chris, you know I can't talk about -”
“Which means you did, you got it. Man, I knew it. Fucking hell. That's huge. Jesus.”
I glare at him then look down at my foot, jiggling where my legs are crossed, and I chew on my thumbnail for a second, then glare at him some more. “I know I should trust you with this but, Chris, you cannot say a thing, I will be so screwed if you blab a single word about this to a living soul -”
“I won't, I won't. Fuck. Fuck!” A huge, heart-stopping smile breaks out across his face and he leans forward enough to knuckle-punch my knee, and then he holds up his hand for a high five, keeping it there until I capitulate. “Congratulations! Holy shit, you're going to own that goddamn movie. Way to go, way to fucking go. Hell, we should hug it out.”
“Whoa, there, settle your spurs.” I flap him back down, but I can't help the way my heart's skipping around my chest, or the way I'm grinning like an idiot. He's the first person who knows, and every time I think about it when I'm by myself, I give in to a faggy little hop of excitement if I'm certain nobody's watching me. He's right, this is huge for me. Bigger then huge and I fight against the urge to let it all gush out all over him. But slowly I manage to reign it in, knowing this isn't why we're in here. “How come you're so antsy to know about Spock?”
“That's what I'm nervous about.” He gives a half-laugh then sniffs and rubs across his nose, looking at the tiling next to him like it's super-interesting. Then looks down at his hands, picking at the nails of one with the fingers of another. “I'm up for Kirk again. I just found out.”
“What? But I thought they didn't -”
“Me too, but I got a call-back. I only heard this morning. And I have no idea at all if that's okay, with our history and everything, and because this is your movie, know what I mean? I don't want to butt in on your territory but it's a great role and, I don't know, it could be fun. Working together, right? I don't know, I mean, I probably won't even get it but I felt like I should say something and, maybe, check in with you, get your thoughts on it because, I mean it, if you want me to drop it and walk away, I will. I wouldn't want to because, fucking hell, Captain James T. Kirk, you know? But I would, if you wanted. But maybe it could be fun, working with you. If I got it, which I probably won't anyway, and, fuck, Zach, it'd be really good right now if you interrupted this whole monologue I've got going here with some thoughts of your own . . .”
I look at him, unable to put voice to the myriad of emotions and thoughts and sensations tumbling through my mind and body at first, too much to translate into anything approaching coherency except one word battering against my brain, Yes, over and over. One other thing is clear, though, and I concentrate on that. “I wouldn't do that to you.”
“Do what?”
“Ask you to drop a part for me. I wouldn't ask that. It's not my movie.”
“Sure it is.”
“No, Chris, it's not.” I sit back against the tank and smoke more, looking at him long and hard as he hangs his head, so hot that it distracts me and reminds me of a very good reason why I shouldn't want him on the movie at all. But I do. It feels right, a purely instinctual gut reaction that I can't stop any more than I can spontaneously stop my heart beating.
He scowls at me over at me through the haze of smoke that the bathroom fan hasn't dealt with yet. “Say something. First thoughts.”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“I'm not going to pretend like there's not a smattering of the Sunday Pie situation all over again.” We'd have a quarter each and he'd inhale his helping then bat his eyes at Mom and beat me to the fourth quarter before I'd even half-finished my own.
“Right, I get that, sure. But . . . ?”
“But - and you know how much it costs me to say this - you'd be perfect. Have you any idea at all how annoying that is?”
“Perfect? Seriously, you'd want me to -” That smile creasing his face again, his eyes disappearing and it pisses me off when he's cute like this.
“You'd make a kick-ass Kirk, and I need a kick-ass Kirk because this whole movie has to kick ass. It's the central role - imagine if they hire someone lame, or somebody I hate.” I stub out my cigarette in the sink, standing briefly to rinse out the ash and throwing the butt away. “I don't totally hate you.”
“No?” Chris is grinning at me now as he repeats my actions, his eyes alive, a vivid turquoise in the yellow bathroom lighting.
“Not completely, no. Go for it.” I shrug, like it's no big deal, like this hasn't changed everything, like I don't feel like I'm strapped in and inching up that first long crawl of a rollercoaster. “If you want it, you'll get it.”
Someone tries the bathroom door handle, then knocks a few times and he yells out 'Busy!' too loud, getting to his feet. “Thank you. I didn't want to, y'know. But it means a lot that you - thanks.”
“Come up with anything like that level of articulation at your reading and it's a done deal.”
I get to my feet once more, expecting to follow Chris out as his hand's on the door knob and I figure he's about to unlock the door. But he turns back to me, too close in what's already a small bathroom without two people in it. “Uh, I don't suppose you want to . . .” He raises both eyebrows at me and looks at me. That's all it takes, one look and the heat starts building already. I put my hands up between us.
“Oh, no, no you don't.”
“It's a party. We're a little drunk. That slobbering teenage cretin you were drooling all over earlier is probably on his knees in front of someone else already.”
He takes a step towards me, I take one back. “You had this planned out. This is an ambush.”
“No, I had to talk to you but, hell. Look at you. I've been watching you all night, you're . . .” He trails off, like he's lost for words and I feel like something's constricting my chest, like my lungs are struggling to fill because they're too swamped with the way he's looking at me. “Not just the sweater although, goddammit Zach, cashmere over your skin? You're killing me. You were always so fucking cute but,” another step towards me, his stomach pressing up against my hands. “These days, I can't look at you without wanting to - I can't just look at you. I look at you and I want to taste, I want to . . . I want everything.”
He moves towards me again and I duck out the way, pushing him towards the door, my heart pounding as ire, and lust, and darkness and want and longing pummel their way through my body, same as it ever was with him, the constant simmering need for Chris that was waiting for him to start this, that never stops waiting for him to make some sort of move. I'm as desperate to get away from him as I am to plaster myself all over his body, so sick of this stupid little tango we keep dancing around each other but unable to stop myself wanting it, or wanting to grab at him and bury myself wherever I can in everything that he is. “How the hell are we supposed to work together if you can't keep your hands to yourself? Get off me.”
“Why? It's the only time we've both been single in, God, forever. Besides, you said it yourself, something's always going to happen with us.” Chris's fingertips inch beneath the sweater, lifting it as he goes, bumping over my belt to stroke across the skin of my stomach, tracing along the belt's line, and my throat feels hollow with lust as I stare into his eyes, right there in front of mine. His mouth, damp after he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, his tongue and it makes me ache all over. It's almost a whisper, a plea, as broken down as I feel, his hand warm and barely shifting where it's splayed across my belly. “Please, Zach, I want this.”
That one small sentence, five words, that one right in the center. “I”. It's always about Chris with us, it's about him and what he wants and what he thinks he's going to take from me, and I grit my teeth with sudden fury, my eyes stinging and my face hot as I grab his, forcing his mouth open with mine, slamming him into the vanity. I tear into him, shoving my tongue into his mouth hard making him grunt in surprise, my hands half-ripping his belt away and out of its loops without meaning to, throwing it behind me with a clatter as the buckle hits the toilet seat. I'm so fucking angry with him I hardly notice as he squirms against me, trying to kiss me back but I simply push against him more, tilting my head, opening my mouth wide and shoving into his mouth deeper still. I unzip his pants, push them down to his thighs, shove his underwear down enough till I've got his dick hard and hot in my hand, and it's only then that I let him breathe.
His eyes are dazed, dark, eyelids heavy as he sucks at his bottom lip and looks at me. “Zach -”
“No. You don't get to talk now. Look at yourself.” I squeeze his dick once, too hard making him wince before I grab his hips and turn him so he's slightly bent over the vanity, his hands scrabbling in the sink for a split second, his face surprised and a little flushed as he looks back at me in the mirror. “You want this? Huh?” I reach around his hip and jack his dick a few times, his eyes closing where I'm looking at his reflection. “Look at me. Tell me what it is you want from me. A hand job? BJ? You want me to get you off?”
Chris's eyes open as I continue to stroke his dick, slow and tight, milking him as he shudders against me and groans, looking into the reflection of my eyes. “Yes, that's what I want, any of it.”
“Why?”
“Fuck, Zach, I can't talk if you're going to -”
I squeeze harder still and he grunts, head falling forwards. “Tell me why.”
“Because you're so fucking hot.”
“Not good enough.” I knock his legs further apart with my foot and jerk him off faster. “Try again.”
“Because - fuck.”
“I'm happy to walk out of here without getting you off.”
“Because it's always better with you.” He slowly opens his eyes and looks at me again, mouth open and gasping. “I come harder with you than anyone else, always have. Is that what you want to hear?”
I laugh into his ear, bite along the cord of his neck down to his collar as he tilts his head, watching me do it. “Yes.”
“It's true.”
“I know it is.” One last heavy rub across his piss slit and I pull my fingers away, move away one step. Chris curses, looking down as he replaces my hand with one of his own, beginning to stroke himself, closing his eyes like I'm not even in the room. But I grab his arm, then his other, pulling his wrists around behind his back, pushing against him hard to shove him up against the vanity again, growling into his ear. “You think that's true for me? You think I come harder with you?”
“Y-yeah, I guess. Zach, come on, jack me off.” He humps his hips against the vanity, his dick rubbing at the edge and I lean against him more to press his nuts against the cabinet door below. His eyes are closed, his body passive against me, not even trying to move out of my grip on his hands.
“Look at me, I'm talking to you.” I wait until he does, his pupils huge, his cheekbones grazed red. “I don't. Not these days, not with you. Don't get me wrong, it's great, and it was mindblowing when we were kids, but it's better with other people. It would've been better with whatsisface downstairs. You know why?” I bite at his earlobe, watch him watching me as I fill his ear with my tongue and he moans, futilely fucking at the vanity again as I let go of one of his wrists so I can stroke over his ass. I whisper it into his wet ear, watching his face. “I like to fuck.” Trail my finger down the crack of his ass as flickers of emotion fade in and out across his face, disgust, desperation, and a hot spasm of total desire that I can't fail to miss. I let go of his other hand and he clutches at the vanity like it's holding him up as I brush my fingertips over his muscular asscheeks. I step away once more, getting down onto my knees and pushing two fingers into his buttcrack to rub over his pucker. “Do I get to fuck your ass now, so I get off as hard as you do?”
His refusal gets blurred, 'N-nuahh' as I roughly part his cheeks and press my face into him, a curse and a hissed 'Yesss, God, your tongue' as I lick over his asshole and start to push inside. His hot little ring clamps down on the tip of my tongue hard and he shouts out a sharp “Fuck!” and I grip his hips harder, spread his ass wider still so I can tongue-fuck him deeper. He rocks his hips against my face, moaning hard, hands gripping the vanity as he concentrates on my tongue moving on him and in him rather than jerking off. I remember how much he loved this before, shouting his damn head off because we had the house to ourselves, jacking himself off hard and fast until his spasming hole would clench down on me so hard my tongue would cramp. Apparently not that much has changed as he fucks himself back on me and moans so loud that a girl outside the bathroom door laughs.
I suck at his ass once, twice, lick over it one more time before pulling away to spit on my fingers, worming the tip of my index finger into him then pushing in to my knuckles without a pause and Chris yelps, hikes his hips. I lick and bite over his asscheek, watching the muscle clenching, work my finger in him a few times before I start to push in another. He groans and shakes his head, gasping like he's not able to speak but I keep going, feeling how tight he is, a hot ring of steel around my fingers as I push in deeper.
“I'm going to fuck you, Chris. You've wanted it all along, right? Even on that day I asked for it, you said no but you wanted it then.”
“No, no, the idea's - fuck - the idea is hot but I can't, I know I can't -” and I twist my knuckles in him, pump my hand a few times and he gasps, his head falling back. “There's no way I can take a dick in my ass.”
“Sure you can.” I lean in and spit on his hole, pull my fingers out to rub it around before sliding back in, feeling his ass beginning to open up for me. “You're going to.”
“It'll hurt.”
“Nah. It'll burn, but it won't hurt. You work out, you know how it feels to stretch out a muscle. Then the burn will disappear and you're going to love having my dick in your ass so much you'll shoot harder than you ever have before.” I work his ass deeper and I can smell him, smell his ass and even the scent of his precum, his hip beginning to shake under my hand.
“Pl-please -”
“Please what?”
“I can't, Zach, fuck, your hand feels . . .” I crook my finger into a knuckle inside of him and turn it, enough to graze his g-spot and his body stiffens against me. “Jesus!” I do it again and he whimpers, his legs faltering like he's going to fall. I pull my fingers out of him, standing to dig around in my pants pocket, throwing a rubber down in the sink in front of him as I catch his eye in the mirror, tearing the corner off a lube packet with my teeth.
“You say no now, and I'll stop. What's it going to be, Christopher?”
He's staring at me like he hates me, confusion warring with out-and-out lust on that open-book face of his, his dick drooling a sticky line of fluid against the counter top. His voice is over-deep when he speaks, throaty and dry as he chokes it out. “So long as you're not going to hurt me . . .”
“Say it. Ask for it.”
“Zach . . .” His eyes look almost desperate. “Fuck me.”
“Shit. Okay.” Intense, near-painful arousal bursts throughout my body like lava-filled water bombs and it's almost too much as I squeeze out the contents of the lube over my fingers and his ass, smearing it around before shoving my fingers into him again as he laughs nervously and grunts as I spread my fingers inside him.
“I can't believe you brought lube to a party.”
“You'd rather I fuck you without?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Nobody would, and I was planning to get laid tonight.” I unzip my pants and push them down to my knees with my shorts, in such a hurry now as I grab the rubber from where Chris is handing it back to me already opened, watching him beat off in the mirror while I roll it on, coating my dick with whatever lube's left on my fingers. Then I'm against him, my dick hard against his hole ready to push in, and he closes his eyes. “No, open your eyes. Look at me, keep jerking off and look at me.”
I say it like it's going to help him, which is bullshit, I just want to look into his eyes as I start fucking him. I want to see how his face changes, watch his eyes grow wider. But as I hold his hips firm, my thumbs digging into his asscheeks as I start to push into his hole, his eyes flutter closed again and he sighs, short, a hushed 'Ohfuck' as I breech his ring and start to shove into him. He's so tight it's almost uncomfortable, squirming his hips now like he wants to move away, his asshole unyielding so I pull him back onto me, watching his eyes screw tighter shut, his mouth opening wide like he's screaming only no sound comes out. I don't know if he's even breathing. I don't know if I am. I watch Chris's face as I bury myself inside his hot, clenching gut, and I know this changes everything. I don't know how, I can barely think beyond pulling out of him by an inch and pushing back in to make him sob once with sensation.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing. You lied, you shithead, this totally, ahh, hurts, fuck.”
“Don't be such a wuss.” I pull out again, further this time, his stretching asshole gripping me the whole way and he curses, twists against me as I grip him hard and fuck into his ass, unable to tear my eyes from his face as I start to pump in and out of his body, watching the pain begin to switch into a low, drugged pleasure as he opens his eyes in surprise and stares at me, his mouth hanging open.
“Oh God, Zach, fuck, oh fuck.”
“Good?” I slide my hands up under his shirt and rub over his nipples, hissing when he squeezes on me in answer and moans.
“Oh shit, yeah. It feels so - your dick, fuck, I'm going to come soon. Fucking - fuck, so good.” He has one hand splayed on the vanity, using it to push back against me now as he beats at his dick fast, an uneven, arrhythmic pace as I wrap my arms around his torso tight and start to slam into him harder, deeper. I can feel him already getting there, his asscheeks rock hard as I bounce off them, his hole tighter on me still, a litany of frantic 'Oh oh oh fuck oh' falling from his gasping, gaping mouth. I bend us both forward, rocking my hips skyward and pulling his body back tight, searching out his g-spot and knowing I've found it when he spits out a harsh, choking cry and comes, spattering the sink and mirror with his jizz as he strokes himself through it. His asshole is clamping down on me hard, over and over as I fuck into him faster, and all of Chris's moans, his smell of his cum, his body strong and broad as I wrap around him and feel him shivering . . . it overtakes me suddenly, too sharp, too soon and I lean my forehead on the back of his neck, gasping as my climax beats the crap out of me, emptying my nuts and my lungs and my mind as I bury myself in his heat.
“How long have we been in here, anyway?”
Chris pauses in wiping up the sink to check his watch. “Fuck. Over forty minutes, plus we were pretty loud. There's no way people don't know what we've been doing in here. Gimme a drag.” He leans down and I hold my cigarette to his lips as he takes in a draw, blowing it out over his shoulder then kissing me, his tongue licking the corner of my mouth.
“You seem a little more at ease with the idea than I'd have previously thought you capable of.”
“What? People knowing I like guys? Or people knowing I like you?”
“Either. Or. I don't know.” I'm sitting on the toilet again, reaching out to grab him by a belt loop, pulling him against me, running a hand over his ass as I press my mouth against his stomach, shirt neatly back in place, this beautiful round butt wiped up and safely tucked away. “Admit it, even a year ago, this would've all fried your head. Not that I'm one to talk in the head-fry stakes . . .”
“I don't know. It still does. Guess I should've thought about it before I -”
“Let me put my dick in your ass?”
Chris blushes, grins wide, reaching back to rub over his asscrack like he's a little sore. “Something like that.”
A soft curl of something, not happiness exactly but a contented, satisfied feeling settles around my shoulders like a sleepy Harold as I watch him like this, cumdrunk and a little shy, smiling and vulnerable as he finishes wiping down the sink, tossing the TP he used into the trash before washing his hands. He's never been this accessible before and it feels like he's exposed to me for the first time as he looks down at his hands with a smile, leaning back against the vanity I just fucked him over. I finish smoking, watching him, waiting for him to speak as I can see something going around in his head.
“I was thinking.” Here it comes. He lights a smoke out of his own pack, tucking it and his lighter back into his pocket, screwing up his face at me through a ringlet of smoke threatening his eyes. “I don't know how well I'll deal with Joe and, y'know, everybody knowing and, let's face it, I doubt we're going to get away with it this time.”
“I think it's unlikely.”
“Heh, yeah. And I don't want a relationship, Zach. I can't, I only just -”
“I know. It's okay.”
Chris nods, looking relieved. “Thanks. But maybe we could do the whole friends-with-benefits thing. It's always so great with you. I miss being with you, I've missed it for too long. And that, fuck, that was - I'm telling you, I could die pretty happy right now.”
I stretch out, look smug on purpose, even though my stomach's tying itself in knots. “I know, I'm a stud.”
“What do you think? Maybe?”
I can't. Not with you. “Maybe.”
He nods, drizzles a few drops of water over the last half of his cigarette and throws it in the trash. “Okay then, great.” His voice, low, a little sad. He's figured out I'm saying No, and he kisses me, his fingers stroking over my eyebrows and down the sides of my face as he smiles into my eyes. “Time to face the music, I guess.”
A flash goes off in my face as I exit the bathroom with Chris behind me to find Joe in a chair opposite the door with a beer and a little digital camera. He waits while Chris follows me out a little sheepishly, wincing as he looks at Joe.
“Little bro. Little foster bro.”
I nod at him, refusing to look embarrassed, aware that Chris is doing more than enough of that for both of us. “Been camping out here long? I always said you should've gone the paparazzi route.”
“Joe.” Chris clears his throat. “S'up.”
Joe takes a swig of his beer, thumbing at the little digicam, looking at the picture he just took, I guess. Holds it up, squinting as he holds down the button and takes another shot. “Another one for the family album. You guys are aware we're not hillbillies, right?”
Next
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7000
Summary: AU - Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N:For halfbreedchild ♥ like whoa. A big thank you to emmessann for her contribution to this series, patiently discussing the subjects within, and providing insight along with a heaping dose of ZQ canon whenever I needed it.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
“I did already, she's here right now.” I grimace across at Kris, who rolls her eyes at me and gimme-gimmes her hand at the phone. “She wants to say hi.”
I mouth Thank you, I love you as I hand the phone over to her and return to tugging my shoes on, checking my watch again to make sure we've still got time as Kris trills “Hey, Margo, how's the poodle?” down the phone, then laughs at Mom's reply. “Oh no, you know how it is in this place, I haven't had a poodle for years.”
I check my hair again in the living room mirror, sweeping it back. Undo another shirt button then squint at myself back and forth before doing it up again. Then undoing it again and frowning at my reflection. I start to button it up once more but Kris is clicking her fingers at me to get my attention, and does this one-handed little mime of leaving the shirt undone, including this expressive gesture that I think is supposed to be my chest hair. I let my hands drop away obediently and she gives me an Okay sign before turning her attention back to my mom. “Oh sure, it's total agony, but I'm telling you, you'd love the results. I'll take you next time you visit, my waxing lady is an absolute artist.”
I shoot her a disgusted look and she flips me off. “I'm freaking Zach out. Oh, I know. Yeah. We should! You know there's got to be a big old mess down there and they do this thing for guys called a Back, Sack and -” and I grab the phone back, smack her away.
“If you and Kris are done mentally scarring me for life, we need to get going.”
“You'll make sure he knows -”
“Mom, he'll understand. I promise.”
“And you'll remember his gift? I hate not being there.”
“I've got it right by the door so I won't forget it.” A wrapped gift that feels like Mom's traditional ugly sweater, which is stacked up along with the Beer of the Month subscription that Joe gets from me every year and a signed Yousuf Karsh lithograph that he's going to lose his shit over. “Take it easy, rest your foot, and I'll call from the party so you can speak to him.”
“Now, don't drink too much.”
“It's a party, Mom. Besides, I'm not even driving back tonight.” Checking my pockets for keys, cigarettes and lighter, and I can hear her heavy sigh over the line. “Alright, alright, I'll take it easy.”
“I'm your mother, Zachary, I'm supposed to worry about you. It's my job.”
“I know, Ma. I do, I appreciate it.” Kristen's pointing at a non-existent watch on her wrist and hoicking her thumb at the door. “We can't be late, I have to go or Margey's going to kick my butt.” I put Noah in his bed with a rawhide twist, rub over his ears and then turn the kitchen radio on low for him.
“How many times -”
“Butt isn't cursing. They even say it on Sesame Street.”
“I don't believe that for a second. Tell Joe that I love him.”
“You can tell him yourself when I call from the party. I have to go.” I've already got a cigarette out and ready to light by the time I hang up, taking a huge drag and then letting it out with a long huuuuuhrgh. Kris grabs her bag and opens the door.
“She can't see you smoke over the phone.”
“She can hear it, she's caught me out before. She knows what a lighter sounds like, too.”
“Oh my God, you're nearly thirty years old and you're worried that your mother knows you smoke?”
I take another drag and narrow my eyes at her, blowing it out. “Considering your mother's about as scary as a basket of kittens, you don't get to comment. Go get your bottom in the car.”
I see Chris the second we gets to Joe's place, my eyes seeking him out automatically and he nods at me across the room, a flicker of a slightly distant smile as he looks me over. He looks blinding, so disgustingly handsome in his glasses and in a fitted blue shirt, dark pants that cling to his ass and thighs and he's bulked out for something or other, his shoulders broad and his arms muscular. I haven't seen him for a few months and it's instant, arousal and conflicting emotions rising in my gullet like stinging bile as my dick decides to perk up and make me look desperate. Kris follows my line of vision and waves over at him, squeezing my elbow sympathetically with her other hand. “Let's find the bar and get good and wasted.”
“I should find Joe and Margey first.” I don't even recognize half the people here but then familiar faces start to appear and the awareness of Chris across the room, drink in hand, eyes following me, begins to fade as I get caught up in hugs and in conversation, in questions over the show, questions over the Spock rumors. It's difficult to remember what everyone else has been up to and I keep asking but nobody seems to mind when the conversation seems to always eventually steer back to me. Kris shoves yet another vodka lime into my hand and hauls me ever onwards towards Joe, and I relax into it, the buzz of the party around me, a tribe at meeting as we laugh into each other's faces and vaguely move around to the music that the DJ's got busting through every window in the place. Margey's already got the neighbors over here and good and drunk, even the older couple from across the way who I can see over in a corner making uproarious conversation with one of Joe's assistants.
“Baby bro! Hey, get your ass over here.”
“I'd say you get over here, but I know how your hip's playing you up these days.” I get buried in a hug and grip him back, grinning into his neck. “Happy birthday, old man. Another year forfeited to encroaching infirmity and decrepitude. It's a damn shame.” Kris brushes me out of the way to give him a hug as I lean down give Margey a kiss on the cheek. “Nice party. DJ's hot.”
“Straight and taken, I'm afraid. I already checked for you.”
I wrap an arm around her, kiss her again. “Joe, I think I'm in love with your girlfriend. Marry this woman or I will.”
“I'd say yes to you in a second, Zach, but whoever I eventually marry will be expected to have sex with me. Regularly. In my lady area.”
Joe snorts. “She's not kidding,” and she slaps his shoulder.
“I could do that. I'm an actor, I'm totally method.”
“Honey, I hate to break this to you but -” Kris cups my face with a hand, “even you're not that good an actor. I need more booze, I'm going to go jump a waiter.”
“Nice to see Kris again.” Joe's eyes on my face, seeing everything, as usual. “I missed her.”
I down the dregs of my third vodka lime and grab a glass of champagne off a passing tray. “Me too. Open your presents.”
Turns out Mom's ugly birthday sweater is this incredible grey cashmere v-neck that I tell him he's too fat for and wrestle out of his hands, tugging it on over my shirt. Kris and Margey both widen their eyes a little at me and I say “What?” and scoop back my hair in case I mussed it up. Joe's shoulders fall as he tears the paper off the lithograph's frame and he sighs in pleasure, tracing a hand over it, fingertips an inch from the glass.
“This is . . . God, kiddo. You did good.”
“Yeah?” Looking over his shoulder at it, a self-portrait of the artist in a diamond-sharp suit, silk paisley tie and heavy cufflinks, gazing up into a negative transparency of a pretty girl, his fingernails blunt, all high contrasts in black and white. I smooth the sweater out across my stomach. “It won't serve to remind you of how much you suck?”
“I'd threaten to kick your ass but, man, this is beautiful. Come here.” He pulls me down by the neck, planting an overly-sloppy kiss on my forehead that I immediately wipe off. “Keep the sweater, just don't let Mom see you in it.”
“I need a mirror, stat.”
“No, you need to take off that fucking ugly shirt then replace it with the sweater before you can be trusted to go anywhere near a mirror.” Chris, his eyes roaming all over my chest and torso, back up to my face then over to Kris with a smile. “The hell were you thinking, letting him out of the house in that thing?”
“That shirt is most definitely not my fault so don't even try to pin that on me.”
“I'll have you both know that this shirt has a waiting list, isn't even on general release right now and cost me a hundred and sixty dollars.”
“It's costing you a great deal more than that, my friend.” He reaches out and pinches an inch of cashmere between his finger and thumb, rubbing back and forth. “Wow, that's nice.”
I have to steel myself against batting his hand off or stepping away from him, but then he raises his head from looking down at his hand and our eyes meet, and I notice his get darker, a slight flush across his face as I forget to breathe and look back at him. It takes only milliseconds but Kris is already clearing her throat and pushing at the small of my back. “Let's go find a mirror and de-shirt you.”
I look back over my shoulder at him as we walk away but he's staring blankly at the floor, fingers curled tight around his drink. As I turn my head back to watch where I'm going, I catch Joe in the corner of my eye, looking at me with a slight frown.
I'm not used to this yet, I'm not sure I ever will be. I've always done okay with guys, even when I knew I looked like a total geek, but now? There's no way on earth this guy would've been all over me like this even a year ago. He's young, perhaps twenty-one, a model. And he's beautiful, more so than Chris even, his face all steeply-angled planes and impossibly wide mouth. He looks like a Caravaggio, dark, shaggy hair that frames his face, hollowed-out eyes circled in shadows and his lips flushed and almost too full for his face, the bottom one as velvet and ripe as a drooping orchid. A brooding renaissance angel one step away from falling, and he's so into me, I can see it in his eyes, in the set of his tight body as he leans against the wall next to me, the way his eyes keep straying to where the v-neck of the sweater lets a little chest fur peek out. I look deep into his eyes, lean forward to listen to the punchline of his lame, slightly-sexist joke and smile three inches from his mouth. The drinks keep coming and his fingers brush over the cashmere, against my stomach, shifting his hip an inch closer to me along the wall.
“Uh, Zach, may I interrupt you?”
God, not now. My new friend frowns at Chris, eyes traveling up and down over him in annoyance. I sigh, matching his expression. “Chris, I'm a little busy right now talking to . . . I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”
“Taylor.” Taylor looks a little annoyed, I guess he must've already told me already.
“That's right, I'm talking to Taylor.”
“I know, I see that, everybody sees that but it's getting late and I want to talk to you. I'd have talked to you earlier if you weren't avoiding me.”
“Pfhah, I'm not avoiding you.” I have been all night since that weird little moment earlier. “Call me tomorrow.”
“You never answer your phone, you're shitty at returning calls if I leave a message and this is important.”
The sincerity that deepens his voice on the important appears to be genuine and I can already feel my resolve weakening with every slow blink of Chris's eyes even as Taylor slides his hand fully over my stomach. I lift it away with my own, rubbing my thumb over the palm of his hand. “Don't move a muscle.” Of which you appear to have plenty. “This shouldn't take too long.”
“Whatever.” Taylor looks bored and pouty all of a sudden, looking away to light a cigarette and he looks so incredible that I get a little hard, internally cursing Chris for being able to snap his fingers and make me jump this way.
“This had better be good.”
Chris jerks his head, “C'mon, we need somewhere quieter.”
I follow him through the party, past a bunch of people dancing and up the stairs where the music falls away a little. “I can't believe I let you do that.”
He grins back at me over his shoulder while I check out his butt all the way up the stairs. “Me neither, I'd have told me to fuck off.”
“You said it was important.”
“It is. Which room's yours?”
“In here.” But I interrupt some biker dude getting his dick sucked by one of Margey's girlfriends on the bed I'm supposed to be crashing in, and I cover my eyes, back out with a quick “God, sorry”, bumping into Chris as I reverse. “Ocupado. Uhh, I don't know . . .”
“Down here?” He tries a guest bathroom at the end of the hallway, ignoring me when I tell him I don't want to talk to him in a bathroom because it's gross, grabbing my wrist and pulling me inside, locking the door behind us. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Is this how you seduce people these days, imprisoning them in a bathroom with you? Because, I have to say, you've been better at this in your time.”
“Sit down.”
“Where?”
“You take the toilet.” He sits on the edge of the tub and looks at me expectantly until I sigh, close the lid of the toilet and sit down.
“Well. This is just lovely.”
“Oh, quit bitching. I have to talk to you about something and I'm, I don't know, a little nervous about it and it had to be private.”
I'm finding it tough to swallow without a drink in my hand so I stick a cigarette in my mouth and offer him one, light them both when he takes it. “Talk about what?”
“About Spock.”
“ . . . what?”
“Spock. You got Spock, right?”
I tap my ash out in the sink and stare at him. “ . . . seriously, what?”
“Zach, focus. You've heard by now. You got cast. You must've.”
“Are you kidding me? You dragged me away from a party and this insanely hot twink and locked me in a bathroom to talk about work?”
He sighs, grips the edge of the tub with both hands either side of his hips and stretches his legs out, reaching up as he takes a draw on his cigarette, and I notice his hands, his strong arms, how built his thighs are these days. “Come on, you know you can tell me. You got Spock. I know you did.”
“Chris, you know I can't talk about -”
“Which means you did, you got it. Man, I knew it. Fucking hell. That's huge. Jesus.”
I glare at him then look down at my foot, jiggling where my legs are crossed, and I chew on my thumbnail for a second, then glare at him some more. “I know I should trust you with this but, Chris, you cannot say a thing, I will be so screwed if you blab a single word about this to a living soul -”
“I won't, I won't. Fuck. Fuck!” A huge, heart-stopping smile breaks out across his face and he leans forward enough to knuckle-punch my knee, and then he holds up his hand for a high five, keeping it there until I capitulate. “Congratulations! Holy shit, you're going to own that goddamn movie. Way to go, way to fucking go. Hell, we should hug it out.”
“Whoa, there, settle your spurs.” I flap him back down, but I can't help the way my heart's skipping around my chest, or the way I'm grinning like an idiot. He's the first person who knows, and every time I think about it when I'm by myself, I give in to a faggy little hop of excitement if I'm certain nobody's watching me. He's right, this is huge for me. Bigger then huge and I fight against the urge to let it all gush out all over him. But slowly I manage to reign it in, knowing this isn't why we're in here. “How come you're so antsy to know about Spock?”
“That's what I'm nervous about.” He gives a half-laugh then sniffs and rubs across his nose, looking at the tiling next to him like it's super-interesting. Then looks down at his hands, picking at the nails of one with the fingers of another. “I'm up for Kirk again. I just found out.”
“What? But I thought they didn't -”
“Me too, but I got a call-back. I only heard this morning. And I have no idea at all if that's okay, with our history and everything, and because this is your movie, know what I mean? I don't want to butt in on your territory but it's a great role and, I don't know, it could be fun. Working together, right? I don't know, I mean, I probably won't even get it but I felt like I should say something and, maybe, check in with you, get your thoughts on it because, I mean it, if you want me to drop it and walk away, I will. I wouldn't want to because, fucking hell, Captain James T. Kirk, you know? But I would, if you wanted. But maybe it could be fun, working with you. If I got it, which I probably won't anyway, and, fuck, Zach, it'd be really good right now if you interrupted this whole monologue I've got going here with some thoughts of your own . . .”
I look at him, unable to put voice to the myriad of emotions and thoughts and sensations tumbling through my mind and body at first, too much to translate into anything approaching coherency except one word battering against my brain, Yes, over and over. One other thing is clear, though, and I concentrate on that. “I wouldn't do that to you.”
“Do what?”
“Ask you to drop a part for me. I wouldn't ask that. It's not my movie.”
“Sure it is.”
“No, Chris, it's not.” I sit back against the tank and smoke more, looking at him long and hard as he hangs his head, so hot that it distracts me and reminds me of a very good reason why I shouldn't want him on the movie at all. But I do. It feels right, a purely instinctual gut reaction that I can't stop any more than I can spontaneously stop my heart beating.
He scowls at me over at me through the haze of smoke that the bathroom fan hasn't dealt with yet. “Say something. First thoughts.”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“I'm not going to pretend like there's not a smattering of the Sunday Pie situation all over again.” We'd have a quarter each and he'd inhale his helping then bat his eyes at Mom and beat me to the fourth quarter before I'd even half-finished my own.
“Right, I get that, sure. But . . . ?”
“But - and you know how much it costs me to say this - you'd be perfect. Have you any idea at all how annoying that is?”
“Perfect? Seriously, you'd want me to -” That smile creasing his face again, his eyes disappearing and it pisses me off when he's cute like this.
“You'd make a kick-ass Kirk, and I need a kick-ass Kirk because this whole movie has to kick ass. It's the central role - imagine if they hire someone lame, or somebody I hate.” I stub out my cigarette in the sink, standing briefly to rinse out the ash and throwing the butt away. “I don't totally hate you.”
“No?” Chris is grinning at me now as he repeats my actions, his eyes alive, a vivid turquoise in the yellow bathroom lighting.
“Not completely, no. Go for it.” I shrug, like it's no big deal, like this hasn't changed everything, like I don't feel like I'm strapped in and inching up that first long crawl of a rollercoaster. “If you want it, you'll get it.”
Someone tries the bathroom door handle, then knocks a few times and he yells out 'Busy!' too loud, getting to his feet. “Thank you. I didn't want to, y'know. But it means a lot that you - thanks.”
“Come up with anything like that level of articulation at your reading and it's a done deal.”
I get to my feet once more, expecting to follow Chris out as his hand's on the door knob and I figure he's about to unlock the door. But he turns back to me, too close in what's already a small bathroom without two people in it. “Uh, I don't suppose you want to . . .” He raises both eyebrows at me and looks at me. That's all it takes, one look and the heat starts building already. I put my hands up between us.
“Oh, no, no you don't.”
“It's a party. We're a little drunk. That slobbering teenage cretin you were drooling all over earlier is probably on his knees in front of someone else already.”
He takes a step towards me, I take one back. “You had this planned out. This is an ambush.”
“No, I had to talk to you but, hell. Look at you. I've been watching you all night, you're . . .” He trails off, like he's lost for words and I feel like something's constricting my chest, like my lungs are struggling to fill because they're too swamped with the way he's looking at me. “Not just the sweater although, goddammit Zach, cashmere over your skin? You're killing me. You were always so fucking cute but,” another step towards me, his stomach pressing up against my hands. “These days, I can't look at you without wanting to - I can't just look at you. I look at you and I want to taste, I want to . . . I want everything.”
He moves towards me again and I duck out the way, pushing him towards the door, my heart pounding as ire, and lust, and darkness and want and longing pummel their way through my body, same as it ever was with him, the constant simmering need for Chris that was waiting for him to start this, that never stops waiting for him to make some sort of move. I'm as desperate to get away from him as I am to plaster myself all over his body, so sick of this stupid little tango we keep dancing around each other but unable to stop myself wanting it, or wanting to grab at him and bury myself wherever I can in everything that he is. “How the hell are we supposed to work together if you can't keep your hands to yourself? Get off me.”
“Why? It's the only time we've both been single in, God, forever. Besides, you said it yourself, something's always going to happen with us.” Chris's fingertips inch beneath the sweater, lifting it as he goes, bumping over my belt to stroke across the skin of my stomach, tracing along the belt's line, and my throat feels hollow with lust as I stare into his eyes, right there in front of mine. His mouth, damp after he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, his tongue and it makes me ache all over. It's almost a whisper, a plea, as broken down as I feel, his hand warm and barely shifting where it's splayed across my belly. “Please, Zach, I want this.”
That one small sentence, five words, that one right in the center. “I”. It's always about Chris with us, it's about him and what he wants and what he thinks he's going to take from me, and I grit my teeth with sudden fury, my eyes stinging and my face hot as I grab his, forcing his mouth open with mine, slamming him into the vanity. I tear into him, shoving my tongue into his mouth hard making him grunt in surprise, my hands half-ripping his belt away and out of its loops without meaning to, throwing it behind me with a clatter as the buckle hits the toilet seat. I'm so fucking angry with him I hardly notice as he squirms against me, trying to kiss me back but I simply push against him more, tilting my head, opening my mouth wide and shoving into his mouth deeper still. I unzip his pants, push them down to his thighs, shove his underwear down enough till I've got his dick hard and hot in my hand, and it's only then that I let him breathe.
His eyes are dazed, dark, eyelids heavy as he sucks at his bottom lip and looks at me. “Zach -”
“No. You don't get to talk now. Look at yourself.” I squeeze his dick once, too hard making him wince before I grab his hips and turn him so he's slightly bent over the vanity, his hands scrabbling in the sink for a split second, his face surprised and a little flushed as he looks back at me in the mirror. “You want this? Huh?” I reach around his hip and jack his dick a few times, his eyes closing where I'm looking at his reflection. “Look at me. Tell me what it is you want from me. A hand job? BJ? You want me to get you off?”
Chris's eyes open as I continue to stroke his dick, slow and tight, milking him as he shudders against me and groans, looking into the reflection of my eyes. “Yes, that's what I want, any of it.”
“Why?”
“Fuck, Zach, I can't talk if you're going to -”
I squeeze harder still and he grunts, head falling forwards. “Tell me why.”
“Because you're so fucking hot.”
“Not good enough.” I knock his legs further apart with my foot and jerk him off faster. “Try again.”
“Because - fuck.”
“I'm happy to walk out of here without getting you off.”
“Because it's always better with you.” He slowly opens his eyes and looks at me again, mouth open and gasping. “I come harder with you than anyone else, always have. Is that what you want to hear?”
I laugh into his ear, bite along the cord of his neck down to his collar as he tilts his head, watching me do it. “Yes.”
“It's true.”
“I know it is.” One last heavy rub across his piss slit and I pull my fingers away, move away one step. Chris curses, looking down as he replaces my hand with one of his own, beginning to stroke himself, closing his eyes like I'm not even in the room. But I grab his arm, then his other, pulling his wrists around behind his back, pushing against him hard to shove him up against the vanity again, growling into his ear. “You think that's true for me? You think I come harder with you?”
“Y-yeah, I guess. Zach, come on, jack me off.” He humps his hips against the vanity, his dick rubbing at the edge and I lean against him more to press his nuts against the cabinet door below. His eyes are closed, his body passive against me, not even trying to move out of my grip on his hands.
“Look at me, I'm talking to you.” I wait until he does, his pupils huge, his cheekbones grazed red. “I don't. Not these days, not with you. Don't get me wrong, it's great, and it was mindblowing when we were kids, but it's better with other people. It would've been better with whatsisface downstairs. You know why?” I bite at his earlobe, watch him watching me as I fill his ear with my tongue and he moans, futilely fucking at the vanity again as I let go of one of his wrists so I can stroke over his ass. I whisper it into his wet ear, watching his face. “I like to fuck.” Trail my finger down the crack of his ass as flickers of emotion fade in and out across his face, disgust, desperation, and a hot spasm of total desire that I can't fail to miss. I let go of his other hand and he clutches at the vanity like it's holding him up as I brush my fingertips over his muscular asscheeks. I step away once more, getting down onto my knees and pushing two fingers into his buttcrack to rub over his pucker. “Do I get to fuck your ass now, so I get off as hard as you do?”
His refusal gets blurred, 'N-nuahh' as I roughly part his cheeks and press my face into him, a curse and a hissed 'Yesss, God, your tongue' as I lick over his asshole and start to push inside. His hot little ring clamps down on the tip of my tongue hard and he shouts out a sharp “Fuck!” and I grip his hips harder, spread his ass wider still so I can tongue-fuck him deeper. He rocks his hips against my face, moaning hard, hands gripping the vanity as he concentrates on my tongue moving on him and in him rather than jerking off. I remember how much he loved this before, shouting his damn head off because we had the house to ourselves, jacking himself off hard and fast until his spasming hole would clench down on me so hard my tongue would cramp. Apparently not that much has changed as he fucks himself back on me and moans so loud that a girl outside the bathroom door laughs.
I suck at his ass once, twice, lick over it one more time before pulling away to spit on my fingers, worming the tip of my index finger into him then pushing in to my knuckles without a pause and Chris yelps, hikes his hips. I lick and bite over his asscheek, watching the muscle clenching, work my finger in him a few times before I start to push in another. He groans and shakes his head, gasping like he's not able to speak but I keep going, feeling how tight he is, a hot ring of steel around my fingers as I push in deeper.
“I'm going to fuck you, Chris. You've wanted it all along, right? Even on that day I asked for it, you said no but you wanted it then.”
“No, no, the idea's - fuck - the idea is hot but I can't, I know I can't -” and I twist my knuckles in him, pump my hand a few times and he gasps, his head falling back. “There's no way I can take a dick in my ass.”
“Sure you can.” I lean in and spit on his hole, pull my fingers out to rub it around before sliding back in, feeling his ass beginning to open up for me. “You're going to.”
“It'll hurt.”
“Nah. It'll burn, but it won't hurt. You work out, you know how it feels to stretch out a muscle. Then the burn will disappear and you're going to love having my dick in your ass so much you'll shoot harder than you ever have before.” I work his ass deeper and I can smell him, smell his ass and even the scent of his precum, his hip beginning to shake under my hand.
“Pl-please -”
“Please what?”
“I can't, Zach, fuck, your hand feels . . .” I crook my finger into a knuckle inside of him and turn it, enough to graze his g-spot and his body stiffens against me. “Jesus!” I do it again and he whimpers, his legs faltering like he's going to fall. I pull my fingers out of him, standing to dig around in my pants pocket, throwing a rubber down in the sink in front of him as I catch his eye in the mirror, tearing the corner off a lube packet with my teeth.
“You say no now, and I'll stop. What's it going to be, Christopher?”
He's staring at me like he hates me, confusion warring with out-and-out lust on that open-book face of his, his dick drooling a sticky line of fluid against the counter top. His voice is over-deep when he speaks, throaty and dry as he chokes it out. “So long as you're not going to hurt me . . .”
“Say it. Ask for it.”
“Zach . . .” His eyes look almost desperate. “Fuck me.”
“Shit. Okay.” Intense, near-painful arousal bursts throughout my body like lava-filled water bombs and it's almost too much as I squeeze out the contents of the lube over my fingers and his ass, smearing it around before shoving my fingers into him again as he laughs nervously and grunts as I spread my fingers inside him.
“I can't believe you brought lube to a party.”
“You'd rather I fuck you without?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Nobody would, and I was planning to get laid tonight.” I unzip my pants and push them down to my knees with my shorts, in such a hurry now as I grab the rubber from where Chris is handing it back to me already opened, watching him beat off in the mirror while I roll it on, coating my dick with whatever lube's left on my fingers. Then I'm against him, my dick hard against his hole ready to push in, and he closes his eyes. “No, open your eyes. Look at me, keep jerking off and look at me.”
I say it like it's going to help him, which is bullshit, I just want to look into his eyes as I start fucking him. I want to see how his face changes, watch his eyes grow wider. But as I hold his hips firm, my thumbs digging into his asscheeks as I start to push into his hole, his eyes flutter closed again and he sighs, short, a hushed 'Ohfuck' as I breech his ring and start to shove into him. He's so tight it's almost uncomfortable, squirming his hips now like he wants to move away, his asshole unyielding so I pull him back onto me, watching his eyes screw tighter shut, his mouth opening wide like he's screaming only no sound comes out. I don't know if he's even breathing. I don't know if I am. I watch Chris's face as I bury myself inside his hot, clenching gut, and I know this changes everything. I don't know how, I can barely think beyond pulling out of him by an inch and pushing back in to make him sob once with sensation.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing. You lied, you shithead, this totally, ahh, hurts, fuck.”
“Don't be such a wuss.” I pull out again, further this time, his stretching asshole gripping me the whole way and he curses, twists against me as I grip him hard and fuck into his ass, unable to tear my eyes from his face as I start to pump in and out of his body, watching the pain begin to switch into a low, drugged pleasure as he opens his eyes in surprise and stares at me, his mouth hanging open.
“Oh God, Zach, fuck, oh fuck.”
“Good?” I slide my hands up under his shirt and rub over his nipples, hissing when he squeezes on me in answer and moans.
“Oh shit, yeah. It feels so - your dick, fuck, I'm going to come soon. Fucking - fuck, so good.” He has one hand splayed on the vanity, using it to push back against me now as he beats at his dick fast, an uneven, arrhythmic pace as I wrap my arms around his torso tight and start to slam into him harder, deeper. I can feel him already getting there, his asscheeks rock hard as I bounce off them, his hole tighter on me still, a litany of frantic 'Oh oh oh fuck oh' falling from his gasping, gaping mouth. I bend us both forward, rocking my hips skyward and pulling his body back tight, searching out his g-spot and knowing I've found it when he spits out a harsh, choking cry and comes, spattering the sink and mirror with his jizz as he strokes himself through it. His asshole is clamping down on me hard, over and over as I fuck into him faster, and all of Chris's moans, his smell of his cum, his body strong and broad as I wrap around him and feel him shivering . . . it overtakes me suddenly, too sharp, too soon and I lean my forehead on the back of his neck, gasping as my climax beats the crap out of me, emptying my nuts and my lungs and my mind as I bury myself in his heat.
“How long have we been in here, anyway?”
Chris pauses in wiping up the sink to check his watch. “Fuck. Over forty minutes, plus we were pretty loud. There's no way people don't know what we've been doing in here. Gimme a drag.” He leans down and I hold my cigarette to his lips as he takes in a draw, blowing it out over his shoulder then kissing me, his tongue licking the corner of my mouth.
“You seem a little more at ease with the idea than I'd have previously thought you capable of.”
“What? People knowing I like guys? Or people knowing I like you?”
“Either. Or. I don't know.” I'm sitting on the toilet again, reaching out to grab him by a belt loop, pulling him against me, running a hand over his ass as I press my mouth against his stomach, shirt neatly back in place, this beautiful round butt wiped up and safely tucked away. “Admit it, even a year ago, this would've all fried your head. Not that I'm one to talk in the head-fry stakes . . .”
“I don't know. It still does. Guess I should've thought about it before I -”
“Let me put my dick in your ass?”
Chris blushes, grins wide, reaching back to rub over his asscrack like he's a little sore. “Something like that.”
A soft curl of something, not happiness exactly but a contented, satisfied feeling settles around my shoulders like a sleepy Harold as I watch him like this, cumdrunk and a little shy, smiling and vulnerable as he finishes wiping down the sink, tossing the TP he used into the trash before washing his hands. He's never been this accessible before and it feels like he's exposed to me for the first time as he looks down at his hands with a smile, leaning back against the vanity I just fucked him over. I finish smoking, watching him, waiting for him to speak as I can see something going around in his head.
“I was thinking.” Here it comes. He lights a smoke out of his own pack, tucking it and his lighter back into his pocket, screwing up his face at me through a ringlet of smoke threatening his eyes. “I don't know how well I'll deal with Joe and, y'know, everybody knowing and, let's face it, I doubt we're going to get away with it this time.”
“I think it's unlikely.”
“Heh, yeah. And I don't want a relationship, Zach. I can't, I only just -”
“I know. It's okay.”
Chris nods, looking relieved. “Thanks. But maybe we could do the whole friends-with-benefits thing. It's always so great with you. I miss being with you, I've missed it for too long. And that, fuck, that was - I'm telling you, I could die pretty happy right now.”
I stretch out, look smug on purpose, even though my stomach's tying itself in knots. “I know, I'm a stud.”
“What do you think? Maybe?”
I can't. Not with you. “Maybe.”
He nods, drizzles a few drops of water over the last half of his cigarette and throws it in the trash. “Okay then, great.” His voice, low, a little sad. He's figured out I'm saying No, and he kisses me, his fingers stroking over my eyebrows and down the sides of my face as he smiles into my eyes. “Time to face the music, I guess.”
A flash goes off in my face as I exit the bathroom with Chris behind me to find Joe in a chair opposite the door with a beer and a little digital camera. He waits while Chris follows me out a little sheepishly, wincing as he looks at Joe.
“Little bro. Little foster bro.”
I nod at him, refusing to look embarrassed, aware that Chris is doing more than enough of that for both of us. “Been camping out here long? I always said you should've gone the paparazzi route.”
“Joe.” Chris clears his throat. “S'up.”
Joe takes a swig of his beer, thumbing at the little digicam, looking at the picture he just took, I guess. Holds it up, squinting as he holds down the button and takes another shot. “Another one for the family album. You guys are aware we're not hillbillies, right?”
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