fic: bitch, PLEASE
Title: Bitch, PLEASE
Fandom: RPF -- Pinto!
Pairing: Pine/Quinto (established relationship)
Rating: NC-17 (ish.)
Word Count: 2415
Summary: Reposting this from the original thread because my de-anoning comment was lost in the replies. Anyway: in response to this prompt on trek_rpf_kink , which reads: Pinto please, based on this picture. Specifically the text. Specifically the text on the bottom. This is my FAVORITE MACRO OF ALL TIME. I hope I've done it justice. For an actual summary: Chris muses a little, banters a lot with Zach on a Saturday morning. (AO3 mirror)
They usually stayed at Zach's house. Truth be told, Chris liked it better than his own: much more open, fastidiously neat, a fridge full of imported beer that was godawful on its own but fucking delicious when part of the ecosystem of Zach's mouth.
A few weeks after the promotional whirlwind ended, though, Chris was bored. Everything was always in the same place and nothing could be moved without a joint session of the Gosh, I'm So Tired of This Object Here, Where Should It Go? committee, comprised of Zach, Harold the cat, and Noah the dog, with Chris recently appointed as honorary secretary/mover.
"Hey," Chris said as they drove to their neighborhood one night, "Let's go back to my place."
"Your place?"
"I have one. Have you ever seen it? Granted, it's a little small, but it's got this tree up front, cute little yard -- you'd love it."
Zach kept his eyes on the road and let out the tiniest of 'hmph' laughs. His eyes darted over to Chris, who put on his most eager and excited expression, even going so far as to clasp his hands together and grin.
"Shit," Zach laughed, "Don't do that, I almost swerved into a fucking tree. Yes, fine, your place it is."
"Yesssss," he hissed.
"But all my stuff is at my house," Zach mused.
"Seriously? We're going to have, like, fucking tantric insane I'm-so-glad-you're-staying-over-for-once sex and you're only thinking about exfoliating?"
"Well. Not only."
At some point in the middle of the night, Chris realized he was in love with Zach.
During the nights he spent at Zach's house, he'd have to free his left arm from under Zach's upper body and spend the time from 3:06 a.m. to 3:19 a.m. flexing his hand and getting the blood circulating back to his fingers before falling asleep again.
But that night (and Chris laughed to himself when he noticed the clock glared 3:04 a.m. -- right on time), Chris stared at his ceiling, unable to feel his left arm. He looked down at Zach and almost laughed because fuck, he was fucking in love with him, and everything he saw just confirmed that a billion times over.
There was a little light flooding into the bedroom and it was definitely enough -- he could see Zach was shiny. Not sweaty, which was kind of hot in its own right, but shiny in that gross, muggy, humid afternoon kind of way, and he knew there'd be bitching about it in the morning when Zach wandered into the bathroom, realized it wasn't his own, and god for-fucking-bid he had to blow Chris before breakfast looking shiny.
And his mouth was open. There was drool on Chris's shoulder. That was drool or condensation from the combination of mouthbreathing and air conditioning, and fuck, that one wet spot on his shoulder was gross.
His hair! Chris marveled at Zach's hair and how it was still mostly in place. No, he couldn't criticize Zach's hair aesthetically. To look at it -- well, it was fucking beautiful. He grinned as he thought to earlier in the evening when Zach pulled away to do anything and there would be careless, rogue strands hanging in his face, that mouth slightly open, the eyes alternating between total innocence and wantonness. The hair made it, though.
As long as he didn't touch it, because then his hand would come into contact with more tree leaf oils than the Amazon knew what to do with. It worked well on Zach's hair, but on his hand? Fucking gross. He was sure every pair of pants he owned had a stain on the right thigh from where he would run a hand through Zach's hair, realize it was gross, then rub it off discreetly on his leg before returning to whatever they were doing.
Yeah, fuck, he was in love with the mouthbreathing metrohomosexual that took up 3/4 of any bed with his disproportionally long torso and hilariously skinny legs, legs that were finally deemed cool thanks to the hipster trends Zach despised and kind of followed. Chris leaned his head against Zach's, decided freeing his arm wasn't worth the effort, and eventually fell asleep.
"Ugh, wake up already," Zach whined in Chris's ear. "It's nine on a Saturday."
"Yeah, asshole, it's nine on a Saturday."
"I see English isn't working as well as we'd like this morning."
"Inflection fail." Chris dug his head up from under his pillow and wrapped his arms around Zach tightly, forcing Zach's face into his shoulder. "Let's just hold each other until I've gotten enough sleep, that's so fucking romantic, right."
"If my face is going to be this close to your armpit, you'd better start waxing," Zach said, his mouth muffled by Chris' bicep. "Actually, if you go back to sleep, that's exactly what's going to happen."
"Think I can't hold this death grip?" He let Zach go after two more seconds and just as suddenly, he pulled all the sheets around his body and flipped on his other side, giving Zach his back.
"If you don't wake up and participate in some kind of breakfast ritual with me, I'm going to start organizing your shit." Chris responded by burying himself deeper in the sheets. "Okay, so here are my plans. First -- all those books you don't read? They're going into a room I've dubbed the book room."
"You know I don't have a book room."
"I think on the floor plan you labeled it as 'spare porn room', or maybe that's just the impression I got from it. The contents of the spare porn room are going to be moved into the recycling bin outside."
"Take my porn, I dare you. Just remember -- that's only my spare porn."
The 10 seconds of silence in the room was enough to lull Chris into a false sense of security, broken by Zach's nasal voice as soon as his eyes closed again. "I'm turning on the TV."
"No you're not. I don't have cable in here."
"I'll watch basic cable."
"Nope."
"I'll put in a DVD."
"I'll eat your hand."
"At least give me some sheets."
Chris turned around as the sheets were wrested from him and then noticed Zach's clothes -- or rather, how he had them.
"When the fuck did you get dressed?!"
"When I woke up two hours ago."
"You're killing me, Zach. You're fucking killing me. Go home and get your moisturizing kit. Come back for what you call 'lunch', I might be awake then."
"You're not kicking me out! Are you kicking me out?"
"You're wearing your shoes in my bed! Come on, man, how is that cool? You don't even let my shoes into your fucking dining room."
"I was trying to make a point."
"Point made. Get the fuck out."
Chris felt a strange amount of movement on the other half of his bed and looked over. Zach kicked off one pointed Italian shoe so it hit the wall, then repeated the motion with the other. He fought with Chris' left arm until he was pressed against Chris' back under the sheets.
"The fuuuuuck," Chris moaned. "I just want some sleep."
"Excessive sleep is a sign of depression, Christopher. I just want you to know I'm... I'm here for you, if you want to laugh... or cry... or just... give us a smile, Christopher."
"Dude, you called me Christopher before noon -- twice. You're dead to me."
"Let it out, Christopher. Let's breathe together. Feel my chest rise against your back, okay, and now..."
Chris sat up and gave Zach, who was laughing with his arms wrapped around his ribs, his very best glare and tried to keep a smirk from crawling onto his face. "I said, asshole, get out."
"You're going to have to--"
"Oh -- I know." Chris shoved his hands under Zach's back and pushed him halfway across the bed, and again so he ended up on the floor. One hand held onto the sheets and Chris flicked that off, too.
"You asshole!" Zach laughed.
"Damn right," Chris said. He figured Zach would jump back in bed, wrap his arms around his torso again, and they'd have some sex before actually doing some of that breakfast crap.
"Christopher?"
Chris opened one eye and panicked because Zach's voice hadn't come from the side of the bed where he'd left him. He looked down at the floor directly beneath his side of the bed and there was Zach, posing like the fucking model he was with one leg up and one hand propping his head up -- even one eyebrow was arched in his direction.
"The fuck do--" Zach leapt up and wrapped his arms around Chris (as predicted) and dragged him down onto the floor with a heavy slam that rattled the four or five semi-delicate things in the room. "Oh fuck, my kidney," Chris moaned.
"Now I'm going to wrap you up in these sheets that you like so much more than me," Zach said as he tucked them around Chris on the floor, "And drag you into the bathroom, where you'll be made clean by that quaint shower contraption, and I'll pick out some clothes for you that coordinate with mine, and then I'll perform some hypnosis so you'll come with me to the farmer's market and hold my --"
Chris yanked his arms out of the sheet-coccoon and Zach's grip. His hands flew to Zach's face, which he cupped and pulled close to his own. Their mouths met in a surprisingly clean kiss that quickly became sloppy as hell, Zach groaning occasionally and bringing a hand up to wipe around his mouth and Chris being all the sloppier for that.
"You're so naked," Zach laughed as Chris's teeth traveled around his neck and collarbone. "Your hardon is ridiculous, even through all these sheets."
"And it's all for you, asshole, all for you. At least," Chris paused and laid flat on his back again, breaking all physical contact between them. "It would be, but you're just not naked enough. You're all dressed, and your hair's so nice -- why would I mess that up?"
"Oh, you're messing this up," Zach said as he stood up. "You threw me out of bed, okay? I'm already messed up, the least you're going to do is fuck me back to Catholic school." As he spoke, he began removing the unfathomable layers he must have snuck in during those hours he was awake and Chris was asleep -- the dark cardigan, the light colored button down shirt, the lighter colored t-shirt, and the ribbed wifebeater that was doing a terrible job of disguising how fucking fit he was.
"Jesus Christ, Zach, you just dumped more clothes on my floor than I have in my fucking closet. How many pairs of pants are you going to strip off now?"
"And yet, all the clothes of Dior will not sweeten --"
"Shakespeare? Fuck it, I'm going to sleep."
"I. Dare. You."
"Now I have to! You dared me!"
"Shut the fuck up," Zach said. To Chris's relief, he was finally naked and fell on his knees, straddling Chris in his sheet-coccoon on the floor. "Here I am."
Chris gave his best appraising eye to Zach's body and shrugged. He laughed when Zach pushed his shoulder and pinned him to the floor. "Let's get you out of these blankets."
"Hell no," Chris said. "I'm not getting fucking rugburn on my ass. We're staying on these blankets."
"Rugburn never hurt anyone." Zach paused and added, "Except those it did."
"Your knees will thank me."
"They always do. Not directly, of course, but -- see! This is what happens when I don't eat every four hours! I can't even make an oral sex joke!" Zach threw himself on Chris' chest with a mock-sob. "What's the world coming to?"
"Jesus, shut up already," Chris groaned as he flipped Zach onto his back and kissed him firmly. Chris was astonished at the silence in the room once they finally shut up, but that took a backseat to the sensation of their dicks pressing against each other, both becoming harder by the accidental moving against each other as they groped. Chris rolled his eyes when he grabbed Zach's hair and had no pants on which to wipe off the excess hair product.
Zach pulled away and reached an arm up to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube left over from the night before. "Are you actually going to fuck me or hope I come just from looking into your eyes? Because that's not how boys work."
"Any other day, I'll fucking do it," Chris said. He sat up on his haunches and pulled a condom out of the sock/condom drawer. "Maybe later today, after this breakfast thing when we're bored, I'll fucking stare you into the greatest orgasm of your life. If I'm up for it. There might be a game on, though."
Chris rolled the condom on and had to laugh or grin maniacally at least, because they worked so fucking stupidly well together. They had been bantering for who the fuck knows how long and Zach was still with him, squirting some lube onto his hand and rubbing it on Chris' dick once the condom was on. Fucking teamwork. Who was this motherfucker and how was he lucky enough to find him?
"Fuck," Chris gasped as he entered him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Zach broke the façade for a moment and grabbed Chris' arm, nails digging in slightly and his expression worried. "What happened? Condom break? You know you can't get me pregnant and blow your football scholarship, right? Sweet of you to be concerned, though."
Chris laughed and thrust into Zach once, hard, and held himself there until it was bordering on torturous for both of them. "Just reflecting," he said as he hovered over Zach, who tried not to squirm too noticeably (and obviously failed), "I'm pretty sure that I'm in love with you."
"That's so weird."
"See! You do things like that, how can I not be? And I couldn't sleep so --"
"Seriously, Chris, hasn't anyone told you about the golden rule? 'Show, don't tell'? And 'telling someone you love them for the first time while fucking them invalidates the initial telling and will lead to eternal mocking or breaking up once the sex is over'?"
"Seriously, Zach, your Catholic school was pretty fucking shitty if you left the place thinking that was the golden rule and the Church wants you to take it up the ass twice a day when possible."
"I'm not complaining."
"Yeah, me either. Were we doing something?"
"ME. Focus, Pine!"
"... don't break up with me?"
"What if there's a game's on?"
"Today's breakfast menu is you're getting fucked in the mouth. And I bought a grapefruit."
"Fascinating. I'm getting the last word, by the way," Zach said as he leaned up and kissed Chris, who let him have it.
Fandom: RPF -- Pinto!
Pairing: Pine/Quinto (established relationship)
Rating: NC-17 (ish.)
Word Count: 2415
Summary: Reposting this from the original thread because my de-anoning comment was lost in the replies. Anyway: in response to this prompt on trek_rpf_kink , which reads: Pinto please, based on this picture. Specifically the text. Specifically the text on the bottom. This is my FAVORITE MACRO OF ALL TIME. I hope I've done it justice. For an actual summary: Chris muses a little, banters a lot with Zach on a Saturday morning. (AO3 mirror)
They usually stayed at Zach's house. Truth be told, Chris liked it better than his own: much more open, fastidiously neat, a fridge full of imported beer that was godawful on its own but fucking delicious when part of the ecosystem of Zach's mouth.
A few weeks after the promotional whirlwind ended, though, Chris was bored. Everything was always in the same place and nothing could be moved without a joint session of the Gosh, I'm So Tired of This Object Here, Where Should It Go? committee, comprised of Zach, Harold the cat, and Noah the dog, with Chris recently appointed as honorary secretary/mover.
"Hey," Chris said as they drove to their neighborhood one night, "Let's go back to my place."
"Your place?"
"I have one. Have you ever seen it? Granted, it's a little small, but it's got this tree up front, cute little yard -- you'd love it."
Zach kept his eyes on the road and let out the tiniest of 'hmph' laughs. His eyes darted over to Chris, who put on his most eager and excited expression, even going so far as to clasp his hands together and grin.
"Shit," Zach laughed, "Don't do that, I almost swerved into a fucking tree. Yes, fine, your place it is."
"Yesssss," he hissed.
"But all my stuff is at my house," Zach mused.
"Seriously? We're going to have, like, fucking tantric insane I'm-so-glad-you're-staying-over-for-once sex and you're only thinking about exfoliating?"
"Well. Not only."
At some point in the middle of the night, Chris realized he was in love with Zach.
During the nights he spent at Zach's house, he'd have to free his left arm from under Zach's upper body and spend the time from 3:06 a.m. to 3:19 a.m. flexing his hand and getting the blood circulating back to his fingers before falling asleep again.
But that night (and Chris laughed to himself when he noticed the clock glared 3:04 a.m. -- right on time), Chris stared at his ceiling, unable to feel his left arm. He looked down at Zach and almost laughed because fuck, he was fucking in love with him, and everything he saw just confirmed that a billion times over.
There was a little light flooding into the bedroom and it was definitely enough -- he could see Zach was shiny. Not sweaty, which was kind of hot in its own right, but shiny in that gross, muggy, humid afternoon kind of way, and he knew there'd be bitching about it in the morning when Zach wandered into the bathroom, realized it wasn't his own, and god for-fucking-bid he had to blow Chris before breakfast looking shiny.
And his mouth was open. There was drool on Chris's shoulder. That was drool or condensation from the combination of mouthbreathing and air conditioning, and fuck, that one wet spot on his shoulder was gross.
His hair! Chris marveled at Zach's hair and how it was still mostly in place. No, he couldn't criticize Zach's hair aesthetically. To look at it -- well, it was fucking beautiful. He grinned as he thought to earlier in the evening when Zach pulled away to do anything and there would be careless, rogue strands hanging in his face, that mouth slightly open, the eyes alternating between total innocence and wantonness. The hair made it, though.
As long as he didn't touch it, because then his hand would come into contact with more tree leaf oils than the Amazon knew what to do with. It worked well on Zach's hair, but on his hand? Fucking gross. He was sure every pair of pants he owned had a stain on the right thigh from where he would run a hand through Zach's hair, realize it was gross, then rub it off discreetly on his leg before returning to whatever they were doing.
Yeah, fuck, he was in love with the mouthbreathing metrohomosexual that took up 3/4 of any bed with his disproportionally long torso and hilariously skinny legs, legs that were finally deemed cool thanks to the hipster trends Zach despised and kind of followed. Chris leaned his head against Zach's, decided freeing his arm wasn't worth the effort, and eventually fell asleep.
"Ugh, wake up already," Zach whined in Chris's ear. "It's nine on a Saturday."
"Yeah, asshole, it's nine on a Saturday."
"I see English isn't working as well as we'd like this morning."
"Inflection fail." Chris dug his head up from under his pillow and wrapped his arms around Zach tightly, forcing Zach's face into his shoulder. "Let's just hold each other until I've gotten enough sleep, that's so fucking romantic, right."
"If my face is going to be this close to your armpit, you'd better start waxing," Zach said, his mouth muffled by Chris' bicep. "Actually, if you go back to sleep, that's exactly what's going to happen."
"Think I can't hold this death grip?" He let Zach go after two more seconds and just as suddenly, he pulled all the sheets around his body and flipped on his other side, giving Zach his back.
"If you don't wake up and participate in some kind of breakfast ritual with me, I'm going to start organizing your shit." Chris responded by burying himself deeper in the sheets. "Okay, so here are my plans. First -- all those books you don't read? They're going into a room I've dubbed the book room."
"You know I don't have a book room."
"I think on the floor plan you labeled it as 'spare porn room', or maybe that's just the impression I got from it. The contents of the spare porn room are going to be moved into the recycling bin outside."
"Take my porn, I dare you. Just remember -- that's only my spare porn."
The 10 seconds of silence in the room was enough to lull Chris into a false sense of security, broken by Zach's nasal voice as soon as his eyes closed again. "I'm turning on the TV."
"No you're not. I don't have cable in here."
"I'll watch basic cable."
"Nope."
"I'll put in a DVD."
"I'll eat your hand."
"At least give me some sheets."
Chris turned around as the sheets were wrested from him and then noticed Zach's clothes -- or rather, how he had them.
"When the fuck did you get dressed?!"
"When I woke up two hours ago."
"You're killing me, Zach. You're fucking killing me. Go home and get your moisturizing kit. Come back for what you call 'lunch', I might be awake then."
"You're not kicking me out! Are you kicking me out?"
"You're wearing your shoes in my bed! Come on, man, how is that cool? You don't even let my shoes into your fucking dining room."
"I was trying to make a point."
"Point made. Get the fuck out."
Chris felt a strange amount of movement on the other half of his bed and looked over. Zach kicked off one pointed Italian shoe so it hit the wall, then repeated the motion with the other. He fought with Chris' left arm until he was pressed against Chris' back under the sheets.
"The fuuuuuck," Chris moaned. "I just want some sleep."
"Excessive sleep is a sign of depression, Christopher. I just want you to know I'm... I'm here for you, if you want to laugh... or cry... or just... give us a smile, Christopher."
"Dude, you called me Christopher before noon -- twice. You're dead to me."
"Let it out, Christopher. Let's breathe together. Feel my chest rise against your back, okay, and now..."
Chris sat up and gave Zach, who was laughing with his arms wrapped around his ribs, his very best glare and tried to keep a smirk from crawling onto his face. "I said, asshole, get out."
"You're going to have to--"
"Oh -- I know." Chris shoved his hands under Zach's back and pushed him halfway across the bed, and again so he ended up on the floor. One hand held onto the sheets and Chris flicked that off, too.
"You asshole!" Zach laughed.
"Damn right," Chris said. He figured Zach would jump back in bed, wrap his arms around his torso again, and they'd have some sex before actually doing some of that breakfast crap.
"Christopher?"
Chris opened one eye and panicked because Zach's voice hadn't come from the side of the bed where he'd left him. He looked down at the floor directly beneath his side of the bed and there was Zach, posing like the fucking model he was with one leg up and one hand propping his head up -- even one eyebrow was arched in his direction.
"The fuck do--" Zach leapt up and wrapped his arms around Chris (as predicted) and dragged him down onto the floor with a heavy slam that rattled the four or five semi-delicate things in the room. "Oh fuck, my kidney," Chris moaned.
"Now I'm going to wrap you up in these sheets that you like so much more than me," Zach said as he tucked them around Chris on the floor, "And drag you into the bathroom, where you'll be made clean by that quaint shower contraption, and I'll pick out some clothes for you that coordinate with mine, and then I'll perform some hypnosis so you'll come with me to the farmer's market and hold my --"
Chris yanked his arms out of the sheet-coccoon and Zach's grip. His hands flew to Zach's face, which he cupped and pulled close to his own. Their mouths met in a surprisingly clean kiss that quickly became sloppy as hell, Zach groaning occasionally and bringing a hand up to wipe around his mouth and Chris being all the sloppier for that.
"You're so naked," Zach laughed as Chris's teeth traveled around his neck and collarbone. "Your hardon is ridiculous, even through all these sheets."
"And it's all for you, asshole, all for you. At least," Chris paused and laid flat on his back again, breaking all physical contact between them. "It would be, but you're just not naked enough. You're all dressed, and your hair's so nice -- why would I mess that up?"
"Oh, you're messing this up," Zach said as he stood up. "You threw me out of bed, okay? I'm already messed up, the least you're going to do is fuck me back to Catholic school." As he spoke, he began removing the unfathomable layers he must have snuck in during those hours he was awake and Chris was asleep -- the dark cardigan, the light colored button down shirt, the lighter colored t-shirt, and the ribbed wifebeater that was doing a terrible job of disguising how fucking fit he was.
"Jesus Christ, Zach, you just dumped more clothes on my floor than I have in my fucking closet. How many pairs of pants are you going to strip off now?"
"And yet, all the clothes of Dior will not sweeten --"
"Shakespeare? Fuck it, I'm going to sleep."
"I. Dare. You."
"Now I have to! You dared me!"
"Shut the fuck up," Zach said. To Chris's relief, he was finally naked and fell on his knees, straddling Chris in his sheet-coccoon on the floor. "Here I am."
Chris gave his best appraising eye to Zach's body and shrugged. He laughed when Zach pushed his shoulder and pinned him to the floor. "Let's get you out of these blankets."
"Hell no," Chris said. "I'm not getting fucking rugburn on my ass. We're staying on these blankets."
"Rugburn never hurt anyone." Zach paused and added, "Except those it did."
"Your knees will thank me."
"They always do. Not directly, of course, but -- see! This is what happens when I don't eat every four hours! I can't even make an oral sex joke!" Zach threw himself on Chris' chest with a mock-sob. "What's the world coming to?"
"Jesus, shut up already," Chris groaned as he flipped Zach onto his back and kissed him firmly. Chris was astonished at the silence in the room once they finally shut up, but that took a backseat to the sensation of their dicks pressing against each other, both becoming harder by the accidental moving against each other as they groped. Chris rolled his eyes when he grabbed Zach's hair and had no pants on which to wipe off the excess hair product.
Zach pulled away and reached an arm up to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube left over from the night before. "Are you actually going to fuck me or hope I come just from looking into your eyes? Because that's not how boys work."
"Any other day, I'll fucking do it," Chris said. He sat up on his haunches and pulled a condom out of the sock/condom drawer. "Maybe later today, after this breakfast thing when we're bored, I'll fucking stare you into the greatest orgasm of your life. If I'm up for it. There might be a game on, though."
Chris rolled the condom on and had to laugh or grin maniacally at least, because they worked so fucking stupidly well together. They had been bantering for who the fuck knows how long and Zach was still with him, squirting some lube onto his hand and rubbing it on Chris' dick once the condom was on. Fucking teamwork. Who was this motherfucker and how was he lucky enough to find him?
"Fuck," Chris gasped as he entered him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Zach broke the façade for a moment and grabbed Chris' arm, nails digging in slightly and his expression worried. "What happened? Condom break? You know you can't get me pregnant and blow your football scholarship, right? Sweet of you to be concerned, though."
Chris laughed and thrust into Zach once, hard, and held himself there until it was bordering on torturous for both of them. "Just reflecting," he said as he hovered over Zach, who tried not to squirm too noticeably (and obviously failed), "I'm pretty sure that I'm in love with you."
"That's so weird."
"See! You do things like that, how can I not be? And I couldn't sleep so --"
"Seriously, Chris, hasn't anyone told you about the golden rule? 'Show, don't tell'? And 'telling someone you love them for the first time while fucking them invalidates the initial telling and will lead to eternal mocking or breaking up once the sex is over'?"
"Seriously, Zach, your Catholic school was pretty fucking shitty if you left the place thinking that was the golden rule and the Church wants you to take it up the ass twice a day when possible."
"I'm not complaining."
"Yeah, me either. Were we doing something?"
"ME. Focus, Pine!"
"... don't break up with me?"
"What if there's a game's on?"
"Today's breakfast menu is you're getting fucked in the mouth. And I bought a grapefruit."
"Fascinating. I'm getting the last word, by the way," Zach said as he leaned up and kissed Chris, who let him have it.