fic: let's get off
Title: Let's Get Off
Fandom: Trek RPF AU
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zach Quinto
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2900
Summary: Response to this prompt at trek_rpf_kink: Teenage!Pinto AU where Chris has a lip ring and Zach has his eyebrow piercing and they make out. And there could be like plot or something idk. No, seriously, I haven't thought it out much beyond kissing, but there should be emo teenage shenanigans! High school, word porn, eyeliner, making out in auditoriums. (AO3)
Joe slammed his thumbs into the steering wheel's horn and startled both Zach and the kid who just walked out in front of their car. "Jesus, there's a fucking Starbucks right there, you'd think these assholes would wake up a little!"
Zach stared after the kid they had almost hit, who turned around to give them both the finger as he made his way to the school's main entrance. "Who was that?" he asked in a tone that was a little too breathy for 7:25 a.m. The kid had product spiking his hair into the next dimension and what looked like shimmering gloss over his lips. Most noticeable was the silver hoop off to the right side of his bottom lip, which stuck out as he glared at the Quinto car for that split second.
"Seriously, Zach? Chris 'Impregnator of Cheerleaders' Pine discovers hair gel and you can't recognize him?"
"He -- there was a lip ring, too, and I think he --"
"It's okay, you're early, I'll give you a few minutes to adjust yourself."
"These pants are just tight, that's all," Zach groaned.
"That's fine. You can start walking anytime you want."
"... Shut up."
Lockers went alphabetically and this year, Chris was only three lockers away from Zach. They weren't close friends, not by a long shot, but it was a new year -- they were seniors -- Chris had a lip ring and make up -- it wouldn't be out of place to talk to him.
"Hey Chris." Zach waited for a response, then continued loading the usual crap into his locker. "Noticed the lip ring. It's really cool." He taped a copy of his schedule to the door, took out the concert stubs he wanted to put up later, and looked over at Chris, whose head was in his locker. "And the make up. Very... very." Very very? "Sorry, that's weird. Uh. Same homeroom this year or --"
Chris took his head out of his locker, slammed the door closed, and noticed Zach. His sunglasses were still on and he plastered a huge grin on his face, which Zach tentatively returned until he realized it was sarcastic.
"Hey buddy! Oh, wow, senior year, huh? Yeah, I'm so excited, I've been watching 90s movies all summer just to get pumped because man, if this isn't the year of years, what will be, am I right? Yeah, my mom's good! Yours, too? Aww, under the weather, I'm sorry, tell her I say she should get better! Maybe we can bring over a meatloaf or something, or some cupcakes! Mine's running the church bazaar this year, so you better start rummaging through that attic! Shit, the bell's about to ring, but I'll see you in homeroom, okay? Later, pal! 2010 baby, this is our year! YEAH!" Chris waved his fingers in a quick 'toodles' motion, but then let the smile drop back into a glare. He stalked off, making sure to remind Zach of that not-so-distant jock past with a familiar drive-by shoulder-shove.
What. The. Fuck.
"Pine, Christopher -- lose the lip ring, Mr. Pine."
"Queento's got a freaking crowbar through his eyebrow -- are you saying he can keep that? Because that reeks of favoritism, Ms. Graff."
Zach's eyes widened when the room turned to stare at him and the two pointed stubs framing the end of his eyebrow. Their homeroom teacher sighed and tilted her head.
"Sorry, Zach. Lose it."
"Thanks, Pine," Zach said loud enough for Chris to hear him.
"No probs, fag."
"Okay, Chris, detention and an apology."
"He doesn't need to apologize," Zach interrupted. "We're claiming the word back now. He can do what he likes with it. I won't be defined by language --"
There was more, lots more, about how he wasn't going to hide who he was from a douche who spent three years fucking every hole he could find but had suddenly discovered Glambert and his mom's make up mirror so that gave him the right to be a totally edgy prick -- except the room burst out laughing too soon and Chris's laughter was the loudest. Even that bitch Ms. Graff looked to her attendance book diligently to hide her smirking.
"That was very inspiring, Zach. Now maybe I can finish taking attendance. Porcallo, Andrew?"
It had been easy having every class with Chris for the past three years because fuck, they were from two different worlds. Chris sat in the back by the windows with his jock asshole friends and spent every 42 minute block trying to get their girlfriends' attention via outright groping between desks or just hissing obscene things under their breath. Zach and the non-jocks were in the opposite corner -- in the front of the room near the door, away from the window and well out of projectile range.
AP English was their first class and Zach noticed that Chris wasn't welcome in his usual spot -- not that he tried, but his old friends were on the defensive. The only place left was somewhere on the overachieving half of the room. Chris stood around the cluster and examined all the seats, then went to a seat in Zach's row but at the very back.
"Hey Queento," Chris called out down the row. They had four more minutes for the bell and their teacher (who they had had last year for Honors English) had a strict policy of not switching into teacher mode until that bell rang. "Graff didn't give me detention. Just slipped her mind when we left. You should let her know. Get your justice, baby, you've earned it. Truth," he added with a raised fist.
Zach continued flipping through the pages of their summer reading novel -- Frankenstein, of course.
"Did you hear me, Zach?"
"Oh, Christopher," Zach replied. "Hi. Did you need something?"
"Nice with the selective hearing," Chris replied. "Just wanted to tell you you're looking especially effeminately -- sorry, ethereally beautiful today."
"I appreciate your attempt to ameliorate our strained relations, Christopher, but you shouldn't desecrate my pulchritude and comeliness with your redolent, philistine, and sardonic efforts."
Their teacher looked up, raised his eyebrow, and looked to Chris at the back of the room. "Well?" he asked. "Not only is your bickering promising to be pettily hilarious, but I'm actually willing to give extra points on our first vocab quiz to anyone who participates in these jocular and salutary proceedings. Mr. Quinto, you have plus 10 right now. Mr. Pine? Your retort."
"Well," Chris began. "My ninnyhammer compatriot, who I've heard often finds his microphallus bescumbered --"
"I'll go on the OED," a girl interrupted.
"I hope it's not for microphallus," their teacher replied.
"-- Should consider suckling upon said wispy microphallus to placate, mitigate, or assuage his barely subjugated lasciviousness -- pining, if you will -- of my physical person."
Chris earned a resounding round of applause from the class and the mock-wiping of a tear from their teacher's eye. Zach kind of wanted to die from outright jealousy and embarrassment, which was about right for any first day of school.
"Oh, come on!" Zach complained when Chris sat down across from him in the library during lunch.
"What? It's not your fucking table," Chris snapped. A junior put his bag down at the other end and Chris looked over at him. "Get the fuck out, asshole."
"You're gonna make me, queer?"
Chris stood up and provided a visual reminder that just 10 weeks ago, he was working out five hours a day, and until last week had been running, playing ball, lifting weights, and swimming for most of his daylight hours. Right, and there was the tall thing. "Come back when you're a foot taller and have, hm, 10 or 15 more pounds of muscle on you, okay, sugar?"
That worked.
"Kind of a double standard you have there," Zach commented. "Free table for you to sit down, not for him?"
"You're so right, Zach. You're just -- gosh, I mean, you're wise beyond your years -- has anyone told you that?"
"What the fuck is your problem?" he asked. "I don't only mean this overwhelming focus of attention on me but -- the make up, the hair -- is this a cry for help?"
"Speaking of which," Chris commented. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his lip ring, which he slipped back on his mouth.
"What did you do to make them kick you out?"
"Make them kick me out?" Chris asked. "What makes you think I didn't just leave?"
"Leave the beautiful people? Who does --"
"Chris," a voice interrupted. Zach looked up and saw Chris's ex-girlfriend, that popular girl whose name he couldn't bother to recall. Surprisingly enough, she was alone. "Where's my eyeliner?"
Chris pursed his lips, put an elbow over the back of his chair, and let his hand graze her arm ever so slightly. She pulled away sharply, but Chris didn't have to stretch his hand out much more to touch her again.
"Baby, I thought I --"
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
"I keep a memento from every woman I've made love to," he said softly. His fingertips were still grazing her arm and she was almost hypnotized between his eyes, his voice, and the touching. "Would you really begrudge me something like eyeliner?"
She stood still for another few seconds, but then snapped out of it and squealed in disgust. "Chris! You're disgusting! Don't you ever talk to me again! We are so over!" She shoved his shoulder, made no impact, and then stalked out of the library with every eye following her.
Chris turned back to Zach and told him, trying to suppress an almost demonic smirk, "I guess she heard her mom's compact is missing."
"You didn't."
"She sure seems to think so," he laughed.
"Seriously, Chris," Zach said, using his serious voice. "What's up with you?"
Chris still smirked, but it was a different tone -- a distant one. "Ever wake up and wish you were different in every single way?"
"Yeah... I guess..."
"Well, I did something about it. So what's your next class?"
"And can I ask why the sudden fixation on me, of all people?"
"Dude," Chris said. "Did you see that part where you almost hit me with your car this morning and glared right back at me? Then tried to be nice to me? Stood up for yourself in homeroom? Didn't run out of class crying when we had that fucking vocab wank session? You've got a pair of brass ones hanging off you like I've never seen before."
"Oh."
"Or I just want to nail your skinny ass." Chris shrugged and said, "Maybe both. Or neither. Still didn't tell me your next class."
"Uh, free period. So I'm going quiz bowl practice."
"Really now," Chris said, scratching his chin carefully. "How about we go to the auditorium and make out on the rafters instead?"
"Why not?"
Zach agreed to Chris' proposal because:
A) the most popular guy in school wanted to put his hand down his pants and he hadn't gotten any in an embarrassingly long time.
B) if this was an elaborate prank, Chris had put a lot of hard work into it and deserved some kind of pay off. He pierced his lip and put on make up, for fuck's sake. That's dedication.
C) someone wanted to put his hand down his pants.
D) all of the above.
"The rafters" was actually a large space built into the wall high above the auditorium's stage; Zach had no idea whether Chris had ever been backstage and knew that they wouldn't be making out on some rickety catwalk 50 feet in the air.
Apparently, it didn't matter, as Chris slammed the door behind them and pushed Zach into a wall. Zach watched Chris' eyes -- shit, the motherfucker had eyeliner on, too, why hadn't he noticed that until then -- which scanned down his face then down to his neck and collar, which his hands gripped tightly. Chris' mouth moved in slowly and deliberately, his eyes focused on Zach's lips until they met and his eyes closed slowly.
That was weird -- except holy shit Chris fucking Pine was gripping his neck with his thickly calloused and dry hands, every hair on the back of his neck prickling up at the complete exoticism of this rough touch. His theater fucks took care of their hands and skin so they were completely pristine and fuck, none of their hands had ever felt like this. Zach's hands pulled at Chris' waist, his fingernails digging into the shirt, then under it, raking up the muscled back and along his rib cage, then down so they dipped just under the waistband of his not-skinny jeans. His touch was light but he knew how much pressure to use, just to make it sharp enough to be noticed and --
"Fuck, your nails --" He kissed Zach with more intensity, so Zach dialed it up by puling his mouth away and letting the tip of his tongue move over the lip ring on the right side of Chris' mouth. He had seen the piercing in a little more detail in the library; he had had it for a while, long enough so it was nicely healed, but it wasn't there when school ended in June, so it had to be a novelty still.
Thinking of novelty, Zach realized he was bored -- the initial Chris Pine giddiness was wearing off really quickly when all he wanted to do was make out after all the talk of girls he'd nailed. Zach took Chris' bottom lip between his teeth and as he drew it out, his hand slipped into the front of Chris' pants and unceremoniously took hold of his dick.
"My mouth likes what yours is doing," Chris said between short probes of Zach's mouth, "But maybe it'd be better served on my dick."
"How about I'm doing all the fucking work here," Zach replied, "So you get on your knees, hm? Then I'll think of taking care of you here."
Chris laughed shortly and said, "And here I thought you'd be down for it in a second."
"I would have been," and that was when Zach retracted his mouth and his hands, "But this whole thing's a little lackluster. Chris Pine seducer of all living things -- I'd give it a 4.5. Out of 10."
"Ha, okay, so some random ass non-entity has given me a 4.5? Go back to fucking quiz bowl and your drama fags, see if anyone there would give you the time of day."
"Seriously? That's funny, because you've been needling me and this whole fucking school for attention all fucking day and --"
"What the fuck ever, Queento, I'm out."
"Hey Chris," Zach said as Chris opened the door to leave. "My brother covered your dad's funeral this summer. Maybe you remember -- he was the photographer."
"Zach," Chris replied, "Back off now and you'll walk away with some bruises, maybe a cracked rib if you don't come through on a hand job."
"You're not fooling anyone."
"Fooled you, didn't I?" Chris spat back. "Got you up here --"
"Yeah, and then what? I'm surprised you didn't just throw me on the floor and ask to be the little spoon."
"The fuck, man, you don't fucking know me."
"I've been through this." Zach could see Chris hadn't been expecting that. "And those goons you call friends sure as shit haven't." Chris didn't make eye contact, so Zach went a step forward and kept his hands deep in his pockets. "My dad died when I was seven. I barely remember him. It's probably why my brother has stuck around this shithole -- just so I didn't go batshit one day and turn into -- well, whatever this is," he said, punctuating the end with a motion towards Chris' outfit. "From Kevin Jonas to Pete Wentz."
"Does all this have a point?" Chris asked. "Because I've changed my mind and -- yeah, I think your pop-psych after school special crap has earned a blowjob now."
"Chris --"
"What?" Chris sank to his knees and looked up at Zach. "You're right. My dad's dead; my therapist says I'm having an identity crisis because he made me into a jock and now I have no motivation to keep up with that; he also left me a shit ton of money that I used to pierce myself in interesting places and buy enough weed to start my own plantation. What else do you want to hear?" As Chris spoke, he unbuttoned Zach's fly and slowly pulled down the zipper.
The best answer was C, by the way: it had been way too long and in a tiny school within a tiny town, Zach couldn't afford to be picky -- something he considered as he replied, "That's pretty good -- my pants being undone -- I suggest humming something while you blow me, that's pretty effec -- oh, okay, yeah, 'Row Row Row Your Boat' works surprisingly well here -- just no -- I hate Kings of Leon --"
"Listen, motherfucker," Chris interrupted, "If you start compiling a playlist, I'm just going to have to keep blowing you until the iPod of your dick goes all sad-face."
"'The iPod of my dick'? You're the reason the inventor of magnetic poetry should be prosecuted for war crimes." Zach pressed his head back against the wall behind him and reached for Chris' hair, digging his fingers into the greasy, dyed nest. It would be okay, Zach reassured himself and, maybe by proxy, Chris. He'd make conversation with him tomorrow in homeroom and at their lockers; he'd do more vocab flashcards and invite him back to the rafters; maybe Chris would stop lying to his face one day, though Zach wasn't sure if he'd let him. Chris sucked in his cheeks and finally, Zach inadvertently began to see stars from the corners of his eyes and hit his head hard on the wall behind him. Fuck tomorrow, he thought to himself, this was pretty hysterical and awesome on its own.
Fandom: Trek RPF AU
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zach Quinto
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2900
Summary: Response to this prompt at trek_rpf_kink: Teenage!Pinto AU where Chris has a lip ring and Zach has his eyebrow piercing and they make out. And there could be like plot or something idk. No, seriously, I haven't thought it out much beyond kissing, but there should be emo teenage shenanigans! High school, word porn, eyeliner, making out in auditoriums. (AO3)
Joe slammed his thumbs into the steering wheel's horn and startled both Zach and the kid who just walked out in front of their car. "Jesus, there's a fucking Starbucks right there, you'd think these assholes would wake up a little!"
Zach stared after the kid they had almost hit, who turned around to give them both the finger as he made his way to the school's main entrance. "Who was that?" he asked in a tone that was a little too breathy for 7:25 a.m. The kid had product spiking his hair into the next dimension and what looked like shimmering gloss over his lips. Most noticeable was the silver hoop off to the right side of his bottom lip, which stuck out as he glared at the Quinto car for that split second.
"Seriously, Zach? Chris 'Impregnator of Cheerleaders' Pine discovers hair gel and you can't recognize him?"
"He -- there was a lip ring, too, and I think he --"
"It's okay, you're early, I'll give you a few minutes to adjust yourself."
"These pants are just tight, that's all," Zach groaned.
"That's fine. You can start walking anytime you want."
"... Shut up."
Lockers went alphabetically and this year, Chris was only three lockers away from Zach. They weren't close friends, not by a long shot, but it was a new year -- they were seniors -- Chris had a lip ring and make up -- it wouldn't be out of place to talk to him.
"Hey Chris." Zach waited for a response, then continued loading the usual crap into his locker. "Noticed the lip ring. It's really cool." He taped a copy of his schedule to the door, took out the concert stubs he wanted to put up later, and looked over at Chris, whose head was in his locker. "And the make up. Very... very." Very very? "Sorry, that's weird. Uh. Same homeroom this year or --"
Chris took his head out of his locker, slammed the door closed, and noticed Zach. His sunglasses were still on and he plastered a huge grin on his face, which Zach tentatively returned until he realized it was sarcastic.
"Hey buddy! Oh, wow, senior year, huh? Yeah, I'm so excited, I've been watching 90s movies all summer just to get pumped because man, if this isn't the year of years, what will be, am I right? Yeah, my mom's good! Yours, too? Aww, under the weather, I'm sorry, tell her I say she should get better! Maybe we can bring over a meatloaf or something, or some cupcakes! Mine's running the church bazaar this year, so you better start rummaging through that attic! Shit, the bell's about to ring, but I'll see you in homeroom, okay? Later, pal! 2010 baby, this is our year! YEAH!" Chris waved his fingers in a quick 'toodles' motion, but then let the smile drop back into a glare. He stalked off, making sure to remind Zach of that not-so-distant jock past with a familiar drive-by shoulder-shove.
What. The. Fuck.
"Pine, Christopher -- lose the lip ring, Mr. Pine."
"Queento's got a freaking crowbar through his eyebrow -- are you saying he can keep that? Because that reeks of favoritism, Ms. Graff."
Zach's eyes widened when the room turned to stare at him and the two pointed stubs framing the end of his eyebrow. Their homeroom teacher sighed and tilted her head.
"Sorry, Zach. Lose it."
"Thanks, Pine," Zach said loud enough for Chris to hear him.
"No probs, fag."
"Okay, Chris, detention and an apology."
"He doesn't need to apologize," Zach interrupted. "We're claiming the word back now. He can do what he likes with it. I won't be defined by language --"
There was more, lots more, about how he wasn't going to hide who he was from a douche who spent three years fucking every hole he could find but had suddenly discovered Glambert and his mom's make up mirror so that gave him the right to be a totally edgy prick -- except the room burst out laughing too soon and Chris's laughter was the loudest. Even that bitch Ms. Graff looked to her attendance book diligently to hide her smirking.
"That was very inspiring, Zach. Now maybe I can finish taking attendance. Porcallo, Andrew?"
It had been easy having every class with Chris for the past three years because fuck, they were from two different worlds. Chris sat in the back by the windows with his jock asshole friends and spent every 42 minute block trying to get their girlfriends' attention via outright groping between desks or just hissing obscene things under their breath. Zach and the non-jocks were in the opposite corner -- in the front of the room near the door, away from the window and well out of projectile range.
AP English was their first class and Zach noticed that Chris wasn't welcome in his usual spot -- not that he tried, but his old friends were on the defensive. The only place left was somewhere on the overachieving half of the room. Chris stood around the cluster and examined all the seats, then went to a seat in Zach's row but at the very back.
"Hey Queento," Chris called out down the row. They had four more minutes for the bell and their teacher (who they had had last year for Honors English) had a strict policy of not switching into teacher mode until that bell rang. "Graff didn't give me detention. Just slipped her mind when we left. You should let her know. Get your justice, baby, you've earned it. Truth," he added with a raised fist.
Zach continued flipping through the pages of their summer reading novel -- Frankenstein, of course.
"Did you hear me, Zach?"
"Oh, Christopher," Zach replied. "Hi. Did you need something?"
"Nice with the selective hearing," Chris replied. "Just wanted to tell you you're looking especially effeminately -- sorry, ethereally beautiful today."
"I appreciate your attempt to ameliorate our strained relations, Christopher, but you shouldn't desecrate my pulchritude and comeliness with your redolent, philistine, and sardonic efforts."
Their teacher looked up, raised his eyebrow, and looked to Chris at the back of the room. "Well?" he asked. "Not only is your bickering promising to be pettily hilarious, but I'm actually willing to give extra points on our first vocab quiz to anyone who participates in these jocular and salutary proceedings. Mr. Quinto, you have plus 10 right now. Mr. Pine? Your retort."
"Well," Chris began. "My ninnyhammer compatriot, who I've heard often finds his microphallus bescumbered --"
"I'll go on the OED," a girl interrupted.
"I hope it's not for microphallus," their teacher replied.
"-- Should consider suckling upon said wispy microphallus to placate, mitigate, or assuage his barely subjugated lasciviousness -- pining, if you will -- of my physical person."
Chris earned a resounding round of applause from the class and the mock-wiping of a tear from their teacher's eye. Zach kind of wanted to die from outright jealousy and embarrassment, which was about right for any first day of school.
"Oh, come on!" Zach complained when Chris sat down across from him in the library during lunch.
"What? It's not your fucking table," Chris snapped. A junior put his bag down at the other end and Chris looked over at him. "Get the fuck out, asshole."
"You're gonna make me, queer?"
Chris stood up and provided a visual reminder that just 10 weeks ago, he was working out five hours a day, and until last week had been running, playing ball, lifting weights, and swimming for most of his daylight hours. Right, and there was the tall thing. "Come back when you're a foot taller and have, hm, 10 or 15 more pounds of muscle on you, okay, sugar?"
That worked.
"Kind of a double standard you have there," Zach commented. "Free table for you to sit down, not for him?"
"You're so right, Zach. You're just -- gosh, I mean, you're wise beyond your years -- has anyone told you that?"
"What the fuck is your problem?" he asked. "I don't only mean this overwhelming focus of attention on me but -- the make up, the hair -- is this a cry for help?"
"Speaking of which," Chris commented. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his lip ring, which he slipped back on his mouth.
"What did you do to make them kick you out?"
"Make them kick me out?" Chris asked. "What makes you think I didn't just leave?"
"Leave the beautiful people? Who does --"
"Chris," a voice interrupted. Zach looked up and saw Chris's ex-girlfriend, that popular girl whose name he couldn't bother to recall. Surprisingly enough, she was alone. "Where's my eyeliner?"
Chris pursed his lips, put an elbow over the back of his chair, and let his hand graze her arm ever so slightly. She pulled away sharply, but Chris didn't have to stretch his hand out much more to touch her again.
"Baby, I thought I --"
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
"I keep a memento from every woman I've made love to," he said softly. His fingertips were still grazing her arm and she was almost hypnotized between his eyes, his voice, and the touching. "Would you really begrudge me something like eyeliner?"
She stood still for another few seconds, but then snapped out of it and squealed in disgust. "Chris! You're disgusting! Don't you ever talk to me again! We are so over!" She shoved his shoulder, made no impact, and then stalked out of the library with every eye following her.
Chris turned back to Zach and told him, trying to suppress an almost demonic smirk, "I guess she heard her mom's compact is missing."
"You didn't."
"She sure seems to think so," he laughed.
"Seriously, Chris," Zach said, using his serious voice. "What's up with you?"
Chris still smirked, but it was a different tone -- a distant one. "Ever wake up and wish you were different in every single way?"
"Yeah... I guess..."
"Well, I did something about it. So what's your next class?"
"And can I ask why the sudden fixation on me, of all people?"
"Dude," Chris said. "Did you see that part where you almost hit me with your car this morning and glared right back at me? Then tried to be nice to me? Stood up for yourself in homeroom? Didn't run out of class crying when we had that fucking vocab wank session? You've got a pair of brass ones hanging off you like I've never seen before."
"Oh."
"Or I just want to nail your skinny ass." Chris shrugged and said, "Maybe both. Or neither. Still didn't tell me your next class."
"Uh, free period. So I'm going quiz bowl practice."
"Really now," Chris said, scratching his chin carefully. "How about we go to the auditorium and make out on the rafters instead?"
"Why not?"
Zach agreed to Chris' proposal because:
A) the most popular guy in school wanted to put his hand down his pants and he hadn't gotten any in an embarrassingly long time.
B) if this was an elaborate prank, Chris had put a lot of hard work into it and deserved some kind of pay off. He pierced his lip and put on make up, for fuck's sake. That's dedication.
C) someone wanted to put his hand down his pants.
D) all of the above.
"The rafters" was actually a large space built into the wall high above the auditorium's stage; Zach had no idea whether Chris had ever been backstage and knew that they wouldn't be making out on some rickety catwalk 50 feet in the air.
Apparently, it didn't matter, as Chris slammed the door behind them and pushed Zach into a wall. Zach watched Chris' eyes -- shit, the motherfucker had eyeliner on, too, why hadn't he noticed that until then -- which scanned down his face then down to his neck and collar, which his hands gripped tightly. Chris' mouth moved in slowly and deliberately, his eyes focused on Zach's lips until they met and his eyes closed slowly.
That was weird -- except holy shit Chris fucking Pine was gripping his neck with his thickly calloused and dry hands, every hair on the back of his neck prickling up at the complete exoticism of this rough touch. His theater fucks took care of their hands and skin so they were completely pristine and fuck, none of their hands had ever felt like this. Zach's hands pulled at Chris' waist, his fingernails digging into the shirt, then under it, raking up the muscled back and along his rib cage, then down so they dipped just under the waistband of his not-skinny jeans. His touch was light but he knew how much pressure to use, just to make it sharp enough to be noticed and --
"Fuck, your nails --" He kissed Zach with more intensity, so Zach dialed it up by puling his mouth away and letting the tip of his tongue move over the lip ring on the right side of Chris' mouth. He had seen the piercing in a little more detail in the library; he had had it for a while, long enough so it was nicely healed, but it wasn't there when school ended in June, so it had to be a novelty still.
Thinking of novelty, Zach realized he was bored -- the initial Chris Pine giddiness was wearing off really quickly when all he wanted to do was make out after all the talk of girls he'd nailed. Zach took Chris' bottom lip between his teeth and as he drew it out, his hand slipped into the front of Chris' pants and unceremoniously took hold of his dick.
"My mouth likes what yours is doing," Chris said between short probes of Zach's mouth, "But maybe it'd be better served on my dick."
"How about I'm doing all the fucking work here," Zach replied, "So you get on your knees, hm? Then I'll think of taking care of you here."
Chris laughed shortly and said, "And here I thought you'd be down for it in a second."
"I would have been," and that was when Zach retracted his mouth and his hands, "But this whole thing's a little lackluster. Chris Pine seducer of all living things -- I'd give it a 4.5. Out of 10."
"Ha, okay, so some random ass non-entity has given me a 4.5? Go back to fucking quiz bowl and your drama fags, see if anyone there would give you the time of day."
"Seriously? That's funny, because you've been needling me and this whole fucking school for attention all fucking day and --"
"What the fuck ever, Queento, I'm out."
"Hey Chris," Zach said as Chris opened the door to leave. "My brother covered your dad's funeral this summer. Maybe you remember -- he was the photographer."
"Zach," Chris replied, "Back off now and you'll walk away with some bruises, maybe a cracked rib if you don't come through on a hand job."
"You're not fooling anyone."
"Fooled you, didn't I?" Chris spat back. "Got you up here --"
"Yeah, and then what? I'm surprised you didn't just throw me on the floor and ask to be the little spoon."
"The fuck, man, you don't fucking know me."
"I've been through this." Zach could see Chris hadn't been expecting that. "And those goons you call friends sure as shit haven't." Chris didn't make eye contact, so Zach went a step forward and kept his hands deep in his pockets. "My dad died when I was seven. I barely remember him. It's probably why my brother has stuck around this shithole -- just so I didn't go batshit one day and turn into -- well, whatever this is," he said, punctuating the end with a motion towards Chris' outfit. "From Kevin Jonas to Pete Wentz."
"Does all this have a point?" Chris asked. "Because I've changed my mind and -- yeah, I think your pop-psych after school special crap has earned a blowjob now."
"Chris --"
"What?" Chris sank to his knees and looked up at Zach. "You're right. My dad's dead; my therapist says I'm having an identity crisis because he made me into a jock and now I have no motivation to keep up with that; he also left me a shit ton of money that I used to pierce myself in interesting places and buy enough weed to start my own plantation. What else do you want to hear?" As Chris spoke, he unbuttoned Zach's fly and slowly pulled down the zipper.
The best answer was C, by the way: it had been way too long and in a tiny school within a tiny town, Zach couldn't afford to be picky -- something he considered as he replied, "That's pretty good -- my pants being undone -- I suggest humming something while you blow me, that's pretty effec -- oh, okay, yeah, 'Row Row Row Your Boat' works surprisingly well here -- just no -- I hate Kings of Leon --"
"Listen, motherfucker," Chris interrupted, "If you start compiling a playlist, I'm just going to have to keep blowing you until the iPod of your dick goes all sad-face."
"'The iPod of my dick'? You're the reason the inventor of magnetic poetry should be prosecuted for war crimes." Zach pressed his head back against the wall behind him and reached for Chris' hair, digging his fingers into the greasy, dyed nest. It would be okay, Zach reassured himself and, maybe by proxy, Chris. He'd make conversation with him tomorrow in homeroom and at their lockers; he'd do more vocab flashcards and invite him back to the rafters; maybe Chris would stop lying to his face one day, though Zach wasn't sure if he'd let him. Chris sucked in his cheeks and finally, Zach inadvertently began to see stars from the corners of his eyes and hit his head hard on the wall behind him. Fuck tomorrow, he thought to himself, this was pretty hysterical and awesome on its own.