SS: With You There's No Easy Answer
SS: With You There's No Easy Answer
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zach Quinto, mentions of significant others
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1,237
Summary: They never speak of it. Even while it happens. The only thing to hear is the sound of heated breath being exhaled, the slick sounds of wet skin rubbing together.
Disclaimer: If I knew them I would be too busy staring at all the sexy to write anything. Alas, I don't. So I write. For smiles, not money, so don't get pissy.
Notes: Written for a promt therumjournals left over at the stxi_sinfest. Pinto: it's a race where you don't want to come first. This might've gotten a little angstier than I'd hoped for, and there will probably be a sequel just so I can try to make things a little better. Title taken from Poe's Amazed, and you can blame blue_ant for getting me into her all those years ago.
Warnings: Here there be cheating. You've been warned.
They never speak of it. Even while it happens. The only thing to hear is the sound of heated breath being exhaled, the slick sounds of wet skin rubbing together. Occasionally there may be a grunt, but it is quickly muffled into hair, skin, cloth. Their knuckles turn white as spots of skin turn dark over their thighs, hips and shoulders. Never above the shoulders. Someone might see.
Someone might find out.
They both know that this is something that should not be happening, that there is something very wrong with the two of them. They are good people, they don't do this. There are others to think about, and possibly feelings involved. Every time Chris inwardly swears it is the last time, and Zach closes his eyes and curses himself for being so weak. Yet it happens again and again and every time it is quick and silent. More importantly it is mind-blowing. That is the only reason it happens so often.
Like now.
The dive they are in doesn't believe in air conditioning, not down in Mexicali, and the only thing hotter than the temperature outside is the temperature in the storage closet they are in. Fat drops of sweat roll down their sticky bodies and melt into their clothing slowly, in contrast to their haste. A tiny ping! rings through the near silence, a button lost to the frenzy, and does little to pull their attention.
They are too caught up in each other to notice all that much of anything else.
*
Zach's head drops back against a shelf and a bottle of surface cleaner tilts to the side and threatens to fall over. Chris catches and rights it just in time, his bare forearm stretched out above Zach's shoulder. Zach turns his head and buries his face high near Chris' armpit, tongue teasing the skin gently.
Chris lets out a harsh burst of laughter into the skin behind Zach's ear and Zach can feel the smile being pressed into his skin. It feels intimate, familiar, so the light swipes his tongue was delighting in turn into sharp nips of teeth that make Chris's other hand, the one holding Zach's thigh around his hip, squeeze tight.
There will be a mark tomorrow, Zach knows this, and maybe Ryan will ask what happened when he gets home. He'd been asking more and more lately and, instead of it being a deterrent, it has become a risky game of chance Zach has chosen to play with relish. He pushes Chris's head closer when he presses his teeth against his shoulder. He covers Chris's hand with his own and squeezes hard.
Chris bites down harder and Zach feels the vibration of a muffled groan through the material of his thin shirt. Zach scratches three deep lines down Chris's back and lets out a grunt into the silence when Chris twists his hips hard.
Zach wonders if she ever asks about the marks he leaves on Chris's body. Something dark inside of him revels in the fantasy that she never does because she never even notices, that Chris never actually fucks her because he's as gay as a handkerchief square at the Tony's. He fucks into his own boyfriend imagining that Chris is alone and cold and not getting any while he has someone else to take his frustrations out on.
But he knows the truth. He only thinks of the truth when they are doing this, when Chris's hands are buried down the back of his pants. He thinks of the girl with bright eyes waiting on the other side of that door, Margarita in hand, the one Chris will lay next to and curl around tonight. He pointedly does not think of how he will do the same thing with Ryan in a few days when he gets home, far, far away from this amazingly bad version of a 'weekend getaway' with some of their friends.
He can only focus on one of them while they do this, and he has plenty of time to think about his own problems when he is faced with them nearly everyday.
They only have this, these quiet moments in closets, bathrooms, dark alleys hidden in the shadows, behind dumpsters. There has never been a bed, much less a flatter surface than a random wooden crate, and they will never fall asleep curled around each other at night. Zach never idly wonders if he should mourn the loss of something he doesn't care to have. They lick each other open and make no noise in a nook they have no business being in and never, ever speak of it.
It only lasts for minutes, always pressed for time, and it's a race where neither wants to come first. Chris works his fingers extra hard and throws in a luscious swipe to the rim of his ear, tongue licking in as he breathes hotly over the wet flesh. Zach's toes curl in his shoes, tucked behind Chris's knee. He is teetering on the edge, hips working frantically. Zach slams his head back into the shelf again and doesn't hear the sound of the bottle hitting the floor, or the soft chuckle against his neck. He doesn't hear anything over the sound of his own orgasm slamming into him out of nowhere.
Chris scrabbles at Zach's stomach frantically. Zach is too blissed out to be confused or even care what is going on down below, but then Chris drops his forehead to Zach's cheek and grunts into his chin as he pushes Zach's button down out of the way so he can come all over Zach's bare skin.
Once again, the only thing to hear is their breathing. Zach pushes Chris away a little, ignoring anything that might be in those blue eyes that he doesn't want to see. He shifts where he stands, getting himself back together, and raises an eyebrow when he realizes the bottle has broken and the sharp astringent smell of the cleaning agent reaches his nose.
He fixes his underwear and buttons himself back up, leaving the smears of Chris where they are to dry and itch at his skin. Zach doesn't need the reminder of what they did, but he likes knowing it's there when he is talking to their friends. A dirty secret he is being forced to keep away from prying eyes.
A voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Chris's tells him to wipe it off, because walking back to their booth with the scent of Chris all over him isn't exactly being discreet. Then it quiets when he watches Chris grab a rag he finds on one of the shelves behind him. Chris dips it into the mess on the floor and cleans himself off, wipes the remnants of Zach's most recent infidelity away and drops them onto the floor to be forever forgotten.
Zach reaches for the doorknob, escaping first. When he turns around to close the door behind him, give Chris a few minutes to get his shit together, he sees Chris sort of kneeling, picking up a tiny white button that is soaked in light blue cleaner. Chris pockets the tiny item torn from Zach's shirt, like it's a souvenir, and looks up from his crouch.
Zach just closes the door on what he doesn't want to see and heads back down the hallway.
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zach Quinto, mentions of significant others
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1,237
Summary: They never speak of it. Even while it happens. The only thing to hear is the sound of heated breath being exhaled, the slick sounds of wet skin rubbing together.
Disclaimer: If I knew them I would be too busy staring at all the sexy to write anything. Alas, I don't. So I write. For smiles, not money, so don't get pissy.
Notes: Written for a promt therumjournals left over at the stxi_sinfest. Pinto: it's a race where you don't want to come first. This might've gotten a little angstier than I'd hoped for, and there will probably be a sequel just so I can try to make things a little better. Title taken from Poe's Amazed, and you can blame blue_ant for getting me into her all those years ago.
Warnings: Here there be cheating. You've been warned.
They never speak of it. Even while it happens. The only thing to hear is the sound of heated breath being exhaled, the slick sounds of wet skin rubbing together. Occasionally there may be a grunt, but it is quickly muffled into hair, skin, cloth. Their knuckles turn white as spots of skin turn dark over their thighs, hips and shoulders. Never above the shoulders. Someone might see.
Someone might find out.
They both know that this is something that should not be happening, that there is something very wrong with the two of them. They are good people, they don't do this. There are others to think about, and possibly feelings involved. Every time Chris inwardly swears it is the last time, and Zach closes his eyes and curses himself for being so weak. Yet it happens again and again and every time it is quick and silent. More importantly it is mind-blowing. That is the only reason it happens so often.
Like now.
The dive they are in doesn't believe in air conditioning, not down in Mexicali, and the only thing hotter than the temperature outside is the temperature in the storage closet they are in. Fat drops of sweat roll down their sticky bodies and melt into their clothing slowly, in contrast to their haste. A tiny ping! rings through the near silence, a button lost to the frenzy, and does little to pull their attention.
They are too caught up in each other to notice all that much of anything else.
*
Zach's head drops back against a shelf and a bottle of surface cleaner tilts to the side and threatens to fall over. Chris catches and rights it just in time, his bare forearm stretched out above Zach's shoulder. Zach turns his head and buries his face high near Chris' armpit, tongue teasing the skin gently.
Chris lets out a harsh burst of laughter into the skin behind Zach's ear and Zach can feel the smile being pressed into his skin. It feels intimate, familiar, so the light swipes his tongue was delighting in turn into sharp nips of teeth that make Chris's other hand, the one holding Zach's thigh around his hip, squeeze tight.
There will be a mark tomorrow, Zach knows this, and maybe Ryan will ask what happened when he gets home. He'd been asking more and more lately and, instead of it being a deterrent, it has become a risky game of chance Zach has chosen to play with relish. He pushes Chris's head closer when he presses his teeth against his shoulder. He covers Chris's hand with his own and squeezes hard.
Chris bites down harder and Zach feels the vibration of a muffled groan through the material of his thin shirt. Zach scratches three deep lines down Chris's back and lets out a grunt into the silence when Chris twists his hips hard.
Zach wonders if she ever asks about the marks he leaves on Chris's body. Something dark inside of him revels in the fantasy that she never does because she never even notices, that Chris never actually fucks her because he's as gay as a handkerchief square at the Tony's. He fucks into his own boyfriend imagining that Chris is alone and cold and not getting any while he has someone else to take his frustrations out on.
But he knows the truth. He only thinks of the truth when they are doing this, when Chris's hands are buried down the back of his pants. He thinks of the girl with bright eyes waiting on the other side of that door, Margarita in hand, the one Chris will lay next to and curl around tonight. He pointedly does not think of how he will do the same thing with Ryan in a few days when he gets home, far, far away from this amazingly bad version of a 'weekend getaway' with some of their friends.
He can only focus on one of them while they do this, and he has plenty of time to think about his own problems when he is faced with them nearly everyday.
They only have this, these quiet moments in closets, bathrooms, dark alleys hidden in the shadows, behind dumpsters. There has never been a bed, much less a flatter surface than a random wooden crate, and they will never fall asleep curled around each other at night. Zach never idly wonders if he should mourn the loss of something he doesn't care to have. They lick each other open and make no noise in a nook they have no business being in and never, ever speak of it.
It only lasts for minutes, always pressed for time, and it's a race where neither wants to come first. Chris works his fingers extra hard and throws in a luscious swipe to the rim of his ear, tongue licking in as he breathes hotly over the wet flesh. Zach's toes curl in his shoes, tucked behind Chris's knee. He is teetering on the edge, hips working frantically. Zach slams his head back into the shelf again and doesn't hear the sound of the bottle hitting the floor, or the soft chuckle against his neck. He doesn't hear anything over the sound of his own orgasm slamming into him out of nowhere.
Chris scrabbles at Zach's stomach frantically. Zach is too blissed out to be confused or even care what is going on down below, but then Chris drops his forehead to Zach's cheek and grunts into his chin as he pushes Zach's button down out of the way so he can come all over Zach's bare skin.
Once again, the only thing to hear is their breathing. Zach pushes Chris away a little, ignoring anything that might be in those blue eyes that he doesn't want to see. He shifts where he stands, getting himself back together, and raises an eyebrow when he realizes the bottle has broken and the sharp astringent smell of the cleaning agent reaches his nose.
He fixes his underwear and buttons himself back up, leaving the smears of Chris where they are to dry and itch at his skin. Zach doesn't need the reminder of what they did, but he likes knowing it's there when he is talking to their friends. A dirty secret he is being forced to keep away from prying eyes.
A voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Chris's tells him to wipe it off, because walking back to their booth with the scent of Chris all over him isn't exactly being discreet. Then it quiets when he watches Chris grab a rag he finds on one of the shelves behind him. Chris dips it into the mess on the floor and cleans himself off, wipes the remnants of Zach's most recent infidelity away and drops them onto the floor to be forever forgotten.
Zach reaches for the doorknob, escaping first. When he turns around to close the door behind him, give Chris a few minutes to get his shit together, he sees Chris sort of kneeling, picking up a tiny white button that is soaked in light blue cleaner. Chris pockets the tiny item torn from Zach's shirt, like it's a souvenir, and looks up from his crouch.
Zach just closes the door on what he doesn't want to see and heads back down the hallway.