FIC: Star Trek RPS -- Our Thing (1/2)
Title: Our Thing (1/2)
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 10,464
Warnings/Promises: semi-public bj, frotting, mirrors, bits o’ angst, mutual masturbation
Disclaimer: I do not know these gentlemen, but it pleases me to tell you lies about them.
Summary: In which Chris is unduly tense and Zach is willing to help…
A/N: Written for this prompt at the kink meme. It was supposed to be a cutesy fill, but then shit got real on me. Also, please note that I have nothing against the French and have no idea whether they appreciate the Trek franchise - they just made for a handy whipping boy.
“Shit. Oh, shit. Ohhhhhh, shit.”
Zach looked up from his book. “Stop that.”
“How are you not nervous?”
“Um, because I’ve done interviews before?”
Chris took a break from rocking back and forth on the couch to say “So have I! But not, like, internationally televised interviews! People are actually going to see these - people who are not 13-year-old Disney channel addicts.” He resumed his upright fetal position and continued rocking. The green room couch was suspiciously lumpy, but the rocking motion was soothing. Well, as close to soothing as one could get before the aforementioned internationally televised interview.
“Chris, you’ve got to calm down,” Zach sighed, coming over to sit next to him. “If you barf on camera, it’ll be on the internet within minutes.”
“Thank you so much for the inspiring words, Zachary,” Chris moaned into his hands, rocking faster.
“Okay, my fault, wrong thing to say.” Zach rested a gentle but firm hand on Chris’ shoulder, using his surprising strength to still him. “You’ve got to take a few deep breaths-”
“Fuck deep breathing! Fuck it right to hell!” Chris shouted, probably loudly enough to be heard in the studio.
“Well, that’s one option.” Zach marked his page and tucked the book away. “At least uncurl for a second.”
Chris did, slowly, setting his feet on the floor and trying to get his bearings. “Now what?”
“Okay, I’ve got an idea, but you’ve got to promise not to freak out on me.”
Chris winced. “Should you really be adding to the list of things that might make me freak out right now?”
“It’s not that bad, it’s just…” Zach seemed to be searching for the right words. “First play I did in college, this Tennessee Williams thing called Vieux Carré, I had to go onstage in nothing but my underwear in one scene. It’s opening night, I’m so nervous I’m about to faint, and one of the costume guys offers to give me a hand job.”
Chris blinked. He waited for the punch line, but Zach had apparently finished speaking for the moment. He blinked again. “I’m sorry, did you just propose to jerk me off?”
“It worked, I’m telling you. All the tension drained right out of me.”
“I’m sure it did, right along with your-”
“It was just a suggestion,” Zach said, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m not into unsolicited groping, but I’ll do it if you want. It doesn’t have to be a thing. Just think of it like a kind of massage.”
“Yeah, a dick massage,” Chris groaned, burying his face in his hands. Zach was silent, and Chris took a moment to weigh his options. He was legitimately very close to puking, and he hated puking. Well, no one liked puking, but Chris really, really hated it. And this was just Zach, right? No squishy emotional issues involved. On a purely physical level it boiled down to digestive pyrotechnics versus a free hand job. No contest, really. Chris sat back up, looking Zach in the eye. “Alright.”
“You want me to-”
“I don’t want you to talk about it. Just do it.”
Zach rolled his eyes, but scooted over on the couch until they were side-by-side. “Close your eyes,” he said as he unbuckled Chris’ belt. “Pretend, I’m… I dunno, Angelina Jolie? That plastic-looking girl from Transformers?”
Chris snorted, but he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. And then popped them open again. “Wait - does this door lock?” He scampered over to check, and breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the door from the inside. “Okay, we’re good. And your grasp of straight male culture could use a little work.”
Laughing loudly as Chris settled back onto the couch, Zach quickly got to work on the younger man’s fly. “I would say my grasp of the straight male is about to improve exponentially.”
Chris groaned and let his head knock back against the wall, shutting his eyes again. “You need to stop talking or this is never gonna work.”
“Fair enough,” Zach chuckled, but went silent as he carefully withdrew Chris’ half-hard cock from his briefs. Only the sound of their breathing filled the room, and Chris wondered for a moment whether he was too nervous to get completely hard. His fears were banished with a few smooth strokes of Zach’s hand - motherfucker did not mess around. He went for the good stuff right away, flicking his thumb against the sensitive spot under the head and twisting his wrist just so. It wasn’t long before Chris had to consciously work to keep his hips from thrusting up off the couch.
Zach’s words were so quiet and calm that their suddenness didn’t startle Chris. “Imagine all that nervousness, all that tension coiling tighter and tighter at the base of your spine. Can you feel it?”
Chris could, and while it was a little weird to be hearing a guy’s voice while a (big, strong) hand worked his cock, it was not interfering with his enjoyment in the least. He clamped down on a moan and nodded.
“Good. It’s gonna keep getting smaller and smaller, tighter and tighter until it breaks into a thousand pieces. And you’re going to let it.”
Chris nodded a little spastically, unable to stop the hitch in his breathing as Zach’s hand sped up, increased the pressure to just shy of perfect, and Chris felt that knot of tension compress into a singularity. He felt Zach bring his other hand over to fondle his balls, rolling them firmly between his fingers.
“You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Zach murmured. “Don’t fight it. Let it break.” With that, Zach pressed two fingers behind Chris’ sac, but the knot didn’t break - it fucking exploded and Chris went with it, coming breathlessly as Zach’s hands milked him dry.
When Chris could think again, his first thought was for his expensive, dry-clean-only shirt. He was going to have to find a jacket somewhere or this long day of interviews was going to be really fucking awkward. But when he glanced down, he saw he was clean - and Zach was already at the sink, washing his hands. “’d you notice the sink… before you did… the thingy?” Chris managed.
“You’re welcome,” Zach said, drying his hands on a paper towel, not looking like a man who had just brought his platonic friend and co-worker to a rather impressive orgasm mere moments ago. “And yes, I did. We could hardly have you coming all over your clothes, now could we?”
He said it with the same casual inflection as some sane person might say “We can’t have you spilling spinach dip on the tablecloth, now can we?” but Chris couldn’t find it in him to call Zach on it. As it was, Chris was considering defending his sexual prowess - he never came that quickly under normal circumstances, usually had the endurance of a stallion - but then he realized he didn’t have to. This was just Zach, just an exercise in relaxation between friends. It wasn’t a big thing.
“We need to unlock this door before the stage manager has a heart attack,” Zach said. “You might want to, er, put yourself away there.” Chris quickly tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. “Feeling better?”
He stopped to think about it. Most noticeably, the urge to puke was gone, but his shoulders also felt looser, nicely relaxed, and he grinned. “Much. Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it,” Zach replied, just as a harried-looking woman wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard burst into the room.
“Mr. Pine and Mr. Quinto, we’re ready for you now.”
Zach offered a hand to help the younger man off the couch, and Chris took it. He thought he did a pretty good job of hiding the slight tremor in his legs.
It wasn’t until later that night, when Chris was perusing the adult viewing materials offered on the hotel TV, that he wondered why he hadn’t even considered the possibility of jerking himself off.
&&&
The second time, Chris didn’t need any convincing.
“Fuck,” he muttered, trying to ignore the rising nausea. “I thought this would get easier.”
“It will,” Zach said. “Give it a little while. You want me to…?”
Chris bit his lip. He really, really wanted Zach to. “Do you mind?”
“Well, it’s quite a hardship,” Zach sighed exaggeratedly. “But you did get me that cinnamon raisin bagel this morning.”
“Did I mention it was the last one?” Chris said eagerly, playing along. “Had to beat up two old ladies and a priest to get it.”
“I suppose that merits a reward,” Zach chuckled. “Sit down.”
It was the same as before, with Chris closing his eyes and Zach talking him through it, although Zach had obviously been paying attention the last time, because he zeroed in on the perfect rhythm within seconds. If anything, Chris came even faster this time, and he couldn’t stop the words “mmm, so good” from falling from his lips as he sagged back against the couch. But, hey, Zach deserved some positive feedback.
When he looked over at Zach, though, he noticed the bulge in his trousers. Made sense - Chris himself couldn’t overhear the couple next door in his old apartment without getting a little hard. Gesturing awkwardly, he offered, “Hey, do you want me to, um…?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Zach replied, and Chris was quietly relieved. He would’ve given it a shot if Zach had asked, but he wasn’t sure he’d be good enough to get Zach off before they were needed on set. It probably wasn’t that different from wanking, but Chris had no desire to try and find out while somebody’s assistant’s assistant banged on the door and yelled, “CAN I GET EITHER OF YOU SOME MORE COFFEE?!”
Chris didn’t need their little ritual before interviews, but he sure as hell liked it. After the fourth or fifth time, it became a sort of Pavlovian thing, to the point where he’d start to get hard as soon as Zach reached for his belt. It wasn’t always easy to find the time and space to be alone; matter of fact, that first interview seemed to be a fluke, as most of the other green rooms had been host to a never-ending stream of overzealous production assistants and other interviewees.
Once they had to make do with - honest to god - a broom closet.
“Uh-oh,” Chris said, glancing around. “There’s nothing to clean up with in here.”
Zach just grinned. “Oh, I think we can make do.” And sank to his knees.
Okay. That could work, too.
And if Zach was good with his hands, he was a fucking genius with his mouth. The closet was dark and Chris spent most of the time with his eyes shut anyway, but he was pretty sure Zach was watching his face the whole time, as if he couldn’t tell from the jerk of Chris’ hips or the choked sounds behind Chris’ closed mouth exactly what drove him insane. It almost made Chris wonder what Zach would be like if it weren’t always a race to the finish line, if he had more time to work with. Would he keep his hands on Chris’ hips, or let them wander down his thighs? Would he use his tongue to tease the head of Chris’ cock until Chris begged for the heat of his mouth? But then Chris was coming hard and fast and Zach was, god, he was swallowing and making it look elegant, almost satisfying in itself, and it took all of Chris’ concentration to remain standing on shaky legs as Zach stood, stretching himself and brushing off the knees of his trousers.
“Th-thanks,” Chris managed, carefully rearranging himself to look presentable again.
Zach just rolled his eyes. “Quit thanking me. It’s no big thing.”
It was about that time that the door - which didn’t lock from the inside - swung open and they came face-to-face with a very surprised janitor who didn’t make a sound, but did jump about a foot in the air when he saw them. Zach swung easily into damage control mode, apologizing to the poor man in broken German. Chris just stood there, smiling awkwardly until the others reached a language impasse and the janitor dismissed them with an annoyed wave and stepped into the closet for whatever he’d been looking for.
As they walked quickly away, Chris asked, “What did you tell him we were doing in there?”
“I know how to say three exactly things in German,” Zach said, “’thank you,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘help, the hairs in my nose have ignited.’”
“So you implied, what, that we were looking for a method to extinguish a nasal fire?”
“Chris, I have no idea what the fuck I just said,” Zach muttered. “Just keep walking and pray we never run into him again.”
After that, Chris proposed relocating their ritual to the hotel room before they drove to whatever studio or theatre they were going to. It was a bit of a risky move, as Chris was concerned that the anxiety might return before the interviews started, but they tried it and it worked. Once or twice Zach excused himself to the bathroom right after for obvious reasons, and Chris, usually flat on his back on the hotel bed waiting for his heartbeat to slow, didn’t blame him. Chris hadn’t repeated his offer to return the favor since that second time, but he was considering asking again. After all, with their current plan, they had enough time for Zach to work him over a little better, to bring Chris to the edge and back a few times before letting him fall. The difference in effect was remarkable - Chris felt loose and relaxed for hours after coming that hard, and despite Zach’s protests, Chris felt like he owed him a little.
So it did become a thing, but not like a thing thing. Just a thing that they did before interviews and premieres. Didn’t mean anything about Chris’ sexual preferences - or Zach’s for that matter. Just a little stress relief when the pressure got to be too much.
&&&
“Fucking French people,” Zach groaned, yanking the tie from his collar. “Wait, is that racist?”
“So it wasn’t just me then?”
“No, John said something, too. They definitely weren’t impressed.”
Chris fell face first onto the bed without the intention of moving again for the rest of the night, not particularly caring that it was Zach’s bed in Zach’s room. “Merde,” he groaned, showing off the extent of his French vocabulary as he burrowed into the bedding.
“There weren’t actually any boos, right?” Zach asked, pacing the length of the room.
“I don’t know. How do French people boo? By staying utterly silent the entire length of the movie?”
Zach dropped down to sit at the edge of the bed. “Okay, let’s think this through logically.”
“Fuck your Vulcan logic,” Chris growled, but the effect was somewhat muted by the fact that his head was now hidden under two pillows.
“No, seriously, so the French don’t like it. So what? Fuck ‘em. Fuck the French.”
Chris raised his head from beneath the pillows. “All of them?”
“Yes!” cried Zach triumphantly. “Fuck every last pretentious, wine-swilling, baguette-toting one of them!” And then he collapsed backward on to the bed. “Okay, that was racist.”
“Just xenophobic, I think,” said Chris, wrinkling his tux all to hell as he rolled over to face Zach. “What if the movie tanks?”
“Then I resign myself to another five years of guest spots on network TV shows followed by total obscurity, and you…” Zach paused for less than a second, but Chris knew how to finish the sentence.
“And I get my Ph.D. and teach English comp to preppy business majors at a small New England college until I’m old and decrepit,” Chris sighed, propping his head in his hand. “I told myself not to do this, y’know? Not to let myself want the fame and the money and the fans. But it’s so close now and I want it, and I hate that I want it. I hate that I’ll be crushed if it never happens. How do you stay above all that?”
Zach gave a self-deprecating sort of laugh, a sound that came out sadder than it was meant to be. “Are you asking me personally? Because I’m not above it. I’d love to roll back into Pittsburgh as a movie star and wave my dick at every single son of a bitch that ever called me a fag in high school.” Chris must have looked shocked, because Zach continued. “The dick is metaphorical. Mostly.”
When Chris was finally able to shut his mouth, he started to chuckle. Then laugh. Then laugh hysterically until he was turning blue and Zach was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. “Oh, oh god. Oh sweet baby Jesus. Wave your dick at every son of a bitch…”
“Are you okay? Should I, uh, call someone?”
“No! No, I just…” Chris wiped at his watering eyes. “I guess I’d just kind of put you on a pedestal, you know? You always seem so… together and collected, but really, you’re just- I’m not trying to insult you at all, I’m just saying… It’s surprisingly comforting to hear you be a little bit petty and vindictive.”
Much to Chris’ surprise, Zach didn’t seem at all put off by his little speech. Rather, he smiled his biggest, shark-like grin and said, “I’ll show you vindictive.” With that, he dove for Chris, grabbing the younger man’s arms and trying to flip him over.
They wrestled for a few moments, but the element of surprise had given Zach the clear advantage. Chris tried to squirm out of the hold, but Zach quickly had him on his stomach with his arms pinned behind him. Finally Chris yelled “Stop! STOP!” loudly enough to get Zach’s attention, and the older man froze, his hands loosening on Chris’ arms. “Zach,” Chris said with as serious a tone as he could muster, “Stop. This is childish.” He waited until Zach had taken the majority of his weight off of him to roll over and hook a leg behind Zach’s knee, tumbling him to the bed.
It was absolutely juvenile, what with Chris mashing Zach’s face into the pillow while Zach tried to get his knee to connect with Chris’ groin, but it was also fun. In fact, it felt a little bit like filming, since Chris had so much fight choreography to learn, back when Chris was doing the part of the job he loved: the acting. All this other shit - the press tours, the premieres - was just an annoying obstacle field to get through, and here was Zach again, providing another avenue of stress relief. Chris thanked him for it by pinning his shoulders to the bed and messing up his immaculately coiffed hair with a good, hard noogie.
Zach managed to grab hold of one of Chris’ hands and yank it upward, throwing him off balance enough that he fell forward on to Zach. For a moment, their bodies lay flush from shoulders to knees. On reflex, Zach bucked his hips up into Chris’, and oh, Zach was hard.
“Shit, Chris, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“No,” gasped Chris. He ground his hips back down, rubbing their hips together through layers of fabric. The friction made his own cock leap to attention. “It’s good. Too stressed. Need this.”
Zach only took a second to read Chris’ face before he was moving again. “Then let me.” He gracefully flipped them both over so that he was pressing Chris into the mattress, then dropped his head to the younger man’s shoulder and rutted wildly against him. Chris just tried to keep up. It was too hot, both of them still fully clothed, and the bed was starting to creak ominously and the TV remote dug into Chris’ back, but the delicious friction of Zach’s hardness against his was too good to even think about slowing down, let alone stopping. All the stress of traveling, the fiasco of tonight’s premiere, all of it boiled down to the weight of Zach’s body, the sound of their panting breath, his hands clutching at Zach’s ass, pulling him closer, trying to drown in the sensation of heat and pressure surrounding him.
Zach came first, his hips stilling momentarily as he shouted his release into Chris still-clothed shoulder, and Chris had the momentary regret that he didn’t get to see Zach’s face. After all, Zach had seen him so many times, it was only fair. But then Zach was moving again, his words in Chris’ ear so different from his usual soothing cadence. “C’mon Chris, give it up. You’re close - fuck, I know you’re close, c’mon, do it.”
With a final thrust, Chris was coming, white-hot bliss rushing through his body like cleansing fire, taking all his tension with it. As always, he lay boneless after his little ritual with Zach, but this time, Zach was right there with him. On top of him, even.
All too soon, Zach groaned and rolled to the side. “I hope you own that tux.”
Chris started giggling helplessly again. “Oh my god, Zach, don’t you get it? This is such a movie star thing to do - totally ruin our suits.”
“The wardrobe people are going to kill us, not to mention ask some seriously awkward questions,” Zach moaned, throwing an arm over his eyes.
“Not if we have the hotel do our dry cleaning. They have to - we’re movie stars!”
“And we’ll tip them with hundred-Euro bills to assuage our guilt!”
“And because we can,” Chris added sagely.
Zach smiled. “And because we can.”
&&&
“So what’s the deal, Chris?” Zach asked, kicking off his shoes and draping his blazer over the back of the chair. “Why am I up in your hotel room when I could still be at the bar with the rest of our illustrious colleagues, pursuing some uptight Brit just begging for a good, rough fuck?”
“Ugh, no. I’m a straight man and even I could see that your prospects were… dire.”
“Okay, fair enough. So what’s the big surprise?”
Chris took a deep breath, rolling up his sleeves to give his hands something to do. It had been a good day, their interviews becoming almost fun, and Chris thought now was as good a time as any. “Um, alright. You know our… thing?”
Zach paled a little, obviously understanding what Chris was talking about. “Look, we don’t have to-”
“No, I like it. It’s good,” Chris added hastily. “I think it’s the only thing keeping me sane in this freak show. I’m just saying - and hear me out now - it’s not fair that I’m getting without giving anything back.”
With an eye roll, Zach said, “Chris, we’ve been over this. It’s just something I do for you, no reciprocation required. I mean, you’re the one who’s always figuring out how to get my razor to work with all these freaky electric sockets.”
“Not the same thing and you know it.”
“Well, dude, I hate to bring up known facts at a time like this, but you’re straight.”
“First of all, never ever say ‘dude’ again, and second, this isn’t about me being straight. This is about me getting off on a regular basis without returning the favor.”
“Well, you could always, I don’t know, let me go back to the bar and find someone to fuck,” Zach groaned.
For some reason that thought turned Chris’ stomach. “Seriously? You’d choose some dental-hygiene-impaired Eurotrash stranger over your handsome, charming friend here?”
Zach sighed heavily. “Well, you have a point with the here part. Are you going to let this go?”
“Nope.”
“Well, let’s get on with it, then.”
“Oh, that’s inspiring.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Well, lose the pants to start.”
“You want in them so bad, you take them off,” Zach snorted.
“Oh my god,” groaned Chris, grabbing Zach by the belt and yanking him forward, setting about unfastening his pants with a vengeance. “I have never had to argue someone into getting an orgasm. Just let me jerk you off, you stubborn bastard.”
“I’m just not sure why you want this so badly,” Zach sighed, the bulge in his jeans suspiciously large for someone so dead-set against sex. “I already told you that you don’t owe me.”
“Well, I think I do,” Chris said cheerfully, choosing to believe Zach’s dick rather than his mouth. “Remember Paris? That was good, right?”
Obviously Chris had hit paydirt, because Zach’s cock twitched visibly as Chris carefully pulled the other man’s boxer briefs out and down over his erection. And there it was - Zach’s junk, all right in front of him. Somehow, Chris hadn’t really conceptualized this in concrete terms until it was staring him quite graphically in the face. He took another deep breath. He could do this - he had one of these, knew how it worked. Had logged quite a few hours flying solo, in fact.
He had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Hey, Zach, turn around.” Zach obstinately shuffled in a complete circle before Chris flicked his ear “No, you dick, stand in front of me but face away from me.” Zach finally did as he was told, but then Chris was stuck staring at the back of Zach’s head, and while his hair was quite impressive, it made for dull scenery from the back. “Let’s move this over here,” Chris said, dragging Zach by the hand until they were both standing in front of the full length mirror by the bathroom. “Much better. Now I can see your adorable face.”
“Okay, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m just standing around with my dick hanging out. Either shut up and do something about it or let me go.”
“God, so bossy,” Chris chuckled. “Is it hard to find guys who are into that?”
Zach cocked an eyebrow in the mirror. “When it’s me doing the bossing? Throw a rock.”
Chris ignored the little shiver down his spine in favor of positioning himself behind Zach, wrapping his arm around the other man’s waist. Zach’s shirttails hung irritatingly over his crotch, so Chris made quick work of the buttons, spreading the shirt so he had a clear view from neck to knees. To his surprise, Zach didn’t make a single snide comment, just watched Chris’ hands in the mirror.
Mimicking Zach’s usual actions, Chris didn’t waste any time wrapping his fingers around the other man’s cock. He couldn’t help but notice it was slightly shorter than his own, but thicker, had a little bit of an upward bend to it. The heat of it felt strange in his hand, but not unpleasant. He stroked once, from root to tip and back again, making Zach huff out a breath and widen his stance a little. “Good?” Chris asked.
“Good,” Zach agreed. “But not enough. Not even close.”
Chris nodded, his head craned down to look over Zach’s shoulder. He started moving his hand in a slow, firm rhythm, squeezing a little harder as he neared the head. Zach seemed to like that, his hips jutting forward when Chris tightened his grip. As he began to speed up, he caught a slight grimace from Zach in the mirror and stopped. “Too dry,” Zach gasped.
“Lotion,” Chris said, darting around Zach into the bathroom and returning with the complimentary bottle as fast as he could. Chris liked a lot of friction, but it was evident from the look on Zach’s face and the quickening of his breath when Chris returned his slick hand that the other man liked things a little smoother. He quickly established a good rhythm, firmly rubbing his thumb over the head on every other stroke, drawing a breathy gasp from Zach each time. So far, so good.
Remembering what Zach had done, Chris let his other hand wrap around Zach and reach down to play with his balls. That made Zach’s head fall back, seemingly of its own accord, and Chris remembered his earlier desire to watch Zach’s face the way Zach was always able to watch his.
And, no mistake, Zach was into this. His head was tipped back and his lower lip caught painfully in his teeth, like he was holding something back. Maybe this was why he had objected so strongly before - maybe he liked to make a lot of noise and was embarrassed about it. Chris made it a new goal to get Zach to let loose with some good, wanton sounds. He didn’t have to wait long; when Chris molded himself up against Zach’s backside, the feel of his own erection against Zach’s ass made the older man groan and grind back against Chris.
“Yeah,” Chris murmured, his lips brushing Zach’s ear. “Now we’re talkin’. What else do you like, Zach?”
“Twist, ah- Twist just a little on the upstroke, right under the head.”
When Chris did just that and Zach’s knees started to buckle, Chris nearly did a silent fist pump in victory. Fuck, this was hot, watching Zach’s mouth go slack as the mounting tension made his eyes slam shut and his eyebrows furrow. Chris couldn’t help himself, rocking his hips harder and harder against Zach’s firm ass as soft, helpless little sounds of need poured from his lips. Zach had to be getting close now, and Chris focused all his concentration on making him come. Suddenly, Zach lurched forward and put one hand flat on the mirror for support, pumping into Chris’ grip once, twice, then coming with a wall-rattling shout.
In the moment after, Chris felt totally bereft, standing awkwardly behind a thoroughly spent Zach with a leaking erection tenting his pants. But then Zach reached his other hand back to grab Chris by the hip, forcing their bodies together and Chris took it as permission to grind against him fast and hard. Chris shut his eyes, replaying the moment before in his mind’s eye - all that tension in Zach’s face breaking at once, his head thrown back, gasping for breath - and that was all it took. He came hard, probably better than a dry hump warranted, crying out, his hips still pressed tight against Zach’s ass.
There was a moment, after Chris came back to his senses and stumbled backward to rest against the wall behind him, when the younger man had no idea what to do. Precedent dictated that he keep his distance, that this was just another thing, no big deal. But part of his brain was trying to tell him that somehow their thing had crossed over into a sex thing, and that made his body crave closeness, possibly in the form of some not entirely manly cuddling.
Zach’s face was buried in the crook of his elbow where it still leaned against the mirror, so Chris couldn’t see his expression. Then Chris opened his mouth to say something - he didn’t know quite what - and Zach’s head snapped up, his face unreadable, their eyes meeting in the mirror. They stayed frozen that way for a beat. Then two.
Then Zach was muttering a stream of obscenities under his breath, yanking his pants back up and refusing to look Chris in the eye. “Oh, goddamn it, Chris. Can’t believe I let you fucking talk me into- Holy Christ, what a huge fucking mistake.” Zach slipped his shoes on and, without even bothering to button his shirt, walked out the door.
Chris was still standing in front of the mirror, his mouth gaping open, when he realized - as he came, he had said Zach’s name.
On to part two