FIC: ST RPS -- The Steelrod Chronicles (1/2)
Title: The Steelrod Chronicles (1/2)
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 10,407
Warnings: brief Chris/OMC, talk of medical procedures, masturbation, ridiculous hats
Disclaimer: lies heaped upon lies
Summary: AU - 5 times Chris sort of regretted having a porn star as a roommate and 1(.5) time(s) he didn’t mind so much
A/N: Originally posted anonymously at the ontd_pinto kink meme. I’ve made a few minor edits and added an epilogue.
It wasn’t a girly scream, no matter what Zach says. Yes, it was a bit high-pitched, but under the circumstances, that’s completely understandable, even appropriate.
“Zachary!”
He comes running down the hall. “You just scared the shit out of me, Chris! What is it?”
“There is a… a creature in the bathroom.”
“What kind of creature?”
“I don’t fucking know, or else I would have been more specific than ‘creature,’ wouldn’t I? All I know is that it’s got fur. Thick, black, horrible fur, and it was hanging out on the sink.”
Zach shudders visibly. “Was it… is it… a rat?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, did it have a tail?”
“Jesus, I told you, I don’t know what the fuck it is! I didn’t stand around and fucking pet it!”
“My my, don’t you have a potty mouth when you’re alarmed.”
“Alright, asshole, you go in there and see if you come out talking like the Church Lady.”
“I’m not going in there.”
“Well, one of us has to, and I’ve already been.”
Evidently they’ve reached a standoff, and Chris glares at Zach, trying to make him back down. Problem is, Zach’s got his own rather intimidating glare-face, but Chris isn’t letting him have this one. No way.
Finally, Zach relents. “Fine, I’ll go in there. But if I get the bubonic plague, you’re going to be the one cleaning my sores.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Just go. At least find out what it is before it runs away.”
“Pus-filled, weeping sores,” Zach mutters as he edges down the hallway toward the still-open door of the bathroom. Chris can tell he’s trying very hard to be macho about it, but he knows that Zach hates rodents. He speeds up and swerves in when he sees a possum on the road.
Chris hears Zach take a deep breath, and then he disappears into the bathroom. And then… nothing.
Not a sound.
Chris starts to worry. Sure, if Zach had actually been bitten or attacked or something, there would’ve been a scream or at least a loud thud. Chris decides to give it to the count of five before he heads over there. After all, Zach pays half the rent, and if he dies, Chris is definitely going to have to move out. One… two… three…
“BAHAHAHAHA!”
That’s an odd scream of terror, Chris thinks, utterly perplexed.
“Christopher, get in here!”
“What is it?”
“I can’t… you have to…” Zach can’t seem to finish a sentence without laughing. Evidently, whatever’s in there has already driven Zach out of his mind.
Chris rounds the corner and gets the black, hairy thing waved in his face. Again, not a girly scream, but he does flail so hard that he slams his elbow against the doorframe and everything goes pink around the edges for a few moments.
“What the everloving fuck!”
“This is what you were afraid of!” Zach shrieks with nothing short of delight. “This!”
Chris tries to get a good look at it as Zach waves it around. It’s still dark and furry, but it’s also completely flat and… sticky?
“One of my waxing strips!” Zach hoots. “You thought it was, like, a wolverine or something!”
There’s so much adrenaline pumping through Chris’ system that it takes a few seconds before he can even speak. “What the fuck is one of your waxing strips doing out on the counter? Zach, that’s fucking disgusting.”
Zach, who is evidently not finished humiliating Chris, flicks the strip at him again. “Ooh, look out, it might bite you and give you rabies!”
“I’m more worried about you giving me rabies, you fucking psycho,” Chris groans, rubbing at his throbbing elbow. “If you ever leave one of your pube strips out again, so help me god-”
“Relax, Chrissy, it’s just chest hair,” Zach sighs. “J.J. wants me bare for the next shoot. God knows why, since the body hair is part of my whole thing, but whatever.”
Chris had a life before this; he knows he did, he just can’t remember it. Can’t remember when sentences like that made absolutely no sense whatsoever and he was perfectly happy with that.
“If it makes you feel any better, it stung like a bitch,” Zach says breezily as he leaves the bathroom, strip in hand. Chris sits down on the tub and puts his head between his legs.
Behold the tribulations of living with Zachary “Steelrod” Quinto, Porn Star.
&&&
Aside from the occasional moment like that, Chris might not even have known if Zach hadn’t told him, a conversation that took place the very same day he came over to check out the apartment.
Everything seemed on the up-and-up - reasonably clean place (even if there were books everywhere), working appliances, a complete lack of dead bodies - and then Zach had turned to him and said, “Oh, and I’m an actor in porn. Gay porn. You have a problem with that?”
Chris had considered that for a moment. “Will I have to start calling it the ‘adult film industry’?”
To his surprised, Zach had actually laughed. “No, porn’s fine. Now, is it going to be too weird sharing a bathroom? This is the only one.”
Honestly, that was the only lie Chris told to get the room.
But Zach doesn’t talk much about his job unless Chris asks him directly, which doesn’t happen often; Chris thinks that’s probably the reason Zach puts up with him. Chris pays half the rent, but Zach’s the one who picks up most of the incidentals, like milk and dish soap and toilet paper. Chris isn’t exactly sure how much Zach makes, but even though it’s much better than his pay at the restaurant, it isn’t rock star money. And it’s not like there are sex toys strewn all over the apartment or drugged-out twinks chained naked to the walls. Zach dresses and acts more like a hipster-nerd than a porn star, whatever it is porn stars wear when they’re not porning. All in all, it’s actually almost distressingly normal.
Chris has never watched any of Zach’s movies, nor does he intend to. He has a hard enough time reconciling “Zach Steelrod,” professional ass-plunderer, with the guy who comes home after work, throws on a ratty old cardigan, and reads Vonnegut until The Simpsons comes on.
Plus, Chris has never really been into porn - the pro stuff is just so fake-y, and the amateur stuff feels too voyeuristic. Every male friend he’s ever had has given him shit about it, but when he confesses it to Zach one night over beer and Boggle, Zach just shrugs and says, “Don’t blame you. I get more turned on scrubbing the grout these days.”
To Chris, who has admittedly had more beer than Boggle rounds, finds this the funniest fucking thing he has ever heard. “Ooh, yeah, baby, scrub me harder!” he giggles.
Zach snorts with laughter. “Oh my god, yes, use the bleach! Make it whiter! Whiter!” In the process, he drops the last remaining little pencil stub somewhere between the couch cushions, and Boggle is abandoned.
Of course, there are downsides to living with a gay porn star, even if (or possibly especially if) you are, yourself, gay. There’s this guy that has been coming into Chris’ restaurant a couple times a week for about a month now. Chris is pretty sure the guy’s not there just for him, but it feels good to think that he is. The guy - Kevin, Chris sees on the receipt - is all kinds of cute, with curly hair and honest-to-god dimples, but just enough shrewdness in his smile to make Chris wonder what that mouth is capable of.
So when Kevin hangs around until closing one night, Chris asks him out. Well, he intends to ask him out, but what actually happens is that they end up making out next to the dumpster until Chris realizes they’re making out next to the dumpster and invites Kevin back to his place. Yeah, so, okay, probably not the great romance of the ages, but Chris hasn’t had anyone over in a long time, and Zach’s cool with it - he usually sleeps with his earphones in, anyway.
Then Chris has Kevin practically on top of him on the living room couch. They should really go back to his room, but fuck, it’s been so long and Kevin’s already got a hand shoved down Chris’ pants, squeezing him just a little too tightly in a way that makes Chris’ eyes roll back in his head. Chris turns his head to bury his face against the couch cushion and moan as Kevin draws him out of his briefs. He feels Kevin’s hot, wet mouth descend to his twitching stomach, working slowly downward…
And then the lights snap on.
“GAAAAAAAH, THE FUCK?” comes a voice from the other side of the room.
That warm, heavenly mouth moves away, and Chris looks up over the back of the couch in time to see Zach - earphones still in and plugged into his iPod - go from startled to wary to grinning conspiratorially as he pieces it together. “Shit, Chris, I’m sorry, I was just hungry and I didn’t-Okay, I’m going now, gonna turn my music up nice and loud. You boys have fun and play safe.”
Chris flips him off, then sinks back down on the couch with a groan, hoping Kevin will get back to business without needing to be told. But Chris’ head barely hits the cushion before he hears a curious “Hey, aren’t you…”
And Kevin is staring open-mouthed at Zach.
Fuck it all.
Fuck it all so hard.
To his credit, Zach tries to walk away. “Nope,” he says, “g’night.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re Zach Steelrod.”
“No, that’s really not-”
“I’m, like, your biggest fan,” Kevin gushes, having obviously forgotten about Chris and the awesome blow job that was just about to go down.
“Look, I don’t-” Zach starts again, but Kevin cuts him off.
“Seriously, I’ve downloaded all of your movies. Like, legally, even.”
“Um, thanks?” Zach says, unfailingly polite as always. With a sigh, Chris looks down his body at his dick, now wilting rather pathetically. It’s just as well - not like he’s getting any tonight. Not now.
Kevin is still babbling some inane question about what it was like to fuck so-and-so, is what’s-his-name’s cock really that big, and Chris can see that despite the annoyance on his face, Zach is just the teeniest, tiniest bit flattered. A porn star who likes the attention - who knew?
But before long Zach’s embarrassment outweighs his ego’s need to be stroked. “Hey, um…” he interrupts.
“Kevin.”
“Yeah, Kevin, look, I need to get back to bed. I’ve, uh, got a shoot in the morning, so I need my rest.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Kevin says, nodding so hard that Chris sincerely hopes he sprains something important. “But could you just, like, sign something for me?”
“Um, okay, what do you want me to sign?”
If Kevin tugs up his shirt and offers Zach a tit, Chris really is going to kill someone, and he’s not going to be sorry about it. But Kevin spies a notebook - which is Chris’, by the way - lying on the coffee table and tears out a blank page. Chris can’t even watch as Zach signs it, Kevin blissfully oblivious to the tension in the room.
Finally, Kevin lets Zach retreat back toward his room, which he does almost comically fast. Then Kevin turns to Chris, stars in his eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’re Zach Steelrod’s roommate!”
Yeah, next time Chris is definitely spitting in Kevin’s food.
&&&
Another day, another failed audition. Though it’s legitimately not Chris’ fault this time, not unless he can somehow be blamed for being two inches too tall. Advanced CGI technology that can create an entire planet full of blue cat people and it can’t make Chris two inches shorter?
He lets himself into the apartment, sure he’s alone in his self-pity until he hears a small, pathetic, “Chris, is that you?”
“Who the hell else would it be?” he answers peevishly.
“Chris, I need your help.”
Chris follows the pitiful voice and occasional soft whimper back to Zach’s bedroom. “If anything, I don’t know, got stuck while you were at work, I’m not pulling it out. I’ll drive you to the hospital, but I’m not pulling it out.”
Zach doesn’t laugh, not even a little bit, which is a pretty bad sign. When Chris gets to his doorway, Zach’s curled up on the bed. Upon seeing Chris, he sits up rather gingerly and scoots forward on the bed, which is just about the time Chris get an eyeful of…
“Jesus, Zach, put that thing away! You’ll take somebody’s eye out!”
“I can’t!” Zach yelps, sounding truly distressed, but quickly quiets back down to a pained murmur. “You know on the commercial, when it says to seek medical help if it lasts longer than four hours?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re going on six here.”
“Oh…” Chris says, turning to face Zach again, but keeping his eyes firmly on Zach’s face. Well, at least he’s wearing underwear. “Oh god.”
“Yeah. So, um. Could you maybe drive me to the hospital? I would’ve driven myself, but I can definitively say there is no blood in my brain right now.”
“How did you even get home?”
Zach grimaces. “It was… unpleasant, and I almost hit a bus. Can we go? Now?”
“Yeah, of course, come on,” Chris says, unsure whether he should offer an arm to help Zach up or just let him fight it out on his own.
Zach manages, but his posture is suffering a bit. “Can I borrow some sweatpants?”
“Sure,” Chris says, darting out of the room to allow Zach to collect himself for a moment.
As he digs through his drawer looking for his cleanest pair of sweatpants, Chris takes a moment to be grateful. Sure, he blew an audition, but things could be much, much worse.
&
Blessedly, the waiting room in the ER is fairly empty, though Zach’s still got a small stack of forms to get through before he can see anyone. Or rather, Chris has the forms, since Zach’s really not in any condition to do much of anything that requires fine muscle control.
“Zach, what’s your social security number?”
“Here, I can fill that one in at least,” Zach says, taking the clipboard and setting awkwardly on his lap as far from his crotch as possible. The numbers are legible, but Zach seems happy to let Chris have the clipboard back when he’s done.
Really, it’s a bit odd how much of the information Chris knows without having to ask. He has to check on the street number, but other than that, he knows Zach’s mom’s address and phone number, which Zach - adorable little fucker that he is - still has down as his emergency contact. Chris is reasonably sure they won’t call her about this, since Chris is here, but he’s really going to have to talk to Zach about getting that changed. Zach’s mom thinks he does particularly well-paying community theater.
Under occupation, Chris puts down “performer,” since that’s generally Zach’s answer to the “So, what do you do?” question. And since it’s LA, most people roll their eyes and figure Zach must do things like douse himself in blue paint and stand in front of the La Brea Tar Pits in order to make a statement about man’s inhumanity to man, or some shit like that.
Chris would have finished filling out the forms a long time ago, except his eyes keep wanting to sneak over to Zach’s lap to try to get a peek at the painfully-tumescent goods. Zach’s not shy about his body, and Chris has gotten glimpses here and there, but never a good look and never while Zach was hard. Okay, he’s still not exactly interested in viewing Zach’s, um, professional endeavors, but he can’t help but be curious about his equipment. Working in the industry means you’re pretty much required to have… substantial assets, right? It’s not that weird that Chris wants to know. Right?
Eh, what the hell. Hopefully, this is all going to be a blur to Zach once everything is a little less… turgid. “Um, Zach? I know this is kind of weird, but, uh… how big… is it? When you’re, y’know, hard?”
Zach glances over at him with disbelieving eyes. “That cannot possibly be on the form.”
“No, no, it’s not, I just- Fuck, that was a stupid thing to-”
“Eight and a quarter inches,” Zach says, smiling - albeit weakly - for the first time since Chris came home. “On the small side for the biz, actually, though the Powers That Be usually round up to nine or ten for publicity purposes. As long as I’m not fucking next to a yardstick, no one really questions it.”
“No, it’s… I mean, that’s… plenty big? Oh my god, Christopher, shut your mouth.”
It wasn’t really Chris’ intention, but that actually gets a chuckle out of Zach, and it eases some of the tension in Chris’ chest. “Well, I’ll say this - you always know how to make me laugh.”
“Glad to be of service.”
“You can ask me whatever you want, you know,” Zach says, his face oddly solemn. “Not just today, I mean. I appreciate that you give me privacy, but I know you’re curious sometimes.”
Chris nods, and now he can’t help himself. “Do you take Viagra a lot?”
“No. Some of the guys do. I’ve only taken it maybe half a dozen times, ever.”
“But, um…” Chris fidgets. “Why? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. Is there… something wrong?”
Zach snorts, causing several people to look over at them, but fortunately he’s hunched down so low that Chris doubts anyone can see why they’re here. “I haven’t broken my dick yet, if that’s what you’re asking. Nah , believe it or not, sometimes I just don’t really feel like fucking some greasy frat boy with a five-word vocabulary and medically-relevant B.O.”
Well, of course, Chris should have thought of that. It seems he’s as guilty of glamorizing Zach’s job as everyone else. But that’s just what it is - a job.
Zach jolts him out of his train of thought, jabbing him in the arm and saying, “Hey, you finished with those forms yet?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.”
“Well, then go turn the fucking things in,” Zach laughs, even though a light sweat is breaking out across his forehead. “I’d like to make it out of here with my dick still attached.”
Chris springs up immediately to take the papers over. He doesn’t think that’s really what the ER staff is waiting on, but even so, Zach is taking this with so much better humor than Chris would in his position. He hands the clipboard to the nurse behind the desk. “Ma’am, could you tell me how much longer it’s going to be? My friend is in quite a bit of pain.”
The woman checks something in the computer, then says, “It shouldn’t be long.”
Chris almost leaves then, but while he’s here, he might as well ask. “Could you possibly tell me…” He leans over the desk. “What’s the medical treatment for, uh, priapism?”
The woman doesn’t even blink; god knows what she must see on a daily basis. “Well, the first course of treatment is usually a pseudoephedrine pill to try to restore normal blood flow away from the penis.”
“Uh-huh,” Chris says, keeping his Not Panicking Face on. “Is there a second course?”
“If the pill doesn’t work, the doctor will probably need to aspirate blood from the erectile tissue.”
“Aspirate?”
“With a needle.”
Chris seems to have lost control of his voice, because when he speaks, his voice is about three octaves higher. “Is there a third course?”
The nurse glances over at Zach, sitting curled over himself on the chair. “Is your friend a religious man?”
“Religious? I don’t think so. Spiritual, maybe?”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, I suggest you both start praying that the first two courses work.”
&
About an hour later, Zach stumbles back out through the double doors, limping like a wounded soldier, his eyes wide and unseeing. Chris leaps out of his chair, racing over to Zach but restraining himself from actually touching him. Chris has the feeling that probably wouldn’t be the best course of action right now. Maybe he ought to ask the nurse for a pamphlet on post-traumatic stress.
He tries his damnedest to be cheerful. “Hey, buddy, you okay? Everything still… in place?”
Slowly, eyes still unfocused and staring straight ahead, Zach nods.
“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”
Zach shakes his head.
Well, thank god for that. “Do you want to stop and get cupcakes on the way home?”
It takes a moment, but Zach eventually nods.
“Okay, let’s stop and get cupcakes on the way home.”
&&&
When Chris finally crosses the Rubicon, it’s 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon. It probably would’ve been more appropriate in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm, but if there’s anything in Chris’ life that could be described as “appropriate,” he can’t think of it.
He’s been prepping for an audition for hours and he’s fucking sick of it. The thing’s not for another two days, and he needs a break. It’s still a few hours until his shift at the restaurant starts, so he fires up his fairly ancient laptop to see what he’s been missing in the world.
Twenty minutes go by, and though he’d swear he doesn’t know how it happened, he finds himself searching his roommate’s stage name on a bit torrent site. Damn it, he is curious about what Zach does. He always comes home at the end of the day already showered, back in his own clothes, and maybe a little bit peaked, but nothing to indicate the depths of depravity in which he has engaged during working hours. Chris has slowly started asking questions as they occur to him, but he does have the unique opportunity to actually see for himself… and Zach never has to know.
Chris doesn’t even know where to start. Apparently, Zach is quite the prolific performer, but Chris doesn’t recognize the names and he feels vaguely uncomfortable watching anything with “Butt Boyz” in the title. He ends up picking the most downloaded one, because surely 50,000 internet perverts can’t all be wrong.
It downloads surprisingly quickly, but Chris still can’t sit there and watch the little progress bar inch across the screen, silently judging him as it loads. He’s aware he might have a few unusual hang-ups. When he returns to the computer with a freshly-popped back of popcorn (because he’s hungry, and why the hell not?), the video’s all ready to go.
The quality isn’t great and it’s missing a minute or two at the beginning, but Chris is confident in his ability to follow the plot anyway. Something about two shirtless, distractingly shiny jocks having a weightlifting contest. The character development is sketchy at best and the transition from exercise to sloppy makeouts practically nonexistent, so Chris shakes his head sadly at the screen, cramming another handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Everything so far is confirming Chris’ conviction that there’s just nothing sexy about it. The noises (which are pretty much Chris’ favorite part of sex; well, aside from the orgasms) are obviously faked and the dirty talk is peppered with hilariously awkward puns about squat-thrusting and clean jerking. At one point, the guy getting fucked on hands and knees on the weight bench begins not-so-subtly lifting his downstage leg so the camera can get a better view of his cock, and he looks so much like a peeing dog that Chris considers screencapping it and Photoshopping in a little fire hydrant. Or, you know, whatever the MS Paint equivalent is. Zach would find it hilarious, but Zach would also know that Chris has watched his stuff, so no dice.
Chris finishes his popcorn just about the time that Hans and Franz finally shoot, and he’s considering giving up the whole thing when the scene switches to the two of them walking down a hallway lined with lockers. Okay, so they’re supposed to be in high school? That hits some of Chris’ creeper buttons, but the actors are both rather obviously in their mid twenties, so he’s not too skeeved out to keep watching. He doesn’t bother to pause it when he gets up to wash the faux-butter off his hands, and when he shuts the kitchen faucet off, he hears a familiar voice issuing out of the tinny speakers.
Finally, Zach’s on screen, wearing an argyle sweater and a pair of pleated khakis. Pleated. Zach. It makes Chris briefly reconsider his decision to never mention this to Zach, since the potential for mockery is off the charts. Chris finds himself leaning forward to hear Zach’s quiet, firm voice - he’s got some serious stage presence, quite the contrast from the two bubbleheads he’s talking to. Ah, so he’s the nerdy yet stern math teacher; Chris knows this because the chalkboard behind Zach helpfully says “MATH.” Chris can’t help but laugh - Zach teaching a math class would be an hour on how to use a calculator.
Apparently Tweedledee and Tweedledum haven’t been doing their homework, those naughty boys. They try to backsass Zach, and Chris clucks his tongue - no way that’s going to end well for them. Sure enough, Chris doesn’t have to wait long until Zach gives them what for. One of the jocks, who’s as tall as Zach and much stockier, actually tries to shove Zach by the shoulder. But Zach executes some kind of judo move and splays the guy out face-down across his desk without breaking a sweat. Yeah, okay, that’s kind of hot.
So much for foreplay - Zach growls something predictable about teaching the guy a lesson and undoes his own fly with one hand while keeping the guy’s arm twisted behind his back with the other. His friend looks kind of bored until the actor playing him suddenly remembers the camera’s still on and makes some kind of token protest. But Zach’s already got desk guy’s pants down around his ankles, grabbing a condom out of the drawer and rolling it on without releasing Jock #1’s arm. That’s some pretty impressive dexterity right there, Chris thinks.
He has to avert his eyes from the inevitable close-ups on the push in, since there’s only so much physical detail one needs to see of one’s roommate, even if one’s roommate’s dick is… rather attractive, as dicks go. Nicely curved, thick without being downright frightening. Chris tries not to dwell on that.
The camera pulls back again to show Zach taunting the jock as he fucks him. The actual words aren’t nearly as noteworthy as how evenly Zach says them, no pauses or gasps for breath even as he drives his hips forward and back in a steady, relentless rhythm. He commands Jock #2 to shove his cock down his friend’s throat and Chris’ gut clenches - that’s a voice you instinctively obey, and one he’s positive he’s never heard come out of Zach’s mouth before.
Everything about it should be ridiculous: the setting, the dialogue, the fact that, though Zach is now shirtless, he’s pretty sure they never showed the sweater actually coming off. But Zach’s increasingly brutal thrusts are almost hypnotic, the intensity in his eyes drawing Chris closer and closer to the monitor. Without even realizing it, he’s unzipped his jeans and is now palming himself roughly through his underwear. He’s sort of appalled at himself, but fuck if he can stop.
Chris is sure it has to be over any second now, but Zach fucks Jock #1 through a messy orgasm all over the desk and keeps going as Jock #2 shoots his load on the other guy’s face. Chris is just starting to wonder whether this is actually going to go on forever when there’s a pronounced shift in Zach’s movements, his thrusts fast and shallow. He pulls out, stripping off the condom and jerking himself hard until he comes in thick stripes across the guy’s back.
It’s not the sight of it but the sound Zach makes - a wild, self-indulgent groan - that yanks Chris’ orgasm up out of him from nowhere. He hadn’t thought he was even close to coming, but all of a sudden he’s shooting, gasping with surprise and trying belatedly not to get any spunk on the keyboard. On screen, Zach is tucking himself away, gazing imperiously down at the guy still naked and prone across his desk.
Chris slaps the cover of the laptop shut. Where the fuck did that come from?
Continue to part two