[ Hit The Floor ]

[winterlive]

in which nobody is helpful except john "maverick" cho.

nutrek rpf, pine/quinto, NC-17. there are D/s themes here. if i were to be honest i would have said the same of the last. unrepentant porn. you've been warned. thanks much to jamesinboots & thenyxie for audiencing & beta skillz. can be read as sequel to You Know I Don't Ask For Much, but also stands alone.

disclaimer: this didn't really happen; everything here is fictional; for fun and not profit.

~

Karl is not helpful.

Chris slumps on the hotel bar, scowling at a rye and coke. "Listen, just because it hasn't worked out for other people doesn't mean-"

"I didn't say it didn't work out," Karl tells him kindly. He's got booze enough in him that the kiwi accent is thick and present, and he claps Chris on the shoulder like the pal he is. "I'm just telling you to cool your jets. It'll come around if it's meant to. You can't force these things."

"Hey, I'm not forcing," Chris protests indignantly, gesturing to his chest with his drink. "Who was forcing? This is not forcing."

Karl rolls his eyes. "Fuck, you have gone stupid over him, haven't you?"

Chris slumps again. "Shut up."

"If you like," Karl says, and Chris could swear the bastard's laughing at him.

Zoë also is not in any way helpful. Chris learns this whilst in a Berlin shoe store. Zoë has this thing for shoes, and Chris does not, but it's the only way to get her to stand in one place long enough to talk to her.

"I don't know," she's saying speculatively, eyeing her newest prey critically in the mirror. "What do you think?"

Chris glances at them, sees heels the size of his head and a huge number of very complicated-looking straps. "They're great," he sighs.

She glances over her shoulder at him. "See, this is why. It's just my opinion."

"You're out of your mind," he says, putting his feet up on the bench he's on. "There's a pretty simple requirement for being a gay guy, and I got it."

Zoë abruptly looks apologetic. "Oh, baby, I didn't mean to say you weren't enough for him or anything. I'm sorry. It's just that Zach has the skills, y'know?"

Chris's eyes widen, his mouth drops open. "Are you telling me you think I don't have the skills, Zo? Because I promise you, I have mad skills!"

Zoë rolls her eyes. That's getting to be a common reaction, and Chris is pretty sure he hates that. "If I asked Zach what he thought of my shoes, he'd tell me. In detail. He's been in GQ a dozen times, he's got bonafides. That's all I meant." She turns a speculative eye back on the mirror and pivots on the spot. "How are my legs in these?"

Now that, Chris is qualified to give an opinion on.

Maybe Zoë has a point.

But, he thinks, stumbling off the dance floor draped around John's shoulder, that's completely irrelevant. "It's prejudice!" he hollers over the heavy music. "I'm being discriminated against, here!"

"Karl told me," John shouts back. "Come on. You need some air."

They fall outside into the hot Madrid night and head over to where Karl leans against a wall, crushing a cigarette to death. He nods at them and Chris bums one; he only smokes when he's out dancing. Weird craving, whatever.

"You're a total idiot," Karl says, handing one over.

"Tell me something I don't know," Chris smiles, and thieves his lighter.

John leans against the whitewashed brick and breathes deeply of said fresh air. "Really?" he asks, gazing up at the sky. "Zach?"

Karl tucks a filter between his lips. "Trust me," he says, dry as the Sahara. "It happens."

Chris rubs a hand over his face. "Look. Advice, I got. I gotta do something or I won't be doing anything."

John waves a hand. "Well, I'll help you, man, but it's weird. I'm just saying."

Chris tilts an eyebrow at him. (Karl does the same.) "What're you gonna do?" he asks, not having gotten this far himself.

Under the dim alley light, John's are-you-retarded face is even more pointed. "Dude. Are you serious?" They stare at him until he too rolls his eyes. "You wanna get something going on with Zach, you need a member of the official wingman corps. No man left behind, buddy." John holds up a fist, and Chris bumps it incredulously.

"You are a genius. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're stupid."

Chris beams at him. "Obviously."

Karl waves a hand. "That's what I said. Pretty, but dumb."

"It was on the casting call," Chris grins.

Karl asks if they need him, but John waves him off, so he flips open his phone to call L.A. John takes Chris by the arm and drags him back into the crush, up some stairs and over to the rail. They scan the crowd for Zach and find him talking animatedly to a woman wearing a t-shirt that, transliterated, appears to mean no dinosaurs.

"Okay," John says during a lull in the music. "Give me a minute to send him to the bar. Then you go intercept."

Chris catches him by the arm before he can leave. "Wait, what do I say?"

Without missing a beat, John slaps him upside the head. "It’s just Zach. You don't need a line."

"Right," Chris nods, and rubs his ear. "Ow."

John hollers over the newly deafening funk. "Don't be a baby," he advises, and then disappears down the stairs. Chris watches him duck and weave his way toward the table, and it takes only a second of chat for him to shake hands with the girl, for Zach to get up and head for the bar. John talks to the girl a second longer and then they're headed out to the dance floor. John looks up to catch Chris's eye, and jabs his finger commandingly in the direction of the bar.

"Okay," Chris says to himself, and pushes his hair behind his ears, smoothes down his shirt. "Okay. Here we go."

He makes it to the bar in time to add one to Zach's order, and help him carry the drinks back. Zach is drinking Sprite, Chris notes, which is not helpful. So far John's been the only helpful person he knows. "Playing designated driver?" he asks when they're sitting down. This part of the club is insulated a bit from the pounding bass line, so he doesn't have to scream.

Zach shrugs. "I got a good buzz going already."

Chris nods, and gestures in the direction of the strawberry daiquiri on the table. "If that's for Karl, I gotta tell you, I think he's allergic to pink."

It gets a laugh, the sight of which settles warmly around Chris's stomach somewhere. "It's for Allie," Zach says. "I met her a few minutes ago, but I don't know where she went."

Chris licks rye off his lips and stares at his glass. "You like her?"

"Sure," Zach says expansively, swinging his arms wide. "I like all of Madrid. Allá donde fueres, haz lo que vieres."

"What's that mean?" Chris can't help but smile.

"When in Madrid, do as the Madrideans," Zach smiles back at him.

Chris tips his glass. "Madrilenians," he pronounces clearly, and Zach acknowledges Chris's point in their ever-evolving game of unusual English words.

The music settles over them again, and Chris curses himself for not having the first clue how to close the deal here. Zach looks lazy and happy and enjoying himself, and that's great, but not the direction Chris is looking for. Zoë was right; he's got a lot of work to do if he wants to get smooth.

Wait, Zoë!

"So, I was talking to Zoë the other day," he says. "You'll never believe what she told me." Zach lifts an interested eyebrow at him. Encouraged, Chris leaps into it. "She says you have more queer eye skills than me. Crazy, right? I mean, I'm pretty far from helpless. I have a GQ shoot scheduled when we're done the tour."

"Really," Zach says. His voice is a little flat, his eyebrow still quirked, but Chris is warming to his topic and doesn't notice.

"Oh yeah. And not to sound like a prick about it, but I'm a hell of a cook. I could make a carbonara that'd blow your hair back."

Zach chuckles softly, shaking his head over his green straw.

"What?"

His eyes are glinting with that mischievous, faintly wicked look they get sometimes. It hits Chris down low, that look. Zach leans in a bit, and Chris tilts his head forward immediately. "That," Zach says, voice full of amusement, "is downright sad. A world of openers, and you lead with that?"

Chris blinks at him. "I... I use real bacon..."

"I'm Italian, you moron, I know what's in carbonara." Chris is at a total loss for how to answer that, but luckily Zach is standing up and fishing a bill out of his wallet. "Get your stuff together. We're leaving."

"Thank God," Chris breathes, and goes to get a cab.

A soft rain has started outside, so they wait together under the awning. Chris pushes his hands into his pockets and studies his shoes, because he doesn't really know what to do with himself. Then, Zach bumps shoulders with him like always, and Chris winds up smiling at his shoes like an idiot. He's still just as confused and unsure of himself, but when Zach wants him to smile, well. He usually gets what he wants.

When the cab comes, they get into the backseat and Zach gives the name of their hotel. Chris leans across the seat like he's going to whisper something, but all he really wants is to invade the bubble of space Zach holds around him like armor. He wants to make his intentions clear.

"Sit," Zach murmurs, a devious smirk curving his lips.

Chris falls back into his seat with a sigh. He knows better to try anything on their way through the lobby, or even in the elevator. Zach leads them to his room without hesitating, but Chris'll go wherever Zach wants so long as it means he can take his hands out of his pockets and put them somewhere more interesting.

Zach lets him go through the door first, and before Chris even has a chance to look around, he's being shoved against the wall. Zach's hand is in his hair, lips a breath from his own, and Chris very nearly puts his hands over his head just to show he isn't fucking armed. Zach shoves a knee between Chris's thighs, and good, yes, that's excellent.

"I can't believe," Zach tells him in slow, drugged tones, "that you let us traipse halfway across Europe before you came to me again."

Chris suffers twin pangs of indignance and regret. "I couldn't think," he protests. "I wanted to ask, but I didn't..."

"You didn't know how," Zach says for him, soft and warm.

Chris nods, and carefully puts his hands on Zach's hips. It takes only a millimetre to close the distance between them, to kiss him for the first time. Zach is still for a moment, just allowing the touch without returning it. But just when Chris starts to really get behind the idea, when he touches his tongue to Zach's lips, that's when Zach pushes him back against the wall and opens him up. He bites, forces Chris's head to a better angle and slides his tongue along the ridge of Chris's teeth. Kissing Zach is exactly like Chris remembers it being like to fuck him, and the worn-edged memory of that night in London rushes into his mind all over again.

By the time Zach lets him breathe again, Chris doesn't want to anymore. He tries to push against Zach again, but Zach's got him.

"Not so fast," Zach instructs breathlessly. "This time I get to screw with you."

Chris is dumbstruck. "This time?"

"If you think I was screwing with you before, you badly underestimate me." Zach grins, and leans forward to rest against Chris’s body.

In a way, hearing that is like being assured that he's finally found the right person. Since London he hasn't seen anything of the one he met in that hotel room except the occasional whisper, there and gone before he knew it. He never seemed to have the right combination of luck and timing and mood to draw this out again, thought maybe he imagined that it was like this. But this is what he wanted, right here. He's still not real clear on how he made it happen this time, sexy and strange and a little scary. But he'll take it.

"Okay," he tries, hooking his thumbs into Zach's belt loops. "So, help me out, here. I don't know what I'm allowed to do."

Zach tilts his head, considering. "Getting rid of your clothes might be a good place to start."

Chris blushes and turns his face. "You'd probably have to let me go to... oh."

He's interrupted in that thought by Zach's mouth, pressing against his jaw line and slipping down his neck. The sounds are slick and wet, skin on skin, and when Zach talks, Chris feels it all the way down to his bones. "You know," Zach whispers between bites, "when you blush, you tempt me terribly."

"Uh." Chris puts a hand in Zach's hair to feel the strands between his fingers. "Good," he says, because being tempting sounds pretty damn good right now. Better than being the idiot who couldn't find a pickup line.

Zach laughs against Chris's throat and buries his face there for a second. "Okay," he sighs, and then steps back. "I'm going into the bathroom, and when I get back... be naked." He steps backward, his dark eyes on Chris to the last second, and then spins on his heel and closes the bathroom door behind him.

Chris strips in record time, falls back on the bed, folds his arms behind his head and sighs. The pillows smell like Zach.

A minute ticks by before, unable to sit still, he opens them up again and peers around the room. There are plenty of Zach's things - laptop, book, shoes and clothes, that kind of thing. The more Chris looks at it, though, and at his own clothes in a messy pile on the floor, the more it seems like there's a specific order to Zach's things, and Chris's clothes are screwing it up. He gets up and takes his clothes to a chair, folds things up as best he can. That's better.

"Don't... move."

Chris freezes in place, his hands loose at his sides. There are a couple of sounds behind him, but he doesn't look because Zach said don't move. Following Zach's instructions in situations like these have traditionally resulted in things that Chris needs to make happen again.

Then, gentle fingers coast down the small of his back and over his bare hip. The room suddenly feels chilly as he feels the scrape of Zach's stubble at the nape of his neck, the press of his thumb in the divot low down on his side. Zach touches his tongue to the bump of Chris's spine and it's blazing hot, like the crush of the dance club concentrated down to a single point.

Chris feels his body shiver awake, goosebumps on his arms, cock rising slow and steady. "Zach," he murmurs, unsure how to help this along.

"I like when you say my name," Zach tells him, marking words into his skin with teeth and tongue. His hands come down to grip and stroke along cooled skin, leaving heat in their wake. "When I'm inside you, Chris, I want you to say it as many times as you want."

The shudder of pleasure that coasts through him is violent and immediate, but his brain rebels. "Jesus," he breathes. "Zach, if you... I'm not really sure I..."

"Don't worry," Zach assures him, mouth is lower down now. He kisses the birthmark under Chris's left arm, mouth meltingly warm and open.

Chris has been scratched there, that tender part of him, but never has anybody given it this kind of thorough, careful attention. Nobody ever told him his back was a fucking erogenous zone.

Zach grips him by the hips to keep him upright, and murmurs as his lips smear lower. The shadow of his beard scrapes over newly sensitized skin, burning. "I promise you I won't give you a damn thing until you ask me to."

Chris is squirming now, uncomfortable on his feet. He not sure he wants what's coming, and he's worried that if he says no, Zach will shut down on him. Maybe throw him out. Then he really will be an asshole, and blame himself as much as Zach, and yeah, no, that can't go anywhere good. "Can we," he manages, somewhere between catching breaths.

"What?" Zach asks gently, rubbing his hands down Chris's thighs. "You can ask me anything you want, any time. That's a rule."

A rule. That's good. You can't win if you don't know the rules. "Kind of like Jeopardy," he says, experiencing a brain filter malfunction. "Phrase your answer in the form of a question."

Zach laughs, hot against Chris's back. "Yeah, kind of."

That sounds like his friend, Chris thinks. That's the guy he knows. He hadn't realized he missed that guy until he wasn't there anymore - the sexy guy is great, but it's no fun without Zach. He relaxes a little, breathes a little easier. "Can we get on the bed? I kinda wanna lie down."

Zach smiles against his skin, and nips hard enough to make Chris yelp. "Do I want you in my bed? Yes, I think I do. Pull back the covers, though. I think you'll look better on the sheets."

Chris's cheeks are absolutely flaming when he does as Zach says, but he can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Zach's gentle teasing is what got this whole thing started to begin with. He burrows under the clean, pressed sheets with a sigh of relief and bumps over to the far side so Zach can get in.

Instead, Zach flicks the covers all the way back and then climbs up.

Now that Chris can face him, he notices that Zach ditched his shirt and tie in the bathroom, but kept the undershirt. Chris tugs it between two fingers. "You know, I'm pretty sure this only works if you don't have clothes on either."

"I'll get there," Zach says, settling against him and running a hand down his side. The kiss he delivers is so kind and unassuming that Chris forgets the sting on his back, on his lips, and just sinks into it. Zach tastes like Sprite and that paella he likes, spicy enough to make your eyes water. Underneath that is the taste like cool, clear water, and Chris hunts for it with his tongue. He doesn't notice how he pushes Zach back into the pillows, how he presses his cock against Zach's hip. He's busy.

A warm hand cups his cheek. "My shirt," Zach says against his lips. "Take it off."

"My pleasure," Chris bites out, and grabs at the hem.

Zach catches his wrists with both hands and stills them. "Carefully," he cautions. "If you rip it, you won't come for an hour."

Chris's blood runs cold. That is a serious threat, he knows, because if anybody would be bastard enough to do it, it'd be Zach Quinto. The guy has no limits - anybody on the set who'd been dumb enough to get into a prank war with him could tell you that.

Gently, Chris eases the undershirt up and over Zach's head, and then dumps it over the side of the bed.

Zach lies back down and takes Chris by the wrist. "Come here," he urges. "Sit on top of me and put your hands on your thighs."

Chris lets Zach maneuver him. The position isn't uncomfortable, though he can feel the hard press of Zach's dick against his ass, underneath his balls. Zach manacles Chris's wrists with his hands, pressing his palms down. His eyes are deep and black, and Chris listens. "I don't want your hands to move," Zach tells him seriously, sternly. "Keep them exactly where I put them."

Chris nods, contrite, though he couldn't say for what. Doubting, maybe?

Zach lets him go then, and runs the backs of his fingers up the underside of Chris's cock. Chris sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, bites his bottom lip. "I want you to tell me," Zach says idly, tracing his fingers over and around the sensitive skin. "Did you ever touch yourself, thinking of that night in London?"

The blaze soaks down from his cheeks, into his chest and the tips of his ears, onto the back of his neck. He knows the answer, and it's a really good guess on Zach's part. He makes himself nod, and not move his hips.

"Very good," Zach purrs at him, and rubs his thumb through the sudden slick that wells at the tip of Chris's cock. "I think you'll find that the truth is its own reward."

Chris can hardly hear for the rush of blood through his body. He needs more strength, more friction, but he knows better than to think he'll get it without giving some more. "The truth," he says, and his voice cracks like he's goddamn fourteen.

"Mm." Zach rubs that thumb over him again, slow and firm.

Chris shivers, his thighs tensing under his hands. "The truth is, I haven't beat off to anything else since. Either what you did to me, or you talking about Zoë, or... or thinking about what else we'd have done if we weren't so tired..."

He can't talk any more after that, because Zach is working him over in slow, hard strokes and there's a buzzing in his ears. He digs his fingers into his legs to keep them from moving, to keep from reaching out the way he wants to. Zach pulses against him and he rocks his hips just to deal a little back, to see if he can get Zach to feel even half of the need hissing through him right now.

"Jesus," Zach breathes, and Chris opens his eyes to see darkness on Zach's face, in the twist of his wrist and the curves of his arm. "I don't even have to ask. You just... open up to me, and I... Chris, lean back on your hands? Put your hands between my knees and... oh, yes. God, you're so fucking beautiful."

It's awkward, Chris thinks, bent in half like this. It makes his cock jut from his body for Zach to tease, and his thighs are already shaking with the strain, but if it'll get Zach to say shit like that, he'll do it all fucking day.

"I want to fuck you so bad," Zach groans, and it fires through Chris's body like a shot of meth. A whine escapes his throat, though he didn't tell it to be there, and it's not because of the thing itself, but how Zach's voice shakes when he says it.

"Do it," he says, heart pounding in his throat in case Zach should listen to him. "Come on, Zach, do it."

It's a flash of movement; he's falling forward before he understands that there's a hand on his wrist. Zach hauls him down to the bed and surges up over him, kissing him hard and fast. Chris pushes his hands into Zach's hair and does his best to ignore the hand that strips his cock, rough and ready, but it's not something he can do for long; before he knows it he's twisting and arching under the touch, panting for breath.

"Are you sure?" Zach murmurs against his mouth. "You wouldn't rather just get off like this? Right now?"

A flash of disappointment rips through him. It wouldn't be enough, not nearly. And Zach wanted the truth, right? "No," he says, trying to grab for one of those deceptively slender wrists. "Come on, don't."

Zach doesn't even slow down, stroking and squeezing just right. Chris grits his teeth against the pleasure spiralling through him, tries to shove it back. "Ask me," Zach breathes, biting at Chris's mouth, his chest, lightning fast. "Ask me for what you want."

"Stop," Chris blurts out, traitorous body pushing into Zach's hand. "Please, stop, take your hand-"

"More specific," Zach interrupts, and licks a stripe over one tight nipple.

Chris squirms under his hand, his mouth, trying to get away from all the terrible pleasure raining down on him. "Your... your fingers. I want you inside, I want you to fuck me, okay? Zach, come on, I don't know what to say, please!"

In a wash of relief and painful withdrawal, Chris feels all the sensation disappear. His breath is harsh in his own ears and he grips the sheet under him so he won't lose control of his hands, but he said the right thing. He found the key to get Zach to do... something. He got it right, that's what's important. He did it.

"Chris." Zach's voice is soft and tinged with wonder. Chris opens his eyes to find Zach's hand hovering just above him, fingertips just over his chest. Those lips are soft and reddened; his eyes are dark with something warmer. Something sweet. "You," Zach breathes, "are exactly what I wanted."

Chris sits up, puts his hand behind Zach's neck and pulls him in to kiss. He wouldn't stop himself if he could.

It draws on for a long, painful moment, and then they pull apart. Chris needs more, he needs something else, and Zach has a promise to keep. Chris reaches for the belt Zach still wears, tugs it open.

"Not so fast," Zach laughs. "Lie down and stay there. You're so greedy."

Chris thumps back against the pillows with a huff. "I'm supposed to be greedy," he grumbles.

"Patience," Zach grins, rolls to the side and grabs something off the nightstand. When he comes back, Chris is precluded from freaking out about whatever that stuff might be, because Zach opens his mouth over the base of Chris's dick, and Chris is busy rolling his eyes back in his head.

"I have to know," Zach confides against his cock, the glance of teeth only ratcheting Chris's nerves up higher. "Have you ever taken it in the ass? I'm starting to suspect you're, mm. Unsullied."

Chris's throat is closed and scratchy. He's more interested in Zach's mouth than his question, but it's impossible to ignore him. "Uh. The. Christ, I can't think."

Without warning, slick fingertips rub underneath his balls, and down lower, until they're right against a very personal place. "Sorry," Zach says, and doesn't sound sorry at all. "Is that better?"

The urge is immediate to lift his hips, open his legs further, to squirm away or get closer. "No!" he blurts out. "I mean, I have, I just. Only, uh. Fingers. Shit, I can't believe you're asking me questions right now, you fucking sadist."

"Your terminology sucks," Zach smirks, and presses inexorably inside.

Chris groans heavily, crooking one knee and spreading wide so it won't hurt. Usually when he's had this done it's because somebody's jaw is getting tired and they wanna kick it up a notch, but this is nothing like that. Zach isn't delicate with him at all. He's soaked his fingers until they drip and he works his wrist, strong and sure. Chris feels it all the way up his spine, all the way through him.

Sudden, shattering pleasure rips through his body as Zach curls his tongue around the head of Chris's dick. He sucks softly, wet and welcoming, and when Chris opens his mouth this tortured cry comes up from somewhere in him.

"You'll love it," Zach promises, slurred between licks and bites. "I'll kiss you when I'm in you, Chris. Slow, 'til you beg me to fuck you harder."

Chris bucks against his mouth, his fingers, anything. More. He lifts his other knee, digs his hands into Zach's hair. "You... you better make it fast, then," he gasps.

"Next time," Zach says shakily, pulling free and ripping at a condom with his teeth. "Next time I'll teach you some self-control. When I fucking have some left myself."

Chris lets his head fall back into the pillows and laughs, right from his belly. Victory thrills through him, right alongside the desperate need.

A hard hand curls into his hair and grips hard, pulls his head back. Zach's teeth glint for a second above him, and then he feels blunt pressure pressing at him, pushing past his defenses. There's a moment where everything gives, and then.

It's like all his hair stands on end, all at once. It's like if Zach stops moving for even one second, Chris will have to kill him with his bare hands. His fingernails are digging into Zach's shoulders and he doesn't remember putting them there. His temples are buzzing and he can't fucking see.

Then, breaking through it all, the feeling of Zach's hand squeezing his dick. His hips thrust again and again, setting the beat in Chris's chest. The taste of him is back, and it's what Chris needs, so he reaches for it with his hands and his mouth.

"Never knew," Zach is murmuring into him. "All this time, I never."

Chris reaches down between them, wraps his fist around Zach's where it circles his dick. "Please," he groans, breathless and desperate. "Zach. Please."

"Again," Zach snarls, slamming his sweat-slick hips. His fingers tighten impossibly, unbearably.

Chris grits his teeth, dying. "Zach."

"Do it," comes his answer. Zach strips him hard and fast, curling his fingers just right, his cock held deep and throbbing. Chris shouts when bliss breaks across him, because his body's too full to hold the sound in. It goes on for long, shattering moments, and Chris has to gasp in another breath just to curse.

When his body lets him open his eyes again, Zach is fucking him deep and slow, stealing away any ability Chris has to get himself back under control, which sucks, as Chris would like to say something to melt Zach's brain now. It seems only fair.

"Come on," he manages to gasp out, hitching and broken. He needs to see Zach lose it. "Harder. More."

Zach grits his teeth, shuts his eyes so tight that he must be seeing stars. His hips snap harder, faster. "Next time," he promises, and it almost sounds like a threat. Chris watches his control slip and tries to memorize every second of it. He kisses what skin he can reach, and Zach immediately crushes their mouths together and groans from deep in his chest.

Chris holds him through it, and if he gloats a little bit, he feels like that should be forgivable.

At the end, they're clinging to each other in the rumpled sea of Zach's sheets, sweaty and breathless. Zach lifts his head from Chris's shoulder with what looks like a truly Herculean effort, and reaches down to separate them. They both wince, and Zach falls, boneless, to one side. "You son of a bitch," he pants.

"Me?" Chris demands, incredulous.

Zach pushes at him with no strength. "You! I'm supposed to be the tough guy, y'know."

"It is not my fault that you can't resist me," Chris insists. He'd push back, but lifting his hand seems like a lot of effort.

Zach rolls out of bed with a sound of disgust that Chris entirely sympathizes with, and disappears into the bathroom. He leaves the door open as he runs water in the sink, and warm yellow light spills into the room. "That's true, you're pretty irresistible," he calls.

"Damn right," Chris mutters, getting up the energy to stretch.

Zach leaves the light on when he comes out, and they swap places. Chris uses the last washcloth without a hint of guilt, and runs the hot water over all his bite marks to feel the sting ease.

When he climbs back into bed, Zach's setting the alarm clock. "You wanna sleep late, right?"

"Of course."

Zach flops back into his pillow with a sigh. They get comfortable and the clock ticks.

A warm hand smoothes over Chris's shoulder blade.

"Mm."

"I have to know," Zach says softly. "Did you really just let me have your cherry?"

Chris blushes all over again. "So what if I did?"

A gentle kiss on his arm. "No reason. Just curious."

He turns his back on Zach. It's supposed to mean an end to the conversation, and so it is. And if he ends up with warm skin pressed along his back, if he falls asleep with familiar breath on the nape of his neck, it's just because he didn't want Zach to see him blush again.

They have to sleep sometime.


also a sequel!