[ square #4 ]

[winterlive]

nutrek RPF, pine/quinto, NC-17, for cliche_bingo. ~3750 words. mild drug use.


fourth center: virginity

The June blahs have definitely left Los Angeles. Chris is lying on a towel in Zach's back yard, slowly baking to death - the sun is beating down on his bare chest, and smoke from the joint dangling from his fingers burns sticky sweet in his lungs. Next to him is a glass full of lemonade and gin. This is possibly the best Monday afternoon of his life.

"Want another one?" Zach asks. His flip-flops are in a little heap next to him, and he's clipping at a bud with tiny little scissors. He too is bare to the waist, though his hat and sunglasses kind of defeat the point.

Chris nods, the buzz making him slow and contemplative. "Sure, man. Hey, let me ask you something. When was the first time you got high?"

The rolling paper crackles in Zach's hands. "Oh, gosh, um. I was seventeen, I think? My friend had it, and she was probably the coolest person I knew at that point. We rode our bikes out to the most deserted place we could find, which for us was Southshore?"

Chris hears the lilt at the end of the sentence - whenever Zach starts talking about Pittsburgh, the accent comes out. It makes him smile. "Uh huh."

"We went down there and that, but the funny thing is, it didn't do anything for me the first time. Only the second time I did it did I really get what being stoned meant." He laughs high in his throat, his word splitting up into their syllables as he goes. "Course, that's probably because we split one joint, and it was half oregano."

Chris grins up at the clouds, letting his head roll on the soft grass. "I wish I'd have been there," he says.

Zach rolls over to lie on his stomach at Chris's side. He fits his perfectly rolled joint to his lips and sparks it - he's a purist, says pipes are cheating. He holds it in for what seems like ever. "My turn now," he finally says, wisps of white snaking into the air.

"Hm?" Chris reaches over to take the joint from his fingers.

Zach settles on his elbows. "You asked me something and I answered. Now it's my turn, and you have to be honest."

"Okay," Chris shrugs, filling his lungs. He doesn't mind. He'll tell Zach whatever he wants to know.

"When did you lose your virginity?"

Chris coughs immediately. It makes his head spin, and Zach laughs, which means Chris laughs and coughs and laughs some more. When he's done clawing at the grass, he flops down onto his back again. "Dude."

"Sorry."

"Of all the things I expected to come out of your mouth, man."

Zach's outright giggling now, his nose scrunched up and his sharp teeth white in the hazy glow of the sun. "I'm just curious," he huffs out. "Come on, I told you my story."

"Fine," Chris says, his voice catching in his throat. He clears it, and passes the joint back to Zach. "Give me your definition of virginity."

"What do you mean?" he asks, the damp paper curling on his lips.

"You mean, like, the first time I fooled around, or the first time I..." Chris makes an expansive gesture to indicate the full-on nature of the act of sex.

Zach waves a hand, his nose scrunching again. "Actual sex. Penetration."

"That's a fucking terrible word," Chris grins.

"Agreed." Zach passes him the joint. "Now spill it."

Chris pillows his head on one arm and takes a deep, dreamy hit. He licks his lips, thinking back, and lets the smoke curl dragonlike from his nose. "I was eighteen years old. I'd been seeing this one girl since forever, you know, since we were kids, and I figured I'd marry her. The whole nine yards. So I waited. We'd done a lot of stuff over the years, but she wanted something special for the main, y'know, the main event. So, senior prom, I got a limousine and a tailored tux. I went all out. My fucking... my lapel pin bud thing, you know, um."

"Boutonnière."

"My flower matched her fucking dress, man, I was not kidding around."

Zach pulls the joint from Chris's fingers. "Mmm."

The brush of skin to skin is warm, dry and buzzing through Chris's nerves long after the joint is gone. He rubs his hand across his stomach to settle them, and when that doesn't work he wets his throat with some lemonade. "So there we are," he says, sliding back through the years. "Big moment. Me and Destiny Adams in front of the Marriott."

"Destiny?" Zach asks, suddenly grinning wide.

Chris waves a hand. "Like it's news that people in L.A. name their kids weird shit. So we pull up in the limo, and I think: it is in the bag. Finally, I'm here, I'm home free. Prom went great, we got a great picture, nobody's expecting us until three. Perfect."

"And?"

"And she steps on her dress on the way out of the car and half of it tears off. Right at the waist. She fell, skinned her elbow, she's bleeding all over. We get upstairs and she spends a half hour crying on my shoulder. Oh, I ruined everything," he says, kicking his voice into a fluttery falsetto. "I'm so sorry, do you know how much this fucking dress cost, my mom's gonna kill me and you went to so much trouble." Zach is cracking up beside him, rolling on the ground. Chris plucks the joint away from him and sucks back the smoke, falling back onto the towel. "God, that sucked."

"I thought," Zach gasps. "I asked how you lost it."

Chris smiles. "Oh, I lost it. I kissed her, she felt better, we had hormones, case closed. Twice."

Zach beams and sits up to roll another joint. "You hound."

"I know, I'm a bad man." Chris rolls onto his side and props his head up on a hand. "So, have you ever gotten off with a girl?"

Zach scoffs. "Whatever, dude."

"It's my turn," Chris protests. "Come on, now; don't be shy. What am I gonna do, tell the Gay Mafia on you?"

With a withering look over his shoulder, Zach licks the paper closed. "Once. Just once, and it did not go well afterwards."

Chris is fascinated. "But was it okay, y'know, during?"

"Of course," Zach says, almost sneering. "It was fine, even good. I just seem to have a pretty clear preference, is all. I'm definitely a guy type of guy." He flicks his lighter and draws, passes it over.

"That's fair," Chris says, pulling in two deep drags in succession. He holds them tight for as long as he can, feeling the silence fill up the air like a balloon.

Zach leans back on his elbows. His necklace is dangling off the back of his neck, glinting silver in the heady sun. "Quid pro quo, Clarice. Have you ever gotten off with a guy?"

Chris feels satisfaction settle warmly in his chest. He drags again and then hands it off. "Sure," he says, shrugging a shoulder even though he's lying down. "I think most people have."

Zach doesn't answer for a moment - it could be because he's inhaling, or it could be something else. Chris is on pins and needles waiting, and then at last there's a slow whoosh of breath and Zach licks his lips. "And was it okay?"

So careful, only asking what he's allowed by precedent to ask. Chris slants a look at him, and though the sun is blinding brilliant in his eyes, he can still make out the sly silhouette that's pretending not to look at him. "I'll tell you, but you have to do something for me."

Zach snorts, disdainful. "Like what?"

Chris didn't expect that. He expected a protest about hypocrisy, and he was prepared to answer that. But this simple giving in, this willingness to play along; his strategy is scattered. It's probably because he's high that it takes him a few seconds to regroup, but Zach allows it, and Chris gestures for the joint. "After the story's done, you have to kiss me."

Zach slides the smoke between Chris's fingers, and it's not like he lingers or anything, but it seems like Chris can feel the dry, smoky skin on his own for a long minute after. He's looking at Chris, but his sunglasses are impenetrable, so it's just wait, wait, wait.

Finally, he leans back on one hand. "What kind of a kiss are we talking about?"

"A real one," Chris says, knowing exactly what he means. "If I'm gonna wind myself up telling this story, I want to end it right - messy, serious, you know. The full meal deal."

There's another few moments of contemplation. Chris is fidgety under his skin, but somehow he summons the patience to wait for his answer; he fits the joint to his lips and drags heavily, but he can't keep the smoke in this time and just lets it float away.

"Okay," Zach says softly. "Deal. Tell me the story."

Nerves singing with a pleasant tension, Chris settles onto his back and closes his eyes again. He lifts one knee and plants his foot on the ground to give himself some breathing room, so to speak, and then passes the joint off so he can fold his hands on his chest. "This is my seventeenth birthday," he starts.

"Cheating on Destiny?" Zach says, with mock horror. "Disney would be so disappointed."

"It was her fault," Chris scowls, shifting his hips on the blanket. "I threw a beach party and she'd been with me all night, all over me. We never talked about when and where and all that, so I was thinking, hey, maybe tonight's the night? What a fucking birthday present, right? She never had any trouble with my body, like, she figured it was pretty much her personal playground. I'd gone home to the most painful session of jerking off maybe a dozen times. So that night on the beach, we'd been fooling around, and she'd almost got to the point of letting me go down on her. I was that fucking close, literally. And then, whoops. Her cell phone goes off."

"I can't believe she answered it," Zach says, and there's a note of sympathy.

Chris laughs, pained at the memory. He remembers the smell of her, nothing like what he expected when he was that close, and the rush of the ocean in his ears. He'd been rubbing off against the sand and kissing her thigh, and then: nothing. Gone. "I couldn't believe it either," he says, shaking his head. "She told me she was sorry and I said it was okay, but man, I was furious. I knew it was stupid even then, but when you're in that state..."

Zach shifts beside him. "Get to the good part," he says, and his voice is closer now.

Chris fights to keep his eyes closed, not to look or reach out. "Right. So I'm there by myself, my girlfriend's gone. The party's winding down and I'm brooding out at the Pacific feeling sorry for myself. And then along comes Ethan."

"Ethan," Zach repeats, sounding like voiceover narration, resonant and deep.

It makes Chris laugh, the kind of overdramatic thing that fits right in with this tale of woe. "Exactly. He was that kind of kid, you know? Not confident enough to flame, but pretty obvious."

"I know the kind," Zach says, and Chris can hear the smile.

"Well, so, you can imagine. He comes over and sits down next to me, he asks if I'm okay and what happened and why am I all alone at my own party. And I knew what he was asking. I might have thought I didn't at the time - actually, I know I didn't, because if I did I'd have just answered him straight out. Not sure what I'd have said, but I sure wouldn't have bitched and whined about my epic case of blue balls."

Zach is laughing, giggling behind a hand. Chris can't see it, but he knows the sound like he knows his own name.

"Ethan didn't miss a beat," he continues, and shifts his hips again to ease a little of the gently building pressure there. "He knew what was up, man. He was the most understanding guy, really gentle, and not what I was expecting at all. And before I really know it, I'm lying in the sand and Ethan's rubbing it through my shorts and I almost freaked. I mean, what the fuck did I know, right? But I was so hard I think I could have gotten off on almost anything, and then he puts his hand down inside, actually touching me?" Chris licks his lips at the memory, the first time with somebody else's hand on his hot, bare skin, and has to tug at the leg of his shorts. Getting crowded.

From beside him comes a similar susurration of shifting fabric.

Chris keeps his eyes closed, closed, and wishes for a cigarette. "I wasn't about to say no," he continues. "Ethan was like some kind of fucking expert, or maybe I just didn't know any better, but it felt like God came down to tell me about sex, y'know? Didn't matter that he was a guy, didn't matter that I had a girlfriend. Nothing mattered except that he fucking had to keep touching my dick, and so when he pulled my hand over... I don't know. Just seemed like the decent thing to do, and then he was making some good fucking sounds, like. He was getting off on it, on me, and I just didn't care about any of it. It was hot, and I wanted..."

He can't really go on, his breath hitching in his chest as he deliberately digs up every memory he has of that night.

"Is that the end?" Zach asks, and he sounds like he might be a little breathless too. The great, unflappable Zachary Quinto, and he might be showing signs of strain.

Chris can't help it. He opens his eyes.

Zach's glasses and hat are off, and his eyes are fixed on Chris. The reflected light is picking out the red in his eyes, making them bright, and Chris is mesmerized. "Yeah," he nods. "The end."

"Shit." Zach scowls deeply, like he's really pissed off that Chris isn't gonna finish or something. But his hand is heavy as bricks, pushing Chris against the ground. He closes in like a shark, like a predator, and Chris can't help but reach up and get a hand in the hair at the back of his neck to pull him down.

The kiss drugs him more deeply than the fucking weed. The minute he tastes that sticky resin spice on Zach's lips, he wants it all right from the source; he eats the taste off a mouth that's lush and giving and it's so much better for it.

Zach gives this miniscule groan. It's like a little hum that slides through Chris's whole body, and then there's a tentative touch of fingers against his ribs, cool on his skin.

"God," Chris moans, sliding his hand down Zach's back and gasping in breath he won't keep. He's twisting under Zach's hand, under his mouth, only two points of contact when there should be so much more. "Don't stop, don't you fucking stop or I'm gonna die in your backyard, man."

Zach allows Chris another kiss, which is technically not part of the deal, but he's drawing his hand down lower, which is perfect and maybe a little tickly but perfect regardless. "Chris," he murmurs, and then Chris tries to kiss him again and he dodges it so the kiss winds up on his jaw. "When you started telling that story, were you trying to seduce me?"

It hardly seems important now that Zach's hands are on him, resting just so against his waist. Chris nuzzles against his neck, which is too far away to properly kiss but not far enough to keep him from the smell of cologne and smoke. "The second one," he admits. "Yeah. It's true, though."

"Good," Zach says, trailing his fingers closer to the center. One of them dips just into, then out of his bellybutton, and Chris shudders. That's extremely close to good places. Zach shifts a little, bringing his body just close enough to brush against Chris's, on a deep breath. "I hate to be lied to."

Chris nods, straining forward as much as he dares. "I know, man. I wouldn't."

Like reward, there's another brushed kiss against his own jaw, and Zach drops lower. The next kiss comes to his shoulder, barely there. Chris wouldn't even know he felt it if there weren't a bit of a burn from the stubble, radiating across his skin. It is so not even close to how he thought he'd be spending his afternoon, but so fucking good.

Then, the fingers are gone from his waist, and there's a soft tug at the string on his shorts.

"Oh, fuck me," Chris groans, right out loud. He lifts his hips, can't help it. "Do it, man, fuck."

Zach's low, rumbling laugh has the faintest hint of mockery. "You slut. You'd really let me do it to you, right here in the yard?"

It occurs to Chris to be angry. He lifts up to find Zach's eyes, and when he does, they're filled with heat, need, sharp and vicious. His teeth are white and dangerous, just over a field of sun-warmed skin, and Chris can see the point of his tongue between. A strand of his hair crosses his eyes, and he looks about as fucking good as Chris has ever seen him.

"Yeah," says Chris, completely serious, letting his legs fall apart. "Yeah, you're damn right I would."

A lot of unnameable emotions rush across Zach's face. It's all in the kind of subtlety that makes him the actor he is, nothing too obvious or easily interpreted. Chris waits, sure of his answer and what he meant by it.

The kiss that comes is so hard and serious that Chris just tries to hold on, to bear up under the onslaught that bruises his lips, makes him dizzy. "Right here," he mumbles, once Zach lets him breathe. "I want-"

Without warning, Zach palms him through his shorts, hard and insistent. It's instant sensory overload, and Chris grips him harder. "I want to see you come," Zach says, right against his ear, wet lips catching on the curves.

"Okay," Chris says, barely aware he's talking. His skin is buzzing all over, head to toes. "Yeah, okay, oh God fuck, keep... keep doing that."

Carefully, Zach edges his hand under the waistband of his shorts and squeezes his cock. Everything's pulling tight around him and Zach's leaning over him, sheltering him from prying eyes as the tips of his fingers find Chris's cock, the wetness pooled against his belly. "Has anyone ever fucked you, Chris? Someone's dick inside you when he put his hand on you just like this?"

"I..." Chris can hardly think, or put images to words. Everything out of Zach's mouth sounds good, and he's fitted perfectly against that lean body like he belongs there. "Yeah, I, someone. Yes. But I have to, I need..."

"Baby, I'm dying to find out what you need." Zach's hand squeezes him hard, and then he starts to move in short, fast strokes.

It's exactly right, drags Chris straight up to the edge and holds him there. He's got a hand gripped in the fabric at the small of Zach's back, his breath coming short and hard; his head is fucking swimming. It's probably being stoned out of his tree that's doing it, but his self-control is nonexistent and he can't bring himself to care. "You," he groans, blindly clutching at Zach's shoulder with his free hand. The word almost doesn't make sense, slurred with sex as it is. "I need... nnh, fuck, Zach."

"It's okay," Zach whispers, allowing Chris's clumsy touches. He lays a soft kiss behind Chris's ear, along his neck, another just at the hinge of his jaw, like some kind of unassailable, immovable thing. His hand is relentless, hot palm running all the way up and slamming back down, fingers dragging and twisting just where they should. "It's okay, Chris. Come on."

The blur in his mind and eyes starts to intensify. He can feel it building through his whole body, starting with his balls and radiating out to his fingertips and toes, his chest and the back of his neck where the grass scratches him. He fumbles at Zach, tries to turn his face, and just as the waves of need and want start to drown him, he catches Zach's mouth in a kiss.

It goes on forever. Chris floats away on it, dreamy and warm and surreal. The only thing that keeps him here, on the blanket in the sun, is the slick brush of Zach's mouth. There's a soft touch of tongue and Chris realizes it's his tongue, licking over soft lips. He starts to laugh, and he opens his eyes to look up at Zach with nothing but happiness in his heart.

"My god," Zach says, grinning at him as he draws his hand gingerly out of Chris's shorts and rubs it along his belly. "You are completely wasted."

"I know," Chris chortles, leaning back on the grass and pressing his hand over top of Zach's. "Oh, man, I can't believe that just happened."

Zach slaps him gently. "Well, you better not be useless to me after that," he says, a warm tease in his voice. "I'm going inside and putting the dishes in the dishwasher, and I expect to see you in my bedroom in five minutes."

A dozen plausible, fascinating pictures slide through Chris's mind. He licks his lips, muscles tightening in the vicinity of his heart. "I think I could swing that."

The curve of Zach's mouth softens into something sinuous: a promise, more than just amusement. "Okay, then," he says, and stands up to start tidying.

Chris watches the dark blotch of Zach against clear blue sky. It's just as well, he thinks. He won't be able to move for at least four minutes anyway.

Comments

[winterlive.livejournal.com]

it's FOUNDED in REALITY! y'know who's been known to hang out at guys and dolls in west hollywood? no? BOTH OF THEM.

[chiromancy.livejournal.com]

There are ridiculously large number of plausible and enticing pairings hiding in that sentence. For instance: I don't if my brain would be able to handle the blistering, violent explosion of hot that would be Zach/Adam. Or the other way. Jeez, they're both so toppy, what the heck would happen? I am perplexed. BUT I WANT IT BAD.

[winterlive.livejournal.com]

I AM STRUGGLING WITH THAT QUESTION MYSELF.