Fic: Treat You Right
Oct. 19th, 2009 04:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Treat You Right
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zoe
Notes: ~2,400 words. Written in response to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
edie22's prompt at the Poor Man's Sinfest, V. 4, which quoted the following lyrics: I know your type (Your type) / You're daddy's little girl / Just take a bite (One bite) / Let me shake up your world / Cause just one night couldn't be so wrong / I'm gonna make you lose control. (I realized after the fact that they're from a Cobra Starship song. I plead ignorance.)
Summary: If Chris wants to play this game, Zoe wants a hand in writing the rules.
Zoe sighs as she leans against the bar, trying to get the bartender's attention before she forgets the long list of drink orders she volunteered to get. She must be drunk if she thought she could remember six different types of shots, beers and cocktails. Her phone buzzes in her clutch and she goes to retrieve it, muttering a curse to herself when the one movement makes her forget at least two of the drinks on her list. The text is from Chris; he probably changed his mind about his order. She presses the button to read it, her eyes widening.
You look edible tonight.
She furrows her brow and looks back at the table to see if Chris is looking her way, but he's not; he's in the midst of an animated conversation with Zach and John, so talkative that there's no way it just started. Zoe shakes her head and texts back.
Ha. You wanted Jack and Coke, right? Too bad, getting you a pink squirrel.
Text sent, she smiles to herself and leans further against the bar, jumping in surprise only a few moments later when her phone buzzes again.
Don't be like that. You'd better be a good girl if you want Daddy to treat you right.
Zoe blanches at that one. And, of course, as soon as the words register, that's exactly when the bartender decides to amble over and ask what she'd like. She shifts her weight on her heels and grimaces slightly when she realizes the only person's order she can remember now is Chris'. Well, that's just fine, she thinks.
"Jack and Coke. And a shot of Jager. Please."
She was planning on ordering something with a lot less punch than that, but when the shot arrives, she knocks it back without so much as a flinch, flicking a twenty onto the bar. The mixed drink spills over a little when she picks it up but it doesn't matter much since it's Chris' drink. Zoe marches back to their table and the conversation stops when she doesn't have more than one glass in her hand. Chris looks up at her and lifts his brow, the picture of innocence.
"Well, thanks, Z, but what about everyone else?"
"Oh, what am I, your waitress now, too? Fuck you."
She wishes someone had a camera to capture the expression on Chris' face when the dark liquid splashes all over it. Zach just stares like he's watching a train wreck in slow motion and Karl and John start laughing like hyenas. John even stands up in the booth to give her a slow clap of awe.
"Yes, yes!" John exclaims, his clapping growing more exuberant. "A thing of beauty!" Zach cringes on the other side of Chris.
"Oh, my god. I didn't think she'd do that."
Chris just blinks in shock, his hair dripping into his face, droplets of alcohol falling off his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. Zoe wants to kick him in his stupid head for looking so damn pretty when she's mad at him.
"I leave for two seconds and you guys are already coming up with ways to mess with me? That's it. You have your stupid boys' night and make fun at my expense. I'm out."
She turns on her heel and walks away to a chorus of Oh, come on and Zoe, hey, and Come back, Z! But she doesn't look back, hell no, just makes her way out of the bar, grabbing her coat from the rack up front before she leaves. She keeps her eyes straight ahead; mouth pursed into a crisp line, paying zero attention to the way Chris practically vaults himself over the table and out of the booth, wiping the excess stickiness from his face with his sleeve as he runs after her, into the night air.
"Zoe, wait up!" he calls, after a block or so, and she groans, waving him away.
"Ugh, I'm tired of you. I'm not here to be objectified, Pine."
"Who's objectifying you?"
"You are!" she yells incredulously, turning and giving him her best death glare. "And if you think I want to even look at you after that stunt you just pulled, think again."
"Zoe..."
"Goodnight, Chris."
This time, he doesn't follow her when she walks away.
*
He shows up at her place the next afternoon. With flowers, of all things. But she was expecting him. She answered his earlier text of Coming over to talk—flowers too clichéd for you? with Your face is a cliché. It was childish and fairly nonsensical, but he deserved it. Zoe snatches the bouquet out of his grip before he can say a word.
"You're lucky that I like flowers," she mutters, fingering the petals of a lily. "Not for romantic reasons. Just because I like them."
"I swear I didn't get them to demean you or make you feel dainty and put-upon." Chris leans against the doorway, sliding a hand into his front pocket. He looks rugged and smells of shampoo and she hates him right now. "I asked the florist what kind of flowers are best when you accidentally objectify someone and we couldn't decide between lilies and roses, so I got both."
"And you just knew I was a sucker for stories about witty banter with florists. I'm not going to invite you in for coffee, Chris. And not for 'coffee' either," she says, tucking the flowers under her arm and curling her fingers into air quotes.
"You just pulled out the air quotes. Well, I'm schooled." He laughs, shaking his head. "Listen. I just wanted to let you know that we're going out tonight again and you're invited. And I promise," he pauses for emphasis, "we'll all behave this time."
Zoe frowns slightly, then shrugs one shoulder, as elegantly as she can. "I'll think about it. Text me—no, actually, call me with the details."
"You got it, gorgeous."
He winks at her and then turns away from her door, making his way back to the elevator of the building. Zoe peers at him and then looks down at the flowers, flicking one of the roses with a delicate fingernail.
*
This time, it's a lot better. Zoe's uneasy at first, but after a few rounds, she's back to being one of the boys, sandwiched between Chris and Zach as she tells them all about how Chris came slinking over earlier, tail hung between his legs and bearing roses, of all things. Karl laughs the loudest, shoving Chris' shoulder as he downs his drink.
"Jesus, Pine. Totally whipped and you're not even getting any."
Zoe reaches over the table to smack Karl's shoulder hard, satisfied enough when he yelps to sit back down again. She gives Chris a fiery look, just daring him to say something stupid, but he just shakes his head and focuses on his pint. She considers it a victory until it occurs to her that maybe Karl is right. And if so, well, that's kind of sad.
She cuts him a little break, reaching under the table to squeeze his knee gently. He lays his hand on top of hers for a moment, offering her a small, melt-worthy smile, then takes it back again without another word.
When Karl and Zach start to discuss the merits of a pool game, Zoe's clutch begins to vibrate in her lap. She blinks and then rolls her eyes dramatically, because god, not this crap again. She debates even looking at the message for a few moments, then just digs out her phone, pressing the button to read Chris' text.
Hey.
That's it. "Hey." She shakes her head, not glancing over at Chris, not even once, as she writes a reply.
You must be kidding me.
This time, she thinks she can hear him smirk. The next text sends a small thrill through her body that she doesn't expect at all.
Just give me one night.
Zoe licks her lips nervously and darts her eyes around the table, finding that the other three have departed to set up the nearby pool table. John's going to play winner. She can just about see Chris out of the corner of her eye and it's obvious that his chin is pointed toward the others, that's he's feigning attention as he texts to her. She looks up as well, trying to do the same thing, hoping she doesn't make any terrible typos. She knows how Chris and Zach are about typos.
I'm sure I don't know what you're talking abiut. Oh, shit. About. I mean. She hears him chuckle softly beside her.
I'm trying to seduce you and you're worried about typos. I must be off my game.
She feels herself flush at that and pauses, her fingertips hovering just above the screen. There are a million responses she could type but she can't bring herself to get any of them out. Her next move is a surprise, especially to her.
Bathroom. Five minutes.
She thinks about excusing herself to the others as she slides out of the booth, but they're immersed in their game anyway. Better not to bother them.
*
When Chris enters the ladies' room, he shoots her a questioning look and she nods in return, to tell him they're alone. And then he's on her like a shot, grasping her face between his hands and kissing her hard enough to dizzy her; at first, it's all she can do just to hold on to him, but soon she regains herself, letting the strap of her clutch slide down to her elbow and biting at his mouth—that smirking, dirty mouth that she was so happy to shut for him last night.
"Sure you're not too good to fuck in a bathroom?" he whispers, sliding his hands over her waist. "I know your type, but I can't wait."
"You don't know shit," she murmurs. She kisses him again to shut him up, grabbing him by the lapel of his shirt and pulling him bodily into one of the stalls.
Chris gets her up against the wall and rips the clutch from her arm when it knocks into his side, letting it fall to the floor. She can't be bothered to care. Their movements are awkward and fumbling at best but it's so fucking hot, the way their bodies come to align and he presses against her, their tongues doing battle between gasps and moans. He rucks up the hem of her dress and she lifts her leg, showing off a little as her heel clicks against the opposite side of the stall.
"I always forget you're a dancer," he says. She fists her hand in her hair and smirks, about to reply, when he cuts her off with a kiss paired with a heavy roll of his hips. "Quit the choreography, Z. I'm going to make you lose control."
He brings his mouth to her neck and she trembles, learning quickly that he's true to his word. His scent and the weight of his strong muscles pinning her against the wall—lifting her from the ground—are almost too much to bear. It's a heady situation, after all; this is Chris fucking Pine and he's got his fingers inside her, oh god, and she reaches up with one hand to grip the top edge of the wall as if it might bend and break under the force of her desire. Zoe gasps and tries to spread her legs farther apart as he twists his fingers inside her, pressing the heel of his palm to her clit; she wonders if he's out to see just how fast he can make her come. She grabs his ass and squeezes, eliciting a growl that does her in with just the right curl and flex of his fingers. Then she's coming and coming, and his hand keeps moving until it seems like it's never going to stop.
When she opens her eyes, he's working to get a condom on, and while part of her wants to chastise him for counting on this, she distantly hears herself rumble, "Get that shit on," instead. Zoe drops her foot from the wall and her heel falls off when she wraps her leg around him; it's all but forgotten when he thrusts inside her, and surely the others are either wondering where they are or have totally figured it out by now, but Chris is fucking her like he wants to shake her world off its hinges, so really, who the fuck cares.
Chris uses one hand to hold her up and the other to thumb rhythmically at her clit, groaning as she sucks his tongue into her mouth. She pushes her hand into the back of his jeans and squeezes him again, loving the way it makes him buck harder into her; when she slides a fingertip between his cheeks and strokes, he makes a noise like a wild animal beginning to be unleashed. Zoe releases his mouth to moan, loud enough for the whole fucking bar to hear, and thrusts down harder on his cock and hand. When he slides one finger inside her beside his cock and crooks, it's like a tidal wave slamming her back against the wall, rippling over her body until it's all too much and she gives in to the pulsations again, crying out in an entirely undignified manner. Chris keeps fucking into her, his movements erratic when she pulls his head back by his hair and scrapes her teeth over his throat. His blue, blue eyes seem to go completely black when he comes, the flickering of his irises more beautiful than any flower he could ever give her.
When it's over, she holds him and strokes his cheek, rough with stubble and glistening from a light sheen of sweat. They lip at each other's mouths and when she clenches experimentally around his cock, he lets out a little gasp that makes her laugh out loud.
"You're objectifying me," he murmurs. She nods, sliding a hand down his chest, kissing away his little pout.
"Mmhmm. But you don't mind."
"Nah, Daddy's cool with it."
She doesn't hit him quite as hard as she wants to, but that's just because she's laughing too much.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zoe
Notes: ~2,400 words. Written in response to
edie22's prompt at the Poor Man's Sinfest, V. 4, which quoted the following lyrics: I know your type (Your type) / You're daddy's little girl / Just take a bite (One bite) / Let me shake up your world / Cause just one night couldn't be so wrong / I'm gonna make you lose control. (I realized after the fact that they're from a Cobra Starship song. I plead ignorance.)Summary: If Chris wants to play this game, Zoe wants a hand in writing the rules.
Zoe sighs as she leans against the bar, trying to get the bartender's attention before she forgets the long list of drink orders she volunteered to get. She must be drunk if she thought she could remember six different types of shots, beers and cocktails. Her phone buzzes in her clutch and she goes to retrieve it, muttering a curse to herself when the one movement makes her forget at least two of the drinks on her list. The text is from Chris; he probably changed his mind about his order. She presses the button to read it, her eyes widening.
You look edible tonight.
She furrows her brow and looks back at the table to see if Chris is looking her way, but he's not; he's in the midst of an animated conversation with Zach and John, so talkative that there's no way it just started. Zoe shakes her head and texts back.
Ha. You wanted Jack and Coke, right? Too bad, getting you a pink squirrel.
Text sent, she smiles to herself and leans further against the bar, jumping in surprise only a few moments later when her phone buzzes again.
Don't be like that. You'd better be a good girl if you want Daddy to treat you right.
Zoe blanches at that one. And, of course, as soon as the words register, that's exactly when the bartender decides to amble over and ask what she'd like. She shifts her weight on her heels and grimaces slightly when she realizes the only person's order she can remember now is Chris'. Well, that's just fine, she thinks.
"Jack and Coke. And a shot of Jager. Please."
She was planning on ordering something with a lot less punch than that, but when the shot arrives, she knocks it back without so much as a flinch, flicking a twenty onto the bar. The mixed drink spills over a little when she picks it up but it doesn't matter much since it's Chris' drink. Zoe marches back to their table and the conversation stops when she doesn't have more than one glass in her hand. Chris looks up at her and lifts his brow, the picture of innocence.
"Well, thanks, Z, but what about everyone else?"
"Oh, what am I, your waitress now, too? Fuck you."
She wishes someone had a camera to capture the expression on Chris' face when the dark liquid splashes all over it. Zach just stares like he's watching a train wreck in slow motion and Karl and John start laughing like hyenas. John even stands up in the booth to give her a slow clap of awe.
"Yes, yes!" John exclaims, his clapping growing more exuberant. "A thing of beauty!" Zach cringes on the other side of Chris.
"Oh, my god. I didn't think she'd do that."
Chris just blinks in shock, his hair dripping into his face, droplets of alcohol falling off his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. Zoe wants to kick him in his stupid head for looking so damn pretty when she's mad at him.
"I leave for two seconds and you guys are already coming up with ways to mess with me? That's it. You have your stupid boys' night and make fun at my expense. I'm out."
She turns on her heel and walks away to a chorus of Oh, come on and Zoe, hey, and Come back, Z! But she doesn't look back, hell no, just makes her way out of the bar, grabbing her coat from the rack up front before she leaves. She keeps her eyes straight ahead; mouth pursed into a crisp line, paying zero attention to the way Chris practically vaults himself over the table and out of the booth, wiping the excess stickiness from his face with his sleeve as he runs after her, into the night air.
"Zoe, wait up!" he calls, after a block or so, and she groans, waving him away.
"Ugh, I'm tired of you. I'm not here to be objectified, Pine."
"Who's objectifying you?"
"You are!" she yells incredulously, turning and giving him her best death glare. "And if you think I want to even look at you after that stunt you just pulled, think again."
"Zoe..."
"Goodnight, Chris."
This time, he doesn't follow her when she walks away.
*
He shows up at her place the next afternoon. With flowers, of all things. But she was expecting him. She answered his earlier text of Coming over to talk—flowers too clichéd for you? with Your face is a cliché. It was childish and fairly nonsensical, but he deserved it. Zoe snatches the bouquet out of his grip before he can say a word.
"You're lucky that I like flowers," she mutters, fingering the petals of a lily. "Not for romantic reasons. Just because I like them."
"I swear I didn't get them to demean you or make you feel dainty and put-upon." Chris leans against the doorway, sliding a hand into his front pocket. He looks rugged and smells of shampoo and she hates him right now. "I asked the florist what kind of flowers are best when you accidentally objectify someone and we couldn't decide between lilies and roses, so I got both."
"And you just knew I was a sucker for stories about witty banter with florists. I'm not going to invite you in for coffee, Chris. And not for 'coffee' either," she says, tucking the flowers under her arm and curling her fingers into air quotes.
"You just pulled out the air quotes. Well, I'm schooled." He laughs, shaking his head. "Listen. I just wanted to let you know that we're going out tonight again and you're invited. And I promise," he pauses for emphasis, "we'll all behave this time."
Zoe frowns slightly, then shrugs one shoulder, as elegantly as she can. "I'll think about it. Text me—no, actually, call me with the details."
"You got it, gorgeous."
He winks at her and then turns away from her door, making his way back to the elevator of the building. Zoe peers at him and then looks down at the flowers, flicking one of the roses with a delicate fingernail.
*
This time, it's a lot better. Zoe's uneasy at first, but after a few rounds, she's back to being one of the boys, sandwiched between Chris and Zach as she tells them all about how Chris came slinking over earlier, tail hung between his legs and bearing roses, of all things. Karl laughs the loudest, shoving Chris' shoulder as he downs his drink.
"Jesus, Pine. Totally whipped and you're not even getting any."
Zoe reaches over the table to smack Karl's shoulder hard, satisfied enough when he yelps to sit back down again. She gives Chris a fiery look, just daring him to say something stupid, but he just shakes his head and focuses on his pint. She considers it a victory until it occurs to her that maybe Karl is right. And if so, well, that's kind of sad.
She cuts him a little break, reaching under the table to squeeze his knee gently. He lays his hand on top of hers for a moment, offering her a small, melt-worthy smile, then takes it back again without another word.
When Karl and Zach start to discuss the merits of a pool game, Zoe's clutch begins to vibrate in her lap. She blinks and then rolls her eyes dramatically, because god, not this crap again. She debates even looking at the message for a few moments, then just digs out her phone, pressing the button to read Chris' text.
Hey.
That's it. "Hey." She shakes her head, not glancing over at Chris, not even once, as she writes a reply.
You must be kidding me.
This time, she thinks she can hear him smirk. The next text sends a small thrill through her body that she doesn't expect at all.
Just give me one night.
Zoe licks her lips nervously and darts her eyes around the table, finding that the other three have departed to set up the nearby pool table. John's going to play winner. She can just about see Chris out of the corner of her eye and it's obvious that his chin is pointed toward the others, that's he's feigning attention as he texts to her. She looks up as well, trying to do the same thing, hoping she doesn't make any terrible typos. She knows how Chris and Zach are about typos.
I'm sure I don't know what you're talking abiut. Oh, shit. About. I mean. She hears him chuckle softly beside her.
I'm trying to seduce you and you're worried about typos. I must be off my game.
She feels herself flush at that and pauses, her fingertips hovering just above the screen. There are a million responses she could type but she can't bring herself to get any of them out. Her next move is a surprise, especially to her.
Bathroom. Five minutes.
She thinks about excusing herself to the others as she slides out of the booth, but they're immersed in their game anyway. Better not to bother them.
*
When Chris enters the ladies' room, he shoots her a questioning look and she nods in return, to tell him they're alone. And then he's on her like a shot, grasping her face between his hands and kissing her hard enough to dizzy her; at first, it's all she can do just to hold on to him, but soon she regains herself, letting the strap of her clutch slide down to her elbow and biting at his mouth—that smirking, dirty mouth that she was so happy to shut for him last night.
"Sure you're not too good to fuck in a bathroom?" he whispers, sliding his hands over her waist. "I know your type, but I can't wait."
"You don't know shit," she murmurs. She kisses him again to shut him up, grabbing him by the lapel of his shirt and pulling him bodily into one of the stalls.
Chris gets her up against the wall and rips the clutch from her arm when it knocks into his side, letting it fall to the floor. She can't be bothered to care. Their movements are awkward and fumbling at best but it's so fucking hot, the way their bodies come to align and he presses against her, their tongues doing battle between gasps and moans. He rucks up the hem of her dress and she lifts her leg, showing off a little as her heel clicks against the opposite side of the stall.
"I always forget you're a dancer," he says. She fists her hand in her hair and smirks, about to reply, when he cuts her off with a kiss paired with a heavy roll of his hips. "Quit the choreography, Z. I'm going to make you lose control."
He brings his mouth to her neck and she trembles, learning quickly that he's true to his word. His scent and the weight of his strong muscles pinning her against the wall—lifting her from the ground—are almost too much to bear. It's a heady situation, after all; this is Chris fucking Pine and he's got his fingers inside her, oh god, and she reaches up with one hand to grip the top edge of the wall as if it might bend and break under the force of her desire. Zoe gasps and tries to spread her legs farther apart as he twists his fingers inside her, pressing the heel of his palm to her clit; she wonders if he's out to see just how fast he can make her come. She grabs his ass and squeezes, eliciting a growl that does her in with just the right curl and flex of his fingers. Then she's coming and coming, and his hand keeps moving until it seems like it's never going to stop.
When she opens her eyes, he's working to get a condom on, and while part of her wants to chastise him for counting on this, she distantly hears herself rumble, "Get that shit on," instead. Zoe drops her foot from the wall and her heel falls off when she wraps her leg around him; it's all but forgotten when he thrusts inside her, and surely the others are either wondering where they are or have totally figured it out by now, but Chris is fucking her like he wants to shake her world off its hinges, so really, who the fuck cares.
Chris uses one hand to hold her up and the other to thumb rhythmically at her clit, groaning as she sucks his tongue into her mouth. She pushes her hand into the back of his jeans and squeezes him again, loving the way it makes him buck harder into her; when she slides a fingertip between his cheeks and strokes, he makes a noise like a wild animal beginning to be unleashed. Zoe releases his mouth to moan, loud enough for the whole fucking bar to hear, and thrusts down harder on his cock and hand. When he slides one finger inside her beside his cock and crooks, it's like a tidal wave slamming her back against the wall, rippling over her body until it's all too much and she gives in to the pulsations again, crying out in an entirely undignified manner. Chris keeps fucking into her, his movements erratic when she pulls his head back by his hair and scrapes her teeth over his throat. His blue, blue eyes seem to go completely black when he comes, the flickering of his irises more beautiful than any flower he could ever give her.
When it's over, she holds him and strokes his cheek, rough with stubble and glistening from a light sheen of sweat. They lip at each other's mouths and when she clenches experimentally around his cock, he lets out a little gasp that makes her laugh out loud.
"You're objectifying me," he murmurs. She nods, sliding a hand down his chest, kissing away his little pout.
"Mmhmm. But you don't mind."
"Nah, Daddy's cool with it."
She doesn't hit him quite as hard as she wants to, but that's just because she's laughing too much.
