Fic: Rest My Chemistry
Dec. 16th, 2009 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Rest My Chemistry
Rating: R
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Notes: ~3,400 words. Written for a prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
trek_rpf_kink asking for a fic in which Zach and Chris don't hit it off during filming and only become friends during the press tour. Edited lightly from the original. Includes references to a handful of Pinto interviews linked on this list.
Summary: Zach has no interest in being friends with Chris. But when they're stuck together 24/7 during the press tour, things take a turn.
It's not that Chris isn't a good actor. He's a perfectly decent actor. But Zach doesn't get why everyone fawns over the guy; why Anton follows him around like a puppy on a leash and Bruce invites him over to his place for dinner. And then there's Karl, always waxing poetic about how he and Chris have such brilliant chemistry and how lucky he is to be working with him, etcetera. Zach just wants all of them to shut up.
Chris is average. Completely average. And furthermore, they simply don't click.
Their scenes are fine, the Kirk and Spock stuff—but just fine. Zach doesn't sense any chemistry, at least not if he's going on Karl's description. He doesn't feel drawn to Chris in any sense, doesn't feel a little bit of electricity when they riff off each other the way he has with other actors.
Simon, for instance—Simon always makes him laugh. One day, he slips into a giggle fit when Simon inflects his voice in a certain way and it takes a few cuts to get through it. Chris laughs amiably throughout but after a while, he pauses and gets serious on them.
"Okay, Zach, it's really not that funny anymore. Get it together, okay?"
He tries not to let on how annoyed he is by the comment—hell, even J.J. hasn't admonished him and he's the damn director—but he sobers up and nods, getting ready for the next take.
He flubs his line on purpose and pretends to laugh again, just to piss Chris off. It seems to work.
*
There are only a few days of filming left when Chris finds him in the makeup trailer. He's been dozing off during the ear application; by now, he's used to all the ear stroking and fondling and it actually relaxes him. Zach's eyes snap open when Chris pokes him in the shoulder, his lucid dream left behind.
"What's up?" he asks blandly, not really in the mood to talk to Chris. The other man just tilts his head and watches the artist work, leaning in a little too far.
"I just realized that filming's almost wrapped and I never took the time to actually sit and watch the whole Vulcanizing process. I'm not due on set 'til later, so I thought I'd drop by and check it out."
Zach sighs. Typical Chris, butting in where he's not needed and especially not wanted.
"Okay, yeah," he says, pretending to care. "I'm kind of used to the whole thing by now, so..."
"That's so cool," Chris says, seemingly ignoring Zach in favor of peering at all the tiny silicone ears lining the makeup artist's table. "There's so many of them."
"Yeah, there's a lot of extras around." Zach purses his lips, drumming his fingertips against the arm of his chair. He wishes he had a magazine to distract him. "You know, Leonard's getting ears today, too, so," he says, motioning to the other side of the trailer, away from himself. Chris' gaze follows his finger and he hesitates before standing, seeming to take the hint.
"Yeah, cool. I'll go say hi, then. See you."
Zach exhales once he's gone, feeling relieved and a little guilty, but more so relieved. They're not friends, him and Chris, and he doesn't see the point in trying it out now.
*
Zach spends their entire last evening together as a cast simultaneously avoiding Chris and worrying about the fact that he's going to have to spend months rambling to the press about how great Chris is. Doing the interviews for the DVD extras was difficult enough.
He figures he'll just do what he always does: lie through his teeth and lie and lie some more. And he'll drink. And soon enough, it'll be over.
Somehow, he and Chris and Zoe end up as the last ones at the bar. They pour Zoe into a cab and then Zach stands awkwardly on the curb, hands in his pockets, looking for his own cab. He's surprised when Chris pushes a hand into his face and looks at him expectantly.
"Hey," he says, shrugging. "Good working with you. Enjoy your time off, okay?"
"Yeah, you too."
Zach takes his hand and shakes it because hell, they're Kirk and Spock, and the least he can do is be civil to the guy. Chris gives him a charming little smile when he gets his handshake and Zach winces inwardly; he wishes the guy didn't try so hard to be likable.
Chris hails a cab, then, and offers it to Zach. He thinks about being polite and insisting Chris take it, but then he just smiles tightly and nods, getting in. As the car drives away, he turns his head to see if Chris is waving, but he's not; he just stands there on the curb, watching the car move away from him.
*
"We meet again, Mr. Spock," he hears, and he turns around at the sound of the familiar voice. Chris smiles, one hand wrapped around the handle of a rolling suitcase. "Hey, your eyebrows grew back."
"Captain Kirk," Zach simply says.
He looks down at the moving carousel, waiting for his own luggage to make an appearance at some point. All around them, monotone voices make airport-wide announcements, asking Mr. So-and-So to please come to gate 17, announcing the final boarding call for Flight 865.
"I'm starving," Chris sighs, looking around the terminal. "You think there's somewhere to eat in here?"
"I'm sure. Or we can ask the driver to take us somewhere."
"Cool."
Zach exhales wishes the others were here with them, but he already knows that Karl and Zoe are arriving later in the day, and he hasn't heard about anyone else. But it's okay; he's seen the itinerary and the next few days are basically set to play out as the Kirk/Spock PR Extravaganza. He might as well get used to being alone with Chris.
He steps forward when he spots his luggage finally approaching, but Chris spies it first, heading him off at the pass to fetch it himself. "I got it," he says, grabbing the suitcase by its handle and handing it to Zach.
"Thanks," he says and doesn't look at Chris, refusing to give into those please like me vibes that are making his skin crawl.
Or maybe he's imagining them—because while he's fiddling with his luggage in an attempt to ignore him, Chris has already started wandering off in another direction, looking for the sign that reads "Pine/Quinto" and waving Zach over when he lags behind.
"Starving," Chris reminds him, and Zach huffs, walking faster.
*
He lets Chris unload his stuff in the bathroom first, then does the same as Chris watches something mindless on television. For a one or two day stay, Zach doesn't mind living out of his suitcase, but this hotel suite is going to be home for the next week, so he brings his toiletry bag into the bathroom and fills one side of the sink counter with its contents.
He winces at the volume of whatever Chris is watching and hazards a look through the other man's things. Not nearly as many items as Zach's side of the sink, though that makes sense. Zach blinks in surprise when he spots Chris' shaving kit.
"You shave with a straight razor?" he asks.
"What?"
He repeats himself but the television is too loud. A moment later, Chris pops his head into the doorway, looking at the shaving kit in Zach's hands.
"Nice, right? I just replaced my old one."
"I thought I was the only one who still used a straight razor," Zach says.
"No way. My dad taught me to shave with one. It's the only way I'll do it."
Zach nods, looking down at the kit. "I had to learn from my brother. He tried to teach me with one of our mom's Lady Bics."
Chris blinks at him in the mirror, looking surprised that Zach has actually shared something with him. He's a little surprised himself. Whatever that was, it came out of nowhere. He puts the kit down where he found it and adjusts his glasses, standing awkwardly in case Chris decides to respond somehow.
"So we have something in common," he finally says. Zach lifts his brow and nods.
"I never would have guessed. A Hollywood pretty boy like you..."
Chris laughs, which is a relief because Zach can't even tell if he meant it as a joke or an insult.
"You're not the only manly man around here, Quinto."
Zach smirks a little and follows him out of the bathroom.
*
Of all the adjectives Zach's ever come up with for Chris in his mind, smart has never been one of them. Bright, yes. Charismatic, sure. Annoying and clingy, occasionally. But never smart.
It becomes entirely apparently in their joint interviews, however, that Chris really is smart. He has interesting and thoughtful things to say, not only about the film, but everything it represents. And sometimes he even cracks jokes that make Zach laugh, which is more than he ever did on set.
Then there's his big...vocabulary. Which takes Zach totally by surprise one day, after he pretends to be amused by the whole falling out of the captain's chair anecdote for what seems like the billionth time. He's wondering if Chris is ever going to come up with a new way to get a quick laugh when he hears the word sacrosanct fall out of his mouth, carelessly, like it's something Chris says every day over breakfast.
When he comments on it and Chris gives that smug little laugh and cha-ching gesture and keeps going, Zach knows that he's officially been left in the dust. He focuses on trying not to scowl for the rest of the interview, until Chris gets on Webster's high horse again and throws out moribund, and then it's just completely out of hand.
"Moribund?" he repeats, fixing Chris with an astonished look. He's pretty sure this is the same guy who spent all last night complaining that the mini quiches at the hotel lounge party made him gassy.
Pretty sure.
"Moribund," he says again, as the camera equipment gets dismantled and the techs come over to take down the overhead mic. Chris just shrugs, dusting off his lapel.
"I dunno what you're so shocked about, man."
"I have never heard you utter that word before."
Chris smiles, one corner of his mouth turning up. "In addition to my English muffin and banana this morning, I pureed the dictionary and made a smoothie out of it. Good fiber."
"And here I thought you were too busy reading Maxim to open a dictionary. The smoothie makes more sense."
"No, see, I tuck the dictionary inside the Maxim, so no one can tell."
Zach laughs before he can think about it, shaking his head and standing up. "Let's get out of here; I'm starving."
"Starving," Chris repeats, rubbing his stomach.
*
The tradition of the shared hotel suite seems to continue. For a while, Zach wishes he could trade places with one of the other cast members, but then he figures it's better this way; he knows Chris' morning and evening routines by now and it's easier to stick with what's familiar than to deal with a host of someone else's unfamiliar quirks.
The only thing about Chris' nighttime ritual that's a little annoying is that he likes to fall asleep with the TV on. But Zach's already gotten used to that, too. He turns his back to Chris each night and tucks his face into his pillow, away from any glare coming from the screen.
He hears the TV flicker off one night around three o'clock and opens his eyes halfway, barely making out Chris as he sits up in bed, shirtless. The faint light from beyond the window curtains illuminates the rounded curves of his shoulders and the slope of his nape, all the small, soft hairs along the way.
"Wha's wrong?" he slurs, feeling sleepy but strangely compassionate. Chris looks at him.
"Can't sleep," he whispers. "I dunno why."
"Prob'ly stress. Tour's getting to us all."
"Tell me about it. I could use a full-body massage and a bottle of Jack right about now."
"Yeah, well, forget it." Zach yawns, pulling the covers up further. "Wanna sleep next to me? Maybe it'll help."
Chris laughs with a high pitch, making him sound like a kid. "You're kidding, right? You hate me."
Zach blinks, waking up a little more and lifting his head. "What? I don't..."
"You're a good actor but you're not that subtle off-set," Chris mutters, falling back against the pillows again. Zach watches as he pulls the covers up to his chin. As for himself, he's completely covered up with blankets, yet somehow he feels uncomfortably exposed.
"If I hated you, I wouldn't ask if you... I wouldn't have asked."
"I'll be fine," Chris says curtly, turning his back to Zach. After that, the room goes completely silent, save for the hums of the hotel elevators and the vending machines down the hall.
Now Zach can't sleep.
*
The interviews get easier. They joke and laugh more, toss out more SAT words. Zach finds himself stuck in fewer hellish moments during which the sound of Chris' voice makes him want to combust. In fact, Chris' voice has become rather comforting after so much exposure to it. He finds he looks forward to the interviews and what Chris will come up with next for their ongoing verbal sparring.
"Where's Pine?" John asks one night, sidling up to Zach at the hotel bar. Zach brings a hand to his chest innocently.
"How would I know?"
"I just figured you would. You two are attached at the hip."
"Whatever," Zach says defensively, sipping his cocktail. "I don't even like the guy."
John barks a laugh and slaps his shoulder. "Ha. Good one, man."
"What? No, I really don't. He's annoying."
"What's annoying is you insisting you don't like him when you obviously do. It's also getting old. Methuselah old. Joan Rivers old."
"Bite your tongue," Zach says, taking a too-large swallow of his drink. "She's a legend."
"Is it really so hard to admit you two are friends?"
Zach runs his tongue over his teeth and takes too long to answer; eventually, John just rolls his eyes and walks away.
Chris finds him about twenty minutes later, appearing with a crooked smile and a gleam in his blue eyes, as he usually does. "Hey buddy," he greets Zach, patting the shoulder that still smarts from John's slap. Zach gives him an appraising look and then nods.
"Hey yourself."
"Jack and Coke," Chris orders when the bartender comes by, and Zach lifts a finger before he can stop himself.
"Put it on my tab."
It's worth the ten bucks just to see the look of disbelief on Chris' face.
*
"Okay, so far, we've each had one of the mini vodkas and one of the mini whiskeys. Then I had the mini scotch and you had the mini dark rum."
"What's left?" Zach asks. He crouches down beside Chris and stumbles a bit, catching himself on his palm before he falls on his butt.
"Mini Brut, mini Malibu, mini tequila, mini—"
Zach reaches forward and swipes the tequila from the fridge door, opening it and swallowing its contents down quickly. Chris gapes at him.
"Dude, I was so going to take that one!"
"You didn't call it," Zach says with a gasp. "And that's what you get for such blatant overuse of the word 'mini.' We already know they're mini; you don't have to keep repeating it."
"Mmm, mini," Chris murmurs, looking over what's left. He ends up opening up the Malibu and drinking it down. Zach laughs so hard he nearly falls over. "What?" Chris protests, throwing away the empty mini bottle.
"Of all that was left...you chose Malibu?! That is so queer."
"That's rich, coming from the guy who chastised the kids on set for calling something 'gay.'"
"They have to learn good manners," Zach says. He tilts his chin up and blinks, feeling a little dizzy. He suspects that mini bottles of liquor should be spread out over a longer period of time when imbibed. "You know what's gay?"
"What?"
"You."
Chris laughs, rifling through the bottles for something else. He settles on the mini Brut. "Oh, you think so?"
Zach shakes his head and smiles, lying back on the carpeted floor. They've been back in L.A. for a few days now but they're staying in the hotel where the press junket's being held, just because it's easier. It's probably not a good for them to get drunk when they have to wake up bright and early and do another endless day of interviews tomorrow, but it's the least they deserve after a hard day's work.
"Nah," he finally says. "Even though you did cop to having had a pedicure today." He shuts his eyes for a few moments and when he looks up again, Chris has scooted closer.
"You're the one who said you loved me," he points out, arching a brow. "What's that about?"
Zach looks at him and swallows. "I was playing to the cameras."
"So, you don't love me anymore? Now that the cameras are all gone?"
Zach opens his mouth to respond and pauses when Chris lies down next to him. The television is blaring in the background, as always, but for the moment, the only sounds he can hear are the heavy exhalations of Chris' breath drifting by his ear. It's late enough that Chris is sporting a bit of stubble and Zach scratches his own cheek, feeling its phantom scrape and itch.
"I'm conflicted," he says. Chris looks right into his eyes and his breath comes out a little faster and rougher. "I definitely don't hate you."
"Well, that's something," Chris murmurs.
*
When Zach wakes up again, it's an hour before they're supposed to receive their wake-up call and the room is still dark. His back hurts and he realizes he's still on the floor, the TV still on in the background. Chris is curled up against Zach's side, his nose buried against the rumpled cotton along his shoulder. He looks incredibly peaceful. Zach dares to reach up and touch his hair, which is shorter than it was during filming and bristly to the touch. It tickles.
"Don't touch me, m'gay," Chris mumbles into his shirt. "I might fall in love with you."
Zach smirks at him, wiping at his eyes. "Right—because all gay men instantaneously fall in love with each other."
"Well, if there's chemistry..."
He exhales and feels that scrape along his cheek again, but this time, it's real. He turns his head so his mouth ends up skimming along Chris' full lips, and when he flickers his tongue out, Chris' is already there to meet him. He knows he's got to be imagining it, but Zach swears he can feel something slide into place.
Something clicks.
*
While it's true that sex is the best hangover cure, Zach finds he still needs a constant supply of coffee for the rest of the day. A PA brings him a fresh cup as a bunch of tech and press people set up for the next interview. Chris swigs from his Diet Coke like it's going to cure all his ails.
"Mini alcohol is the devil," he mutters and Zach smiles.
"You look fresh as a daisy."
"Whatever. You look better and you know it."
"I'm not denying that, but you still look perfectly adequate."
"I hate you," Chris grumbles into the lip of his can.
"No, you don't," Zach answers quietly.
"No, I don't. I never did."
If the afternoon crawls by, it's only because Zach can't wait to be alone with Chris again. It's a new, strange feeling and it warms him all over. For once, he can answer clichéd questions about chemistry with ease and a genuine smile, even the awkward one about whether they're prepared to enter into a Shatner/Nimoy-style friendship for the ages.
"Well, it certainly wouldn't be the worst thing that could come of it," Zach says.
Granted, he's not sure if Shatner and Nimoy ever ended up fucking on the floor of a hotel room. He'll have to call Leonard at some point and ask.
Rating: R
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Notes: ~3,400 words. Written for a prompt at
trek_rpf_kink asking for a fic in which Zach and Chris don't hit it off during filming and only become friends during the press tour. Edited lightly from the original. Includes references to a handful of Pinto interviews linked on this list.Summary: Zach has no interest in being friends with Chris. But when they're stuck together 24/7 during the press tour, things take a turn.
It's not that Chris isn't a good actor. He's a perfectly decent actor. But Zach doesn't get why everyone fawns over the guy; why Anton follows him around like a puppy on a leash and Bruce invites him over to his place for dinner. And then there's Karl, always waxing poetic about how he and Chris have such brilliant chemistry and how lucky he is to be working with him, etcetera. Zach just wants all of them to shut up.
Chris is average. Completely average. And furthermore, they simply don't click.
Their scenes are fine, the Kirk and Spock stuff—but just fine. Zach doesn't sense any chemistry, at least not if he's going on Karl's description. He doesn't feel drawn to Chris in any sense, doesn't feel a little bit of electricity when they riff off each other the way he has with other actors.
Simon, for instance—Simon always makes him laugh. One day, he slips into a giggle fit when Simon inflects his voice in a certain way and it takes a few cuts to get through it. Chris laughs amiably throughout but after a while, he pauses and gets serious on them.
"Okay, Zach, it's really not that funny anymore. Get it together, okay?"
He tries not to let on how annoyed he is by the comment—hell, even J.J. hasn't admonished him and he's the damn director—but he sobers up and nods, getting ready for the next take.
He flubs his line on purpose and pretends to laugh again, just to piss Chris off. It seems to work.
*
There are only a few days of filming left when Chris finds him in the makeup trailer. He's been dozing off during the ear application; by now, he's used to all the ear stroking and fondling and it actually relaxes him. Zach's eyes snap open when Chris pokes him in the shoulder, his lucid dream left behind.
"What's up?" he asks blandly, not really in the mood to talk to Chris. The other man just tilts his head and watches the artist work, leaning in a little too far.
"I just realized that filming's almost wrapped and I never took the time to actually sit and watch the whole Vulcanizing process. I'm not due on set 'til later, so I thought I'd drop by and check it out."
Zach sighs. Typical Chris, butting in where he's not needed and especially not wanted.
"Okay, yeah," he says, pretending to care. "I'm kind of used to the whole thing by now, so..."
"That's so cool," Chris says, seemingly ignoring Zach in favor of peering at all the tiny silicone ears lining the makeup artist's table. "There's so many of them."
"Yeah, there's a lot of extras around." Zach purses his lips, drumming his fingertips against the arm of his chair. He wishes he had a magazine to distract him. "You know, Leonard's getting ears today, too, so," he says, motioning to the other side of the trailer, away from himself. Chris' gaze follows his finger and he hesitates before standing, seeming to take the hint.
"Yeah, cool. I'll go say hi, then. See you."
Zach exhales once he's gone, feeling relieved and a little guilty, but more so relieved. They're not friends, him and Chris, and he doesn't see the point in trying it out now.
*
Zach spends their entire last evening together as a cast simultaneously avoiding Chris and worrying about the fact that he's going to have to spend months rambling to the press about how great Chris is. Doing the interviews for the DVD extras was difficult enough.
He figures he'll just do what he always does: lie through his teeth and lie and lie some more. And he'll drink. And soon enough, it'll be over.
Somehow, he and Chris and Zoe end up as the last ones at the bar. They pour Zoe into a cab and then Zach stands awkwardly on the curb, hands in his pockets, looking for his own cab. He's surprised when Chris pushes a hand into his face and looks at him expectantly.
"Hey," he says, shrugging. "Good working with you. Enjoy your time off, okay?"
"Yeah, you too."
Zach takes his hand and shakes it because hell, they're Kirk and Spock, and the least he can do is be civil to the guy. Chris gives him a charming little smile when he gets his handshake and Zach winces inwardly; he wishes the guy didn't try so hard to be likable.
Chris hails a cab, then, and offers it to Zach. He thinks about being polite and insisting Chris take it, but then he just smiles tightly and nods, getting in. As the car drives away, he turns his head to see if Chris is waving, but he's not; he just stands there on the curb, watching the car move away from him.
*
"We meet again, Mr. Spock," he hears, and he turns around at the sound of the familiar voice. Chris smiles, one hand wrapped around the handle of a rolling suitcase. "Hey, your eyebrows grew back."
"Captain Kirk," Zach simply says.
He looks down at the moving carousel, waiting for his own luggage to make an appearance at some point. All around them, monotone voices make airport-wide announcements, asking Mr. So-and-So to please come to gate 17, announcing the final boarding call for Flight 865.
"I'm starving," Chris sighs, looking around the terminal. "You think there's somewhere to eat in here?"
"I'm sure. Or we can ask the driver to take us somewhere."
"Cool."
Zach exhales wishes the others were here with them, but he already knows that Karl and Zoe are arriving later in the day, and he hasn't heard about anyone else. But it's okay; he's seen the itinerary and the next few days are basically set to play out as the Kirk/Spock PR Extravaganza. He might as well get used to being alone with Chris.
He steps forward when he spots his luggage finally approaching, but Chris spies it first, heading him off at the pass to fetch it himself. "I got it," he says, grabbing the suitcase by its handle and handing it to Zach.
"Thanks," he says and doesn't look at Chris, refusing to give into those please like me vibes that are making his skin crawl.
Or maybe he's imagining them—because while he's fiddling with his luggage in an attempt to ignore him, Chris has already started wandering off in another direction, looking for the sign that reads "Pine/Quinto" and waving Zach over when he lags behind.
"Starving," Chris reminds him, and Zach huffs, walking faster.
*
He lets Chris unload his stuff in the bathroom first, then does the same as Chris watches something mindless on television. For a one or two day stay, Zach doesn't mind living out of his suitcase, but this hotel suite is going to be home for the next week, so he brings his toiletry bag into the bathroom and fills one side of the sink counter with its contents.
He winces at the volume of whatever Chris is watching and hazards a look through the other man's things. Not nearly as many items as Zach's side of the sink, though that makes sense. Zach blinks in surprise when he spots Chris' shaving kit.
"You shave with a straight razor?" he asks.
"What?"
He repeats himself but the television is too loud. A moment later, Chris pops his head into the doorway, looking at the shaving kit in Zach's hands.
"Nice, right? I just replaced my old one."
"I thought I was the only one who still used a straight razor," Zach says.
"No way. My dad taught me to shave with one. It's the only way I'll do it."
Zach nods, looking down at the kit. "I had to learn from my brother. He tried to teach me with one of our mom's Lady Bics."
Chris blinks at him in the mirror, looking surprised that Zach has actually shared something with him. He's a little surprised himself. Whatever that was, it came out of nowhere. He puts the kit down where he found it and adjusts his glasses, standing awkwardly in case Chris decides to respond somehow.
"So we have something in common," he finally says. Zach lifts his brow and nods.
"I never would have guessed. A Hollywood pretty boy like you..."
Chris laughs, which is a relief because Zach can't even tell if he meant it as a joke or an insult.
"You're not the only manly man around here, Quinto."
Zach smirks a little and follows him out of the bathroom.
*
Of all the adjectives Zach's ever come up with for Chris in his mind, smart has never been one of them. Bright, yes. Charismatic, sure. Annoying and clingy, occasionally. But never smart.
It becomes entirely apparently in their joint interviews, however, that Chris really is smart. He has interesting and thoughtful things to say, not only about the film, but everything it represents. And sometimes he even cracks jokes that make Zach laugh, which is more than he ever did on set.
Then there's his big...vocabulary. Which takes Zach totally by surprise one day, after he pretends to be amused by the whole falling out of the captain's chair anecdote for what seems like the billionth time. He's wondering if Chris is ever going to come up with a new way to get a quick laugh when he hears the word sacrosanct fall out of his mouth, carelessly, like it's something Chris says every day over breakfast.
When he comments on it and Chris gives that smug little laugh and cha-ching gesture and keeps going, Zach knows that he's officially been left in the dust. He focuses on trying not to scowl for the rest of the interview, until Chris gets on Webster's high horse again and throws out moribund, and then it's just completely out of hand.
"Moribund?" he repeats, fixing Chris with an astonished look. He's pretty sure this is the same guy who spent all last night complaining that the mini quiches at the hotel lounge party made him gassy.
Pretty sure.
"Moribund," he says again, as the camera equipment gets dismantled and the techs come over to take down the overhead mic. Chris just shrugs, dusting off his lapel.
"I dunno what you're so shocked about, man."
"I have never heard you utter that word before."
Chris smiles, one corner of his mouth turning up. "In addition to my English muffin and banana this morning, I pureed the dictionary and made a smoothie out of it. Good fiber."
"And here I thought you were too busy reading Maxim to open a dictionary. The smoothie makes more sense."
"No, see, I tuck the dictionary inside the Maxim, so no one can tell."
Zach laughs before he can think about it, shaking his head and standing up. "Let's get out of here; I'm starving."
"Starving," Chris repeats, rubbing his stomach.
*
The tradition of the shared hotel suite seems to continue. For a while, Zach wishes he could trade places with one of the other cast members, but then he figures it's better this way; he knows Chris' morning and evening routines by now and it's easier to stick with what's familiar than to deal with a host of someone else's unfamiliar quirks.
The only thing about Chris' nighttime ritual that's a little annoying is that he likes to fall asleep with the TV on. But Zach's already gotten used to that, too. He turns his back to Chris each night and tucks his face into his pillow, away from any glare coming from the screen.
He hears the TV flicker off one night around three o'clock and opens his eyes halfway, barely making out Chris as he sits up in bed, shirtless. The faint light from beyond the window curtains illuminates the rounded curves of his shoulders and the slope of his nape, all the small, soft hairs along the way.
"Wha's wrong?" he slurs, feeling sleepy but strangely compassionate. Chris looks at him.
"Can't sleep," he whispers. "I dunno why."
"Prob'ly stress. Tour's getting to us all."
"Tell me about it. I could use a full-body massage and a bottle of Jack right about now."
"Yeah, well, forget it." Zach yawns, pulling the covers up further. "Wanna sleep next to me? Maybe it'll help."
Chris laughs with a high pitch, making him sound like a kid. "You're kidding, right? You hate me."
Zach blinks, waking up a little more and lifting his head. "What? I don't..."
"You're a good actor but you're not that subtle off-set," Chris mutters, falling back against the pillows again. Zach watches as he pulls the covers up to his chin. As for himself, he's completely covered up with blankets, yet somehow he feels uncomfortably exposed.
"If I hated you, I wouldn't ask if you... I wouldn't have asked."
"I'll be fine," Chris says curtly, turning his back to Zach. After that, the room goes completely silent, save for the hums of the hotel elevators and the vending machines down the hall.
Now Zach can't sleep.
*
The interviews get easier. They joke and laugh more, toss out more SAT words. Zach finds himself stuck in fewer hellish moments during which the sound of Chris' voice makes him want to combust. In fact, Chris' voice has become rather comforting after so much exposure to it. He finds he looks forward to the interviews and what Chris will come up with next for their ongoing verbal sparring.
"Where's Pine?" John asks one night, sidling up to Zach at the hotel bar. Zach brings a hand to his chest innocently.
"How would I know?"
"I just figured you would. You two are attached at the hip."
"Whatever," Zach says defensively, sipping his cocktail. "I don't even like the guy."
John barks a laugh and slaps his shoulder. "Ha. Good one, man."
"What? No, I really don't. He's annoying."
"What's annoying is you insisting you don't like him when you obviously do. It's also getting old. Methuselah old. Joan Rivers old."
"Bite your tongue," Zach says, taking a too-large swallow of his drink. "She's a legend."
"Is it really so hard to admit you two are friends?"
Zach runs his tongue over his teeth and takes too long to answer; eventually, John just rolls his eyes and walks away.
Chris finds him about twenty minutes later, appearing with a crooked smile and a gleam in his blue eyes, as he usually does. "Hey buddy," he greets Zach, patting the shoulder that still smarts from John's slap. Zach gives him an appraising look and then nods.
"Hey yourself."
"Jack and Coke," Chris orders when the bartender comes by, and Zach lifts a finger before he can stop himself.
"Put it on my tab."
It's worth the ten bucks just to see the look of disbelief on Chris' face.
*
"Okay, so far, we've each had one of the mini vodkas and one of the mini whiskeys. Then I had the mini scotch and you had the mini dark rum."
"What's left?" Zach asks. He crouches down beside Chris and stumbles a bit, catching himself on his palm before he falls on his butt.
"Mini Brut, mini Malibu, mini tequila, mini—"
Zach reaches forward and swipes the tequila from the fridge door, opening it and swallowing its contents down quickly. Chris gapes at him.
"Dude, I was so going to take that one!"
"You didn't call it," Zach says with a gasp. "And that's what you get for such blatant overuse of the word 'mini.' We already know they're mini; you don't have to keep repeating it."
"Mmm, mini," Chris murmurs, looking over what's left. He ends up opening up the Malibu and drinking it down. Zach laughs so hard he nearly falls over. "What?" Chris protests, throwing away the empty mini bottle.
"Of all that was left...you chose Malibu?! That is so queer."
"That's rich, coming from the guy who chastised the kids on set for calling something 'gay.'"
"They have to learn good manners," Zach says. He tilts his chin up and blinks, feeling a little dizzy. He suspects that mini bottles of liquor should be spread out over a longer period of time when imbibed. "You know what's gay?"
"What?"
"You."
Chris laughs, rifling through the bottles for something else. He settles on the mini Brut. "Oh, you think so?"
Zach shakes his head and smiles, lying back on the carpeted floor. They've been back in L.A. for a few days now but they're staying in the hotel where the press junket's being held, just because it's easier. It's probably not a good for them to get drunk when they have to wake up bright and early and do another endless day of interviews tomorrow, but it's the least they deserve after a hard day's work.
"Nah," he finally says. "Even though you did cop to having had a pedicure today." He shuts his eyes for a few moments and when he looks up again, Chris has scooted closer.
"You're the one who said you loved me," he points out, arching a brow. "What's that about?"
Zach looks at him and swallows. "I was playing to the cameras."
"So, you don't love me anymore? Now that the cameras are all gone?"
Zach opens his mouth to respond and pauses when Chris lies down next to him. The television is blaring in the background, as always, but for the moment, the only sounds he can hear are the heavy exhalations of Chris' breath drifting by his ear. It's late enough that Chris is sporting a bit of stubble and Zach scratches his own cheek, feeling its phantom scrape and itch.
"I'm conflicted," he says. Chris looks right into his eyes and his breath comes out a little faster and rougher. "I definitely don't hate you."
"Well, that's something," Chris murmurs.
*
When Zach wakes up again, it's an hour before they're supposed to receive their wake-up call and the room is still dark. His back hurts and he realizes he's still on the floor, the TV still on in the background. Chris is curled up against Zach's side, his nose buried against the rumpled cotton along his shoulder. He looks incredibly peaceful. Zach dares to reach up and touch his hair, which is shorter than it was during filming and bristly to the touch. It tickles.
"Don't touch me, m'gay," Chris mumbles into his shirt. "I might fall in love with you."
Zach smirks at him, wiping at his eyes. "Right—because all gay men instantaneously fall in love with each other."
"Well, if there's chemistry..."
He exhales and feels that scrape along his cheek again, but this time, it's real. He turns his head so his mouth ends up skimming along Chris' full lips, and when he flickers his tongue out, Chris' is already there to meet him. He knows he's got to be imagining it, but Zach swears he can feel something slide into place.
Something clicks.
*
While it's true that sex is the best hangover cure, Zach finds he still needs a constant supply of coffee for the rest of the day. A PA brings him a fresh cup as a bunch of tech and press people set up for the next interview. Chris swigs from his Diet Coke like it's going to cure all his ails.
"Mini alcohol is the devil," he mutters and Zach smiles.
"You look fresh as a daisy."
"Whatever. You look better and you know it."
"I'm not denying that, but you still look perfectly adequate."
"I hate you," Chris grumbles into the lip of his can.
"No, you don't," Zach answers quietly.
"No, I don't. I never did."
If the afternoon crawls by, it's only because Zach can't wait to be alone with Chris again. It's a new, strange feeling and it warms him all over. For once, he can answer clichéd questions about chemistry with ease and a genuine smile, even the awkward one about whether they're prepared to enter into a Shatner/Nimoy-style friendship for the ages.
"Well, it certainly wouldn't be the worst thing that could come of it," Zach says.
Granted, he's not sure if Shatner and Nimoy ever ended up fucking on the floor of a hotel room. He'll have to call Leonard at some point and ask.
