Fic: So Hot Right Now

[withthepilot]

Title: So Hot Right Now
Rating: R
Pairing: Chris/Zach, background John/Karl
Word count: 4,175
Warnings: AU, smoking
Summary: Zach fears for his status at the top of the male modeling industry when a young hotshot comes along.
A/N: Written for the Summer Luau at pintofest, in response to therumjournals's prompt: GQ ZQ. Also fills zjofierose's AU prompt and, to an extent, carmanne's prompt: crack. Takes some cues and dialogue from Zoolander, but doesn't delve nearly as far into absurdity.



"Zaaaaach?"

"What is it, Karl? Can't you see I'm bus—ow! Fuck, Anton!"

Zach rubs his hand over his eyebrow and flinches away from Anton, his new and rather clumsy personal assistant who's obviously never plucked another man's eyebrows in his life, despite what his resume says. Anton cringes and hides the tweezers behind his back, as though Zach will forget that they're there.

"Sorry, Mr. Quinto," Anton says. He looks up at Karl, who's ambled over to their side of the room. Karl bends and takes a gander at Zach's eyebrow.

"It's mangled beyond recognition now, isn't it?" Zach whimpers. "You can tell me."

"There's a red speck. You look fine." Karl straightens up and places his hands on his hips. "You ready to have a conversation now, Quinto?"

"No," Zach huffs, pouting. "You're the worst staff ever. I hate both of you. You're off my Christmas card list."

"Anton is Jewish. Don't be rude." Karl arches a brow. "And I'm not your staff, I'm your agent. Your representation? I get you gigs. If not for me, you'd have a hill of dog shit to your name."

"Um," Anton interjects. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Quinto. Do you want some coffee?"

"Pipe down, Curly Fries." Karl motions to Anton's hair disdainfully as he takes a seat beside them and pulls something up on his BlackBerry. "I'm trying to tell Mr. Quinto here that he's got some competition for the big-name campaigns this fall. Screw the coffee. He can drink coffee when he's dead."

Zach and Anton both exchange a confused look over Karl's last statement before glancing back at him. "What competition?" Zach asks. "I'm the biggest male model in the fashion industry. I don't have competition."

"You will be the biggest, if you don't cut down on Frappuccinos. And you do now." Karl holds up his BlackBerry and they both squint at the screen. "Chris Pine just landed the fall 2010 Calvin Klein campaign."

"Calvin Klein?" Zach laughs and nudges Anton's side. Anton lets out a laugh as well, though it's forced. "Talk about your late-'90s reject bin. Why I should I care? I'm doing Dolce & Gabbana and Prada this fall."

Karl snatches his BlackBerry back, his head cocked. "Yes, well. Neither of those lines have a racy, attention-grabbing, fucking gargantuan billboard hanging above Houston Street currently, do they?"

Zach's jaw drops. Anton clears his throat beside him.

"I'll go get that coffee," Anton says, before he scurries away.

"Karl, what the fuck," Zach whines. "I've never been on a billboard. I've never even heard of this guy. Who is he again?"

"Chris Pine. He's so hot right now." Karl hums as he scrolls through his messages, then shrugs. "You're both booked for the same magazine shoot on Tuesday, so you'll get to meet him."

Zach frowns and slumps back in his chair, grabbing a nearby mirror and examining his eyebrow. He runs his fingers over its dark curve and sees that Karl is right; there's nothing wrong with it. Somehow that pisses him off even more.

*

This Chris Pine guy seems like a jackass. Not that Zach has actually talked to him since arriving on set. But he can assume as much, what with the guy's entourage and the way each hanger-on reeks of pretension and absurdity. His personal assistant is this petite, sleek woman who manages to tower over Anton in the ridiculously tall Louboutins she's sporting. She also wears an earpiece for incoming calls and her outfit is to die for, even if it is kind of insane to wear Chanel on a Tuesday afternoon. Anton, meanwhile, is wearing baggy jeans and a rumpled plaid shirt that makes Zach's eyes bleed. The woman is pouty-lipped and silent as she goes at Chris' outfit with a lint roller, even though he's going to change clothes for the shoot in about ten seconds.

"Why don't you have a lint roller?" Zach hisses at Anton. The kid's eyes go wide and then he takes out a notepad—a fucking notepad, like they're living in the twelfth century or something—and scrawls on it: To do: Buy lint roller.

Karl seems to know Chris' agent. At least, that's the impression Zach gets when Karl stiffens at the sight of the guy walking over.

"Ugh, here he comes," Karl gripes. He looks at Zach and rolls his eyes. "Wait 'til you get a load of this guy."

"Why, is he a total dick?" Zach asks.

"He's...unusual. Or, well, crazy as a mongoose in a tree. You'll see."

The guy seems pretty unassuming to Zach, aside from the fact that he's wearing impeccably tailored clothes and expensive accessories, including a flashy watch and sunglasses—presumably to protect his eyes from the dangerous UV rays emanating from the fluorescent lights. He's Asian and average in height, kind of slender, with slightly messy eyebrows. He could use a round with Anton's tweezers—or maybe not, considering what a menace Anton is with those things. It's not until the guy speaks that Zach realizes exactly what Karl means.

"If eet eesn't Karl Urbehn," he drawls. In a French accent.

"Cho," Karl replies icily. "I'd say it's a pleasure to see you again, but I'm not a very good liar."

"Dzere are lots of theengs you are not good at," the guy says. Then he turns to Zach. "Allo. I am John Cho. I represent ze Chrees Pine."

John takes Zach's hand in a shake and then holds the same hand out for a dollop of Purell as the elegant PA strides by. Zach looks blankly between him and Karl.

"Is this guy for real?" he asks.

"Sort of," Karl drawls. "He just conveniently forgets that he was raised in Los Angeles, that's all."

"I was born in ze South of France!" John declares.

"You're Korean and you grew up eating McDonald's Happy Meals, for Christ's—"

"Hey, guys, what's all the shouting about?"

Zach looks up and sees Chris Pine standing there in all his immaculately coiffed glory. Chris looks even better in person than in the photos Karl showed Zach earlier, when Zach was questioning whether or not a pissant Calvin Klein model was really fodder for competition. I can do European sexy! Zach protested. I can do kittenish doe eyes! And then Karl showed him visual evidence that Chris could do both of those things, too, as well as the coveted all-American look, which is something that's always escaped Zach. He's too dark, too broody, too chiaroscuro. It's why he'll never score Abercrombie, never be in a Gap ad. It's why he'll never be plastered on a Calvin Klein billboard, looking down on SoHo's denizens as they hop from one boutique to another.

Right now, Chris Pine looks fucking edible in a blue V-neck T-shirt and bleach-stained jeans. And he's just standing there, doing nothing. He hasn't even yet gotten into the clothes for the photo shoot and he looks amazing.

"Chrees, this is Zechery Queento and his charming agent, Karl Urbehn," John says.

"Oh, hey." Chris smiles and holds out a hand to Zach in a seemingly guileless gesture. "I've heard so much about you."

"Likewise," Zach responds, shaking his hand. In the last twenty-four hours, he tries not to add. Beside him, Karl is still fuming and staring at John, who seems to be busy filing his nails. Zach reminds himself to let go of Chris' hand before it gets creepy. "Looking forward to working with you."

"Yeah," Chris says. He licks his lips—and damn, isn't that a cute little distraction, Jesus Christ—and looks Zach up and down before he goes on. "You know, I'm really—"

"Come on, Chrees," John interrupts, taking Chris by the arm and pulling him away. "Let us leave Meester Urbehn and Meester Queento to dzeir nose-hair pluckeeng, okay?"

Chris looks a little baffled but he follows John obediently. Karl huffs and shouts after them.

"HAPPY MEALS!"

"Oh, my god," Zach says. He touches his nostrils self-consciously. "Do I really have nose hairs showing?" Anton shows up at his side immediately.

"You need plucking, Mr. Quinto?"

"Get away from me, Anton!"

*

The shoot turns out to be easy enough. They're wearing divine Italian suits, draping themselves all over exquisite, antique furniture and pretending to be young, rich, and bored. Chris fits into the role quite easily, Zach notes. They vie for attention, listening to the orders of the photographer as they move around the set but also taking every available opportunity to nudge each other out of the way. Already, Zach finds himself a little jealous of Chris; he likes the suit they gave Chris more than his own. Or maybe he just likes it because Chris fills it out so well. Karl and Anton both assured Zach that he looks stunning in the suit they gave him, but he's not quite sure. Either way, it's a three piece, pinstriped and fitted to the nines, and it's his job to work it like a fierce mofo, so he does.

That is, until the photographer tells him to take a seat for the remainder of the shoot.

"You...don't want me in the shot?" Zach asks, baffled. Then Karl comes barreling into it, waving his arms around in the way that gets shit done. Zach loves Karl for not being afraid to get batshit on people.

"What do you mean, you're pulling him out?" Karl yells. "It's in his contract, Eric; he gets equal camera time with the rest of the models, and—"

"I know, Karl. I'll take some solo shots of him after I work with Chris for a while."

In the near distance, John yawns as he examines his cuticles and Zoe, Chris' personal assistant, smirks and flicks her long, stick-straight hair back. Zach resigns himself to sitting on the sidelines and watching Chris—younger, hotter Chris, his star firmly on the rise—make love to the camera, his muscles flexing beneath his fine clothing and his electric blue eyes dancing.

"Chris Pine is so hot right now," Anton whispers. It's not meant for Zach to hear, but they are standing right next to each other. Zach does his best not to throttle him.

When Zach does manage to get back in front of Eric's lens again, it's only for a few minutes. Eric seems uninspired and uninterested at this point, and Zach doesn't quite know what to do without proper direction. He basically flat lines for forty frames.

After Zach's back in his own clothes, Karl finds him and apologizes up and down for the grievous miscommunication on set, says it won't happen again, yadda yadda yadda. Zach nods and waves him off, not in the mood to discuss it. Anton offers to get him a Frappuccino and it takes all of Zach's willpower to say no. He grabs his bag, about to make a beeline for the exit, when someone touches his arm and stops him. It's Chris motherfucking Pine, the pretty-boy asshole, all fluffy-haired and billboard-ready.

"Hey, Zach," he says. He shrugs both shoulders. "That was kind of weird back there, huh? I didn't mean to—"

"Oh, right, you didn't mean to get me kicked out of the shoot? You were just so sexy and breathtaking that you couldn't help it? Fuck off, Pine."

Chris' face hardens a bit, then. His jaw clenches and his eyes harden, and fuck, now that is sexy. "You're an asshole, Quinto," he says. He looks Zach up and down. "And a has-been. Though you probably already know that."

Chris gives Zach one last searing look before he walks away, leaving Zach's ego in tatters, his pride in shards, his blood pressure at a boiling point, and his cock hard as nails in his pants. For Zach's own sake, he turns on his heel and walks out of the nearest exit. He stops off at Starbucks on the way home and gets himself that fucking Frappuccino.

*

Zach stays holed up at his loft for three days. In that time, Karl calls him twice (Zach lets his voicemail pick up) and Anton brings him five Frappuccinos. Anton looks a little worried as he hands Zach number five and watches him suck languidly on the end of the straw while sitting on the hardwood floor.

"Mr. Quinto, are you sure you're okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Zach grunts. "What, a man can't indulge in frozen coffee beverages now and then?"

"Well, but...you haven't shaved in four days."

Zach squints and runs a hand over his dark stubble, which is dangerously close to short beard status. Anton's fairly new at his job, but he probably picked up early on the fact that Zach normally shaves every day. Sometimes twice a day. The facial hair tends to have a mind of its own.

"Anton," Zach sighs, peering up at him. Anton's curly hair is unruly and slightly frizzy as usual, and Zach almost smiles as he thinks of Karl's nickname, Curly Fries. "Do you think I'm a has-been?"

"No, sir." Anton shakes his head brusquely and Zach sighs.

"Don't call me 'sir.' You've waxed my lower back hair; I think we're beyond that."

"Sorry. Mr. Quinto."

"Don't call me that, either. Call me Zach."

"Um...okay. Zach," Anton says, testing it out. Then he reaches into his messenger bag and gets out his notepad, writing himself a note to adjust his behavior. Zach groans and thwacks the notepad out of his hand.

"Oh, Jesus. If I don't lose all my money by the end of the week, I'm totally buying you a smartphone or an iPad or something. This shit is ridiculous."

"An iPad?" Anton asks, his interest perked. Then he furrows his brow, reaching down to retrieve his notepad. "Why would you lose all your money?"

Zach sniffs and shrugs his shoulders, looking down at his folded legs. "Because Chris Pine is going to force me out of the fashion industry with his stupid blue eyes and charming smile?"

"Um...yeah, no. I doubt that." Anton laughs a little and Zach looks at him in surprise. He's not sure he's ever heard Anton go for sarcasm. "You're, like, modeling royalty. I'm pretty sure Pine is a flash in the pan."

"Go on," Zach says, intrigued.

"Well, like, the companies he models for—Calvin, Abercrombie? They only keep guys on until they're...what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? I'm probably being generous. Whereas you've got classic, old Hollywood good looks and you're probably going to look hot in a suit until the day you die." Anton pauses and blinks, biting his lip. "I mean, objectively speaking. I'm, um, straight. Really."

Zach looks plaintively at Anton and sucks slowly from his straw. Anton stands there and squirms as he waits for a reply.

"You're a good PA," Zach finally says. "I think I might keep you."

"You were going to fire me?"

"I was thinking about it. I'm over it." Zach motions to the bathroom. "I need a new set of blades for my razor. Go to the Art of Shaving today and get me one?"

"Yes, sir," Anton chirps, seemingly happy to have tasks again. Tasks that involve Zach's personal hygiene. "I mean, Zach." He flips open his notepad and starts to write. Zach reaches out and smacks it out of his hand again.

"Ugh, god, and an iPad. Goddamn it, Anton."

*

Zach arrives at the agency the next day, freshly shaven and with Anton at his side, sporting a brand new and fancy-as-fuck iPad. Too bad the kid can't stop chattering about all the super cool, gee-whiz things it can do.

"Anton," Zach interjects on the elevator ride up. "If I gave two shits about the ins and outs of a fucking iPad, I wouldn't have a personal assistant, now, would I?"

"Fair point," Anton says, going silent.

When they get to the agency's waiting area, none other but Chris Pine is sitting there, slumped in a plastic seat and sulkily looking over an issue of GQ. Both Zach and Anton freeze at the sight of him.

"What are you doing here?" Zach asks, getting Chris' attention. "Where's Karl?"

"He and John are having some kind of meeting," Chris answers.

Zach squints in confusion. "Why would they be having a meeting? They hate each other."

"How would I know? He just dragged me here with him. Told me to sit here and wait until he was done. Like I don't have anything better to do."

Zach opens his mouth to retort but Anton beats him to the punch, clearing his throat. "Where's, um, your PA?"

"Zoe?" Chris smirks and gives Anton a knowing smile. It's a really nice smile, Zach notes. "It's her day off."

Anton gapes and nudges Zach's side, whispering. "How come I don't get a day off?"

"Chill the fuck out. I got you an iPad. Go take a lunch break or something."

Anton rolls his eyes as he departs—the kid's getting sassy, Zach knew he shouldn't have gotten him that iPad—and Zach sighs, sitting down a few seats away from Chris. He supposes he'll just have to wait and see what the deal is as well, seeing as how he's meant to be here for a morning meeting. Zach reaches over and picks up a copy of Details, flicking through the opening pages. He can feel Chris watching him and it's kind of creepy but also kind of titillating. Zach doesn't dare look up, though; he doesn't want to give Chris the satisfaction.

He does groan out loud, however, when he sees Chris' chiseled face staring intensely at him from the pages of the third goddamn advertising spread in the front of the book. Not to mention Chris' chiseled pecs and chiseled abs, and chiseled hipbones peeking out from above incredibly low-slung jeans... Fuck, Zach can't decide if he's more turned on or pissed off.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbles. He sees Chris look up out of the corner of his eye. "A few days ago, I'd never even heard of you, and here you are, giving me your sexy man pose as soon as I open up a magazine."

Chris quirks a small smile. "Yeah, well, if it makes you feel any better, you're like, all over this issue of GQ. Two ad campaigns and the feature fashion spread. It's, like, ten pages of Zachary Quinto. It's fucking nuts."

Zach looks over at the magazine in Chris' hands wistfully. "Yeah. I own eight copies of that issue."

"Oh, so you're modest, too. Awesome."

"Whatever," Zach says defensively, hunching down in his seat. "Don't think you can joke around me like we're friends, all right?"

Chris exhales and tosses his magazine away. "God, what's your problem, man?"

"My problem is that you're a punk kid trying to take my livelihood away from me. And, therefore, I kind of hate your guts. Does that clear things up?"

Chris gapes at Zach, utterly floored, and Zach feels the sudden urge to take it back, a twinge of guilt in his stomach. But then they hear a loud moaning sound and that distracts both of them from the current course of conversation. They hear it again. It's definitely coming from Karl's office. And it's definitely not Karl.

"Oh, my god," Zach blurts. "You think they're—?"

Another loud cry and then, "Say it, Cho! Scream it if you want my dick!"

"Happy Meals! Fucking hell, Karl! HAPPY MEALS!"

Zach rises from his chair, wide-eyed. "So much for that accent," he notes.

Chris snorts and laughs as he scrambles for his phone. "I so need to text Zoe about this."

They stop in their tracks when they hear a crashing sound, something that sounds suspiciously like a light fixture falling to the floor. John starts babbling incoherently, a host of dirty words that are definitely not French. Zach looks over at Chris thoughtfully.

"You wanna clear out of here?"

"Um, more than anything."

"Great," Zach says, leading Chris out of the waiting area. "I know a place."

*

"Wow." Chris does a 360, spinning so he can take in the entire surrounding view of midtown Manhattan, sleek skyscrapers everywhere. "This is amazing."

Zach squints and adjusts his scarf, which Anton helped him drape artfully over his shoulders earlier. "Yeah, I know. I sweet-talked the girl at the front desk a while back into giving me the access code." He's not sure why he's talking so much, but he can't stop. "I escape here to relax when it gets too crazy down there."

"You go to the roof to relax?"

"Well, it's quiet." Zach slides on his sunglasses. "And, like you said, good view."

"Incredible view. I've never seen..." Chris pauses, sliding his hands into his pockets, and jeez, is he blushing? Who even knew that people still blushed? It seems archaic. "Sorry," he says. "I haven't been in New York long enough to get used to it. I probably sound like some kind of idiot from the backwoods."

"Where exactly are you from?"

"Northern California."

"I guess that qualifies."

Zach sighs and sits down on the floor, letting Chris stare at the buildings and planes. It's nothing Zach hasn't seen before. Maybe he's jaded. He's not sure there are many other industries in which one can be jaded by twenty-five. Zach rests his feet on the tops of his knees and digs into his pocket for his cigarettes.

"Hey, can I have one of those? John never lets me smoke."

"It's bad for your complexion," Zach replies. He holds out the pack and smiles. "So, sure, take two."

Chris laughs, but only takes one. He gets little crinkles by the sides of his eyes when he laughs that are sexy as hell. Zach thinks it's a shame they probably get Photoshopped out on a regular basis. He lights both of their cigarettes and watches from behind his dark lenses as Chris sucks on his filter.

"You're funny," Chris says. "I wouldn't have pegged you for funny."

"Because I'm an asshole," Zach says, exhaling smoke.

"Well, you were the other day." Chris squints at Zach. This much direct sunlight can't be good for those baby blues of his, but it makes them look so crisp and clear. "Why've you been acting so messed up toward me?"

"Messed up toward you?" Zach repeats, incredulous. He starts to laugh and Chris shakes his head stubbornly, but then he joins in.

"You know what I mean." He looks at Zach and smirks, like Zach's the one who's crazy. "You don't really think all that stuff about me trying to 'take your livelihood away' is true, do you? I mean, like I really could."

Zach blinks and feels heat rush to his cheeks as he takes another drag off his cigarette. Oh, great, now he's blushing. Today is fucked.

"I guess I just felt a little...threatened. Since your career is just taking off and mine is sort of... Well, you saw what happened."

"So what? You're Zach Quinto. You're like, my inspiration. I almost wet myself when I found out I was going to do a shoot with you."

Zach peers at Chris from over the tops of his shades. "...Really? Wet yourself? You mean it?"

Chris laughs. "Yeah. Plus, John showed me the proofs and you look a million times better in all of the shots than I do, anyway."

Zach has to smile at that. "Don't be modest. You're a male model; people expect you to be a self-absorbed asshole. And you should be. You're so hot right now."

"You mean in general, or your personal opinion?" Chris asks, grinning. Zach snorts and flicks his cigarette away.

"I mean—oh, Jesus, you really are an asshole."

"No, for real. Tell me."

When Zach looks up, Chris is suddenly mere inches away, his breath warm and tinged with fruit juice and tobacco. Zach watches intently as Chris' tongue darts over his extremely soft-looking lips. He folds his hands in front of his crotch to cover up his responding hard-on. Chris quirks a smile and Zach can see now that he's smarter than he looks. Hell, he could get away with being dumb as a brick, and yet...

"And don't just say what you think I want to hear," Chris says. "I'm really tired of that."

Maybe Zach is the dumb one here, because he has no idea what Chris does or doesn't want to hear right now. So Zach leans in and kisses him. Because that's what he wants. When he pulls back, slightly breathless and lips tingling, Zach slowly drags his gaze from Chris' kiss-swollen mouth to his eyes. They're dancing again.

"In general," Zach murmurs. He licks the taste of Chris from the corner of his mouth. "My personal opinion is that you're still an asshole."

Chris smirks and pulls Zach back in by his scarf. "I think you like it, Quinto," he says.

Like it? Zach wants to scoff. I invented it. Another time, perhaps. He kisses the smirk off Chris' face instead.