![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Apocalypso; Chapter 7: Aeons/Together (8/10)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zach, Zach/Anton
Word Count: 3,900
Warning: Dub-con, perhaps, again.
Author Notes: See Prologue: Kicking and Screaming. This part is named after two tracks on the Apocalypso LP. "Aeons" is an instrumental song, so the first part of the chapter has no quoted lyrics. Then we switch to the high-velocity "Together." Oh, and hey, Anton shows up.
Download: The Presets - Aeons
Download: The Presets - Together
At first, it hurts so much that he can't even listen to music. Days go by and there's not a single tune stuck in his head.
Zach pulls the covers up further and burrows into them, wishing he were capable of spending day after day in bed, until he's creaky and sore from the springs of the mattress pushing back against his weight. But even if he wanted to spend every moment hiding under a blanket, he can't do it; he has a dog and a cat that depend on him, an agent and publicist who leave voicemails and expect their calls to be returned, daily obligations. Without a routine, Zach is lost; he's rather lost without Chris, too, but at least he has something left to rely on, this way.
He decides to pull up some trashy gossip sites for fun as he sips his coffee, something to distract him. His shoulders slump when he finds seemingly endless photos of Chris running, fetching beverages, going out with nameless girls Zach has never seen before.
He clicks on a high-resolution photo and squints at the lines of Chris' face. When he thinks of Chris, he always conjures the image of him on the night they met: fresh-faced, bright-eyed, shimmering with youth.
It's been aeons.
It's only when Noah starts to bark that Zach realizes someone's at the door. He slurps down the last of his coffee and stands, going to the door and peeking outside. To say he's surprised by the sight of his visitor is an understatement. Zach opens the door without fanfare and just stares at Karl as he stands there, hands on his hips, eyebrow raised to the heavens. He doesn't look especially smug or angry, just...Karl-ish.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asks. Zach shrugs one shoulder.
"I assumed you were here to borrow a cup of sugar; my mistake."
"You're such a pain in the arse," Karl says. He pushes his way past Zach into the house and Zach lets him. If anything, the man has always been a friend, so there's no reason to treat him otherwise now. He highly suspects this is not a social call, though. He goes back to his stool and perches there, watching Karl pour a mug of coffee. He smirks when Karl wrinkles his nose at all the Splenda packets he finds. "If I did want to borrow sugar, I'd be shit out of luck, I see."
"Pretty much." Zach watches Karl as he stirs in half a Splenda packet, then looks to the fridge for milk, sighing when he finds only the soy variety. "I avoid dairy if I can. You remember."
"I do now, yes." A short pour of soy milk and Karl is soon sipping from a mug of coffee that obviously displeases him. He keeps drinking anyway. "I half-expected to find you unshaven and disheveled. I should have known better than to imagine you'd give up your tight-arsed routine."
"My routine keeps me sane," Zach says. He looks back at his laptop and squints when he sees the photo of Chris is still displayed on the screen. He closes the window, hoping Karl didn't see it. "I thought you'd be back in New Zealand by now."
"Some meetings came up, so I'm sticking around for a few more days. Some film about...werewolves? Vampires? Hippies? Whatever the flavor of the week is right now."
"Vampire-hippie werewolves from outer space?"
"Yeah, I think that's it, actually. And the women who love them."
Zach smirks. "But they're just not that into them."
"Exactly. A real crowd-pleaser." Karl laughs and sits on a stool across the island from Zach, cupping his mug in both palms. Zach smiles faintly before he realizes he's doing it; it's likely the first time in days that he hasn't worn a blank or scowling expression. Karl lifts his one eyebrow again. "So, you're okay," he says, more of an observation than a question. Zach tilts his head, looking up at him from beneath his dark lashes.
"I'm always okay. What makes you think I wouldn't be?"
"Well, I asked Chris if you two patched things up after the party and he said you decided to break up." Zach's head jerks up at those last words; Karl's declaration is news to him. Karl purses his lips at Zach's reaction and tightens his hold on his mug. "Maybe you're not as okay as you thought you were, then?"
Zach shuts his laptop with a loud snapping sound and gets up, bringing his own mug to the sink. "We didn't break up. We had an altercation; nothing out of the ordinary."
"Well, no offense, Quinto, but he must not think so if that's what he said."
"He just said that because he knows you want him to be done with me. And for some reason, he seems to care what you think." Zach looks back at Karl from the sink with a challenging stare, and Karl returns it for a moment before backing down. He's right, and Karl's face is enough to tell him so. It doesn't make him feel any better. Zach rinses out the mug and exhales. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"I told you, because I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"No, you wanted to rub my face in it." Zach drops the mug on the drying rack once he's done, folding his arms across his chest. He glares darkly at Karl. "I know how you feel about him, Urban."
"Yeah, well, I didn't do anything about it, did I? He loves you, Zach. I'd be lucky if he even thought of me as a...a fun distraction." Karl looks down and Zach can't help but scoff; self-pity doesn't wear well on him. "You know what I mean," Karl says, his voice rough with embarrassment. "You always squander everything he gives you. Do you even love him back?"
"Of course I do," Zach spits, and he has to pause in surprise at how easily the words fell out of his mouth. He almost forgets to roll his eyes.
"Have you ever said as much?" Karl needles.
"I don't have to say it; I say it in everything I do. Chris and I aren't like you and your wife or anyone else, Karl. We don't have to say things to feel them. They just are."
Karl's the one doing the eye rolling now, and he takes one more sip of the coffee before pulling a face and abandoning it. "I know better than to argue with you, Zach. If that's the way you think it is between you two, I can't say otherwise. But I didn't imagine all those girls Chris was picking up in the hotel bars, and the fucked-up look on his face when he said you wouldn't care. I'm not imagining you sitting here alone, mooning over photos of him with random arm candy. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you're full of shit."
Zach bristles, about to unleash his fury upon the man sitting in his kitchen, when a loud crash rings out, right behind him. He turns to see that Harold has found his way onto the counter and nudged the previously used mug from its precarious position on the drying rack, sending it tumbling to the floor. Zach bends slightly, his first instinct to clean up the mess, and then lets out a frustrated sigh when he spies all the broken porcelain pieces. When he looks up, Karl is right there, holding a broom and dustbin.
"Let me help," he says, softly. Zach hesitates before he nods, and then they set about picking up the pieces. The metaphor is not lost on Zach, and he knows it wouldn't be on Chris, either. Zach can almost hear his laughing voice saying, Bad simile, and he directs a small, fleeting smile down at the floor as he sweeps.
Another aeon ago, he thinks. Another age.
***
I want you
You want me
So let's go out
You want me
"I can't believe you actually asked me to go out with you."
Zach peers up from his menu and looks across the table at the pair of blue-grey eyes peering back at him from under a tuft of brown curls. He shrugs and watches as Anton butters a piece of bread. Everything Anton does reminds Zach of how terribly young he is, including his gusto as he bites into the bread. He remembers being as excited about food when he was twenty, except he had a lot less money than Anton has, so it was actually doubly exciting.
"Why not?" Zach says with a shrug. He idly runs his fingertips up and down the delicate stem of his wineglass. "Seems simple: I want you, you want me, so let's go out."
"Well, yeah," Anton says. A light blush rises over his cheeks and Zach smiles at the sight. He hasn't had much one-on-one time with Anton since they finished filming the movie, and truth be told, he's still pissed off at the kid for giving Chris the cocaine at Karl's party. But he's nice to look at, even if just for one night. "You sure Chris won't mind that we're doing this?" he says, looking up at Zach. "I know you guys are broken up, but I don't want to get on his bad side."
"We're not broken up," Zach says, simply.
"You're not? But...Karl said—"
"Karl." Zach waves a hand dismissively and shakes his head. He's sick of Karl by now. Somehow, he managed to sit and listen to the guy drone on forever, the other day, about what Zach could do to make everything up to Chris. It made some sense at the time, but the more Zach thought about it, the more he realized that he knows Chris better than Karl. And if there's anything Zach excels at, it's getting Chris' attention. He tipped off his publicist about his whereabouts tonight and in a manner of hours, photos of himself and Anton will surely be plastered all over every available corner of the Internet. He's looking forward to Karl's pissed-off phone call already.
"Karl doesn't understand relationships; he's married," Zach says. Anton laughs, a bubbly sound tumbling from his plush mouth, and shakes his head.
"I guess you're right. Can I have a sip of your wine?" he asks, pursing his lips hopefully. Zach sighs and pushes the glass across the table.
"When are you turning twenty-one already, innocent child? This is getting tiresome."
"I take offense to that," Anton says, sniffing and raising his chin as he drinks from Zach's rather expensive glass of merlot.
"All right, I take that back: you're not a child."
"That's not the part I object to," Anton says. When he licks his lips, eyes burning into Zach's, it doesn't feel right, but it still makes him shiver.
"I'll order for you," Zach murmurs, and motions the waiter over to their table. He picks out something for both of them and Anton smiles appreciatively, his hands clasped together on the table.
As predicted, the paparazzi are in full force when Zach and Anton leave the restaurant. Zach makes a show of waving them off but strategically makes subtle moves toward the boy as he walks, clasping his shoulder lightly or brushing their fingers together, leaning back to whisper things in his ear—words that look lascivious in the movement of his lips but really are just basic instructions: "Stay close" and "Wait here while I tip the valet." Still, Anton gives him scorching, wanting looks in return, as if what Zach's really saying is: I'm going to fuck your brains out.
Anton seems surprised when they end up parked outside his place instead of Zach's, but it only makes him pause momentarily. "Hey," he whispers, and when Zach turns toward him, Anton reaches out to cup his jaw, pulling him into a deep, slick kiss. Zach returns it soundlessly, enjoying the feel of the eager, agile tongue in his mouth. He places his hand on Anton's thigh and caresses him there before cupping Anton's elbow and gently pushing him back.
"All right," he murmurs, and Anton scrunches his nose. "Someone might be out there," he explains. "Cameras."
"You didn't seem to care before." Anton laughs faintly and leans in again, only to be pushed back into his seat. "Zach...what the fuck? Are you just fucking with me?"
Zach regards him in silence before pushing a few strands of dark hair back from his brow, looking out the windshield. "You shouldn't have given Chris those drugs," he says.
"So...what, you're punishing me?" Anton lifts his brow in disbelief and then looks out the window, laughing at the gears turn. "Oh...okay, I see. You're using me to make him jealous. The paparazzi...right. Okay." Zach exhales, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. He can't lie to the kid any longer.
"Yeah, I am. Sorry, Anton."
Anton purses his lips in thought and then looks to him again. His cheekbones draw in and the streetlamp light catches their shadows brilliantly.
"You could have just told me," he says, quietly. "I don't mind."
And to prove his point, he reaches down and undoes the fly of Zach's trousers, causing his breath to catch. When he's got Zach's cock in his palm, he curls his fingers around it and strokes expertly. Zach's grip on the wheel tightens, as does his jaw; he should have known that Anton has experience with this.
"You want my hand or my mouth?" Anton whispers. Zach exhales harshly, keeping his eyes off Anton and still looking out at the hood of the car. If he doesn't watch, maybe it won't count.
"How about that smart-assed mouth?" he whispers. He hears the answering smirk without seeing it, and feels it, too, as it ensnares the head of his throbbing cock.
Who do we think we are, running 'round all sweaty?
Baby, I will wait for you if we could be together
Zach can't sleep. The air conditioning is on but he's still sweating and he half-wonders if he's getting ill as he rolls onto his stomach. There are a few stripes of moonlight filtering into his room through the window blinds and he wishes he could just turn off the pale yellow disc in the sky. He can't stop thinking about Anton and his mouth, and moreover, how it couldn't compare—would never compare—to the sweet, wet heat of Chris' talented lips and tongue, trained by now to do everything Zach likes. Sure, Anton was new and different, exciting in a way. But nothing about it felt perfect, the way it always does with Chris.
He's half-hard against the mattress and he rocks his hips down, figuring that if he can't sleep, he might as well be productive. Zach thinks of the glistening curve of Chris' mouth and sighs, recognizing the sharp ache in the pit of his stomach as guilt.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles into his pillow. Just then, a familiar weight presses itself against his back and he gasps, fearful for a moment before he recognizes the gust of breath fluttering against his cheek.
"You should be," Chris whispers. He rolls his hips against Zach's ass and Zach is so dizzied by the damn smell of him that he bears down against the bed as a response, then lifts up again, searching for the hardness of his cock. Chris reaches down with both hands and pins Zach's wrists to the bed, nipping at the sensitive shell of his ear, making him groan. "What the fuck did you think you were playing at?" he growls, and it only registers then that Chris is angry with him. Of course he is. Zach practically posed and blew kisses to all of those photographers; he knew what he was doing. He can't possibly be surprised. This is exactly what he wanted.
"I...I wanted to get your attention," he answers, hearing the whimper in his voice. Only Chris can undo him like this, pull him apart like a swatch of discarded fabric. Zach knows he probably made him this way. He's not proud.
Chris wraps his legs around Zach's to further immobilize him, pressing down against the fragile bones of his ankles. "Well, you fucking crossed the line," he snarls. He bites at the back of Zach's neck, setting the nerve endings there on fire and making him yelp. "He's a goddamn kid, Zach. You want to fuck with someone, you fuck with me. Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"Who do you think you are, Chris? Some kind of hero?" Zach trembles, trying to suppress the sob suddenly lodged in his throat. He rocks his hips again, searching for something else to feel. "You're running around, telling everyone we broke up, like a complete coward."
"Because I need to get the fuck away from you, Zach!"
Chris bears down again, now letting himself rut against Zach's ass properly, and Zach does the same, against the bed, wishing he could reclaim his hands from Chris to cover his ears or pull a pillow over his head. Chris is right. Chris is so right. He should run, far away from this place, from Zach, from everything and everyone out to corrupt his golden soul. He can still make it out alive.
"Y-you need me, Chris...I need you," he gasps, trying to grip the sheets between his fingers. Chris bucks against him and forces him harder into the mattress and he jerks uncontrollably. "Fuck, I love you..."
"Oh, god...fuck you, Zach," Chris mutters against his neck. He grips his wrists so hard that Zach knows he'll leave bruises. He pictures himself walking around naked, in broad daylight where all the paps can see, sporting Chris' marks all over his neck, arms, and back. The mere thought that everyone can tell he belongs to Chris just by looking at him sends him shuddering against the sheets, smothering a wail against his pillow.
He feels Chris' grip loosen and concentrates on the heavy breath still beating against the ticklish skin behind his ear, his muscles still vibrating with the aftershocks of something so fresh, so new and delicate that he can't name it. "Fuck me, please," he murmurs, and only then does Chris let go, to fetch the lube out of the drawer.
Such a lovely face; such an ugly city
Baby, I will wait for you if we could be together forever
After Chris is spent, he doesn't move for a while and Zach is pleased with that. He feels incredibly full, as clichéd as that sounds. He's not usually submissive—they both know this very well—but right now, all he wants is to be held and protected by this stunning man. He wants Chris to do for him what he's never been able to do for Chris. It's hypocritical, he knows, but he's selfish, just like everyone else in this ugly city. If it wasn't him who'd gotten to Chris first, someone else would have, and that's a thought terrible enough to break Zach's heart.
Chris remains draped over him even after he pulls out and Zach spends a while sliding his fingertips up and down the muscled slope of his bicep, tracing the veins and relishing the feel of his pulse. He kisses the crook of his elbow. He does everything but look at that lovely face because he's not sure he can bear it.
Whatever is meant to happen next, Zach feels somewhat relieved. He said what he needed to say to Chris; he did what Karl said he needed to do. The guilt over Anton and what they wrought has been washed away by a warm feeling of contentment that Zach hasn't experienced in ages. He and Chris might still be angry at each other, but it's now well into a new day, and things already feel completely different—better. Maybe they can do this, now; maybe they can be together.
When the sunlight pries Zach's eyes open and he finds his bed without Chris in it, he gets up and goes to the bathroom, taking a piss and brushing his teeth. He looks in the mirror and takes in his bloodshot eyes, as well as the violet blossoms along his neck, and has to stop himself from droning, I am Zach's complete lack of surprise. He needs a shower, but he decides to wait for now.
He's got a million messages on his phone from last night and this morning, from his agent, his mom, brother, publicist, Zoe. Shit, Zoe. He listens to that one a second time.
"Oh, honey, you did not. You did not do what I think you did. Oh, honey. Zach. Shit. Will you call me? Please call me. I am your friend. I will listen to you."
She says those last two lines extra slow, as if Zach isn't quite right in the head, which isn't far from the truth. He smiles, despite himself, and picks up the phone.
"Zach!" Zoe picks up on the second ring and is breathless when she answers, as if she just ran across the entire length of her penthouse. "What the fuck, Zach."
"I know," he says, running a hand through his wild bedhead. He squints, still getting used to all the light in the house. "It was dumb. But it's fine; it won't happen again."
"What won't happen again? You getting photographed out on the town with Anton, or Chris getting photographed leaving your place at the crack of dawn?"
Zach blinks, his jaw dropping. "Oh...fuck me," he whispers.
"I would, but then my ass would be all over Perez Hilton. Zach, what is going on with you? I thought you knew to be more careful than this. Everyone's worried about you...your publicist even called me, she's so crazed. Have you called her?"
"I..." Zach exhales, the fear coursing through him like lightning. He's losing control and he can feel it slipping away. Everything that he once warned Chris about is suddenly happening to him, to them, because he's been careless. He can already picture the Perez Hilton homepage, splashed with photos of all three of them and something hopelessly clever scrawled over their faces, like, Gay Trek. "I'll call you back, Z," he says.
"Yeah, okay," she sighs.
Zach hangs up and holds his phone with shaky hands. He calls Chris immediately, grunting in frustration when he gets his annoyingly perky voicemail message. He tries calling again and again, and nothing. Finally, he decides to leave a message.
"Chris, it's me," he says, and he blanks for a moment on what to say. Finally, he forces his brain to wake up, clearing his throat when he finds himself hoarse. "If...if you need me, call me. If you need to hide out here, or you want to get away for a while, or...I don't know, anything. Call me, okay? I'll be here all day. I'll be right here, waiting for your call." He licks his lips and pauses, shutting his eyes. "We should be together right now. I'll wait for you."
Zach ends the call and sits down on the sofa, curling his fingers in his hair. Fuck his routine today; he's waiting for Chris.
We could be together forever
Previous: Eucalyptus || Next: This Boy's in Love
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zach, Zach/Anton
Word Count: 3,900
Warning: Dub-con, perhaps, again.
Author Notes: See Prologue: Kicking and Screaming. This part is named after two tracks on the Apocalypso LP. "Aeons" is an instrumental song, so the first part of the chapter has no quoted lyrics. Then we switch to the high-velocity "Together." Oh, and hey, Anton shows up.
Download: The Presets - Aeons
Download: The Presets - Together
At first, it hurts so much that he can't even listen to music. Days go by and there's not a single tune stuck in his head.
Zach pulls the covers up further and burrows into them, wishing he were capable of spending day after day in bed, until he's creaky and sore from the springs of the mattress pushing back against his weight. But even if he wanted to spend every moment hiding under a blanket, he can't do it; he has a dog and a cat that depend on him, an agent and publicist who leave voicemails and expect their calls to be returned, daily obligations. Without a routine, Zach is lost; he's rather lost without Chris, too, but at least he has something left to rely on, this way.
He decides to pull up some trashy gossip sites for fun as he sips his coffee, something to distract him. His shoulders slump when he finds seemingly endless photos of Chris running, fetching beverages, going out with nameless girls Zach has never seen before.
He clicks on a high-resolution photo and squints at the lines of Chris' face. When he thinks of Chris, he always conjures the image of him on the night they met: fresh-faced, bright-eyed, shimmering with youth.
It's been aeons.
It's only when Noah starts to bark that Zach realizes someone's at the door. He slurps down the last of his coffee and stands, going to the door and peeking outside. To say he's surprised by the sight of his visitor is an understatement. Zach opens the door without fanfare and just stares at Karl as he stands there, hands on his hips, eyebrow raised to the heavens. He doesn't look especially smug or angry, just...Karl-ish.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asks. Zach shrugs one shoulder.
"I assumed you were here to borrow a cup of sugar; my mistake."
"You're such a pain in the arse," Karl says. He pushes his way past Zach into the house and Zach lets him. If anything, the man has always been a friend, so there's no reason to treat him otherwise now. He highly suspects this is not a social call, though. He goes back to his stool and perches there, watching Karl pour a mug of coffee. He smirks when Karl wrinkles his nose at all the Splenda packets he finds. "If I did want to borrow sugar, I'd be shit out of luck, I see."
"Pretty much." Zach watches Karl as he stirs in half a Splenda packet, then looks to the fridge for milk, sighing when he finds only the soy variety. "I avoid dairy if I can. You remember."
"I do now, yes." A short pour of soy milk and Karl is soon sipping from a mug of coffee that obviously displeases him. He keeps drinking anyway. "I half-expected to find you unshaven and disheveled. I should have known better than to imagine you'd give up your tight-arsed routine."
"My routine keeps me sane," Zach says. He looks back at his laptop and squints when he sees the photo of Chris is still displayed on the screen. He closes the window, hoping Karl didn't see it. "I thought you'd be back in New Zealand by now."
"Some meetings came up, so I'm sticking around for a few more days. Some film about...werewolves? Vampires? Hippies? Whatever the flavor of the week is right now."
"Vampire-hippie werewolves from outer space?"
"Yeah, I think that's it, actually. And the women who love them."
Zach smirks. "But they're just not that into them."
"Exactly. A real crowd-pleaser." Karl laughs and sits on a stool across the island from Zach, cupping his mug in both palms. Zach smiles faintly before he realizes he's doing it; it's likely the first time in days that he hasn't worn a blank or scowling expression. Karl lifts his one eyebrow again. "So, you're okay," he says, more of an observation than a question. Zach tilts his head, looking up at him from beneath his dark lashes.
"I'm always okay. What makes you think I wouldn't be?"
"Well, I asked Chris if you two patched things up after the party and he said you decided to break up." Zach's head jerks up at those last words; Karl's declaration is news to him. Karl purses his lips at Zach's reaction and tightens his hold on his mug. "Maybe you're not as okay as you thought you were, then?"
Zach shuts his laptop with a loud snapping sound and gets up, bringing his own mug to the sink. "We didn't break up. We had an altercation; nothing out of the ordinary."
"Well, no offense, Quinto, but he must not think so if that's what he said."
"He just said that because he knows you want him to be done with me. And for some reason, he seems to care what you think." Zach looks back at Karl from the sink with a challenging stare, and Karl returns it for a moment before backing down. He's right, and Karl's face is enough to tell him so. It doesn't make him feel any better. Zach rinses out the mug and exhales. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"I told you, because I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"No, you wanted to rub my face in it." Zach drops the mug on the drying rack once he's done, folding his arms across his chest. He glares darkly at Karl. "I know how you feel about him, Urban."
"Yeah, well, I didn't do anything about it, did I? He loves you, Zach. I'd be lucky if he even thought of me as a...a fun distraction." Karl looks down and Zach can't help but scoff; self-pity doesn't wear well on him. "You know what I mean," Karl says, his voice rough with embarrassment. "You always squander everything he gives you. Do you even love him back?"
"Of course I do," Zach spits, and he has to pause in surprise at how easily the words fell out of his mouth. He almost forgets to roll his eyes.
"Have you ever said as much?" Karl needles.
"I don't have to say it; I say it in everything I do. Chris and I aren't like you and your wife or anyone else, Karl. We don't have to say things to feel them. They just are."
Karl's the one doing the eye rolling now, and he takes one more sip of the coffee before pulling a face and abandoning it. "I know better than to argue with you, Zach. If that's the way you think it is between you two, I can't say otherwise. But I didn't imagine all those girls Chris was picking up in the hotel bars, and the fucked-up look on his face when he said you wouldn't care. I'm not imagining you sitting here alone, mooning over photos of him with random arm candy. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you're full of shit."
Zach bristles, about to unleash his fury upon the man sitting in his kitchen, when a loud crash rings out, right behind him. He turns to see that Harold has found his way onto the counter and nudged the previously used mug from its precarious position on the drying rack, sending it tumbling to the floor. Zach bends slightly, his first instinct to clean up the mess, and then lets out a frustrated sigh when he spies all the broken porcelain pieces. When he looks up, Karl is right there, holding a broom and dustbin.
"Let me help," he says, softly. Zach hesitates before he nods, and then they set about picking up the pieces. The metaphor is not lost on Zach, and he knows it wouldn't be on Chris, either. Zach can almost hear his laughing voice saying, Bad simile, and he directs a small, fleeting smile down at the floor as he sweeps.
Another aeon ago, he thinks. Another age.
***
I want you
You want me
So let's go out
You want me
"I can't believe you actually asked me to go out with you."
Zach peers up from his menu and looks across the table at the pair of blue-grey eyes peering back at him from under a tuft of brown curls. He shrugs and watches as Anton butters a piece of bread. Everything Anton does reminds Zach of how terribly young he is, including his gusto as he bites into the bread. He remembers being as excited about food when he was twenty, except he had a lot less money than Anton has, so it was actually doubly exciting.
"Why not?" Zach says with a shrug. He idly runs his fingertips up and down the delicate stem of his wineglass. "Seems simple: I want you, you want me, so let's go out."
"Well, yeah," Anton says. A light blush rises over his cheeks and Zach smiles at the sight. He hasn't had much one-on-one time with Anton since they finished filming the movie, and truth be told, he's still pissed off at the kid for giving Chris the cocaine at Karl's party. But he's nice to look at, even if just for one night. "You sure Chris won't mind that we're doing this?" he says, looking up at Zach. "I know you guys are broken up, but I don't want to get on his bad side."
"We're not broken up," Zach says, simply.
"You're not? But...Karl said—"
"Karl." Zach waves a hand dismissively and shakes his head. He's sick of Karl by now. Somehow, he managed to sit and listen to the guy drone on forever, the other day, about what Zach could do to make everything up to Chris. It made some sense at the time, but the more Zach thought about it, the more he realized that he knows Chris better than Karl. And if there's anything Zach excels at, it's getting Chris' attention. He tipped off his publicist about his whereabouts tonight and in a manner of hours, photos of himself and Anton will surely be plastered all over every available corner of the Internet. He's looking forward to Karl's pissed-off phone call already.
"Karl doesn't understand relationships; he's married," Zach says. Anton laughs, a bubbly sound tumbling from his plush mouth, and shakes his head.
"I guess you're right. Can I have a sip of your wine?" he asks, pursing his lips hopefully. Zach sighs and pushes the glass across the table.
"When are you turning twenty-one already, innocent child? This is getting tiresome."
"I take offense to that," Anton says, sniffing and raising his chin as he drinks from Zach's rather expensive glass of merlot.
"All right, I take that back: you're not a child."
"That's not the part I object to," Anton says. When he licks his lips, eyes burning into Zach's, it doesn't feel right, but it still makes him shiver.
"I'll order for you," Zach murmurs, and motions the waiter over to their table. He picks out something for both of them and Anton smiles appreciatively, his hands clasped together on the table.
As predicted, the paparazzi are in full force when Zach and Anton leave the restaurant. Zach makes a show of waving them off but strategically makes subtle moves toward the boy as he walks, clasping his shoulder lightly or brushing their fingers together, leaning back to whisper things in his ear—words that look lascivious in the movement of his lips but really are just basic instructions: "Stay close" and "Wait here while I tip the valet." Still, Anton gives him scorching, wanting looks in return, as if what Zach's really saying is: I'm going to fuck your brains out.
Anton seems surprised when they end up parked outside his place instead of Zach's, but it only makes him pause momentarily. "Hey," he whispers, and when Zach turns toward him, Anton reaches out to cup his jaw, pulling him into a deep, slick kiss. Zach returns it soundlessly, enjoying the feel of the eager, agile tongue in his mouth. He places his hand on Anton's thigh and caresses him there before cupping Anton's elbow and gently pushing him back.
"All right," he murmurs, and Anton scrunches his nose. "Someone might be out there," he explains. "Cameras."
"You didn't seem to care before." Anton laughs faintly and leans in again, only to be pushed back into his seat. "Zach...what the fuck? Are you just fucking with me?"
Zach regards him in silence before pushing a few strands of dark hair back from his brow, looking out the windshield. "You shouldn't have given Chris those drugs," he says.
"So...what, you're punishing me?" Anton lifts his brow in disbelief and then looks out the window, laughing at the gears turn. "Oh...okay, I see. You're using me to make him jealous. The paparazzi...right. Okay." Zach exhales, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. He can't lie to the kid any longer.
"Yeah, I am. Sorry, Anton."
Anton purses his lips in thought and then looks to him again. His cheekbones draw in and the streetlamp light catches their shadows brilliantly.
"You could have just told me," he says, quietly. "I don't mind."
And to prove his point, he reaches down and undoes the fly of Zach's trousers, causing his breath to catch. When he's got Zach's cock in his palm, he curls his fingers around it and strokes expertly. Zach's grip on the wheel tightens, as does his jaw; he should have known that Anton has experience with this.
"You want my hand or my mouth?" Anton whispers. Zach exhales harshly, keeping his eyes off Anton and still looking out at the hood of the car. If he doesn't watch, maybe it won't count.
"How about that smart-assed mouth?" he whispers. He hears the answering smirk without seeing it, and feels it, too, as it ensnares the head of his throbbing cock.
Who do we think we are, running 'round all sweaty?
Baby, I will wait for you if we could be together
Zach can't sleep. The air conditioning is on but he's still sweating and he half-wonders if he's getting ill as he rolls onto his stomach. There are a few stripes of moonlight filtering into his room through the window blinds and he wishes he could just turn off the pale yellow disc in the sky. He can't stop thinking about Anton and his mouth, and moreover, how it couldn't compare—would never compare—to the sweet, wet heat of Chris' talented lips and tongue, trained by now to do everything Zach likes. Sure, Anton was new and different, exciting in a way. But nothing about it felt perfect, the way it always does with Chris.
He's half-hard against the mattress and he rocks his hips down, figuring that if he can't sleep, he might as well be productive. Zach thinks of the glistening curve of Chris' mouth and sighs, recognizing the sharp ache in the pit of his stomach as guilt.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles into his pillow. Just then, a familiar weight presses itself against his back and he gasps, fearful for a moment before he recognizes the gust of breath fluttering against his cheek.
"You should be," Chris whispers. He rolls his hips against Zach's ass and Zach is so dizzied by the damn smell of him that he bears down against the bed as a response, then lifts up again, searching for the hardness of his cock. Chris reaches down with both hands and pins Zach's wrists to the bed, nipping at the sensitive shell of his ear, making him groan. "What the fuck did you think you were playing at?" he growls, and it only registers then that Chris is angry with him. Of course he is. Zach practically posed and blew kisses to all of those photographers; he knew what he was doing. He can't possibly be surprised. This is exactly what he wanted.
"I...I wanted to get your attention," he answers, hearing the whimper in his voice. Only Chris can undo him like this, pull him apart like a swatch of discarded fabric. Zach knows he probably made him this way. He's not proud.
Chris wraps his legs around Zach's to further immobilize him, pressing down against the fragile bones of his ankles. "Well, you fucking crossed the line," he snarls. He bites at the back of Zach's neck, setting the nerve endings there on fire and making him yelp. "He's a goddamn kid, Zach. You want to fuck with someone, you fuck with me. Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"Who do you think you are, Chris? Some kind of hero?" Zach trembles, trying to suppress the sob suddenly lodged in his throat. He rocks his hips again, searching for something else to feel. "You're running around, telling everyone we broke up, like a complete coward."
"Because I need to get the fuck away from you, Zach!"
Chris bears down again, now letting himself rut against Zach's ass properly, and Zach does the same, against the bed, wishing he could reclaim his hands from Chris to cover his ears or pull a pillow over his head. Chris is right. Chris is so right. He should run, far away from this place, from Zach, from everything and everyone out to corrupt his golden soul. He can still make it out alive.
"Y-you need me, Chris...I need you," he gasps, trying to grip the sheets between his fingers. Chris bucks against him and forces him harder into the mattress and he jerks uncontrollably. "Fuck, I love you..."
"Oh, god...fuck you, Zach," Chris mutters against his neck. He grips his wrists so hard that Zach knows he'll leave bruises. He pictures himself walking around naked, in broad daylight where all the paps can see, sporting Chris' marks all over his neck, arms, and back. The mere thought that everyone can tell he belongs to Chris just by looking at him sends him shuddering against the sheets, smothering a wail against his pillow.
He feels Chris' grip loosen and concentrates on the heavy breath still beating against the ticklish skin behind his ear, his muscles still vibrating with the aftershocks of something so fresh, so new and delicate that he can't name it. "Fuck me, please," he murmurs, and only then does Chris let go, to fetch the lube out of the drawer.
Such a lovely face; such an ugly city
Baby, I will wait for you if we could be together forever
After Chris is spent, he doesn't move for a while and Zach is pleased with that. He feels incredibly full, as clichéd as that sounds. He's not usually submissive—they both know this very well—but right now, all he wants is to be held and protected by this stunning man. He wants Chris to do for him what he's never been able to do for Chris. It's hypocritical, he knows, but he's selfish, just like everyone else in this ugly city. If it wasn't him who'd gotten to Chris first, someone else would have, and that's a thought terrible enough to break Zach's heart.
Chris remains draped over him even after he pulls out and Zach spends a while sliding his fingertips up and down the muscled slope of his bicep, tracing the veins and relishing the feel of his pulse. He kisses the crook of his elbow. He does everything but look at that lovely face because he's not sure he can bear it.
Whatever is meant to happen next, Zach feels somewhat relieved. He said what he needed to say to Chris; he did what Karl said he needed to do. The guilt over Anton and what they wrought has been washed away by a warm feeling of contentment that Zach hasn't experienced in ages. He and Chris might still be angry at each other, but it's now well into a new day, and things already feel completely different—better. Maybe they can do this, now; maybe they can be together.
When the sunlight pries Zach's eyes open and he finds his bed without Chris in it, he gets up and goes to the bathroom, taking a piss and brushing his teeth. He looks in the mirror and takes in his bloodshot eyes, as well as the violet blossoms along his neck, and has to stop himself from droning, I am Zach's complete lack of surprise. He needs a shower, but he decides to wait for now.
He's got a million messages on his phone from last night and this morning, from his agent, his mom, brother, publicist, Zoe. Shit, Zoe. He listens to that one a second time.
"Oh, honey, you did not. You did not do what I think you did. Oh, honey. Zach. Shit. Will you call me? Please call me. I am your friend. I will listen to you."
She says those last two lines extra slow, as if Zach isn't quite right in the head, which isn't far from the truth. He smiles, despite himself, and picks up the phone.
"Zach!" Zoe picks up on the second ring and is breathless when she answers, as if she just ran across the entire length of her penthouse. "What the fuck, Zach."
"I know," he says, running a hand through his wild bedhead. He squints, still getting used to all the light in the house. "It was dumb. But it's fine; it won't happen again."
"What won't happen again? You getting photographed out on the town with Anton, or Chris getting photographed leaving your place at the crack of dawn?"
Zach blinks, his jaw dropping. "Oh...fuck me," he whispers.
"I would, but then my ass would be all over Perez Hilton. Zach, what is going on with you? I thought you knew to be more careful than this. Everyone's worried about you...your publicist even called me, she's so crazed. Have you called her?"
"I..." Zach exhales, the fear coursing through him like lightning. He's losing control and he can feel it slipping away. Everything that he once warned Chris about is suddenly happening to him, to them, because he's been careless. He can already picture the Perez Hilton homepage, splashed with photos of all three of them and something hopelessly clever scrawled over their faces, like, Gay Trek. "I'll call you back, Z," he says.
"Yeah, okay," she sighs.
Zach hangs up and holds his phone with shaky hands. He calls Chris immediately, grunting in frustration when he gets his annoyingly perky voicemail message. He tries calling again and again, and nothing. Finally, he decides to leave a message.
"Chris, it's me," he says, and he blanks for a moment on what to say. Finally, he forces his brain to wake up, clearing his throat when he finds himself hoarse. "If...if you need me, call me. If you need to hide out here, or you want to get away for a while, or...I don't know, anything. Call me, okay? I'll be here all day. I'll be right here, waiting for your call." He licks his lips and pauses, shutting his eyes. "We should be together right now. I'll wait for you."
Zach ends the call and sits down on the sofa, curling his fingers in his hair. Fuck his routine today; he's waiting for Chris.
We could be together forever
Previous: Eucalyptus || Next: This Boy's in Love
