The Vacation 2

Queer Lodgings (And Gay Pajamas)

At the post-run party of “The Glass Menagerie”, Zach told the reporters heckling him that after a few weeks in Berlin, he’d be going to New Zealand for a short vacation – hiking and hanging out with Karl. And yeah, at some point he might meet up with Chris. But of course Chris was there for work, not for fun, so … You know how that goes. He’d already mentioned his plans in interviews before. Suddenly refusing to talk about that topic would only draw attention to it. And that was the last thing Zach wanted. Thankfully, most of the journalists were much more interested in interrogating him about “Agent 47” than about his personal affairs.

Zach didn’t bother to let Karl know about the lies he’d told the media. He did tell Chris, who pretended that he was fine with whatever Zach wanted. That was probably a lie, but Zach wasn’t about to argue. They weren’t ready for any kind of big reveal – if only because he still had no fucking clue what exactly there would be to reveal in the end. But he wasn’t so naïve as to believe he could get away with Chris Pine as his “rumored boyfriend” for months. So, yeah, he wasn’t above some strategic scheming to protect their privacy for a while longer. Anyway, Zach doubted that Karl would be hounded over an off-hand remark like that. He also didn’t think that Karl or his publicist were keeping tabs on Zach’s interviews the way Chris was, the sneaky little stalker. If things did get back to Karl somehow, Zach was pretty sure that he wouldn’t mind. Zach’s comment had been innocuous enough, after all. Besides, if he and Chris decided to come clean about this thing between them to friends and family, Karl just might end up one of their first friends to be told.

If they got that chance; if they managed to keep their affair private for a few more weeks at least; if their luck held. Just a little bit longer. Like, around one hour and twenty minutes on the plane from Auckland to Christchurch and a cab ride to Chris’s Hobbit hole near Port Levy on the Banks Peninsula longer …

Zach stared out of the window of the plane. Blue surrounded him, no clouds in sight. Not cerulean, though. Ultramarine? He felt surreal. Supernal. Singularly strange. Eerie, kooky, odd. Weird. Peculiar, perplexed, puzzled. In his mind, he worked through lists of synonyms and eventually ended up with – queer.

Even more so than usual, he thought wryly.

Because the last few weeks had been … absurd and bizarre and curious … all of that and more. First the end-of-run euphoria of the final days of “The Glass Menagerie”. Then the adrenaline rush of Berlin, of learning his way around the city and the set. Soaking in the sights, immersing himself in the sounds of a foreign language, meeting new people, playing tourist whenever he had the chance.

And Chris. To think of Chris (to want Chris, to dream of Chris) was not exactly new. In the course of seven years Zach had gotten used to that affliction. The expected side-effects if you shared amazing chemistry with an attractive co-star. The unfortunate fallout if you suffered from an insane attraction to a good friend. Chris simply was on Zach’s mind. Never mind that he was strictly off-limits for oh so many reasons. (Like the promise Zach had given himself never to revert to his old self-destructive pattern of falling for obviously unavailable men ever again.) Now, after five nights and three days together, all bets were off and all limits broken. But five nights and three days together were not enough to create something new out of everything they had shared so far. Thus they had remained in limbo for weeks. Suspended between friendship and relationship.

A frustrating and infuriating experience, to be sure, but also a time rife with dreams and desires. They could fly right to the moon. Everything was possible. Nothing out of reach. But now Zach had to return to Earth. Entering orbit, he couldn’t help wondering how the next three weeks would play out. If this thing they shared would turn into an adventurous affair, a best/worst mistake ever kind of thing, a friendship with benefits, or into something more.

Into something real.

♦

Their luck held. Zach’s taxi driver was sufficiently rotund and cheerful to serve as an understudy for the proprietor of the Prancing Pony, Barley Butterbean or whatever the character’s name had been. Better yet, Barley either didn’t recognize Zach or didn’t give a damn.

The downside was that just like Tolkien’s innkeeper, the man turned out to be rather garrulous. First the driver had to ascertain that Zach did indeed come from New York: “I knew it. Your accent is a dead giveaway.” (Zach rather doubted that, but he didn’t bother with questioning Barley’s linguistic insights.) Then the man wanted to know if he was in New Zealand for a vacation like a sensible person or if he was here for business in the film industry: “I have to ask; they just did a movie here again, and my wife goes gaga over those actor types.”

Once the driver’s curiosity was satisfied, Zach could lean back and watch fluffy sheep float by on emerald meadows while Barley rambled on: Christchurch and the Banks Peninsula weren’t even Middle-earth country, so he didn’t quite see the point in having Hobbit houses here. But if the tourists liked it, far be it from him to judge them for it. After all, those movies weren’t half bad. What they had filmed over on the peninsula just now, though, that was mighty strange stuff. Science fiction, the unhappy kind, not his sort of thing at all. At any rate they’d picked a beautiful location with Port Levy. By the way, did Zach know that Peter Jackson Himself had filmed there already? “Heavenly Creatures”, a peculiar movie to be sure, but at least local history.

“Well, here we are.” Abruptly, Barley stopped the car and turned to Zach with a broad smile.

“What?” As far as Zach could see, they were in the middle of nowhere. The only man-made structure he could make out in the vicinity was something that seemed unable to decide if it wanted to be a heap of rotting timber or a rather derelict sheep pen. The rest was blue sky, green hills, and white sheep, with no sign of civilization whatsoever.

The man pointed to a narrow path on the other side of the road. “That’s the footpath to those Hobbit holes. The parking place for guests is a bit further down the road that direction.” He pointed ahead. “This is the closest I can take you. You’ll have to walk the rest of the way to Middle-earth.” Barley burbled with laughter at his own joke.

“Oh. Okay.” And that answered the question whether or not Zach should have called ahead. Yes, he should have. Of course he should have. But for some reason they hadn’t spoken on the phone since Chris’s last visit. They had texted, the way they always did. Maybe more often than before. But they hadn’t called each other. Or Skyped. Or done anything else out of the ordinary. Zach got out of the white taxi.

“Are you expected?” the driver asked. “Should I wait here until you’ve made sure everything’s all right? Don’t want to leave you stranded. And if you end up needing other lodgings, my cousin Tara runs a bed and breakfast over near the harbor, and a neat place it is, too, if I do say so myself.”

For a moment, Zach was tempted. A Hobbit hole still sounded more like a practical joke than a holiday destination. “No, it’s fine … If you’re sure this is the right place?”

“Sure I’m sure! That’s my job,” Barley replied, somewhat offended. He dumped Zach’s suitcase on the ground with a resounding thump. Then he pointed at a wooden sign on the other side of the road. “Underhill & Overhill Holiday Homes.” The man grinned. “And it looks like you’re expected, all right.”

Zach frowned at the signpost. There were two signs. The one at the top was a wooden board, the writing burned into the surface. It looked rustic and weathered and pointed indeed an inviting arrow toward the green hills that apparently made up the “Underhill & Overhill Holiday Homes”. The other sign was made of cardboard and tied to the post with hot pink ribbon. The swirly, artsy font was an obvious play on the movies. “No admittance except on Zach-sy business” the careful calligraphy announced to the world.

Only Chris. Zach suppressed a groan. “Yeah.” He pulled out his wallet to pay the fare.

“Seems like she’s really eager to welcome you.” The taxi driver beamed at Zach.

Zach shook his head. That hadn’t happened to him in a while, but it was hardly the first time. It was no big deal. But somehow it was different today. Because this was Chris? “Yeah, I guess he is.”

The taxi driver just laughed, pocketed the money, and handed over his card. “Good for you, man. And if you need anything, like reservations, or a guide for sightseeing, give me a call.”

“Will do,” Zach promised. The taxi roared away, and Zach was left standing by the roadside with his suitcase and his backpack. From a few feet away, a sheep regarded him with serious suspicion.

“Zach-sy,” he muttered and started dragging his suitcase across the road. “Just you wait, Pine. Just you wait.”

The small wheels of his suitcase couldn’t deal with the pebbles of the footpath, so Zach ended up having to actually carry his baggage. The path also turned out to be much longer than the sign with its cheerful arrow implied, leading him past not just one, but three picturesque crossings. First a second path led off to “Overhill Homes”. Then another track branched off to “Underhill 1” and a third to “Underhill 2”. At least Chris had provided more of his silly cardboard signs to keep Zach from getting lost. Finally, the way veered to the right and dipped into a dell.

For a breathless moment, Zach wondered if he had ended up in Middle-earth for real by mistake. Because Chris had not exaggerated: Zach was looking at an honest-to-goodness Hobbit hole. The facade was half-timbered with cream-colored wattle-and-daub and dark wooden beams. Apart from that, the structure looked like a grass-covered hill. The only thing missing from the meadow on the roof were sheep, and Zach wasn’t willing to bet on their absence just because none of those creatures was in sight. The round, wooden door was painted red and sported a brass knocker at the center. From an equally round, red-framed window next to the door a flood of crimson nasturtiums spilled to the ground.

Zach walked up to the door. Above the knocker a small, hand-written scrap of paper was taped to the door with colorful Band-Aids. “Chris Pine,” the sign announced to the world, ballpoint bold. Apparently Chris had decided to devote his calligraphy skills only to Zach. He took a deep breath and knocked. Middle-earth, he thought. Because of course an ordinary vacation in New Zealand is not enough to satisfy one Christopher Whitelaw Pine.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the sun was warm (sort of; at least it wasn’t cold – sixty-ish to seventy-ish, typical for South Island late summer/early fall). And it was silent. Very, very silent. The only sound the buzzing of the bees in the flowers.

Suddenly the door opened, and Chris stood there and stared at him. “What the fuck, Zachary,” Chris said with a fragile smile. “You couldn’t have called? Or texted? Or something?” His words were an exact echo of Zach’s welcome for Chris at the Booth Theatre a few weeks ago. Only much softer, a whisper instead of self-assured, friendly sarcasm.

As if to emphasize this unexpected insecurity, Chris licked his lips. For a moment everything between them – the time that had passed since their last meeting, the distance Zach had to cover to come here, the difference in their experiences in life, the profound change in their relationship – solidified. Strands of separation spun out to weave a tangled web around them, or maybe a magic cloak that didn’t turn Chris invisible but into a stranger. Zach thought of what it must have cost Chris to come to him in New York the way he had done. Not just once, but twice. Now it was his turn.

“I’m here, Chris,” he said. “I’m here.” He took a step toward Chris and crossed the chasm between them. He pulled Chris close, closer, until a deep breath was enough to plunge them into a kiss.

When they stopped kissing, Chris sighed. “It’s like this is more difficult for you than for me.”

Zach didn’t let go of Chris. To feel him in his arms like that, warm and solid, that was vital, right now. Definitely not common, and absolutely essential. He considered Chris’s comment, and three things occurred to him. One, that Chris wasn’t ready to admit how difficult all of this was for him yet. Two, Chris was … well, not right. But three, also not completely wrong. Zach had reached a stage in life, had created a sphere of life for himself, where he could be true to himself without much compromise. The partners he’d chosen had slid in and out of this life easily. Perhaps too easily.

“Not more difficult, I don’t think,” Zach said at last, “but yeah, definitely difficult.”

Chris ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“Idiot.” Zach wrapped Chris into a tight embrace and claimed another kiss. “You’re trouble, Princess. No doubt about that. But I’m here. That should tell you something. Now, how about getting my stuff into your damn Hobbit hole before the sheep eat it or a dragon carries it away?”

♦

Chris dragged his suitcase into the master bedroom, while Zach followed with his backpack. Apparently that was enough normalcy in close proximity for Zach to get over the initial awkwardness. Because if he hadn’t been totally disgusting after way too many hours on planes and in taxis, he would have jumped Chris then and there. As it was, he crowded Chris against the Narnia-sized wardrobe, kissed him with abandon, and only drew back to say: “I’m gross. Shower with me?”

Chris snorted with mock disgust. “How could I ever decline such a tantalizing proposition?”

“You couldn’t,” Zach replied with conviction.

He was right, too, because a short time later he found himself in the shower with Chris in his arms, naked, wet, and wonderfully hot.

The bathroom was ridiculous, way too huge for Zach’s idea of a Hobbit hole, and carved into the hillside like a cave. The promised Jacuzzi was built into a cozy corner with sufficient space to surround it with candles and champagne buckets. Even the sauna appeared to be spacious. With flagstones and warm woods, the whole room was very organic. Hobbity. French doors led outside. The backyard looked like a natural dell and not like an artificial creation. Beyond the terrace, Zach glimpsed a pool designed like a lake. To match that design approach, the shower in the bathroom was styled like a real waterfall.

“There must be a word for that,” Zach mused, kissing Chris’s neck through the hot spray of the shower. “The distance that time and space create between people when they meet again. That moment of awkwardness. And for how you get over it.”

“Of course there’s a word for it,” Chris said. “More than one, even. And more than one cure, too.” Raising his head, he captured Zach’s mouth in a wet, watery kiss. “This is definitely one of my favorite remedies.” He wrapped his arms around Zach’s back, until his hands rested just above his ass. “Sex is another.” Chris pushed his erection against Zach. “But it is weird,” Chris admitted, and Zach could feel his heartbeat against his chest.

“Yeah.” Zach nodded. He nuzzled at Chris’s neck. “It’s better now, though, isn’t it?” He yawned. “I know you’re not supposed to nap with jet lag.” He leaned against Chris. Their dicks pressed against each other with slippery friction, and he enjoyed the soft, sizzling sensation that sparked in his stomach. “But I’m afraid this time, I’m gonna fall asleep after …”

“How about this?” Chris sank to his knees in front of him. “I suck you off, and then we take a nap together. You don’t need to be on tomorrow or anything, after all. We can just hang out here and do nothing. Enjoy your jet lag while you can.”

Chris didn’t wait for Zach’s obvious comeback (“Chris, you’re crazy.”) and sucked him in deep. Then he just held Zach’s cock in his mouth, lips curled inwards as protection from his teeth. He drew back with a sigh, only to surge upward again with breathtaking abandon. And Zach was too tired to do much more than lean back against the warm, wet wall and cant his hips forward. He hadn’t forgotten Chris’s delighted complaints about how Zach had “tortured” him with his tongue last time. Now Zach was provided with ample proof that Chris gave as good as he got. The surreal, floating feeling of jet lag didn’t help. Zach dissolved into the sensations of Chris’s mouth. His lips, his kisses. The careful pressure of his teeth. One hand digging into Zach’s ass, the other stroking his hip.

“God, Chris.” Zach couldn’t keep himself from thrusting. “Fuck. Sorry.”

Chris just grinned up at him and placed his right forearm across his lower belly. And damn it, Chris was strong. Those action hero muscles he sported weren’t just for show. Zach bucked against him and got exactly nowhere. Smiling, smirking even, Chris pulled away. His wet hair was plastered against his skull. Drops of water spilled down his cheeks like tears, even clinging to his lashes. He tilted his head back and looked up at Zach. His pupils dilated with desire and darkened his eyes. But nothing could overshadow the blue of his irises. Like the summer sky. Soft, though. More like a misty morning. And the expression in his eyes … so unshuttered. As if his very soul was within reach, just a kiss away.

“Chris …” Zach sighed.

Again Chris didn’t reply. Instead, he gripped Zach’s hips with both hands and rubbed his face against Zach’s stomach like a cat. With a pleased sound, perhaps a growl, perhaps a purr, he proceeded to kiss and lick his way down Zach’s groin to his cock. Chris twirled his tongue in circles around Zach’s dick, teasing the juncture between penis and stomach.

“So hot, Zach,” he breathed, mouthing at the base, just succulent lips and clever tongue. Zach shivered, because Chris’s tongue was cooler than the hot water splashing down on them, an unexpected and strangely arousing contrast of temperatures.

And because Chris was a fucking tease, he drew back yet again, only to concentrate on the head of Zach’s cock next, delicately trailing the glans, then playing with the slit, then sliding lower again, tracing the vein on the underside. Zach could tell that Chris hadn’t done this very often by how much devastating attention he paid to all those details and how he skipped from one spot to the next in the thrill of discovery. That realization rushed through Zach so hot and so hard that his balls tingled and tightened. From one second to the next he was close, so close, too damn close, and too exhausted to control himself for very much longer. He wanted to warn Chris, wanted to beg for more, but he only managed to groan, his head thrown back against the wall.

Chris, however, had been watching Zach carefully. Without warning, he took Zach’s dick deep, deeper than Zach would have believed possible, considering Chris’s level of experience. And oh God, Zach was grateful for how firmly Chris held him pressed against the wall, because he couldn’t help himself – he had to push into Chris’s mouth, had to thrust, and he so didn’t want to make Chris gag, didn’t want to spoil the moment. Chris sucked, hard, and Zach felt himself slide. But suddenly he didn’t want it to end like that. No matter how much the thought turned him on to come like that, his dick deep in Chris’s mouth, or maybe even spilling all over Chris’s face (after all, cleaning up was no big deal in the shower). No, that was not how he wanted Chris now. Not the first time after weeks of separation. Because it was not about sex, whatever there was between them. It was so much more, and that’s what Zach wanted now.

“Up,” Zach gasped, “get up. Please—”

Chris made a displeased sound at the back of his throat that vibrated against Zach’s dick, pushing him even closer to orgasm. But Chris obeyed all the same. Reluctantly he pulled back and hauled himself up on unsteady legs. They leaned against each other, weak-kneed and wet. No vestige of distance or awkwardness remained now. Only naked skin on naked skin. Their cocks, trapped between their bodies, hot and slick, rubbed against each other, and Zach gasped a kiss against Chris’s mouth. “Yes, like this. Need to hold you. Kiss you.”

They reached between their bodies at the same time, and their hands collided. Chris laughed, breathless. “Luckily, I’m somewhat ambidextrous.”

With his left, Chris gripped Zach’s dick, even as he moved his other hand from Zach’s hip to his ass. The brief respite before orgasm evaporated. Zach’s arousal sky-rocketed again, to that surreal level where pain and pleasure become indistinguishable. He curled his left around Chris’s cock, and drew him closer with his right, even though that made friction more difficult. But he needed Chris in his arms more than an easy orgasm – and he was already so close, so very very close. Then Chris dipped a fingertip into his hole. Just a light touch that barely crossed the line between caress and intrusion. But that sensation was enough to overcome the jet-lagged numbness that had helped him control his climax so far. Involuntarily, Zach tightened his grip around Chris’s cock. At the same time, Chris pressed his thumb to the most sensitive spot on his dick and slid his fingers up and down Zach’s shaft. Chris was not quite as adroit with his left hand, his touch a little uncertain, less firm. The effect was maddening. Within seconds the pressure inside Zach’s body built to bursting point. Gasping, he let himself go and spilled over their hands and their cocks and into the hot water of the shower. Chris followed a heartbeat later. He cried out, a high-pitched sound of helpless desire, and shuddered in Zach’s arms, his whole body tensing and relaxing in the overwhelming rhythm of his orgasm.

By now Zach had spent more than twenty-four hours on the road, on planes, at airports, and in taxis, crossing he-didn’t-even-know-how-many time zones between Berlin and Christchurch. His climax combined with the jet lag had the effect of an off-switch. If Chris hadn’t pulled Zach out of the shower and toweled him off like a child, he would have fallen asleep on the spot, never mind the hot water and the hard floor. But Chris even managed to get him into some kind of sleepwear, something blue with a pattern that didn’t quite register with him. At least Zach was pretty sure that it wasn’t a Star Trek uniform, so he figured it couldn’t be too awful. He was also much too tired to protest. Also, being manhandled by Chris like that was strangely appealing. Zach discovered that he didn’t mind much, if at all.

Sleeping positions proved a problem once more. He wanted to be spooning-close to Chris, but he needed to be able to see him, too, never mind that his eyes were falling shut while they jostled each other for a comfortable position. In the end they settled for the awkward entanglement of their first night together, and Zach managed the feat to drift off to sleep while Chris was kissing him.

♦

Bright light woke Zach. He blinked, disoriented. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, or why the light was on in his bedroom. And he was cold. At some point during his nap he must have kicked off the covers. Oh, right. Nap. New Zealand. He rubbed at his eyes and groaned. He felt hung over and achy. More Zicam, he thought. Definitely more Zicam. Also, that nap had been a really bad idea in terms of jet lag management. His internal clock was completely off. He had no idea what time it was or what time his body thought it should be. But Chris was right – he didn’t have to be anywhere tomorrow or do anything. Although he was sure they’d end up doing stuff and seeing things at some point, this vacation had a different purpose. Said purpose currently regarded him with thoughtful blue eyes behind thick hipster reading glasses. Instead of leaving him to his nap, Chris had stayed with him. Now he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a book in his lap. Outside it was getting dark, and the lamp on the nightstand behind Chris was switched on.

“Hey,” Chris said with a smile. He carefully straightened the green ribbon between the pages, closed the book and put it away on the nightstand. Zach squinted and suppressed a groan. “The Hobbit”. Of course. “Sleep well? I hope I didn’t wake you with the light.”

Zach stretched, long, lazy, and languorous. “Yeah. But it’s fine, Pine.” Then he blinked again, reflexive tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Though the light really is a bit bright …”

“Oh, sorry.” Chris twisted around to turn off the light.

“Urgh.” Zach groaned, blind in the sudden darkness.

“Sorry,” Chris repeated, contrite.

“Nah, it’s okay. Also, this is better. And I did sleep well …” Zach sat up to rotate the kinks out of his shoulders. To feel somewhat dazed was normal after such a long journey. And this – Chris, the Hobbit hole, all of this – was still weird, but a different kind of weird than before. He rubbed his eyes again and thoughtfully scratched his stomach. Slowly, he was waking up for real, and his mind turned to whatever was left of the evening. They could get up, of course. Chris could show him the rest of his Hobbit hole. Maybe they could even venture out of their burrow for a short walk before it got too dark? Or they could stay where they were and … His eyes were getting used to the dim light now. He could make out Chris, who seemed to be utterly engrossed in his appearance. Instinctively, Zach followed Chris’s gaze. And blinked. Once. Twice. He spread his arms and stared at himself. For a moment he wondered if his jet lag was way worse than he’d assumed. Then he remembered just who he was in bed with. And worse, whose pajamas he was currently wearing.

“Chris,” Zach said, his voice low and very soft. “Christopher.”

Chris jumped, the look of alarm on his face visible even in the dusk. “… yes?”

“Why. Am. I. Glowing?”

For breathless seconds, Chris stared at him with quivering lips, hands raised in a helpless struggle for composure. He lost the good fight. With a strangled gargle, Chris slumped back against the pillows. He lifted his head and tried to speak, only to flop back again, wheezing and flailing with laughter.

“Because you are …” Chris attempted to point a finger at Zach. He didn’t manage; he was laughing too hard to keep his hand up in the air. “… you are wearing … my … my glow-in-the-dark Milky Way PJs!”

Chris succumbed to another fit of giggles, before he managed to calm down. When he was no longer gulping for air, he suddenly scrambled for his nightstand. “And—” He giggled again. “And I need a picture. For posterity.” Now he was cackling. “God, I should set up an Instagram account just for this—”

Zach lunged for him before Chris could get anywhere near his phone.

“But the public needs to know—”

Zach shut him up with a kiss.

“But this is impor—”

Another kiss. And another. Until Zach lay stretched out all over Chris, with Chris clinging to him like a love-struck octopus, still chuckling softly, his glasses askew. Carefully, Zach removed his glasses and put them on the nightstand. Then he buried his hands in Chris’s newly spiky, very tousled hair, holding his head in place so he could kiss him again (and again). The corners of Chris’s eyes were still crinkled from laughing so hard and wet with tears. And his eyes … Zach inhaled a shaky breath. He was looking into the heart of a sapphire. He traced those ridiculous crinkles with a fingertip. Suddenly he wanted to taste those silly, happy tears. He was hard, and so was Chris. But Zach felt more than arousal now. His stomach fluttered with a million feelings, all of them tender and fragile and still so very new.

“Yes,” Zach agreed, because that was the safest thing to do. “This is important.”

He kissed Chris again.

---

 

(An Instagram Zach never posted in public.)
(Unnecessary disclaimer: the Instagram is fake, nothing but fantasy, and just an illustration for this story.)

Author’s Notes

The glow-in-the-dark pajamas were inspired by the “Solar System” line of “Make It Good”, makeitgoodpdx at Etsy.

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