The Vacation 1

An Unexpected Party (With Marshmallows)

Zach rounded on him. “No. Absolutely not.”

Chris blinked innocently.

“No!”

Chris leaned back on the couch, and his face slowly spread into a grin. He folded his hands on his lap.

“I’m not going to spend my first vacation in months in a Hobbit hole with you,” Zach said. “How do you even come up with shit like that? Who even rents out Hobbit holes? The only one I can imagine doing that is Gandalf. And last I checked he was still waiting for Godot with Captain Picard.”

Chris kept grinning, and that was beginning to worry Zach. He was too confident. Almost cocky. Zach narrowed his eyes and studied Chris’s expression. Chris’s eyes, at first sparkling with mischief, darkened at his scrutiny. That soft shift from cerulean to sapphire had an instant effect on Zach. Thankfully, his heart was not so clichéd as to actually skip a beat. Instead, a breathless syncopation took him by surprise. A back beat that skipped straight to his groin.

“How did you even end up here?” Zach asked, backtracking to the very beginning of the conversation.

“On a plane,” Chris replied irritably, his smile fading. “You know those clever machines up in the sky that transport people from A to B?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Zach snapped. Someone had to think straight in this situation, and obviously it wasn’t going to be Chris. Zach hadn’t expected to see Chris again so soon after whatever they had shared during those two days and three nights just over a week ago. He certainly hadn’t been prepared to find Chris of all people waiting for him on his damn doorstep tonight, playing paparazzi bait when he should be safely on his way to New Zealand to film “Z for Zachariah”.

“Yeah, I do.” Chris lowered his head in defeat. “But I think we’re good. I um, I guess I kind of lucked out. And I swear, I really had no idea, okay? I didn’t know she’s in New York right now, never mind staying at the same stupid hotel.”

“Who? What? Which hotel?”

“Iris. I dumped a bag at my usual place to keep up appearances before I came here. And that’s where I ran into her. Apparently she’s here for some cool rich dude she met at the Ryan premiere in London of all things. And well, it’s not public knowledge yet that this thing with Iris was kind of casual. And over, since London. Anyway, some paps saw us and took pictures. They got their pound of flesh and let us go. So we shared a cab. She went to see that guy and I came here.” Chris looked at Zach, his gaze pleading. “And I think she’s decent enough not to blab. So we … we should be good.”

Good. Zach had no idea what they were, but “good” was not the word that came to mind.

Yes, sure, they had agreed it was not just sex. That was a given, really, after seven years of friendship. And it certainly couldn’t be called casual, considering the minor complication of Chris not even in the fucking closet as far as anyone knew. In consequence smart, sane, or safe were not the adjectives that came to Zach’s mind when he tried to describe the situation. On the other hand, this was hardly the first time he’d pushed the boundaries in his personal relationships (or allowed his limits to fall by the wayside). And no matter what the exact definition of their relationship might be, it was a friendship. Possibly the best he’d ever had in his life. It would be all right. Or at least that’s what Zach had told himself.

But then Chris had gone and done exactly what he’d said during that one dumb interview when he’d been asked what he’d do if he were to take Zach out on a date.

He’d written a poem. A short one, just as advertised, but still. An honest to goodness and damn lewd haiku, five-seven-five English equivalents of on and everything. To make matters worse, Chris – whose everyday writing could be a nightmare – had used an artist’s quill and sepia ink to draw the haiku in fucking calligraphy on handmade bamboo paper. The saving grace was a negligible ink splotch in the upper right-hand corner of the page. Thanks to that letter Zach’s inner balance was even more off-kilter than it already had been after Chris’s visit.

And now this. Probably the new and improved version of the “walk” Chris had included in his hypothetical plans for taking Zach out on a date. Zach glared at the shiny brochure featuring the Banks Peninsula on his coffee table. A trip to New Zealand when Zach could get some time off from filming “Agent 47”. Because in March the weather was much nicer in New Zealand than in Berlin and because Chris knew for some reason that Zach had talked about an island vacation. (If Zach didn’t know better, he’d think their publicists’ interns were trying to set them up.)

Therefore, “good” was not the word Zach would have used right now, if Chris had given him half a chance. Crazy, maybe.

“… technically, New Zealand is an island, right? Several even,” Chris went on helpfully. “Two big ones and tons of small ones.”

Zach was in no position to deny that. And he would happily confirm that Chris Pine constituted a damn disturbance of Zach’s Zen.

“A Hobbit hole,” Zach repeated weakly. “Why the hell do you think I’d want to live in a hole in the ground for two weeks?”

“It has,” Chris said and blushed delicately, in a soft flush that rose from his body and crept up his neck until it suffused his face. “A Jacuzzi. And.” He licked his lips. “A sauna.”

Zach was ready to roll his eyes and let loose a mocking remark regarding the difference between movies and real life when he noticed the tension around Chris’s eyes. Suddenly, a strange tenderness welled up within him and silenced the sarcastic retort. He recalled Chris’s frantic passion after the play. Words like “raw” and “vulnerable” crossed Zach’s mind before he involuntarily focused on the tip of Chris’s tongue again. Because no matter if that was a nervous tic or flirtation, Zach was helpless against the sex appeal of the gesture. So instead of taking refuge in flippancy, Zach reached out and trailed his left index finger over Chris’s lips. Fascinated, he discovered that this light caress sufficed to plunge the color of Chris’s eyes over the edge of Bombay Sapphire right into the abyss. Not a pool at all, he thought, but the deep sea with all its mysteries.

“Okay,” Zach said. “We … we can do that. New Zealand.”

He didn’t expect Chris to melt against him at this less than enthusiastic agreement, curling up around him like Harold. And he did not like how the tightness around Chris’s eyes persisted. A curious sensation unfurled inside him at seeing Chris like that, so cautious in his arms. He brushed his fingertips upwards. Gently, Zach stroked Chris’s temple with his thumb. “You’re stretched too thin, Chris.”

Chris huffed but did not turn away from the caress. “Like butter scraped over too much bread?”

“Hmm.” Zach traced Chris’s hairline. He had to resist the temptation of burying his fingers in Chris’s hair, still too long from filming “Horrible Bosses 2”. “You do like those books.”

“And the movies, too,” Chris agreed. “Also, Mr. Hitman, you’re the right one to get on my case about overdoing it. With just enough time between ‘Menagerie’ and ‘Agent 47’ to actually get to Berlin. If your flight isn’t delayed. Out of the frying pan into the fire, that’s what it is.”

“Apples and oranges, Chris.” Zach continued his leisurely exploration of Chris’s face. Touching helped, he discovered. The distance of the past days dissolved into warm desire. “Theater is all about structure and steady work. It’s an actor’s take on nine to five. So while I could have done with time off after the run, I’m not stumbling in front of the camera coming down from the adrenaline high of an A-list junket. Furthermore, I’m not the Jack Ryan of ‘Agent 47’.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Chris murmured, more drowsy than aroused, unintentionally corroborating Zach’s interpretation of his state of mind and body. “Why. It doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. Not with what you’ve been doing here, not with what I’ve heard about your other projects.”

“Mostly the money,” Zach replied promptly. “It’s a smart business decision.” He shrugged. “I don’t quite make the big bucks you get. And no, we’re not going to talk about that right now. But the thing is, I’d be stupid to say no to good money that I can save up to throw at Before The Door if needs be. Also, filming in Berlin. You know how much I like the city. It only makes sense.” He cuddled Chris closer. That was nice. Real nice even. Miles had always been so stand-offish about snuggling. Uncomfortable about appearing too soft – too girly – in any way. To need Zach too much.

“However, when I signed on for that particular project, there were two other things I thought of,” Zach went on. “First of all, fun and diversity. Making a movie like that is a lot of fun, and I wanted a change of pace after ‘Menagerie’. And then … there’s this friend of mine.” He smiled. “We’re a bit competitive. And I hope my friend won’t take this the wrong way – but he’s doing some mainstream stuff right now because he’s at just the right stage of his career for it. But now and again, like, I think he does it because he feels he’d be stupid to say no. And I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not really comfortable with what he’s doing. So yeah. Not my first or my second thought, Chris, but …” Zach couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head and kissed Chris. His friend. Now his lover. A pretty chaste kiss, just a gentle slide of lips and a tickling of tongue along the delicious lines of Chris’s mouth. “It’s okay to mix and match. You’re okay.”

Then Zach had about enough of that heavy-lidded gaze, limpid blue and foggy with fatigue. He shoved at Chris. “Bedroom. Now.”

Chris stumbled when he managed to get up. He must be even more exhausted than Zach had realized. “Also, you really need to brush up on your geography. Coming to New York en route to New Zealand?” He slung his arm around Chris. To steady him, or to pull him closer, Zach couldn’t say. “Chris, you’re crazy,” he murmured. “Because it’s not. En route. It’s nowhere near en route. It’s exactly the opposite direction.”

Chris twisted around to claim a messy kiss that made them both lurch against the wall. “I guess I am. I don’t care. Do you mind?”

Zach knew when to stop with the smartassery. Crazy or not, he did not mind at all. Not when he could have Chris in his arms like this, when he could kiss Chris like this, when he could be kissed in return. Because yeah, those lips and that tongue … Chris was everything Zach had imagined, only more so.

Because he had imagined kissing Chris. More than was healthy. Just to see Chris kissing on screen had fuelled his imagination. In spite of how personal experience with kissing for the camera inevitably rendered on-screen osculation less than inspiring, thanks to inescapable associations with too many breath mints, or worse no breath mints at all. But the thing was, he’d also seen Chris kissing for real a few times over the years. And he’d never witnessed Chris letting himself fall into a kiss like this, ever. And that was Chris. Who had no concept of personal space whatsoever with people he loved. Who couldn’t keep his hands to himself in TV interviews. (And if he managed not to touch anyone else during all of those five or ten minutes, that was only because he was rubbing his own damn tummy or massaging his shoulder under his shirt in entirely inappropriate ways.) Chris. Who was genuinely baffled if people displayed any reluctance about PDA if there were no paparazzi present. Who would turn into an overly affectionate octopus at a moment’s notice if you only let him.

“Chris …” Zach sighed, and then he couldn’t talk or think anymore because here was Chris, Chris in his arms, and oh, those lips again and that tongue …

Despite that interlude in the hallway, they made it to the bedroom fully dressed this time. Zach was almost tempted to try and undress Chris and summarily put him to bed – to sleep, not to have sex, because he looked so damn tired, his eyes bruised with weariness. But it was clear that Chris would have none of that, the way he groped for Zach’s ass and pushed himself against Zach’s body.

Zach drew Chris close and toward his nightstand, though, where Chris’s haiku was propped up against the wall. If he was not completely mistaken, certain negotiations were in order. In his experience, harmonious carnal relations were better served with a general agreement on specific logistics beforehand.

“Autumn’s embers’ glow,” Zach declaimed and brushed his lips from Chris’s mouth to that sexy spot at the center of his collarbones. “Touch me, fuck me, hot and slow, I come home in you …” He pressed another kiss into that delicious hollow, careful not to suck too hard on the delicate skin. He knew better than to mark Chris before he had to show up for filming. “Am I completely off the mark if I assume you wanted to tell me something with that?”

Zach didn’t mind; he was more versatile than most people gave him credit for, even if he preferred to top. And Chris – last week they had crossed a point of no return, certainly; but getting back on top so to speak, Chris might need—

Chris pressed his erection against Zach, and whatever Chris had wanted to say turned into a breathy “Ffff… argh” instead of an intelligible reply. The way he rocked against Zach was entirely expected. The way he laid his head on Zach’s shoulder and leaned meekly into his embrace not so much.

“Nah,” Chris murmured. “That line, it just sounded better this way. Focus on the middle part. I really want you. To fuck me. Though I might pass out at some point.”

Now, that was unexpected. That Chris admitted just how tired he was even more so. And that did make Zach hesitate. When the timing was seriously off, it was better to wait. At thirty-six, Zach would rather have no sex than bad sex (been there, done that; and he preferred not to mention the t-shirt). Plus, Chris had been rather sore last time and somewhat overwhelmed, too, with the practicalities of it all. And the way it had happened, in two short days of intense sex and too much emotion with no routine to get back to … Zach had worried about Chris. His feelings. But now Chris seemed so certain about what he needed. And if you wanted to listen, a body would tell the truth when language and even looks might lie. Chris was clinging to him. His cock throbbed against Zach’s stomach. How in heaven or hell could Zach say no to that?

“I think I can live with that,” Zach said. He reached for Chris’s collar and began to unbutton his shirt. To his surprise Chris let him, just standing there, waiting, almost submissive, his gaze focused on Zach with ocean-deep longing. “Chris …” Zach kissed and licked his way down to Chris’s stomach, to that ridiculously enticing belly button. “They make you lose weight for Zachariah?”

Chris inhaled, a gasp, a sigh, a sound of helpless pleasure. “Yeah, some … But mostly it’s just the junket, I think. I haven’t been eating right. Not even junket junk food.”

“Hmm.” Zach traced a fingertip over the curve of his ribs, the faint outline of bone under hard muscles and soft skin. “I thought some of your suits were not quite as indecently snug as you like them recently. With the exception of that tweed marvel in London, of course.” He pressed another kiss to tender, almost pale skin. “But you’re reaching a certain limit here, Chris. You need to eat more. Healthy stuff,” he elaborated, “and I’m not talking about vegan cupcakes. Maybe figure out a new workout routine beyond sculpting those perfect action hero muscles, too. And no,” he silenced the predictable protest with one more kiss, “I’m not going to start preaching the yoga again. Though it would be good for you. What I mean is something, anything, whatever makes you feel good about yourself. Within yourself.”

Chris smiled against his lips. “I have an idea about that …” He reached for Zach’s hoodie and tugged. “Off,” he demanded and added, with a wicked grin, “Race you?”

“Why the hell did I let you get a head start?” Zach grumbled, his voice muffled within the confines of his top. He hadn’t even thought of the pun, but he could hear Chris crack up. When he’d wrestled out of hoodie and top, Chris was still red-faced and laughing, and not as far ahead in the game as he would have been without his one-track mind.

A minute or two later, they tumbled into bed. If Zach was inordinately fascinated with Chris’s belly button, that was nothing compared to Chris’s obsession with Zach’s body hair. He couldn’t seem to stop touching Zach, and damn, that tickled. Then Zach had Chris on his back, laid out in front of him. Pondering the possibilities, he wondered if he could make Chris’s weariness work in his favor. Even if they were going to Middle-earth together in March, he wouldn’t see Chris for a few weeks. If all he got until then was Chris’s crazy stopover on his way to New Zealand, Zach wanted to put that short time with him to the best possible use. And that definitely included a leisurely blowjob.

“Hey, man,” Chris complained. “You’re looking at me like I’m your dinner and you don’t know where to start.”

Zach sucked his lips into his mouth. “Surprisingly astute observation, Pine. But I think I know exactly how to begin.”

He bent to the task, taking his sweet, sweet time. First he measured Chris’s width and length with open-mouthed kisses, an exercise that sparked a searing flare of heat in his stomach. Then he twisted his tongue around Chris’s erection and luxuriated in the sensations. To feel the silky skin stretched so smooth and tight. So fucking hot. He trailed is tongue along every slightly prominent vein, teased the flare of the head, nipped ever so gently at the base. Each caress presented him with a new, delicious discovery, and the gift of a gasp or a groan. Finally, he stifled a moan of his own by sucking Chris’s dick into his mouth. Not deep, not yet, just enough to feel him full and heavy on his tongue. So good. And to know that this was real and not another guilt-drenched fantasy … He held Chris at the base, for guidance, and so he’d know when to stop. He pulled back and twirled his tongue, toying at the slit. Too good.

“Jesus Christ!” Chris panted. “Stop with this yogi-sufi tongue twirling shit. I’m this close to rapture, I swear to god, Zach—”

Zach stopped. But only because this wasn’t how he wanted the evening to end. He crawled back upwards and kissed Chris. Again, he could barely bring himself to let go of Chris even for the few seconds it took to grab a condom and the bottle of lube. He could still taste Chris in his mouth; he knew this was not a dream. And yet … He’d dreamed of Chris just like this. Waking with Chris’s name on his lips while in bed with another man – who happened to be his boyfriend – was not cool. Waking because he’d had a nightmare of doing that was not much better. Both had happened to Zach.

When he had everything he needed, he stroked down Chris’s arm. “Turn over. Not gonna try to make you exercise tonight.”

Chris obeyed. Zach pushed himself up and moved to lean over him, stroking and kissing his way down Chris’s spine until he was sucking at his tailbone. About the one place he dared to leave a mark right now, not knowing the particulars of the makeup requirements for the Zachariah movie. Then he slicked up his fingers and spread Chris’s cheeks, and …

“Fuck.” There were moments when no other word was appropriate. Weakly, he added, “So hot.”

And tight, never mind their efforts the other week. When Chris was ready, Zach pushed in with care. His hands on Chris’s shoulders, his mouth pressed against his back, his lover’s name turned into a moan: “Chris.”

Zach knew he was being a bastard, but he didn’t touch Chris, and he used his full weight to keep Chris from finding relief in his own hands, disregarding his muffled protestations. He was already so close; to keep Chris from climax now was not that cruel. He thrust deep and slow, trying to wait, to enjoy, to fucking revel in the moment. But then Chris couldn’t help clenching and—

Zach didn’t precisely black out. But he failed at his well-intentioned efforts not to mark Chris.

“Sorry,” he murmured, too blissed out to summon an adequately contrite apology. “So sorry.”

As gently as he could, he kissed the angry red imprint of his teeth in Chris’s shoulder even as he pushed himself up and pulled out of his lover’s body. But Chris just moaned, whining at the separation. Zach quickly shed the condom, wrapping it in a tissue and dropping it summarily on the floor for later disposal. Then he turned Chris around. As Zach had hoped, Chris was still hard, close, but not too close.

This time, he took Chris as deep as he could, sucking hard, softening the edge of his teeth with his lips but biting down just so, while he cupped Chris’s balls with his right hand and curled the fingers of his left hand around the base of his cock at the same time. In spite of his post-orgasmic dizziness he could have continued like this forever. (Or at least another sixty seconds.) But it wasn’t meant to be. With a cry, Chris convulsed and came in hot, sweet spurts.

Yes, Zach thought as he sucked and swallowed. Sweet. Really sweet.

A few minutes later, he pulled the duvet over them and wrapped Chris into a tight embrace. Again, he couldn’t even bear to spoon, never mind that Chris was already drifting off, barely able to blink open his eyes to kiss Zach goodnight.

Zach didn’t mind. Even though that normally happened to him only when he bottomed, tonight he felt exhilarated rather than drowsy from his orgasm. He smiled a kiss against Chris’s lips, before he murmured, “And just so you know, marshmallows are neither food nor a solution.”

That was apparently one of the few things that could still rouse Chris sufficiently to open his eyes in dazed astonishment. “How the fuck can you tell that I’ve been eating marshmallows?”

“Years of dedicated applied research in the field.” Zach licked his lips.

Chris burrowed his face against Zach’s shoulder and groaned. His breathing deepened, and Zach thought he was dozing off just like that. But then Chris muttered, a soft vibration against his shoulder, “About that. You could call my mom, and she’d be able to explain my symptoms to you. Just promise not to ask my sister about it.”

“What?!” Zach didn’t need Chris’s mother or his sister to explain how the sugar of marshmallows translated into the taste of semen.

“Uh huh,” Chris mumbled. “It happened to me before. This one time. Not just falling in love. Not just being in love. But love, like the real thing.”

And with that confession, Chris did fall asleep, between one breath and the next, leaving Zach wide awake and out of sorts and unable to move because Chris was clinging to him like a damn limpet. Zach had no idea how he felt, how he was supposed to feel. Jealous, because Chris had loved before? Or scared? Chris was scared, Zach realized. That was what it was all about. The not eating and not sleeping and the marshmallow binge that made Chris’s spunk taste like liquid cotton candy. Not symptoms of a bad crush or a gay freak out. Chris was terrified because he had loved before. This one time. And gotten his heart broken, obviously.

Zach lay there and listened to Chris breathing and yeah, now he was scared, too. He’d known from the start that he was not some kind of experiment or random shenanigans for Chris. Chris simply didn’t work that way, never mind his dating habits. Even without Chris’s orgasm-induced confession about his marshmallow orgy, Zach had already known that there was more to this, to whatever it was … More than their agreement that it wasn’t just sex implied. And as much as that thrilled him, it also worried him.

Not just because of the strange dynamics between them. Because things were strange: To share a friendship that was more intimate than many of their actual relationships for years before their first kiss. To have the nature of their connection change so abruptly and so profoundly. That did not match any of their previous dating habits. But most of all, Chris. Zach had become aware of his sexual preferences at a very young age. And although it had taken him until he was twenty-four to come out to all of his family and friends, and longer still to go public about it, he figured that was still pretty much “normal” in terms of personal development. Chris, however, was thirty-three now. His homosexual experiences so far could safely be classified as fooling around – as experiments of an adventurous young man who wasn’t a perfect zero on the Kinsey scale. A serious relationship with another man … That was different matter entirely.

Zach closed his eyes. That didn’t help. He could still feel Chris in his arms. Could still see Chris in his mind. He tried to imagine what Chris was going through and failed. And that was just wondering about the personal, private, intimate side of it all, about what Chris was feeling, what Chris was thinking, how Chris was experiencing and processing all of this. Zach wasn’t even trying to take into account any further repercussions yet. At least he wasn’t too worried about friends and family. He knew Chris’s family. They were good people. And he knew many of Chris’s friends. They might be taken aback; they would be worried. But they were unlikely to give Chris much grief. Or at least Zach hoped so. Former girlfriends might show less understanding. And the media … Zach didn’t want to expect the worst, but he knew damn well that the media would get hold of their story, probably sooner rather than later. And yeah, that fallout would be epic.

Zach pulled Chris closer and inhaled his scent – or rather their scents, a unique combination of sex and skin and Cool Water mixed with sweat and Molecule 01. He listened to Chris’s breathing, a soft snuffling sound, not even proper snoring, and way too cute for a grown man. All of a sudden, Zach wanted to keep this, whatever it was. Wanted to keep it all: cataclysmic cupcakes, lewd haiku, stolen notebooks, surprise sex, sleepy sex, even worrying about Chris (his diet and his state of mind), and weird vacations; all those things. He thought of what it would mean to keep it. Of what it would mean to lose it. To lose Chris. A year ago, ending things with Jon hadn’t particularly bothered Zach. The long distance thing simply wasn’t going to work; a clean break was better for everyone. That Miles had broken off with him the way he had, okay, that had hurt. Zach had figured they were doing fine, damn it. But if he was perfectly honest with himself he was more pissed off and nursing wounded pride than in any serious emotional distress over that. But to lose Chris …

Minutes passed in the darkness. Zach composed a list of symptoms in his mind. (His symptoms, this time.) Can’t sleep. Check. Can’t breathe. Check. Heart rate and blood pressure elevated? You better believe it. And his stomach had twisted into a mess of nerves and desire. Zach focused on yoga breathing exercises. Eventually, he managed to breathe deeply again. He didn’t regain any semblance of balance, but his agitation faded in favor of the strangest, softest feeling. Zach thought of their first night together. Of the stolen notebook, of tinhats, cupcakes, and odd quotes. Of Tennyson redux. He exhaled in a shuddering breath.

“I yield,” Zach whispered with much more conviction than ten days ago. But Chris just snorted in his sleep and snuggled closer.

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