14 pinto :)

semperama:

things you said after you kissed me

“Whoa.” Zach’s eyes are wide, his jaw slack with shock, as if he isn’t the one that just leaned in and pressed his mouth to Chris’s. “Shit, did I just…”

Chris lets him flounder for a moment, because he’s too busy savoring this moment. He can still taste Zach on his lips—red wine and cigarette smoke—and he can still feel the shape of Zach’s mouth against his. In a moment, they’ll have to talk about it, analyze it, pick it apart and put it back together in a way that makes sense, but for now it’s simple, just a first kiss, his first kiss with Zach. He lifts his fingers to his mouth and runs them across his lips, like he expects to find some evidence there. Surely things like this should leave a permanent, physical impression. A bruise. A scar. First kisses are indelible.

Obviously taking his silence and shock for distress, Zach pours out apologies. “I’m sorry, Chris, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…how many glasses of wine have I had? I—”

“Zach, shut up,” Chris says. He closes his eyes, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to lean in again. First, he has to think. It’s not the right place. The bar is dark, but it’s also packed, and he has already noticed a couple phones pointed in their direction over the course of the night. He doubts anyone was lucky enough to catch that kiss, but they might catch the next one, or the one after that. This is the part where he should consider his career. Should. Fuck, ‘should’ is such a bullshit word. He’s cutting it from his vocabulary, as of right now.

He opens his eyes again and slides off the barstool, because he wants to be close this time, not leaning across the chasm between them. Zach turns toward him as if pulled by gravity, making it easier for him to slide right in between his legs. He takes Zach’s face in his hands and lets the moment settle between them this time, lets it sink in so they can both prepare to savor it. A small, cowardly part of him tells him he’s really doing it to give Zach a chance to pull away, in case he was telling the truth and he really is sorry.

But Zach doesn’t pull away, so Chris leans in.

This time, when his lips close over Zach’s, the involuntary gasp is not from shock—it’s from recognition. Recognition that this is something he has wanted to do for a long time. It’s funny how you can want something and not realize it until you have it. It’s funny how a person can function just fine with a part of them missing.

That smoke-and-wine taste is back, and when Zach’s lips part on a whimper, Chris searches with his tongue for more of it. Zach’s fingers curl into his shirt, but only to pull him closer. He lets out a rush of breath through his nose that would be a moan if his vocal chords weren’t thoroughly paralyzed, and he kisses him harder, wanting him to know that this isn’t impulse or too much wine or one of those bad decisions that you make based on a passing intrusive thought. This is real.

When they part, Zach doesn’t let go of him, and Chris doesn’t make him. He stands there patiently, hands still framing Zach’s face, and waits for whatever admonishment he’s likely about to get now. He can practically feel multiple sets of eyes on them, but he’s afraid to look. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He already decided that it doesn’t matter.

“Okay,” Zach says at last, with a nervous little chuckle, “how many glasses of wine did you have?”

“More than enough.” He leans in for one more peck, to punctuate the fact that he’s not taking that out. “Can we get out of here?”

Zach is reaching for his wallet before Chris even finishes his sentence.