Pinto; reading

entrenous88:

A/N:  I meant to write just one drabble, but hey, have six one-hundred word drabbles!  And yay, I’m finally getting to the ask-prompts I took for Pinto de Mayo!  It may take me a bit to get to the others; I appreciate your patience.  ❤

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The Same Page

i.

“So.  What do you think?” Chris stood hovering in front of Zach, gripping his coffee mug with white knuckled hands.

Zach exhaled and pressed his palm against his forehead.  “I’m on page seven, man; I don’t know yet.”

“Oh.  Oh right.“  Chris’s face fell.

“I’m sure it’ll be great.“  Zach readjusted himself on Chris’s couch and turned his attention back to the thick manuscript. 

Ten minutes passed. 

“Um.  Are you on chapter two yet?  Because that transition–”

“Chris, do you want me to read this draft of your book or not?”

“Fine, fine.  I’ll just.“  Chris gestured vaguely and disappeared.

ii.

Zach kept reading, through kitchen clattering (“Thyme!” Chris exclaimed in a eureka! voice after dropping what sounded like all of his pots), through snatches of exasperated phone conversations (“No, don’t set me up.  I keep telling you I’m cool on my own, Katie”), and through a welcome stretch of silence after Chris made an exaggerated show out of tiptoeing out the back door. 

He switched positions and locations, from the couch to the guest room bed to the comfy leather chair in Chris’s study, absently drinking from water glasses or coffee mugs that appeared silently within reach at regular intervals.

iii.

Twilight had crept in by the time Zach stood, stretching his stiff limbs, and went in search of Chris.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Chris said in a rush.  He was on his knees in the garden yanking up what looked like half of the plants growing there.  “It’s just the second draft, and all the writing books say–”

“Chris.  It’s amazing.”

“Wait.  Seriously?”

“I want to option it for Before the Door.”

Chris looked up, shading his eyes against the sun.  “But it’s not – I don’t even have an agent.“ 

"Well, get one, because I want dibs.”

iv.

“Really?"  Chris tossed his gardening gloves aside, sprang to his feet and flung himself at Zach.

"Whoa.  You react this way to everyone who likes your book?” Zach snickered as he pulled Chris close and breathed in the sun-warmed scent of him.

It took a while for Chris to stop laughing in relief, the sound muffled against Zach’s shoulder.  “Dude, you’re the first one I asked to read it.”

Zach stilled, Chris still in his embrace.  “That’s pretty huge.  Isn’t it?”

Chris smiled as drew back but didn’t move away entirely.  “Who else would I ask first but you?”

v.

Zach resisted the urge to pull away, even though years of habit told him to.  “In the story, remember how Iris gives Jack that box for safekeeping, and he loses it?”

Chris rolled his eyes, but his hands skimmed down to rest on Zach’s hips.  “Do I remember – Zach, I wrote it.”

“You never said what the box held,” Zach persisted.

“Well, I didn’t want to reveal–”

“Chris.”

“Her journals."  Chris flushed.  "Though really, they were more like letters.”

“Written for him?”

Chris met Zach’s searching gaze, his blue eyes clear.  “They could have been.  If he’d read them.”

vi.

Zach brushed his thumb across Chris’s cheek, wiping away a smudge of dirt.  “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong.”

Chris said nothing, but when Zach leaned in, he moved forward readily, and his soft kiss spoke volumes.

By the time they stopped kissing, Zach’s legs were wobbly and Chris looked dazed. 

Zach hugged Chris tightly and started to laugh.  “Oh my god, only you would write a goddamn novel just to tell me how you feel.”

“Hey!  I wrote it for other reasons, too!”

“Shhhh, let’s just enjoy this character-defining moment of revelation,” Zach insisted, kissing Chris once more.