Tag: Cleaving

Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

From Cleaving…

Zach felt almost boneless as his mind drifted in the afterglow, not really focusing on anything until he nearly fell asleep surrounded by warmth and bliss and the smell of sweat and sex.  Abruptly, the thought of Nathan waking them excitedly on Christmas morning and finding them naked and glued together with dried come intruded.  Zach groaned.

“What?” Chris mumbled sleepily.

“We have to get cleaned up and dressed again before we fall asleep.”  There was no need to spell out the consequences; he felt the rumble of Chris’ resigned grunt and raised himself reluctantly.  There was an impressive amount of come stuck to both of them, and Chris started laughing at what must have been a grimace on his face.

“You know, for someone who loves to see my chest covered in spunk, you are particularly intolerant of it on your own.”

“It sticks to my chest hair,” Zach huffed.  

“So you’ve said.”  Chris’ voice was laced with amusement and affection.  Zach rolled his eyes and carefully reached over to the nightstand drawer, pulling out the travel packet of baby wipes.  One of the perks of being parents was discovering the multitudes of off-label uses for these handy little soft wipes, more-effective-post-sex-clean-up-without-leaving-bed being Zach’s favorite.  They made quick work of it, Chris helping where Zach missed a spot on what he called Zach’s “hairy heart,” though Zach had always thought that patch of hair looked more like the bat-signal than anything as romantic as a heart.  They put their Grinch t-shirts back on and found their sleep pants in a wad under the bed, making sure that everything was put away and mother- and toddler-presentable before tangling back under the blankets.

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by way of @entrenous88.  

Zach awoke to a darkened bedroom, Chris still curved close to his back, but definitely not asleep. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled against the back of Zach’s neck.  “It’s three in the fucking morning and I should leave you alone and let you sleep, but—”

“No you shouldn’t,” Zach interrupted pressing himself back into Chris again. “You should definitely not stop.  You should show me how much you missed me.”

Few Words Wednesday

From Cleaving.

They all went up and snuggled Nathan.  First Margo and then Chris, who shut the door most of the way as he left, leaving Zach and Nathan alone to say goodnight in the dim room.

“Santa come?”

“I think so.  Have you been good?”

“Nat’an good.  Daddy good?”

Zach huffed a laugh, wondering how to answer.  “I’ve certainly tried to be good,” he finally settled on.

“Babbo good?”

That sobered him up.  Biting his lip he said quietly, “I think Babbo’s tried to be good, too.”  Clearing his throat he added, “But you know, Santa is especially for little kids.  He doesn’t really bring presents for grownups.  So if Babbo and I don’t have anything from him, it doesn’t mean we were bad, okay?”

His brow furrowed into a worried line.  “Nat’an big boy.”

“Yes, you are my big boy, aren’t you?” Zach said, hugging Nathan more tightly.  “But you’re still little enough for Santa.  Don’t worry.  Now lie down with Gustafer and go to sleep so Santa will come.”

Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

From Cleaving…

The next hour was spent cutting out images that Margo had printed from the photos they’d emailed her over the last year.  There were metal backs that the images could be glued to, and then the “frames” could be decorated with glitter, tiny bows, and other Christmas themed shapes.  Several were finished and lined up on the edge of the table when Chris’ phone rang, the ringtone inserting dissonant notes into the joyful Christmas music they’d been listening to. Chris grimaced when he saw the name, gave a quick apologetic look to Zach, and retreated to the living room as he answered with a clipped “Melissa.”  Zach watched him disappear around the corner and turned back to see his mom raising an eyebrow.

“His assistant,” Zach said, shrugging a little.  “Something must have come up.”  They continued with the project, Nathan spreading glitter on his cheeks and hair and probably the banana he was eating for a snack, but Zach was more focused on the rise and fall of Chris’ voice in the next room.  He wasn’t able to make out words, but the tone was enough to tell him there was a problem.  After a moment he stood, grabbing Chris’ eggnog as an excuse to go in the other room. Chris’ voice became clear before he’d rounded the corner.

“…no, absolutely not.  We negotiated the timing on the press work.  On my way back to London I’ll stop in New York…  I don’t care how short it is or how close to Pittsburgh, I’m not cutting into my vacation… Mel…So I’ll be in breach of contract and pay the fine.”  Chris paused as he listened, then snorted.  “Yeah, that’d play well in the press.  Disney is a family-friendly company: they should get this…”  There was a longer pause, and Zach started to move forward when he heard, “No, Mel, it doesn’t matter.  Just tell them no.  And have you looked into those links I forwarded from Gal?”  Something twisted in Zach’s stomach.  “I know it’s expensive; just see if it’s available.  And for Italy too.  No, I haven’t talked to him yet, I’ve barely been home 48 hours.  Just find out, so I can know what the options are…  No… Because I can’t keep doing this.”  Zach was frozen.  And eavesdropping, he realized.  He shook himself out of it and moved around the corner so Chris would see him as he held out the eggnog.  Chris offered an awkward smile and mouthed “thanks” as he continued to listen.  “Yeah, well, I’ve been ignoring Karen’s messages on purpose.  Tell her to take a week or two off.  I don’t want to hear about any new scripts right now…”  He looked down at the floor, like Nathan did when he was being scolded.  When he spoke again, his voice was weary.  “Well, the fire might be hot, but I’m burning out.  And she works for me, not the other way around…  Okay, thanks Mel.  Have a good holiday.”

Chris hung up and took the cup of eggnog, downing it in one swallow.  Zach hoped the brandy helped.  

Late FWW

From Cleaving.

The afternoon passed lazily.  When the cookies came out of the oven, Zach declared it was time for Nathan’s afternoon nap, and a quick reminder of Santa had the boy quickly bestowing kisses and hugs before heading up the stairs.  If Chris felt any surprise at the bear hug Nathan gave him — the sledding debacle long forgotten in the toddler’s mind — he showed no hesitation in returning it, his eyes falling closed with relief.  And Zach thought that would be the end of it.   But Chris remained quiet, going up to their room to retrieve some books and settling on the sofa in front of the fire.  He seemed happy enough to share the space when Zach plopped down on the other end and pulled Chris’ feet up onto his lap with only a touch more awkwardness than usual.  Chris pushed his glasses up and took a well-worn paperback from the stack he’d brought down.  It was in terrible shape — spine cracked and corners bent — though Chris still handled it with fastidious care, removing a bookmark that was surely the first the book had ever seen.  

“What are you reading?”

“Wolf Solent,” Chris answered, showing the cover.  “It’s by a fairly famous Welsh author that my makeup person in England idolizes.  She insisted I read it, though it’s no hardship.  It’s good.”

“What’s it about?”

Chris looked at the cover for a moment, thinking.  Warmth bloomed in Zach’s chest, because this Chris was familiar.  The man who thought before he offered an answer.  Who was thoughtful, in every sense of the word.

“I think it’s going to turn out to be one of those books that’s not about what it seems it’s about.  I could tell you the plot — our hero has gone home to try to find himself — but it seems like he’s more caught up in the romanticism of what’s offered and what he should want than making any progress knowing who he is or what he actually does want.  I think it’s going to be about living examined versus unexamined lives and the damage that can be done without intent by reacting without self-awareness.  And maybe the problems of forcing the world into dualist constructs when the truth is always more complicated.”

“Deep.”

Chris grinned.  “Well, that or it’s a going to turn into a cheap love story, or completely collapse under the weight of existential angst.  Ask me again in 150 pages.  The language is nice, though.  Sort of poetic.  And the landscapes he describes are a lot like the parts of England we were shooting in, at least to my untrained eye.  But the hero’s a bit of a dolt, and not the most interesting character.”

“Who is?”

“A woman.  The one it looks like he’s not going to choose.”

“There’s a love triangle?”

“Of sorts, so you’d probably hate it.  What about you?  What are you reading?”

“Vonnegut.  You know, for Christmas.”

Chris snorted at that.  “Tis the season.”