Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

Yeah, so no more hiding what this is going to be. We’re finally getting to the actual porn.

He counts the seconds, keeping himself where Zach left him, and then he feels Zach behind him and the slide of leather at his wrist. Zach fastens one cuff, and then the other, as Ian sips his scotch watching intently. As the leather tightens around his wrists, he can’t help but let out a small whimper.

Zach is pressed against his back now, the line of his erection nudging Chris’ ass. Each of his hands grasp Chris’ wrists as he whispers into his ear, “Hmmm. Do you want to undress yourself the rest of the way, or shall I take your hands out of the picture now?” Chris shivers as warm breath ghosts across his skin, not even knowing whether he’d rather obey an order to undress, or be prevented from doing it himself. And he takes too long to decide. "Christopher.“

"You choose,” he manages quietly, looking at Ian to see if he’s able to follow their conversation.

Zach pauses, apparently not pleased by Chris offering control. "I’ll be deciding most things tonight, Christopher.“

It’s a polite reprimand — probably because of their guest — but Chris understands. He closes his eyes, suddenly sure he’d much rather just have Zach manhandle him in front of his friend than try to follow directions with so many stimuli competing for his attention. He takes a deep breath, "Bind my hands, please.”

“Hmmm. Good.”

Chris opens his eyes and watches Ian’s face as Zach drags both hands behind his back and latches the cuffs together with a carabiner he’s pulled out of his pocket. And now Chris can’t touch himself, hard as he’s been for hours. It’s almost a relief to not have to resist any more. He stands straighter, chest pulled broad and shoulders forced back by the cuffs. He knows Zach likes this, though it naturally changes his posture and tips his hips back. He tries to compensate, pushing his hips forward just as Zach reaches across to skim fingers along the front of his pants.

He bites back a moan, and Ian’s fingers twitch toward his own dick.

Zach presses fingers along either side of Chris’ erection, making it obscenely obvious through his pants. Ian’s eyes are glued to his crotch as Zach teases, finally tracing along the ridge of it with one hand while the other retreats to his pocket.

Chris jumps and lets out a moan as the toy buzzes insistently in his ass again. Zach’s hand closes roughly over his crotch, pulling Chris back against him and allowing him to adjusts to the increased stimulation.

“What just happened,” Ian asks, and Chris opens his eyes just in time to see Zach hold up the remote in his peripheral vision, and Ian’s eyes grow wide with understanding. "Did he put it in just now in the bedroom?“

Zach shakes his head as he pops the button on Chris’ slacks. "You were a spontaneous addition to our plans for tonight, but we did have plans all along.”

“So at the party… you could just push a button in your pocket and—”

“Get his attention quite effectively. And remind him that he is stretched and slick and ready for me.”

“Jesus,” Ian gasps, his hand covering his cock for a moment before he seems to remember himself and reluctantly place it back on his thigh. Zach kisses Chris’ cheek and whispers something he can’t quite make out as his zipper is lowered, and then Zach is forcing down his pants and briefs and exposing him completely to Ian’s gaze. The pants are kicked aside and Zach is gone for a moment before returning and saying firmly, “Legs apart.”

I had the saddest Pinto Fic pop into my head overnight…

Spurred, I think, by the clubbing photos, the Madonna party rumor/press, the fact that in all these “behind the scenes” promotional films, we never see Zach and Chris together, and finally that beautifully written one shot of Chris and Idris.

And for a change, Zach was the one pining. Well, they both were.

I can’t decide if I should try to write it. I’m not sure my heart could take it, even if I could fit it into my seriously overtaxed life.

Mood = melancholy

Few Words Wednesday

It’s getting to the point that if I share any more of this, I’ll give away the whole—plot is really over stating it— scenario, maybe? Oh well. Here’s some more new thing…I changed a few words to maintain some mystery (and added some awkwardness):

“Does he like Scotch?” Zach asks, pulling a bottle of 12-year old golden ambrosia from the bar cabinet.

“He’ll like that Scotch,” Chris answers with a grin, grabbing three glasses and setting them on the coffee table.

Everything is laid out and Chris is just starting to get nervous when the intercom buzzes, and Zach moves to the front door to let their guest through the gate. And then he’s at the door, commenting on how nice the house is and being ushered into the living room. He settles on a plush leather chair, leaning back and sipping his Scotch as Zach and Chris sit side by side on the sofa across from him. Conversation is easier than Chris would expect, and after a while he’s not sure why he thought it would be awkward. Yes, Zach’s first view of his friend was… unfortunate… but there is a reason this man is one of his oldest friends and Zach is his lover, and it isn’t just that they are both good lays. Both men have easy humor and biting intelligence, and it really shouldn’t be surprising that they quickly find common ground that doesn’t center on Chris. Chris lets them dominate the conversation for a while, interjecting as the stories of their Berkeley years start. Zach is laughing at their youthful antics — mostly PG rated ones — and it seems like a friendly gathering, but there is a growing, underlying anticipation and excitement, almost as if they all know an audition is happening behind the friendly banter. And it’s going well.

Finally there is a lull in the conversation. His friend is tipping his glass and contemplating the velvety contents. He softly asks, “So, gentlemen, why am I here tonight?”

Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

More of the new thing I’m working on… From the Revelations ‘verse. And a continuation of my last FWW:

“Tell me a fantasy.”

“Like, something I want you to do to me?” Chris finally asks between breaths.

“Hmmm. No. More like something so dirty you’re not even sure you’d really want to do it, but you still beat off to it in the shower when I’m not around.”

Oh god.

“Like that first night, we talked about doing it on the set of the bridge. Or maybe something completely impossible — sex in zero G, or an alien with tentacles.”

Chris huffs a laugh. He doesn’t really have anything like that.

“Or… I have an old tried-and-true one that I still pull off the shelf and dust off now and then. Two twinks going down on me at once. And it’s filthy and I don’t know their names, I just get to sit back and enjoy their tongues until I come on both their faces. Doesn’t mean I want to go actually pick up two twinks in a bar, or that I ever have. It’s just a fantasy. Tell me something like that.”

Chris takes a shuddering breath, trying to pull together enough brainpower to come up with a something and form actual words. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear it, but the constant slow strokes on his cock are making thought — much less language — difficult. Zach seems to understand his dilemma, though, and his voice shows no impatience when he whispers, “What about… with a woman.”

Chris freezes.

“Not like what they write about you,” Zach adds hastily. “I’m not worried about you cheating on me. But you’re bisexual,” he says, finger slowly pulling out of Chris’ ass and then pressing back in, maddeningly slowly and methodically. “Maybe you have fantasies about having everything at once. Me, fucking into you, fucking into some girl with big, luscious tits you can bury your face into…”

Chris groans and finally finds his voice again. “I don’t fantasize about that, but maybe I should start. You make it sound good.”

Without changing his rhythm at all Zach leans down and bites him on the ass, making Chris jump and pull against his bindings. He shudders. God, he loves the feeling of being held in place. Zach’s tongue soothes the bite mark, humming in appreciation at Chris’ reaction.

“Actually, when I imagine us with other people,” Chris whispers, “they’re always male.”

Zach falters, resuming his movements a moment later with more enthusiasm.

“Oh really? Now that’s interesting. Go on.”

My continuing PSA on non-AO3 Pinto

Title: Wipe the Prints and Run

Pairing: Chris/Zach
Word Count: ~5,500
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Chris snoops around Zach’s room, learning enough about him to know he wants more. Then he gets more.
Warnings:
The kinks this was written to stroke are body hair obsession, facials,
underwear sniffing, Zach bottoming from the top, and emo eyeliner.

I am generally more of a fan of long fics of angsty self discovery and friends to lovers ending in HEA, but sometimes I just want to read something hot during lunch. Holy fucking shit, does this fit the bill. This is seriously some of the hottest pwp I’ve read in a long time. There it is, languishing on LJ, being hot with no one reading. No idea if the author is still active, but well worth your time. I didn’t even know I had some of these kinks.

disappointme:

Remember when, remember when…

Few Words Wednesday

Excerpt from the final chapter of Revelations, which I posted last night:

“Let me take care of you.” His hand stroked the length of Zach’s
torso, over the panes of his chest and taut muscles of his abdomen. And
Zach realized one drawback of being the one doing the tying earlier is
that he suddenly felt touch starved. As amazing as it was to watch
Chris’ hands as he writhed against his bindings, Zach now craved Chris’
hands — his large, strong, dexterous hands. “What do you need?”

“This,” Zach said, feeling how true it felt in that moment. “More of this. I just need you.”

“Me you’ve got,” Chris whispered, moving more fully over Zach, elbows
planted on either side of his head, fingers curling into Zach’s hair,
lips finding Zach’s. They were lined up, lips to ankles, and Zach let
himself drink in Chris’ scent, the taste on his tongue, the strength in
his arms and his back as Zach’s hands pulled him closer, until there was
really no way to get closer. He was getting hard again, overwhelmed,
but this time in a good way. And Chris was perfect, leading him
expertly, offering just what he needed, and he just wanted more
of everything. More touch, more weight, more of Chris’ scent drowning
his senses. He spread his legs so Chris would sink into the V, pressing
their cocks together more fully, and yes, that was better, especially as
Chris started to rock. That was good, really good. For a few minutes it
was even enough. He groaned, surrendering, feeling Chris move over him.
And it was so good, but finally not enough. He was starved for Chris’ touch, even in places he’d never felt it. He spread his legs wider still, and Chris froze.

“Zach?”

“I want you.”

And whatever reaction he expected, it wasn’t Chris lowering his forehead to Zach’s and being deathly still.

“Unless you don’t want—”

“Of course I want it, Zach. I’ve wanted you for weeks. But not if you’re treating it like some sort of penance. Not if you think you’re making something up to me—”

I have no idea why

but ao3feed-pinto doesn’t seem to find my Revelations postings.

So here is my own version.

Revelations, Part 2 of Jumping into the Middle.

Now that Chris and Zach have gotten past their assumptions about each other, there is much to discover…

Fandom: Star Trek RPF, Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto

Tags: Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto, Bisexual Male Character, Gay Male Character, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Light Bondage, Rimming, Conversations, Family Angst, Not-so-light Bondage, Shaving, Anal Plug, relationship with a Big R

Published: 2014-07-22

Completed: 2015-07-08

Words: 31627

Chapters: 15/15

53 (NOT 54) Pinto…if you can use it to fix up Jealousy, so much the better…

semperama:

Your wish is my command! Consider this the unofficial official sequel to Jealous.

——–

Hopeful

“He doesn’t want to get married,” Zach said when Chris opened the door. The words keep replaying themselves in Chris’s mind, but he still can’t make sense of them. He already accepted that this was how things were going to play out: Zach and Miles together as a family, with their two dogs and probably a baby soon, all cozy in their picture-perfect New York apartment. In three days, Zach would be going on his honeymoon and Chris would be flying back to LA and they would see each other less and less until it was just one phone call a year, an obligatory check-in. That was the inevitable sequence of events.

And yet here Zach is, sans Miles, sans the ring that has been hanging around his neck for the past year, the one that was supposed to migrate to his left hand on Saturday.

“I don’t understand,” Chris says at last. Zach is sitting on the edge of the bed, and his thousand-yard stare and the dark circles under his eyes tell the tale of an all-night battle. He hasn’t spoken since he walked in the room, and he hasn’t looked at Chris much either. Chris would comfort him, but he doesn’t know how. It’s barely dawn, and Zach isn’t supposed to be here.

“He doesn’t want to get married,” Zach repeats without looking up. “He said he never did. He just wanted to make me happy, and he thought he would come around to the idea.”

“So…so…” God, Chris needs coffee. So much coffee. He looks longingly at the coffee pot, then sighs and crouches down in front of Zach instead, placing a tentative hand on his knee. “So don’t get married? Just….go back to the way things were. You’re living together, you’re happy together.”

Zach finally looks up, but only to shoot Chris a withering look before he lowers his face into his hands. “But I want to get married. I want a wedding. I want a honeymoon. I want a stupid piece of paper that says the government recognizes my right to love whoever the fuck I want to love. Chris.”

Fuck, fuck. Chris reaches up and strokes his fingers through Zach’s hair, his heart clenching with each heave of Zach’s shoulders. He can’t fix this one. He hates that he can’t fix this one. Zach should never look this broken. He is the most put-together person Chris knows.

“Please don’t tell me I’m being stupid,” Zach says, his voice watery and muffled against his palms.

“You aren’t being stupid,” Chris murmurs. And he means it. The fact is, he wants a wedding someday too. It’s the closest to a fairy tale that any person can get—proclaiming to the world ‘I’ve been searching my whole life, and I’ve decided that this one is the one.’ He may keep the romantic inside of him carefully hidden from Zach—and from most other people—but he can imagine himself standing at an altar plain as day. And he can imagine Zach standing across from him just as easily.

“Come home with me,” he blurts. His cheeks start to heat up just in time for Zach to lift his head and look at him in disbelief.

“What?”

The tear tracks on Zach’s face just make Chris want to double down. He takes a deep breath and says it again. “Come home with me. Come back to LA.”

“I…don’t understand…”

“There’s nothing here for you, Zach. You’re going to have to move out anyway, and…just come stay with me for a while. Until you figure out what to do. I have too much room for one person anyway, and I…” He sighs, drops his hand from Zach’s hair to clasp his fingers. “I miss you.”

He expects incredulity or maybe even anger. It’s hardly a declaration of love, but it still feels misplaced when Zach is heartbroken and came to him for comfort. But Zach doesn’t look shocked or mad. He looks…resigned. A little thoughtful. Hope makes Chris’s heart flutter.

“I miss you too,” Zach says at last. “And…and I miss the way things used to be. It feels like I’ve gotten so off course.”

“Then let’s get you back on course.” Chris squeezes Zach’s hand and gets another squeeze in return. Maybe he isn’t the best one for the job, considering how much he’s felt like he’s falling apart himself over the past few months, but he thinks he can do this. He can be strong for Zach, if that’s what’s required of him.

“Okay,” Zach whispers. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Chris’s, and Chris stops breathing. “Okay, I’ll go home with you.”

That isn’t a declaration of love either, but it’s a start.

**blushes furiously because @semper-ama answered my prompt**

Love this so much!! Now it needs to be a full fic with a wedding at the end. A big Italian wedding with the piece of paper and Zach getting everything he wanted. I know, I know…mission creep.

Thank you BB!!

Pinto, 38 <3

moontowers:

38) Embarrassed

“I’m so drunk,” Zach says. “Why did I think this was a good idea again?”

Chris slides lower on the couch. Their shoulders are touching. It’s warm in the living room, and the skin of Zach’s arm sticks to Chris’s like thighs on summer vinyl.

“Shh,” Chris says. “Drowning your sorrows, right? It’s a thing.”

“Yeah, but like–” Zach pauses to sip his beer. They’ve killed most of a six pack at this point. Each. Chris is trying not to keep count. “But like, do you think he was right?”

“Who, Josh?”

“Of course Josh. Don’t stall.”

“What’d he say again?”

“That I’m a black cloud you can see coming a mile away. That he can’t be with someone so wrapped up in his own shit. That–that he’s not surprised I can’t land anything.” Zach stares into the middle distance, at the blue flicker of the television. There’s a dribble of beer caught up in the dense mat of his beard.

“Pretty sure the black cloud’s stuck to your face, dude.”

“Fuck off. This beard is awesome. I look like Mandy Patinkin.” Zach runs his hand from bottom lip to chin, fingers finding the spill and making a face.

“What’s your agent got to say about it, Mandy?”

“If my agent would return my calls, maybe I’d give a shit what he thought about my facial hair.”

“He’s an asshole,” Chris says after a minute, meaning Josh or Zach’s agent or both. But it’s too late.

The corner of Zach’s mouth quirks downwards, barely perceptible under said facial hair. But Zach kind of leads with the nose when he cries, and no beard can hide that. He sniffs hard.

“Allergies,” he says.

“Sure,” says Chris.

Zach keeps looking at nothing, and Chris keeps looking at Zach. The light from the TV catches the wet on his lashes. Chris is certain in this moment that what collects along his cheekbone now isn’t saline but something rarer, some cathodic metallurgy. Even with that goddamn beard, he’s beautiful.

Chris licks his lips, slides closer on the couch so the cushion dips and their knees bump, slow, as if drifting together underwater. Zach is still staring into space. Chris is still staring at Zach’s eyes. Would be staring into Zach’s eyes, if Zach happened to turn his head. But he doesn’t, and Chris doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He hates this feeling, the way his guts twist when he thinks about Zach turning to look. Chickenshit, is the word for it.

“It’s just embarrassing,” Zach is saying. “You know?” On the television, the laugh track screeches as if in agreement. Filmed in front of a live studio audience!

“Yeah,” Chris says. “I know.”