Who the hell told them all to stand such that the Sydney Opera House was springing from their heads like Athena from Zeus? Seriously, my 10-yo has better composition skills. It made me think of a Las Vegas Showgirl headress AU or something…
I love love love the red suit. I know this isn’t a universal view, the “cherry pie” tag notwithstanding. I feel like it’s a signal that Chris is so comfortable in his own skin now he’ll wear whatever the fuck he wants, own it, and be fine. Which is sort of where Zach has always been. It makes me happy that while he can wear Armani well, he’s allowing himself some range.
I also feel like Zach’s outfit screams “y’all know I can dress, and if I want to look like an old married dad, I’m good with that.” Which I also find lovely, not in a drooling-over-suit-porn kind of way, but in a glad-he’s-happy kind of way. In both cases this is probably just my own optimistic projections on them, and my generally belief that fashion is mostly silly. With the exception of suit porn, obviously.
I love both Zach’s and Simon’s responses to the Takei-Sulu downer. Both were articulate and respectful to everyone.
wordplay as foreplay 3.0,,, fantastic!
That’s all for now… I am lurking and enjoying everything, and finding joy with my fellow Beans, even if I’m not showing up in everyone’s dash much.
Off to the mountains, so I’ll probably be scarce some more, but know I’m squeeing with the rest of you.
It’s not the same as the old days, when they sat with shoulders pressed together, thighs pressed together. It’s not the same as three years ago, when everything was heavy-laden with expectancy and every minute in front of the cameras was a minute they couldn’t spend behind closed doors. This time, Chris is oddly calm as he pushes against the boundaries, pressing against them like the edges of a bruise, checking for lingering tenderness. He holds a hug a little too long, pats Zach’s back on the way out of the green room and lets his hand linger. He watches the way Zach’s eyes dart restlessly around his face before his gaze slides away to safer locales. Zach leans away from him like he’s afraid of getting caught in his gravitational pull, and it makes him want to move in closer, just to see what might happen.
His moment comes toward the end. Zach’s hand is resting there on the table, fingers splayed a little, closer to Chris’s personal space than it has been all night. It’s like an invitation, a challenge. In reality, Zach probably isn’t even doing it on purpose, but Chris can’t let the moment pass by. He needs to know. Can he get away with this?
He’s making a joke, he thinks, as he brings his hand down. His brain loses track of the words before they even make it all the way out of his mouth. He’s too busy positioning his hand just right, overly conscious of whether he’s being casual enough. He’s too busy watching Zach’s face for a telltale sign that this is one step too far. Not anymore, Chris. This isn’t what we do anymore.
But Zach smiles. Licks his lips. Drops his gaze. He doesn’t move his hand for seconds, which might as well be years. It’s long enough, at least, for Chris to know for sure. Whatever they had in years past, it’s still there now.
After the cameras are off, after they shake hands with the anchors, on their way out of the building, Zach’s hand finds its way to Chris’s back. It rests long enough between Chris’s shoulders to leave him hot and itchy and needing more. But there will be more, he knows now. The thing they had–it isn’t over. If anything, it’s just beginning.
You know that feeling as you’re almost to the top of the roller coaster hill and your stomach does a flip anticipating the fall that is so familiar yet thrilling every time? Here I go again…
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