bootson | The Real Life of Jack Christian [1/2] ;; PG13

Title: The Real Life of Jack Christian [1/2]
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto
Summary: Chris writes novels on the side and under a pseudonym. He finds out Zach’s a fan and pesters him constantly.
Rating: PG13
Warning: Uh…language, mostly.
Word Count: 5625 (for this part)
Disclaimer: I’m a pathological liar.
AN: For this prompt at

trek_rpf_kink. This did not even remotely go in the direction I originally planned (you all know how that goes) and it ended up having a sort of…dual story feel with two different things running parallel. Maybe it’s sort of cracky, sort of AU (only not really). I have NO idea what happens when people get books published. And I decimated any semblance of a real timeline here.
It’s about a half step from finished so the rest may be up tonight…maybe tomorrow morning. I’m just really antsy over it for some reason so I’m posting half. AND, huge thanks to

chellealistic for reading this like 3 times so far and being generally amazing.

**[Prologue]**
Jack Christian is an author. He’s probably not going to be hitting the New York Times best sellers list anytime in the near future, but he has shorts in several different literary anthologies, four novels on the shelves and the fifth making its way to bookstores and Amazon.com. The critics are semi-impressed by him, but not enthralled enough to drum up intense sales figures. He has a blog to stay connected with the small but devoted group of readers he’s acquired over the past ten or so years. Those same readers have a message board where they can discuss the characters, themes, and plots of these novels and also ask Jack questions semi-directly. They’ve learned, through trial and error, that he just won’t answer personal questions and no one could pick him out of a line-up on account of never having seen the man. No one knows why. They also have no clue why he vanishes, sometimes for months, without much warning.

Chris Pine is an actor, even if he didn’t originally plan to be. He’s done a lot of useless romantic comedies, but they’ve paid the bills. His success was moderate at best until he managed to get a second audition for Captain James T. Kirk. Things went a little crazy after that, what with promotional tours and paparazzi. He doesn’t have an overtly noticeable internet presence, but no one seems to mind. People follow him and women (some men) fawn over him. There are more doors open for him than there ever have been before, but he likes to try to be normal. His friends are aware of his love for the theater and keeping his private life just that. Everyone knows what kind of car he drives and which shirts are his favorites. It’s annoying, but he has a good thing going here, so he doesn’t complain too loudly.

Chris likes to write. It’s not a well-publicized factoid, but it’s true. Various friends may have stumbled across a short story here or there but they don’t know how many of those have been published; Jack’s readers do, though.

Clearly, these two people are not mutually exclusive.

**[1]**

Melodrama wasn’t exactly Chris’ forte. He was prone to it, however, when he had a million things to do and too little sleep. But if he wanted sleep he had to cut back on memorizing lines or “bonding” with the Trek cast. The bonding was possibly as important as the lines even if they were all already a nice little fellowship (and that joke had earned him a head slap from Karl but it had been so worth it). Still, on the rare days he had off, Chris had a completely separate life to lead. Chris wasn’t going to lie, say he wasn’t going to enjoy this downtime, even if he knew it was only a few hours, until he dived back into a world only he was privy to.

Luckily, he didn’t have exact deadlines, no expected word counts and a specific amount of chapters. His agent doubled for both career choices and the woman was a genius. She made sure he could be the actor he was known as, or would be, while also being able to do the writing he was so in love with. Honestly, he may not need as long as he’d sworn; the first chapters were already okayed and more in depth than his editor had expected, giving him time to play. Nevertheless, his fingers were itching, having been away from a keyboard for entirely too long.

Chris was just opening the 105 pages he’d already agonized over, on late nights and between takes, when he was buzzing too much to sleep and narrative was coursing through his mind. He was starting to fall into the point he wanted to make, the characters devised to orchestrate an actual theme while taking on lives of their own, when he was distracted. His front door slammed and shoes hit the tile with a thud before heavy footsteps grew steadily louder.

Maybe he should have been alarmed, a normal person would have called the police or grabbed a baseball bat. Chris, on the other hand, knew exactly who it was and knew he’d be found before too long.

“Are you Googling yourself again?” Zach asked, throwing himself onto the futon that took up the space not occupied by his desk. “Please let me redo your office. I’ll do it when you’re out of town, if that’s easier.”

It was no hardship for Chris to pull his eyes away from his screen to rake them over Zach’s long form, always a good past time, thanks. Granted it was inappropriate on several levels (they were friends, they were costars, Chris had a girlfriend), but looking never hurt anyone.

“I like my office. Touch it and I’ll cut your hair in your sleep. Then shave the rest of your eyebrows, make it easier for the makeup girls.” He didn’t tell Zach it was because he couldn’t write in his bedroom and sometimes it was too much effort to walk that far when he had stayed up tapping out a whole arch in one sitting.

“Idle threats.”

“Try me.”

Zach considered this, decided he didn’t want to risk it and flopped over onto his side. “I’m bored. Let’s do something.”

“Like what?” Even if Chris was slipping into the writing mindset, he wasn’t too far gone to blanch at the thought of a Zach-themed distraction.

“Don’t care. We can watch Doom, let you drool over Karl properly.”

“I do not drool.” Chris glanced almost longingly at the text before him while Zach silently climbed to his feet to inspect a bookshelf. “Commentary from the gallery?”

“None. Just taking cheap shots.” Zach was starting at the bottom of the shelf, as was his way, giving Chris the opportunity to covet his ass. “If you’re going to fanboy someone, Urban’s at least a good choice.”

“Good. You know how I live for your approval.”

“I never give it freely.”

Chris threw a pen at him, but was ignored when Zach reached the top corner of the first case. “Why isn’t this part alphabetical?”

“Huh?” Chris squinted across the room and tried to think fast. There wasn’t a reason not to let Zach in on the secret, none other than habit, but it was an old habit and Chris was still a bit nervous about his writing falling into the hands of people he knew. “Oh. I don’t know. Didn’t seem to fit.”

“You have these four completely separated out. What, Christian’s not good enough to hang with your classics? You put Stephen King and Dean Koontz in there.” He made it sound as if he’d been personally affronted, which was so far beyond hysterical that Chris couldn’t think straight for a moment or two.

Coughing a laugh, Chris partially agreed but didn’t commit to the view. Wasn’t it a bit pretentious and conceited to put your own books in amongst the likes of Hemingway and Forster? Sandwich your own jazzed up mysteries somewhere between the used, college book store copies of Bronte and Dickens? Yes, he thought.

“I just pulled them out of a box, been too out of it to re-organize.”

“I’ll do-“

“Fuck off, Zach. I know you’re just trying to get alone in here to destroy my futon.” He closed his laptop carefully before standing to stretch the kinks out of his back. “Come on, I’m getting food. You can amuse me in the mean time.”

“I came so you could amuse me. This is the first completely off night I’ve had in a month, humor me.” But he was following anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Chris threw the best contrite look he could manage over his shoulder. “I always forget you’re building the Quinto Empire.”

“Hey!” Zach shoved his shoulder but Chris was prepared enough not to be swayed. “I’m planning for the future when my looks fade or I’m outed and Hollywood is through with me. You should consider it.”

“What? A back-up plan? Why do you think I went to Berkeley?” Chris knew he was sounding petulant and the degree had been Plan A, but he’d had this conversation with Zach on several occasions. “Offers are already lining up. I pull this off and I’m golden.”

“It’s not going to last forever,” Zach unnecessarily pointed out while Chris started digging through cabinets for spaghetti sauce.

“Spaghetti or grilled cheese and soup?”

“Spaghetti with cheap sauce, I guess.” He turned to grab peppers from the refrigerator. “Really. What are you going to do if your next movie flops and… non-Trekkies lose interest?” Everyone knew better than to insinuate Chris wouldn’t be well received as Kirk; Zach thought he was brilliant but Chris still got nervous enough about the negative feedback for it to affect him for days after he stumbled across any of it.

“I’ll do a spread for Playgirl.” Chris turned from retrieving pots from a cabinet and let his mind wander back to the bookshelf Zach had been investigating and the manuscript a third finished on his laptop. He was ready to be mocked for anything, anything other than his novels and not by his best friend.

The disapproving glare was on Zach’s face again, so typical. And there were only two ways to remove it, one involving a sigh and the other an indistinct reaction. Chris chose the sigh and earned it by changing the subject. “Chop the peppers; I’ll grab the onions.”

**[2]**

That futon Zach hated with such a fiery passion was actually pretty comfortable and Chris had crashed there with the next morning’s rewrites clutched in his hand. He’d overslept and barely made it to set by his call time. He was in makeup getting bruised when Zoë tracked him down.

“Don’t you usually show up a half foot behind Zach?” She tossed herself back in a chair to get her nails touched up, apologizing profusely for chipping the polish on a Coke tab.

Chris grumbled eloquently but noncommittally and tried not to burrow in his seat and get his hair pulled.

“Are you hung over?” She smirked into the mirror, meeting Chris’ eyes before he looked away.

“No. Tired. Up late working. Some of us do that, right?”

“Aw, baby, you’re so cute when you’re snippy.” Zoë cooed and thanked the polish wielding woman before hopping to her feet with unnecessary grace considering the unholy hour. “Want some words of wisdom?” She didn’t wait for an answer; Chris hadn’t expected her to. “To be early is to be on time; to be on time is to be late; to be late is unacceptable.”

“Thanks, J.J.”

Her giggles followed her out and the people around him smirked before making him look as beat up as possible without actually hitting him with a blow dryer or something, though he did think they were tempted. When he was sent on his way, he was still fighting the desire to rub his eyes. The Visine wasn’t a cure-all and he definitely looked like he’d had a late night of raunchy activities that weren’t in text format, as the case actually was.

Some lighting issue was pushing them all back and Chris breathed a sigh of relief. Spinning on his heel, he searched the immediate area for where his chair or partner in crime had been stationed for the day. He saw Zach first, buried behind a hardback book. His brain was still telling him to just sit down and keep quiet while it processed the fact that it was acting without caffeine, but he still managed to note that this was odd.

Zach with a book was typical, but he hated hardbacks on principle. They were “irrationally overpriced” and “too hard to keep up with.” Chris was inclined to agree, but getting books published in hardback made you change that stance a bit. Heaving a sigh, Chris shuffled his way over to Zach, eyeing the plain navy blue back-cover and basic white text.

When he was a few feet away, Zach held up an extra insulated cup and Chris could have kissed him. “Have I told you-“

“Lately that you love me? Yes. Every other day when I enable your addiction.” Zach looked up and smiled, dog-earing his page to mark it. The state of the book suggested this was pretty common. Reaching out, he dropped a hand on Chris’ shoulder, thumb rubbing his neck.

Chris sighed and melted into the chair beside him, turning to give Zach a better angle. “Don’t fold pages, it’s disrespectful.”

Even without looking, Chris saw the eyeroll. “I bought the book; I can do with it as I please.”

“I’m making you a bookmark,” Chris promised. He sipped the coffee, savoring the psychosomatic effects as he swallowed and leaned closer to the other man.

“Will it have glitter and swirly letters?”

“Considering my affinity for glitter, of course.” He grinned halfheartedly when Zach chuckled. Normally, Zach could improve Chris’ mood with a couple words and a shoulder bump, but Chris was still too busy chastising himself for running late.

“You look rough. What’s up?” The hand on Chris’ shoulder vanished. He only just held back a whine but Zach’s arm landed on the back of the chair so Chris turned to look at him.

“I’ve been strangled no less than three times for this scene. I’m supposed to look this way.”

Biting his lip, Zach stared at him, studying. As expected, Chris looked away first. Whenever Zach watched him for too long, Chris had to divert his attention even if he didn’t necessarily want to; it was the same with creating distance whenever they touched a smidge too much.

“I was up late. Trying to learn lines and remember blocking.” He took another drink as a distraction.

“Chris,” Zach’s voice was warm, indulgent. “You’ve got this down. Don’t worry so much.”

“Someone has to.”

“Let J.J. and Paramount do it. Your job is to show up and act like you own the world. You’re good at that.” Chris nearly spilled his drink down Kirk’s black shirt (which would have meant hell to pay) when Zach nudged his shoulder to rock his body over a little.

When his lips quirked just a bit, Zach’s grin turned triumphant. Before he knew it, Zach wrapped his arm around Chris shoulders and pulled him closer. Their eyes caught and Chris got the distinct impression that Zach was trying to figure something out, read him. What discovery he was seeking was a mystery but Chris suddenly didn’t want him to hone in on anything too specific, which was weird since he told Zach everything already.

Nearly.

Chris licked his lips and watched Zach following the motion before catching his eyes again. Suddenly, the tension was a little much, too serious and charged when compared to their usual banter. He thought about making an excuse, running off to learn to breathe again, but that meant losing the heat coming off Zach’s body and hiding from the intent attention Zach was centering on him. The only option left was diffusion; Chris glanced around wildly, seeking an escape that didn’t involve distance and breathing room.

“What’s this anyway? Finally break down and buy a real book?” He asked, catching sight of the book still on Zach’s knee.

Before anything could be said, Chris snatched it. Flipping it over, he froze. The cover was a lake scene, well after twilight with a green tint fading into the navy that covered the back. In ostentatious, raised font was Chris’ own pseudonym and the title of his last novel Travesties of Character.

“You own a Jack Christian novel?”

“I own all four,” Zach shrugged, pulling his arm away to take his book back. “I wanted to reread it after I saw them on your shelf.”

Here was an opening, gracefully provided by some higher power for him to A. come clean or B. make a snarky comment about how he’d thought mysteries were below Zach. What came out was:

“You’ve read them more than once?”

Zach tilted his head, examining the slightly gaping jaw and furrowed eyebrows which combined to form a generally perplexed expression.

“Yeah,” he spoke slowly, reaching for his script when Chris kept staring. “The mystery is a front, damn interesting, but hiding a lot. They’re pure satire once you catch the nuance.”

“You analyze these things?” Maybe he was imagining it, but Chris thought his own voice was nearly an octave too high; he cleared his throat to remedy that.

“Have you read them more than once?”

Answers were required with direct questions, but Chris was drowning in his own head. Here was Zach, his overly intellectual friend, a man who flaunted his vocabulary for shock value, actually reading things he had written. He actually enjoyed what Chris wrote and maybe, there was a distinct possibility, that he actually understood the themes Chris hid behind every plot device he had ever read about. Well, fuck.

His face was burning, ears ringing, and all Chris could hear through the white noise in his head was a question. What did Zach think? Did he see the double view? Did he realize there was no cohesive style from one novel to the next? Did he know Jack Christian had a fifth novel in the works?

A snap in front of his face brought him back. “Chris? Are you sick? You look sick.”

Literally shaking himself, Chris met brown eyes, lighter with concern.

“What? No. I’m fine. I’ve…read them several times. Kind of obsessed over each one for a while.”

Why was he being so damn ambiguous? Chris couldn’t quite work out why he didn’t just shrug, smirk, say “Yeah, I kind of wrote them. Thanks for the coffee.” It had to be the reputation. He didn’t actively create one around Zach, but he’d definitely crush his friend’s world view with a comment like that. So he kept quiet and thanked God when someone came to usher them onto the set proper.

If Chris flubbed a few lines and missed his mark, no one seemed to think it was because he was too busy worrying over what Zach thought of a book.

**[3]**

By lunch, Chris was back to his typical easygoing temperament. Having gotten over his self-irritation for being late, he let himself pretend to be Kirk for a while and goof off between takes. He also shoved the apprehension over Zach owning his books away. What good would it do to be in a fit over something so ridiculous? None. So, instead he turned his anxiety into blatant interest.

This was a valuable opportunity. His editor was paid to force him into decisions and keep him on task, but her commentary centered on typos and seamless plotlines. His family would praise anything he did, as would his friends, presumably. But he trusted Zach’s opinion, had since their first real conversation. Their views were similar, yet varied enough to keep things interesting. Their debates were on-going and heated but never bled over into argumentative territory. Nonetheless, they were still close friends and most people would forgo honesty in the interests of making their friend happy. If Zach didn’t know these were his but realized they had a shared interest, he’d discuss them, be candid. This could definitely work.

He’d just grabbed a sandwich that promised to be bland when he saw Zach disappearing toward his trailer. Sometimes he did this if he was in a horrid little mood or had something he desperately wanted to do, like return phone calls or nap. Chris was going to follow him, knowing he wouldn’t get glared at the way John did when he intruded, but was detained by Anton.

“What’s with you today?” He was chewing loudly on a handful of Ruffles, but still spoke clear enough.

Chris stopped short, glancing between the direction Zach had gone and the boy talking to him. Sighing, he turned. “Uh…I overslept.”

“Not that. You got over that,” the blond gave a dismissive gesture. “We took a poll. Zach says you were all tense and shit earlier. Zoë says you were grumbling and that’s Karl’s job. Now you’re back to normal. Something going on?”

These antics weren’t atypical. When someone was off for an undisclosed reason, the others communed and nominated someone to investigate. Anton apparently drew the short straw.

“I don’t know, man. Just one of those days.”

“Pressure getting to you?”

Shrugging, Chris fought the urge to agree. “Nah.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“What?”

“Girl trouble? Boy trouble? Zach being all weird?” Anton shoved a few more chips in his mouth, probably to keep from letting anything else slip.

Chris reached out and tousled his hair, trying to ignore the weird line of questioning. Seemingly, Anton needed to watch more cop shows and learn proper interrogation techniques. “I’m fine, man. I don’t have time for seriously dating and I never have issues with Zach.”

He trotted off before Anton could swallow and keep him any longer. A halfhearted knock later, Chris stepped into Zach’s trailer and flopped back onto the sofa. “What’s up?”

Zach was in the midst of chewing so he waved the book to indicate his plans.

“Where are you?” He took a bite and leaned into Zach’s shoulder, scanning the page to catch which portion of the book Zach had made it to. It was the biggest plot-twist in the thing and Chris grinned.

“The best part. Do you remember this?” Zach turned, letting Chris slide more of their torsos together.

Chris nodded, focusing on his sandwich and telling himself he wasn’t snuggling. “Mmhm. Where Samantha gets lost in the airport because she’s an idiot.”

“She’s not an idiot,” Zach countered immediately. “She’s trying to multitask, think four steps ahead.”

“Like chess,” he hid his smile behind his water bottle. Maybe it was wrong, but he was prodding just enough for his friend to keep talking. This wasn’t a lie, not really, just an omission.

“Exactly. I knew you’d get this, even if you separate them from the rest of your bookshelf.” For the sake of convenience, Chris ignored the barb. “It’s Murphy’s Law and there isn’t a clear better option. I don’t care who you are, if you put yourself in her place, any choice you make is wrong.”

“That’s why it repeats and Adam takes the second option.”

“Exactly!”

Chris sniggered when Zach’s face lit up. Seeing Zach excited about something was one of Chris’ favorite things; knowing he’d caused it on two separate levels was the icing. And, yes, he acknowledged the extra consideration he gave to the reactions he had to Zach. No, he wasn’t going to mention them aloud.

They lapsed into silence, Zach reading while he ate and Chris fiddling with a script when his sandwich was gone. Zach shifted, arm wrapped around Chris’ neck to hold them together and turn pages. It was comfortable, easy, the way they always were.

Their break was nearly up, so Chris started to move from his place against Zach’s side. Pressure on his forearm drew Chris’ eyes to Zach’s face. Those ridiculous eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was just as surprised about the move; Chris smirked.

“Yeah?”

“Hold on. I’ll come with you.” Licking his lips, Chris nodded and watched as Zach used an old receipt to mark his page.

“I vastly approve of your new bookmark.”

A shrug – and, was that a blush? Chris couldn’t be sure, it was warm in the trailer – met the response. “You’ll grumble and pout until I give in.”

“What is with the accusations today?” Chris huffed, kicking at Zach’s shoe before heading for the door. “Is that why you generally acquiesce to my demands?”

“Something like that.”

**[4]**

Filming wrapped not long after and everyone went their separate ways for a while. Other projects, family, significant others, lists of things that always went neglected when filming something came creeping in.

Chris had enough down time to finish his book, but he didn’t have the drive. He was still texting Anton regularly, emailing Zoë nearly constantly, and seeing Zach at least every two days. Things hadn’t changed too terribly much and it kept Chris’ head in the wrong environment. But he forced it out. Overall, he was pretty pleased with what he was doing, knowing more of his actual life and world views were seeping into the narrative. His editor noticed and pointed out the holes, where the transitions were choppy, ripped apart where he nearly switched tenses because he was becoming the narrator when he shouldn’t be.

He felt like he was back in Intro to Written English and it irritated him just enough to make him think, spur him on until he was missing calls and forgetting non-working plans. But he finished. He sent everything he had on its way and ignored the ending that was so open he was ready to fight to the death to keep it. His editor was taking longer than usual, forcing Chris to find ways to distract himself from the usual nerves involved with impending judgment.

So he checked out his message boards, reading over the debates and laughing at some of the more outlandish ones. His favorite thread, however, was always the one that asked who he was. Oh, Jack Christian’s readers knew better than to ask him, but they always had a new theory amongst themselves. Thus far, on the newest thread for the topic, there were five different theories.

The most laughable was that he was a Stephenie Meyer using a pseudonym; Chris had nearly choked on his soda when he’d read that. The most outlandish was that he was a psychologist or some other intense professional that couldn’t have his good name tarnished by a publication that wasn’t backed by the scientific method. Someone came pretty damn close, convinced he was a politician who didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention. There were a few people sure he wasn’t using a false name, just trying to keep his life private; that one led to a list of paranoid nonsense that had less to do with him than it did conspiracy theories in general.

God, Chris loved these people.

He’d left them abandoned for too long. Instead of revising the edited chapters that were slowly trickling in, Jack left a message, promising the next novel was on the way. He made the claim that it would be in a style more closely related to the nearly stream-of-consciousness of the first, involve the coming-of-age theme from the second, the confusion of the third, and ambiguity of the fourth. They were impressed.

Chris called Zach an hour later, still laughing over the Stephenie Meyer thing.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“I will anyway.”

“I had my suspicions.” Zach’s laughter was warm across the line even if Noah’s barking nearly drowned it out.

Chris soldiered on, fairly certain Noah was trying to rouse Harold from a perch from which he couldn’t nudge at the cat with his nose. One day, Chris was convinced, Harold was going to get fed up and dive bomb the dog, claws at the ready.

“Who do you think Jack Christian is?” Unconsciously, Chris bit at his much abused nails, waiting, wondering.

“I don’t know,” he answered immediately. They’d gone over each novel, in reverse order even though it drove Chris insane, and Zach had indulged him with commentary through each one. The first was his least favorite, coming across as pushier than the others and feeling childish by comparison. “I thought it was like that whole J.D. Robb-Nora Roberts thing, like maybe it’s some other guy’s way of playing with his medium without losing his fanbase. The style varies enough, like he’s experimenting, but he knows what he’s doing or no one would let him do it. I can’t figure it out; I think that’s why I like his books so much. There’s just as much mystery around him as there are in the books. Why?”

“No reason,” Chris mumbled around his thumb nail.

A long suffering sigh came across the airwaves. “We’re getting your nails done. I’m sick of you biting them.”

“No manicures or polish.”

“Whatever, we’ll see.” Giving in wasn’t Zach’s style; Chris knew they’d revisit the topic again. “Oh, hey, did you get the itinerary for the press tour?”

“Yeah. It’s already making my head spin.” They both knew it would change fifty times before they were actually heading around the world. Everyone’s people would get involved and demand different things, change the time of this to accommodate that. Enough time remained for an entirely new one to be sent around, but this would be the general time frame. Someone somewhere was courteous enough to keep them all in the loop.

They dropped the topic, refusing to mention the plans that would change, and glossing over fourteen more before it was all said and done. By then, Zach was half asleep, but refusing to hang up until he heard the rest of the story about how Kat had knocked the mirror off his car, on both sides, trying to parallel park.

**[5]**

Revisions were a writer’s nightmare. Chris was constantly changing things, even if it was something as small as an adjective, even before he received professional input. Once he had the notes, he went even more intense with it. It made him reclusive, avoidant.

Beau had seen Chris through two of these cycles (counting this one) without knowing it. Ironically, when she said she wanted a break, Chris hadn’t cared. This was typical, wasn’t it? She’d become disgruntled with the lack of attention when something occupied his time and the ill-tempered comments Chris barked when he actually bothered to answer his phone. He made time to venture out for coffee and do the crossword, but that was nearly where it ended. So she would whine, Chris would shrug, she’d bitch about his indifference, and they’d back away for a bit.

Normally, Chris moped for at least a week when this happened, mostly on principle because they always swore it would be different and it never was. This time, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His life was too good. It felt like this novel was going to go places the others hadn’t and Chris had to ensure perfection, if possible.

Still, he made time to help his sister paint three rooms and send Karl links to ridiculous internet comics. He answered every call from Zach and usually started the text conversations. After a week or so, Chris’ lack of girlfriend drew attention.

“Beau hasn’t answered your phone in a while,” Zach pointed out, all nonchalance and too much disinterest.

Chris shrugged and knocked back a tequila shot, grabbing the lime that had come with Zach’s. Tradition dictated that they do at least three rounds of tequila; Chris always gave Zach his salt and Zach gave Chris the limes. “We broke up.”

“Sorry, man,” Zach smiled sadly. He sat up a little straighter, prepared for a real explanation. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I don’t have time for her.” True enough.

“What are you doing right now that’s got you so busy? You’re in some weird holding pattern.”

“Let’s just say…” Chris started, ready to come clean on a few things. He really ought to tell Zach, still didn’t have any significant reasons not to. Being set in his ways, though, made him evasive; also, a bar wasn’t the best place for the conversation. Zach licked salt off his own hand and took his drink. “I’m working on that back up plan you bitch so much about.”

Zach choked, coughing loudly and earning a few glances from bystanders. Chris licked his own hand, dumping the extra salt onto his palm and presenting it, well aware of Zach’s completely misguided notion that the extra salt stopped the sting of the liquor. Without missing a beat, Zach folded his fingers around Chris wrist, tongue licking over sensitive skin, sucking a little longer than was essential. The combination of smooth, surprisingly soft fingers and hot, rough tongue sent a jolt straight through Chris, bypassing everything to settle low in his stomach.

“What?” Zach forced out, eyes meeting Chris’ and lips brushing his palm before releasing him.

“Don’t…just don’t ask right now. I’ll…get into it later. Not tonight.”

“Are you trying to break into the porn industry?” A light brown amused gaze filtered through rather geeky glasses that shouldn’t work but somehow did.

“Yeah. I figure it’s my true calling.”

Slowly, as if in a frame-by-frame playback, Zach turned. He reached out, tracing his thumb along Chris’ lower lip. “A mouth like this? Yeah, I don’t doubt it.”

Chris wanted to close his eyes, desperately, but couldn’t. Out of habit, his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and caught Zach’s fingertip in the process. The fleeting flash in those eyes and the shudder that seemed to run through Zach made it impossible for Chris to pull away. Instead, he embraced impetuosity, tilting forward enough to catch the digit between his lips. Chris swirled his tongue around it as he sucked, dragging his teeth along Zach’s finger as he pulled away.

It could have been too much, pushing too far, even if Zach wasn’t complaining. The risk wasn’t worth it. He’d been avoiding giving up some old secret, too afraid it would change their entire dynamic, but he was willing to do this? No. In true Chris Pine fashion, he played it off with a smirk and a wink before grabbing a new lime and shotglass. If his lips lingered on Zach’s fingers when the older man offered him the second lime, neither mentioned it.

PART TWO

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