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The Real Life of Jack Christian [2/2] ;; NC-17
Title: The Real Life of Jack Christian
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bootson
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: NC-17
Warning: nothing you wouldn't expect from the rating.
Word Count: 5197 (this part)
Disclaimer: I’m a pathological liar.
AN: For this prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
trek_rpf_kink. I really can't believe this has gone over as well as it has. I promised it wouldn't be a long wait! Here you go guys.
Thanks tochellealistic for being the best beta I could ask for.
PART ONE
**[6]**
When Beau called to wish Chris a safe trip, he sounded distracted and hungover. She didn’t call back, which was for the best. Definitely for the best when considering that all hell broke loose about three minutes afterward.
The press tour started the same week Jack Christian’s new novel hit the presses. They were doing a test run, printing up enough to send to all the important people (read: critics) before they did an actual release in a couple months. Chris, obviously, always got one of the first prints. If he ever became a bestseller, he could probably make some serious cash with these things, actual first editions.
At any rate, he made sure he’d shoved it into his carry on before heading for the airport. Once you’ve spent months upon months writing and revising something, you should probably be ready to throw it on a shelf, save it on a flashdrive and proceed to ignore it for the rest of your life. Not Chris. He had to read it in all its printed glory and nitpick the things that should have been changed but had slipped through the cracks.
His internal critic was pretty violent, but it couldn’t be helped.
Preflight announcements made, take off accomplished, and hours of endless nothingness ahead gave Chris plenty of time to critique himself and his editor’s efficiency. He had a window seat, having begged for one because he oddly felt too closed in if he couldn’t see outside. Karl had ended up beside him but disappeared to harass Zoë or J.J. or someone as soon as he was able. Chris figured he was on his own for a while.
He dug around until he pulled a black and red book from his bag. Chris hated the cover, it looked entirely too sinister, but they were waiting for alternative feedback.
He’d only just settled into his seat again, iPod blaring the playlist he’d compiled over the months he’d spent writing, when body weight threw his shoulder back into the seat. Scowling, he made to glare at Karl when Zach’s apologetic face came into view instead.
“Sorry,” Zach smiled, pulling an earbud from Chris ear to press against his. “What are you doing? You should be acting insane like the rest of us.”
Chris couldn’t tell if Zach was frustrated or curious. Instead of actually trying to work it out, he waved the book vaguely in Zach’s direction and paused his iPod. “I want to finish this before everything is exhaustion and alcohol.”
“Is this new?” Zach, having been through Chris’ book collection more times than either of them cared to count, tilted the book back. His eyes went wide. “When was this released?”
Shit. Chris hadn’t factored in that Zach would eventually see the cover. This was the first time anyone he’d known was actually interested enough to be excited about his book coming out (his mother did not count). He should have anticipated, after he’d made a point to con Zach into in-depth discussions, that carrying around an unreleased novel by that very author would be remarkable.
“It’s not. This is an advanced copy.”
“Who did you fuck to get this?” The book was gone before Chris could blink.
“You bend a page and so help me, Quinto, you’ll wake up without chest hair.”
“Will not. You like it too much,” Zach was undeterred. “Seriously, Chris. Where did you get this?”
There were two ways to go about this. Chris could lie, point blank; he could tell Zach he shared an agent with Jack Christian or that they had met at Berkeley. The alternative was admitting he’d been sort of lying all along. Of the two options, neither was too fetching. Zach was looking at him expectantly, fingers idly smoothing his sleeve. They were close, Zach would have to understand.
“I always get advanced copies.” Yes, he was stalling. Try spending your life under the cloak of anonymity and try to anticipate your reaction to being confronted with a reason to own up to the truth.
“How? Can I borrow this?”
“Sure.” A few deep breaths later, Chris put a hand on Zach’s arm to push the book away. “I…” He started, ready to answer Zach’s other question, but Zach had moved on to being enthralled with the text on the dedication page (this one simply to his pushy and persistent big sister) . Sighing, Chris tugged on the book, refusing to meet Zach’s eyes. “I just got it a couple days ago. You can have it once I look it over.”
Zach pouted. He’d deny it with an unparalleled vehemence, but he was definitely pouting and Chris suspected he was one step away from breaking out the wide-eyed, kicked puppy look that he knew Chris couldn’t resist.
“I’ll share if you promise to read fast,” he compromised.
“Deal,” the older man grinned, holding the book at a position easy for them to both see.
In the end, it really wasn’t a perfect option. Occasionally, Zach would reread paragraphs because he liked to read dialogue until he could hear the proper inflection in his head and some descriptions had Chris practically cringing, meaning he read them no less than three times while belittling his own words. They didn’t complain though, shifting closer and sinking in their seats as time passed and pages turned.
Zoë threw a pillow at Chris when their light kept her awake in the row in front of them. Chris pressed it against the wall by his head and watched Zach finish the chapter before marking their place with the paper covering the hardback. He looked over his shoulder.
“I guess Karl’s going to want his seat back,” Zach whispered, mindful of the dozing people surrounding them.
“Fuck ‘im,” Chris was infinitely less respectful. He caught the back of Zach’s shirt, pulling him around in the seat. “Stay and talk to me.”
Head titled, the older man laughed as he took in Chris’ half-closed eyes and they way he slouched into the pillow. “You’re about to pass out.”
“Then pass out with me. It’s whatever.” And he didn’t realize his fingers were still wrapped in Zach’s shirt until he started shifting around, leaning his seat back a smidge.
“So,” Zach started right when Chris’ breathing was starting to level off. “You never told me how you got your hands on this.”
As relaxed as he was feeling, Chris couldn’t deal with the reaction right now, the possible fall out. It would be fuck knew how long before Zach got through all the questions he would undoubtedly have. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder and burrowed deeper into his hoody. Zach pulled the front down over his eyes and Chris laughed.
“Remind me when we land; I’ll tell you then.”
The answering hum must have been assent because Chris didn’t remember either of them saying anything else until he woke up a couple hours later with Zach’s head on his shoulder, hand resting on his thigh.
**[7]**
The whirlwind really started after that. More fans than Chris had ever seen were screaming their names, his name, and everyone had a million questions. Unfortunately, those questions all tended to be the same and it got more boring, tedious, exhausting with every new interview. Luckily, everyone wanted to talk to Kirk and Spock together, which surprised absolutely no one, so it at least provided some amusement.
When Chris really got bored, he rambled or started trying to surprise everyone involved. His publicist would either love him for appearing as educated as he was or hate him for breaking his clichéd, guy’s guy, semi-misogynistic reputation. That woman was the last of his worries, though. The first S.A.T. word he pulled out earned him a better reaction from Zach than he could have anticipated.
“I know you ace Times’ crosswords, but since when do you speak that way in public?” Zach finally asked when they were in transit between the room they’d been holed up in and some swanky restaurant for dinner. Everyone was in different cars, having finished interviews at slightly different times and ventured off in pairs to meet up with everyone and debate who had been subjected to the worst of the questioning.
“It was getting tedious. I was mixing it up,” Chris shrugged, tilting his head back to stare out the back window and into the pitch black sky.
There was silence, other than the sound of the engine, until Chris felt Zach shift. He kept his eyes closed when Zach was pressing against his side and ghosting his lips across Chris’ ear.
“I was impressed.”
Chris grinned. “Someone had to prove your grasp of Webster’s dictionary wasn’t unsurpassed. You were getting a superiority complex.”
“You plan on challenging me, Pine?”
Lifting his head at the low pitch, new timbre, Chris opened his eyes to realize just how close Zach was. He tilted his chin up in mock defiance, deeply aware of how their noses brushed and lips came into closer proximity.
“I have been for a while. You’re a little slow on the uptake, babe.”
His tongue darted out to moisten inexplicably dry lips before he smirked, glancing down then back to Zach’s eyes. Zach’s hand was on his neck suddenly, not pulling, just resting there. The car was slowing and Chris tilted forward the most minuscule, indistinguishable amount to brush their lips together. It was over as soon as it happened, the ghost of a touch, when Chris tilted away and bit his lip while Zach followed before they were being ushered out of the car.
Chris felt eyes on him the rest of the night, pretended he didn’t notice how dark Zach’s gaze was in the dim lights. When his editor called, he excused himself, squeezing Zach’s knee under the table in the process. He relayed the comments he had on the cover art and page format, infusing Zach’s views into his own without realizing it.
When he slid back into his seat at the table, Chris was informed that Zach and he had won the “worst of the day” bet. They had nearly every day since Australia (Karl acting crazy in an attempt to win didn’t count). After a few days of their winning streak, Zach and Chris developed their own bet about who (John or Karl) would realize this was futile and give up the game first. So far, Chris was convinced he’d be victorious, what with Karl getting as irritated as he was over the whole thing.
**[8]**
Everyone ended up on just the wrong side of sober that night, three barely managing to stumble through the hotel lobby. Chris, on some type of I’m-going-to-get-a-new-cover high combined with a nearly all-encompassing need to find any excuse to keep touching Zach in some way, was one of those three. Zach keyed into his own room when Chris couldn’t find his keycard and manhandled Chris into his own room through the connecting door.
Considering how grabby he was, it wasn’t a surprise that Chris managed to grip Zach’s arm even as he faceplanted into the pillows.
“Stay,” he muttered while simultaneously trying to kick off his shoes.
A rumbling sound that Chris should have been able to distinguish as laughter, if his brain wasn’t swishing around in the majority of a handle of whiskey, was his only answer before the bed dipped.
“You don’t plan on letting me go, do you?”
“No chance,” he slurred, throwing an arm over Zach’s chest. “Talk t’ me.”
Zach’s hand was heavy on his back, rubbing random patterns against his shirt before slipping under the fabric and skimming his skin. Chris hummed, tightening his arm and pressing closer.
“You always want to keep me talking, begging for my opinions on books most people haven’t read and starting arguments about something mundane.” If he hadn’t sounded so amused, Chris would have been affronted.
“Like your voice. An’ you ‘ave good ideas. Good for bus’ness.” Chris was barely awake, focusing too hard on Zach’s breathing and the soothing feeling of his fingers.
The silence felt loaded, but Chris was too far gone to work through the in depth processes required for thorough analysis. Not having this problem and ignoring Chris’ plight as he grappled with coherency, Zach decided he was willing to sort through drunken ramble.
“What do you mean? My voice is pretty sexy and I have some genius ideas, but how are those good for the movie?”
“Not the movie.” Chris got a hand under him to push up and look down at the other man. He’d had enough to drink that his face was a bit flushed and the product holding his hair in place had finally lost its battle with gravity and sweat. Shifting his arm away from Zach’s chest, balance leaning toward unsteady on the arm he was using for leverage, Chris brushed dark strands back from Zach’s forehead. He continued on, pressing against Zach’s scalp carefully and reveling in how soft his hair was. Nothing was clear, everything too blurry around the edges, other than Zach; his messy hair, the rough stubble, even the grip Zach now had on his waist, every last detail was sharply in focus.
And it was too much. It made Chris forget tact, planning skills.
“Wha’ you said, ‘bout the cover.” He lost the battle with staying upright, sinking down to bury his head against Zach’s neck. “Kel ‘greed. Couldn’t argue wit’ it.”
“Who’s Kel?”
“Editor,” Chris told him as if it were obvious, barely able to remember that this was something Zach actually didn’t know.
Slowly, Zach turned on his side, nudging at Chris until he was mirroring the position. He ran his fingers over Chris’ face, tracing his nose, eyebrows, cheekbones; all the while, Chris blinked to stay awake. He completely missed the epiphany Zach seemed to be having. “Wait. What cover? You mean the Jack Christian book? How does this go together?”
Chris leaned forward enough to rub his eyes against Zach’s shoulder. “My books. Meant t’ tell you.” A yawn cut off whatever else he may have planned to say; not even Chris was currently able to remember by the time he could speak again. “Glad you liked ‘em, Zach. Real glad. Kinda nervous about it.”
He ended in a whisper, eyes closed. Zach let him wrap an arm around him, shifting until they were touching as much as possible, legs slotted together.
“What are you…” Zach shook his head, Chris felt it, and pressed a kiss to Chris’ hair. “Sleep. I’ll interrogate you in the morning.”
“’Kay. If you ‘ave to.”
On principle, Chris wasn’t a cuddler, not really. But he didn’t act the same around Zach or maybe it had to do with how they hadn’t done more than accelerated platonic touching. At any rate, he was sort of clinging to the other man. He was just drawn to all the heat radiating from his body, even if they were both fully clothed.
Zach didn’t seem to mind, letting Chris drape across him and press his face into his neck in his quest for a comfortable position. But Chris couldn’t seem to pass out. He was right on the edge, about to fall off into a drunken stupor; yet something was holding him bac. To the best of his ability, Chris sorted his thoughts, the words he’d just spoken already becoming incoherent. Finally, Zach sighed his name in feeble irritation and something seemed to click for him. Worry. That was the problem; he was worried.
“Zach!” Chris practically ripped himself away from Zach’s arms, startling them both.
Thirty seconds of blinking followed. “What? You okay?”
“You mad?”
Releasing a long breath, Zach laughed and coaxed Chris back down against him. “About what?”
“Not tellin’ you. Shouldn’t’a done ‘at.” There was so much remorse in his voice. Chris was trying to ensure he gave off as much sincerity as a drunk person could muster.
“It’s okay, baby.” Hands in his hair accompanied the promise. “We’ll talk about it after you sleep off the liquor.”
Concerns assuaged for the moment, Chris didn’t fight. Tomorrow he’d be embarrassed by being such a girl, but for the moment everything was fine. Everything except the sway and swirl of his surroundings, of course. The entire room was spinning clockwise while the bed moved in the opposite direction. He squeezed his eyes shut, relaxing against Zach because he wasn’t moving; he was solid and still, stability. Tomorrow they would deal with it.
Tomorrow, that was his mantra as Chris finally gave unconsciousness its way. Unfortunately, tomorrow always came entirely too early when Chris had spent the night drinking.
Since the whole world tour thing had started, Chris was waking up disoriented more and more often. It always took him five minutes to remember he wasn’t in his own bed and another five to discover that he wasn’t in a spare room at his parents’, Katie’s, Zach’s or on John’s sofa. A few minutes after that (the time was getting longer the more they traveled) he’d recall what city he was in and maybe the hotel’s name. This particular morning took a smidge longer.
He hadn’t woken up with anyone in a while, not since before Beau left and definitely not during the tour. Chris fidgeted, breathing deeply and catching the faded scent of Zach’s cologne under the over starched linens and stale cigarette smoke. Carefully, weary, he cracked his eyes and was pleased to see he’d remembered to leave the drapes closed so as not to be assaulted by early morning light (how he always got the room facing the morning sun was a huge cosmic joke, to be sure).
It would have been nice to spend a while just watching Zach sleep. It wasn’t something he’d never seen before, but it was always an attractive view. Zach looked younger when he slept, seemed more laid back than he was during his waking hours since he didn’t have the stress battering at him. Still, the alcohol he’d downed like water the night before was drawing him toward the bathroom. Extricating himself from where he’d wrapped around Zach was a slow and tedious process, what with Zach shifting to follow his movements, but he persevered.
The previous night didn’t replay in his mind until he was tasting Crest and gulping warm water as it rained down on him from the showerhead. Well…hell. It was kind of fuzzy, not a black out but disjointed and jumbled with random emotions Chris couldn’t reason out. He’d been obsessively worried about Zach’s reaction, but Zach hadn’t seemed like he was lying. Besides, Zach wouldn’t lie to him, not on a level akin the Chris’ deception.
Chris couldn’t put it out of his mind though. Who knew how long Zach had been awake once he’d faded to black. Anything could have happened in that time. Head pressed to the cool tiles, Chris tried to chill the fuck out, giving himself until the hot water hitting his back started to itch.
**[9]**
Chris expected Zach to either be sleeping or to have gone back to his own room. What he hadn’t expected was Zach to be leaning against the headboard with Jack Christian’s book open in his hands.
He was wearing his glasses and missing his shirt, which meant he’d been up and moving around but had come back to wait. Chris cleared his throat, standing in the center of the room, hand clasping the knot on the towel and waiting for a reaction.
Zach looked up, closing the book with a hotel pen holding his page. “Morning. How are you feeling?”
“Kind of slow,” Chris laughed, forcing himself to turn and search for a clean pair of boxers. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah. You’re really warm,” he laughed.
When he turned back around, he was at least partially clothed and biting his lip. “Thanks?”
“Chris,” Zach started, brows furrowing as he set his glasses on the nightstand. “Did you mean what you said? These,” he waved the book, “are yours?”
“Um, yeah. I know,” he shrugged and tried to adopt some detachment, “the name is ridiculously lame. In my defense, I was nineteen and going through a Kerouac phase.”
“I don’t care about the name. Come over here.” And he waited. Chris glanced up through his eyelashes, trying to gauge what was going on in Zach’s head through his expression but largely failing. So he took a deep breath, held it, and went to sit on the edge of the bed by Zach’s knees. “Are you telling me…sitting here, staring at the lamp and honestly telling me that you are Jack Christian?”
“Yeah,” Chris whispered, licking his lips a couple times from habit.
“Why am I only finding this out now?” In lieu of responding, Chris shrugged and moved to bite at a hangnail on his left index finger. Zach caught his hand before it reached his teeth. “Christopher.”
“A few reasons,” he sighed. His hand twitched as he fought the desire to grip, touch, hang on and keep Zach there long enough to explain. While Zach didn’t seem to be walking out on him, Chris was a touch insecure about it. “I never tell anyone, it never matters. Then I caught you reading my book – my book! – and all I could think was that our whole dynamic was going to change.”
“Nothing would have changed, not really. Why would you even entertain that idea?” His words were almost sharp, making Chris wince involuntarily, but Zach turned his hand and let Chris lace their fingers, clasp them together the way he needed to. “You asked so many damn questions, I never thought…I thought it was like our debates on Wells.”
Disappointment was flying at him from so many small words, random inflections that Chris almost wanted to just walk away and have this conversation via text message. Finally, though, Chris couldn’t stand it anymore and looked up. He met Zach’s eyes dead on, trying to make him understand that there hadn’t been any malicious intent.
“I wanted to know exactly what you thought of them, not just what you thought I wanted to hear,” Chris explained, squeezing Zach’s fingers, leaning closer in his intensity. “I respect your opinion, Zach, a lot. If you’d known, I figured you would censor.”
He nodded, seeming to accept this. “Why the pseudonym?”
Eyes on the ceiling, Chris shrugged. “I was nineteen and had this professor, kind of a genius. He pointed out that no one would take me seriously if looking me up got you articles on high school baseball.”
Even if Chris wanted that to be the end of the questioning, Zach clearly didn’t agree. “Why don’t you want to admit it now? Go public?”
Instantly, Chris shook his head. “I want people to read my books for content, not because of my name. I try to keep acting and writing separate because…it’s like I have these two different talents that are mutually exclusive.”
“I see.” Zach set the novel on the bedside table before laying a hand on Chris’ shoulder. He rubbed his thumb over Chris’ neck, collecting a few drops of water that had trailed down from his hair, rubbing it into his skin. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”
“Zach-“
“Listen. You should have told me,” he frowned. “I would have still waxed poetic about the irony and ambiguity. Then I would have told you the characters have unimaginative names and the first book is bordering ostentatious.” Grip tight on his shoulder, Zach gave him a shake. “I don’t lie about the important things, Chris. You know me better than that.”
“This wasn’t some grand scale, epic thing, though.” Self-deprecating wasn’t what Chris was shooting for, just pragmatism. “They’re just books.”
“But they’re important to you,” Zach pointed out, letting go of Chris’ hand and shifting up onto his knees to lean closer. “And, in case you missed it, they happen to be some of my favorites.”
A slow smile spread across Chris’ face. “Not fishing here, but yeah?”
“Yes.” He shuffled closer, hands running up to loop around Chris’ neck. “You’re more self-aware than that. You know you’re good, don’t pretend you’re surprised.”
Chris caught a finger in Zach’s belt loop to tug him a few more inches. “I know I am. People love Jack, but you’re a literature snob.”
“Sure,” Zach rolled his eyes. “This is coming from Mr. Dog-earring-pages-is-a-criminal-offense.”
Flopping back, Chris scoffed, fake glaring up at Zach. “Spend three quarters of a year writing something and see how you feel when it’s desecrated.”
They both chuckled quietly for a moment and Chris was so fucking elated he could barely stand it. This was fine, everything as all right. Zach wasn’t ready to disown him for hiding this and Chris had a half-naked Zachary Quinto in his bed. Win-win. Zach froze suddenly, eyes gone wide.
“Chris,” Zach whispered, leaning over him, expression deep. “You were a published author before you were twenty.”
“Well, yeah.” It was so obvious that Chris snickered, cutting off abruptly when Zach’s mouth descended on his. Without so much as a pause, Chris’ body reacted, surging forward to crush their lips together with a bit more force. Zach let out a grunt, hands gripping Chris’ biceps as Chris went for his hair.
“God,” Zach pulled away to mutter, mouth moving down Chris’ neck. “Do you have any. Fucking. Idea. Just how sexy. That is?” It would have been easy to miss the words, being said into his skin as they were.
“Never thought about it,” Chris smirked, wondering how he’d missed how turned on Zach would be by this new knowledge. “Want to show me?”
At this point, Chris could die a happy man. After months of dancing around each other, touching and playing before pulling away, the tension was finally breaking. Zach’s hands were everywhere, nails raking down his side and up his stomach while his tongue trailed lower to run over his nipples in turn. Chris arched into the contact getting over the minor shock value and pushing up the bed, pulling Zach with him.
**[10]**
Time lost all meaning. Somehow, they managed to shove clothing out of the way, Zach’s stupid jeans giving them the most trouble. They were focused, though, intent on one thing and only that: getting as much skin-on-skin contact as possible. And it was fucking glorious.
There should probably have been a power struggle but Chris didn’t give a fuck what happened as long as Zach was moving against him. God, the way that man moved! Chris dug his fingertips into Zach’s back, pulling until he had more of Zach’s weight pressing him into the mattress.
Their mouths barely detached for a second, tongues twining as Zach ground their hips together. Chris gasped against Zach’s mouth when their cocks brushed together, a hand sliding down to squeeze Zach’s ass and force more harsh contact, needing more friction. It wasn’t enough and he was only vaguely aware of how many times “more” escaped his lips.
Zach shifted, groaning loudly at the momentary loss of contact before he snaked a hand between their bodies to wrap around both their lengths. Chris licked at the column of Zach throat, sucking a mark into his shoulder as Zach’s hand moved in fluid motions. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied moaning Zach’s name and letting every twist of the other man’s wrist set his nerves on fire, he may have been amused by just how easily they fell into a rhythm of thrusts that worked for them both.
The pattern faltered slightly, Zach flicking his thumb over the head of Chris’ cock, pressing roughly around the ridge.
“Fuck, Chris,” Zach whimpered. “Come for me, baby. Want to see you,” he was murmuring, panting. The world went white, Chris thrusting hard into Zach’s hand and tugging him into a kiss guaranteed to bruise both their mouths more so than they already were.
Even as Zach stroked him through it, the glide much smoother, Chris started to come back to himself. He batted Zach’s hand away, using his own come to ease his strokes over Zach. A twist of the wrist followed by a rough jerk and a sharp bite to the curve of Zach’s shoulder and the older man was muttering nonsense broken up by Chris’ name. He buried his face against Chris’ chest, collapsing against him when the shaking subsided.
Neither moved for a while, trying to breathe again. Zach finally lifted himself off Chris, nose wrinkling when he couldn’t be bothered to break contact long enough to clean them off. Out of no where, Chris laughed, breathless and quiet, but laughter all the same.
“That’s comforting,” Zach smirked, catching Chris’ chin to turn his face and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Zach,” Chris started when he was back in control. “You realize this looks like you’re only interested in sex with Jack Christian?”
“I am. He’s damn hot, kind of smart, almost funny, sort of my best friend.”
In one swift movement, Chris had rolled onto Zach, trapping his hands above his head. “Literary whore.”
He seemed to consider this, staring up at Chris, pupils still blown slightly too wide and looking every bit the picture of debauchery. “There are worse things.”
Karl came banging on the door not ten minutes later, the typical sign that the others were headed for breakfast but a joint shower was more pressing.
**[Epilogue]**
Chris Pine is an actor. He picks his roles for reasons no one, even his agent, quite understands. It’s not likely that he’ll feel the need to ever truly explain himself. If something interests him, he works for it and that’s all there is to it. Sometimes, when things get a little too crazy, he vanishes off everyone’s radar for a while. When he gets too wrapped up in his own head, no one can comprehend his reasoning, or lack thereof. Which isn’t entirely true because Zach’s always going to make sure he eats when he’s obsessed with a particular piece of characterization. He’ll always drag Chris out when he’s in a fit waiting for his editor to get back to him or a casting director to make a decision. When it comes right down to it, Chris sort of has it all.
Jack Christian is an author. He writes fiction and evades all mentions of his personal life. There are few people who have him figured out, understand where he actually stands on the issues he discusses. His stand on matters always seems neutral, both sides open equally for mockery even when his readers go a little crazy over it. His last novel isn’t a best seller, not yet, but it’s a close thing. The critics are impressed with how he avoids bowing to the pressure for a perfect ending; it’s more realistic that way. Jack looks good on paper: hardworking, intelligent, dedicated.
But Jack’s nearly as fictional as the mysteries he writes. His readers don’t know this, but Chris’ people, the ones that matter, they do. They don’t call it a lie; it’s not really, more of an omission.
END
Author:
bootsonPairing: 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: NC-17
Warning: nothing you wouldn't expect from the rating.
Word Count: 5197 (this part)
Disclaimer: I’m a pathological liar.
AN: For this prompt at
trek_rpf_kink. I really can't believe this has gone over as well as it has. I promised it wouldn't be a long wait! Here you go guys.Thanks to
chellealistic for being the best beta I could ask for.PART ONE
When Beau called to wish Chris a safe trip, he sounded distracted and hungover. She didn’t call back, which was for the best. Definitely for the best when considering that all hell broke loose about three minutes afterward.
The press tour started the same week Jack Christian’s new novel hit the presses. They were doing a test run, printing up enough to send to all the important people (read: critics) before they did an actual release in a couple months. Chris, obviously, always got one of the first prints. If he ever became a bestseller, he could probably make some serious cash with these things, actual first editions.
At any rate, he made sure he’d shoved it into his carry on before heading for the airport. Once you’ve spent months upon months writing and revising something, you should probably be ready to throw it on a shelf, save it on a flashdrive and proceed to ignore it for the rest of your life. Not Chris. He had to read it in all its printed glory and nitpick the things that should have been changed but had slipped through the cracks.
His internal critic was pretty violent, but it couldn’t be helped.
Preflight announcements made, take off accomplished, and hours of endless nothingness ahead gave Chris plenty of time to critique himself and his editor’s efficiency. He had a window seat, having begged for one because he oddly felt too closed in if he couldn’t see outside. Karl had ended up beside him but disappeared to harass Zoë or J.J. or someone as soon as he was able. Chris figured he was on his own for a while.
He dug around until he pulled a black and red book from his bag. Chris hated the cover, it looked entirely too sinister, but they were waiting for alternative feedback.
He’d only just settled into his seat again, iPod blaring the playlist he’d compiled over the months he’d spent writing, when body weight threw his shoulder back into the seat. Scowling, he made to glare at Karl when Zach’s apologetic face came into view instead.
“Sorry,” Zach smiled, pulling an earbud from Chris ear to press against his. “What are you doing? You should be acting insane like the rest of us.”
Chris couldn’t tell if Zach was frustrated or curious. Instead of actually trying to work it out, he waved the book vaguely in Zach’s direction and paused his iPod. “I want to finish this before everything is exhaustion and alcohol.”
“Is this new?” Zach, having been through Chris’ book collection more times than either of them cared to count, tilted the book back. His eyes went wide. “When was this released?”
Shit. Chris hadn’t factored in that Zach would eventually see the cover. This was the first time anyone he’d known was actually interested enough to be excited about his book coming out (his mother did not count). He should have anticipated, after he’d made a point to con Zach into in-depth discussions, that carrying around an unreleased novel by that very author would be remarkable.
“It’s not. This is an advanced copy.”
“Who did you fuck to get this?” The book was gone before Chris could blink.
“You bend a page and so help me, Quinto, you’ll wake up without chest hair.”
“Will not. You like it too much,” Zach was undeterred. “Seriously, Chris. Where did you get this?”
There were two ways to go about this. Chris could lie, point blank; he could tell Zach he shared an agent with Jack Christian or that they had met at Berkeley. The alternative was admitting he’d been sort of lying all along. Of the two options, neither was too fetching. Zach was looking at him expectantly, fingers idly smoothing his sleeve. They were close, Zach would have to understand.
“I always get advanced copies.” Yes, he was stalling. Try spending your life under the cloak of anonymity and try to anticipate your reaction to being confronted with a reason to own up to the truth.
“How? Can I borrow this?”
“Sure.” A few deep breaths later, Chris put a hand on Zach’s arm to push the book away. “I…” He started, ready to answer Zach’s other question, but Zach had moved on to being enthralled with the text on the dedication page (this one simply to his pushy and persistent big sister) . Sighing, Chris tugged on the book, refusing to meet Zach’s eyes. “I just got it a couple days ago. You can have it once I look it over.”
Zach pouted. He’d deny it with an unparalleled vehemence, but he was definitely pouting and Chris suspected he was one step away from breaking out the wide-eyed, kicked puppy look that he knew Chris couldn’t resist.
“I’ll share if you promise to read fast,” he compromised.
“Deal,” the older man grinned, holding the book at a position easy for them to both see.
In the end, it really wasn’t a perfect option. Occasionally, Zach would reread paragraphs because he liked to read dialogue until he could hear the proper inflection in his head and some descriptions had Chris practically cringing, meaning he read them no less than three times while belittling his own words. They didn’t complain though, shifting closer and sinking in their seats as time passed and pages turned.
Zoë threw a pillow at Chris when their light kept her awake in the row in front of them. Chris pressed it against the wall by his head and watched Zach finish the chapter before marking their place with the paper covering the hardback. He looked over his shoulder.
“I guess Karl’s going to want his seat back,” Zach whispered, mindful of the dozing people surrounding them.
“Fuck ‘im,” Chris was infinitely less respectful. He caught the back of Zach’s shirt, pulling him around in the seat. “Stay and talk to me.”
Head titled, the older man laughed as he took in Chris’ half-closed eyes and they way he slouched into the pillow. “You’re about to pass out.”
“Then pass out with me. It’s whatever.” And he didn’t realize his fingers were still wrapped in Zach’s shirt until he started shifting around, leaning his seat back a smidge.
“So,” Zach started right when Chris’ breathing was starting to level off. “You never told me how you got your hands on this.”
As relaxed as he was feeling, Chris couldn’t deal with the reaction right now, the possible fall out. It would be fuck knew how long before Zach got through all the questions he would undoubtedly have. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder and burrowed deeper into his hoody. Zach pulled the front down over his eyes and Chris laughed.
“Remind me when we land; I’ll tell you then.”
The answering hum must have been assent because Chris didn’t remember either of them saying anything else until he woke up a couple hours later with Zach’s head on his shoulder, hand resting on his thigh.
The whirlwind really started after that. More fans than Chris had ever seen were screaming their names, his name, and everyone had a million questions. Unfortunately, those questions all tended to be the same and it got more boring, tedious, exhausting with every new interview. Luckily, everyone wanted to talk to Kirk and Spock together, which surprised absolutely no one, so it at least provided some amusement.
When Chris really got bored, he rambled or started trying to surprise everyone involved. His publicist would either love him for appearing as educated as he was or hate him for breaking his clichéd, guy’s guy, semi-misogynistic reputation. That woman was the last of his worries, though. The first S.A.T. word he pulled out earned him a better reaction from Zach than he could have anticipated.
“I know you ace Times’ crosswords, but since when do you speak that way in public?” Zach finally asked when they were in transit between the room they’d been holed up in and some swanky restaurant for dinner. Everyone was in different cars, having finished interviews at slightly different times and ventured off in pairs to meet up with everyone and debate who had been subjected to the worst of the questioning.
“It was getting tedious. I was mixing it up,” Chris shrugged, tilting his head back to stare out the back window and into the pitch black sky.
There was silence, other than the sound of the engine, until Chris felt Zach shift. He kept his eyes closed when Zach was pressing against his side and ghosting his lips across Chris’ ear.
“I was impressed.”
Chris grinned. “Someone had to prove your grasp of Webster’s dictionary wasn’t unsurpassed. You were getting a superiority complex.”
“You plan on challenging me, Pine?”
Lifting his head at the low pitch, new timbre, Chris opened his eyes to realize just how close Zach was. He tilted his chin up in mock defiance, deeply aware of how their noses brushed and lips came into closer proximity.
“I have been for a while. You’re a little slow on the uptake, babe.”
His tongue darted out to moisten inexplicably dry lips before he smirked, glancing down then back to Zach’s eyes. Zach’s hand was on his neck suddenly, not pulling, just resting there. The car was slowing and Chris tilted forward the most minuscule, indistinguishable amount to brush their lips together. It was over as soon as it happened, the ghost of a touch, when Chris tilted away and bit his lip while Zach followed before they were being ushered out of the car.
Chris felt eyes on him the rest of the night, pretended he didn’t notice how dark Zach’s gaze was in the dim lights. When his editor called, he excused himself, squeezing Zach’s knee under the table in the process. He relayed the comments he had on the cover art and page format, infusing Zach’s views into his own without realizing it.
When he slid back into his seat at the table, Chris was informed that Zach and he had won the “worst of the day” bet. They had nearly every day since Australia (Karl acting crazy in an attempt to win didn’t count). After a few days of their winning streak, Zach and Chris developed their own bet about who (John or Karl) would realize this was futile and give up the game first. So far, Chris was convinced he’d be victorious, what with Karl getting as irritated as he was over the whole thing.
Everyone ended up on just the wrong side of sober that night, three barely managing to stumble through the hotel lobby. Chris, on some type of I’m-going-to-get-a-new-cover high combined with a nearly all-encompassing need to find any excuse to keep touching Zach in some way, was one of those three. Zach keyed into his own room when Chris couldn’t find his keycard and manhandled Chris into his own room through the connecting door.
Considering how grabby he was, it wasn’t a surprise that Chris managed to grip Zach’s arm even as he faceplanted into the pillows.
“Stay,” he muttered while simultaneously trying to kick off his shoes.
A rumbling sound that Chris should have been able to distinguish as laughter, if his brain wasn’t swishing around in the majority of a handle of whiskey, was his only answer before the bed dipped.
“You don’t plan on letting me go, do you?”
“No chance,” he slurred, throwing an arm over Zach’s chest. “Talk t’ me.”
Zach’s hand was heavy on his back, rubbing random patterns against his shirt before slipping under the fabric and skimming his skin. Chris hummed, tightening his arm and pressing closer.
“You always want to keep me talking, begging for my opinions on books most people haven’t read and starting arguments about something mundane.” If he hadn’t sounded so amused, Chris would have been affronted.
“Like your voice. An’ you ‘ave good ideas. Good for bus’ness.” Chris was barely awake, focusing too hard on Zach’s breathing and the soothing feeling of his fingers.
The silence felt loaded, but Chris was too far gone to work through the in depth processes required for thorough analysis. Not having this problem and ignoring Chris’ plight as he grappled with coherency, Zach decided he was willing to sort through drunken ramble.
“What do you mean? My voice is pretty sexy and I have some genius ideas, but how are those good for the movie?”
“Not the movie.” Chris got a hand under him to push up and look down at the other man. He’d had enough to drink that his face was a bit flushed and the product holding his hair in place had finally lost its battle with gravity and sweat. Shifting his arm away from Zach’s chest, balance leaning toward unsteady on the arm he was using for leverage, Chris brushed dark strands back from Zach’s forehead. He continued on, pressing against Zach’s scalp carefully and reveling in how soft his hair was. Nothing was clear, everything too blurry around the edges, other than Zach; his messy hair, the rough stubble, even the grip Zach now had on his waist, every last detail was sharply in focus.
And it was too much. It made Chris forget tact, planning skills.
“Wha’ you said, ‘bout the cover.” He lost the battle with staying upright, sinking down to bury his head against Zach’s neck. “Kel ‘greed. Couldn’t argue wit’ it.”
“Who’s Kel?”
“Editor,” Chris told him as if it were obvious, barely able to remember that this was something Zach actually didn’t know.
Slowly, Zach turned on his side, nudging at Chris until he was mirroring the position. He ran his fingers over Chris’ face, tracing his nose, eyebrows, cheekbones; all the while, Chris blinked to stay awake. He completely missed the epiphany Zach seemed to be having. “Wait. What cover? You mean the Jack Christian book? How does this go together?”
Chris leaned forward enough to rub his eyes against Zach’s shoulder. “My books. Meant t’ tell you.” A yawn cut off whatever else he may have planned to say; not even Chris was currently able to remember by the time he could speak again. “Glad you liked ‘em, Zach. Real glad. Kinda nervous about it.”
He ended in a whisper, eyes closed. Zach let him wrap an arm around him, shifting until they were touching as much as possible, legs slotted together.
“What are you…” Zach shook his head, Chris felt it, and pressed a kiss to Chris’ hair. “Sleep. I’ll interrogate you in the morning.”
“’Kay. If you ‘ave to.”
On principle, Chris wasn’t a cuddler, not really. But he didn’t act the same around Zach or maybe it had to do with how they hadn’t done more than accelerated platonic touching. At any rate, he was sort of clinging to the other man. He was just drawn to all the heat radiating from his body, even if they were both fully clothed.
Zach didn’t seem to mind, letting Chris drape across him and press his face into his neck in his quest for a comfortable position. But Chris couldn’t seem to pass out. He was right on the edge, about to fall off into a drunken stupor; yet something was holding him bac. To the best of his ability, Chris sorted his thoughts, the words he’d just spoken already becoming incoherent. Finally, Zach sighed his name in feeble irritation and something seemed to click for him. Worry. That was the problem; he was worried.
“Zach!” Chris practically ripped himself away from Zach’s arms, startling them both.
Thirty seconds of blinking followed. “What? You okay?”
“You mad?”
Releasing a long breath, Zach laughed and coaxed Chris back down against him. “About what?”
“Not tellin’ you. Shouldn’t’a done ‘at.” There was so much remorse in his voice. Chris was trying to ensure he gave off as much sincerity as a drunk person could muster.
“It’s okay, baby.” Hands in his hair accompanied the promise. “We’ll talk about it after you sleep off the liquor.”
Concerns assuaged for the moment, Chris didn’t fight. Tomorrow he’d be embarrassed by being such a girl, but for the moment everything was fine. Everything except the sway and swirl of his surroundings, of course. The entire room was spinning clockwise while the bed moved in the opposite direction. He squeezed his eyes shut, relaxing against Zach because he wasn’t moving; he was solid and still, stability. Tomorrow they would deal with it.
Tomorrow, that was his mantra as Chris finally gave unconsciousness its way. Unfortunately, tomorrow always came entirely too early when Chris had spent the night drinking.
Since the whole world tour thing had started, Chris was waking up disoriented more and more often. It always took him five minutes to remember he wasn’t in his own bed and another five to discover that he wasn’t in a spare room at his parents’, Katie’s, Zach’s or on John’s sofa. A few minutes after that (the time was getting longer the more they traveled) he’d recall what city he was in and maybe the hotel’s name. This particular morning took a smidge longer.
He hadn’t woken up with anyone in a while, not since before Beau left and definitely not during the tour. Chris fidgeted, breathing deeply and catching the faded scent of Zach’s cologne under the over starched linens and stale cigarette smoke. Carefully, weary, he cracked his eyes and was pleased to see he’d remembered to leave the drapes closed so as not to be assaulted by early morning light (how he always got the room facing the morning sun was a huge cosmic joke, to be sure).
It would have been nice to spend a while just watching Zach sleep. It wasn’t something he’d never seen before, but it was always an attractive view. Zach looked younger when he slept, seemed more laid back than he was during his waking hours since he didn’t have the stress battering at him. Still, the alcohol he’d downed like water the night before was drawing him toward the bathroom. Extricating himself from where he’d wrapped around Zach was a slow and tedious process, what with Zach shifting to follow his movements, but he persevered.
The previous night didn’t replay in his mind until he was tasting Crest and gulping warm water as it rained down on him from the showerhead. Well…hell. It was kind of fuzzy, not a black out but disjointed and jumbled with random emotions Chris couldn’t reason out. He’d been obsessively worried about Zach’s reaction, but Zach hadn’t seemed like he was lying. Besides, Zach wouldn’t lie to him, not on a level akin the Chris’ deception.
Chris couldn’t put it out of his mind though. Who knew how long Zach had been awake once he’d faded to black. Anything could have happened in that time. Head pressed to the cool tiles, Chris tried to chill the fuck out, giving himself until the hot water hitting his back started to itch.
Chris expected Zach to either be sleeping or to have gone back to his own room. What he hadn’t expected was Zach to be leaning against the headboard with Jack Christian’s book open in his hands.
He was wearing his glasses and missing his shirt, which meant he’d been up and moving around but had come back to wait. Chris cleared his throat, standing in the center of the room, hand clasping the knot on the towel and waiting for a reaction.
Zach looked up, closing the book with a hotel pen holding his page. “Morning. How are you feeling?”
“Kind of slow,” Chris laughed, forcing himself to turn and search for a clean pair of boxers. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah. You’re really warm,” he laughed.
When he turned back around, he was at least partially clothed and biting his lip. “Thanks?”
“Chris,” Zach started, brows furrowing as he set his glasses on the nightstand. “Did you mean what you said? These,” he waved the book, “are yours?”
“Um, yeah. I know,” he shrugged and tried to adopt some detachment, “the name is ridiculously lame. In my defense, I was nineteen and going through a Kerouac phase.”
“I don’t care about the name. Come over here.” And he waited. Chris glanced up through his eyelashes, trying to gauge what was going on in Zach’s head through his expression but largely failing. So he took a deep breath, held it, and went to sit on the edge of the bed by Zach’s knees. “Are you telling me…sitting here, staring at the lamp and honestly telling me that you are Jack Christian?”
“Yeah,” Chris whispered, licking his lips a couple times from habit.
“Why am I only finding this out now?” In lieu of responding, Chris shrugged and moved to bite at a hangnail on his left index finger. Zach caught his hand before it reached his teeth. “Christopher.”
“A few reasons,” he sighed. His hand twitched as he fought the desire to grip, touch, hang on and keep Zach there long enough to explain. While Zach didn’t seem to be walking out on him, Chris was a touch insecure about it. “I never tell anyone, it never matters. Then I caught you reading my book – my book! – and all I could think was that our whole dynamic was going to change.”
“Nothing would have changed, not really. Why would you even entertain that idea?” His words were almost sharp, making Chris wince involuntarily, but Zach turned his hand and let Chris lace their fingers, clasp them together the way he needed to. “You asked so many damn questions, I never thought…I thought it was like our debates on Wells.”
Disappointment was flying at him from so many small words, random inflections that Chris almost wanted to just walk away and have this conversation via text message. Finally, though, Chris couldn’t stand it anymore and looked up. He met Zach’s eyes dead on, trying to make him understand that there hadn’t been any malicious intent.
“I wanted to know exactly what you thought of them, not just what you thought I wanted to hear,” Chris explained, squeezing Zach’s fingers, leaning closer in his intensity. “I respect your opinion, Zach, a lot. If you’d known, I figured you would censor.”
He nodded, seeming to accept this. “Why the pseudonym?”
Eyes on the ceiling, Chris shrugged. “I was nineteen and had this professor, kind of a genius. He pointed out that no one would take me seriously if looking me up got you articles on high school baseball.”
Even if Chris wanted that to be the end of the questioning, Zach clearly didn’t agree. “Why don’t you want to admit it now? Go public?”
Instantly, Chris shook his head. “I want people to read my books for content, not because of my name. I try to keep acting and writing separate because…it’s like I have these two different talents that are mutually exclusive.”
“I see.” Zach set the novel on the bedside table before laying a hand on Chris’ shoulder. He rubbed his thumb over Chris’ neck, collecting a few drops of water that had trailed down from his hair, rubbing it into his skin. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”
“Zach-“
“Listen. You should have told me,” he frowned. “I would have still waxed poetic about the irony and ambiguity. Then I would have told you the characters have unimaginative names and the first book is bordering ostentatious.” Grip tight on his shoulder, Zach gave him a shake. “I don’t lie about the important things, Chris. You know me better than that.”
“This wasn’t some grand scale, epic thing, though.” Self-deprecating wasn’t what Chris was shooting for, just pragmatism. “They’re just books.”
“But they’re important to you,” Zach pointed out, letting go of Chris’ hand and shifting up onto his knees to lean closer. “And, in case you missed it, they happen to be some of my favorites.”
A slow smile spread across Chris’ face. “Not fishing here, but yeah?”
“Yes.” He shuffled closer, hands running up to loop around Chris’ neck. “You’re more self-aware than that. You know you’re good, don’t pretend you’re surprised.”
Chris caught a finger in Zach’s belt loop to tug him a few more inches. “I know I am. People love Jack, but you’re a literature snob.”
“Sure,” Zach rolled his eyes. “This is coming from Mr. Dog-earring-pages-is-a-criminal-offense.”
Flopping back, Chris scoffed, fake glaring up at Zach. “Spend three quarters of a year writing something and see how you feel when it’s desecrated.”
They both chuckled quietly for a moment and Chris was so fucking elated he could barely stand it. This was fine, everything as all right. Zach wasn’t ready to disown him for hiding this and Chris had a half-naked Zachary Quinto in his bed. Win-win. Zach froze suddenly, eyes gone wide.
“Chris,” Zach whispered, leaning over him, expression deep. “You were a published author before you were twenty.”
“Well, yeah.” It was so obvious that Chris snickered, cutting off abruptly when Zach’s mouth descended on his. Without so much as a pause, Chris’ body reacted, surging forward to crush their lips together with a bit more force. Zach let out a grunt, hands gripping Chris’ biceps as Chris went for his hair.
“God,” Zach pulled away to mutter, mouth moving down Chris’ neck. “Do you have any. Fucking. Idea. Just how sexy. That is?” It would have been easy to miss the words, being said into his skin as they were.
“Never thought about it,” Chris smirked, wondering how he’d missed how turned on Zach would be by this new knowledge. “Want to show me?”
At this point, Chris could die a happy man. After months of dancing around each other, touching and playing before pulling away, the tension was finally breaking. Zach’s hands were everywhere, nails raking down his side and up his stomach while his tongue trailed lower to run over his nipples in turn. Chris arched into the contact getting over the minor shock value and pushing up the bed, pulling Zach with him.
Time lost all meaning. Somehow, they managed to shove clothing out of the way, Zach’s stupid jeans giving them the most trouble. They were focused, though, intent on one thing and only that: getting as much skin-on-skin contact as possible. And it was fucking glorious.
There should probably have been a power struggle but Chris didn’t give a fuck what happened as long as Zach was moving against him. God, the way that man moved! Chris dug his fingertips into Zach’s back, pulling until he had more of Zach’s weight pressing him into the mattress.
Their mouths barely detached for a second, tongues twining as Zach ground their hips together. Chris gasped against Zach’s mouth when their cocks brushed together, a hand sliding down to squeeze Zach’s ass and force more harsh contact, needing more friction. It wasn’t enough and he was only vaguely aware of how many times “more” escaped his lips.
Zach shifted, groaning loudly at the momentary loss of contact before he snaked a hand between their bodies to wrap around both their lengths. Chris licked at the column of Zach throat, sucking a mark into his shoulder as Zach’s hand moved in fluid motions. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied moaning Zach’s name and letting every twist of the other man’s wrist set his nerves on fire, he may have been amused by just how easily they fell into a rhythm of thrusts that worked for them both.
The pattern faltered slightly, Zach flicking his thumb over the head of Chris’ cock, pressing roughly around the ridge.
“Fuck, Chris,” Zach whimpered. “Come for me, baby. Want to see you,” he was murmuring, panting. The world went white, Chris thrusting hard into Zach’s hand and tugging him into a kiss guaranteed to bruise both their mouths more so than they already were.
Even as Zach stroked him through it, the glide much smoother, Chris started to come back to himself. He batted Zach’s hand away, using his own come to ease his strokes over Zach. A twist of the wrist followed by a rough jerk and a sharp bite to the curve of Zach’s shoulder and the older man was muttering nonsense broken up by Chris’ name. He buried his face against Chris’ chest, collapsing against him when the shaking subsided.
Neither moved for a while, trying to breathe again. Zach finally lifted himself off Chris, nose wrinkling when he couldn’t be bothered to break contact long enough to clean them off. Out of no where, Chris laughed, breathless and quiet, but laughter all the same.
“That’s comforting,” Zach smirked, catching Chris’ chin to turn his face and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Zach,” Chris started when he was back in control. “You realize this looks like you’re only interested in sex with Jack Christian?”
“I am. He’s damn hot, kind of smart, almost funny, sort of my best friend.”
In one swift movement, Chris had rolled onto Zach, trapping his hands above his head. “Literary whore.”
He seemed to consider this, staring up at Chris, pupils still blown slightly too wide and looking every bit the picture of debauchery. “There are worse things.”
Karl came banging on the door not ten minutes later, the typical sign that the others were headed for breakfast but a joint shower was more pressing.
Chris Pine is an actor. He picks his roles for reasons no one, even his agent, quite understands. It’s not likely that he’ll feel the need to ever truly explain himself. If something interests him, he works for it and that’s all there is to it. Sometimes, when things get a little too crazy, he vanishes off everyone’s radar for a while. When he gets too wrapped up in his own head, no one can comprehend his reasoning, or lack thereof. Which isn’t entirely true because Zach’s always going to make sure he eats when he’s obsessed with a particular piece of characterization. He’ll always drag Chris out when he’s in a fit waiting for his editor to get back to him or a casting director to make a decision. When it comes right down to it, Chris sort of has it all.
Jack Christian is an author. He writes fiction and evades all mentions of his personal life. There are few people who have him figured out, understand where he actually stands on the issues he discusses. His stand on matters always seems neutral, both sides open equally for mockery even when his readers go a little crazy over it. His last novel isn’t a best seller, not yet, but it’s a close thing. The critics are impressed with how he avoids bowing to the pressure for a perfect ending; it’s more realistic that way. Jack looks good on paper: hardworking, intelligent, dedicated.
But Jack’s nearly as fictional as the mysteries he writes. His readers don’t know this, but Chris’ people, the ones that matter, they do. They don’t call it a lie; it’s not really, more of an omission.
END
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