Title: Someone to believe in
Summary: What if it is just all too good to be true?
Notes: Some Pinto for the Pantheon to get the juices flowing. Follows directly after Say hello, wave goodbye. Title and cut from Razorlight.
Chris drags him inside, lips never straying far from Zach's, kicking the door shut behind them with a loud bang. They get each other off right there on the foyer's hard floor, barely getting rid of their clothes in time. By the time they finally make it to the bedroom and he's sliding into Chris, Zach's not half convinced it's all just the most elaborate and perfect wet dream his brain has ever concocted. One he never wants to wake up from.
They don't leave the house for a week.
Chris's agent phones Friday morning and insists on a lunchtime meeting with some execs. After Chris hangs up, Zach blows him in the shower like it's the last time he'll ever have Chris's dick in his mouth. Chris just smiles down at him, dragging a finger through the mess on his cheek before cupping his jaw and dragging him up for dirty kiss. He sees right through the carefully blank stare Zach's perfected over the years and it scares Zach shitless.
Zach sits on the corner of the bed, towel wrapped around his waist as Chris gets dressed. Chris walks over and threads his fingers through Zach's wet hair when he's done, grips the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss goodbye. The apartment is eerily quiet once he's alone in it and Zach walks through empty rooms, surveying the havoc they've wreaked. Nothing is clean, the air smells like stale takeout and spunk and he thinks maybe he should go home for some clean clothes.
He hears his phone ping, alerting him to a new text message and Zach goes searching for it. He hasn't even seen it since he came over and he's amazed it's even still on. He finds it charging on Chris's bedside table, flips it open with a grin.
Don't even think about leaving.
Zach rolls his eyes and raids Chris's closet. He finds some sweatpants and a T-shirt that almost fits, shoves his feet into a thick pair of gym socks. Zach figures he can't just sit around waiting for Chris to get back, so he tries to clean up a little, making the bed, taking out the trash and throwing his clothes in the wash. After that he curls up with one of the old English classics that Chris likes to read, following a spot of warm sunlight around the room as the shadows shorten and lengthen.
Chris breezes in just before sunset, his cologne mingling with the aromatic smell of Chinese that wafts over to Zach.
"I got dinner," Chris calls and Zach puts down the book, shuffles over to the kitchen on stockinged feet. He stands in the doorway, holding himself carefully still as he watches Chris dish out mountains of food onto the plates he washed earlier.
"Don't do that," Chris says suddenly, dropping the container and rounding on Zach.
"Do what?" Zach asks, feigning ignorance.
"Hold back like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. There is no other shoe, Zach. Not this time."
Zach could shrug and pretend, could say No, I wasn't, but Chris will know that he's lying. He watches Chris take a step closer, looks down at Chris's approaching feet when he can't meet his eyes anymore.
Chris kisses the corner of his mouth, lets his mouth linger against Zach's. He rubs the tip of his nose against Zach's, touches Zach's cheek with the tips of his fingers.
"No other shoe?" Zach whispers, wrapping his arms around Chris. Chris holds him close, whispers in his ear.
"Not this time. Not ever again."