Zoe is a bad person. That’s all there is to it. She is cruel and hateful and probably kicks puppies in her spare time. She delights in misery and suffering.
Surely that can be the only reason she talked Chris into this speed dating thing.
“So, uh… good luck with the… you know,” the guy in front of him says, leaping up as soon as the gong chimes. For real – a motherfucking gong. Every five minutes, the vile harpy in charge of this whole thing takes up her mallet and rings the gong, everybody rotates one place to the right, and Chris receives yet another chance to ponder how interminably long five minutes can be under the right – or rather, wrong – circumstances.
But the next guy actually looks promising. Tall, dark hair, enticing little swagger in his hips. Chris perks up for the first time in a long time. “Hey,” the guy says, glancing down at Chris’ name tag, “Chris. Nice to meet you.”
Chris sticks his hand out – the guy’s got a nice, firm handshake, though his skin feels a little clammy. Maybe he’s not totally sold on this whole ridiculous concept, either. “You go to many of these speed dating things?” Chris asks.
The guy chuckles. Kind of an annoying nasally thing, but whatever, he’s hot. “No way, it’s my first one. You?”
“Same. And it’s probably going to be my last one.”
“Aww, you mean you don’t like spending an entire night trying to impress guys in five minute chunks?”
Chris grins. “I’ve given up on impressing. At this point I’m just trying to get through the night without jamming a little cocktail umbrella in my hand out of boredom.”
The guy laughs again and, well, okay, Chris could probably get used to that. Eventually. He’s not looking for forever here, but finding a guy with whom he wants to do more than just fuck is an admirable goal, right? And as the minutes pass, this guy seems pretty easy to talk to. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but not so bad.
Then the question comes: “So, Chris, what do you do?”
True, Chris could lie. But if he’s going to spend more than one night with this guy, he’s going to find out anyway, so Chris might as well just get it over with. “I’m a hula dancer.”
Well, what do you know, Chris is treated to more of that awful laugh. “Ooh, yeah, I bet you look great in a coconut bra. No, seriously, what do you do?”
Chris sighs. “That is what I do. I’m a performer at the Wailea Marriott, six nights a week.”
To his credit, the guy realizes he needs to stop laughing. But then he says, “Uh, tell me if I’m wrong, but aren’t hula dancers supposed to be, like… Hawaiian?”
If it were the first time he’d gotten that response tonight he might have laughed it off and tried to change the subject, but it is, in fact, the tenth time (two guys tonight having been too self-involved to ask about Chris at all) and the last time, so Chris isn’t going to let it go. “I am Hawaiian,” he glances down at the guy’s name tag, “Gary. My grandfather was stationed here even before we got into World War II. My dad was raised here. I was born on this island, and except for four years at college in California, I’ve lived here all my life. But as to what I think you were asking, no, being brown is not a requirement to doing the hula.”
Okay, it’s not the most racially sensitive thing ever, and he’s gotten into any number of deep (and deeply stoned) discussions with his ethnically Polynesian friends over what it actually means to say one is Hawaiian. Plus, yeah, the nicer luaus mostly employ people who look like native Hawaiians, even if they’re actually from New Zealand or something. But Chris’ impassioned speech does make Gary’s face turn a lovely shade of red just in time for the gong.
“Well, Gary, it’s been fun,” Chris says, grinning sweetly. “Aloha.”
When Gong Lady distributes the cards to show everyone who expressed mutual interest, Chris actually does get some phone numbers, though – shockingly – none of them belong to Gary. But Chris realizes he can’t actually remember a damn thing about any of these guys, so he tosses the card in the trash on the way out, not caring who sees.
He’s in the process of texting Zoe something to the effect of I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, drop dead when he realizes he’s walking in the wrong direction – his (extremely masculine) scooter is on the other side of the café. But, would you look at that, he’s found himself right in front of a bar. He decides it’s fate.
Chris can’t remember visiting this particular bar before, but that doesn’t mean much. In his wilder days – which ended about six months ago – he’d visited pretty much every bar in and around Lahaina at some point or another. Hell, probably every bar in Maui. And referring to this as a “bar” seems a bit generous, but it serves alcohol and has most of a roof, so Chris is counting it.
Plonking down on a wobbly stool, he orders a beer. Chris checks his watch; the luau where Zoe works is around here – a more authentic one, not a crappy hotel show like Chris’ – and she should be off in about an hour. If he’s still here and has drunk away some of his attitude, he might call her, so she can take him home, if nothing else.
The problem, as he sees it, is the fact that it’s an island. There are only a finite number of people who reside on an island. Sure, there’s the constant flow of tourists who are always looking for a few nights of local flavor, but there are only so many rum-drunk vacationers from Michigan a man can carry through on the “lei” jokes with before he starts to feel empty inside.
Chris is so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice the guy who slips gracefully onto the stool next to him. But when he reaches for another cocktail napkin to slowly shred into a little pile of fluff, he bumps hands with the guy. Chris looks up. “Hey, sorry about—holy shit.”
“That motherfucker,” the guy says, poking very gingerly at his cheekbone. “John told me it wasn’t that bad. That nobody would notice.”
Chris gapes – he’s seen some shiners in his time, but this has to be the nastiest black eye he’s ever encountered. “This ‘John’ person is a liar and is not to be trusted,” he says, grimacing in sympathy. “How did you even do that? What happened to the other guy?”
He groans, very gingerly resting his head in his hands. “The other guy’s just fine. He’s made of fiberglass and Turtle Wax and, I suspect, pure evil.”
“First time surfing?”
“I fucking wish. I’ve surfed in California, and I don’t totally suck at it. And it’s not like I went straight for the Banzai Pipeline, right? I thought the waves in Maui were supposed to be comparatively tame.”
“Yeah, the key word there is ‘comparatively.’ Compared to other parts of Hawaii, not California.”
“And this wind! It makes the waves do all kinds of…” He gestures awkwardly. “Wonky… shit.”
“You went for the short board, didn’t you?”
The guy gapes. “How did you know?”
“Rookie mistake. Maui swells are too mushy for a short board.”
“Nobody told me that,” the guy grumbles.
“Yeah, the locals can be kind of pissy about outsiders dropping in. They’re not usually all that helpful unless they’re paid to be.”
“So that would explain the raucous laughter,” he says, taking a swig of his drink.
Now that Chris is getting used to the black eye, he can look at the rest of the guy’s face, and he’s pretty cute. No, scratch that, really cute – heavy eyebrows, nicely stubbled jaw, a tempting mouth. Better than anything from speed dating hell, that’s for damn sure. He sets down his drink and turns to face Chris fully, and yeah, Chris just got himself checked out. Yes, the evening is rapidly improving.
“You a surfer?” the guy asks, the corner of his mouth curling just so.
Chris has to laugh. “Around here, I don’t think I’m allowed not to be. Though I only paddle out a couple times a year – I just don’t get the thrill from it that most other guys seem to.”
That makes the guy’s lip quirk even higher, puts a gleam in his eyes. “So, what does thrill you, uh…”
“Nice to meet you, Chris. I’m Zach.” He doesn’t even hold his hand out, doesn’t break eye contact. “So what does give you that thrill, Chris?”
Chris doesn’t even bother to hide the little shiver that goes down his spine. He could close this deal right now with a few choice words, but for some reason, he wants to draw it out a little. “I don’t know that I’ve had enough to drink to answer that question, Zach,” he says brightly, tongue flicking out to lick his lower lip.
At that, Zach laughs, a low, delighted sound that grabs Chris right by the balls. Fuck, maybe he should’ve just grabbed Zach and hauled him out of there. But Zach is already ordering them two more beers.
It’s a local brew that Chris actually likes, but he can’t resist a little teasing. “That’s a bit presumptive of you, Zach. What if that’s not my drink?”
Zach raises an eyebrow, lowers his voice when he speaks again. “What if I said you’ll drink what I order you and you’ll like it? Would you be amenable to that?”
Oh god, how fucking perfect is this? Chris just knew all that being-patient-with-snotty-tourists crap had built him up some pretty sweet karma, and he’s blissfully happy to cash it in now. “I’d say you’re not wasting your time. Though I expect you to order a few more of those to make it worth my while.”
Something sparks hot in Zach’s eyes, though he seems to be savoring the tension, too, because he just sips his beer and asks, “So, Chris, if you’re not a surfer, what exactly do you do?”
Oh, fuck. Always this question. It would be easy for Chris to lie, since this Zach guy is obviously not from around here and will probably be gone in a week, but screw it. Chris is proud of his job. He’s damn good at it. And if Zach wants to boss him around tonight, he’ll just have to fucking deal with it. “Well, Zach, I’m a hula dancer.”
Predictably, his eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Yup.” Chris braces himself.
But Zach just leans in, unable to contain a wicked grin. “So tell me, can you do that thing with your hips?”
Fucking awesome karma. “I can do things you’ve never even heard of.”
For a second, Chris thinks Zach is just going to jump on him right there, and he’s already decided he wouldn’t be averse to such a turn of events, but then Zach leans back again, all cool and collected once more. “You don’t say. I imagine you must need to keep fit with a job like that.”
“I have my own… exercise regimen,” Chris says slyly, waggling his eyebrows.
“So we’ve established that surfing isn’t your area of greatest interest. What, pray tell, is your preference in physical activity?”
“Well,” Chris starts, briefly afraid he’s going to have to come up with a squat-thrust joke that doesn’t sound like it was written by a ten year old, but luckily Zach cuts him off.
“Sorry, I’m loving this, but I haven’t got any blood left in my brain at all,” he says, shark-like grin softening into something a little more open and eager. “My hotel is a ten minute walk from here.”
“Thank god,” Chris groans, sliding off his stool, nearly panting with relief at the little bit of extra room it gives him in his jeans – he hasn’t got any to spare right now. And he shouldn’t drive a scooter like this, anyway.
As Zach pulls out his wallet, he snickers. “What, not going to hold me to the request for more drinks? I got off easy tonight.”
Chris laughs just a little too loudly at the double entendre. “That’s what you think. I’m going to order room service champagne, then we’ll see just how easy you get off.”
When was the last time he had this much fun with a bar pickup? No time in recent memory. He has to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep from groping at Zach, since there are still people out on the sidewalks. Chris never thought he’s curse the few streetlights around here, but all he wants to do is to pull Zach down into one of the darkened areas of beach and get him naked straight away.
They glance anxiously at each other whenever they pass beneath a light, and from the look of the front of Zach’s pants, he’s having just as much trouble keeping his hands off Chris. They seem to share an understanding – once they start, they’re not going to stop.
Chris doesn’t even notice the trappings of the hotel – all he knows is that he’s following Zach through the open-air lobby, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the other man’s truly tantalizing butt held lovingly in a pair of sinfully tight jeans. He wants to just drop to his knees and bite, but he has a feeling that’s not the way things are going to go tonight. Well, except for the dropping to his knees bit.
If it weren’t for the little old Japanese lady who totters into the elevator after them, they may never have gotten past the third floor. As it is, they stay a safe distance apart, though Chris never once takes his eyes off Zach. They race down the hallway, and thankfully Zach doesn’t fumble with his key card, just swipes it through and then they’re in, mouths finding each other with surprising ease in the dark room.
It’s cold in Zach’s room, over-air-conditioned like every hotel, but that just makes Zach’s body feel even hotter as it crashes against Chris’. The first few seconds are frantic as they claw at each other, lips mashing together, but then Zach plants his feet firmly and Chris tilts his head and there, it’s perfect, their mouths fitting together as if they were made that way. Chris digs his fingers into Zach’s thick, luscious hair and presses his tongue eagerly against Zach’s.
Zach’s hands mold themselves to his hipbones, holding Chris firmly – not enough to hurt, but enough for him to know he’s meant to stay right where he is. It makes him moan wetly into Zach’s mouth, a surge of heat rising in his gut. There aren’t a whole lot of guys who get this right, this easy, natural dominance that Chris can’t help but respond to. No barking of orders, no whips and chains – just a pair of strong hands in all the right places. It turns Chris’ knees to jelly and he sways into Zach’s hold.
But neither of them can stay still for very long. Soon Chris is tugging at Zach’s shirt, intending to pull it off but getting distracted by all the warm, smooth skin underneath. Feels like he’s got some nice chest hair, too. Then the shirt’s off and tossed somewhere far away, and Chris dives in, burying his nose in the warm thicket of hair and questing downward until he finds a nipple to suck and bite.
Zach hisses above him, leaning to the side and fumbling for the light switch. “Want to see you.”
It’s still a bit of a shock to look up and see Zach’s face with that hideous black eye, but in the low lamplight, it just makes him look a bit dangerous. Chris peels off his own shirt and drops to his knees without being told, nuzzling against the hard ridge of Zach’s erection through his jeans.
“Oh god, yeah, just like that,” Zach murmurs, threading his fingers lightly through Chris’ hair to encourage him. Chris reaches up to undo Zach’s fly, but Zach grabs his hands. “Not yet.”
So Chris has to keep kissing and sucking him through the fabric of his jeans, though, by the feel of it, that’s all that’s between Zach’s cock and Chris’ mouth. The jeans are worn but clean, and all Chris can smell is fabric softener and Zach’s arousal. He bites once, carefully, over the head of Zach’s cock, eliciting a gasp and a curse. “No patience at all,” Zach chuckles, but he unzips and pulls himself out, offering himself up like a treat for Chris.
But Chris isn’t too impatient for a little teasing, blowing on the tip, which he’s pleased to see is already wet. He pokes his tongue out, licking too gently from the underside up the slit. Zach groans in frustration, slapping Chris lightly across the cheek with his cock. Chris grins. “Who’s impatient now?”
“Open your mouth and suck on it,” Zach growls, eyes narrowing, and Chris opens up obediently, letting Zach guide his cock across Chris’ tongue. When the head bumps at the back of his throat, Chris closes his lips around the thick, hot flesh in his mouth and begins to suck, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head. Zach moans, widening his stance and cupping a hand behind Chris’ neck. “Goddamn, such a sweet little cocksucker. I knew that mouth had to be good for something.”
Chris tries his hardest not to grin, since it would throw him off rhythm, but he hears the genuine approval under the words and redoubles his efforts, zig-zagging his tongue along the underside as he sucks. He braces himself against Zach’s hips and takes Zach as deep as he can. He’s never quite been able to deep throat, but he’s sure as hell never had any complaints, either.
By the time Zach pulls him off, Chris’ jeans are really starting to get uncomfortable. “Naked and on the bed,” Zach says between panting breaths, stroking himself a few times as he kicks his own pants off. Chris follows suit, clambering up on hands and knees to show off his best asset.
Zach laughs approvingly and runs warm, strong hands over Chris’ backside. He brushes a thumb lightly over Chris’ hole and the laughter turns hungry. “All fresh and clean, too. Pretty sure you were gonna get lucky tonight, huh?”
Okay, so Chris had done a little more preparation in the shower for speed dating than he probably needed to. “What can I say? I’m an optimist.”
“Preparation like this should be rewarded,” Zach muses, hands stretching across Chris’ ass cheeks to spread him wide. “And thoroughly appreciated.”
Perhaps in retaliation for earlier, he blows a stream of air across Chris’ hole, and Chris is so ready for it that even that little bit of stimulation has him shivering. Goose bumps rise on his arms as he feels Zach’s hot breath get closer and closer, Zach’s hands kneading firmly at his ample flesh. Even so, the first touch of Zach’s tongue to his hole makes him gasp, going rigid so as not to buck back into Zach’s face for more. With a chuckle, Zach dives right in, licking Chris firmly from balls to hole, over and over again. All that delicious stubble rubs roughly against Chris’ sensitive skin as Zach works his jaw, and Chris has to bite back on a wail, a desperate sound that finally gets loose when Zach holds him open with his thumbs and presses the point of his tongue into Chris’ entrance.
Chris locks his elbows to keep his arms from shaking and drops his head, focusing on nothing but Zach’s extremely talented tongue. Zach’s playing with Chris’ balls all the while, rolling them in his fingers and rubbing behind them like he knows that’s the quickest way to get Chris right on the edge. By the time Zach pulls off him to rest his jaw, Chris has figured he’d better move things along if he doesn’t want to embarrass the hell out of himself early on.
He meets Zach’s eyes and Zach nods, going over to the nightstand to rifle through through a small toiletry bag. But when Zach climbs on to the bed, Chris practically leaps into his lap. “More kissing,” he says before Zach can speak, wrapping his arms and legs around Zach’s lean body.
Zach chuckles softly and indulges him, but digs his fingers tightly into Chris’ hair again as their tongues tangle. Chris pulls back a little and kisses at Zach’s lips teasingly, light pecks along the fullness of his lower lip, while he grinds down against Zach’s cock, a little preview of what’s to come. Just as Chris suspected, Zach quickly grows impatient and shoves forward until Chris’ back hits the bed and Zach is kneeling over him. Zach slicks his fingers in record time and leans down to lick at Chris’ jaw while he presses in.
Normally, Chris enjoys having fingers in him, and Zach’s are long and lovely and certainly talented, but he’s so ready for Zach’s cock that he’s about to go out of his skin. “C’mon,” he moans, hand scrabbling at Zach’s shoulders, but Zach just smiles mischievously and grabs both of Chris’ wrists in his free hand, holding them down just over Chris’ head. A hot flash of pleasure zips down Chris’ spine, and yeah, okay, he can deal with this.
Zach is evidently getting quite the kick out of toying with Chris, nipping teasingly at his collarbone while his fingers stretch Chris easily. Chris writhes in Zach’s grip, his back bowing, trusting his body to beg more persuasively than his mouth, and finally, Zach pulls his fingers free.
Chris tips his head back and shuts his eyes, the sight of Zach rolling the condom over his red, wet cock too much to take if he has to be still. But then he hears nothing else – no commands from Zach, not even the sound of springs creaking as Zach crawls across the bed to have his wicked way with him. Chris raises his head and risks opening one eye… to see Zach sitting cross-legged on the other end of the bed, stroking himself and looking at Chris expectantly. “You need a written invitation, hula boy?”
If anyone else called him that, Chris would probably take the guy down, but since it’s Zach and he’s already got a black eye and holy hell does he have a nice cock, all Chris does is growl and fling himself into Zach’s lap, their dicks rutting against each other as Chris kisses him viciously.
With surprisingly strong arms, Zach guides Chris up to position himself over Zach’s rock-hard erection, gripping himself as Chris begins to slide down. The burn of it is sweet, and even sweeter is the way Zach’s eyes start to lose focus, the way Zach’s hands clutch almost convulsively at Chris’ hips. For a moment, the power shifts, and Chris has Zach utterly at his mercy. But by the time Chris has himself fully impaled on Zach’s dick, that slow, cocky smile begins to spread across Zach’s face once again. He leans back on his hands, smirking at Chris. “Time to impress me with those hips, baby.”
It’s Chris’ turn to smirk back as he rises up a little on his knees and slowly begins to circle his hips, sinking back down as he does it. The thing about men’s hula dancing is that most of it isn’t in the hips – it’s in the thighs, most of the dances based in a crouching position. And Chris has never been so glad for the endurance he’s built up over the years, because he can bounce and clench and gyrate with relative ease and fluidity until Zach’s whole body is twitching with the need to thrust, his breath coming out in desperate little huffs.
Zach reaches up to get a hand around Chris’ dick and Chris throws back his head and moans. Despite the growing burn in his thighs, Zach’s cock is hitting all the best spots as Chris fucks himself on it. The slower he churns his hips, the faster Zach jacks him, and pretty soon, Chris’ whole body is trembling. Despite their strength, his legs aren’t going to hold out much longer, so he looks Zach square in the eye, licks his lips, and clenches hard while executing a tight little roll of his pelvis, and Zach practically roars, lunging forward.
This time, Chris’ back hits the bed so hard he bounces a little, Zach pulling out of him so he can flip Chris onto his stomach. Glad for the respite, Chris stretches out over the covers and tugs a knee up to his chest, moaning when Zach fills him again.
Zach’s body covers him completely, his thrusts deep and hard, and Chris just sighs and gives himself over to the sensation of being well-fucked. His face buried in the pillows, he grins at the sound of Zach’s grunts, loving the little tinge of shamelessness in the noises. And his hands are all over Chris, gliding roughly up his sides, gripping his shoulders for leverage, occasionally tangling in his hair to pull his head back for a rough, sloppy kiss.
The friction against Chris’ cock from the sheets below him just isn’t enough, and when Zach slows a little to catch his breath, Chris starts to push up on his elbows. Zach slips out of him as Chris squirms back up on to his knees, scooting forward until he can rest his hands on the headboard. His thighs have had some time to recuperate now, so he looks back over his shoulder and shoots Zach his most salacious look.
When Zach joins him on his knees and thrusts back in, Chris expects more of that hard, steady rhythm, but instead Zach pushes deep and holds so that they’re skin to skin, Zach’s chest to Chris’ back. Then Zach reaches up to gently tilt Chris’ head back and kiss him properly, with more finesse this time but no less passion. The tightening Chris feels in his chest is like a sudden surge of connection, the completion of a circuit, and it nearly knocks the breath out of him. One of Chris’ hands leaves the headboard so he can reach for Zach – any part of Zach – and ends up clutching gracelessly at his ass, but that just makes Zach smile against Chris’ mouth and nip at his lower lip.
Chris laughs, squeezing Zach’s ass goadingly and starting to rock again until Zach gets the message and starts to thrust. They work together this time, Zach pistoning his hips and Chris circling his in time with the primal beat, and it builds fast. When Zach fists Chris’ cock, Chris has to stop with the fancy hip action altogether and just pound himself back onto Zach’s dick, finding the right angle and keeping it until his balls start to draw up. He might be chanting “moremoremore” or he might just be making nonsense sounds, but either way, he’s suddenly right there, Zach’s hand jerking an overpowering orgasm out of him that makes Chris’ toes curl so hard his feet cramp.
He’s still shuddering when Zach grabs him by the hips and hammers into him for a few brutal thrusts until Zach is coming, too, gasping and buried to the hilt. Chris is already starting to slump down to the bed when he feels the rigidity melt out of Zach’s body, too. Zach pulls out carefully, does something with the condom that Chris doesn’t worry about, since it’s not his hotel room, and slides back down to the bed facing Chris.
“Mmmm,” Zach says after a long moment of silence, smiling contentedly. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Chris says, chuckling at their departed verbal prowess, and summons just enough energy to lift his head and flip the pillow over to the side he didn’t just jizz on.
When Chris cracks his eyes open, the hotel clock reads 8:43. It’s a full 20 seconds before the realization hits that: a) his limbs are tangled with someone else’s, someone who is warm and smells like sex; and b) he has a dentist appointment at 9:00, which is the only time his stupid dentist had available all month.
Chris shoots out of bed, apologizing even as he kicks Zach in the knee. “Fuck, I am so sorry. I forgot about this fucking appointment at 9, then I’m meeting my friend for lunch. Believe me, I’d much rather stay here with you.”
He worries that it sounds fake, but Zach just stretches and yawns as he rolls to face Chris. “S’okay.” Chris hops as he puts his jeans on, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across Zach’s face. “Last night was amazing.”
Zach tucks his hands behind his head, and Chris almost drops the shirt he’s trying to put on. If Zach looked good in the dim light of the bar, he looks fucking edible in the sunlight. For a second, Chris considers stripping off his pants and jumping right back into bed, but sadly, his desire for oral hygiene wins out. But he’s certainly not ready to give up. “You going to be around a while?”
“A few more days,” Zach says, still watching Chris with hungry eyes. Then he leans over to the nightstand, picks up the pen and paper. “You free most nights? After your show, I mean.”
Chris has a luau every night this week, but he’s usually back out on the street by 10. “For you? Hell yes.”
Zach laughs, only wincing a little from the black eye, and Chris is pulled inexorably back to the bed. He leans down and plants his mouth square on Zach’s, which opens immediately. They kiss until Chris is starting to get light-headed, but Zach doesn’t let him pull away before tugging at Chris’ lower lip with his teeth. “Better call me, hula boy.”
Chris leaves feeling high on endorphins, practically floating through the hotel’s ornate lobby. It’s only when he’s halfway to the dentist’s office that he realizes he never pocketed the paper with Zach’s number on it.
“No, uh-uh,” Zoe says before he can even reach the table. “You are not giving me Bitch Face because of the speed dating thing. Not when you so obviously got lucky last night.”
Okay, so Chris is walking a little bowlegged today, courtesy of Zach’s enthusiastic hips. It had been a blast at the time, but riding around on the scooter today has just been fucking unpleasant. And he doesn’t even want to think about what the sadistic dentist did to his upper right molar. It’s going to have to be soup for lunch. “I am not giving you Bitch Face for the speed dating, which, by the way, was not where I met him. If I were to concede that I have a Bitch Face – which I do not – it would be because I left his number on the nightstand and I’m pissed at myself.”
To her credit, Zoe at least frowns in sympathy. “You want to see him a second time? Who is he, the crown prince of Sweden? Captain of the Australian rugby… thing?”
Chris groans, dropping down in his chair and wincing as he does. “He was so hot, Zo. And so good in bed. The second time, he did this thing where he—”
“No, do not finish that sentence. We have been over this. Healthy boundaries, Chris: find them.”
That just makes Chris grin wider. “You mean you don’t want to hear about how he tucked my knees up by my ears and—”
“Is this punishment for the speed dating thing?”
“You got it.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“Traumatic. I’m going to need therapy. So bad I don’t even want to think about it. I do want to think about the guy from last night, but then I just get depressed that I didn’t get his number.”
“I’m assuming you went back to his hotel room?” Chris nods and Zoe rolls her eyes. “So just go back there tonight.”
Fuck, why didn’t Chris think of that? “Okay. Ummm.”
Zoe stares at him, disbelieving. “You do remember which hotel it was, right?”
“Uh…” Chris squinches his eyes shut and tries to think. There were birds of paradise in the lobby; Chris remembers because he couldn’t keep his eyes off Zach long enough to keep from tripping over one of the giant flowerpots. Of course, there are birds of paradise in the lobby of every hotel in Maui. “C’mon, Zo, you know all those hotels look alike.”
“Alright, what room number was he in?”
Chris goes bright red as he bites his lip. “It was definitely on the third floor. No, the fifth. Well, something between two and six. Quit looking at me like that! Last night I wasn’t paying attention to anything but him, and this morning I was just racing to get to the fucking dentist. I didn’t notice interior décor.”
Zoe blinks. “Is it tiring, living up to every stereotype about men and sex?”
“Exhausting. You have no idea.”
“If you don’t at least know his name, I’m leaving. You’re on your own.”
“No,” Chris cries, nearly leaping out of his chair. “It’s Zach.” He leaves out the fact that he’s never going to forget shouting that name into the hotel pillow until he was nearly hoarse. “Zach… something with a Q, Italian-ish.”
Zoe snorts. “Yeah, uh-huh. You slept with Zach Quinto last night.”
“Quinto, that’s it!” Chris says, brightening measurably. “Wait, how’d you know?”
“Chris, you didn’t sleep with Zach Quinto last night. You slept with someone who heard a rumor and then told you he was Zach Quinto last night.”
“Okay, I’m so lost right now. Who is this guy?”
“You really don’t…” Zoe is staring at him in a way that makes Chris feel like he’s about five years old. And just wet his pants. “Sylar? Heroes?”
“Oh, that show?”
“Yes, that show.”
“Never seen it.”
“How have you never seen it? And even if you haven’t, how do you not know who Sylar is? The skull-slicing guy?”
“I don’t have a TV.”
“Everybody has a TV.”
“I don’t,” Chris protests. “And even if I did, I’m guessing this show’s on at night. When I’m working.”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Oh, if only there were some kind of magical device that allowed you to record television programs and watch them later.”
Chris folds his arms over his chest. “Not all of us make enough in drunken-businessman-tips to afford digital cable for TVs we don’t have.”
“Whatever. You’re still living under a fucking enormous rock.”
The reality of it is just starting to dawn on Chris. “Wait, so… this guy’s famous?”
“Not, like, super-famous, but normal people know who he is.”
“But what would he be doing here?”
Zoe looks just the slightest bit sheepish. “There’s a rumor he’s on vacation on the island. I thought you knew that and were fucking with me. I’m still not entirely convinced you’re not. Or that some random guy who looks like Zach Quinto lied to get tail.”
Chris picks a French fry off Zoe’s plate and gnaws on it – not too bad on his tooth if he chews gently. Zach didn’t seem like he was lying, but he didn’t exactly project “movie star,” either. He was way too down-to-earth. But maybe TV stars are different? “He didn’t tell me his full name until after we… well, until later in the night. And you should’ve seen the guy, Zo. He did not have to lie to pull. And you know how desperate the guys on Maui are – he could have had anyone in the bar. Even the straight ones.”
Zoe sighs. “I suppose it’s… not impossible.”
“Oh my god,” Chris says. “Oh my god, I totally slept with a movie star.”
“Whatever. Famous.” Chris is practically bouncing up and down in his chair. “And hot. And funny and smart and soooo good in bed. Did I mention that?”
A sudden realization deflates Chris’ good mood like a thumbtack to a balloon. “And I don’t have his number,” he moans, loud enough that people at other tables turn to look. “What am I going to do? I really liked him. Even if he’s only here for a couple of days. And now I can’t go looking for him because I’ll look like a creepy stalking famewhore.”
“I was going to go with ‘starfucker,’ but famewhore works, too.”
Unable to think of anything more productive to do, Chris pouts. He’s good at it, too – he’s thinking of going pro. “I really liked him, Zo.”
Her face softens. “Honey, if he tried to give you his phone number, he probably liked you, too.”
“Don’t remind me,” Chris grumbles, but he’s glad to hear her say it. It feels less like some incredibly vivid dream.
Chris considers calling in sick that night, but he’d just mope around his apartment anyway and that dentist wasn’t cheap, so he might as well get paid. It’s difficult not to grunt and groan as he stretches, finding new places where he’s sore. But that just makes him think of Zach, and sex, and sex with Zach, and he has to bite down on his tongue until he can think of something else. A boner would be particularly difficult to hide in his ti leaf malo – which is not a skirt, by the way. He’s very clear on that.
He’s still trying to put Zach out of his mind when he puts on his lei and fastens the kupe’e around his wrists and ankles, but once he steps onstage, he’s lost in the motion. Even though he’s sore and tired from a distinct lack of sleep, his legs don’t tremble as he goes through the steps, bending and moving to the beat. Drawing a deep breath of the ocean air, he joins the hula kahiko chant, his voice rising with the others.
His favorite dance is one where he barely dances at all, just plays the ipu drum and watches the women, reenacting the tale of the volcano goddess, Pele, and listens to the crowd gasp and whistle as the women gyrate their hips like only hula dancers can. The sun is down now and the lights are too bright to see the crowd, but Chris can hear the cheering begin as the song winds down. Even though it’s not for him, he can’t suppress a grin at the sound; he gets to do this every night. It’s totally worth every dickhead who’s ever made a snarky comment about his job.
Of course, immediately after that, he has to change into the most hideously embarrassing loincloth in the south Pacific. It’s plenty long in the front and the back, but completely open on the sides, and Chris can never get over the feeling that his ass is hanging out. It’s just… drafty. Zoe is no help – if he ever tries to complain, it’s the whole “coconut bras” and “I could have danced at Julliard, but I would never leave the Islands” speech, and Chris knows it by heart by now.
As always, his time on the stage seems to fly by, and before he knows it, he’s standing with a few other dancers by the exit, bidding the guests aloha as they leave. The parade of sunburned tourists seems unusually complimentary of his specific performance tonight, but Chris barely hears them. He can’t stop himself from peering closely at every tall, dark-haired man that passes. As ridiculous as he knows it is, his heart sinks a little when each one proves to be without a black eye.
Back in the dressing room, which is really just a converted pool changing room from before the hotel decided it was going to join everyone else and get into the luau game, Chris throws his lei in the trash with the others, a little sad as always about the beautiful orchids going to waste. So he’s a gay man who likes flowers; so sue him. He’s last to the shower, so he takes his time rinsing off the sweat and getting back in his street clothes.
He’s dreading the scooter ride home so much that he actually runs into a man in a stupid straw fedora who’s lingering outside the dressing room. “Hey, watch it,” the guy says in a familiar voice. “I don’t need any more marks on this gorgeous face.”
Chris is almost sure he’s hallucinating, but no, there’s Zach, shiner and all, dressed in skinny jeans and a striped tank top. Chris just wants to get him out of that outfit as fast as possible, for many reasons. “You… but… how?”
“Do you have any idea how fucking many hotel luaus there are on this island?” Zach asks with a laugh. “Thank god there’s only one that employs a white guy named Chris with a terrific ass.”
“Well, my ass is locally famous,” Chris says, trying not to gape. “You came here… for me?” he says, wincing at how stupid it sounds out loud.
Zach shrugs. “Well, yeah, you or the fire-twirling guy. He was pretty cute.”
“Goddamn it, the fire-twirling guys get so much ass,” Chris mutters, mostly to himself.
“Though I can’t say his costume was quite as… distinctive as yours,” Zach says, shoving his hands in his pockets. But it’s not a nervous gesture – Chris is sure Zach is stopping himself from reaching out and grabbing Chris in public. “Pretty glad I didn’t mark you up too badly last night.”
Fuck, Chris thinks, Zach can mark him up however he wants to. But instead, Chris blabbers, “I didn’t know you were… uh… who you are.”
“I know,” Zach says quickly, but there’s a new hint of wariness in his eyes. “But you do now, I see.”
Chris tries not to look desperate. “Can we still…? I, um, I really enjoyed last night. All of it. Not just the, uh…” He doesn’t say “wild fucking,” because it seems to be understood. “I mean, as long as you’re here. In Hawaii. Doing stuff.”
Zach’s face breaks into a grin, like he can’t help himself. “Funny thing about that. I, uh, might have had a pilot picked up recently. For a show that’s going to film on location. So ‘as long as I’m here’ might be longer than you think.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Chris mutters. “I think I’m going to have to buy a TV.”
Zach throws back his head and laughs, loud and long, and Chris can’t help but join in, hardly able to believe his luck, until Zach is finally reaching for him, pushing him back through the door of the dressing room and slanting his mouth over Chris’.
“You weren’t lying about those hips,” Zach murmurs against Chris’ lips as he puts his hands boldly under Chris’ shirt. He pushes firmly up Chris’ chest until his palms are over Chris’ nipples and rubs. Chris groans, walking them backwards until his back hits a wall – he doesn’t even know which wall, just that he’s no longer in imminent danger of toppling over. They really shouldn’t do this here, but Chris doesn’t think anyone comes in the dressing room when the rest of the dancers are gone, and besides, if Zach wants to do it here, Chris is pretty sure he’s not going to say no.
Suddenly, Zach’s hands slide back down to Chris’ belt, flipping the buckle open with surprising dexterity. “I just wanted to congratulate you again on your performance,” Zach says between sweeps of his tongue. “Some people throw roses, but this seems more… personal.” And he sinks gracefully to his knees.
Chris can hardly believe his luck, from meeting this guy to forgetting his number to an unsolicited and highly anticipated blowjob at his place of employment. “Fuck, yes, suck me,” he says, voice full of something like awe. From his position on the floor, Zach quirks an eyebrow, and Chris amends, “Um, please?”
Zach laughs, then leans in to bite at Chris’ belly. Chris unzips and shoves his pants and briefs to his knees faster than he ever has in his life. Zach trails his mouth down with sucking kisses to the curve of Chris’ hip, burying his nose in the curls at Chris’ groin to breathe in his scent. Chris holds his breath in anticipation, which turns out to be a terrible idea, since Zach doesn’t take Chris’ cock in his mouth right away, nuzzling around the base instead. He looks up at Chris. “Breathe, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”
Chris lets the air out of his lungs with a groan and tries to roll his eyes, but Zach pins his hips to the wall with such casual authority that they sort of roll back in their sockets instead. There is no doubt in his mind that Zach will give him exactly what he needs; it’s a feeling he hasn’t had in a long time (well, before last night) and it excites the hell out of him.
With a soft, pleased sigh, Zach gets back to business, cupping Chris’ balls firmly with one hand and gripping his cock with the other. He licks at the head coyly, like he didn’t spend most of last night balls-deep in Chris’ ass, moaning a steady stream of filth in his ear. Chris squirms, seeking more contact, but Zach tugs at Chris’ sac just shy of the point of pain, a silent warning to stay put and let Zach have his fun.
The only sound in the room is Chris’ panting breath, punctuated with the occasional gasp when Zach flicks his tongue just so. Chris wants to reciprocate, but Zach’s made it pretty clear that he’s to be still and take what Zach gives him. His fingers scrabble ineffectually against the smooth wall, and he has to ball his hands into fists to keep from tangling them in Zach’s hair. When Zach finally quits teasing and gets down to business, Chris already feels like a wreck.
Zach sucks long and hard, fingers creeping behind Chris’ balls to press into his taint. With his other hand, Zach jacks the base of Chris’ cock, his knuckles bumping against his lips. Chris’ toes start to curl inside his shoes, feeling himself begin that final climb. He bites hard on his lower lip, giving an involuntary grunt as he starts to come, spurting against the back of Zach’s throat as Zach’s tongue continues to work against the underside of his cock. Chris’ shoes squeak against the tile floor as he squirms under the hard suction of Zach’s mouth, which continues just a second too long. And when Zach shoots him a wicked look up through lowered eyelashes, he knows Zach knows it’s too much.
Zach is back on his feet in an instant, kissing Chris before he even has a chance to catch his breath. Chris tastes himself thick and bitter on Zach’s tongue, never his favorite taste, but Zach is holding his head firmly, kissing him like his next breath, and every one after that, depends on it. Chris groans into it, reaching for Zach, but he only makes it as far as hooking his fingers in Zach’s waistband before Zach is grabbing his wrists, pressing them back against the wall at Chris’ sides. Zach squeezes them and nips at Chris’ already abused lower lip, and Chris is pretty sure he’s meant to keep his hands just where Zach’s put them.
Zach undoes his own belt, unzipping and drawing his cock out without dropping his pants. Chris’ hands ache to reach out and touch, but the best he can do is look down and watch Zach’s own hand stroke himself to full hardness – though he’d been pretty damn close already. Zach watches him watching and chuckles darkly, his cock lengthening in his hand. Well, if Zach likes to be watched, the least Chris can do is be an appreciative audience. Chris gasps, watching Zach tug roughly at himself, hardly pausing as he rubs his palm over the head every few strokes.
Zach sways into him, nosing against Chris’ jaw until Chris tilts his head up to be kissed again. Really, he thinks, Zach should let him do at least some of the work, but then he remembers all the time he’s spent on his scooter today and makes Zach work just a little bit harder to open Chris’ mouth with his tongue. That little bit of resistance seems to enflame Zach even more, and Chris can feel Zach’s knuckles carelessly bump against his belly as Zach’s hand speeds up.
With a wet pop, Zach’s lips leave Chris’, and he groans, “Lift up your shirt.” Chris is not sure he heard Zach right until he says it again, this time growling it right into Chris’ ear. “Lift up your shirt.”
Zach pulls back enough to let him obey, and Chris quickly tugs his shirt up past his ribs. He’s pretty sure what’s coming next, but instead of looking down, he deliberately keeps his eyes glued to Zach’s face. Zach sees him do it, and the corner of his mouth quirks up and his eyes go hot and wide before his orgasm overtakes him and he shuts them, tilting his head back with the force of it. Even though he’s expecting it, Chris’ abs twitch a little when the first hot spurt hits his stomach. Zach’s face draws up tight, heedless of the black eye that’s still got to be hurting him. Chris watches as Zach’s face slowly relaxes – first Zach’s eyes, then his lips, then his jaw – as the warmth begins to trickle down Chris’ belly.
Chris continues to hold his shirt bunched up in one hand and wraps the other around the back of Zach’s neck, pulling him in to kiss at his mouth. Zach groans, holding Chris’ hip against the wall with his free hand and moving his mouth sluggishly against Chris’ in a sloppy kiss, lips still slack with pleasure.
After a minute, Zach pulls his mouth away from Chris’, but doesn’t pull away entirely. Chris is just starting to wonder if it would break the mood if he asked for some paper towels when Zach starts huffing against Chris’ lips. No, not huffing – laughing, a strangely melodic sound echoing off the tiles. Zach gives him a hard, close-mouthed kiss and leans back to meet Chris’ eyes. His own eyes are dancing with mirth as he practically giggles, “Oh my god, here, let me clean you up.”
It doesn’t even occur to Chris to be offended by the laughter – he can’t help but join in as Zach grabs a handful of paper towels and starts wiping at Chris’ belly. It is ridiculous: barely 24 hours ago, Chris was staring down some douchebag whose name he’s already forgotten, bemoaning his prospects for life, and now he’s getting blown in the bathroom at work by this playful, witty, fucking gorgeous movie star – or TV star, whatever – who sure as hell sounds like he wants to see him again. And who is doing a remarkably piss-poor job of cleaning the cum off his stomach.
“Hold still!” Zach gasps. “I can’t do this while you’re laughing!”
Which, of course, only makes Chris laugh harder, though eventually, and with a lot of paper towels, Zach finishes the job. He avails himself of the urinal as Chris pulls up his pants and rearranges himself. When shirts are straightened and hands are washed, Zach’s arms slip back around Chris’ waist, their bodies pulled together like magnets. Zach kisses him soundly and then murmurs, “Please don’t leave my phone number sitting on my nightstand again. I might take it personally.”
His lips are curved in a smile against Chris’, and Chris can’t help but tease a little. “Terrible blow to your ego, huh?”
“You have no idea. I was inconsolable. Give me your number this time.”
“Fuck that. Come home with me.” Chris never brings guys back to his place, but as soon as he’s said it, he knows he wants Zach there.
“Yeah. Yes,” Zach says quickly, chuckling at his own eagerness. “But we’re taking my car, not your stupid scooter.”
Chris is offended. “Number one, don’t talk about Ol’ Bessie that way. And number two, did I even tell you about her?”
“You did. Also, I’m pretty sure there’s only one person on this island who drives a red scooter with a ‘Nietzsche is my co-pilot’ bumper sticker.”
When Zach stops talking, Chris forgets why he’s not kissing him, so he remedies that. Fuck, he’s fallen hard. When he speaks again, he tries to make it sound casual. “So, uh, this TV show of yours. It could maybe last for a while?”
“For seasons,” Zach says, squeezing Chris lightly. “If people watch it, of course.”
“I’m starting a fan club,” Chris says, trying to get Zach to start moving toward the door, because the sooner they get out of here, the sooner Zach can be naked in Chris’ bed. “It’ll never go off the air.”
Zach laughs, following Chris’ lead. But then he stops dead as if suddenly remembering something and frowns at Chris. “You really don’t have a TV?”
Chris groans and tugs Zach through the door. “Why does everyone find that so hard to believe?”
“Because it’s practically un-American,” Zach says, swaying to bump lightly into Chris.
Chris finds he has nothing to say to that, so he takes in a deep breath of the warm night air, fragrant with the scent of the ocean and the nearby plumeria trees, and just smiles. He really does live in paradise.