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April Come He Will

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When Chris gets to Zach's place, he's jet-lagged and giddy. He's cold; New York at the end of April is not L.A. at the end of April. But he's too exhausted to even think of buttoning up his shirt.

Before Chris can decide if he ought to use his key or ring the bell, Zach's opening the door. Zach's face lights up with relief and exhilaration, and then his brown eyes heat up as he looks Chris over.

“You and your damn buttons,” Zach growls. Desire darkens his voice.

In that moment, Chris knows without any doubt that Zach's seriously contemplating just ripping his shirt off him in the hallway.

His knees grow weak with the same sense of relief he saw in Zach's face just seconds ago. He swallows hard and forces himself to speak through the whimper that threatens to break free. “Zach.”

Zach drags him into the apartment and slams the door shut behind him. “You're here, baby. You're here.”

And then Chris finds himself enveloped in Zach. His body pressed against him, hot and heavy and hard. Of course he's hard. They haven't been together since Leonard's funeral. But now he's here, and Zach's holding him, and kissing him, and touching him, stroking him, and yes, ripping his shirt off after all so that the two buttons that were actually closed go flying and land on the hardwood floors with harsh pings.

“Zach.” Yes, that's a whimper. But he doesn't care. With Zach he doesn't have to pretend, he can just let himself be. Let himself be kissed, and caressed... and led straight to the bedroom, while the dogs and the cat remain behind, baffled at the lack of attention and polite greetings they are accustomed to.

“Missed you,” Zach mutters as he kicks the bedroom door shut behind them. “Missed you so much. Oh god.

Chris feels dizzy as if he's drunk or high as they stumble to the bed. Zach's already unbuttoning his jeans, while he's ineffectually dragging at Zach's hipster shirt that's no doubt adorned with some meaningful slogan and/or work of art, but right now Chris feels incapable not just of reading but of speaking. They are not even completely naked and he's reduced to clinging to Zach and making needy noises.

And then they are naked. Finally. They lie tangled around each other on the cool white sheets of Zach's bed, and Chris feels hot all over, even though he's shivering.

Zach’s kissing him with an intensity that leaves Chris breathless, and his touches are impossibly tender, as if he can barely believe that Chris is really here, really in his bed, really in his arms. He kisses Chris’ lips, and Chris’ cheeks. The tip of his nose, his forehead, his eyelids. And every touch of his lips is so gentle and sweet that tears well up in Chris’ eyes.

Then Zach’s burying his face against Chris’ neck and breathing hard. He’s sucking in his breath harshly, as if he’s trying to inhale the last molecule of Chris’ scent, sweat and the stale smell of traveling notwithstanding. He’s shuddering in Chris’ arms.

“I’ve been such a mess,” Zach mumbles, his breath hot and humid on Chris’ skin.

Chris reaches up and combs his fingers through Zach’s hair. It’s still short, but finally growing out again, thick and silky and gorgeous. Zach’s been busy, promoting projects, doing interviews, traveling for pick-ups and for shooting the Snowden movie. Even most of his friends see only that façade. But Chris knows exactly what Zach means – that small pause when he talks about celebrating Leonard’s life. The way he has to lift his eyes for the fraction of a second before he can meet the eyes of a talk show host again with a charming smile. How he still hasn’t cried.

“You’re so brave,” Chris whispers as he kisses Zach back, as he strokes his back, his flanks, his hips. “You’re doing so well.”

Zach mutters something he can’t understand and presses himself even closer against Chris, pushing their dicks together in the process. Chris had started getting distracted by Zach’s distress, but the hot slide of silky skin, the frustratingly elusive pressure of Zach’s cock against his, makes him moan again, and need, need more than this, so much more than this.

He pushes himself up on one elbow and is relieved to find the lube right there on the nightstand, probably forgotten in plain sight after the late, late night phone call the previous day when Zach had told him just how much he missed Chris and what he’d do to him if he wasn’t still a red-eye away from him on the other side of the continent. Almost overbalancing, Chris manages to grab the bottle.

A few seconds later, he’s squirting lube on his fingers even as he’s thrusting against Zach’s dick again.  Leaning into Zach’s embrace, he slides two fingers into himself, grateful that he played with the bigger plug the previous night in anticipation of their reunion. He can’t wait to feel Zach. Especially when Zach needs him so much. Zach, who is so earnestly invested in keeping their relationship healthy and balanced. Who is still so scared of needing Chris too much or of not providing enough support for Chris, who’s sometimes still uncertain about his new role as openly bisexual actor and Zach’s new partner.

He pushes against Zach’s cock again, rubbing himself over the length and the width of him and reveling in his lover’s choked noises. Then he draws back. For a moment he just lies there, his heart racing, and stares at Zach, drinks in his lover’s face – flushed and vulnerable, his eyes dark with desire, his lips slightly parted – his gorgeous body, the curious pattern of chest hair, the delicious treasure trail now smeared with precome, the thick, dark cock straining for more friction... And that giddy feeling swells up inside Chris that’s so much more than lust. But lust is important, too, and Chris wants Zach now, quite desperately.

A hard squeeze, and a generous dollop of lube hits Zach’s dick. Zach squeals like a girl, and they are both giggling while Chris wraps his big hands around Zach’s cock and slicks him up, slowly and thoroughly. When Zach moans and balls his hands into fists until his nails cut half-moons into his palms, Chris lets up. He grips Zach’s arms and pulls him close for a kiss. Such a weird kiss, sliding back and forth between a dark, glorious passion he’d gladly go to hell for and a tenderness of laughing, breathless delight.

And then he rolls onto his back and pulls Zach with him. And Zach, Zach lets him. They’ve wrestled in bed before, and one their greatest turn-ons is how evenly matched they are in strength. Chris may be a little stronger, but only a little – and that’s upper-body strength and arm muscles thanks to his addiction to cooking and interior design shows on TV combined with weight-lifting – so Zach giving himself up to Chris like that is beyond hot.

Chris spreads his legs and opens up for Zach, gasping at the slide of slick cock against his balls and taint. “Now fuck me.” He takes a deep breath, turning his focus inwards, toward letting Zach inside his body.

“Like this? Are you sure?”

They’ve talked about this, and when they got together, they swapped their test results, they were both clean, and they haven’t been with anyone else since.

“Yeah, Zach, I am. I want to feel you. It’s been too fucking long.”

Zach only nods, then he frowns, screwing together his eyebrows in concentration, as he slowly pushes into Chris’ body. The dull ache and burn of penetration is different without a condom. Chris imagines he can feel Zach’s pulse throbbing in his dick. And then he’s in, his balls pressed soft and full against Chris’ ass, and fuck, this is good. So good.

He wraps his arms and legs around Zach and moans, when the slight shift in position is enough to make the angle just right. Soon they are seesawing in a rhythm that leaves no room for thought or words. Helpless noises spill from Chris’ lips, forming a beautifully filthy counterpoint to Zach’s low grunts and gasps.

When Zach gets close, he loses his rhythm, his thrusts go deeper, grow more powerful, and goddamnit, that’s good, gorgeous even, but the way he looks at Chris is even better, and somehow it’s that, the light and the darkness and the love in Zach’s eyes, that makes Chris jerk himself just a little harder, and that’s it, he’s coming, spilling his spunk in hot, short bursts all over his stomach, droplets even spattering Zach’s body above him. That, in turn, triggers Zach’s orgasm, and it does feel different without a condom. He can feel the heat of Zach’s dick, and every pulse and push feels more... more... just more. And the way Zach fills up his ass with his come, of course that feels different, too. Only Chris never expected that to feel good. He thought it would be kind of gross, but it’s not. Fucking filthy, of course, but somehow it’s amazing, too.

And when Zach pulls out, and they lie entangled again, sticky with lube and come and sweat and that’s definitely gross, then that’s amazing, too. Zach’s breathing harshly, and his eyes are feverish bright, but he’s boneless for now, stress and grief fucked from his mind, and later, when they’ve showered, Zach will sleep, deeply and peacefully, in Chris’ embrace. It's May in New York now, and for a while at least, Chris can stay, with Zach resting in his arms.