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In So Many Words

Chapter Text

Ways to say I love you:

  1. As a hello




It's the ass-crack of dawn, and Sebastian Stan is maybe-kind-of-a-tiny-bit miserable.

It's been raining for hours, finally tapering off into chilly, damp drizzle, and he's currently huddled under a canvas-topped tent, waiting for further direction while trying not to let his hair get too wet and frizzy, lest it ruin the artfully disheveled work of his stylist.

He closes his eyes, leans his head back a little and tries not to long too much for the dark quiet of his hotel room. He's enormously grateful to be here - don't get him wrong - but still he can't keep his mind from wandering back to yearning thoughts of sleep. The way his mattress dips just enough to cradle him in perfect fluffy, blanket-filled warmth. Cushy and soft and covered in enough over-stuffed pillows to possibly suffocate him, but what a way to go. It's a little slice of slumber-filled heaven and right now, he misses it desperately. Bed Separation Sadness. Is that a thing? He should Google it. 

"Hey Seb."

That voice, somehow managing to stay so fucking warm and cheerful considering it’s barely 5 a.m., makes his eyes snap back open and for a second he almost loses his balance as the full force of Chris' grin hits him like a punch of pure, blinding sunshine.

The tops of his cheeks are stained pink from the brisk air and his hair's sticking up in all directions, like he's just pulled off the Cap helmet and hasn't bothered trying to flatten everything out. He looks good. Really, painfully good, and that's made even better by the fact that one arm's extending a paper take-out cup in Seb's direction.

"Oh my god, I love you," he moans in greeting, making grabby hands for the drink.

Both of Chris' eyebrows raise as he passes it over. "Are you talking to me or the coffee?"

Seb pauses to take a sip, feeling the hot liquid spread in a slow, blooming warmth from throat to stomach before answering, "Yes."

That evokes a laugh, one of those trademark Chris Evans guffaws complete with closed eyes and head thrown back and an arm automatically shooting out to squeeze Seb's shoulder. Despite all the layers of the Winter Soldier tac suit, Sebastian thinks that he can still feel the hot touch of each individual fingertip pressing into his skin.

Jesus, it's too early for this.

He takes another drink, less out of the need for caffeine and more for the fact that it gives his hands and mouth something to do. Something that isn't as stupid as reaching out to touch the charmingly endearing goofball standing in front of him with thoughtful blue eyes and a smile that's almost dizzying in it's sincerity. Because yeah, hot beverages have nothing on the warming abilities of that look.

He is so, so fucked.

"You have any plans tonight?" Chris asks just as a harried-looking PA darts by and he immediately moves to dodge out of her path, putting himself a step closer to Sebastian. In true responsively tactile fashion, one of his hands has unconsciously lifted to cup Seb's elbow as he turns and leans, watching the woman go, making sure she's fine.

He doesn't know if it's the touch, the current lack of space between them, Chris' genuine display of concern for a total stranger, or some tangled combination of all three, but there suddenly seems to be an abrupt lack of oxygen in the air surrounding Sebastian.

Pulling in a shaking breath, he manages to get out what he hopes is a normal-sounding reply. "Besides trashy television and sinking into my bed until it literally absorbs me, no."

Chris chuckles, quiet and brief before his face sobers back up and he asks, a little more cautiously now as clear blue eyes lift to meet Sebastian's, "Want some company?"

Chris. In his hotel room. Sharing his bed and laughing over bad sitcoms and maybe probably falling asleep with their shoulders touching. Oh god. He should say no, he should -

"Yes. Yeah, that...that sounds great actually."

Damn it.

Chris blinks and that brilliant sun-punched smile is back, lighting up his whole face like Seb's awkward response is the best damn news he's heard all year.

"Cool," he says, nodding to himself and looking just this side of alarmingly, adorably dorky. "I'll text you when I'm done here? Shouldn't be too late."

Seb swallows. Nods back. Tries not to notice how Chris' hand is still curved under the bend of his elbow. "Yeah."

Chris opens his mouth to say something else, but then he's being called over to the cameras so he settles for an apologetic 'what can you do' half-smile as he trots back onto set, leaving Sebastian staring after him, absently rubbing his tingling elbow and wondering what the hell he's just gotten himself into.



Chapter Text

  1. In a blissful sigh




This, Sebastian thinks as he drags himself through the lobby towards the bank of waiting elevators, must be what death feels like.

It was a rough stunt day, the third one in a row, and his muscles have finally lost whatever remaining patience they’ve had with him, breaking their silence and rioting loudly. With fire and pitchforks.

Actually, it’s not so much his muscles – that dull, overworked ache is something he’s learned to live with by now – but his feet that are bearing the brunt of the pain at the moment.

There’s only so much wardrobe can do to keep the Winter Soldier’s combat boots comfortable when he’s on his feet for hours at a time, Seb knows, and as luck would have it, today just happened to involve an abnormally high amount of standing around on hot, unforgiving pavement.

When he shuffles into the first available elevator, he immediately leans back against the wall, relieving some of the weight on his tired soles. It’s not much of a help, but he’s willing to take any small improvement at this point.

With a pained grunt he leans forward just enough for fingertips to brush the silver-plated rows of buttons, hesitating over the number five before his brain pulls a wild ‘fuck it’ and he finds himself pressing the button for the fourth floor instead.

He knows it’s dangerous; these one-on-one hang out sessions that he and Chris have fallen into. One day he’s going to slip up, reach for a big, warm hand or lean in for a soft brush of lips, and he’ll ruin everything - their friendship, his heart - but it’s a habit Sebastian just can’t bring himself to break.

He’s an addict, he thinks to himself as the doors slide open and he meanders down the fourth floor hallway. Fully aware that this will only hurt him, and yet he does it again and again. Careless. Unconcerned.

But a shattered heart is a problem for Future Sebastian, he decides. Present Sebastian only wants to see Chris’ sunshine smile, hear the rumble of his voice and make him laugh like there’s no funnier joke on Earth.

Yep. Total fucking addict.

Before the logical part of his brain can convince him to turn and flee, he takes a breath and taps knuckles against the door of room 406. Then he steps back and waits, running both hands through his hair. Clearing his throat. Wetting his lips. Pretty much every nervous tic he’s ever developed gets run through twice before the door finally opens and Chris...fuck, Chris looks like a walking dream. All tired and rumpled in a soft, sleepy kind of way that is wholly, unfairly wonderful.

“Hey!” His face splits into a grin that makes Sebastian’s stomach flip and then he’s throwing the door open wide, ushering Seb inside.

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess,” Chris continues, plucking up a few randomly discarded water bottles and rogue socks as he leads Sebastian into the room. “I didn’t think you’d be up for coming over after the way they put you through the wringer today. Glad you did, though. Come, I mean.”

Maybe it’s Seb’s imagination, some form of naive, wishful thinking, but it almost looks like Chris is blushing a little at the end.

“Can I...?” Sebastian gestures to the bed which, given his current level of woeful suffering, looks like a fucking oasis in the desert.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

The words are barely out of Chris’ mouth before Seb’s face-planting length-wise across the mattress, heaving a long, relieved sigh.

With an amused - fond? Or is that only another wishful thought? - chuckle, Chris settles at the head of the bed, making the mattress rustle and shift slightly under Sebastian.

“What hurts?” There’s a note of care-filled sympathy in Chris' voice and it's almost enough to make Seb whimper.

“Mmf,” he speaks into the bedspread, relishing the boneless, ache-free feeling of lying still for a moment longer, then he finally lifts his head enough to clarify, somewhat pathetically, “everything.”

Chris hums, low and thoughtful, before declaring, “Take your shoes off.”


“Shoes. Off,” Chris repeats. “I’m gonna give you a foot rub.”

In his haste to scramble up onto one elbow, Sebastian nearly falls off the bed. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Chris smiles but it looks a little forced around the edges, anxiety slowly creeping in. “Window of opportunity closing in three...two...”

“Okay! Okay, yes. Please. ” Sebastian could punch himself for how desperately eager he sounds, but there's no way he’s going to let this opportunity pass him by, and even more importantly, like hell he’d ever let Chris feel any kind of embarrassment over such a thoughtful offer.

He sits up, feeling a bit stiff and creaky as he fumbles to pull off sneakers and rearrange himself enough to sit diagonal from Chris, hesitating for a second before stretching out his legs and lightly resting sock-clad feet in Chris’ lap.

“Is this...ah, is this okay?” Jesus, when did his voice get so rusty?

“Yeah,” Chris replies, sounding a little croaky himself, and that does absolutely nothing to quell the rising heat that’s already creeping up into Sebastian’s face.

It stays bashfully awkward for about three seconds longer and then Chris’ thumbs are digging into the arch of Sebastian’s foot and oh fuck yes thank you Jesus.

He feels his whole body unwind in one long, blissful groan of pleasure that, in any other circumstances, would probably embarrass the hell out of him, but whatever Chris and his magical hands are doing feels too good for Sebastian to muster even an ounce of care.

“Ugh, I love you,” he moans out dazedly. “You’re a saint. Saint Christopher of Weeping Soles. Soles like feet, not like soul souls.”

Chris snorts, thankfully not pausing his ministrations as hands keep rubbing with the perfect balance of tenderness and pressure. “Yeah, I understood that reference.”

Sebastian freezes, stares at him for precisely three seconds, then dissolves into a fit of cackling laughter. “Did you really just...?” He gasps out, but then he’s laughing too hard to continue, foot slipping out of Chris’ grip as he keels over onto his side.

“What?” Chris asks defensively, and then it finally hits him. “Oh. Oh. Shit.”

When Sebastian can breathe somewhat normally again, he blinks up at Chris, chest simultaneously feeling too light and too full. This fucking adorable meatball.  Seb is so far gone, it isn’t even funny.

“Character bleed much?” He arches an eyebrow, biting his lip in an effort to contain the force of his ridiculous smile.

Chris points at him. “You. You shut the hell up,” he says, but he’s grinning too much to make it look even half-way serious.

“I will never forget this moment,” Sebastian vows, cackling all over again when Chris swiftly whacks him with a pillow. 

“You speak of this to no one,” Chris threatens, “or I won’t do your other foot.”

“That’s not very fair,” Seb comments, but he’s already pushing himself back up into a sitting position because he can totally behave if it means that Chris will keep touching him.

“Life’s unfair, Seb,” Chris replies, reaching for Sebastian’s other ankle and drawing it into his lap, fingers already beginning to move in slow, delicious circles.

Sebastian sighs, wistful and quiet this time as he watches Chris work.

Unfair. Isn’t that the truth.




Chapter Text

  1. With a hoarse voice, under the blankets




Sebastian stands in his small hotel kitchenette, elbows propped up on the countertop and fingers steepled against his mouth as he regards his cell phone like it’s the single most complex mystery of the universe.  

With a sigh, he finally picks it up. Slowly types out, ‘So Scarlett said-

Nope, too gossipy.

He erases it. Tries again with, ‘You’re sick? That sucks man.

Ugh, that just feels weird and dismissive and too impersonal.

He backspaces again.

The blinking text cursor mocks him as it waits for his next failed attempt at composing a message and Sebastian’s tempted to just throw the damn phone across the room except, y’know, he kind of needs it for stuff.

Instead he places it back down onto the counter, lining up the edges so it sits perfectly straight and centered, then he goes back to staring.

It shouldn’t be this fucking hard to send a get well text to your co-star. Then again, when one just so happens to be in love with said co-star, it does tend to complicate matters.

It’s fine, he tells himself. He’ll sleep on it and send something with a clear head in the morning. It’s not like he’s obligated to say anything, and Chris probably isn’t even expecting him to, probably doesn’t even think about him outside of work, unlike Seb, the epically tragic loser who’s been in agony for thirty minutes now over the thought of writing one little text-

The phone vibrates loudly, skittering across the laminate countertop, and he nearly jumps straight out of his skin.

One glance at the screen, and Sebastian’s lungs give a painful, breathless squeeze.  

It’s Chris.

Oh god.

He fumbles for the phone, thumb eagerly swiping to read the message as he swallows his heart back down from where it’s decided to lodge up in the back of his throat.


Huh. He’s not quite sure what he’d been expecting, but it definitely isn't that. Nevertheless, his mouth unconsciously tips up into a smile because even through the congested, fuzzy haze of his man cold, Chris still thought to text him. Him. Out of everyone else. And if he maybe has to grab the edge of the counter for support, take a few deep, controlled breaths until it no longer feels like he’s about to pass out...well, that stays between him and the toaster.

Three breaths later, with surprisingly steady hands, Sebastian types out a response, grinning the entire time.

          How many meds are you on rn?

Chris’ reply is almost instant.

          Took cogh syrup. Feel gr eeat. Can come back to wrk now if they n eed me.

Seb laughs out loud. Only Chris would down half a bottle of cough syrup and then declare himself fit for work via a drunken-sounding text.

          They don’t need you today, promise. Get some rest.

Chris doesn’t reply again after that, so Sebastian makes himself a cup of coffee. Reads through some script changes. Tries to watch a documentary about emperor penguins. But every few minutes, his eyes slide back over to the still-dark screen of his phone and the knot of worry in his stomach grows tighter and tighter.

With a sigh, he pushes himself off the couch, collects his phone and key card, and fires off one last message.

           I’m coming over.




Chris’ room looks like a cave; blinds drawn and devoid of any light aside from the faint flicker of the TV where Slap-Chop infomercials seem to be running in a frighteningly infinite loop.

“ ‘M fine,” Chris repeats for the fifth time, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused and really, really fucking high on whatever the hell he took.

Seb frowns, not believing him for a second, and proceeds to snoop around the room, looking for any kind of packaging that might give him some answers. It’s not an easy task considering how Chris refuses to sit his ass down, stumbling after him like a clumsy, eager puppy. It would be really fucking endearing if Sebastian wasn’t quite so preoccupied by the wave of pure, wholehearted concern that flooded him the minute Chris first opened the door.

After a thorough search, he’s procured cough drops, a small mountain of Kleenex, two packs of cold pills, and a nearly-finished bottle of NyQuil.

“Did you mix these?” He asks Chris, holding up the NyQuil and a night-time box of cold and flu pills.

“No. Yes. Maybe,” Chris hedges, shuffling back over to the bed and plopping down heavily as he reaches for more Kleenex from his stash. “Jubst wanbed to geb bebber,” he says into the handful of tissues, turning big, miserably sick eyes on Sebastian.

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that,” Sebastian groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. That wounded puppy expression shoots straight to his heart, only complicating the thick tangle of emotion already residing there.

“I’m looking ab you norbally,” Chris insists, slightly muffled through his big ball of Kleenex.

“You’re out of your damn mind is what you are,” Sebastian replies, letting far too much affection seep into his voice, but luckily Chris seems to be too doped-up to notice. “C’mon, lay down.”

Chris tosses his tissues in the nearby trash can before swinging his legs up onto the bed with a tired grunt. “You gonna spoon me?”

Sebastian almost chokes on his tongue, sputtering out, “I’m not gonna spoon you.”

Chris wiggles under the blankets, dropping his head onto the pillow and frowning at Seb with a doleful expression. “But what if I want you to?”


Somehow Chris manages to make his eyes go even bigger, shining the brightest fucking shade of blue Sebastian’s ever seen. “Will you stay a while though? Please?”

Sebastian lets out a breath, shoulders easing as he nods. “Yeah. Of course I will.”

He rounds the bed, carefully lowering himself down to sit on top of the blankets next to where Chris is huddled on his side, sheets pulled up to his nose and back facing Seb.

“Cold?” Sebastian asks, feeling his heart clench oddly at the way Chris is all curled in on himself, bent into a little ball with knees pulled up towards his chest. Those normally broad shoulders look so small, so much more frail and fragile like this. He really fucking hates it.

“I’ll be okay,” Chris croaks out, which isn’t a no, which means that what he really wants to say is yes. Sebastian knows this because after all this time, two films and countless months together, he likes to think he’s become pretty fluent in polite Chris-speak. It’s an accomplishment he’s not entirely sure whether he should feel proud of or scared by.

Before he can think too much more about it, he scoots closer, letting his hip and thigh press against the line of Chris’ back, hoping to transfer a little more heat to him.

Almost instantly, Chris releases a raspy sigh, relaxing back against the soft weight of Sebastian’s leg and something warm flutters in Seb’s chest; a light liquid gold, filling him up until he can hardly breathe.

They both fall silent aside from the low, irregular sound of Chris’ congested breathing, and Seb thinks he might have managed to fall asleep until Chris murmurs a moment later, “Sebastian?”

Seb shifts a little onto one hip, leaning over to smooth Chris’ hair off his forehead in a way that feels entirely too natural. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. For all of this. You’re so good,” Chris mumbles, quiet and drowsy, “always so good to me.”

Sebastian is immensely grateful for the fact that Chris is currently facing away from him because right now, he knows that his face is giving away absolutely everything. “Go to sleep, Chris,” he orders gently, trying to keep his voice soft and steady. Soft isn’t hard, but steady is proving to be nearly impossible.

“ ‘Kay,” Chris returns hoarsely, snuggling further under the blankets and letting out a content hum as Seb’s hand continues to card through his hair. “Love you.”


Sebastian goes still, lungs and heart both freezing for an instant before they kick-start with a vengeance, shifting into overdrive as his pulse picks up speed and his skin flushes hot.

It’s nothing but a byproduct of the cold meds, he tells himself. Chris doesn’t mean it. He can’t mean it.

But...maybe there’s a chance. Some small, not-so-distant glimmer of hope slowly peeking over the horizon. Maybe...maybe...

Seb swallows roughly, hand resuming stroking Chris’ hair as he gives into the warm, rising ache in his chest, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to rest against the tall, padded headboard behind him.

Maybe, for just one night, he can let himself imagine.



Chapter Text

  1. Muffled, from the other side of the door




It’s supposed to be a celebration, of sorts. One last hurrah before everything comes to an end.

To Sebastian, it feels more like a funeral.

The Winter Soldier is officially a wrap and come tomorrow morning, they’ll be on two different planes, heading to opposite ends of the country.

Logically, Seb knows it’s silly and dramatic to fear that this will be the last time they’ll ever see each other. There’ll be more movies, more conventions, more press junkets. Civil War promises to be huge; Infinity Wars even bigger.

He’ll miss this though. Working so intimately with Chris. Seeing, touching, talking every day. The oddly easy relationship they’ve built.

So now they’re sitting in Sebastian’s hotel room for one last night, pleasantly drunk, sharing a bottle of scotch and reminiscing over stunts and screw-ups and on-set pranks.

“We fucking did it man,” Chris is saying when Sebastian finally tunes back into the conversation. He’s articulating with animated hands and a wide, contagious grin that makes Seb’s chest ache with affection. “Made it to the end. Can you fucking believe it?”

“Nope,” he replies honestly, snatching the bottle back from Chris and taking a healthy swig because he really can’t believe it, and he’s sure as hell not ready to go back to life outside of their little bubble. Every fibre of his being is crying out in protest, screaming that he doesn’t want to let go of this – of Chris – just yet.

“Hey!” Chris tries to pull the bottle out of his grip, shoulder warmly bumping Sebastian’s along the way. “Fuckin’ greedy.”

“You’ve had like, three-quarters of it,” Sebastian argues, taking one more sip just to get a reaction out of Chris.

It works.

Chris gives him a look of scandalized outrage. “Have not.”

“Have too,” Sebastian retorts, finally passing the bottle back.

At that, Chris’ face lights up with delight. “Oh if we’re gonna do childish arguments, just give up now, man. You know I’m gonna beat your ass,” he finishes with a grin, all easy and playful and a little bit tipsy.

It’s so painfully gorgeous, Sebastian kind of wants to cry.

So maybe it’s the booze. Maybe it’s pure, blind panic; some stubborn, desperate desire to dig in his heels and stay at this point in time forever. Whatever the reason, Sebastian finally breaks, resolve crumbling to microscopic dust, and before he can even think to rein himself in, he’s already leaning forward to press his mouth warmly to Chris’.

For an instant, it’s perfect.

Chris’ mouth is soft and hot against his own, tasting like comfort and a tiny thrill of something new and unfamiliar all rolled into one, but as Sebastian parts his lips, ice slowly creeps in to fill the corners of his chest because Chris...Chris doesn’t move with him.

He isn’t kissing back.

He isn’t....



Sebastian keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, heartbeat pounding loud in his ears, because he knows that as soon as they open, this disaster, this heavy, looming heartache that’s been hanging over him for the better part of a year now, will finally come crashing down. The minute he dares to look, sees the shock and repulsion marring Chris’ face, then it’ll all be real. He’ll know for certain that he’s ruined this. Ruined them. If he could ever really say there was a ‘them’ to begin with.

Finally he pulls back with a soft, shuddering breath, gaze instantly dropping to the floral-patterned bedspread, wetting his lips, tasting Chris, and that’s the final knock-out punch that topples his heart, leaving it bruised and bloody, down for the count in the centre of the ring.

Eyes still downcast, he mutters out some half-assed excuse about needing the washroom and awkwardly scrambles off the bed before he can inevitably manage to make things worse.

The bathroom greets him with harsh, too-bright lighting as Sebastian closes the door behind him, walks shakily to the edge of the sink and clings to the vanity with tense, white knuckles. His legs feel like they’re about to give out at any moment.

He stands there for what’s maybe a lifetime or a second before there’s a quiet rap of knuckles on the door.


“I’m fine,” he automatically assures, though they both know that isn’t true.

Sure enough, Chris’s skeptical reply comes through the door. “I don’t think you are.” There’s a pause, a quiet shuffle like Chris is bringing his hand up to lay right against the barrier between them. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I kissed you.” Saying it out loud makes him cringe, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole, saving him from any more pained, embarrassing discussions.

“Yeah and I...I want to know why?” Chris’ voice goes a little higher at the end, making it sound like a question.



He can’t fucking believe this guy.

Seb makes a noise somewhere in between a choked laugh and a sob.

Well, sure. What else does he have to fucking lose at this point?

“I think...I think it’s because of your eyes,” he says quietly, honestly, and from there it’s like the dam of emotion in his chest has finally cracked wide open, leaving words free to pour out, flowing just as easily as the scotch they’d been drinking, “and your laugh. And your heart that’s too damned big for your body. Because you’re the best fucking person I know. Because I thought I was gonna die if I had to say goodbye without doing that first. Because...because I love you.”

That last part just kind of slips out and Sebastian bites his lip hard enough to sting, forcing himself to shut the hell up.

His pulse beats erratically - hard, heavy thumps that leave him feverish and slightly dizzy - and he wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like as he waits for Chris to respond. It’s the longest, most agonizing minute of his life.

“Seb, I...” Chris clears his throat, goes quiet again for a long, long time until he says, “Shit - it’s really late, I have to...I’ve gotta go, but we’ll talk, yeah? I - I’ll see you in the morning?”

Sebastian doesn’t answer, just holds his breath and tries to keep the frayed, crumbling pieces of himself bound together.

“Sebastian?” When Chris tries again, there’s a soft, pleading edge to his voice that feels like a knife burying deep in Sebastian's already-abused heart.

“Yeah,” he manages to get out. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Chris promises, soft and muffled through the wooden barricade between them, and only after Sebastian hears the faint click of the main door swinging shut does he finally let his legs go weak, sinking down onto the hard tile floor.



He finishes the rest of the scotch alone, oversleeps, and misses his cab to the airport.

By the time he turns blurry, aching eyes on his phone - sees the two missed calls - Chris is somewhere over Chicago.

They never do talk.




Chapter Text

  1. In awe, the first time you realize it




He’s spent four months trying to fall back into something akin to a normal routine:

Get up alone.

(Does Chris still sleep alone too?)

Go to the gym.

(Don’t think of blue eyes, foot rubs, and sympathetic smiles.)

Make coffee.

(“Jesus, Seb. That’s not coffee, it’s diabetes in a cup.”)

So far, his plan is failing. Spectacularly.

Sebastian’s stayed busy enough with other projects that he should be over it by now, should have moved on, but no matter what, his brain stays stubbornly dedicated to nothing but the thought of Chris.

It would be a whole hell of a lot easier to cope if they’d ever actually talked to each other, Seb thinks. Closure’s probably all that he needs right now, but every time he thinks of picking up the phone, he makes excuses. Chickens out.  And now he’s let it go for too long. He can’t just call Chris out of the blue after months of virtual silence. Maybe it’s just another stupid excuse he’s made for himself, but this is one that Sebastian can’t get past.

So it seems like some ridiculous, cosmic joke when, after four months and eight days (not that he’s counting or anything), his phone chirps with a new text.

          In town for a few days. Can we talk?

His heart performs a complicated somersault and he takes roughly two seconds to think about it before he’s berating himself for being such a sucker for punishment, punching out four little letters in response.


Your place or mine, comes Chris’ reply and Sebastian bites his lip, considering.  Hotels bring back so many memories. Home would give him the obvious advantage of familiarity and comfort, but it might be too hard to let Chris in. To see him move around amongst all of Sebastian’s possessions. To imagine him as a constant, permanent fixture there, standing in his kitchen, his living room, his bedroom.

Fuck. When he thinks about it that way, the decision is enormously easy.


Chris texts him the address of his hotel and forty minutes later, Sebastian is exiting a cab, passing a few bills to the driver before double-checking Chris’ room number on his phone as he takes the stairs up to the entrance two at a time.

He’s weirdly (justifiably, he tells himself) nervous as he knocks on the door and smoothes non-existent wrinkles out of his grey t-shirt before shoving his hands in his pockets.

When Chris opens the door a moment later, Sebastian feels all the air punch straight out of his lungs.

He looks good. Incredible, really. His hair is darker again, all Chris Evans and no Steve Rogers, combed nicely and accompanied by a well-groomed beard that Sebastian’s brain (and certain other anatomical regions) really, really likes.

“Um...hey,” he offers with a small, awkward smile.

“Hi Seb.”

Jesus, that voice. He almost forgot how just much he missed it and at the sound, a faint, familiar ache stirs to life somewhere deep in his chest. Longing, his brain supplies rather unhelpfully, and for a fleeting second, Sebastian regrets ever answering that text.

He’s staring, he knows, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Because to his heart, it's like nothing’s ever changed, like no time has passed at all, and in that instant, he's right back on set; stupidly, quietly in love from a distance, pining over kind eyes and enormous biceps.

His heart, Sebastian decides, is an idiot with the memory span of an unintelligent goldfish.

Chris doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks at him with an expression that's largely unreadable and maybe a little bit shy, if the slight colouring of his cheeks offers any indication.

He’s kind of grateful for Chris’ silence - Sebastian doesn't think he could get any words out anyway. His throat feels too tight - oddly rough and scratchy - and when he wets his lips, the memory of Chris' mouth pressed warm and wet against his own hits him with an intensity that dials that aching throb in his chest up from a three to an off-the-charts eleven.

So much for time healing old wounds and all that.

“Uh - shit - here, come in,” Chris finally breaks the silence, side-stepping out of the way and flushing slightly as he rubs the back of his neck in the cutest damned show of embarrassment Sebastian’s ever seen.

The room’s completely different from the last hotel they’d been in together, but Sebastian’s pulse still goes wild at the subtle reminder as he steps inside.

He swallows thickly, making a conscious decision to perch on the chair by the desk instead of the edge of the bed.

Chris takes a seat on the corner of the mattress across from him, elbows resting on kneecaps and hands clasped loosely together. “You – uh, you look good,” he says, eyes quickly raking over Seb’s body like he’s worried he might not have licence to look.

God, if they’re really going to do this, all weird and strained and walking on eggshells, then Sebastian needs a drink. Or five.

“Thank you,” he replies slowly, when all he really wants to say is: You look even better. I missed you. I’m sorry. I know I was an ass, but you didn’t call me either...why?

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Chris admits, looking down at his hands. “I know we left things...”

 “Unfinished?” Sebastian supplies.

“Yeah.” Chris nods. “Yeah, I...I owe you a big fucking apology.”

Seb stares at him, heart flipping over in his chest as he opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a small, surprised, “Oh.”

“I acted really shitty that night.” Chris pauses, eyes finally lifting to meet Sebastian’s, burning dark with sincerity. “I panicked. You - you kissed me and I just...fuck, Seb. I just wanted to push you down and get my hands – my mouth – all over you. So yeah, I panicked. Cause I didn’t...I hadn’t realized – it took me a long fucking time to realize and I’m so damn sorry - but I’m kind of – no, fuck it – I’m completely fucking gone on you.”

It takes him a second to decipher those jumbled, halting words but when he does, his whole body feels like it’s coming to a screeching halt, lungs squeezing painfully as he blinks at Chris.

“You...” Sebastian swallows, throat closing up on him. “What?”

“I love you. Fuck, I really love you,” Chris repeats, voice turning slightly awed. “ It feels really good to say it out loud.” He chuckles a little, soft and weak, running a hand through his hair, all handsome and self-deprecating and entirely, perfectly him.

“Chris...” Sebastian doesn’t know what else to say. His head is swimming and all he can think is that it’s got to be some kind of joke, dream, hallucination, something. He can’t possibly be this lucky.

Chris must misinterpret Sebastian’s shock for something else because his hands immediately fly up in a calming gesture as he tries to ease the weight of his confession. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” he says quickly, always so damn sweet and considerate. “I know we were drinking and maybe you didn’t mean it, but...”

“No,” Sebastian interrupts, “I mean, yes, I probably had too much to drink, but everything I said, I – I meant all of that.”

Now it’s Chris’ turn to let out a short, surprised-sounding noise of his own. “Wow. Um, okay. So, I love you,” he says slowly, cautiously, like he needs to say it all out loud to be certain, “and, uh, you love me?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian confirms, voice hoarse.

“Okay.” Chris nods a couple of times, so impossibly cute and endearing, Sebastian can’t help the wide, slow-spreading grin that tugs at his lips.

“Okay,” he echoes, and when a minute passes and they’re still just staring ridiculously at each other, he prompts, “Chris?”


“Get the fuck over here.”

Chris stands up so fast he almost manages to trip himself on the bedskirt, but then he’s in front of Sebastian, wide-eyed and open-faced and a little unsure of himself.

Sebastian mirrors him, rising from his seat to take a calculated step forward until they’re chest to chest, lifting his chin just enough for his mouth to linger an inch from Chris’, some small, fearful piece of him still holding back because this still feels like too much of a dream to ever possibly be real.

But then Chris is lifting a hand, cupping the side of Sebastian’s neck with one big, warm palm as he closes the space between them and it’s real. It’s so very, very real.

Their mouths move together slow and tender; exploring, tasting, learning each others little sighs and moans. And this time, when Sebastian relaxes his jaw, lips parting slightly, Chris matches him move for move, deepening the kiss until they’re both panting hard.

“We,” Seb breathes once they’ve finally separated for air, lips tingling and foreheads still touching, “are counting that as our first kiss.”

Chris just laughs, takes his face in both palms, and follows that up with kisses two through twenty.



Chapter Text

  1. Over a beer bottle




It’s late – or early, depending on how you look at it – and the club they’re in is small; a dark little comfortably-crowded place with good music and really, really shitty beer.

Sebastian learns that last part the hard way when he breaks away from the bar to swing over by the couch where Chris is sitting, coming up behind him and plucking the bottle right out of his hand as he steals a sip, immediately grimacing at the taste.

“Oh my god, what kind of shitty stuff is this?” He squints at the label, but between the dim lighting and the nice warm buzz he’s got going on, he can’t make much sense of the elaborate, twisting font.

“It’s good!” Chris defends his terrible choice of drink, shifting to sit sideways so he can reclaim the stolen beer over the back of the couch. For a minute he just kind of stops and stares, considering Sebastian with an oddly serious expression, then his face is lighting up with a sly, leering kind of smile.

“Maybe,” he enunciates slowly, “you just need to try it again.” Then he takes a swig, pulls Seb in by the back of the neck and kisses him, open-mouthed with plenty of tongue. In the middle of the fucking club.

Sebastian makes a low noise of surprise in his throat, body humming with want, and he feels like he’s a second away from literally vaulting over the back of the couch to plant himself in Chris’ lap when Chris breaks the kiss, leaning back.

“Shit, Chris.” Sebastian breathes against his mouth for a second before they fully part, quickly clearing his throat and straightening back up as he scans nearby faces, trying to tell if anyone might have been watching them.

“S’ okay. Nobody’s looking,” Chris assures, eyes dark and warm with heat in a way that’s got Sebastian’s dick very, very interested.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs, knowing that he’s completely contradicting himself by slipping his tongue out to wet his lips, attention flicking between Chris’ eyes and his mouth.

It’s a sad, frustrating thought that they can’t get handsy in a bar like any normal couple; that getting caught kissing the man he loves could damage both their careers, but Seb knows that at the moment, they have to play it safe and keep things quiet. Someday, they’ve decided, when their relationship’s no longer in its infancy, when they’re ready to share what they have with the rest of the world, then it’ll happen. But for now, this is what works.

“Then let’s get out of here,” Chris offers, tilting his head suggestively towards the door.

“Yes,” Sebastian immediately, emphatically replies. “Fuck yes.”

Chris laughs, big and booming and wonderful as he drapes an arm across the back of the couch. “How drunk are you?”

Seb scrunches up his face, considering. “Thirty percent?”

Chris shakes his head a little, grinning. “Seems like a conservative estimate.”

“Like seventy-five percent,” he admits.

From the way Chris nods, that seems to be a more acceptable answer. “I just...I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Never,” Seb promises. “Never with you.”

“I don’t want to do anything you’ll forget in the morning, either,” Chris adds with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh.” Sebastian deflates a little, mildly disappointed because yeah, Chris might have him there.

The dissatisfaction must show pretty clearly on his face because Chris is suddenly smiling a big, dopey grin, lifting his drink to take one last pull before he murmurs over the neck of the bottle, “I love you, you know.”

“Love you too,” Sebastian murmurs back, heart kicking hard like it always does whenever they whisper those words to each other, like it’s still the first time saying it; all fresh and new and exciting. Or maybe it’ll stay that way forever. Maybe he could say those words to Chris in a year’s time, three, or even ten, and they’ll always make his pulse skip. The thought of that brings a happy little lump to his throat.

God, is he ever in love. Or drunk. Or maybe a bit of both.

They end up sneaking out the side door, rounding the back of the building under the dark of a clear, navy blue sky. The sudden rush of cool night air feels amazing on his overheated skin so for a minute Sebastian stops, tips his face up and takes a long, deep breath, savouring it.

When his eyes reopen, Chris is staring at him with a weird, awestruck expression.

“What?” Seb asks, brows lifting in question.

“You’re really fucking gorgeous,” Chris answers, voice gone raw as he takes one step then another until he’s backing Sebastian into the rough brick of the building, one hand on Seb’s hip and the other holding his jaw in place as he kisses him, long and deep.

It’s all hungry desperation; hot and thorough as Chris pushes his tongue into Sebastian’s mouth and Seb groans, hands fisting in the sleeves of Chris’ coat, trying to pull him in even closer. A distant part of him thinks that he should probably ask what Chris’ own drunk percentage is currently sitting at, but then a knee is nudging in between his thighs and suddenly nothing else matters - nothing else exists - except that sweet, rough friction.

Chris is the first to tear away, moving to press wet kisses down Sebastian’s throat, teasing with warm lips and sharp teeth. “Gotta get my mouth on you,” he murmurs, hands slipping down to fumble with the zipper on Seb’s pants.

Sebastian moans, pushing his hips forward in offering. Fuck yes, does he ever want that. But...

“Wait.” He’s panting a little, tongue feeling clumsy as he tries to explain, “What you said inside, about not forgetting in the morning. We...we should wait. Cause we’ll want to remember all of this, right?”

That makes Chris’ hands pause and he comes to a stop, slowly bringing his forehead down to rest on Seb’s shoulder as he exhales, long and shuddering. “Yeah, no, you’re right,” he says after a moment, tone still so husky it takes every ounce of Sebastian’s willpower not to immediately change his mind and shove Chris up against the brick instead.

Chris takes a few more breaths, reeling himself in before his hands drop down to his sides and he releases Sebastian with a step back. “I can’t believe you just cock-blocked yourself,” he adds, grinning a little as he pointedly looks to the bulge in the front of Seb’s jeans.

“It’s your fault!” Sebastian argues, matching Chris’ grin with one of his own. “You went and put all these fucking romantic ideas in my head.”

“Romantic? I just don’t want you to forget what a spectacular lay I am,” Chris replies, managing a serious expression for about three seconds before his face goes all ridiculous.

Sebastian laughs, stepping back into Chris’ space, tone laced with affection as he threads their fingers together. “You’re such a dork.”

Chris gives a skeptical snort, tugging him in by the hand until they’re nose to nose, face bright and grinning. “You fucking love me.”

He looks so impossibly handsome, so happy to be standing there with their fingers entwined in a seedy, back bar alleyway, it’s enough to raise that little lump of emotion in Sebastian’s throat all over again.

“Yeah,” he agrees, squeezing Chris’ hand, “I really, really do.”



Chapter Text

  1. With a shuddering gasp



Dating Chris is, Sebastian discovers, not all that much different than when he’d called him a friend. Except now, when Sebastian finds himself practically aching with the desire to lean in and kiss him, he actually can. Chris will even reciprocate. With tongue. It’s the best.

China is a whirlwind of clamorous crowds and crazy schedules. They currently have one night left, a final dinner commitment to attend, but otherwise most of the week’s press and promotions are winding down – a fact that Sebastian is largely grateful for. Foreign premieres are always exciting and humbling and he wouldn’t trade them for anything, but right now the thought of returning to New York, sleeping a solid six hours in his own bed (eight if he’s feeling particularly dreamy-eyed about it), makes him want to almost weep with relief.    

What isn’t quite so relief-filled, though, is the current status of his relationship with Chris.

They’d found themselves separated for a large part of the trip; herded away to different studios, teamed up with varying castmates, resigned to sitting on opposite ends of tables and couches. Sebastian can practically feel himself going through withdrawal at this point (it’s been over thirty-six hours since they last kissed – he’s dying), so it felt like he’d been granted a tiny miracle when they were finally asked to sit down together, sharing in the last interview of the day.

In retrospect, he now realizes, the universe had probably been trying to keep them apart for good reason. He should have taken the damn hint; that was pre-interview Seb’s first mistake.

What a poor, unsuspecting sucker that guy was.

Currently, a wholly disillusioned post-interview Seb is stationed in front of the picked-over remains of the craft services table, dumping extra sugar into his third coffee of the day, when he’s ambushed out of nowhere.

“Got something in your pocket or is your chubby dumpling just happy to see me?” Chris breathes in his ear, chest pressed to Sebastian’s back as he thrusts his dick up against Seb’s ass.

“Ugh, Chris,” Sebastian groans long and tired, tipping his head back onto Chris’ shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut, equal parts embarrassed and turned on. “You’re the worst. You know that, right? The actual, literal worst.”

Chris hums thoughtfully, turning his head just enough to mouth at the skin of Sebastian’s neck. “You know who doesn’t agree with that?”

“Don’t say it-”

“Your chubby dumpling.”

Sebastian makes a pained sound of annoyance. “Exactly how long are you planning on making dick jokes about this?”

“Until the end of time,” Chris answers seriously, losing his composure a second later as he huffs out an amused chuckle against Seb’s neck. “Chubby dumpling. I can’t fucking believe you never told me that. It’s crucial information, Seb.”

“Crucial if you’re trying to kill me, maybe,” Sebastian mutters, craning his neck and bumping his nose against Chris’ cheek. Chris gets the memo, twisting enough to catch Sebastian’s mouth in a warm, brief kiss before Seb steps out of the embrace and turns to lean against the table, facing Chris as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“You coming over tonight?” Chris keeps his voice pitched low, plain with desire but also done with a measure of intent to keep any nearby ears from overhearing.

Sebastian nods and lifts his cup again, not really trusting his ability to produce coherent words at the moment because that deep, gravelly tone is doing highly inappropriate things to his body considering it’s only three in the afternoon.

“It’ll be late though,” he warns once he’s drained half the drink. “We’ve got that dinner thing.”

Chris shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just wanna see you.”

He somehow manages to make that sound both heartwarmingly romantic and obscenely hot at the same time. It’s a gift, really. A gift that will someday be the cause of Sebastian’s demise. Because holy hell.

He looks down, resists the urge to swear into the depths of his coffee, then glances back up to Chris, having to clear his throat just a bit before he can get the words to come out without sounding too strained. “I’ll be there.”



He was right: it’s late, bordering around 1:30.

Chris was also right: as he answers the door, it’s clear that he doesn’t even mind.

Sebastian had stopped by his own room just long enough to change out of his suit and into an ancient pair of sweatpants and soft, thin t-shirt; hair still a little fluffy and wild from where he hadn’t thought to fix it after pulling the fresh shirt over his head.

The whole disheveled sweatpant look is, apparently, a major turn-on for Chris. At least that’s what Sebastian suspects given the way Chris stares at him for a single heartbeat before abruptly yanking him into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and backing him into the wall, kissing the hell out of him.

“Shit,” Sebastian gasps against Chris’ mouth, slightly winded from surprise as hands start roaming up his sides, hot and a little ticklish and so, so good. He’s gotta file away that sweatpant thing for future reference; it’s already proving to be an incredibly valuable piece of information.

“Missed you,” Chris murmurs between kisses, pressing into him, hip to hip and chest to chest. He’s warm and still a little shower-damp, smelling like clean soap and something that’s just plain Chris. “Been dyin’ to get my hands on you.”

Oh fuck yes.

Sebastian makes a soft noise of agreement, too busy trying to work Chris’ shirt up over his head to answer properly.

Chris steps back just enough to tug the shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the general direction of the bed and Jesus. Sebastian’s seen him shirtless a hundred times before, but now, knowing that he can look and touch and’s almost overwhelming. A whole buffet of warm skin and solid muscle and dark-inked tattoos, laid out exclusively for him.

“Fuck, Chris,” he murmurs appreciatively, taking a step forward to close the gap between them before he plants his palms on Chris’ shoulders, pushing him back towards the bed.

Chris goes willingly, letting Seb guide him backwards until his legs hit the side of the mattress and he loses his balance a little as he half-sits, half-falls onto his ass.

For a second, Sebastian just has to stop and admire because Chris...Chris is looking up at him with big dark pupils, already breathing hard and sporting an impressive-sized tent in the front of his pants. Sebastian would be lying if he said he hasn’t been imagining this scenario in his head for what feels like a lifetime now – Chris right here in front of him, ready and willing – but reality is so, so much better than all of his fantasies combined.

“Take your pants off,” he says hoarsely, every inch of his skin tingling with anticipation, burning hot with the need to touch and be touched in return.

He expects Chris to comply, quick and eager and amenable like always, but instead he shakes his head.

“No,” he answers, surprising the hell out of Sebastian. And then he pauses, looking up with an expression that’s so intense, so raw with feeling, it sucks the air right out of Seb’s lungs. “I’ve been thinking about this – about you – all fucking day. I want - I need to...”

“Need to what?” Sebastian’s own voice sounds foreign to him, having somehow gone a full octave lower in the span of about three seconds. A testament to the unholy attractiveness that is Chris Evans sitting hard and half-naked in front of him.

Chris’ eyes are dark and steady as they slide up from where they’ve been focused intently on Seb’s mouth. “I want to get you off. Make you fuckin’ fall apart for me.”

Oh god.

Sebastian closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard.

They’ve never gone any further than a little light petting - time and circumstances not allowing them much in the way of true privacy lately – and now...fuck, it’s finally happening. Sebastian has been waiting for this moment for months, and from the way Chris is watching him, gaze heated through thick, dark lashes, it’s clear that the feeling is more than mutual.

“Only if you let me return the favour,” Sebastian says, because Chris flushed and panting and begging for release is a visual he desperately needs to commit to memory. The mental image alone is enough to make his cock jump, thoroughly interested in turning that idea into a reality, and he knows that he should savour this, take things slow, but he will legitimately die if he’s not touching Chris within the next five seconds.

So it’s out of that hot, breathless need thrumming through his bloodstream that Sebastian shoves Chris onto his back, plants a knee on the bed and swings his other leg up to straddle him, dipping down in one quick, fluid motion to press their mouths together.

Chris gives a little grunt of pleasure and immediately grabs at Sebastian’s thighs, fingers flexing hard when Seb lets more of his weight drop down to grind against him.

“Fuck,” Chris pants once they break apart for air, mouth red and eyes gone black with arousal. He looks so goddamned good, Sebastian’s hips automatically move of their own accord, pressing down a bit more firmly, desperate for contact.

Once he’s got a rhythm going they manage to time it just right - Seb grinding down as Chris is thrusting up - and holy fuck god yes. The contact rips matching groans from both their throats and Sebastian’s vision nearly whites out with pleasure.

“Jesus. Clothes off. Now,” Chris growls, pulling at Sebastian’s sweats. “Gonna make me come in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager.”

Sebastian feels a little spark of pride in his chest as he sits up, quickly stripping off pants and boxers. “I want you to,” he admits, flinging his shirt to the side before leaning back in, bumping his nose against Chris’ and grinning widely. “Not now, obviously, because I’m gonna explode if you don’t touch me in the next three seconds, but – oh. Oh god, Chris.”

The rest of his reply is choked off by a moan when Chris wraps a hand around his cock, grip hot and snug and deliriously perfect.

Sebastian’s arms buckle a little, too consumed with the fact that Chris is actually touching him to focus on the minor stuff like maintaining any sense of balance whatsoever. 

Chris notices - of course he notices - and pulls his hand away (Sebastian’s forced to bite his lip, trying not to whimper at the loss), nudging Seb with his shoulder as he murmurs, “Roll over for me.” 

There’s something about the warmth in that for me that makes Sebastian’s heart swell with feeling, so he kisses Chris again before rolling off to the side, wiggling into a comfortable position on his back.

Chris hops up from the mattress just long enough to shuck his own pants and then he’s back, nothing but pure skin on skin now as he stretches the line of his body over Sebastian’s, balanced on one elbow while the other arm snakes back between their bodies.

“Been waiting for this forever,” Chris murmurs against his lips, hand slowly starting to work over his cock at a long, drawn-out pace that’s equal parts maddening and wonderful.

“Oh, you have?” Sebastian deadpans, though it comes out much more breathlessly than he intends because of the whole ‘Chris Evans giving him the fucking hand job of a lifetime’ thing.

Chris laughs; a low, rumbling kind of chuckle that Sebastian can feel straight down to his bones. God, does he ever love that laugh. He’s always loved it, but hearing it breathed so intimately in his ear, feeling it actually vibrate through Chris’ warm, naked chest...that’s something else entirely.

“When did you know?” Chris asks, head tilting until he can bring his lips to Sebastian’s jaw, alternating between licking and sucking in a slow pattern that’s got Seb feeling kind of dizzy.

He manages to scoop together enough of his pleasure-melted brain to reply, “That I liked you or loved you?”

Chris’ shoulders shift in a slight shrug, breath hot as he works a slow, wet line down Sebastian’s neck. “Either. Both.”

“I think I liked you the minute I laid eyes on you,” Seb admits, tilting his head back to give Chris better access and sighing when lips find a particularly sensitive patch of skin just over top of his pulse. “I fell in love with you...god, I don’t even know. Gradually. Like it was building and building and I didn’t even realize it, then one day I just looked at you and...” He swallows, heart too full and throat too tight to continue.

His pause stretches on for long enough that Chris pulls back, eyes finding his, burning warm with concern and something else that only makes Sebastian’s heart fill up even further. “Hey. I love you.”

Between the dark heat of those eyes and the way his lips have gone all red and bruised from roaming over Sebastian’s skin, he looks debauched; strung out and tempting and unbelievably sexy.  

It’s a look that Sebastian’s body most definitely likes and he can’t help his hips from greedily pushing up against Chris’ hand, seeking more friction as he gasps out a soft, unsteady, “Love you,” in return, craning up to catch Chris’ mouth in a kiss.

It quickly melts into a heated meeting of lips and tongue; mood shifting into something deeper, more urgent, spurred on by the exchange of those three little words, and when Chris picks up the pace, circling his thumb over the head of Sebastian’s cock, smearing the gathering wetness there, pleasure slams into Sebastian with a force that leaves him gasping.

 “Jesus, Chris,” he hisses out, eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah, just – ah - just like that.”

He can feel Chris, rock-hard and leaking against his thigh, but Chris seems totally unconcerned by his own need, instead fully absorbed with watching Sebastian as his hand shifts, tightening on the upstroke, quick and unrelenting now.

It’s torture. It’s perfection. It’s one of the goddamn best sexual experiences of Sebastian’s entire adult life.

So when that thumb slips down to rub firm circles on the sensitive underside of his head and Chris murmurs out, “That’s it, babe,” all low and sweet like darkened honey, Sebastian is done for.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chokes out and then he’s coming hard on a silent gasp, mouth dropping open and fingers digging into Chris’ arm as he rides out the wave of intensity. It’s like an out of body experience; a brief glimpse of a blissful, soft and fuzzy paradise. Heaven has nothing on the work of Chris Evans’ hands.

When he blinks, slowly fading back down to himself, Chris is staring directly at his face.

“Jesus, Seb. So fucking gorgeous. If you could see...” Words are apparently inadequate because Chris gives up half way through that sentiment, instead crashing their mouths together and kissing him thoroughly, tongue stealing into his mouth.

Sebastian reciprocates as best he can given his warm and clumsy post-orgasmic state, fingers sliding into the short, fine hair at the back of Chris’ neck as he nips at Chris’ bottom lip, earning him a low, delicious groan in return.

Chris fumbles between their bodies, palm shifting away from Seb to wrap around his own erection, getting in a few solid pumps before Sebastian’s recovered enough to bat his hand out of the way, murmuring, “Let me.”

Chris huffs out a breathless noise that’s one part laugh, one part groan. “If you insis- oh fuck, Seb.”

Chris fits perfectly in his hand; smooth and hard and thick enough to flood Sebastian’s brain with a whole host of delightfully inappropriate ideas as to how he’d like to become intimately acquainted with every inch of it. Preferably slowly and thoroughly.

He starts out leisurely; painfully, exquisitely slow, wanting to tease Chris just as badly as he’d unknowingly teased Sebastian for so long with all those subtle touches and big, warm smiles.

Revenge, Seb thinks with a grin, really has never tasted so good.

“Oh f- god, Seb-” Chris chokes on another batch of half-formed curses, panting as he drops his head onto Sebastian’s shoulder.

It’s a hot, easy glide; Chris is already wet with a mixture of Sebastian’s come and his own impending release, and for a minute Sebastian’s brain almost shorts out when he thinks about Chris coming against him, adding to the mess that’s already spread out across Seb’s abs, all warm and sticky and intimate. Just the idea alone makes his whole body flush, like a fire-filled tidal wave washing over his skin.

The thought is really fucking hot, and he wants it to happen now, so he blames that shameless, sex-drunk part of his brain for his sudden change in pace; for the way he arches up to suck hard on Chris’ throat, leaving marks that’ll be a pain in the ass for Chris to cover up come morning, but at the moment, Sebastian can’t bring himself to care.

Each stroke of his hand is met with a soft, throaty noise as hips jerk into Sebastian’s grip and Chris pants out, “Seb, ‘m gonna...oh fuck, ‘m gonna...”

“Gonna what?” Sebastian murmurs, low and hoarse and more turned on than he ever thought possible. “Gonna come for me?”

Fuck, yes.” Chris groans and then he’s burying his face in Seb’s neck, giving one more rough, shaky thrust before his muscles go taut and he’s spilling hot over Sebastian’s hand, stomach, hip.

It’s gorgeous – he’s gorgeous – and the next time they do this, Sebastian is making it his life’s mission to lay eyes on Chris’ face when he comes.

He says as much afterwards, once they’ve cleaned up and the lights are off and they’re spooning under the covers, Seb’s nose pressed to the back of Chris’ shoulder blade. “We’ve gotta do that again. Never got to watch your face.”

Chris laughs, warm and sleepy. “That’s the only reason, huh?”

“Yep,” Sebastian answers, playing along as he snuggles closer, sneaking one leg in between Chris’, “and you’d better put on a show for me, Evans.”

“Mm, I’ll bring my A game,” Chris murmurs in response. “You set the alarm?”

“Yeah. Four fucking thirty,” Seb complains, scrunching up his nose. Their flight leaves shortly after seven, but they’re accounting for the extra time Sebastian needs to sneak back into his own room, steal a quick shower and pack. “It’s worth it, though,” he adds thoughtfully. “For this.”

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs in agreement, bringing their laced fingers up to his mouth and pressing a quick kiss across Sebastian’s knuckles. He goes silent for a minute and Sebastian’s almost dozing off before he whispers, voice slipping through the darkened room, “do it for the chubby dumpling.”

“Oh my god,” Seb mutters with no small amount of exasperation, but he’s pretty sure Chris can feel the full force of the wide, accompanying grin pressed warmly into the skin of his shoulder.


Chapter Text

  1. Over and over again, until it’s nothing but senseless babble




Six weeks.

Six weeks they’ve been apart - Chris in LA and Sebastian what feels like an ocean away in Cleveland – so when he finally lands on Chris’ doorstep, jet-lagged and cranky from a combination of general travel exhaustion and how badly he’s been missing Chris, Sebastian doesn’t even think before dropping his bag and essentially tackling him, pulling him into a tight, enveloping hug as he buries his nose in Chris’ neck.

“Hey,” Chris mumbles into his leather-covered shoulder, voice low and warm and so familiar, it makes Sebastian’s heart ache a little. “Miss me?”

“Just a bit,” he answers as he tightens his arms even more, making Chris laugh.

“C’mon in then.” Chris guides him inside, watching speculatively as Seb ditches his shoes and jacket by the door. “No offense but you kinda look like shit, man. What do you need? Food? Sleep?”

“You,” Sebastian blurts out, immediately biting his lip as he feels his face flood with heat, but the word is already out there, hanging between them, so he figures he might as well commit to it. “Can we just...?” He gestures to the couch.

Chris’ eyebrows shoot up in a suggestive look. “Netflix and chill?”

“NFL and chill,” Sebastian counters, knowing him well enough to make the correction. Besides, he doesn’t really care what they watch; TV is only a flimsy excuse to get close, lay his head on Chris’ chest and decompress for a while.

Sure enough, Chris grins. “God, you’re perfect. Get over here.”

It’s a bit awkward at first, Chris’ couch wasn’t exactly made with two grown men spooning in mind, but eventually Chris finds a comfortable position sprawled out on his back with Seb draped over him like a big, lazy cat (and if he does happen to nuzzle his face into Chris’ shirt a little, who can blame him?)

“Sleep if you wanna,” Chris murmurs, rubbing his back in slow, warm circles that make Sebastian’s whole body melt with a blissful sigh.

“Nah, ‘m fine,” he insists, but even as the words leave his mouth, his eyelids are already growing heavy and it isn’t long before the steady, comforting beat of Chris’ heart entices him into fully closing his eyes, drifting somewhere in between sleep and consciousness.

He wakes up a couple hours later, neck stiff and dick rock-hard.

ESPN is still buzzing in the background but when Sebastian manages to get himself propped up onto an elbow, shaking out the ensuing pins-and-needles feeling in his arm, he sees that Chris is completely passed out under him, eyes shut and mouth slightly open.

It’s cute. Really damn cute. And it isn’t helping Sebastian’s boner issue at all.

He makes a halfhearted effort to shift away from where his erection’s getting very well acquainted with the side of Chris’ thigh, but the action only serves to encourage his shameless dick and it perks right the fuck up when it drags against the front of Chris’ jeans, the catch of fabric on fabric making his breath stall for a minute.

God, does that ever feel good.

Lip pulled between his teeth, Seb lets his hips move in a brief repeat performance, light and gentle, trying for some small amount of relief just to take the edge off.

Chris hums, eyes still closed, but one hand slips from Sebastian’s back down to his ass in an act of sleepy encouragement.

Well. Okay then.

Sebastian rocks forward again, the movement holding a little more intent this time, and he’s rewarded by Chris’ lashes fluttering, lips parting wider as his breathing deepens. God, he really is painfully, incredibly gorgeous like this.

Unable to resist, Seb stretches up, craning his neck until he can press a kiss to that soft, red mouth.

That must be the final, rousing nudge Chris needs because he inhales sharply through his nose, immediately falling into the rhythm of the kiss as the hand on Seb’s ass slips lower, squeezing.

Sebastian moans into his mouth, feeling the thickening shape of Chris’ cock through his pants as they rub against each other, slow and lazy.

When they break apart for air, Chris is grinning that perfect, dopey grin that never fails to make Seb’s heart skip a beat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies a bit breathlessly, moving back in for another quick kiss before his own smile can grow any more ridiculous and love-struck. “Good nap?”

“Better wake up call,” Chris says, emphasizing his point with a slight roll of his hips.

His jeans create enough hard friction to coax a soft noise from the back of Sebastian’s throat and he pushes into the touch, meeting Chris half way.

Chris groans in approval, right hand joining the other until he’s gripping Seb’s ass with both palms, guiding him down just as he’s thrusting up.

Seb can feel himself panting now, achingly hard as he finds Chris’ mouth again; kiss decidedly filthier this time as he pulls Chris’ lower lip between his teeth, biting hard enough to make Chris give a soft grunt.

He draws back a little, swiping his tongue over Chris’ bruised lip before their eyes meet and he asks, voice pitched low with intent, “Do you wanna?”

All the air leaves Chris’ lungs in one big whoosh. “Yes. Fuck yes.” He looks awed, like Sebastian’s just offered him the world, and it’s so damn endearing, Seb can’t help but pull him in for one more kiss before he finally shuffles back towards the far end of the couch, giving Chris enough room to get up.

“Bedroom?” Chris asks, flushed and breathless and hopeful.

“Bedroom,” Seb confirms, trying to get his shaking legs to cooperate as he stands, watching as Chris has an equally difficult time sitting upright and rising from the couch after the effects of both a nap and subsequent raging hard-on.

They stumble to the bedroom like a couple of drunks, accidentally bumping into walls and purposely bumping each other until they’re stripping off clothing and landing tangled on the bed, lips meeting but doing more grinning than actual kissing.

“You have stuff?” Sebastian dips his head, mouthing along Chris’ jaw.

Chris gives an affirmative hum, enjoying the feeling of Seb’s lips for a moment longer before he reluctantly untangles himself enough to crawl up the mattress and yank open the drawer of the side table, fishing around inside.

“Second question,” Seb says as Chris tosses a condom and bottle of lube in his direction. He pauses for effect, raising inquiring eyebrows. “Have you done this with a guy before?”

Chris blushes all the way down to his throat. “Um, yeah. A while ago? I was a kid – shit, not like a kid kid-”

Sebastian laughs, hauling him in by the back of the neck for a quick, reassuring kiss. “Say no more,” he murmurs against Chris’ mouth, “but I want to hear all about your experimental years later.”

“Oh god no,” Chris groans, ducking to hide his face against Seb’s collarbone. “It’s so fuckin’ embarrassing.”

Sebastian laughs. “In that case, you’re definitely telling me,” he says with a grin, nudging Chris away so he can bend forward enough to grab the lube, letting the bottle dangle enticingly between two fingers. “So, you wanna watch or get in on the action?”

Chris’ eyes immediately darken. “Fuck. Gimmie that.”

He snags the bottle out of Seb’s hand, following it up with a long, hard kiss that leaves Sebastian’s lungs aching but pleased. He’s so incredibly ready for this, practically humming with anticipation, so when they part, Sebastian makes a show of leaning back on his elbows, legs spread wide and grin still firmly in place.  

In response, Chris gives a snort that seems to say ‘I can’t fucking believe this guy’, though Seb clearly sees his eyes stray down to steal an appreciative glance at his dick. “You’re such a little shit.”

“Then get your fucking fingers in me before I do it myself,” Seb challenges, lifting his ass a little.

That pulls a low chuckle out of Chris and he shifts up, repositioning himself until he’s sitting on his knees, pressed against Seb’s hip.

One palm comes to carefully rest on Sebastian’s leg, rubbing small, slow circles as it starts a path inwards to the side of his knee, then up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

Seb sighs, body relaxing into the mattress as Chris continues his impromptu massage. “Feels good,” he murmurs, legs automatically spreading wider in silent encouragement.

“Yeah?” Chris’ voice is going thick fast as he watches his own hand move, working higher and higher up Seb’s thigh. “Keep talking. Want you to tell me what you like. Gotta tell me if something hurts too.”

“Mm...I will,” Sebastian promises. “C’mon, Chris. Please.”

The hand on his thigh briefly pulls away and for one glorious second Seb prepares for it to wrap around his cock, but then it’s coming back down to tease his opposite leg, rubbing the same slow, torturous path from knee to thigh.

“Ugh, fuck. Please,” Sebastian begs, trying desperately not to thrust up into the air.

“Talk to me,” Chris repeats, tone rough but steady; a combination that makes Sebastian shiver pleasantly. “Gotta tell me what you want.”

Jesus. He’s never heard - never seen - this side of Chris before. It’s like some special, secret facet, a private piece of Chris that’s reserved only for this moment, and then it dawns on him: this is Sex Chris. He’s seeing Sex Chris for the very first time, and holy shit does he ever like it.

“Want your hands,” Sebastian breathes. “God, I love your hands.”

“Yeah? What do you want me to do with ‘em?” Chris asks even though he’s already busy squeezing out lube, warming it between fingers, and the fact that he already knows what Seb’s asking for, just wants to hear him say it, is enough to make Sebastian whimper. Fuck, he needs this - needs Chris - so bad.

“I...” he has to stop and swallow, coax some moisture back into his dry throat, “I want you to touch me. Open me up. Get me ready for you.”   

“God, Seb.” Chris stretches over him for a kiss, deep and languid, and just as Chris’ tongue is fucking into Seb’s mouth, his finger follows suit, circling his rim before finally pushing in, slow and controlled.

Sebastian gasps against Chris’ mouth, heat thrumming through his whole body as his hips shift up, trying to take more, greedy for anything and everything Chris is willing to give.

“Slow, babe.” Chris nuzzles his temple as he pulls back, mouth brushing over Seb’s ear. “Not gonna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Sebastian swears, wiggling under him insistently. “Fuck, Chris. I need more. Please.”

Chris relents and a second finger joins the first, just as steady and careful, but it still has Seb arching up against him with a noise he can’t even classify. Throaty. Broken. Relieved but still so desperate for more.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ hot.” Chris is flushed all over, chest rising and falling with deep, panting breaths as he watches Seb, and for a second Sebastian almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of the statement because it’s so crystal clear that if anyone deserves praise at a moment like this, it’s Chris.

“You’re more. So much more. Everything,” he murmurs, probably not making much sense, but with the way Chris’ fingers are moving – quicker, deeper, curling up until Seb’s biting his lip hard enough to bleed - it’s a wonder he can formulate any words at all.

He must have said something right though because Chris is kissing him again, coaxing Seb’s knees to bend up so he can shuffle his weight until he’s kneeling in between them.

Chris breaks away first, mouth starting a slow, wonderful descent down Seb’s chest, tracing the defined ridges of his abs and then continuing lower to nuzzle the skin below his navel, making the muscles in his stomach contract and quiver under the touch.

“More?” Chris’ breath is warm as it ghosts over his skin, mouth poised so close to his cock, the sight is making Sebastian feel a little lightheaded.

He tries to answer but the noise he makes is barely human, eliciting a low, incredibly attractive chuckle from Chris before he dips down even further and the hot, wet heat of that mouth is fully closing over Seb, tongue laving at the tip before he relaxes his jaw, swallows down as much as he can and holy fucking hell.

“Chris - oh fuck, you’ve gotta stop,” Sebastian pants out. It’s too much, too good, and he’s about to lose it any damn second now.

Chris - the beautiful, incredible asshole - takes his sweet time sucking his way back up before pulling off with a slightly out of breath grin, and it’s only by the grace of God that Sebastian doesn’t come right then and there.

“How’re you doin’?” Chris stretches back up to hover over Seb as a third finger start to tease around his rim, light, questioning, pressing with just enough intent to make him gasp. “You need more?”

“I’m good,” Seb manages to get out, voice strained and barely holding himself together. “Fucking get in me.”

Chris meets that statement with another kiss, brief and hard before he’s pulling back, making a short, frustrated sound as he tries to tear into the condom one-handed. “Shit. Hang on, just gotta...”

Seb contributes his own noise of disappointment when Chris’ fingers slip away to join in the struggle with the wrapper, but it’s a short-lived loss as the work of that hand is soon replaced by a blunt, hard pressure and yes, yes yes, he wants this, he needs this, he-

Oh,” Sebastian breathes, all the air knocked from his lungs as he feels himself yield and open in a slow stretch.

“Fuck, Seb.” Chris is staring down at where their bodies are joined, watching himself slowly press in inch by inch. “God, I wish you could see yourself, taking me so good.” His voice is a rough, deep rumble and in response, Sebastian feels his cock twitch, rubbing up against Chris’ abs, making him moan.

He never looks away from Chris’ face, though – he can’t – the sight above him is too great for words and Sebastian’s eyes stay locked in place, mesmerized as Chris finally bottoms out with a quiet, strangled sound, eyes going shut and lips parted slightly as he pulls in ragged breaths. It is, without a doubt, the most incredible sight Sebastian’s ever laid eyes on.

“Chris, Chris,” he pleads, trying to move his hips.

Chris half-groans, half-chuckles, grip tightening where he’s holding onto Seb’s side, keeping him still. “Wait, wait. I just...fuck. This is gonna be over really fucking soon if you don’t give me a minute.”

One minute,” Seb allows, making Chris give another weak chuckle as his face goes all tight in an expression of pained euphoria.

While Chris takes a bit of breathing time, Sebastian allows himself his own moment to unabashedly stare, studying the lines and planes of Chris’ face.

Lifting a hand, he softly traces his brow bone, the beard-covered stubble of his jaw, and down to the hard, muscled curve of his shoulder, then repeats the same circuit all over again with lips instead of fingertips.

“Jesus,” Chris breathes out, eyes fluttering as they slowly reopen. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re not allowed to die until you’ve fucked me first,” Sebastian tells him seriously, and at that Chris laughs again, loud and bright now.

“The mouth on you,” he mutters fondly, eyes raking over Sebastian’s face before he dips down, kissing him with a hot greediness that draws a little moan of pleasure from the back of Seb’s throat.

They part with panting breaths, blue eyes focusing on Seb with open want and concern as Chris murmurs, “You ready?”

Sebastian, who has been ready since the dawn of time at this point, answers by way of locking his legs high around Chris’ back and rolling his hips up, pulling him in as deep as possible and eliciting a long string of broken profanities from Chris that sound like music to his ears.

It’s nice - really nice - and Sebastian mentally adds another task to his ever-growing list of Chris-related desires: make Chris swear like that as frequently and emphatically as possible.

Fuck,” Seb breathes when Chris finally eases his hips back, the hot stretch and drag making little lights explode inside his head.

Chris makes his own strangled noise in reply, hand slipping down to close tight around Sebastian’s thigh as he seats himself deep again, moving forward in one long, smooth stroke that leaves them both groaning.

“Faster,” Seb chokes out, lip drawn between his teeth as Chris concedes, slowly building his way up into a steady rhythm until his hips are snapping forward quick and hard.

He’s flushed down to his chest, eyes dark and brow furrowed in an expression Sebastian can only think to describe as pleasure-filled determination, like his sole goal in life is to fuck Seb into the mattress with as much skill and finesse as humanly possible.  It’s an aspiration Sebastian can definitely get behind.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Chris’ voice is raw and full of feeling as he bends, forehead coming to rest against Seb’s as he breathes shallow and heavy, hips still pumping forward.

Sebastian tugs him in by the back of the neck, kisses hard and clumsy as his other hand plays over the curve of Chris’ shoulders, mapping out smooth skin and cut muscle.  For now hands will have to do, but later, he thinks, later he’s going to learn every inch of that body with his mouth.

He’s abruptly torn away from that thought as Chris pushes his leg up higher, angle shifting into something more intense and unforgiving; forcing Sebastian to feel the full force of every deep thrust and holy fuck.

He gasps, loud and unashamed, wanting all of it because it’s so good and his body’s on fire; hot and trembling and on the verge of something big, enormous, beautiful, but he can’t quite grasp it yet.

“I’m close,” he pants out desperately, “Chris, I’m so close.”

Chris’ thrusts grow a little more disjointed as he groans, putting all his weight onto one arm as the other slips down between their bodies, reaching to curl fingers around Seb’s flushed, leaking cock and starting to pump, grip hot and blissfully tight.

Sebastian chokes on a moan, hips rising frantically to meet each firm, uncompromising stroke. “Oh fuck, yes, yes...”

“C’mon,” Chris urges, eyes burning with a desperate sort of hunger as they latch onto Sebastian’s. “C’mon, babe.”

It’s all too much: the eye contact, the endearment, the perfect, hot heat of Chris’s body over him, in him, and he comes suddenly with a low, breathless gasp as pleasure bursts through him in a white-hot firework, spilling hot and wet against both their stomachs.

He reflexively digs fingers into Chris’ shoulder blades, anchoring himself, and Sebastian can feel the muscles trembling under his touch, thrusts turning deep but shallow, hips barely moving as Chris grinds against him.

“Fuck, Seb.” Chris drops his head, panting into Sebastian’s neck. “God, I love you so fuckin’ much...” he murmurs over and over, until the rest of the words are lost in a wrecked groan as his mouth searches out Seb’s again, kisses rushed and hot and clumsy before his hips give one last unsteady thrust and he lets go with a soft, deep noise that sounds like it’s being pulled straight out of his soul.

They stay pressed together afterwards, sweaty and sticky and trying to remember how to properly breathe until Chris pulls out with quiet grunt, gentle and careful, but Sebastian still makes a little noise at the loss, feeling weirdly open and empty without him.

As Chris rolls to the side to dispose of his condom, Sebastian stretches out his spine, muscles twinging pleasantly, and when he’s finally mustered enough energy to get his head to loll over to the right, he’s met with a pair of blue eyes that are oddly bright and glassy.

“Oh,’re crying?” His forehead creases with concern as he asks, not judgemental or teasing at all, just a little caught off guard by the amount of raw emotion on Chris’ face.

“No,” Chris chokes out, probably (definitely) lying. “It’s sweat. From a hard job well done.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, a grin automatically tugging at his lips. “So I’m a hard job? You really know how to flatter a guy.”

“Fuck you,” Chris mumbles good-naturedly, rolling back over to drape himself half on top of Sebastian, burying his nose in Seb’s neck and sliding one arm over his stomach to keep their bodies locked together. “ ‘M just happy,” he admits a minute later, voice slightly muffled against Sebastian’s skin.

Sebastian feels his heart stutter, chest warming and swelling as his own eyes start to prickle with a slight, telltale burn.


 It feels like too inadequate of a word for what he’s feeling, but at the moment his brain’s still far too fuzzy and sated to even try putting any other name to it, so instead he simply he turns his head, lips pressing into Chris’ hair.

“Yeah, me too.”



Chapter Text

  1. On a Tuesday afternoon, the sunlight glowing in your hair




Sometimes you’ve gotta stop and appreciate the little things.

Chris tries hard to live by those words; to take a conscious step back from the insanity and spend a moment simply being thankful that, despite the stress and labor and craziness that surrounds it, this is his life.

Moments like these though, he doesn’t have to work very hard to remind himself of that.

Late afternoon light is slanting through the window of the coffee shop they’re in, casting a sliver of warm gold onto their table and illuminating Sebastian’s hair in the process, bringing out tones of chocolate and caramel, kind of like the ridiculous sugary concoction he’s drinking. Chris smiles at the thought.

Sebastian chooses that moment to absently lift the mug to his lips, eyes still focused on the emails he’s answering on his phone, and Chris is instantly hit with the memory of the first time those lips had touched his own. The slow, warm glide of Sebastian’s mouth over his. The way his hands had itched with the need to dive into Seb’s hair and drag him closer. The way the light had slowly dimmed in Sebastian’s eyes when he’d pulled back, fumbling words and actions as he’d scrambled off the bed and taken refuge in the bathroom. And Chris had just let him go. Like a fucking asshole. Because he’d been too awkward and tongue-tied to stop him. Too much of a coward to acknowledge the way his stomach had fluttered with eager desire when their mouths first met.

God, he was so damn lucky that he hadn’t fucked things up beyond repair. So lucky that it was Sebastian, really. Anyone else would have probably – rightfully – walked out of his life forever after he pulled a fucking stupid stunt like that, but Seb had granted him a second chance.

Chris knows just how much that means, that he holds a gift in the form of Sebastian’s trust, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna fuck things up again.

Those four months of silence had felt like his penance; punishment for causing so much damage to such a good, big heart, and Chris had embraced every second of hurt, knowing that he full well deserved it, but that didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. 

At any rate, the time had allowed him to think; to pause, take a damn hard look at himself and ask: what do you want?

The answer, he came to realize, was Sebastian.

Chris had felt his absence like a hole in the chest - cold, gaping and empty - but, being the fucking moron he is, it took him far too long to identify that feeling as anything other than regret for hurting his friend.

And that was just it: they were friends. Damn good friends, falling into an easy sort of companionship on day one and only getting better from there. So he’d been afraid. Afraid of fucking that up; anxiety creeping in and whispering soft, doubt-filled thoughts in his ear, because what if he went all in and things ended badly? What if Seb couldn’t even stand to look at him afterwards? The thought alone had been enough to make Chris’ stomach churn.

But he’d already fucked up. Seb had been the brave one, murmuring painful confessions through a thick, heavy door, and Chris had run away. So wasn’t it at least worth trying to fix that? Didn’t he owe that much to Seb? Sebastian had laid all his cards out on the table. It was, Chris decided, far time for him to grow a fucking pair and do the same.

So yeah. He must have done some really good shit in another life because he’d poured his fucking heart out – awkward as ever, but wholly honest and sincere – and in return Seb had smiled. Kissed him. Murmured those three little words in return. Chris never even knew happiness like that could actually exist.

He’s still deep inside his own head when Sebastian sets his mug down, tongue peeking out to swipe drops of coffee off his bottom lip as he sets his phone on the table and leans forward, voice low and conspiratorial as he asks, “Do I have something on my face?”

Chris starts, clearing his throat and shifting a bit awkwardly in his seat. “What? No – no, I was just...”

“You were staring,” Seb smiles a little - one corner of his mouth quirking up - and Chris’ heart kicks hard in response. Fuck, he really wants to taste that sugar-flavoured smirk.

“Was thinkin’ about how lucky I am,” he says, voice slightly rough from the admission.

Seb looks both surprised and pleased by that, head tipping down somewhat shyly as he bites his lip like he’s trying to hold back a grin, and Chris just wants to reach across the table, drag a thumb over that wide, full mouth and make it part into a true, uninhibited smile.

“I’m the lucky one.” Sebastian’s eyes flick back up to Chris’ face, warm and bright as the sunshine that’s framing him.

Chris shakes his head, inching his hand across the table to brush fingertips against Sebastian’s wrist, touch brief and intimate before he draws back, playing with his own empty coffee cup to give his greedy hands some other purpose that won’t result in their picture being plastered all over every news outlet come morning.

“I’m gonna fight you on that,” he warns with a grin, because Seb can’t possibly know just how much love his heart holds. It’s a fucking epic ton. Overwhelming, almost.

Sebastian laughs, eyes crinkling like they do when he’s genuinely happy, and for a second, Chris can’t even breathe.

Lucky. Yeah, that doesn’t even begin to cover the half of it.

“Love you,” he says quietly, knowing it’s a risky thing to say in public but his chest feels too full; the words need to come out.

“You too,” Seb murmurs, voice warm and soft, and when his knee bumps Chris’ under the table, neither one of them makes a move to pull away. Because it’s the little things that should always be appreciated.



Chapter Text

  1. From very far away




Chris is in Seb’s kitchen, half way through assembling a turkey sandwich, when his phone chimes from all the way across the apartment.

Swearing, he darts around the island and goes straight for the couch, almost wiping out on the corner of the area rug in his haste to snatch up the phone from where it’s buried amongst cushions and throw pillows.

He’s out of breath, grinning like an idiot when he finally accepts the Facetime call. “Hey you.”

Sebastian’s face fills up the screen, smile so wide and white, it makes Chris’ heart lurch with feeling. Fuck, does he ever miss this guy.

“Hey,” Seb greets. “This a bad time?”

“Nope.” Chris settles on the edge of the couch, greedily absorbing every little detail the too-small screen is willing to offer him. Truthfully, it’s never a bad time. The room could be on fucking fire around him and he would still park his ass on that couch if it meant getting to talk to Seb. “You done for the day?” He asks, taking in Sebastian’s sleepy eyes and well-worn navy hoodie.

“Mm, it’s after ten here,” Sebastian confirms, and for a second Chris is treated to an extra close-up shot of his forehead as Seb shifts into a more comfortable position before propping his iPad back up at a better angle. “Just wanted to call you before bed. Hear your voice. All that romantic shit.”

Chris forces out a laugh because otherwise he’d probably be crying a little right now. “You sure you’re not just checking up on me? Worried I’m gonna trash the place while you’re gone?”

He’s been living out of Seb’s place for the last couple of days; a photoshoot’s brought him to New York and despite Sebastian filming out of country, he’d still insisted that Chris crash at his apartment as a far homier alternative to the bland hotel room walls Chris would’ve otherwise been staring at right now.

It’d been kind of weird at first, being there without Seb. Chris had mostly resisted any urge to snoop around, but he might have spent an afternoon studying all the titles lined up on Sebastian’s bookshelves, and maybe he peeked inside the closet just long enough to brush fingers along the soft sleeve of one of Sebastian’s shirts, and, when he’d crawled into bed –Seb’s bed – on that very first night, there was a slight possibility that he kind-of-sort-of-maybe jerked off embarrassingly quickly. He’s not telling Sebastian that part, though. At least not until they’re alone, face to face, because with any luck, it’ll result in some fucking amazing reunion sex.

“Nah,” Sebastian teases with a smile, “I trust you to keep the booze and strippers to a respectable minimum.”

Chris laughs again, probably more than the situation calls for, but fuck it, he’s homesick for Seb and really, stupidly in love. “God, I miss you.”

Sebastian’s face sobers up then, still smiling, but now it’s fainter. Softer. Full of a kind of wistful longing that probably matches the expression on Chris’ own face.

“Miss you too,” he murmurs. “Only a couple more weeks, then before you know it you’ll be sick of looking at me every day.”

Chris gives a skeptical snort. “Fucking doubtful.” He clings to that little piece of truth, though. Repeats it like a mantra. Just a few more weeks. Then Seb’ll be back stateside and the Marvel machine will start chugging away once again. The gears are already in motion; his Civil War script arrived two weeks ago and his trainer’s been nagging him to get a move on his pre-production workouts.

And sure, some of it’s gonna suck. The long days, constant aches and strains and bruises, rigid meal plans, and now the fact that they’ll have to keep their relationship under wraps on set, but for the most part, Chris is eager for it all to begin. Anxious, as always – that part never gets any easier no matter how many films are under his belt - but excited too.  Besides, he knows he can make it through all that hard shit if Seb’s gonna be by his side the whole time.

“How was the hospital?” Sebastian asks as he settles back against the padded headboard of his hotel bed. The new position makes the top unzipped half of his hoodie bunch up under his chin and Chris smiles reflexively.

“God, it was incredible.” He’d been in Seattle last weekend with Pratt, meeting patients and posing for photos and wondering how the hell kids that small can be so damn strong. Chris still gets a little choked up thinking about it and he has to clear his throat, sitting up a bit straighter, voice full of earnest sincerity as he tries to put it all into words. “Those kids are something else, man. Fucking inspirational. I think I almost had a goddamned breakdown about a dozen times. I just...I can’t even describe it. They’re so full of smiles and hugs and this fucking endless amount of optimism, even with all the shit they’re going through. It’s like, what the fuck am I doing there as Cap when they’re the heroes, you know?”

When he finishes his little emotion-fuelled monologue, Sebastian is staring at him with a look Chris can’t quite identify.

“What?” He asks warily, leaning away from the phone.

Sebastian shakes his head, biting his lip as he tries to rein in a smile. “Nothing., I love you so much.”

Half embarrassed, Chris rubs a hand over his hair and wills himself not to blush even though he can already feel his face heating up; the words warming both his cheeks and somewhere deep down in the centre of his chest.

“I love you. And I really fuckin’ wish you were here,” he adds, eyeing the soft, sleepy way Seb is slouched on his bed. “I’d cuddle the shit outta you right now.”

Sebastian laughs, gaze narrowing playfully as he asks, “Who says I’d let you?”

A grin tugs at Chris’ lips and in response he raises both eyebrows suggestively. “You know I’d make it worth your while.”

“Oh yeah?” Seb slouches down even further, face half-obscured by his hoodie now, and it’s so goddamned adorable, it’s criminal. “How’re you gonna do that?”

Chris wets his lips, shifting on the couch because fuck, that voice – all sly and warm and teasing - already has him well on his way to getting hard.

“Would let you be the big spoon,” he says, voice a little rougher than usual.

That makes Seb grin so wide, Chris’ pulse skips a beat and he feels like he’s just won the fucking lottery.

“That’s hot, baby,” Sebastian teases. “What else are you gonna do for me?”

Chris mirrors Seb’s smile with a big, ridiculous one of his own, trying to keep his voice pitched low and sexy. “Gonna take out your trash. Might even do a load of laundry.”

“Fuck yeah.” Seb’s response sounds a little breathless, mouth dropping open slightly, and -  

“Holy shit, are you actually getting off on this?” Chris stares wide-eyed at the screen, temperature rocketing up about a hundred degrees until every inch of his skin feels too hot.

“Maybe,” Sebastian hedges, panting openly now. “It’s been a fucking long month and god, Chris, I miss you so bad.”

“Holy shit,” Chris repeats, sitting there like a dumbass until his brain finally kicks back into action and he gets with the program, fumbling with the zipper on his jeans before working them down just enough to palm his own hardening cock.

“Don’t stop talking.” Sebastian’s eyes are dark, rimmed in that familiar pale blue-grey, and Chris would give his fucking left arm to be able to see them in person right now.

“Fuck, the things I wanna do to you.” The words just kind of come out, spurred on by Seb’s encouragement and Chris’ own steadily declining brain-to-mouth filter because goddamn, if this isn’t one of the hottest things they’ve ever done. “Wanna get my hands on that ass. Put my mouth all over you.”

“Yes...fuck, Chris...I want you to,” Seb groans, eyes sliding half-shut in pleasure.

Chris slips his hand inside his boxers, stroking in earnest now. “Tilt your screen,” he orders hoarsely. “Let me see you.”

The image on his phone goes shaky for a minute as Sebastian messes with his iPad, but then Chris has a fucking beautiful, uninhibited view of Seb’s body as he works himself with one hand, sweats pulled down around his thighs and hoodie shoved part way up his stomach.  

“Shit, Seb.” If he wasn’t painfully hard before, he sure as hell is now.

“Are you touching yourself?” Sebastian asks, all throaty and deep as his hips start to lift in time with each stroke.

“Yeah.” Chris swallows hard, making a low, soft sound when the pad of his thumb catches over the head of his cock. “Yeah, babe.”

“Tell me how it feels.”

Chris is fucking fascinated by the sight of Seb’s hand, watching as it works up and down, offering teasing glimpses of the flushed head of his cock, hips rocking and abs flexing tight with every stroke. He tightens his own fist in response, matching Seb’s pace and moving in a quick, steady rhythm.

“It’s - shit, it’s so good,” he manages, and that might just be the fucking understatement of the century because after a month of surviving off of nothing but vague, Seb-centered fantasies and his own damn hand, this little taste of the real thing feels like a goddamned sexual awakening.  

It’s relief and torture mashed up into one big, inextricable tangle; he’s so close to Seb, surrounded by him in nearly every way – watching him, hearing him, bare-assed on his couch for god’s sake - and yet unable to reach out and touch him, to press long, bruising kisses to that fucking perfect mouth, to feel the hot, hard heat of his body or witness the full stunning force of one of those wide, happy grins.

Seb seems to be riding a similarly frustrated train of thought. “Wish it was you,” he says, breath hitching, “touching me. Fucking me. God Chris...want you to fuck me right now.”

“You know I would,” Chris confirms, voice dropping deeper as want colors his words. “Take care of you,” he tightens his grip, hand sliding easily over the slick length of his cock. “Fill you up so good.”

Yes,” Seb hisses, movements growing harder, more frantic, and it’s shitty, dark video quality but the sight of Seb getting himself off still beats every damn second of porn Chris has ever laid eyes on.

He can hear Sebastian making these little breathless noises now and Jesus Christ. There’s no way he’s gonna last like this. “Fuck, babe,” he groans, head tilting back, “I’m gonna come.”

Sebastian’s breathing fast and shallow, eyes finding Chris’ through the screen, and when he speaks, his voice is desperate, cracking slightly. “No, not yet...wait, please, I wanna come with you.”

Oh god. Chris makes a frankly embarrassing sound, somewhere between a moan and a whine as he slides his hand down to grip the base of his cock, panting heavily as he tries to hold off a little longer. “Can’t,” he groans out, “can’t wait when you say shit like that.”

“You can. I’m – ah - I’m almost there.” Sebastian’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment, back arching, and Chris’ eyes latch onto the pale line of his neck, wishing more than fucking anything that he could press his teeth into that hot, smooth skin; make Seb come just from that mix of pleasure-pain alone.

He bites his lower lip hard, trying to focus on the sting instead of the aching pulse of his cock. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, well aware that it’s a double-edged sword to start letting his mouth run right now because he’s so damn close, but he knows a few low, well-timed words will have Seb swaying right on the edge with him. “Gonna keep you in my bed for a fucking week once you get your ass back over here. Get my mouth on that cock. Fuck you so damn good, babe.”

“Yeah,” Seb pants, “oh god. I want that. Want you.”

It’s wishful thinking, of course. They’ll be lucky if they get three days together tops, but right now, it’s a really damn nice idea, so Chris rolls with it.

“Gonna suck you off every damn morning. Eat you out till you can’t fucking stand it.”

Chris.” The way Sebastian groans is obscene, lighting a hot spark of pleasure that shoots down Chris’ spine and he can feel himself tensing up, hand stroking faster as he watches Seb do the same onscreen, and when Seb finally gasps out, “Shit...shit...I’m coming,” that’s all it takes for Chris to fucking lose it.

He comes hard, head falling back against the sofa as he tries to pull in air, and when he regains his bearings enough to think to glance down at the phone, he finds a panting, glassy-eyed Seb watching him with fucked-out, dazed adoration.

“God, that was...” Sebastian trails off with a weak chuckle, looking all flushed and tired and so goddamned perfect, Chris’ hands itch with the need to reach out and touch him.

He has to clear his throat twice before he can respond, and even then, his voice comes out sounding hoarse. “Yeah. Fuck.”

They both fall quiet for a minute, content to simply stare at each other as their heartbeats slow, and in the intimacy of that moment, Chris is hit with another sharp pang of that homesick longing. Fuck. He wants to clean Seb up, strip him down and snuggle up next to him in that foreign hotel bed. Bury his nose in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Breathe in time with him until sleep tugs at them both. The feeling’s so strong, he doesn’t even realize he’s lifted a hand to rub absently over the ache in his chest.

“Three more weeks,” he says, maybe to Seb, maybe to himself.

“Three more weeks,” Sebastian repeats with a soft, small smile, from miles and miles away.      



Chapter Text

  1. A whisper in the ear




The first time it happens, it’s purely accidental.

In the steam of the shower Seb twists, reaching past Chris for the shampoo and momentarily crowding him against the tile, chest pressed to back. It aligns his dick almost perfectly with Chris’ ass, water making the hot glide too easy as they slip against each other.

Chris makes a quiet, vaguely startled noise but doesn’t move; doesn’t lean away. Instead he pushes back into it - a short, nearly imperceptible shift of his hips - but Sebastian feels it all the same. Fuck, does he ever feel it.

A groan catches in Seb’s throat and he feels his whole body flush hot, heartbeat pounding loud in his ears for one, two beats until the spell is broken and Chris nudges him with an elbow to the stomach, throwing a casual request of, “hand me the body wash?” over his shoulder. Like nothing ever happened.

Sebastian swallows, pushing down the dry, too-tight feeling in his throat and passing over the bottle, hoping his hands aren’t shaking too noticeably because that...

Well. That was something.




The second time, Seb does it very much on purpose.

He’s been country-hopping more than usual lately so he’s had a lot of lonely nights in empty, unfamiliar beds to mull it over, replaying every sensation in his mind. Remembering the wet, slick glide of his cock over Chris’ heated skin, how Chris had tipped his hips back into it like he was looking for more, and it’s driving Sebastian insane, haunting him like the best kind of nightmare there is.

He needs to know if that little press of Chris’ ass was intentional. Did he want...? Does he want...?

Sebastian can barely even think the words - just letting the thought creep into the corners of his mind already has heat skittering down his spine, making his dick stir and his head fuzzy.

So he thinks and waits and feels it out until the timing is right and then, when they’re tangled in a warm heap on the couch, Seb’s palm wrapped around the weight of Chris’ cock, panting into each other’s mouths, he lets his other hand dip low and rests one finger over the tight ring of muscle there.

Chris makes a soft little ‘ah’ noise against his lips and shifts his knees wider apart, just a fraction, but it’s enough for Seb to take notice.

Grinning into their kiss, Sebastian works his fist with purpose now, pumping Chris closer and closer to the edge until the muscles in his thighs are quivering and he starts to murmur a warning into Seb’s mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “fuck, I’m gonna...”

Sebastian takes that as his cue and applies a little pressure with his finger, the tip just barely breaching the rim, circling in a slow, teasing massage.

Chris comes so hard, they have to Google how to clean the couch afterwards.

Yep. That is definitely something.




The third time, Sebastian isn’t left wondering anymore.

“Do you, uh,” Chris shifts, nervous energy practically radiating off of him as his eyes fix on the bedsheets that’re pulled up around his waist. “Do you remember that thing we did? On the couch?”

Sebastian snorts, tugging his shirt off and dropping it in the hamper. “We’ve done a lot of stuff on your couch.” He sheds his pants next then pads across the room in his underwear, crawling into the empty, waiting side of the bed.

Normally Chris’ arms would be around him in an instant, tugging him in close, but now Chris just fists his hands in the sheets and struggles to find the right words.

“You know, when you...” he pauses, flushing a little, gaze still diverted, “uh...fingered me?”

“Oh.” Sebastian’s stomach flip-flops, one part nerves and one part hopeful optimism as he wets his lips, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, I remember.”

Chris nods to himself, eyes finally raising enough to gauge Seb’s reaction as he says, “I liked it.”

Sebastian tries not to grin too widely, but it’s a losing battle. “Good.”

There are about a dozen other things he’s tempted to say right now (how could I possibly forget? It’s all I fucking think about. You look so good when you come like that. Tell me you want it again. Tell me you want more), but he keeps his reply short and sweet because Chris is still sitting there with set shoulders and that awkwardly endearing blush on his face, like there’s more he needs to get off his chest and he’s grimly determined to push through and say it all.

“Yeah, it was. Good, I mean. So, uh, I was kinda thinking about that, and uh – fuck, why is this so hard?” Chris huffs out a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, scrubbing a hand over his face before tipping his head back and staring upwards. “Okay. I think,” he says to the ceiling, “...I think you should fuck me. I mean, I want to try – but only if you want to. I just – when you did that, with your finger -”

“Chris.” Sebastian feels compelled to step in and rescue him from his self-imposed cycle of embarrassed over-explaining, heart swelling what feels like five sizes until it’s about to burst straight out of his chest because here Chris is, doing his best to stumble through uncharted territory, fighting down anxious doubts and fears in favor of laying these wants out for Sebastian to see. It’s an enormous show of bravery and vulnerability all at once, and Seb wonders, for approximately the nine millionth time, how he ever got this lucky.

Chris looks both grateful for and wary of the interruption. “Yeah?”

Sebastian rolls up onto his elbow, hooking one leg over Chris’ and craning up to press lips to the nearest bare, warm shoulder. “Yes. God yes, absolutely. But are you sure? I don’t –” now it’s his turn to fumble as he stops short, pulls in a breath, tries to rein in all the feelings that are bouncing around in his chest, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything. I like this. Us. What we have right now.”

“You like getting fucked by me.” There’s a light playfulness dancing in Chris’ eyes and Sebastian can see the relief clear on his face now that the hard part is over and everything’s out in the open; the tension in his shoulders slowly unwinding as he goes lax, slouching down the headboard until he and Seb are almost nose to nose.

Sebastian grins, studying every little fleck of colour in Chris’ eyes, feeling like he could tip right into them and stay there forever. “I love it actually, but I was trying to be polite.”

Chris grins back and then they’re both instinctively leaning in, mouths coming together soft and simple. His hand is warm as he cups Sebastian’s jaw, thumb pressing in, encouraging lips to part so his tongue can sneak between them.

“I’m sure,” Chris insists when they eventually part, voice husky and eyes darkening. “I want this. Want you. In every way you’ll have me.”

“That would be all the ways,” Sebastian tells him, rolling over until he’s starfished half on top of Chris, chest to chest and limbs splayed out everywhere.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ crush me pretty soon,” Chris says, but he sounds pretty happy about his current state of smothering as he lifts a hand to run fingers over the back of Sebastian’s neck, scratching lightly at the top of his spine and up into his hair until Seb lets out a content hum, going even more boneless against him.

“Haven’t even made half the target yet,” he murmurs into Chris’ neck; half observation, half complaint.

He still has a pretty daunting amount of muscle to pack on for filming (something he’d rather not think about right now – the workouts he can manage but there’s only so much plain chicken and steamed broccoli a guy can take), so instead he chooses to sidestep that conversation by way of distraction, and when it comes to derailing Chris, there’s one surefire method that’s never failed Sebastian before: his dick.

Letting one hand snake down Chris’ stomach, he gropes a little blindly under the blankets until he finds what he’s looking for, pressing the flat of his hand to the front of Chris’ boxer briefs. He’s not quite hard yet, but the contact earns Seb an immediate interested twitch against his palm.

Chris inhales, deep and long, voice lowering an octave as he asks, “You wanna do it now?”

Sebastian lifts his head from where it’s currently buried in the curve where Chris’ neck meets his shoulder. “Do you wanna do it now?”He counters, eyebrows arching in question.

Chris’ dick answers for him, firming up under Seb’s hand and making him chuckle as he turns his face back into the side of Chris’ neck.

“Yeah,” Chris answers belatedly, sounding far away, distracted by the pressure of Sebastian’s palm grinding slow circles against him.

“We’re gonna do this slow,” he states, feeling Chris’ hands gravitate down his back towards his ass, fingers tucking under the waistband of his underwear, “and you’re gonna tell me if you want to slow down or stop or whatever. I want...fuck,” he breathes, brain blanking for a minute once Chris’ hands are fully on him, firmly gripping his ass and rolling hips up to meet Seb’s own. “I want to make this good for you,” Seb finishes, voice slightly strained already.

“I know you will,” Chris murmurs, dropping his chin and nudging Seb’s temple with his nose until Sebastian turns his head enough to meet the waiting kiss.

It’s sweet and slow for the first few seconds but then the simmer turns into a full boil and it shifts into something deep and eager as they rock against each other, all hot mouths and exploring tongues.

Extracting one arm from where it’s wedged between their bodies, Seb tries to make a grab for the drawer of the side table, hand catching nothing but air, so with a reluctant groan he sits up, leaning over enough to yank open the drawer and fish around for lube.

He bypasses the condoms at first – they haven’t been using them for a couple weeks now so it’s an automatic reflex to ignore them at this point – but then he hesitates, wondering if Chris might not be okay with Seb going it bareskinned. Inside him. Because that’s what they’re about to do. He’s about to fuck Chris.

God, this might just kill him.

Sebastian has to clear his throat, barely managing to get out an unfinished question of, “D’you want...?”

“No,” comes Chris’ immediate response. “I mean, unless you do?”

Seb grins, snagging the bottle of lube before sliding the drawer shut with finality. “Nope.” That smile is still firmly in place as he settles back over Chris, head dropping to briefly press their mouths together again. “Alright,” he murmurs, pulling back and slapping Chris’ thigh, “get naked.”

Like always, Chris complies with a somewhat goofy but highly charming amount of enthusiasm, kicking off the blankets and tugging down his underwear until he’s completely unclothed, propped up on his elbows and looking at Seb expectantly as if to say ‘let’s fucking do this’.

Seb snorts, unable to resist leaving one more kiss on Chris’ mouth, chest, and then low on his stomach as he works his way down to the end of the bed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I was promised fucking,” Chris replies with as much straight-faced innocence as he can manage, which, actually, isn’t very much at all.

“Ridiculous,” Sebastian repeats, not having too much of his own luck controlling his expression right now. It’s probably some dopey-looking mixture of extreme amusement and total, head-over-heels affection, he figures. “Now shut up, I’m trying to make this sexy.”

He slides a hand around Chris’ ankle, encouraging him to bend his knees up until Seb can settle in the space between his legs, drawing his lip between his teeth as he takes a second to admire the tight lines of Chris’ abs, the way his cock is full and curved, brushing his stomach with each breath.

“Don’t gotta try,” Chris says, already sounding a little breathless with anticipation. “Everything you do is fucking hot.”

If there wasn’t hopeless affection on Sebastian’s face before, there definitely is now.

Turning his head, he brushes lips to the inside of Chris’ knee before shuffling closer, leaning in until his mouth is hovering over Chris’ cock. “I’m gonna get you ready, ‘kay?”

Chris’ reply comes in the form of a deep groan when Seb immediately swoops in to drag his tongue up the underside, pausing to circle around the head before he lets it push past his lips, sinking into the wet heat of his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Chris chokes out, tight and strangled, like beautiful pornographic music to Sebastian’s ears.

He keeps a casual, unhurried pace for a while, until Chris is panting hard, gripping his hair and actively trying not to buck up into his mouth. It’s only when Chris’ little groans get increasingly desperate that Seb pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before cracking open the bottle of lube and slicking up his fingers.

“Ready?” He murmurs, dipping back down to scatter a collection of random, messy kisses along Chris’ hipbone.

“Holy fuck, yes,” Chris breathes, flushed and dark-eyed, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon.

It’s an image that Seb’s dick really fucking likes, aching at an almost painfully neglected level, and he has to breathe out a slow, steadying breath as he glides his fingers down past Chris’ balls.

“You’re gonna want to tense up, but just relax,” he says, tracing the pad of his index finger around the ring of muscle, hearing Chris pull in a sharp breath in response, “and stop me any time you need to. Seriously.” He flicks his eyes up then, catching Chris’ gaze to make sure he knows how important that part is.

“Yeah.” Chris nods. Swallows. “Yeah. Fuck, I want you.”

“Want you too,” Sebastian murmurs, feeling one side of his mouth quirk up in an unstoppable half-grin. Just hearing that little confession has a liquid heat pouring down his spine, pooling in the base of his stomach and throbbing hotly in his dick. Fuck, it’s so much and they’ve barely even started.

Once he can feel Chris getting familiar enough with the pressure of his finger, he guides it in with a slow, measured push, bit by bit, feeling the heat of Chris’ body envelop him, taking it in and holy shit, it’s more than Sebastian even has words for.

“Tell me,” he pants, so much blood rushing to his cock he thinks he might actually pass out, “tell me if this is okay.”

Chris nods, mouth falling half-open as Seb draws back a little before pushing forward again. “Yeah, it’s...fuck, it’s good.”

Sebastian feels a surge of warm, pleased heat in his chest as his half-grin widens to a full smile, continuing to work Chris open at that slow, careful pace until he feels relaxed enough to take a second finger, sliding it in with hardly any resistance.

“Still good?” Seb checks in, pumping at a bit of a steadier tempo now.

Chris’ face looks like he’s trying (and failing) to downplay his discomfort. “Feels kinda weird,” he admits, eyes closing as his cheeks flush with slight embarrassment. God, is he ever a sight.

“Give it a minute.” Sebastian bends to drop warm, reassuring kisses on his thigh, his hip, before mouthing at his still-hard cock.

That earns him a low moan and when he curls his fingers up, searching out Chris’ prostate and grazing it shortly after, Chris makes a throaty, broken sound, hips automatically flying up and almost bashing into Seb’s face. “Oh my god – fuck – fuck, babe.”

Seb immediately switches back to slower, shallow thrusts, leaning back a little (he really doesn’t want to have to explain to anyone how he got a black eye from Chris’ dick) and catching his lip between his teeth as he tries to gauge whether that was a good ‘oh my god' or a bad one. “Shit, sorry, was that too much?”

Chris shakes his head. No. “Just...fucking intense,” he says, hoarse and breathless. Then he lifts his head enough to watch Seb, licks his lips, and asks all fucking sweetly, “Keep going? Please?”

And shit, Seb is powerless to do anything but give him what he wants. “Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he confesses on a low murmur, twisting his wrist a little now, feeling Chris open up flawlessly for him.

“Please, please,” Chris keeps gasping, so hot and slick and perfect around his fingers, god, Seb’s never been harder in his life.

“Not yet,” he manages, dying to just sink in and bury himself deep in Chris’ ass, but more than that, he wants to do this right; make this so good for Chris. “Gotta take one more for me first.”

Chris makes a noise of complaint, tensing up slightly as Seb presses a third finger in alongside the two others, but he almost instantly relaxes the second they’ve slipped past the initial tight border of his rim.

“Ahh yeah,” he breathes, low and slightly dazed. He’s actively pressing back to meet Sebastian’s hand with every thrust now, and fuck if that isn’t all the encouragement Seb needs to take things up a notch, so he starts fumbling one-handed for the bottle of lube, not able to hold out any longer.

His grip is a little shaky as he squeezes some out directly onto his dick, not willing to pull his other hand away from Chris just yet. “Chris,” jesus, his voice is just as unsteady as his hands, “I need to-”

“Yes,” Chris answers the unspoken question, face flushed and breathing hard, expression so fucking needy, it’s unbelievable how good he looks. “Fuck, yes.”

Rising up onto his knees, Seb slowly withdraws his fingers, guiding the head of his cock in place instead and failing to hold back a groan when it nestles up tight against Chris’ rim. Just that little bit of contact is making him feel lightheaded already.

“Is this...? Are you...?” Fuck, he can’t even form words right now.

“Just fucking do it,” Chris practically growls, and that shakes Seb out of his delirious ass appreciation stupor long enough for him to ease his hips forward, slowly sinking in.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he breathes it like a mantra, heart threatening to leap straight out of his chest with the force of each quick, erratic beat because Chris is impossibly hot, smooth and so fucking tight around him, it’s so good. So good he’s almost afraid to move because any little bit of added friction feels like it has the potential to set him off right now; a burning match hovering dangerously close to a fuse.

Chris gives a full-bodied tremor under him, goosebumps erupting over pale, muscled skin as he adjusts to the feeling of being stretched around Sebastian. “Shit, Seb,” he chokes out, clumsily dragging him down by the back of the neck and kissing him hard.

The angle forces Seb to bend to meet him until he’s bottoming out with a ragged gasp into Chris’ mouth. “Oh fuck,” he moans at the sensation of being so deep; Chris all around him, warm and snug and enveloping. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs against his lips. “Burns a little, but fuck, it’’s good. Feel so fuckin’ full.” Then he slides his tongue into Seb’s mouth, one hand still fisted up in his hair to tilt Seb’s head the way he wants it, and it’s all Sebastian can do to keep from coming instantly like a horny sixteen year old.

He focuses on the glide of their lips, the slight scrape of Chris’ beard, the pressure of their mouths meeting over and over in a wet, warm pattern until he feels a little more in control of his overly-excited dick.

“Can I move?” Seb eventually asks, drawing back to stare at Chris’ red, kiss-swollen mouth; watching the way he can’t seem to pull in a whole lungful of air without his breath hitching slightly.

“Please,” Chris says, craning up to kiss along Seb’s jaw, the smooth skin below his ear, over top of his pulse point.

Sebastian answers by pressing his lips to a spot just above Chris’ eyebrow, then he pulls in a breath, eases back, and presses his hips forward again.

They both moan at the feeling - an unbelievably hot, slow drag of skin on skin - so Seb does it again, withdrawing almost all the way and then sinking back in until his hips are pressed snug up against Chris’ ass. The stimulation is fucking amazing.

“Jesus,” Chris rasps, “is it as good for you as it is for me?”

Seb has to bite back a short, strained chuckle. “Don’t,” he groans out in warning. “Fuck, I’m probably gonna come if you make me laugh. You feel so damn good.”

Chris makes a noise of agreement, watching Seb through pleasure-drunk, half-closed eyelids. “You can-” he pauses, breathes out a hum of approval when Seb moves again. “I feel like I can take more. If you wanna speed up.”

This is how I die, Sebastian thinks, pressing his forehead to Chris’ as he tries to hold himself together. “Shit, Chris. Touch yourself,” he orders tightly, because at this rate, things are really not about to last much longer.

Chris curls a palm around his cock, head dropping back to expose the line of his throat as he starts fucking his hand in time with Seb’s thrusts, and it’s so monumentally hot, Seb can’t hold back the deep groan that’s building in the back of his throat.

Making a clumsy grab for Chris’ shin, he shifts angles, pulling Chris’ leg up over his shoulder until every snap of his hips feels intensified, harder and sharper as the room narrows down to nothing but Chris; the way he sounds and feels and looks, all blown pupils, solid heat and heavy breaths.

“Oh my god,” Seb can’t seem to stop babbling now, “holy fuck, baby, you feel so good. Oh fuck, god, I can’t – I’m gonna come.” He can feel sweat prickling on his skin, hair falling into his eyes as he pants and rolls his hips, and if this really is death, then he’ll fucking gladly take it. “How do you...should I...?”

“Don’t,” Chris manages between ragged breaths, staring right in his eyes as he says, “don’t pull out.”

And that’s the tipping point.

Seb comes as sudden as a lightning strike; quick and violent, punching all the breath out of his lungs until all he can do is give a broken groan and press his hips into Chris one last time before he’s swept up in it all.

The world slides back into focus when Chris chokes out his name, low and desperate, and Seb rocks forward with a few more deep, lazy thrusts, gasping at the overstimulation but unwilling to stop because he needs this; needs to watch Chris as he comes, feel him tense around his cock and spill across his skin.

“Come on,” he urges, panting, unable to tear his eyes away from how fucking wrecked Chris looks with his lips parted and brow furrowed like he’s hanging on by a thread, unraveling more and more with every second, “come on, baby.”

He drops his weight onto one elbow - graceful luck being the only thing that keeps him from faceplanting directly onto Chris – relieving the trembling muscles in his arms and allowing him to slip a clumsy, eager hand between their bodies to search out Chris’ own.

Chris is impossibly hot, wet and sticky with precome as Seb curls fingers over Chris’ fist, encouraging him to squeeze a little tighter, move a little faster as Chris pumps himself twice more, and then he’s making the fucking hottest little whining sound Sebastian’s ever heard, gasping and coming in long stripes across his stomach.

It’s an image that will be permanently etched in Sebastian’s memory until the end of time. Chris is like art, falling apart for him beautifully, and it’s enough to make him moan as his cock gives a sudden, heavy throb, making a valiant effort to rally for more.

Trying to catch his breath, Seb pulls out as gently as he can, eyes the mess on Chris’ abdomen for about three seconds before deciding he doesn’t care, and lets the rest of his weight drop until he’s lying flush on top him, too wrung out to move anywhere else just yet.

“That was insane,” he declares, probably a little loopy from the rush of endorphins. “We’re doing that maybe twice a year, no more. Fuck, it’ll kill me.”

Chris gives a weak chuckle, rubbing a comforting hand up and down Seb’s back twice before he seems to run out of energy and just kind of leaves it there as dead weight. “Aw. Wore you out that bad, huh?” He comments, like he isn’t just as much of a boneless, burned-out mess right now.

Sebastian makes a tired, unintelligible noise that might be a yes, deflating with a quiet sigh against Chris’ shoulder. “Are you okay though? How sore are you?”

Chris hums, thoughtful. “Gonna feel it for a while I think, but yeah. As far as first times go, it was pretty fuckin’ spectacular.”

Sebastian tries to laugh, but it comes out more like an empty wheeze. “I came before you,” he points out, chagrined.

“Yeah, and you looked...” Chris’ hand slides from Seb’s back down to his ass like the memory alone is enough to have him contemplating the logistics of a second round, “god, Seb. You looked like a fuckin’ wet dream.”

Sebastian tries to ignore the sudden rush of heat to his face, fighting to keep his tone indifferent as he returns, “I guess you weren’t too bad either.”

It has exactly the effect he was hoping for and an instant later, Chris is cracking up as he shoves Seb off him, rolling to cage him under heat and muscle and sweat-kissed skin Sebastian’s starting to know just as well as his own.

“Ah, fuck off,” Chris laughs. He always goes Full Boston after sex - voice a little thicker, eyes a little brighter – and it never fails to make Sebastian fall a little more in love every damn time. Especially when it’s followed up with one of those mile-wide, blindingly attractive grins like the one Chris is sporting right now. It’s a deadly combination; enough to knock Seb off balance for a minute and Chris takes full advantage of his moment of disoriented, love-struck awe by surging forward to kiss him, quick and hard and demanding, before pulling back enough to murmur, “Shower?”

Seb chases his mouth, getting in three more kisses before he’s managed to assemble enough brain cells to breath out an answer of, “Yeah.”

They stumble into the bathroom and Chris cranks on the hot water, testing the temperature with his hand before tugging Seb in with him until their chests collide and Chris’ hands are on his waist and they’re kissing sweet and deep and lazy.

“Can never get enough of you,” Chris murmurs, sliding his arms around Sebastian in a hug as he drops his face into the wet, warm crook of Seb’s neck.

Sebastian’s heart skips as he winds his arms around Chris in return. Extra-affectionate post-orgasm Chris is a thing of absolute beauty, and Seb would happily keep him in this serene, blissed-out state 24/7 if he could. It’s not often he gets to see a Chris who’s so completely unburdened, and knowing that he’s the one who can bring Chris a few hours of the stress-free relaxation he so badly needs makes Sebastian’s chest ache with a weird combination of satisfaction and sadness. It feels good to be able to offer him this, but it would feel even better if Chris didn’t need an escape like that at all.

“I love you,” he whispers in Chris’ ear, tightening his hold until it’s probably borderline uncomfortable, but Chris just tucks his nose a little more firmly into Sebastian’s neck and squeezes back.

There’s still come drying on their stomachs and he feels like he could down about twelve gallons of water pretty soon, but for now Sebastian’s content to simply stand under the spray for all the time Chris needs, because that whole ‘never get enough’ thing? Yeah, it goes both ways.



Chapter Text

  1. With no space left between us 




“Don’t,” Seb warns without looking up.

Like a sixth sense, he can tell what Chris is up to and, sure enough, when he does glance across the room, Chris is wearing a guilty expression, remote half-raised in the air and Netflix cursor poised over season 6 of The West Wing, wholly prepared to start watching without him.

That fucker.

“Ten more minutes,” Sebastian promises, fingers slipping back into place on the keyboard of his laptop. “I’ve got three more emails to bang out, then I’m done.”

Chris’ arm flops back down to the couch and he groans, reluctantly settling on a Friends re-run instead. “I’ll bang you out,” he mutters as he slouches down until he can kick his feet up onto the coffee table.

Seb grins as he continues to click away at the keys. “Such a charmer.”

“Never heard you complain,” comes Chris’ retort from over the back of the couch.

Sebastian shakes his head a little, grin still in place as he gets started on his next reply. It isn’t too involved, thank god, because Chris only stays quiet for about three more minutes before he’s back to pestering Sebastian again.

“C’mon Seb,” he pleads. “I’m dyin’ over here.”

“Dying? Why?” Sebastian does a quick scan of email number two for any typos before signing off at the bottom and moving on to the next one.

“Lonely,” Chris replies, sounding woefully pathetic, and Seb’s certain that if he were to let his eyes stray over there, Chris would be wearing one of those wide-eyed, wounded expressions that he can never say no to. Eyes shining and everything, like a fucking Disney character.

“You’ll live, Ariel,” he murmurs, eyes still trained on the laptop’s screen.

Ariel?” Chris doesn’t quite sound offended, but it’s close. “Why am I Ariel?”

“Fuck Chris, I don’t know.” Seb sighs, tipping his head back to give his stiffening neck a bit of a stretch. He brought this on himself, he supposes. Disney is not a topic to be raised lightly around his significant other. “Pick a different princess then.”

That buys him another few minutes of peace as Chris silently considers his options, and Sebastian is about half-way through his next email when Chris announces, “Merida.”

Seb snorts, tapping the backspace key a few times. “You’re ridiculous,” he replies, not able to help how hopelessly fond and smitten he sounds, and when he finally lets himself glance up in Chris’ direction, the bright, equally smitten expression on Chris’ face feels like a direct hit to whatever’s left of his crumbling willpower.

God. He needs to be wrapped up in that perfect, sunny warmth right the fuck now.

Letting the rest of the unfinished email sit in his drafts folder, Seb shuts the laptop and makes a beeline for the couch, dropping straight onto Chris’ lap.

Chris makes a little ‘oof´ noise at the unexpected weight, grunting out, “fuck, you’re heavy,” as Seb wiggles around, trying to arrange all his limbs comfortably. Despite the complaint Chris doesn’t shove him away, just waits it out while Sebastian gets himself settled, then wraps both arms around him once Seb is finally satisfied that he’s found an optimal cuddle position.

“Alright, let’s do this thing,” Sebastian declares, angled just enough that he can see the TV while still keeping his head rested on Chris’ shoulder.

“Fuck yeah.” Chris, surprisingly enthusiastic given that they’re only about to binge-watch a ten year old political drama, queues up the show and settles back against the couch, one hand absently rubbing up and down Seb’s thigh as the opening scene gets rolling.

It’s that honest enthusiasm for the smallest, simplest things that Sebastian loves most about Chris, he thinks. Or at least that’s one of the reasons, anyway. To compile a list of everything would be practically impossible - there’s just too much to name - especially because there are so many small, simple things about Chris that constantly have an affect on Seb too.

He can look up at any given moment, see the way Chris’ laugh carries through his whole body, glimpse the bright, beautiful warmth in those eyes, or catch the way the light plays over the defined line of that beard-covered jaw, and it’s almost like walking into a brick wall. For a second he’s struck; unable to move or blink or breathe. Caught totally off-guard. Stunned by everything that is Chris Evans.

“Pause the show.” Sebastian doesn’t even realize he’s spoken out loud until the words have already left his mouth and Chris sits up a little straighter, fumbling for the remote with one arm still draped around Seb.

“You okay?” Chris asks, trying to lean back enough to get a good look at Sebastian’s face, but Seb just tucks his head under Chris’ chin, making it pretty much impossible.

“Yeah,” Sebastian breathes against the warm, solid line of his throat. “I just love you. A lot.” Then, before Chris can even reply, he lets his lips close over the nearest patch of smooth skin and sucks. Hard.

Chris makes a very interesting noise - deep and strangled and incredibly appealing - as his head falls back, neck bent at an awkward angle over the back of the couch, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He has exactly four days of downtime left, Sebastian knows. That’s plenty of time for any marks to heal, but maybe, with a little extra pressure and the addition of teeth, he could get in a few hidden bruises that might last Chris a week.

The idea of Chris secretly wearing his hickeys through interviews, photoshoots and red carpets ignites some selfish, possessive base instinct in Sebastian. He wants that; to put a marker on Chris that says this is mine.

It’s an intense feeling, so unexpected it’s almost unnerving at first, but Chris just tips his head back even more, murmuring Seb’s name, and any hesitations Sebastian might’ve had immediately vanish.

He soothes his tongue over the spot, light and gentle, before going back at it with plenty of suction and a hint of scraping teeth.

Chris sucks in a breath, hand instinctively tightening where he’s still gripping Seb’s thigh. “Shit, babe,” his voice already sounds more than a little on the rough side, “you going for blood?”

“Maybe,” Sebastian murmurs, following that up with an actual bite, quick and more teasing than anything, but it still makes Chris give a small, startled jolt so he draws back, redirecting his attention and brushing his mouth along Chris’ jaw instead.

“You don’t...” Chris swallows, one hand coming up to palm the back of Seb’s head, just resting there, “you don’t have to stop.”

“Yeah?” Sebastian hides his growing grin against Chris’ beard-stubbled cheek. He’s gonna have to shave soon for filming, and while Seb absolutely has plans to tease him over the return of the clean-shaven Steve Rogers look, inside he’ll be silently mourning the loss. Chris is undeniably attractive in any way, shape, or form, but they’re both a little partial to the facial hair, and just thinking of the hot scrape of it over his chin, his abs, his ass, gets Seb worked up like nothing else.

Chris uses a bit of pressure now, hand pressing into the back of Sebastian’s head, guiding Seb’s mouth back down in an act of silent consent. He’s working blind though - head still tipped back and eyes dropping half-closed in pleasure - so the angle isn’t quite right and Seb ends up smacking his nose off of Chris’ chin, laughing out a short ‘ow’.

“Fuck, sorry.” Chris’ head shoots up as he winces but there’s laughter in his voice too and now they’re both grinning at each other like idiots and Seb’s not sure who moves first, but in the next instant they’re all over each other.

Chris tries to pull Seb into his lap but Sebastian makes a short noise in protest, shoving at Chris’ shoulders instead, trying to figure out how to get him horizontal without having to tear his mouth away because Chris’ tongue is sliding hotly against his own and it’s wet and obscene and so utterly perfect, Sebastian could happily suffocate like this.

It’s a mess of needy hands and awkward, bumping legs until Chris is turned sideways enough for Seb to nudge him down, barely breaking their kiss as he murmurs against Chris’ mouth, “Want to suck you off.”

Chris groans as his back hits the cushions, voice turning low and thick already. “Jesus.”

Sebastian wastes no time settling over his legs and slipping one hand under Chris’ shirt, resting a palm against the hot skin of his stomach before he leans his weight back down, mouth returning to the side of Chris’ throat.

“Gotta balance it out,” he says, pressing a fleeting kiss to that bruised patch of skin before tipping his head and mouthing at the opposite side, working his teeth over Chris’ neck until it’s sporting a similar dark, purpling mark on the right.

Chris makes a noise that sounds like it’s being pulled from deep in his gut, hands flying up to grip Seb’s sides as his hips shift up in an automatic response to that mix of pleasure-pain. “Ah. Seb -”

There might’ve been more to that sentence but whatever it was is clearly forgotten by Chris as he turns his head to catch Sebastian in a kiss, rough and clumsy and a little desperate.

They both get lost in it for a while, making out while hands roam until Chris shifts again, erection rubbing up against Seb’s thigh, and Sebastian suddenly remembers how he very much wants to get his mouth on that dick.

“Gotta...” he pulls away, breathing hard as fingers fumble at the waist of Chris’ track pants.  Thank god it’s not anything more complicated than a drawstring; he’s too eagerly uncoordinated to manage any combinations of buttons and zippers right now. “Gotta just...” he trails off, brain momentarily blanking when their eyes meet and Sebastian wonders how Chris’ gaze can look so dark and starved and yet dazzlingly brilliant at the same time.

Chris clues in a moment later and helpfully lifts his ass, letting Seb tug off his pants, exposing miles of skin and the flushed, red length of his cock and this...fuck, this is consistently the best damn sight Sebastian’s eyes have ever been blessed with.

He swoops in with no preamble, wrapping lips firmly around the head and swirling his tongue to collect the drop of precome there, and Chris reacts like he’s been just been hit with a live wire, spine arching as he sucks in a sharp, ragged breath.

“Fuck, I love your mouth,” he moans out, one hand blindly reaching down for Seb’s head, eventually finding it and slipping his fingers through the dark strands. The hold is gentle, letting Sebastian set his own pace, though every once in a while his grip will tighten, like he’s actively trying to resist fucking up into Seb’s mouth. Because of course he is - because he’s Chris - and even at a time like this, he’s still trying to think of Seb first. It is, in Sebastian’s opinion, really fucking adorable.

”Lucky for you,” Seb replies a bit breathlessly, pulling off just enough to look up the length of Chris’ body, lips still brushing his cock with every word, “my mouth loves your dick.”

Chris laughs, soft and strained, but it quickly breaks off into a groan when Seb starts kissing a wet line back up the side before closing his mouth over the tip again.

Chris is hot and heavy on his tongue, so perfectly thick and smooth as Seb slides his mouth all the way down, getting into a rhythm now, working up and down with a steady purpose that Chris – very vocally – approves of.

“Oh my god.” He groans, loud enough to make Seb’s lips want to quirk into a pleased grin if they weren’t otherwise occupied at the moment. “Fuck...fuck Seb, you’re so good.”

He’s still entirely too coherent, Sebastian thinks. He wants Chris undone; shaking and panting, unable to offer anything but stumbling profanities and half-formed endearments, so he draws his mouth back and wraps a hand around the head instead, letting his thumb circle and press against the slit while he dips back down, moving even lower now, letting hot breath ghost over sensitive skin as he nuzzles Chris’ balls, then licks a long stripe up the underside of the base of his cock.

That certainly gets him a reaction.

Chris’ hips jerk and a raw, strangled noise instantly follows as he chokes out, “Babe, babe, oh shit...”

“Too much?” Sebastian murmurs against the jut of his hipbone, feathering it with light, little kisses and tracing his tongue over one of the more prominent veins that run low on his pelvis.

“No, no, it’s...” Chris pauses, pulls in a shaking breath, chest rising and falling rapidly, “it’s really fucking nice.”

Nice?” Sebastian teases, both eyebrows lifting.

Chris raises his head enough to look down the plane of his stomach, catching Seb’s eyes. His cheeks are flushed, mouth parted, and he looks so goddamned good it feels like a physical ache burrowing deep in Sebastian’s chest.

“Shut up,” Chris mutters, all affection and no heat. “You’re a fucking pro at this. I deserve credit for being able to talk at all.”

The weight of the compliment warms Sebastian from the inside out, pulling his lips into a smile that he couldn’t hide even if he’d wanted to. It’s an unstoppable impulse, just like the reply that come flowing from his mouth without thought; an exhaled confession of, “You’re incredible.”

The colour on Chris’ cheeks darkens into a blush as his fingers slip to the curve of Seb’s shoulder. Five little pressure points of heat that seem to burn straight through his shirt. “Get up here.”

Sebastian’s mouth opens but nothing comes out, momentarily torn between wanting to obey – stretch up and let Chris devour him - and wanting to argue as his eyes dart back down to glance at Chris’ wet, hard cock. He wants to taste it again, wants to swallow it deep until his nose is pressed into Chris’ stomach and he’s groaning and coming down Seb’s throat.

The promising lure of kisses briefly wins out – Chris’ lips are far too inviting when they’re all red and parted like that – so Sebastian plants a hand on the cushion just under Chris’ armpit and moves up fluidly, mouths colliding, trying to convey the force of their feelings through no words at all.

When his lungs start aching for air, Seb finally breaks away and Chris follows like they’re connected by a thread, leaning up to chase his mouth, so Sebastian relents and presses two more quick kisses to his bottom lip, murmuring, “You’re distracting me.”

“Am I?” Chris’ voice is deep and gravelly, teasing in a way that suddenly makes Sebastian very, very aware of how hard his own cock is, especially when hands start venturing down his back to squeeze his ass, pulling him flush against Chris.  

“Yes,” Seb confirms grumpily, although like this, with his body slotted perfectly with Chris’, it’s hard to feel anything other than deliriously satisfied. “Let me fucking blow you.”

Chris lets loose a warm, rumbling laugh that has Sebastian’s heart giving a weightless little skip in his chest. “Okay, okay. Jesus, you’re demanding.”

“You signed up for this,” Sebastian reminds him playfully, nosing along the underside Chris’ jaw and down his throat. “My demandingness and pro dick-sucking skills go hand in hand. It’s a package deal.”

That makes Chris really crack up, head tilting back and chest shaking under Seb’s weight, and when he’s finally gotten himself halfway composed again, he cranes up and presses a breathless, smiling kiss to Seb’s mouth.

“You’re a fucking dream, you know that?” His lips brush Seb’s with every word, voice draped in a wonder-filled sort of tender affection that only etches Chris’ name even deeper into Sebastian’s heart. “God, I love you.”

How they got here - falling into each others lives so quickly and seamlessly, until these lazy afternoons spent on Chris’ couch, trading shots and kisses and heartfelt words has become effortless, normal, routine - Seb’ll never know, but now that he’s been given something this good, he’s damn well sure that he's never gonna let it go.

Tipping his chin enough to kiss him one more time, warm and slow and thorough, Seb slides his way back down Chris’ half-naked body, intent on showing him just how mutual the feeling really is.



Chapter Text

13. Slowly, dripping from your tongue like honey




In theory, it shouldn’t be a big deal.

Chris has seen Seb do it a million times before: quiet phone conversations with his mom, greeting fans, wearing a patient smile as he indulges curious journalists and talk show hosts.

So when they’re on day three of a con, well into their Q&A panel with Mackie and a cute brunette steps up to the mike, excitedly babbling her question in a fluid, raid-fire language too quick for Chris to understand, and Sebastian lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, all delightedly surprised before he replies in equally fluidic, rich-voiced Romanian, there should be absolutely no reason for Chris’ body to react the way it does.

And yet here he is, fighting the world’s most awkward, poorly timed hard-on in front of a goddamned audience. Because his dick is so fucking enamoured with this guy, he cannot, evidently, control himself enough to sit through a two minute reply spoken in Seb’s native tongue.

Jesus Christ.

Chris stares, completely incapable of doing anything else at the moment, and from the sudden aching tightness in his lungs, he suspects that he’s probably forgotten to breathe for a little while now too.

He can only hope that his face isn’t giving him away because holy fuck, does he ever want to kiss Sebastian right now; just crowd him up against a wall, work his hand down the front of those tight, dark jeans, make him forget all English and -

A laugh ripples through the room, abruptly yanking his attention away from the pornographic daydream playing in his head, and when Chris zones back in he finds Mackie working the crowd like the charming lifesaver he is. God, Chris owes him so much at this point, he’s probably gonna have to name his firstborn after the guy.

No one seems to have noticed the whole impending boner scare though, so at least he’s got that going for him – or rather he had that going for him for all of three glorious seconds until Seb subtly tilts his head in Chris’ direction, eyebrows lifting in silent but obvious question. Concern makes his pale eyes a little darker than normal – more hard slate than soft grey - and an uncooperative hunk of pushed back, Bucky-length hair keeps falling across his forehead.

Chris’ need to kiss him instantly spikes about five thousand percent.

Like a true hopeless meatball, he immediately goes all jumpy and flustered under the weight of that look, fumbling his microphone and finally managing to tuck it under one thigh as he tries to make his face say something Seb’ll hopefully interpret as ‘it’s all good, I’m okay’.

Sebastian’s eyebrows inch up even higher, obviously not buying the load of shit Chris is selling, and somehow in the span of those five seconds of eye contact, he’s able to convey a message that very clearly says I know you’re lying and I’m worried and we’re gonna talk about this later. It’d be pretty damn impressive if Chris wasn’t so busy fighting an internal war between trepidation and being really fucking turned on.

He’s a professional, goddammit, why can’t he at least act like he’s playing it cool?

The rest of the panel passes in an indistinct blur of sweaty palms and slightly strained laughter as he tries to maintain some sense of focus and not fuck up any of his answers too badly, and when Chris finally returns to his hotel room after bowing out of a late dinner with the rest of the crew, he collapses onto the bed with a miserable groan.

He isn’t normally one to turn down a night of burgers and beer and shooting the shit, but he feels too drawn in on himself right now, heavy and hollowed out all at once, mind too full and chest too tight. Thankfully Mackie’d only clapped him on the shoulder and waved him off with an assurance of ‘no worries, man’. No questions asked. Saving his ass yet again. It’s just another mark on the mile-long list of shit Chris owes the guy.

Burying his face in the nearest pillow, he wallows on the bed a little longer, wondering exactly how much of a dumbass he made of himself today before reluctantly gathering himself up and rolling off the mattress, moving his one-man pity party into the shower.

It’s not until he’s standing under the hot, steady spray that the full implications of his actions finally hit him: he got really fucking careless out there.

Every time he stared at Seb a little too long, flushed a little too easily, touched with a little too much familiarity, he nudged them – their relationship – one step closer to the spotlight, skirting the edge of exposure.

And that, Chris thinks, is the worst part of all. He didn’t just put himself at risk, he jeopardized Sebastian. Chris could have let everything slip without having ever given Seb any warning, any say in the matter at all.


He is the world’s biggest fucking moron.

With renewed purpose, he towels off quickly, throws on the nearest semi-clean pair of sweatpants, and goes searching through the pockets of his discarded clothes until he finds his phone, intending to send Seb some version of ‘I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, we should talk’, but before he can even thumb open his texts, there’s a soft knock on the door.

Like his body can sense who it is (honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if there was some sort of innate Sebastian awareness factor hardwired into his DNA), Chris stumbles up from where he’s still crouched over his suitcase, heart beating a half-step quicker as he swallows back the weird rising feeling in his throat, nerves and regret churning together in the pit of his stomach until he feels a little sick.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says the minute he pulls the door open, revealing a Seb who’s still dressed in those tight black jeans and a v-neck tee that shows off way more throat and bicep than Chris feels capable of handling at the moment, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding what looks like a bag of takeout.

Seb’s brow furrows as he steps into the room, dropping the bag on the table and toeing off his sneakers. “Sorry for what? I brought food, by the way. Heard you decided to skip out on dinner.”

“Yeah.” Chris clears his throat, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Not real hungry. Thanks though.”

He doesn’t look up from the carpet until he feels the mattress dip beside him as Sebastian sits, leaning in to gently bump his shoulder against Chris’. “Hey, talk to me. You’ve been a Tough day?”

Seb’s voice is pitched soft, face so open with concern, Chris feels all the bubbling emotion in his chest come to a head as he blurts, “Fuck, I don’t deserve you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Seb frowns, shifting until he’s facing Chris a little more directly. In the new position his knee digs into Chris’ thigh and Chris focuses on that warm point of contact, using it as a tether to keep himself from sinking too far into his own head again because right now, it’s a goddamned zoo of hypercritical panic in there.

“Today,” he tries to explain, hoping his brain and mouth will sync up enough for any of this to make sense, “at the panel. God, I’m such an idiot. I wasn’t careful enough. Couldn’t stop staring at you like you were the centre of my goddamn universe, and fuck, if someone saw...”

“Chris.” Seb curls a hand around his forearm, squeezing reassuringly. “You were fine. I’m sure no one even noticed.”

“You did,” Chris points out, still guilt-ridden.

“Well, yeah,” Seb admits with a small, lopsided grin, “that’s only because I always notice you. I do kind of love you, y’know. Comes with the job.”

Chris tries to smile, but it feels unnaturally stiff. “I’m sorry,” he says again, because once he gets into an ‘I fucked up’ mindframe, it’s kinda hard to pull himself out. “You should be out with the others, having a good time. Not looking after my sorry ass.”

“Shut up.” Chris can practically hear the exaggerated eye roll in those words as Seb angles closer, leaning back into his side. “I’m right where I want to be.”

At that, some of the tightness in his stomach dissipates and Chris turns his face into Seb’s hair, breathing him in. It has a slightly unnatural, chemical kind of smell from whatever styling shit he’d put in it earlier that morning, but underneath there’s still a faint, familiar note that’s all Sebastian. Like a little piece of home that stays with him no matter where he goes. It’s a small, unexpected comfort that instantly helps to calm the noise in Chris’ head and he sighs, soft, dark strands tickling his nose.

“Too good to me,” he murmurs absently, feeling the hand on his forearm squeeze a little tighter as he nuzzles along Seb’s temple.

“Chris.” Seb’s voice is barely more than a murmur as he moves into the touch, tipping his head back onto Chris’ shoulder enough to expose his throat, inviting Chris to keep going, so he does.

He presses lips to Seb’s cheek, his jaw, and then down to the warm, tanned skin of his neck, and when Sebastian moans soft and quiet, Chris lets his lips part, kisses wet and open-mouthed now, tongue darting out to taste skin.

“You’re not -” Seb pauses, swallows roughly under the heat of Chris’ mouth, “you’re not the only one who has a hard time with this. Sometimes I look at you and I takes everything I have not to kiss you.”

“It was that girl with the dark hair,” Chris confesses, letting out a brief chuckle against his neck that makes Seb shiver. “You started answering her in Romanian and shit, babe, I wanted to fuckin’ jump you right then and there.”

“Oh.” Sebastian’s face splits into the kind of grin that promises all kinds of wonderful impending torture for Chris’ dick. “You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, pulse picking up because Seb is already rising up onto his knees, splaying fingers wide over Chris’ heart and pushing gently, encouraging him to recline.

As soon as his back hits the mattress Seb’s on him, working lips across Chris’ collarbone, tongue dipping hotly into the hollow at the base of his throat.

"Te doresc,” Sebastian murmurs before moving lower to mouth over his nipple, flicking his eyes back up to watch Chris’ face, clearly interested in seeing his reaction.

And god, the sight of him like this - those low, accented words, the way he can feel Sebastian’s half-hidden grin pressing warmly into his chest - it all shoots straight to Chris’ cock until he’s rock hard and struggling to breathe. “Shit, Seb.”

Sebastian hums in reply, mouth hot and wet as he sucks marks over Chris’ pecs, down to his belly and across his ribs, one hand planted on the mattress for balance while the other journeys down to tuck into the waistband of Chris’ sweats.

God,” he groans, squirming when Seb’s fingers tease over the base of his cock; light, fleeing touches that’re gonna make him lose his mind. “Fuck. C’mon, babe.”

One hand still teasing, Sebastian stretches up the length of Chris’ body, kissing him slow and long before he pulls back just enough to breathe against his lips, “Fii răbdător, iubi.”

Chris bites back a string of profanities, shoving his hips up against Seb’s hand, desperate for any kind of relief because holy fuck, whatever Seb just said, his dick wholeheartedly approves.

“For all I know,” he says, panting, “you could be insulting my mom right now.”

“I love your mom.” Sebastian grins, pecking him on the lips again. “And I’m definitely not about to bring her up while my hand’s down your pants.”

“Thank god.” Chris pushes his palms up under Seb’s t-shirt and tilts his head to nuzzle at the smooth, warm underneath his jaw, eliciting a soft noise of pleasure as Seb ducks his head and meets Chris for another kiss.

“Don’t know if you noticed,” Chris murmurs when they part, “but you’re still very inconveniently clothed.”

Seb laughs, sitting up long enough to peel off everything in one go, and Chris can’t help but slip his own hand down as a weak replacement for Seb’s as he takes in the flex of muscles in Sebastian’s back, the way he has to practically wrench those fucking jeans off his hips, revealing the hardening outline of his erection straining up against black boxer briefs.

When Seb notices that he’s started up his own lazy handjob, he climbs back on the bed, swatting Chris’ hand out of the way with one of those slow, unfurling smirks that are so fucking sexy, something hitches in Chris’ chest until it feels like he might just be dying a little.

“Don’t start without me,” Seb murmurs, licking his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth and yeah, death, that’s a thing that’s gonna happen real soon.

“Fucking hell,” Chris breathes, hands finding Seb’s hips and pulling him down, encouraging him to grind against his cock. It would be even better without his pants in the way, but right now the weight and pressure and steady heat of Seb on top of him feels too good to stop, even if only for a minute.

One particularly well-timed roll of his hips has Seb’s head dropping back, groaning as his eyes flutter shut, and fuck, that does it. Chris needs to get naked right the hell now before he comes in his last clean pair of sweats.

He sits up with a slow, exaggerated lean, giving Seb a little warning so he can brace himself before Chris rolls them over completely, trying to fumble out of his sweats one-handed as the other holds his weight up. Because standing up and pushing his pants down like a rational human being is nowhere near an option right now, not with the way Seb is watching him with half-lidded grey eyes, one arm hooked up over Chris’ shoulder and thumb running back and forth across the nape of his neck.

It takes way too long to divest himself of those fucking pants but the minute he finally aligns his bare cock with Seb’s, it’s all worth it. And then some.

It’s all heated skin and hard friction as they grind against each other, eyes locked and moving so flawlessly in sync, Chris can already feel it: a note of frantic desperation building in the air like static shock, and he knows without a doubt that this is gonna be some fucking monumental sex.

Seb pulls in a quiet, sharp breath, head pushing back into the pillow as he makes a face that’s caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. “Gotta tell me what you want to do,” he pants, hips rolling up rhythmically to meet Chris’, “or else I’m gonna come like this.”

“Fuck, babe.” Chris groans, dropping his forehead to Seb’s shoulder as he struggles to formulate some kind of game plan, trying to get his stuck brain moving past its current, repetitive loop of just how incredibly hot that confession was.

A part of him really wants to make Seb come from this alone, while the other half...jesus, it’s kind of embarrassing what the other half is thinking right now, but his dick’s still so fucking gone on the memory of Seb talking to that fan, of him murmuring low, liquid words into Chris’ ear as he’d shoved him down onto the mattress...

“Wanna ride you,” Chris murmurs before embarrassment can threaten to hold him back. He takes a breath, feels heat rising in his face but barrels on anyway, “and I want you to tell me what to do. How you want it. In Romanian.”

“Oh my god,” Seb says, looking at Chris like he’s some kind of incomprehensible, divine being. Then he repeats it twice more, once in English and the other in what Chris deduces is the Romanian he’s been so fucking keen to hear more of.

“Yeah?” Braver now, Chris dares to make direct eye contact as he rolls his hips once more for good measure.

Seb’s eyes briefly go closed and a soft little groan catches in his throat. “Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “D’you still have...?”

“On the table.” Chris dips down to kiss below his ear before shuffling to the edge of the bed on his knees, retrieving the bottle of lube from the mess of crap on the side table where it’d been abandoned last night after they’d tried to start something but wound up being too exhausted to manage much more than a couple aborted, half-asleep attempts at a handjob.

“How do you want, um...” Properly equipped and back at Sebastian’s side, Chris does some weird, awkward thing with his hands, trying to gesture to himself and the lube he’s holding all at once.

Seb makes a small noise of amusement, wriggling up into a half-sitting position against the headboard. “C’mere. Let me open you up,” he says, much to Chris’ relief.

They’ve only done this a handful of times, and while Chris has already shed a good chunk of his initial shyness over bottoming, he still feels like a flailing, uneducated moron more often than not.

“Lay down,” Seb murmurs, fingers curling around Chris’ bicep as he tugs him down until they’re face to face, Chris on his back and Seb rolled over onto one hip, plastered up against Chris’ side. He slides fingers up through Chris’ hair – shorter and blonde now – before tugging a little, urging Chris to angle his head until their lips can meet.

Chris hums at the pressure, automatically bringing a hand up to cup Seb’s jaw. His lips are warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly like coffee mingled with peppermint. It’s the best fucking thing Chris has ever tasted. God, he could do nothing but kiss Seb for hours – days, even – but right now, he’s got bigger plans.

“C’mon,” he breathes once they’ve broken apart for air. “Want you to fuck me.”

Seb moans lowly, pressing his forehead to Chris’ as his eyes go dark, pupils blown wide with want. “God. Yeah, okay. Okay.”

He seems a little disoriented for a moment, leaning half way over Chris but then just kind of stopping there to blink down at him, like he’s torn between sitting up enough to reach for the lube and staying right where he is so he can continue to take Chris apart with those long, deep kisses.

Chris would be lying if he said that unfocused, sex-drunk look didn’t do some frankly intense shit to his brain and dick because goddamn. It’s times like these that he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that he can affect Seb like this; that out of all the people out there, Seb wants him.  It’s a kind of pure, poignant high he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before - and will never find anywhere else but with Sebastian.

“Fuck, c’mon babe, please, please, need you so fucking bad -” he doesn’t realize he’s literally begging out loud until he feels cool, lube-slicked fingers slide down his crease and Chris’ mouth drops open in a soft, low-pitched whine that he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about because fuck yes, that’s it - the slow stretch and burn that he’s been craving, the need to be filled and full until his brain shuts off and the only thing that matters – that exists - is Seb.

“I’ve got you,” Seb soothes, craning up to feather kisses on the corner of Chris’ mouth, his cheek, and down to the underside of his jaw. “God Chris, you have no look so fucking good like this.”

Panting, Chris feels a second finger join the first, pressing in a little firmer and quicker than before, like Seb’s struggling to control his pace, just as eager for this as Chris is.

“ ‘m ready,” he says once he’s fully adjusted and the faint ache turns into an easy, painless glide.

Normally Seb would argue, makes him wait it out and take a full three fingers until Chris is groaning and swearing at him, but now he just nods, breathing a little quicker, a little louder, as he presses kisses along the smooth line of Chris’ jaw.

Fuck, he really is just as impatient then.

That knowledge travels straight to Chris’ dick and it takes everything he has not to physically whine when Seb’s wrist bumps up against the underside of his cock as he draws his hand away.    

“Up, on your knees,” Seb instructs, voice quiet and rough in a way that does absolutely nothing to help Chris keep a leash on his steadily declining self-control.

Jaw clenched, he sits up carefully, extra mindful of his erection as he tries not to let it so much as brush the mattress, favouring it like it’s made of glass because jesus, he can’t come before Seb’s dick is even in him. He’d never live it down.

He watches, spellbound and a little (fuck it, a lot) dumb as Seb pushes himself up against the headboard and goes back for the lube, legs spread comfortably as he starts slicking himself up, and that...that’s an image Chris is never gonna get tired of seeing.

“C’mon,” Seb finally says, slightly breathless from the work of his hand as he tosses the bottle aside and leans his head back, fist still lazily pumping his cock as he trails eyes slowly over Chris, tongue sneaking out to wet his bottom lip while he’s at it.

Holy fucking hell.

That’s all the invitation Chris needs and he immediately gets to situating himself in Seb’s lap, straddling his thighs and automatically cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s hard and hot and impatient, just like every other part of him right now, and by the time they break apart they’re both panting, hands bumping as they both reach eagerly for Seb’s cock, shifting and aligning and then...and then -

That first press in is like the release of a breath Chris didn’t even realize he’d been holding. God, yes. This is everything he’s needed, the opportunity to ease up on that ever-present white-knuckle grip of the world around him, relinquish control without fear, trusting Seb to take him apart piece by piece because he knows that, when it’s all over, when whispered words and warm, steady hands are slowly rebuilding him, he’ll be calmer, lighter, exactly where he needs to be.

He makes a rough, satisfied noise as he sinks all the way down, staying there for a minute, eyes closed as Seb’s fingers flex hard on his hips, breath coming loud and quick and warm against his ear.

Fuck,” Seb says eloquently, and yeah, that about sums it up.

Chris takes two more breaths, reopens his eyes and grins, dopey and dick-drunk. “Directions,” he murmurs the reminder, rubbing his nose along Seb’s cheek. “Want you to tell me what to do.”

Sebastian takes a shaky breath, voice hoarse as he confirms, “Yeah, okay, um...mișcă-te? Can you... ah...move?”

With a low, warm rumble of laughter brewing in his chest, Chris angles his head and kisses him again, just because he can.  “Tell me,” he mumbles against Seb’s mouth, “don’t ask me.”

Swearing under his breath, Seb nips at his bottom lip, drawing him back in for one more quick, hard kiss. "Mișcă-te." His voice is still breathless but now it’s firmer, more sure of itself. “Move for me.”

And if there’s one thing Chris’ sex-dazed brain is still capable of doing, it’s that.

It takes him a few tries to find a coordinated rhythm but then he’s falling into it; an easily, fluid roll of his body that leaves Seb gasping as he snaps his hips up to meet him.

Chris slides one hand through Seb’s hair, clenching at the nape of his neck and tugging enough to tip his head back, because the contrast between those red, parted lips and the sharp cut of his jawbone is so fucking hot, Chris’ eyes can never get enough of it. It makes him wish he was a more eloquent man; he would write fucking sonnets about that face.

“Mai mult,” Sebastian chokes out, eyes fluttering shut when Chris tugs a little harder, forcing him to bare his throat and drawing a low groan from deep in Seb’s chest. “Ah – oh fuck, yes. More. Please.”

Chris picks up the pace, thighs starting to burn a bit now but the exertion barely even registers. He’s too focused in on the look on Seb’s face, the quiet little grunts and gasps he’s making with every steady roll of Chris’ hips. He wants to hear more, make Seb tense and moan and dig his fingers in until it bruises.

“So fuckin’ hot,” he pants against Seb’s ear, “god, you feel perfect.”

Sebastian groans again, palming Chris’ ass with both hands as he moves. “Want...oh fuck.” His voice is breathless, a little unsteady, and, in Chris’ opinion, a whole damn lot sexy. “Get on your knees. În genunchii.”

Chris swears under his breath, shakily maneuvering his way off Seb’s lap because an order like that only means one thing: he’s about to get it real fucking good.

On hands and knees he presses his forehead into the mattress, half-dazed and dizzy with arousal already, and when Seb’s hands close around his waist, literally dragging him closer to the edge of the bed, Chris makes a throaty, involuntary noise of approval. Christ, who knew getting manhandled like he weighs fucking nothing could be so insanely hot?

Seb chuckles at that, weak and a little strained, before he nudges Chris’ knees wider apart and slides back in with one steady, firm press of his hips.

“God,” he chokes out, fingers biting into the skin of Chris’ waist as he bottoms out, “atât de strâmt. Fuck, Chris.”

Chris wets his lips, croaking out a faint reply of, “Yeah.” He has no idea what he’s agreeing with, but judging from the fucking gorgeous little pained sounds Seb’s making as he rocks into him, it must be something pretty damn great.

Panting, he eagerly presses back to meet each of Seb’s thrusts, relishing in that hard pace, the hot stretch and glide that makes the base of his spine tingle and light up with white-hot sparks of delight.

“Fucking – ah – oh, jesus.” Chris grabs fistfuls of the sheets, struggling to get his mouth to work properly. “Gonna...gonna come soon,” he finally gets out, voice low and tight.

He’s sure Seb heard the warning but he doesn’t let up any, instead leaning over to mold himself to Chris’ back and Jesus Christ, Sebastian feels like a fucking furnace; all hard, burning heat that seems to come off his chest in staggering waves.

Chris groans at the feeling, gasping out, “ah, babe,” when one arm locks around his chest, keeping them flush - Seb’s chest pressed tight to Chris’ back - and he barely has time to regain his breath before Seb’s suddenly leaning back, hauling Chris up onto his knees, never breaking pace as he fucks up into him at a new angle, hitting his prostate relentlessly, and just like that, Chris ceases to be a living, breathing person. He’s only feeling; raw and intense and entirely mind-blowing.

Mouth hot against his ear, Sebastian whispers lowly, like warm, dripping honey, “Te iubesc,” and Chris can’t even get a hand down to his aching dick before he’s coming, so hard and all-encompassing, all he can do is lean back and let Seb hold him up, muscles trembling, air punched from his lungs as he gasps with no sound.

Holy shit.

Distantly, he feels the moment Seb tenses up, buries his face in the sweaty curve of Chris’ neck and comes with his own broken noise, managing two more rough, erratic thrusts before he lets up on his hold on Chris and they collapse into a spent, sweaty pile on the mattress.  

“Wow,” Chris says, breathing hard and waiting for his brain to finally come back online. “”

Next to him, Seb snorts, half his face pressed into the bed as he reaches out to run an unsteady hand over Chris’ fucked up hair.

They stay in bed afterwards, pressed hip-to-hip and scarfing down the now-cold contents of Seb’s take-out bag.

Currently, Sebastian is gesturing with a half-eaten fry as he relays the story of a fan who’d gone impressively above and beyond in the cosplay department, and Chris instinctively leans in a little closer, relaxed and content and truly at ease for what feels like the first times in hours.

He’s finally centered again; head, lungs and stomach all slipping back into comfortable, functioning alignment because he’s got cold French fries and the fuzzy afterglow of a fucking amazing orgasm and the best guy in the whole damn world sitting next to him.

So yeah. He’s good.

He’s really, really good.


Chapter Text

  1. Through actions, not words

Or: 5 times Chris says ‘I love you’ without words, and one time Seb gets him back.





Sebastian wakes up to an empty bed.

This isn’t all that unusual of an occurrence; between the two of them Chris has always been the earlier riser, but he’s also a pretty avid snuggle enthusiast, never passing up an opportunity to engage in a little warm and cuddly early morning action unless Seb physically shoves his handsy ass out of bed.

So the fact that Sebastian can’t even feel any leftover body heat emanating from Chris’ empty side of the mattress is suspicious, to say the least.

Still burrowed deep under the comforter, Seb soaks up a little more blanket-soft heat before rolling out of bed with a reluctant groan, reaching for the first pair of sweatpants he sees and pulling them on as he slowly shuffles his way into the bathroom.

His hair’s a hopeless cause so he ignores it for the time being, but he does take a few minutes to splash some water on his face, trying to make himself look a little more alive than he feels before continuing his sleep-groggy journey down the hall towards the kitchen, beckoned by the promising smell of coffee.

At the doorway Seb pauses and rubs a hand over his uncooperative bed head, smiling when he sees what his absent bedmate’s been up to.

Chris is standing at the stove, frowning down at a frying pan while absently scratching his chest, opposite hand equipped with a bright red plastic spatula. He’s not really dressed apart from boxers and a white t-shirt that clings to absolutely everything, and Seb takes a moment to deeply appreciate that shoulder/waist ratio before moving in, going straight for that broad, muscled back.

“Hey,” he murmurs, getting all up in Chris’ business, propping his chin on Chris’ shoulder and sliding arms around his waist.

“Morning.” Chris leans back into him, letting Seb leech some of his body heat.

Sebastian makes an appreciative noise, planting a kiss on the beard-bristled side of Chris’ jaw before eyeing whatever’s going on in that frying pan. “What’s that?”

 “It was supposed to be a frittata,” Chris’ frown deepens as he pokes at the soupy mixture of egg and cheese and veggies with the edge of his spatula, “but I’m pretty sure I fucked it up.”

“Hmm.” Seb tucks himself in closer, feeling like he could fall back asleep standing up thanks to the comfortable rumble of Chris’ voice, the familiar smell of his shirt and the solid, sturdy warmth of his back. “Think you’re supposed to bake it.”

Chris’ eyebrows pull together in response. “Ah, fuck.”

“Just scramble it instead. It’ll be fine,” Seb suggests. “What were you trying to make a frittata for anyway?”

It’s no secret that, of the two of them, Seb was definitely blessed with the superior culinary skills. That isn’t to say that Chris is hopeless in the kitchen – he can manage a pretty respectable range of bachelor dude-type foods like chili and grilled cheeses - but when it comes to anything requiring a little extra finesse, it’s usually Seb behind the food-prep wheel.

 “Wanted to surprise you,” Chris says, grinning a little as he jokingly adds, “burnt on the bottom and raw in the middle, just the way you like it.”

Sebastian laughs, tightening his arms around Chris’ waist. “What’s the occasion? Shit, it’s not our anniversary or something, is it?” He freezes for a brief, panic-filled second, quickly wracking his brain for any important event he might’ve forgotten.

“Nah.” Chris’ grin widens as he angles his head to look back at Seb. “If it was, I’d’ve woken you up with a blowjob, not eggs.”

Seb snorts, letting his own grin press into the top of Chris’ shoulder blade. “Spoken like a true romantic.”

Chris chuckles at that, evidently giving up on his dreams of frittata perfection in favour of following Seb’s advice and dragging his spatula through the soggy yellow mess, mixing everything up. “Just felt like doing something special for you,” he says with as much of a shrug as he can manage given how Sebastian is still fully plastered up against his back.

Making a little ‘aww’ sound, Seb reaches up to ruffle Chris’ hair. “You’re sweet,” he says lightly, finally pulling away to grab some much needed caffeine, but on the inside, his heart feels like just as much of a warm, gooey puddle as Chris’ failed frittata.



“You’re wearing that?” Chris’ classic twin ‘I’m concerned’ lines make an appearance between his eyebrows as he looks Seb over from top to bottom. “Babe, you’re gonna freeze.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sebastian insists, zipping up the front of his black leather jacket before jamming his hands into the impractical but stylish too-small, too-high pockets. “See? Toasty.”

The look Chris shoots him can only be described as A Look, so dry and plainly skeptical, Seb half expects the window pane behind him to crack from the sheer deadpanned force of it.

They’re currently fucking around in the entryway of Chris’ place in Boston, getting ready to run out for dinner, and sure it’s a little on the brisk side this time of year but from the way Chris is stressing, you’d think they were preparing to hike through the Arctic, not wander four blocks over for Thai food.

“You don’t have gloves,” Chris points out dubiously. “Or a hat. Or a scarf – hey, why don’t you have a scarf? You always have a scarf. You’re like, the scarf guy.”

Sebastian only shrugs, seeing no point in trying to defend himself. Sometimes, he’s learned, it’s easier to just shut up and let Chris fuss over him until he’s satisfied.

“Hang on,” Chris directs, already turning around to open the closet door again, “I’ve got extra stuff.” His voice is muffled as he attempts to wedge about two-thirds of his upper body into the tiny space, rooting around inside.

“I really am fine,” Seb tries one last time, but as expected, Chris ignores him.

“Fuck, where are all my hats?” Chris mutters, eventually straightening back up and angling his shoulders as he works to un-wedge himself.  “Okay. Here.” He passes Seb a blue ball cap, grey plaid scarf, and an entire collection of randomly mismatched gloves.  

Seb rolls his eyes but accepts the offered heap. “You didn’t have to,” he says, setting the glove pile aside and starting to wind the scarf around his neck.  

“I know,” Chris easily agrees, plopping his own hat onto his head, “but you hate the cold and it takes for fucking ever before your fingers warm back up.”

Sebastian softens at that, half-grin just visible over the dark wool of the scarf. It smells faintly like Chris’ aftershave, warm and familiar. Seb kind of never wants to take it off.

“Thanks,” he says, bumping his shoulder gently against Chris’.

“Hey, I’m the one who has to deal with your fuckin’ ice cube hands and feet all over me in bed. I’m just looking out for myself,” Chris replies, pulling one of those crazy faces that says he’s trying (and mostly failing) to keep from laughing at his own joke.

God, he’s such a dope. A beautiful, thoughtful, ridiculous dope. Sebastian is so in love, it’s unreal.

“Oh, I see how it is.” He laughs, giving Chris a half-hearted push towards the door, but Chris grabs a handful of Seb’s jacket at the last second, reeling him in until their chests bump together.

“Every man for himself,” Chris confirms with that bright, goofy smile. “Gotta look out for number one.”

Sebastian snorts, sliding one now-gloved hand into Chris’ and giving it a squeeze. “Come on,” he replies, steering Chris towards the door, “buy me some spring rolls, asshole.”



“You’re fucking crazy, have I told you that?”

“Hello to you too,” Chris greets, grin evident in the tone of his voice. “You got it?”

Sebastian smiles on instinct and tucks the phone tighter against his ear, using the other hand to flip open the little note card that’d come with his surprise delivery earlier that morning, rereading the scrawled message for approximately the thirty-eighth time.

You give my heart a boner.

Attached to an Edible Arrangement. Because apparently this is his life now; absences and distances supplemented with declarations of heart boners and artfully organized fruit bouquets.

“Yeah,” he confirms, plucking a grape off one of the skewers and trying not to choke as he simultaneously chews and smiles like an enormous idiot. “You realize this thing is like three-quarters banana, right?”

“I know!” Chris says through the phone, sounding enthusiastically delighted by that particular detail. “They don’t normally make ‘em that way. I had to put in a special request and – okay – fuck, hang on – I’m gonna call you back on Skype.”

“Skype?” Seb echoes with a lift of his eyebrows, teasing, “babe, the only people who use Skype anymore are grandpas and businessmen.”

“Ha. Joke’s on you ‘cause I’m both,” Chris retorts, making Seb automatically crack up.

What a fucking dweeb. Sebastian misses the hell out of him.

It’s getting harder, these separations. The longer they’re together the more it hurts to be apart, Seb finds. He’s been seriously missing that face for the better part of three weeks now, so once he finally gets some of his breath back, he murmurs a quick goodbye before hanging up, and five seconds later, his phone is lighting up with an incoming Facetime call.

Fondly rolling his eyes, Seb answers.

“Hey you.” Chris grins through the screen, situated on the middle of his couch in L.A., and Seb’s stomach automatically swoops on sight. 

“Hey,” Seb replies, tone softening with affection as he settles in on the too-small love seat in his hotel suite. “So where’s your Skype now, Mister Big Talk?”

“It’s this new phone!” Chris exclaims, laughing, looking comfortable and happy and so beautiful it hurts. “I can’t find the fucking app!”

Seb cracks up all over again, heart aching with how much he wants to kiss him right now. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Watch it, pal,” Chris warns jokingly, “don’t bite the hand that feeds you bananas. All the bananas.”

“So many bananas.” Seb glances back to the arrangement he’d left on the desk by the door, grin tugging at his lips. “Can I ask why?”

Chris leans forward, elbows on his knees as his face gets huge, taking up all of Seb’s screen. “Babe,” he says seriously. “Chocolate covered bananas. It’s the most phallic fruit.”

Sebastian blinks, tries to process that, and bursts out laughing.

“What!?” He can barely get the word out, too busy cackling as he collapses against the arm of the love seat, nearly dropping his phone in the process. “Oh my god. Chris.”

“I gotta-” Chris’ words get lost in his own fit of laughter before he stops and tries to start again, voice going a little strangled as he struggles to keep it together, “gotta remind you of what’s waiting for you back home.”

“Oh my god,” Seb repeats, reaching up to wipe some of the stray tears from his eyes, whole body full and warm and stupidly, absurdly happy as he balances his phone on one knee, grinning down at his perfectly ridiculous other half.

Back home.

He can’t wait to get there.



“Oh fuck.” Sebastian is panting, sweaty and strung-out and about to come any damn second, but Chris still won’t put his fucking dick in Seb’s ass. “Please. God, Chris, you’ve gotta-” he breaks off into a groan when Chris traces his tongue teasingly around his rim. “Ahh. Fuck me already. Please.”

“Nope,” Chris says, sounding happy and breathless as he pulls his mouth back from Seb’s ass, nosing along his tailbone. “Gonna make you come twice. Once like this, then with my cock.”

“Nooo.” It sounds more like a ‘holy shit, yes’ with the way Seb ends up moaning it, but still, it gets his point across. God, he’s going to be so fucking wrecked by the time they’re done. He wants it and dreads it all at once.

That response has Chris pausing briefly, thumbs rubbing circles into Seb’s hipbones as he holds him in place, knees and elbows planted firmly in the mattress and ass up, presented like a gift for Chris’ mouth. “Is that a yes no or a no no?”

“It’s a ‘yes but I’m gonna curse you out the entire time’,” Sebastian gripes, pressing his forehead harder into the mattress when he feels Chris lean back in with a low chuckle, breath hot across his skin, making him shiver.   

What he did to deserve this glorious torture is beyond him; apparently Chris is just in one hell of a giving mood, and if the results of that are an afternoon of bone-meltingly good sex, then Sebastian won’t complain. Much.

He moans again when Chris gets back to it, tongue just barely dipping in and out with shallow flicks that have Seb practically vibrating out of his skin with needy desperation. The sensation is so much, but he needs more, dammit.

“C’mon,” he groans, thrusting back against Chris’ mouth, trying to encourage him to go deeper. “Chris, just...fuck. Your fingers,” it’s a pleading request now, but Seb doesn’t even care, “please, you’ve gotta give me fucking something.”

“No,” Chris says again, firmer and deeper now in a way that makes Seb’s already aching dick throb even more insistently, “and,” he adds when he catches Sebastian’s hand trying to sneakily inch its way down between his body and the mattress, “you’re not gonna touch yourself.”

“God,” Seb chokes out, fingers curling in the sheets as he fights to follow Chris’ order. As much as he loves bumbling, big-hearted Chris, there’s something about this authoritative, sex-confident side that surfaces in moments like these that pushes absolutely all the right buttons for Sebastian. 

Seemingly satisfied with Seb’s attempt to comply, Chris presses a quick, fleeting kiss to the curve of his spine before getting back to business.

There’s no teasing this time - thank God - and a long, low groan slips from Seb’s lips when Chris starts curling his tongue each time he fucks back out, catching on his rim and adding that little extra bit of stretch that sends a jolt of intense heat through Sebastian’s whole body, making his abs contract and bones start to quiver, threatening to liquefy altogether from the combined pleasure and relief.

Ah, fuck...” He squeezes his eyes shut, grinding back, chasing the feeling as Chris thrusts his tongue in deep. Fucking finally. “Gonna come.”

“Yeah.” Chris is breathing hard, sounding thoroughly turned on as he dips lower to mouth over his perineum, alternating between licking and sucking before working his way back up and pushing his tongue back in. It’s wet and messy and so good it’s beyond words, reducing Seb to a shaking, panting mess as he rocks back into it, searching out that little bit more that’ll finally push him over the edge.

“Jesus,” Chris murmurs, all rough and unbearably sexy, making Sebastian’s next moan catch and hitch in his chest. “Fuck, you’re so good. Come on, babe. I got ya.”

In the end, Seb comes a grand total of three times, is pretty sure his soul actually leaves his body at one point, and subsequently has one of the best damn naps of his entire life.

It’s certainly not the worst way to spend a Saturday.




Sebastian’s mood has always had a direct correlation to the weather. So it’s on days like these - damp and drizzling under a sky that’s a depressingly flat sheet of somber, cold grey – that he finds himself a little rougher around the edges than usual. Cranky and tired and sullen.

Digging himself further under the warm duvet, he gives a melodramatic sigh, though unfortunately there’s no one around to witness it.

That’s another problem: Chris has been away all week, and Seb is acutely feeling the withdrawal. He’s finally due back in a couple hours, but with the weather Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if he’s delayed by at least an extra thirty minutes or so.

So when keys jingle in the door three hours later, Sebastian pops up from his cave of blankets like a disoriented meerkat, roused from that strange, in-between state where sleep mingles with consciousness.

By the time he manages to extricate his legs from the crazy tangle of sheets, Chris is already calling out his name from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Seb half-shouts back to him, swearing when he smacks his shin off the corner of the side table, still a little groggy as he searches around for his discarded shirt and pants.

Dammit, where did his sweats go?

Giving up on entirely on clothes (it’s not like Chris will be disappointed by Seb showing up in nothing but underwear anyway), he drags a hand through his fluffed-up hair and shuffles down the hall.

Sure enough, Chris is still in the kitchen, half bent over the island and dicking around with a tray of take-out coffees and plain white bakery-style box. There’s still the damp shine of raindrops in his hair and his nose is a little red from the cold. He looks like the best damn thing Seb’s seen all week.

“You’re early,” Sebastian says, grinning when Chris whirls around and greets him with an equally wide, happy smile.

“Made good time,” he replies, abandoning his purchases and opening his arms for Seb to walk into.

Sebastian does, letting Chris wrap him up in a big bear hug, tucking his nose into Chris’ neck and breathing him in.

God, he missed this.

When they pull apart it’s only an inch or two, just far enough to be able to kiss properly, long and sweet but still done all too soon for Seb’s liking.

As if sensing his disappointment, Chris kisses him twice more before tightening his arms around Seb’s back, eyes impossibly bright and blue as he leans in to touch their noses together.

“Hi,” he whispers, grinning.

“Hi,” Seb breathes back, unable to look away from the depth of swirling colour in those eyes.

“I brought you coffee,” Chris murmurs, hands roaming sure and familiar over Seb’s bare back, fingers still slightly chilled from the outside air, making Seb shiver, “and turnovers from that bakery you like.”

“Mmm.” Sebastian sneaks his own hands up the hem of Chris’ shirt, resting palms flat on Chris’ stomach so he can feel it subtly move against him with each breath in and out. “Missed you.”

Chris raises a skeptical, teasing eyebrow. “Missed me or my tendency to bring you caffeine and baked goods?”

Biting his lip as he smiles, Seb curls his fingers, nails pressing into skin before he drags them down the flat of Chris’ abs. “Do I have to answer that?” He asks in a warm, quiet murmur.

Chris makes a gut-punched noise, eyes going a little unfocused from the pleasure-pain as his hands dip lower down Seb’s back until he’s got two handfuls of ass, tugging him in even closer.

The truth of it is, Sebastian missed it all; every one of Chris’ little quirks and smiles and dumb pun-filled jokes. All that heart and care and thoughtfulness that comes in the form of steaming hot coffee and apple-filled pastries. Because Chris knows. He knows that rain and bleak skies and melancholy will settle somewhere deep inside Seb. Knows that the weight of that can be counteracted, lifted just a little with comforting drinks and flaky, sweet dough until the skies and Seb’s head both clear of their clouds.  And Sebastian loves him for it. Probably more than he could ever articulate.

“Come back to bed with me,” he says, pressing one more kiss to the edge of Chris’ mouth before drawing back, adding, “and bring the food. I’ll show you just how much I missed both.”




“Look at this place.” Seb turns his iPad around so Chris can fully see the screen, which is currently depicting a real estate-style photo of some empty, bland yet spacious living room.

“It’s...nice,” Chris says tentatively, probably looking just as confused as he sounds as his eyes flit back and forth between Seb and the random photo of some random house. It’s not the strangest thing Seb’s ever shown him online, but he never has quite learned how to respond with the appropriate level of enthusiasm when it comes to Seb’s ‘look what I found on the internet’ moments. The guy’s stumbled onto some frankly weird shit that Chris only wishes he could un-see.

“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees distractedly, already busy tapping away at the screen as he navigates to a different page, “it’s all carpeted though. I was hoping for mostly hardwood.”

“That’s an easy fix,” Chris inputs, frowning slightly as his attention slips back to the pre-game commentary playing on Sebastian’s TV. He’s seen enough episodes of House Hunters in his lifetime that he maybe gets a little irrationally worked up whenever people start complaining about stuff like paint colours and flooring. But then the meaning behind Seb’s words actually register and he whips his head back around, eyes widening with surprise. “Wait, you’re moving? But you love this place!"

Seb looks at him like Chris is missing some giant, obvious fact. “Well yeah, but we’re gonna need something bigger. I mean, it’s a little tight when you only have a suitcase. How’s all your other stuff gonna fit in here?”

“Other stuff,” Chris repeats slowly, eyebrows pulling together as he tries to make sense of the conversation. “Like...”

“Like clothes and books and if you want to bring that god-awful football lamp, I might even let you,” Sebastian replies, stretching his legs out across the couch until they land in Chris’ lap. “I’m sure we could find a place for it. Just not the bedroom. Or the living room. Maybe one very dark corner of the den.”

Chris drags a finger up the sole of Seb’s foot in retaliation for that particular remark, making him squirm from the threat of a good tickling. “First of all,” he starts, “that lamp is a limited edition piece of Patriots memorabilia. Secondly, what?”

Trying to kick Chris’ hand away from his innocent, unprotected feet, Sebastian pokes away at his iPad some more. “We need a bigger place,” he repeats, sounding slightly exasperated by Chris’ continued lack of understanding, “so I kind of need your input, babe.”

Chris’ brain comes to a stumbling halt.

“You want me to move in with you?” He blinks, bewildered. “Me and my awful football lamp?”

Sebastian looks up and grins. “You and your apparent priceless memorabilia, yes. Was I being too subtle?”

Well, fuck.

Still a little stunned, it takes Chris way too long to answer and when he finally does get his mouth to open, he’s afraid that all that’s going to come out is a bunch of inarticulate, emotional blubbering. From the way his chest’s gone all full and warm and tight, it feels like a very real possibility.

Swallowing down the impending wave of feelings, Chris pushes Sebastian’s feet off his lap so he can shift up onto his knees, shuffling his way up the length of the couch until he’s hovering over Seb, weight balanced on his hands. “You know I don’t get subtle,” he says, going for light and joking but his tone’s a little rough around the edges, more hoarse and heartfelt as he swoops in, tasting Seb’s grin. “You’ve gotta spell it out for me. Like a toddler.”

Sebastian laughs, spreading his legs so Chris can settle more comfortably between them. “Okay,” he says, letting the iPad flop screen-first onto his chest before attempting a highly sober, serious expression. “Chris, I am explicitly asking you to move in with me. Please say yes.”

In response, Chris kisses him again, because how can he not with that wide, smiling mouth and shimmering, amusement-filled eyes looking up at him. Fuck, a guy can only take so much.

Seb makes a soft noise and practically melts into the kiss, threading his fingers up into Chris’ hair, lips easily parting under the warm pressure of Chris’ mouth. He tastes good and Chris lets him know it, deepening the kiss until it’s wet and thorough and just the right kind of dirty.

Moving in together. God. Chris’ heart feels so big, so full, he’s surprised it hasn’t burst straight out of his chest like some kind of bad Kool-Aid Man impression.

Before things can get any more intense, he slowly eases back, slightly breathless and so fucking gone on this guy, hook line and sinker, he wonders what his life even was before Seb ever walked into it.

Scattering a few extra kisses on Seb’s chin, cheek, and the side of his nose, Chris grins wide enough to hurt, finally giving him the answer he’s been waiting for.

“Yes. Fuck yes.”


Chapter Text

15. Over Your Shoulder




He’d really thought the whole ‘painfully in love from a distance’ thing would no longer be an issue after they’d finally admitted their feelings for each other.

He was wrong.

So, so wrong.

Seb watches in a borderline stalker-ish fashion as Chris, dressed in a Patriots hat and too-snug white polo shirt, walks and talks with one of the set assistants - so busy enthusiastically articulating with one hand that he nearly stumbles over the mass of taped-down electrical cables snaking across his path - and Sebastian wonders, not for the first time, just how this man manages to straddle the impossible line between goofball, frat bro, and country club hottie.

“Man, you ever gonna do something about that?”

Mackie appears at his elbow and Sebastian proceeds to jump approximately three feet in the air.

Jesus,” he breathes, hand on his chest as he tries to swallow his heart back down.

“I mean,” Mackie continues conversationally, like he hadn’t just triggered a miniature heart attack two seconds ago, “the eyes you two keep makin’ at each other. It’s hard to watch, like I’m living in a damn SPCA commercial.”

“What?” Just like that, Seb feels his whole body seize up with panic, blood running hot and cold all at once. Because Mackie knows.

Oh god.

He knows.

Sebastian must look as alarmed as he feels because Mackie reaches out to give his shoulder a friendly, reassuring squeeze. “Hey, it’s cool,” he says, lifting his other palm up in a gesture of peace. “I’m not about to say anything.”

“It’s not – we aren’t – shit. Am I that obvious?” Seb grimaces, rubbing a hand over his face.

He’s gotta give Mackie something, he knows - the guy’s too perceptive; by now he’s seen all the signs – so admitting to a crush seems like Seb’s safest route. He can do that, give an inch, offer a believable explanation for all his lingering glances and too-soft smiles, though a tiny piece of him does wonder what it would be like to just come out and say ‘yeah we’ve been secretly boning for almost two years now’ just to see Mackie’s reaction.

“Nah,” Mackie assures, “it’s only obvious to me cause I’ve gotta watch y’all swoon over each other every damn day.”

Sebastian tries to offer up a smile, but it comes out feeling more like a pained grimace. “Does anyone else know?”

“Don’t think so. Got a feeling Scar might be in the same boat as me – just pickin’ up on some little things here and there - but like I said, not my place to say anything.”

A rush of relieved gratitude floods Sebastian’s chest and he feels his whole body start to relax, panic deflating. “Thank you,” he says, meaning it more than Mackie will ever know.

With the warning alarms in his head now silenced, without his permission Seb’s eyes automatically gravitate back across the lot to Chris, who now has his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he laughs at something one of the sound guys has said, and Seb feels his stomach perform a warm, tingling somersault at the sight.

“He’s...kind of amazing,” Sebastian offers quietly, hesitantly. He’s never been able to say the words out loud before, never had anyone he could actually open up to about this, and despite his lingering fear of being found out, it feels surprisingly good to unload some of the sentiment he’s had to keep locked up in his head and his heart for so long now.

Mackie follows his line of sight, then grins. “Yeah? Well when surf ‘n turf finally happens – and it’s gonna – you just let me know.”

Sebastian’s eyes snap back to Mackie, confused. “What?”

“You and Mr. All-American Beefcake over there,” he explains, smiling one of those knowing, tight-lipped smirks that speaks volumes. “Y’all are quite the pair.”

Slipping a hand over his eyes, Sebastian tries and only minorly succeeds in not dying of embarrassment. “Oh my god.”

His response only makes Mackie’s smirk explode into a full-fledged grin as he nudges Seb forward with an elbow. “Go get yourself some of that, Sea Bass.”

Sebastian chokes a little, offsetting what’s probably a very obvious blush with a good-natured roll of his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he laughs, trying to keep it cool and play it off, but inside, his heart’s already pumping a few beats faster, brain conjuring up all kinds of inappropriate images because this casually gorgeous Chris, standing there all warm and engaged and genuine, is a dangerous thing, bordering on too much for Seb to bear.

He wants to stride over there, grab a fistful of that stupid, too-small polo shirt, and yank Chris into a kiss that leaves them both dizzy - and knowing that he can’t is only serving to add an extra edge of charged, humming tension under his skin, making him want it even more.


Sebastian takes a breath. Wills his body to calm the hell down. It’s way too early to start thinking those thoughts - they’re not even in makeup yet, for god’s sake.

While he waits for his pulse to gradually inch back down into a more ordinary range, he can’t help but think, as his eyes creep over to Chris again, that Mackie has no idea just how right he is.

Seb really fucking needs to get himself some of that.



“God,” Chris breathes when Sebastian practically manhandles him through the hotel room door, shoving him roughly onto the couch before following him down an instant later as he straddles Chris’ lap and begins sucking hot, open-mouthed kisses along the side of his neck.

“You have no idea,” Seb murmurs between each one, “how fucking hard it was,” he moves lower, feeling Chris’ pulse jump wildly under his tongue, “to keep my hands off you today.”

Chris answers with a broken groan, palming the back of Seb’s head and urging him back up until their mouths finally meet and they’re kissing in earnest, deep and hot and hungry.

“Sounds like every goddamn day of my life,” Chris tries to joke when they part, but it comes out unusually low and hoarse, the sound traveling right to Sebastian’s already aching cock.

Grinning, Seb goes for the hem of Chris’ shirt, yanking it up over his head, and his mouth instantly goes dry at the sight of that all that newly exposed skin; warm, firm muscle peppered with dark bruises (stunt days rarely ever don’t leave a mark) and darker ink.

God, that’s exactly what he’s been missing all day.

“Jesus babe,” Chris murmurs against his mouth when Seb moves back in for another kiss, nipping at Chris’ bottom lip while simultaneously attempting to work down the zipper on his pants one-handed.

Sliding his hands to Seb’s hips, Chris pulls him in closer, letting the hard line of his dick rub up against Seb’s ass.

Seb groans into the kiss; part pleasure, part frustration. It feels good, but it would be even better if he could actually lose his damn jeans.

“Stand up,” Chris mumbles, angling his head as he starts to mouth a path down Seb’s jaw, so in tune he seems to immediately sense what’s got Seb so irritated. “Can’t get ‘em off like this.”

“Sure I can,” Seb says, breathless and stubborn, groaning again when Chris hits a particularly satisfying angle as he thrusts his hips up.

“You’re gonna fall on your ass, is what you’re gonna do.” Chris leans back enough to watch him, hands flat across Seb’s back to steady him as Sebastian finally gets the top button popped and starts wriggling his pants down his thighs.

Ducking back in for a quick kiss, Seb murmurs warmly, “You’ll catch me first.”

Romantic sucker that he is, Chris makes a noise at that, low and soft as he pulls Seb into another series of kisses, pants forgotten while they get distracted by each others’ mouths again.

Eventually the desire for skin on skin contact becomes too strong to ignore and Seb slowly pulls back, using Chris’ shoulder to keep himself balanced as he lifts one knee, impatiently tugging one pant leg off before switching sides and repeating the process, wobbling only a little when Chris decides to keep his mouth occupied with the front of Seb’s throat, breath warm and tongue wet as he licks over Seb’s Adam’s apple.

Jean fiasco conquered, Sebastian is finally free to return his full attention to Chris, and he wastes no time in bringing both hands up to hold Chris’ head in place as he draws him into a messier, more frantic kiss.

“God,” he pants against Chris’ mouth, thoroughly enjoying how fucking good it feels to grind up against each other through only the single, thin barrier of Chris’ track pants now. “Need lube.”

Chris slides his hands up and down Seb’s thighs, murmuring, “Think we left it in your room.”

Ugh, of course they did. Seb gives a dejected groan. His suite’s two whole floors above Chris’, and right now, upstairs feels like fucking Antarctica; so far away it’s not even an option.

“You don’t have any on you?” He asks in a hopeful, last ditch effort to avoid having to pull away and make the expedition up to his own rarely-used suite.

Chris’ eyebrows shoot up with amusement as he draws back enough to give a pointed stare down at his flimsy, pocket-less track pants. “Um, no? What, you think I walk around wearing some kind of lube holster all the time?”

“A fanny pack,” Seb decides, leaning back in for another kiss. They’re both grinning against each other’s lips at this point so it’s more awkward and silly than sexy, but neither one of them really mind. “We’ll get you one. It’d be cute on you.”

“Oh my god.” Chris snorts, head dropping onto Seb’s shoulder, probably fighting the urge to dissolve into one of those animated, full-bodied laughs. “And you say I’m the ridiculous one in this relationship.”

“Well, yeah,” Seb angles his head until his grin’s pressing into the top of Chris’ head. “I’m just being practical.”

Chris’ hands drift over his waist, squeezing fondly. “You’re something, all right.”

Smiling back with what he can tell is definitely a dopey expression, Seb reaches up to card his fingers through Chris’ lighter, Cap-style hair. “You can take my key card.”

“Hey, what makes you think I’m going?!” Chris exclaims, mildly affronted.

“You’re more dressed than I am,” Seb points out.

“Seb,” Chris says in his I’m Being Very Fucking Serious voice, “I am not going to wander the halls with a full-on boner.”

“Come on, no one’ll even see you.” Not afraid to employ any and all of his charms, Seb makes his eyes extra wide and guileless, leaning in to press the tip of his nose up against Chris’. “Please?”

Chris stares at him for two seconds before his head flops back, hitting the back of the couch as he groans in defeat. “Dammit, Seb.” Then he smacks Sebastian on the thigh, shifting him off his lap so he can stand and retrieve his shirt from the floor.

“Thank you, I love you,” Seb calls sweetly over the back of the couch while Chris is busy hopping around on one foot by the door, trying to shove his left sneaker back on.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris grumbles, but the way he’s working to repress a smile is visible from all the way across the room.




Chapter Text

16. Quietly, covertly




It’s funny, Chris thinks, how every little decision, every twist and turn of events that’ve made up his life so far, have brought him to this point.

He’s currently lying in a bed that isn’t his own, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling with one arm bent back behind his head, waiting for Seb to finish whatever the fuck he’s busy doing in the bathroom.

He’s also maybe – probably – definitely – pretty drunk.

Hence the thoughtful late-night contemplations.

He’s gotta wonder though, when he takes a step back and looks at the big picture, was it him and Seb that unknowingly made it all happen, or was there some predetermined plan all along? Fate, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe it wasn’t them finding each other, but the world as a whole - the universe around them - moving itself, shifting and turning and realigning to ensure that, in any set of circumstances, they’d come together no matter what.

It’s a heavy thought. Heavy but right somehow, because it sure as hell feels like Seb’s supposed to be with him through all of this. Like he fills up some long-empty part of Chris; quiets the too-loud jangle of noise in his head. Like he’d gone his whole life living with this vague, unsettled pinch in his chest that he’d all but forgotten about, until he laid eyes on Sebastian and finally felt what it’s like to not hurt at all.

“Hey,” Seb says, finally exiting the bathroom and crossing the room to plop down in bed next to Chris. Once he’s settled under the plain white hotel blankets, he props his head up with one hand and frowns. “Your face looks weird. What’s up?”

I think you’re my soulmate, Chris doesn’t say, instead blurting out a slightly frantic query of, “Would you still love me if I, like, sold tires or something? Hypothetically,” he adds, in case Seb has any delusions about him suddenly picking up and taking off to work incognito at a fucking Jiffy Lube in Ohio or something.

To his credit, Seb doesn’t laugh. He does blink a few times, clearly caught off guard, but then he just twists his mouth to the side, going quiet as he thinks, putting more thought into the question than it probably deserves. He could tell Chris to fuck off and go to sleep (he has, rightfully, done so in the past whenever Chris gets a little too tipsy and reflective and overly sensitive like this), but instead he’s taking his time formulating an actual thought-out answer, like he’s gearing up to give a whole fucking symposium at the Chris Evans University of Dumbass Questions.

God, this guy, Chris thinks, feeling something warm and fuzzy swell up in his chest as he looks at Sebastian.

Heart boner, his drunk brain helpfully supplies as Chris smiles all stupid and love-struck, then immediately finds himself having to do a whole series of rapid blinks in order to fend off the surprise threat of impending waterworks.

Apparently he’s reached the emotional drunk portion of the evening. Fuckin’ super.

“Am I still an actor in this scenario?” Sebastian eventually asks, eyebrows going up as he studies Chris doubtfully, like he’s not sure if it’s some kind of trick question.

Chris shrugs. “Yeah. Or not. Doesn’t matter, really. Just – do you think we’d still find each other if things were different? If we hadn’t met the way we did?”

Seb’s face relaxes into a smile and he reaches out to run his fingers through Chris’ hair, rubbing at his scalp a little. It feels good and Chris groans, leaning into it and trying to convince his rapidly-heavying eyelids to stay open.

“You’re very drunk,” Seb says, fond and amused.

“Was a good night.” Chris shifts closer until he can press his cheek against Seb’s shoulder and work one leg between Seb’s own, sighing when Seb slides his fingers down to massage at the base of Chris’ skull where it meets the back of his neck.

They’ve officially wrapped their Atlanta scenes so to celebrate the whole crew had gone out for the night, and Chris may have indulged a little more than usual, happy to usher in a stretch of three whole days off until they’ll be boarding a plane to Berlin.

“It was,” Seb agrees in a murmur, throwing the arm that isn’t busy petting Chris’ hair over his waist, dragging him closer.

He’s extra warm and heavy and solid with all the weight he’s packed on for filming, and that, combined with the grown-out hair and jawline that seems to be permanently resting somewhere between five o’clock shadow and full-on scruff these days, is wreaking all sorts of glorious havoc on Chris’ brain and dick, collectively. He’s so used to being the bigger guy – not so much in height, but overall structure and muscle mass for sure –it’s oddly thrilling to feel tiny next to Seb.

A part of Chris has, objectively, always been into dudes. He has no problem admitting to himself that he can appreciate a good dick and nice personality, but goddamn, he’s never felt anything like what Seb does to him.

“You’re being too quiet,” Sebastian accuses, voice yanking Chris out of his own head as Seb looks at him suspiciously. “What’re you thinking about?”

Everything. Nothing. You. Always you. “How not straight I am.” Chris doesn’t even realize he’s said that part out loud until Seb laughs; a warm, sleepy chuckle right next to Chris’ ear that immediately sends a liquid shiver down his spine.

That might not have been what he meant to say, but now that it’s out there, he may as well take full fucking advantage of it.

Lifting his head from Seb’s shoulder, Chris snuggles in closer and presses a kiss to his throat, then takes the hand that’s been resting on his waist and slides it down to cup his ass instead.

Seb makes a soft noise, not moving his hand away but not making any effort to progress the situation either. “It’s so late,” he mumbles.

“We have three days off,” Chris reminds him before ducking his head back down to mouth at the warm skin on Seb’s neck some more.

Tipping his head back into the pillow, Seb’s throat works as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing under the hot, wet pressure of Chris’ tongue. “We have to check out at eleven.”

“We can sleep on the plane,” Chris murmurs in reply, sneaking one hand down to rub slow circles with his thumb on Seb’s hip.

Sebastian groans, resolve beginning to crumble as he pushes his fingers into the back of Chris’ underwear. “You’re drunk and full of bad decisions,” he states, starting to sound a little breathless already.

“I’m full of great decisions,” Chris counters, “and I’m not too drunk to know that I want your dick in my ass.”

“God.” Seb closes his eyes, biting his lip when Chris slides that hand from Seb’s hip across his belly, fingers inching down towards his half-hard cock.

Still on a mission, Chris pulls back enough to grin at him. “Is the dirty talk doin’ it for ya?” He drops his voice into a heated murmur, leaning back in to slide his nose along the side of Seb’s, keeping his eyes open and focused on him the entire time. “Come on. Fuck me, baby.”

Seb groans again, but this time it’s clearly one part arousal and one part annoyance. “Bad decisions,” he repeats, even though he’s already heaving himself up off the bed, making the trip over to his luggage and retrieving the lube.

He comes back with a condom as well, and when Chris’ eyebrows flick up in question, he explains, “Less clean up,” as he settles back on the mattress, like he knows full well that between all the booze from earlier and the wrung-out afterglow of an orgasm, Chris is gonna be out like a light the minute they’re finished.

Chris would like to say that assumption is wrong, but history speaks for itself.

Shoving the blankets aside, he sits up and shucks his underwear, and the second he’s naked he’s immediately reaching for Seb, drawing him in for a kiss, and Jesus, why did he not do this earlier? Kissing Sebastian is a fucking dream; he should be doing it all the time always.

Seb opens his mouth into it, letting it grow deeper as both hands move to grip Chris’ sides, keeping him held in place. He still tastes like toothpaste from his extended bathroom excursion, and his mouth’s so warm and wet and responsive, Chris could spend hours – days – just like this.

Sadly, time isn’t working in their favour tonight, so he makes do with a minute more before pulling back and trying not to pant too noticeably.

“How do you want me?” he asks in a low voice, hands busy feeling up the muscled expanse of Seb’s back, the way his shoulder blades flex and slide so fluidly under smooth, tanned skin. Fuck, he’s so goddamn built right now, Chris can practically feel himself losing more and more brain cells the longer and longer he looks.

Seb grins, giving him an easy little push on the shoulder. “On your back.”

That Chris can very gladly do.

He lays back on the bed, trying to tug Seb down with him, but Sebastian shakes his head, still grinning as he pushes Chris’ hands away, redirecting them down towards his own dick. “This time,” he says, “you’re gonna get yourself ready for me.”

Jesus Christ.

Whatever brain cells Chris had left instantly pop like firecrackers, leaving him blinking and flushed and struggling for air.

There must be some weird mix of lust and mild terror on his face because Sebastian laughs, holding the lube out in his direction and promising, “I’ll tell you what to do.”

Chris flicks wary eyes between Seb, the lube, and back again, before finally accepting the bottle. He squeezes some out onto two fingers first, pushing out a long breath and trying to force himself into relaxing as he brings that hand down between his legs.

“Circle around the outside first,” Seb directs, scooting closer until he’s bent part way over him, one hand rubbing Chris’ thigh reassuringly.

Starting with his index finger, Chris jolts a little at the initial coolness of the lube but quickly falls into the rhythm of that increasingly familiar pressure teasing around his rim. It doesn’t feel all that different from the times Seb’s opened him up before - if anything, there’s a sense of more control here; Chris’ pleasure is, quite literally, in his own hands.

“That’s good.” Seb slips his hand down lower and rubs Chris’ knee, voice quiet and warm in a way that makes Chris want to do anything and everything he asks. “Now push it in. Just the one.”

“Fuck,” Chris groans, feeling those words light a string of fire down his spine until it’s pooling in a hot, liquid ball low in his belly.

He follows the order, working his finger in to the knuckle, feeling himself start to sweat already, a combination of pleasure and embarrassment. He’s not much of an exhibitionist, but this is for Seb and Seb is right here with him, beside him, hand on Chris’ thigh, staring down with big dark eyes and biting his lip, looking at Chris like he’s never seen anything hotter.

The feeling, Chris thinks, is really fucking mutual.

“Another,” Seb says once Chris is full-out panting and moving his hips into each thrust.

Chris swears again, and it takes him a minute to find a comfortable angle for his wrist, but then the tip of his middle finger slips inside and god, yeah, that’s good.

His eyes fall closed for a minute, lost in the feeling, and when he finally gets them to reopen, the sight that greets him is fucking unreal.

Seb’s open-mouthed and breathing hard with one hand curled around his own cock, pumping at the same pace as Chris’ fingers, and Chris’ eyes don’t even know where to look first: that gorgeous face, the way the muscle of his bicep bunches and relaxes as he gets himself off, how his abs go hard and tight with every upstroke, or the flushed, wet head of his dick sliding through the loose grasp of his fingers.

“Babe,” Chris chokes out, trying to convey everything he needs with just that single word.

Seb’s eyes fly up from where they’ve been fixated on his ass, now landing on his face. “Feels good?” he asks, and when Chris nods he smiles, slow and satisfied, adding, “Now twist them. Get yourself nice and open for me.”

“Gonna fucking kill me before we get anywhere,” Chris complains, feeling hot all over as he works to stretch himself wider, grimacing a little at the initial burn, but that soon fades away the more he scissors his fingers.

Sebastian shakes his head, grinning. “Other way around, baby,” he says, reaching for the condom and quickly tearing into the foil. “If anyone’s doing the killing, it’s you.”

“Don’t have to sweet-talk me,” Chris pants out, grinning back. “You already got me in your bed.”

That makes Seb laugh and once he’s got the condom rolled on he leans down over Chris, kissing him long and warm and deep. One hand roams over Chris’ chest, squeezing his pec and teasing the nipple, while the other reaches across Chris’ hip for the abandoned bottle of lube.

“Think you’re just about ready?” Seb murmurs against his mouth.

“Yeah,” Chris’ breath hitches when he feels a second set of lube-slick fingers trail down to meet his own, the pads of Seb’s fingers tracing light around his rim, “Yeah, come on.”

Seemingly satisfied with Chris’ work, Seb makes a little humming noise and kisses him again, looping fingers around Chris’ wrist and coaxing him to pull his own hand away.

No matter how many times they’ve done this now, it’s never anything but weird to be left feeling that open and empty and Chris shivers, squirming a bit, more than ready for Seb to get the fuck in there.

 Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long.

He feels the hot, hard pressure, hears Seb moan soft and low in the back of his throat, and then that weird emptiness is replaced by a sense of overwhelming fullness that’s simultaneously comforting and so fucking arousing, for a second he worries he might come before Seb’s even all the way in.

Given the way Seb had been griping earlier, he has a feeling that a split-second finish - leaving Seb to fend for himself with a boner he hadn’t been all that keen on developing in the first place - really wouldn’t go over so well.

“Shit,” Chris breathes, fighting an internal dilemma between wanting to hold still and attempt to compose himself, or go for broke and roll his hips up into it.

Seb, damn him, knows exactly what’s happening.

“Gonna come already?” Sebastian teases, breathless and ragged at the edges as he pushes in until his hips are flush with Chris’ ass. His skin feels even hotter than his new-bulk normal, and when Chris meets his eyes his pupils are fucking huge, eating up the thin ring of pale colour around them, like he’s not having all that much of an easier time pacing himself than Chris is.

 Chris opens his mouth to reply, about to fumble through some variation of a weak-assed ‘you’re one to talk’ comeback, but then Seb moves, and he promptly forgets how to make all words that are not ‘fuck’ and ‘god’ and ‘yes’.

It’s hard and deep and deliberate, every smack of Seb’s hips ripping a groan from way down in Chris’ chest, until they’re both sweating and breathing hard and staring at each other like they’re fucking spellbound.

“Fuck, fuck,” Chris is panting, head pressed back hard into the pillow, one hand fisted in the sheets while the other keeps roaming frantically between Seb’s back, his hair, and the top of his shoulder. It’s so fucking good, the knife edge of too much and not enough, and he feels like Seb’s slowly dismantling him piece by piece, thrust by thrust, moan by moan, until he’s just a beating heart laid bare on the mattress.

With one hand digging into the outside of Chris’ thigh where it’s locked up high around his waist, Seb watches him with a dark-eyed sort of hungry fixation, and for a second Chris has a distant, fleeting thought of character bleed, because the look on his face is every inch the intense, unrelenting gaze he usually reserves for work, for the cameras, for the Winter Soldier.


That sends a dirty little thrill down Chris’ spine and he groans, gut clenching and dick giving a heavy throb where it’s trapped between his belly and Seb’s.

“Babe,” he manages to get out, choked and needy, “babe, you gotta – fuck – gotta go faster.”

Seb doesn’t seem hurried at all, still moving with slow, calculated thrusts that’re hard enough to make the sound of skin on skin register in the air around them, though all Chris can really hear at the moment is the too-quick tempo of his own heartbeat echoing loud in his head.

“No,” Seb breathes, pausing to let out his own long groan when he gets in a particularly satisfying thrust. “Just like this.”

Fuck,” Chris says again, with feeling, because he knows Seb can make him come this way - all torturously slow and steady - but Chris may not live to remember the experience.

He already feels all fucked-up and dazed with the way Seb is looking at him, touching him, pressing into him again and again with a raw, single-minded sort of sexual determination. Coming like this – where he’s stuck on a level, flat plane instead of being pushed up into a sharp peak – might just be more than he can handle; physically, mentally, or otherwise.

He’s so fucking doomed, in the best way there is.

As if sensing Chris’ thoughts, Sebastian lets out a low, rough chuckle between panting breaths. “You asked for this,” he murmurs, and it’s fucking unreal how good his voice sounds right now as he rolls his hips and stares down at Chris with lust-blown eyes. “You want me, want my dick,” he emphasizes the word with an especially sharp thrust, making Chris’ own eyes fall shut as he chokes out a broken groan, “you take it however I give it to you.”

Jesus Christ.

Satan is real, and he lives inside Chris’ boyfriend.

“Shit, Seb - oh god, fuck.” Chris can feel the muscles straining in his thighs, his stomach, and through the width of his shoulders as he tenses up, a sudden white-hot streak of pleasure shooting through his gut, and then he’s coming like the orgasm’s been fucking kicked out of him; swift and unexpected and so fucking intense he can barely take it.

Seb takes pity on him at last and slips one hand down to help jerk him off part way through it, but at that point the extra stimulation just sets Chris off on another fresh round of broken cursing and shaking muscles as he grabs at Seb’s back and tries not to completely lose his mind.

“God you feel so good, fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna – oh -” Seb is babbling above him, completely losing his brain-to-mouth filter as his mouth hangs open and his brows draw together tight; face a picture of bliss and agony all at once.

He rolls his hips twice more, then he’s falling apart with a wrecked groan, shuddering and making these soft little cut-off sounds as he presses as deep into Chris as he can get.

They stay like that for a moment, too brain-dead to move, and once he’s managed to somewhat recover Seb pulls out and rolls to the side, disposing of his condom and snatching up a handful of Kleenex from beside the bed while Chris just lays there, dumb and tired and happy, trying to remember how to make his limbs work.

When Seb settles back down beside him, he drops a wad of tissues onto the wet mess covering Chris’ stomach, warning, “Don’t fall asleep. I’m not cleaning you up.”

“I’m not,” Chris lies, eyes already half way closed.


Eight hours later, they’re boarding a plane back to Chris’ place in LA, dressed nearly identically in travel-comfy sweatshirts and sunglasses.

Once he’s shuffled down the aisle and found his seat, Chris eases down into it, experimentally shifting his weight from buttcheek to buttcheek, trying to find a position that doesn’t leave him feeling the effects of last night’s activities too directly.

“Bad decision,” Seb repeats from his spot next to him, both eyebrows raised and mouth slanted into a smug little ‘I told you so’ smirk. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, too - glamorous hungover celebrity style, looking like the cutest fucking dumbass Chris has ever seen.

Chris frowns, reaches out, and steals the blue ball cap right off Seb’s head, tugging the brim down over his own eyes. “You loved it,” he mutters around a yawn, already settling back and crossing his arms over his chest, preparing to sleep the flight away.

Seb makes a doubtful noise, but within ten minutes of being up in the air he’s angling sideways in his seat, head coming to lean against Chris’ shoulder. Between their knees, where it’s mostly hidden by the shared arm rest, he reaches for Chris’ nearest hand, letting their fingers intertwine as he closes his eyes, and that, right there, says everything.



Chapter Text


It’s been unusually cold for May; a fact that’s only emphasized by the early hour of the morning, that weird stretch of time where the moon is still visible overhead and the sun isn’t yet high enough to kick the temperature up a few much-needed extra degrees.

Hoping to return some warmth to the chilly tips of his fingers, Sebastian shakes out his hands and returns to his mark in front of the cameras, waiting to run through his take for the third time.  He keeps his eyes on the pavement underfoot for the most part, knowing that if he looks up he’s going to burst into a full-fledged grin, and he really doesn’t want to have to reset again for a fourth take once this one is through.

The grinning is only an issue because Chris is hovering behind one of those cameras, squinting at the monitor, Cap hair all fluffed-up and golden as the wind ruffles through it, looking innocent as can be, but Sebastian knows the truth. Chris has already made him fuck up a scene by laughing twice today. Now Seb is just biding his time until it’s Chris stationed in front of the camera and he can finally exact some revenge. 

Thankfully, this is the last shot Seb’s needed for right now and the setup itself isn’t difficult - an action bit, mostly. He – Bucky – is running maybe a grand total of five seconds from one point on the street down to another.

It’s simple. Effortless. Easy peasy.

If only Chris would stop making those fucking faces at him.

With a long breath out, Sebastian readies himself when he hears Joe start to count him down, body tensing and knees loosely bent, and when he hits his cue Seb moves, taking off in a sprint down the stretch of grey, weather-worn pavement.

“Perfect,” Joe calls out as he’s jogging to a halt at the end of the street. “I think we’re done here. Let’s set up for the shots over by the alley. Chris, we need you next. Don’t go far.”

From his position still behind the cameras, Chris throws Joe a little salute, and when the crew starts to scatter and migrate over to their next location, he takes the opportunity to head over to the small crowd that’s gathered loosely along the barricades that’ve been set up at the edge of the sidewalk.

Sebastian watches as he slaps some high-fives and crouches down to talk to one little kid who can’t be more than four or five, all bundled up in a puffy coat and knitted mittens and, when those tiny blue-mittened hands stretch up to close around Chris’ neck in a hug, like a swift kick to the solar plexus, Seb is hit with...something.  He can’t describe it. He’s not entirely sure it’s a feeling he’s ever encountered before.

It catches in his chest, making his heart twist and twinge, and his eyes feel stuck, permanently latched onto the image of Chris’ arms around that little bundle that looks to be about 60% jacket and only 40% kid.

Fuck, it’s cute.

It’s cute and strange and mildly terrifying, because it’s giving Sebastian thoughts. Thoughts that make his stomach lurch and palms sweat despite their still-chilly state.

He’s never given much consideration to his future in that respect – the whole spouse, house, two-point-five kids and a white picket fence thing. When he’d tried to imagine himself settling down, picturing exactly what that would look like, it had always just kind of existed as a big vague question mark in the back of his mind. And he certainly hadn’t been thinking about that kind of shit in his 20’s; more concerned with cultivating his social life, fitting in, existing in a haze of dark-lit bass-heavy parties, hard liquor and questionable substances.

So no, he never saw the traditional American dream apple-pie-and-baseball family in his future. Truthfully, he’d been grateful just to make it across the Atlantic, to find work and be considered at least mildly successful doing what he loves. Everything else came a far distant second; afterthoughts tucked away into a little box in the corner of his mind where he could pull it out and examine it later. Only later never came, and now that box has been untouched for so long Sebastian is afraid of what he’ll find if he opens it. Too many questions and not enough answers, he suspects. So it’d always been easier to just ignore it, keep it shoved aside and go on with his life in denial-based bliss.

Until now.

Until witnessing a fucking four second hug that somehow has the card house of ignorance he’s been carefully constructing for years suddenly exploding around him in a shower of hearts and spades like it’s been struck with a little toddler-shaped grenade. 

Sebastian blinks, realizes he’s still standing in the centre of the road while staring off into space like an idiot, and decides he needs a coffee. Multiple coffees. All the coffees. Ideally it’d be something stronger, but given that it’s barely nine a.m. and he’s still on set, he’ll have to take his vice in the form of caffeine over anything else.

Under one of the nearby tents he finds a little snack table set up with carafes and promptly pours himself a cup, letting the steam warm his face and the smell clear his head.

Leaning back against the table, Sebastian sips at his coffee and watches as the crew bustles around, setting up for the next set of shots. It’s always a little surreal to be on set like this, to be a part of the inner workings of something so much larger and greater than himself - especially when it comes to Marvel because fuck, there’s really nothing larger or greater out there than them.  It’s unlike any other filming experience he’s ever had, and Sebastian can’t help but shake his head a little because he sure as hell hadn’t predicted any of this in his future; hadn’t expected to be the Bucky Barnes to Chris’ Steve Rogers - in more ways than one, he thinks with a smile - and look where he is now.

Letting his eyes wander the set, he glosses over the sound guys who’re rigging up a boom mic for the next scene, Joe and Anthony conferring close by with heads bent and hands gesturing, but he only gets as far as making his way through about two-thirds of the scenery before his greedy eyes are already anxiously searching out signs of Chris again.

He’s not hard to spot – those triangular proportions are a dead giveaway, especially since Seb’s studied them so thoroughly, up close and personal, too many times to count. Chris has only moved about two feet down the barricade from where he was, still fully engaged with the crowd, and at the sight, Sebastian has to hide the sudden warm, fond tug of his lips behind the lip of his paper cup.

If he’s thinking of predictions and expectations in his life, then there’s definitely none more unexpected and ground-shaking than Chris Evans.

Knowing Chris has opened up an entire side of Sebastian that he hadn’t even been aware of; like Chris has this innate ability to coax all these unknown qualities out of him – humor and confidence and a softness Seb had been surprised to learn he’d even possessed – but Chris, fucking beautiful, ridiculous, big-hearted Chris - had just reached in there and pulled it all out so easily, Sebastian hadn’t even noticed it’d been happening.

There’s a lot Chris has shown him, Sebastian thinks to himself. He never thought he could fit into a massive franchise like this, but then Chris had welcomed him in with open arms and made him feel instantly at home. He never imagined he’d get used to living out of suitcases and existing in a constant state of brain-fogged jetlag, but then Chris had handed him a coffee and helped warm those foreign, unfamiliar beds in a way that made anywhere feel a little more like home.

Taking another sip of his drink, Seb lets his eyes seek out the man himself – who’s now extricating himself from the crowd with a series of apologies as he jogs back over to where Joe’s waiting for him - and Sebastian can’t help but smile, because there’s one more thing Chris has shown him – maybe the biggest one of all - and it’s especially clear to him in moments like these: he never knew it was possible to love a person the way he feels right now, but then, Chris.


It’s a picture that stays with him all day, that hug. Lingering like heavy fog, seeping into every nook and cranny of his mind. Driving him to slowly lose whatever’s left of his sanity as his brain insistently replays it on a detailed, meticulous loop, over and over again. Why? He’s not sure, but, like clockwork, it paralyzes his lungs and has his stomach flipping over every goddamn time.

There’s no reason for it to have such a fucking hold on him. It was just one random moment with one random kid. So it must be the Chris factor, Sebastian muses - something about those tiny arms being wrapped around Chris of all people - that’s throwing him off-kilter so badly. 

He knows Chris comes from a big family - siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews galore - knows he’s amazing with kids and would be even more so with ones of his own, so maybe that’s what does it. What has his insides all churned up like his stomach’s suddenly been replaced with a whole horde of butterflies, leaving him in such an unsettled, flustered state. 

Sebastian, on the other hand, has always existed in a miniature bubble: his mother, his stepfather, him. Small. Concise. Safe. He’d never imagined anything more for himself than that. Never thought he needed any more than that either, and he’d been right. It’d all worked out for him fine, so why change any of that now?

After all, you don’t fix what isn’t broken.

But as Sebastian keeps turning over the image of that tiny fan again and again in his mind, swallowing thickly and heart pounding unusually hard, he can’t help but wonder: what if, all along, he’s had hidden cracks to begin with?



Filming makes it impossible for them to have much of a private conversation, but from the concerned little glances Chris keeps shooting him throughout the rest of the day, it’s clear he knows Sebastian is struggling with something.

“Later,” Seb assures him in a quiet murmur when they next happen to pass by each other; a quick brush of shoulders that would look innocent to anyone else.

Chris gives a brief, subtle nod, eyes roaming Seb’s face as he says, “I’ll hold you to that.”

Later doesn’t come until that night, after they’ve made a show of going their separate ways and migrating back to their respective hotel rooms only for Seb to sneak back out into the hallway barely an hour later, making the stealthy journey down to Chris’ suite because hey, when they have the ability to sleep next to each other, they damn well take it.

“Hey babe.” Chris, in his pyjamas and already looking 98% asleep, greets him at the door with a soft kiss and even softer hug.

Sebastian automatically relaxes into it, looping his arms around Chris’ waist, breathing in his scent and whispering, “Hey,” into the warm skin of his neck. Fuck. It’s only been hours, but he missed this.

“Bed,” Chris mumbles, slowly walking them backwards in that direction. “Fuckin’ tired.”

Making a noise of agreement, Seb lets himself be herded along, pausing at the edge of the bed to ditch his shirt, shoes and socks before climbing in next to Chris, only instead of meeting in the middle of the mattress like they usually do, he stays sitting up against the headboard, leaving a few inches of space between their bodies.

Chris automatically frowns, wriggling back up into a seated position himself before angling his body more directly towards Seb, that earlier concern still burning bright in his eyes. “What’s up?”

Fuck. This is his opening. He needs to say something.

Taking a breath, Sebastian manages, “I saw you with those kids today. Pretty cute.”

“Ah, yeah. They were great.” Chris smiles at the memory, expression turning soft and fond around the edges in that way it does whenever he’s presented with babies or small animals.

It’s a look that makes Sebastian’s stomach go all tight and knotted with anticipation, because he’s so fucking scared of what he wants to ask next, it’s almost laughable. Forcing it out with a casualness he doesn’t feel, he says, “Do you want any? Kids?”

Chris goes quiet for a moment, carefully studying Sebastian’s face before offering back, “Do you?”

Not above taking the easy way out, Seb lobs the conversation ball right back into Chris’s side of the court. “I asked you first.”

They’re at a stalemate then, looking at each other a little bit guardedly, neither wanting to make the first move because this isn’t just innocent pillow-talk, Sebastian knows. This is important. This could be a minefield. This has the potential to change the trajectory of their entire relationship; to solidify it or have it crumbling around them with just a few small chosen words.

Chris is the first to pull his eyes away, lowering his gaze as he looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. It’s a nervous habit - Seb has seen it enough times now to know, and it fucking kills him that he’s the one making Chris anxious like this - but Chris is still the braver of the two of them in this moment, choosing to take a leap of faith and answer first.

“I do. Someday. When things are less...” Chris waves his hand, “you know.” His eyes are as serious as Seb’s ever seen them when they lift back up to steadily meet his own. “Do you?”

And that right there, Sebastian thinks, is the million dollar question.

Does he?

His eyes shift down to look at Chris’ hands and Sebastian thinks of him passing out those gentle little high-fives. He looks at his arms, defined muscle thinly covered by a sleep-soft cotton t-shirt, and thinks of Chris hugging that tiny, bundled-up puffball of a fan. He thinks of the way his own breath had stumbled and faltered at the image. He thinks about a little boy with Chris’ blue, blue eyes and a mop of dark, fluffy hair so close to his own it makes his heart ache to picture it, and that...god, that image brings a rising hot, tight feeling to the back of his throat.

Sebastian swallows through it, makes himself breathe, and looks back up at Chris’ face.

It still feels scary, but as he looks at Chris that fear starts to melt into something else, something manageable. Something that’s more alive with fizzling excitement and potential than paralyzing with fear of the unknown. Like an open road laid out wide and bare before him. Endless possibilities.

He’s not naive enough to think it’ll all be perfect, of course. There would be learning curves, trials and errors for them both, but that’s just it – it would be both of them, side by side, like it’s always been since the day they first shook hands seven years ago, smiled at each other warm and tentative and a little nervous, and stepped into the waiting shoes of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.


Wetting his lips, Sebastian looks Chris in the eye, gathers his courage, and takes the first step out onto that wide, waiting road.

“I think I could,” he answers honestly, “with you.”



Chapter Text


 18. Loud, so everyone can hear



“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Chris announces.

It’s a drizzly New York Sunday and they’re curled up on the sofa, Seb’s feet in Chris' lap.

“What?” Sebastian immediately looks up from his phone as his stomach drops like a lead weight, plummeting right down to his toes, and his face must look as shock-white as it feels because Chris immediately starts backtracking.

“Shit – no no no,” he says, alarmed. “I love you. I love you,” he repeats, hand curving warmly over Sebastian’s ankle. “I just – fuck, I’m so bad at this – I’m trying to say that I’m tired of having to hide everything. This. Us.” He waves his free hand around, trying to get his point across. “I just want to be able to hold your fucking hand in public, you know?”

Any relief Seb feels at that is immediately overtaken by the bigger, more daunting half of Chris’ statement.

“I know,” he replies with a ‘you and me both’ sort of commiserate smile, leaning half off the couch so he can slip his phone onto the coffee table before settling back, giving Chris his full attention. “Are you saying you want to do something about it?”

They’ve talked about it before, of course; mostly hypotheticals and sleepy late-night musings while tucked up against each other in the dark, but having Chris bring it up now, in the light of day, feels so much different. Makes it suddenly seem real.

“Yeah,” Chris meets his eyes, face determined and a little nervous and just as ridiculously handsome as ever, “I think I want to.”


Okay then.

Pulse picking up speed, Sebastian wets his lips. “You’re sure about this,” he says, equal parts a question and a statement, because he knows Chris couldn’t have come to this decision lightly, must have agonized over pros and cons, driven himself half crazy with wild, dreamed-up nightmares of career-ruining worst-case scenarios. This is no small thing to be thinking of, and Seb will be damned before he lets Chris dive into it unprepared.

“Yeah,” Chris answers simply, still staring right at him. “I want to. You’'re it for me.”

Seb’s stomach flips over as something warm flutters in his chest. He tries to swallow down the feeling, but his voice still comes out slightly wobbly as he says, “So I guess we’re gonna do this, then.”

“Guess so.” Chris smiles but the edges of his eyes are tight; expression full of a complicated tangle of relieved happiness and daunting anxiety over the inevitable media shit-storm that lies ahead.

“You are too, you know.” Sebastian instinctively reaches to touch Chris’ shoulder, needing to do or say something that will ease that worried look from his face. “You’re it. For...well, forever,” he admits.  

It works. Some of the tight-set tension leaves Chris’ shoulders and he slumps back with a soft exhale, thumb still rubbing absently over Seb’s ankle as he smiles for real this time.

“So,” Seb gets to it, lifting the foot that isn’t being held captive by Chris’ hand and nudging his toes playfully into Chris’ thigh, “do we have a game plan or are we flying by the seat of our pants here?”

“No talk shows,” Chris answers automatically. Too many people and cameras and expectations weighing on his shoulders. Seb gets that. “I don’t want to have to spill our whole private life in front of an audience. It is still private, no one needs to fucking know who leaves the toilet seat up or how often we fuck.”

He’s starting to get worked up again just thinking about it, Seb can tell, so he pokes Chris with his toes again, smiling softly.

“Then let’s not do anything,” he suggests. “No interviews or written statements or any of that strategic manufactured bullshit. I mean, it’s not a big deal, right? So why treat it like one?”

Chris looks at him like he may as well have suggested they streak naked down their next red carpet hand in hand.

“You want to do nothing,” he says slowly, eyebrows inching up higher and higher. “Seriously?”

 “We’ll have to talk to our publicists, of course - and call Mackie and Hayley and Scarlett ‘cause they’ll murder us both if they hear it from anyone else first – but then...” Seb lifts his shoulder in a ‘what’ve we got to lose’ kind of shrug, “the next time we go out, let’s just quit hiding. Hold hands the way you want to. Kiss whenever we feel like it. Then there’s no pressure to do or say anything a certain way. People can make whatever kind of assumptions they want, and all we have to do is confirm or deny whatever we feel like answering.”

Chris chuckles, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, that sounds pretty fuckin’ fantastic.”

“It’s not too crazy?” Sebastian checks with him again because when everything comes out, he wants Chris to feel like he’s firmly in control, and right now, their plan is really only a plan in the very loosest sense of the word. A vaguely half-formed thought overrun with gap-filled unknowns. And shit, when he thinks about it like that, trying to put himself in Chris’ shoes, he realizes exactly how intimidating it sounds. “I’m being stupid, aren’t I,” he backtracks, feeling like an asshole. “We should do something more traditional, call People or Oprah or-”

“Seb,” Chris interrupts, smiling small and slight and so painfully sweet. “It’s fine. Any way we do this, there’re gonna be variables we can’t control. I get that. I just...I want to get it out there already, y’know? Hiding it – us – fuck, you have no idea how hard it is to not touch you the way I want to, whenever I want to.”

That warm flutter in his chest returns and Sebastian slips his foot free from Chris’ grasp, shifts both of them back down to the floor, then shuffles down to Chris’ end of the couch until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and he can lift one hand to the side of Chris’ face, thumb brushing his beard-covered chin, and kiss him.   

Chris makes a quiet little noise and kisses back, warm and soft.

“So,” Seb says when they pull apart a few moments later, mouth still almost touching Chris’, “you’re okay with this?"                                                                             

“Yeah.” Chris grins, one hand sliding up to rest at the back of Seb’s neck, keeping him close. “I’ll just pop a Xanax and feel you up in the supermarket. How’s that for a coming out?"

Sebastian snorts but doesn’t bother formulating a proper reply because Chris is already pulling him back in, so Seb goes easily, always ready for more of those warm, grinning kisses.



Two weeks later, Sebastian is in Whole Foods, debating the merits of apple juice versus pineapple mango, when Chris comes up behind him, plops his chin on Seb’s shoulder and slides one hand around to his stomach, fingers drumming impatiently over his belt buckle as he says, “Just get them both.”

Seb makes a thoughtful noise as he leans back into Chris’ warm, solid weight, still not totally sold on either option, and just like that, within forty-eight hours, there’s a shitty picture of them in no less than three different celebrity tabloids. It’s slightly pixelated and obviously taken from a distance, depicting Chris with his hand on Seb’s hip, and accompanied by a tiny write-up proclaiming how nice it is that they still hang out and remain friends after filming.

“The fuck?” Offended, Chris tosses his phone down onto the kitchen table, screen still lit up bright and browser open on US Weekly. “Seb. We didn’t even make the first page.”

Sebastian laughs, leans across the table to kiss Chris, then steals a piece of toast off his plate.



It’s another month after that when they’re back in LA, enjoying the early summer sunshine and taking Dodger out for a late afternoon excursion to the dog park that’s only a couple blocks up from their place.

Three blocks into the walk, Seb makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to detour into a Starbucks (weather this nice calls for something icy and refreshing) while Chris goes on ahead with the dog.

When he eventually finds himself at the park gate, iced vanilla latte in hand, it’s not hard to pick out his significant other amongst the little sea of two- and four-legged occupants. No one else has biceps like that when they wind up to chuck a tennis ball from one side of the park to the other.

Seb lets himself stand there and admire for a moment before weaving his way around dogs, balls, and shallow dug-out holes in the dirt to come join him.

“Here,” he says, handing Chris a bottle of mineral water because he’s ‘an uncomplicated man with uncomplicated tastes’ (Chris’ words, not his) and nearly everything Seb’s ever urged him into trying off the Starbucks menu has ended with Chris screwing up his face like a baby who just had his first taste of pureed peas from a jar.

“Hey, thanks babe.” Chris smiles that big, bright, hopelessly smitten smile at him, and god, does that look ever make Seb stupid with love, because before he even realizes what he’s doing, operating on pure instinct alone and without so much as a trace of fear, he grabs a handful of Chris’ shirt, tips his chin up, and kisses him full on the mouth.

In public.

In broad fucking daylight.

And when a picture inevitably finds its way online barely an hour later, there’s absolutely no mistaking that one.



Chapter Text


It’s a big deal, until it isn’t.

For about eight weeks they’re all over the news, internet, and various other media outlets, but then something better - more scandalous and gossip-inducing - comes along to snap up everyone’s attention.

“No one cares about healthy relationships,” Seb had pointed out to Chris, leaning back against the sofa with a grin while the news erupted over their television screen.  “We’re boring, domestic old men now.”

That something else comes the form of an extremely popular young blonde A-lister getting nabbed for a DUI, caught on grainy police dashboard camera being loudly, drunkenly belligerent to a cop. The public spotlight shifts, the number of paparazzi and news articles dwindle back to regular standards, and life goes on.

When Chris turns on the TV and doesn’t immediately see his own face, he feels like he can breathe easy for the first time in months.



“Hey,” Sebastian says, elbows resting on the kitchen countertop as his eyes flick up from where they’ve been fixed on the screen of his phone, “did you know that on Venus, one day is longer than one year? It takes longer to rotate once on its axis than it does to fully orbit the sun.”

From the other side of the counter, Chris makes a noise as his eyebrows arch up. “No shit,” he says, surprised and intrigued as he reaches for the bottle of mustard. After adding a liberal amount to both of the sandwiches he’s busy assembling, he looks back up at Seb and does this weird smiley thing with his face, voice taking on an exaggerated low tone as he adds, “tell me more.”

Sebastian grins back, trying to keep it together but still ending up laughing a little anyway. “Yeah? I’ll seduce you with my space facts.”

 “Gonna play with my telescope? Do some black hole exploration?” Chris tops off each sandwich with a slice of rye, grinning just as stupidly as Seb.

“Oh god,” Sebastian grimaces his way through another laugh, setting his phone aside so he can accept one of the loaded plates from Chris, “that’s awful.”

“I feel like there’s an obvious big bang innuendo I’m missing.” Chris frowns down at his food for a contemplative moment before switching gears and offering, “Want beer?” as he heads over to the fridge.

“Sure,” Seb manages around a too-ambitious first bite of his sandwich. On the list of things Chris excels at, constructing bread and cheese and meat into little towers of heaven-sent goodness comes pretty damn close to first place.

“Good?” Chris asks, wandering back to where Seb’s hanging out at the counter, two chilled bottles in hand.

Seb hums his approval, too busy chewing and swallowing to offer a proper response. “Very good, mingea mea de gaz,” he finally murmurs, voice fond as he accepts one of the beers from Chris.

“What’s that?” Chris has picked up some basic Romanian through the span of their relationship, but every once in a while Seb likes to pull out something new and throw him through a loop.

“Gas ball,” Seb translates, employing one of his most effective weapons and smiling with all the charming, sweet-eyed innocence he can muster, “my gas ball.”

Chris laughs, moving like he’s going to snatch Seb’s beer back as he makes a face that’s all mock-offended.

“It’s a term of endearment!” Seb insists, holding his bottle out of the way and cracking up as Chris makes an unsuccessful swipe across the counter for it.

“Oh yeah?” Chris is grinning far too widely to make that fake annoyance look anywhere near the realm of real. “Are we talking about space or Romania now?”

“Romanian astronauts,” Seb says with as straight a face as he can manage.

 Of the two of them, he definitely has the better poker face and Chris stares at him for precisely five seconds before finally declaring, “I call bullshit.”

“You know, people would pay to learn top-quality shit like this,” Seb comments, lifting his sandwich for another bite. “My talents are so unappreciated here.”

“Aw, babe. Not all of them,” Chris replies kindly. “There’s that thing you do with your tongue...”

Sebastian almost chokes on his mouthful of sandwich, laughing and coughing all at once as he reaches for his beer, taking a long drink to help clear his throat. “Oh my god, don’t do that,” he eventually manages to wheeze out, voice still a little raspy.

“Sorry,” Chris says, sounding way too pleased with himself to actually mean it.

“No you’re not.” Seb temporarily abandons the last half of his sandwich in favour of rounding the counter so he can invade Chris’ space, knocking their shoulders together playfully. “You’re nothing but trouble,” he murmurs, low and teasing. “What did I ever see in you?”

Chris immediately grins, putting down his beer and settling his hands on Seb’s hips instead, reeling him in until they’re up close and personal. “Tough luck, babe,” he says, eyes all bright and stupidly pretty as he tries to sneakily work his hands down and around to the general vicinity of Seb’s butt. “We already took this thing public, there’s no getting rid of me now.”

Sebastian can’t help the big wide smile that spreads across his face; it’s pretty much a natural reflex when it comes to Chris. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Chris’ voice drops an octave, gaze lowering to rest on Seb’s mouth. “Should’ve ran while you had the chance.”

God. That look, that voice, pulls an immediate, visceral response from Sebastian’s body. He wets his lips, beginning to feel a little hotter under the collar as he slides his hands up the back of Chris’ shirt, skin smooth and warm and familiar under his fingertips. “Damn. What was I thinking?”

“Dumb move,” Chris agrees, mouth curled up in a soft sort of half smile. “Too late now.”             

“Too late now,” Seb echoes fondly, before finally pulling him into a kiss.



Chapter Text



Chris is, by nature, not a very chill person.

Premieres make him antsy, full days of press usually result in him trying to overcompensate for his restlessness by saying at least one dumb thing, and he can’t watch any of his own movies without automatically picking apart every scene where he wasn’t quite good enough.

He’s usually better at hiding it than this, though.

Folding his arms over his chest, he leans against the wall and frowns hard enough to possibly make his face stick like that.

Across the gym, Seb is finishing up another set of weighted squats, jaw clenched and attention focused on the task at hand while his trainer talks him through it.

“Good job, Sebby. Two more. There we go. Nice, nice,” Don encourages, and every word out of his mouth feels like it’s cementing Chris’ frown just a little more permanently. 



Chris wants to look away, to somehow ease the unhappy knot of tightness in his chest, but he can’t. It’s like his eyes are trying to punish him. The whole thing’s got him so thrown off his game, he can’t even take a moment to properly appreciate Seb’s butt in those sweatpants.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

A voice behind him speaks suddenly and Chris tries not to jump two feet in the air and grab his own boob out of surprise.

By the time he gets himself properly turned around with what’s hopefully a non-weird expression on his face, Seb’s gym buddy, Shim, is already smirking far too knowingly.


Chris, forever a master of eloquence, eventually fumbles out a reply of, “Uh. Hi.”

“Waiting for your boy?” Shim wipes some sweat from his face with the corner of the towel that’s draped around his neck, looking over to where Seb’s finishing up his final set of reps.

Your boy. Man, Chris could hug this guy. The wording, so natural and offhand, makes him feel slightly better, but when his eyes wander back over to Seb and Don – the latter of whom is now patting Seb on the back and laughing in a way that’s a little too chummy for Chris’ taste – that knot clenches tighter and he kind of wants to whine like a put-out dog.

“We have lunch plans,” he makes his mouth say, even though most of his attention’s still being held by the scene across the gym.

His eyes are still over there too, so he completely misses it when Shim nods in return. “Cool, I won’t keep you then. See you around, yeah?”

Because his mom definitely engrained better manners in him than he’s currently displaying, Chris guiltily swings his full attention back around to the dude in front of him. “Yeah man, take care,” he says, automatically stepping in for a bro handshake/half hug combo before Shim takes off.

“Tell Seb I’ll see him Thursday,” Shim adds on his way out, walking backwards and pointing at Chris with a grin. “No excuses!”

Raising a hand in acknowledgement, Chris grins back, knowing all too well how Seb tends to lose steam towards the end of the week, usually resulting in at least one attempt at worming his way out of a gym session or two.

Chris really can’t say he’d mind if Seb would rather ditch the gym – and its associated touchy, quick-to-praise trainer – in favour of bumming around at home with Chris.

Annoyed with himself for even thinking that, Chris rubs at his beard and grimaces down at the floor. For fuck’s sake, he’s acting like the evil villain who wants to keep his princess locked away in a tower, hoarded all for himself.

He can’t help but snort at that mental image, expression wanting to lighten just a little when he imagines calling Seb ‘princess’ to his face. Chris would probably be rewarded with one of those incredulous looks that’re all arched eyebrows and wrinkly forehead, accompanied by a suspicious accusation of, ‘you’re drunk, aren’t you’. They both know that Chris is more than capable of producing an overabundant amount of stupid comments while stone-cold sober, but it’s sweet that Seb always tries to give him an out anyway.

The thought’s almost enough to make him smile, and it isn’t until he’s jostled out of his own head by the echoing clang of weights being returned to their rack that he thinks to actually look up and scout out Seb’s current whereabouts.

As it turns out, the man himself is already making a beeline for Chris, looking all sweaty and smiley, too good for this world and everyone in it.

“Hey.” Seb grins at him, hair fluffed up into its usual state of post-workout ridiculousness and shirt nearly soaked through completely. He looks like a fucking piece of art, and Chris feels tongue-tied and fumbling and dumb in his presence. Nothing new there, really.

“God, I’m starving,” Seb complains as Chris follows him like an obedient puppy in the direction of the change room. “Let me grab a shower, then I’m gonna undo all that work with a bacon cheeseburger. Don’t tell Don.”

Fucking Don. Chris’ scowl must be the stuff of legends right now. One step away from that evil tower-dwelling villain; he can feel it.

In fact, he’s so busy feeling simultaneously bitchy and sorry for himself, he doesn’t realize they’ve made it into the belly of the change room until he nearly walks smack into Seb’s back when Sebastian stops to pop open his locker and rifle through the gym bag crammed inside.

“You alright?” Seb asks, giving Chris a brief side-eyed look before pulling off his sweaty shirt and tossing it into the bag. “You’re quiet today.”

“I’m fine.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. Chris runs a hand through his hair and tries not to fidget now that he’s been called out on his shifty behaviour. “Just thinkin’ about some shit.”

Sebastian makes an acknowledging noise, still looking more concerned than not. “Good shit only, I hope,” he says, stepping into Chris’ space now and cupping his cheek with one hand, thumb brushing across the bearded stubble on Chris’ chin.

Chris stares at him - too close and a little bit cross-eyed - and kind of forgets how to breathe for a second. He looks...jesus. Even on a good day, Chris barely has the words to articulate all the things Seb makes him feel. And today is not one of those days.

Because in front of him, Sebastian is still very much shirtless, one lone bead of sweat sliding down his temple and hair still a goddamn disaster. Because his hand and voice and eyes are warm enough to cut like a knife through all the lingering doubts and jealousy clouding Chris’ head. Because he’s smiling at Chris like an early morning sunrise; tentative and luminous and overwhelming in its pure, simplistic beauty, and fuck if that doesn’t make Chris’ heart malfunction in his chest.

The thing is, Chris knows he can be...difficult, sometimes. When he loves, it’s usually too hard, too fast, too much. It’s just that some anxious little corner of his brain needs; needs comfort and support in the form of daily I love yous and tactile, physical reassurances. Needs to know that he’s wanted, that he hasn’t fucked anything up, that he matters to someone.   

And god bless Seb, he indulges Chris like no one ever has.

So when Chris moves in without even thinking, crowding Seb into the nearest locker-hidden recess of the room, pressing him into the wall and immediately getting one hand down the front of Seb’s sweatpants, all Sebastian does is release a soft noise of surprise and tilt his head back, eyes sliding half-shut. Accepting. Wanting.

Sometimes Chris wonders if these little moments of needy reassurance aren’t only for his own benefit.

Wasting no time, he tugs down the waistband of Seb’s sweats, leaving the elastic stretched tight around his thighs, low enough to expose his dick but also limiting his ability to move.

When Sebastian realizes this, he lets out a muttered, “Fuck,” breath already coming out in shallow, uneven bursts.

“Look at you, jesus,” Chris murmurs absently, more focused on the visual in front of him than the words coming out of his mouth, and when he finally gets a hand around Seb, Chris finds that he’s more than half way hard, smooth and hot to the touch. It only takes a few long, slow strokes before he’s fully stiffening up, dripping wet and easing the glide as Chris works his fist over him.

Chris,” Sebastian breathes, gripping Chris’ bicep and slumping forward to press his forehead against the side of Chris’ head. He’s still sweaty, skin uncharacteristically warm from his workout, but Chris doesn’t care. He’ll take everything Seb’ll give him; slick skin and low moans and needy, grabbing hands included. Because every fucking inch of this guy deserves to be appreciated, and Chris intends to do exactly that.

He’s not much of an exhibitionist, but there’s something oddly thrilling about the fact that they’re really about to do this - something that appeals to that dark little pit of jealously that’s still writhing deep in his belly - knowing that the door could open at any moment and anyone could see.  

Still, even though their relationship is public knowledge these days, there’s holding hands on the sidewalk, and then there’s getting caught having your hand around your boyfriend’s dick in a public locker room. Chris, having no desire to undergo the shit-storm of the latter scenario, does a quick over-the-shoulder check of the door before deciding they can probably get away with another few minutes of secluded privacy. Besides, any risks right now are damn well outweighed by the rewards.

With that, he distinctly shoves everything that is not Seb-related to the back of his mind and instead focuses on the pace of his strokes, the tightness of his grip, trying to make it as good for Seb as he possibly can.

“God,” Seb chokes out, panting hard in Chris’ ear, body tensing when he realizes that Chris is done with all slow and teasing pretenses now, intent on bringing him to the edge fast and hard and intense to the point of nearly overwhelming, “oh god, fuck, I can’t –”

Breathing a little harder himself, Chris angles his head just enough to be able to look down, to watch what he’s doing, and that...fuck, yeah, that. For a minute he gets lost in the sight of his own hand moving back and forth over the flushed head of Seb’s dick, and then he opens his mouth and words just sort of start to fall out.

“So fucking hot - jesus, Seb - can’t fuckin’ keep my hands off you,” he babbles without thought. “Fuck, babe-”

Sebastian cuts him off with a kiss, one hand holding tight to the back of Chris’ neck and the other still clutching at his bicep in a death grip that might actually leave fingerprints (and god, Chris really fucking hopes it leaves fingerprints).   

It’s a struggle to do anything other than completely surrender all higher brain function when Seb kisses him like that, but Chris does his damnest to focus on maintaining the pace of his hand, paying particular attention to the tip of Seb’s cock now, employing all the tricks he knows Seb likes best; squeezing tight on the upstroke and rubbing his thumb along the sensitive underside.

Sebastian groans into the kiss and when Chris goes to pull in a breath, lips part and suddenly it’s deep and filthy, tongues sliding together, wet and heated and hungry, and Chris doesn’t care if the whole fucking state of New York decides to walk through that door right now. Let them. Let them see that he’s the only one Sebastian kisses like it’s a brand, burning hot marks of ownership into his skin. That only he can make Sebastian fall apart so thoroughly, so completely, like this.

There’s a faint stirring of pride that mingles alongside that lingering jealousy now, and in the heat of the moment, with Seb clinging to him and letting out tiny, hitched moans with every breath, it’s easy to crack open his heart, easy to spill those hidden, possessive thoughts and admit against the mouth he loves so fucking much, “Sometimes it’s hard to share you with the rest of the world.”

Sebastian makes a noise of dissent, pressing closer as his hips jerk forward into the tight circle of Chris’ fist. “The rest of the world doesn’t have me,” he murmurs in a voice that’s like thick churned gravel, focusing big dark, pleasure-hazy eyes on Chris, “you do.” And then he’s tensing and swearing and coming all over Chris’ hand.

“God, baby.” All Chris can do is try to keep him upright while Seb trembles, going boneless and heavy against him, mouth open and warm against the side of Chris’ neck as he struggles to catch his breath.

Chris gives him some time – would give him all the fucking time in the universe, really – and relegates himself to petting Seb’s hair and blinking back the absurd urge to cry.

“Wow,” Sebastian eventually murmurs, regaining the use of his legs enough to lean most of his weight back on the wall behind him rather than pitched forward against Chris’ chest. Chris keeps hands on his shoulders anyway. Steadying, being present, just because.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, slightly out of breath even though he’s done nothing but watch, still rock hard and completely untouched in his jeans. “I didn’t mean to...”

Sebastian’s eyebrows arch half way up his forehead and he grins, lazy and sated. “You didn’t mean to push me up against a wall and get me off? Cause I think it’s pretty obvious I didn’t mind.”

Chris huffs out a short laugh, trying to ignore the wave of heat that rises in his face when the full force of that easy, charming, pleasure-drunk grin hits him. “Still though. I kinda got carried away there.”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian assures him, dropping a brief kiss on the corner of Chris’ mouth, arms loosely looped over Chris’ shoulders and fingers teasing low on the base of his neck. “In fact...what can I do to convince you to get carried away more often?” he teases, shifting against the wall, causing one thigh to brush against the unrelieved bulge in the front of Chris’ pants.

For a second he looks a bit surprised when he realizes Chris hasn’t come himself, but that surprise is quick to melt into a warmly fond smile when Chris tugs him back in for a proper kiss now, soft and languid.

“Hey,” Seb draws back after a minute or two, just enough to mumble against Chris’ mouth, “let me take care of you.” The warm flat of his palm inches down to press firm against Chris’ erection, and fuck, Chris has to groan at that. It feels too damn good already.

“We were going to...uh, cheeseburgers,” he tries to remind Seb with what little blood’s still left in his brain. “You were hungry, you said.”

Sebastian grins, all slow and wide and positively wicked. “Lunch can wait,” he says, sliding down onto his knees. “I’m on to better things now.”




Chapter Text


Sweaty and worn out, Chris unlocks the door to the apartment, kicks off his shoes and drops his keys onto the side table that mainly functions as a makeshift home to the stacks of junk mail Sebastian is too lazy to sort through. The pile is looking a little precarious at the moment, so he nudges it back into a more sturdy-looking tower while yelling over his shoulder, “Babe, you home yet?!”

 There’s no answer. Seb must still be on set.

Peeling off his workout gear as he goes, Chris heads down the hall towards the bathroom. God, is he ever ready to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. The only plans in his immediate future include food, the couch, and copious amounts of quality Seb time, not necessarily in that order.

After a long, hot shower that leaves him feeling pleasantly loose and relaxed, Chris pads back out into the living room in his favorite old holey sweatshirt and sweatpants, frowning when he finds the apartment still silent and empty.

Huh. Seb usually tries to text if he’s going to be this late, but maybe he got caught up in finishing some extra scene takes or something.

It’s still fairly early on in the evening anyway, enough that Chris has some time to kill before he has to start thinking about things like dinner, so he settles in the middle of the couch, throwing his legs up on the coffee table and reaching for the TV remote, only getting as far as pressing the power button before his phone dings from where he’d dropped it on the empty cushion next to him.

Fumbling the remote in one hand and his phone in the other, Chris opens his messaging app and automatically smiles when he sees that he’s got a new text from Seb. But then he actually registers the content of that message, and the smile slides straight off his face, replaced with a cold, clenching sort of fear that invades his chest like sharpened ice.

Don’t freak out, the text says, which instantly has Chris doing the exact opposite as his pulse jacks up until it’s beating at triple time, but I’m at the hospital. Can you come get me?

Time stops.

Time stops, his lungs stop, his heart stops, everything seems to hit the pause button as Chris stares down at the message.

He reads it twice more then swears loudly and jumps up from the couch, standing there at a loss for a minute until his brain finally shifts from Frozen Panic Mode to Frenzied Action Mode and he bursts into motion, frantically trying to gathering up his wallet and keys while simultaneously typing out a slightly incoherent reply as best he can given the sudden, unsteady shaking of his hands.

what the fuck seb oh my god are you ok I’m coming right now stay where you are fuck

I’m fine, Seb texts back a few moments later, while Chris is hurriedly attempting to stuff his feet back into his shoes without stopping to re-tie the laces. Don’t panic.

Too fuckin late, Chris immediately sends back, mood hovering somewhere between pissed and terrified as he yanks the door shut behind him and sprints for his car.



One stressful, profanity-laden drive to the hospital later (in which Chris had sworn profusely at every red light and laid on the horn more aggressively than he ever has in the rest of his lifelong driving history combined), he’s bursting through the emergency room doors like something out of a Grey’s Anatomy episode, almost panting as anxiety takes hold of his lungs like a clenching fist.

Chris frantically scans the area for any sign of Seb and, a moment later, finds him seated in a chair by the nurse’s station, wearing a clunky medical boot on one foot while a pair of crutches stand propped up against the wall beside him.

There are no horrific amounts of blood. No missing limbs. He’s in one piece, even smiling a little when he looks up at the noise of the doors banging open and sees Chris standing there in all his slightly hysterical, panicky glory.

Thank fucking god.

Chris is in front of him in an instant, dropping to his knees on the hard tiled floor, babbling, “Jesus, baby, fuck, what happened?” and touching everywhere; Sebastian’s shoulder, his knee, cupping his cheek, trying to reassure himself that Seb is real. That he’s okay.

“Chris,” Seb murmurs, eyes sliding half-closed as he leans into the touch for a moment, and god, it takes everything Chris has to not collapse into a blubbering, emotional mess at that. “I’m alright. It’s nothing, really. I just kind of got hit by a car.”

Feeling like’s been dealt a surprise slap across the face, Chris jerks back, startled. “You kind of,” he repeats slowly, trying to wrap his head around the words that have just left Sebastian’s mouth, “got hit by a car?”

“It really just tapped me-”

“Just tapped you?!”

“- and I lost my balance and rolled my ankle when I fell,” Seb finishes.

Chris attempts to process that for a moment before asking, in the Deadly Serious Voice he only pulls out when he’s especially outraged on behalf of the people he loves, “Who do I need to sue?”

Fuck contracts. Fuck the movie. Studio heads are going to roll once Chris finds out exactly who let this happen on their watch.

Seb shakes his head. “It was an accident, honestly, and the stunt driver already feels terrible about it. Please don’t make this worse.”

“Worse?!” Chris is, for lack of a better term, completely fucking flabbergasted. “Seb, you got hit by a fucking car!”

“Tapped,” Sebastian corrects.

“Jesus Christ.” Chris scrubs a hand over his face, trying not to lose his cool in the middle of the ER. It’s...yeah, it’s a struggle.

“Look, can you be mad at me later?” Sebastian asks, voice gone a bit quieter now as he looks down at his lap. “I’d really just like to go home right now.”

And shit, that’s when Chris actually notices exactly how pale and tired Seb looks, eyes red-rimmed and shoulders drooping, and his heart clenches with a renewed surge of fear and worry.

Getting back to his feet, Chris pulls in a big breath and lets it out in a long, slow exhale, trying to calm down. There’ll be time to talk about the whys and hows later. Right now, Seb needs him.

“Yeah, of course. And I’m not mad at you. I’m just scared shitless,” he admits to Seb. “For future reference, ‘don’t freak out’ is a fucking terrible way to start a text. Jesus Christ, never do that to me again.”

Sebastian laughs a little, thin-sounding and exhausted, but at least he’s smiling, reaching for Chris’ hand and threading their fingers together. “I’m sorry. They gave me a lot of pain meds and you know I don’t like hospitals, and all I could think was how much I wanted you here...”

Chris squeezes his hand, feeling his throat tighten up more and more the longer he looks down at Seb. “I’m here,” he promises thickly. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”




Sebastian slowly eases himself down onto the bed while Chris hovers around him worriedly, watching Seb’s face with razor-sharp eagle eyes for even the tiniest sign of discomfort and feeling more like his mother than he’d care to admit.

“What can I get you?” he asks desperately, wanting to make everything  better but not knowing how. “Water? More pain pills? Are you hungry at all?”

Seb practically melts back into the pillows with a sigh, eyes already sliding shut as he answers, “Nothing, ’m just tired. Will you lay with me?”

Chris’ heart feels like it’s splintering in his chest and when he blinks, his eyes burn a little. “Like you even have to fuckin’ ask,” he manages to get out, trying to sound gruff about it but failing pretty epically.

It’s awkward to get the two of them positioned properly, especially with Sebastian’s giant boot constantly getting in the way, but eventually they find a comfortable position with Chris flat on his back, Seb draped half on top of him with his injured foot carefully settled between Chris’ ankles.

Seb snuggles right up to him, tucking his face into Chris’ neck while Chris wraps arms around him and buries his nose in Seb’s hair as all the pent-up tension slowly starts to seep out of his body, finally feeling at ease again for the first time since his shower that afternoon. Fuck, it was only four hours ago but that feels like another lifetime; a wide, jagged rift now distinctly separating time into one of two categories: Before the Text, and After.

It’s weird, Chris thinks. Weird and crazy and pretty fucked up how things can change in the blink of an eye. How one little text, the simplest arrangement of words, can have the whole world falling down around you.

He swallows, throat tight all of a sudden, and whispers into the top of Sebastian’s head, “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Already more than half asleep, Sebastian murmurs something low and indistinct, dipping his head and brushing a sleepy kiss against the dark ink that runs along Chris’ collar bone, breath rolling warm and reassuring over Chris’ skin. It’s a promise. An apology. A reminder. And in that moment, it’s everything Chris could ever need.



Chapter Text


They arrive separately: Chris from their New York apartment, and Seb coming straight from a work obligation on the opposite side of the city. If it weren’t for that tiny, seemingly insignificant fact, if they’d had the opportunity to get ready together at home, Chris might’ve actually had a chance to prepare himself for this.

But they didn’t, so he can’t. Which means that currently, an extremely unprepared, stupidly blindsided Chris is simultaneously trying to remember how to form human words while also forcing his dick to calm the hell down through sheer force of will alone.

Things are not going as successfully as he’d hoped.

Chris tugs at his suit jacket, hoping the front hangs long enough to somewhat obscure the situation that’s beginning to form in the front of his pants, and throws a silent curse up at the sky.

Because now he has to suffer through the particularly exquisite form of torture that is being out in the most public of public settings with about a hundred cameras documenting every breath, blink, and step he takes, while Sebastian navigates the red carpet in that suit. With that smile. Sporting that fucking facial hair.

Thank god they’ve gotten the whole going public thing out of the way because Chris’ face is a dead giveaway right now. A blinking neon sign of ‘hey look at me, I’m so fucking smitten you can see it from the moon’.

He only realizes he’s stopped dead in his tracks and has been staring for an unreasonably long amount of time when one of the red carpet handlers, a blonde woman wielding a clipboard and official-looking walkie-talkie starts prodding him along because he’s holding up the line.

Forcing his feet into motion, Chris awkwardly ambles his way down the rest of the carpet, trying not to move too quickly, wanting to give Seb a chance to catch up to him. They’ll be seated next to each other inside anyway, but goddamn, Chris needs to get closer to him now.

He tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles his way through a few more photos, already looking forward to the end of the night because the endless roar of shutter clicks and voices yelling out his, Seb’s, and ten other names, is already starting to stir up the faint beginnings of a headache in the back of his skull.


That, though, is the one voice he’s always happy to hear calling him.

Chris turns just in time to see Seb striding towards him with a big, lazy grin, looking twenty different kinds of fucking unbelievable in his slim-cut blue suit. God, Chris wants to get his hands under that shirt, into that soft, perfectly coiffed hair so badly, his hands are already half way out of his pockets before he even realizes it.

He falters a little then, trying to make the action look natural by tugging down the cuffs of his own suit jacket instead, but Seb knows him too well, knows exactly what he was about to do, and his grin widens even further, approaching smug smirk territory as he steps up close to Chris.

“How’re you doin’?” Sebastian murmurs, leaning in to speak directly into Chris’ ear so he can be heard over the racket around them, one hand lifted just enough to touch Chris’ elbow; about as much physical contact as they’ll allow themselves in front of a hungry sea of shutter-happy photographers like this.

How’s he doing? Just fucking peachy. He’s always wanted to sweat his way through a thousand dollar suit while battling an ill-timed public boner. Thanks, Seb.

What comes out of Chris’ mouth instead is, rather desperately, “I gotta touch you.”

Seb chuckles, deep and intimate and so fucking arousing, it’s enough to raise little goosebumps on Chris’ arms. “What’s stopping you?”

That fucking tease.

Chris gives him a look. “You know exactly what.”

Seb just smiles at him some more; one of those big, genuine smiles that animate his whole face, making his eyes crinkle up at the corners. He’s obviously enormously pleased with himself for managing to rile Chris up like this.

“What’s with this?” Seb asks, letting his fingers skim the edge of Chris’ suit. By fluke, they’ve both managed to show up in matching blue and white. Chris would probably find it funny if he had any functional brain cells left to spare. “Trying to steal my look?” His voice is low and playful in a way that instantly gets Chris’ body way too interested considering their current location.

“I’m trying to live my life,” Chris complains, “but you’re making it difficult.”

With one of those slow, deadly fucking lip licks that murder Chris’ sanity every time, Seb leans incrementally closer, focus flicking hotly between Chris’ mouth and eyes like he’d have no problem devouring him right here, in front of everybody.

The hand at Chris’ elbow slips down to squeeze his side once, brief but firm, and in the blink of an eye Sebastian’s letting go and offering a light, conversational, “We should probably go find out seats,” as he neatly steps back and removes himself from Chris’ personal space. Back to playing the professional colleague again.

The shift is so abrupt it startles Chris for a moment, leaving him feeling a little lost, dumb and floundering, until he clears his throat and manages to fall into step next to Seb as they head into the venue. It’s only once they’re through the main doors that he finally gets his tongue untangled enough to quietly warn, “You’re gonna pay for that later.”

Seb’s eyes seem to shift one shade darker as he glances over at Chris’ face, and on his next step forward he veers slightly to the right, not-so-accidentally bumping their shoulders together, murmuring back, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Promise,” Chris assures him. “Definitely a promise.”




They barely make it behind closed doors before clothes start flying.

Sebastian’s got Chris backed up against the inside of the door, kissing him like he’s dying, like he’s literally trying to climb him as he grabs at Chris’ shoulders and shoves their hips together.

“Fuck,” Chris groans, head thunking back against the polished wood, panting as Seb drags his mouth down to Chris’ throat, sucking marks as the scratchy-soft texture of his beard rubs Chris’ neck red.

It’s so much sensation all at once, the wet-hot feeling of Seb’s mouth, the unfamiliar rasp of beard against his skin, Chris is painfully hard in what’s a pretty embarrassingly short amount of time.

This shouldn’t be new - Seb’s gone a week or so without shaving before - but fuck, it’s never been like this.

The beard is softer and fuller than the perpetual five o-clock shadow he’d worn during their last few movies together, but it still reminds Chris of filming. Of kisses sneaked through hotel doors. Of stifled moans and hurried make-out sessions in trailers with the curtains drawn. Of strategically-placed hickies and hot, knowing looks shared across busy sets.

And fuck, now he’s gotten himself so worked up on the memory alone, the next time Seb drags his jaw over Chris’ throat, the noise that comes out of Chris is loud and borderline obscene.

At the sound, Sebastian pulls back, already breaking out into a grin as his eyebrows go up. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathes, sounding – and feeling, for that matter – a little dazed. “You look really fuckin’ hot right now.”

Seb’s eyebrows, impossibly, inch up even higher.

Unable to stop himself from grinning back, Chris rolls his eyes and says, “Shut up,” despite Seb having not said a word. By now he’s pretty well-versed in the language of Sebastian’s facial expressions, and that’s a look he’s seen many times before. That look effectively says, like the teasing asshole Seb is, you’re just figuring this out now? “You know you look fuckin’ hot all the time. This is just, like, extra.”

Okay, so he’s not a master of poetic language, but he’s trying.

“Extra, hmm?” Seb leans in again, clearly intent on going straight back to the side of Chris’ neck, but this time he it’s his tongue that he drags over the reddened, marked-up skin there instead. 

Ah,” Chris jumps a little at the contact but doesn’t pull away. It feels like his body can’t decide if it wants more or less of that odd pleasure-pain.

He decides to opt for more, and tips his head back to give Seb better access, eyes automatically sliding shut at the feeling of Seb gently mouthing over already-sensitive skin, but then Seb changes tactics and starts rubbing his face all over Chris like an enthusiastic cat, scratching him up, and Chris’ eyes shoot open in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Stop!” he laughs, trying to shove Seb away. It tickles but also burns a little. Weird combination.

Chris manages to get in one decent push that forces Seb to take a step or two back in order to keep his balance, but Seb manages to snag a hold of Chris’ hand as he moves, so he uses it to pull himself back in until they’re up close again, nose to nose and grinning like idiots.

“Hi,” Sebastian says.

“Hi,” Chris answers, a little breathless with how much he loves this guy. “I really want to blow you right now.”

“Oh.” Seb rapid-blinks a few times, obviously not expecting such a quick turn of events, but still very much on board with the idea. “Jesus. Yeah, okay.”

He lets go of Chris’ hand and backs up, starting towards the bed, only Chris stops him with a shake of his head, instructing, “Nope, stay standing. Back against the wall. And leave the suit on.”

Seb huffs out a short, breathless laugh. “You’ve clearly given this some thought.”

“All I’ve been thinkin’ about since I first saw you tonight,” Chris admits, watching Seb get himself situated, shoulders pressed against the wall and head tipped back, exposing the strong line of his throat as he swallows. From this angle, the white shirt under his jacket is almost see-through, and his snug blue dress pants are tenting obscenely in the front. Christ, it’s enough to make Chris’ mouth water.

“Yeah?” Seb asks, all low and rumbling and dark-eyed.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, then steps up close and drops to his knees.

Seb breathes out a fuck so softly Chris barely hears him, but then again, he’s not exactly focused on listening at the moment.

His hands go to the front of Seb’s pants and make quick work of the belt, button and zipper before tugging them down around Sebastian’s thighs. He’s wearing one of his fancy pairs of Calvin Klein’s, Chris notes. Black. Tight. Smooth and satiny to the touch.

The sight in front of him looks so good Chris can’t fucking help himself and he closes his eyes, leans in and mouths at the thick, hard line of Seb’s dick through the fabric. He won’t win any points for technique, but he knows exactly what Sebastian likes – pressure, warmth, wetness – and that he can definitely deliver.

Oh,” Seb chokes out, hips jerking on instinct as one hand comes down to bury itself in Chris’ hair. “Fuck...”

Chris groans at the feeling then pulls back enough to glance up at Seb, wondering out loud in a rough, gravelly voice that has Seb’s grip unconsciously tightening, “Think I can get you to come just like this? Make you fucking lose it right in those pretty little briefs, just ‘cause you want my mouth that fucking bad?”

He has no idea where the dirty talk is suddenly coming from, but judging from Sebastian’s reaction, it isn’t a bad thing.

“God,” Seb says shakily, pausing for a second and swallowing hard. “Never say that again.”

“What,” Chris replies, all false innocence as his thumbs start to rub warm circles into Seb’s hipbones. “You don’t want me to tell you how goddamn good you look when you’re hard as hell and so fucking wet for it?”

“Jesus, Chris...” Something like a cross between a moan and a laugh leaves Seb’s mouth. Embarrassment meeting pure delight as his face flushes and he turns his head to the side, biting at his lip.

Chris’ heart melts a little at the sight. Sebastian rarely ever gets shy like this. It’s fucking adorable to see and Chris plans on taking full advantage of every second of it.

“Said I was gonna make you pay,” he reminds Seb, sliding his hands around Seb’s waist until he’s got two perfect palmfuls of ass. Then he pulls Seb forward and fits his mouth over the thin, wet fabric straining over the head of his dick.

Seb reacts like he’s just been sucker-punched in the stomach, bending half way over and clutching the back of Chris’ head with both hands as he gasps raggedly, abs clenching like he’s a second away from already coming.

Chris doesn’t let up, just keeps tormenting him, tonguing at the tip before working his mouth down the underside of his shaft. The front of Seb’s underwear are so wet at this point - a filthy-hot combination of precome and Chris’ spit - the fabric is clinging like a second skin, molded so tightly to Seb’s erection, Chris can feel every twitch and tremble under his mouth.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a little breathless when he eventually pulls back, nosing along the hot line of Seb’s cock, so wildly turned-on he’s only half aware of what’s leaving his mouth, “yeah, fuck. You love that, don’t you baby.”

“Oh god,” Seb says, voice strained. A plea and a prayer. “Chris, I’m gonna...”

“Jesus,” Chris breathes, in awe, in love, and just really fucking worked up too, “yeah, come on, baby,” and then he closes his mouth around the tip and sucks like he’s getting paid for it.

“Fuck!” Seb shouts – actually shouts, thank god they don’t have neighbors – as his cock goes rock-hard, the muscles in his ass clenching tight under Chris’ hands as his mouth drops open and he comes all over the inside of his briefs.

When it’s all over they sag against each other and try to catch their breath, Chris’ forehead leaned against Seb’s stomach, Seb’s arms laying loose and heavy over Chris’ shoulders.

“Were you trying to kill me?” Sebastian finally asks after an indeterminate amount of time (five minutes? a year? who fucking knows; Chris sure doesn’t). His voice sounds totally shot after his porn-worthy vocal performance and Chris grins into Seb’s belly when he feels fingers start to clumsily card through his hair.

As nice as the hair-petting is, his knees are no longer those of the twenty-five year old he used to be, and they started complaining about his current position a long time ago. With a grimace, Chris unfolds himself from his spot on the floor and ends up stumbling into Seb when he discovers that one of his feet have fallen asleep.

Sebastian laughs, curves his arms around him, and kisses him deep. “C’mon,” he says, grin on his lips and eyes all warm and soft and happy when they part. “Nap first, then I’m gonna pay you back.”

Chris rubs his thumb against Seb’s bearded cheek, kisses him again, and says, “Sounds perfect.”


Chapter Text

After the Party




He's drunk.

He's drunk and the late March air still holds a hint of sharp-edged frost, but Chris is warm against his side so Sebastian leans in closer, uncaring. It's dark outside anyway. The windows are tinted. Their cab driver's deep in conversation with whoever's faint, masculine voice is coming in through his earpiece. So they're virtually alone, Seb figures, and he's damn well going to take advantage of it. Besides, after an entire night of restraint, he more than deserves it.

They'd done well in the beginning; mingling with other guests, keeping their hands to themselves, but as the evening wore on and the booze continued to flow, he knows they started slipping. Leaning in too close to talk. Hands squeezing shoulders and biceps and hips with too much familiarity. Eyes meeting too many times across the length of the room.

Public foreplay, it felt like. And now Seb is so fucking ready to move on to the main event.

He smiles to himself for no reason in particular, presses his shoulder more firmly into Chris' and lets the hand that's current resting on his knee slide across the divide to explore the inside of Chris' nearest thigh.

Chris automatically relaxes his leg, letting it fall open just enough for Seb's fingers creep down further, heat and hard muscle making his palm tingle pleasantly. He wants to follow the same path with his mouth. Wants to make Chris groan, arch up, press one of those big, warm hands to the back of Seb's neck and -

The corner of Chris' mouth ticks up like he's trying not to smile. "You're gonna get us in trouble," he murmurs, low enough that the driver can't overhear them.

Seb, feeling floaty and warm and thrilled to finally be the sole recipient of Chris' attention after having to share him all night with the rest of the world, turns his head enough to press his nose into the fabric of Chris' jacket and hides his too-wide drunken grin. It’s a good place to be, he decides. Chris smells nice.

Breathing in, he makes an inquisitive noise into dark blue wool, then asks, “Why's that?"

Chris dips his head to speak directly into his ear, stroking Seb’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb before answering quietly, "Cause I'm pretty sure there're rules against having sex in a cab."


Sebastian practically shivers at the tone of his voice, all deep and warm and rumbling. Full of intent. Promising to deliver all the things he can't do here as soon as they've made it behind the closed doors of their apartment.

Tightening his grip on Chris' thigh, Sebastian tilts his cheek onto Chris' shoulder and puts on his most charming smile. "You know, rules exist to be broken."

When Chris laughs, it's loud and rich and wonderful. Lighting up Seb's insides with happy satisfaction. "Yeah?" he asks, looking over at Seb all dark-eyed and fond, like he wants to eat him alive but would also be entirely content to simply hold his hand for the duration of the foreseeable future. "When did you become such a rebel?"

"I decided it just now," Sebastian tells him, and this time when Chris laughs he stifles the tail end of it against Seb’s temple, letting his lips linger.



Despite the fresh air and passing of time, Sebastian does not, in fact, sober up at all during the cab ride home.

“What are you laughing at?!” Chris exclaims, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands poised on his belt buckle, half way through undressing.

They’d been making out pretty heavily up until this point, roaming hands and hot mouths and rocking hips until Chris had stumbled up off the mattress to undress himself completely, treating Seb to a full length view from head to foot as he’d stripped off his shirt, and like the slow, gradual crumbling of a dam over time, confronted with the sight in front of him, Sebastian had snorted once, twice, then erupted into full-out, unstoppable laughter.

“It’s - god, I can’t take you seriously with that -” Seb waves his hand around vaguely, “thing on your face.”

“My nose? Seb,” Chris pauses what he’s doing to give him a solemn, disappointed look, “you know it gets sad when you make fun of it.”

Sebastian immediately chokes on another big, cackling laugh, practically doubled over as he hugs his own stomach. Fuck. He loves Chris’ sense of humor on a regular day, but combine that with his current level of joyful, drunken delight and the results are borderline deadly.

Still wheezing a little, he struggles to pull in a few good deep breaths, finally managing, "Your hair looks like the end of a paintbrush. Your mustache," Jesus, he's so fucking giggly he can barely get all the words out, "your mustache looks like a Chewbacca caterpillar."

The mental image of that gets him cracking up all over again, and this time, apparently Chris is no longer strong enough to remain immune to the hilarity.

He throws his head back and laughs loud enough to probably spook the neighbors. “Seb! What the hell?!”

“I never said I didn’t like Chewbacca!” Seb replies through his own resurgence of laughter, fumbling his way down to the end of the mattress and grabbing Chris by the belt loops, trying to pull him back onto the bed. “C’mere, c’mon, I wanna.”

Chris lets himself be tugged forward, but it isn’t without a little hesitation. His eyebrows pull together seriously as he gets one knee up on the bed. “Oh god, am I just some sort of convenient stand-in so you can fulfill your weird Star Wars sexual fantasies? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Seb collapses back onto the mattress, grinning happily when Chris follows and settles his weight over him. “I dunno,” he replies, trying to look contemplative as he slides his hands up Chris’ sides. “Do the Chewbacca voice for me?”

Chris covers Seb’s mouth with one hand, fighting to keep a straight face even though his grin’s pretty much rivaling Seb’s for width at this point. “Jesus Christ, Seb. What goes on inside your brain sometimes?”

“Don’t kink shame me,” Sebastian says, slightly muffled from beneath Chris’ palm, and that sets the both of them off again.

Shoulders shaking, Chris drops his head down to Seb’s shoulder as they ride out the giggles together, out of breath and teary-eyed by the time they finally get a handle on themselves.

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” Chris speaks into the curve of Sebastian’s neck, still trying to catch his breath.

Each exhale is warm and tickly, making Seb squirm under his weight. It’s not the most comfortable feeling but also not unpleasant enough to make Seb move. “Love you back,” he murmurs, meaning it, and rakes his fingers up through the back of Chris’ hair.

Chris lifts his head up at the contact, looks right into Seb’s eyes, and all of a sudden they’re kissing like they’re starving for it, all traces of humor sucked out of the room and replaced with hunger instead.

Needy, burning hunger, from the way Chris presses his mouth hard against Seb’s, curls his fingers tight and possessive into the muscle of Seb’s hip.

“Yeah,” Sebastian murmurs against his lips, hands fumbling at Chris’ waist as he works to shed their remaining clothing. “Yeah, c’mon.”

Chris kisses him again, hot and all-consuming, mouth dragging against Seb’s cheek when he shifts enough to let Seb push his pants down around his hips and Sebastian groans at the feeling, wanting that mouth - that hard, wet heat - everywhere.

“Will you,” he says a little breathlessly, probably not making much sense but Chris knows him so well, is so fucking perfect, he makes an effortless jump straight onto Seb’s unfinished train of thought.

“Fuck yeah,” Chris murmurs, cheeks flushing and breath coming faster already as he moves down the mattress, propping himself up on his elbows once his face is level with Seb’s dick.

Sebastian’s been most of the way hard ever since they started making out, so it doesn’t take much before he’s making noises, rolling his hips up into the wet, inviting heat of Chris’ mouth.

And Chris is...fuck, Chris is so fucking good at this; taking him deep and keeping the flat of his tongue pressed to the underside of Seb’s length just the way Seb likes. When he pulls all the way up, he sucks hard at the tip, making Seb’s hips lift up off the mattress as he clenches a handful of bedsheets and moans.

“Baby,” Chris’ voice sounds wrecked already as his hands slide away from Seb’s hips, around to grab his ass instead. He squeezes once, hard, then closes his eyes, ducks his head, and gets back to work.

“Fuck, fuck,” Sebastian gasps, shakily pushing himself up onto one arm so he can watch. It’s a bad idea - he’s already too close to coming – but god, he loves the sight of Chris like this. Those big shoulders nestled between his legs like they belong there. The way his face looks when he’s swallowing Seb’s cock, equal parts bliss and determination, like he’s running the most important mission of his career and the only acceptable outcome is Sebastian coming so hard he loses track of time for a while.

It’s a distinctly Steve sort of look, the character bleed part of Seb’s brain points out, and thank god they’re done filming because now there’s no way he’d be able to function around that look on camera without (a) popping an immediate boner, or (b) making a sappy, glaringly obvious ‘that’s my man and he blows me like a goddamn champion’ face. Neither outcome sounds particularly appealing, especially if he happened to be within a ten foot radius of Mackie at the time.

Dear god, he’d never let Seb hear the end of it.

Letting out a long breath that’s half-moan, half-exhale, he feels his cock give a heavy throb as Chris goes all the way down, throat working around him, nose brushing the soft skin of Seb’s lower belly.

From this angle, all Sebastian can see is the smooth plane of his forehead, the dark brush of lashes against his cheeks, and the strong, straight line of his nose.

“God, you’re pretty,” he blurts, about two seconds away from an orgasm and filter entirely gone.

Chris makes a noise in the back of his throat, pulling off a second later to chuckle, slightly out of breath. “You called me Chewbacca ten minutes ago.”

Seb lifts one shoulder; as much of a coordinated shrug as he can muster given his current one-track thought process of wanna come, wanna come, wanna come. “That was ten minutes ago.”

“And now?” Chris does that thing where he manages to raise a single, curious eyebrow. It shouldn’t look as hot as it does, given the Super Mario mustache and all, but Seb’s dick reacts nonetheless.

He swallows, trying to get some moisture back into his throat. “Now I think you should fuck me.”

“Yeah?” A grin now accompanies the eyebrow raise and warmth pools low in Seb’s stomach. Lust, love, and plain simple happiness.

“Yeah,” Sebastian confirms, and he can’t help but reach for him, getting one hand into Chris’ hair and trying to pull him back up the bed.

Chris is smiling wide by the time their mouths meet again, tasting like Seb and a faint hint of beer and warm familiarity. Must be contagious, Seb thinks, because he feels his own lips stretch wide when they finally part.

Extracting himself from Seb’s hold for a moment, Chris leans over the edge of the bed, snagging the lube off the side table before rolling right back into place over Seb; a hot, comfortable weight that Sebastian is totally, absolutely, very much okay with feeling forever.

They smile and kiss and stare at each other some more while Chris carefully works to finger him open, hurried but not ungentle. After a full night of playing it cool, they’re both really only after one thing at this point.

By the time Seb’s at three fingers and is making embarrassingly breathy, incoherent noises, Chris finally takes mercy on him, slicking up his cock, lining up, and pushing in.

Sebastian never, ever gets tired of this part.

The initial stretch makes them both moan; Chris sinking in an inch at a time before easing back and doing it all over again with a smooth, lazy roll of his hips. It’s a slow, decadent kind of pleasure and Seb is swept up in it all, incapable of doing anything other than digging his fingers into Chris’ wide, muscular back and trying to remember to take a few breaths here and there (if for no other reason than to make sure he doesn’t accidentally pass out and miss any of this).

Chris’ brow is furrowed, lips slightly parted as he pants through the pleasure, eyes never leaving Seb’s face, and fuck it’s hot, but then Sebastian’s gaze slips down to rest on that damn mustache and suddenly things go from sexy to ridiculous in the blink of an eye.

He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. If Chris were a middle-aged dad from the 80’s making a low-budget basement porno, it would probably look exactly like this.

That sudden thought popping into his head does nothing to help his composure and a second later Seb breaks, laughing even as Chris keeps pushing into him.

“What...?” Chris stills his hips, frowning down at Sebastian as he catches his breath. “Christ, Seb, don’t tell me it’s the fucking mustache again.”

Seb grins apologetically. “I gotta - I gotta turn. I can’t look at you,” he says, still laughing only now it’s more because of Chris’ confused/aroused/miffed expression rather than his bad facial hair choices. “Jesus, you look like a topiary bush.”

Chris rolls his eyes, pulling out and patting Seb’s upper thigh in an effort to get him to roll over. “If I wanted to be heckled during sex, I would’ve slept with Joan Rivers.”

“It’s not heckling,” Seb rearranges himself on his hands and knees, looking back over his shoulder at Chris, “it’s...gentle ribbing. Coming from a place of love and upmost respect.”

“Sure,” Chris snorts, but Seb can see how bright his eyes are, how the corner of his mouth keeps wanting to tug up into a smile.

He doesn’t get all that much time to look though, because an instant later Chris is right up against his back, pulling at Seb’s legs until he’s got no choice but to go down flat on his belly with his thighs spread wide.

It’s exposing like this; he can feel Chris’ eyes on his ass and it makes a sharp burst of heat crackle down his spine.

When Chris finally gets his hands on him he goes for Seb’s hips, holding them down tight against the mattress, giving Seb no room to squirm or rut or push back into it. He just has to lie there and take it as Chris slides back in all slow and hot and thick.

“Jesus – fuck,” Sebastian gasps, pressing his sweaty forehead into the sheets as a full-body shiver works its way through him.

Laughing and groaning, Chris eases back, pulling almost all the way out before he pushes back in with a long, controlled roll of his hips. His thumbs press hard into the small of Seb’s back as he holds him down, literally fucking him into the mattress. “You like that?”

Seb’s legs try to kick out on instinct – there’s so much pressure, right on his prostate – but Chris has an iron hold on him. His knees barely move an inch, and damn, if that isn’t the hottest thing Seb’s ever experienced.

“God,” he breathes, feeling his cock pulse heavy and hot, smearing precome all over his stomach, “oh god, Chris – Chris - I’m gonna come already.”

“Fuck.” Chris thrusts a couple more times before letting go of Seb’s hips in favour of draping himself over the length of Seb’s back instead, half his weight pressing down on Sebastian and the rest supported by his elbows where he’s got them tucked up against Seb’s ribs.

In their new position, Chris doesn’t have enough range of motion to fully draw back so he starts fucking Seb in short, deep bursts, nailing his prostate every damn time.

“Baby,” Chris groans, voice low and wrecked as his hips smack against Seb’s ass again and again. “Fuck, you feel so tight like this.”

And Seb...god, Seb is nearly delirious at this point, eyes shut and mouth open as he makes loud, wordless noises every time Chris plunges in deep. The angle is so absolutely perfect, there’s no way he’s gonna last like this.

Uhh – fuck, gotta come,” he manages to get out.

Chris kisses his shoulder, the back of his neck, the shell of his ear as he rumbles, “Yeah, fuck yeah, c’mon. Let me see it, baby.”

The encouragement is all he needs to let go, hanging on for two more thrusts before it’s all too much and the next time Chris drives in hard it seems to shove the orgasm straight out of Seb.

He comes with a surprised, startled kind of choked-off groan, spilling across the bedsheets and fuck, he hasn’t even touched himself, got off just like that, on nothing but Chris’ cock, and -

“Oh my god,” he rasps out and either he’s coming again or he wasn’t finished the first time; another rolling wave that catches him off guard, turning his bones to liquid and body to air. He automatically clenches and tries to press back, to take more, wanting everything Chris’ll give him.

“Oh jesus – Seb -” Chris makes a strained noise and pushes forward as deep as he can get, pelvis flush against Sebastian’s ass as he pants and shudders and presses his face into the nape of Seb’s neck.

He can feel Chris breathing hard, feel his heart pounding where his chest’s pressed tight to Seb’s back, and despite the awkward angle Sebastian reaches back, trying to get a hand blindly into Chris’ hair.

He ends up smacking Chris in some body part he can’t quite identify – forehead? Shoulder? - but Chris just takes a hold of his wandering hand and presses a kiss to the palm before pulling out slowly and flopping down at Seb’s side.

“Fuck,” he sighs happily, face still flushed and expression all dopey-looking as he watches Seb through sated, half-lidded eyes.

Seb hums in agreement, content but exhausted. Maybe if he lies here like an overcooked noodle for long enough, Chris’ll take care of the clean-up for him.

His wish is granted when Chris pushes himself up a few moments later, giving Seb a very delightful eyeful of back, legs and ass as he pads into the bathroom naked, eventually emerging with a damp washcloth that he lobs at Seb, managing to hit him squarely on one butt cheek.

“Hey,” Seb complains without any heat, finally propping himself up on his elbow and turning over onto his side.

Chris laughs and comes around the edge of the bed, sitting next to Seb’s hip before he reaches for the washcloth and starts wiping it over Seb’s abs.

“Damn, baby,” he says, sounding a little impressed when he sees where Seb had been lying. “We’re gonna have to wash the sheets.”

Seb grins. “Shouldn’t’ve made me come so hard.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Focused attentively on cleaning around the base of Seb’s dick, Chris glances up, trying and failing to hide the beginnings of a smile. “I see how it is.”

“Mmhmm,” Seb agrees, pleasantly tired and achy and loving every second of having Chris dote on him like this. “Remind me again, how much longer d’you have to keep the mustache?”

“Seb,” Chris’ eyebrows pull together in a skeptical ‘duh’ kind of look, “it’s only opening night.”

Groaning, Sebastian hides his face in his arm. “So too long, then.”

Chris laughs and gives him a consolatory pat on the hip. “Tell you what, as soon as I’m done I’ll let you do the honors of shaving it off. Deal?”

“Put it in my calendar,” Seb agrees. “We’re counting that shit down Christmas-style.”



Chapter Text


After three weeks of planning, two scheduling conflicts, and one long-ass car ride, they’ve finally made it to Cape Charles. The next four days will be spent in the semi-wilderness with nothing but his dude and his dog. This, Chris thinks as he shoulders open the front door and sets down his armload of bags, is living done right.

At his feet, Dodger wriggles in past him and woofs happily, already taking off to explore their new surroundings and sniff at everything sniffable; rugs, chair legs and baseboards not excluded. After being cooped up in the backseat of the car for so long, Chris can’t really blame his enthusiasm.

He’s watching with a smile as Dodger lopes around like an uncoordinated puppy when an arm suddenly slides around his waist from behind and a second later Seb steps up tight against his back, resting his chin on Chris’ shoulder as he surveys the fancy rental cabin they’ll be calling home for the better part of the next week.

Classic log walls, a big, homey sofa, and a perfect view of the wide, sparkling waterfront outside. It’s rustic enough to satisfy Chris’ taste but contains all of Seb’s favourite comforts of home in the form of a big screen TV, renovated kitchen, and sleek, spa-like bathroom.

Compromise. They’re fucking awesome at this relationship thing.

“It’s nice,” Seb murmurs approvingly, voice low and warm as his palm presses flat to Chris’ abs. Fuck. He’s hot and solid and smells so good, Chris kinda wants Seb to bend him over the couch right now.

He groans a little, turning his head to glare half-heartedly at the side of Seb’s face. “Babe, we just got here. Don’t get me all riled up already.”

Seb huffs out an amused noise and pats him once on the stomach before pulling away. “You’re always riled up.”

“True,” Chris allows, turning around to face him, “but it’s our anniversary. I’m allowed to be extra hornimental.”

Seb laughs one of those cute nose-scrunchy laughs that Chris really fucking adores, looking equal parts entertained and confused. “Horni-what?”

“Horny and sentimental,” he explains, grinning as he grabs Seb by the front of his t-shirt and tugs him back in close, nudging their noses together. Seb tilts his head in invitation and they kiss, slow and lazy. “You know you drive me crazy, sweetheart,” Chris murmurs when they part.

Pressing one more kiss to the edge of Chris’ mouth, Seb hums in agreement, grinning as his hands sneak down and around to grab at Chris’ ass for what’s definitely too brief of a moment. “Keep it in your pants, dollface,” he replies, tone teasing. “We’ve still got shit to unpack.”

They divide the workload; Seb taking their suitcases off into the bedroom while Chris tackles the kitchen, setting up food and water bowls for the dog and unpacking the rudimentary groceries they’d brought along.

With the majority of the grunt work out of the way, it takes no more than forty minutes before they’re stepping out onto the front deck in nothing but sandals and swim shorts.

Not too shabby, Chris thinks as he slides the glass patio door closed behind them.

“I’m getting in that hot tub,” Seb announces, shaking out his beach towel before draping it over the back of one of the half-dozen Adirondack chairs that line the length of the deck.

Chris frowns, readjusting the brim of his hat. “Seb, there’s a perfectly good lake like fifty feet away.”

Making a dry ‘are you kidding me’ kind of face, Sebastian stretches his arms up over his head – still working out some lingering car ride kinks, apparently - and easily replies, “Yeah but I came here to unwind, not develop some weird seaweed rash and get half my blood sucked out by leeches.” He makes a little satisfied noise when he reaches Optimal Stretch Position, holding it for a second before letting his arms drop back down to swing loosely at his sides.

Chris tries and fails not to stare at his...well, everything.

“You know, in L.A. people pay good money for that experience,” he comments, watching with a vaguely judgemental expression when Seb wanders over to the hot tub and starts tugging at the cover. “Here you get it for free. Nature’s spa!”

“Fucking L.A.” Seb shakes his head, not quite believing it. “You see, this is why I’m a New Yorker. A little help?” He lifts the thick, padded side of the cover and shoots Chris a perfectly innocent, sugar-sweet smile.

“Fine.” Crumbling like the big softie he is, Chris relents, going over to help. “But I’m getting you in that lake at least one time before we leave.”

“You can try,” Seb replies as they both get a grip on the edge of the cover and pull up in unison, finally hefting it off the top of the hot tub. “You’re not gonna succeed, but it’s always good to have goals.”




They return to the deck not long after dinner, managing to hit that sweet spot where the sun is just starting to set but the mosquitoes haven’t completely descended yet. The breeze blowing in off the water is fresh and light, and it’s completely quiet outside aside from the occasional rustle of leaves or chirping of birds off in the distance.

All in all, it’s pretty fucking perfect.

“We need one of these at home,” Seb says, letting all his weight flop down onto the fancy outdoor sectional sofa that sits tucked up under the cabin’s big picture window. He only manages to hit about half of the cushions; the rest of him lands squarely on top of Chris, not that he’s complaining.

“For L.A.?” Beer in one hand, Chris lifts both arms patiently, letting Seb rearrange himself until he’s comfortable and Chris is no longer in danger of being kneed in the goods.

“Or Boston,” Seb finally settles into the little crevice of space between Chris’ side and his lifted arm, “but we’ll get more use out of it in L.A. probably.”

Humming in agreement, Chris drops his arm back down, draping it across Seb’s shoulders and pulling him in that one extra inch until they’re good and snug together. If they’re gonna have a romantic as fuck sunset cuddle in the wilderness, they’re gonna do it right.

Just as he’s thinking of taking things up one more romantic notch (i.e. getting his hand into Seb’s pants), the jingle of dog tags interrupts him and a second later, Dodger trots over to sit at Chris’ feet, clearly looking to get in on some of that cuddle action.

He looks so damn cute and hopeful sitting there with his head cocked to the side and those big puppy eyes trained on Chris, Chris could never deny him even if he wanted to.

“Alright, c’mon.” He tips his head, giving Dodger the green light to jump up and bumble his way over the squishy sofa cushions until he parks himself half over Chris’ lap, front legs extended all the way out so his paws are just touching the top of Sebastian’s thighs.

And fuck if that doesn’t make Chris’ heart feel things. It could be the beer, but it’s probably just that he’s genuinely happy with his life in this moment.

When he looks over at Seb, Seb’s got a faint, soft sort of smile on his face, like he might be riding the same train of thought. Two peas in a dumb, emotional pod. Chris rubs his thumb back and forth over the slope of Seb’s shoulder and tries not to bawl like a big, sappy meatball.

“We should take a picture,” Sebastian says, leaning onto one hip and trying to tug his phone out of his pocket without disrupting the dog, “for Instagram. I haven’t posted anything with the two of us in a while.”

It’d been equal parts thrilling and terrifying when they first started acknowledging their relationship online, and Chris still gets that little roller-coaster swoop in his stomach whenever he or Seb go to hit the post button.

“Sure.” He sets his nearly empty beer bottle on the flat arm of the sofa then leans further into Seb’s space, until their heads are touching and Seb’s elbow is kind of digging into his gut, but it’s a tiny, mildly uncomfortable price Chris is totally okay with paying.

Seb gets his camera app open and plays around with a couple different height angles, trying to fit the two of them and Dodger all into the frame at once. “Alright,” he says once he’s managed it, “smile.”

Chris does, big and genuine, and with how close their faces are pressed together, next to him, he can feel Sebastian doing the same.

After a few fake shutter clicks, Seb retracts his outstretched arm and holds the phone between them so Chris can see the photos as he starts flicking through them.

“This one’s good,” Seb decides, stopping on one where they’re all framed quite nicely in the middle, everyone’s eyes are open, and Dodger even looks like he might be half paying attention to what’s going on. “What should I caption it? Ruff-ing it? Cause we’re roughing it, but with a dog.”

“Jesus,” Chris groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “Please, no terrible puns.”

“Terrible?!” Seb exclaims, offended as he looks up from his phone with a frown. “That was damn clever and you know it.”

Chris rolls his eyes, grinning a little as he leans back in to kiss Seb’s temple apologetically. “My mistake. You’re a true fountain of wit.”

“That’s more like it.” Sebastian tilts his head onto Chris’ shoulder and sighs, sounding tired but content. “This was a good idea, coming here.”

“All my ideas are good ideas.” Chris kisses his temple again, then the faint laugh lines around the corner of his eye, his cheek, and finally, when Seb obligingly turns his head, his mouth.

It stays soft and slow for a few minutes, but Chris never quite lost his morning boner and Seb only just got back from Seattle a couple days ago, so they’re both a little eager to move things along.

Instagram quickly forgotten, Seb sets his phone on the cushion next to him before getting both hands on Chris, one curling around the side of his neck and the other sliding up into his hair, kissing him deep and proper.

Chris groans into it, all his blood rushing south in an instant, and he barely even registers Dodger high-tailing it off his lap and out of the PDA zone because it’s his goddamn anniversary and he’s in the middle of nowhere and the best guy on the planet’s kissing him like he’s trying to shove his tongue down Chris’ throat right now.

“So,” Seb is panting slightly when they eventually part, lips red and pupils dilated, “got any other good ideas?”

Grinning, Chris slips one hand up the back of Seb’s shirt. “I think I might have one or two.”




He wakes up with a face full of hair and one sharp elbow precariously close to jabbing him in the kidney.

Groaning sleepily, Chris tries to tilt his neck back enough to keep Seb’s crazy hair at bay but it’s a losing battle - his shifting around only makes Seb start to roll in closer, unconsciously seeking out his body heat.

Giving in to his fate, Chris settles back down and tucks his face into the top of Seb’s bare shoulder, breathing deep. He smells like summer; sun and sand and clean male sweat. It makes the little pleasure-centered part of Chris’ brain light up happily.

Now that he’s slightly more awake, other areas are beginning to perk up too, and Chris can’t help but press his hips forward, half-hard erection rubbing lazily against the curve of Seb’s ass.

It’s nice; the heat of Seb’s body and the firm, rough friction of their underwear sliding over the sensitive skin of his dick.

Evidently Seb also seems to like it if the way he presses back and makes a noise that’s half yawn, half moan is any indication.

“Good morning,” Chris murmurs to him, sliding his hand around and down to rest low on the flat of Seb’s stomach, keeping them flush together as his hips roll again.

“’Morning,” Seb echoes, stretching and giving a satisfied sigh when Chris scratches his fingers through the trail of dark hair beneath his navel. “That feels nice.”

Chris hums in acknowledgement and lets his palm slide lower, until he encounters the waistband of Seb’s underwear and starts to work his hand inside. When his thumb bumps up against the base of Seb’s dick he circles his fingers around it, giving the hot, smooth skin a single stroke.

Letting out a soft groan, Seb grinds his ass back, and the combination of that rough voice and shameless action instantly have Chris’ temperature rocketing north about a hundred degrees as his dick fully hardens up.

Fuck. It’s good like this, but now he really wants to see Seb’s face.

“Turn around,” he prompts, giving Seb’s dick one more squeeze before letting go completely, hands moving to his own underwear so he can quickly shove them down and kick them off.

Seb rolls over and somehow manages to take about three-quarters of the bedding with him, squirming around until he manages to extricate himself from the unintentional blanket burrito. By the time he’s fully untangled, naked and back up in Chris’ space, he’s a little flushed in the face and Chris can’t help but smile, ducking in to give him a kiss.

It’s all too short for his liking and he has to break it in order to look down between their bodies and line up their dicks. Disappointing, but that just puts Seb’s mouth at the same level as his temple and Seb’s taking full advantage of it, kissing down towards Chris’ ear, so that’s not so bad, especially when Seb bites at the lobe and whispers, “Come on,” all low and hot.


Wrapping one hand around both their dicks at once, Chris starts to stroke.

Every time they do this it feels like a life-altering experience. Like Chris instantly reverts back into an eagerly wide-eyed, inexperienced teenager having his first major sexual encounter all over again, and this time’s no exception. Everything’s just too good; the slide of his hand, the velvet-hot length of Seb’s dick rubbing up against his own, the way Seb rolls his hips into it, grip tightening where his fingers are pressed into the muscle of Chris’ back.

Christ, he could live every day just like this and never want for a single thing more.

“This okay?” he murmurs, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Seb’s eyes, which have gone closed at some point, take their time blinking back open before they fix on Chris’ face. “Mm. Tighter.”

God, Chris loves his morning sex voice; when every word comes out slow and lazy and still a little raspy with sleep.

He tightens his fist and they both groan at the feeling. The slide is wetter now, Chris’ steadily leaking precome mixing with Seb’s own, and this time it’s Seb initiating the next round of making out, bumping their noses together before angling his head enough to seek out Chris’ mouth.

They kiss deep and slow, and it must be a testament to how in love he is because Chris doesn’t even flinch at the pretty nasty morning breath brewing between them.

“Let me,” Sebastian mumbles against his mouth, nudging Chris’ hand away before taking over, fingers wrapping around both their dicks.

It doesn't take long when Seb’s running the show. He knows just how to reduce Chris to a flushed, single-brain-celled mess of a human being, and all Chris can do is grab at Seb’s hip and pant out short, uneven breaths. When he comes, he barely makes a sound, letting out a quiet, startled oh as his orgasm sneaks up on him and his dick jerks in Seb’s hand, marking up both their stomachs.

“Fuck,” Seb breathes, biting his bottom lip, eyes sliding shut as his whole body starts to tense up, but he reopens them before he actually comes, gaze moving from Chris’ dick to his chest, then up to rest on his face.

Jesus, he’s gorgeous like this; big pupils and half-lidded eyes, pillow-fluffed hair and rough stubble lining his jaw, and when Chris rumbles out a warm, low, “Baby,” Seb’s breath hitches, hips bucking forward as he fucks into his own hand. He starts to curl in on himself with the rising anticipation of his orgasm, abs clenching as he moans and presses his forehead against the tattoo on Chris’ collarbone, making a rough, pleasure-filled noise in his throat when he finally lets go.

There’s always too much to see when they do it like this; Chris is torn between the need to watch Seb’s face and look down at his cock as it spills slick, hot ropes of come between their bodies. Fuck, he really needs two sets of eyes to be able to fully appreciate the unparalleled hotness that is Sebastian having an orgasm.

They lay there for a while, loose-limbed and sweaty and pleasantly wrung out, until the sweat/come combo starts to shift from manageably tolerable to completely gross and Seb props himself up on one elbow, trying to detangle the kicked-down blankets from around their legs.

“Gonna go start the shower.” Once he manages to flick the blankets back, Seb hefts himself off the mattress and stands, briefly turning back around to lean over the edge of the bed and run one hand through Chris’ disheveled hair, scratching the top of his head like a cat.

Chris laughs - still sounding a little rough and gravelly thanks to their previous activities - and catches Seb’s wrist, pressing a kiss to it before letting go, content to lie there admiring the view as Seb heads into the bathroom.

Those thighs and ass. Damn. Chris vows to pay proper homage to them at some point today, preferably sooner than later.

When he hears the shower start up a few minutes later, he sits up with a slight groan, scratching a hand through his beard before rolling off the side of the mattress and onto his feet.

He makes a half-hearted attempt at straightening out the bed sheets, but they probably need a good wash now anyway so he leaves them for the time being, eyes falling to where Seb’s phone lies on the edge of the nightstand instead.

Intrigued, Chris picks it up and opens the lock screen. He knows Seb won’t care if he plays around with it - they share phones constantly and it’s not like the password’s a mystery to him (it’s his own birthday – a fact that never fails to make him smile) so he taps on the Instagram icon, curious to see whether Seb ever ended up posting their picture on the deck last night.

Sure enough, the photo is there as Seb’s most recent upload. The post already has more than half a million likes and when Chris scrolls down, he finds that there are no dumb outdoorsy puns. No silly, witty remarks. Instead, Seb has captioned it, simply:


Chris stares at the screen and his eyes go suspiciously blurry for a minute before he drops the phone onto the bed and walks straight into the bathroom like a man on a mission, catching Seb – who’s standing next to the shower with one arm extended out under the spray, testing the water temperature - off-guard, walking right up to his back and wrapping both arms tight around him, face tucking into the space between his shoulder blades as he breathes in and just...just lets himself feel.

“Hey,” Seb says, surprised as one hand automatically comes up to hang onto Chris’ forearm where it’s wrapped around his stomach. “Everything okay?”

I want to have your babies, Chris thinks, maybe only 20% more hysterical than usual when confronted with anything close to this much heart-warming, wonderstruck emotion.

Clearing his throat, he lifts his head from the nape of Seb’s neck just enough to murmur out an assurance of, “Yeah, I’m good.” And it’s the truth. The honest, goddamn truth. “Never been better, babe.”