FIC: Star Trek RPS -- Ham and Pineapple

[the_deep_magic]

Title: Ham and Pineapple

Author:the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto 

Rating: PG

Word Count: 722

Summary: For this prompt on the kink meme requesting intense snuggles

Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine and this is a lie.

A/N: Sappy and rambling, and I make no apologies for it.  Reposted from the kink meme with minor edits. 

 

Zach’s lips are so soft against his temple that Chris melts a little at the brief touch. Zach had met him at the door the second he arrived home, steering him to the couch and wrapping them both in a fleece blanket. The weather had turned oddly cool today, so that the warm cocoon of the blanket and Zach’s body is not only welcome but necessary. Chris sighs as Zach trails gentle kisses against his forehead, his eyebrows. “How did you know?”

 

Chris feels a smile form against his skin. “That pissy text you sent me.”

 

Despite his mood, Chris’ lips quirk up of their own accord. “Pissy? What’s pissy about the words ‘pizza for dinner’?”

 

“No capital letters or punctuation. You only do that when you’re really irritated or really horny. And this—” Zach pulls back to cup Chris’ cheek in his hand. “This is not the face of wanton lust.”

 

Chris closes his eyes and turns his face to kiss Zach’s palm. There will be plenty of time for lust – later. Right now, all he wants is this: the sweet, lazy press of Zach’s lips, the languid warmth of Zach’s body wrapped around his. His skin tingles a little in the wake of Zach’s lips, both from the touch and that menthol-infused lip balm Zach uses. Chris used to tease him mercilessly for it, right up to the moment he found out how soft it made Zach’s lips.

 

Zach pauses to pull Chris in a little closer, and Chris buries his face against his lover’s neck. He inhales deeply, smelling the faint spice of Zach’s soap and the deeper, more savory scent of his skin. It’s so preposterously cheesy, but Chris imagines that he’d know that scent anywhere, and the thought pushes the smile to stretch his lips a little farther.

 

Chris pokes his tongue out to steal a taste of that smooth skin, and Zach lets out his own quiet sigh. Regrettably, there are so few words to describe taste. Bitter, salty, sour, sweet, and that weird Japanese word that Chris can never remember, but that’s about it apart from comparing one taste to another.   The words for scents are even fewer, and mostly restricted to connotations of pleasant or unpleasant. Chris gives up his mental search after a few long moments and simply categorizes the sensations as just Zach.

 

Who, Chris notes, is slowly inching his hands beneath Chris’ shirt, fanning his fingers as if to touch as much of Chris as possible. It feels so ridiculously good that Chris feels some of the tension ebb out of his spine, and he turns his head to rest his cheek against Zach’s shoulder. He’s constantly amazed at the grace of Zach’s body – all the hard angles and planes when he’s got Chris pinned against the wall are now curved softly to mold against Chris’ torso.  

 

It makes him sappy, too, embarrassingly so. He’s never had anyone so content to just hold him when he needs it. Chris supposes he should’ve had it conditioned out of him by hypermasculine college buddies whose emotional ranges ran the spectrum from anger to drunkenness, but apparently the need to just melt into another human being’s embrace had been lying dormant until he’d finally gotten up the nerve to throw his arms around Zach and just keep them there.

 

Between the warmth of the blanket, the soothing sweep of Zach’s hands, and the soft, steady sound of their breathing, Chris loses track of time entirely. He’s brought out of the semi-catatonic state by the sound of the doorbell, and on instinct he braces himself as Noah, never content that the doorbell is warning enough, proceeds to inform everyone within barking distance that they have a visitor.

 

Zach sighs regretfully, giving Chris a final squeeze before unwrapping himself from the blanket and from Chris. “That’ll be the pizza. Ham and pineapple okay?”

 

It’s Chris’ favorite, but Zach hates it. He loathes pineapple, swears up and down that he can still taste it even after he’s picked it and the surrounding cheese off his slice. He might as well have asked Chris to marry him.

 

Chris grins. “Ham and pineapple will go a long way towards inspiring that wanton lust.”

 

 

 

Out front, the pizza guy checks his watch and rings the doorbell a third time.