the_deep_magic | FIC: Star Trek RPS -- My Heart Could Take a Chance (If My Two Feet Could Find a Way)

Title: My Heart Could Take a Chance (If My Two Feet Could Find a Way)
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Word Count: 4,568
Rating: PG-13
Warning: first person POV
Summary: They've got to kiss eventually, right? (Can be read as a prequel to First, but meant to stand on its own.)
A/N: Written for dante_s_hell's prompt at pintofest Luau: kisses. Title lovingly misquoted from Scissor Sisters’ “I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’”

“Whoa!”

I manage to get a hand between his lips and mine just in time.

Chris’ eyes pop open, expression so adorably confused. “Whoa?” he asks, lips moving wetly against my fingertips. “No whoa. Why whoa?”

I drop my hand, but keep it at the ready in case he intends to have another go at it. “We’re in John’s guest bedroom, twenty feet away from everyone we know, it’s almost two in the morning and we’ve been drinking.”

An eye roll. “Also it’s November and I’m wearing my lucky rocketship underpants. Are we done saying things yet?”

He leans in again and I have to actually scoot back to avoid him this time. He almost topples over and when he rights himself, I get a brief glimpse of hurt in his eyes. “Zach…”

“I’m just trying to save us the embarrassment later,” I say, clamping down on the urge to reach out and put my hand over his. “We’re drunk.”

“Horseshit. You stopped drinking an hour ago and I’ve had like two and a half beers all night. I probably shouldn’t drive a bulldozer, but I’m sure as hell sober enough to operate my own mouth.”

For a moment, I forget how to operate mine. “This is not a two-a.m.-in-someone-else’s-bedroom thing.”

“Okay, what the hell?” he growls, eyes flashing and I need to put some space between us before I go and do something stupid like shove him onto his back and quietly hump his leg. “You’re never more than five steps away from me all night, you say ‘let’s go somewhere quieter’ and drag me back to a bedroom, for god’s sake, and then when I actually try to make a move, you tell me now’s not the time?”

Fuck, he’s right, I’ve been sending out mixed signals. Well, okay, not so much “mixed” as “throw me down and fuck me” signals. The irony is that I’m usually so careful around straight guys – I keep my space, I watch my mouth. And around Chris, I forget all of it.

He seems to take my silence as confirmation of whatever suspicions are floating around in his head. “Goddamn it, Zach, we’ve been flirting for months. At least, I thought that’s what it was.”

“No, it was, um—” I think back to earlier in the evening, my arm thrown casually across his shoulders as someone asks us how Kirk and Spock are getting along in their down time. “It was flirting.”

His eyes narrow. “So again, I ask you: what the hell?”

“I thought, uh, I thought you were just being…” Do not say “nice,” Zachary. Do not say it. “…nice?”

“Oh fuck,” Chris moans, scrubbing his hand over his mouth. “Oh fuck. Zach, man, we’ll survive this, but you have seriously got to work on your platonic interpersonal skills.”

He pushes up off the floor and I panic. I’ve got to do something, say something to stop him from leaving. I nearly trip over my own feet trying to stand up, but my voice starts working. “Wait, Chris, please!”

Wonder of wonders, it actually works. He turns back around, a hardness in his eyes that tells me I can’t afford to fuck up what I say next. “I meant it. All of it. The flirting, the touching. Well, I really did only intend to bring you back here to talk, but subconsciously…”

“Spit it out, Quinto.”

“I want to kiss you. Badly. Just not tonight.”

He takes a small step forward, just a few inches, but I could sob with relief. “What’s wrong with tonight?” he asks.

Because if I kiss you now and you kiss back, I’ll drag you right into that bed and keep you there until neither of us can remember our own names. And if we survive whatever John does to us in retribution for defiling his guest room, I’ll never, ever want to let you out of my sight again. “We need to talk about this, seriously. I haven’t really let myself think this through. And how many decisions you’ve made after two a.m. have turned out to be good ones?”

His eyes have softened now, deep blue shimmering in the dim light. “I won’t regret it. Or try to play it off like I was drunk or you tricked me into it. I just want to kiss you, that’s all.”

“I know,” I say, barely able to force out a whisper. “I just need the chance to think about it. As a reality, I mean. Not just a late-night fantasy.”

Heat flares in his eyes and I see him clench his fists at his sides. It takes everything I’ve got not to pull him to me, feel the hard press of that gorgeous body against mine as I plunder his mouth. But the moment passes and his face eases into a smile. “I guess we’d better be getting back out there, then.”

I nod, able to breathe normally again. “Someone’s got to keep Karl from pissing in the potted plants again.”

He laughs and pauses at the door, waiting until I pass to murmur, “You should know, I’m not gonna let this drop. Not until I’ve gotten a good, long taste of you.”

I am saved from turning and throwing myself at Chris only by the sudden, stumbling appearance of Karl, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall about six inches to the right of my head and asking, “John, mate, where’s yer bog?”

&&&

He waits an entire twelve hours before texting me:

So, thought about it yet?

i just got out of bed an hour ago. haven’t even fed Noah yet.

Want me to come over? I’d love to “help” you “think”

weren’t you meeting someone for lunch?

Already done. Only other thing on my To Do list is “make out w/Zach”

I honestly don’t know what to say to that, so I set the phone down and go tend to Noah, who’s been gazing up at me pitifully since I woke up. Half an hour later, the phone rings. The name that pops up is “Captain Happypants,” complete with a picture of Chris’ (thankfully clothed) crotch. Dammit, when did he get hold of my phone again?

“Hello, Captain.”

“Was it something I said?”

“Chris…” I start, not really sure what I want to say.

“What is this mystifying puzzle you’ve got to think through, dude? It’s either good or it isn’t, and we won’t know until we try.”

“Chris, have you ever been with a guy before?”

“Depends what you mean by ‘been with.’”

“Fucked?”

“No.”

“Been fucked by?”

“Extra no.”

“Kissed?”

“One time. But it was a drunken bet, so I’m guessing that’s not what you mean.”

“Have you ever even been attracted to a guy before?”

“Does Sean Connery count? Everyone’s got the hots for Sean Connery.”

I’m starting to get that little twinge of pain behind my right eye. “So your previous experience with homosexuality is pretty much limited to standing next to another guy.”

“Hugging. There’s been some hugging. And some very intense eye contact.”

“Do you see why I might have some concerns here?”

“So you think I’m just jerking you around.” He sounds pissed; god, maybe he’s actually serious about this.

“Not intentionally, no. But I’m way past the point where I’m okay being some straight guy’s experiment.”

Silence.

“Chris?”

“Fuck you, Zach. I’m really fucking insulted. You think this is just some whim for me? If you’ll recall, I thought you were seriously flirting with me all this time. And yeah, I had a quiet little gay freak out, but I’ve been flirting back.”

I can’t help the sigh that escapes my lips. “Have you ever dated a girl you were really into – I mean really serious about – only to have her break up with you and come out as a lesbian?”

“Yeah.”

“And how much did that suck?”

A pause. “Okay, it sucked pretty hard.”

“How many times have you had that happen?”

“Just the once.”

“Five,” I say. “Five guys I thought I really could’ve had something with, who slept with me or tried to sleep with me and then bolted back into their nice, straight little lives. It hurts, Chris. Some of them hurt more than others, but they were all pretty bad. It’s probably my own fault for fooling myself, but I cut off contact with all of them afterwards. It was just too painful to deal with.”

When he speaks again, he sounds small, contrite, and I wonder if I’ve been too hard on him. “What do I need to do to convince you I’m serious about this?”

“Just… think about it first.”

“I have.”

“What about the consequences? Like, what would you do if someone found out?”

“Depends on who it is. If it were a stranger, someone in the media, then yeah, I’d freak out. So would you. If it were one of our friends, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“And if they asked you, ‘So, Chris, are you gay now, or what?’”

“Isn’t it a little unfair for you to throw that at me before we’ve even tried?”

“The first time someone asked me that question, I was eleven. So yes, it’s unfair, but tough shit.”

“Okay, fine. Then I would say… maybe. Maybe I’m bisexual. I don’t know, Zach. I’m still trying to figure this out myself.”

I honestly don’t know what answers I’m expecting from him, what if anything he could say to make my stomach stop flopping around like a landed fish. “Just, you can’t take this lightly, is all.”

“Zach,” he says quietly. “It’s just a kiss.”

I don’t think he believes it, either.

&&&

A Romulan mining vessel is probably not the place to discuss this, not even if it’s just a soundstage with green screens and crash mats everywhere. But nearly everyone’s scattered for their union-enforced ten minute smoke break and I can have Chris to myself for the first time all week. I take the scaffolding to the ledge where he’s hanging out.

I take a deep breath. “Chris, I might owe you an apology.”

“Zach—”

“No, really, let me talk. I need to get this all out while I’ve got the chance. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and it’s not just the sexuality thing. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a big part of it, but I do trust that you understand how big of a deal it is. I think it’s also got to do with the fact that we’re both actors.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but I just keep going, not wanting to stop now that I’ve got some momentum. “Our egos are going to be an issue, there’s just no getting around that. And it helps that you’re, like, the most down-to-earth actor I’ve ever met, but this movie could be big, really big. I was dating this guy, this other actor I was seeing a couple of years ago, we were fine while we were both just getting bit parts in stuff, but then Heroes started taking off and he got jealous. He would just say these really nasty things to me, then try to play if off like he was joking, and it was awful. We were both miserable. When we broke up, I swore I would never date another actor. And I’ve – well, I haven’t been exactly consistent with that, but I think it’s something we need to take into consideration. What if the Kirk dolls start selling and the Spock dolls don’t? What if one of us gets really shitty reviews, or can’t get work after the movie comes out? Are we going to be okay with that?”

“Zach.”

“Yeah?”

“I would love to discuss this,” he says patiently, “at a time when my scrotum is not being crushed by my own body weight.”

Oh, right, the harness for his many falling-off-things scenes. It takes too long to get him in and out of it for these little breaks, so they just leave him in. The rope creaks a little as he sways gently in the air conditioning. “Are you sure you’re in that thing right?”

“Joey says if it hurts, that means it’s tight enough.”

“And how do you know if it’s too tight?”

“Sterility was mentioned in passing. Testicular torsion.”

Shit. He spends a lot of time in that thing, too. Can’t have him damaging the goods before I even get a shot at them. “I’m going to have a talk with Joey.”

“About my testicles?”

“Not everything’s about your testicles, Christopher.”

“Going to have to disagree with you there, Zachary.” He sticks his tongue out at me and I shove at his shoulder. Not hard, just enough to send him into a slow, flailing spin. “Oh, fuck you, you Vulcan asshole. Your mother makes the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon 6 look like a nun.”

Yeah, okay, flirting.

&&&

“Okay, what you were saying about the thing the other day, that has some merit.”

He’s punishing me. I just know it. “Chris,” I hiss in his direction.

“Do you think I like keeping you in this chair for three hours a day?” Mindy asks, punctuating her words by stabbing the pointy end of a makeup brush into my shoulder. “Do you think I do it for fun? That I enjoy reminding you to keep your head still every fifteen seconds even though we’ve been doing this every day for weeks and a trained ape could remember that much by now?”

“No, ma’am.”

Off to my right, I hear Chris snicker. The next time he falls asleep, I’m going to light his hair on fire.

“Damn right I don’t. I’m in this for the hardware. Oscar voters love this prosthetic shit.”

She goes back to work on my right ear and Chris starts back up again. “Anyway, I was saying—”

“Chris, I’m not sure now’s the time,” I murmur, careful to move my jaw as little as possible.

“Please, what else are you gonna do while our makeup mistress Spocks you into perfection?”

Mindy snorts. “Kiss my ass all you want, I’m still not mentioning you in my acceptance speech.”

“Anyway,” Chris continues. “I think that buddy of yours – you know the one – I think he’s making a mistake not getting involved with that other guy just because they’re both… fishermen.”

Sweet Jesus, does he actually think he’s being subtle? Or has he just been watching a Deadliest Catch marathon again?

“I mean, obviously fishing can be a stressful job, especially if one of the guys, y’know, catches more fish than the other one. Or, like, wins a fish-catching award. But they understand each other, right? The difficulties of fishing are kind of hard to appreciate if you don’t do it as your job – there’s barely any job security, it can take you away from each other for long periods of time, sometimes you have to… pretend to fish with other people. Who’s going to deal with that best but another fisherman? Yeah, they’re going to argue, and there might be some jealousy there, but they’re both adults. They’re both set up nicely for the near future… good, working boats and all. And they’re totally hot for each other. They should quit stalling and just go for it.”

Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. “Is that it?”

“That pretty much covers it for now, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

I hear him sigh. “Fine, I know when I’m not wanted.”

The door clicks behind him when he leaves, and I start the countdown in my head. Five… four… three… two…

“Does he really think I’m that stupid?” Mindy asks.

“Chris is… Well, he’s a bit of a special snowflake.”

“Good thing he’s cute,” she sighs, smearing in the last of the concealer that blends the skin of my ear with the prosthetic. “All done. And Zach?”

I cringe. “Mm-hmm?”

“Hit that. Hard. And bring a gag.”

“Noted.”

&&&

Another long day finished and we’re walking out to our cars together, the night clear and crisp. Chris – the thin-blooded, California-raised idiot – is shivering under his single layer of flannel and I think about reaching out and putting my arm around him, but I don’t. Too soon, maybe, though I’ve been turning it over and over in my head and he might be right about actors understanding other actors. Though the moronically transparent fisherman analogy did nothing to convince me. Absolutely nothing.

“Can’t believe we finish shooting next week,” he says, recrossing his arms to tuck his fingers beneath his armpits.

“I know. I keep thinking I’ll see you all around next season, only there isn’t a next season.”

Chris licks his lips. “I keep forgetting you’ve never done a movie before. Since you know way more than me about, like, everything.” For a second, I wonder if I’ve heard him right – he’s never admitted to a deficit anywhere in his formidable bank of knowledge, at least not in my presence. But he keeps on talking. “There’s gonna be a sequel, though. You know there is.”

“Maybe,” I say, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk ahead of me. “If this one doesn’t tank.”

“It’s not gonna tank.”

I almost shoot back something sarcastic about him being the foremost authority on starring in wildly successful movies, but I bite my tongue. It would only prove me right about the actor thing and, in this singular instance, I don’t want to be right. Still, I can’t give in too easily. “Says you.”

“Says me,” he repeats with a grin, swaying to nudge me hard in the side and I almost fall over. “Mark my words, your eyebrows won’t even have time to grow back before you have to rip them all out again.”

“You seriously underestimate the tenacity of my eyebrows,” I snort. “A week after this is done they’ll be back to caveman strength.”

“So, you hairy like that all over?”

Somehow it doesn’t shock me at all, just makes me double over with laughter. “Subtle, Pine. At least you’re up front with your intentions.”

“Wow, and here I thought you were going to accuse me of moving too fast,” he says, leaning back and, oh, we’re at his car already. “The way you’ve been talking, I thought I was going to have to court you for months just to get a peek at your ankle.”

“Hey, you’re not in yet. I still haven’t decided to let you court me.”

“What, is your dad gonna come after me with a— oh, shit,” he groans, clapping a hand over his eyes. “Zach, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just said that.”

It’s equal parts considerate and stupid that he thinks I’m going to take offense to that and, shit, that might’ve just made the decision for me. I gently pry the hand off his face. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s been somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 years. I’m not going to crumple into a little ball of sorrow just because you mention my dad.”

“See, this is exactly why I don’t like saying things,” he mutters, eyes not meeting mine but not bothering to pull his hand back either. “The more I talk, the more I fuck things up.”

“You haven’t fucked up anything yet,” I say with a soft smile, letting my thumb rub across the palm of his hand, which, despite the cold, is sweating.

“I want to kiss you so bad right now,” Chris whispers, and I nod.

“Go for it.”

He takes my hand more firmly and pushes up off the side of the car to lean into me, angling just a little so that our free arms can slide around each other. He pulls me close, his body unbelievably warm against the chill of the night, and I close my eyes, feel the soft puff of his breath against my yearning lips, and I wait.

And wait.

“The fuck?” I say, pulling back enough to look him in the eye.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I froze up!” he moans, stepping away from me long enough to shake the jitters out.

I yank him back toward me. “Alright, let’s try this again.”

This time, I don’t even get my eyes closed before he’s leaning away from me again. “I can’t do it now, we’ve talked it up too much.”

“What?”

“You’ve made this into such a big deal and now I’m terrified I’m going to, I don’t know, fall over or burp or otherwise fuck it up.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” I quirk an eyebrow and he laughs.

“Completely your fault.”

I’m not mad, not really – it’s completely ridiculous, but he sort of has a point. “Well, now you’ve got me really into the idea, so when are we going to do this?”

He makes an adorably serious thinky face and I suddenly realize our legs are still close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his lower body. “I don’t know, is this something we should plan? Or should it just be spontaneous?”

“I like plans. Plus, if we leave it up to spontaneity, god knows when it will actually happen.”

“Hey, coulda happened just fine the other night if you hadn’t gone and ruined the moment with your big mouth.”

“My big mouth? My big—?” But he’s grinning now, trying to see how worked up he can get me. “Alright, jackass, my place tomorrow at 7. We’ll go out for a nice dinner and when we come back, I’m gonna kiss the everloving shit out of you.”

Chris shakes his head, wiggling out from between me and the car and opening the driver’s side door. “Not sexy, Quinto. Work on your phraseology.”

&&&

He shows up ten minutes early, then sits in the car for fifteen. Maybe he thinks I can’t see him through the blinds, because I stand there at the window and watch him carefully examine his teeth in the mirror, then get into what looks like a heated argument with himself, then crank up the volume on the stereo and rock out to something I can’t hear, though I pretend it’s Scissor Sisters just because it amuses me. Yeah, there’s no way I’m not going to kiss his face off by the end of the night.

The song must end because finally he takes one last look in the mirror, nods, and gets out of the car. I dart away from the window and wait until he’s rung the bell twice before I come to the door. He’s all cool, collected smiles when he sees me and I barely hold off laughing as I invite him in. “Give me another minute,” I say, “I’ve just got to get Noah some more water before we go.” That’s what I was about to do when I heard his car pull up the driveway and got distracted.

“Sure thing,” he says lightly, following me back into the kitchen. As I rinse Noah’s bowl and give it a quick scrub with the sponge, he pokes through the bowl of fruit on the counter. “You can’t have a candy dish like a normal person? You have to have… what is this, a dragonfruit?”

“It’s a lychee. Dragonfruit is a lot bigger.”

“Oranges, Zach. Bananas. Fruit that doesn’t have to be imported from Malaysia.”

“Hey, those lychees were grown right here in California,” I start, turning to face him. He’s studying the small fruit with great concentration, and even though it’s still got the inedible rind on it, the bonehead holds it up to his mouth, pokes out the tip of his tongue, and licks it.

“You idiot,” I groan, going over to him and plucking the fruit from his hand. “You’re supposed to—” But I don’t stop moving forward once I’m face to face with him. No, I keep going until I’ve got his hips pressed against the counter, my hands winding into his hair and pulling him toward me and I’m kissing him, as much a surprise to me as it is to him.

His mouth is still slightly open, so I press in gently, hunt for the taste of him and get the slight bitterness of the fruit rind and what’s probably the remnants of a breath mint and, deeper still, a warmth that’s all Chris. He moans and wraps his arms around my waist, digging his fingers into my shirt at the small of my back and I gasp, trembling a little in his arms as his tongue pushes greedily into my mouth.

For a few long moments, everything goes fierce and hungry and he’s practically climbing me in his haste, wrapping a leg around mine to pull me even closer and sucking the air from my lungs. But eventually I have to break away to breathe and my gasps turn into a chuckle at how crazy this is, at the sweet relief that we’ve finally managed to kiss and it’s good. So, so good. His mouth stretches into a smile, too, and I kiss it again, soft pecks all over his plump, wet lips, his strong jaw and he rubs a hand over my back, quietly indulging me. But his passivity doesn’t last, and soon he’s rubbing his nose tenderly against mine, Eskimo kisses that I always thought were just a little too precious but he’s completely unashamed to nuzzle me so openly. Soon we’re kissing properly again, his mouth by turns soft and giving, and then hard and insistent.

I lose track of time altogether, only brought back to reality when Noah decides I’ve spent long enough paying attention to someone who is not him and starts nosing my leg. I leave Chris’ lips with a sigh, bending down to scratch Noah’s head without going far from Chris.

When I straighten back up, Chris plants another peck on my lips and murmurs “Dog’s probably thirsty.”

“Hmm?” I nip lightly at his bottom lip as I try to puzzle this out. “Oh, right, water.” Mystery solved, I dive back in, sweeping my tongue against his teeth.

“Dinner?” he asks when we come up for a breather.

“Let’s order in and do this all night.”

He chuckles. “Kinda glad we didn’t start this in the parking lot last night. Or at John’s party.”

“See?” I say against the tender skin of his throat. “Gotta learn to trust my judgment.”

“If I’d trusted your judgment, we wouldn’t have started this at all.”

“Fine, I’ll admit I was wrong about that if you admit that fishing metaphor was the worst thing ever.”

I look up to see Chris pouting. “You didn’t like my analogy?”

“It was hardly an analogy, Chris. Fish-catching awards?”

“They have those. Somewhere. Otherwise, how does anyone know who the best fisherman is?” He’s quiet for a few moments as I nibble around his ear, but I should have known it wouldn’t last. “But I bet it’s all a popularity contest anyway. And they’re forever giving it to the guy who should’ve won last year but didn’t because they were too busy giving it to the guy who should’ve won it the year before l—mmmm.”

His lips melt into mine and, finally, an effective way of getting him to stop talking. I should’ve tried it months ago.