the_deep_magic | FIC: Star Trek RPS -- The Truth About Chris and Zach

Title: The Truth About Chris and Zach
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto (mention of Zach/OMC)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 760
Warnings: friendship-only fic, teeth-rotting fluff
Disclaimer: Not true, though I wish it was. Special apologies to Jake Gyllenhaal, whom I have nothing against.
Summary: It's not what you think it is.
A/N: Written for duckgirlie, whose pintofest Luau prompt asked for cuddles-for-cuddles'-sake, and halfbreedchild, who bemoaned the lack of Pinto friendship fic.

It’s their best-kept secret.

Not that they’re lovers – half their friends are already convinced of that. On the last day of filming, Karl got them a year’s supply of that His & Hers lube, saying they could fight it out over who got to be the Her. Simon refers to them as “the lovebirds,” and even Zoe gently teases them, offering to plan the wedding as long as she gets to be a bridesmaid (groomsmaid?).

And it’s not like they do anything to discourage the rumors. People that are rude enough to ask them flat out get a sly wink and a grin. They dance together at a nightclub in Sydney, go to the top of the Eiffel Tower at sunset, press close into a tiny photo booth in Tokyo that spits out little pictures of their faces surrounded by hearts and sparkles.

Chris’ publicist once asked him if he was gay. He told her it was none of her business, and if she had a problem with that, well, he could easily find other representation. She rolled her eyes, but hasn’t said a word since.

But the truth is that Chris has never been sexually attracted to men, not in the slightest – and even if he were, he’s not Zach’s type. If you ask Chris, Zach has terrible taste in men. After Trek, there’s a series of barely-legal models, and though Zach dumps each one after finding out they have a coke problem, a violent ex, a bizarrely overinvolved mother, etc., he never seems to learn.

Not that Chris is much better. After the thing with Beau crashed and burned, he sort of lost his relationship mojo. One-night stands he can do, but even though he tried his best with Olivia, that ended, too. Not with a bang, either, but with a rather pathetic whimper. It seems he can either do passion or commitment, but not both. If you ask Zach, Chris needs to take up yoga or tai chi or flower arranging or something that will help center him again and let him find contentment.

Well, find contentment on his own, at least. Because the truth about Chris and Zach, the secret they fight like hell to keep, is this: when Zach finds out his latest squeeze is, say, a dangerously fanatical anarchist with a seething hatred of all things Western and a tiny dick, he goes immediately to Chris’ house, even if it’s three in the morning, and lets himself in through the back door. He sheds his hat, shoes, and sometimes his clothes before he gets to the bedroom, where Chris (after verbally confirming that Zach is not in fact a burglar, rapist, or assassin) will throw back the covers and let Zach climb in next to him.

“Another drug mule?” Chris asks, throwing an arm around Zach’s waist and yanking him close.

“America-hating anarchist intent on bringing down the capitalist pigs any way he can,” Zach sighs, nestling into Chris’ neck. “And he has a tiny dick.”

“Do you go speed dating at the bus station or something? Jesus.”

“Hey, broken heart here!”

“Sorry,” Chris says, even though he knows Zach’ll be back on the market before the week is out. He slowly strokes Zach’s hair, loving the way all of Zach’s hard angles melt away as he settles in. Dude or not, he’s the best snuggle Chris has ever had.

And the truth, what their friends would never think to suspect, is also this: when Chris’ agent calls to tell him that juicy indie role he’s been coveting went to Jake Gyllenhaal – Jake motherfucking Bubble Boy Gyllenhaal – Chris drives all the way across town in hideous mid-day traffic to march right up to Zach’s front porch and pound on the door because he left his key at his apartment. Zach drags him back to the couch, lying on his side first before pulling Chris down in front of him because, as Chris is fond of saying, sometimes a man just needs to be the little spoon.

“Zach, tell me again.”

“I know at least three guys who have slept with Jake Gyllenhaal,” Zach says, lightly rubbing a hand up and down Chris’ arm, “and he has a tiny dick.”

Chris grunts happily and wriggles back into Zach’s embrace. “You’re my favorite.”

Zach sighs; he wonders if he’ll ever find a guy who feels as good in his arms as Chris does. But no use being melancholy – Chris certainly isn’t going anywhere any time soon. “Mine, too. Now shut up – The Simpsons is coming on.”