the_deep_magic | FIC: Star Trek RPS -- Yellow Light (1/5)

the_deep_magic

Title: Yellow Light (Part 1/5)

Author:the_deep_magic

Pairing: Pinto

Rating: PG-13 for swears

Word Count: 2,362

Disclaimer: I do not know these people and I am not making any money from this.

Summary: For this prompt at the kink meme. Basically, Zach/Chris, slow romance … they don’t fuck on the first date.

A/N: I don’t usually like posting WIP, but I have most of this planned already and I wanted to get it out there so people can kick my butt if I’m being too slow in writing/posting. Later chapters will have higher ratings because, really, how can this not end in hot hot sex?

Chris dug frantically through the top drawer of the dresser, looking for the pair of black socks he knew had to be in there somewhere. No matter how careful he was not to show them, Zach would just know instinctively if he wore white socks with this outfit, and somewhere in his irrational train of thought, Chris had convinced himself that this just might be the deal breaker. He had managed to pin all his hopes for the evening – and, if he was honest with himself, many evenings to follow – on managing to find a particular article of clothing that had seemingly vanished.

Panicking, he yanked the whole drawer out and dumped its contents unceremoniously to the floor. Success! No… wait… One. One black sock. And one black sock was just as bad as no black socks – possibly worse, since it had gotten his hopes up. There were navy blue socks, but he might as well show up wearing nothing but Saran wrap and a trucker hat. It might be less embarrassing, in fact.

He willed himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and doing his best to think like a sock. He was an actor, after all. If he could manage to think like a hippie oenophile or a neo-Nazi psychopath or, god forbid, a starship captain, he could think like a sock. Socks were uncomplicated. They only had two main functions, and Chris was pretty sure he could rule out puppetry for the time being. The only thing mysterious about socks was the fact that they tended to disappear from…

The dryer! Of course! Chris hadn’t had the time to fold the clothes he had put in the dryer yesterday, so they must still be there. As he made a mad dash for the laundry room, he silently cursed himself for getting into the situation in the first place.

As long as he’d felt it, it had taken Chris until four days ago to tell Zach. This wasn’t so terrible considering that he’d only admitted it to himself and actually given it a name three months ago. They were sitting in the back corner of some dive bar that Zach had found, the lights low and the clientele shifty enough that they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves.

Neither he nor Zach were as drunk as they pretended to be, but the pretense made it a little easier for Chris to blurt out, in one long breath, that he had kind of a crush on Zach, no, not like his mancrush on Karl, like a real one, and no, he’d never been with a guy before or even thought about a guy this way before, not seriously, but it was driving him crazy and he knew that if Zach didn’t feel the same way, it was cool, he’d get over it, but he was tired of regretting the things he wasn’t brave enough to do and after all this whole Star Trek shit seemed to have worked out pretty well and again it was totally okay if Zach just wanted to pretend like this never happened but Chris really wanted to give it a shot.

As Chris gasped for air, Zach coolly pushed his drink aside, surveyed the younger man with sober eyes, and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Chris wheezed.

“Yeah.”

“Just… like that?”

Zach actually had the nerve to roll his eyes at that. “You want me to string you along a little bit first? Make you talk me into it? Because I think you need a breather first. Look, you’re smart, you’re talented, you’re fucking gorgeous, and you’re the only person who’s made me laugh so hard I snorted beer out my nose, so, yeah, I’d like to give it a go.”

Chris was elated, euphoric, jubilant – and also beginning to panic. Not only had he not really thought through what would happen if Zach actually said yes, but now that he had agreed, Chris was rapidly losing control of the situation. Out of sheer perversity of will, he said, “Alright, Quinto, but don’t expect me to just hop into bed. I’m not going to put out until at least – at least – the third date. And you’re gonna have to earn it, too. I mean it. You’re gonna court me if you want this fine ass.”

In retrospect, Chris should have realized that the slow, wicked grin that spread across Zach’s mouth was a reason to feel terror, not arrogance. The fear did let up just a little when he found the black socks in the dryer, only to rise anew when the doorbell rang just as he was tugging on the second sock. Of course the son of a bitch was right on time.

He made a beeline for the front door, sliding a bit on the hardwood but managing to catch himself before the embarrassing crash and ensuing concussion. He grabbed his keys and wallet off the table, and took it as a blessing from the Gay Dating Gods when the shoes he intended to wear were among the pairs off to the side of the front hallway.

Chris yanked open the door with a smart-ass comment that died on his lips. Zach always looked good – this should not have been a surprise – but Zach looked downright edible in a dark purple button-down shirt and gray pants. (Chris supposed that a better description would probably include words like “eggplant” and “gunmetal,” but having been straight until quite recently, he felt uneasy with the terminology.) Fortunately, Zach seemed to take Chris’ astonished silence as a compliment. He held out a book – “Flowers seemed a bit inappropriate, but I was in that used bookstore today and I found this. It’s not a first edition or anything, but I figured you’d like it.”

Taking the old, hardbound copy of The Great Gatsby with wide eyes, Chris momentarily regretted his promise to wait until the third date. Chris loved old books, and this one – with its musty but familiar smell and handwritten notes penciled in the margins – was definitely deserving of some sexual favors.

“Zach, I don’t know what to…” He trailed off helplessly.

“No worries.”

Chris set the book down on the side table, looked back up, and suddenly felt at a complete loss. If Zach had been awkward, or done something ridiculous like offer his arm as though to a debutante, Chris probably would have slammed the door and fled. But Zach just smiled easily, hands in his pockets, and nodded toward the car. “C’mon, we’ve got reservations.”

Despite Zach’s calm, Chris couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. The banter was usually effortless, but Chris couldn’t open his mouth without his brain screaming this is a date DON’T FUCK IT UP. His mind went in to overdrive – what if this was a disaster? They would inevitably be working together again, not to mention their overlapping circle of friends. What if this didn’t work at all? What if he was too straight for Zach? What if…?

But then a car swerved in front of them and when Zach dropped the word “onanistic” into his lengthy verbal abuse of the other driver, Chris broke into helpless peals of laughter. Safely stopped at a red light, Zach turned to look at Chris with a crooked smile. “Get out of your head, man. It’s just me.”

And that Chris could deal with.

The restaurant was small, low-key, and Italian; Zach must have known the owner because they were promptly escorted to a table in a nook in the back. The lights were low but candles were burning brightly on the tables. When the owner left them to themselves, Chris rolled his eyes in mock irritation and muttered, “Candles, really? If you try to do that Lady and the Tramp thing where we share the spaghetti noodle, I’m gonna gag.”

Chris immediately went red, terrified he’d set himself up for some gag reflex or blowjob joke that was going to make him incredibly uncomfortable under the circumstances, but Zach didn’t seem to notice the set-up or the blushing. “No need,” he chuckled. “If anyone brings out an accordion, I’m going to run screaming.”

At that, Chris allowed himself to exhale. Once he got his inner monologue under control, things went surprisingly well. Zach ordered the perfect wine and Chris managed to keep himself from nervously nibbling the crust off the bread and then mashing the soft inside into a small, doughy singularity. On-A-Date Zach turned out to be remarkably similar to Regular Zach, only maybe a bit quieter when he teased a marinara-splotched Chris for being the messiest eater on this particular branch of the evolutionary tree.

“Only in comparison to you,” Chris shot back, wiping a bit of sauce from his cheek. “What, do you use Scotch-Guard for aftershave?”

“Industrial deck sealant. It’s the key to my ineffability.”

It was so easy – like any other meal with Zach. Chris had half-prepared himself for lewd pick-up lines or getting felt up under the table or nonstop cooing and kissy-faces – all the ways he would have deflected if he’d been the one doing the courting – but Zach was just Zach and Chris was just Chris. It made the younger man wonder if this was actually their first date at all. But then dessert came out with only one fork and when Chris took the bite of tiramisu that Zach offered him, sighing softly at the light texture and sweetness, Zach’s eyes went dark with such lust that Chris was surprised he didn’t just burst into flames.

Then the moment passed and the waitress came over with a second fork; Chris didn’t know whether to thank her or curse her. Zach paid, and Chris let him without too much squabbling, still a bit dazed from the look on Zach’s face a few minutes earlier.

The car ride home was spent mostly in silence, but a comfortable silence borne of an abundance of good food and good company. Chris let himself think through something he’d realized at dinner but hadn’t had the time to ponder. He looked back on his admittedly somewhat shady dating history and realized he’d never been pursued. He’d done a bit of pursuing himself – though, truth be told, he’d never really had to expend much effort where women were concerned. Even his more serious relationships had just sort of… happened. He had to think back to high school, when he still had braces and his acne was in full swing, to remember what his friends called “the thrill of the chase.” It hadn’t been all that thrilling then, and later he thought of “the chase” as something only valued by guys who couldn’t actually get laid.

So this was all kind of new to him. And even though the ending might be pretty well known in advance – it wasn’t like Zach seriously had to prove he was worthy of Chris, if anything it should have been the other way around – Chris was actually excited to see how they’d get there.

When they returned to his apartment, Chris nervously cracked a joke about Zach walking him to the door, but Zach just serenely responded with, “What kind of date would this be if I didn’t?”

The night air was cooler than Chris had expected, and he convinced himself that the tiny shiver that shot down his spine had more to do with the breeze than the warmth of the man beside him as they walked up to his front stoop. He had the paranoia and the presence of mind to glance around for paparazzi or interested-looking passersby with cell phones, but the neighborhood seemed pretty empty.

Chris’ mind was racing as he turned the key in the lock. What should he do now? Crack a joke to break the tension? Invite Zach in for coffee? Invite Zach in for “coffee”? Stand there like an idiot, staring at the door? For lack of a better option, he went with the latter, until he heard his name. Even then, Zach had to repeat it before he turned around.

Chris spun around on his heels to see Zach standing much closer than he had expected. He marveled at the injustice in the universe that Zach should look so calm and collected when he felt like he was about to have a stroke. “Did you have a good time?” Zach asked, so close now that Chris could feel the older man’s breath on his cheek.

“Y-yes,” he stammered.

“Good.”

Zach leaned in and Chris’ brain went into overdrive. First he was struck with the bizarre notion that someone with a camera was about to pop out of the bushes, then he thought back to how much garlic he’d had at dinner but then figured that was probably okay because Zach had had garlic too, and as long as the disparity in garlic consumption was not too great, it probably wouldn’t be unpleasant to—

Then Zach’s lips were on his, and Chris’ mind went blissfully blank. For a long time and not nearly long enough, there was only the gentle, sliding pressure of Zach’s lips, the brush of Zach’s fingers curling softly against the nape of his neck, the warmth of Zach’s body blocking the slightly chilled air.

Then Zach was pulling away, and Chris was about to protest until he saw that the look was back in Zach’s eyes. If it had been breathtaking from across the table, it was purely devastating now. Zach was gazing down at him through lowered eyelashes with an intensity that made Chris’ bones melt, and the low light threw shadows across Zach’s angular features that made him look like sin itself.

Wanna come inside? The words – in all their double-entrendrefied glory – were on Chris’ lips when Zach leaned in for one last, quick kiss and then stepped back. “Goodnight, Chris,” he said with a small smile and a slow blink. Then he was gone.

Chris managed to step through the door and lock it behind him before nearly falling against the wall for support, his eyes wide and his mouth still gaping.

“I’m not gonna survive this,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Continue to Part 2