Fic: You Can Leave Your Hat On
Title: You Can Leave Your Hat On
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2770
Summary: Chris is having a bad day. Zach needs a favor. Ridiculousness ensues.
A/N: written for the trekrpfexchange Secret Santa for xscribblings . As this is my first Pinto in months, many thanks to proskynesis for assuring me that I haven't completely forgotten how to write the boys.
Chris is having a bad day, a bad week, when Zach calls him for the first time in-- Chris doesn’t know how long, but long enough. Too long.
He’s just had one of those special mornings, where everything that could go wrong, does so. He hurts his foot getting out of bed by stepping on his favorite belt and breaking the buckle. The shower turns to scalding for no reason he can discern. There is nothing breakfasty or edible in his cupboards and he can’t find a clean shirt. By the time he leaves his home, clad in what has become more or less a uniform - a thick cardigan thrown over a fairly white t-shirt and his trusty black jeans - Chris is starving and pissed off at the world.
An hour later, he wishes he’d listened to what surely had been a divine warning, said fuck it and gone back to bed.
As it is, he is waiting in queue for La Mill, pretending to not notice the whispering of half its occupants, and breathing as calmly as possible. It would be generally frowned upon, Chris supposes, if he is to start screaming for no reason - not to mention that it would give the paps waiting for him outside way too much satisfaction. Still, he can think vicious thoughts - that is his prerogative and no one can stop him. He is hungry - he wants his blueberry muffin and his organic soy latte (with an extra shot of espresso) - and he doesn’t want to have to talk to anyone or sign an autograph or pose for pictures.
The time before breakfast is Chris Pine time, dammit.
La Mill is busier than usual, and though Chris hides behinds his Ray-Bans, he can still spot a number of tables, which do not appear occupied with the cafe’s usual clientele - the ones that drink their coffee, without a glance at his direction, nose deep in their iPhones or blackberries or some other peak of technology Chris has little interest in. (Sure, the place is as pretentious as they come, as his sister loves to remind him, but the fact remains that the one time he took her there, she admitted that the coffee is phenomenal.) No, that morning the demographic seems unusually young and female and have the general look of ‘not from around here’.
Chris suspects he is being a tad paranoid - fine, maybe a lot paranoid - but he has trouble remembering the last time he has been outside without someone following him and he figures a little healthy paranoia is, well, a good thing.
He blows a meeting with his publicist, knows that a reschedule for when he is in a better mood will be considerably more fruitful, and heads home. He is flicking aimlessly through the TV channels when Zach calls him.
He’d spend one evening towards the end of the press tour, making a trek group on his cell - a group which has the theme song for its ring tone - meaning it to be a joke, but it had stuck and now he hasn't the heart to change it, despite the occasional odd look. It always makes him smile.
“Hello, stranger,” Chris says.
“Chris.” Zach sounds a little out of breath, and Chris can hear a car honking in the background as well as faint laughter. Zach must be outside. Chris doesn’t need to look at his watch to know the time - it is Noah walking time and there is something so familiar and lovely about that, it makes Chris’ heart clench a little. “Um. How are you?” Zach asks, as casual as you want, though there is something in his voice that makes Chris laugh.
“Seriously? We haven’t spoken in weeks and now you’re calling me for a favor!”
The pause on the other side is long enough for Chris to second guess his assumption, but just as he is trying to formulate some sort of an apology, and that in itself is disconcerting, because they’d never needed apologies before, Zach laughs.
“What gave it away?” he cuts straight to the chase - a quality, which Chris has been known to find both irritating and endearing.
“Your voice, dude, it was practically apologetic. So… what is it? Shoot.”
“What are you doing on the twenty fourth?” Zach asks, and Chris is about to look at his schedule, when the words catch up to him. “Christmas Eve? You asking me about Christmas Eve? Well… there are about seven party invitations I need to RSVP to, including one from my parents, though to be honest I sort of want to just chill at home. It’s been a while since I’ve had a day off… why? What did you have in mind?”
“Right. So I’m organizing this charity event for the children at the local hospice and I’ve just lost my main attraction. I was hoping you could help…” he trails off a little.
“What? You want me to turn up, take pics with the kids, that sort of thing?” Chris is a little incredulous, because on the one hand, an obscure charity event is totally Zach’s sort of thing, but Zach also knows how crazy the publicity circus has been making Chris lately.
“Um. Not exactly, no. I need you to dress up… as Santa,” Zach says, and his voice is just a tad brighter than could be possibly considered natural.
Chris is quiet for a long moment - of all the strange requests...
“I’ll email you the details… just promise me you’ll think about it. It’ll mean a lot to the kids and I promise that you’ll be completely unrecognizable to the paps.”
Chris shakes his head, even though Zach can't see him, and hangs up, but he does end up thinking about it. A lot. It is an idea so random, it might secretly be awesome and besides, none of the numerous party invitations seem all that inviting.
---
Zach gets there just a little early, and the Chris Pine that opens the door to him is looking harried and not entirely pleased to see him, though his crankiness dissipates a little in the face of Zach’s raised eyebrow. Chris laughs then, frown lines replaced with laugh lines and the transformation is incredible. Zach goes for a hug, ignoring the initial stiffness he is met with, and soon Chris’ arms are wrapped tightly - if a little awkwardly - around him.
“And they say you are a bad hugger.” Zach laughs and easily dodges a punch to the shoulder.
Zach hasn’t been in Chris’s place for at least a couple of months, but it doesn’t look any different, and there are no decorations to speak of. He deposits the bag of clothes on Chris’ couch and sits down.
“So,” Chris says. “White beard? Big belly? The whole ordeal is in this bag?”
He looks a little nervous, but there is a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and Zach thinks that this evening might end up entertaining if nothing else.
He nods. “It’s all in the bag.”
Chris steels himself and pours out its contents. The red coat, pants, hat and beard, which Zach has managed to obtain on very short notice, clash spectacularly with the design of the couch.
“All right then. Before I get into my costume, can you please tell me my character’s motivations? Dreams? What is his journey of discovery?” Chris asks - his voice deadly serious; eyes theatrically narrowed and aimed at the horizon.
“He wants to give gifts to kids, I believe,” Zach replies, just as seriously.
“A noble goal.”
“Indeed. Now get dressed, or we’re going to be late,” Zach cuts him off, even though he has really missed this - almost as much as he has missed Chris’ smile, which is a stupid thought to have and Zach bites at the inside of his mouth to stop from laughing like a loon. And to think that he actually believed time and space would serve as a cure for his particular ailment.
“All right, all right, just wondering, did you take this out of your own closet? I can see you working those red pants.” Chris laughs and looks up from underneath his lashes, like a cheeky child that expects to be scolded, but Zach is too distracted by the way he is sprawled on the couch, all sharp angles and soft skin, to think of a decent response.
“Haha, you are hilarious,” he replies after a too long beat.
“Says the man who is known to wear UGGs,” Chris says, and much to Zach’s relief shows no sign of being aware of Zach’s unusual slowness.
“Me? What about you? Mister-‘I only own one pair of jeans and a t-shirt’!” This time Zach is on the ball, because what he is saying is actually true.
Chris smiles and rakes his hand through his hair, fluffing it up in the process, though he looks hardly concerned with the accusation. “I’ll have you know, my sartorial choices are simple, classic, chic,” he says it with a shrug and a smirk. The word ‘fetching’ comes to mind and the shrug serves to draw Zach’s attention to Chris’ collarbone and he can’t help wondering what the skin there tastes like, or the sound Chris would make if Zach was to bite it.
“Not with these shoes, they aren’t,” Zach says, remembering himself this time, and is proud to note that his voice is perfectly casual. Who would have thought that playing a man in complete control of his emotions would have such useful side benefits.
Chris, on his part, looks hugely affronted. “Hey now, no need to get nasty, we both know the shoes are awesome. You only wish you could handle such shoes.” And he laughs and takes off his shirt right there in front of Zach, who is a little blind-sighted by the sudden reveal of so much skin.
It is one of those super awkward moments, which reminds Zach of watching television with his mother as a teen, when a particularly raunchy sex scene would come on and he would try to act cool about it and like it is not awkward as hell. It’s like that, but a little worse, because it’s been a while since Zach has spend all that much time in Chris’ presence and the levels of resistance he had build up in the past are wearing thin.
Zach goes to get a glass of water in order to escape and then pretends to be engrossed in Chris’ DVD collection and hopes to dear god that Chris won’t also drop his pants off right there in his living room.
He doesn’t. “I think I’ll change in my bedroom. That way you won’t get spoiled for the reveal,” Chris says and Zach lets out a sigh of relief - one that sounds suspiciously like one of disappointment.
When he emerges out of the bedroom, Chris is wearing the full ensemble. Even a pillow-belly. The effect is totally ridiculous, if not a little endearing and Zach can’t help the surprised laugh from escaping his lips.
“I bring joy and cheer to all,” Chris says - voice gruffer than his usual.
The evening goes in a blur of laughter and by the time it’s over, there is still time to catch at least three after parties. Zach is about to say goodbye when Chris grins and because he is still dressed as Santa, beard and all, it looks a little strange.
“I don’t really feel like any of these parties, do you wanna come back to mine? Now that the PG part of the night is over, we could have some wine… it’s a rare moment I get you all to myself Zachary Quinto and I am not willing to let you off that easily. Besides, you owe me.”
Zach agrees all too easily but he still has to ask. “I owe you, do I?”
“Of course, you don’t think I will play dress up for just anyone, do you?” Chris says and flutters his eyelashes. The general effect is a little disturbing and so there really is no reason for Zach’s heart to start beating like it does after he has been jogging, only he can’t help but think that it sounds a lot like Chris is flirting with him.
Chris takes the beard and wig off as soon as they are inside his house, and complains about how itchy they are, but puts the hat back on.
He praises the coat's warmth, but takes that off as well, leaves it where he is sitting and pulls the pillow out. He is wearing the surprisingly tight, red pants, a black t-shirt and the Santa hat and what moments ago looked comedic and ridiculous now makes for a truly striking image - black t-shirt riding up to reveal a glimpse of skin, red Santa coat pooled on the sofa behind him like a deep red shadow and to top it off, the hat at a jaunty angle.
Chris is reaching for the hat, when Zach utters the immortal words, “Why don’t you leave your hat on?”
It is only the wry amusement in Chris’ face that makes him replay the words in his head.
Shit.
“I mean, it has been Christmas for at least thirty minutes and you don’t even have a tree up… don’t let go of that one sign of holiday cheer,” Zach adds hurriedly, and hopes that his flush is hidden by the dim light.
Chris laughs openly then, but Zach doesn’t mind, because he also leaves the hat on.
A couple of years ago a few of Zach’s friends had thought it would be hilarious to get him a stripper for his birthday, and cringing embarrassment aside, Zach is strongly reminded of that all of a sudden. The stripper had taken off his pants soon enough and he’d worn these ridiculous green silk boxers, and Zach curses that thought, because now he can’t stop himself from picturing Chris’ underwear. He glances at the waistline of Chris’ trousers, and sure enough there is a flash of red there, deeper than the red of his pants.
Zach only realizes he is staring, when the silence stretches. His eyes snap back up to Chris’ face; Chris’ amusement has been replaced with something Zach can’t quite make out.
In a desperate attempt to dissipate the situation, Zach raises an eyebrow, and puts as much disdain into his voice as he can. “Red boxers?”
Chris licks his lips and Zach has seen that particular gesture so many times, he should be immune to it, but he really, really isn’t. “It helped me get into character,” Chris says after a pause.
Zach leans back further into the couch, and takes a long drink of his wine, because it is something to do. Something other than stare at Chris Pine, while fervently wishing he is fucking him into the sofa.
“Why is your heating on so high? Do you know how bad the unnecessary energy use is for the environment?” Zach speaks the first silly thing that pops into his head, because normally he is very good at filtering, but this isn’t normal and he feels tired and the wine is making him languid and comfortable and prone to confessions.
Chris rolls his eyes at that and refills both their glasses.
“Cheers,” Chris says raising his glass in the air - it refracts strange, colored light onto Chris’ face.
Zach raises his. “What are we drinking to?”
“Oh, you know, life, joy, that sort of thing.”
The next hour or so passes in a blur of more alcohol and laughter than can be good for you.
It is after a brief lull in the conversation that Chris turns to Zach, who is sitting next to him on the couch, places his hand on his upper arm, in a mock gesture of comfort and using a ridiculously over the top sultry voice almost whispers, “Santa wants to know, Zach, have you been a naughty boy?”
Zach wants to laugh and shrug Chris’ hand off, because of all the clichéd lines, but he finds himself blushing instead. It’s mortifying.
“Chris, that’s not funny,” Zach says, when he can speak again, because they may be a little drunk, but not enough to justify those words.
“Nobody is laughing,” Chris says. “Good boys get a present, bad boys get punished, what’s it gonna be?”
As it looks like Chris won’t let go of this bizarre game, Zach shrugs. “Good, I guess. What’s my present?”
When Chris leans it to kiss him, Zach is completely unprepared.
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2770
Summary: Chris is having a bad day. Zach needs a favor. Ridiculousness ensues.
A/N: written for the trekrpfexchange Secret Santa for xscribblings . As this is my first Pinto in months, many thanks to proskynesis for assuring me that I haven't completely forgotten how to write the boys.
Chris is having a bad day, a bad week, when Zach calls him for the first time in-- Chris doesn’t know how long, but long enough. Too long.
He’s just had one of those special mornings, where everything that could go wrong, does so. He hurts his foot getting out of bed by stepping on his favorite belt and breaking the buckle. The shower turns to scalding for no reason he can discern. There is nothing breakfasty or edible in his cupboards and he can’t find a clean shirt. By the time he leaves his home, clad in what has become more or less a uniform - a thick cardigan thrown over a fairly white t-shirt and his trusty black jeans - Chris is starving and pissed off at the world.
An hour later, he wishes he’d listened to what surely had been a divine warning, said fuck it and gone back to bed.
As it is, he is waiting in queue for La Mill, pretending to not notice the whispering of half its occupants, and breathing as calmly as possible. It would be generally frowned upon, Chris supposes, if he is to start screaming for no reason - not to mention that it would give the paps waiting for him outside way too much satisfaction. Still, he can think vicious thoughts - that is his prerogative and no one can stop him. He is hungry - he wants his blueberry muffin and his organic soy latte (with an extra shot of espresso) - and he doesn’t want to have to talk to anyone or sign an autograph or pose for pictures.
The time before breakfast is Chris Pine time, dammit.
La Mill is busier than usual, and though Chris hides behinds his Ray-Bans, he can still spot a number of tables, which do not appear occupied with the cafe’s usual clientele - the ones that drink their coffee, without a glance at his direction, nose deep in their iPhones or blackberries or some other peak of technology Chris has little interest in. (Sure, the place is as pretentious as they come, as his sister loves to remind him, but the fact remains that the one time he took her there, she admitted that the coffee is phenomenal.) No, that morning the demographic seems unusually young and female and have the general look of ‘not from around here’.
Chris suspects he is being a tad paranoid - fine, maybe a lot paranoid - but he has trouble remembering the last time he has been outside without someone following him and he figures a little healthy paranoia is, well, a good thing.
He blows a meeting with his publicist, knows that a reschedule for when he is in a better mood will be considerably more fruitful, and heads home. He is flicking aimlessly through the TV channels when Zach calls him.
He’d spend one evening towards the end of the press tour, making a trek group on his cell - a group which has the theme song for its ring tone - meaning it to be a joke, but it had stuck and now he hasn't the heart to change it, despite the occasional odd look. It always makes him smile.
“Hello, stranger,” Chris says.
“Chris.” Zach sounds a little out of breath, and Chris can hear a car honking in the background as well as faint laughter. Zach must be outside. Chris doesn’t need to look at his watch to know the time - it is Noah walking time and there is something so familiar and lovely about that, it makes Chris’ heart clench a little. “Um. How are you?” Zach asks, as casual as you want, though there is something in his voice that makes Chris laugh.
“Seriously? We haven’t spoken in weeks and now you’re calling me for a favor!”
The pause on the other side is long enough for Chris to second guess his assumption, but just as he is trying to formulate some sort of an apology, and that in itself is disconcerting, because they’d never needed apologies before, Zach laughs.
“What gave it away?” he cuts straight to the chase - a quality, which Chris has been known to find both irritating and endearing.
“Your voice, dude, it was practically apologetic. So… what is it? Shoot.”
“What are you doing on the twenty fourth?” Zach asks, and Chris is about to look at his schedule, when the words catch up to him. “Christmas Eve? You asking me about Christmas Eve? Well… there are about seven party invitations I need to RSVP to, including one from my parents, though to be honest I sort of want to just chill at home. It’s been a while since I’ve had a day off… why? What did you have in mind?”
“Right. So I’m organizing this charity event for the children at the local hospice and I’ve just lost my main attraction. I was hoping you could help…” he trails off a little.
“What? You want me to turn up, take pics with the kids, that sort of thing?” Chris is a little incredulous, because on the one hand, an obscure charity event is totally Zach’s sort of thing, but Zach also knows how crazy the publicity circus has been making Chris lately.
“Um. Not exactly, no. I need you to dress up… as Santa,” Zach says, and his voice is just a tad brighter than could be possibly considered natural.
Chris is quiet for a long moment - of all the strange requests...
“I’ll email you the details… just promise me you’ll think about it. It’ll mean a lot to the kids and I promise that you’ll be completely unrecognizable to the paps.”
Chris shakes his head, even though Zach can't see him, and hangs up, but he does end up thinking about it. A lot. It is an idea so random, it might secretly be awesome and besides, none of the numerous party invitations seem all that inviting.
---
Zach gets there just a little early, and the Chris Pine that opens the door to him is looking harried and not entirely pleased to see him, though his crankiness dissipates a little in the face of Zach’s raised eyebrow. Chris laughs then, frown lines replaced with laugh lines and the transformation is incredible. Zach goes for a hug, ignoring the initial stiffness he is met with, and soon Chris’ arms are wrapped tightly - if a little awkwardly - around him.
“And they say you are a bad hugger.” Zach laughs and easily dodges a punch to the shoulder.
Zach hasn’t been in Chris’s place for at least a couple of months, but it doesn’t look any different, and there are no decorations to speak of. He deposits the bag of clothes on Chris’ couch and sits down.
“So,” Chris says. “White beard? Big belly? The whole ordeal is in this bag?”
He looks a little nervous, but there is a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and Zach thinks that this evening might end up entertaining if nothing else.
He nods. “It’s all in the bag.”
Chris steels himself and pours out its contents. The red coat, pants, hat and beard, which Zach has managed to obtain on very short notice, clash spectacularly with the design of the couch.
“All right then. Before I get into my costume, can you please tell me my character’s motivations? Dreams? What is his journey of discovery?” Chris asks - his voice deadly serious; eyes theatrically narrowed and aimed at the horizon.
“He wants to give gifts to kids, I believe,” Zach replies, just as seriously.
“A noble goal.”
“Indeed. Now get dressed, or we’re going to be late,” Zach cuts him off, even though he has really missed this - almost as much as he has missed Chris’ smile, which is a stupid thought to have and Zach bites at the inside of his mouth to stop from laughing like a loon. And to think that he actually believed time and space would serve as a cure for his particular ailment.
“All right, all right, just wondering, did you take this out of your own closet? I can see you working those red pants.” Chris laughs and looks up from underneath his lashes, like a cheeky child that expects to be scolded, but Zach is too distracted by the way he is sprawled on the couch, all sharp angles and soft skin, to think of a decent response.
“Haha, you are hilarious,” he replies after a too long beat.
“Says the man who is known to wear UGGs,” Chris says, and much to Zach’s relief shows no sign of being aware of Zach’s unusual slowness.
“Me? What about you? Mister-‘I only own one pair of jeans and a t-shirt’!” This time Zach is on the ball, because what he is saying is actually true.
Chris smiles and rakes his hand through his hair, fluffing it up in the process, though he looks hardly concerned with the accusation. “I’ll have you know, my sartorial choices are simple, classic, chic,” he says it with a shrug and a smirk. The word ‘fetching’ comes to mind and the shrug serves to draw Zach’s attention to Chris’ collarbone and he can’t help wondering what the skin there tastes like, or the sound Chris would make if Zach was to bite it.
“Not with these shoes, they aren’t,” Zach says, remembering himself this time, and is proud to note that his voice is perfectly casual. Who would have thought that playing a man in complete control of his emotions would have such useful side benefits.
Chris, on his part, looks hugely affronted. “Hey now, no need to get nasty, we both know the shoes are awesome. You only wish you could handle such shoes.” And he laughs and takes off his shirt right there in front of Zach, who is a little blind-sighted by the sudden reveal of so much skin.
It is one of those super awkward moments, which reminds Zach of watching television with his mother as a teen, when a particularly raunchy sex scene would come on and he would try to act cool about it and like it is not awkward as hell. It’s like that, but a little worse, because it’s been a while since Zach has spend all that much time in Chris’ presence and the levels of resistance he had build up in the past are wearing thin.
Zach goes to get a glass of water in order to escape and then pretends to be engrossed in Chris’ DVD collection and hopes to dear god that Chris won’t also drop his pants off right there in his living room.
He doesn’t. “I think I’ll change in my bedroom. That way you won’t get spoiled for the reveal,” Chris says and Zach lets out a sigh of relief - one that sounds suspiciously like one of disappointment.
When he emerges out of the bedroom, Chris is wearing the full ensemble. Even a pillow-belly. The effect is totally ridiculous, if not a little endearing and Zach can’t help the surprised laugh from escaping his lips.
“I bring joy and cheer to all,” Chris says - voice gruffer than his usual.
The evening goes in a blur of laughter and by the time it’s over, there is still time to catch at least three after parties. Zach is about to say goodbye when Chris grins and because he is still dressed as Santa, beard and all, it looks a little strange.
“I don’t really feel like any of these parties, do you wanna come back to mine? Now that the PG part of the night is over, we could have some wine… it’s a rare moment I get you all to myself Zachary Quinto and I am not willing to let you off that easily. Besides, you owe me.”
Zach agrees all too easily but he still has to ask. “I owe you, do I?”
“Of course, you don’t think I will play dress up for just anyone, do you?” Chris says and flutters his eyelashes. The general effect is a little disturbing and so there really is no reason for Zach’s heart to start beating like it does after he has been jogging, only he can’t help but think that it sounds a lot like Chris is flirting with him.
Chris takes the beard and wig off as soon as they are inside his house, and complains about how itchy they are, but puts the hat back on.
He praises the coat's warmth, but takes that off as well, leaves it where he is sitting and pulls the pillow out. He is wearing the surprisingly tight, red pants, a black t-shirt and the Santa hat and what moments ago looked comedic and ridiculous now makes for a truly striking image - black t-shirt riding up to reveal a glimpse of skin, red Santa coat pooled on the sofa behind him like a deep red shadow and to top it off, the hat at a jaunty angle.
Chris is reaching for the hat, when Zach utters the immortal words, “Why don’t you leave your hat on?”
It is only the wry amusement in Chris’ face that makes him replay the words in his head.
Shit.
“I mean, it has been Christmas for at least thirty minutes and you don’t even have a tree up… don’t let go of that one sign of holiday cheer,” Zach adds hurriedly, and hopes that his flush is hidden by the dim light.
Chris laughs openly then, but Zach doesn’t mind, because he also leaves the hat on.
A couple of years ago a few of Zach’s friends had thought it would be hilarious to get him a stripper for his birthday, and cringing embarrassment aside, Zach is strongly reminded of that all of a sudden. The stripper had taken off his pants soon enough and he’d worn these ridiculous green silk boxers, and Zach curses that thought, because now he can’t stop himself from picturing Chris’ underwear. He glances at the waistline of Chris’ trousers, and sure enough there is a flash of red there, deeper than the red of his pants.
Zach only realizes he is staring, when the silence stretches. His eyes snap back up to Chris’ face; Chris’ amusement has been replaced with something Zach can’t quite make out.
In a desperate attempt to dissipate the situation, Zach raises an eyebrow, and puts as much disdain into his voice as he can. “Red boxers?”
Chris licks his lips and Zach has seen that particular gesture so many times, he should be immune to it, but he really, really isn’t. “It helped me get into character,” Chris says after a pause.
Zach leans back further into the couch, and takes a long drink of his wine, because it is something to do. Something other than stare at Chris Pine, while fervently wishing he is fucking him into the sofa.
“Why is your heating on so high? Do you know how bad the unnecessary energy use is for the environment?” Zach speaks the first silly thing that pops into his head, because normally he is very good at filtering, but this isn’t normal and he feels tired and the wine is making him languid and comfortable and prone to confessions.
Chris rolls his eyes at that and refills both their glasses.
“Cheers,” Chris says raising his glass in the air - it refracts strange, colored light onto Chris’ face.
Zach raises his. “What are we drinking to?”
“Oh, you know, life, joy, that sort of thing.”
The next hour or so passes in a blur of more alcohol and laughter than can be good for you.
It is after a brief lull in the conversation that Chris turns to Zach, who is sitting next to him on the couch, places his hand on his upper arm, in a mock gesture of comfort and using a ridiculously over the top sultry voice almost whispers, “Santa wants to know, Zach, have you been a naughty boy?”
Zach wants to laugh and shrug Chris’ hand off, because of all the clichéd lines, but he finds himself blushing instead. It’s mortifying.
“Chris, that’s not funny,” Zach says, when he can speak again, because they may be a little drunk, but not enough to justify those words.
“Nobody is laughing,” Chris says. “Good boys get a present, bad boys get punished, what’s it gonna be?”
As it looks like Chris won’t let go of this bizarre game, Zach shrugs. “Good, I guess. What’s my present?”
When Chris leans it to kiss him, Zach is completely unprepared.