fic: highlights [zach in the city, 6/6]
Title: Highlights [Zach in the City, 6/6]
Fandom: ST RPF
Rating: R
Pairings: Zach/Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Chris/OMC
Word Count: ~6700 of ~30k (completed, but staggered posting)
Summary: June through August of 2010. Warning: gratuitous moments of both angst and bliss. Also, sex in a dressing room. (AO3)
"You're going to LA for two days?" Jesse asks while Zach throws some things into a bag. "Uh, have fun?"
"I need to see my babies," Zach says completely seriously.
"Ah, right. Noah and Harold," Jesse carefully over-enunciates.
Jesse grabs some socks and throws them into Zach's bag. Zach takes the socks out, folds them, and puts them back in the bag. Jesse notices and starts folding shit before tossing it in, and Zach continues to marvel at his ability to find people so accommodating of his pure crazy.
"You're going to be here a while," Jesse says after a few moments, and Zach notices from the corner of his eye Jesse's too-casual stance -- he knows uptight Jesse, and casual Jesse, and sometimes the two of them have a baby called please don't notice how hard I'm trying to be chill right now Jesse. "Why don't you just bring them over? To New York?"
"Because --"
And Zach sees it all in a split second: because then Zach will have to stop at the apartment all the time to care for Noah and Harold, and take time he doesn't have out of his day to walk Noah. Jesse will tag along, at first just to meet the pets (a huge part of Zach's life, everyone knows that -- he has more photo albums of them than he can sync on his phone.) After that, it's just a matter of time before their dates out to clubs and concerts and premieres and shows become nights home with the pets, their hands brushing against each other as they scratch behind Noah's ears, laughing as Harold makes himself comfortable in Jesse's lap or suffocates him in the morning, and Zach's not kidding -- his pets are his fucking babies, and if they start whining because Jesse's not there regularly with treats and bellyrubs, if Zach is suddenly not enough for them, if he has to actually consider the well-being of his pets before dumping a guy, if they don't like Jesse, if Jesse doesn't like them, he will lose his fucking shit.
"My brother's taking care of them," Zach finishes instantly. "I'm so busy, you know?"
"It happens," Jesse says.
*
"I don't know why he broke up with me," Chris says in their video chat. "Things were fine and then just -- he didn't like me anymore. I mean, I didn't like him a lot but that's the point, isn't it? If I can't even hold on to someone I'm indifferent about, then what the fuck?!"
"Oh, honey," Jesse says. "It's kind of obvious."
Zach says nothing and Jesse notices. Jesse prods him and Zach presses his lips together tighter.
"I'm not allowed to say," Zach says finally.
"Oh! Okay." Jesse looks into the laptop camera and says, "Chris, Franklin was a baby. You're thirty years old. You're not allowed to go after jailbait anymore."
"Four years younger than me isn't jailbait," Chris laughs.
"There's a big difference between 30 and 26."
"There so isn't!"
"Maybe not between men and women, but between men? Totally is. 26 might as well be 19."
"So many numbers," Zach moans.
"Wait, why weren't you allowed to say?" Jesse asks Zach suddenly. "About Franklin being too young?"
"Because Zach loves to rob him some cradles," Chris says, his evil laugh a perfect accessory to his evil clap and rubbing together of his hands.
"Now that's interesting," Jesse says, raising his eyebrow at Zach.
"It's not, actually," Zach replies to both of them.
"Probably why he likes you so much," Chris says into the webcam, one eyebrow dangerously high. "You may be a little older than him, but since you're on the short side --"
"You're going to die alone!" Zach laughs at the laptop.
"Wow, have you got a way to go when it comes to post-break-up chats," Jesse says.
"Have you got a way to go in understanding Chris," Zach scoffs.
"Point: Zach," Chris replies. "Negative fifty for that shirt, though."
"You gave me this shirt."
"You don't like the shirt?"
"Baby, I love the shirt, I do," and somehow their break up chat turns into fashion week at Zach's apartment, complete with Zach trying on new shirts he bought and Chris and Jesse laughing at their horribleness (the shirts' and their own.)
"Okay, I've seen enough awful shit to make me go colorblind," Chris says. "Think I'm gonna go and destroy some of my internal organs with liquor."
"Mmm, Tuesdays," Zach agrees.
"That's a horrible idea," Jesse says and adds to Zach, "Also horrible is the totally obvious erection you have over the thought of Chris waking up without a liver."
"Look, if he doesn't kill himself, I'll have to do it, so he --" Zach stops just as his phone vibrates in his pocket and he ignores the silent conversation Chris and Jesse are somehow managing to have with their eyebrows (like anyone could even see Jesse's eyebrows in most lighting, they're so fucking pale.)
"Okay, solution," Zach says after he reads the text. "That twat Dax has stood up our good friend Kristen in favor of working on his super important TV show, so go drink yourself stupid with her since I'm all the way over here."
"But Zach," Chris whines. "She lives so far away. It's like, twenty whole minutes. By car."
"If you play nice, she'll take you to a strip club."
"No she --" Chris says, and then thinks about it for a moment. "She would. God bless that feisty little bitch and her fighting the exploitation of women from the inside."
"That's our KBell," Zach sighs. "Like a tiny supernova of profanity and totally righteous rage, with a surprising fondness for strip club chicken wings."
"I'm telling her you said that," Jesse says as he snatches Zach's phone out of his hands.
"Oh no, telling Kristen she likes meat, don't, please, she'll be so hurt," Chris retorts. "Warn her I'm on my way over and she should be ready to do some shots."
Zach closes his laptop while Jesse texts her on Zach's phone. Jesse asks, "Kristen wouldn't do something stupid like fuck Chris to get back at her fiancé and cheer up her best friend's best guy friend, right? I mean, that only happens on TV shows, right?"
"If she does, she can handle it," Zach says as he waits for his phone to be returned to him. "Kristen's like a hummingbird."
"I'm not going to understand that metaphor, am I?"
"You know. Super tiny, constantly in motion -- she's on top of her shit. No one's as put together as Kristen."
As soon as Jesse puts the phone down, it buzzes again and he reads the text. "Does Chris wants male or female strippers?"
"God, why are we right about her," Zach laughs. "Uh, amphibious."
Another buzz later, Jesse laughs and says, "She's chosen her Ped Egg and says we shouldn't ask questions."
They cross their legs simultaneously and ignore their phones for the next few hours.
*
Heroes sucked ridiculous hairy balls before its cancellation, so on Emmy nominations day, Zach gets home from filming at 7 AM and goes right to sleep instead of obsessively reloading the front page of the IMDb like he did three years ago.
Of course, then his phone starts buzzing around 8:30 and won't stop. Zach finally grabs his phone and squints at the screen.
Strangely enough, the first text was from Eric: NOMS ACROSS THE BOARD WE ARE AWESOME!
Maybe not that strange, since Eric was in New York for the summer and everyone in LA with any sense was still sleeping.
UR MAN IS UP FOR AN EMMY THAT'S SO HOT, is Kristen's first message. Of course she's up this early.
lol she's the only lady you'll ever have to compete with for his luv, is her next text.
His mom leaves a voicemail that says, "Joey told me your boyfriend is nominated! CALL HIM."
BLOW ME, NBC, John says.
A text from Jesse says, Everyone meet me at the bagel place by my apt!! RIGHT NOW! EMMY NOMINATED ACTOR JESSE TYLER FERGUSON SAYS SO.
Zach looks down at his naked body under the sheets, remembers how he worked all fucking night, and turns off his phone.
He wakes up at about four in the afternoon to a thousand more texts and voicemails, mostly about Jesse if not from Jesse:
Are you coming to bagels? Say you're coming to bagels!
You're not here! They have your fave cream cheese! If you don't show up in two minutes I'm getting an everything bagel, and then we can't kiss for a week.
You should have come to my place after shooting so you could be here. Pineapple is so good today. EMMY. E&I agreed on joint custody if either of us wins.
Chris says, Shit, go Jesse! How jealous are you?
Zach puts the phone down after that and buries himself under his pillows.
He's not jealous, not any more jealous than he is of Eric or Dennis Quaid or any other nominee, really. It's just. He knows what's coming -- it's the beginning of the end.
He doesn't bother putting on real pants over his briefs when Jesse knocks on his door about two hours before his show in the park.
"Oh good, you're alive," Jesse says. Zach stands aside to let him in and closes the door. "You look awful. Work was bad?"
"No, work's fine. Just tired," Zach says as he unconvincingly yawns and rubs at his stubble. "I heard, somehow, about the Emmy. I'm so proud of you, congrats."
"Wow, way to be the least enthusiastic person to congratulate me today," Jesse laughs. "You're not jealous, are you?"
"What? No, of course not." He thinks about and says, "All right, a little jealous, but I am happy for you."
"Then why are you standing in the middle of your living room in your underwear and you haven't even touched me since I walked in?"
Zach sighs and puts his arms around Jesse, who doesn't hug him back right away and even then just gives him a shoulder clap before he pulls away.
"Seriously, what happened?" Jesse asks.
And -- maybe it's not the beginning of the end because none of the others actually asked or, in retrospect, cared like Jesse does. He knows what it looks like when someone pretends to care, and he knows earnestness and effort, and Jesse's face is definitely the latter.
He even puts a hand on Zach's shoulder and says, "Tell me."
Fuck, what movie has he wandered into? Because this isn't life as he's known it.
"It's just," Zach says with the heaviest sigh he can heave. "This is around the point when guys I date stop calling and are suddenly busy all the time, due to the weird career boost they get once they've been seen out with me. So."
Jesse drops his hand from Zach's shoulder and crosses his arms over his chest.
"That is so… unbelievably insulting," Jesse says, which surprises Zach.
"Yeah, I know, but guys in LA are sometimes --"
"I mean insulting to me, you fuck," Jesse interrupts. "I'm thirty-five years old and have been working my ass off my entire life to get here, but suddenly you come along, I get an Emmy nom, and you're the one I have to thank?"
Zach opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again to say, "I'm so sorry. Jesse, I'm so so sorry. You have to believe I am this stupid sometimes."
"Jesus," Jesse laughs dryly. "I really think you are."
"I really didn't --"
"I know," Jesse replies. They each take a step towards the other and Zach pulls Jesse in for a tight hug, digging his chin into Jesse's shoulder. "Hey," Jesse says as he pushes Zach off for a moment. "Seriously, we -- don't be stupid."
"I'll try to avoid it," Zach says.
"We're not going to be up against each other, like, ever," Jesse adds. "So just. Don't."
"I won't."
"I like you all humble and contrite like this," Jesse remarks. "It's so new. What other tricks do you do?"
"Not much else besides take off my pants and be pretty," Zach sighs. "Lie in bed decadently for hours. I am so tired, actually. The night shift sucks."
"Yeah, and your tweets are incomprehensible and pretentious as shit when you've been up all night."
"Fight over!" Zach laughs. "Stop being mean!"
"I didn't say being incomprehensible and pretentious as shit was a bad thing," Jesse replies. He wraps his arms around Zach again and then pulls away to look at him. "You inferred that all on your own," he adds as he grins. Zach should be insulted, but finds that he likes kissing Jesse more.
*
Zach still needs The High Line in his life.
Why? Because it looks like a big fucking project of his in which he isn't some kind of biologically altered creature might actually work out -- one of those too big to fail things that could end up mediocre but still get a wide release and marketed to death.
Really, it's the part where shit might work out that floors him.
He starts smoking again because he needs something to do with his hands or he'll never stop shaking nervously. Smoking gives his life structure: every x number of hours, he'll go outside and calm down and everyone will sigh but tolerate it because it's a biological addiction. Tomorrow he has to yell at Paul Bettany in a scene and what the fuck he's pretty sure he once jerked off to his wife in Labyrinth when it was on TV at night -- now he's invited to their Fourth of July barbecue in Brooklyn.
Jesse's performance is rained out. Zach doesn't know this until he's four cigarettes into his meditative freak out and Jesse shows up at The High Line, soaked and with a costume hat on instead of his baseball hat.
"Your hat," Zach laughs.
"Ugh, your breath," Jesse groans. "Is this what you do now?"
"You're my date to Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connelly's Fourth of July barbecue," Zach replies. He looks up at Jesse and adds, "You have to make sure I don't mention that one time in high school when Labyrinth was on past 10 o'clock at night and Jennifer's mouth looked really, really fuckable."
"Honestly, I'd take it as a compliment," Jesse replies. "Her mouth not looking like that anymore is the biggest tragedy ever." Jesse meets Zach's eyes and laughs. "My AMDA roommate had it on VHS and… I had bad thoughts about that mouth, too."
"So is there any movie you haven't used as an opportunity for sexual deviancy?!"
"Probably not," Jesse laughs. "I get bored easily and movies are so long."
"Uh, so when my movie comes out? The one I'm doing now? I'll be too wrecked to blow you at the premiere, I think."
"That's fine. It's what screener copies and your couch are for."
Zach grins and Jesse pulls over a chair, folds his arms on the table, and rests his head on them. Zach puts out his cigarette on the ashtray in his lap and places the ashtray on the balcony. His hand wanders over to Jesse's hair and his nails rake through lightly. "Hard day at the park?"
"First it was so fucking hot and gross I sweat right through two wifebeaters, and then it rained so hard my costume got soaked, too," Jesse mumbles, turning his head on its side so he can talk/breathe and Zach can run his fingers along Jesse's hairline and the curve of his ear. "Sucks."
"Tell me about it," Zach says airily because he just remembered a few minutes ago when he referred to them being together in like, a year, and going to events together, which he has never done with someone he's been dating. His hand leaves Jesse's hair and Zach hopes he doesn't notice how clammy his hand has gotten, and then Zach tries to ignore the sweat that's broken out on his back.
"I think I'm just going home," Jesse sighs. "Gotta get up in ten hours and do this all over again. Also, eating is something I should look into."
"Yeah, me too," Zach replies. "I've got to be up stupid early for my call."
"Poor baby," Jesse says as he sits up, props his chin up with one hand, and places his tapping hand squarely on the table. Zach rests his hand on top of Jesse's, then interlocks their fingers together, his thumb running over the back of Jesse's hand. "Your hand's cold," Jesse remarks.
"Yeah, sorry. Little clammy."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just the weird weather, I guess."
"Sure?"
Zach nods and squeezes his hand, and Jesse squeezes back.
"Free tomorrow night?" Jesse asks.
"I'm not -- but if you feel like sleeping less -- breakfast tomorrow?"
"Oh, breakfast sounds good. Let's do that. What's the equidistant point between Central Park and Brooklyn Heights?"
"Probably right here," Zach laughs. "What about that smoothie et cetera food cart by my --"
"Uh, no? Because you'd walk five seconds to get to it and I'll have to take the train down and back up. Inconvenience yourself for me."
"How about if I go to your place tonight, we have breakfast up there, and then I'll go to Brooklyn in the morning and you go to --" Zach thinks for a moment and hisses a 'yesssss' under his breath. "Tomorrow I'm in midtown! So your place. Let's go."
"Okay, but I'm too tired to grope you."
"That's fine, I really want to sleep."
They go to Jesse's place, slide into bed together, and are complete idiots because lying there in the dark on their sides, they start talking like girls at a slumber party and don't stop for hours. They talk about work, their careers, Zach asking J.J. to invent a new ginger species Spock can make sexy first contact with, Jesse finding a way to get Zach on his show -- his and Eric's characters need more gay friends, maybe.
That's when Zach bristles up because no one has told Jesse that bringing up Sasan kind of makes Zach shut down completely. It's the middle of the night and they're both deliriously tired, getting more delirious as time inches closer to ripping them the hell out of bed and more desperate to not go to sleep fighting.
"Not that this is a fight," Zach says. "I'm just --"
"You're not crazy, okay? You always say that and you're not. You're just Zach. If you're crazy, then I'm crazy for understanding and cataloging all these quirks of yours and I don't think I'm crazy."
"I forgot to tell you," Zach says. "I enrolled you in the crazy of the month club. Britney will show up at your door on the first. Mel Gibson the month after. This month only: a LiLo special."
"You overreacted, Zach," Jesse replies as if Zach hadn't spoken. "If every actor went batshit over the jobs they did for money, there wouldn't be any actors left. So just -- let it go."
Zach sulks, and Jesse adds, "I pretty much regret everything before the beard. Not even because it was bad but just -- God, how awful do I look without a beard."
"Deflecting," Zach says.
"You do it all the time -- I'm allowed this once."
Zach shuts up and curls against Jesse's chest, and mumbles somewhere near his neck, "I'm finally getting out of that place where I don't have to -- where I can do something besides play my homolicious self, even if it would be so much fun playing that with you and Eric."
"I don't think I ever realized how earnest you are about acting," Jesse says, his hands running up and down Zach's back. "Like. Serious business acting."
"Isn't everyone?"
"I'm not," Jesse says. "I love the spectacle I can create, the circus I can join. I don't really care about changing lives with the power of my presence or whatever."
"Okay," Zach says sleepily. "You can take all the outrageously flamboyant roles I don't want, and next year I can play a big awesome lead in Shakespeare in the Park. Like Antonio."
"Pretty sure Antonio's gay."
"Goddammit," Zach laughs.
"Like, outrageously so -- flamingly by Shakespeare's standards."
"Mmm, plan B then," Zach murmurs, and falls asleep before they can devise one.
*
Jesse has two days off in July and Zach takes those same two days off from play rehearsals. They go to LA, Jesse to do promotional stuff for the new season of his show and Zach to bring him to his brother's house to meet Noah and Harold.
And his brother, which is just. Death on wheels waiting to happen.
"You are so interesting looking," Joe says as he shakes hands with Jesse.
"Oh, so about Joe," Zach says to Jesse from the floor where he's being smothered by his dog, "His boyfriend vetting process is a photoshoot."
"You said that without crying -- I'm so impressed," Joe laughs.
"Please, Jesse can handle a photoshoot, he's a professional," Zach scoffs. "Right?" he asks Jesse. "You've been through so much worse with me!"
"Okay, so this thing," Jesse begins, addressing Joe, "Where your brother insists he's a burden and not worth the time of day -- momentary phase?"
"If you find out, you can keep him. Our mom might pay you in meatloaf. Speaking of which," Joe says to Zach, "There's some in the fridge."
"Meatloaf meatloaf meatloaf meatloaf," Zach chants as he gets up and runs into the kitchen, Noah following right behind him and nudging his ankles with his nose. "Jesse, stop talking shit about me and taste this fucking meatloaf!" he calls from the kitchen.
And if Joe has pictures of them feeding slabs of meatloaf to each other like wedding cake -- well fuck it, it's his mom's meatloaf and it deserves its own special reverie.
(Chris had said his mom's was better and Zach never forgave him for it because, hello: his mom's meatloaf is a universal constant and no avocado-loving California lady is going to make a better meatloaf than his tough as nails Pittsburgh mom, thanks.)
*
They take a scenic drive through New Jersey.
It's a fucking disaster, but one of those disasters where they laugh the whole time at what a disaster it is, not like, a real disaster.
They try and forget New Jersey, but it's mostly impossible. It taunts them from across the Hudson every day.
*
Jesse shows up while is Zach cleaning his apartment and blasting music.
"What song is this?" he asks after a few moments, motioning to the air.
"Florence! And the machine. Mostly Florence. Is this song fucking transcendent or what?" Zach asks.
Jesse nods along for a few beats and agrees.
"The only flaw is that you can't sing along to it," Zach sighs. "Or I can't anyway, not being a lady and all."
"It's okay, you can dance to it!"
"Uh, that was really Julie Andrews of you. And you totally can't dance to 'Dog Days are Over.'"
"What? It has a steady tempo. You can dance to this song. It'll be really choreographed, but you can dance to this." Jesse heads over to the speakers and restarts the song, and walks over to Zach, leading him to the middle of his expansive living room. He holds Zach's hands for a moment and then drapes them on his shoulders, his own hands resting on Zach's waist, then his hips, then lightly encircling his ribs as they move a little.
"What is this!" Zach laughs.
"Come on, we're losing music, just sway with me, you creep," Jesse insists as he grins.
"But it speeds up," Zach says as the music speeds up and he begins to jump along to the tempo.
"Then you speed up," Jesse says. "Hold on, don't jump, it's not fast enough for that." Jesse wraps an arm around Zach, trying to control his bopping but laughing too hard to do it effectively. "It's not fast enough to jump to -- where are you getting this jumping from?" He lets go of Zach and adds, "This is like, put your arms up and sway purposefully music -- this is 'oh yeah hips' music." The music suddenly halts and then slows down again. "And now we slow dance again," Jesse says, his arms wrapping around Zach completely and moving him slowly in time.
"This is so slow, though. And where the fuck did you learn how to dance?"
"Well, since I didn't grow up in urban New Mexico and spend my entire life going to quinceañeras, nor did I get any performing arts degrees -- God must have spent a little more time on me," Jesse says, and Zach feels Jesse's hand rest at the top of his spine and slowly travel down. Zach has enough presence of mind to plant his feet firmly on either side of Jesse's leg and curve back like he's learned in yoga, which he does slowly, feeling his shirt ride up. He feels Jesse lead him in a semi-circle and pull him back up with one hand on his back and one hand firmly on his hip.
"This is such a cheap excuse to cop a feel," Zach says as he tries not to throw out his back.
"Really," Jesse murmurs as Zach straightens up again. "Because it feels like you're five seconds away from riding my leg to pleasuretown -- correct me if I'm wrong?"
Zach laughs and stops moving for a moment. "Oh my God, listen to that line: happiness hit her like a bullet in the head."
"By someone who should know better -- fuck, that is amazing," Jesse exhales, and he remembers the dancing because Zach begins bopping again with a little more coordination than his previous attempts. "You're so concerned with this speeding up thing," Jesse says. "Just move with me, come on."
So Zach lets Jesse lead, feels his muscles relax and lets his whole body pretty much drape on Jesse's as they dance.
"This is so repetitive, stop, I'm getting seasick!" Zach laughs after about 30 seconds.
"In my arms? Stop it," Jesse laughs. "This is a good song to get seasick to."
"It's this fast for the rest of the song," Zach says, and he lets Jesse move his hips in time with his own, but he can't help clapping along with the music over his head. "God, you are all about my hips today, what's with that? Just hump me to death and get it over with."
"This is low-impact grinding!"
"Shut the fuck up -- you made that up."
"There'd be no point to it when I can just -- oh, okay," Jesse says, because Zach suddenly takes the initiative and straddles his leg, still moving to the rhythm.
"I feel like something's missing, like, why isn't this song sexier?" Zach wonders aloud.
"Not enough bass," Jesse says after a moment. "I mean, there's some, but it's not the dominant sound, you know?"
"You just diagnosed the music," Zach laughs as he grips Jesse's biceps.
"No, put your hands on my shoulders, like, grip them," Jesse corrects. "You move with me." He bends Zach back again and then pulls Zach up and presses their chests together, Jesse's hands on Zach's shoulder blades and Zach's hands around Jesse and coming up Jesse's back to hold on to his shoulders. It works, because Zach's limbs are about a thousand feet long and he is, essentially, an octopus, and he kind of loves it now when he can be all over Jesse.
"But this is the fast part, I want to --"
"It's not the same kind of fast, and it's not like, jumping around fast, not really, so keep moving with me." The song halts again and restarts, and Jesse says, "You're hearing the claps and you want to jump, but you need to hear --"
Zach sighs or exhales sexily, he can't quite tell himself, and turns Jesse around and molds their bodies together, one arm around Jesse's hips and the other snaking up over his shoulder and down his chest, effectively trapping him against Zach's front. Zach presses his chin into Jesse's shoulder and presses their faces together, their hips going left and right steadily, almost like they're one unit, and as fast as the music is, they're steady, steady enough for Zach to close his eyes and sigh again, softer, feeling his body just let go where ever Jesse's goes. Jesse's hands just grip Zach's arms, one folded so it can be parallel to the one down his chest, one resting across his hips, holding on to Zach's hand as they move.
The song ends and Jesse pulls away from Zach only to pull him close again, front to front this time, his arms encircling all of Zach and pulling him into a turn around the living room. "Also, for future reference," and he leans away from Zach, though their hips are still pressed together and Zach loves it, he can't stop grinning. "You can top all you want, but when we dance? I lead. Always."
"Are you saying I can't dance?"
"I'm saying that I know what I'm doing."
"Not fair."
"Singing-dancing-acting college, remember?"
"Theater major!"
"I bet you skipped every 'Rhythm and Movement' class you had to blow some pretty guy backstage."
"Uh, no, I was getting high in Moosa's room, duh."
They spend way too much time figuring out how to dance to Zach's seemingly undanceable playlist, and fuck, the apartment never gets cleaned.
Of course, when Jesse leaves the next morning, Zach puts that song on again and jumps around his living room all he fucking wants, mouthing as hard as he can about happiness hitting him like a bullet in the head.
*
It's the last night of Shakespeare in the Park and Zach has been waiting for Jesse in the under-stage dressing room since the beginning of the third act. It's now the middle of the third and Jesse doesn't have to be back on stage until the fifth.
"I brought you happy surviving flowers," Zach says as Jesse comes in, pulling his stupid period-appropriate hat off. "Congratulations-you're-done flowers. You like flowers, right?"
"Yeah, I do," Jesse laughs. He takes them from Zach, admires them for a moment, and they pull each other into a tight embrace, Zach clinging to Jesse's shoulders and Jesse pulling Zach tightly against him.
"So you're leaving soon," Zach says quietly. It's August. Zach's staying.
"Yeah, it's okay, don't think --"
"I want to br --"
"No, come on, not now, please," Jesse protests.
"No, wait, there's more, please let me," Zach says.
(And Jesse lets him because -- what, he's not going to? He's going to refuse Zach anything?)
"So I think we should see each other people in the fall," Zach says and Jesse won't look him in the eye, but Zach holds his shoulders firmly and talks into his face until Jesse looks at him. "I'm going to date a lot and make sure that -- well, that it's not just the spring and summer -- that I really want you, and that every other guy in this city really can't hold even a fucking match to you, let alone a candle, and that when I get back to LA, we can dive right into. I don't know. Whatever that's called."
"So I've been keeping track and -- that's probably the most backward way to date you've managed to say that you like me," Jesse laughs.
"Oh my God, you idiot, I fucking love you and I've never said that before to some --"
Jesse's kissing him hard, and they're grinning and their teeth are making it all really uncomfortable but Zach hears, somewhere in the mash of their lips and tongues, Jesse say against his mouth, "I love you, you walking neurosis, you overly manscaped piece of work --"
"God, a list, really, I thought I was better at kissing than that," Zach laughs.
There's a real bathroom with a wide counter in the labyrinth of dressing rooms and prop rooms, and Jesse knows they have 34 minutes before he has to be back on stage for his last scene. So, of course, they fuck in the bathroom while Al Pacino is above their heads Shylocking the shit out of everything.
"God, I can't -- I can't concentrate," Zach laughs. "This is like -- why is my timing so bad?"
"Oh my God, move already, you're killing me and these fucking tights around my thighs are killing me more." Zach laughs even harder and Jesse clenches around him, but it just makes them lose their shit even more. "Zach, you're -- this is going to end so badly. They're doing Hamlet next year and I really want to be Rosencrantz or Guildenstern but I won't if --"
"An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven!" Pacino yells above them, and even Jesse can't stop himself from laughing at that.
"We're going to actor hell," Jesse wheezes. "Please, Zach, just -- oh come on!"
Zach holds back his laughter and focuses on Jesse's face. He breathes deeply, grins, and forces himself to absorb every detail: Jesse red in the face from being fucked on a counter, still in his full costume, still mostly in tights, his laugh lines and beard and brilliantly white teeth just exuding excitement, his eyes such a bright contrast to the rest of the colors of his face, so fluid and quick and darting all over Zach's face. "What?" Jesse asks. "Getting all deep now? In a really non-literal sense or I wouldn't be coherent enough to say that?"
Then Zach kisses him and fucks him in earnest, the sharpness of Jesse's beard rubbing against him as Jesse presses his face against the crook of his neck, Jesse's hands on his ass and his legs wrapped around him, taking him in and pulling him deeper. Jesse ends up with his shoulders against the makeup mirror, the edge of the counter cutting into Zach's thighs but he couldn't care, really, as he pulls Jesse's legs up just a bit higher (and seriously, maybe they should have gotten the tights off but it seemed like such a non-priority at the time.)
"Wait," Jesse gasps and then says, "No, don't stop but -- I just realized," and he laughs as Zach comes, kisses him to show it's not a reflection on his admirable performance, "No one should ever come into contact with this much Vaseline in their life. Ever."
"Jesus Christ," Zach laughs and in the interest of preserving what little integrity is left in Jesse's costume, he lowers his mouth and sucks Jesse off, focusing on the tip and making him come quickly because the show sounds like it's getting heated above them and maybe that means shit is wrapping up and Jesse needs to change into his next costume. Really, he's surprised at his lucidity, delirious as he is from everything of the past however many minutes.
Jesse comes and Zach swallows it down, and then Zach falls back onto his ass on the floor of the bathroom, jeans still undone and he knows he looks like a fucking hot mess. Jesse is above him, still on the counter catching his breath, but quickly sits up and begins to pull his tights off. "Fuck these so hard," he says.
"Don't tempt me," Zach says nonsensically.
"Come on, you have to help me get dressed -- Act IV is almost done and I come into Act V really early."
And Zach remembers, suddenly, fucking someone at college like this -- blowing them in a dressing room in between their cues and what a fucking mistake that had been, for the show and his life, and he rubs his face thoughtfully for a few seconds.
"Zach," Jesse says, standing over him and extending a hand to help him up.
That guy was a dick. His boyfriend is amazing, even (especially?) when he's standing over him with no tights or pants and a short heavy faux velvet suit-dress that has Zach cracking up on the floor.
"I see London, I see France, and Jesse's lack of underpants," Zach sings.
"You're awful," Jesse laughs, but his hand is still there. Zach takes it and gets up, and they somehow get Jesse on stage in time.
Everyone is on stage and Zach stands alone in the middle of the costume racks, listening to everything above him but also to the deafening silence that comes with being completely alone. Fuck, he can barely breathe, missing Jesse already, like his leaving is stealing the air out of his lungs. It's part of their job, dammit, the traveling and being away constantly, but this is leaving. It's going to rehearsal tomorrow, going out with people every night, meeting new men and -- is this what the rest of the planet had gone through while he fucked random twentysomethings and tossed them aside when they got boring or didn't want him anymore? Is that the pain that made other people write songs and books and plays from the beginning of time? He can't blame anyone for wanting to excise it any way they could.
And Zach could have it all in LA, at home, he could have it everywhere if he just risked everything for him.
Zach digs for his cigarettes and realizes Jesse must have stolen his pack at some point. He hits his fists against his thighs and punches a door (stupid, that hurt), and he needs that fucking cigarette in his fucking mouth before he completely unfurls and of course Jesse had to take that, too.
He spots an open pack and lighter on someone's makeup table and takes two, one over his ear and one in his mouth, and then he runs outside to regain something resembling his sanity.
*
Zach rents a car and braves New Jersey again to drive Jesse to Newark Liberty, and parks in the most inconvenient and sketchiest spot he can find in the entire fucking garage so they can make out like teenagers in the car before he takes Jesse to security.
"Okay," Jesse gasps, pushing Zach away. "Fuck, okay. I am so late."
"Okay, let's go," Zach says, and they get out of the car and begin the epic journey out of the garage and to the airport. Zach risks it in the dark of the garage and puts an arm around Jesse's waist, pulling him so close they nearly stumble over each other.
"Stop trying to incapacitate me, I can't stay," he laughs.
"So I'll be back for Chris's birthday in two weeks," Zach begins. "And your birthday in October. Don't know about September. Don't think so, since that's when the play opens."
"Tell me what the second season of a show is like, oh wise one," Jesse says. "Am I going to be driven into the ground like I was last September or can I risk a weekend here and there? Oh! New York Thanksgiving."
"And then it'll be December," Zach muses. "I don't -- so much shit is still in the air about Trek, I don't know whether we'll actually start filming at the beginning of the year like J.J. wanted. I mean: script please?"
"It'll be okay," Jesse says. "We'll be dating other people and talking all the time --"
Zach interrupts with, "And we'll just be really good friends who happen to be totally in love and fucking like animals when they see each other every six weeks. Or you'll be my awesome summer boyfriend, and we can only be together for one season a year, and someone will heteronormify our epic love and that cute redheaded girl from Six Feet Under can play you in the movie."
"Damn, I got an upgrade lookswise -- significant downgrade in the penis department. And who will play you?"
"Obviously not me."
"Well obviously."
"David Boreanaz?"
"He's old -- come on, some young and fabulous thing. Dream casting. Who would play you?"
"I don't know, a Jonas brother."
"Gross, no thank you. Try again."
"Matthew Goode?"
"I think they made this movie already, but with Amy Adams as the redhead. And Ireland?"
"Fuck you, our story is not Leap Year!"
They bicker all the way to security, hug briefly when they arrive, and Zach leaves when Jesse heads off to his gate. He gives New Jersey the finger as he exits the Holland Tunnel and returns to New York.
*
As Zach walks back to his apartment alone, he stops and takes out his phone to compose a text to Chris and Kristen:
jtf is on continental flight 17, gets in at 6.12 pm. meet him and take care of him okay?
Kristen replies: SO ON IT, HONEY. get yourself a cosmo the size of your ego. also some rebound cock.
Chris writes: My play ended so I'm all freed up to buy him drinks and catch his tears in my manly chest hair. Wait I'm not you. Back hair?
IF YOU FUCK HIM I WILL END YOU unless he needs it then i trust you.
Seriously? I'm taking him to pinkberry. You gays like that, right?
pinkberry is froyo, not a gay nightclub. you know that, right?
It will be when we're done with it.
Their song? Florence and the Machine's Dog Days are Over. If I were a better person, I'd title the series, or at least this chapter, that. ALAS. I AM AWFUL.
Also.
~EPILOGUE~
Fandom: ST RPF
Rating: R
Pairings: Zach/Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Chris/OMC
Word Count: ~6700 of ~30k (completed, but staggered posting)
Summary: June through August of 2010. Warning: gratuitous moments of both angst and bliss. Also, sex in a dressing room. (AO3)
"You're going to LA for two days?" Jesse asks while Zach throws some things into a bag. "Uh, have fun?"
"I need to see my babies," Zach says completely seriously.
"Ah, right. Noah and Harold," Jesse carefully over-enunciates.
Jesse grabs some socks and throws them into Zach's bag. Zach takes the socks out, folds them, and puts them back in the bag. Jesse notices and starts folding shit before tossing it in, and Zach continues to marvel at his ability to find people so accommodating of his pure crazy.
"You're going to be here a while," Jesse says after a few moments, and Zach notices from the corner of his eye Jesse's too-casual stance -- he knows uptight Jesse, and casual Jesse, and sometimes the two of them have a baby called please don't notice how hard I'm trying to be chill right now Jesse. "Why don't you just bring them over? To New York?"
"Because --"
And Zach sees it all in a split second: because then Zach will have to stop at the apartment all the time to care for Noah and Harold, and take time he doesn't have out of his day to walk Noah. Jesse will tag along, at first just to meet the pets (a huge part of Zach's life, everyone knows that -- he has more photo albums of them than he can sync on his phone.) After that, it's just a matter of time before their dates out to clubs and concerts and premieres and shows become nights home with the pets, their hands brushing against each other as they scratch behind Noah's ears, laughing as Harold makes himself comfortable in Jesse's lap or suffocates him in the morning, and Zach's not kidding -- his pets are his fucking babies, and if they start whining because Jesse's not there regularly with treats and bellyrubs, if Zach is suddenly not enough for them, if he has to actually consider the well-being of his pets before dumping a guy, if they don't like Jesse, if Jesse doesn't like them, he will lose his fucking shit.
"My brother's taking care of them," Zach finishes instantly. "I'm so busy, you know?"
"It happens," Jesse says.
*
"I don't know why he broke up with me," Chris says in their video chat. "Things were fine and then just -- he didn't like me anymore. I mean, I didn't like him a lot but that's the point, isn't it? If I can't even hold on to someone I'm indifferent about, then what the fuck?!"
"Oh, honey," Jesse says. "It's kind of obvious."
Zach says nothing and Jesse notices. Jesse prods him and Zach presses his lips together tighter.
"I'm not allowed to say," Zach says finally.
"Oh! Okay." Jesse looks into the laptop camera and says, "Chris, Franklin was a baby. You're thirty years old. You're not allowed to go after jailbait anymore."
"Four years younger than me isn't jailbait," Chris laughs.
"There's a big difference between 30 and 26."
"There so isn't!"
"Maybe not between men and women, but between men? Totally is. 26 might as well be 19."
"So many numbers," Zach moans.
"Wait, why weren't you allowed to say?" Jesse asks Zach suddenly. "About Franklin being too young?"
"Because Zach loves to rob him some cradles," Chris says, his evil laugh a perfect accessory to his evil clap and rubbing together of his hands.
"Now that's interesting," Jesse says, raising his eyebrow at Zach.
"It's not, actually," Zach replies to both of them.
"Probably why he likes you so much," Chris says into the webcam, one eyebrow dangerously high. "You may be a little older than him, but since you're on the short side --"
"You're going to die alone!" Zach laughs at the laptop.
"Wow, have you got a way to go when it comes to post-break-up chats," Jesse says.
"Have you got a way to go in understanding Chris," Zach scoffs.
"Point: Zach," Chris replies. "Negative fifty for that shirt, though."
"You gave me this shirt."
"You don't like the shirt?"
"Baby, I love the shirt, I do," and somehow their break up chat turns into fashion week at Zach's apartment, complete with Zach trying on new shirts he bought and Chris and Jesse laughing at their horribleness (the shirts' and their own.)
"Okay, I've seen enough awful shit to make me go colorblind," Chris says. "Think I'm gonna go and destroy some of my internal organs with liquor."
"Mmm, Tuesdays," Zach agrees.
"That's a horrible idea," Jesse says and adds to Zach, "Also horrible is the totally obvious erection you have over the thought of Chris waking up without a liver."
"Look, if he doesn't kill himself, I'll have to do it, so he --" Zach stops just as his phone vibrates in his pocket and he ignores the silent conversation Chris and Jesse are somehow managing to have with their eyebrows (like anyone could even see Jesse's eyebrows in most lighting, they're so fucking pale.)
"Okay, solution," Zach says after he reads the text. "That twat Dax has stood up our good friend Kristen in favor of working on his super important TV show, so go drink yourself stupid with her since I'm all the way over here."
"But Zach," Chris whines. "She lives so far away. It's like, twenty whole minutes. By car."
"If you play nice, she'll take you to a strip club."
"No she --" Chris says, and then thinks about it for a moment. "She would. God bless that feisty little bitch and her fighting the exploitation of women from the inside."
"That's our KBell," Zach sighs. "Like a tiny supernova of profanity and totally righteous rage, with a surprising fondness for strip club chicken wings."
"I'm telling her you said that," Jesse says as he snatches Zach's phone out of his hands.
"Oh no, telling Kristen she likes meat, don't, please, she'll be so hurt," Chris retorts. "Warn her I'm on my way over and she should be ready to do some shots."
Zach closes his laptop while Jesse texts her on Zach's phone. Jesse asks, "Kristen wouldn't do something stupid like fuck Chris to get back at her fiancé and cheer up her best friend's best guy friend, right? I mean, that only happens on TV shows, right?"
"If she does, she can handle it," Zach says as he waits for his phone to be returned to him. "Kristen's like a hummingbird."
"I'm not going to understand that metaphor, am I?"
"You know. Super tiny, constantly in motion -- she's on top of her shit. No one's as put together as Kristen."
As soon as Jesse puts the phone down, it buzzes again and he reads the text. "Does Chris wants male or female strippers?"
"God, why are we right about her," Zach laughs. "Uh, amphibious."
Another buzz later, Jesse laughs and says, "She's chosen her Ped Egg and says we shouldn't ask questions."
They cross their legs simultaneously and ignore their phones for the next few hours.
*
Heroes sucked ridiculous hairy balls before its cancellation, so on Emmy nominations day, Zach gets home from filming at 7 AM and goes right to sleep instead of obsessively reloading the front page of the IMDb like he did three years ago.
Of course, then his phone starts buzzing around 8:30 and won't stop. Zach finally grabs his phone and squints at the screen.
Strangely enough, the first text was from Eric: NOMS ACROSS THE BOARD WE ARE AWESOME!
Maybe not that strange, since Eric was in New York for the summer and everyone in LA with any sense was still sleeping.
UR MAN IS UP FOR AN EMMY THAT'S SO HOT, is Kristen's first message. Of course she's up this early.
lol she's the only lady you'll ever have to compete with for his luv, is her next text.
His mom leaves a voicemail that says, "Joey told me your boyfriend is nominated! CALL HIM."
BLOW ME, NBC, John says.
A text from Jesse says, Everyone meet me at the bagel place by my apt!! RIGHT NOW! EMMY NOMINATED ACTOR JESSE TYLER FERGUSON SAYS SO.
Zach looks down at his naked body under the sheets, remembers how he worked all fucking night, and turns off his phone.
He wakes up at about four in the afternoon to a thousand more texts and voicemails, mostly about Jesse if not from Jesse:
Are you coming to bagels? Say you're coming to bagels!
You're not here! They have your fave cream cheese! If you don't show up in two minutes I'm getting an everything bagel, and then we can't kiss for a week.
You should have come to my place after shooting so you could be here. Pineapple is so good today. EMMY. E&I agreed on joint custody if either of us wins.
Chris says, Shit, go Jesse! How jealous are you?
Zach puts the phone down after that and buries himself under his pillows.
He's not jealous, not any more jealous than he is of Eric or Dennis Quaid or any other nominee, really. It's just. He knows what's coming -- it's the beginning of the end.
He doesn't bother putting on real pants over his briefs when Jesse knocks on his door about two hours before his show in the park.
"Oh good, you're alive," Jesse says. Zach stands aside to let him in and closes the door. "You look awful. Work was bad?"
"No, work's fine. Just tired," Zach says as he unconvincingly yawns and rubs at his stubble. "I heard, somehow, about the Emmy. I'm so proud of you, congrats."
"Wow, way to be the least enthusiastic person to congratulate me today," Jesse laughs. "You're not jealous, are you?"
"What? No, of course not." He thinks about and says, "All right, a little jealous, but I am happy for you."
"Then why are you standing in the middle of your living room in your underwear and you haven't even touched me since I walked in?"
Zach sighs and puts his arms around Jesse, who doesn't hug him back right away and even then just gives him a shoulder clap before he pulls away.
"Seriously, what happened?" Jesse asks.
And -- maybe it's not the beginning of the end because none of the others actually asked or, in retrospect, cared like Jesse does. He knows what it looks like when someone pretends to care, and he knows earnestness and effort, and Jesse's face is definitely the latter.
He even puts a hand on Zach's shoulder and says, "Tell me."
Fuck, what movie has he wandered into? Because this isn't life as he's known it.
"It's just," Zach says with the heaviest sigh he can heave. "This is around the point when guys I date stop calling and are suddenly busy all the time, due to the weird career boost they get once they've been seen out with me. So."
Jesse drops his hand from Zach's shoulder and crosses his arms over his chest.
"That is so… unbelievably insulting," Jesse says, which surprises Zach.
"Yeah, I know, but guys in LA are sometimes --"
"I mean insulting to me, you fuck," Jesse interrupts. "I'm thirty-five years old and have been working my ass off my entire life to get here, but suddenly you come along, I get an Emmy nom, and you're the one I have to thank?"
Zach opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again to say, "I'm so sorry. Jesse, I'm so so sorry. You have to believe I am this stupid sometimes."
"Jesus," Jesse laughs dryly. "I really think you are."
"I really didn't --"
"I know," Jesse replies. They each take a step towards the other and Zach pulls Jesse in for a tight hug, digging his chin into Jesse's shoulder. "Hey," Jesse says as he pushes Zach off for a moment. "Seriously, we -- don't be stupid."
"I'll try to avoid it," Zach says.
"We're not going to be up against each other, like, ever," Jesse adds. "So just. Don't."
"I won't."
"I like you all humble and contrite like this," Jesse remarks. "It's so new. What other tricks do you do?"
"Not much else besides take off my pants and be pretty," Zach sighs. "Lie in bed decadently for hours. I am so tired, actually. The night shift sucks."
"Yeah, and your tweets are incomprehensible and pretentious as shit when you've been up all night."
"Fight over!" Zach laughs. "Stop being mean!"
"I didn't say being incomprehensible and pretentious as shit was a bad thing," Jesse replies. He wraps his arms around Zach again and then pulls away to look at him. "You inferred that all on your own," he adds as he grins. Zach should be insulted, but finds that he likes kissing Jesse more.
*
Zach still needs The High Line in his life.
Why? Because it looks like a big fucking project of his in which he isn't some kind of biologically altered creature might actually work out -- one of those too big to fail things that could end up mediocre but still get a wide release and marketed to death.
Really, it's the part where shit might work out that floors him.
He starts smoking again because he needs something to do with his hands or he'll never stop shaking nervously. Smoking gives his life structure: every x number of hours, he'll go outside and calm down and everyone will sigh but tolerate it because it's a biological addiction. Tomorrow he has to yell at Paul Bettany in a scene and what the fuck he's pretty sure he once jerked off to his wife in Labyrinth when it was on TV at night -- now he's invited to their Fourth of July barbecue in Brooklyn.
Jesse's performance is rained out. Zach doesn't know this until he's four cigarettes into his meditative freak out and Jesse shows up at The High Line, soaked and with a costume hat on instead of his baseball hat.
"Your hat," Zach laughs.
"Ugh, your breath," Jesse groans. "Is this what you do now?"
"You're my date to Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connelly's Fourth of July barbecue," Zach replies. He looks up at Jesse and adds, "You have to make sure I don't mention that one time in high school when Labyrinth was on past 10 o'clock at night and Jennifer's mouth looked really, really fuckable."
"Honestly, I'd take it as a compliment," Jesse replies. "Her mouth not looking like that anymore is the biggest tragedy ever." Jesse meets Zach's eyes and laughs. "My AMDA roommate had it on VHS and… I had bad thoughts about that mouth, too."
"So is there any movie you haven't used as an opportunity for sexual deviancy?!"
"Probably not," Jesse laughs. "I get bored easily and movies are so long."
"Uh, so when my movie comes out? The one I'm doing now? I'll be too wrecked to blow you at the premiere, I think."
"That's fine. It's what screener copies and your couch are for."
Zach grins and Jesse pulls over a chair, folds his arms on the table, and rests his head on them. Zach puts out his cigarette on the ashtray in his lap and places the ashtray on the balcony. His hand wanders over to Jesse's hair and his nails rake through lightly. "Hard day at the park?"
"First it was so fucking hot and gross I sweat right through two wifebeaters, and then it rained so hard my costume got soaked, too," Jesse mumbles, turning his head on its side so he can talk/breathe and Zach can run his fingers along Jesse's hairline and the curve of his ear. "Sucks."
"Tell me about it," Zach says airily because he just remembered a few minutes ago when he referred to them being together in like, a year, and going to events together, which he has never done with someone he's been dating. His hand leaves Jesse's hair and Zach hopes he doesn't notice how clammy his hand has gotten, and then Zach tries to ignore the sweat that's broken out on his back.
"I think I'm just going home," Jesse sighs. "Gotta get up in ten hours and do this all over again. Also, eating is something I should look into."
"Yeah, me too," Zach replies. "I've got to be up stupid early for my call."
"Poor baby," Jesse says as he sits up, props his chin up with one hand, and places his tapping hand squarely on the table. Zach rests his hand on top of Jesse's, then interlocks their fingers together, his thumb running over the back of Jesse's hand. "Your hand's cold," Jesse remarks.
"Yeah, sorry. Little clammy."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just the weird weather, I guess."
"Sure?"
Zach nods and squeezes his hand, and Jesse squeezes back.
"Free tomorrow night?" Jesse asks.
"I'm not -- but if you feel like sleeping less -- breakfast tomorrow?"
"Oh, breakfast sounds good. Let's do that. What's the equidistant point between Central Park and Brooklyn Heights?"
"Probably right here," Zach laughs. "What about that smoothie et cetera food cart by my --"
"Uh, no? Because you'd walk five seconds to get to it and I'll have to take the train down and back up. Inconvenience yourself for me."
"How about if I go to your place tonight, we have breakfast up there, and then I'll go to Brooklyn in the morning and you go to --" Zach thinks for a moment and hisses a 'yesssss' under his breath. "Tomorrow I'm in midtown! So your place. Let's go."
"Okay, but I'm too tired to grope you."
"That's fine, I really want to sleep."
They go to Jesse's place, slide into bed together, and are complete idiots because lying there in the dark on their sides, they start talking like girls at a slumber party and don't stop for hours. They talk about work, their careers, Zach asking J.J. to invent a new ginger species Spock can make sexy first contact with, Jesse finding a way to get Zach on his show -- his and Eric's characters need more gay friends, maybe.
That's when Zach bristles up because no one has told Jesse that bringing up Sasan kind of makes Zach shut down completely. It's the middle of the night and they're both deliriously tired, getting more delirious as time inches closer to ripping them the hell out of bed and more desperate to not go to sleep fighting.
"Not that this is a fight," Zach says. "I'm just --"
"You're not crazy, okay? You always say that and you're not. You're just Zach. If you're crazy, then I'm crazy for understanding and cataloging all these quirks of yours and I don't think I'm crazy."
"I forgot to tell you," Zach says. "I enrolled you in the crazy of the month club. Britney will show up at your door on the first. Mel Gibson the month after. This month only: a LiLo special."
"You overreacted, Zach," Jesse replies as if Zach hadn't spoken. "If every actor went batshit over the jobs they did for money, there wouldn't be any actors left. So just -- let it go."
Zach sulks, and Jesse adds, "I pretty much regret everything before the beard. Not even because it was bad but just -- God, how awful do I look without a beard."
"Deflecting," Zach says.
"You do it all the time -- I'm allowed this once."
Zach shuts up and curls against Jesse's chest, and mumbles somewhere near his neck, "I'm finally getting out of that place where I don't have to -- where I can do something besides play my homolicious self, even if it would be so much fun playing that with you and Eric."
"I don't think I ever realized how earnest you are about acting," Jesse says, his hands running up and down Zach's back. "Like. Serious business acting."
"Isn't everyone?"
"I'm not," Jesse says. "I love the spectacle I can create, the circus I can join. I don't really care about changing lives with the power of my presence or whatever."
"Okay," Zach says sleepily. "You can take all the outrageously flamboyant roles I don't want, and next year I can play a big awesome lead in Shakespeare in the Park. Like Antonio."
"Pretty sure Antonio's gay."
"Goddammit," Zach laughs.
"Like, outrageously so -- flamingly by Shakespeare's standards."
"Mmm, plan B then," Zach murmurs, and falls asleep before they can devise one.
*
Jesse has two days off in July and Zach takes those same two days off from play rehearsals. They go to LA, Jesse to do promotional stuff for the new season of his show and Zach to bring him to his brother's house to meet Noah and Harold.
And his brother, which is just. Death on wheels waiting to happen.
"You are so interesting looking," Joe says as he shakes hands with Jesse.
"Oh, so about Joe," Zach says to Jesse from the floor where he's being smothered by his dog, "His boyfriend vetting process is a photoshoot."
"You said that without crying -- I'm so impressed," Joe laughs.
"Please, Jesse can handle a photoshoot, he's a professional," Zach scoffs. "Right?" he asks Jesse. "You've been through so much worse with me!"
"Okay, so this thing," Jesse begins, addressing Joe, "Where your brother insists he's a burden and not worth the time of day -- momentary phase?"
"If you find out, you can keep him. Our mom might pay you in meatloaf. Speaking of which," Joe says to Zach, "There's some in the fridge."
"Meatloaf meatloaf meatloaf meatloaf," Zach chants as he gets up and runs into the kitchen, Noah following right behind him and nudging his ankles with his nose. "Jesse, stop talking shit about me and taste this fucking meatloaf!" he calls from the kitchen.
And if Joe has pictures of them feeding slabs of meatloaf to each other like wedding cake -- well fuck it, it's his mom's meatloaf and it deserves its own special reverie.
(Chris had said his mom's was better and Zach never forgave him for it because, hello: his mom's meatloaf is a universal constant and no avocado-loving California lady is going to make a better meatloaf than his tough as nails Pittsburgh mom, thanks.)
*
They take a scenic drive through New Jersey.
It's a fucking disaster, but one of those disasters where they laugh the whole time at what a disaster it is, not like, a real disaster.
They try and forget New Jersey, but it's mostly impossible. It taunts them from across the Hudson every day.
*
Jesse shows up while is Zach cleaning his apartment and blasting music.
"What song is this?" he asks after a few moments, motioning to the air.
"Florence! And the machine. Mostly Florence. Is this song fucking transcendent or what?" Zach asks.
Jesse nods along for a few beats and agrees.
"The only flaw is that you can't sing along to it," Zach sighs. "Or I can't anyway, not being a lady and all."
"It's okay, you can dance to it!"
"Uh, that was really Julie Andrews of you. And you totally can't dance to 'Dog Days are Over.'"
"What? It has a steady tempo. You can dance to this song. It'll be really choreographed, but you can dance to this." Jesse heads over to the speakers and restarts the song, and walks over to Zach, leading him to the middle of his expansive living room. He holds Zach's hands for a moment and then drapes them on his shoulders, his own hands resting on Zach's waist, then his hips, then lightly encircling his ribs as they move a little.
"What is this!" Zach laughs.
"Come on, we're losing music, just sway with me, you creep," Jesse insists as he grins.
"But it speeds up," Zach says as the music speeds up and he begins to jump along to the tempo.
"Then you speed up," Jesse says. "Hold on, don't jump, it's not fast enough for that." Jesse wraps an arm around Zach, trying to control his bopping but laughing too hard to do it effectively. "It's not fast enough to jump to -- where are you getting this jumping from?" He lets go of Zach and adds, "This is like, put your arms up and sway purposefully music -- this is 'oh yeah hips' music." The music suddenly halts and then slows down again. "And now we slow dance again," Jesse says, his arms wrapping around Zach completely and moving him slowly in time.
"This is so slow, though. And where the fuck did you learn how to dance?"
"Well, since I didn't grow up in urban New Mexico and spend my entire life going to quinceañeras, nor did I get any performing arts degrees -- God must have spent a little more time on me," Jesse says, and Zach feels Jesse's hand rest at the top of his spine and slowly travel down. Zach has enough presence of mind to plant his feet firmly on either side of Jesse's leg and curve back like he's learned in yoga, which he does slowly, feeling his shirt ride up. He feels Jesse lead him in a semi-circle and pull him back up with one hand on his back and one hand firmly on his hip.
"This is such a cheap excuse to cop a feel," Zach says as he tries not to throw out his back.
"Really," Jesse murmurs as Zach straightens up again. "Because it feels like you're five seconds away from riding my leg to pleasuretown -- correct me if I'm wrong?"
Zach laughs and stops moving for a moment. "Oh my God, listen to that line: happiness hit her like a bullet in the head."
"By someone who should know better -- fuck, that is amazing," Jesse exhales, and he remembers the dancing because Zach begins bopping again with a little more coordination than his previous attempts. "You're so concerned with this speeding up thing," Jesse says. "Just move with me, come on."
So Zach lets Jesse lead, feels his muscles relax and lets his whole body pretty much drape on Jesse's as they dance.
"This is so repetitive, stop, I'm getting seasick!" Zach laughs after about 30 seconds.
"In my arms? Stop it," Jesse laughs. "This is a good song to get seasick to."
"It's this fast for the rest of the song," Zach says, and he lets Jesse move his hips in time with his own, but he can't help clapping along with the music over his head. "God, you are all about my hips today, what's with that? Just hump me to death and get it over with."
"This is low-impact grinding!"
"Shut the fuck up -- you made that up."
"There'd be no point to it when I can just -- oh, okay," Jesse says, because Zach suddenly takes the initiative and straddles his leg, still moving to the rhythm.
"I feel like something's missing, like, why isn't this song sexier?" Zach wonders aloud.
"Not enough bass," Jesse says after a moment. "I mean, there's some, but it's not the dominant sound, you know?"
"You just diagnosed the music," Zach laughs as he grips Jesse's biceps.
"No, put your hands on my shoulders, like, grip them," Jesse corrects. "You move with me." He bends Zach back again and then pulls Zach up and presses their chests together, Jesse's hands on Zach's shoulder blades and Zach's hands around Jesse and coming up Jesse's back to hold on to his shoulders. It works, because Zach's limbs are about a thousand feet long and he is, essentially, an octopus, and he kind of loves it now when he can be all over Jesse.
"But this is the fast part, I want to --"
"It's not the same kind of fast, and it's not like, jumping around fast, not really, so keep moving with me." The song halts again and restarts, and Jesse says, "You're hearing the claps and you want to jump, but you need to hear --"
Zach sighs or exhales sexily, he can't quite tell himself, and turns Jesse around and molds their bodies together, one arm around Jesse's hips and the other snaking up over his shoulder and down his chest, effectively trapping him against Zach's front. Zach presses his chin into Jesse's shoulder and presses their faces together, their hips going left and right steadily, almost like they're one unit, and as fast as the music is, they're steady, steady enough for Zach to close his eyes and sigh again, softer, feeling his body just let go where ever Jesse's goes. Jesse's hands just grip Zach's arms, one folded so it can be parallel to the one down his chest, one resting across his hips, holding on to Zach's hand as they move.
The song ends and Jesse pulls away from Zach only to pull him close again, front to front this time, his arms encircling all of Zach and pulling him into a turn around the living room. "Also, for future reference," and he leans away from Zach, though their hips are still pressed together and Zach loves it, he can't stop grinning. "You can top all you want, but when we dance? I lead. Always."
"Are you saying I can't dance?"
"I'm saying that I know what I'm doing."
"Not fair."
"Singing-dancing-acting college, remember?"
"Theater major!"
"I bet you skipped every 'Rhythm and Movement' class you had to blow some pretty guy backstage."
"Uh, no, I was getting high in Moosa's room, duh."
They spend way too much time figuring out how to dance to Zach's seemingly undanceable playlist, and fuck, the apartment never gets cleaned.
Of course, when Jesse leaves the next morning, Zach puts that song on again and jumps around his living room all he fucking wants, mouthing as hard as he can about happiness hitting him like a bullet in the head.
*
It's the last night of Shakespeare in the Park and Zach has been waiting for Jesse in the under-stage dressing room since the beginning of the third act. It's now the middle of the third and Jesse doesn't have to be back on stage until the fifth.
"I brought you happy surviving flowers," Zach says as Jesse comes in, pulling his stupid period-appropriate hat off. "Congratulations-you're-done flowers. You like flowers, right?"
"Yeah, I do," Jesse laughs. He takes them from Zach, admires them for a moment, and they pull each other into a tight embrace, Zach clinging to Jesse's shoulders and Jesse pulling Zach tightly against him.
"So you're leaving soon," Zach says quietly. It's August. Zach's staying.
"Yeah, it's okay, don't think --"
"I want to br --"
"No, come on, not now, please," Jesse protests.
"No, wait, there's more, please let me," Zach says.
(And Jesse lets him because -- what, he's not going to? He's going to refuse Zach anything?)
"So I think we should see each other people in the fall," Zach says and Jesse won't look him in the eye, but Zach holds his shoulders firmly and talks into his face until Jesse looks at him. "I'm going to date a lot and make sure that -- well, that it's not just the spring and summer -- that I really want you, and that every other guy in this city really can't hold even a fucking match to you, let alone a candle, and that when I get back to LA, we can dive right into. I don't know. Whatever that's called."
"So I've been keeping track and -- that's probably the most backward way to date you've managed to say that you like me," Jesse laughs.
"Oh my God, you idiot, I fucking love you and I've never said that before to some --"
Jesse's kissing him hard, and they're grinning and their teeth are making it all really uncomfortable but Zach hears, somewhere in the mash of their lips and tongues, Jesse say against his mouth, "I love you, you walking neurosis, you overly manscaped piece of work --"
"God, a list, really, I thought I was better at kissing than that," Zach laughs.
There's a real bathroom with a wide counter in the labyrinth of dressing rooms and prop rooms, and Jesse knows they have 34 minutes before he has to be back on stage for his last scene. So, of course, they fuck in the bathroom while Al Pacino is above their heads Shylocking the shit out of everything.
"God, I can't -- I can't concentrate," Zach laughs. "This is like -- why is my timing so bad?"
"Oh my God, move already, you're killing me and these fucking tights around my thighs are killing me more." Zach laughs even harder and Jesse clenches around him, but it just makes them lose their shit even more. "Zach, you're -- this is going to end so badly. They're doing Hamlet next year and I really want to be Rosencrantz or Guildenstern but I won't if --"
"An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven!" Pacino yells above them, and even Jesse can't stop himself from laughing at that.
"We're going to actor hell," Jesse wheezes. "Please, Zach, just -- oh come on!"
Zach holds back his laughter and focuses on Jesse's face. He breathes deeply, grins, and forces himself to absorb every detail: Jesse red in the face from being fucked on a counter, still in his full costume, still mostly in tights, his laugh lines and beard and brilliantly white teeth just exuding excitement, his eyes such a bright contrast to the rest of the colors of his face, so fluid and quick and darting all over Zach's face. "What?" Jesse asks. "Getting all deep now? In a really non-literal sense or I wouldn't be coherent enough to say that?"
Then Zach kisses him and fucks him in earnest, the sharpness of Jesse's beard rubbing against him as Jesse presses his face against the crook of his neck, Jesse's hands on his ass and his legs wrapped around him, taking him in and pulling him deeper. Jesse ends up with his shoulders against the makeup mirror, the edge of the counter cutting into Zach's thighs but he couldn't care, really, as he pulls Jesse's legs up just a bit higher (and seriously, maybe they should have gotten the tights off but it seemed like such a non-priority at the time.)
"Wait," Jesse gasps and then says, "No, don't stop but -- I just realized," and he laughs as Zach comes, kisses him to show it's not a reflection on his admirable performance, "No one should ever come into contact with this much Vaseline in their life. Ever."
"Jesus Christ," Zach laughs and in the interest of preserving what little integrity is left in Jesse's costume, he lowers his mouth and sucks Jesse off, focusing on the tip and making him come quickly because the show sounds like it's getting heated above them and maybe that means shit is wrapping up and Jesse needs to change into his next costume. Really, he's surprised at his lucidity, delirious as he is from everything of the past however many minutes.
Jesse comes and Zach swallows it down, and then Zach falls back onto his ass on the floor of the bathroom, jeans still undone and he knows he looks like a fucking hot mess. Jesse is above him, still on the counter catching his breath, but quickly sits up and begins to pull his tights off. "Fuck these so hard," he says.
"Don't tempt me," Zach says nonsensically.
"Come on, you have to help me get dressed -- Act IV is almost done and I come into Act V really early."
And Zach remembers, suddenly, fucking someone at college like this -- blowing them in a dressing room in between their cues and what a fucking mistake that had been, for the show and his life, and he rubs his face thoughtfully for a few seconds.
"Zach," Jesse says, standing over him and extending a hand to help him up.
That guy was a dick. His boyfriend is amazing, even (especially?) when he's standing over him with no tights or pants and a short heavy faux velvet suit-dress that has Zach cracking up on the floor.
"I see London, I see France, and Jesse's lack of underpants," Zach sings.
"You're awful," Jesse laughs, but his hand is still there. Zach takes it and gets up, and they somehow get Jesse on stage in time.
Everyone is on stage and Zach stands alone in the middle of the costume racks, listening to everything above him but also to the deafening silence that comes with being completely alone. Fuck, he can barely breathe, missing Jesse already, like his leaving is stealing the air out of his lungs. It's part of their job, dammit, the traveling and being away constantly, but this is leaving. It's going to rehearsal tomorrow, going out with people every night, meeting new men and -- is this what the rest of the planet had gone through while he fucked random twentysomethings and tossed them aside when they got boring or didn't want him anymore? Is that the pain that made other people write songs and books and plays from the beginning of time? He can't blame anyone for wanting to excise it any way they could.
And Zach could have it all in LA, at home, he could have it everywhere if he just risked everything for him.
Zach digs for his cigarettes and realizes Jesse must have stolen his pack at some point. He hits his fists against his thighs and punches a door (stupid, that hurt), and he needs that fucking cigarette in his fucking mouth before he completely unfurls and of course Jesse had to take that, too.
He spots an open pack and lighter on someone's makeup table and takes two, one over his ear and one in his mouth, and then he runs outside to regain something resembling his sanity.
*
Zach rents a car and braves New Jersey again to drive Jesse to Newark Liberty, and parks in the most inconvenient and sketchiest spot he can find in the entire fucking garage so they can make out like teenagers in the car before he takes Jesse to security.
"Okay," Jesse gasps, pushing Zach away. "Fuck, okay. I am so late."
"Okay, let's go," Zach says, and they get out of the car and begin the epic journey out of the garage and to the airport. Zach risks it in the dark of the garage and puts an arm around Jesse's waist, pulling him so close they nearly stumble over each other.
"Stop trying to incapacitate me, I can't stay," he laughs.
"So I'll be back for Chris's birthday in two weeks," Zach begins. "And your birthday in October. Don't know about September. Don't think so, since that's when the play opens."
"Tell me what the second season of a show is like, oh wise one," Jesse says. "Am I going to be driven into the ground like I was last September or can I risk a weekend here and there? Oh! New York Thanksgiving."
"And then it'll be December," Zach muses. "I don't -- so much shit is still in the air about Trek, I don't know whether we'll actually start filming at the beginning of the year like J.J. wanted. I mean: script please?"
"It'll be okay," Jesse says. "We'll be dating other people and talking all the time --"
Zach interrupts with, "And we'll just be really good friends who happen to be totally in love and fucking like animals when they see each other every six weeks. Or you'll be my awesome summer boyfriend, and we can only be together for one season a year, and someone will heteronormify our epic love and that cute redheaded girl from Six Feet Under can play you in the movie."
"Damn, I got an upgrade lookswise -- significant downgrade in the penis department. And who will play you?"
"Obviously not me."
"Well obviously."
"David Boreanaz?"
"He's old -- come on, some young and fabulous thing. Dream casting. Who would play you?"
"I don't know, a Jonas brother."
"Gross, no thank you. Try again."
"Matthew Goode?"
"I think they made this movie already, but with Amy Adams as the redhead. And Ireland?"
"Fuck you, our story is not Leap Year!"
They bicker all the way to security, hug briefly when they arrive, and Zach leaves when Jesse heads off to his gate. He gives New Jersey the finger as he exits the Holland Tunnel and returns to New York.
*
As Zach walks back to his apartment alone, he stops and takes out his phone to compose a text to Chris and Kristen:
jtf is on continental flight 17, gets in at 6.12 pm. meet him and take care of him okay?
Kristen replies: SO ON IT, HONEY. get yourself a cosmo the size of your ego. also some rebound cock.
Chris writes: My play ended so I'm all freed up to buy him drinks and catch his tears in my manly chest hair. Wait I'm not you. Back hair?
IF YOU FUCK HIM I WILL END YOU unless he needs it then i trust you.
Seriously? I'm taking him to pinkberry. You gays like that, right?
pinkberry is froyo, not a gay nightclub. you know that, right?
It will be when we're done with it.
Their song? Florence and the Machine's Dog Days are Over. If I were a better person, I'd title the series, or at least this chapter, that. ALAS. I AM AWFUL.
Also.
~EPILOGUE~