FIC: Star Trek RPS -- Love You With My Hands Tied (Epilogue)
Title: Love You With My Hands Tied (Epilogue)
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Word Count: 878
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The next week…
For disclaimer, author’s note, etc., see main story.
The next week, he girds his loins (entirely metaphorically) for his first visit to the gym. He flinches around every corner, half expecting to see Zach’s long, lovely body contorted perfectly into some ungodly position - or, god help him, downward-facing dog - but no Zach. The same thing at the end of the week. So on the third time, he’s completely unprepared to spot the man coming out of the showers as Chris walks into the locker room to change. He’s pretty sure Zach didn’t hear the little squeak that may or may not have come out of his mouth when the other man walked by, clad in nothing but a towel, the bites and bruises Chris gave him nearly faded.
As he sheds his jeans for a pair of basketball shorts, Chris recognizes the irony in the fact that he didn’t blink an eye at fucking Zach’s face at the club, but can’t even get up the courage to look him in the eye in normal life. He takes a long time getting ready, slowly pulling on his socks and lacing up his tennis shoes until he figures Zach must be dressed and gone. It’s going to be tougher than he thought, seeing Zach on a regular basis now that Chris knows exactly what he looks like with Chris’ cock down his throat, what he sounds like when he comes.
He’s just finished reapplying deodorant when he hears a quiet “Um, hi.” Chris looks up and, huh, Zach’s nervous voice is much, much different than his tie-me-up-and-fuck-me-sir voice. At least he’s dressed now.
“Buh?” is all Chris can manage, and he knows his face is going red.
But Zach’s face is flushed, too. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asks quickly. “At the club. In the… the mask.”
Chris starts to nod before he can think of a better response, like running the hell out of the locker room. “You knew?”
“I kind of guessed, yeah.”
“Wh- How?”
Zach smirks, but there’s no smugness in it. “Those eyes are kind of distinctive. Plus, you’ve got a mole on your side…” Chris’ face must have registered surprise, because Zach goes on quickly. “Oh god, now I sound like some kind of stalker. Just, sometimes when you change here, I can see… Fuck, this is not going well.”
“If you knew, why didn’t you-”
“Say something? I didn’t figure it out right away, and by the time I did, I was pretty well distracted. Plus, um. I’ve kind of had this crush on you.”
He says it tentatively, almost as a question, and Chris wonders how it is that two grown men who are so comfortable exploring their sexuality can’t have an actual conversation without sounding like middle-schoolers. “You… on me?”
“Until you, y’know, picked me, I thought you were straight. And I learned pretty early on not to approach straight guys at the gym.”
“Yeah, I guess that would be… not good.” Did he just think middle school? Fourth grade, tops.
“So, um.” Zach glances around, but there’s no one else there, so he sits on the bench next to Chris. “I really enjoyed myself the other night. If you couldn’t tell.” Chris nods dumbly. “And I have no idea whether that could translate into a daytime, non-spanky thing, but you have a copy of Narcissus and Goldmund sticking out of your gym bag and that pretty much convinced me that if I didn’t at least try to ask you out, I’d regret it. Shit, I don’t even know your name.”
“Chris. It’s Chris. Pine.”
“Zach Quinto,” he says, extending a hand. “Though you already knew that. Well, part of it, at least.”
“What,” Chris tries, but suddenly flashes back to calling Zach a greedy boy and it stops his language processing centers dead. “What, um. Do you… eat?” Fucking brilliant.
“Was that ‘do I eat’ or ‘what do I eat?’”
“Yes.”
Zach laughs, but his smile is completely free of the mockery Chris richly deserves. “Yes, I eat. Could fucking kill for a cheeseburger right now, actually. Yoga really hollows me out.”
Finally, something Chris’ addled brain can work with. He stands, confidently. “Okay. Let’s go get cheeseburgers.”
Zach stands too, gesturing vaguely at Chris’ outfit. “Were you, uh, going to work out?”
Chris looks down at his ratty t-shirt and shorts and, for the love of god, he has no idea why Zach is still standing around talking to the giant, idiotic Chris-shaped mess in front of him. “Change of plans?”
Zach shrugs, grinning. “Works for me. You want to change clothes, or just go like that?”
Chris takes a deep breath, and then takes the time to form a full sentence in his head. “Sure you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me like this?”
“It’s just cheeseburgers,” Zach says. “My reputation will survive.”
Before he can say anything else monumentally stupid, Chris starts shoving his belongings hastily in his gym bag. He yanks at the zipper so hard it breaks, so he just holds it closed and hopes nothing comes flying out. Zach is waiting for him by the door, and they walk out together, past the strip-aerobics class gyrating purposefully to some Lady Gaga song and out into the bright afternoon sunlight.