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Chris glowers into his drink, his fingers beginning to ache where they hold the tumbler so tightly. Goddamn it, he swore he wasn't going to do this. This stupid party is crawling with Zach's exes. He's known for weeks that it would be, and vowed to say absolutely nothing about it.
This is Zach's night—the launch party for his new production company, and Chris is playing the dutiful spouse, greeting guests, checking in with the caterers. Which means he greeted every single one of Zach's ex-boyfriends, because of course every single one of them just has to have some connection with the industry.
And seriously, did Zach have to fuck so many people? Chris is lucky he managed to keep his attention for more than five minutes, apparently. Or at all.
Which is not fair, he knows. He knows, and he does not care.
"Mr. Pine?" a nervous voice at his ear brings him out of his uncharitable thoughts. One of the caterers is standing by his elbow, looking harried and a little panicked.
"What's wrong now?" Chris sighs, putting aside his drink.
"We're low on the salmon puffs, sir—"
"Of course we are. I'll take care of it."
The caterer wrings his hands, which is somehow his way of agreeing, before he bustles off. Annoyed, and seriously not in any mood to deal with this bullshit, Chris winds his way through the crowd, and comes face to face with one of the myriad exes. Matt is this one's name, and he smiles congenially.
Chris tries not to bare his teeth. Because of course all of them are fucking gorgeous. And of a certain type—which is nothing like Chris. He's not going to think about that. He's not. "Hey," he says, and if it comes out curt, well that's too damn bad.
"Zach looks good," Matt says, and Chris is saved from asking him just what the hell he means by that, by Zach himself, appearing at Chris' elbow.
"Hey, Matt," he says, perfectly nice, breezy; friendly. He slides an arm around Chris' waist. "Hey," he says, softly but not soft enough that Matt and his big, stupid ears can't hear it perfectly well. "Can I borrow you for a sec?" He smiles at Matt. "Be back in a minute."
"Sure," Matt says, and he's smiley too; with perfect teeth and perfect dark hair. Dark eyebrows too. God, do they all have to be gorgeous? He has no time to ponder it further, since he's being tugged away. But Chris goes, because he certainly doesn't want to stand here and watch the two of them chat.
"I have to go take care of salmon puffs," he huffs anyway, once Zach takes his hand and is obviously steering them to some random, unpopulated corner. Zach smiles over at him, amusement in his eyes.
"Not enjoying yourself?"
"I'm enjoying myself just fine. The caterer's getting on my nerves."
"Only the caterer?" Zach's leaning in close now, and he smells good; looks even better.
"Yes," Chris lies.
Zach is nodding, but Chris already knows he's being humored. Zach leans in a bit more, not scandalously so, but enough that no one could be left wondering who Zach is with. Chris sighs, tries to ignore the tiny niggle of guilt in his chest but he can't. "I might have been a little annoyed by all of the ex-boyfriends hanging around."
"You've been glaring at them the whole night."
"No, I haven't."
Zach breathes close to his ear, "You really have."
"Sorry," he says, but it doesn't sound sincere even to his own ears. Zach's smiling, but Chris isn't amused. It's not the time for it, but he says anyway, "You know you have a type."
"Do I?"
"Dark hair, dark eyes, gorgeous."
"Except for the gorgeous part," Zach says, feigning confusion, "that doesn't sound anything like you."
"I know," Chris huffs indignantly. "What the hell is that about?"
"Well, let's see… Could be a very good reason for that."
"What very good reason?" Chris demands, although he hardly thinks it could be a bad one. Zach isn't a moron, after all.
"Work it out."
Zach's teasing smile is not at all amusing.
"Zach…"
"Okay, I'll give you a hint. One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn't belong," he half sings beneath his breath, and fuck him, Chris smiles.
"I know I'm not like the others," he retorts, forcing his frown back in place. "That's my point."
"And my point," Zach says fondly as one of his hands comes up behind Chris' back, to squeeze lightly at his neck, "is that I married you. Not them, you, my gorgeous, blue-eyed California boy."
Chris smiles slowly, feeling silly and awkward and giddy. He wants to kiss him soundly, pornographically, in the middle of all his guests. He doesn't of course. He sends him off with a little nudge, but not without promising filthy things in his ear. Things guaranteed to keep Zach's mind on him for the next few hours. Right where it belongs.
---
Crisis averted. Salmon puffs gone, but enough avocado rounds to last the evening. Sighing to himself, and wishing he could have a five minute break from all of the interaction with other human beings—only a few more hours to go—Chris takes the glass of wine offered by the grateful caterer and goes back into the main room.
Zach is surrounded again, people always flocking to him everywhere he goes. Chris surreptitiously checks the faces, but finds nary an ex amongst them. Satisfied, he makes the rounds yet again, a director here, a clingy spouse or two there, and far too many big hollywood stars sprinkled in.
If he has to kiss one more professionally sculpted cheek, he's going to scream.
"Chris?"
He turns, surprised. "Liv? What are you doing here?"
She smiles, pointing toward a group of people on the patio outside. "Ryan dragged me."
"Ah." Chris kisses her cheek, because it's offered. "Good to see you."
"You too. You look great, Chris."
"Thanks. So do you."
It's easier than he would have expected to fall into conversation with her, better than the forced ease he's been applying to most everyone else in the room. He has no idea how long they stand there, but eventually the topic winds around to the reason for the party.
"Zach finally got what he wanted, I see," she says, glancing down at Chris' wedding ring. And that's a stranger conversation. He feels his face warming, but he nods. She's smiling though, content enough with her own new relationship, her life and apparently old hurts have long been cast aside. "He looks good too."
Chris looks over to where he last saw Zach, and he's still there, but he's no longer smiling; the life of the party fizzled out. He's frowning at Chris, as a matter of fact, and when his eyes shift to Liv and back again, narrowing, Chris gets it.
He smiles to himself, even though that's petty and silly. It's nice to know though, he's not the only one who gets jealous. When he looks up again, Zach's attention has been taken by the director he's currently working with, and although Zach is nodding and conversing, Chris can tell he's still annoyed—it's all in the set of his jaw.
Not wanting him to be upset, Chris makes his excuses and returns to circulating. And after being cornered by one of the most annoying actors on the planet, he makes a beeline for a bathroom. Just five minutes to breathe.
He chooses the bigger guest bathroom because it's farther away, but before he even has the door open, he's grabbed from behind. "What the—"
His arm is pressed to his back, effectively immobilizing him and although he squawks in protest, he's bundled inside and backed into the wall.
"Needed a break?" a dark voice asks, and all the air rushes out of him.
"Oh my god… shit," he says shakily, adrenaline still pulsing as he blinks at Zach in the dim light from the tiny nightlight near the sink. "Fuck, you scared me—"
The rest of the words are swallowed up by Zach's mouth, sharp teeth and fingers digging into his shoulders. He squeaks when Zach roughly squeezes his dick, which is rapidly filling out.
"You're hard," he says, and it sounds like an accusation.
"You've got me… pinned against a wall," Chris pants.
"That's not all I've got for you," Zach growls, fingers moving to Chris' belt, pulling it open roughly, button and zipper too. He puts his palm in front of Chris' face. "Spit."
Chris obeys, still half confused, but fully hard now. Zach is kissing him, wrapping slick fingers over his cock and working him over roughly, too much friction, really. But Chris arches into it, tries to thrust his hips up, but Zach's got a hand curled at his hip, pushing him back into the wall.
Chris moans into his mouth, looking for a way around his tongue but, unable to find it, he reaches out, fumbling in the dark for Zach's zipper. Fingers clamp around his wrist. Zach stops kissing him, starts biting along his jaw; his hand is still tugging at Chris' dick, dipping down to roll his balls.
"How long until this thing's over?" he demands, just a hiss.
"Uh…" Chris tries to cobble together a few brain cells; his legs are beginning to shake. "…couple hours?"
Zach bites sharply at his neck, and Chris hisses.
"You can still fuck me then," he pants, understanding his hesitation. But Chris needs this now. His fingers stretch out for Zach's cock again. "Please."
Zach lets his wrist go, and Chris scrambles to get his dick out, and as soon as he does, Zach shoves him back again, moving with him this time and takes both of their dicks in hand. Moaning, Chris adds his hand to the friction, their mouths moving back together as well.
It doesn't take very long—not nearly long enough—before they're shooting. Not quite in tandem, but close enough. Chris lets his head thump back against the wall while stars burst behind his eyelids.
"Shit," he eventually huffs, when his heart no longer feels like it's trying to beat out of his chest. "What was that?"
Zach's exhale is loud, shaky. His forehead is pressed right next to Chris' ear, and each breath tickles. "I don't know."
But Chris smiles. "You were jealous." It's not a taunt though, not teasing. It's soft, meant to be reassuring. His fingers curl over the back of Zach's neck. He shifts a little so he can press a kiss to his cheek.
Zach sighs, turns his head to meet him and they kiss slowly. "I didn't know she was going to be here," Zach eventually mumbles.
"Neither did I," Chris assures him. "We were just talking."
Zach kisses him again. "I know." It takes a second for him to pull back, and before Chris can press the issue, he smiles. "You look like someone's been groping you in a bathroom."
Chris smiles too. "Someone has been groping me in the bathroom. With a million guests just down the hall, I might add."
Zach makes a face. "We should probably get back out there."
Reluctantly, Chris disentangles and they manage to wipe up with just a towel and some soap for their hands. No major damage. Except, of course, the angry mark from Zach's teeth.
"Sorry," he murmurs, kissing over the spot, but it's mostly below his shirt, so Chris shrugs; and then wonders at Zach's tiny smile.
"Your tie is crooked," Zach says, probably as a means of distraction, and Chris goes along with it. Lifts his chin to let him adjust the silk. "Come on," he says, once he's satisfied, "the caterer is probably looking for you."
Chris groans. "God, I hate that guy. We're not using him again."
"But the food's so good."
Chris sighs. "Fine, but I'll have to hire an assistant to field his freak-outs."
Laughing, Zach pulls him out of the bathroom.
---
Chris tears out the last check of the night, and hands it over to the caterer, who smiles in that grating, nervous way and thanks him profusely.
"Zach really enjoyed the food," Chris tells him, because even if the man's annoying, he made everything exactly the way Zach wanted it; helped to make the party a success.
The caterer beams, promises three times that he'll be more than happy to give them just what they want for their next party.
"Thanks," Chris tells him, as he opens the door for him, shutting it with a relieved sigh behind him. And with that done, he can finally breathe. Which he does, wanting nothing more than to sleep for at least three days.
Soft footsteps come up behind him, and as soon as Zach's close enough, he winds an arm around Chris and pulls him into his chest. "All gone?" Chris asks,
Zach hums an affirmative into his neck.
"Thank god."
"Mm." His lips are brushing over the spot where he bit Chris two hours ago… seems like forever since they were rutting in the bathroom, like a hazy, distant memory. His fingers curl around Chris' throat, drumming softly near the mark. "You have a bruise," he says quietly.
Chris shrugs, wriggles closer. "'S'fine." He doesn't give a fuck about bruises. Zach sighs, tightens his arm a bit.
"I shouldn't have bit you."
"You always bite me."
Zach's quiet though, doesn't retort. Chris shifts his head a bit, but Zach's holding him tightly so he compromises and runs a hand through Zach's hair, running upward to tousle the longer hair at the top. Zach lets him, leans into his hand. "I didn't mean," he says haltingly; too quiet. "… I mean I know you wouldn't…"
Chris pushes against his arms and Zach loosens them enough that Chris can turn around. Zach's face is pinched and Chris combs his fingers through the gel, loosening it up, letting the hair flop over; it makes Zach smile a little. But he still looks troubled.
"I just wasn't expecting to see her," he tries to explain.
It's been years since he last saw her, when she and Chris were still seeing each other. When Chris was falling in love with Zach, and not at all ready to admit it. When everything was messy and complicated. Chris doesn't like to think about it.
"It's the same for me," he says. "I chose you."
"I know," Zach agrees softly.
"And I like it when you mark me."
Zach smiles again, kisses him. His face is darkened with the beginnings of stubble, and Chris rubs his chin against the prickly hair, enjoying the scratch. "Let's go to bed and you can fuck me," he murmurs. Zach's always energized after a party, the opposite of Chris, but he always looks forward to the after--to finally being the focus of all of that energy. And tonight especially; Chris needs to be fucked.
But Zach shakes his head, runs his hands beneath Chris' jacket; his palms are warm. "You've had a long night."
Chris frowns. "You don't want to fuck me?"
"I want to put you bed. You look wrecked."
"You can put me to bed after. Tuck me in and everything," Chris tells him with a grin. And when Zach still hesitates, he says firmly, "I'm not going to bed until you fuck me."
That makes Zach laugh. He scrapes his stubbly face over Chris' neck; it burns pleasantly. "Sometimes, Christopher, I'm not really sure you get how this whole subbing thing is supposed to work."
"What if I ask nicely?" Chris asks, smiling.
"Try it and see." Fingers close around his throat again, right over the bruise and this time it shifts the mood.
Chris swallows, closes his eyes so he can concentrate on the way Zach's thumb traces his Adam's apple. "Please?"
Zach doesn't immediately answer, but his fingers press lightly into the bruise, and Chris inhales sharply. "You like it when I mark you," he murmurs, an affirmation not a question.
"Yeah…."
His fingers press again, a little harder so that Chris grits his teeth. Against his ear, Zach says softly, "But I don't need to mark you, do I?"
"No," Chris breathes.
"Tell me why," Zach says, steady while his fingers dig into flesh; enough that Chris hisses.
"Because," he gasps, "I'm yours."
Slowly, Zach's fingers retreat, and then he dips his head and kisses the bruise, softly, just a whisper. "Let's go to bed," he says softly. "But no pain tonight. No more pain," he clarifies with a small smile. Chris wants to protest, but Zach preemptively shakes his head, kisses him, tongue insistent enough that Chris no longer wants to protest.
"Whatever you want," he finds himself murmuring.
"Mm," Zach agrees. He cups Chris' face when he pulls back. "Come to bed," he says quietly, "and let me take care of you."
Having no objection to that, Chris goes.