Pick Me Up

Word Count: 2551
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive sexual content
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these people or personalities and I make no money from writing them. The ideas are mine and that’s about it.
Summary: Sloppy drunken Chris needs help finding his way.
Author’s Note: Stalker story is still in progress, but I needed light hearted fluff to keep from getting too mired in angst. Part 1 of only 1 part.

Zach’s eyes adjusted to the dimness slowly, but there was no mistaking that set of shoulders, drooped as they were. He sat on the stool beside Chris, noting the very bloodshot eyes, the heavy eyelids, and the slack jaw when he looked up to see who sat beside him. It took way too long for Chris to realize he knew the scruffy face looking back at him, but when he did, his whole face lit up.

“Zach! Pull up a drink and have a chair!” Chris’s eyes clouded, brows wrinkled before he smiled that million watt smile again. “Aw, fuck it. You know what I meant.”

“Chris, let me give you a ride home. You’re hammered. Stacey called me to come get you before the paps find you and plaster you all over E! in the next two days.” He signaled the bartender and asked for Chris’s tab, putting a hand on his forearm to steady him when Chris’s head whipped up at his publicist’s name.

“Stacey is a great purist… pira… pub. li. cist.” He said it carefully, emphasizing with his forefinger in the air, as if to prove he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t say more than two syllables at a time, even though it was clearly the case. “Why’d she send you, though, man?” Chris tilted his head back some, looking down his nose at Zach. “I thought you were busy with … what’s his name. Kevin. That guy, Kevin. Your new mayannnn.” He said ‘man’ in a sing song, and smirked to himself.

“She sent me because she knows that no matter what hell hole you’d find yourself in, I’d be able to find you and talk you into going home.” The bartender set the tab in front of Zach, smiling her gratitude for taking her drunkest patron off her hands for her. Zach paid it with a generous tip. He knew how much of a handful Chris could be when he was sloppy drunk, like he clearly was now. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Chris seemed to decide going with Zach would be wise, and stood abruptly, knocking over his barstool. “Shit.” He bent to retrieve it and ended up losing balance, swinging the stool around like a dangerous weapon while he flailed to right himself. Once he had his balance back, he gingerly set the stool upright again, as if punctuating a sentence that started out as a shout and ended a whisper with the softest of periods. The tilt of his head showed Zach just how hard he was trying, which made Zach giggle because holy shitballs, Chris was trashed.

“Let’s go, Grace.” He slid an arm around Chris’s waist, helping him make it to the door without face planting on the nasty scuffed floor.

“Y’know, you really do have beautiful ears, Spock,” Chris said, then smiled, leaning into Zach as he stared up at Zach’s profile. “I mean, even without the Spock tips on them, they’re very enrich… encirc… en. ti. cing ears.”

Zach smiled, deliberately facing forward because he knew if he turned, he’d be nose to nose with Chris, who was very handsy when he had this much to drink, and despite the fact that Zach did have a new fling for the moment, the pull Chris had on him seemed to undercurrent every fling and relationship Zach managed to have, this underlying sexual tension between them that he simply could not ignore despite his best efforts. But Chris was a dog, never staying with one person long enough to get to know them, to be left by them. He was Jim Kirk personified, and Zach didn’t want to be another deleted phone number in Chris’s cell phone, so he left it at just shy of anything real, just tense enough in situations like this where proximity was unavoidable that it hurt, though it didn’t stop him from hoping some day that Chris would just look at him, suddenly realize Zach was all he needed, and let go of the bullshit. In the meantime, Zach was his clean up crew.

“And you have some seriously flammable breath, dude,” Zach quipped in return, hooking his fingers around Chris’s belt and keeping him upright as they walked to Zach’s car, or rather Chris stumbled and nearly took Zach out with him. He leaned Chris against the door while he fished his keys out of his pocket to unlock it, and when he managed to get Chris folded into the seat, as he was buckling Chris in, their eyes met, Chris’s blue gaze penetrating his own dark one and Zach could swear Chris was looking into his soul.

“Zach…” Chris breathed, and despite his saturated alcoholic breath, Zach did not move his face, which was a mere inch from Chris’s.

“Chris?” Zach answered, feeling his abs kick in tight as he controlled his voice to keep the tremor out.

“…Do you…” Chris’s voice trailed off uncertainly as they stared at each other, Zach wanting nothing more than to wrap his fingers around the back of Chris’s neck and kiss him, but his hand remained fisted against the console, balancing him as he leaned to finish buckling Chris in.

“Do I what?” Zach asked, finally letting his eyes show that he recognized the heaviness in the air.

“Do you have a plastic bag or something? I don’t wanna get sick in your car.” Chris smiled sheepishly, licking his lips and Zach couldn’t help his eyes following that tongue through its trip across Chris’s bottom lip. Shaking himself back to reality, Zach backed out of the car, then reached back in to open the glove box and pull out a plastic grocery store bag and put it in Chris’s hands. As he was pulling his hand back, his thumb got caught in the handle and he couldn’t get it loose, hiding his frustration over his feelings for Chris within irritation at his fingers being trapped.

“Wait a minute,” Chris said, stilling Zach’s hand with his own, flipping the handle around Zach’s thumb, surprisingly dexterous despite his drunkenness. The bag slid off and Chris still had Zach’s hand in his for a moment too long. Zach quickly straightened up, shutting the door and circling the car to sink into the driver’s seat, blowing a breath out to ease the tension, his thumb tingling slightly.

The drive, uneventful as it was, consisted of Chris giving him shit for having plastic bags in his glove box, or even access to a plastic bag at all. “Have you never heard of recycling? You’re killing our planet, dude.”

Zach just smiled. “Chris, I keep about three of those on hand because that’s about how many times in a month I get a call to find you in some dump somewhere bombed out of your mind. I don’t want you puking in my car either, but you don’t come with your own puke bag, so if I’m killing our planet, it’s your fault.”

Chris considered that for a moment. “Yeah, sticking with plastic bags, though. Puke is already recycled, so it’s green, right?”

Zach rolled his eyes. “Change the fucking subject, Chris.”

Chris was quiet for the rest of the ride, and Zach thought he was dozing until he pulled into Chris’s driveway and despite having his eyes closed, Chris said, “Mmm, home sweet home.”

Zach hauled Chris out of his car, steadying him before helping him in through the garage, knowing the code on the keypad to open it without the opener, which was still in Chris’s car back at the bar. Stepping into the mudroom between the garage and the kitchen, Zach pushed Chris against the washer and crouched at the floor to relieve Chris of his shoes, then kicked off his own. Chris’s house was fairly new and when sober, he never wore shoes on the carpet, so Zach kept that in mind as they made their way inside.

Chris giggled a little as he stumbled in the kitchen. “Want a beer or something?” He leaned heavily on the fridge door and seemed unable to comprehend why he couldn’t get it open with his own weight holding it shut. Zach just shook his head, taking Chris’s arm and pulling him upright, an arm again snaking around Chris’s waist as he led him up the stairs to the bedroom.

“No, I don’t want a beer. I would like to go home and go to bed sometime soon, but I won’t do that until you’re all snug as a bug in a rug in your own bed, and not about to puke on yourself, or somehow stumble and break something with your head.” With Chris’s arm slung over his shoulder, Zach practically carried him up the last few steps.

When they finally burst into the bedroom at the top of the stairs, Chris seemed to have regained some of his own wits, able to undress himself. His words were less slurry as he very un-self-consciously whipped his shirt over his head and dropped his jeans in a heap on the floor. Zach stood stoically to the side, hands in his pockets, trying to look anywhere but Chris’s flushed skin and muscles as he sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his socks. That seemed about the extent of Chris’s stamina though, as he flopped backwards onto the bed, arms flung wide, staring at the ceiling wearing nothing but blue plaid boxers. Zach deliberately busied himself with pulling back the bedding for Chris to crawl under so Zach didn’t have to look at his nearly naked body one second longer than absolutely necessary.

“Zach…” Chris breathed, licking his lips again, turning to his side to face Zach, propping his head up on his hand, elbow dipping into the mattress. He looked to Zach right then like sex on a stick, and it was all Zach could do to keep looking at him without showing the open desire he felt. Zach’s hands fisted on a pillow, and he raised it slightly to strategically cover the movement at the front of his jeans.


“I wish… you wouldn’t go home.” Chris let that hang in the air, staring straight into Zach’s nerve center in his brain, which had just fired off a volley of impulses, most of which centered in his groin, making the previous twitch seem tame.

“Chris.” The hesitation in Zach’s voice belied the hope there. “You’re drunk. Beyond drunk, and you wouldn’t say that if you weren’t.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t. I should, but I’d normally be too afraid to fuck things up. Right now, it feels like fucking things up if I let you leave.” He rose to his hands and knees, crawling toward Zach, his back arching sinfully as he watched Zach’s face watch him, a small smile creeping up the corner of his mouth. When he reached Zach, he straightened up to his knees, hands also gripping the pillow Zach held between them like a puffy barrier.

“Chris, this isn’t a good idea. You’ll regret it when you wake up and wish you hadn’t said it.” Zach wished the pillow were bigger, that it held Chris at a further distance so he couldn’t see the way Chris’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the way his eyes bored straight through Zach’s defenses, the way he smelled, all boozy and male.

Chris inched closer, smashing the pillow between his hips and Zach’s, his hands clenching on the pillow, squishing it smaller, diminishing the distance between them. “If I regret anything, it’s that I didn’t have the guts to say something sooner.” His eyes focused on Zach’s, despite the drunkenness, and while he weaved a little bit for balance, he mostly looked to be somewhat recovered from his binge.

Kevin flashed through Zach’s thoughts just then, though in his mind, Kevin was rendered in grayscale compared to Chris’s vibrant technicolor. Everyone Zach dated did, despite the effort he put forth to ignore it. It was impossible to resist what he’d wanted for so long, and he pushed Kevin out of his mind, reminding himself that Kevin had gone out with an ex, a situation that had resulted in their first argument, not a month into their relationship, and Zach had felt it doomed from that moment. A twinge of regret for the ruination he was surely courting wormed through Zach as his indecision faded, and he deliberately pushed the pillow to the side and let his hands fall away, but the brightness of Chris before him left him feeling weak kneed, as if he’d matched Chris tonight drink for drink.

Chris dropped the pillow and closed the distance, hands fisting in Zach’s shirt as his breath, stiff with the remnants of his alcohol consumption, increased and bathed Zach in warmth. Their bodies fit together, Zach’s arms rising enough for his hands to rest on Chris’s hips.

“This is gonna be a mistake when you sober up,” Zach murmured, lowering his face to finally meet Chris’s lips with his own. Chris pulled him hard into his chest, his tongue insistently demanding entry to Zach’s mouth. Oh, fuck it. I want this, Zach thought, letting go of the last of his reservations, helping Chris relieve him of his clothes, down to his own underwear, drinking in everything he’d ever wanted of Chris’s body with his hands, his lips and tongue.

Chris let his head fall back, closing his eyes, and suddenly gripped Zach tight. “Whoa, room’s spinning.” He giggled, falling backward and pulling Zach on top of him, hands mapping Zach’s torso both to touch and ground himself to reality. Zach reached his hands down, stilling Chris’s fingers, looking into his face, eyes burning.

“Chris, not like this.” He hated the sanctimonious sound of his own voice, but he knew if he let himself do this, it would cheapen what he really wanted with Chris, and that risk was not something he’d care to take on. Fuck, Quinto, really hate you right now, his internal desire thermometer intoned.

“What? Come on, man. We both want this, have for months.” Chris hooked his fingers in the waistband of Zach’s underwear, but Zach shook his head, leaning up to take both of Chris’s hands in his own.

“One more night won’t be the end of it then, and I don’t want to wonder if it’s just your bender talking.” He gave Chris a sad smile, lifting one of Chris’s hands to his own face, closing his eyes when Chris ran his thumb over his lower lip.

“Don’t go home, anyway,” Chris whispered. “Let me prove it’s not the alcohol talking. Stay here, nothing funny, and when I wake up, all sick and shaking and headachy and still wanting you, you’ll know.”

The blue of Chris’s eyes swallowed Zach up like a pool of hope, and Zach was helpless to say no. He knelt away from Chris just enough so they could reorient themselves against the pillows, flicking off the bedside lamp before scooting up behind Chris to pull him back against his chest.

“Sleep now, Casanova,” he murmured into Chris’s ear, leaving a gentle kiss just behind the lobe.

Chris settled comfortably into his arms, holding them tight around him. “Thanks for picking me up.”

Zach smiled into the dark.

~ by A on December 13, 2010.

4 Responses to “Pick Me Up”

  1. Aw…drunk Chris is sexier than he should be.
    *awaits next part and wonders where the stalker went*

  2. Stalker’s still going strong. Next part coming up.

  3. Aww, this was sweet. I loved the bit about the plastic bags, it was a good momentary relief from the tension.

  4. Thank you! Yeah, I needed some fluff. Writing The Crazy isn’t so easy, now that I’m in the middle of it, and it’s about to get a lot worse.

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