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16 September 2009 @ 11:03 pm
Yield 1/1  
Title: Yield
Pairing: Zach/Chris
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~1,500
Disclaimer: Never happened. People and whatnot belong to folks who are not me.
Summary: Chris discovers that boredom can lead to productivity.
Warnings: PWP, smuttiness, swearing, inane banter, Jenga.
A/N: My second fic ever for this fandom, what. Sophomore slump, here I come! Also, one of these days, I swear I'm gonna write something with an actual plot. And structure. And character development!
Additionally, I'm not too fantastic at straight up smut. I apologize. Again.



--


It's quiet. Too quiet. Eerily quiet. The only sound is the ticking of the Kit-Cat Clock mounted on the wall. The clock's pendulum tail moves back and forth with each tick, and it's starting to sound erratic and warped and nothing at all like tick-tock.

"I," Chris announces, rising to his feet, "am bored."

What to do about it, though? He considers his options. Daytime TV doesn't sound appealing. The internet is also an uninteresting option. He could go for a walk, but that wouldn't last long enough. Decisions, decisions.

Then it hits him. His giddiness is only embarrassing when he sees himself skip past a mirror en route to the den.

After gathering the necessary provisions and unceremoniously stuffing them into his very manly man-bag, Chris embarks on his four-block journey. There are some major perks that come with living in close proximity to good friends.

"Good morning," he greets as the door is hesitantly opened.

"It's eleven."

"Still technically morning."

"Most places aren't even serving breakfast now. I go by that frame of reference." Chris frowns at that.

"I'm bored."

"My condolences." Okay, let's change tactics.

"I brought Jenga, Scattergories, and Clever Endeavor."

"Don't you need more than two people for Scattergories?"

"No," he starts, averting his gaze slightly, "it's just less fun with only two people."

"Well, there you go," Zach says, ushering him inside. Chris sets the man-bag by the table and takes a seat.

"We could go to SeaWorld," he offers, suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious about his choice in games, "Daytrip, ho!"

"I am not driving to San Diego, no matter how charming your dated and easily misconstrued Nautical terms may be."

"Your loss. Jenga first," Chris decides, reaching for the box.

"I suck ass at Clever Endeavor anyway."

"Bullshit," Chris declares as he slowly pulls the cardboard away from the stack of blocks, "you're too smart to be bad at it."

Zach makes a noncommittal noise and moves to fix the tower. There's a brief argument over who should go first, but Chris cedes and permits Zach to have the first turn. Not without several jibes based upon the 'oldest first' rule, of course. It's fairly uneventful thereafter, save for anxious hisses at particularly risky moves. Chris aches for dialogue.

"Hey," he starts, pondering a piece near the bottom, "I can blink my eyes one at a time."

"You're kind of creepy," Zach remarks.

"Would you believe that you're not the first one to tell me that?"

"Without hesitation." It progresses easily from there, as it always does. Every few sentences marks the start of a new topic. Disjointed or not, Chris can't help but enjoy the conversation.

"Dude," he says, effectively halting a discussion about Andrew Lloyd Webber, "I used to play Dirty Jenga in college."

"Dirty Jenga?" Zach asks, casually incredulous. Never mind the oxymoron lying beneath that description.

"Yeah, like," Chris pauses to flail his hands around in a useless gesture, "there's something -- a command -- written on every block, and if you pick it, you have to do it."

"Er, like that sexy dice thing?"

"Yes! Only a lot more fun."

"At least it's not the Cookie Game."

"I'm classier than that," Chris scoffs, wrinkling his nose.

"But not too classy for Extreme Gay Chicken."

"Oh, one time."

Engage paradigm shift. They talk sexual exploits, weird partners, and painful encounters. It only puts Chris a little on edge.

"She used all these technical terms," he laughs, "like oral cavity and genitalia and pudendum. She was totally serious, too!"

Appropriately, Zach snorts. Chris feels oddly satisfied. He decides to take it further.

"That's not even the worst one. This one time," he stops to fight off the impending giggle, "this one time, dude, I got so bored, I texted people mid-blowjob. Held a damn conversation."

"Wait," Zach says, eyebrows inching towards his hairline, "mid-blowjob -- giving or receiving?" Chris chokes on his own spit.

"Good God, man," he sputters, "what kind of girl do you think I am?"

"The kind that uses ambiguous wording."

"You frank motherfucker."

"It's not as if I know what your ventures in oral sex entail."

"I can safely say that I have never given anyone a blowjob."

Zach looks thoughtful for a moment, then a look that Chris just knows means trouble crosses his face. He swallows.

"You, uh," Zach stops, dips his head, and smirks, "you should do something to rectify that."

"You said rectify." Chris adopts a new strategy: when in doubt, giggle at words that sound like 'rectum.'

"And you're blushing like a virgin, or something equally chaste."

"Goddammit." Chris claps a hand over his mouth. "Fuck," he curses through his fingers, "that was supposed to be part of the internal monologue."

"Freudian slip?" Cue the debonair smile with the undercurrent of pure, concentrated evil. It's more than enough to make Chris's poor brain start to melt.

"I sort of get the feeling that you've used this strategy before."

"Is it working?"

"God, yes." Shortly thereafter, there's a mouth and hips and hands and, much to his dismay, Chris finds himself repeating the words.

That's how he winds up on his knees with all of his blood heading either down south or to his face. The polarity makes him feel a little sick. Zach just looks complacent and greedy but that's more than okay because it's really, really attractive.

"Guys give the best blowjobs," Zach states, sotto voce. "They know what feels good."

"You know," Chris spits, eyes narrowing as he glances at his watch, "there's still time to go to SeaWorld."

"Unless that involves road head, forget it."

"Then I suggest you shut up. I'll go without you."

"Am I to assume that means you prefer Shamu ov-- oh. Oh. Oh."

Chris forces down the urge to grin around Zach's cock and sets his jaw in action. Yeah, he definitely knows what feels good. It's a little weird to have a mouthful of dick, though. More than a little weird. He adjusts to it pretty quickly, however, and he has Zach whimpering with a few strokes of his tongue.

"Ho--ohhh--ly fuck." Zach never lacks for eloquence. Chris almost laughs, but it comes out as more of a hum and earns him a moan. His pants are already impossibly tight and the heel of his palm is only doing so much, so those goddamned noises are not helping. Enough is enough. He pulls off and licks his lips, fully aware of the appreciative gaze directed towards his mouth.

"Pray tell, Christopher, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Another paradigm shift. The challenge is evident in the tone, the expression, the body language.

"My jaw hurts," he rasps -- fucking rasps -- as he rids himself of his pants, "so I'm stepping up my game."

"It doesn't count if you don't finish. You're indebted for a blowjob."

"I'll write up the IOU later," Chris murmurs, lowering himself inelegantly onto Zach's lap. There's a moment of brief eye contact, and his stomach twists. He ignores it and slowly, carefully presses his hips into Zach's. He isn't sure who makes the low, porno-perfect noise, but it drives him to touch, to move, to grind.

The erratic slide of their cocks together is electric fucking shock and it makes Chris's spine tense and sets his skin ablaze with the pinpricks of chill bumps. He's focusing on biting back his wanton moans and it's taking a lot of his concentration and oh God why the fuck is Zach talking now, of all times?

"Just FYI," Zach begins, lips curled into a downright hellish smirk, "I knew."

"Kne-- um, knew?" Chris inwardly curses his newfound stammer.

"You're not as subtle as you like to pretend you are."

"I don't follow," Chris pants, hands working fervently up Zach's chest. The muscles quiver under his touch, but Zach keeps his composure.

"You've wanted this for a while." Chris's stomach seizes up again and he decides right there that Zach is trying to kill him. The theory is validated with the sudden crashing of their hips.

"You're awfully sure of yourself."

"I'm just observant," Zach declares as he runs expert (at least, Chris assumes they're expert) fingers up a tense thigh.

"Fuck, you know what? Yeah. I wanted it bad."

"You could've said something."

"I figured -- fuck, Zach -- figured a 'check yes or no' letter was a bit platitudinous."

"Jesus Christ," Zach gasps, his hips bucking. Chris whines and manages to choke out 'logophile' before they're both gone.

They slide off the chair at some point, but neither of them seem to care or even notice. They lie side by side, dignity and modesty forgotten, sated and at ease.

Inevitably, though, there's silence. It's good thinking time, and once he reaches an astounding conclusion, Chris takes it upon himself to destroy the quietude.

"Hey. Zach." He fights back a wicked smile.

"Hmm?"

"I'm bored again."

 
 
 
lafemmechatte: zach smirklafemmechatte on September 17th, 2009 12:18 pm (UTC)
Oh my god this was fucking perfect.
"Good morning," he greets as the door is hesitantly opened.

"It's eleven."

"Still technically morning."

"Most places aren't even serving breakfast now. I go by that frame of reference." Chris frowns at that.

"I'm bored."

*snickering*


"Hey," he starts, pondering a piece near the bottom, "I can blink my eyes one at a time."

"You're kind of creepy," Zach remarks.

"Would you believe that you're not the first one to tell me that?"


bwahahahhahaa.

oh there's so many other amazing lines, but if i quote them all, i'll end up quoting the entire fic back to you. thank you for this awesome awesome fic.