Author: Thalia (thalialunacy)
Rating: NC-17, yar.
Genre(s): Established relationship, drama, smut, queer issues.
Length: 1,733 words.
Disclaimer: Obviously fictional content is FICTIONAL. Please, please don't sue me. And don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin.
Note: This story will probably not make sense if you haven't seen Chris's recent Jimmy Kimmel interview, as it is set directly after, and contains references to it. Thanks to sangueuk for the instigating post and rubynye for unknowingly encouraging.
The drive home is uneventful, and Chris is scrubbing at his contact-and-makeup-itchy eyes as he walks in the door, looking forward to nothing more than a warm shower and a cool pillow.
"You're wearing my shirt."
Chris starts so hard he drops his keys and nearly drops his cell phone. He squints into the darkened apartment and focuses just in time to see Karl unfold himself from the couch.
"No, I'm not," Chris lies reflexively. Karl's in a t-shirt and jeans and looks like an antipodean god, while Chris stands there in a carefully tailored suit and feels like a fool.
Karl approaches him. "Oh really?" He doesn't kiss Chris, though, and Chris refrains from succumbing to the pull to instigate it himself. Karl's not supposed to be here tonight. He's not--
Karl's hands slides under the lapel of Chris's jacket, easing the expensive fabric off tensed shoulders. Then one hand curls around the side of Chris's throat as the other throws the jacket in the direction of the couch. Chris would protest, but… Karl's crowding him gently, the fingers not cupping Chris's neck running over the revealed shirt, over clavicle and scapula. "A little loose, eh?" he says, the corner of his mouth turned up.
Chris kisses him, then.
Their tongues touch and Chris's veins wake up. His hands slide under Karl's t-shirt and their hips press together gently as he revels in the mouth he's coming to know so well.
"Come on, then," Karl murmurs into Chris's lips, and Chris finds him and his half-erection being led through the apartment to the bathroom. Karl pushes him through the door, and Chris sees his contact case and saline all laid out.
His heart-- Christ on a cracker, how is he this lucky? He puts a hand on Karl's shoulder, unable to make any string of words that adds up to how he feels. He kisses Karl instead, a lousy substitute but what can you do. He tries not to get carried away but almost does anyways, until Karl pushes at him lightly. "Go on."
Chris nods. He washes his hands and takes out his contacts. Then he curses, because he left his glasses on the nightstand earlier, and he--
"Hang on." Karl's quiet voice reassures him. He squints and realizes Karl is holding out his face wash. "You'll feel better, and you know it." Karl's shoulder nudges his.
Karl holds the towel for him, too, wiping the drops off of Chris's skin with soft, sure strokes while his other hand holds Chris at just about his fourth rib. It's a weird place to hold somebody, less primal than the hip but more intimate than the shoulder, and Chris focuses on that feeling, that hand, until he realizes the towel is gone and Karl is pressing kisses into the skin at Chris's temple.
"It was a good interview," Karl says quietly.
"No, it was not a good interview. I fucked up so many thin--"
"You fucked up nothing," Karl says with finality, and somehow, even with the rarity with which he uses them, the curse word is soothing, not alarming. Chris blames exhaustion. And the fact that Karl's lips have made advances on Chris's neck. And the hand on his ribs is no longer just sitting there but stroking, testing and re-testing sensitive spots, and Chris reaches out, wraps his arms around Karl. Holds on.
"Shall we?" Karl murmurs. Chris can hear the smile.
But this time Chris leads Karl, not needing sight for the journey-- taking him to the bedroom, divesting him of clothes, and spreading him out on the bed like a feast. Chris may not have the tongue for words on the fly, but he has the tongue for this.
He dives in.
"Although I will ask--" Karl begins a moment later, interrupting Chris's careful oral inspection of his hipbone. "What happened to the Rudolpho thing? You've pulled it off before, I mean, we thought of all those--"
Chris points his nose into the crease of Karl's groin, squinching his eyes shut. "I got flustered."
"You were thinking about--"
Chris looks up. "About where we thought of the Rudolpho thing, yeah, and--"
"Poor Jimmy, had to bail your arse out."
"Could we please not talk about it anymore? I'm busy trying to concentrate on giving an outstanding blowjob."
Karl tucks his arm behind his head and grins down at him. "Right, sorry."
And it is outstanding, mostly, Karl's cock heavy and warm on his tongue, until near the end when Karl starts talking, saying ridiculously filthy things, and Chris looks up and sees Karl's eyes on him and he falters, his rhythm falters because his free hand is reaching for his cock, of its own volition, he swears--
"Fuck, Chris, gonna come in that pretty mouth--"
Well apparently, this works for Karl. After he proceeds to do exactly as threatened, he pulls Chris up by the shoulders, latches their lips together and jerks at Chris' cock until Chris is coming gracelessly all over that tan hand.
Chris slumps against him, aiming for a side-sprawl and mostly attaining it. They breathe together roughly for a few moments. Then Karl speaks again. Much to Chris's chagrin.
"You know, you sounded like a bit of a wanker."
Chris lifts his chin to Karl's chest so he can see his face. "Hey, I thought you said I fucked up nothing."
"I was trying to make you feel better."
"Damn straight you were, there's a clause in the boyfriend contract about that."
But Karl's bringing his slick hand up to his mouth. "Well?" He takes a delicate lick, and Chris's mouth opens on an exhale. "You feel better, don't you?"
"Point and match," Chris grumbles. He kisses Karl, chasing down the mixed salty flavors of skin and semen. "So hit me."
"It's about the Pine Nuts."
Chris buries his head in Karl's armpit. "So humiliating."
"Right, but that's not the issue."
"Then what is?" Still into Karl's skin. It's comfortable there.
"You sure hope none of them are male?"
Chris lifts his head. Blinks at him. Until finally Karl takes pity on him.
"A bit homophobic, eh?"
Chris shakes his head once, decidedly. "No. If that were true, Zach would've called me by now and threatened acute dismemberment."
"Zach knows you're with me."
"Zach's trusting you to dismember me?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"I don't think this is what he intended." Karl's quiet for a moment. Chris watches. Waits. Licks his lips. "What?"
Karl lifts Chris off of him and sits up, lacing their hands together and looking at him really fucking earnestly. "The sky wouldn't fall down, Chris."
There's a pregnant pause while Chris computes. Then scoffs, sitting up himself. "You can't possibly be serious."
"You can't possibly be implying Zach sent you over here in a misguided attempt to get me to come out, when he's ten times gayer than me and hasn't even done so hims--"
"Zach didn't send me, damn it, and nobody's trying to get you to come out. Stop being so dramatic. I'm here because I love you and I'm bringing this up because you don't seem to realize how much you hurt him every time you say shit like that."
Chris does know this. He just forgets, because sometimes he's a douche. But there's something else here…
He looks at Karl, really looks. "And you?" Karl flinches, just in his eyes, but Chris sees it. "You, too. It hurts you too."
Karl starts to shrug. "I have no right, Chris."
"You sure as hell don't, with your perfect beard and perfect life and perfect action movie career."
It's supposed to hurt Karl, Chris knows, but Karl just looks thoughtful. "I told my agent I'm getting a divorce."
"Why the fuck would you do that?"
"Because I am getting a divorce."
Chris swallows. Wallows. "Amicably?"
"Of course amicably, you idiot. She's a good woman."
"Never said otherwise. Just figured she'd instigated it, gotten tired of being your cover story, I dunno."
Karl makes an exasperated noise. "I'm tired of the cover story, Chris. Don't you get that? Don't you get how I'm here more than I'm there, how I've always been there for your birthdays and your ridiculous American holidays, how I send your mother cards and know what kind of beer your father likes? And you-- You know everything about me, my kids love you…" He mugs a little. "You're a fantastic shag… As am I, for that matter…"
Chris smiles but there's panic in it. Karl's grip on Chris's hand tightens before he continues. "I'm not saying we go on Ellen and announce it. I'm just saying… stop being a pussy. Stop backtracking. Stop being so defensive. Stop going out with vapid women. Stop bringing up tits on every talk show."
All ten of Karl's fingers wrap around Chris's bicep, and Chris stares at the face that's so close to his. "The world will not end, Chris. I promise you."
Chris can't think. "I'm not ready."
"You'll never be ready. It's not something a person can be ready for. But then you do it and it might suck a little but you'll have me and you'll still have your talent."
"I'll still have you?"
Karl takes a deep breath. "For better or worse, Chris." Chris's eyes widen but Karl shoves on. "You'll have me and you'll have Zach and you'll have your family and you'll have your career." He does one of his lopsided half-smiles. Chris can see the hesitance in it, though. "Hot women will still do movies with you."
Chris digests this, and the panic doesn't go away completely but it does recede. He thinks. He cracks a smile. "Hell, hot women will be more inclined to do movies with me."
Karl snorts. "Exactly."
Chris curls his fingers around Karl's fist, which has fallen to his thigh. "Too bad as soon as they spend any amount of time with me, they realize I'm all fucked up over some guy."
Karl smiles for real this time. There are dimples. "That so?"
Chris looks at those dimples, looks at the man behind them, and decides to simply, for the moment, be thankful. He tugs on their hands until Karl's leaning into him. "For better or worse, motherfucker."
His kiss swallows Karl's response.