skeleton of a story.
title: Tabloid Love Letters
rating: NC-17
fandom: Star Trek RPS
pairing: Chris/Zach
word count: 1319
summary: Chris states the inevitable too early, and Zach runs and runs and runs and looks back just for the camera to catch his face. When there are no words, there are walking photos.

Chris cranes his neck back, heavy head hitting the hotel headboard hard. He sighs, closing his eyes, but the image of Zach sucking his cock doesn’t leave his mind. Can’t, with the force Zach is kneading his balls, licking the tip before going down the rest of the way. "I -," he gasps, breathless. "I - oh God," Chris can barely hear his own voice over, until –

He pauses. Opens his eyes. Something feels off, itching at his mind and crotch –

It’s the goddamn beard.

“Fuck, Zach,” Chris moans, “Why’d you have to grow a beard for.”

Zach rolls his eyes, and sucks harder. When Chris comes, he thinks he says “I love you” and then he thinks that is so weird, and forgets about it.

-------------------

“Tell me,” Chris says slowly because some things just need to be said out loud. “Why did you request me? To JJ. For Kirk.”

“I – Spock likes you.” Zach’s eyes flits toward the doorknob. “I took one look at the script and saw your face. You’re Kirk as much as Kirk is you.”

“And you? Are you Spock?”

“No,” Zach is firm. “No, I’m not Spock. I’m an actor.” But I still like you.

Chris waits, but Zach doesn’t say it. Not here. Not now. Right now all he wants to do is deal with everything one step at a time. Compartmentize his feelings. Here is what he feels for Chris, here is the media, here is work. Separately, he can deal with everything.

------------------

Chris takes his hand, puts it up against Zach’s rough cheek. Zach shrugs his shoulders inquiring, and Chris blanks out, before taking a second to respond. “It’s so ugly.”

“Then why are you touching it?” Zach bristles, pushing Chris’ hand away.

“You’re so weird. Just so weird,” Chris opens his mouth and can’t stop. “I mean, that hat, those knitted sweaters my own father won’t even wear. The beard. And – those glasses. You look like some glorified hobo.”

“Fuck you, Pine.”

“Aww come on!” Chris shouts to a slamming door.

-------------------

“Fuck, Zach,” Chris breathes, “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know why you’re making this out to be a huge big deal, anyway.”

Zach presses 7, to delete, because whenever he hears Chris’ voice all he can think of is that night and I love you.

-------------------

“Chris has been doing a lot of leveling up these days,” Zach replies, “You know, learning four-syllable words and dating Hills stars and taking acting classes.”

“But, didn’t you say you haven’t seen him in the last two weeks, Mr. Quinto?” the interviewer stares.

“Yes. Like I said, he’s been preoccupied. So, you understand that I haven’t exactly been able to discern his thoughts on the upcoming sequel.”

“Then how do you know – ”

“Tabloids.”

“Oh.”

They scratch the interview.

-------------------

He’s driving, so Zach pushes the green button without checking caller ID.

“It’s me.” Chris’ voice is breathless on the other line.

“Fuck.” His fingers hover over End Call. But he doesn’t.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you’re ignoring me as an excuse to escape from your own insecurities.”

“Did you talk to your shrink?” Zach mocks, but it’s a surprisingly accurate assessment.

“No. You’re a fucking coward, Quinto.”

“Fuck,” Zach slams on the brakes. His tires squeal.

“What? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Paparazzi caught me.”

“In the middle of the fucking road?!”

“Fuck.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you online in a few hours,” Chris sighs.

Zach destroys End Call, before forcing a smile and showing his better half.

He can’t find it.

His publicist emails him the pictures later, and he’s nothing but scowls.

-------------------

“Are you okay?” Chris flicks a finger towards the interviewer.

“S-Sorry. Kind of nervous… I fucked up my last interview, so this is kind of my last chance. You know, with the dying media industry and all, can’t afford to waste a single interview.”

Chris whistles low. “Who?”

“I’m not sure I could disclose this information.”

“Aww, come on. I promise I’ll be extra nice,” Chris flashes his best.

“All right. Well, you know him,” she lowers her voice. “Zachary Quinto. Actually, it was a perfectly typical interview until I asked a question about you.”

“Zach can get difficult,” Chris nods, frowning. The interview starts and concludes in fifteen minutes, all light and perfect and Vanity Fair material.

-------------------

“Did you see the last picture? The one of me at “Farragut North”. It was pretty good, by the way. The play. Although I’m pretty good too, if you’re wondering. But I could just prove it to you, if you’re up for a demonstration,” Chris chuckles and the recording fizzes. “They didn’t use your Vanity Fair interview, by the way. Just thought I’d call.”

Zach skates his fingers over seven, to delete. He doesn’t press down.

He’s seen the pictures, the one with Chris and the scraggly beard, gray cardigan, tight jeans. He’s even seen Chris with his own pair of black-rimmed glasses. It doesn’t suit him.

Zach walks to the bathroom, finds his razor, and shaves his beard off. He puts on his hat, and heads out to meet with Roberto Orci to discuss the sequel. When the paparazzi hound them out, he slings Roberto close with an arm and smiles for Chris.

-------------------

“Oh, Zach was growing one, so I thought I might as well,” Chris laughs in an interview, “Plus, everyone knows that growing a beard adds on like a thousand points in manliness.”

“Oh, you’ll be the last one I’d think would need more manliness,” the interviewer flirts, but Zach’s tired and in his dreams Chris’ voice is distorted from an answering machine, and he’s saying, “You’re scared. You’re scared and you know better than anyone that growing a beard is a sure sign of denying your sexuality. See, I thought it was my fault, at first, I thought you were ashamed of me, but who you’re really ashamed of is yourself. You and your insecurities. Growing a beard won’t help you grow balls.”

Zach nicks his chin shaving the next day. He leaves Chris a voice message, but can’t get past breathing.

-------------------

Zach opens the door cradling several bottles of water.

“Hey,” Chris says, and Zach doesn’t recognize the voice, at first, clear and sweet and real, but he tilts his head up and opens his mouth, forgets everything.

Chris bends down and picks up a bottle of water. “Can I have this? I ran out; forgot we couldn’t drink tap in Mexico.”

“Yeah, sure.” Zach closes the door as Chris opens a bottle. “What are you doing here?”

“What, you think you’re the only person Roberto called?”

“I’d have assumed you were preoccupied.”

“Naww,” Chris grins. “I’m always up for a trip to see you.”

Zach pulls his head away, flushing. “Sorry,” he drags out.

“For what?”

“For, for the – ”

“ – Runaway Bride you pulled?” Chris grins. “Don’t worry about it. I kept up with you okay.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, tabloids are great for stalking people.” He fiddles his fingers. “So uh. I guess I moved a little too fast.”

“Uh.”

“Yeah, you’re kind of jumpy. So we’ll take it slow, now, okay? No more running. Or – whatever. Like tonight. Just dinner.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s okay,” Zach hears himself say, “What are you up for tonight?”

“I was thinking Mexican… do they make California burritos down here?”

“Are you kidding me?” Zach grins, “You want Americanized Mexican food in Mexico City?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. I’m hungry, I’m not picky. We could just get room service.” Chris takes off his jacket to settle down in the armchair, and for a second Zach wishes this was a movie, because then he could rewind this moment over and over again, but instead he moves forward and sits on the bed, hands in his pockets and thinks all of this is just fine.