Fic: Like This, Chris/ Steve
Jul. 17th, 2008 06:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
under_hatchesTitle: Like This
Pairing: Chris/ Steve
Rating/ Warnings: PG-13
Words: 617
They hardly ever got drunk like this: tumbling and laughing and reaching out for each other. They mostly did one or two out of the three and they occasionally touched but more in a hey there goes my balance kind of way and never like this. Steve had stopped counting the drinks an hour ago (as well as the touches, though he tried to keep track), after Chris had ordered a bottle and had just kept refilling, sometimes just topping their glasses and how are you supposed to count that anyway? And Steve caught himself noticing details, getting fucking lost in them, Chris’ hands, the way he curled his fingers around the neck of the bottle, his quick smile at something Steve had said. The way Steve’s skin would burn when Chris touched him, mostly while talking, to get a point across Steve couldn’t care less about because his skin burned and there was Chris, leaning in. When the bottle was almost empty, maybe two more shots, Steve had almost asked, but somehow it was a given that they would leave together. So they talked about this gig, about the next gig that maybe should have a set list of songs, you know, just in case, and Steve even mentioned this guitar he wanted but Chris waved him off, refilling their glasses for the last time and toasting him.
They kept touching on their way home, desperate and eager at the same time and Steve couldn’t help but think that this was new, that Chris never had been like this, not with him, swaying between gentle and maybe even needy, purring without sound. And they normally did not do this. They walked next to each other, mostly silent, and they could have been holding hands for all that Steve knew, they probably didn’t but it sure felt that way.
In Steve’s bedroom they undressed quickly, purposefully, and looked at each other’s bodies, already reaching out. They did not bother with anything, left their clothes discarded and climbed into bed, and the room spun around Steve while he tried to keep up with what was happening, to wake up the morning after with more than a couple of drunken snapshot memories, his hands on Chris’ chest, him straddling Chris, the moans, the shifts, the dirty words both mumbled. Next thing he knew he was waking up, room still spinning, and how many drinks did he have? Steve lay against Chris’s shoulder, and Chris had the other arm across Steve’s waist and boy, he was going to give Steve shit for even thinking that that counted as cuddling. Steve smiled and tried to remember as much as possible, he had this vague feeling that he said things to Chris that would make him blush the best of times, and there was a faint memory of him actually biting Chris, but no obvious mark to proof it. He didn’t really check and it was not like Steve could have asked, oh hey, by the way, how’s your wrist, I think I bit you during the wild sex we had last night. He curled around Chris, closing his eyes again and wanting to fall back asleep like this.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, and that wasn’t a lie, he was all right, he just hoped that it wouldn’t be awkward once they were awake and maybe sober.
“Good. Go back to sleep.”
And like this, he knew that it wouldn’t be awkward, because they simply didn’t do awkward. They might not do this again, or maybe they would, the gentleness new but maybe staying, and that was enough for Steve to close his eyes again and drift off.
Pairing: Chris/ Steve
Rating/ Warnings: PG-13
Words: 617
They hardly ever got drunk like this: tumbling and laughing and reaching out for each other. They mostly did one or two out of the three and they occasionally touched but more in a hey there goes my balance kind of way and never like this. Steve had stopped counting the drinks an hour ago (as well as the touches, though he tried to keep track), after Chris had ordered a bottle and had just kept refilling, sometimes just topping their glasses and how are you supposed to count that anyway? And Steve caught himself noticing details, getting fucking lost in them, Chris’ hands, the way he curled his fingers around the neck of the bottle, his quick smile at something Steve had said. The way Steve’s skin would burn when Chris touched him, mostly while talking, to get a point across Steve couldn’t care less about because his skin burned and there was Chris, leaning in. When the bottle was almost empty, maybe two more shots, Steve had almost asked, but somehow it was a given that they would leave together. So they talked about this gig, about the next gig that maybe should have a set list of songs, you know, just in case, and Steve even mentioned this guitar he wanted but Chris waved him off, refilling their glasses for the last time and toasting him.
They kept touching on their way home, desperate and eager at the same time and Steve couldn’t help but think that this was new, that Chris never had been like this, not with him, swaying between gentle and maybe even needy, purring without sound. And they normally did not do this. They walked next to each other, mostly silent, and they could have been holding hands for all that Steve knew, they probably didn’t but it sure felt that way.
In Steve’s bedroom they undressed quickly, purposefully, and looked at each other’s bodies, already reaching out. They did not bother with anything, left their clothes discarded and climbed into bed, and the room spun around Steve while he tried to keep up with what was happening, to wake up the morning after with more than a couple of drunken snapshot memories, his hands on Chris’ chest, him straddling Chris, the moans, the shifts, the dirty words both mumbled. Next thing he knew he was waking up, room still spinning, and how many drinks did he have? Steve lay against Chris’s shoulder, and Chris had the other arm across Steve’s waist and boy, he was going to give Steve shit for even thinking that that counted as cuddling. Steve smiled and tried to remember as much as possible, he had this vague feeling that he said things to Chris that would make him blush the best of times, and there was a faint memory of him actually biting Chris, but no obvious mark to proof it. He didn’t really check and it was not like Steve could have asked, oh hey, by the way, how’s your wrist, I think I bit you during the wild sex we had last night. He curled around Chris, closing his eyes again and wanting to fall back asleep like this.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, and that wasn’t a lie, he was all right, he just hoped that it wouldn’t be awkward once they were awake and maybe sober.
“Good. Go back to sleep.”
And like this, he knew that it wouldn’t be awkward, because they simply didn’t do awkward. They might not do this again, or maybe they would, the gentleness new but maybe staying, and that was enough for Steve to close his eyes again and drift off.
