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Geeks in the Bodies of Gods

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Call me when you're out, the text says. Chris squints at his phone, then shrugs and slings it down onto the dressing room table before going back to the stage.

Four hours later he's wiping the faux-blood off his face and punching in the numbers. "You rang?"

"Yeah, it's about tonight—" There's a shout in the background, and Karl clearly pulls the phone away from his face to shout back: "Hang on a bloody minute!"

Chris is already moving towards the bathroom. "I just need a shower, then I'll be—"

"No, that's it, Chris, I'm really sorry but—We're going to have to skip this week."

Chris stops, frowns. Karl's divorce has been finalized for a while now but he has these moments… Chris has been attempting to stave them off with beer & taco nights, and likes to think he was helping. Might've just been helping himself, though. "You alright, man?"

"Yeah, no, I'm fine, I'm better than fine— An old mate of mine's in town that I haven't seen in a couple years."

"Ah. Which one?"

There's a slight pause. Chris raises an eyebrow despite knowing Karl can't see it. "Just a buddy I game with."

"A buddy you—Oh my god, you're playing Dungeons and Dragons right now, aren't you?"

"I might be."

"I'm so coming over."

"I might not be at home."

Chris is pretty sure he is. "I knew I should've gotten that nanny-device installed on your new phone."

Karl's laugh is loud and full. Chris feels his eyes crinkle in a smile. "Just for that, I think I'll let you come over. Bring something to drink."

"Mountain Dew?"

"Shut up." Karl's voice pulls away from the mouthpiece again. "Coronas?"

Somebody else comes near the phone and answers: "Corona is Mexican for piss."

Chris almost spits out his Vitamin Water at the distinctive timbre. "Holy fucking shit, Karl, was that V—"

"Maybe you shouldn't come over."

"It totally was."

"So what?"

"So I'll be there in twenty."


Okay, it's more like forty-five, but Karl answers the door with a dimple-busting grin on his face and immediately pulls Chris in for a noogie.

"Hey, hey!" Chris protests, relieved to see that smile. "I've got goods here!"

Karl releases him but doesn't apologize. Chris presents him the six of Negra Modelo and a fourth of Cazadores Anejo over which he spent like fifteen minutes deliberating. "I come bearing gifts."

The response comes from a different voice. "I think I like this kid."

Chris looks over for his first moment mano-a-mano with The Legendary Vin Diesel, and has to admit he's impressed. The guy's a brick shithouse even without flattering camera angles.

Plus, it would appear they have the same taste in shirts.

So he shoves the six pack at Karl and sticks out his now-unoccupied hand. "Chris Pine."

Vin comes forward and shakes it. Solidly. "Vin. Nice to meet you. You ever play before?"

"Dungeons & Dragons?"



"Want to try?"

Chris chews on his answer for a second, then shrugs with a small smile. "I'm not feeling particularly inclined, no."

At this, both Karl and Vin laugh.

"That's what Judi said," Vin says by way of explanation, his lips still curved with humor.

Chris shakes his head, confused. "Am I supposed to—"

"Dame Judi. Dench." Karl reaches over and tweaks Chris' ear. "You might've heard of her."

Chris feels his ears get warm, and bats at Karl's hand. "Fuck off, Urban. Did you sucker her into it?"

"She played for a bit, yeah."

Chris is not surprised, really. The combination of Vin and Karl is a tough one to resist, to say the least.

But he came prepared.

He lopes an easy smile at Vin, then pulls a small battered paperback out of his back pocket. "Bet she hadn't brought Sartre, though."

Vin shakes his head at this, but is still smiling. "Nope."

Karl groans, though. "Sartre? Really? You came over here just to be a pretentious hipster?"

"You seem surprised." Chris waggles his eyebrows.

Karl shrugs at Vin apologetically. "He's a wanker, just like I told you." Then suddenly Karl's grabbing the book out of Chris's hand and stuffing it into his own back pocket.

"Hey! What—" Chris follows the hand, plays a little grabass, but Karl's got that stupid grace and hides behind Vin and Chris tries not to fall over both of them.

"You're at least going to watch," he realizes Karl is saying to him as he makes a pass around Vin and fails. "You're going to drink and you're going to watch and you're going to stay for the whole game. I'll even let you sit close to the window so you can smoke." Karl pauses, his hand encircling Chris's wrist, twisting Chris into a wholly awkward position with regards to, oh, everything, and reconsiders. "Unless you have an early call."

Chris is sorely tempted to lie but Karl is too fucking thoughtful and he just can't. Instead he kind of deflates. "I don't."

"Good. Then you're drinking at least half that bottle of overly-expensive tequila, watching our whole game, then crashing in my spare room until morning."

"Your spare room is the kids' room. With kids' beds."

"You're skinny. You'll manage."

Then Vin's chuckle cuts through the air like a fucking knife, and it's all Chris can do to not jump back. Which is weird; he and Karl are always like this but for some reason he's blushing like he's fourteen. And he doesn't have to look to know Karl's doing the same, or at least would be if he wasn't so damn tan. Fucking exotic bastard. Lickable, loveable, geeky exotic bastard.

…then he realizes Vin's looking at them both, and Chris has a dread thought that the big man might be on to his taste in bastards. He's heard rumors of Vin's… proclivities, of course, but it's Hollywood and even if Vin did sleep with his buddy Micah's twink cousin once doesn't mean the guy's a raging poofter with the gaydar to match.

Half-gay-dar. Gay-mostly-just-for-Karl-dar. You know. Whatever.

He readies himself for-- well he's not sure for what, just for something, but all Vin does is grunt a little and incline his head towards the back room. "Let's get back to it."

Chris blinks after him, then shakes his head, heading after Karl.

Then Karl stops short, and Chris hears him swear under his breath. "What's up?" Chris asks quietly.

"Erm…" Karl turns enough to mutter over his shoulder: "Brace yourself."

"Oh my god," a new voice calls out, stunned flat.

"Oh," Chris says to himself as he takes in a skinny white guy with an obviously star-struck expression.

"This is just uncalled for." Okay, maybe the flatness wasn't from being stunned.

"Now, Sheldon," Karl starts, but he doesn't get very far.

"No. No! I show up to DM a perfectly normal game of Dungeons and Dragons only to realize the person with whom I'd been planning the session online for weeks has been none other than the person behind Riddick, and I don't embarrass myself. Arguably because it was a low-quality screenplay despite an above average anti-hero and an extra-large budget, but still, I prevail. Then he adds in--" He waves an arm distractedly at Karl. "Well, where should I even start? McCoy, Eomer, John Grimm, Judge Dredd-- and yet I managed. I'm fine. I don't ask you about Eomer not being present for the entire battle at Helm’s Deep, or about the numerous plot holes in Doom. I am perfectly acceptable. But now. Now you allow in the second--or perhaps first, depending on which chronology we're using--Captain Kirk, whose incarnation of the character should not have swayed me but somehow inexplicably did, and expect me to be able to form coherent and socially normative sentences, and in addition decent battle scenarios and character interactions? That's just--dare I say it?--ludicrous!"

Chris's mouth is, admittedly, hanging a little open.

"Okay, Sheldon," Vin says slowly. "Breathe."

"I am breathing!" Sheldon snaps. "Otherwise I would not be able to form audible words and sentences."

"Well, fine, then. Sit."

Sheldon glares at him. Then does so. "It's merely my wish to continue the game that requires I do so. But don't expect me to be a hundred percent in character right away. I'll need at least fifteen minutes."

"Pretty quick recovery time, for most guys," Chris can't help but quip, and oh god the decidedly evil look he gets. The guy weighs 150 pounds soaking wet and Chris is, at that moment, scared of him.

Karl swears under his breath again, then grabs Chris's wrist and hauls him over to the big squashy chair right under the window. "Here you go, princess. Be the good little D&D girlfriend and don't piss off the DM."

Chris tries to ignore the tingle. He's kind of a jerk, but at least he knows it. "What's a DM?"

Sheldon's voice comes from behind him. "And you didn't even teach him the basics so he'd refrain from asking inane questions? I really think the quality of this game is deteriorating rapidly."

"Which means we all need some more brandy," Vin says, surprisingly lightheartedly.

Chris raises an eyebrow at Karl. "Brandy?"

Karl rolls his eyes, reaches into his back pocket, and thwaps Chris upside the head with philosophy, literally, before throwing the book down on him and wandering back towards the gaming table. "We're not sixteen," he says as he pours dark liquid into a hefty snifter in front of Sheldon. "Notice how we're not in a basement."

Yeah, but that's probably, Chris thinks to himself, just because Karl lives in an apartment, so there isn't one. But he doesn't say so out loud. "Dude, I brought tequila, remember?"

"Oh shit, yeah," Vin chimes in, sounding far too delighted for a guy that could benchpress a Mini Cooper. He stands. "Let me get some more glasses."

"There're probably limes in there somewhere," Karl calls out to him.

Chris pulls himself up from the chair. "I'll show him."

Karl hesitates for a moment, then shrugs. "Sure. Have at."

Chris finds Vin about to cut limes, having gotten out the cutting board and everything. "All right, guess you don't need my help finding anything."

Vin just slices for a moment. "I've… been here before," he finally says. And the tone of his voice leaves the choice of words with only one of two meanings: either Vin's fucked Karl, or Vin moonlights in house-sitting.

Chris blinks.

Well, that was unexpected.

The sour feeling in his gut that follows this revelation is not a surprise, though.

He reaches for the open tequila bottle. "Mind if I start?" He feels Vin glancing up at him, knows the fucker sees too much, but doesn't care. He takes a hefty swig, trying not to wince, then reaches for a lime wedge. "Jesus," he mutters.

Vin's trying not to chuckle, now.

Chris takes another swallow, still straight from the bottle, just because he can. Then he pops the top off of a beer, salutes Vin with it, and takes his leave.

Karl looks at him when he comes back in, then spreads his hands out in a 'what gives?' gesture. "Where's my shot?"

Chris jerks his head back towards the kitchen. "Back there. With Vin."

Karl eyes him. "He find everything okay?"

Chris wants to punch him in the neck. This subtext shit gets real old real quick. He drops into his chair by the window, fumbling for his lighter. "Yeah, yeah he did."

He pulls out his pack as Vin wanders back in, hands full. The cigarette he extracts feels smooth against his fingers.

"Alright, Urban," Vin says with a grin as he sets down glasses and limes and salt shaker and bottle. "Every time you pick the wrong door in this maze, you are taking a shot."

Karl picks up the bottle and starts pouring. "I'll accept those terms, wanker."

And they clink glasses, and Vin just tosses it back, but Karl, fucking God damn Karl, licks his damn wrist, sprinkles on some salt, flashes a grin at Chris, then licks his wrist again and tosses back the liquor like he's getting paid for it.

The lime is bright green between his teeth, between those ridiculous, liquor-shined lips.

Chris isn't even sure Sartre can get him through this kind of torture.


"No, no, you cannot just cast that right there," Sheldon says loudly. Loudly enough that Chris hears it through his alcohol and angst. "There's an Antimagic Field there. You're not allowed."

Chris watches Vin and Karl exchange a look through the cigar and cigarette haze that clings tenaciously to the room despite having every window open and the AC on. Karl looks like he's trying not to laugh, and Chris would feel insulted for Sheldon but he knows Karl, and Karl's got about one mean bone in his body and it certainly doesn't get aimed at fellow geeks. Just, really deserving shit, like third world dictators and arrogant Hollywood actors. And only in private.

Because he's Karl.

And Chris can't help it. At the end of the day, no matter that Chris is gritting his teeth and settling for whatever he can get--Karl makes him smile.

And most days, that's enough.


It's nearing 2am when Chris groans and heaves himself out of this chair. "Anybody need anything from the kitchen?" he asks the room.

He drops a hand on Karl's shoulder as he passes. Karl looks up at him, his face flushed and his eyes sparkling. "I'll come with," he says.

And they go. Neither of them realizing their shoulders are brushing the whole time.

Vin watches them, and smiles.


"Man," Chris says as he pulls open the fridge. "You geeks really do know how to burn the midnight oil." He's standing there, staring at the ice box's contents like the meaning of life is in there. Karl feels a little bad for him, and wants to laugh at him at the same time.

"Hey, we know how to party," Karl shoots back. "We just don't require limos and scantily clad-women to do it."

Chris doesn't stand up from where he's leaned into the fridge, but he does raise his head. "Yeah, right, because girls in comic books and roleplaying games are always so chaste."

Karl laughs. "Fair point." He leans back against the counter, happy and hazy and more than content to watch Chris root around in the fridge. He's on the trim side right now, Chris is, for some role, and the line up his thigh to his backside to his shoulders is clean and visible.

He's drawn out of his consideration of, well, Chris's arse when he realizes Chris is talking about actual things. Namely, it seems, Vin Diesel. "…and how is it that he's just as epic in real life? You, you're secretly a fluffy fucking teddy bear but that guy's like—like a granite statue." Chris pauses in his rummaging to contemplate this. "A surprisingly eloquent and kind granite statue, but a granite statue nonetheless."

Karl only hears the middle part. "Teddy bear?" He steps closer to the boy and the fridge. He's not sure what the hell he's doing, but the game and the cigars and the liquor have lulled him into feeling safe and warm and happy and anyways, isn't that always how it is with Chris? Not knowing what the hell he's doing? The kid is well-read and white bread and so Californian it makes his teeth hurt.

Yet -- safe. Comfortable. Chris.

"Well, yeah."

And Chris straightens to find Karl way closer than he'd been a moment ago. The space between them is like molasses. Molasses on fire.

"Find what you need?" Karl asks. His voice is rough, and he can't quite get enough air.

"Yeah…" Chris holds up the limes. Karl moves to take them but finds he can't get further than wrapping his hand around Chris's wrist.

"Hey, guys, we're ready to--Oh." Vin's distinctive tones send a shock down Karl's spine, and he drops his hand. Chris scoots out of the range of the fridge and shuts the door a little more roughly than necessary. "Sorry," Vin adds, finally.

But he's not sorry at all, Karl can tell. He feels his forehead crinkle. "It's no big deal," he says, trying to shrug. He hears a noise from Chris and Vin's eyes move between them. The silence stretches.

"Chris," Karl finally says, and damn it, his voice is still rough. "Give us a minute?" Chris's mouth twists, and Karl knows he's said the wrong thing. But he'll be damned if he knows what the right thing would be. "Just… a minute. All right?"

Chris finally shrugs. "Whatever."

Karl helplessly watches him go, then rounds on Vin. "You got something to say, Diesel?"

But Vin is being all stoic, like normal. He's clearly mulling over his words, and it's a long, long moment before he talks. "Pretty boy, that one."

Karl pauses. Shifts his weight. "You should see him first thing in the morning," he finally says lightly.

Vin's response to that is to regard him silently. Again.

Karl shifts against the counter. Fuck. "Don't give me that look."

Vin lifts one shoulder. "He, uh…" Rubs his chin briefly. "He looks a lot like Paul."

Karl stops shifting. This is something Vin's never talked about, in all their time together over the years. "He does, I guess," he finally says. Then he shrugs. "So?"

"So," Vin draws out, "you should trust a guy when he says this." He looks Karl straight in the eye. "Don't fuck it up, Urban. Life gets away from you, and then you got nothing."

Karl feels his stomach do a flop he doesn't understand. "I've got nothing now, Vin."

Vin shakes his head, looking incredibly disappointed. "If you think that, then you are a bigger fool than I ever thought."

"Wha--" Karl's stomach does more than flop, at that, but Vin is gone. Vin is gone and Karl is left sanding there, in his own kitchen, thinking about tequila, white teeth, the long lean curve of Chris's back side…

And how Chris always answers when Karl phones, if it's humanly possible. And how Karl always phones. Because when he can't talk to his kids, nothing helps him sleep like Chris's voice, even if it's just his voicemail message. And how Chris never mocks him for it.

And how Karl has all of Chris's favorite shows DVR'd out of habit, even when it's pretentious shit he himself hates. And how Karl's favorite CD has a permanent spot in Chris's car.

And how Chris always saves a night for him every other week, no matter what else is going on his life and even if it's just for a meaningless phone conversation. And brings him the stupid tacos from that truck Karl likes, even though God knows what the health grade is and Chris is allergic to halibut so he always breaks out into a little rash just from having them in his hands.

…his hands, which Karl loves to watch gesticulate meaninglessly through cigarette smoke, illuminating nothing but Chris's enthusiasm for his subject matter.

And how he's catalogued all the variations of Chris's inability to stop licking his lips, from nerves to thirst to happiness.

Chris's lips.


Karl stands there for one more moment, gathering himself. Then he takes a swig straight from the brandy bottle they'd abandoned in the kitchen after the arrival of Chris's tequila, and walks back into the den.


"…no, you may not see behind the DM screen!" Sheldon's glaring at Chris like he's protecting state secrets and Chris has to work so hard not to laugh. It's late--early?--and he's had a lot of nicotine and alcohol and he's punchy, okay, and this guy is for real.

"Why not?" Chris asks. "It's not like I'm playing." There, he'll try logic. That should--

"No, but your boyfriend is!"

Chris blinks, and Sheldon waves a hand at the door to the kitchen, through which Karl has just reappeared.

The aforementioned nicotine and alcohol start to roil in Chris's belly. "Oh, dude, he's not my--" He flails a hand in one of his useless gestures. "Karl and I aren't--"

But stops when he sees Karl's face. Karl who's coming towards him right now. With this face. Determined and scared and a little bit pissed off, and Chris's brain is entirely not online--

"Like hell we're not," Karl says mid-stride, his voice rough. Then his hand is strong on the back of Chris's neck, and he swoops in and kisses Chris. Full on. On the mouth.

Chris manages not to fall over. But it's a close thing. Then his baser instincts kick in, thank God, and he wraps himself around Karl like an octopus.

A throat clears from somewhere in the room, followed by the rumble of Vin's voice. Bastard sounds smug. "That's our cue, Cooper."

"But we haven't even--"


Karl huffs a laugh into Chris’s mouth, then pulls away. Chris tries to follow, making a smacking noise with his lips, which gets another chuckle. As was his intent, so he pulls back and feels Karl’s hand stay warm on his neck as Karl turns to his other guests. “Sorry, guys. Rain check?”

“It’s not raining,” Sheldon says flatly.

“It’s rainin men,” Chris cannot not say. And it’s possibly the gayest thing he’s ever said, but fuck it. It makes Karl full-on guffaw and cuff him lightly in the head. Vin even chuckles. He considers it a win all around.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like we were going to finish tonight, right?” Vin offers.

“Exactly,” Karl says at the same time Chris says incredulously, “Really?”

Sheldon lets out a noise. “Seriously, Karl, next time he’d better have read up on—“

“Let’s go.” Vin actually grabs Sheldon by the scruff of the neck and hauls him towards the door.

Sheldon flails. “Maybe they make a D & D for Dummies—“

Chris laughs out loud, but Karl’s looking like he’s actually considering the idea. He smacks him on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”

“You do have a birthday coming up.”

“Goodnight, guys,” Vin says. He’s gotten Sheldon out the door and is halfway through it himself, but he’s turned back, his eyes twinkling. “Glad I could be of some help. Try and get a little sleep, yeah?”

Then he’s gone.

“Help?” Chris asks immediately, stuck. “How did he help? I’m the one that brought the teq--”

Karl kisses again before he can finish the sentence. “This didn’t happen because of tequila,” he murmurs. His hands pulls Chris closer even as he pulls his head back and trails kisses along Chris’s jawline. The scratch of stubble on stubble makes Chris a little crazy, and he nearly misses Karl’s next statement. “This didn’t even happen today.”

But when he does hear it, he freezes. “What…” He grips Karl’s arms and steps back. “You’re saying—“

“Oh, God, no, I’m not—“ Karl kisses the corner of his mouth, his eyelid, his nose. “I’m saying I’ve probably wanted you for a long time. I just…” He kisses Chris properly, his tongue opening up Chris’s lips gently to touch his own. “I didn’t know.”

Chris kisses him back, tangling their tongues together. He tugs at Karl’s shirt. “Then what happened, if not the tequila?”

Karl exhales loudly when Chris’s hands smooth up his stomach under the fabric. “Vin happened. Come on, we are not doing this on the hall floor.” He plants one more kiss on Chris, then extracts Chris’s hands from under his shirt, tugging him by them towards the bedroom.

“Did he say something to you?” Chris asks along the way. Not that he objects, he’s just curious as fuck.

“Yes, he said if I didn’t shag you he’d call dibs,” Karl says, sounding amused but exasperated. Or maybe just horny.

“He what? You’re fucking with me, right?”

Karl turns to him, a twinkle in his eye, then bodily shoves him into the room and onto the bed. Chris very nearly bounces, and laughs hard as Karl very nearly bounces down on top of him. Then Karl kisses him until he’s too breathless to laugh.

“He reminded me that life is short,” Karl says finally, “and I should stop being a blind lughead and look at what I have right in front of me.” He’s on his knees between Chris’s spread thighs, his hands fisted on either side of Chris’s head, and he leans down until Chris can feel Karl’s breath on his skin. “And what’s in front of me is pretty amazing, I must say,” Karl says softly.

Chris can’t handle it all at once. Diversion necessary. “I’m awesome as fuck, is what you mean,” he says blithely, reaching for Karl’s pants.

Karl’s breath puffs against his temple. “Yeah, something like that. Let’s—“ And apparently the diversion worked because Karl’s intent on divesting Chris of all his clothes, as Chris scrabbles at Karl’s. Karl even goes so far as to kiss at the areas he’s exposing, until they’re both naked and Chris is a wreck. As Karl settles on top of him, they both groan, and Chris reaches for his lips, grabs Karl’s face in his hands, can’t remember what he was diversioning from.

Karl hesitates before making his next move, and Chris takes a deep breath, knowing this is the part where there’s a conversation that’s necessary. Homo-gay sex can be so complicated, all the tabs and all these slots. Complicated and awesome.

He clears his throat and looks up at Karl. “I don’t usually put out on the first date, you know.”

Karl actually blushes, which warms Chris to his damn toes. He brings his legs up to surround Karl’s torso.

“But since this is really, like, our fifteenth hundredth date…” He raises an eyebrow at Karl. “I’m betting the stuff’s in the nightstand.”

Karl’s eyes get comically wide, then narrow as he leans down to press his lips against Chris’s, press Chris’s lips open, explore his mouth with a firm passion that makes Chris hump up against him. “For real, Urban,” he finally mutters. “Any time…” He lets his knees fall open.

“Yeah, yeah…” Karl grumbles, reaching over as best he can to paw at the nightstand. Chris occupies himself by kissing what he can reach, shoulder, arm, ribcage. The last one must tickle because Karl shouts out a laugh and curls back into Chris, the condom and lube landing somewhere near Chris’s head.

Chris chuckles into Karl’s hair. “Sorry.”

Karl unfolds and looks at Chris with an Eyebrow. “No, you’re not.”

Chris grins. “Okay, I’m not.”

“Cheeky little shit.” Karl’s retaliation is to kiss the snot out of Chris, to the point of distraction. Chris’s fingers tangle in his hair and his thighs find their way around Karl once more.

Karl shifts back, lube in hand, pressing Chris’s legs apart. Chris goes willingly, raising a knee and putting one hand up behind his head so he can watch. Karl warms up a generous amount of slick between his palms, then wraps a hand around Chris’s cock, pumping a few times, almost lazily. Chris pushes up into the touch, and Karl smiles at him. “Just getting started, hold your horses.”

Chris reaches down with his other hand, circles Karl’s fingers with his own, and tightens their grip. “Fifteen hundredth date, Karl.”

Karl tries not to smile wider, Chris can tell. “Well, most people like some foreplay,” he says matter-of-factly, while bringing a finger to drag down behind Chris’s balls to his hole. The lube is cool on his skin, but Chris doesn’t care, he just wants to get on with it.

“I’d say four years is enough foreplay,” he says, and Karl’s slightly surprised eyes search his for a moment before Chris feels the push of the first finger. It’s good; a little weird after all this time but the nerves remember what to do, and Karl’s other hand is still keeping Chris’s cock happy and interested. “S’good,” he says. “More.”

Karl, breathing hard, nods, and obeys for once. The second finger stretches, the third finger burns, but then one of them bumps into Chris’s prostate and he lets out a groan. “Fuck, yeah. Really fucking good.”

Karl drops his forehead onto Chris’s ribcage. “Fuck, Chris,” he says, looking up. His eyes are huge and dark and there’s sweat on his brow.

“I know,” Chris says, carding his fingers through Karl’s hair. He grins. “Let’s do this.”

Karl’s fingers retreat and leave a strange coldness behind, but Karl shifts around, makes short work of the condom, and soon Chris feels the warmth of his cock instead, hovering at Chris’s rim like Karl is asking for permission.

Then Chris meets Karl’s eyes, and realizes Karl is asking for permission, albeit silently. Chris wraps his arms around Karl’s shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss. “What you waitin’ on, Urban?”

Karl looks at his mouth, looks at his eyes, then nods once. Then he enters Chris slowly, carefully, a little painfully. When he’s fully seated, he pauses and meets Chris’s gaze.

And something shifts. It’s them, like they’ve always been, but new. New and stretched tight, fitting right for the first time.

A whole new ballgame.

“Hello, there,” Karl says softly. He’s starting to move, slowly, getting them used to each other. His eyes shine, and Chris is sure his own are doing the same.

“What took you so long?” Chris says roughly, helping Karl set the rhythm with small movements of his abs.

“So long?” Karl answers, breathless. “How long…” But he trails off into a curse as Chris tips his hips up just so. Karl instinctively changes his thrusts, going deeper and retreating further.

Chris laps at Karl’s mouth, which opens immediately for him to whisper into it. “I’ve loved you for years.”

Karl stutters, his breath coming in uneven gasps, his hips slowing. “Years?” he asks, wonder in his voice.

Chris almost blushes. He’s pretty sure he blushes, actually, which is ridiculous considering the situation but whatever. “Don’t get all emo about it. You had other things on your mind.”

Karl looks a tad chagrined. “Well, yeah, but—“

Chris kisses him to shut him up. “No buts. We’re here, now, and that’s what matters, right?” And he arches up into Karl purposefully, rolling his hips until Karl groans and reciprocates.

“Right,” Karl says roughly. “Right.” He drops a kiss on Chris’s mouth, then stays there as he starts fucking him in earnest. They share humid air through fevered moments, sweat pooling and dripping. Chris licks away what he can, his fingers tight on the skin of Karl’s back, and holds on for the ride.

It’s a mighty fine ride, Karl hitting his prostate nearly every time, but still Chris is surprised when his orgasm hits. “Oh shit, Karl, I’m—“

Karl bites at Chris’s bottom lip, then raises his head and watches. “By all means,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Come.”

And Chris does. He’s seized by it, thrown by it. The good news is that Karl is, too; he drops his forehead to Chris’s, breathes “fucking gorgeous” into his skin, and then is shaking with his own orgasm.

Chris clutches him tighter, as tightly as he can, as they both ride through it. Then they just breathe on each other for a couple minutes, until Chris relaxes his grip and Karl rolls a little to the side. “I vote,” Chris says after a while, “that since it’s your house, you get to go get the washcloth.”

Karl laughs tiredly and pinches Chris in the side. “Give me a minute. I’m not as young and spry as you might think.”

“Oh, so they hire you for all those actions movies why, again?”

“Casting couch,” Karl says blithely.

Chris’s mouth drops open. “Karl-Heinz Urban, you dirty whore!”

Karl laughs and rolls away and gets up off the bed. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like Quinto.”

“No, Zach would, like, congratulate you or something.”

“Are you saying Zach’s a dirty whore?” Karl says over his shoulder as he disappears into the bathroom.

“Aspiring,” Chris retorts, his eyes falling shut. He hears water running, then hears Karl’s soft footfalls on the carpet.

“I’ll tell him you said so.” Karl’s breath is warm on his ear and Chris immediately rolls towards the source, not opening his eyes. Karl takes advantage of this pliancy and wipes Chris’s stomach and ass gently but thoroughly. Then Chris hears a damp thump of the cloth hitting bathroom floor, and pulls Karl into him. Their legs tangle comfortably. Karl’s breath is warm on his temple.

“Hey,” he manages before succumbing to the pull of sleep, “remind me in the morning.”

“It is morning,” Karl says, swallowing in that sleepy way people have.

“The real morning.”

“To what?”

Chris smiles into Karl’s neck. “To send Vin Diesel a fruitbasket.”