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withthepilotTitle: Dance in the Dark (aka John's a Free Bitch or the Lady GaGa Chronicles II) (2/2)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Zach, established Chris/Karl
Word count: ~13K
Notes: See Part 1 for full author notes.
Summary: When John has to start over, comfort comes along in an unexpected package—a package with really nice eyebrows.
Click here for Part 1.
It's the same club where Chris and Karl got together. The same fucking club.
John sits in the back of a taxi and stares at the entrance for a full minute before the driver tells him, in no uncertain terms, to get the hell out of his cab. And he does, but he isn't happy about it. He tells himself that if Chris and Karl start groping each other on the dance floor out of nostalgia, that he's totally out of there. When they're already groping as John walks into the club, he realizes he may have to amend that plan if he actually wants to see the entire cast.
"Oh, hey, John," Chris says, still practically mid-kiss with his boyfriend. Karl's hand immediately moves away from its perch on Chris' ass and he has the decency to appear slightly embarrassed as they all exchange hugs and back pats.
"You two are fucking lucky this is a private party," John says, smirking. "And we're all used to your spit-swapping and disappearing hands."
"Hey, we inspire each other." Chris shrugs and glances up at Karl, who gives him a look that outwardly reads as mild annoyance but which John knows is all fondness and affection. He tries to ignore the answering pang of jealousy in his gut and offers a requisite smile.
"I'm gonna go mingle," he says. He feels their joint stare as he walks away.
John's only been back in L.A. for a week, so it's been ages since he's seen all his old friends. Luckily, everyone's kind enough to avoid the obvious, heart wrenching questions, merely asking if he's doing well and leaving it at that. Simon buys him a beer and a shot with a sympathetic smile but says nothing otherwise. John knew he always liked Simon. He doesn't see Zoe until they bump shoulders, just as she emerges from the restroom.
"Sorry, I didn't—hey, Zoe!"
"John!" She grins at him, sunny and bright, and flings her arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. "God, it's been ages!"
"That's just because you never return my calls." He kisses her in return, breathing in her perfume, which smells perfectly Zoe—not overpowering or cloying at all. "It's all the crying in my messages, isn't it? You can tell me."
"Hush, you know I adore you." She wags a finger at him. "Though I'm pissed you became single when I'm not single, too. That's just not fair."
John scoffs. "Like I could compete with that dreamy boyfriend of yours."
"He is pretty dreamy. But he ain't no John Cho." Zoe pats his arm and smiles warmly. "Let me know when you're up for dating again, though. I have a friend who would be perfect for you."
John's bites his tongue so he doesn't go running his mouth and outright ask if her perfect friend might be someone whose name rhymes with "Machary Flinto." He clears his throat and scratches the back of his head.
"Yeah, cool. Um...hey, you haven't seen Zach, have you?"
Zoe lifts her brow. "You didn't hear? His flight from New York got delayed. He's going to be here later."
"Oh. Okay, well, if—"
Just then, a slightly soused Chris Pine runs up to John's side, grabbing him with both arms and leaning forward to kiss Zoe's cheek, nice guy that he is. "Zoe, I hate to pull this dashing gentleman away from your ethereal presence, but I've got a bit of a proposition for him."
"Oh, this should be good," Zoe says. Not surprisingly, she doesn't stay to hear the details. John blinks as Zoe struts off and looks at Chris dubiously.
"Proposition?" he repeats.
"Two words," Chris says, holding up three fingers, then correcting himself. "Body shots."
John feels his eyebrows lift all the way up to his forehead in interest. "Body shots?"
*
Five shots of tequila later, consumed with streaks of salt laid along Zoe's thigh, Chris' stomach, and various body parts of various women (likely all giggly friends of Anton's), and John's perched atop a table, holding a beer in one hand and a fresh shot in the other, gyrating to a random Lady GaGa song, occasionally chiming in with the lyrics.
"I'm a FREE BITCH, BABY!" he shouts. Then he slams back the shot. The tequila stopped burning his throat a few rounds ago.
"John, get down from there!" Karl hisses. As if he's never similarly embarrassed himself in this very bar, thanks to a fucking Lady GaGa song. John lets Karl help him down and drunkenly stumbles into his arms.
"We're, like, the same guy," he slurs. "You an' me, we're brothers."
"Of course we're brothers," Karl agrees. He sounds amiable enough but he's still looking at John as though there's a tree branch growing from his forehead. "But how are we the same guy?"
"Duh? 'Cause we both didn't know we were gay 'til we got divorced. Get with the program, Urban."
Karl's eyes go comically wide. "Excuse me?"
There's a sudden flurry of noise near the club's entrance, then, and when John blearily lifts his head, he can see Zach, wearing his stupid hipster glasses and his stupidly tight hipster jeans and stupid American Apparel cardigan with a blazer on top of that, and who even dresses like that, for Christ's sake?
John feels the thrum of his heartbeat, pulsing faster than the music. He shifts out of Karl's arms to go over there and Karl, the contrary bastard, immediately grabs a hold of John's shirt and yanks him back.
"Stay where you are," Karl warns. "You're not talking to him when you're drunk and...having some sort of mid-life sexuality crisis."
John shakes his head brusquely because no, no, no, that won't do at all. "You don't think I've sucked dick? I've sucked plenty of dick. I went to fucking Berkeley and I fucking majored in sucking dick."
"Hey, me too!" Chris says, ambling over. "Who was your advisor?"
"God, am I glad to see you guys," John hears next. It's Zach, making his way over after greeting the people by the doors, and he looks adorable, damn him. New York's obviously treated him well. Zach slings an arm around Chris' shoulders and gives him a squeeze, then touches John's arm fondly. "John, hey," he says. He licks his lips and quirks a crooked smile, and John is officially way too drunk for this.
"Hey, yeah," John slurs. He sways close to Zach and lifts both hands to cup his face, running the pads of his thumbs reverently over those enigmatic eyebrows. He fucking missed those eyebrows, and he apparently says as much aloud, because Zach stiffens and Karl's hauling him away before he can really get a good look.
"He's drunk," Karl tries to explain. "And thinks he's gay, apparently."
"I'm not gay; I'm John Cho."
"Pansexual, then?" Chris tries, sipping a cocktail. Zach cringes, looking incredibly uncomfortable with this sudden turn of events.
"Um," Zach says. "I think we need to talk."
Zach takes John by the arm and leads him away from the others, pulling him into a secluded corridor by the restrooms. He adjusts his glasses as he tries to gather his thoughts; John just stands and smiles dumbly. He knows he's smiling dumbly but he can't really help himself. He's just so happy to see Zach. And multiple parts of him are sharing in said happiness.
"Obviously, I missed something," Zach says. "What's this about you being, um...gay?"
"No, listen, it's just...I want you," John blurts. He laughs nervously when Zach looks at him in undisguised shock. "I like your—your soy-chugging, dictionary-reading, pretzel...butt."
That seems to make Zach laugh, too, if only just a little. "Pretzel butt. Wow." He bites his lip and shakes his head. "That's sweet, I think. But you don't... I can't, John. You're drunk and still upset about the divorce and—"
John groans. "Fuck, that was, like, seven months ago!"
"You have a kid," Zach protests. Even drunk on too much tequila and beer, it appears to John as though Zach's trying to talk himself out of this, more so than anyone else. "You're straight, you—you were married and you had a terrible divorce."
"Not that straight. And it could've been worse."
"It doesn't matter. You don't really want this. You're confused because I was there for you when you needed someone. I mean, you didn't say anything when I..." Zach gestures randomly, fidgeting with the hem of his cardigan and tugging on the cuffs of his fitted blazer, and god, he looks ridiculous. It's sexy as fuck.
John pulls him in close by his biceps and kisses him hard.
And after two seconds of struggle, Zach gives in and kisses him back and it's so fucking good to kiss someone, to kiss Zach. There's a brief flash of teeth, a rough swipe of tongue, and John distantly wishes his breath didn't reek of booze, but it can't be helped, not now. He tries to gain entrance into that hot, slightly open mouth, tries to slot their hips together, but Zach wrenches away, leaving John at a loss. Then they just stare at each other, both panting.
"Fuck, John," Zach whispers. He exhales shakily and runs a hand over his forehead. "Asshole. You know I can't just—"
"Why?" John demands. "Why can't you? And why... Why can't I have what they have? You know? Karl and Chris, they just—fuck, it's like, Karl leaves his wife and boom; right away, he gets another chance. Chris is right fucking there and there's no drama; they just throw caution to the wind and they get to be together. Why can't we do that, too, Zach? You said you have feelings...and that's awesome, 'cause I have feelings, too! So, why not, huh? Why can't I have this?"
"Because you're not Karl and I'm not Chris and we're not them." Zach purses his lips, his hands balled at his sides. "Not everyone finds predestined love in a fucking Lady GaGa song. So, just...go home, John, okay? Go home."
John can only blink in bewilderment as Zach goes back to the party. He slumps against the wall and shuts his eyes tiredly, only opening them again when Karl finds him a few minutes later.
"There you are," Karl says. He rubs John's shoulder. "Need a lift home?"
John nods and thinks that he should have high-tailed it out of there the minute that Lady GaGa song started playing. Lady GaGa's nothing but shiny spandex and trouble.
*
When John pries his eyes open the next day, he has three immediate thoughts:
1. This is not his bedroom.
2. He's insanely hung over.
3. Something distinctly Chris Pine–shaped is lying on his back.
"Dude, get off," John whines, squirming beneath the weight of Chris' body. "You're fucking heavy, fat-ass."
"Hey!" Chris sounds more offended than he looks, shifting off John and sitting on the bed beside him. "Don't call me fat in my own house. That's rule number two."
John rubs his back and thinks that he doesn't want to know rule number one. "We're at your place? I thought we were going to—"
"Karl drove us here. He's inside, making coffee. You fell asleep as soon as we got you in the car, man." Chris shrugs and picks up his iPhone, scrolling through his secret Twitter account that the rest of them aren't allowed to know about. "And don't look so freaked out. Everyone ends up in my bed, eventually."
"Um. Have you heard from Zach?" John asks cautiously, ignoring Chris' remark. Chris nods and holds out the phone so John can see the screen.
"See for yourself," he says. John squints and reads the tweet, then the fake one from @JacharyQuinto right above it.
nyc again. won't walk away. but i won't look back. necessary. nap.
BACK IN DA BIG APPOLZ. BUMPIN' LADY GAGA. HELLA JET-LAGGED, SON.
John blinks. "He's sending me subliminal messages over Twitter."
"Basically." Chris yawns and stands, stretching as he leaves the room. "I'd shower if I were you. Haven't changed those sheets in a while."
John nearly maims himself in his frantic rush to get out of the bed.
*
Zach doesn't even look surprised when he opens his apartment door.
"So, you're stalking me now?"
"Yes. Get used to it." John gestures to his backpack. "And I only brought two changes of clothes, so I may have to borrow some of your yoga twink outfits. Also, I feel it's my duty, as your friend in possession of two working eyeballs, to point out that you're wearing a headband."
Zach pouts and touches the strip of fabric holding his hair away from his forehead. "It's an exercise head wrap."
"Yeah, no, it looks incredibly masculine. I'm all a-twitter."
John gives him a meaningful look as he strides into Zach's apartment, bumping his shoulder. Zach laughs after a moment, and John's heart beats just a little less fast than it did the entire way over here from L.A.
*
Though John assumes it's described on Twitter as stalking or pestering or something else unflattering, he and Zach actually spend a nice evening together, walking around the city and enjoying the anonymity that New York tends to provide. They avoid discussing the night before, which is probably not the smartest of ideas, but John's certainly not going to complain. He barely even remembers half of what he said to Zach, though he knows it culminated in a dramatic moment that involved a kiss. That part's not easy to forget; when John licks his lips, he swears he can still taste Zach. He licks his lips so often that they have to stop at a drugstore for ChapStick.
They end up sitting on a bench on the west side, looking out at the Hudson River. They're both visibly exhausted from their respective flights, but Zach had his afternoon nap and John's still on West Coast time.
"Well, this is romantic," John murmurs, crossing one leg over the other. He exchanges a glance with Zach and they both smirk.
"Is that why you came here? For a romantic moment?"
"Well, that, and you were sending me secret messages over Twitter, using Lady GaGa lyrics. I feel like I owe Jachary Quinto a fruit basket for deciphering that one for me."
"I'm halfway convinced Chris writes that Twitter, anyway."
John looks thoughtful. "That would make a lot of sense, actually. But he'd probably want a porn basket." Zach laughs beside him.
"You think they engineered this whole thing? Chris and Karl?"
"Nah," John says, shaking his head. "To be honest...I had feelings for you even before I did whatever ridiculous, fucked-up things I did last night."
"From what I hear, you danced on a table, licked salt off Chris' stomach, announced that you were gay, fondled my eyebrows, called yourself a ‘free bitch'..." Zach's counting off on his fingers when John stops him, grabbing one of his hands with his own.
"Okay, yes, thank you for the recap." He laughs awkwardly. "I also kissed you. I remember that much. And you pulled away. And I have it under good advisement that I'm an awesome kisser, so what's that about?"
Zach nods faintly, looking down at their joined hands. "It's just...it's been a long time since I let myself actually like someone, okay? I didn't want to let myself think...I mean, if it's not true..."
John shakes his head, still not quite understanding. "Why wouldn't you let yourself like someone? Don't you see how great you—"
"Tell me more, Mister I'm-a-Neurotic-Train-Wreck," Zach replies dryly.
Okay, so maybe John doesn't have the market cornered on relationship issues. He can live with that.
"Quinto...come on. I went to a yoga class for you. You think I would subject myself to that for just anyone? It's like that time in college when I went to a pottery class to impress this guy who had a total boner for Ghost."
"A guy, huh?" Zach quips, his eyes softening as he relents a bit. "How did I miss all the details of your sordid homo past?"
"Because you were too busy tucking me in at night and assuming that marriage equals heterosexuality? Way to be open-minded, Saint Quinto of Silverlake."
Zach doesn't reply, simply arches one of his voluptuous eyebrows, and shit, the dude just doesn't play fair. John pretends to pout at him, though his stomach is doing back flips at how fucking hot Zach looks right now, in the fading New York City dusk. Sans headband, thankfully.
"Stop," John commands, pointing his free index finger at Zach—the one that's not currently wrapped around Zach's fingers. "Or I'll fondle your eyebrows again."
"Mmm, is that a promise?" Zach asks, leering. John tips his head back with a loud laugh.
"Fuck, you're really—" he starts, but then Zach is kissing him, kissing him, and it doesn't even matter what he was going to say because all he wants to do is kiss back. As far as John is concerned, their entire exchange has been foreplay; his cock is already stirring in his jeans as he licks into Zach's warm and open mouth, meeting with zero resistance this time, just the curl and flexibility of Zach's fucking talented tongue. John shifts closer when he feels Zach's hand untucking his button-down, pushing its way beneath the cotton to touch John's skin. He breaks the kiss to gasp his response, the electric touch scrambling all his brainwaves.
"...begging for it," he finishes, a whisper against Zach's grinning mouth.
"You are," Zach replies. He squeezes lightly between John's legs and then stands, pulling John up by his arm. "Come on, let's get a cab."
"Jesus, Quinto, you're gonna pay for that."
"Maybe I'll let you fondle something else this time."
Then John's the one racing ahead, pulling Zach toward the sidewalk.
*
"What the fuck is taking so long? Just put it in."
"I'm trying to, John, but you keep—fuck. Just gimme a—"
"Oh, just let me do it."
John stops touching Zach's ass long enough to grab the keys from his hand and open the apartment door himself. Zach huffs when it unlocks easily and John ushers him inside.
"I'm still getting used to them," Zach explains. "And you do realize how that entire exchange must have sounded to my kindly, heterosexual neighbors, don't you?"
"Probably exactly how it was." John pushes Zach back against a wall and nips at his mouth. "And since when are you any good at determining who's heterosexual and who's not?"
"If only I'd read through the Berkeley yearbook to see that fellatio major of yours." Zach smiles and grips John's hips, slightly breathless. "I might need to see some practical application. A defense of your thesis."
"Sure."
John kisses him hard, sucking at Zach's bottom lip before pulling back and dropping to his knees, unbuckling his belt. He knows he's going to be a little rusty at this, considering that he never cheated on Kerri and mostly dated women before her. John glances up at Zach and he seems to get it, nodding with a faint smile and sliding his fingers through John's flight-mussed hair. John gets Zach's stupidly tight jeans down his hips with a fair amount of struggle and then noses against the pronounced bulge in his boxer briefs, reacquainting himself with the sensation. John darts his tongue against the navy-colored fabric and runs his hands up and down Zach's thighs, from the furry patches to the smooth stretches of pale skin that lead up to his groin. Zach's cock throbs against his lips in time with a shaky moan from above, and John doesn't wait any longer to free his waiting length. He runs his fingers slowly along the hardening shaft, back to his balls, and notes that all the hair below Zach's navel is just as finely manicured as his eyebrows. Shocker, John thinks, as he takes the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue.
"Fuck, John," Zach groans after a few moments. His head is tilted back and mouth parted, back arching beautifully away from the wall. "See...knew you were doubting yourself, could see it...but you're so fucking good, John, so good..."
John pauses in his bobbing and passes a hand over his crotch to quell the throbbing happening inside his own jeans, just for a moment. "Must not be doing that well if you can still ramble like that."
"So shut me up," Zach teases. John laughs and rolls his eyes.
"As if anyone could."
He returns to laving and sucking at Zach's cock, everything coming back to him as he works at the thick, leaking length. Like riding a bike, John thinks, except with one-hundred percent more penis. He wets two of the fingertips stroking along the base of the shaft and slides them back along Zach's perineum, tapping at his entrance, as if to make his intentions known. Zach, to his credit, stops himself from bucking into John's throat.
"God, stop or I'll come," he warns. John pulls back, afraid that things might end prematurely on his side as well.
"Yeah, let's get more naked." He tugs Zach's jeans down to his knees and grunts when he can't get the denim anywhere beyond that point. "Where the fuck did you buy these? Baby Gap?"
"They have zippers," Zach says breathlessly, shucking off his shirts and toeing off his shoes. "By the ankles?"
"You've got to be shitting me."
"They're in this season!"
"Fucking hipster," John mutters, undoing the zippers and finally getting Zach's jeans off. He's about to complain some more until he stands and gets a load of Zach completely naked, dark hair falling down over his eyes in a way that should be illegal in forty-eight states. Just not New York or California. "Jesus, Zach," he says, swallowing. "If you ever wear that headband again, I'll kill you."
"Noted." Zach grins wolfishly and makes quick work of the buttons on John's shirt, kissing him and steering him backward. "Bedroom, Cho."
By the time John gets into the bedroom, he's topless and barefoot, a trail of clothes left behind on Zach's floor in their wake. He falls back onto the bed when his knees hit the edge and Zach is on him in seconds flat, all feline reflexes and bendy limbs. God bless yoga, even if it is a trip to the ER waiting to happen. Zach works on John's fly and erases the terrible distance between their bodies, sucking John's lips into a hungry kiss. John bucks helplessly with the combination of Zach's tongue in his mouth and his hand down his pants. He's not sure he could have survived college if someone like Zach had been there with him.
As soon as his remaining clothes are gone and his cock is freed, it's met with the burning hot length of Zach's dick, still damp with John's saliva and rubbing tantalizingly back and forth against him. John moans Zach's name loudly and grabs at his shoulders, kissing any part of Zach's face he can reach: his swollen lips, his stubbled cheek, his pointed chin. Zach grips both of their cocks at once, thumbing over John's slit, and John can't take it anymore—he wraps a leg around Zach and calls up some unknown reserve of strength to flip them over. The move is met with breathy laugher from Zach.
"You want something, John?" he asks. Then his expression turns suspicious. "It'd better not be fucking my eyebrows."
"I'd rather fuck your asshole, but maybe later."
"Okay, we'll talk."
"Sweet. Lube?" John asks. Zach gestures toward his nightstand and John fetches a condom from the top drawer, as well as a rather massive bottle of lube inside. He prepares himself as quickly as he can. "What is this, like, the industrial strength size? For elephant sex?"
"Costco, man." Zach laughs, trailing into a gasp when John carefully slides a slick finger into him. "There—there's one in Queens."
John smirks and slowly works his finger in and out of Zach's hole, adding a second when his muscles loosen. "I can't believe you went to Queens for lube," he says. Zach laughs, his back arching.
"I can't believe we're having this conversation while you're finger fucking me. Just keep—oh, fuck, John, yes, oh, my god..."
"Yeah, Zach," John whispers, crooking his fingers. He seems to harden even more when Zach's cock jerks and leaves a wet patch on his stomach, the trail of hair there glistening. "Holy shit. A-are you ready? Please say you're ready."
"Ready, ready, please..."
John nods hastily and looks around for a moment, trying to get his bearings straight. He reaches out for the lube again, wondering if he should use some more, when strong hands suddenly push him flat on his back, making him yelp.
"What the—"
"What the fuck is taking so long? Just put it in," Zach parrots from earlier, smiling as he straddles John's hips. "Okay, John, I will."
He holds John's cock steady by its base and steadily sinks down with a low groan, his head tipping back in pleasure. John reaches out instinctively and grabs Zach's thighs, trying desperately not to move. Zach feels so hot, clenching around him, shifting back and forth maddeningly until John's cock is completely buried inside. Then they both dare to look at each other, eyes dark with need, and John shakes with the urge to thrust.
"Fuck," he whispers, blinking up at Zach. "I might blow my load just looking at you."
"That could be a Hallmark card." He starts moving in earnest on John's cock and scratches lightly down his chest. "Better fuck me fast, just in case."
John moans his agreement and starts to work his hips, relieved to fuck Zach at last. He lets Zach lead at first, watches as he searches for the angle that suits him best, all while pawing at John's chest and flexing the muscles in his ass, making John's breath stutter. Zach seems to find it quickly enough, and when John hears that telltale lusty moan, he starts to thrust harder into Zach's heat. He keeps the angle up for a while, then teases him with shallow jerks of his hips.
"John," Zach gasps, his voice hoarse and eyes going glassy. His hand moves to his cock and John licks his lips at the sight, determined not to lose concentration.
"My turn," he says, pulling out of Zach and turning them over. He quickly takes advantage of Zach's disoriented state and ridiculous flexibility and hoists his legs over John's shoulders. Then he slides back home again, over and over, watching as Zach seems to slip further into a pre-orgasmic haze, head thrown back and eyes wide. Not that John can blame him; Zach's so bendable that the angle they're achieving is fucking bliss.
"Come on, Zach, touch yourself," John says, blinking away the sting of the sweat dripping down from his brow. Zach's hand is soon a blur on his cock, his voice seemingly trapped in his throat as he jacks himself hard and fast. John can't fucking take his eyes off him, not even after Zach stiffens and spurts his release all over his chest and stomach with an unabashed moan. He bows his head as his own orgasm approaches, taking shape as an atomic blast in his gut. It feels too good; he wants to hold off, wants to feel this good for as long as possible. But then Zach presses his lips to John's hair, tightens around his cock and whispers something that makes John surrender, crying out sharply as he thrusts and comes harder than he has in ages.
Miraculously, he remembers to let Zach lower his legs before collapsing in a heap against him. Zach kisses his temple in what could be gratitude.
"You should stalk me more often," Zach murmurs. "Or, you know, just...stay here a while. Until Trek starts? It'll give me more chances to cook, and...yeah."
"How are you even forming coherent thoughts right now?" John asks, lifting his head tiredly and laughing. He cleans Zach's chest with the rumpled bed sheet. "Yeah, though...that'd be good, I think. Really good."
"Good. Although..." Zach smiles shyly and John decides right then that he really likes that version of Zach's smile. "They're going to shave me again, you know." He bats his eyelashes. "Will you still love me when my eyebrows are gone, John?"
"Are you kidding? I've always wanted to fuck a hot Vulcan."
"Jesus Christ. You're such a fucking weirdo." Zach laughs and it's John's turn to look shy now. He smiles and takes the golden opportunity to burrow against Zach's chest.
"Yeah, well. You understand me."
"Yeah," Zach says, running his fingers down John's back. "I like to think I do."
*
John doesn't exactly know where he is when he wakes up, but the room smells of sex and Zach, and that's enough to jog his memory. Zach's not there, though, so he yawns and finds his boxers, pulling them on and heading to the kitchen, where his bag still sits from his arrival the night before. Once there, he's afforded a perfect view of Zach's ass high in the air as he does some sort of bizarre yoga pose in the living room.
"Hey, pretzel bu—"
"Shh," Zach interrupts. His eyes don't open to acknowledge John, nor does he move a muscle, holding his pose perfectly. "I'll blow you later if you're quiet now."
Good deal, John thinks. He nods and busies himself with finding Zach's cereal stash, which he finds could use the John Cho touch, i.e. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He pours himself a bowl of something that resembles twigs and berries as he checks his phone for messages. Then he flips over to his Twitter feed, grinning at what he finds.
new day. refreshed. yoga. soothes. the ache.
GOT SOME. SORE. DOWNWARD DOGGIN' IT.
John shakes his head, puts down his phone and procures the soy milk from Zach's fridge. As he sits down to eat and watch the Bendy Zach show, he makes a mental note that he definitely owes Chris a porn basket.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Zach, established Chris/Karl
Word count: ~13K
Notes: See Part 1 for full author notes.
Summary: When John has to start over, comfort comes along in an unexpected package—a package with really nice eyebrows.
Click here for Part 1.
It's the same club where Chris and Karl got together. The same fucking club.
John sits in the back of a taxi and stares at the entrance for a full minute before the driver tells him, in no uncertain terms, to get the hell out of his cab. And he does, but he isn't happy about it. He tells himself that if Chris and Karl start groping each other on the dance floor out of nostalgia, that he's totally out of there. When they're already groping as John walks into the club, he realizes he may have to amend that plan if he actually wants to see the entire cast.
"Oh, hey, John," Chris says, still practically mid-kiss with his boyfriend. Karl's hand immediately moves away from its perch on Chris' ass and he has the decency to appear slightly embarrassed as they all exchange hugs and back pats.
"You two are fucking lucky this is a private party," John says, smirking. "And we're all used to your spit-swapping and disappearing hands."
"Hey, we inspire each other." Chris shrugs and glances up at Karl, who gives him a look that outwardly reads as mild annoyance but which John knows is all fondness and affection. He tries to ignore the answering pang of jealousy in his gut and offers a requisite smile.
"I'm gonna go mingle," he says. He feels their joint stare as he walks away.
John's only been back in L.A. for a week, so it's been ages since he's seen all his old friends. Luckily, everyone's kind enough to avoid the obvious, heart wrenching questions, merely asking if he's doing well and leaving it at that. Simon buys him a beer and a shot with a sympathetic smile but says nothing otherwise. John knew he always liked Simon. He doesn't see Zoe until they bump shoulders, just as she emerges from the restroom.
"Sorry, I didn't—hey, Zoe!"
"John!" She grins at him, sunny and bright, and flings her arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. "God, it's been ages!"
"That's just because you never return my calls." He kisses her in return, breathing in her perfume, which smells perfectly Zoe—not overpowering or cloying at all. "It's all the crying in my messages, isn't it? You can tell me."
"Hush, you know I adore you." She wags a finger at him. "Though I'm pissed you became single when I'm not single, too. That's just not fair."
John scoffs. "Like I could compete with that dreamy boyfriend of yours."
"He is pretty dreamy. But he ain't no John Cho." Zoe pats his arm and smiles warmly. "Let me know when you're up for dating again, though. I have a friend who would be perfect for you."
John's bites his tongue so he doesn't go running his mouth and outright ask if her perfect friend might be someone whose name rhymes with "Machary Flinto." He clears his throat and scratches the back of his head.
"Yeah, cool. Um...hey, you haven't seen Zach, have you?"
Zoe lifts her brow. "You didn't hear? His flight from New York got delayed. He's going to be here later."
"Oh. Okay, well, if—"
Just then, a slightly soused Chris Pine runs up to John's side, grabbing him with both arms and leaning forward to kiss Zoe's cheek, nice guy that he is. "Zoe, I hate to pull this dashing gentleman away from your ethereal presence, but I've got a bit of a proposition for him."
"Oh, this should be good," Zoe says. Not surprisingly, she doesn't stay to hear the details. John blinks as Zoe struts off and looks at Chris dubiously.
"Proposition?" he repeats.
"Two words," Chris says, holding up three fingers, then correcting himself. "Body shots."
John feels his eyebrows lift all the way up to his forehead in interest. "Body shots?"
*
Five shots of tequila later, consumed with streaks of salt laid along Zoe's thigh, Chris' stomach, and various body parts of various women (likely all giggly friends of Anton's), and John's perched atop a table, holding a beer in one hand and a fresh shot in the other, gyrating to a random Lady GaGa song, occasionally chiming in with the lyrics.
"I'm a FREE BITCH, BABY!" he shouts. Then he slams back the shot. The tequila stopped burning his throat a few rounds ago.
"John, get down from there!" Karl hisses. As if he's never similarly embarrassed himself in this very bar, thanks to a fucking Lady GaGa song. John lets Karl help him down and drunkenly stumbles into his arms.
"We're, like, the same guy," he slurs. "You an' me, we're brothers."
"Of course we're brothers," Karl agrees. He sounds amiable enough but he's still looking at John as though there's a tree branch growing from his forehead. "But how are we the same guy?"
"Duh? 'Cause we both didn't know we were gay 'til we got divorced. Get with the program, Urban."
Karl's eyes go comically wide. "Excuse me?"
There's a sudden flurry of noise near the club's entrance, then, and when John blearily lifts his head, he can see Zach, wearing his stupid hipster glasses and his stupidly tight hipster jeans and stupid American Apparel cardigan with a blazer on top of that, and who even dresses like that, for Christ's sake?
John feels the thrum of his heartbeat, pulsing faster than the music. He shifts out of Karl's arms to go over there and Karl, the contrary bastard, immediately grabs a hold of John's shirt and yanks him back.
"Stay where you are," Karl warns. "You're not talking to him when you're drunk and...having some sort of mid-life sexuality crisis."
John shakes his head brusquely because no, no, no, that won't do at all. "You don't think I've sucked dick? I've sucked plenty of dick. I went to fucking Berkeley and I fucking majored in sucking dick."
"Hey, me too!" Chris says, ambling over. "Who was your advisor?"
"God, am I glad to see you guys," John hears next. It's Zach, making his way over after greeting the people by the doors, and he looks adorable, damn him. New York's obviously treated him well. Zach slings an arm around Chris' shoulders and gives him a squeeze, then touches John's arm fondly. "John, hey," he says. He licks his lips and quirks a crooked smile, and John is officially way too drunk for this.
"Hey, yeah," John slurs. He sways close to Zach and lifts both hands to cup his face, running the pads of his thumbs reverently over those enigmatic eyebrows. He fucking missed those eyebrows, and he apparently says as much aloud, because Zach stiffens and Karl's hauling him away before he can really get a good look.
"He's drunk," Karl tries to explain. "And thinks he's gay, apparently."
"I'm not gay; I'm John Cho."
"Pansexual, then?" Chris tries, sipping a cocktail. Zach cringes, looking incredibly uncomfortable with this sudden turn of events.
"Um," Zach says. "I think we need to talk."
Zach takes John by the arm and leads him away from the others, pulling him into a secluded corridor by the restrooms. He adjusts his glasses as he tries to gather his thoughts; John just stands and smiles dumbly. He knows he's smiling dumbly but he can't really help himself. He's just so happy to see Zach. And multiple parts of him are sharing in said happiness.
"Obviously, I missed something," Zach says. "What's this about you being, um...gay?"
"No, listen, it's just...I want you," John blurts. He laughs nervously when Zach looks at him in undisguised shock. "I like your—your soy-chugging, dictionary-reading, pretzel...butt."
That seems to make Zach laugh, too, if only just a little. "Pretzel butt. Wow." He bites his lip and shakes his head. "That's sweet, I think. But you don't... I can't, John. You're drunk and still upset about the divorce and—"
John groans. "Fuck, that was, like, seven months ago!"
"You have a kid," Zach protests. Even drunk on too much tequila and beer, it appears to John as though Zach's trying to talk himself out of this, more so than anyone else. "You're straight, you—you were married and you had a terrible divorce."
"Not that straight. And it could've been worse."
"It doesn't matter. You don't really want this. You're confused because I was there for you when you needed someone. I mean, you didn't say anything when I..." Zach gestures randomly, fidgeting with the hem of his cardigan and tugging on the cuffs of his fitted blazer, and god, he looks ridiculous. It's sexy as fuck.
John pulls him in close by his biceps and kisses him hard.
And after two seconds of struggle, Zach gives in and kisses him back and it's so fucking good to kiss someone, to kiss Zach. There's a brief flash of teeth, a rough swipe of tongue, and John distantly wishes his breath didn't reek of booze, but it can't be helped, not now. He tries to gain entrance into that hot, slightly open mouth, tries to slot their hips together, but Zach wrenches away, leaving John at a loss. Then they just stare at each other, both panting.
"Fuck, John," Zach whispers. He exhales shakily and runs a hand over his forehead. "Asshole. You know I can't just—"
"Why?" John demands. "Why can't you? And why... Why can't I have what they have? You know? Karl and Chris, they just—fuck, it's like, Karl leaves his wife and boom; right away, he gets another chance. Chris is right fucking there and there's no drama; they just throw caution to the wind and they get to be together. Why can't we do that, too, Zach? You said you have feelings...and that's awesome, 'cause I have feelings, too! So, why not, huh? Why can't I have this?"
"Because you're not Karl and I'm not Chris and we're not them." Zach purses his lips, his hands balled at his sides. "Not everyone finds predestined love in a fucking Lady GaGa song. So, just...go home, John, okay? Go home."
John can only blink in bewilderment as Zach goes back to the party. He slumps against the wall and shuts his eyes tiredly, only opening them again when Karl finds him a few minutes later.
"There you are," Karl says. He rubs John's shoulder. "Need a lift home?"
John nods and thinks that he should have high-tailed it out of there the minute that Lady GaGa song started playing. Lady GaGa's nothing but shiny spandex and trouble.
*
When John pries his eyes open the next day, he has three immediate thoughts:
1. This is not his bedroom.
2. He's insanely hung over.
3. Something distinctly Chris Pine–shaped is lying on his back.
"Dude, get off," John whines, squirming beneath the weight of Chris' body. "You're fucking heavy, fat-ass."
"Hey!" Chris sounds more offended than he looks, shifting off John and sitting on the bed beside him. "Don't call me fat in my own house. That's rule number two."
John rubs his back and thinks that he doesn't want to know rule number one. "We're at your place? I thought we were going to—"
"Karl drove us here. He's inside, making coffee. You fell asleep as soon as we got you in the car, man." Chris shrugs and picks up his iPhone, scrolling through his secret Twitter account that the rest of them aren't allowed to know about. "And don't look so freaked out. Everyone ends up in my bed, eventually."
"Um. Have you heard from Zach?" John asks cautiously, ignoring Chris' remark. Chris nods and holds out the phone so John can see the screen.
"See for yourself," he says. John squints and reads the tweet, then the fake one from @JacharyQuinto right above it.
nyc again. won't walk away. but i won't look back. necessary. nap.
BACK IN DA BIG APPOLZ. BUMPIN' LADY GAGA. HELLA JET-LAGGED, SON.
John blinks. "He's sending me subliminal messages over Twitter."
"Basically." Chris yawns and stands, stretching as he leaves the room. "I'd shower if I were you. Haven't changed those sheets in a while."
John nearly maims himself in his frantic rush to get out of the bed.
*
Zach doesn't even look surprised when he opens his apartment door.
"So, you're stalking me now?"
"Yes. Get used to it." John gestures to his backpack. "And I only brought two changes of clothes, so I may have to borrow some of your yoga twink outfits. Also, I feel it's my duty, as your friend in possession of two working eyeballs, to point out that you're wearing a headband."
Zach pouts and touches the strip of fabric holding his hair away from his forehead. "It's an exercise head wrap."
"Yeah, no, it looks incredibly masculine. I'm all a-twitter."
John gives him a meaningful look as he strides into Zach's apartment, bumping his shoulder. Zach laughs after a moment, and John's heart beats just a little less fast than it did the entire way over here from L.A.
*
Though John assumes it's described on Twitter as stalking or pestering or something else unflattering, he and Zach actually spend a nice evening together, walking around the city and enjoying the anonymity that New York tends to provide. They avoid discussing the night before, which is probably not the smartest of ideas, but John's certainly not going to complain. He barely even remembers half of what he said to Zach, though he knows it culminated in a dramatic moment that involved a kiss. That part's not easy to forget; when John licks his lips, he swears he can still taste Zach. He licks his lips so often that they have to stop at a drugstore for ChapStick.
They end up sitting on a bench on the west side, looking out at the Hudson River. They're both visibly exhausted from their respective flights, but Zach had his afternoon nap and John's still on West Coast time.
"Well, this is romantic," John murmurs, crossing one leg over the other. He exchanges a glance with Zach and they both smirk.
"Is that why you came here? For a romantic moment?"
"Well, that, and you were sending me secret messages over Twitter, using Lady GaGa lyrics. I feel like I owe Jachary Quinto a fruit basket for deciphering that one for me."
"I'm halfway convinced Chris writes that Twitter, anyway."
John looks thoughtful. "That would make a lot of sense, actually. But he'd probably want a porn basket." Zach laughs beside him.
"You think they engineered this whole thing? Chris and Karl?"
"Nah," John says, shaking his head. "To be honest...I had feelings for you even before I did whatever ridiculous, fucked-up things I did last night."
"From what I hear, you danced on a table, licked salt off Chris' stomach, announced that you were gay, fondled my eyebrows, called yourself a ‘free bitch'..." Zach's counting off on his fingers when John stops him, grabbing one of his hands with his own.
"Okay, yes, thank you for the recap." He laughs awkwardly. "I also kissed you. I remember that much. And you pulled away. And I have it under good advisement that I'm an awesome kisser, so what's that about?"
Zach nods faintly, looking down at their joined hands. "It's just...it's been a long time since I let myself actually like someone, okay? I didn't want to let myself think...I mean, if it's not true..."
John shakes his head, still not quite understanding. "Why wouldn't you let yourself like someone? Don't you see how great you—"
"Tell me more, Mister I'm-a-Neurotic-Train-Wreck," Zach replies dryly.
Okay, so maybe John doesn't have the market cornered on relationship issues. He can live with that.
"Quinto...come on. I went to a yoga class for you. You think I would subject myself to that for just anyone? It's like that time in college when I went to a pottery class to impress this guy who had a total boner for Ghost."
"A guy, huh?" Zach quips, his eyes softening as he relents a bit. "How did I miss all the details of your sordid homo past?"
"Because you were too busy tucking me in at night and assuming that marriage equals heterosexuality? Way to be open-minded, Saint Quinto of Silverlake."
Zach doesn't reply, simply arches one of his voluptuous eyebrows, and shit, the dude just doesn't play fair. John pretends to pout at him, though his stomach is doing back flips at how fucking hot Zach looks right now, in the fading New York City dusk. Sans headband, thankfully.
"Stop," John commands, pointing his free index finger at Zach—the one that's not currently wrapped around Zach's fingers. "Or I'll fondle your eyebrows again."
"Mmm, is that a promise?" Zach asks, leering. John tips his head back with a loud laugh.
"Fuck, you're really—" he starts, but then Zach is kissing him, kissing him, and it doesn't even matter what he was going to say because all he wants to do is kiss back. As far as John is concerned, their entire exchange has been foreplay; his cock is already stirring in his jeans as he licks into Zach's warm and open mouth, meeting with zero resistance this time, just the curl and flexibility of Zach's fucking talented tongue. John shifts closer when he feels Zach's hand untucking his button-down, pushing its way beneath the cotton to touch John's skin. He breaks the kiss to gasp his response, the electric touch scrambling all his brainwaves.
"...begging for it," he finishes, a whisper against Zach's grinning mouth.
"You are," Zach replies. He squeezes lightly between John's legs and then stands, pulling John up by his arm. "Come on, let's get a cab."
"Jesus, Quinto, you're gonna pay for that."
"Maybe I'll let you fondle something else this time."
Then John's the one racing ahead, pulling Zach toward the sidewalk.
*
"What the fuck is taking so long? Just put it in."
"I'm trying to, John, but you keep—fuck. Just gimme a—"
"Oh, just let me do it."
John stops touching Zach's ass long enough to grab the keys from his hand and open the apartment door himself. Zach huffs when it unlocks easily and John ushers him inside.
"I'm still getting used to them," Zach explains. "And you do realize how that entire exchange must have sounded to my kindly, heterosexual neighbors, don't you?"
"Probably exactly how it was." John pushes Zach back against a wall and nips at his mouth. "And since when are you any good at determining who's heterosexual and who's not?"
"If only I'd read through the Berkeley yearbook to see that fellatio major of yours." Zach smiles and grips John's hips, slightly breathless. "I might need to see some practical application. A defense of your thesis."
"Sure."
John kisses him hard, sucking at Zach's bottom lip before pulling back and dropping to his knees, unbuckling his belt. He knows he's going to be a little rusty at this, considering that he never cheated on Kerri and mostly dated women before her. John glances up at Zach and he seems to get it, nodding with a faint smile and sliding his fingers through John's flight-mussed hair. John gets Zach's stupidly tight jeans down his hips with a fair amount of struggle and then noses against the pronounced bulge in his boxer briefs, reacquainting himself with the sensation. John darts his tongue against the navy-colored fabric and runs his hands up and down Zach's thighs, from the furry patches to the smooth stretches of pale skin that lead up to his groin. Zach's cock throbs against his lips in time with a shaky moan from above, and John doesn't wait any longer to free his waiting length. He runs his fingers slowly along the hardening shaft, back to his balls, and notes that all the hair below Zach's navel is just as finely manicured as his eyebrows. Shocker, John thinks, as he takes the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue.
"Fuck, John," Zach groans after a few moments. His head is tilted back and mouth parted, back arching beautifully away from the wall. "See...knew you were doubting yourself, could see it...but you're so fucking good, John, so good..."
John pauses in his bobbing and passes a hand over his crotch to quell the throbbing happening inside his own jeans, just for a moment. "Must not be doing that well if you can still ramble like that."
"So shut me up," Zach teases. John laughs and rolls his eyes.
"As if anyone could."
He returns to laving and sucking at Zach's cock, everything coming back to him as he works at the thick, leaking length. Like riding a bike, John thinks, except with one-hundred percent more penis. He wets two of the fingertips stroking along the base of the shaft and slides them back along Zach's perineum, tapping at his entrance, as if to make his intentions known. Zach, to his credit, stops himself from bucking into John's throat.
"God, stop or I'll come," he warns. John pulls back, afraid that things might end prematurely on his side as well.
"Yeah, let's get more naked." He tugs Zach's jeans down to his knees and grunts when he can't get the denim anywhere beyond that point. "Where the fuck did you buy these? Baby Gap?"
"They have zippers," Zach says breathlessly, shucking off his shirts and toeing off his shoes. "By the ankles?"
"You've got to be shitting me."
"They're in this season!"
"Fucking hipster," John mutters, undoing the zippers and finally getting Zach's jeans off. He's about to complain some more until he stands and gets a load of Zach completely naked, dark hair falling down over his eyes in a way that should be illegal in forty-eight states. Just not New York or California. "Jesus, Zach," he says, swallowing. "If you ever wear that headband again, I'll kill you."
"Noted." Zach grins wolfishly and makes quick work of the buttons on John's shirt, kissing him and steering him backward. "Bedroom, Cho."
By the time John gets into the bedroom, he's topless and barefoot, a trail of clothes left behind on Zach's floor in their wake. He falls back onto the bed when his knees hit the edge and Zach is on him in seconds flat, all feline reflexes and bendy limbs. God bless yoga, even if it is a trip to the ER waiting to happen. Zach works on John's fly and erases the terrible distance between their bodies, sucking John's lips into a hungry kiss. John bucks helplessly with the combination of Zach's tongue in his mouth and his hand down his pants. He's not sure he could have survived college if someone like Zach had been there with him.
As soon as his remaining clothes are gone and his cock is freed, it's met with the burning hot length of Zach's dick, still damp with John's saliva and rubbing tantalizingly back and forth against him. John moans Zach's name loudly and grabs at his shoulders, kissing any part of Zach's face he can reach: his swollen lips, his stubbled cheek, his pointed chin. Zach grips both of their cocks at once, thumbing over John's slit, and John can't take it anymore—he wraps a leg around Zach and calls up some unknown reserve of strength to flip them over. The move is met with breathy laugher from Zach.
"You want something, John?" he asks. Then his expression turns suspicious. "It'd better not be fucking my eyebrows."
"I'd rather fuck your asshole, but maybe later."
"Okay, we'll talk."
"Sweet. Lube?" John asks. Zach gestures toward his nightstand and John fetches a condom from the top drawer, as well as a rather massive bottle of lube inside. He prepares himself as quickly as he can. "What is this, like, the industrial strength size? For elephant sex?"
"Costco, man." Zach laughs, trailing into a gasp when John carefully slides a slick finger into him. "There—there's one in Queens."
John smirks and slowly works his finger in and out of Zach's hole, adding a second when his muscles loosen. "I can't believe you went to Queens for lube," he says. Zach laughs, his back arching.
"I can't believe we're having this conversation while you're finger fucking me. Just keep—oh, fuck, John, yes, oh, my god..."
"Yeah, Zach," John whispers, crooking his fingers. He seems to harden even more when Zach's cock jerks and leaves a wet patch on his stomach, the trail of hair there glistening. "Holy shit. A-are you ready? Please say you're ready."
"Ready, ready, please..."
John nods hastily and looks around for a moment, trying to get his bearings straight. He reaches out for the lube again, wondering if he should use some more, when strong hands suddenly push him flat on his back, making him yelp.
"What the—"
"What the fuck is taking so long? Just put it in," Zach parrots from earlier, smiling as he straddles John's hips. "Okay, John, I will."
He holds John's cock steady by its base and steadily sinks down with a low groan, his head tipping back in pleasure. John reaches out instinctively and grabs Zach's thighs, trying desperately not to move. Zach feels so hot, clenching around him, shifting back and forth maddeningly until John's cock is completely buried inside. Then they both dare to look at each other, eyes dark with need, and John shakes with the urge to thrust.
"Fuck," he whispers, blinking up at Zach. "I might blow my load just looking at you."
"That could be a Hallmark card." He starts moving in earnest on John's cock and scratches lightly down his chest. "Better fuck me fast, just in case."
John moans his agreement and starts to work his hips, relieved to fuck Zach at last. He lets Zach lead at first, watches as he searches for the angle that suits him best, all while pawing at John's chest and flexing the muscles in his ass, making John's breath stutter. Zach seems to find it quickly enough, and when John hears that telltale lusty moan, he starts to thrust harder into Zach's heat. He keeps the angle up for a while, then teases him with shallow jerks of his hips.
"John," Zach gasps, his voice hoarse and eyes going glassy. His hand moves to his cock and John licks his lips at the sight, determined not to lose concentration.
"My turn," he says, pulling out of Zach and turning them over. He quickly takes advantage of Zach's disoriented state and ridiculous flexibility and hoists his legs over John's shoulders. Then he slides back home again, over and over, watching as Zach seems to slip further into a pre-orgasmic haze, head thrown back and eyes wide. Not that John can blame him; Zach's so bendable that the angle they're achieving is fucking bliss.
"Come on, Zach, touch yourself," John says, blinking away the sting of the sweat dripping down from his brow. Zach's hand is soon a blur on his cock, his voice seemingly trapped in his throat as he jacks himself hard and fast. John can't fucking take his eyes off him, not even after Zach stiffens and spurts his release all over his chest and stomach with an unabashed moan. He bows his head as his own orgasm approaches, taking shape as an atomic blast in his gut. It feels too good; he wants to hold off, wants to feel this good for as long as possible. But then Zach presses his lips to John's hair, tightens around his cock and whispers something that makes John surrender, crying out sharply as he thrusts and comes harder than he has in ages.
Miraculously, he remembers to let Zach lower his legs before collapsing in a heap against him. Zach kisses his temple in what could be gratitude.
"You should stalk me more often," Zach murmurs. "Or, you know, just...stay here a while. Until Trek starts? It'll give me more chances to cook, and...yeah."
"How are you even forming coherent thoughts right now?" John asks, lifting his head tiredly and laughing. He cleans Zach's chest with the rumpled bed sheet. "Yeah, though...that'd be good, I think. Really good."
"Good. Although..." Zach smiles shyly and John decides right then that he really likes that version of Zach's smile. "They're going to shave me again, you know." He bats his eyelashes. "Will you still love me when my eyebrows are gone, John?"
"Are you kidding? I've always wanted to fuck a hot Vulcan."
"Jesus Christ. You're such a fucking weirdo." Zach laughs and it's John's turn to look shy now. He smiles and takes the golden opportunity to burrow against Zach's chest.
"Yeah, well. You understand me."
"Yeah," Zach says, running his fingers down John's back. "I like to think I do."
*
John doesn't exactly know where he is when he wakes up, but the room smells of sex and Zach, and that's enough to jog his memory. Zach's not there, though, so he yawns and finds his boxers, pulling them on and heading to the kitchen, where his bag still sits from his arrival the night before. Once there, he's afforded a perfect view of Zach's ass high in the air as he does some sort of bizarre yoga pose in the living room.
"Hey, pretzel bu—"
"Shh," Zach interrupts. His eyes don't open to acknowledge John, nor does he move a muscle, holding his pose perfectly. "I'll blow you later if you're quiet now."
Good deal, John thinks. He nods and busies himself with finding Zach's cereal stash, which he finds could use the John Cho touch, i.e. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He pours himself a bowl of something that resembles twigs and berries as he checks his phone for messages. Then he flips over to his Twitter feed, grinning at what he finds.
new day. refreshed. yoga. soothes. the ache.
GOT SOME. SORE. DOWNWARD DOGGIN' IT.
John shakes his head, puts down his phone and procures the soy milk from Zach's fridge. As he sits down to eat and watch the Bendy Zach show, he makes a mental note that he definitely owes Chris a porn basket.
