therumjournals | Smoke 'Em if You Got 'Em (Star Trek RPF Fanfic)

Title: Smoke 'Em if You Got 'Em
Author:

therumjournals
Fandom: Star Trek RPS
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,025
Description: Karl needs a cigarette.
Warnings: smoking (cigarettes), first person, voyeurism
A/N: Voyeur!Karl! Two down, a millionty more to go!

Smoking’s bad for my health.

I know this, of course, as I step onto Zoe's back patio clutching a pack of Marlboro Lights, and I know it as I flick my lighter, cup the flame, and suck in that first comforting breath of smoke. But I’m drunk, or almost there, and I miss my family, and somehow the thought of Nat scolding me for lighting up makes the loneliness ebb a little.

Christ, that’s good. My first cigarette in days, here in the cool night, with the sounds of the party in the background, friends I’ll be happy to go back to in just a few minutes. Just need to clear my mind a little, think some lonely thoughts, grab a breath of fresh air. I chuckle to myself as I exhale a cloud of smoke and strike out across the lawn.

Quieter out here, and darker than I’m used to in LA. If I hadn’t been paying attention I might have ended up in Zoe’s koi pond, but as it is I make my way around it to the small cast iron bench that faces the house. I lean back, let the cigarette dangle between my fingers, wanting to make it last. The nicotine’s already hit me – the less I smoke, the more it affects me, so now it’s rushing through my blood and making me a little bit in love with the world.

Zoe throws a good party, that’s for damn sure. Plenty of manly little burger things in amongst the canapés, and an impressive array of strong craft brews that got me tipsy enough to go scrabbling in my jacket for the ratty pack of smokes. She’s got a sweet place, too, Zoe does. Modern in a classy way, lots of glass, including a set of stunning floor to ceiling windows up on the left corner of the house. I glance up at them, then look away quickly, a hot flush creeping up my neck as I realize that must be the master bedroom. There’s a lamp lit inside, warm light illuminating the room and spilling out the windows, not enough to penetrate very far into the darkness of the yard, but enough for me to notice that the bed’s rumpled. An image of Zoe and her fiancé sneaking off for a surreptitious mid-party fuck flashes through my mind and I feel like a creeper. Nevertheless, my cock takes notice, and I roll my eyes. That’s what I get for spending two and a half months away. I adjust myself, take another drag, and figure the nicotine buzz’ll have to do for now.

Another puff or two, then I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye, pulling my gaze back up to the master bedroom. I squint, then my eyes go wide - that’s not Zoe. That’s Zachary Quinto, pulling someone into the room behind him, shutting the door and plastering himself up against another man. I take a second to flash through the party guests, wondering who it could be. I’d noticed Zach working the room all night, charming everyone he talked to, flirting, a smile here, a finger to the lapel there. Now those fingers are tangled in light brown hair, now they’re gripping the front of a button-down shirt as he pulls Chris Pine into the lamplight.

It’s fucking embarrassing how fast I move to put my cigarette out, crushing the telltale ember into the grass beneath my heel. I look at it for a second, wondering why I did that, before my brain catches up and I admit what I already know – I’m going to watch.

Not that I’ll be able to see much, the bed’s back a ways from the window – at least, I assume that’s where they’re headed. But as I watch Zach push Chris’s shirt off his shoulders and go to town on his chest, I bite my lip and figure I’ll take what I can get.

I see Zach glance at the rumpled bed covers, grin and shake his head and slip his fingers through Chris’s beltloops, pulling him toward the window, and well now. Maybe I’ll get a bit more than I’d thought.

My heart speeds up a little as I watch them devour each other. It’s hot as fuck, made even more so by the way Zach clutches at Chris’s ass over his jeans and then, needing more, plunges a hand down Chris’s waistband. I imagine how it feels, fingers flexing between rough denim and sweat-damp skin, and I swallow hard. Zach leans back to say something, runs his other hand through Chris’s hair. The light catches a corner of his smile, the moment so intimate that I feel my first twinge of guilt for watching. I rub sweaty palms against my jeans, and I don’t look away.

There’s a burst of noise, music and laughter as the back door opens a crack, and my eyes widen. I feel possessive, like I have a secret, and I don’t want to have to share it with anyone else. Which I recognize is a pretty rich attitude coming from my current position, but I’ve got much more important things to worry about right now than a little well-intended hypocrisy.

The door closes, whoever it was sucked back into the vortex of the party, and I heave a sigh of relief, half for me and half for the two rising stars upstairs, oblivious to everything but keeping their hands and mouths on each other. Not that anyone would be surprised. Hell, I could tell everyone inside what was going on up there right now, and all I’d probably get’s a few smirks and an “I told you so.” But telling you so isn’t the same as seeing this, as watching Chris stumble a little as he steps out of his jeans and seeing Zach catch his elbow, eyes never leaving Chris’s face, even when he looks down to work Zach’s fly open.

I glance down at my feet, wish I hadn’t been so hasty in dumping the cigarette, and I reach in my pocket for the pack. I won’t light it – too risky – but I pull one from the box and slide it between my lips. Gives me something to do with my mouth, at least. I shove the pack back in my pocket, letting the cigarette hang from my lips - until I look back up to see Chris Pine facing the window in all his glory and nearly inhale the fucking thing.

For one terrifying moment I think that he sees me. He’s staring intently at the window, too intently, and I realize he’s watching Zach’s reflection in the glass. I relax infinitesimally, consoling myself with the knowledge that the two of them are focused on something a bit more urgent than scanning the yard for peeping toms.

Zach’s up close behind Chris now, naked, I’m sure, though his body’s mostly hidden from my view. He whispers something in Chris’s ear, which is immediately followed by a charming pink blush that spreads across Chris’s cheeks and down his neck. I’m captivated, entranced, my eyes locked on the way Zach’s fingers scratch lightly against Chris’s chest, tweak a nipple, pulling Chris back against him. He presses his lips to Chris’s shoulder, and I can see him murmuring words in amongst the kisses. A hand drifts down to Chris’s hip, pauses. He pulls away, outlined in profile as he says something – asks something, I guess, because Chris nods. Zach kisses his shoulder, asks again – another nod, more emphatic this time, and I wonder…

But not for long, because wondering requires thought, and all of the blood goes rushing from my brain to my dick as Zach drops to his knees behind Chris. I moan around the soggy tip of my unlit cigarette.

Chris’s hands are against the window now, his eyes shut, his cock swollen and gorgeous and bobbing a little with the force of Zach’s tongue plunging into his ass. Holy fuck. I become aware of a throbbing in my groin, the almost painful ache of the erection that I’ve been ignoring, but which is now intent on fighting its way out of my trousers whether or not I help it along. I tell myself I’m not going to give into the urge, that I’m just going to deal with it until I can stumble to my car – but then Chris widens his legs a little and his fingers flex against the glass, and I imagine it’s because Zach’s pressing a thumb into his spit-soaked hole, blunt rounded thumbnail working its way inside as he swipes his tongue over and over across clenching, quivering skin.

My pants are half unzipped before I know it, and I shove my hand beneath my boxers to wrap dry fingers around my rock-hard dick. I could come right now, three hard strokes and I’d be done, but I’m invested now, and it would almost feel like a betrayal to finish before the show’s over.

I decide not to analyze that thought.

Behind Chris, Zach rises to his feet, taking his time, kissing or licking or biting up Chris’s back, I can’t tell which from this angle. Chris turns his head to meet Zach’s lips for a long, indulgent kiss, and I breathe a little easier and loosen my fist around my cock. I’m watching their mouths, catching flashes of tongue and teeth and smile, so I don’t notice right away when Zach starts fingering Chris again. Chris’s head falls forward, his mouth dropping open at the shock of pleasure, and Zach must be pressing at least two long fingers deep inside him now.

I tighten my fist a little, give myself a few tight strokes - I can’t help it, not with an image like that slipping under my skin, making me break out in a sweat. I debate the mechanics of using my other hand to cup my balls, or to rub around my hole a little like I do when I’m alone, but it’s a crazy thought, this is too fucking risky already. I settle for running my thumb over the tip of my cock, catching the drop of precum perched there and sliding it slickly across the head in a slow rhythm that will keep me from going off until I’m good and ready.

Up in the window, Zach’s curling his tongue around Chris’s ear, kissing and whispering to him and he’s nodding, and I remember the question that I’d had before. Chris answers it now by going up on his toes as Zach adds what must be a third finger. His breaths cloud the window, obscuring most of his face, but I can practically see the blue of his eyes as they open wide at the new sensation, and that seals it - I’m pretty sure I’m about to watch Chris Pine get fucked for the first time.

Zach takes a step back and his head disappears behind Chris’s shoulder, and I realize that he’s looking down, cock in hand to help guide the tip between Chris’s buttocks. I picture him sliding it a little, getting Chris used to the feel before he presses the blunt, slick tip against his hole and pushes in. My own asshole clenches in sympathy, almost feeling it myself, the breach, the burning stretch, then the hard, hot column of Zach’s cock sliding home, filling him. I choke back a moan and see Chris bite his lip as he does the same. His expression is serious, like he’s trying hard not to show discomfort, but I can see the moment he relaxes, the moment when it goes from weird to good, when he realizes Zach’s all the way inside. Zach’s got one arm around his chest, the fingers of his other hand grip lightly at Chris's hip, and he’s nuzzling against Chris’s hair as he rocks into him. A wave of dizzying, red-hot arousal washes through me as I imagine how Zach must feel, his cock sheathed in Chris’s tight, perfect ass. Chris leaves sweaty palm prints against the window as he pushes back, eager for more, and I stroke myself harder, all hope of restraint gone.

Zach’s pumping into him harder now, they’re getting close. I watch Chris reach down to grasp his cock, and I mirror his frantic motions, both of us desperate to come. A bead of sweat slides down my temple, and I imagine lips against my skin, a hot tongue sliding out to taste. The cigarette hangs forgotten between my lips. Zach’s mouth is at Chris’s ear, and I see the moment he comes, groaning something that makes Chris cry out. Zach holds him tightly as he jerks in his arms and shoots his load against the window, and I spill into my own hand.

My vision blanks out for a second, and I have to blink a few times before I regain my sight. I’m staring at the ground, breathing hard and holding a handful of my own jizz. I make a face and reach down to wipe most of it off on the grass, scrub the remainder on the cuff of my jeans, and carefully zip up my trousers. When I look up, Chris and Zach are still framed in the window, their lower halves now obscured by Chris’s own personal Jackson Pollock painting. I watch Zach’s profile, and I wonder if Chris knows that Zach’s in love with him. I find myself hoping, for Zach’s sake, that he feels the same way.

Christ, I need a cigarette.

I keep an eye on the window and wait until they’ve moved away before I light up. They’re pulling their shirts on and grinning stupidly at each other, and I duck my head when Chris moves over to the window. But it’s just to swipe a paper towel across the glass, then he’s stepping away again, taking a quick look around the room to see if anything else is amiss. He runs a hand through Zach’s hair like it’s mussed, and I relax a little as the light goes out and the door of Zoe’s bedroom closes behind them.

I suck on the cancer stick like it’s a lifeline, like it can quench the buzz of arousal still vibrating through me, the one that lets me know I’ll be fucking my fist again the second I’m back in my apartment, maybe sooner if I park in the garage. I wait for the nicotine to bring me down, level me out, and it’s working, the sweat’s cooling on my skin and my hands have just about stopped shaking, when the back door opens, spilling light and laughter into the yard.

I watch Zach and Chris step out onto the patio, leaving the door open behind them. They share a few words, patting their pockets, and I take a final puff and stand to leave.

“Karl, hey!” Chris sees me and sets off across the lawn and I curse silently under my breath. “Any chance we could bum a couple of those off of you? You have no idea how bad I could use a cigarette right now.”

I know exactly how bad, I think, and I hand him the pack without a word.

“Thanks, man.” He pulls two out and hands one to Zach, who takes it between long fingers and raises it to his mouth. I stare, I can’t help it, I know where those fingers have been, and I have a dizzying urge to grab his hand and run my tongue over them, rub them obscenely against my face. I sit down hard on the bench, my hands shaking again as I pull another cigarette from the pack. I’m lighting up before I even realize what I’m doing, and I glare at the cigarette in my hand. I’ve forgotten how addictive these things can be.

Zach sits down beside me on the bench, leans back on one hand as he takes a long drag from the cigarette and lets it out with a satisfied sigh. I’m not sure where to look, my eyes keep darting toward their crotches, so instead I stare at the ground, where Zach’s Italian leather shoe is crushing the grass mere centimeters away from my spunk. Oh god. I tear my eyes away and glance up at Chris, but that’s almost worse, because now I can see how he’s looking at Zach, this full on adoring gaze, and it makes my chest ache with loneliness. At least now I don’t have to worry about Zach getting his heart broken, and I see that he knows it too, when he glances up and catches Chris’s eye. They give each other small, private smiles, and I feel like even more of a voyeur.

Zach’s eyes flick to something over Chris’s shoulder and his brow furrows. I follow his gaze and fuck - he’s caught sight of Zoe’s window, dark now, but obviously visible from where we’re sitting. I stare at something over on the side of the yard, and I can feel Zach glance at me, eyebrow raised. My face burns, and I allow myself a small hope that the ground will open up and swallow me whole, but then Zach’s leaning forward to stub his cigarette out and standing, and I realize that, for once, he’s not going to say a thing. He puts a hand on Chris’s shoulder and Chris nods goodbye to me before they turn and walk back across the yard.

The back door opens and closes again and I’m alone, the yard even darker now than it was before. I sag, elbows on my knees, and press the heels of my hands against my eyes. Images of lamp-lit skin, long fingers, and cum-splattered glass fill my mind, surging up against my will. I lick my lips, tasting smoke and sweat, and wonder if I’ll ever be able to have a cigarette again without thinking about this night.

And as if I didn’t know it before, that thought drives the point home.

Smoking’s fucking bad for my health.