Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/145972.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek_RPF
  Relationship:
      Chris_Pine/Zachary_Quinto
  Character:
      Chris_Pine, Zachary_Quinto, Anton_Yelchin
  Additional Tags:
      Religious_Themes_&_References, Blasphemy, Underage_Character, Underage
      Sex, Alternate_Universe, Schoolboys, Catholic_School
  Series:
      Part 8 of Catholic_Schoolboys_AU
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-30 Words: 4919
****** A Question of Lust ******
by withthepilot
Summary
     Chris faces his mounting feelings for Zach in the face of numerous
     hurdles and (sexy) distractions.
Notes
     Part 8 of the Catholic Schoolboys AU series.
"Oh, my fuck."
Chris digs his fingernails deep into the aged wood of the shelf and tries not
to knock over any books, just in case someone's actually walking around the
deserted science textbook section of the school library. If the cranky
librarian happened to creep over at this moment, she'd be in for a hell of a
sight: one trembling Christopher Pine, leaning on a towering bookshelf with his
uniform trousers bunched around his ankles, getting his hole licked, sucked and
spit-shined by one enterprising Zachary John Quinto.
(He got a look at Zach's school ID on the way in, hence the discovery of a
middle name. Another John; he nearly laughed.)
Zach pauses and whispers, "Not so loud," admonishing Chris, who can barely hear
him over the roar of blood rushing past his ears. "You'll attract attention."
Chris groans faintly, thumping a fist against the shelf; a cloud of dust rises
up in its wake. The rimming itself was Zach's brilliant idea, brought up shyly
during last night's conversation/make-out session. He was so soft and quiet
when he asked that the impact of the words nearly made Chris orgasm
instantaneously. The scene of the crime is all Chris, however; he knows it's
rare that that any student treads through the creaking halls of the library,
let alone this section. The librarian herself always looks like she's half-
asleep. Hopefully she's taking a nice nap right now.
"Your fault, you're driving me crazy," he hisses. He hears Quinto smirk from
the floor as he strokes Chris' thighs.
"I knew you would like this," he murmurs.
He goes back to circling his tongue around Chris' entrance, occasionally
plunging it inside without a regular cycle or rhythm, and Chris thinks he's
liable to fall over or pass out every time. It's just another example of Zach's
sexual deviance; one more thing to add to the long list of his fantastically
dirty schemes. Zach kneads Chris' ass cheeks with his strong fingers and
spreads them apart for better access, fastening his mouth to the quivering ring
of muscle. When he leans back to blow air across the wet hole, Chris has a
vague, passing thought that Quinto might just be his fucking soul mate.
"You should see how hard you are right now, Chris," Zach whispers, rubbing down
his legs again. "Your cock looks so good."
"I can feel it, you don't need to tell me," Chris gripes, but he shudders at
the dirty talk anyway. Zach knows all too well that he loves it. "C'mon,
Quinto..."
"Patience is a virtue," Zach says. He bites Chris' left buttock, making him
jerk.
"I'm all out of fucking virtue; fucking touch me," he growls.
He suspects Zach is probably smiling as he goes back to laving Chris' entrance
with his tongue, and when his hand lifts to wrap snugly around his cock, it's
blessed relief. Chris bites on his knuckle to hold back a moan and rocks
slightly into the warm fist before Quinto grabs his hip to keep him still. He
starts to stroke, rough and fast, thrusting his tongue repeatedly, and it's a
matter of moments before Chris' eyes are rolling back into his head as a wave
of hot, blooming pleasure suddenly clotheslines him. He bucks and comes hard
all over the spine of an ancient copy of Gray's Anatomy.
"Fuh," he utters, scrabbling to hold himself up as his body starts to succumb
to gravity. Zach reaches up and guides him down to the floor by his hips,
propping him against the bookcase. It takes a few moments before Chris regains
some sense of coherence; when he finally comes back to himself, he blinks
dazedly up at Zach. "I came on a book," he whispers.
"As long as it wasn't the Bible," Zach replies, smiling wryly. Chris laughs,
kind of goofily. Quinto comes off as pretty funny when Chris is still high on
the fumes of a major orgasm. He leans in for a kiss and pouts when Zach keeps
him at bay. "Hold on," he says, and digs into his giant backpack, pulling out a
small pack of breath strips. He slips one into his mouth and shrugs. "I figured
I might need these."
"You're such a geek." Chris smirks and shakes his head at Zach. "Good idea,
though. We can avoid any ass-flavored kisses."
"Christopher," Quinto groans, making a disgusted face. "Unnecessary." Chris
just rolls his eyes and pulls his pants back up, zipping his fly.
"Just let me know when I can kiss you already. Jesus."
Zach tilts his head and waits for the breath strip to dissolve in his mouth,
obviously enjoying the sight of Chris fidgeting. After a few moments, he smiles
and reaches up to cup the back of Chris' head, pulling him in for a smoldering,
deep kiss. Their tongues swirl together slowly and it's much less hurried than
it usually is, even though Chris suspects Zach has got to be at least half-hard
at this point. Over the past few days, being forced to avoid penetration, Chris
has developed a strong and somewhat bewildering appreciation for the simple act
of kissing. Zach has a nice mouth, is all. And he does nice things with his
tongue. And when he does something with it that Chris really likes, he's kind
enough to do it again and again.
Chris pulls back slightly and lifts his eyebrows, pursing his lips. "Still a
little assy. Maybe one more of those strips."
"Shut up," Zach says, grinning. He turns to lean back against Chris' chest,
sitting between his legs. Chris slings an arm around his waist and silently
marvels at how comfortable it feels: sitting so close to Quinto, doing these
things that couples might do. Not that he and Zach are a couple—he doesn't want
them to be all gross like Karl and John. He and Quinto are just having fun.
"We're having fun, right?" he asks, quietly. Zach turns his head to look at
him.
"I am. Are you?"
"Yeah." Hell, anything beats actually studying during study hall, but Chris
imagines Zach would likely have fun studying, too. Zach is always so wrapped up
in his schoolwork that it probably means a lot that he's willing to do this
instead. "I think I'm pretty much all better by now, too. None of that hurt at
all."
"Good," Zach says, nodding seriously. He sweeps his hand over Chris' thigh and
the gesture feels so oddly loaded that Chris can't help but lean forward a
little to tuck his nose against Quinto's thick, dark hair.
"You wanna hear something weird?" he asks. He pauses after Zach nods again.
"Karl actually tried to apologize to me yesterday. He passed me a note that was
like, 'Sorry I hurt you' and asked me to forgive him." Chris frowns a little at
the memory and then he feels Zach tense against him. He leans back and looks at
him in surprise. "What's...oh, man. You didn't say anything to him, did you?"
Zach shifts uncomfortably and looks down. "Maybe," he murmurs. He shrugs when
Chris doesn't reply. "I couldn't let him get away with thinking he didn't do
anything wrong. He hurt you."
"Zachary." Chris huffs at him, struck by a wave of frustration. He doesn't want
Quinto running around and fighting his battles for him; he put doubt into
John's head about Karl and that was enough revenge, really. Plus, there's that
one part that's been niggling at him that he hasn't really told Zach about, not
in so many words. He exhales and scratches the back of his head, then tips it
against the hard edge of a bookshelf. "It's not... You don't have to avenge me,
okay? I told him to do it. He said he would stop if I asked him to and I told
him to keep going." Chris pauses and swallows thickly. It's strange to admit
all this aloud for the first time. "It's my fault, too."
Zach keeps his eyes averted, his slick hair falling down into his face when he
bows his head. He doesn't say anything at first and Chris bites his lip,
wondering if he should prepare himself for the boy's swift exit. Eventually,
Zach just touches his knee and rubs lightly. Chris nearly jumps because the
touch is so unexpected.
"Okay, well...I still think you were confused. And, I mean, Karl's pretty hot,
so...probably hard to turn down." He licks his lips, looking much less like the
self-confident young man Chris has seen in him since they started hooking up,
and more like the walking target in the school hallway, shielding himself with
a giant bag full of books. "He seemed really upset about it, actually...I was
kind of surprised at how repentant he was. I was probably too hard on him."
Chris idly reaches up and pushes back the flyaway strands of Zach's hair.
"What'd you say to him?"
"I don't really remember," Zach says, squinting. Chris isn't quite sure he
believes that, but he doesn't push. "I sort of...punched him."
"You punched him?! Holy shit, Quinto!" Chris exclaims. He hears a distant
shushing sound from another section of the library and wrinkles his nose,
lowering his voice. "Man, I thought his face looked fucked up...wow. Wow. You
did that? Christ, Zach, I didn't... Are you fucking crazy?"
Zach blinks at him, startled. "He hurt you," he simply repeats. Chris exhales
roughly, gesturing as if Karl is right around the corner.
"Yeah, but he's bigger than you, Zach. You saw what he did to me... What if he
really hurt you? I mean...I don't think I could..."
Chris pauses and licks his lips, his mind suddenly racing. It's one thing to
make sure jocks like Eric Bana don't use Zach as a punching bag between
classes, but if Quinto is just throwing himself into dangerous situations on
Chris' behalf without telling him, how is he supposed to protect the boy? And
fuck—when did protecting Zach become such a high priority for him, anyway? When
did Zach get attached enough to go and do something so bizarre and stupid?
Chris blinks and reaches for his bag, his brain threatening to stall out.
"Don't go," Zach whispers first, grabbing Chris' arm to stop him. "Please."
"M'not." Chris breathes in slowly through his nostrils, training his eyes on a
spot in the distance. "I'm here."
"Okay."
Zach nods slowly, as if to reassure himself that Chris is telling the truth.
Then he turns halfway and curls his hand over the lapel of Chris' blazer,
kissing him again, more desperate this time. Chris hesitates before he gives
into it, parting his lips so their tongues can meet. He concentrates on the
slick heat of Quinto's mouth, reaching down to unzip his trousers on instinct,
inwardly pleased when Zach juts his hips up. Chris slides his fingers over his
length and bites on his bottom lip, causing Zach to gasp.
"Zach," Chris murmurs, tracing the pronounced vein along the hardening length
in his hand. Quinto moans a little in response, going higher in pitch when
Chris reaches back with his free hand and grips his hair tightly. He pulls
Zach's head against his shoulder, his back flush against Chris' chest, and
holds him as he strokes and squeezes Zach's cock, alternating between teasing
taps and wet slides of his thumb over the head. Zach doesn't struggle aside
from the twitching of his hips and the quickening of his breath. Chris shuts
his eyes and whispers in his ear: "Don't be foolish. Not for my sake, Quinto."
"Then whose?" Zach whispers back, between his clenched teeth. Chris doesn't
answer, just keeps pumping harder and faster, keeping the fingers in Zach's
hair tight and unrelenting. He lets out a frustrated grunt and twists his hand
in a way that makes Zach keen; pushes his thumb under the head repeatedly until
Zach shakes. He can sense, from all the tension in Zach's body, that he's
holding back. Chris licks along the pale shell of his ear and flickers his
tongue inside and that's when Zach shudders and lets himself go, coming in a
thick spurt across Chris' palm.
He releases Zach's hair and lightly massages his scalp, smiling slightly at the
satisfied sigh he hears. Eventually, Chris licks his hand clean and looks up at
the clock; the bell is due to ring at any moment. He doesn't know whether to
feel relieved or not. He's not really upset or irritated with Zach anymore; now
he's just puzzling over the idea that someone would actually go to such lengths
for him—actually put himself in danger. It leaves him feeling awed and fuzzy.
The bell rings. Zach moves to zip himself up and kisses Chris' cheek, then
leans away to fetch his bag. "See you later?" he asks. When Chris nods, he gets
to his feet, scuffing one sole on the floor. "I can't really help it."
"What do you mean?" Chris asks, squinting up at him.
"I think you know," he says. Zach slips his arms through the straps of the
backpack and smiles thinly, walking away. Chris peers around the corner of the
bookcase and watches him hurry toward the library exit.
As fun as it is to spend study hall messing around with Zach, it makes the rest
of the day a burden to bear. Chris arrives slightly late to his next class and
the only remaining seat is next to that new Russian kid who claims he's
American. He doesn't mind at all—the kid's nice to look at—but so far, he's
shown zero interest in Chris. In fact, he seems to have a bit of a crush on
John, which is about ten different kinds of hilarious. Chris takes his seat and
shoots a bright smile over to Yelchin, who looks up and actually smiles back.
And look at that—it's a surprisingly nice smile.
The teacher starts droning about something having to do with grammar and Chris
flips to a fresh page in his notebook, starting to doodle. He pauses in his
crosshatching when a note lands on his desk. A quick glance over to the next
desk gets him a telltale smile from the Yelchin kid again. Chris smothers a
laugh into his fist when he reads the brief comment, written in small,
immaculate script.
You smell like sex.
Yelchin would know, right? Orgy in the locker room, he writes back. Sorry you
missed it. He hands off the note and receives it back a moment later. This
time, Chris casually spreads his legs under his desk as he peruses the reply.
Please invite me next time. I want to make friends.
Chris licks his lips and smiles faintly to himself, folding up the note and
tucking it away. He doesn't turn his head to see if Anton is bothered.
After about ten minutes of a painfully dull lecture, the teacher instructs the
class to form groups of two for grammar exercises. Chris lifts his head and
glances around the room idly. Zach sits a few rows away, but he's out for
obvious reasons. John has been avoiding him for a few days now—big shock. He'd
pair with Eric, but that never ends up going well; the guy has meatloaf for
brains. Chris leans over, about to ask Zoe if she wants to be his partner, when
someone grabs his arm and jerks him back into his seat.
"You're with me," Anton says, a smug smile curving his lips. Chris barks out a
laugh.
"Yeah, right. You don't even speak English."
"Yes, I do." Anton frowns, his speech clipped and curt when he continues.
"You're so horrible and yet so popular. This is why high school is for idiots."
"Can't argue with that," Chris says. He leans forward, folding his arms on his
desk, resigned to his fate. "So...what are we supposed to be doing? I wasn't
really listening."
Yelchin scoots his desk closer. "You're going to help me make friends," he
says. He's got that devious smile again and Chris furrows his brow; it almost
feels like looking into a mirror. "You're friends with that boy...John. Right?"
"John Cho?" Chris grins and glances over at John, who gives him a definite
fuck-off-and-die look when he feels the eyes on him. "Sure, best friends
forever. What about him?"
"He's hot." Yelchin purses his lips, idly touching his tie. Chris notices, of
course, and arches his brow. "I want to go out with him," Anton says. As if
Chris doesn't know what go out with him really means.
"Yeah?" He's grinning even harder now because god, isn't life grand sometimes?
Chris couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to permanently fuck up
Karl's little thing with John, because come on—Anton's got those eyes and those
curls and that mouth, fucking Christ on a cracker, and there's no way John
could stand his moral high ground for long with the sight of all that kneeling
before him. And to think, the other day he was so stressed out because he
couldn't think of a proper way to get revenge. It's like Christmas come early,
really. He squares his shoulders and puts on his best I'm being so serious
right now face. "Well, I think you should..."
But then he finds himself trailing off, thinking about what Zach said in the
library and that fucking note from Karl...ugh. Chris bristles and curses under
his breath; a perfect opportunity to wreak some havoc and everyone's conspiring
against him with their niceness. Anton leans forward, looking confused.
"Go on," he urges. Chris just frowns to himself and waves a hand dismissively.
"Uh...never mind. John is, uh...he's taken. He's got a boyfriend."
Anton twists his mouth slightly and nods. "Is it that Karl person? With the
dark hair and the twisty eyebrows? I saw him staring at John in drama class."
"That's him," Chris agrees. He watches as a range of emotions flicker openly
over Yelchin's face; he can tell the kid is debating with himself whether or
not he should go for John anyway. Considering that he's fucking Father Bruce on
a regular basis to stay in this school, he probably knows the extent of his
persuasive powers. Eventually, the kid finishes weighing the pros and cons and
sighs, ready to move on.
"Okay, well...there is one other boy I've noticed," he says. Chris sits up,
suddenly interested.
"Yeah? Who?"
"Him," Anton murmurs, pointing across the room. Pointing...at Zach.
And holy shit—the little Russian all over Zach? The mere idea beats watching
him suck off Father Bruce any day. But it also sets off a twinge of jealousy in
Chris' gut, one that he can't quite explain. He fidgets slightly, squinting as
he looks over at Zach, who ended up working on the class project with Zoe. "Oh
yeah?" he manages to get out, though his throat feels painfully dry. "Why,
um...why him?"
Anton shrugs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "He's so quiet
and mysterious. A bookworm, you know? But I bet he has a wild side. He has to;
with those eyes and that body...he's so striking. I like that."
"Yeah, well," Chris begins, licking his lips again. "He's really shy. And
withdrawn. And the jocks pick on him all the time. I mean, he seems like a
loner, so..."
"I like that, too," Anton counters. Chris feels himself floundering, realizing
he has to take a different direction with this.
"Okay, sure, but—he's a nerd. A huge nerd. Seriously, all he does is study.
He's always doing homework and he never goes out anywhere and he'd rather stay
home and read fucking scripture or whatever than go to parties, so he's not
really—"
"So you know him," Anton interjects. He looks extremely pleased. "Do you think
you could tell him I'm interested? I'm sure I could convince him to put down
his books for one night."
Chris blinks, feeling dizzy. For the second time this afternoon, he has no idea
what's going on in his own head. One thing he does know for sure is that the
mental image of Zach and Anton together is sexy enough to break his brain wide
open. On the other hand...he's never thought about having to share—that is, if
Zach is even his to share.
He runs his palm over his face and pictures the way Zach first looked at him in
the confessional booth. He replays the soft surprise in his voice when Chris
helped him put on the leather jacket; the lust Chris could feel radiating off
him when he pressed his face to the fabric and breathed in, his fingers
clutching, wanting. Reaching.
"I—I'll talk to him," he finally blurts. He flexes his hands, the skin of his
palms feeling clammy. Anton smiles triumphantly.
"Great," he replies, picking up his pen. "Now, fucking bullshit grammar."
"Onward and upward," Chris mutters. His conversation with himself goes more
like, I'm so fucking fucked.
The end of the day can't come any sooner than it does. He watches John hurry
out of their ninth period class as usual, though he doesn't sprint down the
hall with the same excitement in his step he once had. When Chris gets to his
locker, there's a note waiting for him. Stay right here, it reads. Chris
exhales and tosses a book into the metal cabinet, then takes out his jacket,
pulling it on. When he slams the locker door shut, he finds Zach standing there
in the borrowed—well, gifted—leather jacket, smiling impishly and looking like
sex on two legs.
"So, you have three choices," he begins. He adjusts his backpack strap and then
counts on his fingers. "One, we celebrate your newly healed state by going and
fucking in the church pews. Two, we fuck behind the bleachers. Or, three...we
go to my house, because my parents are both working late."
Chris gapes a bit at first, shifting on his feet. He and Zach have never
invited each other over to each other's houses before. He'd guess that Zach is
out of kinky locales in the school if he weren't for the suggestion of the
bleachers—that's a new one. Plus, the look on his face suggests nothing short
of sincerity. Man, today has just been freaky all over.
"Well," he starts, about to accept the offer before he can think himself out of
it, when someone shouts his name. Chris turns and feels his face go hot at the
sight of Yelchin jogging down the hall. He wants to tell Zach to run with him
in the other direction as fast as he can, but it's no use now; they've been
spotted.
"Chris!" Anton exhales when he gets to them, smiling brightly. "Did you ask
Zach yet?"
"Uh...no." Chris looks around anxiously. Not only is Anton bringing attention
to the fact that he's standing here with Quinto, but he's also shamelessly
raking his eyes over the dark-haired boy's form and Chris is sweating bullets.
He's grateful the corridor is already mostly empty. "Yelchin, now's not a good
time," he says, trying to sound gruff.
"Ask me what?" Zach says hesitantly.
"If you'll hook up with me," the boy replies casually. Chris nearly rolls his
eyes; the Russian transplant seems to have his English idioms fairly down pat.
Anton moves closer to Zach, lightly running his fingers down the front of the
leather jacket—Chris' leather jacket—and tilts his head, cherubic curls swaying
gently. Zach visibly tenses on the other end of the attention, his dark eyes
darting over at Chris with a glimmer of uncertainty. Anton doesn't seem to
notice, too wrapped up in pawing at the jacket. "Nice," he comments, flicking a
fingertip against a zipper. "I knew there was more to you than just a
big...backpack."
Zach backs up against the lockers, the picture of discomfort. "I'm not—I don't
even know who you are," he murmurs. He pushes Yelchin's hand away and Chris
feels a thrill of pride; Zach has never done that to him.
"I thought you said you would ask him for me." Anton gives Chris a confused
look, then notices the second leather jacket. He laughs sharply and Chris feels
his cheeks turn pink as the puzzle pieces interlock for the little Russian boy
wonder. It's supposed to be a secret, this thing between him and Zach—fucking
Yelchin, of all people, isn't meant to know about it. Chris glances at every
available spot he can find that's not currently occupied by Anton or Zach; even
so, he feels Zach's heavy stare on him, hears his quickened breath as if it's
right next to his ear.
"Even better," Anton says. He's got the same calculating expression that Chris
recognizes from earlier, and he smirks before leaning in to whisper in Zach's
ear. Whatever he says makes Zach's breath hitch. Chris feels his cock stir in
response to the sight of Zach's lips parting with a soft inhalation of air.
Then, swift and assured, Anton draws back and pats both of their shoulders,
moving between them.
"Think about it," he suggests, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as he
strolls away. And just like that, it's only the two of them again. Chris shifts
his gaze from Anton's retreating form to Zach, stepping forward to erase the
distance between them.
"Zach," he whispers, not quite knowing what to say. His curiosity gets the best
of him in the end. "What'd he say to you?"
"Um. He, um...it was..."
Zach falters, barely able to look him in the eye. Chris can't recall ever
seeing the boy so shaken before; even when he used to taunt the boy, half the
fun was in seeing if he could land a blow to that dignified exterior—he rarely
could. Zach bites his lip and Chris doesn't even think about the possibility of
someone in the corridor watching—he reaches up and caresses Zach's jaw, touches
the tip of his thumb to the corner of his open mouth.
"Let's go to your house," he says, as quietly as he can. Because yes, of course
he wants to go to Zach's house—option three, it's not even a question. Maybe
he's getting himself into trouble by wanting this so much, but fuck if he's
going to let some horny Russian kid ruin his afternoon. His heart skips a beat
when Zach looks up at him with a doubtful gaze, his lips still parted but
saying nothing. "Come on, Zachary," Chris tries again, motioning toward the
exit. "Let's go."
Zach inhales deeply before grabbing Chris' hand, pulling him toward an empty
classroom and shoving him inside. Chris nearly stumbles into the front desk as
Quinto locks the door behind them. Then he's on Chris like a shot, grabbing him
by his spiky hair and pushing his other hand below the waistband of his
trousers. Chris grunts in surprise, clutching the edge of the desk, his
knuckles blanching from the strain. Zach bites his bottom lip, licks between
his teeth.
"He said he wanted to watch me fuck you over a desk," he hisses into the hot
cavern of Chris' mouth. "What did you tell him, Christopher?"
"Nothing," he croaks. His thoughts begin to swirl in an infinite number of
sinful directions and he clutches Zach's tie to pull him closer. "Nothing, I—he
came up with it on his own; he's a fucking pervert..."
"He's a whore like you."
Zach twists his hand sharply on Chris' length, tugging without regard for
build-up or foreplay. He knows exactly how Chris likes it by now, and with a
squeeze and a rough jerk of his wrist, Chris comes undone in mere seconds,
pupils drifting toward the ceiling as he shudders and stains his uniform
trousers. He struggles to catch his breath and clings to Zach's biceps, pulled
taut with tension as they hold up Chris' loose limbs.
"I want to do it," Zach whispers in his ear. "But then...I don't."
"I know," he murmurs. He mouths at the pale skin beneath Zach's ear, feeling
like he's been drugged. "Me too."
Zach's breath is a warm breeze in his hair, tickling his scalp. Chris sags
slightly and tries to gather himself enough to stand upright, but then Quinto's
hands move to his shoulders and push down, guiding him to his knees. He goes
down.
"What about your house?" he whispers, curling his fingers around Zach's thighs.
Quinto runs his thumb over Chris' jaw, then unzips his pants, pushing them
down.
"Can't wait that long."
Chris closes his eyes for a moment, looking up again when he feels Zach's cock
nudging against his mouth. He licks his lips, the tip of his tongue catching on
the slick, swollen head, and Zach hisses above him. If there's one thing Chris
won't do, it's make Zach wait—not like this. He opens his mouth and lets Quinto
thrust inside, a peculiar quaver in his moan when their eyes meet—enough to
make him wonder just who it is Zach sees there, kneeling on the dusty floor
before him. Zach holds him on his cock, one hand firm in its grip on Chris'
hair as the other forms the sign of the cross: forehead to chest, shoulder to
shoulder.
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