A gentle breeze floats through, ruffling his hair, and he snuggles into the blankets. The days are warming and the heat lingers, allowing for a calmness that is incongruent with a New York city night.
Or maybe it’s the quarantine that’s mandating everyone keep indoors.
He sighs and burrows even deeper into his couch, contemplating spending the night here. His bed is all the way up the stairs and cocooned in blankets, he can’t quite convince himself to make the trip. Besides, he often wonders if his couch is indeed comfier than his bed (fuck you very much, Anthony Mackie) and why not put it to the test?
A sound echoes in the distance and he startles out of his reverie. He draws his eyes back to the glow of his laptop screen, casting shadows on the empty plate and glass littering the coffee table. A weary hand scrubs his face, catching on the scruff he’s sporting. He’s hesitant to run his hand through his growing hair, another reminder of the sudden limitations on life.
Fuck this pandemic and fuck this quarantine. His therapist would be disappointed, lamenting multiple facts that directly contradict the plan they had agreed upon just yesterday: structure, distraction, structure, coping skills, structure. It’s supposed to keep him steady, provide a semblance of normalcy – but really what is normal about any of this right now? If he wants to stay awake till 4am, then he’s allowed to, therapy instructions be damned.
And if he wants to delve into the recesses of the internet to escape the harshness of reality, then he’s most definitely allowed to, societal norms be damned.
He runs his hand over his face again, and yeah, the image on his laptop has not changed. There’s one Christopher Robert Evans in all his muscled-up glory and stupid fucking long eyelashes staring back at him. And there’s him, staring longingly at one Christopher Robert Evans like he’s hung the moon and the stars and invented the Milky Way. This is what happens when Instagram mentions leads to Marvel links that direct him to tumblr fan pages. His therapist would be extremely disappointed that he’s here again, but it’s 4am and he’s quite disappointed in himself for thinking of his therapist twice in the span of 5 minutes.
If he can’t indulge in his darkest secret - the one that he never lets himself admit aloud – during a once in a century pandemic, then really, what is the point of it all anyways.
He clicks the link stating proof and the screen goes from the muted tones of a blue background to the glaring white of YouTube. The video loads and then, through his speakers comes his voice saying I love Chris and before the mortification can set in, Chris’ voice follows with I love Sebastian and he’s scrambling up, pushing his laptop aside and reaching for the bottle of wine.
He drinks deeply, allowing the bitter tannins to hit the back of his tongue, trying to clear his mind and yeah - this was a bad idea. The laptop is still playing an unassuming song, interspersed with his and Chris’ voices and he blindly reaches for it, clicking at random. Mackie’s voice blares through and he can breathe again, exhaling and shoulders sagging. He braves the laptop screen again, smiling at the absurdity that is Anthony Mackie and before he knows it, he’s watching video after video of press shenanigans, where he’s drawn out of his shell due to Mackie’s exuberance and buoyancy.
He gets lost in the hilarity, getting progressively intoxicated, laughter and memories flowing of times where he could easily reach out and hug another person. He laughs at how clueless he appears half the time, cringes at how often he says you know, and everything is softer, a touch blurry, and the world feels right again.
The bottle of wine is nearly empty, glass long forgotten, when the next video autoloads and it’s Chris and him again. Chris calling him hot and saying he’s the sweetest guy ever and he’s gushing over Chris as well, and suddenly, its not as scary as it was 40 minutes ago. Maybe the wine is getting to him, or its now closer to 5 am and his body is not accustomed to the lack of sleep. Either way, its not scary but actually really funny that some clever people on the internet have spliced snippets of him and Chris together to make it look like there’s something more. Downright hilarious. So funny, in fact…
He fumbles on his laptop, fingers clumsy as they move against the keys, pulling up the messaging app. He by passes the group chat he has with Chris and Mackie, where Mackie had posted a picture of his sons’ baking attempts and finds Chris’ name. He pastes the link to the video with a simple “lol” and sits back, a deep satisfaction making its way into his bones.
He’s obviously handling it so well; he can laugh about people assuming that he has feelings for Chris. Really, just the funniest thing, nothing to see here at all. He takes another sip of wine, only to come away empty, frowning at the opaque glass of the bottle.
Almost immediately, his phone starts ringing, and he hits mute on the video, rummaging through the folds of the blankets. He swipes hastily, barely glancing at the name before he rasps a “Hello?” No one would be calling him at such an ungodly hour unless it was an emergency.
“Seb?”
Oh, no. Finishing a bottle of wine was not a smart idea, the wishful thinking morphing his reality.
“Seb?” Comes the voice again after a moment of silence. Hesitant, careful.
“Chris?” Sebastian says weakly, and what is happening? It’s 5 in the morning, why is anyone else awake at this time?
“Hey,” Chris chuckles and Sebastian is not prepared to handle this – him – frankly, anything right now. “How are you?”
“Good,” he manages to croak out. “It’s late? Or early depending on how you look at it.”
Chris’ laugh is deeper, rich like the wine he can still taste on his lips and the anxiety starts to fade away. “You’re the one who messaged me.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he confesses, voice low. He snaps his laptop shut and the room plunges into darkness. He settles back into the couch.
“So, you were just perusing the web?”
“It’s a world waiting to be discovered,” he retorts.
“How are you holding up?” Chris asks, concern laced between the words.
He bites his lip. “I’m one of the lucky ones.”
“Sebastian,” Chris’ voice is low, reproachful.
He exhales. “Some days are worse than others. Overall, I’m okay. Hanging in.” He pauses and Chris waits, giving him space, always giving him space. “I miss my mom.” Fuck this man for making him feel safe enough to get him to talk, understand when he’s hiding behind an armour.
“Oh Seb, how’s she doing?”
“Fine. I’ve driven by to drop off food. I had – we had agreed to spend some time together after I wrapped up in Prague. And now we can’t.” He sucks in a breath, “How’s Lisa? And the kids?” There’s sharing and then there’s dwelling to the point of being uncomfortable.
“They’re fine. Scott’s been isolating with me. It’s a bit easier to drive by and spend some time outdoors together.”
A silence floats between them and Sebastian is loathe to fill it, content to hear Chris’ soft breaths. A laugh sounds in the background, getting softer after a few seconds. “Sorry,” Chris says, his footsteps heavy through the phone. “Scott’s watching TV.”
“Anything good?”
“Wouldn’t know. I was doing some work on A Starting Point.”
“How’s that going?” He closes his eyes and allows Chris’ words to wash over him. He’s quieter, subdued, the passion not spilling out like it does when he’s in front of the camera, but a thrumming undercurrent and Sebastian’s helpless but to be swept in. He listens attentively, asking questions and offering feedback, fighting back yawns every so often.
“Seb?”
“Mhm?”
Chris hesitates and the sleep slips off Sebastian. “Why don’t you come down?”
He thinks he heard him correctly. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic, Evans.”
He can hear Chris snort, but the rest comes out earnest, “We’ve both been isolated for the past months. Scott’s leaving in a couple of days. It’s not a long drive and it’ll do you good to get away.”
“Chris…” He trails off. He wants to say yes, but.
“Come on, who knows when we’ll get a chance to see each other again with our schedules.”
“That’s low, even for you,” Sebastian laughs. He blames it entirely on the wine when he says, “Yeah, fine. Why not.”
“Don’t sound too excited.”
“Barely containing it in.” His yawn punctuates the statement.
“Get some sleep, Seb. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
It’s well past nighttime, the barest hint of sun peaking over the horizon, but that doesn’t bother Sebastian. He falls asleep on his couch, a smile on his face.
---
He'd packed extra snacks and timed it so he could pee discretely in a bush, exactly halfway through the drive, to avoid exposures along the way. As a result, he's kept himself safe, but now he's antsy and eager to stretch his legs. Which is why, when Dodger leaps at him when he pulls into the driveway, he's able to match his energy, hands scratching and petting, trying not to laugh too wide lest he end up frenching with Chris' dog.
"Save some love for the rest of us," a disembodied voice says drily. Sebastian frees his face from fur and a slobbering tongue and -
Chris is just - there. Standing a few feet away, haloed in sunlight, an unlikely vision in cut off shorts and a loose T. He freezes for a moment, reminding himself that this is real and not a hallucination drawn up from months spent alone. Dodger uses Sebastian’s momentary laxness to jump up and send him stumbling back into his car.
"No," Chris scolds, crossing the remaining distance to tug Dodger back. Then he's pulling Sebastian into a hug, into Chris' solidness, and his arms automatically move to encase Chris. He feels Chris’ nose bump his neck, a hand cuff at the longer hairs at the back of his head, and the undercurrent of anxiety that had been dragging him down for the past few months starts to ebb away.
They are forced to separate when Scott joins them, Sebastian eager to hug another human. He resolutely ignores the pout on Chris’ lips, partly due to the ingrained habit after ten years and partly because he refuses to cloud this visit by giving voice to pesky thoughts.
It’s alarmingly easy to find his way through Chris’ home. He puts away his meagre items in drawers because we are always living out of go bags. My home is not another hotel room. He makes his way to the living room, bypassing Chris who’s puttering about in the kitchen on the phone, and over to Scott who’s watching TV. He’s not ready to sit just yet, a restlessness still under his skin, when Dodger trudges over and plants himself at Sebastian’s feet. It’s a happy medium to keep his arm moving in warm fur but also be sprawled on the floor.
“What’s on?” Sebastian asks nodding to the TV.
Scott shrugs. “Nothing much.”
And maybe its because he's known Scott just as long as Chris, or maybe both Evans brothers share the same look of faked innocence, that Sebastian grows wary.
Or maybe its because Scott will never miss an opportunity to mock the living hell out of Sebastian’s earlier work. Its unfair that you play a baby gay better than most gay men and every time I watch twinky Seb, I have another gay awakening.
Scott grins wide, all innocence abandoned when he fiddles with the remote. The screen is instantly filled with a younger Sebastian, eyes rimmed red and his bottom lip quivering.
“Oh, fuck you,” Sebastian grumbles, no real feeling behind it.
“So, do you feel you’re doing your career and the queer community a disservice by no longer playing a sad, gay man?” Scott asks.
Sebastian reaches for Dodger’s ball, slimy with slobber, and lobs it at Scott who’s too busy laughing to bother swatting it away. Dodger sees his ball flying and chases after it, landing on Scott heavily. Good.
“Can’t leave you two alone for a second,” Chris says, walking into the room. He takes in Political Animals on TV and groans. “Give him a break, Scott.” He reaches for the remote and blessedly, turns it off. The eye roll he aims at Sebastian is belied by the softness in his smile. “So glad to be getting rid of him.”
“Please,” Scott snarks, finally extricating himself from a pile of fur and cushions. “You would be lost without me.”
The brothers quickly get into an argument about who needs each other more and Sebastian can’t help the sheer happiness and fondness that blossoms and burns.
---
The transition of Scott leaving to Seb coming in was a bit too seamless. Sure, he doesn’t spend as much time playing video games because it wasn’t a thing in communist Romania, Christopher, but they watch just as many old movies, listen to absurd music, and talk into the late hours.
“Yeah, I still don’t get sports.” Sebastian’s head is hanging off the couch seat, his feet resting against the back. Chris had somehow convinced him to give football a try. A recording of his favourite Patriots game is playing on TV, Chris still reacting to each touchdown like it’s the first time. “Basketball, I understand. Soccer, sure. Football – did you know the ball is only in play for 9 minutes of the game?”
“It’s 18 minutes,” Chris rolls his eyes. And lobs a cushion at Sebastian, who easily bats it away. He grins at Chris, his upside-down face making the laughter more pronounced.
“Winter Soldier reflexes.”
Chris bursts out laughing, holding onto himself for fear he’ll fall off the couch. When he finally catches his breath, the game has ended, and Sebastian is now doing experimental crunches from his position on the couch.
“I don’t think Don would approve,” Chris remarks.
Sebastian pulls a face but stops. “He’s not the boss of me.”
Chris laughs again, feels like he has been in a constant state of buoyant joy since Sebastian had arrived.
It’s quiet for a moment, Dodger’s footsteps the only sound drawing their attention from their thoughts. It’s comfortable and grounding. He remembers being in his teens and twenties, chasing away the anxiety with booze and weed, struggling to find the calm he discovered in his thirties. It still hits him now, moments like this, spaces in time where he realises, more often than not, he is settled. Peaceful.
The pandemic had obscured that peace for a bit, despite Scott doing his best to help.
Now, though – in this moment, with Dodger staring curiously at Seb’s progressively redder face, he feels it.
“Do you ever regret it?” Sebastian’s voice is quiet, like he senses he needs to slowly draw Chris from his mind.
“Hm?”
“You know, the past couple of months, it’s forced us to stop. Kind of re-evaluate our purpose. What we want in life, from life.” Sebastian bites his lip in thought, the colour slowly returning when he speaks. “I was so busy with work, I don’t think I had time for anything other than my characters, the director.”
Dodger trots over to Chris, placing his head on Chris’ lap, but keeps his face and ears turned toward Sebastian.
“And now, just – who are we without our work, you know? What drives me if I’m not acting? Fuck, Chris, we’re nearly forty. I thought I’d have a family by now.” A flicker of anguish passes across Sebastian’s face. Dodger whines.
“Do you regret it?”
“I thought I did. Especially in March, when everyone would send videos of things they were doing with their kids. How the extra time with family was a gift. I was jealous, but then I started going for early morning runs, started writing again. Reading, meditating – like all the stuff I had been ignoring. I think I found myself again. It made me happier than trying to date, find someone.” He glances at Chris. “Is that too self-centered?”
“Fuck, no,” Chris trips over his words in a rush to defend Sebastian. “Same, I mean, it was the same for me. Seb, I get the kids and family question all the time, fuck, even interviewers think it’s a fair thing to ask. We have the privilege of questioning societal norms, of asking ourselves if true happiness and fulfillment can only be attained through children and the conventional notion of a family, or if we can fulfill those same desires to connect and love and nurture in other ways. Sure, having my own family would be amazing, if that can happen for me. And I’m nearly 40. If it doesn’t happen, does that mean my life wasn’t worth it?
Every day I learn more about myself, whether that’s through reading, or reflection, or conversations with others. I learn about me, my fears and passions. They’re constantly growing and evolving. They push me to be better, be more. How can I be there for others wholly, if I can’t first understand myself? We don’t talk about that enough.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian breathes. “Yeah, that – that’s exactly it.” It’s shy and so quiet, Chris has to strain to hear, “I like who I am now.” He catches Chris’ gaze and no matter how ridiculous he looks in his current position, nothing can take away the sincerity of the moment.
“Me too,” Chris says.
Dodger appears to agree, because he abandons Chris, going over to Sebastian and looking at him intently.
“Are you happy?” Seb asks, just before Dodger gives up on his staring, fitting himself under Seb’s head, and licking around his neck. Sebastian breaks into giggles, his legs folding in on himself as he fights to maintain his balance.
Chris looks at the two of them, through the blend of barks and laughter. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
--
He thought Dodger’s infatuation with Sebastian would slowly fade after a few days. He’s proven wrong.
Again.
Right now.
Dodger has abandoned him for Seb, the two curled together at the opposite end of the couch, and Chris can’t even bother to feel jealous when he’s so ridiculously fond. He pulls out his phone to take a picture, watching as Sebastian tries in vain to keep his eyes open.
Chris pokes Seb’s foot with his toe, gently, because everything about Sebastian begs for softness and careful gestures. “You don’t have to stay awake for me. Go sleep.”
Sebastian blinks blearily at him, licking his lips a couple of times so that they come away pink, reflecting the muted glow of the lamp. He pats Dodger absentmindedly, gingerly making his way out of the blankets. He picks up a beer bottle off the floor and knocks over another in the process. Dodger’s left ear lifts half-way, before it gives up and flops back down.
Chris reaches out and snags Sebastian’s hand, pulse steady under his thumb. He brushes it once. “Leave it, we can clean up later.”
“Yeah, ok.” Sebastian nods, running a hand through his hair and messing it further. “Good night.”
“G’night,” Chris responds, chuckling lowly as Sebastian sleepily walks down the hall, the bedroom door shutting silently.
He’s still wide awake, sleep elusive despite the late hour. He pulls out his phone to send Sebastian the picture of him and Dodger when he notices the video Seb had last sent. He’d forgotten to watch it, choosing to call Sebastian instead.
He opens the link, curious. He starts out confused, before it sinks in. He isn’t necessarily bothered about why Sebastian was sending him a video - clearly dedicated to just the two of them - for it has been years of sending things back and forth apropos of nothing. He’s more invested in the message the video is conveying.
Chris is no stranger to fans wishing characters and actors would get together. He’s aware of the masses who believe Steve and Bucky are soulmates, what with him and Seb and half their cast sharing the same belief. He’s also aware that over the years he’s been linked with numerous co-stars and he just shrugs it off as secondary to his profession.
What he clearly wasn’t aware of is how the power of editing can make it look like he and Sebastian are in love with each other. Not Steve and Bucky, but him and Seb, ‘Evanstan’ if the video title is to be believed. Because this is the message being conveyed – that Chris is so smitten by his co-star and friend that he stares at him with hearts in his eyes, that they finish each other’s sentences, that they’re more than just friends. Chris chuckles, the video coming to an end.
The internet is such a fascinating place.
He presses play again, watching more intently, listening more carefully. He grins at antics from press conferences gone by. He hasn’t thought about those days in years. Looking back now, he remembers with sudden clarity the mix of excitement and tranquillity he felt doing press with Mackie and Seb. Hours of the same questions, of fans and reporters in their faces, to then retire to quiet hotel rooms and dinners where they talked about life and death, and everything in between. Often it would just be him and Sebastian, Anthony usually begging away to virtually connect with his family. He remembers being so fully in Sebastian’s orbit. Apparently, their closeness and comfort bled into interviews and onto cameras.
He’s startled out of his reverie at the silence, the video having ended.
He presses play again, promising to pay attention.
And he does. He listens to Sebastian and him talk about how much they admire – and well, love – each other. He sees how often he invades Seb’s space, either standing closer than strictly necessary or reaching out to touch. He remembers doing that, their shared anxiety revealing that touch was a helpful grounding mechanism for both. He takes in how he’s louder, a bit more exuberant with Anthony when it’s the three of them; whereas with Seb, he’s softer. Calmer. Because that’s the way they are together. There are no new revelations, other than the slowed down moments where he’s – well, for a lack of a better word – checking Sebastian out.
Which – that’s just editing. Right?
He pulls up the search engine. If there is a compilation with Sebastian, it only stands to reason that he has compilations with other co-stars.
Nearly forty-five minutes later and Chris has an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Because –
His heart is starting to race and not in a pleasant way. Because –
It’s getting a bit harder to breathe and –
Dodger appears on his chest, knocking his phone aside and settles with his head close to Chris’. He buries his face in Dodger’s fur, breathing in his scent that promises home and safety and feels the static start to recede as his brain dials back in.
Because – the way he is with Sebastian is different. Different than with Scar, Robert, Mackie, Hemsworth, Renner, hell - even his exes.
And that – he tightens his hold on Dodger and just breathes for a few.
Chris has never questioned his sexuality. Growing up with Scott, it had been clear they were attracted to different genders, even before Scott had officially come out. He just rolled with it, assumed that because he hadn’t been curious about men, he wasn’t attracted to them. He’s had friends who had experimented, hell Sebastian himself has talked about being with men, but that curiosity had never affected Chris.
Because Chris was – is – straight.
Right?
Surely, his penchant to be close to Sebastian when they’re together, the surety and comfort he feels around Seb, the way he’s eager to have a conversation with him, share in his triumphs, be vulnerable in a way he has a hard time being with others – that’s just normal friendship. So what if he appreciates that Sebastian is smoking hot, with timeless good looks, and can fill out a leather jacket or skinny jeans like no other?
He lifts his head from Dodger’s body and takes in the numerous bottles around him.
He’s had too much to drink. That’s all this is. He just needs to sleep it off.
---
When Chris wakes the next day, the sun is winning a battle against the blackout curtains. The intrusion of light is only belied by an unfamiliar quietness in his home. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s woken up without Dodger to greet him. It’s that more than anything else that gets him out of bed, wandering through his house in mild confusion.
Just when he’s starting to worry, the front door bursts open and Dodger rushes forward with Sebastian trailing sedately.
“Hope you don’t mind. You were fast asleep, so I took him out for a run.”
Sebastian is dressed in plain black running shorts, sunglasses obscuring his eyes, tufts of hair sticking out of his backwards baseball cap – and nothing else. The sparse hairs on his chest glisten with sweat and Chris’ throat gets painfully dry.
“Chris?” Sebastian repeats, moving past him for a glass of water. He fills it up from the tap and downs it in three big gulps. Chris knows because he’s openly staring at the way Sebastian’s throat works with each swallow. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Suddenly, the panic from last night resurfaces and Chris cannot be here for another second. “Nothing – I mean – I’m not hungry. I think, actually. Maybe. I’m going to go for a run too.” Chris stammers and flees, not waiting for a response.
---
Well.
That was odd, to say the least. He can hear Chris knocking stuff over and swearing in his room but he’s a big boy and Sebastian’s too hungry to figure out whatever that was. Besides, Dodger starts whining from where he’s laying beside his food bowl and Sebastian has more important things to worry about. Like figuring out where Chris keeps the dog food.
---
Sebastian is so enthralled at the freedom of living in a house with a backyard and a pool that he’s able to overlook Chris’ behaviour. He initially shrugged off the morning because everyone should be allowed their eccentricities. Except it continued throughout the day: Chris turning a brilliant shade of red and hurriedly scurrying away, Chris stammering halfway through a conversation and abruptly changing the subject, Chris reaching out only to snatch his hand back – just, Chris being weird.
Which, coming from Sebastian, is saying something.
But that was then, and now, Sebastian is using the gift of a warm day to dry him out from a late afternoon swim. His eyes fall shut as the sun beats down on his skin, only to be dragged rudely into alertness by a loud splash. He squints out at the pool, watching Chris’ muscles cut expertly through the water.
Bastard. Of course, even his swim strokes are perfect.
Chris’ head breaks through the surface, water running down mountains of muscles, begging Sebastian to follow them with his – and nope, that way lies madness.
“Hi,” Chris waves. Fucking waves like a dork. “Perfect weather for a swim.”
“Uh huh.” That’s exactly what Sebastian had told him earlier, when he’d asked Chris to join. Only Chris has stumbled out an excuse and run into the other room. “It’s warming up.”
“I’m going to do a couple of laps. It’s uh, great exercise.”
Sebastian quirks an eyebrow. “It is.”
Chris flushes instantly, a deep red starting at his hairline and spreading alarmingly fast down his body. He ducks his head and fumbles with his hands, supposedly trying to convey something, before giving up and swimming in the opposite direction. Sebastian watches him for a bit, attempting to find a centre to the madness, and shrugs.
Sleep waits for no man.
---
There’s something to be said about a leisure wakening, where your mind slowly welcomes consciousness, giving your body ample time to follow suit. When Sebastian decides to open his eyes, he’s licked his lips a few times and given his warmed and lax muscles a couple of terrific stretches. He glances around, for an indication of how much time has lapsed. He turns to his right and is greeted by Chris sitting on the adjacent lounger, staring at him.
Sebastian clears his throat, feeling a little unmoored by the intensity of Chris’ gaze. Chris jumps at the sound.
“You had fallen asleep.”
Sebastian squints at him.
“In the sun. That’s not good. You’re going to burn.” Chris’ voice gets progressively higher with each sentence, until he abruptly cuts himself off and all but throws a bottle of sunscreen at Sebastian. He gets up, knocking his toe against the lounger and his sunglasses to the floor. “I’m going to shower.”
Sebastian simply watches him walk away, wondering if Chris is the one who’s gotten sunburnt, with the vivid red that’s covering his chest and back.
---
It’s bad. It’s so, so bad.
He has been acting weird ever since last night and he knows that Sebastian has picked up on it, given the frequent questioning and confused looks he had directed at Chris all day.
Then, dinner had been a strained and awkward affair. Especially after Sebastian simply stopped talking when Chris had botched the fifth attempt at a conversation. He’s wound up even tighter since then, waiting for the moment that Sebastian tells him he’s giving up and going back to New York.
“Anything you want to watch?” Sebastian asks, from the opposite end of the couch where he’s mindlessly flipping through Netflix.
Chris shrugs, half registering the question.
“Dirty Dancing?”
“Sure.” You can never go wrong with Dirty Dancing. He says as much and Sebastian shoots him a smile, warm and soft around the edges. He looks the same, hair drying into a mess against the cushion, his beard thicker than he’s ever seen it. Chris wants to run his hand through both, wants to mess it up more and then tame the mess. His heart threatens to escape through his throat, and he closes his eyes, pressing his lids tight together, hoping to quell the swirl of insanity he’s been flirting with all day.
Because that is exactly what this is. It has to be insanity, madness, a blip in reality just like this goddamned pandemic. The only other explanation is that the happiness he feels whenever Sebastian texts or calls, the sense of completeness when they get lost in a conversation, the constant desire to be close enough that he can reach out and touch, the thrill when their eyes meet – the only other explanation than absolute insanity is that he’s been subconsciously in love with his friend and colleague for the better part of the last decade. Well, subconscious only to him. It seems like the rest of the world had cottoned on quickly enough.
Now that he knows, he doesn’t know what to do. He feels guilty, dirty, like he has been harboring some underlying motive behind the guise of friendship. He can no longer trust himself around Sebastian and it’s leaving him thrown and bereft.
“Hey,” Sebastian murmurs, his voice loud against Chris’ thoughts. “You okay?”
Even across the distance of the couch, Chris can see the concern grow in Sebastian’s eyes. He feels hot everywhere and his own eyes burn with a sudden pressure.
“Yeah,” Chris stammers. “I just - I’m not feeling too well. Might turn in early.”
It takes Sebastian a long moment to answer, his eyes never leaving Chris as he untangles himself from the blankets and stands up. “Maybe you need to sleep it off?”
Chris jerks out a nod, feeling betrayed and yet understanding Dodger’s decision to stay with Sebastian.
---
It’s later than he normally wakes, but he’s got a plan to go for a run in the afternoon sun, so he permits the lazy morning. He rubs the last bit of sleep from his eye, scratching at the hair below his navel, while he makes his way to the coffee pot.
He notices Chris out the corner of his eye and mumbles out a greeting, more focused on getting caffeine into his body. It’s only after he’s gulped down a few large sips that he takes in Chris, frozen in his seat and a slightly dazed look on his face.
“Chris?”
Chris jumps, banging his knee on the table. “Ah, fuck!” He fumbles, narrowly missing Dodger’s tail as his chair screeches backward.
Sebastian holds the mug to his lips, a furrow between his brows and his mouth pursed in confusion. He waits until Chris is just about to leave the kitchen.
“Want to join me on a run?”
Chris freezes, hands curling into fists, before he relaxes them. “Sure. Just give me ten.”
---
It is surprisingly easy to synch one’s breath with another human and a dog, even during a strenuous run. Harmonizing the rhythm of their exhales with the beat of their feet, helps him achieve the ever-elusive meditative state.
It also helps ignore Chris’ deafening silence.
He’s lost track of time when they pull to a stop, driven by Dodger. Based on the look of determination on Chris’ face, they would have been running for another hour.
“This is a nice area,” Sebastian comments, taking in the lush green.
“Yeah,” Chris agrees. He pauses, clears his throat. “It’s one of the reasons I bought the house here.”
The silence stretches like stale chewing gum, the two looking anywhere but each other as Dodger pants between them. There’s a sudden ache in his chest, a heaviness that weighs him down. He’s desperate to fix this thing between them, despite not having a name for it.
“Did you know of the area before you started house hunting?” The words are clunky and foreign around his tongue. He has never had difficulty talking to Chris.
“No.” Chris chances a look at him and drops his gaze. “We lived in the suburbs growing up.”
Sebastian nods.
“We should –
“There’s a –
He struggles against the mix of bitterness and fear in his throat. “You first.”
“There’s a great bakery around the corner. We could pick up some food?”
Sebastian nods.
---
Eating scones and drinking beverages provide an excuse for conversation. Once they return home, Chris heads to his bedroom and drops his head in his hands. He’s a hairs breadth away from ruining his friendship with Sebastian.
Tremulous and determined, he pulls out his phone. The second the call connects, he demands, “Am I in love with Sebastian?”
“Hi, dearest older brother. Who kicked me out so he could have some private time with a one, Mr. Stan?”
“I did not kick you out, you chose to leave!”
“Semantics,” Scott replies, drolly. “Finally figured it out, have you?”
Chris’ stomach roils and he falls back on to his bed. “You too? Why didn’t you say anything?”
The humour leaves Scott’s voice; infused instead with stern sincerity. “Chris, you’re stubborn. You would have never believed it until you figured it out for yourself.”
There’s a beat of quiet. “What now?” Chris finally asks, his voice cracking. “What does this mean about – me?”
“Whatever you want. You don’t have to label anything unless you want to.” Scott waits Chris out, before he quips. “Maybe you’re just Sebastian sexual.”
Chris laughs. It may be shaky around the edges, but it’s still a laugh.
“Does it scare you? Like the impact on your career? What the public will say?”
Chris knows that that’s not it. He’s given a lot for his career and he’s ready if this is it. “No. I just … I feel stupid for not knowing sooner. Fuck, I’m nearly 40.”
“Oh, bud. We live in a world that’s so quick to categorize. You know, sometimes, it’s easier to explain away and hide what we don’t know, what we fear. It’s not stupid. It’s normal.”
Chris thumbs away the wetness at his eyes. He breathes in deeply.
“What are you going to do?” Scott prods.
Chris exhales. “I don’t know. But I have to do something. I think - I’m pushing him away, shutting him out. I can see he’s hurting. I hate not being able to talk to him.”
“Oh, Chris. Don’t.” Scott’s voice is firm, the way it gets when he gives Chris a pep talk. “You deserve to be happy. To go with your gut instead of that messy head of yours.”
“What if he doesn’t feel the same?”
Scott laughs, loud and perhaps a bit too boisterous. “Do you even know Sebastian?”
“Scott,” he whines.
“That man has been gone on you for the past 10 years. For fuck’s sake, Chris. He drove out to you in the middle of a pandemic. Put him out of his misery.”
“Scott.”
“Yes, Chris.”
He can hear the smug. But that’s alright. He’s the older one.
“You know I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” Scott pauses. Knowing his brother, Chris pre-emptively rolls his eyes. “Can’t wait to hear about how great his dick is.”
Chris hangs up.
And then he steels himself, mind made up. When Chris resolves to do something, it happens.
He will tell Sebastian.
But after he figures out how to act around him again.
---
He enters the living room, feigning nonchalance as his eyes rake over Sebastian. He’s freshly showered, engrossed in a book, fingers absentmindedly moving through Dodger’s fur. The sun’s just starting to set, the golden light kissing Seb’s skin lovingly.
He pauses. He’d thought something very similar the first night of Seb’s stay. Before he had been aware of his feelings.
He fights back the instinctual panic and pushes forward. “Hey.”
Sebastian startles, eyes falling warily on Chris. “Hi.”
“Any preferences for dinner?”
Sebastian takes too long to answer, head cocked as if he’s trying to figure out Chris. Eventually, he shrugs. “I’m easy. Need help?”
“It’s fine. I’ve got this.” He shoots him a smile, which Sebastian cautiously returns.
Dinner is a simple affair of pasta and salad. Chris takes great care to initiate conversation and see it through. He intentionally brushes his fingers against Sebastian when he passes him the pepper, allowing the touch to linger and concealing how flustered he gets from the contact. When he refills their water, he lets his hip graze Seb’s shoulder, taking measured breaths at the sink to suppress the fire that spreads through him.
Despite the internal mess, his plan works; Sebastian’s hesitance slowly unfurls. His dry humour returns by the time their plates are cleared and Chris doesn’t have to fake comfort in his laughter.
They retire to individual projects: Sebastian sprawled on the couch working on footage of New York, experimenting with video editing and directing styles; Chris at the table, reaching out to politicians who had originally declined A Starting Point.
He hates cold emails; the anxiety of rejection and uncertainty, but the passion for the project is enough to drive him. He gets lost in formulating targeted, personal responses and doesn’t notice the lights flickering on, a glass of water being placed by his side, the latch of the door.
It’s only when he rotates his neck to ease the tension that he catches Sebastian throwing Dodger a ball in the yard, mirrored smiles of enthusiasm on his boys. He halts at the possessiveness.
He spares a few more minutes watching the way Dodger’s fur illuminates in the twilight, how Sebastian scratches behind his ears every time he returns the ball. Chris inhales and squares his shoulders. Only five more emails and he can call it a night.
A “hi” pulls Chris from his focus sometime later, warm hands resting on his shoulders in a gentle squeeze. “Still working?”
“Um…” Chris clears his throat, thrown off by Sebastian’s touch. “Yeah, just a few more minutes.”
“What you got there?” Sebastian asks, thumbs drawing maddening circles at the base of Chris’ neck.
“Just some stuff for A Starting Point.” He can feel the heat at the tip of his ears, prays that Sebastian won’t notice. He wants to run away from his response to Seb’s proximity. He remains in his seat.
He angles his laptop screen, sharing the content with Sebastian, who whistles lowly. “Those are some big names, Chris. This is going to be amazing.” He bends lower, reaching out to scroll through the list of names. His front presses into Chris’ back and there’s no way Sebastian misses the sharp inhale.
Thankfully, he pays no attention to it, asking instead, “Have you gotten a lot of people on board?”
Chris is grateful for something to focus on other than Sebastian’s heat. “Surprisingly, yeah. Some I thought would say ‘no’ for sure.”
“Why?”
Chris shrugs. It brings him closer to Sebastian. “Hard to trust a Hollywood celebrity. They’ve been burned in the past.”
Sebastian waits him out, his left thumb resuming its back and forth on Chris’ neck.
“I’m worried a lot of people won’t see past the fame.” The words on the screen blur briefly.
Sebastian draws back so he can look at Chris, gaze fierce and steady. “Even if you use the fame to get one person thinking about politics and the actual issues, it will be worth it.”
Chris swallows, the words echoing. They’re reminiscent of his own pep talks, whenever he felt like giving up. This synchronicity between Sebastian and him is not new, and he finds himself thrilling in it again. Its both a relief and a fear.
He takes in Sebastian, really looks at him. At the face he’s come to know almost better than his own. At how close he is and how Chris wants him closer. There’s no stopping his heart racing, his blood singing. He steers into it.
“Seb,” his voice is hoarse.
“Yeah?” Sebastian’s thumb stills on his neck.
Chris closes his eyes. “I – I’ve been acting weird, lately. I’m sorry.”
There’s a pause. Chris opens his eyes to see Sebastian searching. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I will. Just – give me some time?”
It lingers between them, suspended and precarious, before Sebastian smiles, softly. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” And with one last swipe of his thumb, he walks away.
The touch on his neck, the smell of Sebastian’s skin, the warmth he effuses – they linger.
Chris drops his head in his hands. Fuck, has he got it bad.
---
When Chris is done with ASP, he feels lighter, welcoming the pride of his accomplishment. The positivity seeps into his perspective as he replays his conversation with Sebastian, daring to hope for meaning in how Sebastian had leaned into him, had initiated physical contact. He reaches for courage to face the night ahead, adamant in allowing hope and anticipation to edge past the anxiety and guilt.
Even the rain that has started to fall, does little to dampen his spirits. Rather, he relishes in the cocoon it creates, borrows steadiness from the rhythm of raindrops on his windows. He changes into a pair of loose sleep shorts and tank, ready and determined.
When he opens his door, he picks up faint curses and follows them to the living room, stopping short at the sight that greets him.
“Chris, where’s your mic set?” Sebastian’s voice is loud, though muffled with his head far into the cabinet by the TV. “Scott said it was here.” He shimmies his way out, bottom shaking in retreat.
“Chris!” Sebastian calls again, head finally popping out. He stands up and smiles when he sees Chris. “Hey, you’re here.” When Chris doesn’t respond, Sebastian pouts. “Chris.”
“Right, sorry – what?” He shakes his head, willing the image of Sebastian’s ass and pouting lips from his mind. He scrambles to find the resolve from a few minutes ago.
“Mic set? Scott said you had one. Figured we could have a karaoke night,” Sebastian finishes with a flourish.
Chris looks around, only just taking in the various snacks and drinks on the coffee table. He rubs at the back of his neck, excitement warring with nerves. “It’s in the other cabinet. I’ll get it.”
In the time it takes him to procure the two mics that plug into his sound system, Sebastian has turned off the main lights. The room fills with dancing neon of a cheap disco ball, perched at the center of the coffee table. Sebastian’s smile is multicoloured, “Scott said he’d left this in the guest bedroom.”
Chris narrows his eyes at the knowledge of Scott and Sebastian texting, but he can’t dwell on it, in the face of Sebastian’s enthusiasm.
“I’ve already set up the karaoke app on your TV. All we need to do,” Sebastian holds out a shot glass, clear liquid spilling onto his fingers, “is get drunk.”
---
Chris is handsy at the best of times: throw in some liquid courage, dancing, and Sebastian Stan, and it takes every ounce of self control to keep to himself. He had tried to maintain some composure, to not give away his feelings while drunk and singing karaoke, by leaving wide berths of space. As the night wears on, and the bottles of empty alcohol grow, as Sebastian becomes more exuberant, the self control starts to slip away.
It makes its final exit when Chris is seated on the couch, too wired and buzzed to blame it just on the alcohol. The next song starts and Sebastian shoots Chris a smirk. He turns his back to Chris as the music swells, choirs rising to Sebastian's hands raised high. Everything narrows to Sebastian, who's passionately bellowing and it feels like home. He pauses dramatically, before twisting around in time with the pop intro, splaying his shirt open and dancing.
It gets worse, much worse when Sebastian drops down on his knees, promising – uh, singing – that he’ll take Chris there.
Chris’ throat goes dry, fingers tightening around the neck of the beer bottle.
Sebastian shuffles toward Chris, movements exaggerated and ridiculous. He points at Chris sitting on the couch and belts, “I hear your voice, its like an angel sighing,” and then topples over. He giggles over the next few lyrics, only to pick himself up and resume his crawl toward Chris, singing abandoned for better coordination.
When he does reach Chris, he smirks and leans back, body arched more suggestively than Madonna ever could and croons into the mic, “heaven help meee.”
He shouldn't be, in the face of such dorkiness, but Chris is mesmerized.
“Seb,” he rasps, calling his name exactly like a prayer, just as Sebastian straightens up. His mind goes blank at Sebastian between his legs, hair wild and eyes bright. He opens his legs, willing Seb closer and the beat picks up again.
Sebastian grins and jumps up, twirling away and singing over Madonna. Chris downs the rest of his beer, inhibitions sufficiently lowered.
He gets up and joins Sebastian, who hollers in greeting.
The night blurs into hip thrusts and smoldering touches, horrible dance moves and bodies pressed together, all to a soundtrack of 80s music. He loses himself in Sebastian, his laughter, his body, his voice. Its too easy to believe there’s meaning in the songs Seb’s chosen, especially when he drops the playfulness, looks at Chris with hungry eyes and sings about feeling the magic between you and I.
Sebastian turns and lines their bodies, back to chest, slowing his swaying to the beat. It gives Chris the perfect opportunity to clutch at Sebastian’s hips that have been driving him crazy all night, guiding Sebastian to move along with him. He allows his head to dip forward, nose trailing along the tendons in Seb’s neck until his lips meet Seb’s ear.
“I want to show you what loves all about, darling tonight.”
Sebastian shudders against him, fingers clutching onto Chris.’
They fall silent. The music continues without them, lyrics unsung, as Chris’ stomach swoops and his heart stutters.
Just when Chris is about to speak, Sebastian uses his grip on Chris’ hand to twirl underneath it. When he comes back, he places his left hand on Chris’ shoulder, his right in Chris’ grip, strong and secure. He meets Chris’ eyes, moving them around the room.
When he resumes singing, its almost a whisper, more sincere than it’s been all night and completely incongruent with the rise of the music. “I need you to see, this love was meant to be.”
Chris closes his eyes against the disco neon lights and Sebastian’s honesty, finally placing his right hand on Sebastian’s waist. He draws him nearer, their foreheads touching. He could do it right now – just kiss him and never stop.
They don’t notice the song change until they’re startled by the loud notes of Thriller and then they’re both laughing.
“I love this song!” Sebastian exclaims, untangling himself from Chris, scrambling away from the corner they’d moved to and into the open space. Chris reaches for his phone, glad to have something to do with his shaking hands. He starts recording just as Sebastian pulls out the choreographed Thriller moves, promptly getting his foot caught in the rug and goes crashing to the floor, knocking snacks off the table with him.
“Seb!” Chris manages to wheeze through his laughter, phone abandoned. “Are you okay?”
“I think I’m dead,” Sebastian intones, sadly.
Chris makes his way toward him, snorting at Sebastian sprawled in a mess of peanuts. “Need a hand?”
“No.” But he makes no effort to move, so Chris kneels beside him. The room spins and he says as much.
“Because you’re so high up,” Sebastian slurs. “You have to come down. Down.” He pats the floor next to him clumsily. “I think I’m drunk.”
“Me too,” Chris admits, lying down next to Seb. His miscalculates and his head ends up next to Seb’s torso. “Music stopped.”
“Thriller was the last song. Go out on a bang.”
Chris starts giggling and can’t stop. “You did.”
A peanut lands on Chris neck and he laughs harder, turning his neck so it can roll off. His nose brushes Seb’s waist and his giggles subside.
“We should clean up.”
Chris thinks he nods in agreement. He’s more focused on fitting his nose into the sliver of skin between Seb’s waistband and shirt, before he falls asleep.
--
His face is wet. His head is throbbing, his legs are heavy, and his face is getting wetter the longer he lies here.
Sebastian sits up to get away from Dodger’s insistent licking only to be hit by a wave of nausea. He holds his breath and waits for it to pass. The room is flooded with bright light, streaming into every corner and crevice to show case every inch of the mess from last night. Wrappers on the floor, rings of dried-up alcohol, a wasabi pea in between the cushions. He’s a bit impressed that they managed to turn the place upside down.
Images of last night flit through his mind: falling over multiple times, serenading Chris, dancing with him, against him, for him. He runs a hand over his face in embarrassment. When it drops away, he finally registers that the weight on his legs is Chris’s hand thrown over them, hugging them close to his body.
At any other moment, he would have been only too happy to revel in the contact, but right now, he needs to deal with the nausea and his bladder, and a very demanding dog. He gently extricates his legs from Chris’ grip, replaces them with a cushion, and spares only a few seconds to admire the sight of Chris asleep. Its not a new one, what with multiple films and press tours together, but its just as precious.
What he does focus on instead, is the happiness that they’re good again.
Karaoke has never failed him.
---
“Thanks for the tea. And water. And for cleaning up.”
Sebastian puts aside his book and smiles at a freshly showered Chris. “How’re you feeling?”
Chris groans, settling on the end of Sebastian’s lounge chair. “Like I’m too old to be doing shots.”
“We shouldn’t have mixed alcohol,” Sebastian commiserates.
“Who picked out the alcohol?” Chris accuses.
Sebastian raises his hands in surrender and laughs. He lets his legs fall to either side of the chair and shuffles back so Chris can sit more comfortably. Chris thanks him, moving in closer. They’re quiet for a bit, taking in the stillness of the pool, the day clear and serene after the rain last night.
Chris clears his throat and Sebastian returns his attention to Chris. He's suddenly on alert, cataloguing how Chris is leaning toward Sebastian, with fire in his eyes and determination squaring his shoulders. He carries a mission well; its easy to see why Feige was insistent that he play Cap. And yet, to Sebastian’s well-trained eye, he can pick up the carefully concealed anxiety in the way Chris nibbles on his lips, picks at the wood of the chair.
He’s not surprised when Chris breaks the silence, nerves shortening his breath and fingers clutching at the slats of the chair. “So, about that thing…”
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Like, you don’t, you know, owe me anything.” Sebastian blushes at how he stumbles to get words out, curiosity warring with the desire to comfort.
“I know,” Chris says simply, placing a hand on Sebastian’s thigh. “I want to.”
Sebastian nods.
“Um, this is going to be weird,” Chris stammers. He meets Sebastian’s eyes and holds them, as a multitude of emotions pass through Chris. Just as he’s beginning to wonder if Chris has changed his mind, Chris blurts, “I’m not straight.”
It takes a moment for the words to register.
“I think I’ve always known, but just never acknowledged it? Until a few days ago. I – it threw me off and I didn’t know how to tell you.” He must see something in Sebastian’s face, because he rushes to say, “Not that I thought you wouldn’t take it well. I just didn’t know how to say it out loud.”
“Chris,” Sebastian finally gets a word in. He cups the side of Chris’ head and looks him in the eye. “Breathe. Its just me.” Chris snorts lowly at that, but Sebastian powers through. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course, I – yeah. Of course.” Chris tears his gaze away and Sebastian lets his hand fall.
Sebastian opens his mouth, but Chris beats him to it, standing up. “Wanna have breakfast for lunch?”
He doesn't. He wants to, needs to process, to curl up in a corner and just think about Chris' revelation. Instead, Sebastian does what he does best, and follows Chris’ lead. “I’m in.”
---
Sebastian isn’t sure if his perspective has changed or if its Chris’ behaviour. Something has since he heard the words I’m not straight because he’s questioning everything.
Like the way Chris takes off his shirt before he jumps in the pool. Did he always undress so slowly? Did he always smile at Sebastian with hooded eyes, right before taking his clothes off? They’ve been around each other in various stages of undress, though none had felt so… charged.
I’m not straight.
It’s a well-known fact that Chris likes to touch. But did his touches always linger? Did he always notice a speck of dirt on Sebastian’s clothes or the state of his hair and try to fix it?
I’m not straight.
Like an endless movie reel, years of memories play out – Chris reaching out for him, Chris paying attention to him, Chris right there. Sebastian had resolutely refused to dwell on an underlying meaning because Chris was straight.
Except.
I’m not straight.
And – and, why was Chris so wary to tell him? Did he think Sebastian would judge him? Or was it the weight of telling Sebastian?
Since hearing those words, Sebastian has been unraveling to the point of near hysteria. This trip up to Boston was supposed to help Sebastian get out of his mind. All its done is shove him back in there with extra baggage.
“Seb?”
Sebastian startles, hitting his hip against the kitchen counter. Chris looks at him expectantly, holding out a glass that’s still warm from the dishwasher.
“Cabinet’s behind you.”
Sebastian shoots him a weak smile and accepts the proffered glass, turning to put it away. He takes a few deep breaths and returns to help Chris unload the dishwasher. He tries to stay present but its fucking hard. He’s lost track of the number of times Chris’ hand has found his shoulder, his back, his arm, and stayed for longer than necessary. The number of times he feels Chris’ breath ghost his neck, his ear, his cheek as he leans in close to tell Sebastian exactly where a fork is supposed to go.
The last time he checked, unloading dishes didn’t involve as much physical contact or send Sebastian into a tangle of nerves. He’s teetering on the edge of demanding Chris explain his actions and put him out of his misery.
Sebastian straightens from putting away a serving dish, only to bump into Chris. Who’s standing before him, empty handed. Sebastian clings onto the counter behind him, unable to trust his body right now.
“You okay?” Chris asks, stepping closer. His brow is furrowed in concern, fingers ghosting against Sebastian’s hip.
Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, to laugh at how in a day, they’ve swapped dibs on losing the plot. Nothing comes out. He shakily attempts a nod, though he botches that as well.
“Oh, Seb,” Chris soothes. He bites his lip, gazing contemplatively at Sebastian. He releases his lip, eyes narrowing at the shudder that runs through Sebastian. Chris steps in between Sebastian’s legs, fingers surer against Sebastian’s body. “I think I've been a bit mean, getting in your space, riling you up. You’re all in your head. I’m sorry.”
The words crash into Sebastian. In a flash, years of suppressed want and need and thoughts break free, and Sebastian runs hot all over, flushed with how his heart is threatening to escape his chest.
Chris’ face softens, replaced with sincerity and something purer, deeper. It scares Sebastian that he knows this look, has seen it directed at him often over the past ten years. He closes his eyes, fingers clenching tightly onto the counter.
Chris’ hands leave Sebastian’s side and come up to cradle his face, keeping him anchored. His fingers scratch through Sebastian’s beard as they settle in his hair, the slight pull sending sparks coursing through his spine.
“Seb,” Chris whispers, thumbs brushing high cheekbones. Sebastian opens his eyes, staring wildly at Chris. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Chris,” Sebastian whimpers, unable to catalogue his body’s response, his thoughts. “Chris,” he repeats.
Chris kisses him in response, the barest hint of lips against lips, until Sebastian’s fingers finally let go of the counter and clutch at Chris’ waist. He makes a desperate sound in his throat, that Chris kisses away, pressing his lips more insistently to Sebastian’s.
It’s over too soon, much too soon. Not enough time for Sebastian to memorise the shape of Chris’ mouth, his hands on his skin, his beard against his own.
Chris draws back, just barely and looks at Sebastian with his own desperation. “Tell me you want this too, Seb – “
“Fuck, yes, of course,” Sebastian says, pulling Chris back in and kissing him. Open and hot and wet. Anything but gentle, ten years of want finally having permission.
It’s exhilarating and brilliant, better than anything he had dared to imagine. He traces his tongue along Chris’ full bottom lip, begging for entrance that is quickly granted, the thrill of learning Chris’ mouth matched by the shudder that runs down Chris’ back. His brain is static, helpless to the sharp sting of Chris pulling his hair to angle him just so, the way his legs widen to let Chris press him into the counter, the slick heat of Chris’ mouth and tongue. He’s given up trying to memorise the details, giving in to the base instincts of more and closer, hands tightening desperately in Chris’ shirt.
He’s not sure if they pull apart because they need air or if one of them registers Dodger’s whines and insistent scratches against the door.
Forehead against Sebastian’s, Chris’ hands move to Sebastian’s neck. “Dodger might pee in the kitchen if we don’t let him out.”
It’s far from sexual and yet Sebastian leans back in, nudging quick kisses to Chris’ lips. It doesn’t help his brain clear, nor does it settle the burning need to wrap himself around Chris and never let go.
He faintly registers Dodger’s barks getting louder, more insistent. The frantic tugging at their shorts is harder to ignore and somehow, they manage to disentangle themselves. Sebastian wordlessly follows Chris, slipping on their shoes and gathering Dodger’s leash. He bounds gratefully outside, barely making it past the porch before he lifts a leg to pee.
“Poor baby,” Sebastian murmurs, thankful for the fresh air, the distraction from Chris. He’s beginning to see beyond muscles and soft lips, his brain dialing back in.
“Does it make me a bad father that I’m a bit resentful at being cock blocked?”
Sebastian laughs, loving the blush that blooms across Chris’ face. They follow Dodger as he walks them around the neighbourhood.
“Care to fill in the blanks?” Sebastian asks, once they’ve cleared Chris’ property.
Chris chuckles ruefully, ducking his head. “Which ones?”
“All of them?” He might have regained the ability of rational thought, but he’s still struggling with linking point A to making out in Chris’ kitchen.
“It was the video you sent. I only watched it a couple of nights ago.”
The video - ? Oh, oh.
“I was so drunk when I sent it.” There’s a mixture of embarrassment and shame. Its easily masked by overwhelming happiness.
“I’m glad you did. I didn’t know – or I did, actually. I just never realised it until I saw the way I looked at you. Touched you.” Sebastian has always admired Chris’ eloquence. The lack of it right now – Chris is just as untethered as him.
They enter the woods that Dodger loves, everything slightly muffled by the trees surrounding them.
“Once it registered, I became more aware of how much I did it.”
Sebastian’s brow furrows.
“Staring, touching. Needing to be around you.”
The past few days sharpen with clarity - the aborted moves and averted gazes.
“Chris – “
“Scott helped me clear my head. I was afraid I was going to lose you.”
“Oh, Chris.” Sebastian murmurs. With his free hand, he laces his fingers through Chris’, the warmth of his palm grounding against his own. “That’s never going to happen.”
There’s more to be said, so much more. But Dodger sees a squirrel and Chris makes up for ignoring him earlier by chasing Dodger through the woods when he slips from Sebastian’s untrained hold on the leash.
When they make it home, the sun is low on the horizon, shepherding the cooler air of night. Dodger stills long enough to allow Chris to wrangle mud off his paws, only to prove the process futile when he ventures into the backyard to dig up his favourite hole. Chris watches him with a smile of exasperation, while Sebastian watches them both.
“Seb,” Chris calls to him, clear in the stillness of the night.
Sebastian walks over, toes curling around blades of grass. He stops in front of Chris. “Hi.”
“Hi.” There’s a tentative shyness behind Chris’ smile. “Lie with me?”
Sebastian goes along willingly, easily, always for Chris. They lay beside each other; the grassy ground a cool blanket at their backs, the night sky dotted with early stars.
“Do you remember our nights in London?” Chris asks.
Sebastian smiles. He remembers trips to the countryside on their days off, downtime spent at pubs getting to know each other. He’d kept those memories tucked away, stolen moments where they discovered their compatibility and Sebastian discovered his love for Chris. He suddenly feels brave, bolstered by the kiss and the way Chris had taken his hand on the walk back home.
“I had a crush on you then.”
Chris’ fingers find his again, in the narrow space between them. His thumb brushes a rhythm on Sebastian’s hand. It sends shivers up his body.
“Just then?” Chris chances.
Sebastian sighs, a lifetime of memories flashing through his mind. “I’ve spent ten years trying and failing to convince myself I wasn’t in love with you.”
Chris breathes out. Long, heavy. “These past few days? It took a stupid, fan-made video to make me realise I’ve been fooling myself for the past ten years. I’ve been in love with you and didn’t even know it.”
“We should send that fan a gift-basket,” Sebastian jokes. His eyes are watery though, and it affects the steadiness of his voice.
Chris squeezes his hand. The stars are brighter now, fireflies against an inky sky. Its quiet except for Dodger’s occasional snuffle in the distance.
“I might have not known exactly what this was, back then,” Chris says into the silence. “But back in London, I knew you – us – we’d always be in each others lives.”
Sebastian’s breath hitches because that – that’s exactly how he felt. He wets his lip, eyes fixed on the mythology written in the stars. “There’s Ursa Major.”
He hopes Chris gets it. Gets that their first few meetings had been awkward, muddled conversations, eager to connect but unsure how; until Hayley had suggested a trip out to the country. Where they had lain in a field, trying to find their footing with each other, and only falling in step when Chris had pointed out Ursa Major. Shared that it was the first constellation he had learned as a kid, talked of the confusion and comfort he felt as an anxious teenager when he thought of the enormity of the sky and the world and his place in it. And Sebastian had looked at Chris in barely suppressed awe because he too had a similar experience. Escaping Romania and looking at the Austrian night sky at the tender age of twelve, equally terrified and hopeful of his future and his place in the world.
He knows, knows that Chris gets it when he turns to his side and says urgently, tugging on his hand. “Seb. Seb, this – us. I think this is it. You’re it for me. You give me space to be me, you make me feel whole, safe. It petrifies me, but I think we could be - endless.”
Sebastian chokes, consumed by this night, this man. “Chris, fuck.” He turns to Chris, burning and earnest. “I love you.”
And then he rolls himself on top of Chris, burying his hand in his hair and kissing him ferociously. Chris meets his passion, grabbing at him until Sebastian’s weight presses him into the earth. There’s desperation in their movements; the way their tongues meet and hands roam. Sebastian finds he fits beautifully in the cradle of Chris’ hips and when he slots in, he’s the brightest star in the night sky.
“I want you. Seb – please, I – “ Chris buries his face in Sebastian’s neck. His beard is rough against Sebastian’s skin and the flare in his chest grows hotter. Deeper.
“Yeah. Of course,” Sebastian gasps. “Anything.”
A cold wetness smears across his back. It pierces the haze in his head, eyes darting around in surprise. The second they notice Dodger burrowing into them, Sebastian collapses onto Chris, their laughter sending Dodger barking.
“I don’t think Dodger likes us together.” Sebastian snorts, resting his head on Chris’ left shoulder, so Dodger can claim the right.
Chris’ head falls back as he laughs, arm tightening around Sebastian. “I think he’s jealous.”
“Of me?”
“Of me,” Chris corrects. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed him sidle up to you the second he sees you. I feel like chopped liver.”
Scratching Dodger’s head, Sebastian looks at Chris. “Yeah, but you’re my chopped liver.”
“Ok, that’s it.” Chris guides Sebastian and Dodger off him and stands up. He pulls Sebastian up with him and the two obediently follow Chris indoors. “I’m going to get him settled for the night. And you are going to wait in my bedroom.” He pauses, hesitant. “Only if you want to.”
Sebastian smiles, large and toothy. As if he could want anything else. He kisses Chris because he can. “I’ll be in your room. Idiot.” It comes out too fond. He’s okay with it.
He uses the time to gather his wits, will his burning body to simmer. He cleans up with trembling hands, struggling to brush his teeth with the frequent smiles that threaten to escape.
Chris’ room is dark when he enters, the only unfamiliar place in the house. Turning on the bedside lamps wash the room in a low, golden light. He pauses at the edge of Chris’ bed, brushing a hand against the pinstriped sheets, neatly tucked into the corners. It won’t remain so for long, and he stumbles away from the bed to the windows.
Here, its easier to breathe, to think - images of Chris spread before him less intense and flustering. He closes his eyes and slows his breaths, counting to ten before each exhale, as he stares out the window. With each count, he’s met with a memory of wanting Chris, loving him. That he doesn’t have to suppress his desires, that his love is requited – he bites down hard on his lip and blows out a breath.
He’s expecting Chris and still startles when large hands come to rest on his hips. His mind goes hazy as Chris steps forward, bracketing Sebastian’s feet with his own. Its heady, to be this close. To touch this freely.
“This okay?” Chris asks, walking fingers across Sebastian’s waist. Chris finds bare skin under his shirt, tracing maddening patterns that leave goosebumps in their wake. Sebastian’s head falls back onto Chris’ shoulder, giving in, giving up any semblance of control.
“Yes,” Sebastian stutters.
“I remember looking at you. Admiring how you filled out clothes. Your body.” Chris’ chuckle gets hidden in Sebastian’s neck. First beard, then teeth, then tongue finding his sensitive skin. “I should’ve known. That I wanted to get my hands all over you.”
“Chris,” Sebastian breathes. The words and his hands are making a mess of his head. He reaches back, needing to touch Chris just as much. He buries his hand in Chris' short hair, blindly pulling and searching until their lips meet. “Please.”
He turns in Chris’ arms. They lose time kissing against the window. Its sweet and unhurried, the urgency from before slower to build. They lose clothing in tandem, inching toward the bed. Sebastian learns just which swipe of his tongue and press of teeth pulls a noise from Chris, the air from his lungs.
They stumble when Chris’ knees hit the back of the bed, detaching as Chris lays back and Sebastian drinks him in, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp. His tattoos are dark against pale skin, nipples pink and tight despite the warm night. He follows the trail of dark hair from his navel to where it disappears into his boxers, leading to a beautiful bulge, hidden by cotton.
He can’t help but salivate, biting his lip and swallowing. He gets to stare, to worship openly.
When his gaze travels back to Chris’ face and meets his eyes, he sees the naked hunger and love reflected back. He nearly falls to his knees.
Fuck, he is lucky.
“Seb,” Chris whispers, sitting up. His hand traces Sebastian’s collarbone, fingers tugging on a nipple as they draw a path to the waistband of his underwear. Sebastian’s muscles clench in their wake.
“I want…” Chris trails off, playing with the elastic.
“What do you want?”
“You.” His fingers curl around the top of his underwear and he pulls Sebastian into him. His teeth graze Sebastian’s ear when he says, “You, in me.”
A shiver runs through Sebastian. He finds Chris’ lips again, “I need you naked.”
He feels Chris’ laugh more than he hears it, pushing him onto the bed and shedding their underwear. There’s a moment where they stare at each other, until not touching becomes unbearable. Time turns to honey, slow and viscous as Sebastian covers Chris’ body, trading kisses and sharing breaths, hands wandering over sensitive, burning skin.
Sebastian traces dark lines of tattoos with his tongue, leaves bites and soothing licks when Chris whines low in his throat. He never makes it far, Chris pulling him back urgently so their lips can meet, swollen and slick. Sebastian’s cock nestles against Chris’ and his heart stutters as they grow hard against each other.
Chris moans low in his throat when Sebastian gets his lips around a nipple, using his hips to nudge Sebastian onto his back. He hovers over Sebastian, chest heaving as he stares at him. He thumbs at Sebastian’s jaw and brushes a kiss to the stubble.
“When I first met you, you still had some baby fat here.” His eyes rove over Sebastian’s face, down his body, and back up again. “How did I get so lucky? I got to see you grow, I got to grow up with you.”
Sebastian’s eyes round and his mouth falls open. “I need to be in you. Now.”
Chris grins, pinching a nipple and eliciting a low groan. “I’m trying to be romantic here.”
“I’ll show you romance,” he teases, flipping Chris onto his back. He’s mesmerized by the twitch in Chris’ lower abdomen when he opens him up. Sweat pools at the crease of Chris’ thigh, catching the light. He chases it away with his tongue, then chases that away with a taste of pre-cum. By the time he’s three fingers deep, Chris is begging him to fuck him, professing a litany of Sebastian’s name.
“Sh, babe,” Sebastian soothes, kissing Chris slow and tender until his hitched whimpers even out. “I’ve got you.”
When he draws back, Chris’ eyes are clearer, though the blush that spreads down his chest is still vibrant. He watches Sebastian put on a condom and liberally coat his dick with lube, mouth pulling into a wry grin, saying, “You’re not trying to fit your dick into a metal arm. I think that’s enough lube.”
Sebastian snorts at him and presses a hard kiss to Chris’ lips. “This might be better on your front.”
Chris shakes his head, determined. “I want to see you.”
Sebastian’s helpless but to kiss Chris again, slow and careful when he enters him. Its intense, consuming, a bit too much to be here, in Chris after all this time and he squeezes his eyes when he bottoms out, trembling all over.
“Babe,” Chris murmurs, drawing Sebastian’s hands into his own.
When he opens his eyes its like seeing him for the first time again. The slight indent in his nose, the full bottom lip, dark beard, and shaved head. Skin pink and flushed. Eyes so bright and yet so dark, blue nearly drowned out by black. Years of Chris blend together: late night phone calls, inside jokes, panic attacks, whispered secrets. Rubbing up against his body during fight scenes, staring at him from a distance. All through that he’s been wanting and wanting and never allowed himself to fully acknowledge it. And now he’s here. As close to another person as humanly possible, sheathed inside Chris’ body, like he belongs – where he belongs.
“I-“ he starts and stops. Spoken words have never been his strength. He thinks he’s crying, the emotion too much. “Chris,” he says brokenly and so whole.
“I know,” Chris murmurs, letting go of a hand to thumb at Sebastian’s cheek. He is crying.
“I need you to know that I’ve loved you. Just – how strong you are. How much you care. Your passion. I don’t know who I am if I’m not loving you.”
Now Chris is sniffling, his own eyes red. In all the times he’s allowed himself to fantasize about sex with Chris, it never involved as many tears. He tells Chris so, then leans over to kiss the laugh off his face.
“Loving you has been the biggest privilege of my life.”
“Fuck, Sebastian.” And then Chris is kissing him and its unrefined and messy and perfect. “I’m going to need you to move now.”
Sebastian giggles, buoyant. He leans back enough to gain leverage and begins to move. When he’s got a rhythm going, when Chris’ face is thrown back in bliss, he takes his hands again and buries his face in Chris neck. Their breaths blend and they move together, an eternity created in that moment of time and space. He comes first, helping Chris with a hand to his dick and whispered love in his ear.
---
September 2020.
His phone has been blowing up. Notifications from personal messages, mentions on social media, phone calls from friends, family, his team. He’s sees them all come in and swipes them away, one after the other until –
“Hello,” he’s breathless, hands trembling as he answers the call.
“Chris,” Sebastian voice is tinny, despite the clear connection. He wishes he was here, with him. “Babe,” and there’s no masking the concern. Sebastian stays with him, breaths deep and deliberate over the phone until Chris can speak again.
“I’ve lost track of how many panic attacks I’ve had,” Chris finally says.
“Fuck,” Sebastian sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner; I didn’t even know until Lisa called me.”
Chris chokes back a sob, mortification rising up with bile.
“She wanted me to tell you, and I quote, ‘she’s proud of the man you’ve become.’”
Chris is so surprised; he laughs before he can even catch it.
“And she wants you to call her.”
“I will, I just –“ He breaks off.
“I know,” Sebastian soothes. Just this – hearing his voice, having him in his corner, it eases the anxiety. “What do you need right now? Want me to hack the Internet? Say it was my dick pic? Tell you about Anthony nearly spraining his wrist while throwing the shield?”
“How would you telling the world it was your dick make this any better?” Chris asks, genuinely curious.
“It was either that, or tell them your dick belongs to me,” Sebastian deadpans.
And Chris laughs for the second time that day, letting it flow more freely.
“I’m so embarrassed, Seb.” He finds he’s able to sit and he sinks into the couch.
Sebastian sighs, empathically. “Shit happens, love. You always tell me to hold my head up high, make the best of a shitty situation.”
Chris hums and they’re silent for a bit. “What are you thinking of?”
“Honestly? At least it wasn’t the picture of you stuffed with the butt plug.”
Chris groans, burying his face in his hands. “I hate your optimism.”
“But you love me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“And I love your dick. And now, so does the rest of the world.”
Chris hangs up on him, only to call him back so they can arrange a group chat with his family and manager, to figure out how best to proceed. Its Sebastian who comes up with the wording for the tweet, and Chris is reminded again, of how lucky he is to have Sebastian in his life.
Even if he was the reason for the dick pic in the first place.
---
June 13, 2021
Sebastian hurriedly shuts his trailer door, shooting an apologetic look at a PA that had tried to come in after him. He accepts the call just before it goes to voice mail.
“Seb.”
“Hey, birthday boy.”
“Seb,” Chris repeats, awed.
“Mhm,” Sebastian smirks into the phone, clearly laughing at Chris’ speechlessness. He settles into the couch.
“I love you.” Chris finally manages.
“Love you too, babe.” Sebastian replies, when Chris struggles to continue.
“That post – Seb, you didn’t have to.”
Sebastian sighs, smirk slipping off. They had celebrated together, earlier - Sebastian cooking through a birthday dinner with Lisa sending him instructions. There had been candles and wine, multiple rounds of sex that had left them spent, and whispered promises of more birthdays together.
But he’s not able to be with Chris today, and it still smarts.
“Just wanted to make forty special.”
“Fuck, babe, you did.” Chris chuckles. “I don’t think – no one has ever – I can’t stop staring at it.”
“I meant every word.” Sebastian promises.
“I know. I can’t wait to thank you, properly, in person.”
“Is that a promise, Evans?” Sebastian teases.
“You bet. I may even pull out the sweater vest.”
Sebastian blushes, laughter easily pulling at his lips. “I told you that in confidence!”
“And I can confidently tell you, you will be very happy when I’m done thanking you.”
Sebastian giggles, falling back on the couch. He’s in love with a dork.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.