Title: Red Carpet
Fandom & Pairing: Chris Pine/Karl Urban RPS (a.k.a. Urbine)
Rating: Disappointingly, PG-13
Word Count: around 1400.
Summary: For breakthecitysky's prompt: "I know Chris is scheduled to present at the Oscars, and Karl has been filming in Toronto - not too long a plane ride to come and tease someone about having to get all dressed up even if he's not going himself. ;)" I hope this fits the bill!
Disclaimer: Any resemblance to anything whatsoever is purely coincidental.
A/N : Happy happy birthday to breakthecitysky!
When Chris opened the door to his apartment carrying a bag of groceries, the first thing he noticed was that the door wasn't locked. He was damn sure he'd locked it on his way out. The next thing he noticed was that there were noises coming from inside his bathroom. Shit.
His first thought was burglar, probably a junkie needing to score a hit because he'd lived in crappy, crime-ridden neighborhoods for too long. But hard on the heels of that was oh shit, crazed stalker fan and that? That was even more scary.
He was just surveying his living room, hoping to find something he could use as a weapon besides the bag of baby-cut carrots in his grocery bag, when the bathroom door opened and Karl emerged, wet and dripping and wearing only a towel wrapped low around his hips.
"Oh Jesus, thank fuck it's you," Chris said, the adrenaline leaving him in a rush.
"Well, I'd hoped for a welcome, but I didn't think I'd get that enthusiastic of a reception." Karl said, scrubbing his hair with another towel.
"You asshole, you scared the shit out of me. How'd you get in here, anyway?"
"I have my ways." He looked arch.
"What the fuck, man, if my place is that easy to break into I'd like to know!"
"Relax, Pine. I knew last time you were out of town, Zoe had watered your plants and collected your post, or whatever, and I called her. She still has your spare key."
Oh. But then - "What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?" At Karl's offended look, he hurriedly added "Not that I'm not happy to see you, man. I just didn't expect you."
"Well, a little bird told me that you have a big night tonight, and I thought you might like some help getting ready."
"You mean Zach called you and told you that I was about to commit fashion suicide and only you could save me."
"Something like that, yeah."
"So you flew in all the way from - what, Vancouver? Just to help me out?" Chris was trying for casual as he moved to put his groceries down on the counter. He knew damn well that Karl had been in Toronto, had even been, to his eternal shame, haunting the celebrity sightings websites, hoping to catch a glimpse of Karl, wanting to see if he missed Chris the way Chris missed him. As if you could tell that from a paparazzi shot. Whatever. Chris wasn't proud.
The look Karl gave him told him that he was fooling no one. Well, shit. Karl always could see right through him.
"I've been filming in Toronto, as I think you know," he said, serious now. "I've missed you, Chris. I know this sounds clichéd, but I can't stop thinking about you. This seemed like a good opportunity to see you, maybe see if you were missing me too."
He stood there, still speckled here and there with droplets of water, his hands twisting the towel he'd used on his hair, and he was so beautiful and vulnerable and so real that Chris couldn't stand it anymore.
"Fuck, yes, I've missed you. You have no idea how much."
And then Karl was in front of him, crowding him against the counter, reaching for him and murmuring "Oh, I think I have some idea."
Some time later, when Karl had demonstrated just how much he'd missed Chris, and the ice cream Chris had bought was on the kitchen floor, completely melted, they finally moved to the bedroom, lazing naked on the bed, sharing random little kisses and touches just to reassure themselves that they were really both there, in the same room together.
"So how are you going to save me from fashion disaster, then?" Chris inquired lazily, running one finger around Karl's nipples.
"I know a guy at Ralph Lauren. He's sending over a tux. And some Ferragamo shoes." Chris snorted. Of course Karl knew a guy. Seemed like he fucking knew everybody. "And I called up the stylist I use when I'm in town. She'll be here in a few hours."
"Seems like you've got everything covered," Chris commented.
"Well, there's one last secret to looking good on the red carpet."
"Yeah. Post-orgasmic glow. I recommend at least two more applications before the show."
Chris grinned. "At least, huh? You have a pretty high opinion of yourself."
Karl tried to look modest, failed. Chris laughed. Fuck, he was happy. Just this. This was all he needed in life - a bed with Karl in it, and hours to explore each other.
"Who you bringing?" Karl's voice held an edge Chris couldn't quite identify.
"What, you mean who's my date tonight? My mom."
Karl visibly relaxed. "Pine, that's just adorable."
"Shut up. She's excited. Besides, there isn't anyone else I want to go with. Well, not anyone I can actually bring."
He looked down, wouldn't meet Karl's eyes. Karl put a finger under his chin, tipped his face up. "I'm sorry. You know if I could I'd - "
"Yeah, I know." He cut Karl off. Didn't want to waste the time they had on this shit. They'd talked it to death anyway, hashed and rehashed it and nothing had changed. Impossible fucking situation, and he was done thinking about it.
"So how's Nat, anyway?" Or, okay, maybe he wasn't done. He was being a passive-aggressive little shit, and he knew it, but oh well.
Now Karl looked away, wouldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, I wanted to tell you..."
Chris's heart clenched. Oh, shit, this couldn't be good.
Chris blinked. Wait, what? "Wait, what?" Well, that was articulate. He winced.
"It wasn't working out. I mean, it hasn't been, for ages. We just both finally admitted it."
"So, I mean, then, what... I mean, I'm sorry, man." He wasn't, he so wasn't, but it seemed like the thing to say.
"No you're not," Karl said, but it was with wry affection, and shit, Karl really could read him like a book. "But that's okay."
"So... can you stay, then? Tonight?"
"Yeah, yeah I can." Karl looked almost relieved, as if he'd thought there was a chance Chris might not want him for as much time as he could possibly get him. Hell, Chris thought maybe they'd just stay in bed all day and all night. But wait -
"Shit, the Oscars. Fuck. I don't want to go. I'd rather stay here with you. I'd ditch it, but I'm presenting."
Karl chuckled. "It's all right. We'll get you all prettied up, not that you need much help in that department, you'll do your young Hollywood stud routine, and then you'll come back here and we'll pick up where we left off."
Chris exhaled shakily. Fuck, the thought that Karl would be here, naked in his bed, waiting for him to get back - hell, he'd thought presenting at the Academy Awards would be the thrill of his life, and now he couldn't wait for it to be over and done with. Still, deciding what to do with Karl when he got back home would give him something to think about during all the boring acceptance speeches.
"Yeah, okay. I won't go to the after-parties. I'll just come straight back here."
"Yeah?" Karl looked shyly pleased at this and it was just about the most irresistible thing Chris'd ever seen.
"Yeah. Now where were we?"
"Hmmm. I think you're about ready for your next application of post-orgasmic glow."
"Well, by all means, Mr. Urban. I put myself entirely into your capable hands."
And, of course, Karl was right. Post-orgasmic glow was definitely the best way to walk the red carpet.
...Hmmm, both of my Urbine fics so far are named for floor coverings. Weird. /random