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“Awww.”
“Fuck off.”
“Awww, kitten.”
“Go away.”
Zach snorted, watching Chris sulk at his obnoxiously bandaged finger.
“Third time’s a charm?”
“Fuck OFF, Zach!”
The vestigial brows flew up, “Oh really?”
“Pbbbttt.”
“Really, Christopher.”
Smirking, Zach shut the trailer door, leaning against the mini-fridge cabinet. Only Chris would manage to break a finger on a film set for the third time, and yes, he was also managing to handle it just like a pissy toddler in dire need of a nap. He sat curled in the corner of the tiny sofa of his trailer, knees up, arms wrapped around himself with his hugely-wrapped pinky sticking out. He glared at it, Pine Pout in full effect, cheeks slightly puffed out, lips pressed, face red, nostrils flaring.
Zach took a stride and knelt on the floor in front of him, hands delicately petting his cotton-clad knees. “You want an ice cream?”
“No.”
Zach petted farther up, “You want a blow job?”
“No.”
“Really? Wow,” he cocked his head. Poor baby, so upset. “It really hurts, huh?”
Chris said nothing, but his grumpy-wumpy face wibbled just a bit.
“Awww,” Zach cooed again, less condescending and more sympathetic as he rose up a bit to push his arms under and around Chris’, carefully stroking a hand up his forearm. “Want me to kiss it better?”
“Don’t,” Chris stiffened, but Zach was cautious, shushing softly and delicate as he would hold a puppy’s paw to remove a thorn. Chris swallowed, wary, and Zach let his lips just lightly brush at his knuckle, on the skin just above where the bandage stopped. He looked up, and Chris’ face had softened, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.
“Now, how about an ice cream?” Zach murmured, stroking his fingertips along the back of Chris’ unhappy hand.
“Kay.”
Grinning, Zach hopped up, pulled a couple of ice cream pops out of the tiny freezer, opening Chris’ for him as he settled beside him on the sofa. Hooking an arm around his neck, he tugging him close enough to nuzzle his nose, and steal a chocolatey kiss. “I think you might live.”