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plausible deniability by Mel (thatotherperv)Booth/Zack Note: Thanks to meretrix for checking my wonky tenses. Thanks to lostakasha and creepy_crawly for answering my hockey questions. As a note, Hitchcock was the coach for the Philadelphia Flyers during Bones s1. But he got fireded. If you asked Seeley how it happened, he’d say he honestly wasn’t sure. A man gets to a certain stage in his life, and he no longer wants a roommate. Seeley is well past that age…which is why he doesn’t have one. Except now, he has Zack. Zack is more like a rude houseguest that thinks he’s a roommate. Seeley’s sure he doesn’t mean to be rude. But the kid is…awkward. And the phrase “socially retarded” comes to mind. Seeley can’t really blame Tessa when she stops spending the night. Zack has this…staring thing he does, which doesn’t remotely touch the awkwardness of inappropriate, ill-timed questions, but is nonetheless creepy as hell. Plus, it’s not like his place is really designed for privacy. It’s a one-bedroom. It’s sort of implied that privacy is unnecessary in that kind of floor plan. Sound…carries. And there’s the food thing. The kid might be 24, but he still eats like he’s 19 and away from home for the first time. Seeley wonders aloud one day how that giant brain can run off of Skittles and Hawaiian Punch alone, and is informed that actually, the brain metabolizes solely simple carbohydrates, so arguably that’s the ideal diet for maximizing blah blah blah. This doesn’t stop Zack from helping himself to Seeley’s dairy products, leftovers, and anything else that generally isn’t nailed down. You’d think he was still a growing boy. And his towels. Sometimes at night, Seeley’s towels are suspiciously damp; he’s a morning shower kind of guy. He tells Zack to cut it out, and the next day, only one corner of his towel is damp. He refuses to think about it. Because if he does, he’s gonna murder the kid with a Bureau-issued weapon, and that would be a pretty bad career move at this point in his life. The problem is, Zack is always there. They don’t ever talk, and they pretty much ignore each other, but Zack is always present, with his squint attitude and squint mannerisms and little squinty eyes. Also, Booth catches Zack watching him. A lot. And sometimes it’s creepy. Well, creepier than usual. Like the time Booth felt eyes on the back of his head during his first set of morning push-ups. When he turned around, the hallway was empty, but…that night he started sleeping in sweatpants. With his bedroom door shut. Weeks pass, and it becomes apparent that Zack won’t be moving back in with Hodgins, but by then, they’ve reached a status quo and he’s not really sure what to do with the kid. It’s not like Seeley’s got a real reason to want the place to himself anymore…the schedules of an FBI agent and a corporate lawyer don’t allow for much time together once you take out the nights, and Tessa’s long gone. When he thinks about it, Booth has a sneaking suspicion that the guys’ fight had nothing to do with the moon landing. Even Hodgins can’t hold a grudge over something that stupid for this long. It’s a Sunday afternoon, couple months after Seeley inherited a shadow. The kid’s still crashing on his futon. Still eating his food. Still using his towels, though Seeley’s long since added the spare to the towel rack, so it no longer pisses him off. He’s still an annoying little shit, and Seeley still wants him out in theory, but in practice…he’s kind of used to sharing air with Zack. The kid’s not as with it as Angela, but he’s not as clueless as Bones can be, either, so it could be worse. He knows sports, so at least Booth’s not stuck watching Discovery Planet or whatever the hell people like him deign to watch on television. He knows hockey, too, even if he is a Red Wings fan. They’re watching ESPN. Or rather, Seeley’s watching ESPN, and Zack is watching him, but Seeley’s used to that by now. The kid really does have this habit of staring when he’s not otherwise occupied. Booth used to wonder what was going on in that super-genius mind, until he concluded that Zack was just studying the behavior of normal people so he could do a better impression. So he ignores it now. No longer throws him dirty looks and tells him to quit looking at him like that. And when he gets up to get himself a beer, he throws one to Zack while he’s at it, because the kid always asks for one anyway. It’s Pens vs Flyers, and the Flyers are, of course, getting their ass handed to them on a silver platter because…it’s their game plan, apparently. It’s a good game if you’re a complete masochist, and Booth is so caught up in yelling at Hitchcock through the television that doesn’t notice when Zack eases closer on the couch until he’s kneeling sideways at his hip. Muscles tense at the unexpected development, Booth’s eyes slide to the side. Zack’s eyes are fixed on his crotch. Seeley’s hand tightens on his beer, but he doesn’t move as a hand reaches out and cups him, groping and massaging in a way that’s shockingly good, if reminiscent of back seats and steamed windows. Shocking because this is Zack. Shocking because Zack has clearly had practice getting men hard in a hurry. And he contemplates giving him the brush-off for a minute. Of course he does. Because this is Zack, and this is weird, and potentially very awkward, not to mention an invitation for misunderstandings. But it’s been just long enough since he’s had a hand wrapped around his dick that wasn’t his own, and his objections aren’t very convincing. Booth’s eyes slide closed with a small, pleasured exhalation. Not really a sigh, but not quite a moan. He doesn’t move, even when Zack’s hand slips through his fly. If you don’t move…if you don’t look…if your eyes never meet and you never say the wrong name (or the right one), you have plausible deniability. It’s a code of conduct he learned years ago and half a world away, and for a moment, Booth wonders if he shouldn’t put a stop to this. Not just because he could have a woman if he wanted, but because Zack is nothing like those men. He wonders if he has expectations, or…feelings. He doesn’t seem like the kind of kid that would just…. But then the couch dips and lifts as Zack slides to the floor, between his knees. All noble thoughts evaporate with the tongue tracing under the crown of his cock. That’s the first time, but it’s not the last. Zack, apparently, really likes sucking cock. And suddenly having a roommate isn’t such a hardship. It doesn’t matter that Zack still eats his food because he always ends up bent over Seeley’s lap, swallowing him as a chaser. And when Zach drops to his knees in the shower until Seeley’s leaning bonelessly against the tile, it’s a hell of a wakeup call and at that point? He’s not quibbling over damp towels. The kid’s got talent. He can’t deny that. But he can deny everything else, and he figures it’s better for everyone involved if he does. At the start of their little…arrangement, Booth keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Zach to ask awkward questions about what it all means, with eyes that somehow manage to be blank and begging all at once. He keeps waiting for it, and dreading it, because when that day comes, he’ll have to tell him it means nothing. Because Booth isn’t like that. Not really. But the questions never come. Zack never asks and Seeley never tells, and it would all seem easy and completely on the level if Booth didn’t just have this feeling. The feeling he gets every time it ends exactly as it did that first time. You might call it guilt. The first time, Booth comes with a gasp and a moan, quiet, hips shuddering and hand buried in hair not really long enough to be a girl’s, and eyes still closed, tilted back towards the ceiling. He doesn’t open them when Zack pulls away. The apartment is still. There’s cheering and commentary from the television, and the sound of sticks banging against sticks. Under it is the sound of two men breathing, but Seeley’s very conscious of the ticking clock on the wall. He doesn’t really hear Zack stand and walk away so much as feel the negative space suddenly in front of him. He opens his eyes just as the bathroom door closes. The sounds coming from within are unmistakable in origin.
Completed 6 September 2007 Lay it on me here, or email me at thatotherperv@livejournal.com |