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Charming, Not Sincere

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Anna can’t even pretend she isn’t charmed by Chris. Everyone is charmed by him. With his inhumanly gorgeous face and Sinatra-esque singing voice, he has half the crew eating out of the palm of his hand within the first few days of filming, and she is no exception, even if she tries to tell herself she is immune and professional and a bunch of other things that seem vaguely untrue. He seems to take all that admiration in stride though, even Anna’s, and they manage to fall into an easy camaraderie that is surprisingly devoid of the sexual tension. Anna gets the impression that maybe Chris is pining over someone else--she sees him checking his phone with a hopeful expression on his face one too many times--and that doesn’t bother her any. Romantic relationships between costars rarely work out anyway, and she wouldn’t want to jeopardize their on-screen chemistry. She keeps him firmly in the realm of sort-of-dorky bro, and it works out pretty well for them.

The first time she makes him blush, she isn’t even trying. Cracking wise is kind of her thing--it helps her cover up her insecurity, especially when she’s in a movie with Meryl Streep--and luckily Chris seems more than happy to keep up with her banter. He’s a quick thinker (usually, unless it’s been too long since he visited craft services), and they riff off each other really well. But then she jokes that he’s prettier than her the first time she sees him in costume, and he flushes red all the way down to the collar of his stupid puffy shirt, and it’s so cute she could just die.

It’s hard to get over that, if she's being honest. And she doesn’t get over it--not really. It becomes kind of a game on the press tour, pushing his buttons, watching him get more and more pink while his eyes crinkle and he laughs his bashful little laugh. It makes her feel dangerously powerful. And that’s probably why things end up getting out of control.

They’re staying at the same hotel in New York. Chris has been a little morose since they got there--he looked exhausted through all of their junket stuff and she could swear he was checking his phone twice as often as normal--so Anna decides to take some wine to his room on the last night they’re there and see if she can’t cheer him up a little bit.

The skeptical eyebrow and goofy grin she earns when she shoves the box into his chest and squeezes past him into the room is definitely encouraging.

“Franzia? Really?” Chris says as he shuts the door behind her, balancing the box on one arm. “I should kick you out right now.”

“Oh, don’t even.” Anna makes herself at home, flopping down in one of the armchairs by the window. “Everyone likes wine from a box. Plus, we’re going to be drinking it out of plastic hotel cups, so I figured we might as well not put on airs.”

Chris rustles them up a pair of the aforementioned plastic hotel cups and dispenses them each a sizable portion before settling into the chair across from Anna, propping his bare feet on the coffee table between them. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure? I thought around this time you would be bunking up with Emily and braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys or whatever.”

“You do know neither of us are sixteen, right?” Anna says. She toes off her shoes and then props her feet up next to his. “I thought maybe you could use some company. You seemed a little...off today.”

Chris doesn’t say anything right away, but he does sigh and rub at his jaw with two long fingers, like he is considering his answer. Just like she has seen him do a hundred times at the junkets. “These press things get to me,” Chris says at least. “I can only answer so many questions before I have to start reminding myself I can’t make a break for the nearest exit. It gets fucking exhausting.”

Even though she isn’t sure that’s the entire truth, Anna lets it slide and takes a generous gulp of her wine while she nods very unsympathetically. She actually doesn’t mind the press stuff that much. It helps that she has good costars that make it fun, but she is also not as painfully introverted as Chris is, and she is still a little bit in that place where all of this seems like some dream that her 12-year-old self is having, so she isn’t complaining.

“Maybe I should have called up your Trek costars and asked them how to take care of you,” she says. She isn’t ashamed to admit that she did a little light Googling when she found out Chris was going to be playing opposite her. Some of those interviews he did for Star Trek were downright endearing. “What does Quinto do? Keep candy in his pockets and feed you like a trained chimp?”

There’s the blush. Score. It doesn’t make its way all the way down to his neck, but his cheeks definitely get pink. Anna hides her triumphant grin in another sip of wine.

“That’s me. Chris Pine: Trained Chimp,” he says, obviously deflecting.

No way is she letting that non-answer slide. “No, seriously, I have seen how cute and happy you guys all are together. How do they keep you running smoothly? We’re going to have to do more of this, you know. Is there are certain amount of coffee it takes?”

“Nah.”

“Yoga breathing?”

He shakes his head and drinks his wine.

“Blowjobs?”

Sputter. Neck blush. Perfect.

“Ahh, so that’s it then,” Anna says, raising her eyebrows knowingly. “Sexual healing.”

“Oh my god.” Chris runs a hand over his face and then gulps down the rest of the wine in his cup--then makes a face, because Franzia isn’t exactly made for chugging. “I have not had enough wine for this.”

“Amateur,” she shoots back, grinning sweetly. “So the rumors are true, huh? About you and Mr. Spock?”

“No. What? No.” He must be red all the way down to his bellybutton now. “Sometimes costars fool around. That’s all.”

“You and I have never fooled around,” Anna points out.

Sometimes costars fool around,” Chris reiterates. He gets up and retrieves the wine box so he can refill both of their cups, like that is going to make things better or something. Anna just smiles and shakes her head at him.

“You make it so easy to tease you, Pine.” She watches him set the wine on the table between them and sit back down, his big hands wrapped protectively around his tiny cup. It’s tempting to goad him more, try to get details of whatever sexcapades were happening on the Star Trek Road Show, but she doesn’t want to actually be a jerk. She has this weird feeling that whatever made him so seem so stretched-thin lately has something to do with all that, and if there are actual wounds, she doesn’t want to poke them. “I bet if Prince Tight-Pants were here, he’d be cool with the sex talk,” she says instead.

Chris visibly relaxes when it becomes clear she isn’t going to press the Zach issue, sprawling back in his chair with his legs splayed wide. Sometimes this man has no clue how pornagraphic he is. Someone should tell him. Someone not her.

“Never,” Chris says with mock solemnity. “He may be a lech, but he has too much fairy tale gentility to speak of such things in front of a lady.”

“Good thing I’m no lady.” She wiggles her feet on the table top and takes a distinctively unladylike drink of wine as if to demonstrate.

“Is this your default way of cheering someone up? Sex talk?”

Anna scoffs. “No. My default way of cheering someone up is donuts and/or Golden Girls marathons, but I have neither of those things with me, so this will have to do.” She tilts her head to the side and peers at him. “Plus, it’s so cute when you blush.”

On cue, his cheeks start to redden again. “Because that’s what every 34-year-old man wants to be. Cute.”

He makes this way to easy for her. “It’s adoooorable,” she says, drawing the word out to an absurd degree. Chris rolls his eyes, but his neck is painted blotchy red now. Anna imagines she can feel the heat already, even from three feet away. “You’re as pretty as a princess. Although I didn’t know it was possible for a human being to turn that red. It does worry me a little.”

Chris shifts in his chair--it’s close to a squirm but not quite--and Anna can’t deny the little heady rush of power she feels. Maybe it’s just the wine talking. Not that that stops her from taking another long drink.

“You’re not a nice person, you know that?” Chris says, but he doesn’t sound the slightest bit upset. His voice does sound a little strained though, in the best of ways--in ways that make her want to mess with him even more.

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.” She leans forward a little and grins at him. “You don’t seem all that upset though. I think you liiiike it.”

“Hush,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. He won’t look at her now, and he shifts in his chair again, slumping down a little and letting his knees fall wider like he needs more room in his jeans.

They are on the brink of something here, Anna can tell. All of a sudden, a weird tension is crackling in the air, and even though continuing to tease him probably won’t break it, she can’t stop herself. “You do like it, don’t you?”

He looks at her sharply, and her eyebrows go up. He’s still an alarming shade of red, but there is something distinctly less bashful in his eyes. “Oh,” she says quietly. She sets her cup down.

Anna was pretty sure she was just kidding around, right up until the point that Chris gets up from his chair, walks over to her, and hauls her to her feet so forcefully that her feet leave the ground for a split second.

“Whoa. Yeah. Okay,” she says in response to the question he didn’t really ask. Because, why not? Platonic sex is a thing, right? Obviously he has some steam to blow off, and it’s not like she’s opposed to sleeping with someone so very gorgeous that looking directly at him when he smiles is a legitimate health hazard.

Her stuttered assent is all it takes. All of a sudden, he is lifting her like she weighs nothing, his huge hands settling under the curve of her ass as she wraps her legs around his waist. When she hides her face in his neck, his skin is just as hot as she thought it would be. She did that. That was all her.

It’s a little hard to feel too smug when he’s tossing her onto the bed like a rag doll though.

“Fucking warn a girl,” she gasps as he crawls over her.

“Sorry,” he rumbles back, but he’s grinning in a very unapologetic manner. Anna would scold him further, but then he is leaning in to kiss her, and that is much more important.

Chris is so incredibly deliberate about everything he does, and that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. Anna knows him well enough to know he is a thinker, a planner, so she wouldn’t be surprised if every part of this is choreographed, from the way he pushes her hair off her neck to the number of seconds it takes for him to unhook her bra. He is probably picking each action out of a carefully crafted list in his mind, but it doesn’t matter, because his mouth is soft and his hands are giant and everything feels a hundred times better than it has any right to.

Heaven help the person that is actually capable of making Chris Pine lose control. Anna is kind of glad she isn’t that person. She’s not sure she can handle that kind of responsibility.

He certainly has no trouble making her lose control though. When he slides down her body and hooks his arms under her hips and tugs her panties to the side so he can taste her, she very nearly shrieks, her hips straining against his arms. Chris just tugs her closer though, so all she can do is tremble against his mouth, his stubble rasping against her thighs. She reaches for his head with one hand, and he moans when her fingers sift through his hair, scratching along his scalp. That moan, and hot huff of air that comes with it, undoes her almost as much as his tongue pushing inside her, then withdrawing and flattening against her clit. He laps at her like he wants to lick her clean, like he can’t get enough, until her world has narrowed down to his lips and tongue and--

And then he pulls away. Anna curses and sits up a little, just in time to see him drag a forearm across his face, then lick his lips. She hears a largely incoherent string of frustrated syllables come out of her mouth, and he just smirks at her and crawls back up her body, stopping to cheekily drag his tongue across one of her nipples, then flops over on his back next to her.

“Come here,” he says, tugging on her hip. “Ride my face.”

Holy shit. Anna barely remembers how to move for a second, but somehow she manages to scramble onto her hands and knees, then crawl up over his body, kicking her underwear off ungracefully along the way. “So when you said it was blowjobs that calmed you down, you didn’t mean receiving,” she guesses, though it’s hard to sound as confident as she wants to when she can hardly remember how to breathe.

Chris grabs her thighs to urge her forward and shakes his head.

“So if I was to ask who topped between you and Quinto...”

“Anna, for fuck’s sake.” He’s blushing again, and when she finally lowers herself onto his mouth, she can feel the warmth of his skin bleeding into hers.

“And...and the teasing? Is that part of it? You get off on it?” Not that he can answer right now, as his mouth is very much otherwise occupied. He does groan though, and Anna takes that as a yes. Or she would take it as a yes if all thoughts weren’t being pushed out of her mind by the way his hands are kneading her ass, urging her on, while he sucks and licks at her. His tongue is everywhere, twisting inside her, seeking out the wetness that she is spreading across his mouth, flicking across her clit when she rocks back far enough.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks, reaching out to steady herself against the headboard. Chris’s hands don’t need to encourage her anymore. Anna rides his mouth in earnest, pushing against his lips and tongue, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels herself getting closer. When her legs start shaking too hard for her to move though, he wraps his arms around her thighs, pulls her down hard, sucks at her until she is shuddering and clenching and biting her lip to keep from shouting, until she is too sensitive and swats at his hands to get him to stop.

“Oh my God,” she says again, as she slowly climbs off him, still clutching the headboard so she doesn’t overbalance and end up on the floor. She watches as he wipes the back of his hand across his face, and takes a moment to think about how surreal this is. She just fucked Prince Charming’s face. How many people can say that?

Maybe she needs to call up Zachary Quinto and take him out for coffee.

Later though, because now Chris is stripping off his shirt, then working open the fly of his jeans, and nevermind how recently Anna has come--she knows she wants a piece of what he’s packing in there.

“Condom’s in my wallet, right there.” Chris points at the bedside table.

“You keep a condom in your wallet? Are you still in high school?” This time, she is actually watching for the blush, looking over her shoulder at him to make sure she doesn’t miss it--and she isn’t disappointed. The red creeps all the way down his chest, even though he is smirking at her and jacking himself.

“Get over here,” he says, reaching out to run a finger down the curve of her waist, over her hip. Anna’s fumbles through his wallet until she finds the condom, and then she crawls back over to him. Just as she goes to lay down next to him, he wraps an arm around her middle and drags her on top of him, eliciting a squeal that he swallows when he presses his mouth to hers.

He seems so big. His hands feel huge on her back; his chest feels broad beneath her. Anna imagines herself curling up on him like a cat, purring while he kisses her and runs his fingers through her hair. Before the calming image can really take root though, he trails his fingers down her back, slides one hand over the curve of her ass and then lower, searching between her legs. It’s a bad angle, and just the tip of his finger, but she squirms against it, trying to get him deeper, trying to get more.

“How do you want it?” he asks her, and immediately her brain shuts down. She didn’t expect to be asked, but she supposes that she should have, given what Chris has revealed about himself so far. Sensing her hesitation, he prompts her. “Want to ride me?”

As tempting as that is, Anna’s legs are still jello-y from her earlier orgasm, so she shakes her head at him, then shrugs one shoulder and flashes him a grin. “Whatever you want, Princess.” She is trying for ballsy, but the effect is probably lessened by the fact that she is still trying to rock back onto his fingers. Chris studies her face for a moment, then grins. That is the only warning she gets before he is wrapping an arm tight around her back, then rolling them both over. For a moment, he looms over her, and then his hands are on her hips, encouraging her to flip onto her stomach and then manhandling her onto her hands and knees.

Anna lets her head fall down between her forearms and tries not to be patient while she listens to the rustle of foil and then feels Chris move into position behind her. He wraps one hand around her hip, and then all of a sudden he is right there, slicking the head of his cock with her wetness, then pushing inside slowly.

Fuck, he’s big--but perfectly so. He is thick enough that the first moment of penetration, and the slow slide thereafter, feels just about as good as anything Anna has experienced in her life, like she was emptier than she ever knew and aching for him to fill her up. She has half a mind to look over her shoulder and thank him for not rushing this, for not slamming into her like some cocky idiot who is hell-bent on making her feel it, because she certainly feels it now. She wants it to go on forever.

When he is fully inside her, their bodies pressed together, he pauses and strokes a palm down her back, then reaches for her waist with both hands. It feels like he could wrap his fingers all the way around her, and that right there is almost as hot as the feeling of his dick throbbing inside her. Anna thinks that there is a pretty good possibility that even if he didn’t move at all, she could get off like this. She could clench around him and concentrate on how good it feels and spiral right over the edge.

But he does move--slowly and shallowly at first, like he’s making sure she is going to be okay. And then Anna wonders how she could have been content with him not moving, because now she needs more. When she starts rocking back against him, he takes the hint and picks up the pace, starts pulling her back to meet each thrust, until the impact of their bodies makes her mouth fall open and her fingers clench in the sheets.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. She wants to tell him that this is just fine, what he is doing right now, and that if he wants to fuck her like this all night until she is nothing more than a sobbing, shuddering mess, he can go right ahead. But she recognizes what it is that he is asking of her. The teasing and blushing, the utter submission of letting her sit on his face, trying to get her to call the shots--it’s all part of some routine that she isn’t really supposed to be part of. She is surprised at how little that disappoints her. It’s okay that she isn’t the one he wants, as long as she can give him what he needs for now.

“Grab my hair,” she tells him, and he does, twisting his long fingers into it and gently but firmly pulling her head back, until her back is arching and the angle changes just slightly and yeah, that’s good.

“Do you think he’d want to watch?” she finds herself saying on a whim. Evidently it was a good idea, because Chris swears under his breath and picks up the pace a little. “Do you think he’d want to tell you what to do to me?”

“Yeah,” Chris sighs, quietly enough that she almost misses it.

“Maybe next time,” Anna says. “Maybe we’ll take turns ordering you around. Maybe you can eat me out while he f-f…”

She can’t finish her sentence. He’s pounding into her now, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in the quiet room, and it’s clear this isn’t going to last much longer. As if reading her mind, Chris reaches between her legs with one hand. All he has to do is press one finger against her, and within a small handful of thrusts she is letting out a strangled sob and clenching around him, clawing at the sheets as he keeps fucking her through it. All she can do is ride it out while his thrusts become erratic and his breath becomes ragged, and then he is groaning fuck, fuck, and she can feel him pulsing inside her.

His hips still, and he drops his forehead to her shoulder blade and just rests there for a moment while both of them breathe through it. Then, he slowly slides out of her, and Anna collapses face-down onto the bed like her strings have been cut. She is dimly aware of the sounds of him moving around the room, disposing of the condom and cleaning himself up, and then the bed dips and he is back, sprawling out next to her on his stomach.

Anna turns her face toward him and he is looking back at her, his cheek resting on his crossed forearms, a sated grin on his face.

“Feel better?” she asks him, smiling back at him.

“Yeah,” he says, a little bit of a laugh in his voice. “But now would be a good time for that donut and the Golden Girls marathon.”

“I’ll come prepared next time,” Anna promises him, reaching out to push his hair off his forehead. “Now get some beauty rest, princess.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anna watches him until his face slackens and his breathing evens out--he must have been even more tired than she realized--and then she slips out of bed and puts her clothes back on. She doesn’t feel obligated to leave. She doesn’t think things would be awkward if she stayed, or that this is somehow going to affect their friendship.

She just knows hers is not the face he hopes to wake up to.