Work Header


Work Text:

Sebastian’s come straight from Atlanta to end up at Chris’s door in Boston, where he’s being greeted as enthusiastically by Dodger as by his human.

“Your dog” is the first phrase out of Sebastian’s mouth, choked out while Chris kisses him hello in the foyer.


Sebastian kisses him back, thoroughly enough to lose his train of thought until Dodger bumps against his calves and he glances down again.

“Your dog,” he says again, and Chris laughs, sliding an arm around Sebastian’s waist and dragging him further into the house.

“It’s his Halloween costume. Thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Your dog … is dressed as a hot dog.” Sebastian forms the words slowly, as if they’ll make more sense if he pushes them out of his mouth like his tongue’s been dipped in molasses.

But no, Dodger’s still wriggling excitedly at his feet in a hot dog costume, complete with a fabric squiggle that’s clearly meant to be mustard. It’s ridiculous, and it’s endearing: it’s Chris, through and through.

It’s no small comfort, after weeks apart that feel like months, to finally be able to lean into Chris’s side and relax into a night in. The plan is for a movie marathon of Halloween classics, but with the warm heat of Chris pressed against his shoulder, Sebastian’s pretty sure he won’t care what they watch. A little peace, a little quiet, a lot of old-fashioned making out (for starters) -- who needs more than that?

Once they’re curled up together on the butter-soft brown leather sofa, Sebastian’s legs slung over Chris’s lap, Chris hits a button on his universal remote and dims the lights. Sebastian nudges him with an elbow, mouth curving into a fond smile.

“Mood lighting? Thought you knew -- I’m a sure thing.”

“I’m a romantic,” Chris says primly, and they both crack up.

There’s a huge amount of candy-- all of the usual suspects: Reese’s peanut butter cups, Kit-Kats, Snickers, the like-- in a large bowl.

“Did you seriously have that few trick or treaters that you have this much left?” Sebastian asks Chris, gesturing at the bowl on the coffee table.

“Nah,” Chris says. “I got this for you.”

“You don’t have to feed me candy to get me to put out, you know,” Sebastian says, affecting some offended eyebrows.

“I know.” Chris pats Sebastian’s shoulder and then leans forward to snag a peanut butter cup. “But indulge me, would you? I’ll feed you the candy, you’ll put out, everybody’s happy.”

It doesn’t take much convincing on Sebastian’s part. By the time Chris has opened the wrapper, Sebastian has his lips parted and waiting. Chris puts the whole piece of candy in his mouth at once, and Sebastian chews and then swallows. Chris watches him, smiles, and then says, “Good boy.”

They settled on a Halloween movie-- really, could anything be cuter than a tiny Hilary Duff in a red witch’s hat?-- and by the time Casper and his new witch friend Wendy are running around the hotel, there’s been a noticeable reduction in the bowl’s fullness (and a commensurate increase in Sebastian’s).

“Pace yourself,” Chris murmurs, holding out another piece, a dark chocolate Milky Way this time. “Or not. There’s more in the kitchen.”

“I’m paced,” Sebastian says, mouth full of chocolate. It’s much less gross than Chris thinks it should be.

And that’s the thing, right? When it comes to Sebastian, Chris finds himself liking lots of things he’s never really considered before. That pleased little smile when Seb takes a bite of something he particularly enjoys. The hitch in his breathing when he starts to get really full. The completely distinct change in his breathing when Chris touches him.

Being with Sebastian is one of the truly good things in Chris’s life anyway -- in the midst of all the chaos of fans and fame, this is something that’s just his. Just theirs. He didn’t see it coming, the way Sebastian took up residence in Chris’s heart like he was always supposed to be there, and he definitely hadn’t expected his own reaction that first time Sebastian’d cleaned his second heaping plate and splayed those long, elegant fingers over his stomach.

If it’s weird, it’s the kind of weird he always wants in his life, and so he hands over a mini Butterfinger. Seb loves peanut butter and chocolate; Chris loves watching Seb.

Weird works just fine.

Their next movie is more horror and less cute 90s heroines and CGI. It’s one of the glut of early 2000s horror movies that came out of the “Splat Pack”-- Eli Roth & co.-- and neither of them is expecting more than what it is from it.

Still, Sebastian can’t contain himself when a scantily clad Paris Hilton meets her end by rotary saw in the 2005 remake of House of Wax.

“Come on,” he says, around another mouthful of candy -- Twix this time -- “that’s not even remotely a real scream.”

“Excuse you,” Chris says, “not all of us can only be in films of the utmost quality-- oh wait.” He looks at Sebastian meaningfully. Seb flushes slightly but tries to mask it by getting really interested in licking the chocolate off the bottom of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrapper.

“Need I remind you about The Apparition? Or The Covenant?

“...No.” Sebastian swallows guiltily. Wiiiiiiatch. It still haunts him.

“Paris is actually a pretty nice girl. I mean. I met her once, and I was pleasantly surprised.”

“Were you, now.”

“Hey.” Chris reaches out and grabs a handful of candy from the bowl and deposits it on Sebastian’s lap. “Get back to eating.”

Sebastian sniggers. “Betcha Paris wouldn’t do this for you.” He pats his tummy, already markedly softer than it’d been over the summer.

“What? Eat herself sick on Halloween candy and then get off on it? No, I suppose not.” Chris’ hand darts over and he unwraps another Butterfinger and holds it out to Sebastian. “Here, baby. Eat.”


An hour and a refill of the candy bowl later, Sebastian cries uncle.

“Ugh,” Sebastian groans. “I think I just ate 5,000 calories of chocolate.”

“It’s okay, baby, you’re supposed to be bulking.”

Sebastian hiccups and winces. “I don’t think this is exactly what Don had in mind.”

Chris strokes a warm hand over Sebastian’s candy-stuffed belly, fingertips drumming lightly over the swell of it where it presses against his jeans. “S’what I had in mind, though. You and your candy.”

“If you make a joke about how sweet I am,” Sebastian warns, shifting onto his back to put his head in Chris’s lap, breathing shallowly as his stomach protests the movement.

Chris raises his eyebrows. “You’ll what? You look like you’re going to have trouble getting up right now, babe.”

Sebastian wheezes. “Ugh. Just-- just put your hands on me, okay?”

Chris is grinning as he complies. “This is what I get, huh? Now you’re all lazy and demanding?”

“Just how you like me.”

Sebastian’s wearing one of his ancient t-shirts, the kind Chris loves to hate, with the stretched-out neckline that look like he tugged on it every chance he got … or let someone else do that job for him. Chris’s hands are going in the other direction now, to the hem, pulling the shirt up to put his hand on the soft skin of Sebastian’s stomach.

As demanded.

The touch earns him a gratified moan, and he skims his fingertips over the taut flesh.

“You know,” Chris says thoughtfully a few minutes later, still ministrating to Sebastian’s belly, “There’s that Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer.”

“Mm.” Sebastian, eyes shut, snuggles his head further into Chris’ lap. “When I’m not so full.”

Sebastian’s still full after the next movie, and still at midnight, when Chris finally gets him up off the couch and into bed.

They fall asleep quickly, Sebastian on his back, Chris pressed up against his side, listening to the slight gurgle of his digestion.


Sebastian wakes up to something cold being pressed into his hand, and the tickle of someone’s breath on his chest.

“Dodger, get off the bed,” he says without opening his eyes, and hears a chuckle, deep and long.

“Still too full?”

Sebastian opens his eyes to Chris grinning, insistently pressing a spoon into Sebastian’s hand.

“... Not anymore.” Sebastian blinks and then scoots up in the bed, maneuvering a pillow behind his back.

Chris snags the pint of ice cream from the nightstand, eyes bright.

“Americone Dream?” Sebastian looks at Chris a little sardonically.

“Shh, it’s patriotic, okay? The election’s coming up, you know.”

Chris shuts Sebastian up with the carton of ice cream placed into his other hand and then, in rapid succession, Chris mouthing the head of his cock, Sebastian’s boxers pulled roughly down around his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” Sebastian says, and Chris’ mouth comes off his cock and Chris angles his face up, his chin poking into the little pocket of pudge underneath Sebastian’s belly button.

“No,” Chris laughs. “Just Chris. Evans.”

Sebastian groans, and Chris moves up to hover just above his face.

“You: ice cream. Me... “ He smiles and flicks his gaze down towards Sebastian’s groin.

“All right, all right,” Sebastian pries the container open, discards the lid on the nightstand and then applies his spoon.

“Mmm,” he says, and he’s really not thinking about the ice cream.


Chris alternates bits of fellatio with little nibbles to Sebastian’s inner thighs and brief kisses that taste like chocolate.

Sebastian is struggling to focus on getting the spoon to his mouth; as good as the ice cream is, it can’t compare to Chris’s warm, wicked mouth on him. He stops to stare at Chris, who’s clearly not having the same problems focusing. Chris’s beard rasps against his thighs, and Sebastian jerks slightly, letting the ice cream drip onto his belly.

Chris looks up and abandons his task for a moment, grinning.


And then his tongue is licking a stripe up Sebastian’s belly, until he comes to the tiny puddle of ice cream. The spot earns the same dedicated attention Chris was just giving Sebastian’s cock, and wildly, it feels almost as good.

“Can you”-- Sebastian pants a little-- “Can you maybe take over here for a little bit? I’m too distracted.”

“Mmm.” Chris kisses him hard and scoots up on the bed, stroking his hand along Sebastian’s swollen tummy as he goes. “I think I can handle that. You gonna take care of yourself, then?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

And he does, falling into a familiar rhythm-- although it’s also decidedly better than his own masturbatory sessions the last few weeks when he was on set-- Chris’ warm hand stroking his belly and his hot breath in Sebastian’s ear, not to mention the creamy deliciousness of the ice cream, bite after bite.


Sebastian’s belly is taut by the time he finishes, spilling his seed onto its tender convexity, still licking a little bit of ice cream off of his lips. Chris kisses him, deep and slow, and then pops off the bed, saying, “I’ll be right back-- don’t move.”

As if he could. As if he wants to.

Chris comes back in a few moments with a dampened washcloth. He runs it gently over Sebastian’s stomach before setting it on the nightstand and climbing back onto the bed.

“Belly rub?”

“Oh, god, yes. Please.” Sebastian reaches out, cups Chris’s face in his palm, kisses him deeply.

Chris’s hands are as talented as his mouth, sliding over Sebastian’s skin in ways that make him glad he’s already horizontal. He strokes the fullest part of Sebastian’s belly with a small smile on his face, like he’s admiring his good work.

Sebastian feels fat and full and flushed with it, so if that’s a role Chris wants to play, well. He’s willing to extend that contract well beyond anything Marvel could offer.


“Guess what,” Chris says later, after he’s expertly rubbed the soreness away from Sebastian’s belly. He looks more than a little smug.

“What?” Sebastian traces the line of Chris’ jaw with a long finger, feeling sated and stupidly in love.

“Got a surprise for you.”

“Do I have to get up to get it?”

“Nope. You just wait here -- and close your eyes.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, feigning suspicion. “That never ends well.”

Chris kisses him and climbs off the bed, grinning. “Be right back.”

As ordered, Sebastian closes his eyes and relaxes into the pillow, wondering what Chris has in store for him now. They’ve done candy and ice cream, so the next logical step is--

Chris, before him, in a person-sized hot dog onesie, complete with a yellow mustard zipper.

“You hungry?” Chris asks, nonchalantly, as if he’s not obviously naked underneath.

Sebastian looks him up and down, lets his gaze linger around the crotch area of the costume.

“... Starved.”