Chapter Text
The thing is…Seb is so good. He’s so flipping good. Chris tries to maintain his boundaries – but it’s not like he’s the only one who notices. After a hard day of filming, Sebastian will smile calmly whenever anyone checks in on him.
He doesn’t even complain after the fucking wall hadn’t been padded properly (Chris’d been furious and had stepped out for minute, snapped open a can of Coke and let it fizz in his mouth instead of the words he’d wanted to say – things like come here, Seb and who the fuck let this happen and we’re taking the rest of the day off and I’m feeding this gorgeous sub juice in bed).
Chris isn’t old-fashioned. He doesn’t think he is. He joins with those All Rights protests and has mentioned more than once his pride in Scott – in everything Scott stands for. He doesn’t think a sub is any less than a Dom, and his Ma may’ve pulled one of his ears off of his head by now if he did. But there’s something about Sebastian that shouts good to him.
When he steps back in the Russo brothers are commenting to each other “Someone must be happy at home” with a sly smile to Sebastian. Because yeah, any Dom would be proud of Seb. (Chris sure is.) But Sebastian’s smile now looks worse than the one after being thrown into the unpadded wall. Polite still, but tight.
Chris needs this reminder, that Sebastian has a Dom waiting for him, telling him to be good, and that it’s not Chris. He is not Sebastian’s Dom. So he claps Sebastian on the shoulder – but lightly – and asks “Alright, man?” while trying to not sound too distant but not too close and this is why he needs so many breaks, this is wreaking havoc on his already anxious mind.
Chris knows he’s not mistaken that Sebastian leans in to his hand– it’s noticeable by the way the light hits those pale eyes at a different slant – when he hums a sweet “Yeah, thanks for asking.”
Chris has kept it together for 2.5 films so he thinks he should be able to keep a reign on this, whatever the heck this is, for another .5. Optimistically. They’re in Germany now and the weather is grey and he can’t help but notice how this affects Sebastian. It’s nothing hugely noticeable. He thinks Scarlet may have given Sebastian a second glance the other day. But Chris watches the way Sebastian cups both hands around a cup of coffee. Waits a little longer before speaking up. Takes another extra moment or two before putting on the mantle of Bucky on set, a little longer to shed it.
Chris can’t do much. Anthony has already given him shit for the way he laughs around Sebastian. He likes laughing around Sebastian; Sebastian makes him laugh with those sly remarks and side-eyed smiles. The problem’s not the laugh itself, it’s that Chris can’t help but reach out when he’s laughing. What he wants to do is cup Sebastian’s shoulder, slide a hand up that neck, thread his fingers at the nape of the sub’s hair and rub a little with the rhythm of his guffaws. He doesn’t think about this in too much detail, alright? There’s been less opportunity for this desire lately because Sebastian’s been a little more reticent with those not-quite-shy smart-ass comments. Which is fine, because Chris can keep his hands to himself. Also, it sucks.
But he does what he can. Namely, he buys Sebastian one of those ceramic travel mugs from Starbucks and pretends it’s so that Sebastian can start collecting them in each city (seriously what the fuck who does that can he be more embarrassing? Sebastian had smiled quizzically at him, clearly pleased by the gift once Chris had forced it into his hands, but confused. “Each city has one? I’ll…keep an eye out?”). He thinks that might be better than paper or Styrofoam – better at keeping those hands warm when filled with coffee. And Sebastian does use it.
He corners Sebastian a few times when he’s clearly dressed inappropriately for the weather, as they head further into winter. He doesn’t know who -the-fuck Dom lets their sub out underdressed, especially this sub with his handsome chin and sweet smile and soft brow. He thinks maybe Sebastian’s been absent minded, the way he gets when he’s tired or low, but still! The mystery Dom should know that Seb does this, gets like this, should be mailing him mittens. Chris would.
That’s why second or third time he finds Seb - off-set in a grey long-sleeved t-shirt, tucking his hands into his pockets and pretending that his new bulk is keeping him from getting cold - Chris asks him to help him pick out lunch from the catering table. Chris keeps him occupied on the short walk across the services corner, asks “Have you seen anything good on the hotel pay per view?”
Sebastian starts with a dirty joke but then begins to earnestly describe a German film involving coca cola and the Berlin Wall. Chris sheds his jacket, worn dark denim, and asks Seb to hold it while he fills up a plate. It’s hard enough not to fill another plate for Sebastian, but that’s line-crossing and Chris knows it. That’s what a sub’s Dom does for them. Not what Chris is to Seb.
So when he’s finished making his plate , he turns to Sebastian and says as casually as he can “You just put it on, yeah? I’m over-heated anyway and I’ll only catch the sleeve in mustard while I eat. I’ll get it from you later?”
And then because he knows Sebastian is about to protest or Chris is about to grab Sebastian and kiss that little wrinkle between his brows any second now, he walks off with his plate and looks over his shoulder just once to see Sebastian tucking himself into the jacket.
He refuses it when Sebastian tries to give it back. He wishes he had stuck around to hear more about that movie, hear Sebastian speak.
Chris didn’t always hate Sebastian’s Dom. Well, in fact, he didn’t even think Sebastian had one for a while. At least not during the first movie, but then they’d barely known each other and Chris was still learning that Sebastian was slow to warm up because that was Sebastian and not because he secretly hated Chris along with everyone else.
And he didn’t first start hating Sebastian’s Dom in grey Germany. It was slow and it was sometime during Winter Soldier.
They were wrapping up the movie and Chris and Sebastian were comfortable now together. Sebastian had pulled him aside one morning – fingertips at the back of Chris’ elbow to get his attention – and asked if he thought it was too much to start leaving feathers in Anthony’s trailer.
Everyone’d picked up the habit of poking at Mackie, calling him bird-brained or, once when Chris’d been a little drunk, bird-dicked. It’s retaliatory - Anthony pokes and pokes at all of them until you learn to punch him in the shoulder and love him back. And Mackie’d poked at Seb most of all.
Chris had learned not to feel protective about this, not angry, just…sort of wistfully happy. It was cool between Mackie and Sebastian. Mackie was undiff’d and didn’t really care to get involved in Dom/sub dynamics. And Mackie didn’t do anything mean with Sebastian. Mostly, actually, he teased him into speaking up. Called him Cover Girl for the black eye makeup and the hair, but tugged on the hair a little after. Chris can tell that Sebastian likes that, that Sebastian feels a little more part of the group when Anthony calls him out for ordering the sweetest drink at the bar or asks him if he has a scrunchie that Scarlet can borrow.
Funnily, that makes Chris hate the Dom. Not the scrunchie or Mackie being undiff’d because once again Chris was not fucking diffaphobic or subaphobic or whatever-the-fuck. But the look on Sebastian’s face when he said something sly in retort to Anthony about sweet things and the whole group laughed at the bar. The look when Scarlet told him hey nice scene after wrapping up. When the makeup artist offered to help get that all off, yeah? We can use something more moisturizing, you’re getting dry, aren’t you, hon! When Chris called Seb hard-working in an interview after, during the press tour, and he could feel Sebastian’s knee jolt against his in the line of fold out chairs.
It’s the way that Sebastian had barely pressed his fingers to Chris’ elbow to get his attention that day on set. How quietly worried he’d looked when he joked about maybe leaving some feathers about? A little more every day? Different places Anthony went?
Chris’d laughed at the idea, had put his hand on Seb’s shoulder and moved it up a little like he always did back then, before Anthony gave him shit about it. Said “Holy shit, you’re brilliant, how long do you think it’ll take him to catch on?”
Sebastian’d smiled, and Chris always likes that. So that’s not what upset him either. It’s the surprised quality of the smile when Chris’d said “you’re brilliant.”
Chris starts thinking Does this Dom not compliment him enough at home? Which is hard to even imagine because Chris is nearly always keeping his mouth closed, even then at 1.75 movies through, from saying things that were not professional but straight-up Dom-speak. From telling Sebastian some mornings oh fuck you look beautiful when the sun is coming up or from staring at Sebastian’s long hands, his coltish legs, his wry mouth.
Chris must’ve made a face when thinking this, hand still on Sebastian’s shoulder, because he feels Sebastian’s shoulder tense. Sebastian’s talking now, and Chris makes himself focus and not think about this scumbag Dom.
“Maybe, maybe not, though? I don’t want to make any more work for anyone, if someone’d have to clean up the feathers, right? Or if they got worried about avian flu, although that’s old, right..." Sebastian’s retreating already. The kid’s not shy, he’s just, he’s eager to stay out of everyone’s way. This only makes Chris angrier but he doesn’t have a right and he especially shouldn’t when Sebastian’s taking it all wrong.
“Nah, kid,” and Chris punctuates this with a rub of his thumb across Sebastian’s acromion because that’s just natural. “I think it’s brilliant – you’re tricky, huh? I can help – grab a feather pillow on the way back home tonight for us to start with?”
“You’re sure?” Sebastian has relaxed a little with the words, with the thumb-rub.
(Privately, now, Sebastian is thinking that he’s upset Chris. He’d felt so good earlier when Chris’d called him brilliant, which is pretty fucking stupid because it’s clear Chris meant it casually. Maybe, he’s thinking, Chris saw Sebastian react to the compliment and thinks Seb is reading too far into this? That’s likely. Seb reads too far into everything, with Chris. The way he’ll pat the front of Seb’s chest, or hold his shoulder when he laughs. The wrinkles around his eyes when he’ll confess to Sebastian some prank he pulled on Scott as kids. The things he says when they finish a scene – probably the same you wrapped that up real nice that he gives to anyone else.)
“Of course I am, yeah, totally! Sorry - I zoned out a little – still thinking about tomorrow’s fight and whether or not I’m going to hit that timing right.”
“I can help?” It’s an almost involuntary response for Sebastian. Every fucking time he sees Chris Evans, the broad smile and broad shoulders, Sebastian thinks let me be good.
“I’ll text you tonight if I do, yeah? But let me buy the pillow and you focus on glowering just right through that mask tomorrow. Get your lines straight.”
Chris knows why he says this. He’s trying to make fun, to tell himself that he’ll be a friend like Mackie, and not quietly pine after Sebastian for another .25 movie and another press tour and rumor has it a full movie after this and shit. He knows that Anthony could’ve pulled that line off, Anthony’s made fun enough of Sebastian for his lack of lines. Had said “Did they even mail you a script, Stan?” but had also said something about the globe theater, all of Sebastian’s experience, his potential.
Something about this statement now seems to undo whatever the earlier “you’re brilliant” had done. Does the opposite of a thumb rub and the opposite of one of the Russo brothers raving about Sebastian’s body language, just right, you got it, Stan! Sebastian’s smiling tightly, laughing along. Chris can tell he’s trying to be good, polite.
“Not everyone’s Captain America, though. Not so many righteous speeches for me. Anyways, I don’t think I can pull off blond. Tell me if you want me to help with the blocking but I bet you Samantha or Wasi can go over it with you better than me, they’ll probably be able to help you figure that out, I might just mess you up.”
And Sebastian claps his hand once on Chris’s grasp of his shoulder, then walks away.
Chris is thinking that Seb’s fingers felt cold. That’s he’s a fucking idiot.
Here are the reasons why everyone on set, including Chris despite being about it, thinks Sebastian has a Dom at home.
1 – Initially, this was an explanation for Sebastian not heading out with them for drinks, after. Drinks, after had become a phrase for Chris early on in filming. Something would take too fucking long and Chris would try hard not to be frustrated, or sometimes want to keep the rest of the crew from snapping. So he’d say to someone, occasionally whoever’d been silently assigned blame for the overtime, “this’ll take however long it takes, but let’s get drinks, after?”
Chris hadn’t known Sebastian well, then. He’d thought he was beautiful from the get-go. He’d thought he was a fucking genius at Bucky. He did everything about it brilliantly. The frowns and the charm and the surprise and the shaken way he looked when Cap got him off that table, strapped down.
But Sebastian never really showed up in those motley groups that went to drinks, after. Some crew and some actors and some significant others. He asks Hayley one night why she thinks that is, already 3 beers in and feeling like maybe he should’ve eaten some more bar pretzels first.
Hayley frowns. She says “Well I assume whoever is waiting at home for him doesn’t want him to take too long?”
Chris drinks more that night.
2 – It’s the same point that set this whole fucking thing off. Sebastian is so good. It’s not a Dom supremacy thing at all. But everyone knows the signs that a Dom or sub need some time with one or the other. Doms get…tetchy. Chris himself gets a little mother-hen-y. He starts shipping Scott sweaters online. Brings cookies over to his neighbors. Checks his locks three times at night. Absent-mindedly tells friends what to do. It’s embarrassing.
Subs act out. The response is natural – the sub wants care and demonstrates behavior that requires care, punishment (although Chris isn’t much for the punishment end of this). But he knows how submissive friends of his get when they’ve gone too long without going down.
He’s read about Submissive Deprivation Disorder, the analogous condition to Dominant Anxiety Disorder. Robert has said more than once that he’s pretty sure half of his infamous 20s were caused by sub-dep. Subs’ll act out, and they’ll feel more tired. The energy level end of this varies. Chris’ own mom just needs a nap when his dad is out of town. Some subs, though, have written on it bordering on the bone-deep exhaustion of depression.
Sebastian Stan does neither of these things. He’s exhaustingly good. He shows up to everything on time, early. He brings breakfast some mornings for everyone – sandwiches he picked up on his way in because he knows Catering is taking this Sunday off. Sebastian does scenes over and over and never says a word about whoever is throwing the scene off.
Chris was walking back to his car one night and found Sebastian changing the fucking tire of his makeup artist’s car, said makeup artist sitting in Sebastian’s car nearby, which was closed and had the heat on, fogging up the windows. He’d felt so fucking odd about it, so pleased but at war with himself, that he’d pretended to not see them and got in his own car, got home and watched TMC until he’d fallen asleep. The next day he buys Sebastian coffee but tells him he was accidentally given an extra.
Chris takes care of himself as he knows best. He volunteers, he buys a dog, he talks to Scott about it. Whatever Hayley had believed in this drinks, after everyone else now knows to be true. Because whoever Sebastian has at home, they’re taking enough care of Sebastian that the man can show up mornings at 6am and stay until midnight and not snap once.
Everyone knows how fucking good Sebastian Stan is.
They’re in Germany again but not for filming, for the tour. It’s a little better because last time it was November and this time it’s late March.
Chris’d been happy to see everyone again at the beginning of the tour. Anthony had ruffled his beard and cracked a joke about hermits. Paul had something polite and had slapped Chris on the back. Scarlet blew a raspberry on his cheek, and Chris had really missed her. Robert gave him a good hug, both hands and a kiss on the cheek, but then had snuck off to answer his wife’s phone call. Chris can hear him still, telling her “yeah, honey I got lunch already.” It’s domestic and wonderful.
Chris sees Sebastian and feels the way he did in the first few weeks of growing his beard, when he’d see his halfway reflection in the oven door and think who the fuck is this. Generally, Chris feels a swoop of happiness when he sees Sebastian. It makes him smile to see him, his thick hair and straight nose and whatever sweet expression he’s pulling off at that moment.
Close after that Chris gets a second swoop of not-mine. He’s gotten pretty good at timing this so that Sebastian doesn’t look over then and think Chris’ fallen expression is about him which it is but it isn’t and that’s probably half the reason Sebastian’d been so quiet around him for so long.
This time, that first swoop is shorter and the second is worse. Sebastian looks tired. They’ve all dropped bulk after the movies. Anthony mostly around the shoulders – he likes talking about a flyer’s body, about keeping it tight. Chris hasn’t had much reason to – he’s taking some time off right now and spends most days reading, working out, not watching videos of certain co-stars online or shamefully reading TMZ in a ghost tab, trying to learn about the Dom he silently hates.
Seb’s dropped some bulk. And it’s more than Chris is comfortable with. He looks wiry, not the natural length and pull of his body that Chris’d seen in the first movie. Maybe he looks wrong because Sebastian looks so tired. He looks drawn in a way that Chris is not used to seeing him look in the daylight. Sure, some point past Starbucks being open and before their directors would give up. Beginning of a day, here in Germany? Not so much.
Chris watches Anthony greet him, pat a hand on Sebastian’s chest (a move Chris feels slightly bitter about, having disallowed himself from this proprietary gesture). Sebastian makes a wry face and Chris imagines what he’s saying, maybe something about that Olympics movie or about Anthony’s goatee, but Chris’s imagination is cut off when Sebastian sees him.
Sebastian smiles. It’s almost unbearably sweet, and Chris is moving towards him before he even thinks about it.
They’re hugging. Later Chris’ll wonder – did I start that? Did I force him into it? But at that moment, he feels perfectly natural wrapping one arm around Sebastian’s shoulders, the other around his waist. He’s glad Sebastian can’t see his face because he skims his hands around Sebastian’s rib-cage, around his scapula and feels that second swoop another time.
Chris, while keeping everything strictly platonic, has gotten a certain familiarity with the body of Sebastian Stan. Enough training, that last press tour, and a casual LA-NY friendship has kept them this way. Chris is used to the varying breadth of his shoulders – from Bucky to Winter Soldier. The drag of his waist.
“What’ve you been up to, kid?” Chris is asking with Sebastian’s face still in his neck. He knows he’s not imagining that Sebastian tuck it there. He can feel the cold tip of his nose, the brush of his eyelashes, a faint hint of stubble on the jaw. He’d like to think that he can feel even the dimple of his chin, the warmth of his breath.
Chris doesn’t like the way the knobs of Sebastian’s spine feel under his palm, in as much as he could ever dislike anything about Sebastian’s body.
Sebastian takes another long breath. Chris senses his lips move a moment, a hair’s breadth from the naked skin above Chris’s collar. He forces his hands to release when Sebastian moves back.
Sebastian is looking down for a moment, a little pink. One hand comes up to rustle his long-but-not-Winter-Soldier-long hair back into place. When he looks up, Chris makes himself not frown and not pull Sebastian back into his body. Tuck the figure to his chest, the face to his neck, make real on his standard private threat to take Sebastian to bed and feed him juice. He’s always wanted to tuck Sebastian into him.
“Not much? It’s been, it’s been not as busy and sort of different. You? How’s the family, Boston? Did you see your nephew?”
Something about Sebastian comes off…shaky. Chris wants to think that mystery Dom is gone, but knows this is hopeful thinking, thinks Scarlet or Anthony would’ve texted him something about it. All the same, Chris can’t help but turn to stand behind Sebastian, press a shoulder behind his and say “Come get some coffee with me.”
Sebastian is moving with him immediately. Chris can tell he’s leaning in; he swears to god the sub is. Sebastian is pressing his hair back into place again when Chris makes eye contact with Anthony, who is frowning a little at them.
For a moment, Chris thinks Anthony wants to warn him off his Dom-ish behavior again. But Anthony just looks concerned, nods towards Sebastian, then turns around to catch up with Elizabeth. Whatever Chris noticed, he wasn’t the only one.
He keeps talking as he walks them over to the coffee cart, doesn’t allow himself to loop an arm around that waist (thinner than he thought it should be but maybe it’s primal, maybe he’s pulling some Dom anxiety shit and doesn’t know), from grabbing a cold hand. His shoulder behind Sebastian, though, that should be allowed. He gets to appreciate that inch and a little he has over the sub. Feel the warmth of Sebastian, share his own warmth. He’s in over his fucking head.
“My nephew is so fucking adorable, Seb. You should come see him. Seriously, you should come visit and meet this kid, he’s stubborn, cute, I think you’d like him. Just the other day I was at my sister’s, reading him a book – one of those Disney movie books because his mom won’t let him see that much TV yet - and you won’t believe what he said.”
“What?” Sebastian ghosts, looking sideways at him, looking drawn but a little more grounded now, Chris thinks. They’ve made it to the drinks cart and Chris has put a hand behind Sebastian’s back in the short casual way that’s definitely allowed, moving him to the side to grab sleeves for their cups.
He pulls his hand off of Sebastian’s back. Uses both to drop paper cups into sleeves. Reminds himself to keep it in his pants, Evans. Looks back at Sebastian and thinks again, with more determination, that he wants to figure out what the fuck is up.
Chris and Anthony aren’t the only ones to notice. Right off the bat, sure, but they’re the ones who spend the most time with Sebastian, who can hear the difference in his tones the best. The Russo brothers pick up on it two weeks into the tour. Chris is talking to Joe in the hotel lobby when Anthony walks in. Anthony Russo greets both of them, then taps Joe on the shoulder.
Joe speaks up, “Oh, there’s something we wanted to ask you?”
“Sure,” Chris says, already practiced in quieting the voice in his head which is sure this is a reprimand, that something’s gone wrong.
“Everything okay with Stan?”
Chris looks between the brothers. They both look mildly concerned – they’re good guys, good directors, they take care of their movie and their people.
Anthony is picking up from Joe’s statement, saying “Yeah, we don’t quite know about the last tour, but is something not agreeing with Sebastian this time around? Foreign food? We can talk to our staffers and try to help him out – or is he sick?”
Joe jumps in again, “The schedule is grueling and we just want to make sure none of you are getting ground down.”
Chris is relieved they’ve noticed too. He doesn’t know why they’re asking him, they all know he’s not Sebastian’s Dom, he’s probably not even Sebastian’s closest friend here, with how much the kid laughs around Anthony Mackie.
Sure, they’ve spent long hours together. Sebastian’s talked to him openly while fiddling with the rubber lid of his ceramic travel mug, has confessed that he’s been reading the same three plays over and over for the past month and half the problem is that he can’t get fucking enough of Coriolanus. Chris had something then, about revolution. Sebastian had nodded and had said “yeah, I think maybe I’ve always been obsessed with, maybe frightened of, rebellion.” Chris thought about Romania, then. About what he’s read on Wikipedia, about his own lack of education. They’d kept talking.
Now though, in the hotel lobby, Chris thinks he may have not said anything for a few moments too long. Both the Russos are looking at him, and Joe speaks up again.
“We’ll keep an eye on him, but let us know what we can do, alright? Shoot us a text, anything. Maybe we’ll send up some room service to him, tonight. Get him eating some fries, some pie. Maybe offer to fly his Dom out.”
Chris nods and says a weak “Yeah, room service could help” as the brothers head off.
Sebastian had look drawn when Chris had seen him two weeks ago. He doesn’t look any better now, he thinks. Chris can’t pretend it’s a gymnast training body anymore, Sebastian looks on just this side of thin. He’s lost another couple of pounds in the past weeks. He’s still unfailingly polite. Chris hasn’t spent much time with him, but mostly because Sebastian goes back to his room after the interviews, makes his excuses.
Chris’d want to pretend that it’s the distance from home, but time shooting out of the country could only prove otherwise. Sebastian’d been more open in their month and a half in Germany than he is now.
Chris is worried about him, too.
They’re in China now, in some terrible American-ish hotel. Chris hates it when they book some kind of knock-off Best Western for them, as if he and the rest are going to put up their middle fingers if they get fed something other than All-American poptarts for breakfast.
Chris hasn’t really figured out much of what’s going on with Sebastian. He’s watching Sebastian more, when he can. He’s thinking about loosening up on his rules of platonic-not-my-sub action, maybe a palm behind the neck? A short hand-hold?
He can tell he’s not the only one. The Russo brothers have made a cheerful habit of sending up dessert for them after long days, sending it to three or four of them at a time, but Sebastian more frequently than anyone.
Anthony has assigned himself to most of Sebastian’s interviews. “The kid looks tired, yeah?” he says to Chris as they scoop scrambled eggs onto plates at the hotel breakfast buffet. Chris sighs sigh. Tries not to look too morosely at his lumps of likely-from-powder scrambled eggs. He thinks of the street vendor on the corner who was making those beautiful crispy-thin egg pancakes yesterday. He's got enough cash for like a dozen of those at least.
“I figure, he doesn’t really like the aggressive interviews anyways. I’ll go with him, take some of the heat, make him laugh at least once.”
“I think that’s great, Anthony,” Chris says, a little too sincerely.
Anthony smiles at him in that knowing, worried way of his.
Chris hasn’t been able to do anything. He and Sebastian have been close, but never quite comfortable. Chris knows this is his fault, his hot-then-cold, the after-set compliments he could never keep from saying. He has waited for Sebastian at breakfast, and not found him. He’s texted Sebastian for lunch, and gotten a text back, hours too late, saying “I’m sorry, man! Had my phone on silent – next time, hopefully?” An apologetic string of emoji and sometimes a couple of shit emoji, which Sebastian knows makes Chris laugh like a kid.
He has smiled at Sebastian every time he has seen him, which is hardly any different from before, but now Sebastian smiles real tightly like he does when the interviewer asks their third or fourth question about acclimating to America, and disappears before Chris can head over there.
“Why would he be avoiding me?” he’s asking Anthony before he can even help it. They’re seated now, and Anthony is tearing open tiny packets of half-and-half.
“Why avoiding, or why you?”
“Both?” Chris pretends to eat more eggs. He thinks he’s going to get three of those yogurt cups on his way up if he can't make it out the lobby for crispy-egg goodness, probably trash this plate. What a waste.
“I don’t know, man. Something’s up with him for sure. Maybe something with family, maybe a contract that’s messed up.”
“Why me, then?” Chris asks.
“Things have always been different for the two of y’all, you can’t tell me otherwise, Boston.”
This is what Anthony is good at. Saying the truth, softening it up with the way he dumps half of his tiny creamer cups into Chris’s coffee, calls him Boston.
Chris watches half and half swirl into his mug. Sebastian feels different around Chris. Maybe it’s worse, now. Maybe his Dom warned him off of Chris? Maybe Sebastian got tired of Chris, got tired of his attention and his near-desperate desire to be around Sebastian. To be the one Sebastian told about Shakespeare, plotted feather-dropping plots with.
Chris can’t leave anything alone. He has a few scars on his knees from scabs he kept picking at. His brother puts his phone on silent after they have an argument, because he knows Chris’ll call two more times, text double that, and that freezing him out will drive Chris up the fucking wall.
He trades spots with Anthony before the next interview. Anthony shrugs, looking shrewd but saying “whatever you think is best, man, I’m going to go grab a nap.” The interviewer hardly complains at having Chris there.
Sebastian looks a little surprised when he walks in. Mostly wan. Chris puts both hands in his pockets and tries not to think too much about the feel of Sebastian’s face in his neck, the fullness of closing both arms around him. About sly humor and ceramic mugs.
“Anthony was tired, told him I’d tap in – that alright, Sebastian?” Chris says as he settles himself into the other chair.
Sebastian smiles, tight but better from the ones from afar.
“Good for you to take the hit” he says, tucking both feet onto the bar of his high chair.
“Hardly,” says Chris, “at least I have good company.” He doesn’t hide the way he looks at Sebastian after saying this. Sebastian sighs a little, looks down, smiles.
(Something in Sebastian shakes loose. He has been trying very hard, lately, and everything is worse than usual. He went home and his mother and step-father were out of town when he was free, back when he was busy. He has studiously not thought of Chris Evans, of the friendly warm accent, and has instead made himself tea in a Starbucks travel mug from Germany.
Sebastian wants to believe he can be good enough, good without having to be told to be. But lately everything has been too cold. Chris Evans has been too warm. He already slipped up once, when they greeted each other and Seb had tucked his face into that warm collar like some desperate TV drama sub.
Chris has been nothing but kind, but Sebastian is teaching himself the lesson that won’t get fucking taught. That he needs to keep to himself, he can’t keep hanging off of every warm smile. He shouldn’t feel this way when Chris smiles. He leaves when his tasks end, he goes back to his room, he turns up the heat if he has the option, he gets in bed and he reads until his eyes are dry or sometimes just curls up. Once, he put in headphones and listened to an interview of Chris and held his own hands, twisted his legs together, and the next day he’d kept a perimeter around the Dom, unable to even glance at him.
(Another time, he ran himself a bath, got in it and pretended Chris ran it for him, that Chris was waiting in his room and would touch his hair, maybe call him good once or twice before Sebastian fell asleep.)
It’s no one’s fault that Sebastian has become this fucking desperate, this fucking pathetic. It’s not fair for Sebastian to let anyone else have to suffer with him, to make anyone put up with this. But this morning he woke up and the room was cold. Kneeling didn’t help at all.
He put on Chris’ denim when he got ready but took it off before he left because it’s too big, because he could only handle so much embarrassment, otherwise he would just tuck his face into Chris’ neck again and let the larger man not say anything, make him put up with it. Feel his hand on his back, oh god. Just a single broad palm, that would be enough, he swore. (He knew he was too greedy).
And he’s exhausted already sitting there, he’s on edge, they’ve set up too many lights for this interview. The flight the day before had been unendingly long, turbulent. Internally, he’s not counting the days since he went down because that would be sad and a sign that something was wrong with him, that he needed help, which he doesn’t. (It’s past triple digits, and it’s too fucking high if you don’t count going down on his own).
Then Chris comes in instead of Anthony. Anthony who provides shoring touch and doesn’t ask too many questions and doesn’t make Sebastian feel like saying stupid things about his childhood, about favorite books. For a second, Sebastian thinks he can do it. Then Chris looks at him, says something so fucking sweet but probably completely normal if Sebastian wasn’t so fucking desperate, and Sebastian gives up.
It’s been a while since he’s given up. He gives himself until the end of this interview. Nothing insane, he won’t crawl into that warm lap and call Chris Sir. He already avoids using the Dom’s name at all because every time he ends a sentence and wants to use an address, he gets half-way through sir before he can correct himself. He can’t imagine Chris’ look at horror of that. Sebastian, addressing him as if he were his Dom.)
Chris thinks of picking scabs again, and of the initial pleasure of it.
Throughout the interview, Sebastian looks at him before answering. Smiles. Looks so fucking sweet that Chris imagines for a moment asking everyone to leave, beckoning the sub over. Having him kneel and rest his head on Chris’ knee. Sit on his lap, pet that hair, skim a hand over Seb’s chest over and over.
When Chris looks over again, these thoughts loaded in his head, Sebastian flushes. Chris watches him press his palms into his own knees, bite his lip, and thinks suddenly what the fuck.
Thankfully they’re filming breast-bone up. Chris is barely keeping himself from standing up and patting down the sub, physically checking him, his health. They stumble through another question or two and Sebastian barely speaks.
When they finish, lower lights, and the interviewer waves herself out, Chris watches Sebastian release a long breath, grind his palms into his knees. He’s about to actually fucking say something. He thinks he could put his hand over one of Sebastian’s from here, it’s almost imperative that he does. He swears it looks like Sebastian is trying to take himself down, to self-soothe or some shit, pressing both knees and closing his eyes for a few seconds.
A staffer runs in. She’s harried, and tells Chris that something’s up with his visa for the next flight, could he please come explain his travel history to the official on the phone?
Chris looks over and Sebastian is gone. Fuck.
Chris has proof now. Something is fucking wrong with Sebastian. He saw the sub smile at him, saw him push down on his own knees. Wherever the fuck this Dom of his is, he’s not here. Chris is not going to press his own presence on him, but he’s going to ask Sebastian what’s up. He’s going to make sure he gets some care, maybe Anthony can come cuddle him, or Robert come sub-pile with him. He’s sure they would, the moment they were asked.
So that’s why he’s knocking at Sebastian’s door that night. He got whatever was wrong with his visa (some cultural misunderstanding about middle names) sorted out. He breathed fast in the bathroom, worried he was being crazy, worried he was being pushy. But the Russo brothers asked him what was wrong with Sebastian.
No noise after the first knock, and none after the second set either. Chris is about to call Sebastian when he hears some sound from inside.
“Yes?” breathes out a voice that Chris can barely recognize as Seb. It’s his, sure, the characteristic pitch of his. But something about it is wrecked in a way that Chris has never been allowed to hear from Sebastian. He sounds more like the Winter Soldier than the clever, reserved man that Chris knows.
“Sebastian? I wanted to check on you –“
“I” – there’s a choked noise inside, and Chris hears him move, trip. “I’m fine, thank you, s – Chris!”
“Did you just fall?”
Silence.
“Sebastian, I’m getting pretty fucking worried. If you can, let me in, let me see you?”
More movement, and Chris can tell that Sebastian is on the other side of the door. He wants to knock the door down, but knows he’s being stupidly primal, thick-skulled in the way his brother and sister make fun of. And he doesn’t want to now that he realizes he might hurt Sebastian in the process.
“Sebastian?”
“I’m, thank you for checking in, thank you – I’m okay, you don’t have to worry. I can, I can see you tomorrow morning? Afternoon? We’ll be heading out again and then the day after we fly…flying and –“
Chris can hear him breathe. He knows, well he doesn’t know but he suspects strongly enough that Sebastian fucking hates flying. And whatever is wrong with Sebastian right now, the thought of flying is clearly not helping.
“Hey, Seb. Don’t worry about that – just – let me…I’m sure you’re doing okay. Yeah? I don’t doubt that you’re doing your best in there. I’m just worried, you know me, anxious, and want to see ya? Do you think that’s okay? I can send Anthony or Robert, Scarlet if you’d rather? Any of them would come – it’d be fine – you don’t have to see me.”
“No!” Chris holds his breath. No? No to Chris being there? No to the others?
“Not…don’t bother them. I can – I can see you all tomorrow at the airport and I’ll be better, then?”
Chris swears he can hear Sebastian crying at this point. It’s not loud, it just sounds like his breath isn’t as easy as before.
“Sebastian, I’m just real worried. Let me see you and I’ll leave you alone, okay? Or tell me you’ll call your Dom – talk to them?” Chris knows he should’ve suggested this earlier but he tries as hard as fucking possible to not think of Sebastian’s Dom when he’s around Sebastian because then he gets bitte rand short-tempered.
But something about that word raises a sob in Sebastian, this time unmistakable past the hollow hotel door.
Chris pressed both palms to the door. He can feel his own sweat. “Sebastian. You don’t have to call them. But let me get someone here to check in with you, or let me in, but you don’t have to let me in. It doesn’t have to be me. But I just want to make sure you’re okay, sub.”
It’s a slip. But it does something, because Chris hears the door lock slide open, hears movement.
“Sebastian? Is that permission for me to come in? Is that why you opened the door, kid?”
There’s no response, but Chris hears a thud, and feels his heart thud in response. He opens the door.
“Sebastian?” He calls from the open door. “I’m coming in. Please say something, or make some noise if you don’t want me here, okay? Please.”
No noise now, definitely.
It’s alright if Chris’s heart is breaking. He’s sure it’s okay because he’s gone this far knowing Sebastian’s not his sub, hasn’t he?
Sebastian’s kneeling at the side of the bed, back to the door. Chris can tell his shoulders are hunched. There’s a soft noise that makes him think the sub’s crying, hence, heartbreak.
“I’m coming further in, Seb. If you don’t want me to, do anything. Say anything. Or put your hand on the floor next to you. I won’t, okay? I’ll respect that” I’ll respect you, Chris doesn’t say. Please let me take care of you.
He walks slowly, softly. He doesn’t want to startle Sebastian. He stands at the foot of the bed, right angle to Sebastian. Crouches. Looks at Sebastian’s face.
It no longer alright if Chris’ heart is breaking because now it hurts so fucking bad. Seb’s looking down, but Chris can see a sliver of the pale eyes. He’s kneeling, all properly with feet under bum, hands on lap in a way that Chris can swear he saw in the back of his own eyelids at night sometimes.
But now Chris doesn’t like it at all. Sebastian looks…defeated. In a way that never-ending hours of filming, 15 hour flights, rudely intrusive interviewers, and huge crowds haven’t touched the sub. Chris wants to strangle whatever did this to Sebastian. If it’s himself, he still will. He’ll fucking leave, send in Anthony and Robert or whoever Sebastian could possibly want.
“Sebastian?” Chris asks, barely even conscious of it.
Sebastian hunches over further.
“I’m sorry, please, I can, I can get out of your way, I’m sorry” Sebastian whispers, and Chris can fucking see the tears move down Sebastian’s face.
A few drop on Sebastian’s hands. Chris itches to reach over and swipe them away, he knows how gross tears can feel, he wants to put his hands on either side of Sebastian’s tired face and kiss his forehead, the wet eyes, the cold nose. If Sebastian wanted it, his lips.
“What’re you sorry for, Seb? What’s wrong?” Who should I call here, what do you want me to do, who should I fucking wreck for doing this to you?
“You don’t have to be here, sir,” Sebastian says to his slightly damp hands. They’re knotted together.
Chris lets the “sir” pass by unaddressed for now. More importantly, Sebastian wants him to leave.
“Do you want me to leave, Seb? If you do, I will. I swear, do you not want me here right now?”
“No!” The word tears its way out of Sebastian’s mouth. He looks over at Chris, turns his head a little. Still pointed mostly down, but now chin pressed to his own shoulder. Chris looks at that chin, that shoulder. Looks at the old grey t-shirt. Sebastian’s still wearing the black jeans he was at the interview. No socks.
Chris lowers himself from the crouch to his knees. If Seb doesn’t want him to leave, he sure as fuck won’t leave. But something about this agitates Seb more, the man scoots to face Chris more, grips his hands tighter, looks up a little this time.
“Please don’t, sir!” Sebastian seems to notice he’s looking at Chris’ face (Chris notices Sebastian’s. Wants to grind into the ground whatever caused the sharpness of those cheekbones, to cradle that precious sub to him, feed him juice in bed). Sebastian looks down.
“I’m not leaving, honey. I’m not for as long as you don’t want me to.”
“Thank you but….I’m sorry, sir. Please don’t –“ Sebastian presses down over his knees, bending over slightly, baring the back of his neck. He’s trying to press his own knees further into the hotel carpet, to get lower.
“Tell me what to stop, kid, and I will do my best I really will. Tell me what it is, huh?” Chris’ voice has dropped into the tone of Doms, and Chris can’t help it. This sub needs help. Sebastian needs his help.
“Kneeling, sir.”
“Yeah, you are, Sebastian. Do you want to get up?”
“No, sir! You are. You’re…”
“I’m kneeling, sweetheart? That’s what is bothering you?” Chris can’t help but lean in, he’s barely holding himself from petting Sebastian’s hair, thumbing that sweet chin up so that he can look at the dear face.
“You’re not supposed to.”
Sebastian sounds…anxious. Worse than he did with cold fingers at Chris’ elbow, asking about pranks. Worse than in any interview, any video online.
“If you don’t want me to, I’ll get up, Sebastian. I’ll sit here on this bed edge. But I need you to get up too, to sit up here with me, alright? I want to know –“ Chris realizes this may be too much at once. He knows enough, knows that anyone this distraught, never mind Sebastian and his low-mood withdrawal, never mind a sub, can’t handle stacked commands.
“Come up here, sub.” It’s the second time and it’s so fucking easy to call him that. It’s not that he’s kneeling, it’s that Chris has wanted to take care of him from the beginning of time. Even phonetically, Seb, sub, his.
Chris gets up slowly, and sits on the corner of the bed. He waits for Sebastian, who is sliding his legs out from under him, pressing his hands into the floor and clambering up. Until he’s not, one shaking shoulder dipping and his knee collapsing, nearly falling back to the floor.
Chris has his hands beneath Sebastian’s shoulders. He hasn’t touched him so far, but he wasn’t going to let him fall. He feels a hitched sob in Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian raises a hand, as if to balance himself by holding Chris’ forearms, but lowers it and tries to straighten his feet out under himself.
Chris can only be expected to have so much restraint. He helps Sebastian turn, hands still under his shoulders, one foot instructively at the instep of Sebastian’s. Lowers him to the bed’s edge. Withdraws hands. Almost crouches again, then remembers Sebastian’s distraught at having Chris on the floor. Likely no better now that Sebastian is sitting on the bed.
He seats himself close enough to Sebastian that the bed dips a little. Chris feels so desperate to help him that he thinks it must be seeping out of his skin.
“Sebastian, what’s wrong?”
Sebastian twists his hands.
“Do you want me to have someone else come here, instead of me, Seb? That’d be fine. We can do that.”
“No. I’m sorry. You don’t have to, you can…”
“You have to be fucking kidding yourself if you think I’m going to leave right now, Stan. Unless you want me to. I want to know what’s wrong.”
“Nothing should be!”
Sebastian looks up suddenly, and Chris watches his shoulders bob a little with the quick movement, a hand dart back as if to brace for a fall.
Chris reviews the facts: Sebastian wants him here. He hasn’t said otherwise. He doesn’t want Chris to leave. Sebastian is clearly unwell. Chris saw him press his palms into his knees at the interview. Chris saw him cry. Chris saw him fall or almost fall twice, wait, three times if he counts earlier before Seb unlocked the door. Sebastian is upset. He is unwell. Chris cares for him almost unbearably.
He reaches out and puts a hand out, palm up. “I’m going to touch you, but I don’t want to if you don’t want me to – I mean, fuck – what a mess of a sentence – if you don’t want me to touch, to put my –“
Sebastian interrupts him before Chris can spiral out much more, interrupts his anxious messy conversation as well as he always has, before, with a small kick of his chair or a curious question. Except this time, he slips his hand into Chris’.
The hand is cold and feels somehow delicate in Chris’, the long piano-fingers and the fact that it belongs to Sebastian. It’s Sebastian’s. Chris’ fingers have curled around the hand long before he can think to, because it is Sebastian.
“I’m going to put my other hand -“ Chris feels painful narrating this, but until he fucking knows what is wrong, how he could exacerbate this, he’s not going to -
But Sebastian simply tightens his hand around Chris’ and nods. Chris can hear his quick, wet breaths. He lets out a big one of his own.
Tucks a hand around Sebastian’s shoulder, that spot that has always been theirs in his private possessive mind, and slides it down. Past his scapula, across his spine (and Chris knows the sub has fucking lost weight and he’s going crazy with it), past the faint ridges of his ribcage, cupping there. He feels the tremors.
“Sweetheart?” he asks, and then Sebastian collapses into him.
It can’t be called anything else, it’s the amplified version of their greeting hug. Sebastian has pressed his face into Chris’ neck, one hand clamped around Chris’, the other curled between them. Chris tightens his arm to herald Sebastian in. Pulls one knee on the bed to turn towards him, starts making Dom-ish noises like second nature, hums and low breaths.
“Hey, hey, hey. Sebastian.” Sebastian is undeniably crying now. Chris can feel his mouth moving against his neck as the sub’s hand clasps spastically at Chris’ broader one. Chris can nearly circle his fingers around.
“I’m sorry, sir. Chris, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to – just because I’m – I’m so fucking sorry”
The moment Chris has decoded what Sebastian is crying into his neck (his neck!), he takes the hand in his grasp and places it instructively on his chest, wraps that arm around Sebastian’s waist (spends only half the time he previously has thinking about the sub losing this much fucking weight between filming and now never mind the tour and oh is Chris going to feed him, he’s going to sit this sub on his lap and give him juice, honeyed things, if Sebastian lets him that is) and pulls.
Sebastian is practically on his lap now, and if Chris had felt any tension he would let go. But Sebastian is melting into him, truly melting, head moving down so that his face is pressing into Chris’ sternum, near where Chris set his hand.
Chris takes the momentum and turns himself a little to lean back, wrong direction, across the width of the bed. He pulls Sebastian with him, making those humming noises, keeping him tucked into the breadth of him as much as possible. Keeps the sub’s face in his neck, where Sebastian has put it twice now, where Chris feels like he can protect him.
Sebastian cries. He’s shaking, shivering more like, and Chris works to keep him as warm as possible. He hooks Sebastian’s bare feet, cold like his hands, between his shins. Uses the hand that was around his waist to tuck both of Sebastian’s arms between them, smoothing the precious hands out over his chest when he sees them curl a little on themselves, and then wrapping his own arm back around.
They’re so close that the crook of his elbow is at Sebastian’s side, his hand reaches the opposite hip, prominent. With his other arm, the one partially pinned under Sebastian’s shoulder, he pets Sebastian’s hair. He’s wanted to for so long, and right now he wants to establish some kind of soothing pattern. He can feel the hitches of Sebastian’s breaths. He pets once, heavily, and then breathes out past Sebastian’s ear as he lifts his hand to start again at the crest of the sub’s head. Pets again, breathing in. Pulls his hand away, breathes out.
It takes no more than three or four strokes for Sebastian to align his breathing with Chris, and Chris aches with how good Sebastian is (which has been the problem from the fucking start). He doesn’t even have to say anything and Sebastian is following instructions.
It takes a little longer than that - Chris humming now on breaths out, still stroking absently at that smooth hipbone with the other hand - for Sebastian’s tears to slow.
Chris’ collar is wet, and he can feel Sebastian’s tremors with each measured exhale.
“Sebastian?”
He feels Sebastian nod into his neck, that mouth open and the start of a few breaths –
“You don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to, sweetheart.” Chris holds himself from kissing Sebastian anywhere close by – an ear, his forehead – and instead punctuates this with another stroke through the sub’s hair.
“You have your hands on my chest, right? So yes is one tap, no is no tap, alright?”
Chris feels the fingers of both hands lift and press again into his chest.
“Good job, kid, good job.” Sebastian keens, a small, sweet noise of surprise. Chris reminds himself of the no kissing rule, but pull Sebastian even closer, if that’s possible.
“You’re okay with me being here, Sebastian?”
One tap. A dry mouth presses closer into his neck, a stubborn nose digs in, and less-cold-toes wiggle between his shins. Chris huffs his chest with a weak laugh, because as far as he understands it, Sebastian has just said yes, you idiot.
“Alright, alright. I wanted to double check. Now – Sebastian – do you” Chris steels himself. He can do this, for Sebastian. “Do you want to contact your Dom?”
Sebastian, tucked in as far as he is, calming a little, works back up to a full sob. His fingers tighten in Chris’ shirt, but Chris doesn’t know if that’s a tap. He asks that.
Sebastian flattens his hands, and shakes his head no, face pressing even further where it’s hidden under Chris’ jaw.
Chris’ imagination gets away from him. The Dom did this. He’s read enough, listened to enough people talk to know the different ways a Dom can fuck a sub over. Scott’d told him about a friend of a friend whose Dom lent them out to a business partner, without telling him, for a night. Chris had frowned into his beer for most of that night. Did that happen to Sebastian? Had someone, someone he didn’t want, touched him? Chris knew this Dom was no fucking good, took no care of this precious sub, didn’t make sure he was wearing enough or tell him sweet things or even make sure he was fucking eating from the way Sebastian feels now, light on Chris’ chest. Also, trembling.
He’s trembling. Chris realizes, belatedly, that he has tightened his grasp on Sebastian while thinking this. Curled a palm around the back of that neck, the other around his hip, and had started fucking growling. He can feel Sebastian’s mouth move – he tucks his chin to his chest to hear what the sub is saying and hears I’m sorry I’m sorry I don’t know why everyone – I’m sorry.
“Sebastian.” The words stop. Chris loosens his grip, and starts to pet again. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry, Seb, I am. Can you – can you answer more questions?”
Privately, Sebastian feels that he may be in some confused heaven-hellspace. He doesn’t think he’s ever been held so lovingly, pet so much, called sweetheart before. But simultaneously, he feels sick with how bad he’s been. How much care he has made Chris give him. With how much confusion he has caused, the uncorrected rumor of a Dom at home, one that made Sebastian feel like yeah, alright, maybe that way they wouldn’t get too freaked out taking a sub traveling with them.
He taps his fingers yes once because he can answer more questions, he wants to be helpful (be good).
Chris strokes one hand from the nape of his neck all the way down his back and Sebastian tries not to shudder, but gives in, because he can’t not do that and simultaneously not mouth at the Dom’s neck.
“Did someone do something to hurt you?”
No tap. Sebastian isn’t sure what that means, but doesn’t think so, no. No one has done anything bad, in fact, everyone has been exceedingly nice. Robert comes by sometimes with dried fruit and has kissed his cheek twice in the past week and the Russo brothers keep sending him pie and pancakes and Anthony tugs at him, his wrist and his hair, more than before. He’s been trying to stay out of the way, take himself and his fucking unmanageable sub-iness out of everyone’s way. But no, no one has hurt him.
Chris sighs once in relief. Bolsters himself for the next question
“Did your Dom do something you didn’t like, sweetheart?”
No tap. Chris feels Sebastian frown, hears the peel-apart noise of the sub’s wet cheek leaving his neck. He loosens his grip but keeps it there as Sebastian presses himself up, slightly, hands still pressed where Chris put them. He doesn’t look at Chris, but he looks somewhere at Chris’ adam’s apple and takes a breath in, clears his throat.
Sebastian knows he needs to say something, now. Chris has been almost unbearably, actually unbearably, kind. He came in when Sebastian was bad and then kneeled and Sebastian remembers how odd that made him feel because Sebastian belonged low down, lower than the ground could take him, not Chris!
Never Chris, with his kind eyes and warm jackets and close family, with the loving way he talks about people, with his distractions for tired crews and promise of drinks, after that Sebastian studiously keeps away from. He knows he must’ve gotten distracted because Chris hums a little, pets one hand over Sebastian’s shoulder and Sebastian works to not drop further with that reverberated sound, with the extra affection.
“I…” Sebastian has to pause. He can’t say Sir, not this openly while touching so much of Chris, being held so closely. That’s…a terrible imposition.
Chris gives another hum, says “yeah, honey?’
“I don’t have a Dom, Sir?” Sebastian says so quickly he barely even hears it himself, he can’t catch the Sir before it slips from his mouth. He's already crossed some boundaries, Sebastian figures, so he presses his face back into that warm, private spot between Chris’ neck and shoulder. Still damp because Sebastian’s a fucking pathetic sub who cries on good samaritan cast-mates.
Chris thinks he’s having an out of body experience. He feels Sebastian, feels his short breaths where he has tucked himself back in, feels the quick expansion of his chest between Chris’ broad palms.
His mind is everywhere else. Sebastian said he doesn’t have a Dom. Sebastian doesn’t have a Dom.