heller — to hella
je helle nous hellons
tu helles vous hellez
il/elle helle ils/elles hellent
passé composé: (avec avoir) hellé
I Just Want More Fic Without Having to Write It Myself
Ugh, what am I even doing with my life. This is all Fizzy’s fault. Add Scott Mills/Chris Stark fic to my long, long list.
"Not bad," Scott says, assessing the situation. The situation here being Operation-Clean-Up-Chris. It’s… going.
"I look all spiffy," Chris says, making faces in the mirror. He gives himself two finger guns and winks. Scott sighs.
"Well, we’re not done yet," he says. "The stylists will be in next to do hair and makeup. Please do hold still for Pilar. She has a hard enough job today."
Chris cocks an eyebrow and grins crookedly at himself, like he’s James Bond or something. “I look so good already that I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.” He blows a kiss at his reflection.
The suit he’s wearing is of decent quality and it’s cut well, fitting him better than any of the others Scott has seen. He looks — he looks fine. Acceptable. Scott would go to dinner with him.
Scott coughs, feeling his skin prickle with heat around the collar of his shirt. This is ridiculous.
Chris turns his back on the mirror, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “You okay, mate?”
"Fine," Scott says, waving him off. "Don’t bend in that suit."
Chris snorts. It’s loud and crass and gross, like Chris himself — god love him — but in the suit with a light hint of stubble — fuck. Scott is actually losing his mind. Maybe he should really listen to everyone and stop being so picky if this level of insanity is his future.
"You don’t look okay. Your face is doing that thing it does when you think I’ve accidentally let there be dead air."
"I’m fine. Just." Scott looks around, and doesn’t see anyone in the hall yet. "Just stay here. I’m going to see what’s the delay."
"It’s barely been 10 minutes. Relax," Chris says, giving Scott one more look over before turning back to the mirror. "Damn, I look good."
"You look decent, yes," Scott says. Chris’ spray tan has settled into a nice, warm shade that suits him really well.
This will not do.
It’s when Chris’ eyes meets Scott’s in the mirror that he realizes he’s been staring, gaze slowing dragging itself upward.
"You can’t keep your eyes off me, I look that good," Chris says. "Admit it."
Scott rolls his eyes. “You look better than before.”
"No." Chris turns around. "I look handsome. Fit. Shaggable."
"You look." Scott’s eyes roam over the broad definition of Chris’ shoulders in the suit jacket and catch on the stubble at his jaw. It looks rough, but soft enough it wouldn’t hurt too much. Just the right amount. "Good, yeah."
Chris tilts his head, face going through a dozen different expressions. “Are you serious? You are. You’re totally serious.”
Scott blinks, replaying what he just said in his head. “No.” He takes a step back and turns the other way, rubbing his eyes. “I meant. Forget it. I’m tired. I’ve been up for /hours/.”
Chris cackles, and Scott hears the sound of him slapping his knee. Chris is never going to forget this.
"I am keeping this suit. This suit is /magic/."
"Witchcraft," Scott says.
"Total witchcraft," Chris agrees. He turns Scott around by pulling on his shoulder. "Hey. It’s okay. I didn’t mean to turn you on; I just can’t help it."
Scott sees Pilar in the hall a split second before she comes in, so he snaps his mouth shut before he can reply. Chris just keeps grinning.