In Search Of

“You know we’re just running away, right?” Lance said from his position behind the steering wheel.

Chris rolled his eyes, leaning against the window. “Of course we are, dumbass. That’s like the entire point of going to a tropical island, running away. It’s why they exist, so bored pop stars with nothing to do can escape their tragic lives and go pretend they can even conceive of a life where people don’t know your face when you walk down the street.”

Lance paused a moment, making Chris roll his eyes again at Lance’s dramatics. “Well, I was just saying,” he said finally. Chris threw his hands up in frustration, holding back an answering smirk to the one on Lance’s face.

Of course, it had to be raining as soon as they arrived. It was the dynamic law of Kirkpatrick-Bass vacations. The bright side, though, was that rain on the first day meant that it would be sunny and temperate for the rest of their time on the island.

Lance, being the organized proactive motherfucker he was, had the car in the valet’s hands and their bags whisked away before Chris could even open his mouth to make a sarcastic remark about the quality of service around here. He tugged on Chris’s arm, pulling him into the awesome lobby. The concierge came up to meet them, and Chris tuned out the babble of room keys and service hours and tennis lessons.

The penthouse suite had been arranged for them, and Chris didn’t care how routine it got: after hundreds of crappy hotel rooms all across Europe and the United States, he was so very grateful for the luxury being stupidly rich offered them.

He nodded absently at Lance as he tried to tell him about the hotel and his history, really only turning his attention from the waterfall visible from the clear elevator in the middle of the damn lobby when he felt Lance’s hand creeping into his pocket and placing a flat plastic card there.

He turned to find Lance grinning at him. “I figured that’d get you to look at me.”

“Bass, I spend half my life looking at you.”

“Yeah, but usually you’re just trying to figure out how to make me bend to your evil schemes.”

Chris leaned closer, couldn’t help the evil grin spreading across his face. “I’m usually trying to get you to bend in other ways.”

He delighted in the faint blush that spread over Lance’s face and muttered to himself, “Still got it.”

Lance brushed past him, making sure his crotch hit Chris’s, and stepped into the short hallway that preceded the entrance to the suite.

He opened the doors with flair, and Chris poked him in the side. He walked inside and whistled lowly; it was nice to know he could still be impressed.

He checked out the rooms, calling out, “Yo, Lance. Idiots separated our luggage.”

“Well, I felt no need to out us to the concierge,” Lance replied, watching Chris as he lugged the suitcase that was half of his size into the main bedroom.

“And why did they automatically put your luggage in the big room? I mean, come on. Evil overlord, sure, but deserving of the big room? Not a chance,” Chris said.

Lance smiled smugly. “That’s what happens when the Bass family name is all over the reservations, Chris.”

“Okay, so next time I’m planning.”

“You couldn’t plan your way to the bus station, let alone a romantic runaway vacation with your fine-ass boyfriend.”

“Dude, remember who started the band.”

“Did you even notice the ‘fine-ass’ I slipped in there?”

Chris sidled up behind him, running his hands up Lance’s thin button-down. “Oh, I noticed alright,” he mumbled into Lance’s back.

Chris stumbled from the bed, squinting from the morning sun and being careful to walk slowly and purposefully to the bathroom. Just as he reached the door he did a double-take. Sun? Shit.

Lance raised his head sleepily from the pillow. His hair was matted against his head, and his cloudy green eyes locked slowly onto Chris. “Mornin’,” he drawled, sending a shiver up Chris’s spine. Fucker. Lance knew Chris loved to hear him talk in the mornings.

The sunlight hit Lance’s head as he turned over, making shadows play across his chest and hitting the light gold of his hair. Jesus, Chris thought. Still looks about seventeen. Just not quite as dorky.

“You wanna go check out the botanical gardens? I heard they’ve got some really cool flowers that only grow here,” Lance said, rubbing the bridge of his nose and wincing slightly as he shifted.

Chris snorted softly. Well, scratch the non-dorky thing.

He grabbed the washcloth he’d wetted and ambled back to the bed, crawling up over the sheets so that he was straddled over Lance.

He gently swiped the warm cloth over Lance’s face, wiping away the traces of sleep from his eyes. He moved slowly down Lance’s chest to clean around his navel and the base of his cock, reaching behind to clear the last traces of lube from Lance’s ass. True love, Chris thought, and mentally thwapped himself for being so damn sappy.

He realized he’d never answered Lance’s question, and bent down so that his mouth moved against Lance’s as he spoke. “No,” he murmured. “I don’t want to see the botanical gardens. I don’t want to see some damn flower. I want,” he paused to dip a kiss on the corner of Lance’s jaw, making him turn his neck and stretch, begging for more, “to stay here and pretend it’s still raining. I want to kiss you for an hour, lick the taste of me from your mouth, and then play in that jacuzzi I saw in the other room.”

He kissed Lance then, thorough and deep, but pulled away finally to breath. “I want,” he said, panting, “to see that look in your eyes when I’m sucking down your cock with my fingers in your ass, and hear you scream out my name. That’s what I want. How the fuck could some garden compare to that, Bass?”

“But it’s stopped raining,” Lance protested weakly, his hands already searching for purchase on Chris’s ass. “And we’ve never been here before. There’s a bookstore–”

Chris kissed him again, locking his arms firmly in place. “Do you see the J’s here?” he demanded. “This is the first time, Bass, the *first time* we’ve been alone together in a month. The album comes out in May. Just give me this week.”

Lance nodded, pulling Chris down. “You know, asshole, I was the one that made the reservations.”

“Yeah,” Chris said as he mouthed Lance’s nipple, “but I was the one that told you to run away.”