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Plan B
Pretend that all the pretty pictures from Mynt didn't just surface this morning.
plan b
Obviously, given the photographic evidence from Miami, this never ever happened. Thanks to C for the second pair of eyes.
Lots of things about The Hiatus--Chris still thought of it that way, with both words capitalized--took a bit of getting used to, but walking through an airport without having to be flanked by security definitely wasn't one of them. Even after six-hundred-plus days, it was still a relief to be able to grab a coffee and hang out in the British Airways lounge before boarding his flight, all without a single earsplitting shriek other than the ones coming from his own cell phone.
"C, man, calm down," Chris said, wondering if it was truly ironic that he was actually missing security after just thinking the opposite. Ever since Alanis messed it up, Chris was never sure which way the definition went. But if he had Lonnie or Dre with him, at least he'd have somebody who'd understand why he was rolling his eyes every five seconds. "The only reason I know J's in Scotland is because I've got a ticket in my name and some seriously unhelpful voicemails."
Chris pulled the phone away from his ear so JC could vent without any permanent damage to his own hearing. "Yes, JC, I know you and Joey were looking forward to critiquing the infant's New Years Eve appearances to his face--"
Over JC's outraged squawking, Chris heard his boarding announcement so he shouldered his duffle and edged out of the lounge. "C, I gotta go. Take care of the dogs for me, ok?"
The grumbling continued until Chris was about to step onto the plane and after he thought about it, he wondered if Justin had somehow managed to get JC to call him right when Chris would have been stressing the hardest about flying. JC finally ended his tirade and swore he'd double-check Chris' house, and made Chris promise to call occasionally.
Justin had apparently extended his unholy sphere of influence to include airline reservation systems, because Chris had an entire row to himself in first class. If Chris Kirkpatrick had to get his ass on a plane, this was the way to do it: plenty of space for his shit, the latest in happy pills from the doctor Johnny kept on retainer, classy British flight attendants of both the male and female persuasion, and as much free booze as he deemed necessary for his well-being once in the air.
Chris smiled at the very nice flight attendant with the glass of vodka in her hand, and settled back with his headphones firmly in place. As Christmas presents went, all-expense paid trips weren't bad things at all, even if he had no idea what was going on.
---
By the time he had changed planes in London and was touching down in Edinburgh, it was an entirely different story, of course. Chris had mentioned that he was fully capable of finding a taxi and getting himself to the hotel all by his little lonesome, but Justin was clearly laboring under some Southern hospitality mandate and had left incensed voicemails insisting on meeting Chris' flight.
Which meant the three-ring circus would be coming along with him so Chris hauled himself to the bathroom in an effort to make himself somewhat presentable after his mostly sleepless night over the Atlantic. The last thing he needed was a cell phone full of messages from his mom telling him how she didn't appreciate having a son who looked like a strung-out crack addict which was what had happened the last time he couldn't dodge the paparazzi after an all-night flight.
Justin was still Justin, moving through the predictable chaos as though it didn't exist, unselfconsciously loping over and hugging Chris as soon as he stepped into the terminal.
"Man, you look like boiled ass!"
Chris let himself hug back before shoving Justin away. "Nice manners, moron. I'm tellin' Miss Sadie the first chance I get."
"Oh, no way are you saying the word ‘ass' to my grandmama. She'd smack you harder than she'd smack me." Justin grinned and threw his arm over Chris' shoulders. "And for the record, you do look like shit, but yeah, good to see you, welcome to Edinburgh, how was your trip, thanks for coming."
"Good to see you, too; since when do you qualify to welcome me to Scotland; the trip didn't suck too bad; and thanks for paying for it." Chris fell into step and the circus moved off down the terminal, their progress punctuated by the occasional squeal and flash.
After a brief discussion of checked luggage (none); breakfast (Chris had no idea what the hell time his body thought it was, but the idea of anything other than coffee was not doing his stomach any favors); and winter coats (Chris gestured to the leather jacket he was wearing and Justin fucking clucked in concern) they made it out of the airport and into the UK equivalent of a Suburban, complete with tinted windows and--Chris was happy to notice--a driver.
He leaned forward to clap Eric on the back. "Nothing personal, man, but the whole driving on the wrong side of the road thing freaks me out."
Eric laughed. "Where to, boss?"
Justin shifted a little before answering casually, "The, uh, the new place."
Just as casually, Chris leaned back and stared at Justin.
"What?"
"You tell me, infant."
"I, uh, decided to move out of the hotel this morning." Justin was earnestly working the offhand thing, which was like waving a red flag to Chris. "Just didn't want to deal with the fans camping out and all."
Eric's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter and if Chris couldn't quite do the eyebrow arch as well as Lance, he could still communicate his disbelief. Justin looked out the window and mumbled, "And I might have bought it yesterday." He glanced over at Chris a little sheepishily. "It was a good deal, and it's in Old Town so it'll be cool for tonight."
"Tonight."
"Yeah." Justin relaxed a little and the smile that flashed out was the real one. "Tonight. The reason for the whole trip."
Chris thought hard. "Tuesday night is the reason I opened my front door to a courier with an airline ticket, a bottle of tranquilizers, and a note that said ‘Party time'?"
Justin rolled his eyes. "No, man, you really are jet-lagged to hell and back, aren't you? It's Wednesday." Chris stared blankly. "New Year's Eve." Justin waved his hand toward the window and Chris noticed they were driving up narrow steep streets toward a castle. "Dude, it's Edinburgh. Welcome to Hogmanay."
---
Justin spent the next ten minutes talking fast and pretty, throwing around words like totally fucking rocks, and bands everywhere, and awesome party until he finally caught on that Chris wasn't buying it and slowly wound down.
Chris summarized the important points. "You dragged me across an ocean to go to a New Year's Eve party."
"Yeah."
"An outdoor New Year's Eve party."
"Yeah."
"In Edin-fucking-burgh, where it is currently," Chris leaned forward to check the little temperature display on the rearview mirror, "three fucking degrees?"
"Well, yeah, but remember that's the other scale, so it's really like almost forty degrees out there, and dude, you're repeating yourself. Are you sure you didn't take too much shit to deal with the plane trip?"
Chris smacked Justin upside the head just on general principles.
---
The "new place" turned out to be a converted apartment in the top floor of a narrow town house, expensively and exquisitely furnished with antiques, and thankfully enough, possessing updated heating and plumbing. Chris dropped his bag on the first bed he saw and started shedding clothes before he even got close to the bathroom. Twenty minutes in a scalding hot shower reaffirmed his faith in a mostly benevolent God, and the mug of coffee sitting on a little warmer next to the sink almost made him think fondly of Justin again.
Almost.
Chris stared at his reflection in the steamy mirror thoughtfully. The infant was up to something, something that made him more nervous than Chris had seen him in a long time. Chris knew he could poke and prod and needle and drag it out of Justin, but he could tell Justin was expecting that, which meant it could take hours and end with a sullen, snarling showdown.
He decided on Plan B: pour drinks in the kid and then move in for the kill when everybody was happy. It would still take hours and might also end with a nasty scene, but at least Chris could get good and drunk during the execution of the plan, and hell, since he had been reliably informed that it was New Year's Eve, alcohol seemed like the way to go.
---
Five hours, a Playstation marathon, and some seriously good take-out later, Justin still wasn't talking, so Plan B still looked to be it, especially after Chris discovered the stock of single malt scotch tucked discretely inside a piece of furniture that probably belonged in a museum. He poured two glasses and took them to the study where Justin, on a conference call with Johnny in Florida--where it was warm, Chris wanted to note--and some venue in London, was currently wearing out the carpet as he paced in increasingly agitated circles.
Chris handed one glass to Justin and settled himself behind the desk. There was nothing in Plan B that said Justin had to remain unaware of the intent of the evening. It was actually better that he know that Chris was on to him. The more nervous he was, the easier he'd give it up when Chris finally decided the time was right to be enlightened. Plus, Chris got to watch him squirm.
With a final "yeah, let me know when you get the details," Justin slapped the phone off and tossed back the entire drink.
"The fuck with work. Let's party."
Chris smiled and handed him his own glass, and went to get the bottle. Plan B, indeed.
---
Hogmanay, or the Edinburgh version of it, turned out to be a giant street fair, with stages every couple of blocks and friendly crowds, and a giant ice rink and Ferris wheel. It was still outside, which would have sucked, but Justin had produced a cashmere sweater and scarf and assorted other cold weather necessities, all in the right size, and had then pulled out several hip flasks that they filled with the ever-so-excellent Scotch at the apartment, so Chris found himself warm, perfectly buzzed, and actually having a damn good time.
Justin had pulled a knit cap on over the buzz cut, wrapped a scarf around his neck and lower face and told Chris Eric had the night off. When Chris raised his eyebrows, Justin muttered something about nobody expecting him to be in Scotland which Chris couldn't very well argue with since he had no idea what they were doing in Edinburgh either. In the end, they just blended into the crowd; two among the thousands, and it was both the best part of The Hiatus and the best part of life before.
Justin's plan for the night seemed to be nothing more than wandering around and enabling Chris. Every time Chris saw something that looked like fun, Justin would dig into the pockets of his leather jacket and produce the correct ticket or pass and they'd be in. Erasure was headlining the concert on the castle grounds and they hung there for a while but in the end, they found themselves jammed into Princes Street, swept up in the energy of the crowd dancing to the mammoth sound system of the Pyramid stage.
The closer it got to twelve, the higher the energy twisted, until the crowd surged from one end of the street to the other, bracketed by the giant video screens throwing their image back at them. Justin was pressed close behind Chris, arms up over his head, moving easily to the music and laughing, wild and free and easy.
And then it was midnight and the crowd actually got louder than the sound system before everyone around them shifted their attention to kissing. Chris looked back over his shoulder to see Justin watching him, not laughing but still happy, with a look in his eyes Chris had thought had gone away years before. Without thinking, Chris leaned up to meet Justin's mouth with his own, turning until he could get his arms around Justin's waist just as the sky exploded with the first fireworks.
When Chris could think and breathe again, they were pressed up against the side of a brick building, and the crowd had started in on a verse to Auld Lang Syne Chris had never known existed. He stepped back, and said, "Home. Now. We need to talk," and started working his way through the crowd, Justin's wrist firmly in his hand.
---
After Justin fumbled twice with the keys to the front door of the apartment, Chris took them out of his hand and opened the door himself. Justin followed him quietly into the study and stood looking at the floor until Chris turned on the lights and sat him down on the big leather sofa.
"Yeah," Justin said, unprompted. "I know. We've been here before."
Chris didn't say anything because yeah, he remembered, too, and the infant clearly needed to get some things off his chest, and that was the whole point of Plan B.
"And I remember what you said then about me being young, and it all being a part of the band just starting to hit, and us being friends first, and I listened to you, you know I did, and then there was Brit, and Dani, and even when they were gone, I remembered what you said, and we were always friends, but man, what I can't forget is that you kissed me back before you said what you said." Justin finally looked up and his eyes were dark and serious. "When I was seventeen, and tonight, too, you kissed me back."
"Justin--"
"So, I lied. I didn't send you that ticket so that we could party together, I sent it because ... because I can't forget that." Justin unwound his scarf and shrugged out of his coat. "I sent it because when I was here for the EMAs, the whole city just rocked, and Shirley Manson told me about the Arts Festival in the summer and this deal, and all I kept thinking was 'Chris would fucking love that.' And I was right, wasn't I?"
"Yeah, you were. It was a good time, but--"
"Yeah. But." Justin laughed a little shakily and rubbed his hand over the short hair on his head. "I get it. We're friends, and I can handle that, really I can, and I'll just let you go to bed, you've got to be really tired because I know you didn't sleep on the flight, and in the morning we can--"
Chris decided that he'd heard enough, and that Justin wasn't going to shut up any time soon, so he leaned over and kissed him, and then took full advantage of the deer-in-the-headlights reaction.
"Can I say something here?"
Justin pressed his fingers to his mouth and nodded solemnly.
"Thank you. First, I'm not gonna get bitch-slapped over this, am I? Because it looks bad when the new boyfriend hits the old girlfriend, but Cameron can probably kick some ass, so I'd have to think about doing a little damage myself. You know how much Johnny loves to have to clean up PR messes."
Justin shook his head. "No, man, you know I wouldn't do that. She--we just called it quits over Christmas. It was nice and all, but it wasn't going anywhere and we both knew it, and I just figured--"
Chris kissed him again.
"Not done over here, infant," Chris said, and Justin nodded again, eyes wide.
"Second." Chris took a deep breath. "I suck at this, you know that, right? I don't think I know how to be a boyfriend boyfriend. I mean, I can do friends. And I can do fuck buddies really well, but that's not what you're talking about is it?" Justin shook his head. "Yeah, it's not what I'm talking about either. I just...I loved Dani, but I couldn't seem to make it work, no matter what I did--"
"I know you," Justin said. "Really. I know you better than I know almost anyone else and my track record isn't all that pretty either, and I--I learned a lot from the whole thing with Brit, and I know you and I want you. I know you can be a moody prick and you know I can be a pissy bitch and--and did you really just call yourself the new boyfriend?"
Chris grinned. "Keep up with me here, infant."
"But, you said--on the street--and you dragged me back here, and--"
"I just wanted to make my two points. You were the one who started babbling."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh." Chris moved closer, pushing Justin back until he sprawled along the sofa. "You need to say anything else?" Justin shook his head. "Good," Chris murmured against Justin's mouth. "Your turn to start the kissing again."
---
They stopped making out when the clock on the mantel chimed twice, and Chris thought that he might not have ever seen anything hotter than Justin, flushed and panting, stretched out on the burgundy leather couch, with his shirt and pants half unbuttoned, and his mouth swollen from Chris' kisses.
Justin took his hand and led him down the hall to the bedroom, and the usual awkwardness of getting undressed turned out to be something easy and fun and good. Then Justin was spread out on the bed, shaking and whimpering and saying ChrisChrisChris in a high, breathy voice as Chris licked and bit his way down Justin's body, and that, Chris decided, really was the hottest thing Chris had ever seen, at least until he was pushing slowly into Justin and Justin arched back and begged for more. Every second after that got hotter, until Justin came apart under him, sobbing godyesthereharderpleaseharder, and the world went white and gold and red around Chris.
---
"Fireworks," mumbled Justin.
"You're welcome," Chris said. "I thought it was pretty damn fine, too, if I do say so myself." He shoved hard to make Justin move. "C'mon, dude, pick a half of the bed that's not the middle."
"Ass," Justin grumbled, but he hitched himself an inch or two to the right.
"That's not what you were calling me a half hour ago." Chris didn't even bother trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. He wasn't sure he could reach some of the notes Justin had hit. He wormed his way into the tiny bit of space and poked steadily at Justin to get him to move some more. The abs he poked were rock hard--and he took a moment to appreciate that they were damn fine and they were now his to poke whenever he wanted--but eventually, Justin got the message and shifted over a little bit more.
Justin lifted his head up off the pillow and smiled. "No, it wasn't; but you're jabbing me now. Were you planning on doing that thing with your tongue again any time soon?"
"Patience, grasshopper."
"Yes, master."
Chris forgot how to breathe for at least a minute. "Uh, can we not go there when I've been awake for something close to forty-eight hours straight? Because I'd really like to be in my right mind for anything involving you and the word master."
"Yes, mas--"
"Fireworks," Chris said quickly. "You were saying something about fireworks."
Justin laughed, and once again, Chris took a moment to appreciate that the laugh was his, too. "I was just thinking that I know how much you like fireworks, and we kind of missed the ones at midnight."
"The ones with gunpowder and sparkles, anyway," Chris smirked. Justin muttered darkly, but finally, blessedly, rolled onto his side and gave Chris enough room to spoon behind him. Chris stroked his hand up over Justin's stomach to his chest so he could feel Justin's heart, strong and steady under his fingers, and said, "Next year. We'll come back for them, and after a year of kissing, we might be able to notice something else."
"Mmmmm," Justin said. "Anniversary trip."
"Anything you want, infant."
"You," Justin breathed sleepily. "Want you."
"That's the plan," Chris answered, and smiled because this had turned out much better than Plan B usually did.
Continued in unplanned...
plan b
Obviously, given the photographic evidence from Miami, this never ever happened. Thanks to C for the second pair of eyes.
Lots of things about The Hiatus--Chris still thought of it that way, with both words capitalized--took a bit of getting used to, but walking through an airport without having to be flanked by security definitely wasn't one of them. Even after six-hundred-plus days, it was still a relief to be able to grab a coffee and hang out in the British Airways lounge before boarding his flight, all without a single earsplitting shriek other than the ones coming from his own cell phone.
"C, man, calm down," Chris said, wondering if it was truly ironic that he was actually missing security after just thinking the opposite. Ever since Alanis messed it up, Chris was never sure which way the definition went. But if he had Lonnie or Dre with him, at least he'd have somebody who'd understand why he was rolling his eyes every five seconds. "The only reason I know J's in Scotland is because I've got a ticket in my name and some seriously unhelpful voicemails."
Chris pulled the phone away from his ear so JC could vent without any permanent damage to his own hearing. "Yes, JC, I know you and Joey were looking forward to critiquing the infant's New Years Eve appearances to his face--"
Over JC's outraged squawking, Chris heard his boarding announcement so he shouldered his duffle and edged out of the lounge. "C, I gotta go. Take care of the dogs for me, ok?"
The grumbling continued until Chris was about to step onto the plane and after he thought about it, he wondered if Justin had somehow managed to get JC to call him right when Chris would have been stressing the hardest about flying. JC finally ended his tirade and swore he'd double-check Chris' house, and made Chris promise to call occasionally.
Justin had apparently extended his unholy sphere of influence to include airline reservation systems, because Chris had an entire row to himself in first class. If Chris Kirkpatrick had to get his ass on a plane, this was the way to do it: plenty of space for his shit, the latest in happy pills from the doctor Johnny kept on retainer, classy British flight attendants of both the male and female persuasion, and as much free booze as he deemed necessary for his well-being once in the air.
Chris smiled at the very nice flight attendant with the glass of vodka in her hand, and settled back with his headphones firmly in place. As Christmas presents went, all-expense paid trips weren't bad things at all, even if he had no idea what was going on.
---
By the time he had changed planes in London and was touching down in Edinburgh, it was an entirely different story, of course. Chris had mentioned that he was fully capable of finding a taxi and getting himself to the hotel all by his little lonesome, but Justin was clearly laboring under some Southern hospitality mandate and had left incensed voicemails insisting on meeting Chris' flight.
Which meant the three-ring circus would be coming along with him so Chris hauled himself to the bathroom in an effort to make himself somewhat presentable after his mostly sleepless night over the Atlantic. The last thing he needed was a cell phone full of messages from his mom telling him how she didn't appreciate having a son who looked like a strung-out crack addict which was what had happened the last time he couldn't dodge the paparazzi after an all-night flight.
Justin was still Justin, moving through the predictable chaos as though it didn't exist, unselfconsciously loping over and hugging Chris as soon as he stepped into the terminal.
"Man, you look like boiled ass!"
Chris let himself hug back before shoving Justin away. "Nice manners, moron. I'm tellin' Miss Sadie the first chance I get."
"Oh, no way are you saying the word ‘ass' to my grandmama. She'd smack you harder than she'd smack me." Justin grinned and threw his arm over Chris' shoulders. "And for the record, you do look like shit, but yeah, good to see you, welcome to Edinburgh, how was your trip, thanks for coming."
"Good to see you, too; since when do you qualify to welcome me to Scotland; the trip didn't suck too bad; and thanks for paying for it." Chris fell into step and the circus moved off down the terminal, their progress punctuated by the occasional squeal and flash.
After a brief discussion of checked luggage (none); breakfast (Chris had no idea what the hell time his body thought it was, but the idea of anything other than coffee was not doing his stomach any favors); and winter coats (Chris gestured to the leather jacket he was wearing and Justin fucking clucked in concern) they made it out of the airport and into the UK equivalent of a Suburban, complete with tinted windows and--Chris was happy to notice--a driver.
He leaned forward to clap Eric on the back. "Nothing personal, man, but the whole driving on the wrong side of the road thing freaks me out."
Eric laughed. "Where to, boss?"
Justin shifted a little before answering casually, "The, uh, the new place."
Just as casually, Chris leaned back and stared at Justin.
"What?"
"You tell me, infant."
"I, uh, decided to move out of the hotel this morning." Justin was earnestly working the offhand thing, which was like waving a red flag to Chris. "Just didn't want to deal with the fans camping out and all."
Eric's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter and if Chris couldn't quite do the eyebrow arch as well as Lance, he could still communicate his disbelief. Justin looked out the window and mumbled, "And I might have bought it yesterday." He glanced over at Chris a little sheepishily. "It was a good deal, and it's in Old Town so it'll be cool for tonight."
"Tonight."
"Yeah." Justin relaxed a little and the smile that flashed out was the real one. "Tonight. The reason for the whole trip."
Chris thought hard. "Tuesday night is the reason I opened my front door to a courier with an airline ticket, a bottle of tranquilizers, and a note that said ‘Party time'?"
Justin rolled his eyes. "No, man, you really are jet-lagged to hell and back, aren't you? It's Wednesday." Chris stared blankly. "New Year's Eve." Justin waved his hand toward the window and Chris noticed they were driving up narrow steep streets toward a castle. "Dude, it's Edinburgh. Welcome to Hogmanay."
---
Justin spent the next ten minutes talking fast and pretty, throwing around words like totally fucking rocks, and bands everywhere, and awesome party until he finally caught on that Chris wasn't buying it and slowly wound down.
Chris summarized the important points. "You dragged me across an ocean to go to a New Year's Eve party."
"Yeah."
"An outdoor New Year's Eve party."
"Yeah."
"In Edin-fucking-burgh, where it is currently," Chris leaned forward to check the little temperature display on the rearview mirror, "three fucking degrees?"
"Well, yeah, but remember that's the other scale, so it's really like almost forty degrees out there, and dude, you're repeating yourself. Are you sure you didn't take too much shit to deal with the plane trip?"
Chris smacked Justin upside the head just on general principles.
---
The "new place" turned out to be a converted apartment in the top floor of a narrow town house, expensively and exquisitely furnished with antiques, and thankfully enough, possessing updated heating and plumbing. Chris dropped his bag on the first bed he saw and started shedding clothes before he even got close to the bathroom. Twenty minutes in a scalding hot shower reaffirmed his faith in a mostly benevolent God, and the mug of coffee sitting on a little warmer next to the sink almost made him think fondly of Justin again.
Almost.
Chris stared at his reflection in the steamy mirror thoughtfully. The infant was up to something, something that made him more nervous than Chris had seen him in a long time. Chris knew he could poke and prod and needle and drag it out of Justin, but he could tell Justin was expecting that, which meant it could take hours and end with a sullen, snarling showdown.
He decided on Plan B: pour drinks in the kid and then move in for the kill when everybody was happy. It would still take hours and might also end with a nasty scene, but at least Chris could get good and drunk during the execution of the plan, and hell, since he had been reliably informed that it was New Year's Eve, alcohol seemed like the way to go.
---
Five hours, a Playstation marathon, and some seriously good take-out later, Justin still wasn't talking, so Plan B still looked to be it, especially after Chris discovered the stock of single malt scotch tucked discretely inside a piece of furniture that probably belonged in a museum. He poured two glasses and took them to the study where Justin, on a conference call with Johnny in Florida--where it was warm, Chris wanted to note--and some venue in London, was currently wearing out the carpet as he paced in increasingly agitated circles.
Chris handed one glass to Justin and settled himself behind the desk. There was nothing in Plan B that said Justin had to remain unaware of the intent of the evening. It was actually better that he know that Chris was on to him. The more nervous he was, the easier he'd give it up when Chris finally decided the time was right to be enlightened. Plus, Chris got to watch him squirm.
With a final "yeah, let me know when you get the details," Justin slapped the phone off and tossed back the entire drink.
"The fuck with work. Let's party."
Chris smiled and handed him his own glass, and went to get the bottle. Plan B, indeed.
---
Hogmanay, or the Edinburgh version of it, turned out to be a giant street fair, with stages every couple of blocks and friendly crowds, and a giant ice rink and Ferris wheel. It was still outside, which would have sucked, but Justin had produced a cashmere sweater and scarf and assorted other cold weather necessities, all in the right size, and had then pulled out several hip flasks that they filled with the ever-so-excellent Scotch at the apartment, so Chris found himself warm, perfectly buzzed, and actually having a damn good time.
Justin had pulled a knit cap on over the buzz cut, wrapped a scarf around his neck and lower face and told Chris Eric had the night off. When Chris raised his eyebrows, Justin muttered something about nobody expecting him to be in Scotland which Chris couldn't very well argue with since he had no idea what they were doing in Edinburgh either. In the end, they just blended into the crowd; two among the thousands, and it was both the best part of The Hiatus and the best part of life before.
Justin's plan for the night seemed to be nothing more than wandering around and enabling Chris. Every time Chris saw something that looked like fun, Justin would dig into the pockets of his leather jacket and produce the correct ticket or pass and they'd be in. Erasure was headlining the concert on the castle grounds and they hung there for a while but in the end, they found themselves jammed into Princes Street, swept up in the energy of the crowd dancing to the mammoth sound system of the Pyramid stage.
The closer it got to twelve, the higher the energy twisted, until the crowd surged from one end of the street to the other, bracketed by the giant video screens throwing their image back at them. Justin was pressed close behind Chris, arms up over his head, moving easily to the music and laughing, wild and free and easy.
And then it was midnight and the crowd actually got louder than the sound system before everyone around them shifted their attention to kissing. Chris looked back over his shoulder to see Justin watching him, not laughing but still happy, with a look in his eyes Chris had thought had gone away years before. Without thinking, Chris leaned up to meet Justin's mouth with his own, turning until he could get his arms around Justin's waist just as the sky exploded with the first fireworks.
When Chris could think and breathe again, they were pressed up against the side of a brick building, and the crowd had started in on a verse to Auld Lang Syne Chris had never known existed. He stepped back, and said, "Home. Now. We need to talk," and started working his way through the crowd, Justin's wrist firmly in his hand.
---
After Justin fumbled twice with the keys to the front door of the apartment, Chris took them out of his hand and opened the door himself. Justin followed him quietly into the study and stood looking at the floor until Chris turned on the lights and sat him down on the big leather sofa.
"Yeah," Justin said, unprompted. "I know. We've been here before."
Chris didn't say anything because yeah, he remembered, too, and the infant clearly needed to get some things off his chest, and that was the whole point of Plan B.
"And I remember what you said then about me being young, and it all being a part of the band just starting to hit, and us being friends first, and I listened to you, you know I did, and then there was Brit, and Dani, and even when they were gone, I remembered what you said, and we were always friends, but man, what I can't forget is that you kissed me back before you said what you said." Justin finally looked up and his eyes were dark and serious. "When I was seventeen, and tonight, too, you kissed me back."
"Justin--"
"So, I lied. I didn't send you that ticket so that we could party together, I sent it because ... because I can't forget that." Justin unwound his scarf and shrugged out of his coat. "I sent it because when I was here for the EMAs, the whole city just rocked, and Shirley Manson told me about the Arts Festival in the summer and this deal, and all I kept thinking was 'Chris would fucking love that.' And I was right, wasn't I?"
"Yeah, you were. It was a good time, but--"
"Yeah. But." Justin laughed a little shakily and rubbed his hand over the short hair on his head. "I get it. We're friends, and I can handle that, really I can, and I'll just let you go to bed, you've got to be really tired because I know you didn't sleep on the flight, and in the morning we can--"
Chris decided that he'd heard enough, and that Justin wasn't going to shut up any time soon, so he leaned over and kissed him, and then took full advantage of the deer-in-the-headlights reaction.
"Can I say something here?"
Justin pressed his fingers to his mouth and nodded solemnly.
"Thank you. First, I'm not gonna get bitch-slapped over this, am I? Because it looks bad when the new boyfriend hits the old girlfriend, but Cameron can probably kick some ass, so I'd have to think about doing a little damage myself. You know how much Johnny loves to have to clean up PR messes."
Justin shook his head. "No, man, you know I wouldn't do that. She--we just called it quits over Christmas. It was nice and all, but it wasn't going anywhere and we both knew it, and I just figured--"
Chris kissed him again.
"Not done over here, infant," Chris said, and Justin nodded again, eyes wide.
"Second." Chris took a deep breath. "I suck at this, you know that, right? I don't think I know how to be a boyfriend boyfriend. I mean, I can do friends. And I can do fuck buddies really well, but that's not what you're talking about is it?" Justin shook his head. "Yeah, it's not what I'm talking about either. I just...I loved Dani, but I couldn't seem to make it work, no matter what I did--"
"I know you," Justin said. "Really. I know you better than I know almost anyone else and my track record isn't all that pretty either, and I--I learned a lot from the whole thing with Brit, and I know you and I want you. I know you can be a moody prick and you know I can be a pissy bitch and--and did you really just call yourself the new boyfriend?"
Chris grinned. "Keep up with me here, infant."
"But, you said--on the street--and you dragged me back here, and--"
"I just wanted to make my two points. You were the one who started babbling."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh." Chris moved closer, pushing Justin back until he sprawled along the sofa. "You need to say anything else?" Justin shook his head. "Good," Chris murmured against Justin's mouth. "Your turn to start the kissing again."
---
They stopped making out when the clock on the mantel chimed twice, and Chris thought that he might not have ever seen anything hotter than Justin, flushed and panting, stretched out on the burgundy leather couch, with his shirt and pants half unbuttoned, and his mouth swollen from Chris' kisses.
Justin took his hand and led him down the hall to the bedroom, and the usual awkwardness of getting undressed turned out to be something easy and fun and good. Then Justin was spread out on the bed, shaking and whimpering and saying ChrisChrisChris in a high, breathy voice as Chris licked and bit his way down Justin's body, and that, Chris decided, really was the hottest thing Chris had ever seen, at least until he was pushing slowly into Justin and Justin arched back and begged for more. Every second after that got hotter, until Justin came apart under him, sobbing godyesthereharderpleaseharder, and the world went white and gold and red around Chris.
---
"Fireworks," mumbled Justin.
"You're welcome," Chris said. "I thought it was pretty damn fine, too, if I do say so myself." He shoved hard to make Justin move. "C'mon, dude, pick a half of the bed that's not the middle."
"Ass," Justin grumbled, but he hitched himself an inch or two to the right.
"That's not what you were calling me a half hour ago." Chris didn't even bother trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. He wasn't sure he could reach some of the notes Justin had hit. He wormed his way into the tiny bit of space and poked steadily at Justin to get him to move some more. The abs he poked were rock hard--and he took a moment to appreciate that they were damn fine and they were now his to poke whenever he wanted--but eventually, Justin got the message and shifted over a little bit more.
Justin lifted his head up off the pillow and smiled. "No, it wasn't; but you're jabbing me now. Were you planning on doing that thing with your tongue again any time soon?"
"Patience, grasshopper."
"Yes, master."
Chris forgot how to breathe for at least a minute. "Uh, can we not go there when I've been awake for something close to forty-eight hours straight? Because I'd really like to be in my right mind for anything involving you and the word master."
"Yes, mas--"
"Fireworks," Chris said quickly. "You were saying something about fireworks."
Justin laughed, and once again, Chris took a moment to appreciate that the laugh was his, too. "I was just thinking that I know how much you like fireworks, and we kind of missed the ones at midnight."
"The ones with gunpowder and sparkles, anyway," Chris smirked. Justin muttered darkly, but finally, blessedly, rolled onto his side and gave Chris enough room to spoon behind him. Chris stroked his hand up over Justin's stomach to his chest so he could feel Justin's heart, strong and steady under his fingers, and said, "Next year. We'll come back for them, and after a year of kissing, we might be able to notice something else."
"Mmmmm," Justin said. "Anniversary trip."
"Anything you want, infant."
"You," Justin breathed sleepily. "Want you."
"That's the plan," Chris answered, and smiled because this had turned out much better than Plan B usually did.
Continued in unplanned...
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But I'm glad it worked for you!
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I enjoyed reading it.
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This was so lovely, and just... *squees quietly* So marvelous.
*sighs happily* Happy New Year.
}:)
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Happy New Year to you, too.
and yes,
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:very happy sigh:
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Mmmm, sequel. :drools like Homer:
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http://www.thecourier.co.uk/output/2004/01/14/newsstory5526609t0.asp
Snowboarding...sore muscles...massages...
It could happen.
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Snowboarding, sore muscles, massages, hot tubs, drinks, sex... DOH!
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