Written for the Lance slashficathon
Beginning, Middle
The Celebrity tour kicks off in Portland, Oregon, and they get there two days early, because why not? The Pacific Northwest isn't particularly warm this spring, but Portland's catching sun, and the city's got all these cherry trees that are doing their best to blanket the streets in soft white and pink petals. Joey'd never live there, but it's a damn nice place to visit, he thinks.
The local arena's all set up, and they've run the show about a thousand times - it's never enough, but it's gonna have to do for tomorrow night. Joey's feeling good about it though, really good, actually. They always give a hell of a show; they pride themselves on that. This time, just like PopOdyssey, the choreography's tight, the theatrics are choice, it's gonna run smooth and play out smoother. His legs are sore from rehearsal, but his vocal chords already thrum with warmth, and he's vibing hardcore, the energy already kicked in - oh yeah, he feels good. Touring's a bitch, there's no doubt about that. It totally fucking kills you.
But what a way to go.
It's early evening, and Joey stands at the window of the hotel room he's sharing with Chris. They have a gorgeous view of the city skyline - well, such as it is. There're only two really tall buildings in Portland, and the window he's at faces the one towards the north. The sun, low in the sky, reflects off of the metallic pink of that sole skyscraper, and splinters down onto the lower buildings that surround it, a great spread of crimson-orange on the wall murals, settling like brush-strokes of watercolor over the peaks of the bridges that span the darkening river, drowning downtown in a thick sunset. The night's coming on, and it's the last night of real freedom for a while, but Joey's not too concerned about that. The gain's gonna be greater than the loss; it always is.
Justin and JC are still at the venue, like the myriads of crew engineers can't perfect the mixing board, or something. They'll be there all night, most likely, fine-tuning the high pitches, ordering in something to eat, stumbling into their room at 2 or 3 am, and sleeping away as much of tomorrow as they can get away with. It's their routine; they're like twin control-freaks when it comes to this stuff. They would protest that categorization loudly, both of them, but they know the truth of it, and secretly they love it, and Joey loves them for it. Dorks.
Chris, oddly enough, has family in the area - second cousins or something like that, but they apparently have teenage daughters, so a visit was pretty much required on Chris' part. Joey had laughingly shaken his head when Chris had begged him to drive the twenty-five minutes up to Vancouver with him - "Free dinner, man, home-cooked whatever! Mmmm, and the adulation of thirteen-year-olds for dessert! 'Cause, you know, that's something you just don't get every day. The undying love of . . . the giggly admissions of . . . aww, forget it." He had scuffed his foot on the ground and glared darkly up at Joey. "But they're getting backstage passes for tomorrow night, and I'm telling them that you're just dying to meet them."
And Lance? He isn't sure where Lance is.
The sky keeps getting darker, the colors muting easily into a fuzzy plum-like twilight, the light quality softening and dimming in blurred shadows across the city. So different from Orlando sunsets, where the orange blazes across the sky, burning underscores in the clouds, until the soft, warm cover of night falls suddenly, velvet dotted with stars you can barely make out from the haze of the city, even out in the suburbs, even out by the lake in late February, just last week.
They sat side by side on the dock, their feet dangling in the water, half-empty beer bottles between them. In the distance, Joey could hear the faint strains of music coming from the house, and if he turned, he'd see the shadows flickering across the light that streamed out from the windows. Everyone was inside, laughing, relaxing after an intensely hard day of reviewing the old steps, blending in the new ones. Everyone was kicking back tonight.
He felt a nudge at his shoulder, and he looked over at Lance, who smiled and nudged him again.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Nudge.
"What, man?"
"Nothing."
Nudge.
"You wanna take a swim, Bass?" Joey mock-growled, and Lance held up his hands hastily, warding against any sudden moves. "That's what I thought. So sit still and enjoy the friggin' sunset."
"Yes, sir." Lance leaned in and nudged Joey's arm again, but this time, he didn't pull away after nudging - his arm remained a firm, solid presence against Joey's as they both fell silent and looked at the sun's dying fire across the water's rippled reflection. Under the warm lap of the lake against their ankles, Lance's foot brushed Joey's.
"Sunset's almost over," Lance murmured. "Night any minute now."
"Another long day tomorrow."
"Mmm."
The crickets had started to chirp, and they sounded comforting to Joey, even though the evening sounds of his childhood had been muted traffic and hollow echoes off of streets and corners. The staccato of the city stayed with him even today, but he found this time, right now by the water in the somnolent heat of a Florida night, to be as peaceful as anything he'd ever known.
"These are good times," he said, almost to himself, and he felt Lance's hand curl into his. That was comforting too, a familiar gesture, repeated so often it was nearly unconscious, and it was nearly unconsciously that Joey tightened his fingers, sliding them around to catch the pulse of Lance's heartbeat in the soft little groove of his wrist. "Good times," Joey repeated, and Lance murmured an agreement. It was always Lance who seemed to share these moments with him, these flashes of tranquil contentment in the wildly hectic whirlwind of a life that they shared. These moments weren't rare, but they were infrequent enough for each one to be precious, etched in Joey's memory along with a thousand other moments that are him and Lance, together.
His heart felt full, like it was gonna burst from just everything being so very okay, and he turned to Lance to say something more. Lance was smiling at him, that slow, easy, Southern smile that said he was happy too, and Joey shook his head. "Damn," he said gruffly. "You have to know everything?" Lance shrugged, his pulse beating under Joey's fingers, and he just fit. He fit in Joey's hand. He fit in Joey's head.
"You don't, though," Joey told him. "Know everything, I mean." Lance raised a curious eyebrow, and Joey lifted Lance's hand to kiss the back of his knuckles, breathing in the scent of his skin, sun-golden and fresh soap, deliberately nuzzling with his cheek.
Lance drew in a measured breath. "Joey. What are you- "
"What does it look like I'm?" Joey looked up, catching Lance's wide eyes with his own, keeping his voice steady because he had never tried this before, and he thought maybe, yeah, he wanted it to work. He brushed his lips over the back of Lance's hand again, and, despite the lazy warmth of the night air, Lance shivered.
Joey half-turned, placing Lance's hand on his thigh and running his hand up Lance's arm, slowly, watching Lance's face carefully as he moved up to Lance's bicep and paused, hardening his hand around the muscle. "I remember when this was new," he said softly, and moved in to kiss the skin beside his thumb. He felt a sigh lift itself from Lance's chest, the rise of fabric by his cheek, and he closed his eyes, running his hand up over Lance's shoulder and around to the back of his neck, his fingertips brushing into Lance's hair.
"What is this, Joe?" Lance asked softly, his palm rubbing smooth, small circles over Joey's thigh. "What do you want?"
"I don't know, man," Joey admitted. "I just . . . " He opened his eyes again. "I want to kiss you. Is that okay?"
"Oh," Lance said, and there was that smile again, slightly goofy, wide and warm. "Yeah, that's okay."
It was more than okay; it was soft and it was careful, not tentative, just a first kiss between best friends. Yeah, just that. Just Lance's lips moving under his, pressing up and parting open, the ghost of shared air passing between them when Joey slipped his tongue into Lance's mouth, and Lance's tongue was waiting for him, greeting him, stroking softly before dancing away.
They sat on the dock and kissed by the water, as the night settled in around them, and when they stopped to catch their breaths, their arms stayed around each other. Joey kept moving his thumbs over the ridges of Lance's spine, the angles of his shoulder-blades, and Lance leaned in to him, tucking his head under Joey's chin. The clean smell of Lance's hair tickled Joey's nose, and he inhaled deeply. This was good; this was Lance.
"Let's stay here, ok?" he whispered, and Lance chuckled softly against his chest.
"All night? Could get cold."
"I mean, let's stay here." Joey dropped a kiss to the top of Lance's head. "Here, ok?"
Lance reached up to stroke the side of Joey's face, rubbing over his beard, combing his fingers back through Joey's hair, pulling his head down to kiss his cheek. His lips formed Joey's name, and no words Lance had ever said sounded as sweet to Joey as that.
Portland at night looks just as small and welcoming as it does during the day, with tiny boat lights twinkling across the river, and the bridges lit up like it's a holiday. The moments after sunset have stretched into minutes while Joey stands at the window, his fingers pressed softly to his mouth. As the sunlight fades outside, Joey's reflection in the glass grows stronger, and if he takes a step back now, all he'll be able to see is his own face, broad and flushed at the sense-memory of the past week.
Kisses in the morning at the Compound, flavored with coffee and omelettes, casual good-morning kisses like they'd been doing it for years, instead of days. Kisses in the hall outside the rehearsal room, sweaty and a little frantic, anticipating the exertion that lay in wait for them inside. Kisses in the pool, underwater and stealthy and quick, while up above, Johnny grilled burgers, and Chris and Justin tussled on the patio, and JC lay sunning himself, oblivious to it all.
Kisses stolen on the airplane, turned against the window while everyone else slept, and Joey's hand high on Lance's thigh under the blanket that they shared. Lance moaned quietly into Joey's mouth, his fingers gripping Joey's forearm, and his tongue a liquid blend of fire and water. He pulled away, gasping a bit, and shook his head frantically when Joey tried to lean in for more.
"The guys . . . "
"Are asleep."
"The stewardesses . . ."
"Flight attendants," Joey corrected with a grin, and a flash of his fingers across Lance's crotch made Lance shudder delightfully. "Are serving the cattle in coach." He did lean in then, his lips against the warm skin of Lance's jaw. "But if you're uncomfortable out here, there's always the Mile High Club, you know." He laughed at Lance's expression, the primly horrified set of his face making him look seventeen again, and wrapped his arm around Lance's neck, pulling his head down for a nostalgic noogie. This was what it was all about, he reflected, ignoring Lance's squeals of protest. The kissing, and the noogies, and the history behind both. He let Lance squirm away then, but not before kissing his ear soundly, without even a glance to the guys.
Kisses, breathless and endlessly hot, in the hallway of the hotel last night, where Joey's hands smoothed over Lance's back and Lance's fingers plucked at Joey's shirt, hips just beginning to move together, to catch each other's rhythm in a slow, delicious grind that had Joey ready to evict Chris from the room. But Lance pulled back again, leaving Joey to nuzzle hungrily at his neck.
"Wait, Joe."
"For what?"
Lance placed both hands on either side of Joey's face, forcing him to look up. "Just . . . just like this, for now, ok?" And he darted in for a quick kiss, brush of lips on lips, with a little lick of his tongue, and Joey groaned.
"Like this, huh?" he managed, and Lance nodded against his mouth.
"For now." Lance's eyes closed as he slid his arms around Joey's neck, holding him so tightly that Joey could feel it in his bones, and he returned the squeeze with every bit of strength he had.
"I love you, man," he said into the golden ruffle of Lance's hair, the words just spilling out before he could even think them. He'd said it before, and he'd say it again, but it was never more true than at that moment, and it was the best truth he could remember realizing. "I . . . I really love you."
"I love you too, Joey," Lance told him, that warm, easy smile coloring his voice all shades of amber honey, and Joey felt so goddamn happy that he honestly thought he could float away on the feeling.
They said goodnight, one last sweet, sweet kiss to tide them over, and Joey lingered in the doorway, rolling the taste of Lance's mouth over his tongue until long after Lance had vanished inside his room.
Joey's cell phone rings, the vibration against the wooden surface of the nightstand jolting him out of his reverie. He looks at the display and smiles.
"Hey. Where'd you go after run-through, man? You just took off."
"10th and Burnside." Lance's voice is slightly distorted. Joey can hear the faint rumble of traffic in the background, but he can also hear Lance's quiet excitement, like he's got a secret that he can't wait to share.
"10th and what now?"
"Catch a cab to 10th and Burnside. Or walk, it's not actually that far from the hotel."
"Are you serious, man? Did that teenie encampment outside just totally fail to register with you this morning?"
"They're all outside the hotel, there's not a single one where I am."
"Which is?"
"You'll see when you get to 10th and Burnside." Lance's wry reticence makes Joey laugh -- he's so damn cute when he's trying to be coy. "Just grab a hat and come down here. I want you to see this place."
"All right, all right, gimme twenty minutes?"
"I'll be on the corner. I'll wait right here."
Nineteen minutes later, Joey is crossing a busy intersection. Mike had helped him slip out through the hotel's underground garage, and some skillfully fast negotiating had earned him the walk by himself. There are people out and about tonight, walking around, enjoying the fine spring evening, but no one gives him a second look, and he thinks again just how nice visiting Portland is. They should come back, or something. Sometime.
True to his word, Lance is standing on the corner of 10th and Burnside, under a red neon sign that proclaims "Buy Sell Used Books!" Joey looks up. They're outside Powell's City of Books, and Lance's face is already lit up with pleasure by the time he sees Joey approaching.
They had seen each other just a few hours ago at the venue, but that doesn't stop Joey from grabbing Lance in a tight hug as soon as he reaches him. "A bookstore?" he says in Lance's ear. "You had me risk mutilation at the grabby hands of teenage girls to come check out a bookstore?"
"Tempting fate, risking life and limb, the thrill of the danger," Lance replies archly. "Kinda romantic, don't you think?" And Joey has to physically restrain himself from kissing Lance right there on the street corner, under the red glow that illuminates his face and sparkles in his eyes.
They head inside, Lance already wide-eyed in his enthusiasm. "It's a whole city block, Joe. It's the biggest independent bookstore in the world, literally. Isn't that something? Isn't that just crazy?"
"You're crazy," Joey says, nudging Lance affectionately as they stop to gaze up at the large store directory hanging from the ceiling. "We're so gonna get mobbed, man."
"By who, everyone buying the new Salman Rushdie?" Lance points up at the sign. "Look at that. Purple Room. Rose Room. Gold Room. And a coffee-shop." He sighs happily. "And I guess they bring in live music sometimes. I could live here, Joe."
"Then let's live here," Joey whispers, daring a quick peck to Lance's cheek.
The Blue Room is literature, popular and classics, and Joey trails down the aisles after Lance, watching him run a finger along the spines of more books than Joey's ever seen in one place before. Lance squeezes past an elderly couple and stops in front of the Hemingway section.
"For Chris," he says, and lifts a slim volume from the shelf. He shows it to Joey, who lets out a hearty laugh.
"The Old Man and the Sea? Subtle, Bass, real classy."
Lance shrugs, a mischievous grin dancing in his eyes. "Don't let my mild-mannered appearance deceive you," he cautions.
"I never have." Joey takes the book from Lance and tucks it under his arm, tucking Lance under the other to feel him there, warm and smiling against his side.
The Gold Room is mysteries, sci-fi and fantasy, and Lance is caught up in memories of his pre-teen years, Mississippi summers on the porch with Piers Anthony, Isaac Asimov and a sweating glass of iced tea. He describes it to Joey, the wide smile fading into thoughtful, almost bemused nostalgia. "If there's any truth to that alternate universe theory," he says, "then somewhere, I'm still there, at my momma's house, reading on the porch swing, and none of this ever happened to that other me."
Joey rubs his thumb over Lance's hand. "And somewhere else, you went to MIT and got recruited by NASA. That you is up in space already. By the stars."
Lance is silent for a moment, and Joey can almost hear the dreams go tumbling through Lance's mind, shifting past each other like sand falling through fingers. "I wouldn't be in space yet," Lance says finally. "I'm too young."
"What the hell, it's an alternate world. You're a whiz kid there; they let you up young. You're just that good." Joey tilts his head in towards Lance's. "Even in this world, kid. You're just that good."
Lance hums quietly in the back of his throat. "I am, huh? There's a reason for that, you know."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." The smile is back suddenly, and it's brighter than before, and Joey remembers the first time he ever wanted to taste that smile against his mouth, so long ago, whole career spans ago, before he knew what he wanted or why he wanted it.
Lance ends up pointing out Stranger In A Strange Land, explaining how the book is basically a big metaphor for universal love, and Joey agrees that JC would dig on that. Joey's digging on it too.
Upstairs, in the Red Room, Lance wonders aloud at the propriety of getting Justin Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus.
"Dude, you know J's read that, like, fifty times already. And Brit's not from Venus. She's from, like . . . "
"The crab nebula?" Lance suggests innocently, and Joey flicks him on the forehead. Neither of them are really sure what's going on with the little golden couple, but there's definitely tension there lately, and it's alarming to all of them. Justin'll talk about it when he's ready, Joey figures, but pressing the issue is never a good idea where J's concerned.
He steers Lance away from the preachy part of the self-help section and down a little further into the tall stacks. "You think J's gonna go on with that solo thing he's been makin' noise about?" he asks as he pushes on Lance's shoulders, walking slowly behind him.
"Yeah, probably. Wouldn't you, if you were him?"
Lance can't see Joey's shrug. "Yeah. It'll be weird, though. Good. But weird. Like, we'd have to take a long-ass break."
Lance stops and turns; he's chest-to-chest with Joey, so close that Joey can see the flutter of his eyelids as he blinks. "Would that be so bad?" he asks softly. "Relax, do our own thing for a bit?"
"Our own thing," Joey repeats. "Like in Toronto."
"Well, not just like in Toronto," Lance says, and his eyes skate over Joey's face before he lifts a hand to Joey's cheek. "We might have a different dynamic than we did then. Potentially. You know."
"Yeah, huh." Joey shakes his head at Lance's knowing smirk. "Well, I can potentially deal with that." Joey bends his head down and Lance rises up on his toes enough to brush his lips over Joey's. Joey moves forward so that the kiss is deepened, made more immediate, made more forceful, if only just for a second, before they each pull back, smiling at each other.
"Alright then," Lance says, apparently satisfied. "Here's what we're getting him." He bends down and pulls out a thin, white book with a riot of Crayola-colored flowers on the cover, and the brightly emblazoned title Transformation Soup: Healing for the Splendidly Imperfect.
Joey smoothes his hand over the picture. "SARK isn't too girly for Justin?"
"What, he-of-the-newly-discovered-masculine-sensitivity? Are you kidding me? He'll love it."
Joey pictures Justin curled up in his bunk, beatboxing to Sarah McLachlan remixes. "You're right. He'll love it."
"Of course I'm right." Lance shoots him a cool glance. "I can't believe you're still doubting my innate rightness after all these years. You're such a freak."
"You are."
Lance mock-lunges at Joey like he's going to grab him and swallow his tongue, like on SNL. Joey feints back, snickering, and Lance snatches his hand and pulls him onward.
The Pearl Room, up at the top of the wide flight of stairs, is all art and music, drama and photography, and Lance is in seventh heaven. Joey leaves him gawking at Ansel Adams collections, and goes back towards the music section, returning a few minutes later with the Celebrity songbook. "Look dude, easy piano arrangements! Put the SARK back, the kid needs this more."
Lance takes the book from him and flips through it. He stops at "Girlfriend," humming his harmony under his breath, following the score with a steady finger, but stops when Joey shuts the book over his hand.
"Tomorrow, man, we've got tomorrow for that."
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," Lance murmurs, heading back through the music stacks to replace the songbook. When he returns to Joey, he's got another one under his arm, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. "It's still arrangements for plunkers, though," he says somewhat sheepishly when Joey takes it from him.
"Who's it for?"
"Me." Lance leans over Joey's arm, turning the pages of the book until it lands on a song that Joey honestly never knew that Lance knew. The deep, rich voice is humming again, and it's easy for Joey to find a counterpart, singing lightly against Lance's support. He keeps it quiet, nice and low; the bookstore isn't empty, after all, and while "Teach Your Children" may not draw the attention that, say, "This I Promise You" would, it's still better to be safe than sorry. He's glad he goes with it, though, just for the look on Lance's face. He wraps the chorus with his breath a gentle caress over the words, "-just look at them and sigh, and know they love you."
Lance's hum isn't quite over by the time he's kissing Joey, warm and solid against him, mouth moving eagerly, and Joey's struck again by how easy this all feels - hot as fuck, yeah, but easy, like it never was with Kelly. He figures maybe if Kelly had been his best friend, it might have been less of a struggle. But that position had already been filled when Kelly had finally gotten around to trying for it, and he hadn't been interested in changing it up then, and he still isn't. Not ever.
He's licking into Lance's mouth, and he wants to touch him, he wants to grip Lance's arms and shove him against the bookshelf, under the covers with flowers of Georgia O'Keeffe and the surreal faces of Frieda Kahlo. He wants to paint his own picture with his tongue on Lance's lips, the bright reds and golds that swirl behind his eyes when Lance moans into him, his breath hot and hurried, and whoa, remember, the bookstore isn't empty and his arms are full of books.
He's even more convinced that he went with the right best friend when Lance seems to read his mind, pulling back with a flushed face and glittering eyes, and takes all the books from him, placing them in a neat pile behind a thick volume of Salvador Dali prints. He turns back to Joey, grabs a fistful of his shirt, and propels them both forward, towards the sign for the bathroom, just under the archway into the Purple Room.
Lance flips the lock on the bathroom door, and the next second, he's pressed up against Joey, hands hard on Joey's back, sliding down towards Joey's ass, as he kisses Joey's neck, up the line of his throat to his jawline, then captures Joey's mouth, demanding, insistent. Joey's all too willing to submit, his own hands at Lance's sides, thumbs stroking along the slight curve of his waist.
When Lance backs them against the wall, his hips moving in a lightning-fast grind, Joey lets out a surprised "Oh" that Lance swallows down, his tongue swiping over the roof of Joey's mouth, and Joey's hands move to cup Lance's face. He kisses him hard, but his palms stay gentle, fingers smoothing over cheekbones, and Lance pushes forward again. Joey's head bangs against the tile, but Lance is there with him, sucking Joey's breath in like it was water, sounding like it was the best water he'd ever had.
"What happened to-" Joey cuts off in a harsh gasp - Lance has run his hand, hard and fast, down the front of Joey's jeans, pressing steadily and firmly, and Joey has to really think to remember what he was saying, it feels so goddamn good. "-the, uh . . . the shy, retiring thing, just like this for now, is now over now?" He feels like maybe he's not really coherent, but Lance's fingers are clever, clever over the button-fly of Joey's Levis, stroking through the denim, and he can't help those little thrusts, he really can't, and sentences aren't really his first priority.
"Over now, yeah," Lance agrees before moving back in, messy and needy kisses, frantic almost, and Joey wants to crawl inside the wet warmth of Lance's mouth and never, never leave. He feels like he should make some responsible comment about semi-public sexual acts, but fuck, Lance is on his knees all of a sudden, and he's mouthing Joey's cock through his jeans as his fingers work to undo the buttons.
Joey gulps. "What, uh . . . what made you change your mind? Not that I'm complaining . . ." and he isn't, he really isn't, not when Lance is pulling Joey out, and his mouth is so eager, it had been so hot and sweet when they had been kissing, but now it's like fire on his cock, fluid tongue curling around with the pulse of suction, and Joey lets out a stifled groan as he does his damnedest not to just fuck Lance's mouth with abandon.
But then Lance's hands are on his hips, and fuck, he's pulling Joey in deeper, pulling him in harder, pulling the thrusts out of him, and little shocks run up Joey's spine as his eyes close and he lets his body do what it wants. Lance's throat opens; Lance swallows him down, and Joey has sudden visions of the upcoming tour; making out in dressing rooms, blowjobs in the back of the bus, fucking on three-thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets in Hiltons across the country.
"God, god, yeah," he mutters, and it's the image of just that, fucking Lance, sinking into his ass just as he's sinking into his mouth, that makes Joey shudder and convulse, his lips lifting in a helpless grimace as he comes, his cock jerking over Lance's tongue, and Lance's hands hold him steady against the wall as he sucks Joey until the waves are done crashing through him, and then gently sucks him some more.
When Joey opens his eyes again, he could almost get hard again right then. Lance is actually smiling up at him, around a mouthful of dick, and when he slides off slowly, his lips look so red and swollen, his mouth should be rated X. Joey thinks maybe it already is.
He's ready to reciprocate, the hell with anyone who might be waiting for the bathroom, but Lance carefully tucks him back into his pants and rises to his feet with a smile. "I just really wanted to do that," he tells Joey. "I can wait."
"You don't have to," Joey says, eyeing the prominent bulge in Lance's khakis. "I don't want you to. It's just not fair to you, let's be fair about this."
"Oh, no." Lance glances at the mirror, and his reflection grins back at Joey. "I mean, I can wait until we're back at the hotel. I'm all about the fairness, you can take my word for it." Joey nods, feeling sated and yet still excited, knowing he looks all sexed out, and he watches Lance heave a sigh. "Oh yeah, you can take my word for it." He turns back around to kiss Joey almost chastely, an arm looped easily around Joey's neck. "C'mon," he says. "Store closes at eleven, and we've still got people to shop for."
Joey follows him out of the bathroom, shaking his head. Blowjob one minute, business the next, yeah, that's a Lance he can get used to.
The Rose Room has some science stuff, but Joey's drawn immediately to the airy space devoted to children's books. He dithers back and forth between old standards and new classics - Stella Luna? Blueberries for Sal? Bri's years away from her first book, but there's no way a kid of his is gonna get set back by not being read to, and often.
"Hey," he calls to Lance, who's flipping through The Magic School Bus Underwater. "Deathmatch, down and dirty, who wins? Babar or Captain Underpants?"
"Babar," Lance answers, very matter-of-factly. "He's got those tusks. He'd totally catch Captain Underpants and give him a wedgie, and then that kid's up shit creek."
"Did you even have to think about that? I'm concerned about your reading material, Bass."
"What's to think about? Hello, elephant versus child. And the elephant's French. No brainer, man." And Lance presses Frog and Toad Together into Joey's hand. "My dad used to read this one to me."
Joey looks at the cover, and looks back up at Lance. "They're best friends, huh?"
"They do everything together. And one is a little wild and one is a little serious, but they can't do without each other." Lance simply smiles at Joey's raised eyebrow. "What? It's a whole series. Days With Frog and Toad, Frog and Toad Are Friends, Frog and Toad All Year . . . "
"All year, huh?" Joey looks down at the book again. "Wow, the unheralded beauty of amphibious friendship. I guess we can all learn from that."
"'S where my first real concept of friendship came from," Lance says, and Joey remembers why he made Lance Bri's godfather. He reaches out for Lance's hand, and squeezes it as he tells him that he loves him, and just like always, Lance squeezes back.
They pay at the registers in the Orange Room, and the clerk rings them up without a double take, smiling at them both pleasantly from under her black eyeliner. "Told you nothing was gonna happen," Lance whispers to Joey, as he slides his credit card across the counter-top.
"I wouldn't say nothing happened, though," Joey whispers back, letting his eyes sweep down the length of Lance's body. Lance just grins, and there's absolutely nothing about that smile, so familiar and so warm, that Joey doesn't want aimed at him forever.
Even though there's an exit in the room they're in, they decide to wander back through the store to the front door. Joey knows there's a bounce in his step; he's already looking forward to getting back to the hotel, negotiating the teenies notwithstanding. He knows just what he's gonna do - he's gonna kiss Lance in the elevator up to the top floor, and kiss him harder in the hallway, on the way to his room. He's gonna manage the keycard somehow, he'll be hard again, with Lance pressing into him from behind, urgent and delicious, and then they're gonna fall into bed and not leave until the morning, Chris be damned.
Well, ok, maybe he'll put the Do Not Disturb sign up. Explaining all this to the guys could probably stand to wait until tomorrow . . . or the next day, even. Hell, they've got months on the bus coming up, there's lots of time to figure it all out. And then if Justin does do that solo thing, more time after that. Lots of time, and Lance would help him figure it out anyway, so there's really nothing to be that concerned about.
They pass through the Green Room, which they had somehow managed to miss on their way in. It's small, and it looks like it's dedicated to books about the region. Joey sees calendars, and travel writing, and The Best Places to Kiss In The Pacific Northwest, and he pulls Lance to a stop.
"I want a book too," he explains, and Lance looks at him questioningly when he pulls the kissing book off the shelf. "I just, uh. Portland's been pretty cool so far. And, you know. We might come back here sometime."
Lance nods readily. "I'd be down for that. Come back and give this store the hours it deserves, you know?"
Joey cocks an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. With another visit to the bathroom, maybe."
"If you're lucky." Lance's cool smile makes Joey want to goose him, and why resist temptation? The flesh of Lance's ass under his jeans is firm, yet yielding, and Joey's fingers linger maybe a moment longer than necessary. Lance tips a knowing smile at him. Oh yeah. Can't wait to get back to the hotel.