// bus stop //

Chris asks, more out of habit than anything else. He already knows what the answer will be, but he feels compelled to ask anyway, not even really thinking about it.

"Can we stop? Just for a while?" And then he sits back and waits for the same old answers-- no time, a schedule to stick to, we're in the middle of nowhere, and he's even anticipating a new one-- "Piss off Kirkpatrick, it's more than my job's worth to let you loose in the desert."

So this time when the driver says, "sure man, we got some time to spare. You got twenty minutes," it doesn't even register in Chris' brain for a second. His mouth is open and ready to say, "yeah, I know. Just askin' anyway," and then he does a double-take, grins widely and is down the bus steps two at a time, not believing his luck. Yeah, so maybe it's a little sad that he's getting his kicks from a mere twenty minutes or so of freedom in the desert at ass o'clock in the morning, but hey, he's not complaining. He's in such a good mood he even waits until he's a decent distance from the bus before throwing his head back and howling at the moon. Not that there's a moon out...it's actually pretty close to pitch-black. And he's also just guessing he's far enough away from the bus...he didn't count his steps or anything, and woah, let's just hope there's no deep ravines to tumble into or anything. Though Behind the Music might find that interesting, Chris doesn't quite see the attraction of plunging to his death in the darkness.

He's about to start backtracking carefully-- very carefully-- to the bus, when he senses someone else beside him. He hasn't heard anything, but the air has changed somehow. Yup, definitely someone there. Well, hopefully a someone rather than a something, because he doesn't want Behind the Music to be reporting on his Tragic Death By Coyote.

"Hello?" he ventures hopefully, thinking that if it is a coyote and it answers, he'll be back at the bus faster than he's ever moved in his life. He shakes his head and mutters, "Way to freak yourself out, Kirkpatrick. That's just great. Talking coyotes and deep ravines and--FUCK!"

There's a light shining right in his face. Chris can feel his heart racing and he's certain it's about to leap out of his chest and splatter on the ground, and yeah, he bets Behind the Music would just love that too, the sadists. Why has he never realised before just how cruel that show is? It's like they're poised waiting for him to fail or die and really, that's hardly--

"What are you doing out here?" Justin's voice breaks him out of his reverie.

"Setting the scene for a Behind the Music extravaganza on the life and death of Chris Kirkpatrick." Chris reaches out a hand and moves the flashlight so it's not burning into his retinas. "His sad decline started when he was blinded by one of his bandmates shining a huge-ass light in his face as he was innocently wandering in the desert one night, which ultimately resulted in him tumbling into a ravine. Very tragic. Oh, and yeah, there was a coyote too."

"A talking one, perhaps?" Chris doesn't need to see Justin's face to know he's grinning -- he can hear the laughter in his voice. "That must have been the one I heard howling earlier."

"It's okay," Chris whispers. "I scared it away, so there's no need to be afraid, young man. You're safe with me." He slings an arms around Justin's shoulders. "So, what's a talented pop sensation such as yourself doing in a desert like this?"

Justin snickers. "Looking for my deranged bandmate."

"Ah." Chris says, grinning. "JC wandered off again, has he?"

"He's asleep in his bunk, like you should be." Justin pokes Chris in the side. "Though, it is kinda nice out here. Peaceful. And...dark. Extremely dark. Where the hell are we anyway?" He waves the flashlight around, illuminating dusty ground and scrubby vegetation.

"I dunno," Chris replies. "Deep ih the heart of Buttfuck, Texas, maybe. Could even be Mars, you know? But yeah, it is peaceful. I couldn't sleep and got kinda antsy and craved some freedom. Even if there is only around ten minutes of it left."

"Ten minutes, huh?"  Justin's voice is slow and deliberate. "A lot can happen in ten minutes." The flashlight is switched off, and Chris can hear his breathing, feel the heat from his body, and then Justin's hands are curved around his hips, pulling him close. Justin's mouth is warm against his, tongue darting between parted lips and licking gently across the roof of his mouth. There's no light at all, just touch and sound, and with his eyes closed or eyes open, it makes no difference. Chris loses himself in pure sensation, catching Justin's bottom lip between his teeth and nipping at it, hearing Justin gasp, and long fingers dig into his shoulders, little flashpoints of heat he feels through the soft cotton shirt he's wearing.

"Ten minutes," breathes Justin against Chris' neck, and Chris feels those same long fingers tugging at the waistband of his pants, and he reaches down to help slide them off, and then kicks them aside. Justin's hands glide over his chest, fingers stopping to twist at a nipple, before trailing across the warm skin of his belly. Chris can feel goosebumps rise wherever Justin's fingers brush, and a delicious shiverchill passes through him from head to toe. He's hard, has been since Justin first touched him, and now Justin's hand is on his dick and moving gently, slowly, deliberately. Chris is on his tiptoes, curving into Justin, pressing the length of his body, rocking into his hand. Justin's mouthing a trail along his collarbone, across his chest, pausing to nip gently at his belly, then continuing downwards.

Chris gasps when Justin's warm, wet mouth replaces his hand, almost losing his footing, but Justin is holding his hips, sure and steady. Chris relaxes and concentrates on the feel of that mouth sliding along the length of his cock, the only sounds he can hear the lewd sucking noises and his own erratic breathing. He twists his fingers in Justin's hair, gently at first, guiding his movement, but then Justin starts to hum low in his throat, and Chris can feel the vibration thoughout his whole body. He's vaguely aware that he's holding on to Justin's hair too tightly, too hard, but that thought is gone a few seconds later when Justin presses a slick finger against Chris' ass, and then past the tight ring of muscle.

"Jesus....fuck...." Chris' breath catches in his throat and even with his eyes are tightly closed, he's seeing sparks of light behind his eyelids. There's a fireworks display inside his head and it's choreographed by the movements of Justin's mouth and finger, each one moving in counterpoint to the other. Chris wants to say something, anything, and he opens his mouth to tell Justin how fucking great that feels, how fucking amazing, but his brain won't let him form words, won't let him do anything other than snap his hips forward helplessly. So that's what he does, and Justin's mouth and finger never miss a beat. The fireworks in Chris' head get bigger, brighter, until they're spreading through his entire body, shimmering over his skin, racing along his spine. He rocks forward again, breathes, "Oh fuck, Justin...fuck", and he's coming helplessly, coming hard, feeling Justin's throat working as he swallows.

Chris would be quite happy never to move again, and he doesn't even know if he even can, pretty sure it's only Justin's hands holding him upright. He's blissed out and still seeing stars.

"So," Justin says, getting to his feet, "as I was saying, a lot can happen in ten minutes." He presses his mouth to Chris' and Chris can taste himself across Justin's lips. "Now get your ass back on the bus. I heard a rumour there's coyotes out here." He kisses Chris again, stoops to pick up the flashlight and then walks back to the bus. Chris stands there for a minute or two, working on getting his breathing back to something resembling normal. He has a sudden thought, and his face creases into a frown.

The tranquility of the desert is broken by an agitated yell.

"Timberlake! Bring my fucking pants back!"

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