|| crotch rocket ||

//

"Get on the damn bike, Chasez." Chris flicks the kickstand up with a twist of his foot, poised on just two wheels, frozen in a tiny moment of perfect balance, before gravity wins out and he has to put one foot to the ground. It's very zen and all, but there's no way JC's getting on there with him. No way in hell.

He shakes his head and Chris rolls his eyes, and that has to be something he's picked up from all the time he's been hanging out with Lance lately. JC's sure of it. "Maybe Lance would like to ride with you," he says, and it comes out sounding a lot pissier than he meant it to.

"Lance likes space rockets." Chris' voice is muffled as he pulls his helmet on. "This is a crotch rocket, honey."

It's JC's turn to roll his eyes, and for a moment he's worried he might have sprained a retina or something. That was really kinda lame, even for Chris, who, like, constantly sets the standard for lame. "Man," he mutters, and kicks his toe into the dirt, ignoring the rumble of the bike as Chris guns the engine, a shit-eating grin on his face. Not that JC can see his face, due to it being covered with the helmet and all, but sometimes, a guy just knows these things.

And suddenly the rumbling is a lot closer, and it's accompanied by great clouds of dirt, and a spray of gravel that feels not unlike being peppered with a tiny hail of...well, not bullets, seeing JC can't ever recall actually being shot at. TicTacs, perhaps. It feels exactly like a bunch of Lilliputians are assaulting him with a barrage of TicTacs. And great billowing clouds of exhaust fumes. He coughs and waves his arms frantically trying to clear the air so he can breathe.

"Get on!" Chris' voice, piercing through the haze, and oh, yeah, he's definitely grinning, because JC can hear it in his voice.

"No!" He peers through the curl of smoke, scowling. "You're a maniac!"

The TicTac assault slows a little, and the rumble goes down a notch or two as Chris lets the bike idle, slipping the helmet off again. "What if I promise not to say anything when you get helmet head?"

JC shrugs. As if he cares what his hair looks like. So what if it's a little flat? It's not the end of the world. Actually-- yeah. He cares about flat hair. "Nope," he says, resolutely.

"Okay. What if I promise not to laugh if you swallow a bug?'

JC glares at him. "That wasn't funny. I could have died, man. My throat was, like, weird for days afterwards."

"Right. Sorry." Chris gestures apologetically. "It wasn't funny. No." He coughs, and it sounds suspiciously like a smothered giggle.

"Chris--"

"Hey, I know." Chris grins. "What if I promise to buy you some new leather pants?"

"You'd do that?" JC's still a little suspicious. But he can see Chris' face, and well, he looks serious.

Chris nods. "Biker's honour." He does some little weird hand movement that JC assumes is supposed to be representative of the whole Biker's Honour thing, even though he knows it's actually just part of the Bye Bye Bye choreography. He doesn't call Chris' bluff though, because, man-- Chris must really want him to get on the bike if he's offering to spend money. JC can't hold back the smile that's twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Gimme my helmet," he says, shaking his head, because, man-- he really must be insane.

Chris tosses it to him, grinning. "I don't know why we have to go through this every single time," he says, as JC climbs onto the seat behind him. "You always give in, in the end."

JC drops the helmet on the ground beside him, then wraps his arms around Chris' waist, fits himself to the curve of his back, feels the heat from his body slip under his own skin. "You know I like to play hard to get," he murmurs against his ear, sliding one hand down under the waistband of Chris' shorts to cup his dick, grinning because he's already hard. "And I know you like it, too." He feels Chris arch forward in response to his touch, and oh yeah, it's all good.

"You can't tell me the leather pants have nothing to do with it," Chris says, sounding just a little breathless, his own helmet slipping from his fingertips to the ground. JC continues to stroke him slowly, and okay, maybe kinda shimmy against and into him from behind, because, well, he's only human, afterall.

"I could say the same thing about you," JC points out, with a leisurely flick-twist of his wrist. "You love my ass in leather. It wasn't exactly a selfless gesture on your part, man."

"Touché," gasps Chris, and he's rocking forward into JC's hand now, fingers wrapped tightly round the handlebars, his knuckles white. "Dude, between the vibration of the bike and what you're doing there, I'm having a little, uh. A little trouble keeping us upright, here."

"Then try harder," JC purrs, pressing himself even closer to Chris, snaking the other hand up to pinch a nipple, jerking him off a little faster now. "I bruise real easy."

"Oh god," Chris moans softly, "you are the most infuriating-- fuck-- person I have ever-- oh, shit-- met, I swear. Oh god, C, keeping doing just that--"

"This?" JC flicks his wrist again, and then again, dragging his mouth over the warm skin of Chris' neck, biting and sucking gently. "Or maybe-- you mean-- this?" Another bite into soft flesh and two, three more strokes, and he feels Chris shuddering and arching upward, hears him groan, and there's a rush of liquid warmth spreading over his hand and fingers.

Things are a little wobbly there for a moment or two, and JC briefly envisions the two of them eating dust, pinned down helplessly by the bike. To his credit though, Chris keeps the bike upright underneath them.

Just.

"That," pants Chris, "was probably more a lot more dangerous than when I close my eyes going round corners."

JC blinks. What? He closes his eyes going round corners? Fucking hell. "I really didn't need to know that." He slides his hand out of Chris' shorts, and licks his fingers thoughtfully. "You could probably make it up to me, though."

"Oh, I could, huh?"

"Yeah." JC leans over, and scoops up the discarded helmets, buckling his on, then handing Chris the other. "We could totally go and get those new leather pants right now."

//

for hammerhead, who posted the pictures of Chris on a bike that provided the inspiration for the words.

[ feedback ] [ main fic index ] [ livejournal  ] [ randomness ]