Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, no disrespect is intended.
The Best Part of Me
Fingers on buttons, sliding through the velvety blackness of the shirt. A soft voice, a hand in his hair, focused only on the expanse of chest as it was revealed. Fascination, finally seeing it up close the way he'd always longed to, pointed, vivid against pale flesh.
"Go on, touch...touch with your lips..."
So long, how many times?
Soft lips traced the outline, then tongue worked down, breathing in the heady musk that was before only imagined. Stopping at the ornate belt buckle, hands gripped tightly against denim covered hips. He swept his eyes up, met the same longing that he knew was reflected in his.
"You know...that I want it as much as you do..."
Shaking now, with need, with desire, with lust...belt buckle opened...parted...
"Hope you got enough beauty sleep because your half hour is up princess."
Chris started awake, the dream so real in his head. He rolled under his covers, painfully hard erection grazing over the rough sheets. He gasped, realizing that the dream was just that, a dream. Color flamed across his cheeks that he had allowed it to come again, and allowed it to have this effect on him.
"Get. Out." Chris clipped the words, pulled the sheets up to his neck.
Rich looked down at him, a smirk affixed to his full lips. "You modest all of a sudden Irvine?" He reached down, closed his hand over the edge of the sheet. "Afraid I'll see something I've never seen before?"
"Get the fuck out," Chris said, his voice harsh. "I told you not to let me go back to sleep."
With an amused look, Rich tugged on the sheet. "And what did you want me to do, prop toothpicks under your eyelids? Hell Chris, we're all tired, you looked like you could use the extra snooze."
Face still flushed, Chris flinched away. "Leave me in peace, I'll be out in ten."
"Fine, whatever." Rich released the sheet, and sauntered toward the door. "Never knew you to be so delicate though. Hell, you shower in front of a hundred men every night."
"Not every night," Chris said softly. And not you, he added to himself.
The door closed behind Rich with a sharp snap. Chris rolled on his back, flipped the covers away, allowed the cool air to bathe him, yet it did nothing to abate the hard-on, or the lingering allure of the dream.
Ten minutes. He groped across the bedside table, looking for the lotion he'd used the previous night, an attempt to counteract the dry Australian air. His hand closed over it, he squeezed a generous dollop into his hand.
Flashes from the dream, he moaned and arched up as his hand closed around his sensitive cock. Illicit desire, too long away from home, natural sensuality. He stroked hard, his other hand stealing up to pinch a nipple.
"Where the fuck is Irvine?"
Everyone was on edge, a mixture of anticipation and jet lag. Rich drummed his fingers against his guitar case impatiently. "I don't know, I told him ten minutes." He stood up, "And time's up."
He headed back down the hallway toward the room they'd been sharing. As he dug the cardkey out of his pocket he heard a moan reaching a crescendo, and he froze. Bending closer, he pressed his ear against the door and was greeted with the unmistakable sounds of masturbation. Slick hand on a hard cock, smaller moans as the crisis passed. He understood Chris's surly mood earlier, and turned on his heel, walked back to the rest of the band.
"So, where is he?"