Fic: Traveling Without Moving
Jul. 1st, 2010 07:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Traveling Without Moving
Rating: R
Pairing: Chris/Karl
Word count: 1,477
Notes: First posted over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
jim_and_bones, in response to photo prompts of Chris and Karl with travel bags and some eccentric accessories. I took some liberties with the details of the press tour.
Summary: The trouble with travel is it gives you too much time to think.
Los Angeles. Chris drinks his café au lait moodily and leans forward in his chair, eyeing the departure screen like a hawk. The yellow letters next to his flight number that spell DELAYED mock him in their unwillingness to change.
He's excited for what's to come but the truth is that he hates to travel. It's an art he's never mastered. Outside, it's so bright and sunny that Chris feels cheated, robbed of a day that could have been worthwhile.
Karl sits beside him, the shitty vinyl airport seat making a loud noise.
"How long have you been staring at that thing?" he asks.
Chris shrugs. "Fifteen minutes, maybe."
"Need company?"
Chris holds out his drink so Karl can tap his own coffee cup against it. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen.
*
Sydney. Chris is jet-lagged. Anton will not stop singing the theme song to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
"Is he even old enough to know that show?" Zach whispers.
"Doubtful," John says. "He's not even old enough to remember when Bill Clinton was president."
"God, that's depressing."
Chris groans and tilts his head back. "God, where's the off button for this fucking airport?" he complains. Then Karl's suddenly at his side, holding out two Advil.
"Smuggled these from the States," he whispers. "Black market. Worth every cent."
Chris somehow smiles on his own merit. He takes the pills and gulps them down with bottled water.
*
Kuwait. The hottest place on Earth. They were late for their flight so they had to run and now Chris is boiling in his own skin. His chest is splotchy from the heat and he finds a stray scarf in his bag to cover up the part that's exposed by his T-shirt.
"Little warm for a scarf, mate," Karl comments from across the aisle. He smiles broadly. "You'll cool off soon. Have a beer, maybe."
"I don't want a beer. I want someone to spray me with a hose."
"I'd offer, but the hose I carry is one of a different sort."
"Quit flirting and shut up," Zach grouses, squirming in the seat between them. "I have heatstroke. I'll cut a bitch."
Chris forces a laugh and tugs on his scarf, his fingertips tingling.
*
London.
Chris so wasn't flirting. Maybe Karl was, but not him. Not a chance. No way.
*
Berlin. The flight is delayed again.
"Were you actually flirting with me?" Chris asks. Karl's eyebrow arches, slow and deliberate, reaching for his hairline.
"I believe you were the one flirting with me."
"Nuh-uh," Chris says eloquently.
Karl looks mildly annoyed, and then his expression eases into a smirk. "Can we discuss this later? I'm tired. I've spent all day listening to Zach and John butcher the German language."
Chris smiles faintly. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" he asks, in a terrible accent.
"Don't you start," Karl warns. He nudges Chris' arm with his elbow and they both laugh.
"Yeah, okay," Chris says. He leans his head carefully on Karl's shoulder. "Later."
*
Paris.
Chris can't find his scarf, so he grabs a light sweater from his carry-on and loosely winds that around his neck instead. He keeps his head down as he walks through the terminal, until he hears Karl laugh.
"What kind of fashion statement is that?" he asks. "As if those clown shoes aren't bad enough. Jumpers are meant for torsos, I'll have to inform you."
"Yeah, well. Buttons are made for fastening, and you don't seem to give two shits about that."
Karl's jaw shifts, as if he's grinding his teeth or biting his tongue.
"Yeah, fine," he concedes. "Carry on."
They never did have that talk.
*
Madrid. Zach slurps at some kind of smoothie thing while Chris picks at his cuticles. Karl sits a few rows away, closer to the gate entrance, laughing about something with John and Eric.
"Hey, our flight's on time," Zach comments. He tilts his head and regards the crossword puzzle in his lap. "I've been doing crosswords for days. I'll trade you for the Sudoku."
"Keep your dirty mitts off my Sudoku," Chris says, though he eyes the puzzle. He looks down at his red sneakers, which he bought back in London. "Do you think these look like clown shoes?" he asks.
Zach rolls his eyes and slurps again. "Oh, my fuck. Please. Stop dancing around each other and get to screwing already. He likes you, you like him...vom."
"How do you know he likes me?"
"Call me crazy," Zach begins. When he lifts his head, the wistful look on his face takes Chris by surprise. "But maybe it's the way he looks at you across a crowded room."
Chris looks before he can think about it. John and Eric have puttered off somewhere, and yes, Karl is gazing right at him, a softness in his eyes that says it all. Chris wants to go to him, but something keeps him frozen in his seat.
"If you're going to be an idiot and not go over there, at least help me with this," Zach says. "What's a five-letter word for 'incandescent?'"
All those rows away, Karl curls his fingers under his chin and finally breaks their mutual gaze. Chris licks his lips and grips his pen in his fist.
"Aglow," he murmurs.
"Huh." Zach scribbles it down quickly. "That works."
*
New York. Chris finds himself in JFK, hung over as hell. He's been partying for three days straight. It's been easier not to think about Karl that way. He's almost grateful he'll be on a plane soon, so he can get some sleep.
Chris sits with Zach on one side and Zoe on the other, in the middle of a conversation about reality TV that's making his head hurt. Karl sits a few seats away, glancing at him occasionally.
Chris clutches his bag to his chest and tries to shield himself from it all: the excruciating small talk, the high pitch of Zach's laugh, the heavy weight of Karl's eyes.
"Gotta pee," Chris says, excusing himself. He does his best to walk a straight line to the men's room.
He relieves himself and heads to the sink, splashing water on his face to wake up. When Chris looks in the mirror, Karl is there.
"Got something to cure what ails you," Karl says.
"Uh," Chris utters. He laughs when Karl holds up two Advil. "Jesus. I thought you were going to take off your pants or something."
Karl smiles indulgently and puts the pills away. "Would that be cure enough?"
"Could be," Chris admits. "I'm sure. Definitely."
Karl steps forward and Chris slings an arm around his neck to haul him closer, skimming their mouths together. He makes a soft noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Karl is so warm, from his coffee-scented breath to his careful palm, slowly creeping along Chris' side. He steps forward and Chris steps back, his backside bumping into the sink. Karl's tongue darts out and Chris meets it with his own, tilting his head and kissing Karl until his mouth is glossy and swollen. His back bows when Karl's hand moves to clutch the denim between his legs.
"Fuck, Karl," he whimpers.
Karl looks him over and opens his mouth to speak. He's interrupted by the boarding call for their flight. They both curse and break away, running out of the bathroom and back to the gate. Chris tries not to grimace or let anyone know that he's hard.
They get in line to board and Chris leans forward, whispering to Karl. "Please tell me this is to be continued."
Karl glances back at him, quirks an eyebrow. "No shit," he murmurs. "Switch seats with John."
Chris checks in and feels the phantom touch of Karl's hand on his groin. He entertains a fleeting vision of shoving John face-first into the aisle of the plane.
*
Los Angeles. Chris walks out into the sunshine with Karl at his side, bags and rolling suitcases in tow. They exchange a look paired with nervous smiles.
"I feel like that was the longest trip of my life," Chris says.
"Funny that."
Karl hails a taxi and hands over his suitcase when the driver steps out to collect it. Chris hangs back a few feet away, standing awkwardly and looking around, waiting for Karl to turn and say goodbye. He blinks when Karl shoves his shoulder instead.
"Pine? You hear me? I said to give the man your bag."
"Oh, you mean we're...?"
"Yeah. I mean, we should." Karl shrugs and smiles. "Unless you've got crying babies at home."
"Actually, I think Zach went to his own place tonight."
Karl laughs loudly and Chris grins, letting the driver take his bag. He scrambles into the backseat of the taxi after Karl, more than ready to leave his life of travel behind.
Rating: R
Pairing: Chris/Karl
Word count: 1,477
Notes: First posted over at
jim_and_bones, in response to photo prompts of Chris and Karl with travel bags and some eccentric accessories. I took some liberties with the details of the press tour.Summary: The trouble with travel is it gives you too much time to think.
Los Angeles. Chris drinks his café au lait moodily and leans forward in his chair, eyeing the departure screen like a hawk. The yellow letters next to his flight number that spell DELAYED mock him in their unwillingness to change.
He's excited for what's to come but the truth is that he hates to travel. It's an art he's never mastered. Outside, it's so bright and sunny that Chris feels cheated, robbed of a day that could have been worthwhile.
Karl sits beside him, the shitty vinyl airport seat making a loud noise.
"How long have you been staring at that thing?" he asks.
Chris shrugs. "Fifteen minutes, maybe."
"Need company?"
Chris holds out his drink so Karl can tap his own coffee cup against it. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen.
*
Sydney. Chris is jet-lagged. Anton will not stop singing the theme song to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
"Is he even old enough to know that show?" Zach whispers.
"Doubtful," John says. "He's not even old enough to remember when Bill Clinton was president."
"God, that's depressing."
Chris groans and tilts his head back. "God, where's the off button for this fucking airport?" he complains. Then Karl's suddenly at his side, holding out two Advil.
"Smuggled these from the States," he whispers. "Black market. Worth every cent."
Chris somehow smiles on his own merit. He takes the pills and gulps them down with bottled water.
*
Kuwait. The hottest place on Earth. They were late for their flight so they had to run and now Chris is boiling in his own skin. His chest is splotchy from the heat and he finds a stray scarf in his bag to cover up the part that's exposed by his T-shirt.
"Little warm for a scarf, mate," Karl comments from across the aisle. He smiles broadly. "You'll cool off soon. Have a beer, maybe."
"I don't want a beer. I want someone to spray me with a hose."
"I'd offer, but the hose I carry is one of a different sort."
"Quit flirting and shut up," Zach grouses, squirming in the seat between them. "I have heatstroke. I'll cut a bitch."
Chris forces a laugh and tugs on his scarf, his fingertips tingling.
*
London.
Chris so wasn't flirting. Maybe Karl was, but not him. Not a chance. No way.
*
Berlin. The flight is delayed again.
"Were you actually flirting with me?" Chris asks. Karl's eyebrow arches, slow and deliberate, reaching for his hairline.
"I believe you were the one flirting with me."
"Nuh-uh," Chris says eloquently.
Karl looks mildly annoyed, and then his expression eases into a smirk. "Can we discuss this later? I'm tired. I've spent all day listening to Zach and John butcher the German language."
Chris smiles faintly. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" he asks, in a terrible accent.
"Don't you start," Karl warns. He nudges Chris' arm with his elbow and they both laugh.
"Yeah, okay," Chris says. He leans his head carefully on Karl's shoulder. "Later."
*
Paris.
Chris can't find his scarf, so he grabs a light sweater from his carry-on and loosely winds that around his neck instead. He keeps his head down as he walks through the terminal, until he hears Karl laugh.
"What kind of fashion statement is that?" he asks. "As if those clown shoes aren't bad enough. Jumpers are meant for torsos, I'll have to inform you."
"Yeah, well. Buttons are made for fastening, and you don't seem to give two shits about that."
Karl's jaw shifts, as if he's grinding his teeth or biting his tongue.
"Yeah, fine," he concedes. "Carry on."
They never did have that talk.
*
Madrid. Zach slurps at some kind of smoothie thing while Chris picks at his cuticles. Karl sits a few rows away, closer to the gate entrance, laughing about something with John and Eric.
"Hey, our flight's on time," Zach comments. He tilts his head and regards the crossword puzzle in his lap. "I've been doing crosswords for days. I'll trade you for the Sudoku."
"Keep your dirty mitts off my Sudoku," Chris says, though he eyes the puzzle. He looks down at his red sneakers, which he bought back in London. "Do you think these look like clown shoes?" he asks.
Zach rolls his eyes and slurps again. "Oh, my fuck. Please. Stop dancing around each other and get to screwing already. He likes you, you like him...vom."
"How do you know he likes me?"
"Call me crazy," Zach begins. When he lifts his head, the wistful look on his face takes Chris by surprise. "But maybe it's the way he looks at you across a crowded room."
Chris looks before he can think about it. John and Eric have puttered off somewhere, and yes, Karl is gazing right at him, a softness in his eyes that says it all. Chris wants to go to him, but something keeps him frozen in his seat.
"If you're going to be an idiot and not go over there, at least help me with this," Zach says. "What's a five-letter word for 'incandescent?'"
All those rows away, Karl curls his fingers under his chin and finally breaks their mutual gaze. Chris licks his lips and grips his pen in his fist.
"Aglow," he murmurs.
"Huh." Zach scribbles it down quickly. "That works."
*
New York. Chris finds himself in JFK, hung over as hell. He's been partying for three days straight. It's been easier not to think about Karl that way. He's almost grateful he'll be on a plane soon, so he can get some sleep.
Chris sits with Zach on one side and Zoe on the other, in the middle of a conversation about reality TV that's making his head hurt. Karl sits a few seats away, glancing at him occasionally.
Chris clutches his bag to his chest and tries to shield himself from it all: the excruciating small talk, the high pitch of Zach's laugh, the heavy weight of Karl's eyes.
"Gotta pee," Chris says, excusing himself. He does his best to walk a straight line to the men's room.
He relieves himself and heads to the sink, splashing water on his face to wake up. When Chris looks in the mirror, Karl is there.
"Got something to cure what ails you," Karl says.
"Uh," Chris utters. He laughs when Karl holds up two Advil. "Jesus. I thought you were going to take off your pants or something."
Karl smiles indulgently and puts the pills away. "Would that be cure enough?"
"Could be," Chris admits. "I'm sure. Definitely."
Karl steps forward and Chris slings an arm around his neck to haul him closer, skimming their mouths together. He makes a soft noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Karl is so warm, from his coffee-scented breath to his careful palm, slowly creeping along Chris' side. He steps forward and Chris steps back, his backside bumping into the sink. Karl's tongue darts out and Chris meets it with his own, tilting his head and kissing Karl until his mouth is glossy and swollen. His back bows when Karl's hand moves to clutch the denim between his legs.
"Fuck, Karl," he whimpers.
Karl looks him over and opens his mouth to speak. He's interrupted by the boarding call for their flight. They both curse and break away, running out of the bathroom and back to the gate. Chris tries not to grimace or let anyone know that he's hard.
They get in line to board and Chris leans forward, whispering to Karl. "Please tell me this is to be continued."
Karl glances back at him, quirks an eyebrow. "No shit," he murmurs. "Switch seats with John."
Chris checks in and feels the phantom touch of Karl's hand on his groin. He entertains a fleeting vision of shoving John face-first into the aisle of the plane.
*
Los Angeles. Chris walks out into the sunshine with Karl at his side, bags and rolling suitcases in tow. They exchange a look paired with nervous smiles.
"I feel like that was the longest trip of my life," Chris says.
"Funny that."
Karl hails a taxi and hands over his suitcase when the driver steps out to collect it. Chris hangs back a few feet away, standing awkwardly and looking around, waiting for Karl to turn and say goodbye. He blinks when Karl shoves his shoulder instead.
"Pine? You hear me? I said to give the man your bag."
"Oh, you mean we're...?"
"Yeah. I mean, we should." Karl shrugs and smiles. "Unless you've got crying babies at home."
"Actually, I think Zach went to his own place tonight."
Karl laughs loudly and Chris grins, letting the driver take his bag. He scrambles into the backseat of the taxi after Karl, more than ready to leave his life of travel behind.
