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Not Romantic
The hotel could only be called a hotel through the greatest act of generosity. Chris stared at it in disbelief. It was more Econolodge than hotel - a long, dingy grey building that squatted close to the ground, its roof seeming to hunch over itself as it if resented its own existence. The windows were grimy and looked like they hadn't been opened in years. The walkway in front was cracked and sprouting weeds, the parking lot was only partially paved, and really, the whole place looked like something from one of the late-night horror movies Joey loved so much. He turned as JC came grumbling down the pathway, head bowed against the bitter damp wind. "JC, we are not staying here," he said. JC glared a glare that would have felled a bison. Chris, however, was made of stronger stuff, having survived sisters and angry bodyguards. He hiked his duffle higher on his shoulder and looked mutinously back.
"As you are well aware," JC gritted out. "The car is almost out of gas because you wouldn't stop when I said to. We are miles out of our way because you wouldn't look at a map back when we took that wrong turn that I told you not to take. The weather is getting horrible, I don't have a coat because you wouldn't let me get one, I had to wake up the front desk clerk to get a room because it's so late, and actually, Chris, this whole trip is a disaster because of you, so you will stay in this hotel and you will like it because I didn't even want to come to begin with! I was in NEW YORK!" He pushed past Chris, knocking him off of the sidewalk even though there was plenty of room for them both. Chris was pretty sure he'd done it on purpose. JC had that crazy look in his eye, the look that even made Chris feel sane in comparison.
"I'm just saying, dude," he said. "This ain't the Ritz. Hell, it isn't even Motel 6."
JC's only response was to slam the room door in his face.
***
After much begging and pleading and threats of driving off and leaving (which were met with cackling laughter and the jangling of car keys), JC relented and allowed Chris into the room.
"Don't. Say. A. Word."
Chris smiled weakly. "Wouldn't dare, dude." He tiptoed past JC, who was still giving off serious anger vibes, and scanned the room. "It's not that bad," he offered.
Silence.
"No, really, I mean, it isn't. We've stayed in worse."
JC glared. "We were poor then. We have money now."
Chris had to admit that was true. "OK, so the décor isn't anything to write home about."
"No," JC sniped. "I don't think that Early Ugly American is going to be sweeping the decorating world." He kicked the nightstand and watched the bottom panel fall on the floor. "I hate this trip."
Chris was beginning to get worried. This was not how the plan was supposed to go. When he'd explained it to Justin earlier, he had been much more optimistic. "See," he'd said. "It's going to be a throwback to the early days, a way for us to reconnect, to get back to the way we were before big success and solo albums and never seeing each other without appointments and organizing."
Justin had been moderately supportive, which was really the most Chris could hope for these days. Justin's patience with Chris's crush on JC was beginning to wear thin. "I dunno, man," he'd said, voice crackling over the cell line. "JC likes the creature comforts. He's not going to go entirely retro, so you should at least book some places on the way to wherever it is you're going, which by the way, you still have not told me."
Chris beamed. "That's the beauty of it, we're not actually going anywhere in particular. It's going to be like those road trips we used to take, remember? All of us piled in the car, heading out on the open road, carefree and happy. . ."
Justin had snorted at that. "Those weren't road trips, you idiot, those were mall tours. We were miserable, the van didn't have AC, Joey hogged the back seat, Lance whined about how he wasn't ready for the shooooow, and they were all going to haaaaaate him, and you, man, you were just fucking unbearable."
"Dude, you gotta look back with nostalgia," Chris said. "The good old days!"
"You try going through puberty in the middle of all of that," Justin retorted. "No wet dream was sacred to you fucks."
Chris waved it all aside blithely. "Doesn't matter, JC and I, we understand each other. We'd bonded over being infinitely more mature than the rest of you children."
Justin hooted. "Whatever. Allow me to point out that your best friend was a fourteen-year-old."
"Allow me to point out in turn that we're still friends."
"Yeah, that's because you finally caught up with me." Chris didn't need to see Justin to know he was smirking. "The point is that you need to plan ahead, make a reservation or two, keep JC happy, or this isn't going to work."
Chris had laughed at that, because spontaneity was the spice of life, and what was grand romance without that little extra sizzle of unexpected anticipation? JC was going to love it, he was sure.
Now, however, he was not so optimistic. JC was rattling around in the bathroom, squeaking taps and slamming doors, and muttering in a way that was not inaudible at all. Chris was actually pretty sure that JC intended him to hear every word he was saying, especially the ones that were not complimentary.
"C, man, come on back out here," he wheedled. "Look, we can watch TV." The television was bolted into a stand that was attached to the wall, reminding Chris of hospital rooms and waiting for news about broken legs and broken hands and broken hearts.
JC poked his head out, scowling. "What's on?"
Chris practically leapt towards the remote, grabbing it as he launched himself towards the bed, and practically dislocating his shoulder when the cord attaching the remote to the bedside table jerked tight. He yelped. JC just stared, completely unimpressed. Chris smiled weakly, clicked the ON button, only to have "ON THE NEXT DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES" blare through the tiny room. JC slammed the door. Chris frantically changed channels, clicking through staticky station after staticky station before giving up and mashing the power button again.
Nothing happened.
He hit the button again, and again, but the television still hissed and crackled, except somehow it seemed to have gotten louder and more insistent, and was stuck on a station that was only half-coming in, enough so that Chris could hear partial sentences and see what looked like Lindsey Lohan sprawled on the floor but was maybe just a vacuum cleaner demonstration. JC stormed out of the bathroom, obscuring Chris's vision for a minute, and yanked the plug out of the wall, silencing the television and eliminating Chris's only entertainment option.
Chris was willing to admit to being a little scared at this point - JC was not happy at all, and truth be told, hadn't been happy from the minute Chris had shown up on his doorstep and dragged him out to the car. But Chris had gotten as far as he had in life through hard work and stubborn optimism and relying on his strengths, and he wasn't going to wimp out now. Especially not now, when JC's eyes were flashing and narrowed on Chris in a way that showed that he was completely focused on him, which was kind of thrilling as much as it was nerve-wracking.
"Well, ok, television not such a good idea," he said.
JC's lips twitched in what Chris would have liked to have believed was humor. He strode to the window and peered through the grimy glass. "It's stormy and gross outside. I think I'm actually glad we're inside where it's warm." At those words, the heater gave a mighty rattle and groan, gasped out a foul-smelling belch of air and smoke right in JC's face, and died.
Chris cringed. This was really not working out the way he had planned. "OK, so warmth may be something we have to work on, but again, we are inside, right? We're still protected from the elements, no wind here, cause hey, inside." He looked at the door and prayed for the latch to work, for the door to stay closed, for something to go right.
His prayer was granted, in a way. The door did stay locked, but there was a definite chill in the air, and it wasn't entirely brought on by the weather. JC was still staring out the window, hands jammed in his pockets. He shivered slightly and hunched his shoulders.
"It's snowing," he said quietly.
Chris hopped up and peeked out over JC's shoulder. Sure enough, it was snowing. Little tiny flakes that swirled through the air, somehow seeming dingy even before they hit the sidewalk. "It's more like sky dandruff," Chris said. "Not romantic at all."
JC turned and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Romantic?"
"I'm just saying," Chris said hastily. "Snow, it's romantic if you're, you know, wanting it to be."
JC looked at him for a second, then smiled. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's fluffy, and it makes you want to lie in front of a fire on a warm rug with wine and soft music."
Chris nodded, relieved. "Exactly. Not this stuff, obviously. Not romantic at all."
"No fire," JC said solemnly. "No wine. Definitely no warm rug." He grinned a little, shivered, tucking his hands under his biceps to keep them warm. Chris opened his mouth to say something, but a gust of wind blew in from somewhere, making the blinds flap and hitting JC in the face. JC blinked and stepped back, raising his hand to his cheek.
"Dude, are you ok?" Chris struggled with the blinds, tucking them back against the window frame.
"Is there - where did that wind come from?" JC asked. "Is there a leak in this room? Chris, does this room have a leak in it?"
"No, no, no, of course not," Chris lied. "It was a freak gust that, like, went through the glass or something, it's fine, why don't you have a seat on the bed or something, I think I have a deck of cards in my duffle."
JC looked doubtful, but crossed the room to Chris's bag and rummaged through it. Chris turned at JC's snort of laughter. Dread swept over him.
"Lube, dude?" JC chuckled. "Did you forget to clear this out from the last time you visited Lance?"
Chris scowled. "We don't do that anymore, you jerk, and you know it." Lance was a touchy subject. Sure, they were only buddyfucking, but regardless it hurt a little to be tossed aside for the next young thing that caught Lance's eye. They were still friends, obviously, but some sensitivity was required. And JC knew all of this, because Chris had called him immediately after, thinking Lance would go to Joey for the requisite comforting (even though Lance totally didn't need it). Of course, Lance had decided to throw a wrench in the works and called JC on his landline as Chris had him on the cell phone, and JC bounced between the two of them until he got sick of it and told Lance that he was being completely shallow and Chris that he was being completely clingy and hung up on both of them. So clearly JC was completely out of line bringing that up.
JC grinned, completely unrepentant, and pulled out the deck of cards. He sat in the rickety chair at the table by the door and began to shuffle. "C'mon, man," he said. He had obviously decided to make the best of the situation. "We can play hearts, or rummy or something."
Chris eyed him skeptically, then sat down. Rummy was always good. He briefly mourned his lack of foresight in not packing booze, because a drunken JC was usually willing to play a little strip poker, and wasn't shy about it.
They played a couple of hands, but for some reason it was really difficult. Hands weren't coming together like they should, needed cards were elusive. JC frowned after a particularly annoying round and rifled through the deck. "Dude, you're missing cards," he said.
Chris moaned and slid out of the chair to lie on the carpet in the space between the beds, hands covering his face. Nothing was going right. The room sucked, the drive sucked, JC didn't want to be there, everything was awful, the snow was even crappy, this was the worst idea he'd ever had, he should have listened to Justin. He closed his eyes, and prayed for JC to leave him alone.
"Hey, man," JC said softly. Chris felt a rush of warmth as JC slid out of his own chair and pulled Chris's hands down. Chris opened his eyes and gazed at JC, who was leaning over him, his brow wrinkled in concern. "What's going on here, Chris?"
"Nothing?" Chris hazarded.
"Not buying it, dude," JC said. He tugged Chris upright, wrapping long fingers around his shoulders and pulling gently. "Something's going on with you, because I know you wouldn't have planned a trip this bad on purpose."
Chris sighed. He was doomed, and he may as well just face facts and be done with it. "I had an ulterior motive," he confessed.
JC sat back, clearly not surprised, but willing to listen. "I'm ready to hear it," he said. He slid his hands down from Chris's shoulders to lightly cup his forearms. "Lay it on me, man."
Chris glanced up at JC and sighed. "It's like this. I kidnapped you."
JC snorted. "Yeah, I noticed." He shivered a little and moved closer to Chris in the small space. Chris slid an arm around his shoulders and pulled JC closer to him. Nothing special about that, nothing they hadn't done a million times before. And, just like a million times before, Chris took a second to bask in JC's body resting against his. "Why?"
"Well," Chris said slowly. "It wasn't supposed to be this bad, you know. It was supposed to be nice. We were going to drive up to the mountains, it was going to be pretty, and we were going to have fun."
JC sighed and relaxed against him, resting his forehead against Chris's temple. "Sounds nice."
Chris nodded, rubbing JC's upper arm lightly. "It would have been. There was a hotel, you know? A nice one, with, like, heat, and free cable." JC huffed with laughter, and Chris grinned. "There was going to be snow."
JC stilled. "Snow," he said quietly.
Chris shrugged. "Yeah. I thought we could go play in it or something. Ski, make snowmen, get nice and chilly."
"Then come inside," JC said, his voice still soft. "And there would be a fire."
"Yeah," Chris said sadly. "A fire, and we could order in room service."
JC was silent for a minute. "With wine," he said. "And a soft rug. And it would be romantic."
Chris sighed sadly. "Yeah, that was the pl- " His words were cut off by JC's sudden kiss. He surged up against Chris, pressing him against the side of the bed, his arms tight around Chris's waist. Chris was surprised, but not stupid. He kissed back, sliding a hand into JC's hair and holding on for dear life.
JC pulled back. "So," he said breathlessly, eyes locked on Chris's. "This was all a plan to get me into bed, huh?" He grinned wide, and gave Chris an extra squeeze.
Chris laughed, still surprised. "Well, not just bed," he confessed. "I kind of like you a lot, dude. In a more than just a friend way." He glanced down then, feeling shy. "I was going to seduce you."
JC laughed, and stood up, staggering a little as his feet tangled with Chris's. "You can still do that," he said, merrily. "But first, I'm freezing my ass off, so we should get in bed, and you can warm it up."
Chris rose and pulled JC closer to him. "I love this hotel," he said against JC's mouth.
END
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