Written for Lady_Simoriah for the 2008 xmas_rocks exchange
| This story is a work of fiction and therefore completely untrue. No harm or libel is meant or implied about any of the individuals named within this work and it was written without their involvement or permission. No profit is being made. |
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Steven dropped his bag onto the hotel room floor, heading straight for the slider that led onto the balcony. "Look at that view! Fucking amazing!" The singer flung his head back, breathing in air salted with ocean. Joe joined him after taking a look around to compare Steven's suite to his. They had come to Mexico for no other reason than to relax for a few days and if a song or two or ten came out of it, then so be it. The beach was like any other beach Steven had ever been on, except for the lack of people. Well, that was probably the point of booking time in a private villa with a private beach. He stretched a little, calculating the time he'd been in the sun in direct ratio to the amount of sunscreen he had on. Adjusting his shades, he felt for the bottle of mineral water on the table between his and Joe's chaise with a sigh. Joe raised his sunglasses, smirking across at his bandmate. "Let me guess; you aren't enjoying this? At least give it twenty-four hours before telling me how much it blows. Where's your sense of adventure?" Steven shrugged, wondering if a swim would actually take away from the heat. "Left it at home, man. How long do you plan on staying out here? UV rays can seriously fuck you up at my age." "Your age? You're feeling old? What's this bullshit?" Joe sat up a little. Steven shook his head, bracelets jangling when he pushed his hair out of his eyes. "No bullshit. Feeling old got's nothing to do with it, man. It's just not feeling so young. There's a difference." He stopped drinking when Joe's hand came to rest on his arm. It was warm and heavy; something else he remembered. Joe's touch had weight to it. Much more than groupies and random fuck buddies. It held memories of years and yearning along with full blown lust. It was irreplaceable and unforgettable, but then it was gone again as Joe reached for his own water. Steven listened to the plan for dinner, which sounded pretty laid back. Returning to his room after another half hour, he worked out the lyrics in his head, took a long shower and spent most of his time picking through his clothing for something to wear to dinner. "Come in!" Yelling at the door, Steven grinned when Joe came into his suite. He had a blazer over his t-shirt, so apparently he wasn't wrong for dressing for dinner. They chatted while the staff set the table and brought in the food on silver chargers. It was pretty nice for room service. Settling into his seat, Joe sat back and waved a hand at the spread. "Not bad, right? Good food, good company. Gotta have a good time, don't we? Like before." Lifting the cover off of a dish, Steven stared at the handsome face sitting across from him. "Before? I think we gave up half the shit that made before so good," he said quietly, waiting for how long it took for Joe to reach for the hot sauce. Joe didn't make a move, but put his fork down, leaving his quesadilla untouched. "So what about the stuff we haven't given up? What about that?" Joe looked serious and his voice was serious, but the singer laughed, pouring more salsa on his food. "That's funny to you?" "No, man. It's not, it's just - hell. It's not what it used to be, you know?" Steven's smile faltered a bit when Joe touched his hand across the table. Such a simple movement shouldn't have made such a difference. It wasn't fair that he could be affected by a little thing like a pat on the hand. He didn't know who had gotten out of their seat first, but neither of the men seemed overly concerned as they grasped, groped and found one another's mouths. The only thing better than performing with Joe was sharing the same space, the same breath with him. Their clothes were shed in a heap of designer labels beside the sofa, the bottle of massage oil in the gift basket fumbled out with a grin and a giggle. No, he wasn't the youngster that would take a hard fun fucking and wake up to make music, or love and not much caring which one he found. This would be slow and possibly emotional. This would be felt beyond a hot mouth, swollen cocks and the climax, but that felt okay, in Steven's opinion. Some things just improved with time.
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