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He wouldn't call it a routine, really, but that was mainly because Oli hated routine. Too close to mundane.
It was a Thing, a Regular Thing even, and anything that got in the way was met with annoyance-bordering-on-hostility from Oli - not Chris, because Chris could just shrug and get his kicks from Long later.
Out of the van at what-the-fuck in the morning, he'd take the time to both lock up and double-check that the key was in his pocket - lessons he'd learned more times than he'd like to admit - and saunter past the bored clerk, up the elevator, down the hall to whichever room had the door cracked. Slip in, cough twice, into the bathroom to get settled in the shower.
If Chris were reasonably alert, he'd be climbing in the shower before Oli'd had the chance to get really wet. Oli, to be quite honest, actually preferred it when Chris was too asleep or too oblivious to hear the door click or the two coughs or the shower starting.
Chris was no klutz, but when he was in a hurry he did a fair impression of one. Maybe Oli'd given him the impression he was impatient, so desperate for dick he could hardly stand to wait, because with alarming regularity Chris would smack into something the nights he missed his cue, with a thud and a curse not enough to wake dead-to-the-world Long but just enough to alert Oli.
He'd hurry up and turn the shower off - if it was on, Chris would just climb on in, and by then there wouldn't be enough hot water left to last through a good fuck but neither one of them would remember that. Freezing water pelting his skin ten seconds from orgasm wasn't a sensation Oli planned to experience again in this lifetime.
Shower off, he'd climb out, and either be waiting (and, if the girls were to be believed, looking rather drop-dead sexy) or halfway between in and out (and perhaps more awkward than sexy).
Chris closed the door and locked it, as if there was any chance of Long waking up. Even if he did, Oli was fairly sure the man was capable of noticing Chris out of bed and the bathroom door closed and putting two and two together.
And Hell, if neither of those, the noises coming from inside would probably tip off even the most oblivious of bandmates.
When Chris kissed him it almost felt like a formality, more "we're friends so I owe you more foreplay than any old vacant hole" than "I want to kiss you". Not that he minded, really, but then he couldn't say with any certainty he'd mind being treated like a vacant hole. All he was after was a good fuck, good orgasm, some stress relief, he couldn't really fault Chris for being after the same.
So Chris kissed him like a matter of formality and Oli returned it as a matter of politeness, and God only knew why they kept it up.
Chris' hands, however, were a different story altogether, and more than made up for whatever passion was missing from his lips. Obscene, like so many things about Chris the first word that Oli could think of was "obscene" and it fit so well he never bothered to think of others.
They were never still, and never left his skin - darting over every inch he could possibly reach, a pinch here, squeeze there, Oli jerking and arching to guide touches that ranged from feather-light to near-painful.
Chris never really bothered with Oli's none-too-subtle suggestions; Oli just kissed him a little harder (intensity being a fair substitute for passion) and kept twisting.
His cock, half-hard, rubbed against Chris' thigh, bumping into Chris' own, sending jolts of electricity through his veins to meet those darting out from Chris' fingertips.
On a good night, they could probably shut off the lights and see fine by the sparks electrifying Oli's bloodstream.
The formality - more accurate word than foreplay, really - ended when Chris wanted it to, and only then. Oli, not normally the sort to shut up and do what he was told, rather enjoyed letting Chris dictate their raunchy little encounters. Twenty minutes of being bossed around was quite enough to fill whatever corners of him desired that sort of thing.
So he was fine letting Chris push and pull and maneuver him to bend over the counter - they never fucked face-to-face, God no. No sense in blurring the line between buddies and vacant hole-slash-vacant hole filler too much. That was better left to Long and Chris.
Oli just wanted to get off. No muss, no fuss.
No gentleness, either. Chris was rough; two fingers to start, hard, fast thrusts, never quite enough lube but never quite not enough, either. Oli's cock hardened fully under the assault of those fingers, those fingers that twisted rubbed curled thrust, that had his hips jerking almost against his will.
His cock throbbed, pulsed with his heartbeat, skin strained as it swelled. Chris hit somewhere different and Oli shouted - not yelped, mind you, that was most definitely a slightly high shout, no yelp - and bucked his hips.
Chris took his sweet time, added a third finger and kept up the almost-violent pace until Oli wanted to reach back and smack him, at the very least tell him to hurry the bloody fuck up.
Not so much like a mind reader as a horny bloke who was taking the inevitable next step towards getting off, Chris pulled his fingers out just before Oli really did smack him. Slicked up - not too slick, of course, but just enough - and the blunt head of his cock was inside Oli.
Oli groaned and arched, pushed back, too impatient to let Chris be as slow as he probably wanted to be. And for once, Chris obliged, gripping Oli's hips and pushing to the hilt in one thrust.
It hurt, burned a bit, but it didn't really fucking matter Oli was so desperate to get off by then. He ground his hips back against Chris, jerking and grunting and clutching the counter till his knuckles turned white. The sparks in his veins flared, shooting down his spine, settling into the small of his back and waiting for the rhythmic thrusts of Chris' hips to turn his blood to petrol and set off the explosion he was after.
Chris thrust so violently Oli worried he'd smash his head on the mirror, howled - not one to keep it quiet, Chris - and dug furrows in Oli's hips as he came, grinding until he'd spilled the last drop.
After a second - what felt like a very long second to his aching dick - to recover, Chris slid a hand around and wrapped it around Oli's cock, jerking just as roughly and violently as he'd fucked Oli.
Oli arched his back and thrust his hips, fucking into the tight grip of Chris' slick hand until the sparks took and orgasm exploded through him and out of him.
The world, after several minutes, came back into focus, damp tile cold under bare feet. Oli ducked around Chris to gather up his clothes, get dressed, and get out; halfway from the bathroom to the door a sleepy voice in the silent darkness made him jump.
"Roo? Come the fuck back to bed, it's cold."
Oli just looked in the vague direction of Long's voice for one of those odd amounts of time that felt longer than it really was.
And then he shrugged and headed back to the solitude of the blue van.
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