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 Posted: Thu Dec 22, 2011 8:16 pm
"Okay!" he finally snapped, unable to take the constant questions when he was already feeling uncomfortable and unsure of his decisions. "Damnit, Paris. Obviously we're going somewhere, just let me ******** drive!"
He felt guilty immediately and clamped his mouth shut before he was able to say anything else, lifting a hand to rub at his face as if that would help him to stop losing his temper. That was stupid of him. Of course Paris was going to be curious. And of course he was going to ask questions when he wasn't giving any answers and wasn't indicating anything about what his plans were. And he felt like a jerk for losing his cool over a simple question.
"Sorry... I'm sorry," he quickly apologized, still tense but his voice was no longer harsh. A little forced maybe, but that was mostly due to the guilt and frustration.
He didn't say any more than that, though. What else could he say? Or rather... what else could he say that wouldn't make him feel really uncomfortable...?
Either way, he eventually took a few rights and got back onto the road leading to their destination once more, but this time he didn't pass by it.
He pulled into the parking lot of an old, but relatively well-kept hotel. The car came to a stop in front of a door numbered 10, and as soon as the engine was turned off, Chris practically threw himself out of the car, not wanting to wait and hear if Paris had any more questions. He didn't think he'd be able to handle more questions when part of him was questioning himself at the same time.
Instead, he pocketed his car keys and pulled out another, stepping up to the door with the 10 on it and doing his best not to fumble with the lock in the moderate darkness and cold.
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Posted: Thu Dec 22, 2011 8:25 pm
Paris didn’t even flinch when Chris snapped at him. He frowned and narrowed his eyes to carefully study his reaction, but he didn’t respond to it and he didn’t let it affect his mood too much. He couldn’t allow himself to be angry. That would just make the situation worse. Instead, he remained curious, but asked no more questions.
Chris’s temper was a fickle beast. Certain things would always set him off, and then there were other times when it came so suddenly that it could have been anything or nothing. Paris had no idea what had caused it this time, except for his many attempts to get him to open up about what they were doing. Chris obviously wasn’t of a mind to answer him. He wanted whatever he was planning to be easy. He wanted Paris to go along with it. He didn’t want to be told “no” and he didn’t want to be bombarded with questions.
It was selfishness, Paris decided, feeding in to the anger Chris had been carrying around since September. It made him seem like a child—spoiled, demanding, overindulged by the parents who gave him everything. Chris knew what he wanted, and he hated not getting it.
They were quite similar in that respect, though Paris hadn’t noticed it before, not until he’d taken away what Chris had wanted, that fantasy of his, the picture of a pretty, perfect girlfriend.
Before, they’d both been perfect in the other’s eyes. Now they couldn’t look at one another without seeing their flaws.
When they finally pulled to a stop and Paris saw where they were, and that Chris intended to actually get out and go inside, his eyes widened and he sat in the passenger seat for a few seconds looking shocked and flabbergasted, before quickly undoing his seat-belt and grabbing his purse and going after his ex, grabbing onto his arm before Chris could successfully unlock the motel room door.
“Chris, what are you doing?!” he asked. He couldn’t have stopped gaping if he tried.
In Paris’s experience, there were only three reasons why someone would stay at a cheap motel. The first two were completely innocent—vacations or issues at home that necessitated a few nights away, but this obviously wasn’t a vacation and Chris had plenty of other places to stay if there was something wrong with his apartment.
Which left them with reason number three, which wasn’t innocent at all.
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Posted: Thu Dec 22, 2011 8:33 pm
Chris tensed as Paris grabbed onto his arm, but he pulled it away from him and continued to unlock the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. He knew there would be no turning back at this point. At least for him. He'd made up his mind and he knew what he wanted. It was just all a matter of if Paris would follow him inside or not. He had plenty of reasons not to. Chris hadn't exactly been the most stable person, temperance-wise. He had problems with his temper, punching teammates, getting jealous over stupid things, but after thinking long and hard about what he wanted... Well, it was worth a shot, right?
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked, not glancing over his shoulder as he moved into the room. He first went over to the window next to the door and pulled on the string that would shut the blinds. Next he went over to the table in between the two beds to turn on the light so they could at least see.
He could tell that Paris's reaction was that of surprise, and he wondered if he was going to back out. The whole thing would have been pointless if he did. Or heck, they could just talk for all he cared. What he knew was that despite the fact that Paris was a boy, it didn't take away the chemistry Chris knew they had. They'd dated for a while before Paris told him the truth, and even then he hadn't believed him. Not at first, anyway. If it hadn't been for Paris's expression and the pleading of his words, Chris would have thought he was just pulling a dumb prank on him.
Paris, with his lies and sincerity, had given him a chance to... open his mind, for lack of a better description. His attraction to Paris the girl hadn't diminished now that he knew he was really a boy. Granted, he'd never really cared for much above the thigh, so the fact that Paris had been a flat chested girl hadn't bothered him at all. He was a dancer, he had nice legs, and Chris liked nice legs. It was a dangerous combination.
But one thing he knew for sure — whatever happened, he was determined that nothing would change for worse. He wouldn't let it.
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Posted: Thu Dec 22, 2011 8:44 pm
Standing wide-eyed and open mouthed in the doorway, Paris watched as Chris shut the blinds for privacy and then crossed through the room to switch on a lamp.
His mind was racing. He didn’t want to think that this was what Chris had been intending all along, but there didn’t seem to be any other explanation. They were at a motel. Chris had taken him to a motel. If he’d ever gotten the vibes that Chris was a potential ax murderer in disguise, he might have been worried. Instead, he was very shocked, wildly confused, part hopeful, and, yes, still somewhat worried, but only because he was starting to question Chris’s sanity.
Had his ex hit his head on something? Had his nights out on patrols somehow resulted in an injury Paris hadn’t known about that rearranged some of the synapses in Chris’s brain?
“Uhh,” he replied. He knew he sounded dumb and not at all like his usual confident self, but being utterly dumbfounded tended to do that to a person. “It looks like you’re… renting out a motel room to do… things…”
Everything made sense and didn’t make sense at the same time. Chris had planned this. Chris had gotten the key to the room before driving to his house—because he hadn’t wanted to rouse Paris’s father? Because his apartment held too many memories? Chris had insisted that Paris come with him, had perhaps lost his nerve a bit along the way, but had regained it enough to take him here.
Why, though? Because he still wanted? Even knowing that Paris had lied? Even knowing that Paris was a boy? Chris had wanted him before. Did he want him now? Did he want him still? Paris did. Despite how much he’d been hurt, despite how much he’d been broken, he still wanted Chris, too, more than he’d ever wanted anyone, more than he’d ever want anyone again, because with Chris it was more than just desire.
It was need—a need so powerful, so heavy, so consuming Paris felt it filling him again, urging him to forget the pain, to forget the anger and the heartache and the confusion they’d both caused one another.
“Chris,” he tried again, quietly, like they were under some sort of spell and a single loud noise might break it. “Do you know what you’re doing? I mean… are you sure about… this, or… whatever…?”
Because he didn’t want to be led on. He didn’t want to be filled with false hopes, only to be disappointed in the end.
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Posted: Thu Dec 22, 2011 8:51 pm
The room was small and dated, but clean and functional. It had a small bathroom in one of the corners, and in the main part of the room were the two beds with the table between. A dresser with an old television set stood against the wall opposite the beds, and in the corner there was a single chair, probably to make the room look not as bare as it would have without it.
Chris made his way over to the chair, unbuttoning his jacket as he did so, and trying not to snap at Paris for just standing in the doorway and not following him in. He knew it was too much to expect, especially after everything they'd been though, the heartbreak they've both experienced, but he wished that Paris would... trust him more or something! Of course, he knew it had nothing to do with trust! But still. It was frustrating and, surprisingly, made him even more determined.
He shrugged off the jacket and tossed it on the back of the chair, his eyes closed and teeth gnashed shut as if that would keep him from saying something he would later regret, or something that would have Paris backing away and leaving. He didn't understand why he was getting so worked up already, especially when there was nothing to trigger his temper. Not really, at least. The fact that Paris was apparently questioning his ability to think things through kind of set him on edge.
Of course he knew what he was doing. Paris had lead him on for how many months? All that time, pretending to be a girl, but not letting him get close enough to take their relationship to a more physical plane. Instead he'd waited patiently for her to be 'ready' and then to find out that Paris had been a boy the whole time? It still made him bitter from time to time, knowing that he'd spent so much time on a relationship that was never meant to be in the first place. But even more so, it made him confused and frustrated knowing that he still thought about Paris and how much different it would really be. Third base might have been good (or bad) enough before, but now? And it wasn't like he was making this decision blindly, without knowing what he was getting himself into. He'd had enough s**t to deal with, being a superhero of sorts, that when it came to his personal life, he was finding that he was losing his give-a-s**t for what others thought about him. His parents wouldn't care if anything came from this thing with Paris, and if his friends wrote him off, were they really his friends to begin with?
His sweater vest was next, ruffling his hair in the process, before it joined the jacket tossed on the chair. His shirt and undershirt followed suit, which he unbuttoned just enough to fit over his head and pulled them out from his pants before they were yanked off and practically thrown to the side.
Paris was still standing in the door. He knew because he could still feel the chill breeze coming in from outside. He turned slowly, his mouth still shut but his eyes open and locking onto Paris's blue-green eyes. The expression on Paris's face had him hesitating a moment, not sure what emotions he was seeing, but he was pretty sure they weren't all that confident. He almost looked... scared...? Of what? Of him...?
Chris swallowed, as if to keep his second thoughts from surfacing, and took the few, deliberate steps towards where Paris was standing in the doorway. He shivered from the cold, but couldn't bother himself to pay much attention to the temperature. Instead, he settled with answering Paris's questions with the best way he knew he could.
He leaned down to press their mouths together, his hands grabbing hold of Paris's jacket to try and pull him inside. But there was nothing romantic or sentimental about the kiss. It was hard and almost desperate, but confident still. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he wanted Paris to know that he wasn't backing out of this. Whatever happened tonight, Chris wasn't going to regret it in the morning.
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Posted: Thu Dec 22, 2011 8:59 pm
Paris wasn’t scared. He didn’t have any reason to be. Worried? Yes. But scared? No. He wasn’t even worried for himself, but for Chris—who, while not out of his mind, at least seemed to be acting impulsively.
Actions made on impulse weren’t always actions that engendered any sort of pride in the doer. Chris, though usually responsible and most of the times cautious, had more of an impulsive streak than Paris had realized, but which he’d been growing more in tune with as he’d helped Chris with his injuries and heard of his encounters with certain Negaverse agents. Only impulsiveness—or bravery bordering on insanity—could lead someone so normally level-headed to seek out a Negaverse general on his own simply for the pleasure of their company and conversation. Paris would never quite understand what made him think that was a good idea, but now wasn’t the time or the place to be concerning himself with that issue.
He had other worries.
Paris watched as Chris crossed through the room and removed his coat, sweater-vest and shirt, goggling at him with his mouth agape. Again, he wanted to ask him what he thought his was doing, but his throat was suddenly tight and the words wouldn’t come. The answer to that was simple enough, in any case, though it didn’t make any sense to him. It all seemed rather sudden, and unlike Chris to jump right in without any warning.
Or perhaps he’d just been missing the signs, or choosing not to see them in his efforts not to allow himself to hope. How many people had insinuated over the last two months that what he wanted wasn’t entirely out of the question? And Chris had called him before anyone else when he’d been hurt. That had to count for something, he thought. And Chris had been sending him flowers, too—not all at once, but individually, with notes attached. Meaningful notes.
’Here’s to creating something beautiful.’
That had to mean something, didn’t it?
He didn’t move when Chris approached him, just stood there staring up at him, standing in the doorway indecisively. He didn’t struggle when his jacket was grabbed onto, but when he was kissed…
He wondered if this was too much, too fast. He wondered if Chris would be able to go through with it, or if he’d back out in the middle, or even before they truly began. He wondered if either of them would regret it in the morning.
But then he remembered all the good things that had been, and all the things he wanted to have again.
And the kiss, harsh as it was, turned out to be all the encouragement Paris needed.
He moved forward, reached back, and shut the door.
((Lol. Just before midnight. Happy Birthday to me.))
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