Disclaimer: I know no one mentioned in this story. None of this is true. Don't read if you're too young or too immature to handle it.
Feedback, as always, is appreciated and can be received at FishofHappiness@aol.com.
The title for this chapter comes from the Sting's "Desert Rose".
Happy Holidays, everyone. :o)
The Magnificent Journey Part 7: "I dream of rain"
A slight chuckle on Chris's behalf, along with another, shorter and lighter kiss on the lips was the only response Lance got. It was the only response either of them needed. If only they hadn't been in a car, separated from each other by cup holders and cups and other miscellaneous junk, Lance would have been all over Chris. The 'albino' could give a whole new meaning to the phrase 'like white on rice', but as it was, he was forced to pull away. As he did, he took notice of something out the front window.
"Um, Chris?"
"Yeah, doll?"
Chris had a penchant for pet names, especially when he was in a relationship he actually cared about. Something about being called by one made Lance's heart soar. "What state are we in?"
"I... could not tell you. Closer to home?"
It was Lance's turn to chuckle then. "You could guess so."
"Why? What's up?"
"I think we've just attracted the attention of some good ol' Southern Rednecks."
Chris's head went up at that, and he quickly looked out at what Lance had been looking at. Sure enough, there stood people bedecked in only the finest of old Army fatigues. More then one 'group' of them, too. After all, they could only fit so many people in the black monster-size truck they had (complete with bug-splat-preventing 'bra' and rifle rack), and there were a good five or so in the party. Chris turned back to Lance, and, if anything, his smile grew even more evil.
"Chris... What are you up to?"
Lance knew, though. Oh, how he knew. The token protest was just to keep up with the game, and somehow Lance thought Chris knew that, too, because his smile grew to an almost Cheshire-Catlike grin. Chris grabbed his face, and pulled Lance into an even more passionate kiss. Lance kept up the token protest for a second longer, before his hands went to tangle in Chris's shirt and pull him closer. They were groping each other's upper bodies, kissing so hard that Lance would have bet that they really -were- going to suck each others' tonsils out. It was so good, so very good, and oh-so-fleeting. It seemed like both mere seconds and thoughtless eternity before Chris pulled away, breathing as hard as Lance knew he was. "One for the road, Lance."
They laughed again, and Lance had to resist the urge to nuzzle Chris, and then they pulled apart. Chris put the key in the ignition, Lance munched on more of the food, and both gave a quick once-over check of the rednecks. Oh, they looked pissed. It made the two grin. Then the rednecks seemed to finagle their one-celled-brains to the point that they got a plan, and they headed off for their respective vehicles.
"Oh, shit, Chris. You better floor it, I think they're gonna try to catch us."
Lance was cracking up even as he said it. Chris was already pulling out, moving as fast as the p.o.s. rental car could move. They were safe enough, and they knew it. Chris withstood the silent trembling for a couple more seconds, and then he, too, cracked up. It was just too funny. Caught by ignorant, intolerant rednecks (as opposed to the more tolerant, truly nice redneckish-people that they both knew and considered friends) on their very first kiss.
The laughter calmed one they had gotten back onto the highway, but the good mood remained. Why wouldn't it? They were on exciting ground, here. New relationship. New love. New friends. It could be good, and they just knew it. Somewhere along this very highway, the desert had become trees, the occasional foliage had become kudzu, and Lance had become Chris's. And visa versa, for the last one anyway.
It started to rain, decently hard. All Lance could think of was rebirth and baptism. The roof dripped, just enough so that they both got misted, but that was okay. When a person is truly happy, very little could bother them, and they were both very, very happy.
Chris reached out, and took Lance's hand in his. More connection, more strength. It was a good thing. When Chris spoke, it was an even better thing. "Hey, Lance. There's a place up ahead, with a few motels and junk. You think we could talk one of the hotel attendants into letting us stay the night free? Provided we sign something or take pictures or whatnot?"
Chris was rubbing Lance's upper hand with his thumb, lightly, sensually. Just enough to let Lance know exactly what Chris meant. "I think it's certainly worth a try."
There was no verbal response, just a grin and another hand squeeze before Chris pulled off the main highway into yet another town, and started to look for a motel. Some place with a pretty, oblivious girl at the check-in desk.
Oh, yeah. Lance could tell that this was gonna be a night to remember.