the spaces between
James is so small, Michael thinks, watching him stretch out in the seat next to his on the plane. It's a private jet, courtesy of the producers to take them around on their media tour. A redeye to New York City is tonight, but Michael can't sleep. They'll be landing soon, and all he's done is read and watch James sleep. He feels a little creepy.
But not creepy enough to stop.
"Stop watching me," James mumbles, rolling over. He cracks an eye open. "I can hear your thoughts."
Michael laughs, loud and unexpected.
"Can you?" he purrs. "I think you're mistaken. You know you're not actually Charles Xavier."
"That's what you think," James mumbles, rolling back over.
--
While the producers have splurged on the plane, they obviously skimped on the room, because they have to room together.
"Excuse me?" Michael asks the attendant groggily. "We're supposed to be in different rooms." The attendant just shrugs, and Michael is way too tired to fight it. Besides, he's not a diva. That's not his style.
So, instead, he sighs and takes the packet with the keys, leading James to the room.
--
There's only one bed.
This just keeps getting better and better. It's at least a king sized bed, though, so it's not like they'll be awkwardly smashed together trying to stay on the mattress.
"I can call down for a roll-away," Michael offers, but James is already face planted onto the mattress. Michael sighs, smiling to himself a little, and takes off his friend's shoes and socks, fights him out of his jacket and pants and shoves him under the covers. He changes into his own pijamas in the bathroom--just in case James wakes up or something-- and goes out to join him.
He falls asleep almost immediately.
--
He wakes up with James' face pressed into his neck, and a hand on his chest. Michael sits up the best he can without jostling the other man and goes to take a shower.
He can't handle this at 7 in the morning.
It is rather nice, though, Michael thinks as he soaps himself up with whatever the hotel has provided. (It smells a little weird, like cucumber and passion fruit, definitely not something Michael uses, but he doesn't want to make a lot of noise by digging through his stuff.) It's nice that he and James are comfortable enough with each other that they can sleep in the same bed. And he always notices the little touches James gives him on his shoulder or his leg. He knows James doesn't mean anything by it; James is married for Christ's sake. It's just, nice, is all.
He steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, slipping back into the room to get some clothes. James looks like he's still asleep, so Michael creeps as quietly as he can. The floor squeaks loudly.
"I'd thought you left," James says from the bed, not opening his eyes. "Gotten another room or something with your own money."
"Ah, no," Michael answers, his ass in the air, hands paused on a pair of boxers. "I can if you want, though. If this is weird." They'll be in New York for a couple of days, at least. He doesn't want it to be awkward.
"No, it's fine," James answers.
"Alright," Michael says, clearing his throat. He gathers his clothes and moves into the bathroom again. Right before the door closes he sees James sit up and hears him mumble,
"You don't have to change in there."
Michael does anyway.
--
James is very, very trashed.
They've just done a joint interview for some show-- Michael can't even remember which one-- and now there's an afterparty at some chic restaurant and people are definitely trying to impress them. There's girls everywhere, and one in particular is pressed against James' side. Michael can see the silver glitter from her dress rubbing off on his jacket, and all of a sudden he feels hot. And angry.
He clears his throat loudly and stands, perhaps a little drunk himself judging from how dizzy he is. He manages to wrestle James away from the silver demon and lead him out.
"You're married, mate, I know your wife wouldn't like the looks of her," he mumbles against James' ear as they walk, an arm securely around the other man, holding him up. James is leaning heavily against his shoulder and getting the disgusting glitter all over him, but Michael doesn't care. He just wants to get back.
When they make it to the room, Michael sets him down gently on the bed and leans in to take off James' jacket. James' hand catches his as he pulls the jacket off his arms, and they look at each other.
The room is quiet, except for the buzz of the air conditioner in the corner and the television next door. All Michael hears is pounding in his ears, like drums far off in the distance and suddenly very close. James' holds his gaze and his arm for a good fifteen seconds before his eyes drop to Michael's lips and he licks his own. Michael's breath hitches as James presses forward slowly, their foreheads hitting first and their lips come crashing after and Michael feels like he's drowning.
James' grip on his wrist tightens as Michael pushes forward, deepening their kiss and bringing his free hand to cradle the back of James' neck. James gasps into his mouth as the hand tugs on his hair and Michael takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in, to explore.
Michael feels hot all over, weak with it as he pulls back and gasps for air. He tries to get up but James still has his wrist, so Michael tugs but James pulls and doesn't let go. They're both breathing hard through their noses, and it takes awhile before Michael speaks.
"You're married," he says, because it's all he can think of. Not, 'I don't like men' or 'you're one of my best friends' or 'we can't do this.' It's just 'you're married,' like James has betrayed him even before they met or knew this would happen.
"I know," James says, but he can't stop looking at Michael's lips and Michael can tell.
It's quite for another long moment before Michael takes off his jacket, kicks off his shoes and bends down to pull of James' shoes. He looks up from his position, and James is still staring at his lips. He reaches a hand out to card through Michael's hair, and Michael closes his eyes and leans into the touch.
"You're going to break my heart, aren't you?" Michael asks, moving up and forward, pushing James down on the bed. He goes easily, without protest, his hands still in Michael's hair.
"It's very likely."
Michael kisses him.
--
Michael slides his hands under James' unbuttoned shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and down his back. His hands smooth over the other man's skin, and his mouth follows, leaving a trail of kisses after his fingerprints. His mouth catches a nipple and Michael grins as he feels James' stomach tighten and his breath catch.
"Like that, do you?" he asks, smiling up at him, and James whimpers.
"Shut up."
"Gladly," Michael says, and presses their mouths together.
It's lazy at first and slow. Not gentle, just careful touches with hints of something sharper just underneath. When James rolls them over, though, and slides down Michael's body to peel off his pants and underwear and take him into his mouth without a word, Michael shudders, his hips stuttering but James' sure hands catch them and press them back into the mattress, rendering him immobile.
James brings him to the edge, sucking and licking and kissing, his hands drawing pictures that burn into the skin on his thighs. It's too much, and Michael has to stop him, grab at him and pull him up so they can kiss again and Michael can wrestle James out of his pants.
The first skin on skin contact is electric, when their hips brush together they both gasp, Michael's hand reaching around to grip James' ass, pulling him down as his own hips grind up. He can see a blush gathering on James' cheeks and down his neck, the tops of his shoulders. He picks up the pace and James' mouth falls open and he lets out a noise that makes Michael's hips stutter in their rhythm. James leans down for a kiss and they move together until the world goes white and fire spreads through their veins.
--