Popslash: Hana hou (Chris/Lance)
I wanted to do a picspam for Trickyfish Day, but I'm staying with my parents for the weekend, and I forgot to prepare, so I thought I'd write instead. It's not very long, but I hope you enjoy it!
"Hana hou" means "Do it again" in Hawaiian.
Hana hou
Somewhere in a Chinese province a sack of rice might or might not be falling over, and somewhere on a beach on Oahu Lance turns onto his stomach and raises his eyebrows at Chris. They barely make it to the hotel room. There's still grainy sand between Lance's toes when he shouts out Chris' name, fingers twisted in Chris' hair.
"We're in love," Chris announces at breakfast, putting his hand over Lance's on the table.
Lance yanks his hand away. Justin's actually got milk dripping from the corner of his mouth as it hangs open. "No, we're not," Lance says and gets up for more pancakes.
"Just admit it, Bass," Chris says later. He's lying on Lance's bed with his head hanging upside down over the edge, throwing a ball against the wall. Thump, thump. It's driving Lance nuts. "You've got the hots for me."
"I don't -" Lance begins, then remembers how the first eight conversations they had about this went and shakes his head, goes back to rubbing sunscreen on his shoulders. Damn albino skin. Not even regular tanning helps.
"I mean, it's understandable," Chris muses. "Ever since we made love -"
"We didn't 'make love'," Lance says hotly and throws the tube at Chris, satisfied when it hits Chris naked belly with a loud smack. "We fucked. It's what two consenting adults do sometimes, without falling in love, or, or..."
Chris uncaps the tube, sniffs at it, squeezes some out. "You know, this is really kind of slick."
Lance sneaks the messed up sheets into JC's room later, then has to apply the sunscreen again, desperately trying not to think about where the rest of it has gone.
"We're having an affair," Chris stage-whispers at breakfast, interrupting a story by JC how he needs to have a word with the hotel manager because housekeeping left him dirty sheets yesterday.
"No, we're not," Lance says automatically and gets up. Coffee. There definitely needs to be more coffee.
He doesn't see much of Chris that morning; Lance leaves him with Justin and JC to built sand castles or whatever while he and Joey have an interview at the local radio station. When they come back, the sand castle has actually been built on JC's back, while JC is snoring peacefully in his lounge chair.
"Halt there, you scoundrels!" Chris cries. "You will not take this fort from us! Aw, shit, now you woke him up."
Lance rolls his eyes and grabs Chris' hand. After the fifth time the radio dj made some stupid boyband joke Lance was ready to murder her, and there is one sure way to cheer him up.
Sex with Chris isn't mind-blowing, but it's good. Chris doesn't spend half the time to get over the fact that he's fucking Lance Bass, either, he just does it. By the time Lance raises his sweaty face from the pillow he's deliciously sore all over and the nice kind of sticky that doesn't make him itch for a shower yet.
"Shit," Chris says, voice rough.
Lance agrees. Something went seriously wrong here, a flaw in the plan, a wrong turn five blocks back. There are no third times in the life of Lance Bass. There's a lot of firsts, and a couple of seconds if the guy is really good, but after that they tend to get attached, so Lance throws them out before they start buying His and His towels. The problem is that it's Chris, and throwing Chris out is like kicking a lost puppy out to die.
"We're starting a relationship," Chris says at breakfast, looking proud.
Lance finds three pairs of eyes on him, ranging from wary to carefully amused. He shrugs and stabs his fork in a pancake on Joey's plate. "We are."
End.
"Hana hou" means "Do it again" in Hawaiian.
Hana hou
Somewhere in a Chinese province a sack of rice might or might not be falling over, and somewhere on a beach on Oahu Lance turns onto his stomach and raises his eyebrows at Chris. They barely make it to the hotel room. There's still grainy sand between Lance's toes when he shouts out Chris' name, fingers twisted in Chris' hair.
"We're in love," Chris announces at breakfast, putting his hand over Lance's on the table.
Lance yanks his hand away. Justin's actually got milk dripping from the corner of his mouth as it hangs open. "No, we're not," Lance says and gets up for more pancakes.
"Just admit it, Bass," Chris says later. He's lying on Lance's bed with his head hanging upside down over the edge, throwing a ball against the wall. Thump, thump. It's driving Lance nuts. "You've got the hots for me."
"I don't -" Lance begins, then remembers how the first eight conversations they had about this went and shakes his head, goes back to rubbing sunscreen on his shoulders. Damn albino skin. Not even regular tanning helps.
"I mean, it's understandable," Chris muses. "Ever since we made love -"
"We didn't 'make love'," Lance says hotly and throws the tube at Chris, satisfied when it hits Chris naked belly with a loud smack. "We fucked. It's what two consenting adults do sometimes, without falling in love, or, or..."
Chris uncaps the tube, sniffs at it, squeezes some out. "You know, this is really kind of slick."
Lance sneaks the messed up sheets into JC's room later, then has to apply the sunscreen again, desperately trying not to think about where the rest of it has gone.
"We're having an affair," Chris stage-whispers at breakfast, interrupting a story by JC how he needs to have a word with the hotel manager because housekeeping left him dirty sheets yesterday.
"No, we're not," Lance says automatically and gets up. Coffee. There definitely needs to be more coffee.
He doesn't see much of Chris that morning; Lance leaves him with Justin and JC to built sand castles or whatever while he and Joey have an interview at the local radio station. When they come back, the sand castle has actually been built on JC's back, while JC is snoring peacefully in his lounge chair.
"Halt there, you scoundrels!" Chris cries. "You will not take this fort from us! Aw, shit, now you woke him up."
Lance rolls his eyes and grabs Chris' hand. After the fifth time the radio dj made some stupid boyband joke Lance was ready to murder her, and there is one sure way to cheer him up.
Sex with Chris isn't mind-blowing, but it's good. Chris doesn't spend half the time to get over the fact that he's fucking Lance Bass, either, he just does it. By the time Lance raises his sweaty face from the pillow he's deliciously sore all over and the nice kind of sticky that doesn't make him itch for a shower yet.
"Shit," Chris says, voice rough.
Lance agrees. Something went seriously wrong here, a flaw in the plan, a wrong turn five blocks back. There are no third times in the life of Lance Bass. There's a lot of firsts, and a couple of seconds if the guy is really good, but after that they tend to get attached, so Lance throws them out before they start buying His and His towels. The problem is that it's Chris, and throwing Chris out is like kicking a lost puppy out to die.
"We're starting a relationship," Chris says at breakfast, looking proud.
Lance finds three pairs of eyes on him, ranging from wary to carefully amused. He shrugs and stabs his fork in a pancake on Joey's plate. "We are."
End.