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DRIVE Disclaimer: Not true, don’t know them, don’t own them. Thanks: To Kyla, Silvia, and Joie for being phenomenal betas. Notes 1: Written in response to Wax Jism’s Autumn Songfic Challenge. Lyrics used were from Up Against the Wall. Notes 2: No, I don’t know for sure if the motorcycle used in the TP shoot actually a Softail, but it’s an educated guess. Chris likes driving. In a car, yes. On his bike, certainly. He appreciates the open road. There is something romantic about it, because the road itself represents endless possibility. As long as it's there, stretched out flat in front of him, there's a place to go. There are options.
He hates driving alone, though, because the “romantic” roads get long and monotonous without someone along to keep him company.
He tried driving with Lance, once, and only once. He'd thought Lance would make a good navigator, as meticulous as he was, but Chris learned quickly that meticulous was just the word polite people used for anal. He and Lance were like oil and water, and after that one trip they both vowed never to go anywhere together again that didn’t involve mass transit.
Justin was the worst backseat driver on the planet. Chris couldn’t switch lanes without being second-guessed and, frankly, it pissed him off. The kid had been in kindergarten when Chris was getting his learner's permit, and he thought Justin really ought to show some respect.
Joey was fine and all, but he didn’t like driving. He didn’t understand Chris’ fascination. He just tolerated it. And it wasn’t fun if your partner wasn’t at least a little enthusiastic.
JC, though, JC seemed to get it. Chris never would have guessed that JC, of all people, would be his kindred spirit when it came to love of the open road, but he had a feel for its rhythms like no one else. JC knew when to be silent, and when to speak, and exactly what CD to put in to fit the mood. Pretty soon Chris didn’t go driving with any of the others. So it was natural to ask JC if he wanted to try riding along on his motorcycle, too. Chris can’t tell a lie to save his life. Oh, sure, his stories are convincing enough, but his eyes always tell the truth. It’s like he never learned how to hood them, how to properly cloak them to keep the world from knowing every little thing that’s going on inside his head.
JC thinks it’s kind of cute.
So when Chris asks him to go for a ride on his Harley and tries to play it off like it’s no big deal, JC can see the barely contained hope in his eyes clear as day. JC smiles and nods.
JC likes the Harley. He says he likes the way it feels under him, the purr of the motor, the way his whole body vibrates when it’s in motion. It’s fluid, freeing. It feels like dancing. Chris thinks he could get used to having JC there, behind him. Sometimes, when they’re on a sharp curve, he takes it a little too fast, because then JC wraps his arms a little more tightly around him as they lean into it, tucking his chin against Chris’ shoulder.
Chris, for his part, starts reading the art section of the paper more closely. He’ll clip out articles about gallery openings or advertisements for wine tastings and leave them laying out where JC will see them, then try to gauge JC’s level of interest.
“Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?” Chris asks.
JC nods. “It’s about more than bikes, that’s for sure. I think you’d be into it. That for me?” he asks, nodding at the package.
Chris slides the package across the table and immediately starts to fidget nervously. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, “just something I thought you might need.”
Inside the box is a leather racing jacket. JC pulls it out and looks at Chris, momentarily speechless.
“It’s just,” Chris says, “you needed one, you know? Can’t spend the amount of time you do on a bike without the proper gear.”
Chris helps JC into the jacket, which fits like a glove. “C’mere,” he says, pulling JC toward the bathroom, where JC comes face to face with his reflection. He’s encased in smooth, sleek black leather, and even he has to admit he looks hot.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall…” Chris half whispers, then flushes. “You look like a total bad ass,” he chuckles. “Come on, let’s try it out.” Chris knows JC’s getting frustrated, because JC has always been able to tell that there’s more going on than Chris is willing to admit. JC seems to be able to sense it, to see it, even, in the contours of Chris’ face, the way Chris looks at him.
Chris thinks he’s probably falling for JC. Hell, he knows it. He even suspects JC might feel the same, but he can’t bring himself to broach the topic. It’s a conversation long overdue, but he can’t find the words to start it.
They’re cruising along the interstate, in Chris’ car this time, headed back from a night out on the town. “Sweet Jane” is playing low on the stereo, and JC appears to be teetering on the edge between wakefulness and sleep. Chris glances at the console. ‘Okay,’ he thinks, ‘time to make my move.’
He looks back over at JC, whose eyes are closed now. The wind from the open window is blowing through his hair, and Chris marvels that even in the neon green glow from the dashboard JC still manages to look beautiful. Radiant, even. Chris reaches over to brush a lock of hair from JC’s face, and JC leans into the touch. Chris’ eyes rise from his hand to see JC staring back at him. His breath catches in his throat, and he’s almost ready to say something, the words are on the edge of his tongue, when he’s jerked from his reverie by the sharp blare of a car horn.
The moment’s gone. Chris curses under his breath.
Across from him, JC does the same. A few days later the group is scheduled to shoot the cover for Teen People. Chris and JC arrive at the site together, fresh from a photography exhibit JC’d been dying to see. Chris had let JC drive.
JC smiles sweetly at him, patting his cheek and walking off in the direction of Justin and Lance, who are talking with the photographer, someone Chris doesn’t think they’ve worked with before.
Joey slaps his arm around Chris, chuckling. “You’ve got it bad. You know how I know you’ve got it bad? You let someone else drive.”
“Shut up,” Chris says, ducking out of his hold. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, but he won’t look Joey in the eyes.
“Whatever, man,” Joey responds. “You know that I don’t care at all, I just want you to be happy.”
The two of them wander up to where the others are assembled. JC’s talking animatedly with the guy running the shoot, and Chris catches bits and pieces of the conversation, JC asking something about the Twin-Cam and what the lean angle is.
“It’s a Harley, right?” JC asks, and Justin rolls his eyes. “Looks like an old Softail…” Justin’s jaw drops at that, and Chris can’t help but grin.
“That’s right,” the photographer says, chuckling. “You know your bikes.”
“I’ve got a good teacher,” JC responds, his warm eyes darting quickly in Chris’ direction. Chris is looking at the ground and blushing.
When it comes time to take the pictures, JC gets the seat of honor, right in the center. As they’re walking to the car, JC nudges Chris’ shoulder. “It was weird, you know.”
“What?” Chris asks.
“Being on the bike by myself. Felt wrong somehow.”
Chris stops and looks at JC. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” JC looks at him expectantly. Chris just stares back, looking equal parts hopeful and uneasy.
JC can read him like a book, and he’s tired of waiting for Chris to turn the page. So he reaches in and kisses Chris. It’s rough and hard and fast, and there’s no question who’s in the driver’s seat.
JC pulls back and looks at Chris, who’s just as breathless as he is. “You all right?” he asks.
~fin~ Feedback
cherished || Shadowlands
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