It's been a week since the release of Santi and Bill wasn't expecting to be so--so exhausted and bored at the same time. He's still high off the anticipation and anxiety of waiting for the album to drop, still on the same insane sleeping patterns he kept while they were doing production and promotion but now there's just--nothing to do. Nothing to do but analyze record sales and reviews, and Bill just feels like all of his strings have been cut.

"I just, you know, I thought we'd be touring right now. Or getting ready to tour. Or. Whatever." Bill rubs his palm over the arm of Travis's couch, feels the slightly-rough pattern against his skin. He feels crinkly, crumpled together and then stretched out, the product of too much hyperactivity going straight into this weird period of down-time.

"Yeah, yeah. Pete kind of left you guys hanging, didn't he?" Travis is outside Bill's line of vision, but he knows what he's doing. He can hear him rummaging through his duffel bag.

"It's just a few weeks delay. I'll find something to do, I'm sure." He can see Travis now out of the corner of his eye, sitting down on the couch next to him with a dime bag in one hand and a pipe the length of Travis's ring finger in the other. The bowl is fucking tiny, not enough to get them truly buzzed, just enough to take the edges off a little. Bill's okay with that--he doesn't really *want* to get stoned out of his mind right now, not when he's finally getting to hang with Travis fir the first time in months. He doesn't want to be totally out of his head, he just wants--

He just wants this. Travis's arm looped easily over his shoulders, pulling him in closer as Travis passes him the pipe and the lighter.

"You should just be happy that the album's done, man. Like, revel in that," Travis says. The smoke tickles thickly in Bill's throat going down and he breathes out through his nostrils, snorting a little before taking another, smaller hit.

"I'm totally happy. I'm thrilled," Bill says, and grins at the sound of his voice, croakier now. "It's just, it's like... like what do I do now? What can I do but obsess over what's going to happen to my baby now?"

Travis snorts. "If you gave birth to a CD that must be one freaky mother." He gives Bill one of those smiles, all teeth and squinched-up eyes, and it's really hard not to smile back around Travis. Like, you'd have to actively make an effort, and Bill is too lazy for that right now. He passes the pipe back and grins when Travis wraps his lips around the pipe and sucks.

"Maybe I'd give birth to a CD if the mother was a robot," William says. "Or a record player, or one of those, like, futuristic-looking stereos? Or something."

"Gettin' it on with a hot stereo mama? Sexy." Travis draws out the 'x' in sexy, making it sound playful and almost. Reptilian, a little. William watches Travis cough into his fist after he takes his hit and thinks about Travis talking like that into his ear, whispering. Making it all dirty.

Two more hits each and then the bowl's done, and Travis empties the ashes out into the trash can. Bill slumps back and stares up at the ceiling.

"You know what I miss? You know what I wish--what I want my life to be like right now?"

"Mm?" Travis is leaning forward instead of back, his elbow resting on his knee and his chin propped up on his elbow, looking at Bill with a half-smile on his face.

"I miss Warped. Last summer, man. When things were all--you know, we were always moving, but it was still, you know, it was. Peaceful. Really... content."

Travis doesn't say anything, just looks at him, blinking once. "Yeah," he says slowly. "Yeah, that was a good time."

William looks back up at the ceiling. The thing about Warped, of course, the thing that they don't ever talk about, is what happened that one night in July. It's been so long that the details have blurred in Bill's mind, and he was so drunk anyway--he's never sure what exactly happened, whether clothes came off or if it was just Travie's tongue in his mouth. It hasn't happened since, and times like this, Bill wants it to.

But. But he's never gone there on purpose, and neither has Travis, and it's been such a long time since the one time they did--whatever, that bringing it up would be weird, and if Bill wanted it to happen again he'd maybe need some kind of... reason, or excuse or something, something beyond just feeling like it.

He doesn't remember how it happened that first time. He really wishes he did, because he has a feeling that Travis's lips on his mouth would be a good memory to have, and Travis's hand down his pants even more so, if they even got to hands-down-the-pants. He's gone back and forth between wanting things to stay just the way they are with Travis and wanting it to happen again since Warped ended, turning what little he can remember over and over in his mind until the incident feels worn at the edges, like if it were a book it would be yellowed and falling apart from too much use.

He has no idea if Travis even remembers it at all.

Travis lies back next to him, giving a loud sigh and letting his head fall down to rest on Bill's shoulder. "Got a show to play in- " he sits up a little to crane his head and see the clock, before settling back down. "Three and a half hours."

Of course. Because Travis is in the middle of a tour, keeping busy and riding on Cupid's Chokehold hitting #1, bailing his drummer out of a Mexican jail and traveling all over the country. Bill's going to fly back to his Chicago apartment after tonight and try to think of who else he can visit to make the time go faster until the start of Honda Civic.

"Lucky you," he mutters, and Travis snorts and slides a hand over Bill's stomach, making the muscles there jump a little. "Seriously. Can I just follow you around on tour or something? Can I be the Gym Class groupie? Or. Or what did Penny Lane call them in that one movie?"

"Oh. Oh, I know what you mean." Travis sits up a little, frowning in concentration and trying to remember. "Shit. It was like. Some special name, right? Because they didn't just have sex with rock stars, they were... they were something. Fuck, that's gonna bug me all night."

"Yeah," Bill nods. "Well, whatever. I could be that. I could be like, your big supporter following you from town to town."

"That'd be cool," Travis says, and taps his fingers on Bill's hipbone a couple of times before taking his hand away.

It would be cool, Bill thinks, and now he kind of wants to do that. Who says that he can't take a few weeks and just follow Travis around? He wouldn't take up much space on their bus. He could probably squeeze into Travis's bunk. That would definitely be cool. He wonders what Travis would do if he actually made that a serious suggestion. Hey, could I seriously just spend the next month by your side? Hey, could we just always be together like this? Hey, would you mind so much if I gave you a declaration of almost-maybe-could-be-sort-of love?

The pot is making him fucking maudlin. Bill scrubs a hand over his face and leaves it there, his arm flung over his eyes. "Seriously. Seriously, Travie, I'm so bored."

"Seriously, Bill, that's so sad," Travis says, sounding genuinely morose. "I'm like. I might cry for you, man."

"Seriously," Bill echoes, because he can't really think of anything more to say. When he glances over at the clock, it's three hours and ten minutes till Travis has to go perform.

***

Bill had expected another three-month gap of not seeing Travis after that, because that's just the way it is for them when it's not Warped. The only friends Bill ever gets to spend enough time with are in his band. It makes him want to somehow drag Travis into The Academy, change their sound to incorporate an MC, or. Or maybe they could just blend Gym Class and The Academy into one band for good, one awesome nine-person band of people Bill wants to spend all day every day with.

But his life appears to be serendipitous, and it turns out that Bill can take time off from interviews and album promotion to head down to the wrap party for Gym Class's new video. It's more than a little silly, flying to Vegas for the party two weeks after he flew to New York just to see Travis, but Bill doesn't see the point of being a rock star if you can't fly all over the place just to hang.

Travis is already in the thick of things by the time Bill gets there, well on his way to being drunk and definitely on another substance or two. His whole face is lit up and he keeps draping himself over people, notably Spencer--"The beard, man, I'm digging the new look, you just *work* that"--and a few girls Bill doesn't recognize. Probably New York people or Vegas, not Chicago people. He's heard that Gabe is here too, somewhere, but from what Bill's heard he disappeared early in the evening, along with Matt and one of the techies from the video. Bill is content to sit back and watch for a while, sipping his Jager, waiting for Travis to notice him.

One of the dancers from the video notices him first, a sweet girl named Grace. She's a little bit tipsy and has a very raucous laugh that's somehow endearing, and when they get to talking she kisses Bill mid-sentence with his mouth open. A little awkward at first, with how Bill's words get totally muffled by her mouth and he almost spills his drink on her, but then they get into a nice rhythm. Wet, warm making out that's not actually going anywhere, and when Bill opens his eyes and looks up he notices Travis watching him from across the room.

He doesn't look pissed or happy, he just looks--well, drunk, but also. Also a little like he's studying Bill, maybe trying to figure him out. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking on Bill's part.

The girl disengages when Bill doesn't look away from Travis, because it makes the angle weird. But she doesn't seem annoyed: she just pecks Bill on the cheek, giggling a little, and wanders off to talk to someone else. Bill gives Travis a little wave and Travis grins suddenly, bounding over to him.

"Hey, *hey!*" Travis says, and now he looks and sounds happy, wrapping Bill into a bear hug. Bill does spill his drink this time, sloshing it on Travis's shirt, but Travis doesn't seem to notice. Bill grins into Travis's shoulder and hugs him back with the hand not holding his drink away, trying to keep more liquid in the glass than on Travis.

"Mm, you smell nice," Bill says when Travis finally lets him go. Which is a redundant statement, because Travis always smells nice. Even his sweat smells better than most gross dude sweat.

"Ha, you smell all skanky," Travis teases, keeping one arm still around Bill's shoulders. "You smell like that girl who was just all over you, man!" His voice is pretty light, bubbly, but Travis's arm tightens a little bit around Bill's shoulders. Bill takes a long gulp of his drink.

"Yeah, well, you know," Bill says, aiming for an airy tone and actually hitting nervous and breathy. "The ladies, the ladies. They love me."

"'Cuz they know you *are* one, oh ho," Travis says, laughing like he's eight. Bill leans into him, tipping so that his head knocks against the brim of Travis's hat.

Travis steals his glass, tipping the last of the drink down his throat. Bill surrenders it willingly, reaching up to curl his fingers in Travis's shirt, tugging a little, the alcohol finally making his limbs feel loose and heavy.

"Hey. Hey, let's go somewhere. It's fucking crowded," he says.

"Just you'n'me, baby?" Travis's voice is high and hyper, his words slurred, but it makes Bill smile anyway. "Yeah, yeah. C'mon, let's." He leads the way, dragging Bill through the throng and onto a little side balcony, twenty yards up above some kind of garden. There are potted cactuses on either side of the balcony. One of them is flowering.

"Dude, it's so dry out here," Travis says, letting go of him. "I'm like, like no wonder Panic's so weird, you know? It's because they never got any rain. Just all sunshine, all the time. Made 'em all scrawny and successful."

"I guess that makes as much sense as anything," Bill says, leaning against the balcony railing.

"It's spring, you know? There should be more rain." Travis sniffs the air and drums his fingers on the railing next to where Bill's hip is leaning. "Instead there's just dust and sun."

Bill nods, not feeling like he has anything more to add to this conversation. His head feels heavy, drawn down, and he doesn't resist the way gravity drags his head to rest on Travis's shoulder. Travis's arm comes up to wrap around his waist, casually.

"It's drying out my skin," Travis continues. "I'm all crackly. I need to moisturize, man."

"I think you're plenty moist," Bill says, without really thinking about it, and cracks up, giggling at himself. Travis joins in, and it's good, really good to just laugh together. Bill presses his face against Travis's shirt and grins more.

"Yo mama's plenty moist," Travis says, and Bill laughs again at the lameness of it. Travis laughs too, deep chuckles that Bill can feel shaking his chest, and. Bill kind of wants to just climb inside him. He wants to see who they'd be if they blended into one person.

"Travie. Travie, hey, do you ever just--" Bill bites his lip and moves his head up, staring out at the landscape. "I don't know. Do you ever think that we'd make a really great combination?"

Travis's thumb slips under Bill's shirt to touch skin. "Mm. We already do."

"No, I mean--" Bill stops, because uh. Hey. Hey, this is kind of close to stuff they haven't been talking about, ever. "What if we could combine together, like Transformers or Power Rangers or something? You know, like. Coming together to make one really cool whole."

"Huh," Travis says, and Bill can feel him looking at him, but he doesn't look back. "Yeah, I've. The thought's crossed my mind, maybe."

"Once or twice?" Bill turns to look at him now. He has no idea what they're talking about anymore, but it feels important.

Travis looks back, his eyes slightly serious underneath the intoxication. "A few times, I guess."

Bill kisses him quickly, without giving himself time to second-guess the idea. Neither of them open their mouths so it's just dry lips on dry lips, lasting for a few distinctive seconds before someone stumbles close to them, a drunken voice saying "Schlep, hey, hey man, you've gotta--" loudly before tugging on Travis's arm and pulling him away.

Travis laughs and shakes his head and lets Bill go, obediently following the guy dragging him off. But he looks over his shoulder at Bill, grinning and saying "Yo, stick around for a while, okay? We should--" and then his voice is swallowed up by the party inside.

Bill rests his elbows on the railing and tilts his head back, squints up at the few stars he can see that aren't obscured by Vegas light pollution. He wonders how well he'll remember this.

***

It turns out that he can't stick around for a while. The Butcher calls him that night: they've got an interview the next day, and Bill has to take a four am flight out, not hungover because he's still drunk.

He likes to imagine that he can still sort of feel Travis's lips imprinted on his own that afternoon, licking his lips and touching his fingers to his mouth as he answers questions for a journalist who clearly doesn't actually care that much about the answers. Yes, our sound grew and evolved on this album. Yes, we're really looking forward to the tour. No, the delay didn't cause problems for us. No, we don't think Pete Wentz is deliberately causing problems, and we don't secretly hate him, so stop fishing around.

Travis texts him a day later, 'its raining'.

Bill texts back, 'moisture isthe esence f wetness'.

Travis replies, 'hahaha u can be petes male model'. It makes Bill laugh and push his fingers through his hair, fiddling with the still-new length. If Travis were here, Bill would Blue Steel at him.

Travis has given him lewder kisses on the cheek and other body-parts before, so Bill doesn't know why he's--focusing. Fixated. But he keeps thinking about the Vegas kiss, turning it over in his mind during band practice and interviews and buzznet video shoots. Vegas' lack of rain, moisturizing, transformers, and then. Kiss. He remembers it a little too well.

***

The next time he sees Travis, he's not expecting to, at all. The whole band crashes Bill's apartment with no notice--he didn't even have a clue they were near Chicago. Bill had been almost ready to go to bed, curled up on the couch with a fucking *book* because the tour starts in five days and everything is ready to go and in the meantime there's *less* than nothing to do. And then there's a pounding on his door and he hears Matt shout "We've come for your beer and your women!", or *something* muffled by Bill's apartment door.

Bill opens the door and they invade, five guys exhausted and skinny but bouncy from the last leg of touring, and Matt, 'Sashi, Eric and DeJesus all hug his shoulder or pound his chest on the way in. Travis shuffles in last, and flashes a grin at Bill. He has his grill in, glinting against the hallway light, and holds his fist out for their handshake instead of a hug.

Bill shakes his head as they bump fists and slap hands. "It's like you motherfuckers think you're welcome or something."

"Don't front!" DeJesus yells in his direction, already raiding Bill's liquor cabinet. "You've been cold and lonely without us!"

"Yeah, you've been missin' me eeeevery night," Travis says, batting his eyelashes at Bill and finally getting an arm around him, his hand sliding quickly to touch the back of Bill's neck before he moves away, slouching over to mix a drink. Bill closes the door and leans against it a second, biting his lip against the somewhat-ridiculous smile that wants to spread over his face.

He sits back down on the couch, bookmarking his place in his book and putting it away. Matt engages him in a game of gin rummy and 'Sashi hands him a beer and really, it's just good. 'Sashi rests his chin on Bill's shoulder to watch them play, and when Bill finishes his first beer he just shouts and waves and Eric puts another one in his hand. Someone passes him a bowl eventually, and Bill has no idea who wins the game.

He gets up eventually, and 'Sashi slides into his seat. He leaves Matt starting up a round of five-card stud, vaguely hoping that they don't bet with any of his valuables. Travis has been--not avoiding him, because it's pretty hard to avoid someone in a party of five people in one apartment, but he's barely touched him at all. For Travis, that counts.

He's in the kitchen, with the freezer door held open and blocking his face from view. Bill comes up behind him, placing his hands on Travis's hips and tapping out the rhythm of 'Neighbors'. "Are you looking for ice cream? I'm craving Cherry Garcia."

"Yeah, you don't have any." Travis closes the freezer door and turns so that Bill can see his face in profile, how he's sort of smiling and sort of not.

"Do you think we can order in for Ben & Jerry's? I feel strongly that that should be possible, but."

Travis shakes his head, and one of his hands covers Bill's, still on Travis's hip. "Nah, I don't think so. You can order in Chinese, but ice cream you've gotta go to the store for."

Travis has a really nice profile, Bill thinks. Pretty. "That's ridiculous. We should be able to have ice cream delivered."

"It's a shitty world we live in, man." Travis twists so that he's facing Bill, leaning against Bill's fridge. He gives Bill a lazy crooked smile, and suddenly Bill wants very much to feel Travis's grill against his tongue.

He places his hands against the plastic on either side of Travis's head. "It really, really is. Travis. Do you remember Vegas?"

Travis raises his eyebrows. "What, like, in general? Do I remember its existence?"

Bill shakes his head. "Do you remember that party in Phoenix during Warped?" He can feel the pot and booze snaking through his head, making things fuzzy, and it occurs to him that this is, possibly, something he wants to be sober for.

But Travis knows what he's talking about. They're always on the same wavelength, except for when they're not. He shifts and looks away from Bill's face, at something over Bill's shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember."

Bill leans in closer. He can feel Travis's breath puff against his ear. "We should try that stuff again, I think. Here."

Travis glances at him, finally, and he's smirking a little but he's not really smiling anymore. "Yeah? In front of my band?"

"In my kitchen, yeah," Bill says, and when he leans in close Travis leans away and Bill's lips find Travis's chin, stubble and skin.

"Maybe, uh. Maybe not," Travis says, and his voice sounds lower than usual, a little bit tight, a little bit--something. And Bill, contrary to what everyone always thinks about him, knows when to back off. He takes his hands away and moves to the side, shrugging.

"Maybe not," he says, and he doesn't even have to shrug it off because what is there to shrug off? Nothing, that's what.

Travis looks at him a minute, but Bill doesn't want to meet his eyes long enough to try and read his expression. Then he shrugs, too, stays hunched a little bit and goes over to the couch, sitting on the back to look over everyone else's shoulders at their poker hands.

Bill pushes his hands into his pockets, rocking on his toes a little bit. Huh. That kind of sucked, he thinks.

***

Travis isn't the type of asshole who lets that particular kind of suckage fuck up a friendship, and the next day he calls up Bill and begs him to go see Grindhouse with him. Bill can't believe that he hasn't seen it, except duh, tour. So they go, a matinee on a weekday so they're the only ones in the theater, and Michelle Rodriguez is hot, and they share a spliff in the dark.

It's not that hard to slump down in his seat and pay attention to the movie and not think about how much more awesome this could be. How they could be making out right now if Travis wasn't hung up on whatever it is he's hung up on, how Bill could be climbing into his lap and how they could scandalize the only other person in the theater, a fifty-year-old man in the front rows.

Actually, Bill amends as the credits roll, it is hard. It's totally fucking hard to not think about how he could have his hand down Travis's pants right now, or to watch Travis whisper as the lights come up and not think about biting down on that lip. Pretty impossible, actually.

Fuck you, bitch, Bill thinks as they walk out into the sunshine, tries to fall back on his old standards for handling rejection from crushes, but it's Travis so the righteous anger just doesn't stick. Because he grins wide and stretches his arms out as soon as they get out of the theater, and because his arm goes automatically around Bill's shoulders like he's purposefully not letting last night give him any sense of personal boundaries.

The next day Gym Class Heroes are gone from Chicago again, and Bill bids them a fond farewell. He begs Matt not to end up in any more Mexican prisons, and Matt flips him off. A few hours later, Bill texts Travis with, 'maybe baby?' but Travis never texts him back.

***

Really, Bill should always time his romantic disasters right before the start of lengthy arena tours. He still has time to sulk on the bus, but for the most part the constant travel and the hectic rushing and the high of the crowds keep him too busy to think about how he might never get to kiss Travis again, and how shitty that is.

And it might be physically impossible to mope around Gabe Saporta. Someone should conduct a formal study, Bill thinks, as Gabe sings 'Rehab' loudly and slightly off-key in his ear.

Gabe wraps an arm around Bill's shoulders and kisses him wetly on the cheek. "Amy Winehouse. She's so hot right now," Bill says.

"I know, right?" Gabe sighs into Bill's jacket. "I have such a crush on her, seriously, you have no idea."

Bill pets Gabe's hair. "You have a crush on everyone." He's pretty sure Gabe's on peyote, but it could just be pot laced with something... else.

"That's just because everyone is amazing. I can't help that." Gabe kisses Bill on the mouth this time, and Bill goes with it.

Gabe gets it out of him one night--really, closer to morning than technically night. Bill is just drunk, not drunk and high, just really, really fucking trashed on rum and cokes. And Bill isn't sure exactly how, but he's certain that the subject matter is Gabe's fault.

"It's not even that I wanted us to be, you know," Bill says. "*You* know. I just wanted--fuck, I dunno. I just, he's like--you know what he's like."

Gabe nods and takes Bill's glass from his hand, finishing it for him. "I do, my friend. What *did* you want? Just tell me, tell me all about it, baby."

Gabe is a gossip; Gabe will tell everyone on the label. Bill finds himself speaking anyway. "I just sort of. I don't know. I wanted to see what it would be like. What it... I'd want to see what kind of thing we'd turn into, you know? Like, parts connected. Transformers."

Gabe nods as if Bill is actually making sense. "Right, right. So you tried to kiss him and failed?"

"No, *no,*" Bill says. "I totally did kiss him, I succeeded once and it was all dry."

Gabe frowns a little bit, lines forming between his eyebrows. "Okay, uh. I'm confused."

Bill rests his forehead on the plastic table top. "I tried it again and he said maybe not. It sucked."

"That does sound sucky," Gabe agrees. "Hey, you want another rum and coke?"

Bill looks up at him through a curtain of his own hair. "Are you trying to take advantage of me?"

"I could have tried and succeeded a long time ago, dude. You're pretty pliable right now." Gabe pats his shoulder. "No, I was just being a gentleman, but have it your way."

"Screw you," Bill mumbles into the table, and is dimly aware of Gabe patting him--petting him--again before he passes out.

***

Gabe calls Travis five dates into the tour, chatting with him for hours while Bill watches The Departed on dvd with The Butcher and pretends that he's not listening. It's not like he hasn't talked to Travis himself, but it's mostly just been texts and some IMs, only a few aborted phone conversations. But the story Gabe is telling is pretty complex and hard to follow, something about saxophone players in Florida, and after a while Bill loses interest and pays closer attention to Matt Damon shooting people in the head.

When the movie's almost over Gabe nudges him and shoves his phone against Bill's ear when Bill turns. "Here, talk," he says.

Bill blinks and props the phone up with his shoulder. "Travie?"

"Yo, Billy," Travis says, his voice crackly but chipper over the phone. "'Sup? How's your ass handling the tour?"

"My ass has never felt better. You could bounce a quarter off it," Bill says, and the conversation proceeds from there.

They just talk, about nothing in particular, just whatever random topics Travis comes up with. It's as easy as it always has been to lose himself in Travis's voice, the unique smoky quality of it, the rhythms of his speech. And it's a little easier to keep himself from going over 'Maybe, maybe not' over and over in his head when it's just Travis's voice, not his whole self in front of him. A little closer to being normal more than just on the surface.

Bill loses track of how long they talk--he's drifting a little, zoning out--when Travis says, "Hey, so, how much do *you* remember of that Warped party in Phoenix?" His voice is more sharp and clear than it has been for most of the rest of the conversation, and Bill sits up a little.

"Not a whole lot," he says after thinking about it for a minute. "I just--I just sort of remember things happening. Us, you know. Kissing. Maybe some other stuff, nothing really--I don't remember the details, really."

Travis is quiet for a beat, two, before he says, "Yeah, that's all I got. Man, we probably gave some party girls some show, right?" and Bill laughs, and does a pretty decent job of pretending that his chest doesn't feel shredded over just how much he wishes he had more than that one shitty half-formed memory.

***

Bill is keenly aware of it when they play their Buffalo, New York date. There's no guarantee that Travis will be there--he hasn't mentioned it to Bill, Gabe, or Pete. For all Bill knows, Gym Class isn't even in Upstate right now.

But halfway through Mess On Our Hands, he feels something prickle at the back of his neck. When he looks over at the wings, Travis is there, watching him, moving to the beat.

Bill thinks about finishing the song and asking the audience if they want to see Travis tonight, if they feel like a little freestyling tonight, but. He doesn't particularly feel like sharing.

They finish the set, the crowd cheers, and Bill is incredibly relieved that he hasn't ruined things to the point that he can no longer fly off the stage and into Travie's arms for a hug. Travis laughs right next to his ear and twirls him around, and Bill debates hitching his legs up around Travis's hips and just hanging off him, but decides not to push it.

He makes himself let go and leans back, wiping sweat off his forehead and grinning. "So how much did we suck?"

"You sucked *ass,*" Travis says on cue. "You sucked like a vacuum cleaner. You sucked more than Sandy 'blowhard' Johnson in the tenth grade."

"Of course we sucked more than she did, she never had anything to suck on you," The Butcher calls out as he passes them. Travis flips him off.

"I'm happy to hear that we're up to your standards," Bill says, hastening to get away from the stage and out of the way of roadies with short tempers.

"Hey, my standard is golden, you know it," Travis says.

Bill is walking in front of him, but he can feel Travis's gaze on the back of his neck, and it makes his nerve endings pay just a little bit more attention than they might otherwise. He tries to quash any hopes, but he still wishes that they could be alone.

"Let's go somewhere," he calls over his shoulder. Normally he'd want to stick around to watch the rest of the show, but he needs to take advantage of Travis while he's here.

'Somewhere' turns out to mean 'back to the hotel,' because Bill has no imagination and Travis has no suggestions. Travis whips out a pipe, Bill turns on the TV, and the easy conversation lasts all of two hours before taking a turn for the awkward.

"So, hey, since we're apparently talking about this now, what do *you* remember about that night in Phoenix?" Bill blurts out.

Travis looks at him for a second, lighter in hand, poised over the bowl before he puts them both down, placing his hands palm down on the table. "Not all that much," he says, voice lower than usual.

"Well, you've already quizzed me about my recollections, so just give me what you can," Bill says.

Travis drums his fingers on the table and then stills, staring down at his hands instead of at Bill. "I remember we kissed," he says. "I don't remember who kissed who. I remember making out, you had my shirt off after a while, and we were kind of, you know--" he makes a jerking off motion with his hand.

Bill squirms a little. "Uh. Okay." Travis doesn't look finished talking; he's still not looking at Bill.

"Yeah. Fuzzy on the details of that specifically," Travis mutters. "And then, after a while, I remember I got up to take a piss, and when I got back you were on top of some chick, and *her* shirt was off and you two were kissing. Nothing happened after that."

Oh. Oh, hey, I'm an asshole, Bill thinks. "Shit," he says.

Travis shrugs, and smiles a little but it looks brittle. "Yeah, whatever. Long time ago, right? It's just, you know, this, with us, it wouldn't work out well, you know? It should stay the way it is."

Bill shakes his head. "No."

Travis raises an eyebrow at him. "No?"

"Yeah. No. I disagree vehemently." Bill is filled with a renewed confidence, because yes, it turns out that he fucked his chance with Travis up almost a year ago without even *remembering* it, but if it's his fault than that means he can maybe put it right.

He climbs up to kneel on the table, pushing Travis's pipe and lighter to the side, and holds Travis face in his hands and kisses him. On the mouth, with tongue, and Travis makes a surprised sound into Bill's mouth that could, maybe, indicate protest if you wanted to interpret it that way, but then his mouth opens and he's kissing back, and oh. Yes.

Bill slides his hand into Travis's hair, tight soft curls in his fingers, pleased that it's free and loose instead of braided up. He opens his eyes because he dearly wants to see this, wants to study the planes of Travis's face up close and remember it.

"Mm," Travis pulls back from the kiss after a while, shaking his head a little, but Bill doesn't take his hands out of his hair. "Whoa," he says. "Whoa, Bill."

"Yeah," Bill says. He scoots closer on his knees and rests his forehead against Travis's. "I'm sorry I was a dick. It wasn't on purpose."

Travis snorts. "Yeah, I know that. It's sort of what's got me worried."

Travis voice sounds wary and still a little hard at the edges, like it's got a thin shell that could crack at any moment, like he's guarding himself but not very well. Bill doesn't like it. He tugs on Travis's hair. "Hey. Hey, I really like you, okay? And-"

Travis's mouth is just right *there,* and Bill isn't a strong enough person to keep himself from leaning in and biting and sucking on his bottom lip. Travis makes a sexy little 'nnn' sound, but Bill makes himself pull back, because he really does have to state his case. It's important.

"It's different now. I mean, I'm still kind of a dick sometimes, but, but this. This is special." Bill cards his fingers through Travis's curls, and Travis closes his eyes a little, leaning into it like a cat getting petted. "It's like--like, okay, I figured this out. It's like Transformers, you know? Our parts just all fit, and I don't even mean like sex, we're just. We're better together. Apart it's all, it's just no good, but combined we're. We fit."

Travis is silent for a moment. Then, "I think you're thinking of a different toy, man. I don't think Transformers worked that way."

"Whatever," Bill says. "But you know what I mean, right? You know what it's like." Of course Travis knows what Bill means--Bill doesn't need Travis's nod to know that. Travis gets him.

Travis smiles and it feels sudden, feels big. Then Travis's hands are on Bill's waist, squeezing him before Travis pulls him forward and down off the table. Bill's legs splay over his lap and Bill wraps his arms around Travis's neck and shoulders, stretching one arm out and getting his other hand back in Travis's hair when they kiss.

"Yeah, I know," Travis says when Bill trails his lips over the stubble of Travis's cheek.

Bill grins, says "I knew you know," and when Travis laughs Bill can feel the vibrations against his breastbone all the way down to his pelvis. He scoots closer, as close as he can get, and he was totally right. They fit perfectly.

Travis's hands eventually slide down to cup Bill's ass, and Bill pushes back into it. He's pleasantly half-hard, at that place where you're turned on but not quite in a hurry yet, and judging by the raggedness of Travis's breathing he's close to that same place.

"Hey," Bill says between kisses. "Hey, we have. There's, you know, a bed."

"Yeah, I sort of figured that," Travis says, but neither of them make any move to let go or get off the chair. Travis is sort of grinding up against him, pulling Bill's ass in to get even better friction. Bill ducks his head and rolls his hips, then does it again when that makes Travis grunt.

"Could totally come just from this," Travis says, his voice sounding distracted and rushed. "Definitely, just--" and his voice goes up a notch, into a higher register Bill never hears when he raps, when Bill reaches down to squeeze him hard through his pants.

"See. See, now you've made that a challenge," Bill says, and it's tricky to really grope Travis while still grinding against him, so he has to scoot back a little to get Travis's fly undone and his hand inside.

Travis lets his head fall back when Bill strokes him, pushing his hips up against Bill's hand. The line of his neck is just--it's something artistic, it makes Bill want a camera, and Bill leans in to clumsily trace the contours of his tattoo with his tongue. He squeezes Travis's dick hard and strokes him again, long and slow just to hear Travis groan, and rubs his thumb over the wetness collecting at the tip.

"Yeah," Travis breathes out when Bill puts a twist of his wrist into it, going a little faster and harder. His whole body's into it, pumping his dick into Bill's hand, and Bill has to kind of hold on and cling a little bit to Travis's shoulders to keep from getting thrown off of Travis's lap. His cheek is pressed to Travis's neck and there's pre-come all over his fingers. He tries to make it as good as possible, squeezing hard at the base and rubbing with his fingers as he strokes up to the head. Travis's hand lands wildly on Bill's back, fingers clenching in the fabric of his t-shirt, squeezing Bill a little bit on every upstroke.

Bill bites Travis a little, just above his collarbone, and that gets him a stuttered laugh. Travis says "Bill, fuck," and then he's coming, wet spurts over their clothes and Bill's hand. Bill has to press himself against Travis's thigh and just close his eyes for a second; he's no longer pleasantly half-hard, but rather quickly approaching the realm of serious fucking need.

Travis's hand moves down Bill's back to squeeze his hip. "Fuck," he says again, his voice raspy, and Bill thinks, this is what he sounds like after he comes. This is his post-coital voice. I could bottle and sell this voice and make millions.

"Yeah," Bill says. "Hey, Travie, hey." He leans back and tilts his head until they're at a good kissing angle, Travis's tongue licking lazily into his mouth. Bill's whine is a little muffled by Travis's lips, and he pushes himself against Travis's thigh again.

"Hey, I got you," Travis says, and he does, both hands firmly holding Bill's hips as he stands up. Bill's legs automatically go around Travis's waist, hanging on, and Travis manages to get them to the bed, tumbling Bill onto it on his back.

Bill arches against the sheets when Travis kneels in front of him, his hands efficiently getting Bill's pants off. And then oh, oh Travis's mouth, lips wrapped around Bill's cock and sliding down. Bill manages to see that Travis's eyes are closed before his own head falls back, the back of his skull pushing against the hotel comforter before he gasps something that could be Travis's name, or could be 'train' or 'try'.

Travis's big hands are spread over Bill's hips, pinning him down no matter how hard Bill bucks. He blows him fast, sucking him down and slurping back up and sucking hard, and when Bill comes Travis pulls off and lets Bill shoot all over his stomach and his already come-sticky shirt.

Bill thunks his head back, seeing stars as Travis crawls up onto the bed, stretching out next to him. Bill keeps his eyes shut, sort of enjoying the whole seeing-stars thing, until he feels Travis's hand on his chest. Travis's thumb strokes over the dip between Bill's collarbones, and Bill blinks his eyes open to look at him.

Travis is licking his lips. His chin is wet. Bill feels his brain pop.

"You need to do that all the time," he says fervently, and Travis laughs.

"Maybe I will," Travis says, and he sounds like a cat curled up on a sofa chair in a patch of sunshine. Bill rolls onto his side so that he's facing him and starts undoing the buttons of Travis's shirt.

"I really want us to be naked right now," Bill says. "Can we be naked?"

"Yeah, I feel like that could be arranged," Travis says, and his hand moves down to rest on Bill's naked thigh. Bill still has his socks on, and his shirt.

He pulls Travis's shirt off and is frustrated to see that Travis has a t-shirt on under it. Travis sits up slightly to pull it off, and Bill shucks his own shirt, and when he looks again Travis is shimmying out of his pants, kicking them away.

Travis pulls him in with one hand and Bill melts against him, resting his head in the crook of Travis's shoulder and throwing his leg over Travis's hips. He'd probably be getting hard again if it weren't for the pot, but just lying like this is pretty okay, too.

Travis sighs and it tickles the back of Bill's neck. Bill wants to ask him if this feels like--like just so *much* to him, too, or if that's just Bill, but he bites his lip and stays quiet.

He can probably guess, anyway.