blind eyes

04: Chris

Ryan tossed himself down on her other side and groaned. "I don't even want to talk about what some of those kids said to me, because I think I might be ancient. Somebody actually said they wanted to snack on me." He wrinkled his nose, then ran a hand over his beard and sighed. "Okay, so what are we watching on ye olde boob tube, kiddos? Make me forget how old I am and that our fans are cannibals!"

Chris wasn't entirely sure if his bandmate was simply being his usual, entirely oblivious self, or if had just done him an intentional favor by changing the subject. Whatever the case, he thanked fuck for the intervention! Ryan had saved him from having that argument for the umpteenth time. Taking the favor for what it was, he sighed and crossed his ankles, leaned back into the leather sofa and tugged Sunday tighter against his side. "Yeah, is this a movie or...?"

She allowed her head to fall onto his shoulder as she sighed. "It's just some boring thing, I dunno. Actually, can we take a walk?"

Who was he to argue? An escape from the other guys and the confines of the bus sounded magical, so he hopped up, stretched his arms above his head, and then offered his girl a hand and a big smile. "Where are we walking to?" he raised an eyebrow curiously as she stood up and began searching for her purse. "Just remember that we have to be back before six so that I can sign those posters before the doors open."

"There's a Starfucks three blocks away," she informed him with a soft smile, ignoring his little time crunch warning. Finding her purse quickly, she spun to face him again and grinned. "I need to get off this bus and I thought you'd enjoy your caffeine fix. We don't want you being a grumpy papa bear. Especially since you have an interview at seven tonight." She patted his stomach playfully.

Truthfully, he was developing a bit of a complex over what his fans referred to as his 'dad bod'. She assured him that this was childish ridiculousness, but he knew that he didn't have the same physique now that he had had in the earliest days of the band. Was it vain to want to look good? He didn't know the answer, but he definitely cringed at the pairing of the words 'dad' and 'bod'. Conversely, he fucking loved dad jokes — they were his new passion in life. Inspired, he smirked. "Day, how do you make holy water?"

"Oh my fucking god!" she shrieked as they wandered away from the bus. "Please do not fucking start that shit!" She was melodramatically grabbing fistfuls of her hair and running away from him on the street.

He chuckled and then caught up to her to clutch her hand in his. Swaying their now intertwined hands, he grew more serious. "Okay, do you hate tour already?" He frowned as he searched her eyes for a response. "You're kind of grumpy today." He quickly amended: "But I still adore you."

"There's a reason why I'm grumpy, you idiot." At this, she wiggled her eyebrows and gestured to an alley off to their right. 

Chris cocked an eyebrow. "You're grumpy because......there's a nasty-ass alley over there?" He eyed the space between two old, brick buildings and shrugged. "That doesn't make sense, Day, but it's better than period talk."

"Wow," Sunday dropped his hand and tossed her arms up in defeat. "Cerulli, you really cannot take a subtle hint, can you? Are you really this clueless?"

Within minutes she had tugged him into that alley, shoved his back against that brick wall, and was running her hands up and underneath his Eighteen Visions' tee like she was desperate for skin on skin contact. She grew rabid as she pressed kisses into the material of his black shirt and occasionally licked at his neck heatedly. He certainly did not argue with her for any of this, especially when she pressed her lips to his and allowed his tongue to win the battle for dominance. He growled. "What the fuck, woman?"

"I need it," Sunday rasped as she climbed him like he was a fucking rock wall. "It's been days since we had alone time. To quote you, 'The urge is getting stronger and I'm going insane!'"

Chris snorted. Okay, not what those lyrics meant but he'd take it. Now he understood and he felt fucking stupid. It was certainly true and a sad fact of tour life that there was very little privacy ever. Most nights, the band shared hotel rooms or skipped them entirely to save on cash, which meant sleeping in their bunks just inches away from one another. Sure, he wasn't above fucking Sunday stupid in his bunk, but lately it just wasn't happening. And last night, they were finally in a hotel, but the mattress had been exceedingly lumpy and uncomfortable, his feet had hung way off the end, and, worse yet, Ryan had been on the bed beside them snoring. That had not been particularly conducive to sexy time.

He felt her fingers begin to shove frantically at the waistband of his basketball shorts and he groaned. Which head should he be thinking with right now? Because Little Chris was throwing a fucking Mardi Gras parade down there, but his adult brain was screaming danger, danger, danger. He gripped her wrist and frowned. "Day, I'm not sure this is a good idea. Anyone could walk past here and see—"

She grabbed the collar of his tee and dragged him several feet further into the alley, around a massive black metal dumpster, then shoved him back against the wall. His body rebounded with a thud and then he settled into place. She pressed herself against him, carefully creating friction against his cock. "Better?" she purred as she licked his ear.

"Works for me," he shrugged as she dropped to her knees. 

Author's Note: I feel like I should say that I've changed the style of this story a bit to keep it going. The first person chapters just were not working for me, but I think I can keep the story alive like this. So, let's see how this goes. :)