Where Did Your Shirt Go?

Neither of them could really recall how it had started, but now Mark Gibson found himself buried deep inside the tour bus’ sofa with a very passionate Alan Williamson on top of him. The younger man did not seem to be in control, or thinking straight, as he tugged at the fabric of his partner’s clothing, desperate to feel his skin. The taller man (who although he had not provoked this situation, was enjoying every second of it) sensed something snap in his brain when he felt the Scot reach down his belt buckle. His lips were slightly parted, just in the middle of a softer kiss provided by his band mate’s pink and plump ones.
“Woah, hold on a second there, Al”
Insecurity flooded his blue eyes, as he abandoned the sofa with a worried jump. “What’s wrong?” His brow was suddenly forrowed. Was he not enjoying it?
But the older man just laughed. “Nothing is wrong, Al. In fact, things have never been least wrong in my whole life. I just want to take it easy, y’know?” He stood up and opened his arms, welcoming his recently acquired lover inside them.
The shorter man sighed, as all worry faded from his sky coloured orbs. He seemed satisfied, as he obediently marched into his friend’s embrace. “You nearly killed me, you prick” he mumbled into his lover’s chest.
He received a chuckle as an answer. “You know, you could really use a hairbrush. Your hair is all over my face” The tall man indeed found difficulty in speaking without choking on strands of his companion’s jet black hair.
The younger man giggled. “I haven’t brushed it since my mum used to do it for me.”
“It figures” smiled his lover, tracing random patterns on his bare back.
They were soon pulled out of their trance.
“OI GUYS! This is ace! Apparently they’re selling this new chocolate bunnies that are actually FILLED with chocolate! You know, since they used to be hollow!”
At the sound of the voice, the men instantly stepped away from each other, Alan dropping himself on the sofa and pretending to read the first thing he could grab as casually as possible, and Mark (who didn’t react fast enough) just standing there minding his own business. The voice got near.
“Guys? Did you hear me? You won’t believe this!” The singer stepped into the awkward scene, with full plastic bags from the nearest supermarket.
“Ummm…Al…where did your shirt go?” The (even) shorter man inquired.
The indeed shirtless man mentally beat himself up, proceeding to giggle nervously. “Umm…I…It’s just so hot in here!”
His friend blinked, staring at himself and then at his drummer, who had merely had his leather jacket unzipped. The both wore jackets.
“Al, it’s not hot. We’re in Finland, and you’re starting to shiver. Besides, what are you doing reading one of Mark’s car magazines…upside down?”
The Scot once again cursed his foolishness, mumbling under his breath pointless excuses, his accent thicker than ever. He decided the best thing to do was to get up and leave as soon as possible, because it really wasn’t getting any weirder than this. As he left he felt the puzzled look of his singer following him.
“Your fly’s down!” he heard the drummer grin. He strongly suppressed his instinct, telling him to turn around and murder him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Steven scratched his head.
“Must be some sort of post-teenage thing” smirked Mark.
“I’M TWENTY-FUCKING-FIVE!!” Came a yell from the other room.
“See?” said Mark, as if to prove his point. Steven shrugged and then proceeded to devour his chocolate.
The drummer quietly slipped into the room the bass player had stormed into.
“ Mark, I swear I’m killing-“ He was interrupted by a messy kiss he very much enjoyed.
“Better now?” breathed the taller man into his not so angry anymore partner.
“Hmpf. But I’m still killing you.” Pouted the bass player with his arms crossed.
The drummer took off his jacket and put it over the thin man’s still bare back.
“Fair enough” he whispered, kissing him again. And this time the Scot did put his arms around him.