The Chicago Fic

Lance entered the bedroom he shared with Chris, trying to stay quiet as he pulled out his pajamas.

"Welcome home," Chris said from the bed. He sat up, still fully dressed. "How was Chicago?"

"It was okay," Lance said, walking over to kiss him. "How was your birthday?"

"It sucked! What kind of a boyfriend are you, anyway, skipping out on me?" Chris demanded, not really sounding mad. Lance raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "What? I'm just saying."

"Chris," Lance said patiently. "C'mon. You knew I had to do this. It was work. They let me film there, I had to go back for the premiere. We talked about this. You said you understood."

"I don't care what I said," Chris said petulantly. "It was my thirtieth birthday, fuckwit."

"I know. I'm sorry I had to miss it," Lance said, sounding suitably apologetic. "It's not like it was a lot of fun. Just the same old thing, only maybe a little older. Like that redhead - she had to be 21."

"What redhead?" Chris asked, frowning.

"The one that flashed me," Lance said. At Chris's howl, he quickly added, "I don't think it was on purpose! I didn't pay that much attention. It was quick."

Chris glared at Lance. "You left me here--with the mice, I might add, and Justin's idea of how to throw a birthday party leaves a lot to be desired, let me tell you--and you were off looking at boobies?"

"I wasn't looking!" Lance protested. "It's not like I *asked* her to fall out of her shirt."

"You're missing the point! You weren't there, Lance. The mice sucked face all night, and I had a bottle of vodka. It was MY birthday, and I got the loser's end of the deal."

Lance grinned, trying to diffuse the situation. "You want to suck face with the mice?"

"I *wanted* to suck face with my *boyfriend*, idiot." Chris flopped back on the bed. "But he had to *work*." He tried to sneer out the word "work" angrily, but he had a feeling it came out more pathetic than that.

"Chris," Lance said tiredly. "I've been on a plane since four AM, because you wanted me to get home as soon as I could. You know I can't sleep on planes. Can we please have this discussion after I've gotten some sleep?"

"Fine. Whatever. As you wish," he pulled the covers over his head and flopped over onto his side, away from Lance.

Lance sighed as he undressed and climbed into bed. As he debated whether or not to try and say goodnight, or morning, or whatever, Chris threw the covers back and sat up again.

"You know what? No. No, we cannot have this conversation later. I'm sick of being pushed aside because it doesn't fit your schedule!"

Lance rolled over and blinked. "You're seriously upset?"

"No shit, Sherlock!" he snapped, feeling like a two-year-old as he folded his arms. "Nice to see you're finally paying attention."

"You told me you were okay with this," Lance said again, sitting up and shaking his head like he was trying to stay awake. "I know the movie stuff has meant a lot of time apart, but you said you were okay, Chris."

"Are you seriously this dense?" Chris asked in disbelief. "Everyone says you're the smart one. Right." He shook his head.

"Well, maybe if you told me what was wrong, I could do something about it," Lance said, starting to get angry himself. "Quit being a fucking girl."

"A girl?" Chris repeated, his voice scaling up. Lance gestured in a "see?" manner. "Damn you. I just wanted to spend my fucking birthday with the man I love. I don't see how that makes me a fucking girl!"

"Maybe if you'd *told* me that ahead of time..."

"What?" Chris demanded. "I thought you *had* to be there. You saying now you would have stayed?"

"No." Lance deliberately kept his voice soft. "No, I had to go."

"Uh huh." Chris pouted.

"Chris, I wanted to be here. You know that," Lance said, feeling that Chris was softening. "I would never choose to be away from you if I didn't have to. C'mon. Please?"

"Please what?" Chris asked moodily.

"Please let me make it up to you?" Lance asked.

"I hate that you keep having to make it up to me," Chris said stubbornly.

"So do I." He lay a hand on Chris's shoulder, encouraged when he didn't pull away. "You have no idea how much I hate it, Chris. But it's almost over, I promise."

Chris didn't say anything, so Lance kept going. "Come with me to LA next week," he whispered, fingers sliding under the collar of Chris's shirt as they moved over his neck. "I wanted you with me so bad tonight. I know you wanted to be home for your birthday, but I wanted to do this." He bent forward and brushed a kiss across the base of Chris's throat.

"I'm not a girl," Chris said. "I want that on the record." He snuggled over a little, though, as he said it.

"You are most definitely not a girl," Lance agreed, one hand drifting lower. "I'm sorry I said that."

"Okay," Chris said finally. "I'll let you make it up to me one last time. But you can sleep first."

Lance smiled. "I can sleep later," he said, though his mouth stretched around a huge yawn on the last word.

Chris lay down, pulling Lance with him down to the pillows. "Baby," he said, sounding amused and affectionate, and Lance knew the fight was really over. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Lance rested his head on Chris's chest, and felt Chris's arm settle around him. He smiled to himself, feeling content for the first time since flying out to Chicago. "I love coming home to you," he said sleepily, his eyes already drooping.

Chris tightened his hold briefly. "I love being here for you," he said, kissing Lance's head. "Now go to sleep so you can continue making it up to me in the morning."

Lance made an unidentifiable noise, already out for what Chris could tell would be hours. Chris smiled just a bit ruefully, letting go long enough to undress before easing them both under the covers. "Love you, Bass," he muttered, more to himself than anything.

Lance pressed back against him in his sleep. Chris hooked his chin over his boyfriend's shoulder, ran an affectionate hand over Lance's head, and closed his eyes.

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