pop_tarts: justin/lance (members of their own cult)
[personal profile] pop_tarts
hey look, I haven't died. though you might wish I had. kel managed to hook me on the true heterosexual love of Nick and Paris.

They spend a lot of time in various hotel rooms, because no one really likes to clean up after themselves, and why should you when you don't have to?

The downside is, when you're fucked out, the hotel only has so much.

"We could go out," Nick offers. He doesn't have anything on at all, and is laying under the sheet looking really lazy. Paris knows he's not getting up anywhere.

She reaches over, across him, to fumble around in the bedside table. "Why are all our hotels the same layout?" she wonders out loud, even though she knows the answer, kind of. There it is, right in the same place. The cover says Colorado. "Here," and she flops the yellow pages onto his bare chest.

He squints, tucking his head up to try and look at it. "What's that?" Nick says, even though it's quite obvious what it is.

Paris flips to 'f', florists. There's a full page ad for one, complete with the words 'call us for your wedding plans' in half-inch letters. "What kind of flowers do you like at weddings?" she says, skimming the page. There are a lot of florists in Colorado. She kinda thought that it had nothing but snow.

He hauls on her hand, makes her scoot up the bed so she's tucked along his side, one ankle thrown over his knee. Nick's like that - he has to have her touching him wherever he can, whoever's in the room or not. She thought it was maybe just a camera thing, but he does it in their private hotel rooms, still, so Paris knows it's not. "What kind do you like?"

She likes roses, and she likes daffodils, because they're bright and yellow and you can have a hundred of them in a vase and they look like sunshine in a jar. "I dunno," she says, flipping next to 'w', for wedding planners. "Do you think it'd be too cold to get married in Colorado? I mean, outside."

Nick has one hand cupped over hers, resting on his chest, and the other one stroking her hair. "In the winter, probably." He has his eyes closed again, when Paris tilts her head to look. She stares for a minute, and he opens his eyes, smiles with that sleepy look. "hey," he says.

She pushes the phone book off him, and leans up to kiss his upturned mouth. When they kiss, Paris isn't sure if it's like how other people kiss. She doesn't watch other people and how they act anymore; she just does what she wants and makes sure Nick is smiling. "Hey," she says finally, eyes closed. "I love you."

Nick manages to kick the phone book to the floor. "I love you," he says, and she's happy it's cold outside because Paris doesn't want to get out of bed.
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November 2012

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