Author's note: Special thanks to Exluke1 who helped me proofread this chapter and the previous one.
*
Pete's phone alarm sounded at half past nine on Sunday morning. He stretched and looked at the ceiling. After visiting the bathroom for a backed-up post-sleep pee, he peeled back the curtain and looked out of the window. Of course, it was snowing.
Carlos blinked his eyes open. "Hola," he said, stretching luxuriously, like a sleepy cat in the sun.
"Hey," said Pete, coming back over to the bed to plant a good-morning kiss on Carlos's lips. "We head back home today."
"I know," Carlos replied. "I haven't enjoyed the never-ending winter, but it's been totally worth the cold to land a record deal."
"Yeah," agreed Pete, "but we can think about that later. Get dressed, it's time for breakfast."
Carlos pouted in mock-disappointment. "No time for some sneaky morning fun?"
Pete laughed. "I can hear your tummy grumbling from here, dude. I know you're hungry, and so am I. Besides," he continued, "I'd rather grab a free breakfast from the hotel buffet than buy something at the airport. Sure, we've got a record deal, but we aren't international rockstars yet, and airport food is still way out of our budget."
"Yeah, fifty bucks for a salad sandwich is a bit over the top," Carlos shrugged. He threw the sheets back, exposing his beautiful, brown Mexican prick. He was about to get up and get dressed, but Pete pounced. He couldn't resist the sight of Carlos's sausage.
"How fast can you cum, babe?" Pete asked.
Carlos felt Pete's unbelievable mouth wrap itself around his cock. His shaft immediately began to swell as his boyfriend cupped his warm balls. "Oh, fuck," Carlos whispered as his head slammed back down onto his pillow.
Pete's head and hands bobbed up and down like a well-oiled piston, and Carlos felt his boyfriend's long red hair tickling his thighs. Carlos remembered the time Pete bet him he could make him cum within a minute.
How lucky he was to have a boyfriend born without a gag reflex.
Carlos felt Pete's tongue wrap itself around his shaft. His balls began to tighten and pull up into his body.
Carlos lost control. "Fuck, man," he seethed as he painted the back of Pete's mouth pearly white.
Pete sucked hard until he'd gotten every last drop, but he didn't swallow. He scooted up to give his boyfriend a snowball kiss. They swapped Carlos's load back and forth a couple of times before Pete re-established law and order. "Get up, babe. Time for breakfast. We're heading home."
"I don't know if I can stand up after that," Carlos joked.
"Get up or I'll tickle you," Pete smiled, kissing Carlos on the cheek.
Carlos returned the smile and stood up. He wiped his wet cock on a used bathroom towel and got dressed. He was midway through pulling his pants on when he addressed something new. "Hey Pete," he said.
"Yeah?"
"You called me 'babe'."
"Huh? Did I?"
"Yeah, dude. Twice, actually. You've never called me that before."
Pete blushed, feeling a little uncertain. "I'm sorry."
Carlos quickly corrected the record. "Dude, I'm not complaining. Matter of fact, I really liked it." He finished pulling his pants on and buckled his belt before scooting across to his drummer. He tied his sexy Mexican hair behind his back and gazed deep into Pete's beautiful eyes. "Am I your babe, Pete?"
Pete nodded nervously. He felt like he'd waited his whole adult life for this moment, and he stumbled over the words. "Yes please."
Carlos gripped Pete's jaw and pushed his tongue into his mouth. Pete moaned, his eyes droopy with bliss. Carlos broke the kiss, and a thick strand of saliva connected their lips.
Pete's brain nearly seized up. A few stray neurons managed to fire, which was a good thing, because otherwise Pete might've been stuck to the spot forever. "Breakfast time," he whispered.
They headed downstairs. Carlos was wearing a pair of tight, faded blue jeans, his well-worn Judas Priest t-shirt, and a denim jacket with a Slayer patch stitched on the back. Pete was wearing jeans with holes worn through at the knees (appropriate) and the long-sleeved Sepultura t-shirt he bought when the Brazilian metal merchants last toured through Atlanta. They held hands briefly in the elevator.
A few short minutes later, they were downstairs at the breakfast buffet. The two other members of Ass To Mouth were sitting at a table. They'd already eaten, if the empty plates in front of them were any guide, but they were happy to linger over a second coffee while Carlos and Pete grabbed their breakfast. The roadies had already left for the airport -- they all knew it'd take additional time to check the band's gear onto their international flight back to the US.
Pete and Carlos dropped their carry-on bags at the table before heading off to search the buffet. Carlos came back with a plate of eggs, fried tomatoes, wilted spinach and hash browns, while Pete collected some cereal and yogurt. Pete went back to the buffet to seize two coffees.
Their other bandmates were curious as hell to find out what Carlos and Pete got up to last night in their room, but they were polite enough not to ask. The small talk around the breakfast table was all about their freshly-inked record deal, and what each band member planned to do with the rest of the week once they landed back home. Nobody wanted to head back into the rehearsal room; everyone wanted some downtime away from A2M.
But it was a nervous, edgy small talk, and everyone's body language was anxious and fidgety. Everyone now knew, finally, that an intimate relationship had formed within the band, which would almost certainly have an impact on the band's dynamic. For now, the bass player was content to let things be, but if the relationship between Carlos and Pete began making waves, it'd become everyone's concern. He talked about it last night with the band's other guitarist, who felt the exact same way.
They finished breakfast, grabbed their bags, checked out of the hotel and headed to the airport. They made their way through customs and immigration -- thankfully everyone had remembered to bring their passports. They were preparing to board their flight when an American TSA official, working out of Toronto airport, began checking the boarding passes of passengers waiting in line. Pete assumed the official was just double-checking that everyone was in the right line for their flight.
There was a special code on Carlos's pass. He hadn't even seen it, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known what it meant or what it was for. But the TSA official noticed it when he checked Carlos's documentation, and he knew what it required him to do.
"Come with me, sir," commanded the official.
Carlos was clueless. "It's OK, dude, I'm good. Just waiting for my flight."
"I can see that," said the official, "but you have been randomly selected for additional security screening procedures prior to boarding."
"Why?" asked Carlos.
