"Will I mind the passports? I've got the money and the tickets, makes sense to keep them all together," Dan asked casually.
Jones tensed and looked anxiously over his shoulder at Dan sorting through a documents wallet.
"No that's alright, I've got mine," he mumbled and busied himself with putting some of his more obscure equipment in padded cases with copious 'fragile' stickers plastered over them.
Dan sighed and walked up to him, wrapping his arms around his arms around Jones' narrow waist and resting his head on his shoulder.
"Do you really need all this? You're only doing one gig, can't you use the house decks?"
Jones gave him a look of total disdain.
"Point taken," Dan said and kissed his neck.
Jones let himself relax into the petting as Dan's hands started to creep down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans. Suddenly, Dan grabbed his passport out of his pocket and was running to the next room before Jones realised what had happened.
"You wanker! You can't see it! I'm hideous in that photo!" he sprinted after Dan and leapt onto his back, trying to snatch the passport out of his hands.
Dan was giggling like a child and batting his hands away, trying to shake Jones off his back and get a look at the passport photo at the same time.
"What kind of a shallow bastard do you take me for? I'm not going to chuck you if you have a shit passport photo."
"You'll make fun of me, I hate that photo. They won't let me get a new one for another seven years! I tried to lose it accidentally-on-purpose in Stockholm so the embassy would give me a new one, but people kept picking it up and giving it back to me. The Swedes are such considerate bastards!"
Dan was in stitches in spite of Jones tugging at his hair and pinching his upper arms. He got the passport open and managed to get a quick look at it before Jones let out an ungodly shriek and twisted his body around violently so that they fell to the ground in a heap. Dan tried to wiggle away from Jones and hold him back with his left arm while he looked at the photo again.
"You look so sweet in this," he laughed, still holding Jones back one handed.
"I'm repulsive. Look how fat I am, I look like a post mortem of Elvis. And my eyes are all bloodshot and yuck," Jones said, screwing his face up in disgust.
"Yuck? Is that a technical term, dear?" Dan asked and poked him in the stomach.
"Just give it back, you bastard," Jones said, irritably blowing his fringe off his face.
" Oh all right then... Earnest."
"You're fucking dead."
*~*~*~*
Airports, Dan thought, were places where you rushed around frantically in order to wait for hours. It wasn't the delays that bothered him so much, it was these half arsed conspiracy that there was no delay. They should have been almost in Germany at this stage and their plane hadn't even arrived yet.
"I just want to know how long the delay is going to be?" he said wearily to a nervous girl, just out of school by the look of it, in a uniform.
"There hasn't been any word of a delay, sir," she said, "If you'd like to take a seat, we'll keep you abreast of any changes."
"I didn't ask what word there was, there clearly is a delay; we've been waiting here for three hours. My boyfriend has a gig tomorrow night and he needs to rest." It was painfully ironic that the first time he called Jones his boyfriend would be to some uniformed adolescent.
"Any changes will be reported on the internal system," the girl-child said, clearly terrified.
Dan muttered an ironic 'thank you' and went back to the metal bench where Jones was kicking a bump in the lino. As soon as Dan had settled himself down, he found himself with a lapful of sleepy DJ, squirming around to get comfortable.
"This bench is killing me bum," he complained, "How long is the delay going to be?"
"There isn't one apparently," Dan said, self consciously holding Jones, "Anyone I ask seems to think I'm being absurd, suggesting that there is. 'Delay, what delay? I'm afraid you're mistaken, waiting around for hours after the scheduled departure is common procedure.' Twats."
"Give us a kiss, Dan," Jones said from Dan's shoulder.
"What now?" Dan looked around at the other bored passengers.
"G'wan, wanna kiss," Jones protested, pushing his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.
"That little girl is looking at us," Dan indicated with a twitch of his head.
Jones looked over slightly at the small child bundled up in an adult's jacket against the cold.
"So?" he asked.
"It's weird, kissing you in front of someone's kid. I don't want to have to justify my deviant lifestyle to some little darling's rugby playing, white supremacist daddy."
"She's going to have to find out 'the gays' eventually. We can always pretend I'm a bird with bad PCOS if it gets a bit dodgy." Jones was nuzzling him insistently and kissing along his chin.
Dan reluctantly gave him a brief peck on the lips. Jones whined and kissed him with soft sensuous lips. Dan kept his mouth firmly shut and pressed only the tiniest of kisses against Jones' mouth.
"You're absolutely no fun, you know," Jones huffed and put his head back on its spot on Dan's shoulder.
He kissed a bare piece of skin poking over Dan's collar and stroked his jaw with his thumb to soften the insult, though. The last thing he wanted was for Dan to think he didn't appreciate him trying his best. They sat like that for several minutes until Jones became aware of the little girl from before standing next to them, looking at them with the intensity unencumbered by any knowledge of tact that only the very young possess.
"'Ello," she said, taking her thumb out of her mouth and waving.
"Hello," Jones said quietly.
Beneath him, Dan stiffened and looked like he was about to have a panic attack.
"Do you like ponies?" she asked very seriously, in a heavy French accent.
Jones blinked at smiled at her.
"Yeah, I like ponies," he said.
She put her little hand into the pocket of the too-big jacket she was wearing and produced a powder blue My Little Pony.
"She's very pretty," Jones said politely and the little girl smiled, her cheeks dimpling.
"She belonged to ma maman," she said sweetly.
Dan looked at the tiny female and cleared his throat nervously.
"Ou est votre maman, mon lapin?" he asked with a passable accent.
"Avec Papa et mon oncle Gavin,"she replied shyly, "Ils sont ici...."
She looked around and clapped excitedly when she saw four people hurrying over to her. A tall woman scooped her up and started scolding her and hugging her in turn. The girl was chatting excitedly and pointing at Dan and Jones. The other woman, who was much shorter and had a sweet roundish face started thanking them over and over again, while the two men in the background stood with their hands clasped so hard that their knuckles had turned white.
"She was with us and then she was gone," the smaller woman was saying, wringing her hands, "I hope she was no trouble."
"We had a great time," Jones said, smiling with glee, "She was telling me about ponies."
The taller, blonde woman gave the little girl into the arms of one of the men (her father? Uncle Gavin?) and threw her arms around Dan and Jones, kissing them on both cheeks and thanking them in faltering English. Dan smiled awkwardly and replied to her in French, which prompted more kisses and hugs. Eventually, the group left with their little girl holding her mothers hands, looking over her shoulder at Dan and Jones.
"Don't gloat," Dan said quietly, "She might have had white supremacist parents."
"I wasn't gloating," Jones said, still grinning like the cat who'd got the cream, "I haven't even mentioned the fact that her parents were a lesbian couple, her gay biological father and his boyfriend."
"Yeah well..."
"Why didn't you tell me you could speak French?" Jones interrupted, "I can't believe that you've been holding on to that one. Hey, can you talk dirty to me in French? Not now, obviously, but when we're having some 'private time'?"
"You couldn't tell the difference between me asking you where the library was and proper dirty talk," Dan said.
"That's the beauty of it, everything sounds like filth in French," Jones said excitedly.
"Ou est la bibliothèque?" Dan muttered into his ear, "Voila mon passeport."
"Oh god, I fucking love you, you slag," Jones whispered and then breathed in sharply.
Neither of them had ever used the 'l' word before, even in the when they were in the throes of passion. Dan looked at him with an unreadable expression.
"Did you mean that?" he asked softly.
"Calling you a slag? No," Jones gave a forced little laugh.
"You know what I mean," Dan said without a trace of humour in his voice.
"Yeah... I do," Jones admitted quietly.
Dan crushed him tightly against his chest and Jones felt a wet patch on the top of his head. He twisted to see tearstreaked Dan's face.
"You cryin', big man?" he asked gently.
"Yeah... I love you Jones," he said and sniffed.
Jones smiled and started crying silently too.
"We've gone so soft," he laughed quietly, "Always sobbing like a pair of girls these days."
Dan gave him a watery smile and then he kissed him. In the middle of the crowded departures lounge, he kissed him fully and completely, holding his face tenderly and wiping his tears away, their tongues desperately tangling in each other's mouths. Nearby, a middle aged woman with a face like a poodle's arse tutted loudly and a man hurried past towing his two sons away to the other side of the room. They didn't notice them.
"All passengers for flight 402 direct to Hamburg, please make your way to the boarding area."
They broke apart at the loud noise from the nearby speakers. Dan tensed up and grabbed Jones' hand anxiously.
"Jones, I'm afraid," he hissed urgently.
"Me too," Jones said squeezing his hand.
"No, I'm afraid of flying," Dan admitted with terror creeping into his voice.
Jones fought the terrible impulse to laugh. He knew instinctively that that would be the worst possible thing he could do. Instead he gave him a hug and a kiss on his stubbly cheek.
"Don't worry, I'm with you," he said sweetly.
"Thank you," Dan replied gruffly.
They smiled at each other uncertainly and made their way over to the boarding area.