Mmm.... cruising down the freeway with the top down and *NSYNC coming through the stereo! Good friends, good times, great car.
I actually have fic inspired by that drive:
***
The first night was smog and a deep rust-red sky.
In other words, a pretty normal Miami night, and Lance Bass, driving down the Interstate had one hand on the steering wheel and the other loosely tangled with Justin Timberlake's. They had stopped for chocolate milk and Oreos, making Lance feel ridiculously guilty for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint. He liked to watch Justin eat though, liked to make him laugh and spray out dark chocolate crumbs, liked Justin's kisses sweet, liked Justin sleeping with the faint edges of a milk moustache just visible.
Justin's fingers felt sticky and warm and his chin was slumped against his chest. He was snoring a little. Lance figured they should head back to their hotel, but it was a warm summer night and he was driving a convertible. The breeze felt good on his face, the ride was smooth and, he decided, smoothing his thumb against the back of Justin's hand, that Justin needed this. Needed to nap unscheduled and easy, to get away from air-conditioning and room-service and fluorescent-halogen lighting for, oh, at least an hour or ninety more miles. Whichever was greater.
So that first night, Lance drove on through the dark and did not notice the stars were missing.
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I actually have fic inspired by that drive:
***
The first night was smog and a deep rust-red sky.
In other words, a pretty normal Miami night, and Lance Bass, driving down the Interstate had one hand on the steering wheel and the other loosely tangled with Justin Timberlake's. They had stopped for chocolate milk and Oreos, making Lance feel ridiculously guilty for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint. He liked to watch Justin eat though, liked to make him laugh and spray out dark chocolate crumbs, liked Justin's kisses sweet, liked Justin sleeping with the faint edges of a milk moustache just visible.
Justin's fingers felt sticky and warm and his chin was slumped against his chest. He was snoring a little. Lance figured they should head back to their hotel, but it was a warm summer night and he was driving a convertible. The breeze felt good on his face, the ride was smooth and, he decided, smoothing his thumb against the back of Justin's hand, that Justin needed this. Needed to nap unscheduled and easy, to get away from air-conditioning and room-service and fluorescent-halogen lighting for, oh, at least an hour or ninety more miles. Whichever was greater.
So that first night, Lance drove on through the dark and did not notice the stars were missing.