Everyone knew. By Chicago they didn’t even try to hide it. The show was over, professionalism be damned. Chris didn't think there was an hour in the three-day weekend that David hadn’t been touching him. Talking, eating, laughing, drinking, snorting coke and drinking beer until neither of them could remember where their rooms were and they had to be led along hallways by patient con-staff.
David’s hands running over him, shoulder to hips. Slipping under jackets and shirts, pinching tender spots, pushing Chris against walls and doors and heated kisses that left Chris breathless and constantly hard in his jeans.