33
by Mickey M.
© January 2004

for rhyssj

Naked skin. Lots and lots of tan, naked skin, and it was his to admire, all weekend. They didn't have to do anything, be anywhere, didn't have to see anyone. Lance grinned lazily at Joey, watched him stretch and rub his hand down his chest, smoothing and ruffling the dark hair scattered there.

Lots of very naked skin.

"What're you doin' way over there?" His voice sounded hoarse, throaty, and a sly smile spread across Joey's face. "Ass. Just 'cos you like it when I'm loud-"

Joey laughed. "The louder the better. But those low 'harder, harder, Joey' are pretty nice, too." He stroked over his cock, cupped his balls, and Lance shifted against the sheets. He loved to watch Joey touch himself. Loved it almost as touching him. Or being touched. They had jokes aplenty about Joey's lack of grace, his clumsiness, but there was nowhere Joey was as graceful as when he was naked and being sexy. "Bathroom, man. Be right back."

He left the door open - so very Joey, and so very them, all those years on the bus beating down boundaries that even hiatus couldn't snap back into place - and Lance stretched against the linen sheets and rubbed his hands down his body and listened to the sounds of Joey pissing, washing his hands, drinking a glass of water.

His skin felt warm and tingly, his body well-used. Lance closed his eyes and stroked his fingertips over his nipples, down his chest, over his belly, his cock. He cupped his balls and spread his legs, enjoying the dull ache and throb from being very, very well-fucked. A soft sound made him open his eyes, and Joey was there beside the bed, already half-hard again, eyes dark and wide, watching him. Lance licked his lips and shifted, canting his hips up, and one finger slid inside, his body still stretched and relaxed, slick with lube.

"Fuck me," Joey breathed softly, and Lance grinned.

"Rather you'd fuck me." He slid a second finger in, moaning a little; he was a bit tender, achy, but god it felt good. "Something. Joe-"

"Yeah." Joey climbed onto the bed beside him and against him, and Lance swallowed the growl with a kiss, bit down on Joey's lip gently when long, blunt fingers replaced his own, opening him wider. "So hot, man. So fucking hot."

God, it was good. Lance rubbed himself upward, against Joey, against hot, naked, sweaty skin. He wished sometimes he could capture this sensation, keep it close inside him for the days, weeks, he had to share with Kelly and couldn't have it. Couldn't have Joey. He wrapped his arms around him and drew him close, touched his mouth to Joey's, slicked his tongue inside to tease and taste. Joey's mouth was cool from the water, but warmed quickly, and he thrust his tongue gently, rhythmically, fucking into Lance's mouth like his fingers were fucking into Lance's body. Lance took Joey in hand and stroked, quick and hard, matching the rhythm, until they couldn't kiss and touch both. Joey slid his mouth along Lance's jawline, collarbone, neck, nipping and sucking.

Overwhelming. So fucking hot, so good, his skin too tight and too hot and it was like electricity streaking through him, shards of pleasure driving into him and grabbing on. Joey rubbed down against Lance's cock, the friction too much, too intense, and Lance spasmed, orgasm blasting through him and out in sticky wet pulses. He drew Joey's from him with harsh, quick strokes, growling when Joey bit down on his neck and sucked hard, riding out the pleasure with hot gasps against oversensitive skin.

They would do it again as soon as they caught their breath; one or the other would touch or stare or both, and fingers would stroke meaningfully, teasingly, and it would begin again.

Lance shuddered against Joey, breath still coming short and harsh, body zinging happily...and waited for it to begin again.