Puppy Love

By Mickey M.

© April 2002

It wasn't 'til after you'd fumbled the door closed, with a louder-than-necessary slam, and heard the resulting 'mmmph?', that you remembered you were rooming with Lance for the night and you needed to be quiet.

Your brain was having trouble focusing on anything and words bigger than one syllable were currently a mystery. How much did you have to drink, anyway? And--Lance. Quiet.

You balanced against the door, squinting into the darkness. Why were you rooming with Lance? Lance always stayed with Justin, it made it easier for them to do their homework and have something resembling a normal bedtime. You usually roomed with Joey, since you were clubbing buddies anyway. So. Again with the why. God, your head hurt. At least one too many dark ales tonight, apparently.

You froze in place when Lance rolled over onto his other side, facing away from the door. Whywhywhy…oh, fuck, yeah. Joey had a bad head cold. Justin had a bad head cold. Joey volunteered to switch rooms with Lance for a couple of nights so the two of you could get a good night's sleep, and maybe try to stay the spread of germs at least a little.

So that night Lance did his homework in your room and you went out and got halfway to shit-faced by yourself, which was so not fun. Clubs weren't as much fun without Joey; even when JC went along, he didn't like to drink like Joey did, and wasn't nearly as much fun to try and pick up chicks, or hell, even guys, with. And JC hadn't wanted to go tonight; he was tired. Fuck, you were all tired; the two and sometimes three shows a day were kicking your collective asses, even Justin and Lance, young as they were. So that left you to go out alone, feeling oddly out of sorts as a result of too much booze and not enough sleep, and no one to share it all with.

You could've asked Lance. He'd be fun to party with.

Right. And Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were real, too. You snorted, then clapped a hand quietly over your mouth, holding your breath when Lance shifted under the covers. Fuck. Don't wake him up. Don't wake him up.

Lance was too…quiet, to be much fun to party with. He was shy, and tended to blush at your jokes -- when he got them -- and sometimes seemed…intimidated, almost, when you got overly loud and rambunctious. He still messed up routines a lot, and it took him twice as long to learn them, and he sometimes made you look bad with his ever-so-proper manners and polite answers. Fucker. Sometimes, you still didn't like him as much as you probably should. Even with nearly nine months of singing and dancing and bonding down between you, Lance could still get on your nerves like none of the others could or did.

You figured you'd been quiet long enough so you stepped cautiously into the room and toed your shoes off, then pulled your shirt over your head. Lance snuffled softly in his sleep, but didn't shift again, and you breathed a sigh of relief before heading into the bathroom. All you needed was to wake the boy up; he was looking way too pale, with big circles under his eyes, to lose out on any sleep because someone couldn't come in quietly drunk.

Stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt, teeth brushed and face washed, you clicked the light off and went back into the room. You were beyond tired, close to exhausted, but your brain wasn't ready yet to shut down and grant you the rest you needed so badly. You sat on the side of your bed and drank down some water, watching Lance sleep. The curtain over the one window in the room was open just enough to let a little moonlight shine in -- you still weren't used to how much darker it seemed over here in Europe, compared to Orlando -- and it splashed onto the bed Lance was curled up in, washing over him, painting him in unearthly pale colors, highlighting the light platinum hair Lou'd insisted on, casting sharp shadows into the shallow hollows under his cheekbones. It gave him an odd, otherworldly beauty.

You watched Lance sleep for long, long minutes, noting the even rise-and-fall of his chest and the way his fingers curled just so over the edge of the blankets. Once in a while he would shift slightly, a low, breathless mumble vibrating out in that deep-as-fuck voice that still surprised you, even after months of hearing it.

Something tightened in your chest.

Lance was beautiful. Fucking beautiful.

You thought about all the things you didn't like about him, then thought about the way he could calm you down with nothing but a softly spoken "C'mere", and a quick hug, like he instinctively understood when you needed something solid to ground you. The way he would share the packages of M&M's his mom sent from home, always sorting through and withholding the green ones, at first, teasing you about your jokes about how they were supposed to make the person eating them horny. He always blushed bright red while he teased, but he was learning. The way he tried so fucking hard, spending hours longer than any of the rest of you to learn the dance steps you all picked up so easily. The time he spent with Justin, helping him with math and geography. The way he looked, bent over his textbooks, nibbling on the eraser of his pencil.

Fuck.

He might still be a geeky kid from Mississippi who got on your nerves sometimes, but you were pretty certain you liked him way more -- and in other ways -- than was a good idea.

Lance rolled onto his back, flinging one arm over his head, the other clutching the blankets higher. It didn't seem to matter what time of the year it was here in Germany, it was always cool and damp. Lance and JC were always cold, huddling into blankets or sweatjackets. You watched Lance frown in his sleep, smooth skin furrowing up, and wondered what he was dreaming about. The moonlight flickered -- clouds passing overhead? -- and shadows chased across his face, seeming to follow the frown.

You reached out and smoothed one finger over that spot, rubbing lightly, trying to pretend you weren't stroking the soft, sleep-warmed skin. Lance smiled in his sleep and exhaled quietly, a low, rumbly sound that was close to a purr, then turned his head toward you, body going lax again, as if the bad thought had passed.

Maybe he sensed you were there. You weren't often the comforter; you were too sharp, too quick, all high energy when calm or gentleness was needed. It made something warm rush through you, that he might be comforted by your presence.

The clouds moved again outside and moonlight floated back into the room, softer now, hazed by whatever mist or soft rain was starting to fall. Lance looked younger, somehow, than even seventeen, his face loose and relaxed in sleep, nothing to prove to himself or anyone else just then.

That had the effect of making you feel like a dirty, perverted old man, sitting there drinking in the sight of a beautiful boy sleeping, but it also made something loosen inside you. For the first time in days, weeks, longer, you felt…relaxed. At ease. Fuck the never-ending rehearsals, and performances, and the tears JC barely held back when he was so tired he could hardly stand by himself, and the tears Lance couldn't hold back when Lou yelled at him, or Justin's pale face when he realized his mom was an ocean and a continent away, or the clench of Joey's fists when any of them hurt. Fuck the way you were all homesick, wanting to go home to things that were familiar. You thought you could probably be happy forever just to sit here -- at what point did you move to sit on the side of his bed? -- and watch Lance sleep.

Just sit. Maybe touch him, easy, innocent touches. Touch his hair, his face, your fingertips hungry to try and fill some of the ache you hadn't realized was inside you.

"Mmm--Chris?"

Oh, fuck. You froze, fingers tucked into short, too-blond strands of hair, your eyes held by his, open but fuzzy with sleep, the pale green leeched almost to nothing by the soft light filtering into the room.

"Yeah?"

He shivered and turned his face toward your hand, eyes still sleepy, only at half-mast. "What're you doin'?"

"Dunno." You didn't. You couldn't have explained this if your life freakin' depended on it. The only surety you had right now was you were likely going to hell…and would probably welcome it, if you could hold onto this feeling just a little longer.

"'M tired." He nuzzled a little into your hand and you stared, your stomach a tight knot of sensation. He was still mostly asleep; had to be. Lance wouldn't…this wasn't…he might take hugs from you, but he cuddled mostly with Justin and Joey. You couldn't usually sit still long enough to cuddle much with anyone, unfortunately.

"I know." You rubbed his scalp gently with your fingertips and damned if he didn't purr, the sound low and soft and vibrating through you. "Go to sleep, hmm?"

"Yeah." He sighed again, softly and nuzzled at your palm. You felt another surge of warmth rush through you and shuddered. "You, too. S'late."

"In a minute." You didn't want to let go, didn't want to move, didn't want to lose the feeling of him against your skin. Even if it was just your hand, it was…. Your brain shied away from going anywhere with that thought and you reminded yourself: hell. Flames. Fire. Eternal torment and damnation, and, yeah. Well, you'd never pretended to care about any of that, but--you'd also never had any kind of…any…fuck. Any feelings of any sort for a seventeen year old boy before.

"Chris."

"Mmm?" He was looking at you again, his face turned back so he could meet your eyes, and you wondered at the spark you saw there. The tiny flame of something that seemed to lick along your skin and bury itself deep into your nerve endings. He licked his lips and you shifted uncomfortably, muscles tensing to draw back. His hand was hotter than yours when he gripped you, holding your hand to his head, your fingers still in his hair. "Lance--"

You wanted to move, to bounce, to jump away from him before this went further than it had, before you seized any one of the thoughts swirling inside your head, thoughts made large and Technicolor by the alcohol burning inside you.

He looked at you steadily, eyes luminous in the weak light, skin hot and smooth against yours and you swallowed roughly and bent forward, your other hand touching his jaw, fingers tracing along that line 'til you could slide them into silky strands as well. He whispered something, your name, a wordless plea, a rush of sound over tongue and teeth, you weren't sure what it was, and found you didn't care when your mouth touched his, his lips warm and soft and open oh-so-slightly for you. You pressed lightly, then harder, your fingers curling gently into his hair, your heart pounding fast and hard with nerves and excitement.

"Oh…" He sighed the word into your mouth and opened wider for you, warm breath caressing your lips when you pulled back just enough to not-touch for a moment. "Chris--"

Then it was his hands on your face, sliding to lock around the back of your neck, cupping and holding you close when you pressed down again, tongue teasing lightly across his lips. He made a soft, inarticulate sound and drew you down against him, mouth open and wet for you to taste, as deeply as you wanted.

You wondered if he could taste the bitterness of vodka and ale beneath your toothpaste? He'd had something sweet before he went to bed; probably a coke; you could taste the sticky-sweet flavor lingering. His tongue was slow to follow yours, then faster, tasting your mouth, teasing you into opening wider for him, guiding him, pulling him in.

He unhooked one hand from your neck and slid it down your chest then up under your t-shirt, holding it firmly over your pounding heart, fingers curled in slightly as if holding something precious. You groaned into his mouth, the touch of his skin against yours, even that slight, barely there feel almost more than you could stand. He was stirring up feelings you weren't ready for, weren't prepared to deal with. You didn't want this…didn't want to need this, or him, or the warmth he brought.

"Lance--I shouldn't. You're--fuck. Lance."

"Shhh." He slid his fingers through your hair, combing gently, and you shivered violently. His eyes were huge in the dim light, pupils wide and dark against the almost translucent ring of color around them. Albino eyes, in the dark. Beautiful eyes, in the dark. "Again? Please?"

And how the fuck were you supposed to say no to that? To those wide, light eyes watching you, hunger rising in them like a tidal wave force. You felt it too, a hunger, a need, something you hadn't felt in a long time. You felt like you should say no, pull away, do something, because this was…this just wasn't right. You were taking advantage of him, you were older and should know better. He was fucking jailbait, for god's sake. But he was looking at you like you were the second coming, or something; like you were kindred souls, like you knew what he was feeling and needing. Like you could give it to him.

And yeah, you should've known better. You should've pulled away. But you were lonely, and aching, and human. And you wondered if you weren't half in love with him, already, for the same reasons echoed in his eyes. Because he seemed a little on the outside, on the fringes, too. Like you.

So you kissed him again, and his mouth was hot and wet, and you might just die right there, it felt so good. Your body was aching and ready, wanting moremoremore, your hands tangled in white-blond silk, breath mingling when you pulled back, panting. "Fuck."

"Yeah." He gave you a shaky grin, then licked his lips. Hunger fireballed through you and you took his mouth again, trembling when he whimpered, the sound vibrating through you. You sucked on his lower lip, then bit at it gently before dropping kisses on his chin, then down his throat, teeth scraping lightly at tender skin. He quivered beneath you, body arching, and when you leaned back away, you wanted to touch him so bad it was a physical pain.

"Lance. Fuck." You sucked in a deep breath and tried to remember why this wasn't a good idea. Surprisingly, the only things your brain could focus on were wet, kiss-swollen lips, wide, luminous eyes, and the soft, heavy sound of your breathing.

You hadn't even touched him yet. He hadn't touched more than your chest. Fuck.

"Chris." His hand touched your cheek, stroked you lightly. "It's okay. It's good. We're good."

You shook your head. "It's wrong--"

"Why?" Lance tilted his head back. "It feels good. You--want it. I want it." You could almost see him blush, even in the dark. If you touched his cheek, would it be warmer? Yes.

"You're--" So young. So beautiful. So innocent. "I'm too old, Lance." Too old for you.

"You are so not too old." He laughed at you, the little fucker, then wiggled under the blankets, letting go of you long enough to push them back, the warmth of his hand against your chest missed, when it was gone. You watched, heart pounding, when long, slim legs appeared, when he sat up to strip off the t-shirt he wore leaving him in just boxers. He was beautiful now; he'd be stunning when he finished filling out, growing up. Then he reached for you again, pulling you down toward him, his hands warm on your face, your neck, your back, where he slid one up under your shirt. You ended up more-or-less straddling him, hands holding you up over him. "Not too old, Chris." His voice. Holy fuck, what was he doing with his voice? You shivered against him, then again when he moved his lips against your neck. "You're perfect."

Okay. Maybe time to revise the 'innocent' thing.

He kissed right behind your ear, then licked you, his tongue tracing a wet line from the point he kissed to your earlobe, wiggling around between your piercings. When he bit down you groaned. "Okay. Okay. Fuck, Lance."

He gave you something you were sure was supposed to pass for an innocent smile, then arched up against you. Fuck, he was as hard as you, body hot and smooth against yours. Under yours. You narrowed your eyes at him, then leaned in close to him, lips grazing his. You nipped and licked, but didn't kiss him, teasing until he moaned softly, his hands stroking your back, sending streaks of fire everywhere he touched. When his fingers skated along the edge of your shorts then dipped just beneath the elastic you growled low in your throat and bucked gently against him. The friction made you growl again, the sound getting lost when he swallowed it, mouth wide and moving against yours.

You lost yourself in kiss after drugging kiss, the wet sounds lingering obscenely in the air, making it that much hotter. Lance kissed like he was born to it, mouth hot and demanding one minute, then gentle and giving the next, tongue moving sinuously over every point of your mouth, painting a sweeping panoramic picture of sex and hunger within you. You wanted to devour him, wanted to offer yourself up as a sacrifice if he'd swallow you whole, wanted to go on forever, wanted to stop before you reached a point where there was no stopping.

You weren't sure but thought you'd probably already passed that point.

It was a passing thought, really, nothing your brain could entertain as serious. Not any more. You couldn't stop if your life depended on it. Not now. Not surrounded by heat and need and something large and undefined that filled you up, made the aching loneliness stop.

You tipped yourself sideways, pulling Lance over with you so you could lie facing each other, legs twining against the rough sheets. He trembled when you stroked one hand down his chest, pausing to tease flat nipples into tight buds; low, rough moans trickling from his mouth when you pinched gently, then harder, then abandoned them to caress the soft skin over his ribs, fingers rubbing in ever-widening circles, drawing a pattern of lust on his skin. He arched against you, rubbing, and you felt his cock press against yours, separated by twin layers of thin cotton and nothing else. It suddenly seemed like too much and not enough, all at the same time. You dropped your hand and brushed it against his erection, the first touch below the waist, your fingers burning where they connected with him. He sucked a breath in and moaned, a huge, soft sound you felt all the way through you, and pressed harder against your hand. Your fingers curved around his length, cupping and stroking him through his boxers, feeling him pulse under your touch.

His head was tipped backward now and you kissed his throat, licking the exposed hollow at the base. A burst of flavor spread across your tongue, salty and sweet, and you licked again. And again. Your voice was hoarse and ragged when you muttered, "You taste so good…."

"God, Chris--" The words tore through you, made you want to hear them again. The tone, the rawness, the need all compressed into a couple small syllables. If Lance ever wanted to take over the world, he could do it with nothing more than the sound of sex in his voice.

You kissed his throat again, then moved a little further down and ran your tongue over one nipple, feeling the skin pucker, change texture. You licked again, then sucked at the small bud, palm rubbing faster against his cock, grinning fiercely when he bucked and moved against you, increasing the friction. You weren't prepared for his hands hot under your shirt, moving over your chest, rubbing and pinching and caressing. You weren't ready for the one that dropped below your waist and grasped you gently, then harder, moving in time with your strokes.

It should've been spontaneous combustion. It felt like a firestorm inside your body. Molten lava replacing your blood. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been this hot, this turned on, wanted someone as much as you wanted Lance. In the span of almost twenty-five years, you weren't sure you'd ever felt quite this way. It was exhilarating and a little scary, at the same time, and you wanted to feel more.

"Fuck--" You sat up abruptly and pulled your t-shirt over your head, tossed it over the side of the bed. Lance grinned at you, his eyes half-mast, mouth wet and swollen. So, so sexy. You wanted to feel him against you, so you rolled onto your back, tugging on his arm. "C'mere."

"Mmm. Yeah." He shifted with you, then over you, settling against your pelvis. Straddling you. His boxers were tented out and you reached down to stroke him lightly, your fingers skating over the damp spot spreading outward. He closed his eyes and pushed into your touch. "Chris. God. Please…."

"Oh, yeah." You couldn't make your voice into anything over a whisper, but it was enough. He lowered his head and kissed you again and your lips felt raw and sensitive from all the kisses you'd shared now, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to kiss him from now 'til forever. "C'mon, baby. Harder." You pushed upward against him, dragging your hand up his chest, fingernails scraping lightly. He nipped at your mouth, then ground down against you, tongue flicking hot and nasty over your lips.

You weren't going to last much longer, and was honestly amazed he had. Thoughts of yourself at seventeen, dry-humping with Mark Brohill in the back of his dad's station wagon. You hadn't lasted as long as Lance so far. You clutched him tighter, running your hands down his back to cup his ass, pulling him closer to you. Part of you wanted to flip him over and swallow him down. Another part wanted to spread your legs wide and beg him to fuck you, but you dismissed that immediately; no way were you ready to go there with him -- yet -- and god. No. But the thought lingered, fizzing in your blood, adding another level of heat to the mix. You could see that. You would do that. You wanted it.

"Harder--" Sweat stung your eyes; yours or his, you didn't know. Didn't care. You kissed him again, then licked his neck, tasting it. "Lance. God."

"Uhh. Oh. Oh, god…." It sounded like a plea. Or a promise. You rocked your hips up, grateful for the dancing that kept you limber, and locked your legs around him. Rough parody of what was burning inside you, a need you only barely kept in check, but he knew. He knew. You could see it in his eyes, in the half-smile and growl he unleashed then, pushing down hard against you. "Chris--"

You felt his shudder a split second before yours began; before heat rose up to engulf you. The look in his eyes, the surprise and pleasure on his face--oh, Jesus. That alone would've thrown you over the edge. You groaned long, low, and the sound looped from you to him and back again, a rumble that vibrated through you, and should've shaken the walls, the foundation of the building. Liquid heat spread between you, dampening cotton, spreading thick and heavy on your skin. You pressed up harder, panting with each pulse, then caught Lance's mouth, needing to taste at least that much of him while he shook against you.

Then it was over, and he was a warm, heavy weight against you, body lax with spent pleasure. You could feel faint trembles still running through him; he vibrated quietly under your hands. You stroked up and down his back, long, sweeping caresses, smoothing circles around his back and over his shoulders, your fingers tracing the groove of his spine, the soft indent just above his ass. Just when you thought he might be asleep he shifted slightly and pressed a sleepy, soft kiss to your lips.

"Thanks." In the faint light through the curtains you could see a tinge of color on his cheeks. "I--that was…."

"Incredible," you finished in a quiet voice, liking the way you could feel his voice rumble through his chest and into yours. You felt warm and lazy and so relaxed. "It was incredible." You kissed him back, a slow, thorough exploration of his mouth that made you feel like you could conquer the fucking world, when you finally pulled back.

"Mmm." He rolled this time, but didn't let you go. Instead he moved closer, lips brushing over your throat, your neck. "No more 'I'm too old'?"

"I am, though. Really." You said it softly, as if volume, or lack of, lent power to the words. You didn't want to be too old. You didn't want to be…anything. Except here, tangled with Lance, sleepy and sated, and truly happy for the first time in a while.

"I don't think so." Lance's voice was as soft as yours, and you lifted your head to look at him. There was…something…there. Something deeper, stronger, more than just…physical. You hoped. Christ, you were projecting your feelings now. You sighed and shifted, pulling away from the heat and comfort that was Lance. He clutched at you briefly, then let go. "Where're you going?"

"Bathroom, dude. Be right back. And take your shorts off." You couldn't lay there in wet, sticky shorts, and wonder if you'd gotten in way further over your head than you already were…and if he felt it too. If you were going to worry about the end of the world, you'd at least be comfortable, doing it.

"Oh. Okay. Um. Okay."

His voice followed you into the bathroom, comforting, like you weren't alone, still. Okay, weird fucking thoughts for post-sex…for sex that should just be sex. For someone who was really, definitely hell-bound now, you didn't look any different, when you looked in the mirror; maybe a little flushed still, but that was about it. And an odd, wistful expression around the corners of your mouth. Your hair was ratted all over the place, and you finger combed the worst of the tangles out, thinking about the guy you saw earlier in the evening, with the wicked cool dreads. Maybe that would be a good look for you. The washcloth was scratchy -- everything in the hotel was rough, it seemed -- but the warm water felt good. You rinsed it out and wetted it down again, tossing your shorts in the general direction of the laundry pile when you came out of the bathroom. Lance had wiggled out of his, and sitting naked on the side of the bed he looked nervous and uncertain, and so much younger than he had an hour ago. You sighed again and knelt in front of him, nervous and confused, yourself.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." He gave you a smile and you couldn't help but return it, feeling a strange tug on your heart when his broadened.

"Good." You leaned in to wash him off, then surprised both of you by leaning further forward and kissing his belly. He was sticky beneath your lips, and you licked at him once, a quick swipe of your tongue, wanting to taste what you missed earlier. The bitter-salt flavor that spread over your tongue made you shiver, and you did it again, lapping slowly, teasingly, cleaning him, memorizing him. He threaded his fingers through your hair, holding you close, and you heard a moan, but weren't sure which of you made it.

He had a light, downy trail of hair leading from his navel and it tickled against your tongue as you eased your way down. He snuffled once when you tickled him, on purpose, then his fingers tightened in your hair. His cock was quiescent now, but not likely to remain so if you got him too worked up, so rather than give in to the urge -- you both needed to sleep, not have sex all night -- you suckled him once, then finished cleaning him with the now-cooled washcloth. He shivered, then sighed when you moved back, and released you so you could stand.

"That--" You watched his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed and felt something stir inside you again. Not sex. Not…you weren't sure what it was. You didn't want to call it what you thought it might be; there was no way in hell you could go there. Not now. But it felt warm, and comforting, and maybe…it could work its way toward the other, slowly. Maybe you could work that way, together.

"Shhh." You kissed him lightly. "We need to sleep now." The dark outside didn't seem quite so dark now and you hated that it would be morning soon, and the magic of now would be lost.

Lance nodded. "I know. Will you--" He hesitated, then scooted back on the bed and patted the mattress beside him. "Sleep with me? I mean--"

"I know what you mean." You flashed him a quick smile. "Yeah. I will."

The smile you got in return made your whole body feel warm.

As you settled in beside him, and Lance spooned around you, a favorite phrase of your mom's popped into your head. Whenever you'd crushed on someone as a kid, she would tease you about your 'puppy love'. It seemed like a really apt description, for the feelings you had then…and the ones you were feeling now. Maybe more powerful than a crush, but young. Fledgling. Like Lance. You sighed and smiled when he tucked closer to you, his lips moving against your neck. Puppy love. Okay, yeah, it was corny, but it worked for you.

You felt a smile against your neck and knew you'd have a matching one while you slept.

~fin~

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