Night Moves
by Deirdre
©May 2004

Written for the 100 Ways Challenge. #81 - Virgin Sex.

As far as porn went, German porn really wasn't that bad, Chris decided. He lay propped up against the headboard of his bed, supported by pillows, savoring for once the peace and quiet. The fact that he'd claimed the single, stealing it from Joey, who'd wanted to go pick up at a nearby club, made it all the sweeter. For once he had a bit of privacy, and he'd decided to take advantage of that, and so to that end, he had JC's pilfered collection of porn mags strewn across the blankets, studying the one spread open on his knees.

He tilted the magazine, and the light from the bedside lamp slid slickly off the glossy images. This one seemed to be devoted to smooth, hairless twinks losing their virginity to bigger, hairier guys, and looking distinctly happy about the whole process. The last magazine had been leather boys and bikers, and the one before that devoted to men in uniforms, construction workers, and cowboys, and the one before that devoted to women getting it on with other women; he couldn't say JC didn't have eclectic tastes.

Chris turned the next page and thought hey, JC must like this one; the pages looked a little more wrinkled, a little more smudged at the edges, probably from frequent handling. The boy on the page wasn't very much different than any of the others-pale, soft-looking skin, slim, boyish body, hairless and beardless-although he did have an improbably large dick that caught Chris' eye. He lay posed on a bed, legs spread loosely, one hand curled around his hard red dick, the fingers of the other rubbing over the brown disc of a nipple, his face soft with pleasure and promise, blond hair shining against the darkness of the sheets he lay on.

Nice, but not spectacular; there were lots of others better looking, posed more provocatively-Chris himself preferred shots of a nice round ass-and so he wondered what made this one different than any of the rest for JC. With a shrug, he started to turn the page, to go on to the next, but then stopped and let the page fall back to the boy.

The boy who suddenly looked vaguely familiar.

The boy who looked like Lance.

Oh, not specifically; Lance wasn't as good looking as the model. But there was something about the curve of his cheek, the shape of his mouth, the fine hands that made Chris think of Lance. Maybe it was the smile, half-shy, half-sly; Chris had seen that smile on Lance's face more times than he could remember, usually accompanied by a little evil glint in his freaky pale eyes, an expression that generally meant trouble for someone around him. Maybe.

But whatever it was, it made him think of Lance, and Chris knew that if *he* saw it, then JC certainly had. JC, though he sometimes seemed unfocused and scattered, was rarely unobservant; Chris knew he picked up on things quickly, particularly things that related directly to the group, or those within it.

So. Bottom line-Chris' mind danced a jig of unholy glee at *that* image-JC was jerking off to a picture that looked like Lance. Hoo yeah, interesting. Chris' mouth curved up in an evil smile as he calculated how he might best turn this little revelation to his advantage.

But that could wait. Chris kicked off the covers and slid down a little in bed, making himself comfortable. No sense in wasting perfectly good privacy, and perfectly good porn. His hand slid down his chest, down his belly, and with the picture of the blond boy in mind, he wrapped his hand around his dick and let himself fall into well-deserved fantasy.

JC lay on the polished wood floor of the rehearsal hall, his chest rising and falling as he panted, his clothes drenched with sweat. He'd been doing backflips across the room and back again, each one accompanied by a colorful curse, because he *hated* to do backflips. But he'd had to prove to a doubting, disdainful Jakob, their latest choreographer, that he could, so he had.

Chris collapsed next to him, draining the last bit of water out of the bottle. He turned it upside down over JC, who opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue for the measly little drop of water remaining.

"I really hate Jakob," JC said, wiping at the sweat in his eyes. "Just so you know."

"I really hate all of them," Chris replied. He paused to watch Joey and Justin scuffling in the corner; Joey picked up Justin, turned him upside down, and spun with him until they both fell over. Morons, the both of them. "But Jakob does seem to have it in for you, so your hatred has the Kirkpatrick stamp of approval." With a grunt, Chris stretched out his legs and leaned back on his hands. "What, he want you to blow him, and you didn't? Because man, I can not see that happening, you big ol' slut."

JC pushed his hair off his forehead. Even as short as it was, it tried to curl. He whacked at Chris' leg with the back of his hand. "I am not a slut," he said with dignity. "I merely have loose morals."

Chris snorted. "Oh, *excuse* me, then." He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and JC huffed out a laugh. "I'm not seeing much of a difference, there."

JC waved his hand. "Whatever, man. I wouldn't blow him anyway, because he's probably all diseased and everything."

"Hmm," Chris said thoughtfully. "I guess we should warn Lance about that."

JC raised his head and looked along with Chris. Jakob worked one-on-one with Lance-though probably not as one-on-one as Jakob would like, Chris thought sourly-on a particular run of steps that Lance had been unable to pick up for whatever Lance-ly reason. Jakob's teaching method was very...physical...though honestly, Lance didn't seem to mind all that much when Jakob put a hand on his shoulder or thigh or hip to move him into the correct position. In fact, Chris thought with a laugh, Lance seemed to like it a lot, judging from amount of one-to-one coaching Lance seemed to need, and the flush high on his cheeks. Chris had been dancing with Lance for awhile now, and he *knew* Lance wasn't that uncoordinated.

Lance must have felt them staring, because he looked up. Chris pulled a face and mouthed, "poseur." Lance grinned, and winked at him before arranging his face back into attentive lines. Chris grinned, and put his right hand to his forehead, his thumb and forefinger making an "L" for loser. Lance flipped him off before returning his attention to Jakob. Or rather, to Jakob's broad shoulders and tight ass. Chris didn't like Jakob, but he had to admit that the man had a fine, fine ass. He surely wouldn't admit it, though.

"Really," Chris said to JC. "He needs to have better taste."

JC flopped back into his starfish position. "Diane and Lynn both watch him and Justin like hawks. This is probably the closest he gets to getting felt up, man. Gotta feel a little sorry for him. I remember being seventeen."

"God help us when Timberlake turns seventeen, then," Chris said. "He's already nothing but a singing hormone."

That earned a snort-laugh from JC. He pushed up to a sitting position. "Do you think he ever gets any?"

"Timberlake?"

"No, you dork. Like I wanna think about Timberlake having sex. That's like thinking of your little brother, or something. I'm talking about Lance."

"I saw him kissing that girl-what was her name? Marie? Mona?" Chris snapped his fingers imperiously, demanding JC's help. "C'mon, dude, help me out here."

"Monica," JC said, and again, Chris wasn't disappointed in his observational powers. "But that was what, two weeks ago?"

"Then I saw him making cow-eyes at Rick-"

"Oh, for god's sakes," JC interrupted. "Who says 'cow-eyes' anymore besides you?"

"*Anyway,*" Chris said impatiently, "I don't think he got any either of those times. He's probably all frustrated and shit."

"You do realize that it's *really* weird to be discussing Lance's love life. Or the lack of one."

"Maybe weird for other people. Us, not so much," Chris replied. And that was true; he knew more about the four of them than he ever wanted or needed to know about anyone.

"Why are you so interested?" JC straightened his legs out, spread them impossibly wide, and then stretched over each knee toward his toes. Freaky bendy bastard, Chris thought uncharitably.

"And you're not? Don't tell me you've never thought about it, boy, because you're a shitty liar. I swiped your jerk-off mags, remember? I seem to recall a certain twinks mag-page fifty-seven, in particular."

JC sat up, and Chris wasn't certain if JC's face was red from embarrassment at having his secret discovered, or red from stretching. "Oh," he said. "Well. That. Um."

"Yeah, that," Chris mocked.

"I didn't think you'd notice," JC said.

"I'm smarter than I look, bendy boy."

"You'd have to be," JC said, then yelped when Chris reached over and pinched his side, hard. "Ow, hey, cut it out, man!"

And that started a scuffle that Chris of course won. JC was quicker, more agile, and had longer arms and legs, but no killer instinct at all in grappling with them; he always ended up at the mercy of whomever he wrestled. This time was no exception, and Chris ended up perched on JC, his arms raised up in the air in victory.

Chris sat on JC's belly-it was almost as hard as sitting on the floor-while JC panted beneath him. "So, you ever think about it?"

"Well, duh, obviously," JC said, and grunted when Chris bounced on his belly. "Cut it out! Why do you care, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't, particularly," Chris said. "Although I am sorta surprised you've not after him."

"Ooof," JC grunted as Chris bounced again. "You don't ever notice anything, do you? It's not me he's sprung on, man. Not me he's like, surgically attached to at the hip. Besides, there's the whole virgin thing. Not my scene, y'know?"

"Hmm," said Chris. He looked over at Lance and Jakob. Lance looked away, then after a second looked back, a quick, sidewise glance. When he saw Chris watching him steadily, he flushed, and then goofed up the steps for real. Chris grinned and winked, then blew him a kiss, and Lance flushed scarlet before looking over to where Lynn sat, then mouthing, "cut it out, fucker," and determinedly ignoring him.

"See? He's been sprung on you since Orlando, man." JC had given up on trying to get away, and lay there quietly; he'd finally learned Chris would eventually get tired of tormenting him if he played dead. "Don't know about you, but if I had someone interested in me, a friend, someone *safe,* I might actually do something about it." Lou had given them both The Lecture-Chris always thought of it in capital letters-about discretion, about being seen with only girls, and so Chris had only looked, not touched.

"Seventeen," Chris said, more to himself than to JC.

"So?"

"Doesn't it seem kinda...skeevy? I'm like, way older."

"You're way older than all of us," JC said, "physically, anyway." He grunted again as Chris bounced on him, putting some force into it, because that was, to Chris' notion, a bitchy thing to say. "Sorry, sorry! But I was gonna say before you crushed all my internal organs, you asshole, was how much does it matter? You're friends-you're not gonna hurt him. He wants it. Where's the bad?"

Chris propped his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand, turning his attention back to Lance, who looked back at him before slewing his gaze away. Huh. Maybe the spazz was right-JC was usually spot-on with stuff about the guys. Interesting, and maybe worth thinking about.

But not right now. He turned his attention back to JC, grinning evilly. JC's blue eyes widened comically, and he started slapping at Chris even before Chris pounced, mercilessly running his fingers up and down JC's ribs, finding his most ticklish spots. JC spluttered and laughed helplessly, then started screeching for Joey to help him. And man, JC could screech; the whole room echoed with it.

Chris figured he had approximately six seconds before Joey homed in on him to help JC, because Joey had always figured JC was his toy to play with, and no one else's. So he decided to make the best of them.

Four seconds passed before Chris found himself grabbed under the arms and hauled upward; Joey was getting faster, the bastard. Chris found himself slung over Joey's shoulder before he could yell, Joey's big hand whacking him on the ass, laughing his oddly high-pitched laugh. Chris caught a glimpse of Lance's pale green eyes watching him before Joey began to windmill him around, and Chris thought, man, how uncool to throw up in front of someone you might want to get with.

Lance had always been his favored sidekick, the one he loved to pull pranks with the best, because Lance had a quick, inventive mind and a surprisingly raunchy sense of humor beneath the surface politeness. They'd hit it off quickly; Chris appreciated his quiet, razor-sharp comments and his willingness to be the straight man for the sake of a really good joke.

So it was no problem to start watching him to see if JC was just talking to hear his head rattle, because Lance was always at his side.

And damn if JC hadn't been right.

Lance watched him. A lot. Every time Chris caught Lance watching, he jerked his eyes away, or pretended to be looking at someone else. He always flushed when Chris caught him, and half the time, he was hard beneath the loose jeans he always wore. And that was nice to look at, in and of itself.

So, Lance really was interested, Chris decided after a week of watching him. He could work with that.

Fritz had pulled the van into a parking space in the underground garage beneath their latest hotel, and they'd all piled out, tired and cranky and hungry, ready to go in and get something to eat and a few hours of sleep before doing it all over again tomorrow.

All except Lance, who found his boots tied together, and Chris, who completely disavowed any responsibility for it. Chris stood outside the van and watched as Joey practically carried JC in the direction of the elevator; JC had used up all his energy onstage, and was as floppy as any rag doll Chris' sisters had played with. Lynn and Justin trudged together, pale and exhausted, trailed by Fritz, their driver, and Wesley. Wesley stopped to wait for them, and Chris waved him on.

"I got it," Chris said. His voice echoed in the semi-dark garage. "We'll be in as soon as Bass realizes his boots are smarter than he is."

"Hey!" Lance called, from inside the van, but Chris ignored him with the ease of long practice. Wesley waved back at him and followed the rest of them into the hotel.

Chris stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels and toes. It was fucking cold; the damp bit into him, slicing through his coat, his hoodie, his shirts. He could see his breath. He hated the cold, and wished he was back in Orlando's warmth. Preferably as a mega-rich superstar. It never hurt to dream big.

Finally Lance got his boots tied, and slid out of the van, pulling at his coat and shivering. Chris locked the door and slammed it closed. Lance's cheeks and ears were already rosy with the cold; he hated it even more than Chris did. Chris looked around, a casual glance to see if anyone was around; not likely so late at night. They were alone, and that never happened any more-someone was always around, always close. He decided that now was as good a time as any to make his move.

"Bass," Chris said, one hand slapping the cold van window next to Lance's head. Lance jumped, shrinking back against the side of the van, his pale eyes comically huge with surprise. Chris would've laughed, but he had things on his mind other than pissing off his bandmate. He leaned in closer. "What's up with looking at me all the time?"

Lance's chin lifted. He'd been startled, but quickly regained his composure. He was ballsy enough to avoid playing coy; he knew exactly what Chris meant. "I'll look if I want. Nothing wrong with looking."

Chris leaned close enough that he could feel the heat of Lance's slim body, the warmth of Lance's breath against his mouth. Lance looked skittish, like he might bolt, but he stood his ground. "No," he said easily. "Nothing wrong with looking. But. Is that all you want to do? Just look?"

They breathed together for a long moment, and Chris swayed closer to him, crowding him a little. "No," Lance said finally. "That's not all I want."

Chris reached out, and Lance shifted a little, but held mostly still as Chris slid down the zipper of his coat, reached in, and put his hand on Lance's chest, over his heart. "I can feel your heart pounding," he said softly. "You scared?"

"Yeah," Lance replied. He looked at Chris from beneath his dark lashes. "But not of you."

"Maybe you should be," Chris replied. He slid his hand slowly down Lance's chest, curling his fingers around the curve of Lance's waist. He worked his fingers beneath the hoodie, beneath the flannel shirt, beneath the tee shirt, until he could touch hot, firm skin. Muscles quivered under the stroke of his fingertips.

"I've never been afraid of you." Lance tipped his head for a kiss, but Chris smiled and just ghosted his mouth over Lance's lips before pulling back slightly.

"Good to know. What do you want, besides to look?"

Lance flushed scarlet. "I want to. I want to kiss you. T-touch you."

"Mmm. You ever do anything like that before?" Chris leaned in again, rubbing his mouth and his cold nose against Lance's neck. Lance's breath caught, and he shivered.

"Yeah," Lance said tightly. His voice sounded thin, and he cleared his throat. "With girls."

"A lot of girls?"

Lance's blush could probably been seen from the moon. "A few. Not a lot."

"Just girls? No boys?"

"Just one boy. Paul. Paul Mason."

"Hmm," Chris said. "So you kissed Paul Mason? Did you touch him, too?"

"Yes," Lance said, and tried to press closer; Chris rocked a half-step back. "Chris, I want...."

"Did you touch him here?" Chris' fingers spread over Lance's warm, soft stomach, and Lance's breath hitched. Chris let his hand slide from beneath the shirts, over the hard swell of dick beneath Lance's jeans. Fuck, he thought, what a handful. Almost impossible to stop himself from unzipping Lance's jeans, reaching in, and wrapping his fingers around Lance's dick, but he didn't give in to the temptation. "And here?"

Lance's breath rushed out in a white cloud, and his hips rolled forward. "Just once."

"Did you like it?" Chris rubbed the heel of his hand against Lance's dick, and the low moan that rumbled from Lance's chest made Chris' hair rise on the back of his neck, made his own dick, already hard, throb.

"God, yes," Lance said. "I loved it. Better than with girls."

Lance reached up and wrapped his hand around the back of Chris' neck, fingers biting in, and dragged Chris in for a kiss. Their mouths came together too hard, with a clash of teeth, and Chris tasted a faint tang of blood from his cut lip. He slid his hand from between them, and put both hands on Lance's hips, pushing a thigh between Lance's own. He leaned his weight into Lance, pressing him back against the side of the van. Once Lance realized that Chris wasn't trying to get away, his hands eased their tight grip, and the kiss gentled.

As kisses went, it was a little unsure, unpolished, but Chris couldn't fault Lance's enthusiasm. Chris even found Lance's inexperience oddly...hot. He spared a moment's thought to how skeevy that might be, then tossed that thought right out of his head, because oh, yeah, he really liked how Lance felt against him, how he fit just perfectly between Lance's spread legs. Lance bucked and rubbed against him, denim rasping as his hips slid against him. He fumbled one hand down to squeeze Lance's thigh, and Lance said, "oh, oh," and shuddered hard against him, hands fisting in his coat, before breaking away to tuck his face into Chris' neck and pant against his skin, his breath warm and moist.

And hey, that was also kinda hot to know that he could make someone come just by kissing them. He turned his head and brushed his lips across Lance's temple. He tasted salty sweat in spite of the cold, and could smell them, musky.

"You don't have to just look anymore, Lance," he said softly.

"You're not gonna tell me I'm too young?"

"Do you feel too young?" He ran his thumb over Lance's ear, over the edge of his jaw.

"No. I feel...just right. It feels like it's the right time."

"Then you're old enough, and it's the right time." Chris pressed a kiss to one of Lance's fine-arched brows. Lance shifted against him, lifted his face, and his mouth was so soft and warm against Chris'.

"I want more," Lance said against Chris' mouth. "More from you. More of you."

"There's more if you want it. If you don't, that's okay. I've got the single tonight. Your call, Bass." Chris kissed him again quickly, and unwound himself from Lance, who'd wrapped himself around Chris like a vine. "But now we need to go before Wesley starts looking for us. And besides, you're all icky." He reached down and zipped up Lance's coat to hide the wet stain spreading darkly across Lance's crotch.

"How embarrassing," Lance said, making a face. "Coming in my jeans like a kid."

Chris refrained from pointing out that others would generally still consider Lance a kid. He didn't; Lance was Lance, older than his years in some ways, younger in others, but he'd always been someone who knew what he wanted, and went after it.

"Nah," Chris said lightly. "I'm just thinking that it's a testament to the Fabulous Kirkpatrick Lips. Leave me my delusions."

He slipped an arm around Lance's shoulders, gave him a quick, one-armed hug, and they stepped around the van, and walked toward the parking garage elevator, and the warmth of the hotel.

Chris glanced at his watch. Almost two in the morning. Lance must've lost his nerve, and that surprised him, because usually, once Lance had decided on a course of action, he plowed ahead and did it, regardless of the obstacles. But this was a little different than learning to dance in front of others, selling himself to an audience, to asshole record execs-all that wasn't personal.

He reached behind himself and pulled the pillow up a little, giving his back more support, before returning his attention to his book. Well, to Joey's book, a battered and dog-eared copy of one of the Star Wars novels; Joey had dragged the trilogy all the way from Orlando because he loved them so much. Chris had stolen it not because he hadn't read it-Joey quoted whole passages of it, acting it out when really bored-but because it was familiar, something he didn't have to try and concentrate on. He wasn't sure he could focus on much of anything; his whole body hummed with anticipation.

He'd just turned another page when the click of the lock made him look up sharply. The door swung open, and Lance stepped in, closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against it. He turned the keycard over and over again in his fingers, and Chris watched that movement a moment before his eyes tracked up his arms then his chest, watching Lance's huge Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Chris' eyes flicked up to Lance's soft pink mouth, then up to his flushed cheeks, his too-bright pale eyes.

"And it's Lansten," Chris said softly. He closed the book and set it on the bedside table. Leaning forward, he drew his knees up to his chest beneath the covers, and rested his arms on them. His dick grew warm and heavy beneath his loose boxers, because well, Lance, young, pretty Lance, wanted him.

"Don't call me that," Lance said. It was an automatic protest; he'd hated it since they first came up with the nickname to make his name fit the band's. Chris grinned at him, and after a minute, Lance's mouth curved a little.

Chris didn't bother to apologize; Lance wouldn't have believed it anyway. Lance drew a deep breath and let it out, and hey, that was a nice vision. Chris let himself look in unabashed pleasure, letting Lance see how much he liked looking.

Lance leaned against the door, one hip cocked, and tucked his hands behind his back. Whether it was meant as a sexy pose, or just to hide the shaking of his hands, it didn't really matter. Chris had to admit it worked for him. The pose stretched the muscle tee across his chest, outlined the curve of his erection beneath loose sweatpants. Chris must've looked *really* happy, or made a little sound, because Lance suddenly looked a whole lot more confident. His smile curved lazily, promising, and his green eyes glittered beneath his lashes.

Chris grinned. "That's a Justin beefcake pose. Number forty-seven, if I'm not mistaken."

A chuckle rumbled in Lance's chest. "Is it working?"

Heat crawled up his throat, and he had to shift; his dick felt hot and huge between his legs. "Oh, yeah, Bass. C'mere and see for yourself just how well it's working."

Chris tossed back the covers and leaned back against his pillows, letting his legs slide down, fall open. His dick tented his loose boxers, and Chris let his fingers roam down his chest, down his belly, let his fingertips trace the curve of his eager dick. He smiled as he watched Lance watch him, Lance's face flushed bright, his eyes dark and intense. Lance shifted, his own dick huge beneath the sweats, then he pushed off from the door and padded quickly and quietly across the carpeting on his bare feet.

And that took guts, Chris thought as he watched Lance approach. He smiled up at Lance, who came to a halt right beside the bed, his thighs almost touching the sheets. Chris could see how rapidly Lance's chest rose and fell, could almost hear the frantic beating of his heart. For all that Lance was scared, he wanted, and was brave enough to come and ask for what he desired.

"I guess it is working," Lance said. He reached out and ran his fingertips over Chris' dick; Chris shivered in pleasure. Lance looked up at him, and a smile curved his mouth, his real smile, the crooked one that Chris liked best.

"You bet it is." Chris smoothed his fingers over the back of Lance's hand, over his wrist. He wanted to press Lance's palm down onto his dick, to show him how he liked to be touched, but clamped down hard on the urge. "However you want to play this is cool. Whatever you want to do is good."

Lance turned his hand to clasp Chris' and rub his thumb over Chris' knuckles before pulling back. And hey, no one could say that Lance wasn't pro-active; he let his hands drop to the hem of his tee shirt, and with one oddly-graceful twisting movement, pulled it off. He let it drop to the floor. The lamplight washed golden over his body; Lance had the best skin, creamy-colored, dotted with occasional small dark moles; it looked as soft and tender as the skin of a ripe peach. His nipples were brown and peaked, whether from cold or desire or nervousness, Chris didn't know. All he knew is that he wanted to touch them, to rub his tongue over them, to taste them.

When Lance's hands went to the tie of his sweatpants, a rush of pleasurable heat flushed over Chris, and he licked his suddenly-dry lips. "Oh shit," he said, and hoped his voice didn't squeak as much as he thought it did.

Lance unknotted the tie and his fingers slid beneath the waistband, but instead of pushing them down his hips, he slid one side down far enough to reveal the slice of hipbone, the curve of his hip. Chris' eyes followed the move avidly, but when Lance stopped, Chris looked up and saw him grinning down at him.

"You fucking little prick-tease," Chris said with mock outrage. He sat up, grabbed Lance's wrist, and with a heave, pulled Lance down onto the bed, on top of him. Lance laughed, low and intimate, in his ear, and Chris decided he really liked that, and would like to hear it as often as possible. He wrapped his arms around Lance and rolled with him, tucking Lance beneath him, and that was a lot better, lying on top of him, pressed close against his body, chest to chest, hip to hip, their legs entangled.

Lance's eyes were almost black; Chris could scarcely see the rim of pale green around the hugeness of the pupil. Lying half on him, Chris could feel Lance tremble, but it looked more like excitement than with fear; the dick pressing into his hip, the slight rocking of Lance's hips surely didn't seem terrified.

"This okay?" he asked, and Lance replied, "oh yeah," so fervently that Chris knew everything was fine. The knowledge that he had the ability to affect Lance so strongly was intoxicating, and Chris smiled at the headiness of the emotion.

Lance smelled good, a combination of shower freshness, some sort of light cologne, and the musky scent of arousal. Chris pressed his nose to Lance's smooth neck and inhaled before licking a wet stripe from shoulder to earlobe that made Lance gasp, and moan when Chris bit his ear lightly. Lance's fingers gripped Chris' tee shirt tightly, pulling him closer, and he turned his face, rubbing lightly against Chris' cheek, rough with late night beard. "Different," Lance breathed, "I like it."

The first brush of his mouth landed on the corner of Chris', and then he got it, pressing up against Chris as he pulled Chris closer, and he opened his mouth for Chris' kiss. The stroke of Lance's tongue against his own was like fire, igniting every single nerve in his body. Desire raced through him, hot and shocking Chris with its power. Dimly, he was aware of Lance's hands moving over his back, his shoulders, his arms, as if trying to memorize the shape of muscle and bone. The low, soft, needy sounds Lance made in his chest, in the back of his throat, traveled a direct path from his ears down to his groin. It made him ache and throb, made his body demand more, more, *now.* He didn't think it possible to be so aroused by a sound, but there it was, undeniable, evident in the hot swelling of his flesh. Unable to help himself, he rocked against Lance, who moved as fluidly as water beneath him.

Lance broke for air. Chris felt him gasping, the heated movement of his breath steamy against his throat. Lance's taste, was warm and sweet, and still strong on his tongue, addicting. Any hesitation, any thought this was somehow wrong had long since fled his mind.

Lance's fingers tightened in Chris' hair, pulling, tilting his head to kiss him again; Chris didn't mind the little prickles of pain-they made the whole experience more real, more physical. Time passed as they kissed: seconds, minutes, hours, for all he knew, or cared. All that mattered, all that was important in his world was the sweetness of Lance's mouth, the tantalizing seductiveness of his tongue twining with Lance's own, the sexy little sounds Lance made, the roll of his hips beneath his own.

With a push and a little grunt, Lance heaved himself over Chris, straddling his body, his strong thighs on each side of his hips. He sat up straight, and his ass slid over Chris' dick, a powerful tease. "Fuckin' A," Chris gasped, because oh, oh, it felt great.

Lance pushed up the bottom of Chris' tee shirt, rucking it up around his armpits, baring his chest and belly. Chris wasn't hard and cut like the others, but the pleasure in Lance's eyes as he looked at Chris' body swept aside any feelings of insecurity. Lance began a slow caress of Chris' chest, and Chris' breath quickened, his heart thudding strongly beneath his breastbone. Lance's touch skimmed over his collarbones, over his chest, his touch too light, and Chris pressed himself up into that touch, seeking more. He felt like a cat, arching into Lance's hands, seeking the pleasure they offered.

The glide of Lance's fingers across his nipples, and the resultant pleasurable spark in his blood made it hard to think. Lance's laugh was low, rich, the flash of his eyes mischievous. "I like this. I like it a lot," he said. "A guy could get addicted, and this isn't even the good stuff."

"Oh, believe me, this is good stuff," Chris replied. "I'm not complaining, Bass." He let his hands slide over Lance's thighs, tight with muscle, his fingers kneading gently.

Lance began a slow, gentle rocking movement of his hips, and the position of his body over Chris', the heat, the rub of soft sweats material against Chris' thighs turned it into an intimate, erotic caress that made Chris moan out loud. He grasped Lance's thighs more tightly, unable to stop the rise of his own hips into the motion.

"Are you sure you're a virgin? Cause I'm definitely not getting virgin vibes here. Those hips ain't moving like a guy who's never had sex before."

Lance looked flushed and very pleased. "I read a lot. I have a good imagination. And I think about it *all* the time. *All* the time. Think about you."

The low, sexy tones of Lance's voice poured over him like warm honey. It started a cascade of emotion through him: excitement, passion, desire. Lance's hands moved boldly, possessively over him, running over his shoulders, chest, the curve of his belly, gentle fingers dipping into his navel, then slipping back upward to rub his nipples into hard pebbles.

Chris ran his hands up Lance's thighs, curled them around his hips, thumbs rubbing over the soft skin above the waistband of the sweats. Lance was slender, but not defined, not cut like JC or Justin; he had a little softness at his belly that Chris found completely appealing.

"Mmm," Chris said. "You think about me when you jerk off?" He shifted his hand, running his fingers over the bulk of Lance's dick beneath the sweats.

Lance flushed brighter, and his hips rolled, seeking more of Chris' touch. "Yeah. It's embarrassing how much. Like, constantly. Even more than Justin, and he has his hand in his pants all the time."

And that was oddly flattering, and made him smile. "Why Mistah Bass," Chris said, his voice rising into a high falsetto, complete with a terrible, fake southern accent, " Ah do believe y'all will turn my head with your flattery." He batted his eyes outrageously.

Lance laughed. "You are such an ass. I thought this was supposed to be serious."

"Sometimes it is. But the best times are when you can laugh a little. Sex is supposed to be fun." He slid his fingertips just beneath the waistband of Lance's sweats, and hey, dick right there, hard and hot and wet. He slicked his fingertip over the broad fat head, and Lance bucked and shuddered hard. "Having fun, Bass?"

"Oh yeah," Lance replied, his voice dropping even lower, so low Chris thought his bones vibrated with it. "Lots of fun. But I want more."

"You're a bossy bitch. I should've figured that you'd be that way in bed, too," Chris replied, then pulled his fingertips out of Lance's sweats. He brought them up and licked; salty-bitter, perfect. At the soft, low moan, he glanced up, and found Lance watching him avidly. He grinned and sucked his fingers into his mouth, working them like he'd work a dick, and Lance's eyes went dark.

And then Chris found himself in the middle of a flurry of arms and legs and hands and hot, heavy boy as Lance pounced. He grunted when Lance elbowed him accidentally, hummed happily as Lance kissed him, tongue slicking aggressively against his own, then squeaked when Lance sat back and almost pulled his ears off stripping him out of his tee shirt. Lance had a lot of determination when he had a goal in mind. Chris didn't mind being the goal; it had been awhile since anyone had wanted him naked so much.

His tee shirt landed on the floor, and his boxers, flung carelessly over Lance's shoulder, landed somewhere near the dresser. Woo, naked. Lance sat back on his heels between Chris' legs, flushed and panting, and that was a really nice sight. Chris thought the nakedness should be distributed little more evenly, since Lance still had his sweats on, but Lance looked so appreciative that Chris didn't mind a few more minutes of solo nudity.

"There you go again, just looking," Chris said with a grin. "You can touch. In fact, I'd really be grateful if you did, y'know?"

Lance flashed him a quick, unsteady smile, and put his hands on Chris' spread thighs. His hands were cold, and Chris swallowed down a little sound of discomfort. Lance was nervous, in spite of his bravado; his hands always got so cold when he was. Although his dick, hard and red and leaking, curving up on his belly, wanted touch, he thought he could wait until Lance worked up the nerve to touch; he remembered how he'd hesitated when he'd first had a guy naked.

Lance's fingers skated up his thighs, ruffled through his thick dark pubes, and then wrapped around his dick. Okay, not as much time to work up the courage as Chris thought it might take; Lance was a nervy kind of guy. Chris grunted in appreciation as Lance's fingers moved on him slowly, getting a feel for his dick, for the smooth flow of foreskin moving beneath his palm. He liked the look of Lance's hand on him, liked the feel of it, even though Lance's grip was too light, his movements too slow to actually get him off, in spite of his excitement.

He looked up and saw Lance watching him, totally absorbed, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he concentrated. Chris bit his own lip to keep from laughing; he'd seen that very same expression on Lance's face as he worked through his calculus homework. But he figured if he laughed, Lance might take it wrong, and hey, now that he was naked and had Lance touching him, he wanted it to continue, so discretion. He could be discreet, even if no one else ever thought so, and it practically killed him to do it.

"I like it," Lance said, watching his hand move on Chris' dick, watching the flow of looser skin. His eyes flicked up to Chris' face, and he grinned. "Different, but pretty damn cool."

"I'm so glad to get the Bass Stamp of Approval. You can do it a little harder. And a little faster. I wouldn't mind, really." He dropped his hand to cover Lance's, showing him how he liked to be touched, how firmly, how quickly. After a few strokes, he let his hand fall away, gripping the sheets; oh hell, it felt good to have a hand different than his own on him.

Chris' toes curled as Lance hit the perfect combination of firm grip and rhythm; no one could say Lance wasn't a quick study. He closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by sensation.

Too much, and not enough. Chris could feel the blood pounding within him, the desire rising up within him, hot and fierce. He knew he wouldn't last long, especially when Lance began improvising, adding a little twist of his wrist at the upper end of his stroke that felt fucking *fabulous.* Chris panted and twisted and thrust into Lance's grip, and when Lance just stopped, Chris howled in protest.

"C'mon, don't stop. Don't you dare stop. You were doing it perfectly, and I was...." Chris trailed off as he opened his eyes and saw Lance's expression shift into one of complete determination, the same expression Chris had seen before when Lance tackled something new or difficult.

The first stroke of tongue made Chris buck and grab the sheets. Lance put one hand on his hip, and curled the other around his dick to hold him in place, and licked again. His tongue was soft and warm and wet, and while Chris watched him, Lance wet his lips, touched them to the head of Chris' dick. Chris held his breath waiting to see if Lance would do it, and let it out in a long moan when he opened his mouth and sucked him in.

Wonderful. So wonderful; Chris unclenched one hand from the sheet and curled it around the back of Lance's head, not to hold him there, but to guide him. His hips lifted, sliding a little further into slick heat before he realized that Lance was new to it, and might not like it if he thrust as much as he wanted.

He only had to grunt once at a sharp nick of teeth on his dick and grate out "Teeth, Bass, remember no teeth," before Lance adjusted and fell into an awkward rhythm. Seeing his dick disappear into that sweet pink mouth, knowing that it was Lance who had offered to do this, who wanted him, was enough to make up for lack of technique, and he felt himself teetering precariously along the edge of coming. He really thought he should warn Lance, but he thought he could hold out another minute or two, because in spite of everything, it felt good to have a mouth on his dick.

But when Lance looked up at him as his lips slid down his dick, his eyes huge and dark and hazy with pleasure, Chris gasped and abruptly came. He bucked hard, body arching as the electrical tingle of his orgasm streaked through him, pulsing out of his body and into Lance's mouth.

Lance jerked back, and as Chris settled back onto the mattress, lax and tingling, he opened his eyes to see Lance looking a little green. "Oh, Bass," he wheezed, "Sorry, sorry." He didn't laugh as Lance leaned over the side of the bed and spit, though it was a close thing. When Lance sat back up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, his fine dark brows drawn down in a frown, Chris whooped for breath and caught his wrist in case Lance decided to bolt. He tugged, and Lance allowed him to pull him down on top of him.

"Sorry. Tried to warn you but it happened so fast. Felt so good." He pressed a kiss to Lance's mouth, missing and catching just the corner of it. Lance's lips felt hot and swollen when his second try at his mouth worked. "You're going to be good at it, I promise."

Lance let Chris lick open his mouth to kiss him, and Chris made it one Lance would remember, soft and sweet, tongue flicking over his lips and teeth, twining with seductive slowness around his. He could taste himself in Lance's mouth, strong on his tongue, and he sucked on it, savoring their joined flavors.

When they parted, Lance said, "Oh Lord, that's fucking *vile*-tasting."

Chris laughed against his throat. "You get used to it. The first few times I hated it. Eventually, you even like it."

Lance shuddered against him. "I hope so."

"I swear it does. Would I lie to you?"

"Daily," Lance said, but he sounded amused.

"You're crushing my spirit here, Bass. I was gonna offer some reciprocation, was gonna offer to blow you in return, but now, I'm not so sure you deserve the mad skills of the Talented Kirkpatrick Mouth."

"I'm pretty sure I do. And I'm pretty sure I deserve them right now." Lance's hips moved restlessly against his thigh, one hand smoothing over his belly, over his chest, thumbing a dark pink nipple. "If the Talented Kirkpatrick Mouth would quit talking about it and just do it."

Chris had to laugh. "There's the Lance Bass I know," he said. He licked his lips, still tasting Lance there, and then with a little shove, moved Lance off him and moved between Lance's spread legs. Lance flopped back into the sheets. He looked turned on and anxious in equal amounts, now that he wasn't the one doing things. "You ever been blown?"

Lance swallowed hard. "Nope. But not for lack of trying." His belly shivered beneath Chris' stroking hand. "I never dated all that much, and the girls I did? Well. Either they were all good girls, or they just didn't want to...y'know. Do it. Try it."

Chris grinned down at him. "I'm not intimidated by a big dick. I have a firm sense of self worth," Chris said, and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Lance's sweats, pulling them down. Lance's dick bobbed free of the soft material, and smacked heavily against his flat belly, hard and red and wet. Chris stared a moment, torn between admiration and intimidation. He decided to go with admiration, because his mouth was watering. "*Damn,* Lance. Okay. Remind me to get out my book of self-affirmations tomorrow, cause I'm gonna need it."

"Shut up and either do it or don't," Lance said, and he sounded a little strangled. Chris pulled his eyes away from Lance's dick-reluctantly-and saw that Lance had blushed from his nipples to his hairline. He had one hand over his eyes, as if that would somehow hide him from Chris' mocking. It also kept him from seeing Chris' avid appreciation, unfortunately.

"Oh, there's no doubt I'm gonna do it. None at all." Chris leaned forward, stretching himself out over Lance, who moved his hand from over his eyes to look at up at Chris. Chris smiled down at him, rocking gently on him, Lance's dick digging into his belly, and Lance's look of annoyance faded instantly. Chris leaned in and covered Lance's mouth with his own.

Lance wrapped his arms around Chris' shoulders and returned the kiss with a quickly-growing skill and assurance. He liked deep, wet kisses with lots of tongue, but he seemed to like fast little kisses on the corner of his mouth, on his chin, his jaw, his ears, just as well. And he really loved it when Chris sucked on his neck-gently, because he didn't want to leave a hickey-if the moans that rumbled from his chest were any indication.

He seemed to like everything that Chris did; he writhed fluidly beneath him, arching into the stroke of Chris' hands or the lap of his tongue, and he was *noisily* appreciative. Chris spared a thought to the room next to his; if JC wasn't sleeping-and he could sleep through almost anything-he probably had his ear pressed to the wall, the voyeuristic freak. Chris was certain he'd hear all about it tomorrow.

Chris spent some time on Lance's little brown nipples, simply because he liked the scrabble of Lance's hands in his long hair and the deep, moaning, "oh mahh god," that came from Lance with each nibble or lick, and when he sucked, Lance thrashed beneath him, hips arching high and hard into him.

If he wasn't careful, Lance would come before he even got to suck him, and really, that would be a crime. So reluctantly, he left Lance's chest and kissed down his belly, moving between his thighs. He tugged the sweats the rest of the way off and gave them a toss. Lance was smooth all over, except for the little treasure trail starting beneath his navel that led to the thatch of light brown hair around his dick, and his surprisingly hairy legs, covered in pale golden hair.

"I'm seriously impressed, Bass. Got a lot of stamina here. I never would've made it this long my first time." He smoothed his hands up Lance's thighs.

Lance's chest rose and fell rapidly, and his breathing sounded loud in the quiet room. "I jerked off twice before I showed up here," he admitted. "Didn't want to embarrass myself again."

Chris laughed. "A man with a plan," he said. "Smart boys turn me on."

"Everyone turns you on," Lance replied, then gasped when Chris ducked his head and licked up his dick, from base to head before sucking it into his mouth without any further preliminaries. And wow, Chris thought. Thick and silky-hot, wet and salty-bitter-fucking perfect. No way he could take Lance in completely, so he wrapped his hand around it and worked on what he could. He leaned his weight into Lance to keep him from bucking so much, but damn, Lance had a lot of power in his hips. Maybe some day he'd get to experience first-hand just how much thrusting power he had, but that was for the future. He concentrated on the present, and the pleasure of Lance's dick, hot and heavy, on his tongue.

Lance's hands scrabbled over his shoulders, in his hair, pulling a little too hard, but Chris didn't care about that so much; he liked knowing he could make Lance lose himself in the experience. He liked hearing the deep moans, liked the tiny thrusts of Lance's hips, liked the taste of him, the feel of him against his tongue.

Another moment, maybe two, and Lance began gasping, "Chris, Chris, gonna, gonna...." and made tiny little pushing away movements that Chris knew he didn't mean. Instead, he ramped up the intensity, wanting Lance to come, and after another thrust, Lance did, his hips straining upward, trying to bury himself in Chris' throat.

When Chris pulled off him, swallowing and then wiping his swollen lips on the back of his hand, he looked up to see Lance melted into the mattress, sweaty and panting, looking completely sated and debauched. It was a good look for him, something he wanted to see a lot more of, actually.

He crawled up Lance's body, and kissed him, holding his face in one hand as Lance tried to turn away. When Lance relaxed and licked back into his mouth, Chris gentled the kiss, made it soft and sweet. "You taste good, Bass," Chris said against his mouth. "I like it. A lot. I like you. A lot."

Lance raised a hand and smoothed back Chris' floppy hair. He looked exhausted but happy. "I'm glad it was you," he said, and pulled Chris down into a hug. He was so warm, so pliant, that Chris wanted to melt against him.

When Lance began relaxing against him, and when Chris felt warm sleepiness creeping up on him, he pressed a kiss to Lance's ear. "You staying all night, Lance?"

"Mm," Lance replied, and it sounded like the rumbling purr of a very large sleepy cat. "Prob'ly shouldn't," he said, and moved under Chris, stretching. "Might should get back to my own room. Lynn would have a fit if she knew I'd been out of it."

"There's that, definitely." Lance wriggled out from beneath him and sat on the edge of the bed. Chris reached out and stroked down the long, smooth line of his back. "And we might want to keep this under wraps for awhile, y'know?"

Lance bent over and fished around on the floor for his sweats. "I'm thinking so. But Chris?" He paused to step into his sweats and pull them up. Chris bit his lower lip to keep from squeaking, because, damn, that was a fine, round ass, and he hadn't even had a chance to show his appreciation for it. Lance half turned and looked down at him, and Chris dragged his attention from Lance's ass to his face.

"Yeah?" He hoped he didn't sound as apprehensive as he thought he might at the thought that Lance might not want to do this anymore.

"Don't think that you're getting away with just this one time. I figure I've got a lot to get caught up on, and I intend for you to be the one to get me up to speed." He grinned suddenly, the real, crooked one that Chris loved.

"That's me, your turbo-charged, zero-to-sixty-in-two-seconds guy. Built for speed and endurance, equipped with a powerful V-8 engine, and fancy stick shift," he said, and indicated his dick, warm and half-hard, with an expansive gesture worthy of any chick showing off items on a game show. "A marvel of American engineering."

Lance laughed, and bent to pick up his tee shirt. He made a face as he picked up Chris' and discarded it. "Sorry about spitting on your shirt."

"No prob," Chris replied, "I've probably done way worse to you." He watched Lance pull on his own shirt, then smooth down his hair into some semblance of order. When Lance leaned down to kiss him, sliding his hand around the nape of Chris' neck, Chris felt him smile against his mouth.

"I don't doubt that." Lance straightened, smoothing his hands over his chest and belly. "It's not gonna be weird," he said. "I won't let it."

"It's me in the equation, so that automatically makes it weird on some level or another."

"It's gonna be good. I'm the man with the plan, remember? And you like smart boys. Just remember that, and everything will be okay." Lance smiled down at him a moment, then padded over to the door. "G'night, Chris," he said softly, and closed the door behind him.

Chris flopped back down onto the bed. He could smell them both in the sheets, and his body still tingled happily. Sure, it could be weird. But it could also be good, on a lot of levels. He liked Lance, trusted him as he did few others. He liked his sense of humor, his determination. On the tally board in his brain, the pluses were overwhelming compared to the negatives. It might not be for forever, but it could be good for as long as it was. And Chris was pretty good with that.

He smiled as he pulled up the covers over himself and shifted around until he found a position of comfort. JC could keep his shitty German porn. He certainly wouldn't be needing it anymore, not when he had the warmth of the real thing.