© December 2002

Civilization, Lance decided, was not based on great works of art, the construction of great cities, or the advancement of medicine, but on creature comforts. Hot food not prepared in a microwave, spacious hotel rooms instead of the narrow aisles of a bus, soft, wide beds instead of cramped bunks, and hot showers with unlimited water, without someone else on the other side of the door, yelling at him to hurry up. After a month on tour, such things were the height of luxury.

The moment James, one of the newest bodyguards, closed the door behind him, Lance unzipped his duffel and pulled out his kit. He kicked off his shoes and began stripping on the way to the bathroom, thinking of hot water and soap and shampoo with the passion reserved for a favorite lover.

His deep moans of appreciation echoed off the tiles as he stood beneath the spray and let the hot water pound against the back of his neck. He'd fallen asleep the night before curled into a crooked position on the couch, and instead of waking him up and sending him off to his bunk, Joey had just covered him up and let him sleep. Nice of Joey not to want to wake him up, but now Lance wished he had.

He shaved and shampooed and washed until he smelled oceany fresh and not like smelly socks and the musky old sweatshirt of Joey's he'd borrowed. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he pulled another from the rack and toweled his head as he ambled back into the bedroom, feeling at least a hundred percent better.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Lance let out a little bleat of surprise as a body hurtled from behind the door and leapt on his back. He staggered and they almost went down onto the carpet before he caught his balance. Lance had a moment of panic, thinking of Justin's stalker, but then the legs wrapped around his waist, muscular, hairy, knobby-kneed, and almost lost in a huge pair of tan cargo shorts, looked all too familiar, as did the strong, wiry arms wrapping around his shoulders and chest.

"Bass, Bass, Bass," Chris crooned, and then scrubbed his goatee across Lance's bare shoulder before soothing the irritated skin with a long, wet stroke of his tongue. Lance couldn't help the shiver, and Chris laughed softly. "I'm here to ravish your fine, fine ass."

Lance tried to pry Chris' legs from around his waist, but Chris clung like a bearded, spiky-haired barnacle, legs tightening until Lance squeaked. "Lucky me," Lance huffed, and tried to untangle Chris' arms from around his neck before he herniated a disc. Chris was a lot heavier than he looked.

"Ain't that the truth, baby," Chris said. He nosed behind Lance's ear, snuffling and licking like a dog. Lance tried to turn his head, but all it did was expose his neck to a long, wet swipe of Chris' tongue that made him shiver. "Carry me to bed, and I'll have my wicked way with you until morning." Chris blew gently on his neck, and goosebumps prickled over Lance's skin.

"If I carry you, it kinda ruins the whole ravishment scenario," Lance said, attempting reason one last time, and then gave up trying to pull Chris off his body as Chris abandoned licking and instead bit the back of his neck, growling like Korea.

"I'm a non-traditional kind of ravisher," Chris replied cheekily. "C'mon, move it." He began to warble the chorus from 'Giddy-up', and just to get him to shut up, Lance staggered with him over to his bed. He almost tripped on his own wadded up jeans and Chris' carelessly abandoned black high top sneakers, but managed to catch himself before he wrenched anything important.

Not my bed anymore, but our bed, Lance thought, as he fell face-forward onto it, with Chris still loudly singing "ride it ride it ride it." Lance yelped as a sharp knee caught him in the ribs, and he tried to elbow Chris in retaliation, who'd stopped singing long enough to laugh and let Lance turn over, twisted in the bedspread and his towel.

Chris leaned in for a swift, hard kiss. Out of sheer perversity, Lance tried to turn away, and when he couldn't, his face caught firmly by Chris' small, strong hands, decided to bite Chris' lower lip. "Ow, you little shit," Chris said, when Lance let go, grinning up at him, all big white teeth, more ferocious than friendly.

"Get off, you freak...I can't breathe." Lance pushed at the knees trapping his hips to the bed, but Chris had the advantage of leverage and a superior position, and sat atop him, solid and unmoveable. Chris fingered his abused lower lip, and then his eyes glinted in a way that Lance had learned a long time ago meant trouble for him. Chris bounced, his weight coming down on Lance's belly, and Lance huffed out a breath in a grunt. Chris' laugh rang high and clear and wicked.

Chris reached for him and ran his fingers through his damp hair and tightened, holding him in place none too gently. "If you can bitch at me, you can breathe," Chris said cheerfully. "Gimme a kiss, loverboy. I'm dying here."

Chris' hands left his hair, and smoothed over his cheeks, fingertips skating over the line of his jaw, his expression so intent, soft brown eyes darkening to almost black, that Lance quit struggling. Oh. Sweet, and intense, so focused, as if Lance were the only thing in the entire universe worth looking at, and so hot he thought for a moment he might burst into flames. Heat curled down his belly and throbbed insistently between his legs. Chris leaned down, and his lips were so soft as they brushed against Lance's, Chris' lower lip full and hot as Lance licked gently across it in apology for biting it.

He let Chris tip his head, let Chris lick his mouth open. Fucking wonderful, Lance thought dreamily; when Chris decided to kiss, he gave everything to it, poured himself wholly into it. Chris' thumbs gently massaged the hinges of his jaws, and his fingers smoothed over the short, thick hair at the back of his head. His tongue stroked deeply, confidently into Lance's mouth, strong and sure and aggressive, just like Lance liked it. Lance hummed deep in his throat, desire sweeping through him in a quick, hot stream. His hands clutched at Chris' jersey, fingers knotting in the slick soft cloth, pulling him closer, returning the kiss with just as much passion.

Breathing was over-rated, Lance thought, though dark sparkles danced at the edges of his vision when Chris pulled away, smiling smugly. Lance gasped for air and pulled at Chris for another kiss, but Chris pried off Lance's hands and sat back on his thighs, pinning Lance to the bed. The towel tightened across Lance's groin, outlining the thick, heavy lift of his dick, and Chris ran a finger along his length, chuckling as Lance shivered and bucked beneath him, pleasure winding tightly low in his belly.

"And now we will have the sex," Chris announced grandly. "It's been two days. Seems like for-fucking-ever." Chris peeled off his loose jersey and sent it sailing across the room, a colorful blur of red and black, and it landed on Lance's laptop. "After having had the Bass experience, two days is like an eternity. I can't face celibacy after you."

Lance laughed, absurdly pleased, and slid his hands up Chris' arms and then over his chest, long slim fingers ruffling through the dark hair, working down to warm pale skin. He loved how Chris was so hairy, such a contrast to his own almost bare skin. In the shower, he could soap up Chris and use him as his own personal scrub brush, something that always made Chris laugh, at least until he got turned on enough by Lance's writhing against him to do something more constructive with his mouth than laugh.

"I doubt you've ever spent much time being celibate," he said, and ran his thumbs over small dark nipples, feeling them bead up, then scratched lightly at them with his nails. He wanted to slide his tongue over them, to feel them harden against his lips, to suck and gently bite until Chris bucked and quivered beneath him, until he made that soft, high-pitched little sound Lance loved to hear. But energy and impatience shimmered beneath Chris' skin, and he knew Chris wouldn't wait for him to do it. So instead he pinched them sharply, then soothed them with his fingertips. He loved the catch in Chris' breath, the way Chris suddenly fumbled with the button to his shorts.

"Now, I just know you're not calling me a 'ho," Chris said, and the corner of his mouth curved up into a smile. He couldn't seem to help the little shimmy of his body against Lance. "Because that would be, like, insulting or something."

"If the condom fits," Lance replied. He pushed Chris' hands aside, and unzipped the shorts, pushing them down over Chris' narrow hips; the shorts were so large they slid easily away. Chris usually wore boxers, but he hadn't this time, had gone commando, and the thought that Chris had been too impatient to have him to bother with underwear made him smile.

The skin over Chris' hips felt so soft beneath his fingertips, tender, and Lance spent a moment imagining that no other had touched Chris there before. Stupid to assume that, he knew, but he'd not been able to stop thinking that since the first time he touched Chris, and oddly enough, it had developed into one of his favorite places to kiss, if he could hold Chris still long enough. Lance suspected that somewhere, deep within the recesses of his mind, filled with appointments and numbers and legalese, lurked a romantic of sorts.

"Wasting valuable fucking time, here, Bass," Chris said, and his hand smoothed over his own dick, full and red, curving up from the thick black tangle of hair between his legs. Lance watched the smooth movement of hand and foreskin as Chris jerked himself slowly, his eyes glittering darkly, his mouth quirked up in a half smile. Lance licked his lips, wanting to taste, as Chris brought his hand up and licked his own juices off his palm and fingers. He looked sharp and dark and wild, and something seemed to turn sharply in Lance's chest, tighten around his lungs, making his own breathing catch. "Want it?"

"Maybe," Lance said, though his dick, trapped against his belly beneath the tightly wound towel around his hips, throbbed with need and want, want, want. "Yeah."

Chris laughed, husky and triumphant. Lance began a countdown in his head. Five, four---and Chris pulled out a strip of condoms and a tube of lube out of one of the pockets of his shorts. He tossed the stuff to the bed, and reached for Lance. Lance's towel quickly parted company with his body, Chris jerking at it impatiently until he found pale bare skin. By the time Lance had reached 'one', he lay naked before an equally naked Chris, who knelt on the bed between his widely spread thighs. He looked like a man who hadn't had a meal in a week.

"You look hungry," Lance said softly, and ran his hand up Chris' thigh; the muscles felt hard and tight beneath his stroking fingers.

"Yeah, well, I am," Chris replied. He popped the cap on the tube of lube and squeezed out a generous dollop. "All your fault---if you'd just have sex with me on the bus...."

"I've told you before. I'm not having sex with you on the...oh...." Lance grunted as clever fingers, cool with lube, probed between his legs and then pushed insistently against him. A quick, sharp burn as Chris breached him, and then they slid in smoothly. He spread his legs wider, and pulled them up high, to his chest, closing his eyes and concentrating on relaxing into the stretch. Chris' fingers withdrew, and Lance protested with a moan, but then Chris returned, slicking more lube into him. His muscles burned and ached a little, and he loved it. He shifted, wanting more, and a long, low, "oh, fuck, that's...."

Chris laughed. "I'm not the one who makes all the noise."

"Just think how much noise I'd make if you actually did foreplay," Lance complained, as Chris' fingers slipped free, leaving him feeling curiously empty and needy. "You're the most impatient fucker...."

"We'll do foreplay later. You bitch way too much," Chris said cheerfully. "I don't know why I bother with all your bellyaching." Lance allowed Chris to push him to his belly, shifting to allow room for his dick, hot and swollen, against the bed. Chris's hands moved gently over his ass, kneading and smoothing. "Oh yeah. Now I remember why."

Lance snorted into the sheets. Chris leaned over him, and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, and his dick dragged against Lance's thigh, moist and oh so hot. Rubbing his cheek against the bed, Lance sighed as Chris withdrew. A moment later, Chris' hands wrapped around his hips, tugging upward, and Lance rose to hands and knees. Excitement and anticipation hammered him, and he shuddered beneath Chris' touch, his hips rolling and flexing against nothing but air. Sex with Chris was like a lightning strike; intense and quick and mind-blowing.

"Oh, so nice," Chris crooned. "Lance Bass has the finest ass," he sang softly, " doo-dah, doo-dah...."

Lance's eyes flew open. "I swear, if you sing any more of that song, I'll rip off your balls," he threatened, and sent a dark glance over his shoulder. "You'll never see this ass again."

"Sheesh. My magnum opus to one of your best qualities, and you won't let me serenade you. Ingrate. Honestly, kids today...." Chris sounded a little out of breath. Lance heard the crinkle of plastic, and the little catch in Chris' breath as he smoothed the condom on himself.

"Twelve verses is enou....oh," Lance said, and gasped as Chris pushed in, slick and hot. Lance breathed out, working to relax, to let Chris in. He had learned to appreciate that first thrust inside, the lick of fire up his spine, bright and sharp enough to make him grit his teeth and grunt, to arch his back and to scrabble for purchase on the sheets. He locked his elbows and let his head drop between his arms, feeling the prickle of tears behind his tightly closed eyelids, and waited, knowing it would become good, oh so good, quickly afterward.

Another push, and Chris slid in all the way, thick and heavy and so hard, until Lance could feel Chris' belly, hot and sweaty, against his ass. His heart thundered in his ears, in his chest and in his belly, and he thought, oh, fuck, too much, not enough. He could hear gasps, high and hitching, and wondered if it was him, or Chris. Then he decided it must be him, because Chris made a soothing, shushing sound, stroked gently over his straining thighs and draped himself over Lance's back, his hairy chest and belly prickly against Lance's over-heated skin. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Lance's neck, and breathed with him until the burn eased, until Lance nodded, ready for more.

"So fucking sweet," Chris said softly, nuzzling Lance's ear. "Want you, need you," he whispered before he slid back onto his knees and took a firm grip on Lance's hips.

Chris pulled almost all the way out and then thrust swiftly in, and this time Lance was ready for the sweet hot burn, the pleasure that sparkled up his spine, spidered over shoulders and down his chest and belly, wrapping his dick in shocking pleasure. He clutched the sheets and shoved back, grinning ferally at Chris' sharp intake of breath and his breathy, pleased, "oh you fucker."

And the burn melted into pleasure, dissolved into just good, good, good as Chris began to move.

Slow and oh so deep at first, with a little twisting grind of Chris' hips that always made him moan, long and low, as sparkles danced behind his tightly-closed eyes. His erection, which had faded as Chris pushed into him, returned with a vengeance, hot and throbbing, and aching for touch.

"Oh yeah," Chris said, his voice sliding lower, huskier, "gimme those noises...you know I like to hear you...fucking good...."

And Lance couldn't help it, couldn't stop the sounds that slipped from him as passion slid hot and heavy and alive through his veins, rolling and tumbling him, lust and need wild and powerful inside him.

He loved it. Loved it, more than he ever thought he could, more than he knew he should. He loved the way Chris' dick slid in and out of him, setting him ablaze with sensation, loved the surprising power of his hips, the heat of his small hands stroking and caressing his back and hips and thighs, the careless scratch of his rough-bitten nails. He loved the way Chris was so quiet except for his panting, silent and intense and focused and so there for him, giving him what he craved, what he needed.

"More, more...harder, please," Lance gasped, and lurched forward, catching himself on his forearms as Chris drove into him, hands tightening almost cruelly on Lance's hips. The head of his dick, swollen and aching, dragged on the sheets, and that was just another bright hot flash of sensation skittering through him, making him moan and gasp and pant.

Chris shifted a little, pulled back on his hips, and holy fuck, right there, the sweet, golden place that made everything burst like fireworks within him as Chris hammered into him. Lance had a moment to scrabble his hand down beneath him, to wrap his fingers around his dick and jerk once, and then he came, the power of it rolling him under like an ocean wave, deep and dark and powerful.

Heat washed through him as Chris swore under his breath and continued to thrust, losing his rhythm after a moment, then slamming in hard enough to scoot them across the sheets, grinding deep, deep, deep inside, his hands clutching tightly, a small sharp cry escaping him. One last grind against him, and Chris slumped over his back, panting, his skin fiery and drenched in sweat. Lance let them both slide to the bed, too tired to hold them both on his knees and forearms.

He lay there, all parts of his body throbbing sweetly, Chris draped across him like a living blanket, panting hotly against his shoulder. Chris lay with his face pressed to the nape of his neck, until he began to soften within him. With a sloppy kiss to the top of his shoulder, Chris pulled back and out with a grunt, and rolled over to toss the condom in the trash.

Lance shifted, folding his arms under his cheek for a pillow, and turned his head, looking at Chris through half-opened eyes. Chris lay sprawled over most of the bed, looking like a starfish washed up on the beach. His chest rose up and down with his breath, slowing as Lance watched, and his hair stuck to his sweaty, flushed face. He looked satisfied and sated, and supremely happy with the universe at the moment, the corners of his mouth turned up in a not-quite-smile that Lance found inexplicably attractive. In that moment he looked surprisingly young, not much different than when Lance had first seen him, and wanted him, years ago.

"Didn't your mama tell you it was rude to stare, boy?" One dark eye flicked open, and Chris grinned; the spell broke, and Chris returned to his normal self once more.

"Don't talk about my mama after we've had sex," Lance said automatically. "It's sacrilegious or something."

Chris gave a little snort of laughter, and his soft belly quivered. Lance wanted to touch, but kept his hands where they were. "So sorry."

"Yeah, you look sorry," Lance replied, as Chris rolled into him, throwing his leg over the small of Lance's back, draping an arm over his shoulder and rubbing his cheek over Lance's biceps.

Lance wanted to run his fingers through Chris' messy, spiky hair, to press a kiss to his smiling mouth, but didn't, because a lot of the time, when Lance tried to return the touch, Chris moved away. Chris liked affection, but only on terms known only to himself. He made Lance think of the tomcat his elderly neighbor had as a pet when he'd been a child. Sometimes it would twine around his ankles and he could pet it, and sometimes it yowled and scratched him, and he'd never been sure which thing the cat would do until it did it.

So instead of rolling on top of Chris and kissing him until they were both blue from lack of air, Lance smiled at him in return, face half-hidden by his folded arms. He felt sleepy and well-used, tired, but still a little current of restlessness shimmered along his belly. The sex was good---his body couldn't deny that---but always over almost before it began, leaving him feeling as if he'd been run over by a train. The next round would be better, slower; Chris always directed the first time after they'd not had sex for a few days, because he was so impatient. After an orgasm, he was more amenable to slow, deep fucking, the way Lance really preferred it.

"Ow, you fuckhead!" Lance unfolded in a quick rush, and his palm connected with the back of Chris' head after Chris bit him, sharply, on the arm he'd been nuzzling. Chris laughed, rolled away, and kicked at his thigh, but not too hard. "Why did you do that?"

"I'm starving. Let's go downstairs and get something to eat."

Lance rubbed at the bright red spot on his arm and said crossly, "Way to kill the afterglow."

"Afterglow's overrated," Chris replied. He kicked at Lance's thigh again. "C'mon. Put some clothes on. You know you'll give in, 'cos I'll annoy the hell outta you until you do what I want."

Lance sighed, because really, that was completely true. Chris had boundless patience when it came to annoying people into getting his own way. It was like a hell-given talent. He rolled up to a sitting position and stretched, out of the reach of Chris' annoying foot, then scratched at his belly and made a face at what had dried there. His ass ached, but in a good way, and the I've-been-hit-by-a-train feeling had faded somewhat.

"That's my boy," Chris said cheerfully, pleased because he knew Lance had given in. He rolled with surprising grace off the bed and onto his feet, flexible and almost crackling with energy Lance would never possess. Not fair, Lance groused; guys were supposed to sleep after sex, not chase around the hotel looking for food and trying to avoid fans. But he'd known going into this that Chris was unlike anyone else he knew, and lived by a completely different set of rules. Chris leaned in, grabbed both of Lance's ears in ungentle hands, and pressed a loud smacking kiss to Lance's lips. Lance laughed against his mouth, and pushed at his chest.

"Let go my damn ears, you freak," Lance said, and Chris pinched them lightly before he did. Lance's ears burned, and he supposed they were red.

Chris bounced on his toes a moment, completely secure in his nakedness, and Lance's attraction to that nakedness. "No love, I tell you. I'm crushed. C'mon, hurry up. If you don't feed me soon, I'll be forced to compose a song to your sexy Bass ears." He grinned, cunning and sly. "And you know I'll do it."

Lance hurried.

*****

*****

The next morning, dressed in a long black tee shirt, sloppy loose jeans, and one of Chris' ball caps pulled down over his eyes, Lance made his way down to the dining room for breakfast. He usually hated wearing caps, and went out of his way to avoid them, but today his hair was all weird, standing up in directions he wasn't certain were possible. Trust his hair to disobey the basic laws of physics. Besides, he'd never thought a cap and sunglasses worn inside were a particularly good idea for a disguise. And he was fairly certain the presence of huge black guys following them around was a dead giveaway of celebrity status, but he gave a mental shrug; it was just part of the oddity of their lives.

JC sat alone in a corner booth, Lonnie at a table closeby. Lance wanted to groan when he got closer, because JC's idea of dressing inconspicuously to eat in public left a lot to be desired. He wore a pair of pants that looked as if they'd been made from the hide of a Holstein cow, if a Holstein had pastel spots instead of black ones. A pink shirt, the sleeves casually rolled up his sinewy forearms, and a godawful bucket hat pulled low over big blue-lensed sunglasses completed the outfit. Lance hated it; it made his eyes hurt, although he did have to admit that JC always looked fresh and happy in pink.

JC tipped back his head to see beneath the brim of the hat, and his face crinkled into a happy, welcoming grin. "Hallo," he said, and waved, though Lance stood right at the tableside.

"Hey," Lance said, and slid into the semi-circular booth, gritting his teeth before shifting over to sit slightly on one hip. His ass ached. Damn Chris, and damn him too, for being such a greedy bastard. When he looked back up at JC, the happy grin had turned ecstatic.

"Thank god," JC said in relief. "Now maybe he'll settle down and quit being such a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, well," Lance said dryly, and shifted slightly. He reached for the carafe of orange juice and poured. JC blinked, and then giggled as he realized what he'd said. Lance grinned back at him. He'd never understood how JC could be such a clever, smart guy, and still always be the last in on a pun or a joke.

"I ordered for you," JC said. "Lots of calories. Protein. You'll thank me for it later."

"Thanks," Lance replied. He watched JC return to picking out the raisins from his raisin bread, placing them neatly on the side of his plate. JC hated raisins in food. He said it was like eating bugs with juicy insides. Lance had often wondered how JC knew that, but had never dared ask. "Why don't you just not order that, if you don't like the raisins?"

"I like the cinnamon," JC replied with a shrug. The midmorning light caught the curls peeking out from beneath his hat, turning them shades of gold and bronze.

"Why not order cinnamon toast, then?"

"They put too much cinnamon on it and ruin it. I don't mind doing this."

And that was perfectly logical for JC, so Lance let it go. The waitress, an attractive, older blonde---their waitresses were always older---brought a large tray of food: pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, grapefruit, a bowl of fruit, coffee, hot chocolate. Lance watched her set the plates all over his side of the table. He smiled warmly at her, thanked her because he'd been raised to be polite, and then said, after she left, "I'll never eat all this."

"Well, eat some of it," JC said, and his long fingers deftly fished out a bright piece of mango from the fruit bowl. "He's got you two days, and you'll starve if you're not careful."

Lance stirred a little sugar into his coffee, sipped at it. He ate half the scrambled eggs as JC neatly stole two pieces of bacon and a sausage patty.

"We tried to give you a head start yesterday," JC said. "Just so you could at least get to your room." He pulled the cup of hot chocolate over to his side of the table, and took a drink. "Justin and I both sat on him, but he's pretty strong when he's horny. He bit me on the leg."

"Sorry, C," Lance said, and meant it.

"Why? Not your fault." JC rubbed at his thigh, and smiled. "Besides, I didn't mind so much."

Freak, Lance thought affectionately. "Well, anyway. I appreciate the effort."

"No prob, man. He'd started winding himself up that morning. He sang that song seven times before Justin got tired of it and held his head under the kitchen faucet until he swore he wouldn't sing it for a week." JC paused. "Water was everywhere. I made them both mop it up, because really, it's not fair to make the people who clean the bus do that."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got all twelve verses of it last night." He'd kicked at Chris when Chris started singing, and rolled him out of bed onto the floor. Chris had paused to say "ow" but then continued singing until Lance threw the covers and pillows onto him to muffle him, and then had rolled himself out of bed and onto the pile of covers, pillows, and sat on him until Chris squeaked and stopped singing.

"Fourteen," JC corrected. He stole another piece of mango. "He added two more the night before last. Just think what he could do with his talent if he actually turned it to good instead of evil."

"Oh, hell. Sorry." And Lance was, because he knew intimately just how annoying the song was, and the eardrum-piercing volume at which Chris generally sang it. And he hated that Chris so willingly shared the praises of his ass to everyone who would listen. It was embarrassing. Chris was wholly without modesty or shame, but Lance still clung to the idea that he had at least some sense of modesty left in spite of practically living with the guys 24/7 for the past several years.

JC hummed lightly under his breath. "I'll give you ten thousand dollars if you take him and let Joey move in with us for the rest of the tour."

"Absolutely not. No way." Still, Lance felt impressed that JC would offer actual money, and a lot of it, to get rid of Chris. He must really have made an ass of himself. Not a hard thing to do, Lance thought, feeling uncharitable. Some people just had a talent for that sort of thing, and in the realm of annoyance, Chris was a minor god.

"You could at least come over and have sex with him once in awhile," JC said. "That would help calm him down a little."

"I am not having sex on the bus," Lance stated firmly, and realized he'd probably been just a little too emphatic when Lonnie looked over at him, liquid black eyes giving away absolutely nothing. Lance flinched and felt heat creep up his throat. Great. Blushing like a kid on top of everything else. Sometimes he hated his pale skin. "I'm just not," he replied, lowering his voice. The whole idea freaked him out. He'd seen way too many tv documentaries on rock stars who'd died in bus crashes, and he didn't want to meet his end with a dick in his ass; his mama would be mortified.

"I'm just sayin'." JC looked unperturbed. "You wouldn't have to have sex in our bus, though Justin is pretty curious about the whole thing"---Lance put his hand over his face, and it was way too early to feel this embarrassed---"You could, y'know, let him come over there." JC blinked, then realized he'd made a pun, and grinned. Lance rolled his eyes. The whole morning just kept getting better and better.

"No. He's like..." Lance cast around for a comparison. "He's like a tick...give him an opportunity, and he'll burrow in so deep that I can't get him out. Then, before I know it, he'd be moved in, and Joey would be with y'all, and I'd get no rest at all. And you know how easily bored he is when he's confined to one place---he'd hate me in a week. So, no."

He and Chris got along just fine when they were off-tour, because Chris wasn't confined to one place, and could wander at will, but Lance had no illusions at how well they would get along cooped up together in a bus. Chris had way too much energy, needing almost constant distraction, and Lance liked too well to settle in with his cell and laptop and play the chess game of building his own little business empire, or if not that, to simply read. He and Joey were ideal bus mates because Joey was so easy-going, and would be social when Lance felt like it, and would leave him alone while he conducted business.

"Hmm," JC said. "I think that if I had a boyfriend who was so totally stupidly gone for me, I wouldn't mind keeping him around all the time. But then it's Chris we're talking about, so I pretty much understand. He's really intense."

Lance scratched the back of his head. Intense, yeah. That was one way of putting it. He felt heat creep up into his cheeks once again.

JC stole another piece of bacon and munched on it, licking his fingers. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure," Lance agreed easily, because no one refused JC favors, even the hard ones, because JC was simply like that. "What?"

JC's eyes, behind the pale blue lenses of his sunglasses, slid to the table where Lonnie and James sat, talking quietly and eating, probably discussing schedules, from the papers spread out between them. Lance watched as a small smile curved JC's mouth. He glanced over at the table, then back to JC, noting the flush of color across his sharp cheekbones.

"Trade me. Lonnie for James," JC said, and Lance heard a low, husky purr creep into JC's voice, the sound that probably meant trouble brewing. "He's really gorgeous."

"You do realize, don't you, C, that he's probably straight." Lance felt compelled to point out the obvious, which sometimes escaped JC.

"I bet I can find out," JC said, and his body gave a little shimmy that made Lance's blood warm. "Bet I can unstraighten him, just a little."

"Lonnie doesn't like you fucking around with his guys," Lance replied. "It's not professional, or something."

JC sighed, and his soft, wide mouth twisted into an unhappy shape. Lance hated himself; it was like kicking a leggy, big-eyed puppy. "You are like no fun at all." But to Lance's relief, JC shifted his attention from James back to his shredded toast.

"You wouldn't be the first to tell me that. Chris says that all the time," Lance replied.

JC's mouth quirked into a half smile, and his spirit seemed to lift a little, his gaze sliding to Lance. "Does he, now. I sure couldn't tell from all the noise."

The bite of eggs went down wrong, and JC helpfully pounded him on the back until Lance whooped and caught his breath. James had stood and started over to help, but Lance waved him away, much to JC's annoyance.

"Sorry," JC said, but he didn't particularly sound as if he was. "Just telling it like it is. Your voice, like, carries, man."

Heat rose up Lance's throat, and he knew he had to be scarlet.

"Good background music to jerk off to, though," JC said reflectively. "The first couple of times, anyway. I fell asleep when you were getting the third round started, though."

Lance's mouth opened and closed a couple of time, before he managed to squeak out, "You don't...you don't do that, do you?"

JC snagged another piece of bacon, and crunched it loudly. He blinked at Lance. "Do what?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," Lance said, and when JC continued to look blankly at him, Lance reached under the table, out of the general view, and made a vague jerking off movement. His ears burned.

"Oh. That's the that you were talking about," JC said ingenuously, and Lance frowned; the expression on JC's face looked just a little too studied. The corner of JC's mouth twitched, very slightly. "Well, sure. Why waste a good soundtrack? When I was a kid, I used to jerk off to Barry White albums, and it's just like reliving my youth, kinda."

The sparkle in JC's eyes, not quite hidden by the sunglasses, made Lance snatch the ballcap from his head and beat JC with it. JC laughed, trying to fend him off, waving his long arms around, pushing ineffectually at Lance, who began to laugh also, because it was utterly, truly, ridiculous.

"You're an asshole," Lance said fondly as he settled back into his seat, running a hand through his wild hair before pulling the cap back on. He doubted that it did little good now as a disguise; he'd made a scene whacking at a wildly giggling JC. So much for discretion. He didn't dare look over and see Lonnie's disapproving expression; he could feel it. Lance looked around quickly to see how many people had noticed, and if they needed to make themselves scarce; he'd take the heat for the whole incident. Luckily, the normal breakfast crowd had cleared out, and few had trickled in for lunch; no one gave them much of a second look. JC still lay half in the booth, half on the floor, his braying laughter bubbling over the tabletop.

"Woo," JC said, as he righted himself, straightening his hat and glasses, which had been knocked askew. "Sometimes, Lance, you're just way too easy. No wonder Chris teases you so much."

"Well, yeah," Lance said, and took a sip of his juice, secretly pleased that JC had pranked him, and well; slow to get jokes, JC often bore the brunt of them from everyone else, and it felt good to let JC have the advantage this time.

Lance's cell rang, and he plucked it from his jeans and clicked it on.

"BASS!" Chris shrieked, and Lance jerked the phone away from his ear before his ear drum ruptured. Chris could screech louder than even Justin, who had a really impressive set of lungs on him, and the will to use them. Both Lonnie and James heard him from their own table, and Lance noticed James' cringe. Calmly Lance whacked the phone on the table a couple of times, hard enough to rattle silverware, then brought it back to his ear.

"What do you want, you psycho?"

"Ow, man, my ear," Chris complained. "Where the hell are you, anyway?"

"I'm having wild monkey sex with Nick Carter in the main lobby of the hotel," Lance said dryly. JC dissolved into giggles again.

"Eww, dude. Show some taste, willya? Howie's way better, and cuter, too."

Lance took a drink of his juice. "Well, if anyone knows, it's you." Chris started to protest, calling him a snide and cold-hearted bitch, but Lance cut him off. "I'm having breakfast. Where else would I be?"

"Well, you're obviously not here, ready to partake in fabulously creative and athletic sex with me. I'm thinking of taking this as a personal insult. Underneath this suave and sexy exterior, I'm sensitive and easily hurt, y'know."

"I'm sure you'll recover," Lance replied. "Besides, I need to eat every once in awhile. If you don't get down here, I won't save you anything."

"You're so cruel," Chris said piteously, but Lance heard the rustle of sheets as Chris moved around. "Fine. Fine, then. I'll get up, even though it's too damn early. The sun is barely up."

"It's ten in the morning. Stop being such a drama queen and get your ass down here."

"Do I have to wear clothes?"

"Yes."

"Will you blow me under the table?"

"No," Lance said, and hung up.

JC had stolen his bowl of fruit, and sat eating, picking out first the melon, then the pineapple. He tipped back his head to see under the brim of his hat and regarded Lance with amusement. "Two months, right? That you guys have been like, together together?"

Lance ran a hand over his cheek. "Yeah." His mouth twitched into a pleased little smile, in spite of his best efforts.

JC grinned hugely. "Man, if you could see your face. You're such a girl."

"Shut up," Lance said, but without heat, because he supposed JC was right. He dug into his eggs, even though they were cold; he never wasted anything, remembering how not too long ago, when they first started and had nothing, he'd have been ecstatic to have even that.

He looked up as JC pushed the empty fruit bowl toward him, and snagged the plate of pancakes. "Well," JC said, pouring syrup over the stack, "I for one am really glad. That you've found someone, I mean. Even if he drives us crazy when he's with us and not with you. And I'm glad he has you. You're like...steady. He needs steady."

Lance stirred his coffee. "Do you ever regret it didn't work between you two?" Of course he knew JC had been with Chris for awhile, back in the beginning; living in such close quarters, it had been impossible not to know.

He had been a little surprised, and not a little disappointed that Chris had turned to JC, because of all of them, he and Chris had been the closest. They had goofed off together, playing practical jokes, almost joined at the hip; he had blossomed under the warmth of Chris' friendship.

But it was JC Chris chose to share his bed, not Lance, and although logically, he knew he was too young, his mother too watchful, it still had hurt to watch JC and Chris disappear together at night. It had hurt to hear what they did with one another on the other side of thin hotel walls, when he had wanted so much to be there. He hadn't felt too young, then.

JC gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Sometimes, but if it was supposed to have happened, it would have." He smiled, a sweet, gentle smile. "I think he was just waiting for you to grow up, and then when you had, when you didn't make a move, he turned to Dani. She was steady, too. I was never as steady as the two of you."

"Does it...does it bother you anymore when you see us together?" And that thought had occurred to him more than once, lying closely against Chris, warm and sated and sleepy, because he loved JC like the brother he'd never had, and would never want to hurt him. It had been one of many reasons, though probably the most important one, that had kept him from approaching Chris for years. No one willingly hurt JC's feelings; for all his fierce intensity and dogged persistence regarding their work, JC was still surprisingly soft on the inside, gentle, easily hurt.

JC pushed the empty plate next to the ones in front of Lance, and leaned back, licking syrup off his thumb before folding his hands on his belly. He hummed softly as he thought, his eyes closed.

"Not now, but it kinda did at first. I mean, it was strange, knowing that you know what Chris looks like naked---well, naked and hard, since we've all seen each other naked like a million times---knowing that you know what he likes." He opened his eyes and looked at Lance. "Knowing that he probably does a lot of the same things to you that he did to me." He grinned suddenly, then reached out and patted Lance's forearm, a light caress before pulling back. "Believe me, I recognize that hit-by-a-truck look. I've seen it on my own face often enough."

And although he'd tried not to dwell on it, to think of JC, lean and beautiful and oh-so-flexible, naked and writhing beneath Chris, the image popped into Lance's mind and would not leave. Heat curled sweetly in his belly, and flowed between his legs, making his dick twitch and fill. Great, just great, Lance thought, and his cheeks and ears burned. This had to go on record as one of his most embarrassing days in years.

JC laughed, and Lance glanced over to see him reach down and adjust himself in those horrible spotted pants, his cheeks as pink as Lance's felt, but his gaze direct and unapologetic. "Now, if you tell me you weren't thinking of me with him, like I was thinking of you with him, I'll call you the biggest, worst liar in the world."

Lance shook his head; that was entirely too much information. He drew a deep breath and forced his mind to think of other things, like Joey's dirty socks and rank underwear strung all over the place, of holding Justin's head over the toilet while he puked the last time he got drunk, and that helped.

"Sorry," Lance muttered. "I'm not that good of a liar."

"Let me give you a piece of advice," JC said. "Don't let him have his way all the time, because he will, if you let him." He hummed under his breath a minute as he considered. "Chris is like a kid with a lot of really big, really hungry brothers, all fighting over the same little bit of food. He's learned to grab what he wants as fast as he can before someone else takes it away. He doesn't realize that he doesn't have to do that, now, y'know? He needs to be reminded that he doesn't have to be so grabby with you, that someone else isn't going to snatch you away." JC pulled his sunglasses down his long nose, and fixed Lance with a peculiarly intent blue-grey look. "I'm right about that, right?"

"Absolutely," Lance said, and relaxed when JC smiled at him. "I'm pretty sure that's not gonna happen."

"Good, because in spite of the fact he acts like he's five years old most of the time, Chris is a smart, decent guy and deserves to be treated well." JC pushed his sunglasses back up onto his nose, hiding his eyes. "Anyway, my whole point is that it doesn't have to be his way all the time. Do it your own way when you want. He's not like set in stone---he's pretty adaptable." JC leaned across the table a little, and smiled. "Speak of the devil, here's the toppy little freak now."

Lance turned in the seat and watched as Chris approached, flanked by Dre at a fairly discreet distance. Unlike both Lance and JC, Chris hadn't bothered with a hat or sunglasses, but he really didn't need them because Chris in real life looked different than Chris onstage or in photos. Wearing black wire-framed glasses, his thick black hair unspiked and unruly, dressed in a pair of holey old jeans and a red sweatshirt big enough to fit Lonnie, he looked like a penniless college student, certainly not a wealthy boybander. The only thing the same was his eyes, liquid brown, sparkling with mischief and bright with cleverness. Lance felt something sweet and warm gather in his chest, and expand out over his body, running out to his fingertips and toes.

Chris slid in beside him, and his hand moved to squeeze Lance's sturdy thigh under the cover of the table. "Damn, Lance, you weren't kidding," he said as he surveyed the wreckage of empty dishes in front of him. "You did eat everything. C, do you still have any fingers left?"

JC laughed, leaning forward over the table, and raised both hands, wiggling his long fingers. "Yep. All of them."

"Freak," Chris said affectionately. "Here, lemme get you something else. One piece of toast stripped of raisins won't hold you long."

"Oh, I'm not hungry," JC said sweetly, and Lance thought about pointing out the fact that JC had eaten almost all the food he'd ordered for Lance, but it wasn't worth the effort. JC elbowed him, none too gently, and smiled at him.

Chris' fingers kneaded Lance's thigh gently, and Lance let his hand drop to cover Chris' smaller one, his fingertips stroking gently. Chris started to pull away, but Lance tightened his grip until Chris relaxed, and accepted the light stroke of Lance's thumb across the back of his hand. Lance glanced up and saw the corners of Chris' mouth curve up, ever so slightly.

After a moment, Chris pulled his hand away, and Lance allowed it. Chris poured a glass of juice, and as he took a sip, Lance leaned in and said, very softly, "I won't blow you under the table, but if you want, we can go back to the room, and I will."

He spent a moment pounding Chris on the back after he choked, with JC looking on solicitously. Chris whooped and caught his breath, raised his hand and said loudly, "Check, please."

*****

*****

With the roar of the auditorium washing over him like ocean waves, Lance rocked back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a sticky trail on his skin. Without thinking about it, he licked his hand clean, then ran his tongue over his lips and his teeth, savoring the last of Chris' bitter, salty taste.

"Oh, fuck," Chris said weakly from his sprawl on the floor. "I think you killed me."

"Nah," Lance replied. "You're way tougher than that." Given the opportunity, Chris would have sex four times a day; he was always revved and ready for it, and Lance had never had to take much initiative, other than to respond, or irritably kick Chris away when he just couldn't get it up any longer.

He reached forward and ran his fingers through the trail of hair on Chris' belly, a quick caress, then tucked him neatly back into his pants and pulled down the multiple shirts of his costume. When he'd dressed Chris again, Lance crawled over him and pressed a kiss to his mouth. Chris started to turn his face away, but mindful of JC's advice, Lance caught his chin in one hand and licked at his mouth until Chris opened willingly for him.

Chris made a soft, hungry sound deep in his throat, and wrapped his arms around Lance's neck, pulling him closer. Better, Lance though hazily, much better. Chris' hands stroked over Lance's back, then slid around and down his belly, one cupping his hot, heavy dick, the other stroking the insides of his thighs. Lance couldn't help but roll his hips into Chris' palm once, twice, but then he pulled away, sitting back on his heels again. His dick throbbed a protest, but he ignored it.

"No time," Lance said regretfully. "Later." He stood and adjusted himself, grateful he'd always insisted on loose pants and jackets to help cover his ass.

Chris laughed at him, sated and complacent. Easy for him, Lance thought sourly, and adjusted himself again. "Don't scare the teenies to death with your excessive manliness," Chris said, and stretched widely with a happy hum. "Though I'm sure it would impress the hell outta our older fans. You could play baseball with that thing. Now wouldn't that be a sight...."

"Shut up, you perv. Don't be so smug just because you got yours...."

The sudden, loud pounding on the door made Lance jump, and he glanced back to make certain Chris was decently dressed before fumbling with the lock and opening it to see Anthony looming there, wearing a Metallica tee shirt and a headset, glowering at him. He held up a muscled, heavily-tattooed arm and tapped his watch. "Are you finally done in there? It's almost time, and You Fucking Will Not Be Late."

"Sorry, sorry," Lance said, and slipped past him, almost colliding with JC on his scooter, who grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up sign.

"Kirkpatrick, get your ass offa the floor and get to the stage!" Anthony's voice rang strident and firm, the only voice that Chris ever responded to promptly; hell, Lance thought, they were all like sheep, and Anthony their herd dog, though he was more like a pit bull than a sweet-natured English sheepdog.

"Fine, fine," Chris yelled back, and then suddenly he flew by Lance, who found jogging with a hardon difficult, and he vaguely wished he'd not caught Chris right before the show. Chris looked back over his shoulder, and laughed loudly at his discomfort, before catching up with Joey and launching himself onto his bandmate's back, kissing Joey's cheek as Joey tried unsuccessfully to shrug him off.

JC hopped off his scooter, handed it to a crew member, and gave Lance a quick hug. Justin patted his ass and laughed like the loon he was, and then Anthony was there, pulling aside the curtain for them to run out onto the stage.

*****

*****

Lance's eyes drifted open, and he blinked once, twice, before his vision cleared enough to see the huge red numbers on Chris' digital clock: four-fifty-eight. Too damn early to be awake after a show, but now that he was, his bladder demanded that he pay attention to it.

Behind him, Chris curled tightly into him, his face pressed to Lance's back between his shoulder blades; he could feel the prickle of Chris' goatee, feel the warm moistness of his breath as Chris breathed evenly, caught deeply in well-deserved sleep. Chris' arm lay over the dip in his waist, hand resting possessively over his lower belly, fingers curled lightly around his dick. Amusement washed over Lance, and his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. He often woke up to find Chris' hand on him like that; it had freaked him out at first, because really, a guy tended to be possessive and protective of his own dick. But now, he simply found it funny, one of the sometimes inexplicable things Chris often did, and weirdly comforting.

Gently, Lance moved Chris' hand off his dick, and slid to the side of the bed. Chris murmured something, and rolled into the warm spot Lance left as Lance stood and then shuffled into the bathroom, rubbing a hand absently over his left ass cheek; he just bet he had a bruise from when Chris had bitten him earlier in the evening, the little bastard.

He did his business, washed his hands, and drank two glasses of water. Peering at his reflection, he ran his hands through his hair and then left the bathroom light on, closing the door just a little. Chris didn't like absolute darkness in hotel rooms, and Lance had disliked Chris' habit of leaving a light on, so they'd compromised on having the bathroom light on and the door partially closed, leaving it dim but not completely dark.

Chris now had his place, so he walked around the bed only stumbling once over Chris' sneakers, and slid in the other side, spooning up closely, seeking Chris' heat. He nosed against the back of Chris' neck, into the soft thick hair, and licked behind his ear. He tasted salty and just a little spicy, a taste already familiar and arousing. Chris kicked irritably at him when Lance put his cold feet on Chris' legs, and tried to elbow him, but Lance had wrestled with Chris enough to know most of his moves.

"Cranky," Lance accused softly. He slid his hand around Chris and slid his hand under the old, stretched-out wifebeater, settling onto sleep-warmed skin. Lance hated that Chris always put on clothes to sleep in, because he loved the sweet intimacy of sleeping skin to skin. But Chris had too many nightmares about fires as a child, and so always wore clothes to sleep in, just in case he had to make a run from a fire in the night. He'd tried to convince Chris to set clothes out at the foot of the bed, or something, and sleep naked with him, but Chris had been adamant, and Lance had given up on that particular fight, knowing that once Chris had truly made up his mind, nothing would change it. Lance liked to think himself a smart enough guy to pick the arguments he had an actual chance of winning.

With a low, deep murmur, Lance combed his fingers through the thick chest hair, scratching lightly over a nipple. It beaded up hard beneath his finger, and Chris wriggled against him, wide awake and restless. Lance lowered his head and sucked wetly at Chris' neck, not quite hard enough to make a mark, and Chris rewarded him with a hard, whole-body shudder. Chris' fingers closed over his wrist and tried to pull his hand down between his legs, but Lance smiled against Chris' shoulder, and twisted his hand away, sliding it back up to lie over the swell of chest, unmoving, the thin shirt bunched up around his wrist. Chris' fingers wrapped around his forearm, squeezing gently.

"C'mon, c'mon," Chris whispered. "Do it."

"I will," Lance promised. "We will. Don't be so impatient."

Chris twisted until he turned himself over, facing Lance. His eyes glittered in the dim light. "I like it. You like it. So what's the holdup?" His hand slid down between their bodies, fingertips skimming over Lance's bare belly, and Lance caught it before it reached his dick, fingers wrapping around Chris' wrist.

"What's the hurry? We don't leave for the bus until ten. We have lots of time." Lance laced his fingers through Chris', and brought their clasped hands up as he shifted his weight onto Chris, rolling him onto his back. He saw the flash of white teeth in a grin. Chris pushed back at him, but Lance was bigger, heavier, broader, and held him in place easily, a thigh sliding between Chris'.

"Feeling toppy, Lansten?" Chris' voice held humor and mockery, but his dick was hard and hot against Lance's hip.

A smile spread across Lance's face. "Maybe," he said, letting his voice drop lower, feeling absurdly pleased when Chris shivered beneath him. He'd only topped Chris once; Chris had been drunk and mellow and pliant, and it had felt like coming home when he'd slid deeply into Chris' body, when he'd kissed his mouth and caught his surprised gasps.

In spite of Chris insisting in the following days that Lance carry him around on his back, complaining loudly about how his ass was fractured now, and he'd never be able to walk again, it had been the best sex Lance had ever had. The memory of it always made him shiver, and it had proven to be his best source of jerk off material, lying in his bunk at night, rocked by the swaying of the bus. Not that he didn't like bottoming for Chris, because he did, but had never done much of it before him. Truthfully, he loved any kind of sex with Chris, in spite of the fact that Chris' main foreplay technique was a scream and leap.

Just the thought of sliding deep into Chris' heat, of hearing his breathing catch, of feeling Chris' knees high on his ribs, clasping him tightly, of riding him slow and deep and nasty, made heat shiver down Lance's spine, made his blood turn to liquid fire in his veins.

Oh, yeah. Good idea. Best idea, ever. His dick was totally in favor of that.

Lance slid further onto Chris, letting him take more of his weight, and Chris' legs curled up around his hips, the soles of his feet rubbing against the back of Lance's calves. That movement made Chris' hips rock against him, and that was really great. Lance's dick throbbed, hot and heavy, and dug into Chris' soft belly when he sighed and ground down against Chris.

"Yeah," Chris said, his voice high and breathy, "just like that." He snaked his free hand down, going for Lance's ass, but Lance caught his hand and brought it up, pushing it down to the bed. Chris shoved against him, and squirmed, but Lance had him pinned securely, clasped hands pressed to the bed on either side of Chris' shoulders, his weight holding Chris down.

"Fucker," Chris said, with a fierce sharp grin, his eyes black and hot. "Let me up."

"Nah, don't think so," Lance replied, slowly, easily. "I like it here just fine, thanks."

"Sometimes, you're such an assho---" Lance cut off the complaint by slanting his mouth over Chris' complaining one, and slicking his tongue over smooth hard teeth, over soft, agile tongue. He could still faintly taste toothpaste, and beyond that, his own taste; once back to their room after the show, Chris had tumbled him to the bed, and blown him until Lance was certain the whole hotel had heard his very vocal appreciation of Chris' skills. Chris made a soft sound in his throat and arched up against him, and Lance knew now from experience that Chris was interested in the kiss only because it would lead to other things that he liked better.

But Lance liked kissing in and of itself, considered himself to be quite skilled at it, and now that he temporarily had the upper hand, he intended to indulge himself. So he held Chris down and kissed him. Chaste, boyish kisses on the cheek and the corner of Chris' mouth, like the first kiss he'd ever given, to Tommy Milstead behind the horse stables, the summer between fifth and sixth grade. Soft, gentle kisses, with parted lips but no tongue, like when he got bolder with Tommy, later that same summer. Deep, hot, slick ones that were more like fucking than kissing, like he'd learned from Aaron Rice, behind the bleachers in high school. Those he loved the best, and with Chris, fiercely responsive, equally aggressive, it was almost better than the actual act.

He pulled back long enough to let Chris catch a deep breath, and pant out a "hey---" and then he dove back in, applying himself with a passionate fervor. The thrumming tension in Chris' body, always there, so close to the surface, changed, focused, and he moved purposefully, deliberately against Lance. His fingers, twined with Lance's, tightened and loosened with each thrust of his body upward, and Lance knew Chris was working toward coming.

He pulled away from Chris' mouth with a wet, sucking sound, and Chris panted beneath him, breath warm and wet against his mouth. "No you don't," Lance said thickly, and shifted his body, trying to keep Chris from rubbing against him and coming too soon. "Not yet. I'm not done."

Chris bucked beneath him, face flushed, breathing hard. He tried to push Lance off him, but Lance held him down. "You don't have to do this. I'm not a girl you have to play to. I don't need hearts and flowers romance."

"Believe me, my ass knows very well you're not a girl," Lance replied. His lips felt hot, swollen, tingling, and when he licked them, he could taste Chris. "And you're the least romantic person I know. I like this. I want to do this. So shut up and let me."

Chris opened his mouth to make what was undoubtedly a scathing, smart-ass reply, and Lance took the opportunity to stop him in the most expedient manner, which was so conveniently the most pleasurable. If Chris really wanted free, Lance knew he couldn't keep hold of him, because Chris had spent his entire life fighting guys bigger than he was, and knew how to fight dirty. His protesting didn't mean much; he liked too well to complain if things didn't go his way.

Other spots vied for his attention, besides Chris' hot, softly swearing mouth; Lance shifted and went for Chris' neck. The soft salty-sweet flesh just below his ear, the place that made Chris shiver helplessly as he licked, bit gently, and licked again. The firm curve of Chris' ear, the soft resiliency of his earlobe, the earrings cold against his lips and tongue. The strong tendons that arced down toward his collarbone. The curve where neck flowed into shoulder; now that was a particularly tasty place, and Lance bit down and sucked until Chris thrashed and cursed. The angular sweep of collarbone, and the tempting little notch in the center, where Chris' heart thrummed, strong and quick.

Lance licked up Chris' throat, over his Adam's apple, his tongue scraping over beard-roughened skin. He pressed a kiss to Chris' mouth, then licked over to his ear. "Just so you know," he whispered, "I'm gonna fuck you." He breathed into Chris' ear. "And you're gonna like it."

Chris' eyes closed, then flashed open, dark and glittering. "Big words, Bass. Let's see you prove 'em."

Lance laughed, low and deep and pleased. "Nothing I like better than a challenge." And it was true; as trying as Chris was, as annoying, Lance loved the challenge of him. Nothing was easy; he had to earn every bit of ground he gained with Chris. Chris never backed down, never gave in, never gave quarter, and Lance loved it, loved sharpening his wit against him, sparring with him. The others gave up too easily, gave in, let him outthink them, but Chris never did, and Lance respected him for that.

Lance unclenched his fingers from Chris', and slid his fingers down the soft skin of Chris' inner arms. Surprisingly, Chris remained still, the tip of his tongue peeking pinkly out from between his lips, eyes fastened on Lance. Prove it, his gaze said. Make me like it. I dare you.

With a smile, Lance slid further down Chris' body, tasting, smelling, touching. Chest hair tickled his nose before he found Chris' left nipple. Sweet-salty again, hardening and rising beneath his teeth and tongue. Lance spread his hands over Chris' ribcage, his touch firm and sure, sliding over his ribs, down to the softer flesh at his waist, to the elastic band of the boxers he still wore. Chris moved, but it was to pull off the old wifebeater and toss it to the floor. He grinned again, and his expression said very clearly, c'mon, you're not impressing me. Lance smiled, and switched to the other brown nipple, licking and then biting, scraping his teeth over tender flesh.

Chris grunted and arched, and one hand came down, moving over the back of his neck, threading through his short hair. This, he knew Chris liked; he'd always been sensitive there, much more so than himself. He ran his tongue over the tight little bead of flesh and then suckled, humming in contentment, one hand sliding down from Chris' waist to burrow under the loose leg of his boxers and play over the smooth flesh of his hip.

That got a reaction; a jerk and sharp intake of breath, and a soft, pleased sound. It wasn't quite the high-pitched, helpless sound Lance wanted, but it would do. He slid down Chris's body, leaving a trail of wet, sucking kisses down his belly until he swirled his tongue into Chris' navel.

Chris jerked again. "I hate that, you prick. It tickles. Cut it out." His fingers tightened in Lance's hair and tugged.

"Deal," Lance replied, unrepentant, and shrugged off Chris' grip in his hair. He sat back on his haunches between Chris' legs, which lay open and on either side of his thighs. Chris still wore his boxers, the damn ugly blue ones with the ants all over them, but he was hard, his dick pushing them up, leaving a damp spot on the cloth.

Lance slid his hands up Chris' thighs, hooked his fingers in the elastic waistband, and pulled. Chris lifted his hips to help, and Lance skimmed them down his legs and tossed them to the floor. Naked Chris---much better. He'd had truly beautiful people in his bed, men and women both, but he liked more the way Chris looked; real, not put together by a plastic surgeon's skills. None of those perfect people had ever made him feel so good, so alive, as imperfect, sexy Chris.

Chris was, surprisingly, almost delicately made, with small hands, slim wrists, small ankles and feet; his clothes, always big and baggy, made him look larger than he actually was. Lance liked how furry he was, the heat of his body when he was lucky enough to share a bed, the softness at his waist and belly. He liked how he was uncut, how his dick had a sweet upward curve, how the head peeked out from his foreskin when he was hard and excited, like now.

"Waiting for an engraved invitation, Bass?" Chris' dark eyes sparkled.

Oh. Want, want, want, his body shrieked, as his dick throbbed hard. His skin felt too tight, too small to contain him, and he wondered if he would burst and bits and pieces of him would zing all over the room. He licked his lips, and ran gentle fingers over his dick, heavy with desire, and shivered at the sensation that spilled through him. Too much, almost. He wouldn't last a moment, would splatter all over Chris' belly before he even had him ready. Taking a deep breath, he tightened his fingers around himself and squeezed, hard.

When lightning quit crashing into his balls, when he caught his breath again, some of the raw need had seeped away, and he felt more in control, less likely to come if Chris breathed on him.

"Damn, Lance," Chris said, and raised a leg, running his toes over Lance's belly and chest. "I told you, none of that S/M stuff, dude."

Lance caught Chris' foot, ran his fingers over the black dragon on his lower leg. "Shut the hell up." He turned his head, and licked over the knob of his anklebone, then caught both of Chris' ankles and leaned forward, bending Chris' legs up, close to his chest. Chris grunted, but he had surprising flexibility. He was also sensitive in the oddest places, and shuddered hard when Lance licked the backs of his knees.

"Hold your legs up," Lance said, and licked down a muscular thigh, nipping lightly, sucking at the soft, tender skin.

"What? What? Ohmygod, Bass, you're not...." Chris' voice skittered even higher up the scale and his legs trembled when Lance moved upward, and he smiled against Chris' flesh as he slid his hands under his ass, cupping and spreading him slightly, encouraging Chris with a little tug to shift forward, to curl up a little more. Lance loved the way Chris smelled: musky, a little sweaty, and wholly male. He made an appreciative noise, breathing in deeply the scent of him. "You're a god, Bass, I take back all the mean things I said about you today...."

Lance couldn't help the rumbling chuckle against Chris' skin. He pulled back enough to say, "Just today?"

"Keep going, and I'll take back everything for this week. C'mon, c'mon, don't stop...."

Lance made an amused noise and licked along the crease where Chris' leg joined his body, ignoring Chris' squirming, ignoring the dick next to his cheek. His fingers dipped lower, into the cleft between clenched cheeks, rubbing teasingly, one finger trailing over the hot, slick skin.

The head of his dick slid over the sheets as Lance shifted forward, getting a better angle, and he shuddered as sensation arced through him, electric. He slid slowly down the curve of Chris' leg, to the tender flesh that became his ass, and slipped his tongue along the edge of the dark crevice. He passed by the opening with nothing more than a teasing flick of his tongue, and Chris squirmed and wriggled and tried to stay still, but couldn't, no matter how he tried.

Don't fucking dare me because I always win, Lance thought, and he smiled against hot skin as he let his tongue wriggle and slide up and down the slick crack, then circled lightly over the tight bud there, wetting it slowly with the flat of his tongue. Lance let Chris' voice wash over him, swearing and promising the world as he licked the patch of skin between his balls and his opening, as he circled and teased, small flicks with the tip of his tongue, broad swipes with the flat of it.

The next pass of his tongue, slow, slow, was more a caress, and Lance felt his blood thrum through his body, through his dick, powerful waves of need, of desire. Words had finally failed Chris; Lance was aware of the soft, "oh, oh, oh" as he licked slowly over the small pucker again and again, feeling it relax a little, feeling Chris' body loosen, relax slightly as he gave in to the sensation. Lance loved the surrender of Chris' body; it made him feel strong, omnipotent, and beneficent. He took his time, licking slowly, tracing the pattern of the whorled flesh. A low moan rose up in his chest. He loved this, and couldn't imagine why he'd not tried it before. He'd certainly do this again, because Chris simply melted under his tongue. Unable to resist longer, Lance put his mouth over the budded opening and kissed, hot and wet, sucking a little as he slid his tongue slowly, slowly into the most secret and intimate part of his lover's body.

Chris let out a yell, and his body went into overdrive, writhing and shifting, unable to stay still, seeking to impale himself on Lance's tongue. He kicked out, and his heel whooshed past Lance's head, skimming over his shoulder, thumping him on the back. With a grunt, Lance pulled back. Chris breathed heavily, his body shaking, face flushed, and when he opened his eyes, they were deep and black, lost.

"You're damn dangerous in bed," Lance said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, but he wasn't angry; he was pleased he'd finally found something that went beneath Chris' sharp, crackling veneer, that touched him deeply enough he forgot himself.

Chris blinked, came back to himself. "Fuck you."

Lance laughed. "No," he said, and let his voice drop, "I'm going to fuck you."

He slid his hands beneath Chris' thighs and flipped him to his belly. He reached up, snagged a pillow, and slid it under Chris' hips. Chris got himself together enough to help, and Lance reached beneath him, making certain his dick was comfortable, giving it a little squeeze that made Chris sigh.

Oh, that was an inspiring sight: the smooth length of Chris' back, the rise of his ass, tight and firm and pale. Chris always joked about The Fine Kirkpatrick Ass---always, Lance thought of that phrase in capital letters, because that was how Chris always referred to it---but truly, it was fine, and Lance considered himself a lucky, lucky man to have it for his own.

Lance settled again between Chris' spread legs, and stroked over his lower back, over the sweet curves of his ass, and Chris sighed again. He pressed a kiss to the dip of Chris' spine, tasted sweat, and licked down again to the opening of his body. He ran his thumbs up the cleft, and spread his cheeks, then leaned in and pressed his mouth there, then thrust his tongue deeply inside, fucking him slowly. Chris flailed his arms, then clutched at the sheets, and his body undulated under Lance, who rode the movement like a wave.

The sounds that came from Chris were high, breathy, helpless, and Lance loved them. He lifted his head long enough to look down the length of Chris' back, to see his hands clenched tightly in the sheets. His face had turned to the side, and the fan of his lashes lay dark against his flushed cheeks; it was all he could see above the curve of shoulder, and he looked caught somewhere between pain and ecstasy. Perfect.

Lance flowed up Chris' body, trailing his tongue along the groove of his spine, over the bumps of vertebrae, until he could kiss the back of Chris' neck. His dick slid between tight ass cheeks, and that felt so good he dipped his hips again, sliding against wet, sensitive flesh. Chris moaned and moved against him. Lance kissed the back of his neck again, licking along his sweaty hairline, then nuzzled against his ear, and licked the soft skin there, smiling as Chris shivered and rolled beneath him, pushing his ass up, seeking more.

"Mmm," Lance hummed softly. "'S good, yeah? Gonna do it now."

Chris' mouth, soft and red, parted and a soft, "yeah, do it," floated up to him. Lance smiled, and pressed a kiss to the prickly corner of Chris' jaw. In spite of his words, he had no intention of fucking Chris if it wasn't something he really consented to; he had to hear the words, and Chris knew it.

Lance reached up and rummaged under Chris' pillow, finger searching. The horny bastard kept supplies readily at hand so he wouldn't have to search, and Lance felt grateful for his foresight as his fingers closed on a tube of lube, and a crinkly condom wrapper.

"Make it good for you," he promised, then slid back down Chris' body, kneeling between his legs.

"You better, you fucker," Chris muttered, and Lance grinned. Ah, romance.

"Such a sweet-talker you are. No wonder all the boys chase after you," Lance replied sweetly.

Chris snorted against the sheets, and Lance didn't need to see his mouth to know that Chris grinned. Lance ripped open the wrapper, and rolled on the condom, giving his dick a little squeeze as a promise of much better things in the immediate future. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the small of Chris' back, and ran his hands over both hips, a gentle caress. His skin was so soft, and Lance rubbed his cheek over the curve of Chris' left ass cheek, before licking once more over his opening and pulling back when he shuddered.

He squeezed out gel, swirled his fingers through it, and slid a finger down from Chris' tailbone to the whorl of muscle, loosened already by his tongue. He circled, teasing, watching as Chris shifted and humped the pillow, pushing back against his hand, trying to get a firmer touch.

"I swear to god, Bass, if you don't quit dicking around back there, I'm gonna kill you...."

"Yeah, yeah," Lance said, unimpressed by his threats.

He pushed, and his finger slid in easily, sinking deeply into silky heat. Chris let out a soft sound of surprised pleasure and tensed, then drew a deep breath and relaxed. Withdrawing, Lance began a slow, repetitive rhythm: slide in gently, stretch a little, and slide back out. Easy, carefully, so as not to harm tender flesh--hurting Chris was the last t