Note: read Crash first? given this is the sequel, and all. picking up a day after we left off...
Lance could feel Justin's eyes on him, that vainglorious laziness of a man who knows that, contrary to the adage, time will wait for him.
Man? thought Lance, leaning forwards throw down the ten of diamonds and feeling fully aware time wouldn't wait for him.
He could feel Joey's thigh pressed up against him one side, JC's pressed against the other. JC was running a couple of degrees higher than Joey, or maybe just wearing thinner pants. The three of them had bagged the couch, and Chris had conceded their right to peace and non-harassment after a bribe of extra bourbon.
Since bourbon made the back of Lance's tongue ache, he wasn't too bugged by getting weak beer instead. It beat that weird shit from Toronto, at least.
Justin had made token protest at their jailbait teasing, but hadn't even pressed it, and even now had half his rationed glass sat serenely next to him on the floor. It had been almost kicked over twice, and each time Lance had been forced to admit to himself he wanted Justin to get drunk.
A drunken Justin might not remember ultimatums.
A sober one, though, like the sober Justin sprawled artfully across the floor, practically had the words either/or embossed across his chest. That chest in the tight scrunchy t-shirt, the one Lance couldn't stop glancing at, like his gaze was on a string that tugged it over whenever Justin scratched moodily at his ribs or took a particularly deep breath -- yeah, that one.
Chris was sprawled next to him, trying haphazardly to see Justin's cards. The bribe had been pretty effective, though, and by stretching his hand above his head Justin could keep them out Chris' paws. It was like watching two lazy siblings quarrel, if you didn't count the thoughts going through Lance's head, which weren't suitable for family viewing.
Joey shifted next to him, threw down the two of hearts, and Justin groaned and spread his cards out grandiosely across the carpet. "I fold."
Joey laughed. "You don't fold, you little idiot -- it's not poker," he called, then cut off when Chris growled,
"You had my eight!" and pounced indignantly on Justin, making Lance endure another of their impromptu tumbles that made him break records in feeling uncomfortable.
"Game called on disruption; I win," Joey announced, raising his voice over the ragged laughter and excessive scuffling.
Chris broke away and glared up at him, hair sticking up. "Do not."
"Do too," Joey retorted, "'cause you were chasing an eight, and an eight's worth shit to me," and Justin was mussed-up and breathless with his hand on Chris' thigh. Joey fanned his cards out to Chris, and Justin's hand slipped off as Chris craned forwards, dropping to his calf and Lance couldn't tell if it was intentional, damn him. "Read 'em and weep, Kirkpatrick."
"Cheat," Chris muttered, reaching for Justin's cards without looking and shuffling them quickly into his own hand, then crawling over and snagging JC's.
Joey laughed, all easy confidence. "Cheat, little man? What did you have?"
Chris' fingers were warm on Lance's hand for a moment, then his cards had been plucked away and his skin was tingling, slightly. "I had... three aces and a five-six-seven," Chris said airily, and Justin cracked up, leaning forwards to poke Chris in the side.
"Bullshit," Joey grinned, handing over his cards and ruffling Chris' hair, then looking round innocently. "New round?"
"I don't look that stupid, do I?" JC said amiably, flicking Joey the last cent from the collection he'd had balanced on his thigh.
Chris beamed at him, eyes sparkly. "We won't answer that one."
"Pricks-- you're all pricks," JC called, lifting his chin over the laughter, and Lance tipped his ear onto JC's shoulder and laughed and tried not to notice the glances Justin was throwing Chris like he wanted approval.
"Someone give the man a drink -- he's finally speaking sense," Joey said, and Lance felt the elbow-nudge right through JC's shoulder. Boy was too thin, again.
"No thanks," JC said, clapping Lance on the cheek with one warm hand. "Hey, nooo, Bass, I'm moving now," he said, and Lance shrugged himself upright.
"No drink?" Joey demanded, like it was totally unreasonable.
"I'm getting some sleep, guys," JC said, then smirked and dug in his pocket and held up something pink, "but don't worry, I've got the ear plugs, so you don't even have to pretend to feel insensitive tomorrow morning."
Joey blew him a kiss, and Chris added, "missing you already, babe..."
"Night," Lance said,
"Mmm. I'm beat too," Justin mused, not looking at Lance.
"In every sense," Joey agreed, grinning and leaning down and sweeping the pile of cents that signified Justin's lost hoard up into his hands. "Go lick your wounds."
Chris, who'd just stolen the rest of Justin's drink, collapsed into giggles. "Mmm, wounds," drifted up weakly through the tangles of laughter, "so that's what the flexiboys are calling 'em these days," and Lance swallowed, unable to meet Justin's eye.
"Fuck you, Chris," Justin said good-naturedly, standing up and stretching. "I've never," he continued, voice a little strained as his fingertips almost brushed the bus' ceiling, and Lance forced himself not to look at the shallow grooves where Justin's shirt rode up, "needed to learn that kinda move..."
Chris' eyes widened delightedly, and he scrabbled his elbows up under him and called out, "Ooo, listen to the diva, says he's never in need of a blow job... or is that," he continued, voice growing triumphantly sceptical, "he's never had the pleasure and doesn't know what he's missing..."
Justin nodded blandly. "Yeah, that's right," he agreed, then suddenly dropped to the floor, one knee either side of Chris' feet, and crawled up him menacingly; "why don't you show me what you mean?"
"Woohoo!" Joey called, throwing Lance a brief grin and applauding. "About time we got some real porn in here..."
Chris was still laughing when Justin took his wrists up above his head and pinned them to the floor, and then stopped when Justin kissed him hard on the mouth, the giggles turning into a grunt as Chris kissed back soundly-- although, Lance quickly pointed out to his dick, there was no tongue, it wasn't a sexy kiss, it was just Justin's lips grinding pointedly into Chris' lips and there was nothing sexy about that at all, oh no.
Joey had collapsed in incredulous giggles next to him, face buried between the couch and Lance's shoulder. Justin drew back, released Chris' hands, and rolled up to a crouch. "I'll collect the rest of that promise later, 'cause I really am tired," he told Chris, with a leer, and Chris started laughing again.
"You do that, baby-boy."
Justin nodded, and the pleased complacency of him made Lance shiver. "I will."
"Enough," Joey called, agonised-laughing, muffled against Lance's back. "Ok, I take it back about the porn... I might wanna sit on that carpet someday, you know?"
"Oh, don't worry; we'll use the table," Justin assured him brightly, then caught Lance's eye for a brief flaming second because heh, they'd actually done that, sixty-nining and then scooting back so Lance's head was tilted back over the edge for a sub-oxygen orgasm and Justin was kneeling over him and shooting all over his throat and chest.
Joey groaned theatrically and emerged from behind Lance's shoulder. "Not even in jest, ok? Dude, that's grim."
They'd used disinfectant after, though, at Lance's insistence, so by the time the others got back from the movie they'd been too tired to go see, not even a single smudge of sweat remained to spoil Joey's appetite.
"Grim," Justin repeated, apparently ignoring Chris' plaintive oof when Justin used his chest for leverage to finish standing up, and crooned, "But that's the way love goes..." He sounded suspiciously like he'd been practising, and Lance made a mental note to go through his Janet Jackson albums for bass parts.
"I'm thinking you should be keeping your brand of love away from me, Timberlake," Joey grinned, then feigned terror when Justin advanced on him, sliding down in his seat and warding him off with lazily deft hands.
Justin laughed, fighting back for a while and then, "ok ok, I get it, like no hot monkey-love from the Joeyzone," and slithered down between them, twisting his arm round Lance's neck and planting a firm kiss on his cheek, body lean and hot against Lance's side.
"Hey," Lance yelped, struggling, all too aware of Justin's arm tightening across his chest, the exact shape of his lips smushed too close to the sensitive edge of his jaw.
"But," Justin said, speaking directly against his skin, flashes of wetness behind his lips, "the Lancezone's gonna come right across with me and do all sorts of kinky shit -- uh-huh, babe?"
"Whatever, Just -- you been taking more than it says on the packet, again?" Lance protested, twisting out his grip and pushing at Justin's ever-encroaching hands and laughing a little desperately and wiping his cheek. Hard. "Chris, any chance I can sleep here tonight?"
Chris had his eyes closed, was sprawled out on the floor like he was sleeping in a too-hot country. "Mmmm, whatever," he mumbled, then froze and jerked up onto one elbow, eyeing Lance darkly, "wait, what?"
Lance had an image of Chris wandering blithely into the small bus and straight up against Justin's mouth, getting off before he'd even gotten rid of his shoes. "Nothing," Lance waved, letting his voice go patronising; "go back to your nap, old man."
"Mmm," Chris said suspiciously, rolling back off his elbow and shifting comfortably against the floor, then frowning with his eyes closed. "Fuckoff."
Lance laughed with Joey, and shoved Justin off of him, and Justin let him this time, smoothing down his shirt and waving buh-bye to them all and mooching up to the top of the bus to negotiate swapping over.
The driver was nice about it, but also called that if Lance was gonna go across any time soon, he should go now before they got on the freeway or they wouldn't make Phoenix by dawn. Lance looked at Chris, who was pretty much dead to the world, and then at Joey, who was digging the empty bourbon bottle out from beneath a couch cushion and holding it desultorily upside-down over his open palm, and then at Justin, all sleepy menacing innocence, eyes glinting like cut jewels in black sand.
"I'll stay a while," he said, airily. Justin laughed silently and flipped him off and then the metallic creak of the door admitted a low breath of chilly air, and Lance realised distantly that he was the only one who knew, like, the stuff between them. The undercurrent.
Then he looked at Chris, who wasn't smiling but still radiated this easy assurance, and thought that maybe he didn't know everything that was going on.
The engine started up again, and Joey hauled himself up and rooted about near his bunk. Lance stared at the ceiling and listened to the rustling, wondering if it was fear or anticipation that made his skin prick out in tingling awareness.
His stomach felt bruise-tight.
"Mmm. You want?" Joey asked, settling back down next to him and lighting up and lifting his fingers, and Lance focused on the snug joint and imagined going back to Justin all stoned and pliant, and shook his head tightly.
"Nah," he said vaguely. He wondered where the hell Joey had got it; hadn't they had, like, border patrols two days ago? "I shouldn't."
Joey snorted, inhaled deeply, then let his head fall back against the couch and grinned with his eyes closed. "Retard," he said affectionately; "like, when are you gonna drop the nervous expression whenever we spark it?" He jabbed the joint in the direction of the driver's cab; "He doesn't care, Lance."
Lance thought about saying that wasn't what he was nervous about, but settled for, "yeah, well. When I was growing up," and Joey chuckled and hooked a long arm around his neck and jostled him, "shut up; when I was growing up, we got whupped if they caught us near that stuff."
"Mmm," Joey agreed, stroking his arm, and Lance thought that this was much better, this comfort-warm-agreeable, so why was he so addicted to Justin, to the prickly shuddering heat of it-- and then he thought that duh, c'mon, go figure.
He took a deep breath, tempted by the taint in the air but Justin, Justin, with his clever fingers and immeasurably soft hair, Justin who he didn't want to just fold under, just capitulate to--
He let his head fall back against Joey's chest. Bullshit; he didn't want to smoke right now because he wanted to feel every inch when Justin fucked him. He stared at the curling smoke floating up to the ceiling, hypnotised by Joey's slow breathing, by the melting lace of silken greys.
"You guys still up?" came JC's voice, sleepily, and Lance blinked.
"Jayce," Joey greeted smoothly, raising his hand and tilting his fingers, and JC plucked the joint away and came round and sat down with them and slung his legs up over Lance's thighs.
"Better nightcap than milk," he murmured, shuffling slightly, and tilted his head away to exhale blissfully. "Mmm," he said, and then, "hey, this is good stuff," and then, "Lance?"
Lance shook his head, and JC smirked at him and passed it back to Joey.
"Junior's gone all nervy," Joey rumbled, grinning Lance directly in the eye, and Lance thwapped his chest with the back of his hand.
"Junior doesn't even know about it or he wouldn't have left," he corrected, and Joey and JC hooted softly.
"Assertive, Lanston," Joey growled approvingly, gaze lingering, and his eyes were black.
"You're so stoned," Lance told him, almost reaching for him -- for the joint -- and then veering off at the last moment.
"Mm-hmm," Joey agreed happily.
"Why's Chris on the floor?" JC asked, a moment later. "Isn't this, like, his stash?"
Joey beamed, a silky little smile widening to show satisfied teeth. "Y'all didn't think we were playing for cents tonight, did ya?" he said, waving his arm vaguely to encircle himself and Chris, then blinked and passed the joint quickly back to JC; "careful, ash-drop."
JC nodded and leaned over and snagged the bourbon bottle off the floor. Lance watched him, amused, feeling vaguely heady and thinking maybe he'd better start breathing shallower.
"That's not gonna work," Joey pointed out, as JC upended the bottle and wedged it between his thighs.
"Is too," JC said, tapping the ash onto the concave of smudged green glass, then taking another sip with satisfaction. "Though, Lance -- you better not be thinking about going anywhere in a hurry, y'hear?"
The cold air shocked the hell outa him. He fumbled his sleeve up and pressed the button on his watch, and the backlit screen shocked him again; 90 minutes? he'd been lazing around in there for... whoa.
The other bus looked silent; he got inside and paused, grateful for the warmth again but, like, did he dare turn on the light?
He had a feeling, not. The bus started up again almost as soon as the door closed on his heels, and then he couldn't even listen cautiously for Justin's breathing, the noise of the engine throwing his hearing out.
"Hey?" he ventured, softly, and his voice caught in his throat, and Justin didn't answer, and a strong wave of anticlimax made his head spin.
Unless, maybe Justin was waiting for him, silent in the dark?
It was a nice idea. God help him, it was. But-- Justin wasn't exactly the patient type.
He stripped down to shorts and socks and stumbled into the bathroom, glaring at his fluoresced reflection with squinting eyes, then smirked, because damn, his evening was ruined because he couldn't bed Justin? his life was so deranged.
Still, the anticipation thing was getting old, he thought, and brushed his teeth until he tasted metallic over the mint, then drank down two glasses of water, slowing when the coldness struck at the sensitive corners of his mouth.
His stomach felt cold, now. Maybe he should shower, warm up a bit... He glanced at his reflection again, and yeah, that was a scornful face. Blurry vision; check. Floaty feeling in limbs; check. Eyes that wanted to stay closed whenever he blinked; check. This was not a shower time.
He just didn't want it to be a go to annoyed sleep in freakishly large-seeming-bed time either.
Well, suck it up, he thought eventually, after making faces at himself in the mirror for a while in a charade of avoidance technique. He stalked back to his bunk, sitting down to strip off his socks, blinking furiously in the dark.
The sheets were cold and heavy, feet uncomfortably close to numbness as they slid down and then-- fuck. Apparently, Justin was the type to wait silently in the dark. Nakedly silent. Body heat like it was going out of fashion.
Lance drew his foot back quickly from Justin's foot? ankle? knee? and tried not to breathe too loud, aware his exhaustion checklist was now blaring on red alert: heart palpitations, tingling-behind-eyelids, dick springing hard against his stomach; check.
Justin didn't move.
Lance counted to ten, then thirty, then took a deep silent breath and slipped into the bed.
Justin... didn't move. Lance slithered closer until his chest brushed Justin's spine, feeling an odd wave of affection, and then a deep slap of irritation with himself, because shit, he fell asleep waiting? Dude, that's practically romantic. And it means you're not getting any.
Justin gave a little sigh and leaned back into him, which was too fucking cute for words. Beauty sleep, Lance thought vaguely, nose brushing softsoft curls.
Hey, there was always the morning. That was... definitely promising. Joey and JC would be pot-headed til lunchtime, and Chris'd been stirring when he'd left, so he really didn't have to worry about being ragged for looking beat tomorrow. And waking up with him, that was gonna save so much time...
He hooked his arm round Justin's chest, delicious sensation of firm muscle beneath his palm, and then he'd been flipped on his back by uncivil hands, Justin crouched heavily over him.
"Hey-- it's only me--" he yelped, then almost choked as Justin cut off the words, crushing down relentlessly and stirring his tongue through Lance's mouth. Okay, this was better than beauty sleep.
"I know who it is," Justin murmured, letting Lance get his break and then kissing it away again, frustratingly slow and earnest and surprisingly nasty for being not all that vicious.
"Ehh," Lance agreed, out the corner of his mouth, then squirmed as Justin sucked his tongue, dark pulses of enjoyment running through his chest. He so did not feel tired.
"You get lost on your way back here?" Justin said, eventually, when about half Lance's brain had turned delirious and drizzled hotly down into his cock. He had a feeling he was never gonna sleep again--
"Uh," Lance said, snatching a breath through lips that felt sweetly overused, "Sorry."
"What time is it?" His voice was angular, almost.
"I... don't know."
Justin stretched out heavily on top of him, pinning both wrists above his head with one big hand. "Good. I don't care." He touched Lance's chin with his thumb, then pushed Lance's face sideways into the pillow, baring his throat and whispering in his ear, "Hope you weren't planning any pretty dance routines tomorrow, Bass."
Lance shivered hard, wriggling, feeling Justin's cock rigid-thick against his thigh, then moaned as the wet heat of Justin's tongue slithered slowly down his throat. "Nope," he managed, struggling to pull his thoughts together like they were conflicting dragons on leather leads. "No... dancing."
Justin paused, mouth at the hollow at the base of his neck. "Pity," he said, voice like a melted wax crayon. "I'm liking the idea of you trying to dance, when you can't even walk properly because I've fucked you too hard."
Lance's hips were arching up even before the words evaporated off his skin, and Justin responded instantly by grinding down hard, making the world shock and shiver until Lance had a feeling it was gonna all end right there--
"That's pretty sick," Lance whispered, then hissed as Justin licked his way back up his throat, lewd and wet against his ear until Lance's cock was ringing with it in silent torture.
"Yeah, but you're right there with me," Justin replied, voice dipped in barbed sugar. "You like it, like the idea of my dick going up your ass, like the thought of me slamming you 'til you can't walk tomorrow, 'til you feel it for a week-- see?" and the leather leads snapped and the dragon-thoughts fled, and he felt a long, low noise resonate in his chest, felt his hips making little insistent circles to keep his cock rubbing against Justin's thigh.
Justin chuckled, sliding off of him and shifting up, and then one of Lance's fingers was enveloped in the slick furnace of Justin's mouth, and Justin sucked, and Lance heard himself, "please, for god's sake, finish it--"
"Nuh-uh," Justin muttered, teeth sharp against his palm, and then he was rolling Lance over and dragging his shorts down, and Lance kicked them off gratefully and then froze stock-still as Justin's soaked-velvet tongue slithered up between his legs.
"You fucker-- I'm gonna come," Lance growled, louder than he'd intended, and then Justin pointed his tongue and pushed it inside him and he almost did, the edge thundering up towards him in crimson pulses and then fuck, because Justin vanished again, leaving him sweating and spread-eagled on friction-overheated sheets.
"No, you're not," Justin told him, and Lance nodded against the pillow and tried to believe him, then yelped breathlessly as one of Justin's slick fingers nudged suggestively into his ass, then retreated and hovered.
Splintered heat rolled up his body, and his shoulders trembled. "Yes, okay, I get it, you can make me shake," he growled, but what came out was more of a frustrated moan, low and keening and he'd be embarrassed in the morning if he wasn't dead by then.
Justin hummed, finger drawing little circles, and Lance thought thankfully that thank god it was dark because at least Justin couldn't see the effect he was having.
Yeah, merely feel it and hear it and god help him taste it. Like the boy needed light on top of all that.
Lance squirmed, trying not to angle himself to push back on Justin's finger but it was difficult, making him sweat and grit his teeth with effort, and he wondered how many women Justin had been with, if he counted this teasing as prep or pleasure.
Hell -- how many men? For all he knew, the three-week hiatus had been for Chris to roll Justin over and teach him everything he knew--
Justin's fingertips twisted and pushed slow-sweet-hard inside, and Lance shuddered against the sheets, brain whiting spectacularly out. "Dude, you feel good," Justin told him lightly, and Lance swallowed at the approval -- what, Justin approved of being able to fingerfuck him, approved of how Lance felt from the inside? Fucker.
By rights, he should be making some cocky comment about how Justin'd never had better, but Justin's fingers were moving slightly and kinda wired up to his dick, and he couldn't even seem to get enough air let alone vocalise. And it wasn't like he wanted Justin to stop, anyway.
His hips started lifting with it, twisting back onto Justin's hand, and Justin said "mmm," and "oh yeah, more like that," and then, muttered, "fuck, you're killing me," and pulled swiftly away, making Lance pant with hungry distress.
He could feel movement in the dark, and his head was spinning, and his own breath was loud and wanton, and he could barely hear Justin at all.
Torment, he thought clearly, through the prickly maelstrom of his brain, and then Justin murmured "Your first time, right?" and Lance felt the devastatingly light brush of solid wet skin against his ass, and ached for it. Torment was like, not even close.
"Get on with it, please, cmon," he muttered, not about to give Justin any more than that, and then his thighs were eased a little further apart by damp warm fingers and Justin started pushing, and it hurt and then the pressure gave and he could feel it sliding in, thick and warm and so goddamned hard--
His own gasps were hitching, getting choppy and loud. "It so is," Justin breathed, holding still but nudging deeper, and Lance could feel the damp heat of his pelvis locked against the burning curve of his ass.
"What?" he asked, and his voice was confused and shivery dark. Move, he thought loudly, but he wasn't gonna say it.
"You're like," another curt nudge, and Lance hissed despite himself, "supremely tight," Justin said, voice cracking, and then he shifted and smoothed his hands possessively down Lance's sides, and pulled halfway out.
And then shoved in again.
"Fuck," Lance yelled, pain exploding and fuck it was good, was like ecstatic sheet-lightning crashing through his body, the force of Justin's hips rubbing his dick into the sheets in unbearably sweet, shocky slides.
"You like that," Justin told him harshly, and Lance nodded blindly against the pillow and spread his legs wider, rocking back and almost yelping with pleasure when Justin's big hands clamped against his hips and angled him up brutally exactly where Justin wanted him. "Say it."
"I like it," Lance agreed, whisper-forced, and Justin made a rough choked noise in his throat and thrust the deepest yet, then froze, leaving Lance trembling hard. "Hey--"
"You are so up for this," Justin muttered, appreciative under his breath, then added, louder, "be right back, yo," and pulled out smoothly enough to make Lance shiver.
"What the fuck?" Lance demanded, trying to sound assertive, not pitiful.
"I've just... gotta..." The air snapped into blazing light, and Lance screwed his eyes tight and buried his face in the pillow, feeling vulnerable and empty and so fucking turned on it wasn't a joke any more. "...see this."
Lance froze, images of himself flashing through his head; shivering supplicant pale against dark blue sheets. His cock twitched against the mattress, and he bit his lip. Christ.
"Damn," Justin was muttering, "I should've tried this ages ago," voice getting closer, and Lance felt his face heat slightly, "because damn, Lance. You're just... damn."
Whatever, he felt like snarling, but his voice wouldn't work and anyway, shit, Justin had reached him and stroked a firm hand down his side, and god help him but he was arching into the touch, unfairly hungry, unfair, unfair--
"I wish the others could see you now," Justin said, then laughed softly when Lance inhaled sharply; "yeah, and I bet they wouldn't mind either, specially Chris, hmm? you like that idea?"
"Fuck me, please," Lance managed, voice as loud as he dared, and Justin's thumb pushed deftly into his ass and he shuddered, because he didn't know when every one of his nerves had come to rest there, but they had.
"I bet Chris wouldn't mind, not if he could see this, you all panting and writhing on my hand, begging me--"
"please," Lance growled, as Justin started moving his thumb in tiny, coaxing circles, making Lance imagine what it looked like, his legs wide apart with Justin kneeling between them, his ass spread to Justin's hand--
"Turn over," Justin said, and Lance almost obeyed and then thought, fuck.
"Deeper this way," he pointed out, like he wouldn't just short-circuit if he had to look at Justin's face right now, watch the baby-boy determination as Justin pushed back inside him, see the dark eyes go heavy and half-mast as Justin panted the same arrogant endearments as before, tracing the tension of Lance's body with over-knowing hands.
"How would you know what's deeper?" Justin asked softly, thumb melting maddeningly away, and Lance could hear the grin.
"It is, though, isn't it," Lance said, daring to twist half round and send Justin his best approximation of a do-me-now glance, feeling his dick rear at the sight of the tousled sweat-glowing degenerate kneeling between his legs. Fuck. This was why he hadn't wanted the light on, you know? Just-- fuck. Talk about needing something. "Go on," he added, dropping his voice, cashing in on his aces.
Justin's eyes flared black; he pushed him back down and slid on top of him, heavy and hard and blissfully hot, working one strong arm under Lance's stomach. "You know what's deeper still," he mumbled, licking prickly wet stripes across his neck and sliding his dick suggestively against the small of Lance's back. "If I get you on your knees."
The arm hauled him up, muscle hard against his clenching stomach, and Lance scrabbled his fists against the sheets and tried to breathe as the blood rushed to his head in a hot, sloping tide. One of Justin's wicked knees nudged his legs wider open, and he inhaled sharply, Justin's breath momentarily hot on his back, then the sharp smooth glide of a familiar finger.
"That's not fucking enough," Lance heard himself snarl, and almost blushed with it but honestly, enough with the dicking around, Justin had proved his point and gotten Lance to the point where he'd just faint if he didn't get fucked soon, and he'd better fucking do something about it.
"Sorry," Justin said, absently unrepentant, "just, I like it. You're really tight. and, you know. silky."
Lance swallowed, cheeks tingling with heat. "Uh-huh," he said, seeing it too-vivid in his brain, Justin looking critically at his finger disappearing into Lance's ass.
"And hot," Justin added, and his voice dropped, "you have no idea how hot," and Lance thought he had a pretty good idea, thanks, because had Justin felt the base of his dick recently? no, and then Justin pushed another finger in hard and said appreciatively, "and that -- you just take it," and Lance's knees almost buckled.
"Come on," growled, and Justin's other hand stroking down his side felt reverentially depraved, and Justin made a noise of disagreement in his throat and just carried on until Lance's blood felt like golden water sliding through over-heated veins.
"Yeah, yeah, like that," Justin was saying, as he started wriggling back with every stroke, blindly seeking more than this, than the sweet slick glide of not enough, not enough, not--
Justin's hand dipped round his side and brushed against his cock, and Lance hissed, sensation flaring brightly over the roiling heat of his pulse. "Fuck," he said faintly, taste of grit in his mouth, and then Justin's hand wrapped confidently around his cock and the fingers had left his ass again, and he had just enough time to reinforce his balance on aching wrists before Justin's dick was pushing up inside him again.
Okay, apparently he didn't need to see Justin to short-circuit.
"Hard, please; hard," he heard himself mutter, and Justin moaned softly behind him and then almost sent him flying with the power of it, friction-heady force of his cock driving into Lance's ass, wicked hips grinding it deep deep deep inside.
"Fuck," Lance chanted, eyes snapping open, staring blindly at his white knuckles as he clutched at the dark sheet with slipping fingers and tried to jerk his cock against Justin's hand without losing any of the bulk balls-deep inside him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck -- touch me -- fuck--"
Justin's fist started squeezing, then let go and Lance almost screamed in frustration until he felt the hot palm bat against his mouth, banked salt as he licked frantically, tasting himself and combined sweat and then nothing at all because Justin thrust hard enough to fry the nerve from his tastebuds and he was just swearing gasping swearing into Justin's palm.
"Did I... mention... tight?" Justin was panting, and his hand slid up Lance's back and gripped his shoulder, jerking Lance's whole body back onto his dick, and Lance bit down hard on the fingertips against his lips and Justin cursed and almost overbalanced them again. "Bitch," Lance heard, and it was turning nasty, deep hot thrusts that nearly shattered his bones and sent silver flames curling up his spine.
He made a kind of whimpering noise, arms shaking, and then Justin pressed down hard on his shoulder and he fell to his elbows, forehead crushed into the warm crumpled pillow, hands twisting sheets into knots to avoid fingernail-scars on his palms.
Justin's hand was only damp when it reached his cock again, and he realised distantly he must've panted it dry, but fuck, like he cared, because this baby had friction.
"...bitch," Justin was still muttering, half lost in the rhythmic panting he had going on, "fucking love it, though, right? you'd let me do this every night, whenever I wanted, backstage, whatever, in public, in church after we'd sung the fucking Sunday service--"
and Lance could only nod, dizzy and shaking right down to his toes, and then Justin did something with his thumb and he came blindingly, and it was like something must've softened inside him because Justin said "oh fuck" and shoved him down flat and slammed, moving frantically, hot breath on his neck and the familiar jerking that was burnt into his memory from sucking him off a thousand times
-- and fuck, he'd never registered how deep he went before, how much power there was behind those hips, like surely the kid was gonna have RSI by the time he was twenty-five --
but he did remember the pitifully incendiary thread of sound that opened in Justin's gasps when he was about to come, and yeah, that was hot, that was hot as hell as his fingernails clenched deep one more time and no, he didn't think he'd be able to dance in the morning.
Eventually, there was a long, breathy sigh in his ear. "Dude," Justin said faintly, and Lance could hear the smile even though his brain was mostly involved in damage control after he'd bust up most of his neural pathways, "I think we better sleep in my bed."
"I'm not doing it in Church," Lance remembered to say, as they jogged over to the other bus after realising they'd forgotten to set the alarm when bus horns almost liquefied their brains.
Justin grinned at him. "You better hope the others haven't seen freshly-fucked men too often, cause one look at your walk and they gonna know," he said.
Lance jumped up the steps of the bus and whipped back round, grabbing Justin's collar as he bounded up and holding him on the edge of the step, teetering, nose-to-nose. "Not. In. Church."
Justin had long arms, which was a bitch; his hands flew out and caught the metal ridges holding the bus door, balancing himself. "Yeah, and not in public either," he said softly, then swung himself forward so Lance stumbled back, hooked a steadying arm round his neck, and kissed him.
Lance felt the sting on overused lips and then the sensational liquid glide of Justin's tongue asserting itself in his mouth, and then remembered hey, tongue, mouth, the others; something's wrong with this picture.
Nevertheless, Justin pulled back first. "Cause you know, in public, that'd just be a bad idea," he murmured, and Lance looked up at the professionally blank faces of three bodyguards and a driver.
"Hey," he began, hissed protest.
"C'mon, c'mon! Time waits for no man and neither does the bus," Chris called, bounding up behind them and grabbing the back of Lance's collar and dragging him unceremoniously into the main room. Lance choked and growled and fought him off, and ended up sprawled on his ass on the floor where the carpet painfully wasn't.
"You prick," he yelled, scrambling to his feet again, accidentally catching Justin's calm gaze as he winced because who wasn't supposed to be dancing this morning?
Justin watched him for a moment, then looked triumphantly at something behind his head, and smiled.
notes: I don't know how high the bus ceiling is. Gratuitous un-cannonical TTWLG ref, and yeah, I feel weird referring to RL as cannon. weird. No, I'll never get tired of getting them stoned. I'm not really sure if Justin would be this unprofessional... aw, hell. who am I kidding?
calico] [series picture]