Cameo Part Two: On The Set

by Terpsichore


Lance watched the crew pack up for the day, a dense tiredness seeping into his bones.  All he had the energy for was to keep twirling the red, nubby ball between his hands.  Lord he was tired.  Thank God this was the last scene of the day; all he could think of his was soaking in a deep tub of water and wrapping himself around Chris and falling into the sleep of the dead.  He considered the concept of rising from the brown leather recliner for a moment, but decided against it.  They weren't going to clear up the furniture yet and the chair was so comfortable and good…old beat up leather recliners were like that.  Joey actually had one like it in his house, inherited from Chris when they'd all bought their first homes.

The thought of Chris brought a small smile to his face.  His boy was probably still sunk deep into that video conference back at the suite, tied up for what seemed like far longer than a decision about fall clothes should take.  There was some argument going on when he'd left, something about available sizes and Chris didn't sound like he was going to budge from his opinion that extra-large wasn't large enough.

Lance sighed wistfully.  It wasn't like he didn't have his own meeting to go to in an hour.  The other producers wanted to meet with him and Wendy and the people at Miramax wanted to discuss promotion…maybe if he shut his eyes he could grab a quick power nap, just so he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of the suits from Miramax.  He pushed the chair into full recline.

It was just getting good to him when he heard the floorboard creak, oh so slightly.  His eyes drifted open just as a familiar face appeared in his line of sight. 

"What in the world are you still here for?" Chris asked as he moved closer.  "Eric said they stopped shooting fifteen minutes ago."

"Hiding from my next meeting," Lance answered, stretching a bit.  He scooted over to give Chris enough room to sit on one of the arms.  "How did your meeting go?"

Chris shrugged.  "Not too bad…not too good either.  They aren't buying my idea yet."

Lance yawned.  "They will.  You know they always do, eventually.  A million forum posts on the subject can't be wrong."

"You'd think," and he shifted and straddled Lance in the chair.  "that owning the company would count for something."

Lance smiled at Chris' familiar weight and snuggled deeper into the chair, quite content to sit like that for hours.  "It does."  He wrapped an arm around Chris' waist, holding him still.  "It means you get to do all the ugly work and every one else gets paid more."

"Hmmm."  Chris wriggled a bit more and Lance started to realize that his slow, languid feeling was having very little to do with exhaustion.  With his man smiling an all-too-familiar smile into his face, his whole body started to feel like it was turning into a puddle of dark, hot molasses, kind of like the color of those eyes he adored.  He was suddenly reminded of the night before.  And once his brain was reminded, his body quickly followed suit.

"I like this chair," Chris said, almost casually, patting the leather arms.  "Reminds me of the one I had--,"

"That you gave to Joe," Lance murmured, wondering where that silky voice had come from.

Chris laughed.  "Yah…if only he knew about the things I did in that chair…"

Lance leaned back further and peered at Chris. "Care to share?"

Chris gave a wicked grin and another wiggle.  "I could always demonstrate."

Lance sighed, closing his eyes.  "Trick, it's so tempting, but I'm absolutely wasted from today."  He was cut off when Chris' hands dropped into his lap.  An eye popped open.

Chris' face may have been the very portrait of innocence, but the hands were telling a different tale.  They pulled the flap back on the zipper and ran his finger down the metal teeth.  The slight pressure of the metal against the bare skin underneath made him feel even more languid.  "Chris…c'mon…I'm really tired."

"You'll be even more so when I'm done."

"Dude.  Anyone could walk in."  As passionate as Chris could get, at least he kept some of his decorum and common sense.

"Not when I locked the door."

Of course.  Lance could barely make the clicking sound with his tongue.  "You're evil."

"No, actually, you are.  All lounged in this comfy chair looking so innocent and delectable."  He flicked at the zipper; it started creeping down.

Lance draped his arms over the sides of the chair, the ball falling from his fingers.  "No fair.  Taking advantage of a man when he's down…"

"I'm getting you back for practically devouring me yesterday."

The zipper felt like it was moving tooth by tooth.  So wrong.

"You didn't complain then."  Lance breath hitched slightly as Chris stuck one then two fingers inside and rubbed oh-so-lightly on the smooth, taut skin.  Lance smiled behind closed eyes as he pictured Chris' face at the fact that he'd gone without today.

"Not complaining now."  Yes, that was slight wonder in his voice.

Lance shifted again.  "You gonna…torture me all day here?" he murmured.

Chris chuckled, then flicked the button on Lance's jeans.  "That idea has merit."  He pushed slightly, making it much harder for Lance to stay indifferent.  Much harder.

Lance's hand snaked forward and started playing with the waist of Chris' pants.  "I got a better idea."

"Lay it on me, big producer man."

"Lips.  Yours.  Right here."  Lance's finger indicated the exact spot.

Chris leaned forward and pressed his lips into Lance's.  Lance's tongue snaked out, parting Chris' lips and reaching inside.  The bastard brushed his teeth; he'd been planning this.

When they came up for air, Chris sighed.  "Getting' better, kid," he teased.  "All that slobbering on Emmanuelle must've taught you something."

Lance gave him a twisted grin and tongued those lips again.  "You dare to disparage my previous technique?"

"If the size 12 fits…"  Chris pushed open the jeans and snaked his whole hand inside.  Squeezed.

Lance growled   "I'll show you where the size 12 fits."  He flicked both wrists, dipping into Chris' sweatpants. 

Chris arched into the touch.  "Pretty please?"

"Move."

The command was obeyed instantly.  When Chris scooted back and up, Lance took care of his own jeans.

Chris stood upright and pushed the footrest of the recliner so that it was upright and knelt on the floor.  "You think it'll fit here?"  he said right before his lips latched on without further preamble.

Lance arched and hissed through clenched teeth.  Tired?  Who was tired?  He wasn't tired?  Not at all.  "Jesus."

Chris raised his head a fraction.  "He don't want to hear nothing you've got to say right now," he quipped, then went back to work.

Soon Lance was undulating in the chair, whole body ripples right in time with Chris work.  He buried a hand in the dark spikes and carefully placed the other on the arm of the chair.  Some interesting tongue work later and his nails almost tore into the old, dry leather.  Small sounds were emerging from the back of his throat, urging Chris on, just as his hand held his boy immobile, only allowing him to suck and tongue as he thrust into the dark, hot mouth full of freshly brushed teeth.  He could feel Chris' eyes on him, as always when they did this, watching for the telltale signs of the blinding orgasm to come.

When it did come, it came with a buzzing in Lance's ears and surging electricity straight down his spine, through him and right into Chris' mouth, who swallowed obligingly for a moment before releasing him and stroking with a free hand, waiting for the second when Lance became a light, limp, weightless blob in the chair.

While Lance lay in the slightly drowsy haze, Chris struck again.  He quietly, but determinedly found somewhere else for his own clothes.  Then he reached down and lifted Lance legs, spreading them over the arms of the chair.

"Wha…"  Lance was still dazed.  He looked up with blurred eyes at Chris, standing there naked and ready for…something. 

"C'mere," Chris pulled and tugged until the chair slid back into full recline position, then stepped into the space made by the foot rest.  He considered his positioning carefully, and moved Lance around until he was satisfied, as Lance crept out of the afterglow and caught on.

"Man…Mmm so tired now.."

Chris snorted and finished situating Lance to his satisfaction.  He stroked Lance only once, gathering up some of Lance's own personal brand of lubrication and he was ready.

"C'mon, hon…" Chris purred.  "Daddy knows you're tired…"  He leaned down, pressed in wicked slow, watching the eyes widen to their widest before snapping shut until the force of the final few inches slamming in.  "Daddy also knows you've got one good one still left in you…"

Lance tried to laugh and gasp at the same time, giving up a shivery sound that Chris felt from the inside.  "You think that's gonna…Mmm….work?"

Chris thrust sharply again, making nails gouge into the leather, making the top of Lance head collide with the back of the chair.  "Sometimes.  But if it doesn't--," Again, and this time Lance arched up as far as he could.  Chris took advantage and laid half his weight on top of his lover.  Efficiently trapped by the position, stretched to the point of almost pain, Lance could only protest the fierceness of it all with small, guttural noises.  He couldn't even move any more; Chris did all the work.

"But if it doesn't—then…oh, yeah…all you gotta do…do…is give—shit—it a little love tap."  And Chris suited words to action, whipping his arms under Lance's knees and lifting, thrusting quickly and sharply, and grasping the arms of the chair with everything he had.

Lance's brain was reduced to rubble.  Pure demolition.  All he could do at that point to help his cause was reach for the back of the chair and hang on.  He could hear, could hear the leather squeaking, sticking to his skin, could hear the chair creaking more dangerously close to destruction.

"The…God…the chair…" The last word Lance got out on a deep whine, trying to warn.

"Fuck the dammed chair."  Chris growled, shoving Lance down further into it, while he pushed faster and more frantic.

Lance, his body still quivering from before, was starting to burn.  Lubrication only lasted so long before it was just tight skin around tight skin, thickness wrapped in abused flesh.  It was reaching a point where it could get painful, was getting painful.  Tiny, mewling sounds escaped Lance's parted lips, trying to tell Chris that it was too much and not enough; to say ow and oh; and stop and no and more and go and too, too hard--,

One last, fierce arch and Chris cried out, a weird, scary sound.  Lance couldn't tell what it sounded like.  Lance didn't really care any more.  How could he care when he had no upper brain functions left?

When he could finally regain control, and let go of the chair and lean forward (blessing exquisite flexibility learned from years of dancing) he felt the dampness of his own climax against his stomach.  He hadn't even realized, didn't even know that once again, he'd become part of the lightning.

Chris trembled and shuddered for a good few minutes before he moved enough to help Lance into a more comfortable position.  The joints in Lance's hips protested minutely, but he managed to stand upright for about ten seconds.  Then he crumpled to the floor, laying in a completely boneless heap.

Chris crawled out of the chair and joined him.  As he nuzzled Lance' neck, he grumbled.  "I'm gonna be dead before our second anniversary."

"Don't worry," Lance forced out.  "I'll be right behind you."  He groaned.  "And to think…I've got a meeting tonight."  He cursed and wearily lifted an arm, squinted at his watch.  "In five minutes."

"You gonna be able to walk for that?" Chris muttered from his face down position.  "Because, personally, I'm finding this floor right here real comfortable right now."

"Let me see…" Lance tried, made it to his clothes.  "Barely."

Chris cocked one eye open.  "You even limp sexy…damn."

Lance laughed.  "I hope you're the only one who notices tonight."

"Mmmm..I'd better be.   Poor chair, though."

Lance looked over at the abused piece of furniture.  "I hope I have no more scenes in it.  I can't even look at it the same way again."  He poked the inert body with a toe.  "Get up…you're coming with me."

"Do I gotta?"

"If I'm gonna get looked at for walking funny, so are you."

"How come?"

Lance tilted his head.  "I want you there?" he answered quietly.

Chris grunted and struggled upright.  "Good enough."

As they left, they looked back at the chair one last time. 

"You think we can take it with us when it's over?" Chris asked.

Lance shrugged and shut the door.  "Don't see why not.  We'll probably need something to watch TV in…"

"Among other things."

* * * * *


mail Terpsichore
PicProv home