picture chosen by Nemoinis
Lance looked good in orange.
Fuck, they all looked good in orange. But they agreed that Lance looked the best.
Maybe it was the jade-glass eyes.
Maybe it was the pale, ivory skin.
Justin thought it was a little of both, and he wasn't wrong. Chris thought it was the naivety Lance projected, and he wasn't wrong. JC thought it was the hair, and he wasn't wrong. But Joey knew it was the taste of Lance's skin - the taste of oranges, and he was right.
Lance was the sun in orange.
And who could resist the sun?
"Lance, pull the sleeves down over your hand...yeah, like that. Kind of look over your shoulder at me. Yeah. Vulnerable. Perfect."
The other boys watched as Lance had his turn with Mark, having his pictures made, sun kissed and reflected on the bridge, against the building, on the road...in orange. Orange. Joey was suddenly struck with the thought that Mark knew that Lance tasted like oranges, and no-one was supposed to know that but him.
Except that Justin knew too. And so did Chris. And JC.
But Mark...no, Mark wasn't allowed to know.
So once the shoot was over, the other four hurriedly grabbed Lance, Lance who was still in orange, and hustled him onto the bus. The hotel was forever away, and fuck, he even smelled like oranges, and who can resist the sun?
"Lance..." it wasn't a name, it was a call, a plea, a moan.
Four pairs of hands were determined to pull off every bit of orange. Every bit of clothing, period. Four pairs of hands mussed the perfect hair.
Four pairs of hands touched the sun.
Four tongues tasted orange.
Justin held his lips - he knew he was the best kisser, youngest though he may be. He kissed slow and lazy, he tongue-fucked, he nipped, he caressed, whatever he wanted - and that was fine with Lance. Joey watched blonde curls and blonde spikes be threaded through with hands, watched tongues do battle, heard moans. It was so hot, so hot, and he needed in. He sat beside Lance on the couch and ran a hand up the blonde's thigh, ran the other between Justin's legs. Justin moaned into Lance's mouth and bucked against Joey's hand.
Chris decided his taste for orange could wait and opted to settle between Joey's legs instead. His fingers deftly undid the younger man's jeans and coaxed his cock out into the open air. Joey shuddered as Chris stroked him, as he stroked Justin, as Lance tried to make him touch...
"Oh, fuck, Chris."
JC just watched. And watched. And watched.
Watched Joey take his hands away from Justin and Lance to thread them through Chris' hair. Watched Chris reach over and gently rub Justin's back in small circles as he slowly jerked himself with the other, all the while busy making Joey make those noises only Chris could make him make. Watched Justin tense and untense, absently stroke Lance's chest, as Lance opened up to him.
He looked into the green, impossibly green, eyes and then down at the orange shirt. Joey caught his glance and scooted over on the couch. JC settled between Joey and Lance took a deep breath.
Justin released Lance's hair and concentrated on the task at hand, getting a piece of the sun.
JC shifted a little to face Lance and Justin. He felt Joey's hand on the back of his neck, and he leaned into it for a moment before pulling away and staring at Lance. Into Lance. Through Lance.
Lance who leaned in and gave him the softest, chastest kiss.
He tasted like oranges.