It didn't start out as a concrete plan... not really. It was sort of like an instinct, some strange parasitic urge. He just began smiling a little wider at JC, allowing his hugs to linger a tad longer, sitting close enough to feel the heat of JC's thighs.
And then a sloppy rum soaked kiss at 3am.
But JC never said the word. He never said stop. And Joey could feel JC's hands shake every time he pushed him away. So it was easy, too easy, to push and push until no one would be rehearsing that day because of the broken chair and tender apologies and Lance's wracking sobs echoing over The Compound.
And Joey had to go back to waiting, catching up on the least offensive sitcoms and "Movies For Guys Who Like Movies". He ate microwave pizza like it was going out of style, and was pleasantly surprised that they showed up at his doorstep after 4 days. He'd been expecting it to take at least a week.
Joey had thought that these things just sort of happened, that he'd open the door and be shoved inside as two sets of hands painted pictures over his chest. Instead, they actually tried to speak.
"Joe... we..." JC seemed to choke on the "we", his throat clenching until Lance took over.
"We've been talking. A lot. And... wewantyoutobewithus."
So it was *almost* that simple, but not quite--which was just fine with Joey because every word that left Lance's mouth flushed the pale cheeks a shade or two more pink. And Joey was just plain impressed because neither of them was all that drunk. If he had been JC, Joey was sure that he would have been wasted.
Joey had spent a long time thinking about what it would be like to be JC.
Lance kissed him first, and that was nice--nice in the way that the adjective would be used as the largest understatement ever. Nice in the way that his heart dropped to his stomach and decided to take a swim.
One of the first things Joey learned was that JC performed expert blowjobs. He could flick his tongue just like *that* and you felt it run up your spine. And he could glide down your dick all silky smooth till you were almost screaming, moving into your thrusts as you slid down his throat and gripped his hair in iron fists. Lance, on the other hand, gave terrible head. Sometimes there was too much teeth and he could never get his mouth around more than half, flinching when fingers so much as grazed the top of his ears. But when Joey looked down and smoothed his thumb over a soft white cheek... Joey *always* came the hardest with Lance.
He liked to whisper quiet meaningless things in Lance's ear as they fucked, rubbing his lips against earlobes that felt better than silk. And if JC ever noticed this quirk he never said a word. He probably didn't care; it didn't seem to be much of a threat. Besides, Joey had come to him first.
JC liked to sleep in the middle, burying his face into Lance's neck and kissing his shoulder twice before rising to take a shower. His legs wrapped themselves around Joey's in a loose familiar grip, which shifted only slightly as the night wore on. It was a tight fit, but Joey always managed to scrunch up extra close and cup a large hand over the back of JC's neck as they slept. After about three weeks he and Lance always woke up holding hands.
Little unspoken things became bigger silent things, like the time that Lance and Joey just *couldn't* sleep and then their eyes met in the almost dark. Sex on the bathroom counter was cold and awkward and *strange*, because there were only two mouths and four hands. If sound had been allowed Joey might have cried.
JC never cried either. They had worried about that - Lance wasn't sure he could take it – but a quick punch into weak plaster walls was his only comment. And he even said thank you as Joey bandaged that fist in gauze. JC was just like that Joey guessed. Or maybe it was about pride. Joey tried to care, because *Lance* cared... but he just didn't have the time, that's all.
He was pretty busy taking afternoon naps curled around a soft warm body and sharing stupid jokes with Lance in the middle of their zillionth interview... just because he could.