Set after the JC/Chris tickling,
after Chris walks out on JC and Lance playing video games and drinking beer.
--> refresher course.
Cal: eh, he was kittentricky before I even noticed
Cal: he thinks he keeps it to himself!
Cal: glittery precious cellophane, that's JC.
Lance waits until the door's closed behind Chris, then pauses his game and twists over to face JC instead.
"You know what'd be hot," he says, tapping the mouth of his bottle against his lower lip.
JC raises his eyebrows. There are so many ways Lance could finish that sentence, and he has a feeling he wants to hear about, say, none of them. Lance has a thing about him, a scheming thing, like maybe he can see the way JC's thinking constantly about Chris and the tickling, and it feels dangerous.
"Chris is planning something," Lance says, eyes sharp. "He's all sneaky."
"You're all sneaky," JC says, and Lance shrugs, unrepentant.
"Didn't you just see him? He is so sneakier."
JC leans back, folds his arms. "So...?"
"So I figure we should get him first," Lance says, like it's reasonable.
"uh huh," JC says suspiciously, then sighs and thinks okay, I'm a good fish, I bite easily: "how?"
Lance sets his beer bottle carefully down on the rug, and looks at JC appraisingly. "What if he walks in on us," he says, slowly, "making out?" and JC thinks, um, okay, is this a plan to get Chris or a plan to get me? and he's shaking his head already, and Lance crawls forwards and puts his hands on JC's knees and kneels there, peering up, and pouts ludicrously. "Aw, c'mon. I'm so repulsive?"
"You're sneaky," JC says, because Lance is not gonna get him waxing lyrical about how gorgeous he is, and Lance raises his eyebrows. "We're all, like, our own team, here," JC says.
"What," Lance murmurs, grinning, "and you think I might, say, sneakily sneak a hand down there, sneakily get you off?"
"Well, you been thinking about it, or you wouldn't say so," JC protests, because Lance is basically laughing at him, and actually it's common sense what JC's saying, like, not paranoia or whatever, so. so there.
"Everyone on this bus' been thinking about it," Lance says, almost sharp, and moves his thumb against the side of JC's knee. "I'm not gonna, though, 'cause I want you to be helpin' me, and it sounds like that's the way to get you mightily pissed with me, and that's not what I want at all."
"everyone," JC asks, pretending like it's offhand.
Lance grins. "You're forbidden treasure, baby," he murmurs, and reaches up, twisting a length of JC's hair around his fingers. "how'd you not notice that?"
"um," JC says, because, actually, he doesn't tend to wander round wondering how many people wanna work him over today -- hell, leave that to Justin -- and Lance's thumb brushes his cheek, and Lance kneels up smoothly and tilts his face until their mouths are closer, almost too close for JC's comfort. "I thought that was Justin," JC says.
"Justin's pretty hot too," Lance agrees, thoughtfully, and then he's sliding his fingers back into JC's hair, holding JC's head steady, and says, "but you're, y'know, like I said. treasure," and leans up a little further, tip of his tongue tracing JC's lower lip, and JC freezes, getting a vaguely insistent hard-on, Lance's hand uncompromising in his hair. He wonders what the hell he's gotten himself into, catching the interest of the slyest guy here.
"don't," he says, weakly, trying to shift without pulling his pants any tighter, but then he's opening his mouth when Lance does it again, licking back, tasting the rich heat of Lance's mouth, an edge of beer.
Lance makes a satisfied-feline noise and moves his other hand up JC's leg. "I'm just sayin', y'know," he breathes, kissing him, open-mouthed, over and over, "you look so good, with me," and JC half-laughs, and Lance bites his lip reproachfully, "shut up; you know you do," and it's kind of weird, because Lance is probably right but it'd never occur to JC, and there's something hot about being told stuff like this -- and then it strikes him that that's the problem, things being hot, and he gets his hands up to Lance's face, pushes him away.
"we're not doing this," he mutters, gaze flicking around the room before he makes himself look at Lance, see the wicked glaze to green eyes, "you're just. sneaky."
"Imagine if Chris saw that," Lance says softly, and touches his own mouth. "Okay, if I walked in on that? I'd be turned on."
"Wow with the narcissism," JC says, and Lance smirks and says,
"damnit, I thought I'd gotten you at least aroused enough to forget big words," and then, "okay, so. Where's Chris never likely to expect it?"
"We're not doing this."
"We are," Lance says, "unless you can come up with a real reason why not."
"The quiet room," JC admits. "And no hands." Lance watches him until JC feels self-conscious, tucks his hair behind his ear. "No hands," JC repeats, deciding not to tackle the why-are-you-letting-him issue.
"Actually," Lance says, eventually, "that'd be pretty hot, too. Like, all tame. Chris'll like that."
The point is to be less hot, you fuck, JC growls, but ends up shrugging and saying, "I guess," and refusing to think that maybe Lance chose JC to lure Chris because Lance has seen something in the way that Chris treats JC that makes him think JC's the perfect bait.
He's not even gonna consider it.
because it's a stupid thing, even to consider.
Even if it kind of makes JC's stomach do a tight little flip routine, sometimes.