It wasn't right when JC turned into a girl, and it was even less right when Chris came on to him.
"Dude, what the fuck?" Justin demands, walking in on them, on JC sitting coyly on the hood of Justin's Merc where it's hibernating in Chris' garage, Chris perched next to him with one hand on the hood behind JC's back and the other on his thigh. JC's girly shoes lie against the opposite wall, where JC shucked them clumsily because they kinda rubbed. He thinks: this does not look good.
Chris takes his hand away, leaning back. "Jup?" He sounds innocent and surprised, and JC swallows, feeling a little warm handprint melting under his jeans.
"You two," Justin insists, but he's frowning already, squinting in the half-light. JC realises he's come in from the bright sun -- that's what they had done, after all -- and wonders if Chris planned it. Then figures it's Chris, so he probably did. Probably even called up the weather guy to make sure nothing's gonna backfire overcastedly, too. Uh. "You two?"
"Us two what?" Chris says, and Justin rubs his forehead with two fingers.
"Dude, you. You looked like you were feeling her up, or something." His eyes flicker to JC. "Him, sorry. Uh. Right?" He looks between them in confusion. "What?"
JC laughs hard, because that's what Chris is doing, and Chris seems to be in charge. "Justin," Chris accuses, exasperation in his voice, "he's been wearing fucking kitten heels all day," like that explains it, and JC wonders if he should wear kitten heels more often if it turns Chris on, and then Chris is adding, "I mean, you think you wouldn't get a cramp if you pranced around in heels all day?"
"Oh," Justin says, and Chris pats JC on the leg.
"Not that you pranced, of course," he assures him, then nods at Justin, "but he would, y'know? He practically prances now."
JC winces and rubs his leg, because it feels like the thing to do. "This still hurts," he says. "I swear, I'm never wearing stilettos, no matter what Theresa says." Chris chuckles, and their fingers happen to skid together because JC happens to make them.
"But, like-- it's dark," Justin says, although he seems pretty hesitant.
"I've got a headache," JC says; "It's bright out there."
"Have some compassion, hey, man?" Chris says kindly, and Justin cuts him off with a little wave;
"Don't worry, I'm outa here. though, um." He looks like he's trying not to scowl. "There ain't anywhere else to sit?" "Look around," Chris says dryly, and Justin looks, mouth tight, then grumbles, "yeah, okay. but mind the finish, yeah? I just got that one done, gotta treat it right, I'm not even letting Todd house it yet," and Chris says evenly, "I know -- or is there some other reason you can't fit your car in your own damn garage?" "I'm building an extension," Justin protests, then throws JC an apologetic grin. "sorry, man. uh, I'm gonna catch up with the others," and hurries away.
"Fuckin' hell," Chris mutters, fondly, once Justin's disappeared across the gravel to the court, and pokes a remote on the floor with his toe. The garage door swings down slowly, clicking; the great shelf of sunlight spilt across the floor glides smoothly backwards until it's blocked out altogether. JC swallows, finding Chris is stroking his fingers. "I'll just lock that, ok," Chris says, almost casual. JC puts both hands behind him, bracing himself on the cool metal. Chris' fingers are just too distracting.
"Wouldn't want any more interruptions," JC says, and the words come out sly even though he intended them as neutral, and Chris squeezes his thigh and laughs wicked and low, and then the garage door clicks louder and the others are locked out.
"Guess I should have done that before," Chris murmurs, sliding his hand up to the top of JC's leg, then reaching his stomach and pressing insistently, making JC's elbows buckle.
Way to play hard to get, JC thinks, as his back touches the hood of the car and Chris' hand moves up his ribs. Real classy.
Chris presses down a little harder, holding him down while he turns over to stand between JC's legs, and JC takes a deep breath, staring up at Chris' complacent gaze. He's sprawled out on the hood of someone else's Merc, his bare feet are scuffing the floor, and there's a strange man stroking his stomach. You don't get much less classy than this.
Chris shakes his head, only just visible in the gloom. "You look really fucking good," he says, stroking the flat of his hand up, then veering off to the side and curving it respectfully to cup JC's left breast. The pad of his thumb swipes across in a smooth arc, and JC feels the melting sensation from earlier come back, to cream and glide in the pit of his stomach.
He nudges his body up slightly, wanting some more contact than the not-enough groping and the steady burr of Chris' gaze. Chris flashes him a quick grin and leans down, hand on the hood by JC's shoulder, mouth opening even as JC's lips register his first touch.
JC starts to lick back, tongue darting and flicking as Chris settles smoothly on top of him, and these kisses are different from before, deeper, somehow more Chris-centered, and JC finds he's short of breath kind of earlier than he was expecting. He wants something, an obscure more, even though this body still seems vaguely confused as to what it's actually after.
It likes Chris, though. Hoo, yes. The Chasez body, with or without its Y chromosome, loves it some o' dat Kirkpatrick action; the solid, heavy press of Chris' body is definitely making him warm. His legs move apart a little further, bare heels pressing into the dusty cool floor.
The kisses back when he was a guy, they were kinda like this but more perfunctory, because there's nipples to be bitten and dicks to be sucked and move along now, hurry up, yeah? and even then, Chris was more impatient than JC had been, sliding his hand imperiously down JC's back to pull them hard together and slip quickly into third base-- and JC realises that maybe Chris is holding back now, because he figures that's appropriate, what with JC being a girl and all. Weird -- he's never wondered what Chris'd be like, like this. With a girl. Like, hesitant. Then Chris is biting at his lips, sliding their tongues together, and JC amends that okay, hesitant isn't exactly the right word. Not hesitant.
He kisses back, trying to keep Chris' attention while he works up the nerve to slide down the hood a little more so all the important parts line up, not just their mouths, and then Chris sucks lewdly at his tongue and that would've made his cock twitch back when he still actually had one, and as it is it merely makes his body ache to get more, feel more, so he arches up wantonly and shuffles his hips down the hood and hey, maybe his jeans get thinner when they heat up or something, because he can feel it quite clearly when the blunt solidness of Chris' cock presses up between his legs.
Ok, that's what this body wants. Pretty fervently, too. Directly. It's... oh. Chris sucks in a deep breath, hunching briskly into him a few times, and JC gasps and spreads his thighs wider, feeling his body get earnestly excited about taking something inside it just that size.
"Oh, oh," he manages, feminine little gasps he could smack himself for, so fucking pitiful-sounding, even worse than the needy growls in his throat last Wednesday when there were still two cocks in the equation. He's twisting, too; breathy little wriggles, pushing his breasts up against Chris' chest, swiveling his hips to get that familiar pressure harder against this hauntingly unfamiliar need.
Chris smiles into the kiss, hands smoothing down JC's sides, folding against his waist and holding him still. JC swallows, bracing his feet on the floor and then realising he doesn't need to because Chris is pinning him to the car by his pelvis, and he's warm all over, not just his skin, warm right inside, deeply and privately, with a shifting tugging sensation exactly where he wants Chris' cock right now.
"C'mon," he says, nuzzling back from Chris' mouth, telling himself he's restless because it'll be hurrying Chris along, not because there's not a cell in him that can bear to keep still. "c'mon, Chris."
"Mm-hm," Chris says, and his hands are pulling at JC's jeans, faltering for the first time, and JC tenses up and lifts off the car to help him, kicking his ankles free as soon as he can. He spares about three seconds to mourn the beautiful girl-denim scuffed around the floor. "Hey, now, you didn't waste any time," Chris is saying, looking appraisingly at his crisp little panties, and JC bites back a blush and meets his gaze confidently;
"Neither did you."
Chris grins. "Point," he says, because JC only turned into a girl on Monday, and then he fists them casually and pulls them down JC's legs, the scrape of the lace on his thighs lingering in pearl-washed pain.
Half-naked, half-naked, JC's brain chants, as he kicks them off as well. Lots of pretty fabric getting dusty tonight, he thinks, and the car's warm as he lays back down under Chris' hands, which is a little weird, but he guesses he's just pumping out the heat right now, so.
Chris stretches out next to him, chin in his hand, and walks his fingers down JC's body. "Now this, I could get used to," he says quietly, and JC closes his eyes, can't watch, having enough trouble controling his breathing.
He spreads his legs when Chris' hand strokes his thigh, then wonders what the hell else he was supposed to do because he could hear Chris' little chuckle over the soft thunder of his heart and, hey, he's pretty sure it's bad form to laugh at the girl who's letting you... do stuff.
He doesn't have time to get truly offended, because Chris starts touching him, lightly, smiling and darting his gaze between his hand and JC's face. JC grits his teeth, then closes his eyes. So this is stuff, he thinks, except even now it isn't totally happening. Chris' fingertips keep skating close and then ducking away, moving, sorta, outside, or something, and in JC's head all the girls he's ever slept with are wriggling and angling their hips to follow his touch, and he's hating himself for teasing them just as he hates worships admires Chris for teasing him.
In his head, the pictures are kind of obscure pink and dark, and then he pushes his hips up insistently and Chris' finger brushes the entrance, new entrance, and the pictures go slick and red, and he pushes his hips up again.
One of Chris' fingers makes a nudging circle, right there, and then JC hisses softly as it pushes inside, this body yielding eagerly, a warmth spreading from the pit of his stomach to make the whole of his lower body glow.
He bites his lip and rocks on it, images of what he must look like flaring in starbursts all over the place. A pretty girl, jeans kicked off and abandoned, lithe against metal, Chris' hand between her legs. Fuck. He feels Chris' fingers shuffle slightly, then a second pushing inside, and the glow turns to an ache, makes him want to wrap his legs round Chris' waist except this isn't Chris' cock, not even, just his fingers -- Chris' fingers finally inside him, crooking up and making him breathe hard.
Chris ducks and kisses him again, the side of his mouth, licking slightly, his fingers nudging in gloriously idle counterpoint. JC sucks in a huge breath and imagines that tongue, and maybe Chris is reading his mind or maybe this is just natural progression for him with a chick, but whatever, his mouth traces short dashes down JC's throat, sucking the smooth line beneath his breasts, Chris sliding off the car entirely.
Chris licking round his own fingers, still inside JC, wet heat flicking carefully, is just unreal.
"Fuck, fuck... fuck," JC starts muttering, though mostly it's just a series of tensely-ruffled gasps, as Chris slides his fingers slowly out and begins to erase them from JC's memory by going to work with his mouth instead.
JC's hips start trying to light a fire by squirming against the metal of the car, but the damp sweat springing up everywhere is pretty effective in preventing actual flames, if not the ghostly furious heat shimmering inside him. He has to throw his hands out and grab the sides of the hood to keep any balance whatsoever.
"I wanna, god, yeah," he hears himself mutter, and takes a few deep breaths, and gets a grip. Okay. Chris kneeling between your legs; fine. Against a car; whatever. Chris' given you blowjobs before. This is only different because. eh.
Fuck that. When Chris would give him blowjobs, it would be like he'd gone back in time and stuck his cock in the turbulent enthusiasm of a baby volcano. This is a different sort of wet heat, a different angle to the attention, but no less destructive. The tiny happy noises in Chris' throat are pretty familiar, too. Apparently, with a girl, Chris particularly enjoys giving head.
JC scrambles his heel onto the cold fender and braces himself on his elbows, looking down at the pale slant of his thigh going up past Chris' head, staring at the neat lines of his body. Chris' eyes are closed as he licks JC, making him rock down needily; looks like he enjoys this a lot.
The warm wet slide of his tongue goes deeper, and JC closes his eyes, too strange to see Chris between his thighs; hell, this position should only involve rimming, and it wasn't like Chris'd ever done that for him.
Although, as JC slides a little helplessly further down the hood, Chris' fingers skim around JC's ass like they always would, and that's a terrifying thought, that Chris remembers exactly who JC is, has their history floating through his mind just as surely as JC does.
He's not exactly sure, but he doesn't think he's gonna come for a while. Melt into a twitching liquid mass, yes. Orgasm, no. And the thought of spending that while with Chris on his knees, well, that's equally terrifying.
"Stop, stop," he manages, even though his thighs want to lock round Chris' head nutcracker-style, and then hates himself for it as the air frosts wet skin, as Chris bites like a kitten at his thigh as he draws back.
"That's not good?" Chris says, wiping his mouth, then sucks his own finger which JC thinks is unnecessarily hot, and then it turns out he's only plucking a hair out his mouth, and JC grins, because that's not hot, but the expression on Chris' face is pure martyr, exactly how he used to look when JC knelt down between his legs when Justin was due to come round for the game in eight minutes.
"It's good," JC assures him, and swallows, "but, uh... I'm falling off the car, man."
Chris grins, and JC decides that was the right thing to say. "I guess, we can do something about that," he murmurs, walking his fingers up JC's thigh, and JC swallows again, half-wanting just to suck him off because hey, at least his mouth feels the same, at least Chris won't enjoy that more than the skills he had before, and then Chris sidles closer, watching him, and JC decides he doesn't care.
He can't turn into a woman and not find out what sex feels like, can he? His own fingers aren't that much of an experience.
He wonders momentarily if it's actually that he can't turn into a woman and not find out if Chris prefers it, can he, but that doesn't bear thinking about -- and then Chris is easing his thighs further apart, and JC crosses his heels behind Chris' ass and lifts slightly, feeling slutty and wild, and Chris grins like someone's told a joke in the back of his brain and lines up. JC feels the hot, firm press of it, indescribably exciting, and something goes hollow and light inside him.
He bucks up, and Chris' hands tighten on his hips, and there's a moment of real pressure, dull heat making him squirm, needing it-- and then Chris backs off, sensation fading instantly, and JC's whole body clenches in frustration. He's breathing hard; they're both breathing hard.
"What the fuck?"
Chris looks at him in a mix of dazed aggression, then swallows audibly and waves his hand vaguely at his dick. "I just thought, uh. We better. I mean, I'm clean. you know that. but. like, the reproductive organs match, now."
"I'm gonna turn back way before it could be a problem," JC assures him, then wonders if that's a stupid fucking thing to say, reminding Chris of how transient this is, even more than usual.
"Oh, ok," Chris says, and lines himself up again, liquid brush over hot threat, making him want to writhe except that then he'd risk losing the pressure and really, really, he doesn't wanna do that. "Fuck, JC," Chris says, frowning like he's pleasantly confused, nudging harder, and JC closes his eyes and then feels them roll back in his head as the slow, insistent rocking of the head of Chris' cock finally pushes inside -- and then Chris is shoving in steadily, solid and thick, shocking JC with the violence of it, making him groan deep and loud.
Chris freezes, hauling in truckloads of air. "Sorry," he manages, truly breathless now, and JC's just fizzing with it, glad for the car under his back, feeling his muscles clutch over and over at Chris' cock inside him. Finally; jesus, jesus. "I just-- you. sorry."
"No, no, it's fine," he forces out, and, weirdly, it actually is, the flare of pain fading and what the hell kind of girl is he? "you have," grinding his pelvis up against Chris', "no idea how fine it is," and then, feeling like he's swimming in stifled heat, "now, could you just, like, move?"
"Noooo problem," Chris says, a grin in his voice, and then JC hisses as it starts, quick deep pushes, waves of faint pleasure drifting directly over the nerves in his brain. He remembers jerking Chris off a dozen times and constantly finding he's just gotta slick up his hand and squeeze from time to time and let Chris' hips shimmy out the orgasm, and thinks blearily that he's the receptacle again, except this is a lot more fun than using his hand. A lot. A lot.
For a moment, he imagines what it'd feel like to be fucked by Justin like this, and then Chris is easing an arm under his back and lifting him slightly, and at the buzz of the new angle all thoughts of Justin flake away.
It's... it's fucking amazing, actually.
If Chris prefers it-- well, hell, JC doesn't have anything to compare it to, no idea what it feels like to have Chris inside him as a guy, so he can't say if he'd prefer it. It'll have to be pretty fucking incredible to beat this, though, the numbing enjoyment seeping up through his body, punctuated by twinges of delirious over-sensation.
Chris is panting shamelessly, now, and JC slides in time, sweat breaking out, wondering wildly if Justin can tell people have been screwing on his car by checking out the smears across his perfect waxed hood, and then Chris is curling down to kiss his neck and lifting him one-armed to make up the difference and kissing his collarbones as well, and his mouth leaves cold sparkles on JC's skin, and he's always figured that Chris would be pretty bad at dealing with chicks, because he's goofy and short and clowns don't get laid that often, right? but this would appear to tell different, very different, oh.
And there's a sort of puzzled meltdown inside him, and he's making a load of hissed noises and Chris is grinning against his throat and muttering dark things and agreeing with him a lot, and JC hooks his arms round Chris' neck and tilts his head back and groans, shuddering, twisting and wriggling on Chris' cock, because this happy girl thing sure can go on a long time, if you go at it properly, and right now he feels pretty determined to go at it as long as Chris can take him.
"JC feels ill," Chris proclaims, and JC blinks hard in the sunlight as the others stop playing basketball and come over. He's left the pretty little shoes behind, and the gravel's crunchy and sharp. Joey's frowning, concerned, and reaches them first.
"Dude, you look kinda pale," he says. JC hopes he doesn't look down, see the shafts of dust streaking his jeans.
"Well, duh," Chris sighs, patting JC on the shoulder. "I'm gonna take him inside and get some TheraFlu. Just in case."
"Feed him soup," Lance suggests, and JC licks his lips. They feel. red, kinda.
"I am here, y'know."
"You don't look here," Joey says, with a rueful grin. "You look totally spaced out."
JC almost laughs, letting Chris guide him inside, the shade of the front hall falling over him like clean fresh denim, cool blue and crisply comfortable. He has a feeling he needs to sit down.
"I space you out, man," Chris grins, triumphant, as soon as the door closes, and JC pokes his tongue at him.
"You shut up," he says, and it's not brilliant, but he's. yeah. spaced out, right now. "I gotta sit down."
"How 'bout, lie down," Chris says, measured innocence. "I hear they got great beds upstairs. We better check that out, I'm thinkin'."
"It's your house," JC points out.
Chris beams. "That means we got the proprietor's guarantee that they're great beds," he says, and he's already steering JC upstairs, JC's feet sinking a little into the carpets but not far because Chris says it's a waste to have hallways done in luxury stuff. Chris, JC has a feeling, has never been stuck in a hallway during a party.
"That's -- yeah," JC says, as Chris leads him into the guest room, because the walls are kinda, well, not JC's choice of paint, but he can forgive Chris anything because Chris apparently feels his guests deserve a great night's sleep.
Or, possibly, Chris has spent a great deal of those parties taking people upstairs.
"Yeah?" Chris says, and he's already nuzzling at JC's neck, and it should be weird but Chris has always had a faster recovery time than him, plus this body doesn't seem to know what recovery-time means, plus Chris is still wearing his shoes and so his mouth angles in perfectly up behind JC's jaw.
"Mmh," JC agrees, and it's easy enough to flop down on the smooth wide bed, to watch Chris sling his clothes onto the floor and then crook a smile and lock them in, to undress under Chris' fingers when Chris has left it long enough that JC's beginning to breathe audibly again.
"I wanna enjoy you properly this time," Chris whispers, crawling over him, "want you on top, too," and JC laughs a little because the touch of Chris' tongue is soft and fluttery when he talks, and then thinks, yeah, this time. Because Chris doesn't know when he'll turn back, doesn't know anything.
"We can, ah, we can do that," JC says, shivering when Chris lies against him, all this gloriously heated skin emphasising every part they aren't touching. A small part of him wants to call it off, go hide in a corner until he's a guy again and he can see if Chris comes for him with all these suggestions, just see if he does.
"Wouldn't wanna waste any opportunities," Chris adds, and JC laughs softly again, because otherwise he'll tense up. Chris' lips work their way up his throat, dip against his mouth, and he finds he's smiling and kissing back and panting softly again without making any sort of conscious decision. Fuck. "Damnit, JC, I could get used to this."
"Me too," JC hears himself say, and it's true, because he could definitely get used to having Chris addicted to him, and Chris slides his arm under JC's neck, like he would sometimes when they were jerking each other off, except then there'd be kissing and biting, not this luxuriating in his all-too-female form.
"How long are you gonna be a girl?" Chris murmurs, kissing the space between his breasts blissfully, his other hand smoothing down towards the curve of JC's hip.
JC stares down at himself, so fucking pretty, and at Chris, his closed eyes, his fingers sly with worship. "A week," he says, swallowing the knotted tissue in his throat.
A little wrinkle appears in Chris' forehead; "that's, what, four more days?"
JC nods, then clears his throat. "Yeah." Chris' hand slides down, spans his thigh, neatly waxed because on Monday JC woke up and went into some frenzied girlification he can't remember much of -- because if this is how he's gonna be then he wants be classy, at least -- and then Chris' thumb strokes slyly upwards, thoughtfully. It's gonna look pretty silly in a few days, JC thinks.
"Hmm," Chris mumbles, and the tip of his thumb wanders higher, until JC's squirming without intending to and totally resenting the way Chris has him casually totally immobilised so he just has to lie here and wait for it. "I guess that's not too long," he adds, and JC's brain pounces on the words; what, what? What?
"Hmm?" he manages, trying to sound like it's not an important answer at all.
"Don't get me wrong, you're gorgeous like this," Chris says, and his thumb slides higher, brushing tantalisingly close to exactly where JC wants it, and then Chris adds, "but I wanna suck your dick, man," like he's perplexed and annoyed, and JC can feel the insistence of Chris' erection against his shapely, female leg and suddenly thinks this isn't so bad.