JC isn't really sure how he got here. Just that he was looking for his notebook and suddenly he's in Lance's bunk, held tight against Lance's hot body. He starts to ask what? but Lance's hand is over his mouth and his heavy, heavy voice is telling him to shush.
He does and it's dark in the bunk, nothing more than a tiny slice of light cutting through the slit in the curtain, falling across JC's chest. He can see the gleam of Lance's forearm stretched across his chest, a thin liquid sheen of sweat covering it. A dozen different odors mingle, things that JC can't identify alone, but sense memory associates them all with Lance; perhaps it's the citrus smell of his cologne, or the coconut of his hair gel, or even his deodorant. The air is stale and flat though, telling JC that Lance has been here for a while, lying in the stifling blackness.
JC thinks he wants to get up, but his body feels too heavy, and Lance feels too strong. A slow, meandering line of sweat slides over his jaw, and down his neck. It almost burns. He wonders dizzily if he's getting enough air, but doesn't do more than grasp at the wrist of the hand covering his mouth. Lance tenses behind him, his breath skittering jerkily across JC's neck, and JC worries that he's done something wrong. But, no, Lance just pulls him further into the dark.
The move tilts the world briefly and now JC can see through the slit, bright flashes of light and shadows. He hears the sounds now that Lance must have heard earlier, before he pulled him in; knows with the glimpse of Joey profile and the feminine giggles that they're not alone anymore and the chance to slide out of the dark space is gone.
He can see the glossy turn of gold hair and he knows they're pretty little things, because Joey only likes them that way. His mind fills in the details he can't see: blondes who look dangerously close to underage in their tight t-shirts, bedazzled and glittered and JC can almost smell their young lithe bodies, covered with sweet perfume and slick cherry lip gloss.
"I like to watch," Joey says, somewhere out of view and JC frowns, because Joey can't possibly mean what he thinks he means. Someone giggles again and draws JC's eyes back before he can stop himself. It's like looking through a strobe light: the bright flash of color, the impossibly fast flickering of shapes through the gash, gone almost before his eyes can tell his mind what he saw. And Joey meant exactly what he said.
*Flash* Joey touching them gently, then moving out of reach. *Flash* Half-smiles and shy glances at each other. *Flash*
He can see Joey through the curtain again, hear him over the pounding of his own heart, over the harsh suck of air through his own nose. Over the strangely soft exhalations of Lance behind him, who he's almost forgotten even though he can feel the press of his body behind him and the way that Lance's hand is resting hot and possessive on JC's belly almost burns him through his shirt.
*Flash* "Touch her, baby." Joey's harsh breathing. "No, no, right there. Gently, gently, no need to rush it. Oh, yeah, just like that." *Flash*
'Where?' JC's mind screams, but Joey's back still blocks his view.
Then it doesn't matter. Not really.
Because Lance's fingertips are slipping under his t-shirt, ghosting over his belly, so lightly, they barely touch the goose bumps they raise. Lazy touches circle JC's navel, tugging at the sparse hair that surrounds it before moving to scratch delicately at his nipples.
*Flash* Pert breasts with pink-tipped nipples beg for attention. *Flash* Milky smooth thighs. *Flash*
JC whimpers in his throat. 'Stop,' he wants to say, but instead he only clutches at the bunk edge with one hand and tightens his grip on Lance's wrist with the other.
"Shhh, or they'll hear," Lance murmurs against his neck, a rumble across JC's skin. It makes the hair at his nape quiver. There's a moist rush of heat as Lance's tongue captures a drop of sweat on JC's nape. Hips press against his ass and Lance's erection digs into the small of his back.
*Flash* Soft red lips touch shyly. *Flash* Tentative hands slide over uncovered flesh. *Flash* High little gasps of pleasure from half-opened mouths. *Flash*
JC squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that his head fills with lightning strikes of white beating in time with his pulse. Everything around him ripples to the same beat and he doesn't need his eyes to know what happens.
*Flash* Lance's hand slips JC's sweats down his hips. *Flash* Pressure against his knee pushes his leg forward. *Flash* Slick, slick fingers touch his inner thighs. *Flash*
Lance's erection rubs against the cleft of JC's ass, the flared edge catching on the ring of muscle with every down stroke. JC stiffens, but Lance just touches the soft skin under his balls and slides up again. Richly wanton words run against his shoulder and neck between Lance's butterfly kisses as he tells JC how hot he is. That his skin feels like silk. How he loves the sharp little noises that JC makes in the back of his throat, noises that JC doesn't even realize he's making.
The slight shuffle of Lance's hips against him is taunting; maddeningly light one minute, too firm the next. And the gentle sweeps of Lance's hand across his skin are so distracting, the way they flick from his balls, to his belly, and back again, avoiding the rigid pulse of his erection. JC wants to come so badly that when Lance runs his hand up the inside of JC's leg and pants against his neck, “come on, baby, bring it back here,” JC just follows blindly.
He lets Lance pull his leg back and there's one moment of fullness before his spine locks and sparks shoot over his nervous system because Jesus, Lance is *inside* him, he thinks frantically, poised on the edge of struggling. But another thrust sends him jerking helpless like a puppet on a string.
"That's so fucking good," Lance rasps in his ear. JC feels himself shudder in agreement, even when Lance's sweaty palm pushes his lips painfully into his teeth, hard enough that JC can taste blood. Because this isn't like anything he ever imagined. Unlike anything he *could* have imagined.
Then Lance's teeth nip at his neck; JC is filled with the sound of their bodies slapping together, and fingers bruising the inside of his thigh, the sharp smell of their sweat. The cool breeze on his overheated skin makes him arch, open his eyes, and oh, God, Joey -- Joey is flushed and smiling above him, his broad callused hands reaching for JC's cock, working him with hard, swift jerks. JC tries to pull back but it only pushes Lance in deeper than JC thought possible and he can't do anything but shout beneath Lance's hand as his orgasm rips through him. He isn't sure whose name he calls out.
He feels trapped by the lewd pleasure he sees in Joey's eyes when Lance thrusts one last time and pulls him tight to his chest, finally dropping his hand from JC's mouth. Joey's gaze is like a velvet caress, and he tries to imagine what they look like, Lance's cock still lodged in his ass, his own belly slick with come, spread out in gleaming debauchery, awash from the light spilling from the empty lounge.
"You're so good to me, baby," Joey says, flicking his gaze to Lance with a smile. His hand trails down the curve of Lance's hip to the swell of JC's ass and then slips between his thighs. Lance grunts when JC can't help but twitch. Joey's smile broadens.
"So," Joey leans close to JC, who lets his eyes flutter shut against the hot breath on his face. He parts his lips in anticipation of Joey's mouth on his, but instead gets the familiar pressure of Lance's palm.
"JC likes to watch, too," Lance says in his ear, and leans up for Joey's kiss.