It turned out that pretending to be a virgin had its problems. A lot of them, in fact, the main one being a strict prohibition on having sex with anybody. Britney was more than willing to have sex with him ("hello? that's what we're going out for!") but after he'd found that out, Justopher had walked into a bank with Chris' ID and transferred half of Chris' money into a secret Swiss bank account.
"Good behaviour bond," he'd said, smirking, and hadn't cared when Chris threatened to do the same thing to him. Justin, Chris found out the next day, already had all his money in secret Swiss bank accounts. Either that or he'd bought way too many cars. Which Chris didn't even get to drive, and which management made him buy more of because he was Justin now, and Justin had a thing for cars. and motorbikes. and jewellry. Justin had an expensive life and these days nobody paid for it except Chris. Chris was also paying for Chris Kirkpatrick's sudden interest in fast cars and motorbikes and luxury apartments, because, as Justopher sweetly put it, "it's about time he stopped being such a frigging tight-ass."
All that, he fumed, and no sex.
Also, Lance was looking drawn and tired and thin, and his dark hair made him look pale and fragile, so Chris went into his room one night and hugged him.
"Sorry," he told him. "I should have known you weren't. You know."
"No, I know," Lance said. "I just always wished that you'd calm down a bit or Justin would stop being, you know, such a prick. and then it both happened and I know it's not fair on you when you're not really the person you really are, so you don't have to worry because I'm not going to--"
Chris kissed him. Lance groaned under his lips, a heavy rumble of sound, and yanked Chris on top of him as he lay back on the bed.
"Oh, okay," he panted, tearing off Chris' shirt, arching up and sighing as Chris fumbled with his belt, "maybe I am going to."
And maybe Chris had had a soft spot for Lance before, a strange, jittery wistfulness directed at the canary-like creature with the lion's voice, but now the magnetism was all lined up in the right directions, lined up like his cock at Lance's ass, and nothing was easier than pushing forward into the welcoming heat with these strange hips of his which just loved to thrust and slide and pound rhythmically--could do it for hours, as it turned out-- and his ears were hardwired for the symphony of hungry, mewling sounds Lance made under him, and his heart was made to swell at the sight of frantic hands scrabbling at his chest, hooking behind his neck and pulling him down to slide his tongue possessively over a wantonly open mouth.
In the morning, Chris woke up and stretched his long, long body as far as it would go, and turned to Lance sprawled on his belly next to him, and revelled in the strange sensation it gave him to trail his fingers from neck to ass, the sensual swell of power in his gut when Lance sighed, sleep-throaty, and arched in response to it. He was blanketed on top of Lance's back, holding Lance's wrists so that his arms were pulled out tight, teasing him hungrily with licks to his hairline and dirty slides of cock over Lance's ass, Lance writhing with his legs wide apart and happily urging Chris to fuck him nownownow, when Justopher burst in through Joey's connecting door.
Melrose Place, Chris thought two hours later, chainsmoking in cold fury on the hotel roof, never in its wildest dreams had a scene as fucked up as that one.