by Julad

On the screen, Lance was pale--bleached hair, bleached skin, staring with reluctance into the camera.

Off the screen, Lance was golden, gold-tipped brown hair, golden-brown skin, staring transfixed at the screen. Joey's arms were around his waist, Joey's lips on his neck, Joey's cock pressing impatiently against the seam of denim cleaving his ass.

On the screen, Joey's disembodied voice said, "c'mon, Lance, please, you said we could."

"Not with the camera," Lance protested weakly.

Lance offscreen laughed at himself, deep and amused and already aroused. "I was such a chickenshit," he said to Joey, and Joey ground against him, sliding a hand around to the front of his pants to squeeze proprietarily.

The image jerked and slid and with a faint clunk, settled, and Joey walked into it. "I won't watch it if you don't want," Joey promised the pale-faced Lance, and stripped off his shirt. "But this is just too precious to miss." Lance nodded nervously, and fumbled his way out of his own shirt.

"Get on your hands and knees," Joey offscreen said to offscreen Lance, and Lance stretched forward on the bed until Joey was covering him, the screen only an arm's length from their faces.

"I was so fucking turned on by you," Lance told him, as his younger self struggled with Joey's pants, face blushing furious red. Joey gently took those fumbling hands away and stripped off his pants himself. Then he took Lance's pants off, dragging childish yellow boxer shorts with them, and Lance offscreen gasped as the movement revealed everything to the camera between those thin, pale legs.

Offscreen, Joey undid Lance's pants and jerked them down until his ass was bared, then slid his hands up inside Lance's shirt, gliding possessively over skin and muscle to nipples, pausing to toy there a moment, and drifting back down. Lance shuddered, pressing his ass back against Joey's crotch, eyes fixed on the screen and his younger self's complete unawareness of his virgin ass exposed to the camera.

"Get on your hands and knees," Joey told Lance on screen. Face still red, Lance obeyed him. Joey nudged him over a little, and, behind Lance in their room, Joey gasped his appreciation, and Lance had to admire it too, the long slender line of his own back, the trembling in his limbs like a young colt anxious about being ridden. Joey was kissing his neck, familiar hands probing his ass, spreading the cheeks, slicking lube inside. "Up a bit," he said softly, moving his hand up, and Lance stretched up with it, raising his ass, cock throbbing in anticipation.

Joey on the screen had his cock out and a condom on.

"I'm. Joey, I'm. Please," that Lance blurted, writhing away from and into the touch, jerking his head around in a futile attempt to see Joey's face.

"God, Joey, wait," offscreen Lance gasped, watching himself shudder.

Lance could see Joey's face now, Joey's face then, and it was dark with passion and hunger, dark in the blank, cold way Joey got when he was deeply turned on. Back then, he hadn't known that. Back then, he'd been terrified of Joey, terrified of what he was doing and what it meant that he was doing it.

Back then, his mother had been in the next room, and kept telling him that he was 'going through a phase'. Now, his phase was a lifestyle he gloried in, opening his mouth for Joey's cock, opening his legs for everybody Joey wanted him to let inside.

Onscreen, though, Joey had understood his misunderstanding of himself, and let him turn onto his back. Joey and Lance both gasped at the first sight of it, even in washed-out colours, old with time, that young cock gleaming and rigid and jerking with tiny panicked motions with the rest of him.

"Fuck, I can't wait," Joey told him, and Lance heard the impatient metallic rip of the zipper opening. He shuddered, but said, "no. Not yet."

"You're a tease," Joey said, squeezing his ass, rubbing his cock along the cleft, and Lance turned his face from the screen reluctantly to grin at him. Joey grinned back, eyes dark, teeth bared, and then went colder and blanker as his eyes drifted to the screen again. Joey was kissing Lance gently, one hand already drifting between his legs as Lance whimpered in arousal and fright.

"It's okay," Joey promised him there, and Lance had forgotten all about the camera as his head fell back and his legs fell wide apart and his mouth opened in complaint as Joey's lips abandoned it. Lance's hands scrabbled on the bedspread, and Lance gripped the sheets in front of him as he watched it, tensing in anticipation as Joey onscreen moved his mouth downward. He'd seen this so many times, he knew when to expect it, the wetness on his cock as Joey mouthed it onscreen, but as he let out a shocked cry onscreen, thrust his hips up and his feet up and tried to wrap himself around Joey's head and keep him there, offscreen Lance groaned in disappointment and Joey laughed.

"You'll get it soon enough," Joey promised him, and slapped his ass.

"No, c'mon. Suck it," Lance said, trying to turn over, but Joey held him where he was.

"Concentrate," Joey ordered, pressing his cock forward just a little, not penetrating but making Lance aware of its position with every fibre of his being.

On the screen, Joey hadn't lingered long, and Lance was whimpering his disappointment as Joey moved his mouth further down. He groaned as Joey brushed his lips over his balls, jerking his hips, beginning a litanty of 'oh please oh please oh please', but Joey onscreen just chuckled tolerantly.

Offscreen, Lance thrust backwards impatiently, but Joey held him firm. His cock was exposed and untouched, balls tingling but not responding to anything except the images before his eyes. Before his eyes, Joey was pushing his legs back, telling him to hold them up, and he was obeying. He was exposing his ass, spreading himself open to Joey and to the camera, aware of one and not the other.

"You were a born slut," Joey whispered behind him, and Lance spread his legs more for him, begging wordlessly for the touch he hoped was coming. Onscreen his face was red again, eyes bright and hazed, and he knew where to look, knew what to watch for, that expression of pure astonishment as Joey's mouth touched him there for the first time, the shocked pleasure ascending within seconds to stunned bliss and then face-contorting ecstasy as Joey's tongue had forced siniously inside him.

Offscreen, Joey laughed again before Lance could express his displeasure at not having what he was watching himself have. "Fuck you, do it," he gasped, and Joey tickled him there with slick fingers, making him shudder and lunge back as the sensation disappeared as quickly as it had been there.

"Wait for it, you little slut," Joey told him, lining up his cock again and gripping his hips hard as Lance writhed, cursing, trying to get himself onto it. "You wanted to wait."

"Oh god," Lance was saying onscreen, "oh god oh god oh god," and Joey chuckled against him and Lance writhed, gasping, with the vibrations. "Fuck, god, fuck, god." Joey pulled away and Lance moaned hoarsely, hands scrabbling in Joey's short hair, trying to put him back there. "You're so ready," Joey promised, and turned Lance back over on his hands and knees.

Offscreen, Joey's fingers were drawing idle patterns on Lance's buttocks, and Lance groaned, unable to stand the wait any longer. "Fuck me, come on, fucking get in there"

"It's not time yet," Joey sang back, pinching him cruelly enough to make Lance's head swim with pain and need and lust.

When his vision cleared, his younger self was panicking again, choked whimpers, white-knuckled hands gripping the bedsheets, face baring everything--lust, love, terror-- for the camera he'd forgotten was there.

"God, you're priceless," Joey whispered behind him, voice lost in memories, and Lance groaned in agreement.

Joey's face was off the edge of the screen now, his younger, sculpted chest and muscled arms filling it as he got into position behind Lance. Lance groaned in anticipation, knowing this was the moment, feeling his ass send impatient flares of yearning through his whole body as Joey on screen paused to run a reassuring hand down his gleaming, sweaty back.

Then the pain on his face seemed to fill the whole screen, his confusion, his doubt, his terror, his hurt. "Joey," he gasped brokenly, tears filling his eyes.

"Fuck, Joey, fucking do it!" Lance shouted, pain and impatience making him writhe, expectations ringing with disappointment.

"It's not time yet," Joey said quietly, as if from a long way away.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," Joey was chanting onscreen, as Lance keened in agony. "You're okay, baby, it's okay."

"Stop, please stop," Lance begged him.

"Just one more minute," Joey promised, "not long now, not long--"

And that was the moment, and watching, Lance knew it everywhere, saw it in his eyes as his own face transformed from agony to ecstasy, heard it in his own ears as his whimpers changed from pain to pleasure, and felt it, felt it filling him in one fast, hard, welcome thrust which slammed his chest down on the bed and tore his voice from his throat, shouted heaven, flayed his skin as his eyes still beheld it, Joey fucking him, Joey taking him, Joey having him for the first time and the thousandth time. The shock was always the same, the thrill the joy the pleasure, the pain the hurt the satisfaction always brought him to this point, staring into his own eyes, lit with an unearthly joy at this unholy act which crushed him and filled him and made him complete.

Joey, behind him onscreen, behind him offscreen, could be distantly heard, chanting his name like he was a deity.

The pace picked up, the rhythm was there and so good and getting so much better with every single stroke until he was choking, sobbing, arching his back and keening to the bedlinen as it exploded inside him, everything wrong about it and everything right, spilling out in white-hot fury which melted his bones and boiled his blood and then evaporated, taking all thoughts, all doubts, and fears, and leaving only tingling happiness.

Onscreen and offscreen, Joey behind him said his name once more, an Ave Maria of humility and awe, and then came. On screen and offscreen, the two of them slumped down, clinging together, limbs entangled, pressing sloppy kisses against whatever sweat-soaked skin was within reach.

"We'll never forget," Joey onscreen promised him dazedly, a childlike smile on his face. "We'll never forget this."

"Never," Lance offscreen promised, and behind him, Joey kissed his neck, his shoulder, leaned around to kiss his mouth and leaned over to kiss his hands. Onscreen and offscreen, then and now, they smiled at one another, sharing everything. On and offscreen, Joey kissed him once more, tenderly, and then reached over and turned off the camera.