Note: this is number two in the loosely defined, unrelated Joey's Kitchen series (rumour being no.1), and also my first forray into group slutfic. ah, rights of passage. <g>

Warning: excessive boy-on-boy (repeat to the power of five) action herein.

Summary: JC realises, a lot, and says, a lot, and breathes, sometimes. [aka, Calico has a poor grip on tenses so everything sounds weird.]

Hot, dry night. JC lies back in his sunchair, gaze sliding from star to pinprick star. He should write a song about stars, he thinks. Or, no -- a song about love, and the endlessness of it, and he should say something about the stars to emphasise it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, another voice sharpens itself and calls that for christ's sake, can't he even get drunk anymore? does everything have to be symbolic this and crap-warbling-lyric that? but he ignores it, because that voice doesn't understand his art.

Joey's got candles. It's a nice touch-- the pool, slopping quietly to itself because Justin tossed a ball in there a few minutes ago, looks like a terrain of crumpling golden silk, easy on the eyes.

"Anyone for more... dude, what is this anyway?" Justin asks, and JC turns his head curiously, wondering if they should give hard liquor to a giggling boy, then focuses on him and swallows distractedly because Justin ain't a boy anymore; you don't get body like that on a boy, and even if you did, the eyes would give him away.

"Yeah," Joey says, holding out his glass, and Justin rises unsteadily to his knees and slowly upends the bottle into it. Joey grins. "Here's to unspecified drinking," he calls, voice rumbly and warm into the night sky, and JC murmurs his agreement and thinks that actually, he couldn't say unspeciwhatever right now.

Chris echoes him, even gigglier than Justin because he always manages to scam drinks when it's just them, and then rolls over on his towel and props his chin on his elbows. "Heyyy," he calls, mournfully. "I can't toast without a topup -- 's criminal."

JC thinks he should probably sit more upright, because his head's spinning and most of the blood's settled down near his dick, not getting him hard or anything, just plumping him out in case he needs to do something about it later. It's dangerous.

"You got more," Justin's suggesting to Joey hopefully, and there's a shade of the teenager in him, the delighted taint of incredulity that an adult might just hand over a bottle without first going through a huge long song and dance.

"Lance's getting it," Joey says, twisting his head to peer back at the house, "though I don't think he knows we've finished the lot out here."

"Sh'I go see?" Justin asks, all helpful and JC almost laughs, 'cause he's so damn transparent it's like watching a little kid helpfully load up a shopping trolley with chocolate.

"Some day," JC hears himself call, voice rich and amused, "you'll be able to buy your own damn liquor..."

Justin flips him off cheerfully and rises to his feet, then picks his way over Chris and bends to kiss JC lovingly on the cheek. "Patronising fucker," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, and Chris laughs.

"The poor boy needs more to drink-- he's still talking in... things," he says, grinning up at them, then shifts up onto one elbow and winds vague circles with the other hand, "syllables. Still talking in them."

JC thinks it's definitely time to sit more upright, because at this angle he was far too close to turning his head and nuzzling Justin's open mouth, maybe hoping Justin'll lick his teeth and force his head back and grind down into him with all that forbidden luscious jailbait strength.

But he hadn't, which was good. He hopes that Justin won't kiss him again. For one thing, the chair will never stand for that level of abuse, and it will collapse loudly, and Joey will notice that JC's feeling up his boyfriend.

As if to prove his point, Joey is saying, "you straying, baby?" in a teasing low voice, and Justin is pouting and grinning and murmuring, "would I ever?"

It's not serious between them, but, well. It's also not polite to, what's the word? there's a word, somewhere, and JC knows he knew it a minute ago, it's on the tip of his cuckold, yeah, it's not polite to cuckold him. Although they aren't married, but still. Common courtesy.

"Six," Chris is saying, and JC's brain tries swirlily to work out what's going on.

Joey laughs. "We don't need six bottles," he says, which is helpful, and gestures with his glass, "for five of us?"

Chris pokes his tongue belligerently, and reaches out to tug on Justin's ankle. "Five bottles," he says authoritatively; "but so he's happy," and rolls his eyes in Joey's direction, "get three of them from the second shelf."

"It scares me, Kirkpatrick, you knowing your way round my cellar so well," Joey says, nodding at Justin, who sets off unsteadily for the sliding doors.

Chris beams at him. "Too many sleepovers to have any secrets," he says, and JC thinks that's sorta cryptic, and looks from one to the other in interest.

They seem to be having a moment, though.

"Say what?" he prompts, then blinks when Chris rolls up onto his knees and crawls between Joey's legs, lifting his face to kiss him soundly on the cheek. "Guys?" JC asks, hearing his own voice distantly, feeling the blood in his dick thread through with ominous heat.

Okay, so it's essentially the same kiss Justin gave him, but between these two? Different.

"Someday you're gonna pay for all that shit," Joey threatens, amiably.

Chris laughs, tilting his head back to the huge wide sky and bracing himself on Joey's thighs. They look like something from a storybook about a prince and a dark, spiky spirit who taunts at night.

Except the prince never looks so fond.

"Yeah, right," Chris says, and with one deft movement he's swiped Joey's drink and drained the remainder down that pale, cool-looking throat.

Joey grabs the back of his neck and hauls him closer, growling playfully and biting at the skin beneath his jaw, and Chris laughs delightedly and tosses the glass away. It smashes, out of JC's sight.

"You're gonna pay for that, too," Joey mumbles, into Chris' throat, and JC can't watch any more, not when it's all probably innocent but his mind's convoluting innocence into redhot sweaty porn; not when he suddenly wants them both even though ten minutes ago he'd never imagined either of them leaning over him with silky murder in their eyes.

"Guys, I gotta take a leak," he calls softly, stumbling to his feet, and Chris looks up and grins wolfishly.

"Bring another glass on your way out, right?"

"Mmm," JC agrees vaguely, imagining the heat of Joey's big hand on the back of his neck, the sharp taunt of Chris' teeth sliding down his jaw.

The house looms. He's noticed that before with houses, of course; like, anything that's taller than him looms, and whoever's house is shorter than him is probably a crazy person, but Joey's house seems to loom particularly.

It seems to be a huge block of granite in a huge, wide expanse of air. Maybe it's the soft noises behind him, that could be low speech and could be slithery wet kisses and the grunt as Chris' hand closes round Joey's dick through his chinos; soft noises like that sure make the rest of the world seem big.

The wood of the sliding door is warm under his hand. It's a warm night, actually -- that's why they're still out there by the pool instead of lounging around in Joey's huge squashy armchairs, because it's like a tropical night outside, serene and candle-silent, a skein of cobweb stars flung across a polished black sky.

A tropical night, he thinks vaguely. That's a nice lyric.

He knows, as he scatters a cascade of notes through his head in hope of striking a match against his creative imagination, that he doesn't write the best songs when he's drunk, so this must be an avoidance technique.

He doesn't care, though. He feels uncomfortable, because Justin's probably never thought he needed to defend his territory from one of them.

He closes the door quietly behind him, not wanting to startle Lance if he's coming up from the cellar -- Joey will never forgive him if they spill precious alcohol across his lovely pale carpets.

Lovely, pale, unoccupied carpets. Huh.

He looks to the cellar door, frowning; it's open a little, but he can't hear the glassy clink of moving bottles that had seemed to surround him when he was ferrying them earlier.

Actually, now he thinks of it, the entire house seems quieter than earlier; maybe because it's later, or because there's only him, but that makes no sense either, because Lance and Justin are in here somewhere too, and--

He walks across to the cellar door and pushes it gently with his fingers; noiselessly, it slides open, revealing the familiar stone steps leading down into a wide, cool basement. He listens for a moment, holding his breath, then shakes his head and turns round.

This is... stupid.

The lounge is spacious, and he wonders if they're hiding behind the armchairs or something. He's not drunk enough for that, himself, but maybe they are?

And then he sees the chunky sole of Justin's sneaker visible through the open kitchen door, and a cold spiky fear tumbles through him-- but no, just as he strides quickly -- silently, hands clenching against intruders -- he hears a choked wet breath and thinks at least, thank god, he's still alive.

Unless that's Lance, he realises suddenly, dying a death next to Justin on Joey's cold kitchen floor, and he holds his breath and bunches his fists up tight and edges round until he can see into the kitchen--

Lance's eyes glint at him, head height, huge and silent. JC feels a rush of relief, snake-knotted with arousal because Lance has always been able to do that to him with his stare, then remembers Justin with a dizzy thump and looks down for the shoes and sees the kneeling form and--

Justin was being helpful because, alcohol be damned, he wanted to go suck Lance off?

JC breathes in sharply, and it's like a freeze-frame clicked into motion, Lance's hands suddenly releasing Justin's head and Justin rocking unsteadily back on his heels and the slow, obscenely wet loudness of Lance's erection sliding back out from Justin's throat.

The air fills with Justin's breathy little pants, then a deep dragging breath, loud and shuddery, and JC realises that all the time he's been in here, wandering around aimlessly, Lance's hands have been keeping Justin there, long silent burning seconds, fingers rigid and uncompromising at the back of his head, both of them perfectly still except for Lance's heartbeat hammering away against Justin's tongue, the involuntary nudges of his hips edging him deep deep deeper--

It's so fucking hot JC thinks his dick's gonna explode.

Justin clears his throat, and it sounds involuntary. He's got his head bowed; apparently, he's looking at the floor behind Lance's ankle. His hair's mussed up in Lance's possessive fingers, his t-shirt's racked up under his arms, the exquisitely muscular back's gleaming dully with sweat -- and he looks like nothing less than an angel fallen to earth and forced to take up as a rentboy.

JC's gaze sidles sideways, still determinedly concentrating on the crisp curls on Justin's head, not not not admitting that he can see Lance's dick hovering thick and full at the edge of his vision, that that's where his eyes are straying, to where it's still glistening from Justin's soft wet mouth.

JC looks quickly up at Lance, and swallows. He feels like he should say something, demand some answers, but the only thing he can think of is like, hey, what's going on? or, can I try? and they don't ride high on the list of quotable lines.

And fuck, but this is a quotable moment, if not for the dinner table.

Lance looks like he's trying to restrain a smile. "Shut the door," he says, quietly, and that doesn't sound like smiling; that sounds like an order.

JC takes a slow breath. His mouth's dry. "It'll be dark," he hears himself say numbly, and Lance flashes him the smile at last -- and it turns out to be the sort that a tiny little fish sees just before it gets digested.

"Want a taste?"

Oh fuck yeah, JC thinks instantly, but shakes his head. "I'm not--" he says, not sure how to finish that sentence, but it doesn't matter because Lance's walking forwards instead, stepping round Justin and right up to JC until their cheeks touch.

"Mmm?" Lance says, and it's more a vibration than anything else, rumbling down the base of JC's spine on tank-tracks, its trail a compact, headachey glow.

He needs to be touched.

Lance's arm creeps round his shoulders so his neck's in the crook of his elbow, feels like a restraint, and JC has enough time to register the blood pushing his cock up to full hardness before Lance presses down with that arm and his legs buckle and abruptly, he's kneeling on the floor.

Lance's erection brushes his cheek, damp and hot and plump-full-hard.

"You sure you don't?" Lance asks softly, melted gravel, one finger trailing under his chin, and JC feels his eyes fall closed and opens his mouth blindly, letting Lance guide his parted lips across the head of his dick.

The salt sears down into his throat, familiar from his own fingers, hot by someone else's pulse. JC hears a noise come from his throat, eager and frustrated, kinda embarrassingly needy. He opens his mouth wider and takes it in, thrills racing over him as Lance jerks in a breath and spiders his fingers across the back of his head.

Fucking insanity, doing this here -- but, he thinks wildly, it's not actually like he has a choice...

Distantly, he hears footsteps, realises Justin's come over and now he's standing behind him; there's the brush of leg against his shoulder and he hears a moist, swiftly-aborted moan, and realises Justin's kissing Lance to keep him quiet so the others won't hear.

JC lets his hands slide up the back of Lance's legs, feeling the muscles thrum and twitch under the loose, thin fabric. He sucks harder until the base of his tongue aches, wanting to make an impact, and sure enough, Lance's hips shiver it deeper into his mouth, until he feels the dark pressure of oxygen deprivation swelling up behind his eyes.

Black spots dance across the redness of his eyelids and he twists his head, backing off, a long hot moment of panic when Lance's fingers won't let go, and then he's breathing hard and licking frantically, not wanting Lance to lose interest, making up for the fact that his singers' lungs aren't as developed as Justin's seem to be.

"Fuuuck," he hears, and that's Justin's voice, faint and appreciative, "I didn't know--"

The smell here is fantastic, musky and cheap and organic overlaid with Lance's unisex scent, CK or Tommy or something JC's always thought was too fucking grapefruit-y feminine and that's why he'd breathe deeper when Lance walked past, yeah, to mock, absolutely.

"Learn to spot 'em," Lance murmurs back, stroking JC's hair, then sucks in his breath hard as JC takes him in deep again and feels the added pulse against his tongue, "sweet as, ah, sweet as fucking candy," and groans softly, and JC feels a grin tugging at his lips and figures he must be doing something right.

"Cut the noise," Justin says quickly, then does that giggle again, "not that I blame you," and Lance hums agreement that JC can feel tingling in his balls and then bites off a second moan and steps back.

Shit, JC thinks loudly, clawing up Lance's legs to keep balance, and then he's sortof stumbling-crawling after him, the world thundering in silver around him as he gags slightly and feels Lance's grip tighten on his head, and it hurts but it's thrilling, and there's a snatch of humour though his mind because hey, portable cocksucker, how'd that look on the ole' CV?

The door clicks behind him, and the redness of his eyelids snaps black and impenetrable. "Hey," he hears Justin call softly, "I found the flaw in this plan."

Lance's hands gentle on his head, then ease him back, and JC almost sways with the release of tension. "Yeah?" Lance asks, pitched to Justin.

"Yo, like, invisible," Justin says plaintively, with a few tentative footsteps, and Lance laughs, his hand sliding under JC's arm and nudging him upright again. JC feels the air rock and spin around him, blood rushing to his head and then inevitably back down.

"C'mere," Lance says, and JC doesn't know if it's for Justin or him. He hears Justin's uncertain footsteps and feels Lance reach out in his direction-- but Lance is also kissing him, open mouth sliding over his lips and down his neck, gentle suction making JC clamp down on a whole lotta whimpering he doesn't exactly want Justin to hear.


"Yo," Justin murmurs, and on the next breath JC can smell-taste his cologne, expensive and clean-cut and shot through with sexsexsexhairgel. JC grins at the darkness, then feels Justin's hand sweep slowly up his back, and that's good, that's a nice firm pressure, he can get with this making-out-with-two-fit-guys thing, especially when Justin kisses like Lance tastes.

Lance's hand pulls his t-shirt out his jeans and slips under possessively, sliding round until it's all untucked, walking his fingers lightly up JC's spine. "Ah," JC says, and his voice sounds higher than usual, possibly something to do with the shivers curling across his skin. Justin bites his lip.

"Ah," Lance repeats slowly, exploring it, kissing his ear, and it sounds so much better in that voice, the sexheatsex voice, the voice that always makes him feel kinda dirty if he listens to The Lion Sleeps Tonight first thing in the morning.

Justin's tongue slides deeper into his mouth, briefly, then retreats again, and this is for like the third frustrating time, so no wonder JC finds himself sucking on it-- and Justin fists his hair hard and kisses him harder, heat prickling over his scalp, and JC feels his dick rear angrily against his pants because hey! most important part of the body's feeling ignored!

He tries to catch Justin with one hand, guide him so he can rub against his thigh and appease some of the heaven-hell going on down there, and Justin instantly starts teasing again, drawing his mouth back, curling his tongue dangerously lightly against his ear.

The fucking cockteasing prick.

"J," Lance says, against his throat, and JC blinks and tries to dig out an acceptable response.

"Lance," he manages. That name springs pretty easy to mind just now, surprisingly enough. That and one other are pretty much the only words left in his vocabulary.

"I want," and JC shudders, because now there's a mouth on either side of his neck, and Justin's running a degree or two hotter but Lance? Lance can do things with his tongue that would make a respectable Mississippi citizen faint, "you," and JC almost laughs, because no shit? he wants him? "naked."

JC doesn't laugh.

"Me too," Justin chimes in, one hand skimming down JC's stomach and flicking open his fly and wrapping round his cock and sweet jesus but he's gonna have to revise the Inexperienced!Justin tag pretty damn sharp.

Then Lance laughs softly, like he's just thought of a private joke. "Though," said like an afterthought, "you can leave the shirt."

"Thanks," JC manages dryly -- ok, croakily -- and Justin apparently takes that as consent, hands migrating to his waistband, easing it half way down his hips before JC can catch his hand and pin it.

It squirms, and it's accidental Justin's fingertips are dancing against his cock? puh-lease.

"Why not?" Justin demands, reluctantly letting JC drag his pants back up, and the pout's almost a tangible presence in the air.

"Uh," JC says, which is actually pretty impressive just now. And if he can just calm down a second...

There's a stirring of air, then a hopeful nuzzling against his cock: fuck, Lance is on his knees.

Not a calming thought.

Still, the adrenaline does the trick: "What if they walk in?" he asks, because he's remembered, now; it's not that he can't imagine Joey's face, just that he'd really prefer not to have to. And the bruises, he's pretty sure he could live without the bruises.

Justin's finger -- he recognises the touch, plus Lance's hands are busy exploring his dick with strokes so light it's clearly just to taunt -- taps his temple. "Yeah," Justin says, right into his ear, "uh-huh, 'cause when they turn up and we're just flushed and breathless and semi-naked in the dark, he'll think we were baking cookies and the kitchen got this localised electricity failure? Riiight."

JC laughs shortly, vaguely insulted by the drawl in Justin's voice, thinking, and I'm the patronising fucker in this situation? "Still better than," he waves his hand around distractedly, then gasps as Lance trails a curious tongue over the crown of his cock, dropping the hand to the back of Lance's head, "than, uh. do that again." Lance laughs, staggered dry heat against truly acheful sensitive skin, and Justin's finger strays down his cheek and slides casually between his lips. "Please," Justin whispers, and his finger tastes of sweat and wine, and it's wide and just, you know, suckable, "we've been like, thinking about this since last time we came to Joey's..."

They do this every time they come to Joey's? They didn't have to spend half an hour fixing the ice-machine last time?

He realises he's sucking Justin's finger when Justin shoves it gently deeper, knuckle bumping his teeth and damnit, long and wide as they are, his mouth wants Justin to have longer wider fingers -- and no we're not channelling Britney, this is apparently just what you get when you shake the dust off JC.

"and, I really wanna lick the inside of your thigh and at the moment? the fucking jeans are way too rough for my tongue."

There's a short pause, the sort Justin can never resist. "I'm a singer, you know." His voice is already husky, but humour makes it worse. better. whatever. "Our mouths are kinda sacred."

JC almost laughs, then hears himself make a light protesting noise instead, because Justin draws back his hand and now his mouth feels... empty?

"Nice technique, by the way," Justin purrs, and enough of JC's critical voice isn't panting to wonder when he'd signed the contract for this particular piece of bad porno. "Maybe you can give me some pointers," Justin continues, and that's worse, jeez, someone get him a ghostwriter-- but then Justin's hand finishes moving down his arm and brings JC's finger up, and then he's licking it delicately, and bad porno's where it's at, baby, and then he's sucking it, swirling his tongue round the end and he can feel Justin's cheeks hollowing and then Justin's folding his second finger in there, and bad porno? you're not into bad porno? you weird freak.

JC lets his head fall forwards, feeling sweat break out all up and down his back, and Lance's hair's moving rhythmically against his fingers, and Lance's tongue has moved down to his balls and could pretty easily get him arrested, while Justin's tongue's clearly on probation after something really depraved and Jerry Springeresque, and if it wasn't for the slow pace they've both fallen into, JC'd have some cleaning up to do before Joey saw his shiny formica floor.

Suddenly, he feels really glad of the dark; if he could see Lance's head between his legs, see his fingers disappearing into Justin's glossy mouth, this would already be over.

The mental images -- especially when Justin does that with the teeth -- are bad enough. His shoulders are rising and falling fast, his ears full of his own uneven panting, of the lewd wet noises that seem to come from all sides.

Lance draws back and breathes out softly, then pushes down and JC's dick's burning, breaching the muscle of Lance's throat and in to the hilt and fucking christ on a cross, he just wants to thrust and shove and--

Lance stops?

Lance backs off and licks chastely at his hipbone?


"C'mon, already," JC hears himself moan, and his voice might never be good for singing again; the teenies certainly wouldn't recognise this taking a chorus of Bye Bye Bye. Lance's tongue sidles back across his crotch, making teasing little circles at the base of his cock and sending up little surges of heat, making it twitch restlessly into unforgiving air.

"For god's sake, guys, please--"

Justin takes his finger out his mouth and kisses it, just a lazy press of his lips followed by a brief, reproachful bite. "Your call. I mean, you're the one that doesn't want to get naked with us..."

Bastard, JC thinks, as Lance punctuates Justin's verbal equivalent of bedroom eyes with short, liquid glides of his tongue, and "okay," he says, knowing he's been played, but hello? exactly who is getting a raw deal in this situation?

He lets them undress him, loud rustling in the dark, Lance abandoning him again to duck down and remove his shoes. "Lift your foot," he mutters, and JC obeys and feels glad no one dresses him on a daily basis, because he'd have a lot of hard-on explaining to do from now on if they did.

Justin moves behind him and apparently the shirt's history as well because it's pushed right up, and then Justin tells his shoulder to "yo, be more naked, bitch," and ducks down and laps slowly at the base of his spine.

Definite incentive.

"Uh, yeah," JC says, dragging the t-shirt over his head and getting it stuck and feeling intensely vulnerable for a moment there before he untangles it from his ear and lowers his arms.

Lance's fingers join Justin's at his waist and together they pull his pants down, and JC feels kinda like some exhibit being unveiled somewhere and kinda fucking stupid because it's still Joey's kitchen, and then Justin stands up behind him and his shirt's disappeared too so it's all hot tight muscle against his back and breathy kisses across his ears, and that goes a long way towards making everything else in the world seem way unimportant again.

"Shift your legs wider apart," Lance says, "yeah, like that," and then he's licking slowly up the inside of his thigh, hands latching onto his waist and thumbing small circles.

"Fuck," JC says faintly, and now he can't stop trembling.

Justin bites the top of his ear and presses his crotch forward into JC's ass. "Good plan," he says innnocently, and reaches for JC's cock again, running his fingers up and down it in something like masturbatory water torture.

Lance shushes him, and the buzz of his lips makes JC jerk back, and Justin meets him forcefully and knocks his legs wider apart by shoving his knee in at a suspiciously successful angle.

"He is like, so asking for it," Justin mutters, wrapping one immobilising arm hard around JC's stomach and grinding the solid cloth-covered bulk of his dick against him in short, impatient jerks.

JC finds himself tilting his hips back, giving Justin better access, and the soft groan when Justin catches on makes him prickle all over.

"Mmm," Lance says, standing up, and at least he's stopped with the thigh thing, and then JC catches his breath as Lance's mouth tickles his ear, "so yeah, can we, uh?" and slides a damp finger up between his legs, intentions written like hot water in snow.

"Uh-huh," JC breathes, pressing back against Justin, gritting his teeth when Lance pushes the fingertip devastatingly almost-inside him and then melts away, leaving him nudging plaintively at the air.

"Aw right," Justin whispers happily, biting playfully at his neck, and is so much the same voice he uses in basketball games that JC can picture him punching the air. "Can I go first?"

JC blinks, then bites down when Justin's hand slips between his legs from behind, and when did he lick that? he doesn't remember licking that, but someone'd licked it because there's no way Justin could slide a nonchalant finger up his ass on power of sweat alone.

"Is that a yes?" Justin teases, and JC manages a nod and then a murmured acquiescence and then hisses softly when Justin adds another finger and wherethehell did he get oil from?

Except that it's a kitchen.

"Open this," Lance's voice mutters, and JC feels a foil packet pushed between his fingers, feels Lance squeeze his hand shut over it. Christ.

"You just... happen to bring this?" he asks,

Justin laughs, a hint of boyish giggle blasting hot in his ear. "Dude, c'mon," he murmurs, and JC squirms back against Lance's fingers again. "Everyone brings condoms to Joey's house."

JC raises his eyebrows, then sucks in a harsh breath as he feels the hot, wet prod of what must be Lance's tongue sweeping up up christ in. "Is that right?" he manages to squeak, and Lance laughs against his ass, breath like warm velvet.

"You are punishably slow," he drawls, and licks deep again before vanishing, and JC's fingers feel unweildly as he tears the wrapper off and tosses it away.

"On the floor," Justin mutters in his ear, hand sliding down his arm and plucking the condom away, and JC's head spins as Lance grabs the back of his knees and pulls, making him fold like a deckchair under the fingers of a pro.

And there's a memorable lyric for the kids, he thinks wildly, finding a hot wriggling body underneath him and hissing as his cock pushes under Lance's thin, filmy shirt.

Justin's finger traces a firm path down his spine, then twists and pushes into him again, making Lance grunt as JC's stomach arches hard against his dick.

"You are so up for this," Justin breathes, and JC can hear the arrogant grin, then forgets about it when Lance's fingers twist in his hair and he's got to think about kissing back before anything else.

Kissing back and possibly groaning hard when Justin lines up and forces himself gently inside him with a smoothness that makes JC seriously doubt this is a newfound hobby on Justin's list.

He wonders, briefly, if it's gonna boost Justin's ego too much when JC starts moaning his name.

"Baby," Justin groans, pushing slowly balls-deep and audibly catching his breath, and JC tips his head down on Lance's shoulder and breathes hard on Lance's collarbone, feeling the sting of it mingle with pleasure and wondering when the hell Justin had had time to get confident in bed.

"You ok?" Justin asks, kinda belying that train of thought, and JC nods and mutters something that sounds suspiciously whimpery even to his own ears, then realises that does nothing for Justin and rocks back onto him instead.

"Ah-- ohgod," Justin says, and be honest, that's more of a growl, and starts a slow rolling thrust with his hips, making JC squirm and pant against Lance's throat -- and Justin speeds up quickly, the force of his weight grinding JC's stomach hard against Lance's cock, and the words visa versa have never meant so much to him before.

JC grits his teeth as Lance turns his head and licks his jaw, then squeezes his eyes tight when Lance murmurs, "oh, baby," and then, "don't come until I fuck you" right in his ear.

You realise what you're asking? he wants to demand, but his breath is snatched away when Justin grabs his hips with one hand and slides roughly hard-fast-deep, bending his leg up with one forceful knee and fuck but he's strong, one-handed-missionary, and Lance groans at the extra friction and bucks up beneath him and Justin shudders and gasps and comes.

The boy is heavy, JC hears himself think clearly, swallowing as the earth rocks to a standstill again and grows violently frustrating and Justin eventually, slowly withdraws.

"Neat," he says, voice hoarse, and JC laughs shakily and kisses under Lance's jaw, feeling unbelievably empty without Justin inside him.

"You are so way too young to be having sex," Lance calls after him, one hand sliding up JC's side, and JC wriggles round deliberately and sortof slides up Lance's body, until Lance's cock is trapped between his stomach and JC's ass and Lance has started making little groaning noises that could melt steel.

"Oh fuck," Lance says, hoarsely, and then, "not here, get up," and JC honestly doesn't think he can.

"I don't think," he begins, and then Lance takes a short breath and rolls them up and over, and JC gasps as his bare skin hits the not-warm floor and then again when Lance bites his collarbone, hard.

"Fuck," JC protests, and Lance laughs shortly, licking across the bite and then disappearing.

"Should've gotten up, then," he says simply, from above his head, and JC's cock throbs once, hard, because that's the tone back, the want-a-taste tone, and it's really probably coupled with the imposing-eyes and shark-grin, and that's not an image he needs when he's not supposed to come for at least another minute, if not two.

"Can I turn on the light?" Justin asks, hopeful. "I wanna watch."

"Nuh-uh," Lance replies; "you've gotten off, now I wanna." There's a pause, then a breathy laugh. "Maybe even JC'll get some satisfaction... but whatever, light'd be inviting trouble."

In the form of your boyfriend, JC doesn't add, because it'd be a bad idea to bring his name into this, plus Lance's hauled him to his feet and is busy pushing him forwards until his hand bumps something solid, which is really not conducive to conversation so he doesn't try. He steadies himself against the stable edge and discovers that cool, his sense of direction isn't totally screwed; the sink he's expecting over here is definitely present, cool smooth metal against feverish skin.

"But I've never seen JC get fucked," Justin murmurs, closer by, and JC shivers at the possessiveness in his voice, the lean dark hunger that reminds him teenagers have dangerously short recovery times.

"And you're not gonna, either," Lance tells him quietly, firmly, and licks the back of JC's neck, making him shudder. "At least, not this time," he adds, which makes JC swallow hard, because that voice is hot and rough, cascading into his ear as sparks and then dragging leisurely down his spine.

His cock's aching, for real; long solid pulses of near-pain coupled with a stirring weight in his balls that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. If Lance would just hurry...

He hears the crackle of a wrapper, and c'mon, you have definitely been waiting too long when just the sound against your ears makes you want to reach down and beat off.

"C'mon," he sighs, and hears Justin's chuckle in the darkness.

"Yeah, c'mon, Lance -- dude, by the time you've finished with him he'll be too old to come, let alone--"

JC has enough time to register Lance's hands closing round his hips before he's gasping with the force of crammed against the sink and, yeah, fuck, impaled is probably the word.

"Fuck," he manages, bucking back helplessly and finding he's nowhere to go, pinned to the sink and pushed up on his toes.

Lance pauses long enough for JC to start squirming and panting in frustration, wanting him to move already, somethinganything as long as it's now, wondering why the fuck he isn't back with Justin who at least fucking fucks him, and then Lance withdraws and whispers silkily, "well, wouldn't want you getting bored," and shoves back in. Hard.

JC grunts, losing his balance as Lance does it again faster and gasping for air and then just clinging, waves of sensation making him dizzy and weak, and then Lance pulls his legs wider apart and the new angle makes him moan, and Lance's hand in the middle of his back presses him painfully into the edge of the sink and he's got hold of the taps to keep his balance and it's so damn good--

"Fuck yeah," Lance is muttering, and it's deep and forceful and nasty, and JC pushes back into it and grips the taps with slippery fingers and this is why he's not with Justin, this power and heady and ow--

Then he hears Justin grumbling some way away that "damn, you bitches, I really wanted to see that," and then Lance's low laughter is in his ear, and he figures that ok, that was pretty fucking incendiary, but he's still on the same planet which is basically a good thing given as this is where the money is.

Yeah, and where the guy who's currently kissing the back of his neck, and easing mostly-painlessly out his ass and helping him stop worshiping his friend's sink is. Him too.

"Thanks," Lance whispers, and JC wishes he could see his eyes in the dark; "tonight has been definitely more fun than it could've been."

"Door opening," Justin says, and JC squints and then realises he doesn't need to; it's not much brighter, just enough light coming through from the lounge to silhouette Justin -- and throw his clothes into sharp relief against the sleek dark acres of kitchen floor.

JC grins, crawling across to get them, wondering why his ass didn't hurt more and figuring that would come later. "Don't you dare leave me with this mess, you hear?"

Justin snorts. "Don't worry-- Chris'n Joey won't be over yet, no fear me heading back out yet," he says, and JC freezes in pulling on his t-shirt and thinks what and huh and then, finally, ohh.

"Did you bring the glass?" Chris asks, and his eyes are bright black, and Joey's sprawled in his chair with suspicious bonelessness.

"Shit," JC says, and turns on his heel to get back into the house, flashbacking wildly when he walks into the kitchen, imagining he can see the imprints of their actions all around the room.

He flicks on the light, and all the surfaces retract into themselves. Glasses, glasses, he thinks determinedly, opening cupboards one by one.

"This what you're looking for?" he hears Lance ask, and whips round to see him leaning one hip against the counter.

He nods, wondering what the fuck to say now. Lance grins.

"Yeah, Joey's always moving his kitchen around -- tries to put Chris off the scent."

"Fails," JC agrees, relieved Lance's voice is normal now, his eyes only compelling in the normal, everyday, I-want-you-in-bed-with-me way.

"Yeah," Lance grins, and reaches down to slide open a drawer. JC watches him rummage around for a moment, then bring out the corkscrew and hold it up triumphantly. "Now for the second round of drinking," he says, voice lilting into amusement.

JC chuckles and thinks thank god it's not overly weird and follows him out, then almost stumbles when Lance turns quickly and catches him by the arm. "I was thinking," Lance murmurs, and JC lifts his chin and feels shocky heat go through him at the implacably sultry steadiness of Lance's green eyes, "it doesn't have to be a one-off thing."

The voice has lost a little power in the light, but the gaze-- Oh yeah. Lance knows how to use his artillery, alright.

His fingers stroke up JC's arm, then up his neck, then curl round the back of his head and JC closes his eyes to feel Lance's lips brush against his own.

"I guess," he says, buzzing against Lance's mouth, and feels Lance smile against him.

"We've gotta get back out there," Lance points out, and JC grins and nods and kisses back, enjoying the fresh taint of wine -- Lance must have found his glass when he was out there, acting all casual even though JC can still taste sex on his tongue.

It breaks off eventually, and he feels a satisfied grin sidle onto his mouth. "Mmm," Lance agrees, then winks and leads the way back outside.

JC follows him, finding his seat and sinking deeply back into it. Joey and Justin are sprawled out on the towel where Chris used to be; Chris is on Joey's chair, balancing a bottle on his chest and beaming up when Lance hands him the corkscrew.

"You're an angel, babe," Chris tells Lance, and JC thinks that no, that's wrong, he's not an angel, *Justin's* the angel; Lance is this sleek territorial tomcat that leaves lesser men with scratches and broken hearts.

He thinks that sounds vaguely egocentric -- lesser men -- but hey, who cares; he feels like some guy in Olympus, his whole body humming softly with post-coital gratification, and he's surrounded by guys who make all other men seem lesser, so it's ok to realise it.

He looks around happily, feeling himself radiate brotherly love, then catches Joey's languidly approving eye and realises Justin's mouthing something into his ear, and slides down in his chair as brotherly love gets cut off short.

Imagine sucking Joey. Just, oh. Feeling the coiled strength in his thighs, all that lovely hot salty Italian skin-- doing anything with Joey, even just watching him with Justin, denser muscle restraining aesthetic, strong and slow and smiling cruelly as Justin sweats and curses and gets frantic and sexy and distraught.

He watches Justin lean back and smirk a challenge; Joey tilts his head contemplatively, eyes sparkling, and JC feels a few budding strands of excitement tighten in his stomach and has to look away fast because otherwise it's gonna show on his face.

Maybe it's ok to show on his face?

He smirks, reaching down for his glass. After a couple more of these it'll show on his face, he thinks, then wonders if that could be a lyric, something poignant and stirring.

Yeah, drawls the sarcastic part of his brain; you work on that, you hear? You do poignance and rousing ballads and don't think about Lance's voice folding round low, rusty notes and refining them into an aching liquid glide, or the anger in Chris' eyes when you don't even test his range, or the--

It's poignancy, JC thinks back at himself curtly, trying to work out how he could forget this conversation with himself, and wondering why the fuck he's so caught up on getting a reaction from Chris whenever he has the chance.

"Refill," Lance's voice comes, right next to his ear, and JC starts and tilts his head back and sees the guttering light from the candles glancing off Lance's eyes. Stars, he thinks dizzily, almost dropping the wine when his glass grows abruptly heavy, and Lance catches his wrist and crinkles a grin at him and doesn't let go for three seconds longer than normal.

JC cranes his neck up and drinks, cold and sleek washing down his throat, kindling rough-hot-creeping in his stomach. The stars shimmy crazily above the rim of the glass; he's gonna have a hangover. And Technicolor dreams. And fucking incredible handjobs--

No, wait, what?

He looks over at Lance again, who's in his own chair, pouring his own drink. As he watches, Lance takes a sip and looks across at Chris, and Chris smiles lazily back at him, a slow gleam of teeth, and then JC's breath catches in his throat because they both suddenly look at him and fuck, Chris' predatory indolence, Lance's knowing little smirk; apparently his subconscious has the right idea. A horizon of incredible handjobs.

There's a lyric...

He looks at the bottle of wine in Lance's fist, trying to see the level without being too obvious that he's just trying to work out how long it'll be before they can go through to the kitchen again.

"Refill," Chris murmurs, holding his glass out casually to Lance without ever dropping the eye contact with JC, and the heat in JC's stomach spreads to the ends of his fingers, warmth strolling lazily across his tongue. He lets himself smile , and likes the momentary voracious flicker through Chris' eyes in return.

It all seems very simple, a future of Chris' teeth against his throat and Joey's hands gripping him competently and Justin's hot breath fluttering against his skin, and he smiles up at the stars and wriggles comfortably in his seat and lets his head fill with the sense-memory of licking Lance's tongue, deepening the kiss into something deliberate and wet and slow, almost tropical.