Embrace The Sparkle

Ficlet: The OC

icebun — Mon, 29 Nov 2004 13:10:17 GMT

So I wrote something. It's been such a long time and I hadn't imagined writing again, if I'm going to be honest.

But 1.27 of The OC broke me in ways that I thought only Joss and JJ could do, and I adored Kirsten so much that this just kinda came out.

Mostly gen, but a very slight mention of Jimmy/Kirsten.

Spoilers for 1.27: 'The Ties That Bind'.

Collide

You didn’t feel the pain of childbirth when Ryan Atwood came into the world. You didn’t feel him ripped from your body and you didn’t experience the dull ache of emptiness when the nurse took him away from you, even just for a moment.

But now you know how Dawn must have felt. How she should have felt.

And it doesn’t hurt any less than it would if you had carried him inside you, because it still feels like someone came and tore him out of your body.

Twelve months isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, but you feel like you can’t even remember back to the time before Ryan came into your life.

You’re not sure you want to remember.

You feel so empty; just like you did when you lost your child all those years ago. The child that was never to be. Hollow, like you felt when you saw Jimmy kiss Hayley for the first time and the look on his face that he only used to get when he looked at you.

And you miss Ryan already. Miss the stunned look he always gets when you and Sandy say things that no-one wants to hear their parents say. You miss tidying up after him, when he’s been too busy, too distracted to do it himself.

You even miss playing that ridiculous game on the Playstation with him.

It just doesn’t seem fair, having to lose another child the way you lost your unborn one and you can just hear your father berating you for even thinking it, ‘Since when is life fair, Ki-Ki? Whoever said it was going to be?’

But it is unfair and you still cry. You wish your mother was there, because if she was, she’d tell you it was okay to think that; that life should be fair and that you deserve better.

Just like Sandy tells you as he holds you.

It doesn’t matter in the least that Ryan’s surname is Atwood and not Cohen, it doesn’t matter that he was born in Chino and not Newport Beach. He’s still more a part of your family than Julie Cooper could ever wish her Juicy-Couture-d ass to be.

And you may not love him the way you love Seth, God knows that’s not possible. Seth owns a part of you that Ryan just didn’t get the opportunity to.

But he could have, if you’d both been given the chance.

The end

Many thanks to evil_man for the beta.

PSA

icebun — Tue, 16 Nov 2004 11:22:12 GMT

I think it's pretty obvious to all and sundry that I've been neglecting the poor LJ of late.

I'm probably not going to be updating too much from now on, except to post fic (if I can actually get off my ass and do some), so this is the obligatory 'defriend at will' 'get out of jail free card' post.

I'll be posting any new writing unlocked, so if you're so inclined, you'll definitely be able to see it.

Obsessed would be the word.

icebun — Thu, 26 Aug 2004 19:14:20 GMT

Okay, so The Olympics have really warped my brain and I'm completely obsessed with the swimmers and the slashiness and... yes.

Michael Phelps is an evil, evil man indeed for hooking me in. And then there's Pieter and Ian and Brendan and... and....

Speaking of evil men... P. wrote me this wonderful piece of Pieter/Michael goodness and it inspired me.

As did this article where Erik Vendt (guuuuuuuuh) talks about what time Michael has been getting to bed during the competition and, well, I couldn't resist.

Thanks to P. for the beta.

Fic: Come Lay Down [Michael Phelps/Erik Vendt, Michael Phelps/Ian Thorpe implied]

Erik loves the nights Michael races, because those are the nights that Michael can’t sleep. He comes to Erik’s room all wide-eyed and animated, nervous energy rushing through him like a drug. Erik loves it when he’s like this, so full of awe and admiration. Just like a kid.

It’s easy for Erik to forget that he is one.

Michael’s so focused that sometimes it’s hard to believe that he can be this way. That he can smile and have fun and talk Erik’s ear off for hours about home and swimming and the competition. He loves this enthusiasm Michael has for everything.

Almost everything.

Erik tries to switch off when Michael comes back after seeing him for the first time. He tries to ignore the excited rambling about what an amazing athlete he is, how Michael can’t wait to race against him and what a thrill it was for Ian Thorpe to shake his hand.

Green seems to be a good colour on Erik.

Erik does his best to tune him out, but Michael’s so excited and so damn happy and try as he might he can’t seem to think about anything else.

Michael’s so goofy when he smiles; all big teeth and ears. There’s something about that grin, though, something that makes Erik’s heart beat a little faster and his throat dry up and Erik has to turn away to regain his composure.

He wonders what in his right mind possessed him to fall for anyone here, let alone the golden child.

****************************

Michael comes first. Of course he does.

But second feels pretty amazing too. Erik stands in the pool, taking in the cheers of the crowd and he looks over at him. Michael’s exhausted but so, so elated.

Smiling of course.

As he grabs Michael and pulls him in close, Erik convinces himself that he’s only doing it because he’s thrilled at the result, and yeah, that’s part of it. But it’s not the only reason and Erik knows he’s really just lying to himself.

But he’s good at that, he should be by now.

He can feel Michael against him, wet and warm. Michael’s panting and it seems like his breathing is all Erik can hear. Michael’s lips rest on his ear and Erik can feel the hairs on the back of his own neck bristling and he tries to move away, but Michael pulls him in even closer.

“I’m so damn happy,” He whispers.

Erik just smiles. “You were amazing, man. You are amazing.”

Erik thinks he’s imagining it when Michael’s lips brush against his earlobe.

But Erik knows he’s not imagining it when he whispers, “Been waiting a long time to hear that, Vendt.”

But there's no time for Erik to react. Michael thrusts their arms in the air and the crowd goes insane.

the end

New Trickyfish Fic, Part Two

icebun — Tue, 13 Apr 2004 19:37:56 GMT

continued from Part One

********************

The floor is littered with miniature bottles and the room absolutely reeks of alcohol. Lance thinks that maybe it was a mistake for them to play ‘I Spy’ as a drinking game; mainly because Chris never guesses right and now he’s drunk whereas Lance is distressingly sober. He’s pretty sure that Chris keeps losing on purpose, which sucks, because bored-handcuffed-drunk Chris is obviously having much more fun than Lance is.

He paces in front of the bed, well as far as the cuffs will allow, as Chris attempts to unscrew a bottle using only his teeth and his one free hand.

“Lance, please stop. You're making me seasick.”

Lance taps a finger against his lip, “Maybe if we called room-service? I mean I know we can't leave the room, I'm not entirely sure how we could explain the handcuffs to hordes of screaming fans.”

Chris nods furiously, “Yeah, call room-service, almost all of these bottles are empty.” He gets up and picks up the phone and mimes punching buttons. “Oh hi, room-service? Yeah, can we have our mini-bar restocked and a hack-saw so I can remove the handcuffs me and my buddy are wearing in a non-sexual way that the tabloids won't be the *least* bit interested in? I can? Great, thanks for that, you're gonna earn a biiiig tip.”

“Oh fuck off. Seriously.”

“Well one of us has to do the thinking.” Chris sits back down again. He still can’t open the bottle, so he wedges it between his legs trying to open it. Lance stares at him with one eyebrow raised.

“What?”

Lance snorts. “Well if you've finished completing your audition tape for ‘The Simple-tons Life' I think we should try and do something about this?”

Lance pulls his hand so Chris’ moves with it.

“Hey!” Chris yells, “Cut it out!” Chris pulls back, hard and Lance falls on top of him, tipping over the small, now opened bottle of Baileys. Which is now completely empty, since the entire contents are covering both Chris and Lance.

Lance growls. “Nice going, Chris. Why couldn't you have spilled one of the *white* spirits on me?”

“Because they're all finished.” Chris points to the empties. “There was only Baileys left; well Baileys and orange juice and I don't think orange juice is what's needed on a non-sexual cuffing day.”

“You're so washing these for me.” Lance unbuttons his pants and kicks them off.

“No I'm not.”

“Oh, don't make me make you,” he threatens.

Chris tips his head back, obviously hoping to get some unspilled Baileys, but all that’s left is a couple of pathetic drips which he licks off his lips. “First handcuffs now this? Lance, who knew you were so kinky with wanting to see me dress up as a maid as well as your bondage fetish? Next you’ll be making me call you daddy.”

Lance cuffs him around the head, while trying to ignore the fact that Chris is still swiping his tongue across his lower lip. After all, he has no pants on, so it wouldn’t do to think lusty-type thoughts right now. Not if he doesn’t want to give Chris another thing to tease him about.

Chris pouts and rubs his head, “Hey, it's your bondage fetish not mine, hit yourself why don't you?”

He groans. “I am so gonna kill Joey.”

“Yeah, you should! I think he drank all of your mini-bar?” Chris lifts up the empty bottle of Baileys and continues to pout.

******************

Lance has given up on trying to quell his boredom. Now all he wants is peace and quiet and maybe to sleep. He knows that’s probably too much to ask for considering his luck at the moment, but he’s completely exhausted and he just wants a minute’s peace without having to think of revenge strategies, Chris, or the pounding in his head.

He almost weeps when Chris’ voice breaks through the tranquil silence, “Lance? I'm bored. Entertain me?”

“No.” Lance continues to stare at the ceiling, not moving.

“I have a low boredom threshold, come on. Do your Nick Carter impersonation?”

Lance sighs, “No.”

“Do Nick when he realised there was no chance in hell that Backstreet would ever be considered talented?”

“No.”

“Do Nick when Backstreet didn't get nominated for an AMA?”

Lance can feel his teeth grinding together. “Okay, I’ll do Nick. How about I do Nick when he's strangling one of his band mates with hand cuffs?”

“Didn't we have the bondage conversation a few hours ago? It's so your fetish not mine.” Chris nudges Lance’s shoulder with his forehead over and over and over and Lance will not react no matter how much he’s dying to. Will. Not. Re.Act.

Chris sighs.

Silence.

Chris sighs again.

Lance turns his face towards the pillow and starts biting at the pillowcase. Anything to get his mind off wanting to kill. Or maim. Or both.

Chris sighs. Yet again. “I'm starting to think calling for room service wasn't such a bad idea.”

“There's always cable.” Lance murmurs into the pillow.

“Not again, there's only so much porn one guy can watch when hand cuffed to one of his best friends.”

Lance turns back and raises an eyebrow.

Chris wrinkles his brow, “Actually, didn't we watch that film only an hour ago?”

“No, you're thinking of the one where that guy was kidnapped and taken hostage by that group of terrorists-slash-lingerie models.” Lance yawns.

“Oh yeah, that's right. I knew there was hand cuffs involved.” Chris pauses. “Lance?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“You know how those little bottles are really really small and I had a lot of them?”

Lance closes his eyes. “Oh please God. No.”

“I have to pee.”

************************

Lance thinks that maybe Chris is asleep. He’s too scared to look over and find out for himself, because doing that would mean moving and if he *is* asleep that could easily wake him up and waking Chris up would be the single worst thing that could happen at this point. There’s been peace for ten minutes now. Silence. No annoying questions, no requests for bathroom breaks, no awful straight porn on cable, no smug phone calls from Joey, no…

“Lance?”

And if Lance had the energy to weep right now, he’s pretty sure there would’ve been tears.

“Chris? Seriously, if you tell me you're thirsty or that you have to pee I swear I'll break through these hand cuffs with my bare hands.”

“No,” Chris murmurs, “I was just wondering if there was anything you actually wanted to say, since we don't appear to have many other options.”

Lance laughs. “Oh I've got *plenty* to say, that boy better…”

Chris cuts in, “I didn't mean about Joey, I meant about… us.”

“Oh.” Lance’s heart starts to beat a little faster in his chest.

“Oh? That’s it? Because next time warn a guy in case he misses it.”

Lance chews on his bottom lip, “Don't. I just… I don't like to feel like I'm being forced to say or do something, I like to do things in my own time.”

“Damn, Lance! Exactly how long do you need?”

“What? We've only been here four hours or so.” Even though he wants to say it feels like a thousand times longer.

Chris looks at him and Lance feels uncomfortable all of a sudden, Chris’ gaze is intense, focused and serious. “Lance, this conversation has been going on for seven years! We started it back in '96 in Orlando and maybe since we're here we should try and go some way to actually finishing it.”

Lance shrugs his shoulders. He thinks he could quite happily wait for another seven years before finishing this particular conversation and he’s still more than a little shocked that Chris is the one bringing it up. He racks his brain for something he can do to distract Chris, but he’s pretty sure that nothing’s going to do that. When Chris wants something, he’s unbelievably stubborn. Lance tries to ignore the way that his stomach flips a little, thinking about the fact that this is one of the things Chris wants to be stubborn about.

Chris makes Lance sit up and the two of them sit facing each other on the bed. Lance swallows, his throat seems uncomfortably dry all of a sudden as Chris pulls Lance’s hand into his lap and holds it. Chris’ hand feels warm and smooth against his and Lance closes his eyes.

“Seven years waiting to be asked a question is a hell of a long time don't you think?”

“Yeah…” Lance admits, “But what if I get the wrong answer?”

Chris looks as exasperated as Lance has been for the last four hours, “Jesus, Lance! For somebody that's so clever you sure are fucking clueless sometimes.”

Lance tries to pull his hand away, but Chris jerks it back. Lance rolls his eyes, “Oh *great* seduction technique, Kirkpatrick.”

Chris looks confused. “Wait, I thought you were the sure thing and it was up to you to woo *me*? I don't need to make the effort, that's what you're here for.”

“Well, when you put it that way… Oh hang on…” Lance pulls his hand back again and snorts. There’s a pause and Lance thinks he may be off the hook for a second until he hears Chris clear his throat.

“I'm still waiting. The mini-bar buzz is starting to wear off so you better start worrying about losing me.”

He can’t quite work out whether Chris is being serious about the ‘losing me’ bit or whether this whole conversation is some incredibly unfunny joke. Knowing his friends, it could go either way. Lance groans. “Chris, can you just fucking be serious for once?”

“What do you mean? I'm always serious.” Chris is starting to screech a little and Lance turns away, wishing they could go back to the silent, staring at the ceiling bliss of a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Hey, it may not look like it but every single time you say a word I'm listening.”

Lance turns his head back and stares. “Yeah?”

“Sure, like before when I had to use the restroom, I was listening when you were watching me and you were speechless.”

Lance snorts, but seeing Chris grin the way he is, is infectious and Lance is really smiling for the first time in what feels like days.

“So…” Chris looks Lance straight in the eye, “are you gonna talk to me? Or are you gonna keep hiding and see how long I can hold out before I have to jump you? If you're wondering, my record is five hours after being hand cuffed to another person.”

Lance laughs, “Okay, so now who's the pervert that also happens to be a sure thing?”

“I'm still waiting,” Chris sing-songs.

Lance clears his throat. “Look Chris, I like you. I've always liked you, from before I even really knew you when you were just that hyper guy who I should have looked to as an older brother but never did because damn, that would have got me in trouble in pretty much every civilised country. Then I got to know you and I ended up not liking you at all.”

Chris looks mortified. “That’s not quite the epiphany I was hoping for.”

“Shut up, just for once will you keep quiet?”

“I dunno,” Chris shrugs, “It's not like you *like* me.”

Lance sighs. “No, I don't. I don't like you, I'm stupidly crazily in love with you and will you just shut up for one second so I can fucking well tell you?”

Chris just smiles. A lot.

“I love you, okay? You're the one that makes me feel good no matter how crappy I'm feeling. And to abuse a cliché, you're the one thing that runs through my mind when I’m in bed in the morning.”

Chris waggles his eyebrows and leans in. “Oh do tell?”

“Will you shut up?”

“You could try and make me?”

Lance snorts. For all his boyishness, Chris is a big cheesy romantic loser. But then again, so is he.

Lance brushes his lips against Chris’, pushing him down onto his back, before groaning.

“What now?” Chris whines.

“This isn't going to work.” Chris looks wounded, so Lance moves their hands to demonstrate what he means.

“Why not? Bored housewives around the country make their overweight truck-driving husbands do this all the time.”

Lance wrinkles his nose in disgust. “And that was *just* the visual I needed to push me over the edge.”

“Do you want me to get some tissues and wait until you're ready for round two?”

“I think we mentioned the shutting up already. I just, I can't do this while hand-cuffed.”

“Ohhhh,” Chris looks suddenly relieved, “is that all?”

Lance almost can’t believe what he’s seeing as Chris reaches under the pillow and grabs a key. He unlocks the cuffs, then puts the key back from where he got it from and pulls the cuffs off, throwing them across the room. Lance rubs at his hand and stops Chris as he tries to lean forward to kiss him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me?” Lance’s jaw suddenly feels like granite all over again.

“What?” Chris is doing his best look of mock-surprise. “Without the cool touch of metal binding us together the magic's gone? That sure is one fetish you have going on, Lance.”

“How would you like to feel the cool touch of my fist against your face?” Lance manages through very gritted teeth. He pushes Chris back down onto the bed and holds him down, wrists over his head. Chris rocks his hips up and just rubs.

Lance bites his lip to stop the shiver that he is so determined not to make. He’s not going to give Chris the satisfaction. “You mean to tell me that I’ve spent more than four hours hand-cuffed to you in this room, no visible signs of escape and you had the key ALL ALONG?”

Chris shrugs, innocently. Or as innocently as Chris Kirkpatrick can manage to look at any given time.

“I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I forgot it was there?”

Lance starts laughing uncontrollably. “No Chris, you’re right, I wouldn't.”

“So… uh… what are you going to do?”

Lance leans forward and licks at Chris’ lips and he moans and opens his mouth. Lance licks tentatively inside and the kiss gets more frantic, more desperate. Chris sucks on Lance’s tongue as Lance starts to grind against him, moving his hips against Chris, almost like Chris had done before, but a hell of a lot dirtier.

“I’m gonna let you fuck me.” Lance breathes out, “That work for you?”

“Hell. Yes.” Chris manages in between wet, open-mouthed kisses.

Lance unbuttons Chris’ jeans and pulls them down along with his boxers. He thumbs the head of Chris’ cock and raises his thumb to his mouth and licks, slowly. Chris shivers.

“Hang on a sec.” Lance walks over to his backpack and starts throwing things on the bed, one of which hits Chris on the head.

“Ow! Motherfucker!”

Lance snickers and walks back to the bed, pausing to get rid of his boxers, so he’s naked. He kneels astride Chris and looks down at him. “So, what did you do with the handcuffs?”

“I said you were a kinky fucker, didn’t I?” Chris rubs lube on two fingers and trails them under Lance’s cock. Lance bucks up trying to cause some friction, but Chris’ touch is too light and too fucking quick. Chris is rubbing at that spot behind his balls now and Lance is moaning, almost keening as Chris pushes them into him, slowly, until they’re up to the second knuckle.

Lance bears down and he can feel Chris’ fingers pumping slowly inside him and it’s good, it’s fantastic, but it’s not fucking enough. “Come *on*, Chris,” he moans, “Fuck me already.”

Chris laughs. “Such a fucking diva, Bass.”

Lance tears open the foil packet and rolls the condom over Chris’ cock, slowly and then pulls Chris’ fingers out. “Look, this has been seven years in the making, so please forgive me if I don’t want to work my way up to this slowly. I want you. Now.”

Lance gets down on his hands and knees and shivers as he feels Chris getting lined up behind him. Normally Lance isn’t this impatient and he loves nothing better than taking his time; long lazy days in bed and getting down on his knees and sucking cock for hours on end, but what he said is true. He’s been waiting way too long for this and he almost feels that if Chris doesn’t fuck him *right now* that he might just disappear and Lance’ll wake up all over again like this was all a dream or something.

Like so many mornings before.

But when Lance feels Chris push inside him inch by inch, he knows he’s not dreaming. It’s real and so fucking good and he groans long and deep and starts to move his hips back and forth, grinding as Chris slowly fucks him.

Lance can feel Chris’ mouth on his neck, hot and wet and Lance’s fingers grasp the edge of the mattress for leverage as Chris starts to slam into him. Hard and fast, just like Lance was hoping he would.

“Yeah. Oh fucking *yeah.*” He breathes out.

Chris is panting behind him and Lance turns his head so that he can kiss him, messy and sloppy and the angle’s so fucking awkward but Lance really couldn’t care less.

“Jesus, Lance.” Chris manages to pant out, “You’re so fucking hot like this. So hot and tight and… dreamed of this for a long time. Wanted you so bad. I almost couldn’t stand being next to you this morning, watching you and I couldn’t touch you. It was fucking agony, man, I swear.”

Lance thinks his brain might just short out any second. It feels so good having Chris pushed up against him like this, feeling Chris’ chest against his back, being fucked like this so long and deep and perfect and the words Chris is saying resounding in his head, burning themselves into his brain.

Chris wraps his hand around Lance’s cock and starts to stroke in time with his thrusts and that’s it, it’s just too much. Lance feels like his nerve endings are on fire and all it takes is one more stroke of Chris’ hand, one more thrust and Lance is coming; moaning really fucking loudly and secretly thanking whoever it is that invented sound-proofed walls. He grinds his hips back, screwing down onto Chris’ cock and he can feel Chris slam forward once last time before he’s coming too, panting and biting down on Lance’s neck as the two of them lie there, sweaty and sated for what feels like hours.

“Wow.” Chris says eventually as he pulls out and collapses on his back.

“Yeah.” Lance rolls over and inhales deeply, trying to get his breathing back under control.

“Hey, guess what?”

Lance groans, “Chris, if you even try and tell me you’re still thirsty, I will throw you out into the hall. Naked.

Chris laughs.

“I’m serious.”

Chris leans over and kisses him. “So am I, you dork.”

the end

by Ice and Pablo

New Trickyfish Fic

icebun — Tue, 13 Apr 2004 19:19:46 GMT

Okay, so I can't believe we finally got this done. evil_man and I have been working on this since Christmas practically. Finally, the writers block seems to be gone. Thank god!

Thanks to lilysaid for hand-holding and encouragement.

The Talented Mr Kirkpatrick by Ice and Pablo

Lance thinks for a pretty smart guy, that he really ought to know better about a lot of things. There are after all certain rules that he knows he pretty much has to abide by if he’s going to have a semi-peaceful existence. Well, as peaceful as he can have, being you know, a celebrity and everything.

But rules are made to be broken, and his ‘must not drink tequila slammers on an empty stomach’ rule seems like a good one to break *when* the drinking occurs. But after?

Well. After is a different story, and Lance thinks that if he hadn’t’ve broken that particular rule, that he might not be waking up to find someone drilling into his skull with power tools.

The pounding in his head gets louder, and he realises that it’s not just his hangover that’s giving him such agony right now, but the fact that someone’s knocking on the door to his hotel room.

He tries to lift up his right hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight, but it seems to be… weighted down.

“The fuck?”

Lance pulls the covers away with his left hand and his mouth falls open. There’s so much of last night that he doesn’t remember. How he got back to the hotel, how he got undressed, how the fuck he got handcuffed to another hand…

“Not again…” he whines.

The banging on the door finally subsides and Lance lets out a huge sigh of relief.

“Lance? Is everything okay?”

And of course it’s JC banging on his door. The one person who’s taken it upon himself to be Group Mom for the weekend. JC’s been sanctimoniously prompt the entire time and seems to think he should scold the other four if they’re not as organised as him.

Lance’s tongue is almost sticking to the roof of his mouth, he’s so damn hung-over, “Sure, C, just gimme a minute, okay?”

Lance swears he can practically hear JC's brain melting at the thought of them being late, mixed with the mumbled sounds coming from much closer. He kicks the covers off to find a half-awake Chris next to him. No not just next to him. *Handcuffed* to him.

“Oh, fantastic.” He mutters to himself before nudging Chris’ foot with his. “Chris, wake up!”

Chris groans, “I'm awake, no need to shout… please stop shouting?”

“Uh, Chris, I *have* stopped?”

“Oh,” Chris turns his head towards Lance, “I guess that must be the sound of every mother in the world saying I told you so, then?”

Chris looks terrible. Eyes all bloodshot and hair sticking up at odd angles and Lance really hopes he doesn’t look like that himself, or he’s going to get a terrible shock when he looks in the mirror.

“Well, I suppose I could feel worse?” Chris scrunches his forehead up like he’s asking for reassurance.

“I hate to break it to you…” Lance holds up his hand and Chris' gets lifted up too, and he looks puzzled. A few seconds later, Lance can almost hear it click in Chris’ head.

“And now I do,” Chris whines.

“Lance?” JC calls out in between knocks, “Is that Chris in there with you? Dawg! If you need more time I can just come back?”

Lance doesn’t even want to think about what’s going through JC’s head right now.

Chris and Lance both look at each other and yell out a resounding “No!”

JC continues on, like he doesn’t hear a thing, “I can get the driver to wait, I'm sure he won't mind when I tell him why.”

Lance breathes in sharply though his nose, “JC? Imagine the look on my face right now.”

There’s a pause where there’s peace. No knocking, no talk, just silence and Lance thinks that if this continued he’d be really, really happy.

JC’s voice cuts through the silence. “I suppose he doesn't *really* need to know.”

Lance knows JC must be getting really agitated by now, and that’s the last thing he needs to deal with, all things considered. “We'll only need a minute, C. Just need to shower and get changed, and…” He lifts his and Chris’ hands up again, unintentionally.

“Oh fuck.”

He looks over at Chris, whose eyes are permanently fixed on his groin, “Hey, hey, hey! Eyes at this level, Mister!” He pulls their hands up to his eye-level as if to demonstrate his point, then pulls the sheets up to curb Chris’ curiosity.

JC knocks again, louder, “Guys? Listen, I don't want to spoil your fun but Joey did say we still had to make it to this radio thing…”

And now all of a sudden, even through the haze, Lance thinks things make so much more sense.

His eyes narrow. Of course. He feels like he should slap himself on the forehead for not guessing straight away. He would, if he didn’t think his head would split right down the middle.

This has Joey fucking Fatone written all over it.

“I so don't need this today.” He complains, almost to himself. “Where's my phone? That asshole's gonna pay, I swear…”

Lance reaches across to the opposite side of the bed to get his phone and ends up rolling on top of Chris. The sheets slide off a little and Chris looks down.

“Hey!” Lance slaps Chris with his free hand, “Remember what I said about looking?”

Chris sneers; “You’re such a spoilsport!” He pauses, “Lance? I think we’re all aware of your opinion on looking, but do you have an aversion to me wiggling?”

Lance finally finds his phone, just as Chris decides to emphasise his point by moving his hips under Lance’s.

Lance rolls back to his original position and glares at Chris as he hits Joey’s number on speed-dial.

“Hey, Lance!” Joey’s voice sounds clear and loud, like a bell, high-pitched and giggly and so not what Lance needs right now, the way his head’s hurting. “How's your morning going so far? You get a good night’s sleep?”

Lance can hear Joey laughing and Justin in the background, snickering.

He wants to kill *everybody* right now.

“Listen you little fucker,” Lance practically spits, “don't think you've got the best of me yet. I'll… I'll tell the world that that fungal infection you had three years ago wasn't on your feet, or I'll… I'll enrol Briahna in a public school!”

Joey laughs at him again, “Lance, calm down!”

“Don't *tell* me to calm down!” He screams down the phone. Lance can see Chris in the corner of his eye, looking pained, but Chris’ hangover is just about the last thing Lance is concerned with right now.

Joey clears his throat; “Of course you don't have to worry about being calm, I'm sure you're ready for the car that's there to pick you up.”

“I won't forget this!” He yells before hanging up, muttering to himself.

Chris’ voice startles him out of his revenge fantasies, “You sure know a lot of curse words don't you?”

Lance actually growls. Chris closes his mouth and mimes locking it and throwing away the key. He mouths ‘Aha!’ like he’s had an idea and reaches for the imaginary key where he threw it, wags his finger and mimes unlocking the cuffs.

Lance shakes his head and kicks the covers all the way off. He shimmies down the bed, dragging Chris with him and making for the bathroom, “Okay, Mummenschantz, we're taking a shower. Just remember the eyes above sea level rule and don't, not once, no matter how funny you think it is, ask me to scrub your back!”

“Okay, wait?”

Lance sighs, “What?”

Chris half-shuts his eyes and looks suspicious. “Back there, when I was half asleep, you said 'not again' when you noticed the cuffs?”

Lance blushes and looks away. “No, Chris. You were completely asleep.”

Lance starts walking towards the bathroom again; slightly tugging Chris and when he looks back he catches Chris staring at his ass. He wonders why all of a sudden Chris is so interested in his various body parts. Boredom probably, he thinks. He definitely can’t allow himself to hope for more than that.

“La-ance?”

“No!”

“What?” Chris looks all faux-offended, “You didn't even know what I was gonna say!”

Lance grits his teeth. “Chris, I will *not* scrub your back!”

“You can't blame a guy for trying.” Chris shrugs as they both go into the bathroom.

Lance can still hear JC pounding on the door.

“Hey!” JC yells, “Are you guys still there?”

******************

Lance realises that every single time he thought he’d been bored in the past was a dress rehearsal for today. None of those times even came close to the *actual* mind-numbing boredom he’s now being forced to sit through.

Thanks to Joey.

Much as it would’ve been impossible, Lance wishes that they had managed to go to the interview with JC, at least then it would’ve given them something to do. He still can’t think of a way they could’ve explained to the interviewer just why he and Chris were shackled together, though.

In addition to his epiphany regarding the boredom situation, Lance also realises that there could be no worse person in the world to be stuck in a confined space with other than Chris. Not that he’s that surprised of course, because a bored Chris is never a good thing, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the nightmare that is Chris bored *and* confined to the same hotel room as him.

Lance adjusts the towel he has wrapped around his waist with his left hand and looks over at Chris who is currently attempting to put a t-shirt on, which he’s kinda stuck in. Lance just shakes his head and wonders how long it’ll take Chris to figure out that what he’s doing is logistically impossible.

“Ohhhh.” Chris takes the t-shirt off again.

Apparently not that long.

Lance settles back and clucks his tongue. “Pass me my phone?”

Chris moves to hand Lance his cell, then pulls away sharply. “Lance? You're not going to crank call Joey *again* while he's on air, are you?”

Lance just scowls at Chris and apparently manages to get his message across perfectly, as Chris thrusts the phone into Lance’s hand looking more than just a little terrified.

“Now I know how Siegfried and Roy feel.” Chris mutters under his breath.

Lance whips his head around. “What was that?”

“Uh… I just said, some things take time to heal.”

Lance pushes redial and shakes his head at Chris, who looks unbelievably pleased with himself.

“Hmmm, I'm thirsty, you thirsty, Lance?” Chris stands up to go get a drink and Lance yanks him back down onto the bed. Chris is now sulking like a petulant five year-old and Lance smirks, he thinks that if he can’t actually *do* anything today, that bullying Chris may be the only thing that cheers him up.

He pushes redial again as his mind wanders. He could actually be getting laid right now. There was that really hot guy at the hotel gym yesterday, the one with the scarily blue eyes and the ripped stomach. Yeah that one, the one that was cruising him the entire time. Lance sighs and closes his eyes thinking about exactly how sweet hot-guy’s stomach would taste…

“Yo.” Joey actually answers this time.

“Oh so you’re taking my calls now?”

“Well, they told me if I wanted to report a stalker I had to keep you on the line for more than two minutes.”

“Don't make me call Kelly,” Lance threatens.

Lance can hear the sharp inhalation on the other end of the line. “Hey Lance, old buddy, what can I do for you?”

“First, an explanation?”

“No, no. First, an apology!” Chris elbows Lance and Lance turns around and glares at him.

Chris mouths ‘sorry’ and lays his head on Lance’s shoulder, mumbling, “I'm still thirsty.”

Lance mentally counts to ten as he grits his teeth together, as Joey’s voice cuts in.

“The way I see it, Lance, you and Chris just need a push in the right direction.”

“And is that direction towards the toys section of an adult store?” Lance holds up his and Chris’ hands again as if to illustrate the point, not that Joey can actually see them, but Lance isn’t exactly thinking logically right now.

“Come on Lance, this has been going on for years…”

“What, your cop fetish? Because I should introduce you to Officer Dan, he’s not so much a policeman but a…”

Joey clears his throat. “Lance? For once in your life can you just shut-up and listen?”

Lance can hear Justin laughing in the background, and that makes him even more pissed. It’s like everyone’s in on this joke/lesson/whatever that Joey seems to think is a good idea.

It’s only then that he realises what Joey just said to him. “You did not just tell me to shut-up?”

Chris pumps one fist in the air. “Go Joey!”

Luckily for Lance it’s the one he’s not attached to, Lance merely turns around and stares.

“I… I mean… bad, Joey!”

Joey sighs, “Look I know how you feel about Chris, JC knows how you feel about Chris, damn, even Justin knows!”

“Hey!” Lance can hear Justin protesting loudly in the background. He hopes Justin hits Joey for that, ‘cause right now he thinks mild physical violence to Joey’s person is about the only thing that might cheer him up.

Joey’s right of course. It has been going on for years, this stupid teenaged crush of his, but it’s not all his fault, really. Chris confuses the hell out of him with the flirting and the constant comments about his sex life, not to mention the longing looks at Lance’s ass, but it’s almost habit now. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just Chris. Lance resigned himself years ago to the fact that nothing was ever going to happen.

“Didn't you even consider that Chris might know as well?”

“So what are you saying?” Lance feels his hangover coming back, but this time he doesn’t think it’s from alcohol. Just stress. And confusion. And anger. Big heaping amounts of seething anger.

“Look,” Joey continues, “I'll deliver the key to the cuffs tomorrow morning, that's if you want it by then.”

Lance can’t imagine what possessed Joey to say ‘if’. “So let me get this straight. Until *tomorrow* I'm swept up in this "American Pie" style fantasy of yours or I'm forced to make Chris gnaw through the cuffs with his teeth?”

Joey snickers. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“I. Am. So. Gonna. Kill you.”

“Or thank me.” Joey adds cheerily.

“Yeah keep dreaming, Princess!” Lance says through gritted teeth.

“I love you, Lance.”

“Yeah well Joey? I'm imagining choking all the life out of you with just my hands.” He hangs up.

Chris is grinning and Lance decides that Joey’s not the only one who’s going to be suffering from slow, painful death right now, and from the look on Chris’ face he can see exactly what Lance is planning for him.

“Hey, Lance?” Chris looks up at him with puppy-dog eyes and licks his lips. “I’m thirsty.”

Lance slaps his forehead in faux-shock, “You don't say.”

continued in part two.

by Ice and Pablo

Two more ficlets

icebun — Tue, 20 Jan 2004 16:18:14 GMT

I'll get there eventually. Promise.

These two prove what a big girly sap I am.

She still has the dress, and sometimes she touches it. Runs the ruffles and smooth material through her fingers and remembers. Remembers how it felt to feel like a real lady; pretty and special.

Just like Inara.

The dress is like Inara to Kaylee, and when she touches it and closes her eyes, she can almost feel like she's touching *her*; smooth, feminine and perfect.

But it doesn't measure up of course. Nothing can.

The first time Inara held her was after she was shot. She kissed Kaylee's forehead and threw her arms around her. Her skin was soft, her fingers long and elegant and she stroked Kaylee’s forehead like Kaylee always imagined her mother would have if she’d been alive.

Inara reminds Kaylee of strawberries; sweet and juicy and. perfect.

Inara is, well, she's a lady and Kaylee's... not. She knows that. It doesn't bother her.

Kaylee may not be a lady, but that doesn't stop Inara from making her feel like one.

When Inara’s fingers glide over her and her lips brush Kaylee’s and she whispers sweet words to her like "Precious" and "Beautiful", Kaylee realizes that she doesn’t need a bunch of material with bows and ruffles to make her feel special and pretty.

She has someone who thinks she’s a real lady, engine grease and all.

“What. Is. That?”

Lance just stands and stares at the huge bookcase Joey is standing in front of and pointing.

“It’s… um… your new bookcase?”

Lance blinks. “Oh no. No way is that my new bookcase.”

Joey pouts.

“And don’t think that you doing that is gonna change my mind, Fatone. That’s not a bookcase. It’s a monstrosity.”

Lance walks away, quickly. He finds the computer section and flicks his eyes over the lines of PDA’s. He sighs as he hears footsteps behind him and then stopping and lifts his hand up to silence Joey.

“But…but…” Joey catches up to him.

“*Joey*…”

“But it’s Concepts In Wood!” he whines.

Lance sighs and rubs his forehead. “Joey, I really don’t care if it’s ‘Concepts In Hot Hard Cock’ I’m not getting it! It doesn’t fit with my place, okay? it’s just… not right.”

Joey’s face drops. “It doesn’t fit, huh?” He sounds so wounded and Lance feels like hitting himself. He’s had a headache all morning, and he should’ve known better than to go shopping when he’s in a mood like this.

Lance reaches out for Joey and grabs his hand, pulling him in closer.

“*It* doesn’t fit, no.”

Lance pauses and grins at Joey, pulling him in for a kiss. “But you do.”

New Fic

icebun — Thu, 15 Jan 2004 18:05:52 GMT

This is pure porn. No plot, no character development, just porn.

Whisper That Way:

Chris takes a sip from his drink. "Truth or dare, Bass."

Lance rolls his eyes. "Truth."

JC stretches out. "I think it's my turn to be the quizmaster." He clears his throat. "Lance. Who do you think of when you jerk off?"

"I..." Lance gulps. "Christ, that's a bit personal, isn't it?"

Chris snorts. "You said it was too easy. You were the one who bitched and moaned and said let's raise the stakes. Stakes are raised, mama's boy, can't you deal?"

Oh I can deal, Chris, he thinks to himself. The question is, can you?

JC moves in closer to Lance and his voice is like melted honey in Lance's ear.

"Time's up. Your dare, should you choose to accept it, is to tell me and Chris what you want this unnamed person to do to you. Like, say it like you're talking to them."

Lance wonders exactly what JC is trying to gain from this and that makes his stomach clench just a little. Makes him hard.

Well, he knows he can act out like the best of them and if this is what JC and Chris want, he'll give them a performance they'll never fucking forget.

He moves back so he's opposite the two of them and lies down. One hand moves down his side and he slowly rubs at his hipbone with his thumb. He puts one arm down to support him and sits up a little. "So you wanna hear my deepest, darkest fantasies, JC? You sure you're ready for that?" He knows how he must sound: breathy, voice deep and broken and wanton. And he hasn't even started yet.

He sees JC gulp and his cheeks flare up.

And Chris? Chris is just blinking. He looks kinda like a rabbit, a really stunned rabbit.

He settles back down and closes his eyes, sees JC and Chris' expressions tattooed behind his eyelids and he swipes his tongue, slowly across his upper lip.

"First I'd ask him to kiss me." Lance pauses. "You, I mean. I'd want you to kiss me. Push me down and hold my arms down and just... press your lips to mine as they open for you and your tongue. I'd want you to kiss me slow, real slow, so I can take the time to taste you. Your hips'd be pushing into mine and I'd be able to feel how hard you are; pushing against me and it feels so good sucking on your tongue as I grab your ass and grind you against me."

Lance hears Chris growl and he knows if he opened his eyes just how JC and Chris would both be looking at him, but he doesn't. He sucks one finger into his mouth and rubs at his lips with his wet finger. His other hand sneaks under the hem of his t-shirt and pulls his shirt up, showing off skin as he rubs slowly at his belly.

"I wouldn't stop there." He murmurs, one hand absently rubbing across his chest. "I'd be whisperin’ in your ear, beggin’ you to take off your clothes so I could suck you, or gettin' me naked, turnin’ me over and fuckin’ me.” Lance can hear his accent thicken, which it always does when he’s turned on, and doing this, performing for JC and Chris like this, knowing it’s making them want him? Oh yeah, he’s definitely really fucking turned on.

“God, yeah,” he breathes out, “I'd want you to fuck me so hard. Slow too, so I could feel every single thrust of your hips and deep. Yeah, I'd beg for it, I'm really, really good at that.”

"Fuck.Me." He hears JC get up and move toward him.

Lance opens his eyes and JC’s standing over him, eyes wide, mouth open and breathing really hard. “Jesus, Lance. Can I…do you want me to?” He gets down on his knees, a little unsure and Lance thumbs open the buttons on his own jeans, thrusting his hips upward in invitation.

JC pulls them down slowly and looks back at Chris, gesturing him to move closer. Chris is just staring, his eyes much darker than they were before.

“God.” Chris manages to pant out as he moves towards them, “The two of you… I think you should touch him, C. He definitely wants it.”

“Yeah.” Lance pulls his shirt off and slowly rubs his hand over his belly, “I do want it, C. You gonna give it to me?”

JC groans. “You little… fuck.” He rubs at Lance’s cock through the cotton briefs he’s wearing. Rubs at it slowly with the heel of his hand and smiles as Lance bucks up to gain more friction.

“Hold him down, Chris.” Lance’s eyes are shut, but he can just hear the smirk in JC’s voice and wonders when the tables were turned. Not that he minds, because being held down is kinda really fucking hot.

Chris pins Lance’s wrists above his head and kisses him. Chris’ lips are warm and wet and Lance opens for him as JC gets a hand inside Lance’s pants and fists his cock, slow and nasty.

“I’m gonna do this as slow as I like,” JC murmurs, “I could just turn you over and spread your legs and fuck you, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Lance’s voice sounds broken and flustered when he speaks, “You know I would, JC, just… do it. Fuck me.”

JC cocks his head to one side like he’s thinking. “Y’know, I think hearing you beg would be just about my favourite thing in the world.”

Lance can’t believe how fucking turned on he is right now. The sensation is killing him; Chris’ mouth on his as he holds him down, JC’s hand on his cock, stripping him so slowly it’s fucking painful. He can feel himself getting nearer and nearer the edge, stomach rolling over with lust.

Lance groans as JC thumbs the head of his cock and lifts his thumb to Lance’s mouth. He licks at JC’s thumb and sucks it, scrapes his teeth over it.

“Tease.” JC pulls his thumb away and unzips his own pants, pulling them off and Lance laughs.

“Commando? And *I’m* the tease?”

JC pulls Lance’s briefs down and moves so he’s on top of Lance, gripping onto his hips and rubbing himself against him, rubbing their cocks together. Chris moans and moves back slightly and Lance can hear him unzip himself; can hear the slap of skin as Chris starts to stroke his own cock. Lance can feel his brain almost melting at that and he doesn’t dare look, because quite honestly, he has enough to contend with right now with JC above him, rubbing against him.

This feels so fucking good, skin against skin and the carpet rough against his ass and JC whispering to him, “God, you’re so… yeah, gonna fuck you later, can’t wait to feel how tight you are… so fucking good.”

Lance grits his teeth. “Fuck me, *now*.”

Chris laughs at him, “Bossy. Little. Bitch.”

“Yeah.” JC lowers his head and laps at Lance’s chest, “Not going to fuck you yet. Wanna get you off first, ‘cause I don’t think I’m going to let you come while I’m fucking you. Not for hours.”

And that’s it. It’s all too much for him, dirty words and skin and Chris jerking off and the promise of JC’s dick in his ass and Lance is coming, hips shaking and JC joins him seconds later. Lance gasps as he feels JC come, hitting his chest with it and moaning long and low. Lance can hear Chris is almost there too, his breathing quickening.

Lance pushes JC away, gently and stands on shaky legs. He feels totally debauched, JC’s come mixed with his own on his chest and he dips a finger in it before offering it to Chris. Chris licks at it and whimpers and Lance knows that’s gotta be what pushes him over the edge. Lance drops to his knees in front of Chris and tilts his head up.

“Do it, Chris,” he pants out, “Come on me. On my face.”

“Fuuuck, Lance.” Chris’ hand speeds up and Lance can feel JC move behind him, can feel JC’s tongue on his back, tracing his backbone and Chris groans out Lance’s name one last time before Lance feels Chris’ come hitting his face, hot and slick against his skin.

the end

Thanks to evil_man and lilysaid for their help and special thanks to JC Chasez for writing and singing dirty porn songs.

Title shamelessly stolen from Jeff Timmons.

Now back to ficlets...

First two

icebun — Wed, 14 Jan 2004 20:01:46 GMT

I am such a slooooooooooow writer, so two ficlets is actually pretty good going for me *g*

Time is such an interesting concept.

The fact that things could go in a completely different direction if a person was five minutes late for an appointment, or five minutes early.

You’ve seen ‘Sliding Doors’, you always thought it was an interesting idea , but Gwyneth’s faux-English accent was about as fun to listen to as fingernails scraping down a blackboard.

The concept of that film though, yeah, that’s something you wonder about a lot. Especially now.

You wonder how different things would be if you’d lingered at breakfast a little longer that day, if you hadn’t gone back to your room just in time to see him flicking through the well-worn pages of your hard-covered notebook.

You think if you’d been a little later, that maybe you wouldn’t have felt that knot forming in your stomach. That the nausea that followed wouldn’t have surfaced, either. And you certainly wouldn’t have stood there and screamed at him about how it was *your* property and he didn’t have the right to touch it.

You wouldn’t have gritted your teeth and spat out at him that he’d violated your privacy and you’d never trust him again. And he wouldn’t have looked at you, confused and hurt as he whispered, “Who’s Freddy?”

If you’d been a little later, maybe you wouldn’t have had to watch JC’s heart breaking, either.

for crownzeal

Set after Such Sweet Bliss

JC hates parties. Well, okay, that’s not exactly true. He likes hanging out with his friends, clubbing and drinking and drugging and having fun.

He hates *industry* parties.

Industry parties are always full of leeches. Vultures, who JC thinks would spit at him on the street if he wasn’t famous, if they didn’t think he could do something for them. He doesn’t usually try to pick anyone up at things like this for that very reason.

Too many people chattering like demented monkeys and he needs to get away, the air’s thick with money and ulterior motives and he can feel it starting to choke him. He heads out for the balcony, grabbing a fresh glass of Cristal on the way. It’s better outside, dark and cool and no-one around.

He sparks up a joint and takes a long hit, rolling the smoke around his lungs before tipping his head back, exhaling. He takes a sip of the champagne and lets the bubbles dissolve on his tongue, sweet and effervescent. He thinks about the waiter who handed him his glass, he was pretty hot with his big brown eyes and his perfect hands and he wonders whether *he* might be a decent proposition for the night. Though he’s probably some actor desperate to get his foot in the door, and JC just can’t be bothered with that sort of shit. Not now.

He takes another hit. “Fucking actors,” he mutters.

“Is that on offer?” Smooth, English voice and he looks up.

“Oh man, I’m sorry, I…” JC berates himself. His timing always did suck and here he is bitching out actors when Orlando fucking Bloom just happens to be there.

Orlando laughs. “Don’t worry about it, mate. I hate these parties too.” He gestures to the joint in JC’s hand. “Uh… may I?”

JC hands it to him and just stares. Jesus, but he’s pretty. No, not pretty, fucking *beautiful*.

Orlando takes a long drag and pauses before exhaling. JC hopes Orlando doesn’t notice him staring, because that mouth… God. JC sees it flash before his eyes; Orlando on his knees, pretty, perfect mouth around JC’s cock as JC sinks fists into his hair and fucks his mouth. And okay, that was a mistake, ‘cause now he’s really fucking hard.

Orlando smirks and takes another hit before handing the joint back to JC. “Y’know, I have to get out of the habit of doing this.”

JC blinks. “What? Smoking pot?”

Orlando’s laugh is high, bell-like and infectious. “No way, man. Me give up pot? Fat chance.” He pauses and moves closer, so close that JC swears he can feel warm breath on his skin. “What I have to get out of the habit of is doing drugs with pretty NSYNC boys at dull parties. It just always seems to get me into trouble. It’ll be Justin next I suppose.” Orlando is so close now that JC thinks if he tilts his head just right, he… no. He breathes in, trying to regain at least a sliver of composure.

“You’ve met one of my friends?” JC manages.

“Lance.” And the way Orlando says Lance’s name is kinda filthy; vowels all drawn out like he’s moaning. JC’s really fucking stoned now; he can feel his blood bubbling like the champagne he quickly finishes to try and relieve some of the dryness in his throat.

He shivers as Orlando starts trailing fingers up and down his arm, slowly. JC can feel the fine hairs raising on his arm and he whimpers a little. “You’ve… you’ve met Lance?”

Orlando drops his hand to JC’s waistband and inches two fingers inside as he licks JC’s neck. “I met him in New York. We got high and I fucked him for hours and hours. He has the best mouth I ever… well, I guess you know that.” He smirks, “Like I said, meeting you boys always seems to get me into trouble.”

Orlando’s lips are warm and wet and JC moans into the kiss as Orlando’s hands fall to his hips, grinding his own hips against JC’s.

“Oh yeah.” Orlando breathes out, “You’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?”

JC whimpers as Orlando unzips him and gets his hand around his cock and strokes him hard and fast and perfect. JC comes all too quickly, just like a fucking teenager, with Orlando’s lips on his ear, whispering the dirtiest things to him.

for saturn92103

My SeSa fic

icebun — Fri, 02 Jan 2004 13:11:36 GMT

Since the DWNOGA authors have now been announced, I thought I'd go ahead and post the link to my offering.

[Fade]

My SeSa fic for ellie_fic

Smutty euro!Trickyfish.

“Let’s just for a minute pretend that what you’re doing isn’t really, really stupid, shall we? You’re in the middle of a club filled with people and you’re making out with big gay Erich who has his big gay hands all over your…” Chris’ mouth drops open. “Skin. My god, Bass, you’re practically naked!”

This was my first Trickyfish fic and I was really nervous, but ultimately really enjoyed writing it. Thanks to P. for the beta and several other friends for the handholding. Y'all know who you are ;)

DomOrli Ficbit

icebun — Thu, 04 Dec 2003 22:15:09 GMT

You know he’s changed and you’re tired of hearing it.

“He’s a big star now, didn’t you know?”

You laugh about it, calling him Princess and Starfucker and anything else insulting that comes to mind.

He just pouts prettily and laughs it off, but you know that it bothers him. His eyes are empty and sad when he flashes that fake smile at everyone around you.

And when you pull him backwards, he whispers in your ear, “I haven’t changed that much, Dom. Not that much.”

Later, his breath tastes like cigarettes and gum, smoky and sweet, and as your fingers glide over his perfect, sweat-slicked skin, you realise that he’s right.

He hasn’t changed that much at all. He’s still yours.

Crossover madness.

icebun — Thu, 02 Oct 2003 15:21:24 GMT

Pablo asked for a porn drabble. Lance/Dan (from Boy Meets Boy), inspired by that picture of them together at Kevin Williamson's with the Queer Eye boys.

I couldn't get it to perfect drabble length, so lets call it a drabble and a quarter, shall we?

Also, this contains spoilers for episode three of BMB, so halo? Read at your own risk. *g*

Reach

They’d hooked up once before this, at that Wilhelmina party, but things had been different then. For one thing, Dan hadn’t ‘come out’ yet.

Lance remembers choking when he watched that episode with Joey. “Straight. My *ass*”, he’d snorted.

Lance is pressed up against the wall and he twists his fingers in blond hair as he thrusts his hips forward; fucking Dan’s pretty mouth.

Dan backs off, smirking. “Wanna watch you.” He licks up the length of Lance’s cock; slow and lewd and pushes forward, sucking it into his mouth as his forehead presses up against Lance’s belly.

Lance curses under his breath and seconds later he’s coming.

Way too talented to be straight he thinks and laughs to himself, as Dan licks his belly clean.

icebun — Fri, 26 Sep 2003 02:36:28 GMT

I blame katemonkey for this entirely.

For glossling and rubywisp's No Apologies Challenge

Just sex. No justification. None.

It’s been a long time since Lindsey found himself in a situation like this: taste of whiskey on his tongue, warm slick skin under his fingertips, cool eyes staring up at him.

A bit young for him, really, but there’s something about this kid that feels… adult. Mature. Jaded.

Lindsey knows the feeling, but he doesn’t want to sit there thinking about all the ways in which they’re alike.

Not when he could be running his tongue over that firm, ridged stomach instead. Or rubbing right *there* as he finds out exactly how pretty Lance Bass looks when he comes.

Ficlet.

icebun — Mon, 01 Sep 2003 15:11:27 GMT

Okay, so we watched the VMA's last night and apparently my brain thought this needed to be written. Barely a ficlet, more like a drabble and a half...

Femslashy.

She read about it the next day.

How she was disgusted, a homophobic bitch who washed her mouth out afterwards. She didn't deny it, but then again she didn't confirm it true either. It was nobody else's business.

Just like it was nobody else's business to know that Britney's skin felt alive when she felt those elegant hands on her. Nobody needed to know that she had moaned when she felt soft, warm lips on her own, how she had felt it all the way down to the pit of her stomach; warm and liquid.

She doubted that anyone would have heard that soft moan or the whimper that followed it when Madonna pulled away to kiss Christina, that moment when she didn't know whether to feel jealous or turned on. Maybe just a little bit of both.

Britney wonders what people would think of her if they knew the truth. That it wasn't the sickly-sweet flavor of spearmint-flavored mouthwash she could taste afterward, but the bitter tang of her own want and need.

New Fic.

icebun — Tue, 19 Aug 2003 13:15:31 GMT

I knew evil_man and I would write this cracked-out pairing sooner or later.

Although technically, it's still all about Lance.

Thanks to halowrites for her help.

by icebun and evil_man

[Giving Up The Ghost]

***

You arrive in Orlando and you’re not sure if it’s due to nerves or the heat but you end up hot and sticky with perspiration. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t do it but that first moment you get there you grab your mother’s hand and hold on tight. She just smiles at you and your nerves settle almost immediately.

They’re all there; waiting, a look of hope on their faces and you just know that they’re going to be disappointed. That they’ll realise you’re a fake and you don’t belong here. But he smiles at you and you forget pretty much everything and just end up staring.

You haven’t met anyone like JC and even though you’re still only sixteen, you get the feeling you won’t meet someone like him ever again.

You want to say something important, so he’ll remember this moment like you’re sure you will, but you can’t think of anything so you smile and blush instead. You’re torn between not wanting to leave and wanting to run away and hide. Then Justin says something about the way you sing and how it fleshes out their overall sound and JC’s no longer looking at you at all. He stares at Justin who continues to talk about harmonies and tone and you barely notice that you’re now an "us" as opposed to being just you.

You like that but most of all you focus on how intent JC is on every word that Justin says about the music. About your singing and how it fits in with theirs.

As you go almost unnoticed you fight off all thoughts of being forgotten, of being the last resort.

Of always being second choice.

***

That first day you meet him, the air conditioning in the studio is playing up. The air’s heavy and the material of your shirt sticks to your back and you’re reminded of that first day in Orlando.

The others are all excited about finally meeting BT and you wonder what your mother would say if she knew what you’d been thinking. If she knew how frustrated you were with the way that JC can’t stop talking about him. About BT and how he’s going to change the way you all sound.

You want to tell him that you’re quite happy with the way you sound already, but instead you bite your lip so hard your teeth slice into it and you can taste the bitter tang of blood faintly on your tongue.

Almost as bitter as you.

JC’s like a kid at Christmas, a bundle of nervous energy and it takes a lot for you to notice that JC looks wired. Considering he amazes you every day with his never-ending enthusiasm.

When BT arrives, you wipe your hand across your eyes. Small beads of sweat that you can feel across your skin in the confines of the over-heated studio.

Both JC and Justin, but mostly JC, talk at a million miles an hour about how much they’ve been looking forward to this and JC practically shines.

Yet again you’re reminded of that first day in Orlando and even though you try not to, you ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you that JC wanted to make beautiful music with.

***

The song’s finished. BT’s done his thing and you know without a doubt the five of you have a hit on your hands. JC would probably say the six of you.

You feel exhausted and wonder if you’ll ever get a chance to rest. JC excitedly tells you how Brian has invited all five of you out to a club he’s playing at that night. It’s not really a lie when you say that you don’t feel up to it, you’re almost to the point of exhaustion anyway and you try and avoid the look of disappointment on JC’s face.

The other’s all say yes and as they file out of the studio Justin’s the last to leave. He doesn’t say anything but you know he doesn’t need to. He says he knows with his eyes and you try to look away.

It’s almost light the next morning when you hear a noise. JC’s back and he looks more awake than ever. You pretend to still be asleep but as he strips off his clothes at the side of the bed your eyes open and he catches you watching. He smiles at you, slides under the covers and kisses you softly on the top of your head. He pulls you close and doesn’t say a word.

You’re comfortable, your bodies fit against each other so naturally. You’re sick of just being comfortable.

His hair smells of smoke and something else, his skin warm where you touch and you press closer and try to forget.

***

You end up drinking a little too much and you know your face is probably flushed red even before you arrive at the party. Drinking’s the only way to guarantee you won’t bail before you even get there.

You push your way through the crowd of people just inside the VIP room and try and avoid eye contact with everybody. You finally find JC and when he sees you his face lights up and he smiles. You end up smiling back without thinking and move closer.

JC says your name and then you see who he’s with. You say ‘hi’ and call him BT without thinking. He tells you again, to call him Brian before pulling you into a hug. JC stands directly behind him and you try not to look uncomfortable, you end up shutting your eyes and JC’ll probably think you’re overcome with emotion but it’s more because you don’t want to be looking at JC when Brian’s hugging you.

You know you’re being petty but that doesn’t mean you can do anything about it.

***

You’ve put it off as long as you can and if Chris were here he’d probably call you a bitch. You’re not sure if JC even realises and even if he did it’s not in his nature to say anything about it. He’d smile and tell you he understands.

The thing that annoys you most is he probably would understand and that’s something you don’t want to deal with.

They’re both there when you first hear it; you can tell Brian understands how important it is to JC for you to be there. You hate him even more for that.

Their track. The track JC and Brian made together.

You try your best to hate it but you can’t. JC’s face lights up when you admit there’s nothing you can say. Brian smiles too and for the first time that night you actually look him in the eyes.

JC makes a whooping noise and if you thought he was excited early on, he’s just gone ADHD on your ass.

He pulls you into a hug and you almost can’t breathe. He’s still talking and you only take in every second or third word, as always his excitement is contagious. You stop smiling when JC grabs hold of Brian, one hand on each side of his face and they kiss. Soft and open on the mouth, a kiss that says more than you want to hear.

Watching the two of them, you realise that you’ve had enough of being second. That may have been enough when you were sixteen but now? Now, things are different.

Maybe it’s time for you to decide just what it is *you* seek at night.

the end

icebun — Mon, 14 Jul 2003 16:01:53 GMT

Continued from Part One

*********

Lance heads for the backroom, a little cave decked out in white
furniture and beanbags. He throws himself backwards onto an empty
sofa and puts his feet up. Takes a long swig from his glass and rubs
his forehead.

He feels a tap on his shoulder and looks down. Justin's crouching
next to him, grin plastered on his face.

"I got these for you." He drops a couple of small white pills in
Lance's hand.

Lance frowns. "Who from?" Justin shrugs and Lance's expression
darkens. "J, we've talked about this. Don't take shit from someone
you don't know. I mean, Christ, you don't *need* to."

Justin moves Lance's legs and slumps down next to him on the
couch. "Chill, Lance, they're okay. Trust me."

Trust me. Lance has lost count of the number of times someone has
said that to him. Trust me; they're really good. Trust me; it won't
hurt. Trust me; he means nothing.

Lance lends no weight to those particular words anymore, so he sighs
and presses the pills back into Justin's hand.

Justin shrugs, gets up and puts the pills back in his pocket. "You
okay here by yourself?"

"Sure," Lance stretches out on the sofa, as much as his pants will
allow. PVC isn't terribly malleable. "I'm just taking it all in."

"You're *fucked*."

Justin laughs and Lance raises an eyebrow. He thinks that Justin has
it wrong. *He's* not the one who's fucked right now. He's slightly
tingly from the K still, but he hasn't even really started yet.

"Oh please, I'm not a newbie, Justin, I'm nowhere near fucked."

Justin bends over and his lips press against Lance's. Heat suddenly
greater in an already scorchingly hot room. Justin tastes sugary-
sweet; like he's been sucking candy and Lance can't help but remove
the taste of it from his own lips with his tongue. Justin pulls away
slightly, a smile on his face and as Lance looks up he notices some
blonde twink standing only inches behind Justin. His lips are a
glossy smear of colour and Lance can tell it isn't candy that Justin
has been sucking on.

Lance grabs Justin by the shirt and pulls him forward, "Justin, what
are you doing?"

Justin flinches, shrugs him off. "What?"

"You know what I mean, who is he?"

"He's great, isn't he?" Justin pulls Lance up off the couch and
whispers, "An amazing dancer and man can he kiss? Damn!"

"No, Justin. Who *is* he?" Lance hisses through gritted teeth.

Justin turns to walk away and Lance isn't stupid, he knows that
Justin doesn't even know this guy's name. He grabs Justin, pulls him
back by the shoulder. He can feel himself getting more and more
pissed, because he loathes being ignored, probably more than
anything. Lance can feel the heat rising in him and he can just hear
his mama's voice telling him how his temper's gonna get him into
trouble one day.

"So, where's Chris, Justin?"

"Who?"

Lance rolls his eyes. "Well, where is he?"

Justin gestures to the bar and Lance walks to the door of the
backroom, looks around the corner and sees Chris standing at the
bar. There's a crowd of people flanking him and he's laughing, the
ubiquitous bottle of Stella in his grip.

Lance turns back to Justin and sighs. "You know its all just part of
his job? He can't really get away from it. Justin, they mean nothing
to him."

"So if they mean nothing to him, why is he there? Why isn't he
talking with me instead?" Justin sounds whiny, defeated. He sounds
his age.

"I'm sure talking's what you had planned." Lance mutters as he
lights a cigarette.

"Fuck you."

Lance bites his lip, "Justin, why are you tryin' so hard to fuck
this up?" He can always tell when he's near boiling point like
this, `cause his accent starts to thicken, vowels becoming longer
and more drawn out. Lance hates it, it reminds him too much of
little James Lance Bass with the bad hair and the girlish figure and
that kid is long gone and never coming back.

"I don't have to try very hard to do that at all." Justin's looking
at his feet, and Lance struggles to suppress a laugh, `cause it just
sounds so pathetic and dejected.

"Hey, he's a DJ, remember? He can't just switch that off."

"You've fucked a lot of DJ's have you?" Justin spits his words out,
bitter as anything and Lance definitely decides right then and there
that he's never telling him about who Lance went home with his first
night at the club.

Three years ago and it feels like he's been doing this for ten.

Lance shrugs in response. "I've lost count, and anyway, you know
these days I only do internationals."

The twink walks towards them and taps Justin on the shoulder. Lance
glares at him, hoping that'll scare him off, but apparently he's too
fucked-up to notice. Either that or he just doesn't care.

"Uh, excuse me? This is a private moment." Lance shoos the twink
away with his hand and turns to Justin for some back-up, "Hello?
Justin?"

Justin leans in and brushes his lips across the blond's. "I'll be
back in a minute, baby."

The twink sneers at Lance and walks out.

Justin looks really pissed and Lance can't really blame him. He'd be
pissed off if someone was ruining *his* action, too. Not that he'd
stoop so low as *that* boy.

"Anyway, "Justin spits out, "You're one to give advice."

"And what is *that* supposed to mean?" Lance's eyebrows are raised
as he takes a long drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out on
the ground.

"You…how long is it since you've been in a relationship with a guy?"
Justin crosses his arms and purses his lips, "I don't think you're
one to tell me what to do."

Lance grabs both of Justin's shoulders and shakes him gently, trying
to get his message across. He thinks that slapping him is about all
that's left at his disposal to get him to see some fucking sense.

"For God's sake, J, you don't have to lose yourself to get Chris to
find you."

Justin shakes Lance off him and turns, he looks like he's ready to
walk out the door when he turns back and whispers in Lance's
ear. "Well, Lance? You can fuck. Off."

Lance laughs, and it sounds cruel even to his own ears, but he's had
enough. He's trying so hard *not* to be a bitch about it but
Justin's just not cutting him any slack. "Oh very witty, is that the
best you can do, Justin?"

"No, I can do this.…" Justin flips Lance off and turns to go, but
Lance grabs him by the hand.

"Look, Justin. Stop acting like a pissy little fucked-up princess."

"What? As opposed to a bitter twisted queen?"

Lance never had the luxury that Justin has. He never had someone to
hold his hand, to tell him who to stay away from and it really
stings that Justin's refusing all that. That he can't see that Lance
is trying to help.

Well, fuck him, then.

Lance's jaw is like granite. He's angry, but this time he can feel
his anger sitting there like ice, cool and hard and solid.
Inflexible. "Fuck *you*, Justin," he whispers, then pushes him away.

He sits back down on the sofa and takes a sip from his champagne
glass before looking Justin straight in the eye. "Go on, then.
Leave. Take another pill and let some stranger and all his friends
take turns fuckin' you in the bathroom."

"Well thanks, Lance." Justin manages to get out, voice cracked and
broken, "You've taught me everything I needed to know."

Lance looks down, and when he looks up again, Justin's gone.

*********

When Joey sees Lance striding towards the bar, expression on his
face that spells ten different types of angry, he grabs a bottle of
Cuervo and places it on the bar along with two shot glasses, a salt
shaker and the bowl of lime segments. He pours the tequila into the
glasses and pushes one towards Lance without even waiting to be
asked.

Lance licks a strip on his hand and shakes a generous amount of salt
onto it. He looks at Joey, who nods to say he's ready and they lick,
sip, and suck in unison. Lance grimaces for a second before the shot
hits him and he can feel the alcohol coursing through him like a
wave, and this is just what he needed, it's perfect.

Joey mouths 'Another?' and Lance nods.

Lance still can't believe Justin. It's not like Lance was even being
an asshole, he was trying to get him to see what was important and
what's going to make him miserable in the long run, and Justin just
threw it back in his face. Well, fine. He downs his second shot and
looks up at Joey, who's looking at him, concerned. He smiles a
little and nods a thank you to his friend behind the bar.

"Hey, Lance."

Chris is standing next to him and Lance thinks his night couldn't
possibly get any worse.

"Great." Lance murmurs and he turns away from Chris. Considering
he's pretty much the reason for Lance and Justin fighting in the
first place, he's the last person Lance wants to talk to right now.
Well, aside from Justin.

Chris sighs. "Is it always gonna be like this?"

"Like what, Chris?" Lance turns to him and crosses his arms. He
wants to be left the fuck alone, but he knows he's totally in the
wrong place for that.

"You pretending I don't exist. Pretending that nothing ever
happened?"

Lance clears his throat. "*Did* anything really happen? Anything
worth remembering?"

Chris moves closer, kisses him on the cheek and whispers, "Yeah,
Bass, you broke my fucking heart."

Lance never meant to hurt Chris. Lance never means to hurt anybody,
but when he feels helpless it's like an animal trapped in a corner
and there's only one thing he can do, come out fighting. He doesn't
mean to do it, but he just can't help himself. It's twenty-three
years of conditioning and letting too many people close enough to
hurt him and that made him cold and hard. Justin calls him the Ice
Princess and as much as Lance likes to laugh it off, it's not far
from the truth.

Three years ago, Chris broke *his* heart. Oh, not intentionally, but
Lance was never good at not leaping to wrong conclusions about the
people Chris chose to spend his time with. It wasn't Chris' fault,
just like Justin leaping to conclusions about him tonight wasn't
Chris' fault, but at the time Lance needed to blame someone and he
felt he had no choice but to attack.

Lance stops Chris getting up with a hand on his shoulder. "Wait
Chris, I…I didn't mean to…."

Chris rolls his eyes. "What? Make a scene? Storm up to the bar?
Drink your body weight in alcohol?"

"No…the other thing. I'm...I'm sorry for that, okay?"

Chris pats Lance's thigh, "Sure, want another drink then,
heartbreaker?" He winks at him and Lance can't believe Chris now
seems so unaffected, but he guesses that Chris has been looking for
that apology for years now.

"Sure." Joey's holding the bottle of tequila up as if to ask if he
wants another one, but Lance shakes his head. Chris orders a glass
of champagne for Lance and a Stella for himself. Lance sits on an
empty barstool and Chris takes the seat next to him.

"So," Chris takes a big sip from his beer and turns back to
Lance, "I guess I don't have to be psychic to know your night isn't
going that well?"

Lance snorts. "Oh, it is! Except in the way that it's totally not."

"Yeah, I kinda caught the tail end of your and Justin's homage to
Krystle and Alexis."

Lance raises an eyebrow and stares at him until Chris turns away and
starts to peel the label from the back of his bottle. "If it's any
consolation you're totally Alexis."

"As if there was ever a doubt," Lance laughs and licks the taste of
the champagne from his lips.

"Justin's a good kid, Lance."

Lance looks at Chris, gaze not faltering for a second. "No he's not,
he's a total newbie that needs to realise how this", he gestures to
nothing in particular, "works."

Chris murmurs, softer than usual and Lance strains to hear him over
the music. "Hey, I happen to remember a newbie just like him not so
long ago."

It may not be that long ago, but Lance can't even remember what he
was like then. Can't? Doesn't want to. The more distance between him
and the younger, plainer version of himself the better.

"I was never that naïve."

"Really? Because it doesn't look that way from where I'm standing."
Chris rolls his eyes. "Okay, your highness, sitting."

"What the fuck is up with tonight? Have I got a sign on my back that
says please attack me?"

"If you do, Lance, you're the one that put it there."

Lance downs his glass and laughs. "God, Chris, you really need to
get a day job and stop spending so much time in front of 'The View'!"

"Yeah well, you need to stop trying to make everything perfect and
realise that everything's pretty damn good. Justin's a good kid –
face it."

Why didn't he see this coming? Chris is standing up for Justin and
Lance wonders when this all became so incestuous. And why in the
hell isn't there anybody to stand up for *him*? Not that he needs
it, but Christ, suddenly he's feeling like the one who's being
vilified and all he did was try and stop Justin from fucking things
up. Jesus.

"No. Justin's acting like a prissy queen and he needs to realise
that he can't…."

Chris cuts him off, "What? Act like a bitch all the time? Expect to
get his own way no matter what? Jeez, sounds like nobody I could
possibly know. You know, Lance, you talk about Justin being naïve
and having no idea what's going on but it seems to me he's got a
better grasp on reality than you'll ever have. You think he's
fucking things up? Well, here's a suggestion, Lance, next time you
look in the mirror forget about your hair and your flawless
complexion. Take a good hard look at what's underneath because that
ain't anywhere nearly as attractive as what's on top."

Lance had forgotten how much of a temper Chris has when he gets
going and now at least one thing is clear: Justin's little crush,
which Lance assumed was unreciprocated, definitely isn't.

Chris only gets that worked up over the people he loves and Lance
feels a twinge of regret in his belly, regret for fucking things up
with Chris back when he was self-conscious and paranoid and so
stupid. It's been a long time since Lance felt anything remotely
like regret and it feels bitter, feels like the type of thing that
eats away at people like acid.

"Be careful, Lance. I know you; I know you're not made of stone as
much as you'd like us all to believe. Just be careful you don't end
up alone." Chris gets up and puts a ten-dollar bill in Joey's tip
jar. "At least Justin knows what *he* wants."

Lance turns and watches Chris walk towards a group of people that he
stops and talks to on the dancefloor. One of whom is JC.

Lance can't help but think that Chris could be right.

*********

Lance sits and stares at JC as he sips yet another glass of
champagne and he wonders what it is exactly that's holding him back.
It's not like he's ordinarily shy with men, far from it, so why is
it every conversation he has with JC ends up being a whole bunch of
innuendo and then...nothing?

It's not like this hasn't been going on for months, in fact he's
really surprised that no-one else has noticed what there is between
the two of them.

Lance just wished he knew what that 'something' was.

JC locks eyes with him and it's apparent that Lance has been caught
staring. No surprise there, JC notices *everything*. He walks over,
slowly, and that gives Lance time to take in just how good JC looks
tonight: slim hips and long legs encased in leather, and the sheer
button-down that hugs his stomach. JC *always* looks this good and
Lance can feel his stomach tie itself in knots.

Lance shakes his head. He can't believe how this guy manages to get
to him, manages to worm his way under defences that are normally
rock-fucking-solid. Just what is it about JC that's so fucking
special?

"Hey," JC's voice wraps itself around Lance's ears and he
shivers. "You look like you need cheering up?"

Lance turns away slightly and rubs at his forehead with thumb and
index finger, "I almost think I just need this night to be over."

JC slumps onto the barstool next to him. "Whoa, please don't tell me
you're thinking of leaving? Because while Lance Bass tucked up at
home in bed by 3am may make for a pretty picture, if that ever
happens I swear my whole world will be askew."

Lance laughs and tries not to focus on the fact that JC is talking
about him in bed with a wistful expression on his face, tongue
swiping across his upper lip.

"I swear, you laugh, dude, but if that ever happened, I don't think
I'd ever be able to recover."

Lance was considering going home, but now there's no way he's going
to. JC's improved his mood considerably, and now he's in the mood
for...well, badness. A typical Friday night and he starts to wonder
why the hell he's not fucked up yet.

"You could try and make me forget?" He's talking about drugs, but
the invitation's there for more, he won't deny it. Lance is
determined to prove Chris and Justin wrong, and whoever else thinks
he doesn't have the balls to take what he wants. Though after months
of pussyfooting around, he wonders if he and JC are ever going to be
able to do more than just flirt shamelessly.

JC moves closer and Lance can feel their arms brush against each
other. "With that sort of thing, Lance, trying's almost as much fun
as succeeding. Gimme a minute?" Lance can still feel his skin tingle
where they touched for all too brief a moment.

He gets up and watches JC talking to his friends. Well, JC would
probably call them a 'posse'. Tara looks completely fucking trashed
and then there's Brian, who Lance would really rather not maintain
eye contact with. Every time Brian gets fucked-up, he manages to
corner some poor soul and talk for hours about how 'nobody
understands Progressive House here. It's too underground, man. It's
too underground even for the *underground.*' Brian and JC make their
own tracks, apparently, and by all accounts they're amazing. As
Lance watches JC bend down to whisper to Carlos, it occurs to Lance
that he's never heard JC sing.

He wants to.

JC smiles and beckons him over, "I'm all yours."

JC pulls out a baggie with four hits of ecstasy and hands it to
Lance. "That's for later. You want to dance for awhile?"

Lance has a quick look around and sees Justin talking to Chris by
the DJ booth. "Not right now. We could maybe chill out for awhile,
though? Just us? I don't really feel in the mood for too many people
right now."

JC nods, "Sure, this is a club, dude, remember? One of the few
places that can be crammed to the walls with people but you can
still manage to have some time alone if you want it."

JC grabs Lance by the hand and leads him to the chill-out room. It's
about half-full, but the couch Lance had commandeered earlier is
still empty. They sit down and JC reaches into his pocket and pulls
out two pills, one for him and one for Lance. JC has a bottle of
water and Lance is popping the pill into his mouth before even
thinking twice about it. He throws his head back and closes his eyes
and lets the water wash down the bitter E, which he can still taste
on his tongue. When he opens his eyes, JC is washing back his own
and Lance can't help but stare as JC swallows, neck muscles
constricting and releasing.

JC looks straight at Lance and leans forward. His thumb skates
across Lance's bottom lip, gathering the spilled drops of water
that've pooled there. It's so obviously a tease and Lance can feel
the need building in his stomach. He wants nothing more than to take
that thumb in his mouth and lick at it, nibble it, but the fact that
the two of them have been playing this game week after week for so
long now, makes him not want to rush anything. That and he wants to
sit back and enjoy just *being* with JC as they both start to come
up on their pills.

Lance smiles and takes a cigarette from the pack that JC offers to
him and waits as JC lights it.

"You know, that's a better look on you, I think."

Lance leans back on the sofa and rolls his head towards JC, "What
is?"

"Smiling."

That makes Lance grin even more.

JC moves closer and encircles one of Lance's wrists with his hand,
thumb rubbing at the pressure point, gently.

"Now *that* feels really fucking good, JC."

"Well you said you wanted to forget. I have my ways, y'know." JC
grins and Lance can't help but giggle. JC is just so damn refreshing
and considering Lance was having the worst night in history until JC
dragged him in here, he has a lot to thank him for.

Lance wants to spend long, long hours thanking him.

"There you are. I've been looking for you for *ages.*" Tara is
standing in the doorway, slim arms folded in front of her, looking a
little petulant, like JC snuck off and didn't tell her or something.
Considering how obviously coked-up she is tonight, Lance wouldn't
blame him if he had.

JC clears his throat, "We haven't been gone that long, mama."

"Oh really?" Now she looks surprised as well as confused. "Well it
felt like hours."

Lance can understand that. Time seems to have no basis in reality on
a night out. It's like Narnia-time; one minute can feel like an
hour. Sometimes that's a good thing 'cause it makes the night go so
much slower, but often it makes it unbearably slow.

"Oh hey, Lance." Tara looks at him and it's like she's only just
noticed that he's there. No, not like, she has literally only just
noticed he's there. That makes him bristle a little and he almost
laughs when he realises his JC-inspired Zen moment is over. Dead and
buried. He doesn't even dignify her hello with more than a nod of
his head.

"C'mon, C, I wanna dance." She pulls JC up from the sofa and Lance
is amazed. She's so tiny, but it appears when she's determined,
she's got a lot of strength in that little body of hers.

JC holds her by the shoulders, "Not *now*, Tara, I'm busy."

Lance takes a long drag on his cigarette and exhales, "Nah it's
cool, JC, I'll be out soon."

Tara perks up. "See?" She grins at JC and starts pulling him out by
the hand. "C'mon!"

As JC leaves with Tara, he fixes his gaze on Lance and
mouths 'Sorry'.

JC doesn't hide much on that perfect face of his and Lance can see
so easily the disappointment clouding his eyes.

*********

Lance sits at the bar in his usual seat. He wonders how and when it
actually became his usual seat, like whether there was a defining
point in time where things changed and the seat was no longer just a
seat he sat in a lot, but was now *his* seat. He thinks that the
fact that he's even having this conversation in his head is a pretty
good signifier that he's really fucking high. He feels warm and his
body's completely relaxed and tingly and everything's just…*so* good.

There's a reason they call it ecstasy, after all.

Justin comes up to the bar to buy a drink and Lance is thrilled to
see him. He tries to remember the last time he saw Justin, he knows
it's been ages. Oh. He clicks that the last time he and Justin were
face-to-face; Justin called him a bitter twisted queen and pretty
much told him he couldn't keep a man. Huh. Justin moves closer and
suddenly Lance isn't quite as pleased to see him as he was a few
seconds ago.

Justin sits down next to him. "Hey."

Lance takes a drag on his cigarette and blows smoke-rings, making
sure to get them in Justin's face.

Justin coughs and fans his face with his hand. "I should have known
you weren't gonna make this easy for me."

Lance just looks straight ahead, lips pursed.

Justin turns Lance's face towards his. "Look, can we please just
make up? I'm having a shitty night and at first I thought it was
because we'd fought and I was angry with you but then I realised it
wasn't that at all." He sighs. "I'm having a shitty night because we
fought and I'm angry with *myself*. I don't wanna fight with you, I
wanna sit at the bar and drink cocktails with you while we bitch
about townies that can't dance, or how on earth that guy there
thinks corduroy is even remotely in."

Lance looks up at the guy Justin's talking about. "'specially a
corduroy shirt," he mumbles.

Justin giggles, "I know, it hurts just to look at him."

Lance looks up and can't help but grin. Justin has a smile that just
kills him every time. It's why even when Justin does something
really stupid, you can't help but love him anyway. He means well,
and Lance knows there's not a vindictive bone in his body, which
might be why his words to Lance when they argued, cut to the quick
the way they did.

"Well," Lance drawls, "I was thinking about having a dance, but I
didn't really see the point if you *weren't* there."

Justin is beaming now. "So, does this mean we can forget about
before and just pretend we're not completely useless at this being
human thing?"

Lance stares at Justin seriously. "Apologies, first."

Justin looks worried and takes a deep breath, "Okay, I'm sorry… I
didn't.…"

Lance slaps his hand over Justin's mouth. "Not you, princess, *me*.
I take you for granted and treat you like shit and it's about time I
finally told you that this whole thing," he gestures to the
dancefloor and the bar, "would be nothing if I didn't have you to
share it with. *You* make the night for me, Justin. Every single
fucking weekend. That's all there is to it and I've never said that
to you and I'm sorry."

Justin is so happy; he looks like he might burst. Lance kisses
Justin on the cheek and whispers in his ear, "By the way, if you
tell anyone what I just said I *will* deny it and most probably
torture, maim and kill you."

Justin giggles, "Whatever, freak. Can we dance now?"

Lance gets up. "Sure, just let me buy some more smokes from the
machine on the way."

"Jesus." Justin shakes his head, "Y'know, I was reading this book
about lung cancer, and I really think you're a prime.…"

"Save it for someone who cares, bitch."

Justin squeezes Lance's shoulder as they head for the dancefloor.

*********

Lance stands, swaying his hips to the music as he takes one final
drag on his cigarette. He looks at his watch; it's five-thirty a.m.
Early still, he thinks as he necks back his third pill with the
remnants of his glass of champagne. Now that, he thinks to himself,
is pure class and he chuckles. It doesn't seem that long since
Justin left, after doing some elaborate mime-routine behind Chris'
back that involved pleading and phones and promises to call. All
with no words. Lance didn't know whether to stand in total shock or
to fall apart laughing.

Or maybe feel just the teeniest bit jealous of Justin.

He's thrilled for him, though, and for Chris. Chris deserves someone
who doesn't expect too much.

Lance always expects too much.

Getting rid of his drink, he starts to dance a little more. The
music's much more trancey and hard at this time of the night, and
it's the best kind of music to dance to given the situation and what
he's taken. Relentless, drugged-out tracks that accentuate how he's
feeling physically and mentally. He throws his head back and just
breathes in the music, lets the beat mingle with his own heartbeat
so he can't tell which is causing the blood to pump through his body.

He looks over to the bar and locks eyes with JC. Lance smiles, and
turns away so that JC gets a really good view of his ass and hips,
moving in little circles. He wants JC to want him, just as much as
Lance wants JC and he's not an idiot, he knows quite well what his
assets are.

Lance can feel that third pill taking hold of him, rush of chemicals
in his blood and serotonin pumping bountifully in his brain.

JC comes up behind him and taps him on the shoulder. Lance looks
back and grins.

"You looking for me?"

Lance turns to face him. "Oh baby, I'm always looking for you, you
know that."

JC laughs. "Well, I'm guessing your night ended a whole lot better
off than it started?"

Lance moves closer to JC, puts one hand over his ear and
whispers, "The night hasn't ended yet."

JC swallows. He looks around, avoiding Lance's gaze. "Justin's gone?"

"Yeah, he left with Chris." Lance's throat hurts from yelling over
the music and he walks over into the corner, where it's a little
quieter.

JC follows him. "About time, too."

"What?"

"It's about time he stopped being all puppy-dog eyes and actually
told Chris how he felt." JC rubs his hands on his pants and Lance's
head is starting to spin; so fucked-up, so very, very fucked-up.

"What makes you think he said anything? Maybe Chris just got tired
of waiting and took charge?" Lance reaches into his bag and pulls
out two sticks of gum. He offers one to JC and puts the other one in
his own mouth. It feels so good to chew, so satisfying. E tends to
make people smile so much their jaw locks and countless nights of
doing this have taught Lance it's better to give his jaw a workout
than not. That makes him smirk, because right now there's other
things than gum that Lance could quite happily give his jaw a
workout on.

"Thanks," JC says popping the gum into his mouth. "That's a good
point, Lance. You seem to know a lot about people not telling others
how they feel."

Lance feels his heart in his throat. In his current state, he isn't
sure if JC is being serious or just playing with him, but he can't
risk misreading him.

"Yeah," Lance murmurs, "maybe a bit too much."

He moves back onto the dancefloor and starts to lose himself in the
music again and this time when he feels JC move up behind him he
doesn't turn around, he just keeps dancing, head thrown back and
eyes closed. The track is pure trance and when it breaks down to
nothing but strings, Lance thinks he couldn't feel any higher. Then
he feels JC's fingers on him, on the back of his neck and he can't
control the shudder that escapes. He can feel his body reacting as
JC's thumbs massage the back of his neck and JC's hips press into
his. Lance reacts by rolling his hips, causing his ass to slide
against JC's groin and he can hear the moan from behind him.

JC drops one hand to Lance's hip and strokes the jutting hipbone as
his other hand holds Lance's neck in place and Lance can feel JC's
lips brush against the hair on the back of his neck.

"Oh fuck. You're so spectacular, Lance. Do you know how badly I want
you? How...long I've wanted to do this?"

Lance grins. "Mmmm. Maybe. But I'd like to hear it anyway."

Lance can feel JC's mouth doing amazing things to his neck and he's
so fucking hard he can't even think. He whimpers a little as JC
whispers in his ear, "Gonna do more than tell you, man. Gonna show
you. But not here, okay?"

He pulls back and Lance turns around to face him, arousal plainly
written on his face. Breath coming in short bursts and he's so light-
headed from JC and the drugs that he doesn't quite know what he's
doing.

JC trails an index finger up and down Lance's arm, "How about some
lines, huh? And then we'll be alone to...talk and stuff, too.
Bathroom?"

Lance just nods and follows JC. He looks back and sees Joey standing
behind the bar, watching them intently. Lance waves to Joey as the
two of them disappear into the corridor on their way to the bathroom.

The men's bathroom is overheated and filled with guys who Lance
knows aren't there to, god forbid, actually *use* the bathroom. JC
takes one look at the line and drags Lance out by the hand and
towards the larger unisex cubicle next door, locking the door after
them.

JC puts the toilet seat cover down and crouches next to it. He pulls
a compact out of his backpack along with his coke stash and a small
razor and sets about assembling thick lines on the compact mirror.

Lance clears his throat and raises one eyebrow.

"What?" JC looks up for a second and then returns to the task at
hand.

"A compact, JC?" Lance giggles. "And here was me thinking *I* was
the biggest fag around here."

JC grins. "It's just easier to cut 'em up on a mirror, that's all.
And I like everything to be nice and tidy, y'know? Now would you
like to quit your bitching and come here?"

Lance walks over and squats down next to JC. "Hurry up would ya? My
pants aren't that easy to squat in."

JC leans back and runs his eyes over Lance's pants, and whispers, "I
guess not." He reaches into his bag again and pulls out a short
stainless steel rod, which he passes to Lance, who leans over,
blocks one nostril and inhales the powder with the other. "Another
one," murmurs JC. "Go on, there's plenty." Lance's eyes are watering
and he can feel the bitter tang of the drug dripping down the back
of his throat, but he snorts the other line before rational thought
has time to creep in.

He watches JC do both his lines in quick succession and...oh yeah.
If he thought he was fucked before, well he doesn't even have a word
for what he feels like now. He stands up and leans against the wall
for support and closes his eyes, his tongue moving over his lips.

"Jesus."

JC's standing against the wall opposite him and he's just…*staring*.

Lance rubs his mouth. "What?"

"You." JC moves closer. "You're just so... fuckable. Most of the
time I just like to watch you, 'cause you're hard to get close to
y'know, but that's all part of it. It makes you off-limits and every
week I can see it, see how much people want you, or wanna be you. Or
both. But no-one can ever have you. You're untouchable, and that
just makes us all want you even more."

Lance shakes his head, "I'm not that special, JC. I'm just a tired,
jaded bitch who's older at 24 than a lot of people are at 30. I
drink too much and smoke too much and do too many drugs and I act
like a cunt to way too many people and... I'm just me." He
pauses. "And I'm not untouchable. I. Don't wanna be untouchable. Not
to you."

JC moves even closer so that Lance can feel his heat on his own
skin. JC's emanating so much fucking heat that Lance thinks it would
scorch him, sear his flesh if they touched.

JC inhales and exhales slowly, like what he has to say is really
hard for him to just come out with. "I've wanted you for so long,
Lance. Every week I watch you with Justin or Joey or whoever you're
with and wish that I could just walk up to you and tell you I want
you in my bed, that I want to take you home and fuck you senseless
all day."

Lance whimpers as he can feel his entire body reacting to that
thought. His stomach feels like it's turned to liquid and he doesn't
feel like his legs will hold him up for much longer.

JC sits down on the toilet seat and pulls Lance forward by the
waistband so he falls forward, straddling JC's thighs. He brushes
his lips over Lance's so quickly it's almost a whisper, a tease and
Lance can't believe it's taken so long for the two of them to get to
this point; months, years even, but he doesn't care about that right
now. When he presses his lips to JC's and kisses him, *really*
kisses him, JC's mouth opens for him and it's sweet and warm and it
feels so good that it makes everything else fall away. Everything
else becomes completely inconsequential except for them.

Lance threads his hands through JC's curls, pulling him closer and
the kiss becomes hungrier, driven by need and want. Lance almost
feels this desperation in him, like all of this could disappear any
minute now and he needs JC so badly, needs it all nownownow.

He starts to move his hips, rubbing against JC and he can feel JC's
hands gripping his hips, almost moving him. Such sweet friction
between the two of them and the realisation hits Lance that they're
not at home, they're in a club bathroom and if he keeps rolling his
hips against JC's like this, he'll come in his pants, no question
about it.

Not quite how he envisioned the night ending up.

He puts his hands on JC's shoulders for leverage and eases himself
up so he's standing on shaky legs. Leans back against the wall and
watches JC, mouth looking used and open, his breath coming in short
bursts. JC looks debauched, wanton and Lance thinks it's the hottest
thing he's ever seen.

Lance takes a few breaths before talking. "Sorry, man. I just...not
here, right?"

JC wipes his hands down the front of his pants. He looks up and
smiles at Lance, laughs as he shakes his head. "Not here, no. Still.
…" he exhales, "Damn, Lance."

Lance reaches out to JC and pulls him up. He leaves his hand there,
grasping JC's and rubbing his thumb in small circles over the
palm. "I think I'm going to go now." Lance looks up at JC. "Home.
Shower. Cigarette. In that order. Maybe a cold shower, too."

JC laughs, "Oh yeah, that might be wise." He kisses Lance on the
forehead. "I'll...I'll call you, okay?"

Lance nods. His brain's screaming at him, telling him he's an idiot
and what's he going to do, just let JC go? Years of dancing around
each other and now they're here and Lance doesn't know what the fuck
to do. He's not used to feeling helpless, not used to not knowing
what to do, and it scares the shit out of him.

"JC?"

"Yeah?" JC's about to open the door, but he steps away from it.

"So. Uh. When are you going to take me home with you?" Lance winces.
He was aiming for nonchalant, calm and mellow and instead he just
sounds really desperate. He makes a mental note to himself to shut
the fuck up, but unfortunately it's a little late for that.

JC moves closer and brushes his lips across Lance's, feather-soft
and so brief. Too brief.

"When you ask me to."

*********

Lance sometimes thinks that even though he despises his job, that
the benefits of it make up for that fact and the fact that he hates
everyone he works with.

His insane salary for one. Without it, he wouldn't be able to come
home from the club, hop in the shower and proceed to waste the day
away with the kick-ass view he has from his apartment. Beautiful
view of the ocean and room for Lance to kick back, pop open a
buttery chardonnay and just chill. Drugs still nicely buzzing around
in his system and this is the one time when he really feels totally
at peace.

Until the phone rings, that is.

He reaches over and grabs his cigarettes, a lighter and the phone
all at once. He lets it ring while he casually lights his cigarette
and clicks the talk button.

"Good morning, Justin."

"How did you know it was me?"

Lance laughs evilly. "Because I have your place bugged." He
pauses. "Actually, it's this amazing invention called Caller ID, see
what happens is.…"

"Yeah, yeah, button it, bitch. Are you smoking? Fuck, you're
hopeless. Well, you know how I've always wondered if Chris was a top
or a bottom? I don't have to wonder at all anymore."

"Yeah? Keep going.…"

"Hey, it's not polite to kiss and tell." Justin pauses. "So after
that much kissin' it's only right that I tell."

Lance laughs. "I'm guessing the answer is top." Lance swears that he
can tell Justin is glowing even over the phone and it's nice,
hearing him so happy. Although happy might not even cover the mood
that Justin's in right now. "He still there?"

"Yeah, he's just in the shower." Justin sounds like he almost can't
talk for the grinning.

"Wait a second…." Lance sits up in his recliner and takes a sip from
his drink, "There's a hot naked guy in your shower and you're
talking to me on the phone?"

Justin pauses and thinks. "Hmmm. You know you make a damn good
point, Lance, and on that note.…"

"You're all out of orange juice," A voice from behind Lance
interjects.

"What's that noise? Lance, you dirty bitch!"

Lance looks behind him and JC's standing there, towel clutched
around his waist and an empty juice carton in his hand. Seeing him
standing there, drops of water dotting his chest makes last night
come rushing back. How he'd asked JC back for a drink and as soon as
they were in the front door, how JC had pushed him up against the
doorframe and kissed him and whispered about how it was an amazing
place and he was going to fuck Lance in every room. But first he
remembered Lance saying something about a shower.…

Lance can feel himself getting hard all over again and he realises
he's still got Justin on the phone shrieking at him, "That sounded
like JC! Is it JC, Lance? Oh my god, you...you complete slut!"

"I have to go.…"

Not the worst night in history at all, he thinks as he hangs up,
gets out of his chair and moves forward to claim JC's mouth again.

Nowhere near the worst.

the end

Fic Repost

icebun — Mon, 14 Jul 2003 15:56:28 GMT

So embarrassed.

It's just come to my attention that the fic post I made for Movement In Still Life (otherwise known as the club!AU) last week is truncated and cuts off at a rather inopportune moment.

So I'm reposting in two parts. Those of you who read it with the end cut-off? I'm so sorry. Gah.

*********

Movement In Still Life

Nowadays, when people talk about him he always hears words
like `fabulous' and `classy' and `diva'. But growing up, Lance was a
nerd. A genuine pocket-protector wearing, president of the math
club, class-A nerd.

If that wasn't bad enough, he was a nerd who just happened to have
the added stigma of being gay. So yeah, those two things added
together made high school a whole heap of not-fun for Lance and he
promised himself that when he went to college he was either going to
be a) less of a geek or b) less gay.

He went for the former, because being as he really, really liked boy-
fucking, the second option was always going to be nearly impossible
to put into practice.

In his second year of college, he ended up rooming with a guy named
Tom. Tom was six foot something and dark and Lance supposed you
could call him attractive…in that way that, you know, supermodels
are and all. Lance developed possibly the worst crush on a straight
boy he'd had in all his life.

So when Tom was having a get together with a few friends for his
birthday and at the last minute invited Lance along, well, Lance
couldn't really say no. He'd never really been out clubbing before;
he'd been to bars and parties, but never to an actual club.

He was, of course, totally inappropriately dressed for it. Tom shook
his head at Lance and after a few moments spent rummaging through
his closet, threw a pair of leather pants and a sheer blue shirt at
him and turned his back, waiting for him to get changed. Lance was
amazed he actually managed to get the pants on and more amazed that
he actually looked good in them. He'd never worn anything like that
before, never worn anything that didn't hide his body. He wasn't
sure he had the confidence to pull it off, but he'd promised himself
he was going to try and be less geeky, and nothing said non-geeky
quite as effectively as clothes that sexy.

Tom leaned in, close enough that Lance could feel warm breath on his
skin, and told him he looked amazing. Each word made Lance shiver
and when Tom spiked Lance's hair up with gel and said that Lance
should never hide himself, because he was stunning, Lance figured
that maybe he'd got the straight part a little wrong.

When they arrived at the club, waiting in line, Lance felt exposed,
alone, like maybe this wasn't for him. Like he just didn't fit, that
maybe he should just forget about it and go home instead.

Lance realised he'd never quite fit anywhere, though, and like his
mama told him, a Bass does not give in. Ever.

Thank God he'd taken her advice.

Later, when Lance's senses were assaulted by lights and smoke and
music that pulsated like a strong heartbeat alongside his own, Tom
pressed a small white pill into Lance's hand. When Lance asked what
it was, his roommate told him it was ecstasy and that Lance would
thank him later.

He had.

Maybe it was stupid to trust someone whom he didn't really know.
Maybe it was incredibly stupid of him to take drugs, but Lance
didn't care. He was sick of not fitting, of being just not quite
right, like the proverbial square peg.

But after that night, nothing was the same again.

*He* wasn't the same again.

*********

Friday nights after work always mean one thing; forgetting about the
entirely uninteresting events of the week and getting ready to go
out. Lance likes to savour these moments, the preparation, so he
takes his time and makes sure everything is just how he wants it.

He has pretty much *just* gotten out of the shower when a shrill
noise cuts through his thoughts.

He groans. Only one person would fuck with his routine like this.

"Yo. Buzz me up, bitch."

Lance throws the towel he's been drying his hair with onto the
kitchen table and walks over to the door, sighing. He holds it open
for the inevitable onslaught that he knows will be appearing in
seconds.

Justin is a self-proclaimed 'retail queen' who Lance met six months
ago when he was representing Versace and went to take advantage of
the freebies they'd offered him. Justin's not that typical of most
people who work retail, in that he really does love his job and
Lance has to admit that when it comes to fashion, Justin knows what
he's doing. Lance wouldn't be surprised if Justin branched out and
inevitably became a designer himself one of these days.

In a way, Lance envies Justin. They're so close in age, but Justin's
not the one who lives for the weekends. He loves them of course, but
Justin also has a job where he can relive the weekend over and over
to the envious ears of adoring boys and girls alike. Lance is the
one who despises everyone he works for and with, and he gets more
respect at the fucking club than he gets from his work colleagues,
most of whom think he's far too young an ad exec to be garnering the
calibre of clients he has.

"Justin, why exactly are you here this early?" Lance shuts the door
after him. Justin's like a whirlwind, like there's no force on earth
that could stop his stampede through Lance's hallway.

"And that was just the welcome I was looking for, thanks Lance,"
Justin's frown melts into a smile, like he really can't stay
mad. "I'm doing well and how are you?"

Lance rolls his eyes, "You know what I mean, it's not even ten. I
wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours."

"So I'm early." Justin shrugs, "We talked about this, are you afraid
if I get here before midnight I'll see you while you're still a
pumpkin?"

Lance snorts. A pumpkin indeed. "Okay, J. Just *when* did we talk
about this?"

Justin tilts his head to the side like he always does when he's
thinking, "What? We talked...didn't we? Okay, well maybe I *meant*
to tell you I was gonna be early...."

Justin gestures for Lance to help him with one of the bags he has
and it's then that Lance notices Justin's weighed under by more
luggage than Imelda Marcos on a national tour. There's a huge coat
bag and another couple of carry bags as well as all the loose stuff
Justin's carrying.

"Jeez," Lance shakes his head as he helps Justin lay everything on
the kitchen table. "We're going for a night out, not three weeks
away!"

Justin merely shrugs his shoulders as he starts to rifle through one
of the carry bags. "What can I say? I like to be prepared."

Lance surveys the mess that Justin's arrival has created in his
normally uncluttered apartment. He mutters under his breath, "Yeah
well, to say you like being prepared is kind of like saying you like
to suck cock."

"Found it." Justin pulls a bottle of Veuve Clicquot out of the bag
he's been looking through; the glass of the bottle is covered in a
dewy sheen, still cold.

Lance grins, "Y'know, being prepared is one of your better
qualities."

Justin looks very pleased with himself and Lance has to admit that's
one of his most endearing traits, the fact that he's always pleased
when his friends are happy. Kinda adorable really, though Lance
would rather be tortured slowly than reveal he finds anything about
Justin 'adorable'. Or anyone else for that matter.

"You don't by chance have two glasses in there as well?" Lance asks
as he tries to look in one of Justin's bags.

Predictably, Justin is territorial about his things and he swats
Lance's hands away.

"What? You can't blame me, considering just how much shit you have,
can you?" Lance shrugs and walks over to get glasses.

"So what do you think of my pants?" Justin is wearing incredibly
tight pants. Red leather and so tight that Lance can't even fathom
how he got them on without someone else helping.

"Justin, it doesn't even look like you're wearing pants... it looks
like you're blushing."

Justin chews on a fingernail. "So you, uh, like them?"

Lance looks at them again, letting his gaze travel up and down
Justin. He has a great body, and he's tall and lean and the pants
make him look even taller. Well that and the huge fuck-off boots
that he's wearing.

Lance grins. "They're fucking fabulous," he says as he pops the cork
and pours the bubbly champagne into two flutes. It overflows and he
licks at his fingers, his warm skin sticky-sweet with alcohol.

Justin holds up another pair of pants. Gold. He has this expression
on his face that says 'Yeah. So the man.' and Lance just shakes his
head as he takes a good gulp from his drink. No way in hell is
Justin getting him into *gold* of all things.

Lance's glass is almost empty. The first never seems to last long,
so he reaches for the bottle, giving himself a top-up and points to
Justin's glass. "You need more?"

Justin is still fucking around with his bags, only half paying
attention as he pulls things out, wrinkling his nose as he tries to
find whatever he appears to be missing. He looks over at his
champagne, which is almost untouched, and drains it in one go,
holding his glass out towards Lance. "Yeah, thanks."

Lance fills the glass and rolls his eyes. "You know the normal
response would have been to just say no."

Justin laughs so hard, he almost spits out his drink. "The irony of
*you* talking to me about over-drinking. Oh, that's a good one,
Lance." He's still laughing minutes later.

Lance raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't argue. Justin's right after
all. Lance knows he likes to drink. A lot. In fact, if his parents
had any idea the amount of alcohol he drinks, let alone the
recreational drug use, they'd have him in rehab faster than he could
blink. He wouldn't be able to explain to them that it's perfectly
normal for someone his age to indulge in...whatever. People their
age seem to have permanently forgotten what it's like to be young.

Lance intends to prescribe to the James Dean motto: live hard, die
young and leave a good-looking corpse. He really has no need or
desire to be sixty years old with lung and liver cancer, and given
the amount he smokes and drinks, that's exactly what he'd be at that
age.

Geez, morbid much? Life and death type thoughts should be saved for
another time, like when he's not getting ready to go out.

Justin grabs his shoulder. "Hey! Earth to Lance. Have you organised
anything for tonight?"

Lance shakes his head. He never has to organise his drugs before he
goes out, because there's always someone he knows with more to
spare. One person in particular who he's sure he'll see tonight and
he really needs to not focus on things that feel too much like hope.
Either he sees him or he doesn't, no big.

Justin frowns. "Well, I've still got this. It's not really enough to
bother taking with us, though. Wanna just do it now?" Justin is
holding up a baggy half-full of white powder, which Lance presumes
is coke, 'cause that and the pills is all Justin ever does these
days. Speed's 'so over, Lance' and he doesn't like ketamine, either.
But Lance has to laugh because Justin's idea of not enough to bother
taking is not the same as the average, non drug-scavenger type
person's limits.

Not that that is a bad thing, of course.

"Why not." Lance shrugs.

Glass-topped tables make the best surface for doing lines off, in
Lance's quite considerable experience. Well, that and mirrors, but
the table in the living room is part of their weekly routine and
besides, the whole mirror thing is a tired cliché in Lance's
opinion.

Justin pours all the coke onto the glass and pulls a card out from
his wallet, before separating the mass of powder into six thick
lines.

Lance blinks. "Oh my god, they're huge."

Justin licks the remnants of coke off his credit card. "Sorry, dude.
I can make them smaller?"

Lance grabs a ten dollar bill from Justin's wallet and rolls it up.
He lowers his head and snorts one line, continuously without
breaking. "Yeah, well, so can I."

There's a sticky chemical burn down the back of Lance's throat and
he feels that wavy, rollercoaster-type feeling starting in his
stomach and moving through his body. Hair stands up on the back of
his neck and arms and it feels so fucking good that he can't believe
it's only been a week since he last did this; it feels like it's
been forever. He drains his glass and reclines back on the sofa.

Lance opens his eyes for just a second, and Justin moves, leans over
him and presses his lips to Lance's before moving back to sit
opposite him.

Lance is still adjusting to the cocaine racing through his
bloodstream like wildfire and when he speaks his words are long and
drawn-out, southern vowels heavily weighted, "Why did you do that?"

Justin grins and shrugs. "There doesn't always have to be a reason
why, Lance." He gets up from his seat and from where he's sitting;
Lance can see Justin open the fridge.

"You're almost out of orange juice, you know," Justin says as he
starts to rifle through another one of his bags. He comes back with
a CD and replaces the one Lance had been listening to with his own
and with a flick of his wrist turns the volume up way too loud.

"I was listening to that, Justin. The polite thing to do would be to
ask first."

Justin fake-yawns. "*Nobody* listens to French house anymore, Lance,
I was saving you from joining the ranks of the unfashionable."

"Oh well, thanks for saving me, what *would* I do without you?"
Lance snorts and gestures for Justin to show him the cover. Justin
throws it, the case landing in Lance's lap.

Lance laughs as he sees "House mix by Chris Kirkpatrick" emblazoned
on the cardboard in black marker. Figures. The boy is obsessed.

Lance can tell it's going to be a really long night, but then again
long nights are always the best.

*********

As they get out of the cab, Lance takes in Justin's entire outfit
for the first time. He stands there, shocked expression on his face
before he spits the words out.

"Uh, Justin...what are you wearing?"

Justin looks puzzled. "I...what? It's my new coat."

Justin's coat is big and brown and shaggy and Lance contemplates
asking Justin whether Han Solo knows that Justin's found his
wookie, "It's seventy fucking degrees, Justin. Why exactly are you
wearing that coat?"

There's no way that Justin would understand just how inappropriate
his wardrobe is for a night like this. A night of being pressed into
a tiny space like a bunch of over-medicated sardines. Lance is all
for looking fabulous, but there are limits.

Justin obviously doesn't get that. Lance thinks that there's
probably a lot that Justin doesn't *get*. Or more accurately, he
just doesn't care.

"Because it's new and it looks amazing, don't you think?"

Lance just rolls his eyes, "Well aside from the fact you look like a
fucking extra from Star Wars Episode 2: Attack of the Homos...?" He
laughs. "Yeah, alright Justin, the coat looks amazing."

Justin beams. "Thanks, Lance!"

"I was talking about the coat, J." Lance snorts.

Justin doesn't flinch, big, stupid grin still plastered on his face
as they walk to the head of the line. Past the faces, twisted and
ugly with envy and Lance can't even remember what that was like. To
have to stand in a line like that and pass the test of being cool
enough or pretty enough to get in the door.

As he walks past the long line of faceless nameless people, a
pretty, emaciated blonde girl who doesn't look like she's ever kept
a meal down, mutters under her breath about how much she loathes him
and Lance doesn't even have any idea who she is. It's a surreal
experience, being hated by people he doesn't even know. Almost as
surreal as the never-ending offers of drinks, drugs and sex that he
gets every week and the people who call him by name, despite the
fact he doesn't know their own.

As he passes the girl, he smirks and makes a mental note to make
sure she doesn't get in tonight, or ever. Not that he gives a fuck
either way what some random girl or guy thinks.

He knows he's worth a hundred of them.

Lance stops and watches Justin as he walks through the door, gliding
down the stairs. He's all long, elegant neck and head tilted back;
swan-like. No feathers, though. Well, the coat'll do.

Lance can recall what it was like to need to try that hard to be
seen, when he'd have to hide everything about himself just to be
noticed.

Lonnie's on the door as usual and he stands there like a statue,
determined, his face giving nothing away. But as Lance reaches him,
the granite crumbles a little and he grins and shakes Lance's hand.

"How's it going, man?" Lonnie reaches into his pocket and pulls out
a packet of Marlboro Lights and offers one to Lance, who can't
believe he forgot to grab cigarettes before he and J were out the
door.

Lance puts a hand on his shoulder as Lonnie lights his cigarette. He
inhales and then lets out a contented sigh. "Great. Now." He laughs.

Lonnie puts his hand up as the guy at the front of the queue tries
to move forward. "I told you to *wait*." He turns back to
Lance. "Sorry, man."

Lance shrugs. "No drama. So what's it like down there? Busy?"

"Pretty busy. You staying long?"

Lance shrugs. "See how I go."

Lonnie squeezes his shoulder. "Yeah, well, you have a good night,
hear?"

Lance reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stick of gum and pops
it into his mouth, grinning. "Always."

Lance can feel the thump-thump of the music entwining with his own
heartbeat and he slows his pace, walking down the stairs, one at a
time. He doesn't bother rushing to find Justin; he knows exactly
where he'll be. Justin is a favourite among the door bitches and
sure enough, when Lance reaches the bottom of the stairs, Justin's
there, leaning on the counter.

Lance detests both the girls working the door. The trouble with the
average door-bitch is that they think they're above *everybody*,
something Lance finds extremely laughable when all they do is take
people's money, gossip all night and rummage through coat pockets on
the off chance of finding drugs. And during the week they're either
retail assistants or hairdressers, so it makes him laugh to think
that these girls seem to think they're something special.

These two are no different. They're clones in Donna Karan, matching
haircuts and smears of red lipstick that make them look like
identical vampires. They're fawning over Justin and his overpriced,
inappropriate coat and flirting, giggling like schoolgirls.

Lance takes a drag on his cigarette and exhales, yawning. He hasn't
even gotten into the club and he's bored to death already.

Justin takes his coat off to check it in and a drag queen latches
onto it. She's one of the crew that's usually there on Friday
nights, the queens who see it as their duty to scare all the fucked-
up kids in the place. Too much partying for too long and their
brains would give a psychiatrist wet dreams.

"What's it made out of, hon?"

Justin tilts his head to the side and Lance almost laughs out loud.
In his opinion, giving attitude is all well and good, but Justin is
so *obvious*. Lance swears he taught him better than that.

"It's fake. I have no idea." Justin drawls.

"It feels like pussy!" The drag queen exclaims as she strokes it
with long, red talons.

Lance chuckles. "Babe, I'm surprised you know what pussy even feels
like."

Justin's still permanently ensconced with the enamoured door
bitches, so Lance air-kisses the still-giggling drag queen and
enters the club.

He needs a drink and right now, something strong. Something to burn
the back of his throat and take the edge off everything, so he heads
for the bar. He knows Joey'll fix him up. Joey *always* fixes him up.

He looks down for a second and almost walks headfirst into JC.

JC's one of those guys that Lance always dreamed of being like at
college, back when making money wasn't so important. The 'go to'
guy. The guy you always called when you needed to be hooked-up.

The guy who always guaranteed you a good time.

JC never stopped being that guy. All that's changed is that now he
hands out hook-ups in pill form. More often than not, JC will say
that the money's not important, because "it's all about the good
time, man." But JC *can* say that, because when his mom died he
inherited a sumptuous home, a BMW roadster and fuck knows how much
money in an interest-bearing bank account.

"Hey, Lance. Man, you look amazing."

And that's the pot calling the kettle hot. Whenever Lance first
arrives at the club, it takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the
haze of smoke, dry ice and dark lighting. Lance's eyes can never
adjust to JC. He's too beautiful and bright and he has legs up to
his elbows, wrapped in leather. Lance looks away and stares at
nothing in particular as his eyes crinkle, like it hurts to look. He
takes one last drag on his cigarette and exhales, stubbing it out
with the toe of his boot.

"JC."

"So you out for a big night?"

Lance shrugs and spits out his gum, replacing it with a new stick.
He's always conscious of never chewing on old gum for too long; he
doesn't need granite-jaw in the morning.

"It's a pretty decent crowd, don't you think?"

Lance snorts and purses his lips. "I'll never fully understand why
people feel the need to be out *this* early." He hates being out
early, much prefers to take his time at home, but Justin's newest
crush may be playing tonight and he demanded they be there by one
a.m. Lance thought it was just easier to agree with him this time
and *not* get his ear talked off about what a bitch he is and how
Justin never gets to do what *he* wants. Lance swears sometimes that
dealing with Justin is like babysitting.

JC's voice is shrill over the Stevie Wonder bootleg that's playing.
Oh well, at least that'll please Justin. Must be Chris. No-one else
plays funky house; they're all about the trance and prog here.

"Hey, it takes all sorts. You, uh...alone?"

Lance shakes his head and JC's shoulders slump a little.

"With Justin?"

JC's looking at Lance from under his eyelashes and Lance can't help
but notice how hopeful he sounds. Normally that kind of thing would
irritate Lance, but JC's different, so he smiles a little and nods
as he watches JC straighten up. He's one of those people who are so
open, so honest that Lance can almost see his brain ticking over,
his thought processes playing out in those wide blue eyes.

"You started already?"

Lance shakes his head. "I'm not sure how long I'm gonna stay, to be
perfectly honest. I only really came down to see if anybody was on."
Dragged kicking and screaming by Ms Timberlake, he wants to say.

JC rubs his hands on his pants and Lance wants to feel that buttery
leather under his own fingers, to see how smooth it is. He loves the
feel of leather and he tries to convince himself that's all there is
to it. Nothing to do with wanting to feel for himself just how
muscled JC's thighs are.

JC's voice cuts through his thoughts. "There's always somebody on."

Lance shrugs. "Yeah...well, like I said, I might not stay."

JC moves in a little closer. "You want anything to motivate you?"

Lance shrugs, "Sure, why not?"

JC holds out a small box and Lance's stomach does an excited little
flip. He hasn't done ketamine for a long time, not since the night
he did lines of it, thinking it was coke, and got stuck on the
stairwell not being able to work out how his legs moved. He does a
couple of hits and his eyes tear up as he feels the burn in the back
of his throat and yeah, this is just what he wanted.

Lance isn't an addict; he doesn't need drugs. He just really fucking
loves doing them.

"You need a cigarette?" JC pulls out a crumpled pack and offers it
to Lance.

Lance pulls one out and puts it between his lips as JC lights it for
him. He inhales and rubs at his face with his other hand. K always
makes Lance itchy.

JC puts his hand on Lance's shoulder, "Make sure you don't leave
without seeing me, okay?"

"JC, I might not be able to find you."

Lance has to strain to hear as JC says a little too quietly, "You
can always find me, Lance."

Lance tries not to think too hard on those words because they're
loaded with meaning and he can't deal with that right now, so he
nods and turns to walk away, or tries to. It's a little difficult
when JC's gripping his shoulder, stopping him from moving, that
intense gaze fixed on him.

JC sounds concerned when he finally speaks, those blue eyes fixed
intently on him and Lance has to look away a little. JC is fucking
intense and it's almost too much.

"Lance, you sure you're okay? Did something happen?"

Lance exhales and flicks his cigarette away. "No, JC, nothing
happened…." He shakes him off and murmurs as he starts to walk
away, "does anything ever?"

*********

When Lance finally manages to push his way through the press of
bodies he sees Justin standing next to the booth. Chris is on again
tonight, which explains the numbers and also explains where Justin
is. Chris has just come out of a mix and when he moves away from the
deck, one hand clutching an almost-empty bottle of Stella, Justin
leans in closer to shout something over the noise.

Lance only catches the last few words as he moves closer.

"...fucking rocks, man."

Lance can see Chris fumble in his pockets for something. One hand
moves a cigarette up to his mouth and his eyes light up when Justin
flicks his own lighter into life, quickly removed from his own
pocket.

There's a small starburst of orange flame as Chris lights his
cigarette. Lance looks between the two; Justin's face lit up by a
smile and Chris' illuminated by the small ember of light his glowing
cigarette creates.

"It's 'Do It Now' by 'Dubtribe', ya like?" Chris doesn't raise his
voice but Lance can make out every word.

"Fuck yeah."

"You got it?" Chris takes a long draw on his cigarette and exhales
out of the side of his mouth. The smoke quickly assimilates into the
already smoky room.

"Yeah."

Lance snorts. He wonders if Chris even believes one word that Justin
says; Lance knows Justin and he also knows that the only vinyl
Justin has in his apartment is a six hundred dollar pair of boot-cut
pants.

"Hey, Lance."

Lance nods his head in greeting.

"You know Chris, right?"

Justin seems to have a pathological need to introduce Lance to
everybody, despite the fact that Lance was the reason Chris and
Justin originally met. Chris' eyes glaze over a little as he takes
another draw on his cigarette. Justin's talking again, offering yet
another uneducated opinion on the track Chris has put on. Lance
watches Chris finish off his beer. He wishes he'd stolen another
cigarette from JC earlier because he doesn't really want to ask
Justin if he has any.

Justin's trying too hard as usual and Chris looks like he's barely
paying attention. He's looking over Justin's shoulder and Lance
catches a glimpse of a spark he'd almost forgotten.

Justin doesn't know about Lance and Chris, and Lance can't think of
even one reason to change that.

Chris was there at the club that first night, when Lance took his
first pill. Lance remembers warm lips on his and the way Chris'
fingers felt on his skin, the way his touch made Lance feel
energised, alive. Seeing Chris right now, Lance can almost feel it.
Chris makes him remember so vividly, that Lance can almost forget
every other night since.

Almost.

"You need another drink, Chris?"

Justin has a nasty habit of speaking too loudly, of maybe hoping
that he'll be heard and Lance's ears ring a little with the
harshness of the sound, despite the fact that there's at least a
couple of feet separating them.

"Sure, man."

Lance can't work out why he's not drinking yet, and then he
remembers JC distracted him. He decides to rectify that situation as
soon as possible.

Justin bustles past him; the press of one hand offers a squeeze of
Lance's shoulder which he only ignores. Justin disappears through
the crowd like a school of fish being swallowed by a whale.

When Lance looks back to the booth Chris is looking straight at him,
a hollow look. Lance knows there's nothing there anymore so it
doesn't occur to him to worry whether or not Justin'll find out what
they once had.

Lance looks away, his eyes drawn back to the dancefloor. There's a
purple filter over the lights and the room is a contrast of shadow
covered in waves of bruised-purple. When Lance looks back, Chris is
reaching for another record from his box and doesn't notice him.

Lance turns, following Justin's path through the crowd and doesn't
even once look back.

*********

Joey Fatone has to be without a doubt, the biggest flirt Lance has
ever met in his life, and that's saying a lot considering the source
and all. The fact that Joey's straight doesn't seem to deter him
from flirting with Lance or any number of guys in a night. But it's
always the girls he goes home with, and Lance can't help but think
how much easier things would be if things were different.

"Hey, beautiful." Joey leans over the bar and grins as he gives
Lance a hug.

Lance smiles back at him. Joey's smile is infectious and lights up
any room he walks into. He's just that warm.

He also knows exactly what drink Lance wants in any given situation
and as Joey pours him a glass of Moet, Lance thinks that could be
one of his *most* endearing character traits.

"It's a little early for you, isn't it? Not that I'm complaining
because now the night has truly begun."

Lance laughs. "Joey, you're such a sweet talker. When you gonna give
all of this up and make a decent man of me?"

"Hey, if it was at all possible to make you a decent man I would
have done it years ago."

"Tease," Lance mock-pouts and sips at his champagne. It's sweet and
he can feel it warming his blood, can feel the heat rising in his
cheeks.

Joey wrinkles his brow like he's trying to recall the punchline of a
joke. "If I did make you a decent man, I'd also be Doctor
Frankenstein." He starts an elaborate mime of cutting and sewing up
body parts, throwing switches and electrocuting himself before
yelling: "My God! It's alive!" and bowing to Lance's slow,
unenthusiastic applause.

Lance shakes his head, "Dork." Anyone else doing that sort of shit
and he'd be bitching them out and proclaiming them a loser, but
Joey's dorkishness just makes him even more loveable in Lance's mind.

"Can we get some service over here?"

Joey doesn't even look, just leans forward on the counter and
yells, "Maria! Get your ass out here and serve, would ya?" He offers
Lance a smoke. "So how's your week been? Managed to keep outta
trouble for a change?"

Lance inhales as Joey lights the cigarette. "Let's just say I'm sure
as hell glad that it's Friday night."

"Aren't you always?"

"You know me so well."

"JC's here," Joey says as he fixes him and Lance a shot of bourbon.

Lance raises his shotglass to Joey in salute and downs it, "Yeah, I
ran into him when I first got here…and why am I now wondering why
you felt the need to mention that?"

Joey shrugs, but Lance isn't an idiot. Joey's been trying this
matchmaker routine for a long time now. Casually mentioning JC's
name whenever they talk and then changing the subject when Lance
asks why Joey's so interested. Normally he'd just let Joey do it,
but he's got god knows how much coke and K and champagne fuelling
his blood and that's always a dire mix. It tends to make him even
more determined than usual.

He raises an eyebrow and just stares at Joey, waiting.

Joey groans, "Stop it, Lance. You know I can't keep anything from
you, it's like Chinese water torture or some shit."

"Joey, I didn't say a word." Lance's eyes are still fixed on Joey's
and Joey turns away like he can't even keep it up for a matter of
seconds.

"I know, I know. I'm weak, I have no willpower. Do you think less of
me now as a person?"

Lance snorts. "Of course not… and I also haven't forgotten you still
haven't answered my question."

"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying, right?" Joey smiles and
pours Lance another glass of champagne.

"No," Lance smirks, "But I can for not answering." He takes a large
drink and resumes staring at Joey.

Joey is exasperated and Lance almost feels sorry for him. Almost,
but not quite. In fact, not at all quite.

"Okay, okay. He wanted me to keep an eye out for you; like I said to
him it ain't that hard to find Lance, he's been here every night for…
how long now?

"Every night? Please. I do have a life, you know."

Joey nods. "Yeah, that's what I was talking about."

"So JC was looking for me? I don't think I owe him any money."

"Hey, that's the first thing I asked about too." Joey looks intently
at Lance. Joey doesn't really do drugs, he says he's past it and he
has a bad enough time motivating himself when all he has to worry
about is women and booze, anyway. Occasionally he gets a
little 'concerned father' about it, but most of the time, Lance
thinks he enjoys watching people having a good time.

"He laughed and said something about never making you pay, so I
guess it wasn't that." Joey pauses and busies himself fixing the guy
next to Lance a drink as he casually asks, "So, uh...you here by
yourself?"

Lance snorts, "Did JC want you to ask me that as well?" Considering
it's the same question *he* asked and all, he wants to add.

Joey's reply is a little *too* indignant to be honest. "No." Joey
finishes up his sale and refills Lance's glass, being very careful
not to look Lance in the face. Joey's like JC; he wears all his
emotions so vividly on his face. He's the kind of person who
couldn't lie to save himself. Lance decides it's really quite
refreshing to see that much honesty on display.

"Don't worry, Yenta." Lance smirks. "I came with Justin. Nobody
else."

Joey laughs and that feels warmer to Lance than the bubbles in his
bloodstream.

"Cool, I haven't seen him yet, which is unusual."

"He'll be up at the booth, in his usual spot," Lance says, rolling
his eyes. "Oh! How much do I owe you for…?" Lance reaches into his
wallet to pull out some money, but Joey presses one hand on top of
his.

"Uh-uh, don't try that shit with me. Here."

Joey pours a fresh glass and pushes it toward Lance.

Lance kisses Joey's cheek, "Y'know, Joey, if I didn't think it would
ruin your rep; I'd say you were an angel."

Joey turns his head and breathes warm air on Lance's cheek. "One
day, Lance, if you play your cards right I'd like to devote hours
and hours to showing you just how unlike an angel I can be."

Promises, promises, thinks Lance. "Enough with the flirting, Joe.
You're making it harder for me to find a guy because nobody can
compare with you."

One more kiss and Joey grabs the back of Lance's neck and pulls him
closer, "Maybe you don't need to keep looking, honey."

Lance grins and walks away. He thinks to himself that JC could do
far, far worse than Joey Fatone as an emissary for him.

*********

Continued in Part Two.

New Fic.

icebun — Tue, 08 Jul 2003 19:16:43 GMT

The story previously referred to as the Club!AU is finally finished. Wow.

edit: Due to truncation issues, I've had to split the fic into two parts, which can be found here and here.

icebun — Sun, 22 Jun 2003 14:03:49 GMT

Happy Birthday Ames!!!!

I wasn't able to get your pressie to you in time, but in lieu of that, I drabbled:

Joey was straight.

Everyone knew this. It was like knowing that the stars come out at night and that JC adored Harry Potter.

Joey knew that there was no doubt in his mind, (or anyone else's) that he was 100% straight-up heterosexual.

He wondered then, why he was addicted to Lance's smell. Why he wanted to press up against him after he'd showered and brush his lips softly over Lance's neck.

Joey was straight, but that didn't stop him wanting to push Lance against the arm of his sofa and kiss him for hours.

It didn't stop Joey from loving him.

Pop/BTVS Crossover Maaaadness

icebun — Wed, 18 Jun 2003 03:08:37 GMT

Okay, so I've been working on this for a while through patches of fairly scary writer's block and it's finally finished.

A while back, nyn posted her outstanding Lance/Angel ficlets, here, here, here, here, and here. They are amazing pieces and they got stuck in my brain. I got to thinking about how Lance could interact with someone else in the Buffyverse who'd been in the same position, someone who also allowed himself to be fed from. And how addictive that can be.

So I talked to nyn and she was kind enough to allow me to take the history she'd created and put my own spin on it. I hope it does her justice.

For nyn and thebeamiestface, with thanks to Pablo for the beta.

Wounds may heal, but scars never fade. They stay there on the surface as a constant reminder of the pain and discomfort. Most people hate their scars, but Lance doesn't.

Lance loves his scars, loves that he has a reminder that he can see and touch anytime he wants to. All he has to do is touch his fingers to the symmetrical one on his neck, and he can almost feel teeth, no, fangs piercing his flesh. Sense memory is a beautiful thing indeed and Lance adores the fact that all he has to do is touch one of these things and his whole body’s humming, he’s hard and craving. Craving someone to drink from him, needing it as if it were the most expensive drug in the world.

But his scars aren’t just a reminder; they’re an invitation. Too faint for most people to notice, but a vampire can spot bite-marks a mile off.

He’s heard everyone talking about the neckline of his shirts, how he may as well not be wearing one at all. And yeah, he’s dressing that way because it looks good, but most importantly it’s a way to tease. To show off the part of his body he most wants to. Lance isn’t an idiot: he can spot a vampire anywhere and there are always plenty of them to be found in LA. It makes preening for the camera and schmoozing on the red carpet much more fun. A tilt of the head, exposing his neck as his tongue swipes slowly over his upper lip. It’s more than just an invitation.

It’s a dare.

************************

A few years ago, Lance wasn’t even aware there was such a thing as a demon bar and if he had been he certainly wouldn’t have envisioned himself frequenting one, sitting drinking his bourbon and coke as a bunch of vampires check out his neck. But he’s learned now that one can never say never; after all he couldn’t have ever envisioned himself being addicted to vampire bites, either.

He laughs aloud at that, because it sounds so fucking insane he can’t believe it.

As he looks up, Lance catches the eye of the only other human in the room, save the bartender. Tall guy, way tall, taller than Justin, even. Lance nods to him and the guy nods in return, slight smile curling up the corners of his mouth.

Lance watches as the guy lifts his drink to his mouth. The muscles in his throat contracting and swallowing as he puts the drink down turning towards Lance again. It’s then that Lance notices the large scar above his eye.

"Is there something you wanted?"

Lance notices a trace of accent. Iowa, probably. He had a friend in high school who was born there and he’s positive he's right .

"I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to stare." He extends his hand and the stranger takes it. "I’m Lance."

"Riley. Riley Finn." He says as he looks down, avoiding Lance’s eyes. "And I know who you are, Lance. I have sisters." He looks up again and smiles.

Lance grins. Riley is rather adorable. Pretty, with a killer smile. He looks like so many of the guys Lance went to school with, healthy, athletic, but there’s also something underneath it that Lance can’t put his finger on. Something... darker. Something hinted at by the scarring on his pretty face.

"Well, Riley Finn. Why don’t you come a bit closer," Lance pats the seat next to him: "And if I'm not being too rude, can I ask how you got that scar? I have a feeling that’s an interesting story."

Riley swallows and moves next to Lance, avoiding his eyes. "I have a lot of scars," he murmurs.

Lance tips his head down so Riley’s forced to look at him. Pulls the collar of his shirt down a little. "We all do."

Riley exhales slowly and there’s so much unguarded emotion on his open, honest face. Lance feels like he might go blind looking into eyes that emanate pain, understanding and recognition all wrapped in steel-blue.

"I..." Riley touches his fingertips to Lance’s scar and Lance feels like he’s on fire. Electricity coursing through his body and he can feel his blood reacting to the touch, pulsing through him, making him so hard he can barely think.

Riley takes his fingers away and pulls up the sleeve of his sweater. His arm is covered in bite-scars from elbow to wrist and Lance wants to touch them. Wants to be somewhere private so he can learn each beautiful reminder with his tongue.

"I just... When it started, I just wanted to feel something. Anything. Then I..."

"You couldn’t stop."

"I didn’t want to."

He pauses. "Lance, I... My car’s outside."

Lance runs his thumb over Riley’s lower lip. "Good."

**************************

Lance feels like he’s drowning and it’s so fucking intoxicating that he couldn’t care less.

Every time Riley’s mouth brushes over his neck, it’s like Lance can feel fangs slicing into his flesh all over again, like he can feel that white-hot pain. So close to pleasure that his body doesn’t recognise the difference. If he thought that it felt good when he did this to himself, that was nothing compared to how it feels having someone else touching him there. Connecting with him.

He’s thrilled they managed to make it back to Riley’s room without touching, because everything feels so desperate right now, so urgent. If they had touched, the two of them would’ve ended up in the backseat of Riley’s car, rubbing against each other like fucking teenagers. It’d be over way too quickly and Lance wants more than that.

Lance pulls Riley towards the bed. He leans in, mouth on his ear, "Take off your shirt."

Riley quickly pulls off his sweater and Lance doesn’t waste any time. Pushes him back on the bed and straddles his hips as he traces Riley’s collarbone with his index finger.

"So perfect, Riley. So many beautiful scars."

He pins Riley’s wrists over his head, and licks the scar at his jugular, traces the outline with his tongue.

Riley’s skin is marked in so many places, but his skin’s so fucking smooth, slick with perspiration. He tastes so. Fucking. Good. Lance understands now just what Angel meant when he told him how addicted he was to Lance’s skin, because he wants to spend days just touching Riley, licking and sucking and marking him.

Riley’s whimpering now, tilting his hips upward and Lance meets him halfway, his hips moving in circles, rubbing against him slow and nasty. He moves back slightly, popping open the buttons on Riley’s jeans before he reaches inside. Traces the outline of Riley’s cock with his index finger before pulling jeans and boxers down. Riley’s cock is big like the rest of him and Lance rubs the slick head with his thumb before gripping it in a loose fist.

"Do you ever touch them when you jerk off, Riley? Rub at those lovely marks as you fuck your own hand?"

"Yes." Riley hisses as he thrusts his hips up, tries to get some friction from Lance’s hand and it’s so fucking hot watching someone so strong just giving it all up with no hesitation.

"Of course you do." Lance whispers, "You and me? We’re the same. We both know what it feels like and nobody else could *ever* understand how good it feels, could they, Riley?"

"No. Only you." Riley rubs Lance’s lower lip with his thumb and Lance licks at it, flicking his tongue over the tip before sucking it into his mouth.

Riley chuckles. "Slut."

"You don’t know the half of it." Lance smirks as he moves down Riley’s body, tracing down his torso with his tongue. He laps at that huge expanse of salty skin. So much of it, masses and masses and it’s all his to taste.

Riley spreads his legs a little wider and that’s when Lance sees it, one perfectly symmetrical outline on his inner thigh. Raised, white. So close to his cock and Lance can visualise how it must’ve felt, how fucking much it must’ve hurt. But when he runs his tongue over it, Riley looks anything but hurt. The expression on the man’s face shows nothing but pure pleasure and Lance can feel that sweet roll of lust in his belly, can feel himself growing even harder.

Lance scrapes his teeth over the mark and then sucks on it, lips touching the edges of the scar perfectly as he fists Riley’s cock again. Slow, long strokes and Lance can hear Riley’s moans are getting louder.

He rubs the spot he’s been sucking at with his thumb, not altogether gently. Lance wants to make sure Riley doesn’t lose the sensation from the scar, wants to keep that current running through him. Lance sucks the head of Riley’s cock into his mouth before bearing down, lips sliding down the length of it and his tongue working the underside. He can feel Riley’s hands tangle in his hair and pull him back and forward, fucking his mouth and Riley doesn’t last long before he’s coming, gasping for air.

Long, long moments before Lance stops swallowing. He rubs at his mouth and his lips feel swollen, hot. Used.

And Christ he loves it, loves being used. Nothing compares to the sensation of someone taking him, using his body and getting such satisfaction from it. And it doesn’t matter to him whether it’s his mouth being fucked, or his blood being drained, just so long as it’s Lance giving himself up, being someone’s toy to play with because it feels so fucking good to be needed.

On his own terms though, always on his own terms.

Lance rubs at his cock with the heel of his hand; he’s still wearing his boxers and he can feel the material damp against his cock. He starts to remove them before he’s flipped onto his back and Riley’s pulling them off, slightly tearing the cotton.

Lance laughs. "Impatient, hmmm? Didn’t your mama ever teach you it’s not polite to ruin a man’s underwear?"

Riley has large hands and it feels like they’re everywhere as he kisses Lance, sucking his tongue, licking every inch of his mouth. "My mama taught me to be patient and wait my turn. Which I have done, but now? It really is my turn, Lance."

Riley licks his fingers and trails them up and down Lance’s cock, slowly. Riley’s fingers are like the rest of him, patient. Riley touches Lance like there's no rush, just loads of time to do whatever he wants. Lance isn’t so patient, the want's too great, and he’s thrusting his hips upward, urgently, trying to gain some kind of friction. Desperate to get Riley to touch him harder, faster.

"C’mon Riley. Fucking do it. Touch me."

Lance knows he sounds desperate and he doesn’t care. He’s passed the line where self-control’s still within his grasp and Riley nods like he understands, makes a loose fist around Lance’s cock and leans in. Lance can feel Riley’s breath on him, on his neck,

"Want you to do my hand, Lance… wanna see you do it."

"Yeah..." Lance starts to move his hips fluidly, making sure his cock slides in and out of Riley’s fist, feeling the incredible friction. Lance knows he’s not going to last long, He can still feel Riley’s mouth on his neck, can feel the tug of lips against his scar, can feel the line connecting that bite and his cock, like it’s some invisible thread. Pulling him. It’s pure fucking lust and heat and Lance’s hips are moving faster now, more desperate. He’s panting, one hand grasping Riley's shoulder for leverage as he rubs absently at his chest with the other. Lance thumbs one nipple, then the next and moans, wantonly ,at the sensation as he thrusts back and forth.

He can feel his orgasm building, knows it won’t be much longer and he can see from the look on Riley’s face, the darkening of his eyes and the way he’s chewing on his bottom lip, that he knows it too.

Lance is breathing heavily, sweat beading on his upper lip and he swipes his tongue across it. Hips still pistoning back and forth and Riley lowers his head, lowers his mouth and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Lance’s stomach. Intense sensation taking over Lance's whole body . He thrusts his hips up one more time and he’s coming, he can feel it through every inch of his body, every nerve ending sensitised.

Lance feels so sorry for those people who hate their scars. His may have been created by dead people, but he couldn't feel more alive.

the end

Trickyfish drabble

icebun — Tue, 15 Apr 2003 17:53:25 GMT

I should be working, but instead I drabble...

Lance is like tequila to Chris. He’s dangerous and truly bad for him and Chris feels like everything’s out of control and he can’t find his grip.

Chris hates the way Lance makes his head spin, it’s like a fucking addiction. He swears off him weekly, like the bad habit he is, but he craves it, craves Lance as if he were a real junkie. Before too long, Chris finds himself with Lance pressed up against him, whispering dirty come-ons in his ear as Chris licks at skin that’s bitter and salty and makes him drunker than Cuervo ever could.

Done. Dusted.

icebun — Tue, 25 Mar 2003 01:55:41 GMT

It's done. I can't believe it's done.

This fic took me *months* in the end and I can safely say it was a challenge to get it completed.

::breathes huge sigh of relief::

TITLE: Such Sweet Bliss
AUTHOR: Ice(bun)
EMAIL: ice001nz@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: List archives OK, anyone else please ask.
CLASSIFICATION: LanceBass/Orlando Bloom (Lance/JC implied)/
SUMMARY: Boredom can lead to interesting developments.
RATING: NC-17
FEEDBACK: It makes me a happy gal.
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Not real. I do not know any of the members of *NSYNC nor the cast of LOTR, nor do I know what they like to get up to. Unfortunately.
NOTES: This is for the Previously On Nifty challenge. Better late than never, huh? Thanks to Paul for whipping it into shape. To halo, Kim, Isi and Val for audiencing and to everyone else who was so encouraging when I wanted to bin this
WARNING: Frequent drug use

*****************************

Lance yawns and splashes cold water on his face. He feels flushed and tired and the cool moisture on his skin seems to revitalise him.

He's bored and as much as he loves parties, he just can't' be bothered tonight. If it weren't for Joey's after-show high, he thinks he'd be quite happy just going back to the hotel. Same people, same tired questions and he can only hear "So which one are you? The space guy, right? So I heard that's not going so well…" so many times before he goes insane and hits something or someone.

The bathroom seems like the only place he can escape to and be left alone.

"So fucking predictable, isn't it?"

Apparently he spoke too soon. He flinches slightly, startled by the voice behind him and it's somehow familiar, but not.

English.

"Sorry, mate, I didn't mean to scare you. I shouldn't have snuck up on you, like that."

Lance turns around and shakes his head. "Nah, it's cool. I guess I wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here." As soon as he locks eyes with the guy, he recognises him instantly, realises why he sounds so familiar.

Flick of a lighter and the recognisable smell of pot mixed with tobacco, "Want some?"

Lance nods and reaches for it, takes a long hit. "Thanks." He laughs "You know, I never understand you British. I mean, mixing good pot with tobacco, man? That's kinda insane." He takes another hit and passes it back, hand extended. "I'm Lance, by the way."

"I know who you are." The actor takes the joint from him and shakes Lance's hand.

"I'm…"

Lance nods, interrupting. "Yeah, I know who you are, too. Orlando, right? Orlando Bloom."

Orli nods and jumps up onto the vanity next to Lance, extends his leg, before dragging on the joint. "Well… for one thing, Lance, the reason why we mix it with tobacco… which incidentally, is called a spliff… is because it just tastes better. Especially with the crap you Americans put in your ganja, yuck." Orlando makes a face, and hands the joint back to Lance, who shakes his head at him, chuckling. "And, the other thing…?"

Lance can tell that Orlando's just on the other side of nicely stoned. His words are starting to slur a bit and he can't quite string his sentences together as well as he should be able to. Lance knows this, because he's headed the same way. He can feel the pot circulating through his bloodstream, making everything slower, like he's walking through quicksand. Everything's starting to feel so much more vivid: the lights glare down on them, and Lance feels himself get distracted by the drip-drip-drip of the cold-water faucet next to him. Lance's fingers feel strange to him, like they don't belong, and he can't believe he's this high from a few hits off a joint.

"Must be out of practice." He murmurs out loud.

Orlando recovers his train of thought. "The other thing, I wanted to say was…" He lays his fingers on Lance's bare arm and Orlando's fingers must be magic or something, because Lance can feel electrical currents from them, travelling through his body.

Making him hard.

Lance swallows, tries to focus on anything else but the feel of those fingers. But nothing will make him move away from them, either.

Orlando is still grasping for words. "Was. You can call me Orli. Orlando's the name my mum gave me and it's a little embarrassing. Especially here."

Lance blinks. "Why especially here?" Lance feels like he could listen to Orli speak for hours, his voice is so fucking husky and Lance can feel those English vowels sliding over him like butter melting over warm bread.

"Well, you guys all think someone with a name like Orlando must be a ponce, right?"

"A… ponce?"

"Yeah. It's just so fucking upper class English. I get most American actors I meet jumping to conclusions and assuming I'm queer because I have a poncy name and I speak the way I do."

Lance moves in closer and takes the joint again, lazily taking a hit, "I happen to like your voice. And your name. It's old-fashioned, yeah, but I think it's cool." He leans forward so he can almost feel Orli's breath on his face, "Not that there'd be anything wrong if you were. Queer."

Orli tilts his head, looking at Lance with a really intense expression on his face as he takes one last hit, running the joint under cold water and flushing it down the toilet opposite.

"Fuck." Lance breathes out. "What is *in* that shit, dude? I'm really fuckin' stoned…"

Orli laughs. "I think it had some kinda animal tranquilliser in it."

Lance swallows. Hard. "You mean like K?"

"Yeah", Orli whispers, "Just like K. You…uh, feel like being even more wasted?" He reaches into his pocket and shows Lance the bump-box he's holding briefly, before stuffing it back into his pocket.

Lance nods. It's been awhile since he got really fucked-up and tonight he feels like he's definitely in the right mood for it. Lance feels like maybe he deserves to have some fun.

Lance also thinks the more he looks at Orlando, taking in that exquisite beauty, that ethereal fucking perfection, the easier it will be to forget about the last few months.

About how he feels like a failure.

About the hurt in JC's eyes when he found Freddy in his bed.

Lance would give anything to take it back, give anything to not have seen JC so fucking wounded. He feels like maybe if he could distract himself with drugs and pretty boys and just not thinking too much, maybe then he could stop hating himself for a while.

Orlando jumps off the bench and grabs Lance's hand. Lance can feel how smooth Orli's skin is, its warmth and how it's sending little tremors through him as Orli pulls him towards the bathroom stalls.

Manley, Joey's Rent buddy walks in and nods to Lance. "Uh… Joey's looking for you, I think. He was asking where you were."

"Thanks, dude." Lance throws over his shoulder at Manley before he disappears into the cubicle.

*******************************

The powder stings a little at first, it always does, but that's all part of it and Lance closes his eyes and tilts his head back, almost enjoying that abrasive, chemical burn and taste. He knows that it'll subside eventually, leaving behind something much better.

Like his momma always said, you gotta take the bad with the good.

Lance kinda doubts she was talking about recreational drug use, though.

Another hit from the bumpbox and Lance is leaning against the wall for support, adjusting to the fact that his body's not quite as stable as it was before, like the floor's made of water and he's halfway between floating and sinking.

Orlando's grabbing the bumpbox from him, doing his own hit before stuffing it back into his pocket. One hand on Lance's arm and the other rubbing the underneath of his nose.

"I think that might be enough for now, mate. It's good stuff. Maybe a little *too* good."

"Of course it's good. You're a fucking movie star, like anyone's going to sell Orlando Bloom shitty drugs." Lance snorts and Orlando's shaking his head, grinning.

"Good point. You know, I never even tried this shit until I got here. Trust a bunch of fucking Americans to decide that horse tranquilliser's a good way to get high."

"You complainin'?" Lance is feeling so light now, like he's turned into smoke and he reaches out to Orli, draws a line with his fingertips across Orli's chin, touching Orli's bottom lip with his fingertips.

Orlando shakes his head and utters a broken, "No."

His voice sounds soft and breathy, slightly rough and Lance almost wishes Orlando wasn't as aesthetically beautiful, 'cause he'd almost love to close his eyes and just take in that beautiful English voice, tainted in only the best ways by the drugs and... something else. Arousal, maybe? "No, I… I'm not complaining at all." He looks straight into Lance's gaze, holds it and smiles, "I have nothing but thanks for this place right now."

Lance grins, widely, and trails his fingers up and down Orli's arm. It feels so warm and the skin's so smooth that it's making Lance's fingers tingle. Orli's mouth is slightly open and he's starting to pant, staring at Lance in anticipation and Lance spins him around, so that Orli's facing the wall.

Orlando's neck tastes as good as Lance imagined it would. Smooth, creamy, porcelain-type skin, slick with perspiration and Lance feels like he could do this for hours, just take a patch of Orli's skin and learn it with his tongue.

Lance places his hands on Orlando's hips and turns him back around to face him, as Orli gets his hands in Lance's hair and pulls him in. He licks at Lance's lips, nibbling on them until Lance pushes him back, presses him back against the wall and pushes his tongue inside Orli's mouth.

It's one of the best kisses Lance has had in a long time. Orlando kisses just like JC, like they have hours to do just that and every inch of Lance's mouth has to be christened with his tongue. And the sooner Lance gets that image of JC out of his head, the better. He doesn't want to get maudlin right now; he just wants to get laid.

Lance pushes one thigh between Orlando's and just… rubs. Licks the shell of Orli's ear and grins at the moans that are coming from him.

"You like that?" Lance practically purrs in his ear and he can feel the shiver that travels through Orli's body. "You're so beautiful, Orlando. So fucking perfect." Lance murmurs, "Way too good to be fuckin' in a bathroom stall at some pretentious Broadway party."

"Yeah, I hate all that bullshit." Orlando murmurs as Lance kisses him again, "I don't know why I came here tonight, all that ever happens is I get picked up by some wanker whose main aim is another notch on the bedpost." He pauses. "What did you have in mind, then?"

Lance runs his tongue along Orli's lower lip. "Well, I was thinking that I'd like to take you back to my hotel, get you on the bed, spread you wide open and fuck you until you can't remember your own name. That's for starters. See, I want more from you than just *one* notch on my bedpost, baby."

Orlando just swallows. Hard.

"I'd also love to see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock, see what that dirty mouth of yours can really do. That work for you?" Lance traces the outline of Orlando's mouth with one finger, soft full lips that can only promise good things for him

Orlando just nods, open-mouthed. Lance moves away from him, straightening his clothes up before unlocking the cubicle door.

*******************************

Joey is sitting on a cheap imitation-leather sofa talking to a redheaded girl Lance doesn't recognise. She's kinda draped all over him and giggles too loudly every time he makes a joke. Lance thinks, as he walks towards them that he can't work out what's tackier, the fake of the sofa or the fake of the girl. He also thinks that perhaps she may want to revisit her flirting technique, because even Joey doesn't go for someone *that* obvious.

Lance can see Joey's thumb rubbing against her thigh and Lance thinks that he maybe needs to revisit that last thought. Perhaps it's been a particularly dry spell for Joey. He giggles to himself, then clears his throat as he reaches the sofa.

"Lance!" Joey jumps up and hugs him, hand mussing up his hair, "I thought maybe you'd already gone."

"Nope. Still here… well, going soon, but…"

Joey interrupts him with a raised hand. "Katie, honey, do you think you could go get me and my friend here a drink?" He pushes a wadful of bills into her hand and waves her away. Keep the change."

Lance rolls his eyes. Joey has no sense of financial awareness, whatsoever.

The redhead gets to her feet and flicks her eyes over Lance's body. She really is completely obvious. She tilts her head, coquettishly and when she speaks her voice is high-pitched and tinkles, kinda like a bell. A really fucking annoying bell. "Hi Lance, I'm Katie."

"Mmm. Of course you are." These girls are always Katie or Kristen or name that Lance can't quite recall right now and Lance smirks at her as she flounces away, offended. Lance sinks into the sofa and leans his head on Joey's shoulder. Reaches into his pocket and pulls out his mangled packet of Marlboro Lights.

Joey reaches over and lights his cigarette for him. "That was really kinda cunty, Lance. Are you high?" He turns Lance's face towards him, glaring into his eyes.

Lance struggles to focus and sighs, exhaling smoke at the same time. "Yeah." He giggles and leans in closer, whispering in Joey's ear, "Fuck, yeah."

Joey laughs, slightly bitterly. "I shoulda guessed. You're even more of a bitch when you're wasted."

Lance flips him off.

"So who gave it to you?"

Lance nods in Orlando's direction. Orli's hugging his friends goodbye and sauntering over to where Lance is sitting. Great fucking walk: dirty hips swinging away, almost like a woman and Lance is wetting his lips, rubbing sweat-dampened palms on his jeans. He can't wait to get those hips moving under him.

"See him? Coming towards us?" Lance shifts in his seat. "I'll be leaving with him soon. Thanks for the drink and all, Joe, but… I won't be needing it."

Joey rolls his eyes. "And here's me thinking you might've actually learned something after Freddy. Lance, the last thing you need is another starfucker around and…" Joey stops himself short as Orlando almost reaches them. "Oh."

Lance raises an eyebrow and grins. "Yes, Joe?"

Joey coughs, "That's uh… that's Orlando Bloom. Uh… forget it."

Lance knows Joey's always got his back and it means more to him than he can ever say. For now, he settles for kissing him on the forehead and telling him he loves him as Orlando gestures that he's leaving and Lance follows.

*******************************

Lance's skin feels like it's alive. Tingly, sensitised and he's starting to think that it's not the drugs that are making him feel this way. It's like the only thing that exists aside from him and his skin is Orlando and his mouth.

It hasn't been that long since Lance last had sex, but he'd forgotten how heady the first time with a new lover can be. How exciting it is to take the time to get to learn the other person's body and for that person to learn yours. Not everyone is into that of course, someone as sensual as Orlando is a rare find. Especially in the circles that Lance tends to run in.

Lance is so pleased they didn't just fuck in the bathroom at the party.

He moans as Orlando laps at one nipple, bathing it with entire strokes of his tongue, nibbling at it before moving onto the other one.

"You like that?" That voice does remarkable things to Lance's body. It's like it's directly connected to his cock and every time Orli speaks in those broken, husky tones, Lance can feel his cock pulse.

"Like would kinda be an understatement." Lance pulls Orli up gently, hands in his hair. "You're incredible."

Orli smiles and it's so fucking intoxicating that Lance can't help but smile back.

"Thanks. You know, Lance, you're pretty amazing yourself." Orli licks down Lance's body, slow wet line until he reaches his abs, then traces the lines of them with his tongue. "I just love your body. So fucking perfect." Orli starts to tongue Lance's belly button and Lance can't help it, can't control it, he thrusts his hips upwards and moans again.

Orli rubs his thumb across Lance's lower lip. Lance opens his mouth and starts to lick the soft pad of Orli's thumb before going down on it, taking the whole thing in, before pulling back so only the tip is between his lips, worrying it with his teeth.

"Tease."

Lance *is* a tease. He knows this. He flashes back to memories of JC pushing him against the nearest wall, tongue flicking over the whorls of his ear, whispering, "Slut. God, you're such a fucking tease, Lance."

And Lance needs to not see things like that behind his eyelids, no matter how much he wants to. He needs to burn them out, tear those memories out by the roots. He laughs, bitterly and runs his tongue slowly in between Orli's fingers.

Orli hisses and snatches his hand back, unfastening Lance's jeans, not breaking eye contact as he draws them down, so slowly that Lance can feel the denim brushing against his skin, inch by inch.

Lance knows how good he looks naked now. Knows how every line, every muscle must look to someone else's eye and fuck it, he's worked damn hard for it, so he stretches, arms above his head, his body taut with anticipation.

He can almost feel his skin hum as he feels Orli's lips ghost over his hipbone and he sighs breathlessly. Lance can feel Orli's tongue flickering across the sharp line, just teasing him, just a hint of wetness and heat and now he isn't quite sure who's the bigger tease out of the two of them.

Especially when Orli's mouth is poised, just inches from Lance's cock and he's doing nothing more than breathing over the head of it. And this is just fucking cruel.

Lance thrusts his hips upward and tries to meet Orli and his mouth halfway, but Orli avoids him. He takes advantage of Lance's distraction to flip him over onto his stomach and Lance has one second to react before he's being spread open and then there's heat and wet and too much fucking sensation to handle as he feels Orli's tongue moving inside him.

So fucking good and if Lance felt like his skin was itching and tingling before, well now it feels like every inch is on fire. So much that it's almost unbearable and Lance is pushing back now; urging Orli on, making him fuck him deeper. All Lance can feel is Orli's hands gripping his ass, his tongue moving so fucking perfectly inside him, his warm, warm breath and Lance's own cock rubbing against the bedsheets.

Pleasure so intense it's fucking *burning* and he needs more. He feels like he can't do more than breathe, but he manages to choke out: "Fuck me."

Orli whispers against Lance's back. "You know, I don't usually top."

Lance looks back over his shoulder and smirks at Orlando, "You do now. Don't tell me you gave that pretty little mouth a workout just for the hell of it, 'cause we both know that's not true."

Orlando rolls him over so they're facing again and Lance pulls him in for a kiss. Licks Orli's lips and pushes in and there's nothing gentle about this kiss, it's all want and need and desperation and Orli's nodding, murmuring "God. Yes. Want you." under his breath as he pulls his shirt over his head.

Lance decides that sex-talk sounds so much hotter in an English accent.

Orlando is built kinda like Justin. Long, lean, but packed with more muscle than Lance would've imagined to look at him. At first glance he's incredibly delicate: pretty face, fine features, elegant hands, but he's much stronger than he looks.

Skin like porcelain, though. Perfect, unmarred and so very pale and Lance has to taste it. Runs his tongue over Orli's collarbone, lapping at the beads of sweat forming on his skin, before settling on one pale pink nipple and licking gently, watching as it peaks and hardens before moving on to the other one.

"You taste so good." Lance murmurs as he laps at Orli's skin, "So. Fucking. Perfect."

Orli's head is thrown back slightly, mouth open, eyes closed. He looks so utterly wanton and Lance can just imagine how good it'll feel to see his face contorted with pleasure as Lance fucks him, see that mouth wrapped around him. Lance's cock twitches at the thought of it, but right now, he knows what he needs.

Lance needs to be filled and fucked and feel Orlando's slim hips working as his cock slams into him, deeper, harder. Lance is reaching into his bag, rifling through for what he needs and pressing a foil-wrapped square into Orlando's hand as well as the iridescent tube he's been carrying around with him.

It's not like he doesn't get lucky a lot, but yeah; this has been an evening of exceptionally good luck.

Orlando places both items on the bed as he gets on his feet and rapidly gets rid of shoes, socks and pants, shucking them along with his boxers. He moves back to the bed and squeezes lube into his hand, rubbing his fingers together so they're slippery and slick, all the time looking down at Lance.

Lance licks his lips at the sight of Orlando's cock and he's murmuring, "Hurry up", under his breath, opening his legs and pulling Orli in closer, kissing him as Lance guides Orli's hand to his ass.

Lance's breathing is audible, laboured as he feels one of Orli's fingers rubbing at him, just teasing and pushing slowly inside. As he feels that finger moving slowly inside him, Lance gasps and moves his hips, moving with Orli now, trying to fuck himself. It feels so fucking good and as Orli adds another finger, Lance realises it's what he's wanted for so long now. He can see the look of intense concentration on Orlando's face as he fucks Lance like this, fingers buried inside him.

Lance wonders why it's taken so long for him to admit to himself that he needed this.

Maybe because he's still too busy obsessing over the last guy who fucked him?

But that doesn't matter right now, all that matters is what he's got here, in front of him. Absolutely drop-fucking-dead gorgeous actor about to fuck him. Lance almost yells as he feels Orli's fingers brush against that sweet, sweet spot inside him and his whole body writhes on Orlando's hand, forcing his fingers in deeper.

"God, you're so fucking sexy." Orli breathes out as Lance tears the foil package open, rolling the condom onto Orli's cock, which is beautiful and perfect and Lance can't wait until later so he can give Orli the most mind-melting blowjob he's ever had. Nice image to sustain Lance for a few minutes as Orli's squeezing more lube into his hand, rubbing it on his cock and lining himself up, easing slowly inside.

It's been so long since Lance let anyone fuck him and it takes him a while to adjust. He knows how tight he must feel to Orli and how hot it must be, and… oh *fuck*. Amazing how one minute he's feeling uncomfortable almost to the point of pain and within seconds everything changes. Orli starts to move inside him, slowly at first but when Lance starts to move with him, hips working sinuously with his thrusting, Orli starts moving harder, deeper. Relentless strokes that Lance can feel through his whole body, in every fucking nerve ending. Lance can feel Orli's thrusts getting faster, his breathing speeding up and he knows that neither of them are going to last much longer.

Lance snakes a hand between them, so that he's touching his own cock, thumb rubbing pre-come over the head. He forms a fist and starts to fuck his own hand on every downstroke that Orli makes.

Lance looks up into his eyes and there's such intense concentration there mixed with lust and Lance can feel himself start to lose control, can feel himself slipping. Orli pulls almost all the way out before slamming in, deep, one last time and Lance is coming: moaning and panting and hips, fucking *writhing* with it. Orli continues to fuck him until he's whimpering and moaning out Lance's name over and over like some kind of fucking mantra before he collapses next to him on the bed.

Lance hasn't been this well-fucked in ages and he doesn't feel like he's going to be able to move *ever*. Let alone in the next hour, and that's something that's going to make fucking this incredible guy a little difficult.

Oh well, bad with the good.

Interesting how no matter what, it always comes down to that.

the end

Drabble

icebun — Wed, 12 Mar 2003 22:25:09 GMT

I'm bored and so I drabble. This is, as usual, all halo's fault :)

icicle; drums; leer

Justin loves winter.

He remembers long cold mornings sitting and drumming impatient fingers on the formica tabletop, before his momma would allow him to go out and play with Trace in the biting cold.

The cold is calculating, punishing, unforgiving.

Like Lance.

Justin thinks that’s why he makes Lance angry at him. He does it on purpose, so he can leer at the cool beauty, the perfect bitterness that is Lance when he’s hurt.

If he kissed Lance it’d be like being that child again, trying to melt icicles on his tongue.

They always looked so pretty when they melted.

New Fic

icebun — Sun, 02 Feb 2003 20:17:13 GMT

Okay, I wrote Freddy. WTF? I mean, it's still essentially a Basez fic, but yeah... don't know where this came from.

TITLE: Substitute
AUTHOR: Ice(bun)
EMAIL: ice001nz@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: List archives OK, anyone else please ask.
CLASSIFICATION: Lance/Freddy, Lance/JC.
SUMMARY: Sometimes it's easier to lie.
RATING: R
FEEDBACK: It makes me a happy gal.
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Not real. I do not know any of the members of *NSYNC nor do I know what they like to get up to. Unfortunately.
NOTES: Thanks to Paul for the beta and halo for general encouragement.

****************************************

When Freddy was a child, he had this obsession with taking care of things. He'd be walking home from school and see yet another lost puppy: sad and helpless, in need of protection. Alone. He could never resist those big eyes looking up at him. It made him feel needed. Wanted. Like looking after them gave him a purpose.

He fell in love with every single one of them instantly.

So he'd take them home. Freddy's mom would shake her head and tell him she wasn't going to help because she had enough on her plate already. She explained to him that if he was going to keep bringing animals home, he'd have to be responsible for them. His mom would always convince him to do the right thing by placing an ad in the Lost and Found, so that their owners would know where to come and pick them up. She told him that Freddy needed to try and reunite them with their real families, because deep down, that's what all animals wanted. To be with the ones they love.

So he'd pour everything into looking after the pets, every spare moment he had he'd devote to them. Putting out food and water so they never wanted for anything. Petting them, playing with them and making sure they knew they were loved and cared for and special.

But it only ever lasted a brief time.

Eventually, the 'real' owners would always come and claim their pets. Freddy could only watch as the dog he'd worked so hard to look after, the companion he'd loved and cherished, forgot in mere seconds that he'd ever existed for them.

****************************************

Lance isn't fragile and helpless, but he is alone and when Lance wraps his legs around Freddy's hips and looks up at him with cool luminescent eyes, Freddy thinks he could do this forever. It's like he has a use again, and it's probably co-dependent and not very healthy, but Freddy can't help but feel that he now has a place in the world.

But he forgets that just because something is lost, it doesn't mean it's lost forever.

Except to him.

****************************************

Freddy knows that he's lost Lance the moment he meets JC and he sees the way JC trails his fingers up and down Lance's arm. Lance shivers from the touch and sighs audibly, like he can't hold it in. Freddy can see Lance then touching the places JC has covered with his own fingertips and it's like Lance has been marked, branded somehow. Stamped with 'Property of JC Chasez'.

Freddy's not blind, although he tries to be. He sees the way Lance's eyes are bright and his mouth smilingly crinkles when JC is around. He realises that Lance has never smiled at him like that and it makes him feel hollow and raw and so fucking empty inside.

But he still stays, regardless.

When he sees the way JC and Lance stare at each other; two beautiful, savage creatures that need to consume, he isn't quite sure he could leave, even if he wanted to.

****************************************

Freddy thinks he should be sick of lying to himself, but he's not a child anymore and if he doesn't want to admit that he's lost the thing he loved, that's his prerogative. He doesn't want to think of himself as the back-up plan, the one who Lance was wasting time with until his real love came back to him.

Freddy wants to be more than somebody's waste of time. So he pretends.

He pretends not to notice the way that Lance is looking at JC: hungry, needy, like he'd die if they didn't touch in the next five seconds. Lance looks at JC like he's the most beautiful thing in the whole world and he loves him so much that it hurts.

It's the way Freddy always wanted Lance to look at him, even though he never did. If Lance looked at him with even half that amount of want Freddy would be happy, he'd feel needed again.

He pretends not to notice the way JC looks at Lance too, eyes moving over Lance's body, like he's mapping out every inch of it and he doesn't care who sees.

Lance disappears and when he comes back over an hour later, he whispers in Freddy's ear: "Sorry for leavin' and all, I just *had* to go out for a smoke."

And Freddy pretends again. Pretends he can't smell after-shave that isn't his or Lance's, rather than the lingering odour of nicotine. That he can't see the reddening marks on Lance's neck and the flush on his cheeks. Or the way JC's arm is curled around Lance's waist from behind, like he owns him: a gesture of complete possessiveness.

JC's body language is just screaming 'mine', but JC probably doesn't even know he's doing it. He doesn't have to show that he owns Lance because everybody can see it clear as day. But Freddy can't think about that and he can't bring himself to *really* look at either of them. He knows if he saw the expression that's reflected on both of their faces, he wouldn't be able to lie to himself anymore.

But when he does look, unable to resist, Lance isn't looking at him anyway.

When JC is in the room, Freddy fades out into soft focus, like Lance doesn't even know he exists. Like he doesn't need him anymore. Freddy knows deep down he's not the one that Lance really wants and he never was.

It cuts deeper than he ever thought possible to admit to himself that he's not that person, the one who can take care of Lance, the one that Lance loves. It burns too much to admit that he was merely a substitute for the real thing.

Lance may not be as fragile and helpless as a lost puppy but that doesn't mean he doesn't need to be rescued.

Freddy just wishes for once in his life that *he* was the one who had done the rescuing and that maybe Lance could have been the one to break the cycle.

The one that wouldn't leave him.

the end

icebun — Thu, 23 Jan 2003 23:36:13 GMT

God, it feels like I've been working on this for months. Maybe 'cause I have been ::snerk::

It's porn people, plain and simple. You will find no intricate plot here *g*

TITLE: Soft Rain
AUTHOR: Ice(bun)
EMAIL: ice001nz@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: List archives OK, anyone else please ask.
CLASSIFICATION: Lance/JC
SUMMARY: Need. Want. Desperation.
RATING: NC-17
FEEDBACK: It makes me a happy gal.
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Not real. I do not know any of the members of *NSYNC nor do I know what they like to get up to. Unfortunately.
NOTES: Thanks to Paul and Kim for the most excellent beta action. This is for halo, because it’s her fault for telling me that Lance and champagne must equal porn. Also for Susie, because she’s as rabid a Bass Hag as I am and she enables my obsession constantly.

*****************************

JC always closes his eyes when he sings, head thrown back and so immersed in the music that nothing, no-one can touch him. Lance thinks he could stare at JC for hours when he’s like that; it’s addictive to watch him, passion written all over his face.

Lance knows *he* can make JC look like that too, and it’s a heady feeling: like good champagne or a really good show. He knows what it takes to get JC to look debauched, his head thrown back, mouth wide open and his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

It’s just so damn easy. All it takes is for Lance to grab him straight after the show and push him against a wall, backstage. One lick to his collarbone and JC’s whimpering, thrusting his hips forward and trying to gain some sort of friction. Lance’ll hold back, avoiding contact for just a moment before pushing forward, holding JC’s ass and grinding oh so slowly against him, a shiver passing through Lance’s body as he feels hardness and heat.

Lance licks up the long slender column of JC’s neck and presses his mouth to JC’s ear, lips just resting there as he whispers.

“So fucking sexy, JC. God, you looked amazing out there.”

“Hunh?”

Lance smiles. It’s so easy to make JC so beautifully incoherent. When Lance slides his hand in between their bodies, thumb sliding down the length of JC’s cock through his pants, JC throws his head back even further and moans slow and hungry. Lance can feel himself get harder, because there’s nothing hotter than JC looking and sounding so wanton. Nothing at all.

“Shit. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Lance leans in closer; so close he can actually see the sweat beading on JC’s upper lip, which he has to lick before continuing. “You looked fucking incredible tonight, JC. So hot. You made me want to just push you down on the stage and fuck you all night. Slow. Hard. Just how you like it.”

“Lance… god, you… fuck…”

They always get interrupted before they can get any further. Usually it’s Justin, and Lance always jumps away from JC as if he’s been burned. Doesn’t want any of the others to know that this is what they get up to, because then it wouldn’t be their secret anymore and this, the threat of being discovered, makes it so much sweeter.

Limo ride to the after-party and Lance is so fucking hard he can’t think. He almost wishes they’d gone straight back to the hotel, but there’s something to be said about postponing the inevitable, making it last.

JC looks like he’s faring worse. Lance catches JC glancing over every few minutes and he focuses his gaze on JC. Lance spreads his legs slightly, his hand rubbing slowly up and down between his thighs as he licks his upper lip.

He hears JC’s sharp intake of breath and he looks down, laughing silently. When he looks up again, JC is engaged in conversation with Chris, laughing just a bit louder than usual and trying desperately not to look at Lance.

It’s just all so fucking obvious.

JC’s lack of control, his inability to cope with being in the same place as Lance, makes Lance even more aroused. As he closes his eyes he sees images of the two of them, naked, slick and writhing, tattooed behind his eyelids.

It’s a long fucking ride to the party.

*****************************

JC wonders what people would say if they knew Lance the way he does. Lance has the reputation for being the sensible one, the nice one, the one whom most mothers would feel comfortable with their daughters dating.

But that’s the public Lance.

The private Lance is so very different and it’s this Lance that drives JC completely fucking insane.

Like right now. A room full of people and JC can see Lance walking towards him. Okay, walking’s probably not the best way to describe the way Lance is moving. It’s more like Lance is a predator stalking his next meal, which happens to be JC.

Nothing new there.

JC finds himself backed into the corner and Lance is so close JC can feel warm breath on his face. He never quite knows what Lance is going to do, and that’s all part of the appeal. That uncertainty.

Green eyes that seem much darker than they did before, and Lance doesn’t break eye contact for one second as he sips slowly from the champagne flute he’s holding. JC exhales audibly as Lance swallows, tongue slowly swiping across his upper lip.

“Mmm. Do you know what I love about champagne, JC?”

JC just shakes his head. He hates how Lance always reduces him to utter incoherence, but there’s something about that deep, southern voice that seems to mesmerise him.

JC ’s breath hitches as Lance dips two fingers into the flute, drenching them with liquid, and lifts the fingers to his own mouth, slowly licking the champagne from them. JC’s cheeks flush with heat and as he swallows, his tongue feels thick in his mouth. Arousal is beginning to stir in the pit of his stomach, that sweet roll of lust and need.

God, Lance is a fucking tease. His head’s thrown back as he sucks on his fingers and he's moaning softly, mouth open wantonly. JC wishes fervently that they weren’t at a party surrounded by people, because all he wants to do right now is push Lance against the wall. Hold him there and see if he can’t wipe that smirk from his face, grind against him until he comes, screaming JC’s name.

And that image really isn’t helping him with the arousal issue, either.

JC whimpers as Lance takes another sip: tongue moving across his upper lip and he rubs his lips together, slowly.

Lance moves in closer, so there’s barely any space separating the two of them. Low, deep voice in JC’s ear and JC can feel Lance’s mouth on his earlobe, hint of teeth grazing it.

“I think it’s the taste I love the most.” Long lick up the side of his neck and JC’s groaning. “Sweet and sticky on my tongue, just like you. I wonder how you’d taste if I poured this on you, which part of you would taste the sweetest. I sure would like to find out, C.”

Lance is rocking his hips forward now and JC can feel how *hard* Lance is. JC feels like he’s losing control, so much heat and his head’s starting to spin, beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip. It’s just all too much. Lance’s mouth is warm and wet and his voice… oh God, his voice is driving him crazy.

Lance dips a finger into the glass again, but this time he rubs the alcohol slowly over JC’s bottom lip and smiles as JC removes the drops of liquid with his tongue. “So fucking gorgeous. If you could only see yourself.” Lance traces the outline of JC’s mouth with his thumb, “Such a pretty mouth. So fuckable.”

JC knows that too much more and he’s going to completely lose control. He puts his hand on Lance’s chest and pushes him back gently so he has some room to breathe. “God, Lance. Can we just get the fuck out of here, please?”

Lance just laughs and starts to walk away. JC stands there, watching the way Lance’s hips sway and thinking how great his ass looks in those pants, until Lance turns around and shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Well? What're ya waiting for, C? An invitation?”

“Bitch,” JC mutters under his breath as they leave the party.

*****************************

The ride back to the hotel with Chris may have seemed never-ending, but the elevator ride feels even longer. Lance turns and presses himself against JC’s side, making sure JC can feel his cock pressing into him and inching his fingers under the hem of JC’s shirt. Pad of his thumb rubbing JC’s back in small circles, and Lance resists the temptation to dip lower, under the waistband of JC’s pants.

The waiting makes it so much better.

When they finally make it to their floor, Chris is still hyper, like he always is after a show. He wants to sit up and drink more tequila, watch some porn, but when JC yawns so convincingly and Lance mutters some excuse about working on budgets, Chris drops the subject. He grumbles that he really needs to find some friends who have lives, and why didn’t he stay at the party with Joey, anyhow.

As soon as Chris disappears into his own room, Lance’s hands are on JC: one in his pocket reaching for the keycard and opening the door, the other gripping his waistband, pulling JC inside.

No chance for JC to react as Lance pushes him against the inside of the door, and then the two of them are kissing. Lance feels like he’s falling, drowning as JC sucks noisily on his tongue. Lance gets one knee in between JC’s thighs and just… rubs. So much fucking heat that he feels light-headed and then he's pulling away slightly, thumb rubbing JC’s swollen lower lip.

JC gets his hands under the hem and starts to pull his shirt up over his belly, but Lance puts out a hand to stop him.

“Wait.” Lance licks his lips and walks over to the fridge, pulling a bottle of champagne out of the cooler. He uncorks it and moves over to the sofa, places the bottle on the table and leans back, spreading his legs.

“Come here.” Crooking a finger, Lance manages to get some kind of control, some sense of calm back into his voice, but he knows it won’t last long. Not with the memory of that strip of skin he saw before he stopped JC stripping. Smooth, salty skin he can touch and taste.

What seems like miles and miles of it and it’s all his to touch and taste.

*****************************

JC feels like he’s walking through molasses. Everything is thick, constricted, like he’s travelling in slow motion and his limbs aren’t capable of moving of their own accord. It’s always the same when he’s with Lance, arousal making him slow, languid.

He finally reaches the sofa and Lance pulls JC forward into his lap.

JC straddles him, thighs on either side of Lance’s hips, and he pushes his own hips forward, trying to gain some friction. He can feel Lance’s cock through his pants, as well as the hard muscle of Lance’s thighs. People forget just how strong Lance is, mistake him for merely young and pretty, but JC knows. Knows Lance’s body like he knows his own, and JC is well aware of its power.

Lance reaches for the bottle of champagne, which JC thinks looks so cold against Lance’s fingers that it might burn. It doesn’t, but he's confused as to what Lance’s game is this time.

That’s nothing new, though.

Lance lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a gulp. One finger under JC’s chin pulls him forward and now Lance is covering JC’s mouth with his own. JC opens his mouth, inhaling deeply through his nose and Lance pushes his tongue in, guiding the cool, fizzy liquid into JC’s mouth.

The combination of the alcohol mixed with Lance’s kisses is intoxicating. Lance kisses like it’s not just preamble, that the kisses are enough and don’t have to lead to anything else. It makes JC’s stomach roll over with sweet want. He’s dizzy. Light-headed.

Lance’s slides his tongue over JC’s with long, slow strokes, taking the time to glide over teeth and hard palate. Tastes so sweet, and JC feels like he could come from this alone. He remembers the first night he and Lance got together, how they made out on JC’s sofa like they were a couple of desperate virgins, both coming in their jeans from doing nothing more than kissing and rubbing against each other.

But that was a long time ago, and as much as he thinks he could do nothing but kiss Lance all night, he wants to do a whole lot more than that.

JC sinks to the floor. Runs his hands up over tightly muscled thighs encased in leather, until he reaches Lance’s waistband. He starts to unfasten Lance’s trousers with shaky fingers, but Lance bats JC’s hands away and pulls him up so he’s once again standing.

JC tilts his head, confused, and a little hurt, too, but Lance is pulling him in, hands on his ass, grinding their crotches together. Whispering in JC’s ear, “Hey, relax, JC. I just don’t want to come from you blowin’ me tonight, is all.”

Lance’s voice is always amazing; deep and rich, but when he’s aroused there’s something more, something JC only gets to hear when they’re alone. A harsh, broken tone.

Lance sounds like sex.

But then again, when isn’t Lance all about sex? There’s something about the way Lance moves, the way he talks, that suggests he is *always* ready to fuck.

Lance pulls JC’s shirt over his head, and JC's knees turn to liquid as Lance starts to tongue his collarbone, hot and wet and rough. JC ’s so glad he’s known Lance for as long as he has, there’s something amazing about sleeping with someone who knows *exactly* what to do to JC to get him worked up.

Lance pulls him across the room toward the bed and stands there, flicking his tongue over JC’s neck as he traces the outline of JC’s cock with his fingers. “Off.” Lance hisses, the fingers of his other hand inching under JC’s waistband and JC almost shudders as he can feel them on his skin. Cool, elegant fingers.

“Off…what? What do we say, Lance?”

Lance grins and turns him around, so JC is facing the bed and Lance is directly behind him. JC can feel Lance’s cock pressing against him, against his ass, and he rocks back. Lance snakes one arm around JC and pulls him back even further, so they’re so close that JC can feel Lance’s breath on his neck. Warm breath causing the hairs on his arms to prickle.

Lance’s lips rest on his neck again and when he speaks, JC feels the vibrations through his whole body and he shivers. “What do we say? Hmmm. Well, I guess *I* could say please. Or thank you.” Lance pauses, clucking his tongue like he’s thinking. “Or how about: I want you to take off your clothes now. Why? Because I want to fuck you so hard you can’t see straight. That work for you, JC?” Lance trails his tongue down JC’s neck: slow, lascivious and JC can’t hold back the long, drawn-out moan that escapes from him and he sounds easy, desperate. Like one of the girls from Joey’s substantial porn collection. “Yeah… oh yeah, Lance…”

Lance starts in on his zipper, and JC pushes Lance away, then toes his shoes off and pulls pants and boxers and socks off so he’s quickly naked. Lance laughs, “I don’t *ever* think I’ve seen you move so fast, JC.”

Smug. Fucking. Bitch.

JC grabs Lance by the hair and pushes his tongue into Lance’s mouth, tasting him with long, slow strokes of his tongue. Lance moans into his mouth and grabs JC’s ass, pulling him in, tight, so that JC can feel how hard Lance is, even through his clothes.

Something so fucking hot about that, too. The fact that JC’s completely naked and Lance hasn’t even made a move to take off one item of clothing.

JC backs away from Lance and gets up onto the bed. Moves back until he’s pushed up against the headboard and spreads his legs, resisting the urge to touch himself. He knows how easily he could come from the combination of his fingers wrapped around himself and that look of pure, unadulterated lust on Lance’s face, and it’d be over too soon. Too fucking soon.

“Have you… had enough champagne?”

Lance laughs. “Baby, one can never have enough champagne. But … you taste better.” He takes off his boots and socks and pulls his shirt over his head.

Not as good as you, JC thinks. There’s no sign of the thin, feminine teenager Lance used to be, he’s all sculpted lines and golden skin now and JC wants to suck and lick and just fucking *taste* him.

Lance undoes his pants and moves to pull them down. JC shakes his head furiously and Lance looks puzzled, voice slightly terse. “What?”

JC inches down the bed a little. “I… leave them on. *Please*.”

Lance’s mouth twists into a smirk, “So, you like me in leather, huh?” He crawls up onto the bed, moving up JC’s body: slowly, gracefully, like the predator he is. As he moves up, JC can feel the leather of Lance’s pants brushing against him: smooth, slippery, like butter. He’s doing it on purpose of course, JC knows how devious Lance can be and he never does anything without a reason.

When it comes to Lance, nothing is accidental.

One knee on either side of him and Lance is straddling JC’s hips. He kisses him once, nibbling on JC’s lower lip before pulling back. JC can’t help but stare at Lance; his eyes are dark, lust-tinged and he’s unbelievably fucking beautiful when he’s like this.

“Turn over.”

So much power in that voice and JC turns over, shivering out of sheer anticipation. He totally understands why Lance is so successful in business, because no one in their right mind could surely resist those tones dripping over them like honey: thick, rich and sweet. It’s times like this when JC finds it easy to forget that Lance is still so young.

JC shivers when Lance moves on top of him, leather brushing against his skin again. Lance’s mouth is on his neck and JC can feel his warm breath; it feels like it’s searing his skin. Lance moves slowly down JC’s body, tracing his tongue slowly down JC’s backbone, pausing when he reaches his lower back. Now JC can feel Lance just mouthing the curve of his back, open-mouthed kisses followed by Lance’s tongue tracing that groove over and over, getting deeper and deeper each time. Then JC’s moaning, whimpering out loud as Lance spreads him open, licking slowly up and down the cleft of his ass. Long, wet strokes, before… Christ… pushing inside him.

So much fucking heat and JC ‘s head is reeling. He rubs himself against the sheets, head thrown back, hips thrusting involuntarily. Pushing himself back onto Lance’s tongue, Lance’s *tongue* that's plunging inside of him. *Fucking* him. Long, slow and dirty and so goddamn hot and when Lance moves away, JC whimpers like he’s lost something.

Lance rolls him over gently and slides two slick fingers into him, and now JC’s no longer whimpering from the loss, but from the sensation as Lance pushes into him. JC moves his hips forward and back, slow grind and he’s fucking himself on Lance’s fingers. He groans his assent when Lance breathlessly asks him if he’s ready.

Lance pushes into him and JC exhales roughly. He feels stretched, filled and unbelievably good and as Lance starts to move slowly, JC raises his head to Lance’s chest, tongue circling a nipple.

“Mmmmm, JC. So. Fucking. Good.”

Lance moans and JC’s stomach rolls over with pure lust as Lance thrusts into him, slow and deep. There’s something so fucking hot about the way Lance moans. It’s almost animal-like, primal and JC thinks that if any of their fans knew what Lance sounded like pre-orgasm, they’d probably never leave their bedrooms and Lance’s vocals on ‘Everything I Own’ would be on CD players everywhere, on repeat.

Lance is thrusting harder now. Long, full strokes pulling almost all the way out before slamming right back in, hard, relentless. Lance’s breath is quickening; getting shallower as he fucks him and JC knows that Lance can’t last much longer.

JC feels slick, lubed fingers curl around his cock and Lance’s broken, ragged words pouring into his ear, the same rhythm as his thrusts, “Fuck my hand, C. Wanna see you do yourself.”

JC moves so he’s thrusting into the tight channel Lance has made with his hand. Hips moving faster and faster and Lance is kissing him: wet, open-mouthed. JC doesn’t last long at all, just a few strokes. Everything he feels right now is so fucking intense. Lance has been playing with him, touching him, making him burn and ache and *need* for what seems like hours. He can feel himself sinking, falling, and everything’s heat and wet and so fucking good. His head falls back, his fingers twist in the sheets and JC’s coming: moaning, whimpering, *begging* for god knows what.

Lance’s breath catches and he thrusts into JC one more time before he comes uttering words that sound like ‘JC’ and ‘fuck’ and other words that JC will never say he heard, because he knows that Lance will pretend he didn’t say them. Couldn’t have said them.

But JC knows better.

the end

Phew.

icebun — Mon, 30 Dec 2002 23:08:44 GMT

This is so late. So so late. But I was given a reprieve, so finally I can say Happy Belated Birthday to without_me. Here's my offering for the Garbage Challenge.

TITLE: Queer
AUTHOR: Icebun
EMAIL: ice001nz@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: List archives OK, anyone else just ask.
CLASSIFICATION: Lance/JC
SUMMARY: Acting out is sometimes the easiest thing to do.
RATING: R. Contains minor drug-use.
FEEDBACK: Makes me a happy woman.
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. I do not know any of the *NSYNC boys and have no idea what they like to get up to.
NOTES: This is for the Garbage Songfic Challenge and contains lyrics from 'Queer' by Garbage as the scene headers.
DEDICATION: Thanks to Pablo for beta action and to halo for much encouragement. Happy belated birthday, Alicia. ::hugs::.

**************************

//You choke behind a smile
A fake behind the fear
The queerest of the queer//

Lance doesn't believe in using clichés, but if he did, he'd be remarking on the fact that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Right now, he still feels like that sad kid he used to be: speechless, glued to the spot and unable to fight back when the other kids picked on him, bullied him, called him a fag.

He lost count of the number of times he ran home to his mom: crying, bruised and scratched. Lance remembers how she'd hold him and tell him that it didn't matter what anyone said, that she knew how special he was and that was all that was important. Then she'd treat his grazes and cuts with antiseptic and gauze.

He always thought that was pointless, because the deepest wounds aren't the ones that someone can see, or touch. The physical ones that mar the skin will heal, but the ones that lie under the surface are always there, like some itch that can't be scratched.

JC is an itch that can't be scratched, too.

Lance didn't intend to fall in love with JC, but apparently, even with the best of intentions he was doomed to fail. Now all he can do is wonder how it all went so wrong, trying to pinpoint when exactly it was that he started to lose his mind.

It's like he's obsessed, consumed somehow and he just can't hold on, can't maintain control and that is just so out of character for Lance that it scares him. Scares him that he's losing focus. He always used to be the one in interviews who was so on the ball that he could leap in *immediately* when one of the others said the wrong thing or got stuck.

Not anymore.

Instead of being focused on whoever's being asked a question, he finds himself staring at JC's lips. Lance imagines exactly how they'd taste: warm and sweet and addictive. He wonders how JC'd react if Lance were to hold him close and make him see and feel what it does to Lance to be around him.

Lance thinks if they made self-torture an Olympic sport, he'd win the gold medal.

***********************************

//This is what he pays me for
I'll show you how it's done
You learn to love the pain you feel
Like father like son//

JC doesn't even notice that there's something wrong with Lance and Lance thinks that that burns the worst of all. The fact that he's not even aware that Lance is falling apart little by little.

But JC being unaware of what's right in front of him is nothing new. It seems to have got so much worse lately though, and that's because of Bobbie.

Lance doesn't want to hate Bobbie, but he does.

It makes him feel like a jealous schoolgirl, but he really can't help himself. Can't help it because every time they all go out together, she's there, latched onto JC, staking her claim. Lance knows that it's not intentional or anything. He knows she's not being vindictive or manipulative by commandeering JC's attention. Not that he could really blame her if she was, because he knows if he was in her shoes that's *exactly* what he'd be doing.

Lance hates that he seems to have no self-control, but obsession will do that to a person.

Every time Bobbie touches JC, Lance flinches just as if his skin is being burned. It's like this physical reaction to having to watch Bobbie's hands on JC's body. The child in him is screaming silently that it's not fair. Why should she get to feel JC's warmth and ghost her fingers over his skin when Lance can't?

JC used to spend more time with him. They'd just sit talking and JC would lie with his head on Lance's shoulder, his fingers drawing small circles on Lance's thigh. It was absolute fucking torture for Lance to feel JC touching him like that and knowing that was as far as it could go. But not having that contact at all is worse.

It rarely happens anymore, because JC and Bobbie have gotten so serious that she's always around. And when she's not, JC's talking about her.

It makes Lance feel nauseous, bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat at the mere mention of her name and he wonders if JC even notices the fact that Lance never smiles anymore.

****************************************

//The queerest of the queer
Hide inside your head
The blindest of the blind
The deadest of the dead
You're hungry cause you starve
While holding back the tears
Choking on your smile
A fake behind the fear
The queerest of the queer//

Lance knows that Joey suspects something's up. He can only assume that's why Joey's been insisting on dragging him out to clubs every night he can.

He doubts otherwise that Joey would be seen dead in clubs like 'Boylicious' and 'Manpower'.

When he politely rejects the fourth guy in a row offering to buy him a drink, Lance's suspicions kick in, and after he sees Joey talking to yet another cute guy and gesturing in his direction, he puts two and two together.

Joey is, of course, playing matchmaker. Lance knows Joey wants him to pick up guys so he can forget all about how much in love with JC he is. Lance thinks the whole situation and the way Joey's acting would be rather sweet, if he weren't so desperately sick with sadness.

*****************************************

//I know what's good for you
You can touch me if you want
I know you're dying to
You can touch me if you want
I know what's good for you
You can touch me if you want
But you can't stop//

But Lance *does* need to forget.

He convinces himself that if he forgets, then he won't feel, and if he doesn't feel then he won't hurt. He's so sick of hurting.

He knows he's taking risks by doing this. He could just as easily stay at the hotel where it's comfortable, sip elegantly from a glass half-full of 10year old-aged bourbon and spend good money for someone 'discreet' to help him burn the image of JC out of his brain.

But he knows that wouldn't work. It's too civilised and constructive. Reasonable and somehow too clean. Lance doesn't want clean.

Lance wants this. *This*… is perfect. Dark, seedy backroom. Dark enough so that there won't be unwarranted attention. Combined smell of cigarette smoke, sweat, amyl nitrate and alcohol invading his senses and the harsh, acrid tang of ketamine at the back of his throat. Through the thin material of his pants, he can feel his knees being punished by the roughness and unevenness of the floor he's kneeling on.

It's making him forget. Every time this stranger roughly thrusts his hips forward, fucking Lance's mouth, every time he feels his throat muscles flex and relax around the size of the guy's cock and every moan he can hear from above him: all these things are permeating his brain. He feels wrong, used. Sluttish. But for now, at least, it's working. The roughness of what he's doing, the fact that it's so cheap and wrong, is what's making him forget all about JC and how soft and smooth his skin would feel under Lance's fingers.

the end