From Russia with Love

by Velma and aMuse

Chris lets himself in to Lance's apartment, letting out a sigh of relief over the fact that it's empty. He kisses the key, setting it just inside the door. Freddy was at least good for lifting spare keys off of, anyway. He threw his stuff on the bed in the bedroom in back and headed into the kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge. Not much, but he was pretty sure he could make a decent enough omelet. He got out a pan and started to work, humming softly as he did

The elevator can't open fast enough as Lance trudges through the doors almost painfully after yet another meeting with Cindy and the negotiating team. They hadn't really wanted him there, and he'd bitten his lip and promised to be quiet while they talked and that'd been harder than not knowing anything at all, knowing and not being able to do anything about it. It was worse and it sucked and he was so fucking tired of waiting and doing nothing. Time was precious and he was losing it far too quickly.

Lance stops outside his door and taps his forehead against the cold surface. Everything in Moscow just seems cold, even if it really isn't, not yet. He pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door to the small apartment. He pushes his way tiredly inside, dropping his bag by the door, before stopping and taking a whiff, "Freddy?"

"Hah!" the sound of Chris's voice echoes through the small rooms. "Like that goon could throw together anything that smells this good."

Lance's mouth opens to retort but it closes quickly again, because, that really couldn't be Chris. Last time he checked Chris was back in the States still doing an RV tour of Middle America. Lance reaches down and pinches his leg. Hard. He mumbles an incoherent 'ouch' before he makes his way to the kitchen. "Um. I think you took a wrong turn somewhere in Kansas," but he can't help smiling.

Chris turns, grinning, a "kiss the cook" apron wrapped around his waist, strategically placed. "If you're really happy to see me, Bass, follow directions like a good little communist."

"Can you translate that into Russian? I have a one track mind," Lance gets closer just the same and lays a wet kiss on Chris' cheek. "What the hell are you doing here? Didn't anyone tell you that it's hours upon hours in the air to get here?"

"One, I can't translate that into Russian. Although I'm learning fast. I've got an ear for this shit. Two, if you'll note, you were about two and a half feet too high in that kiss there.

"Three, I'm visiting you, you ungrateful ass. And four, alcohol. And sedatives. Mixed. That's how much I like your sorry hide. Now go put your stuff away, dear, and leave me alone or I'm going to burn your dinner."

Lance mock salutes, "Yes, drill sergeant!" in his best Forrest Gump voice and high tails it out the kitchen to get cleaned up.

Chris lowers his head, smiling a little. Lance looks pale, stressed, thin - in short, like Lance always looks when he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Chris sighs, flipping the omelet and turning the bacon, then getting it on plates and onto the table, taking off his apron and tossing it on the floor carelessly. "Food's up. And getting cold. And don't you have anything to drink here?"

"There's water in the fridge and um... vodka in the cupboard. Haven't had much time to shop," which wasn't entirely true. Lance had had time but figured his stay wasn't going to last much longer so why bother.

Lance pulls on a clean t-shirt and pads barefoot out to the small table where Chris is set up. "Wasn't expecting company. We can get more stuff tomorrow... you know, if you're staying."

Chris grabs his fork, pausing halfway to his mouth "What, like I have somewhere else I need or want to be? I'm in fucking cold middle-of-nowhere Russia surrounded by strangers in an economy where my Levi jeans won't get me anything. Of course I'm staying. This is practically home."

"You have such a way with words, Kirkpatrick," Lance smirks then. "It's a wonder you're still single."

Chris chews on his eggs thoughtfully, "I'm a regular Shakespeare, I know." Shrugs. "Most people can't handle me. You seem to stick around. What's that say about you?" He nudges Lance under the table, "Eat. Before I start calling you Skinny Ass Freak, Jr. JC might get threatened."

"And we wouldn't want that." Lance digs into the omelet and hums his approval. It's half done before he sets his fork down and muses, "It's an underdog thing. Sticking around."

Chris glances over. "You mean us rejects of society stick together? And don't even think you're finished yet. I'll tell your mom on you. And you know I will."

"Have to. Who else would be with me in this god forsaken place? Freddy, that's who," Lance picks up his fork again and embellishes a bit as he finishes up his eggs

Chris grimaces at the mention of Freddy's name, but doesn't say anything, finishing his own plate and getting up, clearing the table, kissing Lance's forehead as he takes his plate. "No place I'd rather be. Well, okay, a sunny beach with Gwen Stefani and her fictional twin sister ravishing me might be hard to turn down, but, you know. You're sort of a beach bunny if I squint really hard and imagine you with breasts."

"If you were trying to win me over," Lance starts with feigned indignance, "that definitely did not score you any points. Besides, I have a much prettier mouth."

Chris runs water, letting the dishes soak before coming back to the table, tilting Lance's chin up and eyeing his lips critically, "I bet they're not as soft. Although we all know how much you moisturize. But I'll give you better form. And yours are pretty full." He runs a finger across them. "And yeah, really soft. Okay, you win," he says as he goes back to the sink.

Lance licks his lips where Chris' finger had been as he stares almost dumbfoundedly after him. He suddenly feels very, very warm.

"You know," Lance's voice lowers almost cautiously, "I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to entertain you while you're here. I mean Russian TV... watching Days of Our Lives dubbed is an experience and a half but," he pulls himself to his feet and moves to the entranceway of the kitchen to watch Chris work. "Better be careful, I could get used to this."

Chris rinses off a plate, glancing over at Lance, winking mischievously, "Didn't I tell you I always wanted to be a houseboy? And you could impress all your cosmonaut friends by saying you have a mistress back at your place, waiting on you hand and foot."

Lance laughs deeply before he teases, "I'm not sure you could keep up with me."

Chris turns, eyes dancing as he smirks, "Oh, kid. You have no idea."

It's definitely moments like these when Lance realizes just how much he misses home and how alienated he feels, so far away from it all. "I'm wondering if I should be afraid now."

Chris' smirk widens, and he leans back against the counter, "If that was really a challenge? Hell, yeah, you should be worried."

Lance toes the cold tile floor as he flushes, "Um, so," he twists about and points to the living room, "Russian TV?"

Chris throws the dishtowel on the counter, moving past Lance and reaching back, tugging him along before pushing Lance down on the sofa and sprawling out on top of him. "Russian TV. School me."

Lance shifts a little underneath Chris and it's really warm and familiar in a way that he doesn't remember ever feeling quite like this. "No remote. I mean, it's," he points to the top of the TV across the room.

Chris groans, rolling off Lance and padding over to the TV, "That's right. Make me do *all* the work." He tosses the remote at Lance, and then collapses on top of him again. "I got here just in time, you know. You're going to lose your pillow credentials if you get any thinner."

Lance lifts a knee beside Chris and settles himself beneath Chris' weight. "I'm sure you'll fix me up right and quick, though there's no Taco Bell," He flips on the TV and there's Russian infomercials on lambs wool and goose down stuffed parkas lined in some sort of fur. Lance flips the station and there's Seinfeld dubbed. "It's the best I can do for you."

Chris rubs his chin and cheek against Lance's chest, settling in, "And your best, as usual, far exceeds expectations. I would have been content watching weirdos model dead sheep."

Lance threads his fingers into Chris' hair, what's left of it anyway, "What's the deal with this?" he asks as he fiddles with the longer strands.

"I got bored. Did it to piss Justin off. Wasn't as funny without you there to play the straight man."

Lance snorts, "As if."

Chris pokes Lance in the side amiably, "Dude. We make a good team. Whether you realize it or not."

"You still spend far too much time trying to piss Justin off."

Chris sits up a little, pulling at a thread on Lance's sleeve, "C's out in LA. Joey's up in New York. Who else am I supposed to bug? Gets a little lonely. And I'll shut up now 'cause I'm an asshole and I have no room to talk about that stuff."

"No, hey, geez, I'm sorry." Lance's brow furrows, "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, it's okay," Chris runs a finger over Lance's eyebrows. "Stop that. What's the story, man? You going to tell me what's going on?"

Lance sighs heavily, like he knew it was only a matter of time before Chris asked. "Nothing's going on. That's the story."

Chris grumbles, "Motherfuckers. How are you holding up?"

"I can't do anything. I open my mouth, they close it. I offer proposals, they shoot me down. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."

"Hey. Hey," Chris runs a soothing hand down Lance's side. "You want me to bust some skulls? I'm no Russian Mafia, but I can hold my own."

A breathy laugh pushes through as Lance shakes his head, "Naw. I just gotta wait."

"Right. And you're *so* good at that."

"Don't got much choice, do I? I wanted it so bad I signed it all over to them."

Softly, "Anything I can do, young Skywalker?"

Lance shrugs as he shifts, but keeps smiling, "I'm pretty sure you can think of something."

Chris taps his chin, "Hmm. We've done the food thing," clicks the TV off. "The tube's out of the question. There aren't board games and I don't have the attention span to read..."

"Actually," Lance lifts a finger, "I got Scrabble in Russian."

"Which I don't speak and I'm not letting you beat my ass."

"So, something to do that we're both good at that doesn't include board games or electronics. There's vodka in the cupboard. I told you that, right?"

"You did," Chris smirks. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, aside from getting me drunk and having your wicked way with me, there's a deck of cards..."

"I'll go for the former." He's off Lance before Lance can register what's going on, in the kitchen grabbing glasses.

Lance sits up with his back against the arm of the couch and his knees up. He takes a glass from Chris and watches carefully as he pours the vodka. "This stuff is lethal. Not like the shit we have at home."

"Noted," Chris raises his glass to Lance's in salute. "Bottoms up."

Lance clinks his glass off of Chris' and salutes, "Das Vedanya," before he gulps it down.

Chris mutters something unintelligible, downing his own, tearing up but not spluttering, "GodDAMN."

Lance's eyes are tearing but he's laughing, "I told you. It's strong shit. Like 95 fucking proof or something"

Chris laughs with Lance, "It's stronger than that. Jesus. So. You drunk yet?"

Lance's mouth was actually full when the question hit the last part his brain and he couldn't control the reflex to... spit, "Oh Jesus."

Chris swallows another mouthful, raising an eyebrow, "What? I really thought you'd be better at that by now. The swallowing."

Lance rubs at his throat just a little and he can feel the heat from the alcohol coloring his cheeks. "Pfft," he forces himself to smile. "You have no idea."

Chris swallows down the rest of his glass, lounging back against the couch. "I can see how you'd be rusty. Out of practice. It's okay."

"If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were daring me," Lance eyes Chris carefully as he shifts onto his knees.

Chris pours more vodka into their glasses. "As my people would say, Slainte," he tips his glass toward Lance, then takes a hearty swallow.

Lance licks his lips after downing his glass. His head buzzes for a moment and he takes a second or two to steady it before he tosses the glass over his shoulder and crawls over Chris. "Guess I know what you came all this way for, huh?" he smiles before closing the very small distance between them and then finally pressing his mouth to Chris'.

Chris grins, dropping his own glass before he tangles his hands in Lance's hair, moving him back against the cushions as he kisses him, straddling Lance's waist.

Lance's lips part invitingly, the tiny hint of air where their mouths aren't touching, a gap still screaming to be filled. Lance arches up, his hips thrusting just a little too eagerly.

Chris thrusts back against Lance, grinding against him, tongue sliding against Lance's "Just so you know. I wasn't planning on getting you drunk. I was just gonna seduce you."

Lance's fingers slide along Chris' sides and grab handfuls of his shirt. He's gasping something that sounds like 'lift', and it's really a scary kind of urgency that he feels and that stops him... kind of cold. "Wait, wait, wait."

Halfway through tugging his shirt off, Chris freezes, glancing at Lance through one of his sleeves, "What? Jesus, Lance."

Lance's mouth is suddenly dry and he wishes he hadn't thrown his glass, and that the vodka wasn't on the other side of the couch. He pushes the words out, quickly, if not jumbled, and quietly, "dontwannapityfuck"

Chris tips Lance's head up, eyes searching him for a long moment before he leans in, kissing him hard and dirty. "Listen to me. Long-term enforced separation for the first time in seven years sort of forced me to come to grips with shit. And trust me, Bass. This is not a pity fuck. Believe it or not, I'm hot for your sorry ass." He sighs, "Is that good enough or do I have to get out the charts?"

"Nuh-uh," Lance shakes his head as he tugs Chris' shirt the rest of the way off. "Warn a guy next time you decide to make him dinner and... stuff. I don't process that fast."

"I know," Chris pulls Lance's shirt off, and sucks on his Adam's apple. "'s why I made the spreadsheets."

"Hmmm... spreadsheets," Lance's mouth can't decide whether it wants to smile or circle the 'Oh' that's escaping as he squirms beneath Chris. "Maybe after, you can lay it all out for me."

"Oh, you're going to be good and laid, alright," Chris runs his tongue along Lance's nipple, rocking against him. "But not on a couch. I'm not the world's most romantic guy, but I can do better than that."

Lance can't help the feeling suddenly that he's about to write some serious checks his body can't cash, because he's up and his fingers are barely touching Chris' back as he pushes/follows him towards the bedroom. It's been a long time and while he wishes he had something really witty and clever to say, but his mind's swirling more around the ways Chris' jeans are hugging his ass more than anything else.

Chris kicks the door shut, pressing Lance up against it, licking a path up his neck to his lips, running a hand along Lance's chest, "You have no idea how long I've thought about this."

Lance swallows his breath a little, just. Watching. "Here I thought I was thinker of the group."

"Details, details," Chris drops to his knees, tongue dipping into Lance's navel. "Okay. You have no idea how many times I fantasized about this. In the shower. In bed," he unbuttons the button on Lance's jeans.

"Oh Jesus," Lance really had no idea how fucking hard just having Chris on his knees with fingers working his zipper could make him. He presses back against the door until it hurts and his fingers slide into Chris' hair and grip at what they can.

Chris unzips Lance's jeans, pulling them down, then his boxers, licking his lips at the sight in front of him. Chris leans in, resting his head against Lance's thigh, and watches as he runs a finger along the underside, "Gorgeous."

Lance closes his eyes as his breath hitches and his belly tightens at the small bit of contact. "Chris," he groans and his knees feel a little weak and shit there was no way he was going to be able to impress Chris with his youthful vigor and stamina after the last three months of getting his ass whipped in training.

"No worries, Lance," Chris looks up at him, and there's a lot more than lust in his eyes. "Just let me take care of you," He rests an arm across Lance's hips, steadying him, holding him up, as he grasps the base of Lance's cock, jacking slowly as he takes the tip into his mouth, tongue butterflying along the bottom as he works more of it inside.

Russian vodka really hasn't got anything on the heat of Chris' mouth. Lance is pretty damned glad about that, because he never thought something like this could disappoint him, and in his head, he never really allowed it to be this good, this fast. God damn, but it's Chris, and he came to Russia for him and Lance shoulda fucking known. He shudders with the intensity of the feeling, shutting down that part of his mind that makes him think too hard and too much, and lets himself function only within the boundaries of Chris' hands and Chris' mouth.

Chris removes his hand, letting his mouth do the work, closing his eyes and focusing on the taste, the texture. Everything about it screams Lance to him, and he craves it, soaking up every last detail. The way he smells, the way his body reacts, because he wants this just to be better and better. He wants this to be good enough that Lance will get hooked. Will want more. From him. He's opening his throat, then, humming as Lance's cock hits the back of it, his free hand moving in slow circles around Lance's balls, along his thighs. He wants to be the one, finally, to make Lance lose control.

Lance swallows back a whimper as Chris takes him... so fucking deep and yet it's there, the instinct to thrust even more against it. His feet are planted so heavily, and he palms the doorknob for leverage, one hand still in Chris' hair, gripping, and maybe pulling, but it's all spotty and he keeps his eyes closed and follows his body to the breaking point, the tension, the one, two, three pulse, and the rough sound of his voice as his orgasm rushes through him.

Chris rides through it, moving with Lance, drinking him in, swallowing hungrily, greedy for everything he can get. When Lance is spent, he licks him clean, kissing his thighs, his balls, his navel as he reaches down, pulling up Lance's boxers as he makes his way to his feet. So good, all of it, and even if it never happened again it'd be worth it, this moment. He smiles as he stands, running a finger up Lance's chest to his chin, kissing him softly

Lance kicks his pants the rest of the way off as he hold fast to Chris' hips, his thumbs firmly rooted in the hollows. He pushes against Chris just a little, nudging him really, back across the shaggy carpet that always tickles his feet, and to his bed. He sort of says it in his head, his bed. Chris in. And when he's got him there spread out, after a little fiddling with buttons and worn denim, Lance works his way over him, and kisses him, open mouthed and intensely wanting.

Chris shudders, and shudders hard, because there's no denying what's in that kiss, no denying two mouths equally committed as they tangle wetly with each other, hands everywhere and God, he'll never get enough of the way Lance's skin *feels* under his hands, the soft heat of it, so deceptive because he's burning up under him, writhing, craving more touch, always more, allowing himself to just let Lance lead, to do with him as he pleases. Lance wants him, too, and the plane ride from hell was worth this, every lousy second of it. He drags his nails down Lance's back, pressing up into him.

It's only a momentary lapse, to allow his brain to function and not totally be taken by this urge to curl up around Chris and never, ever let go. He presses his forehead, sticky with sweat to Chris', and it's really kind of funny how Russia's the warmest fucking place on the planet now.

"I'm gonna," and shit, Lance has lost his ability to form coherent sentences, so his fingers tug loosely at Chris' boxers. "Off," he murmurs, as he climbs over Chris and reaches for the bedside table.

Chris kicks off his boxers eagerly, watching Lance with slightly amused eyes. He's gorgeous, especially now, and Chris reaches out a hand, running it down Lance's back, along his ass, marveling at the fact that he's touching him.

It's at the back of the drawer and for a split second frustration crept into Lance's belly, his hand blindly reaching until finally hitting the magic bottle. He smiles back at Chris almost triumphantly before reaching in again, and this one's harder, because he's sure he's only got one left, but lo, his fingers graze the wrapper and he pulls the condom out too before he crawls back. "The good and laid portion of the program continues," he's calmer, and settles into familiar ease just a little as he palms Chris' cock and strokes it slowly. He relishes a bit as it grows and hardens against his hand.

Chris groans, reaching up to trail his hands along Lance's shoulders. "You have no idea how good you look like this, do you? How amazing you feel," he closes his eyes, arching up into Lance's hand. "How good that feels. Jesus," He hadn't thought about how good Lance's hand would feel on him. Hadn't really allowed himself to think far enough ahead to how Lance would feel when he was inside him, because he figured coming over he'd be shot down the first time he even hinted at wanting to do this. His mouth is dry with anticipation as he opens his eyes again, thrusting again into Lance's hand. "I'm good at laying. So perhaps we should move toward that."

Lance's eyes flash bright as the smile that plays across his lips. He surprises himself sometimes, with the fluidity of his movements, but there it is as he lifts a leg across Chris' waist and he leans down to kiss again.

"You stay. I'm gonna do the moving," Lance lifts the condom into his hand and rips it open with his teeth. His fingers move quickly, finding which end is up, but slow when he unrolls the latex over Chris' dick. He's liberal with the lube, warming it in his hand before palming it over Chris. He steals another kiss, and forces himself to relax and just. Open up as he lowers himself onto Chris' cock, pulling in the slow burn, and deep, deep breaths.

Chris throws his head back, gripping Lance's thighs and moaning, "Oh, that's not fucking fair. And holy GOD you feel good." Good's not the word for it. Incredible is more like it and as Chris sinks home, deep inside Lance, his head swims. Lance is hot, so hot, and Chris can't get enough. He wants more, wants to move, wants to feel every inch of Lance's body but he waits, watching Lance, moving his fingers along muscular thighs, murmuring soft endearments as Lance adjusts around him.

Lance closes his eyes as he counts it out, concentrating on his breathing, and easing through the pain/pleasure transition to movement. He braces himself on his hands, arms taut and fingers barely making contact with the smooth skin at Chris' side. He starts a slow rock, and then almost methodically shifts to a heavier grind.

Chris thrusts up into Lance, moving with him, humming nonsense, his hands working over Lance's body, his chest, rolling his nipples between his fingers. Smooth and soft and hard all at once, Lance's body. Like Lance, he thinks, almost idly, and then that part of his brain shuts down as Lance moves just *so* and he's got his hands on Lance's hips, urging him deeper, bucking up for more.

It's strange, the white spots behind Lance's eyes, and for the first time in a long time, the inability to think. Lance moves on Chris, matching his thrusts, swallowing back the noises that are rising, trying to push their way. He opens his eyes and Chris is sleek, dark beauty beneath him, filling him, and he straightens, sinking all the way down, in a slow, languid motion. He pulls Chris' hands into his and uses them for leverage.

It's unreal, this new sensation, the way Lance is pressed against him, so much skin on skin and it's all Chris has ever wanted. He thinks Heaven in the curve of Lance's neck as it meets his shoulders. Or maybe it's Lance's chest, or his ass. There's possibility on top of possibility but one thing's for sure. He's there right now, inside Lance, and he's babbling, he knows it. Probably not coherent words but words, anyway, tumbling out of his mouth as they move together, hands linked, bodies linked.

It's so fucking amazing, the fluid strength, the press of their hands and how it moves him. Never fucking like this, to be able to take so much and feel it crackling up his spine and through his belly. Then Lance groans out Chris' name, low and immeasurably deep in his throat before he tilts his head back and opens his mouth to pull in more air.

It's quite possibly the hottest thing Chris has ever heard. He knows Lance's voice, could pick it out of a crowd, but this? This is beyond sexy and borders somewhere on obscene. He surges up harder, crying out as their bodies slam together harder. He can feel his entire body thrumming, alive like never before.

Lance's not sure exactly how or when it happened... he honestly didn't think it could, the way his body had been overworked and run down, but it was there, the ache in his chest, the mounting tension in his belly and the quick, fucking fantastic shot inside of him of Chris' dick insistently pressing there. It's like some kind of divine experience and he thinks that maybe he's leaving his body, because he's gripping Chris' hands tighter as he spills over Chris' belly.

Chris' breath hitches as he watches Lance, moving through Lance's orgasm and right into his own. His hands are tighter still in Lance's, pulling them close to his body as he rocks up and up and up before his hips start to stutter and he sucks in a breath he didn't realize he needed quite so desperately.

It's amazing how still Lance becomes when he takes the time to watch, to ride this out until Chris is lax beneath him. It's a strange sort of emptiness when he lifts up and off, that he doesn't generally allow himself in his post coital haze. But there's also the slick feel of Chris' skin as he crawls up, to kiss and nuzzle at Chris' neck before his body pretty much curls up.

Chris reaches an absent hand down, taking off the condom and tying it, tossing it toward the garbage. He's pretty proud of himself when he manages to snag a pair of boxers, wiping himself off a little so that when he rolls over on top of Lance's neck, dropping soft kisses along his chest, his chin as he wraps around him, they don't stick together in less than pleasant ways. He thinks he should say something. Especially after *that*. But for once in his life, Chris Kirkpatrick doesn't have words

Lance feathers his fingers through Chris' hair until they rest lightly on the nape of his neck. He figures there'll be something to about talk later, but for now it's okay to yank the blankets up over them, and close his eyes and finally, for the first time in fucking months welcome the way exhaustion leads his body into sleep.

Chris presses his lips to Lance's forehead, leaving them there as his body envelopes Lance, as much as it can, anyway. It's absurd how protective he is, even now. And as much as he'd love to stand watch over Lance's slumber, he's wiped, too, and he lets his eyes flutter shut, smiling as Lance twitches a little in reaction. Butterfly kisses, he thinks, before he's asleep himself.

*

Chris wakes slowly, squinting a little at the sunlight shining right in his face, "Jesus." He closes his eyes, shifting and pressing his face into warm neck, inhaling deeply. Lance. Oh, wow. Yeah. Lance. Woo. He was in Lance's bed. Naked. With naked Lance. Who he had sex with last night. Sex with Lance. He could do that again. He smiles against golden skin, warming under the sun from the window. Yeah. He could do that again

Lance shifts a little, fighting against the first signs at awakening. Not really ready. Although the light is bright against his heavy lids, he's so very warm, and it's a fantastic chain of events for a change. He presses his cheek into his fleshy pillow and sighs happily.

Chris sifts his fingers lightly through Lance's hair, sliding a hand down his body and holding him more securely around the waist. Naked Lance fits well with naked Chris. He opens one eye halfway, really looking at Lance's body for the first time. Chris thinks he's probably the luckiest sonofabitch this side of the Black Sea.

It's really kind of amusing that Chris could have surprised him as much as he did last night with just showing up. But in the fresh light of morning, everything Lance knows about Chris, initial instincts, he doesn't have to open his eyes to know what he was doing. And he smiles just a little and presses his mouth to Chris' cheek, beside his ear, "You're going to give me a complex."

"Mmm," he turns his head, capturing Lance's lips and kissing him. "I really hope so."

Lance kisses with his mouth closed, because even after seven years, the intimacy of mornings before he met with a toothbrush wasn't exactly something he was used to. And still he was able to smile against Chris' mouth before dropping small kisses along his jaw. "Such a sweet talker, Kirkpatrick."

He rolls on top of Lance, pinning him to the bed, "Yeah, but it loses its impact 'cause I don't have a voice like yours." He chews on his lip, watching Lance's profile "You, uh. Okay?"

Lance nods slowly, still smiling, as his fingertips swirl over Chris' hip lightly, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Chris lowers his eyes, long lashes obscuring them, "I don't know. Things sometimes look different in the morning. Without vodka. And the opportunity to end a long run of celibacy."

Lance swallows hard as he squirms a little beneath Chris' weight. He settles, but his fingers keep moving, insistently circling, "Maybe you need your glasses or something because everything looks pretty clear to me."

Chris looks up, wincing at how small his voice sounds, "Yeah? What do you see?"

"For starters, you, where I hope like hell you wanna be."

Chris smiles, "A whole day in an airplane for you."

"That's definitely something right there."

Chris links his fingers with Lance's, bringing them up to his lips. He can't believe he's doing it even as he launches into one of the worse Humphrey Bogart impersonations ever, "So this could be the start of a beautiful friendship?"

Lance laughs but spreads his fingers over the softness of Chris' mouth, "Kinda thought we had that part down already."

Chris kisses them again. "Something more? Like. Not just buddyfucking? 'Cause I could live with that, maybe. You know. Two buddies. Fucking. And not getting all complicated. Even though it is complicated 'cause we all know that buddyfucking doesn't really work and," he pauses, taking a deep breath.

It surprises Lance a little, the hitch in his stomach and how quiet his voice seems to get. "That wasn't buddyfucking last night."

Chris raises his eyes to Lance's, shaking his head softly, "No. It wasn't. I sort of came over here to tell you that I love you in the not even remotely fraternal way. Really, this was a conversation I was going to have before I seduced you but you're pretty fucking irresistible, so I sort of didn't get that far."

And oh, things just got that much warmer, and Lance could feel it coloring his cheeks and flushing all over his body, "It took you long enough, you know."

Chris's gut twists a little, because if that means what he thinks it does then his life suddenly just got ten billion times better. But he can't ask. Not just yet. "I thought that was a pretty fast seduction, actually. I have mad skills."

"That I've never really doubted," Lance's mouth twists teasingly, as his fingers change their course a little and tickle upwards across Chris' ribs.

Chris laughs, swatting at Lance's hands, collapsing on top of him. He kisses Lance's neck again, and mumbles before he can stop himself. "Love you, Bass."

"Yeah," and Lance thinks maybe, just maybe this is as big as space, soaring realization, the hint of danger and crashing, and the risk. Fuck, it's good. His arms wrap around Chris and just hold on. "Me too."

Chris grins against Lance's neck, a smile so wide he thinks his face might break and he's glad Lance can only feel it, not see it, really, on account of the fact that the heat in his cheeks means he's bright red, too. "So, uh. I think it's time for brushing of teeth. Because I really want to kiss you right now and I know about your thing for oral hygiene."

"I would consider waiving such customs on account that I really don't want to move from this here spot."

"Mmm," Chris licks his lips, running a finger over Lance's eyebrows, down his nose, tracing his lips lightly. "Me, either," he buries his other hand in Lance's hair as he lowers his mouth to Lance's.

From one moment to the next, it's the most natural thing in the world for Lance, to open his mouth and pull Chris in, to slide his tongue out and over the smooth curve of Chris' lip, "Mmmm is right."

Chris smiles against Lance's mouth, chuckling, "I love Russia."

"That's really good," Lance nips at Chris' lip, "because now I plan on keeping you here a while."

"Oh, yeah?" Chris pulls back, eyes twinkling. "It's gonna cost you, man. I don't come cheap. I'm a world famous pop star, you know."

"Hmmm..." Lance hooks a leg around Chris' and shifts slightly beneath him. "I think maybe I can figure out a way to make it worth your while."

Chris brushes his fingers along Lance's face, down his neck, "They barter here, right?"

Lance tilts his head back a little, humming "Mmmhmmm. Evil fucks, these Russians too."

Chris lowers his head, mouth tracing the lines made by his fingers, memorizing the planes of Lance's face, "Yeah? That rub off on you?"

"Maybe a little," Lance groans lightly at the feel of Chris' mouth on him "What do you have in mind? I'm still more open to suggestion."

"I thought," Chris slides his hand down along Lance's side. "You were supposed to be the one doing the convincing."

"I was, wasn't I?" Lance smiles slyly as he takes Chris' hips and uses the leverage of his leg between Chris' to flip him over. There's all kinds of energy flowing through him now, and he plants only a soft, closed mouth kiss on Chris' mouth before working a little lip exploration of Chris' skin for himself

Chris shivers, watching Lance with impossibly dark eyes, fingers moving restlessly through Lance's hair. He can't stop moving, ever, not even now, hips shifting and pressing up against Lance.

Chris' skin is surprisingly soft and he's fleshier than he used to be. Lance likes it like that, grounds him differently, but keeps him wanting all the same. Chris is hot beneath his tongue as he sweeps long, wet, breathy trails along his belly. Lance loves the stir, the almost pleading movements in Chris' hips. He smiles against Chris' navel, bites down just a little, before licking the mark.

Lance is harder than he used to be, more muscle and no fat and it feels glorious, the way his body moves against Chris's. He arches his back, pressing up toward Lance's mouth, wanting more, needing more. Marked, tattooed, it made no difference.

Lance laughs a little breathlessly as he presses a cheek to Chris' belly, "Have a little patience. I promise," his fingers brush along the hollow at Chris' hips. "I'll get there.

"Well, I am an old man. I might die before you do." Chris runs his fingers through Lance's hair, along his cheek, his nose, as he tries to get some sort of handle on himself. It seems impossible, the sight before him, made all the more real by the light of day.

Lance smiles as he licks a slow wet trail below Chris' navel, "Gonna have to give you some lessons on the advantages of long, slow, Southern comfort."

"I," Chris groans, lifting his head to watch Lance. "I can be a good student. I have a degree."

"Hmmm," Lance feels his lips vibrate against Chris' belly and smiles briefly, "Lesson number one," he shifts down before raining small kisses up one of Chris' thighs as his fingers trail along the other. They meet somewhere in the middle, where Lance palms Chris' dick, and pulls just the head into the warm hollow of his mouth

"Oh, Jesus." Chris bangs his head against the pillow, closing his eyes tightly. It's good. It's pretty fucking amazing and it's hardly even started.

Lance can't help the satisfied chuckle that opens his mouth into a smile and he moves, taking more of Chris into his mouth. He closes his eyes against the feel of it, how Chris seems to just expand harder, and that much more against his tongue. And he pulls tighter, dragging his mouth up achingly slow before pressing down again deeper.

"Christ, Bass. Aren't you supposed to be rusty or something?" Chris is pretty damn proud of himself, that he's able to form coherent sentences when he's getting what certainly feels like the best blowjob of his life. His hips rock up as much as Lance allows, and all he can think is more.

Lance holds two fingers in the air, for here the lesson continued, before he brushed them lightly over Chris' belly and up over the curved plain of Chris' chest. It was a small stretch, without breaking the contact and the long, drawn rhythm of his mouth on Chris' dick, to tap those fingers against Chris' lips.

Chris moans as he opens his mouth, sucking Lance's fingers in, mirroring the motion of Lance's mouth on his own body. He can feel himself shake with anticipation of what's to come. He didn't realize just how badly he wanted it.

Lance stifles his own moan as his fingers glide along the flat of Chris' tongue. He consciously doubles his efforts, his fingers grazing against Chris' teeth as he pulls them out. It's an easy movement, and he has to break contact with his own mouth for just a moment to wet them again, more. He goes back down, tight around Chris' cock and he drags his finger soft and moist along Chris' asshole.

Chris jerks, gasping at the light touch, needing more. He's dimly aware that he's begging, and that's rather unlike him, but then again, he's here, isn't he? And a few months ago he would have laughed in the face of anyone who'd suggested he'd ever have had the courage to make that leap, "Please. Please, Lance."

Lesson number three, Lance thinks. Make him pant and the whole body will open and accept. And his mouth drags slowly all the way until Chris is pressed snug against the back of his throat. He holds back the reflex and swallows, his finger circling and kneading before finally sliding inside.

And Christ it's unbelievable and that first breach is really all it takes for Chris to go hurtling over the edge. Lance's finger and Lance's mouth and he's so fucking deep he can't believe it. His whole body tenses and he's arching up and up and up and he thinks if Lance weren't there to hold him he'd float away.

Lance can feel it, the first pulse against his lips. It makes him circle tighter, and drag his mouth slower, and hook his finger just so against that one little spot...

Chris thinks maybe he's howling. He's not sure, but it feels pretty primal and raw and he's a lot more naked right now than he's been in a long time but it doesn't matter, because he's safe. And he's coming, so he really shouldn't be thinking at all. He lets himself get carried away by wave after wave of pleasure, almost too intense.

It's a quick, initial reaction to gag that makes Lance's eyes water. He closes them quickly, swallowing through the length and strength of Chris' orgasm and only pulls off once Chris has gone slack below him

Chris' eyes flutter shut and it's a struggle to remember to breathe even, but he does, and then his hands find Lance's body, urging him up, wanting to feel the weight of him.

Lance crawls up Chris' body, his belly sliding just so over Chris' as he leans, rests, and then nuzzles his nose against Chris' neck. "Here," he presses his lips to Chris' warm skin "endeth the lesson."

Chris tangles his hands in Lance's hair, breathing in deeply, "Did I pass?"

Lance smiles, "Dunno, did I?"

"Jesus, Lance," Chris tips Lance's head up, kissing him. "Flying colors. Although, you know. I'm slow. I need tutoring."

"I'm a patient teacher," Lance grins against Chris' mouth. "Part of that Southern charm thing."

"Good," and Chris can hear how husky his voice is and he thinks he should be embarrassed, "'cause I'm not going anywhere. And I may need a lot."

"Mmmhmmm... all kinds of new tricks," Lance drags a finger along Chris' chin before growing serious. "I'm really fucking glad you're here, Chris."

Chris closes his eyes, and then opens them again. "I should have been here a long time ago, Lance."

"No matter, cuz you are now," Lance tips his head to Chris' shoulder. "I um... kind of have a meeting today. Have to deal with some of this shit some more so I know if I'm staying or going."

"Okay. I can come with or stay here or go shopping or whatever. I'm sort of at your disposal. And it's going to be fine. You know that, right? It'll work out, one way or the other."

Lance nods slowly and taking in Chris' reassurance. It was something else he didn't know he missed. "I uh, better go by myself. Not sure exactly what's gonna go down. And um... how public is this? You being here."

Chris winces slightly, "I sort of didn't tell anyone. Ron drove me to the airport. I got it in my head to be here and I came. But if you're asking what I think you're asking, I have no problems with anyone knowing."

Lance pulls himself up and sits back on his heels, "I don't... really know what I'm asking. And there's nothing wrong with you visiting me, offering your support in my very," he blanches, "trying time."

Chris nods, "That makes a good sound bite. What I meant, though, is telling the guys. They, uh. Pretty much know, anyway."

"They pretty much know you're here or what you came here for?" Lance smiles slightly but nudges Chris' leg teasingly.

Chris looks down, flushing slightly. "They, uh. Well, let's just say I have apparently not done a very good job of hiding how I feel about you. Joey was pissed I waited this long to come."

"Aw, that's really kind of sweet," Lance grins cheekily and leans forward to brush his fingers across Chris' pink cheeks. "And I like that on you a lot."

"Shut up, you ass," Chris grumbles, but he's smiling and he knows it. "So the $64,000 question is, how long have you known?"

"Didn't. Not really. Thought maybe when you freaked about me going and you didn't talk to me for ten days. Because you know, you save the silent treatment for those near and dear."

Chris sits up, playing idly with Lance's hair, spiking it. "I didn't want you to go. I'm still struggling, man. But it was killing me, being apart from you. I figured even if we were just roommates for a while you could use the company. 'Cause I had no clue how you felt. None."

"Couldn't exactly scream it from the rooftops, you know?"

Chris runs his finger along Lance's nose, then down, outlining his lips. "Yeah. Not your style, I guess."

Lance sighs as he smiles and shakes his head, "And you've known me for almost eight years so... " His voice trails away as he falls back onto his behind. "I really should get my ass in gear. Another day, another disappointment."

Chris shifts then, dangling his legs over the bed as he turns away from Lance, searching vainly for boxers. "I'll get out of your way. Anything you need me to do while you're gone?"

Lance watches as Chris goes in search for underwear. "You used 'em, for um," he motions with his finger to Chris' belly. "You can grab a pair of mine. And you're not in my way. I'm pretty sure this one'll be quick anyway. They told me they expected some kind of word from the Russians, so."

Chris snorts. "Like your underwear'd fit me, skinny man. You go do your thing; I'll go shopping and find some actual food." He stands and leaves the bedroom, heading out into the living room and finding his bag, which he drags back into the bedroom. "Think I can have a drawer, or are we moving too fast?" He winks, grinning.

Lance heads into the bathroom calling, "Yeah, sure. Just move stuff out of your way." He shuts the door and leans against it, grinning like a child.

Chris is still grinning as he starts to dump stuff in a drawer, Jesus, he's fucking whistling and he can't remember the last time that happened. He's also, apparently, still naked, so he grabs a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, pulling them on before he finishes unpacking.

*

Chris jogs up the stairs to the apartment, singing under his breath as he lets himself in. He's loaded down with bags and doesn't even notice the man sitting on the couch until he's in the kitchen. He drops the bags and heads back into the other room, offering a weak smile. "Oh, hey. Hernandez. What's shaking?"

"Nothing much," Freddy leans against the cushions casually, and bites back a bit of agitation. "Lance'll be back in a bit though. Grapevine says the meeting's over."

Chris nods. "Yeah, that's what Lance said. He called from the car." He raises an eyebrow. "Get you something?"

Freddy winces a little. "Nope. Capable of getting it myself, but thanks."

Chris shrugs and heads into the kitchen, setting out some chicken for later, poking at the vegetables to try and figure out what he can make that's edible. It bugs in a major way that Freddy's just there. That's he's hanging out in Lance's apartment, but then again Freddy's been here. And he hasn't. "Got a lot of lost time to make up for, Kirkpatrick," he mutters to himself, grabbing a bottle of water.

When Chris doesn't come back right away, Freddy gets himself up off the couch and makes his way into the kitchen. He watches Chris puttering around, cooking. "What is it you're actually doing here, Chris?"

Chris glances up. "Um. Cooking dinner, if that wasn't obvious."

Freddy's fists clench at his sides, "I mean on a grander scale."

"Well, Fred," and he has to fight to suppress the smirk on his face as Freddy struggles not to grimace at him, "I'm here for Lance."

"Huh, that's really big of you, Chris. After three months of not being here for him."

Chris bristles at that, raising an eyebrow at Freddy. "Yeah, well, I've been there for him for almost eight years now."

"I figured you'd pull that one out. Eight years till he decided to chase something outside the group."

"Excuse me?" Chris doesn't even bother to try and hide the disdain in his voice. "Just who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Just the guy who doesn't discriminate when or where I'm there for him."

"Right, that's you in a nutshell, Fred. You have no idea what you're talking about, man. So step off."

"It really figures," Freddy shakes his head, because he knows he's well and truly fucked. "You decide to finally pull your head out of your ass and to hell with everything and everyone else."

"Whoa, man. I'm not sure where you get off, because you and I, we don't know each other, we've never liked each other, and it sure as hell looks like that's not changing any time soon. To hell with who, Freddy? You? Right, I'm sure."

"Of course you got all the answers, Kirkpatrick. You don't know a god-damned thing."

"I think," and Chris is really sort of amazed at how calm his voice is, when he's red hot inside, seething, "I think maybe you should go."

"No, I think maybe you should go."

Any composure Chris has drops right out the window. If he wasn't so shocked he thinks he might have slugged Freddy, but as it is he can hardly keep his jaw from dropping open. "I hardly think you're in a position to tell me that."

Freddy stands his ground, a small sneer playing across his lips. "It's not for you to fucking say. This is my position. Right here, with him. It's been me who's been listening to him when he gets back from training. It's been me he's been crying to when he's too fucking tired to lift a god-damned glass. It's been me he's been wakin' up to when he's too crazed to be alone. So, fuck you, Kirkpatrick. I took this position when no one else would for him."

Maybe someplace in the back of his mind he'd thought about this scenario, about how it was that Freddy played into the picture. It would explain the animosity, when really he and Freddy had had pretty limited contact. Hearing it from his mouth, though, is something else, and Chris is hot and cold all at once, because he doesn't think he was wrong, about Lance, about the two of them. But there's this asshole standing in front of him who clearly thinks otherwise, and if Chris is honest with himself he's a little scared. "It's not you anymore."

"It amazes me how easy it is for people to just toss others aside like they're yesterday's garbage. Newsflash, I don't play that game."

"Newsflash. I don't think it's up to you."

"Yeah, well, it ain't up to you either, so you get to deal with me."

Chris isn't sure what surprises him more, just how cold his voice is, or the fact that he's even acknowledging what Freddy's saying. "You think he's going to choose you? You honestly think that? You don't know him."

"Whatever he chooses," Freddy almost spits, "doesn't matter. I'm not giving you that choice."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Freddy snarls, "he gets to tell me. And you know, maybe I give him a lot more credit than you. He's not gonna just toss what's been going here."

"You think I'm sweating this at all, Hernandez? I know him. In ways you can't even fathom. Don't even think about fucking with his head, man. Because I will have you for breakfast."

"I'm really scared. See. This is me giving a damn," Freddy turns and starts back to the couch.

It's too much for Chris to handle. If Lance weren't involved, maybe he could let it go, but he's not going to sit there while this smug, arrogant asshole tries to make a claim. "Hey Fred? Do me a favor and turn around."

Freddy was too late to catch it, as he swiveled just a little and Chris' fist met with his cheek. He felt it explode hot and angry, and he pushed back, "Fucker!"

It's on, then. Chris may be small, but he's scrappy, and it wasn't that long ago he had to defend himself like this, and the muscles have a way of remembering. He swings away, this time to the gut. He feels Freddy's knuckles connecting with his mouth in a bright flash of pain just as he's pulling away, "Son of a bitch."

Lance hears the voices, loud and angry, from outside the door. He shoves his key into the lock, wincing when he hears a loud thud, and pushes the door open quickly. His mouth falls open when he sees Freddy and Chris tangled with each other and he moves quickly, grabbing at any piece of fabric and limb he can, and he ends up yanking Chris away, "What the fuck is going on here?"

Chris wipes at his mouth angrily, glaring at Freddy but backing off instantly, eyes darting to Lance. "Getting some things straight. That's all."

"Fuck," Lance mutters angrily as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Chris, can you, um, give me a couple minutes?"

Chris nods, grimacing as he cracks his jaw. "I'll be in the bathroom cleaning up. If you need anything." If he were a cat, he'd hiss in Freddy's direction. He's not, though, so he manages a sneer as he moves past him and down the hall.

Lance waits until he hears the click of the door before turning his gaze to Freddy. "Was that really necessary?"

Freddy takes his hand away from his cheek, mouth dropping open. "He threw the first punch, Lance. You should ask him. I'm not sure where exactly he gets off; walking around this place like it's his."

"I will ask him. I just figured I'd ask you first. C'mon in here," Lance moves into the kitchen and starts taking ice from the freezer. He wraps it up in a dishtowel and hands it to Freddy. "And you know the deal. What's mine is his. It's the same with all of them."

Freddy accepts the ice, leaning against the counter as he lifts it to his cheek, wincing just a little. "Is that all it is? 'Cause he sure wasn't acting like that. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's come here for something."

"Freddy," Lance starts, his voice low. There are words, ones he's sure Freddy won't understand and he feels bad. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to talk to you first, about what he's doing here. I'm really sorry."

It's not any easier, coming from Lance. Even when he knew when this all started that this would come, this moment when one of them finally came for him. "Sorry? For what? You got what you wanted out of this, right?" Freddy shakes his head. "You could have had the decency to tell me I was merely a seat-filler."

"Don't. Do that. This wasn't... it wasn't a thing, Freddy. And I've never lied about that."

"Wasn't a thing?" Freddy asks incredulously. "Wasn't a thing?! Sure as hell seemed like a thing night before last, Lance. Does he know? That we're lovers?"

"I'm guessing you probably took care of that before I got here."

Freddy snorts at that. "Do the sheets still smell like us?"

"Why don't you go check."

Freddy pulls the bag of ice away from his face, shaking his head. "You're obsessive compulsive about fresh sheets in the morning. Worked out nicely for you, huh? He didn't have a clue."

Lance's mouth twists a little with Freddy's bitterness, "Or maybe it was what I was waiting for. What do you want me to say, Freddy?"

"Nothing. I don't want you to say anything. What you haven't said speaks volumes. So, what. I pack my things and leave, tail between my legs?"

"It isn't like," Lance stops, because he's a prick and it kind of is like that. "I won't be that far behind."

"Oh, yeah?" Freddy's lips quirk and he knows he should shut up but it's pretty clear that this ship has sailed. "They finally get tired of the BS and boot your ass?"

Lance can feel himself paling, but keeps his face as blank as he can, "You can say that."

"Well, at least we both know how it feels." Freddy throws the bag in the sink. "Do I get a goodbye kiss?"

Lance shakes his head then and steps out of Freddy's way. "I don't think so."

Freddy snorts, watching him, then leans forward, and brushes his lips across Lance's. "Something to remember me by." He heads for the door, fists clenched. "I hope he enjoys my seconds."

Lance follows and barely waits until Freddy's stepped out before he slams the door after him. He feels pretty damned sick and he wipes his mouth angrily. He can't really blame Freddy, and that makes him feel worse. He can't help but wonder how much worse it can get and he decides to just get it all the fuck over with and he makes his way slowly to the bathroom and knocks lightly on the door, "Chris?"

Chris pulls the door open, holding a wad of toilet paper to the corner of his mouth. "Hey there, tiger. How are the claws?"

Lance sighs when he sees Chris and shakes his head, "C'mon, you need ice too."

Chris follows Lance dutifully. "I take it the asshole is gone?"

"He's really not an asshole," Lance reaches into the freezer and pulls out an ice pack. "But yeah, he's gone." He pulls a fresh towel from one of the drawers and wraps the ice before handing it to Chris.

"Not an asshole?! Frederick the Not at all Great strutted in here like he owned the place. Lance. He said some stuff..." Chris presses the ice to his mouth. "I found it pretty hard to believe."

"An ocean and a couple of continents are a long way from home, Chris. Especially when everyone's pretty much too busy with what they've got going on to even visit. A couple of phone calls here and there don't exactly make things less lonely."

Chris slumps down the cabinets, sitting down hard on the floor. "Fuck, man. Why didn't you say anything?"

"About what? How much is sucked being here by myself or," Lance swallows first, but puts it out there so it's clear, "or that I was fucking Freddy?"

Chris can't help himself. He winces hard at that, looking away. "I'm sorry."

"For what? I made my bed; I get to lie in it."

"I'm sorry that I was lonely over there and you were lonely over here and we didn't know enough to say anything so we wouldn't be lonely at all. I'm sorry that of all the people in the world you had to turn to him" and Chris grimaces when he says it, "for comfort."

Lance shuts his eyes for a moment as he pulls in a breath. He holds it before he looks at where Chris is sitting and moves to slide down next to him. "You've got him all wrong, and this tonight, I mean, think about how this is for him. He has been here. He's got his business back home, and yet, he came here with me, amidst all the scrutiny and shit." He exhales sharply. "He's not you. Or any of the guys, but your hatred of him is a little misplaced."

"He's a starfucker, Lance. Always has been. The website, the shit at concerts. You can't tell me that wasn't part of who he was." He sighed. "I'll let it go, if you want me to. It kills me that he had a part of you I wanted for so long. But he's not here, right now, and that's all I need."

"You sure? Because, you know, I'd get it, if that changed things for you."

Chris looks at him then, open-mouthed. "Are you kidding me? I came a long ass way for you, Bass. I'll fight for you. I'm not scared of that."

Lance laughs a little, and there's a bit of relief mixed in there somewhere. He's able to push down the guilt he feels about Freddy and he'll deal with that later, when he gets home, and the place he's at isn't so unforgiving and strange. "There's no fight. See," he leans in a little and palms Chris' cheek, "this is me not fighting. It's okay?"

Chris smiles, or tries to, anyway, leaning into the touch as he breathes a sigh of relief. "Totally okay. I promise."

Lance's hand curls a little and he drags his fingers down lightly over Chris' jaw. "You don't have to make promises, you know. It's been almost eight years. I think I can kinda tell when you mean stuff."

Chris looks down, following Lance's fingers with his eyes. "Are you alright? I mean, I suck for not asking earlier."

"I'm going home. So. I'll be fine."

"Wait," Chris sits back at that, taking Lance's hand in his. "I was talking about Freddy. What's going on?"

"Freddy's Freddy and I'll deal. The other stuff," Lance shrugs. "They sent a letter to the international partners disqualifying me. They're gonna send cargo up."

"Oh, fuck." Chris pulls Lance to him, unsure of what to do. Lance doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeve, and he doesn't often seek out comfort, but Chris knows better than to think he doesn't need it. "It's lame as hell, but I'm sorry."

Lance pushes his face into the crook of Chris shoulder and squeezes his eyes together tight. It had been the next logical step in all this, the actual dismissal in some kind of writing, where it couldn't be ignored, even by the tenacity and refusal of acceptance that had dignified Lance for the past several years. He choked back a sob, but continued as unwaveringly as ever. "It was expected. Can't blame them for not wanting to be dicked around."

If he's honest with himself, Chris has to admit he didn't want Lance to go. Didn't want him somewhere out of reach, somewhere he couldn't get to him. Help him or protect him. But Chris never wanted this. It's bitter and it leaves a foul taste in his mouth and he can't even begin to imagine what Lance is feeling, defeat and disappointment and loss all at once. Chris holds him tighter, brushing bruised lips over his forehead, running a hand down his back. "There'll be another chance. You'll find it. I know it."

"I worked so hard," Lance's voice lowers sadly. "No one really knows how fucking hard I worked for this."

Chris lifts Lance's chin gently. "You're right. But I want to know. Will you tell me?"

"I don't think I can really. Explain it. But when I started this, the group and the things I had to do. Was nothing compared to this. But it never left me feeling as accomplished as this."

Chris strokes Lance's cheek, nodding. "This is all yours. And it was your dream long before any of us ever existed to you."

"It really hurts, Chris. They keep talking about April, but I'm not an idiot. I know what went down here and I know they used me."

"Jesus, Lance. I don't. I don't have the first clue what to say here. Except that I'm listening. If you want to talk about it. Get it out. I mean, there has to be a way, right?"

"What's there to get out?" Lance asks then, backing away. "It's all pretty plain and pretty clear, and I wanted it so bad that I let them control every fucking little detail. And you know, after what we went through with Lou, I promised myself I'd never let anyone have that again. And fuck, there was one thing that would make me move across the world and alienate myself from people I love just so I could do this one thing for me and... god, Russian is an unforgiving language, Chris. And it's cold and beautiful and you know," bows his head sadly, "I can relate to that."

Chris is standing by the time Lance is done, his fingers itching to reach out, to touch, but God, Lance is closed off. "You're not, you know. At all."

"I kind of have to be," Lance tilts his head up to look at Chris. "Otherwise, I'd go insane."

Chris walks over to Lance, and it hits him right in the gut again that he's here, in Russia, with this man. Who seems to feel something more than fraternal love for him. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. "Beautiful, yeah. Not cold, though. Never. And if you were..." He pauses, closing his eyes. "Then I came to warm you up."

Lance looks down again and he feels more than a little afraid at just how that makes him feels, like the floodgates could open and it would be okay. "The worst part of all this, other than the anger and the hatred and the bitterness, is that I don't want to go home. I can't stay here, but I can't go home either."

"What is home, Lance? Mississippi? Orlando? For me, it's you guys. Which is straight out of Cosmo or something, but whatever. It's true. I missed home, so I came here. Home's where people love you. It's never a place you can't go."

"That's too intangible for me. You should know that."

Chris sighs, hanging his head. "So what, Lance? You know I'll do anything. Get a place in Moscow proper. Hang out in Europe for awhile. There's nothing I'd rather do than follow you around while you figure out the next step. Because we both know it doesn't end like this."

"I need everything clear. I'm too fucking set in my life to go venturing off on a life quest now."

Chris lets out a controlled breath, trying not to get frustrated. "Okay, for the stupid one here, what exactly does that mean? And Jesus, Lance, what do you think you're doing here? If this isn't a quest I don't know what the hell it is. What do you want me to do? How do I help?"

"This wasn't a... a quest. There was never anything more certain in my life than this. The big shebang, the if I never did anything else in my life..." Lance's voice trails off. "I don't know what I want you to do. You just got here yesterday and god, that just makes hating the whole fucking world that much harder."

"I don't know how to help you. I can't if you don't let me. I just know that this isn't how this ends. That's what the gut tells me. These people are always open for negotiation."

"They sent a letter, Chris. That letter will be public knowledge by Monday morning. And I get to shuffle back Stateside like the spoiled little boy I am."

"Fuck," Chris rubs a hand over his face. "Just. Fuck. I'm supposed to be wise counsel here, right? And I don't know jack."

"I didn't mind being their joke, you know, before. When I could go up there and flip them all off."

"For what it's worth, and I realize it's not a hell of a lot, I think you should see if there's another angle here. Another way. You're not a joke, Lance. There are thousands of people out there who wanted this for you. And not because of some stupid punch line."

Lance pulls his knees to his chest before resting his forehead on them. "I know there's something. I just can't get past it enough to *see* it."

Chris kneels down in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. "Maybe you need to think about something else, then. For a little while. It'll come to you."

Lance presses his lips to Chris' hand, "Is that where you come in?"

"If you'll let me."

"Yeah. I. I just need..." Lance lifts his head as his legs spread and slide to the floor again. He takes Chris' hand and tugs him between them. He looks at Chris, long and hard, before leans in to kiss him.

Chris kisses him back, fingers twining into the hair at the back of Lance's neck. When he finally breaks away, gasping, it's only to breathe against Lance's mouth, "Tell me what you need. I'll give it to you."

Lance keeps leaning forward searching, whimpering softly at the distance, small as it is. It's like every little thing inside is bubbling over, and he curls his fingers in the shirt at Chris' bicep and murmurs, "Just you," before he finds Chris' mouth again.

It's pretty damn good, the kiss, and the pain in Chris's hand and his mouth is a distant memory as he sucks on Lance's lip, straddling his lap, pulling them chest to chest.

Lance can taste the faint hint of blood and there's a torrent rushing through his head, because he doesn't get any more open than this, and he really does need Chris to see it, to understand that this is what he has, what he is, and after eight years, it has to be enough. His hands slip down, one at Chris' hip, the other lower to cup Chris' ass and pulls him even closer.

It's ridiculous how much Chris wants this, how much he wants Lance. He pulls away slightly, eyes locking with Lance's and he can see it, then, there's something naked there that Lance never shows and Chris lets out a small whimper before his mouth is meeting Lance's again. It's a gift, as big a thing as Lance can give, and Chris craves more.

Everything inside of Lance stirs with the sweet slide of his tongue in Chris' mouth, the flavor of need tingling against it, and Lance moves with it. He grunts as he lifts and twists, and eases Chris down. He places his hand under Chris' head against the floor, and just spreads out over him.

If someone had told Chris this scenario could ever possibly be romantic, he would have laughed in their face. Yet the way Lance moves over him, the care, is enough to put a lump in his throat that only goes away when Lance is pressed to him, head to toe, grounding him.

This is simple, Lance's mouth against Chris' skin, small panting breaths and the heady scent of Old Spice. It's Chris' mouth and bristled chin. It's Chris' neck, sloping into the deep crook of his shoulder. Lance buries himself there, and he thinks, just a moment to catch his breath, just a moment to chase everything else out of his head. But one moment turns to two, and before he can stop it, he's shaking and there are tears and they make their way down his cheeks even after he closes his eyes against them.

Chris knows how to handle this. Comfort he can do. It's weird, that this should be a relief, but it is, and his arms come around Lance's back, stroking, soothing. He hums softly into Lance's hair, kissing his head, holding him. "Don't fight it. It's okay."

And Lance doesn't, not really. Because it's the kindness that breaks him further and he sniffles into Chris' shirt until it's wet against his cheek. And he thinks it'd be easier and not so gut wrenchingly hard if it was just a bottle of brain numbing vodka as his friend. He can't help cursing, muttering his anger and regret through gritted teeth and out onto soft, wet, cotton.

Chris hurts for Lance, hates that this is happening. But Chris has no illusions that he can understand what this is like for him. Lance has always been the steady one, the foundation. The true bass, and for him to be so open about his pain is a huge deal. Chris can't do anything but be there and hope it helps.

Lance isn't entirely sure how long he lay there before it stops. Before the tears dry up and the short, convulsing sobs still. When he opens his eyes, it hurts a little, the harsh light and the visible reality of where he still is. But then he remembers to breathe, to inhale, and feel the steady hand on his back. It's so different, actually losing himself, and trying to imagine how he would, if it hadn't been Chris. And his thoughts run muddled through just what had gone on, and how Chris had opened. And he needed Chris to know. He stays there, nuzzled against Chris' neck, "The parts of me, you know, that Freddy had. They were never the important parts. The parts you have."

Those words shouldn't have the power to make Chris as happy as they do, especially not now, when Lance is dealing with so much garbage. He hates that he even thinks to ask it, hates more that the words come from his mouth before he can stop them. "Did you love him?"

"No," Lance says a little too quickly. "I don't think so. He was just here. He really did try, to be that though."

"It's okay, you know. If you did." Chris clears his throat. "If you do. I can't just expect to come here and have this. With you."

Lance doesn't want to move, but there's suddenly a whole lot of heat and Lance slides his hand carefully out from under Chris' head and rolls off onto his back next to him. "There's never been anyone outside of you guys that has given me enough time to even try and understand what this is like. That connected us. But it's not. He didn't get inside like you do."

Chris rolls onto his side, watching Lance. "No one's ever gotten close. Not like you." He reaches out, running a gentle finger along Lance's jaw. "I gave up on the whole dating thing."

Lance gaze flickers to Chris' face. He sets his focus on Chris' mouth and it's easier to talk when he's not looking at his eyes. "I figured if I kept trying, someone'd get it."

"We've ruined ourselves for other people. At least you and I have. Different reasons, same result."

Lance focuses again on the ceiling again. A short, ironic laugh pushes its way out as he thinks about how fitting it is for him to start something with Chris like this, charged emotions, hitting all time lows and highs all within the first twenty four hours. He thinks it really couldn't be any other way. "You're going to stay right? Till I figure out what to do, how to go back."

"Lance." Chris waits, until Lance's eyes are on his again. "I'm staying. Like, long term. Here. There." He rolls his eyes. "Anywhere. And enough with the Seuss, that's your gig."

Lance smiles then, through the remaining haze, "Yeah, my gig. You uh, think that we can," he motions over his head towards the hallway, "take this somewhere that won't kill our backs?"

Chris grinned, nodding. "Yeah, these old bones, man. Gotta watch out. Might pull something."

The smile tugs at the corner of Lance's mouth as he laughs and shakes his head. He climbs a little awkwardly to his feet and then offers his hand to Chris, "C'mon then."

Chris takes Lance's hand, lets himself get pulled to his feet and then he's right there, in Lance's space, grinning as he tilts his head up just a little, because Lance isn't that much taller and really, they fit together pretty damn well. He brushes his nose against Lance's, smiling against the warm skin. "You do well in this climate. I wouldn't have thought that'd be the case."

Lance shifts just a little, and rests his hands on Chris' hips. The smile doesn't leave his face, even as he shrugs a little sloppily. "'So good that I can still surprise you after all these years."

Chris slides a leg between Lance's, kissing his way up to his ear, whispering, "I think you're full of them. I've always loved that about you. How you manage to be so solid and unpredictable all at once."

Lance shudders just a little as he tilts his head to the side, "Part of that Southern thing I've been telling you about."

Chris's tongue darts out, licking along the shell before he pulls back, eyes dancing. "Class in session again?"

"Oh hell yeah," Lance breathes; fingers slip under the hem of Chris' shirt and graze slowly over the warm skin at his belly. They dip boldly under the waistband of Chris' jeans and tug, just so, "And I just get better each time."

"Them's fighting words," Chris says, sliding out of Lance's grasp, grinning over his shoulder as he moves out of the kitchen, jogging down the hall into the bedroom.

Lance takes just a moment, to blow out any tension he might have left, before he takes off after Chris, "And you better be naked, or on your way by the time I get there!"

Chris is lounging on the bed by the time Lance reaches him, a strategically placed plant on the bed in front of him, grinning widely. "It's kind of like Eden, don't you think?"

Lance takes a small step back and scrunches his nose up as he starts in on the buttons of his own shirt. "Eden huh," he flicks the ones at his wrists and slips his shirt over his shoulder and lets it fall to the floor. "I think if you get dirt on my bed," he lifts his t-shirt over his head and tosses that too as he climbs onto the bed and tops before the plant. He palms the side of the pot and pushes it out of the way and doesn't wince when he hears it thump to the floor. He crawls almost gracefully over Chris and smiles, "paradise."

Chris wraps his arms around Lance's neck, pulling him flush against himself, murmuring, "From Russia with love." Chris kisses him, then, sliding his legs apart so Lance settles between them, nipping at his lips as skin slides against skin.

"God bless Russia then," Lance grins against Chris' mouth before he's kissing again, still sweet, but more demanding and it's a fine, fine line between gentle and intense.

There's not a limit to how much Chris wants Lance, and that's a little overwhelming, because he's used to having the upper hand in relationships, and it's pretty clear he's in over his head here. It's like he's standing at the edge of some really high cliff, and for once he's not afraid of the fall.

Lance pulls it all in, swallowing Chris' breath and the sweet, sweeping taste of his mouth. Lance grinds against him, full and hard and almost insanely wanting. He grounds out Chris name, more than once he's sure, but can't bring himself to much more than... taste.

Chris claws at his back in response, needing something, anything, because the desperate edge is driving him crazy and he's murmuring "please" over and over again against Lance's mouth, rocking up into him, flushed with need. It's exquisite, the pressure, the salt of Lance's skin.

It's an effort for Lance to pull away but he does. He sits back on his heels, running his fingers over his own oversensitive lips, and then Chris's. Chris's body is something he's seen, watched it change and with the years, but he's never seen it like this, flushed and piqued in excitement. "God," he whispers reverently, "you're beautiful," and fingers trail lightly away from Chris's lips and over his cheek.

No one says things like that to Chris Kirkpatrick. And anyone else, at any other time, and he probably would have jumped all over them. Because beautiful's not something he's ever been. He's seen enough of it to know. Lying there, under Lance, who's like something Edith Hamilton would have written about, a piece of mythology from ages past, he knows Lance is. But in that moment he feels it, feels beautiful, and a delicate shudder passes through him.

It's really sort of funny that Chris is so quiet, almost still, and the smile touches more than Lance's lips, as he slides his hands over the curve of Chris' shoulder and down his arms. He takes one of Chris' hands and pulls it up to his own chest and then presses it, palm to palm, to his other hand. He tilts his head to the side and watches his hand move. He focuses so intently on the lines, the ones on his fingertips that distinguish him from the rest of the world. He presses those lines, his print, against Chris' fingers, his palm and over the back of his hand. It's slow and deliberate, and behind it there's a mission.

Chris watches Lance with dark eyes, almost scared to move. "Lance," he breathes, and his voice sounds far away. "Lance, what are you doing?" His eyes flutter shut as he lifts up against Lance, trying to urge him into action, trying to speed this up because he has no clue what's next.

"Shhh," Lance whispers intently, pressing a soft kiss to the pulse point at Chris' wrist before he maps the skin there. "I'm marking you."

"Oh," Chris says, and maybe it sounds dumb but he's not sure how to respond. His breath hitches as Lance's fingers ghost along his arm, and yeah, okay. This is good, too. He can deal with this.

It isn't fast, but Lance knows Chris's body already and his fingers seem to flow as they press over flesh and move forward. When he hits Chris' throat, his lips start to follow.
And oh, that's something, right there. The smooth, hot glide of Lance's mouth and his fingers everywhere and Chris is tilting up, arching off the bed. If it's this good now he can't imagine what it's going to feel like when Lance ventures lower. He reaches out, tangling a hand in Lance's hair as he whispers his name.

Lance shifts a little, higher across Chris's belly. He sits straight up as he moves long Chris's chin, through the goatee and then to his lips. They're soft against his fingers, red and full, and he sweeps lightly over them.

Chris kisses the fingers, wants to do more but he knows that's not Lance's intent and he contents himself with the slight contact. It's surreal, to lay back, to just let Lance do the work. Surreal, but incredibly intense, and Chris wants nothing more than to return the favor.

Lance's fingers move continuously over Chris's nose and up the bridge. He presses gently into his temples and fingers his forehead before he moves into Chris' hair. Lance folds over him and kisses Chris' forehead as his the pressure-glide takes him back and he lifts Chris' head and says, "Over."

Chris reaches up, kissing Lance softly, pressing their foreheads together. "Love you." He rolls over, biting back a groan as he adjusts, getting comfortable. It's odd, the sensation of Lance hovering over his back, and hot, and the pressure is too much and not enough.

Lance runs his hands lightly over Chris' back and presses a smile between his shoulder blades before he works his mark over wide plains of skin. He's defined and the muscles twitch beneath the skin, and it's a sight to watch and a hundred times more intense to feel.
And he continues, mapping over Chris' sides, pressing into his hips and along the base of his spine. He leans in and kisses just above the crack of Chris' ass as his fingers move into and along the curves.

If that's not the best damned feeling in the world, it certainly ranks up there in the top five. Chris is moaning, his body rocking into the mattress as Lance's fingers dance across his skin. He presses his face into the pillow, holding on tight, managing to stammer out, "You're gonna kill me, you know. I'll be dead before this is over. Blissed out but flat lined."

"We can't have that, now," Lance almost rumbles, his fingers pressing where Chris's ass meets his thigh. "There's a follow up to the fingers you know. Gotta," he kisses one cheek, "keep," then the other, "you around for that."

"Oh, you fucker," Chris grunts, gritting his teeth. "So not with the playing fair." He's pushing back against Lance's hands now, restless and wanton and hungry. "Want you so bad."

Lance stops moving his hands and crawls up Chris' back, "I want you to remember that there isn't a part of you that I haven't touched."

"I remember, I swear, cross my heart, pinky, all that." Chris shakes his ass as well as he can from the position he's in under Lance. "Just, you know. Waiting here. "

Lance kisses Chris' neck below his ear, "Tell me you've got something tucked away in your bag. We used my last one last night."

"I did come here to seduce you, you know. I'm not completely incompetent. I think there might even be flavors in there."

"Those're for later. I'm going with plain and simple right now. Where are they?"

Chris groans, pressing his face to the pillow for a minute before he murmurs, "Suitcase. Black medicine bag inside the top pocket. And I'm not getting any younger."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Lance laughs as he licks Chris' ear and then jumps off the bed and goes to the closet. He pulls Chris' suitcase out and digs through it until he sees what he wants and grabs them. "And you know," he tosses the packets at Chris on the bed, "If you were seducing," he shakes himself out of his pants and boxers and then crawls back between Chris's legs, "you shoulda had them ready."

"You never let me seduce you, remember? You plied me with vodka and had your wicked way with me and I didn't get a chance. Mad skills, I've got. And they're ribbed for your pleasure, Bass. Where's the love?" Chris forcibly shuts his own mouth, then, because Jesus, he really does talk too much.

Lance reaches behind him to the nightstand for the lube before he nuzzles against Chris' ear, "Oh baby," he drawls, "I got your love right here." he presses the cap open drizzles it over his fingers. He moves slowly down the cleft of Chris' rear, leaving a slick trail all the way to the small, puckered hole. He traces the rim lightly before pushing inside, as he leans in and bites gently at Chris' shoulder.

"Love. Yeah, fucking love that." Chris groans, pushing back against Lance's finger. "Love you, love your finger, love your dick. Love. Love, love, love. We all really need love." He chokes out a laugh, rocking forward against the mattress.

Lance can't help the almost gleeful giggle that shakes its way out and he palms the small of Chris' back to hold him steady as he pulls away, slicks a second finger and eases them both in slowly. This is so different, watching the muscles tense against this touch, hard and intruding, and more than raw. And he has to close his eyes and will his arousal to a simmer.

The thing with Chris is that he's either dead silent or he can't shut up, and it's pretty clear he's entered the talking phase of the evening. He's not sure it'd be possible to stay silent like this, with Lance over him, his fingers moving expertly inside him. "Jesus, God, I'm going to become one with the mattress if you don't hurry up, Lance." He's breathless, warm all over and he's already so close. He needs.

Lance pulls his hand away and fiddles to open the foil and pull out the condom. He jacks himself with his slick fingers before rolling the latex over his cock. He then slides just a little along the slick skin of Chris' back, working himself, and kissing along Chris' shoulder blades, "Gotta learn you some patience, Kirkpatrick. We got all the time in the world now," Lance pulls down and slides an arm between Chris' middle and the mattress. He pulls Chris up and settles comfortably before easing inside excruciatingly slow.

"Fuck patience. Fuck slow. Jesus, just fuck me," Chris groans, trying to move back against Lance, trying to get him deeper, trying for more. All the time in the world doesn't matter now, because his world has become this bed and Lance inside him and he finds himself muttering, "Holy shit. Justin and JC's hips have nothing on you."

Lance has to catch himself, when he's completely enveloped in Chris' tight heat. He lays one hand at the base of Chris' spine and the other grips firmly at his hips and he ground out, "You gotta wait." he folds a little and the cocky, easy tone slides into a coarse whisper. "Too good, and I don't want to yet."

"Yeah, wait," Chris manages to choke out, and Lance is right, and he's shutting up now because this is maybe the best he's felt in a long time. Russia, man, who knew? Then Lance is moving and Chris thinks he was woefully under prepared for this, because Lance is better than good. Lance is fantastic and it's weird how he seems to just know where to touch and where to move and it looks like there was something to that whole "friends first" lecture after all.

The transition is simple, slow, languid strokes that strengthen and quicken all at once. Both of Lance's hands grip at Chris' hips, and he needs leverage and just something to keep him upright and moving.

Chris gasps, dropping his head as he pushes back against Lance, urges him deeper. He's dimly aware that he's making noises, incoherent mutterings under his breath, when he has breath enough to speak.

Lance slides his arm around Chris' waist as he digs deeper, thrusts harder. He palms Chris' dick and wraps his fingers around it. He jacks in rhythm, and he's so close that it almost hurts, because this dance is so fucking simple. Lance's forehead falls, slick against Chris' back. He grounds out the words, "Come for me, Chris. I want to hear you, c'mon."

Chris moans, thrusting forward, and Lance is so hot, burning him inside and out and it's not in him to try and fight this any longer. Not when both of them want it. "You, Lance. Jesus, God, yeah..." He trails off, arching back against Lance as he comes, gritting out Lance's name as he lets himself be taken.

The sound prickles at Lance's consciousness through the mad rush as he follows Chris into orgasm. He rides through it, everything sliding together as he presses against Chris's back and eases him down into the soiled blankets. Lance pulls off the condom and ties off the end before tossing it blindly towards the trash. And he waits, with his nose pressed firmly into the crook of Chris' neck, his lips mouthing slick skin, rasping, "Jesus, I love you."

Chris is panting, eyes closed and he's only dimly aware but that, that snaps him back and he smiles against the pillow, his hand reaching back and pulling Lance's arm over him, around him. "I love you, too."

Lance doesn't think he can get any closer than he is now and he can bury the circumstances that surround this in the steadiness of Chris' breath. He closes his eyes against the visual reminders of Russia and takes in the sweet scent of sex that covers Chris. "I'm so glad, so fucking glad you came."

Chris shivers a little at that and pushes further back into Lance, before tugging the covers up over them. "Shouldn't have taken me this long. But it's probably right up there near the top of the list of best decisions I've made."

"Mmmmhmmm," Lance murmurs against Chris' ear as he slides his arm around Chris' waist. "Knew you'd get it someday."

"Could've told me, you ass," Chris says, affectionately. "I'm kind of slow."

"That'd just be too easy," Lance drawls slowly and kisses Chris' neck.

"Nice to be worth the wait. And in case I haven't mentioned it before, I love your voice, too."

Lance laughs as he rests his head further into the pillow. "Will use it often."

"Thank God." Chris brings Lance's hand up, kisses the palm, then settles in.

*

It's a short, low rapping that stirs Lance into consciousness. He groans as he slips out from under Chris' sleep heavy limbs. He picks up his khakis from the floor and slips them on before leaving a small kiss on Chris' shoulder and heading out to answer the door.

Chris rolls over into the warm spot, groaning softly when he realizes it's empty. He opens one eye blearily, swearing at the clock before he sits up, padding into the bathroom.

Lance thanks the courier before he steps back into the apartment and shut the door gently. He leans back and fingers the envelope knowingly before he carries it back into the bedroom.

Chris comes out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel he throws over his shoulder. He slides up behind Lance, kissing the back of his neck. "Morning."

Lance smiles a little as he tips his head to catch a side glance at Chris, "Morning. Hope I didn't wake you."

Chris wraps his arms around Lance's waist, rubbing his chin along Lance's shoulder. "Cold without you."

"Well, let's get back under the covers then," Lance tugs at Chris' hand, pulling him along as he steps towards the bed.

"What'd you get up for?"

"Had to answer the door. It was," Lance shakes his head. "Nothing though."

"Yeah?" Chris lies down, pulling Lance back against him. "What's in your hand, then?"

Lance shrugs and hands the letter back to Chris, "Read it." He then shuffles over the bed and falls face first into the mussed blankets.

Chris opens it, scanning the text before he sets it on the bedside table, running a hand down Lance's back. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," Lance presses his nose into the blankets before rolling onto his back. "Cargo, Chris. Replaced by cargo."

Chris looks down at Lance for a long time. "You can't be replaced by cargo, Lance. You're better than that, and it's their loss."

Lance laughs a little bitterly. "I don't think they thought I could do it. That I could get through it and finish it. I was so close and now," he waves his hands dismissively.

"Don't do that," Chris frowns at him. "It's not in you to just walk away from something without a fight."

"What part of officially disqualified isn't registering here?"

"I don't think you get it, Lance." Chris sits up, adjusts the sheet a little so he's not flashing Lance. "People are talking about the space program like they haven't in years. Kids, little kids, are talking about being astronauts again. You did that. And the Russians? They need this money. They don't want to send cargo up. Whether it's this mission or another one, they need you."

"They had their use for me. Yeah, people are talking about the space program again and people are lining up to do this," he closes his eyes. "I gave them a name, press, and something to talk about. If it's not me, there's somebody else now."

"Kids didn't care about Dennis Tito. Or that South African dude. They cared about you."

"The Russians don't care about kids. They don't have 20 million dollars for this."

Chris scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, maybe. What do I know? Taylor just told me about kids doing a penny drive at her school, try to get some bank for you. They didn't write you off." He rolled out of the bed, grabbing his boxers.

"Chris," Lance sighs as he sits up. "It's not that I don't appreciate that, or that doesn't make me want to do something. I just don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."

"You're a smart guy. You'll think of something." Chris pulls on a t-shirt. "I'll go make breakfast."

"You don't have to make breakfast. You don't *have* to do anything."

Chris shoots him a smile over his shoulder. "I never implied that. Sometimes people want to do things for you, Lance. And they don't even expect anything in return." He turns, heading down the hall to the kitchen.

Lance falls back into the bed again and he stares at the ceiling for several moments. Penny drives. And letters from kids thanking him and telling him how he'd been an inspiration. He stood up angrily and looked at himself in the mirror. It was a face he barely recognized, wallowing in his own failure, betraying the trust of those kids who'd put themselves on the line to tell him how they felt. He was betraying the guys and his family and everything he knew he was. Why? Because he was afraid, because for once he didn't have the answers of where to go from here. How to fix it and turn it around.

Lance moved quietly away and picked up the plant from the floor. He moved it to its corner and tossed the used condom in the trash. He pulled the blankets and sheets off the bed and left them in a pile for the laundry service before he finally regrouped enough to join Chris in the kitchen.

Chris looks up from the stove, pushing some bacon around a skillet. "Coffee's made. There's a mug ready for you. You wanna set the table?" He has no idea how to handle this, really. He just knows there's a fighter in Lance, and he's not going to leave Russia until he sees that part of him again.

Lance pulls two plates from the cupboard and sets them quietly on the table. He grabs napkins and silverware and glasses before he starts in on pouring the coffee. It's automatic, the amount of sugar he pours into it. Russian coffee is far more bitter than anything they get back home. He carries the coffee to the table and then leans against he counter to watch Chris. "I will. I'll think of something. Just might take me a while."

"Yeah, you will." Chris watches him. "There are few things I have more faith in." He reaches around Lance, pulling toast out of the toaster oven, licking Lance's cheek before he pulls away.

"It'd be setting myself up you know. For more heartache."

"You want your eggs up or fried?" Chris asks.

"Fried,"

Chris nods, flipping the eggs. "You don't know that for sure, Lance. Doors don't shut unless you close them yourself."

"The next launch is in April," Lance offers then. "Six more months of this."

"You want this, right?"

"Yeah," Lance nods. "I want it."

"So you'll make it happen. Look," Chris slides the eggs onto the plates, and then goes back for the bacon.

"We busted our asses across Germany. Ran ourselves into the ground. I watched you, went over choreography at two o'clock in the morning with you so you'd get it right. All for a dream that wasn't really yours. This is your dream, man. Find the angle." He sits down, reaching for his coffee.

"Money's the angle. Money I ain't got. And you know," Lance sits across from Chris. "I wouldn't have worked so hard if I didn't want the group, Chris."

"'m not saying you didn't, Lance. I'm just saying you want this more. Shoot for the April flight. On your own terms. With your own people." Chris pokes at his eggs. "I think I overcooked these."

"You're just crazy enough to think this can happen, aren't you?" Lance can't keep the smile from stretching across his lips as he looks across the table at Chris. He wouldn't have gotten this from anyone else really. It's as subtle a kick in the pants as Chris can give.

"Just crazy enough, huh?" Chris winks at Lance. "I must be losing my touch."

"I'm gonna... got some calls to make and what not. I think." It's really a spark of inspiration as Lance sits there, unable to keep his eyes from Chris as he eats. "I think I should finish this one out. The training at least. See if they'll let me as a civilian, get the certification. I'll worry about the other stuff after."

Chris's eyes sparkle as he chews on his eggs. He gets up, leaning over to kiss Lance lightly before he takes his plate to the sink. "Definitely overcooked the eggs."

Lance picks up his plate as he gets up and brings it to Chris in the kitchen. He dumps it into the sink before putting a hand on Chris' waist, "Hey."

Chris sucks in a breath at the touch, running his finger along the cold metal of the sink. "Yo."

"Come help me make the bed, houseboy," Lance grins as he tugs the waistband of Chris' boxers. "We got lots more to make up for."

Chris turns, swatting at Lance's hands, grinning. "Yeah, yeah. Make me earn my keep."

*

Chris woke early, before the alarm, propping himself up on an elbow so he could watch Lance sleep. He ran a gentle finger along Lance's cheek, marveling at the velvety feel of it. He was never going to get tired of that. He didn't want to go.

Lance mumbles incoherently in his sleep as he moves instinctively towards the heat of Chris' body. He nuzzles at Chris' side, before mouthing the warmth, and stilling again.

Chris smiles, kissing Lance's forehead. He's beautiful like this, not that he isn't when he's awake, but Lance, asleep, is something entirely different. There's a peace to him, a quiet that always eludes him when conscious. Chris slides out of the bed, turning on the shower in the bathroom and getting in.

Oh, and Lance feels that absence immediately. He scrunches his nose into Chris' vacated spot and frowns. He opens his eyes slowly and makes the mistake of looking at the clock. Not a lot of time. Not enough in fact and Lance throws the blankets back and walks gingerly into the bathroom. He peeks in head into the shower and reaches inside to poke Chris' side, "You forgot something."

Chris turns, in the middle of soaping up his hair, and grins at Lance. "Morning. Um. I did?"

"Uh-huh," Lance pulls the curtain back further and steps inside, sliding up close to Chris. He leans forward on his toes and kisses Chris' forehead before tipping back and smiling. "Morning."

Chris laughs, and he feels light, despite the fact that he has to leave. He pulls Lance under the water, kissing him as it runs over both of them. "It's the age thing. I'm going senile."

"Tisk, tisk," Lance shakes his head and runs his tongue against the water dripping down Chris' neck. "I got my work cut out for me, I can see."

Chris snorts. "Yeah, but think of all the money you'll save when I qualify for the senior discount."

"Oh baby, I'm the extravagant one, remember?" Lance smoothes his hands along Chris' shoulders. "I just like reminding you is all," he leans in and slides his closed mouth over Chris'.

Chris closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the kisses, the slide of Lance's body against his, before he rests his head against Lance's shoulder, just holding him. "I don't owe Tom Arnold *that* big a favor."

Lance laughs a little breathlessly as his hands glide up over damp skin and rest at the base of Chris' throat. His thumbs brush gently over Chris' Adams apple. "You have to. And I have to. And it's only a couple of weeks and I'll be back home."

Chris starts humming "Digital Get Down" under his breath. "There are other ways to keep in touch, I s'pose."

"Mmmhmmm," Lance trails his nose lightly around Chris' ear. "But in the meantime I really, really want you," his fingers dance back down over Chris' chest and to his waist, "to fuck me."

Chris inhales sharply, running a hand through Lance's hair, down his face. "I think, yeah. I'm about one hundred ten percent sure I'm up for that." He leans in, pressing Lance against the wall. "But I don't want to do it perched precariously in the shower."

Lance grins mischievously as his fingers splay over Chris skin, "Wouldn't want anyone fallin' and breakin' a hip, huh?"

Chris's teeth close on Lance's shoulder, tugging lightly. "Watch it, Bass. My hips are just fine, thanks."

Lance tips his head back against the wall, "I promise to watch all you want later, after we've," he wiggles his own hips suggestively.

Chris licks at the mark, twining his fingers with Lance's as he raises Lance's arms over his head. "Yeah, speaking of that. Do I actually get you in the bed or what?"

"God, Chris," Lance leans forward to swipe at Chris' mouth with his tongue, "you get me wherever you want me."

Chris reaches behind him blindly, shutting off the water. "Bed. I want you in bed." He grabs a towel off the rack as they stumble out of the shower, wrapping it around the two of them haphazardly as he walks Lance out of the bathroom.

Lance stumbles almost giddily towards the bedroom. It's been a little over a week since Chris got there, and the excitement is still so full and flush in his belly that he's reluctant to let Chris ever out of his sight, let alone his bed, and it weren't so important to finish what he started, he would take that early trip home. Instead, he has this, Chris' hand at the small of his back, pushing him onto the rumpled blankets.

Chris stretches out over Lance, licking at some stray drops of moisture on Lance's chest as he works his way up. He's hopelessly addicted to Lance. The way he tastes, the way he smells, but moments like this, when they're one on top of the other, skin on skin and so much heat Chris thinks he'll burn alive - there's nothing else like this.

Lance bites down on his lip as he watches Chris, how concentrated he is, the dark intensity behind his gaze and how it penetrates him, breaks through layers built along the way to protect everything inside. Lance's hands hang loose at Chris' hips and he arches slightly up, "Now that you got me here," there's a breathless quality to his voice that surprises him a bit but he goes with just he same, "Whatever will you do with me?"

Chris leans down, tracing the outline of Lance's lips with his tongue before he kisses him, not letting up until both their lips are red and swollen. His eyes sparkle when he finally pulls away. "Since I'm the one taking off first, I think you get to choose."

Lance jerks his hands up, capturing Chris' face between them, holding him close, "God, just. Keep kissing."

Chris grins, settling himself against Lance as his mouth lowers once again. Lance tastes like cinnamon and cloves and something darker, like some lush old Scotch you're only allowed to drink from on special occasions. That's what this feels like. Some gift he's been given, the right to dip his tongue into Lance's mouth, to feel the soft velvet of Lance's tongue against his.

"Jesus, I love this," Lance groans. He feels a little desperate, to keep tasting, to keep pulling in Chris' breath. So many years without, and that was okay, really. But not so much now, that he has it, here between his legs, under his fingers as they skim languidly over Chris' jaw and along the smooth line of his neck, and against his tongue.

One hand's buried in Lance's hair, and the other's stroking down Lance's side when Chris finally moves away from Lance's lips, dropping kisses along his jaw, down his neck, until he pauses at the Adam's apple, sucking on it lightly before he breathes, "I could write a love song about your neck."

"God, yeah. And my neck," Lance finds himself writhing beneath the sweet pressure of Chris' mouth, "will be eternally grateful... Chris, mmmm... now would be a really good time."

Chris circles a finger idly around one of Lance's nipple as he mouths across his shoulder. "Hmm?"

Lance stifles a moan and thrusts up against Chris' leg instead. "Don't wanna wait anymore."

Chris raises his head, grinning. "Oh, right. That." He reaches past Lance, snagging a condom and fumbling blindly for the lube as he kisses him again.

"Tease," Lance murmurs as he nips at Chris' neck.

"Keep breaking my concentration," Chris says, running his nose along the shell of Lance's ear. He sits back, dropping the lube on Lance's chest as he strokes his inner thighs with his fingers.

"s'cold," Lance mumbles as he lifts the bottle into his hand. He twists the bottle a little in his hand as he closes his eyes and focuses on the slight tickle against his legs. He pushes the cap open and listens through the distinctive click before he opens his eyes again and meets Chris' gaze, "You need a little help?"

"As hot as that would be," Chris says, swiping the lube from Lance's hands, "no. I think I can handle this on my own. I want it to be me making you writhe, start to finish." He pours the lube into his hands, warming it between his fingers before he leans over Lance, pressing a finger inside smoothly.

Lance keeps his focus even through the white haze as he moves against Chris' finger. There had been words, ones that had formed in his brain before Chris worked his way inside--another time maybe--but they stop dead and all there is a slight whimper.

There's another finger, then, and Chris marvels at the sight below him. "My God. I'll never get enough." He tears open the condom with his teeth, hissing as he rolls it on, never taking his eyes off Lance's face as his fingers continue to move in and out of Lance's body. "You're the hottest fucking thing."

"Not. God," Lance shudders and feels his skin flush. Everything's open, his eyes, his mouth, every fucking piece of him, and he's begging for Chris to fill it, "C'mon Chris, please, now."

Chris's fingers are gone before Lance can even ask and then he's there. Pushing inside all that glorious heat. Chris rests his head against Lance's shoulder when he's buried inside, his body tremoring as he fights for control. "Jesus," he mumbles. "You're going to be the death of me." With that, he starts to move.

"Need you too much," Lance murmurs, as he shifts and adjusts, and just relaxes into it. His hands drop down into the sheets for leverage and he's there, meeting Chris' movements, his hips rolling in time, and he can barely see it's so good, and his voice rumbles out Chris' name, once, twice, infinitely.

Chris closes his eyes, losing himself in Lance. It's not hard to do, let the world drop away until it's just them. They'd been doing it all week. He twists his hips, groaning in unison with Lance, leaning down to smile against his skin. "Like that."

"Just. Like that," Lance echoes the words as he grasps at Chris' hips and clings, urging him with simple movements, just a little harder, just a little quicker.

And it's just that much better. Chris runs a hand down Lance's body, starts to stroke his cock as he thrusts. It's hot, so hot, and Chris presses as much of his body as he can against Lance's, skin crying out for him almost as loudly as Chris's voice is.

Lance hooks a leg and presses a heel into the back of Chris thigh. He rolls with Chris and closes his eyes against the fire that filters through his spine and over his skin. It's a shot, through his belly and he thrusts into Chris' hand as he comes achingly hard.

Chris is there already, has been there, hovering on the edge, trying to prolong this as long as he can but Lance is tightening under him and good goddamn if that's not the best feeling ever. Except it's not, because then his orgasm hits him and he gasps out Lance's name, biting down on his lip hard enough to taste blood.

Lance finds himself reaching, hands and mouth, needing to be closer. He pulls Chris tight, licking at his lips, and shuddering to a still.

Chris's body cools against Lance's as he calms but even still he's warm, inside and out. He kisses Lance, rains kisses all over his face. "I love you."

"Keep saying that, okay?" Lances whispers. "I mean it. Like, just. Keep saying it, even when you're home and I'm here."

"Won't stop," Chris grins. "I'll annoy the fuck out of everyone we know."

Lance laughs softly, "Oh, that's just a perk."

"I'm gonna," Chris murmurs. "You know I'm not gonna be able to, like, breathe without thinking about you, right?"

"We'll be in the same boat then."

Chris smiles. "The time'll fly."

Lance nods but it's strange how assured he's not. "Yeah. You know, when you get home, it'll be yesterday."

Chris shakes his head. "That's messed up. But if you're a day ahead, that's a day less without you, right?"

"Always considering the angles," Lance grins and then tosses his head back closing his eyes. "How long you got before you have to go?"

It's too tempting, and as sappy as it probably is Chris finds himself leaning down and brushing his lips across Lance's eyelids before he looks at the clock and sighs. "Car'll be here in an hour."

"Damn," Lance mumbles, his fingers curling over Chris' hips. "If you leave tomorrow, it'll be today back home."

"I don't want to leave at all," Chris sighs, tugging on Lance's hair. "I just got here."

"Ok, then fuck it, stay."

Chris grins, pulling the sheets over his head. "You get to call Tom."

"Oh, no, no," Lance squirms a little as he laughs. "He scares me."

Chris blows raspberries on Lance's chest, chuckling. "He scares me, too."

Lance lifts his hands to Chris' face and brushes his fingers along his cheeks, "Better not piss him off then, huh?"

Chris closes his eyes, resting his cheek against Lance's chest. "I guess. And wow, I am such a girl."

"Girls don't do what you just did," Lance laughs lightly and presses his mouth into Chris' hair. "As much as I hate to say it, we should get our asses up."

There's a song, some 80s one hit thing, Chris thinks, and it's running through his head. Singing's one thing Chris can do, so he starts humming it, then gets to the chorus. "I'll stop the world and melt with you..." He rolls his eyes at Lance. "Told you I was a girl."

"Just a big ol' sap," Lance tickles at Chris' sides. "But, I can sing it back, so what's that make me?"

"A really good listener?" Chris sticks his tongue out at Lance. "You were, like, in kindergarten when that came out."

Lance leans forward and nips at Chris' tongue and then presses his forehead to Chris', before he hums the tune himself, "There's nothing you and I won't do,"

"I wish I could," Chris whispers.

"You did."

Chris swallows, closing his eyes and resting against Lance for a moment longer before he rolls away with a groan. "I should finish getting ready."

Lance turns on his side and watches as Chris gets up. "You'll be thanking the gods that I'm such a techno geek the next couple weeks, you know that, right?"

Chris pokes his head out of the bathroom. "I'm going to get naked photos, right?"

Lance grins, "If that's what'll get you through the night."

There's the muffled sound of teeth brushing, then a zipper as Chris throws his stuff into his shaving kit. He heads back into the bedroom, snagging some boxers and pulling them on. "My mom bought me one of those digicams for Christmas last year."

"Does this mean you'll never listen the same to Digital Getdown again?"

"I tried not to listen too hard in the first place," Chris winks.

Lance laughs and rolls out of bed himself. He pulls a pair of sweats over his bare ass and a t-shirt over his head. "Is there something I can do?"

"I was going to suggest nude modeling, but I guess that's out." Chris pulls on a pair of cargos and a shirt before he leans over his duffel. "And I'm good."

Lance nods slowly, "Yeah. Good. Okay."

It doesn't take long. Chris has always packed light, and everything's folded neatly, thanks to Lance, so it goes in even easier. He stands up, brushing his hands on his pants. "All set."

"And with time to spare," Lance teases. "I'm impressed."

"Had to leave time for more important things."

Lance smiles, "Oh yeah?"

Chris nods. "Yeah. You know, like you."

Lance looks down to his feet as he blushes. He hasn't felt like this in... well maybe never, and it's Chris for chrissakes, who he's known for forever now. "Yeah, well, always thinkin', you are."

"Are you blushing? Did I make Lance Bass blush?"

"Naw," the color in Lance's cheeks deepen. "I don't blush. It's just warm in here."

Chris walks over, pulling Lance to his feet and kissing him again. "It looks good on you."

"You look good on me," Lance murmurs. "And Christ, who's the girl now?"

"I promise not to tell if you don't."

"Deal," Lance smiles and fingers the hem of Chris' shirt.

"Hey, so." Chris isn't really sure how to say this. "Are you gonna be okay? I mean. I assume Freddy's still here, and. Yeah. I don't know. I just. Should really never talk ever."

Lance backs away a little and shakes his head, "Oh, no, hey. I'll be fine. I talked to him a couple of times since. Far from good, but he knows the deal, so whatever."

"Get back here." Chris reaches for him. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just. It's bad enough leaving you. I wanted to make sure you're going to be alright."

"You didn't. Upset me. And you know me, I'll be fine. A couple of weeks, I'll be home. It's all good. I swear," Lance lifts right hand in the air.

"Okay," Chris says, wrapping his arms around Lance again. "We can handle a couple weeks."

Lance nods slowly but smiles, "Considering it's taken this long to get here, yeah."

"You really sure you're alright with him hanging around?" Chris squints at his shoes. "I could, I dunno. Go buy some mafia protection or something. Not that he's done anything. I just. Am going to stop talking now."

"Okay, look. I've been talking to him and he's still pretty pissed and can you blame him really? Because I can't. And you know, he's been here the whole time, it'd be bad if he suddenly wasn't."

"Yeah," Chris mutters. "I knew I should have done the not talking thing sooner."

Lance sighs. "He's not gonna go psycho and kill my dog. And he knows there's not gonna be anything else. Chris, I'm not sure what else to say about it. There's an appearance that needs to be kept up."

Chris looks up, frowning. "There's an appearance that needs to be kept up?"

"The fact that he's my bodyguard or whatever it is he's been called."

"Right," Chris exhales. "Look, I'm sorry. Let's not waste our last," Chris looks at his watch, "half hour or so talking about him."

"I just... I'm kind of the prick here, and yeah, not talking about him anymore. I'm sorry."

"No one's a prick and there'll be no more apologies. I know where your heart is."

"Good and a couple weeks it's over," Lance smiles. "So, we're good."

Chris rubs his hand over his head, looking around the room. "So. As long as I'm here, might as well take care of changing the sheets for you."

"You don't have to change the sheets, Chris. As long as you're here, we can go watch bad Russian infomercials till the car comes. Or whatever."

Lance always changes his sheets. He's compulsive about it, and it hits Chris all of a sudden why maybe he doesn't want to. He swallows and grabs his bags, nodding. "Yeah. I'll just go put these by the door."

Lance moves quickly until he's behind Chris. He's got his hand over Chris' wrist urging the duffle to the floor. He presses against Chris' back, fingers curling, "It'll tide me over you know."

Chris closes his eyes, resting against Lance. His head tips back against Lance's cheek and he smiles softly. "You really like me."

Lance turns his face just a little to inhale and then press his lips to Chris' cheek. "I really do. Next time I won't be so subtle and I'll just whack you over the head or something."

"Those sheets are going to drive you crazy, man. You know you're going to start twitching in about an hour."

"I go back to Star City in two days," Lance breathes, "When you leave, I'm gonna crawl into that bed and sleep until then."

"So this means you're not going to laugh at me for stealing one of your shirts, huh?"

"I'm still gonna laugh," Lance drags Chris' hand to rest at his own stomach. Lance's hand still covers Chris' wrist.

Chris brushes his fingers against warm, soft skin, and smiles. "You're not making this any easier."

"I don't want it to be easy. I want it to ache because it's real and heavy it's the first thing since I left home eight years ago that I don't want to let go of."

Chris is completely at a loss for how to respond to that. So he doesn't, just gets as close to Lance as he can again, kissing him gently before he whispers in his ear, "Never."

"You're making a deal with the devil, Kirkpatrick," Lance teases, but smiles against Chris' cheek just the same. "I'm gonna hold you to that."

"You'd better," Chris pulls away, pinching Lance's nose. "Because that's one promise I fully intend to keep.

It's the rush of emotion that startles Lance more than the loud knock on the door outside. It's only two weeks and he's sure the training will keep him busy enough that thoughts of home, and what it holds now, will only just short of consume him. He's pretty sure he sounds like an idiot when he finally comes out with, "I guess that's you," before his fingers finally unfurl and let go.

Chris closes his eyes, jerking his head slightly as he takes mental inventory. He's not a wuss, he can do this. Jesus, the two of them waited long enough as it was to make the big leap, they can function apart from each other. No big. Which does nothing to make his voice sound any less small when he says, "Yeah. It's me." His fingers tangle in the soft hair at the back of Lance's neck as he kisses him one last time before he has to answer the persistent knock.

-fin-

 

stories // home // journal