Hooked
It's been a long day, stupid crap Chris has had to do since they got back from Germany, and he's worn out by the time he gets back to the house. He heads upstairs and cranks the Ramones before he crashes on his bed, eyes shutting immediately.
Lance peeks out from under the book he's been reading and cringes at the... noise that's now pounding at the edges of his brain. Leave it to Chris to not even notice he's in the room. "You know, there are such things as headphones."
Chris opens one eye and looks over. "Yeah. And?"
"Yeah and," Lance almost huffs. "How about using them? And why do you listen to this stuff? It's just. Noise."
"Noise? Noise?! These are the Ramones, Lance. They're legends. You should learn to appreciate them."
Lance snorts, "Legends in your mind maybe."
"Woah," Chris sits up. "Woah. The Ramones?! They're, like. The founding fathers of American punk."
"And that's supposed to mean something to me why?"
"Because as a musician you should have a sense of history. And as my roommate you should have some taste."
"Listening to this does not require taste, Chris," Lance moves slowly towards the stereo and turns the volume down. "Earplugs. Or something, yeah. But not taste."
"I realize that coming from a place where all the music is about shitty beer and loose yet oddly attractive women, you might not have had any exposure to music with real meaning." Chris stands up, and turns up the volume again. "But look. The soundtrack to your post-adolescent angst awaits!"
"Hey!" Lance shrieks indignantly. "The women are not loose and country is the music of pain. This, God. It's. What the hell is he talking about anyway? And how do you dance to this?""He's talking about the restlessness that comes from youth, and how music speaks to that. And just how fucking awesome it is to be at a show, losing your mind. I mean. How can you not dance to this?"
"Awesome? Okay, see, I guess this is where me being some kind of," Lance almost winces, "'hick' comes into play here, 'cause I don't get it. I just. It's not like, okay," Lance turns back towards the stereo and switches it to the radio and moves the dial to tune in a local country station.
Chris rolls his eyes, crossing his arms around himself. "You're going to make my ears bleed, aren't ya?"
Lance pokes Chris in his side teasingly then, "Just. Listen," he adjusts the tuning and Patsy Cline is crooning about loneliness. "There's sentiment in this. There's emotion and longing and you can dance to this."
Chris scoffs. "You can dance. To this."
Lance feels the color fill his cheeks, "Well, yeah. Not like Bandstand or anything, but this is the stuff, you get real close and yeah, you can."
Chris raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching. "You've got a lot of experience in that, do you?"
Lance licks his lips, "A little. Maybe. Some."
"You've got some moves on you, huh? You been holding out on us?"
"It's not," Lance silently curses himself, because he knows he has to be turning about five different shades of pink. Still he forces himself to meet Chris' gaze. "Not like that."
Chris watches Lance with sparkling eyes. "What's it like, then? C'mon, man. You're making me listen to this, you might as well make it worth my while."
It hits Lance, a sort of determination that's got his mind screaming and putting him into motion.
"Well, fine then," and the little voice is telling him to make it good and remember Maria Escobar, who showed him just how possible it was to dance to Patsy Cline and give it a little flair. He grabs Chris' hand and pulls it to his own hip as he pushes his knee between Chris' legs. "It's a little bit of everything."
Chris swallows, hard, because he hadn't expected this. He's come to know Lance pretty well, but to call Lance reserved is pretty much the understatement of the century. Not when it comes to the guys, or goofing off, but they were in bar after club after bar in Germany and rarely, if ever, did Chris see Lance approach anyone. His fingers curl a little, hooking onto Lance's shirt as he nods. "Okay. I think I can handle that."
It takes a lot of effort for Lance to hold eye contact, but that's part of it and he knows it. "The thing about this stuff is the slow twang of the guitar," That's what Maria had told him. That and, "And you gotta feel that in your hips," and he presses against Chris and it's really weird and kind of hot when he moves them. "This ain't my momma's country anymore."
"It's not," Chris's voice catches a little and it's his turn to flush. "It's not any country I've ever heard, either." His eyes stay with Lance's as his other hand settles on Lance's other hip and he moves in closer. "You were saying?"
"I was," the words sort of stop there, and Lance can feel himself stirring, because wow, Chris has got the hip thing going. And really, he should have that down by now, after watching Chris, well not watching really, but... Christ, he thinks, and is relieved as hell when the song changes and it's faster, and he can pull back and just sort of nod and finally drop his eyes. "See, there, you go. You can dance to it."
Chris steps away, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'll give you half a point. I'm not sure," he winks, "that most people would call what we just did dancing."
"Well, usually there's more music, not just a verse, and it's, there's more, and whatever. It's still not that other stuff."
Chris shakes his head, laughing softly. "You've never been in a pit, obviously. The energy - it's just electric, and the adrenaline rush and the press of bodies and..." he trails off, grinning. "It's impossible to describe. But it sure as hell beats the Boot Scoot Boogie."
"Well obviously," but Lance can't help smiling. "You should, maybe, if I do it I might see what you mean, right?"
Chris bounces on his toes. "You'll come to a show with me?"
"Well, if you want," and the pink is there again, darker this time, but Lance still smiles.
Chris runs his hand over Lance's hair, ruffling it as he hoots. "Oh, man. Like, the Bosstones and Pietasters are in town, soon. And dude, the Descendants, I think..."
"Whoa, whoa. I don't even know who they," but Chris' enthusiasm is infectious and Lance falls down onto the edge of his bed. "Ed-ju-mi-cate me."
"Dude," Chris is grinning widely as he rubs his hands together, "I am so going to school you." He sits down next to Lance, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "No one goes to shows with me. It can be our thing."
"Our thing," Lance echoes quietly as he twists his hands in his lap. "Okay. When?"
Chris is silent for a minute. "Well, we don't have anything going on Friday, do we? We can go to the Black Cat. They may not have any big names playing, but they always have great shows. High energy. And I know all the bouncers, so it shouldn't be a problem getting you in."
Maybe it takes more than a moment to sink in, but there it is, a date, well not, but going to a club with Chris just the two of them, and it's theirs. "What um. So should I be cranking this stuff every night till then so I can get used to it? And um," Lance's lip twitches as he wrings his hands a little tighter.
Chris bounces a little again. "I'll make you some tapes. I think I can come up with some great mixes - stuff that won't scare you away." He turns, raising an eyebrow. "Um what?"
"Since I've never. I'll just know what to do?" Lance looks at Chris shyly. "The dancing, I mean."
Chris nods. "Right. Well, it's not. There aren't steps, not really. You just kind of move with the beat and let your body go and I'm going to look like a huge ass if I try to slamdance alone so please don't make me." He winks.
"Um. Slamdance?"
"Yeah. You know. Kind of like when two basketball players thump chests after a good play, except a lot more physical."
"And you enjoy this? Doesn't it hurt?"
"Well, um. Sort of? It's part of the adrenaline rush, though. You lose yourself in it."
Lance raises a brow skeptically. "Okay." Then he nods. "Okay. I trust you."
They don't say things like that to each other, not really, and it gives Chris a moment's pause before he speaks. "I promise I won't let you get roughed up. It's a good crowd. No one's in it for pain or anything."
"Well, that's. Good. And, you know, thanks. It'll be fun." If not, interesting, Lance thinks.
"Man," Chris flops back on Lance's bed, grinning up at the ceiling. "I remember my first show. This is going to be awesome."
Lance stops fiddling with his hands and turns just slightly to look at Chris, "How was it? Your first show."
Chris pulls Lance so he's lying down next to him. "I was fourteen. My friend Jeff and I snuck into this show at the Statehouse. Went in through a back entrance. I don't even remember who was playing except the music was loud and fierce and. There was no pretension. It was just raw, you know?" He shifts on his side so he's facing Lance. "I could forget about everything. Everything."
"Everything," Lance nods and thinks, oh, because Chris doesn't talk about that time in his life much. They got small stories, when Chris thought it was necessary to share, but for the most part, he just didn't. Lance thinks maybe it's a pride thing, but then as he watches Chris now, he doesn't get this part too much, when it's just him. "Did you know before then, that it was something you'd like? Not like me, right?"
"I was pretty sure. I mean, I'd heard stuff. At friends' houses. It sure as hell wasn't the Beatles, which was all Mom listened to, really. But seeing that band live, and feeling that energy. I was hooked. You ever felt like that?"
Hooked. Lance shakes his head as he's saying, "No."
"No? Nothing? Really? Huh." Chris looks back up at the ceiling, resting his head against Lance's shoulder. "I think that's when I got hungry for this."
"Well, not like music or anything I read or whatever, but," Lance can't help but tip his head a little against Chris. His braids tickle his cheek a little. And it feels. Nice. "The sky, you know, at night. Space and stuff."
Chris is sort of surprised at the touch, at how much the way they're draped over each other isn't an issue. "You and your stars." His voice is soft. "Who knows. Maybe in a few years they'll be doing transports to the moon and you'll get to go up there. Can I ask you something?"
Lance laughs lightly, "Sure, you know you can."
"What is it about them? Because I look up and there, and it's nowhere near comforting. It's cold and empty and." He bites his lips. "I guess I have issues."
Lance considers a moment, and yeah, if he hadn't done this, he'd have gone to college, preferably the Air Force Academy, and done whatever he could to put himself into space. He never really knew why exactly. Maybe he had an idea, but he wasn't sure something so abstract would be the sort of explanation Chris was looking for. "Nothing scares me. Nothing really pushes those buttons inside that make me step back and go, 'wow'. Up there does."
"That's..." Chris tips his head back, looks up at Lance. "You really aren't scared of anything, are you?" His eyes soften. "I'm glad." And he is. Because there are a lot of things in his life that scare him, that still do, and that fearlessness in Lance's eyes is remarkable, and Chris doesn't ever want that to change.
"Things excite me, you know? But yeah," Lance holds Chris' gaze and smiles a little.
"So," Chris has to clear his throat a little as he looks at Lance, his cheeks warming again. "So, we have a date then? You and me? I'll pay Joey off to keep Justin occupied so we can get out of here with a minimum of dramatics."
Lance nods slowly, "Yeah, we got a... date. And Joey's definitely gettin' the short end the stick there."
"Yeah," Chris laughed. "Yeah, he sure as hell is." His eyes meet Lance's before he leans back, closing his eyes.
Lance watches for a moment, the small curve of Chris' cheek, and the dip just beneath his jaw, and he feels a similar stir, like dancing, and an unfamiliar ripple. "So, um," he almost stutters, "Should I put that music back on? Ramone whoever."
Chris stretches, yawning as he shrugs lazily, his cheek brushing against Lance's chest as he moves. "Up to you, really."
Lance swallows as he closes his eyes, "I'll uh, just stay right here then." He raises a tentative hand to rest on Chris' bicep.
"Mmm." Chris rolls over so he's on his stomach, his head tucked against Lance, one of his arms sprawling across Lance's waist. "Works for me."
The volume on the stereo is low, but Lance can make out the words to That Summer, and he almost smiles, but stifles it, because wow. Suddenly, or maybe not so, he feels kind of. Hooked.
***
Chris gets out of the shower, humming softly under his breath as he towels off and pulls on a pair of boxers. He drapes the towel over his shoulder as he heads into the bedroom, leaning against the doorway and raising an eyebrow at Lance. "So."
Lance looks up from the small mirror on the bureau to Chris in the doorway. It would figure tonight would be a night his hair decided to not work quite right. "So?"
Chris smiles, then flicks the towel at Lance as he goes to the closet. "What are you wearing? You geared up for tonight?"
"What am I wearing? Um," Lance looks down at his jeans and waffle stitch Henley. "This?"
Chris bites his lip and tries hard not to laugh, because if he does, he figures he'll scare Lance off. "Um. We might want to go for something a little less Dockers."
Lance's lip twitches a little as he meets Chris at the closet. "Less Dockers. Okay. So, I can go borrow a t-shirt from Joey or something and. Um. Jeans are good, right? What exactly is the dress code, because, hello, slamdance virgin here."
"Jeans would work, yeah, but." Chris considers Lance speculatively, eyes sweeping along his body. "Do you have any leather?"
Lance can't fight the instinct to follow Chris's gaze along his own body and he nods, almost sheepishly. "Yeah, but I never. Joey kinda, yeah, hold on," he almost clambers away, and pulls open the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulls out a neatly folded pair of black leather pants. "I only, once, like right before we left Germany. Joey kinda. Yeah. So, really? Leather?"
Chris nods slowly, approvingly before he turns back to the closet. "Yeah. I think so. It's gonna be hot. Temperature, I mean, but. Yeah. I think it'd look good on you." He fishes out his own pair of black leather pants and a black t-shirt. "You have boots, right?"
"We share a closet, Chris," Lance mumbles and points to the floor. "Take your pick."
Chris picks a dark green shirt out of the closet and tosses it at Lance before he kneels down in the closet, picking out a couple pairs. "That'll look good on you."
Lance drags a pair of boots over to his bed. He pulls the Henley off and then starts in on his jeans. He shucks them and his boxers quickly before he turns his back to Chris and pulls the cool leather up over his bare ass.
Chris starts to turn and finds himself staring before he catches himself, blushing hard as he stammers, "Um. Sorry. Sorry, man." He turns back to the closet and pulls his shirt on.
It had been four days since they made this date and Chris had fallen asleep against him. Lance had tried, from that time till now to not make a big deal about it. Chris was affectionate with all of them, and it wasn't unusual that he chose one of them to arrange to his liking and sleep.
Lance knew this because he saw it often. But what went on behind closed doors, like theirs had been, has always been, exactly that. Closed. But he hears it, the hitch in Chris' voice and maybe, just maybe it's okay for Lance to smile and lick his lips and brush it off as nothing, when fuck, it's definitely more than something. Lance pulls the shirt over his head and watches Chris. "You gonna like, put makeup on me next?"
Chris pulls his pants up and steps into his boots, bending over to buckle them before he spins around. "I was gonna work on the hair. You want makeup?" His eyes twinkle.
Lance's smile broadens to a grin, "Hey, I'm in your hands."
Chris pushes Lance into a sitting position on the bed before he reaches over and grabs some gel out of his bag. It's green in color, and he squeezes some in his hands before he moves between Lance's legs, leaning in close to carefully spike certain sections. "You're going to look badass."
Lance pulls in a breath and bites his tongue. If he moves forward just a little, he can press his face to the soft cotton of Chris' T-shirt. If he raises his hand, he can feel the difference between the leather hugging Chris's legs from his. If he gets it in his head to breathe again, he can smell Chris, soap and fabric softener, and Jesus Christ, leather feels really strange against his quickly hardening dick. And he forces himself to talk, to focus on something other than the movement of Chris' hands in his hair, and the rise and fall of Chris' belly as he breathes. "I'm not sure badass is a word best used to describe me."
Chris's voice is soft, surprisingly gentle as he continues to work. "Well, these clothes, this hair, the makeup, if that's what you want," he winks at Lance, "they're not really you, are they? It's sort of like a costume. You can be whoever you want for tonight. It's kind of freeing, huh?" He leans in again, and he's so close he can feel Lance's breath against his cheek as he adds some finishing touches. He swallows and steps back. "Okay. Let me, uh. I'll go get some stuff. We'll do your eyes."
A costume, Lance thinks. Where he can be whoever he wants. It's a concept pretty foreign to him lately, playing the shy country bumpkin role Lou set out for him long before he even knew who he actually was. But maybe, he can work with this, because Chris is all kinds of fluid grace and they're going to a place Lance has never been before, and who the hell cares whether he's shy or not. Lance simply nods his agreement and waits until Chris is back between his legs before he smiles.
Chris picks up the eyeliner pen, tipping Lance's chin up. His thumb brushes across Lance's lips as he holds his head steady, his own lips caught between his teeth as he concentrates. He's slow and careful, gently smoothing out the lines, smudging them and making them smokier. He moves away to check his handiwork, his face flushing again. "Yeah, uh. That works, I think."
Then there it is, the ghost of Chris' finger on his lips, and it's all Lance can do to nod, and ask if that was all.
"Yeah," Chris nods, his eyes cloaked as he looks down. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll be ready, okay?"
"I'm not goin' anywhere," Lance murmurs quietly, because really, he couldn't move if he wanted to. "I'll just watch you. You know, for next time."
"Right," Chris smiles, and heads to the mirror, putting on his own eyeliner quickly, not even bothering to mess with his braids. He grabs a spiked collar out of a drawer and puts it on before he turns back to Lance. "Do I pass muster?"
"That's," Lance fingers his own empty throat, "Wow. Lookin' pretty h--badass, Kirkpatrick." He finally forces himself to his feet and decides he doesn't feel strange at all.
"The green was a good choice for you," Chris says, and he can feel heat in his cheeks again. He hadn't planned for this. The way he was reacting to Lance, the way Lance looked. If Chris was honest with himself, though, he'd have to admit that he reacted just as strongly to Lance in khakis. He shakes himself as he smiles. "Need anything else, or should we go?"
"No, I don't. I'm ready." Lance can't help but wonder if the stirring in his belly has anything to do with fear.
"Wait," Chris grabs something from the dresser and moves forward, his cheek practically brushing Lance's as he puts something around his neck. "There," he says, as he turns the silver ball necklace so it's sitting right. "Not a collar, but it's definitely punk." He ducks his head and turns toward the stairs.
With his mouth hanging open, Lance fingers the small silver beads at his neck. He composes himself with a deep breath and follows Chris out.
***
It's not a problem to get them into the club. The bouncers grin at Chris, who they've gotten to know well in the years he's lived in Orlando, and wave him off when he tries to slip them a little extra to get Lance a wristband. It's a little early yet, music pumping inside but no band yet. Chris throws an arm around Lance's shoulders, smiling easily as he steers him toward the bar. "What's your poison?"
Lance bites the inside of his mouth and figures beer is safe and cool and he can't go wrong that way. "Whatever's on tap," he tells Chris, exceedingly conscious of how close Chris is.
Chris leans over the counter and exchanges some friendly banter with the bartender, who eventually pours two glasses of dark amber beer. "Bass," Chris says with a grin. "My favorite."
As hard as he tries to stifle it, Lance can't seem to stop himself from choking a little as he takes the glass from Chris's hand. Costume, Lance, he thinks and then smiles and tips the glass just slightly at Chris before he gulps some of it down. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before shimmying closer. "So, when do they come on? And who exactly are we seeing?"
Chris's eyes are sweeping across the room as he drinks. "They should be on in about ten, I think. The band's called Anonymous Supermarket Meat, and yeah, I have no idea, really. Never heard of them." His eyes settle on Lance as the music is turned up a notch. He leans in, speaking into Lance's ear. "You ready to dance?"
Chris's breath is warm and just a little wet against Lance's ear and Lance can't help but raise a hand to Chris's waist. "Yeah, ready. To dance. It's okay if I'm a spazz, right?"
Chris laughs softly. "That's the whole point, Lance." He finishes his beer, watching Lance as he sets the empty glass on the bar.
Lance nods, because it's okay, and he's okay, and he finishes up his beer and steps unsteadily towards Chris. He smiles a little sheepishly as his fingers curl into the soft material of Chris's shirt. "You lead, I'll follow. Lock and load, baby. Or something."
Chris turns and pulls Lance flush against his back as he moves through the increasingly thick crowd, his fingers light over Lance's hands. The back of his neck is warm with Lance's breath, and it's all he can do not to shiver. He focuses on the stage, though, and moving closer.
For a moment, before Chris stops and it's all he can do to stay this close, Lance thinks that he's glad this is their thing. He's pretty thrilled actually that Chris doesn't do this with JC or Joey or Justin, and that he's got it right here, in a small patch of skin between the collar clasped at Chris's neck and the black fabric of his shirt. When it seems Chris is satisfied with their positioning in the pit and there's a good number of people swarming around them, Lance presses a small kiss to that patch of skin before breaking contact all together.
Chris's heart is racing and it's too soon to blame it on the band. He swivels, grabbing Lance's hand. "There's really no way to prepare you for this, except to say relax and go with it. You're never going to be out of my sight, okay?"
Lance nods quickly, a small sign that he's a little nervous. "Yeah," he jerks forward as he's bumped slightly from behind. "Yeah. Okay."
The crowd swells as the band takes the stage and Chris moves with it, pulling Lance with him as the music starts, his face splitting into a grin.
It doesn't start anywhere but in his ears, an immediate electric assault followed by a fast-paced, simple percussion. Lance can feel the heat of bodies surging around him and at first, he just watches Chris. He feels his head sort of bobbing and it feels kind of stupid, even as the sound filters strangely through his whole body.
Chris lets himself get swept up in it as he starts to move, his body pressing into those around him as the pit starts to pick up in intensity. His head bobs up and down as he bounces on his feet, but even as he lets himself feel it, Lance never leaves his field of vision.
It's a little strange, and Lance doesn't think he feels it the way Chris does. But there is something. There's something in the way the music does drive him, stimulates something inside on a very base level that has his body moving against others.
Chris motions toward the center of the pit, where the action has picked up considerably. "I'm going over there," he yells over the crowd. "You don't have to come. I'll be back," Chris grins, and lets the bodies carry him toward the heaviest moshing.
Chris is heavily into it by the time Lance makes the decision to just stay put. It's enough to have bodies pressing up against him and to feel the whack of stray arms. He closes his eyes and mimics the movement of the crowd around him.
It's beyond exhilarating, the adrenaline rush that comes from being in the middle of all of it, the slamming, whirling bodies. Chris is carried up and over the crowd and he's at the back of the club before his feet hit the floor again. He can feel the bruises he's going to have tomorrow as he moves toward the front, honing in on Lance. It's almost instinct, because just when he's concerned he's lost him the mass parts enough that Chris sees Lance's head and surges forward again.
Amidst the physical thrashing that Lance finds himself easily falling into and the thudding of bodies, his own included, Lance watches the throng of hands that carry not only strangers but Chris over the crowd and way back and out of sight, and it's strangely okay, because he's crashing this way and that, and the noise has insinuated itself on the periphery of his brain in a steady, pounding beat. It's kind of cool, and Lance smiles even wider as he Chris comes into view and he edges himself against and through the people between them, until he bumps, chest to chest against him.
Chris can tell Lance is enjoying himself, it's obvious, and it makes the rush that much bigger as he slams against Lance, his laughter reaching Lance as he moves in close to him. "Fun, yeah?" Chris bounces around Lance, screaming the lyrics to the band's cover of "Rock and Roll High School". "You good?"
Lance nods and grins widely, because yeah, in a 'I'm gonna be hurtin' like hell tomorrow' kind of way, he's really good. And though it's just a moment before Chris is crashing against someone else, Lance can see the light in Chris and how much fun he's having. What strikes him more than anything is that there are times that he finds he knows the words and he's shouting them out too.
It's strangely freeing, one of the few ways Chris feels like he can get outside of his skin. He looks over at Lance, really looks, and suddenly in his skin seems like an okay place to be. Because he's grinning at Lance and Lance is grinning back and there's something there. Hell yeah there's something there, because Chris can feel it thumping away inside him louder and harder than any bass line could ever hope to get.
The look catches Lance off guard just a little, but it's the look all the same, the upturn of Chris' mouth, that has him smiling and moving, and finally climbing on Chris' back, breathing heavily in Chris' ear, and echoing Chris' words, "Fun, yeah?"
The tingle starts at Chris's back and works itself all the way down to his toes as he reaches behind him and secures Lance, laughter warm in his throat as he nods. "Fucking best."
It's a dizzying feeling and even as bodies move around them, bumping them, Lance buries his face in Chris's shoulder and it is the fucking best and he wants to tell Chris that he is but it stops somewhere between his heart and his head, and is replaced by a steady familiar beat. He feels bolder, with the intensity of the moment and the music and he holds on, his arms thrown over Chris's shoulders, and his mouth open against the slick, heated skin of Chris's neck.
Chris stumbles forward when he feels the touch, almost loses his footing but he's got it again, his grip on Lance never wavering even as he pushes out of the crowd, back toward the fringes, where the press of bodies is somewhat less insistent. He lets Lance slide down his back and he shifts, turning so they're face to face, chest to chest, Chris's eyes on Lance's face, the two of them still moving, unconscious as it might be, to the beat.
Lance watches his own hand as he raises it to the center of Chris' chest. He watches his fingers splay over the fabric, his hand a pale contrast shadowed against the darkness. He swallows hard and runs his tongue slowly over his lips as he finally raises his eyes to Chris' face.
Chris closes a hand over Lance's, walking them back into the shadows until Lance is at the wall, Chris flush against him. "Told you you could dance to this," he whispers as he brushes the sweat off Lance's face, then leans forward, kissing him softly. He's flushed when he pulls back, suddenly unsure.
Lance sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth and he can taste Chris there and he sways a little, and knows he'd fall if not for the wall and Chris' body. "I don't think you could call what we did dancing," he smiles.
The laughter bubbles up again as Chris leans in, resting his forehead against Lance's and looking down at his hand as it pulls at the bottom of Lance's shirt. "I suppose you might have a point."
Lance follows Chris's gaze down and he has to close his eyes, because his breath is coming faster and the music and dancing has very little to do with it. "Chris," and there's very little left there in Lance's voice and he thinks maybe it sounds a little desperate, but then he thinks he doesn't really care.
Chris jerks his hand away, looking up. "Sorry. Sorry. Jesus, I'm sorry. I..." His cheeks are burning, he can feel it, and fuck, if he misread this somehow he has to be the biggest asshole ever.
"Don't," Lance almost growls, and pulls Chris' hand back. "Don't stop."
Chris chews on his lip but steps forward again, his hand tracing along the edge of Lance's shirt before it slides up and under, flattening out over his stomach as Chris leans forward again, nuzzling Lance's neck. "You're sure?"
Lance's eyes flutter as he inhales sharply, and holy god, the heat from Chris' hand, and he can barely focus on anything other than that, "I don't ever want you to stop." He thinks maybe he sounds like a girl, but whatever, because he feels good and that scares the hell out of him.
Chris's arm slides around to the small of Lance's back as he tugs him forward, kissing him again before he stops himself. "We should. Not here, okay?" He smiles softly at Lance. "You think you're done with your first show?"
Lance nods quickly, because yes, he's done with his first show, but not remotely done with Chris and the thought brings a rush of heat and color to his cheeks. "We're gonna. Yeah, done. We'll. Home now?"
Chris's other hand brushes along Lance's cheek as he nods. "Yeah. Home." He tips his head forward again and kisses Lance before he pulls away, tugging him toward the door.
***
One beer. That's all it had been and yet, with Chris' hand at the small of his back, pushing him inside the door, Lance feels drunk. He thinks it might have a lot to do with the fact that the very hand at his back, found the one, small gap, between the waistband of his pants and his shirt, and warmed against his skin. He bites back the laughter that bubbles amidst the utter anticipation he can feel building heavily in his gut, and he turns, once inside, and faces Chris, beaming.
Chris's face is wide with amusement and something else as he reaches behind himself to lock the door, his hand still resting on Lance's back as he leans forward, pressing first his lips then his finger to Lance's mouth. "Shh, don't want to wake the kids." He nods toward the den, where light's pooling out and the sounds of the Playstation can be heard before he spins Lance toward the stairway, nudging him up it.
Lance almost stumbles on the first step, but follows up the rest of them smoothly. Their door is the second one on the right and he's turning and dragging Chris in all at once. When the door is finally closed behind them, Lance pulls in his breath and his courage, because here, it's him again, and he presses Chris against it and smiles. "Hi."
Chris's hands leave Lance's back to run through his hair, through the messy green spikes, before they settle around his neck. Chris tips his head back against the door and smiles back. "Did you have a good time?"
"Yeah," Lance breathes and it comes out barely above a whisper. He fingers the collar at Chris's neck and traces the skin along it's edge. He wants to lick those spots. "I did okay, right?"
"Uh huh," Chris's voice is husky as his fingers start to tangle and stroke at the back of Lance's neck. "Yeah, you were more than okay. You're amazing."
Lance tips his head to the side just a little, the feel of Chris's hands on him almost hypnotic. "That's. Good. You know, 'cause. I don't want to disappoint you."
Chris's head moves forward as Lance is speaking, but he pauses, lips almost against Lance's before he shakes his head. "Never. Not going to happen." He breathes them against Lance's mouth as he closes the distance.
Oh, Lance thinks. The word forms on his lips as they meet with Chris's, and he closes his eyes. It's not so quick this time. There's no music or onlookers. Just this kiss, warm and initially sweet, but budding in demand. And Lance's fingers trail over the collar at Chris's throat and around Chris's neck.
Chris slides a leg between Lance's as they continue to kiss, sweet slide of tongues and lips and Lance is way better at this than Chris had ever thought possible. He pushes away from the door, because he can, because Lance is pretty much lost in the kiss and Chris, while not far behind, is still with it enough to hear the little voice in the back of his head crying bed, bed, bed. His hands fall to Lance's waist as they move, fingers brushing slow circles over the skin he finds there.
It's a conscious effort not to think as Lance feels his legs hit the edge of his bed. His was closest to the door, so yes, it had to be his, and he could only confirm that when he pulls away from Chris, gasping for breath, and falling on his ass to the end of the bed. He can't think really, not with the quick look up to Chris's face as his tongue shoots out briefly over his oversensitive lips. Not if he's going to keep moving, trembling hands to Chris's hips, and smoothing along the still crisp leather at his waist.
Chris strokes Lance's face before his hands cover Lance's at his waist, thumbs brushing along the skin there as he sucks in a breath. "We don't have to. Whatever you want, Lance. Whatever you're up for."
Whatever he's up for. Right, Lance thinks. Because he's not at all hot and hard, and his skin isn't humming and just begging for more contact. He supposes, in a way that only Chris can be, this is the out, the thinking part before things get intense. And on so many levels, he can think of a million different reasons to back off and wait and see what happens once the rush wears off and there's no makeup smudged beneath his eyes and the shadows are all gone.
But none of them can quite overpower the one that's got him dragging his hands free and under damp cotton to the smooth, heated skin of Chris's belly."Holy shit," Chris murmurs as his head falls back and his hands move up Lance's arms, sliding along his jaw before he buries them in Lance's hair. Lance's hands are cool and hot against his skin all at once, and Chris wants more, needs more as he pushes Lance back further onto the bed, stripping off his own shirt before he lays over Lance, rucking up his shirt with a free hand as he kisses him again.
And oh, this is good. This is great. And god damn, whose idea was it to wear leather, because it's sticking in all kinds of uncomfortable places and Lance wants it off. He wants everything off, because Chris's skin is sweat-slick under his hands as they roam over sharp hips and Chris's smooth, smooth back. He's watched those places. He wants to taste those places, and he can't help wondering how much of that he's actually bold enough to do.
Chris manages to sit up enough to fumble with the buttons on Lance's shirt, lowering his head to lick at salty skin as it's revealed. Christ, Lance tastes good, and Chris wants more and more and more. He grins up at Lance before he traces a path back up to those lips, his hand snaking behind Lance to squeeze his ass. "You're beautiful," he whispers, and it's true. Beautiful.
People had called Lance that before. Beautiful, pretty. But it never meant what he wanted it to. It never moved him to respond, to understand, to crave. Not like it did coming from Chris, with Chris's mouth moving wetly over his, not with Chris's tongue snaking between parted pink lips and into his mouth, and certainly not with Chris' dick, straining beneath leather against his leg. Fucking beautiful, and Lance lifts a leg up and hooks it around the back of Chris's thigh and huffs, "Keep doing that."
"What?" Chris gasps against Lance's skin, his hips rocking against Lance's. He couldn't stop them if he tried. It's delicious, the way Lance feels under him, and addictive and more than a little dangerous. This isn't the smartest thing he's ever done but he's always acted with his heart and not his head and it's never done him wrong before. His fingers fumble with the button on Lance's pants as his mouth finds the soft spot at the base of Lance's neck. He'd always wondered what that would taste like.
Lance groans heavily and arches up. "Th-that. With your mouth... your hands. God, Chris," And he's pretty sure his body is screaming way louder than his mind, because he's hot and shaky and totally fumbling when he reaches between them and tugs on the belt of Chris's pants.
"Yeah, yeah, okay." Chris sits up a bit, then rolls off to Lance's side completely as he gets out of his pants, leaning over to help Lance out of his, his breath catching when he looks up after tossing them aside. It's the first time he's seen Lance naked. For all intents and purposes, anyway, and yeah, yeah, beautiful doesn't even come close. Chris is reverent as he moves closer, his mouth ghosting across Lance's chest as his hand makes its way lower along Lance's body.
There's a moment, maybe a flash where Lance wants to ask if it's supposed to feel this way. If it's normal for his body to be moving in every direction imaginable. If the build is supposed to be this fast. It wasn't like he'd never done it. But Germany had been weird, with his mom and Lynn and sharing rooms with Joey and Justin and never knowing if and when he was gonna get caught. And aside from that one time with Justin in the bathroom, it had never been with someone he knew well. It had never been with someone he thinks he could maybe love. And maybe that's the difference. Maybe that's why he's straining and leaning into every small caress, and opening to every kiss Chris is laying on him.
Chris's hand closes around Lance's erection, fingers memorizing the weight and feel as his mouth continues to traverse Lance's skin. "Oh, Lance," he sighs against the flushed skin as his hand begins to move slowly up and down his cock. There's a few specks of glitter on Lance's chest - must be glitter, Chris thinks idly as he licks them away, it sparkles. "Oh, you are..." Addictive, yeah, and gorgeous and golden pale and that neck, Chris thinks, nipping again at the spot where Lance's neck meets his shoulder. "Hot," is what he finally says, and that's about as multi-layered as he's capable of at the moment.
Oh God. And if the world wasn't already spinning, it would have started then. Chris has got the center of Lance's universe in his hot, hot hand and it's better than fucking perfect, and there's maybe of a second of thought before Lance's body jerks forward and then seizes, and he's whispering, "oh fuck, oh fuck", because he's coming, after ten fucking seconds, he's coming hard and fast like a fucking kid.
Lance closes his eyes and buries his nose in the crook of Chris' neck because he thinks that maybe he's going to cry. It's not supposed to be like this, over before he can even fucking begin, and he silently curses his body as it shudders to a still.
Chris smiles against Lance's hair, kissing him lightly as he hums, "Guess I haven't lost my touch." He remembers what that was like, the first time he'd really been like that with a guy. That's when it hits him. First time. He hadn't - he'd rather successfully avoided thinking about any of their sex lives up till now, but it was entirely possible that at least when it came to guys Lance didn't have a lot of experience. He continues to rock against Lance lightly even as he kisses his way down to Lance's lips. "You alright?" he asks softly before he pulls Lance's lower lip into his mouth.
Lance keeps his eyes squeezed shut for several long moments because there in the darkness behind them he can see stars and he allows the hushed tone of Chris's voice to allay his fears of disappointing and he knows that having sex with a guy isn't like having sex with a girl, and while it wasn't entirely fun to last only thirty seconds, it wasn't the end of the world either. Lance finds himself nodding, his voice and breath rasping from where in his chest to Chris's when he says, "Yeah. Pretty good. I um. You," Lance's leg rises up gently between Chris's and the press of Chris's hard on makes him twitch.
Chris hisses then, because, oh, yeah, that. "You, uh," Chris's voice is slightly strangled and he swallows, "you don't have to. I mean. Nothing you don't want to do, Lance. We can, uh," he moves against Lance again, catching his lip between his teeth, "just like this, if you want." His body is telling him rather loudly that just about anything would do at this moment, but the last thing Chris wants to do is freak Lance out. He finds Lance's lips again and licks at them.
There's a little voice, inside, telling Lance that he wants to do it all and maybe just maybe do it all in these next few moments with Chris and then he can die without ever knowing anything else. And that freaks him out more than a little, that level of intensity inside, that level of desire, and it's got to be more than sexual, more than being caught in the moment after a bone crushing orgasm. Whatever it is, it's got him moving beneath Chris, hands sliding up Chris's sides and along his biceps. His fingers dip in every curve, wallow in every angle of muscle and he watches how Chris's skin moves beneath his fingers, the tremors and the moisture, and pulls his own finger into his mouth and smiles as he tastes before he meets Chris's gaze, "I want you to feel good."
And, Oh my God, Chris thinks at that moment, that right there, that is porn. Lance's voice and his finger and holy shit he's in over his head here. Like, completely and utterly and wow, Lance has incredibly green eyes. He reaches out and brushes a trembling finger over Lance's eyelashes, his eyebrows. Chris's body is shaking, reacting hard to Lance, and he wonders if Lance knows, if Lance can feel it, that he's just about as close to being an overeager eighteen year-old as Lance is at this moment. Something in Lance's eyes seems to suggest he does. Chris realizes Lance is waiting. "Yeah," Chris nods, "Well, uh. No worries there."
There's little hesitation once Lance gets it in his head what he wants to do. What he wants to feel. He pulls his finger completely out of his mouth and traces Chris's lips, "I want to taste you."
Chris sucks Lance's finger into his mouth along with a deep breath, nodding. "Yeah," he says, "anything, Lance."
Lance almost growls as he surges forward. Their bodies twist and tangle and wrestle for position until Lance is up, straddling Chris's waist, one hand splayed over Chris's chest, and looking down, hungry. Chris's words echo strangely in Lance's mind, and Lance can't help staring at the surprisingly pale skin beneath his fingers. He wiggles them and watches with keen interest the way it makes Chris squirm. He likes this. He likes the way Chris feels between his legs. He likes the way Chris's dick presses against his ass. He likes the sounds Chris makes as he lowers his head and flicks at a nipple with his tongue. And oh yeah, those places to taste. They're all his right now, laid out between his legs and he goes searching, his tongue blazing searing trails along wide expanses of skin.
"Oh," Chris says, equal parts surprise and need. Lance's mouth is searing and Chris reaches for more, runs his hands down Lance's back as his hips rock up against him, desperate for friction. He closes his eyes and throws his head back against the pillow as his nails drag lightly over Lance's thighs, smooth and muscular, and wow, Lance has a talented tongue. "You, uh. God, Lance, God that's good," he manages as his whole body shivers delightfully. Whether it's instinct or experience, Lance has a sense of how to touch him. He's doing everything right. Chris thinks he's going to be out of his mind by the time Lance gets much further. He's looking forward to it.
Only once before. That time in the bathroom with Justin and it hurt to do it. He wasn't good at it and Justin was a freak of nature, with staying power no teenager had any right having, and it had taken so long it hurt. But that matters little as he makes his way further and finds encouragement in the way Chris's hands move over him, and the way his body language coaxes him down further. He uses his tongue first, slow lingering licks from the base of Chris' cock to the head, learning the taste and inhaling the scent before taking Chris, as much as of Chris as he can, into his mouth.
Chris bites down on his lip hard, fingers clenching into the bed to try and prevent his hips from rearing up. He can't push Lance, doesn't want to, because this is pretty damn fantastic already. He untangles a hand and brings it up to Lance's face, running his fingers up the cheek into Lance's hair. "Yeah," he breathes, "Yeah, baby. That's perfect."
Lance takes a minute to pause, to breathe, before he starts moving. His hand circles the base of Chris's dick and it has to make up for parts that Lance's mouth just can't cover yet. Not yet, because yeah, he wants to get better at this. He wants to know before what buttons he's pushing to make Chris's cock expand against his tongue. He wants to know what exactly he does to make Chris even harder, fucking harder than he already is. It's such a rush and it drives him, down, his edges of his lips meeting his fist and he begins to move in tandem, finding a rhythm, steady, and slick, and mind blowingly hot.
Oh. Oh. Oh, wow, oh God, oh Jesus. Chris's head won't stay quiet, and he thinks that's probably a good thing because if there wasn't a little distraction he would have done much the same as Lance when those lips closed over him. Both of his hands are in Lance's hair now and his hips are moving, just tiny little jerks and he's humming appreciatively and while Lance might not be a pro at this he'd doing a hell of a lot better than the guy who first went down on Chris. A lot better and Chris can feel it, tickling at the tip of his spine and he gasps as it starts to move toward his core. "Lance."
Lance breaks contact only briefly because he needs to ask, "Just tell me. When you're," and then he's there again, with more pressure and a slightly faster pace.
"Yeah, that was kind of," Chris gasps, his head falling back against the pillow, "what I was trying to do." It's crackling faster now, as his orgasm builds inside him. "I'm. Jesus, Lance."
Lance waits as long as he can and it's only when he feels the initial pulse that he pulls his mouth away and jacks Chris one then twice and feels his warm wet release against his fingers.
Chris grins, his chest still moving rapidly as he catches his breath. "That was pretty damn good, Mr. Bass." He hooks his fingers under Lance's arm and tugs him up. "C'mere."
Lance wipes his hand on the bedspread next to them before he curls against Chris's side. He thinks he might be beaming just a little because that, and this, with Chris still shuddery is as big an endorsement as he could hope for after his own ten second performance. And he doesn't know whether he should thank Chris or something but he doesn't want to be too cheesy. "I think I was wrong."
"Wrong?" Chris's eyebrows furrow as he runs a hand over Lance's face, sliding it along his cheek and down his side before he pulls Lance half on top of him. "You okay? I mean." He takes a deep breath. "This wasn't too much, was it?"
"No, no. Not. God, that," he grins a little sheepishly then and licks at the sheen of moisture on Chris' chest. "About being hooked. That's okay, right? I mean, right?"
Okay. Yeah, Chris thinks as his eyes search Lance's. It's pretty fucking awesome. He tips Lance's chin up and smiles against his lips. "As long as it's me and not that band. Because they really kind of sucked."
Lance thinks maybe he should try to tone down the smile and not come off as happy as he is. But he's tired and worn and well and truly hooked, and it's Chris. And Chris would know. "Were they really called Anonymous Supermarket Meat?"
There's laughter, then, easy and light as Chris kisses Lance. "Yeah. It's very street." He rolls them so he's on top, his hands cupping Lance's face as he looks down. "I'm glad it was you."
Lance blinks as he swallows back the lump forming in his throat. "Me too. Glad it was you, I mean."
Chris's fingers sweep across Lance's face, his eyes intent. "Couldn't really have been anyone else, actually."
"Yeah?" Lance smiles, leaning just slightly into the touch. "Why's that?"
"'Cause," Chris says, and even the tips of his ears are pink. "It's sort of been you for a while."
"Oh," Lance whispers and holds tight to Chris's hips. He almost has to look away, because wow, that's a revelation he never, ever expected. "So. This is," he tips his head, motioning between them. "This is our thing."
"I was never very good at buddyfucking," Chris says, smiling softly. "So, uh. Yeah. I think this could be our thing. Yeah," his smile widens. "Yeah. We have a thing."
Lance lifts just slightly off the bed, his back arching as he nuzzles Chris's neck and murmurs, "Hooked."
"Line and sinker," Chris laughs, holding Lance close. "Line and sinker."
-fin-