Request: Joey/Lance, and a faux-fur bedspread?
"It's not tacky," said Lance in his don't-argue-with-me voice, but it was, and they both knew it. And Lance just didn't care, because it wasn't in a part of his home that was going to show up on Cribs, ever. Joey liked that about him, that he knew the difference. "It's comfortable."
"If you didn't keep the thermostat in here below sixty, it wouldn't be," said Joey, running his hand over the synthetic mink on the bed. "Barbarian." He liked that about Lance, too.
"It's not like I took a Winchester into the woods and started shooting."
"No, more like took your American Express into Wal-Mart and started buying."
"Wal-Mart?" sputtered Lance, and Joey grinned at him, moving his hand from caressing the bedspread to caressing Lance's arm. "Bite your tongue."
"Bite my tongue?" said Joey, pressing forward until the back of Lance's knees hit the bed and he tumbled backwards, helpless. "I only have a couple hours before I have to go, I'm expected at home tonight. You might want to rethink that."
"Or someone's," Lance amended, somehow twisting 'helpless' until he looked like he had the situation wrapped around his little finger. "I'll take those couple hours. I'll take what I can get."
"Don't we always," said Joey, and descended.