Joey presses his fingertips against Lance's temples, humming softly as he moves them in tiny, precise circles. Lance thinks the humming will annoy him, that he'll be able to stand only a few moments of it before he pushes Joey away and goes back to feeling the throb throb of pain in his head. He's wrong. The humming keeps him from fixating on the ping of the Playstation, the thrum of the engine, the hiss of the bus wheels propelling them along the interstate.
Joey slides onto the couch behind him so Lance is perched between his legs, his head lolling back under Joey's touch. He can still feel the waves of pain behind his eyes, but then Joey is rubbing the rims of his ears, still humming soothingly, his thighs pressed tight up against Lance's. It feels so good Lance never wants him to stop.
His hands trail down to press into the muscles of Lance's neck, tracing them and forcing the tension out with his sure touch. Lance knows he's moaning, softly, softer than Joey's humming, but that doesn't mean he makes any effort to stop. Joey's strong hands, strangely soft hands, talented hands are working miracles.
He grazes over Lance's T-shirt and slides those hands up under the rim, spreading his fingers to easily cover the expanse of Lance's stomach from hip to hip. He's warm and he knows exactly what to do to make the rush of blood to Lance's temples wane, redirect itself.
Joey reaches into his sweat pants and fondles him lightly, his fingers teasing. He leaves one hand pressed against Lance's stomach as he wraps his fingers around Lance's erection and strokes him surely, smoothly, secretly. He hums that same tune as he nips at Lance's neck and is singing in a low, soft voice as Lance comes.
Joey is gentle as he cleans him off with a tissue and tender as he wraps his arms around Lance's waist, holding him close and singing to him about love and life and happiness.
Lance's headache is gone.