He's only ever read about it.  Well, and seen it on TV, but pornos
don't count.  And neither does Howard Stern.

But it just strikes Chris as right, this idea that he could find
someone willing to dominate him sexually -- which, yes, a turn-on
on the rare occasions he's tried it -- and maybe find more than
that, too.  He likes the sex game of pretending to be tamed and
pretending to be submissive.  It's fun and a turn-on and probably
a good thing that Justin has absolutely no idea about it, because
he'd probably never let Chris wrestle with him again.

That's just playing though.  Chris is back to his usual
indomitable, demanding self even before the post-sex haze wears
off.  It doesn't mean anything and, the few times he's done it, he
hasn't really gotten the sense that the other person was all that
into it.  Which?  Probably a good thing, since if he'd ever met
someone who was and he pulled that shit, they'd probably be pissed
with him.  Not that that's anything new.

But -- and it's entirely due to reading that he's come up with this
as a solution to his problem, which is obviously a dangerous
pastime -- lately Chris has been feeling out-of-sorts.  Instead of
the hyperactive energy he usually feels, he feels a dull sort of
buzzing all over, like someone has dumped a mixture of molasses and
glue over him and let out a hive of bees, all of whom are now
stuck, buzzing and stinging.  He's old and tired and he wants, no,
*needs* someone to take over.  To hold him down and wash him off
and get rid of the bees and make whatever it is that Chris is doing
to cause this go away.

Plus it's been a long while since he's gotten laid like that.  Like
everything is for someone else and someone else's pleasure.

He needs someone who's willing to fuck him, willing to keep him --
in the naughtiest sense of the word, willing to discipline him to
keep him in line, but not with pain, because Chris has had enough
of getting knocked around, mean and strong-willed because Chris
would walk over someone who isn't, and male.  Definitely male.

He excludes his friends -- the people he hangs out with all the
time.  They're nice enough guys, but it'd get weird.  And they
aren't mean enough.  They're laid-back and easygoing.  Like him. 
Er.  Like him on pot.  Close enough.

He excludes Justin for being too icky and too straight and Joey for
being too nice.  JC, he considers for quite a while, because JC is
all of the things Chris wants, except that JC possibly might not
want to fuck him, inconceivable as the idea might be.  But JC's too
busy and Chris doesn't think JC has time to take care of a pet,
especially after he fails to get hold of JC after three days and 16
messages.

Which leaves his first choice.  Someone who's willing to fuck just
about anyone, as evidenced by his fling with Paris Hilton.  Someone
who likes short, dark-haired men, given his choice in boy toys. 
Someone who's mean and strong-willed and jaded, and probably too
much for Chris to handle.  Probably too jaded to care.

But he calls Lance anyway.

"Yes, Chris?" Lance asks.  Caller ID is a wonderful invention.  It
totally freaks people out when you already know who's calling.

"Uh.  Lance?"  Chris is in danger of losing his nerve, but he sucks
it up.  "I've got a proposition for you."

"What's that?" Lance asks.  He flips channels at a rapid rate and
tries not to tune Chris out totally.

"How do you feel about domination?"

"Hush, you'll spoil my secret plans by letting the world know."

"Not that kind.  The kinky kind.  Having someone as your pet."

"Having someone as *my* pet?" Lance asks.  "Hmm.  Yeah, that'd be
interesting."

"Surprised you haven't tried it already," Chris mutters.  "Glad to
hear it doesn't totally gross you out.  'Cause, see, I'm not just
asking for the sake of asking.  This is kind of a personal
question, if you get what I mean.  I wanna know what you think
about doing that with me.  Yes, you're willing to talk about it, or
no, no way in hell."

Lance flips the TV off.  "I'm interested," he says gently.  "But
are you, really?"

Chris quells the feeling that rises up inside him, telling himself
it's excitement, not fear.  "Yeah.  For real.  Not just as a game
to play during sex."

"You're talking about a 24-7 arrangement," Lance notes.  "That's
not an easy way to live, Chris."

"Well, more or less.  I figure you probably wouldn't want me around
all the time.  Just some days, or a couple hours a day or
something."

"All or nothing," Lance declares, voice brooking no argument.

"Yeah?"  Chris swallows hard.  "Um.  That's not so bad.  At least,
if it works out and doesn't turn out to be a really dumb idea.  But
there's stuff.  Things we should get straight first."

"Come over."

"Lance..."

"Chris," Lance says quietly.  "Chris, I love you.  Come over."

Chris puts down the phone and is in the car and driving before the
words stop echoing around in his head.

Lance answers the door and draws Chris in.  He holds Chris in a
tight hug for a long moment before leading him to the bedroom to
talk.

Chris is willing to admit, at least to himself, that he's already
putty in Lance's hands.  Lance hugging him is just the coup de
grace.  "Seriously.  There's stuff I wanna talk about before," he
glances at the bed, "anything happens."

"I know.  But this is a good place to talk."  Lance gestures Chris
to one of the two huge armchairs in his bedroom.  "Relationships
are based in the bedroom.  Not sex, sleep.  Being vulnerable with
each other."

Chris cocks his head, but doesn't argue the point.  "See, the thing
is, I've played at this before.  At the sex part.  And I liked it,
except, y'know, I was always back to normal afterward.  But
things've changed.  And I've changed."  He shrugs a little.  "I've
been reading, and I think maybe what I want is to not play at it."

There's more to it than that, but Chris wants Lance's reaction
first.

Lance curls in his chair and considers Chris.  "So, I've loved you
for a while.  And I've fucked a lot of people a lot of different
ways, and liked most of it.  I've 'played at' domination, too, just
like nearly everything else.  Mostly, because of how I look, I've
been dominated.  It's good.  It's got its charms.  But I've also
been in charge, and the way I feel about having someone who is
*mine* to care for, mine to control and bring pleasure to, keep
safe and keep in line -- well, there's nothing like it.  And that's
with people I don't love."  He looks at Chris, looking at all of
Chris -- from his toes to his hair to his bitterness and his
fierceness.  "But I love you.  So, what I need to know is if you
want to *try* this first, and then make a more informed decision."

Chris thinks about it for about a half a second.  He doesn't need
any longer.  He feels so fucking relieved about how Lance is
putting it.  Exactly the same way he's been thinking about it. 
"Yeah.  That's what I want.  You caring for me and controlling me
and keeping me safe and in line -- that's what I want.  And trying
it first is cool.  Maybe I'll find out that I'm fooling myself or
something.  But--"  Chris's fists curl without his conscious
control, "no violence.  At all.  I'm not into pain and," he smiles
tight-lipped, "I don't think I could control my reaction."

Lance considers.  "The first time I make a mistake, are you going
to run away?"

"Depends on the mistake."

Lance huffs out a laugh.

"Well, it does."

Lance makes a 'go on' gesture.

Chris spreads his hands.  "I don't know what kind of mistake.  But
if you did something that made me think it'd be bad for me to stay,
yeah, I probably would.  I know you're not an axe murderer, but if
you were making videos of me and putting them on eBay -- yeah, I'd
run first and start screaming for my lawyer later."

"You have to promise me that I always get a hearing," Lance says. 
"I'm not going to accept that you can just run away and never
listen to my side."

"And I get to run away after if I want to?"

"Of course."

"Deal."

"Back to the violence.  What about spanking, as a punishment, if
it's discussed before it's done?"

Chris shakes his head.  "No."

Lance sighs.  "Okay.  We'll need to find an alternative.  Maybe
time out or something."

"Anything hard enough to make your point would make me angry enough
to leave," Chris offers by way of apology.

"The point isn't to cause you pain.  Punishment isn't about pain,"
Lance says distractedly.

Chris shrugs.

Lance stands up, kneeling in front of Chris.  "How about a
practical experiment?"

Chris nearly squeaks.  "Right now?  Uh.  Yeah.  Okay."

Lance kneels up, grinning wickedly.  "Take off your clothes," he
whispers.

*That* he'd expected.  But not with Lance sitting right there. 
Chris starts pulling off his shirt.  "You're gonna have to move for
me to get my pants off."

"Nah.  I'll help."  And he does.  It's actually sort of hilarious. 
Lance likes it that way.

Chris winces, then giggles when he kicks Lance.  "Maybe you
shouldn't help, Grace."

"Bite me," Lance says cheerfully.  He presents his shoulder, too,
to show he's serious.

Chris hates feeling uncertain.  He doesn't have any idea what Lance
is up to right now, whether they've started or not.  But he's not
gonna pass up on an offer like this, so he puts his hand on Lance's
upper arm to steady himself, and bites.

Lance cradles the back of Chris's head.  "Mark me," he whispers. 
"So you know I'm yours.  Your dom.  Your master.  *Your* Lance."

Chris brings his other hand up to Lance's waist, to steady himself
against the surprise.  If anything, he'd thought it would be the
other way around.  He lets out a small breath, then bites down hard
on the exposed skin.

Lance grunts.  He waits until Chris draws back.  He meets the other
man's eyes.  "There.  Don't doubt that I'll be here for you. 
You've marked me as yours."  He smiles then.  "You want to go to
bed?"

"You know I'm completely confused, right?"

"Yes.  Do you want to have sex right now, or sleep?"

Chris shakes his head.  "I was psyching myself up to let you spank
me."

"I'm not going to do something you're uncomfortable with.  I'm not
trying to make you get into something that doesn't work for you. 
We'll do something else.  We're going to sleep now," Lance decides. 
"Get in the bed, under the covers."

Chris nods and gets into bed.  He can use some time to process.  He
guesses that's the term.

Lance strips and turns out the lights.  "Turn on your stomach," he
says.  Chris does.  Lance bites lightly down Chris's spine and back
up.  He leaves the dark mark of his teeth at the base of Chris's
neck.  "Mine," he murmurs.  "So lovely, and all mine."

After biting Lance, Chris'd half expected that.  He relaxes at
having something finally make sense.  "Yeah.  We'll see about
that."

"For now," Lance allows.  He sprawls over Chris's back, protecting
and claiming Chris.  Still leaving him room to breathe, of course.

"Do it right t'morrow?" Chris asks.

"You want sex?  Sure.  After breakfast," Lance promises.

Chris shakes his head a little, rubbing a comfortable dent into the
pillow.  "No.  Not that.  I mean, when it's real and not just you
gentling me into it."

"You're mine," Lance says.  "I'll take care of you."

There's more to it than that.  Pet stuff.  Not just Lance doing
things for him, but Chris making him happy.  Existing to please
Lance.  But he's not sure how to say it right and this is good, so
arguing about it seems pointless at the moment.

Lance stretches and sighs.  "I want pancakes for breakfast," he
adds.

"Yeah?  'm cooking?"

"Yes."

"Okay.  Thanks," he adds, because it makes him feel more
comfortable, Lance giving him something to do.  It makes this real.

Lance nods.  "Sleep now."

"Sure."

~~~~

It's rage when everything is so hot inside you, that you feel as if
you should set things on fire from a touch.  It's anger when you
just feel tight and impotent.

The cold, defeated feeling with the tightness and the hint of
snivelling, though, is new to Lance.  He hates it.  And he hates
everyone for making him feel this way, even though he rationally
knows he doesn't hate anyone but himself.  It's a cold rage.  A
lasting hurt.   And that's how he goes home.

Chris is there, of course, where he belongs.  He's watching TV,
which is allowed.  There's the smell of baked something-or-other,
which is good, too.  Chris is adapting so well.  He seems happier. 
Simpler compartmentalization of his life, maybe, allowing him to
really access all of his being.  Lance cares about it, but right
now, he just wants to scream.

He waves Chris off and goes to the bedroom.  The hurt look in
Chris's eyes follows him as he strips off his shoes and socks and
clothes.

He frowns.  Isn't this what Chris was saying?  That Lance didn't
let him fill his role?  Lance hits the intercom.  "Come up here,
Chris."

Chris comes.  Lance looks at him.  Lance's hands, tight on his own
elbows, ache to be on Chris.  To be moving him and making him and
taking whatever they want.

Chris looks at him, eyes somehow dark with knowledge and maybe
anticipation, and light with the release of life's burdens at the
same time.  Lance reaches out.  He strips Chris just enough and
takes him against the side of the bed.  It's not violent, either,
just forceful.  Just needing, and using Chris to satisfy that need.

He finishes and takes the rest of Chris's clothes off.  They bathe,
Lance just standing under the water, trying to let his anger fade
and let himself deal with the pain of inadequacy that's at the root
of it.  Chris's sure hands help, wiping away dirt both physical and
emotional.  Lance makes Chris come in the shower.  It's about
pleasing Chris, but it's also about rewarding him.  And about
controlling even this.

After, they go to the bed, even though it's only ten in the
morning, and Lance knows Chris wants to watch something on ESPN. 
Lance makes Chris suck him.  It takes a very long time, and Lance
thinks that Chris's jaw is probably sore.  He has to remember to
take care of that -- after.

The after doesn't take too long to come about.  Lance sighs and
holds Chris close, silencing his questions.  "Not now.  Don't
talk."  Chris goes silent.  "Good," Lance praises.  He idly rubs
his fingers across Chris's jaw, enjoying the tingle of beard
against his fingers.

Chris is warm and soft and very real against him.  Eventually, the
cold rage in Lance responds to the heat of Chris.  It eases,
unclenches, melts, leaving behind only the hurt and doubt at it's
center.  Lance tells Chris about it all.  Chris doesn't say
anything, but it's good to have gotten it out.

"Thank you, baby.  Love you," Lance says.  "Why don't you go ahead
and watch your show?  I'm going to make us some lunch."  Chris
cocks his head a little.  "And you can talk all you want."

"Love you," Chris says, as simply, unjudgmentally and freely as a
child.

"I love you, too."

~~~~

Chris isn't sure he likes the 24/7 part of the deal.  As he'd
figured, there's periods of time, like now, where Lance just isn't
there at all.  But Lance wants him to stay, even then, and Chris
isn't going to argue it yet.  His needs are pretty simple, after
all -- you don't spend several years cooped up in busses and motel
rooms without learning something about how to entertain yourself
and other people.

The flipside is that it's kinda relaxing not having to go anywhere
or to think of things to do to get himself out of the house.  His
boundaries are very limited at the moment and, for the moment,
Chris is all right with that.

Then Lance comes back.

Lance is clearly exhausted.  His expression is blank except for the
haggard look, and Chris knows that for Lance's mask.  Lance doesn't
like to give much away about himself, except on his own terms, but
for those who know him, he's not that hard to read.

Chris starts to get up, but Lance motions him to stay and goes
upstairs.  He stares after Lance for a moment, until it sinks in
that, once again, Lance isn't interested in using him to fix
things.

He turns off the TV and lies down on the couch, feeling defeated.

Maybe he should call this off.  The sex is good, better than good,
and Lance is good both at setting limits and enforcing them, but
Chris doesn't feel like a pet so much as a burden.  Lance takes
care of him, but there should be more.  Chris knows it.  Feels it. 
Wants it.  Wants the thrill of Lance touching him simply for
Lance's pleasure, although the truth is that it'd be Chris's
pleasure, too, since just the thought makes Chris hard.  Wants to
be useful and not just something to take care of.

Then the intercom buzzes and Lance calls him up.

Chris goes, hoping that Lance isn't going to do something dumb,
like apologize for being in a bad mood or for not paying attention
to him.  If he does, well, yeah.  Maybe it is time to tell Lance
that it isn't working out, that it isn't what Chris had hoped it
would be.

Lance is staring at him when Chris comes into the bedroom.

Chris opens his mouth, then shuts it abruptly when Lance grabs him. 
Hardens further when Lance pulls down his pants and props him
against the bed.

Lance is forceful and out for his own orgasm and that sends
sparkling tremors of excitement all through Chris.  Finally!

Getting off in the shower later is an anti-climax to that and,
afterward, lying in bed, Chris is pleasantly comfortable curled
around Lance's dick, sucking it purely for Lance's pleasure.

Lance has caught a clue and Chris is happy to not have to confront
Lance over leaving, and he means it when he says, "Love you",
because he does.

~~~~

"Yes, totally.  Come over."  Lance swirls his smoothy and watches
Chris clean the pool.  "Everything is good here.  You should all
come for dinner.  We'll just hang out and have a good time." 
Eventually Joey agrees.  He says he'll get JC and Justin, too,
which is one less thing for Lance to do.  With Chris taking care of
the outside, it might actually be stress-free to have a party for
once.

Chris thinks maybe he needs to have a talk with Lance about things
people do and people don't do.  The cooking's kind of fun, and
picking up around the house is okay, and gardening he can get into
as long as no one expects him to tell the difference between the
weeds and the plants.  But pool cleaning is something different. 
It's actual physical labor, and not easy labor either.  And he
thinks he's getting a rash from the chlorine.  It's the kind of
stuff you pay other people to do for you.

Still, he hasn't complained yet to Lance about anything, and he's
reluctant to do so.  It's not because he's afraid Lance'll tell him
to get the hell out, because he doesn't think Lance'll do that. 
It's not even that he's afraid of Lance's reaction.  It's more than
he's afraid of his own reaction if he tells Lance something's too
much and Lance... well, he doesn't know what Lance might do and
that's part of the problem.

So he cleans and scratches and doesn't say anything.

Lance frowns.  Chris is... scratching himself?  Lance steps onto
the deck and checks for flies or gnats.  Nothing.  "Chris?  Come
here, please."

Chris sets down the thingamagummy he's using to scrub the pool with
and goes over to Lance.  "Yes?"

Lance takes Chris's arm and stretches it out.  There are red marks,
and Lance can't tell if they're from the scratching, or if they're
a rash.  "What's up with this?" he asks.

Chris shrugs.  "It's all the chlorine.  Got water splashed on me
when I was draining it, and it's still wet in there, especially
when I'm doing the filters.  Stuff doesn't agree with me."

Lance presses his lips together and counts silently to twenty
before speaking.  "In the future, when something I have you do
hurts you, please tell me as soon as you realize it's hurting you."

Chris shrugs again.  "It'll wash.  Doing the pool's also boring,
hard on the knees and easily done by a pool man, but I figure
you've got to have a reason."

"I do.  Would you like to know what it is?"

"Yeah," Chris says, with just an eensy weensy bit of challenge in
his voice, because he would kinda like to know why he's been
sweating over this.

"You don't act like this is your home," Lance says softly.  "You
don't own it, in your heart.  I want you here, with me.  I want
this to be our home.  Caring for it, investing yourself in it, that
makes it part of you.  That puts it in your heart.  That's why I
don't have a gardener or a maid."

Chris rolls his eyes.  "If it was my house, I'd have called the
pool guy."  He looks at Lance.  "That's the way you think about it,
though?"

"Yes.  And that's why you treat your house like a hotel you don't
have to pay the bill for."

"No, I treat my house like that because I spend more time in hotels
than I do in it.  And I'm just that lazy."

Lance kisses Chris hard.  "Not anymore.  But you're not cleaning
the pool.  Go shower.  I'll finish."

Chris narrows his eyebrows at Lance.  "You trying to tell me that
you're the one who usually cleans your pool?"

"Yes.  What, you thought it was just some sort of test?"

"Yes, but I was thinking more that that means that you're the idiot
who put double the chlorine in."  Chris gives an exasperated,
eye-rolling sigh.  "You should read the instructions more
carefully."

Lance's face hardens.  "You will remember to be respectful,
Christopher," he warns.  "To help you remember, you'll come back
after your shower and have some time to yourself."

Chris's face blanks.  He nods and heads inside.

Lance sighs, letting go of his upset.  Then he finishes cleaning
the pool.

Chris gives up being pissed about halfway through the shower.  He's
mostly been good so far, but now he knows how hard Lance plans to
yank him in.  He dries off, gets dressed and finds a seat in 'his'
corner.  Not quite the nose in the corner thing, and not quite a
doghouse to crawl into and lick his wounds, but definitely
resembling both.

He figures that he's mostly upset not because of what Lance did so
much as that he'd momentarily relaxed and acted normal and that was
why getting the ground cut out from under him had been such a
shock.

Lance has a quick shower and comes to find Chris.  "Why did I ask
you to do this, do you think?" he asks quietly, sitting behind
Chris and holding him.

"Do which?" Chris asks.  He leans back into Lance, feeling better
with Lance touching him.  It feels like he's been forgiven.

"Sit and think."

"Punishment.  Shunning's effective as spanking."

"Why did you need to be punished?" Lance asks.  It's like dealing
with a child.  The logic is there.  The consequence is there.  The
following events back before the *immediate* cause?  Not so much
there.

"You didn't like me talking to you like..." ~a real person~, Chris
almost says, but changes it into, "that", in time.

Lance sighs.  "Do you think you deserved to be punished?"

"You thought I did, so, yeah, I guess."

Lance shakes his head.  "I made a mistake.  I should have explained
this to you before having you sit.  I'm sorry.  C'mon, get up."

Chris stands and waits.

Lance stands and smiles a little.  "You were disrespectful to me. 
You tried, with your actions, attitude and words, to show that you
were superior to me.  You're not."  Lance is calm as he reaches out
to cup Chris's cheek.  "We're equals, Chris.  But I'm not *your*
sub.  You're mine.  And you will be as respectful to me as that
relationship merits.  You will respect me the same way I respect
you, your needs and your limits.  Do I try to make you feel stupid
or inferior?"  It's a loaded question.  Chris could say yes.  But
if he does, Lance needs to know he feels that way.

Chris opens and shuts his mouth.  He could answer that question,
but he has no idea how to without making things worse.  He nods.

"How?" Lance asks.

He wets his lips and then shakes his head.  "I can't figure out any
way to answer without getting in trouble."

"You won't be in trouble for telling me what you think and feel."

"I already am," Chris says simply.

"Not for what you said.  For the way you said it."  Lance heaves a
sigh.  "You can't see what I'm saying, or you won't?"

"No.  Not exactly.  Some things... I can't find a way to say
without coming off as..." Chris waves his hand instead of saying
disrespectful.  "I wasn't trying to before either."

"Tell me."

Chris turns away from Lance so he doesn't have to see Lance getting
angry at him.  "You do make me feel inferior.  Especially with the
being respectful bullshit.  It's not that it's so unreasonable a
request, it's just that the lecture makes me feel about two inches
high.  And okay, yeah, I get it, but if I'm going to be on guard
one hundred percent of the time, I'm never going to me.  And I'm
certainly not going to tell you I have any problems, because
damnit, questioning your judgment is disrespectful.  Don't you get
it?"

"Yeah, I do.  But it's not the words that were disrespectful.  And,
Chris, baby.  Maybe... Maybe I'm not what you need.  If I make you
feel that way."  Lance can barely swallow the lump in his throat to
speak.

Chris's head snaps back so he can look at Lance.  "No.  Please."

Lance has to widen his eyes to keep from tearing up.  "I want to be
what you need.  But more than anything, I want you to *have* what
you need."

"I don't know what to say.  I just... I don't know when it's okay
to say what I'm thinking and when I have to shut up.  That's the
only issue here to me.  The rest of it, the inferior-superior
thing, that's there, too, but it's not a big deal to me.  Yeah, so
you make me feel inferior.  That's what I signed on for.  I'm just
not getting what you want me to do and that fucks with my head. 
And..."  Words run out on him and Chris sits down on the floor,
resting his head against Lance's legs.

Lance curls over Chris, holding him.  "It's the eye-rolling,
sarcastic thing, baby."

"No eye-rolling, no sarcasm."  Chris mulls it over.  "I can't do
that.  Not constantly.  I'll go nuts.  I gotta have some time to
let it out or I'll explode."

"I know.  I know."  Lance doesn't want to explain, *again*, that
it's that such actions were directed at making Lance less.  It's
like Chris's subconscious is fighting.

"Then what do you want me to do about it?  I'm with you all the
time.  There's no one else to do it at."  It's not sarcastic or
defensive, just Chris explaining the way things are.

"Either do it *with* me, not at me.  Or use the damn time I gave
you to go off and play with Justin or Joey or fucking JC."

"Now, see, I'm reading you as being really pissed at me."  Chris is
taking a chance.  What he's hearing from Lance here is that Lance
would be jealous if Chris went and spent any of his time with
anyone else but him.  What Chris is saying, though, isn't exactly
respectful.  He's trying to see what's really allowed.

Lance says, "I'm pissed at the situation.  And jealous.  Because C
could probably do this.  And, um.  You say Justin's name in your
sleep a lot.  And that time you yelled, 'Joey' when we were..."

Chris relaxes a little when Lance doesn't get mad at him for
talking like his normal self.  "Yeah, maybe on the JC situation. 
I thought about him before I realized what I already knew, that JC
doesn't have time for anyone but JC.  No idea why I was babbling
about Justin, and you don't have anything to be jealous of there
because that's never going to happen.  Unless you're jealous just
'cause we're friends.  Or were."  He takes a deep breath.  "I
didn't know I said Joey's name.  I don't know why I would, but I'm
sorry, 'cause that's a shitty thing to do."

Lance ignores his feelings.  They're not what matters right now. 
"You don't think you're friends with Justin any more?"

"Not so much.  I'm part of his bubblegum past."

Lance kneels next to Chris instead of bending over him.  "You want
to change that?"

Chris leans his head against Lance's shoulder.  "I'm used to it
now.  And, y'know, it's not like he brushes me off.  Just that he's
got other things to do.  NSYNC isn't a group anymore.  It makes
sense."

Lance holds Chris gently and lays his own throbbing head against
Chris's.  "That doesn't mean you can't want to change it."

Chris settles into Lance's embrace, wrapping an arm around him.  "I
do and I don't.  I miss him, but the person I'm missing isn't there
so much anymore."

Lance nods and tries to think through the grinding gears in his
head.  "I don't mean to make you feel like you're not allowed to
have friends."

Chris raises his eyebrows.  "My instinctive response here is to
deride you so you realize how ridiculous an idea that is, but for
some reason that's wrong.  So insert appropriate statement here
that reassures you that I don't feel like that."

Lance shakes his head.  "Why don't we try it your way?  You can be
as derisive and sarcastic as you want to be.  Go for it."  Trying
it is against Lance's instincts as, y'know, the dominant.  But...
more than he wants to keep this relationship black and white, he
wants to keep Chris happy.

"It doesn't have to be all the time.  I'd just... it'd be easier
for me if, when it's okay for me to talk, I can just talk like
myself."

"I know.  Go ahead."  Easier wasn't specified in the goals, Lance
thinks irrationally.  As if they sat down and *made* goals for this
relationship.  It's not an easy thing to do from instinct.  Lance
has never lived like this any more than Chris has.

Chris isn't encouraged by Lance's tone.  "Tell me if this is stupid
or wrong or whatever.  But, see, I think you want me to be honest
when you ask me to tell you things.  And if I don't say it the way
I'm thinking it, I'm lying.  I'm trying to say something different
than what you want to know.  I'm not saying I want to be a
sarcastic bastard all the time.  I don't mean that at all."

"I asked if you thought it was a test.  I didn't ask you if you
thought the chlorine was wrong.  I didn't ask you to call me an
idiot."  Lance sighs.  "I understand what you're saying.  I can fix
this.  I'll just be more careful what I ask you.  More specific, I
guess."

Chris nods.  "Okay.  I think I get it.  You're saying that you
didn't ask me to tell you my opinion, just the answer to that
question."

"Yes.  And if you needed to share your opinion, which is fine, you
didn't need to try to hurt me doing it.  Even if it was fact, and
not opinion.  I didn't purposely put you in a situation where you'd
be hurt -- I hope you know that -- so you hurting me back wasn't
appropriate."  Lance sits up and rubs his forehead as if that will
help.  "I'm sorry I made you sit when you didn't know or agree to
the reasoning for it.  I won't do that again."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," Chris protests, then shakes his
head.  "Okay, maybe I was, a little.  Because I didn't like what I
was doing and I was pissed.  And, yeah, it's none of my business
why you want me to do something and I'm stupid enough to believe
that I have any say in this, but... yeah, never mind.  I was
wrong."

"It is your business.  You didn't ask.  I didn't even think of it
as an imposition.  I've never asked you to do something I haven't
done myself."  Lance sits up a little more.  "This isn't working
for you."

Lance is pulling away from him, and so Chris draws his knees up and
wraps his arms around them.  "What're you saying?"

"I'm saying this isn't working for you.  Is it what you want?  Do
you think it can be?  Does it count as what you want, if you get to
tell me how to be, and then we just live in the roles?"

"I like what we have most of the time.  And, no.  If I'm telling
you how to be, then it's all wrong."

"Yeah."  Lance leans forward and kisses Chris's cheek.  "Go
upstairs and get ready, please.  Do you want to run the grill when
the others get here?"

Chris looks at him confused.  "Does this... I mean, can I ask a
couple of questions first?"

"Yes."

"Does this mean you're not giving up on me?  And who's coming
over?"

"I'm not.  Never.  Unless you tell me to.  And the guys are coming
over.  Like we talked about last week.  Joey called, so I thought
it was a good time."

Chris nods and hugs Lance.  "Thanks for not giving up on me," he
whispers.  "And you can run the grill.  You like it more than I
do."

"I won't ever give up on you," Lance promises.  "You're the best
thing that ever happened to me."

Chris raises his eyebrows.  "When I'm not giving you a headache." 
He stands.  "I'll go get ready.  But I'd like to rub your head
later if you'll let me."

"It's not you, it's the situation," Lance says.  "But, yeah, that'd
be nice."

"Okay."  Chris heads upstairs, taking the steps two at a time,
feeling a lot better.

Lance stands and starts for the kitchen to finish the meal
preparations.  He loves Chris more than anything.  It's just so
very hard to have this older, wiser, more experienced man want
Lance to lead -- and yet, not see Lance's viewpoint willingly.

Chris gets dressed.  He lays out a change of clothes for Lance,
too, in case Lance wants one.

Once everything is set, Lance heads upstairs.  "The grill's
heating, so don't touch it," he cautions Chris.  "Oh, hey, thanks,"
he says, seeing the clothes Chris put out.

"You're welcome.  This a good time for me to soothe your aching
head?"

Lance smiles.  "Sure, just let me change quick."

Chris nods and looks around the room.  Pillow on the floor for
Lance?  No.  It'd mess with the superior-inferior thing Lance was
talking about.  Chris doesn't really understand what Lance meant by
that, but it doesn't mean he isn't going to try to respect it.  So,
better if he can get Lance to sit in a chair and he can stand
behind it and massage Lance's head.  He moves over to the chair
Lance seems to like best and waits.

Lance sits where Chris indicates.  Before Chris starts, he says,
"It's not that I'm obsessed with you being submissive all the time,
because I'm not.  It's that I think, when you call me names and
verbally try to make me seem stupid or foolish, it's your
subconscious fighting this.  That there's some part of you that
doesn't *want* to live this way.  You do it pretty often.  And you
didn't used to.  But I suppose that could just be because you feel
more free now.  Is that why?"

Chris's hands scrub through Lance's hair as he thinks.  "Yes and
no.  Me being sarcastic is normal for me.  So is me being annoying
about stuff.  I'm not trying to put you down.  But, yeah.  You
don't like it and it seems to you like I'm putting you down, so I
should stop it."

"No, I mean that you're calling me names a lot more than you used
to and being more critical."

"I'm sorry?" Chris offers.  "I know this is a lame excuse, but I
didn't know that I was."

"That's sort of what I figured."

"Tell me when I'm being an ass?"

"Yeah."  Lance leans his head more into Chris's hands.  "That feels
good."

Chris kisses the top of Lance's head.  "This is the kind of thing
I really like being able to do for you."

"I know."

"Are you punishing one of us when you don't let me?" Chris asks,
thumbs rubbing at Lance's neck.

"No.  Well, maybe.  I don't mean to be, but it's just hard to
accept that you really want this when you're calling me an
'anal-retentive neat freak'.  Which I am, and I know it.  Just...
sort of hard to accept."  Lance thinks about it.  "Which is
probably another mistake that I made."

"What's a mistake?"

"Letting my hurt feelings compromise the way I treat you."

"Feel free to tell me I'm full of shit, or out of line, or whatever
the right way to say it is, but you hurt both of us when you feel
miserable and you don't let me help."

Lance drops his head back.  "You sure I can be what you want?" he
asks quietly.  "I want to be, more than most anything.  But I
*need* you to be happy."

"You sure you want to do this with me?" Chris counters, because
Lance's question is unanswerable as is.  "Obviously I make a bad
pet, and you maybe don't even like being in charge.  Do you want to
just scale this back to a game or a sometime thing?"

"No.  You're not a bad pet.  But then, I didn't think you wanted to
be a *pet*, which is maybe the problem.  I thought you wanted to be
a sub.  I like being in charge, but I also like to be good at
everything I do.  I feel like I'm failing you."

Chris shakes his head.  "No.  You're definitely not failing me.  I
think maybe we went into this with a lot of things undefined.  And
yeah.  'Pet' is the best match for what I want.  I wanna be someone
you keep around to make you happy.  Cute and dumb and sometimes bad
even, but a pet still."

"You don't want to have a say in things?"

"I don't know if I want to shut up completely, but yeah.  Think of
it as barking.  I'm gonna bark sometimes.  I don't expect you to
listen to it.  I figure you'll tell me to shut up sometimes and
scratch me behind the ears other times.  But it's all just barking
-- what you say goes."

"Oh."

Chris keeps rubbing, but Lance is stiff again.  Not tense, but not
relaxed like he was before either.  "If you don't like that, I
can... well, I don't know what I can do, but you don't have to keep
me if that's not what you wanted."

"I want to keep you, baby.  It's simply a completely different
mindset.  And I've been a pet before and had it be a not-good
experience.  I have to think how to make this work."

"Well, I don't know what you have in mind when you think 'pet'. 
Maybe it is something bad."

"It was for me.  It won't be for you."  Lance thinks.  As a pet,
Chris wouldn't have household chores.  Pets don't mow the lawn.  As
a pet, Chris doesn't get a say in what happens, he isn't an equal. 
That's the hardest part for Lance.  He's only twenty-four.  To be
completely in charge and completely responsible for an 'animal' as
complex as a human being is certainly going to be -- a bit
stressful.

"Well, yeah.  I know you'll take care of me.  I'm not worried about
that."

Lance finally sighs.  "We better get ready.  They'll be here soon. 
Do you want to... how do you want to act in front of them?"

Chris feels just a little bit completely terrified.  "Um.  Don't
humiliate me completely, please?  Other than that, up to you."

"Fine.  Go on downstairs, then, and let them in when they get
here."

"Okay."  Chris kisses Lance's hair again and goes.

The event isn't bad.  Everyone seems to have a good time, even if
Lance does get some strange looks for his treatment of Chris. 
Basically, he lets Chris play, but reins him in when he's getting
close to the edge.  Like when Chris almost throws a fully clothed
Joey into the pool, and Lance calls him back and makes him sit in
Lance's lap for a quarter hour.

Chris enjoys himself a lot more than he thought he would.  He'd
half-expected Lance to demand he behave, but Lance lets him fly and
be free up until the Joey incident.  And then Lance just has him
curl up with him which, really, is kinda what Chris had wanted even
if he hadn't realized it.

Once Chris is released back to his play, JC comes up to Lance with
narrowed eyes.  "Are you abusing him?" he asks bluntly.  Joey,
who's close enough to hear, squawks.  "*Are you*?" JC repeats with
quiet malice in his voice.

Lance sighs heavily.  "No.  I'm not.  He's mine."

JC frowns for a moment.  Then his face clears.  "Oh.  *Okay*, then. 
Sorry."  And he wanders away.

Joey doesn't head off as quickly as JC.  "What's going on?  Why's
he asking if you're abusing Chris?"

"Probably because of the way Chris got called over here," Lance
says simply.  "But I'm not abusing Chris.  He's-- my pet."

"I didn't see anything wrong in the way you called him over. 
Although it's obvious you guys are together now.  You coulda just
said something about that.  I don't get the pet thing though."

"He's a pet.  He doesn't get a say.  He's like... like a big dog. 
His purpose is to please me, which pleases him."

"You serious?"

"Yes."

"Wow."  Joey looks at Chris.  "He looks happy enough about it. 
How're you holding up?"

Lance's lips quirk.  "I thought I wanted a partner, not a pet.  I
love caring for people.  I love Chris.  It's just something both
harder and easier to make all the choices myself."

Joey reaches over and rubs Lance's shoulder.  "You want Chris for
a boyfriend and Chris doesn't wanna be?"

"Chris wants to be a pet."  Lance puts his hand over Joey's.  "And
I want to take care of him totally.  I just, yeah.  Expected more
of a boyfriend thing, I guess.  I didn't expect Chris to want this. 
But I want to do it for him."

"I dunno," Joey says doubtfully.  "If you're just doing this for
him, it doesn't seem like you're getting anything out of it.  That
doesn't sound good for you."

"I love him.  I love caring for him.  And he's going to take care
of me.  He'll do what I tell him.  That's hot."

"Chris?  Doing what someone tells him?"  Joey chuckles.  "If you
say so."

Lance lets it go.  At least the guys aren't gonna freak out.

~~~~

After JC leaves, Joey and Lance catch up with each other over
clean-up.  Chris helps some, gets in the way, and -- tentatively at
first, then more often -- wraps his arms around Lance and hugs him
and presses kisses on him whenever he feels the urge.

He waits until after Joey's gone though to ask.  "Did I do okay?" 
He flops down with his head in Lance's lap, looking up at Lance. 
"Tell me if I screwed up.  'Cause I liked today.  I'm happy."

"You did fine."  Lance pets Chris.  "If we were in public, you'd
have to tone it down.  But with the guys, it was good."

"Or do more of it, depending on how you want to fool people.  But,
yeah.  Thanks."  Chris rubs his head into Lance's hand.

Lance pets Chris idly, relaxing back against the couch. 
Eventually, he knows he needs to finish cleaning up.  He gets up,
leaving Chris on the couch, and starts clearing away the refuse of
the party.

Chris follows him and picks up things along with Lance, laughing as
he feels like he's frisking around Lance.

Lance takes the trash from Chris.  "Sit down."

Chris does and Lance smiles and pats his head.  "Good."  He
finishes cleaning up with Chris watching him.

"Should I not be helping?"

"No, you're fine.  It's not too bad."  Lance puts the grill through
its self cleaning cycle, and they're done.  "Ready to go to bed?"

"Okay."

Lance nods and leads Chris up to the bedroom.  "Get changed and
ready for bed," he says, squeezing Chris's hand.  He heads for the
bathroom to brush his teeth and such.

Chris strips down and, after a second, pulls on a pair of boxers. 
How long he wears them is up to Lance, and maybe he won't get naked
at all tonight, but he doesn't need anything more than boxers, that
much is sure.

He turns the bed down and sits on the end, bouncing, while he waits
for Lance to come back.

Lance comes out of the bathroom.  "You want to brush your teeth?"
he asks as he changes into pajama pants.

"Yeah.  And other stuff."  He grins impishly at Lance.  "I don't
think you'd appreciate me going in your backyard."

Lance smiles and nods in acknowledgement.  "Go for it.  Bathroom's
yours.  Don't forget to take out your contacts."

Chris wrinkles his nose.  He doesn't wear them often enough to
remember to take them out.  But he definitely needs the bathroom.

Lance crawls into bed and settles on his stomach.  He wonders what
kind of a mood Chris is in tonight.

When Chris comes back out, Lance is lying on his stomach, looking
like he's already half-asleep.  So he's quiet as he gets into bed
and cuddles up against Lance.

"Turn out the light, please?" Lance requests.  A moment later,
Chris's weight shifts and the bedside lamp goes out with a click. 
"Thanks."

"Night," Chris whispers.

Lance doesn't fall asleep.  He lays still for a while, breathing
slowly and just relaxing.  Then he turns onto his side and pulls
Chris against his chest.  He sighs against Chris's shoulder,
finally satisfied with the position.

Chris adapts easily.  He's not really all that tired yet, but it's
nice sometimes to rest and so he does that now, closing his eyes
and enjoying the moment.  Some of JC's meditation shit was bound to
sink in over the years.

Lance gets bored, waiting for sleep.  He reaches around and cups
Chris's groin to see if he's interested.  Chris's breath huffs out
and he gets a little hard in Lance's hand.  So Chris is interested. 
Lance strokes idly and wonders if *he's* interested, really.

Chris isn't going to tell Lance, because he figures Lance already
knows, but he loves being played with when it's Lance and when
Lance isn't necessarily going to do anything to bring this to a
finish.

Lance yawns and shifts Chris back against him more.  Lance's dick
is interested, but Lance really doesn't feel like anything
elaborate, so he just humps Chris's nice ass.

Chris spreads his legs to get Lance's dick in between, at least a
little.  So turned on, especially with the way Lance is still
handling his cock like he's not interested at all.

Lance frowns and pulls back.  After shoving the front of his pants
and the back of Chris's boxers down, he tries again.  "Better," he
decides.

Chris nods in agreement.  Whining in his throat, he begs for more.

Lance doesn't like that.  "Talk, if you want."

Chris shakes his head.  There aren't words right now, just Lance.

Lance bites Chris, out of sheer frustration.  And because his teeth
are tingly.

Chris bends his head so Lance has better access to his neck. 
"Good, good."  He pushes against Lance's idly fondling hand.

Lance turns, pinning Chris down.  He fucks against Chris's ass,
between his thighs, suddenly impatient to come.

Chris is pinned firmly against the bed, so he can't get off, which
makes him groan in frustration.  And Lance isn't in him either,
just rubbing himself off.

Lance comes with a shout.  He thrusts, sliding in come a few more
times before rolling away.  "Good boy," he murmurs.

Chris moans, then sucks his breath in and lets it out again, steady
and deep until he's just pleasantly throbbing instead of a ball of
lust.  He turns and snuggles up to Lance.  "Good?"  He nuzzles
Lance's chest.  "That's was... yeah.  Hot."

Lance pets Chris lightly.  "You can finish," he says.

"You wanna watch?" Chris asks, angling himself so Lance can see if
he wants.

"Always want to," Lance agrees.

Chris lies half on his side, half on his back, because he doesn't
want to give up Lance holding him.  He strokes himself over the
boxers, like Lance had been doing.  That's not a very good show
though, and he lets go long enough to slide them down so Lance can
see how much he wants it.  Pretty damn bad.

Lance sighs and watches Chris.  It's nice to see Chris actually
being, well.  Proactive.

Chris cants himself toward Lance, twisting his head around until
he's almost kissing Lance.  He lips only reach Lance's collarbone,
but it's close enough.  "Loved the way you were touching me," Chris
says, the memory of it making his hips jerk harder, "like you had
all the time in the world.  Like you were just doing it for the
feel of it.  Hot."

"I was, baby.  I just like the way you feel," Lance whispers back.

Chris shivers.  The sound of Lance's voice when he's being sexy
does good things to him.  "I like that.  Like being here for you to
make you feel better.  Didn't know.  That it'd be like this.  That
you'd matter so much."

He's babbling, Chris knows it, but once he channels his
stream-of-consciousness, he can't stop it.

Lance kisses Chris's temple.  "Love you, Chris."

"Love you.  Love you, too," Chris says and then he's coming,
spilling all over his hand, or at least it feels like it.  Too good
to be true.

Lance takes Chris's hand in his and licks it clean.  Then he turns
back onto his stomach, pins Chris's hand under his chest, and goes
to sleep.

Chris follows him there, happy and sated.

~~~~~

It's easier than Lance expected it to be to fall into this
lifestyle.  His first thought is always for Chris and what Chris
needs.  He fits his schedule around times when Chris will need him. 
Now that they're not really a group any more, Lance is invested
more heavily in projects and his businesses.  It's fairly boring,
to be honest.  But it makes money.  Lance knows Chris needs to not
be poor.  Lance is fond of luxury.  Working is something to do. 
But stressful -- stressfully boring, which doesn't make too much
sense, but it's the truth.  Lance is developing migraines.

Chris sneaks up on Lance.  Lance works from home more often than he
goes into an office, but Lance doesn't much like being bothered
when he's working.  When Lance is in a good mood, the most Chris
can usually get away with is sitting by Lance's feet and resting
his head on Lance's thigh.  But when Lance is upset or tense --
which is more and more often -- he doesn't like having Chris
around.  Like Chris is too much trouble.  And Chris knows he is, no
matter what Lance says.

Bracing himself in case Lance tells him to go away, Chris rests his
hands on Lance's shoulders, stroking lightly.  "You're working too
hard."

Lance starts.  "Oh... you startled me.  What did you say?"  He
doesn't have Chris in when he's working very often any more.  He
used to love having Chris sit at his feet.  But afterward, Chris
would always be stiff and sore.  Lance sacrifices his own comfort
at having Chris near for Chris's health.

"You're working too hard," Chris repeats.  He starts massaging now
that he's sure it won't take Lance off-guard.

Lance shrugs.  "It needs to be done."  He rolls his neck, listening
to the pops.  "You're so good at this."

"Practice," Chris says.  "You sure you couldn't get someone else to
help?  It looks like pool cleaning to me and, sure, if you wanna
assert ownership of your stuff, that's great, but there's a time to
admit that it's too much and you'd rather take a nap."

Lance tenses for a moment at Chris's mention.  Lance hasn't asked
Chris to do any housework at all since that day.  He does it all
himself, the way he did before Chris.  But even something as much
a landmine as that mention can't counter the relaxing power of
Chris's fingers.  "Maybe."

"I mean, I've proven that I'm useless at the business stuff, but
there's got to be people who can do at least some of the work and
then you can just check their work."

"Okay, Chris."

Chris kisses Lance's temple.  "Thanks.  I don't wanna be an
ungrateful prick, but it's like you do everything and more and I'm
just one more thing that you have to take care of."

Lance closes his eyes.  "Oh."

"It's almost like you're the pet, because you take such good care
of me and you drive yourself so hard to make it happen."  Chris'
voice is soft as he urges Lance up out of the chair with his hands
and away from the computer.  "I know I suck at being submissive,
but I do wanna take care of you.  However you need it."

"That's not what a pet *does*, Chris," Lance says gently.  "That's
not what you asked for."  He holds Chris in a sudden hug.  "I love
you, and I will keep you safe and protected and loved and cared
for.  How ever you want me to.  But first I have to know what you
want."

"A pet makes you happy," Chris says stubbornly, hugging Lance back. 
"You aren't."

"A pet can't do shit about your stock portfolio."

"No, but neither can most of the people I know.  Are you saying the
stock market's making you miserable?"

"I'm saying it's not you."  Lance pulls away from Chris, pacing a
fast circle.  "I can't... Chris, baby, love.  Tell me what you
need."  He speaks slowly and emphatically.  "You are the most
important thing to me, and I love you.  But I suck at guessing what
you want.  I don't want to lose you.  I need you.  Please tell me."

"I want you to relax."  Chris slips out of the hugs and nudges
Lance toward the leather upholstered couch.  "I want you to smile
once in a while.  To take a nap in the middle of the day sometimes. 
And if you can manage it, to not worry so much about me being
happy.  I'm a helluva lot more happy than you are right now, and
the thing I need most right now is to have you be okay."

Lance doesn't say anything.  He lays down and tells Chris to make
him feel good.  What would make him happy is not the same as what
would make Chris perfectly happy.

Lance lays down on his back, so Chris starts rubbing at the top of
his chest, kissing Lance's forehead.  "Go to sleep if you're
tired."

Lance makes rumbly little noises as Chris moves down.  Chris keeps
his touch light, because Lance carries his tension in his neck and
shoulders and so all he can do is relax Lance.

Lance turns over after a while.  He's idly fantasizing about how
good it would feel to have Chris fuck him here, like this.  But
Chris doesn't really do that.  Lance knows that he did before. 
It's just that since Chris came to him, he's turned down every
chance to top.  And that's okay, it just makes it a more
fantastical fantasy.

Chris had promised himself if Lance didn't fall asleep by the time
he got there, Chris would suck him off.  But Lance turns over
instead and Chris starts making himself new promises.  Lance lets
him get down to his waistband, and he's very obliging about lifting
up his hips so Chris can undo his pants and slide them off.

"Stop me if you don't like this," Chris says, swapping his hands
for his mouth.

Lance sighs, and doesn't worry about being in charge of Chris.  To
hell with it.  He drops one leg off the couch and offers himself
totally to Chris.

Chris wraps his hand around Lance's thigh, the one that's hanging
off the side of the couch.  His tongue traces a path down the
center of Lance's ass until he gets to the middle, and he settles
there, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh.

Lance whimpers and shifts restlessly.  "S'good."

Chris squeezes Lance's thigh in acknowledgement, and points his
tongue, licking inside.

Lance's next shout is shocked.  He's a slut, but rimming's still
the best thing since sliced bread.

Chris wishes he could somehow do this to Lance and suck him off at
the same time, but he only has one mouth.

Lance comes, and it's good.  But it's not exactly satisfying. 
Because he was alone.  Chris didn't come with him.  He still
praises Chris.  "Good, so good.  Good, baby."

Chris puts his hands on Lance's hips, urging him to turn over. 
Lance looks at him long and hard when he turns over, but Chris
shakes his head, then bends so he can lick Lance clean, suckling on
him.

Lance puts his hand on Chris's head.  He's not guiding, just trying
to connect.

Chris rubs against Lance's hand and lays his head on Lance's thigh. 
"Feel any better?" he asks, when he's finished worshipping Lance's
cock properly.

"A lot more relaxed, yes."  Lance closes his eyes.  "Come up here."

Chris crawls up, careful not to brush against anything sensitive,
and kisses Lance next to his mouth.  "Good."

Lance holds Chris's head and kisses him deeply.  He *takes* Chris's
mouth.

Chris presses up against Lance, surrendering to Lance's urgency.

Lance draws back when he can't taste himself any more.  He holds
Chris and pretends, just for a minute, that Lance is just perfect
for Chris, and he makes Chris perfectly happy.

Chris sighs.  "Thanks.  I liked that."

Chris is hard against Lance's inner thigh.  "Do you want to top
me?"

Chris raises his head.  "You want me to?"

"Do.  You.  Want.  To.  Top. Me?" Lance asks slowly, with a neutral
voice.

"Yeah."

"Okay.  Please, do."  Lance almost feels like crying in relief.  He
keeps his eyes closed so Chris won't know.

Chris is a little concerned that Lance is once again giving Chris
what he wants at Lance's expense, but Lance looks a lot better than
before.

He kisses Lance, then sits up.  Stroking Lance's leg, he asks, "You
loose enough to do it this way, or are you gonna knot up?"

"Lube, but I can do it this way."  Lance pulls a tube out from
between the cushions and smiles up at Chris.  He's finally opened
his eyes, and Chris looks so good.  Mussed and with swollen lips.

"Yeah.  That's good."  Chris takes the lube and moves down between
Lance's legs.  Lance props himself up against the arm and watches
him with hooded eyes, making Chris shiver.

Fingering's almost as good as rimming, or it should be, and Chris
does his best to make it good.  He leans down and breathes on
Lance's dick as he readies him, willing to suck Lance hard again if
Lance wants it.

Lance sighs, tipping his head back and looking at Chris through
lowered lashes.  "Feels so good," he groans.  His cock rises into
the warm, moist air Chris breathes out.

Chris takes Lance's slowly hardening dick in his mouth and sucks
gently, savoring the feeling of Lance's dick as he works one, then
two and finally three fingers.

Lance is usually pretty impatient about being fucked, but he's
savoring this.  It may be a while before it happens again.

Lance is making good noises.  Really good noises.  Chris lubes
himself up, pulls Lance's legs up and then starts easing himself
inside.

Lance arches to open himself more.  "Like that, just like that," he
praises.

Lance isn't the least bit tight.  Not painful-bad-tight anyway. 
Chris positions himself and then lets go of restraint, fucking
Lance hard.

"Yes, fuck, oh!  Oh, oh, oh!"

Lance has never sounded like that before, no matter how good Chris
has tried to be for him.  Chris keeps fucking him hard.  He wants
to make Lance feel so good.

Lance is sweating, swearing, grunting and grabbing at the cushions
of the couch.  "Fucking good, Chris!"

His cock feels so good right now, but Chris is holding off.  He
isn't going to come, not until he's given Lance everything he has. 
And, shit, it's not like he wants it to be over and sooner than it
absolutely has to end.

Lance reaches down and grabs his own cock.  Not to get himself off,
but to hold off his release.  He wants this to last, please, *God*,
let it last.

Lance's hand in between them is inflaming and irritating at the
same time.  It feel good to have something scratching against his
sweaty skin, but it's in the way.  If only for that reason, it's a
blessing, because Chris hasn't come yet today and yeah, so, he
doesn't need sex every five seconds, but it'd be nice.  Really
nice.

He pushes Lance's leg higher, and gets his hand far enough forward
that he can run his blunt nails over Lance's own sweating skin.

Lance growls and reaches out with his other hand, nails scratching
down Chris's chest and leaving pink marks behind.  "More, please,"
he begs.

Chris turns his head and bites into Lance's leg, sharp and hard.

"Shit," Lance gasps.  He gives up on lasting and touches every part
of Chris he can with both hands.  Because he's coming.  He's coming
right fucking now, and there's no delaying it.

When Lance starts squeezing his cock, Chris is done for.  He
doesn't know how he held out this long.  It's only a little while
longer before he's pulsing and swearing and coming hard.

It isn't kinky, but it's still hot, and Chris can only stand a
second of lying on top of Lance before he rolls off onto the floor. 
"Shower?"

Lance groans back, "Dead."

"'kay."  Chris drags himself to his feet and heads for the
bathroom.  He's hot and sticky and he wants to be clean.  But he's
taking care of Lance and for once, it seems to be working, so he
isn't going to stop.  He wets a towel and comes back to Lance's
study.  He slumps down beside the couch and wipes the sweat off
Lance, replacing it with coolness.

Lance moans shakily.  "So nice."

"Good."  Chris finishes cleaning Lance all over, lifting him at
times to wipe down the couch as well.  Then he sits on the floor
and scratches Lance lightly.

Lance shivers and turns to look at Chris.  "You trying to teach
me?"

"Teach you?  Teach you what?"

"How to act."

"Dunno.  Maybe trying to get you to learn how to let go.  That what
you mean?"

"No, not really."

Chris's hand stills.  "I'm not trying to teach you how to be a top. 
Really I'm not."

"You're good at it," Lance notes.  "But that's not what I meant. 
Or maybe it is.  More how I should treat you.  What I should have
you do."

Chris nods and starts scratching again.  "Yeah, maybe.  Not on
purpose.  Mostly because I was desperate to reach you."

"You shouldn't have to be," Lance observes.  "I need to be more
available to you."

Chris shakes his head.  "I dunno about that.  I mean, if it helps
you to think of that way, then good.  But the way I look at it is
you need to take more care of yourself and realize that that's what
I'm here for.  To do whatever makes you feel good."

Lance rubs his eyes wearily.  "Okay.  Yes, okay."  Then Chris
*doesn't* want to be a pet.

Chris frowns.  "Hey.  Please.  Don't worry about it so much.  Don't
worry about me.  You're great about taking care of me.  Way too
great."

"What do you mean?" Lance asks.  His hand settles around Chris's
neck.

Chris rubs his neck against Lance's hand.  "You're unhappy a lot. 
Your head hurts all the time.  You don't use me to make you feel
better -- I think you mostly use me because you want to give me
what I need.  And you're obsessed with getting stuff right about
what's going on between the two of us, which just confuses me,
'cause you can't get people perfect.  You evolve.  You work with
them and you change, y'know?  Stuff like that."

Lance exhales slowly.  "I see."

Chris reaches out and strokes Lance's forehead at the spot where
the squint is nearly permanent.  "This isn't a threat, but if you
can't calm down, I'm gonna suggest you take a vacation from me. 
Not permanent.  Just some time for you to take care of yourself."

"Chris, I don't take care of myself."  Lance laughs
semi-hysterically.  "I'm pretty much renowned for not taking care
of myself.  But I'll do better, baby."

"Well, see, I'll happily take care of you."

"I guess you will."

Chris keeps rubbing the frown line.  "And if you can do it without
getting more tied up in knots, worry about me less.  No one's ever
accused me of not being able to take care of myself."

"But that's the point.  You came to me and said you wanted to be
cared for."

"We never did discuss terms much," Chris says, smiling.  "I think
maybe we should have, at least a little.  Because maybe I said
that, but I didn't mean it the way you've been doing it.  Not that
I'm objecting -- you're really good at it -- but I thought I'd be
waiting on you hand-and-foot and preferably, dick-and-mouth, not
vice versa."

"You want to, what, be in a harem of one?  All about pleasure and
escape from the everyday?  Not do any work, just wait around to
make me feel good?"

"I don't have a label for what I want.  And I don't want just
pleasure and escape.  Doing work that benefits you would be more
than okay.  Cooking for you, making your bed -- I'll all about
that.  I'm not about cleaning your pool unless you're going to be
in it shortly."

Lance groans.  "Why don't you just do whatever you want, and I'll
tell you if it's really terrible, okay?  I'm fucking tired of
feeling like I'm failing you.  I can't feel this way any more, not
unless I'm going to fall to my knees and apologize for the next ten
years."

Chris lets his hand drop.  He's quiet for a long moment.  "Thanks
for telling me that.  That's what I've been afraid of, y'know. 
That you feel like that, even though you never said."

"It's not... not like I feel that way all the time.  Just when we
talk like this and I realize how far you are from where you want to
be."  Lance tugs Chris closer.  "I love you, Chris.  It hurts me to
keep screwing this up."

Chris goes into Lance's arms, even though he's still not sure it's
safe for Lance.  "You could stop trying.  You ever think maybe you
don't like doing this; that you're just humoring me?  Or that maybe
I seriously suck at it?"

"I love you," Lance replies.  "And so it's worth it."

"I didn't mean that.  Of course, you love me.  What I was saying is
that maybe you thought you could do this, only I've been a pain and
it's been harder than it is with other people, and you don't really
like doing this as much as you thought you would."

"Chris, I never really did this full-time with anyone else."

Chris nods.  "That's what I mean.  It's okay if this isn't what you
thought it was going to be and you don't want to do it anymore."

"I want to do it."

"You want to be with me, you mean.  I know that part.  I was asking
whether you want to quit with the role-playing."

"You wouldn't be happy with that.  And once we figure it out, I
think I'll be very happy with this arrangement."

"Yeah, well," Chris says, because Lance is right about him not
being happy in a normal relationship, "I'd try."

"Not worth it.  We both know what happens when we try and fail." 
Lance adds, "I have an idea.  It's... not exactly in our normal
vein."

"Okay."

"Maybe we should switch.  Just for a day.  You treat me exactly how
you want to be treated, so I know," Lance suggests, ignoring his
trepidation.

Chris purses his lips.  "There's some details that'd need to be
taken care of, but on the whole, I like this plan."

"Yeah?  What're the details?"

"See, you're always doing stuff.  For me, about me, all of that. 
And if it was going to be just like I want to be treated, then I'd
be doing stuff without you telling me to first.  I'm not sure how
to allow for proactiveness."

"So, I just make sure not to completely curb my instincts to take
care of you?"

"No, actually, I was kinda thinking of maybe putting a list of
actions in a bowl, and once every two hours or so, you can pull a
slip of paper out and do that.  Presuming we're not busy at the
time.  'Cause, uh, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't trust
you to not overdo things."

Lance says,  "Okay."

"So, yeah.  Let's do that.  When?"

"When you want."

"Tomorrow, then.  I can write up some stuff tonight for the bowl."

"Sure."  Lance stretches.  "I want to ask you, though, if this is
really what you want?  You keep asking me, as if I wouldn't tell
you when it didn't work.  So, are you sure this is what you want?"

"I don't think you'd tell me if it wasn't working out for you.  I
think you'd suck it up and carry on.  And I like the idea of
showing by example."

"You sure you want to be my sub?"

"No.  I'm pretty sure I don't want to use any labels for what I
want, because -- brace yourself for the insulting bit -- I think
you take the labels and deal with them instead of dealing with you
and me."

"Could be."

"But I'm absolutely sure that this is more like what I want than a
standard boyfriend-love dealie.  I suck at being normal."

"I suck at being anything beyond normal.  I'm average."

Chris snorts.  "If you say so."

"Start in the morning, then?" Lance asks.

"Yeah.  Why?  You want something in the meantime?"  Chris grins at
Lance.

"Your pizza?"

Chris salutes Lance and rolls off of him.  "One pizza coming right
up."

Lance watches Chris go, then rises himself.  He stays naked,
following Chris around for the sheer pleasure of watching him.

Chris does a little dance with a dish towel when he realizes Lance
is watching him, but settles down to the task of putting together
his extra-special not-as-bad-for-you-as-it-looks pizza that he
makes just for Lance.  When it's in the oven, he finds some paper
and a pen and starts writing down things he'd do for Lance except
Lance'll be doing them for him.

Lance sprawls at the table and drinks beer and watches Chris's sexy
arse.

He doesn't really need a long list, because it's only one day, but
it'll be more of a surprise if doesn't know exactly what Lance is
doing.

"You have a sexy arse," Lance offers.

Chris wriggles it.  "It's okay."

"It's sexy.  I could go gay for it.  Oh, wait!  I already did." 
Lance laughs.

Chris grins at him and starts creasing and tearing the paper into
strips.  "And it's all yours, baby."

"You have no idea how terrified I was the first time I dreamed of
you all nekkid," Lance says, fondly reminiscent.

"Yeah," Chris agrees.  "I can see how that would be terrifying."

"I thought I'd go to hell," Lance clarifies.  "I finally convinced
God it was okay.  Because, really, what's one little fantasy when
you're fucking everything that breathes on you?"

"You convinced God?  Good work."  Chris dumps the slips in a bowl,
puts the bowl on top of the fridge and checks the pizza.  Not done
yet.  He comes and sits by Lance.  "The way I look at it is that,
if anything's wrong, it's the cheap, casual sex."  He pushes his
head into Lance's hand as Lance pets him.  "And even that isn't all
that wrong when you consider the celebrity factor, 'cause if,
y'know, if it makes them feel special, then it's got to be okay. 
Or something.  I'm probably not the person to ask about morals."

"Baby, I'm sure as hell not."

"Better than me."

"Anyway.  Sit on my lap."

Chris gets up, waits for Lance to push his chair back, then settles
in Lance's lap.

Lance wraps his arms around Chris with a sigh.  "I love the way you
feel."

"Sticky and kinda nasty?"

"Dork."

"Yep."

"Hee."

The giggle catches Chris off-guard.  He's charmed.

Lance nuzzles Chris's shoulder.

Chris pets with Lance until the pizza's done, then cuts it up and
serves it with a flourish.  He's hungry enough to eat his half, but
when he's done and the kitchen is something approaching clean, he
loops his arms around Lance.  "Tired enough for bed?"

"Sure thing."

"Good!  That'll make tomorrow come faster.  But I'm still taking a
shower first."

"Sure."

Chris kisses him, then laughs, bounces on his toes and runs for the
stairs.

Lance follows more slowly, making sure everything is locked up for
the night.

The shower is wonderful.  Positively, absolutely, beyond a doubt
wonderful.  Chris is going to have a hard time sleeping if he stays
this excited.

Lance follows Chris into the shower.  He sucks Chris off and then
sends him to bed before cleaning himself up.

Chris crawls into bed.  The anticipation is still humming in his
brain, but his body is tired now, and he curls up and yawns,
waiting for Lance.

Lance pulls Chris into his arms and holds him, safe and secure. 
"Sleep, baby."

"Love you," Chris mumbles, letting himself relax completely now
that Lance is here.

"Love you, too."

~~~~

Chris wakes up with the same sense of anticipation and excitement
that made it hard for him to sleep last night.

Lance is still dead to the world, though, so he gets up and goes to
the bathroom and takes a shower.

When he comes back to the bedroom and sits down, Lance rolls over
and looks at him.

There's something very different about Lance's look now, Chris
thinks.  But he's not sure if Lance's look is really all that
different or if he's just seeing it differently.  To Chris, Lance
looks sleepy and vulnerable.

Chris touches Lance's face, then runs his hand down over Lance's
body, pushing back the covers and stroking down Lance's bare chest.

Lance watches Chris with attentive, trusting eyes.  He needs to see
Chris's cues.  But Chris's hand on him... it's very nice.  Lance
smiles a little and enjoys it.

"Pretty Lance," Chris murmurs.  He gets more fully onto the bed,
sitting up against the headboard.  He left his boxers in the
laundry.  He holds his dick up.  "C'mere."

Lance preens at the compliment, then sits up by Chris, not entirely
sure what Chris wants.  He gets close and waits for more
instructions.

Chris spreads his legs and urges Lance to lay on his stomach
between them.  When Lance moves, he nudges at Lance's mouth with
his cock.

Lance opens up and takes Chris in.  At Chris's urging, he starts a
steady, easy rhythm.

Chris groans and shifts his hands to Lance's shoulders, rubbing
them.  "Oh, yeah.  Good."

Good.  Lance builds up slowly, sucking a little harder, moving a
little faster.  His legs aren't too thrilled about being all folded
up under him, but that's part of this, too.

"Lay down," Chris says, sweeping his hands over Lance's back.  "On
your stomach.  And not so fast either.  I don't want to get off
like this."

Lance shifts flat to the soft cotton.  It brushes his dick and he
closes his eyes.  So *good*.  The change in angle makes him slow
down all by itself.

"Yeah.  That's better," Chris praises.  "Nice and easy."

So, it's morning sex.  It's not anything they haven't done before,
except that Chris is a little bit mouthier than usual -- not much
-- and Lance doesn't answer back at all.

Chris lets Lance suck him for a long lazy while.  It's good, but he
doesn't want to get off like this.  He stops Lance with a hand on
his cheek and then a deep kiss, and rolls him over on his back.  He
starts at Lance's mouth and moves down, kissing and sucking and
scratching and tickling and biting to see what gets the best
reactions.

When he gets to Lance's waistband, he pulls at the tops of the
pajama pants until Lance gets the hint and shimmies them off.

He stares at his territory for a long time before swiping his
tongue once down the length of Lance's cock.  "Lube."

Lance finds the lube as directed.  He shows it to Chris.

"Good boy."  He takes the tube from Lance, kissing his fingers,
then settles down to the process of working it into Lance.  He
licks Lance's cock every so often, but never enough to do more than
tease.

Lance sighs and holds himself as still as he can.  Aside from the
undulations of his hips as Chris stretches or licks him, he does
fairly well at just laying back and accepting the experiences.

Chris kisses the inside of Lance's knee.  "I know you don't get off
on this the way I do, so I apologize in advance for anything you
don't like."  Then he's pushing his way inside, and it's just like
the night before and just as good, except this time he isn't as
careful and it goes much faster.  But that's also partly because
it's morning.

Lance chokes back a scream of pleasure and rises to meet Chris's
passion.  In his head, he's babbling, 'Please, God, harder like
that do that please yes again...'

Lance's response to being fucked is, again, enthusiastic.  Chris
gets off good enough to make his head spin.  He thrusts for a
little while longer after, enjoying it.

Lance is close enough that it hurts, but he waits.  He watches
Chris come, and the incredible expressions that flit across his
face.  God, he's hot.

Chris pulls out and rests on top of Lance, kissing him softly and
messily.  "Really good, babe.  You've got a great ass."

Lance smiles and risks speaking.  "I liked that."

"Good," Chris says, kissing his nose, "was worried that maybe you
didn't."  He's rubbing lazily against Lance's body.

Lance lays his hands lightly on Chris's back, just to feel him
move.  "Did."

"Good.  Give you a choice this morning.  You wanna get off like
this, or with something in your ass?"

And Lance, the big slut that he is, says, "In my ass, please."

Chris kisses him, gets up and goes to find Lance's supply of toys. 
He comes back with a butt plug.  Lying back down to one side of
Lance, he shows it to him.  "You're going to have this in your ass
all day, except when you need to use the bathroom or I want it out. 
When you get dressed, I want you to find a pair of loose shorts. 
I want to be able to put my hand inside and touch it."

Then he lubes it up and inserts it in Lance's ass.

Lance gasps and groans.  It's been so long since he had anything,
and now suddenly it's like having *everything*.  Well, in regard to
his ass anyway.

"Nice," Chris says, pleased.  "I like seeing your reactions.  Put
your hand around your dick.  Don't move it at all.  I want you to
fuck your fist while I fuck you with this."  He pushes the butt
plug in deeper.  "Got it?"

"Yes, Chris."

When Lance puts his hand around his cock, Chris starts fucking him
with the butt plug.  He could've done both himself, but this way he
gets to watch Lance, which is a lot better.

Lance's eyes close as he just enjoys the feelings.  He's getting
very close, so close he doesn't know if he can hold out much
longer.  "Close," he whispers.

"Go ahead."

Lance does.  He just explodes, the way prostate stimulation always
makes him do.  He cries out Chris's name as he comes, praising him
with everything he can think of.

Lance pushes the butt plug out when he comes.  Chris eases it back
in then comes back up to hold Lance and kiss him.  "Good.  Really
good, baby.  I'm proud of you."

Lance curls against Chris and basks in the afterglow.

Chris pets Lance for a long time before kissing his forehead and
getting up.  "Go take a shower.  Remember what I said about how to
dress."

Lance says, "Yes, Chris."  And does as he's told.

Chris heads downstairs after he's dressed and makes breakfast. 
He's found that he kinda likes cooking when it's for Lance, and
it's not like he has a lot of secret plans he's been waiting to
fulfill.

Lance follows after Chris after donning his loosest shorts.  It's
very difficult for Lance to dress in loose clothing, since he
managed to get rid of the girl-hips.  He hopes his pants don't fall
off.

When Lance comes in, Chris motions him over, wraps an arm around
him and kisses him.  "Hey."  He hands the fork to Lance.  "Scramble
these, okay?", then turns them around so Lance is in front with the
frying pan full of eggs and he's behind him.

He feels Lance up, making sure he can get his hand inside to touch
the butt plug from both the top and the bottom.  Lance isn't
wearing any underwear, which is good, since Chris forgot to tell
him to not wear any.  He kisses the back of Lance's neck.  "Good
boy."

Lance's head spins when Chris nudges the toy, but he somehow
manages to keep working on the eggs.

Chris leaves the toy alone once he's satisfied that Lance followed
his instructions.  He'd made the eggs last, since they're the
fastest, and he starts plating the rest of their breakfast.

Lance finishes the eggs and turns off the burner.  "These are
ready, Chris."

"Thanks."  He adds the eggs and then hands the plates to Lance. 
"Go sit down."

Lance carries the plates over to the table and carefully sets them
down.  He sits even more carefully, but still ends up gasping at
the feeling of it.

Chris catches the noise Lance makes and grins.  He sits down next
to Lance and doesn't mention it though, instead just digging into
the food.  He'd set the table earlier.

Lance starts eating slowly.  There's far more food on his plate
than he would normally eat for breakfast.  He shifts uncomfortably
in the hard chair every few minutes.

"Do you need a cushion?" Chris asks.

Lance blushes.  "No, I just need to sit up."  He demonstrates,
sitting with perfect posture and leaning forward so his weight
doesn't push against the plug.

"You're pretty when you're turned on and embarrassed," Chris says. 
He's eating slowly to keep pace with Lance.

Lance grins.  "Oh, really?"

"Yep."

Lance smirks and eats half of everything on his plate.  "I don't
know if I can eat the rest," he notes.

Chris studies Lance's plate.  "Okay.  Finish the sausage and you
can get rid of the rest."

"Thanks."

"You're going to need your strength," Chris warns him.  His own
plate, he cleans.  He's hungry.

Lance smiles wickedly, but keeps his head down so Chris won't see.

Chris takes his dishes to the sink, rinses them and puts them in
the dishwasher.  He adds the frying pan and then stands up and
stretches yawning.  Kissing the top of Lance's head, he says, "Come
watch TV with me after you're done in here."

Lance cleans his dishes when he's done and reaches up to get the
bowl of things to do on top of the refrigerator.  He takes it in
with him and sets it on the end table, then curls on the floor next
to Chris's feet.

"Up here," Chris says, patting the couch cushions next to him. 
He's sitting against one of the arms, to give Lance more room to
sprawl out.

Lance crawls up next to Chris.

"Put your head here and lay down," Chris says.  Lance doesn't,
curling up into a ball.  "No, stretch out.  Yeah, like that.  You
cold?"

Lance shakes his head.  "Not really."

"Good."  Lance's head is on Chris's thigh now, and Chris pets him. 
"Need a pillow?  Can you see the TV okay?"

"No to both, but I don't really want to see the TV, unless you want
me to.  I just like being with you."

"Sure, that's fine.  You don't have to watch.  Go back to sleep if
you want."

Lance says, "I'm not tired."  He curls his hand lightly over
Chris's thigh and closes his eyes.  He just listens to the TV and
the sounds Chris makes.

Chris watches TV.  He's comfortable and it's cozy sitting there
with Lance, running his hand over Lance's soft, ungelled hair,
under his shirt and over smooth skin.  It's a nice lazy way to
spend the morning.

Lance cuddles contentedly against Chris.  He just drifts,
completely relaxed in accepting pleasure and pets from Chris.

After a couple of hours, Chris turns off the TV.  He doesn't really
have anything to do, because Lance has been taking care of
everything, but that doesn't mean that there aren't things to catch
up on.  "Am I going to ruin anything if I use your computer?" he
asks.

"No, Chris."  Lance is instantly alert, though he'd been drifting
seconds before.

"Good.  I'm gonna catch up on my email."  He slides out from under
Lance, then leans down and kisses his forehead.  "Take a nap if you
need one."

Lance doesn't need a nap, so he pulls a slip out of the bowl.

The piece of paper says, 'Make snacks'.

Lance expects that Chris doesn't want the kind of snacks Lance
would eat.  But cookies -- Chris likes cookies.  And ice cream,
both of which are easy to make.  Lance heads to the kitchen.

Chris boots up the computer, careful not to make any changes to
anything.  Lance doesn't use his email program, but it's easy
enough to access from the web.  He catches up with what's been
going on, and sends Justin some general harassment.

Lance hums as he pulls the last sheet of cookies out of the oven
and sticks the ice cream, now duly blended, in the freezer.  It's
been about an hour, so he goes to see if Chris is still busy.

Chris turns around when Lance comes in.  He sees the cookies and
his eyes widen.  "Wow, cookies!  Thanks!"

Lance sets the plate carefully on the desk.  "You're welcome,
Chris."

"C'mere."  Chris pulls away from the desk and pats his lap.

Lance sits gingerly.  "There's, uh, ice cream, too," he says
breathlessly.  Chris's leg presses the plug deeper into Lance's
body.  Lance is understandably distracted.

Chris hugs him and kisses him.  "Thanks.  You're amazing.  Would
have brought you celery sticks or something.  Didn't expect cookies
and ice cream."

"But celery sticks are what I *eat* for snacks," Lance points out.

"Yep.  You're so smart.  You want some?"

"No, thank you.  I'm full."

"Okay."  Chris pushes Lance up.  "Gonna eat these downstairs.  I
don't wanna get everything in here crumby and sticky."

Lance steps out of the way.  "Do you want me to come with you?" he
asks hopefully.

Chris rolls his eyes.  "Yes.  I like having you with me.  You're
always welcome to be with me.  Except maybe when I'm pissing or
something."

"Okay."

Chris takes the plate of cookies and they head downstairs.  He
munches on one of the cookies on the way.  "Mmm, warm from the
oven.  Just the way I like them."

"I know," Lance murmurs, following just behind Chris.

"Well, of course.  Cookies are supposed to be eaten warm."

Lance laughs.

Chris grins, and they eat the cookies at the table.  Or rather,
Chris eats them, and Lance lets him feed him small pieces.

"I expect that you probably have things you'd be doing if you were
me, but I don't, and we both know why that is.  I don't want to
leave you alone all day, which is what I'd be doing if I went out
without you.  So we can pretend I have work to do, I can take you
with me, or we can shorten the day.  What do you think?"

"Whichever you think is going to show me more what you want."

"Good answer.  Let's shorten the day then.  We can talk about
everything afterward maybe."

"All right."

"So, pretend I worked on something for four or five hours.  Let's
adjourn to the living room, shall we?"

"Uh huh."  Lance carefully doesn't grin at how cute Chris is.

Chris sits down in a nice comfy armchair and pats his lap.  "Come
sit down, little boy.  But first, take off your shirt.  And I want
you to straddle my lap, but sit backward."

Lance puzzles that through, then sits as indicated.  Straddling
Chris's legs makes the plug, which he'd almost gotten used to, feel
quite large.

Chris sits back and adjusts Lance's position until Lance is leaning
back against him.  "Love the feel of your bare skin," he whispers. 
He spreads Lance's legs a bit more.  "You look good like this."

Lance's breathing quickens.  "It feels big, like this."

"What feels big, baby?"

"The plug," Lance whispers.  He rocks his hips against Chris. 
"When I'm spread out like this."

"Good.  I like you feeling it.  I wanted you to feel it."  Chris
kisses Lance's cheek, liking how Lance threw his head back all on
his own.  "I want you panting and so horny that you're begging for
it and all you can think about is getting off and getting fucked. 
And," he moves his mouth to nip at Lance's ear, "you don't have to
do a damn thing but lie there and react."

"Exactly."

"Okay.  As long as you understand."  Chris sets out to
systematically break Lance's control.  There's a definite pleasure
in stroking Lance's chest and playing with him.  It's something
Chris loves, or would love, if Lance liked it.  Just getting hotter
and hotter, a naked squirming package in Lance's lap and not
knowing what Lance intends... and Chris is going to have to focus
on Lance if he wants to get through this without getting off right
here and now.

Lance, as one may have mentioned, is a slut.  So he's done damn
near everything before.  He's sat in someone's lap and had them
tease him like this.  He's done this and come explosively.  He's
also done this and then not been allowed to get off for days.  The
trick is to not tense, and just let it happen.

Chris plays with Lance's chest until Lance has a fine layer of
sweat prickling over his body.  Then he opens Lance's shorts and
pulls out his cock.  Lance is predictably hard.  Chris holds it in
one hand, and fondles Lance's balls with the other.

Lance whimpers, shifting away.  "Chris," he pleads.  Lance's balls
are good boys, but they're not real fond of being handled.

"Hmm?"

"Ouch."

Chris lets go and pulls Lance's legs shut, turning him and cuddling
him.  "What?  You okay?"

"Yeah.  Just, like, my balls don't play well with others."  Lance
nuzzles Chris's chin.

"Oh.  Next time, tell me what's causing the problem, okay?"  He
kisses Lance anyway, because the nuzzling is so cute.

"Yes, Chris," Lance says, even though he wants to say 'you already
knew'.

Chris kisses him again.  "You up for more or do you need some
time?"

"I'm fine.  I don't mind."  Lance kisses the underside of Chris's
jaw.

"You sure?" Chris asks, trying not to grin too much and spoil
things.  "If you need some time to yourself, that's all right."

"No, it's fine.  You can do it more, if you want," he adds.  "If
that's what you ask of me."

Chris feels cold chills down his spine before realizing that Lance
is talking about him playing with his balls.  "No, I won't do that
again.  I'm asking if you're ready for me to keep touching the rest
of you."

"Yes, Chris," Lance says stealing one more quick kiss.

Lance is cuddly and sweet, and obviously turned on, but still
remote.  Chris knows he shouldn't be disappointed, because this
isn't Lance's thing.  Lance wants to do, not be done to, but it's
not nearly as fun this way.

He helps Lance back into position and goes back to playing with
him.  Handling Lance's dick the way Lance had driven him crazy
before, just playing with it, and at the same time, manipulating
the butt plug.

Lance gasps and tips his head back so he can see Chris.  That
helps.  The longer he acts like this, the harder it is to keep old
conditioning at bay.  He's done his best never to make Chris act
the way Lance has been made to act in the past.  Lance's dom,
master, owner -- whatever the title, they were never nice about it. 
They never loved him.

Chris keeps it up for a long time, but finally stops when he
realizes that, no, Lance isn't ever going to break or even bend. 
With no more than a sigh, he stops touching Lance and zips him back
up, kissing the side of his neck.  He reaches over the side of the
chair and fishes for Lance's shirt.  "Here.  Put it back on."

Lance whimpers in frustration, but pulls the shirt on without
protest.  He has to clear his throat before he can ask, "You want
a backrub, Chris?"

"No, thanks.  I need you to stand up though."

Lance stands and then ducks his head.  He has the strange feeling
he's screwed up.

Chris gets up, adjusting himself.  He decides to pretend that Lance
had the same reaction that he would have if Lance had been doing
that to him.  If he'd been the one on Lance's lap, he'd have been
helpless and hot and probably begging to suck Lance off just to get
dick somehow.  But Lance isn't him.  If Lance had even been half
that into it just now, Chris would have relented and gotten him
off.

Lance stares at Chris's hand, at Chris's cock.  "I can..." he
offers.

Chris shakes his head.  Lance sounds like he feels obligated. 
Chris is glad that he's not really into topping, because he's
already getting an inferiority complex from not being able to
affect Lance.  "No, that's all right.  Going to the bathroom. 
Personal Chris time."

Lance meets Chris's eyes for just a second.  He looks away when he
realizes he's begging with his eyes.  "Yes, Chris," he whispers.

Chris strokes Lance's cheek and then leaves the room.

Lance knows this is Chris's time, and he should just stay out of
the way.  But everything else in the bowl he's either done before,
because it's something he normally does -- like clean the house, or
something he needs to be *with* Chris to do.  So Lance waits, and
then follows along after Chris, sitting down the hall and around
the corner from the bathroom.

Chris doesn't masturbate, but he does use the time to wash his face
and ask himself in the mirror what the hell he thinks he's doing. 
He can't show Lance how much he likes something when Lance doesn't
like it.  He just hopes he hasn't been making Lance this miserable. 
It would explain a lot.

Chris comes out of the bathroom, but his footsteps go the other
way, so Lance stays in the hall.  He's thinking about Chris.  If
this is how Chris feels when Lance leaves him alone, Lance is the
stupidest, blindest, worst dom in existence.  He has got to spend
more time with Chris, even if it's just... just keeping near so
Chris can come hug him when he wants to.

Chris doesn't see Lance when he comes out, so he figures Lance
must've done something similar.  He goes and curls up in bed,
thinking.

Lance doesn't think he's tired, but he must have been, because when
he opens his eyes it's dark out.

Chris falls asleep without even realizing it, his thoughts
gradually getting more disjointed until he's dreaming.

He doesn't move.  The clock in the hall strikes ten.  Lance wonders
where Chris is.  He wonders if Chris was disappointed that Lance
wasn't there to make him supper, to get him off.  But that's...
that's the good in being the sub.  Chris didn't tell him to do
those things, so it's all right.  Lance knows he didn't make a
mistake yet.  So it's really just that he wishes he'd been there to
do those things for Chris.  To do everything for Chris.

When Chris wakes up, it's dark and he's alone.  He doesn't like
that, and he doesn't like this.  It's not fun, it's obviously not
showing Lance anything, and it just makes him feel sad and alone.

He gets up and goes looking for Lance.

Lance found Chris.  Only Chris was asleep, and he hadn't told Lance
that he could come back.  So Lance sleeps in a guest room.  Or
tries to, at least.  He keeps waking up at every little sound,
hoping Chris has come to get him.

He finds Lance in the guest room, and wonders if he'd done
everything so wrong that Lance doesn't even want to be near him. 
Chris sits down beside Lance, who opens his eyes immediately.

"I'm sorry," Chris says.  "For today.  For everything.  I can't do
this anymore.  I'm doing it all wrong."

"Is Personal Chris time over yet?" Lance asks blearily.  "Can I
come with you now?"

"Personal Chris time was over when I got done in the bathroom,"
Chris says.

"You didn't tell me," Lance says.  "I didn't know.  I'm sorry.  I'm
sorry, Chris."  He shifts closer.  "I'm sorry," he whispers with
his face pressed against Chris's knee.

Chris pets Lance's hair, feeling stupid.  "It's not your fault. 
I'm the one who messed up, not you."

Lance shivers, feeling sick.  He's not sure why until he realizes
that he missed lunch and dinner and he's still got the plug in. 
"Chris?  Can I try to be better at being *me*, please?"

"Yes.  Please, please.  Be you again.  That's what I want.  I don't
wanna be you anymore."

"Thank God."  Lance sits up and kisses Chris hard.  "Go to our
room, baby.  I'll be right there, I promise."

Chris nods and goes, even though he doesn't really want to go back
there all by himself.  He spends the time straightening out the
covers, to keep himself from thinking.

Lance cleans himself up quickly, and then follows Chris -- after a
quick trip to the kitchen.  "Take off your clothes and lay on your
back," Lance orders.  Chris does.  Lance scoops ice cream onto
Chris's chest and licks it up with tiny flicks of his tongue.

Chris just watches Lance with big eyes.  He doesn't know what's
going on now.

Lance moans and licks Chris everywhere.  "I wanted so badly to make
you feel good today.  I wanted so badly to be able to just make you
come without waiting for your permission."

"I didn't care about that," Chris says, stunned by Lance finally
letting go.  "I was trying to do to you what I would've wanted you
to do to me.  Trying to make you feel it.  Only you didn't, and I
felt like shit for making you try."

"I wanted you so badly and I couldn't touch you.  It was like being
with them," Lance says, right before he starts sucking on Chris's
cock.  "I want you to come," he says, minutes later, and ducks back
down to make it happen.

There's all sorts of questions Chris wants to ask, but this is what
he's been needing all day.  Not so much the orgasm, but Lance
telling him what to do so he can just do that.  So he can know
everything's all right.

Lance swallows and moves back up.  He pins Chris to the bed and
covers him.  "Mine," Lance growls.  "Only mine."

Chris nods fervently.  "But what about..." he starts to ask, before
Lance kisses him, cutting him off.

Lance pulls back after a very long time.  "What about what, baby?"

"Them.  What about them?  Who are they?  What did I do that made
you think of them?  How can I fix it?  What can I do?"

Lance sighs and holds Chris, shifting to their sides.  "Okay.  I'm
a slut, or at least I was before you.  I was pretty happy with this
arrangement.  And you know that I've been on both ends of the
dominance, submission shtick.  So, them is the ones who were my
master, owner, dom or top.  I had some decent ones.  I had some
very bad ones.  People I try very hard *not* to emulate.  Because
I love you, and they never loved me.  So today, acting that way
again, it was hard for me not to fall back into the roles I've been
in before.  It's not so much what you did was *like* them, as that
I couldn't keep the memories away.  There were parts of today that
were very good.  And I think I learned what you might need a little
better."

"I'm sorry."

"It is not your fault.  That's the wonder of being the sub, baby. 
It's not your fault, it's mine for not leading you right."

"Yeah.  That's kinda what I'm apologizing for.  For today."

Lance shakes his head.  "Let's forget about blaming one of us for
today."

"If you say so."  Chris curls into Lance, closing his eyes.

"I say so," Lance agrees, kissing Chris's lips lightly.  "Go to
sleep."

"I just got up," Chris complains.

Lance smiles.  "Then get me off, you tease."

Chris nods and moves between Lance's legs, going immediately for
Lance's dick to suck him off.

Lance comes *hard* a few minutes later.

Chris swallows it all down and stays there.

Lance, barely awake, mumbles for Chris to come closer.

Chris crawls up and plasters himself against Lance.

"Good boy," Lance slurs.  "Good.  Don't have to stay, 'f you're not
tired.  Be here inna morning, though."  He holds Chris's face and
kisses him messily.

Chris kisses back.  He's awake now, yes, but he isn't gonna leave
Lance.  He needs to touch him, needs to be with him.

Lance wishes he could stay awake, but the day washes over him and
drags him down.  This time sleep is actually restful.

~~~~

Chris eventually does fall asleep, but he doesn't stay there long
and he's awake long before Lance, just waiting.  It's good having
Lance there, because that makes him feel more secure, but yesterday
still haunts him.

Lance wakes with a protesting stretch, folding around Chris.  "Time
's it?" he asks.

Chris cranes his neck.  "Seven thirty."

Lance sighs and opens his eyes.  "You not tired, baby?"

"Can't sleep."

"Tell me," Lance orders.

"Yesterday.  Still don't know what to think about it."

"Let's get dressed and go downstairs for this, huh?"

Chris twists his mouth.  Any conversation with clothes is more
serious than a conversation without by default, but it's probably
best not to mix happy bed thoughts with disturbing relationship
talks.  "Okay."

Lance sits up and kisses Chris good morning.  "Remember I love
you."

Chris nods.

So Lance takes them downstairs to the seldom-used den.  He sits on
one end of the couch and puts Chris on the other.  "Okay.  Now,
start talking."

Chris opens his mouth and closes it.  "Um.  Yesterday didn't go
well.  At all."

"No, it didn't.  It didn't start too badly," Lance says, "but it
just went downhill."

"Yeah."

"Why do you think that is?  Other than misunderstandings."

"You don't want the things I want."

"I don't want the things you want?  Elaborate, please."

Chris pulls his feet up, sitting cross-legged on the couch.  "Easy. 
I want to be treated the way I was treating you.  I would have
loved the whole sex-on-lap thing, and it didn't work for you at
all."

"Oh.  No, I'm not the same kind of bottom you are.   But I did
totally like that.  A lot."  Lance turns sideways as well, his feet
against Chris's knees.

"Coulda fooled me."

Lance looks steadily at Chris.  "It's how I was trained to
respond."

"Oh."  Chris scrunches up his nose.  "Is that how you've been
expecting me to act?"

"Sort of, yeah.  Not that it's what I wanted.  That's why I've been
trying too hard for you to have a label.  There are different rules
for the different classifications.  I don't know what rules to use. 
And when I try to enforce what I think is right -- like the thing
with the pool -- and you think I'm insane, it throws me."

"You've been trying to put me in a box," and it's not so much a
realization as an accusation that's been in the back of Chris's
mind for a while.

"I thought I needed to.  I didn't know any other way to do it, and
do it 'right'."  Lance even throws in the finger quotes.

"And now?"

"Now I want to know why you think I shouldn't get to care about
you."

Chris frowns.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The way I treat you, you think it's strange.  That I think I
should care about you all the time, that I should always be
planning for you.  You think it's not that way, that I shouldn't
think of you at all, or something."

"I don't get why you want to cater to me all the time."

"Because I love you, you son of a bitch," says Lance.

"And I love you."

"Because I value you above everything else I've ever had, have now,
or ever will have"

"Whoa.  So like, no pressure then."  Chris is now wondering what
kind of display case Lance wants to keep him in.

"No pressure, that's the fucking POINT of being the sub.   You
don't have to have the pressure.  I'll take it from you, and make
everything easy for you because I care enough to do that.  I love
enough to do that.  It's my choice to do that, and make things easy
for you.  It's my choice to be the one who gives everything.  It's
your prize, present, place to accept graciously and exist without
that care over you.  To be free, because I love you enough to make
you that way."

"I don't *want* to be free.  I want to be owned."  Chris doesn't
*deserve* a carefree existence, especially not when Lance is
working to give it to him.  Chris is the one who gives that to
other people.  He loves Lance; he can't do that to him.

"You are owned.  I own your responsibilities.  They're mine to take
on."

"But what do I *do*?  I can't be just happy and carefree and all
that when you're working yourself to the bone trying to give it to
me.  I'm not a kid.  I don't *deserve* that."

"It's not about deserving, it's about accepting.  And the working? 
Has nothing to do with you, really.  It's not, shockingly, all
about you."

Chris stares at Lance, taken aback almost as much as he'd been
slapped.  "Yeah, I guess.  I'm... I'm hassling you, aren't I? 
Taking away from time you need to do your own stuff?"

"No!  You don't get to be all withdrawn like that.  Not without
telling me.  Your *job*, if you have to have one, is to bring me
all your problems.  You're not hassling me.  I'm trying to figure
this out.  And make-work, if you didn't know, is my defense
mechanism.  You were right to tell me it was taking me away from
you, because that's a problem you're having."

Chris cocks his head, trying as hard as he can to understand.  "So
if I feel like maybe I need to go in the corner and have a time out
because I've been bad, you'd want to know that, even though that's
really more like a shameless plea for attention?"

"Yes!  Because either way, you've got a problem."

Chris nods.  "I *know*.  I just didn't know that you wanted to hear
that.  Or like hear now that I'm confused because, yeah, even if I
should bring you my problems, I'd still be interrupting you when
I'm not supposed to be here at all.  I don't... I didn't know any
of this."

"Baby, first I fix the problem where I'm working too much and you
feel neglected.  And then you don't have the interrupting problem."

"Okay.  Um.  Now I want to sit on the floor and put my head on your
leg.  Is that okay?"

"Please."

Chris does, and sighs.  "Better.  It helps to sit like this when
I'm confused.  Makes me remember that you're taking care of me and
helps me deal with it."

"I love you, Chris.  Everything.  I love you."  Lance's fingers
slowly comb through Chris's hair.

"Yeah, well, I know that.  But it doesn't seem to be helping any. 
I think maybe I get the bit about telling you how I feel, but what
about the box?"

"I won't.  I'll just make up the rules.  I'll work harder on us,
and not as hard on the companies."

Chris nods, reassured.  "Did you understand what I was getting at
yesterday?  About me?"

"Which about you?  I learned a lot about you yesterday."

"Like?"  Chris is interested, especially if Lance found out stuff
about him he wasn't trying to show.

"Like you don't mind feeling a little humiliated.  You don't mind
being objectified, in the right situation."

"Yeah.  Both of those.  But it's more than not minding.  I *like*
it."

"You like the attention you get from doing something 'naughty',"
Lance continues.  "And I think you'd let me spank you, if it were
a bed game."

"Maybe."

Lance says, "Having a plug up your ass all day is less comfortable,
trust me."

"It's not the uncomfortableness.  It's the hitting.  I could maybe
do it, but I don't want to test whether I'm going to start
associating you with bad memories in my head."

Lance says, "I'm going to have you tell me about them some day."

"That's fair."

Lance says, "Fair or not, I want to know.  I want to know all of
you."

Chris nods.  "That's kinda more what I was expecting."

"Okay."  Lance's stomach growls loudly.  "You feel a little
better?"

"Except for the part that that wasn't what was bugging me about
yesterday, yeah."

"Okay.  Tell me."

"You.  The way you were reacting.  Are you okay?  Did I scar you
forever?"  Chris shrugs.  "I feel like I should be apologizing."

"No, you didn't scar me.  *You* didn't.  And you didn't hurt me
either.  I actually enjoyed it, until we got separated."

"So you liked it except that you were, uh, trained not to.  And I'm
kinda not all that happy about the idea that you might want to do
that to me.  The training thing.  'Cause I don't get it."

"I wasn't trained not to like it, I was trained not to show it
without permission.  And I'm not going to train you like that.  I'm
not going to train you at all, really."

"Oh."  Perversely, Chris is disappointed now.  "Why not?"

"Because what you're talking about -- being trained to restrain
your natural likes and dislikes -- is wrong.  It hurts you inside. 
I don't want that for you.  What I *am* going to 'train' you to do
is be respectful of me and others and behave in public."

"Yeah, that makes sense.  About restraining how you feel.  I
wouldn't like that at all.  Didn't like it when you were doing it
either."  Chris turns the rest of it over in his head.  "I'm not
sure I like your idea of training, but I don't dislike it.  If you
said it was going to be kinky training, I'd be volunteering."

"Chris, you have a tendency to focus on the sexual aspects of
domination when you specifically said that that was not where you
wanted the focus to be in this relationship," Lance says, voice
careful and hard.

Chris pulls away from Lance.  Lance has a real way of making him
feel his disapproval.  "I want more than the sex, yeah, but the sex
is a lot easier to handle wanting.  I dunno about the rest of it --
how to do it or what you want."

Lance pulls Chris back.  "First lesson.  Don't be scared.  I won't
hurt you."

"'m not worried about that," Chris mumbles.

"Then there's no need to pull away."

"Guess I don't feel like cuddling while I'm being yelled at."

"It wasn't yelling.  You'd know yelling.  And, Chris, do you really
want this to be about what you feel like doing?  Honestly, I need
to know."

"Dunno."

"Right.  Your job for today is to find out the answer to that
question."  Lance combs through Chris's hair again.  "Can you do
that and make breakfast?"

"Not what I meant, but yeah.  Sure."

"It doesn't matter," Lance says gently.  "Go.  Make waffles."

"Will do."  Chris jumps up and salutes smartly before heading to
the kitchen.  "Any way to avoid the subject as long as possible."

"Chris," Lance says.  "Shut up."

Chris mimes zipping his lips and heads to the kitchen.

Lance sighs.  It's not going to be easy, but he's going to be what
Chris deserves.

Chris makes waffles.  He is, despite strenuous objections to the
contrary and a long history of eating take-out, a good cook.  It
has something to do with raw ingredients being cheaper than
prepared food and a mother too busy to feed the kids.  He just
doesn't like to admit to it, because then people expect things, and
he has no illusions about a home-cooked meal being better than one
you can pay people to make for you.

But Lance wants it, and that's sufficient reason.

A lot of things are happening because Lance wanted them.  One of
those being that he's apparently turned into a sissy.  He's not
even as much of a sarcastic bastard in his own head anymore.  As
long as Lance is somewhere in the vicinity, Chris is like a
different person.  He doesn't know if Lance has noticed -- Chris
thinks, based on the problems they've been having that he's
probably just the same pain in the ass as far as Lance is
concerned.

He snorts over that image.  he's certainly been a pain in the ass
recently.  He kinda wishes Lance'd do those kinds of things to him,
but Lance seems determined to pamper him, and Chris doesn't get it. 
Doesn't get what Lance wants.  The perfect poolboy?  A gauze-clad
him reclining on a silk pillow?

Chris snickers.  Yeah, he'd look *so* good in something filmy.  He
and Joey could pose for the world's least attractive hareem ever.

Still.  Lance wants an answer to the question of what Chris wants
-- sex or everything else, too.

Chris knows the answer.  He just doesn't know the question.

The sex is an obvious yes.  Uh huh, yeah, more please?  Preferably
with more begging on his part and more being made to give in and
humiliating toys.

But everything else?  What the hell is that?  It's not like he
didn't think this through before he made his decision.  It's just
that things that seem clear in his head aren't easy to communicate
to Lance.

He's fairly sure that he doesn't want Lance's everything else.  Not
as it's been offered to him so far.  Readily obliging handyman does
nothing for him physically, emotionally or mentally.  Spoiled pet
with nothing to do but wait around and be paid attention to does
something for him, but apparently going to find Lance is considered
against the rules.

What he wants, outside of the sex, is... well, at the least,
something firm.  With defined goals and punishments and rewards. 
Trying to figure out what Lance really wants from him has been
frustrating.  He wants Lance to have expectations for him and to
react accordingly if Chris succeeds, fails or refuses.  He wants to
be able to refuse and not have Lance fall apart.  He'd almost
gotten the point of Lance being mad at him over the
chlorine-idiot-pool incident, until Lance had mysteriously
relented.  He thinks maybe Lance is too soft-hearted for this. 
Maybe Chris is asking too much of him.

He likes that Lance loves him, but he can't test his limits against
someone who caves every time Chris pushes.  And that's kinda what
he wants most.  To have someone who's stronger than him, someone
who *can* take it -- who'll prove that they can by taking charge of
him and refusing to let him have his way -- so that maybe he can
stop having to look out all the time.

And maybe, Chris realizes, pouring the batter into the
waffle-maker, maybe he's asking for something that's impossible. 
Something nobody could do.  Because Lance's weaknesses -- his
tiredness and trying to do too much and sadness and kindness --
those are all very human weaknesses and asking Lance not to have
those is wrong.  And asking him to be strong so Chris can be weak
is selfish.

He decides that he'll tell Lance that he was wrong.  That he
shouldn't have asked for this in the first place.  That he
should've known it was impossible.

And tell Lance he's sorry.

Lance follows Chris into the kitchen and sits down at the table. 
He's not exactly watching Chris.  In fact, he's reading the paper. 
It's more that he liked being around Chris.  It's comforting.

Chris sets the plate of waffles on the table and surrounds them
with syrup and powdered sugar.

"Thanks," Lance says, idly moving one onto the plate Chris
produces.  He gets it read with one hand and reads with the other. 
"Good," he notes after the first bite.

"Thanks."  Chris gets juice and puts that out too before he sits
down.

Lance frowns at Chris, but decides common courtesy is a good thing. 
He passes the sports section over without comment.

Chris sees the frown but doesn't know what it means.  Lance didn't
ask for anything beyond waffles and Chris isn't all that hungry
himself.  He shrugs and starts eating.

"C'mon," Lance says when they're both done.  "Come with me."

Chris gives him a curious look, but leaves the remains of breakfast
where they are and follows Lance.

Lance moves them back into his study.  He sits sideways on the
couch and settles Chris between his legs.  Then he links up to the
Internet and starts communicating with his companies, basically
telling him that he's going to be butting out, for the most part.

Chris would like to relax, but he's worked himself up for the
upcoming conversation and he's tense.  It's nice to be with Lance
while he works, but this is just prolonging the inevitable. Which? 
Not exactly a bad thing, not really.  So he doesn't say anything.

Lance idly pets Chris as he surfs around news sites.  "Anything you
want to see?  Just nod or shake your head."

Chris shakes his head, eyes closed.

Lance puts the computer to the side.  "Okay.  Here's the deal.  I'm
going to try to do this right.  I'll be here for you.  You don't
need to worry anymore.  We need to set up a schedule, though.  A
time for you to speak freely.  And I need to get some rules written
out for you."  He kisses Chris's temple.  "I asked you earlier to
think about what you wanted.  Are you ready to tell me?"

Chris takes a deep breath.  Putting it off won't make it any
easier.  "Yeah.  I've thought about it.  I've decided that this
isn't working out for us and that it probably won't.  I had ideas
going into this, and the ones that weren't sexual were pretty much
impossible for anyone to do.  So I think we should end this."

Lance's arms tighten.  "And if I don't?"

Chris shrugs.  "I keep making you miserable?  I dunno.  I don't
think it's a good idea."

"This is different than the rest of our relationship.  In deciding
to throw in the towel, we can both insist.  I don't want you to. 
I want you to give us another chance.  A week."  Lance is strangely
calm.  It's probably that he just can't accept losing Chris.

"Why?  Would it be any different this time around?"

"Yes, it will."

"Yeah?  How so?  You don't even know what went wrong last time."

"What went wrong is that I tried to put you in a box, and then I
let you push me around because I was afraid of losing you."

Chris puts his head back to look at Lance, eyes narrowed.  "You
figured that out?"

"I knew that when I did it.  I just didn't know what a huge mistake
it was at the time," Lance replies.  "I was still trying to get my
footing.  I shouldn't have been, because what this should be is on
my terms.  My footing."

"Mostly your terms," Chris corrects.  "If you tried to put me in a
box again, I'd still be pissed."

"And that's why we need a time for you to talk."

Chris nods.  "That makes sense."

"So.  You have a favorite day of the week?"

"Once a *week*?"

"I don't want something to go for longer than a week without you
specifically having to talk about it.  It's not a day for you to be
in charge.  Just a day for you to talk to me for however long you
need without consequences."

"You've got it backwards.  You want me to save everything up for a
whole week before saying anything?"

"No.  If you've got a way to tell me respectfully during the week,
go for it.  But if it's something that's just sort of nagging at
you, or something you can't say respectfully -- you need to have a
chance to say it.  And, of course, if it's something you need to
say right away, you can ask for permission to say it any way you
want."

"Oh.  So, 'I don't like this, I don't want to do it, it's creeping
the shit out of me', would fall under the 'anytime' category?"

"Yes."  Lance kisses Chris's nose, just because.  "Because those
relate to your immediate welfare.  I'm not promising to give in,
but you can tell me."

Chris shrugs.  "As long as you'll listen.  I trust you."  He
doesn't add 'as much as I trust anyone', because Lance knows about
his issues.

Lance nods.  "I'll always listen.  So.  Are we on for a trial?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

~~~~~

A week later, Lance wonders if he's about to lose Chris again.  But
he really can't let Chris get away with some of the things he says. 
They're simply mean, interpersonally speaking.  So Chris has had to
sit alone for a total of two hours this week.  Lance feels nervous,
but pretends not to, as they head for the study and their weekly
meeting.

Chris is still torn.  Things are better.  A little.  Lance is
trying to set limits, but he's not very firm about it in some ways. 
When Lance wants to enforce something, he's very strict about that,
but a lot of times, Chris feels like he could get out of it if he
just pushed a little.  And pushing them is damned difficult.  The
rules are too easy.  He might as well be on tour with a team of
people standing over him, telling him where to go and what to wear
and what to say.

And then there's the sex.  Chris figures he should ask about that,
because that's almost a punishment in and of itself.  Lance just
doesn't seem to care what his kinks are.

So, yeah.  Maybe it's best if it's over.

"What is it, Chris?  You look like you're about to explode."

Chris rolls his eyes.  "Not gonna explode.  I'm just glad this is
over."

"What?" Lance asks.  He's honestly shocked, he didn't expect Chris
to just... give up like that.

"I expected you to *do* something!  You know what I'm about.  What
I want.  But unless the lack of kinky sex is your way of trying to
teach me a lesson, I don't think you have any idea.  And if it is,
then I'm pissed.  I don't know," Chris says frustrated.  "I just
expected *stuff*.  More, worse, harder."

"I don't *like* kinky sex!" Lance shouts.  He puts his hands up
before Chris can yell back.

Chris's mouth has dropped open, but he isn't gonna yell.  He's too
cold inside for that.

"Sorry.  I'm sorry.  Chris.  You don't want to do 'menial labor'. 
So there's no housework for you.  You already do most of the
cooking.  I kept you with me the whole week, and you took care of
me.  I'm sorry the lack of cuffs and chains and the world's largest
butt plug was such a major disappointment."  He rubs the bridge of
his nose.  "Okay.  Okay.  So.  Kinky sex.  More... work.  What kind
of work?"

Chris shakes his head.  "No.  Just no."  He stands up.  "You should
have told me, you know.  Right away.  You should have said.  Then
I would never have wasted your time.  Never made you do all this."

"You said it wasn't about the sex!"  Lance is angry -- all to cover
his fear and hurt.

"I said it wasn't all about the sex.  I said it wasn't only a sex
game.  But, hell, if you don't get what I want about the sex, then
you don't get what I want for the rest of it either, because it's
all part of the same damned thing."

"I thought it wasn't about what you wanted."

"Apparently I was wrong."

"Are you leaving?" Lance asks.

"Why not?  You don't even *like* what I'm into.  You definitely
don't get it.  You think me wanting you to act like what I want
doesn't matter means ignoring me.  You think humiliating me means
sex and, hell, you probably think it's wrong, too.  And, yeah, the
kind of training you went through sounds inhuman, but it'd be
different if you did it, and it sounds like an opportunity for the
kind of forced surrender of will that I *need*.  Or thought I did. 
I could tell you exactly what I want, things, things like crawling
on my hands and knees after you while you tell me what a lovely ass
I have -- and you still wouldn't get it."

"I'd get it," Lance whispers.  "But I don't want to do it.  No.  I
can't do it.  Not unless," he gives a strangled laugh, "I'm ordered
to."

Chris gives him a sad half-smile.  "And you'd hate it the whole
time."

"No.  I wouldn't feel a thing," Lance says quietly.  He can't seem
to speak any louder.

"It'd hurt you," Chris says.  "So, yeah.  We can just write this
off as a failed experiment, let bygones be bygones, and maybe in
while even be able to talk to each other without flinching."  He
holds out a hand.  "No hard feelings?"

"If I touch you, I won't be able to let go," Lance says.

Chris nods and drops his hand.  "I'm sorry.  Obviously, I've fucked
with your head.  I didn't mean to, not that it matters."

"You didn't fuck with my head.  You didn't try to."  Lance shrugs. 
"I just love you.  A lot.  If-- if you maybe need something? 
Anything.  Like this," his gesture encompasses them and the house,
"or like you wanted this to be, I can do that.  If you need it
sometimes while you're looking for the right one for you."

Chris sits down again, covering his eyes.  "Goddamnit.  Stop making
this so fucking hard.  You know, or you ought to fucking well know,
that I'm not going to go out and find somebody else, because I'm
not going to be able to find anyone else I can trust.  And you
know, or you *should* know that I'm not going to ask you for
something I know you can't give me and that it hurts you even to
think about giving me.  Okay?"

"JC.  You should go to JC.  He's not as self centered as you think. 
Not when he's really with someone.  He's-- he's a good top.  I
think he could be good for you."

Chris shakes his head.  "No.  I'm done with this.  It was a dumb
idea in the first place."

"It's not.  It's not a dumb idea."

"Look, Lance, I'm trying to be noble here.  But I got raw edges at
the moment and I need to do something about that without you trying
to convince me that everything's okay when it really really isn't. 
So just stop it.  I can't handle it."

Lance shuts up and sits down.

Chris sighs and slumps back on the couch.  The hell of it is, he
has nowhere to go.  He's hasn't been home in weeks.  He'd feel even
worse alone in that shut up house.

"You can stay."  Lance doesn't look at Chris.  "You can stay here."

"Yeah?  That won't bother you?"

Lance says, "Yes, you can stay.  I don't know.  It'll bother me,
but probably less than you just being gone."

"Huh."  Chris thinks about it.  "I got two questions for you."

"Okay."

"One -- do you wanna get drunk?  And, two -- what the hell do you
want out of this all?"

"No, thank you.  Or, well, yes.  Sure, why not?  And I don't-- I
don't know yet exactly what it is I want.  Lots of things I can't
have."

"Let's get drunk and you can tell me about them?"

Lance's lips quirk.  "Let's get drunk," he agrees.

Chris goes for the alcohol.  Over his shoulder, he calls, "You want
something to mix with it, or do you wanna go straight to the drunk
part?"

"I'll take the whiskey," Lance replies.

Chris brings that back with a bottle of tequila for himself. 
"Thought I'd have to go with the vodka for a while there," he says,
sitting back down.

Lance just starts drinking.  Quietly, neatly getting smashed.

Chris isn't neat about it, but he gets drunk, too.  The bottle's
about half full when he caps it and tucks in between the cushion
and the arm of the couch.  He leans over into Lance.  "So.  Spill. 
Whaddaya want?"

"Not that drunk yet, Ba--.  Chris."

"Bastard?  Barbara?  Bandanna?"

"Baby," Lance murmurs, and drains his bottle.  "You wanna switch to
something else?" He asks, heading for the cabinet.

"Nah.  I'm good."

Lance grabs the vodka for himself.  "Sorry I have so much of this. 
Russia, y'know."

"Yep," Chris says, re-opening the tequila.  "Gimme the worm every
time."

"You have to admire liquor made out of potatoes in a place so cold
that normal alcohol freezes," Lance comments.

"I might have to admire it, but I don't have to drink it."  Chris
waits for Lance to take a drink and asks, "So.  You said 'yes' when
I asked.  What did you think you were gonna get?"

Lance closes his eyes and leans against the wall.  "I thought you'd
let me love you with everything I have, and that you'd accept it. 
That you wanted me to keep you in line, just a little, because you
don't do much wrong.  I thought you'd want to play bed games,
sometimes.  Like the ties a couple weeks ago and the blindfold last
Thursday."

Chris doesn't point out that he barely considers those things
kinky.  "You wanted the love part a lot more than you wanted the
bed games part, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah."  Lance takes a healthy swig.

"I bet," Chris says, only kinda sorta looking at Lance, "that you
woulda liked to find someone who wanted to keep you as a pet.  The
kind of pet you take care of and love and make sure that they have
everything they need to be happy."

Lance shakes his head and then shrugs.  "Doesn't matter.  But I
more wanted someone to take care of."  He keeps his face to the
wall because he's going to cry.  He can feel the pressure building
up, and he's not drunk enough to cry without shame yet.

Chris wraps his arm around Lance.  "So you could do everything
right for someone else?"

"So I could love someone else with all my heart, care about them
with all my being, keep them safe with all I have -- and have it be
what they needed.  Just me.  Everything I am."  Lance gently steps
away from Chris, pacing over to look out the window.

"Oh."  Chris knows he's not that.  He also gets the feeling that
Lance doesn't appreciate his comfort.

"I love touching you," Lance notes, watching the streetlamps start
to blink on.  "I'm sorry if I seem distant, or whatever, but I'm
not comfortable with it right now."  Truth be told, Lance is still
deep in denial.  Not to mention wanting to fall to his knees and
beg Chris to stay, or order him up to the bedroom and chain him to
the bed and never let him up.  And every touch hurts so badly.

"I wanna do something.  Anything."

"So?  Do it.  Nobody stopping you now."

Chris snorts.  "Nobody but you, with your 15-foot high wall of
'leave me the fuck alone'."

"Well, if you wanted to do it to me, I sort of am stopping you,
yeah."

"Yep.  'Cause see, there's this little problem.  This may not be
working out, but I still love you."

"Ditto."

"So.  What do we do?  I'm all for giving up now, but you being this
miserable over it isn't exactly making me happy either."

"If you're all for giving up -- and I don't necessarily think
you're wrong -- then we give up.  And, fuck, Chris.  It's like
breaking up with your arm.  If you're with someone and you love
them, they're a part of you.  But you get over it."  He takes a
deep draught. "Eventually."

Chris gets up and goes to Lance, sitting down on the floor beside
him because standing's just way too much work, as drunk as he is
already.  "Yeah.  I get that part.  I don't like it, but I get it. 
I'm just wondering, y'know, is there any other way to do this? 
'Cause, see, you keep flinging me at JC and I keep thinking you
need a keeper, too, and maybe there's more than one way out of
this."

Lance shifts.  "I might find a keeper.  I'd deserve it," he adds
with a bitter laugh.  "Not the kind of keeper you're looking for,
I mean."

"Deserve it?"  Chris screws up his face.  "Why am I getting these
images of you being tied up and beaten?"

Lance shrugs.  "You have an overactive imagination?"

"Well, yeah, I do.  But you're kinda -- how to put this -- a
pessimist."

"Yes, I'm aware.  I'm also jaded and bitter and negative.  The
point?"

"Um, that things aren't as bad as you think they are, and if you
could get your mind off of yourself for once, we could maybe do
something about this."

"Okay."

Chris blinks.  "That was too easy," he mutters.  "So, we've got me
settled.  We wrap me up with a big red bow and leave me on JC's
doorstep.  What do we do with you?"

Lance shrugs.  "Wait for me to get over it?"  He's still sort of
bothered by Chris saying he only thinks of himself.  He just spent
months thinking of Chris first and foremost.

"No!  Give you what you want. Whatever that is."

Lance looks at Chris.  "You don't want that."

"How do I know that when I don't even know what it is?"

"I want to be punished for not succeeding," Lance says simply.  "I
want someone to make me feel terrible outside, so--" he breaks off. 
Drunk, but he doesn't need to hurt Chris with it.  That would be
selfish.

"So...?"

"It's selfish.  Doesn't matter.  It's stupid, self-indulgent." 
Lance gazes at the bottle.  "They really should put a worm in
here."

"Not in the vodka.  Tell me already."

"Yes, in the vodka. I want to hurt so I don't feel bad."

"Okay.  I kinda get that.  Not really.  But sorta."

"Okay."  Lance looks down at Chris.  "You're totally trashed," he
notes.

"Am not."

"Your eyes aren't tracking."

"I'm down here.  You're waaaay up there.  Of course I'm not
tracking."

Lance carefully recaps his bottle.  "Let's get you to bed."

"Nope.  Not until we fix you."

"You can't fix me right now, Chris.  Come on.  To bed."

"I'm not tired and you're going to do something bad if I go to
bed."

"I am not," Lance says, rolling his eyes.

"Are so.  Besides, you're less likely to lie to me when you're
drunk."

Lance laughs so hard he has to sit down.  "Where the hell did you
get that idea?"

Chris sticks out his chin.  "Long observation."

Lance snorts.  "Right."

"Okay, fine."  Chris pulls himself up.  "I'll go to bed.  But I'm
gonna wrap you up with a green bow and put you on JC's doorstep,
just beside me.  Then you can laugh."

"Sure, Chris.  To bed, now."

Lance hooks his arms under Chris's armpits and lifts him to his
feet.

"I can walk!" Chris protests, pulling away from Lance.  "I just
don't want to."

"Right."  Lance catches Chris when he sways and almost falls.

"Okay, fine," Chris grumbles.  "But you're sleeping with me."

"Sure, when I go to sleep."

Chris lets Lance put him to bed, but he's even more pissed now. 
Sure, he's no prize, but he doesn't just give up.  He'd've kept
trying with Lance if Lance hadn't told him that he doesn't like
Chris' idea of sex.

Lance tucks Chris in and lays with him until the other man falls
asleep, or seems to.  Until he no longer seems to need Lance's
company, anyway.  Then Lance gets up and starts meticulously
sorting through his medicine cabinet, looking for something to help
him forget.

He finds a carefully labelled prescription bottle and swallows down
some of them.  You can get anything if you're rich enough.  He
hasn't used in a while, so he keeps the dosage low.  It take a few
minutes for the icy, distant calm to fall over him.  He sighs and
blinks and watches the room swim.  After a long, hot shower Lance
heads for bed.  With the lovely distance granted him by
pharmaceuticals, he even sleeps with Chris.

Chris gets out of bed after Lance passes out.  He sleeps lightly
when drunk.  He goes downstairs and finds the phone.

"Hey," he says.  "C?"

"Chris?"

"Yeah.  I got a problem."

"What's that?"

"It's a Lance problem.  So this is all hush-hush, I didn't tell you
this stuff, and even if I did, it didn't involve kinky sex or guys
bottoming for other guys."

JC frowns.  "I thought Lance was your dom.  I'm not going to help
you break your rules."

"He was.  He isn't now.  He admitted that he doesn't like what I'm
into, plus he's falling apart and he needs something I can't give
him, namely exactly what he's been trying to give me -- a dom to
treat him like a pampered pet and give his life structure and make
him feel loved and okay."

JC shakes his head, not that Chris can see it.  "So what?  You want
to come stay here for a while?"

"No.  Not exactly.  I want him to go there and stay for a while."

"Lance cannot come here without you," JC replies simply.

Chris squints.  "Apparently I'm a lot more drunk than I thought I
was, because that makes no sense at all.  But, okay.  Not a
problem."

"It makes sense when you know that I will not top Lance.  He's...
flawed as a sub.  He doesn't say no."

Chris rolls his eyes.  "He doesn't as a dom either.  Not really. 
It took him this long to tell me that he didn't like doing the kind
of stuff I desperately want to do."

JC laughs.  "Lance is a slut, but it's not really the sex he likes. 
So don't feel bad."

"I was thinking though..."

"You were?"

"Maybe you'd take on the both of us."

"Why?"

"Because.  Lance says you can do what I need, and he's constantly
talking abou