Lance's first thought on waking up is, ~Okay.  Who violated rule
one?~

There isn't really a numbered list of rules.  Lance wouldn't mind
making one, but he knows even he wouldn't remember which one's rule
67 and which is rule 68.  It's easier if all the rules are rule
one.

Rule one in this case is 'Never make wishes.'

Although it's not so much that wish-making is bad.  One can
certainly, say, over a birthday candle, wish for a pony.  Or a
night in bed with an Italian stallion, namely Sylvester Stallone. 
Wishing for real things isn't a problem.

No, what's specifically prohibited is wishing for things you can't
or shouldn't have.  Like wishing to have sex with extremely hot --
yet technically underage -- people.  Or wishing for the plane to
crash.  Or wishing that no one had ever heard of them.  Things like
that.

Because those kind of things had a way of happening if you wished
for them.

Lance scrunches his toes in the sand and wonders who had the
brilliant idea of wishing to be stranded on a desert island.

"There's sand in my pants," Chris whines.  It's not usually the
first thing he notices on waking up-- what's in his pants.  Because
usually he's not wearing pants.  So the sand in the pants thing
pushes the first thing he usually notices back to second.  But,
after checking to make sure his dick hasn't wandered away in the
night, Chris is ready to go.  He sits up.

"We're on a beach.  A black sand beach.  Which means it was formed
from volcanic rock."  He looks over his shoulder.  "Yep, there's a
volcano.  JC, did you do this?"

"No.  Lance."  Lance crosses his arms and glares at Chris.  "This
is all your fault."

"It so is not."

"I know *I* didn't violate rule one.  And you're the only other one
here.  So it had to be you."

"No, I'm the only one *right here*, that doesn't mean the others
aren't.  Plus, Joey probably wished we'd go away and leave him
alone and stop trying to play with his new kid."

"Then why isn't Justin or JC here?"  Lance is a little hurt,
actually.  Joey's his best friend.  Joey wouldn't want *him* to go
away.  Now, Chris.  That's different.

"Maybe one of them wished us here."

"You I could understand.  But you *and* me?"

"I don't know!"

"You're sure this wasn't your idea?  Absolutely and completely
sure?"

"Yes!  I sure wouldn't want to be on a *volcanic* beach."

"So, if it was you, you would have been specific about the volcanic
status of the deserted island you were stranded on?" Lance asks
drily.

"I would have envisioned white sand, smart ass."

"Many volcanic islands have white sand.  Hawaii, for instance, has
white sand beaches."

Chris gives Lance an unfriendly look.

"And that invalidates your argument, as you might have wished to be
on a Hawaiian island without any realization that this would also
mean a volcanic island."

"I didn't."

"Sure."

"I bet you did."

"Certainly.  I wished to be stuck alone with you in a remote
location where you'd be able to torment me at length."

"Maybe you're going to kill me and hide the body," Chris replies.

Lance favors him with a narrowed eye look.  "Now that you mention
it..."

"See, I knew it!"  Chris lies back down on the sand, though.

"Yes, Chris.  I wished to be here so that I could kill you and hide
the body in a remote location where no one would ever find it. 
I've been dreaming of this moment for years."

Chris says, "Why do I feel like you're not entirely joking?"

"Because, right at the moment, I'm kinda pissed."

"Yeah," Chris says, "That's the vibe I'm getting."

"Good.  I'd hate to think we weren't able to communicate
effectively, seeing as how we're the only people here to
communicate with."

Chris squints up at the sky.  "Do you have a knife or anything on
you?"

Lance pats himself and comes up with a Swiss army knife.  "It's
your lucky day."

"Since I've got only pants?  I'd say that's a yes."

"I'm not getting it."

"Have pants, and nothing in the pockets.  I have no shirt, no
shoes, no *underwear*.  If you didn't have the knife, I'd be
incredibly screwed.  Hey, how come you get to be fully clothed and
I have to be nearly naked?"

"Because I was awake?"

"Oh.  Yeah, probably."

"You have bedhead," Lance says by way of explanation.

"But I wasn't wearing this in bed."

Lance gives Chris another look.  "Obviously, I was very particular
about what clothes I wanted you to be wearing when I killed you."

Chris finally gets to his feet.  "Right.  I was actually wearing a
full outfit in bed, as shocking as it is.  So it's probably my
fault we're here.  God knows, I always try to show off my stunning
rug."  He starts trudging up the beach, headed for the foliage. 
"Mind moving?  The sun's coming up and I'm about to get completely
fried, what with the lack of shoes and the black sand."

Lance follows him.  "You've got a toupee now?"

Chris just keeps walking.

Lance sticks his hands in his pockets.

Chris glances over his shoulder.  "Aren't you gonna come with me?" 
Not that Lance isn't still following, but he's lagging further and
further behind.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

"Good.  Don't tell anyone, but I'm not really good with the being
stranded thing."

"Who am I supposed to tell?"

Chris shrugs.  "I really hate this, Lance.  I'm not real big. 
Something's gonna eat me."

Lance laughs, startled.  "Yeah, right."

"Right," Chris says grimly.  He smiles, though, for Lance's
laughter.  "So.  Were you really a Boy Scout?"

"Kinda?"

"D'you know how to survive here?"

"Unfortunately, survival on a desert island wasn't something that
came up in Webelos."

"So we're gonna die, then?"

"Only if we're attacked by rabid Backstreet fans."

"Oh.  So tell me, how're we gonna live here?"

Lance grins.  And sings.  "I want my baby back."

Chris laughs.

"So, yeah.  Airlifts of ribs will help."

"If we don't get totally smashed or killed by JC, the hermit crab
hunter."

"We're a little bigger than that."

"Are we, now?" Chris asks, looking pointedly at Lance's groin. 
"Feeling a little... inflated?"

"Morning wood.  You've heard of it, right?"

"You weren't asleep."

"I forgot to jack off in the shower?"

Chris raises an eyebrow.  No one *forgets* to jack off.

Lance catches the lifted brow.  "Okay, Chris, you found me out. 
Before killing you, I was planning on fucking you first."

"Oh, please?  That'd be worth dying for."

Lance snickers.  "As if."

"Why, are you bad at it?"

"Nah.  But I'd have to be better than good for the sex to be worth
dying for."

"Oh.  If you say so."

"Why?  Has it been that long since you got laid last?  I don't
usually do mercy fucks, but for members of NSYNC, I'll make an
exception."

"It's been more than that long," Chris says absently.  "Where are
Venus flytraps from?"

"Dunno."

"Because that looks an awful lot like one," Chris says, pointing to
a group of little plants around a tree.

"Your point?"

"Then we'd know where we are?"

"Okay, Chris.  So where do Venus flytraps come from?"

"I don't know."  Chris wanders a little deeper into the palm tree
forest.

"So knowing that is pretty much useless."

Chris plops down in a relatively sheltered spot.  "What do you want
to do?"

"Well, I could blow you now."

"Really?" Chris asks curiously.

"Yeah, sure."

"Why?"

"It'd put you in a better mood."

"What would you get out of it?"

Lance rolls his eyes, an amused look on his face, "It'd put you in
a better mood."

"Yeah, but then my love for you would know no bounds," Chris points
out, "and I'd be crushed when this is all over."

"Chris, just pull down your pants."

Chris sighs dramatically and pulls down his pants.  "This is pretty
unsexy, you know," he notes.  His penis, the contradictory bastard,
is already starting to stand at attention.

"Liar."  Lance kneels down in front of Chris and gets his mouth
around Chris's dick.

Chris reaches out and touches Lance's hair, meaning to hold his
head and just feel the motion.  Because it's sexy.  But Lance is a
pissy bitch who doesn't want his hair messed up, so he shrugs
Chris's hands off.  Chris clings to the grass instead and just
stares because *Lance* is sexy.  And he yells, too.

Lance wipes his mouth before straightening up.  "Feel better?" he
rasps.

Chris breathes heavily and nods.

"Good.  Now that you're more sane, let's discuss our situation. 
It's bad, but not hopeless, because eventually someone will want us
back.  Thousands of fans can't be wrong.  Plus, there's no
guarantee that this island is deserted.  They could be shooting a
'Survivor' episode right here right now."

Chris pulls his pants back up.  "They could, yeah.  You want me to
return the favor?" he asks hopefully.

"You want to?"

"Yes!"

Lance sprawls back on his elbows.  "Go for it then."

Chris crawls over Lance and unzips his pants.  He's not fast like
Lance.  Chris pays attention, and he likes to touch and learn.

Lance touches Chris's hair lightly and doesn't actually say
anything.  Instead he lets himself fall onto his back and pants.

Lance doesn't seem to mind Chris savoring the moment, which is a
good thing.  Tiny little licks and Chris's hand seems to fit Lance
pretty well until he's ready to actually *suck*.  That part is
nice, too, and Chris doesn't stop experimenting -- trying to get
new reactions -- until Lance asks him to.  Or, well, yells, "Just
fucking *do* it!"  Same diff, really.  Chris swallows because Lance
didn't tell him not to.  He zips Lance up, too, just to be nice.

"C'mere," Lance says.

"Yes, Lance."

Lance pulls Chris across his body and lays back, closing his eyes. 
"Now I'm in a good mood, too.  A really good mood."

"You are?" Chris asks, playing with the buttons of Lance's pants.

"Yep."

"Whoo!"

"You're cute when you're not being obnoxious."

"I'm always cute."

"No.  You're not."

"Yeah," Chris agrees.  "Oh, well."

"Yeah," Lance commiserates with him.  "You wouldn't be stuck here
if you weren't a stubborn, annoying bastard."

"At least I can pretend I chose to be that way," Chris notes.

"As opposed to being me, who can't change the way I am?"

"No, as opposed to people pitying me for being a stubborn, annoying
bastard who'll never be anything more; they think I do it on
purpose and just get annoyed back instead of pitying me."

"I'm not sure I follow that, but at the moment, I don't care. 
Also, I think I'm supposed to think you're a god and agree with you
for at least ten minutes."

Chris chuffs a laugh.  "Silly."

"True, though."

"Has it been ten minutes yet?"

"Nope."

Chris curls closer.  "Can I have a kiss, then?"

Lance arches his eyebrow, but then raises his head so he can kiss
Chris.  "Better?"

Chris shakes his head and *really* kisses Lance.  Hell, if this is
the only chance he's gonna have, he wants to do it right.

Lance moans into Chris's mouth and pulls him hungrily closer.

Chris straddles Lance's body, laying on the younger man to get the
angle just right.  He pushes his hands up into Lance's shirt for
some real contact.

"Chris," Lance breathes out.  "Chris, what're you doing?  Why?"

Chris freezes.  "You don't want me?  To do this.  You don't want me
to do this?"

"No.  No, I didn't say that.  Just, Chris, why?"

"Because you're Lance," Chris admits.  His voice is little more
than a whisper.  Fear of rejection will do that.  After seven
girlfriends in a year, it's unavoidable.

"Yeah. I am. But I've always been Lance."

"But you never offered to blow me before."

"I've never been trapped alone on a deserted island with you
freaking out before."

"So, when we're not trapped--"

"You'll stop freaking out?"

"And you'll stop letting me touch you?"

Lance considers this carefully. "Are you saying you want to touch
me on a continuing basis?"

Chris thinks of a lot of sarcastic answers for that, but settles
on, "Yes, please."

"Okay."

"Just like that?"

"Well. You do give good head." Lance's tone of voice is exactly
opposite to the gentle way he's stroking Chris' hair.

"Practice," Chris replies and settles back down against Lance.
"Apparently it's like riding a bike. Once you've mastered it, you
never forget."

"Ride me, baby."

Chris tips his head. "Right now?"

"Giddy up?" Lance snickers. "You trying to insult me, Kirkpatrick,
and tell me I didn't completely suck your brain out through your
cock?"

"No, I'm trying to figure out if I'm gonna need to search for a
lube-like substance right now or not."

Lance snickers again. "Not on my behalf."

"Oh. Well, okay. Later, then." Chris sticks his hands under Lance's
shirt again and listens to the surf.

Chris's hands are a little cold, but they warm up rapidly. Lance
daydreams for a while. "Hey, Chris?"

"Hmm?"

"I know you didn't wish for being stranded or being stranded with
me, but do you think maybe you might have wished this, just in a
different way?"

"Yes," Chris answers. It doesn't even require thought, he's wished
for it often enough. Though in completely different circumstances.
And he was careful always to keep the wishes very, very safe. Like
'I wish Lance would let me kiss him right now'.

"Me, too. I think I wished that... never mind."

"Tell me," Chris prompts. "It's not like I'm gonna run and tell
anyone."

"But then you'd know."

"Don't worry. I won't tell me."

Lance laughs. "I guess it's okay then. I think I wished that
instead of being alone in a crowd of people, I could be alone with
one person who really saw me."

Chris braces his elbows and lifts up to look at Lance. "You feel
like I really saw you?"

"Change that to 'see', and yeah."

Chris kisses Lance in reply.

Lance rumbles, surprised and pleased.

Chris moans. "You sound sexy."

Lance grins and pulls Chris back down toward him.

Chris lets Lance lead because it's enjoyable to do so.  Also, Lance
is a very good kisser.

Lance brushes Chris's hair back from his forehead.  "Okay," he
says, a little breathless.  "That's enough of that unless you want
me jumping you."

Chris really, really considers that one, but finally nods and
slides to the side.  "I want you to know I'm only doing this
because I'm afraid those plant things will eat my balls if we get
it on."

"Whatever excuse you want to use to chicken out is fine by me,"
Lance says with a straight face.

"Hey!" Chris bites Lance's shoulder.  "You dick.  You want me to
prove it!  Fine."  He sits up and starts undoing Lance's pants
again.

Lance laughs and bats at Chris's hands.  "I was joking."

Chris lays down with his head on Lance's stomach.  "Okay, but I'd
do it."

"I believe you."

Chris blows a raspberry next to Lance's bellybutton.

Laughing, Lance says, "Hey, you started it."

"And I just finished it, too," Chris says smugly.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep."

Lance grins and doesn't wish for anything more at all.

Chris screams like a girl when the ground under them moves.  He
stops when they drop a few inches onto a bed and all the air rushes
out of his lungs with an "Oof."

Lance grins.  "Hey, honey.  We're home."

Chris looks up.  "This is all your fault."

"*My* fault?"

"Well, I sure didn't wish us back here any more than I wished us
there, so you must have done it.  Now how am I supposed to have my
wicked way with you out of doors?  You're all 'they're gonna catch
us' paranoid!" Chris says with mock upset.  He can't quite quit
smiling though.

"But--" Lance says, with the infuriating air of someone who knows
that he's right, "--here, we have lube."

Chris considers this. "Hmmm.  Do we have condoms?"

"Yep."

"Oh.  Well, what are you waiting for?"

Lance grins impishly.  "I've heard that old people need time to
recover before the second round."

"When you find an old person, let me know."

Lance snickers and rolls away to get the lube and the condoms.

Chris takes off his pants and sticks a pillow under his hips.  He
wiggles his ass at Lance.  "Come and get it!"

"Freak."

"Yeah?  So?" Chris challenges.

"Keep up the good work?" Lance suggests.

"Come on in, the water's fine?"

Lance squeezes lube onto his fingers.  "Don't mind if I do."

Chris grins and generally starts being himself.  "Hey, Lance?  Did
you know that a hippo can open its mouth wide enough for a small
child to fit inside?  Like four feet."

"No, I didn't.  But if I ever have a need to get rid of small
children, I'll remember it."

"And they can run faster than a human," Chris continues, wondering
how long it will take Lance to shut him up.

"Really."  Lance gets the condom on and pushes inside Chris.

Chris stops talking, stops breathing even.  It's overwhelmingly
good.

Lance must be a masochist, because he misses the sound of Chris
talking.  He hooks his arm under Chris's thigh and presses in
deeply.

Chris whimpers.  Lance pulls him closer.  Chris moans.  Lance
pushes all the way in.  Chris screams.  Lance starts moving and
Chris starts babbling.  A running dialogue of how it all feels.

Lance grins when Chris starts babbling and thrusts just a little
harder.  It's going to be so so easy to come like this, inside
Chris.

Chris cries out wordlessly, begging for more a moment later.  "So
good, so good, so good, please don't stop, don't... keep like that,
yeah."

Lance doesn't stop.

Chris starts jerking himself off, "So good, so much better than the
scary plants, Lance!"

Lance snickers, then laughs, and he's still laughing when he comes. 
So much so that he lets go of Chris's leg and lies down on top of
him, kissing him.  "Freak," he says, punctuating that with a kiss. 
"Freak, freak, freak."

Chris whines because his hand is trapped now.  "Lance!  I wanna
come!" he says crossly.

Lance kisses him again and then slides down Chris, batting away
Chris's hand so he can suck him.

This time Chris doesn't give a fuck about Lance's coiffeur.  His
fingers sink into Lance's hair and he comes-- of course.  Lance is
good.  "Lance is a god.  Lance is king of the cock.  Mmm, yes,
nice, Lance."

Lance slides up.  "You know how to make a guy feel appreciated."

Chris turns onto his side, shoving the messy pillow away.  "My
Lance.  Mine, mine, mine."

"Yeah?"

"Hope so," Chris replies, curling against Lance.  "Mine, all mine."

"I'm all for it," Lance agrees.

"Whoo."

"Hush.  Be all cuddly and grateful for ten minutes and I'll feed
you."

Chris closes his eyes.  "Can I be all cuddly, grateful and
overjoyed?" he asks quietly.

"Uh huh."

"'kay."

Lance takes a nap, contentedly planning what to feed Chris.

Chris wants to sleep.  But first he has to make sure he's got a
very good hold on Lance, in case one of them get dragged off on
some wish.  He puts a leg over Lance and wraps both arms around
him, holding him securely.

Lance dreams that Chris wants Chicago-style pizza.

Chris frowns and dreams of being chased by a rhino with Lance on
its back.