Pairing: Lance and Chris
Words: blue moon; tonguefuck; pure; comparable


Chris is straight.  He's also a top, and he likes everything to be
just how he wants it.  Not many women fit his peculiar tastes, but
he tends to meet more of them as a pop star than he probably would
if he was nobody.  Flexible, lithe, bright, feisty women who don't
give in easily and are all the more sweeter when they do.

But every once in a blue moon, he wants something different.

Someone in leather.  Someone who can tame *him* and tell him what
to do and make him do it.  Make him like it.

Someone male.

He pulls on the black sleeveless shirt and steps out into the hall. 
He looks around for Tiny, who keeps track of him on these kind of
nights.

Tiny's not there.  Lance is.

Lance leans against the opposite side of the hall.  "Chris."

Chris surveys Lance casually.  "Hey."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"Without Tiny?"

Chris shakes his head.  "Thought he'd be here already."

"He's hurt.  Not working tonight."

"*What*?"  It escapes his lips and he can't stop it.  He's
furiously pissed off.  He *needs* this and, "How bad hurt?  Why
didn't he call?"

"That bad hurt," Lance says calmly.  He stands up, dropping the
hotel robe from his shoulders.  He's not wearing a shirt.  Just
loose silk pajama pants.  "But I'll take care of you."

Chris freezes and swallows.  Huge dick rush there.  He lifts his
eyes to Lance's face with an effort.  "You have any idea what
you're saying?"

Lance steps across the hallway slowly, giving Chris the chance to
move.  He doesn't smile.  This isn't funny.  Chris doesn't move. 
Lance lifts his wrist, kissing the soft skin on the inside -- and
then spinning Chris around and pinning his wrist between his
shoulder blades.  "Yes.  I do."

Chris is panting.  It's *Lance*.  *Lance* wants to do this.  Doing
this with strangers is one thing, but doing it with smooth,
familiar Lance?  He leans his forehead against the wall.  "Yes. 
Please."

"Open the door."  Chris does, and Lance shoves him inside, letting
him fall to the floor with the force of it.  He closes the door and
locks it.  "Right."

Chris picks himself up and backs away a little.  Not because he's
scared.  Because he's not sure what to do.  He wants Lance to
master him, but he doesn't know if Lance understands that, and he
doesn't want Lance to stop.  So he's got to play hard to get, but
not too hard, lest Lance actually let him get away.

Lance stalks Chris, balancing on the balls of his feet.  He bares
his teeth, and it's not a smile.  Lance likes the chase.

Chris squares himself, standing up straight.  Running's undignified
and there's nowhere to run to, anyway.  He gives Lance a cool
stare, challenging him to come and get him.

Lance bumps Chris, forcing him to move around the room.  It's a
long route to the bed, and he's knocked Chris down twice by the
time they get there.

Chris shoves back when they get to the bed.  He's not this easy. 
Not even for Lance.

Lance bares his teeth again and launches himself, slamming both of
them into the wall.  He takes most of the force himself, and that's
good, too.  But he turns, pinning Chris with his arm once again
jerked up.  He bites firmly over the shirt.  The grain of it makes
his teeth ache and he worries the bite.  It's hard not to break the
skin, the impulse is strong.

Chris tries to slither out from Lance's hold, but he's held tight. 
Not so much by the hand on his wrist as the teeth in his skin.  He
wants to throw back his head and be taken...

...but not yet.  Too fast.  Way too fast.  He completely stops
supporting himself, all of his weight dropping hard to his knees --
and to the arm Lance is holding.  Predictably, Lance loses his
grip.  Chris pushes himself up from the floor.

Lance lets Chris go rather than risk dislocating his shoulder. 
"Now you wanna run?" he asks, voice all gravel and glass.

Chris looks up, panicked that Lance may have changed his mind.  "I
just... I'm sorry.  I don't wanna give in.  I want it too bad."

"Run," Lance suggests, whispering.  He grins, and this time it is
happy.  "Run!"

Chris gives Lance a disbelieving look.  "There's nowhere to run
*to*."

"You could lock yourself in the bathroom," Lance suggests.  "Or
just try to keep me from catching you."  He lunges, pulling back
even before Chris reacts.

"Lance," Chris says, backing up, now truly heart-poundingly wary,
and in the good way where he *knows* Lance has control of what's
going on.

Lance laughs and starts after Chris again.  Slowly.

Chris backs away.  He can't help it.  Lance has got him and Lance
is going to get him and he's deliciously terrified and he has no
idea of what.  There's nothing comparable to this feeling, nothing
at all.

Lance runs.  Chris runs.  Lance catches him, marks him, lets him go
again.  Over and over.

Chris is tired.  Tired and strangely energized at the same time,
and he doesn't have a clue what's going on here.  "Lance?"

Lance catches Chris, this time stripping him efficiently before
forcing him to the bed.  "Chris."

Chris lets himself be pushed backward.  He wants more.  He just
doesn't know exactly what it is he wants.

Lance moves over Chris, lifting his arms over his head.  "Hold the
headboard.  Don't move or we start over."

"Start over with what?" Chris asks as he grabs on.  He believes
Lance.

"When the door closed," Lance says.  He starts nibbling at Chris's
forehead and moves down.  He leaves red marks all over Chris, all
the way down to his stomach.

Chris pushes up into Lance's mouth.  Start over from when the door
closed?  Have to be run to ground all over again?  No.  He
definitely doesn't want that.  "I'll be good," he promises.

"You are good," Lance breathes.  He continues marking Chris.  "Turn
over."

"I have to let go to turn over."

"Yes.  It's allowed."

Chris does and flips, grabbing onto the headboard again as soon as
he's over.

Lance shoves Chris's legs apart, gripping tightly enough to bruise. 
He lowers his face, breathing against the skin of Chris's ass for
long minutes.  And then he bites.  It's time to mark some
territory.

Chris gasps as Lance bites down there.  He's splayed wide and Lance
has been doing nothing but bite, so he knows what's coming.  He's
tensing up against it without even thinking about it.

Lower and lower.  Lower.  And, yes, even there.  It's harder to
control himself when he can *feel* the delicate skin bruising in
his teeth.  He leaves marks everywhere, finishing with his teeth
held around the skin of Chris's perineum for a long, long moment.

Chris is tight, so tight, he swears he can feel his dick clenching. 
But he's still spread and open, and he *needs*.  "Lance, oh, fuck. 
Lance."

Lance's teeth press just a little more before he releases the skin. 
"You go out and find someone to make you want it, to treat you like
a whore.  It's not about you being a whore.  It's about you being
Chris.  That's why."  Right now Chris doesn't care.  Later he
might.  Lance ducks his head again and starts to tonguefuck Chris. 
The pure flavor of man rolls over his tongue.  There's nothing
comparable.

Chris barely hears Lance.  He can't make sense out of what Lance is
saying, but it doesn't matter, not when the bites are replaced with
something softer and yet unyielding.  Hot wet smooth pressure
moving inside him, demanding nothing and everything of him all at
the same time.  He sobs and jacks his hips against the bed. 
"*Lance*."

Lance holds Chris open with his thumbs and presses Chris down
against the bed with his hands.  It's all the pressure Chris is
getting, and Lance knows it will be enough.  The action is
permission as well as help.

Lance pins him down, and Chris groans with frustration.  He can't
move much against the bed, but it's just enough.  "Please?" he
remembers to say, but he's doing it all wrong because his body is
already falling into a rhythm, and the thrilling naughty wetness of
Lance's tongue is opening him up and demanding that he feel things
and he can't resist.

Chris comes, rubbing his cock against the bedspread, and he cries.

Lance eases away, then up over Chris.  He blankets the other man,
kissing the exposed side of his face so gently.  "Good, Chris.  You
did so good."

Chris doesn't know why he's crying.  He just knows he can't stop. 
He turns his face blindly toward Lance.  "Please," he begs, tears
still falling.

Lance kisses Chris again and again.  He slides his cock, still
covered in silk, against Chris's warm ass.  He finally manages to
line up and slide up and down the crack, moaning quietly even as he
continues to kiss Chris.  His arms halo Chris, holding the
headboard as well.  And he comes, making surprised sounds and
whispering praise into Chris's ear.

He had no idea.  He'd never had any idea what this all was really
about.  Not until just now when Lance had really made him give it
all up.  Now he knows.  Chris is still shaking, but the tears have
stopped.

Lance stills, sliding half off of Chris.  "There, now.  Shh, now. 
I'll take care of you."

Chris doesn't let go.  If he lets go, then maybe it isn't real. 
"Please?  I didn't know.  Lance.  I didn't know."

"I know, baby.  I know.  But you'll know from now on.  And I'll be
here."  He reaches up again and pulls Chris's hands away, but
circles his own fingers around Chris's wrists.  He squeezes
deliberately until he knows there will be bruises.  "See?  I'm here
now."

Chris nods.  "You are."  He looks up at Lance, wrists pliant in
Lance's grasp.  "Can I...?  Will you...?"

"You can.  I will."

Chris nods and pushes forward, wrists still in Lance's hold,
compressed between their chests as he lays his head against Lance,
getting as close as he can.  "Okay."

"Yeah.  Okay now."  Lance kisses Chris's temple and holds him
close.  "Sleep."

A minute later all that can be heard in the room are two sets of
even breathing.

Once in a blue moon has become something a lot more necessary than
that.  And Chris is more content with that than he thought he ever
could be.