Pairing: Chris and Lance
Words: catch; burst; eye liner; astute


It isn't a gift so much as a curse.

"No, Chris," Lance says, gritting his teeth, even though it gives
him headaches.  "You can't swap Joey.  And I'm not sleeping with
him," he adds before Chris can say it.  "I just don't want to share
a bus with any of you hyperactive freaks."

"I can be good!"

"No, you can't."

"But you can sleep with *me*!" Chris says, pulling out his ace
card.  Lance is horny.  Everyone knows when Lance is horny because
he does the thing where he sits all splayed out and come hither.

Lance shakes his head, irritated even further.  Chris isn't
supposed to be astute.  Not about Lance's sex life.  Or lack
thereof.  "Very funny.  You're not that hard up."

"One, I'm always that hard up.  Two, I'd want you even if I just
got a *good* blowjob from a groupie.  Three, God, you look sexy in
that eye liner."  Chris stares, fascinated at the leftover makeup.

Chris *isn't* that hard-up.  Lance knows for a fact that the
blowjob Chris is referring to really did happen, which is why Chris
is now seeking shelter with him, because Justin's utterly
disgusting at Chris for fucking a groupie, and Chris is tired of
fighting with Justin, who's the original true love boy.

On the other hand, Lance also knows that Chris is serious about the
eyeliner.  He blushes.  "I don't know how you can still be turned
on."

"It *wasn't* all that good.  And, if you didn't know, we were
interrupted," Chris says dryly.

Lance sniffs.  "Getting interrupted before you can reciprocate
isn't getting interrupted.  If I didn't know better, I'd say you
wanted someone to catch you at it."

Chris shrugs.  "Maybe I just thought it was worth the risk."

Lance shrugs.  He doesn't know why he's bothering to argue about a
blowjob Chris got from some random fan.  "Forget about it.  I don't
care about that anyway.  You can't have Joey."

"How 'bout if *I* switch Joey?  And then you can have me!  And I'll
finish up my reciprocation so the scales of justice are even again.

"Chris, what part of 'no' are you failing to understand?"

"Please?"

Lance rubs his temples and sighs.  This would all be easier if he
could tell people his secret, but the few people who know all treat
him differently because of it.  That's why Joey doesn't know,
because Lance needs Joey to be exactly how he is in order to keep
himself sane.  "Chris, there's reasons you don't understand and I
can't explain.  Can't you ride with the musicians or something if
Justin's giving you such a hard time?"

Chris is worried now, and he drops his petty whining.  "What's the
deal?" he asks.  "I can totally ride with them, no problem.  But
you can tell me.  It's okay."

"It's nothing life-threatening, so don't worry."  He shouldn't have
said anything.  Chris has flipped over into concerned-parent mode.

Chris sighs.  "Okay, you've got a right to your privacy, I guess,"
Chris says, thinking wistfully about a kid who used to tell him
everything.

Lance closes his eyes, reaching out for something to steady himself
on.  Chris is so intense about everything he feels.  It just makes
things worse for Lance, even though the wave of wistful affection
is a good emotion.

Chris grabs Lance as he sways and guides him to a chair.  "Put your
head between your knees," he says helpfully.

Lance does as told even though the problem is the blast of emotion
with its hand on his back.

Chris gets a glass of water and comes back to Lance.  "You gonna be
all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine.  Just need some rest, I guess," he lies with
years of practice.  'No, I don't know what sex is.'  'Yes, I
believe you.'  'Of course, Lou wants what's best for us.'  'Yes, I
know you mean that.'

Chris doesn't believe Lance.

Lance looks up and catches Chris's eye.  "Really."

"Sure."

Lance tries again.  "Thank you for caring about me, but the only
thing you can do to help me is to go away."

"Oh.  Okay."  Chris feels a strange dropping sensation in his
chest, but he ignores it.  He carefully sets the water next to
Lance.  "Drink that, when you're feeling better," he orders.  "I'll
hit the crew up for a bunk."

"Chris," Lance says, the sadness hitting him like a blow.  "I'm
sorry.  I'm not trying to exclude you.  Really."

"I know that, Lance, in my head.  I completely understand.  I
promise.  See you tomorrow, huh, kiddo?"

Chris is going to go get drunk and then maybe cry.  Lance isn't
sure which because Chris isn't sure either.  "I'm sorry."

"Lance, it's nothing you did, okay?"  The kid is just uncanny at
knowing what Chris thinks.  Knowing what everyone thinks, really. 
Chris realized this years ago, and spent a few weeks agonizing over
the choice to censor his mind or not.  In the end, he decided that
he really doesn't mind if Lance can read everything in his skull. 
He likes Lance.  He trusts Lance.  What does it matter if Lance
knows Chris thinks oven mitts are kinky, really?

Lance smiles, unable to help it.  Chris thinks the funniest things
sometimes.  He tries to straighten his expression, but the smile
keeps bursting through again.

Chris smiles back, not sure why.  Maybe just because it's Lance. 
Yeah.  "See you tomorrow," he says again.

"Sure."

Chris backs down the steps and off the bus.  He so wishes Justin
would grow up and enter the real world already.  No, on second
thought, he'd like Justin to keep what innocence he has, even if it
manifests as being an ass.  He wishes Justin would just leave him
alone.

Lance makes a note to call JC and have him administer a chewing out
for Justin.  Chris is more than usually desperate, and even if
Lance can't stand being near Chris, he still cares about him.  A
lot.  He just can't be near him without a migraine.

Chris manages to hold out for seven hours before he calls Lance
from his place on one of the crew buses.  "Hey, you doin' okay,
now?"

"Better," Lance says.  Joey's presence is calming, and the driver
isn't thinking about anything other than the road.  "How're you?"

"Not bad!" Chris says.  He's crammed into the leftover bunk, the
half-sized one meant more for kids or luggage.  But he's a little
guy, so it works.

Lance grins.  It's refreshing talking with Chris over the phone. 
He doesn't know what Chris is thinking, so he can be amused by what
Chris says.  He still has a good idea what Chris is likely to be
thinking, but it's not distressing for him.  "Does that mean they
tied you up and you're calling to arrange ransom, or have you not
annoyed every single one of them yet?"

"They're all bigger than me, and they don't need my voice for a
job.  They could work for someone else.  I'm terrified," Chris says
flippantly.

"I can tell.  You sound scared out of your mind."

"I know!  I think I'm gonna wet my pants, man, seriously."

"Have you thought about getting Depends?  I can tell someone to
pick some up for you."

"You're so thoughtful."

"I try.  Listen, speaking of thoughtfulness, I talked to JC.  He's
going to talk to Justin.  Get him to see reason."

"Aww!  You're just a darling!" Chris says.  He's thinking that it's
more likely Justin will persuade JC to jump on the celibacy wagon
than the other way around.

Lance snorts.  "Yeah.  Whatever."

"Anyway.  Are you really okay?" Chris asks seriously.

"Yeah, I'm fine.  It's quiet here, and my headache's a lot better."

"And you're sure you don't want to tell me what's up?" Chris
offers.

"It's not anything you can fix, Chris."

"Maybe it's not.  Maybe it's just something I could help you deal
with.  Or just something I could know about, so you didn't have to
hide it.  Keep it in mind, huh?  In case you ever need something
like that?"

"I feel like you're telling me it's okay to be gay," Lance murmurs.

"It's okay to be whatever you are, because you're Lance, and I know
you.  You're not anything bad."

"I know.  But what you are and what people think of you are two
separate things."  Lance knows that profoundly.

"That isn't always a bad thing.  We've won a lot because people
underestimated us."

"It can be though.  What if you knew what they were thinking about
you?  What if that was stronger than what you thought about
yourself?"

"Then you'd be just like everyone else, only not paranoid because
you'd *know* people were thinking bad things about you, instead of
just suspecting it?"

"Chris..."  Lance tries to find a way to explain it, but can't
without telling Chris everything.  It's a little like being a
celebrity and having things printed about you until they seem
realer than you do -- except that, theoretically, that's what Lance
is referring to in the first place.  "It's not like that."

"No, I suppose not.  I suppose that actually, you'd have to develop
very strong sense of self, and keep it visualized all the time.  Or
surround yourself with people whose opinions you trust.  Or both."

"That's... actually pretty insightful, Chris."

"Yeah, well, I have my moments."

"Some of them are even good moments."

Chris laughs.

Lance smiles.  He wishes Chris was a more comfortable person to be
around, because he really enjoys talking to him.  "What if..."

"Oooh!  I like this, tell me."

Lance snorts.  Chris's enthusiasm is amusing.  He can't believe
he's doing this.  "What if I could read your mind?"

Chris shrugs.  "I dunno.  You'd have more stuff to make fun of me
for?  See, you're already totally uncanny at knowing what I'm
thinking and feeling.  If you could read my mind... I guess I
wouldn't really be surprised.  But I'd want to know if you were
telepathic or empathic or both, and I'd try to be more, I guess,
courteous would be the word, about leaking all over you."

Lance shakes his head.  What Chris is saying *sounds* good, but he
knows better.  "You'd guard yourself, and you'd look at me guiltily
whenever you thought something bad and expect me to judge you."

"Not really.  I'd decided a long time ago that I'm not capable of
changing my thought patterns.  I'd probably just try to think
quieter if you were working.  Be less intense when you were
overwhelmed or whatever.  Maybe get a tinfoil hat, for when you get
migraines."

Lance smiles.  "Tinfoil doesn't do anything."

"So?"

Lance shakes his head.  "Nothing.  It's just funny, that's all."

"That's the point!" Chris happily agrees.

"You're a very silly man."

"I thought you already knew that."

"Generally, it's a hard quality to appreciate," Lance says.

"Oh?"

"Never mind."

"Oh."  Chris pauses.  "Um.  Okay."

"So did you have a reason to call, or are you harassing people at
random again?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, dear Lord in heaven."

"Um.  Lance?  It's just me."

"Trust me," Lance says drily, "I haven't started mistaking you for
God.  I was just contemplating the possibilities of you on the
loose, looking for trouble."

"Oh," Chris says.  "It's the beard isn't it?  No one can believe
God would be cool enough to have beard horns.

"The beard horns do tend to suggest Satanic rather than angelic
influences, yes."

"Shh!  You'll spoil my plans."  Chris is totally making it up as he
goes now, but he's glad to hear Lance sounding sort of normal. 
Even if he can read minds, which Chris will have to think about
later.

"That's the beauty of random havoc.  It can't be predicted."

Chris turns over in the small bunk, preparing to get serious.  You
just can't be serious laying on your back.  It's not possible. 
"Look, Lance," he says, once he's settled on his stomach, "you're
a good guy, seriously.  And you really can tell me anything, if you
want to.  In the meantime, why don't you just tell me enough so I
don't hurt you, huh?"

Lance shakes his head, even though Chris can't see him.  What could
he ask Chris?  To think quieter?  A Chris who isn't intense to the
point of manic isn't Chris.  "I've already told you everything
there is to tell you.  There's nothing you can do different."

"Nothing you want to have me do different?" Chris suggests.

"Those tin foil hats?  You could try those."

"Okay, will do."

"And... um.  You calling me?  I like that.  It's good."  All the
fun of Chris without the headache.

Chris smiles.  "I like it, too."

"Chris..." Lance warns.  "You better not be beating off over there,
or I'm hanging up."

Chris giggles.  "Dude!  I hadn't even thought of it."  Then he
frowns.  "I must be getting old.  Or maybe it's cause this bunk is
little.  Lance, I'm sorry, I forgot to beat off to your sexy
voice."

"You're forgiven.  Just make sure it keeps happening."

"Will do, boss."

Lance chuckles.  "Okay, Chris.  Thanks for calling.  I'll see you
later."

"Sure thing, boss."  Chris hits End and decides to invest in some
'personal shielding' books, just for research purposes.  It's not
that he cares that Lance knows he's always thought carrying smurfs
in your pants should result in smurf payback to the things, namely
Chris's dangly bits, that would then be crowded, it's that maybe --
just maybe -- Lance doesn't want to know.

Joey asks him why he's suddenly so happy.  Lance smiles and looks
down and says something about getting a phone call, and Joey teases
him about phone sex all the way to their next stop.

It's nearly a week later before Chris approaches Lance again. 
There have been fourteen calls in the meantime, and one stop at
Barnes and Noble.  Chris wants to know if this whole shielding
thing actually works or not.  Assuming, of course, that Lance
really can read minds.

One of the problems with mind reading is that it's sometimes
difficult to tell the difference between someone thinking something
and someone saying the same thing.  Joey's the easiest to
compensate for -- usually he thinks something in words immediately
before saying it.  Unlike Chris, for example, who's like a TV.  A
satellite TV, with someone flipping rapidly through the channels.

So Lance looks up when Chris' chaos draws near.

Chris stops outside Lance's bus and carefully, stone by stone,
envisions a building a wall around his mind.  It takes a while, and
makes him sweat, but when he's done, everything seems secure and
confined.

When the emotional storm disappears, Lance assumes that Chris went
elsewhere.

Chris knocks on the bus door, then jogs up the stairs.  "Anybody
home?"

Lance's head snaps up.  "Chris?"

"Hi!"

Chris isn't there.  It's like seeing an image on a TV screen.  Flat
and lifeless.  Lance can't stop staring.

Chris blinks.  "Are you, um.  Okay?" he asks, worried.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I'm fine," Lance says finally.  "You caught me
off-guard."

"I knocked," Chris offers.

"I know.  I heard the knock.  You just..."  Lance shakes his head. 
It starts to occur to him what this must mean, him not being able
to feel Chris's presence.  "Are you wearing your tin foil hat?"

Chris nods a little.  "I got the deluxe, inside the skull model."

Lance gets up and comes over to Chris, needing to touch him to make
sure he's real.

Chris hugs Lance close.  "Tin hat working?"

Lance hugs him back automatically.  "Yeah, actually.  Uh.  Not that
I can read minds or anything."

"If you could, though, it might be nice to have a break sometimes?"
Chris offers.

Lance doesn't know whether to nod or shake his head.  "It's...
Chris, you're not even there."

"Um."  Chris steps back.  "Just a second, I need to think."  He
plops on the end of the couch.  So, stone is too much.  Maybe...
something else.  Like heavy curtains?  Chris closes his eyes and
laboriously thinks through hanging heavy velvet curtains just
inside his walls, and then he has to hold the damn curtains while
he unbuilds the wall.  He's definitely sweating when he's done, but
the curtains are way easier to hold than the wall.

Lance gawks as Chris laboriously opens himself up until Lance can
feel Chris's presence without being overwhelmed by it.  "What...
*how* are you doing that?"

"Curtains?"  Lance looks at him like he's an idiot, so Chris pulls
the book out of his back pocket and hands it to Lance

Lance thumbs through the book, not so much reading it as taking in
the general sense of it.  Words jump out at him here and there. 
Shielding.  Telepathy.  Protection.  "Chris... I."  He shrugs.  "I
guess there's no point in denying it.  Can I borrow this?"

"Please."  Chris curls up against Lance's side.  "You know I still
love you, right?"

"Um.  You love me?"

"Of course I do.  You're, like, an entire fourth of my life."

"Ohh."  Lance gets it now.  He's not used to having to guess what
someone's talking about.  "Sure.  Of course."

Chris looks at Lance.  "And I like you a hell of a lot, too," he
says solemnly.  "Could easily *like* you more."

Lance can feel Chris, but that's it.  He knows Chris isn't lying,
but that's about it.  "Thank you?"

"You seem... confused.  Should I, uh.  Open up more?"

"Confusion is my normal state of mind when it comes to you.  You're
so open naturally, it's almost impossible to pick out an individual
thought."

Chris thinks really hard of giving Lance a backrub.  He thinks of
the feeling of his hands, slick with massage oil, sliding over the
smooth skin of Lance's back, feeling muscle and bone.  He thinks of
how he'd feel, happy to be helping Lance and just plain happy, and
a little horny, too.

Lance's eyes widen.  "Chris?"

"Hmm?"

"Yes.  Please?"

"Sure, take off your shirt and lay down."

Lance does as instructed.

Chris hunts through the bathroom until he finds oil, then comes
back out and starts drizzling it on Lance.

Lance is still pretty stunned.  He thought he understood Chris.  Up
until now, the motivations of the guys have been open secrets to
him.  But Chris seriously wanting him is new.  He doesn't count
idle thoughts or, in Chris's case, moments of utter and complete
insanity.  

Chris kneels over Lance's butt and starts rubbing.  "Mmm, minty." 
Who the hell owns peppermint massage oil anyway?  It's making Chris
want a York Peppermint Patty.

Lance blushes.  He knows what Chris found and it's not massage oil. 
"That's, uh.  Lube."

"I know.  But it's slidy, so it'll work."  And, yes, he's lying
about knowing.  But it'll still work.

Lance relaxes a little.  "Okay.  There's some of the real stuff,
too.  It's in here though."  It gets used regularly.  Sore muscles
are a fact of life on tour.

Chris leans into the pressure he's putting on Lance's back. 
There's a series of soft pops that make Chris wrinkle his nose and
grin.

Lance moans.  "Oh, that's good."

Chris's dick twitches.  "You're so sexy," he mutters.  "Evil one." 
He keeps working at the tense muscles at the base of Lance's spine.

"'m not trying," Lance says, continuing to make little noises as
Chris touches the most hurty spots.

"I know, baby."  Chris gently rubs the back of Lance's neck. 
"You've just got a lot to carry."

Lance yawns as he starts to relax.  "It's hard knowing what
everyone wants and needs and thinks and trying to balance yourself
against them.  'specially hard with people like you an' C and
Justin, 'cause you want things so much I can't always tell if it's
me wanting them or you."

"That's gotta be really hard," Chris agrees.

"Is."

"Wanna know something dirty?" Chris asks.  Lance is getting all
sleepy and Chris can feel his control starting to slip, in more
ways than one.

"Sure."

"I'm really hard," Chris whispers.  And it's true, but he's mostly
teasing Lance.  "So it's probably time to tuck you into bed and be
on my way."

Lance pushes up, causing Chris to pull back.  When he has enough
room, Lance rolls over.  His eyes are heavy-lidded.  "Mmm.  That's
not dirty."  He brushes his hand against the bulge in Chris's
pants.  "'s nice though."

Chris hisses in pleasure, then gently moves Lance's hand away. 
"Yeah.  But it's still time to put you to bed."

"Time to put me to bed, or time to put me to *bed*?" Lance asks.

"The first," Chris says gently.  "My shielding isn't really that
great, and I'm getting a headache.  It's about to totally collapse. 
I'll get better, with practice."  He leans down and kisses Lance,
all the same.

Lance draws Chris in and kisses him back.  "I'm not sure I'd want
you to be shielding for that.  There's times when it's good to feel
everything.  That's why I stay with Joey so much.  He feels good
things."

Chris plants his elbows on either side of Lance's head.  "What was
it like before?  With other people, I mean.  Do you feel
overwhelmed by what they feel?"

"Sometimes."  Lance spreads his legs so Chris can rest comfortably
on top of him.  It's a good feeling, being physically close.  "It's
more intense with some people than others, and there's a distance
factor, too.  Concerts can be too much of a good thing."  Chris is
-- just barely -- grinding against him and Lance realizes how Chris
meant that question.  He blushes.  "Oh.  Yeah.  It's, um. 
Interesting.  Good sometimes.  Really bad others."

"Yeah.  I don't want it to be bad.  So, how about I take you to
bed, tuck you in and tell you a story, and we try again tomorrow?"

"Chris.  It wouldn't be bad.  Not with you."

Chris sighs.  "What should we do, then?" he asks, letting his
uncertainty leak through.

Lance shakes his head and smiles.  The smile wavers a bit though. 
"Remember that I put up with you just like you are for years
without going mad and come to bed with me?  Just to bed, if you're
worried about your control."

Chris kisses Lance hard.  "Let's go."

"You have to let me up first."

Chris rolls off of Lance and gets up.

Lance stands up and adjusts himself.  "'Course, that could just be
the hard-on talking."

Chris laughs.

"Speaking as an authority on the subject, they really do have minds
of their own."

"Yeah?  You hear a separate little voice?" Chris asks curiously.

"Well... a little voice implies conscious thought.  Call it a
strong wave of emotion.  That's closer."

"Separate from the person?" Chris asks, as he starts herding Lance
toward the bed.

"Depends on what you mean by separate.  Some people are more schizo
than others.  You.  You're all emotion.  Sometimes that's a good
thing.  When all of you is happy and focussed.  But a lot of the
time, you're not.  You have a lot of regrets, y'know."

"I know."  Chris sighs and stops, leaning against Lance.

Lance holds onto Chris for balance.  "What?"

"That I have a lot of regrets."

Lance nuzzles Chris's neck, figuring that's allowed now.  "I know. 
It's okay.  It's only a bad thing when you're wallowing in it or
beating yourself up over it."

"Lance, you know that's not gonna change," Chris says softly.  "I'm
too old to learn new tricks."

Lance shakes his head.  "You already learned one new trick for me. 
You learned how to make it so I can be around you for a long period
of time without me wanting to bash my own head in with a rock."

Chris shakes his head.  "Trying to take care of you is a *very* old
trick."

Lance closes his eyes.  Chris's control is slipping little by
little, and there's nothing bad in it.  Chris's thoughts and
feelings are mirroring what he's saying, so there's no paradox to
try to resolve.  But it's hard to feel what Chris is feeling and
argue with what Chris believes to be the absolute truth.

"Fine," Lance says softly, not opening his eyes.  "You're tired. 
Thank you for making the effort for me.  I really appreciate it. 
Everyone else who knows -- they can't be around me without double
and triple checking their thoughts and it hurts worse."

"Am I still sleeping over?" Chris asks quietly.

Lance opens his eyes.  "You still want to?"

"Please?"

"Yes.  Okay.  Definitely."

"So?  Take me to bed, Bass."

Lance's eyes are shining as he leads the way to the back of the
bus.

Chris can't read minds.  "You happy or sad, baby?" he asks, hugging
Lance from behind.

Lance covers Chris's hands with his own and turns his head to look
back at Chris.  "Happy."

"Good.  Rahr."  Chris pretends to gnaw on Lance's shoulder.

Want.  Bite.  Take.  Have.  The thoughts are probably coming from
Chris.  Probably.  Lance unfastens his pants and lets them fall to
the floor, then turns around, naked.  "Hi."

"Well, hello, beautiful," Chris whispers.  He falls to his knees
and pushes Lance until the other man sits on the bed.  Then Chris
gets down to balancing the cosmic blowjob scales of justice.

Lance falls backward on the bed.  Blowjobs aren't fair.  He can't
tell what Chris is thinking when his own mind is being blown. 
Mind.  Dick.  Same thing.

Chris is happy.  Happy to make Lance happy.  Horny, of course. 
Mostly happy, though.

"Evil," Lance says.  "You're evil."

"Mmmhmm."

Lance grabs Chris almost as soon as he comes and urges him up,
almost, but not quite, throwing him on the bed.  "Evil," he says,
then covers Chris, kissing him.

Chris laughs into the kiss.  People hate it when he does that, but
he just can't help it.  He's so fucking happy.

Lance makes a face at him.  "You're insane.  And sexy.  How d'you
want it?"  He sticks out his tongue at Chris.  "That's not
physically possible."

Chris looks up at Lance.  He traps Lance's thigh between his and
starts rubbing himself on the nice, lovely, warm skin provided.  He
blinks up at Lance and smiles a little smile.

Lance shakes his head, bemused.  "How can you be so sweet
sometimes?"  Chris's thought there was as clear as a thought could
be -- he doesn't care how he gets off as long as he gets off with
Lance.

Chris shrugs and thinks how useless his usual bluster defenses are
against Lance.

"They're still effective," Lance tells him gently.  "You do them
just as well in your head as you do with your mouth.  But right
now, you aren't using them."

"Don't want to."

"Okay by me."  Lance kisses him softly, respecting Chris's desire
for sweetness.

Chris'll feel stupid for being a girl later.  Right now, he's in
serious need of some good lovin', which Lance is so admirably
providing.

Lance gives Chris all the skin contact he wants while touching him
and stroking him with his hands and kissing him everywhere he can
reach.

Chris comes far too soon.  It should have lasted forever.  But he
doesn't really mind, because Lance is still here.  And, unlike
groupies, Lance isn't leaving as soon as he can to go tell his
friends he went home with *Justin*.

Lance snickers.  "*I* went home with Chris."

"Well, technically, I came to you."

"So you passed up going home with Justin to go home with me," Lance
says smugly.

"Every time."

Lance raises an eyebrow.  "Yeah?"

"Yep."

"Swap off with Joey maybe until you don't get a headache being
around me, or just join us?"  Lance thinks about that.  "Not that
there's enough room for all three of us."

"It's not being around you that gives me a headache, babe.  I'm
just not used to the thing with the thing yet."

"I know.  It's me being around you that usually gives me the
headache."

"Exactly.  So, we'll just have to date before we live together." 
Chris grins.

Lance groans.  "Dating."

"What?"

"It's evil?  Really evil?  In the not-good way?"

"What, you don't wanna go out places with me?"

"Dunno."  Lance grins sheepishly.  "Guess I was just thinking about
staying in with you."

Chris, even though he knows it's not true, feels himself think 'So
no one will see you with me.'  "I'm sorry, Lance," he says
immediately, "I know that's not true."

"Stop it."

"I'm sorry!" Chris says again, honestly contrite.  He didn't mean
to think it.

"Not that."  Lance puts his arm across his face.  "I don't care
what you think, Chris.  I mean, yeah, I like it that you like me. 
And it sucks making you feel bad.  But it's all sharp edges when
people start guarding their thoughts and worrying what I hear or
don't hear."

"I'm not sorry you *heard* it," Chris replies, curling against
Lance.  "I'm sorry that's the kind of thought I'd have after having
*really good* sex with you."

"I don't care.  You have lots of other thoughts too.  And good
feelings."

"Yep."  Chris licks Lance's nipple until it hardens.  "Aw, look, he
likes me!"

"Chris... dating, remember."

"Yeah?"

"Dating implies 'not fucking'."

"It does not!"

"It doesn't?"

"Nuh-uh.  It implies not living together."  Chris lifts up.  "You
thought I wanted to not sleep with you?  Because I want to sleep
with you."

"Kinda.  You're all confused on the issue."

"I am not.  Not really.  I'm confused on the 'can I do this and not
screw up and how much do I need to worry about leaking all over
you' issue.

"I'm not worried about any of *that*.  It's a relief that you're
trying not to leak at all.  And, as long as you don't do the thing,
I'm happy."

"Thing?  Oh!  The lying with my brain thing.  Nope, won't do that."

Lance shrugs.  "So I don't see a reason to worry."

"Good."

"You're still going to worry though," Lance guesses.

"Probably.  Can't help it."

Lance yawns.  "I don't mind.  Used to it.  S'only the cyclone thing
that gives me a headache."

"Thoughts all swirly?"

Lance chuckles.  "No.  As in, assault by emotional windstorm."

"I'll do my best."

Lance shakes his head.  "Just be Chris.  Like Chris.  Chris is
cool.  'Cept for the cackling."

"No cackling?" Chris does the puppydog eyes.

Lance snuggles in.  Sleepily, he says, "Y'know.  'I'll get you and
your little ferret, too.  Then it's really windy, and *pow*, a
house lands on your head.  Ow."

Chris smiles in bemusement.  "Go to sleep, Lance."

"Trying to.  Somebody keeps talking in my sleep."

Chris snorts and lays down next to Lance, pulling the sheet up over
them.

Lance falls asleep, wrapped in the white noise buzz of Chris.