Pairing: Lance and Chris
Words: adamant; gruesome; mole; pie


"I am not eating pollo mole, Chris.  No.  I'm *not*," Lance says
adamantly.  "It's-- it's just *wrong*!  It's chocolate abuse!"

Chris widens his eyes.  "Not even for me, pookie?"

"I eat for you.  I'm not eating chocolate chicken."

Chris sniffs.  "I don't feel very loved and valued here.  I'm
beginning to think that my courtship of you is doomed."

"If I hadn't already married you, it might be."

"Ah, but the romance doesn't end with the wedding!  You have to
keep doing the little things.  Like dinner and chocolate and
flowers!"

"But not chocolate chicken," Lance says.  "I'll make you a pie."

Chris cocks his head.  "What kind of pie?" he asks, then stops
himself, backing away.  "Oh, no, you aren't going to get me that
easily.  I'm trying to do something romantic for *you*."

"A chocolate pie.  Or lemon meringue.  What would you like?"

"Chocolate," Chris says promptly.  "With whipped cream.  The kind
that comes in a can and can be sprayed all over everything."

"Not the heavy setting kind, whipped with extra sugar?"

Chris licks his lip and then bites it.  "Extra sugar?"

"Yes."

"And it doesn't give me bad husband points for not doing my idea
and sweeping you off your feet like I was going to?"

"Nope.  You can do something nice later.  Like getting flowers for
the table or something."

Chris looks thoughtful.  "Is a Venus fly trap considered to be a
flower?"

"No.  But they *are* fucking cool, so you can go buy me one."

Chris smiles big.  "I knew there was a reason I love you.  Many
many reasons.  I'm gonna get flies too, so we can feed it.  It'll
be fun."

"I don't want you to buy flies, Chris.  We have enough already. 
It'll be fine.  Get that new KY self-heating stuff and the studded
'For Her Pleasure' condoms, and we're set."

"But it'd be gruesome," Chris says, picturing it.  "Feeding them to
it.  I wonder if it like digests them while you watch?"

Lance cocks his head.  "Okay.  But not fruit flies, and they have
to be in a container they can't get out of.  And I have to be here
when you feed it.  Or them.  You can get two, if you want."

Chris tilts his head.  "Kinky."

"I think they're actually gendered plants, so ask," Lance says as
he starts whipping cream for the topping.

"We can breed our own little flock of fly-eaters and take over the
world!" Chris says, bounding up behind Lance and licking his neck. 
"And, y'know, maybe it says something about us that our children
are carnivores."

"Could be.  We can name them Audrey and Audrey II."

Chris snickers and bites Lance's neck.  "Love you, babe.  Off to do
the shopping."

"Don't forget the condoms."

"You're awfully toppy tonight.  Is this a trend I can look forward
to seeing continued?"

"We're out of both condoms and lube.  If you don't buy them, we
can't fuck.  I *really* want to, Chris.  Really."

"So no."  Chris pouts hugely.  "I'm not sure it'll even be worth it
then.  And your condom fetish offends me.  What, my dick's not good
enough on its own?"

"Not until my tests come back clean again.  Which reminds me, I
finally got the first aid kit confirmation.  They'll be at every
rehearsal, every location, every truck from now on."  Lance turns
to look at Chris, still whipping the cream.  "But I'll be all toppy
for you tonight."

Chris worries his lip with his teeth and nods.  "Deal."  He kisses
Lance on the cheek and sprints for the door.  "Back soon!  Don't
bother making dinner!  Dessert's enough!"

Lance laughs and sticks a pre-made lasagna in the oven.  They'll be
hungry eventually.

Chris doesn't run any lights.  He only speeds a little.  Okay,
maybe a lot, but not in any area where it's really important, like
somewhere where kids might run out into the street or something. 
It still takes too long before he gets back.

"Honey, I 'm home!" he yells as he kicks the door closed behind
him.  Masculine honor demands that he get everything inside in one
trip, but he's got bags hanging from his arms and they're kinda
awkward.

Lance sets the pie in the fridge and goes to help Chris with the
bags.  "Hey, babe."

Chris angles his head for a kiss.  "Hey.  I got everything.  And
some real flowers, too, just for you."

Lance smiles and kisses Chris again and again.  "Thanks."

"Yeah," Chris says when Lance pulls away.  "And, um, no insult, but
these things are cutting into my arms.  I gotta put them down."

Lance smiles and helps, carrying half the bags to the kitchen
table.  "What all did you get?"

"Lessee.  Condoms.  Lube.  More condoms.  More lube.  And then the
rest of the lube just to be safe.  We should get a delivery or
something.  A case."  He makes a sad face.  "No Venus fly traps
because they didn't have any, and, um, I didn't want to drive
around all night when I can call about it tomorrow and you're here
waiting.  Er.  Pie.  Yeah.  I came home just for the pie.  So, no
on that.  Different flowers though," he smiles hopefully, "if that
counts.  And other stuff."  He waves at the bags.  "Y'know."

Lance takes the flowers -- wildflowers -- and arranges them
carefully in a couple small vases.  There are two roses, too.  One
for each vase, just like Chris knows Lance likes.  "What other
stuff?"

"Uh..."

"What?" Lance asks, kissing Chris.  "What?  What?  What?"

"I may have got some whipped cream.  In cans."  The tips of Chris'
ears turn red.  "And a leash.  And a collar to go with.  But, um. 
Not that it means anything.  Or has to.  Or whatever.  I feel like
such a goober.  But I was picking out condoms and thinking about
you being toppy and I was really turned on, and it just kinda
happened."

Lance giggles.  "Wanna wear the collar while we eat?"

"Fuck," Chris swears, turned on all over again.  "Yeah.  Um.  If
you put it on."

Lance paws through the crinkly plastic until he finds the collar. 
He buckles it around Chris's throat.  "Very nice."

Chris moans, closing his eyes and leaning into the heat of Lance's
body.  When Lance steps back, he opens his eyes.  "Yeah."

Lance serves dinner while Chris stashes the condoms and lube in
different spots around the house.

Chris comes back, bright-eyed and eager.  "So!  Where's dessert?"

"In the fridge.  You can have it first if you want."

Chris twists his mouth.  "That's no fun.  You slaved over a hot
stove for me.  And there's this thing around my neck.  I can't eat
dessert first under these circumstances.  It'd be wrong."

"Okay."  Lance sits down and folds his hands, bowing over them to
pray silently for a moment.  Then he digs into the lasagna.

Chris eats his, making himself consciously chew.  He's sure the
lasagna's good -- food would never dare to be bad for Lance -- but
he can't taste it, not all hyper and worked up like this.

Lance sets his foot in Chris's lap, all casually.

Chris bites his tongue and then yelps.  "Ouch, damnit."

Lance blushes and stares at his plate.  Grinning.

Chris sets his fork down and stops even pretending to eat.  He
slumps back in his chair.  "Dunno if I want dessert more, or to
slide under the table and suck your dick."

"Dessert."  Lance eats his square of pasta in tiny bites.

"Okay."  Chris is willing to bow to Lance's wishes.  Especially
when it gets him chocolate or sex.  And since he's getting both
eventually tonight, life is very very good.

After dessert -- which Lance also eats slowly -- he stands and
hooks the leash to Chris's collar.  "C'mon."

Chris whimpers and follows.  Food, chocolate *and* sex?  He's gonna
be dead.  He resists an urge to beg for mercy.  He doesn't want
mercy.  Not really.

Lance leads Chris through every room in the house, quietly
contemplating the sexual opportunities each presents.  He likes the
way Chris's eyes glaze.

Oh, yeah.  Lance is gonna make him dead, dead, dead.  Lance is
using Chris' imagination against him to drive him crazy.  Lance
pauses in each room with a thoughtful look and Chris can't help but
imagine the possibilities and get harder.

Lance tries bending over the railing on the deck, using Chris's
leash to pull the other man against his ass.  "Hmm."  But he's not
quite tall enough, so he shakes his head and continues up to the
bedroom.  "Okay."

"Okay," Chris agrees, not knowing or caring what he's agreeing to. 
Whatever it is, he'll like it.  If he felt up to abusing his knees,
he'd be on them right now.

Lance nods and crawls onto the bed, Chris's leash around his wrist. 
"Get me ready," he orders, barely remembering not to make it a
question.

Chris undoes Lance's pants and pulls them down, then remembers
shoes.  Thankfully, Lance isn't wearing any.  He gets the pants
off, and stops to stare at Lance's dick.  He wants it.  So bad. 
But he moves up a little and gets Lance's shirt part of the way off
-- Lance has to switch his hold on the leash to get it all the way
off.  And then.  Chris shudders and gets the condoms and the lube. 
Lance is just watching him and even fully dressed, Chris feels
exposed.

Lance bites his lip.  He's not sure exactly how toppy Chris is
going to cast him tonight.  Lance isn't usually the do-er, but the
do-ee.

Lance is hard, too, and Chris gives his dick a regretful look.  If
Lance is limp, sometimes he can get away with some fluffing action
without having to use a condom.  He fantasizes about his mouth on
Lance's cock without the condom -- it's his forbidden territory and
he wants it.  He uses just a little of the lube on Lance, then
rolls the condom on and uses still more lube.  Then he waits, eyes
expectant.

Lance sighs and tugs the leash until Chris has to crawl over him. 
"Do it yourself," Lance whispers.

Lance, Chris decides, is a mean fucker.  Unlike Lance, he's wearing
shoes.  And he's now crouching over a naked Lance.  Torture.

Chris leans down, resting heavily against Lance's chest as he kicks
his shoes off and wriggles out of his pants.  Lance's dick is
getting lube over his thighs and stomach, but Chris is finally able
to sit up, kneeling over Lance.  He gets the lube, coats his
fingers with it, and starts fingering himself, watching Lance.

Lance's eyes focus on Chris's hand, staring.  He likes fingering a
lot.

Chris draws it out.  He knows what Lance likes, and Chris
fingerfucking himself is way up there.

Lance finally remembers that he's supposed to be in charge tonight. 
He knocks Chris's hand out of the way and guides him down by his
cock.

Chris groans as Lance uses his dick to make him sit down -- not on
his cock, but near it.  He reaches back to further that goal. 
Lance in him is a happy thing.  Better than fingers any day.

Lance moans.  "Yesss, nice."  Chris's ass is a *very* nice thing.

The praise Lance delivers in that deep voice is made even hotter by
the leash snaking between his neck and Lance's hand.  It makes this
so much more real, and Chris doesn't think of it as a flaw in Lance
that Lance isn't as into the toppiness as he is into bottoming --
but the props help.  A lot.

Lance reels Chris in, for a kiss, squeezing his cock in reward as
Chris tonguefucks his mouth.

The tug on the leash goes straight to his cock.  Chris is riding
Lance hard, as hard as he'd want to be fucking if it were him.

Lance tosses his head back, giving Chris slack at the same time. 
"Fuck, fuck."  It's that *thing* Chris's ass can do.  Lance's eyes
cross.

"Doing it," Chris says breathlessly, both hands flat on the bed for
leverage.  He needs to come, but he needs for Lance to get what he
needs first.  Needs to be Lance's bitch, and that thought makes his
hips roll and twist, because yeah, he's wearing a dog collar.

Lance grits his teeth and opens his eyes, pushing his hand up under
the collar as far as he can.  He can feel Chris breathe.  And it's
more than enough to get him off.

Chris feels Lance come, the stiffening and gasping are a clue, not
to mention how Lance just goes still.  He's hard and aching, but
oddly triumphant.  ~Good dog,~ he thinks.

Lance starts to pump Chris's cock as soon as he can think again. 
"C'mon.  Come baby.  Come."

Chris groans and gives in.  Lance's cock is still inside him,
softening and it gives him that satisfying full feeling.  It's over
so quickly.  Lance jerks him maybe five times and Chris is coming,
nearly howling.  It hurts like a loss when Lance's dick slips out
partway through, but it's own fault, because his ass tightens so
hard as he comes.

"Oh, *fuck*," he says heartfelt, and collapses on Lance.

Lance nods, gently shifting Chris to the side to dispose of the
condom.  He won't take chances with Chris's health.

As soon as Lance lies flat again, Chris is draped over him again,
lazily licking Lance clean of his come.

Lance tugs Chris up when he starts getting too low.  "Careful,
baby."

Chris comes back and whimpers.  Then remembers he can talk.  "Why?"

"Why what?" Lance asks, kissing Chris for the taste.

Chris forgets it.  Whatever it was doesn't matter with Lance's
tongue in his mouth.  He's feeling appallingly post-coital and
Lance tongue stroking his is like being loved.

Lance sighs, laying back and tugging Chris against him more firmly. 
"Nice boy."

"Yeah."  Chris kisses the part of Lance most handy -- his
collarbone.  "Thanks for putting up with me and my weird fetishes."

"I like your weird fetishes.  They feel very nice."

"Yeah, but you like some better than others, and that's okay."

"So do you."

"Piffle.  I'm flexible.  And all twisted-kinky.  I even put up with
your fantasy where we make it in bed like normal people and don't
do anything disgusting at all, don't I?"  Chris' voice is fond and
teasing.

"Of course you do.  You're totally a risk-taker."

"Yup.  I even went along with the whole missionary position thing
even though everybody warned me it was bad for my mental health."

Lance grins.

"*And* I proposed."  He was also shocked as hell when Lance said
'yes' and *meant* it.  "I am, in short, entirely and even
conventionally in love with you.  Happy now?"

"Sure am," Lance replies.  "Of course, I have been for a long time
now."

"Good.  Now get this collar off of me.  It itches."

"Okay."

Chris shakes his neck when he's freed, and moans when Lance
scritches him.  "Love you."

"Love you, too."

Chris sighs happily and goes to sleep.