Pairing: Lance and Nick
Words: linguist; lapse; harsh; lip gloss


"You aren't my type."

"Thank you for that assessment of my personality," Lance said, "but
don't you think it's a little soon to say that, because really, you
don't even have your shirt off yet."

"Oh, and like that's going to make a difference."

The Goldschlager's followed by the peppermint schnapps had fucked
Lance up a little, but he was certain that his logic was still
flawless.  At least the part that was going to get him Nick in bed. 
He wasn't going to make any business deals in this condition; he
wasn't stupid, not like Joey, who'd fuck anything when he got drunk
enough, even Chris, who was sharp and bitey.  But that wasn't the
point.  Nick's naked chest.  That was the point.  "I want to have
sex with you.  You came back here with me, to my room.  I presume
that means you're of the same inclination."  His logic was
impeccable, even when he was drunk.  Lance was very proud of
himself.

"Lance--"

"I want to touch your skin.  I want to lick it.  I want to bite
it."  He got very oral when he was drunk.  Kind of like Chris,
really.

Nick took off his shirt.

Lance took a moment to applaud his abilities as a linguist, then
fastened himself to that smooth expanse of skin.  Collarbone,
throat, nipple.  He ran his tongue across it, then let his teeth
scrape across the skin.  He wanted it hard, because he could barely
feel Nick's skin through the alcohol, but Nick might leave if he
did it too hard, make it too harsh, and he didn't want that.  He
wouldn't mind it if Nick was hard on him though.  And maybe wanting
to get fucked up the ass corresponded with getting drunk, because
when he was like this and feeling no pain, that was most certainly
what he wanted.

Nick stripped his shirt off him, and unbuttoned his pants.  "Okay,
maybe you are my type."

"Drunk and easy is a type?"

Nick's hands stopped, pushed him away, and Lance moaned, batting at
Nick's arms.  Nick was more coordinated than he was at the moment,
more able to focus.  "Shut up, okay?"

"Yeah.  Whatever you want.  Just fuck me."

He was pushed away.  "You aren't yourself."

"Damnit."  He made an effort, tried to act sober, although he
wasn't anything like it and knew it.  "It's just sex.  You want it
or you don't.  Fuck me or don't fuck me, and forget who you think
I should be."

Nick looked at him, and Lance flexed his fingers, which were aching
with the need to feel.  He wanted sensation, craved the input he'd
dulled with the alcohol.

Nick'd wanted him to shut up, Lance recalled.  He could do that. 
He stripped his pants off, then turned and bent over, arms braced
on the bed, ass in the air.  Didn't say anything.  If Nick didn't
take him up on it, he was going down the hall to Chris' room and
begging, despite the lapse in judgment that it would represent.

Hands on his hips signalled that he didn't need to do that, and
Lance bit into his lip, then licked at it, wishing he had on lip
gloss.  Flavored.  Taste was a sensation, too.  But, no.  They were
numb, like he was numb.

A finger inside him, and then Nick was thrusting into him. 
Sensation, yeah.  What he wanted.  He pushed back against Nick,
groaned, and fisted the bedcover.  Wished Nick was clawing at his
hips, wanted more.  But he couldn't tell him that, didn't want to
say anything and make Nick stop.  He needed to get fucked too
badly.

It was over too soon.  Lance had barely even gotten hard.  Didn't
matter; what he was aching for wasn't the sex, was something he
still hadn't gotten.

Nick dropped down on the bed.  "You not into this?"

He didn't know what to say.  He knew Nick didn't want to hear it;
Nick had said so.  "It was fine.  You can go."

He waited until Nick had gotten dressed, then pulled his pants on
and went down the hall.  Knocked on the door, and pushed his way
inside when Chris answered.

Chris let him in, and closed and locked the door behind him. 
"Lance, you gotta stop doing this, man."

"Chris..."  He looked at him.  Waited for Chris to move closer,
then raked his short nails down the other man's arms.

"Fine."  Chris' eyes glittered.  Lance knew there'd be more to this
tomorrow, more that he didn't really want to think about, didn't
really want to face, not even then, but he didn't really care now. 
He needed to feel, and Chris would do it.  The shorter man stepped
in, and bit him just below his collarbone.

Lance moaned.  He could feel that.  It made him real, and that was
all that mattered.