Pairing: Justin and Chris
Words: cartilage; fire extinguisher; feud; accord


Chris wraps his arms around Justin's shoulders, hooking his chin
over and breathing in Justin's ear.  "Hey, baby."

"Dork.  You wouldn't be able to do that if you weren't standing on
the stairs."

Chris nibbles Justin's ear.  "But I am."

Justin shivers.  One of Chris' hands has wandered down to his
hipbone and is touching it exploratively.  T-shirt, skin between
t-shirt and jeans, then jeans.  "What's up?"

Chris bites again, a little harder.  "Over there?"

"Yeah," Justin says as Chris' thumb grazes his ass and makes him
fight not to suck in his breath.  "Over there."

In front of them, Lance is sprawled out across the couch.  The
buttons of his flowy white shirt are undone, and his chest is
exposed.  His cheeks are flushed.

Joey has Lance's bare feet in his lap and is stroking one naked
arch.

JC has Lance's face in his lap and is licking his lips.

"They're going to fuck Lance."

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't you know?" Chris asks, with a bitter laugh.  "Everyone's
had Lance."

"No.  I didn't."

"Well, they have.  And they're going to again.  Question is," Chris
says, fingers brushing, ever so lightly against Justin's crotch,
"what do you want to do?"

Lance sighs and closes his eyes.  He stays close to JC, close to
Joey.  He'll stay close to anyone who'll touch him like this.

Chris lets go of Justin and into the menagerie.  "I think I need a
fire extinguisher to separate you guys," he says, then leers. 
"Good thing I wasn't planning to."  He leans over Lance and wraps
his hand around the back of JC's neck, kissing him deeply.

Lance tries to breathe as quietly as possible, so he can hear Chris
and JC kiss.

Justin adjusts himself.

Joey tugs on Lance's feet, then his calves, urging him closer. 
"Hey," he says, voice deeper than usual.

"What?"

"C'mere."

Lance slides from between Chris and JC.

Joey reels him in, urging Lance to sit in his lap with long strokes
of his hands down Lance's sides and sweet, drugging kisses.

Chris has his hands under JC's shirt, pulling it up.

JC looks around Chris, at Justin.  He hooks a finger at Justin.

Justin comes.

Lance looks over his shoulder and sees Justin moving toward them as
if in a dream.  "Justin.  Hi."

Justin swallows.  "Lance."

Chris' eyes glitter, and he moves aside from JC, so that he's
standing next to him, and both men are watching Justin walk toward
them.

Lance reaches out, offering Justin his hand.

Justin moves to Lance, but JC uncoils himself and intercepts him. 
"Mine," he says in a quiet aside.  "Mine first."

Justin looks between them.

Lance drops his hand, but looks longingly at Justin.

Justin looks confused, but when JC twines his long body with
Justin's and begins moving with a slow, sinuous rhythm, he closes
his eyes and moves along with JC.

Chris' mouth twists as JC leads Justin backward.  "And there they
go."

"Jealous?" Joey asks, fingers dipping into Lance's waistband.

Lance says, "I am."  But it's not JC or even Justin he wishes he
had.

"I'm sure you'll get your turn," Chris grinds out.  "He seemed to
want you just as bad as everyone else wants you."

Joey's arm curves protectively around Lance.  "Chris..."

Chris smiles a little sourly and leans in and kisses Joey.

Lance plays with the buttons on his shirt.  It's not Justin he
wants, or Justin he wants to want him.

Joey breaks off from the kiss.  "I'm not the one you owe an apology
to."

"No, Joey."  Lance kisses Joey quickly, to make him shut up.

"I don't think Justin's complaining any about where he is right
now."  Chris says, while they kiss.

Joey rests his forehead against Lance's.  "Wanna go play with me
and leave the fuckhead alone for now?"

"*Excuse* me?" Chris asks.

Joey just looks at Lance.

Lance shakes his head and then shrugs.  "I don't know."

"Hah!" Chris says.  "Lance *likes* fuckheads."

Joey smacks Chris on general principles.  "I don't know what you're
feuding with Lance about, but I want it fixed.  He doesn't deserve
you being mean to him."

"I'm not.  I didn't say a word to him."

There's a thin wail from upstairs.

Joey looks at Lance and rolls his eyes.  "Fuck him better, okay?" 
Then he pushes Lance into Chris' lap and heads upstairs.

"Now *that*," Chris says, with the air of an expert, "was rude."

Lance shrugs.  "Joey."

"Yeah."  Chris looks at Lance.  Lance'd been drunk and giggly when
Chris had gone to fetch Justin.  Joey'd been feeling him up with
casual interest, playing with his nipples, making Lance squirm
pleasantly.  He doesn't think Lance got fucked between now and
then, because Lance isn't naked.

He thinks about fucking Lance.  He thinks about breaking Lance's
nose, about the feel of the cartilage under his fist, and fucking
Lance then, with the blood dripping down.

Lance shivers.  "You're looking at me funny."

"Yeah?  Maybe you're just funny."  Chris stands up.

Lance stays on the couch, looking up at Chris.

Chris is pissed at Lance.  Pissed at Lance for being Lance.  For
being what all the rest of them are, only more.  Loose.  Sexual. 
Undiscriminating.  Offering himself willingly to any kind of touch. 
For being all of that, but being all  of that and Lance.

"So," he asks, voice hard and mean, "wanna get fucked?"

Lance just looks at Chris for a long moment, then looks away.  He
sees himself in the mirror over the bar.

Chris knows Lance.  Knows if he touches Lance, Lance'll let him
have him.  What he wants, what he *craves* is a Lance who knows how
to say no.

Except then, he wouldn't get Lance at all.  At least this way, he
gets to fuck Lance.  Chris steps into Lance, bends down, and kisses
him, tongue-fucking his mouth ruthlessly.

Lance pulls back, backs away from Chris's mouth.

"What?"

"You're hurting me."

Chris steps away.  "Never thought I'd see you turning down sex."

"Why are you trying to hurt me?"

"I'm not trying to hurt you," Chris says.

"You are, too."  Lance shifts a little more away from Chris. 
"You're trying to make me hurt, and I don't know why.  Is it
because I'm not Justin?"

"No," Chris says.  Which is practically admitting that he does want
to hurt Lance.  "I don't want to *hurt* you.  I won't beat you up
or anything, anyway."  He wouldn't.  No matter what his mind thinks
up.

Lance snorts.  "Fine.  Then why do you *want* to hurt me?  Because
you do."

Chris isn't happy being called on it, but it's true.  "Because. 
You take it.  You let anyone who wants to fuck you."

"I do not!" Lance says, shocked.

Chris snorts.  "Today's the first time I've ever heard you say no."

"To *you*."

"Or any of the others."

"Right."

"I haven't."

"I know.  I'm agreeing, here."

Chris shakes his head.  "Never mind.  Don't even know why I'm
fucking arguing with you.  Go upstairs.  I'm sure they're ready for
you by now."  He stalks off to pour himself a drink.

Lance doesn't go upstairs.  He snuggles into the corner of the
couch and watches Chris.

Chris knocks back one shot and pours a second, which he walks back
out with.  He stops when he sees Lance.  "What are you still doing
here?  All the action's upstairs."

Lance shakes his head.

Chris drinks the second shot and drops the glass on a table.  "So. 
You're still here."

"Yes."

"Seems to me that means you want me, whether I hurt you or not."

"I do want you.  And I might even let you hurt me.  If you wanted
*me* back."

Chris' eyes have taken on the same glittering quality that they had
before.  He prowls toward Lance.  "Don't you get it?  I want you."

Lance kneels up and follows Chris with his eyes.  "Me, Lance?  Or
me, a warm body?  A sure thing?"

"You.  Lance.  Just you."

"How do I know you're not just saying that so I'll let you hurt
me?" Lance asks.  But he's already consented, and they both know
it.

Chris leans in.  His hand brushes along Lance's jawline.  "You
going to keep making me want to?"

Lance doesn't know the answer to the question.  He holds perfectly
still and waits for Chris to explain.

When Lance doesn't say anything, Chris pulls away, dark eyes
hooded.  "Guess so."

"I can't do what you want if I don't know what it is," Lance
whispers.

Chris stops, held more by the tone of Lance's voice.  The
helplessness that says he's given up and will do whatever Chris
wants.  It hurts a little, hearing that in Lance's voice, but it
means he's got what he wants and that makes him hard.

"You," Chris says, "I want you to be mine.  Mine and just mine."

Lance closes his eyes and shivers.  "Will you love me?"

Chris takes Lance's chin in the palm of his hand.  "Will you be
mine?"

Lance knows that's a no.  He says, "Yes," anyway.

Chris bares his teeth triumphantly.  He wants to take Lance just
like this.  Take Lance's physical surrender as well.  But he has
what he wants.  And he isn't going to hurt Lance any more.

"I love you already," Chris says.

Lance smiles, but doesn't open his eyes.  "I love you."

Chris' other hand comes up until both are cupping Lance's cheeks. 
He brushes a kiss over Lance's eyelids, one at a time.  "Good.  I
hated sharing you."

Lance looks at Chris.  "Are you still gonna hurt me?"

"You want me to?"

"Not like that."

"Then I won't."

"Okay.  I feel like the terms are duly negotiated," Lance says with
a smile.  "Shall we retire to the guest room to celebrate?"

Chris is all for shoving Lance's face into his crotch, but he nods. 
Dropping his hands to Lance's shoulders, he urges him up.

Lance stands and smiles at Chris.  "Yay."

Chris gets his hands on Lance's hips and pushes Lance in front of
him.  He resists the urge to grind his erection into Lance's ass. 
Now that they've reached an accord, there's no reason to.  But
still...

"Hurry it up," he growls in Lance's ear.  "Or I'm going to throw
you down and take you right here."

Lance blushes.  "This'd be bad how?"

Chris trips Lance to the floor, but gently, and follows him down. 
"It wouldn't," he says, and bites.