Pairing: JC and Lance
Words: fingertip; rim shot; crossroads; groan


The tattoo on Lance's back itches.

He wishes he could scratch it, but the itching is mostly mental,
and the possibility of revealing it not even to be thought of.  The
taboo against doing so is strong, and he must first find the person
who can complete it.

If he does not, he will not ever be able to go home again.

The needle bites.  JC flinches internally, completely calm on the
outside.  It has to be done.

Lance doesn't know what makes him drift toward the sound of the
tattoo needle.  The quiet hiss is hardly loud enough to catch his
ear and indeed, he's there before he notices the sound.  He doesn't
enter the curtained chamber, of course.  No one would.  But there's
something about it.

Maybe just his own preoccupied fascination with his new status.

The curtain swishes open and JC's left alone.  There's a man
standing there.  JC's confused, in a dull, numb kind of way.

Lance makes a gesture of apology and averts his eyes.  "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," JC says.  Modesty isn't a big thing here.

Lance glances up.  He can see the lines of the tattoo extending
around the man's arm.  He quickly looks away.  "You don't have
anything on."

"I know," JC says quietly.  "The ink..."

"I meant," Lance says, eyes down, "that I'm sorry I looked at you
with your tattoo exposed."

JC smiles a little.  "It's fine.  I'm not... it's not..." he breaks
off with a sigh.  "It's all right."

"Oh."  Lance realizes that he's made a major assumption and groans
to himself.  "I'm sorry.  I assumed it was a mark of majority."

"It, um.  It is," JC says, blushing.  "I'm just getting it.  Now." 
He ducks his head.  He's clearly older than this man, and if this
man is out alone, then he's got his own mark.  The only reasons one
doesn't get the mark on time are... less than flattering.

Lance still doesn't look up.  "But you don't mind showing it? 
That's... well, wrong, where I come from."

"I, uh.  Well.  I've been a model.  You know... a... a design
model."  Meaning someone who demonstrates different tatoos for
those who wish to have theirs elaborated after finding their
Bonded, and showing the young what a body looks like and such.  The
world is a very cosmopolitan place.  But being a model is not a
respectable career.  And hiding public things about oneself is a
sign of immaturity.  Basically, JC's screwed.

Lance's eyes widen.  "A model?  That's..."  He can't quite wrap his
mind around it.  It's just so outside of the value system he was
raised with.

"Yeah," JC says quietly.  Hence the tattooist going for a break in
the middle of JC's marking, and not covering him, and not really
asking what he wanted and... well, a lot of things.

"Are... do you have many other tattoos?"

JC laughs.  The modelled tattoos are inked on, but not pressed into
the skin.  If they were all tattooed in, he would be no good as a
model very quickly.  "Don't tell.  I'm afraid of needles.  Um.  You
can... come in here.  If you want to.  It's okay to talk to models. 
In public."

"Oh.  So that's not a real tattoo then."  Lance looks up.

"It is.  It's my... my real one."  He reaches out, trying to snag
a towel to cover the marking that's distressing the other man. 
"I'm JC, by the way."

Lance quickly looks away.  "Lance.  I just got mine, by the way."

JC smiles a little.  "Yeah."  He covers the right side of his body. 
"I'm, like... covered now."

Lance looks up.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to make you
uncomfortable.  It's just..."  He makes a weak motion.  Surely JC
understands.  Only the tattooist and the one who completes it look
at an unfinished maturity mark.  To do otherwise is an act of rape,
and to leave one exposed would only be done by a person with no
morality or maturity at all.

"I'm not.  I just... you're nice.  I don't want you to be
uncomfortable."   JC smiles.  "How's that for circular?"

Lance's eyes widen.  "You *want* me to look at it?"

JC thinks he might be missing something.  "I like you."

"Yes, but..."

The tattooist returns.  "Find yourself a friend, model?"

JC flinches.  "This is Lance."

"He's not a model now," Lance says, beginning to be convinced that
this man is as much at fault for JC's degradation as JC is.  JC has
obviously been taught that he has no value.  Being a model is bad
-- pretending to be marked for other's benefit -- but at least that
is only pretending.  And it is necessary.  But this?  "He should be
treated with respect."

JC doesn't say anything.  The tattooist doesn't say anything.  He
starts the needle and finishes the mark.

Lance averts his eyes.  When the man steps back from JC, Lance
closes his eyes and pulls the towel over JC's arm.  "Do you have
anything to put on?"

"Yes."  JC sits up, carefully keeping himself covered, and gets his
clothes.  He takes out his wallet and pays the man before getting
dressed.

Lance stiffens at that indignity as well.  To have to *pay* for
treatment like that?  "Can I accompany you anywhere?"

"I-if you wish to," JC says.  He pulls on his clothes, tattoo
safely hidden under a long-sleeved shirt.

"I'd like that.  If nothing else, to ensure someone at least treats
you with courtesy."

JC blushes.  "You're very kind.  Where are you from?"

"The Far Corsandian Seas.  It... it's customary to wear clothing
only when needed for protective purposes.  I can't return until
after... because..."  He shrugs.  The itching in his tattoo has
transferred to his fingertips.  He rubs them against his leg.  "I
would be a pariah.  And very uncomfortable as well."

JC giggles a little.  He bumps his shoulder against Lance's as they
walk.  "Would you like to go out to dinner?  Or I can cook, if
you'd prefer to be somewhere you can shed *some* clothes, at
least."

"I'd like that."  Lance smiles at him.

JC smiles back and leads the way to his home.

Lance wonders what the itching means.  It's getting worse.  As they
approach a crossroads, he asks, "As a model, do you get to find out
more about the mark and what it means?"

"I stand there while they lecture the school kids," he offers.

"Oh.  So not a whole lot then."

"They, uh.  The new laws.  They started telling kids a lot.  A
lot."  JC blushes furiously.

"Yeah?  I got told some, but they left out all the important parts. 
Like how I'm supposed to find the person who completes the mark. 
Or how the mark gets completed.  That kind of stuff."

JC lets them into his apartment.  "Well... the finding the person
is kinda luck.  You sort of follow the pull, they say.  It feels
different for different people.  Like being tugged, like heat or
cold in the mark, like itching or tickling."  He shrugs and starts
taking things out of his refrigerator.  "The, um, completed part...
they leave that all vague and mystical."

"Like itching?" Lance asks, suddenly feeling a little weak.

"That's what they said."  JC frowns and rolls his neck.  "I didn't
know tattoos burned like this."

"My tattoo was itching a lot before I met you.  Then it stopped. 
It's just my fingers itching now."  Lance pales.  "Oh, please. 
Tell me it isn't that awful tattooist.  I couldn't stand that."

JC smiles.  "He's got a bonded."

Lance sags with relief.  "I wouldn't have been able to take that."

"I don't think that things like that are meant to happen," JC says
thoughtfully.

"But.  That means that..."  Lance's eyes are wide.

"Hmm?  Do you like pasta?"

"Is that important?"  If he likes pasta, is he meant to be with JC? 
Or if he dislikes pasta, does that mean that?  Or something else?

"For dinner?" JC queries.

"Oh!  I haven't really had it enough times to tell."

"Haven't had pasta?" JC asks in a suitably horrified tone.  "We'll
have to fix that.  Um.  If you flip that switch next to you, the
windows'll seal, and you'll be free to strip off whatever you like. 
I'll join you when I've got this cooking.  Burning water on my bare
skin is *not* one of my favorite things."

Lance flips the switch.  It's still colder in here than he likes. 
He's used to very warm weather, not these temperatures.  "It'll
have to warm up a lot more first."

"Hmm?  Oh, thermostat around the corner, there."

Lance hesitates.  "Are you sure you want it that warm?"

"Yep, it's fine."

He turns up the heat and goes into the kitchen.  The itching gets
worse the closer he is to JC and he isn't sure if he's scared or
excited about what that might mean.

JC rubs at his arm.  It keeps burning.  He hopes he's not allergic
to the ink.

"JC... can I... would you mind if I... I..." Lance reaches out to
JC, then drops his hand, appalled at his manners.  "I'm sorry."

JC looks up, turning away from the food.  "What?  What's wrong?" 
He reaches out, rubbing his hand over the air above Lance's
shoulder.  "What is it?"

Lance looks down.  His ears are red at the rim.  Shot through with
color, he says, "I wanted to touch you."

"Oh.  Well, that's okay.  I don't mind."

Lance shivers, this time with the innate reaction to knowing that
JC is unbonded and used to being casually touched and seen and
handled.  He touches JC's hand lightly.

JC gasps and finds himself falling against Lance's chest.  His
whole body burns, the heat spreading out from his arm.

Lance is shocked by JC's reaction, but even more so by his own as
his other hand comes up and both fasten hard on JC.  He can't let
go.

JC shudders silently, tucked against Lance's chest.  His hands are
on Lance's sides, feeling his ribs expand as he fights to breathe. 
It feels so right, and so hot, and JC keeps thinking that he
shouldn't be touching Lance like this.  JC's a model.  He shouldn't
be touching anyone at all.

"JC," Lance manages to squeeze out.  "Do you feel this?  Is it all
right?  I have to... oh!"  He shudders.

"I'm so hot," JC says.  "Why am I so hot?"

"You...  you and me... You're my bonded.  It's the only thing that
makes sense."

JC whispers a sad sound.  "I'm sorry!  You're so nice, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry?"  It's a blow straight to the core of him, and Lance is
forced away from JC, the rejection incredibly painful.  "You don't
want...?"

JC's crying already, wanting the touch back so, so much.  "I'm a
model.  You... you deserve someone so much better."  JC reaches
out, his hands empty and wanting.  "I'll be so good, I promise. 
I'll do anything you want me to.  Please, please, I'm sorry."

"Don't care about better."  Lance is on his knees without any idea
of how he got there.  He knows he can't stand without JC.  "You. 
Need you."  He traps his hands under his thighs to prevent himself
from reaching out.  Now he knows why some people just never come
back after they're marked.  He won't be going back if JC truly
doesn't want him.  He won't be living if that happens.

JC falls to the floor, crawling into Lance's space.  He lays his
head on Lance's thighs.  "I need you, too."

JC's touch breaks Lance's paralysis.  He crumbles over and around
JC.  "You.  Has to be you."  His hands are frantic to be on JC.  He
pulls at JC's clothes until he touches skin.

JC returns the favor.  Even in the grip of this heat, he's
tentative about this.  He's stood in front of hundreds of people,
naked.  He's demonstrated things he's never actually done.  But
he's never, in real life or pretend, taken someone else's clothes
off.

Some flesh isn't enough.  He pulls at JC's clothes, trying to get
him completely naked.  He wrestles with JC's shirt and gets it up
over one arm.  The new tattoo is laid bare.  Lance stops dead,
staring at it.

JC struggles to get more of his clothing off, but is trapped. 
Lance has his arm stretched to the side.  JC can barely see the ink
from this angle.  "What?"

"You.  You're... marked."  Lance turns wild eyes on JC.  "You're
*mine*."

"Yes."  As soon as Lance says it, JC knows it's true.  And Lance's
fingers cool the fire in his skin.  It must be true.

Lance rubs his fingertips over the tattoo.  Color floods into the
mark even as Lance watches it.  "Mine.  My bonded."

JC cries out sharply, his body arching in pained pleasure at the
touch.  The mark is still fresh, newly pressed into his skin, and
yet Lance's touch on it makes him lose track of reality with
pleasure.

The itching in his fingertips is draining out of him, like it's the
color flowing into the tattoo.  With its disappearance, though, he
becomes aware of the taut aching in his shoulders.  Lance sits up,
not wanting to lose contact with JC, but absolutely having to strip
off his shirt right *now*.

As soon as Lance's stomach is bare, JC presses his lips there. 
It's kissing and tasting and something else all rolled into one. 
He helps push the shirt up and off Lance's shoulders, following the
motion and getting to his knees.  He keeps tasting Lance until he
gets to the other man's shoulder and glances over at his back. 
"Oh..." He starts to look away, but... "Oh my.  Oh.  So pretty." 
His fingers, arms wrapped around Lance, trace the edges of the
tattoo.  The color grows stronger.

Lance arches into JC's touch, curling around to try to get more of
JC's hands on his skin.  "JC... please?"

JC presses his palms over the mark.  "What, Lance?  What should I
do?"

JC's hands are flat against his back.  Lance lets out a cry, unable
to say anything else.  It's... he doesn't have words for how it
feels, but he'll never not know what JC feels like, never want to
be without him, and never have to doubt that JC is there with him. 
Because this is JC, spilling into him, completing the loop and
imprinting himself and now Lance is JC's as much as JC is Lance's.

It's flowing and warm and cool at the same time.  JC pants against
Lance's shoulder, nearly sobbing with the feel of it.  It's like
being surrounded and supported by warm water, and being the water
cradling a body at the same time.  It's like when he's brought
himself pleasure in the past, but instead of tension simply flowing
out, it cycles back in.  Instead of caring for his own pleasure,
he's pleasured by Lance's reactions.  It's more than anything JC
ever imagined, in all his years of modeling.  It's more -- and
less.  There's no burst of light, no undying declarations, no roses
and savagery.  And none needed.  Everything is set, just like this,
with a simple touch.  Right.  No doubt.  Just belonging with
someone and having someone belong with him.

Lance reaches back to grab JC's arm.  It's an awkward movement, but
he hardly notices.  He has to touch JC and has to touch him
*there*.

JC slides, molding to the side of Lance's body instead of the
front.  They can reach each other's marks now.  JC's fingers trace
patterns he can't see, but can feel on some deeper level.  He knows
he's tracing the lines of Lance's tattoo.

Touching JC and JC touching him restores some kind of balance for
Lance.  Allows him to speak again.  "Now I know why no one is
supposed to see or touch a mark."

"Hmm?" JC murmurs.  He's resting against Lance, trying to cope with
everything he's feeling.

Lance's fingers keep stroking JC's tattoo -- no, his bond mark. 
There's no need to keep it hidden now; no one else can complete it. 
Lance is sealed there forever into JC's skin.  "I know why no one
is supposed to see a mark of maturity before it's completed."

"Why?" JC asks.  He's surprised by how drowsy and pleased his voice
sounds.  It almost makes him shiver.

"So no one can accidentally complete it or damage it.  Because
they're touching you and who you are when they touch it."  The
completed bond mark will only ever respond to Lance, he knows.  He
finds that deeply satisfying.

JC purrs quietly, happily.  "I must have set a record, there. 
Finding you before I even had the mark finished."

"Probably.  I got lucky finding you like that."

"I'm the lucky one," JC whispers.

"You're coming home with me," Lance says.

"Okay," JC replies.  "What will I do there?"

"Whatever you like.  You can't stay here."  The last is spoken with
a tone of absolute confidence.  "Life's a lot different there than
here.  Not so... hard or cold.  As long as everything gets done,
people do pretty much what they like.  What they're good at."

"I'm not good at anything but looking nice and following
directions," JC admits.

"Following directions is fine.  You'll fit in a lot of places.  My
mother raises children.  My sister is a dancer.  I trade."  He
doesn't mention a father; to not know one's father is a common
thing and not worth speaking of.

"She raises children that aren't hers?" JC asks, interested.

"Yes.  People who want to, who are good at it, raise children."  He
senses JC's confusion.  "Sometimes people decide they want children
and then they change their minds about it, or they turn out to be
really bad at it.  Or maybe they're bonded and they end up having
children because they're together, but they don't have the time or
inclination to raise them.  Or sometimes people help out other
people.  Like us.  We wouldn't be able to have children.  If you
decided you liked raising children, you might decide to do that. 
Or you might look for someone else to help you have the child. 
Things like that."

"Oh.  That makes sense.  Here, you either stay with your parents,
or go to the Compound."

"You went there," Lance says, feeling his way through the newness
of the bond, but with increasing certainty.  "That's why you don't
know what you're worth and why you became a model.  Because you
didn't think you were good for anything else."

"It's what my career test said."

"You're coming home with me," Lance says.  "And you can be as
beautiful as you like and as unclothed as you like and no one will
ever look at you or speak to you like that man did again."

"What man?"

"The tattooist."

"The way he treated you.  I didn't like it.  At all."

JC frowns a little.  "He wasn't bad to me, though.  Not really."

"He was rude and cruel."

JC snuggles closer to Lance's side and doesn't respond.

"No one will treat you like that again.  I promise.  People behave
differently where I come from."

"I won't know how to act," JC says, worried a little.

Lance tries to pull the taller man into him.  "It'll be fine," he
croons.  "You'll see.  They're nice people.  Easygoing.  Polite. 
Even more than me."  He laughs a little.  "I'm considered to be a
little rude and abrupt, because I have to deal with outsiders."

"What do you do there?" JC asks.  He nuzzles Lance's neck.  The
heat seems to be building in him again.

"Trade.  Find out what they have and want and try to get what we
need and want in exchange for what we actually have."

"That sounds interesting."

Lance smiles.  "Not many people think so."

JC giggles.  "I'm supposed to think so.  Um.  Not that I was
lying."  He eases back just a touch, realizing... well, a lot of
things.  Like he doesn't know Lance's last name and he's not even
sure what part of the planet they're going to live on.  But mostly
realizing that he's really hard and pressing into Lance's side.

"You're amazing," Lance says.  He moves his head so he can lick
JC's tattoo.

JC moans, his body thrumming as he presses back against Lance. 
"Please... Lance!"

Lance feels just what is pressing into him.  "JC?" he questions.

JC bite his lip and stills.  After a moment he whispers, "Yes?"

Lance twists and reaches around to touch JC, hand cupping JC's
erection.  "Do you want to?  With me?"

"Please?"

Lance nods.  "I want to."  He unties JC's loose trousers and puts
his hand inside.  He's a romantic, he knows.  He waited for his
bonded.  He explores JC's shaft with tingling fingertips.

JC whimpers and kisses Lance's jaw.  "Oh... oh, yes... please," he
murmurs between kisses.  "Bed?"

"Bed," Lance agrees, withdrawing his hand.  He can't resist licking
JC's tattoo again though.  "I can't wait to show you hammocks."

JC stumbles to his feet, tugging Lance up with him.  "What's a
hammock?" he asks, kicking off his pants.

"It's like a bed that you hang between two trees."

"Does it have a mattress?" JC asks, hands caressing Lance as they
move to the bedroom.

"Not exactly.  You'll like it though."

"I think I'll like everything with you," JC says.  They're in the
bedroom and he falls back onto the bed, pulling Lance down over
him.

Lance has shed his pants on the way there.  He wriggles on top of
JC, once again lost in the pleasure of skin-to-skin contact.

JC's arms wrap around Lance, hands caressing his tattoo again. 
"Lance, oh.  So good," he breathes, pressing up urgently.  He's not
done this, but he doesn't think Lance has either.  It's strangely
reassuring.

Direct contact with the tattoo is incredibly stimulating.  Lance
writhes, and his lips fasten on JC's mouth even as his hand reaches
for JC's arm to touch his.

Everything blurs into touch and sounds and the feel of it all.  JC
remembers crying out, and Lance crying out.  Lance tastes like
honey and he comes quietly in contrast to JC's keening cry.

In the aftermath of it all, Lance is left feeling finally warm
enough.  He pulls JC's arm over himself to stay warm.  JC *is*
warmth.  "Come home with me.  Please."

"Of course," JC replies.  He tugs a soft blanket over them.  "I
love you."

"I don't love you.  I don't think love is the right word for how I
feel.  Like you're part of me.  The best part of me."

"I love you," JC repeats, firmly.  "I've spent years and years
thinking about what it would be like, and this is it.  It's safe
and warm and right.  And if that's not love, I don't want to know."

"I meant it's something more than love.  Not that it isn't love,
but it's more than anything I've ever known as love.  I want to say
I love you and over and over, but it's just not good enough."  He
kisses JC anyway.  "But I love you, too."

JC smiles.  "I'm happy."  He grins, huge, out of control smiling. 
He feels his eyes squinch up.  He probably looks stupid.  "That
felt *really* good, too.  Thank you."

"Being with you feels good.  Better than anything I imagined."

"I don't have a very good imagination, I think.  But this felt way
better than I expected."

"Do you have anything you need to do before we can go?  I want to
take a nap and then go home."  Lance is completely still except for
his breathing and his fingers brushing JC's tattoo.  Lance's bond
mark.  "I want to take you home and show you off to everyone and
eat forever and take you swimming in the ocean and, oh,
everything."

"I have to cancel my lease here," JC says.  "I'll need to get my
money to pay the breaking fee."

"I have money," Lance says.  "I've been wandering a while, but not
so long that I've run out.  Whatever you need, you can have."

"I think you should keep it.  For the getting back to your home
plans, if nothing else.  My money, well, it's from being an object. 
I don't want it any more."

"It's there to be used," Lance says simply.  "What is left over
will go back to where it came from to be used by others.  We can
get home easily.  But if you don't need it and have enough, then
that's fine.  I just don't want you to have to worry anymore."

JC kisses Lance's forehead.  "Tell me about your home.  Our home,"
he requests.

"It's very warm.  You'll probably think it's hot.  But there's
nearly always breeze from the ocean, so it isn't an unbearable
heat.  There's a lot of sand -- most people live near the shore
because of the better weather.  Some people live entirely on boats
though.  For meals, it depends.  If I'm going to be very busy, I
make arrangements with someone else.  Trade them cleaning for it. 
Or find some item that they really want and trade for that. 
Otherwise, I pick or catch something and prepare it myself.  Feasts
are different -- everyone who can helps out.  It's... I know it's
different because I see so much of the outside world.  People don't
cooperate.  They fight more."

JC blinks at Lance.  "Can I take care of you?  Like your house and
things and food and clothes?"

"I don't really have a house," Lance says, smiling at him.  "But,
yes.  If that's what you like to do, you can do it."

"Where do you live?" JC asks, shocked.

"I have a hammock and a place to hang it," Lance says, finding the
energy to nuzzle JC's cheek.  "If it's raining too hard, there's
several large community buildings to take shelter under."

JC moans softly.  Which reminds him, "What about, um... um,
intimate... things?"

Lance's brows wrinkle.  "What about them?"

"If you sleep in public... where, or how, or.  Lance?" JC ends,
embarrassed past words.

"Oh," Lance says.  "Um.  No one really cares.  You just... go a
little aside, so the children don't make fun of you, and that's
that.  People usually respect your privacy, although if you do
things really publicly -- like at a feast, for instance, they'll
tease you."

JC shivers.  "Oh."

Lance changes his position, trying to shelter JC.  "If you don't
want to... if it bothers you, we can try something else."

"Here, um.  People don't, in public.  That's why it's such a bad
thing to be a model.  To show off your body when it's meant only
for, well, intimate things.  Bonded things."

"It's different at home.  People are always naked or nearly naked." 
JC has to have noticed that Lance is tanned all over.  "Except for
those with an uncompleted mark, of course.  No one would ever look
at that."

"That's okay.  That's how models are.  I don't know if I could have
sex in front of people, though.  I'll try," he adds, eyes shining
with devotion.  "Anything."

"You don't have to.  You don't have to do anything you don't want
to."

"I want to be with you."  JC blinks.  "And, um.  I should probably
tell you that my only hobby is sleeping.  And I want that nap you
mentioned now."

"You can do a lot of napping at home.  Napping is a very popular
hobby."  Lance kisses JC.  "Sleep.  I need to, too.  And I'm
looking forward to waking up with you."

"Yeah."

Lance tucks his hand more securely around the arm of his beloved
and bonded and relaxes for sleep.