On Again
"Chris, man, why do you listen to this stuff? I mean, really." Almost ten p.m. and Lance had seen Chris away from the computer for maybe a few minutes earlier in the day. Pissed off followed quick on the heels of frustrated when Lance realized Chris was treating this like any other visit. Like Lance wasn't maybe headed for space in the new year. Like they were in a heavy off-again phase.
It was hard to tell when they were playing at being band members or playing at being lovers. Lance kind of got confused, but if Chris stuck his hand down his pants or slipped into bed with him, that always cleared the confusion up in a flash. But now Chris was blasting crap music and playing a computer game. Damn.
Lance fingered the CD player longingly. Chris was hunched over his keyboard, the monitor's light giving his face creepy shadows. He didn't say anything to Lance's comment but when Lance's finger paused over the "Disc 2" button, which would play India Arie, Chris took a moment from making little colored blocks explode to glare at Lance.
"Dude, you touch that player and you'll spend the rest of the night in the emergency room."
That would be better than watching your ass play stupid games rather than play with my ass, Lance wanted to say. He bit his tongue. It would probably sound even more stupid out loud.
"But...Chris, it's Eminem. Have some taste. Or at least listen to somebody who doesn't torture us in his music."
"Lance, Lansten, lover, we dye our hair funny colors, spend our days wearing pretty clothes and smiling and sometimes singing, and we suck cock. Ok, just some of us. Where is he lying?"
Oh, magic word. Lover. Play it cool, Bass, nice and slick, just like you always do.
Lance sighed. "Whatever." He wandered back to his closet. "Do you wanna maybe go out? I won't be here much longer, you know. We should call Jup, see what's going on."
Chris spun his chair around. His eyebrow arched. "Will you wear the shirt?"
Lord Jesus. Man had a one-track mind. Thank God. When he decided what he wanted, Christopher Kirkpatrick let nothing stand in his way.
Lance reached for the shirt in question as he spoke. "The shirt? What do you mean? The silver?"
Chris shook his head.
"The blue silk?"
Another shake, sharper this time.
Lance ripped his shirt over his head with his left hand and popped the infamous shirt over his head with his right hand. Black mesh, shimmery web covering his pale skin. His tongue snaked out, wetting his lips. He loved the way the fine material felt on his skin, the whisper of air between the holes making him shiver. It didn't hurt to having Chris fucking Kirkpatrick rubbing at his dick through layers of denim and cotton. Chris' eyes went all heavy and half-closed. Sexy. As. Shit. Yeah.
He started to rub his hands against the shirt, dancing closer to Chris in his chair without falling into his lap. Lap falling would come later. After teasing, and kissing, and some serious quality time. Lance had time to make up for. And memories to give Chris to make up for future times lost. Lance rubbed his nipples with his fingertips, finding the beat in the song, stupid rap, his breath coming faster as his nipples hardened.
Somewhere after innocent little boy and before being grown up, he'd started liking feeling sexy. And nothing said sexy like having Chris stare at you, boner tenting his jeans.
Lance danced around the chair, twirling into Chris' lap with a certain lack of grace as he tripped trying to bow. Except for the giggles and the tripping, Lance was pleased. Chris had left the computer behind entirely. His entire attention was focused on the squirming bundle of boy on his lap. Chris' hands zoomed to Lance's chest, taking up where Lance's fingers had left off. Rubbing the nipples, kissing Lance's chest. Moist wet kisses. Lance arranged himself so that he straddled Chris, knees crammed between chair arms and Kirkpatrick Thigh.
"Hey, dude, you trying to seduce me?" Chris touched his hand to the blonde frosty spikes on Lance's head.
Lance leaned backwards, mock offense on his face. "Trying? I'm trying? Oh man, spend a few months in Russia and people just forget all about him."
Oh, good going, Bass, get serious. Chris' face looked kind of sad now. Like Lance had just kicked his puppy.
"Chris, man, don't..."
Chris put a finger to Lance's lips. "Mr. Bass, don't apologize. You're doing your thing. We're all doing our thing."
Classic Kirkpatrick smirk and Lance felt a hand smack his ass.
"Just so long as you remember who this belongs to. In Russia or not." For a guy who insisted they 'keep their space', Chris was very possessive.
They smiled together and their heads drifted close in what Lance imagined as a really sweet romantic moment but was probably just what it would look like to anyone who walked in. Sparkly blonde boy, black mesh and black leather squirming on the lap of a sturdy dark-haired man. It was all good no matter who saw and who interpreted the scene.
Lance preferred his version.
Lance groaned as Chris sucked on his tongue. Sometimes, they had sweet sex. Most times, it was quick, these days anyway. If Lance ever opened his mouth to get serious, question the on-again, off-again nature of their 'relationship', Chris was always right there to suck those questions right out of Lance. He was lucky if he remembered his name after that.
Chris tasted like beer, something dark. Yeasty and tangy, and Lance enjoyed it. Lance caressed Chris' neck, rubbing the knobs of his spine as he relaxed into the kiss. This felt so simple and good that Lance nearly wished he could stay there until forever. No trips into space, no public scrutiny, no fellow band member scrutiny, no Moms asking who they were dating now. Just Lance's hand on Chris' body as they kissed.
If wishes were nickels, Lance Bass would be fucking Lee Iacocca by now.
Lance got a glance of them in the mirror. Vaguely silly, with Lance crouched on Chris' lap, their hands everywhere, massaging and arousing.
As Lance broke the kiss, Chris grunted and bit at Lance's tongue.
"Bad Kirkpatrick. Is that how you treat the guys you fuck these days?"
Chris' frowns were so cute. They could warn a guy off or make him want to cuddle Chris and offer him a lollipop to cheer him up. It was always a toss-up.
Lance had better ways of cheering him up than a lollipop. Lance sighed with satisfaction as he discovered his favorite lollipop half-hard. And again, Chris tasted good. Essence of Chris was one thing that Lance would never want to deal without. He licked around the head, flicking his tongue down the underside, always a sure way to make Chris come. But his knees hurt and Lance thought maybe they'd be better off on the bed.
Tugging on Chris' hand, Lance stood and in moments they were both sprawled on the bed, Lance returning to Chris' dick. Chris kindly shoved his pants and shirt off and Lance did the same, but he left the mesh shirt on. His hands played around Chris' hips as he settled against Chris' body. In seconds, Lance's lips were stretched around Chris' cock and he enthusiastically threw himself into the blowjob.
Time stretched and thinned, leaving them temporarily suspended in the moment. There would more times, other times, maybe better times, but not this one.
Lance whimpered around Chris' cock. He licked and sucked and let his lips tell Chris how much he'd missed him. Lance hummed around the solid heat of Chris. He hummed hallelujahs and please baby don't leave and gave Chris everything he could in a low even vibration. As Chris came, his hands going slack around Lance's head, Lance thrust harder and harder against the covers, the cool cotton sheets feeling like heaven against his blood-heavy dick. With a grunt, Lance came against the sheets.
He suckled Chris, aftershocks running through their bodies, tiny little pleasure messages running under the skin.
The on-again times always made the off times worth it. Always.