All The Broken Children
Lance is starting to miss the relative anonymity of Russia. He never thought he would have ever gotten used to it but now he'd take it over this any day. There's too many people and too much noise for his liking. He used to be the kind of guy that thrived in this sort of environment, somebody who lapped up the attention, but now?
Now he'd rather not be at an after party for the fucking AMA's. Surrounded by people he doesn't know who are all talking to him like old friends. Smiles so wide he swears that if they didn't ship botox into LA by the truckload their skin would split and crack open. Instead there's no movement at all, no elasticity and Lance is flashed yet another smile that may as well be painted on a corpse.
He barely responds and almost literally claws his way past a blonde woman who must be at least in her late forties. Her yellow dress is so tight that she resembles a banana and Lance has a feeling that peeling's the only way she'll get out of that dress later on. It'll probably end up discarded on some overweight Producer's bedroom floor or in the back of some limo. A bright yellow semaphore flag that screams ‘easy', or ‘use me, I'm yours'.
Lance isn't quite sure which. He could never even understand Morse code. In all honesty, the things he learned at Boy Scouts when he was younger are probably the sort of things that got the ‘human-banana' into this party in the first place.
When he pushes past her she presses herself luridly against him. Lance isn't sure if he should be more offended or repulsed but he's leaning towards the latter as her hand trails over his thigh, unnoticed by the average observer. She leaves it there, only for a moment before it's pulled back, resting against the hard jut of her hipbone.
Her smile, snake-like, clinches his reaction and he turns away from her in relief.
Lance can't quite figure out why it is that everybody at the Teen People after-party are nowhere even remotely close to their teens.
He isn't quite sure how he managed to become the one who had to stay with the dregs of the LA party scene. If Chris had been here there's no way he would have deserted him like all of the others had. Not that Lance is one to hold a grudge; but next time somebody needs to make an appearance, it damn well won't be him.
The Ivar is plastered with lurid posters, brand names almost sprayed on the glossy plastic surface covering the walls. He can't move an inch without having some corporate slogan almost shoved down his throat.
Jup was indulging his latest celebrity crush and had practically attached himself to Nelly only about five seconds after they'd arrived. Giggling coquettishly, Lance was pretty sure someone was going to have to speak to that boy about being so obvious. Justin pretty much assumed he was impervious to almost anything and apparently included rumours in that category too. Not that Lance thought many people would be genuinely shocked at that news but he wasn't really sure that any of them wanted to see that sort of tableau plastered across tabloids from Los Angeles to New York.
Or even further. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Justin had left the party with Nelly, one arm wrapped around him, their bodies so close they couldn't even be pried apart.
Joey leaving is more of a surprise. He must be on one of his numerous short-lived ‘I will behave' benders. They of course never last long but when Joey is being responsible he thinks he can make up for all the rest of the time with quantity not quality. Joey whispers in Lance's ear that he's on his own even before Lance has a moment to ponder what exactly Justin and Nelly had been up to, the two of them barely out of sight. Apparently being closely followed by Joey.
That still leaves JC of course. As long as Lance can get a few drinks in him before the boy inevitably begins to talk about Dallas, or the new site, Lance's night won't be a complete waste.
But JC presses his hand against Lance's arm and stares at him earnestly. He tells Lance that one of them should at least stay to keep up appearances.
Why it had to be Lance still confuses him. Mind you, leaving JC alone is probably a no-no, with or without Tara for ‘protection'.
So Lance finds himself holding two champagne glasses, his own - almost empty and JC's; untouched and slightly warm, small fingerprints imprinted in half-moons on the body-heated glass. Lance downs them both in quick succession and is in search of a waiter for another, by the time JC leaves.
Lance takes a moment to survey the room, allows himself to take a really good look at the people milling around. A room full of plastic people like some sort of petting zoo sponsored by Lego. The sort of people that aren't really built to be looked at too closely, only from a distance or sideways, because if you look really closely it's easy to see the over-tight skin, or the thick film of make-up that's used to conceal. Or hide.
Lance is surrounded by people in plain view who are trying to hide.
He almost spills his drink when the woman next to him laughs in an exaggerated voice. She's sidled up next to a rather plump man in a double-breasted jacket who Lance is sure he should probably recognise. Lance doesn't quite understand why you'd want to surround yourself with star-fuckers but then he thinks about Freddy and decides he's not really one to talk.
He finishes his drink instead.
He's thinking about snaring another from a passing waiter when the crowd thins a little. An opening as the crowd-sea parts. Lance catches a familiar face, exaggerated smile that fades as Lance raises one eyebrow in greeting, starts to smirk a little as Nick Lachey's eyes go from soft and friendly to wide open, slightly shocked. Lance keeps looking until Nick flinches slightly and pulls his gaze away, a flash of white and Lance can see Jessica too.
He can't help but wonder to himself that the only thing faker than the way they look is their so-called marriage. Nick notices with a quick movement of his eyes that Lance is still watching and quickly grabs for Jessica. His arm goes around her waist and his grip's so tight Lance is sure he can see the white of his knuckles. It'll take more than close proximity to fool people though. Lance thinks he could maybe have some fun there but it's not really worth the effort and besides he's had Nick already, so what's the fun in that?
And fun is definitely what's needed tonight.
He doesn't move from his vantage point and feels even more in control when he takes another drink in his hand, a sip of champagne that drips coolly down his throat. Lance loves the way the bubbles burst in the heat of his mouth and savours the dry taste on his tongue as he swallows. He loves it almost as much as he loves the way he makes Nick Lachey look so uncomfortable.
"Hey, you're one of those NSync guys, right?"
An almost-familiar voice breaks his concentration. Lance slowly turns towards the intruder, recognises him immediately. Lance takes another sip before he responds.
"And here I thought you were all beauty and no brains, it's nice to see you don't feel the need to prove me wrong."
Tom Welling looks even prettier up close.
Lance takes advantage of the lack of response to walk right past him, almost touching. Lance has to will himself not to look back. To not turn and stare at the smooth tanned skin of Tom's face, cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol and the heat of the room. Lance wants to wonder if something else has made Tom flush crimson like that too.
He doesn't look, because at this very moment, Lance wants nothing else but to find out.
Lance goes back to watching the rest of the crowd that mills around. Nobody stays too long in one place; instead they migrate around the room like a flock of birds.
When Lance takes a sip of his drink, newly refreshed, he notices Tom watching him still, partially concealed over the shoulder of the woman that Tom isn't really listening to. Lance stares back and Tom blushes and looks away. Lance thinks to himself that maybe he's had enough of this sort of thing. Being away from all these pretty vacuous people has meant that this sort of thing's wasted on him. Or he needs to *get* wasted, one of the two. Of course it does have its benefits.
Tom's facing away from him now, occasional glances stolen back in Lance's direction. Lance doesn't take his eyes off him and when Tom bends down to kiss somebody on the cheek; Lance is afforded a rather spectacular view of Tom's ass, enveloped in dark blue denim.
The party circuit definitely has its benefits.
Lance downs what's left of his already heated champagne. He discards the glass on one of the waiter's trays before replacing it with another full-glass, moving his way across the room. Tom can sense his movement and turns his head slightly, watches Lance's approach out of the corner of his eye. Tom's cheeks are flushed crimson again and there's a rush of blood to his already full lips.
Lance simply ignores him and continues to walk right past him. Lance swears he can hear a short intake of breath as he almost brushes against Tom's arm. There's little space for movement in the press of bodies so their apparent closeness would go unnoticed.
By everybody but Tom that is.
The noise of the crowd fades as Lance moves further away from the party. Down a corridor, past a couple, fumbling not particularly discreetly. The girl's face blanches as she senses Lance's approach but the man's hands don't still and instead continue their travels further under the sequined skirt his ‘date' is wearing.
Although from the look of surprise on the girl's face, Lance is pretty sure she's somebody else's date entirely.
The cool air that brushes against Lance's face feels refreshing and he almost drinks in that first gulp as he walks out the exit door. It's dark but the LA night is lit up with the reflection of blinking neon and street lamps. Lance can't help but feel less restricted now that he's free of the confined space of the party indoors.
He fumbles in the small bag he carries for a cigarette, pulled from a crumpled pack of Marlboro Lights. He has more trouble tracking down his lighter, however. He seems to have accumulated so many things this evening; one phone number scribbled on a folded napkin, a small square of torn silver paper with the letter ‘L' on it that JC had found earlier and insisted he should keep. Plus all the usual ‘rubbish' he's forced to carry around.
The glass he holds in his right hand of course doesn't help his progress. He considers putting it down when he mistakes a condom for his lighter, but a noise from behind causes him not to bother.
"Do you need a hand with that?"
Lance looks back over his shoulder. Tom stands in the doorway, shiny metallic cigarette lighter in one hand.
"Sure."
Lance lets Tom light the cigarette, flash of light illuminating Tom's hands as Lance moves forward. The tip of his cigarette flares a vibrant red as he inhales. Lance watches Tom light a cigarette of his own before replacing the lighter back in his front pocket.
Lance exhales a small puff of smoke that fills the distance between him. He doesn't speak and instead watches Tom as he smokes.
"Sorry about acting like such a dork before."
Lance doesn't respond and merely shrugs his shoulders before taking another drag on his cigarette.
Tom looks only vaguely uncomfortable, less so than he had inside. Lance leans against the side of the wall and continues to appraise the man before him. Tom is tall and Lance can see despite the large shirt he's wearing how well built he is. But mostly Lance is fascinated by how large Tom's hands are. Lance follows their movement as Tom brings the cigarette he's smoking back up to his mouth and inhales deeply.
Tom notices him watching and his eyes dart everywhere except at Lance.
"I would have thought you wouldn't have been supposed to smoke? Given the effects on your voice n' all." Tom still sounds nervous.
"Dude, this is LA, nobody's allowed to smoke."
Lance smiles at Tom before taking another sip of champagne and when Tom smiles back at him, Lance is surprised that he doesn't look away. "Anyway, those rules don't apply to me, just the others. I'm pretty much free to do what I want... and who I want."
Lance places particular emphasis on the last few words and he can see in the dim light coming from the inside of the building that Tom is blushing again. His eyes downcast, hidden under thick lashes. Tom is worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he steals glances up at Lance.
Lance just smiles at him; the fact that Tom looks so nervous is just egging him on.
"Anyway, you're one to talk. Surely smoking ruins the whole teen heartthrob image? Spoils the all-American boy thing you've got going on?"
"Hey, I don't have to be squeaky clean all the time."
"Really?"
The ash on Tom's cigarette has almost burned out; it flakes off towards the end and floats unnoticed towards the ground. The smile on Lance's face grows bigger as Tom shifts uncomfortably, his weight going from one foot to the other.
"In fact I'm pretty much known for being quite the rebel."
Lance can't help but laugh as Tom finishes speaking.
"Somehow I find that a little hard to believe. You don't really seem like the James Dean type to me. Well, except for the looks."
"I've done my share of rebelling."
Lance straightens up from where he's been leaning and moves a little closer, not much distance separating the two of them. Enough still, though, so that Lance doesn't have to look up too much to see into Tom's eyes.
"I don't quite know if the occasional illicit cigarette qualifies as rebellion." Lance speaks slowly, drags out the vowels as he speaks. He can see Tom's breath catch as he takes a small gulp of air. Frankly Lance is surprised he hasn't turned tail, skulked back inside to play in much safer waters.
"Hey, I only pretend to be squeaky clean on TV."
"So what else are you pretending to be?" Lance waits until Tom looks at him before he takes another sip from his glass, raises it up to his lips and slowly drinks in the still-cool liquid. He can feel Tom watching his every move and when he moves the glass back from his mouth he's not surprised to find Tom still staring openly at him, mouth slightly parted and Lance is sure Tom's breathing is a little quicker now.
"I mean, you seem pretty much like Clark Kent to me, all-American hero... who exactly do you change into when the costume comes off?"
"I'm... I‘ve done my share of bad."
Lance isn't entirely convinced that what Tom says is true. "Bad's a relative thing, Tom. It takes a lot for somebody like me to think you're being bad."
"Yeah well, what would it take for you to think I was being bad? For me to shake the whole Clark Kent thing?"
"Well now, if I told you, that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" Once again Tom doesn't look quite like he knows what to say in response.
"If you want to shake that Man of Steel reputation you just let me know, okay?" Lance finishes his drink again. He's almost-drunk and he can feel the effects of the alcohol through his body. Although when Lance looks at Tom, a quick glance under his lashes, he thinks the way the other man is reacting is what's causing that heady feeling he can feel travelling throughout his body.
"Well, I need a refill, it's about the only thing that's making this party bearable." Lance moves past Tom, back inside and already he can hear the noise growing. Snippets of half-muffled conversation and movement from around the corner of the end of the corridor. The temperature rises as well, the cooler night air losing against the humidity from inside.
Lance doesn't stop walking until he hears Tom call out his name, a break in his voice makes Lance's smile grow even larger.
"Hey, wait up, Lance."
Lance has only moved a few feet inside before he stops. He doesn't turn around, however, instead he continues to face away from the other man.
"Uh... I'm not as clean cut as you might think."
"So Tom, who exactly are you trying to convince of that? Me, or you?" As he starts to speak, Lance turns around. Tom is closer than he'd expected, less than a foot away, his cheeks flushed like they always seem to be. The shape of his body obscures the inky darkness of the night sky behind him and when Tom shifts slightly, from one foot to the other a small patch of light shines over his shoulder into Lance's eyes. Causing him to squint.
The light in his eyes blinds him slightly and he closes them to ward off its brightness. When he opens them again Tom's face is even closer to his own. So close in fact that Lance can feel Tom's breath against his own mouth, their lips almost touching. Lance wonders if Tom is waiting for an invitation and he thinks about pushing forward, closing that small distance but Tom finally moves, presses their lips together.
Lance is pleased no invitation was required.
Tom's mouth is hot against his own; his full lips press against Lance's and after only a moment, Tom presses forward with his tongue, wanting more. Lance parts his lips, the heat of Tom's tongue against his own as it snakes inside his mouth. Lance can't help but moan and push himself forward a little, lost in the moment and that fact surprises him somewhat.
Tom tastes sweeter than Lance had thought he would. It could be the champagne that he's been drinking, but Lance is pretty sure that it isn't, that Tom really does taste that sweet. Lance is sure if he closes his eyes, Tom will kiss him again and then Lance can tell for sure.
Except he doesn't. Tom's no longer touching him at all and Lance's eyes flash open. A small flicker of thought passes across Lance's mind and he wishes things were easier. Like they used to be. When the why of things didn't matter so much and instead you simply fell into bed together in a cheap hotel room somewhere in Germany.
But this is LA and everything is more complicated.
Lance is reassured by the fact that Tom looks to be coping even less than he does. More uncertainty passing across his face and Lance remembers he's not 17 years old anymore, so this time he circles one hand around Tom's waist, the other moves up to cup the back of Tom's neck and Lance pulls him closer once again. They've gone from not-touching to lewdly pressing as much of their bodies together as they can.
Lance kisses him back, really kisses him. Presses Tom back against the wall with his body, pinning him. Tom whimpers into his mouth as Lance rocks against him, laps at those sweet lips. It doesn't take long and Lance can feel Tom grow hard against him, thick length of his cock against Lance's body. When he feels it, Lance grinds himself against Tom, presses him against the wall until Tom's moaning into his mouth as they kiss.
One of Tom's hands moves tentatively around Lance's body, more confident now and Lance can feel Tom press the open palm of his hand against Lance's ass. When Tom squeezes tightly, Lance thrusts forward.
After a moment, the two stop kissing. Tom's head is tipped slightly back, his mouth open as he drinks in large gulps of air. His lips form a dark red smear across his face: dark, the colour of cherries. Lance is fascinated by Tom's mouth.
He licks a trail up Tom's neck, presses upward so he can rest his mouth against his ear and whispers hoarsely. The two are still touching so it doesn't matter that Lance's voice is quiet and ragged.
"So you wanna see if we can really work on dirtying up that squeaky clean image?"
After he finishes speaking, Lance moves his mouth back to Tom's neck. Soft open kisses against the exposed flesh as he pushes Tom's shirt open with his free hand. Exposing more tanned and golden skin.
Tom doesn't respond until Lance softly bites the thick ridge of muscle on his neck, made even more noticeable by his heavy breathing. All Tom does in response is moan and push forward. He drives his body against Lance who simply grinds himself back against him.
"What... what did you have in mind?" Tom's voice is broken and Lance has to take a moment to make out the words.
"Hmmm, how about you let me fuck you?"
"H-here?" Tom almost squeaks, his voice sounds loud in the empty corridor.
"Here seems as good a place as any." Lance continues to lick a wet trail up the side of Tom's neck, the flat of his tongue lapping at the warm saltiness of Tom's skin. One of his hands works its way between their bodies and Lance takes a moment to explore the hardness he can feel, barely concealed.
"But... but, anybody could walk out here." Tom still can only speak in broken sentences, long drawn out vowels that more resemble those that Lances uses.
"See that, Tom, is what makes the whole thing so bad."
Another press of his body and Tom simply rides the movement, pushes down as Lance grinds the hardness of his own cock against Tom's.
"You do know I'm married?"
Lance is surprised Tom can even remember such unimportant details. "Oh honey, you won't be the first married man I've fucked and you most certainly won't be the last."
Lance takes a moment to pull back and waits for Tom to respond. His eyes drift open slowly, like his lashes are suddenly heavy and Tom's movements are reminiscent of all the zero-g training, Lance was forced to complete. Slow, almost-liquid movements as Tom's body and mind veer off in different directions.
Tom still has his back against the wall and an expression on his face that screams out his discomfort. That look alone would be enough to make Lance want this but when Tom shifts uncomfortably, a small patch of skin is exposed above the line of his belt. A small V of tanned flesh that captures the light and Lance's attention along with it.
So Lance pushes forward again, pins the taller man against the wall. When their bodies touch, Tom's eyes dip closed, his mouth parts and he pushes forward slightly. Lance can see a flutter of movement across his face as Tom tips his head back, moans slightly, breath caught in his throat.
Lance slides his hand between them, Tom pushing into him, wanting contact. Lance obliges him with a squeeze, wraps the palm of his hand around the thick outline of Tom's cock, through the thick layer of material. Tom moans and bucks forward slightly.
Tom's taller than he is, but the way Lance presses him against the wall, holds him upwards with his own body, means they're almost at the same level. Lance has to inch up a little more to put his mouth up to Tom's ear but that just drives the length of his own cock against Tom's.
Lance rests his mouth against Tom's face and exhales against his skin.
"Now, I'm gonna fuck you. I'm gonna fuck you right here, where anybody could see us. And when I've finished fucking you? You're gonna beg for me to do it again."
Lance swears he can feel the shiver that passes through Tom's body and that only makes Lance smile even more. One side of his mouth twists up as he smirks, his lips still almost touching the surface of Tom's skin. Lance feels hotter than he should be, even in the small confines of the corridor. He parts his mouth and swipes the flat of his tongue against Tom's neck. Tom shudders underneath him and Lance licks again as he works his hand under Tom's belt, lets just the tip of his fingers skirt under the waistband of the jeans Tom is wearing.
Another soft exhalation from Tom and Lance pulls a little roughly. His grip tightens on the front of Tom's jeans as he pulls the other man hard against him. Tom rocks a little, allows himself to be pulled and ensures that he presses against Lance's body.
Lance decides out of necessity to put a little space between them, though he doesn't particularly want to and he gets the impression it's not what Tom wants either. He moves back so he's able to work the buckle of Tom's belt and when he does Tom follows his movement, slides forward and Lance can feel the press of warm hardness against his fingers from where they're still tight inside the waistband of Tom's jeans.
Lance chuckles softly to himself, the look of want that plays across Tom's face is definitely enticing. His head thrown back, eyes closed. He almost looks like he can't wait.
Lance decides to oblige and he pushes Tom back a little as he works at the belt to his jeans. The leather feels cool against his skin in contrast to the warm kiss of Tom's body as it grazes lightly over the skin of Lance's fingers. Without thought, Lance tears at Tom's belt, pulls it loosely from the loops of his jeans and discards it absently behind it.
A hollow thwack as it lands on the wall opposite, Tom's eyes flash open, hooded with desire. Lance is still smiling as he works at popping the buttons of Tom's jeans with one hand as Tom's arm trails up Lance's own, following lines that Tom can't see but doesn't need to as he maps the path he makes with his palm.
Lance lets himself be pulled in for a kiss, one hand still pressing inside the now open V of Tom's jeans and as Tom's tongue slides into his mouth he gives his cock one smooth gentle squeeze with his hand. Tom's mouth opens and Lance swallows his moans, sucks Tom's tongue inside his mouth.
Lance doesn't forget his goal, no matter what the distraction. Instead, he edges his hand around Tom's body, presses the material of his jeans and boxers down. Lance gives a soft squeeze of Tom's ass and that earns another long drawn-out moan that he swallows like liquid. Tom sounds like Justin when he comes: noisy, desperate for attention. But mostly hungry for more.
In fact that seems to be just what he wants as he kisses Lance hungrily. One hand strokes Lance's back, pressing himself close. Lance has both hands behind Tom and each one grips onto Tom's ass as he grinds himself against him.
Lance is the one to break away first and Tom seems reluctant to let him go. Soft kisses on his mouth, a swipe with his tongue and as he finally pulls away, Tom bites Lance's bottom lip hungrily between his teeth.
The two of them are smiling as Lance turns Tom around, pushes his feet apart a little with a tap from the side of his foot. Tom's jeans have slipped, exposing a hint of white flesh in direct contrast to the golden hued skin that Lance could see before. Tom leans against one arm, rests the side of his head against the flat of his arm as he looks back at Lance smiling. His other hand grabs at Lance's wrist and pulls him in close.
Lance grinds himself against Tom's still jean-clad ass while Tom pushes himself back in response to the circular motion that Lance makes.
Lance is hard and his cock feels heavy inside his pants, he thrusts forward mimicking the motion that Tom seems so hungry for. Lance places one hand on each of Tom's shoulders and as he pushes himself up against Tom's ass he pulls Tom back a little.
As Lance grinds against him, Tom's head is thrown back, his mouth open, eyes pulled tightly closed in concentration. Tom's bottom lip is caught between his teeth and Lance can't help but want to lick it, to take that soft flesh between his own teeth and to bite softly on it. Except that would mean moving and Lance doesn't think he could manage that quite now. That would mean stopping what he's doing and he knows that's not an option.
Instead he pulls Tom back harder and starts to rock. A backwards-forwards motion that drives him harder against the flesh of Tom's ass.
Tom now dips his head forward, lets it fall loosely in front of him in the space between his arms. Lance follows the curve of his heavily muscled neck with his eyes. Soft curls of hair on his neck are beaded damp with sweat and when Lance pushes forward against Tom, he can see the hard muscle of Tom's neck bunch up in concentration.
Tom has an almost ‘out of control' look on his face, so wanton, and whenever Lance can manage to focus himself, to actually see the way Tom's full red lips part as he moans it just pushes Lance on. Makes him want more.
Tom has this look about him that just screams take me and Lance is more than happy to oblige.
It takes a moment for Lance to realise that Tom is even talking. It starts out as a moan but after a few seconds Lance realises Tom is almost begging.
Lance fumbles quickly with his bag, finally finds what he wants and then with one swift movement pushes Tom's jeans as far down his legs as he can. Lance takes a moment, stares at the hard firmness of Tom's ass. So white in comparison to the rest of his body, firm and muscular like the rest.
"Mmmm. Perfect." Lance almost feels like he's discovered some curio in an antique store. Undeniably perfect, rare and all his.
Lance squeezes some lube on his fingers and rests the tip of them against Tom's ass. A soft hiss escapes Tom's throat as he presses the coolness against him. Lance starts to circle Tom, uses both hands to spread Tom's ass as he kneads the flesh. Fingers tantalisingly close and every time he almost touches, Tom twists his body, tries to drive himself onto Lance's fingers.
Tom moans hungrily as Lance rubs the pad of his thumb directly across Tom's hole, a sharp exclamation and Tom's almost still. Lance takes a moment before he runs his fingers from the bottom of Tom's ass all the way up, then down again, until he finally plunges his finger inside.
When Lance removes his fingers, Tom moans even more loudly. His head whips back around and he stares back at Lance. He moans and his body still follows the rhythm that Lance had created, small circular movements back, Lance can tell Tom doesn't want him to stop.
Quick movement and he slides a condom on his cock. Leans his weight against Tom and places the head against Tom's ass. Lance can't help but join in with Tom's moan as he feels the heat against his cock. Lance takes a moment to tease him, sliding his cock up and down Tom's ass, until Tom starts to make this little sound in the back of his throat that Lance can feel travel through his whole body.
Lance slides forward slowly, the rich heat of Tom surrounding him, sliding himself in deeper until he's pressed flat against Tom's back. Lance pushes at Tom's shirt, follows a similar movement with his own until they're flesh to flesh. He can feel the muscles in Tom's back work as he gulps in air. Lance starts a small slow movement, twists his hips slightly. Starts to drive himself deeper, and Tom pushes backwards with each thrust.
Tom's so amazingly tight and Lance almost loses himself in just these tiny movements, the two of them are barely moving, but Lance can feel every bit of it. Tom uses his extra height to push his weight backwards, Lance supporting him as Tom starts to fuck himself, Lance's cock buried deep inside him.
Lance isn't sure how much time has passed but he slowly begins to increase the movement, rocks just his hips back and forth. Steadies his upper body against the reassuring weight of Tom.
Lance circles one hand around the front of Tom's waist, his skin is slightly damp and Lance leaves trails of sweat on Tom's skin. The pads of Lance's fingers work the tanned heat of Tom's hipbone. Lance fans his fingers out as he slides his hand up Tom's chest, under his shirt. He doesn't for a moment stop the movement he makes with his hips, the movement that Tom echoes as he thrusts himself backwards.
Lance squeezes the hard musculature of Tom's chest with his hand. Takes one already hard nipple between his fingers and squeezes slightly. When he does, Tom begins to moan again, slow and drawn-out between short intakes of breath. Lance can see him circle his lips with his tongue, pushing the fullness of them with the tip. Lance rolls Tom's nipple with one finger and teases it to an even harder point as he elongates the thrusts he makes. Slows his movement right down and slides almost all of the way out of Tom before slowly pushing himself back in.
The rocking motion he makes reminds Lance why all those hours and hours of dancing lessons were worth it all along. Perfecting movements so similar to sex have many more uses than when on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans. Although it wouldn't quite matter where they were, as Lance slides forward and Tom twists slightly, Lance is pretty sure it wouldn't matter how many fans were watching he'd have to take Tom just like this.
He glides his hand down the front of Tom's body, over hard chest and gulping belly, Lance can feel the faint traces of soft hair that start just bellow Tom's belly button. Lance follows that line with the flat of his hand and after a few moments can feel the hard solid length of Tom's cock. Lance cups his hand underneath, takes Tom's balls in his palm and lightly squeezes them. Tom hisses in some long drawn out language that Lance can't understand and stills his own movement.
Tom's cock feels long and heavy, slightly slick in Lance's hand as he moves. Lance circles the head of Tom's cock and lets the other man fuck himself slowly against it. Lance moves his hand down; circles Tom's slick shaft completely, follows that movement to the base and then back again. Lance's hand is still sticky with lube and it glides along Tom's cock.
Lance continues to rock forward, driving himself inside Tom, as Tom fucks Lance's hand. When he's fully inside him, Lance rolls his hips slightly and mimics the movement with his hand. Tom moans out something that Lance thinks might be his name and "oh god" but he's not quite sure.
The next time he does it, Lance can't make out any words at all; instead Tom just bites his bottom lip between his teeth and whimpers. The look on Tom's face alone makes Lance want to do it again.
Lance starts to speed his movements a little, to use Tom's own weight to fuck him. Lance still presses against Tom and there's a small patch of skin at the back of Tom's neck that's exposed. Lance starts to nuzzle it, pushes his face against the heat of Tom's skin. He can smell sweat, almost spicy and clean smelling on his skin. Lance begins to lick at the side of Tom's neck, long flat strokes with his tongue.
The look and touch of Tom's skin reminds Lance of warm summer's days spent in the sun. Of happy times spent in Orlando, when things were simpler. When all he had to worry about was convincing his Mother that this was the best thing he could do and that things would work out for the best.
It reminds Lance of falling in love for the first time. So different to the continual winters of months spent in Russia.
Tom's skin is sun drenched and tastes warm like summer as Lance licks it. He kisses a small trail up Tom's neck, drinks in that sunshine and heat and bathes in it.
Tom dips his head back to allow Lance better access, twists his neck slightly, offers himself. Lance doesn't hesitate and moves his mouth up to Tom's lips, they look an even darker shade of red than they had before, Almost the colour of blood in the dimly lit corridor. Beautifully full and Lance suckles them into his mouth, kisses the edge of Tom's lips as he starts to increase his movement.
Tom's tongue snakes inside Lance's mouth and he sucks at it hungrily. Lance can hear Tom's breathing starting to hitch and Lance can tell he's close. Lance increases his own movement, his slick hand working Tom's cock hard and fast as he fucks him harder and deeper. Lance kisses Tom, their mouths are pressed together hungrily as Tom comes against his hand. Everything is slick and wet and unbearably fucking hot and it only takes a few more strokes before Lance can feel himself coming.
Lance throws his own head back as he continues to ride Tom, tight around the hard length of his cock. Lance's eyes flutter open and he's looking straight at the other man, whose mouth is twisted slightly in a smile. Tom moves quickly and kisses him, softly at first on Lance's mouth as he struggles to breathe, then more hungrily as his tongue dips between Lance's lips.
The two of them moan into each other's mouths and Lance is once again reminded of warm summer days, heat of the sun against his skin.
After a few moments, Lance moves, allows Tom to turn himself around. Lance feels exhausted, unable to really move yet, like the heat of the sun has melted him. One of Tom's hands strokes up and down Lance's arm and helps to steady him.
When Lance gets his eyes open again, Tom looks in a similar situation, back against the wall, jeans still pooled loosely around his feet. Where Tom's shirt is open Lance can see his chest dip and rise as he slowly breathes in.
Tom's face is mostly obscured in shadow but his mouth, which looks slightly dewy still seems so prominent. Lance catches the small flicker of Tom's tongue between his lips and Lance really wants to know what it would feel like to have those lips wrapped around his cock, to have that tongue lick him all over.
"That was... wow."
Lance is surprised when Tom speaks, his attention distracted by images of the other man on his knees in front of him, taking him deep into his mouth, lapping at the head of his cock. His hands grasping handfuls of Tom's curls as he slams into that warm, wet mouth over and over...
"Yeah... it was."
Lance can only smile as he finally manages to pull his own pants up, tuck himself in before doing up his fly.
"Yeah, it was definitely wow."
Tom starts to chuckle a little, Lance has to admit he's disappointed when Tom pulls his jeans back on and buttons his cock back inside, Lance is almost tempted to move and stop him but he isn't quite capable yet and the one thing they don't really have is time.
"I probably should be going, Lance." Tom looks up at him as he buttons back up his shirt, one button towards the bottom is missing and Lance has a pretty good idea that's his fault. Lance can't help but smile as Tom gives up on buttoning up his shirt. When Tom straightens up there's a small patch of tanned muscle that can still be seen as he moves.
Whenever Lance catches a glimpse of it he thinks about licking it.
"So next time I'm down from Vancouver, you think we could?" Tom lets the sentence trail off.
Lance smiles and nods.
"Thanks Lance."
"Sure thing, Tom."
Lance watches Tom walk back to the party, watches him disappear around the corner before he even thinks about moving. He wonders if he's put in enough of an appearance to satisfy JC and whether that means he'll be able to leave now?
Lance really wants another drink though, and he probably should give Joey a call. Let him know how good it was to fuck Superman.