[Fic - Marked Chris/JC/Lance]
Dec. 4th, 2002 02:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymWritten with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jchalo.
This is a follow-up to Belonging. NC17, with warnings for bdsm -- mostly D/s, but mentions of s/m play.
"How long of a ride is it out there?" JC settles back on the leather seat and tries to ignore the flutters in his stomach. Chris leans in to nuzzle his neck, sending little shivers tripping up and down his nervous system.
Lance strokes his thigh. "Joey said a little less than an hour. They're kind of...out...because it's really exclusive."
"Private, right? For, um. Tonight?" He shivers again and tells himself it's the hands touching him. It isn't--anything else.
"We'll have a private room, yeah." Lance shifts on the seat and reaches up to stroke long fingers across the edge of the black leather collar JC's wearing. The leather is warm against his skin, pressing just tightly enough that he can feel it when he swallows. No constriction, just--light pressure.
"You still want to go through with this?" Chris tangles small fingers into JC's hair and strokes the nape of his neck. JC shivers again and sighs softly. "C? You need to tell us if you don't want it. Because otherwise, baby--it's gonna happen." JC nods, slowly, and leans backward when Chris tugs on his hair gently, tipping his head back.
"I'm nervous," he says softly, acutely aware of Lance warm behind him, fingers still rubbing over where the collar and his skin meet. "Like--nearly sick to my stomach nervous."
"We got something for that." Lance shifts again and rummages in the carryall setting beside him. JC hears the crinkle of plastic, and the flick of a lighter before he smells the pungent scent of pot. "We'll just get you to the point you don't care about being nervous, baby." And JC has to turn, has to watch the way Lance licks at the paper before taking a long, long hit, pulling smoke deep inside his lungs. He holds it in, then reaches for JC, leaning forward to press their mouths together.
The smoke tickles his palette as he sucks it in, feeling the first wave of vertigo rush through him as he swallows, breaths in Lance and weed and oh, Chris is leaning on his back, pressing hard against him. Hot, hot, reaching for the joint. JC misses Lance when he pulls back.
Chris takes a deep drag and JC leans into him to take the smoke from his mouth, and feels Chris' fingers warm against his jaw; stroking his skin slowly as he feels the pot spiraling into his system. Taking the edge off the nausea that curls deep in his belly when he thinks about what lies ahead.
"It'll be ok," Chris whispers, lips moving against JC's, fingers still stroking gently. "I promise." And JC nods, closes his eyes. He trusts them. They'd never make him do anything he didn't want to, that he wasn't ready for. But this-- he shudders, icy prickles dancing along his skin.
Another hand on his face...Lance this time, and JC turns to face him; meets the steady green gaze. "If you're not--"
"I'm sure." JC swallows, then nods. "I am. I'm sure."
"Gonna look so pretty, C." Chris' fingers edge up under his shirt hem -- though calling it a shirt is probably a generous use of the term, JC thinks -- and stroke the skin at the small of his back. His breath is warm in JC's ear, the scent of pot strong. "A pretty design to go here--" Fingers tease lightly over skin, over the ridge of vertebrae there. "It'll hurt, and it'll hurt when we touch it...and you'll look so pretty."
JC knows if he turns and looks, Chris will have a dreamy, far-away look on his face. He likes Lance to hurt him, sometimes. JC isn't entirely sure how he feels about that, but he's slowly learning how sometimes hurt wasn't...hurt. His rings have taught him that.
Almost as if Lance is reading his mind, he holds the joint to JC's lips, reaching to tug lightly on one ring as JC inhales. The sudden burst of sensation -- newly healed, still tender, and Chris and Lance haven't missed an opportunity to tug and twist on them, adding to that pleasurepain thing he's still working out -- combined with the pot swirling into his system makes JC shift restlessly, heat beginning to burn into his blood. Behind him, Chris snakes one arm around so he can tug on the other ring. JC can feel Lance and Chris' fingers brushing against one another as they stroke him. He can't stop the soft moan that filters out into Lance's mouth with the smoke.
"Feel good, baby?" Lance asks, twisting the ring gently between long fingers. "You like that?"
"Yeah," JC breathes, as shiverspikes of heat twist through him, centered in his nipple, spreading outwards in redgold pulses. He leans back against Chris, solid heat at his back, spine arching as Lance's fingers continue to pull, twist, tug on the ring. When Chris slides warm hands over his cock, achingly hard in soft black leather, JC hisses out a breath, teeth bared.
"Oh, yeah. He likes it." The smirk is evident in Chris' voice, and JC pushes backward just a little, enough to feel how much Chris likes it, too. "Sexy little bitch," Chris whispers, just before his teeth catch JC's ear, a sharp little nip and tug, tongue slicking over the slight sting. "I know how I'd like to see you...stretched out, cuffed, mouth open, ass open...mmm. Wanna watch Lance fuck you."
He's stroking JC a little faster now, fingers fondling, teasing, and JC moans, turns his head toward Chris, wanting to taste him, taste his mouth. Lance holds the joint to JC's mouth, and this time he sucks in the thick, heady smoke, holds it until his head swims. When his eyes sting, he kisses Chris, breathes the smoke into him. It's not unlike sharing the same wine glass, just--more intimate. And with each breath, each toke, each kiss, JC feels a little more of the nervousness slip away, feels it replaced by heat, like liquid sun moving through his veins.
"Touch Lance, C. Touch his dick, like I'm touching you." Oh, god. He could grow hard and come just from Chris' voice like this, pure sex filtering into his ear and slithering down his spine, radiating outward into each crevice of his body. He does what he's told, reaches out, feels Lance thick and hot under the leather he's wearing. He splays his fingers, cups and outlines Lance until he's completely hard, throbbing beneath JC's fingers.
"Yeah...that's it. Just like that." Chris' voice is an octave or two lower than usual; rough with smoke and lust, and the sound of it is driving JC crazy. Together with the feel of Chris' fingers stroking his cock through the leather-- touching, teasing -- and the pot in his system, he feels like he's floating in pure energy. Even thinking of what lies ahead no longer makes his stomach twist and flip; but just adds to the swirl of anticipation ghosting along his skin.
He feels Lance's fingers close over his; frowns for a moment. Until he sees Lance smiling, hears him say, "I want to fuck you, C. I want to fuck you while Chris watches us."
Now his stomach twists, but it's a good twist. One last toke on the joint before it's gone, burned down to nothing. He feels hazy, but energized, his skin tingling and burning. Rippling.
Chris unfastens JC's pants and his cock springs out through the fly, thick, hard, the tip stickywet, smeared with pre-come. When Chris dips the tip of his fingernail into the small slit there JC hisses and shudders backward, biting down on his lip. "God--"
"You like that." Chris bites down on JC's neck and liquid fire races through him, blood boiling now. He nods against Chris' chest and edges one hand up under his shirt to tug on one ring. Lance laughs, low and thick and the sound of a zipper coming undone sounds through the small space.
JC thinks he can hear himself sizzle, just watching Lance take his dick out of his pants.
"Off with these," Chris says quietly, shoving at JC's hips. JC shifts forward until he's kneeling, mostly, resting some of his weight on his arms. Lance's dick is right there, thick, hard, so beautiful, and JC whimpers, wanting to taste. Behind him Chris tugs, pulling his pants down.
"Please--" He asks softly, looking up at Lance. Hunger's a live thing inside him now, clawing to get out, burning where it touches the insides of his skin.
"Don't make me come. I want to come in your ass." And Lance pushes his head downward, fingers fisting tightly in JC's hair.
The taste of Lance in his mouth like this, the scent of him when he's so close...these are things that should be strange, but are instead strangely familiar. There are things that JC knows about him -- things like the little intake of breath Lance takes when JC nips gently at the head of his cock; the way his hips twist as he fucks in and out of JC's mouth, the sound he makes in the back of his throat when he's close to coming.
But it's the things that JC doesn't yet know that make dark fire flicker in the pit of his belly. Like just how far Lance will push him...and how far he'll let himself be pushed. He shivers as wild heat races through his body, concentrates on the feel of Lance in his mouth, his fingers twined into JC's hair, flexing and contracting with each thrust.
"That looks so fucking hot," Chris says, and JC can feel his breath warm and damp against his skin; the wet slide as he licks his way down JC's back. Along his spine, down, down and -- oh fuck, feels so fucking good -- suddenly there's the slick heat of his tongue flickering against the ring of muscle. JC presses back, almost instinctively, wanting more. Wanting to be filled the way Lance's cock is filling his mouth.
He hears the soft sob, but doesn't realize it's him, not at first. Oh, god, Chris' tongue, and it's filling him, pressing him open. He wants to rock backward, be impaled, feel Chris all the way up inside him, tongue slick and wet, licking at him. JC raises one hand and tugs again at his rings, gasping around Lance's dick when fire tears through him again, arcing outward from each one.
When hands splay across his ass, stroking and spreading him wider, JC shudders, feeling horribly, wonderfully exposed. When Chris sits back just a little and rubs one finger over him, teasing, JC whimpers softly and pushes backward, trying to get something, anything, inside him. Chris laughs low and leans in, biting and sucking at the muscle, licking around it, licking into him, until JC doesn't feel anything but wetslickhot within him.
"Oh, fuck, Chris--d'you know...god..." JC hears Lance groan, feels the fingers in his hair tighten, and its almost as if the tingling in his scalp becomes electricity, starting there and shimmering downward, filling him. He relaxes his throat and feels as much as hears Lance growl, feels the thickness of his dick slip further down into his throat, stretching it.
Then there's the long, slow moment when Chris' tongue is suddenly gone, and JC twists his hips, almost frantic with frustration.
OhgodpleaseChrisplease...IwantIneedplease--
A rush of silvery heat with the slide of Chris' fingers into him, no teasing now, just slick fire twisting inside, opening him up. Not nearly enough, too much...all at once, and JC's panting as he fucks his hips backwards into Chris' thrusts. He snakes a hand between his legs, groans when his fingers close around his achingly hard cock. It'd be so easy to make himself come, two, three short strokes would be all it'd take, but he won't let himself. No matter how much he wants, he needs--
He bites down hard into the soft flesh of his lower lip as a shudder goes through him, molten heat in his veins, burning into his cock.
I could make myself come. It'd feel so good...
"C'mon, up here." Lance's voice, and it's not a question. JC moans as Chris slides his fingers out, pushing back again, but there's nothing there but Chris' soft chuckle.
He wants to say something snarky, something smart, but there's Lance, sprawled out on the leather seat, waiting for him. He hasn't taken his pants off, nor even pulled them down. He's unzipped, dick standing tall and thick, gleaming slickly in the dull darkness inside the limo. Waiting for him. While JC watches, Chris spits into his palm and spreads it thickly over Lance, making him shine wetly. JC swallows and shudders.
Chris helps him shift up onto Lance's lap, steadies him while he spreads his legs and moves backward.
Strong fingers hold his hips tight while JC sinks down onto Lance, groaning when his body opens slowly, stretching wide. It's always a shock to take Lance; he's big, bigger than Chris. Not just long, but so thick. It hurts, at first, the sharp pain of stretching, accommodating, and JC shudders through it, breathes fast and hard. Lance reaches up and pulls on his rings, tugging him forward to lick a kiss onto his lips. JC moves forward, shifting so he's resting more-or-less on his knees, then moves upward a little before sinking back down, hearing his groan mix with Lance's growl, and feeling the burn and bite of pain change slowly into the hot sting of pleasure.
"Fuck," Chris breathes, "you should fucking see yourselves." JC hears the soft slide of a zipper, and turns to see Chris watching with dark eyes, cock in his hand, stroking slowly. He leans forward to brush his mouth across JC's, tongue snaking past his lips; JC can taste himself and the thought burns whitehot and electric in his head.
He rides Lance slowly, feels Lance's fingers curled tight around bone, guiding him, holding him. When JC twists his hips, Lance growls low in his throat, his head falls back and his eyes flutter closed. There's pleasure coiled in his belly, and with each thrust downward, each slide back up again, JC can feel it pulsing outwards, redgold tendrils spreading along his skin, behind his eyes.
He wants to watch, to see the images he can hear -- Chris and Lance kissing, while Chris strokes his cock, while JC rides Lance -- but he's afraid he won't last if he can see and hear. He wants to touch himself so, so bad, but if he does, it'll be over. The slow, complete immersion in pleasure would end, because he's so close to the edge now he can see speckles of color swimming in the blackness behind his closed eyes.
"You'd look...so good, with a ring here--" Lance gasps the words softly, pinches the head of JC's cock, smearing sticky fluid over hot skin. JC groans and tightens around Lance, remembering the hard, sharp bite of the needle through his nipples, imagining it biting into his cock. He groans and pants out something, hears Chris curse, but he can't process anything but the visual of needles...of stinging bites into his flesh, sharp points devouring him, sending wide, hot streaks of pain all through him...pain that melts into pleasure so intense, so whitehot, so bright, he wants blackness all around him to feel it completely.
"Please," he groans, rocking back downward, Lance's fingers still pinching him, fingernails biting into delicate, thin skin. Beside them Chris moans, and JC knows he's looking, watching, imagining Lance hurting him. Maybe hurting them together.
Closeclosesocloseohgod... He wants to come, wants it so badly, he's shaking. "Please...Lance...Sir...please...."
"What?" Lance half-snarls, half-growls, "what do you want? Tell me. Tell me what you want." And he thrusts his hips up sharply, matches it with another pinch to JC's cock. JC gasps as pain, pleasure, both; all melded together in shimmering twists of heat spiral though him. He reaches for the rings, tugs them, feels the splinterspikes of sensation sparking outwards from his nipples.
"I want," he hisses, teeth slamming into his bottom lip as Lance thrusts upwards again, "I want to feel you coming. In me. And I want--" He shudders, the words tumbling in his head, colours sparking off them -- wantneedpleasenowohpleasenowplease -- "I want to come. Oh god Lance, please. I need--"
Another sharp thrust; Lance twists his hips, and JC can feel the bite of his nails into soft flesh, around the curve of his hipbone. He feels Lance's body go completely still, and then there's a long, low groan and just the sound of him as he comes in thick, hot pulses is almost enough to send JC over the edge. Red streaks at the edge of his vision, and there's not enough air in his lungs. His entire body thrums with pure need, his skin is too tight, too hot.
Ican'tIhavetoIneedohgodIneedIneed--
"Touch yourself," Chris gasps, and JC can hear his breath against his ear, can feel the heat from his body as he presses close, so close, stroking himself hard, fast. He wraps his fingers around his own cock, pulling, twisting, nothing in his head but white noise and heat.
ohgodohgod...
He comes hard and fast, it slams into him, taking all the air from his lungs; a thin breathy cry all he can manage. He's arching helplessly as his belly pulses, and there's light sparking behind his eyes, splinterpoints of colour threading through the blackness. He tastes copper and realises his teeth have sliced into his lip, slick blood coating his tongue, filling his head. Behind him, beside him, he hears Chris, feels him watching.
"So pretty," Lance croons softly, sliding a finger through the mess on JC's belly and chest. He licks at it, then presses his finger to JC's mouth. "Lick. Taste yourself. Taste how fucking hot you are, baby."
He holds Lance's eyes with his while he licks, then sucks the finger deep into his mouth. It tastes like Lance, like pot, like come, stickysaltybitter. He can taste the heat, taste the wild hunger in the flavors coating his tongue, underscored by the sharp tang of blood from biting his lip. In his mind he sees them as different shades of red, except for the blood, which he colors golden, for the sharpness that slices into him.
Lance takes JC's face between his hands then and licks his mouth, chasing the flavors with his tongue. JC shudders and leans into the kiss, licking almost frantically at Lance's mouth, still hungry, body throbbing so deep, so heavy, it's like the bass beat at a club or concert, felt as shocks through the soles of your feet. He whimpers when Lance pulls back with a sharp bite to his sore, swollen lip. "Clean Chris up."
The taste of more hunger on his tongue, when he slips from Lance's lap and kneels between Chris' wide-splayed legs, cupping his spent cock gently, stroking it lovingly with his tongue. Chris moans very quietly, a pure, high note that echoes around them, and JC shivers, feels his cock throb once, then again, still needy, still wanting.
He licks along Chris' belly, tastes sweat and heat, and the sharp taste of Chris himself, slick and familiar inside his mouth. Chris reaches down to place warm fingers on his face, slips them inside his mouth, and JC sucks on them, whimpering softly.
"We've really got you worked up, huh baby?" Lance chuckles, deep and low against his ear, stroking gently over JC's ass, fingers brushing against his cock. "You want more?" He slips the fingers of his other hand under the edge of the collar around JC's throat, and tugs him upwards, across his lap once more; kisses him roughly. JC moans as Lance's tongue strokes inside his mouth, hot, urgent.
Then gasps as Lance shoves him, sends him sprawling to the floor. "Get dressed."
Wild heat colours JC's face as he reaches for his clothes, and something dark and hot flickers in the pit of his belly, prickles along his skin. A feeling that he never knew he wanted, that he never anticipated he'd crave. His cock throbs again, and he closes his eyes as pure need settles over him in dark, shimmering waves he can taste.
It's hard to dress inside a car, even if it's a limo, so JC has to bend and twist into various shapes to get his pants tugged up. He's kneeling again, about to fasten them, when Chris stays him with a hand on his wrist and a quick look at Lance. "Wait. C'mere. Closer, C."
And there's something about the heat shimmering in Chris' eyes, soft brown gone dark and sparkly, watching him with a predatory look. JC shivers and swallows, creeps closer. His eyes slide closed on their own when Chris runs warm hands down his chest, over his belly, over his cock. It doesn't take but a stroke or two before his hips snap forward to join the rhythm, and he's moaning, achingly hard in an instant, his heart pounding hard enough he can feel each thud against the wall of his chest. He doesn't see, but hears the rustling sounds, then shudders when cool leather is stroked up and down over the silky skin of his erection, dragged roughly over the sensitive tip, catching on the slit there. JC bites down on his lip again and moans, the words coming out in a stream of sound.
Ohfuck, please, hurts...good. Hurts good...god...
Chris strokes him again, over and over, fingers cupping, teasing, driving him upward again. When JC's gritting his teeth, so hard his stomach and legs ache hotly, Chris snaps the ring around his balls, separating them from his dick.
The sudden rush of pressure makes JC lightheaded, makes the dark seem light, makes it seem tinged with colors. He shudders and reaches for himself, shudders again when Lance slaps his hand away. "Finish dressing. We're here."
He reaches for his shoes, but Lance kicks them away. "Barefoot," he whispers, leaning low against JC's ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. His fingers slide under the edge of the collar again, fingers warm against JC's skin, and there's the soft snick as his leash is attached. JC shivers, heat prickling through him, and hisses softly with bared teeth when Lance stretches out a foot lazily to stroke between his legs, pressing the hard, aching flesh there.
"Should we make him crawl in?" Lance asks Chris softly, and JC can see the dark smile that flickers across Chris' face at the thought of it; his belly twists and his cock throbs. "It'd be so pretty," Lance is murmuring, fingers stroking along JC's arm now, raising goosebumps where they touch. "You on your hands and knees, crawling along. So, so pretty." He tugs on the leash, a short, sharp jerk, and JC gasps as he concentrates on staying upright.
Chris opens the door, and JC blinks as light filters into the gloomy interior. He sees someone standing there, and it isn't until they speak that he realises it's Joey. Heat sparks through him head to toe, shame prickling behind his eyes even as arousal spikes deep and hot in his belly. Joey's never seen him like this, so completely unguarded, so completely filled with dark hunger he still doesn't fully understand.
I've never seen me like this, echoes that. He's lived it, experienced it, but never seen what it looks like. What he looks like. He lifts his eyes upward to Joey's slowly, wondering what he'll see there.
Heat. Heat, and need, and something fiercer, darker, than he's ever seen in Joey before. Am I seeing his reaction? Or am I seeing me, mirrored back in his eyes? Like Chris', Joey's eyes are normally soft brown, sparkling with mischief and fun. Tonight they burn him, searing heat licking at each spot they touch along his skin. JC reaches out and strokes his fingers over his arm, the skin warm under the pads, but not hot. Not feverhot like it feels. He closes his eyes and imagines he glows. Neon redorangebluewhite, the hottest colors, the bits of fire and flame.
"Holy fuck."
And his face burns again, a different sort of heat, that spike of shame, the twist of arousal, and when he looks just beyond Joey's shoulder, there's Justin, eyes lined and dark from a black liner pencil, staring at him with eyes that glitter.
"Don't fucking touch," Lance snaps, voice low and dangerous as he leads JC past Justin, pulling the leash tight, and JC has to concentrate hard on keeping his footing. He feels the barest hint of Justin's fingers against his skin, on the small of his back as he walks past, catches a glimpse of the smile playing on his lips. A smile that vanishes when Lance stops and turns suddenly, hand at Justin's throat in a flash, face just inches away.
"I mean it."
JC can see the defiance in Justin's body, matched by the possessiveness in Lance's. Me, he thinks, that's about me. The thought is almost too much for him to process, and he pushes it down inside himself for another time. Another time when the blood's not pounding in his head, his cock, arcing through him in splinterbursts of colour.
Chris falls back behind JC, insinuating himself between JC and the other two; touches the small of his back, whispers quietly into his ear. "You okay?"
His hand is reassuring, the warmth of it something apart from the hot blood thrumming all through him, turning his world into a flashing strobe of colors and sensations. JC nods, slowly; as far as he can tell, he is. But--there's so much he's feeling now, he can't process it hardly at all, much less quickly. He's still--he can hardly breathe, thinking about the look in Lance's eyes, the snarl that erupted from his throat. The hand wrapped around Justin's throat. He stutters and misses a step and Chris catches him, holds his arm, making a quiet noise to Lance to stop for a minute even as he turns JC to face him.
"C-chris?"
"Mmhmm?"
Please...please just know what I want...because I don't know what I want. I don't know what I need...it's overwhelming, all this hunger and need and emotion and sensation, I feel like I'm drowning inside of myself, please...
"I--" His lip hurts when he bites it, and he winces, sees Chris see it. Warm hands touch him again, stroke his face, soothing even while arousing. He doesn't think he can be touched at all right now and not be aroused. His world is nothing more than raw, hungry nerve endings, screaming into his brain, demanding more than he knows how to give. Chris steps in front of him, reaches out to touch, and JC catches his hand, fits it gently around his throat and closes his eyes, shivering.
They stand like that for a long moment, Chris holding him, not pressing, no pressure, just touching him, while JC leans into it, breathing slowly. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Lance presses against him from behind and nuzzles his ear, strokes his chest gently. When the shivering stops they let go of him, stepping back just enough to give him breathing room.
"Okay, now?" The deep, soft rumble ripples through him and JC nods. Yes. He is. He turns when Lance tugs again on his leash, following behind him, Chris still at his back.
It's dark, so dark inside the club, velvet blackness and soft, blood red, and JC feels like he's stepped inside his own head. Even the muted throb of the music is echoed inside him, reflected in his own heartbeat that pounds through him.
Chris and Lance stand close to him, close enough that he feels the heat from their bodies, shimmering off them in waves and thrumming into his own skin. Energizing him, feeding the dark heat that's once again slowly uncoiling through him. He feels safer in here, calmer, the earlier blind panic dissipating with each and every breath he takes.
"You want to look around?" Chris asks softly, his voice barely a touch of breath against his ear, and JC nods. He wants to see this place, to explore where he's going to get his next marking. The thought of that, of what lies ahead, brings a sudden rush of adrenaline and he draws in a deep breath, feels his heart hammering in his chest.
I'm ok. I'm ok. I can do this.
There's a moment of hesitation on both Chris and Lance's part, he realizes, when they start further into the club. It doesn't take him but a moment to realize that one of the main...attractions...of this place is the very centralized whipping post. Posts. There're more than one.
There's a man -- he thinks it's a man -- handcuffed to one post, his arms spread wide, up and out from his body, and even from as far back as several people, JC can see the fine trembles working their way through the man. He stares, looking at the raw marks on his back, the streaks blood red, but not wet, not bleeding. They look painful, but pretty. Another form of marking. Of decorating. But--ow. Not that the rings didn't hurt...and he's certainly aware that the tattoo will hurt. Or, he's fairly sure it will. Beside him, Chris is still, except for a faint quiver that almost matches the man chained up on the dais.
JC turns to look at the same time the whip comes down, feels the heat within Chris rise a notch. He looks over at Lance, watching him, watching Chris, but not watching the man being whipped. Only Chris is watching that. He swallows hard and shivers, turns away from the sight, not sure he's ready to process what that means, what he realizes now Chris likes and needs.
Does he want that done to him? thinks JC, and he can see the look on Chris' face as he hears another crack of the whip against red, raw flesh. Does he want that done to me?
And if he asked, would I say yes?
"C'mon." Lance tugs on the leash, and JC stumbles forward, following him as he weaves his way effortlessly through the crowd. He looks back to see Chris hesitate for the barest of moments, before falling in behind them once more, and JC's belly twists with this new, dark knowledge.
No one touches him as they move through the crush of bodies, but he can feel their gaze like a physical heat, drifting over his skin in waves of breath and heat. He hears murmurs, snatches of words -- pretty, fuck, slut, touch -- and he thinks maybe he should feel ashamed. Should, but doesn't. Instead the words slide into him, under his skin, glide through his blood until they're part of him, part of who he is. Of who he's becoming.
Lance leads him to a dark corner of the club, and stops before a door. JC feels Chris move in close behind him, feels Chris' fingers warm and sure against the small of his back, and he shivers at the touch. "This is it," Chris says, voice low, but JC's instantly focused on every word. "This is your last chance to say no. You can back out now, but once we're through that door, that's it." His lips brush against JC's, tongue slipping inside his mouth to stroke against his briefly. "Yes, or no?"
"Yes," he whispers, the word soft, but echoing loudly inside his head. "Yes," he says again, louder. Chris nods, smiles, kisses him again, long and hard, licking into his mouth until JC feels it all through him, tongue slick and wet, delving deeply inside him. When Chris steps back, mouth red and wet, he holds JC's gaze while he licks his lips slowly, and JC shivers at the heat he sees rising in Chris' eyes, at the heat he feels rising in himself.
Lance catches hold of him then, turning his head away from Chris, covering his mouth. JC gasps into the kiss when warm fingers rub over his nipples, tug harder--harder than he's used to--on the rings, on his nipples. Hunger swells inside him, keeping pace with the heat, until JC thinks he's seeing things completely in shades of red and orange and violet, tinged with black, all fire and shadows. "We're going to tie you down again," Lance growls into his mouth, teeth catching at the tender skin of JC's bottom lip. "We'll tie you down and kiss you and touch you until you don't even notice the pain; it'll all be part of the pleasure."
"You remember how it felt when we pierced you, right?" Chris grinds against him from behind, licks his neck, then leans forward to kiss Lance. JC shudders at the sight and sound, flashes of pink, of red, slick and gleaming in the semi-dark, the sound not unlike the wet noises of giving head. When Lance kisses JC again, he tastes like Chris. Chris' voice is thick and hot in his ear, winding down inside to wrap around his nervous system, while Lance devours him. "It hurt, but you were so turned on...you begged me to fuck you, C," a sharp bite to his neck and pinpricks of white dance into the redblack. Chris' voice lowers another notch. "You'll beg again, I'll bet."
JC nods and Lance laughs, a low rumble he feels echo deep in his own chest. "Oh yeah, he'll beg." Another tug on the rings, and then a sharp twist that spikes whitehot through him as Lance leans close to JC, his lips brushing JC's ear. "You'll beg like the little bitch you are."
And JC thinks again that maybe the words should make him feel ashamed, should make him angry at Lance. Should make him feel anything other than how he feels right now, which is so fucking turned on he can barely move, can barely breathe. They're just words, but now they're words with a strange, dark heat that makes the air around him seem to shimmer in waves. He swallows, feels the collar move against his throat, feels the tug of the leash as Lance pulls him forward and through the door.
He falters, once, when he looks at the man sitting quietly beside a...table?...with a small tray of tools laid out. Ink, needles, gauze, he's not sure what else is there. Doesn't want to know. Maybe, if I don't look, I won't really...notice?
The table has restraints at each corner. Heat curls deep in his belly, flows into the molten fire flowing through his veins.
JC stops in front of the table and looks around, uncertain what he should do, where he should be. Is there ceremony with this? He knows there is, for some things, but he's not certain about this. He hates feeling uncertain, unknowing. But Lance is there, green eyes glittering hotly at him, and Chris is beside him, eyes sparkling and so dark they look bottomless, and then hands are touching him, rubbing him, pulling his shirt up over his head and unfastening his pants. He wants to protest, wants to remind them there's a strange man sitting there, watching, but JC can't bring himself to care.
His dick is stroked, teased, until he can feel the dampness smearing across it. His balls ache from the ring separating them from his shaft, and he's fairly sure he's never been this hard ever, in his life. And knowing there's another set of eyes seeing him like this makes him throb in time with his pulse, makes liquid pearl up out of him, makes his head swim.
"He's used to seeing this," Lance rumbles into his ear. "It's his profession...he marks subs and pets for their Masters' pleasure. He's used to seeing men and women tremble, to seeing them kneel and hearing them beg."
He marks subs and pets. Marks. Marks. He's going to mark me.
JC closes his eyes, tries to imagine what it's going to feel like. To be marked, marked for Chris and Lance. A part of them on him, in his flesh, marked with ink and blood and pain. With sweat and heat and fire. He feels Chris' hands stroking gently down his back, soothing, calming. Lance's fingers twined in his hair, petting, brushing it back from his eyes.
Marked with love.
He takes a deep breath, can feel the air swirling inside him, filling his lungs. His head feels filled with light, a myriad of colours flickering behind his eyelids. "Beautiful," he whispers, and Chris murmurs, "yes, you are," -- and JC wants to say no, the colours, he means the colours-- but then there's Lance's hands on his hips, urging him forward, onto the table.
He can feel himself lying there on his belly, can feel the restraints being fastened around his wrists and ankles, the familiar chafe of soft leather against skin. He can feel the aching shiver that passes through him as he shifts his hips a little and grinds his cock against the surface of the table, can feel Chris and Lance on either side of him, stroking him with warm hands, murmuring to him, brushing kisses against his skin. He can feel all this, even though it seems as if he's floating outside of himself, watching it all through someone else's eyes.
"Open up, baby," Lance's voice is thick, soft and sweet as honey, and JC shivers when it oozes over him, trailing heat with it. He opens his mouth and Lance kisses him, licks at his lips, sucks the bottom one. Other hands stroke down his sides, tug his leather pants down over the swell of his ass. JC shivers when cool air rushes over hot skin, more sensation layered over what's already there. So much sensation. So much, so pretty, so bright, so everywhereeverything--
I could drown in this...let the colours wash into me and feel the heat sweep me downstream and flow over me and I wouldn't care. I don't care. I want this...
The first prick feels like a dot of heat mixing with the rest, whitehot, but quick, hardly noticeable. The next prick feels the same, but sharper, like slicing your finger on a knife. The pain is quickbrightwhite, rushing over him before it fades. Then it doesn't fade, it grows, swells within him, each prick bleeding into the next one, like paints left out in the rain, the color expanding, moving, becoming more than one thing. JC moans, tries to flex away from the sensation, but he's held fast, leather and metal and Chris' hands tight on his hips, Lance's mouth on his.
More pricks become slashes, nothing quick or sharp about them, they feel like they're ripping into him, but each rip glows, bleeds light and heat, and he feels the throbbing mute into something...different. It hurts, so bad, and he can't quite grasp he's lying there voluntarily while someone decorates him...marks him...with needles.
I'll belong...I DO belong...to them. Their names on me forever...foreveralwayscan'tstopcan'tgoback...
His head aches and swirls with the colours and the brightness and the painpleasurehotsharp that echoes through him.
He howls into Lance's mouth when he comes, shuddering against the table, hips working against Chris' hold. Nothing but sensation rippling through him; he can't come because of the cockring, but his body still feels the release.
He's dimly aware that Chris is no longer holding his hips, no sure hands keeping him still, but even if he can move he doesn't think he wants to. He's floating in a warm red glow that pulses in time with his heartbeat, slipslides through his veins, fills him with thick, heavy heat. He thinks he could stay like this forever, in this soft, warm place. Nothing but breath and heat and light.
Underneath it all though, the buzz of the needle, burning into his skin, slicksharp splinters of pain, one barely fading before another slips into its place. Each splinter brings a silverbright streak of pain flashing into the red glow, and he tries to breathe through it, to go with it, but his breath catches in his throat, and he twists his hips before he feels someone grasping them again, holding him steady once more.
Hurts now....oh god...it hurts...
"Shh...shh, baby. Shhh." Chris' voice, slipping softly over his skin, and JC turns his head towards it, feels Chris' mouth close over his, the slide of his tongue slick and hot inside his mouth.
"Hurts," he whispers, and curls his hands into fists against the restraints, his fingernails digging half-moons into the flesh of his palm.
Chris' lips are warm against his forehead, and JC arches into the touch. "Still more to go, Jayce....just a little...looks so pretty."
"It hurts," he whispers again. Or does he? Does he make sound, or is it swallowed into Chris' mouth, absorbed into Chris?
Chris likes the pain, he embraces it, seeks it out...he should do this, be getting this, be lying here with splinters of cold white heat slicing into his skin...
"I will, I will...I want to, too," Chris' mouth moves against his, and JC licks at the words, draws them into himself. A bit of him into Chris, a bit of Chris into him, and they both are absorbed into Lance. A holy trinity, his mind giggles, and he tries to laugh, gasps sharply when it makes the splinters grow, stutter over his skin, slashing him open until he's bleeding out that warm, thick feeling, shivering as its replaced by cold, thin pain stretching over him. Chris shushes into his mouth and kisses him again, and on the other side, JC feels Lance's mouth moving over the tendons of his neck, licking and sucking.
Plugging up the holes. Filling me again. Filling me with them...
It still hurts, hurts unlike anything he's ever felt before, more than the rings did. More, because it's a never-ending loop, stinging him, slicing through him, into him.
Marking me.
The words ring in his head, and he holds onto them, onto the brightness of them, until they're brighter than the pain, and he can breathe again. Chris and Lance's hands are on him once more; stroking, soothing and JC can feel the warmth from them pass into him, and it's safe, he's safe again. The pain is still there, but it's dulled now, and he just feels brief flashes of it as once again, gentle heat starts to thrum through his body.
I can control it, he thinks. I can take it and twist it and make it what I want.
"Almost done," Lance says against his ear, teeth nipping gently at the lobe, a soothing flick of the tongue following. "Taste it, baby." He slides a finger between JC's lips, into his mouth; there's the cooperbright slickness of blood, saltysweet sweat and underneath it all, the bitter tang of ink.
"You belong to us," Chris murmurs, his own finger replacing Lance's in JC's mouth. More saltbitter tang of blood, of ink, and beneath that the tang of ejaculate, bright and sharp on it's own. JC thinks about the limo, thinks about Chris jerking off while he watched JC ride Lance's cock. He licks at JC's lips, at his tongue, then whispers, "Mine...ours...."
Heat blossoms inside him with those words, heat so great, so intense, JC wonders if he can stand it. His skin should scorch, should crack and peel, baring the innermost parts of him to everyone's eyes. Except...they've seen that, tonight. Joey, Justin, everyone else...saw me led in...saw...what I was feeling. Saw the...real me? Is this? Am I me, or am I hunger and pain and need and sex...am I me, or am I theirs?
He knows the answer when he opens his eyes -- when did they close? -- and looks at Chris, watching him intently, at Lance standing just beside Chris, lightly stroking Chris' arm.
"Yours," he sighs, and in the quiet that follows, he realizes the humming sound of the needle has stopped, realizes the sharpbright stab has faded, replaced by the dull thudding, throbbing pain that slides over him like gray mist. He nods once, tastes the word, bitter and tangy like the ink and blood on his tongue, and nods again. "Yours."
Lance unbuckles the restraints, and JC flexes his wrists and ankles, slowly stretching out, feeling the dull ache of protest from his muscles. Every movement he makes brings a brighthot throb from his newly marked skin, and he raises himself slowly onto all fours, breathing heavily, concentrating on controlling the pain, shaping it into something he can work with. His skin is slicked with sweat but he feels cold, and a shudder passes through him. Suddenly, more than anything, he wants to be touched. To be touched by anything other than the thin skin of pain that's settling itself back over him, holding him fast.
"Are you ok?" He hears Chris' voice, sees him take a step forward, but then there's Lance's hand on Chris's arm, holding him back.
"No. Leave him. He--" Lance smiles then, eyes bright and dangerous--"he can come to you. Let him ask."
"Ask?" Chris says slowly, looking at JC, then at Lance, then back again. "Or beg?" His eyes flash...something...and JC shivers, hundreds of tiny, hot needles prickling up and down his skin.
"Beg, I think." Lance's voice is a full octave lower than usual and JC's heart skips a beat. When Lance touches his shoulders, leans in to whisper, it's as though there are hundreds, thousands of pinpricks rolling up and down his skin. "Beg like the pretty bitch he is." Pressure settles on his shoulders, hands urging him downward, and JC groans softly and goes, lets gravity help him out. His back aches, his cock aches, and he's swimming in a warm fog of redhotwhitebright, a rainbow of colours dancing through it.
Down. He remembers the command. He's watched Lance give it to Chris, many times. Or enough times.
"Crawl, JC," Lance's voice ripples over him, hot and sharp, not comforting, but dangerous. Dangerous because it makes the snarl of fire and pain and pleasure in his belly tighten, intensify, increase. He shudders but nods, and sinks forward. Its hard to make his body move, not because of the ache throbbing inside him, but because he wants this and doesn't want it, both, so bad. He feels flushed, giddy, uncertain, and oh, so hungry. Hungry for--god. For this.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
There's maybe three feet between him and Chris but it seems like three miles, and each inch he can hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears, can feel the blood pounding through his body. When he gets to Chris he's exhausted, energized, thrumming with need, and it feels so good, so natural to nuzzle at his leg and whisper, "Please...please, touch me...anything. I need. Something."
"What, C? What do you need?" Chris' fingers are warm on his jaw, tilting his head back. Dark brown eyes, bottomless, sparkling, hungry. JC shivers, feels the burn of embarrassment mingle with sharp burn of pleasure.
"I need--you, Chris. Please. Need to feel--need to you fuck me, please."
Behind him he hears the door open and close, and flushes bright hot when he realizes the tattoo man heard it. Heard that.
His skin prickles with shame once more -- oh god, he heard me beg for it -- but along with the shame is a flood of dark heat that spirals through him, burning hot and tight in his belly. He rubs his head against Chris' hand, closing his eyes against the shiverchills that slip along his skin and settle over him, filling him with a strange, wild energy. "Fuck me," he says again, and his voice is quiet but strong. "Please fuck me. I need you to fuck me, hard."
"Such a shameless little bitch," Lance growls, and JC smiles a little at the rough edge of need in his voice. I'm the one on my hands and knees and begging, but I have him in the palm of my hand, he thinks, and his belly twists with the knowledge. He opens his mouth and sucks on one of Chris' fingers hungrily, and then bites down hard. He hears Chris' hissed intake of breath, and looks up, meets his eyes in a challenge.
A challenge that Chris meets as his other hand strikes JC's face with a stinging slap.
JC isn't sure which one of them is more surprised, him, or Chris, but he's willing to bet on Chris. He can see the shock in Chris' eyes, along with the lust rising, burning deep brown into black. He bites down on Chris' finger again, more gently this time, then sucks it deep into his mouth, moving his head up and down like he's blowing him. Chris' fingers slide from his face up into his hair, clutching tight, tight enough to burn, to make his scalp prickle and sting, then he pulls JC off his finger, fumbling with that hand to undo his pants. His cock is swollen, the tip peeking out from the foreskin. JC starts to lean forward, stops when Chris tugs hard enough to halt him. "I don't want to come in your mouth," he growls, and JC thinks about sucking Lance earlier. He nods and leans forward again, shivering at the taste of warm, salty skin against his tongue.
Lance presses up behind JC and the increase in heat makes the fresh tattoo sting and burn even more, makes him wince at the thought of anything touching it.
"I can't wait to lick it," Lance growls in his ear. "Spread you out flat and trace it with my tongue before I fuck you senseless." JC jerks at his words and Chris' fingers tighten in his hair, making him jerk again. "It'll hurt," Lance continues, hissing against his ear as JC's mouth closes around Chris' cock. "It'll hurt and ache and burn and you'll want it to stop. You'll want the pain to stop." He trails his fingers lightly across JC's back, barely touching the skin, but it's enough to make it sting, and JC gasps in a shuddering breath. Chris' fingers tighten once more, pushing his head back down, and JC draws in another breath, steels himself against the next sweep of Lance's fingers over angry, red flesh. He concentrates on the feel of Chris' cock in his mouth, silky skin under his tongue, the saltbitter taste against his palate.
JC feels Lance's fingers trail lower, along the cleft of his ass, stroking, teasing, and he whimpers a little and pushes back. He hears Lance's low chuckle as he pulls his fingers away, hears the hiss Chris makes as he nips at the head of his cock in frustration.
"Hot little bitch," Lance says softly, teasing the tips of his fingers lightly along the outer-most edge of the cleft of JC's ass. "Want to be fucked so bad, you can almost taste it, can't you?"
JC doesn't answer; he has his mouth full, trying to concentrate on sucking Chris and not biting him. But the stinging slap to his ass makes him whimper, makes him push back against the hand teasing him. He pulls off with a wet, sucking sound, and pants out, "Please...please, Lance..."
"Chris?" It's a question, and JC wishes he could see Lance's face, since he can't quite read the tone. He can see Chris' face, though, if he looks up, and he steals a quick glance, then a bolder one, and sucks in his breath at the naked lust he sees. He licks his lips and watches Chris narrow his eyes, watches the lust flare higher.
It's different like this. Him wanting me...not stronger, just...different. A different sort of lust, of power. JC's belly rolls, thinking of that power, of the feel of Chris' hand on his cheek, the sting, the heat, the way his cock throbbed, and he shudders, and nuzzles into Chris' groin. "Chris...fuck me, please. Please..."
"Get up here. Now." The last word is tight, clipped, Chris' voice gone hoarse. JC struggles to his feet and reaches to push his pants down and off, hands shaking with need. Lance moves to sit beside Chris, eyes dark and hot, and JC is thankful for the cockring he's wearing when Lance spits into his hand and reaches over to slick it onto Chris' dick. Chris growls and arches upward, eyes flashing brown-black fire, thigh muscles tight and tense as he rocks upward once, twice, into the slippery tunnel.
Lance stands again, helps guide JC onto Chris' lap, hands strong and sure on his hips as JC moves into position. JC breathes in deeply, steadies himself, and slowly lowers himself onto Chris. His breath hisses out between bared teeth and he can feel his body slowly stretching, opening up, can feel Chris inside him. Lance's hands are gone, but Chris' are there instead, his fingers curling around JC's hipbones, holding him, stroking gently.
JC rocks his hips slowly, lets his head drop back, moaning softly when Chris leans forward and sweeps a rough tongue along the length of his throat, a trail of slick heat JC feels burning into his skin. Then Chris' teeth sink into his collarbone, a short, sharp sting, and JC's hips twist and jerk in response.
"Pretty pretty bitch. So so pretty." Lance's voice, low and throaty in his ear, and JC can feel his fingers twining in his hair, yanking his head back, taking his mouth in a rough kiss. Lance's tongue strokes inside, his teeth sink into JC's lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.
"Let me taste him," Chris' voice is rough, hoarse; JC can feel the need throbbing in it. Lance pulls back with a lingering lick to the bleeding lip, then Chris is there, covering JC's mouth with his, tongue flicking inside hungrily while he rotates his hips and thrusts upward. JC moans into the kiss, then growls when Lance presses lightly on the gauze covering his new...ink. Ink.
My mark of ownership. He snaps his hips down, clenching himself tight around Chris, swallowing the sounds he makes. Lance laughs softly, bends to lick at their joined mouths, teasing JC, then Chris, until they're sharing a threeway kiss, a symphony of pleasure sounds rising around them.
"Pretty and hot," Chris whispers into the kiss, the words disappearing like a puff of smoke. "Fuck, you're hot," he sighs, and JC hums low in his throat. He feels hot. His body is painted in heat, in shades of orange and red and yellow, layered in warm to hot to molten, his blood boiling and churning. When Chris lets go of his hip with one hand, reaches to play with his nipples, JC groans. Lance bats his hand away.
"You do it, baby. Play with yourself while Chris fucks you." Lance raises Chris' hand to his mouth, licks and nips at the small fingers before sucking one in. His eyes smolder and JC shudders at the look. Chris'll get fucked before the night is over. The last time Lance fucked him, JC got to lick Chris clean afterward. Maybe this time, too.
He closes his eyes because Chris' are too hot to look into, and lets himself drift in the heat, in the darkness, the bright colors flashing and rolling around him while he works his nipples, hips dancing along with the rhythm Chris sets. He can hear the muted sounds of sucking, of kisses, tastes skin and salt and blood when he licks his lips, but its so much, too much, with pain still throbbing through him every time he shifts, brilliant, beautiful, whitehot pain, and he doesn't want to ever look, or see again, as long as he can feel.
The last thing he feels before his mind explodes into a prism of colorsoundsensation is the release of the cockring he's worn all evening, and the flicker of Lance's fingers over his raw, sore back.
His orgasm slams into him, and he almost forgets to breathe, forgets to do anything but feel the waves of heat and light and sensation that fill his body, his head. There's pain too, pain from where Lance's fingers are dancing across his lower back, and he feels it as redhot tendrils snaking along his skin, slipping beneath to become part of him.
I can control it, he thinks again, and pushes against the pain, shapes it until it's part of the thrum of pleasure shimmering over him, around him. I can make it what I want.
Chris' fingers tighten on his hips until they're digging sharply into flesh, and JC can feel him shuddering beneath him, against him, in him. JC opens his eyes to watch Chris, sees his head thrown back, hears his cry as he comes hard and fast.
"You're both so pretty," Lance hisses, then kisses JC hard, fingers pressing right against the edge of the tattoo, pressing until JC feels the pain bleed into him, grow, swell, and he shudders again, coming one more time. It's a smaller, weaker orgasm than the first, but still full-bodied, pleasure thrumming hotly through him.
When he can see again, without streaks of bright light piercing his vision, he sees Chris staring at him, eyes bright and hot, still, but with more than just hunger or lust.
Pride, JC thinks. He's proud of me.
He's proud of himself, too, and maybe a little amazed. JC sighs and leans forward, body throbbing, mind deliciously blank, wrapped in a thick, soft cloud of soft grey. Chris strokes his hair; he can feel Lance behind him, petting his back and shoulders.
"We should go find Joey and Justin," Lance says softly, at last, tilting JC's head back gently. JC sees the same gleam in Lance's eyes that is in Chris', and shivers happily. "They're expecting us to spend a little time with them."
"I'm surprised Joe got J to come here," Chris says, thumb stroking over JC's lip. He kisses it languidly, licking at the side of it. "I'd like to watch...some more."
"I know you would." Lance is closer, leans in to kiss JC once, then Chris. "Come on."
JC leans forward to kiss Chris, licking softly at his lips. "Do I have to move?" he whispers, and feels Chris' lips curve into a smile, feels him nod. They kiss again, and JC slips off his lap, shivering slightly, missing the warmth of Chris' body the instant it's gone.
Lance helps him dress, fingers gentler now when they brush across his back, lips murmuring, "sorry, baby" when JC draws in a sharp breath as his pants are fastened. "It's ok," JC says, and Lance smiles, something like understanding in his eyes.
JC gulps water down from a bottle Lance hands him, then cleans himself up with a damp towel, also appearing from the recesses of Lance's carry bag. Once he's cleaned up, he helps Chris finish straightening himself up. He leaves his shirt off, shivering at the thought of the tattoo, still covered behind gauze. Tomorrow or the next day, he can remove it, though it'll be a couple of weeks before it's healed. He wonders if he'll miss the throbbing, when it's gone.
Lance attaches the leash to his collar again before they leave the room, whispering into JC's ear, "You look so sexy on a leash. I'd keep you like this all the time if I could." Chris, watching him with dark, hot eyes, seems to agree with Lance wordlessly. "Are you ready?" JC nods, sighing when Chris falls in right behind him again, fingers pressed just above where the line of pain begins, stroking feather light right at the edge of it. JC throbs again, mindful of his body's hypersensitivity now. He feels much like he did before he came in, hungry and on edge, an open, exposed nerve pushed to overstimulation.
He could get hooked on this feeling, he thinks.
The naked lust that shines on Justin's face, and flashes quickly through Joey's eyes, when they reach the table the other two are sitting at, heightens that feeling. Shame, amazement, hunger, want, need--and JC feels them spin out within him, swallowing him down. Lance has him kneel at his feet when they sit, Chris just on the other side of JC. Flanking him. Protecting him. He flushes at the looks Joey and Justin give him, but he likes the burning he feels in his belly.
"It's done," Lance says, and a shiver goes through JC as he realises they've been waiting for him, known he was being marked, and now-- now they want to see. He's even more aware of the throbbing, pulsing in time with the blood in his veins, part of him. A tattoo, marking him in blood and sweat and sex, a part of him that shows he's part of someone else.
"Stand up," Chris says softly, and JC does, turning round so Justin and Joey can see the gauze across his lower back. He feels Chris' fingers stroking gently above it again, pinpricks of pain flaring out from where he touches, but the ache is dulled now, almost comforting.
"It's two kanji symbols," Lance says, and his fingers are gently stroking JC's skin too, twining with Chris,' "our names. To show he's ours."
"Wow." JC can hear the amazement in Justin's voice, and there's the sharp undertone of something else he thinks might be desire. He thinks of Lance holding Justin by the throat earlier, the way it made him feel, the knowledge that the show of possession was for him, about him. The thought bleeds heat and light and warmth through him and he smiles. "I'm theirs," he says to Justin, as he turns back around, and his smile widens when he sees Joey nod and grin.
"I hope they realise how lucky they are, C," Joey says softly, as JC kneels back down between Chris and Lance, leans into Lance's leg as Chris strokes his neck gently. "Six months and counting.....happy anniversary to the three of you."
~finis~
jchalo.This is a follow-up to Belonging. NC17, with warnings for bdsm -- mostly D/s, but mentions of s/m play.
"How long of a ride is it out there?" JC settles back on the leather seat and tries to ignore the flutters in his stomach. Chris leans in to nuzzle his neck, sending little shivers tripping up and down his nervous system.
Lance strokes his thigh. "Joey said a little less than an hour. They're kind of...out...because it's really exclusive."
"Private, right? For, um. Tonight?" He shivers again and tells himself it's the hands touching him. It isn't--anything else.
"We'll have a private room, yeah." Lance shifts on the seat and reaches up to stroke long fingers across the edge of the black leather collar JC's wearing. The leather is warm against his skin, pressing just tightly enough that he can feel it when he swallows. No constriction, just--light pressure.
"You still want to go through with this?" Chris tangles small fingers into JC's hair and strokes the nape of his neck. JC shivers again and sighs softly. "C? You need to tell us if you don't want it. Because otherwise, baby--it's gonna happen." JC nods, slowly, and leans backward when Chris tugs on his hair gently, tipping his head back.
"I'm nervous," he says softly, acutely aware of Lance warm behind him, fingers still rubbing over where the collar and his skin meet. "Like--nearly sick to my stomach nervous."
"We got something for that." Lance shifts again and rummages in the carryall setting beside him. JC hears the crinkle of plastic, and the flick of a lighter before he smells the pungent scent of pot. "We'll just get you to the point you don't care about being nervous, baby." And JC has to turn, has to watch the way Lance licks at the paper before taking a long, long hit, pulling smoke deep inside his lungs. He holds it in, then reaches for JC, leaning forward to press their mouths together.
The smoke tickles his palette as he sucks it in, feeling the first wave of vertigo rush through him as he swallows, breaths in Lance and weed and oh, Chris is leaning on his back, pressing hard against him. Hot, hot, reaching for the joint. JC misses Lance when he pulls back.
Chris takes a deep drag and JC leans into him to take the smoke from his mouth, and feels Chris' fingers warm against his jaw; stroking his skin slowly as he feels the pot spiraling into his system. Taking the edge off the nausea that curls deep in his belly when he thinks about what lies ahead.
"It'll be ok," Chris whispers, lips moving against JC's, fingers still stroking gently. "I promise." And JC nods, closes his eyes. He trusts them. They'd never make him do anything he didn't want to, that he wasn't ready for. But this-- he shudders, icy prickles dancing along his skin.
Another hand on his face...Lance this time, and JC turns to face him; meets the steady green gaze. "If you're not--"
"I'm sure." JC swallows, then nods. "I am. I'm sure."
"Gonna look so pretty, C." Chris' fingers edge up under his shirt hem -- though calling it a shirt is probably a generous use of the term, JC thinks -- and stroke the skin at the small of his back. His breath is warm in JC's ear, the scent of pot strong. "A pretty design to go here--" Fingers tease lightly over skin, over the ridge of vertebrae there. "It'll hurt, and it'll hurt when we touch it...and you'll look so pretty."
JC knows if he turns and looks, Chris will have a dreamy, far-away look on his face. He likes Lance to hurt him, sometimes. JC isn't entirely sure how he feels about that, but he's slowly learning how sometimes hurt wasn't...hurt. His rings have taught him that.
Almost as if Lance is reading his mind, he holds the joint to JC's lips, reaching to tug lightly on one ring as JC inhales. The sudden burst of sensation -- newly healed, still tender, and Chris and Lance haven't missed an opportunity to tug and twist on them, adding to that pleasurepain thing he's still working out -- combined with the pot swirling into his system makes JC shift restlessly, heat beginning to burn into his blood. Behind him, Chris snakes one arm around so he can tug on the other ring. JC can feel Lance and Chris' fingers brushing against one another as they stroke him. He can't stop the soft moan that filters out into Lance's mouth with the smoke.
"Feel good, baby?" Lance asks, twisting the ring gently between long fingers. "You like that?"
"Yeah," JC breathes, as shiverspikes of heat twist through him, centered in his nipple, spreading outwards in redgold pulses. He leans back against Chris, solid heat at his back, spine arching as Lance's fingers continue to pull, twist, tug on the ring. When Chris slides warm hands over his cock, achingly hard in soft black leather, JC hisses out a breath, teeth bared.
"Oh, yeah. He likes it." The smirk is evident in Chris' voice, and JC pushes backward just a little, enough to feel how much Chris likes it, too. "Sexy little bitch," Chris whispers, just before his teeth catch JC's ear, a sharp little nip and tug, tongue slicking over the slight sting. "I know how I'd like to see you...stretched out, cuffed, mouth open, ass open...mmm. Wanna watch Lance fuck you."
He's stroking JC a little faster now, fingers fondling, teasing, and JC moans, turns his head toward Chris, wanting to taste him, taste his mouth. Lance holds the joint to JC's mouth, and this time he sucks in the thick, heady smoke, holds it until his head swims. When his eyes sting, he kisses Chris, breathes the smoke into him. It's not unlike sharing the same wine glass, just--more intimate. And with each breath, each toke, each kiss, JC feels a little more of the nervousness slip away, feels it replaced by heat, like liquid sun moving through his veins.
"Touch Lance, C. Touch his dick, like I'm touching you." Oh, god. He could grow hard and come just from Chris' voice like this, pure sex filtering into his ear and slithering down his spine, radiating outward into each crevice of his body. He does what he's told, reaches out, feels Lance thick and hot under the leather he's wearing. He splays his fingers, cups and outlines Lance until he's completely hard, throbbing beneath JC's fingers.
"Yeah...that's it. Just like that." Chris' voice is an octave or two lower than usual; rough with smoke and lust, and the sound of it is driving JC crazy. Together with the feel of Chris' fingers stroking his cock through the leather-- touching, teasing -- and the pot in his system, he feels like he's floating in pure energy. Even thinking of what lies ahead no longer makes his stomach twist and flip; but just adds to the swirl of anticipation ghosting along his skin.
He feels Lance's fingers close over his; frowns for a moment. Until he sees Lance smiling, hears him say, "I want to fuck you, C. I want to fuck you while Chris watches us."
Now his stomach twists, but it's a good twist. One last toke on the joint before it's gone, burned down to nothing. He feels hazy, but energized, his skin tingling and burning. Rippling.
Chris unfastens JC's pants and his cock springs out through the fly, thick, hard, the tip stickywet, smeared with pre-come. When Chris dips the tip of his fingernail into the small slit there JC hisses and shudders backward, biting down on his lip. "God--"
"You like that." Chris bites down on JC's neck and liquid fire races through him, blood boiling now. He nods against Chris' chest and edges one hand up under his shirt to tug on one ring. Lance laughs, low and thick and the sound of a zipper coming undone sounds through the small space.
JC thinks he can hear himself sizzle, just watching Lance take his dick out of his pants.
"Off with these," Chris says quietly, shoving at JC's hips. JC shifts forward until he's kneeling, mostly, resting some of his weight on his arms. Lance's dick is right there, thick, hard, so beautiful, and JC whimpers, wanting to taste. Behind him Chris tugs, pulling his pants down.
"Please--" He asks softly, looking up at Lance. Hunger's a live thing inside him now, clawing to get out, burning where it touches the insides of his skin.
"Don't make me come. I want to come in your ass." And Lance pushes his head downward, fingers fisting tightly in JC's hair.
The taste of Lance in his mouth like this, the scent of him when he's so close...these are things that should be strange, but are instead strangely familiar. There are things that JC knows about him -- things like the little intake of breath Lance takes when JC nips gently at the head of his cock; the way his hips twist as he fucks in and out of JC's mouth, the sound he makes in the back of his throat when he's close to coming.
But it's the things that JC doesn't yet know that make dark fire flicker in the pit of his belly. Like just how far Lance will push him...and how far he'll let himself be pushed. He shivers as wild heat races through his body, concentrates on the feel of Lance in his mouth, his fingers twined into JC's hair, flexing and contracting with each thrust.
"That looks so fucking hot," Chris says, and JC can feel his breath warm and damp against his skin; the wet slide as he licks his way down JC's back. Along his spine, down, down and -- oh fuck, feels so fucking good -- suddenly there's the slick heat of his tongue flickering against the ring of muscle. JC presses back, almost instinctively, wanting more. Wanting to be filled the way Lance's cock is filling his mouth.
He hears the soft sob, but doesn't realize it's him, not at first. Oh, god, Chris' tongue, and it's filling him, pressing him open. He wants to rock backward, be impaled, feel Chris all the way up inside him, tongue slick and wet, licking at him. JC raises one hand and tugs again at his rings, gasping around Lance's dick when fire tears through him again, arcing outward from each one.
When hands splay across his ass, stroking and spreading him wider, JC shudders, feeling horribly, wonderfully exposed. When Chris sits back just a little and rubs one finger over him, teasing, JC whimpers softly and pushes backward, trying to get something, anything, inside him. Chris laughs low and leans in, biting and sucking at the muscle, licking around it, licking into him, until JC doesn't feel anything but wetslickhot within him.
"Oh, fuck, Chris--d'you know...god..." JC hears Lance groan, feels the fingers in his hair tighten, and its almost as if the tingling in his scalp becomes electricity, starting there and shimmering downward, filling him. He relaxes his throat and feels as much as hears Lance growl, feels the thickness of his dick slip further down into his throat, stretching it.
Then there's the long, slow moment when Chris' tongue is suddenly gone, and JC twists his hips, almost frantic with frustration.
OhgodpleaseChrisplease...IwantIneedplease--
A rush of silvery heat with the slide of Chris' fingers into him, no teasing now, just slick fire twisting inside, opening him up. Not nearly enough, too much...all at once, and JC's panting as he fucks his hips backwards into Chris' thrusts. He snakes a hand between his legs, groans when his fingers close around his achingly hard cock. It'd be so easy to make himself come, two, three short strokes would be all it'd take, but he won't let himself. No matter how much he wants, he needs--
He bites down hard into the soft flesh of his lower lip as a shudder goes through him, molten heat in his veins, burning into his cock.
I could make myself come. It'd feel so good...
"C'mon, up here." Lance's voice, and it's not a question. JC moans as Chris slides his fingers out, pushing back again, but there's nothing there but Chris' soft chuckle.
He wants to say something snarky, something smart, but there's Lance, sprawled out on the leather seat, waiting for him. He hasn't taken his pants off, nor even pulled them down. He's unzipped, dick standing tall and thick, gleaming slickly in the dull darkness inside the limo. Waiting for him. While JC watches, Chris spits into his palm and spreads it thickly over Lance, making him shine wetly. JC swallows and shudders.
Chris helps him shift up onto Lance's lap, steadies him while he spreads his legs and moves backward.
Strong fingers hold his hips tight while JC sinks down onto Lance, groaning when his body opens slowly, stretching wide. It's always a shock to take Lance; he's big, bigger than Chris. Not just long, but so thick. It hurts, at first, the sharp pain of stretching, accommodating, and JC shudders through it, breathes fast and hard. Lance reaches up and pulls on his rings, tugging him forward to lick a kiss onto his lips. JC moves forward, shifting so he's resting more-or-less on his knees, then moves upward a little before sinking back down, hearing his groan mix with Lance's growl, and feeling the burn and bite of pain change slowly into the hot sting of pleasure.
"Fuck," Chris breathes, "you should fucking see yourselves." JC hears the soft slide of a zipper, and turns to see Chris watching with dark eyes, cock in his hand, stroking slowly. He leans forward to brush his mouth across JC's, tongue snaking past his lips; JC can taste himself and the thought burns whitehot and electric in his head.
He rides Lance slowly, feels Lance's fingers curled tight around bone, guiding him, holding him. When JC twists his hips, Lance growls low in his throat, his head falls back and his eyes flutter closed. There's pleasure coiled in his belly, and with each thrust downward, each slide back up again, JC can feel it pulsing outwards, redgold tendrils spreading along his skin, behind his eyes.
He wants to watch, to see the images he can hear -- Chris and Lance kissing, while Chris strokes his cock, while JC rides Lance -- but he's afraid he won't last if he can see and hear. He wants to touch himself so, so bad, but if he does, it'll be over. The slow, complete immersion in pleasure would end, because he's so close to the edge now he can see speckles of color swimming in the blackness behind his closed eyes.
"You'd look...so good, with a ring here--" Lance gasps the words softly, pinches the head of JC's cock, smearing sticky fluid over hot skin. JC groans and tightens around Lance, remembering the hard, sharp bite of the needle through his nipples, imagining it biting into his cock. He groans and pants out something, hears Chris curse, but he can't process anything but the visual of needles...of stinging bites into his flesh, sharp points devouring him, sending wide, hot streaks of pain all through him...pain that melts into pleasure so intense, so whitehot, so bright, he wants blackness all around him to feel it completely.
"Please," he groans, rocking back downward, Lance's fingers still pinching him, fingernails biting into delicate, thin skin. Beside them Chris moans, and JC knows he's looking, watching, imagining Lance hurting him. Maybe hurting them together.
Closeclosesocloseohgod... He wants to come, wants it so badly, he's shaking. "Please...Lance...Sir...please...."
"What?" Lance half-snarls, half-growls, "what do you want? Tell me. Tell me what you want." And he thrusts his hips up sharply, matches it with another pinch to JC's cock. JC gasps as pain, pleasure, both; all melded together in shimmering twists of heat spiral though him. He reaches for the rings, tugs them, feels the splinterspikes of sensation sparking outwards from his nipples.
"I want," he hisses, teeth slamming into his bottom lip as Lance thrusts upwards again, "I want to feel you coming. In me. And I want--" He shudders, the words tumbling in his head, colours sparking off them -- wantneedpleasenowohpleasenowplease -- "I want to come. Oh god Lance, please. I need--"
Another sharp thrust; Lance twists his hips, and JC can feel the bite of his nails into soft flesh, around the curve of his hipbone. He feels Lance's body go completely still, and then there's a long, low groan and just the sound of him as he comes in thick, hot pulses is almost enough to send JC over the edge. Red streaks at the edge of his vision, and there's not enough air in his lungs. His entire body thrums with pure need, his skin is too tight, too hot.
Ican'tIhavetoIneedohgodIneedIneed--
"Touch yourself," Chris gasps, and JC can hear his breath against his ear, can feel the heat from his body as he presses close, so close, stroking himself hard, fast. He wraps his fingers around his own cock, pulling, twisting, nothing in his head but white noise and heat.
ohgodohgod...
He comes hard and fast, it slams into him, taking all the air from his lungs; a thin breathy cry all he can manage. He's arching helplessly as his belly pulses, and there's light sparking behind his eyes, splinterpoints of colour threading through the blackness. He tastes copper and realises his teeth have sliced into his lip, slick blood coating his tongue, filling his head. Behind him, beside him, he hears Chris, feels him watching.
"So pretty," Lance croons softly, sliding a finger through the mess on JC's belly and chest. He licks at it, then presses his finger to JC's mouth. "Lick. Taste yourself. Taste how fucking hot you are, baby."
He holds Lance's eyes with his while he licks, then sucks the finger deep into his mouth. It tastes like Lance, like pot, like come, stickysaltybitter. He can taste the heat, taste the wild hunger in the flavors coating his tongue, underscored by the sharp tang of blood from biting his lip. In his mind he sees them as different shades of red, except for the blood, which he colors golden, for the sharpness that slices into him.
Lance takes JC's face between his hands then and licks his mouth, chasing the flavors with his tongue. JC shudders and leans into the kiss, licking almost frantically at Lance's mouth, still hungry, body throbbing so deep, so heavy, it's like the bass beat at a club or concert, felt as shocks through the soles of your feet. He whimpers when Lance pulls back with a sharp bite to his sore, swollen lip. "Clean Chris up."
The taste of more hunger on his tongue, when he slips from Lance's lap and kneels between Chris' wide-splayed legs, cupping his spent cock gently, stroking it lovingly with his tongue. Chris moans very quietly, a pure, high note that echoes around them, and JC shivers, feels his cock throb once, then again, still needy, still wanting.
He licks along Chris' belly, tastes sweat and heat, and the sharp taste of Chris himself, slick and familiar inside his mouth. Chris reaches down to place warm fingers on his face, slips them inside his mouth, and JC sucks on them, whimpering softly.
"We've really got you worked up, huh baby?" Lance chuckles, deep and low against his ear, stroking gently over JC's ass, fingers brushing against his cock. "You want more?" He slips the fingers of his other hand under the edge of the collar around JC's throat, and tugs him upwards, across his lap once more; kisses him roughly. JC moans as Lance's tongue strokes inside his mouth, hot, urgent.
Then gasps as Lance shoves him, sends him sprawling to the floor. "Get dressed."
Wild heat colours JC's face as he reaches for his clothes, and something dark and hot flickers in the pit of his belly, prickles along his skin. A feeling that he never knew he wanted, that he never anticipated he'd crave. His cock throbs again, and he closes his eyes as pure need settles over him in dark, shimmering waves he can taste.
It's hard to dress inside a car, even if it's a limo, so JC has to bend and twist into various shapes to get his pants tugged up. He's kneeling again, about to fasten them, when Chris stays him with a hand on his wrist and a quick look at Lance. "Wait. C'mere. Closer, C."
And there's something about the heat shimmering in Chris' eyes, soft brown gone dark and sparkly, watching him with a predatory look. JC shivers and swallows, creeps closer. His eyes slide closed on their own when Chris runs warm hands down his chest, over his belly, over his cock. It doesn't take but a stroke or two before his hips snap forward to join the rhythm, and he's moaning, achingly hard in an instant, his heart pounding hard enough he can feel each thud against the wall of his chest. He doesn't see, but hears the rustling sounds, then shudders when cool leather is stroked up and down over the silky skin of his erection, dragged roughly over the sensitive tip, catching on the slit there. JC bites down on his lip again and moans, the words coming out in a stream of sound.
Ohfuck, please, hurts...good. Hurts good...god...
Chris strokes him again, over and over, fingers cupping, teasing, driving him upward again. When JC's gritting his teeth, so hard his stomach and legs ache hotly, Chris snaps the ring around his balls, separating them from his dick.
The sudden rush of pressure makes JC lightheaded, makes the dark seem light, makes it seem tinged with colors. He shudders and reaches for himself, shudders again when Lance slaps his hand away. "Finish dressing. We're here."
He reaches for his shoes, but Lance kicks them away. "Barefoot," he whispers, leaning low against JC's ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. His fingers slide under the edge of the collar again, fingers warm against JC's skin, and there's the soft snick as his leash is attached. JC shivers, heat prickling through him, and hisses softly with bared teeth when Lance stretches out a foot lazily to stroke between his legs, pressing the hard, aching flesh there.
"Should we make him crawl in?" Lance asks Chris softly, and JC can see the dark smile that flickers across Chris' face at the thought of it; his belly twists and his cock throbs. "It'd be so pretty," Lance is murmuring, fingers stroking along JC's arm now, raising goosebumps where they touch. "You on your hands and knees, crawling along. So, so pretty." He tugs on the leash, a short, sharp jerk, and JC gasps as he concentrates on staying upright.
Chris opens the door, and JC blinks as light filters into the gloomy interior. He sees someone standing there, and it isn't until they speak that he realises it's Joey. Heat sparks through him head to toe, shame prickling behind his eyes even as arousal spikes deep and hot in his belly. Joey's never seen him like this, so completely unguarded, so completely filled with dark hunger he still doesn't fully understand.
I've never seen me like this, echoes that. He's lived it, experienced it, but never seen what it looks like. What he looks like. He lifts his eyes upward to Joey's slowly, wondering what he'll see there.
Heat. Heat, and need, and something fiercer, darker, than he's ever seen in Joey before. Am I seeing his reaction? Or am I seeing me, mirrored back in his eyes? Like Chris', Joey's eyes are normally soft brown, sparkling with mischief and fun. Tonight they burn him, searing heat licking at each spot they touch along his skin. JC reaches out and strokes his fingers over his arm, the skin warm under the pads, but not hot. Not feverhot like it feels. He closes his eyes and imagines he glows. Neon redorangebluewhite, the hottest colors, the bits of fire and flame.
"Holy fuck."
And his face burns again, a different sort of heat, that spike of shame, the twist of arousal, and when he looks just beyond Joey's shoulder, there's Justin, eyes lined and dark from a black liner pencil, staring at him with eyes that glitter.
"Don't fucking touch," Lance snaps, voice low and dangerous as he leads JC past Justin, pulling the leash tight, and JC has to concentrate hard on keeping his footing. He feels the barest hint of Justin's fingers against his skin, on the small of his back as he walks past, catches a glimpse of the smile playing on his lips. A smile that vanishes when Lance stops and turns suddenly, hand at Justin's throat in a flash, face just inches away.
"I mean it."
JC can see the defiance in Justin's body, matched by the possessiveness in Lance's. Me, he thinks, that's about me. The thought is almost too much for him to process, and he pushes it down inside himself for another time. Another time when the blood's not pounding in his head, his cock, arcing through him in splinterbursts of colour.
Chris falls back behind JC, insinuating himself between JC and the other two; touches the small of his back, whispers quietly into his ear. "You okay?"
His hand is reassuring, the warmth of it something apart from the hot blood thrumming all through him, turning his world into a flashing strobe of colors and sensations. JC nods, slowly; as far as he can tell, he is. But--there's so much he's feeling now, he can't process it hardly at all, much less quickly. He's still--he can hardly breathe, thinking about the look in Lance's eyes, the snarl that erupted from his throat. The hand wrapped around Justin's throat. He stutters and misses a step and Chris catches him, holds his arm, making a quiet noise to Lance to stop for a minute even as he turns JC to face him.
"C-chris?"
"Mmhmm?"
Please...please just know what I want...because I don't know what I want. I don't know what I need...it's overwhelming, all this hunger and need and emotion and sensation, I feel like I'm drowning inside of myself, please...
"I--" His lip hurts when he bites it, and he winces, sees Chris see it. Warm hands touch him again, stroke his face, soothing even while arousing. He doesn't think he can be touched at all right now and not be aroused. His world is nothing more than raw, hungry nerve endings, screaming into his brain, demanding more than he knows how to give. Chris steps in front of him, reaches out to touch, and JC catches his hand, fits it gently around his throat and closes his eyes, shivering.
They stand like that for a long moment, Chris holding him, not pressing, no pressure, just touching him, while JC leans into it, breathing slowly. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Lance presses against him from behind and nuzzles his ear, strokes his chest gently. When the shivering stops they let go of him, stepping back just enough to give him breathing room.
"Okay, now?" The deep, soft rumble ripples through him and JC nods. Yes. He is. He turns when Lance tugs again on his leash, following behind him, Chris still at his back.
It's dark, so dark inside the club, velvet blackness and soft, blood red, and JC feels like he's stepped inside his own head. Even the muted throb of the music is echoed inside him, reflected in his own heartbeat that pounds through him.
Chris and Lance stand close to him, close enough that he feels the heat from their bodies, shimmering off them in waves and thrumming into his own skin. Energizing him, feeding the dark heat that's once again slowly uncoiling through him. He feels safer in here, calmer, the earlier blind panic dissipating with each and every breath he takes.
"You want to look around?" Chris asks softly, his voice barely a touch of breath against his ear, and JC nods. He wants to see this place, to explore where he's going to get his next marking. The thought of that, of what lies ahead, brings a sudden rush of adrenaline and he draws in a deep breath, feels his heart hammering in his chest.
I'm ok. I'm ok. I can do this.
There's a moment of hesitation on both Chris and Lance's part, he realizes, when they start further into the club. It doesn't take him but a moment to realize that one of the main...attractions...of this place is the very centralized whipping post. Posts. There're more than one.
There's a man -- he thinks it's a man -- handcuffed to one post, his arms spread wide, up and out from his body, and even from as far back as several people, JC can see the fine trembles working their way through the man. He stares, looking at the raw marks on his back, the streaks blood red, but not wet, not bleeding. They look painful, but pretty. Another form of marking. Of decorating. But--ow. Not that the rings didn't hurt...and he's certainly aware that the tattoo will hurt. Or, he's fairly sure it will. Beside him, Chris is still, except for a faint quiver that almost matches the man chained up on the dais.
JC turns to look at the same time the whip comes down, feels the heat within Chris rise a notch. He looks over at Lance, watching him, watching Chris, but not watching the man being whipped. Only Chris is watching that. He swallows hard and shivers, turns away from the sight, not sure he's ready to process what that means, what he realizes now Chris likes and needs.
Does he want that done to him? thinks JC, and he can see the look on Chris' face as he hears another crack of the whip against red, raw flesh. Does he want that done to me?
And if he asked, would I say yes?
"C'mon." Lance tugs on the leash, and JC stumbles forward, following him as he weaves his way effortlessly through the crowd. He looks back to see Chris hesitate for the barest of moments, before falling in behind them once more, and JC's belly twists with this new, dark knowledge.
No one touches him as they move through the crush of bodies, but he can feel their gaze like a physical heat, drifting over his skin in waves of breath and heat. He hears murmurs, snatches of words -- pretty, fuck, slut, touch -- and he thinks maybe he should feel ashamed. Should, but doesn't. Instead the words slide into him, under his skin, glide through his blood until they're part of him, part of who he is. Of who he's becoming.
Lance leads him to a dark corner of the club, and stops before a door. JC feels Chris move in close behind him, feels Chris' fingers warm and sure against the small of his back, and he shivers at the touch. "This is it," Chris says, voice low, but JC's instantly focused on every word. "This is your last chance to say no. You can back out now, but once we're through that door, that's it." His lips brush against JC's, tongue slipping inside his mouth to stroke against his briefly. "Yes, or no?"
"Yes," he whispers, the word soft, but echoing loudly inside his head. "Yes," he says again, louder. Chris nods, smiles, kisses him again, long and hard, licking into his mouth until JC feels it all through him, tongue slick and wet, delving deeply inside him. When Chris steps back, mouth red and wet, he holds JC's gaze while he licks his lips slowly, and JC shivers at the heat he sees rising in Chris' eyes, at the heat he feels rising in himself.
Lance catches hold of him then, turning his head away from Chris, covering his mouth. JC gasps into the kiss when warm fingers rub over his nipples, tug harder--harder than he's used to--on the rings, on his nipples. Hunger swells inside him, keeping pace with the heat, until JC thinks he's seeing things completely in shades of red and orange and violet, tinged with black, all fire and shadows. "We're going to tie you down again," Lance growls into his mouth, teeth catching at the tender skin of JC's bottom lip. "We'll tie you down and kiss you and touch you until you don't even notice the pain; it'll all be part of the pleasure."
"You remember how it felt when we pierced you, right?" Chris grinds against him from behind, licks his neck, then leans forward to kiss Lance. JC shudders at the sight and sound, flashes of pink, of red, slick and gleaming in the semi-dark, the sound not unlike the wet noises of giving head. When Lance kisses JC again, he tastes like Chris. Chris' voice is thick and hot in his ear, winding down inside to wrap around his nervous system, while Lance devours him. "It hurt, but you were so turned on...you begged me to fuck you, C," a sharp bite to his neck and pinpricks of white dance into the redblack. Chris' voice lowers another notch. "You'll beg again, I'll bet."
JC nods and Lance laughs, a low rumble he feels echo deep in his own chest. "Oh yeah, he'll beg." Another tug on the rings, and then a sharp twist that spikes whitehot through him as Lance leans close to JC, his lips brushing JC's ear. "You'll beg like the little bitch you are."
And JC thinks again that maybe the words should make him feel ashamed, should make him angry at Lance. Should make him feel anything other than how he feels right now, which is so fucking turned on he can barely move, can barely breathe. They're just words, but now they're words with a strange, dark heat that makes the air around him seem to shimmer in waves. He swallows, feels the collar move against his throat, feels the tug of the leash as Lance pulls him forward and through the door.
He falters, once, when he looks at the man sitting quietly beside a...table?...with a small tray of tools laid out. Ink, needles, gauze, he's not sure what else is there. Doesn't want to know. Maybe, if I don't look, I won't really...notice?
The table has restraints at each corner. Heat curls deep in his belly, flows into the molten fire flowing through his veins.
JC stops in front of the table and looks around, uncertain what he should do, where he should be. Is there ceremony with this? He knows there is, for some things, but he's not certain about this. He hates feeling uncertain, unknowing. But Lance is there, green eyes glittering hotly at him, and Chris is beside him, eyes sparkling and so dark they look bottomless, and then hands are touching him, rubbing him, pulling his shirt up over his head and unfastening his pants. He wants to protest, wants to remind them there's a strange man sitting there, watching, but JC can't bring himself to care.
His dick is stroked, teased, until he can feel the dampness smearing across it. His balls ache from the ring separating them from his shaft, and he's fairly sure he's never been this hard ever, in his life. And knowing there's another set of eyes seeing him like this makes him throb in time with his pulse, makes liquid pearl up out of him, makes his head swim.
"He's used to seeing this," Lance rumbles into his ear. "It's his profession...he marks subs and pets for their Masters' pleasure. He's used to seeing men and women tremble, to seeing them kneel and hearing them beg."
He marks subs and pets. Marks. Marks. He's going to mark me.
JC closes his eyes, tries to imagine what it's going to feel like. To be marked, marked for Chris and Lance. A part of them on him, in his flesh, marked with ink and blood and pain. With sweat and heat and fire. He feels Chris' hands stroking gently down his back, soothing, calming. Lance's fingers twined in his hair, petting, brushing it back from his eyes.
Marked with love.
He takes a deep breath, can feel the air swirling inside him, filling his lungs. His head feels filled with light, a myriad of colours flickering behind his eyelids. "Beautiful," he whispers, and Chris murmurs, "yes, you are," -- and JC wants to say no, the colours, he means the colours-- but then there's Lance's hands on his hips, urging him forward, onto the table.
He can feel himself lying there on his belly, can feel the restraints being fastened around his wrists and ankles, the familiar chafe of soft leather against skin. He can feel the aching shiver that passes through him as he shifts his hips a little and grinds his cock against the surface of the table, can feel Chris and Lance on either side of him, stroking him with warm hands, murmuring to him, brushing kisses against his skin. He can feel all this, even though it seems as if he's floating outside of himself, watching it all through someone else's eyes.
"Open up, baby," Lance's voice is thick, soft and sweet as honey, and JC shivers when it oozes over him, trailing heat with it. He opens his mouth and Lance kisses him, licks at his lips, sucks the bottom one. Other hands stroke down his sides, tug his leather pants down over the swell of his ass. JC shivers when cool air rushes over hot skin, more sensation layered over what's already there. So much sensation. So much, so pretty, so bright, so everywhereeverything--
I could drown in this...let the colours wash into me and feel the heat sweep me downstream and flow over me and I wouldn't care. I don't care. I want this...
The first prick feels like a dot of heat mixing with the rest, whitehot, but quick, hardly noticeable. The next prick feels the same, but sharper, like slicing your finger on a knife. The pain is quickbrightwhite, rushing over him before it fades. Then it doesn't fade, it grows, swells within him, each prick bleeding into the next one, like paints left out in the rain, the color expanding, moving, becoming more than one thing. JC moans, tries to flex away from the sensation, but he's held fast, leather and metal and Chris' hands tight on his hips, Lance's mouth on his.
More pricks become slashes, nothing quick or sharp about them, they feel like they're ripping into him, but each rip glows, bleeds light and heat, and he feels the throbbing mute into something...different. It hurts, so bad, and he can't quite grasp he's lying there voluntarily while someone decorates him...marks him...with needles.
I'll belong...I DO belong...to them. Their names on me forever...foreveralwayscan'tstopcan'tgoback...
His head aches and swirls with the colours and the brightness and the painpleasurehotsharp that echoes through him.
He howls into Lance's mouth when he comes, shuddering against the table, hips working against Chris' hold. Nothing but sensation rippling through him; he can't come because of the cockring, but his body still feels the release.
He's dimly aware that Chris is no longer holding his hips, no sure hands keeping him still, but even if he can move he doesn't think he wants to. He's floating in a warm red glow that pulses in time with his heartbeat, slipslides through his veins, fills him with thick, heavy heat. He thinks he could stay like this forever, in this soft, warm place. Nothing but breath and heat and light.
Underneath it all though, the buzz of the needle, burning into his skin, slicksharp splinters of pain, one barely fading before another slips into its place. Each splinter brings a silverbright streak of pain flashing into the red glow, and he tries to breathe through it, to go with it, but his breath catches in his throat, and he twists his hips before he feels someone grasping them again, holding him steady once more.
Hurts now....oh god...it hurts...
"Shh...shh, baby. Shhh." Chris' voice, slipping softly over his skin, and JC turns his head towards it, feels Chris' mouth close over his, the slide of his tongue slick and hot inside his mouth.
"Hurts," he whispers, and curls his hands into fists against the restraints, his fingernails digging half-moons into the flesh of his palm.
Chris' lips are warm against his forehead, and JC arches into the touch. "Still more to go, Jayce....just a little...looks so pretty."
"It hurts," he whispers again. Or does he? Does he make sound, or is it swallowed into Chris' mouth, absorbed into Chris?
Chris likes the pain, he embraces it, seeks it out...he should do this, be getting this, be lying here with splinters of cold white heat slicing into his skin...
"I will, I will...I want to, too," Chris' mouth moves against his, and JC licks at the words, draws them into himself. A bit of him into Chris, a bit of Chris into him, and they both are absorbed into Lance. A holy trinity, his mind giggles, and he tries to laugh, gasps sharply when it makes the splinters grow, stutter over his skin, slashing him open until he's bleeding out that warm, thick feeling, shivering as its replaced by cold, thin pain stretching over him. Chris shushes into his mouth and kisses him again, and on the other side, JC feels Lance's mouth moving over the tendons of his neck, licking and sucking.
Plugging up the holes. Filling me again. Filling me with them...
It still hurts, hurts unlike anything he's ever felt before, more than the rings did. More, because it's a never-ending loop, stinging him, slicing through him, into him.
Marking me.
The words ring in his head, and he holds onto them, onto the brightness of them, until they're brighter than the pain, and he can breathe again. Chris and Lance's hands are on him once more; stroking, soothing and JC can feel the warmth from them pass into him, and it's safe, he's safe again. The pain is still there, but it's dulled now, and he just feels brief flashes of it as once again, gentle heat starts to thrum through his body.
I can control it, he thinks. I can take it and twist it and make it what I want.
"Almost done," Lance says against his ear, teeth nipping gently at the lobe, a soothing flick of the tongue following. "Taste it, baby." He slides a finger between JC's lips, into his mouth; there's the cooperbright slickness of blood, saltysweet sweat and underneath it all, the bitter tang of ink.
"You belong to us," Chris murmurs, his own finger replacing Lance's in JC's mouth. More saltbitter tang of blood, of ink, and beneath that the tang of ejaculate, bright and sharp on it's own. JC thinks about the limo, thinks about Chris jerking off while he watched JC ride Lance's cock. He licks at JC's lips, at his tongue, then whispers, "Mine...ours...."
Heat blossoms inside him with those words, heat so great, so intense, JC wonders if he can stand it. His skin should scorch, should crack and peel, baring the innermost parts of him to everyone's eyes. Except...they've seen that, tonight. Joey, Justin, everyone else...saw me led in...saw...what I was feeling. Saw the...real me? Is this? Am I me, or am I hunger and pain and need and sex...am I me, or am I theirs?
He knows the answer when he opens his eyes -- when did they close? -- and looks at Chris, watching him intently, at Lance standing just beside Chris, lightly stroking Chris' arm.
"Yours," he sighs, and in the quiet that follows, he realizes the humming sound of the needle has stopped, realizes the sharpbright stab has faded, replaced by the dull thudding, throbbing pain that slides over him like gray mist. He nods once, tastes the word, bitter and tangy like the ink and blood on his tongue, and nods again. "Yours."
Lance unbuckles the restraints, and JC flexes his wrists and ankles, slowly stretching out, feeling the dull ache of protest from his muscles. Every movement he makes brings a brighthot throb from his newly marked skin, and he raises himself slowly onto all fours, breathing heavily, concentrating on controlling the pain, shaping it into something he can work with. His skin is slicked with sweat but he feels cold, and a shudder passes through him. Suddenly, more than anything, he wants to be touched. To be touched by anything other than the thin skin of pain that's settling itself back over him, holding him fast.
"Are you ok?" He hears Chris' voice, sees him take a step forward, but then there's Lance's hand on Chris's arm, holding him back.
"No. Leave him. He--" Lance smiles then, eyes bright and dangerous--"he can come to you. Let him ask."
"Ask?" Chris says slowly, looking at JC, then at Lance, then back again. "Or beg?" His eyes flash...something...and JC shivers, hundreds of tiny, hot needles prickling up and down his skin.
"Beg, I think." Lance's voice is a full octave lower than usual and JC's heart skips a beat. When Lance touches his shoulders, leans in to whisper, it's as though there are hundreds, thousands of pinpricks rolling up and down his skin. "Beg like the pretty bitch he is." Pressure settles on his shoulders, hands urging him downward, and JC groans softly and goes, lets gravity help him out. His back aches, his cock aches, and he's swimming in a warm fog of redhotwhitebright, a rainbow of colours dancing through it.
Down. He remembers the command. He's watched Lance give it to Chris, many times. Or enough times.
"Crawl, JC," Lance's voice ripples over him, hot and sharp, not comforting, but dangerous. Dangerous because it makes the snarl of fire and pain and pleasure in his belly tighten, intensify, increase. He shudders but nods, and sinks forward. Its hard to make his body move, not because of the ache throbbing inside him, but because he wants this and doesn't want it, both, so bad. He feels flushed, giddy, uncertain, and oh, so hungry. Hungry for--god. For this.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
There's maybe three feet between him and Chris but it seems like three miles, and each inch he can hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears, can feel the blood pounding through his body. When he gets to Chris he's exhausted, energized, thrumming with need, and it feels so good, so natural to nuzzle at his leg and whisper, "Please...please, touch me...anything. I need. Something."
"What, C? What do you need?" Chris' fingers are warm on his jaw, tilting his head back. Dark brown eyes, bottomless, sparkling, hungry. JC shivers, feels the burn of embarrassment mingle with sharp burn of pleasure.
"I need--you, Chris. Please. Need to feel--need to you fuck me, please."
Behind him he hears the door open and close, and flushes bright hot when he realizes the tattoo man heard it. Heard that.
His skin prickles with shame once more -- oh god, he heard me beg for it -- but along with the shame is a flood of dark heat that spirals through him, burning hot and tight in his belly. He rubs his head against Chris' hand, closing his eyes against the shiverchills that slip along his skin and settle over him, filling him with a strange, wild energy. "Fuck me," he says again, and his voice is quiet but strong. "Please fuck me. I need you to fuck me, hard."
"Such a shameless little bitch," Lance growls, and JC smiles a little at the rough edge of need in his voice. I'm the one on my hands and knees and begging, but I have him in the palm of my hand, he thinks, and his belly twists with the knowledge. He opens his mouth and sucks on one of Chris' fingers hungrily, and then bites down hard. He hears Chris' hissed intake of breath, and looks up, meets his eyes in a challenge.
A challenge that Chris meets as his other hand strikes JC's face with a stinging slap.
JC isn't sure which one of them is more surprised, him, or Chris, but he's willing to bet on Chris. He can see the shock in Chris' eyes, along with the lust rising, burning deep brown into black. He bites down on Chris' finger again, more gently this time, then sucks it deep into his mouth, moving his head up and down like he's blowing him. Chris' fingers slide from his face up into his hair, clutching tight, tight enough to burn, to make his scalp prickle and sting, then he pulls JC off his finger, fumbling with that hand to undo his pants. His cock is swollen, the tip peeking out from the foreskin. JC starts to lean forward, stops when Chris tugs hard enough to halt him. "I don't want to come in your mouth," he growls, and JC thinks about sucking Lance earlier. He nods and leans forward again, shivering at the taste of warm, salty skin against his tongue.
Lance presses up behind JC and the increase in heat makes the fresh tattoo sting and burn even more, makes him wince at the thought of anything touching it.
"I can't wait to lick it," Lance growls in his ear. "Spread you out flat and trace it with my tongue before I fuck you senseless." JC jerks at his words and Chris' fingers tighten in his hair, making him jerk again. "It'll hurt," Lance continues, hissing against his ear as JC's mouth closes around Chris' cock. "It'll hurt and ache and burn and you'll want it to stop. You'll want the pain to stop." He trails his fingers lightly across JC's back, barely touching the skin, but it's enough to make it sting, and JC gasps in a shuddering breath. Chris' fingers tighten once more, pushing his head back down, and JC draws in another breath, steels himself against the next sweep of Lance's fingers over angry, red flesh. He concentrates on the feel of Chris' cock in his mouth, silky skin under his tongue, the saltbitter taste against his palate.
JC feels Lance's fingers trail lower, along the cleft of his ass, stroking, teasing, and he whimpers a little and pushes back. He hears Lance's low chuckle as he pulls his fingers away, hears the hiss Chris makes as he nips at the head of his cock in frustration.
"Hot little bitch," Lance says softly, teasing the tips of his fingers lightly along the outer-most edge of the cleft of JC's ass. "Want to be fucked so bad, you can almost taste it, can't you?"
JC doesn't answer; he has his mouth full, trying to concentrate on sucking Chris and not biting him. But the stinging slap to his ass makes him whimper, makes him push back against the hand teasing him. He pulls off with a wet, sucking sound, and pants out, "Please...please, Lance..."
"Chris?" It's a question, and JC wishes he could see Lance's face, since he can't quite read the tone. He can see Chris' face, though, if he looks up, and he steals a quick glance, then a bolder one, and sucks in his breath at the naked lust he sees. He licks his lips and watches Chris narrow his eyes, watches the lust flare higher.
It's different like this. Him wanting me...not stronger, just...different. A different sort of lust, of power. JC's belly rolls, thinking of that power, of the feel of Chris' hand on his cheek, the sting, the heat, the way his cock throbbed, and he shudders, and nuzzles into Chris' groin. "Chris...fuck me, please. Please..."
"Get up here. Now." The last word is tight, clipped, Chris' voice gone hoarse. JC struggles to his feet and reaches to push his pants down and off, hands shaking with need. Lance moves to sit beside Chris, eyes dark and hot, and JC is thankful for the cockring he's wearing when Lance spits into his hand and reaches over to slick it onto Chris' dick. Chris growls and arches upward, eyes flashing brown-black fire, thigh muscles tight and tense as he rocks upward once, twice, into the slippery tunnel.
Lance stands again, helps guide JC onto Chris' lap, hands strong and sure on his hips as JC moves into position. JC breathes in deeply, steadies himself, and slowly lowers himself onto Chris. His breath hisses out between bared teeth and he can feel his body slowly stretching, opening up, can feel Chris inside him. Lance's hands are gone, but Chris' are there instead, his fingers curling around JC's hipbones, holding him, stroking gently.
JC rocks his hips slowly, lets his head drop back, moaning softly when Chris leans forward and sweeps a rough tongue along the length of his throat, a trail of slick heat JC feels burning into his skin. Then Chris' teeth sink into his collarbone, a short, sharp sting, and JC's hips twist and jerk in response.
"Pretty pretty bitch. So so pretty." Lance's voice, low and throaty in his ear, and JC can feel his fingers twining in his hair, yanking his head back, taking his mouth in a rough kiss. Lance's tongue strokes inside, his teeth sink into JC's lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.
"Let me taste him," Chris' voice is rough, hoarse; JC can feel the need throbbing in it. Lance pulls back with a lingering lick to the bleeding lip, then Chris is there, covering JC's mouth with his, tongue flicking inside hungrily while he rotates his hips and thrusts upward. JC moans into the kiss, then growls when Lance presses lightly on the gauze covering his new...ink. Ink.
My mark of ownership. He snaps his hips down, clenching himself tight around Chris, swallowing the sounds he makes. Lance laughs softly, bends to lick at their joined mouths, teasing JC, then Chris, until they're sharing a threeway kiss, a symphony of pleasure sounds rising around them.
"Pretty and hot," Chris whispers into the kiss, the words disappearing like a puff of smoke. "Fuck, you're hot," he sighs, and JC hums low in his throat. He feels hot. His body is painted in heat, in shades of orange and red and yellow, layered in warm to hot to molten, his blood boiling and churning. When Chris lets go of his hip with one hand, reaches to play with his nipples, JC groans. Lance bats his hand away.
"You do it, baby. Play with yourself while Chris fucks you." Lance raises Chris' hand to his mouth, licks and nips at the small fingers before sucking one in. His eyes smolder and JC shudders at the look. Chris'll get fucked before the night is over. The last time Lance fucked him, JC got to lick Chris clean afterward. Maybe this time, too.
He closes his eyes because Chris' are too hot to look into, and lets himself drift in the heat, in the darkness, the bright colors flashing and rolling around him while he works his nipples, hips dancing along with the rhythm Chris sets. He can hear the muted sounds of sucking, of kisses, tastes skin and salt and blood when he licks his lips, but its so much, too much, with pain still throbbing through him every time he shifts, brilliant, beautiful, whitehot pain, and he doesn't want to ever look, or see again, as long as he can feel.
The last thing he feels before his mind explodes into a prism of colorsoundsensation is the release of the cockring he's worn all evening, and the flicker of Lance's fingers over his raw, sore back.
His orgasm slams into him, and he almost forgets to breathe, forgets to do anything but feel the waves of heat and light and sensation that fill his body, his head. There's pain too, pain from where Lance's fingers are dancing across his lower back, and he feels it as redhot tendrils snaking along his skin, slipping beneath to become part of him.
I can control it, he thinks again, and pushes against the pain, shapes it until it's part of the thrum of pleasure shimmering over him, around him. I can make it what I want.
Chris' fingers tighten on his hips until they're digging sharply into flesh, and JC can feel him shuddering beneath him, against him, in him. JC opens his eyes to watch Chris, sees his head thrown back, hears his cry as he comes hard and fast.
"You're both so pretty," Lance hisses, then kisses JC hard, fingers pressing right against the edge of the tattoo, pressing until JC feels the pain bleed into him, grow, swell, and he shudders again, coming one more time. It's a smaller, weaker orgasm than the first, but still full-bodied, pleasure thrumming hotly through him.
When he can see again, without streaks of bright light piercing his vision, he sees Chris staring at him, eyes bright and hot, still, but with more than just hunger or lust.
Pride, JC thinks. He's proud of me.
He's proud of himself, too, and maybe a little amazed. JC sighs and leans forward, body throbbing, mind deliciously blank, wrapped in a thick, soft cloud of soft grey. Chris strokes his hair; he can feel Lance behind him, petting his back and shoulders.
"We should go find Joey and Justin," Lance says softly, at last, tilting JC's head back gently. JC sees the same gleam in Lance's eyes that is in Chris', and shivers happily. "They're expecting us to spend a little time with them."
"I'm surprised Joe got J to come here," Chris says, thumb stroking over JC's lip. He kisses it languidly, licking at the side of it. "I'd like to watch...some more."
"I know you would." Lance is closer, leans in to kiss JC once, then Chris. "Come on."
JC leans forward to kiss Chris, licking softly at his lips. "Do I have to move?" he whispers, and feels Chris' lips curve into a smile, feels him nod. They kiss again, and JC slips off his lap, shivering slightly, missing the warmth of Chris' body the instant it's gone.
Lance helps him dress, fingers gentler now when they brush across his back, lips murmuring, "sorry, baby" when JC draws in a sharp breath as his pants are fastened. "It's ok," JC says, and Lance smiles, something like understanding in his eyes.
JC gulps water down from a bottle Lance hands him, then cleans himself up with a damp towel, also appearing from the recesses of Lance's carry bag. Once he's cleaned up, he helps Chris finish straightening himself up. He leaves his shirt off, shivering at the thought of the tattoo, still covered behind gauze. Tomorrow or the next day, he can remove it, though it'll be a couple of weeks before it's healed. He wonders if he'll miss the throbbing, when it's gone.
Lance attaches the leash to his collar again before they leave the room, whispering into JC's ear, "You look so sexy on a leash. I'd keep you like this all the time if I could." Chris, watching him with dark, hot eyes, seems to agree with Lance wordlessly. "Are you ready?" JC nods, sighing when Chris falls in right behind him again, fingers pressed just above where the line of pain begins, stroking feather light right at the edge of it. JC throbs again, mindful of his body's hypersensitivity now. He feels much like he did before he came in, hungry and on edge, an open, exposed nerve pushed to overstimulation.
He could get hooked on this feeling, he thinks.
The naked lust that shines on Justin's face, and flashes quickly through Joey's eyes, when they reach the table the other two are sitting at, heightens that feeling. Shame, amazement, hunger, want, need--and JC feels them spin out within him, swallowing him down. Lance has him kneel at his feet when they sit, Chris just on the other side of JC. Flanking him. Protecting him. He flushes at the looks Joey and Justin give him, but he likes the burning he feels in his belly.
"It's done," Lance says, and a shiver goes through JC as he realises they've been waiting for him, known he was being marked, and now-- now they want to see. He's even more aware of the throbbing, pulsing in time with the blood in his veins, part of him. A tattoo, marking him in blood and sweat and sex, a part of him that shows he's part of someone else.
"Stand up," Chris says softly, and JC does, turning round so Justin and Joey can see the gauze across his lower back. He feels Chris' fingers stroking gently above it again, pinpricks of pain flaring out from where he touches, but the ache is dulled now, almost comforting.
"It's two kanji symbols," Lance says, and his fingers are gently stroking JC's skin too, twining with Chris,' "our names. To show he's ours."
"Wow." JC can hear the amazement in Justin's voice, and there's the sharp undertone of something else he thinks might be desire. He thinks of Lance holding Justin by the throat earlier, the way it made him feel, the knowledge that the show of possession was for him, about him. The thought bleeds heat and light and warmth through him and he smiles. "I'm theirs," he says to Justin, as he turns back around, and his smile widens when he sees Joey nod and grin.
"I hope they realise how lucky they are, C," Joey says softly, as JC kneels back down between Chris and Lance, leans into Lance's leg as Chris strokes his neck gently. "Six months and counting.....happy anniversary to the three of you."
~finis~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2002-12-04 01:58 am (UTC)Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!
On my way to bed, but I am so looking forward to reading this tomorrow.
::bounces::
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Date: 2002-12-05 07:22 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-12-09 11:30 pm (UTC)Hee! Enjoyed would be an understatement... and *love* the icon, hon. ::swoon::
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Date: 2002-12-04 05:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-12-05 07:23 am (UTC)I hope the story lives up to your expectations :) 'Cos, y'know. It could suck awfully *g*
*hugs* thanks, hon :)
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Date: 2002-12-04 06:28 am (UTC)Just lovely. Write more. More!
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Date: 2002-12-05 07:24 am (UTC)Thanks, sweetie. I'm glad you liked it :)
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Date: 2002-12-04 07:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-12-04 12:31 pm (UTC)but yes. there're more planned, and yes, Chris will be Lance's bitch. hey, everyone is Lance's bitch, because he's just so delightfully nasty.
hell, *i'm* Lance's bitch when i'm writing him. he tends to just....do stuff and i'm left thinking..."the fuck?"
hi, i babble. long story short, yes there will be fic where Chris is dominated by Lance. right, Kim? huh? huh?
i go now.
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Date: 2002-12-05 07:39 am (UTC)Absolutely. Because Lance is just...Yes. *shivers* And Chris...needs Lance. Needs that from him. So, yes.
*entertains delightful images of Chris, handcuffed to a wall...*
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Date: 2002-12-05 07:36 am (UTC)Anyway. I'm so glad you enjoyed the story! Thanks for letting me/us know :)
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Date: 2002-12-04 10:12 am (UTC)I am without words.
And incredibly jealous, too! Wish i could write like that!
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Date: 2002-12-05 07:56 am (UTC)As for how...I don't know. Honestly. Halo and I just seem to...I don't want to say 'enable', 'cos it's not that. We just--work really, really well together :) *hugs* thanks again :)
Re:
Date: 2002-12-05 09:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-12-06 06:04 pm (UTC)and, i just realized, for the 'keywords' for pictures, i have it listed as 'come in threes' *snickering*
yes. i'm six.
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Date: 2002-12-04 11:49 am (UTC)me: . . .
kim and halo: {laugh evilly}
me: . . .
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Date: 2002-12-05 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-12-04 05:59 pm (UTC)Killed me dead. D-E-D. You guys have packed so much into a fairly comapct space: gorgeous sensory imagery, really, really interesting power dynamic explorations (a foo-foo way of saying I like the way you write JC on a leash, Lance growling, and Chris flashing dark eyes at them both), all masquerading as a really, really (really) hot story. I love your JC voice and how he's figuring out how the three of them work together in this new way and where he fits with them. And JC and needles always kills me.
So yes. Lovely story. I see that you say there's more to come (and the twelve year old in me snickers), and I do yet another happy dance. Can't wait to read more. Thanks for the story!
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Date: 2002-12-05 08:45 am (UTC)Wheee! Mission accomplished! Because you KNOW our goal was to have fandom sliding out of its chairs, bones no longer able to support them... ;)
Thank you so much for the lovely feedback! Wow--really. I am pleased as all get out that you like the voices in the story, that they work for you :) And believe me when I say...it's interesting, very interesting, to work with this power dynamic. Because there are multiple layers of Dom and sub going on here, and everything needs to be balanced. We thought it worked -- it's wonderful to hear it did! Thank you :)
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Date: 2002-12-04 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-12-05 08:47 am (UTC)Seriously? Thank you :) I'm so glad you liked it, hon. And that was kinda how it was to write it: hot, uncomfortable and intense, by varying degrees. Glad it came through!
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Date: 2002-12-06 11:21 am (UTC)Gaaaaaaah! *thud*
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Date: 2002-12-06 06:05 pm (UTC)thanks for the feed, darlin'. it's much appreciated!