[ new fic: rock your body ]
Jun. 17th, 2003 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymRock Your Body. Chris/JC, with a bit of GSFish feel to it. NC17.
for halo, who rocks my world. happy birthday, honey.
The five of them, together, are a force to be reckoned with, at any time.
Alcohol, on it's own, is dangerous.
So is boredom.
Them, alcohol, boredom, and a weather-related inability to leave the hotel equals potential disaster.
They're all half drunk by the time Chris cackles, "we need to do body shots, y'all!"
JC gives in easily when the others tell him they want to do them on him. They take turns, generally, but everyone seems to agree it's the most fun to do it on him. He certainly doesn't mind, and the memory of the last time – hands touching him gently, stroking and petting and sliding over him, and god, the tongues licking and mouths sucking on his skin – have him undulating gently before he's even undressed. Body shots are the most fun when he's naked, or nearly so.
He shucks his t-shirt over his head without hesitation, then pops the button on his jeans, pausing only once when he happens to look at Chris. It was Chris' idea; it always is…and he wants—well, he wants Chris' mouth on him, even for body shots, if he's honest. Chris smiles back, but it's a different sort of smile than he's ever seen from Chris—at least, he's never seen it directed at him before. It's – . There's heat there. Interest. Speculation. Things that make him shiver, make his body stir with interest.
There's more, too, and if JC acknowledges it, acknowledges that he's aware of it, has been aware of it…it makes him warm with something other than physical desire.
He'll take the physical, if he can't have anything else; something is better than nothing. And there's always the chance that it'll turn to more, maybe. If he's lucky.
"Mmm. Lot of pretty JC." Lance combs his fingers through JC's hair, presses him into Chris' arms, the back of one hand brushing lightly over JC's dick, already half-hard, interested in those touches, and mouths, and warm skin touching him. "Pretty baby."
"Oh, he is." Chris' fingers are warm against his sides, urging him backward slowly, moving his legs apart to drape over Chris'. JC thinks he might really like this position, especially when the others kneel around him, bottle of tequila and a bowl of lime wedges settled between his spread knees. Chris rubs his fingers over JC's belly, ruffling the line of hair just beneath his navel. JC wonders if he should've taken his shorts off, too, but—time enough to do that, later. "Jup—you take first shot."
JC wriggles at the gentle caresses Chris gives him, but he's totally unprepared for the sensation of Justin's tongue stroking over him, just beneath his collarbone. He forgets, in between times, how good it feels, and how much more he feels, alcohol and heat coursing through him. "Guh—" He swallows hard and opens his eyes in time to see Justin tip his head to slam back the shot of tequila. Next is the lime, the sudden tang of citrus filling the air when Justin bites lustily into it.
A streak of juice hits him on the chest, cool and sticky, and JC's breath catches in his chest when Chris rubs it over his nipple.
"Nice," Lance mutters, shifting forward. He tongues JC slowly, right above his left nipple, where Chris rubbed the juice, and JC sighs breathily. Warm fingers stroke his thighs, and JC looks down, wonders where Joey will lick, for his first shot. He wiggles impatiently, is rewarded by Joey's fingers, warm and strong, rubbing where his shorts ride up.
"Right there, man. Hold still, C." And Joey's mouth is on him, licking from his knee up the inside of his thigh, and JC gasps; gasps again when Lance feeds him a shot of tequila at the same time Joey slams his back.
More touches, more licks, and Chris' fingers still flutter restlessly over his body, dragging droplets of sticky citrus juice across his skin, until he smells like lime, can't sort himself out from the tart, tangy scent hanging heavy in the air around them.
"Your shot, Chris." JC watches Lance pour another shot out; he has the glasses all lined up between them. It's a good feeling, the heat from liquor, and his friends all around him – Chris behind him, Justin on his right, Lance on his left, Joey in front of him. Perfect.
More perfect is Chris, pulling the hair away from JC's neck and nuzzling before licking slowly up the exposed skin. JC moans once and tilts his head back, arches upward when Chris licks again, slowly, so slowly. He takes the shot Lance hands him and tosses it back, and JC shivers in tandem with him. Another burst of citrus rises around them, and then Chris kisses him, mouth fiery but cool, slick and tangy with tequila and lime juice, and his head spins from so much more than just the alcohol heating his blood.
"Fuckin' A," someone – Justin? – whispers. JC hears, dimly, someone else agreeing, a low rumble that makes his belly vibrate pleasantly. A warm mouth slides over his nipples and JC gasps into Chris' mouth, groans when Chris licks his lips before plunging inside again, tongue slicking all around, wriggling against his in the same rhythm as the one teasing his nipples into tight, hard points.
No, not one. Two. Two mouths, ghosting over his skin, licking at the lime, at the salt where's he's sweating, so hot now from liquor and arousal. JC manages to open his eyes when Chris pulls back, and it's Justin and Lance, licking over his nipples, and down the center of his chest while Joey watches, fingers moving restlessly against his thighs. He watches them meet in the middle, shudders as they kiss wetly, mouths sticky and red, lips shining. Joey leans in and they share the kiss with him, tongues flashing, licking, touching. Behind him Chris shifts, pulling JC tighter against him. He can feel hard heat digging into his back and shifts, tilting his head again with a soft whimper.
"Feelin' left out, baby?" Chris nuzzles his neck, warm breath spreading over sensitive skin, then bites down on the side, sucking gently, then harder. JC growls and Chris sucks harder. There'll be a mark, but he doesn't care. He wants to watch Joey and Justin and Lance kiss some more, but it's hard to focus. Chris kisses him, licking and sucking at random points on his neck, his throat, then his earlobe. Warm hands touch his belly, fingers teasing, stroking, and then it's more hands, more fingers than Chris could possibly have and JC forces his eyes open again.
Lance and Justin, light touches, dragging up and down his torso, skating ever-so-gently over hard nipples, then back to skirt along the elastic waistband of his shorts. Joey's hands, big and warm, just a little sweaty, sliding up JC's legs, and Chris' soft laugh when JC pulls his knees up, spreading himself wider for whatever Joey might do.
There's hotslickwet along his ribs and thighs then, and the soft sound of sucking, licking, and the satisfied growl when three toss back another shot. JC's panting now, lost in the sensuality of tongues and fingers, of hot and slick, of soft and moist, and teasing and touching. Hard, cold, solid rim of a glass against his mouth, and he opens, feels the burn of tequila when it washes over his lips, tongue, palette, the bite of it matching the quick, sharp nip Chris gives his lips. JC isn't sure which burns more then, the liquor or Chris, when he slicks his tongue into JC's mouth to share the shot.
"Look at you," Chris whispers hoarsely into his ear, and JC shudders at the words, at the electricity prickling through him from the hunger he hears. "So hot, aren't you?" His hand slides downward over JC's belly, fingers teasing, before hovering just over the erection tenting out thin cotton boxer-briefs. JC squirms, can feel the heat of Chris' hand, wants that heat on him. He whimpers when Chris laughs softly, his whimper changing to a growl when someone presses that hand downward. Not Chris; JC feels the resistance in him, the pull against the action. But then Chris is cupping him and fire bleeds into his bloodstream at the heavy press, the dragging friction when the cupping becomes a stroke, becomes a firm, steady jerking. He pushes himself upward into the touch, moans when the touch tightens, a firmer grip. "JC, Jesus—" He hears Chris swallow, feels it against his back, but oh, god. Hard to process anything else. Just the need pulsing through him now.
Need, but something else, too.
"Chris—"
"Want you." Chris breathes the words against his skin, and JC feels marked. Each letter imbeds itself, burns hotly where warm breath teases. "So bad." JC arches his body in a long, shivering roll, pushes himself into Chris' hand, still cupping and rubbing him.
"Yes." The word is more a sigh, but JC means it; he wants Chris. Wants to watch the other three kiss and touch, but more than that, he wants Chris. "Please. I need—"
He twists in Chris' arms, hears the sound of shot glasses knocking against each other, but doesn't care. He turns so he's straddling Chris' lap, staring into dark brown eyes so hot he can feel the flames licking at him. Scorching him. Chris catches one hand in his and drags it down, curls JC's fingers around his erection and arches when JC squeezes. "God, JC. God."
He knows what Chris means. So hot, so fast, but not so fast. Years of build up, of longing—he can see it written on Chris' face as plainly as he knows it within himself. He smiles, just a little, and squeezes his hand again, then leans in to lick at Chris' mouth; tastes the bitterness of tequila, and the salt and tang from limes and—him. Chris tastes like what he, JC, must taste like. It's weird, and arousing, and he bites down on Chris' lower lip, hungry and aching for as much as he can taste, as fast as he can get it.
Chris pulls him closer, soft sounds escaping as the bites meld into kisses, scorching hot, wet kisses, and JC shivers when Chris spreads his hands open over his back, fingers scratching gently, pressing and kneading, scraping up and down. He scoots closer, trying to climb inside Chris, to feel his body absorb him. Chris leans back slowly, pulling JC with him, and then they're pressed close, JC's leg between Chris' and he can rub and move against Chris, the heat within him curling throughout his body, twining itself around nerve endings, sending his blood rushing hotly.
Somewhere behind him he hears a soft exhalation and a smothered curse, then a door opening and finally, closing. They're background noises, lost in the white noise roaring in his head.
There're too many clothes between them, though most of them are Chris'; he still has jeans and a t-shirt on. JC slips a hand between them and rubs roughly over the front of Chris' jeans, feels him throb even through the heavy material. He bites at slick, swollen lips, licks hot words into them. "How close?"
Chris grunts. "Close enough, Jesus—" He winds his fingers through JC's hair and pulls him back in for another drugging kiss, rocking his hips upward. JC growls and fumbles with the buttons, swallows Chris' groan when he gets the pants open. Chris is so hard, the tip of his cock slicked with sticky moisture, and JC throbs in sympathy, throbs with renewed arousal. He humps against Chris and jerks him awkwardly, fingers sliding smoothly along hot velvety skin. Colors explode behind his eyelids in a redorangeyellow flash when Chris bites him, hard, teeth snapping closed over the sensitive skin of his throat. JC shudders and tilts his head, snaps his hips hard when Chris bites again.
Heat gathers slowly, coiling into something redhot and live in the pit of his belly. Prickles of it dance along his skin, making him shiver and roll faster against Chris, the currents tickling and teasing him. He's breathless, from kissing, from the energy gathering inside him, from knowing it's Chris; at last, finally, it's Chris.
JC shifts his arm, trying for a better angle. Chris whimpers and rocks up against him, into his hand, and JC swallows the sound down, shudders and closes his eyes when hot hands slide down his back and cup his ass, pulling him so close, too close, not close enough—
Lightning. It's lightning rushing through him when orgasm hits; whitehot streaks of energy slamming into him, ricocheting through him, searing him with bright heat. JC hears Chris groan at the same time a loud, high-pitched noise is torn from his own throat. Slick, slippery heat coats his fingers, clings then spreads, and JC moans as he comes, stickyslick inside his shorts, long pulses of heat that seem to go on and on.
"Jesus, god," he gasps, when he can form anything like words again. Chris makes a noise in his throat that JC takes as agreement, and wraps his arms tighter around JC, pulling him in for another kiss. And another. Not the hungry kisses from a minute ago; these are deep, but sweet, tasting and searching. JC licks over each part of Chris' mouth, memorizing him, the way there are pockets that taste sweeter, or slightly bitter, and he can almost feel the tequila, rich and heavy, layered over with citrus.
Long, slick, sweet kisses that make him dizzy, make the blood pound in his head, make heat grow in his chest. Chris tugs against him and JC rolls, ends up on his back with Chris half-kneeling, half-splayed over him, staring down with dark eyes that seem bottomless from this angle. JC reaches up and touches his face, slides fingertips hesitantly over his cheekbone, down to his mouth. Chris smiles and kisses him, licks at them before biting at the tips.
"You—" he begins, then stops. His eyes are so pretty; JC wonders why it is no one's ever noticed before. Never said anything. Why he hasn't said anything. He wonders if he's still kind of drunk.
He feels drunk. But not on tequila alone. A grin is spreading over his face and he doesn't want to stop it. He leans up and kisses Chris, a quick, sloppy kiss.
"Me, what?"
"I've wanted to do that a long time." Another lick and bite to his fingertips. JC thinks he's discovered another erogenous zone. Chris licks his lips. "A really long time."
"Me too." He's surprised Chris; he can tell by the way his eyes widen almost comically.
"We both suck."
"We both suck a lot." JC wiggles. "I can show you, later."
One eyebrow raises. "Later?"
He snickers. "Well. I'm kinda drunk right now. Like, really drunk. And pretty—high, too. Like, a natural high. Because, y'know. Jerking you off. And that kissing thing. But yeah, lemme sleep it off, and—"
Chris puts his hand over JC's mouth, his own eyes crinkled up with a huge smile. "I get the idea." He laughs. "I'm kinda really drunk, too."
"Mmphhf—"
Chris pulls his hand away. "Huh?"
JC licks his lips. They taste like Chris. "We should sleep now—somewhere that's not the floor, but, yes. Sleep. And then suck. Or, y'know. Whatever."
The eyebrow goes up again. "A lotta ground in that 'whatever', C."
JC smiles, a big, wide grin. "I know. And I can't wait to explore it all."
Chris leans in again, eyes bright, and brushes his lips over JC's, a slow, easy kiss that JC feels slide all through him like warm honey, coating him deliciously. "Me either."
~fin~
for halo, who rocks my world. happy birthday, honey.
The five of them, together, are a force to be reckoned with, at any time.
Alcohol, on it's own, is dangerous.
So is boredom.
Them, alcohol, boredom, and a weather-related inability to leave the hotel equals potential disaster.
They're all half drunk by the time Chris cackles, "we need to do body shots, y'all!"
JC gives in easily when the others tell him they want to do them on him. They take turns, generally, but everyone seems to agree it's the most fun to do it on him. He certainly doesn't mind, and the memory of the last time – hands touching him gently, stroking and petting and sliding over him, and god, the tongues licking and mouths sucking on his skin – have him undulating gently before he's even undressed. Body shots are the most fun when he's naked, or nearly so.
He shucks his t-shirt over his head without hesitation, then pops the button on his jeans, pausing only once when he happens to look at Chris. It was Chris' idea; it always is…and he wants—well, he wants Chris' mouth on him, even for body shots, if he's honest. Chris smiles back, but it's a different sort of smile than he's ever seen from Chris—at least, he's never seen it directed at him before. It's – . There's heat there. Interest. Speculation. Things that make him shiver, make his body stir with interest.
There's more, too, and if JC acknowledges it, acknowledges that he's aware of it, has been aware of it…it makes him warm with something other than physical desire.
He'll take the physical, if he can't have anything else; something is better than nothing. And there's always the chance that it'll turn to more, maybe. If he's lucky.
"Mmm. Lot of pretty JC." Lance combs his fingers through JC's hair, presses him into Chris' arms, the back of one hand brushing lightly over JC's dick, already half-hard, interested in those touches, and mouths, and warm skin touching him. "Pretty baby."
"Oh, he is." Chris' fingers are warm against his sides, urging him backward slowly, moving his legs apart to drape over Chris'. JC thinks he might really like this position, especially when the others kneel around him, bottle of tequila and a bowl of lime wedges settled between his spread knees. Chris rubs his fingers over JC's belly, ruffling the line of hair just beneath his navel. JC wonders if he should've taken his shorts off, too, but—time enough to do that, later. "Jup—you take first shot."
JC wriggles at the gentle caresses Chris gives him, but he's totally unprepared for the sensation of Justin's tongue stroking over him, just beneath his collarbone. He forgets, in between times, how good it feels, and how much more he feels, alcohol and heat coursing through him. "Guh—" He swallows hard and opens his eyes in time to see Justin tip his head to slam back the shot of tequila. Next is the lime, the sudden tang of citrus filling the air when Justin bites lustily into it.
A streak of juice hits him on the chest, cool and sticky, and JC's breath catches in his chest when Chris rubs it over his nipple.
"Nice," Lance mutters, shifting forward. He tongues JC slowly, right above his left nipple, where Chris rubbed the juice, and JC sighs breathily. Warm fingers stroke his thighs, and JC looks down, wonders where Joey will lick, for his first shot. He wiggles impatiently, is rewarded by Joey's fingers, warm and strong, rubbing where his shorts ride up.
"Right there, man. Hold still, C." And Joey's mouth is on him, licking from his knee up the inside of his thigh, and JC gasps; gasps again when Lance feeds him a shot of tequila at the same time Joey slams his back.
More touches, more licks, and Chris' fingers still flutter restlessly over his body, dragging droplets of sticky citrus juice across his skin, until he smells like lime, can't sort himself out from the tart, tangy scent hanging heavy in the air around them.
"Your shot, Chris." JC watches Lance pour another shot out; he has the glasses all lined up between them. It's a good feeling, the heat from liquor, and his friends all around him – Chris behind him, Justin on his right, Lance on his left, Joey in front of him. Perfect.
More perfect is Chris, pulling the hair away from JC's neck and nuzzling before licking slowly up the exposed skin. JC moans once and tilts his head back, arches upward when Chris licks again, slowly, so slowly. He takes the shot Lance hands him and tosses it back, and JC shivers in tandem with him. Another burst of citrus rises around them, and then Chris kisses him, mouth fiery but cool, slick and tangy with tequila and lime juice, and his head spins from so much more than just the alcohol heating his blood.
"Fuckin' A," someone – Justin? – whispers. JC hears, dimly, someone else agreeing, a low rumble that makes his belly vibrate pleasantly. A warm mouth slides over his nipples and JC gasps into Chris' mouth, groans when Chris licks his lips before plunging inside again, tongue slicking all around, wriggling against his in the same rhythm as the one teasing his nipples into tight, hard points.
No, not one. Two. Two mouths, ghosting over his skin, licking at the lime, at the salt where's he's sweating, so hot now from liquor and arousal. JC manages to open his eyes when Chris pulls back, and it's Justin and Lance, licking over his nipples, and down the center of his chest while Joey watches, fingers moving restlessly against his thighs. He watches them meet in the middle, shudders as they kiss wetly, mouths sticky and red, lips shining. Joey leans in and they share the kiss with him, tongues flashing, licking, touching. Behind him Chris shifts, pulling JC tighter against him. He can feel hard heat digging into his back and shifts, tilting his head again with a soft whimper.
"Feelin' left out, baby?" Chris nuzzles his neck, warm breath spreading over sensitive skin, then bites down on the side, sucking gently, then harder. JC growls and Chris sucks harder. There'll be a mark, but he doesn't care. He wants to watch Joey and Justin and Lance kiss some more, but it's hard to focus. Chris kisses him, licking and sucking at random points on his neck, his throat, then his earlobe. Warm hands touch his belly, fingers teasing, stroking, and then it's more hands, more fingers than Chris could possibly have and JC forces his eyes open again.
Lance and Justin, light touches, dragging up and down his torso, skating ever-so-gently over hard nipples, then back to skirt along the elastic waistband of his shorts. Joey's hands, big and warm, just a little sweaty, sliding up JC's legs, and Chris' soft laugh when JC pulls his knees up, spreading himself wider for whatever Joey might do.
There's hotslickwet along his ribs and thighs then, and the soft sound of sucking, licking, and the satisfied growl when three toss back another shot. JC's panting now, lost in the sensuality of tongues and fingers, of hot and slick, of soft and moist, and teasing and touching. Hard, cold, solid rim of a glass against his mouth, and he opens, feels the burn of tequila when it washes over his lips, tongue, palette, the bite of it matching the quick, sharp nip Chris gives his lips. JC isn't sure which burns more then, the liquor or Chris, when he slicks his tongue into JC's mouth to share the shot.
"Look at you," Chris whispers hoarsely into his ear, and JC shudders at the words, at the electricity prickling through him from the hunger he hears. "So hot, aren't you?" His hand slides downward over JC's belly, fingers teasing, before hovering just over the erection tenting out thin cotton boxer-briefs. JC squirms, can feel the heat of Chris' hand, wants that heat on him. He whimpers when Chris laughs softly, his whimper changing to a growl when someone presses that hand downward. Not Chris; JC feels the resistance in him, the pull against the action. But then Chris is cupping him and fire bleeds into his bloodstream at the heavy press, the dragging friction when the cupping becomes a stroke, becomes a firm, steady jerking. He pushes himself upward into the touch, moans when the touch tightens, a firmer grip. "JC, Jesus—" He hears Chris swallow, feels it against his back, but oh, god. Hard to process anything else. Just the need pulsing through him now.
Need, but something else, too.
"Chris—"
"Want you." Chris breathes the words against his skin, and JC feels marked. Each letter imbeds itself, burns hotly where warm breath teases. "So bad." JC arches his body in a long, shivering roll, pushes himself into Chris' hand, still cupping and rubbing him.
"Yes." The word is more a sigh, but JC means it; he wants Chris. Wants to watch the other three kiss and touch, but more than that, he wants Chris. "Please. I need—"
He twists in Chris' arms, hears the sound of shot glasses knocking against each other, but doesn't care. He turns so he's straddling Chris' lap, staring into dark brown eyes so hot he can feel the flames licking at him. Scorching him. Chris catches one hand in his and drags it down, curls JC's fingers around his erection and arches when JC squeezes. "God, JC. God."
He knows what Chris means. So hot, so fast, but not so fast. Years of build up, of longing—he can see it written on Chris' face as plainly as he knows it within himself. He smiles, just a little, and squeezes his hand again, then leans in to lick at Chris' mouth; tastes the bitterness of tequila, and the salt and tang from limes and—him. Chris tastes like what he, JC, must taste like. It's weird, and arousing, and he bites down on Chris' lower lip, hungry and aching for as much as he can taste, as fast as he can get it.
Chris pulls him closer, soft sounds escaping as the bites meld into kisses, scorching hot, wet kisses, and JC shivers when Chris spreads his hands open over his back, fingers scratching gently, pressing and kneading, scraping up and down. He scoots closer, trying to climb inside Chris, to feel his body absorb him. Chris leans back slowly, pulling JC with him, and then they're pressed close, JC's leg between Chris' and he can rub and move against Chris, the heat within him curling throughout his body, twining itself around nerve endings, sending his blood rushing hotly.
Somewhere behind him he hears a soft exhalation and a smothered curse, then a door opening and finally, closing. They're background noises, lost in the white noise roaring in his head.
There're too many clothes between them, though most of them are Chris'; he still has jeans and a t-shirt on. JC slips a hand between them and rubs roughly over the front of Chris' jeans, feels him throb even through the heavy material. He bites at slick, swollen lips, licks hot words into them. "How close?"
Chris grunts. "Close enough, Jesus—" He winds his fingers through JC's hair and pulls him back in for another drugging kiss, rocking his hips upward. JC growls and fumbles with the buttons, swallows Chris' groan when he gets the pants open. Chris is so hard, the tip of his cock slicked with sticky moisture, and JC throbs in sympathy, throbs with renewed arousal. He humps against Chris and jerks him awkwardly, fingers sliding smoothly along hot velvety skin. Colors explode behind his eyelids in a redorangeyellow flash when Chris bites him, hard, teeth snapping closed over the sensitive skin of his throat. JC shudders and tilts his head, snaps his hips hard when Chris bites again.
Heat gathers slowly, coiling into something redhot and live in the pit of his belly. Prickles of it dance along his skin, making him shiver and roll faster against Chris, the currents tickling and teasing him. He's breathless, from kissing, from the energy gathering inside him, from knowing it's Chris; at last, finally, it's Chris.
JC shifts his arm, trying for a better angle. Chris whimpers and rocks up against him, into his hand, and JC swallows the sound down, shudders and closes his eyes when hot hands slide down his back and cup his ass, pulling him so close, too close, not close enough—
Lightning. It's lightning rushing through him when orgasm hits; whitehot streaks of energy slamming into him, ricocheting through him, searing him with bright heat. JC hears Chris groan at the same time a loud, high-pitched noise is torn from his own throat. Slick, slippery heat coats his fingers, clings then spreads, and JC moans as he comes, stickyslick inside his shorts, long pulses of heat that seem to go on and on.
"Jesus, god," he gasps, when he can form anything like words again. Chris makes a noise in his throat that JC takes as agreement, and wraps his arms tighter around JC, pulling him in for another kiss. And another. Not the hungry kisses from a minute ago; these are deep, but sweet, tasting and searching. JC licks over each part of Chris' mouth, memorizing him, the way there are pockets that taste sweeter, or slightly bitter, and he can almost feel the tequila, rich and heavy, layered over with citrus.
Long, slick, sweet kisses that make him dizzy, make the blood pound in his head, make heat grow in his chest. Chris tugs against him and JC rolls, ends up on his back with Chris half-kneeling, half-splayed over him, staring down with dark eyes that seem bottomless from this angle. JC reaches up and touches his face, slides fingertips hesitantly over his cheekbone, down to his mouth. Chris smiles and kisses him, licks at them before biting at the tips.
"You—" he begins, then stops. His eyes are so pretty; JC wonders why it is no one's ever noticed before. Never said anything. Why he hasn't said anything. He wonders if he's still kind of drunk.
He feels drunk. But not on tequila alone. A grin is spreading over his face and he doesn't want to stop it. He leans up and kisses Chris, a quick, sloppy kiss.
"Me, what?"
"I've wanted to do that a long time." Another lick and bite to his fingertips. JC thinks he's discovered another erogenous zone. Chris licks his lips. "A really long time."
"Me too." He's surprised Chris; he can tell by the way his eyes widen almost comically.
"We both suck."
"We both suck a lot." JC wiggles. "I can show you, later."
One eyebrow raises. "Later?"
He snickers. "Well. I'm kinda drunk right now. Like, really drunk. And pretty—high, too. Like, a natural high. Because, y'know. Jerking you off. And that kissing thing. But yeah, lemme sleep it off, and—"
Chris puts his hand over JC's mouth, his own eyes crinkled up with a huge smile. "I get the idea." He laughs. "I'm kinda really drunk, too."
"Mmphhf—"
Chris pulls his hand away. "Huh?"
JC licks his lips. They taste like Chris. "We should sleep now—somewhere that's not the floor, but, yes. Sleep. And then suck. Or, y'know. Whatever."
The eyebrow goes up again. "A lotta ground in that 'whatever', C."
JC smiles, a big, wide grin. "I know. And I can't wait to explore it all."
Chris leans in again, eyes bright, and brushes his lips over JC's, a slow, easy kiss that JC feels slide all through him like warm honey, coating him deliciously. "Me either."
~fin~
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no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 11:33 pm (UTC)Yes, a follow-up with action from the other room would be loverly. ;)
(And I gotta say it -- thank you for spelling "lightning" right!)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-25 08:06 pm (UTC)Ahahahaha. Sorry, nope. Why? Because there is no Chris or JC ;) I've only once managed a story that didn't have at least one or the other -- my twisty lambs that halo and I did. I kinda need those two :) But thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the story. And yeah--lightning...you wouldn't think it'd be that hard of a word to get right. Meh.