mickeym | new fic [ The Marriage Thing ]

[ The Marriage Thing ] Chris/Lance. R/NC17.

Nobody gets married in this story *g* It's a title thing. You'll see. Just trust me, okay? :)

This is for

chrismm, for her contribution for

fan_the_vote. It's also because

trixiesfic said she would hate me if I didn't write her some trickyfish, and

giddygeek demanded I have 1500 words on her monitor by tomorrow. It's just over 1600, giddy ;)

Thanks to

lilysaid for a quick read-through for me. *hugs*

Also? I really need another trickyfish icon *g*

He comes awake with a gasp, like nearly every other night for the last week.

Hell, the last month.

His eyes are scratchy with lack of sleep and the humidity coming in through the open windows has his hair lying limp against his head. He's hot and sweaty, though it's cool – almost chilly – in his apartment. He swings his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, heart still hammering in his chest.

Out in the living room there's a soft shuffling noise, and movement, then a shadow falls across the door and a low, soft voice calls his name. "Chris?"

"Didn't mean to wake you." His voice, the highest of all of theirs, is low and rough, hoarse with nighttime and breathing too fast, and probably from the cigarette smoke from the bar last night. This morning.

"I wasn't asleep." Lance steps into the room and leans against the doorjamb.

Chris raises an eyebrow and pats the side of the bed. "Why not?"

That gets him a shrug as Lance crosses the room. "Probably the same thing that keeps wakin' you up every night." The bed dips when Lance sits beside him. "Nightmares again?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna talk? Or, I dunno. Go for a walk?"

"I don't know. I want this over, man." They've been taking turns staying with each other, because neither wants to spend much time alone. JC's got Riprock and Alex, and Joey's got his folks, and of course Justin has Lynn. But Chris and Lance pretty much just have each other, though Diane and Jim have been in town as much as possible lately.

"Soon." Lance bumps his shoulder to Chris' and holds one hand out, palm up. Chris eyes him in the moonlight, skin sleekpalesmooth, eyes unreadable, and reaches out to thread their fingers together.

They sit quietly for a minute, only the sounds coming through the open window from the street below. In the distance there's a siren wailing and Chris wonders if it's too much to hope Lou's somewhere having a heart attack. Or an aneurysm. Or something else equally nasty and fatal.

"Do you ever think," Chris isn't sure what exactly he wants to say, so he waves his hands – their hands, since Lance doesn't let go – in the air. "This is kinda like a marriage thing?"

Lance looks at him then gestures with their joined hands. "What—this?"

"What? No." Chris scowls at Lance. "Shit. You fucker." He rubs his thumb against the back of Lance's hand then gestures more expansively with his free hand. "No—this. The Nsync thing. It's like--we're all in it together, y'know? For better or worse, for richer or poorer—"

"In sickness and in health." Lance has the perfect voice for intoning things; makes Chris crack a smile every time.

"Exactly." He caresses Lance's hand again and echoes the tiny smile twitching at the corners of Lance's mouth. "Kinda like a marriage thing."

"Sure got the poorer part down, don't we?" If this hadn't happened nearly every night in the last six weeks, Chris might think he was imagining Lance moving closer; might think he was imagining the extra warmth radiating outward toward him.

Chris frowns. "Got the sickness, too."

"I'm fine." Lance sounds exasperated and small wonder; Chris is like a dog with a bone over this one. He feels justified in worrying at it, though.

"You're fine now, maybe. But you weren't. You could've died."

"But I didn't. And it wasn't likely anyway. Chris, we've been over this. Repeatedly. I'm fine, really. So drop it, please?" He's closer still. "Want to go for a walk? Moonlight, humidity, sirens?"

"You're a sweet-talker, Bass." He leans in and closes the distance between them and kisses that tiny smile still hovering. Kisses lips that are softer than they should be, softer than Chris ever imagined.

"Mmm. That's me. Sweet-talkin'." The accent comes back when Lance is tired, angry, scared, frustrated – or all of the above, as has been the case lately. Chris likes it a lot. He likes it more when Lance reaches up and strokes his fingers through newly-cut hair, then frowns. "I didn't think I'd ever say this—but I miss the braids."

"No you don't. You're just sayin' that 'cos you think I'll believe it in my weakened, vulnerable state."

"Shee-yah." Lance kisses Chris this time, tiny kisses dropped randomly over his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw. His eyes crinkle a little when he smiles, though not nearly as much as JC's do. "You're stubbly."

"I'm stubbly most of the time. Pretty much came from the womb, razor in hand, dude."

"Smart-ass." They're still holding hands. Mouths barely separated. Anticipation tugs at Chris' belly. It's a hot and cold shivery feeling, spreading outward.

"Mmhmm. Your point?"

He thinks Lance might've said something else, but it's lost between them, nothing but a puff of breath exhaled by one and swallowed by the other.

This kiss is different. Deeper, hungrier, more desperate than any before—tonight, or any other night. So many things have changed, are changing, will change. Chris needs grounding against all that change; he touches Lance through the thin t-shirt he's wearing, fingers ghosting over his belly, his ribs, his pecs, until he places his hand flat over Lance's heart.

It beats steadily, reassuringly. There was a brief point in time when Chris thought it might not, ever again. As bad as things are right now…that moment was worse.

"I'm fine," Lance breathes against his mouth, releasing his hold on Chris' hand and raising his arms up. Chris skims the shirt up and over his head and tosses it off the side of the bed before retracing the path his fingers took with his lips.

Each piece of clothing – pajama bottoms, shorts, t-shirt – disappears quickly until they're wearing nothing more than bits of moonlight and drops of sweat. Chris licks Lance from his neck to his toes then back up again, with only a brief kiss to the tip of his dick, and laughs breathlessly when Lance pushes him over onto his back with a hissed, "tease!"

There's no chance for words after that, unless whispered moans and cries count. Or maybe the rhythmic grunts as Lance presses against Chris, spreads his legs and pushes deep inside. They rock together slowly, barely moving, until Chris aches with feelings he can't give voice to. Too much inside, and if he lets it out, it makes him too vulnerable – and he's vulnerable enough as it is.

"Look at me, Chris." Lance's sex-voice makes Chris shiver and ache with want. It's raw and powerful and it reaches down inside him until all he can feel is Lance inside him, Lance over him, Lance around him. He blinks and looks and there's Lance, limned in moonlight, his skin glowing and soft. When he smiles it's cocky and loving all at once, and Chris tugs him down for another kiss, tries to crawl inside so they're joined in a circle that never ends.

He comes apart beneath Lance, gasping into his shoulder, each pulse of his cock in synch with his heartbeat. It starts slow, like a tickle low in his belly, then grows and spreads, fire streaking through him hot and wild. Lance grunts and thrusts in harder, over and over, until they're both panting – Chris from coming, Lance from wanting to come.

Chris kisses Lance through his orgasm, swallowing his cries down; a small part of Lance to keep inside him, always.

They tangle together under the sheets later, when it's nearly morning but still looks like night. The street is quiet, finally, and the air is chilly with a hint of rain. Late fall, but still Orlando, so it's odd – but nice. He thinks about closing his eyes and trying to sleep again, but sleep is an elusive thing lately. Like as not, he'd just end up having odd, vague nightmares again and be twice as tired when the alarm goes off.

"Penny for your thoughts," Lance says, stroking his fingers over Chris' arm. It's a surprise, because he thought Lance was asleep.

Chris snorts. "I don't think I'm worth that much." Lance pinches his bicep and Chris jerks. "Ow. Dude. Okay, seriously. Really not thinking much—just that I'm fucking tired, and I really want to sleep. And I want it to be next week. And I'm cold."

"C'mere, you big baby." So he scoots closer until Lance is spooning behind him, body solid and warm, and Chris can feel his heart thudding slow and steady. "Try and sleep, man. We don't have to get up in the mornin'."

"Got stuff to do. JC's bringing—"

"JC's not bringin' anything by 'til noon."

Chris starts against Lance. "I thought—"

"I told him to wait. They'll all be over for lunch, then we'll go over stuff, and then we're meeting with counsel at four."

"Wish you'd told me." He hates feeling out of the loop. Hates feeling out of control.

"If I'd told you, you'd have found something else to worry over." Lance presses a kiss to Chris' neck. "Now get some sleep. I already turned the alarm off. J's gonna call about ten, make sure we're up." He nuzzles at Chris' ear and Chris feels the smile even before he says anything. "I still kinda miss the braids, dude."

Chris smiles and closes his eyes. "You suck, so hard."

Lance laughs against him, a warm rumble. "Yup. Hoover-style, baby."

It's cool and quiet and Lance is already breathing slow and even; a soothing cadence that Chris mimics, brain slowly winding down from frantic spin to lazy thoughts. Maybe things are worse right now, but nothing could be better than lying here, warm and relaxed and…safe. Maybe they're definitely poorer than they should be, but Chris has never felt richer.

It really kind of is like that marriage thing.

He thinks he'll sleep better tonight than he has in a while.

~fin~