new fic: [ Some Dreams ] chris/jc/lance
Oct. 22nd, 2004 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
without_me, for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fan_the_vote thingymadoodle. I started it a while ago, and hey, just finished it ;) It's euro-era Chris/JC/Lance, rated NC17.
Disclaimer thing: They're not mine, I don't know them, this is made up for fun only.
Thanks tojchalo for input, and to pierson for a quick read-through.
Lance needs something from his friends.
It's the stuff of dreams, if Chris allowed himself to think about pretty, sexy, underage boys propositioning him. And even if he does, he'll never admit to it, and no one can make him. Well, other than JC – and he doesn't count, since Chris happens to know JC shares the exact same fantasy about the exact same boy. But it's just a fantasy, random thoughts they spin once in a while.
Or it is, until Lance knocks on their door at ten-thirty on their only free night of the week; sex night, JC calls it, since it's the only night during the week they're generally awake enough to actually be able to have sex.
Lance stands in the doorway for a minute, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like he really has something to say, but isn't sure how to do it, before he shuts the door and leans against it. Chris eyes him uncertainly, very aware of how undressed he and JC are – hell, JC's down to just shorts; Chris at least still has his pants on, though he's bare-chested. And Chris is absolutely not going to notice how good Lance looks in just the thin t-shirt and track pants, heavy nylon fabric clinging to his thighs, slices of pale skin glowing around the shirt.
He pinches himself and reminds himself sternly: fantasy.
"So? What can I do you for, Scoop?" He doesn't want to seem impatient, but dammit, he has a warm, willing JC waiting for him, and Chris isn't always the most patient of men under the best of circumstances.
Lance coughs once, looks away, then looks Chris in the eye. "IwannahavesexwithyouandJC."
And some things, Chris decides, as he's trying to draw in a breath, really ought to come with flashing neon warning signs; though JC would argue with him that this one, at least, did. Chris just didn't want to admit to it.
~~~~~~~
"Okay, um." Things are a little…awkward, though at least JC pulled some sweats on. That doesn't really stop Chris from wanting to lick him, however. Or Lance, for that matter. He scowls, realizing that, because, really. Some fantasies are supposed to remain fantasies, not pop into his room unannounced, looking ready to be debauched. Chris sighs and sits on the side of the bed, and takes a drink from the glass of water JC handed him a minute ago. When he thinks he can speak coherently, he clears his throat. "Let's try this again. You, uh."
"Wanna have sex—"
Chris holds his hand up and Lance falls silent. "I got the, uh. That part." He glances at JC, leaning silently against the wall, watching. Lance is perched on the bed beside Chris, cheeks tinged pink, but with a stubborn set to his jaw Chris recognizes all too well. "You're—um. I. We can't—"
JC clears his throat and Chris and Lance look up at him, Chris hopeful JC can actually tap into his brain and translate. "I think…Chris is trying to say, why us? Because you're—young. We we're…not."
"Y'all wouldn't be saying that if I was a girl instead of a guy." And now the stubborn set firms into something else: sheer determination. It's pretty damn sexy, all things considered, and Chris mentally slaps himself and sighs. He's jailbait, Kirkpatrick. He's under aged, he's a virgin. Plus, underage.
"But you're not a girl," JC points out quietly. "You're also our friend, and someone we're supposed to look after, take care of—"
"You make me sound like a puppy or something," Lance grumbles softly. "I don't want to be taken care of." He fairly spits the words out, and Chris blinks.
"Dude. What do you want, then?" He sets the glass on the small nightstand and shifts so he can see Lance better. "Or, no. Not what—" He shakes his head and glances over at JC. "Again: why…us?"
"Because."
Which is not an answer. At least, not an answer that makes any sort of sense. Chris sighs and reminds himself part of this gig is being the father-brother-teacher-friend-fill-in-the-blank, then reaches out to pat Lance's back. Beneath his hand and under the cotton is sleek and smooth, tightly coiled muscle under soft skin and, fuck. He makes a concerted effort not to jerk his hand away; he also has to concentrate on not letting the patting get out of control.
"You gotta give me…us…something to work with here, Lance. You can't just. You don't just come into…and say 'I wanna have sex with you'. It's not—I mean. Your first time. You need…I mean, it should be, y'know. Um. Special?"
Oh, that sounded so lame. Chris looks up to see JC rolling his eyes at him, so he sticks his tongue out. If C doesn't like it, he can take over any time—Chris will hand it over happily.
Lance jerks his head up; he's been contemplating the floor, staring down between his knees like it was something fascinating. "What," he begins softly, his voice a low rumble that reminds Chris of faraway thunderstorms, "makes you think it'd be my first time?" He meets Chris' gaze straight on, and over Lance's head, Chris sees JC's eyebrows go up in surprise. Probably much like his own just did. "I'm not a virgin, Chris. Haven't—well. I'm just not. For a while. But—" He swallows, looks over at JC, then back at Chris again. "I want. I need. Um. To trust. I want…more and I'm—it's scary, 'cos I don't know if I can…trust. The guys I meet. And I'm tired of one-offs in the bathroom. Y'know?"
Chris is pretty sure his mouth is hanging open, that he's staring, something—because he didn't really just hear Lance tell him what he just heard him tell him, right? And now's the time he needs to say something soothing, something reassuring, something—something.
What ends up coming out of his mouth, though, is "you're only seventeen!" JC frowns; Lance outright scowls at him. Somehow, that just makes him hotter.
He's a sick, sick man.
"What, you never had sex when you were seventeen? And I'll be eighteen in a couple of months, anyway."
"Dude, we're not talking about me." No way were they going to cover what he'd been doing at seventeen, or with who, which is only a part of why he feels like the world's biggest hypocrite. Chris sighs and looks to JC for guidance; JC is still frowning, looking back and forth between Chris and Lance like it's some kind of tennis match going on. So, okay. No help from that corner. "What the hell are you doing—" He snaps his mouth closed on the rest of that question; he's certainly had his fair share of bathroom blowjobs, and quick fucks up against a wall. But it makes him ache to think of Lance having that kind of sex. That's the kind you have when there are no other options; fast, dirty, quick relief.
"I don't want that any more," Lance says softly. Chris jerks his head up, catches Lance staring at him, green eyes wide, soft. "I want—" he swallows and mumbles something too quietly for Chris to hear, even sitting as close as he is.
"You want more than sex," Chris replies, pretty sure he's guessing correctly. Across from him, JC pushes off from the wall. Their knees practically bump when JC sits on the other narrow bed opposite him and Lance, but it's nice. Comforting, to have JC so close. Chris isn't sure really how to handle this one, since it's not anything he ever allowed himself to consider. Fantasies of Lance aside, they were fantasies – thoughts of sexing it up with a hot boy. Not of—other stuff. Relationship stuff. The sort of stuff he basically sucks at, and only makes work with JC because they both pretty much suck at it at the same level. But Lance—dude, that's a whole 'nother ballgame. Chris swallows uneasily. "Lance?"
"Yeah." He doesn't waver when he meets Chris' gaze; doesn't look away except to look at JC. "Yeah. I—I mean, I know y'all are together, and. But. Maybe? Just, y'know. Once in a while. Because I really want, and I'm tired, and it's—" Lance stutters to a stop and bites his lip, and Chris wonders if he's done, or if he's still thinking. Wonders what's going on in his head. He glances up at JC, sees contemplation, consideration, interest shining in his eyes. Of course interest; Chris knows how hard JC crushed on Lance for the first few months they were together as a group. He arches an eyebrow and JC nods, and god, is it really that simple?
What if they fuck things up? What if they fuck Lance up? Almost eighteen isn't the same thing as eighteen. It's certainly not the same thing as twenty and twenty-five. He's a perverted, dirty old man for even considering this, but he's also human. There's still an ache in his chest, the realization hanging heavy there of the risk Lance took – both out in clubs, and in coming here. In what he did and said tonight. Chris' admiration for him ratchets up another notch or ten, and he turns, leans in slowly, and strokes his hand down Lance's face.
"You're sure?" He isn't sure, but he wants to know Lance is. "You—you want this. Us." Lance nods solemnly and licks his lips, and Chris longs to lick them for him. Soon, soon. "And—you know. It's. We'll take care of you, dude. Just—you gotta take care, too. Don't—"
Don't promise us…me…your heart. Don't let me break it. Don't let me break you.
"I—yeah." Lance catches his lip between his teeth and Chris can't stop himself; he leans in and licks where even, white teeth dent into soft, pink flesh. Licks slowly, and hears Lance gasp, hears JC make a similar sound. "Chris—I want—"
"I know." It's a kiss then, soft and slow, his mouth on Lance's. Warm, strong fingers grip his arms, digging into him, and whatever else Lance said disappears into their mouths, nothing left but the whisper of breath against lips. The bed shifts and it has to be JC settling beside them; when Lance moans low and soft, Chris opens his eyes and breaks the kiss, watches JC cradle Lance back against his chest.
"Pretty Lance," he whispers, catching him on the side of the face before turning Lance's head. The sight of JC licking Lance's lips and tasting the two of them makes him shudder, and Chris gets up to flick the main light off. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he watches JC tip Lance's head back nearly onto his shoulder and lick his mouth open, tongue teasing until Lance groans and licks back, sealing his mouth to JC's.
It's enough to make him ache, a throbbing heat that starts in his groin and spreads outward, gaining strength and momentum when Lance shifts, slides his fingers through JC's short hair, tugging gently as if to pull him closer.
Chris slips behind Lance and strokes his hand down over his back, following the gentle curve of his spine. His shirt untucks from his pants easily, the skin beneath warm and smooth like satin might be. Chris likes the sounds Lance makes when he caresses him, when JC kisses him. They're quiet and desperate, soft and breathy.
There's a moment when Lance resists his shirt coming up and off and Chris thinks it might be because he has to separate from JC's mouth. Once the cotton is out of the way he presses himself against the smooth, long line and mouths it, leaving kisses in random spots as Lance and JC return to kissing. There's so much heat building between the three of them; it flares hotter when JC breaks away for a moment, leaning over Lance's shoulder to kiss Chris hungrily, tasting new and the same and so warm and good Chris' head spins.
"This is what y'all were doing before, isn't it?" Lance sounds breathless and he's trembling; a fine, slow shiver beneath Chris' hands. "Before I interrupted?"
"Mmm." JC answers, pulling back from Chris's mouth, lips wet and shinyslick in the dim light. "It's cool, cat. We're glad to have you." He tilts his head back invitingly, showing the long length of his throat. Chris wants to taste, wants to watch Lance taste.
Probably too glad, Chris thinks, watching Lance lean in to lick under JC's jaw. The licks become nips, slow and hesitant, and the shiver vibrating through Lance shows in JC, the way he quivers under the gentle assault.
"Bite him; he likes that," Chris whispers in Lance’s ear.
JC shakes when Lance bites; Lance shakes when Chris mirrors it, biting at Lance's neck, shoulder, at the tender spot where the two meet. His shaking intensifies when Chris dips his hand under the elastic waistband, fingers ruffling through the fine, silky trail of hair and down to comb through coarse curls. When Chris strokes the back of his knuckles over hardsoft flesh Lance chokes out, "Please, Chris—"
"Okay, baby. Shhh." He rubs again, feeling the tension coil tighter within Lance. "Pants off," he manages, moving himself off the bed reluctantly so he can strip his own off.
They strip off with efficiency, all three too turned on – or nervous, Chris thinks with a bit of humor – to let things drag out.
"Stupid little beds," JC mutters as they try to figure out the logistics of fitting three decent-sized guys onto what amounts to a twin bed. Chris agrees with him; he and C barely fit, and adding Lance to the mix—
"We could always use the floor," Chris says, eyeing it consideringly. JC snorts.
"Not this time. Maybe another time."
"What if we—um. Kinda. Spoon?" Lance's cheeks are still pink; Chris figures it's one thing to have the guts to come in asking for it, another altogether to actually do it. He grins and ruffles Lance's hair.
"Good idea, actually. Sorta." He eyes the bed again, then looks between Lance and JC and nods. "Let's try it."
They fit, somehow.
It's a close thing, but actually, the closer they all are the happier Chris is. This is kind of awkward enough as it is. Lack of space will probably help.
Lance fits himself against JC, facing him, and Chris spoons behind him, sliding one arm over Lance's waist, fingers brushing against JC's belly. JC blinks at him, eyes large and dark in the dimness. He presses forward, pushing Lance closer against Chris…and things get a bit hazy after that.
There are more limbs than Chris is used to, but it's all good. There's skin, acres and acres of skin to taste and touch, to learn by heart. In between there are kisses, slick and warm, lips and tongues nipping, licking, teasing.
Everything narrows down to the three of them touching, rubbing, stroking, until Chris can't distinguish Lance's breathless moans from JC's frantic whimpers, or his own soft growls of need. There are hands touching him, and shivers vibrating through and against him, and his dick nestled firmly against Lance's ass. In front of him Lance and JC are kissing again, mouths swollen and wet, flashing pink tongue and white teeth. He rubs JC's chest and belly then takes Lance in hand to stroke him slowly, then faster. Lance strokes JC, bending his head to lap at one tight nipple. Chris leans in to kiss JC, tasting Lance there.
So much heat winding all through them, between them, around them. It shimmers in the air like an electrical storm, increasing with each touch, each kiss. They're breathless, all of them, and sweaty from pressing so closely together in such a small space. The sweat eases the friction just enough to make it good without the burn, and suddenly Chris wants more, harder, faster; needs it worse than he needs air. Lance grinds back against him, groaning, then pushes forward against JC who echoes it.
Lance comes first, JC swallowing his cry with a rough kiss. The wet heat sliding thickly between and over Chris's fingers makes his belly tighten with hunger, with want, and he humps frantically against Lance. A second spurt of heat covers his hand at the same time JC moans, and Chris growls as he comes, release slamming through him hot and hard, boiling out of him in long, thick pulses.
They cuddle together afterward, wet and sticky, everyone breathing as hard as if they'd just finished a five hour rehearsal. When he's caught his breath, Chris kisses Lance's neck and laughs softly. "We totally need a bigger bed, guys."
JC snickers, though it sounds sleepy and content. "I can just see that request. 'Hey, Johnny, can you make sure we get a double bed next time, 'cos me and Chris and Lance wanna have hot monkey sex and the singles just don't cut it'."
"He'd have a heart attack," Lance mutters. He sounds sleepy, too, though he makes a contented noise when Chris rubs his belly. JC's rubbing too, almost petting, and he sounds content when Chris tangles their fingers together, both still stroking Lance gently.
It's quiet in the room, save for their breathing, and it's starting to feel uncomfortably cool now that they're not moving. Chris breathes out and watches Lance's hair ruffle. "We're gonna fall asleep like this if we don't move."
Lance mumbles something unintelligible, and JC just snorts softly. They're so gone, already. Chris sighs and wiggles until he can get a leg out to stand up. He's all sticky, but so're the other two—and hey, they can shower in the morning, or later, or whatever…and sex in the shower is never a bad thing with two; it can only be better with three. He tugs on the covers from the other bed, pulling them off to cover the other two up. Then he snuggles back up against Lance, who makes a sleepy, discontent noise when Chris puts his chilly feet against warm skin.
"Sleep," he says softly, nuzzling. There's a lot to sort out still, but it can wait. For now, they can sleep, and tomorrow they'll see what other dreams might come true.
~fin~
without_me, for the fan_the_vote thingymadoodle. I started it a while ago, and hey, just finished it ;) It's euro-era Chris/JC/Lance, rated NC17. Disclaimer thing: They're not mine, I don't know them, this is made up for fun only.
Thanks to
jchalo for input, and to pierson for a quick read-through.Lance needs something from his friends.
It's the stuff of dreams, if Chris allowed himself to think about pretty, sexy, underage boys propositioning him. And even if he does, he'll never admit to it, and no one can make him. Well, other than JC – and he doesn't count, since Chris happens to know JC shares the exact same fantasy about the exact same boy. But it's just a fantasy, random thoughts they spin once in a while.
Or it is, until Lance knocks on their door at ten-thirty on their only free night of the week; sex night, JC calls it, since it's the only night during the week they're generally awake enough to actually be able to have sex.
Lance stands in the doorway for a minute, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like he really has something to say, but isn't sure how to do it, before he shuts the door and leans against it. Chris eyes him uncertainly, very aware of how undressed he and JC are – hell, JC's down to just shorts; Chris at least still has his pants on, though he's bare-chested. And Chris is absolutely not going to notice how good Lance looks in just the thin t-shirt and track pants, heavy nylon fabric clinging to his thighs, slices of pale skin glowing around the shirt.
He pinches himself and reminds himself sternly: fantasy.
"So? What can I do you for, Scoop?" He doesn't want to seem impatient, but dammit, he has a warm, willing JC waiting for him, and Chris isn't always the most patient of men under the best of circumstances.
Lance coughs once, looks away, then looks Chris in the eye. "IwannahavesexwithyouandJC."
And some things, Chris decides, as he's trying to draw in a breath, really ought to come with flashing neon warning signs; though JC would argue with him that this one, at least, did. Chris just didn't want to admit to it.
"Okay, um." Things are a little…awkward, though at least JC pulled some sweats on. That doesn't really stop Chris from wanting to lick him, however. Or Lance, for that matter. He scowls, realizing that, because, really. Some fantasies are supposed to remain fantasies, not pop into his room unannounced, looking ready to be debauched. Chris sighs and sits on the side of the bed, and takes a drink from the glass of water JC handed him a minute ago. When he thinks he can speak coherently, he clears his throat. "Let's try this again. You, uh."
"Wanna have sex—"
Chris holds his hand up and Lance falls silent. "I got the, uh. That part." He glances at JC, leaning silently against the wall, watching. Lance is perched on the bed beside Chris, cheeks tinged pink, but with a stubborn set to his jaw Chris recognizes all too well. "You're—um. I. We can't—"
JC clears his throat and Chris and Lance look up at him, Chris hopeful JC can actually tap into his brain and translate. "I think…Chris is trying to say, why us? Because you're—young. We we're…not."
"Y'all wouldn't be saying that if I was a girl instead of a guy." And now the stubborn set firms into something else: sheer determination. It's pretty damn sexy, all things considered, and Chris mentally slaps himself and sighs. He's jailbait, Kirkpatrick. He's under aged, he's a virgin. Plus, underage.
"But you're not a girl," JC points out quietly. "You're also our friend, and someone we're supposed to look after, take care of—"
"You make me sound like a puppy or something," Lance grumbles softly. "I don't want to be taken care of." He fairly spits the words out, and Chris blinks.
"Dude. What do you want, then?" He sets the glass on the small nightstand and shifts so he can see Lance better. "Or, no. Not what—" He shakes his head and glances over at JC. "Again: why…us?"
"Because."
Which is not an answer. At least, not an answer that makes any sort of sense. Chris sighs and reminds himself part of this gig is being the father-brother-teacher-friend-fill-in-the-blank, then reaches out to pat Lance's back. Beneath his hand and under the cotton is sleek and smooth, tightly coiled muscle under soft skin and, fuck. He makes a concerted effort not to jerk his hand away; he also has to concentrate on not letting the patting get out of control.
"You gotta give me…us…something to work with here, Lance. You can't just. You don't just come into…and say 'I wanna have sex with you'. It's not—I mean. Your first time. You need…I mean, it should be, y'know. Um. Special?"
Oh, that sounded so lame. Chris looks up to see JC rolling his eyes at him, so he sticks his tongue out. If C doesn't like it, he can take over any time—Chris will hand it over happily.
Lance jerks his head up; he's been contemplating the floor, staring down between his knees like it was something fascinating. "What," he begins softly, his voice a low rumble that reminds Chris of faraway thunderstorms, "makes you think it'd be my first time?" He meets Chris' gaze straight on, and over Lance's head, Chris sees JC's eyebrows go up in surprise. Probably much like his own just did. "I'm not a virgin, Chris. Haven't—well. I'm just not. For a while. But—" He swallows, looks over at JC, then back at Chris again. "I want. I need. Um. To trust. I want…more and I'm—it's scary, 'cos I don't know if I can…trust. The guys I meet. And I'm tired of one-offs in the bathroom. Y'know?"
Chris is pretty sure his mouth is hanging open, that he's staring, something—because he didn't really just hear Lance tell him what he just heard him tell him, right? And now's the time he needs to say something soothing, something reassuring, something—something.
What ends up coming out of his mouth, though, is "you're only seventeen!" JC frowns; Lance outright scowls at him. Somehow, that just makes him hotter.
He's a sick, sick man.
"What, you never had sex when you were seventeen? And I'll be eighteen in a couple of months, anyway."
"Dude, we're not talking about me." No way were they going to cover what he'd been doing at seventeen, or with who, which is only a part of why he feels like the world's biggest hypocrite. Chris sighs and looks to JC for guidance; JC is still frowning, looking back and forth between Chris and Lance like it's some kind of tennis match going on. So, okay. No help from that corner. "What the hell are you doing—" He snaps his mouth closed on the rest of that question; he's certainly had his fair share of bathroom blowjobs, and quick fucks up against a wall. But it makes him ache to think of Lance having that kind of sex. That's the kind you have when there are no other options; fast, dirty, quick relief.
"I don't want that any more," Lance says softly. Chris jerks his head up, catches Lance staring at him, green eyes wide, soft. "I want—" he swallows and mumbles something too quietly for Chris to hear, even sitting as close as he is.
"You want more than sex," Chris replies, pretty sure he's guessing correctly. Across from him, JC pushes off from the wall. Their knees practically bump when JC sits on the other narrow bed opposite him and Lance, but it's nice. Comforting, to have JC so close. Chris isn't sure really how to handle this one, since it's not anything he ever allowed himself to consider. Fantasies of Lance aside, they were fantasies – thoughts of sexing it up with a hot boy. Not of—other stuff. Relationship stuff. The sort of stuff he basically sucks at, and only makes work with JC because they both pretty much suck at it at the same level. But Lance—dude, that's a whole 'nother ballgame. Chris swallows uneasily. "Lance?"
"Yeah." He doesn't waver when he meets Chris' gaze; doesn't look away except to look at JC. "Yeah. I—I mean, I know y'all are together, and. But. Maybe? Just, y'know. Once in a while. Because I really want, and I'm tired, and it's—" Lance stutters to a stop and bites his lip, and Chris wonders if he's done, or if he's still thinking. Wonders what's going on in his head. He glances up at JC, sees contemplation, consideration, interest shining in his eyes. Of course interest; Chris knows how hard JC crushed on Lance for the first few months they were together as a group. He arches an eyebrow and JC nods, and god, is it really that simple?
What if they fuck things up? What if they fuck Lance up? Almost eighteen isn't the same thing as eighteen. It's certainly not the same thing as twenty and twenty-five. He's a perverted, dirty old man for even considering this, but he's also human. There's still an ache in his chest, the realization hanging heavy there of the risk Lance took – both out in clubs, and in coming here. In what he did and said tonight. Chris' admiration for him ratchets up another notch or ten, and he turns, leans in slowly, and strokes his hand down Lance's face.
"You're sure?" He isn't sure, but he wants to know Lance is. "You—you want this. Us." Lance nods solemnly and licks his lips, and Chris longs to lick them for him. Soon, soon. "And—you know. It's. We'll take care of you, dude. Just—you gotta take care, too. Don't—"
Don't promise us…me…your heart. Don't let me break it. Don't let me break you.
"I—yeah." Lance catches his lip between his teeth and Chris can't stop himself; he leans in and licks where even, white teeth dent into soft, pink flesh. Licks slowly, and hears Lance gasp, hears JC make a similar sound. "Chris—I want—"
"I know." It's a kiss then, soft and slow, his mouth on Lance's. Warm, strong fingers grip his arms, digging into him, and whatever else Lance said disappears into their mouths, nothing left but the whisper of breath against lips. The bed shifts and it has to be JC settling beside them; when Lance moans low and soft, Chris opens his eyes and breaks the kiss, watches JC cradle Lance back against his chest.
"Pretty Lance," he whispers, catching him on the side of the face before turning Lance's head. The sight of JC licking Lance's lips and tasting the two of them makes him shudder, and Chris gets up to flick the main light off. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he watches JC tip Lance's head back nearly onto his shoulder and lick his mouth open, tongue teasing until Lance groans and licks back, sealing his mouth to JC's.
It's enough to make him ache, a throbbing heat that starts in his groin and spreads outward, gaining strength and momentum when Lance shifts, slides his fingers through JC's short hair, tugging gently as if to pull him closer.
Chris slips behind Lance and strokes his hand down over his back, following the gentle curve of his spine. His shirt untucks from his pants easily, the skin beneath warm and smooth like satin might be. Chris likes the sounds Lance makes when he caresses him, when JC kisses him. They're quiet and desperate, soft and breathy.
There's a moment when Lance resists his shirt coming up and off and Chris thinks it might be because he has to separate from JC's mouth. Once the cotton is out of the way he presses himself against the smooth, long line and mouths it, leaving kisses in random spots as Lance and JC return to kissing. There's so much heat building between the three of them; it flares hotter when JC breaks away for a moment, leaning over Lance's shoulder to kiss Chris hungrily, tasting new and the same and so warm and good Chris' head spins.
"This is what y'all were doing before, isn't it?" Lance sounds breathless and he's trembling; a fine, slow shiver beneath Chris' hands. "Before I interrupted?"
"Mmm." JC answers, pulling back from Chris's mouth, lips wet and shinyslick in the dim light. "It's cool, cat. We're glad to have you." He tilts his head back invitingly, showing the long length of his throat. Chris wants to taste, wants to watch Lance taste.
Probably too glad, Chris thinks, watching Lance lean in to lick under JC's jaw. The licks become nips, slow and hesitant, and the shiver vibrating through Lance shows in JC, the way he quivers under the gentle assault.
"Bite him; he likes that," Chris whispers in Lance’s ear.
JC shakes when Lance bites; Lance shakes when Chris mirrors it, biting at Lance's neck, shoulder, at the tender spot where the two meet. His shaking intensifies when Chris dips his hand under the elastic waistband, fingers ruffling through the fine, silky trail of hair and down to comb through coarse curls. When Chris strokes the back of his knuckles over hardsoft flesh Lance chokes out, "Please, Chris—"
"Okay, baby. Shhh." He rubs again, feeling the tension coil tighter within Lance. "Pants off," he manages, moving himself off the bed reluctantly so he can strip his own off.
They strip off with efficiency, all three too turned on – or nervous, Chris thinks with a bit of humor – to let things drag out.
"Stupid little beds," JC mutters as they try to figure out the logistics of fitting three decent-sized guys onto what amounts to a twin bed. Chris agrees with him; he and C barely fit, and adding Lance to the mix—
"We could always use the floor," Chris says, eyeing it consideringly. JC snorts.
"Not this time. Maybe another time."
"What if we—um. Kinda. Spoon?" Lance's cheeks are still pink; Chris figures it's one thing to have the guts to come in asking for it, another altogether to actually do it. He grins and ruffles Lance's hair.
"Good idea, actually. Sorta." He eyes the bed again, then looks between Lance and JC and nods. "Let's try it."
They fit, somehow.
It's a close thing, but actually, the closer they all are the happier Chris is. This is kind of awkward enough as it is. Lack of space will probably help.
Lance fits himself against JC, facing him, and Chris spoons behind him, sliding one arm over Lance's waist, fingers brushing against JC's belly. JC blinks at him, eyes large and dark in the dimness. He presses forward, pushing Lance closer against Chris…and things get a bit hazy after that.
There are more limbs than Chris is used to, but it's all good. There's skin, acres and acres of skin to taste and touch, to learn by heart. In between there are kisses, slick and warm, lips and tongues nipping, licking, teasing.
Everything narrows down to the three of them touching, rubbing, stroking, until Chris can't distinguish Lance's breathless moans from JC's frantic whimpers, or his own soft growls of need. There are hands touching him, and shivers vibrating through and against him, and his dick nestled firmly against Lance's ass. In front of him Lance and JC are kissing again, mouths swollen and wet, flashing pink tongue and white teeth. He rubs JC's chest and belly then takes Lance in hand to stroke him slowly, then faster. Lance strokes JC, bending his head to lap at one tight nipple. Chris leans in to kiss JC, tasting Lance there.
So much heat winding all through them, between them, around them. It shimmers in the air like an electrical storm, increasing with each touch, each kiss. They're breathless, all of them, and sweaty from pressing so closely together in such a small space. The sweat eases the friction just enough to make it good without the burn, and suddenly Chris wants more, harder, faster; needs it worse than he needs air. Lance grinds back against him, groaning, then pushes forward against JC who echoes it.
Lance comes first, JC swallowing his cry with a rough kiss. The wet heat sliding thickly between and over Chris's fingers makes his belly tighten with hunger, with want, and he humps frantically against Lance. A second spurt of heat covers his hand at the same time JC moans, and Chris growls as he comes, release slamming through him hot and hard, boiling out of him in long, thick pulses.
They cuddle together afterward, wet and sticky, everyone breathing as hard as if they'd just finished a five hour rehearsal. When he's caught his breath, Chris kisses Lance's neck and laughs softly. "We totally need a bigger bed, guys."
JC snickers, though it sounds sleepy and content. "I can just see that request. 'Hey, Johnny, can you make sure we get a double bed next time, 'cos me and Chris and Lance wanna have hot monkey sex and the singles just don't cut it'."
"He'd have a heart attack," Lance mutters. He sounds sleepy, too, though he makes a contented noise when Chris rubs his belly. JC's rubbing too, almost petting, and he sounds content when Chris tangles their fingers together, both still stroking Lance gently.
It's quiet in the room, save for their breathing, and it's starting to feel uncomfortably cool now that they're not moving. Chris breathes out and watches Lance's hair ruffle. "We're gonna fall asleep like this if we don't move."
Lance mumbles something unintelligible, and JC just snorts softly. They're so gone, already. Chris sighs and wiggles until he can get a leg out to stand up. He's all sticky, but so're the other two—and hey, they can shower in the morning, or later, or whatever…and sex in the shower is never a bad thing with two; it can only be better with three. He tugs on the covers from the other bed, pulling them off to cover the other two up. Then he snuggles back up against Lance, who makes a sleepy, discontent noise when Chris puts his chilly feet against warm skin.
"Sleep," he says softly, nuzzling. There's a lot to sort out still, but it can wait. For now, they can sleep, and tomorrow they'll see what other dreams might come true.
~fin~
