Blood Sugar Sex Magick
by Shine

Blood welled up, brilliant crimson against pale skin. Thin streams ran from each jagged cut, and Chris clenched his hand tightly against the pain. "*Fuck,*" he hissed, and felt the sharpsweet flash tear up his nerves. He was suddenly, achingly hard, and pissed as hell about it.

"Hold still," Lance said tersely, dabbing at the cuts with a hotel washcloth, damp-cold, the once pristine terrycloth now spattered red.

"It hurts," Chris shot back, and Lance rolled his eyes.

"You put your hand through a fucking mirror, of course it hurts!" he yelled, and grabbed Chris' forearm. "Now hold still."

Chris sighed and leaned his forehead against Lance's shoulder. "Fuck," he whispered, all of a sudden feeling so old and frustrated and weary he could hardly stand. He reached out with his good hand and found Lance's back, and traced the patterns of muscle and bone down to his waist, before wrapping the arm around his shoulders and closing his eyes.

Lance made a low noise in his throat, a tuneless humming sound of comfort, and Chris leaned into him. Remembered lazy days in Mississippi, when the band was on vacation and the heat was deep and restless and wet, and they spent hours laying on the bed, watching movies and drinking sweet tea and touching. Just touching.

Like now.

It felt good. Lance was warm, his skin was smooth and soft, and his shoulder jostled him gently with slow even interchange of breathing and careful dabs with the washcloth. His scent drifted up around him, sweet and musky with a tang of salt and cologne and hair gel and leather. His erection throbbed again, and then mercifully subsided. He didn't think either one of them was up for that right now.

The pain was lessening into a soreness, a burn that grated at the back of his eyes. He felt the tears come, and was too tired to stop them.

"I'm sorry," he said, heard the words muffled by Lance's skin.

"I know," Lance said, and smoothed the last bandage in place. "It's okay." The cuts were already fading from his mind, as through Lance had done some spell, made it all better. He looked down to see his knuckles, wrapped with soft clean gauze.

"I love you," Chris whispered, and wondered if Lance heard him.