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Ride
by Shine
Lance didn't usually swear, but this was ridiculous. This was the third time this year, and it was only February. He stared at the keys, laying placidly on the passenger seat of his car, and at the lock indicator, securely in the "down" position.
He was organized. He really was. He had a Palm Pilot, he'd had one for almost two years now. He *used* his Palm Pilot, unlike Joey who mostly just kept dentist appointments and his car's next oil changes in it. There was a reason Joey had missed getting a cavity filled for three months last fall.
But wasn't Lance was supposed to be Mr. Business, Mr. Organized? Wasn't he supposed to be the one who *never* locked his keys in his car? He was a businessman, for crying out loud. He was a responsible adult. He was the head of two companies. He was a successful entertainer. He never forgot an appointment, an appearance, the date or time of an interview. He never forgot what key to sing in, or the bass line of a song. He never forgot anyone's name or job title. He missed dance steps, even after six years, but that wasn't really forgetting, that was remembering the dance steps perfectly and simply having uncooperative feet.
And arms. And legs. And hips. He wasn't much of a dancer, he'd always thought, although he was secretly convinced it was getting better.
But he was *constantly* forgetting to take his keys with him when he locked the car, and it was driving him nuts.
"Dammit, what am I doing *wrong*?!" he yelled in frustration, and kicked the tire. It was four in the afternoon, he was tired and his voice was sore from rehearsals for the new album, and all he wanted was to get into his car and go home. He had a *date* tonight, dammit.
And speak of the devil. "Lance?"
JC wandered over, looking peaceful and relaxed the way only eight hours of vocal rehearsal could make him. Joey sometimes joked that their jam sessions while they worked out a new arrangement were the closest thing to drugs that JC ever did. "Is something wrong?"
Lance closed his eyes and gestured mutely at the car.
"Oh. Man." JC paused. "Need a lift?"
Lance glared at his shoelaces. "I'm fine." A pause. "Thanks." The keys sparkled in the sunlight, beautiful and visible and still on the passenger seat of the car.
JC nodded and smiled and grabbed Lance's arm and towed him over to his car. "Where to?"
Lance sighed and gave up. "Home." He climbed into JC's car and pulled out his cellphone as JC unlocked his side and got it. Triple-A had been on his speed-dial since he got his driver's licence.
The phone rang twice and was answered by a frighteningly cheerful male voice. "Hello, this is Triple A--oh, hi, Mr. Bass. You're in the Jive parking lot again?" Lance hmm'ed and yeah'd for a few minutes, stumbled through some small talk, hung up, and banged his head against the window a few times. JC gave him a sympathetic look.
"How do you do it?" Lance moaned, and JC shrugged.
"I don't know. They're just...always there, I guess. I don't ever try to keep them on me, they just don't go away."
Lance grumbled against the window. JC grinned. "Think of it as karmic repayment for not being able to organize a sock drawer," he said, and Lance laughed reluctantly.
"Shut up. You're not that bad, really," Lance said, and JC glanced sideways, laughing.
"Uncross your fingers," he said, and Lance grinned back, laughing now for real.
JC pulled up in Lance's driveway, and Lance pushed his door open, then paused with his legs already outside the car. He twisted around and leaned back, and JC leaned forward. They kissed for a long minute, and Lance murmured "Thank you," into the soft wet warmth of JC's mouth, familiar and comforting. His khakis felt a little tight.
JC pulled back, and smiled at him. "Pick you up at seven?" he asked, and Lance nodded.
"The car guy said he'd leave the keys at the front desk at Jive, so I don't have to pick them up until tomorrow." Lance got out of the car and bent back in, kissing JC quickly and pulling his bag from the backseat.
JC smiled. "I can give you a ride in tomorrow, then."
Lance met his eyes. "Maybe...you wanna come back here after we do dinner?" They hadn't gone all the way yet--Lance was too nervous, and JC was too unfazed about their emerging relationship to do more than kiss and grope. Lance wanted to take it slow, and JC was fine with that.
As JC explained it, in his mind they'd really been dating for years, and the only new thing in the relationship was the sex. Lance, who'd choked and dropped his fork on the floor when JC said "sex", couldn't force himself to be quite that nonchalant about the whole thing--as far as he was concerned, there was a world of difference between curling up with your bandmate, and curling up with your boyfriend. But JC didn't operate on the same wavelength, and Lance thought it was good that at least one of them wasn't skittish and anxious about the whole thing.
Like now. Lance felt himself tensing slightly, waiting for JC's response, and prayed he wasn't blushing.
JC grinned widely, and put the car into reverse. "I'd love to," he said, draping his arms over the steering wheel and looking delighted and sexy.
Lance grinned helplessly at him, and couldn't think of a thing to say. What did you say to a guy who'd just tacitly agreed to sleep with you that night? Yahoo? "I'll see you at seven," he said instead, and JC's smile turned into something sweet and anticipatory.
"At seven," JC agreed, and Lance stepped back, slammed the car door and watched JC back smoothly out into the street. He made himself go inside when JC's car was still barely visible. His hands were trembling just the faintest bit, and he couldn't stop smiling.
***
It was late by the time Lance and JC got back to Lance's house. The dinner had been perfect--a diner outside of town by the interstate, good food and filled with truckers who listened to Willie Nelson and Hank Williams. No one knew who the hell they were, and even if they did no one cared. It wasn't fancy, but after six years of superstardom Lance's priorities had changed a lot. Fancy he had all the time. Anonymity was somethng a lot more special.
The menus were streaked and dirty inside cheap plastic covers. Lance decided on a cheeseburger and fries, greasy and delicious and completely bad for him, but the days when management tried to dictate their diets were long gone. JC had a huge chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes, green beans, cole slaw, and a dinner roll, plus a side of onion rings and another of hot cinnamon-dusted applesauce. With blueberry pie ala mode for dessert. Lance had lived with the man for six years, and JC's appetite still took him by surprise sometimes. He'd kidded JC once that the reason he was so cheap was so he could afford to eat.
They'd bickered and fought over the jukebox in the corner of the diner, and eventually compromised--JC got Belinda Carlyle, and Lance picked Patsy Cline. The third song that came with their quarter they chose together--Lynyrd Skynyrd's Sweet Home Alabama, and they sang along when it cued, ignoring the half-hearted stares.
When they finally drove home, it was late--so late the traffic lights on the outskirts of town had switched to blinking-yellow status from their daytime green-yellow-red. Lance fiddled with the radio in JC's car, and finally found something folk-ish and quiet, and they sang some more, with John Denver and Arlo Guthrie and Carole King. JC pulled up in Lance's driveway, and turned to kiss him before turning off the ignition. Lance felt something in his stomach leap and twist.
He went first up the walk, pulling out his keys and opening the door with somewhat more concentration than usual. JC rubbed his bicep, and Lance gave him a slightly shaky grin over his shoulder.
"I'm okay," he said, pushing the door open and quickly keying in the security code.
"I know," JC said. When Lance finished with the alarm, JC took him by the shoulder, turned him around, and pressed him into the wall. When Lance tilted his head back, JC leaned in.
The kiss was like nothing else they'd ever done before. Long and sleek and hot and delicate and calm--it was a very *calm* kiss, was the only way Lance could describe it. Unruffled. At ease. Completely comfortable being where it was, between Lance and JC, with slick tongue and soft lips and careful teeth. Endless. Perfect. And so damn hot Lance wondered dizzily if he'd even make it farther than this.
It was the sort of kiss that made Lance think that this wasn't such a big deal after all, not that strange, not that unusual, and he kind of thought that was the point. JC sighed into the kiss, and his hands slid up Lance's arms to cup his shoulders, thumbs pressing rhythmically against his collarbone.
Lance sagged a little against the wall, his hands not sure whether to hold onto JC or brace against the wall, so they hovered in mid-air by his sides, fingers twitching. JC drew back a little, caught his hands and brought them to wrap around JC's waist. Then JC was holding him again, and he was holding JC, and JC's mouth was back and Lance groaned quietly and gave himself over completely.
He wasn't a virgin. Really, he wasn't--as he'd insisted to Justin, oral sex really did count as sex, and god knows he'd had enough of that, both with men and women. The fact he'd never actually fucked or gotten fucked had less to do with morality and more to do with the lack of anyone who made him want to try it, and the time and bother it seemed to involve. But JC was hard against him--long tight muscle, firm thighs, tense back, all of it pushing against him in a slow, subtle rhythm. And Lance's mind was going to places he'd never really been interested in going before.
His hands had slid down JC's torso to his ass before he even consciously realized it.
JC sighed again at the first touch, and edged his hips backwards more fully into Lance's hands. Lance tentatively squeezed down, and JC muttered breathlessly into Lance's mouth, and pulled back to grin at him. The kiss, when JC returned, was darker, full of promise, and Lance caught his breath at the incidiary tease of it. He yanked hard at JC's ass, brought him flush against his body, and shuddered helplessly at the pressure on his hardening cock.
"Um," he mumbled into JC's mouth, closed his teeth lightly over JC's questing tongue and drew back, drawing out the delicate touch. JC moaned and looked at him with bright eyes, flushed and damp, mouth swollen and pink. "Um," Lance said again, hoarsely, and cleared his throat. "Maybe--upstairs?"
JC nodded and stepped back, and Lance's body immediately began to ache. When JC shivered and reached down to adjust himself, Lance had to close his eyes. Breathing deeply, he reached out blindly and grabbed JC's hand, then turned to where he knew the staircase was. He managed to get upstairs without once looking at JC, and he considered it a minor miracle. Behind him JC was breathing unsteadily, and JC's hand was hot and strong where it twisted tightly with his.
Lance's bedroom was a mess. A total mess. He'd been busy lately, with rehearsals and recording, and he'd recently found out the service he usually used had been stealing his underwear to sell on eBay, so no one had cleaned in a month. Moonlight fell at a sharp angle through the window, almost too high in the sky to be seen, and he didn't think it would be there for much longer. Oh yeah, very romantic, Lance thought glumly, as he navigated the maze of shoes and papers and stacks of DVD cases.
The bed was clear, though, the sheets clean and the pillows perfectly puffed and the blankets flat and smooth across the beautiful wide expanse of it. He'd made sure of that much before he left on the date. And looking around, at the way JC was staring directly at him, as if nothing in the world was more interesting than the way Lance moved, he decided he didn't care. He reached the bed, stripped back the covers, and pulled JC down.
They landed together, a tangle of legs and arms and urgently-seeking hands. Lance searched out JC's mouth by finding skin and latching on, laying sucking kisses all along JC's neck up his jaw to his mouth. JC arched and squirmed when one of Lance's hands accidentally brushed his groin, and the muffled squeak of surprise was so intriguing, Lance did it again. Longer, harder, and more deliberate, and this time JC's soft sound was deep and rough, almost a groan.
They made out like that for a long time, breathless necking and half-aimed gropes and kissing, always kissing. Lance's legs were still halfway off the bed, and JC had clambered all the way on but was scuffling around in his shoes trying to get purchase on the smooth sheets. Eventually Lance got a hold of JC's shoulders and pushed, hard, and when JC finally broke away, panting, Lance scambled back up onto the bed and started stripping.
Sweater first, then t-shirt--both rumpled and rucked up over his back already. Pants next, and he forgot to take off his shoes first so they tangled up and he had to claw himself out of it. JC was undressing too, he noticed, only slightly more gracefully--mostly because he kicked off his shoes first thing.
When JC was finally naked, for a long minute all Lance wanted to do was look--pale and taut with muscle, his nudity making him look slightly alien in the dim light. He'd seen JC naked, seen all of them naked, but never like this--flushed and mostly hard and two feet away from where he was sitting, also naked, flushed and mostly hard. For all that he and JC had been together almost three weeks, and known each other for six years, for a second it was a bizarre situation, almost too much to handle, and Lance wondered if he was doing the right thing.
Then JC smiled at him, the big sunny smile Lance knew so well from lazy afternoons on the bus watching Austin Powers, from Sunday morning comics in a hundred different hotel rooms around the globe, from seeing Justin napping with Britney when she visited, and they were both so tired from their relentless schedules that all they wanted to do was sleep. It made his eyes squint up and disappear, and his teeth showed, and his entire body loosened and lit up. And then JC was JC again, and Lance breathed out and reached for him.
JC went willingly, and turned when Lance urged him, laying on his back and resting his hands midway up Lance's spine. They kissed some more--Lance was rapidly growing addicted to these kisses, to the sweet sexy glide of tongue and the nip of teeth and the burr of moans against sensitive lips. He wanted to kiss forever, and JC seemed perfectly willing to go along with that. Lance was hard now, all the way hard, and something inside him clenched at the feel of JC, lean and rippling and powerful underneath him. He thrust down with his hips, felt JC push back, and JC's cock was hard too.
He was sweating, his hair was in his eyes, and he pushed it back with a shaking hand. He could have closed them, but he didn't want to miss this, the sight of JC arching beneath him, face rapt and mouth eager and hands running all up and down Lance's back, from his nape to the swell of his ass. The sweat made the friction between them take on a new life, damp skin resisting the smooth draw of flesh, and it slowed them down, heated them up. When one of JC's hands slipped down over his ass, cupping the curve of the muscle, he groaned.
"Okay?" JC asked breathlessly, and Lance nodded, head buried in JC's shoulder. "Tell me," JC whispered, and drew his hand lower. Long fingers slid across the cleft, and Lance jerked violently, panting.
"Tell me," JC said insistantly, pulling back, and Lance shook his head.
"I can't, I--it's okay, it's okay," he managed, and after a long pause the fingers returned. This time he was ready, and the jolt of sensation only made him tremble and moan, long and hard into JC's skin. JC chuckled, a rolling vibration beneath him, and trailed his fingers up and down, making Lance shudder and twitch and gasp.
"You like it?" JC murmured, and Lance nodded blindly.
"More," he whispered after a long, torturous pause.
JC's legs shifted, threaded between his, and then JC bent his knees, brought them up and spread Lance's legs wider. Coarse hair rasped along his inner thighs, and Lance wondered dizzily when every touch, every sensation, had become enough to reach deep inside his chest and his brain and his dick and touch some nerve, hit some button.
Now his legs were splayed out wide, JC's knees splitting him apart, and JC's finger was doing more than just brush casually across his skin--it was pushing forward, searching for something. Lance began moaning, constantly--he couldn't help it. JC was exploring, searching for something, but Lance knew *exactly* where everything was, and with every second JC's finger came a fraction of an inch closer to what it was looking for.
Lance wasn't sure if he wanted JC to find was he was looking for or not. On one hand, he could feel the muscles there clenching, over and over, vulnerable and prickling with the need to be touched, and it was driving him wild. On the other hand, JC finally reaching his hole, touching him, maybe even pressing inside--he didn't think he could survive it. He was barely holding on now, with JC hot and wriggling and groaning beneath him. If JC actually touched him *there*...
JC found what he was looking for.
Lance spasmed, felt his eyes roll into the back of his head, his back arching and pushing more deeply into JC's hand as one broad fingertip traced his hole, pushed bluntly at the seizing muscle. The world broke out in static, and the only real thing was JC all around him, his own pitiful broken sounds as JC played his nerves with slow, sweet care. He felt his mouth open, felt it claimed by JC, who pushed his tongue inside in a blatent request.
Lance knew what it meant and didn't care, he just didn't care anymore. He opened wider, suckled on JC's tongue as it fucked him, and bucked as JC's finger slipped inside, dry and tight and just an inch, less than an inch, almost nothng at all but he was so hot, so close, it was too much too much way too much, and he came, choking and yelling and thrashing, trying to get more of JC's wicked tongue wicked finger wicked wonderful gorgeous body.
Through the haze of orgasm he could feel JC heaving beneath him, a strangled sound low in his throat and a rush of wet beneath him, but he was still flying high, dazed and drunk on the richness of the sensations, the absoluteness of it, and he barely noticed when JC--struggling for air--pushed Lance gently off his body and onto Lance's side on the bed.
He attempted to help JC when JC tried to bring his head up to the pillow, but his arms wouldn't work right. It wasn't until JC had pulled the covers up over them, and settled down next to him, their foreheads touching and JC's scent and touch and warmth everywhere that he roused a little, dragging an arm up to fall over JC's waist and bring him closer.
"Hmmmm." Okay, maybe not coherant.
JC smiled, eyes closed. "Yeah."
"Nice." Lance decided he wasn't quite as recovered as he thought, as that one word left him breathless and exhausted. Maybe he'd just lay here, he thought, feeling sated and happy. Just for a bit. The he'd try again.
"Yeah," JC said again, and pressed forward. A gentle kiss, on a tender mouth, and Lance purred. "Go to sleep."
Lance wanted to protest, but the last thing he felt was JC's mouth on his again, calm and quiet, and before he could say anything the black full tide of sleep came up around him, and he fell into it.
Fin
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