He had these wrists. These incredibly pale, tiny wrists, with a perfectly round bone that jutted out and begged to be bitten. Perhaps it intrigued him the most to stare at the baby-fine hairs that grew fainter as they crept toward his long fingers. Lance had amazing fingers. Pianist fingers, Chris thought. But he never played. “What are you staring at?” Lance asked, pulling his legs up to his chest. “It’s creeping me out.” Chris had no answers, but he licked his lips anyway before turning away to finish the contract he was staring at. Because Lance had incredible hands. A few minutes later and Chris had thrown the papers to the floor. He pounced, knocking Lance back to the bed. “I have to do this. Forgive me.” Lance kicked out as Chris grabbed his wrists and pulled them together, pinning them over Lance’s head. “Get off me!” Lance hissed, rolling to the side. But Chris was not letting go. Lance’s hands were soft and small, even smaller than his were, and he held them down. “I would fuck your hands if I could,” he whispered, leaning over to nip at the soft flesh. “What?” Lance tried not to laugh at how ridiculous it sounded. But his lips curled anyway, and he bucked up toward Chris. “You’re a fucking lunatic. You know that.” “Oh yeah,” Chris answered evenly, tucking his head down to lick Lance’s bottom lip. “But you love it.” “I do?” Lance wanted to know as his body began to respond, as his toes curled and his hips wiggled just a little.  “You do.” He didn’t want anything gentle. Didn’t want to ply Lance with tender kisses or soft brushes. He wanted to fuck like an animal. Bind Lance and take total control. He wanted to use Lance’s body for pleasure, for wicked and selfish reasons. He didn’t want to have to worry about how hard he pushed, or what tell tale signs he left. Chris wanted to leave a hickey on that pale neck, and make Lance so sore he wouldn’t be able to think straight for days. But Lance was rather vanilla. And Chris was rather rocky road. “Lance?” he whispered, dropping his body down. “Hmm?” “You trust me?” Lance pushed at Chris’ chest and stared up at him, question embedded in his eyes. “Trust you how?” Chris saw the uncertainty and was torn between feeling hurt and flattered. After all, he was rather docile by most accounts. But Lance was radiating indecision and it was a turn on. “Trust me? Like not to hurt you?” “Oh.” Lance grew quiet and relaxed his arms to his side. Chris studied his face, how genuine it was. How subtle and sexy each part came together to create the fascination that was Lance Bass. Still. The hands. Chris rolled off Lance and lay beside him, plucking one hand from the bedspread to kiss the inside of his wrist. His teeth scraped along the flesh, and he wanted to bite. To take a chunk out of it. But he didn’t. He asked, like a polite person would. He didn’t want to scare or offend. “Can I tie you up?” he asked softly. “Because I’m horny as fuck, and your hands.” “My hands?” Lance jerked his hands free from Chris and chewed on his lip. Debating. Considering. “My hands?” he asked again, waving them in front of his eyes in disbelief. Chris shrugged and reached over, grabbing one of them. He turned his head so he could stare and promise with sincerity not to injure -- to vow a gentle touch. To assure Lance in every way he wouldn’t wound. “Your hands,” Chris said, licking along Lance’s palm. “They’re fucking sexy. And I want to do all these things with them.” Confusion settled deep in the green of Lance’s eyes and he turned onto his side as Chris’ tongue circled around his thumb slowly before pressing it into his mouth. The effect was instant and Lance felt his insides turn to liquid, his cock jumping with anticipation. “You do?” he asked, and his voice emerged as a mere squeak. A high pitched, prepubescent squawk that sounded more like a balloon than a bass singer. “I mean, why?” The blush served to push Chris farther. It sent him on a ride of primordial instinct where nothing was wrong with taking what he wanted -- what he craved and desired. “Why do you ask so many questions?” It was frustrating, and Chris battled valiantly with his desire ... with the feelings that were controlling him. His eyes blackened and he trapped Lance without warning. “I’m going to tie your hands now,” he said simply. “With this tube sock here.” Lance nodded slightly, his mouth draped open. And Chris thought he would die from the sheer innocence being played out before his eyes. A bundle of trust that was heading right at him. A man who was giving in so he could be pleased. “I trust you,” Lance whispered, closing his eyes, shutting the jade color away. And Chris stared. Memorized every freckle that unfolded across Lance’s nose, studied the scar over his left eye. He surrendered to the delicious moments of etching each piece of stubble that covered Lance’s jaw line and chin. Deciding where to start, what to do first. How to proceed without scaring. Which part of this extraordinary person he wanted to gulp down first. With the sock in his hand, he sat on Lance’s chest and gathered his hands, roping the cotton material around both wrists before placing them over Lance’s head. “Okay?” he whispered. “Okay,” Lance said, sticking his tongue out to graze along his bottom lip. And that made Chris wonder if he’d done it on purpose -- a game of his own that perhaps wasn’t as innocent as first appearing. But he remained still, with his face serene and calm, his eyelashes fluttering delicately against his cheeks without a hint of tension marring his face. So Chris undressed, a tad perplexed, and ran his fingers over the arch on Lance’s bare foot. It was enticing to see Lance flinched a bit yet keep his arms completely extended over his head. Trusting. Chris smiled and lifted Lance’s leg, wrapping his fingers around his ankle, feeling the fine blonde hairs that surrounded Lance’s tattoo. Carefully, he knelt on the bed and ran his tongue over the painted flesh, licking around his Achilles tendon and straight down the center of Lance’s foot. “Ooh,” Lance gasped, and Chris grinned. Still, he didn’t recoil, or try to pull away. Only his hips moved -- tiny little thrusts that were nearly invisible except Chris was looking for it. And his body wrenched with pure animal instinct as he watched Lance squirm. He went for the toes, because he wanted to see how far he could push. First Lance’s big toe, then the second one. It was then that Lance sprang straight up, his body flying to a sitting position, his eyes wide with surprise. Chris nearly abandoned Lance’s leg, fearing he’d gone the wrong way. But then Lance smiled a little, and his eyes drooped before he flung his body back down. It excited the fuck out of Chris, and he dropped one of his hands between his legs to tug at his cock just a bit, just enough to pacify himself -- and his body. He gnawed on the inside of Lance’s ankle before releasing the leg back down smoothly. His hands slid up the thick denim of Lance’s jeans, his hands hot, sending very clear messages what his intent was. Deliberately, Chris rubbed his palms over every inch of Lance’s legs, pressing insistently up toward his hips. Dangling a finger over the silver zipper, he wanted to forgo manners and simply have at it. But he was patient, and fully enjoying the small moans twisting free of Lance’s mouth, the tiny sighs and mutters that floated erotically into the air. Now he could see clearly. Now he could witness the direct effect in the form of a long, hard bulge captured lewdly beneath the blue denim. Now he could grin, and smile, and trace his finger along it’s length for reaction. For the slow hiss that Lance let out. Chris wanted to talk, to spew some lurid words to intensify the moment. But his tongue was scraping along the back of his teeth in concentration, and his lips were having a hard time communicating with anyone other than his dick. Unzipping was delicious, and slipping the pants off Lance was even more entertaining. To ignore the twitch of Lance’s cock under soft cotton sports briefs was a lesson in restraint. Especially for him -- for a body he rarely denied. Still, he tossed the jeans to the side and spread Lance’s legs apart -- crawled right down between them. Pressing his cheek against Lance’s thigh, Chris slid his thumbs up under the legs of the briefs, rubbing toward the spot Lance desired to be touched most. Two bound fists flew down at him, trying to grab at his hair, trying to urge him onward. Apparent in not wanting to wait. “Dammit, Chris, please! Don’t tease.” Lance begging -- a scene Chris wouldn’t have dared possible. Not in any fantasy or dream. And those wrists were soon at eye level, taunting him once more. He leapt up, smothering Lance’s body with his own, shoving the tube sock up a hint to get at Lance’s wrists. Consuming them with his mouth. Licking and nipping, sucking on the bone and rubbing his cheek against the skin. Chris needed something -- but what. He couldn’t put his finger on it. “Sit up,” he demanded, yanking on the tube sock until Lance was upright. He forced Lance’s bound hands over his swollen cock and pressed the palms together. His eyes were stormy, dark and in need as his moved Lance’s hands up and down. “I have to ...” There wasn’t a way he could speak as Lance’s hands rubbed against his flesh, and his hands were so fucking soft. There was an untamed beast in Chris -- a possessed nature that seemed to desert every single thing he had been working toward. Patience. Driving Lance over. Teasing. He wanted to come. In Lance’s hands. Hard. “Look at me,” Chris begged, pleading with Lance to open his eyes. Needing to let Lance see the fire in his eyes and the beast in his soul. Begging for a connection that no one but Lance would understand. And Lance obliged, positioning himself so Chris could lean back, promising with clear eyes that he would allow it all. Whatever Chris wanted to give him. He would take. Chris’ eyes struggled to stay open as Lance moved quicker and quicker. He spread his legs and moved back a little, allowing Lance to do the work. His belly jerked and rolled with anticipation, and his hips were thrusting of their own free will. It was so delicious, so tempting. And good. A shift on the bed caused Chris to look up a little more carefully before feeling Lance’s toe press against him, trying to twist inside. The sensation was overpowering, and Chris propelled against Lance’s toe with a grunt, his dick straining for it’s final destination. To look at Lance -- into his crystal eyes -- and come into his delicate hands. To leave his mark and fulfill his own needs. Bring the fantasy of fucking Lance’s hands into a reality. So with a careful manipulation, Lance’s toe sank inside of him. He whimpered into himself, unable to scream, or cuss, or use dirty and foul language to show Lance he was getting his way. But as he came in a thunderous roll, and as beads of sweat dripped down the sides of his face toward his lips, he saw Lance grin. Evilly. Wickedly. No longer looking quite so innocent and helpless. In triumph. | back | | feedback |