It was something. Just what, Lance didn’t know. What the hell brought him here ... to the lair. To the place where his morality seemed to dissipate into thin air. Where ‘day’ Lance went away -- and ‘wicked‘ Lance emerged. The Lance that fucked instead of making love.  The Lance that bit and clawed and sweat. The Lance that thrust without tenderness. The Lance who made the body below him sing in distinctive tones of pleasure. Where the romantic Lance, who adored soft candlelight and a roaring fireplace, could hide away without repercussion or concern. Where he didn’t have to explain his actions away. Where he could just fuck for self pleasure and not for all the love stuff that got in his way sometimes. And it shamed him. To a point. It shamed him that he even entertained such feral instincts. Such little concern for the human emotions he toyed with. As his teeth sunk into his lover’s shoulder, Lance sighed with relief. Powerless to fight the feelings that flooded his belly. His blood. His being. “Christ, Lance,” his lover hissed as he felt the skin puncture. “Fuck!” “Shut up,” Lance growled into his ear, deepening his tone, lowering his voice to a rumble. “Shut up and lie still.” And his lover did. Lie still. With his muscular arms flung carelessly over his head, his olive skin lustrous in the moon’s glow. His translucent eyes dancing back at Lance. Lance nearly smiled at how pretty the man on the bed was. At how delicious it was to fuck him time and time again. To sink into his willing body everytime he came to New York. His fingers trailed over the fresh bite mark, touching the welted skin, savoring the achy whimper that fell from swollen pink lips. “That hurt you.” Lance stated, bending his head to lick at it. The tinny taste of blood etched into his tongue and he closed his eyes. Feeling his cock throb harder against his lovers belly. Pressing his hands on either side of his lover’s head. Staring down with wild eyes. “Mm hmm,” the voice murmured languidly. “You like to hurt.” It pleased Lance to hear -- and once again the shame encompassed him. The fear that he would let this sin seep into his life as a pop star. He didn’t shy away, however, as his mouth found it’s target. As his lips wrapped around his lover’s neck and sucked. Hard. “God, I have to play tomorrow,” the voice cried out, squirming beneath Lance. And Lance decided he liked his lover to squirm. “When did you turn pussy on me?” Lance garbled hotly. Dragging his tongue over his lover’s collarbone, sliding his naked body along the naked body below him. Using the friction of flesh on flesh to incite his senses. To fuel his desire. “When did you start cussing like that?” Lance jerked his head up abruptly, abandoning the body temporarily.  Hopeless when it came to those electric eyes. Eyes that begged back at him with lust. With narrowed shards of desire. “Damn, I hate when you get all charming on me,” Lance growled, rolling off to the side. Resting his hand on his lower stomach. Closing his eyes. His chest heaved with stilted breath, and his heart drummed rapidly inside. It had been a long time since he’d been able to hook up with his lover -- too long. The last thing he wanted to do was waste precious time talking. “You’re too easy, Bass. That’s your problem. I get to see you maybe three times a year and you wanna punk out on me?” Lance sighed and rolled his head to the side. Letting wickedness swallow him up again. Slithering over on to his belly. Brushing his fingers over one hardened nipple. Pinching until he saw the wince in those eyes. Those eyes that screamed ‘fuck me’ to every man, woman and teen in the world. But for the night, he was with Lance.  And Lance was briefly lost in their beauty. His hand drifted down the hard planes of his lover’s stomach to brush against the sensual line of hair below his belly button. Stroking easily. He leaned in, anxious to kiss those lips. Press his tongue into the mouth he longed for. Devour and possess. Lance sighed, drawing his hand back up, over delicate skin, watching as the man next to him shivered with longing. Lance let his hand curl around the back of his neck, dancing in the shaved hairs that fell over the nape of the neck he’d desired for months -- dragging him closer for a bruising kiss. Letting his mouth take the lead. Grinning at the moan that escaped into him. Gasping with his lover’s hand moved between his legs, stroking him lightly. Now Lance shivered, and groaned, flopping onto his back. Biting his lip as his body melted into the bed. “Want me to .. um .. you know.” The man smiled up as Lance gazed down at him, waiting. Anticipating. Desperate to taste Lance but waiting patiently. “Go ahead,” Lance whispered,  settling his head into the pillow as his lover slunk down the foot of the bed. Spreading his legs slightly. Staring down with an unblinking gaze. “I wonder,” his lover said quietly. “What people would think.” “About?” Lance queried as strong thumbs massaged the insides of his thighs. As tender lips pressed along his calves. “About? About us,” the reply came -- as hands roamed up Lance’s legs to his belly, stroking along the smooth sides, enjoying the silky skin. “No one will ever know about us,” Lance moaned, relishing the feathery touches that caressed his flesh. Letting his hand drift down to feel the short hairs of his lovers head. The soft, fine strands that felt so gentle against him. “Kind of a shame, don’t you think?” his lover teased, his mouth hovering over Lance’s cock -- twitching with want. Desiring the lips that teased and taunted. “How so?” Lance groaned as he felt the first brush against him. “God, how so?” His other hand flopped down to the bed, curling in the soft sheets under him. “Well,” the voice said from the shadows, “I mean, we’re odd together. Mismatched in a way.” And Lance felt his body race as his lover’s mouth encompassed him -- suctioning him in with one swoop. Wet heat pouring over him in a fountain of liquid desire. Making his knees shake. Forcing his toes to curl. “Jesus,” Lance whimpered, rolling his head to the side, and he snapped his eyes shut. “Not Jesus,” a chuckle came back. “Derek. Remember? Derek Jeter? Number 2? Yankees?” His head lifted up and cocked to the side. Lance felt Derek’s mouth gone as cold air swirled where warmth had once been. “Yeah, yeah. I remember,” he rumbled, pushing Derek’s head back down. “I ain’t giving you the standing O babe. So unless your waiting ...” He laughed as the mouth willingly went back to work. Thinking about how good Derek always felt. Sinful. Like candy that he knew he shouldn’t eat. But as Derek touched him, he let himself relax. And he let his hips rock in time with the famous shortstop who knew his business. With the man he’d once been shy around. Adored almost. Envied with his exotic good looks and powerful marketability. Only now, it was reversed. Now it was Derek who called him. Derek who played into his hands every time they met up. Derek who allowed Lance to take the lead with things. Lance gasped as Derek pulled at his cock with his mouth. Lazy curls of his tongue -- casual circles that switched with the occasional tug. Driving him mad -- crazy with desire. Lance pushed up on his elbows and stared down, his heart speeding against his chest as Derek looked up with slanted eyes. He enjoyed Derek to no end. The way his lips curled in shy smiles. How large his hands were, and how powerful his arms were. And as a satisfied string of ecstatic mutters tumbled from his lips -- he loved Derek’s mouth most of all. “Fucking shit,” Lance hissed, jerking up. Derek rocked back on his heels and raised his eyebrow. “Been a while?” Lance’s face contorted, his eyes darkened. His body ran hot as he reached for Derek’s wrists and yanked him up. “God, you have no clue,” he whispered, rolling Derek onto his back. “No. Clue.” “Yeah, I can imagine,” Derek teased, sliding his hands under his head. “Poor sexy pop star. In the closet. Men and women throwing themselves at you all the damn time. Yeah, what a life.” In the shadows, Lance studied Derek, perched above him with an exasperated expression. “Dammit! Don’t talk shit like that!” It was a hurtful reminder of his life in a fish bowl -- and the main reason he had so much guilt. His forehead creased and his world slid a little. “I’m sorry,” Derek said instantly, sitting up to press his nose against Lance’s. “I didn’t mean anything. I was just kidding.” His finger trailed over Lance’s jaw, sweeping over the stubble affectionately. “Lance?” “It’s fine,” Lance said, forcing a smile. Tilting Derek back down to the bed. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t understand, right?” Derek blinked slowly, running his hands up Lance’s biceps. “I do understand,” he admitted. “Totally which is why I trust you.” “Which is why we fuck. No more, no less.” Lance bent to lick over Derek’s chest. “Why we do this every so often with no commitment.” “Right,” Derek answered lowly, pulling his knees up. “No commitment.” Lance leaned to the side as he nodded, ducking his gaze to investigate Derek’s face. How it seemed to sadden at the words. He plucked a condom from the drawer and sighed, shaking the nagging feeling that coiled around him. No commitment he swore it to himself. Vowed that this was for physical pleasure only. Promised to keep that one thing just for him. Now there was a lover below him with eyes that cried for more perhaps. Eyes that were murky with something more. It angered Lance, enough to make him slap the condom on with a grain of hostility. And as Derek spread exotic massage oil over Lance’s cock, he barely flinched. Normally enjoying the sweet friction. Relishing the delicious way Derek’s hands slid over him. But not tonight. Tonight he swatted those hands away and swung Derek’s legs up, bending him in half. This night he chose to turn his head away, close his eyes and fantasize instead of thrusting with sexy kisses punctuating each motion. Instead of drowning in a lustful gaze that stared up at him. This time it was more physical than ever before. He moved like a fiend, pushing himself in without concern for the tiny gasps that toppled out of Derek. He ignored the heated press of Derek’s palms against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, letting tiny stars mar the blackness, and drove himself into Derek harder. Letting the bed slam against the wall. Letting the sheets pull from the corner and slide toward them. Pushing further inside. “Lance! LANCE!” Lance forced himself to pause breathlessly, to look down into the pained expression. “You’re hurting me,” Derek whispered, dropping his hands to the bed. “And not in a good way.” Lance fell, concerned with what he’d become. His phobia. His wicked ways and brick wall injuring the innocent. “Fuck!” he hissed, and attempted to climb off. But Derek grabbed his hips and held him in. “No,” he said. “Finish this. I want you to finish this.” It was almost too much to ask, Lance thought. Almost a challenge. Almost a beg. Hands slithered from his hips, up his sides. Over his chest and nipples. Rubbing gently. Tenderly. Drifting up over his collarbone and neck. Sliding into his mouth. Finger by finger. Lance’s eyes searched the eyes under him and saw only understanding there. Acceptance. He sucked on Derek’s fingers gently. Taking his time. Savoring the way they flitted around his tongue. Enjoying the new waves of desire that seemed to make him harder. And he moved smoothly, letting his hips rock painfully slow. Delighting in the cat like sounds that it seemed to cause. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and Lance licked out at it. His hair flopped against his forehead and he smiled. Watching as Derek’s eyes rolled back in gratification. So he pushed it faster, sliding himself in and out at random paces. Derek arched his back and made crazy sounds, sounds Lance had never heard. Amazingly erotic noises that made his blood burn. He chewed on his lip in concentration as Derek’s hand slid between them, grabbing his cock and wrapping his fingers around it. It made Lance sway harder, bracing his forearms next to Derek’s head. Able to feel Derek’s knuckles pressed against his lower belly -- his strokes firm and strong. A satisfying hum flooded his ears as his orgasm rippled, ready for release. He swallowed hard as he tried to hold back, tried for the first time since being with Derek to make sure that it was okay to come. Not to be selfish. His body fought him, and when he saw Derek’s mouth form a little ‘o’ and when he saw the morphed expression -- when he felt Derek's free hand seize his shoulder and grip painfully -- he knew. So he gritted his teeth and finished like Derek had asked. Letting his body go. Screaming in some kind of untamed, undersexed cry of ecstasy. Feeling the way his entire body went limp as his orgasm ripped from him. “Oh my GOD!” Lance cried, his hands tangled in the sheets, clawing for steadiness. He didn’t know that it could be both, and as he rolled off, instead of curling up in a ball, he let Derek wrap his arm around him. And instead of rushing to catch a little cat nap before dressing and slinking out, he rested his head against Derek’s chest and sighed into a real slumber. “It’s okay, Lance,” Derek whispered, brushing his lips against Lance’s hair. “To let yourself have it all. I’ll never push but I don’t wanna be fucked over.” Lance mumbled sleepily, letting his own arm fall over Derek’s waist. “I’m sorry,” he garbled. “So sorry. It’s so good now. It’s all good now.” His cheek settled happily in the crook of Derek’s arm and he fell into his sleep, knowing when dawn broke, he would still be there. Knowing he didn’t run this time. Glad the invisible barrier was broken down by someone who was just like him -- and gave a damn. back