:: Good Vibrations ::                                                    You wondered what else he could do with those lips.                                                    The beat box.                                                    It nailed you everytime. Every goddamned time you saw him do it you                                                      twitched.                                                    So you turned to him, with a scowl on your face--because wasn’t it                                                          easier to be a dick about it--and glared. “Do you mind?” He blinked at you with entertained blue eyes and a small smile. “Sorry. Was I bothering you?” “You always bother me,” you said, burying your nose back in the papers you pretended to be looking at. “I always bother you?” he asked and there was just a whisper of hurt streaking through his voice which made you feel a little bit bad. “Oh not today!” you snapped, ripping the glasses from your face. “Justin, just fucking don‘t okay? Not today!” “What?” he asked and you hated that tint of innocence he always had. You wondered just how Lance did it. How Lance could managed to be so in love with the kid. And how they managed to have so much fun. “Just...not today!” You stood up as the bus rumbled on and headed for the bathroom where you could be alone.  Alone to jerk off or just hold your head in your hands because you couldn’t seem to shake Justin from your head. Because dammit if the guy didn’t cause you emotional stress. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: “I dunno. He snapped at me again.” You could hear Justin on the phone from his bunk, his voice hushed and hurt. Talking to Lance no doubt. “He’s different. I don’t know what it is. But shit, he’s picking on me all the time, Lance. All the time. I’m ready to deal with the dog life and come onto your bus.” It wasn’t fair you thought as you slammed down the aisle to the front of the bus. You didn’t ask to have that one dream--the dream that spawned the entire ‘I want Justin’ thing you seemed to be going through. That dream that replayed a hundred times a day in your mind. The beat boxing thing. And Justin refused to stop doing it. “God almighty!” you spat, slamming your fist against the tinted bus window. It caused JC to look up at you with those pursed lips and a bothered expression. “What’s up your ass now?” he wanted to know. And you wanted to scream. Jump into his face and bite him. But you didn’t. You stuck your middle finger up and left it at that.  Misery was your companion and silence was your friend. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him, Justin, because maybe its something kind of small. You could patch it up.” You heard Lance and Justin talking backstage before the show and you wanted to throw yourself through the doors and laugh in their faces--pat their heads and tell them nothing was wrong. It would have been easier if there was nothing over your head--namely your dream. Sexual thoughts that had soon become a nightmare. “It’s not easier, Lance! He fucking barks at me. I mean, I know he’s all sorts of bitter or whatever, but really.” Bitter? The word echoed in your head as your temples flared. Bitter did not even come close to what you felt. Confused maybe. Sexually frustrated? Definitely.  But bitter, no. “I don’t know then Jus’. I mean, you two are best friends. You gotta talk to him.” It was then that you burst in on them while they were semi-naked and Lance was holding Justin. Tenderly. You thought you might vomit. They jumped apart when you entered causing you to laugh bitterly. “What?” you asked, pushing past them to grab your duffle bag. “You okay?” Lance queried, laying his hand on your shoulder. “Fine,” you lied, shrugging him away. “Catering just put out some of that shit you like, Justin.” You brushed past him but you hated the way his eyes had that touch of bewilderment. There was simply no way you could deal with his confusion.  “Thanks,” he mumbled as you slammed the door shut. It was then that you felt immature and petty. A little bit like a fool. But how the fuck else were you supposed to deal with these feelings? Denial wasn’t working. Ignoring it wasn’t working. Nothing was working when the guy insisted upon grabbing the microphone and reverberating his lips endlessly night after night. Not only on stage, but in your head, on your dick until you come in some sort of slow and steady orgasm. Well, that’s how you imagine it at least. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: “Okay we have to talk,” Justin said in the hotel. He grabbed you on the way to the ice room and pulled at your arm until you stop. “Chris!” You turned and looked at him with tired eyes and an expression that was a little less than friendly. “I’m tired,” you tell him with a sigh. “So get off me. I’m not in the mood....” “I know, I know,” he growled, tugging you closer. “You’re not in the mood for me. You’re never in the mood for me and I want to know what the fuck I did to piss you off like this?” His eyes burned a hole into yours and you looked away with shame. “Nothing,” you mumbled, trying to squirm away a little. “Then what? What?” He screamed, in the middle of the hall with bare feet and no shirt. His cotton sleep pants hung low on his hips and you tried not to stare at the patch of hair that disappeared beneath them because ... “What the fuck do you want, Justin?” You pegged him with a stare that would make most people back down. But not him. He stood his ground and chewed on his lip with a questioning gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. Please!” “Like what?” he asked, kicking his toe along the carpet? “I miss you. I miss hanging out with you and I just want to know what’s up.” Like you had an answer. If you couldn’t resolve it in your head, how the hell could you resolve it in his. “I’m tired,” you said again, this time a little softer. “Just. Tired.” “Of me?” You didn’t mean to throw the ice bucket against the wall, or push him back a little. And you sure as shit didn’t mean to kiss the lips that haunted you night after fucking night. He gasped into your mouth, though, and it made you tingle. His head cracked back, throwing a framed art piece off kilter, but he didn’t pull away. He let your tongue dive into him and he let your hands run down the sides of his body. Only a hand on your shoulder pulled you back--a large hand that you knew instantly belonged to Joey. AKA...Lance’s best friend. “I’m not seeing this,” he said quietly, calmly. Almost eerily so. “Chris, I’m not seeing this so you have three seconds to get out of here before I do see it. Then I can’t help you.” It was a threat. A very obvious threat. And Joey didn’t do the idle thing. You wanted to apologize or say something while your body was being pried away from Justin’s, but your got lost in his expression. The pink of his cheeks and those fucking lips that were all swollen because maybe you kissed a little too rough. A wipe to your mouth with the back of your hand and you jogged back to your room, giving up on the idea of ice with your drink. All you wanted was to lock yourself in the shower and stroke yourself to the feel of Justin’s mouth--come in a rush of forbidden whatever. Which is exactly what you did. Then you crawled into bed even though you didn‘t feel any better. Dreams of his mouth pressed against your cock danced their way into your thoughts. A really hot image of Justin laying between your legs beat boxing against your erection. You woke with a start, covered in sweat with a hard on that could cut glass and a mind that was emotionally frazzled. Peeling the covers off with a disgusted look, you tumbled to the floor and hurried to the bathroom. Your boxers were soaked so you threw them away and stared at yourself in the mirror. No where in life had you signed up for an unexpected twist on your normally enjoyable life. You decided as you showered the stench of Triple-XXX Justin off you, that you were going to demand he stop beat boxing in the show. Only a few shows left--you rationalized--no one would even care. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: “You’re insane!” Justin squawked when you asked him, kindly, to delete the beat boxing from the show. “Why? Why are you being like this to me?” It was his whine, the one he didn’t often pull out, but it was being unleashed in full force now. Lance sat shaking his head in disgust. “Chris, you can’t expect us to change the show when we’re almost done without reason.” The reason made a rare blush crawl over your cheeks so you threw your hands up to distract them from it. “Why is it I need a reason?” you asked. “I’m just saying I think it’s been done enough.” “Liar!” Lance laughed, tugging an irate Justin onto his lap. “Just admit it. You want him.” Nothing prepared you for *that* to come from Lance. Nothing. “What?” you said, but your voice betrayed you a little. Lance smelled fear and ran with it. “You want Justin. It’s like the kids in kindergarten. The little boys pull the girl’s pigtails.” He ran his hand up Justin’s leg slowly. “It’s not because they *hate* the little girls. It’s because they *like* the little girls.” You reeled because Lance got it. Lance always got things and it was annoying. You prided yourself on your ability to hide and Lance, with his shrewd green eyes and cunning smile, was outing you left and right. Justin wasn’t even looking at you anymore. He was staring at Lance with his mouth in the shape of an ‘o’. “You’re crazy,” you defended and you even tried to laugh it off. But the laugh was more of a squeak and your ears were on fire with embarrassment. “Give it up, man,” Lance said, curling into Justin a little more. “I see that look. I know you want him. That’s what this is all about! It took me a while, but I got it.” He was smug, you thought, sitting there with Justin reclining on his lap in shock. Too smug. You wanted to slap him. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in that Bass mind of yours, but I do *not* want Justin.” Then you saw more hurt flash in Justin's’ eyes and you felt like crying--falling to the floor and kicking like an infant. There was nothing you could say to smooth this over. “I didn’t mean that,” you said quickly, dying to erase that little boy look. “God, Justin, I just ...” “You want him,” Lance cooed gleefully. “Just admit it. We can face the problem and move on. You’ll go back to being nice to Justin. I’ll go back to getting sex and we’ll all live happily ever after.” “Shut up,” Justin hissed, jumping out of Lance’s arms. “Jesus Christ, I can hear you. I’m right here!” You looked at him and felt horrible. Like you and your uncontrolled dreaming had made his face scrunch up like that. And truth be told, you *did* want to go back to being close--being best friends. You didn’t want to take him from Lance or disrupt their relationship. Lance was smirking, leaning back in his chair like some kind of king, and you wanted to dethrone him. Just for the time being. “Fine,” you said, tucking your hands into your pockets. “Truth. I had a dream. About Justin and it’s made me weird. That’s all. Nothing more.” You saw Justin smile a little, almost shyly, and it eased you. Made you feel a little better. “Ah ha!” Lance murmured. “And it was sexual because that’s the only thing that could make you this crazy.” You hated him. Really hated him at that moment. “Maybe,” you said, letting your shoulders slump. “But I just want to forget it and...” “What was it?” Lance pressed, inching toward you. “Tell us.” “Lance come on,” Justin said. “Let it go.” He threw up his hands and stared at you with those eyes--eyes that told him he knew. “Fine,” he said with a slow smile. “I’ll let it go.” ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: But he didn’t really let it go because for the next week you had to deal with Justin acting awkward and Lance grinning like a cat. You wanted to hit rewind and go back to the night of the dream. You wanted to erase it all and start over only how could you? Subconscious was something you had no control over. “Stop,” you finally said to Lance when he pressed up behind you and tickled your ear with his nose. “Just stop.” “Just tell me what it was, Chris,” Lance whispered. “What fantasy do you have about Justin?” There was no way in fuck you could tell him. There was no way you were telling anyone--ever. “Can you let it go, man? Please?” You were so pissed he was pushing you on it, so angry that he was badgering and relentless. Too much pleasure sat in those green eyes. Pleasure that bordered a challenge. “I can let it go,” he said squarely. “But why would I want to? You had some dream where Justin was getting freaky, or you were getting freaky...hell, someone was getting freaky and I wanna know.” “Drop it!” you hissed, nudging him away with your elbow. “For fuck’s sake. It’s getting old.” You stormed off toward the bus to the tune of Lance’s deep chuckle. Climbing aboard the bus you wondered when Lance had become such a bitch. “Was I beat-boxing?” Justin asked quietly as departure protocol began. You froze, mid-way down the aisle. The duffle bag slid from your shoulder, thudding to the floor by your feet. “Were you what?” you asked and already beads of sweat were forming over your upper lip. You wiped at them absently, refusing to turn around. “In your dream? Was I beat-boxing? Is that why you want me to stop?” “What makes you think that?” you snorted, kicking your overnight bag to the side. Eventually you turned to face him, but it was hard to look him in the eye. “It had to be,” Justin said simply. “Because you’re all freaked out when I do it and then you asked me to stop and...” “Shut up,” you said, hoping it sounded offhanded. Somehow you doubted that it did. “I don’t care if you beat-box or grab your dick or whatever.” Score two for immaturity you mused when his jaw dropped a bit. “Okay, I was just wondering,” he said, backing off. You slunk into your bunk and punched the pillow a few times. Scowling became you lately. It surprised you when you drifted off to the lull of the bus and the unusual quietness. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: You thought it was another dream when your eyes fluttered open because there was no way someone’s hand was on your dick. Other than your own, of course. “Wha?” “Was Justin beat-boxing?” Lance’s voice curled over you but when you tried to sit up, his hand knocked you back. “Was that what you dreamed about?” “Get...what are you doing?” Your voice was low and sleepy--you still couldn’t figure this shit out. “Just answer me,” Lance said. The sleep fled your eyes and you could see him kneeling beside your bunk with wild eyes and his trademark grin. That devilish one he used to mind-fuck the public. That hand was still below your waist though, so you craned your neck up and saw Justin crouched in the tiny space with a gleam that screamed anything but ‘little boy’ and ‘innocent’. His hand was rubbing you with purpose. Oh he knew what game he was playing. “Fine,” you said a little shakily. “Yes he was. Are you satisfied?” Lance laughed--a deep throaty chuckle that made your toes curl because you weren’t sure what was spinning around in his mind. “Justin you were right,” he said. “And what the fuck are you doing on my bus?” you interjected, because this was all just a little far fetched. “Lance? Why are you here?” You  bit your lip to keep from moaning because Justin was slipping his hand beneath your pants and searching. It wouldn’t be long at all before your eyes rolled and your hips thrust. Your body was pulsing with heat and your erection was wandering, begging for Justin’s hand. But, you needed to get answers from Lance before it went any further. “Switched with C,” he shrugged, leaning back on his heels. “It wasn’t a problem.” Naturally, you thought as Justin made contact. The moan escaped through your pressed lips and you slapped your hand over your mouth to ban anything else from coming out. You already felt disconnected--on edge--but so excited. “Come on,” Lance nodded. “Let’s go.” “Go where?” There was unsteadiness plaguing your voice and your heart slammed against your ribs nervously. Justin’s hand was gone and he was climbing out, so you rolled out too because nothing was going to stop you from this. You knew if you denied, or pushed away, the dream would harass you--maybe forever. “Back of the bus.” You watched as Justin wrapped his arms around Lance’s waist and pressed against his back, the two of them heading down the aisle to the lounge. Following was suddenly second-nature. “Lie down,” Lance directed, throwing his head toward the couch. You did, still unsure why you were following *his* commands. Since when did Lance call shots over your life?  Then you saw Justin lick his lips and it was all very clear. “You’re not going to...” “Oh I am,” Justin grinned, shoving you to the couch. “I am.” The fuzz in your brain increased because you weren’t sure if you were understanding correctly. Was he going to beat-box you to orgasm? Your pants were sliding over your hips within seconds, lending you a hint of an answer, and Lance was situating himself near your head. His eyes were so dark they sent shivers down your spine. “Can you not...um. Staring.” The words stumbled from your mouth and you felt so ridiculous. You were positive blush was folding across your face--again. “What’s that?” Lance whispered twisting his head to look at Justin. “The great and cool Chris has finally become unglued? Say it ain‘t so!” You thought maybe you were offended but Justin had your pants down before you could object. His lips were warm against your flesh--his hands cool on your thighs, pushing them apart. “Jesus,” you whimpered, lifting your head to catch a glimpse. He was really going to do it. One sinful look and he took a breath. That was it. Your eyes rolled--your lips fell open--your hips thrust. The vibrations were strange, the sound muffled. Gone was the sharp trill of Justin’s talents replaced with a relentless thumping of his lips against your skin. Gone was the microphone replaced with your cock. Gone was the buzz of the crowd replaced by the soft breathing of you and Lance. You caught Justin’s eyes blinking up at you with deviance you thought was reserved only for Lance. He was beating away with those lips, sliding up and down you with random precision. Nothing was making much sense as your nerve endings tingled and you turned to look at Lance who was mere inches from you face with a sated smile. “Beat-boxing eh?” he said quietly. “Beat-boxing,” you garbled between jagged breaths. Justin took a breath and licked up your erection slowly. Then he began again, on the underside, on the spot that he knew would eventually make you explode. It was insane but watching Lance watch Justin was almost as much of a turn on as the lips that attacked you with deadly accuracy. It was slower than a blow job, the rush that curled in your groin, pushing to get out. Not as steady as fucking. But ecstasy all the same. Somehow you ended up clutching Lance’s arm in desperation. Worlds were meeting--the fantasy and reality--and it caused your brain to blip out. Then in again as Justin continued his assault. He brought you close--you could feel everything hinge on that edge--then he would back off for another breath. You were moaning, unabashedly so, and uncaring of who the fuck said what because there was nothing in heaven or earth that could compare to this. And Lance with the stare. You could easily see why Justin was with him. Hell, you could see why Lance was with Justin. When Justin fondled your balls, you knew it was done. He put his talents to you once more and soon you were digging into Lance’s flesh with your eyes closed and your mind reeling. A choked moan tried to drain from your body but it was barely audible. And you thought maybe the deafening scream you heard was just inside your brain after all. You’re eyes opened and pointed to Justin as you came all over those beat-boxing lips--you were surprised that he didn’t move away. “Oh,” you panted, falling back to the couch. Your eyes drifted shut lazily and your chest heaved with each breath. A sound roused you moments later and you leaned up on your elbow to see Justin and Lance on the floor between the two couches kissing, undressing each other in hasty movements. It was instinct to watch, to lean back and observe the hands ripping at shirts and jeans. But you were still Chris. And you still had some morals. Some. So you pushed yourself up and wobbled over them. Lance grabbed your hand and looked up at you with that grin. “Stay,” he said smoothly. Your forehead creased and you dropped back to the couch with wide eyes. “Stay?” you asked, directing your gaze to Justin because if he wanted you to go... “Stay,” Justin whispered as Lance kissed his neck. You leaned back on the couch and sighed as they danced, as they kissed and touched. It was beautiful in this erotic way to stare into their faces. To see how tender they could be one moment--and how rough the next. Lance bit--Justin hissed. Justin scratched--Lance whimpered. They stared at you like predatory animals on some high and you found yourself hard again in minutes. Sleek, sweaty bodies tangled and groped at your feet. You held your breath when Justin knelt between Lance’s legs and tilted his head toward you. He said nothing--only smiled--then he raised Lance’s legs and entered. You stroked yourself as he thrust in and out because you couldn’t not. Lance’s eyes were closed, his hands tight on Justin’s arms, his body jerking under Justin. The beat-boxing surprised you. The sound. The timing. You stopped touching yourself and looked at Justin. “What the fuck?” you whispered. “You’re not the only one who likes the beat-box,” Justin grinned, moving his hips harder. Lance’s moaning was confirmation of the statement. You laughed because what the hell else could you do? It was the beat box that created a million orgasms. :: back :: :: feedback ::