It was Lance, as usual, who took care of the situation, urging JC to relax -- rubbing his hand comfortingly against his back. “Why don’t you get changed?” he suggested. “You’ll feel better. I guess we’ve all been on edge being in New York City and all.” As Lance left the room, JC could only stare, and pretend that Lance had clued in on what was wrong. But inside he was waging the now familiar battle. And as he threw his shirt off, it became crystal clear that moves had to be made. That he was in essence playing chess with the master. Another shot of Vodka, and he slipped out of the clothes he’d worn to the premiere, swapping them for a worn pair of shredded levis and a white tee shirt. Barefoot, he padded out to the living room of the suite, grabbing the Stoli on the way. Lance was standing against the window, his hand clutched around the thick drapery. JC had to command control of his body as his knees tried to give out. He literally had to demand his feet to take steps toward Lance, so stunned by the reality of what was about to occur -- changing his body to some rubber-like substance. “You were right,” he said shakily. “I feel much better.” Lance turned and smiled. “Good.” He sank down to the couch and sighed. “So what’s going on with you and your old lady? And I don’t want any of the bullshit you fed Beth tonight!” JC had to smile, to chuckle and ease up a bit. He took a seat in the lounge chair next to the couch and shrugged, handing the bottle to Lance. “She’s not into all this,” he lied. “Just wants to kind of hide out for a bit. I guess bad press or some shit.” “Ah,” Lance grinned, trailing his finger down the chilled glass. “Still, Joey and I figured she’d be right on your ass!” “Joey thinks about ass far too much,” JC snorted, intrigued by each tiny movement Lance made. His sanity was toppling as he imagined that perfect finger trailing across his stomach -- and he shifted in his seat. “But the movie. It was really good, Lance. Very cute. The fans will love it.” As Lance frowned, JC wanted to bite off his tongue, sure he’d said the incorrect thing. Unsure what exactly it was, but big green eyes pleaded with him desperately, aching to let him in. “I’m sorry,” JC stammered, leaning forward as Lance tossed back a huge gulp of Vodka. “Shit! Shit!” He was cross with himself, angry that he’d made those little flecks of hurt slip into Lance’s eyes. “No, man, it’s not you. It’s me.” Lance handed the bottle back and reclined on the couch, yanking his shirt out from under his pants. “I don’t know what made me think I could pull this off.” JC was at a loss for words. He wanted to console Lance, to make it all better. To insist that each N Sync fan see the movie out of support. To be unreasonable about the whole thing. “Don’t count it out,” he finally said, sliding to the floor. He crawled over to Lance, to touch. To have a closer view. To make his move. Lance’s arm pitched over his face and he sighed again. JC inched closer until his chin brushed against the couch cushions. He watched as Lance’s chest rose and fell in time with his breathing, and he stared at the tiny freckles that dotted along Lance’s nose. His eyes swept across Lance’s neck, and down his chest where the shirt fell open -- and his body flushed as he re-gained his motives. There was a significant spin inside his body, and he determined that Lance must be feeling the drunkenness as well. After so many years together, he could clearly tell -- the redness in Lance’s cheeks were tell tale, and the deep breathing that seemed to lull him. So, carefully, JC rested his hand on Lance’s waist, and massaged. Slowly. Guardedly.  He waited for Lance to open his eyes and shove his hand away. But it didn't happen. Instead, JC heard a modest sigh and felt a slight shift under his touch. Almost as if Lance was accepting it happily. JC bit his lip and shuffled closer, tucking the tips of his fingers under the pants Lance wore, resting them against cool flesh. He could feel the waistband of the boxers and a tingle shot through him instantly. And again, he waited. But Lance still didn’t push away. He only snuggled down deeper into the couch cushions and let out a low murmur. It confused JC, but his body was already on auto-pilot, and a strange grating in his throat reminded him that his time was limited. “Lance?” “Hmm?” JC could tell that Lance was drunk, and tired, emotionally frazzled. He could also tell that it was going to work to his advantage. He could feel his pulse throb in the back of his neck and any line of sight he had was becoming blurry. There was no conscience anymore, he understood, as the palm of his hand grazed over Lance’s crotch. His mouth hung open as he heard Lance moan, and when his hand brushed more intensely, he watched carefully -- trying to peek under Lance’s forearm to get a glimpse of his face. He wanted to look at Lance’s face. To get some sense of how far or close he was. So he slid his hand under the black button down, rubbing against Lance’s belly and chest. There was a heartbeat that slowed under his touch -- Lance’s heart. It was a harsh reminder of human flesh and blood, of wanting more than just Lance’s body for the night. It told stories of JC’s life -- future. Of what he really ached for. He retracted his hand quickly and Lance mumbled, dropping his hand to his stomach. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and JC could tell it was disorientated, drowsy. He felt courage dripping away but when his throat began to itch, he knew he had to do it. “You okay?” JC whispered, pulling up onto his knees. He pressed his elbows into the couch cushions and sighed. “Feel alright?” “Sleepy,” Lance admitted, tugging up the edges of his shirt to scratch underneath his belly button, and JC was entranced. He licked his lips like a cougar ready to pounce, and watched Lance’s eyes struggle to stay open. He was in awe of the beauty, of the trust that Lance put in him. It gave him power as he waited for Lance’s eyes to finally shut. And when a drunken grin tugged at Lance’s lips, he knew that his friend was under the spell. So he moved in vigilantly and used his fingertip to glide along Lance’s lips -- to catch the reaction. Lance’s smile faded and his eyebrows knotted. Uncertainty, JC thought, like he was trying to swim through fog to get to a clearing. JC stopped breathing. He was so close. So fucking close it hurt. Gently, he pressed his finger down against Lance’s bottom lip, tickling along the innermost edge of his mouth. His heart raced as Lance’s tongue lapped at the tip, and when he saw those pale eyelashes flutter against reddened cheeks, JC thought he really did have a chance. Before he lost his nerve, he leaned over Lance and nuzzled his nose against his neck. The scent that cast off his skin was intoxicating, and JC closed his eyes, savoring Lance’s essence. He retracted his hand and curled his fingers around Lance’s -- and suddenly he was falling. Right off the cliff. “Lance?” “Mmhmm?” Lance arched his back a little and JC felt a hand slide around his back. “I have to get you into bed. You can’t stay out here.” JC wasn’t sure if it was him, the concerned friend, talking. Or if his wicked side was making his mouth move. All he knew for sure was that he was torn, as torn as a human could be. “I’m okay,” Lance sighed, rubbing the small of JC’s back. “Stay here. Wanna stay.” JC bit his lip and cast his glance toward the clock. An hour until day break. He dropped Lance’s hand and ran his fingers across Lance’s stomach, plucking the buttons apart slowly. “The bed is so warm though,” he murmured. “Nice and soft.” “Mmm,” Lance muffled back. “Nice.” Soon, the black shirt fell open and JC squeezed his eyes closed, scrounging for some shred of decency left inside of him. All he heard was echoes of his voice, and the slithering voice of the old man hissing about time. So he forged ahead, letting his mind wander to Lance, to focus on the body beside him. To cherish the feel of his skin, and listen to the tiny moans that seemed to be escaping at random. It was unstoppable, JC knew, as his lips brushed against Lance’s, as his hand roamed over the cool flesh of Lance’s chest and stomach, searching. Wandering. It was amazing as Lance opened his mouth a little. It was miraculous when Lance’s hips began to rotate upward ever so slightly. And when JC’s hand slipped under the button of the pants Lance wore, and slid beneath the cotton boxer briefs, he held on -- waiting for the jerk reaction he was positive Lance would have. Maybe he would even get punched. Instead, Lance seemed to wiggle down, and he was nibbling on his bottom lip, and making this incredibly erotic noises that seemed to signify that he was enjoying it. JC’s body was fiery as he swam in knew sensations -- sensations that Bobbee had never given him. No fault of her own, he knew, but Lance. Lance was like forbidden fruit. It was slow motion as he dared to lick Lance’s lip, as he delved places he’d been begging to go. Lance’s eyes fluttered open, and JC held on, pressing his mouth down more firmly. Being persistent. At first the green that stared up at him was sleepy, sated and content. But as JC let his tongue wander the confines of Lance’s mouth, he noticed Lance tense. He felt a struggle and saw the whites more prominently. He felt hands dig at his back, trying to push back. And he didn’t *want* to let go. But Lance was whimpering, and his feet were wiggling, so he did. And he rocked back on his heels, and ran his fingers through his hair. And tried to swallow down the huge lump in the back of his throat. “JC?” The voice was so shaky, and timid it made JC’s heart sink. So he sat back and raised his knees to his chin, slumped down a bit, hoping to avoid what was sure to come. “Yeah?” “I ... I think I would like to go to the bed.” It was unexpected, and JC turned to look at Lance, still lying there, his hair mussed and his face flushed. The shirt dangling open and a stubborn bulge rising from his pants. JC was floating, his limbs separate from his body. “What’s that mean?’ he asked quietly, hoping that dawn would never come because he wanted to take his time -- he ached to spend hours exploring Lance, telling him how he felt. “I don’t know,” Lance stateed, but when his hand draped around the back of JC’s neck, all was clear. Proposed. Accepted. “Okay,” JC replied, standing up. “Okay Lance.” He turned and extended his hand to Lance, assisting him to his feet. Lance stumbled into him, and JC caught him under the arms. “Look, I’m gonna let you lie down then I’m going to go out for air and ...” His words were cut off as Lance grabbed onto him. “No, stay with me,” he pleaded, pressing his body against JC’s. “Please?” “Okay, okay,” JC cooed, stroking Lance’s hair, wondering how the hell he could stay human and do this. All was lost as they entered the bedroom and Lance tumbled to the bed, dragging JC down to him. “Did you kiss me?” he asked lowly. “On the couch?” JC was like a deer caught in the headlights, his lanky frame digging Lance into the mattress, his face mere inches above the unsuspecting one. Their lips so close the scent of Stoli mingled with each breath. “I did, but Lance, you have to know ...” “Shut up,” Lance giggled, throwing his head to the side. “JC, you’re funny. Why would you kiss me? God, that’s funny!” Not quite the response JC was hoping for, but he took the in anyway. “Funny how?” he murmured as his lips scratched along Lance’s neck. “Funny like a joke? Or like hot?” “Hmm?” Lance rubbed his nose and yawned. “Funny JC! Glad you didn’t eat that Sushi!” His body shook with chuckles as JC moved down Lance’s chest, sliding his tongue over the exposed flesh. Daring to brush his thumbs over Lance's nipples -- to push him to that sexual frenzy. He knew he had to keep going, continue the journey down Lance’s body while he could, while the feel of an erection was so definite against his stomach. JC wanted to ask Lance if it was okay for him to be doing this .. but he saw the time drifting by and panicked. So his hands unbuttoned and unzipped, even as Lance’s hands were uncoordinated and flapping slowly in protest.  Even then, he continued his assault. Out of love and it’s rewards, he chanted to himself. Out of fear and dread as well, his inner self screamed. When Lance’s pants were pooled at his ankles, JC sighed. He wrapped his hands around Lance’s cock and trembled as his hands touched the sensitive flesh. “JC? Wha ...” “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered back, lying on his side next to Lance. His hand remained to stroke, hoping to urge Lance to his side. And as Lance’s head rolled to the side, he captured his mouth in a kiss, coordinating his strokes with gentle thrusts of his tongue. And for a few precious moments, Lance let go. Lance rocked with each caress and moaned into each swirling kiss. For a suspended break in real life, Lance was kissing back, and wanting JC -- and JC nearly cried as emotions overpowered him. Then it was over as Lance jerked abruptly, as his hand swam down to remove JC’s hand from his cock -- as he twisted his head away and pushed. “No. Nononono.” It was one continuous chant that fell from his lips. “Lance, please,” JC begged, his eyes set on the crack in the drapes. The hues of night already changing from black to navies and sapphires. “Please, Lance. Please!” Lance rolled onto his stomach and blinked at JC, his eyes confused and hurt. His lips darkened where he’d been kissing so intently. The whites of his eyes reddened and bloodshot. His body shaking naked on the bed. “Why? My God!” He sputtered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. All JC could do was shake his head with wild eyes as the clock turned from 5:59 to  6:00 -- and stroke Lance’s hair, and lean down toward his ear. “Because I love you,” he said. Then it was gone. Replaced by muted squawks and nothing more. continue menu