Tangled In Blue Lance discovered he was surrounded in blue. He sat, steadily, in the corner of the room. A mug of lukewarm coffee rested on his knee, and his eyes stung from lack of sleep. He watched the lovers on the bed, arms entangled, legs strewn carelessly, and he sighed silently. It was too much blue. There was baby blue that one wore, and sapphire blue of the other’s eyes. There was blue in his heart because they had one another and he fit in no where. There was Justin and JC, who had managed to find their way into each others arms even though they claimed it wasn’t love. But they let him stay anyway. Mostly because they said they loved him so much. So Lance stayed. He couldn’t help it. Inside, he wanted nothing more than to run screaming out of the situation. The blue kept him sucked in though. The robin’s egg blue of veins that bulged along muscled arms, and the navy blue boxers that his ex-lover favored. Lance narrowed his eyes as one stirred, and he brought his hour old coffee to his lips. It was bitter, he realized, as he forced himself to swallow it down. And he wondered idly if the bottomless void in his heart would ever go away. “Hey,” Justin mumbled sleepily, his head popping up from the pillow. “What time is it?” He was careful as he lifted JC’s arm from his waist and struggled to sit up. “Just after eight,” Lance replied, blinking down into his cup. His finger ran around the ridge and he slumped in his chair, his shoulders achy and his mind faded. “Sleep well?” “Tell me you didn’t sleep there, Lance,” Justin said with a yawn. “Please tell me you slept in the guest room.” Lance laughed sourly. “I slept in the guest room,” he lied, reaching over to place his cup down. “Feel better?” Justin slid from the bed and padded naked over to Lance, unashamed, unabashedly. For weeks the three had hid nothing. “Man, you’re a fucking liar,” he grinned, ruffling Lance’s hair. He knelt down in front of Lance and peered into his bloodshot eyes. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” “Nothing,” Lance said quickly, looking away. His fingers tugged through his hair, pulling at the tiny spikes, toying with them absently. “Why?” “I know you,” Justin said quietly, resting his elbows on Lance’s knees. “You’re all ... zombie or something. Is it JC? Is this whole thing freaking you out? Getting to you?” “No.” Lance narrowed his eyes and smiled sarcastically,  pushing Justin’s elbows away. He stood up and grabbed his tee shirt, yanking it over his head. “It’s not getting to me J. I’m fine. We agreed ..” “We agreed to *try* it,” Justin reminded him softly. “And if you’re having a hard time. It’s only been a few months since you and C broke up and ...” “I said I’m fine,” Lance said, bending down to grab his socks. “Drop it!” He stormed from the room, heading down the hallway toward Justin’s guest room. Slamming the door would wake JC, he knew, but caring wasn’t a high priority on his list. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t know why. The whirring of his brain seemed particularly loud and his fists clenched. Maybe it was the sharing -- knowing Justin was licking places he’d licked -- kissing places he’d kissed. Maybe it was the voyeurism aspect, although they’d all insisted that it wouldn’t be weird. Because, as Justin and JC continually reminded him, they were just “fucking around” and it meant nothing. Lance dropped to the bed and dug circles into his eye sockets with the knuckles of his hands. He gouged until he saw little floating sparkles in the darkness, and then he dug a little harder. If he could only blind himself, then he wouldn’t have to concern himself with any of it anymore. Then JC could fuck Justin and Justin could fuck JC -- and he wouldn’t have to pussy out. Then he could live his life, and forget them both. The comforter was blue, he noticed, as his hands fell to the bed, and the sting raked at his eyes. And the walls. For Chrissakes, the ceiling was even a pale shade of blue. It made him want to vomit right on the expensive blanket, and curl up on the hardwood floor to sleep. The knock on the door sent him spinning, however, and he threw his arms over his face. “What?” he snapped, not caring to see anyone -- and with only three people in the house, made him realize how bad his odds really were. “Justin said you were freaked,” JC said evenly. And Lance felt a depression on the bed, and JC’s hand rest on his stomach. It burned him and he tried to want to squirm away, only his body refused. And it *was* JC, he reminded himself. The same JC who used to sing to him in bed after sex, and send him flowers with cryptic messages. The same JC who once painted his toenails with electric blue nail polish while drunk on Jack Daniels then demanded Lance do the same. It was JC who had that magical concoction of sensual and wild -- the side no one but Lance had seen. Until now. Until Justin. So Lance didn’t pull back when JC rubbed his skin gently, or when JC bent down to pull his tee shirt up just a hint. “Tell me, Lance,” he whispered. “Is this too much for you?” And Lance wanted to yell “Yes! It hurts!” but he didn’t. Instead he covered JC’s hand with his own and studied it. “Nah. I’m cool. No prob.” JC frowned and leaned it, sleepy blue eyes piercing their way into Lance’s soul. “I’m not Justin,” he warned. “I know the lie when I see the lie.” He yanked his hand out of Lance’s grasp and stood up. “Justin got bagels. If you want one.” It was clipped, curt, and meant to dig at Lance’s immature play. Message received and Lance frowned. “Fine. I’ll be right there.” He was no good at the pout like Justin. It seemed like all Justin ever had to do was stick his lip out a little, and lower his head, and the world bowed. Best friend or not, it fucking sucked, Lance decided. He decided it as he glanced around the powder blue room and sighed. And then he decided, as he stormed from the bedroom, that he hated blue. That if he never saw blue again, his life would be good. Damned good. Stepping into the kitchen, he groaned. Loudly. Hoping to interrupt the situation on the blue and white tiled floor. The picture was of JC on his knees in front of Justin, a blow job in progress. And he was drawn to it, wanted to drift over and tangle his fingers in JC’s curls and watch Justin’s face go slack as he rocked his hips. And Lance thought he might kind of enjoy the blue in JC’s eyes if he could get around to see them -- unblinking and gazing up at Justin. The little jab at his gut kept him back, however, and he slid past Justin toward the counter. Justin’s moans were growing and Lance started to hum. He picked through the basket of bagels while Justin sang louder and louder, and tiny gasps grew into some symphony of lust. Three bagels and still no salt. “Jesus,” he cried, hurling the onion bagels to the floor. “You’d fucking think I could get a salt bagel!” He turned to look at JC and Justin, completely lost in their little display of unbridled sexual play. “Fucking salt bagel. I mean, I don’t ask for much here!” Justin’s hands gripped JC’s curls, and Lance tapped his foot in annoyance as JC quickened his movements. It was no longer sexy to him, as that little blue vein in Justin’s neck flared. It was frustrating. It was cold and just fucked. Still he watched as Justin’s head flung back and JC’s body swayed. Justin howled through gritted teeth as he came, and Lance rolled his eyes, stepping over JC’s legs to peer at Justin. “You’re a dick!” Lance barked, flicking Justin’s forehead. “No salt bagels!” “Huh?” Justin’s face was flushed, and his eyes were struggling to stay open. “Salt? Huh?” He let go of JC’s hair and leaned back against the counter. “Oh I give up!” Lance cried, storming from the kitchen. He moved irrationally, this he knew, out through the patio doors to the backyard where Justin’s big blue pool sat. The water was blue and the tile around the pool was blue, and Lance felt ill. He kicked out at a lounge chair and sat down, cradling his chin in the palm of his hand. And he thought of why he was so aggressive lately -- why he screamed about bagels but wanted to say so much more. Because, he thought, he really didn’t *love* salt bagels ... So it had to be more. He was tangled, his insides just ripping at each other for room. “Hey.” Lance sighed and blinked up into the sky -- into Justin's face. “Hey,” he said with exactly as much feeling as he felt. “So wanna tell me what's biting your ass?” “Nothing’s biting my ass, Justin,” Lance scowled, leaning back into the chair. “I just want to go home I think.” “Home? But you said you were staying for the week and ...” “And I fucking lied okay?” Lance grumbled, clasping his hands on his stomach. “So you gonna hold me here? I want to go home!” Justin’s stare was hot, heated and angry, and it almost made Lance want to sink into the ugly blue surface beneath the lounge chair just to escape it. “You wanted this,” Justin hissed, climbing over Lance’s legs and making himself comfortable. “You asked for this all. You said it was fine, and you said ...” Lance wiggled his legs and tried to force Justin off. “I know what I said,” he grunted, sitting forward. “But I gotta tell you, Justin. And no offense. This blue is making me sick!” “What?” Justin shook his head in confusion, in utter surprise. “Blue? Makes you sick? What the hell does this have to do with *us*? With this whole situation?” “I dunno,” Lance sighed, and he gripped Justin’s arms to shove him away. But as his fingers curled around the structured biceps, he didn’t want to push so much anymore. He wanted to cry. Big salty tears that could drip down his cheeks and make his skin itch. Because Justin was his best friend, and maybe Justin could just *get* it ... and if Justin *got* it, maybe he could explain it. The tears were close, dangling at the rim of his eyes, but before they could make an appearance, JC did. “You figure this out?” he snorted. “What Lance is doing? Breakdown? Being irrational? What?” Lance did shove Justin this time, straight to his horrid blue pool tile. “I wanted salt,” he explained evenly. “Bagels.” His eyes met JC’s and he pushed all the obvious emotions down, away into hiding. “And some people are much to busy sucking dick to give a fuck.” So, it wasn’t the real issue, but it seemed as good as any to harp upon. Maybe he just wanted to be loved again -- that occurred to him briefly. Or maybe he just wanted Justin and JC to stop having so much fun. That meandered into his head as well. Or maybe it was just all the damn blue that he was swimming in. “You’re a bitch,” JC snarled, helping Justin to his feet. “A whiny little bitch!” Lance thought he would have rather been slapped by JC. Or punched. His face flushed and his blood burned as his head shook. “Fine,” he said, and it was a pout, in every sense of the word. And he knew it would get him no where.  But still ... he had to dig at something. His feet were moving, carrying him back toward the house for escape. “Oh that’s it!” JC snorted. “Run away from this! Typical!” His fist never meant to fly out and connect with JC’s jaw, nor did he realize how fast he’d made it over there. It felt good to get one in, to hear the crack of his knuckles against JC’s skin. The pain meant nothing, really, because it unleashed something deep within. And when he figured out what was going on, Justin had him tackled to the ground with huge blue eyes digging into him. “Lance! Christ! What is going on?” There was still anger, Lance felt it bubbling just under his skin, but he laughed. A maniacal laugh, crazy inventor shit. It scared him, deep down, and he shrugged under Justin’s arms. “I guess I really wanted a salt bagel!” From the corner of his eye, Lance could see JC whiz past him, and he could see the red dripping from his lip. It was satisfying, almost, to see JC so unraveled. And he knew that there would be no dick in JC’s mouth anytime soon ... he’d hit his mark. Justin released him with a small shove, but still his eyes were concerned. “You’re going to talk,” he said, wiping his hands off on the boxers he wore. And Lance laughed because they, too, were baby blue. He slapped his tender hand to his forehead and sighed. “I’m tangled in blue,” he giggled, heading for the house. “Jesus fucking Christ!” *************************** It was a blur coming at him, but Lance saw the ire in JC’s blue eyes. *That* he remembered quite well ... along with the strong arms that scooped him up like a child, almost effortlessly, slinging him against the wall. He felt the thud of his head, and saw stars shoot past him. Lance also heard Justin call out, but it sounded so far away. “I don’t get you,” JC hissed, and Lance figured in a previous life he could have been a snake as slithering as his voice was at that moment. “You don’t want me. You do want me. You find me a hindrance to you life. You want to hover around me and Justin. What the FUCK do you want?” Lance smiled a little, crookedly, as JC’s forearm depressed against his neck. And the sapphires that twinkled so intensely also held some crinkles of desire. There was no mistaking it. “I want to go home,” Lance proclaimed, his arms dangling listlessly by his side. “I want out of this whole thing. And I never said I wanted you back by the way.” It pushed JC. Lance saw it clearly. Pushed him too far perhaps, and the little droplets of blood were beginning to cake on JC’s lower lip. “You’re messing with me,” JC howled, and as his fist drew back, Lance cringed. He really didn’t *want* to be hit. So he closed his eyes and waited. He waited and waited, but there was nothing violent forthcoming. A placid stroke of his cheek, and when Lance opened his eyes, JC was staring back at him. “Where we are now wasn’t my fault.” Calmly, Lance ducked underneath and returned to the blue guest room. He extracted his bag and stared into it vacantly. It occurred to him that he was being insane, worse than a child. It seemed that he was acting out like the child of divorced parents perhaps, or like the victim of a crime. Because honestly, he had okayed the entire deal with JC and Justin. He had stared at them from under his lashes and blushed when they let him in on their situation, and he had gotten very hard when they kissed mere inches from him. A test, of sorts, to feel the waters out. To see if Lance could indeed stand the sight. And he’d been proud, if he was recalling correctly, proud that the site of JC’s tongue tangling with Justin’s hadn’t made him jealous. Horny as fuck, but not envious. It was odd how he could remember the blue Titans hat Justin had on, and the indigo sweatshirt JC had worn as their hands ran over each other’s bodies. The blue. Always the blue. Lance looked in the mirror over the dresser and he wondered what it would be like to have pretty blue eyes instead of eerie green. He didn’t always buy the line “You’re eyes are so amazing,” which he figured he’d heard enough to last a lifetime. Somehow, though, when JC complimented his eyes, it had always caused his belly to flutter, and his cheeks to get this odd shade of fuchsia. And it was always so real, Lance remembered, like JC really meant it. In fact, everything JC had ever said or done seemed from the heart. The knock on the door was very small, tiny in fact, so much so that Lance almost didn’t hear it. So when the door opened and Justin stepped in, he smiled. It was a very plain smile, so sated in fact the  dimple near his mouth didn’t bother to make an appearance. “You okay?” Justin wanted to know. And Lance almost laughed at the way Justin put his hands on his hips like a concerned female friend, and he fully expected him to offer a day at the spa to cheer up. “I’m fine,” Lance said, his lips twitching a little. “Just gonna get out of here now.” “Not before we talk.” Justin kicked the door shut just as JC slipped by, tossing Lance a puppy dog glance of pity. Which made Lance laugh, and he knew that was wrong in so many ways. But he was feeling that numbness, like some kind of outer body experience. Like he was watching Justin from the ceiling and not two feet away. “I hate this room,” Lance said, picking at his nails. “It’s a really horrid color.” Justin’s mouth dropped open as he crossed to the bed, and Lance grinned. “I mean, enough with the blue, man. It was cute at first. Now? Not so much.” Buttons were being pushed. The indignation in Justin’s face was priceless. “I don’t tell you how to decorate,” Justin countered, flopping down on the bed. “So shut the fuck up okay?” “Okay.” Lance felt agreeable, and he knew it was simply some asshole defense move he’d put up, a big blocker to keep his emotions at bay.  “So you still kinda love him I’m guessing.” “Fuck you,” Lance said evenly, dropping his hands to his sides. Suddenly the numb wasn’t so deadened anymore, and his body tingled. “I’m just going home. I have things to take care of.” “You don’t want us to fuck anymore, all you gotta do is say,” Justin snorted. “No need to get violent, or whine. Or act stupid for that matter. Just say you don’t want me sucking his cock anymore and it’s done.” Lance eyed Justin suspiciously. He observed the slanted azure eyes that batted a cocky expression at him, and the dark navy sweats Justin had put on. He eyed the big cross on his arm, and swore it wasn’t black anymore, but a deep hue of blue. “You can suck whatever you want,” Lance said defiantly, but it was through gritted teeth, and just the mention of JC’s dick had made him crazy -- again. “I said it was fine.” “Stop lying!” Lance spun to see JC, the door swing in, it’s knob smacking against the sheetrock behind it. There was madness of sorts in JC’s eyes, embers that weren’t always there. Kind of chilling in some circles. If being shaken like a virtual rag doll was supposed to be fun, or meant to snap sense into him, Lance wasn’t feeling it. He was enjoying JC’s hands curled around his biceps. One hand was tight, the other hand was slack, almost gentle. The best and worst of JC. “Lemme go,” Lance whispered, and his voice was cavernous, a sexy rumble, a challenge. He was pinned to the bed before he could blink twice, and JC was sitting on him. “Be still,” JC said, restraining his wrists over his head. “Be still, Lance and talk to me.” Lance smiled, the Cheshire cat grin he’d mastered, and shook his head. “What makes you think I want to?” He felt the steady rise of an erection and a rush of his pulse. “You and Justin made this choice -- to fuck. To have random sex and let me watch. Gives you a little extra tingle I guess.” Lance tried to shrug, but his hands were being held too tightly. “JC, what the hell are you doing?” Justin questioned as he stumbled off the bed. “Leave him be, now. Don’t tease him.” “Un uh,” JC said, his hair a wild mass of unruly curls. “Justin, he left me. He wanted out. Now he’s here, all big eyes and attitude. All agreeable and making my life fucking hell. So now he can just face reality.” Lance was staring back, calmly. He was intrigued. JC’s voice never went above a gentle tone. JC was thoughtful and leisurely -- feral in bed, but never hurting. Lance’s hands were stinging, the blood cut off. He managed to drag his gaze away long enough to raise an eyebrow at Justin. “Well?” he questioned. Justin was nibbling on his thumb helplessly. “You did say you wanted to watch, Lance. You did agree to that and if you had problems ...” “The two of you are fucking nuts!” Lance grimaced, thrashing his feet around. He felt his wily sense of  control lifting for higher ground and shoved his hips up. “I never said ...” “You did,” JC nodded, lowering his face to Lance’s. “Oh but you did. You said it with every little action. You sit in the corner night after night, and you touch yourself, and you sigh and say how hot it is. And the next day you freak the fuck out!” “Only once,” Lance countered, and he looked past JC toward the ceiling fan, as it whirred around. Tiny blue flowers were hand painted on the blades, and as they spun it created a smear of color, and nausea to rise in his gut. “Once being today?” JC wanted to know. “Because no! So now, now we find out how much you can take! Justin get the scarves.” Justin blinked slowly, then smiled. “What? You can‘t, C. I’m not ...” “DO IT!” JC’s head angled around, and Justin scurried from the room. “You wouldn’t dare,” Lance challenged, but inside he was terrified. He hated to be controlled, never mind the mere idea of being tied made his body shake. “JC?” JC wasn’t moving, only breathing with serrated gasps and his eyes -- they changed. Lance found it mesmerizing, how obscure they were. Excited. Brazen. And it was so odd because he honestly couldn’t recall why he’d let JC go in the first place. Boredom. He remembered now. Clingy. Same ol same ol. JC with the puppy dog eyes and his quixotic notions. The only thing that ever varied was sex -- because JC could do amazing things with his mouth. And Lance wanted to challenge JC a little more, but when Justin returned with the silk ties, scarves that he‘d witnessed JC use on Justin, Lance wanted to run. “Okay, JC? Stop.” His green eyes flashed dread while as his fears emerged. “JC?” But JC was gone, he realized, his expression scrawled as he made little grunting noises. So Lance kicked and squirmed, until JC silenced him with a look ... with a glare. “You need this,” he said. Lance felt ill as JC slid all the way up to kneel on his arms, and soon the silken feel of the scarves was digging into him, wrapping around and around his wrists. There was no more panic, just a frantic rush of air. “Please,” he whimpered, losing his mind, sickened at being confined in such a way. “I’m not messing around anymore,” JC said, knotting the scarves. “I think you‘re scaring him,” Justin said, and when Lance shifted his gaze, he could see Justin surveying the scene with interest. No anxiety or worry. Just intrigue. Like he was watching the latest installment of Star Wars. Scared was putting it rather mildly, Lance thought as he tugged his arms, and the whites of his eyes extended. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t been so unruly before -- and fuck the salt bagel altogether! “JC, you know I can’t be ... tied ... FUCK!” Lance was losing slowly as JC glared down at him. “Listen, I love you, Lance. I do. I’ll always love you. But you gotta stop the shit. Thinking the world bows at your feet. Thinking I can fucking read your mind when you say “Fuck Justin, go ahead” when you really mean “I don’t want you, but I don’t want anyone else to have you either!” It’s not normal, Lance.” “The whole thing isn’t normal!” Lance cried, and he kicked his feet, trying to lift them around JC’s chest to toss him away. But his legs were a little too short, and JC was a little to heavy. So he pleaded with Justin who was studying the walls of his guest room with his hands on his hips. “Justin!” he called, his voice shaky. “I don’t think it’s an ugly color,” Justin said, tilting his head. “I mean, okay, maybe too much blue at times, but a professional decorator did this Lance.” He turned and raised an eyebrow. “I mean, really. It’s not THAT bad!” Lance wanted to go back and rewind time. He wanted to go back to the day Justin and JC first showed him where they were headed -- to that world of non-commital sex and fun -- so he could shake his head and demand they not go there. Beg them to keep their hands off each other. Admit that while he wasn’t in love with JC anymore, the sight of Justin’s lips on him stirred violent emotions in him. But he hadn’t, and now he was stuck in the worst position possible. His body held down by forces out of his control. “Just let me up,” he said quietly, his neck aching from craning so hard. It was a slow hell for him to be restrained, and his body was reacting violently. There was an erratic heartbeat that caused his head to pound, and his breath was shaky. He was a man who thrived on being able to move from place to place, jiggle his knee -- freedom was his drug. JC knew it. JC was a bastard, Lance thought as he collapsed against the pillow. He ached to fight some more but realized staying still might accomplish more. If he ‘gave in’, JC would let up. Then he could manage his way out. They didn’t call him business minded for nothing. “Lance, it’s for your own good, baby. It’s been going on too long.” JC rambled, and Lance nodded innocently, his eyes wide and watery. The wide was faked, the watery was not. But breaking down wouldn’t help, so he pushed the fear back and waited as JC climbed off him. Slowly, he tried to work his hands together. That was just about the moment he watched JC push Justin against the closet door and capture his arms, pinning them to his sides. JC screwed his neck around and made eye contact with Lance, smiling wickedly before forcing Justin’s palms to the door roughly. It hadn’t calculated into Lance’s plan. Not in any way. And he was temporarily stunned as Justin’s head crashed back and JC bent to attack the exposed flesh of his neck. And while he’d seen it all, and more, somehow this was especially cruel. Mostly because he was stuck. “I don’t have to watch,” he seethed, and he kicked his feet up, trying to manage them over his head. For what purpose, he wasn’t exactly sure. It hurt however, and Lance let a loud rumble out. “Fuck you BOTH!” JC was sly, and he twisted around slowly. “Easy, Lance,” he said. “Just take it easy. I see that vein in your forehead ready to bust. Remember to breathe.” Lance snorted at the order. His heart was beating so fast he was surprised it didn’t crack his ribs and bust out all over the horrid blue comforter. So he shut his eyes, and pretended not to hear the little whispers falling from Justin’s lips. And he feigned disinterest as he heard the faint rustling of clothes being shed. His dick, however, had separated from his fears, and seemed to be rising with each second. While he couldn’t see, he could feel, and he *felt* the heat spearing through the room. The sounds of Justin begging for more curled around him, and he squinted his eyes open -- curiosity gaining the better of him. It was JC’s mouth drifting over Justin’s body, and Lance shivered, recalling that feeling. And he missed that feeling because that mouth was indeed a treasure. Through his lashes he could see the way Justin’s forehead wrinkled in pure ecstasy, and how his mouth dropped open as pleasure pounded at him. And Lance was jealous. His teeth ground together and he squirmed knowing if he could get loose it would all be over. He could shove JC away from Justin and stop the insanity. Tugging harder at the scarves just caused his wrists to burn and he cursed under his breath. JC fell to his knees, and Lance blinked as Justin’s cock was mere inches from that mouth. Lance pressed his nails into the palm of his hand until his knuckles were white and his fingers were numb. His body screamed for something, any human touch, for release. He forced his head to roll to the other side, and stare at the velvet Elvis portrait that hung pathetically on the wall. In royal blue velvet no less. “ENOUGH!” Lance finally screamed, collapsing every muscle in his body. “Enough. I give. I fucking give okay?” He felt tears brimming, and wondered where they had come from. It was defeat, he figured, as his chest tightened and his body smoldered. JC looked at him with droopy eyes and crawled over to him, resting his chin on the side of the bed. “You give for real?” he asked, sliding his finger under Lance’s shirt, up over his stomach to his chest. He pressed his palm flat against his heartbeat and smiled. “No more shit?” Lance wanted to rub his eyes because they hurt, and he wanted JC to touch him, pull his pants down and do those things with his mouth that he used to do. He wanted to shove Justin back into his wall of blue and have JC to himself for an hour. No more, no less. But Justin was moving, inching closer, his hand closed around his erection, his lids half shut in some state of lust. “No more,” Lance promised, unable to stop staring at Justin. It was wrong, he reminded himself as he envisioned tangling in Justin. Justin was his friend, he’d never laid a hand on him sexually. Only watched. But now, now he wanted to let himself break down and just be touched. Wanted to touch. Wanted it all. Justin sat on Lance’s legs and smiled slackly. “You broke him, JC,” he whispered, reaching over to wrap his fingers through JC’s hair. Lance frowned as JC smiled up at Justin -- and when he climbed up onto the bed, and sat on Lance’s waist, facing him, Lance grew agitated. “I had to,” JC said wrapping his hand around to grab Justin’s head to his neck. “You know that right Lance?” It hurt Lance to see the interaction, and his cock was hard, just shy of either body. His eyebrows furrowed and he was lost in a plethora of desperate emotions. “Get off me, please,” he begged. “I get what you were doing, okay? Fine. Point taken.” He wanted out -- he wanted to take his luggage and his plane tickets and head home for ever. There was just too much when Justin’s hands grabbed under his pants, rubbing him slowly. Lance gasped, shocked at the feeling. His eyes blurred as JC bent closer, and he saw the huge blue pools smiling sinfully at him -- trapping him in. “Tell me you’re sorry,” JC whispered, rubbing his lips along Lance’s jaw. “Tell me letting go of me was the biggest mistake you ever made.” Lance struggled for breath as Justin’s mouth clamped over his erection, and his body jerked up in response. There was no way to keep his eyes open and his toes curled as Justin’s mouth danced along his flesh. He ached to cry out, but JC captured his mouth, biting his lips until he winced, demanding a response he couldn’t give. Suddenly he was aware of things -- shades of blue that he’d missed. His arms stung over his head and he tried to calm down, force JC off him so he could focus on the exquisite pleasure of Justin’s lips because he’d never imagined ... never dreamed blue could be so vibrant. His head lolled to the right, away from JC’s breath, and JC’s nips and he thrust his hips up toward Justin, pining for him. “Justin,” he garbled, trying to peer around JC’s body to catch a glimpse. “Yes?” Justin relinquished his mouth long enough to poke his head out from behind JC with a tiny grin, and wide laughing eyes. Their eyes met, emeralds and sapphires, and Lance figured it evened out in some small way. “More,” he mouthed, before throwing his head back against the pillow. He’d abandoned JC, again, because he didn’t want it this way. And the fact he could no longer feel his arms was inconsequential as Justin’s mouth closed over him once again. He wasn’t aware of the fact JC had climbed away from him ... nor did he care. He was barely there as Justin licked and teased, sending his world tilting to the side with expertise. And when he did come, it wasn’t a slow, steady pace -- it was a hurricane. Lance roared inside his head, and sank into some slumber that was instantaneous -- and when he woke, his arms were folded across his stomach, and a baby blue blanket was tossed across his body. He stumbled from the guest room, his hair a mess, his body weak, searching for Justin because he needed to find out more. His body was wrecked and he *had* to discover more. Lance pushed open Justin’s door and stood with devastated eyes as JC’s body moved over Justin’s ... and he watched as Justin’s eyes fluttered shut with each thrust. He bit on his lip as he watched JC drop his body over Justin’s and come nose to nose with him ... and he sniffled a little as Justin’s legs wrapped around JC’s waist. The mirror that decorated the wall blared back his reflection, as well as the legs of the bed’s occupants. And he saw the blurs of blue that shaded over the air, the imaginary flecks that took up space. The moans and whimpers that would never be meant for him. Because fucking around wasn’t what he wanted after all. [back]