Oh, amigo
Here we do things slow
Money, art, a broken heart
Where did you want to go?
(Concrete Blonde, "Mexican Moon")
"Ow. Ow. Ow. Am I saying this out loud, or am I just thinking Ow!"
"Saying. I can hear ya."
Lance gritted his teeth; at least this was a new and different kind of pain. He had a lot of faith in
Joey's hands, and if Joey said that whatever he was doing to the pulled muscle in Lance's thigh
was ultimately going to make it hurt less, then Lance wouldn't complain. He wouldn't complain.
He wouldn't--
"Ow! Joey, stop, stop it." Well, it wasn't so much complaining as...begging. Lance closed his
eyes. It could be worse, after all. The whole group could be in Mexico with them, probably right
here in the room with them. JC would be searching the internet for a fast working knowledge of
sports medicine, but would inevitably find only statistics on bullfighting-related fatalities. Chris
would be sneaking tequila worms into JC's luggage. Justin would be demanding to know what
the hell Lance had been thinking, trying to fight a bull. Do the world a favor and chill with the
Discovery Channel, he would say. If you're still jacked up when rehearsals start, I ain't gonna
be the one who explains to Wade how this happened. That's all you, Crocodile Hunter.
So it definitely could be worse. He and Joey were alone, and he was being touched in the upper
thigh area. Could be worse -- but on the other hand, should really be more fun than Lance was
actually having.
Over the years, Lance had learned that when things weren't going the way you wanted them to, it
was all right to do something about it. He grabbed Joey's wrist in one hand and his fingers in
the other and moved Joey's hand away firmly, saying, "I appreciate this, but just leave it alone,
please."
"At Universal Studios, with everybody dancing five shows a day, people got hurt like this all the
time. If you leave it alone, the muscle just stiffens up, and it hurts worse in the morning, believe
me."
"You know what you could do?" Lance lowered his eyes and his voice, which always had the
effect of making him seem both slightly bashful and slightly world-weary. It really worked on
Joey, for some reason. "Just get me that bottle of tequila on the dresser. That oughta keep me
relaxed."
Joey bounded up off the bed so fast that the sudden rocking motion made apparently entirely new
bruises start to clamor for attention. "We just have the bottle. I could call the desk for glasses
and limes--"
"In this place? I'm happy to get soap. Just bring me the bottle. Oh, and promise to tie me down
if I suggest we stay anywhere like this, ever again."
"Hey, you said you wanted someplace authentic and Mexican. I suggested the Hilton, but no, you
said only Americans with too much money went to Mexico and stayed at the Hilton. We are
Americans with too much money, I said, but--"
"You were right, I was wrong, okay?"
"No big thing; this place is kind of growing on me, actually. It's sort of romantic."
"Romantic? Why? Because you can almost see the stars through the cracks in the ceiling, or just
because it kind of looks like a brothel?"
A strange look crossed Joey's face. "Um...is it okay if I just don't answer that?"
Lance rolled his eyes. "Look, please, if you love me, let me get drunk and forget about the
insects in our bathroom and how Wade is going to tan my hide when I'm favoring one leg in
rehearsals."
Lance struggled up into more of a sitting position when Joey brought him the tequila. He figured
he must look like the middle of a Western, the part where the hero hits rock bottom. Wearing
nothing but his underwear, with his legs splayed out slightly and the bedsheets all rucked up and
messy around him, one arm laying along the headboard for support and a bottle of tequila with a
real worm in the bottom in his other hand -- he definitely felt like some kind of gunslinger forced
into exile in Mexico by a corrupt sheriff, sliding into maudlin dissipation. If On the Line made
money, maybe he could produce a Western. Young Guns did really well in its day, didn't it?
Hot young stars on horseback?
"I love the way you drink."
"The way I drink?" He was actually drinking a little sloppily, and he wiped his mouth on the back
of his hand.
"You drink like a man. You know, you just...." Joey mimed knocking back a drink directly from
the bottle, like Lance had just done. "I've seen you drink guys twice your size under the table."
He quirked an eyebrow. That was a turn-on for Joey? It figured. He'd gone and fought a
dangerous animal to impress Joey with his manly prowess, and he might as well have saved
himself a lot of pain and humiliation by going to a cantina and drinking tequila from the bottle
while stocky Mexican men threw up and passed out trying to keep up with him. He'd have ended
up with the hangover from hell, and he probably wouldn't be able to remember the sex in the
morning, but at least it would have removed the possibility that Wade would beat him senseless
and they'd have to pry Justin off the ceiling once rehearsals started. Hangovers wore off a lot
faster than bruised ribs and pulled muscles.
"I remember," Joey whispered, climbing carefully back onto the bed so Lance didn't get too
jostled around, "when you used to choke and get all teary-eyed when you had a drink straight."
He moved his hand lightly up the arm that Lance had up on the headboard. "You couldn't drink
anything but beer and fruit drinks. If it didn't have head or an umbrella, you could barely get it
down."
"I'm so glad you remember that."
Joey kissed his shoulder, just as lightly, as though he were afraid that unbruised skin was just as
tender as the injured parts. "You were so damn cute back then, with your stupid haircut and
calling everybody 'sir.' Chris told me he couldn't look at you without thinking about how to get
you all messy, and I was all...yeah, me too."
"I doubt he meant it the way you did."
"Better not have."
"You perv," Lance said, kissing Joey's cheek and then taking a long drink from the bottle, just to
show off. It was a little much all at once, and he leaned his head back against the wall until the
lightheaded feeling had passed.
It had the added effect of baring his throat so that Joey could nibble it, all the way up to his lips.
"It's all you. You're all -- sweet and slutty at the same time."
"Wow," Lance said dryly. "Thank you."
"It's a compliment." Lance snorted. "It's hot. You're hot. How are you not getting how hot
this is? You and me, trashy Mexican brothel-looking hotel, you taste like tequila and your whole
body has to hurt, but you're still starting to get hard thinking about us. I want to fuck you
unconscious and maybe leave cash on the dresser, but it's *you.* It's you, and you'll always be
the best part of whoring around in Mexico, because I remember when your idea of getting crazy
was cinnamon Schnapps and putting your hand down my pants."
Lance broke into a grin. Convoluted and possibly disturbed as Joey's idea of "hot" was, he had
Lance thinking now about the first time they'd gone that far, past necking in the narrow bunks of
the old tour buses, the ones that weren't so posh that you felt like you hadn't even left the hotel
room. He'd been so utterly terrified that Joey would stop him, and then even more terrified when
he didn't, and Lance had found himself with something hot and solid and dauntingly big filling up
his hand, with no idea what he wanted to do now.
Maybe he was convoluted and disturbed, too, but -- yeah, the more he thought about it, the more
right Joey seemed. Being sexy in a foreign country with Joey was better than being sexy
anywhere with anyone else, because it was Joey. Joey who had been a part of it the first time
that Lance crossed the line between hormone-addled teenage crushes and real desire, real
courage, real emotion. Joey, who was the first person ever to make Lance believe that he was hot
when he wanted something, even hotter when he wanted it bad and now. Things that would
be sexy with a lot of people took on a whole new life when he looked in Joey's eyes and saw all
those years that no one else could ever share with him.
Slinging his free arm around Joey's shoulders, Lance dipped his head to tongue Joey's ear and
whisper in an uneven accent, "How you like it, Senor? Tell me how I make you feel good, por
favor."
"You're not really Mexican, are you?" Joey accused mildly.
"Busted. It's my accent, isn't it?"
"Totally your accent. But that's okay." He stroked with rough warmth down the side of Lance's
face, and then cupped his chin to kiss him deeply. "You kinda look like my boyfriend."
Lance arched his eyebrow. "And where is your boyfriend?"
"Um...Toronto. He's a big-time movie producer, and he works all the time." He was straddling
Lance on his knees now, reaching behind him to work his hands slowly and possessively up
Lance's spine. "I get lonely."
"Oh.... That's not good. A young, *healthy* hombre like you...." They kissed until Lance broke
it off by curving his mouth in a wide smile. "Pay me in American dollars and I'll do whatever it is
he won't do for you."
Joey chuckled. "Thanks, but he'll pretty much do anything I want. He's kind of easy."
A little harder than he intended, Lance socked him in the shoulder. "Jerk."
"You are." He reached back and stroked Lance's injured leg soothingly. "Is it just killing you
that you can't spread your legs for me without hurting yourself?"
"When did you get so vain, anyway?" It didn't help that it sort of was bugging Lance.
Sometimes it worried Lance that they had less variety in their sexual repertoire now than they'd
had a year or two ago, but at some point it felt like they'd suddenly mastered all the intricacies of
prepping and position involved in fucking, and since then, it was all about spreading for Joey.
Lance felt the same sort of vague, low-grade fear that he was liking this a little too much that he
felt when he was thirteen about masturbating -- and once again, it wasn't enough fear to make
him think very seriously about cutting back.
The ringing of the phone was almost a welcome distraction from the bolt of pure, frustrated lust
that Joey was sending down through the center of his brain by grinding his hard-on slowly against
Lance's stomach. He reached for it, because...because that was what you did when phones were
ringing. You answered them.
So quickly that Lance didn't realize what was happening until it was done, Joey grabbed his hand
and slammed it against the wall, practically leaning on it to trap it there. "Joey, what the hell? Let
go."
"No," he said firmly. "They can leave a fucking message."
"It could be--" Logic failed him, leaving Lance twisting uncomfortably, like a hooked fish. He
knew there were important reasons not to start ignoring calls, but...he couldn't think of them.
And Joey looked so damned determined. "I should," he said, sticking with what he knew. "I
should...."
"You promised me. You promised me that we were taking a real vacation. The movie's shot,
the tour rehearsals haven't started yet, your staff can handle anything that has to be handled until
tomorrow morning when you call them back. It won't cost you a goddamn dime to--"
"Oh, fuck you, Joey, you have some nerve lecturing me about money. You sure as hell enjoy
spending it; where do you think money comes from? Just because I don't want to turn over
control of all my--"
He raised his voice, not angrily, but loud enough to override Lance and make himself heard. "To
pretend that I'm the only one who wants you tonight."
Grudgingly, Lance lapsed into silence. It was the same stupid argument they'd had over and over;
Joey was an irresponsible romantic who didn't understand what his projects meant to Lance,
which proved that he didn't take Lance seriously enough, Lance was an overly ambitious control
freak who didn't invest half the energy in his relationship that he did in his business, which proved
that his priorities were totally fucked up. They weren't going to solve it tonight.
And tonight, just possibly, Joey was right. Not that he was the only one who wanted Lance, but
that maybe he was the one who needed Lance the most for the time being. Besides, the phone
had already stopped ringing. Plus, he loved it when Joey was pinning him down. "Well," he
drawled, pretending to think about it, "I guess since I promised to do whatever your boyfriend
wouldn't...."
"Trust me," Joey said, his voice sticky with sarcasm, "my boyfriend would never blow off a
business call."
Lance closed his eyes. "Just don't let go," he instructed -- meaning his hand under the weight of
Joey's grip, meaning his life, already too riddled with stupid arguments with Joey that turned into
stupid temporary breakups, weeks and months without Joey popping up here and there like
bruises on pale skin.
"Just keep your eyes open," Joey returned, and the tone was unexpectedly stern. Lance's eyes
flew open and searched Joey's face for explanations, but Joey only kissed him hard and then took
the tequila bottle from Lance's hand, taking a quick drink from it himself before setting it aside.
"I want to know you're thinking about me."
"Joey, don't be like that. It was just a stupid telephone call." But Lance knew perfectly well that
the smallest, stupidest things were sometimes more than enough to set off Joey's possessive
streak. "Come on, Joe," he purred, trying his level best to be distracting as he arched his back
slightly, nudging gently against Joey's body. "Tell me what you want." He leaned even closer,
his mouth on Joey's ear, his free hand stroking through Joey's hair and down the back of his neck.
"You want me to be your whore, babe? Tell me how you want me. If my body can take it right
now, you can have it."
Abruptly, Joey grabbed him with one of his broad hands on each of Lance's hips and dragged
Lance down flat on the bed. He looked almost menacing, kneeling over Lance's waist, his fingers
stroking down Lance's chest like Lance was being inspected for defects. "You are going to drive
me fucking insane, you know that?"
"What did I do this time?"
"It's not what you do. It's -- I swear, it's that you get sexier every day, and the whole world is
watching, and you're such a goddamn flirt. Don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking
about, because this is not happening to you by accident."
His tone sounded more fond than pissed off -- at worst, verging on exasperated. So Lance braved
a smug little smile at him and said, "This isn't about Tadeo, is it?"
"Who?"
"The guy at the bar that we signed the autographs for? You know, we don't even know for sure
that he left that number for me."
Joey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, must've been for one of the other guys who told him he had a voice
like a singer."
"Well, he did. And he was, so I was right."
"And that proves what? All I'm saying is that ever since it finally dawned on you that you can
get away with it, you totally work that fuck-me voice, and the pretty eyes, and your new ripped
body. That whole tell me how you want me groove you slide into. You love what it does to
them."
"You love what it does to you. Don't act like you're above it."
It was another little risk; Joey did have a temper, and sometimes he could act genuinely stupid
when he came smack up against the reality that Lance didn't do everything for his sake, all the
time. But this time he just rolled his eyes and even smiled a bit. "I don't have to be above it; I
actually am the guy you sleep with."
"And they're just fans. So who cares? Look how Britney and Justin carry on with their fans, and
neither of them get all...weird about it."
"I'm not Justin." That was riding the ragged edge of Joey's middling-good mood. It could go
either way at this point.
"And I'm not Britney," Lance said, not totally successful at disguising his irritation. Honestly,
though...how did he always end up being the girlfriend in these scenarios? He was the one who'd
just gone bullfighting, wasn't he?
His moment of annoyance passed quickly, though, when Joey bent down to nuzzle Lance's ear,
his new beard rubbing against Lance's cheek. Lance had never truly adjusted to its absence, and
it was a real relief to have Joey looking like Joey again. "I know, because you've been putting
out for years."
Lance dug his nails into Joey's back, but they were too short to cause any damage. "My sister
was right. You are a pig."
"Stacy never said that. Stacy loves me."
"Well...she said she thought you were a pig, until she got to know you better. So, still."
"And I thought you were a nice little Southern boy until I got to know you better, but that doesn't
make it true."
"I was a nice little Southern boy until you got to know me better. Whatever I am now, you
have to take your share of the responsibility."
The pain of Joey's weight pressing into more than one of his bruises at once was hardly pain at all;
the slight ache seemed to wake up the rest of Lance's skin, sharpening the pleasure of touch in
contrast. Joey's thighs settled directly on top of Lance's, bearing them down against the mattress,
which was good, because the urge to wrap his legs around Joey's waist was almost
overwhelming, even though Lance knew it would hurt like a bitch and maybe even cause serious
damage. He settled for wrapping his arms around Joey, holding on tight as Joey kissed the ridges
of his collarbone.
"Shit, look at this," Joey fretted, noticing the elongated bruise under Lance's arm. He barely
stroked it with one finger, and Lance flinched. "You're all...broken, and stuff. I can't believe I let
you do that."
"Let me?"
"Oh, don't get liberated on me now. You know it would break your heart if I ever quit trying to
run your life."
"Pig." Lance kissed him, fingering his beard appreciatively. "So...how fucked up are we? We
fight because I don't have enough time for you, we fight because I like to flirt, we fight because
you boss me around like I was still seventeen years old -- and you're telling me that it's good
between us because I don't want you to own me but I do want you to keep on wanting to own
me?"
Joey had to stop and think about that one for a minute. "Yeah. I guess that's what I'm saying."
"So fucked up," Lance sighed. He let his head tip back against the pillow and started a slow,
restless circling movement with his hips, twisting in his confinement under Joey's body. The
denim folded over the fly of Joey's jeans had gotten bent back, and the metal edges of the zipper
were raising the hairs on Lance's arms as they scratched against him through the thin fabric of his
briefs. Joey made a strange little growling sound, grasping for Lance's hips in a half-hearted
attempt to hold him still. "Now's your chance to own me; I can't exactly run away on this leg."
"Nice rape fantasy; I'm the perv in this relationship?"
"You're the one who wanted to get the jailbait all messy. I just have the occasional urge to get
fucked on my knees, bent over with my hands tied behind my back and wearing a collar and leash.
At least my kinks are legal."
There was a moment of perfect, frozen stillness, and then Joey exhaled raggedly. His fingers were
shaking slightly as he ran them up the side of Lance's neck, his thumb tracing up Lance's
windpipe. "Holy shit. Holy shit, you'd just have to say something like that when you can't
even move your left leg, wouldn't you?"
Lance chuckled, low in his throat. "See what you do to me?"
"You slut," Joey breathed lovingly, kissing his way from Lance's chin up to his lips. "I'm going
to do that now, you know. Put a collar on you...."
"Please, please, don't throw me in the briar patch."
Twisting his hand around in a way that didn't look very comfortable, Joey ran it back down
Lance's stomach, fingers working under the waistband of his underwear. "You ever hear the joke
about the sadist and the masochist?"
"Not that I recall."
"The masochist says, 'Hit me.' The sadist says...'No.'"
"I really don't want you to hit me. I'd rather you just come up here so I can suck you off."
"No."
"Ha ha."
"No, I mean it, Lance. No." Joey pulled back and grinned at him. "I'd last like twelve seconds
right now, and we've got all night to keep busy while you're buzzed and in pain. So I was
thinking...." He let his words trail off suggestively as he rolled far enough off of Lance to pull off
Lance's underwear without making him move his lower body much at all. "I was thinking," he
began again, running a slow hand up Lance's cock, "that since I give lousy head anyway, this
might take forever to get you off."
With some effort, Lance made himself stop chewing on his lower lip. "You do not give lousy
head. I don't think."
"That's ringing."
"Hey, I barely remember. The last time you went down on me was..."
"Last summer. Justin's Fourth of July picnic."
"Right, you're right. Who told you you were bad at it?"
"Chris." Lance's eyebrows shot up, and Joey rolled his eyes as he licked the tips of his fingers
and circled them once, quickly, around the head of Lance's dick. "God, I'm joking. Nobody
told me; I was just guessing, based on the way you barely remember it."
"First you're all king-of-the-world because I can't get my mind off you nailing me to the mattress,
and now you're offended. Are you really going to go down on me?"
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm just saying. It's not funny, if you're not."
The long, gliding stroke of Joey's palm kept on past the head of Lance's dick, up his stomach and
coming to rest lightly in the middle of his chest. "Someday you're going to be ridiculously rich,
and I will have squandered all my money on fast living and bad investments."
"That sounds kind of like an offer to be my whore."
Joey chuckled. "I'm not wearing the collar."
"I wouldn't want you to." Lance curled his hand around the back of Joey's skull, noticing with
pleasure how neatly the curves seemed to fit against each other. "I only want.... I just love you,
Joe."
"Still?"
"Always. And I'll always take care of you, you know I will. Whatever you need. How could I
say no to the man who called me the best part of whoring around in Mexico?"
Joey splayed both his hands across Lance's chest and kissed a spot of skin between them.
"Sweet, sexy.... Can't buy or sell what it is you got, Lance Bass. It's like music."
"That's what we do, though. Sell music. So, you know...you can."
"Yeah, but -- you kinda can't, you know?"
The way Joey palmed his hips and pressed downward just enough to be noticeable was a clear
signal for Lance to hold still. And he tried, but at first it was difficult, with the scratch of Joey's
beard and the contrasting softness of Joey's lips trailing a scenic path down Lance's chest and
stomach, expertly skirting the spots that were the most excruciatingly ticklish. He wanted to arch
up, and it was almost like exercise to hold his own body flat against the bed.
But after a while, he could feel himself melting in place, his muscles softening until it sounded like
more strain to push toward Joey than it would be just to lie here and stare at the ceiling fan. He
let go of the remaining tension in his body with a low, exhaling groan, and after that, Lance didn't
think he could move if he wanted to.
Joey's hands, usually so confident, seemed almost hesitant as they slid up Lance's thighs; it was
puzzling, until he remembered his injuries. Foreplay, it appeared, worked a lot the same way that
morphine did: you still hurt, but you didn't really care anymore.
It seemed like some new and especially cruel form of teasing when Joey's hands, having just
reached the tops of Lance's thighs, suddenly relocated, one flat on his stomach, the other flat on
his chest. "Please, Joey--"
"Shhhh."
"No, Joey, please, I'm--"
"Shh. Just let me feel you like this, just for a minute. You breathe with your whole body when
you're turned on -- from way down here, just like how you sing."
He smiled, in spite of himself. "You like the way I drink, you like the way I breathe. Do you like,
you know, normal things?"
"What, like the way you walk, the way you fuck?"
"Well...yeah."
Giving his waist an affectionate squeeze, Joey nosed playfully against one of those ticklish spots
on his stomach. "Get outta here. Like you don't know."
Lance's breath whuffed out in a startled burst of almost-laughter. "Can't blame a guy for trying.
Joey, Joey, Joey -- please."
Under different circumstances, the slow, nibbling touch of Joey's lips along the shaft of his cock
might have seemed like a different kind of tease, but it felt like a relief after things like Joey
stopping to check his breathing. The power to move returned abruptly, and Lance felt himself
writhing against the bed. Just when he'd begun to register sharp pain in his pulled muscle, Joey
wrapped his arms tightly around both Lance's legs and held them immobile. His weight on top of
Lance and the pressure of his grip were already beginning to affect Lance's circulation, and he
knew his feet would be burning with pins and needles before long, but it was impossible to care.
He just wrapped his fingers as far around Joey's thick, warm biceps as he could manage, and held
on.
"Joey, God, Joe..." he groaned, because there was energy building inside Lance that was just
going to have to come out in words if he wasn't going to be allowed to move. "I can't believe
you're the guy who sleeps with me, I can't believe you love me too, I can't believe this is my life."
Joey's tongue flicked against him almost reassuringly, and then in longer, more ambitious strokes,
winding ribbons of pleasure around him, warm and wet like Lance remembered from the first
spray of a hot shower after eight hours of dancing -- the shock of it tempered with the release of
it, and the desire to melt into warm water himself and simply wash painlessly away.
Contrary to Joey's instructions, he had his eyes closed tightly, and so he didn't quite realize that
Joey's whispered, "Take care of you, that goes for me, too," was a warning. He felt totally un-
warned when Joey's mouth closed around the head of his dick and then slid a couple of inches
down before he even had time to gasp.
"If real..." Lance managed after swallowing several times and getting his panting mostly under
control, "whores really got...treated like this...no one would ever...want to be a pop star
anymore...."
He didn't even feel bad about it when Joey eased off of him; Lance was getting used to the slow
melt and burn and build of this experience, and the sudden coolness on his wet erection raised
pleasant goosebumps all over his body. "I can't -- go as far as you do," Joey said, sounding
worried. "I mean, you're really good at--"
"Don't worry. I'm not worried. Just -- do what you're doing, that was great."
"Not lousy?" Joey teased.
Lance's voice was unfamiliarly high-pitched and plaintive. "I didn't even say that, I never said
that, you just made that up."
"Shh, shh, I know. I know, we're good."
"Good," Lance echoed dreamily, as Joey's fist and mouth closed around him at once, sending the
room spinning away until Lance was only aware of the subtle rippling of muscle in Joey's arms,
the subtle wave-like motions of Joey's mouth, and the rhythm of his own unsubtle breathing.
Joey was right; he did breathe with his whole body when he was turned on.
Caught up in that perfect state of stasis, moving with the currents of fierce but unhurried eroticism
like he was rafting a river, the smallest changes in sensation ricocheted through Lance, pulling all
his attention. Even beyond the big things, like the texture of Joey's beard on his skin and the
press of Joey's fingers against his hipbones and the way his toes were beginning to sting from
falling asleep, Lance could feel things that by all rights he shouldn't be able to feel -- things like
the print of Joey's hand where it had been on his chest earlier, and a tightness around his throat,
the premonition of leather and possession.
He raised his hand to brush clumsily at the sweat that was starting to drip into his eyes, and Joey
chose that moment to do something fast and rhythmic with his tongue that made Lance shout, and
he was shaking so hard that his hand couldn't find its way back where it was, so he settled for
gripping Joey low on the back of the neck. "Please," he tried to say, and it only came out as a
rasp. "Let me -- Joey, please." He knew he'd been begging a lot lately, but what the hell. He
didn't mind at all, and he knew Joey loved it, but usually felt like kind of a jerk when he asked
Lance to do it.
Joey moved his hand off of Lance's hip and up to stroke his shoulder. Something about suddenly
having a part of Joey closer to his eyes and lips seemed very important to Lance, and he grabbed
onto it with both his own hands, thumbs sinking into the hollow of Joey's palm. He slipped the
middle two fingers into his mouth and tried to mimic the slow suck and fast buzz of Joey's mouth
and tongue, following his actions by feel the way he followed Joey by sight when they were
getting used to new choreography.
"I love that," Joey murmured, nipping at the inside of Lance's uninjured thigh. "Do that."
"How much longer?"
"You in a hurry?"
"Yes -- no. Well--"
Joey laughed, and licked him again. Belatedly, Lance remembered his instructions, and hastily
mimicked the move. "It's gotta be illegal to rush your way through Mexico. You know, land of
the siesta and all that?"
Sucking Joey's fingers securely between his teeth, Lance let go of his hand and stretched up,
anchoring his own hands on the bottom of the headboard, a clear gesture of submission to Joey's
south-of-the-border schedule. Joey groaned a little around his cock, which made Lance's hips
jump slightly, and Joey nuzzled with his forehead against the tight muscles of Lance's stomach.
He felt coiled into one piece with Joey, their mouths working like the clasp on a piece of jewelry
to keep them joined into one smooth shape. The singing-breaths that rolled Lance's body were
bleeding through into Joey, and Joey surged with the same deep, unsteady rhythms, rocking
against him as Lance drew in air and then relaxed into emptiness over and over.
Another layer of sensation sprung up like a descant, this one trembling shrill and sizzling all over
Lance's skin, and he found himself accidentally biting Joey's fingers, and unaccountably on the
verge of tears. It was just too soon until they'd be on tour again, with too little time, too little
privacy, too little that belonged to them as a pair instead of to Them, the group, their sovereign
nation of five. Lance loved them all -- quick, glib, fearless Chris, JC with his heart on his sleeve
and his easy, earnest smile, Justin, his idol, their shepherd -- but he knew deep down that there
would always be a mark where Toronto had been, a tiny ache of absence when he remembered the
winter that they'd come here to Cancun to say goodbye to.
The sizzling became a sear, and he came with a feeling running through his body like the hiss and
explosion of boiling oil, and then abruptly Lance was totally relaxed again, like he'd been doing
nothing more stimulating all this time than soaking in a warm bath. He found the energy to smile,
and Joey's fingers slid away from him, running moistly down his chest.
"You," Joey rumbled, moving up over him and kissing his neck, "are just...hot."
"Mmmm." It came as a dull surprise, when Joey bent down to kiss him, how much of the detail in
Joey's face was lost in the dark. When did it get dark? "What time is it?" he asked when Joey
broke away.
"About nine."
"Nine?" It had barely been six when he'd limped through the door, hanging by one arm from
Joey's neck.
"You hungry?"
Lance thought about that for a minute. "Yeah, kind of. Aren't you...you know, don't you want--
?"
Joey bit his lower lip lightly and chuckled; Lance licked his nose as he pulled back. "With you in
this shape? Nah. Lemme get some food in you, rest you up -- then maybe you can handle me."
It sounded like a challenge, and Lance almost said, I can handle you any old time -- until he
realized that in actual fact Joey was probably right. "Okay," Lance said grandly. "Bring me chili
rellenos and Corona. And chips and salsa for later. And salt and limes so we can finish that
tequila up right."
"Pushy bitch."
"I am still getting paid for this, right?"
"Amigo," Joey said wryly, "I pay every day for falling for you."
"Oh, your life is so awful. It's such a chore to live with me."
Joey kissed him again lightly. "You're taking years off my life with the stress."
"So quit stressing."
"Quit flirting."
"It's good for business."
"You're so full of shit. It's good for your ego."
Lance grinned. "You'd be happier if I thought you were the only man I could land? You wanna
be my last resort?"
"I'd be happier if I were the only man you had landed."
Lance frowned slightly; Joey had been known to nudge around the borders of that issue, but it
was rare for him to be so direct about it. The novelty of Joey fessing up to his sensitivity on that
point made a good counterbalance to the stupidity of the whole thing. Lance pulled his head
down and kissed his forehead soundly, resisting the urge to say, I'd be happier if your ex-
girlfriend weren't nine months pregnant, but who's counting? "You do know how dumb that is,
right?"
"I know."
"Because it wouldn't matter if there had been fifty other guys -- can I take a second to remind you
that there were two? -- but it wouldn't matter how many, because--"
"I know, because you'd pick me over anyone, you like me best."
"No, because I love you. Not best; only. I love you only. Period."
"I know it's stupid," Joey said, putting his head down against Lance's shoulder.
Lance wrapped his arms around Joey and hugged him. "I take the stupid with the rest. Heck,
sometimes I'm flattered. You're right, you know: I wouldn't be so taken with you if you didn't
want so much of me that it makes you stupid sometimes."
"We are fucked-up."
"But in a compatible way. Now, get up before I call home and tell everybody that I hurt myself
and you won't bring me anything to eat."
Joey did bring him food, though, of course he did. Hell, he brought Lance food when there
wasn't anything wrong with Lance's leg, even though the guys laughed at him and made whip-
cracking noises. Joey just grinned; he never seemed to mind.
They were both on their knees to each other, Lance reflected, sipping his tequila and wiping salsa
off Joey's beard with his thumb. Joey sucked the thumb and bit at it and made Lance laugh. So
that made it equal, and that made everything stable, the one stable thing in their crazy, fast-
moving world that was. Joey was kind of like, or being in love with Joey was kind of like...the
bright light and the happy sounds that a pinball machine made when you shot the ball just right
and it went nuts and bounced all over everywhere, then hit just the right spot and gained you a
million points.
Being in love with Joey was bright lights, happy music, millions and millions of points, your
initials at the top of the list in first place. Even if they both had to tilt just a little to get there.
Bettythoughts: This was inspired by a comment in some interview somewhere; Lance said that he
tried his hand at bullfighting while he and Joey were on vacation in Cancun, and he wound up
bruised. I don't know when it happened. It just made me think...Lance and Joey, Mexico,
bruises, tequila. And I mentioned it to Mary, and she had the usual grocery list of requests, and
among them I clearly remember Joey palming Lance's hips, and "nekkid this time."