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Post Game
by Pet

Just a quick, silky touch on his nape, in a room humming with pheromones, and Nick bent his head obediently, like a marionette with no strings. He felt soft fingertips stroke once, twice, just below his hairline, then linger, almost a caress. No pressure, not like a massage, but he struggled to keep his eyes open, each blink dragging him down. He watched AJ and JC prowl around each other, burning bright, as Kevin and Brian and Howie talked about the show, Howie pausing every so often to nibble on Chris's mouth. All seen through the rainbow sparkles his eyelashes made of the light. Perhaps he was dreaming.

A little touch, so gentle, but it was pressing him down into the couch. His breath came slow and heavy. Lance was stroking him with those hands, long, delicate fingers, slender, cool, always elegant. He'd noticed Lance's hands before. And now, fingers on his neck. Soothing, but not. Nick's mind was screaming at him to move, to get up, to toss his head back against the couch and dislodge that hypnotizing touch, but his body wasn't listening. He was melting.

Justin and Joey ran first, Joey looking back at them over his shoulder with hot eyes, his hands firm on the liquid movement of Justin's hips. Chris and Howie, everyone's favorite old married couple, left hand in hand. Brian was already on his cell phone when he let the door fall shut behind him.

And Lance...Lance curved fingers around his neck and gave him the lightest tug, and he stood. Amazing, how much taller he was than everyone but Kevin, who was looking at him with concerned eyes. Lance could tuck neatly under his chin, with room to spare. Lance slid the hand down his arm, fingers twining with his, and again, without a word spoken, led him out of the room.

Nick began to give serious thought to the idea that Lance had some kind of mood-altering substance on his fingertips. He'd thought it was all AJ and JC, who had been striking sparks off each other all night; that kind of heat had to be contagious. But looking at the back of Lance's blond head, wide shoulders, easy stride, maybe, maybe it was more than that. Because Nick was still floating.

Lance paused by a man with a walkie-talkie, said some words about delaying their departure in a calm, even voice, never letting go of Nick. And Nick stood dumb. Followed when led to his own bus, sat on his big comfortable couch, watched as Lance moved about, making admiring noises in the dark quiet when he found the stereo. Lance picked out a CD, popped it in, and turned the volume down low. Something slow and bluesy that Nick could barely hear. Nick watched him move. Lance...Lance was not what he expected to see, necessarily, when he looked at a man. He had the arms, heavy with muscle and tanned now, and the well-developed chest of someone who spent time in a gym. But his waist was soft and curved, the angle of his torso almost feminine. Hips wider, always, than Nick expected. And the slim wrists, slender hands, perfect. The light of the single lamp caught on soft cheeks, slope of jaw, long line of neck. When Lance turned, that light got caught in his eyes, and never escaped again. Translucent green. Nick had never seen such eyes.

He felt drugged, more so when Lance smiled at him, that bright incongruous flash of teeth. Settled in next to him, and touched his leg with one long finger.

"So, Nick." Slow syrup of voice.

"So, Lance." After so long in silence, it was a struggle to get the words out, as if his throat, so accustomed to singing, had tightened in the quiet.

"I didn't know you could dance like that." Lance's voice was part of the air, the dark.

"I didn't know you could dance at all." He hadn't meant to say that, and he cut his eyes sideways, suddenly afraid of giving offense. But Lance just chuckled, a low rumble really, and took his hand again.

"I've been practicing, you know." Mild reproach, but Lance's thumb was now rubbing over his knuckles, and Nick could feel it to his toes and figured he was forgiven.

"Um. I meant, you looked really good, you know? All three shows."

"Nick." The amusement was still there, but tempered with something else now. "Were you looking?"

He would never have thought Lance could be so direct, and the thought jolted him out of the haze he'd been in. This was Lance, who hadn't spoken ten sentences to him before now. Lance. Of N Sync. The 'gay one,' sure, (which was pretty funny, considering), but seemingly so shy about it that Nick had never been able to imagine him having sex at all. And here he was, petting Nick and making him slow and aroused and bemused, and looking at him with those knowing eyes. He jerked his hand away, and stared back, vague thoughts of alien posession and strange dreams and trances drifting through his mind.

"Lance?"

"That's still my name." Lance quirked one of those perfect eyebrows at him. Was Lance perfect? How scary.

"What...what's going on here?" He sounded nervous. Lance chuckled.

"Nick, relax, for goodness sake. I just like spending time with you, it's nice, I like holding your hand. I'm not gonna throw you down and ravish you or anything. How could I? Relax. Come on." He reached out and caught Nick by the elbow, drew him back down into a sprawl again on the couch. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Nick." Nick believed him. How could he not believe that voice?

Lance still had a grip on his elbow, and two fingertips were resting where the skin was thinnest. It made him shiver, just a bit. Nick contemplated. Was he really this easy, that a soft touch and bright eyes and low voice could turn his head so quickly? The fingers moved, tracing a light path down to his wrist, and back up. Yes. Definitely that easy. He held in a breath, and kept looking at Lance. This was all too strange, and he didn't want to be taken by surprise any more than he had been already. Lance was looking at his own hand, tracing little patterns on Nick's skin, now, seemingly fascinated by his own slow movements. Nick could see the top of his head, where blond tips faded into thick, darker roots. The arch of Lance's patrician nose. Lush lower lip. He wondered what Lance was seeing.

The hand moved up, sliding over the curve of his inner arm and tracing tattoos, the line of his bicep. Lance was completely still, otherwise. Those fingers were making him shake; his whole skin felt too sensitive, little prickles of heat running up and down his body. Under the sleeve of his t-shirt, up to his shoulder, and there was something intimate about having someone touch him under his clothes, even just a sleeve. He took a deep breath, and Lance looked up and met his eyes, and he wondered where this was going. How far, and why, and what the-

Lance reached out with his free hand, let it settle on Nick's belly. Rubbed a little, and those shivers were back. Greatly daring, he lifted one hand. Let it fall above Lance's bent knee, the one closest to him as he sat facing Nick, sideways on the couch. Lance had heavy thighs, strong like the rest of him, and Nick's big hand couldn't even reach halfway around. He felt the muscle shift and bunch. He wondered if Lance's skin there was smooth, like his arms.

Green eyes smiling at him, and those sharp teeth. Nick felt like prey. But in the nicest way, since Lance was now rubbing up over his chest to his neck, leaning in for a better angle, stroking a sinful finger up over Nick's throat to his jaw, to his lips, as Nick's head tipped back in surrender. Resting there for a moment, still smiling, and then bending to him for a kiss.

Just a sweet, gentle press of lips, at first. Nick had a moment to wonder dazedly if Lance thought he was a shy virgin. Maybe he was, after all, because he jumped when Lance opened his mouth to capture his lower lip and suck it in. Oh...broad, slick tongue tracing the outline, sweeping over and over the fullness of his lip. Lance's eyes were half-lidded and heavy, and he swallowed Nick's moan.

He finally released Nick, only to gently push his tongue into Nick's mouth. Nick, hesitant, let his mouth open just a bit, let the tip of his tongue touch the tip of Lance's. Pressing lightly, resting there. His eyes were still open, still trapped in green, but all he could think of was the taste. Sweet. Had Lance been eating candy? Sometimes Kevin would suck on a Jolly Rancher to keep his throat wet, between songs.

Push, just a little, and there was another tongue in his mouth with his own, making a leisurely exploration. Touching his teeth, sliding beside his, stroking hot and wet over the roof of his mouth. Lance was making a low sound, almost a purr, and his hands were suddenly both at Nick's waist, holding him still as Lance leaned closer, tilted his head for a better angle, closed his eyes. Their noses bumped, and Nick could feel Lance smile against his mouth. Hands scooted under the hem of his shirt, and he was grabbing at shoulders himself, bucking surprised up into the touch, into the palms that were now running up and down his sides. He was so sensitive there. How did Lance know? All of his blood dropped out of his head with a rush that left him lightheaded, and he made a hungry noise and sucked on Lance's tongue, pulling him in, burying a hand in soft spikes of hair and another in Lance's shirt. Lance was pleased, he could tell; he moved even closer, almost straddling Nick, and then he was lifting one leg up and over, and he was in Nick's lap, and settling his weight just where Nick was dying to be touched. Never pulling away from that sweet hot kiss. Lance was still moving slow, slow as a long afternoon in the south, gentle with his hands and that touch that was driving Nick mad. Petting him, long strokes, rocking a little in his lap, and Nick was helpless, pushing his hips up, begging wordlessly for more, because he was beginning to ache, and Lance could tease forever. He could see it in that sly little smile, in the way Lance's hands hovered over his chest, his nipples, but never quite touched; the way Lance was hard too, against him, but not doing anything particularly about it. Lance was going to make him beg. Lance was heavy on him, solid against him, light and delicate tasting his mouth, and those hands...

"Lance..." He couldn't believe he could make that sound. "Lance...please..."

"What? What do you want, Nick?" Lance pulled away a millimeter, and looked down at him with smiling eyes. Wicked Lance. Who sat down harder and made Nick gasp, and who was looking at his mouth now with eyes gone wide and heated, and whose hands were sliding up to cup his face.

"What can I do for you, Nick? When you were watching me, what were you thinking? Were you thinking about my mouth?" Lance dropped a quick kiss on his lips. That voice went straight to Nick's stomach, curled lower, sparked even more heat there. "Maybe my hands? I saw you looking at my hands, Nick." He stroked across Nick's cheekbones with his thumbs. "Or maybe..." he rocked his hips again, pressed down, and smiled, "other things?"

Nick had lost all his words again, and looked at Lance with what he hoped was some kind of appeal. Yes. Everything. Please. Right now. Please. Was Lance getting off on torturing him? He'd created this strange, dreamy, heavy arousal, with hands and body and voice, and surely he wouldn't leave Nick here. Nick could feel his blood, slow in his veins. Deep pulses in his throat, his hands, his cock. He blinked up at Lance. Hoped that Lance could read his mind.

"OK. OK, baby, you've got to tell me what you want. OK, Nick? Tell me if I do something you don't like." Nick nodded dumbly, and almost cried in relief when Lance quickly stripped off his shirt, and bent to bite lightly at his nipple. Pins and needles, he felt like his skin was too hot and tight to hold him any more, and he needed to touch more Lance. He scrabbled with the hem of Lance's shirt, hauled it up over his head, smiled as Lance broke away from him with a laugh and sparkling eyes to pull his arms free. And then there were acres of babysoft golden skin, a shade darker than his own, a delight against his fingertips, a hard nipple here, strong, smooth muscles there, he couldn't get enough. He pulled Lance against him, chest to chest, Lance's knees up along his sides, his cock rubbing oh! even through his pants he could feel the cleft, he fit so perfectly. Lance made an approving hum and bent to kiss him again. Slid those delicate hands down between them, arching away just a little, to work at the belt and button of Nick's jeans. Nick sucked in a breath, tasting Lance on it. He wasn't, he wasn't...he was, Nick's jeans were open, fingers stroking him, drawing him out, and his mind was gone in a flash of white heat, because nothing had ever felt so good as Lance's hands on his cock.

He was making a constant greedy needing little moan, now, lifting his hips against the weight of the body on his legs, eyes closed, just feeling. Lance pulled down on his jeans, got them past his hips, raised up to drag them past his knees, and gently pulled his thighs apart. God, fuck, oh...cool air hitting him where he was hottest, Lance's hand on his balls, sliding up to cup him, one thumb rubbing over the flared head of his cock. Nick knew it came away wet, and the friction was sublime. He threw his head back and panted for air.

"Oh, Nick. Look at you. Oh. If you could see...I knew you'd be like this, I knew it..." Lance's voice had gone breathless and shuddery, and it made Nick tremble. Somehow, Lance got his own pants unfastened, and off, OFF, and was back in Nick's lap, Nick's feet firmly on the floor, his legs spread wide, and Lance's hand was burrowing down between them, stroking him, slim finger finding, what? Oh, no, no, not there, not supposed to touch him there, but it was a tickle, almost, felt pretty good, stroking him to make him shake. He almost couldn't tell what he was holding, waist, arms, softness in his hands, just grabbing at any part of Lance he could reach, until a finger (had it just come from Lance's mouth?) wet and slim, slid into him, and his eyes shot open, and

"LANCE."

"Shhhh...it's ok. Just one finger, just want to make you feel it. Easy." Lance was crooning against his mouth, and Nick felt his thighs unknot, his hands relax. Concentrated on the feeling of that finger, in and out, stroking lightly, rubbing him while he held perfectly still, while Lance dropped little kisses on his face. Odd, but good. Not as scary as he'd thought. And then Lance twisted his hand, crooked his finger, and Nick felt the howl come up out of him without any warning, as he bucked and twisted and Lance rode it out, triggering him again and again until he was sweatslick and panting and boneless, humming with pleasure, sprawled out, grounded only by the finger still inside him and Lance's solid body. He hadn't come. He couldn't believe he hadn't come.

"See? Not so bad." The small part of Nick's brain that was still functioning informed him that if Lance was always that smug, it was a miracle N Sync wasn't a quartet by now. By means of homicide. But most of him was busy wondering at the feel of Lance sliding up him, still on his lap, bringing, yes, oh, settling on top of him, and his hands came around to cup Lance's hips, and they filled his hands and he had to squeeze. Soft. Like a girl, but a girl had never had such a pretty cock pressed into his belly, so that when he pulled forward, Lance gasped and rubbed against him. That was nice. Nice long neck, arched back, thick eyelashes fluttering over green eyes. Nick was entranced. Muscles moving under his hands as Lance rocked, moaning, leaving a trail of pre-come on his skin.

"Nick...Nick...you can do that to me too...more..." What was Lance trying to say to him? He'd heard Howie laughing at Chris once, about 'bottoming from the top,' and he'd always wondered about that, and now he thought he knew. Lance still had control, but was he asking...would he let...Nick nudged his hips up, a little, felt the head of his cock slide up the cleft of Lance's ass, and almost swallowed his tongue at the sound Lance made. Oh, god, he needed to get in there. Fingers? Should he?

"Just. Nick. Now. Come on." And Lance lifted up, and settled down just an inch, and he was THERE, just the tip, feeling Lance stretch around him, shocking heat, and he bit his lip with the need to push in. He knew better. He'd done this before. Never like this, never so hot and so MUCH, and lube? He was so close to coming he almost thought he wouldn't need it, but he pulled out anyway, ignoring Lance's little grumble, slicked himself with spit and his own juices, with a quick hand, holding Lance up with the grip he had on his hip. Oh, better. He let Lance down, again, and this time it was smoother, he slid in an inch further, felt muscles fluttering around his cock, SO tight and burning hot. Lance took a deep breath, stared straight into Nick's eyes, relaxed every muscle in his body, and sank down all the way, sitting down into the cradle of Nick's hips.

They froze. Staring. Lance's pupils went huge and black. Nick felt a bead of sweat at his temple, rolling down to his cheek. Overwhelming tighthottight, and this is what he imagined heaven felt like, arms wrapped around a burning body, smooth as sin and heavy as fine silk, green eyes eating him alive. Lance lifted a trembling hand and brushed hair out of Nick's eyes, off his forehead. So sweet. He moved his hips, experimentally. Lance grabbed at his arms and mewled. Panting. NEED to move. Lance shifted, raised a little, came back down, and Nick made a shocked sound at the feel, and jacked his hips up, and they were moving, Lance riding him, setting the pace, biting at his neck and shoulders and grabbing for him with desperate hands, and Nick was lost in the blinding burn of in and out and in and TWIST and thank god for the dancing because he'd never heard anyone scream like Lance did when he moved just so. He could feel it coiling through his arms, his back, his thighs, he was close. SO close, but Lance had to come first, just this one small thing in this strange night where Lance had stolen his brain, and Nick reached for Lance's cock, heavy in his palm, squeezed and pulled and rubbed and Lance arched back with a groan like he was being tortured, and his mouth opened, and Nick watched, fascinated, as his eyes fell closed and he reached for something, so close, and tensed, and froze. And his body tightened with every pulse, shuddering and jerking, and that was the last straw, muscles closing around him, yanking him to the edge. He came, and came, and gasped Lance's name, and he couldn't see.

When he could breathe and see and move again, he was under someone who was making very pleased small sounds, and kissing his neck. That was wonderful. He slid back against the couch, free of Lance's body. Strange feeling. Lance moved against him, and he held tighter. Smiled. Tucked Lance's head under his chin, where he'd wanted it for days now, and sighed.

"Lance?"

"Hmmmmm?" Contented rumble-purr.

"When did you tell that guy the buses could leave?" He felt Lance smile against his throat.

"T'morrow."

"Oh, GOOD." And he was laughing, and Lance was laughing, and the air of unreality that he'd felt all night was gone, replaced by something much nicer. Something real.

[end]