Post Show
By Pet

Chris hadn't mentioned this, when he'd asked JC to do these benefit shows as a favor to Howie. Hadn't told him about AJ, about the snap-crackle-pop of energy when they were both onstage, the way the other guys would give them wary room when they were dancing even ten feet from each other, the tension like a tenth person under the lights, taking up all available air and space.

Hadn't mentioned that AJ prowled like a cat between songs, smaller and smaller circles around JC, perfectly innocent if you weren't standing still listening to Justin ramble on about brotherhood and doing good, feeling AJ's nearness like a thousand fingers touching your skin, trying to fill suddenly too-small lungs with air.

Coming offstage, down into the quiet room, energy rolling off them in waves. He hadn't known that AJ would walk behind him down the hall, strung just as tightly as he is, thrumming with it and feeding off JC, sending it back to him in a loop that JC almost, almost can't bear. He is aching. The guys can sense it, he knows...Chris has Howie wrapped up in his arms, but is looking at them with big black eyes between kisses. Lance is sliding long, delicate fingers almost casually over the nape of Nick's neck, and Nick's head is tipping down slowly, his eyes heavy. Joey, so sensitive, is almost panting, and Justin's hand flat on his belly is moving with the breaths. It almost, not quite, looks like they're escaping when they all leave, one by one or two by two. Kevin sending one last concerned look over his shoulder before the door closes. JC thinks he's maybe worried about the furniture.

Time for one breath, two, and AJ has him SLAM up against the wall, coiled energy and dark promise, intense and needing. And it's almost a cliche, JC's back against the wall, a heavy press of weight against him, but so very *AJ* that JC feels himself loosen in relief. And then that wicked mouth on him, he can feel the labret piercing against his lip, tastes AJ and sweat and heat and moans.

He's suddenly sucking frantically at AJ's neck, trying to INHALE him...hands just wild on him suddenly, needing to crawl into AJ's skin, get some relief from this humming throb of need, power, energy, whatever it is that they've taken with them from the stage.

AJ's sliding a hand into JC's hair, and JC just...folds. Sliding down the wall to his knees, nuzzling at AJ's hips, mouth open, breath panting out.

Oh....and AJ's fingers fisting, he can't help it, JC can tell, and his hips bucking up into that light touch. Little sharp breaths, almost words...hips working like he's dancing again, moving him closer, his body begging for more. JC's smiling, still burning hot in his skin, sliding palms up his thighs in a long, pornographic press. Feeling the leather slide and catch under his fingers; AJ's been sweating in that leather all night, and JC can feel the burn of heat. Against his face, as he tips his cheek to rest against one long thigh. Fingers on zipper, damp. AJ's hard and insistent against his hand.

**

And it's frantic and desperate, AJ's fingers twisting in JC's hair, JC sliding clever fingers between his thighs as he swallows him down.

So fast. No time or patience for subtlety, here. He can feel his knees trembling, muscles going liquid, that wet heat around him all he can feel, all he can even think about. JC's head moving smoothly, tongue licking around the head, and he's shaking now, a full-body shudder that JC holds him hard against, hands on the back of his thighs, his hips, bending him forward to take him deeper. He might be babbling, but that voice can't be his, he's braced against the wall on one hand, the other tracing a delicate cheekbone, tangling in lion hair, feeling JC move deliberately. He can almost tell when JC's about to swallow...a pause, a deep breath, and he's down that perfect amazing hot tight throat, and silver pleasure shocks through his thighs, his spine, arching him up with a howl as he comes. And JC swallows, and swallows, and holds him tight as his world goes white and static.

**

JC's been thinking about it for a while, since the first show, intimidated as hell. But now, in this post-show zone when he feels as though he could leap tall buildings with a single bound? He'll give it a go. AJ's pliant in his hands, now, limp and panting and still petting his hair, and he pulls at AJ's knees, gets him down to the carpet.

And its like they're STILL on stage, because with AJ it's always a show, always a performance, and he can feel that adrenaline still zinging through him...an audience of one, maybe, but this show is still going on.

And JC knows he can do anything, when he's onstage.

Even though he's pretty sure AJ does not bottom. And he's right...AJ's like a tiger, suddenly, twisting under him, growling low and bucking against his weight, on AJ's back. He's got the nape of AJ's neck between his teeth, lightly, just a reminder of who's on top here. But with AJ, he's going to have to EARN it. Similar weight, similar strength, and AJ could probably toss him across the room if he really wanted to. The fact that he hasn’t yet doesn't mean this is going to be easy. JC feels his whole body go tight at the thought, unbearably hard at the thought of sinking into that heat, into AJ...he yanks at his pants one handed, gets them down to his knees, feels the scrape of sequins against his belly, from the back of AJ's shirt. AJ's chanting his name, now, just a litany of "JC, JC, JC..."

Then AJ jolts too hard one time, practically does throw JC off, and JC reaches down and splays his hand in AJ's hair and pushes his cheek into the carpet, not hard, but definitely firmly, before really realising he's done it. AJ gasps out an aborted moan-growl and bucks his hips harder, but JC's got it under control now and they both know it.

AJ's still twisting against him, but his heart's not in it, and JC can feel the change. AJ's hips go loose under him, and JC gets a knee in between his thighs, and AJ sucks in a hard breath that JC can feel in his bones. Moving back into him, now, not away.

JC is panting, head down, damp hair falling across his cheekbone. He can't imagine anything lewder than the sight of AJ, fingers clenched into the carpet, tattoos shifting over his muscles as he moves, sinuous grind of his pelvis. Half naked and spread out for him. Eyes half-lidded, one of JC's hands still holding his head down.

That struggle, the wild fight, has changed to something softer, and JC can feel himself settle into the space AJ's left between his legs. Pants tangle around his knees, around AJ's, but all he can think about is that lean, sweat-smooth back, the hollow above AJ's tailbone, the cleft of AJ's ass. His own breath has shifted, deeper, preparing, and he nudges his hips forward, hisses. His hand in AJ's hair catches a reflexive flinch, but that body has gone liquid, and he licks a long wet trail up the groove of AJ's spine. Wordless gratitude. He doesn't know how much longer he could have waited.

He sort of stretches his body out over AJ's, sliding firmly in, feeling AJ's body tense and then relax, and then AJ's hips drop and roll, pure feline. And oh. He is burning now. Every nerve concentrated on the feeling of hot muscle gripping his cock as he nudges in, just a little further, feeling AJ's hips rise again to meet him. The curves of AJ's ass against his hipbones, and he hauls back on his grip at AJ's waist, bringing AJ up to his knees. AJ lets out a little whine when JC slips out of him, adjusting to the new angle.

Then it is all raw heat. Moving, like dancing only harder, no pretense, just the slide out and thrust home, body against his, clenching his teeth to keep from screaming at the tighthottight-too much, almost, and his hands open and close helplessly into AJ's skin, grabbing for anything that will keep him grounded. One more, two more, he's there, coming like a freight train, like nothing he's ever felt before, holy FUCK and he's screaming AJ's name, his head falling to AJ's shoulder blade as his weight bears AJ back down onto his stomach.

When his eyes open again, AJ's looking at him over his shoulder. Even, direct stare. The power and fire are muted now, on both their parts; JC can feel the ache in his thighs, now, a sore place on his shoulder, and AJ no longer burns in his eyes. But it's still there. AJ is still looking at him like he's a presumptious mouse who has dared to taunt a cat. And JC has long enough to hope that the rug isn't the kind that gives burns, before he's flipped onto his back, and his tongue sucked into AJ's mouth.

AJ's hips come to rest against his like they belong there, and he can feel the slide of skin, slick with sweat and come. JC settles in for a long night. No. Chris hadn't mentioned this. JC would have remembered.

[end]