You think it's been like this right from the start. Before you were old enough to really understand it, you ran around being obnoxious after performing, giddy with accomplishment and full to bursting with feelings that you didn't really understand. When you were old enough to comprehend the sweaty, adrenaline flushed urgency, you'd scurry to the bathroom and take things into your own hands.

It isn't really an issue until you're in Germany. You do your usual bathroom runs, heading past Lance, who always seems pale and sweaty after performances. He never notices your needs, but everyone else does. Joey, Chris and JC aren't nervous and shaking like Lance, but they don't seem charged up and needy like you are.

They're oblivious at first, but as things coalesce into camaraderie and games, your ritual becomes a joke. You don't like it when Chris says "Uh oh, better clear out the shitter, the Infant's on a mission." You still touch yourself, but it feels furtive and weird.

Joey is quieter about it, but he likes to lean in and ask "So, how did things come out?"

You never know what to say then, blushing and hating the fact that you're young enough to blush. You could tell them that they make it worse, that being around them makes the itch that much more painful. Watching JC glitter under the cheap stage lights or Chris glare into the audience is intoxicating, just as Joey's flirting is endearing. You try not to dream about Lance, and you could never explain why.

You content yourself with the bathroom and your fantasies until you see Lance kissing one of the lighting crew before a show, his hands pale against the guy's overly tanned arms. You're trying to remember the guy's name, but it's just out of your reach. His head is tipped up, and his eyes are closed, and you find yourself shivering with simple wanting. When the guy released him, Lance sees you watching and he smiles.

He waves the guy off, walking over to you. He looks boyish and shy, but he meets your eye unflinchingly, "You don't care, right?" It's not quite clear what he means, but you nod. You don't care if he wants to kiss guys, but you do, in fact, care that he's not kissing you.

That night, while you perform, you keep catching Lance's eye. He smiles brightly at you, doesn't appear nervous at all. You wonder if you're fooling yourself that the looks hold purpose. You don't think that he understands how you want him, want all of them. You're too young to give up hope, but not so young that you don't know exactly why no one touches you.

When Lance dances past you, it takes a physical effort not to reach out and ruffle his hair, smooth down the line of his back. You close your eyes, hit a high note and don't even think about what you're doing. You're dancing and singing, but your mind is lost, tangling itself around images of Lance kissing you like that, of having the right to touch him the way that guy does.

The bathroom, when you find your way there after the show, is cold and smells of antiseptic and stale air freshener. You come, but it feels empty, because you want something different now, want it fiercely and viscerally.

That night you're in another one of Lou's generic motels. You're bunking with Lance, and you're quiet through dinner because the dreams won't go away. You knew Lance was like that, like you, but you didn't really comprehend it, the way it would look. You've got a visual now, and you can't seem to forget it, and you bless the fact that your pants are enormous. You've been half hard most of the meal.

When you're back in your room, half tired, but still lost in daydreams, it's almost a shock when Lance starts talking to you. You're used to rooming with him, and he's always quiet. Nights have passed without either of you talking, not because you're pissy or he's homesick, just because you're comfortable with each other.

He climbs onto your bed and peers into your face, and he looks so much like JC then that you start laughing. He's confused at first, but then he laughs too, and the bass rumble feels like it's shaking your bed.

"You are cool, right?"

You think about pretending to not understand, but he looks so nervous that you don't have the heart. "Yeah. I just..."

He waits, but you don't know how to put it into words.

"I just. How do you do it?" You're embarrassed now, but it's just Lance, and he's not smooth, not the way Joey or even Chris are. "How do you know that they'd want you like that?" It's the truth. You've been attracted to some of the guys in the crew, even managed to flirt with some of them, but that last painful step is impossible for you to take. It's not like picking up girls at all.

Lance looks utterly floored, and you almost want to laugh again, until you remember that he knows something. He shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and says, "I don't do anything. Jeff kinda, well, hit on me."

Jeff, you think stupidly, his name is Jeff. And then you feel small and young. "But why doesn't anyone ever look at, well, me like that?" It sounds conceited, but you hope that he gets what you mean.

His eyes crinkle. "You're jailbait, Jup."

It seems unfair. He's not that much older than you, and he gets to do all the things that you dream about. "S'not fair." you say, watching Lance's face.

He's staring at you, at all of you. Oh, you think, it's like that, and you don't even believe it at first, because you've wanted them all but mostly Lance, for so long. He looks younger now, uncertain.

He has to clear his throat when he finally speaks. "So, what exactly do you want?" He's squirming now, and the comforter rustles under him. The sheets are always hard and rough in these cheap hotels, but you don't care about that now, not when you've got such high hopes.

You want to say, "Oh, well, I want you" in the sort of tone that Chris or JC would use, sounding perfectly casual and together. It's too important to say anything, so you lay absolutely still and pray that he can read your mind.

When he leans in, you're absolutely certain that there is a god. His first kiss is slow, tentative, like he's waiting for you to shove him away. You want to cling to him, but you're just as hesitant. The first kiss flows right into the second, and now you're angling toward him, breathing in the scent and taste of him.

You've been kissed before, but never like this, not like Lance kisses. It's better than your dreams, because now you know. He tastes sweet and hot and he pulls away and whispers, "Oh I just knew." right into your ear.

You don't understand what exactly it is that he knew, but now his hands are skimming down your sides, and you're pressed up against him, rocking and gasping right into his mouth. He asks, "You want?" and you're nodding, clutching at him, the fabric of his shirt balling in your hands. He's licking down your neck and it makes you shiver.

Lance is suddenly pulling at your clothes, and his urgency is sharp in its intensity. You wonder if maybe you should leave your underwear on, but he's naked and then so are you. The air in the hotel room is cool, and his skin feels hot, almost feverish, and you think that you're about two seconds away from embarrassing yourself.

His skin is soft against yours, a little bit sweaty despite the chill, and then his hand is running over your body and you're shaking a little. You've wanted this for so long that it feels almost dreamlike, except that he's kissing you again, his hand pushing downward. When he touches you, you suck in your breath, arch away from him, think about telling him not to, that you're going to come, but the words aren't there and you don't think you could stand it if he did stop.

He smiles into your mouth when you come, silent except for that one gasp. You're so used to stifling any sounds that it's become instinct. You're floating, eyes closed tightly, until you realize that you're being incredibly selfish. Lance is touching himself hard and fast, and you open your mouth and say "Let me?" just as he comes.

You feel guilty then, and maybe freaked out a little at how sticky you both are, but he just laughs a little, says "Hey, there's always tomorrow." and curls up next to you. He's asleep before you can begin to think about what you should be saying, but you know that he'll be there tomorrow. Lance never says anything he doesn't mean, not to you.

You sleep better than you imagined you would, even though he hogs the bed and steals covers.

Another day, another concert, and you're tired, because you woke up early. This time, though, you know that Lance is watching you. You keep catching his eye and it makes you smile, makes you shine a little brighter. In one of the casual parts of the show, he drapes an arm over you and the warm weight makes you feel anchored to him. You're turning and smiling at him, hoping he understands, as you run to your spot. He nods a little bit, missing two steps, and you turn back to the crowd.

The concert flies by and this time when you run into the bathroom afterward, Lance is waiting for you.

"I wasn't sure." he says, and he looks a little nervous, but you're running to him, laughing out loud.

"I am." And when he slides down to kneel in front of you, it's like everything you've ever dreamed of, that you didn't know you wanted. Your knees are shaky and you're starting to feel like even more of a kid than you are, because you're not going to last this time either.

Then he's climbing to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, saying "We better go, they'll be looking for us."

You grab his arm. "But wait, dude, what about you?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I've got plans, see, for later tonight." There's knowledge and anticipation in his eyes, and you hug him, so infinitely grateful that things worked out so effortlessly and that you don't have to jerk off alone anymore. You think you might love him already, and if you don't, you soon will.

~end~