Chris couldn’t sleep through storms, though he tried. It wasn’t as if they scared him – they didn’t – but he remembered as a child, living in a car, and how the storms looked when all that was protecting him from the thunder, lightning and rain was a hole in the car where a sunroof used to be, covered only by a makeshift window made of clear plastic tape. The water got in anyway, caught by old coffee cups, and Chris remember being terrified then, his sisters sleeping beside him, his mother awake in the front seat, head braced on the steering wheel.
Now, when it stormed, it was all he could think about, when he rarely thought about things like that anymore. He knew where he came from and would never forget it, but he accepted that where he was these days was a different place entirely. Still, it got hard to separate the two sometimes, despite the fact they were in extremes.
“Will you please go to sleep?” Lance muttered, eyes closed, voice thick. He’d been restless since the moment he laid down, moving around, getting tangled in the covers, so he’d sat up instead, back braced against the wall. Despite what Lance wanted to believe, Chris knew that Lance was sensitive to other people, and Chris in particular. That was the type of shit that happened when people started sleeping together, and though Chris felt bad about keeping Lance on the cusp of half-sleep, he felt better with Lance awake beside him. It was a double-edged sword that Lance never complained about, not even when he was cut. “How about you just lie down?”
Chris slid onto his back, head resting in the fluffy feather pillows Lance insisted upon. The room lit up with a flash of lightning, and Chris jumped before he could help himself. Lance just laid a heavy arm across Chris’s belly, resting his head on Chris’s chest, so Chris played with his hair, focussing on the glide of his fingers through it instead of the crashing boom of thunder in the distance.
“Do you hear the doorbell?” Lance asked suddenly.
Chris tilted his head and listened, trying to go beyond the noise of the storm and to something so small, so out of place at three in the morning, but he nodded slowly. “I think so. What time is it?” Chris squinted at the clock, the numbers blurred beyond recognition. “Late?”
“Almost three. I’ll check it out,” Lance said, already getting out of bed. As the sheets fell away and the lightning sparkled again, Lance’s skin shimmered in the strange light, looking almost silver. The shadows lay on his skin and made it seem soft and cold. He sat on the edge of the bed, back to Chris, as he slipped on his pants, and Chris sat up.
“I’ll come with you.” He was already reaching for a pair of sweats, the fabric soft between his fingers. He felt vaguely unsettled about the whole situation, the storm, the lateness, the idea of someone at the door who neither of them were expecting. Nobody showed up unannounced these days except the guys or stalkers that had managed to slip past the guard.
“Bring the baseball bat,” Lance said idly, waving a hand toward the closet, and Chris went to get it, holding it between two shaking hands as he followed Lance out the door. The floor squeaked as they walked across it, the stairs groaning as they travelled down.
Chris stayed back as Lance looked through the peephole, hands pressed flat against the door as he stood on his toes. The door was made for taller men, like Joey or Justin or even JC, not for them, and Lance couldn’t see anything anyway. “I’ll open the door,” Lance said quietly, wiping his palms on his pants, “and if anybody tries anything, hit them as hard as you can.”
Chris nodded. He’d beaten men within inches of their lives for lesser reasons, and doing it again wouldn’t be a problem. He lifted the bat, gritting his teeth together, as Lance pulled back the locks then settled his hand on the doorknob, twisting until the door opened, rain coming into the house with a gust of cold wind. Nobody was standing there.
Chris stuck his head out the door and looked around, the alternating pulse of light and dark messing with his already useless eyes, but he saw the glimmer of someone looking back at him. Yelping, he jumped and dropped the baseball bat, watching helplessly as it rolled down the front steps and onto the lawn.
“C?” Chris said, squinting, and Lance leaned over his shoulder, a hand low on Chris’s back.
“I’m sorry,” JC said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Chris stepped toward him, into the falling rain, and hooked a hand under his arm, unfolding JC until he was standing, hair slicked against his head, curls dragged out and long. His body, already thin, looked even smaller with clothes clinging to it, a tee-shirt and old jeans. JC was shivering, and though Chris wasn’t sure with the raindrops dancing down JC’s face, Chris thought he could tell the tears apart from the rain.
“Come in,” Lance said, pulling them both inside, but when JC moved, his knees buckled. Chris caught him, swinging him up until JC was in his arms, and Chris brought him into the living room, putting him down on the couch. Lance was already up the stairs.
“Did someone hurt you?” Chris asked.
“No,” JC whispered, keeping his head down, but Chris looked him over anyway, tucking a finger under his chin to lift his face. Nothing was bruised or bloody, but Chris couldn’t be sure. He hooked his fingers under the hem of JC’s shirt and lifted until JC raised his arms, pulling it off. Chris examined him – the smooth line of his back, the soft skin of his sides, the waves of his ribs.
“Lift your hips,” Chris said and JC did it, watching as Chris unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, careful to keep JC’s underwear on. When the pants were off, Chris parted his thighs and pushed the legs of JC’s briefs up, looking around. The skin was damp and cool but otherwise not any different than how JC’s skin usually was. JC shivered.
Lance came down with towels and blankets, and Chris helped him wrap JC in a fuzzy flannel one. Lance put a towel over JC’s wet curls and twisted it until it sat high on JC’s head, keeping the hair away from his face. He’d definitely been crying, Chris could see now, and looked like he would start again any minute if they weren’t careful. When JC cried, it almost seemed grotesque, distorting his face in ways that shouldn’t be allowed, and it was worse because he tried to hide it, sobbed privately instead of publically and did it with the same vested energy that he applied to everything else.
“What happened, honey?” Lance asked quietly, lifting his arm, and JC settled under it without a second thought, a fluid motion from sitting on the couch to tucked against Lance’s body. Chris stayed where he was, fingers twisted in an unused towel. Outside, the rain poured down harder, and Chris flinched again at the roar of thunder, unable to stop himself.
“He kicked me out. Of my own house,” JC added shakily, leaning into Lance’s body as Lance stroked down his spine and rubbed his back, mouth pressed against JC’s forehead. Lance was patient and soft, an island in thunderstorm. Chris picked at the edge of the couch. “I didn’t have my keys, or my wallet, or anything. He wouldn’t let me back in.”
“Mark,” Chris said darkly. Chris hadn’t liked him when JC had proudly introduced him, hadn’t been impressed by his degrees in music and english and history, or the fact that he hoped to be teaching at Berkeley next year, or that he modelled his way through college. Everyone thought he was the greatest thing ever, perfect for JC, but Chris hadn’t liked how Mark spoke to JC, talked down to him like he was stupid, or how JC took it.
“He said he’ll be out of there in a few days, but I. That was my house, my home. And he kicked me out,” JC said slowly, like he was stunned that anybody would force him out into a storm, wearing only a shirt and jeans. JC believed the best about people, honestly thought that everyone deep down was good and decent, and though he’d been right about Chris, who’d been prickly and angry for so long that he sometimes forgot he was a good man, JC’d been wrong about Bobby, and John, and Christian, and Lukas, and Paul, and every other nameless guy that had come before. Whatever JC was looking for, whatever it was he needed, he wasn’t finding it, and Chris wasn’t sure how much more of it JC could take. It made Chris irrationally angry, all of it, the lack of fairness in the whole situation.
“You can stay here, honey,” Lance said, kissing JC’s forehead. His voice was rich with the Mississippi drawl Lance had tried so hard to swallow for good, but whenever he was comforting, or upset, or aroused, it came back, thick like honey. “For as long as you like.”
“I don’t want to impose,” JC said and looked over at Chris, who smiled crookedly. Inside, Chris was so angry that he could taste his blood boiling into his throat, thinking about breaking legs and burning down houses and making sure Mark regretted the day he ever hurt JC. Instead, Chris just nodded. “Well, okay. I just. I’m so embarrassed,” JC said carefully.
“Don’t be,” Lance told him. “These things happen sometimes.”
Chris would make sure it wouldn’t happen again, though he didn’t know how.
~~~
Before Chris came onto the scene, Joey and Justin and Chris had all bet on how long it would take for Lance and JC to get together. What hadn’t been counted on was Chris’s accidental seduction of Lance, which happened over a bottle of Jack Daniels. Chris had been lonely, and Lance had been stressed. It proved to be a lethal combination, changing the course of Chris’s life. When he woke up the next morning, in bed with Lance and severely hungover, Chris had just never left Lance’s place and moved in a month later. It all happened very fast.
But before that, before Chris, Lance and JC had been walking a fine line between friends and something more, and everyone knew it. Nothing was going to happen then, or so Lance said now, but Chris stepped in the middle of it all and made sure it wouldn’t. In that time, a little over a year ago, JC had come out, gone through at least five boyfriends and been dumped by all five of them. This last one seemed to be worse than the others, but they all ended the same. Except JC always seemed to bounce back, move on, and this time, Chris wasn’t so sure.
JC suddenly lived like a ghost, barely there and even when he was, almost invisible. He clung to Lance like Lance was the last foothold he had left in the world, and spent a lot of his time looking at Chris with an expression Chris couldn’t recognise, which was strange in itself. Chris knew JC inside and out, but suddenly, even Chris was unsure of what was going on inside JC’s head. Chris felt guilty and didn’t want to think about why.
“You have to eat,” Chris heard Lance say, low like he didn’t want Chris to hear. Chris couldn’t imagine not eating if you had the money to feed yourself, and he’d forced JC to stop living inside and come out to eat on more than one occasion. When JC was upset, he couldn’t keep food down, but Chris couldn’t stand the idea that one of his friends was hungry, that he was starving.
Chris peeked into the kitchen and saw JC sitting at the counter, perched on a stool. Lance was on the other side, a spatula in one hand, JC’s fingers in the other. If they moved their heads another two inches forward, they’d be kissing, and Chris watched them, as if he expected it. JC stayed frozen, though, and Lance sat back, sighing. He saw Chris and nodded hello, and Chris smiled back, weakly and unsteadily, but he did it.
So Chris knew where his feelings of unease were coming from. Of course he did. He knew sometimes, he felt really guilty that he’d gotten Lance and JC hadn’t, and right now, Chris could almost taste the regret, dark and bitter.
~~~
When JC didn’t leave after a few days, even after Mark called to say he’d taken everything that was his out of the house, plus a few things of JC’s that he felt he was owed, like the big screen television, and JC’s collection of Waterhouse prints, Chris woke up one morning and realised JC wasn’t going to go home, that he was here to stay. Chris didn’t know why he was so sure of it, but he felt it, deep down, in his bones.
Lance still slept in Chris’s bed, but they hadn’t had sex since JC arrived. Lance didn’t even sleep naked anymore, always kept a pair of shorts on in case JC was up and needed to talk to him. Chris still did, but he felt awkward, ugly. Sometimes, he thought about getting up and putting on a pair of sweats, but the stubborn part of him wasn’t ready to admit that things were changing, that he was losing Lance.
“What’s wrong?” Lance asked one morning as Chris struggled to get up. He didn’t want to, didn’t even want to move he was so tired, but he had stuff to do, people to see, a company to restructure and organise. He looked at Lance, barely able to keep his eyes half-open, and Lance frowned, lifting his hand to touch Chris’s face. Chris backed away. “Are you mad at me?”
“Are you?” Chris asked. He suddenly felt way too old to be doing this at this point in his life, way too old to pretend that he was just what Lance needed. Chris lay back down, putting an arm over his eyes. “Nothing, man. I’m just exhausted. Forget I said anything.”
Lance leaned over him. “I don’t believe you, Chris. Now, what’s wrong?”
Turning away, Chris hoped ignoring Lance would drive him away, but he knew it wouldn’t. Lance was stubborn to a fault and wouldn’t give up until he knew everything. Chris just wasn’t ready to let go yet, not of this life, not of Lance. Chris didn’t often recognise happiness, didn’t usually even know he was happy until after the fact, but this time, with Lance, he had. Chris should never have stepped in where he didn’t belong.
“It’s not what you think,” Lance whispered, poking his chin into Chris’s arm, spooning behind him. “Okay? What’s going on here isn’t what you think it is, Chris, and I know we need to talk about it, but I don’t know what to say. JC isn’t leaving.”
“I know,” Chris said. “So I’ll just –”
“No,” Lance said, “you damned fool, Chris. Look at me.” Lance tugged at Chris’s arm until he rolled onto his back, afraid to look at Lance’s face, so he stared at the ceiling instead. Lance grabbed Chris’s chin in his hands and turned until they met, eye to eye. “You’re here to stay. I know that. I know I’ve been distant, but I knew you weren’t going anywhere. JC was, Chris. And I had to stop him.”
“You never make any fucking sense, Bass,” Chris said. Lance’s way with words turned them all around, made them into lies, or worse, half-truths masquerading as full ones, which were always believed entirely. Chris could tell, by now, when Lance was doing it, but it didn’t make it any better, and right now, Chris wasn’t even entirely sure what he was dealing with. “Tell it to me straight, or I’m leaving. It’ll fucking destroy me, Lance, but I’ll go if you want me to.”
Lance squeezed Chris’s cheeks. “It’s not fair to him, Chris. Us, we’re not fair. What we have, how much we love each other, how happy we are. It isn’t fair, and I know life isn’t fair, but in this case, it can be. I know you love him, Chris.”
“I don’t,” Chris said. “Lance, I. you. You know that. How many more times do I have to tell you that before you believe –?”
“Can you love him and me at the same time, Chris?” Lance asked, fingers digging into Chris’s face now, and Chris realised it was the only thing keeping him down, calm. Inside, he was angry and raging, but Lance knew that, knew how to control Chris’s temper better than he did. “It’s a mess, Chris, all of this, but what if it doesn’t have to be?”
Chris dropped his eyes to Lance’s arm, the texture of his skin blurred, even so close, but Chris knew what that arm tasted like, felt like, where every muscle was and every vein. When he looked up, Lance was still there, watching him. “But he doesn’t want me, Lance.”
“He does,” Lance said. “We all want each other, Chris, you and me and him. We want Justin and Joey too, but we can’t have them, so we love them as best as we can without being in love with them. Chris, I don’t know what else to do, and I do love him. I can’t lie to you and pretend that I don’t.”
“You always have. I shouldn’t have –”
“You were ready to have me, and he wasn’t. That’s the only difference, and he’s ready now, but I need you to help me. He’s here, he’s staying, but he doesn’t think he’s wanted, not yet. And you.” Lance let go of Chris’s face, instead knuckling softly up his cheek until Lance’s fingers threaded through Chris’s hair. “JC won’t believe it’s possible.”
“I don’t believe it’s possible,” Chris admitted.
“But I do,” Lance said, “and you know I’m always right.”
Against his will, Chris cracked a small smile, trying to bite it back before Lance could see, but he did. Lance leaned down and kissed him, his mouth already opened when it touched Chris’s lips, and Chris kissed him back, almost desperately, as though he’d almost lost it forever and knew it and wanted to make every second count, just in case it went away again. It felt like a loss, for a moment there, but now it felt different, something like a beginning: hesitant and new and exciting.
~~~
JC didn’t sleep at night, hadn’t from the moment he arrived, and if he slept at all, Chris didn’t know. Chris hadn’t seen him resting at all, not the impromptu naps that JC was known for, not the way he could sleep standing up. JC was exhausted, Chris could tell that just by looking at him, so that night, when Chris heard JC shuffling down the hall, the scrape of his slippers against the hardwood floor, Chris decided to start doing something about it.
“Where are you going?” Lance asked, lifting his head. He was such a light sleeper. He’d been dead to the world seconds before, but somehow he’d trained himself to wake at the drop of pin. Chris didn’t know why, but he suspected it was to protect himself. There were secrets in Lance’s past that Chris didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
“I’m going to get him. I’ll be back,” Chris whispered, pulling on his pants, and Lance nodded, putting his head back down on the pillow. He started snoring a few seconds later, another strange ability that Chris didn’t quite understand, but Lance was like that, an enigma. Quietly, he walked to the door and opened it, peering down the hallway. JC paused at the top of the stairs, like a teenager caught while sneaking out, and looked startled, so Chris approached him, eyeing his flannel pajamas and tired face.
“Hey,” Chris said and took JC’s hand then held it tightly when JC tried to pull away. “Jesus, C. Calm down.” Chris twisted their fingers together, JC’s palm warm and dry against his own, and tugged him until his feet moved. “You need some sleep, dude. It’s starting to show.”
“That bed,” JC said. “And I miss him.”
“I slept with Justin, like, in the same bed with him, for six months after Dani,” Chris confessed quietly, rubbing the smooth skin on the back of JC’s hand with his thumb, tracing circles in an attempt to calm him. “That’s why Britney hated me, but I couldn’t stop. I’d forgotten how to sleep alone, you know.”
“Yeah,” JC said, nodding. “Exactly. I just. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Then come on,” Chris said and tugged again, and JC followed Chris, albeit slowly, into the darkened room, tripping over the pair of jeans that Chris had left by the door, but Chris caught him, a hand on his boney hip, and led him to the bed, putting him in the centre. Lance woke up again but settled once he saw JC, drifting back into sleep. JC lay down, flat on his back like a board of wood, and Chris settled beside him, sliding his own pillow under JC’s head.
Chris fell asleep with JC’s eyes on him, headed tipped left, watching him, like JC didn’t understand.
Like he didn’t believe it.
~~~
Chris tried to touch JC a lot, to be more present in his suffering, but it was hard. Part of the reason Chris stepped back in the first place and let Lance handle it was because, unlike Lance, Chris had his heart stomped on more than once and never really recovered. There was scar tissue all over him, and Chris could still feel it, hard and rigid, under his skin, whenever he thought about those times when he realised he was intrinsically flawed, that there were so many things wrong with him that they couldn’t stay with him or risk being infected. Or so Dani had claimed, though Chris always knew she hadn’t said it to hurt him. If this disease was there at all, Lance wasn’t affected by it. Chris could only hope JC wouldn’t be either.
Lance went out and left Chris and JC alone, and Chris spent a long time worrying about what to say, if there were any words to be spoken at all. He thought about calling Joey or Justin, but they were both out of town, making movies and recording songs. The silence didn’t suit Chris, didn’t fit in with the constant whir in his own head that forced him to make noise and get it all out so it wouldn’t drive him nuts, but JC existed in a quiet world where he keep the fury inside himself until it gushed out like a flood.
“You wanna, like, play a board game or something?” Chris asked.
“Okay,” JC said.
When Lance came home, they were playing Chutes and Ladders on the kitchen table. It was lame, and Chris was aware of the fact, but it was all he knew how to do to pass time, waste it on stupid games. Chris would have suggested Playstation, but JC had to be in a pretty good mood for it, and he wasn’t. Lance raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just walked into the kitchen to start dinner. Chris rolled again, his dice tumbling across the table, then frowned as he slid all the way back to the beginning. JC rolled again and got to one hundred, and Chris beat his head against the table until JC was smiling. It was the fifth time that Chris had lost in the exact same way.
“Wanna go hassle Lance?” Chris asked, rubbing two fingers over his forehead, and JC nodded, unfolding from the floor and stretching out. He twisted his arms above his head and stretched, the expanse of his belly slightly concave where his shirt lifted and his pants dipped. Before he could stop himself, Chris fitted his hand in the dent.
“Chris,” JC said unsteadily, and it almost sounded like a question but not quite. Chris didn’t move his hand, though, kept it there as JC finally breathed out, his stomach expanding against Chris’s palm. JC’s eyes were a strange shade of blue, too dark to be normal, and this close, Chris could see them speckled with flecks of gold. The skin on his lips was dry and broken, like he’d been chewing them, and Chris leaned forward and licked his tongue over JC’s mouth.
“Chris,” JC said and stepped back, and Chris let him go, tucking his hands into his pockets instead.
“Sorry,” Chris said.
JC nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at his own feet, which were digging into the carpet. Chris did the same and bounced his own head when JC muttered, “I’m gonna take a shower before dinner or something. I’ll. Um. I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
Chris nodded then walked into the kitchen, sitting down at the counter and chewing on his nails. As Lance passed by, he reached up and pulled Chris’s fingers out of his mouth. “That’s a gross habit,” Lance said and opened the fridge, crouching down and rooting through the vegetable crisper. “Where’s Jayce?”
As if cued, the shower turned on, and Lance made a sound deep in his throat.
“Shower,” Chris said anyway, “and I. I licked him,” Chris added slowly. It sounded ridiculous after the fact, but Chris’s ideas often did. Lance snapped his head in Chris’s direction, his eyebrows up to his hairline. “It was almost a kiss. I think. I maybe fucked up the mission.”
“Probably not. I kissed him this morning on my way out,” Lance admitted, standing up with hands full of produce. “I just didn’t expect you to do anything like that so soon. We need to seduce him as soon as possible, then, before he gets spooked again. He won’t leave, but I don’t want him to turn this place into a tomb, either.”
“This is weird, Bass,” Chris said carefully.
“It’s supposed to be,” Lance said, washing the lettuce in the sink. Chris put his thumb back to his mouth, nibbling at a hangnail, and Lance reached over, fingers wet and cold, and put Chris’s hand back down to the counter. “We’re weird, Chris.”
Chris looked at him. “His lips tasted like strawberries.”
Lance smiled. “I know.”
~~~
It was supposed to be a careful seduction, which meant Chris was kept mostly out of it. They ate outside, on the deck, with JC fresh from his shower, hair drying into loose curls around his face. He’d dressed in plain clothes: an old tee-shirt that barely covered his belly, well worn and soft blue jeans cinched around his waist by what looked to be a length of twine, sandals with thick leather straps across his feet and behind his ankles, and a silver toe-ring over the middle toe of his right foot. He looked good, as good as Lance, who was wearing a pair of big khaki shorts and not much else. His golf shirt was folded over a kitchen chair, drying the water stain from the part of the evening where Chris started playing around with the sink and ended up spraying Lance, quite accidentally, with the hose-thing they never really used.
They drank red wine with their steak, the expensive type that still made Chris gawk at the price but that Lance, born and raised on money, enjoyed. JC recognised it and liked it, so Chris figured Lance knew what he was doing, which was good since Chris’s every instinct seemed to imply that he was going to fuck it up. Chris drank until he was heady, a whole bottle to himself, he thought, and listened to Lance and JC speak lowly to each other. Why they’d never gotten together, Chris didn’t know. Why now was right, and then was wrong, it didn’t make much sense to Chris, but he refused to think about it. The task at hand didn’t impact it either way.
Sometime during the evening, Chris was startled to realise he didn’t mind sharing. Lance, who was, for the longest time, the only reason Chris woke up in the morning, was the best boyfriend a guy could ask for, really. He took out the garbage, and knew about cars and VCRs, and never once commented on anything about Chris that people noticed, like he still shopped at discount stores and clipped coupons and woke up at three in the morning and worried about money, or that his table manners weren’t prim and proper, because though Chris had learned a lot, he was still considered lower class by the socialites he dined with, who took his past and defined him by it, and often was too nervous to act the role he knew in theory.
Chris was jolted back to attention when Lance and JC stood up, giggling. They were stumbling towards the hot tub, which was already bubbling, and Chris hung back, wondering where his role was in all of this, but Lance waved at him, holding out his hand. Chris stood up and walked to him, pulling off his shirt and dropping it on the deck. Lance dropped his shorts and briefs then dipped a toe into the water before slipping in. Chris watched JC do the same, though he turned away like he was shy and climbed in backwards carefully. His ass was small and tight, but Chris knew that already, having spent the last seven years naked around the only four men he really trusted in the world. In a day and age where his ass was a public commodity, Chris was extremely careful about who saw it. The others felt very much the same way.
Chris took off his jeans slowly, concentrating intensely until the rasp of the zipper echoed in his ears. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, so once the pants were gone, he was naked. He wanted JC to look at him, but he didn’t, just very studiously stared at the thermometer instead. Lance smiled and helped Chris into the water, skirting a hand up the inside of Chris’s thigh as he settled, even warmer than the water they were sitting in. When Lance’s hand touched his cock, Chris shivered and dipped his head back.
“It’s going to rain,” Chris said, looking up at the sky. The sun was almost swallowed by the horizon, but the clouds were darker than night and rolling in. He could smell it, too, the storm in the air, lingering above the pungent scent of chlorine from the hot tub. Under the surface of the water, Chris moved his hand down his belly and touched his own dick. It was already stiff from Lance’s fingers, ready for whatever was going to happen, if it worked at all.
The silence was thick and lingering but not uncomfortable. Chris watched Lance out of the corner of his eye, waiting for some sign of what to do, but Lance had his head lolled back, eyes closed and mouth open. Be patient, then, but Chris wasn’t good with that type of stuff. So he looked at JC, who was glancing around, completely submerged except for his head and the line of his shoulders, which were smooth and pale. When JC caught him staring, Chris didn’t look away, just kept breathing and swallowed the anticipation that rose in his throat.
Lance moved suddenly, from complete rest to complete motion so quickly that Chris thought if he’d blinked, he would have missed it. Lance stood in the middle of the tub, water up to his waist, and Chris watched his back, the ripple of muscles that Lance worked too hard to maintain. JC looked up slowly, away from Chris and at Lance’s face instead.
“We’re going to seduce you,” Lance said.
Chris struggled to keep his face stoic, even though every instinct he had told him to laugh, to crack a joke, to wonder how the fuck that constituted subtle in Lance’s strange little world. JC looked at Chris, eyes wide, and Chris nodded. “Yeah,” he added. “That’s right.”
Somehow, it should have been strange watching a man that Chris knew inside and out kiss another person, even one he knew so well. It should have been weird seeing a guy that Chris considered his boyfriend open his mouth and brush it over JC’s spread lips, a flick of pink tongue flashing between them. But then, potentially, JC was his other boyfriend, and Chris realised that this was now considered normal, if it worked. Odd, maybe, but hot nonetheless, even when JC turned his face away, eyelashes fanned against his cheeks.
Chris skirted along the edges until he was there, beside them, his knee touching JC’s thigh beneath the surface of the bubbling water. Glancing once at Lance, who was still standing tall and majestic and completely in control, Chris turned back to JC and moved his mouth against JC’s temple, using his lips to brush back the dark hair. JC opened his eyes.
“Don’t say no,” Chris breathed, and it came out shakier than he intended. Things seemed fleeting suddenly, like there was a chance JC really didn’t want this at all. Or him. Those were the things Chris worried about every morning, that his friends wouldn’t want him, would realise he was so much older, so much more jaded, that maybe there were better off without him.
Lance moved then, right up behind Chris and leaned against him, pushing him at JC until Chris do nothing else but spread his legs and sit lightly on JC’s lap. Without the water, he would have been too heavy, too much for JC’s thighs to take, but with it, Chris felt light like a feather. “Kiss him,” Lance breathed in Chris’s ear, curling his hands around Chris’s shoulders.
Chris put his mouth on JC’s, tonguing the line of pinched lips. It didn’t break at his insistent push, but Chris kissed him anyway, licking at JC’s damp skin. Behind him, Lance mouthed the back of Chris’s neck, conformed against Chris’s body like Chris already knew Lance fit. It was the anchor that was keeping Chris there, the calming familiarity of Lance’s overheated skin that forced Chris to face his desire, and Chris kissed again at JC’s mouth, tongue poking out and prodding a second time. At last, the lips parted, and Chris’s tongue swept inside, smooth like silk.
Lance’s fingers fanned against Chris’s head, applying gentle pressure until Chris moved, keeping one leg secured across JC’s thigh, curving away. Lance settled on the other side, so serious and calm looking even if Chris knew that inside, he was probably as terrified as Chris himself was. JC stared straight ahead, chin held high and breathed deeply.
JC’s hand. Chris took the nearest one out of the water, threaded their fingers together then slid his other thumb over the smooth skin of JC’s wrist and down to the dip in JC’s elbow, where it was damp and warm. He pulled until JC’s arm was held out straight, JC’s hand and his own resting on Chris’s shoulder. Chris then danced his own fingers over the firm muscle of JC’s upper arm before going under, combing unembarrassedly through the fine hair beneath. JC shivered and tipped his head, sighing.
Chris watched as Lance kissed the mouth presented to him, two fingers under JC’s chin and holding JC’s head back. Chris moved his hand over JC’s chest, fingers spread like star bursts, then down, hovering on his belly, that part, at least, familiar in the way it dipped slightly at the pressure. JC’s breath was laboured, and his stomach fluttered with every gasp to leave his mouth.
Cautiously, Chris put his mouth at the crook between JC’s shoulder and his neck, and kissed, a swipe of tongue over salty skin. Okay, he thought, this was easy, then. Less weird than when they started. He sucked the cords of JC’s throat until JC hummed, then lifted his own face to be kissed by Lance, who tasted like JC, warm and sweet. Okay, Chris thought, okay, this can work. This will work. Beneath him, JC was still stiff, but Chris believed it now, mostly.
“We should go inside,” Lance said quietly.
Chris lifted himself out of the tub then padded across the deck, dripping. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or scared or something else entirely. But he was something, and he could feel it in strange places, like the arch of his shoulder blades, and behind his left knee. He trusted Lance to make JC follow, or, maybe, for JC to follow on his own, but mostly, for Lance to make him. So he didn’t look back when he entered the house.
Upstairs, Chris closed the blinds and waited. He felt fat, suddenly, and rubbed a palm across his belly. It jiggled. This was the part where he second-guessed, he realised. He could handle having one boyfriend who was hotter than him and better than him; he just wasn’t sure he could handle two, that he deserved two.
Chris looked up when someone bumped into the door, and JC stood there, a hand at his neck as he peered in, long and lanky and so fucking beautiful that it hurt to look at him. JC walked in slowly, and Chris held his breath, skin prickling along the length of his spine. He thought about falling to his knees, pressing his mouth to the trail of hair below JC’s navel, drag his tongue across it. But Chris stayed where he was, and watched him warily.
“He’ll be up in a moment,” JC said.
Chris nodded and licked his lips, feeling the weight of his cock between his legs, full already, anticipating. There was a moment when JC looked away from the Giger prints on the wall and his eyes dropped, pausing midway down Chris’s body, and Chris stood there, letting JC look until Chris wanted to pull away and hide.
“I know I’m not –”
“You’re beautiful,” JC said and didn’t say anything more, just turned back to the wall and touched the side of his neck with his fingers, tipping his head. Chris nodded at nothing then sat on the edge of the desk, waiting. He poked at a patch of damp carpet with his toe but didn’t close the window. It’d started raining some time between now and then. If it’d started when they were outside, Chris doubted he would have noticed anyway.
When Chris looked up, Lance had stopped in the doorway and was looking around the room, green eyes glimmering strangely in the settling dusk. Striding across the room to the bed, Lance put down the condoms and the lube, slapping them onto the table loudly. JC looked over his shoulder. The intention of Lance’s actions was clear, but JC didn’t leave, just stood where he was and stroked his fingers over his own throat.
They were at three points in the room. Chris on one side, JC on the other, with Lance in the middle, kneeling with one knee on the bed. JC wasn’t looking at him anymore, but Chris was, and he went when Lance held out his arm. As soon as Chris was close enough, Lance cupped his head in his hands and pressed his lips to the corner of Chris’s mouth then slid over until they were kissing. Chris opened under him, willing and easy and desperate, but didn’t protest when Lance pulled away. Breathing hard, Chris licked his lips, and Lance smiled at him.
From where he stood, JC was watching again, eyes wide and head tipped. He looked startled, or turned on, Chris couldn’t tell these things. He could, with Lance, but that was only because Chris knew what Lance looked like when he came, or when Chris surprised him. It wasn’t obvious anymore, but once upon a time, Lance had been next to virginal and just waiting for someone to tap his desire. Chris had. Now, JC would too, if things worked.
Lance knew too much now, but Chris never complained. Couldn’t really, because it was better to have a lover who knew everything than one who couldn’t learn. Lance knew precisely what he was doing in every instance, like this one. With his hands on Chris’s hips, Lance tongued Chris’s nipples, then his belly button, and Chris bowed like a reed in the wind as Lance’s mouth dipped lower. Chris arched back until he was flat on the bed, hanging half off it. If he wanted to move any further, he couldn’t anyway. Lance’s fingers were digging into his skin, keeping him still and there. Holding him right where he was.
Chris knew JC was watching, didn’t need to see him in order to discern that much, and he suspected JC knew a little bit about the taking of pleasure, too. It wasn’t a big deal then, letting JC see him controlled like this, even if it was by Lance. Wasn’t a major thing when Chris bent his back, and closed his eyes, and groaned, throaty and desperate, and begged a little bit, too. When Lance pulled away, Chris opened his eyes and sat up, panting hard, his dick even harder. Lance licked his lips and smiled again.
Chris had no idea what Lance was doing, but it was his plan, not Chris’s, so Chris was just going to go with it. Slowly, Chris got up off the bed and stood on wobbly knees, still breathless. When Lance reached for JC’s right hand, Chris took the left, and held it, threading their fingers together, like back in the hot tub. JC looked at Lance first then turned to Chris, and his mouth stayed open, like it wanted to say something but didn’t know what. Instead, Chris kissed him and kept kissing until JC’s lips were swollen and wet, his blue eyes still unnerved. JC was infinitely kissable, it seemed, so Lance tucked two fingers against JC’s jaw, turning him, and kissed him, too. Between them, Chris watched the tongues pass and glide along each other then spiral together. Chris kept his fingers threaded with JC’s, and squeezed.
Chris didn’t even realise he was singing until Lance started humming with him, low and rumbling. But Chris didn’t stop, just moved his mouth over the whorls of JC’s ear, and touched his fingers to JC’s throat, his jaw, combed JC’s silky hair with soft touches. JC seemed dazed, overwhelmed, and Chris knew that was how Lance liked his lovers. Overcome, awed. If the world wasn’t spinning off its axis, Lance wasn’t satisfied. There were few people Chris was willing to be that out of control with. He usually didn’t like it.
Gently, Chris was thrusting against JC’s thigh, couldn’t stop himself even when he became aware he was doing it. If he closed his eyes, he could still imagine Lance’s mouth on his dick. Chris jumped, though, when JC’s arm circled his waist, JC’s hand coming to rest at the small of Chris’s back. JC pushed, softly, and Chris shivered, feeling his cock skid over hard muscle. Chris placed his own hand on JC’s dick, and Lance looked up from his position at JC’s neck, smiling. JC was tense and panting softly, his throat marked with spots of redness.
It was only natural, after that, when they tumbled onto the bed. Chris rolled into the middle on his back and didn’t move, barely breathed, as JC settled on him, warm and lean and slippery with sweat. Chris puts his hands on JC’s narrow hips then slid them up JC’s back until JC arched like a cat, his eyes flickering shut. Behind him, Chris could see Lance hunched over. Chris smiled and waited for JC to realise what Lance was about to do.
“Oh,” JC said, looking at Chris now, a dazed but happy look on his face, and Chris grinned at him, returning his hands to JC’s hips and holding him there. Chris could feel JC’s dick press against him, leaking onto his chest and so hot that Chris was sure it’d leave an indent in his flesh. His own cock was slicking along Lance’s skin, held down by Lance’s weight as Lance sat on Chris’s legs and worked between JC’s.
Chris could imagine what Lance was doing to JC. Rimming him, tonguing him and probing inside, unembarrassed of it, too. Pressing the flat of his tongue in the crease of JC’s ass, dragging it up to the small of JC’s back then down again, to the tight ring of muscle or the soft skin behind JC’s balls. Chris could picture it easily, since Lance did it so often to him. Watching JC’s face as the pleasure flitted across it, Chris thought it was probably like looking in a mirror.
But Lance was a tease by nature and pulled back too soon, so Chris kissed JC when he groaned and thrust against Chris’s chest, helpless and wanton. Chris sympathised, though that didn’t stop him from smiling into JC’s mouth. He hoped JC would smile back, but he didn’t, just fluttered his eyes closed and breathed through his nose, concentrating.
“Do you bottom?” Lance asked quietly. JC nodded, pulling back, and the movement sent sprinkles of perspiration over Chris’s face. Chris opened his mouth and licked at his lips, tasting the salt and swallowing it into his body. “You feel like doing that?”
“Okay,” JC said and squirmed.
Chris nearly yelped when Lance’s hand circled his cock, rolling a condom down onto him. Chris blinked. He hadn’t thought that was what Lance meant, but then, his plan was obviously being made up as they went along. So Chris waited, shivering slightly as Lance squirted cool lube over him, chilly even through the latex. He waited as Lance moved onto JC, preparing him too, and Chris kept his eyes on JC’s face. JC actually looked back, wearing an expression Chris couldn’t decipher, but closed his eyes again when Lance guided fingers into him. Chris’s own ass ached, wanting to feel the same filling pressure, but Chris could wait.
Chris’s eyes didn’t waiver from JC’s pinched face as Lance guided JC back, one hand on JC’s slim waist and the other lowered to Chris’s cock, holding it as it nudged at JC’s body. Chris wasn’t going to last at all once he was inside, he could feel the orgasm tickling his balls already, but it was going to be an amazing second or two, this he could tell already. Chris held his breath until he was in the way in then exhaled sharply. Okay, good, good, he thought. He hadn’t come yet, even though he could feel the hum of orgasm clinging to his balls.
But Chris had to bite his cheek hard when Lance fitted himself against JC’s back, an arm hooked around JC’s belly and holding him, the other arm folded across JC’s chest, hand on JC’s right shoulder. JC leaned his head back, mouth open, and Lance twisted until they could kissed, tongues slicking together. Slowly, they began to rock as JC arched back into Lance’s arms, and Chris’s dick slid in and out, unhurried but so close anyway. Chris gnawed until he tasted blood, rusty and hot in his mouth, and he reached out with one arm and gripped JC’s cock, squeezing it, trying to fit into the rhythm. JC gasped, sinking back onto Chris, and JC put his hands flat on Chris’s chest, digging his blunt nails into Chris’s skin, wriggling desperately. Chris could feel his eyes rolling back into his own head, and he thought, no fair, not yet. Then came hard, lifting his hips off the bed despite having two grown men sitting on his body and hissing through clenched teeth, the taste of blood all over his tongue.
“One down,” Lance said and grinned at Chris over JC’s shoulder, biting at JC’s neck until JC shivered hard. Chris could feel it like it was hardwired to his cock, and it probably was, Chris realised, as JC moved off him, sliding forward on Chris’s chest, wet like rain and hot like fire. JC leaned down and licked across Chris’s mouth, and Chris let him.
Lance removed the condom from Chris’s sensitive dick then sucked it into his mouth, cleaning him. Chris growled, trying to bat him away, because it was sensory overload, way too soon for his overworked cock. Lance laughed and patted it gently, cupping Chris’s balls in the palm of his hand and holding them for a few seconds before letting go.
Chris put his hand back on JC’s cock and parted his legs for Lance, who knew what he wanted. Finally, Chris thought, and pulled his knees back as Lance slid two fingers inside him, slick with lube. Lance added a third, and the shock of it disrupted Chris’s rhythm, his hand fumbling over JC’s dick. JC looked back, opening his eyes wide, then turned to Chris. Chris grinned but lost the smile quickly when Lance slid his dick inside, hot and fast, nearly bucking JC off Chris’s chest with the determined force of his thrust.
“Oh, fuck me,” Chris muttered and tightened his legs around Lance’s waist, crossing his ankles at the small of Lance’s back. Deeper, he wanted to say, but tugged on JC’s dick instead until JC lifted off him and hovered there, uncertainty written all over him. “Move up, C. Just, right here,” Chris said and held JC’s dick until it bumped Chris on the chin. This was going to kill his neck, but Chris didn’t think JC would last long enough for it to be a big deal, so Chris opened his mouth and took JC inside, shallow due to the angle, but JC didn’t seem to mind.
Lance was thrusting smoothly, driving in and out and hitting all the sweet spots. Chris pushed back when he could, and when he couldn’t, tightened his ass around Lance’s dick, which pulled a groan from Lance’s mouth every time. Chris continued sucking and swallowing, tonguing the head of JC’s cock then tracing around the ridge of circumcision scar before putting his mouth back on the tip and pushing down on it, lips drawn into a taut circle.
“Oh,” JC said, touching his hand to Chris’s forehead, and he came just like that, quiet and controlled, warmth flooding Chris’s mouth. Chris swallowed and kept swallowing until JC slumped, pushing back across Chris’s belly and kissing Chris’s mouth when he opened it. Chris could feel Lance picking up the pace, hips moving quickly, in and out until Lance groaned. Chris kept himself tight, squeezing every last bit of Lance out, then let go as Lance slumped forward, snuffling into JC’s neck. When he caught his breath, Lance pulled out gently and left the bed, ducking into the bathroom.
“He’ll get a damp cloth and wipe himself clean, then he’ll lie down and pass out. Fucking routine,” Chris whispered, mouth to JC’s ear, and JC smiled a bit at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He just rolled off Chris, leaving Chris in the middle. Chris didn’t try to say anything else to him because it was kind of weird, he guessed, and JC was the type of guy to need time for things to settle, to sort the world out in his head.
Lance came out with a damp washcloth. Chris smirked at him until Lance sighed; it was a battle of wits they played often. Chris didn’t see why he should help if one infuriating look was enough to persuade Lance to do it for him. Chris spread his legs helpfully then waved him down for a quick kiss. “Asshole,” Lance said affectionately.
JC took the cloth and cleaned himself, sitting on the edge of the bed, and he took so long that Lance passed out, already snoring softly as he lay flat as a board on his belly. JC got up and went into the bathroom then came out again, pausing in the middle of the room. Chris watched him quietly, wondering what he was doing, then said, lowly, “come on, man. It’s late. Climb in.”
JC glanced at him, face blank again, then nodded, and he settled down beside Chris, clinging to the edge of the bed. Chris lay there, flat on his back, and counted sheep until finally, listening to the counter rhythm of Lance and JC breathing, he drifted off.
~~~
When Chris woke again, it was early. JC was up, moving across the room noiselessly, like a shadow or a ghost or something equally unsettling, light enough that he didn’t even wake Lance. Outside, it was still raining, the drops hitting the glass with loud plunks, and Chris shivered when lightning flashed over the walls. He really hated storms.
JC left the room, and Chris waited a moment before following him, patting Lance back to sleep when he woke, lifting his head and blinking confusedly. Lance tried to say something, and Chris hummed in agreement, not sure what he just said yes to but Lance put his head back down, gone again into sleep. Quietly, Chris grabbed a pair of boxers and stepped into them in the hallway before padding down the stairs just in time to see JC duck into the kitchen, dressed only in worn flannel pants. His skin glimmered in the early morning gloom, a beacon in the raging storm. Chris was still unsettled about it, the rain and JC.
JC walked outside, sliding the glass door open and stepping into the pouring rain. The house shook with the rumble of thunder, and Chris stood in the window, a hand against the cool glass. It was stupid, he knew it was dumb, but he didn’t want to go out there, and JC knew it, if he was even aware his getaway hadn’t been as successful as he hoped. Chris knocked his knuckles against the window, and JC looked back.
Come in, Chris mouthed, and JC shook his head, just a little. Please, Chris added. It was dark and wet and terrible outside, and Chris didn’t understand why JC insisted on standing in it. If nothing else, JC should have been worried about lightning and the big tree in the backyard that Lance loved. But JC didn’t fret about things like that, never had. His fears were smaller, like the prick of a needle in his skin. Chris was afraid of the world when looking at it from above.
Finally, Chris slid open the door. “C,” he said, “come in. You’re gonna catch your death.”
“You don’t catch things from rain, Chris,” JC said. He looked up as he said it, arms crossed in front of him, and Chris knew his eyes were closed anyway. If JC didn’t have the look of the sky memorised by now, Chris would be surprised. “What was that, Chris?”
“Upstairs?” Chris asked before he had a chance to deny he knew what JC was talking about. JC nodded, dropping his chin to his neck then casting another look backwards, water spiralling down his furrowed brow. “That was. Us,” he said carefully. Chris barely understood it, barely believed it still, but whether he did or not no longer mattered. What was done, was done, and if it was going to work, then Chris had to admit it could. In his head, he was almost there. “Me, you and Lance. Like it’s gonna be from now on.”
“Really,” JC said, and his voice was neither here nor there. Not precisely a question, but more like a cutting remark, something toeing the edge of angry, and Chris didn’t like that, not coming from JC, who deserved to be happier than he was. “I shouldn’t have come, Chris. I’m messing things up, balances I shouldn’t upset.”
Chris closed his eyes to another burst of lightning, and when he opened them, JC was pushing him inside, a hand against his shoulder. Chris stepped back but didn’t go any further. “You know I’m only with him because I got there first, right?”
“Chris,” JC said, and he sounded horrified by the suggestion. JC, for all his faults and problems with relationships, believed in forever, which is why he always came back bleeding from the battlefield. Nobody else seemed to share his faith in true love triumphing in the end. No one but Lance and, though he’d only begrudgingly admit it, Chris too, on some deep and terrifying level. Chris knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that there was no better place to be.
“No, I don’t mean it like that. It’s, like, fuck, I hate talking like this, but Lance has room enough to love us both, to be with us both, and I’m here alone because you never made a move, JC. He waited for you, we all waited for you to go to him, but you didn’t.” Chris looked at the wall. The small flicker of pain he saw cross JC’s intentionally stoic face was enough to cause himself hurt, too. “And I did. God help me, C. I went to him.”
“I wasn’t ready,” JC admitted sadly. “To come out, to be with him.”
“That’s just it, C. You’re ready now. You’ve come into your own, and you came out to everyone that mattered. Man, when I heard your parents knew, I was so proud of you.” Chris touched his hand to JC’s shoulder cautiously, and JC nodded, carefully placing his fingers over Chris’s. “There was a time, you know, when I thought maybe you and I –”
Chris’s voice trailed off.
“Right at the beginning. Yeah,” JC said, nodding with a small, sad smile. Chris could see his eyes were glossy, even in the dim light, and JC blinked rapidly, which convinced him. “I was halfway in love with you then, you know. But I was even less ready. After LA, I didn’t know who I was anymore, what I was. It was so messed up, all of it. I was so messed up.”
“This will work, C. Us. It shouldn’t, I mean, with normal people it wouldn’t stand a chance, but that’s them and we’re us. It’s just adding sex into it. There was no difference between Lance and I before and after, other than the sex, and I liked being with you,” Chris admitted, feeling his lungs empty of air as he pushed out the words. Inside, his stomach was churning, and he knew if he messed up then JC would leave. Would go back out into that stormy world, find another guy who treated him like shit, and pretend it was normal. That he was happy.
“Just don’t leave,” Chris said, “please.”
JC tipped his head but nodded. “I wasn’t going to, really.”
“Okay, okay, good.” Chris smiled at him, and JC smiled back. Chris’s legs felt like jelly, and outside, it was still storming. He realised, quite suddenly, that the power was actually out, since the microwave was no longer flashing the time, and if JC sensed his unease pique, he didn’t do anything but let Chris take his hand and lead him upstairs.
“What’re you doing?” Lance mumbled when they came in, rubbing his cheek against the pillow sleepily as he rolled onto his back, eyes half-open as he looked at them. But when he tried to sit up, Chris put a hand on his shoulder and lead JC by his hip into the bed, watching him fit against Lance snugly. “Mm. Hi, Jayce. You stayed.”
“No place else to be,” JC admitted and kissed him hesitantly on the lips, but Lance just smiled, nodded and drifted off to sleep again, snores already rolling from his mouth. JC looked up, and Chris laughed quietly, rolling his eyes for good measure. Good old Lance, Chris thought, never seemed to have a fear in the world because he believed he could control it.
Maybe, Chris was willing to admit, he could.
Fin.
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