please master can I can I kiss your ankles and your soul        -- Allen Ginsberg

Justin, they all agreed, was not always the easiest person to get along with. Usually, he was the sweetest and most charming person in the world, all smiles and affable grace and easy playfulness, but there were times when his head would tilt and his eyes would flare and his jaw would clench, and everyone who'd spent any amount of time around them would know that it was time to duck and cover. It didn't really bother the rest of the guys, they were used to it, but they heard the whispering sometimes, and went out of their way to be extra-agreeable when Justin was in one of his moods, to cover for it a little. It was just the way things were.

Lance started to realize that it had been a long time since one of Justin's serious temper fits when they'd been on the set for some video or another, and Justin had turned and knocked the tweezers out of the makeup girl's hand. "Jesus," said Joey, and rolled his eyes. "Justin, don't be a cunt."

"Look, I don't think it's unreasonable to expect that someone who fucking works for us should actually take the time to learn what the hell they're doing --"

Joey turned to Chris with the far-too-familiar "Chris, do something about the Infant" look. Lance was expecting Chris to cuff Justin upside the head, or drag him off to kick his ass, but what Chris actually did was somehow more impressive. All he did was reach over and circle one of Justin's biceps with one hand. Justin stopped in mid-sentence and his mouth snapped shut. "Justin, hush," Chris said, and Justin nodded. "Behave for the makeup people, they don't get paid to put up with your shit." Justin nodded again and sat down in the makeup chair, submitting quietly to having his eyebrows shaped.

That was about when Lance started thinking that Chris and Justin might be fucking.

He watched for a few months, gathering his evidence. The way that Justin always seemed to look to Chris for approval could have been just Justin's younger-brother hero-worship of Chris, the same thing that had always been there since day one, but it seemed more pointed, once Lance noticed. The way that Chris spent so much time watching Justin's behaviour, always reaching in and checking it just when it got to be too much even when Chris himself was on a rampage -- well, that was how it always had been; Chris was the one who herded them all. But Lance started to notice the undercurrent between them. First he noticed, then he studied, and even then, he couldn't decide.

When they were on a one-night break in the middle of western America and JC and Joey had managed to apparently find the one club in the entire state that was worth heading to, Lance was ready to go out with them, until he heard Chris toss out a casual "staying in and reading tonight, I'm feeling old", and Justin's near-immediate echo of "yeah, I'm pretty tired, gonna stick around too." The chance to have the question answered once and for all was too great to be passed up. "You guys go on ahead," he said to JC and Joey as they headed out of the suite. "I'll be along in a while. Don't wait up for me."

JC looked at Lance, then over his shoulder at the door to Chris's room, where Justin had disappeared as well while everyone was getting dressed. "Sure," he said, and then grinned. "Take pictures."

"You wish," Lance said, and then grinned back, because apparently he wasn't the only one who was thinking it.

He opened the door before waiting for a "come in", planning on using some excuse about one of his shirts having gotten packed in with Chris's stuff. Walking in on one of the guys in the middle of getting some action was always good for some breakfast teasing for the next week. Walking in when it was two of them getting some action together would be worth it for the next month.

Except there wasn't really anything going on. Chris was sitting at the in-room table, reading a book, and Justin was --

Kneeling. Kneeling on the floor next to Chris, with his head bowed, calmer and quieter than Lance had seen him in years, and as Lance watched, Chris dropped one hand to stroke the back of Justin's neck. "Okay," Chris said, and without looking up, Justin reached up to turn the page for Chris.

It was a beautiful and intimate moment, and it made Lance's skin crawl. Justin wasn't wearing a shirt, and Lance could see even red welts on his back. A band of black leather was cinched around his right bicep, and as Chris rubbed a palm over Justin's head, Lance could see the edges of a matching band around Chris's left bicep.

"What the fuck?" Lance blurted, before he could think about it. Chris's head snapped up, and the hand that was petting Justin's hair stopped. Justin's shoulders tensed, and it seemed as though his skin was quivering with the need to react, but he didn't lift his head or move from his kneeling position.

"Lance," Chris said. Something crossed his face -- worry, or guilt, or shame, Lance thought, but he couldn't tell. "I thought you were going out with JC and Joey?"

"I, uh, yeah." Lance crossed the room and looked down at Justin. Seen up close, the marks were deliberate and even, applied by a heavy hand. "Justin, what the fuck? Who the hell did this to you?" His knees were shaking just a little, and he was terrified that he knew precisely who'd done that to Justin. He frowned and thought: no, benefit of the doubt, I can't see Chris ever doing that to anybody.

It was possible, though, that that they'd all been wrong. Chris had always been the guardian, but nobody could argue that he didn't have his dark side.

Justin didn't move, didn't even tilt his head, but Lance could see him tip pleading eyes up to Chris's face. Chris sighed and reached down, sliding the leather band down Justin's arm. "All right, go ahead," Chris said, softly. "You knew it would happen eventually."

The minute the armband fell into Chris's hand, it was like a sea change. All of the calm bled away from Justin, and he reared back onto his feet and shoved Lance with one hand. "Knock next time, Bass, for the love of God, we close doors for a reason. What the fuck?"

That was familiar Justin again. Something unpleasant turned over in Lance's stomach at the thought that anyone might have that much control over his friend, to make him change like that. "Justin." He lifted a hand to grab Justin's wrist before Justin could shove him again, and Justin made a little tight snarling noise. "Who's been beating you up?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Justin sounded disgusted. "Nobody's beating me up, I'm not in need of any sort of intervention, and you're, you know, really intruding on personal time, so if you wouldn't mind fucking off?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Door's right behind you, man."

Lance ignored Justin and looked over at Chris. "Chris, did you --"

"Lance, I said, fuck off." Justin pointed at the door. "Getting kind of irritated here."

"Go ahead and tell him it was my fault, J." Chris scrubbed a hand over his face and slouched a little further in the chair. Something showed in his face. He didn't want to think about what Chris might have to be guilty about. "It's what he already thinks he's going to hear, go ahead and say it. You don't have to defend me."

"Fuck that shit, you think I don't know how bad this looks? Lance, trust me, just turn around and walk away and forget you ever saw this."

Lance turned away from Chris and looked at Justin. "Look, if you were just looking to pick up without having to worry about being exposed or something, you could have come to me, you could have come to any of us, you didn't need to go through some sort of sick --"

Justin's eyes blazed. "That's not it. Look, I didn't expect any of you guys to understand, which was why I didn't want to say anything, but will you at least shut up long enough to listen? It's not a sex thing, it's not a pain thing, it's not any of that, okay? That's not what he's giving me. If you've never been there, you wouldn't get it. Couldn't get it. You can think I'm a sick fuck all you want, but don't you go putting this on someone else. It's not him. It's me."

"Justin, enough," Chris said, and Justin closed his mouth instantly, his eyes dropping again. Instantly, the familiar Justin was gone, replaced by the man who'd been wearing Justin's skin when Lance had opened the door. The worst part was that it was the exact same easy and casual tone that Chris always used to shut Justin up. Lance bit his lip. "Why don't you go and refill the ice bucket?"

That should have gotten a whining protest -- it always got a whining protest when someone asked Justin to do something, unless he was in a really charming mood, and he obviously wasn't -- but Justin just snapped up straight and nodded. Once Justin was out of the room, Chris took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them again and looked at Lance. "Don't push him over this, Lance," he said. "It took him this long to get to the point where he's comfortable at all with it. Don't push it. If you wind up making him think like you disapprove --"

"I'm having some trouble figuring out why I shouldn't disapprove," Lance said. "From where I'm standing, this looks an awful lot like you beating the shit out of him. How long has this been going on?"

Chris groaned. "Fuck, of all the questions in the world you had to ask that one, didn't you." He closed his eyes again. "Since he was sixteen. Try not to hit the face, okay? We've got a show tomorrow night."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Chris." Certain occasions just called for blasphemy. Lance's fingers curled into fists. "Lynn is going to kill you."

"Lynn knows, okay? She didn't then, but she knows now. Will you just listen to me for a second?" Chris waited for Lance's reluctant nod. "J'll tell you that he forced me into it, you probably believe that I forced him into it, but it's not true. We both sort of fell into things. But it's working, okay? It's not sick and it's not crazy and it gives him what he needs. Don't go messing with things if you don't understand what they're there for."

Chris was still Chris, even if Lance was experiencing the sudden desire to kick his ass, and Lance had to struggle to overcome the conditioned response to just shut up and listen to what Chris was saying. "How the hell am I supposed to take this, Chris? I walk in here and Justin's got whip marks on his back and he's fucking kneeling at your feet, and you tell me that this has been going on for -- God, for years. What the hell am I supposed to think?"

Justin's voice, calmer, came from the door. "Well, maybe if you quit your preaching and actually bothered to ask what was going on instead of throwing around accusations, you might know what you were supposed to think." He crossed the room with the bucket of ice in his hands, stopped next to Chris, threw a quick and almost defiant look at Lance, and then quite deliberately knelt again at Chris's side to offer it. His spine was straight; his head was bowed, and his knees were spread wide. Lance's back ached just looking at the position.

Chris sighed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose before reaching down and taking the ice bucket from Justin. Justin placed his hands behind his back, one hand grasping the other wrist. "Thank you for allowing me to serve," he said, and the hair on the back of Lance's neck stood on end at the sound of it.

"Justin," Chris said, softly, and touched the back of his hand to Justin's cheek. "We agreed, not in front --"

"I'm not ashamed." Justin shook his head. "I used to be, when we first made that rule, but I'm not anymore." He tipped his head back up to look at Chris. "Please, Master, may I have your armband back? This is very hard without it."

Chris turned his head to cup Justin's cheek with his full hand. It was a tender gesture, and it made Lance's chest ache. "Gimme a minute first." Chris looked up at Lance again. "You don't really get it, do you, Lance? At all."

"No," Lance said. The look on Justin's face when he called Chris "master" made him want to grab Justin by the waistband and drag him backwards out of the room. The look on Chris's face made him want to go find the other guys and dump this in their lap, because he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to think, because that was Chris and not some asshole like JC's latest ex-boyfriend and Lance couldn't figure out what the hell was going on.

"All right," Chris said, and looked back down at Justin. "Yes or no, Justin. You know what I'm asking."

Justin's chin tilted in that way that was so familiar to Lance from a thousand afternoons of stubborn temper tantrums. "You already have my answer. Master."

Lance bit his lip. "Look, guys, I'll just -- I'm sorry, I didn't --"

Chris didn't take his eyes from Justin's, but he spoke to Lance. "No, Lance. Before you pass judgement, you stay and see what we mean." He took the armband that he'd been tossing idly from hand to hand and slipped it up Justin's arm, to settle it once more around Justin's bicep. Justin hissed softly as the leather slid home, and his eyes slitted shut. Lance thought that it must be the look that Justin wore during orgasm, and then the tension in Justin's shoulders -- the tension that was always in his shoulders every time Lance saw him -- eased and ebbed.

"Have a seat, Lance," Chris invited, indicating the other chair at the table. Justin wasn't the only one who'd changed suddenly; this Chris was missing the tension that had been there a moment before as well, and the shadows that had been in his eyes when Lance had accused him were gone. Lance blinked a few times, and then slowly and hesitantly sank into the chair.

"Chris," he said, and then bit his lip. "Look, this is really weird. Will you believe me if I say that I trust you two to not be stupid about stuff and say that I want to leave? I -- I'm sorry I overreacted. I just -- I worry about all you guys sometimes, and when I see something that makes me think that one of you might not be okay --" He didn't believe a word of what he was saying, but he knew that he couldn't handle this alone, not without the other guys, and he didn't want to risk making it worse by trying to make it better. Whatever "it" was.

"Yeah, I know. Which is really kind of funny, considering the amount of time we spent looking after you in Germany." Chris grinned at him a little, and Lance couldn't help but smile a little in return, no matter how awkward he felt. "You're not convinced, though. I know you're not. You're allowed to be uncomfortable, Lance, it's cool. But I don't want you to walk out of here thinking that Justin's some kind of -- I don't know, Trilby to my Svengali or something." At the sound of Justin's name, Lance's eyes flickered automatically down to his bandmate kneeling on the floor, and looked back up at Chris's face immediately when he realized that Justin was just kneeling there, eyes cast downwards, waiting for something. It made him uncomfortable to even look. "Justin, Lance doesn't have a drink yet."

Justin was on his feet in a flash, crossing the room to the mini-bar. "What would you like to drink, Lance?" he asked, and damn if that wasn't eagerness to please in his voice.

"Um," Lance said. "Rum and coke, I guess?"

Justin nodded, and was back with Lance's drink in a moment. He knelt back down, this time next to Lance's chair, and presented the glass for Lance's approval.

Lance winced. His uncertainty must have shown in his face as he looked back at Chris, because Chris nodded. "Take it," he said, and Lance reached down and did. It was mixed just the way he liked it, the exact ratio of soda to alcohol, and Lance took one sip and then set it aside when his throat threatened to seize up against it.

"Thank you for allowing me to serve," Justin whispered, and lifted his eyes to Lance's face. Lance nearly gasped at the look on Justin's face; calm and peaceful, like all of the crap that Justin had been carrying around with him for the past few months had been set aside. In that second, Justin was suddenly beautiful in a way that he hadn't been since Lance had first met him.

"You see," Chris said while Lance drowned in Justin's eyes, "Justin told me a while back that he didn't really like who this business was turning him into. We worked out a few things around the concept of 'being a civilized human being'." Chris reached out and rubbed a hand over Justin's head again, and Justin let his eyes close. "That's not all of it, of course. But it's a part of it."

Lance shook his head. "Are you saying --"

"Justin," Chris said, softly. "Tell Lance what I'm saying."

"It's easier when there's someone else there to hold it for you," Justin said, and opened his eyes again to look up at Lance. "It's easier when there's that image of someone inside your head to compare what you're doing with what they'd approve of. It's easier when you're reminded every time you put on a shirt."

"Jesus," Lance said again, but this time it was because he was starting to understand.

"I never touched him, Lance," Chris said. "Not like that. Not like you're thinking. Not when he was sixteen, not when he was eighteen, not when he was twenty, not last fucking week. That's not what this is about. Any of it."

"Chris is the Master," Justin said, and Lance caught the tail-end of the glance that Justin shot under his eyelashes over to Chris, as though looking for permission to continue. Chris nodded. Justin tipped his eyes up to meet Lance's, and they were clear and rational. Some spark of Justin flared underneath the unrelenting submission in those eyes, and Justin sat back on his heels. "Lance, I can't explain it to you. You figured out the right way and the wrong way to treat people when you were little, and that hasn't changed much since then. I -- I didn't, not really. I can do it if I have to, but it's harder for me. I like people and I don't want to fuck things up, but -- if I'm not pretending, if I'm not being someone else, I can't do it really well. It's easier if I just give it all to Chris, let Chris deal with it and figure it out for me and tell me what I'm supposed to do. When Chris has me, I know that I'm not going to fuck it up too badly. When I'm serving someone else, that's when I can be me without having to worry that I'm fucking someone over. Give it to someone else and let him hold it so that I don't have to." He studied Lance's face, as though looking for that one bit of understanding.

Lance sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, then looked at Chris. "Lynn knows?"

"Lynn knows." Chris was watching them both carefully, as though he was ready to leap out of his chair and stand in between Justin and Lance if necessary. Lance tried to reconcile that fierce protectiveness with the marks on Justin's skin. "She doesn't get all of it, but Justin tells her everything, and she knows what it does for him. She hasn't turned me into the cops yet, and she hasn't taken me off her Christmas card list."

"All right." Lance sighed again and shook his head. He tried not to look at Justin, who'd dropped out of that painful-looking kneeling position but was still sitting on the floor, far closer to Lance than to Chris. Chris said that it wasn't about sex, Justin said that it wasn't about sex, and he believed them, he did, but he didn't know how they did it, because Justin shirtless on the floor looking up at him was maybe the fucking hottest thing he'd ever seen in his entire life, and he was trying really hard not to think about that. "I don't get it, but all right."

"Justin," Chris said, quietly. Justin's head snapped up like a dog hearing a whistle, and Lance bit his lip as Justin rose instantly back up to his knees. Spine straight, head bowed, knees spread wide, sitting back on his heels and lacing his fingers together behind his back; Lance's knees ached in sympathy just to watch. Lance let his eyes rest on Justin's face, on the comfortable peace that rested there, and wondered if he could possibly believe what Justin was saying.

Justin was closer to him than he was to Chris, and that sent Lance spinning into indecision. Justin seemed to have attached himself to Lance, not to Chris, and if it had been anyone else Lance would have said it was for protection. But dammit, it was Chris, the one who'd always been the guardian and the shield, and he couldn't quite conceive of a worldview in which anyone would need protection from Chris. Justin said that he wanted this, that he needed this, but Justin's body-language was fucked enough that Lance couldn't read it to see whether that was true or not.

He lifted his eyes deliberately to meet Chris's. Chris just watched, still and quiet the way that he almost never managed to pull off, as though daring Lance to say something, to object. There was a challenge in Chris's face, and Lance could feel his own spine stiffen. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and rested it on the back of Justin's head, running his fingers over the soft stubble. Justin arched underneath his hand like a cat being petted. Lance held his breath at the soft purr Justin made, and nearly imperceptibly, Chris smiled.

"You're wondering what it's like, isn't it," Chris said. "To have someone kneeling for you."

Lance's imagination was providing him with enough suggestions. His mouth was suddenly dry. "I'm not into that scene."

"Justin's into you. He's been thinking about it for years." Lance flicked his eyes down to look at Justin again; the back of Justin's neck, all he could really see, flushed red. Lance wondered if Chris had been supposed to say that.

Justin's skin was warm under Lance's hand. He imagined that he could feel Justin's heartbeat, loud and uncertain. Or maybe that was his own. "Chris, I don't want to play this game."

"It isn't a game." Chris hadn't moved. "It isn't a game to me, and it isn't a game to Justin. It's serious and it's real and Justin hasn't trusted himself to say a word to you on his own without fucking it up. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Lance knew what he thought Chris was saying, but he didn't know what it meant. He'd been idly crushing on Justin for years, but never let himself consider it. Justin was too high-maintenance, he'd always assumed, and he stifled a laugh at the thought that this was the definition of high-maintenance. And then his mind presented him with another image of Justin, naked and helpless, sprawled out before him on the bed, and he had to swallow against the sudden surge of desire.

Chris was watching them both as though he knew exactly what was going through Lance's mind. Maybe he did. "I never touched him, Lance," Chris murmurred. "Would you like to?"

"God," Lance muttered, and meant it like he hadn't meant anything in years. "What the hell do you want me to say?" He let his eyes fall again, and traced the line of Justin's neck with one finger. One of the half-healed welts ran along Justin's right shoulder, and Lance stroked the reddened flesh with one fingertip. Justin hissed as though it hurt, and Lance stopped, until Justin made an unhappy noise and butted his shoulder back against Lance's hand. Touch, Justin seemed to say. Please.

The degree to which the sight, the scent of Justin aroused him made Lance suddenly squirm, and he looked back up at Chris. "Are all of these questions part of the game, too? Am I just some sort of other thing to use against him?"

"No," Justin burst out, an uncontrolled syllable, and then dropped his head again. "I'm sorry for speaking out of turn, Master," he blurted, quickly and quietly.

Chris sighed. He ignored Justin's apology. "Lance, if you're that uncomfortable with this, just get up and leave, and we'll pretend that none of this ever happened."

"I can't do that," Lance said. He spread his palm over Justin's shoulder. "I can't pretend stuff like this didn't happen."

"You were the one who walked in on us."

Lance was beginning to regret that he ever had. "What do you want me to say, Chris?" he repeated. "That I'm turned on as hell by this? Yeah, okay, I am, who wouldn't be? But I don't get it and I don't like it and it makes me really uncomfortable, this whole thing."

Chris tipped his head to one side. "Why?"

The question left Lance stumbling for an answer. "Because -- it just seems wrong. People aren't property. You can't just -- hand Justin over to me like he's a shirt that we all share, or something. You can't make those decisions for him."

"Lance." There was compassion in Chris's voice. Lance suddenly wondered how Chris had figured all of this out, how Chris and Justin had gotten to this point in the first place. "Let me ask you a question. Have you ever, in the entire time that we've all known each other, known anyone who could make Justin do something that he didn't want to do?"

"Yes," Lance said without hesitation. An hour ago he would have said that of course nobody ever made Justin do anything against his will. An hour ago he hadn't put together all the times that Chris had checked Justin's behaviour, all the times that Chris had stopped Justin from doing some things and made him do others.

Chris shook his head. "That's not what I mean." Chris seemed to understand what Lance meant, immediately. "I'm not talking about the little shit like where we're going for dinner or which shirt to wear. I mean the big things. Have you ever seen a time when Justin rolled over and let something big go?"

Before Lance could speak, Justin tipped his chin up to look at Chris. That must have been some sort of signal, because Chris nodded at him, and Justin turned to look Lance directly in the eye. "Lance," Justin said. "If you can't understand that this is what I want -- what I need -- then you're not paying enough attention."

Justin's gaze was implausibly blue. Lance felt as though he could stumble on the edges in it and drown. "What do you want from me, Justin?"

Justin just smiled. "Whatever you want to give me."

It was the answer that Lance should have been expecting, but the simplicity of it made his breath catch. It was like a sunburst behind his eyes. He'd always had days when he was grateful for the other guys, grateful that when he was overloaded or overwhelmed he could step aside and pass it over and someone would always pick it up for him. Justin, if what he was understanding was the truth, lived with that constantly. Chris was always there behind him, even if Chris wasn't even in the room, ready to step in and set things right, and in that one flash of insight Lance understood what Justin meant when he said that serving Chris let him be most himself.

"No repercussions, Lance," Chris said. "No shame to getting up and walking out. If you stay, you stay because you want to."

Lance closed his eyes for half a second before curling his hand around Justin's head. For a minute, he was tempted to pull Justin sideways, encourage him to lay his head in Lance's lap, but he contented himself with just stroking the tip of his thumb over the pulse just below Justin's ear. "I don't know what to do," he said, and that wasn't what he had been planning to say, but it didn't matter, because he suddenly knew without having been told that the only way the whole thing worked between Chris and Justin was that nobody ever held anything back.

"It's okay." Chris sounded almost relieved. "Justin does."

Unprompted, Justin let his head rest against Lance's thigh, turning his head to press a kiss just above Lance's knee. Lance could feel it burning his skin even through the fabric of his pants. His fingers tightened against Justin's cheekbone, and he could feel the edges of Justin's mouth quirking upwards in a smile.

"I'll be outside," Chris said, softly, and picked up his book. "Justin, come with me for a second first?"

Lance liked to think that there was a hint of reluctance as Justin pulled away and stood, but he knew that he was probably imagining it. Justin had been obeying Chris for so long that it was a deeply-ingrained instinct. He folded his hands in his lap and studied them as Chris and Justin slipped from the room and into the main room of the suite they were staying in. If he looked up, he could just see them past the door; Justin had inches of height on Chris, but Chris had always been able to make himself seem taller when he needed to.

No matter how hard he tried not to listen, he couldn't help but hear. Neither Chris nor Justin had ever grasped the concept of sotto voce. "We can play this one of two ways, Justin," Chris said. "Either it's just whatever again, or you belong to him tonight. Your call."

Lance watched his hands so that he didn't have to look up and see Justin. "With your permission, Master," Justin finally said from the other room. "I don't -- I don't want to do this wrong, not like it went down with Brit. I don't want to risk it. I want to -- please, Master, let me belong to him tonight."

The word "master" from Justin's lips still sat uneasily in Lance's ears, but he thought he might understand what Justin meant by it now. A little. "All right," Chris said. "You have to explain your safeword to him. And if he pushes you farther than you're ready to let him take you, use it, you stubborn creature, or I'll take it out of your hide later." A half-second pause, while Lance tried to control his resentment at the thought that he might not treat Justin right, and then Chris repeated, with a curious emphasis, "That's an order, Justin. You will not fuck him up." Lance realized that Chris was just as worried about him as he was about Justin. The thought fit like a pair of jeans that was a size too small, and he probed at it to see if he could realize what made him so uncomfortable.

"No, Master," Justin said. Lance could hear, entirely unbidden, the bit of petulance riding beneath it. Chris sighed, and his voice was deathly serious.

"Justin, I know you pride yourself on being able to take anything I can dish out, I know how much you pride yourself on only having safeworded once, and I let you get away with that pride because I know it's there and I can work with it. If you're going to pull that shit with Lance, I'll send you back to your room and this will never happen again."

"No!" The sound of Justin's voice made Lance look up against his best judgement. He could see them both in profile, and neither one realized that he could hear or see them. It made him feel like an interloper even more than walking in had. "Master, please, I'll behave, I swear to you."

A long moment while Chris studied Justin's face, and then he nodded. "All right." He reached up and slid the leather band down his arm. The skin was marked red underneath it; Lance wondered how long Chris had been wearing it underneath his clothes. He held the circlet in his hand, lightly, and met Justin's eyes again. "Justin."

Justin didn't say anything, but Lance could see the way that he leaned into Chris, like a plant's leaves grew towards the sun. Justin had always been the phototropic one. Chris brought his free hand up to Justin's cheek, and Justin's eyes closed, then flew open again as Chris rose on tiptoe to press his lips against Justin's. From where Lance was sitting, it was a short and brutal kiss, and he imagined that he could smell the intensity that suddenly crackled between them. Justin was breathless and baffled when Chris let him go, and it was the first time Lance had seen Justin stunned speechless in years. That one look was enough to convince him that Chris was telling the truth about never having touched Justin sexually.

Chris placed the armband in Justin's hands. "This will always be mine," he said, and suddenly Lance knew that Chris knew he was watching. "I'm giving it to you as a sign. You will take it in there and you will present it to him, and you will obey him for the night as you would obey me." Justin's face was uncertain, almost scared, but he nodded. "Tell him to bring it back to me tomorrow morning. Go, now."

Justin stood there for a minute, and Lance thought that he saw conflicting desires written across his face. "Go," Chris repeated, and then brushed his fingertips over Justin's cheekbone. "I love you."

A second more, and then Justin turned his back on Chris and stepped back into the bedroom. Lance could only imagine how hard that was for him. Chris met Lance's eyes before fading backwards, and then Justin shut the door and it was just the two of them.

It was awkward for a second, the two of them just looking at each other, and then Justin crossed the room with quick and graceful steps and knelt at Lance's feet and oh, he hadn't known what awkward was, because that trumped it a thousandfold. Justin laid the armband on Lance's lap and said, "Sir, Master wishes me to tell you that this is a symbol that I belong to you tonight, and ask you to bring it back to him tomorrow."

"Yeah, I heard," Lance said. "You don't need to call me 'sir', Justin." The appellation felt ill-fitting. This was still Justin.

"Please, sir, let me," Justin said. He couldn't seem to meet Lance's eye. "It's easier that way."

"Is this easy for you?" Lance tried to imagine himself in Justin's place, kneeling and offering himself as fully as Justin was offering, and he couldn't even begin to put himself in Justin's skin.

"No, it's not," Justin said, and bit his lip. "None of this is easy for me, and none of it is comfortable, and I want it more than I could possibly try to explain to you, okay?"

Lance wasn't used to this Justin, this Justin whose thoughts weren't written across his face for those who knew how to look. He curled his fingers under Justin's chin and tipped his head back, wanting to look in Justin's eyes, but Justin wouldn't meet his. "Justin, look at me," he said, and Justin's shoulders tensed, but he did. It was only a second before they skittered off to look down and to the side, and it was only with what seemed like great effort that he made them rise again.

"Why is it hard to look at me?" Lance asked. Justin's eyes flicked down to his shoulders. "No, look at me. Stay looking at me. I want to see your eyes."

Justin's hands were locked together behind his back. For half a second, Lance thought that he might bolt, he was that tense, and he couldn't imagine why simple eye contact would disturb Justin that much. "I asked you a question, Justin, why is looking at me so difficult?"

"I don't know," Justin whispered.

It wasn't a good enough answer. Lance was beginning to realize what sort of power he'd been handed over Justin, what kind of keys to Justin's psyche, and he shook his head. "No," he said. "You know, you just don't want to tell me. Tell me."

Justin's eyes dropped again. "I've ... sort of been trained against it. Because if I look at you, it means that I have to be here. I can't just go inside my head."

The skin under his fingers was soft and pliable. He pulled Justin's chin up a little more, and was fascinated by the pale blush spreading over Justin's cheekbones. He'd always been the blusher of the group, not Justin. "Is that what you want? Not to be here? Not to be doing this?"

Justin's eyes got more round, and he shook his head. "No, no, that's not it. I just --" He bit his lip. Lance thought that he wanted to see Justin's eyes again, but didn't say anything. "Looking at you is more real than kneeling in front of you. I -- want you to do this. I don't want to have to think. I don't want to have the chance to mess it up. I don't want to let me get in the way."

Lance frowned, and picked through that slowly in his head. His first impulse was to be insulted, but he checked that; Justin wasn't trying to be insulting, he knew. And if it wasn't an insult, then it was an insight. He'd been trained against it, he'd said -- by Chris, Lance knew, and that thought made him frown, with a feeling that stabbed too close to being jealousy for his own comfort. And he really did believe that Chris wouldn't have done anything that wasn't in Justin's best interest, because Chris was one scary motherfucker when it came to being able to read minds, so the point of the whole thing must have been to let Justin explore the inside of his own head a bit, to strip away all of the trappings that came with being Justin Timberlake and let him figure out who he really was underneath all of it. A few more things began to make sense to him, and he let go of Justin's chin, chewing on his bottom lip as he kept pulling things together.

Unbidden, Justin bent over; his hands cupped Lance's ankle, and his lips brushed along the top of Lance's instep. It felt ritualized, like something Justin had done a thousand times, and suddenly it felt fucking wrong. Lance was certain that above all else, ritual was important but actually feeling what you were doing was even more important, and he didn't know if Justin was feeling it or was just going through the motions. "No," he said, firmly, and was surprised at the strength with which he spoke. "Start over."

Justin jerked back upright as though he'd been burned. Lance watched in fascination as Justin's even white teeth worried at his lower lip. "Sir, I didn't mean to touch you without permission, I just -- Master allows me to -- when we begin --"

So that was how Chris managed to deal with Justin looking like gang-rape waiting to happen without doing anything about it, Lance thought; Justin had to ask to touch first. "Chris isn't here, Justin," he said. "Put Chris away. Chris is outside. It's you and me in here, and if you're going to kneel to me it's going to be because you're kneeling to me. If all you want is a version of Chris who'll fuck you, you let me know, and I'll leave right now." He could feel his heart racing, but he kept his voice even. "We're going to do this my way. Tell me about your safeword."

"It's. If it's too much, if I need to come back, I say it and we stop. Whatever we're doing, it stops."

Lance nodded. He knew the theory -- he wasn't totally ignorant of the culture and vocabulary surrounding the scene, he'd just never really played in it more than dabbling here and there in the middle of other things. "What's yours?"

"Pink elephants." Justin seemed to realize how absurd it sounded, and actually laughed. Lance thought his heart might have skipped a beat at the sound. "I know, I know, but it's all like, don't think of pink elephants --"

"--the magic carpet won't work," Lance said, and laughed, because he remembered it, Joey's old joke, too. For a second things were totally normal again, and that made it even weirder. "What made you use it?"

He wanted to know, because he wanted to know what had pushed Justin so far that he had to make it stop. Justin blushed a little more, and looked down at his knees. "It was -- it was right at first. Master said that we both needed to know where the lines were, and I needed to know that he'd stop if I said it. He was using the crop --"

Jesus, Lance thought, and shied away from the image of Justin sprawled out and bleeding. That was the hardest part for him to understand, what would make Justin accept that pain and seek it out and keep coming back to it over and over and over again. "Do you like the pain?"

Something that looked like irritation crossed Justin's face, as though the question was the stupidest thing that he'd ever heard come out of Lance's mouth. "No. Yes. I hate it. I hate it and I resent it and I'd do anything to avoid it but I love it too, dammit. It's a way of making me feel things. It's a way of taking me out of myself."

Put that way, Lance almost got it. "I want you to show me," he said, and stood up. "I want you to show me what all of this makes you."

"I --" Justin broke off, and his breath hitched, as though he was starting to get scared. "What are your orders, sir?"

Lance found that he liked that little hitch of breath, liked the thought that Justin might be scared of him, of what he could do. He ran his fingers over the leather armband that he was still holding, one last time, and then undid the buckle that was holding it together. "Stand up," he told Justin, and Justin did, uncertainty in every movement. Lance wondered if Justin was used to spending entire nights on his knees. He held out the strip of leather and Justin took it, looking uncertain. "You have to put it on me, Justin."

Symbols. Lance was virtually certain that it was all about the symbols, and the way that Justin brought startled eyes up to his face before letting them fall again only confirmed it. Justin had made the big decision years ago and now everything was just a subset of that decision, replaying and retreading the same old familiar ground no matter how hard it was at the time; he already knew what Chris would do, already knew what Chris was capable of, and he'd made the decision to surrender to Chris so long ago that Lance wondered if he even really remembered it. This Justin wasn't used to having to make the choices, wasn't used to having to voluntarily hand over control to someone else instead of having it simply taken away from him, and that was precisely what Lance wanted to make him do.

Justin took a deep breath, and then nodded. "Please, sir, may I take off your shirt?"

Lance wondered how much of that was Justin wanting to see him naked, and how much of it was Justin trying to cue him that it was awkward to buckle on an arm-band with a shirt on, and how much of it was just that in Justin's head, the beginning of one of these scenes was supposed to involve nudity. "Yes," he said, and stood still as Justin's cold fingers -- Justin's skin was always cold, no matter what temperature the room was -- fumbled with each button. He wondered if Justin could feel how nervous he was. The silk of his shirt slipped over his shoulders.

Justin's fingers were like blocks of ice as they ran down Lance's shoulder, and the shirt fell to the ground. There was a moment where Justin just looked at him, a healthy interest and appreciation on his face like it might have been if they'd been doing this under more normal circumstances, and Lance wondered again what the hell he was doing. It went away when Justin ducked his head again and took a step closer. He could feel the feather-kiss of Justin's breath against his shoulder as those fingers fumbled with the strap of leather around his bicep.

"I want you to tell me what you're thinking," Lance said as he looked down at the back of Justin's neck. "What's inside your head."

"I -- yes, sir," Justin said, and cinched the leather around Lance's arm, fitting it snugly but not too tightly. Lance flexed his arm a little, and was startled to find how comfortable it felt. He brushed his thumb over the line of Justin's jaw, suddenly able to touch the thing he'd been looking at for so long, and Justin's breath hitched again. "I've. Been thinking about you touching me for a long time."

That lit a slow liquid fire in the backs of Lance's knees, and he ran his fingers along Justin's lower lip. "Why?" he asked. If he knew why, he might be able to figure out what the heck Justin was expecting from him.

Justin let his fingers drop from Lance's skin and tangled them together in front of him, looking down again. "Because I --" He stopped.

Lance frowned. "Talk to me, Justin," he said, his voice soft.

"Because I've always noticed you. And it's like -- fuck, Lance." Justin's voice dropped. "Don't make me do this, please don't make me do this."

For half a minute, Lance was tempted to give in and let Justin call the shots, let it be like any other encounter he'd ever had, all hands and skin and groping need. He was half a second away from agreeing when he remembered Justin's words to Chris. His answer came out more sharply than he'd intended. "Someone has to, you said, and right now, I'm that someone. You brought this to me, Justin." He tapped the tips of his fingers against the leather circling his bicep. "I don't know what it means to you, but I know what you told me it means. Am I wrong?"

Justin was silent for a long minute, and Lance thought of Chris sitting just outside the room, thought of what Chris would say if he opened the door and said that he couldn't do this after all. "No," Justin finally said. "Sir."

Lance let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "All right." He lifted his hands and ran them over Justin's shoulders, sweeping his palms over that freckle-dusted skin. Justin shivered at the touch. "Then, tell me. Why me?"

Justin closed his eyes. "Because you're smart, and funny, and beautiful," he said, and the flush was spreading over his cheeks again. Lance realized that it wasn't that he wanted to know what Justin thought of him, it wasn't that he wanted the compliment, but because he wanted to know how Justin saw him, wanted to know what role he needed to play. "You're so together, and so ... just unreachable. I didn't know how to say it. I didn't -- I didn't have the words."

"Okay," Lance said, softly, and took a deep breath. "Come here, Justin."

Justin looked up again. He was close enough that Lance could feel his breath, but that wasn't what Lance meant, and he thought that Justin might know it. "All right," he said, small and soft.

Lance kissed him. In his fantasies, sometimes, he had thought about the way that Justin would kiss, and had somehow always assumed that Justin's mouth would be soft and gentle. There was nothing gentle about this; Justin's lips were hesitant, as though looking for permission, but there was a fire behind that shyness. Lance let his eyes slip shut, his hand curl around the back of Justin's neck, and licked at the corner of Justin's mouth. Justin opened for him, hot and sweet, and the glide of tongue against tongue was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

Justin leaned against him like he wanted to touch, and when Lance broke off the kiss, he was breathing heavily. One of his hands flexed, and then fell. He twisted his watch around his wrist, once, and as Lance watched, he seemed to remember Lance's command, lifting his eyes up to look at Lance again.

"Touch me," Lance said, and Justin did, lifting his palms to press against Lance's chest and letting his fingers curl over the ridge of Lance's collarbone. Lance ran his hands down Justin's arms, twining his fingers with Justin's, and could feel his own heartbeat through Justin's palms.

Justin looked at him like he was waiting for orders. "Your pants," Lance said, after a minute. "Take them off. I want to see you naked." Justin ducked his head again, and let his hands slide down Lance's chest to fumble slightly at the button of his jeans. "Slowly," Lance added, and Justin paused, then slid down the zipper. As Lance watched, he let his fingers slide underneath the waistband and down his hips, taking the denim with them.

Lance had seen Justin naked before -- they'd all seen each other naked before, comments in interviews to the contrary -- but this was the first time to see him naked like that, all breathless anticipation and lean, whipcord angles. Justin's body was hard and sculpted, the way his cock was hard and waiting, and he seemed to alternate between wanting to stand proud for Lance's eyes and slink uncertainly back. He seemed to settle for hunching his shoulders over as he stepped out of the pooled jeans on the floor, folding his hands together as though he wanted to use them to cover himself but didn't dare.

Justin was beautiful, Lance thought, looking at him. It had always been an objective fact: Justin is beautiful, the same way the sky is blue and the bus is too small for all of us, but it had suddenly moved out of objectivity and into the realm of absolute, fundamental truth. Lance reached out and brushed a thumb over one of Justin's nipples, pebble-hard in the chill of the air-conditioned hotel room, and Justin shivered again, making a small noise that was not quite a whimper or a moan.

"Tell me," Lance said, and swallowed heavily. His mouth was watering, his fucking mouth was watering, just looking at Justin like that and knowing that he was allowed to touch.

"I like the way you touch me," Justin said, not quite a whisper but not loudly enough to be considered speech. "I want to feel your hands on my skin."

Something shifted inside of Lance's head, something small and fundamental. "I want to see you naked," he repeated, and even he didn't realize what he was saying until he lifted his hands to the heavy silver chain around Justin's neck, feeling the metal cool under his fingertips. Justin's eyes jerked upwards to meet his, uncertain, as he picked at the clasp with his thumbnail. "You hide behind this stuff. I want you bare for me."

Justin hesitated for a minute, and then lifted his hands, fumbling at the strap of his watch. Lance batted his hands aside, a bit more roughly than he'd intended. "No. This is for me."

Justin dropped his head as his necklace slid into Lance's palm, and Lance slipped it into the pocket of his pants. "Give me your hand," he said, and for a minute, he didn't recognize his own voice. Justin lifted his left arm, placing it into Lance's hands almost meekly, and Lance undid Justin's watch. His first impulse was to go quickly, just a few flicks of his fingertips and have it done, but looking at Justin, looking at the way Justin was shifting his weight and seeming to try not to pull away, he drew it out, made it slower and more deliberate. The earrings were next, the tiny studs that Justin was never seen without, and he could feel the pulse fluttering in Justin's throat against the base of his thumb as he slid the metal free.

"Tell me," he said, and slid the jewelry into his pocket. Justin made another indistinct noise; his hands were shaking, Lance noticed, looking down. "Tell me."

"Fuck, Lance," Justin said, and it was nothing like Lance had ever heard before: small and needy. "Please."

It struck Lance, suddenly, that he hadn't even really touched Justin, not seriously, and Justin already seemed like he was ready to roll over. He tipped Justin's chin with one hand and claimed his mouth again, wet and slick and rough, and Justin was making that noise in the back of his throat like he wanted to pull open Lance's skin and crawl inside.

He pulled back again, after what felt like forever but knew was only a few seconds, and could feel the smile rounding his lips. "You're beautiful," he said. His voice rasped like he'd been smoking and doing whiskey shots for days. "Let me see you. I want to see you."

"You can," Justin whispered.

"Not like that." The room was like any hotel room anywhere, dim and feeling cramped even when it was really spacious, and Lance took a step backwards. "Over there."

Justin bit his lip again, but took a few steps backwards. Lance reached over and clicked the lamp by the couch on; it bathed them both in anorexic sixty-watt glow. Justin's shoulders rounded a little more, and he slid his hands in front of him as though to cover his arousal.

"Hands at your sides," Lance said, and after a second, Justin obeyed. Lance circled him, slowly, eyes resting on every inch of skin that was bared. He lifted a hand to the back of Justin's neck, and in the mirror across the room, their eyes met. For a quick second, he wondered who that person was standing next to Justin, dark and dangerous, and was startled when he realized that it was himself.

The welts on Justin's back were small and even, deliberately placed in parallel grooves on either side of the spine. Lance wondered how long it had taken before Chris had been able to strike with such precision. He rubbed his fingers over one line and watched in the mirror as Justin's eyes slitted closed and his head tilted back. The marks were probably not even a full day old. "What did you do to earn this?" he asked, thoughtfully.

"Master heard me -- Jesus --" Justin broke off as Lance scraped his fingernails softly over the mark, and swallowed, heavily, but didn't pull away. "The interview yesterday. I shouldn't have told that reporter to fuck off."

"Is that the sort of thing that this usually happens for?" Lance let his fingers run down Justin's spine, feeling each of his vertebrae in turn, until he reached the very beginning of the cleft of Justin's ass. He let his fingers linger there for a few seconds, feeling the shift and dance of muscle, before splaying his fingers over one of Justin's hips.

"Yeah," Justin said, softly.

Justin's skin felt like satin. Lance knew it was a cliche even as he thought it, and he didn't care, because that was the only thing he could think of that even began to come close to the way it felt sliding beneath his palm. He could just see himself over Justin's shoulder, and he met his own eyes briefly in the mirror before looking back at Justin. He ran his fingers along the smooth expanse from hip down to the first few curls between Justin's legs, and Justin whimpered and let his hips twitch towards Lance's hand.

"Would you let me?" Lance asked. He left his hand there, his pinky tucked in the groove at the top of Justin's thigh, his other fingers stroking the hair that managed to be both soft and rough all at once. "If I wanted to."

"Yes," Justin hissed, after a long moment. Lance thought he heard guilt in that single syllable, and something much like shame, and that almost made him pause until Justin continued. "Anything you want. Anything."

Justin's back was solid against his chest as he took another half-step forward. He slid his hand further, and the tips of his fingers brushed against Justin's cock. It was the only part of Justin's body that was warm, warm and hard and strong beneath Lance's hand, and he had to swallow again. "Look at yourself," he said to Justin. "In the mirror. Look at yourself."

Justin took a deep, shuddering breath, and let his eyes drop from Lance's in the mirror to roam over his own body. They seemed to stop at the sight of Lance's hand against him. Lance opened his fingers and ran his palm along Justin's length, and Justin whimpered again. "Anything I want?" Lance whispered in his ear.

"Anything," Justin said. Lance closed his hand around him, and Justin's hips jerked, once, roughly. It couldn't have been comfortable, dry like that, but Justin didn't seem to mind. He stroked once, watching the way that Justin's jaw clenched and then relaxed.

"If I wanted to mark your skin? Leave you rough and raw and aching, so that you'd have to spend tomorrow on the bus shirtless, so that Chris and JC could see exactly what I'd done, so that they'd look at you and know. Would you let me?"

"Yes." Justin let his head drop back, against Lance's shoulder, but the bright gleam of his eyes peeked out from under lidded eyes. He was watching himself still, watching the way Lance's hand glided over his cock, watching as Lance stroked him. Watching as Lance brought his other hand around Justin's side, holding him back against Lance's chest, fingers pinching roughly at one of his nipples.

Lance was fascinated by the way that Justin leaned against him, as though Justin would fall backwards without that support. He wondered what Justin was thinking, and thought for a moment that he would ask, but no, not yet. Not when he was trying to worm his way into Justin's thoughts, put images behind Justin's eyelids that would linger there even after he'd gone. "If I wanted to bend you over backwards, over the couch, and fuck you for the next five hours, and never let you come once, and walk away when I was done? Would you let me?"

"Yes." Justin was breathless, and Lance had never heard his voice so low before. His shoulderblades rocked back against Lance's chest, digging in sharply.

Justin was so hard that Lance thought it must be painful. He'd been in that state himself once, years ago, so turned on that he thought he'd explode and not getting enough sensation to even come close to getting off, and if that was where Justin was, that was where Lance wanted him. He dragged his thumb over the head of Justin's cock, slippery with need, and twisted his wrist just so. It would have been almost like he was playing with himself, if it weren't for the way Justin was arching to meet him.

"If I wanted to wait until Joey and JC got home from clubbing and take you out into the main room, sprawl out on the couch and push you down on your knees, make you suck me in front of them, make you open your mouth and take me while they watch? Would you let me?"

Justin's breath was getting ragged, and Lance rubbed his thumb over that spot just beneath the head that was so sensitive on so many men he'd encountered. "Yes," Justin said, on a soft moan, and God, it was the most beautiful sound Lance had ever heard.

Lance rested his lips on the curve of Justin's neck, not kissing, just tasting. "If I wanted to take you out in the hallway and leave you there, see who came by, see who wanted a taste of you?" He tightened his fingers a little, just enough to give Justin a little more friction, a little more sensation. "If I wanted to leave you on your knees in the hallway, like this, like some open invitation to any of the band or the crew or the roadies who came by, so that they'd know that you belong on your knees, you belong there waiting for someone to come by and see you, knowing that I'd be there watching you?" He didn't even know what he was saying anymore; he was too caught up with the way that Justin's hips rose to meet his hand. He let his teeth brush against Justin's shoulder, just a little. "Would you let me?"

"God," Justin whimpered. "God, yes, yes, please --"

"Are you looking at yourself?" Lance was; he saw the way Justin's hips were moving against him, that hypnotic and pleading rhythm. He couldn't quite tell, but he thought Justin might be close, the way that his hands closed and opened again against his thighs like he wanted to clutch something. "Can you see the way you're moving? The way you want it?"

"Yes," Justin whimpered again, and Lance thought that he might never get tired of hearing it. "Please, fuck, Lance, please --"

Lance let his hand still, then fall. "And if I wanted to walk out of here right now and never look back?"

Justin sobbed at that, actually fucking sobbed, a sharp and broken sound that seemed torn from his chest. Lance took a step backwards and met Justin's eyes in the mirror, then turned around and took the ten steps to the king-sized bed. "Come here," he said, softly, as he settled himself down to sit with his back against the pillows. Justin turned, then crossed the space between them quickly, looking to Lance for a reaction and then sliding over his lap to kneel between his legs, once more in that stiff-backed posture.

It looked different, now, though, and Lance couldn't figure out quite why, until he realized that earlier, it had been almost a challenge. Now, Justin was just waiting.

"Tell me," Lance said again, and when Justin dropped his eyes and said "You take me to that part of my head that scares the shit out of me," Lance nodded, because he thought that he really did understand.

"Touch me," Lance said. "I want your mouth."

Justin ducked his head and slid over Lance's stomach, his open mouth sliding hot and wet over Lance's skin, and Lance suddenly realized how fucking turned on he was. He'd been ignoring it, concentrating on the way Justin looked, the way Justin was moving, the way Justin was reacting, but all of a sudden he could feel the way his blood was running, the way his dick was straining against the seams of his pants. For half a minute he thought of how insane this whole situation was, how bizarre and unreal it seemed, but the thought passed and he knew that they were long past the point where he could have walked away.

Justin's fingers fumbled at his pants and then Justin's mouth closed over the head of his cock and oh, either Justin had done this before or those really were blowjob lips the way they'd always joked, because his mouth was warm and ready and willing and he seemed to know just how to use it. Justin's tongue ran over the head of his cock, rough like silk or sandpaper, and his fingers were ice as they curled around the base of Lance's shaft.

Lance made a soft noise of protest, and Justin pulled his head back, immediately. "I'm sorry," he said, quickly, lifting his eyes to Lance's and then letting them fall again.

"No," Lance said, and reached down to lace his fingers through Justin's, feeling his own heat beneath Justin's chill. "Your fingers are cold, that's all."

"Sorry," Justin said again, and there was a quick flash of amusement across his face, one side of his mouth twisting up in a half-smile. Lance thought again that smile was one of Justin's weapons, and slid their twinned hands along his cock. Justin's smile faded.

"I didn't tell you to stop," Lance said, and Justin ducked his head again.

It had been a drunken fantasy of his for years, slipping in to blindside him when he was four shots past pleasantly buzzed and the tequila was singing through his veins, of what Justin's mouth would feel like. It didn't compare to the reality. Justin licked his lips and took a breath, and Lance held back his groan as Justin's tongue flicked out again and tasted him.

Lance thought he'd found the reason why Justin's skin was always cold. His heat pooled in his mouth, lurking there and waiting. Justin eased his lips down along Lance's cock, centimeter by centimeter, and Lance fought the urge to let his eyes slip shut, because the sight of Justin sucking on him like he was a pacifier was something that would fuel fantasies for years to come. Justin hollowed out his cheeks and did something with his tongue that should have been illegal -- probably was illegal -- and Lance could feel it right down to his toes.

"Like that," Lance said, and "harder", and Justin took another deep breath, through his nose this time, and dragged the flat of his tongue along the head of Lance's cock, taking Lance deeper into his throat before pulling back and licking again.

It felt like walking to the edge of the stage and hearing nothing but thousands of voices screaming back at him so loudly that he always wondered who it was that they saw; it felt like walking on stage for an awards show with the cameras blinking red and knowing that millions of people were watching. He kept his eyes open, because if he closed them, he'd lose himself in the way it felt, surrender himself up to the way that Justin's mouth was working him. He didn't want to come in Justin's mouth, not yet. That would have been good, so fucking good to give himself over to the way that Justin kept flicking his tongue over that one spot, but not yet. Justin was beautiful, Justin is beautiful the way that the sun will rise tomorrow, but he'd never been as beautiful as this, sprawled out between Lance's legs. Justin had a pretty mouth, but it had never been this perfect, not until he knew the way it felt with his cock between those lips.

He couldn't hold back the noises that Justin was wringing from him, and Justin's rhythm shifted a little, self-satisfaction written in his every line. Lance let his hand fall away from his cock and slid it around the back of Justin's head, resting his thumb against the joint of Justin's jaw, feeling it open wide. He barely noticed the soft pin-pricks of Justin's stubble under his fingertips. Justin made a soft and inarticulate noise in the back of his throat, and Lance brought his other hand up to the other side of Justin's head. He'd always been taught that it was rude to be the one to control the blowjob, but at that moment, he really couldn't care.

Justin made that noise again, deep and aching, and Lance nudged his head back a little, just enough to give his hips room to move. He could feel it in his thighs, and for half a minute he blessed the years of dance conditioning that let him do this, let him push off the bed with heels and back and thrust into that warm and willing and open mouth. Justin's breath, hot and feathery across his stomach, was coming faster and faster, and for a minute Lance thought he might protest, but something seemed to ease in him, and he opened his mouth wider and curled his tongue.

Justin's eyes had that glazed look of lust and sensation, distant and deep. "God, your mouth," Lance growled, and Justin whimpered again. Lance could feel it building, could feel his mind going fuzzy around the edges. Not yet, that voice in the back of his head whispered, and he pulled Justin's head back. Justin blinked a few times, trying to focus, looking at Lance without really seeing him. His lips were red and swollen. As Lance watched, he closed his mouth, licked at his lips, and Lance stopped him, thumbing that perfect beautiful mouth back open.

"Like that," Lance said. "With your mouth open for me." Justin's breathing was harsh and heavy, and Lance dipped two fingers inside, feeling the way Justin's tongue swiped over them. He left them there for a minute, savoring the way that Justin's mouth was so wet and inviting, and then let them slip free and pulled Justin's head back down.

It still felt surreal, that mouth on his cock, the way that Justin was yielding up to him, but the part of him that was capable of noticing the surreality was rapidly disappearing underneath the part of him that was sliding through the sensations. The noise that Justin was making wasn't a whimper, wasn't a moan; it was a soft keening noise, halfway on its way to being a hum. Lance wondered what he was thinking, behind those eyes, and bit back a moan of his own as the first warning shocks of pleasure started washing over him again.

He pulled Justin back again before it was too late, and both of them were breathing heavily. His cock felt bare without the sensation, like something beautiful had just been taken away. "I'm going to fuck you," he said, and Justin shivered and sat back on his heels.

"On your back," Lance said, and Justin dipped backwards, slowly, arching his back as the bed rose to meet him. He looked to be about as turned-on as Lance felt. Lance ran a hand along Justin's thigh, skipping his nails over that tanned and muscular flesh. "Condoms? Lube?" If he'd been in his own room, he wouldn't have had to ask, he kept his supplies at hand, but this wasn't his room and he didn't want to break the mood by ordering Justin to his room to fetch them. Even though Justin would have gone.

"Steal Master's," Justin muttered, his voice deep and rusty, and waved one hand in the general direction of Chris's bag. Lance looked down at Justin spread out sideways across the bed. "Close your eyes," he said as he slid to stand. "Keep them closed. Until I tell you that you can open them." Justin let his eyes drift obediently shut.

The condoms and lube were in the second compartment he looked in, and Lance didn't bother to wonder why Chris had them. He'd learned years ago that it wasn't wise to question Chris's sexuality, because he might get an answer. Justin's hips were moving in tiny circles, as though he didn't even notice that he was moving at all, and he jumped when Lance's hand closed around one of his ankles.

"Have you done this before?" Lance asked. He tried to make it sound commanding, but there was a part of him that was worried, worried that he would have to take this more slowly than he wanted to.

"Yeah," Justin said after a long silence, and that managed to surprise Lance.

"Who?" He traced circles on Justin's ankle with his fingertips, and watched in fascination as Justin seemed to war with the impulse to jerk away and the impulse to stay open and receptive to Lance's touch. He lifted his hand, holding it out over Justin's skin, and Justin bit his lip.

"The first was Nick," Justin finally breathed, barely audible. "Carter."

Lance stopped short and blinked. They hadn't heard anything about it, which given Justin's habit of living his life at the top of his lungs with the guys was surprising. Then again, they hadn't known anything aboutthis, either, so maybe Justin was better at keeping secrets than they'd thought. The image of Justin and Nick twined around each other rose unbidden from behind his eyelids, and he bit back the whimper it provoked. "Tell me," he said. "Tell me all of it."

Justin had turned his face to follow the sound of Lance's voice. Lance lifted his hand from hovering just over Justin's calf and stepped back, as silently as he could, rounding the bed and sliding his pants down over his hips. Justin caught the comforter in his fists, fingers working arhythmically. Lance stopped for a moment just to watch, six feet one of beautifully sculpted man spread out and waiting for him.

"Last year," Justin finally said, just when Lance thought that he would have to repeat the order. "The first time was last year. Some awards show or another, I don't remember which one. He caught me in the bathroom. Saw the armband. I'd rolled up my sleeves to wash my hands. It was a bad idea for me to have been wearing it, Master told me later, but -- I wanted to." His voice was breathless, and his muscles rippled. Lance watched him twitching every time a stray breath of air moved over his skin, and held his fingers just over Justin's collarbone, close enough for Justin to feel his presence without actually touching him at all.

"He -- asked me what it was. What it meant. I told him it was none of his business. He said that wasn't good enough, and got up right in my face. Said that he knew what it meant, and wondered which one of us I was kneeling for. I told him that was none of his business either, and that was -- that was when he kissed me."

Lance spread his hand out, wide and open, and ran it down Justin's chest, still without touching, watching Justin's face. Justin's back arched against the bed. Lance wondered how it felt, sightless, knowing that someone could touch you any minute and you didn't know when or where. Justin bit his lip. "It was -- fuck, it was everything that I wanted, right there. It was like he knew. He let go of me after a while and stepped back and smirked, you know that smirk, and handed me his keycard and told me his room number and I walked out of there and found Master and I was shaking, I wanted it so bad. And Master took the keycard from me and asked me yes or no and I said yes and he sent me."

Lance pulled his hand back, and Justin breathed out, sharply. He let a few seconds pass and then pinched at one of Justin's nipples, and Justin nearly came off the bed, his hips bucking sharply.

"Keep talking," Lance said. "Or I stop."

Justin wet his lips. Lance watched the tongue glide out from that mouth, that mouth that would play prominently in his dreams for the next God only knew how long, and swallowed heavily. "I. I showed up and I was shaking like a leaf when I let myself in. The light was on in the bathroom but that was it, and I couldn't see into the room, it was too dark. But he was standing by the window and he could see me, and he told me to stop right there and take off my clothes, and I did."

Lance could see it in his head, playing out on the movie screen of his imagination -- Justin hesitant and naked, Nick crossing the room to watch. He traced patterns on Justin's stomach with his palm, and Justin's fingers knotted in the bedclothes. Justin's voice was getting more ragged with every touch, like he was only barely hearing what he was saying. "I don't even know why I did it, it was like I was on autopilot, but he came over and put his hand on my chest and then he kissed me again, but it was like he was fucking my mouth and I just wanted to roll over and take it. He told me I was a pretty whore and told me to take off his shirt and I did, and he grabbed me by the dick and walked me into the room."

"Keep talking," Lance said, and ran the very tips of his fingers along the curve of Justin's hip. Justin shivered again, a full-body contract and then release, and bit back another whimper.

"It was -- I don't. I don't really remember all of it. It was like I'd walked into some other world where things like that happened. Where I could -- He kissed me again, and I swear to God, I swear to fucking God, I was on my knees before I even knew what I was doing. I could -- oh God." Lance lifted his fingers from Justin's chest, where he'd brushed them again, and smiled at the sound of it. Justin just breathed for a minute, ragged and loose, and then took in a gulp of air and continued without needing to be prompted again.

"He was -- I'd never done it before but I undid his jeans and I sucked him down and it wasn't good, it was fast and clumsy and I fucked up with my teeth but it was -- having his dick in my mouth was exactly it, it was like I couldn't breathe without it. Couldn't breathe with it. It wasn't about me. It was the first time it wasn't about me. He put one of his hands behind my head and just -- fucked my mouth, and all the time he was saying things, things I couldn't really hear. Beautiful, pretty, made for it, just the sort of thing he'd always thought about me, fucking Timberlake, born to be on my knees with a dick in my mouth. And it should have been an insult but it wasn't, it was -- it was true." Justin's breath hitched again. Lance splayed his fingers and held them just over Justin's chest again, and Justin shivered with it, like he could feel it even without the touch. Maybe he could.

"God," Justin breathed again as Lance rubbed his fingers over one of Justin's nipples. Lance wondered how long he could keep this up, and then stopped and thought about it a little more and realized that wasn't the question; the question was how long he wanted to keep it up. Justin was beautiful, writhing against the bedspread.

Justin seemed to realize that he'd been silent for too long, and took another jagged breath before exhaling on a sound that only just escaped being a moan. Lance tried to memorize the way it sounded, to go with the way that Justin's skin felt underneath his fingers. "I could have fucking stayed there forever and he knew it, so he let me. Made me. I have no idea how long it was, it just -- we just -- And eventually he got all quiet and came in my mouth and it was like I was choking but he held me there, like he wasn't going to let me go, and --" Justin broke off and swallowed heavily. His words were tumbling over each other, quick and sharp and edged through each gasp for breath, and Lance thought that Justin didn't even know what he was saying, couldn't feel the way that he was saying it.

"And then he pulled back and I almost cried, fuck, I wanted it so bad and I didn't even know what it was that I wanted and he patted me on the fucking head like I was some kind of puppy and told me that I would do. And then he said that he was tired and going to bed, and if I wanted to stay I could sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed and he might fuck me in the morning when I woke up or I could put my clothes back on and go home and we'd do it again next time, maybe, if he was in the mood, and I swear that my head wanted me to get up and walk out of there after telling him where to put his mood but I just looked up at him and nodded and stretched out on the floor and I still couldn't fucking tell you why I did it." Justin's hips had finally had enough, or so it seemed, because they wouldn't stop writhing. He brought up one of his knees, planting his foot against the bed and thrusting against empty air as though it could give him the contact that Lance was only teasingly providing.

Lance abruptly changed his mind. He didn't really want to hear about Nick fucking Justin, no matter how hot it promised to be; not when he was so close to fucking Justin himself. "You said Nick was the first," he asked, though, out of curiosity. "Who else?"

"God, please -- please just --" Justin made another rapt noise of desire and frustration, and Lance drew his hand back once more.

"Tell me," Lance ordered. "Who else?"

"JC." It came out on a moan, as Justin whimpered and bit his lip again. "Please, sir, please, I'll do anything, just let me -- touch me -- more, harder --"

It somehow didn't surprise Lance to know that JC and Justin had slept together, although he would have been sincerely surprised to find out that any of this, any of this power-struggle dynamic, had gotten anywhere near the bed they'd shared. JC was sweet and giving and, Lance knew, perfectly capable of kink when kink was called for, but he wouldn't have been able to look at Justin the same way afterwards, not once he knew. Abruptly, he pulled his hand away from Justin's skin and took the few steps to bring him to the bedside table, and let his voice slip deeper into that register that everyone always said was best suited for a phone-sex operator to cover the sound of his flipping open the bottle of lube. "Did he touch you? Was he gentle? Soft and slow?"

He could tell that Justin knew that he'd stepped away, by the way that Justin's hips rose from the bed again. One of Justin's hands rose, as though to skim over his own chest and touch himself, and then stilled and fell again. Lance wondered what was going on behind Justin's closed eyes, what sort of images were playing out inside his head. "Yeah," Justin said, and it was breathless and half-moaned. "It lasted fucking forever."

Lance stood next to the bed, looking down at Justin, and took a deep breath. He got it. He knew what Justin was asking for, even if Justin wasn't really asking for it yet. The lube was cool against his fingers. "C's so sweet, isn't he?" he asked. "He'll give you anything you want, if you just know how to ask for it. But you don't know how to ask for it, do you, Justin? You're too embarrassed, you're too uncertain, it doesn't fit the image. What do you want, Justin?"

Justin didn't even hesitate. The words came tumbling over his lips like they were tripping. "I want you. I want you to push me, I want you to hurt me, I want you to make me scream until I can't see straight, I want you to do what you want to me, I want to make you proud of me, I want to serve you, I want to take it, whatever it is, I want to take it."

Lance took another deep breath and let his left hand rest over Justin's hip. Justin's skin was firm beneath his fingers, chilly as always but still flushed with desire. It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He tried to ignore the way that Justin's chorus of want, want, want set up housekeeping just under his skin, the way that the litany made him want to run his fingernails down Justin's chest just to see what kind of response it would get him. "Good," he said, and ran the first two fingers of his right hand, slippery and wet, between the twin halves of that beautiful ass.

Justin went rigid for half a second, hitting one long and drawn-out note and then spiraling downward on a sound that was more breath than moan. He tensed and then went liquid and boneless under Lance's touch, drawing in breath after breath with a whimper that could have been from pain or frustration or pleasure, and reared up against Lance's fingers in silent invitation. Lance slid his fingers inside that welcoming heat, two fingers at once, roughly, and Justin tensed against him again and whimpered.

"Yeah," Lance said, and "baby," and "shh, baby, breathe, breathe, baby," and he didn't know what he was saying any more than he imagined that Justin did, because the feel of Justin clenched around him was too big, too monumental, to allow him any room to think. Justin was panting, each half-caught breath sounding like a sob, and for a minute Lance considered stopping, pulling back, going slower, when he saw the way that Justin's face was screwed up and he couldn't decide if it was pain or pleasure that he was seeing. But then he remembered the safe word, and the way that Justin had promised Chris he'd use it, and he crooked his fingers and rubbed. Justin's shoulders came off the bed and he whined, and Lance thought, abstractly, that pain or pleasure probably wasn't the consideration at all.

Justin's lips were moving in unvoiced sound, and Lance drew another deep breath and tried to hold control of himself long enough to hear what Justin was saying. It was one word, over and over again, just "yeah" repeated incessantly on each exhale. It made him want to taste that skin, and he slid onto the bed between Justin's knees and bent his head to lick at the curve of Justin's chest. Justin tasted like salt and desire, and Lance could hear his own breath rasping in his ears as Justin thrust against his fingers, begging without words for more.

"God, you just eat that right up, baby," Lance muttered, and twisted his fingers again. "I bet you could come just from me fucking you with my fingers, couldn't you, that's how much you want it. God, you're so fucking beautiful." He nipped at the skin just over Justin's navel, and Justin whined again. Lance pulled his fingers out as Justin's hips dropped back from another thrust. Justin moaned and shook his head from side to side, as though saying no, but Lance added a third finger and slid back inside and the "no" died on Justin's lips to be replaced by another moan.

There were no words to describe the way that it felt, to have Justin sprawled out and writhing underneath his hands, and Lance knew that he could stretch it out and make it last all night but he didn't really want to. Not yet; not now. If it happened again, yes, but for now, he wanted to feel all that energy and need and heat and desire underneath him, wanted to sink into Justin and fuck him senseless. Dimly he realized that he should have been appalled at himself, the way he was working his fingers into Justin without so much as caring if it hurt or if it felt good or if Justin would be able to walk or sit down without wincing the next day, but the noises that he was wringing from Justin's lips were like pure clean air in his lungs and he bent over backwards and behind him to fumble, one-handed and awkward, for the condoms that were lying on the bedside table.

Justin cried out again as Lance pulled his fingers free, but the frustration and loss gave way to a single sharp gasp as Lance wrapped his fingers around Justin's cock. "I'm going to fuck you now," Lance whispered. "And I don't want you to come until I tell you that you can."

Justin moaned again and tilted up his hips, then licked his lips and whimpered. "Please," he said, finding voice again, "please, yes, God, want, I want --"

Lance pulled himself up to his knees and wrapped his fingers around Justin's hips, the silken skin of Justin's thighs against his forearms as he reached underneath him and dragged him upwards. Justin sighed as Lance sank inside him, and Lance closed his eyes, breathing roughly and just losing himself in the way that Justin leaned up to meet him, the way that Justin wrapped one leg around his waist without seeming to even think about it.

"You feel so fucking good," Lance said. He knew it was trite the minute he heard it coming out of his mouth, and he didn't care. And then he was thrusting into Justin even as Justin was rising against him, and his fingernails bit into Justin's hips as he set the pace, and oh, God, the noises that Justin was making went right through his ears and settled straight in his dick for what felt like forever.

Justin tossed his head back and forth against the comforter as Lance moved and his hands came up, seemingly unbidden, to pull on his own nipples. The sight of those slender fingers against Justin's chest made Lance growl, and he bent Justin double to take one nipple between his teeth. Justin gasped again and moaned something that could have been "yes" and could have been "Lance" and then it snuck up from behind Lance and broadsided him, unexpected and intense and exploding right behind his eyes and down into his knees.

Justin was still quivering beneath him when he could finally take a deep breath and start to make sense of the world again, and he could feel each pulse every time Justin tightened his ass around Lance's quiescent cock. Justin was just on the edge, he could tell, and he wondered how Justin had managed to hold off the orgasm as long as he had; Lance knew that he wouldn't have been able to do the same. He propped himself up on one shaky arm and looked down at Justin's face, all beautiful and intense and needy, and leaned down to brush his lips against Justin's in a gesture that was not a kiss at all while reaching between their damp bodies and wrapping his hand around Justin's cock.

"Come for me," Lance said, against Justin's parched lips, and Justin let his head fall back and bit his lip and did, as simple as that.

It seemed like Justin was falling forever, and Lance slid from between his legs to drape himself over Justin's limp and boneless body, stroking his fingers over Justin's cock and dragging them through the mess on Justin's stomach. That same instinct that had guided him so far had him bringing his fingers to Justin's mouth. Justin didn't need to be told what to do, just let his mouth open and sucked Lance's fingers inside, tonguing them clean even through his erratic breathing, and Lance made a low deep noise of appreciation. "Oh, baby, you did so good," he murmurred, and nuzzled Justin's collarbone.

Justin made a tiny noise, of contentment or of satiation, and opened his eyes to stare dizzily at Lance. Lance thought he'd never seen Justin's eyes so blue. "God," Justin said, trying out a voice that had gone rusty through the moans and breathing. "God." He whimpered, this time deep and chesty instead of high and breathy, and let his eyes close again.

"Come on back, baby," Lance said, and cradled Justin's head in his other hand. "So good. You did so good, so fucking proud of you, so good. So perfect." He rested his cheek against Justin's, holding him tightly, and Justin shifted just enough to wrap arms and legs around Lance and hold on, trembling against him. Lance rubbed his hand over Justin's head, trying to put comfort and safety into that touch, and Justin whimpered again as his muscles rippled.

"Come on," Lance said, after a long minute of just holding on. "You'll get cold." He drew back a little and Justin made a noise of protest, but Lance just pulled back the covers and eased Justin so that they were no longer lying sideways on the bed, pulling the covers around them both. Justin shivered once, a full-body wave, and wrapped himself around Lance again.

Lance stroked his hand along Justin's back. "You okay?" he asked.

Justin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah," he said, and nudged his head under Lance's chin like an oversized cat asking to be petted. "'M okay. More than okay. 'M great." His voice was thick and sleepy. "Thank you for 'lowing me to serve," he murmurred, and then his breathing slowed further.

Lance listened as Justin drifted off to sleep. He almost envied men who could do that; he himself was usually awake for hours after sex, as though his body was wondering why all the fun stuff had stopped. He waited until he was sure that Justin wasn't going to wake back up and gently extracted himself from under the other man, tucking the covers around him and brushing a hand over his cheek. Justin didn't move.

He pulled on his underwear and spent a few minutes tidying up the room -- there was no way to completely clean up, Chris would just have to deal with it, but something deep within him quailed at leaving the mess. It hit him as he was in the bathroom washing his hands. He blinked at himself in the mirror, surprised that it wasn't written over his face for anyone to see, and let the water run for a few minutes too long as he wondered just what the hell had come over him, what had made him -- let him -- behave like that.

It was what Justin had wanted, he told himself. What Justin had asked for. Wasn't that enough? The other side of him remembered how much he'd wanted to push, how much he'd wanted to control, and he could see the slight blush rising in his cheeks. The leather armband stood out in stark contrast on his bicep, and he realized that he hadn't thought about it since Justin had buckled it there. It disturbed him, how comfortable it felt, and he touched the leather as the man in the mirror did the same.

He flipped the deadbolt against the doorframe to keep the door half-open behind him as he let himself out into the main room of the suite. Chris was staring out the window, his book lying in his lap, apparently forgotten; he turned to look at Lance as Lance turned around, and Lance couldn't read his expression. "You guys okay?" Chris asked, his eyes searching Lance's face.

Lance tried to smile. It felt odd against his lips. "Yeah," he said, keeping his voice down, mindful of Justin asleep in the room behind him. "He's out cold. Asleep," he hastened to add, and Chris smiled a little. "That was ..."

"Yeah," Chris said, and patted the couch next to him. Lance crossed the room and sat down, leaving a double-handful of space between them. "You wanna talk about it?"

"I ... don't know," Lance said, honestly. He slid the leather circlet down his arm, and felt naked without it. He turned it over in his hands twice, then held it out to Chris. "This is yours."

Chris looked at him for a minute, then reached out and took it. He slid it back up his arm easily, settling it into place against his skin. "This one is, yeah," he said. "You'll have to tell me if we need to get one for you."

"I don't get this, Chris," Lance said, sharply, and whatever had been keeping him from freaking out in the bedroom had apparently deserted him. "I mean -- how did you two -- figure this out? How did you know what to do? How did he know what he wanted? How did you -- how can you do that to him and not feel awful afterwards?"

Chris paused, then sighed. "C'mere," he said, and rested the palm of his hand against the back of Lance's neck. Lance held himself rigid for a moment, then sighed and slumped down to rest his head against Chris's shoulder. Chris's breath ruffled against his hair. "You liked it, didn't you. And that's what's messing with you."

"Yeah," Lance said, small and quiet.

Chris rubbed his cheek against the top of Lance's head. "The first time I drew blood I thought I was gonna scream worse than he did," he said, softly. "Justin, he's -- intense. I don't know what made him like that. All I know is that he's not -- balanced, without it. And if I can give him part of it, I will."

"Why not all of it?" Lance asked, and bit his lip. He shouldn't have asked that.

Chris shifted underneath him and sighed. "Because when all of this started, Justin was sixteen," he said, slowly. "And that's a cheap answer, but it's a big part of it. He was young, and I felt -- still feel, a little bit, when I'm thinking about it too hard -- like I was. Doing something wrong, underneath all of it."

Lance winced a little, remembering what he'd said to Chris. Remembering the guilt that had been written on Chris's face. Chris sighed again. "And that's not all of it, but it's a big part. And another big part of it is the way that -- when this whole thing started, when we figured out what we were doing and why we were doing it, it didn't involve sex. And adding it in now would be changing it, all of it, this huge thing that, okay, I don't really even understand even though I'm half of it, and I'm scared of making it weird and yanking it out from under him when he needs it so damn much. And ... because I'm not really the one he wants."

It was easier not to look at Chris, and Lance thought that maybe, belatedly, he realized what Justin had meant when he'd said that it was easier if he didn't look at Lance. "You mean me."

"Yeah." Chris's hand was still warm on the back of his neck. "He's wanted you for a while, but -- What he said about being too scared? That's part of it, but not all of it. He wouldn't have been scared if he just wanted you like he and JC wanted each other."

"He was scared because he wanted me like -- like that." Lance turned the idea over a few times in his head, wondering how it made him feel. After a few minutes he realized that there was no point in thinking about it, that it was too big and too scary to think about when he was still shaking, just a little, from everything that had happened that night.

"Yeah," Chris said, after a pause. "Freak you out a bit?"

"Yeah," Lance agreed, softly. He wondered, suddenly, how Chris felt about the whole thing, about whether or not Chris felt that little spark of jealousy when contemplating the thought of not only sharing Justin, but sharing that light in Justin's eyes when he was on his knees.

"Good," Chris said. "Because if it didn't freak you out at least a little bit, I'd never trust him in your hands again." There was iron warning in his voice, a slow and steady protectiveness that warmed the base of Lance's spine, that there would be someone looking out for Justin with such caution. He remembered, suddenly, the dark and distant look in Chris's eyes while leaning against the wall of a studio in Germany and watching as a photographer coaxed Justin out of his shirt and into the hearts of thousands of teenage girls, and it started to make a lot more sense. "Look, Lance, if you're really not into it, it doesn't have to happen again. But don't make it be because you're too scared of what's inside you."

"I'm not," Lance said, and then bit his lip. "Well. No. I am. But I'm not, you know? I just -- it's a lot. All at once. It's a lot."

"I know," Chris said, and that warning note was gone. Lance could feel Chris pressing his lips into Lance's hair, and it suddenly made sense, why Chris out of all of them. There was enough danger and intensity in Chris to make it possible, but there was enough care, too. "Give it time. Just think about it, okay? I just think ... it might not just be about what Justin needs."

That thought made Lance uncomfortable, but before he could even so much as articulate the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach -- not unpleasant, just prickly, like the way that arousal snuck up and blindsided you -- Chris stood up. "You should sleep on it."

Lance bit his lip. "Yeah," he said. The afterglow had tiptoed away while he hadn't been paying attention, slipping away on silent feet during the conversation. "I guess -- yeah. I'll just --" He struggled to his feet and turned, as though to head back to his own room. Chris caught his wrist, firm without being rough, before he could even take the first step.

"Hey," Chris said. "You think I'd let you go off and sleep in your own bed tonight? Come on, it's a big bed in there."

That wasn't right, somehow. It was one thing to share Justin, strip off that outer symbol of what Justin gave to Chris and hand it over; it was another thing, smaller and more intimate, to invite him in to share their bed. "I," Lance said, and then stopped.

Chris rose from the couch as well and placed his hands, always far smaller in reality than Lance remembered them being, in the small of Lance's back. He nudged, gently, and Lance took an involuntary step forward. "No buts," Chris said, and pushed again.

"I can sleep in my room," Lance said, in weak protest, as Chris nudged him through the door. Justin's breathing was soft in the darkened room. "You don't have to --"

"Silence," Chris said, all sudden imperiousness despite trying to keep his voice down, and shut the door behind them. Lance's eyes took a minute to adjust to the lack of light, and when they did, he could see Chris stripping out of his pants and making his way to the side of the bed. "Aw, man, I don't want to think about what we're going to be sleeping under. You couldn't have woken him up long enough to move him to his room or something?"

"Sorry," Lance said, and was glad for the dark, because it meant that Chris couldn't see him blush. "You wanna sleep in my room? I could -- I mean --" He heard his own voice and forced himself to stop talking. There wasn't an entry in Miss Manners that told you what the etiquette was in a situation like this.

"Nah," Chris said, and sat gingerly down on the side of the bed. "Come on. Don't make me order you to get into this bed. Freak out in the morning. Sleep now."

It was weird. It felt weird. It felt awkward and strange and Lance hesitated at the edge of the bed, until Justin stirred, roused by the sound of voices in the room. His voice was sleep-mazed and half-petulant, drifting from the nest of covers he'd built around him. "Will y'all please stop talking about me and just come to bed? My feet are cold."

The room was dark and Lance's skin was cold and the bed was, maybe, really big enough for three. Maybe. Lance put one knee on the bed and then hesitated again. Justin sighed, a half-aware sound, and reached out one hand to wrap around Lance's leg and tug with the weakness of one who wasn't fully awake at all. The covers were warm when Lance slid under them, and it was only a minute before Justin had nestled himself spooned with his back up against Lance's chest. He draped one arm around Chris, pulling him close, and twined his legs through Lance's, taking up more space than any human being should be able to, and murmurred something distant and indistinct before his breathing slowed again.

"You get footwarming duty tonight," Chris said, his voice soft in the darkness, and tucked his arm over Justin's side. His hand was warm against Lance's hip. The tiny shorn hairs at the back of Justin's neck tickled Lance's nose, and slowly, gradually, he finally let himself smile.

. : | back | : .