nsync in black and white

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment


the photographs from the Life Ball in Vienna were just too good to be missed

"You sure that's okay with you?" The voice came from the other side of the connecting door, and JC froze. He hadn't realized Lance was still in the dressing room, and he was still feeling miffed—no, not miffed, justifiably aggrieved—about that fabulous coat Lance had gotten to wear, while he himself had come all the way to Vienna to be dressed in a white fucking suit that he practically could have brought from his own wardrobe.

Anyway. Whatever. Not actually Lance's fault, but still. JC preferred to keep out of Lance's way for now, because Lance was one of his very best friends and he didn't want to be venting his feelings on Lance when really it was the organizers who were to blame. Or the designers. Whoever.

"You want to listen? He's a talker, is he? Or a screamer?"

"Oh, that's right, give away all my secrets!" Who was that? JC strove to place the second voice... hell. That British actor guy who'd had the incredible makeup job on his eye, with the glitter and everything. JC didn't really want to talk to him either.

He should just sneak away, collect his shoes later when nobody was there. Probably. Except—

"Okay then, Grant." Lance's voice again. But who was Grant? "I'm sliding one hand up his thigh now. And whaddaya know, turns out he didn't wear any underwear tonight."

"Thought I'd give the front row a thrill." That accent was stronger, now, and a bit breathless.

JC sidled closer to the door. There was a gap, maybe six inches, he could just peep and see what...

"A leather kilt. Very sexy, yeah." Lance was... talking into his cellphone, he had his left hand held to his ear. He was on his knees in front of, of Alan, that was the name, Alan who was angled not-quite full-frontal to where JC was standing, and looking entirely too smug. JC couldn't quite see Lance's right hand, but from what he'd heard it must be up underneath that leather kilt. Which explained the smug, really.

"He's going to take off his T-shirt now, Grant."

"Lazy bugger," Alan muttered. "You can't get proper service these days." But he was grinning and sliding down the zipper on his his black sleeveless top. As it slithered down Alan's arms, JC saw—he was almost certain he could see—a glint of metal on the actor's nipples.

He should leave, really. He really should.

"Mmm," said Lance into his cellphone, "pierced. Does he have sensitive nipples, then, Grant? I should?" His right hand slid up Alan's taut, skinny body and tweaked deliberately.

"Oh, fuck. You fucker, oh, fuck!"

Fuck, thought JC, watching the pale torso writhe. He was never, nevernevernever, going to have piercings, but sometimes he wondered how it would feel, was it really that intense, was it really that good?

It looked really good.

"Yeah, he likes it a lot," Lance was saying. "Time for the kilt now, babe, take it off, that's right, that's what I like. He's naked now, Grant, all except for the boots and the leather wristbands. And he's very hard."

JC stared at that slender, pale body, somehow more naked with those black, emphatic bands at wrists and ankles. Lance was fully dressed, jeans and a blue striped shirt, but he had wristbands too, sharp-spiked, and even as JC noticed them, Lance rolled his right wrist up from Alan's hip so that the spikes prickled their way up that pale, taut belly, and slid two fingers into Alan's mouth.

"Uncut," Lance murmured, deep bass now, utter porn. "That's going to make things very interesting. Oh, yeah."

JC watched, fascinated, no longer even pretending to himself that he had any thought of moving. Lance's fingers, glistening, trailed down to the other man's cock, Lance's thumb and middle finger ringed the tip, and his saliva-wet forefinger teased across the head as he slid the loose foreskin down and back.

"You do remember you promised me a blowjob, some time this cen—ooh! Oh, fuck, oh, God, yes, don'tstopthat'sfantastic."

Lance laughed wickedly. "Grant, I'm gonna give the cell to Alan now. I'm not going to be talking for a while."

Alan didn't seem to remember what cellphones were for. Lance put it carefully into his hand, folded his arm for him and pressed the apparatus to Alan's ear. "Talk," he instructed, and bent his head over Alan's cock.

JC could see—just—the column of Alan's erection as Lance slid his mouth over it. He stared, hypnotized by the slow up and down motion of Lance's head as he took more inside. He could see the pleasure reflected on Alan's bony features, and hear it in the gabbled commentary of "oh fuck, God, man, yes, oh, Jesus that's—ah, tongue, good tongue, and, yes, yes, Christ yes," tumbling incoherently into the cellphone. Lance's hands steadied Alan's jolting hips, California-tanned against the milky skin, and there was a shriek as Lance's head moved down.

"Oh Jesus so deep, oh God that's good." Alan's left hand drifted across his own chest and started tugging at a nipple. Bombs could be falling, JC thought vaguely, knowing he wouldn't notice and wouldn't care while he could watch this.

Lance shifted just a little, and now JC could see it clearly, Lance's cheeks hollowing and his lips stretched and his throat working. Eyes blissfully closed. One hand slid in and down and back, and "Fingers, ohfuckingJesusyes, he's fingerfucking me" spilled out of Alan's mouth. He must be close now, with the way Lance was speeding up, short, shallow and then sliding so deep, JC could almost feel the tight wet heat on his own cock. Alan's free hand was pawing helplessly at the air, then settled on Lance's sculpted hair, and he moaned something that wasn't even words, and JC could see his every muscle tense. A soundless cry, and a gasp.

Then Alan's hand was petting Lance's cheek, and Lance eased backwards. Light gleamed along the sturdy cock as Lance kissed it and licked gently around the sticky head.

JC swiped at his own mouth. He seemed to be drooling. He was going to have to leave now, get to a bathroom or a closet or somewhere, right now. If they were through. Although, he thought, if there was more to come, it would be a shame to miss it.

"Grant, Grant my darlin', if you could see how he looks." Alan had recovered the power of speech, and was grinning down at Lance. "Might just be the bonniest boy I've ever met. You'll see, when they get the official pictures out. Oh, man. I bloody well hope you did come, too! Well. You know me. I like to have an audience."

He looked straight at JC, and smiled.



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