nsync in black and white

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

You Want Some Help With That?

prequel to Prone


So alive, so electric, so unpredictable. And those eyes, bright and wild and beautiful, sometimes so completely mysterious, so totally, overwhelmingly sexy that Lance felt the stirrings of crazy butterflies inside him and just had to throw something or say something sarcastic or just run away and hide.

Chris... cornering him in the cramped hotel bathroom. You know what you want, Bass, I'm going to make sure you get it. Put his hot hands over Lance's ribs, under his T-shirt, and Chris slid his hands up inside the T-shirt, hands flat on Lance's chest, palming his nipples, the T-shirt came up and off and onto the floor. Hands down, now, smooth over his tensed stomach and inside his khakis, easing the button clear, nudging the zipper open.

Lance breathed carefully. His eyes were almost closed against the harsh white light, but he could see in the mirror the hands that were sliding through the coarse hair at his groin, tugging gently, teasing him, deliberately avoiding touching him where he most wanted to be touched, where his swelling cock was constricted in his underwear. You want me to make you feel good, don't you, Bass, going to make you feel good, very good, you never felt so good. Shall I push you down on your knees, do you want to suck me, do you want my cock in your mouth? Or shall I take you right here, bend you over the sink so you can watch it in the mirror as I fuck you?

Oh, yeah.

No. Gonna make this last. Bedroom.

Lance stripped off his clothes and lay back naked on the narrow twin bed. Lynn had taken Justin to see a movie, the others had gone out, off to a club, he'd pleaded homework and needing a rest. So nobody was around.

So. Chris's hands... down his thighs, feel the slight roughness of hairs, Chris's thighs were hairier, rougher. Chris's chest, too. Chris needed the wax jobs, not like Lance. Chris was grown. A man.

Chris at the door, right now. Lance, lying there, naked, erect, stroking his own cock. You want some help with that? Chris kneeling astride Lance's thighs, leaning in to kiss him, deep and wet and possessive, still in his street clothes, denim and boots, too impatient to get undressed. His jeans scratchy against Lance's cock as he ground down.

Or, no. Chris at the door, looking at Lance lying there, open, spread wide on the powder blue bedcover. He'd have Lance kneeling, on the floor, Chris's cock hard in his own hand, suck it, take it all, bring me off, hands holding his head, making him take it, and Lance would take it, a hot beautiful cock filling his mouth.

Or, no, wait, Chris at the door, You want some help with that? And that little, perfect smile he had when he was really pleased, and off with the clothes so Lance could see everything, all at once, and Chris straddling Lance as he lay there spread open on the bed, want you, want you so much, open your mouth for me, and Chris's fingers sliding in, dragging over his lower lip, and his other hand reaching for Lance's cock, folding sure and confident around it.

Chris, Chris, so good. Lance's lotion-slick hand worked on his erection, thumb circling idly over the head, spreading the slippery bead of fluid, firm grip, slow pumping, making this last. His left hand, two fingers in his mouth, how would it feel, to have Chris there, Chris wanting him, making Chris come in his mouth?

The door opened, and Chris was there.

Lance froze, his hand clamped around his cock, fingers stilled between his lips. Chris stared, and Lance's heart thundered in his chest. He couldn't look away, he couldn't even blink.

And then Chris whisked himself back out of the room, and the door shut.

Lance's eyes closed. He found that he was shivering, and crawled under the uncomforting hotel blankets, and told himself it didn't matter. That the worst thing was really the teasing he was going to get tomorrow, and every day after that until Joey or Justin did something spectacularly dumb.

By the time Chris came back to the room, and slid quietly into his own bed, Lance had wiped his cheeks dry against the pillow, and escaped into sleep.

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