Feast

What's on the Menu?

"So, um, Adam, I've been wondering." Lance slid down onto the couch and patted Adam's knee.

Uh oh. Here it comes, Adam thought, and set his coffee down on the low walnut table in front of him. He'd been dreading this moment for weeks now, because what was he going to do? Lance was going to invite him home to Mississippi for Christmas, and how was he supposed to deal with that? Meeting Lance's parents... had to happen sometime, probably, but from everything he'd heard Lance say about them, Christmas would involve going to church, and prayers over the meal table, and all kinds of assumptions that just didn't...

"What do you do on Christmas?"

"Hello? Jewish," he replied, deliberately flippant.

"Well, duh," said Lance, "that's why I asked. If you were Christian I'd have known what you did on Christmas, you'd be home with your family opening gifts and eating too much."

"Oh. Right."

"So?"

"I'm not even sure what you mean, exactly. I mean, I don't celebrate Christmas, so..."

"No, but. Practically the whole country does, so I thought you might, I don't know, have a tradition of your own, like maybe you invite friends over who don't celebrate and all get drunk together, or, or do movie marathons, or something. What I'm trying to ask is, do you have plans?"

"I—no. The cliché is that Jews go out for Chinese food, I guess, but I don't have—there isn't any special tradition," Adam admitted. Oh, hell. If it would make Lance happy, he could sit through the Christmas stuff. They wouldn't really expect him to go to church, would they? And if they did, how bad could it be? Jesus was a nice Jewish boy, too.

Yeah. Except Lance was from Mississippi.

Adam braced himself to receive the invitation with a smile.

"Okay," said Lance. "Because I thought, if you, I mean, I've given this a lot of thought, and it seems like it'd be fun, but if you don't want to, that's okay too."

He realized with a thrill of horror that there was no way Lance's conservative Christian parents were going to let the two of them share a bedroom in the parental home. He couldn't believe he was going to go for this. He deserved sainthood, if they let Jews be saints.

"I thought," Lance said, "we could have a threesome."

...

What?

He became aware that he was gaping like a demented goldfish, and that Lance was still waiting for some kind of answer. "I, I, you, that is so not what I, I wasn't—sorry, you kind of threw me completely here."

"Oh. Sorry. I guess I've been thinking about it for a while, I sort of forgot we didn't actually talk about it yet. But Christmas seems like a good time. I thought we could have him over for lunch or something, and ask him to stay, then we have the whole of Christmas Day to recover. Or keep going." He shrugged. Only Lance could look perfectly innocent discussing the practicalities of arranging a threesome. "And I know you don't do Christmas, so I thought, it'd be instead of an actual gift."

"You want to get me a threesome for Christmas? That is so thoughtful."

There was a wicked glint in Lance's green eyes. "I thought, is there anything Adam would like more than having two hot guys licking his cock at the same time, and you know what, I couldn't think of a thing." He ran his hand casually up the inseam of Adam's jeans.

"I think we're going to have to talk about this later. Right now I have to blow you."

"Damn, and I was all set to blow you."

"Good thing we can both multi-task."

Some time and two orgasms later, they struggled back onto the couch and flopped there, entangled, to recover.

Adam stroked Lance's face, skin like peaches and sparse designer stubble. "You know I don't need anyone but you. You do know that."

"Of course. If I didn't know for sure that you love me, I'd be holding on real tight and not letting anyone else close. You wouldn't be able to tell the difference between me and a Rottweiler."

Adam looked at Lance thoughtfully. "You have nicer teeth," he said.

Lance ignored this. "And I don't need anyone else either. I just thought it would be hot, watching you fuck somebody. Or, you know. Whatever."

"So many possibilities," Adam said, and chuckled. "I am so lucky, I can't believe it." It was just possible he was going to get really mushy over this. "So did you have anyone in mind for this Christmas gift?"

"Yes, I do. I thought about it quite a bit, like I said. It has to be someone cute and tiny, because you kind of miss out on that with me—"

"Not missing out on anything," Adam said, muffled against Lance's hair.

"No, okay. Still. It also has to be someone who isn't gonna expect to be, like, a part of what we have, but who won't be—we don't want someone who's, like, a fuck toy. That's not me and it's not you. So it has to be a friend."

"I like your reasoning. Good reasoning."

"And, we have to not fuck him up."

"I don't think we'd do that, would we?"

Lance tapped him gently on the nose, and Adam's eyes crossed for a moment. "You are pretty hard to forget," Lance said, gently. "I thought about asking Jai Rodriguez, because he's a sweetheart and he'd fall over himself to say yes to both of us, but I think it'd be kinda cruel."

Adam thought about that. He could see Lance's point. Jai was exceptionally cute (although, Adam thought guiltily, he'd been even cuter ten years ago), and Jai would have been all over Adam, or all over Lance, any time these last few years if they'd so much as smiled at him wrong, but. It would be kinda cruel. Jai would want more, and it wasn't there for him. "Is it even possible to find someone who fits your criteria? Which are good criteria, I agree, but seriously, is there actually anyone we could take to bed, really?"

"I was thinking of your crazy ex," said Lance.

There was only one person that could mean. Lance never got that exact tone in his voice when he was talking about anyone else. "Brad? Brad? Seriously?"

"Mmm."

Because, thought Adam, he's obviously my type, won't expect anything more but will almost certainly say yes to a one-off, and will go his merry way afterwards without a qualm. "There's just one problem," he said. "You don't like Brad."

Lance shifted. "Brad doesn't like me," he corrected. "Probably I'm too normal for him."

Adam snorted, but Lance wasn't wrong. Brad thought Lance was dull, and said so far too often. He had a tiresome habit of announcing that Adam deserved better. Brad was oddly protective of Adam, which was ridiculous and also, Brad couldn't recognize happiness when it was staring him in the face, not if it didn't take the form he'd decided it ought to take, which was a problem Adam genuinely hoped he would grow out of one day. He seemed to think Adam was "settling" for Lance and didn't bother to hide his disapproval, which had made the rare occasions when he and Lance had been in the same place distinctly uncomfortable.

All of which made him a very unlikely choice to make up a threesome. Damn. Because, really... He looked at Lance, tried to figure out what had led him to the conclusion that Brad would work for this. "Are you sure? I mean, it sounds fantastic, but seriously, Brad? Why?"

"I respect him," Lance said, to Adam's surprise. "He's smart, he's funny, he's talented, and most important, he never sold you out." There was a wistful note in his voice. It must have been hard growing up as a superstar, Adam thought, being famous before you learned to tell the difference between people who wanted to be with you and people who wanted to exploit you. "Anyhow," Lance went on, "in a private situation like we're talking about, the exterior stuff doesn't matter, like, what I wear and stuff like that. I think we can get along. And we'll both be there for you anyway, so."

"You're multi-tasking again," Adam said in sudden recognition. "Saving money by not buying me something fabulous for Christmas, and getting Bradley to perceive the true wonder and glory of the Bass at the same time."

Lance's mouth twitched. "Plus, free porn," he murmured. "It'd just—it'd be way more convenient if he liked me. Besides, everybody likes me. I'm very likeable. He's just perverse."

Adam couldn't help himself, he laughed until he almost fell off the couch. "You know what," he said, getting himself under control and wriggling closer into Lance's grasp, "I think it's probably going to work. You'll have to get your alpha thing going and fuck him into next week, he likes that."

"No shit, Sherlock. Maybe I should wear the Adam wig?"

"No! Definitely not. Not with anyone but me. Even though he'd probably adore it."

Lance laughed. "So. Brad, then. You'd better find out if he's available."

"Next time someone wishes me a Merry Christmas, I'm going to pop the biggest boner," Adam said reflectively.

"Oh, you were planning on waiting that long? God, it's like having a teenager in the house," Lance said.

"Lance Bass, you shock me. Was that a complaint?" Adam rubbed hopefully against Lance's thigh. "Are you really telling me that talking about my fabulous Christmas present-to-be isn't a turn-on?"

"I'm gonna need medication," Lance grumbled, but Adam knew better than to take that seriously. Both of them seemed to be making up for their actual, very barren, teenage years—at least, Adam's had been kinda bleak. He wasn't entirely convinced by Lance's protestations that teenage Lance hadn't taken advantage of being a megastar. Lance had been awfully pretty when he was a teenager, even with the fried blond hair. Adam patted Lance's crotch in a proprietorial way and said he didn't think they needed to answer the internet ads just yet, Lance seemed to be doing just fine without help, and Lance poked him in the ribs. "Stay on topic."

"What topic? I'll give Brad a call in a couple of days, what else is there to say?"

"Maybe," Lance said, "we should plan. It would be embarrassing to get him here and not know what to do with him."

"I'm pretty sure I'll know what to do with him."

"The alpha thing."

"Yeah, that. Brad can be very, hm, pliant."

"Oh, good." Lance reflected. "He does have that sort of make me shut up kind of vibe."

"Or is that just wishful thinking?"

Lance laughed. "Maybe it is. I'll figure out how to keep him quiet."

Assembling the Ingredients

Adam decided to mull over the idea for a while before he spoke to Brad. What with the whole "Lance Bass isn't good enough for you" thing, he had a feeling Brad would need a very carefully thought-out approach. One thing in its favor was that Brad had referred to Lance as 'decorative' once or twice. Adam was pretty sure that meant Brad had noticed Lance's physique, and was never going to admit he found Lance attractive. Adam really didn't want to blow this thing. Every time he thought about it he got extra happy, which meant he really had to concentrate on the tour planning meetings or they'd get embarrassing. Getting hard on stage was understandable (and mostly appreciated, if the internet stuff his friends liked to send him was any indication) but getting hard in the middle of discussions about sets and budgets, not so much.

Eventually, he decided he'd figured it out, and called.

"Hey, diva," Brad said.

"So I have two questions for you," Adam said. "Question one."

"Were you always this boring? Did I hallucinate each and every interesting conversation we ever had?"

"You could wait until you hear the questions."

There was silence.

"Are you still there? Don't roll your eyes. Question one, do you have plans for Christmas?"

"That was question two. Question one was, are you still there, which I am. And I didn't roll my eyes," Brad said.

"You so did." Adam knew better than to believe that.

"And no, I don't have plans for Christmas. When do I ever have plans for Christmas? Someone always comes up with something way more interesting to do while most of America is making themselves miserable congregating with all their hideous flatulent relations and eating themselves into sugar shock."

"Your breath control is—have you been taking lessons? No, strike that, doesn't count. Second question, okay, third question," said Adam. "Do you have any communicable diseases?" He could almost hear Brad sit up straight and pay attention.

"Why, honey, is that a proposition? As it happens I am free of any and all communicable diseases. I have paperwork and everything."

Adam chuckled. "Christmas," he said in his most sultry voice. "Don't make other plans." And he hung up before Brad had time to formulate the barrage of questions that would no doubt be texting their way to him in about… five seconds' time.

Heh.

With all the promo Adam was doing—Lance too, he had a new film to launch and was trying to be everywhere at once—there was no difficulty in evading Brad's questions. And then, amazingly quickly, it was December 24th.

Born to slink, Adam thought to himself as Brad slid into the car next to him and stretched provocatively, a wondrous sight. Brad was wearing a black wifebeater in something indefinably not-quite-shiny, sprayed-on black pants and—Adam glanced down and saw turquoise toenails—flip flops. Obviously dressed for easy access, except for those pants, which were going to take serious work. Adam wasn't sure Brad would be able to sit—no, he'd managed it. Still, the overall effect was very fine indeed. Brad was all about the sex today. Adam placed a silent bet with himself that there was nothing but skin underneath the pants, and very nearly purred as he started the car.

He was feeling vaguely guilty that he had not, in fact, told Brad he was being lured into a threesome. Somehow, the words, You know you despise Lance? Well, let's all have sex anyway, it's Christmas! had not formulated themselves into something he could actually say. He'd spent quite a lot of time trying for the perfect phrasing, the perfect tone—light and breezy, dark and sensual, matter-of-fact—and not convinced himself with any of them. But it wasn't going to matter. With Brad slinking like that, he was most likely going to say, mrow, bring it on. Brad loved sex. Brad had—Adam knew this, and it had been quite hard to deal with at the time—had threesomes before. Brad would love this.

Anyway, it'd take them at least twenty minutes to get to Lance's place. The opportunity was bound to come up.

"Seatbelt," he said. "You're way too pretty to go through the windshield."

"When you put it like that, sweetie," Brad said, and did up his seatbelt.

It was strange, knowing he was about to have sex with Brad again, and not… the excitement, the wild perfection they'd had together, the heady exhilaration of his first love, at the time it had seemed to be destiny, that they were supposed to spend their lives together. It wasn't exactly surprising that they'd burned out like a Fourth of July firework display. Maybe the real miracle was that they were here now, honestly and truly friends. Adam would never entirely stop loving Brad, but that edge of desperation he used to feel was softened into affection and a whole lot easier to deal with.

He'd never quite be able to look at Brad and not want, either, Brad's slender, perfect body being the personification of Adam's physical ideal. He smiled just a little as he pulled into the line of traffic. Oh, fuck, he was so looking forward to this. Because now, there was Lance, not at all what Adam had always thought he wanted, but somehow a better fit. Not fireworks, bright, glorious and ephemeral, but something solid and real. And it was Lance who was offering him this, inviting someone else into their bed simply because it would give Adam pleasure. It was going to give Lance pleasure, too, he was going to love fucking Brad, Brad took it so beautifully and loved it, Brad was going to love Lance's cock in him.

They were quiet for a few minutes, until Brad asked: "So, what happened to the straight acting boyfriend?"

Adam sighed. He was getting a bit ahead of himself, skipping the awkward scene that they'd have to get through before they got to the good stuff. "You know, there has to be a statute of limitations on that," he said, which touched off a vague memory in his mind of someone else saying it to him.

"I never did get what you saw in Lance Bass. I mean, seriously? Boring has-been talentless pretend popstar with nothing but his looks to live on, and aside from the music business you have absolutely nothing in common."

"Not talentless, just because he doesn't want to go solo," Adam said.

"All he had to do before Timberlake left Nsync in the dust was smile and dance and look pretty."

"There was Flower," Adam reminded him. Adam was still proud of that song, and the way Lance had stepped up for his part. Poor baby, he'd been terrified, though Adam hadn't known it at the time. "Anyway, he does other stuff now. He has a production company."

"And people to do the work for him," Brad said.

Adam sighed again and shook his head. He knew better, but telling Brad some details of Lance's life (that weren't really his to tell) wasn't the way to get him to revise his opinions. But he had not failed to notice that 'look pretty' snuck in there.

"So, where did he go?"

"Lance? He's at home."

"Ah. Right, of course, good wholesome boy goes back to Mississippi for Christmas."

"I thought he wanted to take me to meet his parents for the holiday," Adam said, shaking his head at the memory. He opened his mouth to inform Brad that Lance had not gone anywhere, but Brad began to laugh.

"I can just see you sitting down at the table with a proper Southern family. Hey, wait," he said, suddenly indignant, "you mean, you didn't meet his family? At all? He met yours, though, didn't he?"

"Of course he did. And yes, they do like him." Even Neil liked Lance. He refused to admit it, of course, but he'd been surprised by Lance's quietly wicked sense of humor, and fooled by those innocent wide eyes into assuming he could wipe the floor with Lance at poker.

"So he's good enough to meet your parents but you aren't good enough to meet his," said Brad. "You're well rid of him."

"I wasn't exactly looking forward to spending Christmas with them," Adam said, mildly. "I mean, we'd have had to sleep in separate rooms. Not my idea of a Christmas treat."

"Plus they'd hate you," Brad said in a matter-of-fact tone that hid a world of hurt. "They're from darkest Mississippi."

"They don't seem, I mean—I don't think they'd hate me," Adam said. "I 'm pretty sure they're trying really hard to, to be right with Lance." And they'd done a good job raising him, anyone could see that, and he loved them, and…

"Yeah, 'cause that isn't uncomfortable at all."

"I'm lucky, but not everyone is." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "You do know that."

"If they were really trying to be right with Lance, taking you to meet them would be no problem."

Adam did not want to talk about this any more. He had enough insecurities of his own to worry about without Brad making them worse. He had been willing to adapt to Lance's parents, only Lance had not been planning to take him to meet them after all, and although the new plan for Christmas was way, way better than he'd thought it was going to be, he could not help wondering whether Lance was maybe… embarrassed to take his fabulously, flamboyantly gay boyfriend home. And he didn't want to think about that.

More to the point, he didn't want Brad brooding about what a schmuck Lance was, because that was not going to work at all.

"Let's forget about Lance's parents," he said.

"Fine with me. Did you see Danielle lately? Did she buy that coat? I told her she had to, but you know she never takes my advice."

"That's because she has some sense of decorum, unlike certain people I know."

"Oh, who wants to be decorous. Flaunt it while you can, is what I say." Brad lifted his feet onto the seat and admired his pretty toes.

I really need to tell him, Adam thought. He turned left at the next set of lights, and opened his mouth to explain what a real Christmas treat would be.

"Wait—shouldn't we go down—where are we going?"

"Bed," Adam said, and grinned. Oh, the hell with it. Brad was going to find out soon enough.

"You did not move without telling me! Tell me you didn't get a new house! Are we going to a hotel? It'd better be five star, honey, this body doesn't put out on anything with less than a one thousand per inch thread count."

"You've gone upmarket."

"And aren't you the lucky one." Brad admired his turquoise toes for a few moments longer before asking, "So where are we going?"

"Lance's house."

"What, are we going to fuck in his bed?"

"That's the plan."

"Adam Lambert, are you developing some kinks at last?" Brad said, but without conviction. As Adam turned the Mustang through the gates and slowed to a halt close to the kitchen door, Brad was shifting uncomfortably in his seat—and probably not because of those delightfully tight pants.

"Adam. Baby. Listen, this isn't you."

"I—what?"

"This isn't you. You don't do tacky revenge scenarios. I know you better than that. If the stupid fucker dumped you, just wash him right out of your hair."

"Lance didn't dump me," Adam said. Maybe he wasn't playing this right after all. Brad's sudden seriousness was not at all the mood he wanted. "And I didn't dump him either, if you're wondering."

"So—what, you're sneaking me in for something on the side while he's away? I don't believe you. You'd never screw around on someone you care about."

"So you do think I care about Lance?"

"You've been together for months. It can't all be for convenience."

"I thought we were together for the publicity. Isn't that what you said?"

Brad looked at him patiently. "He's with you for the publicity. You're with him for… convenience seems to be the best name for it."

"Not really," Adam said. He got out, and ducked his head down to say, "It's really not. Come on inside. You'll see."

Brad stared at him, and slowly swung himself out of the Mustang.

And Lance opened the door.

"Hi," Lance said, and a very wicked grin spread across his face as he looked Brad up and down.

Brad stalked past Adam—quite an achievement, in flip flops—and as he approached Lance, the wicked grin melted off Lance's face to be replaced by something quite a lot like dismay. Cheeks having a hissy fit, Adam thought. Well, screw that. He followed them into the house, and grabbed Lance for a quick kiss as he kicked the door shut behind him. "Dogs?" he said, as there had been no rapturous welcome from Lance's puppies.

"In the yard. Adam—"

Brad had marched straight on into the kitchen and was standing there with his arms folded and his best death glare on his face. He looked so cute, Adam wanted to pick him up and carry him upstairs like Scarlett O'Hara. If it had been just the two of them he probably would have, sex had always been a great way to settle their arguments. Maybe that was why they hadn't been able to make it work, he thought, and the surprise of it shocked him immobile.

There was a pop, and a moment later Lance handed him a glass of champagne. "Welcome," he said to Brad, who blinked and found himself holding an effervescing crystal flute.

"Chtob vse byli zdorovy," Lance said.

Adam hoped he was toasting, not swearing. He drank anyway.

There was a moment of silence, then all three of them spoke at once.

"—explain to me, because what the fuck?" Brad—naturally—was the one still speaking when Adam and Lance had shut up.

"Adam," Lance said, mildly, "did you not ask him?"

Okay, it was time to take action. Adam put his champagne down, crossed the room and positioned himself behind Brad, pressing against him and winding his arms around Brad's tiny middle. "No," he admitted, "but I knew he'd say no if I asked him then, and I know he'll say yes now. Right, baby?" He was getting hard already, and wiggled his hips pointedly. Brad shivered in response. Of course. "I mean. Look at him." Lance was wearing a sage-green T-shirt with a V-neck, tight across his chest. Snug, faded jeans. Bare feet. Designer stubble and his hair a bedheady mess. He looked delicious. "Look at his arms, baby. Doesn't he have great arms? Imagine him holding you down. Imagine him fucking you. He's good, baby. You'll love it."

"Adam." Lance did not sound impressed. "You're being an asshole."

Adam bridled. He knew Brad a whole lot better than Lance, and yes, okay, he had failed to actually ask about the whole threesome deal, but he knew Brad would go for it if only Lance didn't say the wrong thing right about now. But he unwound his arms from Brad's waist and went back to his champagne glass. He could use a drink. They could all use a drink.

"I'm sorry," Lance was saying. "I assumed you knew, and you agreed, or you wouldn't be here."

"False pretenses," Brad said. He did sip his champagne, though, and he was not shrieking with rage, or throwing sharp objects. So really, things were going well. Adam relaxed a bit too soon, because Brad went on, "I was all ready for some hot post-breakup consolation sex with Adam. I wasn't expecting you at all."

"And here I am," said Lance, calmly. "I guess you figured out that we wanted you to have sex with us. Both of us. Adam was supposed to make that clear. And, we kind of, uh, expect it to last all day tomorrow. But just say the word and I will have a car come get you and take you home, or wherever else you want to be."

Brad was staring at Lance now, and Adam knew that look. Brad was stuck. Wanting to hang on to his outrage and his pride, but tempted, so very tempted to stay for the sex. Needing to be cajoled, flattered, pleaded with. "Have some more champagne," he suggested, "while you think it over." Warily, Brad accepted more champagne. "We really want you to stay," Adam said, softly.

"Adam, don't push."

"Does he get to tell you what to do now?" Brad asked.

"Adam likes to get his own way," Lance said. "You must have noticed that."

"Oh, no, he was always too busy trying to please me," Brad said, airily.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Well, he likes his own way now, and I only spank him when he's being a brat about it," he said, with a slight grin. Which was seriously good strategy, because Brad would so love the idea of Adam being spanked. Not that Lance ever had, of course not. Definitely not. Although, Adam mused, he could definitely get with the idea of spanking Lance. See that lush, gorgeous ass turn pink…

"You know, that's a really bad habit you have there," Brad said, and was there a hint of amusement in his voice now? Because that was a very good sign. "I'm doing my best to bitch you out—"

"No, no, I'm sure you can do better than that," Lance murmured.

"—and you keep being nice to me. In fact, you're always fucking nice, every time we meet, it's pathetic."

"Of course I'm nice to you," Lance said, with a big, sunny smile. "I'm a nice guy. Plus, it pisses you off more than anything else I could do."

Adam clamped his jaw shut on the laugh that wanted to break out. Brad, for once in his life lost for words, was rigidly upright and staring at Lance like an affronted meerkat.

"And," Lance said brightly, "don't forget, you promised me sex lessons, back at the beginning of the summer. How to be good in bed with Adam Lambert, which you know all about and I don't at all. No, it's fair, he thinks I need lessons," he said, as Adam opened his mouth to protest and the laugh escaped.

"I promised nothing of the kind!"

"Well, maybe not a promise," said Lance, "but you did say you could teach me a few things." He leaned back against the kitchen counter and grinned.

"Now that," Adam said, resuming his former position against Brad's back and crooning into his ear, "I would very, very much like to see. C'mon, baby, say yes. What else could you possibly do for Christmas that'd be as much fun?"

Brad humphed, and Adam knew they had him. "I suppose I could stay. Since apparently you can't manage to have fun without me. That is, provided you have something worthwhile planned." Adam rewarded him by pressing closer and kissing his ear.

"Planned?" Lance moved in, face to face with Brad and only an inch between their bodies. "I didn't make plans. I thought we'd improvise." He was using the porn voice now, and Adam was responding to it as he always did. He didn't think Brad was immune, either, even though Brad kept that superior tone in his voice when he said,

"Improvisation is so messy. Really, you went to the trouble of bringing me here and you don't even have anything planned? I'd say you definitely need some coaching."

"I planned," said Lance, "on having spectacular sex. Stripping you naked and both of us fucking you over the kitchen table, that'd be improvisation. How'm I doing?"

Brad's breath hitched. Adam groaned. "Can we please get with the stripping him naked part right now?"

"No. Not until I hear you say yes. Yes to all of it, me as well as Adam. If that's not what you want—" Lance stepped back and dropped out of porn voice and lost his sex god attitude in the same instant. Adam would never get used to how he did that—"then we feed you lunch and we put you in a car and forget about a threesome, and that's fine."

Lance seemed to be genetically incapable of letting people out of the house without feeding them. It was sort of adorable.

There was silence for twelve fraught seconds (Adam counted) while they stared at one another. Then Brad laughed. "Fuck you. Both of you. Yes," he said.

Appetizers

"And you, Lance Bass, you had better live up to my standards or I'm telling everyone on Twitter that you suck in bed."

Lance got back up close and personal. "I do. I'm very good at it." He looked smokily at Brad, who cocked his head with all the arrogance his adorable little body could summon. Adam couldn't see the expression on Brad's face, but he could guess, and he could see the lurking grin on Lance's. "You know," Lance said, "you're so totally not my type." He and Adam exchanged rueful glances over Brad's shoulder. "But you are about the prettiest thing I ever saw in my life."

"Duh," said Brad, and Lance kissed him, and Adam thought his cock was probably going to burst through his pants any second now. He watched them biting at each other's lips, and reminded himself to breathe. Brad's ass gyrated against Adam's hips, trapped between Adam and Lance. Adam held Brad's hips still and ground against him, and Lance reached a hand round to pull Adam in for his turn to be kissed, and had the air conditioning in this kitchen stopped working, or what?

"Kitchen table," Adam gasped, because fuck, that was a great idea, that was a wonderful idea, the bedroom was way too far.

"Naked first," Lance said. "Just him."

Adam was definitely down with that idea, and slid his hands under the slinky wifebeater onto Brad's hot, taut little belly and up, slowly, pulling the singlet up and over Brad's head and capturing both Brad's wrists in his right hand as they stretched obligingly above his head. Lance was busying himself with the fastening of Brad's pants, and yes, Adam won his bet, and down they came, inching over Brad's thighs. Adam slid his left hand around to Brad's erection and teased his thumb over the already-leaking head. Brad whimpered, then arched helplessly as Lance's tongue licked over Adam's fingers and they played with him together, mouth and fingers sliding over his cock.

"Going to fuck you so good," Adam whispered, "both of us, have you begging, you're going to love this, baby."

"Adam, stuff," Lance ordered, rising from his knees, so Adam let Brad fall into Lance's arms and went for the drawer where they kept supplies. The kitchen table was just the right height for sex, and running upstairs for condoms had gotten old very quickly.

When he turned around, Brad was bent face down across the table, arched up on his elbows with his hands clutching the far edge and his legs spread wide with Lance standing between them. Adam slapped his handful of condoms and lube down onto the wooden surface and pressed himself to Lance's back to watch, over the nearest shoulder, Lance's hands on Brad's ass, the way his thumbs trailed a slow, feathery touch down between. "Share?" he said, and Lance spread Brad open so Adam could tease him with one fingertip.

Lance said, "Give him more." Adam slid two fingers between Lance's lips and drew them out wet with saliva. In, just a little way, just to the first knuckle, and out again, through that sweet ring of resistance, in and out, with Brad pleading for more and trying to move, and Lance's hands holding him still and open. "God," Lance breathed, "that's a pretty sight."

"Fuck me, fuck me," Brad insisted. "Now!"

"Pushy, isn't he," Lance said. "Patience. We'll take care of you." And to Adam's delight, Lance slid to his knees and pressed his tongue to that quivering hole, and Brad's reaction was everything he'd expected it to be. He watched them, Brad's slim thighs held firmly under Lance's muscled arms, his buttocks spread and trying to buck against the incredible sensations Lance's mouth was giving him. Free porn, indeed.

Adam undid his jeans very carefully and pumped his cock just a little. Time for the condom, he thought, and rolled it into place.

Alerted by the ripping of the wrapper, Lance leaned back from his rimming and looked up approvingly. He rose to his feet, and Adam obligingly opened his jeans and rolled down a condom on Lance's erection.

"Wanna toss a coin?" Lance said, grinning wickedly.

With almost superhuman generosity, Adam said, "You first," and handed him the lube. Lance squirted a good-sized blob onto his finger and slid it straight into Brad's asshole.

"Jesus! Will somebody for fuck's sake fuck me!"

Lance anointed his cock with a liberal coating of lube, and pressed its blunt head against Brad's ass. Brad's legs spread impossibly wider, and there was an exasperated "Finally!" from the other side of the table as Lance's cock slowly disappeared into him, and some more excited noises too. Lance drew back, so gradually, and Adam stared at the hypnotic sight as it went in again, deeper, and out almost all the way, again and again…

And Lance withdrew. "Now you," he said, and Adam didn't bother to be puzzled, he was there, and oh, pushing into that tight place, so hot, so good, and Lance's eyes as avid as his own must have been as he watched.

"Stop," Lance said. "My turn again."

Lance was a fucking genius, Adam thought. Five thrusts, no more, and they'd withdraw, and swap, with Brad begging and sobbing for more. They turned him over for a while, held his legs in the air and took their turns, then back onto his belly and spread wide over the table. Depth, rhythm, changing it up, one would slide as slow as he could manage, and then the other in deep and fast, five hard strokes and then turn about again, until Adam thought he might seriously die if he couldn't finish.

Lance paused, smiled. "You think he wants us both at once?"

Brad was cursing wildly, demanding that they get on with it, but Lance pulled Adam's condom off, wiped him quickly with a damp kitchen towel, then emptied his champagne glass, chill fizzy liquid over Adam's cock. "It'll taste better than latex," he said, and Adam remembered that Lance was a genius and got himself around the table and lifted Brad's head and fed the tip of his cock into that pretty mouth. A moment later he could feel Brad's reaction as Lance penetrated him again. Brad's moans tingled against his flesh, and Lance stared at Adam's cock as he fucked harder, and Adam watched Brad taking it so beautifully and felt his orgasm build into inevitability, and pulled back, pumped his cock and spurted over Brad's ecstatic face, and saw Lance's eyes close and his face tighten as he came.

After a few long deep breaths, Adam moved shakily to the drawer for a clean cloth. When he turned, Lance was easing Brad to his feet and holding him, petting him as Brad clung on. He loved that about Lance, the way he took care of people. Adam liked to take care of people, too, but it was so good, sometimes, to let go and have Lance take the weight and look after him. And seeing him so gentle with Brad, it was beautiful. They were beautiful.

"Here, let me clean you up," Adam said, and Brad lifted a blissful eyes-closed face.

"Take him up to bed," Lance murmured. "I'll be there in five."

It was a little more than five minutes before Lance appeared at the bedroom door. By then, Adam was undressed, freshened up, and happily snuggled in with Brad, who'd catnapped for maybe ninety seconds and was now brightly awake and talkative again. The sheets, it seemed, were of acceptable quality, and the sight of Lance, or more properly, of the giant tray Lance was carrying, with three bottles, three glasses and some unidentifiable dishes, set off a stream of interested speculation.

Lance gestured to them to move their legs, and set the tray on the bed. The bottles turned out to be champagne, water, and vodka. And the dishes contained warm blinis, sour cream, caviar, and strawberries.

"If this is improvisation, I'm a big hairy bear," Brad announced, eagerly taking one of the small plates and two blinis, and spooning sour cream and caviar onto both.

"I never said I wasn't prepared," Lance pointed out. "Drink?"

They settled on the icy-cold vodka, for a properly Russian experience, and Lance was diverted into telling them about some of the more terrifying vodka experiences he'd had while actually in Russia, and taught them how to say the toast he'd offered earlier, which apparently meant "to everyone's good health", and Brad declared himself to be a caviar addict now, and was allowed to wipe his fingers around the bowl to claim the last stray little eggs, and then they fed one another strawberries—which turned out to have been marinaded in balsamic vinegar and which Adam said were the most delicious things he had ever put in his mouth, which made Brad pout and Lance shake his head in reproach and say that Brad was his favorite now and should have the last strawberry, so that of course Adam had to steal it right out from between Brad's teeth, and things got a little lively there for a while.

Lance moved the tray onto the enormous dressing table—after refilling the glasses, of course—and came back to sit on the bed. As an afterthought he set the bottle of water on the night stand. It made Adam smile inwardly. Lance was good at thinking ahead.

"You know, I think someone here is wearing way too many clothes, and it can't be me," Brad said, "because I haven't got any clothes on at all."

"I think we should do something about that," said Adam, and pounced.

There was a lot more tickling, and quite a bit more groping, than actual productive getting-Lance's-clothes-off, but even so it didn't take long to get him naked. "Does nobody but me bother with underwear any more?" Adam said indignantly, after Lance's two—two—garments had been flung to the floor.

"You call those tiny little things 'underwear'?" Lance said.

"Don't want the goods to chafe." Adam liked his thongs. They were comfortable, and no VPL problems.

"Right, got to look after these," Lance said, and patted Adam's balls in a familiar way. He had wormed his way up the bed and was lying along Adam's left side. Brad, on the other side, snickered and agreed.

"You know," Lance said, leaning up on one elbow to address Brad, "the reason you're here is that I couldn't think of anything Adam would like more than having two mouths on his cock at the same time."

"Really?" Brad smirked. "That does sound kinda characteristic, now you mention it."

Adam perked up. There was more snickering.

"The trouble is…" Lance said, "I don't know that we can trust him to lie back and take it."

"Mmm. Yeah, he's going to be interfering, taking charge, being obnoxious," said Brad, wide-eyed with fake dismay, the brat.

"I don't think we should let him do that."

"I never thought I would say this, but I agree with you."

"I am not obnoxious!" Adam felt it was time to speak up for himself. "And if I want to give a little direction, that's because I know what I like." It seemed perfectly reasonable to him. After all, what if he really, really wanted someone sucking on the head of his cock, and they were both busy licking the shaft? That was just unthinkable.

"You know, honey, sometimes you just have to let someone else be in charge." Brad was sprawling across Adam's chest. "After all, we know what you like."

"And we'll give it to you," Lance said, kneeling on the bed, "trust us."

"And just to be sure you're a good boy," said Brad, wriggling away, "we won't let you interfere."

"Oh, no, but—now, wait a second!" Adam yelped in protest, as they spread his arms out towards the tall wooden posts on either side of the bed. Brad had obviously spotted Lance's velvet-covered ropes already fastened to the pillars—Lance had so planned this—and they wrestled him into position and tied his wrists, then sat back on their heels and looked at him with eerily identical grins of satisfaction on their entirely different faces. Adam protested, rather feebly, that he did not want to be tied up.

"We can tell," said Lance, running two fingers along the length of Adam's erection. "You don't like it at all."

Oh, dear, Adam thought. He was at the mercy of these two, and they were going to exploit their advantage ruthlessly. He whimpered.

"So," said Brad, cheerfully. "Where shall we start?"

Lance looked at him with a positively evil expression in his green eyes. "I say we start at the top and work down."

"He does have very sensitive ears," Brad agreed. "It might just drive him wild to have both of them kissed at the same time. And won't that be fun?"

Adam was sure it would. And oh, oh god, oh dear sweet motherfucking fiends from hell, both of them, sucking, licking, nibbling his ears, sending crazy impulses along his nerve endings in stereo, and then they slid down, with a brief detour to Adam's mouth—tag team kissing was so not fair—then the pair of them were playing with his nipples. They took turns. Sometimes one would lave him gently with a flattened tongue while the other tugged with teeth, sometimes they'd match. They conferred, dammit, they were conspiring to make him insane. Or else they were in competition to see who could drive him hardest. Either way, this was incredible.

"You fuckers, please, please," he said, and many other things, but they took their sweet time before they were both down there licking his straining cock. Mouths and hands, everywhere, sliding, sucking him inside, gripping his shaft or his balls, silk-wet fingers inside him. Adam was lost in the sensations, and as there was really nothing he could do, he lay back and let them pleasure him, and it was wonderful.

Once he could speak again—good thing he had no call to sing for several days—he requested, very politely, he thought, that they get each other off somewhere he could watch. They were definitely competing on that one. It was a pity Lance had vetoed recording any of this, because they were so hot he thought there'd be scorch marks on the sheets.

They cuddled up against him afterwards, sticky, sweaty and sated, and Adam managed to summon up the strength to run his fingers through Brad's hair, and bring Lance in for a brief kiss.

Of course, Brad couldn't leave things nice and peaceful. "I'm starving!" he announced. "More food!"

"Hummingbird," Adam grumbled. Brad's metabolism was practically a miracle of nature. He ate all the time and never seemed to get fat. To be fair, he had been working quite hard.

Lance rolled off the bed. "Gimme five minutes to clean up a bit," he said, and disappeared into the bathroom. Adam contemplated the effort of a shower and decided he'd just lie there and stink of sex for a while longer. Maybe Brad and Lance could give him a sponge bath. Eh, maybe not.

Lance emerged, stepped into his jeans and went off to make dinner.

Entrée

Brad went into the bathroom. Moments later the sounds of water pattering onto the floor and squeaks of rapture announced that he'd discovered Lance's fantastic shower. Adam listened, amused. The water sounds changed and there were more ecstatic noises. Obviously he'd found the lateral jets. He'd be in there for hours. Adam contemplated joining him, but it didn't seem right without Lance, so he staggered off to the nearest guest bedroom and made himself respectable in its somewhat inferior shower. There was a bathrobe on the back of the door, so he brought it back, arriving in the master bedroom just as Bradley emerged, clean as a whistle and looking outrageously chipper.

"I brought you a robe," Adam said, tossing it onto the bed and heading to the closet. There were certainly some pants of some description—yes, black silk pajama bottoms, perfect.

Brad looked at the robe with distaste. "It's peach," he said. "I was going to borrow one of your T-shirts."

"Any of my T-shirts would be like a dress on you."

"I look cute in a dress," Brad said.

"You'll look cute in peach," Adam assured him. "Come on, princess, let's go see what Lance has cooked for us."

"My God, he cooks, too? It's settled then, I'm moving in. I'm going to live in that bathroom."

I really am ridiculously lucky, Adam thought to himself as he followed Brad down the stairs. This was all working out spectacularly well.

The dogs were inside and greeted Adam with their usual rapture, then investigated under the peach bathrobe in ways that made Lance apologize for his perverted puppies and usher them promptly out of the kitchen. Adam sat giggling at the immaculately clean table and beckoned to Brad to join him.

"I just had a religious experience," Brad announced.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Lance replied over his shoulder. He was getting something out of the oven, something that smelled fantastic. "When I went up to see if y'all were ready to eat yet it sounded like you were making out with the water supply. I hope it was good for the shower."

"You may mock, but that shower is sublime. Why don't you have a shower like that at your place?"

"I— it didn't come with a shower like that," Adam said.

"Unlike Brad," Lance commented. "I guess we could—does it count as an orgy with only three people?"

Adam and Lance exchanged grins. Really, three of them in the shower, not a bad idea.

"So, what's for dinner?" Brad said. "Feed me!"

The answer turned out to be slow-roasted beef in thick slices, tender enough to cut with the spoons they used to scoop up the thick, rich, wine-filled gravy that accompanied it. Apparently it had been in the oven since before Adam and Brad arrived at the house, which meant that Lance was a wizard, or prescient, or something. At the very least, an awesome advance planner.

Adam wasn't sure he was ready to get back to bed quite yet, so he proposed a move into the den to watch something from Lance's shameful collection of TIVO'd reality shows.

"Yes, but wait. What's for dessert?" said Brad.

"Dessert?" Lance replied. "We don't, um… I didn't get anything for dessert." He and Adam both kept a careful eye on their intake, and desserts worth the name weren't known for their low-calorie deliciousness.

"What, nothing?" Brad's wide-eyed look of deprivation was a work of art.

"Uh, I think we have frozen low-fat yogurt?"

Okay, that was actual pain on his face. Brad, the kicked puppy. "More strawberries?" he asked, hopefully.

Lance looked mortally embarrassed. His Mississippi feed-people heritage reproaching him, Adam supposed. "Sorry. Uh, there's fruit."

Brad still looked like Foster in "starving to death" mode, so Adam grabbed him and hauled him off to the den. Lance arrived a moment later with the fruit bowl, and Brad picked carefully through the offerings before selecting a peach and dispatching Lance to fetch him a knife and a plate while Adam scrolled through the possibilities on the TV.

They slumped on the couch on either side of Adam, rested their feet on the sturdy walnut coffee table, and mocked the Real Housewives of wherever for a while. Brad munched his way through most of a bunch of grapes and a banana (which was particularly entertaining, although Lance gave him only eight out of ten and said he'd seen better, which left Brad indignant, Lance smug, and Adam extremely curious) before settling in to snuggle and bitch properly.

Still, there were only so many Real Housewives Adam could stand before his brains started to melt out of his ears. Besides, he was beginning to feel the urge to get back to the proper Christmas entertainment, now his dinner had settled. He was more than happy, therefore, when Brad sighed noisily and did one of his Cheeks patented take-me-now stretches, arching off the couch so that the peach robe fell open to reveal him in all his waxed glory.

"I'm the guest star in this Christmas threesome, right?" he said.

Lance, shaking with silent laughter, was obviously in no condition to answer. Adam decided he'd better step up. "Yes, princess, you are the guest star."

"Then I think I should have that two mouths, one dick experience," Brad stated. "I deserve it, don't you think?"

"That sounds fair," said Adam. He waved the remote at the tv.

Lance stood up and moved the fruit bowl onto the nearest available shelf space. "Okay," he said. "On the table."

Brad sat up. "What is it with you and tables?"

"You look so edible," Lance said, baring his teeth in a predatory smile.

"He's right," Adam said. "C'mon, lie down. Keep the robe on, it'll cushion your back."

"We could do this on a proper mattress," Brad said, but posed himself elegantly on the coffee table anyway. "Peel me a gra—woah!"

"Hey!" said Adam. "Share!" Lance's green eyes looked up at him from Brad's groin, but he took his sweet time letting Brad's cock slip out of his mouth, a good deal harder, Adam was certain, than it had been when Lance took it in. Still, Adam was entitled to the treat, too, and he loved this moment, when a guy wasn't completely hard and it was totally easy to take him in completely and just play a little bit. He indulged himself.

After a while he noticed that Brad was not protesting the unfairness of only having one mouth where he'd asked for two, and lifted his gaze. The two of them were kissing—no, Lance was kissing Brad, Brad was being kissed and very happy about it judging by the languid fluttering of his eyelashes. And Lance had a hand tracing across Brad's abs, and that was definitely going to do it for Brad, who adored that kind of feather-light touch when he was just warming up. Adam watched them, idly stroking Brad's erection as he admired the pretty.

"He likes it rough, too," he said, and reached up to pinch a nipple. Brad arched and moaned, and Lance followed Adam's lead readily. Suddenly inspired, Adam grabbed a peach from the bowl behind him, bit, and squeezed the fruit so that juice dripped over Brad's belly and cock. "I was right," he said, grinning evilly. "You do look good in peach."

"Next year you're getting coal," Brad threatened, but as Adam bent to lick the sticky juice, he stopped complaining. It was gloriously dirty, wet, sticky, frantic, sucking and slithering over Brad's hot, hard cock, lips and tongues colliding, noses bumping, their hands everywhere they could reach—Brad's spread thighs, each other's arms—and there was the soundtrack, Lance's deep humming, Brad's seagull wails, and the moans Adam could hear coming from his own throat. Only a trace of come spilled into Adam's mouth when Brad orgasmed, but his whole body shook with the force of it. Adam gathered him close, and Lance's hands stroked reassuringly down both of them.

Adam got his Scarlett O'Hara moment, because Brad grumbled against his shoulder when he attempted to set him down, so Adam just carried him back up the stairs and laid him on the bed. Brad was asleep as his head hit the pillow.

Lance extracted himself from his jeans. "He is ridiculously pretty," he commented, as they stood and looked at the comatose form on the bed.

"He is," Adam agreed, turning to wrap his arms around Lance and nuzzle gently at his neck, stubble prickling at his lips. "This is amazing. Thank you."

"Oh, I'm getting the benefit, trust me. Best Christmas gift ever." Lance grinned up at him.

"Should we…" Adam trailed his fingers over Lance's erection.

"I think maybe we should save it until Sleeping Beauty wakes up."

"Sounds like you have plans." Adam was all in favor of Lance having plans. Or improvisations, whatever. Mostly Lance was happy to do whatever Adam asked, but for whatever reason he was taking charge tonight, and the results so far were spectacular.

"I love you," Lance whispered suddenly. Adam held him tighter. "I can't believe how much I love you."

"Love you too, baby. You're incredible." It was hard to express how Adam felt. Words didn't seem potent enough, and even hugging Lance against his heart, he didn't know if he managed to say it right, to show it. They stood there for a while just breathing one another's scent.

There was a rustle from the bed. "Mmmm. What time is it?"

"Ah, the sleeper wakes," said Adam. "It's, um, it's midnight."

"It's Christmas!" Lance said. "Merry Christmas, baby." Time for another kiss.

"Er, hello?" said Brad, pointedly, after a few minutes of this.

"And a Merry Christmas to you, too, my little Christmas sex toy," said Adam, leaping onto the bed and kissing Brad with enthusiasm. Brad emerged from this to find Lance waiting with another kiss.

"So whose gift am I, then?" Brad inquired, looking very pleased with himself.

"Mine, of course. Shift your bony ass over, make some room here." Adam lay down and beckoned Lance around the bed to join him.

"Which means we get to do what Adam wants, am I right?" said Brad, addressing Lance over Adam's shoulder.

"Sounds good to me," said Adam.

"Well? What do you want?" said Brad.

Adam was contemplating the possibilities when Lance's porn voice said: "I think what Adam wants is to fuck one of us while the other one fucks him."

"Oh! That is what I want. That is exactly what I want." The other possibilities fled from his mind as he thought about this one. It was even probable that his eyes were glazing over.

"I call bottom!" said Brad at once.

"You're sure? We worked you pretty hard, before," said Lance.

Brad sat up, cross-legged and perfectly unselfconscious. "Now you see why you need lessons. Listen well. To keep Adam happy, really happy, in bed, you have to love bottoming. You have to want it. You have to be a greedy bitch who wants it all the time and who'll give him everything and let him take it all. You have to love having that monster cock in your ass, and you have to make sure he knows it."

Lance looked a bit startled.

"And, you have to never let the opportunity pass," said Brad, "which is why I call bottom."

"Okay," Lance said. "I'll, um, bear that in mind."

Brad looked at him assessingly. "You do that," he said. "Meanwhile, where's the lube?"

Adam (and Lance) had spent so long playing with Brad that they were hard and ready, but somehow this didn't bring any sense of urgency, and the three of them spent what felt like forever enjoying each other's skin with fingers, mouths, with their whole bodies in a hot, slow tangle of sensation. It was just another move when Adam coated his fingers with lube and slid them into Brad, and felt Lance slowly doing the same to him. He felt open and ready, and Lance's fingers deep inside him made him want.

"How do we do this?" he asked, breathless.

"You mean, without crushing the little guy?" Lance said.

"I'm so very much tougher than I look," said Brad.

"Yeah, you'd have to be."

"I think maybe we should, we should practice a bit first," said Adam, before they got too far off topic. "Lance…" He lay back, and tugged at Lance's arm. "Please?"

"Absolutely," Lance said, and fitted himself face-to-face with Adam, who spread his legs and wiggled his hips just enough to make Lance groan.

Slowly, slowly, Lance's cock entered him, and Adam opened up eagerly. He didn't know if he'd ever been so ready before. He hooked his ankles behind Lance's knees and slid his arms over Lance's smooth, gleaming back.

"Imagine how it's going to feel," Lance said into his ear, "when you're fucking Brad." Adam did imagine it, and he shivered with anticipation. "You're like silk, babe," Lance murmured, "so good, so good."

It took so much willpower for Adam to say, stop, but he managed it at last, and Lance withdrew and investigated the nightstand drawer while Adam arranged Brad on the bed with a hard pillow under his narrow hips. Lance rolled a condom onto Adam's already leaking cock, and he pushed in, and Brad arched under him and it felt wonderful. This, just this. Being totally selfish, taking his pleasure. He set a hard, fast rhythm, plunging deep into that tight heat, he knew he wasn't going to come for a while, it felt as if he could fuck for ever, he felt like a fucking god.

Still in his mind was the tingling anticipation of more to come, and when he felt Lance's hands smooth lightly over his ass, Adam stopped moving, and shifted his knees. He watched Brad's face, wondering if he would feel it too, and shuddered involuntarily as Lance filled him, slowly, and Lance's weight was warm against his back, and Lance's arms straightened taut on either side of him, fisted against the mattress.

For a long moment Adam just breathed and let the sensations overwhelm him.

Then Brad twitched his hips, and Lance began to move, slowly, so slowly out again, and in, and it was almost too much, Adam struggled to control himself, to control this. He bit his lower lip viciously and the sting brought him back, and he started moving too, long, careful strokes until he was sure Lance had the same rhythm. They worked together, almost perfectly but not quite, so that every thrust seemed to bring a different sensation, squeezing and stretching him until he couldn't be conscious of anything but Lance's cock in him, his cock in Brad, and the primal need to fuck.

It built, fuelled by the slick sounds of their fucking, stoked by every groan and curse, it built into something overwhelming. Adam felt his orgasm swelling up inside him like a stormcloud, deep and wide, rolling thunder filled with lightning flashes of sensation as Brad scratched at his nipples and Lance's cock rasped across his prostate. He gasped for breath as Brad squeezed tight around him, and his rhythm stuttered and grew frantic, and Lance kept on pushing, pushing him until the storm broke and he came so hard he thought he was going to pass out, and collapsed down onto Brad as Lance, behind him, finished with something like a sob.

Adam lolled helplessly. The two of them settled him back on the bed, and he blinked at them, unable to find words.

"Jesus," Brad muttered. Lance, swaying on his knees, passed the water bottle across the bed to him. Good host, Adam thought vaguely, and then he was asleep.

Just Desserts

A shrill noise woke him. Adam opened his eyes very slowly. By the time he managed it, Lance had answered the phone.

"Hi, Momma! Merry Christmas." Lance wriggled out of the bed and crossed to the dresser. With the cordless phone tucked against his shoulder he struggled into a pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs. "I meant to call you, but—oh, it's that late already? We, um, slept in." Lance blushed.

Adam grinned to himself. On the phone to Mom, naturally Lance had to put some clothes on.

"You liked them? Good, I'm glad. Uh, no, I haven't actually opened my gifts yet. Yes, we did have kind of a late night. Yes, he's here. Mom says Merry Christmas," and he flashed a nervous grin at Adam. Lance was sounding more Mississippi with every sentence.

"Bet you like that, huh?" whispered Brad. "Southern accents always get you hot." He was drawling too—really, was that necessary?

"Yeah, of course. Hey, Leighton." Lance's voice softened. Leighton was his niece, Adam remembered. "And Merry Christmas to you. Did Santa bring you something good?" Lance smiled as he listened, presumably to a long excited list of all the things the kid got for Christmas. "You have a great time, and say hi to your little brother for me. Oh, Meme wants to talk to me again? Okay, 'bye, sweetie."

"Bored now," murmured Brad. "Let's make things more interesting." He threw off the covers and slid one hand down over Adam's belly. Adam, and Adam's cock, responded at once to this treatment, and Adam pulled Brad in for a long, wet kiss and started investigating the more interesting parts of him with both hands.

"No, we didn't have Christmas dinner yet, we, uh, I was going to, I have…" Lance's voice trailed off as he saw what they were doing. His eyes widened, huge and horrified. "Sorry, Momma, I just, there was something—wait just one second." He sent them both a death glare and scuttled out of the bedroom with the phone.

"Such a momma's boy," Brad sighed. "Ain't it sweet?"

"He is, though," Adam said. "Sweet."

Brad considered. "Is that what you really want? Sweet?"

Adam tried again. "He's not insipid, he's not a wimp, he's just—nice. He's a nice human being. He's a really good friend to have. He'll do anything for people he cares about. I—I'd like it if you could be friends."

Brad gave him a pitying look, but admitted, "He's not quite like I thought he'd be. I'd never have guessed he'd agree to a threesome, for one thing."

"Agree to it? It was Lance's idea."

"Really? So how'd you get him to accept me as the jam in this tasty, filling sandwich?"

"He suggested you." Brad stared. "He knows you're exactly my type. You aren't his type."

"No, he said," Brad replied absently. "I'm guessing you're his type."

"Yeah. He… he likes to make me happy."

"He's your boyfriend, that's his job," said Brad, but without venom. "So, okay, he actually is sweet." He raised himself up on one elbow. "Adam, seriously? I mean, you and me was one thing, but—Lance?"

How do I explain? Adam thought. He put his hands together, palms flat, fingers pressing against fingers. "You and me, we were like that. Lance isn't the same. He's…" He spread his fingers and shifted his hands in opposite directions so they were out of alignment. "We're like this." His fingers interlaced into a tight grip.

Brad pouted. "Oh, you," he said. "Always with the dramatic gestures. But seriously, Adam, won't you get bored with sweet?"

The door opened. Lance entered the room and stood with his back to the door and his bare arms folded across his chest. He'd found a pair of black jeans somewhere—the laundry, Adam supposed—and he did not, right now, look sweet at all. He looked… actually, he looked kind of intimidating. "So," Lance drawled, "just so we're clear, that was y'all asking to be spanked, am I right?"

"Ooh!" said Brad, sitting up.

Adam was not so sure about this. "We, um," he began.

"Y'all were making out, without me, while my Momma was on the phone."

When you put it like that, maybe they had been asking for it. Except that he—really, it was all Brad's fault!

Lance pulled the hard-backed chair away from the dresser and sat down. "Come here."

Brad, widening his eyes in the most coquettish way, the little tart, scooted across the bed and stood in front of Lance, who gestured at his lap. Brad folded neatly down over Lance's legs, his pert ass in just the right position to be spanked. Adam sat up to watch, and hoisted the comforter up to cover himself. He'd never watched this, not live and just across the room, and it was not an opportunity he was going to waste.

"If you ask me to stop, I will," Lance said, "but if you cheat, it means five extra." And his hand came down with a sharp sound, and Brad mewed with shock. There was a bright handprint. Adam stared as Brad wriggled and panted, and Lance held him still with one hand while the other came down in slow, ruthless strokes.

At last, Lance stopped, and pulled Brad upright. Adam was not at all surprised to see how hard Brad was, or how big his eyes looked, or that he wasn't talking back.

"Go kneel on the bed. Hands behind you," Lance instructed, and Brad went, and did. "Adam."

"Er, me?"

Lance looked at him. "You want me to permanently associate sex with my mother's phone calls?"

"Um, no?"

"Then come here."

Adam slid out from under the cover because he couldn't not. Lance's eyes were hypnotic. And there was Brad's gaze, too, which Adam could almost feel on his skin, Brad who was kneeling on the bed breathing as though he'd been sprinting.

He stopped in front of Lance, and Lance looked up at him and said, "Adam?" and he knew he could say no right now and they'd take themselves right back to the bed to play and it would be forgotten, but in spite of the apprehension low in his belly, Adam needed to know. How it would feel. Why Brad had sometimes provoked him, back then, why he'd gone to Lance's hand so eagerly. Adam didn't like pain. He didn't want to be hurt. But he did sort of deserve this and he might never do so again and it would just feel silly if he didn't deserve it and he wanted to know.…

He bent awkwardly, and Lance parted his legs. Adam folded over, and Lance positioned him so that his erection was tucked between Lance's thighs, and Adam had to use his hands for balance. He felt incredibly vulnerable. Lance stroked the length of his back, and his hand rested, hot, on Adam's ass.

"You know the rules," Lance said.

"Yes," he said, and shivered. He knew Brad was staring at him and flushed with shame, except he remembered how unbelievably hot it looked when it was Brad spread over Lance's thighs like this. Did he look that hot too?

He gasped at the first crack of pain on his ass. It hurt, a bright sharp sting that left him breathless, only every stroke pushed him, rocked him against the tight grip of Lance's thighs, and he felt a stab of pleasure as his cock dragged against the rough denim of Lance's jeans. Adam struggled and swore, but he was off-balance and helpless and so turned on he didn't even know if he wanted to escape or not. Which part was pleasure now and which was pain? The sensations were so intense and so close together he couldn't be sure, and it was so—so—

"Lance!" he gasped. "Please…"

Lance's hands, strong and sure, helped him and settled him until he was kneeling on the floor. "I'm sorry," Adam said, not even sure whether he was sorry for the making out or for not taking more punishment. Lance held Adam's chin and looked into his eyes.

"Show me," he said, and undid his jeans.

Ah, yes! Adam complied enthusiastically and had Lance's jeans fully unzipped and his cock out from his boxers—he must have been so uncomfortable, poor baby—and was very happy to suck and lick and worship. Lance's fingers threaded through his hair, not controlling, caressing. He felt loved.

"Don't I get to apologize, too?" came plaintively from the bed.

Adam stopped licking and sat back on his heels, then hurriedly forward again. Lance's face had lost that stern look, now he was wide eyed and surprised, as if it hadn't occurred to him that he should have that particular treat. Which was very foolish, in Adam's opinion. He stood up and pulled Lance towards the bed, tipped him backwards and pulled his clothes off him. "Definitely," he said.

In seconds they had Lance moaning, then pleading, then incoherent.

"The thing," said Brad, "about having—this much sex—is you get to last—for a very—very—long time."

"Oh, God," Lance said. He was laid out with his legs spread, sweaty and delicious and a complete contrast to the way he'd been just a few minutes ago. Passive, allowing them to do what they wanted with him. Almost purring, Adam reached for the lube, and slowly pushed one finger into Lance, who angled his hips helpfully and made anguished noises when Adam slid out again. "Adam, please. Please."

"What do you want, baby?"

"You. Fuck me, please." Hearing him ask in that deep, needy voice, it did something indefinable to Adam, who moved Brad firmly out of the way and settled between Lance's legs, which promptly came up and tightened around Adam's waist. Adam pressed in slowly, watching Lance's face, Lance's heavy-lidded eyes almost drunk with sex, and crooned his approval as he sank in deep and settled to a slow, careful rhythm.

Hands stroked his thighs, and Adam thought, Brad, mustn't be selfish. He pulled out, and rearranged things to put Lance on his side so that Adam could enter him from behind. Brad nodded his approval and slithered down the bed, and Lance's moans intensified as he was sucked as well as fucked.

It felt as though pressure was building up inside Adam, but he couldn't thrust hard like this, the angle was wrong, it was all too gentle, so he shifted again. "Let's try something else," he murmured into Lance's ear, and moved to the edge of the bed. He positioned Lance on his knees above Adam's lap, and drew Lance's head back to rest against his shoulder as he let him slowly down onto Adam's erection until Adam was deep, deep inside. "Move for me," Adam crooned, and urged Lance's hips up with his hands, then down again. Brad, standing in front admiring the scene with one hand firmly gripping his own erection, bent and flickered his tongue over Lance's cock, then slid down.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Lance cried out, shuddering in Adam's arms as they worked him ruthlessly to a climax that left him spent and helpless. As Lance's ass clenched around him, Adam thrust frantically and orgasmed with a groan, and managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see Brad on his knees in front of them jerk himself off until come spilled over his fingers. He looked so pretty when he came.

Adam had just enough strength to get himself, Lance and Brad back onto the bed, where they lay in an entangled, breathless mess and Brad, inevitably, fell asleep. Adam wrapped his arms around Lance and drew him close, dropped little kisses on his cheek and eyelid, and stroked him until he stopped trembling.

"Holy fuck," said Lance, when he could speak again.

"Is that appropriate for a Christmas present?" Adam said. "Seems like a good description." He leaned in for a kiss. "You give the best gifts."

Lance smiled. "I really do."

"Speaking as the essential component in the best gift ever," said Brad, sitting up, "I'm starving."

Lance winced and began to sit up. Adam held him down. "Wait," he said. "Nobody's going to die of hunger in the next ten minutes."

"No, it's okay, it is time for—I meant to fix breakfast before, but y'all distracted me." Lance blushed, but got himself up off the bed, put his discarded clothes onto a chair and went into the bathroom.

Adam glared. "Couldn't you have let him lie there and recover for five minutes?"

"Sorry." Brad did actually look repentant. "I just—you were getting kind of mushy, there."

"Well, we are mushy," Adam said.

"Except when he spanks your ass?"

"That was a first."

"Really? 'Cause he seemed like he knew exactly what he was doing. Damn, that was toppy."

Adam grinned helplessly. "Lance does that sometimes. Not very often, but when he gets that way it's always hot."

Brad looked at him appraisingly. "I never thought I'd see you like that."

"I bet you're glad you did."

"I thought I was going to come just watching," Brad said, meditatively. He stretched, then sprang off the bed. "Time for another shower!"

"No, you are a bad person who forced my generous-hearted boyfriend out of bed," Adam said, "so you can shower in the guest bathroom. Besides, you're hungry. You don't want to take hours over it."

Brad made a face at him but took himself off to find the guest shower. Lance emerged a moment later, and Adam ambushed him for a quick hug and then went in to use the bathroom himself.

By the time he got downstairs, there was a conversation in progress in the kitchen, so Adam paused in the hallway, interested to hear what they might be talking about.

"See, you can't separate them like that," Brad was saying. "I'm not talking about when he's on stage, obviously that doesn't count, but he loves that stuff. The makeup, the jewelry, the fashion. It's not a whole different identity, it's part of who Adam is and if you can't accept it, sooner or later you will break his heart. And then I'll have to kill you."

"I'm not saying—I mean, it's not my style, but I wouldn't, I don't want to stop him doing it. He looks amazing," Lance replied. "It's just, when it's just him, nothing extra, nothing artificial. That's all."

"Yeah, all big blue eyes and freckles."

Adam frowned.

"I sometimes threaten to play count the freckles," Lance said.

"It'd probably only take a week. You could cross them off one at a time."

"With one of those scented marker pens," said Lance, and Adam could hear the smile in his voice. "I think I'll save that in case he's really, really naughty."

Brad laughed. Adam decided it was time to put an end to this conversation, and went into the kitchen. Brad was sitting at the table, cradling a mug of coffee and wearing a bright orange T-shirt which certainly belonged to Lance. Adam did not own any orange T-shirts. Unreasonably, Lance looked good in orange, and the princess seemed to be carrying it off with aplomb. Lance was at the stove wielding assorted cooking pans and implements, and while Adam helped himself to coffee and tipped some champagne into his orange juice, he took orders for eggs, then served up a mighty breakfast involving pancakes, bacon and—Adam stared at his plate. That was definitely a steak. Fried green tomatoes—and—

"Oh my God. Is that grits? Wow. I guess this is brunch."

"Do not diss my grits," Lance said, automatically. "I only meant to do pancakes for breakfast, but it got kind of late, so."

"How come you can cook like this?" Brad said, between mouthfuls. He was actually eating those things. "I thought you rich boyband millionaire types had people to do that sort of thing for you?"

"I love cooking," Lance replied. "My momma taught me. She's an amazing cook. I thought about fixing Christmas dinner for y'all, but it wouldn't be like it is at my parents', and it'd take too long."

"Adam thought you were going to take him home to Mississippi for Christmas," said Brad, impervious to Adam's horrified eyes and the under-the-table kick that certainly hurt Adam's bare toes more than it hurt Brad's shin.

"Oh, God, no," Lance said. "Everybody shows up at my parents' house for the holidays. You'd have had the most incredible food, of course, way better than my cooking. Prime rib, I expect, and pecan pie, and apple pie, and all kinds. You'd have put on, like, ten pounds. But I wouldn't do that to you."

"I can be family-friendly," Adam said, as casually as he could. "I mean, I wouldn't show up in full makeup and all my glitter, you know? I think I could get them to like me."

Lance looked at him in surprise. "Of course they'd like you," he said.

"Oh. I just thought, I haven't met your parents yet," Adam began, and then wasn't sure how to continue.

"You don't wanna meet all my family at once, trust me, they have this incredibly polite, totally relentless interrogation technique and it's just, no. And they're kind of conservative and stuff. I mean, they're good people, but I was a huge surprise to them, they're not like your parents. Maybe when we're in New York I could get Momma and Meme to come see us, we can take them shopping and go see a show."

Adam said he thought this would be cool, and applied himself to eating his enormous meal and not smiling so hard his face would burst. He'd figured it out. Lance wasn't worried that his family wouldn't like Adam. He was worried that Adam wouldn't like his family.

Across the table, Brad winked at him. "I'm all in favor of non-traditional Christmas dinner," said Brad, laying down his fork. "That was quite satisfactory, except for there being no dessert. Where did you put the peaches?"

"You could look in there." Lance's nod indicated a large white box next to the refrigerator.

Brad opened it, and shrieked with joy. Cradling the box lovingly, he gazed at its contents as though he'd fallen in love. "Mine," he said. "All mine! You guys don't eat dessert, you said so."

Adam went to see.

"Mine!" said Brad.

"Yes, I get it, but what—ah." An array of desserts, slices of chocolate cake, cheesecake, pastries. Adam could practically feel his hips expanding as he looked at them, but Mr Metabolism here would be fine.

"You can get anything delivered in LA, even on Christmas," Lance said, lightly. "And I thought watching you eat cannoli would fit right in with the general theme."

It really did. In fact, watching Brad enjoy his phallic Italian pastry rapidly led to a lot more action involving desserts and the kitchen table, and one thing led to another, and another, and they ended up in Lance's magnificent shower together and didn't emerge from it until they were so clean they probably sparkled, and Brad was hungry again so they called out for Chinese food and watched a DVD on Lance's giant tv, because, as Adam said, it was a good tradition and he needed something respectable to tell people, if anyone asked what he'd done for Christmas.

And after that, Brad said that it had been an exceptional Christmas, but he had stuff of his own to do and could he have that car now, please. Adam suspected him of being tactful, which was sweet. And… well timed. So Brad went off to get dressed, and Lance cleaned the kitchen table, and Adam discovered that there were still four portions of dessert in the large white box, so he closed it up ready to present when Brad came down again.

Brad stood there, slinky and self-possessed just as if he hadn't spent the last day and a half being totally debauched.

"So," he said, and Lance went over to him.

"Thank you," Lance said seriously, and kissed him quite primly on the lips.

Brad did not do prim, so the kiss evolved somewhat before they stepped apart. "You're welcome," said Brad, fluttering his eyelashes just a little bit. "Any time. Seriously."

"Thanks, baby," said Adam, and took his turn. The doorbell sounded and Lance went off to the front door.

Brad shrugged. "You can keep him," he said. "And if you want to do this again, don't you dare call anyone else!"

Adam laughed and hugged him, then picked up the white dessert box and handed it over. "Best take all the temptation away," he said, and Brad wiggled his ass and waved over his shoulder and then he was gone.

Petits Fours

So they changed the sheets, made vodka martinis and picked out another DVD to watch on the bedroom tv for a snuggly, restful evening in bed.

It wasn't until a couple of evenings later, actually when Adam was just taking his pants off, that Lance appeared in front of him, proffering a small, brightly-wrapped package.

"I, uh, actually got you a Christmas gift," Lance said, almost apologetically.

"Babe! What—I mean, seriously?" Adam accepted the package. "It's not like I'm ever going to get a better gift than the threesome."

"It's just a little thing, really," Lance said, shrugging. "It's just, I saw it, and it reminded me of you, so."

Adam looked at him suspiciously. Lance looked back, all eyes and innocence, so there was probably something going on. "Okay, then." Warily, he picked at the folded corner of the paper, and peeled it back. The picture seemed to be—what, cufflinks? With a sparkly glass disk in bright blue. Except the box was a bit large for—and also, Lance wouldn't buy glass jewelry, surely it wasn't his style. He ripped the wrapping paper away, and screamed.

Lance was quaking. Adam was so going to kill him for this. He tipped the little plug out onto the bed and examined it. It was, possibly, the most adorable butt plug in existence, with its end stop of faceted blue. "Butt jewelry. Jewelry for the ass." He looked at Lance, who had lost it completely. "But it's the wrong color," Adam said. "It should match your eyes. Otherwise how am I ever going to appreciate it?"

"Got another one," Lance managed, gusting with laughter. "Green one. His and his." He fell onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow. He was still laughing as Adam stripped off his jeans and boxer briefs, still giggling as Adam opened the other box, the one with the green-jeweled plug, lubed it and carefully pressed it into Lance's ass, still quivering as Adam lifted his hips up and admired the effect. Adam finally gave in and laughed until his stomach hurt, and as he lay helpless on the bed Lance pushed the blue plug into him, and they lay there on the bed with their twinkly, sparkly assholes and tears running down their cheeks.

"Merry Christmas, babe."

 

On to Ribbons, Bows and Beads