nsync in black and white

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

Hooked on the Sensation


"Is Chris having problems?" JC asked Lance as they wandered onto the stage for soundcheck.

"Problems? What kind of problems?"

"I dunno." JC shrugged. "He's just been kinda quiet lately. Not that I'm complaining," he added, hastily. "It's a little weird, though. I thought he might have said something when he swapped over to your bus."

"He didn't say anything to me about having a problem," Lance said, sticking to the exact truth. He couldn't very well say that he knew what the problem was. He couldn't tell JC that he, Lance, was the cause. But he was.

The trouble was, when Chris offered—invited—when Chris asked him to feed, Lance could not say no. There was nothing else like it, no pleasure so exquisite as the hot gush of Chris into his mouth, Chris's body trembling within his grip, those tiny, helpless sounds he made. Chris had let him feed again, three times, since that first time in front of the bathroom mirror. He'd never asked if Lance needed it. Oh no. Chris remembered his lessons. He'd asked him to feed. And of course, Lance had not refused.

Lance didn't need to feed so frequently, nothing like so frequently, and the feeble excuses he made to himself only added to the accumulating guilt in the pit of his belly, but the scent of Chris's skin made his mouth water with anticipation, and the taste of Chris made him shake with the intensity of his need.

It hadn't been like that before. Before, it was only feeding. Necessity. He'd thanked his… benefactors, tucked them carefully into bed, brought them something warm to drink and left them to sleep it off. He told himself there was something special in Chris's blood, something extra, some addictive quality, but even as he thought it, Lance knew he was lying to himself.

It wasn't Chris's blood. It was Chris.

And when Chris was so pliant and willing, when Chris let him take more, how could Lance refuse?

"Does he look pale to you?" Justin asked, as the two of them watched Chris make his way over to where Lonnie stood talking with one of the venue's security guys. Inevitably, five seconds later the security guy was under Chris's spell and Lonnie was rolling his eyes.

"He always looks pale," Lance said.

"I guess," Justin said. "His white-boy ass doesn't seem to know how to tan."

"Yeah, 'cause your ass is any less white," Lance said, aiming a slap in the direction of Justin's butt, and Justin laughed and whisked himself out of reach.

Lance felt sick.

There was a knock on his hotel room door, and Lance was not surprised when Chris slid into his room.

"I thought you might—do you want—look, take my blood, okay?"

It was the hardest syllable he'd ever spoken in his life, but Lance managed it. "No."

Disbelief and outrage warred on Chris's face, and after a few seconds he spat, "Fuck you!" The click of the door behind him seemed horribly final.

If Lance had been capable of moving, of saying anything at all, he might have run after Chris, he might have babbled an apology, might have begged Chris to let him feed after all, might even have pleaded with Chris to let Lance touch him, suck him, anything he wanted, anything. But that "no" seemed to have dried up Lance's throat, he could not manage even one word and he was frozen to the spot for what couldn't have been hours.

Maybe it was for the best.

"Lance, what have you done to Chris?" Joey was unusually serious. Possibly even mad.

"Nothing," Lance said.

"You fed from him, didn't you?"

"Fuck it, Joey, he—this is none of your business, and anyway, he asked me to!"

"It's my business if you've been feeding off him and making him sick," Joey said. It was unnerving, he actually reminded Lance of his own Dad in authority mode, all stern and intimidating. "You have to stop."

"I did stop!" Lance said, indignant. "And I didn't feed enough to make him sick."

Joey didn't look as though he believed it. "Are you sure you stopped? Or is this just the time between feeds?"

"I did stop. I—I—" He was going to have to explain. Fortunately, Lance had always been able to lie to people, even people who knew him very well, if it was important enough. "I thought he was maybe getting addicted. People do, sometimes. They get hooked on the sensation of being fed on, and they don't know when to stop. So I stopped. Last time he—offered, I said no."

"Oh," said Joey. He looked very hard at Lance, but his accusatory expression was gone now, and he looked understanding. Sympathetic, even, in case Lance wasn't already feeling guilty enough. "Okay then. Uh, are you okay?"

"Sure," Lance said, bleakly. "I'm fine." After all, it wasn't like he'd lost anything.

"You asshole," said Chris.

Well, shit. Lance had been avoiding Chris for days, unobtrusively, he thought—it helped that they were incredibly busy with performing and the meet and greets and interviews, and on the buses most of the rest of the time, and he didn't need to do anything to avoid Chris when Chris was riding on the other bus with Justin and JC. Except now here was Chris on Lance's bus, and Joey hadn't said a thing about swapping out, the rat bastard, and Lance was stuck with a very pissed Chris for at least two hundred miles.

There wasn't any way out of this one. But he could try, so he shouldered past and went to the fridge for a soda.

Chris followed.

"Where the fuck do you get off telling Joey I'm addicted to being bitten? That's fucking stupid. It's beyond stupid. Nobody could get addicted to that."

"Actually, they can," Lance said with deliberate calm. "It's well known."

"It's crap. Have you any idea how much it fucking hurts?"

Lance turned, ashamed. "I—yes. I know. I'm… I'm sorry."

Chris gave an exasperated sigh. "It's not like I didn't expect it to hurt, even the first time."

Lance could not think of anything to say to that. He'd known, but he'd done it anyway, and Chris had been so generous.

"I thought you needed it. Blood," said Chris.

"Yeah, plus you wanted to know what it was like," Lance retorted. He regretted it at once, but it seemed to be the way things went between him and Chris. He just had to push back.

"You're an ungrateful little shit, aren't you? Yeah, I was curious, the first time. After that I already knew what it was like, and I still came back."

"Because you thought I needed it," Lance said, and wished he could be anywhere else.

"Yeah. And—" Chris stopped, staring at him strangely. "Nah, forget it."

"No," Lance said. He owed Chris. Whatever Chris had to say, Lance deserved it. "Tell me." But Chris just scowled, crossed his arms, and shook his head. Great. This was going to be one of those things that just went on and on. Chris could hold a grudge like nobody else, could hold it long past the point where anybody could remember what the hell it was about, beyond (Lance suspected) even being able to remember it himself. Not that Lance had any right to say Chris couldn't be pissed at him, Chris had every right, but if there was something specific he was angry about, he could at least give Lance the chance to say he was sorry.

Okay, then. "Look. Chris. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I used you—I took advantage of you. I didn't need to feed, I just—I wanted—it was, it was the only time I got to touch you. And I realized it was wrong and that's why I stopped."

Chris frowned. "The fuck? Are you saying you wanted to touch me? Are you saying we could have gotten straight to the blowjobs without the terrible pain and the bloodsucking vampire fiend stuff?"

Lance stared. "Uh…"

"Because why the fuck do you think I came back for more? Addiction, my ass!"

"I know you aren't addicted," Lance said, grabbing on to the only thing that made sense. "I told Joey you were addicted because I didn't want to tell him that I was—"

"Sucking my dick? Or do you do that to anyone who lets you bite his neck?"

"No! I—what?"

"Just me, then." Chris was—he was smirking! "Hah! I knew you couldn't resist the fine Kirkpatrick bod. So how come you said no last time I offered? Are you a self-hating gay? You are, aren't you—or a self-hating vampire. Whatever."

"I am not—" Lance began, then caught himself, glared, and started again. "Wait. Are you saying you let me bite you so that I would blow you?"

"Nothing says incentivization like fellatio," Chris said, primly.

"And… you want me to…" Lance wasn't quite sure where he was going with that.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," said Chris, and kissed him.

What with one thing and another—one thing being an extended makeout session and the other being, incredibly, Chris blowing him—it was a while before Lance could catch his breath and sort out his thoughts. His brain seemed to be working very slowly tonight. It was probably the haze of satisfaction, he thought, but he looked suspiciously at Chris anyway. Chris stared back, his brown eyes smug and challenging. At least that was normal. Even if the rest of Lance's world had turned inside out, Chris was still Chris.

"So…" he said. "No more bloodsucking, then."

"Regular sucking will do just fine," Chris agreed.

"Uh, I do need to, uh, feed sometimes. It's more a maintenance thing than actual food, so, uh, maybe once a year, you could...."

"Your birthday, then," Chris said, surprising Lance with his instant agreement. "I can deal with you feeding off me on your birthday."

"Okay, then."

"And maybe… on my birthday, too."


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