hard synch

It’s destined to fail from the beginning, and in some small way, all of them know it.  Before the hiatus it had been effortless; sometimes they would go into the studio and forget that people outside the five of them even existed.  The longer they were together, the more they were convinced they needed no one else in the world. 

This time is different. 

Justin is quiet and restless.  He can’t stop thinking about the final product; there’s so much at stake, more than ever before.  He’s got Trace out in the lounge, but some of his boys are stopping by later and they’ve hinted around at collaborating, only he hasn’t talked to anyone else about it yet. 

He glances over at Lance and wonders if Lance is thinking the same thing he is; that they shouldn’t have left Jessie out there with Trace because the two of them hadn’t been in the same room together since Jessie got drunk on sweet strawberry daquiris and called Trace a fat loser.  Trace’s response had been loud and obscene, but Jessie doesn’t care about things like that.  He only cares about Lance, which makes Justin as nervous as the fact that Trace is trying to quit smoking and not in the best state of mind right now.  Lance doesn’t seem to be worried, but with Lance it’s always hard to tell what he’s thinking about.  Maybe he’s thinking about the music, which is what Justin wishes he could concentrate on, himself.  Then Lance slips his cell phone out of his baggy pocket and checks the screen for the third time in as many minutes, and Justin thinks probably not. 

It’s only ten o’clock and JC’s nails are bitten down to the quick, his eyes clouded with all the misgivings he isn’t even bothering to hide.  If Justin were sure what’s exactly bugging JC, he’d go over and talk to him, but he doesn’t know and so he stays put and pretends to be looking over some lyrics until Chris both relieves and disappoints him by giving them all a hard look and saying,

“This isn’t fucking working.” 

I.  Justin

Justin isn’t sure why he’d bought this place without telling anyone, but standing on the long gravel driveway and watching Lance and Joey’s dubious expressions as they clutch at their suitcases, he’s beginning to realize why. 

“Neutral ground,” Chris had said, adding a vehement, “Privacy,” and Justin had known this was the perfect place.

“The Beatles used to come here,” he says when no one says anything.  “For inspiration and unity, and stuff.”   The house is surrounded by acres of mature trees that are dancing and filling the clearing with white noise, and JC is in ecstasies over the setting, the house and the very idea of it all until Lance points out how the Beatles ended up. 

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”  Joey swats at the back of Lance’s neck, but JC is already staring glumly up at the windows and distancing himself.

Justin kicks at the rocks, drags the sole of his shoe across the gravel and likes how the rough grind of it matches his uncomfortable mood.   He already feels vaguely guilty about having them out here because he hasn’t told his mom about this place.  He always justifies this omission with the fact that no one knows about it.  These are special circumstances though, and if there are any people in the world who take a bizarre amount of pleasure in keeping secrets from Justin’s mother, it’s these four.   He goes with that. 

“Hey, C,” he says, and reaches out.  JC’s shoulder feels tense and foreign beneath his hand, but he keeps it there and waits out the unsettling unfamiliarity.  “Mom doesn’t know about this place, so if you could just keep it on the down low, okay?” 

“Really?”  JC softens under his palm until it feels like something Justin recognizes, and then his eyes are squinting with sudden, irrepressible happiness that takes Justin by surprise.  He’d forgotten how easy it can be. 

The house is already full of the good vibes Justin had hoped for.  When he hurries down the stairs the next morning he thinks he’s prepared for anything, but he isn’t prepared for the way his stomach plummets when he sees JC and Joey together on the couch, down and down until he thinks he might never catch his breath.  Joey is half on top of JC, but what draws Justin in is the way JC’s baggy pants have hitched up over his bare feet, leaving his ankles pale and vulnerable where they wrap around Joey’s body. 

“Oh,” Justin says, and everything is suddenly spinning backward when all he’s ever wanted is to go forward, onward and upward.  Away from this.   “I didn’t know y’all still did that.”

“We don’t,” JC says, and Justin sees the way he tightens his legs around Joey’s body, presses his feet into the back of Joey’s thighs.  He barely looks up from where he and Joey are lazily sprawled across the roomy cushions.  “No one else will, at least.  But me and Joe missed it; missed this.  I just like it,” he trails off softly, his attention already having drifted back to Joey’s mouth.  They kiss slowly, like they’ve got nothing better to do and nowhere to be. 

It’s just his two friends, nothing he hasn’t seen a million times before, but Justin does an about-face that has his own legs tangling together in his frantic attempt to flee.  He almost takes out Chris and ends up dragging him into the kitchen, but not before Chris gets a good look at what’s going on in the other room.

“Well,” Chris says.  He crosses his arms over his chest and watches Justin start putting things together for a sandwich.  “So, Joey and JC…” he says, and gestures out toward the den.

Justin nods.  “Yup.”  He peels the hard plastic covering from the mustard container and raises an eyebrow at Chris.  It’s really impossible to tell what Chris is thinking right now, but it’s always been that way.

“You think Lance is still doing it?” 

“Nuh uh.  They said it’s just them.  That y’all won’t.”  He desperately hopes it’s true, and glances up at Chris to make sure because if Chris is still willing, Justin doesn’t know how he’ll say no. 

“No no no, yeah.  He’s right.  The days of this big boyband orgy are over and done,” Chris declares with finality.  “I’m just sorry I didn’t take more pictures when I had the chance.” 

“Mmm,” Justin says noncommittally.  It’s for the best, he knows this, but can’t bring himself to say so. 

“You don’t…”  Chris tips his head toward the other room. 

“No!  Not since…”  Justin drags the words out, which makes no sense because it’s ridiculous to pretend he doesn’t remember the last time he’d been with any of them.  It had been Chris, after all, slow and sticky-hot in a back room at the compound.   “…over a year now,” he finishes. 

“That night,” Chris says lightly.  

“Yeah,” Justin admits.  There’s no point in denying it, and he doesn’t particularly want to.  Thinking about Chris’ quick, sure hands and smooth, fine skin is enough to make him pull up his hard resistance, and he hates that he needs it after all this time.  When he’s putting the food back in the refrigerator he thinks he hears Chris say, “That night was awesome,” but when Justin turns in surprise, Chris is already trotting off, leaving Justin with a hundred questions and a sandwich that’s suspiciously thinner than it had been a few seconds ago.   He only chases Chris as far as the doorway because fuck if he’ll go back in there with JC and Joey doing that. 

He doesn’t need to go in there, anyhow.  He’s got a sandwich to remake.

II. Lance

Lance hadn’t wanted to come, but once the arrangements had been made it had been pointless to refuse.  It wasn’t like they were getting anything done at the compound.  He hadn’t wanted to come because unlike the rest of them, he’s got a good grip on reality.  He hadn’t wanted to come because he knows what’s going to happen. 

It’s already happening downstairs.  Lance had passed by the den an hour ago and seen them twined together on the sofa, heard their soft kissing sounds, the muted rustling of clothes against the cushions.  JC and Joey.  They’re probably still there, so maybe he should go down and find Chris, who will know how to put an end to it. 

On his way past he can’t keep from making a huffing sound of annoyance, but they don’t seem to notice.  JC is dozing against Joey’s chest, which either means they’ve already made love earlier this morning or JC just came in his pants right there on the couch.  JC is good for that, Lance thinks- not a bit wistfully- getting so worked up that he’ll do anything to get off, anywhere, any way he can.  He makes all kinds of promises, too, when he’s that far gone with lust.  Lance heads outside onto the back patio and tries to stop remembering.

“They still at it?” 

Lance hadn’t seen Chris sitting there at the table, obscured by the massive umbrella.  Papers are spread out everywhere in front of him alongside his laptop, music that was submitted by the five of them, rewritten, rerecorded and distributed for their anonymous, objective consideration.  They’re supposed to take a few days to listen and narrow it down to their favorites before meeting up to make some decisions.  He pulls out a chair and takes a seat. 

“Not really.  Just…napping, or something.”  He shrugs and carefully doesn’t meet Chris’ eyes when he reaches for a sheet of paper, another set of lyrics for a song about getting fucked over by a blonde.  So far that makes four songs about that very topic, so unless one of them is writing the same song over and over, it means that four fifths of the group really needs to stay away from blondes. 

“Naked napping?” 

“No,” Lance sighs.  “But…”

“Sexy napping?” 

It is sexy, but admitting it would just fuck with Lance’s resolve to ignore, so he shrugs and acts like it’s nothing worth mentioning.  Instead, he waves the paper at Chris.  “What’s this?” 

“It’s that song,” Chris says.  He smirks at the paper and then Lance.  “The one we’ve probably all been jerking off to for the past week, and holy fuck, man.  They say C only knows how to write about sex, but I say let the man write.” 

It’s been a long time since Lance’s well-practiced composure has slipped, but it figures that Chris is the one to make him forget himself.  It doesn’t matter, though, because Chris mistakes his blush for embarrassment and gives him a knowing wink. 

“We don’t know that JC wrote it,” Lance says weakly, and he should know.  He probably wouldn’t have even let anyone see it if they hadn’t been doing the anonymous selection, and if there’s too much laughing over it he’ll probably go on letting them believe the song is JC’s.  But Chris likes it.  From what Lance has heard, it’s probably going to get recorded, hopefully with JC, who happens to be the voice on the demo they all have, singing the lead.  Chris is right about one thing: he’s not the only one jerking off to it.  It’s the one remnant of their old dynamic that Lance allows himself, but it’s a small indulgence considering what JC and Joey are up to.   “We’re supposed to be deciding which songs are best for the album, not figuring out who wrote what,” he reminds Chris.  “That totally defeats the purpose.” 

“Whatever.  You must be the one who wrote that lame song about the magic of the VIP room.” 

“It’s a satire!” Lance protests, and Chris waves his arms around in a refusal to hear any excuses. 

“So you admit it’s yours!”

Lance pauses.  It’s actually Joey’s song and Lance can only hope it’s supposed to be a satire.  “I’m not admitting anything,” he ends up saying, sounding hopelessly square.  “Did you pick any yet?” 

“Not really.  Just that hot one.” 

Lance hasn’t picked any, either.  There are too many things to think about, such as how safe his fifteen-million dollar mansion is with his roommates and exactly why the group, after only two days of seclusion, seems to be regressing alarmingly quickly to old unhealthy patterns.  He’s got to get some work done, so intent on the task, he takes Chris’ folder and runs down the index of songs with his finger. 

Chris doesn’t even look up from the screen.  “You’re thinking about them,” he says quietly, with more of a singsong quality than Lance thinks the situation calls for. 

“I wouldn’t be, if you’d stop talking about them,” he replies smoothly, but Chris is right; his mind is back on that couch where JC is curled against Joey’s side. 

“They’re gonna ask you,” Chris shrugs.  “Try to get you back.” 

“You make it sound like we broke up or something,” Lance laughs uneasily.  It’s not like that; was never like that.  None of them do it anymore, and while there’s not a particular reason why, he has reasons enough to keep him from starting back up again.  Ever since the hiatus started he’s been testing the bonds he’s felt for so long, testing the fans, the press, his friends and family…and he’s almost ready to come out.  It’s not a sure thing yet, but every day he feels like maybe it’s within reason, and when he eventually does it he doesn’t want it to affect or involve the other four guys at all.  He can’t explain it, but he can’t come out if he’s sleeping with the four of them.  Somehow, he just wouldn’t have the right. 

Suddenly, it occurs to him that Chris has his own reasons for turning them down that are probably very different than Lance’s.   “Why aren’t you there with them?  They must’ve tried with you, too,” he asks, and isn’t at all surprised when Chris doesn’t answer. 

III.  JC

“I’m done,” JC announces.  He sprawls himself on Joey’s lap and grins at everyone.  They don’t smile back.  “What?” he demands, because shouldn’t they be impressed right about now?  He’s way ahead of schedule, which will give him time to help others with their decisions and enjoy some quality makeout time with Joey.   

“You were supposed to take all week,” Justin accuses.  “You haven’t had time to think about it, to really feel the songs.”

“Calm down, J.  I picked that one that goes, “round and round and round get your fr-“

“-stop it!” Joey bellows, and puts his hands over his ears.  “We’re not supposed to know-“

“-Yeah, yeah,” JC says breathlessly and waves his hand, his eyes squinted up with suppressed laughter.  “Anyhow, it’s just guessing.” 

“Yeah,” Chris adds.  “Kinda like how your stylist was just guessing when he told you to cut your hair like that.” 

JC’s hand automatically goes to his head, where he tugs at the short length as though he isn’t sure what he’ll find.  “Shut up, fucker,” he mutters while Justin brays with completely uncalled-for laughter.  Another hand knocks his away and he sags backward against Joey, who surely can’t have any issues with his hair.   “I like it,” Joey whispers against his ear, and JC makes sure to shudder as though Joey’s said something deliciously lewd.  Justin abruptly stops laughing. 

“Guys,” he complains, “Do you mind?” 

“Yeah,” Joey says softly, and JC knows without looking that Joey is looking at Lance.  “A little bit.”  JC tips his head back and tries to melt into Joey the best he can, imagining that he can somehow make up for the void that Joey is feeling, but it’s pointless.  Now that they’re all back together, JC feels the same sense of loss, and it’s just wrong.  For instance, if aliens came to earth and could somehow detect the traces of intimacy on a person, they would find nothing of Chris, nothing of Lance or Justin, and everything of people JC can barely remember.  When he’d tried to explain this theory to Lance it hadn’t gone very well, but Joey probably understands.  Having Joey again after so long is wonderful, but there are empty places inside of him that long for warm and familiar things, which is why he slips into Joey’s bed that night, where he knows the welcome will be eager and instantaneous. 

Their bodies are already sweat-damp and moving slowly together when Joey begs, “Please JC, let me.”  His voice is quiet as to not to wake the others, and hoarse with desperation.  JC responds to that tone because he wants it, wants to make love, but not that way. 

“No,” he whispers, and pushes his hand between Joey’s legs, feels him stiffen and gasp.  “You let me.” 

It’s a pointless attempt that probably accomplished nothing more than getting them both even more wound up than they already were, JC thinks, because Joey doesn’t let anyone go there any more than JC does.

“Okay,” Joey breathes into JC’s ear, so soft it’s almost not real.  The tension in his thighs diminishes against JC’s hand and they spread open just enough to be a genuine invitation. 

“For real, are you serious, Joe?” JC asks, as though his thumb isn’t already dragging back behind Joey’s balls, rubbing gently, coaxing permission that he already has.   This isn’t how it works; Chris and Justin are the ones who like to get fucked, sometimes Lance, but never Joey.  The very idea of it makes JC’s cock throb against the place where it’s pressed into Joey’s thigh. 

“Uh.”  Joey pauses.  “Yeah, I think so.  I mean, you know what you’re doing, right?”  JC lets out a sigh of relief and throws his leg over Joey, kissing him deeply until their lips are raw and swollen.  Through it all he feels the same thread of desperation that’s driven Joey to offer this, this thing that JC would never have asked for.  He wouldn’t have asked, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to take Joey up on it, not when Joey’s so hot like this, open and needy in a way JC knows he hasn’t ever let anyone see.  So completely unexpected, and it makes him wonder if Joey is the author of the song they’ve all been whispering about.  He can sort of imagine it now, Joey writing a song like that, a song with lyrics full of sexual imagery as wet and slick as the tip of Joey’s dick when JC bends his head and tongues it gently.  Joey tastes like sex--like Chris and Justin and Lance-- and JC growls with frustration because he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.  He rummages for a condom and when he comes back, stops worrying about being quiet. 

IV.  Joey

Joey wakes up against a warm body, and the long, muscular limbs are so familiar that the only surprise is that there aren’t more of them.  When he’s more fully awake, he turns onto his side, buries his face in the wrinkled pillow, and looks at JC.  He’s not very attractive when he sleeps; his face is contorted by the way it’s mashed into the bed and his hair is a mess, frizzy and matted.  Joey smiles and resists the strong urge to trace lines on JC’s face just to watch him bat at the annoyance; sleep is a more appealing option, and when he wakes again JC is all over him, warm, intense and morning-slow.  “Hi,” JC whispers against his neck.  Joey is too comfortably turned on to do anything but laugh at JC’s determination and roll onto his stomach.

This time is nothing like last night.  This time they take it easy, and Joey can feel the difference in the way JC’s fingers walk across his skin, unhurried and careful, massaging Joey’s shoulders, back, thighs, and finally the curve of his ass, digging in deep until Joey groans with contentment.  It’s so quietly deliberate that neither of them reacts when Lance barges in without knocking, still wearing sleep pants and now, a shocked expression. 

“You’re fucking?” he blurts.  His eyebrows are so high it’s almost comical.  Joey snorts his amusement into the pillow, but it comes out sounding less amused and more obscene.

“Um,” JC says, as though he isn’t kneeling between Joey’s legs and knuckle-deep in his ass.  “Yes,” he says slowly.  It may or may not be an accident that JC’s fingers curl forward when he says it.  Joey can’t help the gasp that escapes, but there’s no way to stifle the warm glow of pleasure that’s centered right where JC’s fingers are turning, rotating just a fraction at a time, so gradually that even Lance probably can’t see what he’s doing.

“Joey?”  It’s a question, but Joey doesn’t know what Lance is asking.  He only knows a few things, like the fact that he can’t look at Lance right now because of what his face must look like with JC twisting inside him so slow, so deep, and he opens his mouth to protest because he also knows that if JC goes just a little deeper, he’s going to come. 

“Shut the door,” JC says.  His words are the only thing in the room that move quickly, spilling out of his mouth along with, “C’mere.  He’ll let you, too.” 

Joey nods, his eyes closed.  I will, he thinks.  Lance.  He doesn’t want to get his hopes up because yesterday he’d come onto Lance-- half-jokingly each time just to be safe—and Lance had met his eyes evenly each time he refused.  

“I’m taking a shower!  Nobody flush the toilet!” they hear Justin yell from down the hall, followed by pounding feet on the stairs.  Joey hears the door click shut, and only then does he open his eyes to look over his shoulder at Lance, the morning sun painting him golden and serene for all his reluctance. 

Joey,” Lance says again, except this time he sounds entirely different; hesitant and defeated, like he’d sounded the time they’d talked him into smoking a joint for the first time, back in their tiny house in Orlando.   He stands unmoving for a second and he seems calm, but Joey catches a glimpse of wry, hysterical humor when Lance says, “God damn it, Joey,” and reaches for his belt buckle.

V.  Chris

Since it’s just the five of them all together in one house, Chris doesn’t consider it eavesdropping.  He’s just sitting here reading the newspaper, so if he happens to hear his friends talking in the next room, it’s not his fault.  It sounds like Lance trying to be quiet but failing, and Justin’s cranky, post-nap muttering.  “I swear,” Lance says, urgently, from around the corner.  “Joey.  I can’t believe he let me.  Let JC.”  His voice keeps starting as a hiss and then rising with excitement and Chris can just imagine Justin’s face wrinkling in annoyance. 

“No way.”

Okay, so annoyed isn’t the best word to describe Justin’s breathily awestruck response.  Chris perks up with interest because these days, very little can make Justin react this way. 

“And he just takes it,” Lance whispers.  “Pushes back like-“  Chris rustles the pages of the newspaper and coughs, anything to drown out Lance’s description of what it’s like to fuck Joey.  It doesn’t work, because when he stops with the noise it’s just in time to hear Justin say, “- wanna see Chris do him.” 

No.  His stomach clenches and he shakes his head even though they can’t see him.  He’d figured that Lance would cave eventually, but Justin had seemed more resolved than this.  Of course, Joey suddenly offering what he’d kept off limits for nearly a decade was enough to entice even the most stubborn of them, Chris figures.  It’s fine for them, he decides, but there’s no way he can go back.  When he makes a hasty exit to the backyard, the guys eventually follow and they end up playing basketball all afternoon while Lance and Joey sit at the patio table and make notes about whatever’s playing on their headphones.  It takes a couple hours, but Chris eventually loses himself in the physicality of the game enough to forget.  

The forgetting doesn’t last long; Justin is more determined than Chris had thought, as proven when he comes wandering into the bathroom with a towel around his waist and an odd desire to interrupt Chris’ shower.  The first time Justin knocks on the see-through glass Chris opens the door and listens to Justin ramble about how he’s recently switched to sensitive-teeth toothpaste, apparently finding nothing odd about the fact that Chris is dripping wet and squinting at him through foamy shampoo suds.  The second time, he refuses to acknowledge Justin’s rapping so Justin just pulls the door open and stands there, half in the spray, eyeing Chris’ body and asking for assorted opinions on different production techniques. 

“Um, I dunno, J,” Chris says a few minutes after he’s completely lost track of what Justin is saying.  It’s weird having him there, leaning against the tile just a foot away, the lean muscles of his arms folded loosely across his stomach.  Chris can’t help it; his dick has always liked attention of any kind, so it’s not a surprise when he feels it start to react, to harden and grow while he pours body wash onto the washcloth and pretends not to notice.  He also can’t help that he’s a little proud of it, and that instead of covering himself he scrubs at his neck and chest, leaving himself exposed because fuck, if Justin wants to see him that badly, let him see. 

It’s only when Justin steps forward that Chris turns away.  “Nuh uh, no way.” 

Justin grins, one hand threatening to loosen his towel.  “I just want to wash your back.” 

“I’ve heard that one before.”  Chris smiles back and continues to wash himself, cupping his balls with a soapy hand, eyes wet and squinting at Justin.  “Dude, you’re pretty obvious.” 

“I know.”  Justin can’t seem to stop smiling.  It’s contagious, and even though Chris knows this is dangerous ground he can’t help it; he just stands with Justin in the cloud of steam wearing what he knows is a goofy expression identical to his own.  “So, it’s kind of hard to talk to you when you’re touching your dick,” Justin says finally.  Chris freezes with his fingertips on the smooth wet head and raises an eyebrow.

“You came in here to talk?” 

“Maybe.”  It’s more of a laugh than a reply, and Chris almost laughs at Justin’s seduction-face.  He knows it well but it’s been a while since it was directed at him. 

“I said no, J.”  Chris steps back and closes the frosted glass door.  It doesn’t do a lot to block out Justin’s whine of protest, but it helps. 

“Why not?” 

He’s on the verge of saying answering- Because it’s a lot easier to start than to stop, that’s why-  but nothing comes out. 

Justin flushes the toilet. 

***

When Chris has exfoliated, shaved, moisturized, and done everything he can possibly think of to stay in the bathroom forever, he emerges and finds a quiet house.  At first it’s a relief but he can’t stay away, not when his hands are itching to rub Lance’s head and give him as hard a time as possible about his affection for Joey’s ass.  Knowing that they’re all in the same house together fills him with a light that’s peaceful and electrifying all at once, but he sees the same giddiness in the rest of them, so it must be normal.  He finally finds them, down a steep staircase in a basement that Chris hadn’t even known existed. 

“Chris!”  JC motions for Chris from a luxurious sofa that stretches from one wall to another, and then again to the next wall in an L of red velour.  Tiffany lamps hang from the ceiling, bathing the dim room in jewel tones, and Chris realizes that he’s walking on honest-to-God shag carpeting.  Justin, who’s obviously been stripped of his seduction duties, is huddled with Lance on the floor near an enormous tv, talking quietly and resolutely ignoring Chris. 

“Sit here,” JC instructs.  “With me.” 

Chris is smart enough not to fall for JC’s coy routine.   He knows that when JC’s mouth turns up only at the corners and his eyes stay wide, it means the smile has evil intent, but he sits anyhow because this smile also means that JC’s lips are pursed together, soft and full like the kiss that Chris wants to give him.  He goes because he already knows it’s a lost cause; there’s no way he’s going to hang with his four best friends- and former lovers- in this secluded place, especially not when Lance’s fingers are already slipping beneath Justin’s t-shirt in a way that makes Justin arch happily, offering himself to be touched. 

Chris won’t be able to say no, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make them work for it. 

JC leans in and rests his hand on Chris’ knee.  “Justin says the Beatles used to get high down here; get high and write songs.  The real estate lady told him.  Or, it was in a book or something.” 

Joey smirks.  “He read it on the internet.”

“Sucker.”  Chris mouths the word to JC so that Justin can’t hear, and is rewarded with a low giggle.  Justin is hilarious when it comes to buying real estate, prone to making decisions based on the house’s proximity to celebrities.  “Hey, J.  I think I saw a bong upstairs.  I bet the Beatles used to use it; wanna light ‘er up?  We’ll inhale their essence and become one with their timeless genius.” 

“Um, I bet they did other stuff down here, too,” JC says.  His hand is tracing light patterns onto Chris’ thigh, and Chris’ skin is already starting to tingle pleasantly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JC breathes heavily.  “Like fucking.  I wanna fuck you, Chris,” he blurts, and lurches forward.  He’s suddenly all over Chris, legs and hands and tongue all at once, hot damp breath on Chris’ neck.  “I miss you,” he whispers against the edge of Chris’ ear, and it’s so JC, so sweetly earnestly dirty that Chris ditches his initial plan to pull back and instead lets JC push him back onto the sofa. 

When Justin makes a few muttered complaints about JC’s lack of subtlety, Lance quiets him with a drink from the bar.  Judging by Lance’s pink cheeks he’s already had a few, and so has JC, whose tongue tastes of lemon and gin.  “You all having a party down here without me?” Chris asks as JC rubs his palm against the front of his pants. 

“Well, we didn’t know if you were gonna show up.”  Justin raises his glass, much less disgruntled than a few moments earlier.  It probably has something to do with the way JC is peeling Chris’ jeans open and continuing his slow persuasion while they all watch. 

“You make it hard to say no.” 

“Bullshit,” JC says against Chris’ belly, licking at the line of dark hair and only biting ever so lightly.  “We’re just too sexy.  Justin gave up too easily.”  When he lifts his head to give Justin an evil grin, Chris feels the way his body tenses slightly, wisely bracing for Justin’s reaction, which comes in the form of a lunge that pushes JC half off of Chris and leaves Justin in the perfect position to take over where JC left off. 

“Hi.”  His hand wriggles into Chris’ underwear and starts to explore slowly, eyes intent on Chris’ face.  Justin is like this in bed, Chris remembers; fantastic because he focuses so much attention on the reaction of his partner, making sure he’s doing everything exactly right.  It’s the one time when Chris is grateful for his friend’s perfectionist tendencies.

“Okay, but I get to fuck him,” JC murmurs.  His apology is a deep kiss that Justin obviously likes, going by the way his hand flexes on Chris’ erection, completely oblivious to anything but what JC is doing with his tongue.  They kiss right there over Chris until Chris is so turned on that he’s throbbing with it and steadily leaking underneath Justin’s thumb.  Justin must feel it, too, because he makes a sound into JC’s mouth and pulls away, his fingers suddenly picking up a rhythm that’s so good it makes Chris worry. 

“Not so fast,” JC hisses, reading his mind.  In a flurry of movement he’s suddenly rolled off the couch and stripped his clothes off, which means that Chris and Justin are the only ones left with clothes.  Joey and Lance are already way ahead of them, completely naked where Lance straddles Joey on the couch, holding Joey’s face in his hands and going in for kiss after kiss as their cocks bump together between them. 

“Fuck,” Chris says, and looks away.  He’d forgotten how much it affects him when they’re all together like this; hasn’t has to control his reactions in such a long time.  It’s a good thing that Justin gets up to undress, because Chris needs a moment. 

“Holy shit!” Joey exclaims suddenly, and Chris glances over to see Joey’s hand delving between Lance’s legs.  When he starts to laugh, Lance pushes him away, but Joey pulls him back in.  “No baby, it’s okay.  I just.  Wow.   Uh, you shaved your balls?” he says weakly. 

“Waxed,” Lance says proudly.  “Everywhere.”  He spreads his legs wider, hips pushing up, which is all the invitation the rest of them need to go investigate.  Impressed, they run their fingers everywhere, down and under his balls until they’re drawn up snug and tight against his body. 

“Nice,” Chris whispers.  He likes the smooth, smooth slide of his fingers when they dip back further, so he gets down on the floor between Joey’s legs where Lance is already spread open for him, ready to gasp and twitch when Chris runs his tongue down into the soft, silky crevice and licks lightly against the place where the skin is rough and tightly gathered. 

“Whoa,” JC growls.  “Yeah.”  Chris doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, just shuts his eyes and continues tracing Lance’s ass with his tongue, light and easy until Lance pushes back for more.  The fact that they’re all watching him is a rush that makes it even better, and he makes a show out of extending his tongue, working it into Lance’s ass and matching him moan for ecstatic moan while JC pants right near his ear.  It’s all starting to come back to him now, what it feels like to have more than one set of eyes, hands and arms, all there to share in pleasure.  

He remembers what it’s like to share, so he lets himself be pushed aside by Justin, and while Justin fucks Lance with careful, lubed fingers, Chris readies Justin the same way.  They know how to do this.  It’s tricky, but there’s no one else they can do it with; no one they’d rather do it with.  Joey holds Lance steady against him while Justin pushes into Lance, and steadier still when Chris pushes into Justin because even though they can’t feel it, they feel it through the sound that Chris makes, and the way that Justin shudders against Lance’s back. 

“Now you, C.”  Joey’s voice penetrates the fog that makes it nearly impossible for Chris to feel anything except where he’s buried inside Justin.  

“Yeah, c’mon,” Justin urges.  Chris feels the tension of flex and relax, squeezing his cock with every impatient movement that he makes.  It looks like Joey’s jerking Lance off, and Chris can only imagine what that’s doing to Justin.  In that case, he supposes he ought to thank Joey, because it’s the ripple effect and whatever happens to Justin happens to Chris. 

JC doesn’t announce himself.  He doesn’t need to; the slick fingers are there and gone in a second, quickly replaced by JC’s cock and the teeth that dig into his shoulder aren’t nearly as sharp as the knife of pleasure that cuts through all rational thought.  Once he’s moving, Chris is faced with the impossible task of letting JC set the pace.  Letting JC control their movements is harder than it sounds, but it’s probably for the best because Chris can hardly decide which sensation to push into—the tight sheath of Justin’s ass or JC, who makes the most appreciative noises when Chris relaxes enough to take him deeper. 

“You okay, Joe?” 

The incoherent sound Joey makes suggests that he’s fine indeed, that Lance is taking good care of him.  Chris can see the strain in Joey’s arms as he holds Lance steady while the other three move against him. 

“Oh,” JC says suddenly, and Chris is willing to bet that JC’s just taken his first good look at the scene laid out before him.  

“Looks pretty good from up here, too.”  Joey winks, another mind-reader. 

It doesn’t take long.  They’re good at moving together after so many years; it’s what they do, what they’re paid to do, but this is so much better than dancing because dancing doesn't send pleasure rising up along the backs of his thighs and into his belly, and dancing doesn't have the benefit of being pressed between two smooth young bodies. 

Lance comes first, which isn't surprising considering the obscene amount of tongue Joey is giving him, all the while enjoying the benefits of Justin's deadly, well-practiced hips.  Chris doesn't even have to look to know that Joey is furiously jerking himself off to Lance's quiet encouragement, a few low, urgent utterances of "yeah, yeah Joey," that are Chris' undoing, and fuck, he thinks while he's swelling and pulsing and gasping against Justin's back.  He'd wanted Justin to go first, but it's all irrelevant after that.  His orgasm, or maybe Lance's voice, is a trigger that has JC suddenly wild against him, and Justin pulls free when he breaks the group rhythm and thrusts against Lance at his own frantic pace. 

Face-down in shag carpeting isn't really somewhere he thought he'd ever be, especially carpeting that may or may not have been fucked on by another famous pop group.  Still, he recognizes JC's harsh grunts as a sign that he's close, so he braces himself and tilts his hips in a helpful way until JC strokes into Chris slow, slower, and shudders against him. 

Afterward always reminds Chris of after a show, because all any of them can do is gasp and laugh, and eventually go over the highlights, which leads to more laughing and sometimes a demonstration, which is always nice.  When he rolls onto his back, he sees that it's exactly the same as every other time.  Joey is holding the wet wipes out of Justin's reach while Lance watches, sated and amused.  No one is listening to JC's disjointed thoughts, so he gets louder and louder to be heard over Justin's threats.  Chris shuts his eyes and listens to all of them.  Tomorrow, they'll sing. 

 end.