nsync in black and white

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


Lance eyed it dubiously.

"It's cool!" Chris was—of course—highly excited. "I slept in it last night, it feels great. C'mon, Bass!"

Chris got into the hammock.

Lance, with rather more difficulty now that it was occupied by a wriggling Kirkpatrick, got into the hammock.

They snuggled together. The hammock swayed.

"Actually, this is nice," said Lance, slightly surprised.

They kissed. They stroked. They rubbed against one another. The hammock swayed more.

"Oh, God, yes, now, please!"

They fell out.

* * *

"I always wanted one of these." Lance beamed as he showed off the fancy new bed. "They're seriously comfortable."

"Waterbed! Yay!" Chris leapt, landing centrally and setting waves rippling like seamonsters in the mattress. Lance joined him, and they giggled gleefully for several minutes, as each move by one set the other bouncing like a ship at sea.

Then, they got down to the serious business. Clothes were scattered. There was licking, there was lube. There was thrusting. There was considerably more mattress-rippling.



"I think I—feel a bit seasick."

* * *

"Now this," said Lance approvingly, "is class." He ran his hand lovingly over the black satin. "I'd have gone for green, of course—"

"Hey! We are not on your movie set now. This is my backdrop. C'mon, get naked, it feels really good."

The satin sheets were wonderful. Smooth as water, silky on the skin. Chris did look good, naked and pale against the black sheen. Lance nuzzled at his sweet flesh. Chris nuzzled back. There was writhing.

"Time to fuck!" Chris announced. He knelt, peering over his shoulder with a welcoming grin. Lance settled happily between Chris's legs and began to push. Grabbed wildly at Chris's hips as his knees slid from under him. Repositioned.

"Come back here!" Lance gasped, for his next thrust sent Chris skidding across the sheets.

"Maybe we should..." Chris turned onto his back, and twined his legs firmly around Lance.

There was moaning. Possibly there was groaning.

There was also slithering. Slithering forwards. Slithering right off the friction-free satin sheets and into an untidy entangled heap in the narrow gap between bed and wall.

* * *

Which is why Chris and Lance now share a futon on the floor.



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