Lance stared at the television. He could not quite believe what he was seeing. He'd been there, he'd seen it in person, but that had been Joey *acting*. Dancing, sure, but in character, as a Zorro-type, or a seducer, or whatever, but Joey in costume, doing a routine.
Now, now that Dancing with the Stars was done—and Joey had been robbed, robbed, it was outrageous after that incredible Jive—here was Joey, and Kym, of course, in ordinary clothes, on a talk show, Joey dancing in a black polo shirt and jeans, and maybe he'd been hot in that Paso, but this, this was incendiary.
Lance stared at the television, and tried not to drool.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and a voice murmured against his ear. "Our offer is still open, you know."
"Kelly!" He'd been trying, very hard, not to think about that. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. They couldn't possibly have meant it.
"He looks fantastic, doesn't he?" Kelly smiled wickedly. "He's in incredibly good shape, you know. He's so flexible now..." and Lance had a shameful, forbidden mental image of Joey grinning up at him with his ankles up to his shoulders. "And so much stamina. He could make us both very happy."
"I, I—" What was he to say? That he'd never recognized, never allowed himself to realize, that his best friend was totally hot? That he hadn't known it could be such a turn-on to see him dancing like this? That he really, really, wanted to take them up on their offer?
"He wants you, too. He thinks you're sexy," Kelly told him. "And we both trust you. He's always liked it when I use my fingers. He wants to try it, with you. And I want to watch. I want to be there and touch you both, kiss you, watch you fuck my husband and see how much it turns him on. Will you do that with us, Lance? When he gets back from New York, will you do that?"
"God, Kelly," Lance gasped, as Joey and Kym finished their dance and made way for the next couple. "Yes. Yes."