nsync in black and white

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


From his seat at the dining room table, Lance could see into the garden. One of the perks of working from home. One of the many perks.

Other perks were not having to spend a fortune on gas to sit in the parking lot that was the highway at commuting time. And being able to sit in his comfortable, air-conditioned room wearing only white cotton trousers and a casual shirt and drinking chilled Coke as he worked on the figures.

And, of course, the scenery.

In a few days, there'd be a handsome new terrace in his back yard, a space to sit out with friends, barbecue steaks, have a few drinks. Lights discreetly concealed in the ground, large tubs of flowers.

Right now, there was a lot of dirt and concrete and a very hot guy with no shirt on, a hot guy with perfect abs, perfect arms, and a long, lean back (sporting a fug-ugly tattoo on one shoulder), laboring to lay the new surface. Justin, his name was.

Really, Lance mused, Justin was much more decorative than any stone terrace. It was a pity he couldn't stick around. Lance's friends would surely appreciate the view more than a barbecue. Hell, Justin was so hot you could probably fry a steak on him anyway.

Resolutely, Lance turned his attention back to the figures, and checked them one last time before saving, sending, and ticking the item off his list.

Poor guy really was working hard out there. Lance watched Justin bend and lift, haul slabs, mix, shovel, and occasionally pause to wipe his forehead with the back of one well-muscled arm. It looked like hard work, and the sun was relentless.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Justin jumped as Lance spoke to him through the open window, and looked up with a bright blue stare before nodding hesitantly.

"Give yourself a break, yeah? Kitchen door's open." Lance indicated the way with a flick of his head, and watched with satisfaction as Justin stooped to remove his earth-clodded boots before stepping into the house. Sweat gleamed on the laborer's shoulders and chest, and Lance thought about how it would taste, salty, dirty, delicious. Imagined bending Justin over the kitchen table and licking down his spine as he fucked him hard. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Such a sweet smile, and blue eyes looking up at him, all wide and innocent. Lance sat down. The way the laborer's throat worked as he chugged his soda didn't exactly help Lance rein in his thoughts.

"Hot out there," Justin said shyly, and grinned in a way that made Lance want to bite his neck.

"You should take a break, while the sun's overhead," Lance suggested.

"I was plannin' to. I, uh..." Justin grinned again, a bit shamefaced this time. "I didn't want you to think I wasn't doing my job right."

"You've been here since, what, seven thirty? I'd say a little siesta's in order. I like to take time out in the middle of the day myself. One of the good things about working from home, nobody checking up on whether you take a long lunch. Sometimes I go upstairs and lie down for a while."

Justin's eyelids flickered swiftly, and he lowered his gaze and took another pull at the can of Coke.

"Of course," Lance went on, "I don't usually have company."

The laborer laughed nervously. "Don't think I'm exactly, uh, company. Not really dressed for visiting."

"I'm definitely not complaining." Lance smiled slowly. "Oh, hey, you cut yourself." He reached across the table and took hold of Justin's wrist. turning it gently. The laborer's large, work-callused hand bore faint scars, and there was a tiny, open cut. "You should put something on that."

"No, no, it's fine. Really. Happens all the time. And I have... uh... tetanus shots and everything."

Lance's fingers began tracing the pale lines of Justin's scars. "Such strong hands," he murmured, imagining how they'd feel round his cock. "And you have great arms."

"It's, uh, it's all the, uh. Lifting." Lance liked that, the way Justin's breath was catching in his throat, the way his hand was trembling under Lance's touch.

"Mmm. All that hard work. You must get tired. I bet you wish you could sit back and let someone else do the work sometimes, hmm?" Lance eased out of his chair and let his fingers drift upwards to the laborer's bare shoulder. Moved behind him and settled both hands on Justin's collarbone, circling in a gentle, massaging motion. "How does this feel?"

"That's good, that—oh, shit!" Justin dropped his can of Coke, leaving a sticky brown trail fizzing over his chest and flooding the front of his jeans. "Sorry, sorry, damn, all over your kitchen floor," he said, springing to his feet.

"Hey. It's okay. Linoleum won't take any hurt. You going to let me clean that up?" Lance pushed Justin back against the kitchen table and held both his wrists, not really trying to restrain him, just enough that he could feel caught. Justin made a tiny, helpless noise, and trembled, and Lance pressed closer, until his captive fell slowly backwards onto the table and lay there, glistening with Coke. Lance stood between Justin's spread legs, and leaned down to lick at that perfect, flat belly.

"Oh, God..."

Lance flattened a hand over Justin's soaking wet jeans, pressing against the hard ridge under his palm until he heard that desperate noise again. "Let me," he murmured silkily. "I'll wash them for you." He coaxed the zipper down and opened the fly button. Peeled off jeans and briefs in one slow, deliberate move, and eased everything down over Justin's long, quivering legs. As he stepped back to grab the bottle of olive oil from the shelf over the refrigerator, he admired the sight of his laborer, sweaty and sticky with Coke, laid out on the table with his legs curving to the floor, his arms stretched out sideways and his back arched, offering himself.

Lance stepped out of his loose cotton pants and slopped a handful of oil into his hand. Slicked it generously over his hot, hard cock. Slid his thumb down behind Justin's balls and teased at his opening. "Put your legs on my shoulders," he ordered, and rewarded Justin's instant obedience by pushing his oiled thumb slowly inside.

He poured a little more oil onto his hand, and just for fun drizzled it over Justin's erection too, then set the bottle aside and started jacking Justin's cock, while two fingers replaced his exploring thumb, and Justin writhed and begged on the kitchen table. Then Lance fucked him, deep and hard, and Justin screamed and pleaded until he was hoarse, and he was so fucking beautiful like that, Lance wanted to keep him there forever.

Justin was even more beautiful afterwards, relaxed like warm butter, with pale spatters of his own come highlighting the dips of his chest and abs. Lance leaned over the table sideways and kissed him.


Later, Lance checked his email one last time before finishing for the day, then indulged himself in another long, admiring stare out the window. Justin was sweaty again, in his borrowed and somewhat precariously-fitting cargoes.

He'd be needing a shower before he got back into his freshly-laundered jeans.

He'd probably appreciate having his back scrubbed, Lance thought.


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