nsync in black and white

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

A Tale of Torment and Sweet Revenge

A fic_requests prompt for snark, coffee and underwear.

It was obvious Chris was obsessed.

It was possible Chris was also possessed, apparently by some kind of mentally defective demon, but Lance didn't feel he had quite enough evidence to be certain of that. He simply kept a wary eye—both eyes, whenever he could spare them from watching the dance instructor—on the lunatic elf with the angel voice, and did what he could to keep his back to the wall when Chris was in the vicinity. But there were times when he had to turn his back, and then...


"Will you lay off!!" Lance shrieked, on a pitch he didn't usually aspire to, and tugged furiously at the underpants which Chris, apparently, thought belonged somewhere round his rib cage. Damn, that was uncomfortable! Chris, blithe and unrepentant, scampered off to giggle with Justin. You'd think he was the real baby of the group, he acted like he was about twelve.

Lance spent a lot of his time flustered right now, with these strange and crazy new companions, and the sadist choreographer who seemed to expect him to be able to flex himself like Justin and JC, who were obviously not humans at all but some new, strange species with articulated hips. His life had changed so radically, Lance reckoned he had a right to feel a mite unsettled. But he was not, by nature, accustomed to being in a flustered state. He was accustomed to being in mischief, in his own quiet way, which meant mischief of a better planned and more smoothly executed kind than most of Chris's efforts. And he would have vengeance.

The incessant underwear persecution might, it was true, have been Chris's twisted way of showing Lance that he belonged. But it was more pleasing, Lance thought, to believe that Chris was obsessed with his, Lance's, ass. Comforting? Well. Maybe not comforting, exactly. But interesting. Definitely interesting.

* * *

After the breathless pace of Lance's first weeks with NSync, and that terrifying concert, things calmed down very slightly. Which, naturally, meant Chris had more time to indulge in his demonic underwear-yanking behavior. However, it also meant that dance rehearsals, while still serious business and frankly terrifying to someone who had only really done things at a walking pace with show choir, were just relaxed enough that he could make one or two more mistakes than he normally did, and get away with them.

The fact that these mistakes invariably resulted in Lance's foot connecting with Chris's butt was entirely coincidental. Really. No, really.

Actually, Lance was quite proud of himself. His co-ordination was so improving.

* * *

"What the fu— uh, foot?" Chris demanded, infuriated but keenly aware of Lynn's presence in the corner of the room.

"What the foot, Chris? This is some new elf-language we mortals do not speak?" Lance could do bland innocence. Bland innocence was something of a specialty, for Lance. Bland innocence that involved other people bring driven to the brink of insane rage was his favorite kind.

Chris's eyes narrowed. ""Just get your ass—your act together and quit putting your feet where they don't belong."

"Y'all know I can't dance." He shrugged a general apology.

"Must be that broomstick up your ass," Chris hissed, rubbing his own backside.

Lance blinked, and opened his eyes extra wide. "Broomstick, Chris?" He lowered his voice. "It's just a place holder. You know, until I find something I like better." He bestowed a saintly smile on the suddenly transfixed Kirkpatrick, and stepped back to his place in the formation.

* * *

Lance hadn't expected the wedgies to stop, and they didn't. He expected Chris to be making an extra effort, and Chris was. It wasn't quite all-out war, because Chris tended to dissipate his attack by spreading it generously among the four of them. Justin came in for a lot of it because he was completely bewitched by Chris, and asked for nothing better in life than solos in all their numbers and the chance to bask in Chris's attention, even when that attention meant that his still-wavering tenor veered into the high soprano at times. Joey was savvy enough to keep clear most of the time, but a heavily-caffeinated Chris was impossible to escape, so even Joe was sometimes seen swearing and tugging his pants out of his crack. JC was a less tempting target—did he even have an ass?—but was too trusting to run fast enough when the spotlight of Chris's attention was turned on him.

Lance, however, remained the prime target, and Lance was happy about that, because his hip swivels were definitely improving, along with his ability to side-step. Turned out it was a matter of incentive. If the prize was that Chris's hand slid across his ass instead of hauling his boxers into his throat, Lance was willing to practice, practice, practice. And oddly enough, the lack of wedgie achievement didn't seem to be deterring Chris at all. It was possible that nothing short of a tactical nuke would deter Chris when he was on the rampage, but Lance considered there might be other forces at work here.

And his vengeance was nigh.

* * *

A balmy morning, and the five of them were breakfasting outside. Had breakfasted, really, but they had time to spare before getting down to work, and were imbibing coffee. Lance was glad his mom didn't share Lynn's conviction that coffee would stunt her son's growth. Though, contemplating Chris, who was downing the stuff with alarming concentration, he had to admit there might be something in that theory. If only someone had been instructed to keep Chris away from the caffeinated substance, with a whip and a chair if necessary, life might be a lot more peaceful around here.

Of course, that'd be a shame.

The moms were inside, trying to bond. They would get there, Lance reckoned, because two moms who loved their kids that much would just have to find something in common, eventually. His mother wasn't around that much of the time, but this trip, she had brought what he requested, and he was ready to use it.

Right on cue, she came out into the yard with a fresh and fragrant pot in one hand, and his secret weapon in the other. His mom could turn a water fight into a formal social occasion by offering the combatants something to drink, so he was not at all surprised to see his four bandmates—yeah, he was really getting used to the sound of that—sitting obediently still and thanking her as she refilled their cups. Not Justin's, of course, he got milk. Growing boy.

"Here you go, sweetie," she said, handing him the biggest can he had ever seen in his life. Best mom in the world. "I know you like whipped cream with yours. Don't forget to share." She winked. Mom was exceptionally cool.

Chris waited until Mom had gone back to the house before pointing out that real men drank their coffee black.

"Don't you mean, fifty percent sugar?" Joey retorted. Joey liked his coffee creamed, too.

"Nectar of the gods, man," said Chris insouciantly, draining his cup and reaching for the pot.

"Tool of the devil?" Lance suggested. "We get it both ways, with you hyped up on caffeine and sugar."

"Drink your whipped cream, sweetie!"

Lance drank a leisurely mouthful, and carefully licked the sweet moustache from his upper lip. "Oh, Chris?" he said, though he already had Chris's attention. "You know how you've been interfering with my underwear lately?"

Bright brown eyes sparkled. "Woo hoo, wishful thinking much, huh, Bass?"

"Oh, I've got them all counted. Every one. And you know what, Chris? It's payback time!"

Lance stood, wielding the can of whipping cream like a sword. "Vengeance!" he bellowed, leaping on to his chair, on to the table and straight towards Chris, whose eyes widened in astounded horror.

"Fuck!" shrieked Chris, and began to run.

He didn't get far. A flying tackle felled him to the ground, but Chris had scarcely realized he had grass blades up his nose when he was rolled onto his back and found a sturdy teenager straddling his chest and covering his face with a fearsome spray of whipped cream.

A moment later, the nozzle was thrust down Chris's pants. Lance didn't let up until the can was empty.

The three others, near helpless with laughter, began to approach as Lance leaned down and sucked a delicious mouthful of cream from Chris's ear. "Tasty," he murmured in his darkest voice. "Want me to lick it all off?"



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