Story prompt:
I'm sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired
- Sleep To Dream
How do you tell your lover that you want someone else?
Or, not that exactly, but that you think he wants someone else and you want him to have what he wants so you want to get him the someone else... and you don't quite want to admit that you kinda want the someone else, too—not that he isn't enough, because he is, sure he is, absolutely, and you don't want to lose him... and you're back to the wanting him to have what he wants part again.
It was just... there was them, and they were good. But how long were they going to stay that way? The two of them were so different, and Chris—Chris was—hell, Justin had practically worshipped Chris for so long, it still sometimes didn't seem possible that he really and truly had Chris, didn't seem possible that Justin could be enough for someone like Chris. Justin didn't underestimate himself, at least, he didn't think so, he knew he was cool and ripped and talented, but whether that was enough for Chris, who was so cool he didn't even care if he was cool or not, and okay not ripped, but beautiful in a way that was in a category where ripped didn't matter, and so fucking talented...
There were also, even if he didn't admit it to anyone, times when Chris was just impossible.
So it seemed like, maybe, if there was someone else... someone else who got Chris, and who loved him too, and. Yeah.
Justin really, really had had no clue how to start this conversation. But he'd blurted something, and Chris had picked up on that, and it turned out Chris had been thinking kinda what Justin had been thinking, so it was okay, they both wanted the same thing. It didn't even feel bad, not to be enough on his own, or not very bad, because it was such a relief.
* * *
Lance took a mouthful of his Jack and coke, savored it, swallowed. Sat back into the leather upholstery, smiled. "So tell me," he said, pleasant but firm, "what's up?"
Chris and Justin exchanged glances. Again. They'd been doing that all evening, and Lance had gotten beyond thinking it was cute and was beginning to find it irritating. They were plotting something. Of course, he'd known that since he'd turned up here at J's house for dinner and found no JC, no Joey, just the terrible twosome, and him. So why was he there? If Lance had the chance to spend a few peaceful days with his lover in the mid-break of the tour, he wouldn't be inviting anyone else along. Especially if his lover was Chris. Or Justin. Lance envied them both with an intensity that hurt, at times. He hoped it didn't show. He was good at hiding things.
Unlike the pair of them. Who hadn't answered his question.
"I'll, uh, go get coffee," blurted Justin, and hurried out.
"Chris?"
"Um. More Jack?"
"No, thank you." His glass was nowhere near empty.
"How about a back-rub? You look tense. Are you tense?"
"Not as tense as you." Not that Lance was turning down the back-rub. Chris was too good at those. He leaned forward as Chris leaped from the chair where he'd been sitting jiggling. "Something's up. What are the two of y'all planning?"
"Planning? Us? You're the man with the plans, Bass, everyone knows that. You wanna lie down?"
"Forget the back-rub, Chris. Just tell me what's going on."
Chris moved round to stand in front of Lance. Then he sank down to his knees, and leaned forward. Lance saw Chris's face getting closer and closer, but he didn't believe it was going to happen until he found Chris's mouth pressed against his own, then Chris's tongue tracing the line between his lips. Unfortunately for his self-control, Lance liked that. A lot. And couldn't repress a gasp that allowed Chris's tongue access...
He pushed. "What are you doing?"
Chris drew back. Intense dark eyes stared into Lance's own from a few inches away. "I'm disappointed," Chris said. "Thought you'd be able to tell."
"Okay, so you were kissing me. Mind explaining why?"
"Couldn't resist?"
"Damn it, Chris! Don't piss me off. You got no business kissing me like that, the minute Justin's out of the room!"
"Now, Bass, you know that's bullshit, by my reckoning it's been at least five minutes since he went to make coffee. He'll be back—"
"Yeah, and he is not going to find me kissing his boyfriend."
"I think he'll be disappointed."
Lance stared. "What?"
"Obviously, J knows that I'm the sexiest male on God's green earth. Therefore, he'll be expecting you to succumb to my allure. If he finds you in one corner and me in the other, what's he gonna think? That I've lost my appeal, is what, and man, I don't know how you can live with yourself, disappointing the boy like that."
Lance opened his mouth, but found he had no words available. He closed it, and frowned.
* * *
It was okay, they both wanted the same thing. Not for the same reasons, Chris thought. Chris was under no illusions about his own standing: on a scale of one to ten, he was around a five. Six, on a good day. More, if you took the money and the celebrity glitter into account, but that stuff wasn't relevant to Justin.
Justin was a ten. Justin ought to be with a ten, and once he was out there on his own instead of cocooned in *Nsync with Chris, he'd realize he was missing out. There were other tens in the world.
Lance was a ten.
Chris would do anything to keep Justin, anything. And the fact that Lance was, well, Lance, meant that he had a chance to do it.
And the fact that Lance was Lance also meant that Chris wanted him for entirely separate reasons that had very little to do with keeping Justin and which he had no intention of admitting to anybody.
So, they wanted the same thing.
All they had to do now was figure out how to get it.
* * *
Lance opened his mouth, but found he had no words available. He closed it, and frowned.
"Course, if you wanna wait until he comes back before I kiss you, that'd be okay," Chris went on with determination.
"Chris," Lance began helplessly. This was outrageous. It wasn't fair of Chris to tease him like this. Okay, so Chris obviously didn't realize how Lance felt, what Lance wanted, what Lance dreamed of having—which went to show that Lance had kept his feelings properly hidden. That was good. Because much as he wanted them—both of them, either of them—Lance would not dream, would never dream of trying to split up Chris and Justin so that he could have somebody to love him the way they had each other.
He was honestly glad for them, that they had each other. They were good together. And, lucky Justin, lucky Chris, they didn't need to pick and choose and get confidentiality agreements signed and hope and pray that that was enough. They didn't need to put the idea of being loved on hold.
And it really was not fair to tease Lance like this.
Chris had his hands on Lance's thighs.
Damn it.
Lance flinched guiltily (it wasn't even his fault!) as Justin said "Yeah?" behind him.
Chris looked up, and made a face. "Not really."
"Huh," said Justin. "Cause it looks like you're gonna give him a blowjob."
Coke spilled onto Lance's fingers. "'S not like that," he croaked, wiping his hand on his shirt. Justin was settling onto the couch beside him. "We were just talking," he attempted to explain.
"Oh, man," Justin complained. "Did he even kiss you yet?"
Chris rolled his eyes. "Yes, I did. And I dunno why you think you're entitled to complain, Mr You-Do-It-Chris, I'll go make the coffee."
"Cool," said Justin, happily ignoring the nonessentials. "So it's my turn, yo."
"No! Turn? What? What are y'all doing?" Lance demanded again.
"Dude. Chill. We're, we're seducing you. Right, Chris?" Reassured by Chris's nod, Justin went on. "We want you. Both of us do. It'd be good." Justin had an arm round Lance's shoulders now, and a hand on his chest. Lance's knees were feeling treacherously weak. "We thought, to begin, like, I could kiss you and Chris is gonna give you a blow job. Then we can switch, and stuff. You okay with that?"
"No!" Lance managed. "It's not—I'm not your sex toy." Even if his cock was saying, Play with me, play with me!
"Course not! Dude," and Justin kissed him lightly on the lips, "we're serious. We love you. Besides, man, you don't wanna pass up a chance of a blow job from Chris. He is the best, you know? Totally incredible." Chris's hands were busy with Lance's zipper now, and Justin was leaning in purposefully, and Lance meant to push, he really did, he meant to push them away and walk out, but J was nibbling at his lower lip now, and stroking his chest, and Chris—Chris—
Oh, dear God.
* * *
All they had to do now was figure out how to get it. They lay crammed into one bunk, while JC was curled up oblivious on the couch and the bus motored steadily on. Only one more show before the break, time to plan.
"I think we gotta start with sex."
"With sex?"
"Yeah. You know what they say, grab 'em by the balls, and the hearts and minds will follow."
"Shouldn't we, ah, talk to him first?"
"You think he'll listen?" Chris looked skeptical. "We tell him we love him and we want him to be our boyfriend, what's he going to do when he stops laughing?"
"He doesn't exactly seem to approve of us," Justin agreed sadly. "Being boyfriends."
"Yeah, well, he's enjoying himself notching his bedpost, most likely thinks we ought to be out there looking for variety. We know better, so we take him to bed, show him what he'd get with us. That'll get his attention. Make him want to spend his nights with us, getting so well fucked he doesn't notice he's in a relationship."
"You think he won't notice?"
Chris shrugged. "He's stuck with us anyway. We'll just add sex into the mix, and hope he gets to like what he has with us before he realizes it's serious and heads out of town. I mean, you ever seen Lance in a real relationship? He's always sliding off somewhere..."
* * *
Oh, dear God.
Chris drew back, swiped a hand over his mouth, and looked steadily up into Lance's eyes. "You ready to move this to the bedroom now?"
Not exactly a fair question, after the most amazing blowjob of his life. Lance wasn't sure that he was capable of coherent thought yet, though possibly framing the idea that he wasn't capable meant that he was... oh, fuck it. This wasn't real. This couldn't possibly be real. Maybe those had been hallucinogenic mushrooms on his pizza. And if it wasn't real, wasn't actually happening, then he was allowed to enjoy every second of it while it lasted.
"Absolutely," he said.
Chris and Justin grinned at each other, grins that spoke silently of relief as well as anticipation. Of course, in his dream they both wanted him. So that was fine.
Justin tugged on his hand, and Lance followed obediently up the stairs with Chris at his heels.
"So... what next?" Lance asked, as the three of them stood in the huge, white bedroom with its vast acreage of bed.
"What do you want?" said Chris immediately. "We want you to have what you want."
"Which I hope means you want to fuck me," added Justin, "because, you know, that would be—I mean, I'd like that. What?"
"Don't do that! I just said—" Chris sounded exasperated, and Lance could understand that, because it was so completely Justin to step up and state his own requirements when someone else was supposed to be picking. The trick was always to get your own demands in first: if you wanted to watch The Matrix, it was too late if you waited until he'd said that he'd be okay with seeing Shrek again, because once Justin had said that, you just knew it'd be ogres and farts and you could forget about cool guys with cheekbones and long leather coats.
"I was only saying," Justin said, aggrieved.
Of course, this time, Justin had been saying Lance could fuck him.
"Okay," said Lance.
"Okay what?"
"I'll fuck Justin."
* * *
"You ever seen Lance in a real relationship? He's always sliding off somewhere..."
That was true. Lance had a parade of men—no, not a parade, that wasn't fair, he was immaculately discreet. There were men, anyway, once upon a time there'd been girls, too, but the girls nowadays were just for show and everyone knew it. Justin was uncomfortably aware that Lance's range of sexual experiences must outstrip his own by, by a lot of, of whatever you measured sex in. It wasn't that he and Chris didn't try stuff out, but it stood to reason when you had that many different partners, you were better at it.
Justin was a little bit intimidated. He'd only slept with three people.
* * *
"I'll fuck Justin." Lance had never in his life uttered such an incredible sentence. "But not yet." Fair was fair. Besides, he wasn't exactly up for it right now. "I think you should get naked first. Both of y'all. Then I want to watch... I want to watch you blow Chris."
Justin's eyes widened, and he knelt at once to undo his sneakers. It seemed to take no time for the two of them to throw off their clothes, but Justin folded his carefully onto a chair, while Chris just left a crumpled pile on the floor, so Chris was prepared for action first. "Where do you want me?" he asked eagerly.
"Um. Sit on the bed," said Lance, a bit taken aback by the speed of events. He didn't think his one-on-one fantasies had entirely prepared him for this situation, and would have appreciated some warning so he could work out what to ask for. And also, possibly, leave the country. No, that was stupid. This wasn't really happening, it was just an astonishingly detailed dream. It had to be. Waking up from a dream would be less painful.
In his dream, he could take in the sight of Chris naked, the dark hair on Chris's chest, the trail over his stomach, the tangle at his groin. His erection jutting proud. His spread thighs. And Justin, long and lean and perfectly muscled, kneeling between them and dipping his head to suck as though Chris's cock were a particularly tasty popsicle. Lance moved sideways, the better to appreciate the view.
So much better than porn, or mirrors. Justin's head, bobbing up and down. Chris's eyes, almost closed, his mouth almost open, his breathing shallow and fast.
"Wait! J, slow down. This is—you said it's what I want, right? So slow right down. Take your mouth off him, and your hands, just use your tongue." Lance paused, waiting for Justin to follow his instructions. Good. "Lick him, lick right up his dick, right up to the tip. And again, with your tongue broad and flat. Yeah, that's it."
It was surprisingly easy, once he'd allowed the first few words out of his mouth. And this, at least, was something he had experience with. Not the talking, maybe, but blowjobs? Hell, yeah, he could do blowjobs. "Now swirl around the tip, just your tongue. Taste him. Yeah, now lick all around. Lick the slit, tip of your tongue. That's good, that's good, now suck, only the very tip, tease him, I don't want him to come yet." Chris moaned. "That's right. Lots of saliva, get him wet and slippery, I want to watch your tongue work over him." Oh, yeah. 'Cause the sight of that... Lance moved closer, fascinated. "And down to his balls again, you can stroke his balls and his legs, open his legs wider. Give me your hand." Lance took two fingers into his mouth, coated them liberally with spit—he was almost drooling anyhow—and told Justin what to do. Where to press, when to push, how deep to go. How much of Chris's cock to take into his mouth, when to suck, when to kiss, when to tease.
Chris whimpered, and Lance instructed him to lean back, to stretch his legs wide, and to open his eyes. Lance adored Chris's eyes. The expression in them was new, needy. Incredibly hot.
Justin's fingers were fucking into Chris now, sinking deep, long strong fingers, and Chris's body tautened against them as he tried to push onto the penetration and urge his cock further into Justin's obedient mouth at the same time. His eyes pleaded with Lance. Lance rested his left hand gently on Justin's neck as J's head worked down, and up.
"You can take him deep now, J," Lance told them. "As much as you can take. Work your mouth round him, suck him in. Use your tongue, and your hand. He's close now, he's very close." Lance stared, intent, fascinated, into Chris's wide black eyes, almost dizzy with overload. He was no longer only Lance, he was Chris, vibrating with sensation, he was Justin, sliding and eager. All three, perfectly connected. "Your fingers, stroke him deep, find that spot, work it. Feel how close he is now. He's going to come, Justin, he's coming... now." And Chris did, bucking and groaning, and Lance could feel the motions of Justin's throat as he swallowed.
God, that was amazing.
Chris flopped back onto the bed, his legs still splayed, as Justin withdrew his fingers and carefully licked up the last traces of come, before relaxing almost bonelessly with his cheek resting on Chris's thigh. Entranced, Lance stroked the close-cropped head, settling his other hand against Chris's hip.
"Wow," he said quietly. "Y'all are so beautiful."
Chris summoned a grin. "Enjoyed the show, did you?"
There was a muttered something from Justin, Lance couldn't make out what was said, but Chris seemed to understand. "You—it was just what we wanted," he said cryptically. "And now, you gonna get naked?"
Lance's khakis had been loose, this morning, when he got dressed. Now that he was as hard as he'd ever been in his life, they were uncomfortably restricting. And he was going to fuck Justin.
* * *
Justin, Chris thought, was a little bit intimidated. He'd only slept with three people. He was too young to realize that quantity didn't have to equal quality.
He was also too young to recognize the other factor that Chris hadn't mentioned. That there was something about Lance that he—that both of them—wanted to obey. It wasn't a full-blown D/S thing, Chris knew himself well enough to be certain that he didn't have that strong a kink, and J was practically pure vanilla. And very tasty, too. But there was something about being told what to do that got J all hot and bothered and eager to lie down and spread, and Chris could do that, sure, but truth to tell, being told what to do worked on him, too, so if Lance was as bossy in bed as he could be elsewhere... They needed that, Chris thought. Even if J didn't know what he needed.
* * *
He was going to fuck Justin.
He thought about that for a moment. Not that it was a notion that had precisely gone away, while he was watching the two of them. But he was going to fuck Justin—who was hauling himself to his feet and heading off to the bathroom with a big grin on his face—and Lance had better be thinking of something else right now, like monster truck rallies or the Dow Jones Index, because he was going to need some serious self-control and he had no confidence in his ability to find it.
To hide his doubts, he turned away from the bed and stripped, layering his clothes tidily over the back of a chair. Justin was back in the room by the time Lance was ready for the bed. Justin, looking bright-eyed, eager and perfect.
"How do you want me?"
Oh, great, now he was running through possibilities in his mind. So much for Dow Jones. "On your knees," Lance managed to say. Looking anywhere but at me, was what he thought. Maybe that way he'd stand a chance of pulling this off, of not making it obvious he wasn't really the man they wanted, the man who knew what he was doing. Blowjobs he knew, but this was different. Reading, Lance thought, reading and watching porn, and practicing with sex toys, wasn't actually a substitute for experience. But it was all he had and he was not going to 'fess up now and have them laugh like hyenas and lose this chance.
It was a damn fine dream, and he was keeping it.
And there was Justin, on his hands and knees and looking impatiently (of course) over his shoulder. Lance moved to stand beside the bed, and ran his hand along the beautiful line of J's arched spine.
"Please?" said Justin.
So Lance knelt on the bed between Justin's knees, and palmed his way along that elegant back, and pressed between the shoulder blades until Justin sank onto his forearms and buried his face in the pillow. Lance stared at the perfect offering, and raised his eyes to meet Chris's look, Chris, who was lying next to them, watching intently. Lance couldn't read that expression—Chris was tricky that way—but there seemed to be approval there. Anyway, hell, he wasn't going to stop this unless he had to.
He bent, and kissed J's firm little ass. And stifled the laugh that wanted to bubble out of him as he realized what he was doing.
A moment later, Lance realized that kissing J's ass was exactly what he wanted to do. That this was his chance, his one chance, to do things he'd been dreaming of doing, here with two people he loved, where no intimacy was unthinkable, because they loved him too.
Besides, he wanted Justin to be so turned on he couldn't see straight. So Lance bit, carefully, into the curved, tempting flesh of the ass in front of him; heard a gasp; kissed the spot; and turned his attention to the cleft between. Slid fingers down, and parted, and kissed, kissed the rich hidden place he'd never seen on a real live, hot, panting human being before. Felt the quiver and heard the noises—wordless encouragement from the man under his tongue, and a hissed "Yes" from Chris.
Lance indulged himself. He brought out every move he could think of to pleasure Justin's ass. His tongue flickered and pressed and swirled. He sucked, he probed. He held those writhing hips firmly, and concentrated on Justin's frantic reactions, the wails and pleas that rose like muffled music, and the way he spread his legs avidly wide and thrust his pelvis back for more.
It was the most exciting thing Lance had ever done, even more incredible than the first time he'd given someone a blow job, because this was Justin, who mattered, and he was pleading and incoherent because of what Lance was doing. And he was going to fuck Justin.
Lance drew back, leaving his thumb where his mouth had been, and said "Chris. Condom?"
And Chris ripped open the foil and—wow!—rolled the condom smoothly onto Lance's cock, and a moment later stroked him with a lubed hand, and Lance looked down to see his erection glistening and ready, so he positioned himself with great care at the rose pucker of Justin's ass, and pressed cautiously forward.
Aah.
Slowly, he kept telling himself, slowly. Don't hurt him. Try not to think how incredible it feels, make it good for him.
Justin didn't entirely help matters by pushing eagerly backwards. Lance gasped, and tightened his hands on J's hips. Berated himself for not investigating inside with his fingers first, because he was supposed to be rubbing over J's prostate, wasn't he, and he didn't know how he was going to be able to tell where it was and if he was doing it right. Lance tried to remember diagrams, which was useful because it distracted him, not much, but helpfully, from the perfect hot tightness enveloping his cock, and when he drew back and shifted position slightly, he could tell from Justin's quiver that he was doing something right. Keep it slow, he must keep it slow. Thank god he came once already.
Maybe some variation? Lance tried some quick, shallow thrusts, then slow and deep. Hell, if it felt half as good to J as it did to him... because it felt absolutely fucking fantastic to Lance. He did it again. J was pleading, and that felt pretty amazing too. And Chris was watching them and licking his lips and he had his hand on his cock which was definitely showing signs of interest.
"Chris," Lance muttered, "don't do that. Don't touch yourself—do Justin instead." Lance didn't dare take his hands off J's hips. He'd lose his balance, or lose his rhythm, or something stupid like that, and besides, he didn't want to move, this was so perfect, so fucking good.
Obediently, Chris slid closer. Lance could feel the exact moment when Chris's hand closed round Justin's erection, because Justin shuddered and groaned and pushed back harder onto Lance, and there was no way he was going to go slow, not now, not any more, and it was all right because J was right there with him, begging for more and taking it all, and somehow it was the begging that made it possible for Lance to keep control, to thrust just a fraction less frantically than he wanted to, so that J would keep pleading with him and he could keep doing this. Until he knew he couldn't wait, had to move hard, hard, and J screamed and spasmed and holy fucking god Lance had never felt anything so good and he plunged and bucked and came.
* * *
What he needed, Justin thought, was to be sure that Chris was not left alone. Chris needed the break, but when the five of them weren't all together, Chris would very soon realize he could go find someone else, someone who'd slept with more than three people and was there instead of touring on his own... If he had Lance, he wouldn't look for anyone else, and there'd still be room for Justin when he came back. He couldn't lose Chris.
And besides—Lance! Who they already loved and who loved them. Who was solid and stable and not at all erratic and never insane with sugar, and just unbelievably beautiful. The only other person in the world he could want like he wanted Chris, and was it possible he didn't have to do without one in order to have the other, that he could really have both?
* * *
...holy fucking god Lance had never felt anything so good...
Lance just about had the strength to stagger into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and root through Justin's shelves for an unopened toothbrush. As he cleaned his teeth and tongue, rather thoughtfully, he looked at himself in the large, frighteningly well-lit mirror over the basin. Was he supposed to look different, now, or was that just girls? Or, as he suspected, just a myth anyway?
Wow.
Just, wow.
He finished off with mouthwash, and splashed cold water onto his face before heading back to the enormous bed. It was possible Chris would let him sleep, but Lance knew better than to expect it. And besides...
Justin rolled bonelessly out of the bed as Lance returned, and headed into the bathroom himself. Lance clambered in, and buried his face in the middle pillow, allowing a hand to fall gently onto Chris, who was lying on his side looking hopeful. Lance closed his eyes.
"That was the hottest thing I ever heard," Chris muttered, "you and Justin, God, man, if we put that on a CD, it'd be, like, never out of the charts."
"I can see that," said Lance, who didn't remember making any sounds, but wouldn't have minded having Justin's begging down on tape. "Wouldn't matter to you, though, seeing as how you'd be dead. Joey would kill you."
"Nah, JC'd protect me." Chris wriggled, until Lance could feel an erection pressing against his hip. "Um..."
Evilly, Lance patted Chris's arm in a soothing way, and snuggled into his pillow. There was a sigh, and more shuffling. The bed dipped on his left as J slid back in.
"Lance..." said Chris, very quietly. "Lance, can I—is it my turn now? I wanna..." He sounded unusually tentative. Lance grinned into the pillow, then lifted his head and scowled at Chris.
"I suppose you want to fuck me, then," he said.
"Nnnghh, uh huh."
Lance eyed him sternly. "Well, okay," he said. "But don't you dare hurry. I know you, Kirkpatrick, you'll be on me like a rabid ferret and two minutes later there'll be snoring. Noooo way," he drawled deliberately. "You want this ass, you're going to have to take it seriously."
"I can do that, yeah," said Chris, sliding a hand over the ass in question. Lance didn't think he was going to get hard again for a while, not after coming twice already and so overwhelmingly, but the hot prickle of sexual awareness hadn't entirely left him even while he was cleaning his teeth, and he was confident that being the focus of Chris's attention was going to be worth staying awake for. Hell, he'd dreamed about it often enough—all that relentless energy, all for him—he definitely wasn't going to sleep through this.
Soon Chris was kneeling over him, stroking down Lance's spine and over his ass and upper thighs. It felt to Lance as though he were being polished. How many hands were there on him? Yep, definitely more than two. He turned his head, and found Justin's mouth waiting on the pillow beside him.
Kissing Justin was all kinds of good. Kissing Justin and feeling Chris's hand slip between his thighs and trace gently over his balls was all kinds of better.
"Lance? You wanna kneel up a little?"
"You asking me to make it easy for you, Chris?" he said lazily. It felt right, to challenge Chris like this. Just a little. Just enough.
"Here, have this," and Justin thrust a pillow towards Lance's hips. Lance permitted it to be inserted beneath him, and helpfully spread his legs.
Cold! Cold lube! Warm finger. God, warm fingertip inside him, slipping in an inch or so, in and out, quick little thrusts teasing at the sensitive opening. Lance's arm tightened around J, and the kiss grew more insistent. The finger insinuated itself further, slow slide, slow retreat, felt so good, Lance loved this, this was better than his cold vibrator, or being invaded by someone he only trusted enough for a blow job, this was Chris, this felt good, and he spread his thighs happily and—oh, that was more, that was two fingers, and that was a bit... no, that was good, that was fine, that wow! that tingled at the crucial spot, and Lance probably let a moan escape from between his and Justin's lips, because those two clever fingers were touching, were sliding over, were oh god massaging the sensitive place inside him, Chris was a god, Chris was not to stop doing that, just keep keep keep doing that.
Justin's lips slid away from Lance's mouth now, and kissed down his neck and shoulder and along his quivering arm, until J was sucking delicately at his fingers. Lance had a brain cell or two available to appreciate the attention, but the rest of him was aswirl in the sensations from inside him. He was more or less aware that he was spread wide now, tilting his ass up and rocking against the pillow, and yeah, hard again.
The magic fingers withdrew, which was bad and wrong. "More," Lance insisted.
Then there was more, there was more than he'd expected, too much, maybe? "Slow, remember," Lance muttered, and made himself relax, and three—was that three, now?—fingers pushed into him, stretched him apart, it felt amazing, it was so much, and a little bit scary but it was still Chris, and he was taking it slow, and the painful edge didn't matter because this was more than he'd ever had before and he could take it, it was incredible.
Lance was dimly aware of Chris's commentary, of Justin's murmured harmonies as Justin's hands stroked him and Chris's fingers penetrated him. Like being drugged, so much sensation, so much pleasure. Mindless.
The fingers withdrew. "Can I fuck you now? Please, Lance?"
"Mmmm." He struggled to get his knees underneath him, and raised himself on his arms, he was ready for this, so ready, been waiting so long. Then he could feel Chris's thighs, softly scratchy against his own, and a pressure, different than before, and Lance breathed deep and let himself be entered. It was, it was sorta uncomfortable, it was so much, so hot, not like anything mechanical and silicon, and he wasn't in control, but it felt so good, so full.
Chris stilled, deep inside him. "How do you want it?"
Lance almost laughed. How the fuck was he supposed to know? But he shifted, cautiously, exploring the feeling, trying to figure out what was best, very carefully moving forward away from Chris, then the luxurious slide backwards until his ass was pressed against Chris's body, hot and wonderful. Behind him, Chris groaned and began to move, at the same slow speed pulling back and pressing forward, and yes! his cock sliding across that hypersensitive place with every glide. Lance's eyelids flickered wildly, and he could hear his own moans now, and Chris grunting and Justin telling them both they were hotter than anything, ever.
"Stop! Chris, stop." Lance hadn't been quite sure he had the willpower to say that, but he'd managed it. "Out, please."
"Did I—Lance, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Lance, empty and wanting to be filled again right now, turned onto his back, settled his ass on the pillow and clasped his legs round Chris. "I want to see your face. C'mere." He didn't know if this could possibly feel as good as it had felt a moment ago, but he didn't want to be looking at white bedsheets when Chris orgasmed.
It did feel as good. Different angle but yeah, hell yeah, and his cock was pressed between Chris's hot sweat-slick flesh and his own, and he could pull Chris to him and tangle his fingers through silky hair and thrust his tongue into Chris's mouth just like Chris was thrusting his cock into Lance, and if there was a better sensation in this world he didn't want to know because it would probably kill him. Lance kissed harder, tightened the grasp of his thighs, demanded more.
"Oh, God, Lance, gonna... come," Chris gasped, arching upwards.
"Yes, yes, come, want to see you come," Lance urged him, and did his best to help, tried to squeeze his ass muscles the way Justin's had clenched round him and brought him off. And Chris made fast, helpless thrusts and a soundless shout, and collapsed onto Lance who held him tight and kissed his face.
* * *
Chris wanted Justin just as much as ever. But Lance! Lance could fill the empty places where they needed something solid and utterly reliable to counter the volatility he and J shared. And where they were opposites, where J was so sharply focused on his own trajectory, and Chris had no goals left to achieve, Lance would balance them. Lance would soothe their insecurities with his perfect, calm confidence. He could make Chris laugh, when Chris got tired of being The Funny One, and startle J into new worlds with his occasional vast leaps of unpredictability.
They'd be perfect together, the three of them, Chris was sure of it. They just had to convince Lance. As to that, obviously, great sex was the way to start. There'd be time later to tell him they loved him.
* * *
Lance held him tight and kissed his face.
After a blissful moment, Chris slid carefully away from Lance and flopped sideways. "You didn't," he began, but Justin interrupted.
"Let me?" and curled a long-fingered hand round Lance's erection, almost painful now.
"I'm not, I won't last," Lance managed to say, as J's head bent towards his groin. He was right, for the sensation of hot wet mouth and caressing tongue brought him almost at once to screaming point. Strong fingers pumped him a few times, and he was coming, almost spent, only feeble drops, and he almost cried with the relief of it.
Lance lay there, unable to move, just breathing and listening to the thump of his heartbeat slowing gradually as he came down to earth. Chris on his left, kissing his shoulder and stroking his arm. Justin on his right, with a hand resting on his hip.
"This was the greatest idea ever," Justin's voice, soft and certain. "I, Lance, you know, I never did this before."
"Me either," said Chris. Lance was conscious of vague surprise, through the layers of satiation. He'd thought maybe Chris had... "Well, sorta, because there was that one time, two girls, but they didn't wanna touch each other, so, maybe not really a threesome."
Lance realized it was his turn. "Y'all have no idea," he said, with a laugh in his voice that was trying hard not to be a sob. If they were comparing new experiences, he definitely had 'em both beat. "Sleep," he said. "Sleep now." Tomorrow he was going to have to wake up.
* * *
Chris and Justin smiled at one another across the sleek golden skin of Lance's chest. They'd got him now, and they were going to keep him, a perfectly balanced triangle, and everything was going to work out.
* * *
He was going to have to wake up.
Lance woke, too hot, with pale dawn attempting with little success to sneak past the drapes.
Justin's hand and Chris's were clasped together, across his chest. Seemed to say it all, really. The two of them, and him.
Stealthily, he slid below the linked hands and down to the foot of the bed. Stood, rather shakily, and made his way to the bathroom. Locked the door. "Time to wake up now," he said to his reflection above the hand basin. His reflection didn't look very happy about it.
Showering would probably wake them, Lance decided, and settled for a thorough wash, shamelessly abusing Justin's facecloth. The mechanical actions reminded him of hands on his skin, of kisses. Of sex. So, he thought, you lost your virginity there, Lance. Go you.
Didn't help. Not when the two of them were sleeping together holding hands, for fuck's sake, and he was still... just Lance.
Lance hurled the facecloth into the laundry basket in the corner. Silently, he went back into the bedroom, collected his clothes from the chair, and went downstairs to dress, find his shoes, and get the hell out of there.
* * *
"He's not in the house."
"I don't understand. Chris—why did he go? Why did he leave like that? What did we do wrong?"
Chris shook his head, disappointment bitter in his mouth. "I don't know, J. I don't know. I thought..."
"I thought it was perfect," Justin said sadly. "You and me and him together. I thought..."
"Yeah, I know."
"Was it... me?"
Chris snorted. Ludicrous. How anyone could walk away from that, he'd never know.
"I mean, when he said, it sounded like he had threesomes all the time, so maybe I wasn't very—"
"Don't think like that! You—J, you are so fucking beautiful, and you were fantastic last night, I know how good it feels to be inside you and there's no way you weren't good enough. Just—trust me, okay?"
A hand rubbed against his cheek. "Then, don't you think it either, that you weren't good enough. Right?"
"Right. Yeah. We're both good enough. We're both fan-fucking-tastic."
And Lance hadn't even stayed for breakfast.
* * *
Perhaps that is the end of the story. Perhaps not. There are two possible post-scripts.
a) In which Justin is tentative, Chris is brave, and Lance is angry
or
b) In which Chris is bitter, Lance is blithe and Justin is successful