for jamie
I was lost, I was lost, crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed
Every Tuesday when they're not on tour, Joey and Lance have dinner. On the road they're together every night already and if anything they have to make a date to get rid of Steve or just have some time apart. But at home, if they aren't rehearsing or recording or appearing somewhere, and it's a Tuesday, Lance winds up at Joey's house or Joey winds up at Lance's.
They go to whichever Publix is closer, walking up and down the aisles, grabbing whatever looks good. Nobody calls out because they've got a date or an ex in town. Nobody invites a friend, though once or twice Joey's had to bring Briahna. Lance acts like it's just as natural to set three places as two, handing her crowns of broccoli to tear apart with her chubby little fingers and asking her if things need more salt.
Still, nobody plans a recipe. Nobody makes hors d'ouvres. If they're at Lance's house and they find themselves not sure of how to slice an eggplant or what temperature to set the oven for roast chicken, they call Diane. If they're at Joey's, they call his dad.
These are the rules. They've been the rules for so long that Joey has no idea when they went from being accidental repetition to habit to law. But they don't ever deviate from them, and they don't ever go back to the drawing board and say, fuck it, let's just go out and make somebody else do the hard work.
Joey doesn't think about Tuesday night dinners as anything except the way things are until he starts thinking maybe he wants something else. Something more. For Lance. Lance needs more.
It's just an idea, at first, like the kind of idea Lance had once after a Tuesday dinner a few months back, after lots of after-dinner Jack, when he'd said that it wasn't that he wanted a boyfriend, he just wished that the way they lived their lives would occasionally include the opportunity to curl up on the couch with a guy and cuddle instead of just fucking him and showing him the door.
Joey put his hand on Lance's arm and said, "Well, that I can do something about," and Lance laughed and when they wound up watching late-night TV Joey did. Something being his arm around Lance's shoulders, his hand on Lance's knee when his legs came up across Joey's lap. Like that. It was just an idea and it's just the way things are now. But just on Tuesdays, and just when it's the two of them and the guys are off somewhere else.
And he didn't think he wanted or needed anything more than that. Until one Tuesday at Joey's a few months later, Lance shrugs under his arm and points at some John Hughes movie on cable and says, "Do real people actually do that?"
Joey lets his hand rest flat on Lance's back. "Do what?" he asks.
"Make out."
Joey cocks his head at the screen. "I think maybe just in chick flicks," he says. "There always seems to be a lot of making out in chick flicks. In guy movies they just get laid." Lance laughs. "Well, they kill things and then they get laid."
"We should make a movie like that," Lance says, shifting back a little so he's looking up at Joey. "Except, you know. There should be some making out between the killing and the fucking. Otherwise it's not. Proper. You know?"
"They can make out until the bodies cool," Joey says, and Lance nods and smiles a little wistfully. "What?"
"I just. I miss making out." Lance sighs dramatically and Joey laughs. It's funny because Lance gets laid more than anyone Joey knows except maybe himself. Lance is always getting laid. "I'm turning into a fucking girl over here, I swear," Lance moans.
"You're not a girl," Joey says, though he's not sure why he feels the need to point that out.
"Thanks. At least there's that."
Joey says, "We could make out."
Lance says, "What?"
Joey's not sure why he said that, but he thinks now that it's been said it should just proceed nicely to being one of the rules they don't talk about. Tuesday dinners and cuddling on the couch and making out's not a big deal if it's just on Tuesdays.
"What?" Lance asks again.
"Just after dinner," Joey says, patting his hand on the arm of the couch like it's just idle thinking out loud. Something like that, just idly discussing why he and the best friend don't follow their weekly dinner dates and cuddling with some make-out sessions. Lance narrows his eyes and Joey says, "What? It's not a big deal. It's not that much different than this." He waves his hand over where Lance has one leg up and over one of Joey's, one arm around Joey's waist.
"You don't think there's a difference between sitting on the couch and making out?"
Joey shrugs. "There doesn't have to be."
Lance is still frowning.
"You think I don't miss it too?" Joey asks. "We're a couple of fucking girls over here, let's just admit it. When's the last time you fucked someone you even wanted to make out with, let alone really had the time to?"
"Well," Lance says. "Still. That doesn't make much sense."
Joey laughs, digs in the couch for the remote and changes the channel. It's just him and Lance. They're just cuddling on the couch, having a conversation. "What in our lives does?" MTV. Click. Discovery Channel. Click. Wrestling. Click.
"Well," Lance says again.
News. Click. Monster trucks. Click. Cooking.
"Jesus," Lance says, burying his face against Joey's t-shirt. "I'll make out with you if you'll just pick a fucking channel."
Joey turns off the TV and he's barely thought about what comes next when Lance kisses him.
After the first shock, the shocking part is that he's kissing Lance. Lance. Lance Lance Lance. Joey thinks he's remembering to kiss back but he's really not sure because it was just an idea, they were just having a conversation about stupid chick flicks and now he's kissing Lance and that should maybe not be a mundane, regular Tuesday occurrence but it seems well on its way to becoming one all the same. Lance moves his hand to Joey's jaw, and when he doesn't have to open his eyes again Joey realizes he never closed them.
"This was your idea," Lance says, slowly, like he thinks maybe Joey's gonna shove him off the couch or something.
"I turned off the TV," Joey says stupidly.
"Yeah. I thought that meant you wanted me to --"
"Yeah," Joey says. "Yes. I did. Do. I do."
Lance blinks, rubs his thumb over Joey's cheekbone. "This is cool?"
Joey's mouth is sore like a toothache, throbbing under Lance's hand. He thinks maybe it's better when they're kissing, and so he closes his eyes and leans in. The kissing is nice, it's cool and comfortable, even if it all seems somehow bigger and a little rougher. But rougher in a good way, like driving down a dirt road in fifth gear with a wake of dust like a train behind you.
When they stop, Lance wipes his mouth and stands up and Joey does the same. No one stops long enough to say it out loud but Tuesday after Tuesday there's dinner and cuddling that leads to making out. Whoever's house they're at says something first, something about what they have to do the next day, and then they find jackets or borrowed cookbooks or cell phones and walk to the door. Nobody kisses goodnight, although the first time, Lance drew Joey into a quick hug and said, "Thank you," real quiet, almost under his breath. Joey didn't feel like "you're welcome" was the right response and so he didn't say anything.
There also seems to be a no-hands-below-the-shoulders rule established early on that nobody tests. He can bury his fingers in Lance's spiky hair, palm the back of his neck, lick along his Adam's apple, rest his hands on Lance's shoulders. Lance can suckle Joey's ear and rub his hands across Joey's beard and hook an arm around his neck. Nobody sits in anybody's lap. Nobody runs a hand along anybody's chest. Not even when he wants to. And when they get thirsty, or tired, or just the slightest out of breath, they stop.
how long must you wait for it?
Three months of occasional Tuesdays and no one even tries for second base. It's so not weird any more that Joey tells Chris by accident, in the middle of a stupid conversation about how Justin got convinced by some stripper in Ohio that he was the greatest kisser on earth. They're having Cuban food at some dive.
"Oh, no way," Joey says. "Anyone around here got that claim, it's gotta be Lance."
"I thought Lance was the one who gave the greatest head," Chris says, because at some point on some bus to somewhere they'd decided it was only fair to break up the world heavyweight titles.
"Well, I can't vouch for that part," Joey says.
Joey thinks he was crowned best at getting head, which seemed a dubious honor that had more to do with standing still than anything else. Now he remembers Lance said something like, "Hey, that's appreciated more than you'd think," and everyone laughed.
"Yeah," Chris says, and then, "that part? When did you become some kind of expert on Lance's other parts?"
"Not his parts," Joey stumbles. "Just. His." Chris stares at him crossly. "Look, it's not what you think, it's just. We have dinner sometimes and we missed making out, so, you know. Sometimes we do."
"You have dinner and you make out?"
"Yeah," Joey says. It doesn't sound reasonable at all now that he's saying it loud but it makes sense when it's happening. He swears it makes sense.
"But you don't fuck."
"Chris!" Chris raises an eyebrow and Joey acknowledges it's kind of an obvious question. But still he feels almost offended on Lance's behalf. Chris and his obviously offensive questions. Fuck. "No," he says, feeling protective and defensive now and what the fuck. It's not Chris' business who's making out with who after what.
"Oh man," Chris says, shaking his head. "What kind of fucked-up plan is this, Joe? Where do you get these ideas, I mean, really."
"Well, I. Who said it was my plan?"
Chris laughs.
"He was the one who said he missed cuddling," Joey says, whining even to his own ears.
"Cause cuddling is a helluva lot like making out already."
"That's what I said."
"So really why not at that point?" Chris says.
Joey sighs. "Yeah," he says miserably.
"You realize," Chris says slowly. "Joey, you realize that Lance is gay."
Joey looks up sharply. "Yes, thank you for that. I had no idea. This whole time I'd thought that my best friend was just accidentally fucking half the men in Orlando. I thought --"
"That maybe he just wanted you for the rest of it?" Chris asks. "For the non-sex parts of having an actual relationship, like, with weekly dinner dates and cuddling on the couch. And he'll change your baby's diapers and, hell, your folks already love each other so you got that much out of the way and --"
"Shut. Up.""And you'll fight over how he makes plans for both of you to have dinner with friends without asking if you're free just because he happens to know your schedule already, and you'll yell about how he can't take a vacation without a cell phone and how you --"
"I swear to god, Chris, if you don't shut up right now --"
"What? You'll what? One day you're gonna wake up and there won't be anyone else to have sex with because you and Lance will have been essentially married for like twenty years and you'll have confused your little make-out sessions with what it really feels like to get your dick sucked so hard your skull pops off."
Joey says, "You're being really fucking melodramatic again, you know this, right?"
"You gotta shit or get off the pot, Fatone, that's all I'm saying. No fair hogging the pretty boy when all you're gonna do is keep him all dusted off in a china cabinet somewhere."
Joey frowns. "You want him for yourself, is that what this is about?"
"Don't be childish," Chris snaps. "You think the rest of us didn't learn that lesson pretty good after JC?"
Joey thinks, if anyone's childish it's not him, he's not the one who's letting some overgrown twenty year old trail after him like a goddamn puppy. He and Lance are, like, equals. They make sense to each other, and he doesn't have to go on explaining himself --
Chris asks, more softly, "How long do you expect him to wait for you, man?"
"Wait?" Joey echoes. "I'm not exactly cramping his style, here. When's the last time you saw Lance with a guy he couldn't get into his bed if he wanted?"
"Right now, I think." Chris stares at his knuckles and drums the table with his fingertips.
Joey thinks about shoving his chair back and leaving. "It's not like he's ever asked," Joey says, and then he hears himself like he's watching a movie and claps his hand over his mouth. "I --"
"You are so fucked," Chris says.
"I didn't mean --"
"Yeah, right, of course not. Have you asked him?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Don't act stupid," Chris says. "You're not stupid, you're not a damn choir boy. You're the guy who's been making out with Lance every week for months and you never mentioned it because you knew someone would want to know why the fuck that was all that was going on, and they'd want to talk about the great tragic love affair that was JC and how we're all lucky to have survived something like that once already."
"I'm not --"
"Yeah," Chris says. "That's my point here. It's you and Lance, man, you're, like, halfway there. More than halfway."
Joey swallows the last of his beer. "I wouldn't even know what to say. Even if I --"
"C'mon. It's not like you've never done this before."
"I haven't.""You have," Chris says, and Joey's about to insist that he's pretty sure he'd know if he'd ever asked Lance if he maybe wanted to have sex when he realizes that's not quite what Chris is saying. Joey's kissed guys before, he was a drama geek and then a straight guy in show business and so guys were always kind of blowing first and asking later.
And anyway, repetitive sucking of dick by pretty much anyone was fairly hot, as he'd admitted to the guys during some crazy porn marathon Chris had engineered during an overnight bus ride.
"Not like this," Joey says. "Not like it matters." This, he doesn't know how to say that this isn't about what he wants. It's that there's only so long you can watch your best friend sleep with a bunch of pretty, totally going-nowhere kind of guys before you start to worry he's looking for the wrong thing. That maybe you both are.
Chris balls a napkin up and tosses it neatly into Joey's empty basket. "You let me know when you find something that matters more than this, okay?"
sing it please, please, please, come back and sing to me
Joey throws a couple thick steaks on the grill and watches through the sliding glass doors as Lance rinses green beans. It's a little chilly out there on his patio all alone and it looks like Lance is singing to himself, or talking to himself. Joey can't hear through the glass.
Joey wants to be pissed off at Chris for putting ideas in his head, to blame Chris for being a meddling little fuck who can't leave well enough alone. But Lance is smiling a little, filling a pot with water and sliding around, sock feet slick on the tiled floor and one hand on the counter. It's not Chris' fault that Joey looks at Lance like this, like he could be some kind of comfort from the fucking cold.
If he really believed that Lance was happy catting around the way they do, if any of the guys Lance picked up in bars or clubs or at the dry cleaners or the record label or local radio stations were worth keeping around longer than a week or two at most, it'd be different. Joey hasn't found a girl in any of those places, either. He doesn't really care the way Lance does, though.
Joey gets why Lance doesn't have a boyfriend. He's the one with a kid and he can't even get life on the road to square with a regular relationship. Still. Lance, like this, all domestic and happy and shit, Joey doesn't think it's fair that there's all that to offer and no one cool enough to share it. He doesn't think Lance hasn't had a boyfriend because he hasn't wanted one. They've got all the money in the world and Joey knows, he's learned over and over like banging his head against a wall that all that can't make the people you love happy. But he thinks if he could buy Lance a husband, if he could know that somewhere in the world there was a person who would make Lance happy to settle down, he'd be happy, too.
He flips the steaks and slides open the door. Lance turns, smiling. "Don't you overcook that meat again, mister," he says. "The whole 'this is just so you don't get food poisoning and we have to do five shows without you' thing didn't even really work the first time."
"Yeah," Joey says, waving the spatula. He leans against the doorframe. "No, I got it, I know. I set the timer."
Lance kind of grins down at the counter and says, softly, "He can be taught."
Chris and his black plastic bag full of porn and at the time Joey'd thought it was some crazy aversion plan to embarrass JC and Lance so bad they'd just break up. "Joey gets a gold star," Chris'd said, crawling into his lap and licking his neck. "If he of anyone can learn the value of some healthy man-on-man action then you'd think you two could try pretending that the girls you go out with are actually, you know pretty." Eight weeks later they couldn't get Lance and JC to talk to each other on camera, let alone flirt or need to be restrained.
"Joe?" Lance is waggling his fingers under running water and cocking his head in a question.
"Yeah," Joey says. "Yeah, I'm. I'm timing it, it'll be fine this time."
"You're just standin' there. You okay?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah." Joey waves the spatula in little circles near his ear. "I'm fine, just, you know. Long day."
"Oh," Lance says, shaking salt into a pot of water. "My mom sent these teething things, you bite down and it gets cold, or, I don't know, hot. One of 'em. They're in the car, remind me to bring them in later."
Later. After. After dinner and making out and deciding to stop making out and it turns out Joey can be taught, he's just as likely to be seduced by repetition as he is to become a slave to routine. Joey steps up into the kitchen and it's really only two or three good long paces until he can spin Lance away from the stove and press him up against the butcher block island and kiss him.
Lance smiles and frowns and then smiles into the kiss again, rubbing a hand along Joey's forearm. "Joey, it's. Dinner. We're making dinner."
Joey bites into Lance's neck, pulls his waist closer so their hips bump, runs one hand down Lance's back and then holds him even tighter with fingers caught in his beltloops. Lance makes a noise like a choked sigh and Joey says, "I set the timer."
Lance laughs at that, low and hungry, and slides one hand into Joey's back pocket. "I don't really give a good goddamn about the steak."
Then Lance moves an inch or two and Joey can work one thigh between his legs, can get his hands under the hem of Lance's shirt and feel actual soft, smooth skin against his fingers. All these dinners and months of Tuesdays and no touching below the shoulders. Joey for the life of him can't figure out why this is the first time he's done it like this, because he's wanted to, he's maybe wanted to even before they got anywhere near it.
Lance whimpers and pushes against him and breathes out Joey's name. Joey follows the sound with his mouth but it echoes inside his throat. It's Lance's voice like he sounds when something's gone really right. Like he sounds when he's happy.
Joey's happy. He's happy and so hard he's surprised he can feel or think about anything in the world other than his own dick, but there's Lance's pushed right up against him, just as hard, so hot and assured and Joey maybe thought with all the making out that he'd had a glimpse of what it was like for those guys who slept with Lance. Those pretty, going-nowhere guys who grinded up on him at parties or acted like Lance had some special sex currency, some special "you're about to get fucked like you've never been fucked before" frequency only they could hear and like Joey had no idea what he was missing out on.
And it is like that, it's all in the same key as every other time he's slapped Lance on the ass or wrapped his arms around tight and not wanted to let go. It's the same key but it's the difference between someone's battery-operated boombox on the beach and mounted cluster speakers in a football stadium. Joey thinks he might die, like he might actually stop breathing right fucking there if he doesn't get his hand on Lance's cock. Lance sounds like he's happy but they'll both be happier when Joey can get his hand down Lance's pants. He fumbles with the button on Lance's jeans. He wants it so much it's like his fingers have swelled with desire, too.
Lance pulls away. "What are you doing?"
"What?" Joey stares at his thumb and forefinger like he's trying to coordinate movement in a mirror. He tries to push the button through the hole and Lance jerks back. "What," Joey repeats. "I don't know. I thought."
Lance lifts Joey's chin so he's looking at Lance's face and not his fly. "Have you been talking to Chris? I told him, I said he doesn't know how it is."
"I know," Joey says. He doesn't know what Lance is talking about, but it's always better to go along with whatever has stopped good progress toward nakedness. You stop and fix and get back to what you were doing before.
"So what are you doing?"
Joey tries grinning and leaning in for a kiss, but Lance turns his cheek away. "I thought." Joey takes a couple of deep breaths and steps back. Maybe if Lance's erection still isn't pushing into his thigh he'll be able to figure out what's going on. Lance has both palms back behind him on the counter now, waiting. Joey rubs at his face and turns off the gas under the vegetables, almost on instinct. It's not like they haven't made out before, for Christ's sake. He says, "I mean, how much different would it be?"
"You've done it before, Joey, you tell me how different making out with someone is from fucking them."
The word is heavy and almost mean in Lance's mouth and Joey flinches. He's not one to pussy around what sex is or isn't and he's not the kind of guy who calls it making love even when it would make her feel better. Joey likes sex for all its nasty, dirty implications and then some, and for how it can be all that and still pretty fucking beautiful and transcendent. And somehow a few minutes ago it seemed a lot more likely that he and Lance were headed toward that and not this. This talking thing.
Joey says, more gently, "I don't mean it like that." He cautiously puts a hand over one of Lance's and when Lance doesn't pull away, leans in closer. "We could --"
"No," Lance says. "I only sleep with strangers."
"I know, me too, usually. I just." Joey doesn't want to, he doesn't see how it's making his argument stronger to say this while he's running a hand through Lance's hair, but he apparently can't not be touching him. "I don't understand. How could -- I mean. Sure. But how could this not be better?"
Lance doesn't shift into the way Joey's touching him, now running a hand up and down his chest, across his shoulders. But he doesn't move away, either. He says, raggedly, "I don't sleep with my friends."
Joey puts his lips on Lance's throat. "Yes you do."
Lance's hand comes down squarely against Joey's chest and pushes him back. Lance clenches his jaw and says, "And that's why now I only sleep with strangers."
Joey crosses his arms. "I'm not JC," he says.
Lance sounds tired and old and he says, "But you're not a stranger either, are you."
The glass door's still open and a light breeze steals over them. Joey doesn't know what to say to that and the blood that's finally rushing back to his brain pounds like a hangover, like a reckoning.
"I'm sorry," Lance says, and the barbecue timer clangs shrilly from outside. Lance jumps and Joey reaches out a hand to soothe him before thinking twice. "Damn," Lance says, grabbing the plate off the counter and heading for the grill.
He comes back with two perfect medium-well steaks in hand and Joey takes the platter out of his hands and says, "Well, what did you think we were doing here, I mean. You really thought it was just going to on like that forever?"
Lance slides into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Joey sits across from him. "I don't know," Lance admits. "I guess I didn't think you really wanted more."
"I want more," Joey says, and Lance shakes his head like he doesn't believe it. "I want more of you," Joey says. "And, like, I'm sorry that that wasn't part of the deal here, but I don't think I've done something wrong, or at least not all by myself."
"You want more of me?" Lance picks at the weave of the placemats and grins, just barely.
Joey puts his hand on Lance's. "I want more for you. With you. Yeah."
Lance flips his hand over and winds his fingers through Joey's. "We're gonna eat dinner first," he says, like he's trying not to smile. "I'm hungry, and you made the steak right for a change and I think those green beans are about done, so just. Just set the table already, okay?"
"You're gonna make me wait through dinner?" Joey whines but he's kidding and they both know it.
"If you can't wait through dinner after all this time, man."
Joey says, hands up, backing toward the silverware drawer, "I can wait."
Halfway through the meal Lance looks at Joey and starts laughing, loud and raucous. Joey loves Lance when he laughs like that, like he knows exactly what matters and what's not worth worrying about.
"What?"
"You, Joey. You can chew your food, you know. I'm not going anywhere, I swear. I'm not gonna somehow get more naked if you finish your meal in ten minutes instead of twenty."
Joey pushes his plate back. "I'm done."
Lance eyes the half-eaten green beans and remnants of steak.
"Come on," Joey says. "How the hell are you supposed to talk about being naked and then think I'm just going to go back to eating?"
"Okay," Lance says, leaning back in his chair. "So how do you want to do this?"
Joey grins and rubs his hands together. "You know. You. Me."
"Uh-uh." Lance shakes his head. "That's not how gay sex works. You have to talk a lot more. Even if you're not strangers."
"I want, you know." Joey shifts in his chair. "Whatever you want. As long as it's naked."
"That's -- Joey." He looks at Joey almost sternly. "Half the sexy part is figuring out where that, like, overlaps."
Joey stands up. "I'm feeling pretty strongly about the naked part, so I guess we agree on that."
"Joey."
"Lance. You're just being difficult to be, you know. Difficult. Is this a test?" He puts his hand out and Lance takes it, let Joey pulls him to his feet. He must have passed.
"It's not gonna be like you think it is," Lance says.
"Well," Joey says, hand on Lance's waist, almost dancing. Lance rests his cheek on Joey's shoulder and his lips brush Joey's throat. He swallows and stands still, trying to find his balance again. "So far I thought maybe there'd be less talking about it and more, like, doing it."
Lance snuffles a laugh against Joey's collarbone and the bottom drops out from beneath Joey's stomach. Jesus.
"Okay, but I don't wanna do this in your kitchen," Lance whispers, and so Joey leads him down the hall, past the den where after dinner they cuddle and make out, farther down the hall to his bedroom, to his bed, where he has fucked exactly one person, ever, because he doesn't bring random girls into his house. Into his bed.
He stops, stands stock still next to the nightstand and says, "Is this okay?"
Lance nods. Joey looks at his feet and when he glances up Lance is on the other side of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. Joey slides the heavy metal of his watch over his wrist and drops it to the table. Lance peels off his socks, and so Joey kicks off his shoes and does the same. Joey pulls his t-shirt over his head and Lance slides his shirt off his shoulders. He's wearing an undershirt and Joey nods at it, lifting his chin and smiling because that's not really fair, they're not evenly stripped yet. Lance smiles and yanks it off in one move.
Joey kneels on the bed and shuffles over, hands reaching out. Lance dips and kneels on the bed and starts to lose his balance. Joey steadies him with hands on his waistband, thumbs tucked into his jeans against the skin.
"Let me do this part," Joey says, and Lance nods wordlessly. He pops the button out on the first try this time and Lance sighs, holds his stomach tight even when Joey sweeps fingers over the muscles there. Joey pushes the jeans down, tugs at the denim until they slide over and off Lance's ass.
He's wearing white boxer-briefs, just like they always say, just like Joey's been wondering and not letting himself wonder, whether Lance has to adjust himself in the car on the way home after the making out, whether he ever says fuck it and just rubs against the tight seam of the jeans and comes right there in the car half a block from Joey's house.
Lance puts his hands on Joey's bare shoulders for balance and Joey laps at Lance's nipples, nips and bites and kisses his way up to Lance's ear, so they're chest-to-chest. Lance smooths a hand down Joey's back and Joey pushes forward, almost without meaning to, so that Lance's half-naked thighs are riding on his leg.
The heat is so fierce, so sudden, Lance's cock almost pressed up against his own and Joey's still wearing pants, he's not even close to naked and he thinks he's going to die of sensation. Lance kisses his jaw and Joey hisses, "oh my god," trying to be quiet, trying to pass the test. Lance hums and Joey says, in a rush, "oh my god I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
Lance leans back and Joey squeezes his eyes shut, because he shouldn't have said that, that's not a thing to admit when it's like this, when you're this close you don't say something that sounds like you're not sure even when that's not what you meant at all. But Lance just rests his thumbs in the pockets beneath Joey's eyes until he opens them. He kisses Joey softly, open-lidded, until Joey kisses back harder and harder and lays Lance down on his back, pulling his pants and underwear all the way off. Joey shifts his weight so he's balanced on his elbows and can kiss Lance's neck and stroke his chest at the same time.
"Yes you do," Lance breathes.
Joey's forgotten what the question was but Lance looks sure of something and Joey maybe knows the answer now. "Last week," Joey says, lips to Lance's ear because he can say this but he can't say it and look at Lance at the same time. "Last Tuesday I pulled off the road five minutes from your house and jerked off in the car. I had my hand in my pants and, like, my knee against the steering wheel and the dashboard lights were still on, and --"
"Jesus," Lance says, breathing like he's danced for hours, and he claws his nails into Joey's bicep. "Joey, you. I want you."
Joey grins into Lance's shoulder. "I want you. So I guess we, like. Overlap."
"I want you like this," Lance says, and then he's licking Joey's fingers and pushing them between his legs.
"I don't --"
"You know how. I promise. You'll know how." Lance tilts his hips back and urges Joey forward with a heel to his hip and his index finger slides in up to the first knuckle. Lance moans and wiggles, pushing Joey's finger deeper. "See," he says, panting.
"But this --" Joey looks around and, yes, it is still his house. "I don't have anything here. I mean, I have condoms, and, like. Spit. But --" Lance skewers himself deeper onto Joey's finger, gasping a little in a way that doesn't seem to be entirely about pleasure. "I'm not going to hurt you," Joey says firmly, easing his hand back.
"Damn it, Joey," Lance says. "I really don't think I look like I like it that rough, right? There's stuff in my car. But you --" He runs his hands over Joey's thighs. "You still, I don't understand how you still have your pants on, but that makes it your job to go get my gym bag out of the car."
"Your gym bag," Joey repeats.
Lance sits upon his elbows and shrugs. "It's a pretty gay gym, okay. It's kinda why guys work out there in the first place."
"Okay," Joey says, but he doesn't stand up.
Lance sits forward, slides one arm around Joey's waist. "Hey," he says, softly. "Hey, we don't --"
"No, I wanna," Joey says.
"We can do it another way, Joe. There's lots -- we can do that later, or whenever."
"But that's. How you like it."
"Sometimes," Lance shrugs. "I kinda figured the other way might be a little much this time." Joey thinks about that, really thinks about what he was thinking about there on the side of the road with his dick in his hands. He thinks maybe Lance was straddling him. He reaches around, tugs Lance's shoulder until they are sitting like that.
"I don't know what to ask for," he says when Lance wraps his arms around Joey's neck.
"Okay," Lance says, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Then, we'll do this. You stay here and think about that. Cause, really, I'll do whatever you want. And I'll go get my bag, just so we have everything we need either way."
"I can go," Joey says, standing.
"No." Lance pushes him back and bends down to kiss his nose. "Also, I know how much you like trying to take off my pants, so." Lance yanks on jeans bare-assed and slides into Joey's t-shirt. He turns back from the bedroom door. "You could practice on yours while I'm gone if you wanted."
The front door clicks shut and Joey hides his face in his hands for a second because, what the fuck, it's just Lance, it's just a Tuesday night and they talk about these ideas like they can just make them happen and now Lance is getting lube out of the car. Joey should have just said that he's still pretty good at getting blowjobs and that was a more familiar place to start.
The door slams shut and Joey scrambles out of his khakis and then he has to decide, underwear or not. Lance's are discarded on the carpet like used Kleenex but then again he has pants on now. Lance pauses in the doorway with Joey's shirt already off and in his hands, bare-chested and flushed and his messy hair's already kind of making him look well-fucked. Joey stands up, pushes his boxers down and steps out of them. Lance smiles, catches himself, catches himself covering his smile with a hand over his mouth and laughs. "Wow," he says finally, which oddly goes a long way toward relieving any tension Joey was feeling about standing naked in his own bedroom, cock hot and hard and waiting for something to happen.
Lance crosses to him and trails a hand from Joey's throat down to his dick, which he holds lightly, like he's weighing it. Testing the merchandise. "I brought," he says, voice breaking, and he waves the bottle around. "Options. For, you know."
Joey nods.
"For later," Lance says. "Maybe later, because, I dunno, man, I really. You're."
Joey feels himself blush, of all things. He blushes and lowers his eyes and maybe that looks like a request or an invitation because Lance sinks to his knees, hands continuing from hip down his leg and then up the back of Joey's knees to his ass.
"I gotta," Lance says, not waiting for an answer as he swallows the tip of Joey's dick. Lance is so, so good at this and when Joey's not focusing very hard on standing still he's laughing at the idea that he had ever come close to visualizing what his cock would look like sliding in and out of Lance's mouth or known how Lance would keep his eyes open, like, the whole time, one hand clenched in Joey's. Joey stands still like a good boy until Lance pulls back to tell him it isn't really required. But Lance like that, on his knees, almost begging for Joey to fuck his mouth, Joey knows what he wants instead.
"I want," he starts, but he still doesn't know how to say it so he just pulls Lance back up and spreads him out on the bed. "I don't want to wait to do this later," he says, kissing Lance hard, rocking their bodies together.
"Then do it now," Lance says, word by word almost grunted. He hands Joey the lube off the nightstand and Joey thinks, okay, he knows what this is for, he can't just slide from one wet hole to another, even if Lance's spit is cool and sticky where it's starting to dry on his dick.
He squeezes a handful and it's cold, from being in the car, Joey realizes. He rubs it between both hands like hair gel or shampoo until it's less cold, but then it's everywhere, leaking between his fingers onto the bed. Lance is lying back with his legs spread out, heels up, and he says it again, "Do it now, Joey, now," so torn with want that Joey's cock literally fucking twitches in response. He presses one slicked finger to the puckered opening and this time it slides in easily. Lance moans and pushes back onto it, two or three pulses of his hips and then he raises his head and says "more."
Two is tighter but everything is wet with lube and Lance is making this humming, groaning noise like he's idling high. When Joey pulls out and reaches to take the condom Lance is holding, he realizes he's gotten the order all wrong, that he's too sweaty and slick to hold a pencil right now, let alone his own dick while he snaps a rubber on.
"Uh, Lance," he whispers, but Lance is up on his elbows and taking over before Joey has to explain. Joey smiles shakily and Lance kisses him as he takes the bottle and wets Joey and touches two fingers' full to his own ass.
"Okay, now," Lance says, and Joey blinks. "Now this is gonna be so easy and you don't have to -- I'm gonna be fine and you've, you know, done this kind of thing before, right, and --" Joey nods weakly, though there's nothing left in his brain at all, like anything anyone including Lance has ever told him about anal sex and how it might be different for men than women, like the angle or something -- "and so, it's just, just do that, okay?"
Joey nods and Lance lies down, pulls Joey, kisses him. They kiss until Joey remembers that he actually does know how to do this, that really he's very good at fucking people when he's not overthinking the situation. He tucks Lance's calf up around his hip and tries his fingers again and that's just fine and so he takes a deep breath and lets Lance help line him up. Even when he's not harder than he's probably ever been, like, ever, Joey's dick is bigger than two fingers. It's really tight and Lance is whispering, "okay, okay, do it," like a reassurance. However long it takes to get all the way in is the longest however long ever since time was invented. He can't bring himself to look at Lance's face, can only adjust based on the way Lance's measured breaths tighten and eventually sigh out. But then he's in and Joey looks down and Lance smiles, totally happy, and Joey kisses him and starts to move a little.
And then it's pretty much like fucking a girl up the ass, just as tight and everything, except there's a dick pressed against his stomach and Lance is shuddering, little earthquakes of flesh as he flails one arm around on the bedspread. Joey thrusts deeply and Lance's hips jerk on a two-second delay, like every time he's surprised by how much he needs to move in response. Joey leans in and licks at Lance's throat, trying to narrow the gap between his push and Lance's answer, because he's not entirely sure the best way to make the other guy come from this but in his experience sex is usually better when those things are happening at the same time.
Lance seems almost overcome, his eyes open but unfocused, one hand sliding through the sweat on Joey's back and the other still palm-up on the pillow, fisting on air, grasping for something. Joey doesn't know that he's ever seen Lance so singularly focused on anything while still looking so lost, and then he thrusts forward and Lance's pelvis bumps his, almost like he was anticipating the movement, waiting for it. Joey grabs at Lance's open hand and comes.
It's the first time he's been surprised by an orgasm in like five years, and he can't stop, it's there, it's done, he's kind of hiding in Lance's neck like if he doesn't pull back he doesn't have to admit that he doesn't know what the fuck to do next.
"God," Lance moans, sounding kind of shocked himself, and then he's pushing Joey's hips, pushing Joey out and Joey rallies enough to sit back and slide the condom off. There's just enough light in the room that he can see Lance lying with his legs spread wide, one hip up an inch further on the bed like he was kind of standing with his weight on one foot. He glistens from the curve of his pecs right down to the curling dark hair around his dick, and Joey doesn't spend a lot of time looking at naked men and trying to decide if they're beautiful, but he thinks if he did that's maybe what he would say to Lance.
Lance opens his eyes, wraps his hand casually around his dick, pulls up one knee so his foot is flat on the mattress.
"Oh," Joey says, "oh, let. I can."
Lance doesn't stop moving until Joey coils his own fingers around Lance's dick, nudging Lance away. Then Lance rests his palm on his stomach, fingers teasing through belly hair until Joey puts his mouth there, licks experimentally. He jerks Lance off and kisses the base of his dick, never quite figuring out when would be a good time to try putting it in his mouth. Lance touches Joey's cheek a few times like he maybe wants to show him, but he always ends up grabbing the side of his thigh instead. Right before he comes, he laughs out loud, this happy gurgling sound that reminds Joey of Bri in the bathtub, nothing but pure joy.
His fingers are sticky with lube and spattered with come, and Joey rests his face on Lance's hip and closes his eyes for a second. After a while he can feel Lance's chest rumbling with restrained shakes, and when he lifts his head, he can tell that Lance is laughing. Or trying not to. Joey sniffs and wipes his hand on the sheet.
"Oh, no," Lance wheezes, "no, it's not. That was."
Joey bites his lip. "Yeah, yeah, laugh at the new guy," he says.
Lance sits up at that, dislodging Joey, which feels like insult to injury, but then he's flipped Joey onto his back and is straddling his hips, kissing Joey over and over until Joey is fuzzy-minded and feeling so loved that he couldn't complain if the ceiling fell in on them. He wouldn't stop, either, and when Lance pulls back, smiling, Joey reaches up, straining his neck, trying to chase Lance's mouth. All the money and fame in the world and his entire life has narrowed to the curve of Lance's smile and the desperate need to touch tongue to tongue for one more precious second.
"I just can't believe we actually did that," Lance says, between soft bites on Joey's neck.
"We should try that again," Joey says, and Lance reaches back coyly and tests his knuckles against Joey's soft dick. Joey swallows. "In a minute," he says.
Lance grins. "You liked it, huh?"
"Well, yeah, I mean." Joey holds Lance's back tight and rolls them onto their sides. He runs his fingers over Lance's hip. "I did," he says, and he looks away. "But I'm not used to not being very, like, good. At sex. But I think I could be better next time."
"Oh, but," Lance touches Joey's chin but Joey doesn't look up. "Joey, you were -- you were good, you were."
Joey laughs but finally meets Lance's eye. "Try that one on somebody who hasn't used it himself, honey." Lance flicks his gaze away and back and it's okay, Joey knew that much already. "It's okay," he says. "I never said I was good at anything other than standing still."
"That's bullshit," Lance says. "Don't, why are you being like that?"
"Like what," Joey says. He thinks he's being pretty honest here. He's not the only one who just admitted he isn't always great in bed.
"You're being such a guy," Lance says. "Don't be a guy."
"That's gonna be a little --" Joey can't help it, he bumps his dick up against Lance for emphasis -- "difficult, I think."
"What, are you afraid I won't respect you in the morning?"
"I'm not even sure you respect me now," Joey says, but then Lance nudges up against him, smiling a little in between the shadows.
"I don't know when you of all people got all worried about being respected," Lance says, "but I for one wouldn't be opposed to doing it again until you thought you'd gotten it right. Since you're suddenly so concerned and all."
He says this low and evenly, but his hand is moving in circles at the base of Joey's dick and when Joey tilts his shoulder back toward the bed, Lance shimmies down, lying sideways so his hips are at arm's length from Joey's chest. He swallows Joey all in one long fluid take and Joey gasps and pulses into the heat of Lance's smooth mouth. Lance pulls back and chuckles and strokes Joey's thigh, pushing one of his legs up into a triangle shape so he's still on his side but more steady. Lance says, "I'm not laughing at you, Joey. I just, I am so fucking happy right now, you have no idea."
Joey paws at Lance's long torso, pulling him closer, palming his ass upside down and then there's Lance, there's Lance's dick right in his face, which isn't so different from a few minutes before except now Lance says, "Like this," and laps at the crown of Joey's dick, "just like this."
Joey just opens his mouth and brings Lance's body toward him. He tries not to think too much, to just do in tandem whatever Lance seems to be doing to him, but even translating that from pure sex into a stage direction is possibly requiring more concentration than Joey has left. He ignores the tension in his jaw, opens wider, licks and swallows a little, if it's possible to just swallow a little. His neck is screaming and sore and he pulls back for a minute, just to catch his breath. Lance comes up for air immediately, shifting around before Joey can catch him in his grasp.
"This is," Lance exhales shakily and presses a sloppy kiss to Joey's lips, pushing him back all the way on the bed, "this is good, this is. Just let me." He slides back down Joey's body, pinning Joey's wrists to the mattress on either side of his legs, and sucks Joey so hard and fast that Joey thinks it's really not an exaggeration to worry whether his head is going to explode. He can't see, everything is red and black and somehow he has less oxygen now than he did when his nose was buried in Lance's groin but he can't really complain about this, now can he, how is he supposed to complain or even really talk when it feels like his heart is being dragged down his body with the force of a thousand suns and then Lance lets go of Joey's wrists long enough to squeeze his balls and trace the cleft of his ass at the same time.
When Joey can finally open his eyes again, Lance is sitting back on his heels, just staring at him, almost leering with hunger. He looks like he does when he wants to ask for something, when he knows he's got a good list of reasons Joey should do what he wants but he's not sure whether flat-out asking for it is the best way to get it. Joey swallows, clears his throat and opens his mouth to ask what Lance wants, to say whatever it is, he'll do it, because when even doing something badly gets him a blowjob like that, how could he refuse. All he does, though, is open his mouth, and Lance knows he's won, it flashes on his face like he's lit up by the flare of a match, and it's equally as clear in that moment what he wants.
Joey stretches out one leg on each side of Lance. He holds his arms open and smiles and says, "Do it." Lance stares at him quietly and Joey nods, jaw sure and steady. "This is how you like it, right?"
"Sometimes," Lance says. Joey smiles. "Usually."
"Then I want to," Joey says.
Lance lifts one of Joey's legs and turns him onto his stomach. "It's easier like this," he says, and Joey nods into the pillow.
Lance licks down his spine, smooths his hands down over Joey's ass and edges Joey's knees further apart. "God," he says, "you're so." He rubs his hands in abstract shapes on Joey's back, some pattern Joey can't trace or follow but it feels like his skin is arching into, towards, his muscles like little magnets under a tablecloth. Lance is some kind of crazy gay sex magician and Joey figures if he's really going to do this it might as well feel this good from the start.
Lance kisses one shoulderblade and Joey lifts his chin from the pillow to say, "If you don't finish that sentence soon, baby, I'm gonna get worried."
And Lance laughs, long and steady and it's the best thing Joey's ever heard, it beats the sound of money or screaming fans or blow jobs or really anything in the world except maybe his baby saying daddy. It makes everything else easy, and Joey thinks smooth, loose, calm things over and over and after the first hard push it turns out Lance really knows what he's doing, like really knows and so after that Joey doesn't even have to try to relax. Lance is happy and he was right, it's not anything like Joey thought it would be. It's better.
and if you go, if you go, leave me down here on my own, then I'll wait for you
Joey wakes up to the buzzing of a lawn mower and a low, kinetic muscular thrum in his legs and lower back. It's not like a blur, exactly, just a rush of cocks and hips and tongues that spills from sleep to consciousness like the warm sun pouring through his open curtains.
He blinks and when the fog clears he can see Lance sitting on the edge of his bed, his bare back still and straight, feet flat on the floor and hands calmly resting on his thighs. Joey swallows and scrubs at his eyes and Lance says, without turning or really even moving, "G'morning."
The mechanical whine of a weed whacker approaches, filling the dead air, and by the time it retreats Joey isn't sure anymore how something as simple as "you're so fucking beautiful" will sound if he actually says it aloud. "Hey," he tries instead, reaching out and starfishing his fingers on Lance's tailbone. The soft blue cotton sheets bunch in waves around Lance's ass and Joey thinks he looks kind of like a mermaid, flesh bleeding into fantasy. A merman. Joey swallows and says, "You wanna come back to bed?"
Lance looks over his shoulder and smiles gently, shaking his head. "I gotta --" he says, waving one hand vaguely. But he twists around and bends to kiss Joey, his lips soft and dry.
"You're leaving me?" Joey mumbles against Lance's cheek. He holds Lance's bicep in one hand and pulls him down, tugging a little harder when Lance resists.
"You know I always come back," Lance says, chuckling, giving in and tumbling into Joey's arms, head on Joey's chest. He bumps one shoulder up against Joey's breastbone and says, "We should do this again sometime. Sometime maybe when there aren't people showin' up with John Deere tractors at eight a.m."
"It's Wednesday," Joey says, because it is, because last night was Tuesday and Tuesday nights are him and Lance nights. "They always come on Wednesday mornings. And, uh, Sundays."
"So I guess Saturday night's out then, too," Lance says.
"I guess," Joey says, and Lance is quiet.
Lance is really quiet and Joey can tell he's asking too many questions. He hates feeling like it's all in some foreign language, like he doesn't know how to say what he wants or what he's really hoping they'll do again or how to tell Lance that the longer he's silent the more "we should do this again sometime" bounces around Joey's brain like every kiss-off he's ever flubbed the morning after.
Joey dips his neck and kisses the bony peak of Lance's shoulder. "Whatever makes you happy," he says.
"Who says I'm not happy?"
Joey tilts Lance's chin up and kisses his forehead. "I want you to be happy," he says.
Lance shrugs and swallows a yawn. "I am, Joey."
"No," Joey says. He's not saying it right. "I want to make you happy. I want, you know." He swallows and drops his eyes.
"Oh," Lance says, and he brushes Joey's forearm. "You want the whole week." He touches Joey's jaw. "I know. I get it." He pauses. "You are so --"
"I just want --"
"I know," Lance says. "But I want you to be happy. And this --" He gestures at the bed, at them naked and still touching and Joey doesn't understand even the sign language, he can't tell if he's being dismissed or invited to something. Lance presses a finger to Joey's chest, right over his heart. "You love your little girl more than anything in the world, and I know, I've seen it, you love her momma almost as much. And that still wasn't enough for you."
"This is different." Of course it's different. It's all different and new and it's Lance, it's not some girl he picked up at a show. It's Lance and they're supposed to be, like, halfway there already. "It's different," he insists.
"Not really," Lance says, and Joey can feel his heart thud against Lance's palm, his stomach twist against his hip. "Really it isn't all that different. You want Kelly to be happy, so you keep your shit separate, you don't throw it in her face how much you're maybe not ever gonna be the kind of guy who wants to settle down. And somewhere in there you decided that I need, like, Prince Charming to make me happy with my life. Which for the record I don't, certainly not right now, and for the record you, like, aren't."
"Lance --"
"I mean it, Joey." Lance says his name firmly, almost sharply.
"Okay, Cinderella," Joey says, "I get you." He pushes up to sit against the headboard.
Lance slides down the side of Joey's body and comes to rest on his stomach, bare ass just inches from Joey's thigh, legs hanging off the bed. He closes his eyes for a second against the comforter and then props himself up on his elbows and tilts his head. "What did you think was going to happen here?" he asks, softer.
"I don't know," Joey says. "I just, I love you, man, and I wanted. I just wanted you to be happy."
"And I am happy, and I love you too, and that is not what this conversation is about."
"No, I know." Joey crosses his arms across his chest.
Lance leans his cheek back against the bed and bends in to press a gentle kiss to Joey's side, right under his ribcage where Lance knows he's really fucking ticklish. It's a pretty underhanded way to get him to smile and laugh and when he does it again with tongue Joey has no choice but to wrestle until he's got pinned Lance's wrists to the mattress with his elbows. And if that's not playing dirty then the way that Lance wraps his legs around Joey's waist and sucks on his throat surely is. It's Lance's way of telling him they're all right and Joey doesn't need an interpreter, he knows exactly what's going on.
After, Lance lying right on top of him like a blanket with his chin propped on Joey's chest, Joey says, "So, Tuesdays?"
"Mmm." Lance kisses Joey's shoulder. "Or Saturdays, if we're gone or whatever. But you gotta, like, talk to me when you get these other ideas, okay?"
"Okay," Joey says, playing his fingers in Lance's hair.
"And you seriously have got to get those gardeners on a different schedule. I can't even think about bein' sexy with that godawful noise right out there."
"Okay," Joey says. "Whatever makes you happy."
END.
Credits: Truth be told, most everything in here I thought was a good idea was probably Jamie's idea first. Happy belated birthday, baby. The rest of the credit goes to kel and Younger for enthusiastically riding the tragedy train from start to finish. Title and lyrics by Coldplay.
Some people call it an homage: In my head, this is a companion piece of sorts to Jae's Heartbreaker of a story, The Secret Marriage. I begged, borrowed and stole from Crowe and Soderbergh, as usual, but also in bigger ways from Chuck & Buck and a wacky movie called Big Eden that I rented by accident.