Lights flashed. Music thumped. Bodies pressed against Lance as he moved across the dance floor. Eager eyes followed him and then dropped shyly when he smiled. Lance knew he only had to mouth a word or crook his finger and anyone in the place -- everyone in the place -- would be his. Lance was a star. He was an idol. He was a god.
He was a man with a boyfriend with very conservative views on fidelity.
Lance slunk back to his table and cursed his luck. He was young, he was good-looking, he was famous, he was rich. That wasn't the part he was cursing. But really, Lance thought, considering the opportunities laid out so obligingly for him every day, anyone would understand the urge to stray. Just occasionally. Just a little. Anyone would feel the same. At least, any red-blooded man would.
Unfortunately for Lance, Justin wasn't a man. He looked like a man, sure, especially in all the important ways, but he was really a member of some strange exotic species that mated for life. Like swans. Or lesbians.
And it wasn't like Lance wouldn't be fair. He was perfectly willing to admit that what was good for the gander was, well, good for the gander. It would be fine with Lance if Justin wanted to take advantage of any opportunities that came his way. So what if Justin wasn't a one-night stand kind of guy? That wasn't Lance's fault. It was just the way Justin was made. Lance didn't hold that against him. So he didn't see why Justin couldn't understand the way Lance was made.
Lance had tried to explain that to Justin. That, and some other things. Like how Lance wasn't talking about all the time, just once in a while, in a very great while, like for special occasions, Lance's birthday and the end of a tour and Groundhog Day. And of course Lance was talking about something safe, that went without saying. And it wasn't really cheating if they both decided that they were okay with it, and besides, monogamy was just a word, they could define it any way they wanted. But bus school had been a little light on post-modernism, and Justin seemed pretty set on the traditional definition. All Lance's arguments only made Justin lean against the wall and fold his arms across his chest and shake his head.
And that was fine, Lance thought as he ordered another drink, hey, he could do it, the whole monogamy thing, it's not like he couldn't control himself or anything. And it's not like there weren't consolations. Justin Timberlake was a pretty big fucking consolation. Literally. But still, Lance couldn't be expected not to think about what he was missing. Sometimes. Occasionally.
It wasn't the sex Lance missed, although -- wait a minute. Who was he trying to kid? He missed it, oh God how he missed it, thighs that might not be as long and firm as the ones waiting at home for him but that were new, new, beautiful and new, beautiful because they were new, a mouth that might not taste as sweet but didn't taste of the past two years.
It wasn't just the sex (although, God, the thought of a cock in his hand that wasn't Justin's, in his mouth, God, he could almost come from the thought, that was how badly off he was). It was the idea of something new, something not entirely known, after all this time. Flipping buttons open with an eager hand, pulling impatiently at an unfamiliar zipper. He even thought he'd savor awkward conversations about who was doing what, the uncomfortable moment when he had to call security to usher someone out afterwards. He wouldn't even mind if the sex wasn't that great, and Lance knew it probably wouldn't be, at least not as good as what he was used to. He wasn't going to find anyone better looking than Justin, and odds were he wouldn't find anyone as flexible, either, or with Justin's beautiful wide white trash mouth, or his -- but that wasn't the point. The point was that it would be someone new, something new. For once, it wouldn't be what he had waiting for him every night at home.
But that didn't matter, Lance thought as he stood up unsteadily. He had made a promise, and he was going to keep it. No matter how unreasonable it seemed.
He drained his drink and went home to what was waiting for him.
Dawn had just broken when Lance unlocked his door and started up the stairs. He knew what he'd find. Justin sprawled out on his stomach, face turned up sweetly toward the sunshine that was no doubt streaming through the windows. Justin never remembered to shut the blinds. Lance knew he'd be glowing golden in the early morning light, and if Lance slid a hand under the sheets and over Justin's hip, his skin would be warmed by sun and sleep. No matter how quietly Lance tried to slip into bed, Justin would stir and smile and lift his head drowsily for a kiss.
Really, Lance thought, there was something to be said for the familiar. He unbuttoned his shirt on his way down the hallway, already anticipating Justin's body curling contentedly around his own. After all, there was something awfully satisfying about knowing just what was waiting for him.
Lance opened the door to his bedroom.
Justin was there, of course, just as Lance had expected, bathed in the sunlight that shone through the big windows. But he wasn't stretched out on his stomach. And he wasn't asleep.
Justin was lying on his back, knees bent, heels dug into the mattress. His head was thrown back on the pillow. There was a flash of white against red where his teeth had caught his bottom lip. Sweat shimmered over his stomach as his hand worked steadily between his legs. As Lance stepped into the room, Justin's lashes fluttered shut.
It wasn't what Lance had expected to see, but it sure was a pretty sight.
Lance sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Justin's thigh, the skin hot and damp beneath his fingers. He slid his hand around and up, to the soft sweet skin on the inside of Justin's thigh. Justin pulled away sharply, hand still curled around his cock. Lance's hand fell onto the mattress.
That was new.
"Go 'way," Justin said sulkily, hoarsely. His eyes opened halfway. "I'm doing something," he said, and closed his eyes again.
"I can see," Lance said, but Justin didn't respond. Lance sat back a little and Justin shifted on the mattress. Lance could hear the sound Justin's hand made as it moved over his cock, a lewd wet sound that made Lance's own cock twitch in sympathy. Justin's other hand was busy too, dragging over Justin's chest to rub roughly over his nipples, fisting tightly in the sheets right next to Lance. Justin brushed against Lance's leg, once, twice, and Lance was tempted to pull Justin's free hand into his own lap. He didn't. Justin slid one heel a little higher, spread his legs a little wider. His hand nudged Lance's thigh again. When Lance didn't move, Justin's eyes opened, shutting again quickly when he saw Lance looking at him.
Justin started panting, open-mouthed, a flicker of tongue now and again as Lance watched. Lance could see the dark red indentations Justin's teeth had left on his lower lip. He reached out to trace them, and slipped one finger into Justin's mouth. It was in to the second knuckle before Justin's teeth scraped, hard enough to make Lance swear. Justin smiled wide enough to swallow another finger and bit down as he came, opening his eyes as Lance breathed, "Fuck."
Lance's fingers fell from Justin's mouth and rested against his cheek. There were small raw marks on his knuckles that matched the ones on Justin's lip. Justin turned his head so his mouth was against Lance's hand, wet and lush as he mumbled.
"What, baby?" Lance said, stretching out next to Justin on the bed, lowering his ear to Justin's lips.
"I got tired of waiting," Justin said.
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