He stumbled as he walked away from the plane, and wished he hadnít. Instantly JC surrounded him with solicitous concern, love and kindness shining in his eyes. Joey and Justin crowded around too, making sure he was okay. While Chris, the one who had had the worst flight, the one who had almost pulled off the armrest with the force of his tension, was ignored. Lance was poor-babyíd while Chris pushed past them all to barge into the small hangar.
They followed him eventually, getting out of the cold wind into the dubious comforts of the flight lounge. Airlines this small never spent much on the trappings. Lance thought that was probably okay, as long as the money was going into the planes instead. He looked around for Chris, but couldnít see him in any of the windowed offices or maintenance bays. Idle searching started to grow into earnest worry, until he heard Chrisí voice calling him.
"Lance!" He turned and saw Chrisí head poking out the menís room door. "Can you come here for a sec? I need to see you," Chris whispered urgently. Lance saw the looks the other three guys exchanged, but chose to ignore them as he crossed the matted carpet to the restroom.
Chris stepped aside to let him slip in, then closed and locked the door quickly. Lance stared around him at the awful room - the dirty walls, the stained toilet, the nasty shower with the mysterious spots - and the linoleum floor, cut by an amateur and glued badly, so that the corners peeled back to reveal previous layers of attempts to gussy the place up. It was no more than he expected for this no-name airline, but it was still bad, and ugly, and dirty.
Chris circled in front of him, dragged his head down, and kissed him with fierce determination. Lance felt desperation in that kiss, felt it in the shudders that racked Chrisí body as Lance ran his hands up his ribs. Lance slid his hands to Chrisí shoulders, pushed him away, and looked searchingly into his eyes. "Whatís wrong?"
Chris laughed - a short, derisive bark. "You know damn well whatís wrong. We almost died up there."
Lance nodded, and managed a half-smile. "Right, so...that doesnít answer my question. Whatís all," he waved to indicate Chris, himself, the bathroom, "this?" Lance winced internally at the frustration and anger that filled Chrisí face before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened them, Lance was shocked by the animosity he saw there. He took an uncertain step back, but Chris was too quick for him. He grabbed Lance by the neck, yanked on him so their faces were only inches apart, and growled, "This is me needing to do something to make sure Iím still alive. This is me needing to fuck you." And Lance felt Chrisí erection pressing against him, hard and hot and insistent. He felt an answering spark in his own body, and chose to relax into Chrisí grip, trying to indicate his willingness to play along.
His lips burned for more kisses, but Chris spun him and shoved his chest against the partition between the shower and the sink. Lance gasped, wind knocked out and startled. Chrisí hands snaked around to his front and undid the fastenings on his jeans, then sneaked into his boxers and stroked his cock, fist silky hot over hardening flesh. Lance sighed and thrust into Chrisí hand, eyes falling shut and head lolling against the wall. He smelled the dank odor of mildew from the tiles so close to his face and involuntarily jerked his head away. His movement broke Chrisí concentration, and the delicious rubbing stopped. He whimpered.
Chris backed away, and he turned to find Chrisí pants already down, with an erection pulsing spasmodically. He willingly sank to his knees when Chris clapped a hand on his shoulder, and even more willingly swallowed his cock. He loved the taste of Chris, and the way he worked himself in and out of Lanceís mouth, almost controlling the blowjob, even while he was on the receiving end. Chris battered Lanceís throat with the tip of his cock, moaning and flexing his fingers in Lanceís hair. He whispered harsh encouragement, telling Lance how good a cocksucker he was, how much he loved to fuck his mouth. Chrisí thrusting sped up and demanded more, until Lance thought Chris was going to come in his mouth. Instead Chris withdrew and grabbed Lance by the back of the arm, pulling him up and spinning him around in one movement.
Lance was off-balance, and Chrisí next shove sent him sprawling across the small sink and counter. Two hands on the small of his back held him down as Chris kicked his legs apart, then there was only one hand. Lance twisted his neck to see Chris digging in his pockets for a condom. Once he found it, he tore the package open with his teeth and dropped the wrapper carelessly. He rolled the condom on quickly, and Lance was glad to see the glisten of lube on it. Then he quailed at the realization that they had no other lube, nothing to prepare him -
Chris spit into his hand and wiped it across Lanceís asshole, smearing it in as well as he could. Lance was revolted, and tried to squirm away, but Chris locked firm hands on him and pressed him even harder into the counter. The edge of the laminate bit into Lanceís dick, and he automatically shifted away from the pain. He realized too late it looked like a sign of compliance, seemed to give Chris permission to return to his ministrations. He spit onto his fingers several more times and rubbed them against and inside Lance. It felt good, in a stretchy way, but the spit dried almost as soon as Chris took his hand away.
Finally Chris was satisfied with Lanceís preparation and moved his cock into position for penetration. He plunged in, and Lance shouted in pain. He wasnít ready, he wasnít ready, and Chrisí cock was splitting him apart. The meager lube on the condom wasnít enough to protect his delicate skin. Chris was normally kind and careful, but he seemed possessed by an animal instinct to prove his continued existence.
He slammed into Lance over and over, drawing a hoarse cry with every stroke. It hurt. It hurt. He tried to convince his body it felt good. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to feel the pain blossom into a hot flower of pleasure. But it didnít. He felt tears leaking from behind his closed eyes and opened them to stare at his reflection, inches from his nose in the mirror over the sink. He didnít recognize the face there: the desperate glaze in his eyes, or the tears staining his cheeks. He shifted his gaze to Chrisí reflection. Chris stared back at him, mouth set in grim determination as he pounded into him. Lance felt Chrisí fingers wrapped bruising-tight around his hips, holding him in place for his thrusts. And it still hurt, it never got better. Even the brush of Chris' cock against his prostate did nothing more than give him brief flashes of heat. His erection wilted as he tried to concentrate hard enough to block out the pain.
Somewhere deep inside him, his heart broke. Just a little, not all the way; but enough. Chris might be caught in deep reaction to almost living out his worst fear - dying in a plane crash - and he might be merely taking it out on Lance, but Lance knew he would never love Chris the same way again.
Chris sped up his pace, then finished with a flurry of thrusts that made Lance yelp against his will. He shuddered, and collapsed against Lanceís back. Lance, disbelieving, let him lie there for a moment, then shook his shoulders and stood, forcing Chris out of his satisfied stupor. Chris stumbled backwards, and Lance rounded on him.
"You hurt me." Chris stared blankly at him. Anger and shame bubbled in his gut. "You hurt me, and I let you, because I trusted you." At that, the fuck-dazed look slid off Chrisí face, to be replaced by guilt. Lance could tell just by looking at him that he knew exactly what he had done. "You didnít even care, did you?" he spat. "You knew you were killing me, and you didnít care, so long as you got your rocks off." The tears started again, but this time he swiped them away with the back of his hand.
"I - I was ... it was just - I was so scared. I was sure we were going to die in that plane, and then I needed you to ... " Chris groped. "I donít know why. I donít know why I did it."
Lance flicked him a glance up and down. "Clean yourself up," he said, then turned away to do the same for himself. When he checked over his shoulder, Chris was still staring at him. "Do you mind?" Chris twitched and turned away quickly. Lance carefully wiped himself clean, wincing at the rough paperís scratch across his damaged skin. He flushed the last bits of paper away and pulled up his pants. He was refastening before he let himself look at Chris again.
Chris had already finished his ablutions, and waited by the door. Lance took one last look in the mirror, memorized the tear-smudged face there and how much he hated it, then sucked up his courage and strode over to Chris. Chris didnít acknowledge his presence, merely stared quietly at the floor. Lance wanted to brush haughtily past him without a word, the way Justin would have, but found he couldnít. "You know Iíll never trust you again, right?" he said softly. Chris tightened his lips and knit his brow, and nodded.
"Iím sorry, I ... " Chris ran out of words. Lance could tell he had no explanations. Even as he turned damp, soft brown eyes up to Lanceís face, there was nothing between them but this heavy, awful silence.
Lance sighed. "Someday weíll figure this out." Hope flashed across Chrisí face. "But not today. And not anytime soon." Chrisís face fell, but he nodded understanding as he looked at the floor again.
Now Lance swept out, only to find himself subjected to the worried stares of his bandmates. He panicked momentarily as he wondered whether they had heard what happened, then had his fears confirmed when the sound of Chrisí quiet, choking sobs floated through the thin walls. Every word. They had heard every word, and every yell, and every whimper. He flushed hot and cold, torn between excruciating embarrassment and righteous anger. Why the hell hadnít they come rushing to the rescue if they had known what was going on?
JC was the first to step towards him, hand raised in a gesture of peace, but Lance didnít wait to hear the well-meaning words he knew were dying to spill from JCís lips. He saw the hurt in JCís eyes when he backed hastily away, but he turned away from the naked emotions there and ran. He had to get out of the hangar. Before he could reach the exit he heard the chorus of disapproval that met Chrisí emergence from the restroom. He was tempted - sorely tempted - to turn back and rescue him from the interference of their friends, but he reminded himself Chris didnít deserve anything from him right now.
He pushed the heavy door open and blinked in the bright sunlight. Cold wind whipped around him as he moved quickly across the tarmac. He wanted to lose himself among the small planes. He wanted to go some place where no one could ever find him. He only realized he was crying again when he felt the wind take the tears away. It left his cheeks cold.
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