The cab soon skidded to a stop in front of a rather large, rather log cabin-ish house. There were red and purple lights shining inside and important looking people talking on cell phones near the door. Chris paid the cab driver and watched as he drove away, still wondering if he was actually at the right place.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged up to the door, where they barely gave him a second look before letting him in. The music was already playing inside, but not many people had arrived yet. He checked his coat upstairs and headed back down to get a drink.

He grabbed a beer and headed back upstairs, where he could overlook the main floor. He hadn't seen anyone he knew yet. A few people had done a bit of a double-take when they saw him because they knew who he was. But none of them looked like they were going to come talk to him anytime soon.

The whole idea of this party had been a little ludicrous to Chris. Lance was starting a film company, yeah that all was true, but this was just another excuse to throw a party. Lance probably wasn't even going to be in town very long -- probably just long enough to appear at the party for a while.

He hadn't even thought he would come to this party. He'd recently been dubbed "Mr. Negative" by his bandmates and was living up to the name by shutting himself up in his hotel room, watching reruns of "Who's the Boss" and spending hours looking up random shit on the Internet.

Justin couldn't get him to play videogames with him, Joey couldn't entice him to go clubbing, and JC just annoyed him by coming into his room and sitting at the foot of Chris' bed until JC laughed a bit too loud at the television and Chris had to kick him out.

Lance hadn't talked to him much, he was busy planning his silly party. Which was okay -- Chris really didn't need Lance on his case about his newfound hermitism. Lance left him to his cheesy, UST-filled, half-hour sitcom, and his never-ending web surfing.

That is, until Lance emailed him an invite to the party. Sure he'd go to Lance's little party -- sure he'd fly himself to the middle of fucking nowhere just to schmooze and booze -- he just needed the right motivation.

That motivation came to him when was sent a piece of slash fanfiction by none other than his ex-girlfriend. "Thought you'd get a kick out of this, and maybe it will cheer you up. Love and laughs, Dani."

The piece was short, and quite luridly detailed himself being touchy-feely with Lance at a club -- Lance's breath was hot on his neck, Lance's hands were tight around his waist, Lance's mouth was slowly moving toward his.

In the story, they ended up going back to the hotel and having hot, passionate sex -- Lance smelling the scent of strawberry shampoo in Chris' hair, Chris loving the soft animal noises Lance made when he fucked him.

Chris read, unable to pry his eyes away. It was like Justin being thrown into a pit of rabid teenies -- you don't really want to look, but your curiousity is piqued and you have to see which article of clothing is ripped off first.

Chris blinked at the screen, and rubbed his eyes as if it would be abortifacient and erase the images that were now streaming vividly through his head. He looked over his shoulder to make sure his door was locked, then stood up and walked toward the bathroom, his erection being a general nuisance of itself. He did his business and hoped that the walls were thick enough because he yelped when he came, then settled back down at his computer wondering if he should send Dani hate mail or a thank you letter.

He booked his flight the next morning, sent Dani a nice arrangement of her favorite flowers, and forwarded her links to a few slash sites he had found. He also blushed when Lance mentioned the party at breakfast and couldn't tell him that he, indeed, would be coming.

Chris finished his beer and shivered -- he didn't know if it was because the beer had apparently been stored on the ice cap just outside or if it was because a fuzzy sweater brushed lightly against his arm. The inside of his ear tickled slightly as he felt the beginning of a word flowing out into the air.

"Chris?"

Chris turned his head and was nose to nose with a smiling, bespectacled Lance. The sweater still brushed against him as Lance leaned toward Chris and put his arm on the railing.

"Hey," Chris said and, despite his sudden need to melt into a pile of goo, he smiled.

"I didn't really think you'd come -- you've been quiet and loner-like lately."

"Hmm, you noticed, huh. I thought the big stamp I've been wearing on my forehead that says 'Go Away!' wasn't obvious enough."

"Well, I'm glad you're here." Lance smiled a crooked, but sweet little smile and squeezed Chris' arm before being whisked off by various press people.

Chris sighed and went to get another drink. He was just going to have to rely on a little liquid courage to break down the last of his inhibitions.

A few hours, Two more beers and a redbull and vodka later, Chris found himself grinding around the room to a funky-slow song. He was about to slide his way past various sweaty bodies into a corner so he could rest, but again he felt the tingly soft scratch of sweater along his arm.

"Hey, where you going? I wanna dance," Lance said. The music was loud and Lance had to lean into Chris' ear.

Lance was so close that Chris couldn't help inhale the woodsy boysmell he exuded. "Just a second, man. I need to catch my breath."

"Okay," Lance said. He grinned and folded his arms. "I'll wait."

Chris breathed deeply, effectively saturating his lungs with fresh oxygen. Lance relaxed his arms, and was now resting them on either side of Chris' shoulders.

Chris placed his hands on Lance's waist and gently pushed forward. "Ready?" Lance asked. Chris nodded and prepared to dive back into the sea of bodies, his only anchor this warm, fuzzy, fabulous-smelling boy who was caressing the back of his neck with his fingers.

Lance was smooth and awkward at the same time on the dance floor -- alcohol had given him a sort of false security, which made it easy for him to dance, but not easy to hide that he wasn't a natural at it.

Chris noticed that he kept his eyes half-closed most of the time, which explained how he was suddenly straddling Lance's thigh, his crotch bumping against it roughly. Lance didn't seem to mind the compromising position, and placed his hands on Chris' hips, then slid his leg further between Chris'.

Chris thrusted his fists around above him, trying not give in to the need to grab Lance around the waist and pull him flush against himself. Lance wriggled a bit underneath him, and he knew if this kept up, he might have to leave the party early due to a sticky stain in his pants.

Lance released him though, and danced back a few steps. Chris relaxed at that and went back into the funky stuff dancing he had done earlier. Lance turned his back to Chris, his hips swinging side to side, then backed up. Chris' hand were moving wildly in front of him, and almost didn't stop when they made contact with Lance's rear.

Lance turned his head and smiled. He grabbed one of Chris' flailing limbs and placed it on his hip. He scooched back into Chris a little further and leaned back so his head briefly touched Chris' shoulder.

Chris became the awkward one now -- trying to dance like he wasn't extremely turned on, still fighting the urge to pull Lance into him. What he wouldn't give for just fifteen minutes alone with Lance, maybe in the bathroom, to explore this something that was pushing up through him, that was making him want another set of hands so he could touch, touch, touch.

Lance turned to face him again, his smile wide and his eyes still heavy lidded. He turned Chris around this time, as Chris had no coordination left, and slid an arm around him, lightly rubbing Chris' stomach.

Chris was losing feeling in his extremities -- that tingly feeling like his foot would fall asleep, or like when he got his wisdom teeth out and the nitrous oxide had been turned up a little too much, his whole body floating -- Chris knew now what it was like to walk on water. And if Lance's hand kept traveling downward like it was, he just might lose his balance and fall in -- wetness consuming him, perhaps making his knees buckle, perhaps making him moan like no one should ever, ever do in public.

Lance rubbed up against him and he felt that he wasn't the only one with a problem. It occurred to him that maybe Lance was getting off on this, too. He'd heard Lance colorfully referred to as a 'dicksmoker' and other not so interesting names in his meanderings on the Internet. Lance would probably eloquently knock the block off of anyone who would call him that to his face, but Chris hoped that maybe Lance was, conjuring up images of spiked hair at stomach level, of those softly crooked lips sliding down the most intimate of places.

The music changed beats, and Lance's hand retreated from nearly nudging under his waistband. Chris turned to look at Lance, to catch a glimpse of something that would make it okay to just lean in and kiss him, at least briefly.

And there was more there, more that just a kiss. Lance was mashing his lips into a flat solid line, and it reminded him of a girl blotting her lipstick, sans blotting paper. Chris just watched, wide-eyed, as Lance's gaze trailed down his body, stopping at the now -very- obvious bulge in Chris pants.

His eyes lingered there, Chris' clothed manhood a seeming work of art, and examined the fact that he, Lance, was the one who had rendered it. Chris stepped forward and pushed Lance through the still dancing crowd and out into the hallway.

"I'll get my coat," Chris said. Lance arched an eyebrow, confused -- his lips slowly separating. "Give me a ride back to town, we can talk about this in the limo," Chris said, thrusting his coat into Lance's arms and pushing him towards the back door.

They sat on opposite sides in the limo. Lance twirled his glasses and Chris could smell him again, the pleasant and now sexual odor seemed to be oozing from Lance's every pore. Chris kept still, except for his hands, which wringed the sleeves of his coat -- any movement from the waist down could be detrimental to his plans of either fucking Lance senseless, or getting himself off in the privacy of his hotel room.

The decision of which though, would be left up to Lance. Lance, the sudden enigma, the sudden object of lust. Why suddenly though? Was it maybe like in "Chasing Amy," where a friend becomes more than, even though it didn't seem to be possible? Chris leaned forward, about to spell out these thoughts to Lance, when the limo jolted, sending Chris to his knees in front of him.

"Damn this snow, damn this whole fucking night," Chris muttered and attempted to stand.

"Stay. Please," Lance said, his hands on Chris' shoulders, forcing him back on his knees.

Chris exhaled loudly and wanted to lay his head down and give up, which would mean making a pillow of Lance's crotch. Instead, he gently placed his hands on Lance's thighs and forced himself to look into his eyes. "Lance, I -- I want you."

"Okay. Okay," Lance said. He pet the back of Chris' neck and tilted his head back. He leaned down and met Chris' lips, tasting the sweet lingerings of alcohol and the tang of saliva that could have been the flavor of desire.

Chris pushed Lance back into the seat and climbed into his lap. He was one big nerve ending rolling playfully along Lance's neck, tugging the sweater down to taste more flesh, slipping under it to feel the smoothness and soft fine hairs of Lance's chest.

Lance shifted, laying Chris down on his back, and ran his hand over Chris groin. Chris reached down and placed his hand over Lance's then moved it up to the safer area of his stomach. He wasn't about to let this be over quickly.

Lance took his lips again, creating suction and warmth and wonderful slobbery noises -- definitely sexual, but comforting as well, like drifting off to a happy place when the world around you seems to need redecorating.

The place you retreat to when your head throbs just a little too hard for you to handle, the place that reminds you of the unrestrained hugs you'd give freely as a child, a place where things were simple but better and you wouldn't complicate it a smidge more because then it would just be ordinary as everything else in the real world is.

The limo slowed, and Chris heard the driver clear his throat loudly enough to be heard from behind the barrier. Lance detached himself and sat up, smiling, pulling Chris upright until they were shoulder to shoulder. Chris put an arm around Lance and waited for the driver to open the door.

Chris closed the door to his hotel room and spun around to see Lance making himself comfortable on the bed. He'd kicked off his boots and laid back on the bed, his hands behind his head. He hummed something that sounded somewhat like Beethoven's Fifth, only maybe a little bit more country. He smiled and patted the pillow beside him.

Chris merely stared, his hand still on the door. Lance saw the hesitation in the way Chris' lips were twitching, the way his eyes kept darting around the room. He unzipped his pants. "Chris?"

"Yeah?" He was obviously looking where Lance had wanted him too, and walked toward the bed.

"Don't just stand there...c'mere."

Chris chucked his coat on the chair and climbed up on the bed. He leaned over Lance and ran his hand over his fuzzy sweater. He had wanted to roll himself up in it, with Lance still wearing it, now he just wanted it tossed on the floor somewhere, forgotten.

Maybe tomorrow he'd wake up and trip over it, making him fall face first into the bathroom floor. Maybe he'd roll it up in a ball and hide it under his bed, so Lance would have to wear one of his shirts the next day. He pulled it up, causing Lance to shiver slightly. He bent down and kissed Lance's belly.

Lance responded with fingers brushing through his hair, coaxing his head further down. Chris let himself be guided, and ran his tongue just under the band of Lance's boxers.

Chris smiled to himself and sat up. He pulled his thick shirt over his head, revealing the t-shirt underneath. Lance laughed. "Boybands suck, huh?"

"They sure do," Chris said before pulling it off and throwing it across the room. He got Lance out of his sweater and pants, then pushed him back down on the bed.

Chris wondered why kissing a guy had never been this overwhelming. Sure, he'd kissed Lance before -- anyone close to Chris would eventually fall victim to one of his patented smooches. Everyone from Howie Dorough to Richard Marx. But this, this was something else. Being mouthed like he was being eaten tongue first, the slightest bit of electricity flowing from the tip of Lance's tongue as it touched the roof of his mouth.

Chris made his way back down to Lance's stomach, this time pulling down his boxers and licking around Lance's penis before Lance could even ask him to. Lance's hand was back at his neck again, forcing him to take in more. Chris tried to relax his mouth, but his throat still spasmed and he had to come back up for air.

"Sorry," Lance said, and loosed his grip on Chris' neck.

"It's okay," Chris said, his hand now taking the place of his mouth. "I just haven't done this in a long time."

"You've--?" Lance's question was cut short as Chris went down on him again.

"Mmm," Chris said, nodding. On the upstroke, Chris pulled away briefly. "But as I said, It's been a LONG time."

It didn't take long for Chris to remember how to give a blowjob. Chris found that it was not unlike speaking another language -- he hadn't used the German he learned in college much until Nsync started touring, but when in Germany it became as though he had never stopped speaking it. So the finer points of cocksucking had already rushed back to Chris' mind as he felt a slow trickle of fluid oozing into his mouth, then a larger gush accompanied by Lance grunting and moaning.

Chris continued to lick and swallow even after Lance's penis had softened a bit. Lance was still moaning, banging his fists into the mattress, his hips lifted off the bed to posses all Chris had to offer.

Lance sat up sharply when he couldn't take it anymore, and flipped Chris over onto his back. Chris was still in his pants, but demonstrative of Lance's eagerness, they were quickly flung aside, taking out a lamp as they went. As Lance licked at his nipples, Chris wondered if he had much experience in sex, gay sex in particular. Lance had never been very forthcoming about his sexual habits, except that he never did it much.

But even if he had never made out with a guy before this, Lance was certainly making up for it. He basically skipped over Chris' penis as he traveled down his body, instead opting to try out the rough skin of Chris' testicles.

Chris flinched and squirmed as his left testicle was rolled around in Lance's mouth. He was a bit too sensitive there, and if Lance didn't stop soon he would be howling like a banshee.

Lance let go, but then sucked in the other one. Chris did scream this time, although it didn't stop Lance from giving it a good lapping before he let go. "I see you like that," Lance said and bit his lip as he watched Chris' chest heave up and down.

"Hmmf," was all Chris could articulate at the moment. A light sweat had broken on his forehead, and he was gritting his teeth as if it was the only thing that would keep him from flying off the bed and hitting the ceiling.

Lance licked slowly on Chris' penis, not taking it into his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chris' head jerk to the side. A hand clamped on his shoulder and he heard Chris mutter in a voice lower than expected. "Just suck it."

Lance giggled inaudibly as his lips covered the head -- he knew Chris felt the vibrations though, as Chris sighed squirmed a bit more.

Blood rushed to Chris head and he felt little tingles wash over stomach. He was tempted to let Lance finish him off, but he had other plans. "Lance, wait...mmm...you've got to stop before..."

Lance lifted his head and his mouth made a popping noise as Chris' penis slid from it. "Okay. Whatever you say." He smirked as if he knew what might happen next.

Chris jumped off the bed and across the room to his bag, where he tossed around various articles of clothing before finding a condom. One article of clothing landed near the bed, and Lance reached down to pick it up.

"Chris, what's this?" Lance asked, as he picked up the pink bra.

Chris turned around and laughed. "What does it look like?"

Lance held it against his chest. "What I mean- is, what are you doing with it?"

"It's Dani's," Chris grinned. "It's been in my bag, for like months." He jumped back on the bed triumphantly, condom in hand. "Want to try it on?"

"Ummm...maybe...later?" Lance folded the bra and placed it gently on the night stand.

"Speaking of Dani..." Chris said, sliding the condom on. "Do you know what she sent me the other day?"

Lance laid back on the bed and spread his legs. "What did she send you?"

Chris kneeled between his legs, and licked a finger before gently working it into Lance's ass. "She sent me this story...about us..."

"Mmm. And what were we doing in the story?" Lance had closed his eyes and was thumbing the head of his penis.

"Oh, we were doing about what we're doing now," Chris said. He grinned as Lance's eyes flew open, and he took the opportunity to sink into him.

Lance lifted his hips so that Chris' could fuck him at a more comfortable angle. "Remind me to thank her," he said.

"I already did."

Chris leaned forward to lick at Lance's chin -- the fine stubble there tickled, and felt incredibly soft when he nuzzled it with his nose. Lance gripped at his waist tightly, as if he was afraid that Chris would stop if he let go.

Chris finally reached that desperate pace, the one where at any moment he might just pass out from lack of oxygen instead of coming. He felt Lance tense beneath him, and a stream of white dripped down his chest.

Chris continued to thrust, fast, hard, sending Lance's head bonking into the headboard. Lance just laid there, helpless, in ecstasy, while Chris made certain that he would remember tonight every time he sat down for the next few days.

Chris finally stopped, placing rough kisses on Lance's mouth and face. Lance rolled him over and Chris withdrew, carefully sliding the condom off and chucking it aside. Lance snuggled in close to him, his mouth pressed into Chris' neck. He lightly stroked Chris' waning erection, wanting to feel the remnants of cum on his fingers.

Chris looked down at Lance. "Great party."

"Yeah, I should throw them more often."

"Like you don't already have a bazillion parties," Chris said and squeezed Lance's arm. "Next time though, I'm taking care of the food. That artistically arranged sushi wasn't a such a good idea."

"Why not? Sushi's good stuff."

"Yeah, but when people throw more of it around than they eat, that's a baaad sign."

"You're just jealous because I got picked up by the hottest guy there," Lance said and nibbled at Chris ear.

"Hmm. Yeah. Whatever," Chris said. He giggled and Lance pulled on his earlobe with his teeth.

Chris ran his fingers through Lance's hair and slowly fell asleep. He dreamt of being on a quiet beach, relaxing in a hammock. He was drinking island punch and was being entertained by dancing shrimp with seaweed hula skirts. But most importantly, he dreamt of a beautiful blonde boy in a pink bra, who smelled like sex, and tasted like love.

End.

Originally written as an *Mprov on 1/21/00, with the words abortifacient, ice cap, strawberry shampoo, woodsy boysmell, negative, slash fanfiction; on 1/22/00, with the words Chasing Amy, back door, dicksmoker, walk on water; and on 1/23/00, with the words Howie Dorough, fuzzy, trickle, Beethoven's Fifth, demonstrative, mouth, bathroom floor, pink bra, boybands suck, banshee.