Something Like August
Aug. 11th, 2008 01:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pensnestIt's my Something Like August day today, so here is fic.
I haven't entirely forgotten that I signed up for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wtf27 challenge. One of the prompts is 'Fuck or die'. Not one of my favourite notions, but I started thinking about it, and very soon got a notion. Which was crack for, oh, five minutes at most. The resultant story came out of a lot of stuff I gathered by reading here, there and everywhere. As you'll figure from the prompt, there are dub-con issues, if you don't like them, you may not want to read.
The White Room
It seemed simple enough to Joey, and really, when you were given a choice like that, it wasn't exactly a hard call to make.
And yet here he was, stuck in this featureless white-walled League cell, scared, hungry, and very much wanting to go home, and apparently he was the only one who could see what to do.
Joey stood and began to pace. There wasn't much room for pacing, but he had to work off his frustration somehow or he'd do someone some damage. "Guys, I can't believe we even have to discuss this."
"No." Lance, being ridiculously stubborn. "I won't. Not with either of you."
"Are you crazy? We fuck, they let us go, we go home, we get back in our kites, we fight. Or, we die, and we're no more use to anybody. I mean, seriously, guys, why is there a problem here? This is our only way out." They'd discussed the possibilities of escape too many times already, but what could they do? Guards had come, randomly, to take one of them off for 'questioning', but there were always at least five guards, and besides, they never knew where the doorway was going to appear in the apparently seamless white walls. No chance of setting up an ambush.
"You really think we can trust them?" Chris said. "You believe them when they say they'll let us out of here? You don't think they're just messing with our heads, that they're going to kill us anyway?"
"No. I mean—no! Why would they? This happened before, you know it did. Rich and Devin were captured just last year, and they had the same deal. Rich reckoned the Leggies wanted it for propaganda."
"Yeah, right. And they have full screens of two of our top pilots screwing one another, so why do they need more?"
Joey was a bit worried about that, because Chris was a smart bastard even if he was too cynical for his own good. What's more, Joey didn't remember ever seeing any League propaganda featuring Coalition pilots sexing each other up. Unwillingly, he pointed this out.
"C'mon, Joe, it's not propaganda for us, it's propaganda for them. Why'd they show it to us? We'd know the pilots were coerced. And anyway, they know we don't think any the less of someone for it."
That seemed weird, though. Didn't the League show their people glorious victory screens of Coalie kites and battleships being destroyed? "I don't see how they could use us fucking for propaganda, though, really."
Chris sighed noisily. "Listen, Joe. They were recording when we arrived, so they have plenty of screens of us in our uniforms. Then they show us in here naked, oh so carefully not showing the parts where they took our clothes away and kept us here for who knows how long and then gave us an ultimatum. They want to prove to their own people that we're all sick perverts, so they show the screens of guys fucking like bunnies to make sure everyone down there thinks we all deserve to be fried."
That wasn't so bad, Joey thought. He hadn't been happy at the thought that his flight mates would see him fucking Lance. Joey had nothing against gay guys, of course he hadn't, Lance was one of the best friends he had in the world, but as far as Joey was concerned, it was the ladies who did it for him.
"And you know what?" Chris said, as though he'd discovered a great new argument for why they had to die instead of having sex. "Don't we have an obligation not to give them any more propaganda material? Isn't that, what's it called, giving aid and comfort to the enemy?"
"Chris, I cannot believe you!" Joey exploded. "What about a prisoner's first duty is to escape?"
"I just don't think we've considered it enough," Chris said, stubborn as always.
"Look, we had the briefings. We knew this situation could come up, when we were caught. I just don't see what your problem is."
"Oh, because you screw guys all the time!"
"Okay, no, but—how hard can it be?"
"Depends if it gets hard at all," Chris muttered.
Joey stifled the urge to strangle him, and appealed to Lance. "Lance, tell me you get it! You'll do it, right? I mean, you like guys, you've done this stuff before. Loads of times. It's not a problem, right?"
Lance looked at him very strangely, and there was a silence that grew almost uncomfortable before he seemed to snap out of whatever was possessing him—who could tell, with Lance?—and nodded. "Okay. With you. Just you."
Joey didn't see what difference it made, but since Chris was being weird, it was best that he and Lance just got on with it. The sooner they did, the sooner everyone would get out of here.
"We're gonna need some lube," said Lance, practically. "Any idea when we might be due our next meal?"
"Soon, I hope." Joey wasn't exactly starving—there were some protocols, after all, so they had been fed, just not very much. "But what does that have to do with it?"
"The scrape. Best we can do." Lance's face was carefully neutral, and he refused to look at either of them.
"Couldn't we just... use spit?" Joey suggested. When they got back home, he could order up a proper meal. Piping hot protoveg lasagne. His mouth was watering just thinking of it.
"No."
"But—"
"I said, no. We're not doing this with just spit."
Joey knew better than to argue when Lance used that tone of voice, so he sat down, and sighed. The scrape, with its vaguely meaty taste, was the best part of their meals. Certainly the bread it was spread on wasn't up to much. "I guess we have to wait for mealtime," he said.
Joey wasn't exactly surprised when the hole in the wall opened after what felt like no more than half an hour, to reveal their tray of rations. Obviously they were being observed, and if the Leggies wanted them making fresh porny propaganda, they'd be ready to facilitate. Nothing so helpful as a tube of something, of course. He sighed, and handed his bread over to Lance, who gathered the scrape on a finger, and made an unappetising little heap of it on the edge of one plate. There wasn't much, but he'd done a thorough job of getting it off the bread. Morosely, Joey ate the flavourless white slices and drank half his share of the water. He'd kill for a beer.
"So," he said, cautiously.
"Oh, for—can't you let him finish digesting first?"
"You want to do this? That's fine by me," Joey said, and of course Chris coiled himself down into an angry little pile of naked pilot and sat down by the white, white wall. At least he was shutting up. "So," he said again, looking helplessly at Lance. "Um..."
"Okay. I'm not exactly relaxed and ready to go, here, so you're going to have to lube me up. Grease your finger and put it in. Slowly. I'll tell you when I'm ready for more."
It all sounded very clinical to Joey, and not at all like he usually had sex. Joey was all about the having fun. He might not see the same girl two nights in a row—there were always hotties lining up to spread for the top pilots, their contribution to the war effort, or something—but he always made sure his girl had a good time while she was with him. And really, why should Lance be so different?
He hauled Lance to his feet and put his hands somewhat awkwardly on Lance's hips. Lance was a good height, kissing him wouldn't be—kissing him wasn't that different from kissing a girl, except for the stubble. They hadn't been allowed shavers or depilatories. Lance's lips were soft, a little bit chapped, but he opened up readily enough and really, this was going to be easy after all. Joey's hands drifted down, over Lance's full, firm butt cheeks, and squeezed a little. Nice, very nice. Smooth as silk, just like a girl's except maybe a bit more muscly. Joey steered his mouth sideways to Lance's neck so he could kiss his way down and maybe use his teeth a little. Girls mostly liked that. Lance seemed to like it too, his breath wasn't nearly so steady now. Joey was getting into this. His cock was filling nicely, bumping against Lance's thighs and pubes and whoa, that was Lance's hand closing round his cock, Lance's hand pumping him slowly up to fully erect, this was going better than Joey had ever expected.
"You wanna pass the scrape?" he suggested. Lance did so without comment, and lowered himself into a crawl position. He'd aligned himself so he was facing away from Chris, Joey noticed, away but not completely the opposite direction, as if he to make it clear he wasn't taking any notice of Chris at all. Joey approved of this—he wasn't used to performing with an audience, and Chris's hostility to the whole proceeding was a bit off-putting.
Back to the task at hand. Really, Lance looked fine like that, with his knees spread and that beautiful ass tilted up as he rested on his forearms. Joey always liked this position anyway, but he supposed he might have to not thrust so hard this time. He wasn't quite sure how it would work out, but if it was *his* ass... he greased a forefinger with care, and rather nervously traced around Lance's puckered hole.
"Just take it slow," Lance advised, "and you won't hurt me."
Okay. Okay. Fingertip pressing in, there. It was snug, very snug, and this was just his fingertip, Joey thought, pressing in as far as the first knuckle, then easing back. How much lube was Lance going to need? Because there wasn't a lot of scrape, and Joey wasn't flattering himself but his cock was a whole lot bigger than a finger, and—
Lance made an impatient noise, so Joey pushed his finger warily a little further inside, watching in fascination as it slid into Lance's body. It must feel weird, having something inside like that. "Uh, that okay?" he asked.
"It's fine, Joey. Bit more lube, please. " So Joey worked more lube in and around Lance's asshole, and actually, it felt kinda good, pushing two fingers (Lance's idea) in, feeling how that tight entrance accommodated the extra width. Maybe it wasn't going to be so difficult to fuck Lance after all. Joey's cock didn't seem to think so, but it had thought some pretty stupid things before now, so that was no indication, really.
Lance was making more noises, and he seemed a lot more relaxed, so Joey drew back to smear the rest of the scrape over his cock, and, holding his shaft firmly, positioned it against Lance's hole, and pushed with determination. Oh man, that was tight, that was so fucking tight, that felt amazing. He pushed steadily, holding Lance's hips, watching as his cock sank deeper. Balls deep. Fucking amazing. He drew back slowly, not quite all the way, and pushed in again. Lance moaned and wriggled his butt backwards, which felt fine, and Joey found himself telling Lance all the stuff he usually told girls, how good they looked, how sexy they were. Lance looked really good. Joey hoped this felt as good for Lance as it felt for the girls Joey usually fucked. It sounded like it did.
In fact, self-control was going to be a problem real soon now. Joey's hips speeded up.
"Joey, Joey, touch me, please, I can't—"
Dimly, Joey understood what Lance wanted, but he wasn't sure that he could—he held Lance's hips firmly in place, drove hard, and came with a growl.
Breathing very hard, Joey eased back a little. Beneath him, Lance was still tense, and that settled it. Nobody ever fucked Joey Fatone and didn't come. He put his arms round Lance's waist and pulled him backwards until Lance was leaning against his chest, then ran one hand down along Lance's body until he found his cock, and began to pump it firmly. Lance's "Oh, oh! Joey! Oh!" was very satisfying, and then he went quite still, and Joey had hot wet slithery stuff all over his hand. Should have done this first, he thought, plenty of lube now. He nuzzled Lance's neck, then slid carefully out and away.
It was too much to hope that the meagre bathroom facilities would appear now that he needed to wash, and they didn't. But there was something better—an opening like the mealtime hatch appeared in the wall, and there were their flight suits, folded up neatly, although Joey very soon discovered that they hadn't been washed. What the hell, neither had he, except in decontam. Also, his underwear was missing, which was a pain, because it would chafe. And—
"There's only two suits," he said, puzzled. His own, and Lance's. Lance looked stricken.
"What did you expect?" said Chris.
"But we did what they said! This has to be a mistake." He didn't want to think, couldn't bear to think that they'd been out-and-out lying to him all along. That he'd fucked Lance for no reason—even if it had been surprisingly good.
"Yeah, we did," said Lance. "Chris didn't."
"Well, then," said Joey, relieved, because this might be over-scrupulous of the sodding Leggies but at least it was logical. "Chris, you have to. You know."
"I don't."
"Don't start, just don't!" Joey was getting scared now, really scared, because their jailers were obviously watching, the suits had appeared right away. "They could come and take you away any moment now, they could execute you just like they said. Chris, don't be insane, man."
I can't, I—" Chris was still hunched on the floor. "Oh, shit. Okay. Yeah. Do it." He began to uncurl onto all fours.
Joey was startled, and a bit embarrassed. "I, uh, not right away, I can't. I mean. I only just."
"There's no more scrape." Lance's voice was stark and emotionless. "You'll have to fuck me."
"I—no! I mean, I can't. I don't want to."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, get over yourself."
Chris straightened, and stood up. "I can't," he said furiously, and Joey could see what he meant. Okay, really not into fucking guys, there.
Lance strode across and planted himself in front of Chris. "I get it," he said through clenched teeth. "You'd rather die. Tough." He dropped to his knees, took a firm grasp of Chris's hips, and drew Chris's flaccid cock into his mouth. Chris yelped and cast a frantic look at Joey, but Joey frankly thought Lance was doing the best he could in the circumstances, and Chris had better start co-operating if he didn't want to fry. He drew his flight suit up and started on the fastenings. Perhaps if Chris didn't have an audience he'd—and anyway, Joey didn't want to watch.
Except Joey couldn't help but watch, snatching fascinated glimpses as the stiffening length of Chris's erection slipped out between Lance's lips, and Lance's mouth worked at it, and his hand came around to grasp what he couldn't take in. Chris was staring down wide-eyed, he looked horrified, he looked like he wanted to shove Lance away and run, but there was no escape from this white prison unless the Leggies let them go. Luckily it seemed Chris's cock wasn't as reluctant as the rest of him. Joey felt faintly envious. It looked like Lance knew exactly what he was doing. Kneeling there with Chris's cock in his mouth, looking up at Chris's face like he could figure out exactly what worked best from the helpless look in Chris's eyes.
Joey paid attention to his fastenings. But he heard the "Please!" and Chris's whimpers and the little grunt from Lance, and when he looked up, they were done, Lance wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, and Chris leaning against the white wall and trying to breathe normally.
"Okay!" Joey said, determinedly cheerful. "Here, Lance, get your flight suit on." But even as he handed it over, the wall opposite Chris split apart, and five League guards stood there, machine-like in their grey uniforms, with those hideous full-face visors hiding any trace of humanity. "You can't!" he said, without thinking. "He did what you wanted!" They couldn't take Chris now, it wasn't fair, it wasn't right—
The two outer guards in the front row stiffened and thudded to the floor, then the centre one crumpled and collapsed. Joey's jaw dropped as the back two guards lowered their nerve guns and flicked up their visors.
"JC! Justin! How—" He'd never been so glad, or so astonished, to see his wingmates in his life.
"Explanations later," Justin said, grinning like a lunatic. "Let's get you guys out of here first."
JC was already kneeling over one of the Leggie guards and pulling off his helmet. "Chris, Lance, get these uniforms on, quick. We fried the guard screening your room, but we don't know when the shift replacement is due."
A few minutes of frantic action, and the guards were stripped naked. All three of them, because it seemed like a good idea to leave them piled together in an orgiastic heap with their faces hidden. Joey shoved the spare grey uniform into the wall opening, it wasn't exactly out of sight there, but maybe it wouldn't be so obvious to the all-seeing cameras if it was folded where his and Lance's buff uniforms had been. Lance had wrapped his own flight suit round himself underneath the oversized grey uniform. They weren't going to leave it behind.
"Right," said JC, practically. "Let's get out of here." They formed a square with Joey in the centre, and marched out. And it really was that easy—they just marched through the corridors all the way to the flight deck and on to a stout, stubby vessel, some kind of minesweeper, Joey thought. Justin took the pilot's chair—he could fly anything—and gave out all the passwords that were required of him. There must have been some ace networking going on with the League resistance to get them in and out so cleanly.
And they were going home.
That's part one. More tomorrow.
The story only got to an end yesterday, and hasn't been beta'd, so if anything seems out of whack or unclear please let me know. Does the conversational style work for you, etc. Also, I'd be very interested in discussing it, so if anything occurs to you, today or tomorrow or Wednesday, let's get to it!
I haven't entirely forgotten that I signed up for the
wtf27 challenge. One of the prompts is 'Fuck or die'. Not one of my favourite notions, but I started thinking about it, and very soon got a notion. Which was crack for, oh, five minutes at most. The resultant story came out of a lot of stuff I gathered by reading here, there and everywhere. As you'll figure from the prompt, there are dub-con issues, if you don't like them, you may not want to read.The White Room
It seemed simple enough to Joey, and really, when you were given a choice like that, it wasn't exactly a hard call to make.
And yet here he was, stuck in this featureless white-walled League cell, scared, hungry, and very much wanting to go home, and apparently he was the only one who could see what to do.
Joey stood and began to pace. There wasn't much room for pacing, but he had to work off his frustration somehow or he'd do someone some damage. "Guys, I can't believe we even have to discuss this."
"No." Lance, being ridiculously stubborn. "I won't. Not with either of you."
"Are you crazy? We fuck, they let us go, we go home, we get back in our kites, we fight. Or, we die, and we're no more use to anybody. I mean, seriously, guys, why is there a problem here? This is our only way out." They'd discussed the possibilities of escape too many times already, but what could they do? Guards had come, randomly, to take one of them off for 'questioning', but there were always at least five guards, and besides, they never knew where the doorway was going to appear in the apparently seamless white walls. No chance of setting up an ambush.
"You really think we can trust them?" Chris said. "You believe them when they say they'll let us out of here? You don't think they're just messing with our heads, that they're going to kill us anyway?"
"No. I mean—no! Why would they? This happened before, you know it did. Rich and Devin were captured just last year, and they had the same deal. Rich reckoned the Leggies wanted it for propaganda."
"Yeah, right. And they have full screens of two of our top pilots screwing one another, so why do they need more?"
Joey was a bit worried about that, because Chris was a smart bastard even if he was too cynical for his own good. What's more, Joey didn't remember ever seeing any League propaganda featuring Coalition pilots sexing each other up. Unwillingly, he pointed this out.
"C'mon, Joe, it's not propaganda for us, it's propaganda for them. Why'd they show it to us? We'd know the pilots were coerced. And anyway, they know we don't think any the less of someone for it."
That seemed weird, though. Didn't the League show their people glorious victory screens of Coalie kites and battleships being destroyed? "I don't see how they could use us fucking for propaganda, though, really."
Chris sighed noisily. "Listen, Joe. They were recording when we arrived, so they have plenty of screens of us in our uniforms. Then they show us in here naked, oh so carefully not showing the parts where they took our clothes away and kept us here for who knows how long and then gave us an ultimatum. They want to prove to their own people that we're all sick perverts, so they show the screens of guys fucking like bunnies to make sure everyone down there thinks we all deserve to be fried."
That wasn't so bad, Joey thought. He hadn't been happy at the thought that his flight mates would see him fucking Lance. Joey had nothing against gay guys, of course he hadn't, Lance was one of the best friends he had in the world, but as far as Joey was concerned, it was the ladies who did it for him.
"And you know what?" Chris said, as though he'd discovered a great new argument for why they had to die instead of having sex. "Don't we have an obligation not to give them any more propaganda material? Isn't that, what's it called, giving aid and comfort to the enemy?"
"Chris, I cannot believe you!" Joey exploded. "What about a prisoner's first duty is to escape?"
"I just don't think we've considered it enough," Chris said, stubborn as always.
"Look, we had the briefings. We knew this situation could come up, when we were caught. I just don't see what your problem is."
"Oh, because you screw guys all the time!"
"Okay, no, but—how hard can it be?"
"Depends if it gets hard at all," Chris muttered.
Joey stifled the urge to strangle him, and appealed to Lance. "Lance, tell me you get it! You'll do it, right? I mean, you like guys, you've done this stuff before. Loads of times. It's not a problem, right?"
Lance looked at him very strangely, and there was a silence that grew almost uncomfortable before he seemed to snap out of whatever was possessing him—who could tell, with Lance?—and nodded. "Okay. With you. Just you."
Joey didn't see what difference it made, but since Chris was being weird, it was best that he and Lance just got on with it. The sooner they did, the sooner everyone would get out of here.
"We're gonna need some lube," said Lance, practically. "Any idea when we might be due our next meal?"
"Soon, I hope." Joey wasn't exactly starving—there were some protocols, after all, so they had been fed, just not very much. "But what does that have to do with it?"
"The scrape. Best we can do." Lance's face was carefully neutral, and he refused to look at either of them.
"Couldn't we just... use spit?" Joey suggested. When they got back home, he could order up a proper meal. Piping hot protoveg lasagne. His mouth was watering just thinking of it.
"No."
"But—"
"I said, no. We're not doing this with just spit."
Joey knew better than to argue when Lance used that tone of voice, so he sat down, and sighed. The scrape, with its vaguely meaty taste, was the best part of their meals. Certainly the bread it was spread on wasn't up to much. "I guess we have to wait for mealtime," he said.
Joey wasn't exactly surprised when the hole in the wall opened after what felt like no more than half an hour, to reveal their tray of rations. Obviously they were being observed, and if the Leggies wanted them making fresh porny propaganda, they'd be ready to facilitate. Nothing so helpful as a tube of something, of course. He sighed, and handed his bread over to Lance, who gathered the scrape on a finger, and made an unappetising little heap of it on the edge of one plate. There wasn't much, but he'd done a thorough job of getting it off the bread. Morosely, Joey ate the flavourless white slices and drank half his share of the water. He'd kill for a beer.
"So," he said, cautiously.
"Oh, for—can't you let him finish digesting first?"
"You want to do this? That's fine by me," Joey said, and of course Chris coiled himself down into an angry little pile of naked pilot and sat down by the white, white wall. At least he was shutting up. "So," he said again, looking helplessly at Lance. "Um..."
"Okay. I'm not exactly relaxed and ready to go, here, so you're going to have to lube me up. Grease your finger and put it in. Slowly. I'll tell you when I'm ready for more."
It all sounded very clinical to Joey, and not at all like he usually had sex. Joey was all about the having fun. He might not see the same girl two nights in a row—there were always hotties lining up to spread for the top pilots, their contribution to the war effort, or something—but he always made sure his girl had a good time while she was with him. And really, why should Lance be so different?
He hauled Lance to his feet and put his hands somewhat awkwardly on Lance's hips. Lance was a good height, kissing him wouldn't be—kissing him wasn't that different from kissing a girl, except for the stubble. They hadn't been allowed shavers or depilatories. Lance's lips were soft, a little bit chapped, but he opened up readily enough and really, this was going to be easy after all. Joey's hands drifted down, over Lance's full, firm butt cheeks, and squeezed a little. Nice, very nice. Smooth as silk, just like a girl's except maybe a bit more muscly. Joey steered his mouth sideways to Lance's neck so he could kiss his way down and maybe use his teeth a little. Girls mostly liked that. Lance seemed to like it too, his breath wasn't nearly so steady now. Joey was getting into this. His cock was filling nicely, bumping against Lance's thighs and pubes and whoa, that was Lance's hand closing round his cock, Lance's hand pumping him slowly up to fully erect, this was going better than Joey had ever expected.
"You wanna pass the scrape?" he suggested. Lance did so without comment, and lowered himself into a crawl position. He'd aligned himself so he was facing away from Chris, Joey noticed, away but not completely the opposite direction, as if he to make it clear he wasn't taking any notice of Chris at all. Joey approved of this—he wasn't used to performing with an audience, and Chris's hostility to the whole proceeding was a bit off-putting.
Back to the task at hand. Really, Lance looked fine like that, with his knees spread and that beautiful ass tilted up as he rested on his forearms. Joey always liked this position anyway, but he supposed he might have to not thrust so hard this time. He wasn't quite sure how it would work out, but if it was *his* ass... he greased a forefinger with care, and rather nervously traced around Lance's puckered hole.
"Just take it slow," Lance advised, "and you won't hurt me."
Okay. Okay. Fingertip pressing in, there. It was snug, very snug, and this was just his fingertip, Joey thought, pressing in as far as the first knuckle, then easing back. How much lube was Lance going to need? Because there wasn't a lot of scrape, and Joey wasn't flattering himself but his cock was a whole lot bigger than a finger, and—
Lance made an impatient noise, so Joey pushed his finger warily a little further inside, watching in fascination as it slid into Lance's body. It must feel weird, having something inside like that. "Uh, that okay?" he asked.
"It's fine, Joey. Bit more lube, please. " So Joey worked more lube in and around Lance's asshole, and actually, it felt kinda good, pushing two fingers (Lance's idea) in, feeling how that tight entrance accommodated the extra width. Maybe it wasn't going to be so difficult to fuck Lance after all. Joey's cock didn't seem to think so, but it had thought some pretty stupid things before now, so that was no indication, really.
Lance was making more noises, and he seemed a lot more relaxed, so Joey drew back to smear the rest of the scrape over his cock, and, holding his shaft firmly, positioned it against Lance's hole, and pushed with determination. Oh man, that was tight, that was so fucking tight, that felt amazing. He pushed steadily, holding Lance's hips, watching as his cock sank deeper. Balls deep. Fucking amazing. He drew back slowly, not quite all the way, and pushed in again. Lance moaned and wriggled his butt backwards, which felt fine, and Joey found himself telling Lance all the stuff he usually told girls, how good they looked, how sexy they were. Lance looked really good. Joey hoped this felt as good for Lance as it felt for the girls Joey usually fucked. It sounded like it did.
In fact, self-control was going to be a problem real soon now. Joey's hips speeded up.
"Joey, Joey, touch me, please, I can't—"
Dimly, Joey understood what Lance wanted, but he wasn't sure that he could—he held Lance's hips firmly in place, drove hard, and came with a growl.
Breathing very hard, Joey eased back a little. Beneath him, Lance was still tense, and that settled it. Nobody ever fucked Joey Fatone and didn't come. He put his arms round Lance's waist and pulled him backwards until Lance was leaning against his chest, then ran one hand down along Lance's body until he found his cock, and began to pump it firmly. Lance's "Oh, oh! Joey! Oh!" was very satisfying, and then he went quite still, and Joey had hot wet slithery stuff all over his hand. Should have done this first, he thought, plenty of lube now. He nuzzled Lance's neck, then slid carefully out and away.
It was too much to hope that the meagre bathroom facilities would appear now that he needed to wash, and they didn't. But there was something better—an opening like the mealtime hatch appeared in the wall, and there were their flight suits, folded up neatly, although Joey very soon discovered that they hadn't been washed. What the hell, neither had he, except in decontam. Also, his underwear was missing, which was a pain, because it would chafe. And—
"There's only two suits," he said, puzzled. His own, and Lance's. Lance looked stricken.
"What did you expect?" said Chris.
"But we did what they said! This has to be a mistake." He didn't want to think, couldn't bear to think that they'd been out-and-out lying to him all along. That he'd fucked Lance for no reason—even if it had been surprisingly good.
"Yeah, we did," said Lance. "Chris didn't."
"Well, then," said Joey, relieved, because this might be over-scrupulous of the sodding Leggies but at least it was logical. "Chris, you have to. You know."
"I don't."
"Don't start, just don't!" Joey was getting scared now, really scared, because their jailers were obviously watching, the suits had appeared right away. "They could come and take you away any moment now, they could execute you just like they said. Chris, don't be insane, man."
I can't, I—" Chris was still hunched on the floor. "Oh, shit. Okay. Yeah. Do it." He began to uncurl onto all fours.
Joey was startled, and a bit embarrassed. "I, uh, not right away, I can't. I mean. I only just."
"There's no more scrape." Lance's voice was stark and emotionless. "You'll have to fuck me."
"I—no! I mean, I can't. I don't want to."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, get over yourself."
Chris straightened, and stood up. "I can't," he said furiously, and Joey could see what he meant. Okay, really not into fucking guys, there.
Lance strode across and planted himself in front of Chris. "I get it," he said through clenched teeth. "You'd rather die. Tough." He dropped to his knees, took a firm grasp of Chris's hips, and drew Chris's flaccid cock into his mouth. Chris yelped and cast a frantic look at Joey, but Joey frankly thought Lance was doing the best he could in the circumstances, and Chris had better start co-operating if he didn't want to fry. He drew his flight suit up and started on the fastenings. Perhaps if Chris didn't have an audience he'd—and anyway, Joey didn't want to watch.
Except Joey couldn't help but watch, snatching fascinated glimpses as the stiffening length of Chris's erection slipped out between Lance's lips, and Lance's mouth worked at it, and his hand came around to grasp what he couldn't take in. Chris was staring down wide-eyed, he looked horrified, he looked like he wanted to shove Lance away and run, but there was no escape from this white prison unless the Leggies let them go. Luckily it seemed Chris's cock wasn't as reluctant as the rest of him. Joey felt faintly envious. It looked like Lance knew exactly what he was doing. Kneeling there with Chris's cock in his mouth, looking up at Chris's face like he could figure out exactly what worked best from the helpless look in Chris's eyes.
Joey paid attention to his fastenings. But he heard the "Please!" and Chris's whimpers and the little grunt from Lance, and when he looked up, they were done, Lance wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, and Chris leaning against the white wall and trying to breathe normally.
"Okay!" Joey said, determinedly cheerful. "Here, Lance, get your flight suit on." But even as he handed it over, the wall opposite Chris split apart, and five League guards stood there, machine-like in their grey uniforms, with those hideous full-face visors hiding any trace of humanity. "You can't!" he said, without thinking. "He did what you wanted!" They couldn't take Chris now, it wasn't fair, it wasn't right—
The two outer guards in the front row stiffened and thudded to the floor, then the centre one crumpled and collapsed. Joey's jaw dropped as the back two guards lowered their nerve guns and flicked up their visors.
"JC! Justin! How—" He'd never been so glad, or so astonished, to see his wingmates in his life.
"Explanations later," Justin said, grinning like a lunatic. "Let's get you guys out of here first."
JC was already kneeling over one of the Leggie guards and pulling off his helmet. "Chris, Lance, get these uniforms on, quick. We fried the guard screening your room, but we don't know when the shift replacement is due."
A few minutes of frantic action, and the guards were stripped naked. All three of them, because it seemed like a good idea to leave them piled together in an orgiastic heap with their faces hidden. Joey shoved the spare grey uniform into the wall opening, it wasn't exactly out of sight there, but maybe it wouldn't be so obvious to the all-seeing cameras if it was folded where his and Lance's buff uniforms had been. Lance had wrapped his own flight suit round himself underneath the oversized grey uniform. They weren't going to leave it behind.
"Right," said JC, practically. "Let's get out of here." They formed a square with Joey in the centre, and marched out. And it really was that easy—they just marched through the corridors all the way to the flight deck and on to a stout, stubby vessel, some kind of minesweeper, Joey thought. Justin took the pilot's chair—he could fly anything—and gave out all the passwords that were required of him. There must have been some ace networking going on with the League resistance to get them in and out so cleanly.
And they were going home.
That's part one. More tomorrow.
The story only got to an end yesterday, and hasn't been beta'd, so if anything seems out of whack or unclear please let me know. Does the conversational style work for you, etc. Also, I'd be very interested in discussing it, so if anything occurs to you, today or tomorrow or Wednesday, let's get to it!