Bouquet - Part Three

[pensnest]

Pink
boldness

Now that Adam had decided to go along with his subconscious, he didn't see any merit in waiting around. The bold approach, he thought, that was the one to go with. So he dialed, and when the phone was answered with a cheerful Hello, he said, "I think we should have sex."

There was a pause. You know, Lance Bass said, eventually, it wouldn't hurt you to make a phone call like a normal human being once in a while. Hi, this is Adam Lambert, how are you, is this a good time, that kind of thing. And then I could say something normal too, like, Hi Adam, good to hear from you, let me take you off speakerphone.

There was a distinct, unquestionably feminine giggle.

"Ah. Am I on speakerphone?"

Not any more.

"Er. Oops?" said Adam, trying not to laugh. "Sorry."

Don't worry, it's only Lisa. Who is leaving the room RIGHT NOW. There was a faint "Bye Adam!" then a very pointed sigh from Bass. So, what can I do for you?

"Like I said, I think we should have sex."

Seriously, I have actual work to do, could you get to the point, please?

"Sex. S - E - X. You, me."

There was a bewildered laugh. But, I—why? I mean...

"Because," said Adam, carefully, "even though you are totally not my type—"

You're not my type either, just so you know.

Strange how that stung, a little, even though he didn't care if he was Lance Bass's type or not. "So what is your type, then?"

Let's see. My last boyfriend was a fighter pilot turned model. He had the most magnificent thighs ever.

"Wasn't he also a psycho?" Adam said, unwisely.

Apparently you know all about my relationship with Reichen. I suppose Cheeks is also a psycho, and that's why you're not dating any more.

Adam's breath caught in his throat, and he opened his mouth to say something blistering, but before he could, Bass interrupted.

I'm sorry. That wasn't—but, you know. Reichen was, he helped me a lot when I came out. I won't ever forget that. And just because other people see it one way, doesn't mean that's how it was. You must know that.

Adam paused. He had been out of line, after all, and if Bass had a hell of a return, well, he was probably entitled to be pissed. He took a deep breath. "Okay, bad line of conversation. Not helpful. So you're not looking for me and I'm not looking for you. But I think you're... I think you're stuck in my head. So maybe we should, how shall I put this, suck it and see?"

Oh, Lord. A pause. All right. Okay. Sex it is. Where and when do you want me?

That was unexpectedly easy. "Uh. I'm in New York right now, doing some TV appearances. Then I go out to LA day after tomorrow for some more."

Okay then, said Lance Bass, altogether too cheerfully, when you get to LA and have some free time in your schedule, give me a call. I'll see if I can fit you in.

He hung up on me, Adam thought, incredulously. And he wasn't taking me seriously at all.

But Adam was going to be free Sunday, after the early morning thing, and most of Monday. So hah, Lance Bass, you'd better get ready, because Adam Lambert is coming.

At which point the double meanings got too much for him, and he collapsed onto the couch and laughed until his stomach hurt.

* * *

So Adam Lambert was really on his way here, to Lance's house, ostensibly for sex... Lance couldn't actually believe that. This was obviously some weird mind-games thing Adam was playing, for reasons Lance couldn't begin to guess. Or else there was some new gay-friendly TV show doing the Punk'd thing that Lance hadn't heard of, except that Lance not knowing about such a thing was actually even less likely than Adam Lambert wanting to have sex with him. He thought it was. He was pretty sure.

He'd find out soon enough what was really going on, as the gate had just called to say they'd let him through. And he was on his own, no attendant camera crew, apparently.

So maybe... No, he must try to convince himself there was something else, something completely different, behind this. Because he was getting awful butterflies. If Adam was, could he possibly be serious? Was there any chance that he'd actually been thinking about Lance, too?

And there was a car crunching on the graveled drive. Lance liked gravel. Nobody could sneak up on him.

Calm, keep calm. Cool, calm and collected, Lance told himself as he went to the front door.

The dogs, excited, followed Lance to the door, and greeted the visitor with their usual idiotic rapture. Adam scored quite a few points by bending down to greet them back, until Lance managed to quell the riot and persuade the dogs back into the house.

"So, hi," said Adam Lambert, taking off his sunglasses.

"How are you doing?" Lance greeted him automatically. "Come on inside." He ushered the dogs through and out into the back yard.

Inside, Adam looked around, apparently not much impressed. When he got enough money for a place like this, Lance thought, Adam would probably hire a very much more adventurous decorator. Instead of a tasteful (and okay, arguably dull) vestibule in various shades of beige, he'd have purple suede walls and snakeskin tiles and mirrors everywhere. Or something.

"I'm sorry, I'm expecting a call any minute, but, uh. Can I get you anything?"

Adam produced a somewhat predatory smile. "No, thanks, I'm good."

I'll just bet you are, Lance thought. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable."

"Mmm." Adam looked around the room, in which there were pale, comfortable couches and easy chairs and giant cushions, and waggled his head. "I'm thinking we really need a bed for this. I hope you changed the sheets."

"Oh, God, no. I have people to do that for me," said Lance.

Adam laughed, and Lance was yet again annoyed with himself because he liked that laugh, the way it seemed to come from deep inside, the way it sounded so spontaneous and. Sexy. Damn it.

His cellphone chirped out Wendy's ringtone, and he blessed her immaculate timing. "Sorry—this won't take long."

"I'll just go upstairs, then. Your bedroom is—?"

"Left at the top of the stairs, far end. Hi, Wendy, how's it going?" Adam sauntered out of the room, swinging his leather jacket over his shoulder. His jeans were very tight. "I—sorry, could you repeat that? I was distracted for a moment there."

Wendy, bless her, was as crisp and efficient as always, and they ripped through her list in no time. Just as well, as Lance's concentration was good for maybe another thirty seconds. "Okay, babe," he said. "Have a good flight." She was leaving at ass o'clock tomorrow, hence the conversation now.

So. Time to find out.

Lance went upstairs.

Adam had not bothered to close the drapes, so the mid-afternoon sunshine was blazing in. There was a black leather jacket slung casually over the chair by the door. Firmly suppressing a smile, Lance put it onto a hanger and hung it behind the door. Everything else he left on the chair.

He looked at the long, pale streak of self-confidence lying naked on his bed. "Nope, not my type at all," he lied cheerfully, and grinned to himself as he undressed.

* * *

Lupin
voraciousness; admiration

Adam, supine on the plum-colored comforter, stroked his cock lazily as he watched Lance Bass take off his clothes. The body underneath was the color of pale toast pretty much everywhere. He was a lot more solid than Adam's usual partners—but there might be something to be said for abs that actually rippled, and those thighs were definitely giving Adam some ideas. With the sunlight on him, Bass was—yeah, okay, he could admit it, so long as it didn't have to be out loud. Bass was fucking gorgeous.

Lance Bass slid carefully onto the left side of the bed and lay down on his side. "So, Adam Lambert," he said, and he was using a register that ought to be illegal, "what do you like to do in bed?"

That was easy. Adam tilted his head sideways and let loose his most shameless grin. "Everything." Come on, then, Bass. Show me what you got.

"Mmm. Ambitious." Lance Bass had amazing yellow-green eyes, unblinking, like a cat's. "Me, I'm just a sweet old-fashioned boy. How 'bout we stick to the basics, okay?" He leaned forward and brushed the feather-lightest of kisses over Adam's lips. Adam was about to reply when he shifted closer, and their mouths met again, tentatively. Like baby dykes learning to kiss, Adam thought, and it made him smile, and Bass's tongue darted into the corner of his smile, flickered there, and licked carefully along his lower lip to the other corner, then traced back across the top. Adam allowed himself to be kissed like this, restrained and delicate, strange. Good, but strange. Exploration. Negotiation, even. There was a hand on his face, touching his right cheek almost tenderly.

Screw that. Adam rolled onto his side so that their bodies aligned, not-quite-touching, and opened his mouth purposefully for more.

Somehow they were plastered together, and kissing hard and deep. Adam loved kissing, loved making out, all the preliminaries. Maybe he shouldn't have taken his clothes off, because undressing someone and being undressed was so much fun, sliding hands up underneath and inside was so much more illicit and naughty than having free access. Still, he'd enjoyed watching Lance Bass take off his own clothes, neatly, no wasted moves, no showiness, that was oddly appealing.

Besides, free access was in no way a bad deal. Adam's hand curled over Bass's smooth, bare hip, then glided slowly up over waist and ribs to neck, and there was a deep, needy sound, and Adam thought, aha! and set about exploring the offered throat. It stretched out for him as Lance broke the kiss and angled his face into the pillow. Adam mouthed down along the proud tendon from ear to shoulder, and nipped with calculation. "You were holding out on us," he murmured. "You make really excellent sex noises." There was an impatient snort, and more stretching of the neck. "Given," Adam's teeth closed again, "the right incentive." Really excellent noises.

There was another shift, and Adam was on his back, with cat's eyes staring down at him. "You too, I hope," Lance Bass said, and kissed him again, tonguing deep and slick, then closing his teeth on Adam's bottom lip. That hand was back touching his face, and Adam knew he was in trouble when fingers found his ear. He twitched helplessly. Lance took immediate advantage. Adam couldn't keep still, his ear was zinging, and when Lance's other hand started tracing over his other ear, Adam had to make it stop before he melted into a whimpering puddle. He grabbed Lance's wrists and rolled them over so that he was back on top and straddling those sturdy hips.

By unspoken consent they were both ignoring their cocks right now, although like this, balls to balls, it was hellish tempting just to slide down and suck him in. But Adam was going to do this the hard way, the slow way, he was going to find out exactly what made Lance Bass moan and beg for more. With one hand pinning Lance's shoulder down, he planed the other across Lance's chest and circled his fingernails round one tiny nipple.

After a moment, he realized that Lance was looking at him curiously, like a cat presented with an uninteresting toy. "This doesn't do anything for you, does it," he said, ruefully.

"Not so much," said Lance, "but I'm guessing—" and he copied Adam's technique, the bastard, and Adam tensed and groaned, because his nipples were oh so very, very receptive, and when Lance curled upwards—hours of abdominal exercises, presumably, good to see those muscles were actually useful—and applied his tongue, wide and wet, and then blew in a little circle, oh, he was so lost. Adam sat back on Lance's thighs and clutched at Lance's shoulders and proved that yes, he also made excellent sex noises.

Lance's hands slid slowly down Adam's sides, and Adam cringed just a little bit, suddenly self-conscious. So he pushed, until Lance was on his back again and Adam was kneeling above him, and Adam spread his fingers and slid lightly over Lance's chest and flat belly—which quivered and retreated from his touch. "I didn't think you could squeak so high," Adam said, and if he was a little bit smug, well, why not? But he saved the information for later, because his hands had found the sweet silken skin at the top of Lance's thighs, and Lance was doing his best to spread his legs and not wriggle, and Adam loved that so much, when a guy was trying to restrain himself and not totally managing it. So he shifted, one knee between Lance's, and when Lance opened wide for him he teased mercilessly, all around and never quite touching.

"You know, if you need a map," said Lance.

"Map?" Adam said, innocently. "Is there something you want me to do?"

"I want you to fuck me," said Lance. "Stuff's in the nightstand, top drawer. But lots of prep first."

Adam leaned over, and found a collection of neatly organized condoms and lube. No toys, though, because Lance was a sweet old-fashioned boy. "You nervous? Has it been a while?"

"I just like having fingers in my ass."

Adam grinned and uncapped the lube. And Lance really, really did like having fingers in his ass, which was good, because Adam loved it, fucking a guy helpless on his fingers and watching him writhe. Lance looked so fuckable, toffee-gold and smooth, laid out with one ankle on Adam's shoulder, the other leg stretched wide, and his hands clenched at his sides with the effort not to jerk himself off. He made such exquisite noises, low whining in his throat, deep, rich moaning, and when Adam swirled two saliva-wet fingers over the head of his cock, an amazing growly-purr that Adam was pretty damn sure meant he was good and ready.

"How do you want to be fucked?" he asked.

Lance brought his leg down and sat up, efficiently ripped open the chosen condom and rolled it down onto Adam's cock. "Give it your best shot," he said, leant in for a quick and dirty kiss, then flipped himself over onto all fours and hauled a pillow beneath him. Adam gave himself a moment to appreciate this new view and stroked his thumb down from the tattoo between Lance's shoulder blades along the groove of his spine to the cleft of his gorgeous ass, then positioned his cock and pushed forward. Best shot, hah! Like he ever did anything less.

He loved this, sleek muscled flanks under his palms, tight, tight grip around his cock. Watching it slide inside, never get tired of seeing that, never. The soundtrack of beautiful noises, the yesyesyes and the please and the fuck, fuck! And Lance did something, he rippled, fuck, if he was going to do that, fuck, again, yes, Adam was going to have to—have to let loose, have to reach his hand around and hold Lance's cock, strip it hard in time as he thrust, the two of them working for it, pushing at each other, fighting for it, hard, hard, finding their rhythm and going all out until Lance shouted and shook, and Adam followed him right over the edge.

Legs quivering, Adam pulled out, and Lance muttered and rolled sideways and dumped the beslimed pillow on the floor. Adam got rid of the condom into that handy little trash basket under the nightstand. He flopped flat onto the bed and breathed. Fuck.

"Okay, then," Lance said after a few moments.

"Uh huh," Adam replied. "One of my better ideas, I think." So much for bad sex. But hell, who wanted bad sex anyway?

"I did not think you were serious. I thought I was being Punk'd, or something. You sure there isn't a hidden camera in here?"

Adam laughed aloud at that. "Oh, man, that would be something. Think we could break YouTube?"

"Probably." Lance paused. "But then I'd have to have you killed, which would be kind of a waste."

Adam turned his head and met the yellow-green cat's eyes, wide and innocent and apparently fine with death threats. Hmm. "Nah. Don't worry, I'm not that kind of exhibitionist." But he thought about his impossible video for Flower, and how very, very perfect the images would have been, and sighed.

"How do you feel?"

Adam considered. He'd just had objectively fantastic sex with someone he wasn't sure if he actually liked. How did he feel? Satiated? Confused? "Hungry," he said, firmly.

Lance snickered. "I guess you earned dinner," he said, swinging himself off the bed. "Gimme a few minutes to clean up."

So Adam lay there while Lance was in the bathroom, and thought about whether he might, maybe, have been mistaken about having a type after all. Lance emerged and said, "All yours. Use the green towels," and started rummaging around in the dresser, so Adam went into the palatial bathroom, white and green and mirrors, with a pile of fresh dark green towels on a rack and a couple of rumpled white ones on a rail. He was bewildered by the array of settings for the shower, but the shower head was the size of a serving platter, and he sang merrily as it emptied over him like a rainstorm. Afterwards he failed to locate a hairdryer, though there had to be one here somewhere. The hair would have to do whatever it wanted, then. He put his jeans and T-shirt back on and found his way to the kitchen, there to be offered a hot roast beef sandwich so mighty he could hardly get his teeth around it. There was a bowl of strawberries on the table.

"Drink?" said Lance. "Vodka?"

Adam smiled around his sandwich and nodded enthusiastically. He received a very large glass of red stuff which turned out to be vodka with cranberry, lime and Triple Sec, about five times the volume of any Cosmopolitan he'd ever been offered in his life before.

"Looks like you and me got something in common after all," he said.

"Hmm?"

Adam waved his glass. "This is good."

"You want another sandwich?"

Adam considered, and decided not. The one he had was like an entire three-course dinner already, and he could probably do something provocative with strawberries for dessert. "So," he said, about two courses in, "when you agreed to do Flower, was this what you had in mind?"

"This, like, specifically, you showing up and getting naked with me, or this, generally, with the internet notoriety and the vaguely horrified interviewers, stuff like that?"

"You have horrified interviewers, too?"

"Let's just say, the cool gays have some trouble getting their heads around it." Lance bit into his own sandwich, which meant Adam had time to think what to say to that.

"I haven't noticed anyone having trouble with it. Okay, no, I guess that's not exactly true. Carson Daly was a bit, you know, trying to wipe his hands clean, and that time I went on Regis and Kelly, they were all, We can't play you this song because it's not suitable for national broadcast, and all wide-eyed and deliciously outraged and trying to find ways to get around everything the song was about. So prissy. I thought it was hilarious."

"Yeah," said Lance. "You get the straight people being horrified. Didn't you get any of the, like, you did something with Lance Bass, oh my God you traitor from the gays? 'Cause, you know. You got the stamp of approval, I didn't."

"I guess that's what happens when you come out in Rolling Stone magazine instead of People," Adam said, and wished he hadn't because it felt like totally the wrong thing.

"Yeah, well, it helps when you get a choice," said Lance. "You want a refill?" He had made, it turned out, a pitcher of the red cocktail. "I wasn't exactly happy with the way it was done, but hey. Turned out to be the best thing I ever did, even if I did say some stupid stuff in the interview. Didn't really know what I was doing, I guess. But it'd be good to have a statute of limitations on saying the wrong thing." He seemed more resigned than resentful, and Adam felt a twinge of sympathy.

"Like, what wrong thing?"

"Oh, you know, straight-acting gays, that kinda stuff."

Adam winced. He remembered that, he remembered talking about Lance's coming-out interview with friends, and the level of bitchery had been extreme even for that particular bunch. "It must have been tough," he said cautiously.

"It was a very... strange year," Lance said. He looked very young, Adam thought, with those amazing eyes so wide and serious. "What with having to tell my family, and everything. And then when it happened, things went so amazingly well, better than I ever thought they would. I guess it all worked out. I'm much happier now than I ever was when I was trying to hide it all the time."

"Why did you hide? I mean, c'mon, you were in a boyband. People must have been speculating."

"Sure, but. You know, image, and all that. I thought it would destroy the group if people knew. It's funny, though, I think I have more fans now than I did then."

"Yeah, isn't it weird? So many girls who just love us. The only thing I could say that'd make my female fans more enthusiastic would be, I'm thinking of trying pussy."

"Do not do that. You'll be killed in the stampede."

Adam laughed. "I wouldn't dare," he said. "But you didn't answer my question—about Flower. You were the one who thought of it. Why was that? What made you pick that song?"

"Oh, God, I don't know," Lance said, his gaze straying around the kitchen. "Probably it just came into my head."

"Your friend Joey seemed to think you must have had a good reason," Adam said, watching Lance closely.

"Joey likes to think I'm really smart." Lance said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "Truth is, I say all kinds of crazy stuff. I don't do crazy things, at least, not unless I thought about them and decided it was worth it. But I say things off the top of my head all the time. I guess I was just thinking about it being an outrageous number."

"Huh. Okay, then." Adam had a niggling feeling there was more to it than that, but he clearly wasn't going to get any more out of Lance.

"I really liked the take you had on it all, the aggressive thing, it came across so well. I'm really glad I did it."

"Me, too. I mean, it helped a lot with my album, but even without that, I just love the way it turned out. I had this really cool idea for a video, with us being as different as we could be, you know?"

"Eyeliner and platform shoes versus jeans and T-shirt?"

"Yeah, that kind of thing." Adam had finished his sandwich. Deciding not to spill out the details of his impossible video treatment, he took his plate across to the sink. "Us not being each other's type, but, you know."

"Yeah." Lance followed Adam and deposited his own plate. "Although, about that 'not my type' thing. It's possible I wasn't... entirely truthful about that."

"Really?"

"Mmm," said Lance, dropped to his knees, and had Adam's jeans open and Adam's cock in his mouth before Adam could move.

Fuck! he thought, taken completely by surprise.

Not that he had any objections.

Adam's cock was soft, but with that hot wet suction all around it, that was changing real, real fast. Lance's tongue slid back and forth along the underside, his face was buried in Adam's groin, hands pressing Adam's hips against the cupboard, he was going full out, zero to sixty in about three seconds, Adam could hardly catch his breath. Every nerve seemed to be centered in his cock, like taut ropes of sensation stretching back right through his body, it felt like his balls were being sucked dry, Lance's throat was working round him now, it felt like his bones were being sucked out, fuck, fuck that was intense, he couldn't think. He clung to the countertop to keep himself upright as his orgasm rushed right through him and out, leaving him giddy.

"You want to go back upstairs?" Lance said, his deep voice a little hoarse.

"Huh?"

"Upstairs. Bed? Lie down? More sex?"

Adam looked down at him. Did he mean, like, move? "Brains. Out. Sucked," he explained.

Lance stood, and tidied Adam's junk more or less back into his jeans. "Come on then, tiger," he said, took Adam by the hand and led him back upstairs, where he undressed him carefully and ushered him under the comforter.

"I, uh. Think I'm gonna..." Adam felt a vague need to apologize for something, but sleep claimed him before he could figure out what it was.

* * *

Sitting up against his pillows with Variety propped open on his knees, Lance was glad to have the chance to think while Adam was fast asleep beside him. Otherwise, this was a bit... overwhelming.

The sex had been even better than he'd imagined. He'd tried to be cool about it, but...

And it was almost strange how comfortable it had been talking with Adam afterwards. Lance had expected a bit of awkwardness. After all, it had been the oddest approach he'd ever experienced, a phone call out of the blue from someone he'd honestly thought had no interest in him. And who had, until recently, been dating someone else anyway. Which had been a shame, because Adam was about as gorgeous as a man could be, just the right blend of beauty and masculinity. And now, here he was in Lance's bed. Lance looked down at the sleeping face, admired his strong jaw and the pretty fringe of his closed eyelashes, and felt distinctly hopeful.

He should probably try not to think about what happened next. Lance pushed his glasses firmly onto his nose and did his best to pay attention to the words in front of him.

A few minutes later he felt the man beside him begin to stir, and put his magazine aside.

"Er. Hi," said Adam, blinking. "This is mortifying. What time is it?"

"Don't worry, the night is still young. It's not much after ten. And I'm taking it as a compliment."

Adam narrowed his just-opened eyes. "You did not wear me out. I mean."

"And the fact that you just totally crashed would not be, you know, some kind of evidence?"

He had a perfect mouth for pouting. Lance leaned down and took the jutting lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it gently until Adam laughed against his mouth and opened up. Lance's glasses poked against the side of his nose: Adam reached up, removed them and dropped them on top of the nightstand.

"Why, Mr Bass. You're beautiful without your glasses."

Lance rolled his eyes, but was more than happy to be pulled down into the bed and into a full-on embrace. Adam was obviously determined to compensate for his embarrassing lapse into sleep, because the kissing was spectacular, hot and wet and demanding. There was no more of the careful exploratory politeness from earlier. Their hands went everywhere, their legs twined and rubbed, their erections slid against one another's bellies. Adam's hips were miraculous, the way he moved was pure sex, Lance just hooked himself onto him and hung on.

He traced around Adam's ear with his tongue, and bit his earlobe. "You going to bottom for me now?"

There was an, "Mmm, sure," in response, but Lance wasn't totally convinced by it, and he'd expected to be. It wasn't the instant, eager assent he'd been hoping for, and he couldn't tell if it was just Adam not being thoroughly awake yet, or if 'everything' maybe didn't cover as much as he'd assumed it did, or more simply if he just wasn't in the mood. They didn't know each other well enough.

No problem. If Adam wasn't happy about bottoming, he'd try something else. "If I was topping you, I'd want to start off by licking you all over," he murmured into Adam's ear. He loved it when a guy had sensitive ears. So convenient. "Find out if you have any imperfections." There was a grunt at that. "Maybe your elbows are just ugly. Maybe the backs of your knees are grotesque. Maybe the soles of your feet—"

"Do not even think of licking the soles of my feet. Ew!"

"Hmm, would that be a ticklish spot then? Good to know." Lance grinned and tightened his teeth on the earlobe within range, and there was a corresponding wriggle beneath him that nearly blew his resolve right out of the bed.

He settled them more firmly on their sides. "I'd turn you onto your front," he promised, "and lick my way down your backbone. Such a long way. I like a guy who's tall. So much more to play with." His free hand tricked its way down Adam's back, two fingers, little strokes, like a cat's tongue. "All the way down. Then I'd spread your ass open and keep licking. I'd make you get your knees under you, bring your ass up for me, and I'd keep licking." He brought his hand up to his mouth for a moment. "You'll like that, won't you, you'll love it, my tongue in your asshole, you know how good that can be, don't you, you love it." His fingers were there, spit-slickened, playing over Adam's opening and little teasing thrusts just inside.

"You like rimming?" Adam gasped, muffled against Lance's face.

"Ohhh yeah. Love it, the feel of it, the taste of it. I like having a man come apart on me, like making him spread himself open for me, you can do that, can't you, hold yourself open so I can fuck you with my tongue." His fingers moved deeper, and Adam whimpered and bucked. "Only I won't let you come while I'm rimming you. I don't want to fuck you like that, want to see you, want to watch your face as you come. I'll turn you onto your back," he pushed, gently. Adam lay back on the bed, eyes closed, mouth open, and his hips wouldn't keep still.

Lance leaned over for condom and lube. Adam's eyes flew open, startled, as the condom rolled down on his cock and Lance slicked him with an efficient hand. "I thought—"

"I'm going to take my time, I'm gonna make it last as long as I want," Lance told him, leaning down almost nose to nose. "Just a little way in, just that first inch, that's so good, isn't it, that first inch, the way it feels when you open for me, your ass is so tight around my cock, just rocking there so I can feel you gripping me tight." He rocked, tiny movements, on the tip of Adam's erection, taking him just inside. "As long as I want," he said, "and you know it's good, you know it'll be better if you let me do what I want with you, you know I'll make it good for you. But you wont' be able to help yourself, you'll want more, you'll want my cock inside you all the way and you'll beg me for it."

Adam made an incoherent noise, so Lance kissed him, thrusting his tongue hard and deep, and keeping the penetration shallow in his ass.

"And when I don't want to wait any longer, I'll slide right into you." He slid down so slowly his thighs could feel the strain, until his ass was pressed against Adam's pelvis, and then lifted himself up again to that last inch. "How good that feels, don't it, deep inside you, and I'll keep it slow, so slow, so you can feel everything, the way my cock fills you up, then slides oh so slow out of you again." He resettled himself carefully, shifting weight, and spread his right hand over Adam's chest.

"Fuck, fuck," Adam groaned, "please, I want, please."

Lance quickened the rhythm of his rise and fall, just a little, and squeezed, and rolled Adam's nipple between his finger and thumb, and when Adam's hips rolled upwards, he rose too, keeping control, keeping the penetration exactly where he wanted it. He pushed back down. "You feel it, don't you, feel my cock dragging over that sweet spot inside you, you know it's going to get better every time, and you want more, you want it harder and faster but you know it's going to be so good if you can keep still and take it the way I want to give it to you." He began to move steadily, long, deep strokes, still talking, telling Adam how good it was going to be when Lance fucked him, still tormenting his nipples, and watching his face for every flicker of pleasure.

The tension was almost painful. Lance wanted to slam down on Adam's cock, wanted to give in and hurtle them both towards their climax, but he wouldn't. He kept his relentless rhythm, slow enough to feel everything, every cleaved inch, and Adam's hands grabbing his thighs and clutching at his arms. He could see the orgasm building in the tension of the beautiful pale body under him, the way Adam stiffened and arched, and Lance bent to his offered chest and pinched a nipple, hard, and Adam screamed and came, pushing up so hard Lance's knees lifted off the bed. As soon as he was down, Lance's hands went to his own cock and within seconds he was coming too, grinding down onto the cock buried deep inside him as he ejaculated.

He was going to be sore in the morning, but hell. So, so worth it.

* * *

When Adam woke up, there was sunshine behind the drapes, and Lance Bass was snuggled against him with his head on Adam's shoulder and one arm flung across Adam's chest. It was nice. Really, if there was a better way to wake up than with a sexy guy curled up against him, Adam couldn't think what it was. Mmm, possibly a sexy guy giving him a blowjob.

Lance opened his yellow-green eyes. "Hey."

"Good morning."

"I suppose you want breakfast?"

"Oh, no hurry, unless you have somewhere to be?"

"No, it's cool."

"We could shower, first," Adam suggested. "I mean, you could hold orgies in your shower. It's amazing."

"You know what, I never had an orgy in the shower. Or anywhere else. Obviously I missed out."

"Really, never? You seem to have a nice-looking posse around, it never came up?"

"Amazingly, no."

"Mmm. Well, it's mostly hotter for the idea than the actual sex," Adam said. "More'n three people, and everybody stops using their imagination, it just turns into a by-the-numbers game of which combination didn't happen yet."

"Okay, I'll strike hold an orgy in the shower from my list."

"No, no, you should try it once. Everybody should."

"I'll... keep that in mind," said Lance, in a tone that meant, I'd rather stick a chainsaw up my ass.

"No, really," Adam said with all the earnestness he could muster, "it's good that you haven't. I mean, everyone should have some first times left to look forward to, right?"

"Uh huh. So what kind of firsts do you have left? Apart from women?"

"Oh. Huh. I'd have to think about that."

"You... actually might be a first for me," Lance said, sounding very tentative. "I'm not sure yet."

"Really? What kind of first?"

"I never had sex with any man I didn't have a, a relationship with."

"Really?" Adam sat up. "Seriously? No, that can't be. You must have so many guys coming on to you! Seriously, you never had a one-night stand?"

"I never did."

"But... wow. I mean, that's, wow. Are you sure you're gay?"

Lance looked at him pityingly. "Pretty sure, yeah. Couldn't you tell?"

"I thought it was in the rules. Rule twenty-seven, you will have a slutty phase, or something."

"Guess I didn't get the handbook."

"Is that the one where they wrote the gay agenda?"

"Probably," said Lance, swinging his feet out of the bed. "You ready for that shower now?"


Adam washed Lance's back for him. And his chest, and his arms, and his belly, thighs, calves, feet. Then he blew him, there under the deluge. Afterwards Lance jerked him off with hot, soapy fingers, and it was all good.

*

Lance looked a little stiff, moving around the kitchen for eggs and toast and coffee makings, and grumbling at the dogs as they pleaded for breakfast. When asked, he muttered about exercising his thighs, and said he'd be fine provided he didn't have to go horseback riding today, which he didn't.

"Have you ever been horseback riding?" Adam asked, expecting a negative. Foster came and sat beside him and rested his head on Adam's leg and permitted his silky ears to be fondled. Adam hoped he was not going to be rewarded with drool.

Lance handed him a mug of coffee and orange juice in a cut crystal tumbler. "Sure. Not for a while, but back home, when I was a kid, lots of times."

Adam couldn't imagine the kind of childhood that naturally involved lots of horseback riding. He had tenuous memories of ponies at somebody's birthday party, but that was all. "We're even more different than I thought," he said.

"You know, we've got more in common than you think," said Lance. "I mean, I've been photographed wearing eyeliner, and with a snake, and on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. Just not all at the same time." He paused to sip thoughtfully at his coffee, then added, "My snake was a lot bigger than yours."

"You—your—!" Adam leapt from his stool. In seconds he had Lance pinned and was tickling him ruthlessly, the dogs were wildly excited and trying to join in the fun, and Lance was shrieking and batting at him and begging him to stop.

"No, no! Uncle! Uncle! Don't—don't spill my—coffee! Mercy!"

Adam tickled just enough longer to make the point, then set Lance free, eyeing him very sternly. Lance was still flushed and giggling as he turned his attention to scrambling the eggs.

Breakfast, and a long kiss, and that was goodbye.

* * *

Then it was back to the publicity grind, and yeah, it was good that so many shows wanted Adam Lambert, it was great, but it was exhausting. And there were still final details to be sorted for the album, and he wasn't sure if his feet got to touch ground at all for several days. And the first single was out, and he seemed to hold his breath for ever, but it was up there in the chart, it did great, it was fantastic, and at last he could relax a bit, except that then there were decisions to be made about the tour, and it really felt like he'd never get a rest.

He did, though, take the laptop to bed, and googled for Lance Bass+snake before he collapsed into sleep.

He didn't find any snake pictures. But he found a lot of other stuff. Interviews he hadn't noticed when they'd happened, the old Rolling Stone covers, a picture of Lance wearing the world's most fabulous jeweled coat (and eyeliner!) and posing with Alan Cumming, both of which filled Adam with a vast and passionate envy, and a photoshoot of a younger Lance on the beach which was ridiculously beautiful and proof positive that Lance didn't have to have rippling abs to be fuckable.

It surprised him that he could not get Lance out of his head. He didn't always have the time or energy to go out at night, find an appealing boy to spend the night with, so his masturbation fantasies were getting more of a workout than usual. And he had a new one now. Sure, the old favorites would never lose their appeal—jerking off on stage with the whole audience screaming and applauding, or having four gorgeous guys work him over—but now, he found his hands drifting down to the replay of that last fuck with Lance, and he was Adam Lambert fucking Lance Bass, and he was Lance fucking Adam, and he was being fucked, Adam, Lance, it didn't matter, it was all unbelievably hot.

He found the snake picture, in the end, by emailing Katy. A few days later she sent him a picture which made him laugh and laugh. Okay, Lance Bass, gotta give you that one. Your snake is bigger than mine.

* * *

Tuberose
dangerous pleasure

The cheerfulness of the first few post-Adam days gradually faded into a twitchy discomfort. The delightful knowledge that they had had spectacular sex and were going to do it again turned into an uneasy conviction that he had been a fool. The confident expectation of a call turned into dread, dread of answering his phone to yet another caller who wasn't the one he wanted to hear from. As the days slipped by, Lance realized that he hadn't gotten what he'd thought he was getting, not at all. It had not been a beginning, it had been just another one night stand.

Lance remembered Piper, dazzled into Adam's bed and afterwards, holding his chin up just a little bit too high when anyone asked. He didn't think Adam really understood what a potent effect he had on people. Lance wasn't surprised it had taken Piper a while to get over Adam. It was going to take Lance a while. And he'd gone into it with his eyes wide open.

He worked damned hard to get that night out of his head.

Lance was completely taken by surprise when the invitation came through. Adam Lambert's album release party, November twenty-fourth. He'd tried not to be aware of the date.

He should go, he supposed. If he didn't, probably people would notice, what with Flower having gotten so much attention. And JC would be there, since he'd worked with Adam on a couple of songs. JC was not good at this kind of shindig, and would be grateful for backup. And Lisa would—

Lance's forehead met his desk. It hurt, but he deserved it. He was trying to find excuses to go. Pretending to himself that he needed to be there for JC's sake, or to avoid gossip, or whatever. Total crap. He was just trying to find reasons to see Adam again, and that was a route to nowhere.

Except.

If, if there was a chance, he had to take it.

He could tell himself over and over that he was insane, that if Adam had wanted more he could have called, any time; he could tell himself that he was fine now, and over it. He could face the reality he was stuck with. But he couldn't help hoping.

He'd have to go. And he didn't know how he felt about that. He didn't know how he'd feel about seeing Adam again. Or which would be more impossible to deal with, if Adam wanted to fuck him again, or if he didn't.

*

He still hadn't figured out how he felt about it when he arrived at the party, with Lisa practically jigging up and down with excitement on one side of him (she'd finagled an invite of her own, probably from the mysterious Sheilagh) and Wendy, who did not jig but was still pretty excited to meet Adam Lambert, on the other. The place was packed already, and though he could see Adam holding court, there was no way of getting near him. Lance was... okay with that. At least for now.

Someone he did see on the far side of the room was JC, looking hunted; someone else he spotted and wanted to talk to—as opposed to the crowd of familiar faces he didn't much care about—was accessible, so he smiled his way through the throng and greeted Kris Allen and his wife, who were both gratifyingly quick to tell him how impressed they'd been with Flower. Kris's album was out already, it hadn't had the same problems to get through that Adam had encountered, and Lance assured him with perfect truth that he liked it a lot.

"I guess I don't need to introduce you to JC," he said to Katy, who beamed at him and said they had met when he and Kris were working together.

"Is JC here?" Kris asked.

"He's over there, and I'm pretty sure he'd be glad of some company he actually wants to talk to," Lance said. So they fought their way through, and JC greeted them like they were the US Cavalry.


Lance was having a good time, after a while. There were inevitably plenty of people there he knew, and quite a few he actually wanted to talk to. At some point he'd have to go and congratulate Adam, he supposed, but there was no shortage of people lining up to talk to Adam, so for now he could table that and just have another vodka cocktail.

He stepped back, and bumped into someone behind him. Lance was about to turn and apologize when a very familiar voice spoke into his ear. "You know the one thing that could make this evening better than it is?" Adam murmured. "If it ends with you spread out naked and handcuffed to my bed. Think about that."

Lance found that he didn't want it to matter that Adam had said nothing else to him all evening. He didn't want it to matter that he still dreamed of something he wasn't going to get. Adam wanted him now. That could be enough.

Naked and handcuffed to my bed. Think about it, yeah. Like he could do anything else.

* * *

Adam had not been able to stop thinking about this, not since he walked into his hotel and saw the sturdy railings at head and foot of the bed, and thought, yay, handcuffs! and then thought, Lance Bass would look very good cuffed to that bed. And now, here Lance was, with that same guarded, cat-cool look in his eyes, luscious as ever in his jeans and dark grey T-shirt, the perfect end to a truly excellent day. Adam had him up against the bedroom door in no time, kissing him hard and sliding his hands across Lance's flat belly and inside his jeans. Off came the T-shirt, and Adam mouthed his way down Lance's neck, and there were those noises again, so fucking perfect. "Shoes, off, take them off, babe, want you naked," he instructed, and soon Lance was naked, and Adam pushed him down onto the dark blue sheets and pressed his arms into a wide V, and fastened the cuffs onto him, then spread his legs wide and cuffed those, too.

He paused, then, to admire. Lance, spread out and helpless, all for him. Breathing fast, his chest rising and falling, his belly taut, his cock swelling and shifting. Smiling, and maybe even a little bit smug, Adam took his time removing his own clothes, and settled an array of necessities on the bed next to Lance—condom and lube, of course, a smallish dildo, and his favorite vibrator.

"This okay?" he asked, and Lance nodded slowly, and licked his lips. "Good. Very good. Just look at you." He sat on the edge of the bed, and ran his hand over Lance's body. "All pretty, like that. Cuffs all right? Not hurting you?" Lance shook his head. "Good. Pain is not what we're going for, here. I'm going to take you so high, I'm going to find every button you have and press them all, I'm gonna make you come so hard you'll think you've died and gone to heaven."

Where to start, where to start? The arms, he thought, straddled Lance's chest and smoothed his hands along them both. He played with the fingers of Lance's left hand, tugging gently on each, then shifted across and took Lance's fingers into his mouth, suckled them one by one. That was working. Adam kissed his way back along Lance's arm, the tense muscles hard under his lips, and back to that vulnerable neck for some more nibbling.

Now to surprise him. A deep, wide-open kiss, and Adam groped for the lube, slicked up his hand and took a firm hold of Lance's cock. Slow, deliberate strokes. "If you want more," he said, "if you want harder, or faster, you have to ask." Lance said nothing. Good. Adam grinned. "Going to make a fight of it? That's good. I like that." He added a wicked twist, and had Lance gasping, then stopped and shifted position again. Crouching between Lance's legs, he applied mouth and tongue to Lance's balls, sucking, licking, working out what only had Lance moaning with pleasure and what brought him up off the bed.

"You ready for more?" He smiled down at his captive. "Ready for toys?"

Lance closed his eyes.

"Hey," said Adam, holding him by the chin. "Look at me. Don't hide. I want you to see everything I'm going to do to you. I want you to know exactly what's going to happen. Open your eyes."

Lance looked at him, cat's eyes, still unreadable. Adam wanted to see them pleading, awash with pleasure, he wanted them unveiled.

He reached for the vibrator, flicked it on, and rested it against Lance's hip, loved the way Lance's body tensed in anticipation, but when he looked up again, Lance's eyes were closed. "I won't give you what you want until you open your eyes. I want to see exactly how you feel."

Lance's eyes opened. Adam smiled, and moved the vibrator down the inside of Lance's thigh.

"Stop, stop. Let—get me out of this. Please!"

Lance sounded panicked, this wasn't the kind of pleading Adam wanted. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay."

"Let me up, Adam. Now."

"Sure, of course, don't—here." Worried, he fumbled with the locks at wrists and ankles. The instant Lance was free, he was off the bed and pulling on his clothes and shoes. "Wait, wait, Lance, what's wrong? Did I hurt you? Tell me, I can make it right—"

Lance was already dressed, though he hadn't bothered with the socks, which were still lying on the floor along with his boxer briefs. "No, you can't," he said. "And, Adam? Next time you want a booty call? Call someone else." And he was out the door, and gone.

"What? Wait, wait! Shit." Adam dressed frantically, fumbling with his clothes in desperate haste, damn these jeans, how was he supposed to get them fastened when he had such a hard-on, it took forever, and he tore along to the elevator but he knew as he ran that he'd taken too long, that Lance would be gone. He dashed into the lobby, heedless of security, ignoring the excited shrieks from a handful of women at the reception desk, and ran outside. "Lance Bass," he gasped to the doorman on duty, "did he leave?"

"Yes, Mr Lambert, just a few minutes ago. Is there something wrong?"

Fuck. "No, no, it's fine. I just—doesn't matter. Thank you." He went back to his room, and swore fiercely. What went wrong? What the hell happened? What had he done?

* * *

Yellow Roses; white chrysanthemums
friendship, jealousy, try to care; truth

"I thought you didn't even like Lance Bass. You said you were too different. I thought it was one of those high school football things," said Kris.

I—high school football? What?

"You know, when you're in high school the football games with schools from right across the county are just games, but when it's the other high school in town, or the high school from the town just upriver from your town, that's the one you have to win, that's the one where there's a real rivalry thing going on, the school you have most in common with is the one you just have to beat."

Okay, you lost me. Football?

It made perfect sense to Kris, that Adam and Lance had so much in common that a few minor differences would seem huge, but Adam didn't seem to get it at all. "You know, the way people fight more with the ones they're closest to. Like, um. Like fans. Like, your fans probably fight all the time about which is the best song on your album. People who aren't serious fans just aren't that worried."

You know, if you're trying to be sympathetic here, it's not working for me. I don't get what being a fan has to do with the way he walked out on me in the mid—uh. When we. You don't want to know about that.

"Never mind, forget it. Bad analogy. So, what, you like Lance Bass now?"

I wouldn't exactly put it like that. But he—we—something went wrong, and I don't even know what it was, and he won't take my calls.

"Um." This sounded strangely like a lovers' quarrel to Kris. Was that the reason for Adam's unusual reticence? "You could, um, try sending flowers, that's a traditional way to apologize, and you know where he works, right?"

Flowers to his office? I think he'd have me killed.

"Oh. Can you find out where he lives?"

I know where he lives, but it's a gated community, and they won't let me in. Anyway, I'm not sure flowers—oh, wait! I know someone who can get me in there. Kris, you're a genius.

"Uh, okay," Kris said, but the connection was already broken. "Honey," he called, "I think I owe you money."

* * *

"Just so long as you remember, you owe me big for this one," said JC, as his car was waved through. "I may just have to leave the country for a while. Lance is going to be so pissed at me."

"Not if I can sort things out," said Adam. Truth to tell, he was nervous about this. If Lance would listen to him, it should be okay, because it seemed like he'd pushed too far, too fast, and he was willing to admit to being stupid. So long as Lance would listen to him. "Is there anything, I mean, you've known him a lot longer than I have, what should I say?"

"Oh, man, do not pull me into this. Whatever it is."

"I already did," Adam pointed out.

"Yeah." JC sounded not at all sure he was doing the right thing. "Look. Lance... kept things secret for a long time. Partly he was scared, I guess, of what we'd say, partly because he wanted to protect us and he thought it was the right thing to do. If he doesn't want to tell you something, he won't tell you, but he might make it obvious—I mean, he brought his boyfriend to Challenge one year."

Was any of this was supposed to be useful advice? It sounded like JC rambling. Adam was on his own. And here they were, at Lance's house.

"Good luck, man," said JC, and Adam got out, clutching his bouquet, and went to the door. Flowers would be good, JC had said, he's from Mississippi. Adam didn't know what that meant, but he was willing to give it a try.

* * *

Part Four

Comments

[rikes]

Of *course* Lance's condoms would be well organized.

Kris and Katy are way too cute here. :)

[pensnest]

I like Kris and Adam so much as friends, it's fun to write them this way, and Katy is far too cute to be left out of things.