Green Shirt

by Velma and aMuse

 

Lance slips the keycard card into the slot and pulls it out slowly. He trudges through the door mumbling for the hundredth time about the space reference and tosses the card onto the small table just inside the door. He kicks off his shoes as he moves further into the room. When he finally takes a moment to get over himself, he realizes it's way too quiet. "Chris?"

Chris is out on the balcony, has been since the show finished, a half-full glass of whiskey on the table next to him. He's half asleep when he hears Lance come in, calling out softly, "Out here, man."

Lance tugs at the buttons on his cuffs as he pulls the glass door open all the way and steps outside. "What're you doing out here?"

"'s nice out," Chris shrugs, looking over at Lance, his lips quirking into a smile. "Nice shirt."

"You like it?" Lance almost smirks as he glances at his down sleeve. "My boyfriend picked it out, said it was good for my skin tone."

"Gotta say," Chris takes a drink, rolling the whiskey in his mouth, "your boyfriend has exceptional taste." Softer then, "You looked really good."

"You shoulda been there."

"Nah," Chris closes his eyes, leaning back against the chair. "I was free to really watch in the safety of the hotel room."

"Do we need to replace anything?" Lance smiles and teasingly toes Chris's socked foot.

"I behaved." Chris opens half an eyelid, watching Lance.

"Hmmm. Then apparently this shirt isn't as attractive as he thought," Lance flicks open a button and starts to tug it over his head, "Come inside."

Chris's voice is soft, and he doesn't move. "Leave it on."

Lance peeks out of the neck at Chris, "Pardon?"

"Leave the shirt on, Lance."

Lance lets the shirts fall back over his shoulders. He lifts the glass of whiskey from Chris's hand and takes a swallow before he sets it back on the table. "Are you coming?"

Chris smiles lazily, pushing out of the chair and running his hand along Lance's ass as he moves past him. "Really like the shirt," he says, heading inside.

Lance contemplates the last shot of whiskey but then follows Chris inside, pulling the sliding door closed behind him. He watches Chris, his eyes darkening with interest.

Chris pulls his own shirt off, his back to Lance as he stretches slowly, then turning and crooking a finger at Lance. "You just gonna stand there, or what?"

"You got to watch me all night, I might wanna watch you now."

Chris quirks an eyebrow, unbuckling his belt slowly and playing with the button on his jeans. "This what you want?"

Lance leans heavily against the wall behind him and nods, "That's just fine."

Chris smiles as he finishes unbuttoning his jeans, closing his eyes as he slides a hand down the front. "Yeah. I'd say."

Lance swallows then bites down on his lower lip. His eyes squint, and he peers at Chris wantonly. "You don't mind if I," he motions towards his own jeans.

Chris looks over, nodding. "Pants are fine." His own are falling down, off his hips and pooling around his legs. His boxers are shortly behind. He's grinning like the Cheshire cat as he backs toward the bed.

Lance eyes light as he keeps his gaze fixed on Chris and starts in on his own pants. They slide off easily and he kicks them towards the side. He makes his way slowly to where Chris is standing, waiting, and eyes never faltering, he runs a hand down the center of Chris's chest.

Chris's breath hitches as he watches Lance's hand move. He scoots back, away from Lance's hand, and backs up onto the bed, resting against the headboard. His hand follows the path Lance's made moments earlier, drifting lower until he's circling his cock, stroking himself lightly, his eyes never leaving Lance's face.

Lance stays back, feet firmly planted on the floor. Silky material billows over him, tickling at his skin, increasing his already overloaded senses. And still he watches Chris with hungry eyes.

"See anything you like?" Chris arches up into his fist, slightly breathless, his face starting to flush.

"You'd think after all this time you'd already know the answer to that," Lance grins but crawls up onto the bed and over Chris's body. "It's not nice to tease, you know."

Chris's hands move from his own body to Lance's, running up the silk of his shirt into the silk of his hair, tugging to bring Lance close. "You love it when I tease," he murmurs, licking playfully at Lance's mouth. "Makes you all hot and stuff."

"Doesn't take teasing to make me all hot," Lance draws back, his ass to Chris's groin but the majority of his weight settled in his own hands. "I wore this shirt for you. I think you should thank me good and proper now."

Chris runs his palms over Lance's chest, rubbing his nipples through the fabric, smirking as Lance shudders above him. "You know how I feel about you and green." His hands are under the shirt now, thumbs circling Lance's waist as he moves up against him. "I dunno. You sure you're up for this? All that hard work you did tonight. I'd understand if you just wanted to go to bed and dream sweet dreams of piano playing men who sing Norah Jones to you."

"You noticed that, huh?" It's an effort, but Lance keeps a straight face.

"I notice everything," Chris says, sliding his hand along Lance's cock.

Lance's breath hitches momentarily and he shuts his eyes in an attempt at some semblance of composure. "Then I'm sure," he meets Chris's gaze again, "that you'll notice I'm up for this."

"Yeah," Chris grins, a flash of teeth, "yeah, you are. So what are we going to do with this?" He gives Lance a gentle squeeze at the base before his hand slides up again, thumb brushing over the head.

Lance shudders again, "Keep that up and it'll be a moot point."

"Okay, then." Another wolfish grin as Chris pulls back, crossing his arms behind his head, watching Lance with amused eyes. "I'll just lay here," he rocks up against Lance, "and be a good boy."

Lance sits back on his haunches, his weight shifting. He squirms slightly till he feels Chris's cock settle against the ridge of his ass. "You could be a better boy and tell me you're prepared to get this show on the road."

Chris closes his eyes, thrusting against Lance, shuddering at the friction. "Oh, I don't know. This seems to be working just fine for me." He opens his eyes and casts a challenging look at Lance.

"Fucker," Lance growls. "Who'd have ever guessed you'd be more patient about sex than just about anything else. We got something within reach or am I using my imagination here?"

"Always be prepared, isn't that what they taught you in Boy Scouts?" Chris laughs, reaching over to the bedside table and grabbing lube and a condom. "Green really is a good color for you."

"I didn't make a terribly good Boy Scout apparently," Lance mutters as he tears right into the foil wrapper. He pulls the condom out, getting quiet as he slides down Chris's legs. He unfolds the latex over Chris's cock before lifting the lube into his hand. He's generous with the cool liquid as he works it over Chris, then careful, as he wipes the excess onto the bedspread beside them, not to get any on the shirt. "Maybe one day you'll have to teach me all the tricks of that virtue," he bites down on his lip, his eyes gleaming as he slowly lowers himself onto Chris.

"Jesus," Chris half-moans, lifting up his legs, arching to meet Lance. His hands smooth along Lance's thighs, brushing sensitive skin before settling, keeping Lance steady, anchored, as they move together, silk teasing his fingers as Lance leans forward. Lance's eyes are as vivid as the shirt, pinning him to the bed, and he has to close his own to keep from ending before it's even started.

"Nope, just Lance," Lance huffs, smiling, the constancy of their rhythm settling in his belly and pacing him. He lifts the lube from beside them and holds it out to Chris, "Help me out a little."

Chris takes the tube, squeezes a little on his fingers and rolls them together, then slides a slick hand down Lance's cock, following his lead, his other hand moving up and under the shirt to tug at a nipple. "You're so hot, Bass. You should see yourself like this."

"I like my view just fine," Lance murmurs, his focus settling on Chris's mouth. He shifts only slightly, taking a different angle, then quickening the pace. He thrusts against Chris's hand and it's fluid, like the myriad of times before this. He braces himself when he feels it slamming through him, fingers curling over Chris's biceps. He jerks several times before seizing all together, muscles tightening with the intensity, his voice pushing through his ragged breathing.

Lance may like his view well enough, but in Chris's mind there's nothing better than that sight, Lance's head tossed back, neck stretched long and lean in front of him. Chris's hands curl, dig into Lance's hips , the two of them locked together as he holds him in place, driving into him one last time before he comes with a sharp cry. He still holds Lance there, hips rocking softly as he soothes over the reddened skin from where he's gripped him so hard.

Lance looks down, bleary-eyed and sated, a small smile playing across his lips, "I'm sending you the dry cleaning bill." He lifts the soiled shirt over his head. He runs the silk over Chris's wet belly before he tosses it to the floor and disentangles himself.

Chris grins, tossing away the condom and tugging Lance on top of him, kissing him long and slow. "That means you like it enough to wear it again, huh?"

"Well, you know," Lance grins slyly, "you like it well enough for me to wear it again and who I am to argue with that?"

"I've got the smartest boyfriend in the whole world."

Lance relaxes further into the warmth of Chris's body, nuzzling lovingly against Chris's cheek, "Or extremely indulgent."

"I still can't believe you actually wore it," Chris smiles against Lance's skin.

"I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say?"

Chris twines his fingers with Lance, kissing his shoulder. "It wasn't that bad. I mean you, you could wear burlap and it'd look good."

"That's only because you’re biased," Lance's voice quiets. "'Sides, burlap is awful scratchy."

Chris is quiet for few minutes, his hands gentle, tracing light patterns along Lance's back. It's like there's something he wants to say, but he doesn't, just holds Lance, keeping him close.

Lance nestles further into the curve of Chris's neck. He runs two sure fingers across Chris's forehead and over his eyebrows, "Close your eyes and sleep. We'll call for room service in the morning."

Chris's hand drifts up Lance's back, settling in his hair. He turns his head, tucking it against Lance's and presses his lips to Lance's temple, murmuring, "Love you," soft so Lance doesn't have to acknowledge it. His eyes close dutifully, and he lets himself relax.

"Still," Lance whispers, fingering cheek, jaw, and neck before finally resting possessively at Chris's nape.

Chris murmurs something in acknowledgement, curling in on Lance as he lets himself sleep.



-fin-

 

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