Turn You On: Playing the Spoons
"Close your eyes, girl. Look inside, girl.
Let the sound take you away."
They were leaving Memphis behind, they were moving toward New Orleans in a sleepy popstar caravan, in the rain. Wednesday, and Joey was making himself a roast beef sandwich, singing softly under his breath. Lance was at his computer, reading something for one of his business classes, absently tapping out a rhythm with his pen, against his notebook. His cellphone rang, he answered it without looking away from the screen.
He said, "Lance." then he said, "hey," and "nothing, homework." glanced up at Joey. "eating." Joey smiled around a bite of roast beef and monterey jack, Lance smiled back. He said into the phone, fondly, "yeah."
Then, "yeah, sure"-- he held the phone out to Joey. "Justin wants to talk to you."
Joey swallowed his bite, walked to Lance and took the phone. "Yo," he said. Justin laughed, a little, deepy.
"What're you wearing?"
Joey set his sandwich down. "Same thing I was wearing at Denny's." Lance cocked an eyebrow, Joey grinned. Justin said,
"you sure you didn't change into anything?" He giggled. "French maid uniform?"
Joey laughed. "I'm sure, man."
"loser."
"Yeah. What's up?"
"fuck-nothin, man. Chris is hogging the Playstation. And C's, I dunno, staring at the wall."
"Yeah, Lance is being boring, too. Where did we find these guys?" Lance flipped Joey off, smirking at his computer screen. "oh, no, wait-- he's bein' spahcy."
Justin laughed. "yeah? What's _he_ wearin'?"
"French maid uniform."
"Lance always does his homework in a French maid uniform."
"kinky bitch."
"yeah."
They both laughed, and then Justin laughed a little more, differently, and said,
"what's he really wearing."
Joey sat forward on the couch and chuckled, a little. "uh--"
"Did he change after Denny's? Is he still wearing the brown t-shirt? and the grey pants?"
Lance had gone back to his work, was scowling, the thin chocolate-colored cotton of his shirt pulled against his shoulder where his arm was bent, he was biting lightly at his thumbnail. Joey said,
"yeah."
"there's a hole in the shirt. In the back, low, down. You can see his back if you're walkin' behind him. He'll stop wearing it when he finds out."
"I can't see it. He's," sitting down, Joey was going to say, but stopped himself. "I can't see it."
"Tell him to stand up."
"I'm not--"
"Tell him to stand up and turn around and put his hands on the window and bend over for you, so you can see the hole in the back of his shirt." Joey didn't say anything, and after a minute, Justin said, "you wanna hear what Chris and JC are doing?"
"You told me what they're doing."
"what _else_ they're doing."
"What else are they doing?"
"Rimming."
Joey switched the phone to his other ear, pulled a quilt from the other side of the couch across his lap. Said, "and playing Playstation?"
Justin laughed. "yeah. Turns out, that's the only way to get through level eight."
Joey grinned, shook his head. "That's weird, man."
"yeah, forget about the Playstation. Chris got bored with that. He was just watching TV and JC came over--"
"He was staring at the wall."
"yeah, and-- he was jacking off, while he was staring at the wall."
"JC's always been real turned on by walls."
Lance glanced up at that, and Joey, who'd still been staring at the place where his back curved into the seat, started. He shrugged apologetically at Lance's questioning look. Lance shook his head.
"Y'all are weird."
Joey laughed. Justin said, "what did he say?"
"He says we're weird."
The grin was evident in Justin voice, he said, "He's got no idea."
"Nope."
Justin was quiet for a little moment, and then he said, "let me talk to him."
Joey's eyes widened. "what. Are you gonna--"
"lemme talk to him."
"I don't, he's working."
Lance was looking at him still, at his wide eyes, and his expression was curious again. He held his hand out for the phone. As Joey pulled it slowly from his ear, he heard Justin chuckle and say, "so am I."
Lance grinned warily into the phone, said, "what's up, cat?"
He sat back in his seat, glanced at his computer screen. "yeah, it's not so bad. Ethics in Advertising." Pause. "Yeah." A laugh. "It's pretty funny, actually, 'cause I'm remembering when we had that meeting about . . the hackey sacks . . . and, I." His mouth quirked. "What are you doing?" Then he said, "Justin--"
He looked up at Joey, his expression dangled between amusement and disbelief in a way that-- on one hand, you're ready to get the joke; on the other, you're on a South-bound bus with your best buddy, listening to Justin Timberlake jack off.
Joey assumed he was jacking off--but in the last three weeks since they'd started this whole thing, Joey'd learned that Justin's libido was indelibly linked to his perverse sense of humor, so he ended up finding really weird things sexy. He could be playing the spoons, saying over the phone into Lance's flushed ear, "Joey wants to fuck you," and it would be the same thing. And it would be true.
Lance was looking up at Joey, with that expression, and he said, "What is he doing?"
Joey shrugged, because, what the hell. "Justin wants to fuck you." He could hear Justin's muted, murmuring voice just a little bit, and Lance was standing now, his free hand kept finding different surfaces to lite on. His eyes widened. He pulled the phone away, looked like he was going to shut it off-- and Joey said, "Don't."
He still had the quilt thrown across his lap, he knew how he must have looked, but he said, "Don't."
Lance-- put the phone back to his ear, sat down in the chair again, looking at Joey. After a minute, he leaned into the seat back, allowed his knees to fall loosely apart. He was looking at Joey, Joey was looking at him. Every once in a while, he would murmur quietly, "uh huh," or "i don't know."
His head drooped slightly like it was heavy, but his eyes stayed on Joey-- and Joey's eyes fell across Lance's hand holding the phone to his ear, the hollow dip of his slim chest, lifting, settling, the brown t-shirt where it gathered at his waist. Lance was hard, and beneath the quilt, Joey was cast iron and concrete.
Eventually, or one minute, Lance said "okay" and closed the pone, set it on the table next to Joey's sandwich. Joey took a deep breath, felt like he'd forgotten to.
Lance said, "Are Chris and JC really fucking?"
Joey laughed. "I don't know."
Lance's mouth quirked. "Are you and Justin?"
Joey hesitated, then nodded-- a muscle jumped in Lance's thigh.
"Since when?"
"Detroit."
An eyebrow lifted. "That's not long."
It hadn't been, twenty days at most, but Justin spent all that time speaking in low, fevered tones about fantasies he'd had forever. The oldest one, the one where they were all resistance fighters and had sex with each other in their secret compound-- was six years old.
"It's been a long time for him."
Lance cocked his head, and after a moment, he asked, "what's it like?"
"He likes to talk about us. Chris and JC. and you and me."
Lance shifted in his seat, pulled a knee up, exhaled as his thigh brushed against his lap. "You and me?"
"Yeah. That while him and C and Chris are on their bus, we're over here." Joey's eyes flickered over to the hallway, towards the bunks.
"what does he say?"
Lance's eyes were slitted and they were _still_ large and opalescent. His mouth was relaxed but closed. He had one leg up, in the seat, his hand tossed around it-- the other hand curled on the desk. Joey thought back to five days ago, in the Hilton, in Justin's bathroom, arms resting on the sink while Justin murmured into his ear, into his neck, how fucking hot Lance was and what kind of noises he made while he fucked Joey just like Justin was doing now, and obviously Chris thought it was hot, too, and that's why he was in the hotel room across the hall, jerking off, thinking about it.
Joey pushed the quilt away from him, held a hand out, and said, "Hey."
Lance came forward, his mouth open, he put a knee on either side of Joey's waist-- he shoved the cellphone into Joey's hand. "Call him." Joey hit the three on his speed-dial, and Lance's hot mouth moved across his neck, lapping beneath his shirt collar. Joey thought that there was no, no way he was going to be able to handle this.
He was sure there wasn't when Justin answered the phone, "dirty girl."
Joey gasped, "Justin."
He heard cloth moving, rustling, could picture Justin sitting up alertly in his bunk. Or on the couch, with Chris and JC still rimming on the floor. Justin said, "Is he blowing you?"
Lance's mouth moved up to Joey's, then, and Lance hummed into it, made the whole thing noisy, sucked on his tongue, and Joey thought, "yeah." Lance took the phone from him and said, "hey," breathlessly into it. then, "mm-hmm." He tugged at Joey's t-shirt, laughed throatily. "French maid uniform."
Joey leaned forward so Lance could drag the shirt over his head, it pushed him hard against Lance's own hard, Lance moaned into the phone. Joey heard Justin say something, and then Lance looked up into his face, at him, and said, "Joey's gonna fuck me, Justin."
He scooted back on Joey's lap to work at his zipper, one-handed, but Joey moved him out of the way and made short work of it. Lance pulled his hand back and spat in it. He lifted up to unbutton, unzip, push his own pants down-- and the phone was gone, suddenly, and Joey didn't know or care, because Lance was pumping a fist on him, stopping, spitting again, moving, his other hand was behind him and his brow was drawn together. Joey thought, "jesus, holy--" and said it out loud.
Lance moved forward and captured Joey's mouth again, their mouths ground together wetly, fitted togehter. and then Lance shifted again, and his hand was there again-- the phone was somewhere-- and Joey felt himself sink upward into something, something. Joey didn't know, shook his head helplessly. something burning, swallowing, Lance. Joey said, "Lance." Lance made a long, low noise.
they sat that way for a moment, breathing, felt themselves move out of Arkansas and into Louisiana, and then Lance pushed down and Joey pushed up, and then they were fucking, just like Justin said. And Justin was right. It was totally hot.
Justin hadn't mentioned, though, hadn't known-- one of Lance's hands pinning Joey's shoulder solidly against the back of the couch, the other hand moving across his chest, the baring of his teeth with every shove of Joey beneath him. and Lance had always moaned with Justin's voice, when Joey was this close-- but it wasn't,
it was a rumble, a tight grinding rumble of deep Lance voice, deep Lance body, on every thrust. Lance's head fell back and to the right, his eyes screwed shut, and his voice shot high, suddenly, like Joey'd never heard it, and he came; and Joey remembered that he had no way of handling this, and he came, too.
Lance's head rested at the crook of Joey's neck, minutes passed. They both panted softly.
Joey became aware of something pressing into his thigh, from the underside. One hand came up to cup the back of Lance's head, and the other fished the thing, the phone, from the knotted quilt. He picked it up, held it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"You guys dropped the phone. Fuck you guys." but Justin didn't sound angry, he sounded lax and post-coital, like Joey did.
"Sorry, man. Phone; sex with Lance. Priorities." Lance's relaxed chuckle was a low rumble into Joey's collarbone.
"dude, totally. Fuckin' A."
"mm," Joey said in agreement.
"Now we just gotta work on Chris and C."
"Mm," said Joey. "Hey, I gotta go." Lance had stood, was pulling on his arm, pulling him off of the couch, toward the hallway. "Shower."
"oh, sure. 'Cause you're on the bus of fun."
"Yeah," said Joey, distractedly, as he followed Lance, Lance pulling the brown t-shirt off over his head, glancing over his shoulder.
Justin said, "mm."
.
me