"Hors d'oeuvre, sir?"

The gentle voice from behind me caught my attention, and I turned my head to take in the server, holding up a plate with various treats on display. Shit, Lance, I thought. For the hundredth time that night I fought the urge to crack up; I had teased Lance enough when he hired a valet for the party, but I hadn't even known about the caterers. If I still wasn't sure I liked the idea of him turning my house into the locale for his latest shindig, this was close to clinching it. I mean, I supported his need to be surrounded by the beautiful people -- even if I didn't understand it -- but he could do it at his own damn house next time.

I eyed the paté, I think it was, distastefully, cocking an eyebrow as though I was afraid it might move. "Um, actually," I started, reaching up to take a piece, "I'll take one, thanks." Grinning disarmingly at the server, I grabbed it and a napkin and cradled it gently in my hands as I wrapped it up carefully. I put it in the breast pocket of my shirt and made my way across the room to demand what it was all about from the host. I'd left Lance in the back of the living room, chatting on the couch with one of the Sister, Sister twins -- Tamara? Whatever. I could see that by now he'd moved on from that, and was animatedly gesturing to Lisa Kudrow about something, glass of Long Island in his free hand. I managed to catch his eye a few feet away, and he disengaged himself from the conversation to meet me halfway.

"Hey, Joe," he greeted me with a congenial buddy handshake, eyes bright with excitement. "Lisa just told me she'd try and get one of us a slot on the show. I mean," he shrugged and took a healthy swig from his drink. "You know I'd love to do it, but I thought maybe you'd be interested, so I told her she could call either of us. You'd do Friends, right?"

I was sort of flattered that he'd thought to extend the option to me, since I knew he'd wanted to make TV guest appearances since forever. I was more of a movie person, really; if I was gonna do anything on TV without the others I really wanted it to be something improv, like Whose Line Is It, Anyway? or something. "I dunno," I said truthfully. "If she offered it to me, I'd take it, I guess." I caught his eyes drifting, and he opened his mouth -- to tell me he'd catch up with me later and that he was gonna go talk to so-and-so, I knew -- and I suddenly remembered what I'd come over for in the first place.

"Hey," I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He nodded, taking another swig. "Yeah, sure," he replied, obviously intending to talk right where we stood.

I squeezed his shoulder gently. "Privately," I clarified. "Bathroom, maybe?"

He raised his eyebrows in realization and allowed me to guide him to the stairs, my hand on the small of his back, and we climbed the stairs together, heading for the second-floor bathroom. We figured most people wouldn't be so bold as to head for the bedroom area, so the hall was predictably quiet. Inside, he set down his drink and waited as I turned on the fan, watching me curiously. "What's up?" he teased. "Feel neglected?" And he waggled his eyebrows. And grinned fiendishly. And damned if I didn't want to forget about the conversation and just make out a little instead when he did that.

"Actually," I began nonchalantly, reaching into my pocket and giving a small sigh of relief when I found the hors d'oeuvre still intact, "I wanted to ask you about this." Presenting the treat, I unwrapped it with a flourish and waved it beneath his nose, watching his eyes follow the movement of my hand. "Like, what the hell is it?"

"Um..." he stammered. "It's, um... fish and... somethin'... I don't know," he admitted with a slight laugh. "It was recommended, so I just went with the caterers on it. Why? What about it? People don't like it?" he asked innocently, laughing when I rolled my eyes. "Joey, come on; let it go. I'm the one paying for all this. People like that kind of stuff, I just supply it."

"No, you like this kind of stuff, admit it," I accused him jokingly, and he shook his head emphatically.

"I haven't even eaten it," he assured me. He gestured to the paté in my hand. "Go ahead and try it. Tell me what it tastes like."

I eyed him skeptically, but bit into it anyway, forcing my face into a mask of neutrality as I chewed. It was shit. Holy shit, but it was bad. If the Hollywood people liked this stuff, I would be glad to never be among their ranks. I nodded thoughtfully as I tried to work up enough spit to wash the taste out of my mouth. "It's pretty good," I told him when he cocked his head expectantly at me. "Want the rest?" I suggested, offering him the remainder of the cracker and paste, and he took it from me hopefully.

"Okay; thanks," he replied, popping it into his mouth. I tucked in my chin and waited for the payoff, because I knew he wouldn't hide his disgust from me. It started with the widening of his eyes as he lifted his fingers to his lips, chewing slowly. Then he squinted and huffed a little. "Okay, you fucking suck," he laughed, attempting to swallow down the rest of the stuff with his hand still over his mouth, as if he was trying to keep himself from spitting it out.

I kept a straight face and shrugged. "Well, maybe if you tried out the crap you waste your money on beforehand, we wouldn't have to have this conversation, hmmm?" I asked pointedly, folding my arms across my chest.

"But if I had, you wouldn't have had a chance to corner me before everybody left, right?" Lance countered, raising an eyebrow at me and folding his own arms.

"So... what, you're sayin' you planned this?" I asked, amused.

Lance nodded slowly, frowning as he pretended to consider it. "You know, maybe," he started. "Maybe I hired the caterers to make the paté shitty so you could feed me a bad hors d'oeuvre and we could be alone in the bathroom." He hopped up on the counter and pulled me closer to him by the pockets on my jeans, and giving me his sneakily coy smile, he leaned forward, tilting his head up to kiss me. I braced my hands against either side of the counter and leaned in just enough to meet him before he fell off the edge. It was only a peck that turned into two, then three pecks, our eyes half-closed out of habit, and when it was over I stepped closer, into the fence Lance had made for me with his spread legs.

Reaching over to turn off the fan, I listened for voices in the hall and was dismayed to hear some; if people had begun to filter upstairs, it was only a matter of time before they wanted to use the bathroom, too. I flicked the switch back on and stared at the door as I rubbed my hands along the insides of Lance's thighs, daring someone to come by and knock. Mentally I was calculating how much time we might have for various activities; a quick neck and grope, maybe a blow job, maybe a really quick fuck. I unconsciously applied more pressure with every stroke up and down Lance's legs, and his own hands were fluttering about my arms and upper body in that way he had of trying to be everywhere at once. "Joe?" he prodded softly, and squeezed in slightly with his knees.

Fuck the mental calculations; I'd take whatever I could get in whatever time we had. I dove in, crushing his mouth with my own, finding his lips already parted as my tongue danced against his. His hands gripped at my shoulders, and I reached behind him to pull his ass partway off the counter, pressing him to me. I thrust against him smoothly as we kissed, felt one hand move up to the back of my head, felt him hook his ankles behind me, felt his growing hardness match my own.

One minute? I wasn't sure at all, I knew, reaching down between our bodies to stroke him through his khakis, fumbling left-handed with the zipper and the button of his fly. "Somebody's gonna want in here," I mumbled, tearing my mouth away from his and leaving a moist trail along his cheek, his jawline. He shuddered against me as I squeezed him in hand, licking a spot on his neck. "We don't have long."

"I know... I know," was the breathlessly whispered reply, and I'd been so caught up in his taste and the feel of Lance in my hands I'd been numb to the fact that he was undressing me as well, until I felt his cool fingers encircle my erection, eliciting a growl from me as I thrust into his hand. I wanted to be inside him so bad I wanted it yesterday. I wondered if we could do it and be finished in thirty seconds or less.

And then I didn't give it a second thought, tugging on the waistband of his pants and whispering "take 'em off, take 'em off" until he understood and hopped up enough to let me pull them and my own jeans down. Once the khakis were balled around his ankles, I pulled roughly on his knees and he leaned back against the mirror while I squeezed some lotion onto my hand and slicked it over myself. I didn't think I'd entered him so quickly in a long while, and a brief flicker of discomfort passed over his face before he could give me his "it's okay; I'm fine" look.

I felt mildy guilty for a moment, but then he pulled me in for another bruising kiss, and I was already working to make him come, stroking him as quickly as I could, clumsy as it was. I thrust into him deeply each time, hoping that his whimpers and my groans weren't carrying into the hall with the acoustics and everything. The knock at the door made us both freeze, Lance's back rigid against the hand I was using to support it. Fuck. Fuck. The deer-caught-in-headlights look was predictably on his face as I tore my mouth from his and snarled, "Come back in five minutes -- there's a bathroom downstairs!"

"Sorry!" the male voice responded through the door, and this time I picked up the pace and made a concerted effort to keep it down. I swallowed the mewling sound Lance made when he came, and he the moan from me. Even though we nuzzled for just a second when it was over, I have to say we recovered and cleaned up in record time. We figured if we left the bathroom together, we could still convince people we were only talking together. I mean, who would suspect; except that Lance has always been bad at hiding his post-sex glow. I supposed he could always say it was the booze.

Still, after I'd cornered him with a kiss before letting him out ahead of me, I couldn't help but think; if we could do this every time, I wouldn't mind Lance throwing parties at my house more often.

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