Wet and warm. Hot. The heated thickness of a questing tongue invaded his mouth, scraping against his teeth, tracing the ridges of the roof of his mouth. Spicy but sweet. Sour, too, like the mandarin sauce JC loved so much on his deep fried Chinese chicken. A curious taste, a captivating texture. Slick lips pressed repeatedly to his. The same feverish mouth sucked on his lower lip, lapping the saliva from beneath his own tongue, and swallowing the vibrations of his throat. A moist trail was forged across JC�s neck, below his ears, along his collar bone, as sloppy, half formed kisses and gentle licks and aggressive nips were bestowed upon his flushed skin. JC was panting in earnest now, gasping with each new sensation, each burning touch of tongue to flesh and strength to strength.

The corded muscles of the body in his arms felt sturdy, dangerously exciting, strangely powerful. JC reveled in the way those muscles stretched and tightened beneath his hands as his fingertips roamed across a broad expanse of bare back, occasionally dipping below the waistband of a pair of sweatpants, playing teasingly with the firm roundness he found there.

The rapidly quickening breaths of the man pinning JC to the wall -it *was* a wall he was backed up against, wasn�t it?- grated harshly on his ears as the heat from those exhalations curled along the saliva slickness coating the column of his neck. JC moaned loudly, then bit his lower lip so fiercely, he drew blood. A drop of red dribbled down his chin before he could catch it. An agile tongue lapped at the track of crimson, then plunged into the depths of JC�s mouth once again. The kiss smacked of the metallic tang of iron, making JC�s knees weaken, his balance lessen. The stiff throbbing in his groin intensified as a thigh pushed between his legs to nestle there, adding a sweet pressure to an already raging inferno of undiluted desire.

JC noticed, suddenly, that he wasn�t *seeing*, only feeling. The heat radiating from the person he was with warmed his own skin. The urgency between them was nearly tangible in its force, but JC could not see the unequivocal lust written plainly on the facial features of the one he was with, without opening his eyes. So he did. Then gasped again - this time, not from arousal, but from shock.

A pair of emeralds glimmered in the not quite darkness, the gemstones-for-eyes crackling with a green fire JC swore he could hear pounding through his head, his veins, his ribcage.

�Lance,� he whispered, and might have been surprised at the breathy quality of his voice, had not Lance�s hand been stroking the taut, well formed pectoral muscles of JC�s abdomen.

�Shh,� came the deeply toned admonishment, a bass rumbling that sent sparks flying across the surface of JC�s skin. �Don�t talk.�

JC could only nod, already distracted by Lance�s insistent kneading of his hardness. His hands clenched Lance�s shoulders so tightly, the knuckles turned white and JC thought maybe he could see blue-gray bruises forming like inky fingerprints in the funny half light of the anonymous hotel room.

*Where am I?* JC thought fleetingly, though it was quickly chased into oblivion by the feel of Lance�s mouth on his jutting hip bone. JC�s fingers scrambled frantically for purchase, nails ripping a bit on the textured veneer of the wall in his frenzied search for something -anything- to grip.

When Lance�s hot mouth engulfed him, an odd fusion of a groan and a cry tore from JC�s larynx.

JC awoke with a start and a single, powerful intake of air. He lay breathless, staring up at the plain white ceiling, aware only of the sanguine state of his body, the ruddiness that seemed to cover him from head to toe and the rapid-fire beat of his heart like archaic artillery. JC�s fingers twitched at his sides, rubbing into the rough cotton sheets covering the mattress. Sometime during the night, he�d kicked off the top sheet and the comforter, leaving his over heated body prone to the cool temperature of the room. His nipples stood erect and that, in conjunction with the tumid quivering between his legs, left JC feeling exposed and ever so slightly obscene.

And then there was the dream. And Lance. And the dream *of* Lance.

JC covered his eyes with one sweaty palm while his other hand reached up to grip the down pillow beneath his head. Then he groaned because, for the first time, JC felt a little embarrassed and he couldn�t ignore the way his body ached for a release that would not, without manual means, come. And how could his fist compare to the image of a naked and willing Lance that had been permanently imprinted in his mind? JC expelled a shaky breath, rolling onto his stomach, trapping his erection between his belly and the bed. A few half hearted thrusts, and JC gave up ever fulfilling himself before sliding off the mattress onto his feet.

JC stumbled over to the mini bar and grabbed the first bottle he saw; then the second, and the third. He shuffled through the thick carpeting until he stood nose to glass with the door leading out onto the balcony of his suite. JC lowered his lids, watching as his breath fogged the cool glass. He ran a finger through the opaque haze. A trickle of condensation forged a downward path.

After a small struggle with the door latch, JC stood on the cement square extending out from his room; the frigid wrought iron bars of the railing seemed to burn his skin with their iciness. He uncapped the first miniature sized bottle. Bottoms Up. Gone. Time for the second.

JC let his eyes drift along the Los Angeles horizon -because yes, now he remembered the metropolis in which he�d slept- and the flickering lights of the city that spread before him.

As a kid, he�d once seen a poster print of the nightscape of LA hanging on the back wall of a local frame shop. His mother had gone off to settle the bill for the framing of a family portrait and left JC to explore the shop on his own with only the standard issue warning of �don�t touch� to keep him in line. JC had gravitated to the world culture section of the store that depicted all sorts of exotic and wondrous places around the globe, places JC wanted to see and smell and experience for himself someday. He did not find it a coincidence that several large prints of the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe were hung on floor partition nearest the posters of Big Cities and Monuments he vaguely remembered seeing in a book, once. If he were going to see the world, JC had decided those many years ago, and all it had to offer, then stardom had to be the way to do it.

Now, he found himself looking out over LA and thinking about how much better the poster had been, as opposed to the real thing. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn�t hear the traffic, or the sirens, or the drunken shouts of vagrants, or have to breathe the smog when you were looking at a picture. Maybe it was that the poster didn�t feature any troublesome obstacles on it�s surface, that it had just depicted the city itself and what it represented to people like JC, dreamers who dared to believe in the mostly unattainable dream. Or maybe it was the fact that JC had lived and worked and been burned in LA, seen it�s fame seeking agents and make-up coated stars and manipulating producers close up. He had lived the life of a man whose face hurt at the end of the day from smiling so much it made the muscle in his left cheek twitch. Somewhere along the line, LA had become less a Never-Never Land and more of a prison, the bars made not of steel but of wealth and status and a BMW.

A knock sounded on the door, shattering JC�s introspective calm. Finishing off the third bottle, he navigated his way to the door through the numbing veil of alcohol that shrouded his mind. Propping himself up with one palm flat against the wall on either side of the door, JC called throatily,

� �lo?�

�JC?�

Lance. Well, fuck.

�Uh huh?�

�Can I, um, come in? I�d kinda like to talk to you for a second.�

JC frowned at the wooden panels of the door that separated them. �Wha� for?�

�Josh, please.�

The little tug JC felt in his groin at the sound of his given name once again uttered from the pinked lips he could still feel on his skin seemed to turn a key within JC.

The door cracked open.

�Hi.�

Lance slipped into the room, wrinkling his nose at the stench of vodka that clung to JC. �Thanks for letting me in.�

�Sure.�

�I guess I, uh, just wanted to make sure everything�s okay between us. I mean, I wanted to...JC, I don�t want things to be different between us just because of what happened, you know?�

�Different? Us?� JC echoed. He could practically hear the cogs in his own head turning as he tried desperately to decipher Lance�s meaning while maintaining his sense of balance. For some reason, with the blond man standing so close, just inside the alcove of the door and nearly chest to chest with JC, it felt like JC�s equilibrium had been put through the wringer; the entire world seemed off kilter. Lance�s face swam before his eyes, all paper pale and feline green and rose red.

�Yeah,� Lance nodded, �Different. I really don�t want this to affect our friendship JC. I care to much about you too much to let you go over something so silly-�

It was as if someone had thrown a wrench into the inner workings of JC�s thought process when he heard those words come from Lance�s mouth. Could it have been...? Did it really...? Was it a memory and *not* a dream? And oh, but Lance was licking his lips nervously, his eyes practically rolling back in his head as he fidgeted with his tee shirt, shifting from one foot to the other and back again.

�-and just because we had words doesn�t mean we can�t get past-�

Suddenly, a white hot flare of electricity consumed JC so totally, he swore he could feel the flames licking at his earlobes, exploding up from the soles of his feet . All at once, he was pushing Lance back against the wall just like in his dream, but in reverse order, and in techni-*fucking*-color. Heated and hungry, JC devoured the younger man�s lips, thrusting his tongue eagerly into Lance�s mouth and not letting up, even when he felt Lance�s hands fisting at his back, pounding against the hard muscle there.

Only when a bolt of pain ripped through JC�s determined onslaught, did JC relent. He gasped in pain as he stared at the trickle of blood running down Lance�s chin. It was not the blond�s life fluid, it was his. JC touched his lower lip hesitantly. Pulsating worms of hurt radiated from the ragged cut.

�What *was* that, JC?� Lance demanded in a panicky little-boy voice. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

The taste of iron filled JC�s mouth. He said nothing.

�I...what�s going on, JC? What are-�

�I wish you�d call me Josh forever.�

�I would, if I thought I knew you.�

�You do.�

�No,� Lance shook his head, reaching for the doorknob, �I don�t think I-�

�I thought it was what you wanted. You said you cared.�

�About our friendship, JC. I couldn�t sleep because I kept thinking about that fight we had backstage, after the show. I just don�t think you should be taking those-�

�Fight?�

�Yeah,� Lance�s eyes went even wider. �When I flushed...um.�

�Oh. Oh, yeah.� JC stared stupidly at a pock mark on the wall to the left of Lance�s head. Right, sure, the fight. God, he�d been pissed - no, *angry*. So, maybe that dream *had* been just a dream, afterall. Maybe...

�JC? Why did you...you know.�

�Because. I thought you wanted it, too.�

�Too?�

�You feel so good, Lance.�

�JC? JC...JC!�

JC�s eyes blinked open. Long lashes covered what could have been a field of green in midsummer. In the foliage was buried a smile, one that reached up all the way from lips situated beneath the pallid slopes and slants of facial planes.

�Time to get up, sleepy-boy.�

�I was asleep?�

�Like a baby.�

�When did I...?�

�I dunno. Maybe, a half hour or so ago. You conked out back here on this couch before the bus even left the venue. We�re at the hotel now.�

�Oh.� JC rolled into a sitting position, placing his feet flat on the floor.

�Hey,� concern flickered across Lance�s face. He placed his hand gently on JC�s shoulder. �You okay, there?�

�Mmm.�

�You need anything? Some water or-�

�I�m okay.�

The were steeped in silence for several long beats before Lance cleared his throat. �Aspirin?�

JC huffed a laugh. �You didn�t flush those, too?�

�Wha..? JC? I don�t-�

�No, of course not,� JC mumbled bitterly, rubbing his crusty eyelids.

�Are you-�

�I�m fine. Go up front, I�ll be there in a minute.�

Lance sat stock still beside JC.

�Go.�

He went.

JC covered his mouth with one palm and propped his forehead on the other, hating the confusion that spread over him like a bad rash. It hadn�t been real? Then, was this real?

More importantly, was anything?

JC sat for a long time after that, vainly seeking answers in the black and white snow of his mind, all the while wondering when his brain had taken on the characteristics of a television set that had been unplugged from the cable outlet.

Mostly, JC wished he knew whether or not Lance�s kisses really did taste like early morning dew with traces of nectar that set his taste buds alive.