Joey didn’t know how much more he could take. That is to say, he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to just lay passively in his bunk and not *do* anything about it. It, being Lance.

He wondered, as he listened to the labored breathing coming from the bunk across from his own, if the budget plan allowed for the purchase of three extra tour buses, one for each of them. Surely Jive or WEG could scrounge up enough capital to be able to comfortably accommodate the world’s five biggest rock stars. Because without a doubt, a single bus did not provide enough space for the group anymore; not like had in the beginning, when they were in Europe and the big glittering earthbound barge on wheels had been like living in a palace.

Usually, there were two of those monstrous vehicles to shuttle them around the country, but the second bus, the one JC and Lance occupied, had broken down two cities ago and that left all five guys thrown together in a space that felt the size of a prison cell or worse yet, a coffin. After all, that’s what the bunks were like, Joey supposed, caskets stacked atop one another, three high and two deep. The feeling of claustrophobia that sometimes overtook Joey was intensified and constant while living shoulder to shoulder with grown men who had a tendency to behave like kindergartners and pick at a person until they were borderline insane. Joey was, perhaps, the most tolerant out of all of them, but it was difficult remain genial in the face of what he had put up with for the past four nights. The worst part was, nobody else seemed to know. Of course, how could they, when Lance thought they were all asleep, and of course they were, everyone except Joey?

The rustling of cotton sheets and an unmistakable slick sound emanated from Lance’s bunk. The occupant’s breath hitched, then smoothed, but didn’t soften. Joey was surprised to find he’d unwittingly matched the rhythm of his lungs to that of Lance’s. Digging the heels of his palms against his eyes, Joey made a valiant effort to block out the thought of his friend and band mate committing hot, self gratifying acts in the darkness. Behind closed eyelids, Joey could picture Lance laying with his legs slightly spread, sheets pushed down to the foot of his bunk, his hand rubbing insistently along the length of his erection...

Joey gritted his teeth as the image of a very much naked, pale skinned boy came to mind. They’d all seen each other in the buff more times than they could count; sharing a dressing room for six years, it was inevitable. But never, in all those years, did Joey think he’d be recalling the nude form of one of his best friends, while his own body reacted in ways that Joey considered traitorous.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard one of the guys jacking off before. No, in fact, he’d heard them a lot, particularly after a concert when the adrenaline was still surging through their veins, making them crave a release. But there was a difference between hearing and listening. Joey wasn’t sure when he’d crossed the gap between the two, but it had happened and now he couldn’t seem to turn back, no matter how much he thought he wanted to.

It was always terrible the morning after, too, because Joey would find himself suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with Lance, or even sit near him where their thighs might rest alongside each other and then Joey would start to get hard just thinking about the sound the boy next to him made when he came. It was driving him out of his mind, and he didn’t know what was worse: listening to Lance or liking it?

Finally, when a low moan came from behind the curtains opposite him, Joey sat up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. How much more was he able or willing to take? Not much, he decided, then reached across the narrow aisle to pull back the blue velour drapes that shielded Lance from his view.

Their eyes met at once, colliding like freight trains going a hundred miles an hour without brakes. Lance, already flushed from his own ministrations, turned a darker shade of red as Joey returned his gaze unblinkingly. They said nothing.

The blond boy, who’d stopped stroking himself the minute he’d heard Joey stir, simply lay with one hand still cradling his balls and his mouth parted in a silent O of surprise. Joey realized in a rush that he must have scared Lance shitless, what with the way he’d yanked the curtains back as if he’d been exposing something far grander than what languished behind them, so he let a hint of a smile touch his lips. He hoped it was reassuring.

Lance stayed motionless.

With a sigh, Joey eased slowly from his bunk to kneel in the space between their beds. Gently, he cupped Lance’s cheek in his palm, then trailed his fingers over the boy’s throat, along his sternum, and down to Lance’s other hand which hovered anxiously at his own waist. Deliberately, Joey covered the ivory fingers with his, guiding the hand back where it belonged. Another careful upturn of his lips, and Joey retreated to his bed. To watch.

Lance held his breath, not certain whether he was having a nightmare or if Joey really, truly was sitting across from him and waiting for Lance to put on a show. Indignantly, the thought that he was not a Vegas showgirl or a stripper or some sort of live porn act, flashed through Lance’s mind. Part of him wondered if Joey would try to slip a ten-spot in his palm after, or if he’d simply roll back into his bunk and shut the curtains with a wink. After: that was assuming Lance would do whatever it was Joey so obviously wanted him to do.

A lump the size of Mississippi had taken up residence in Lance’s throat; he swallowed, hard. Then gently, with just the tips of his suddenly cold fingers, he stroked himself from base to tip. Joey’s eyes trained on Lance’s hand and his lips parted as his eyelids became heavy with arousal. Lance let his gaze dart from the other man’s face, down to his crotch where a firm bulge had already formed. A ghost of a smile touched Lance’s lips, then he ran his fingers more firmly along his own length.

Joey, who’d been sitting with his elbows resting casually on his knees, was forced to let himself lean back, spreading his legs and supporting his weight with his palms flat against the mattress. He watched in rapt fascination as the younger man ran his left hand across the pale expanse of bare chest and the tight pectoral muscles that Joey had exposed with a single bold, unabashed side sweep of the curtain. As Lance teased his dusky rose nipples, Joey bit his bottom lip to stifle the moan he felt welling up in his throat. As it was, a strangled sound escaped, one that surprised them both. Lance grinned and for the first time, Joey noticed how sharp the boy’s canines were, how they seemed to gleam in the dim, wavering light that filtered back to the bunks, and how wolfish the blond turned when he opened his mouth just so. Joey’s hand began to rub at his own inner thigh, not touching his aching erection, but close.

Lance didn’t try to stop his hips from bucking beneath his insistent strokes, only squeezed his eyes tightly shut then thrust into his palm with a gasp of pleasure. His thumb circled the tip of his cock, a motion that further concentrated the intensity surging through his veins, making him feel dangerously alive and all too aware that his minister would probably have a lot to say about this, if he knew. But that was the thing, he didn’t know, didn’t have to know, and it was just Joey that sat there watching him, breathing in tandem with him, probably wanting to touch him, too.

Lance formed a frantic fist around his impossibly stiff member as his other hand grappled wildly with the sheets, fighting to get a solid hold on something. His back arched off the bed, heels digging in to the mattress as he approached the edge of release. He could hear Joey across the narrow aisle, so close that Lance could have reached out and touched him, panting with a sort of frenzied heat that came from the thrilling desire that filled him, erasing everything from his mind but the beautiful, writhing sight of ecstasy incarnate.

Lance came with a near violent rush, his insides feeling like they’d tangoed and switched places with his outsides, as every bit of his body tingled with climax - an orgasm so powerful that he wondered if he’d ever have another quite like it. Flashes of color and light and the memory of the mocha sparkle of Joey’s feverish gaze blinded Lance behind his closed eyelids.

Lance’s juices were sticky, streaked across his abdomen and stomach like a series of abstract brush strokes made on a pallid flesh canvas. His fingers left smears of white liquid behind as Lance curled his hands against his chest, suddenly all too aware of how he must look and what he -the quiet, deep voiced, church going, apple pie eating, mother hugging boy from down home- had just done. A flush of embarrassment mingled with the glow of orgasm on his cheeks.

Joey was beside him, then, with his big hands overshadowing Lance’s and lifting the paler fingers to his lips. His tongue curled out to lap at Lance’s digits, sucking them into the wet heat of his mouth and licking them clean with a voracious appetite and a gleam in his eye. Then he folded the younger man’s hands across his chest again and sat back on his haunches. Lance dared to look at Joey, but as soon as their eyes met, he gave the blond a secret smile just before pulling the curtain back into place.

Joey thought maybe sharing a bus with four other guys wasn’t so bad, after all. And *seeing* sure beat the hell out of listening.