Limelight Demon
by northern

Part of the Don't Ask Me Why challenge.

Thank you to Kim for being my dentist, to charlidos for making me think, and to pierson for having confidence in me.

I still belong, don't get me wrong
And you can speak your mind
But not on my time

There are countless reasons why JC shouldn't do this, the one at the very front of his mind being that Lance will very probably wake up, but he can't help himself. He really can't. He's never felt the kind of need for Chris that he feels right now, walking past his own and Justin's door on the noise-killing hotel corridor carpet, looking for the right number. Chris is rooming with Lance tonight, but JC needs to touch Chris right this minute, or he might not continue to exist much longer. It's like he's falling apart, and he needs to know there is something surrounding him, someone who can keep the pieces together.

He pauses outside no. 302, glancing up and down the hallway. No one's there. He can hear nothing. There's only the unsteady, soft lighting of hotel corridors at night worldwide. The light, and JC and his trembling and shaky breathing, standing still while he imagines a world of screaming people rising like high tide around him, threatening to wash him away like so much helpless sand.

He pulls the key card out of his pocket and looks at it to make sure it's the right one before he slides it carefully into the slot next to the door. He opens it and tries to be quick and noiseless slipping inside. When he shuts the door and finds himself leaning against it in complete darkness he freezes for a second, afraid that the room will be empty, full of unmoving cold furniture, but as soon as he concentrates he hears the steady breathing of sleeping people. He exhales as the panic recedes. He needs to be quiet now, and careful. He picks his way step by slow step towards the sounds of breathing, eyes wide open against the wall of darkness. He stops after a few steps, realizing he has no way of knowing who is on what side of the big bed in the dark. It's technically two beds, but all the beds on this floor are attached to each other, making this so much more difficult.

JC squeezes his eyes shut, willing them to become more used to the lack of light. He needs Chris so much it hurts, but he can't wake Lance up, can't let him see, and so he stands there waiting for his eyes to adjust, trying not to make a sound, not to let his breathing become crying. There are images of wide-open mouths with bright teeth playing behind his eyelids, false shadows and shapes dancing around him in the dark. He refuses to let them take him over and tear him apart, blinks furiously until the shapes around him turn into shadows of furniture and two lumps in a big bed.

He hears the familiar snuffling of sleeping Chris from the closest of the lumps and inches forward until he's standing close enough to touch. He only hesitates a moment. He needs to touch so badly. Chris isn't lying right at the edge of the bed, so JC is half-way under the covers before he reacts. Chris's arms come up and his eyes blink open. JC can see them reflecting light that almost isn't there, and curls his chin into his chest not to let himself get sucked into Chris's eyes and Chris's mind. Chris doesn't say anything, but moves over carefully to let JC press himself close.

JC toes off his shoes and lets them drop noiselessly to the carpeted floor. Chris is sleep-warm and slow in his movements, where JC is still cold from the night outside and feels like he's going to fall apart with his sharp trembling. He tries hard to melt into Chris, to let him absorb the shaking, but it's awkward to settle and relax with Lance sleeping on the other side of the bed, on the other side of Chris. JC isn't sure he wants Lance to see him like this, but there is no alternative. He needs Chris like air, and he'll be swept away and drown without him.

Chris strokes warm palms up and down JC's back, smoothing out the franticness with rock steady confidence. He kisses JC's face with slow, dry lips and captures one of his clammy hands in his, leaking goodness and calm into him from every pore. He kisses JC's mouth and JC makes a small sound, the smallest, and steals a look over Chris's shoulder to make sure Lance is still sleeping.

Lance is awake and watching them, eyes huge and unblinking. JC can't read them. He knows he's grown still and tense, and so Chris turns to see what he's looking at. There is a long silent moment when JC thinks about Lance and his mother and Mississippi and Southern Baptism. Then Lance licks his lips and opens his mouth, and suddenly JC is afraid he'll start screaming.

"Do you want me to go sleep with Justin?" Lance whispers instead, even though there's no need for silence now that they're all awake.

JC looks at Chris, who is looking down at their intertwined fingers, and then back at Lance who is lying there with his steady gaze. He doesn't know what to say.

Chris reaches over him and lights the bedside lamp, but he doesn't let JC go, doesn't put any distance between them. JC feels safe in that gesture, like Chris doesn't care about Lance knowing, or what he thinks. Admittedly, JC is not at his best at the moment. Without Chris between himself and Lance he suspects he would run out of the room right about now. He doubts he's up to any big declarations or explanations, but he doesn't want to kick Lance out of his bed or go back to his own either. It's not like they haven't slept next to each other before. Even though this is a little different.

"I just need to be close right now," JC says, trying to say good things, harmless things. Non-sex things. His voice feels raw. Unused. "Sleeping is good. We don't need to..." He makes a vague gesture that's supposed to convey meaning, and it looks like Lance gets it, because he looks down at the sheets and turns faintly pink.

Chris squeezes his arm and JC looks at him. He looks serious but warm in the yellow light, still a trace of sleepiness around the eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Lance," Chris says, urging JC to lie down again. It feels a little awkward, not talking about it, but he supposes they can talk tomorrow. Or not. Lance isn't known for talking about things willingly. JC burrows closer into Chris's side, still feeling like he has to absorb Chris through his skin.

"The bed is big enough," Lance's voice says quietly. "If you need to, I don't mind, if it makes you feel better. It's okay."

JC sits back up again and stares at Lance's earnest young face. He's blushing, sure, but he doesn't look nearly as shocked as JC would have been had he caught, say, Lance and Justin kissing. The bed is big enough for... what? He can't be suggesting... Because if he was...

Chris seems to give up on going back to sleep and turns back to Lance, leaning on an elbow. "Do you mean, like, it's okay if JC and I do stuff in the bed while you're here," he asks, "or that you wouldn't mind doing... stuff with us?"

JC can't really believe what he's hearing. He stares at Chris while listening to the violent rush of blood behind his eardrums. He really should have disguised that as a joke. Or maybe it is some sort of Chris joke that he's just not smart enough to get. He feels more unsettled than when he came here, if that's possible.

But Lance turns even redder, and his mouth opens a couple of times like he's not sure how to start speaking again.

"I know you're together," he says, and JC thinks he should be immune to shocks by now.

JC looks at Chris until he meets his eyes, needing an anchor so he won't be swept away entirely. Chris's eyes don't say much at the moment, but they do feel like trust. They haven't really talked about it. It's just been what JC needs sometimes, and yes, that has included sex as well as other things, but he didn't know it showed that clearly to others.

Chris is still meeting JC's gaze, eyes calm and clear. "We're not," JC says, "...exactly." Chris's gaze doesn't change, and it feels like the truth. Nothing fundamental has changed. Chris will be there for him. He knows it deep in his bones.

"Oh," Lance says.

JC looks back at him. He looks young and confused, but dogged in that way Lance gets sometimes. Maybe Lance could be safe too, JC finds himself thinking. He just hasn't thought about him in that fashion before.

"I could do... stuff with you, then. If it doesn't mess with things. I wanna help. If y'all want me to," he adds as an afterthought, looking oddly sensible.

Lance would be safe, JC realizes. JC wouldn't have gone to him, asking for this, but he's starting to think that maybe he should have. Despite his age, Lance has always radiated unending faith to JC and seems to have the same kind of stability that Chris has, deep down. Or maybe it's a different kind, a calmer one, but no less steady where it counts.

The transition of perspective is easier than JC would have thought and he nods his head into Chris's shoulder. He can't wait to press close to Lance, absorbing his calm as well. There's still Chris to consider, though. He breathes in through his nose, trying to catch the smell of Chris's skin, willing Chris to accept as well.

"You're great for offering, Lance," Chris says, "don't get me wrong, but you do know this involves sex, right? I don't want you freaking out on me."

"I've had sex before, Chris." Lance looks a little bit affronted, and Chris makes a placating gesture.

"Just making sure we're on the same page, here. I'm glad you're offering. Makes things easier." He exchanges a long look with JC, until JC feels the need to look away. Not because what's in Chris's eyes isn't anything he wants, but because there are no more complications now, no reasons to hold back, and the original reason why he had to come is making its way to the top of his mind again. It's bringing the shivering back, and he feels naked, with no one really touching him.

"Let's shift around a bit, kay?" Chris urges JC to climb over him and lie down in the middle instead. He does so gratefully, stealing a glance up at Lance. Lance is watching him intently, and he is close enough to JC that he can feel his body heat. Chris is a secure presence on his other side, vibrating when he speaks.

"He gets really tense," he hears Chris saying to Lance. "We need to make him let it go."

"Like, a massage?" Lance asks, his fingers closing tentatively around JC's upper arm. The fingers are warm and JC can feel his own heartbeat - almost. He squirms, wishing Lance would hold him harder. The crack between the beds is hardly noticeable under him.

"Nah, more like, we build the tension up until it runs out of him. It's worked before."

"I'm right here," JC mumbles, as Chris runs his hand up and down his side a few times. The contact is good but not enough. He feels too light, too insubstantial. Like he might not exist if someone doesn't make him feel that he does.

"Take that arm and pin it to the bed," Chris says to Lance as he himself places JC's other arm next to his head and rests most of his weight on it and his shoulder. It feels more secure that way, and Chris knows him. They've done this before. Chris holds him and watches him. Except this time it's Lance too. Two real people holding him. Two real people watching.

"Like this?" Lance asks, and JC tests his grip. It's not as secure as Chris's and he waits while Chris tells Lance how to do it.

"Got you now, babe," Chris says, his face close to JC's.

JC shudders and tries to relax, to feel safe, but there's too much restlessness in him. The night has filled him with dreams and spectres, and they're tightening their hold on him. Chris and Lance will have to wrest him from their grip. He makes a small sound, something that's supposed to be vague assent but comes out as a tiny whimper. JC closes his eyes when Chris kisses his mouth gently. Lance follows soon after. Their mouths are warm and JC feels cold, too cold.

They take turns kissing him, light kisses that only give him trickles of heat that are quickly siphoned off into the coldness inside. There's heat to be had, and JC can't get to it. He still feels separate from both Chris and Lance. There are layers of clothes in the way as well as his own many layers of skin, the walls that shut him inside. He's a much smaller JC inside, burning hot, but the cold walls with teeth that are closed around him stop him from reaching that inner fire. He can feel it, though, aching in the pit of his stomach. Maybe some of the warmth of the kisses will feed him.

Someone's warm hand steals under his shirt, fingers stroking across the soft skin over his ribs, making him shift. He opens his eyes and sees out-of-focus Chris the moment before his lips find JC's again. This time JC tries to make Chris stay and give him more warmth. He opens his mouth in invitation, but Chris pulls away, just like before. Only soft lips, not warm enough and for too short a moment. When Lance comes back JC waits impatiently for his kiss, tilting his head back to get closer.

Lance stops, close enough that JC can feel the heat radiating out from him, simply watching him. He's wearing an unreadable look and JC strains to get as close as possible, only aware of the promised kiss that hasn't been delivered. He can't get very far with both of them holding him down. He wets his lips and watches Lance do the same. Then, after a long moment of breathing and stillness, Lance closes the distance. JC keeps his eyes open now, stealing little licks across Lance's lips while the kiss lasts. Lance tastes like promises of heat with sharp little spikes of metal. He's used to Chris, but this is someone else. This is Lance, and he's so much more delicious for being new. When he tries to catch Lance's upper lip between his teeth, Lance draws back again, wearing a more dazed version of the unreadable look. JC looks down and sees Chris's hand on Lance's chest.

"Not yet," Chris says.

His eyes look darker than usual, and JC feels the skin on his arms move in a helpless wave of shivering, making the little hairs stand up and his shirt feel uncomfortable. The tastenottaste of Lance is still on his lips, and he licks them to keep the sense of promise fresh. His lips feel warm and there's tension when he swallows, like his insides don't know whether they want more or not.

Chris is silent while he undresses him, unhurriedly and efficiently. Lance touches newly revealed skin now and again, his hip, his knee, like he's checking that JC's still there. Mostly he's undressing himself, tossing his sleeping clothes on the floor. JC is grateful for the little touches, though. Without the combined pressure of Chris and Lance holding him, he feels insubstantial and shaky. He twists under Chris's hands, making it easier for him to pull JC's pants off.

When he's naked, he feels more clothed. The walls around him become more pronounced when there is nothing visible separating him from the world. Lance is naked too and returns to his position resting his weight on JC's shoulder. JC can feel him, like heat that's almost not there against his side. He's watching Chris finally take off his clothes. Chris never looks more distant naked. Chris is always twice as present and alive without his clothes. Not like JC, who feels more numb by the second, swallowing around a huge lump in his throat. He pushes up against Lance, who pushes down in return. Good. But still not all that he longs for.

Finally Chris is all the way there and climbing back onto the bed and JC. His cock is half-hard and bumping against his thigh and JC feels a tinge of satisfaction. Chris likes this. He knows that, but it's good to see it, too. Lance is contained warmth along one side of him, but the other side feels cold and alien to him. Chris pauses and looks him in the eye, just for a moment. Then he thumbs JC's forehead, a quick soft finger-painted touch that lingers long after it's gone, and parks himself across his shoulder, weighting him down comfortably but still holding himself up with one elbow next to JC's head.

"Now, Lance," Chris says, and JC wonders what he means, but then Lance is kissing him again, pushing his tongue past his teeth almost too quickly. JC breathes in through his nose and keeps still, fighting inexplicable panic. There are legs snaking around his, pressing him down so he can't move much at all, and a tongue, Lance's tongue, licking and pressing along his palate. His eyes are open almost as wide as they can go, but they still don't see much. He realizes he's shivering again, hard, and Chris's breath is hot and humid on his throat before he bites down, the sharp darting sensation making him strain against his bonds and reflexively open his mouth wider. Lance does something that feels like he's stroking JC's tongue in one broad slow lick ending in a curl around his lower lip. It's like air is being sucked out of him and there is none left with which to make any sound at all. He tries anyway and hears a high whine that ends abruptly as he feels a new splintery jaggedness which is Chris biting down again, slightly lower. Lance has trapped his lip between his teeth now. It feels like it doesn't belong to him anymore, the way Lance is scraping life in with his teeth, pushing heat along with his tongue. There's something inside him, something that wants to make him cold and unaffected, fighting with frost teeth and ice claws to get its way. JC's eyes hurt, and not even tears will come.

"Please..." he manages.

"We're here, baby, shush," Chris says against his collar bone.

JC realizes the hyperventilating gasps he hears are his and swallows a couple of times to try and stop himself. Lance is warm and solid against him and Chris is too, but they're on the outside.

"It's eating me." He has to tell them, has to make them help him.

"What...?" Lance shifts on him, but Chris interrupts him.

"No, it won't," he tells JC. "You're ours. It can't take you."

JC tries to believe him.

"Look," Chris says and lifts JC's arm by the wrist, bringing it to his mouth.

The pain breaks through some of his walls and resonates through the rest. A tendril of heat forced into him by Chris, like when he was really small and sat too long in the snow and his father rubbed his foot to make the cold let go and kept on rubbing though he cried. Chris shows him the marks in the skin, little dimples in an irregular circle, shadowed blue at the center, and JC thinks of the blue darkness inside of ice caves.

"Ours," Chris says, his voice determined.

Lance shifts again, but only to dig JC's other arm up. It's a little numb because Lance has been lying on it, but he can feel the whisper of Lance's gentle grip on his wrist as he watches a look pass between Lance and Chris. Then Lance bites, hard, and JC arches with the rush of it, the intense pain that makes him unable to breathe, unable to do anything but writhe, eyes fixed on Lance's. There's dark heat in there, and it's trickling into JC in pulses through his throbbing arm and in a narrow stream through his eyes. When Lance finally lets go, there's an extra burst of hot aching making his indrawn breath stutter and JC almost coughs on the desert air that eats its way into his lungs. His insides are roiling with hot and cold when Lance twists his arm so he can see.

"Mine," Lance says, his voice a little scratchy, and JC tears his eyes away from Lance's to look.

The marks are a dark red in the middle and so deep they're almost beneath the skin, through it, almost broken through. White, purple and red. Hot colours, burning through him and cracking him open. Chris kisses his temple while Lance mouths the marks, pushing his tongue into them making him ache and breathe, sweat on his face and his back, and JC realizes he's warm and breathing deeply.

"Come on, hold him for me, will you?" Chris pushes JC's suddenly heavy body onto Lance, arranging him the way he wants him.

JC is pleasantly warm all the way through and his limbs obey Chris gladly. Lance holds him with both arms around his waist. He's steady to lie on, a warm solid mountain plateau in high noon sun, and JC knows he should be surprised they fit this way so easily, but he's too tired, too relaxed to feel anything but contentment while Chris hitches his legs over Lance's spread thighs, opens him up with sure fingers and familiar confidence, pushes inside him easily, Chris's hips pressed tight against him with only a few thrusts. Lance is hard under him, against the crease of his hip, and slides with every move Chris makes. Everything buzzes a little, and JC feels like a warm, happy rag doll, being rocked and squished between two benevolent but relentless forces. His arms are lying useless on either side of Lance's head, but he can see one of the bite marks whenever he slits his eyes open to remind himself. He can feel both of them, as well as the smaller ones on his neck, as sources of comforting waves of droning.

The steady thrusts inside him and the friction against Lance build another kind of tension, but that's one he welcomes. The combination of exhaustion and building pleasure makes his body weak and languid. There is no way he'll be able to find it in himself to move, to make an effort of his own in this, and so his orgasm gathers slowly and blends with the buzzing, making his whole body an instrument that Chris and Lance are playing. When it sings, all he does is shudder quietly, his mind a mess of red wires and strange lassitude. The aftershocks last a long time, through Lance's tightening of arms and insistent arching, and he's still feeling random tingling by the time Chris finishes and slumps against them, breathing hard.

He is barely conscious as they move him around and pull the sheets up to fit three people. He feels heavy enough to sink through the bed and his eyelids have long since fallen shut again. Voices float through his almost-dream.

"Let him sleep here, okay?"

"That was... God."

"I know, I know. Don't make a big deal of it."

"I want to..."

JC buries his nose in the pillow and drifts away, letting the words become unimportant fading sounds with no meaning at all.