Chris entered Lance's hotel room, where Lance was playing solitaire on his laptop.
"Hey, man," Lance said, his eyes not leaving the screen.
"Hey, Lance." There was a pause as Chris watched him try to find the best card to bring up to the aces. "Try moving the seven of clubs," he suggested.
"Yeah, no, I'm gonna try this," Lance said, dragging a red card to another stack. He clicked over the next card. "Fuck." It was the eight of hearts.
"See, you should have listened to me," Chris said.
Lance just shrugged.
"Okay, well, maybe you'll listen to me when I say to shut down the computer?" Chris asked.
"Well, I'm in the middle of the game," Lance pointed out. He clicked over the next card. "Well, fuck again," he sighed. Another red.
Chris walked over and closed the laptop screen, ignoring Lance's protests. "Listen up, Lance. I've been hearing about some bad behavior from you lately."
Lance frowned. "What? From who?"
"Who doesn't matter," Chris said. "What matters is that they're worried about your behavior. You're going around swearing to everyone, which is not appropriate. Friends, okay, but everyone else? Your mother taught you better than that. I've also been hearing that you're acting like a diva lately."
Lance rolled his eyes.
"Right. Like that. Lance, baby, we have a diva in the group. JC takes care of him when he gets out of hand. Now I don't think you want JC to take care of you, do you?"
Lance looked a little pale. "Um. No."
Chris raised an eyebrow.
"No, sir," he amended quickly.
"Right," Chris said. "I didn't think so. Now, don't even bother," he said, waving his hand and Lance closed his mouth. "I know, you'll do better. I believe you. But I want to make sure of it, make sure you remember. All right?"
Lance nodded slowly. "Yes, sir," he said, softly.
"Okay." Chris looked around. "What would be the best way to do this?" he asked himself. "Chair? Bed?"
Lance sat quietly as Chris worked out the details. Finally, Chris moved Lance's stack of clothing off the dresser, which was about waist high. That cleared about half of the space off, the other half taken up by the television set.
"This will work, I think," Chris said. "Jeans off, Lance."
Lance opened his mouth, to protest, to fight it, but subsided at Chris's look. He didn't know why - Chris didn't look angry. Or mean, or cruel. But he did look like he meant business. With shaking hands, he unzipped the jeans and slid them off, folding them and lying them on his laptop.
He walked over to stand next to Chris, shivering a little. Chris gave him a hug. "It's going to be okay, Lance. You know that."
Lance sighed. "I know. I know. I just," he broke off, but Chris nodded like he understood, and Lance knew he did.
"Okay, baby," Chris said, one last squeeze on his shoulders. "Bend down now." He helped Lance move down, resting his chest and head on the deep brown wood. He gripped the sides of the chest, getting a good hold. The 90 degree position wasn't the most comfortable, but it could have been worse.
Chris studied Lance, stretched out and waiting. His ass, clad only in black boxers, was sticking out almost obscenely in this position. He rested his left hand on the small of Lance's back and felt him tense.
"Lance, you have to try and relax your muscles," Chris reminded him. "Don't make this worse than it has to be, okay?" He rubbed his back in a few circles and Lance relaxed a little bit. "Well, that's better. Here we go, baby."
He raised his right hand and let it fall with a smack against Lance's ass. The only reaction was Lance's hands tightening their hold on the dresser. He raised it again and smacked a little harder, this time on the other cheek. Lance shifted a bit. Chris gave him a few more slightly stinging smacks, each a little harder, until Lance finally let out a little grunt.
"Warm up's over, Lance," he said softly, rubbing at the base of Lance's spine again. Lance nodded, and Chris gave him one last pat. He decided at the last moment to leave Lance's boxers on - it had, after all, been awhile since the last one. It may have been the longest time ever, actually. A little bit of a reward. He told Lance that, and Lance nodded again.
Chris didn't give a warning this time, just smacked the palm of his hand against Lance, the hardest one yet. He rained about a dozen hard slaps in various areas before landing the last few in one spot on one cheek and then moving to do the same on the other. By that time, Lance was dancing around on his toes and crying out with each.
"Five more," Chris said, pausing again to stroke Lance's back. Lance sniffled, his hands squeezing the sides again, in what Chris assumed was an effort to not reach back and rub his aching cheeks.
He delivered the last five smacks deliberately, with a pause between each, concentrating only on Lance's sit spot. The last one landed with a loud crack right in the middle, and Lance let out a loud sob.
"It's okay, it's over now," Chris said softly, helping Lance stand up again. He wrapped his arms around Lance, who buried his face in Chris's neck and just cried. Chris let him stay there for a few minutes before gently disentangling him.
Lance wiped at his red eyes, his face still flushed from the tears. His hands immediately went to his sore ass.
"You okay?" Chris asked, stroking his hair.
Lance nodded, sniffling. "Yeah. I-I'm sorry," he said, still sounding choked up. "For acting like that. I just don't know why I do it," he said, sounding frustrated.
"It's okay," Chris told him. "It happens sometimes. But I'm always here, okay? Don't forget that."
Lance snorted. "Like I could," he said, sounding a little amused.
Chris laughed. "Yeah, you're right." He stepped back and pulled down the covers on the bed. "C'mon. Let's get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
Lance nodded, sliding his t-shirt off as Chris undressed as well. They climbed into bed, Lance on his stomach and Chris close next to him, arm wrapped around his lower back. Lance fell asleep quickly, exhausted from crying, and Chris watched him sleep, awed once again by Lance's complete and unwavering trust in him, before succumbing to sleep himself.
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