"Here." Joey holds out the drink, grinning. JC takes it from his hand, a cool slick slide of glass against his fingertips, and the warmth of Joey's other hand against the small of his back.

"What is it?"

He sniffs it, and it's sweet and sharp, and JC recognises it on Joey's breath as he leans in close to whisper, "Just drink it."

He downs it in one swallow, fights back the pricking of tears and the shiver up his spine. Joey takes the empty glass and leans in close, closing his teeth over JC's collarbone.

Joey mumbles something against JC's throat, something sweet and dark, and JC leans back against the wall, his vision already smeary and soft, his hand slipping under Joey's shirt. The skin there is taut and hot and damp, his fingers sliding over muscle and coarse hair before JC presses them to his lips, tasting salt and musk. Joey pulls back, watching JC with hooded eyes.

"Fuck, that's hot," he whispers, and bites at JC's bottom lip, quick sting of teeth and soothing swipe of tongue.

His mouth opens underneath Joey's almost instinctively, and he can't help the soft moan he makes when Joey's tongue slides inside, the sweetsharp taste of alcohol mixing with the salt already there.

"Joe," he breathes, soft and dark and urgent, "Joe, there's people here. We can't--"

"Turn around," Joey says, and when JC opens his mouth to protest, he feels the sting of teeth as Joey bites the words into his flushed skin. "Turn around," he says again, and JC feels hands on his hips, long fingers warm and firm, urging him round.

He turns, stumbling over his own feet, but Joey's grip is tight and safe, holding him up. Joey brushes JC's hair off his neck, his mouth lighting on his collarbone, tender and intimate, and JC arches.

He opens his eyes and blinks at his own blurry reflection in the mirrored wall, his mouth red and swollen, the foggy handprints he leaves on the glass. Joey's eyes in the mirror are impossibly dark, flashing and glittering as he moves his hands along JC's thighs, up along the sensitive insides, brushing feather-light against the bulge in his pants. JC takes a deep shivery breath, closes his eyes again.

"Joe," he says again, and his voice is thick with alcohol and heat. "Someone's gonna see..."

"I know," Joey whispers, his breath ghosting hot across the back of JC’s neck, and when JC opens his eyes, he can see Joey’s grin reflected back at him, wicked and sly. "Maybe they’ll get to see what you look like when you’re coming, huh?" His finger trails along the curve of JC’s spine, and JC sucks in a breath, can’t help but arch back into the touch.

Then Joey presses close, so close, and he’s heat and sweat against JC’s back, and when his hips rock forward gently, JC can feel the thick ridge of his cock. "You want this too," Joey breathes into his ear, teeth closing around the lobe to nip gently, and JC nods, not trusting his voice.

He watches the mirror as Joey's hand slides silk-hot under the waistband of his pants, bites down hard on his lip as thick fingers curl around his cock. He leans his cheek against the cool glass, ice under his fiery skin, and across the room, at the bar, he sees Lance smiling. JC blinks quickly and Lance is still there, still watching. His eyes flicker back to Joey and Joey shrugs against his back, a ripple and shift of skin, and his grin is secret and playful.

"He wanted to watch," Joey says, and flicks his wrist. JC nods and rolls his hips when Joey thumbs the head of his cock, Joey's other hand sliding up his back to curl in his hair. His breath comes in short, harsh gasps that leave clouds of condensation on the mirror.

"You’re hot for this," Joey hisses, pulling JC’s head back with a short, sharp tug. Tiny pinpricks of heat all over his skull, and JC groans, then again as Joey’s other hand squeezes his cock, jerks him roughly. JC thrusts forward into his hand, feels Joey fever-hot against him, draped over him, holding him in place. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to.

Not that he wants to, because oh god, Joey’s hand, his fingers—there’s heat slipping along his spine, wild fire gathering in his belly, and each time Joey grinds into him, JC can’t help but press back, tasting copper slick on his tongue, wanting, needing more. Maybe later, he thinks, maybe Lance will want to watch that too—

"Keep ‘em open," Joey murmurs, low and intimate, and JC opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing to meet Joey’s gaze, holding him fast. "Want you to see," he says, and it’s barely words, just a low growl, "your face when you come. See how fucking hot you look."

JC's gaze slides back to his own face, but his eyes won't focus. He swallows over his dry throat, grunts and twists his hips against Joey's fingers, drops a hand to his own jeans to undo the button, slide the zipper down a little and Joey murmurs approvingly against his neck, thrum of heat and thundery rumble against his skin.

Joey's teeth close over his shoulder, burning through the thin material of JC's shirt, his fingers still tangled in JC's hair, and JC jerks forward-backward, into Joey's hand and Joey's cock pressing against his ass. The fire in his belly spreads lightning-fast through his veins, concentrates in his cock and then he's coming, coming hard into Joey's hand, and his eyes in the mirror are half-moon and dark-bright, framed in dark lashes glittering with sweat. He glances over at Joey's reflection and he's watching Lance in the mirror, his hips still rocking against JC, and that's maybe the hottest thing JC's ever seen.

He turns them around and captures Joey's bottom lip in his teeth, slides a hand quickly into Joey's pants, and Joey gasps, surprised. His eyelids flutter and close, and JC fights the urge to drop to his knees, to suck Joey off right there, and who cares who might be watching. Instead he palms Joey's hip and pulls him closer, deftly slipping the button open on his pants, tugging down the unwieldy zipper and then there's nothing but two thin layers of cotton separating their cocks. JC drapes an arm over Joey's shoulder, cups a hand over the back of Joey's neck. Their foreheads touch and the air between them is thick and spiked with sweat and sex and alcohol.

"Surprise," he whispers, wrapping his fingers around Joey’s cock, thick silky heat in his hand. He grins when he hears Joey hiss in a breath, feels his hips jerk forward in response to his touch. "You think Lance would like to see me jerk you off too?" he asks, voice quiet, but he knows Joey hears him, sees him nod, hears the "yes" that’s really no more than a breath that hangs between them.

He glances in the mirror again, frowning when he can’t see Lance where he was standing just a moment ago. And then—then there’s a hand against the small of his back, fingers stroking his fever-warm skin, and JC turns his head to meet a cool green gaze.

"C’mon now," Lance purrs in his ear, and JC feels the words slide way down inside himself, wrap around his nerves like velvet. He tightens his fingers around Joey’s cock, strokes slowly, slides his thumb across the tip, smearing the moisture there.

"I wonder what he tastes like?" he says, hears Joey’s low groan, feels Lance pressing closer. "Do you know, Lance?" He strokes faster, and Joey rocks forward into the tunnel of his hand, and JC can feel each breath he exhales, hot and sweet against his neck.

Lance laughs, a throaty, growling sound that ripples along JC's spine. "Sweet," he rumbles, and his hand glides from the small of JC's back to his hip, across the sticky wetness still drying on his stomach. Lance touches his fingers to his mouth, darts out a slick pink tongue to lap at them, and Joey shudders against JC.

"Shit," he pants, and grips JC's shoulder bruise-tight. His eyes are glassy and faraway. "C, I'm gonna--"

"Don't come yet," JC whispers, and then Lance is leaning in, closing his mouth over Joey's, and JC's hand slows on Joey's cock. He watches their swollen mouths glistening pink and red, and Lance's hand slides in beside JC's, a tangle of fingers and new heat.

Joey makes a small sound in the back of his throat, something desperate and wanting, and Lance pulls back to smile at JC, eyes gleaming wickedly in the half-light. Lance's lips tickle against JC's ear, tongue and teeth, and "He tastes like you," whispered hot and moist into the spot behind JC's ear, where the skin is sensitive and tingles at the rush of breath.

"I know he does," JC whispers back, a small smile dancing across his mouth at the look of surprise in Lance’s eyes, reflected back at him in the mirror. He licks his lips and feels Lance shiver against him, a small twist of delight flickering in his belly when he hears his soft moan. You’re not the only one with secrets, JC thinks, flicking his wrist, his fingers twined with Lance’s on Joey’s cock.

"Now," Lance breathes, "now, Joey," and JC watches Joey’s face, sees the breath he draws in, feels his belly tense against the back of his hand. There’s a long, sweet moment where nothing, no one seems to move, and JC can feel the thrum of blood through his veins, hear it pounding in his head.

"No- now," he hisses, curves his wrist just-so, and Joey’s low groan slides out of him and into JC, and there’s warm, wet heat over his hand and fingers. He feels Joey shuddering, leans in close to cover his mouth with his own, swallows his moans down, bites at his lips. "Taste yourself," he whispers, lifting his hand to Joey’s mouth, heat flickering along his skin when Joey sucks on his fingers, the flash of tongue pink and obscene.

Lance's eyes blaze green fire, quick glint of jealousy or anger or both before he composes himself and returns JC's cool smile. JC licks along Joey's bottom lip, turns and kisses Lance deep and hard, their breathing harsh and loud as Joey melts against JC's chest. JC smoothes a hand up Joey's arm, buries the other in Lance's hair.

"You taste like Joey," Lance says when they break apart, his skin flushed.

Joey laughs then, sated and soft. "And you probably taste like both of us." He buries his head in JC's neck, beard burn and silk lips. A smile tugs at JC's mouth and he kisses the top of Joey's head.

Lance frowns slightly, sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth. He takes a step back, shaking JC's hand loose from his neck. "I, uh. Should go, I think. Yeah."

"Here." JC reaches into his pocket, holds out his hand to Lance, smiles when he sees the look of confusion flicker across Lance’s face when he presses what he holds into his palm. "Keycard to our room," he whispers, wrapping his fingers around Lance’s wrist, tugging him closer, close enough so he can press the heel of his other hand against the hardness at Lance’s crotch.