Title: A Good Start (1/1)
Author: merc. <merc@ns.sympatico.ca>
Distribution: WWFSML archive, WWFSML-fic, & my site. All others please ask.
Disclaimers: I neither make nor intend any implications of the characters' lives, lifestyles, states of mind, or activities. I make no claims to them in any way.
Warnings: NC-17 (M/M slash, graphic sex, language, bad jokes)
Description: Bradshaw/Lance Storm. PWP.
Spoilers: None.
Date: Sunday, 13 January, 2002
Feedback: Always very much appreciated.

------------------------------------------------------------

Bradshaw watched his date over the top of his menu, trying not to laugh at the small frown of annoyance.

"Don't they have anything a little...healthier?" Lance asked, half under his breath.

"Healthier 'n what?" Bradshaw asked, and took another gulp of beer. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Lance eyeing the beer with a look that was one part curiosity and three parts disapproval. "Ya don' like steak? This is a steakhouse. Whatd'ya expect, some low-fat shit that tastes like tree bark? C'mon, live a little, man!" He flagged down the nearest waitress. "Just gimme a steak. Rare."

"Any veg'tables or 'tatoes with 'at?" the girl drawled.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. And he'll have a steak too," he went on, gesturing at Lance.

"I'll just have a salad," Lance said firmly.

"What?" Bradshaw exclaimed.

"What?" the waitress said, staring.

"Just. A. Salad," Lance insisted. "And a glass of water."

The waitress raised her eyebrows but wrote it down on her notepad. Bradshaw sighed.

He surveyed the two empty beer bottles in front of him, and the one in his hand that was half full. "And I'm gonna need another beer."

The waitress took the menus and sauntered off. Bradshaw took another gulp of beer and told himself that it was worth putting up with Lance's quirks if it led to getting laid. "Ya don' even wanna beer?" he asked, waving his own bottle.

Lance shook his head firmly, and was silent, his eyes hard and his jaw set.

Bradshaw sighed and leaned back. "Yer not havin' a good time, are ya?" he asked.

"Sure I am." Lance straightened slightly in his chair.

"Y'ain't smilin'."

"Yes I am."

From where Bradshaw was sitting, it looked like a full-on scowl.

"Look," said Lance, "maybe this was a bad idea. You would probably rather be with your drinking buddies." He started to get up, but Bradshaw reached across the table and grabbed his arm.

"Now wait one damn minute!" he said. Lance sat down again, his stern face looking slightly uncertain. "Look, I didn't ask ya out 'cause I ain't got nothin' else to do, ya know. I asked ya out cause I wanted to take ya to dinner. So just..." He took a deep breath. "Just siddown and relax." He leaned forward and grinned. "I betcha I can put a smile on yer face." He winked, trying to make it as obscene as he possibly could, and was rewarded with a slight blush on Lance's cheeks.

When the waitress returned, she set down a plate in front of Bradshaw that was nearly completely occupied by a huge, steaming, oozing steak, and a spoonful of mashed potatoes. She served Lance with a plate of salad and gave him a very strange look, as though he was the first person ever to order a salad. As Bradshaw cut into his steak, he watched Lance chew on a small forkful of greens.

"Ya look like a rabbit," he said with a grin, and stuffed a chunk of meat into his mouth.

"What?" Lance blinked, looking startled.

"I said..." Bradshaw had to swallow before he could go on. "I said ya look like a rabbit." Lance stared at him. "Eatin' yer lettuce and all." Just a blank stare. "Forget it," Bradshaw sighed.

Maybe this was a bad idea after all, he thought. The man might be hot, but he had no personality.

Still...he did look damned nice in that tight black t-shirt.

On a sudden inspiration, he said, "Wanna try some beer?"

Lance gave him that startled look again. "What?"

"Ya can't have dinner at a steakhouse and not have beer. Might even be illegal." He grinned.

Lance didn't smile. "I doubt that."

Bradshaw resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "C'mon," he said, "just try it. It's great stuff. Look at me, I drink it all the time and I'm in great shape." He flexed his biceps and winked. "C'mon. You'll like it, I promise."

Lance was staring at the bottle Bradshaw was holding out to him. "Well...All right." He timidly took the bottle and raised it to his lips--very soft lips, they seemed to Bradshaw.

"Aw, come on!" Bradshaw said in exaggerated exasperation. "What kinda sissy little drink was that? It ain't a cuppa tea! Give it here and I'll show ya how it's done." Lance handed the bottle back, and Bradshaw lifted it to his lips, very conscious of the fact that Lance's lips had just been exactly where his own were. He took a long, long drink, letting the refreshing taste sink into his entire body. With a satisfied sigh he set the bottle firmly back on the table in front of Lance: where it had been nearly full a few seconds ago, it was now half empty.

Lance stared at it, and then at Bradshaw. Blushing slightly, he picked up the bottle again, and drank. Bradshaw intently watched his throat gulp the brew down...and then the bottle was empty.

With a small cough, Lance set the bottle down and raised his gaze to meet Bradshaw's. His eyes were just ever so slightly unfocused, but he blinked a few times and looked steady again. "Not...bad," he said in a choked voice, but Bradshaw saw the small flush mounting Lance's cheeks. He grinned, and signaled to the waitress for two more beers.

"Want to hear a joke?" Lance asked, his fingers toying with his bottle almost nervously, as if he were afraid of being seen with it.

Bradshaw blinked. A joke was the last thing he'd have expected from Lance Storm. "Sure thing," he said.

"What do you call ten thousand lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"

"What?" Bradshaw asked.

"A good start."

Inwardly, Bradshaw cringed. Lance frowned, a more intense version of his normal facial expression, and the look of disappointment seemed so out of place that Bradshaw couldn't help laughing. Lance blushed deeply and took a deep drink of beer to cover his reaction. He set down his bottle, coughing again.

"Hey, yer gettin' the hang of it!" Bradshaw beamed, glancing at Lance's half empty bottle. "See? Th' stuff ain't so bad after all."

Lance just nodded. "Now you tell one."

"Huh?"

"It's your turn to tell a joke."

"All right." Bradshaw took a draw from his beer. "Okay. So this guy goes into a bar and says, 'Hey, ya wanna see somethin really amazin?' The bartender says hell yeah he'd like to see somethin' amazin'. So this guy opens his pocket and takes out this little miniature piano, and this little foot-tall man 'at sits down and starts playin'. The bartender's all real impressed and asks how the guy did it. The guy says he's got this 'ere magic rock. So the bartender says, 'Can I try it?' and the guy says sure he can, and gives him this rock. As soon as the bartender closes his eyes and makes 'is wish, a flock of ducks flies into the place. Barkeep says, 'Man, this rock is shit. I wished for a million bucks, not a million ducks.' The guy just looks at 'im and says, 'Hell, ya really think I wished for a twelve-inch pianist?'"

He waited for Lance to react. The frown deepened in concentration. "A twelve-inch pianist," he repeated. "I get it. Very amusing." Bradshaw wondered if he really did get it, or if he was just saying so to be polite; he sure wasn't laughing.

"Drink up," Bradshaw suggested. As he drank, he watched Lance out of the corner of his eye, startled to see him drain the rest of the bottle in one go. Bradshaw finished his own and signaled for more.

He leaned back in his chair and pulled out a cigar. As he inhaled and let the sweet-smelling smoke drift around him, he watched Lance, who was looking hotter by the minute.

"I shouldn't be drinking so much," Lance said between gulps, stifling a cough. His eyes wandered down Bradshaw's chest, and looked vaguely disappointed when the table got in the way of going any lower.

Bradshaw grinned at him. "Hell, don't worry so much! Can't have a good time if yer always worryin' about doin' what's right." He puffed on the cigar, and noticed that Lance was staring.

At Bradshaw's lips wrapped around the end of the cigar.

Bradshaw felt his cock twitch inside his jeans, and deliberately flicked his tongue over his lips and the cigar, making sure Lance saw. Lance swallowed hard, and kept staring. He licked his lips.

Then, as if suddenly realising what he was doing, he blinked and straightened in his chair. He blushed furiously and gulped down the rest of his beer. With a burp, he set the bottle down and almost knocked it to the floor with an unsteady hand.

Bradshaw sucked on his cigar, and watched Lance squirm in his chair. "Hey, ya wanna get outta here?" he asked. He looked right into Lance's eyes and used his tongue to draw the cigar back into his mouth. Lance stared; his mouth opened to reply, but no sound came out. Bradshaw grinned and sat up. "C'mon, let's scoot."

He waved down the waitress and got the bill. Throwing some bills on the table he stood up, cigar held casually in his teeth. Lance staggered slightly as he got to his feet, and Bradshaw caught his arm to prevent a disaster. "Y'all right, man?"

Lance nodded, leaning on Bradshaw's arm.

"So what now?" Lance asked in the back seat of the cab. His voice was slightly slurred.

"Ya sure yer all right?" Bradshaw asked.

"I'm fine. I only had two. Or...three..."

"Why don'tcha come back to my place?" he suggested. "Got some more beer there."

"I've probably had enough," Lance murmured, and then the corners of his mouth twitched up in a kind of unpracticed half-smile.

Bradshaw grinned broadly and risked patting Lance's knee. "Yer doin' fine."

"Yeah," said Lance. "You too." He patted Bradshaw's thigh with careless familiarity, very close to his crotch. Bradshaw swallowed hard as his cock stirred.

Lance leaned heavily on him all the way from the cab to the elevator in the hotel lobby, obviously making an effort to look sober even though the lobby was nearly empty. On the way up to the sixth floor, Bradshaw took a look at his date. His face was slightly flushed and his eyes looked unsteady, but other than that he seemed okay. The black t-shirt seemed tighter than before, hinting at the well-developed body underneath. The jeans looked great; every time Lance turned around, Bradshaw sneaked a glance at his butt.

Lance followed Bradshaw into his room. He started to kick off his sneakers and lost his balance. Bradshaw caught him, and found himself holding Lance tightly against his chest, two startlingly clear blue-green eyes staring up at him.

"Thanks," Lance whispered.

Bradshaw kissed him, an unrestrained open-mouthed kiss that Lance immediately returned. His lips were hot and soft, and he tasted of beer. Wrestling with Lance's tongue, Bradshaw put one hand behind him to search for the wall, misjudged the distance, and fell, taking Lance with him. He landed on his ass, and Lance fell on top of him, still held securely by Bradshaw's other arm.

"Oops," Bradshaw said, grinning. "Sorry."

"No problem." Lance started to get up, but Bradshaw pulled him back down.

"Right here's just fine," he said, and kissed him again. To his surprise, Lance made the next move, running his hands down Bradshaw's chest and lingering near his belt. Bradshaw sighed gruffly and sucked on Lance's tongue, and pulled his t-shirt up, slipping his hands underneath the fabric to stroke the smooth, searing hot skin of Lance's back.

Lance straddled his waist, and Bradshaw could feel Lance's hardness against his own. He pulled Lance's shirt up, and Lance took the hint. He sat up and peeled it off, his muscles rippling impressively. Bradshaw only took a moment to appreciate it, though, and pulled him down into a rough, hungry kiss, touching every bit of Lance he could. When Lance started grinding his hips, Bradshaw reached down and grabbed his ass in both hands. Lance gave a kind of squeaky moan and sucked on his lower lip.

Bradshaw pushed him off. "On the bed," he panted, hurriedly pulling off his own shirt as Lance scrambled onto the bed. When he lay down next to him, he was pulled into another kiss.

"I'm not normally like this," Lance said in a small voice, running his fingers through Bradshaw's hair.

"Yeah, no shit, dumbass," Bradshaw chuckled against his neck, kissing the hot skin as he fumbled with Lance's belt.

"Just go easy on me."

"Been a while?" He got the belt undone and unzipped Lance's jeans. "We don't gotta do nothin', ya know."

"Yeah. But I want to."

Bradshaw quickly stripped Lance and himself, tossing their clothes across the room. Lance's hands were immediately on him, stroking his chest as their legs tangled together and their hard cocks throbbed between their bodies.

Bradshaw pinned Lance on his back, and swiftly kissed his way down the hard, chiseled chest, listening to the soft gasps of pleasure. He wrapped his lips around Lance's cock, and Lance's hips bucked off the bed as he moaned. Bradshaw held him down and tried again, letting the hot flesh slide along his tongue as Lance whimpered and shivered. Suddenly Lance pushed him away.

Reaching over to the nightstand, Bradshaw found the bottle of lube he'd set there just in case this actually happened. Lance lifted his legs willingly and Bradshaw worked a lubed finger into him, watching as Lance bit down on his lower lip. "Y'all right?"

Lance nodded, his eyes closed. "Been a while," he explained.

Bradshaw removed his finger and added more lube before putting it back. As Lance relaxed, he added another finger, and then a third. "Ya ready?"

Lance just nodded, his breathing shallow. Bradshaw removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, shuddering involuntarily. He slowly pushed it against Lance's ass, and Lance grimaced. He waited as Lance panted, and then suddenly his cock slipped inside and Lance grunted in pain.

Bradshaw rubbed his chest briskly. "Sure yer all right?" he asked. Lance nodded, bitting his bottom lip. "Ever been with as big a stud as ol' Bradshaw?"

Lance seemed not to get the joke, and shook his head as Bradshaw slowly inched his cock deeper. "Oh God," Lance moaned.

As his cock finally slid home and his hips nestled snugly against Lance's ass, Bradshaw leaned forward and kissed his chin. "Feelin' okay, Lance?"

"Yeah." Lance opened his eyes. "Remember how I said to go easy on me?"

"Yeah. 'Course."

"Forget it."

Bradshaw laughed. "Tell ya what. I'll make sure ya can handle it 'fore I really give it to ya, 'kay?" He slowly drew his hips back and Lance hissed in pleasure. As Bradshaw slowly pushed forward again, he felt Lance's hands grip his biceps almost desperately as his eyes closed again.

Aching to go faster, Bradshaw kept himself under control, mesmerised by the intense look of pleasure on Lance's stern face. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and at his throat. Bradshaw kissed him lightly, forcing his body to hold back.

"Harder!" Lance said in a rasping whisper.

"Ya sure?"

"Hell yes. Harder!"

Bradshaw let himself go. He slammed his hips forward, driving his cock deep into Lance and eliciting a sharp yelp of surprise that quickly melted into a moan of pleasure. Pounding away at Lance's ass, Bradshaw felt his body shaking violently as it struggled to satisfy its lust. Lance clung to him as if holding on for dear life, gripping Bradshaw's arms so tightly he knew it would leave bruises, but he didn't care; all he cared about was that very moment, bound up in hot, rough sex with Lance.

He threw back his head and grunted loudly as he felt himself shatter as he came; he felt the rush of release tearing through his cock into Lance. His body collapsed, Lance's legs wrapped around him; he felt warm lips on his forehead, and he opened his eyes. Lance gazed up at him, grinning from ear to ear.

"See?" Bradshaw grinned weakly. "Told'ja I'd put a smile on yer face." He sat up, shaking slightly as he withdrew. Lance was panting, and started to move away when Bradshaw pulled him back. "I ain't done with you yet," he said, and went down on Lance's hard cock. Lance gasped loudly and tangled his fingers in Bradshaw's sweaty hair.

Lance came in only a few minutes, a hot rush of tangy cum that filled Bradshaw's mouth to overflowing. He let it drip down his chin as he licked Lance clean, and then tiredly crawled up to lie beside him, breathing heavily.

Lance curled up close and put an arm over Bradshaw's sweaty chest. "Did you get me drunk so you could have sex with me?" he asked, kissing Bradshaw's shoulder.

"Naw, I didn't plan it like that."

Heaving himself up on his elbow, Lance frowned at him. "Try to plan better next time, then," he said, and Bradshaw laughed helplessly.