So the thing about Chris was that he had no attention span, because it wasn't the sort of thing that was convenient to have. It meant serious looks and furrowing of brows and chewing of lower lips and bored sighs and total concentration, and none of that was really very fun at all. It wasn't that he couldn't concentrate, because he could -- of course he could, he thought; it was his job -- it was just that most of the time there was nothing worth the effort.

Chris was also pretty damn lazy.

But Lance wasn't. Lance was the sort of person who could be painfully intense without actually hurting anything, or even really trying. Which was kind of annoying, because he had a bad habit of staring intently at documents, and then at you, if you were so unfortunate to interrupt him, and his eyes did a really creepy sort of vanishing and icy and translucent thing, that forced you to look away. And then he got a little snippy, because you'd "just fucking interrupted me for no good reason! -- what?"

It was sort of cute, though, when his concentration wasn't focussed on anything but the computer screen, because his lips parted a little as the muscles in his jaw slackened, and his breathing slowed, and he got very still and actually seemed kind of peaceful, which Chris thought was pretty weird, because there was nothing at all peaceful about work.

And Chris knew, because he'd tried working with Lance -- letting him go over FuManSkeeto contracts, because Lance thought it was, "really, really cool, man, can I see?" The way Lance worked was exhausting, because he wasn't a paper shuffler like Chris, and believed whole-heartedly in multi-tasking and talking to himself just loudly enough that Chris could tell that, yes, he was talking, but no, he had no idea what he was saying. Chris didn't have the patience for it, and after Lance finished rewording a subsection of a contract -- that Chris couldn't even recognize any more, if he'd ever known what it was -- Chris circled his fingers around Lance's wrist before his hand got to a pen, and tugged lightly.

"Give it a rest, man," Chris said, and ran a finger along the underside of Lance's forearm.

"Mm," Lance said, but he didn't look away from the screen, his lips still forming the words he read.

"You're giving me a headache," Chris said, and it was actually partly true, because Lance had concentration enough for the both of them, so much that it spilled over and seeped into Chris, and it just felt like physical exertion until everything hurt. He didn't really know how Lance dealt with it -- he must have been pretty highly strung from the effort to keep it down.

But when Chris leaned over and kissed Lance, slipping his tongue between Lance's parted lips, -- and it was admittedly pretty convenient the way his lips did that -- Lance's concentration vanished like a burnt-out lightbulb, and Chris would have been insulted if he weren't so relieved.

And so the thing about Lance was that once Chris slid a hand down his pants, and licked at his lips, he didn't have much of an attention span, either.

 

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