Layers (TrickC)
Aug. 12th, 2004 02:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsThis is my entry for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
livelikeumeanit's raging JC challenge. Sorry it's late, Jo.
Thanks go tointerlock who's one of the best beta readers ever and makes me look better than I really am. Thank you, honey. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
“We’re here, come on.”
Woken from a sweet dream involving three blonds and a vat of whipped cream, JC flaps his hand irritably. When he hits something solid he opens his eyes. He promptly closes them again when he sees Chris leaning against the edge of the bunk, staring straight at him while rubbing his cheek.
“Damn it, C. Quit with the hitting and get your ass out of bed, we’re nearly at the hotel.” Chris sounds tired, almost whining and JC forces his eyes open to look at him again as he pointedly rubs at his face and moves away.
JC tries to gather the energy to get up. He’s exhausted still and his eyes feel gritty and hot, so he lies quietly, listening to Justin grunt from the opposite bunk as Chris tries to wake him. It’s the same every time they travel overnight and JC knows threats of physical violence will be next, so he carefully sits up and climbs from his bunk, making for the bathroom before Chris decides it’s a good idea to douse them both with freezing water again.
Inside the tiny room, JC turns on the light and squints at himself in the mirror, then spends almost five minutes trying to calm his hair which stands up in wild curly tufts. Apart from the few strands that are plastered to his face with a mixture of sweat and drool. It’s not a good look, especially combined with the sleep creases and under eye bags. JC quickly pees before having a wash that leaves him at least half awake. Looking at his watch he groans at the time; six am and they’ve got an interview at eight. Which means there’s two hours at most to get into the hotel, shower and eat breakfast and that’s if there’s no fans waiting, which is doubtful.
Their schedule’s been brutal lately; concert after concert with the days filled with promotion. They’re all suffering, pushing themselves to the limit despite aching bodies and raw emotions. It’s made them all irritable and words seem to cut sharply now, so they dance around one another while pretending things are fine.
With a last yawn JC enjoys a final moment of peace then opens the door, grimacing a little at the volume of Chris’ voice.
“Justin. You’ve got one minute to get out of that bed before I go for the jug. Don’t push me.” Chris looks at JC, then pulls the blanket from Justin’s bunk before squeezing past into the bathroom. Slamming the door he leaves JC to face the wrath of Justin who’s finally sitting up, muttering under his breath.
“I’m going to kill him. We can survive as a four piece, no one would notice.”
JC nods and agrees in the right places, falling easily into his usual morning role. For the next few minutes he’ll be nothing but an ear for Justin, someone to listen to complex plans to kill Chris while Justin slowly wakes up, dresses and discovers that he doesn’t hate the world after all.
Wincing at a particularly bloody threat, JC steers Justin toward the door as the bus carefully parks in front of the hotel. Peering through the windows they both sigh at the inevitable crowd of fans staring at the buses with expressions of excitement. He loves their fans, but sometimes they’re too much, especially when his body is still on sleep hours and the last thing he wants to do is be JC of Nsync. He feels tired just looking at them
“You guys ready?” Chris appears behind Justin and JC and rests his hands on their shoulders, connecting before they start the day.
JC nods then plasters a smile on his face. Justin does the same, shining brightly and looking nothing like the surly man of five minutes ago. The door opens, revealing their three body guards standing in a group. The other bus is beside theirs and JC watches Lance stumble down the stairs, yawning behind his hand as Joey follows.
They group together before moving off, standing so close that JC can hear Chris’ soft curse at the first piercing scream that’s echoed by the other girls as they walk toward the waiting fans. Soon JC’s standing with CDs and magazines pushed toward his face, trying to autograph as much as he can while smiling for pictures and thanking people for gifts that are shoved in his hands. He gives as much of himself as he can, but it’s still not enough and as they’re ushered away he hears the disappointment and angry words.
The words sting and JC has to force a smile as he walks. It’s just gone six am and already he’s tense, exhausted and gripping a pink teddy hard around its neck as someone yells for them to come back, just for a minute. The problem is that they don’t have a minute. They’re already running late because of stopping and going back just isn’t an option.
“I don’t think tearing the head off that bear will make them any happier,” Lance says quietly, and he grins as he points at JC’s bear with his own, a lurid green thing with huge glass eyes.
Relaxing his hold, JC stares at Lance’s bear which has to be one of the ugliest things he’s seen. “That is just…” Words fail him as he indicates the bear and Lance laughs too as he holds up his bear for inspection.
“Personally I think they buy them to test us. Find the ugliest toys possible and hand them over to see if we say thank you like the good boy banders we are.
JC thinks about that theory for a moment, remembering the piles of stuff they’re been given by fans, and decides Lance is probably right.
“You have to give them credit. Getting five different coloured ugly bears has to be hard.” Lance glances at his bear again then shoves it into the pocket of his coat until it can join the mountains of stuffed toys they’re given day after day.
JC looks at his bear again. Its empty black eyes stare back and it’s all he can do not to rip them from its head, gouging and tearing until the plastic pulls away from the synthetic pink fur. He knows it’s illogical to hate the bear, but it flares anyway, and he hooks his nails under an eye, ready to tear and destroy.
“Don’t,” Lance says quietly, and he takes the bear from JC, squashing it in with his own until his pocket bulges out. “I know you’re tired but honestly, ripping apart fan gifts isn’t good for our image, even if they are ugly as fuck.”
Lance is smiling as he talks, but JC can tell he’s exhausted too. It’s apparent in the way he moves; slow and careful when they’re finally out of the eye sight of the fans. It’s a state they’re all familiar with, and if JC looks back he’s knows he’ll see Chris, Joey and Justin deflate too as they drop their facades as soon as they’re alone.
Chris catches up, leaning against JC while an assistant gets them checked in. "You ok?"
“I’m fine,” JC replies, and he rests his hand on Chris, pushing two fingers between waistband and skin as they tilt together. So close to Chris, JC does feel fine, his irritation draining away as they stand in the quiet lobby, well away from the fans that demand so much.
“Here’s your schedule for the day and room cards. You’ve got ninety minutes; I suggest you use them to clean up.” The voice of one of the assistants makes JC look up and she hands him a sheet of paper and a card. Taking it he groans at the long list, feeling tired just looking at it.
“This is stupid,” Joey steps from behind Justin and JC’s amused to see a red bear in his pocket before Joey’s words get his full attention. “How are we supposed to do our best work when we don’t even get a dinner break?”
“If you check your schedule you’ll see the interview with Teen Beat is over dinner.” The assistant points at her own list, jabbing her silver nails at the one o clock appointment. “You’ll have an hour, plenty of time to eat.”
Joey doesn’t look convinced and JC doesn’t blame him. None of them like eating during an interview. They’ve been burned too many times by articles making snide remarks about their eating habits and cataloguing exactly what they ate. The assistant looks worriedly at Joey until he shakes his head and starts to walk to the elevator. He knows she’s nothing but a flunkey, a small cog in the machine that’s Nsync, and if they can’t demand time for lunch there’s no way she can.
“Come on,” Chris stands and places his hand against JC’s back, gently pushing until he follows Joey. They join up at the elevator doors and JC can see himself in their reflection, all dark eyes and pale complexion.
“This sucks,” someone says softly and JC has to agree. This does suck and as he steps inside he knows it’ll only get worse.
~*~*~*~
“So tell me, what kind of underwear do you have on right now, boxers or briefs?” The woman licks her lips as she coyly looks at Justin from under her lashes.
JC feels Justin tense beside him but the smile never leaves his face as he effortlessly answers the question.
“I don’t wear anything at all. No. I’m kidding, I’m wearing boxer briefs.”
Justin laughs and the woman laughs too, happy with her answer and unaware she’s asked one of their most hated questions. Not that she’d probably care, she’s got her interview and can go off and tell her readers about their favourite food, colour and music. The same questions they’ve answered numerous times. Sometimes JC wonders why they don’t carry a print-out of answers they could hand over and save having to repeat the same things over and over.
“And what about you, JC?”
Startled, JC looks up to see the woman staring at him with an expectant expression as she waits for an answer.
“I’m wearing a thong, I like the way they feel,” JC answers seriously and has the satisfaction of seeing the surprise on her face before Chris waves his hands, attracting her attention.
“JC’s lying, he doesn’t have a thong on today, Joey does. The pink one right?”
Joey quickly follows Chris’ lead. “No you borrowed the pink one remember? You haven’t given it back yet.” They easily fall into a mock argument that has the interviewer smiling as she looks between them.
“Are you crazy,” Justin hisses as he leans forward, pretending to fasten his lace as he glares up at JC. “You can’t say things like that.”
JC doesn’t reply, he knows they have to stick to the rehearsed answers but he couldn’t resist using his own for once. He just wanted to see if he could knock the plastic expression from the interviewer’s face.
“Don’t do it again.” Justin straightens, leaving JC fuming in his seat as he sits and listens to the rest of interview, answering questions when needed like the programmed robot he is. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact he’s looking at his watch, counting down the seconds until he can get out of this room, but even then they have to go straight to a photo shoot, something that makes JC feel even worse.
They finally leave ten minutes later and JC hurries away after a cursory goodbye. He feels tense and scratches his arm, using his fingernails to tame the feelings that flow under his skin, digging into soft flesh as he waits for the others to catch up.
“Don’t,” Chris says, and he grabs JC’s hand, uncaring of the reporter who’s standing watching them with a knowing expression, so different to the one she affected in the interview. “We’ll be out of here soon.”
“To do another photo-shoot, more interviews and onto the concert. We don’t get a break until tonight when we get back on the bus.” JC almost snarls the words then immediately feels bad, knowing he’s attacking the wrong target. “Sorry, it’s just….”
“I know,” Chris interrupts. He rubs at his own eyes and JC can see the strain there, testament to the weeks of non stop work. “Let’s just go get this done. We might get a break at the venue if we’re lucky.”
JC doubts that, but he moves forward anyway, leaving his hand in Chris’. He keeps it there until they walk into the corridor, where they see Justin waiting next to a set of double doors.
“We’re in here,” Justin waves to attract their attention then opens one of the doors, holding it until Chris and JC arrive. They walk into the room and immediately JC sighs as he sees the set up, another reminder of the hours of work ahead. Boxes are scattered on the floor and a scaffold is set up in front of a blue backdrop. Rails of clothes are in the corner next to two tables for make up and hair and assorted people bustle about carrying cameras and props.
The silver nailed assistant heads toward them as soon as they walk in, holding a file in one hand and a cell phone in the other. She looks almost as tired as JC feels and he flashes her a smile as she pushes back her hair and looks at them all.
“Morgan thinks this should take two hours, I’ve told him it’ll have to considering we need to be at the venue right after,” she says, then hides a yawn behind her hand. “They want you straight in make up and hair but if you’re hungry I ordered in some food. It’s over there.”
JC looks where she points and almost kisses her when he sees a table full of pizza, sandwiches and bottles of water. He knows the food wasn’t part of their schedule and he wonders what strings she pulled to get it.
“Thanks,” JC says gratefully, a thanks that’s echoed by them all as they head to the table. It doesn’t take them long to load plates with food; they’re all hungry after picking politely at their lunch, and soon JC’s sitting in a chair eating a sandwich while his hair is styled into windswept curls. Chris is at the next chair, pulling strings of cheese from his pizza as his hair is teased until it stands up in sharp spikes. Seeing JC look at him in the mirror he smiles wide, deliberately showing a mouthful of cheese.
JC reacts by taking a huge bite himself then shows the squished tomato and bacon in his mouth. Chris looks impressed and laughs as the stylists pretend not to be disgusted.
“You’re a pig, C,” Chris says affectionately. He stands when his stylist indicates he’s done then walks so he’s next to JC’s chair. “Looking hot.” Chris rubs his thumb across JC’s cheek, watching their reflections in the mirror.
“Chris, you’re next.”
The moment’s broken by the make-up artist who shouts for Chris now that Lance is done. Walking away, Chris lets his fingers trail across JC’s shoulders before taking his place at the next workstation. JC watches as Chris’ fussed over and his skin covered until no trace of tiredness remains. He looks smooth faced and perfect; and JC hates him like that. He prefers Chris with a mouthful of cheese and skin that’s not caked in make-up, but that’s not good enough, so they all have to look pristine and squeaky clean.
Mostly JC doesn’t care, he does his own thing and pushes the boundaries he’s given with his appearance, but sometimes it feels like his whole life is out of his control, and he’s became nothing more than a life size version of his marionette.
“JC, we’re ready for you here.”
Standing, JC moves to the empty chair at the make-up table. He watches as his face is covered with base and his eyes outlined. Gloss is slicked on his lips and blusher applied to his cheekbones until he looks bright eyed and perky. He looks fantastic, but as he stands to join the others under the hot lights he feels almost suffocated by the shine that makes him a star.
The shoot seems to last much longer than ninety minutes. JC’s in no mood to pose and act for the cameras and his mood seems to worsen as he forces himself to follow directions. Even smiling is an effort and when he does smile it feels false, as if someone else is controlling his face. He knows it’s tiredness that makes him feel that way, but the knowledge doesn’t help as he stands fuming as yet another light is moved.
“Lets call it a day people, we’re not going to get anything else this session,” Morgan says, setting down his camera. JC can’t help feeling relieved, and he quickly walks from under the lights aware that Justin’s following.
“What’s up with you today?” Justin seems torn between anger and concern as he grabs for JC’s wrist, forcing him to stop. “You’ve been out of it all day and now you’ve totally blown this shoot.”
“I hardly think I’ve blown it.” JC jerks his arm out of Justin’s hold and takes a step back. “They’ll have plenty of shots of you, that’s all the fans want after all.” JC’s sorry for the words as soon as he says them but he can’t seem to say the required words. Instead he fists his hands, digging his finger nails into his palms as Justin stands still, looking at him.
“I’m going to let that go. I know you’re tired, we all are. Just. Snap out of it, okay.” Justin turns and walks away; joining Lance and Joey near the left over food. The last thing JC wants is to join them, he needs time alone to cool down and knows just the place to do it.
Quickly walking from the room he heads toward the bathroom at the end of the corridor. Pushing open the door he’s relived to find it empty and stands at the sink, bracing his hands on the edge as he closes his eyes and tries to regain control.
“A bit clichéd hiding in the bathroom.”
JC doesn’t even look up at Chris’ voice. It’s not as if it’s a surprise that he was followed but company is the last thing he wants, whoever it is.
“You should go, I’m not in the mood,” JC says, and he grips the sink harder when he hears Chris come closer. “I mean it, I’ll say something I’ll regret.”
“I don’t care.” Chris’ voice is soft and JC opens his eyes when he feels him come closer. They’re not touching, but JC knows he’s there, can feel Chris’ presence as easily as he can see him.
“I care. That’s why you should go.” JC looks at Chris then, tries to indicate how close to the edge he is today as the realities of their job threaten to suffocate him.
“I’m going nowhere,” Chris says, and he leans against the wall between the sinks, staring at JC until he has to look away. “I know you’re tired and you’re obviously pissed at something, so you might as well tell me before I have to spend the next hour bugging you about it.”
JC knows Chris means every word, he will badger until he knows. Sometimes with Chris it’s just better to give in straight away. “It’s just. Don’t you get sick of this? The fans, the promotion. Everything.” JC forces out the words, feeling disloyal as he speaks but unable to stop. “Look at today. We’ve been working for hours now and I don’t mind that. I don’t. But no one ever gives us credit for that.”
JC stands up straight and starts to pace. “We do all this work then have to pretend to be something we’re not. Look at me. Look at you. Made over to look like the perfect boy banders we’re supposed to be. Where’s the honesty? Why can’t we show ourselves to the fans?
“We sing our songs and dance. Make nice for every one and none of them are looking at us. At me.” JC’s pacing harder now, his shoes squeaking against the floor as he moves. It feels good to vent, allow the words to flow as Chris silently observes. “We’re nothing but plastic, a step up from those stupid dolls. I hate it.”
“So what should we do?” Chris asks, and JC halts his tirade to look at him. “I agree, we do look plastic on occasions. So what now? Start swearing onstage? Destroy the image we’ve worked hard to build up? Take pictures of Lance drinking, you smoking up, Joey changing Bri’s diaper? Hell, why don’t we go and make out on stage or do an episode of Cribs at our house and show them our bed and toy drawer? Is that the reality you want to show people?
“No. You don’t get it.” JC yells, and he stands in the middle of the floor, trying to make Chris understand. “I just want credit. For people to see beyond our image and recognise that we work damn hard. I’m more than the arty one, you’re more than the crazy one. Why don’t they see that? They’re blinded by this”
JC wipes at his face, smearing make-up before pushing his fingers into his curls, flattening them with hard movements.
“Hey, be careful,” Chris says, then falls silent when JC grabs him and pulls him close.
“Look at you, this isn’t you,” JC indicates their reflection in the mirror. “You’re not supposed to be perfect, no one is.”
”So change that,” Chris is staring at JC in the mirror, all dark eyes and glistening lips. He looks good, like the Chris JC has seen in a million magazines, but he’s not his Chris, and that needs to change.
JC starts by rubbing his hands through Chris’ hair, destroying the spikes, until his hair lays tousled every which way against his head. All the time Chris is watching him, unblinking and focussed as JC strips off his shirt and wets it under the faucet.
“That’s probably a thousand dollar shirt,” Chris remarks, then smiles a little as JC squeezes it out.
“I’ll pay them back,” JC says, and he starts to wipe Chris’ face, carefully scrubbing until all the make-up is gone. “That’s better. You look like my Chris now, not the plastic version. There’s just one more thing” JC uses his hips to steer Chris back against the wall, then dips his head for a kiss.
It’s a quick kiss but JC makes it matter, holding onto Chris’ shoulders, his fingers sliding down the collar of his shirt to caress warm skin with small movements of fingers while using his tongue to lick across Chris’ lips as they press together. When they pull apart JC looks at Chris with satisfaction, seeing how he looks rumpled but happy, and that’s just how he should look.
“You feel better now,” Chris questions, and JC takes a moment before replying.
“A bit.” He does feel better, he’s still tired, still pissed off at the world but he’s also taken back a little control and for now that’s enough.
livelikeumeanit's raging JC challenge. Sorry it's late, Jo.Thanks go to
interlock who's one of the best beta readers ever and makes me look better than I really am. Thank you, honey. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.“We’re here, come on.”
Woken from a sweet dream involving three blonds and a vat of whipped cream, JC flaps his hand irritably. When he hits something solid he opens his eyes. He promptly closes them again when he sees Chris leaning against the edge of the bunk, staring straight at him while rubbing his cheek.
“Damn it, C. Quit with the hitting and get your ass out of bed, we’re nearly at the hotel.” Chris sounds tired, almost whining and JC forces his eyes open to look at him again as he pointedly rubs at his face and moves away.
JC tries to gather the energy to get up. He’s exhausted still and his eyes feel gritty and hot, so he lies quietly, listening to Justin grunt from the opposite bunk as Chris tries to wake him. It’s the same every time they travel overnight and JC knows threats of physical violence will be next, so he carefully sits up and climbs from his bunk, making for the bathroom before Chris decides it’s a good idea to douse them both with freezing water again.
Inside the tiny room, JC turns on the light and squints at himself in the mirror, then spends almost five minutes trying to calm his hair which stands up in wild curly tufts. Apart from the few strands that are plastered to his face with a mixture of sweat and drool. It’s not a good look, especially combined with the sleep creases and under eye bags. JC quickly pees before having a wash that leaves him at least half awake. Looking at his watch he groans at the time; six am and they’ve got an interview at eight. Which means there’s two hours at most to get into the hotel, shower and eat breakfast and that’s if there’s no fans waiting, which is doubtful.
Their schedule’s been brutal lately; concert after concert with the days filled with promotion. They’re all suffering, pushing themselves to the limit despite aching bodies and raw emotions. It’s made them all irritable and words seem to cut sharply now, so they dance around one another while pretending things are fine.
With a last yawn JC enjoys a final moment of peace then opens the door, grimacing a little at the volume of Chris’ voice.
“Justin. You’ve got one minute to get out of that bed before I go for the jug. Don’t push me.” Chris looks at JC, then pulls the blanket from Justin’s bunk before squeezing past into the bathroom. Slamming the door he leaves JC to face the wrath of Justin who’s finally sitting up, muttering under his breath.
“I’m going to kill him. We can survive as a four piece, no one would notice.”
JC nods and agrees in the right places, falling easily into his usual morning role. For the next few minutes he’ll be nothing but an ear for Justin, someone to listen to complex plans to kill Chris while Justin slowly wakes up, dresses and discovers that he doesn’t hate the world after all.
Wincing at a particularly bloody threat, JC steers Justin toward the door as the bus carefully parks in front of the hotel. Peering through the windows they both sigh at the inevitable crowd of fans staring at the buses with expressions of excitement. He loves their fans, but sometimes they’re too much, especially when his body is still on sleep hours and the last thing he wants to do is be JC of Nsync. He feels tired just looking at them
“You guys ready?” Chris appears behind Justin and JC and rests his hands on their shoulders, connecting before they start the day.
JC nods then plasters a smile on his face. Justin does the same, shining brightly and looking nothing like the surly man of five minutes ago. The door opens, revealing their three body guards standing in a group. The other bus is beside theirs and JC watches Lance stumble down the stairs, yawning behind his hand as Joey follows.
They group together before moving off, standing so close that JC can hear Chris’ soft curse at the first piercing scream that’s echoed by the other girls as they walk toward the waiting fans. Soon JC’s standing with CDs and magazines pushed toward his face, trying to autograph as much as he can while smiling for pictures and thanking people for gifts that are shoved in his hands. He gives as much of himself as he can, but it’s still not enough and as they’re ushered away he hears the disappointment and angry words.
The words sting and JC has to force a smile as he walks. It’s just gone six am and already he’s tense, exhausted and gripping a pink teddy hard around its neck as someone yells for them to come back, just for a minute. The problem is that they don’t have a minute. They’re already running late because of stopping and going back just isn’t an option.
“I don’t think tearing the head off that bear will make them any happier,” Lance says quietly, and he grins as he points at JC’s bear with his own, a lurid green thing with huge glass eyes.
Relaxing his hold, JC stares at Lance’s bear which has to be one of the ugliest things he’s seen. “That is just…” Words fail him as he indicates the bear and Lance laughs too as he holds up his bear for inspection.
“Personally I think they buy them to test us. Find the ugliest toys possible and hand them over to see if we say thank you like the good boy banders we are.
JC thinks about that theory for a moment, remembering the piles of stuff they’re been given by fans, and decides Lance is probably right.
“You have to give them credit. Getting five different coloured ugly bears has to be hard.” Lance glances at his bear again then shoves it into the pocket of his coat until it can join the mountains of stuffed toys they’re given day after day.
JC looks at his bear again. Its empty black eyes stare back and it’s all he can do not to rip them from its head, gouging and tearing until the plastic pulls away from the synthetic pink fur. He knows it’s illogical to hate the bear, but it flares anyway, and he hooks his nails under an eye, ready to tear and destroy.
“Don’t,” Lance says quietly, and he takes the bear from JC, squashing it in with his own until his pocket bulges out. “I know you’re tired but honestly, ripping apart fan gifts isn’t good for our image, even if they are ugly as fuck.”
Lance is smiling as he talks, but JC can tell he’s exhausted too. It’s apparent in the way he moves; slow and careful when they’re finally out of the eye sight of the fans. It’s a state they’re all familiar with, and if JC looks back he’s knows he’ll see Chris, Joey and Justin deflate too as they drop their facades as soon as they’re alone.
Chris catches up, leaning against JC while an assistant gets them checked in. "You ok?"
“I’m fine,” JC replies, and he rests his hand on Chris, pushing two fingers between waistband and skin as they tilt together. So close to Chris, JC does feel fine, his irritation draining away as they stand in the quiet lobby, well away from the fans that demand so much.
“Here’s your schedule for the day and room cards. You’ve got ninety minutes; I suggest you use them to clean up.” The voice of one of the assistants makes JC look up and she hands him a sheet of paper and a card. Taking it he groans at the long list, feeling tired just looking at it.
“This is stupid,” Joey steps from behind Justin and JC’s amused to see a red bear in his pocket before Joey’s words get his full attention. “How are we supposed to do our best work when we don’t even get a dinner break?”
“If you check your schedule you’ll see the interview with Teen Beat is over dinner.” The assistant points at her own list, jabbing her silver nails at the one o clock appointment. “You’ll have an hour, plenty of time to eat.”
Joey doesn’t look convinced and JC doesn’t blame him. None of them like eating during an interview. They’ve been burned too many times by articles making snide remarks about their eating habits and cataloguing exactly what they ate. The assistant looks worriedly at Joey until he shakes his head and starts to walk to the elevator. He knows she’s nothing but a flunkey, a small cog in the machine that’s Nsync, and if they can’t demand time for lunch there’s no way she can.
“Come on,” Chris stands and places his hand against JC’s back, gently pushing until he follows Joey. They join up at the elevator doors and JC can see himself in their reflection, all dark eyes and pale complexion.
“This sucks,” someone says softly and JC has to agree. This does suck and as he steps inside he knows it’ll only get worse.
~*~*~*~
“So tell me, what kind of underwear do you have on right now, boxers or briefs?” The woman licks her lips as she coyly looks at Justin from under her lashes.
JC feels Justin tense beside him but the smile never leaves his face as he effortlessly answers the question.
“I don’t wear anything at all. No. I’m kidding, I’m wearing boxer briefs.”
Justin laughs and the woman laughs too, happy with her answer and unaware she’s asked one of their most hated questions. Not that she’d probably care, she’s got her interview and can go off and tell her readers about their favourite food, colour and music. The same questions they’ve answered numerous times. Sometimes JC wonders why they don’t carry a print-out of answers they could hand over and save having to repeat the same things over and over.
“And what about you, JC?”
Startled, JC looks up to see the woman staring at him with an expectant expression as she waits for an answer.
“I’m wearing a thong, I like the way they feel,” JC answers seriously and has the satisfaction of seeing the surprise on her face before Chris waves his hands, attracting her attention.
“JC’s lying, he doesn’t have a thong on today, Joey does. The pink one right?”
Joey quickly follows Chris’ lead. “No you borrowed the pink one remember? You haven’t given it back yet.” They easily fall into a mock argument that has the interviewer smiling as she looks between them.
“Are you crazy,” Justin hisses as he leans forward, pretending to fasten his lace as he glares up at JC. “You can’t say things like that.”
JC doesn’t reply, he knows they have to stick to the rehearsed answers but he couldn’t resist using his own for once. He just wanted to see if he could knock the plastic expression from the interviewer’s face.
“Don’t do it again.” Justin straightens, leaving JC fuming in his seat as he sits and listens to the rest of interview, answering questions when needed like the programmed robot he is. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact he’s looking at his watch, counting down the seconds until he can get out of this room, but even then they have to go straight to a photo shoot, something that makes JC feel even worse.
They finally leave ten minutes later and JC hurries away after a cursory goodbye. He feels tense and scratches his arm, using his fingernails to tame the feelings that flow under his skin, digging into soft flesh as he waits for the others to catch up.
“Don’t,” Chris says, and he grabs JC’s hand, uncaring of the reporter who’s standing watching them with a knowing expression, so different to the one she affected in the interview. “We’ll be out of here soon.”
“To do another photo-shoot, more interviews and onto the concert. We don’t get a break until tonight when we get back on the bus.” JC almost snarls the words then immediately feels bad, knowing he’s attacking the wrong target. “Sorry, it’s just….”
“I know,” Chris interrupts. He rubs at his own eyes and JC can see the strain there, testament to the weeks of non stop work. “Let’s just go get this done. We might get a break at the venue if we’re lucky.”
JC doubts that, but he moves forward anyway, leaving his hand in Chris’. He keeps it there until they walk into the corridor, where they see Justin waiting next to a set of double doors.
“We’re in here,” Justin waves to attract their attention then opens one of the doors, holding it until Chris and JC arrive. They walk into the room and immediately JC sighs as he sees the set up, another reminder of the hours of work ahead. Boxes are scattered on the floor and a scaffold is set up in front of a blue backdrop. Rails of clothes are in the corner next to two tables for make up and hair and assorted people bustle about carrying cameras and props.
The silver nailed assistant heads toward them as soon as they walk in, holding a file in one hand and a cell phone in the other. She looks almost as tired as JC feels and he flashes her a smile as she pushes back her hair and looks at them all.
“Morgan thinks this should take two hours, I’ve told him it’ll have to considering we need to be at the venue right after,” she says, then hides a yawn behind her hand. “They want you straight in make up and hair but if you’re hungry I ordered in some food. It’s over there.”
JC looks where she points and almost kisses her when he sees a table full of pizza, sandwiches and bottles of water. He knows the food wasn’t part of their schedule and he wonders what strings she pulled to get it.
“Thanks,” JC says gratefully, a thanks that’s echoed by them all as they head to the table. It doesn’t take them long to load plates with food; they’re all hungry after picking politely at their lunch, and soon JC’s sitting in a chair eating a sandwich while his hair is styled into windswept curls. Chris is at the next chair, pulling strings of cheese from his pizza as his hair is teased until it stands up in sharp spikes. Seeing JC look at him in the mirror he smiles wide, deliberately showing a mouthful of cheese.
JC reacts by taking a huge bite himself then shows the squished tomato and bacon in his mouth. Chris looks impressed and laughs as the stylists pretend not to be disgusted.
“You’re a pig, C,” Chris says affectionately. He stands when his stylist indicates he’s done then walks so he’s next to JC’s chair. “Looking hot.” Chris rubs his thumb across JC’s cheek, watching their reflections in the mirror.
“Chris, you’re next.”
The moment’s broken by the make-up artist who shouts for Chris now that Lance is done. Walking away, Chris lets his fingers trail across JC’s shoulders before taking his place at the next workstation. JC watches as Chris’ fussed over and his skin covered until no trace of tiredness remains. He looks smooth faced and perfect; and JC hates him like that. He prefers Chris with a mouthful of cheese and skin that’s not caked in make-up, but that’s not good enough, so they all have to look pristine and squeaky clean.
Mostly JC doesn’t care, he does his own thing and pushes the boundaries he’s given with his appearance, but sometimes it feels like his whole life is out of his control, and he’s became nothing more than a life size version of his marionette.
“JC, we’re ready for you here.”
Standing, JC moves to the empty chair at the make-up table. He watches as his face is covered with base and his eyes outlined. Gloss is slicked on his lips and blusher applied to his cheekbones until he looks bright eyed and perky. He looks fantastic, but as he stands to join the others under the hot lights he feels almost suffocated by the shine that makes him a star.
The shoot seems to last much longer than ninety minutes. JC’s in no mood to pose and act for the cameras and his mood seems to worsen as he forces himself to follow directions. Even smiling is an effort and when he does smile it feels false, as if someone else is controlling his face. He knows it’s tiredness that makes him feel that way, but the knowledge doesn’t help as he stands fuming as yet another light is moved.
“Lets call it a day people, we’re not going to get anything else this session,” Morgan says, setting down his camera. JC can’t help feeling relieved, and he quickly walks from under the lights aware that Justin’s following.
“What’s up with you today?” Justin seems torn between anger and concern as he grabs for JC’s wrist, forcing him to stop. “You’ve been out of it all day and now you’ve totally blown this shoot.”
“I hardly think I’ve blown it.” JC jerks his arm out of Justin’s hold and takes a step back. “They’ll have plenty of shots of you, that’s all the fans want after all.” JC’s sorry for the words as soon as he says them but he can’t seem to say the required words. Instead he fists his hands, digging his finger nails into his palms as Justin stands still, looking at him.
“I’m going to let that go. I know you’re tired, we all are. Just. Snap out of it, okay.” Justin turns and walks away; joining Lance and Joey near the left over food. The last thing JC wants is to join them, he needs time alone to cool down and knows just the place to do it.
Quickly walking from the room he heads toward the bathroom at the end of the corridor. Pushing open the door he’s relived to find it empty and stands at the sink, bracing his hands on the edge as he closes his eyes and tries to regain control.
“A bit clichéd hiding in the bathroom.”
JC doesn’t even look up at Chris’ voice. It’s not as if it’s a surprise that he was followed but company is the last thing he wants, whoever it is.
“You should go, I’m not in the mood,” JC says, and he grips the sink harder when he hears Chris come closer. “I mean it, I’ll say something I’ll regret.”
“I don’t care.” Chris’ voice is soft and JC opens his eyes when he feels him come closer. They’re not touching, but JC knows he’s there, can feel Chris’ presence as easily as he can see him.
“I care. That’s why you should go.” JC looks at Chris then, tries to indicate how close to the edge he is today as the realities of their job threaten to suffocate him.
“I’m going nowhere,” Chris says, and he leans against the wall between the sinks, staring at JC until he has to look away. “I know you’re tired and you’re obviously pissed at something, so you might as well tell me before I have to spend the next hour bugging you about it.”
JC knows Chris means every word, he will badger until he knows. Sometimes with Chris it’s just better to give in straight away. “It’s just. Don’t you get sick of this? The fans, the promotion. Everything.” JC forces out the words, feeling disloyal as he speaks but unable to stop. “Look at today. We’ve been working for hours now and I don’t mind that. I don’t. But no one ever gives us credit for that.”
JC stands up straight and starts to pace. “We do all this work then have to pretend to be something we’re not. Look at me. Look at you. Made over to look like the perfect boy banders we’re supposed to be. Where’s the honesty? Why can’t we show ourselves to the fans?
“We sing our songs and dance. Make nice for every one and none of them are looking at us. At me.” JC’s pacing harder now, his shoes squeaking against the floor as he moves. It feels good to vent, allow the words to flow as Chris silently observes. “We’re nothing but plastic, a step up from those stupid dolls. I hate it.”
“So what should we do?” Chris asks, and JC halts his tirade to look at him. “I agree, we do look plastic on occasions. So what now? Start swearing onstage? Destroy the image we’ve worked hard to build up? Take pictures of Lance drinking, you smoking up, Joey changing Bri’s diaper? Hell, why don’t we go and make out on stage or do an episode of Cribs at our house and show them our bed and toy drawer? Is that the reality you want to show people?
“No. You don’t get it.” JC yells, and he stands in the middle of the floor, trying to make Chris understand. “I just want credit. For people to see beyond our image and recognise that we work damn hard. I’m more than the arty one, you’re more than the crazy one. Why don’t they see that? They’re blinded by this”
JC wipes at his face, smearing make-up before pushing his fingers into his curls, flattening them with hard movements.
“Hey, be careful,” Chris says, then falls silent when JC grabs him and pulls him close.
“Look at you, this isn’t you,” JC indicates their reflection in the mirror. “You’re not supposed to be perfect, no one is.”
”So change that,” Chris is staring at JC in the mirror, all dark eyes and glistening lips. He looks good, like the Chris JC has seen in a million magazines, but he’s not his Chris, and that needs to change.
JC starts by rubbing his hands through Chris’ hair, destroying the spikes, until his hair lays tousled every which way against his head. All the time Chris is watching him, unblinking and focussed as JC strips off his shirt and wets it under the faucet.
“That’s probably a thousand dollar shirt,” Chris remarks, then smiles a little as JC squeezes it out.
“I’ll pay them back,” JC says, and he starts to wipe Chris’ face, carefully scrubbing until all the make-up is gone. “That’s better. You look like my Chris now, not the plastic version. There’s just one more thing” JC uses his hips to steer Chris back against the wall, then dips his head for a kiss.
It’s a quick kiss but JC makes it matter, holding onto Chris’ shoulders, his fingers sliding down the collar of his shirt to caress warm skin with small movements of fingers while using his tongue to lick across Chris’ lips as they press together. When they pull apart JC looks at Chris with satisfaction, seeing how he looks rumpled but happy, and that’s just how he should look.
“You feel better now,” Chris questions, and JC takes a moment before replying.
“A bit.” He does feel better, he’s still tired, still pissed off at the world but he’s also taken back a little control and for now that’s enough.
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Date: 2004-08-16 10:38 am (UTC)I've said this in a lot of the comments but I had problems thinking of something that JC would rage about, then decided their day to day lives would be enough to annoy him to a certain extent. I know it's great to be famous and it's what he wants but the constant attention of the fans must be trying.
Oh, I totally think it was the kiss that made JC feel better too *g* Chris makes everything feel better ;)
LOL. You just know I'll be sitting with my nose to the screen watching for JC's photo on Chris' bedside table when he does his episode of Cribs. Because it'll be there, I know it will :D
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Date: 2004-08-16 04:31 pm (UTC)And you showed the other side of the coin beautifully. There are screaming fans, vying for attention, and the poor guys have been on the road all night long and all they want is some food and a shower.
You just know I'll be sitting with my nose to the screen watching for JC's photo on Chris' bedside table when he does his episode of Cribs.
*giggles* I have a different scenario in my head, of Chris impulsively agreeing to do Cribs, then having an 'oh SHIT' reaction and calling JC, who is in LA, and telling him to come back because they have to de-gay-ify and de-JC-ify their house. And they would remove all traces of JC from the house but forget tiny little sticker-pictures on the microwave or a kissy picture under the stairs, and Chris notice them and try to cover up the stickers, and will be hectically doing a sweep of the house 5 seconds before the MTV crew bursts in.
Heh. :)
Kissy!Chris! :D
}:D
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Date: 2004-08-17 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-17 05:47 am (UTC)};)
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Date: 2004-08-17 06:06 am (UTC)I feel the need to write what you said *g*
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Date: 2004-08-17 08:12 am (UTC)*Please* write it? *puppy eyes* I didn't think you'd ever offer. ;)
}:)
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Date: 2004-08-17 10:09 am (UTC)But I did write it *g*
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Date: 2004-08-17 11:45 am (UTC)*squees*
*dies*
GUH!!! More comments with the fic itself.
}:D
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Date: 2004-08-17 12:02 pm (UTC)Thank you again :D