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Nov. 12th, 2006 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI've just managed to sneak this in on time, mostly due to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nopseud's who's a beta reading star.
Written formsktrnanny and darkseaglass's Kissing Challenge.
There’s something reassuring about being on the road, the monotony of wheels turning, cars passing in a whoosh of muted sound. Lance yawns and tucks up his legs, heels caught on the edge of his seat as he stares outside. He’s looking at, but not seeing, the rows of lights, incomprehensible road-signs and a highway that stretches for miles. Sometimes it’s easier not to think. If he thinks he remembers how huge this is, how he’s left his old familiar life behind.
Shifting until he’s comfortable between backpack and bus side, Lance lets the burr of travelling become his lullaby, the quiet breathing and snores of the others adding to the song of the road.
“Lance.”
Whisper soft, and Lance is half positive Justin is talking in his dreams. He’s not, and Lance blinks hard as Justin leans over the back of his seat, patches of light and shadow, his palm flat against the window, balancing as they turn a corner.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Just pretending.” Justin shrugs with one shoulder. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s what that burning smell was.” Lance grins when Justin glares, eyes narrowing over the contrasting curve of smile.
“Funny. But no.” Justin runs his fingers through his hair, grimacing as they slide through the gel. “You have to go for what you want. Attack life, right?”
Lance doesn’t reply, aware Justin already knows his answer.
“I don’t even. I mean. How am I supposed to know unless I try?”
Confused, Lance rubs at his eyes. It’s far too late for conversations like this. He should be asleep, not trying to decipher the complexities of Justin’s world.
“Seize the day, and all that.” Justin looks around the bus, gaze skimming over his mom who’s wrapped in a blanket and fast asleep. Joey and Chris curled on the back seat, JC listing over, using his bag as a pillow. “If this doesn’t… I mean. Remember, my face is our fortune.”
Still confused, Lance wonders if Justin’s been at the bottle of knock-off vodka hidden in JC’s bag. Then his eyes open wide when Justin licks his lips and leans over the seat, stretching forward.
Lance has kissed and been kissed many times. His mom, and various relatives who always seem compelled to pinch at his cheeks and call him poppet, Jade Jones and her brother Brad, none of those have prepared him for this.
Justin’s lips are dry, bitter with the lingering taste of make-up and gel. His hand is against Lance’s shoulder, fingers digging, and Lance shivers at the feel of Justin’s tongue, a brief slick of warmth across his bottom lip.
He feels cold when Justin pulls back, sliding back into his seat, arms crossed on the back as he looks at Lance. He doesn’t say anything, and Lance expects laughter, the others to spring into life yelling psyche! They don’t.
“I liked that.” Justin sounds satisfied, like he’s proved something he suspected all along. “Thanks.”
A smile, and Justin twists in his seat, leaving Lance confused and squirming, aware that sleep is abruptly far away.
~*~*~*~
They’re used to industry parties, making small talk with the suits, the important people who work behind the scenes. This party is more of the same, finger foods on silver platters, an open bar serving beer and wine.
One of the DJs from Z100 is standing close to the door. When he sees them come in, he grins, waving a greeting as he almost runs from the room. Chris waves back, wondering what’s so important, but not caring enough to find out.
“Guess he’s already hit the good stuff.” Joey’s looking toward the door, but his attention soon turns to the food tables, and he indicates them with a swipe of his hand. “I’m gonna.”
Chris nods, but keeps moving toward the bar. He’s not that hungry and a beer is just what he needs right now. It’s been a long day – week even – and all he wants to do is get a drink and go home. Well, to his hotel room anyway. His own mini version of home where he can spread out his stuff and pretend, that despite his aching body, he’s not growing old.
“What’ll it be?”
The bartender is blonde, tight t-shirt stretched tight over her impressive chest. Chris settles himself on a barstool, feet hooked around the metal legs.
“Beer, please.” He doesn’t even care what kind. Just takes the offered bottle and takes a long drink. It’s cold, perfect, and he wipes at his lips when he finally puts the bottle down.
“I got you something.” Joey’s holding two plates piled high with food. There are mini quiches and sandwiches, little baked things that Chris doesn’t even begin to recognise. He picks one up, crunching it between his teeth.
“I think it’s some kind of fish.” Joey pokes at his own baked thing, breaking it with his finger. His expression disgusted when it splits open, fishy sauce running over a gooey piece of cake.
“You picked it.” Chris laughs around the neck of his bottle, washing away the fishy taste with beer. “It all goes to the same place.”
“True.” Joey eyes his plate, then picks up the cake and baked fish ball, squishing them together and popping them into his mouth. “Delicious.”
“If you say so.” Chris hands over his beer to Joey, unsurprised when he drains it off and sets the bottle down with an empty clank.
“Think Justin would want a fishcream cake?” Chris is looking across the room where Lance and Justin are talking in a quiet corner. Encouraged by Joey’s answering grin, Chris is about to break open another fish-ball when a microphone suddenly squawks, cutting through the conversation in the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please.”
Chris looks up, watching the DJ who’s standing on a raised platform.
“Tonight we’re celebrating a special occasion. So, could Chris, JC, Joey, Lance and Justin come up here please.”
Confused, Chris slides off his barstool, dropping the fish-ball on the plate. “You know about this?”
Joey shakes his head, following Chris into the watching crowd, walking toward the platform where Lance, Justin and JC are already standing, looking as confused as Chris feels.
When they’re together, side-by-side and waiting, the DJ is handed a large frame. He’s keeping the front next to his body, but Chris suspects what it is, and knows the others do too when Justin grins wide, and JC takes in a sharp intake of breath.
“Z100 are pleased to announce that your debut album has passed the million mark. A million copies of *NSYNC sold and counting. This is for you, guys.”
The DJ hands over the frame, turning it to show the platinum version of *NSYNC. Chris can’t hold back his excitement, launching himself into a group hug, arms around his neck, dreams and hard work represented by the framed disc held in Justin’s hands.
“We’ve done it!” The room erupts, an expanse of people applauding and cheering their name as Chris jumps in place. He grabs for Lance, twirling him around until they’re dizzy and laughing. Jumps onto JC’s back, hugging him tight around his neck, hi fives Justin while grinning inanely, then suddenly Chris is airborn, Joey’s arms holding him tightly as they spin. Feet flying outward, Chris is laughing when Joey finally sets him down, then pulls him close into a tight hug. His hands pressed into the small of Joey’s back, Chris holds on, his ear pressed so close to Joey’s chest that he can hear that thumping of his heart.
“We’ve made it.” Words soft, Joey looks down, sharing the triumph of the moment. Then his smile widens and his hands are around Chris’ waist, dipping him down for a theatrical kiss. Loud and wet and smacking, making Chris laugh against his lips as the crowd roar their approval.
~*~*~*~
The mist is cool against Justin’s face, the railings cold under his fingers as he watches the fountain, admiring the jets of water that shoot into the air. They’re perfect in their beauty, a complex choreography of water, music and light that draws him in until he can ignore the camera crew that bustle behind.
“You left your hat.”
Justin scrunches up his nose when a Santa hat is thrust into his face. Taking it from Chris, he turns his back on the fountain, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I left it on purpose, yo.” Twirling the hat on one finger, Justin contemplates letting it spin into the water.
“They’ve got a boxful of the things back there. Reindeer horns too,” Chris points out, deciphering the intent in Justin’s eyes.
“Horns have to be better than this. My hair’ll never recover.” Justin pats at his curls, ignoring Chris’ laughter.
“An earthquake wouldn’t dislodge those things.” Proving his point, Chris pulls at a curl, snapping it between his fingers.
“Hey. No touching!” Justin scowls and bats at Chris’ hands. It’s not like it’s his fault he needs so much gel. If he doesn’t use it his hair gets insane, and it’s not like Chris has room to talk.
“Suck it up, man. Show some holiday spirit.”
“You do realise, it’s like, months away to Christmas?”
“Not here it’s not.” Chris grabs for the hat, pulling it onto Justin’s head. “Santa’s come early, baby.”
“You’re a freak, man.” Really, it’s not news to anyone, Chris especially, and he grins as Justin suddenly launches himself forward, trying to stuff the hat down Chris’ shirt.
There’s a scuffle, legs and arms in a tangle, and Justin finds himself on the ground, the itchy hat down his pants as Chris kneels above him, crowing his victory.
“Dude, that isn’t right.” Pulling on his dignity, Justin gropes for the hat and drops it to the ground as he sits upright, back against the metal bars. The mist is cool pinpricks of sensation against his sun-heated skin, and he tips back his head, looking up at the rainbow that stretches through the jets.
“It’s Brit’s birthday soon. I’m getting her a ring.” Chris says nothing, and Justin lets the silence stretch until just this side of uncomfortable. “It’s not an engagement ring. Just, it seemed right, you know?”
“I didn’t know it’s so serious.” Chris is looking at Justin, and there’s droplets of water on his eyelashes, tiny sparkles against the dark.
“It is,” Justin says simply, because he loves Britney, and he knows she’s the one.
“Fuck, J. You always have to rush things.” Chris sighs and twists onto his knees, so he’s looking down at Justin.
Justin wants to protest that he knows what he’s doing, that he and Britney are destined to be. Then Chris reaches for him, hands resting on Justin’s shoulders, his lips warm as he kisses Justin’s forehead.
“I’m happy for you, really.”
Chris stands and walks away, leaving Justin convincing himself that Chris meant every word.
~*~*~*~
JC doesn’t hate hospitals, but he doesn’t like them either. There’s always an atmosphere, antiseptic and sickness, patients slowly walking while attached to drips, or pushed in wheelchairs by nurses, their shoes squeaking against the floor. It feeds JC’s imagination, until it seems death is always present, lingering and ready to strike.
He checks the room number written on his hand and looks up; hesitating as he carefully reads signs. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Lance, it’s just. He doesn’t want to see him like this.
Reminding himself that Lance is fine, JC starts walking, then stops once more. He’s outside the small gift shop, looking at a display of plushies, sad looking bears with drooping smiles, bright clusters of balloons and flowers of all kinds. He leaves with a yellow balloon clenched in one too-tight hand.
The balloon floats behind him as he walks, his own personal yellow sun tracking his progress as he contemplates the elevator before taking the stairs. He runs up, speeding upwards until he can blame the pounding of his heart on the climb.
A nurse looks up when he walks past, looking for room twenty-one. She’s got a phone receiver tucked between her shoulder and chin, and nods when he indicates the room, obviously used to the parade of visitors. She isn’t used to JC, it’s the first time he’s been.
Inside, the room looks like a florist. Baskets of flowers are arranged on every surface, making the air heavy with their scent. Balloons bob against the ceiling, bunches of them in every colour. There’s seven pink balloons tied around the neck of a fluffy llama, and JC sympathises, can feel the tightness of his own neck.
“Justin and Chris wanted to know how many balloons it would take to make it fly.”
JC jumps, and finally looks at the bed where Lance is propped up on a pile of pillows. He looks okay, a little pale and there’s an IV in his arm, a band around his wrist, but still. It’s not like before, when JC thought they were about to lose him.
“Did they? I mean, make it fly.”
“Technically, no. They said they did, but really, hovering just off the bed isn’t flying, despite what the great llama fliers Kirkpatrick and Timberlake say.” Lance laughs, then winces, and JC’s inside the room and beside the bed before his mind can think to say no.
“I’m okay. Promise.”
Lance is looking up, and JC believes him, knows he fine.
“I know, it’s just… I thought….”
“You thought wrong.” Lance has hold of JC’s hand now, pulling him close. “Sit down.”
JC sits down hard on the bed. He’s clutching the balloon, desperately not thinking of maybes and what ifs.
“JC.” Holding tight to JC’s hand, Lance slowly pushes himself upright. “I’m fine. I’m here.”
The kiss is brief, little more than a touch of Lance’s lips against JC’s cheek. It’s the best kiss JC’s ever received.
~*~*~*~
Joey’s mom tells stories about his childhood, about how he was born to perform. He always laughs in remembrance, sharing memories of dancing in too big shoes and oversized costumes, his family a willing and enthusiastic audience. He was born to entertain, for fame, he never expected that fame to come hand in hand with the pain of betrayal
Lou was everything to them, and now he’s nothing. Brought down by his own greed. The lawsuit is a last resort, and Joey hates how their mistakes are highlighted, their naivety shown in stark relief.
They’re attending yet another session with their lawyers, and already Joey wants to go home. He’s tired, exhausted with performing, pretending everything is okay even as the world shifts under his feet.
Body aching, Joey stretches, then sits back down on the leather couch, waiting for Lance to finish his interview.
Justin and Chris are sitting slumped together on another sofa, bags and files piled near their feet. They look as exhausted as Joey feels, and he stifles a yawn as JC returns from the bathroom and slumps in his seat
“Hey.”
The tips of JC’s hair are wet, and his skin is damp as he rests his head against Joey’s shoulder, a comfortable familiar weight.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Joey agrees. It’s what they all say, a meaningless reply to an unanswerable question.
JC sighs, burrowing closer to Joey. “I want to go to bed.”
“Tell me about it.” Joey’s eyes are closing and all he wants to do is grab his bag and go, but they can’t, not yet.”
“When this is over I’m going to sleep for a week Then I’m going to wake up and write an album of songs. A double album. I’ll call it Songs of Pain.”
“Catchy title. Can I contribute?”
“Sure. Got any ideas?”
“Plenty. How about I thought you were fantastic; you stabbed me in the back. Go burn in hell you spineless fool, and take your heart of black.”
“I like it,” JC says, relaxing further, trusting Joey to keep him upright. “It can be part of Song of Pain one.”
“Cool.” Joey manages a smile, bumping fists with JC who turns, his hair tickling against Joey’s neck, brushing a kiss against the underside of his jaw. “Thanks.”
Joey listens to JC breathe, to the hush of the room. He’s tired, but sleep is impossible as he remains still, letting JC rest against his side as they wait.
~*~*~*~
Their names are on an insane amount of merchandising, but the lip balms? Joey still can’t believe there’s a flavour using his name. When he thought about fame, it never included boxes of lip balms, and a bus littered with the tiny tubes. They’re everywhere, rolling under the table, clattering down the aisle, and it’s the funniest thing ever when Justin steps on a JC and Lance, losing his balance and coming crashing down to the ground.
“Hi.” Joey says, and he waves in Justin’s face. It would be polite to offer to help him up, but really, Joey’s too comfortable on the floor. Plus, the seats are way up there, an unassailable distance right now.
“Lance, your face just tripped me up!” Justin is on his hands and knees, peering down at the treacherous lip glosses. “That’s not right, man!” Justin tuts, and sounds so like his mom that Joey can’t help laughing again, his arm pressed against his belly as Justin shakes his head and scowls.
“What? What, Joey?” Justin thumps to the floor, just missing the glass containing JC’s cocktail. Made using a bewildering array of alcohol and mixers, the result is bright blue and has the consistency of tar. JC loves them, Joey not so much, though he has to admit he may be a little bitter about the addition of the sparklers. He liked his eyebrow.
“Nothing.” Joey pats the air, searching for Justin’s head. “It’s just, you fell down.”
“Yes. Yes I did. And I could have hurt myself. Did you think of that? Did you? JC, Lance, you. You’re all bastards.”
“Hey now, it wasn’t me.” JC’s arm flops into Joey’s vision, tumbling from the seat so high above. It wavers in front of Joey’s eyes, etching pale lines into the air.
“Your face, your gloss.” Justin gropes for the offending tube, peering at the labels. “See. You!” He’s pouting now, bottom lip huge, and Joey can’t have that, because a sad Justin isn’t right at all.
“Give me that.” Joey holds out his hand, and two attempts later, finally takes the tube from Justin. Looking at it he shakes his head at the JC, then flings his hand forward, sending the gloss flying toward the bunks.
“You threw it away.” Awkwardly, legs and arms trying to send him tumbling back down, Justin gets to his knees, the pout replaced by a smile. “Take that you treacherous, JC!”
“He won’t trip you up again,” Joey reassures, and Justin nods happily. For all of ten seconds, then the smile slips away, his brow creasing as he stares at the bunks.
“What if JC woke Chris and Lance? They’re mean if they get woken up. Chris! Lance! Did we wake you!?”
Justin’s yelling, and Joey instinctively reacts. Lance and Chris are mean if they get woken and Justin needs to shut up. Now. So Joey kisses him.
Justin tastes of JC’s cocktail, his teeth coated with sticky alcohol. Joey licks across them, sliding his tongue across hard teeth and down onto Justin’s bottom lip. Nibbling slightly, tiny teasing touches as Justin opens his mouth wider. Dizzy, Joey clings, wrapping his fingers tight around Justin’s forearms. Squeezing shut his eyes when he feels Justin’s tongue in his mouth, hot gliding touches, their lips pressed hard together as they just breathe.
“I think he’s going to shout again.”
Joey pulls back slightly, looks up to see JC hanging over the edge of the seat. Then back at Justin, who’s staring at him, mouth open slightly and pulled into a smile. It doesn’t look like he’s going to yell, but it’s always best to be sure. Joey kisses him again.
~*~*~*~
Justin had never imagined how much fuss his new haircut would cause. His curls had always been there, unruly and annoying. It made sense to buzz them off, it was easier all round. Cooler in the studio and giving him back valuable time usually spent taming them down. It was no big deal, except it seems others didn’t agree. His hair has been a main item on MTV, the first question asked in every interview, and sure, at least it’s a change from Britney, but still, it’s annoying.
“You’re big news, J.” JC shifts in the bed, making the covers slip down his body. JC’s comfortable in his own skin, and he’s got one arm flung above his head, the other resting on the flat on his stomach. Justin clicks off Access Hollywood – his recorded self giving an interview concerning his hair, and that’s just insane – dropping the control to the floor.
“My hair’s big news,” Justin corrects. “I’m just the head where the curls used to reside. The curl slayer.”
“The curl slayer.” JC laughs, delighted with the name, which he would be, because his hair isn’t the focus of intense media attention, which Justin can’t understand at all, because, come on!
“Can I not cut my hair? Is it really that big of a deal?”
“You know it is. Right now thousands of pre-pubescent girls are weeping at the loss of your curls.” JC stretches up and runs his fingers over Justin’s scalp. “Thing is. They don’t know what they’re missing.”
“And what’s that?” Justin remains still, loving the feel of JC’s fingers across his head, the soft brush of hair as JC dances a rhythm with touch.
“Such an ego.” JC clicks his tongue, but his eyes are creased, his mouth curved into a smile. “You know it feels good, I’ve told you, Brit’s told you. You’re velvet, baby.”
“And you’re a flatterer.” A quick movement and Justin’s straddling JC’s hips, the blanket pulled tight as he leans forward, hands braced on either side of JC’s head. JC’s looking back at him, challenging, and Justin slides forward, a rolling pressure that causes JC to sigh and push back. Tightening his knees, Justin balances on one hand, running his fingers through the tangle of JC’s hair. Trailing down until he’s tracing a path across sharp cheekbones, teasing touches against his lips, pulling back his hand when JC nips at his fingers.
“Not yet.” Justin replaces his fingers with tongue, leaning forward and licking across JC’s mouth, over the stubble of his jaw, concentrating on the dip of collar bone and up to his neck.
Wordlessly responsive, JC bucks his hips, his hand hot against Justin’s back, holding on as Justin turns licking into a kiss. Sliding his tongue into JC’s mouth, across his teeth, deep and challenging, JC arching up against him all the while. They’re caught in a battle of control, but Justin knows JC wants this, could throw him off any time. Changing his position, Justin drapes his body over JC’s, skin against skin, and JC is wiggling beneath him, biting at Justin’s shoulder, teeth digging into skin.
“I don’t think so.” Cupping his hand under JC’s jaw, Justin holds him still for a kiss, increasing the pressure, their lips pressed together, probing deep, fucking JC with only his mouth.
~*~*~*~
They’ve been talking about it forever, but Lance had never expected Kelly to finally say yes. Now he’s dressed like some kind of butler, watching as Joey signs the register, hand-in-hand with his new wife.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Kelly, he does. It’s just he loves Joey more, and Lance hates that he’s mourning that loss. Especially when Joey was never his in the first place.
There’s cheering when a beaming Joey and Kelly emerge. A shower of rose petals marking their journey, Briahna held securely in her daddie’s arms. With all attention on the happy couple, Lance takes the chance to slip away, ducking into the empty study, far away from the guests that are swarming the fair.
“I though I saw you come in here.”
Lance stays seated in his chair, letting Joey come to him. He does, pulling up another leather chair so they’re sitting side by side. There’s silence and it should be comfortable. It’s not, the unspoken words heavy between them, and Lance wishes he could run away, pretend this doesn’t have to happen.
“I wanted to thank you, for everything.” Finally, Joey speaks, turning so his knees are pressed against Lance’s own.
Lance has been Joey’s best friend for years, and the hesitation sounds clear as a word. He should say it’s nothing, no big deal, but it would be a lie, and Joey doesn’t deserve that. Not when he knows all of Lance’s secrets, holding them close and pretending they don’t matter at all.
“Come on; let’s go check out the carousel.” Lance stands, ready to go back outside. He’s stopped by Joey’s hand on his arm.
“Lance, man. You know….”
“I know Kelly’s always been first choice. You’re a lucky man, Joe.” Years of secretively wishing, years of love, and Lance presses his mouth against Joey’s cheek, letting go his not-so-secret longing with a kiss.
~*~*~*~
Chris likes to think he’s self aware. He knows his strengths and failings, and he’s secure with his lifestyle and choices; all except one.
He’s had a casual thing going with Lance for a while now. A ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement that suits them both. They love each other, that’s not in doubt, but they’ve never crossed the line of wanting more. Content with a relationship based on hot sex and a friendship forged over years.
At least, Chris used to be content. Sometimes he can’t help wanting more. Not the marriage and kids route, that’s for someone not him. More having someone there when he wakes up, someone at the end of the phone asking about his day. The problem is, that someone won’t be Lance.
Chris can smell bacon cooking when he wakes. The bed is cold, only the indent in the pillow showing Lance was ever there. Rubbing at blurry eyes, he fumbles for his glasses, putting them on as he sits up and works his way out of the covers.
Kicking yesterdays clothes toward the hamper, he pulls pants and a t-shirt from his closet, quickly dressing and bypassing a shower until after breakfast, and the company of Lance.
There’s a clatter of pans, and Lance is humming along with the radio, moving around the kitchen as if it were his own. Pancakes are stacked on the table, next to fresh juice and crispy bacon. Chris stands at the doorway, watching as Lance fills two coffee mugs, adding sugar and cream.
“Hey.” Lance stirs the coffees and wipes his hands on the striped apron around his waist. Five steps and he’s across the kitchen, gathering Chris into a hug.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Chris points out, but Lance doesn’t seem to care. His kiss is fierce, and Chris can taste coffee and the minty toothpaste Lance uses. Can feel the patches of dry skin on Lance’s bottom lip, the doorframe digging into his back as Lance pushes them close.
“Good morning to you, too.” Lips tingling, Chris manages a quick grope of ass before Lance steps back, smile wide as he moves the coffee mugs from counter to table.
“You feeling domestic today?” Chris sits and takes a rasher of bacon, hissing when the hot grease hits his fingers.
“Not really.” Lance stabs his fork into the pancakes, dropping three on his plate. He adds syrup, in a spiral as always, and Chris can’t help the rush of fond amusement.
“The bed needs making,” Chris points out, grinning.
“I’m not your maid, Chris.” Lance emphasises the point with his fork, jabbing it toward Chris. He’s trying to frown, but his smile can’t be contained, and a fork fight later, they’re grinning like idiots at each other across the table. Chris isn’t surprised, Lance has been in a great mood lately, happiness a visual glow
“Chris….”
Chris cuts him off before the unneeded explanations. He’s heard all about the new guy, has seen the way Lance’s expression softens when he says his name “It’s okay. It was never about forever.”
“He’s great, Chris.”
Chris nods; he’d have to be great to capture Lance’s heart so completely, something Chris has never been able to do.
“So you say, tell him I’ll break his legs if he fucks you up.”
“That’s the whole point.”
Chris has seen smug, Lance far exceeds that. Chris feels compelled to scowl at him, stabbing another stack of bacon, happy that Lance has found someone special at last.
~*~*~*~
JC loves his life now, but it remains entwined with the others. Years of living in their pockets and sometimes when he’s alone, and his studio is silent except for his own breathing, he misses them so badly it hurts. He keeps in touch with email and calls, meetings whenever he can, but it’s not the same, can never be the same.
“JC!”
As always, Chris is loud, hurrying across the airport, arms opened ready for a hug. He looks good, hair curling from under a bandanna, but that’s all JC gets to see before he’s gathered up, feet off the floor as Chris clings and squeezes.
“You ready to entertain me? Wine and dine me with crazy parties and hot chicks.”
“How about takeout at my place? You can listen to my new songs.”
Chris tilts his head to one side, considering. “I guess I could have a night off from my wild happening lifestyle. Catch up with the gossip Chasez style, but dude, you’d better have something better this time. That shit you told me over the phone? Lame. My housekeeper knew before you. And, I didn’t tell you this last time because you were being all hospitable and stuff, but your guest bed sucks. It felt like there were rocks under there. Not that I looked, god knows what skanky things your guests leave behind.”
JC picks up Chris’ bag, holding it out. “Here, get this. You can tell me how badly I suck as we walk.”
“Just to point this out, I didn’t say you suck. Just your bed does, not that it matters. You suck on principal.”
JC can’t help but smile at the insult, the proof that Chris has missed him too As they walk outside, it feels like a thousand other times and situations, as Chris chatters all the while.
It doesn’t take long to get home, and soon they’re sprawled across the huge couch. JC’s sleepy and full, propped up on puffy cushions as he watches Chris channel surf, the way he judges each show wrong within seconds of watching. It’s entertaining in an insane way, and JC’s enjoying the play of colours and sound, when Chris makes a sound of triumph, and sets the control on the floor.
“I knew I’d find it.”
JC stares at the screen, at the man with a scary mullet and a woman with breasts so huge they seem to press against the screen. “Chris, what the hell?”
“It’s the Dog. Tell me you’ve watched, Dog.” Chris is leaning forward, sounding appalled. “Everyone’s seen the Dog, he’s a legend.”
“I haven’t,” JC points out, and he still hasn’t, because there isn’t even a dog on the screen.
“That’s just wrong. You have to watch, see, he’s a bounty hunter, him and Beth, that’s her with the chest, they catch fugitives.”
“They do?” JC isn’t convinced, surely the woman is too top heavy to run, and as for the man, he has to be too old for that game.
“Yeah, them and the rest of the team. Watch, that’s Youngblood.”
Chris points at the screen, watching intently as the man – Dog – climbs into a huge car. JC doesn’t understand the show at all, still doesn’t when it finally finishes, and Chris slumps back into his corner of the couch, lifting up his legs so his feet are resting on JC’s lap.
“See, told you it’s a cool show.”
JC nods, because even if Dog is a weird toothless old guy, watching Chris watching the show had been fun. Absentmindedly, he runs his fingers over Chris’ foot, making it curl into an arc.
“Don’t go there, I’m still the tickle master,” Chris warns, and he prods JC in the belly with his toes.
“I’ve been practicing though.” Using the element of surprise, JC grabs Chris’ foot, and bends forward so he can place a smacking kiss on the toes.
“Okay, that’s just gross.” Chris is staring, but his eyes are alight with laughter as he wipes his toes against JC’s side. Getting comfortable as the next Dog begins to play.
nopseud's who's a beta reading star.Written for
msktrnanny and darkseaglass's Kissing Challenge.There’s something reassuring about being on the road, the monotony of wheels turning, cars passing in a whoosh of muted sound. Lance yawns and tucks up his legs, heels caught on the edge of his seat as he stares outside. He’s looking at, but not seeing, the rows of lights, incomprehensible road-signs and a highway that stretches for miles. Sometimes it’s easier not to think. If he thinks he remembers how huge this is, how he’s left his old familiar life behind.
Shifting until he’s comfortable between backpack and bus side, Lance lets the burr of travelling become his lullaby, the quiet breathing and snores of the others adding to the song of the road.
“Lance.”
Whisper soft, and Lance is half positive Justin is talking in his dreams. He’s not, and Lance blinks hard as Justin leans over the back of his seat, patches of light and shadow, his palm flat against the window, balancing as they turn a corner.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Just pretending.” Justin shrugs with one shoulder. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s what that burning smell was.” Lance grins when Justin glares, eyes narrowing over the contrasting curve of smile.
“Funny. But no.” Justin runs his fingers through his hair, grimacing as they slide through the gel. “You have to go for what you want. Attack life, right?”
Lance doesn’t reply, aware Justin already knows his answer.
“I don’t even. I mean. How am I supposed to know unless I try?”
Confused, Lance rubs at his eyes. It’s far too late for conversations like this. He should be asleep, not trying to decipher the complexities of Justin’s world.
“Seize the day, and all that.” Justin looks around the bus, gaze skimming over his mom who’s wrapped in a blanket and fast asleep. Joey and Chris curled on the back seat, JC listing over, using his bag as a pillow. “If this doesn’t… I mean. Remember, my face is our fortune.”
Still confused, Lance wonders if Justin’s been at the bottle of knock-off vodka hidden in JC’s bag. Then his eyes open wide when Justin licks his lips and leans over the seat, stretching forward.
Lance has kissed and been kissed many times. His mom, and various relatives who always seem compelled to pinch at his cheeks and call him poppet, Jade Jones and her brother Brad, none of those have prepared him for this.
Justin’s lips are dry, bitter with the lingering taste of make-up and gel. His hand is against Lance’s shoulder, fingers digging, and Lance shivers at the feel of Justin’s tongue, a brief slick of warmth across his bottom lip.
He feels cold when Justin pulls back, sliding back into his seat, arms crossed on the back as he looks at Lance. He doesn’t say anything, and Lance expects laughter, the others to spring into life yelling psyche! They don’t.
“I liked that.” Justin sounds satisfied, like he’s proved something he suspected all along. “Thanks.”
A smile, and Justin twists in his seat, leaving Lance confused and squirming, aware that sleep is abruptly far away.
~*~*~*~
They’re used to industry parties, making small talk with the suits, the important people who work behind the scenes. This party is more of the same, finger foods on silver platters, an open bar serving beer and wine.
One of the DJs from Z100 is standing close to the door. When he sees them come in, he grins, waving a greeting as he almost runs from the room. Chris waves back, wondering what’s so important, but not caring enough to find out.
“Guess he’s already hit the good stuff.” Joey’s looking toward the door, but his attention soon turns to the food tables, and he indicates them with a swipe of his hand. “I’m gonna.”
Chris nods, but keeps moving toward the bar. He’s not that hungry and a beer is just what he needs right now. It’s been a long day – week even – and all he wants to do is get a drink and go home. Well, to his hotel room anyway. His own mini version of home where he can spread out his stuff and pretend, that despite his aching body, he’s not growing old.
“What’ll it be?”
The bartender is blonde, tight t-shirt stretched tight over her impressive chest. Chris settles himself on a barstool, feet hooked around the metal legs.
“Beer, please.” He doesn’t even care what kind. Just takes the offered bottle and takes a long drink. It’s cold, perfect, and he wipes at his lips when he finally puts the bottle down.
“I got you something.” Joey’s holding two plates piled high with food. There are mini quiches and sandwiches, little baked things that Chris doesn’t even begin to recognise. He picks one up, crunching it between his teeth.
“I think it’s some kind of fish.” Joey pokes at his own baked thing, breaking it with his finger. His expression disgusted when it splits open, fishy sauce running over a gooey piece of cake.
“You picked it.” Chris laughs around the neck of his bottle, washing away the fishy taste with beer. “It all goes to the same place.”
“True.” Joey eyes his plate, then picks up the cake and baked fish ball, squishing them together and popping them into his mouth. “Delicious.”
“If you say so.” Chris hands over his beer to Joey, unsurprised when he drains it off and sets the bottle down with an empty clank.
“Think Justin would want a fishcream cake?” Chris is looking across the room where Lance and Justin are talking in a quiet corner. Encouraged by Joey’s answering grin, Chris is about to break open another fish-ball when a microphone suddenly squawks, cutting through the conversation in the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please.”
Chris looks up, watching the DJ who’s standing on a raised platform.
“Tonight we’re celebrating a special occasion. So, could Chris, JC, Joey, Lance and Justin come up here please.”
Confused, Chris slides off his barstool, dropping the fish-ball on the plate. “You know about this?”
Joey shakes his head, following Chris into the watching crowd, walking toward the platform where Lance, Justin and JC are already standing, looking as confused as Chris feels.
When they’re together, side-by-side and waiting, the DJ is handed a large frame. He’s keeping the front next to his body, but Chris suspects what it is, and knows the others do too when Justin grins wide, and JC takes in a sharp intake of breath.
“Z100 are pleased to announce that your debut album has passed the million mark. A million copies of *NSYNC sold and counting. This is for you, guys.”
The DJ hands over the frame, turning it to show the platinum version of *NSYNC. Chris can’t hold back his excitement, launching himself into a group hug, arms around his neck, dreams and hard work represented by the framed disc held in Justin’s hands.
“We’ve done it!” The room erupts, an expanse of people applauding and cheering their name as Chris jumps in place. He grabs for Lance, twirling him around until they’re dizzy and laughing. Jumps onto JC’s back, hugging him tight around his neck, hi fives Justin while grinning inanely, then suddenly Chris is airborn, Joey’s arms holding him tightly as they spin. Feet flying outward, Chris is laughing when Joey finally sets him down, then pulls him close into a tight hug. His hands pressed into the small of Joey’s back, Chris holds on, his ear pressed so close to Joey’s chest that he can hear that thumping of his heart.
“We’ve made it.” Words soft, Joey looks down, sharing the triumph of the moment. Then his smile widens and his hands are around Chris’ waist, dipping him down for a theatrical kiss. Loud and wet and smacking, making Chris laugh against his lips as the crowd roar their approval.
~*~*~*~
The mist is cool against Justin’s face, the railings cold under his fingers as he watches the fountain, admiring the jets of water that shoot into the air. They’re perfect in their beauty, a complex choreography of water, music and light that draws him in until he can ignore the camera crew that bustle behind.
“You left your hat.”
Justin scrunches up his nose when a Santa hat is thrust into his face. Taking it from Chris, he turns his back on the fountain, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I left it on purpose, yo.” Twirling the hat on one finger, Justin contemplates letting it spin into the water.
“They’ve got a boxful of the things back there. Reindeer horns too,” Chris points out, deciphering the intent in Justin’s eyes.
“Horns have to be better than this. My hair’ll never recover.” Justin pats at his curls, ignoring Chris’ laughter.
“An earthquake wouldn’t dislodge those things.” Proving his point, Chris pulls at a curl, snapping it between his fingers.
“Hey. No touching!” Justin scowls and bats at Chris’ hands. It’s not like it’s his fault he needs so much gel. If he doesn’t use it his hair gets insane, and it’s not like Chris has room to talk.
“Suck it up, man. Show some holiday spirit.”
“You do realise, it’s like, months away to Christmas?”
“Not here it’s not.” Chris grabs for the hat, pulling it onto Justin’s head. “Santa’s come early, baby.”
“You’re a freak, man.” Really, it’s not news to anyone, Chris especially, and he grins as Justin suddenly launches himself forward, trying to stuff the hat down Chris’ shirt.
There’s a scuffle, legs and arms in a tangle, and Justin finds himself on the ground, the itchy hat down his pants as Chris kneels above him, crowing his victory.
“Dude, that isn’t right.” Pulling on his dignity, Justin gropes for the hat and drops it to the ground as he sits upright, back against the metal bars. The mist is cool pinpricks of sensation against his sun-heated skin, and he tips back his head, looking up at the rainbow that stretches through the jets.
“It’s Brit’s birthday soon. I’m getting her a ring.” Chris says nothing, and Justin lets the silence stretch until just this side of uncomfortable. “It’s not an engagement ring. Just, it seemed right, you know?”
“I didn’t know it’s so serious.” Chris is looking at Justin, and there’s droplets of water on his eyelashes, tiny sparkles against the dark.
“It is,” Justin says simply, because he loves Britney, and he knows she’s the one.
“Fuck, J. You always have to rush things.” Chris sighs and twists onto his knees, so he’s looking down at Justin.
Justin wants to protest that he knows what he’s doing, that he and Britney are destined to be. Then Chris reaches for him, hands resting on Justin’s shoulders, his lips warm as he kisses Justin’s forehead.
“I’m happy for you, really.”
Chris stands and walks away, leaving Justin convincing himself that Chris meant every word.
~*~*~*~
JC doesn’t hate hospitals, but he doesn’t like them either. There’s always an atmosphere, antiseptic and sickness, patients slowly walking while attached to drips, or pushed in wheelchairs by nurses, their shoes squeaking against the floor. It feeds JC’s imagination, until it seems death is always present, lingering and ready to strike.
He checks the room number written on his hand and looks up; hesitating as he carefully reads signs. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Lance, it’s just. He doesn’t want to see him like this.
Reminding himself that Lance is fine, JC starts walking, then stops once more. He’s outside the small gift shop, looking at a display of plushies, sad looking bears with drooping smiles, bright clusters of balloons and flowers of all kinds. He leaves with a yellow balloon clenched in one too-tight hand.
The balloon floats behind him as he walks, his own personal yellow sun tracking his progress as he contemplates the elevator before taking the stairs. He runs up, speeding upwards until he can blame the pounding of his heart on the climb.
A nurse looks up when he walks past, looking for room twenty-one. She’s got a phone receiver tucked between her shoulder and chin, and nods when he indicates the room, obviously used to the parade of visitors. She isn’t used to JC, it’s the first time he’s been.
Inside, the room looks like a florist. Baskets of flowers are arranged on every surface, making the air heavy with their scent. Balloons bob against the ceiling, bunches of them in every colour. There’s seven pink balloons tied around the neck of a fluffy llama, and JC sympathises, can feel the tightness of his own neck.
“Justin and Chris wanted to know how many balloons it would take to make it fly.”
JC jumps, and finally looks at the bed where Lance is propped up on a pile of pillows. He looks okay, a little pale and there’s an IV in his arm, a band around his wrist, but still. It’s not like before, when JC thought they were about to lose him.
“Did they? I mean, make it fly.”
“Technically, no. They said they did, but really, hovering just off the bed isn’t flying, despite what the great llama fliers Kirkpatrick and Timberlake say.” Lance laughs, then winces, and JC’s inside the room and beside the bed before his mind can think to say no.
“I’m okay. Promise.”
Lance is looking up, and JC believes him, knows he fine.
“I know, it’s just… I thought….”
“You thought wrong.” Lance has hold of JC’s hand now, pulling him close. “Sit down.”
JC sits down hard on the bed. He’s clutching the balloon, desperately not thinking of maybes and what ifs.
“JC.” Holding tight to JC’s hand, Lance slowly pushes himself upright. “I’m fine. I’m here.”
The kiss is brief, little more than a touch of Lance’s lips against JC’s cheek. It’s the best kiss JC’s ever received.
~*~*~*~
Joey’s mom tells stories about his childhood, about how he was born to perform. He always laughs in remembrance, sharing memories of dancing in too big shoes and oversized costumes, his family a willing and enthusiastic audience. He was born to entertain, for fame, he never expected that fame to come hand in hand with the pain of betrayal
Lou was everything to them, and now he’s nothing. Brought down by his own greed. The lawsuit is a last resort, and Joey hates how their mistakes are highlighted, their naivety shown in stark relief.
They’re attending yet another session with their lawyers, and already Joey wants to go home. He’s tired, exhausted with performing, pretending everything is okay even as the world shifts under his feet.
Body aching, Joey stretches, then sits back down on the leather couch, waiting for Lance to finish his interview.
Justin and Chris are sitting slumped together on another sofa, bags and files piled near their feet. They look as exhausted as Joey feels, and he stifles a yawn as JC returns from the bathroom and slumps in his seat
“Hey.”
The tips of JC’s hair are wet, and his skin is damp as he rests his head against Joey’s shoulder, a comfortable familiar weight.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Joey agrees. It’s what they all say, a meaningless reply to an unanswerable question.
JC sighs, burrowing closer to Joey. “I want to go to bed.”
“Tell me about it.” Joey’s eyes are closing and all he wants to do is grab his bag and go, but they can’t, not yet.”
“When this is over I’m going to sleep for a week Then I’m going to wake up and write an album of songs. A double album. I’ll call it Songs of Pain.”
“Catchy title. Can I contribute?”
“Sure. Got any ideas?”
“Plenty. How about I thought you were fantastic; you stabbed me in the back. Go burn in hell you spineless fool, and take your heart of black.”
“I like it,” JC says, relaxing further, trusting Joey to keep him upright. “It can be part of Song of Pain one.”
“Cool.” Joey manages a smile, bumping fists with JC who turns, his hair tickling against Joey’s neck, brushing a kiss against the underside of his jaw. “Thanks.”
Joey listens to JC breathe, to the hush of the room. He’s tired, but sleep is impossible as he remains still, letting JC rest against his side as they wait.
~*~*~*~
Their names are on an insane amount of merchandising, but the lip balms? Joey still can’t believe there’s a flavour using his name. When he thought about fame, it never included boxes of lip balms, and a bus littered with the tiny tubes. They’re everywhere, rolling under the table, clattering down the aisle, and it’s the funniest thing ever when Justin steps on a JC and Lance, losing his balance and coming crashing down to the ground.
“Hi.” Joey says, and he waves in Justin’s face. It would be polite to offer to help him up, but really, Joey’s too comfortable on the floor. Plus, the seats are way up there, an unassailable distance right now.
“Lance, your face just tripped me up!” Justin is on his hands and knees, peering down at the treacherous lip glosses. “That’s not right, man!” Justin tuts, and sounds so like his mom that Joey can’t help laughing again, his arm pressed against his belly as Justin shakes his head and scowls.
“What? What, Joey?” Justin thumps to the floor, just missing the glass containing JC’s cocktail. Made using a bewildering array of alcohol and mixers, the result is bright blue and has the consistency of tar. JC loves them, Joey not so much, though he has to admit he may be a little bitter about the addition of the sparklers. He liked his eyebrow.
“Nothing.” Joey pats the air, searching for Justin’s head. “It’s just, you fell down.”
“Yes. Yes I did. And I could have hurt myself. Did you think of that? Did you? JC, Lance, you. You’re all bastards.”
“Hey now, it wasn’t me.” JC’s arm flops into Joey’s vision, tumbling from the seat so high above. It wavers in front of Joey’s eyes, etching pale lines into the air.
“Your face, your gloss.” Justin gropes for the offending tube, peering at the labels. “See. You!” He’s pouting now, bottom lip huge, and Joey can’t have that, because a sad Justin isn’t right at all.
“Give me that.” Joey holds out his hand, and two attempts later, finally takes the tube from Justin. Looking at it he shakes his head at the JC, then flings his hand forward, sending the gloss flying toward the bunks.
“You threw it away.” Awkwardly, legs and arms trying to send him tumbling back down, Justin gets to his knees, the pout replaced by a smile. “Take that you treacherous, JC!”
“He won’t trip you up again,” Joey reassures, and Justin nods happily. For all of ten seconds, then the smile slips away, his brow creasing as he stares at the bunks.
“What if JC woke Chris and Lance? They’re mean if they get woken up. Chris! Lance! Did we wake you!?”
Justin’s yelling, and Joey instinctively reacts. Lance and Chris are mean if they get woken and Justin needs to shut up. Now. So Joey kisses him.
Justin tastes of JC’s cocktail, his teeth coated with sticky alcohol. Joey licks across them, sliding his tongue across hard teeth and down onto Justin’s bottom lip. Nibbling slightly, tiny teasing touches as Justin opens his mouth wider. Dizzy, Joey clings, wrapping his fingers tight around Justin’s forearms. Squeezing shut his eyes when he feels Justin’s tongue in his mouth, hot gliding touches, their lips pressed hard together as they just breathe.
“I think he’s going to shout again.”
Joey pulls back slightly, looks up to see JC hanging over the edge of the seat. Then back at Justin, who’s staring at him, mouth open slightly and pulled into a smile. It doesn’t look like he’s going to yell, but it’s always best to be sure. Joey kisses him again.
~*~*~*~
Justin had never imagined how much fuss his new haircut would cause. His curls had always been there, unruly and annoying. It made sense to buzz them off, it was easier all round. Cooler in the studio and giving him back valuable time usually spent taming them down. It was no big deal, except it seems others didn’t agree. His hair has been a main item on MTV, the first question asked in every interview, and sure, at least it’s a change from Britney, but still, it’s annoying.
“You’re big news, J.” JC shifts in the bed, making the covers slip down his body. JC’s comfortable in his own skin, and he’s got one arm flung above his head, the other resting on the flat on his stomach. Justin clicks off Access Hollywood – his recorded self giving an interview concerning his hair, and that’s just insane – dropping the control to the floor.
“My hair’s big news,” Justin corrects. “I’m just the head where the curls used to reside. The curl slayer.”
“The curl slayer.” JC laughs, delighted with the name, which he would be, because his hair isn’t the focus of intense media attention, which Justin can’t understand at all, because, come on!
“Can I not cut my hair? Is it really that big of a deal?”
“You know it is. Right now thousands of pre-pubescent girls are weeping at the loss of your curls.” JC stretches up and runs his fingers over Justin’s scalp. “Thing is. They don’t know what they’re missing.”
“And what’s that?” Justin remains still, loving the feel of JC’s fingers across his head, the soft brush of hair as JC dances a rhythm with touch.
“Such an ego.” JC clicks his tongue, but his eyes are creased, his mouth curved into a smile. “You know it feels good, I’ve told you, Brit’s told you. You’re velvet, baby.”
“And you’re a flatterer.” A quick movement and Justin’s straddling JC’s hips, the blanket pulled tight as he leans forward, hands braced on either side of JC’s head. JC’s looking back at him, challenging, and Justin slides forward, a rolling pressure that causes JC to sigh and push back. Tightening his knees, Justin balances on one hand, running his fingers through the tangle of JC’s hair. Trailing down until he’s tracing a path across sharp cheekbones, teasing touches against his lips, pulling back his hand when JC nips at his fingers.
“Not yet.” Justin replaces his fingers with tongue, leaning forward and licking across JC’s mouth, over the stubble of his jaw, concentrating on the dip of collar bone and up to his neck.
Wordlessly responsive, JC bucks his hips, his hand hot against Justin’s back, holding on as Justin turns licking into a kiss. Sliding his tongue into JC’s mouth, across his teeth, deep and challenging, JC arching up against him all the while. They’re caught in a battle of control, but Justin knows JC wants this, could throw him off any time. Changing his position, Justin drapes his body over JC’s, skin against skin, and JC is wiggling beneath him, biting at Justin’s shoulder, teeth digging into skin.
“I don’t think so.” Cupping his hand under JC’s jaw, Justin holds him still for a kiss, increasing the pressure, their lips pressed together, probing deep, fucking JC with only his mouth.
~*~*~*~
They’ve been talking about it forever, but Lance had never expected Kelly to finally say yes. Now he’s dressed like some kind of butler, watching as Joey signs the register, hand-in-hand with his new wife.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Kelly, he does. It’s just he loves Joey more, and Lance hates that he’s mourning that loss. Especially when Joey was never his in the first place.
There’s cheering when a beaming Joey and Kelly emerge. A shower of rose petals marking their journey, Briahna held securely in her daddie’s arms. With all attention on the happy couple, Lance takes the chance to slip away, ducking into the empty study, far away from the guests that are swarming the fair.
“I though I saw you come in here.”
Lance stays seated in his chair, letting Joey come to him. He does, pulling up another leather chair so they’re sitting side by side. There’s silence and it should be comfortable. It’s not, the unspoken words heavy between them, and Lance wishes he could run away, pretend this doesn’t have to happen.
“I wanted to thank you, for everything.” Finally, Joey speaks, turning so his knees are pressed against Lance’s own.
Lance has been Joey’s best friend for years, and the hesitation sounds clear as a word. He should say it’s nothing, no big deal, but it would be a lie, and Joey doesn’t deserve that. Not when he knows all of Lance’s secrets, holding them close and pretending they don’t matter at all.
“Come on; let’s go check out the carousel.” Lance stands, ready to go back outside. He’s stopped by Joey’s hand on his arm.
“Lance, man. You know….”
“I know Kelly’s always been first choice. You’re a lucky man, Joe.” Years of secretively wishing, years of love, and Lance presses his mouth against Joey’s cheek, letting go his not-so-secret longing with a kiss.
~*~*~*~
Chris likes to think he’s self aware. He knows his strengths and failings, and he’s secure with his lifestyle and choices; all except one.
He’s had a casual thing going with Lance for a while now. A ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement that suits them both. They love each other, that’s not in doubt, but they’ve never crossed the line of wanting more. Content with a relationship based on hot sex and a friendship forged over years.
At least, Chris used to be content. Sometimes he can’t help wanting more. Not the marriage and kids route, that’s for someone not him. More having someone there when he wakes up, someone at the end of the phone asking about his day. The problem is, that someone won’t be Lance.
Chris can smell bacon cooking when he wakes. The bed is cold, only the indent in the pillow showing Lance was ever there. Rubbing at blurry eyes, he fumbles for his glasses, putting them on as he sits up and works his way out of the covers.
Kicking yesterdays clothes toward the hamper, he pulls pants and a t-shirt from his closet, quickly dressing and bypassing a shower until after breakfast, and the company of Lance.
There’s a clatter of pans, and Lance is humming along with the radio, moving around the kitchen as if it were his own. Pancakes are stacked on the table, next to fresh juice and crispy bacon. Chris stands at the doorway, watching as Lance fills two coffee mugs, adding sugar and cream.
“Hey.” Lance stirs the coffees and wipes his hands on the striped apron around his waist. Five steps and he’s across the kitchen, gathering Chris into a hug.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Chris points out, but Lance doesn’t seem to care. His kiss is fierce, and Chris can taste coffee and the minty toothpaste Lance uses. Can feel the patches of dry skin on Lance’s bottom lip, the doorframe digging into his back as Lance pushes them close.
“Good morning to you, too.” Lips tingling, Chris manages a quick grope of ass before Lance steps back, smile wide as he moves the coffee mugs from counter to table.
“You feeling domestic today?” Chris sits and takes a rasher of bacon, hissing when the hot grease hits his fingers.
“Not really.” Lance stabs his fork into the pancakes, dropping three on his plate. He adds syrup, in a spiral as always, and Chris can’t help the rush of fond amusement.
“The bed needs making,” Chris points out, grinning.
“I’m not your maid, Chris.” Lance emphasises the point with his fork, jabbing it toward Chris. He’s trying to frown, but his smile can’t be contained, and a fork fight later, they’re grinning like idiots at each other across the table. Chris isn’t surprised, Lance has been in a great mood lately, happiness a visual glow
“Chris….”
Chris cuts him off before the unneeded explanations. He’s heard all about the new guy, has seen the way Lance’s expression softens when he says his name “It’s okay. It was never about forever.”
“He’s great, Chris.”
Chris nods; he’d have to be great to capture Lance’s heart so completely, something Chris has never been able to do.
“So you say, tell him I’ll break his legs if he fucks you up.”
“That’s the whole point.”
Chris has seen smug, Lance far exceeds that. Chris feels compelled to scowl at him, stabbing another stack of bacon, happy that Lance has found someone special at last.
~*~*~*~
JC loves his life now, but it remains entwined with the others. Years of living in their pockets and sometimes when he’s alone, and his studio is silent except for his own breathing, he misses them so badly it hurts. He keeps in touch with email and calls, meetings whenever he can, but it’s not the same, can never be the same.
“JC!”
As always, Chris is loud, hurrying across the airport, arms opened ready for a hug. He looks good, hair curling from under a bandanna, but that’s all JC gets to see before he’s gathered up, feet off the floor as Chris clings and squeezes.
“You ready to entertain me? Wine and dine me with crazy parties and hot chicks.”
“How about takeout at my place? You can listen to my new songs.”
Chris tilts his head to one side, considering. “I guess I could have a night off from my wild happening lifestyle. Catch up with the gossip Chasez style, but dude, you’d better have something better this time. That shit you told me over the phone? Lame. My housekeeper knew before you. And, I didn’t tell you this last time because you were being all hospitable and stuff, but your guest bed sucks. It felt like there were rocks under there. Not that I looked, god knows what skanky things your guests leave behind.”
JC picks up Chris’ bag, holding it out. “Here, get this. You can tell me how badly I suck as we walk.”
“Just to point this out, I didn’t say you suck. Just your bed does, not that it matters. You suck on principal.”
JC can’t help but smile at the insult, the proof that Chris has missed him too As they walk outside, it feels like a thousand other times and situations, as Chris chatters all the while.
It doesn’t take long to get home, and soon they’re sprawled across the huge couch. JC’s sleepy and full, propped up on puffy cushions as he watches Chris channel surf, the way he judges each show wrong within seconds of watching. It’s entertaining in an insane way, and JC’s enjoying the play of colours and sound, when Chris makes a sound of triumph, and sets the control on the floor.
“I knew I’d find it.”
JC stares at the screen, at the man with a scary mullet and a woman with breasts so huge they seem to press against the screen. “Chris, what the hell?”
“It’s the Dog. Tell me you’ve watched, Dog.” Chris is leaning forward, sounding appalled. “Everyone’s seen the Dog, he’s a legend.”
“I haven’t,” JC points out, and he still hasn’t, because there isn’t even a dog on the screen.
“That’s just wrong. You have to watch, see, he’s a bounty hunter, him and Beth, that’s her with the chest, they catch fugitives.”
“They do?” JC isn’t convinced, surely the woman is too top heavy to run, and as for the man, he has to be too old for that game.
“Yeah, them and the rest of the team. Watch, that’s Youngblood.”
Chris points at the screen, watching intently as the man – Dog – climbs into a huge car. JC doesn’t understand the show at all, still doesn’t when it finally finishes, and Chris slumps back into his corner of the couch, lifting up his legs so his feet are resting on JC’s lap.
“See, told you it’s a cool show.”
JC nods, because even if Dog is a weird toothless old guy, watching Chris watching the show had been fun. Absentmindedly, he runs his fingers over Chris’ foot, making it curl into an arc.
“Don’t go there, I’m still the tickle master,” Chris warns, and he prods JC in the belly with his toes.
“I’ve been practicing though.” Using the element of surprise, JC grabs Chris’ foot, and bends forward so he can place a smacking kiss on the toes.
“Okay, that’s just gross.” Chris is staring, but his eyes are alight with laughter as he wipes his toes against JC’s side. Getting comfortable as the next Dog begins to play.
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-13 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-13 01:51 pm (UTC)