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nothing like different
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Nothing Like Different by Molly irreelle@mac.com March 2001 *** Sometimes Joey just wanted to smack the earnest Joe America expression right off JC's face. Just a thought. But there it was, a thought that came to him more and more frequently. Sometimes JC would smile and it would look easy and real and Joey's fists would clench before he thought much about it. It was a curiosity; it was a thing that was new and different and he couldn't ignore it, not until he figured it out. Because it bothered him, after all, and besides, why JC? He could look at Justin and his cutesy curls and feel fine; he could see Lance first thing in the morning, rumpled and swollen-faced from sleep, looking like some hybrid of elf and alien, and just grin. He could look at Chris, who was starting to look at *him* lately like he knew something Joey didn't, and he didn't even get pissed. But JC would show up, looking so goddamned much like a down home farmer boy all dressed up for the city, and Joey felt on the brink. Shit was fucked up. He wondered if his hand would get screwed up from being clenched so often. *** Chris kept looking at him and Joey just didn't get it. But he let it go, for weeks, while he tried to train himself to see JC and not think, automatically, of rearranging his face. And then he sat down at breakfast and Chris was the only one there, drinking coffee and poking at bits of orange rind in front of him, and Joey pulled a donut from the box and said, "What's going on with you?" with his mouth full. Chris just kind of smirked at him and started flicking pieces of rind like paper footballs across the table. One hit Joey in the chest, another arced up and pelted him square in the nose. He blinked and frowned and threw a chunk of donut-- glazed, and it left a spot of sticky sheen on Chris' cheek. "Well?" he asked. "What the hell is up with you?" "Nothing, man," and Chris stood up. "Try not to kill JC, okay? The quartet vibe doesn't fit us." "I'm not gonna kill JC." "Good to hear. Hold that thought." Chris was still smirking and Joey found it a relief to feel vaguely irritated at someone besides JC. It had been weeks. "What the fuck, Chris. I'm not even mad at JC," he said, too defensive and shit, but he might just take out the aggression on Chris' face soon. It wouldn't be such a loss; Chris wasn't as pretty anyway, but where the hell had *that* justification come from? "Sure you're not," Chris said, and poured another cup of coffee before heading out. JC showed up five minutes later, eyes red-rimmed from sleep, and he smiled at Joey. Joey stuffed his mouth dangerously full of donut and left. *** Lance screwed up in Des Moines. Spun when he should have stepped left, and Joey stepped into what should have been a vacant spot but contained Lance's foot, instead. Lance lost his balance and lurched into Joey, and they both fell, and JC was laughing when he offered his hands to help them up. Joey ignored him and got to his feet on his own. Thank fucking God for rehearsals. *** "Don't you find that unlikely?" Justin was saying, and his voice carried through the hotel suite. "I mean, no way. I don't buy it." "He'll snap." Chris. Joey winced and suddenly wanted to go to the bathroom. It would require leaving his room and walking through the sitting room, so they would shut up, but his feet wouldn't move. "Any day now." "But what did JC do?" There was Lance, and Joey hoped Chris wouldn't say what he'd started to suspect was behind those looks. Joey wasn't sure Lance would be able to handle that kind of crackpot theory. And it was crackpot. Totally crackpot. Absolutely. "JC didn't do shit. He's just JC." "What are you talking about?" Justin again. "Sure, Joey's tense lately. Yeah, he doesnıt talk to JC much lately. But he's not about to go postal over some aversion to JC being JC." "I never said the problem was aversion." Joey could hear the smirk in Chris' voice. "Just wait. Pay attention." "You're nuts," Justin said. "You guys wanna come out with me and Brit tonight?" *** In the dream, JC was in uniform. JC was different; he was stony cold and rigid and God, Joey thought lucidly, so perfect it was fucking beautiful. Everything fit and JC was going to war; JC was doing what he had to do and doing it well. And then it was years later and JC came home. JC wasn't straight out of earnest innocence anymore. JC had the trauma of war lurking behind his eyes and looked like he might never smile again. Joey came so hard he woke himself up. *** They were in Delaware, of all places. Joey usually wished they could pretend Delaware didn't exist. But it did and this was like any other venue. Sold out and the shrieks were deafening; he saw JC smile out at all the fans and something snapped. He felt it, but kept right on singing. And later they got on the bus to go back to the hotel and JC said it had been a good show. He sounded pretty happy. Joey frowned. It was late, so late, when he went to JC's room and stepped inside and said, "You're so fucking content." "What?" JC's eyes were wide and God, the smile, but it was slightly confused as he got out of bed. "You're content. Happy, satisfied, at peace, lacking conflict," Joey let out. And he stepped up to JC and put a hand on JC's chest, over the undershirt, over the right nipple. He kissed him, hard and fast. JC wasn't smiling anymore when he pulled back to look. His eyes weren't so wide, either; they looked like they had started to drift-- contentedly-- shut and only gotten halfway there before it ended. So Joey looked and he didn't want to smack anyone, didn't really have anything on his mind at all. JC put one hand behind his neck and pulled him back and his mouth was wet against Joey's. Later-- Joey lost track of the moments and seconds and minutes and aeons-- he pushed Joey back against the dresser and bit his earlobe. "I shouldn't be content?" The words were like his mouth, wet and slick and getting through everything, layer after layer of insulation. Joey held JC's hips and thrust up and said, "I don't know." "Yes you do." JC bit him again, harder, put his hand in Joey's boxers. With three fast steps Joey got him to the bed and shoved him down and kissed him hard. Nobody was smiling, nobody could, you didn't smile over sex like this. He was thrusting and kissing and shoving copious amounts of thin cotton out of the way; he muttered, "Not" and then stopped, because the boxers were finally gone and he pushed himself against one of JC's hips and just rubbed. "Not over-- Fuck," he got out and he came, hard, all over the bony dip of JC's pelvis, so it was slick and strange and felt fucking good when JC twisted, pushed him over and ground down on him frantically. "Over what?" JC demanded. "Never mind," Joey muttered. The skin of JC's back was smooth and he rubbed his fingertips into the smooth bumps of spine. "Be happy. Be fucking happy." JC stiffened and came and grinned blearily. "Okay." *** Not over me, he'd wanted to say. Not over every single thing, including me. Let me be what you can't smile over. Let me be something too much for a simple expression. He didn't say any of it. It made no sense, even to him. JC's nose was too big, he noticed, but it fit pretty well against his. JC had the kind of catalogue-order good looks that half of teenaged America swooned over and wanted looming above them when they lost their virginity. JC's jaw was strong and when he smiled it moved into a whole different shape, but Joey didn't think about that much anymore. "I told you you were nuts," Justin said to Chris out of the blue. They were on the bus and playing rummy, and Joey barely glanced up. He picked up three cards, to the king of hearts, and he finally set down the five card run he'd been holding back. He knew things seemed normal; he knew nobody would ever suspect him of being mad at JC. Chris glanced at him, then grinned at Justin. "I'm not nuts. I was right." And now Joey looked up and Chris was smirking at him again. JC was staring at his cards (smiling) and his foot was rubbing careful circles against Joey's crotch under the table. "Cut the cryptic shit," he said tersely. JC's foot stilled, and drew away. Lance drew and played and set all his cards down to rub his face. Hungover didn't look good on Lance; by all rights he should still be sleeping it all off. "Yeah, cut it out" he muttered. "Everything's fine." Chris just shrugged and even though JC looked fucking happy, naturally, his foot didn't return. Joey won on the next turn and left the table to go lie down. He let JC fuck him that night, he let JC push him against the desk in Joey's hotel room and hold his hips and fuck him as hard as he could, and he was glad he was looking at hotel stationary and polished wood instead of JC's face because he was pretty sure JC was looking deliriously gleeful right then. *** JC touched the edge of Joey's mouth with his thumb, then his tongue. Joey opened his eyes and JC looked so serious it turned him on like a lightswitch. "Don't smile," he said quickly. JC nodded and Jesus, did he understand? "I won't," he promised, and he ran one finger up the underside of Joey's cock, "if you'll fuck me.' He didn't need more than that. It was awkward, hunched on his knees with JC's legs slung over his arms, pressing in, but then he was there and moving and he looked at JC. His eyes were closed and he was biting his lip and gripping the sheets in tight fists, and Joey leaned down and ran his tongue over one nipple. "Do it," he said quietly, lifting back up to stare at JC. "You can go ahead and do it." JC opened his eyes. They were clear and wide and only slightly shinier than his sweat-slicked skin, only slightly shinier than the glint of saliva in his mouth when he met Joey's gaze and gave him something that wasn't a smile, but was happier than any grin could convey. Joey could live with that. This was much better than wanting to hit JC, anyway. **end** |