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Chris's voice was shaking when he looked right at JC and said, "Fuck you." The band in his hair had come loose somehow, probably Lance's hands, and braids spilled over half his face. He shoved impatiently at them. "Fuck you," he said again, and he shut the door quietly behind him. *** In Chicago, they'd gone out and Chris had been pretty drunk when the moon wavered above his tilted face, seeming like it might slip from its anchors and just fall right out of the sky. So he ignored it, and he closed his eyes when Lance started leaning in. Slow and methodical was what Lance was, was and always would be, and even his kisses were careful and deliberate. Chris felt cold, damp brick against his back, the sensation seeping through his shirt to remind him it had rained earlier. He remembered looking out the window that afternoon while they tried to solve a problem with the next night's venue. He'd wished he could be out there while it rained. But instead, the air was dry, but the brick was damp and so was Lance's mouth. Lance's palms on his neck, too, clammy and sweaty as Lance pressed his entire body against Chris and just kissed. Chris woke up alone, fully clothed, with a headache and an angry red blotch on his neck that made him smile as he shaved. *** It wasn't Lance but Joey who came to his room and shrugged slightly. "He's surprised," Joey offered lamely. "We all are, sort of." "Where does he get off? I'll fuck everything up? I will? He'd be selling insurance if it hadn't been for me. All of you!" Chris shook and stared out the window. The lights of New York seemed too far away out there, permanently separate. "He's such an asshole sometimes, Joey." "Sometimes," Joey agreed. "He'll get over it." Chris thought Joey was wrong. JC didn't get over things, which was the problem. JC held on, fixated on everything, worried how it would affect him. The band, too, but mostly him. JC was terrified of things getting fucked up, and teenagers finding out that some of their favorite fantasy fodder liked to suck dick would certainly fuck things up. Too bad for JC that Chris didn't care much anymore. He looked at Joey and said, "It's not like it even means anything." "It doesn't?" "No." "Lance know that?" "He said it first." Chris blinked and shrugged and muttered, "Doesn't mean anything. Could be any of you." He didn't miss the look that passed across Joey's face then, a little wary but more curious like Joey realized he might have been missing out on something he'd never even considered wanting, and he sighed heavily. "I'm getting out of here. I'll be back later." He was waiting for the elevator when Lance came out of JC's room. Chris stared at him, and Lance seemed pretty indifferent to everything; he just glanced at Chris and rolled his eyes and went into his own room. Then the elevator came and Chris went to do absolutely nothing at all. New York was good for that. *** Lance had never acted any different. When Chris wandered in for breakfast, Lance threw a bagel at him and said, to all of them, "We've gotta be out of here in an hour. We're under strict orders not to piss this photographer off. Includes being late." "Fuck," Joey said, grinning into his coffee. "That mean no mooning?" "Got it in one, Joe. I'm so proud." Lance looked at Chris and raised an eyebrow. "You seen your neck?" "Yup," Chris said with a leer. "So I got some action. They'll cover it up." Lance snorted. "You have such confidence in the power of makeup, Chris. If only your mother could hear you now." "Oh, she knows. She taught me all the finer points of eyeshadow when I was eight." "Finally!" Joey yelled. Justin lifted his head from his cereal and gave him a dirty look. "We finally know who to blame." "Yeah, fuck off. I'm going to go pack." And five minutes later had Lance came into his room and made another mark, lower this time, right on top of his collarbone. "If you wanted to fuck me tonight," Lance said softly, slipping his hand into Chris's jeans, "I wouldn't say no." Chris came at the first brush of skin against his dick. "Jesus," he gasped. *** Lance didn't touch him again, and he didn't bother asking about it. JC wasn't talking to either of them. Lance had liked to play with the braids while Chris blew him. Lance would tug them, twist them around his fingers and run his thumb across the contour of woven hair. Once he'd taken one into his mouth while Chris licked at his neck and he chewed the end, biting back a low moan that escaped anyway. Nobody said anything the day he showed up after a night out alone, his hair in short spikes. His head felt too light, like it wanted to just roll around on his neck, and nobody said a word. Except the hairdresser, who whispered, "Hallelujah," and ran some gel through it with grateful fingers. Joey knocked on his door late that night and asked, hesitantly, "It didn't mean anything?" "It wouldn't mean anything." And Joey kicked the door shut and he was different. He was rough, liked fast, jerking motions and he never tried to be quiet. He wasn't Lance, and he was still so fucking good Chris thought he might die. The first time a reporter asked about the new hair, he just shrugged. "Felt like it was time for a change, is all." *** JC had found out because they were waiting for everyone to show up to go to dinner, and Lance had started running his fingers across Chris's thigh, and by the time JC walked in Lance was in his lap and kissing him and they barely heard when JC yelled "What the fuck are you guys doing?" Lance pulled back to look at Chris, then JC, then Chris again. "Oops," he muttered, and took a second to struggle off Chris and to his feet. "Josh, look," he started, and then Joey and Justin tumbled into the room and Chris sighed wearily. "It's no big deal." "No big deal?" JC was glaring at them and he chewed his lower lip for a long moment. "How long has it been no big deal?" Lance shrugged. "A month?" he offered, glancing at Chris. "Yeah, a month. Really, JC, it's just-- " "It's not just anything!" JC had started turning red. "It's just gonna ruin everything if it gets out!" Joey put a hand on JC's shoulder. "Whoa. What's going on here?" "JC is--" Lance started to say, but Chris stood up and looked straight at Joey. "Lance and I have been fucking each other. For a month." Justin's eyes widened and Joey blinked. "Oh," he said, and JC shook away from his touch. "Um... oh." "Don't you guys even give a shit about the rest of us?" JC snapped. "You can't-- you can't just run around and do whatever the fuck you want, Chris. When are you going to figure that out? Why are you so fucking determined to make us look bad?" "Why am I--" Chris stopped and everyone was watching him, even Lance, whose lips were swollen and whose hair was all messed up. "You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me, JC. So fuck you." *** Joey ran his fingers through Chris's hair and murmured, "I like it short," while Chris closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Joey liked to stay the night, like Lance never had. Joey liked a lot of things, like being on his back when Chris fucked him, staring at Chris, sweat beading on his forehead while his eyes flickered. He always fought to keep them open. "Yeah?" Chris asked softly. "Yeah." **end** |