be able to stop

be able to stop
by Helen

what can I say/but I'm wired this way/and you're wired to me
—Grey, Ani Difranco

They couldn't stop staring at JC's legs when he changed into a girl, because they were long and slim, and he kept wearing little vintage dresses, with matching shoes and eye-makeup, and they finally realized he'd been growing his hair out so that he could have a glossy, stylishly disheveled bob. They weren't as shocked by the fact that he was a girl as they were by the fact that he seemed to be already quite good at it.
"Dude, I'm fucking impressed," Justin said, when JC showed up wearing a crisp green dress with cap sleeves, with matching sandals and painted nails. JC twirled around, and the dress flew up around his thighs.
"Are you wearing a thong?" Justin asked.
"None of your business," JC said at the same time that Lance said "You don't wear thongs with skirts, moron."
"Britney always wears a thong," Justin said.
"Whatever, dude, she's totally lying to you," Chris said, and then he and Justin started wrestling on the floor, and that was the end of the discussion about JC. JC sat down in between Joey and Lance, tucked his legs neatly underneath him, and looked up Joey, almost expectantly.
"hey," Joey said, because some response seemed expected of him, and he couldn't think of anything to say.
Joey was still trying not to stare three hours later, when he was driving JC home. They stopped to pick up a six-pack of beer, and the cashier didn't card Joey because he was too busy talking to JC.
"You from around here?" he asked, and JC smiled and said yes.
"What's your name?"
"JC," JC said, and then "um, I mean—"
"Nice to meet you, Jacie," the cashier said, leaning across the counter to shake hands.
"So, um," JC said, when Joey dropped him off. He squinted out the windshield and then turned to Joey. "We're okay, right?"
"What, 'cause you got—um," Joey said, gesturing uncertainly at JC's body.
"because you haven't really said. anything," JC said, his voice trailing away.
"Doesn't bother me," Joey shrugged.
"He's really, uh, pretty," he'd mumbled to Chris earlier. "I guess," Chris had said, but what Joey had really meant was that JC was really beautiful, the kind of girl he wouldn't bother to approach in a club because Justin would skate in underneath him and be dancing with her before he formulated an approach. JC shifted nervously in his seat, and Joey said,
"No, hey, we're good," and punched him gently on the shoulder. JC grinned at him and leaned across the gearshift and pressed his lips to Joey's cheek before getting out of the car and running up the front path. He hadn't ever done that before.

JC couldn't do publicity anymore, but they were on a break, and JC went out to brunch with Theresa one morning in that first week and none of them were invited. He was supposed to meet up with them at Chris' and they got increasingly worried when he didn't show up. At four, Joey said
"You don't think she'd actually. hurt him, do you?"
"I don't think so," Chris said, peering out the blinds for the third time in the last fifteen minutes, but he sounded doubtful.
At four-thirty, JC came bounding in and threw himself down on the couch, skirt fluttering up over his knees.
"Where the fuck were you?" Joey said loudly, and JC looked up at him, startled,
"Theresa and I went shoe shopping," he said.
They expected Theresa to show up with a plan, but she just told them to say that JC was in Africa doing some sort of Paul Simon-esque world music thing and saving starving African children, and that the rest of them were pursuing their individual projects, and that 'Nsync would be releasing a new album in eight months. Then she told JC that Prada was having a sale.
"Can I come?" Lance said.
"Absolutely not," Theresa said.

It was strange, for a while, because JC looked so much like a girl, curled up on a couch when Joey walked into a room, that it made him stop and look, before he remembered that it was JC, and JC was a girl. A girl with a tiny waist and narrow wrists, long smooth curve of neck, smudged black eyeliner that made his eyes look deep and blue and big. They were having a heat wave, which meant that while the rest of them slouched around in tattered shorts and tank tops and complained about the heat, JC wore pale dresses and got rosily tan, long bare legs, exposed shoulders.
"Dude," Justin said suddenly one day, when they were sitting around one of the tables on Lance's patio. "He's not wearing a bra."
Joey and Chris squinted at JC, who was standing on the steps of Lance's pool, calf deep in water, kicking an occasional spray of water at Lance, who was deeper in the pool, swimming around.
"He couldn't with that dress," Chris said knowledgably. The dress had a deep v in the back, which exposed a lot of skin, somehow without being slutty or tacky. Joey thought it might be the eyelet trim on the dress, which just hit JC's knees.
"It's not like he really needs one," Justin said appraisingly, holding a hand up to shade his eyes. Joey shifted uncomfortably, not really sure they should be having this conversation, not with Lance laughing and starting to splash JC, and JC scrambling back quickly out of the way. Joey took a sip of his orange juice and JC looked up and saw him, gave him a crooked half smile, as though he knew exactly what they'd been talking about.

Guys hit on JC now, whistled at him from cars, guys from construction sites yelled "hey, baby, baby," at him, even when he was with one of them,
"If you weren't dressed like that," Justin said, gesturing at JC's bare knees and bare arms. "They wouldn't—"
"fuck you," JC said. "I'll wear whatever I want."
"I just meant—"
"Now I know why Britney dumped you," JC said, and Justin shut up after that.

"So, hmm," Lance said, drumming his fingers on JC's kitchen table. He'd stopped by, bringing a bakery box of cookies, because Lance had a hard time showing up anywhere empty-handed. JC had made him some coffee and had a cookie and leaned back against the counter, waiting.
"You seem okay," Lance said slowly.
"I'm good." JC smiled.
"hm." Lance ate a cookie thoughtfully. "Justin thinks you're hot."
JC laughed. "yeah. well," he said, and rubbed a bare foot up his calf.
"Look," Lance said. "I just wanted to know if you were okay. and—"
"I am."
"So, good." Lance hesitated, and then said. "I just—what are you going to do?"
JC shrugged, one shouldered. "I got some plans," he said.

"Heard you thought I was hot," JC said, poking Justin in the ribs.
"Oh, god. no. dude—" Justin said, screwing his face into a grimace. Joey and Chris laughed, and Chris wolf-whistled
"Lance said—"
"It's like you're my sister or something," Justin said. "seriously. you're not a dog or anything, but..ew. no."
Later, though, Chris leaned back against the arm of the couch, eyes narrow.
"You think he's hot," he said.
"What of it," Joey said weakly. The day before, he'd changed the oil in JC's car. He always did, because JC had never learned to do it. JC had worn shorts and a t-shirt and gotten him a beer, after, which was what he always did, but it was somehow different. Probably because of JC's legs. Possibly because the t-shirt was small and pink and when they walked through the narrow hallway between the garage and the kitchen, Joey's hand brushed against it, and left a greasy smear.
"Oh, shit," he said.
"No big deal," JC said, but Joey felt oddly self-conscious, suddenly. Big, and grimy, and he washed his hands more carefully than he ever had before while JC craned his neck over his shoulder to see the stain, and then pulled at the shoulder of the shirt to examine it more closely, which exposed the waistband of the shorts, low on his hips, the soft inward curve of his waist, the bumps of his spine. Joey concentrated on getting the grease out from under his fingernails. Then they sat on the back porch and talked about nothing, watching flocks of small black birds flutter up in frenzied waves and then settle back on telephone wires. JC jostled his thigh against Joey's, long and smooth, and it was new and old at the same time when JC laughed and leaned against his shoulder. He'd been a girl for a week, Joey thought. They didn't talk about that, though.

JC called Joey to ask if he wanted to go dancing. JC's voice sounded a little lighter when he talked, and his laugh was less the startling bark it had been. He said 'um' less often. He seemed, to Joey, to be paying more attention these days.
"Who's going?" he asked.
"Just—you and me," JC said. "Everyone else bailed on me."
"Why not?"
"hey, good," JC said, voice soft.

That night, Joey drove to JC's so they could share a cab.
"Hey, can you, uh—" JC said, holding out his ID when he came down the stairs, tugging his skirt straight. "I don't have any pockets."
"Sure," Joey said, giving the ID a cursory glance before sliding it into his wallet. "Where'd you get this?"
"Theresa," JC said, walking out of the front door behind Joey and locking it. He handed his keys to Joey.
At the club, Joey bought himself a drink, and then bought one for JC, and had just begun to chat up a blonde girl in a low-cut shiny tank top when JC appeared at his shoulder and said
"hi."
"Hi," Joey said.
"I'm Jacie," JC said, leaning across and shaking the girl's hand. JC was taller than she was, and prettier.
"um. yeah." the girl said, and gave Joey a perplexed glare. "I have to go."
"What'd you do that for?" Joey said, watching her wind her way through the crowd. JC finished his drink and set it down on a table and touched Joey's forearm.
"wanna dance?" he said.
JC didn't dance like someone who'd asked him to dance. He shook his hips and raised his long arms above his head, shaking his hair around, smiling to himself, but always out of reach, except the one time he danced up close and bumped his hip sideways against Joey's, laughing when Joey grabbed him and yanked him sideways, pulling JC's back against his chest. His hand skidded across the bare skin of JC's belly, and he almost let go, except that JC leaned back against him, and lifted a hand to brush his face.
JC danced neatly, rhythmically, and Joey was just getting used to the shift of JC's body against his, the crumpled soft edge of his top underneath his hand, the hot skin beneath, when JC pulled away from him and grabbed his hand, dragging him across the floor to the bar.
"shooters—" he said, gripping Joey's shoulder and leaning up to yell into his ear, because the heavy beat had gotten deafening. JC turned and signaled across the bar, and then fished a bill out of his bra and slapped it on the counter.
JC salted the side of his hand and licked it off in a neat swipe and then did the shot, quickly, head tipped back, and didn't look at Joey until he was sucking on the wedge of lime.
"um," Joey said, and did his shot without bothering with the salt or the lime. JC grinned, a small sharp flash of teeth, and mouthed
"Dance?" before slipping back out onto the dance floor, and Joey watched him go for a moment, his straight bare shoulders, before remembering to follow.

In the cab on the way home, JC was silent, smiling to himself. He smelled faintly of perfume, and alcohol. Joey looked at JC's thighs, the way the skirt rode up when JC crossed his legs. The skirt was dark brown suede, and although it was the shortest skirt he'd seen JC in yet, it wasn't as short as it could have been. He thought, maybe, that it was more that JC's legs were long, and that was the reason that there didn't really seem to be anywhere to look but at his legs. He crossed them then uncrossed them, and Joey still had the tactile memory of the way the waistband of the skirt had felt under his palm, the soft burr of suede, the faintly sweaty slide of his palm on JC's hip.
When they pulled up in front of JC's house, JC looked up at him.
"You want to come in?"
Joey shrugged, and followed him up the path, and it was nothing he hadn't done before, many times, sprawled on the couch in JC's living room, watching television and drinking water after a night clubbing. JC's heels made tiny neat clicks on the tile in his kitchen, and he didn't bother to turn on the light when he got them both a glass of water. They drank them standing by the sink, the room only illuminated by the light from the hallway, and then JC kicked off his heels, sighing a little as he stretched his legs. Joey finished his water, and put the glass down, and then JC slid up underneath him, twined one arm around his neck and kissed him, wet lips, the slight metallic tang of water, and the kiss was soft and questioning.
"JC," Joey started to say, but JC whispered
"Please—"
He had always had a hard time saying no to JC. In the dim light of JC's kitchen, with JC shyly kissing his neck, pressing his body up against Joey's, JC's bare waist in his hands, he couldn't think of a reason to say no. He let JC lead him down the hallway, and kiss him some more, pulling Joey against him as he leaned against the wall outside his bedroom, wrapping one leg around Joey's thigh, and maybe he was still a little drunk because unzipping JC's skirt, it's heavy slide off JC's hips, made his chest lurch with anticipation. JC pulled Joey through the door into the bedroom by his shirt, yanked his top carelessly over his head in the middle of unbuttoning Joey's pants, and pulled Joey down, legs sliding around his waist like he'd done it before. JC's body was soft and sleek under him, and JC smiled at him, tilting his head back on the pillow, touched Joey's cheek, his shoulder, the small of his back, clutched him close.
Joey woke up with JC cuddled against him, an arm wrapped around his chest, lips slightly parted in sleep, the sheet slipping down far enough that he could see the narrow curve of JC's waist. Joey sighed and closing his eyes for a moment, and then began to move, carefully, easing out from underneath JC's arm, rolling him slowly back onto the other side of the bed. JC made a soft noise when Joey pulled the sheet and blanket up over his breasts, but didn't wake up. His clothes were in a tangled heap by the end of the bed, and separating his boxers from the pile made Joey think of last night, and the way JC had helped him out of his clothes, eager, kneeling already naked on the bed. JC woke up as he pulled on his pants, rolled over and stretched, smiled sleepily up at him before blinking and frowning.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving," Joey said, yanking his pants up over his hips, suddenly angry, because the sheet was slipping down JC's chest and his hair was tangled, wild.
"What?" JC sat up, and pulled the sheet up with him, crossing his arms over his chest, lips crumpling a little in bewilderment. Joey shook his head and buttoned his pants.
"Why?"
"I don't—"
"I thought—last night," JC stammered, "You wanted to."
"That doesn't mean—" Joey bent down and grabbed his shirt off the floor, "JC—you fucking wear some tight little skirt and hang all over me and—"
"What," JC said, and scrambled to his feet in the middle of the bed. "You're saying I—what, I coerced you into sex with tight clothes?"
"You didn't have to do that—I didn't—"
"Bullshit," JC spat. His cheeks were pink with anger, and he made a sharp gesture towards his body. "You look at me. You want me—"
"Put on some clothes," Joey said, throwing his t-shirt at JC. JC caught it and looked at it like he didn't even know what it was.
"Get out." he said.
"JC—"
"Get the fuck out," JC said, and threw Joey's t-shirt back at him, and before Joey slammed out of the room, he saw that JC's hands were shaking.
He meant to go out and get breakfast and then go back and apologize and say that it just wasn't a good idea, because JC was his friend, and he was probably not going to be a girl forever, but he kept thinking about the dark happy gleam of JC's eyes in the club when he'd danced up to Joey, and how he'd turned down guys for dances to stick close by; his mouth, later, quivering, moaning, his hands slipping over Joey's back, the tight clasp of his thighs, the curve of his back when he'd lunged up under Joey and caught his mouth, the soft slick sheen of sweat on his belly, his contented sigh against Joey's neck, after.
He knocked several times, and then stepped inside when JC didn't come to the door and went though the kitchen to the living room, shouted "JC?"
"hi," JC said, from the doorway. He had one arm wrapped around him, hand clasping his shoulder.
"hey," Joey said.
"Did you want something?"
"I'm sorry," Joey said.
"oh." JC eyes flickered quickly over his face before settling on a spot on the linoleum.
"No," Joey said, "I just. I don't want it to be weird."
"weird," JC said tonelessly, still looking at the floor.
"Why did you—"
"Because I wanted to," JC shrugged. "I wanted to, and I thought you did, and. so—"
"I liked it," Joey said.
"Yeah, I was there," JC said. He was wearing a really pretty dress, Joey realized suddenly, not short, and not tight, but it wrapped around him, plain, and dark blue, with a narrow sharp slash of neckline, a tan sliver of skin, and tiny sleeves that ended barely off his shoulders. He was barefoot.
"I liked it," Joey said again, putting his hands in his pockets and then taking them out.
"me too," JC said.
He didn't mean to, quite. He meant to maybe kiss JC on the cheek, to touch his shoulder right below the end of the sleeve, to reassure himself that the way his skin had felt the night before was because he had been drunk, but JC turned his head, and Joey's lips brushed the corner of his mouth, and he took a hesitant step closer and kissed JC again, a real kiss, and JC tipped his head back and put a cool hand on Joey's cheek, and twisted in his arms on the next kiss, said "yes—" in a breathless, thick voice, and Joey scooped him up and took a few stumbling steps forward and pressed him up against the wall of the living room. JC squirmed until he'd gotten his legs around Joey's waist, clutching his shoulders and kissing him feverishly, and when Joey bent his head and licked JC's throat and slid his hand under JC's skirt so he was squeezing his ass, the lace of his underwear soft on his hands, JC gasped out
"I'm on the pill—"
"What—" Joey said, hitching JC a little higher, and starting to peel the underwear off his hip.
"The pill," JC said. "so we can. you don't need—"
"I—" Joey said. "Please," JC said, and Joey blinked at him for a moment before nodding.

It was different in the living room, on the couch, light streaming in the windows from the back yard. JC's dress came open with one tug, and slipped backwards off his shoulders while JC bent an arm up behind his back and flicked his bra open with one hand and then leaned down to brace his hands against the couch arm and give Joey an earnest kiss.
"weird?" JC asked later, yawning, when Joey pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and spread it over them.
"a little, maybe," he said, shifting, pulling JC more securely against him, "good weird."
They woke up at nine, cold and starving, and JC pressed his lips together nervously for a moment and said
"I can—do you want a sandwich? I have—"
"that's fine," Joey said, and JC and leaned over and swiped Joey's t-shirt off the floor, pulling it over his head before padding into the kitchen. They ate cheese sandwiches on the couch, JC's legs over Joey's, while Joey rubbed JC's calf absently.
"You want to go to bed?" Joey said, eating the last of his sandwich.
"yes," JC said, and tilted his head back to give Joey a brilliant smile, eyes glittering in the pale light from the kitchen.

Chris had a goodbye dinner for Lance, who was going to California to do movie post-production, and it was just them slouching around Chris' pool while he made them hamburgers. JC wore faded jeans that were too tight through the hips, and a t-shirt, and after he'd eaten his hamburger, he pulled his shirt off over his head and shimmied his jeans down off his hips, and all of them averted their eyes, because he was wearing a small pale pink two-piece with a halter top.
"Jesus God," Chris said. He was wearing baggy orange board shorts, and Lance, who'd shown up without a bathing suit, was wearing a pair of swimtrunks that Chris had insisted he borrow, neon green palm trees and cursive yellow writing that said things like "Hawaiian Funkadelic!"
"What?" JC said.
"whoa—" Justin said, coming out of the kitchen with two beers, handing one to Chris. "That's pretty, uh, girly."
"mmm," Joey said absently. JC raised his eyebrows at him and adjusted the string around his neck.
"Hey," Lance said later, when he and Joey were in the kitchen together. "You and JC." He smiled. "You guys are pretty obvious."
"What?" Joey said slowly.
"just." Lance braced his arms against the counter. "I don't know if—" He shook his head and made a dismissive sound. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. You got it under control, right?"
"I guess," Joey muttered, not ready to talk about it.

Joey didn't think about it. JC had a beautiful smile, and slept sprawled over him like a starfish, cheek pressed against his chest. Joey decided not to think about it, and it was oddly easy.

"Hey," Joey said, when they were eating breakfast one morning at a small sunny diner. They were in a cramped booth, drinking coffee and eating pancakes.
"Mm?" JC said, swiping his finger through the left over pancake syrup on his plate and licking it off.
"Did you really ask the others. um. when we went dancing?"
"um." JC said. He looked at the table, and then back up at Joey. "no, I didn't."
"wow. devious," Joey said, but he was smiling.
"You mad?"
Joey shrugged. "Nah."
"Because. I'm not wearing any underwear," JC said.
"What?" Joey said, putting down his coffee cup.
"in case you were wondering," JC murmured.
"I'll get the check," Joey said.
Their car was parked in the far corner of the gravel parking lot, in the shadow of a tree, and it wasn't safe, and it was stupid, but it didn't much seem to matter with JC perched on his lap, kissing his neck, unzipping his pants,
"Jesus," he gasped, and JC giggled, and fluttered his lashes jokingly.
"I read it in Cosmo," he said.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Joey said, sliding lower in the seat.
"They also said you should do it on your boss' desk," JC said, breath hot on Joey's ear, "but I don't think Johnny—"
"Shut up, you," Joey said, and kissed him.

JC gave amazing head, crouched over him on the bed, or kneeling between his legs, one hand squeezing his leg gently, silky hair fanned out across his thighs.
"That's—holy shit," he said, the first time, pulling JC up into his lap, watching while he rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. JC shrugged, one shouldered.
"It's not exactly the first time," he said.

JC was in the bread aisle in the grocery store when he ran into Nick Carter.
"oh, hey Nick," he said, before he realized that he wasn't supposed to know him, and that Nick Carter was staring at him with the ill-concealed nervousness of someone who hadn't bothered to call up security before going to buy some lunchmeat.
"Um," he said, and walked quickly away.
Nick caught up to him in canned foods.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," JC said, and picked up two cans of black beans.
"uh, do I know you?" Nick said.
"No," JC said, shaking his head. "not. no."
"Because if I got drunk and slept with you, you can say," Nick said. "I don't do that anymore."
JC kept on shaking his head, holding one can of crushed tomatoes. "um. no. we didn't. I mean—no."
"But you know my name."
"oh." JC said, and looked at the floor for a moment. "Oh. That's because. um. the Backstreet Boys. I'm a big. fan. Can I have an autograph?"
To Jacie, the prettiest girl in aisle four, love Nick, Nick wrote, and wrote his phone number in tiny crabbed numerals on the bottom. JC stuck it to Joey's refrigerator.

"He hit on you?" Joey asked, when he saw it.
"No," JC said, stacking bread in the cabinet and handing a quart of ice-cream to Joey, who stuck it in the freezer.
"Maybe you didn't notice."
"I probably would have noticed Nick Carter hitting on me," JC said. "He's sort of a big guy."
"I'm bigger," Joey said.
"oh, Joey," JC murmured.
"Yes, that's right, make fun," Joey said. JC tossed a package of cheese at him. "He'll be crushed when you don't call," Joey said.
"Who said I wasn't going to call?" JC said, and reached past Joey to pluck the number off the refrigerator.
"Give me that," Joey said.
"No."
"I said—" Joey said, but JC had already run through the dining room and scrambled over the back of the couch in the living room, holding the piece of paper tauntingly out of Joey's reach.
"Give—" Joey said, and lunged across the room, catching only the hem of JC's dress when JC jumped off the couch and circled back around before Joey caught him, one arm around his waist, growled
"I've got you—" before dragging him to the ground, and JC hadn't been able to beat him wrestling when he was a guy, so Joey pinned his arms easily, flung a leg over his hips, while JC squirmed ineffectually beneath him, panting.
"I think you should call him," Joey said, sliding his fingers down JC's throat and starting to fumble with the tiny buttons that ran down the front JC's dress.
"I think I will," JC said, rolling his hips up under Joey and reaching for the chair leg, pulling himself across the carpet.
"Lie still," Joey said.
"No—" JC said, still struggling slowly backwards.
"For God's sake," Joey said, and stood up, dragging JC to his feet and then slinging him over his shoulder. He carried him upstairs and flung him down on the bed, and the dress was already undone halfway, falling off JC's shoulders, silky bra showing. Joey yanked his shirt off over his head.
"I've got you," he whispered, lips brushing JC's ear, before he unbuttoned the rest of the buttons.

"So, Joey," the interviewer said, at one of the rare appearances they had to do these days. "Are you seeing anyone special?"
"Yes," Joey smiled. "Yup."
"really?"
"Sure," Joey said, and nodded several times. "She's really great. She's um. sweet. and. see. We just clicked, and—"
Lance pinched his thigh hard under the table, and Joey shut up.

"You should buy furniture or something," JC said, when he'd spent several nights at Joey's new house.
"You're saying you don't like my exciting futon and card table decor?" Joey said, poking him in the stomach.
"I'm just saying," JC said. "You're a millionaire, and all, so you could maybe buy a couch."
"I'm not the one with a 1989 Honda Civic," Joey said.
"You didn't mind the backseat," JC said, putting jam on his toast.
Three days later, Joey took JC along when he went furniture shopping, and JC gamely sat on every couch they could find, a small analytical frown on his face. Joey bought the one JC liked, and then they picked out a coffee table, and an armchair, three bookshelves and a rug. Joey started to hold his hand in the second store, and in the third store, and elderly salesman called JC his "missus," and Joey didn't bother to correct him.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Chris said to Joey, taking him aside at Joey's housewarming party.
Joey shrugged, and took a sip of his beer, squinting down at JC, talking to Lance on the patio.
"I mean, it's your business, and all—"
"Yeah, it is." Joey said, a little sharply.
"Fine."

Joey cooked almost every night, linguine or fish or pork chops, thick slices of tomatoes, fresh bread, wine, and JC set the table and then sat on the counter and watched, waiting for a pause in the cooking for Joey to lean up between his legs and kiss him lazily, tasting of wine, one heavy hand on his waist. After a few weeks of this, and ice cream for dessert, Joey squeezed his hips one night in bed, pressed his lips to the new small convex curve of JC's belly, said,
"This is sexy."
"yeah?" JC said, and laughed when Joey dragged his lips higher, mumbled something about "meat on your bones."
A week after that, Justin said "You're all..curvy. or something," before blushing and muttering "never mind."
Chris started to laugh, and JC grinned and flopped down on the couch, and said "It's the metabolism, or something." and Joey dragged him into his lap and growled something too low for the rest of them to hear in his ear, digging his fingers into JC's stomach while JC squirmed and pushed at his shoulders.

They painted Joey's bedroom, because Joey said it didn't count unless you did it yourself. He invited all of them, but Chris said "Let me get this straight, Fatone, you want us to paint your bedroom?" so in the end it was just Joey and JC and three gallons of dark green paint. They slept for nearly a week on Joey's futon in the sparse living room, with green paint caked under their fingernails, and Joey discovered that JC would make up lullabies on request, funny little songs about gophers who lived in mailboxes, or ice cubes who couldn't sleep, and would sing them drowsily, falling asleep in the middle, heartbeat slowing under Joey's hand.

One month stretched into two, and Theresa told them that they might as well go on vacation. Or rather, she said
"Nathan is going to Cyprus, I am going to the Azores, and you can do whatever you damn well please, " so Chris decided to go surfing in Brazil, and Justin went home to see his family and Lance went to LA, and Joey and JC spent a lot of time having picnics on Joey's secluded back lawn. There was a small low wooded area that got swampy in the springtime, but sheltered the wide sloping expanse of grass which eventually dropped into a wide blue lake.
"Maybe we should do something," Joey said, sliding his hand over the curve of JC's ass, and in between his thighs.
"you mean besides fool around?" JC said, arching his back, turning his head sideways on his folded arms.
"right," Joey said, and gave him a lazy nuzzling kiss before rolling him onto his back and pressing his arms to the blanket.
The pictures were blurry enough that you couldn't see anything, really, limbs, and Joey's broad back, and a black bar across half of it, and the screaming headline "Boy Band Lust," and Joey sneered at the first reporter who asked him
"I think I have every right to make love to my girlfriend in my own backyard, don't you?" and the sound-bite was carried on half the local news stations with a story about celebrities' loss of privacy, and unethical reporting, complete with a clip of George Clooney. Nathan left a staticy message on Joey's answering machine at three in the morning that said, only, "you do good work ," and that they would take care of the rest. In four days, the story disappeared as though it had never happened.
It was as though nothing could touch them.

"What the fuck," Chris said, when he found out that JC was doing Joey's laundry. He had stopped by unexpectedly, back from Brazil, tan, with healing scars on his left arm and leg from an encounter with some rocks, and was sitting in the living room drinking a beer with Joey and talking about monster waves when JC came in with a massive basket of laundry and started to fold it neatly, t-shirts and jeans, boxers, tank tops, and some of his own clothes mixed in, small brightly colored shirts and dresses.
"What the fuck," Chris said again, and JC sat down and took Joey's beer bottle out of his hand and took a sip.
"I don't mind," he said, and leaned his cheek against Joey's shoulder.
"You're—you've got to be kidding me," Chris said.
Later, they heard Chris saying "no, put me on speakerphone, Meggie, I want everyone to hear this. You don't do nobody's laundry, you hear me?" Chris bought JC an Ani Difranco cd, and a Feminism is the radical notion that women are people bumper sticker, and JC smiled, and thanked him, and kept on doing Joey's laundry.

JC always wanted him. He felt nervous about it at first, as though JC was just being accommodating, but JC laughed when he asked him, and then kissed him, and said "I got needs," in a funny voice, and Joey said "oh yeah?" and they ended up doing it on the dining room table. It was satisfying to be wanted, to want, and he and JC did it in Joey's grandmother's heirloom rocking chair, and the pantry and all three of Joey's bathrooms. Once, he shaved JC's legs, painstakingly, kneeling knee deep in water in the bathtub with JC's foot braced against his shoulder, the other leg hooked over the edge of the tub, JC's hair fanned out in the water, waving slightly, mermaidlike, and they fucked after, the bathwater swirling down the drain, JC's arms braced against the walls of the tub, body arching roughly into Joey's. They did it in the guest bedroom and the narrow dark upstairs hallway, and the laundry room and once, sort of in the coat closet. They did it on the front stairs the night Justin returned from vacation full of too much energy and insistent that they go clubbing with him.
JC and Justin had dirty danced, Justin throwing JC out and then twirling him back, holding JC and sliding their hips together until JC's silvery dress rode up. From where he sat, Joey could see that Justin had one hand on JC's back where the dress dipped away, the other on his hip. A small space cleared around them and Justin looked down at JC, grinning, and twisted him around, one hand clasped across his ribcage, and JC was laughing and grinding back against Justin, and before Justin turned him back around JC looked up and across the crowd of gyrating bodies and right at Joey, and smiled, clean and bright. When Joey got him home he kicked the door shut and pushed JC down on the stairs and shoved the dress up around his hips and went down on him while JC scrabbled at the carpet and said his name breathlessly, and then, after, JC on top of him, dress twisted up and bunched around his waist, breasts half falling out of the top, Joey's hands in his.

"pass the pepper, please," JC said. Joey noticed that the slender leather band of JC's watch was ripping, starting from the small hole the buckle went through. He thought he could go by the mall on the way home and pick up a new one for him.
"I said, pass the pepper," JC said.
"Sorry," Joey said, putting the pepper shaker next to JC's plate. "um. sorry."
"freak," JC said, affectionately.

He'd dated a lot of girls, but they were girls he met at clubs, who liked to dance, and liked to fuck, and it had suited him just fine. He was on the road a lot, and busy with rehearsals and appearances, and he'd never really managed to be with someone in the way he was with JC. JC liked to come up behind him while he was cooking, wrap one arm around Joey's waist and rest his chin on Joey's shoulder, press a small kiss behind his ear, ask if Joey wanted to go with him to a jazz concert, or if Joey had seen his red sweater. He'd thought, seeing Chris' tired face after another fight with Dani, remembering Justin's terrible choked phone calls with Britney at the end, that being with someone would be stifling, or boring, and the regular sex wouldn't make up for it. JC's conditioner in the shower, JC putting on mascara and talking to him out the open door of the bathroom at the same time when they were getting ready to go out, the time JC cut his finger chopping tomatoes and bled all over Joey's shirt before Joey could find the bandaids, these things were oddly comfortable. When JC went to visit his family one weekend, Joey meant to go out dancing and drinking, maybe call Justin up, but Justin was busy, and Joey ended up wandering around the house and missing JC instead. If JC were there, they would have gone out to dinner, and JC would have worn one of Joey's old t-shirts in the morning to breakfast. If JC were there, his stuff would be all over the kitchen table, clothes hung haphazardly over the chair in Joey's room.
"Did you miss me?" JC asked, when Joey picked him up at the airport and pressed a smallish bunch of daisies into his hands.
"You were only gone for three days," Joey said, grabbing JC's bag off the luggage carousel.

Chris swung by the house at midnight, when JC was already asleep on the couch, curled up half Joey's lap while he watched Conan with the volume down almost all the way.
"I was just, uh. goin' to Walgreen's," Chris said, leaning against the doorjamb. "You wanna come?"
"Um—" "JC can come."
"He's asleep," Joey said. "Gimme a minute." He went back and got the comforter from the bedroom to put over JC, and stuck a post-it note to the coffeetable by his face that said
"gone to Walgreen's with Chris. Be back soon. Joey."
"Haven't seen much of you lately," Chris said as they pulled out of the driveway.
"Yeah," Joey said. Chris sighed, tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. "You know," Joey said.
"Not really," Chris said.
They cruised through the aisles of the drugstore, picking up contact solution and microwave popcorn, shampoo and sunscreen and bandaids and Joey looped around to get a disposable camera and a package of Junior Mints for JC, and met up with Chris by the condom display. Chris threw a box into his basket and looked at Joey almost expectantly, and it was late or something, because he said, before he thought of it
"We don't use them."
"What?" Chris said. His eyes were dark and wide. "You—"
"Never mind," Joey said. "I—"
"Are you trying to knock JC up, is that it?" Chris said.
"Look, what we do is between her and me—"Joey said.
"Her," Chris said flatly. Joey turned away without answering, walking to the front to pay.
They didn't talk on the way home.

"Where are you going?" JC said a week later, coming into the kitchen to find Joey grabbing his jacket off the peg.
"We need milk," Joey said. "I'm just running down to the store."
"Let me get my bag," JC said. "I'll go with you."
"Don't be—it's just the store. I'll be back in twenty minutes."
"I want to go," JC said stubbornly.
"JC—"
"Just wait for me," JC said, cheeks suddenly flushed. "It won't take but a minute and—"
"No," Joey said, "this is stupid."
"I just want—" JC bit his lip. "fine, go."
"JC—"
Go," he spat.
"What's wrong?"
JC shook his head, backing out of the kitchen.
"What is it?" Joey said, following him, "JC—" he shouted after JC's retreating back.
He found JC hunched in the corner of the living room couch, one hand pressed against his forehead.
"hey—" he said, leaning down.
"I'm gonna turn back," JC whispered. "I'm."
"What?"
JC closed his eyes, and shrugged, mouth crumpling a little.
"How long?" Joey said, collapsing on the couch.
"Two weeks. Eleven days."
"Oh," Joey said. There seemed to be nothing else to say.
"I didn't—. I'm sorry," JC said.
"C'mere," Joey said, and pulled JC into his lap, kissing his cheek and the corner of his mouth, sliding a thumb down his cheekbone. "It'll be okay," he said.
"I love you," JC said, his eyes closed tightly. "I shouldn't have. I—"
"Let's go away," Joey said. "Let's go—just—please?"
"Okay," JC whispered.

They went to a beach, deserted, a house high on the dunes, and had sex until JC was sore, and wouldn't admit it. They slept coiled around each other, waking each other up in the morning, early, begrudging sleep, kissing hungrily, JC crawling into Joey's lap and kissing his throat, and Joey's hands sliding down his back, thumbs stroking his waist, watching him when he moaned. The ocean was deep and grey and dangerous, and they swam anyway, letting the waves fling them up against the rough sand of the beach. Joey couldn't watch the sunset, because it made his stomach ache with the knowledge of another day gone. The last day they fell asleep together on the couch, sleeping the afternoon away in the sun, and Joey woke up first, and brushed JC's hair off his forehead, touched his soft mouth, and JC woke up then.
"We have to leave, soon, huh?" he said.
"Not yet," Joey said. "not yet."

It was sputtering, splattering rain when they flew into Orlando, and the rain grew heavy on the way home, traffic slowed, and JC looked out the window and let Joey hold his hand, face silent and blank. They didn't talk. JC grabbed his bag out of the trunk and ran through the rain to his porch but by the time he got there his thin sundress was still spotted with rain, clinging to him a little, and Joey followed more slowly, the rain making wet spots on his sweatshirt.
"So," he said, when the cab pulled away, and JC leaned back and smiled bleakly.
"So," JC said. "I had fun."
"yeah." Joey took a long hitching breath. JC looked down at the porch and shivered, and Joey made a inarticulate noise and pulled him into a hug, holding him until JC wrapped his arms around Joey shoulders and clung tightly, pressing his cheek to Joey's chest. "I'll see you tomorrow," Joey said quietly. "okay?" and JC nodded.
"I should go in," JC said, but didn't move. "You should—" he said.
"Yeah," Joey said, and stepped back, touching JC's cheek once more, regretfully, before he picked up his bag.
He looked over his shoulder at the gate, checking to see that JC had gone inside, but JC was still standing on the porch, watching him, and when he saw Joey turn, he tumbled down the steps and ran down the path to Joey, pulling his head down and kissing him, hands tangled in his hair, the thin dress soaking through quickly. He shivered and pushed himself closer to Joey, tilting his mouth and kissing him messily, ravenously, his teeth nicking Joey's lip,
"sorry—" he gasped.
"I love you," Joey said helplessly. Water was dripping down JC's face from his soaked hair, plastered to his head, his eyelashes wet and sticking together and when Joey kissed him he didn't taste salt, and it was easy enough to pretend neither of them were crying. JC pulled away from him finally, and with the dress stuck to his front, Joey saw that he'd already begun to lose the weight he'd put on. He could see the bones of his hips again, the sharp grid of his ribs.

At home, Joey took a hot shower and put on clean clothes, made himself some eggs and ate them leaning against the counter in the kitchen. washed the plate. dried it, put it away. It was only seven-thirty. He tried to watch television, but couldn't concentrate. The couch in the living room, the ticket stubs from a movie they'd seen, a sweater, small, soft, that JC had left behind. His entire house was a reminder.

He stayed away the whole day. He visited Lance, almost by mistake, driving aimlessly before realizing he was only a block or two away from Lance's house. Lance didn't seem surprised to see him, but he did look worried when he saw Joey's face.
"I'll get you some tea," he said, and led Joey inside. Joey drank the cold tea, listened to ice clinking in their glasses, the tick of Lance's kitchen clock.
"He's changing back," Joey said.
"I know," Lance said. "He told us."
"He's changed back already," Joey said quietly.

He went over to JC's at dusk, with a bag full of groceries. JC opened the door, smiling nervously at him. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and his hair was still long, but it hung around his face in a tousled mess, no longer sleek and neat. Joey walked through to the kitchen to put the bag down on the counter and turned to see JC hovering in the doorway, hands in his pockets. The lines of his face were harder, sharper.
"hey," Joey said, and when JC didn't say anything, crossed the floor to kiss him on the cheek, cupping JC's jaw in his hand before taking a quick breath and sliding his mouth across JC's. The same tiny hitch in his throat when he opened his mouth, a slightly different smell. JC kept his mouth mostly shut, but Joey licked at the corner of his mouth insistently, put a gentle hand on the small of his back and pulled until JC collapsed against him a little, opened his mouth.
"okay?" Joey said, and JC nodded.
"What did—" he said, faintly, stopping to clear his throat. "What did you bring?"
"Fish," Joey said. Fish and potatoes and asparagus, and when Joey opened the bottle of wine, they both drank gratefully from their glasses.
They talked uncomfortably over dinner.
"This is really good," JC kept saying, but couldn't seem to eat much of it. They washed the dishes together, and put them away and then JC muttered something about watching the news, and they ended up watching the end of 20/20, a Barbara Walters expose on meat packing, with JC on the end of the couch furthest from Joey, hands in his lap. When the credits rolled, Joey picked up the remote and flicked off the television, and they sat in the faint light from the streetlamp outside, from the kitchen. JC tilted his head and blinked, and Joey moved closer, reached across the couch to put a careful hand on JC's shoulder, stroking down to his hand, and then he leaned closer and kissed him. JC reached for him, arms around his neck, and let himself be pushed down into the couch, while Joey lay down on top of him, still kissing him, wetly, stroking his side, and JC smiled against his lips, sighed. Wiggled underneath him to get comfortable, and Joey rubbed his lips carefully, automatically, over JC's adam's apple, and concentrated on JC's hands threading through his hair, stroking the back of his neck. JC made a small noise, and thrust his hips against Joey's, mouth falling open, hard, he was hard, Joey thought, that was what it felt like, and then JC wrapped his leg over Joey's, and his bare foot brushed the back of Joey's knee, and Joey shivered, couldn't help it, jerked back a little.
"What—" JC opened his eyes. "what's wrong?"
His eyes were so blue, and pretty, Joey told himself. Pretty.
"Why don't we go to bed," Joey said, smiled, kissed JC's nose.
"okay," JC said quietly.
Joey took off his shirt before sitting down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and pulling JC down to straddle his thighs, helped JC get his shirt up and over his head. They kissed, and JC moved closer, tightening his thighs over Joey's, kissing him some more before muttering
"um, you're not—you're." He didn't pull back far enough to be able to see Joey's face.
"Just nerves," Joey said, and petted his back soothingly.
"Oh," JC said doubtfully.
"Here," Joey said, and pulled JC back into his lap, dipping his hands beneath the waistband of his pants. He tilted his head back, and JC leaned down and kissed him, enthusiastically, tongued the sweet spot below his ear. He squirmed in Joey's lap, rolled his hips, kissed him teasingly, tongue flickering at the corner of Joey's mouth. He stroked his hands over Joey's shoulders and down his chest, played with the waistband of his pants a little, slid one hand inside, and then pulled it back out.
"um—" he said, small worried crease between his eyebrows, and Joey grabbed him then, rolled him over, kissing him frantically, tongue in his mouth, hands on his ass, and JC was hot beneath him, so Joey reached between them and flicked open the buttons of his pants, cupped his hand over his cock, held JC's head with one hand and kissed him until he was moaning against Joey's mouth, wiggling sinuously, desperately, and when Joey started kissing his neck, he muttered,
"I can give you a blowjob."
Joey ignored him, tongued his collarbone.
"I said," JC said, opening his eyes, reaching for Joey's hips, "I can give you a—"
"No," Joey said, almost sharply, and JC blinked, and jerked himself out of Joey's grasp, scooting across the bed, and sitting up, still breathing hard, flushed, mouth pink, eyes dark. He squinted at Joey in the dim light of the bedroom, and then reached for him. Joey lifted his hand, but JC said
"No," and put a hand on Joey's waist, watching his face carefully when he slid it lower, past Joey's waistband, into his pants, beneath the elastic band of his underwear.
"you're not even—"
"JC," Joey said softly, and then again. "JC." He reached for him, but JC flinched away from him, jaw working a little while he buttoned up his pants. "I'm sorry," Joey said, and JC pressed his lips tightly together for too long before saying
"It's not your fault."
"JC—"
"Stop. saying that," JC said. He pressed one hand against his face before getting up and finding his t-shirt, pulling it roughly over his head.
"I'm sorry," Joey said, after he'd found his shirt on the floor, and put it on.
"Stop saying that, too," JC said, and looked quickly at Joey, sitting on the bed, before turning and walking down the hallway.

JC was in the end of the upstairs hallway, leaning against the window, arms wrapped tightly around himself.
"I can stay," Joey said, and touched the sharp ridge of his shoulder blade with two fingers.
"I think you should go," JC said, as though it hurt him to say so. He tipped his head until he was resting his forehead against the glass of the windowpane.
"JC—"
"please."
When he unlocked the car door, he glanced upward. JC was still leaning in the window, a shadow, a slender silhouette. He raised his hand to wave goodbye, and the shadow disappeared.

Those last nights, it had been cool, and clear, and they'd dragged the mattress out onto the balcony and stared at the stars, speckled so thickly in the sky that it was impossible to make out constellations. The sky was huge above them, and JC's hand felt small and strong in his.
"You knew," Joey had said quietly, during a silent time, when JC had stopped pointing at stars, and his breathing was slow and steady. Joey had almost hoped he was asleep.
JC shifted next to him, "I just thought. if you knew. You wouldn't—you would never,"
"But—"
"I didn't care," JC said, and his hand had tightened in Joey's. "I wanted you so much, I didn't care, and I would have—"
"Done my laundry?" Joey said sharply. "Worn—"
"It wasn't like that," JC said. His voice cracked a little. "It—Joey."
"I know," Joey said, and rolled to his elbow so he could see JC's face, blurry and pale in the dark.
"I had to." JC put his hand against Joey's cheek, and his fingertips were cold. "I should have told you."
"It wouldn't have mattered," Joey said. "I wouldn't have cared."
Later, when JC swung a leg across his hips, shivering, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, Joey slid his hands up JC's bare thighs, and groaned against his slick mouth, shook a little when JC kissed his shoulder and then reared up over him, the blanket falling back off his shoulders. JC's eyes were black pools in the dark, alien, impossible to see, and his skin was hot and cold at the same time, a trembling row of goosebumps under Joey's hands when JC gasped quietly, made a desperate noise in the back of his throat, then leaned down and was Joey's again, familiar pale blue eyes, sweet smile, and Joey had thought that it would be impossible not to want JC, and that he would never be able to stop.

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