Cold.
by Helen
They hadn't told him that the heat was broken, Chris thought, rolling over and curling up as much as he could. There were a lot of things broken on what they tended to call the Loser Bus; they'd had it since they'd started touring, and now the television tended to break into static on bumpier roads, Joey had pirated the VCR to the other bus one time when that VCR had broken and never bothered to put it back, and the freezer didn't really keep things frozen anymore, which, Chris reflected wasn't a problem at the present time because it was fucking cold.
Shit. He could see his breath in the air. He gave up and slid off the bunk. He squinted at JC in the dim light. JC was asleep, cocooned in blankets, his breathing smooth and even. Chris grabbed a blanket off the bunk, wrapped it awkwardly around his shoulders, and walked up to talk to Mark, who was driving the bus, wearing a hat and mittens.
"Um, Mark?"
"Yeah?"
"Is the heat broken?"
"Yup."
"Is this an ongoing problem?"
"I guess. But how often are we someplace cold?"
"Right."
"You guys okay back there?"
"Well, we're. It's kind of cold."
"There's not much I can do about that right now," Mark said.
"Oh."
Usually he stayed on the other bus, leaving this bus to JC and Lance, who preferred the quiet: Lance to work and JC to sleep. The night before, though, Justin and Lance had been in the middle of an epic game of Final Fantasy IV, and Lance had switched with Chris. It didn't much matter to him at the time; he was tired, and he'd twisted his ankle in the concert. He and JC had eaten dinner in companionable silence, and it was nice, actually, to be able to be silent and ruminate on the ache in his ankle without someone noticing that he was being unusually quiet. Snow had begun to fall while they were still performing, and they had come out of the concert hall to find four inches of snow on the ground and the swirling slow-motion of snowflakes in the headlights of the bus. It reminded him of home, of good things, comfort, and Christmas vacation.
Until, of course, he'd woken up, frozen. Living in Orlando had made him forget exactly what it was like to be cold, and it was pretty creepy being so alone on the bus. Justin tended to snuffle and snore in his sleep, and Joey talked sometimes, strange phrases that drifted up from beneath him that occasionally, in the early early morning, seemed to have some meaning. He'd thought it was annoying, but the dead silence of this bus was worse. He trailed crossly back through the bus, stopping to glare at JC's shadowed form in the darkness of the lowest bunk, before starting to climb resignedly back into his bunk.
Fuck. The bed was like a block of ice. Fuck. Now he really couldn't sleep. His ankle hurt. He rolled over restlessly, and shifted around, wishing JC would wake up so he could tell him that he was cold.
"JC."
no answer.
"Hey, man."
nothing.
He climbed out of his bed and leaned over JC, but before he could say anything, JC's eyes snapped open, startling him badly. He took a sudden step backwards and barely missed banging his head on the top of the bunk.
"Fuck."
"Chris," JC said, and then cleared his throat and sat up a little. "What's wrong?"
"It's cold," Chris said.
"I guess," JC shrugged.
"You can sleep through this?"
"It wasn't the cold that woke me up."
"Come on, man, I'm dying of hypothermia."
JC sighed, and then scooted sideways toward the wall. "Get in, then."
"You want me to—what?"
"What did you expect me to do?"
"Fix the heat—"
"How would I know how to fix the heat?"
"I thought you might know the secrets of the Loser Bus."
"Look, get in and shut up, or shut up and don't get in, I don't care," JC said, and closed his eyes.
Chris pressed his lips together and then unwrapped the blanket from his shoulders and slid in, carefully, beside JC, putting the blanket on top of them. It was cramped, and JC's elbow was digging into him but he didn't much care because it was so warm, warm and he slid carefully closer to JC, pressing against him, and moving his feet against the heat of JC's legs, and the whistle of the snow outside sounded suddenly cosy, and he stuck his face down under the covers and fell almost immediately asleep.
It was still dark when he woke up and the bus was even colder and JC wasn't there, but his space was still warm. The light in the bathroom flicked off, and JC was back, lifting the covers and climbing in, sighing with happiness at the warmth and
"Get off, you're freezing," Chris said, pushing at him, moving as far as he could towards the back wall.
"So what?" JC said, sliding towards him. "I let you in before."
"but you weren't cold to begin with."
"I'm cold now."
"Fine," Chris said, and moved towards him minutely, and JC slid up next to him. "You're taking up all the room," Chris said.
"It's my bunk," JC said, and put his bare feet on Chris' shins, ignoring Chris' disgruntled muttering.
"I don't see how you can really be cold," JC said. "You're warm." He moved minutely closer to Chris, and Chris ended up sprawled halfway across his chest, and JC made a small noise of comfort, and then slid his hands under the back of Chris' t-shirt.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"My hands are cold."
"I know."
There was a pause while JC's hands brushed across the small of his back, and then JC said,
"Just let me—warm them up," stroking his thumb slowly against Chris' spine
"hm. ok—fine," he said, and JC's hands traced lazily over his waist, again and again, scratching briefly at the small of his back and then sliding down to his hips and squeezing slightly
"Josh—" Chris said, but quietly.
"what?" JC said, and dug his fingers in next to Chris' spine and
"I don't think, um," Chris said, surprised at how breathless his voice sounded.
"mmhm" JC said, stroking one palm across his ribs, and when Chris shifted restlessly against him, one of his thighs slid between Chris' legs and Chris wasn't cold anymore, he wasn't even warm, he was hot, he was burning the fuck up, and he remembered, suddenly, the last time he'd seen JC with a girl, easily three weeks ago, now, just some girl he'd met in a bar, and Chris had met them as they were going back to JC's room in the hotel, and the girl had looked exhilarated and terrified and disbelieving all at once, one hand clutching JC's tightly and he felt the brush of JC's lips against his jaw, and JC slid one hand up his back, holding him tightly now, and brought the other up to the back of his head and pulled him in close, slid his tongue slowly across Chris' lower lip, and Chris gasped against his mouth, and wondered if this was what it was like for girls.