The Same Inside
by Helen
You hurt me, and I'm grateful,
I never ever felt anything stranger.
Somehow, in the night, Chris had turned into a girl.
"Fuck," Justin said, who was the first to see him. "You're a girl."
"You think I don't know that?" Chris said.
"Holy shit!" Justin said. "Why'd you do it?"
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Chris screamed. When he screamed, he sounded a lot more like a girl than he had before, so it was unfortunate that Joey and JC arrived at that moment.
"Mother of God," Joey said. JC didn't say anything, just sat down on the couch and watched while Chris paced up and down the room. His center of gravity was distinctly lower.
Lance took it the best, really. He was the one who finally said "Let's just call up Nathan and Theresa," and dug his cell phone out of his pocket.
Theresa was cranky on the phone.
"It's seven-thirty on a Sunday, Lance."
"I know, but—"
"Let me ask you this, kiddo; does anyone else want to date guys? Is that it—"
"Theresa—"
"Lance, it's not that I'm gonna tell you you can't do it, you know that, but I wish you would stop with this fucked up impulse to romance them in public. Nobody likes that. I hate that—"
"Theresa, I think you should come over," Lance said.
They could hear her swearing on the other end of the phone. "I'll be there," she said. "Justin's place, right?"
They tended to meet up at Justin's house because he was the one who most reliably had food, and didn't get grouchy about sharing it the way JC did.
"Motherfucker," Theresa said, jerking back in surprise.
"Yup." Chris said.
She took off her sunglasses and peered at him carefully, and then said "If this is a joke, you're all going to be guest starring on Dawson's fucking Creek so fast—"
"It's not a joke."
She nodded. "Is this permanent?"
"I don't know."
"Jesus—"
"I called my mom, you know, and she just said it. happens. sometimes."
"That's very helpful, Kirkpatrick."
"Well, I'm—"
"Quiet," she said, tilting her head and staring at him. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and had a terse discussion which ended when she said "Just get over here," turned the phone off, and said to Justin "Can I have a drink?"
"Sure, what do you want?"
"Something with alcohol in it."
"Can he still sing?" Nathan asked, crossing his arms and looking unimpressed. Nathan always looked unimpressed.
"Uh, I dunno—" JC said. Theresa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. They sang 'I Thought She Knew', and Chris could still sing; his singing voice, in fact, sounded pretty much exactly the same.
"Lovely," Theresa said.
"Great," Nathan said. Then he and Theresa retreated into the living room.
"Okay," Nathan said forty-five minutes later. "Here's what we got: Chris has entered a Shaolin Monastery under a vow of silence."
"No one's gonna believe that," Justin said.
"Obviously not," Theresa said. "They'll think he's in rehab."
"Can't we just say he's in rehab?" JC said.
Theresa fixed him with a glance before saying "No."
"So what about..uh..her?" Lance said.
"She's his..what, cousin?" Nathan said.
"Eh," Theresa said.
"They might be related but they're not sure," Nathan amended. "They met and felt a deep connection—"
"That's good. Put 'spiritual connection'," Theresa said.
"That's too many 'spirituals'," Nathan said.
"It's only one."
"No, see, because then he asked her to take his place when he went off to undergo his spiritual journey."
"mm. well. I don't think it matters. 'mystical connection'? We'll work it out later."
"So where the hell has this not-cousin been the whole time?" Chris said.
"Details. South America, who knows," Theresa said. "Chris, we're going to set up some kind of Shaolin Monastery pictures. You free this afternoon?"
"I guess."
"Rehearsal," JC said.
"Tomorrow, then," Theresa said.
"Hold it—you met because she saw your tattoo and wanted one exactly like it," Nathan said. "You didn't even realize you looked like each other until someone pointed it out."
"That's kind of. what, am I stupid?"
"Yes," Theresa said.
"What about the other tattoo?"
"Some kind of bonding thing. with the others," Nathan said.
"I like that," Theresa nodded. It took them another hour of terse phone calls with Theresa saying things like "I want Jerry. Jerry. Not that fool Bertram," before Theresa said
"Okay. tomorrow, just Chris. Thursday, all of you. All right?"
"Right," Lance said.
"Great. Tomorrow. and here's something I thought I would never say, the rest of you should try very hard not to turn into girls, especially you, Fatone, as you would make a very ugly girl."
"Okay, Theresa," Justin said.
"All I'm saying is that at least Chris is cute. You got a sweet can, Kirkpatrick, and that's the only reason we didn't go with the "'Nsync's Kirkpatrick dies in horrible train accident; his dying wish that people purchase more albums" story."
"You know what's the weirdest thing about this," Justin said, after Theresa had left. It was late afternoon, and none of them had really eaten, so Justin had gotten out lunchmeat and made them all sandwiches. "What?"
"You're like. a pretty cute girl," Justin said, squinting at Chris' face.
"shut up," Chris mumbled, taking a bite of his sandwich.
"I mean it."
"Shut up anyway."
Chris was a pretty cute girl, Joey thought, watching Lance and Chris try to figure out what the problem was with the flip in 'I want you back'. The first time, Lance had flipped him so hard that Chris stumbled and fell hard on his shoulder.
"What'd you do that for?" he asked, rolling over and sitting up, rubbing his shoulder.
"I didn't do anything—I did what I always do."
"Obviously not, since I don't usually—"
"You're lighter, or something."
"I'm not either."
"Yeah, you are."
"No, I'm—let's just fix it," Chris said, and it had taken them a dozen times through to fix it, with Joey and Justin and JC sitting on the benches watching them. It was weird, because he didn't really look all that different, even though by the time Hans said
"Okay, take a break," and Chris wandered over and found his water bottle, Justin shook his head, winced, and said,
"Seriously, man, you gotta put those away."
"They're not that big," Chris said sulkily
"They're big enough," JC said, staring studiously the floor.
"Fine."
"If you want me to call Brit or something," Justin said, "I can—"
"I'm think I'm capable of purchasing. underwear," Chris said. "I have sisters. I'm cool."
In the end, they just decided to keep calling him Chris.
"First, because there's no way you people are going to be able to remember to call him Rebecca or whatever," Nathan said, while they were all standing around pretending to be meeting Chris for the first time.
"hey—"
"And, well, we don't wanna have to go around changing all the merchandise, right?" Theresa said. "I mean, this is enough of a pain in the ass, already."
"Just try to remember to call him 'she' in public."
"What's Chris short for?" Lance asked.
"Christina, I guess. Chrysanthemum? who cares?"
Chris spent most of the next week faking footage of having a deep spiritual connection with himself, and he'd show up at rehearsal looking tired already. He fell a lot, even though they could all see that it was getting better.
"You okay?" Justin said at a break.
"Sure. new body, y'know," Chris said, and they all nodded solemnly, and then he grinned and flashed his sportsbra at them. It was red, with a black racing stripe.
"Nice," Justin said, nodding in approval. "It's like you're a car, or something."
"The elastic kind of digs, though," Chris said.
"You okay?" Joey asked again later. He and Chris were eating burritos, sitting on a picnic table outside of Lenny's Tacqueria.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"'cause you turned into a girl, man."
"yeah."
"Is it. y'know. weird?"
"Not really," Chris said. "still feels like my body, you know?"
"mm," Joey said, and ate some chips.
"What are you looking at?" Chris asked.
"Nothing. you."
There were things to get used to, but, oddly, it was the stupid little things that stuck more in his mind, like learning to call Chris 'she' in public and the fact that Chris always had to stand next to him in photoshoots now because "Standing next to JC makes you look like a fatass," Angelica said, "also, can we get him a shirt, people, that shows a little cleavage? I thought you fuckers were supposed to be professionals," she yelled over her shoulder. Chris punched Justin in the face one afternoon when he wouldn't stop calling him "Chrissie," but he seemed mostly unperturbed by it. "It's kind of hard not to get used to it," he told Joey. So now he was a girl with cut arms and pretty eyes and a
"pixie-ish pixie-ish pixie-ish face," Theresa said. "Okay? not sharp, not boyish—"
"We don't write the articles, Theresa," Justin said.
"It wouldn't kill you to say pixie-ish once or twice," she said. "And for the love of Christ, will you stop wearing Old Spice deodorant."
"I'm not fucking wearing Lady Speed Stick—" Chris said.
"Fuck," Theresa said.
"It's quirky," Nathan said.
"oh, okay," Theresa said.
Two weeks later, they started telling people about Chris. A press release, a short press conference, an Entertainment Weekly article, and everyone thought it was a publicity stunt. The fans were especially upset, and seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Chris.
"Who the fuck knows," Theresa said one afternoon, stopping by rehearsal to run the next week's tentative schedule by them. "You're too ugly, you're gonna date the guys, the sound's gonna change, you all swore you wouldn't keep on doing this if one of you wanted to stop: they're pissed at you."
"Great," JC said.
"Give it time," Theresa said. "Oh, hey," she said to Chris, "We got you some ID." She handed him an envelope with a driver's license and a birth certificate. "You should be able to set up a bank account or whatever, now."
"Hold on, it says here that I was born in 1975," Chris said. "That's not—"
"It is now."
"What? but—"
"Your age has always been a pain in my ass, Kirkpatrick," Theresa said. "You're twenty-five. Learn to love it."
They had several more uncomfortable interviews, until Justin finally got sick of it, and during the next interview, talked about spiritual journeys and started to cry a little, and gave Chris an extremely platonic hug. Then JC said something about brothers needing sisters, which didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense, but they didn't worry about it, what with a single crystal tear tracing artfully down Justin's cheek. Theresa sent him a fruit basket.
Everyone liked Chris after that.
"You're cute, but not threateningly cute," Theresa said. "Girls have started to fantasize that they're you."
"Creepy," Justin said.
"Let's not get into it," Theresa said. "Everyone still wants to fuck the rest of you, and the people who wanted to fuck you before, Chris, seem to have shifted their allegiance. So, we're good. stable."
"How do you find this shit out?" Joey asked.
"Not everyone wants to fuck us," JC said. "I mean, some people do like the music."
"sure," Theresa said.
That weekend, they went out together for the first time since Chris had turned into a girl. At first, they hadn't been allowed to, because they hadn't broken the news about Chris, and then they'd all been too down about the bad reception he'd gotten, but that weekend, after rehearsal, Chris said
"So, are we doin' something?"
"Sure," Joey said, smiling. Chris had been the most down of all of them, hiding away in his house, apologizing until they were all sick of it. "It's not your fucking fault," Joey had finally said. "so just stop."
There were guys looking at Chris, Joey noticed, right off. Chris, who was wearing a worn pair of jeans that didn't quite fit anymore and a t-shirt that said 'Wegman's Honda' on it. Justin and JC disappeared onto the dance floor as soon as they'd gotten drinks, and he and Chris and Lance sat down and had a beer and watched JC doing a particularly ridiculous dance move. He left to go to the bathroom, and when he got back, Lance was gone and Chris was talking merrily to some guy, face a little flushed.
"Joey, hey, this is Javier," he said.
"Hi," Joey said tightly.
"Javier bought me a drink," Chris said. "He thinks the Magic might make the play-offs this year, which is total bullshit." Javier smiled. "What are you smiling about?" Chris asked, and Joey realized that what had looked like mouthy aggression when Chris had been a guy, what had gotten him into a few fights, and more than a few shoving matches, looked like flirting when Chris was a girl. Javier smiled some more. Javier touched Chris' shoulder.
"Hey," Joey said.
"What?" Javier said.
"Fuck off," Joey said.
Javier shrugged, smiled at Chris, and wandered off. "hey—" Chris said.
"That guy was hitting on you," Joey said.
"I know that," Chris said.
"Chris—"
"Look, he bought me a drink, what—was I supposed to not talk to him?"
"How much have you had to drink," Joey asked abruptly, because the high flush along Chris' cheekbones usually indicated that he was far from sober.
"A beer. A shot. a beer," Chris said, waving the near empty bottle at him.
"Chris. um. I'm not sure if. Maybe you should lay off the booze for a—"
"Oh, what. 'cause I'm a girl."
"Girls have a lower tolerance."
"Bite me," Chris said, and got up. He went over to the bar and signaled the bartender for another drink before disappearing into the crowd.
Fine. Fine, Joey thought, and ordered another beer, turning away from the dance floor. He drank it slowly.
"Where's Chris," Lance said, sitting down.
"How should I know?" he said.
"Okay," Lance said, and they drank in silence, until Lance looked over his shoulder and said
"Oh, goddam," and got up. Joey turned around. On the edge of the dance floor, a large guy was poking JC in the chest and saying
"What, are you, her boyfriend?"
JC sighed. The guy shoved him.
"You fuckin' owe me, Kirkpatrick," JC said.
"I can take care of myself," Chris said, but he looked a little dizzy.
"I think the girl likes me."
"The girl doesn't," Chris said.
And then Lance was there, one arm around Chris' shoulders. The guy shoved JC again.
"Are you gonna—you know, she's just not that cute," JC said.
"Whoa, hey, shit, are they fighting over Chris?" Justin said, appearing out of nowhere. "That's so cool. Hey—" he said to the guy, "he'll kick your ass if you mess with his woman."
"You're not helping," JC said.
"I'm not his woman," Chris said, and by this time the guy had decided they were too much trouble.
"Motherfuckers," he mumbled, wandering back to the bar.
"We're leaving," JC said.
"You're not allowed to drink as much as you did before—you're just not," JC said in the car, glaring into the rearview mirror.
"Fuck you—"
"Fuck you. I don't wanna spend all my time defending your honor—"
"I can take care of my honor just fine," Chris snapped.
"You don't even know about guys—" Joey said.
"I know about guys. I am a guy."
"Yeah, but—"
"Don't fucking give me this 'it's for your own good' shit. Jesus Christ. No wonder not one of you can keep a girl around for more than five minutes. Do you pull this kind of condescending bullshit on every girl you meet? Having a rack doesn't make you stupid," Chris said.
"It makes you stupid," JC said.
No one said anything after that.
"They're just worried about you," Lance said, sitting down next to Chris on the bus the next day. They were driving out to the beach to do a photoshoot, and Chris had shown up and climbed onto the bus that morning without speaking to any of them.
"They're assholes," Chris said.
"Yeah."
"I don't. I don't feel like a girl," Chris said. "I feel the same inside."
"Yeah. well. girls probably feel the same inside, too."
Chris nodded and stared out the window.
"You know they worry. You remember when I started going out with Sam?"
"The tall one."
"Yup."
"JC would wait up and shit," Chris said, nodding.
"He got Lonnie to run a background check," Lance said.
"really?"
"Yeah."
"What happened with him again?" Chris asked.
"He said I was fat." Lance smirked mirthlessly and stared at the floor.
"Right."
"He stole my car."
"I remember him now."
"So, you know," Lance said. "Then JC said 'I told you so' for fifteen years."
"oh, because JC is really great in relationships," Chris scoffed.
"yeah," Lance said, smiling a little.
Fuck, he's pretty, Joey thought. Pretty. He felt his skin heat up even though he was alone in his car, driving home. It was just kind of embarrassing was all, and someone was going to find out, and he was never going to hear the end of it. Fuck.
"Lance. You busy?" Chris said, leaning into the living room. They'd spent half the afternoon with Lance trying to explain licensing agreements,
"Because you guys need to know about this stuff, okay," Lance said, but they'd finally decided they couldn't take it any more, and now JC and Justin were out in the back, swimming in Justin's pool, and Joey was cooking them dinner, and Lance was still typing on his laptop in the living room.
"No, just—finishing up some stuff."
"Well, if you're busy then—" Chris stood uncertainly in the doorway.
"I said I wasn't busy."
"I just. I don't wanna bother you if—"
"You're bothering me right now."
"yeah," Chris pressed his lips together and looked at the floor. Lance closed his laptop and looked up at him
"umn," Chris said, leaning back against the doorframe. "I'm just gonna say this really fast, because it's. uh. didja ever notice how the others are. um. hot?"
Lance started to laugh. "hoo. yeah. you get over it."
"really?"
"Well, you just get used to it."
"yeah?"
"Yeah," Lance said. "It becomes..y'know, sort of a perk."
"It does."
"yeah."
"because it's a little disconcerting right now."
"When Justin does that thing, right? with the—"
"Let's not get into specifics," Chris said, blushing by now.
"Okay," Lance said.
Chris opened his mouth, and then closed it. "So. How's that going with Jacob?" he finally said.
"Dumped him."
"What? Why?"
"Sick of his shit."
"oh. sorry," Chris said, and there was an uncomfortable silence until Lance said
"What are you doing tonight?"
"I don't know." Chris shrugged. "Nothing."
"You wanna get drunk and talk about guys?"
"Sure," Chris said.
"You should wear more pretty clothes," Lance said, later.
"What?"
"I'm just saying, if it were me—"
"You already wear pretty clothes," Chris said.
When they finished the next photoshoot, they walked out to see Theresa and Nathan sitting in the lobby, looking intently at notebooks.
"Give us five minutes," Theresa said, waving them onto a leather couch. Justin sat down in the chair next to her. "We're just finishing up—"
"What's that?" Justin said, looking over her shoulder.
"It's the list of words people aren't allowed to use in an article about Chris," Theresa said, turning back to her notebook. "Androgynous?" Theresa said.
"Only if it's some arty magazine," Nathan said.
"Check."
"No masculine, no butch, obviously—"
"Strange," Theresa said.
"What if they want to say 'strangely luminous'?"
"What if they want to say 'strange'?"
"Strange is okay," Nathan said decisively, and Theresa nodded.
"No boyish."
"No athletic"
"Better stay away from muscular."
"Nothing about the planes of his face."
"Pixie-ish, of course."
"Gamine."
"Tomboy."
"Good alternatives," Theresa said, making a note. Then she fished a small packet out of her pocket and tossed it to Chris "Catch—" she said.
"What are these?"
"What do they look like?"
"Sparkly barrettes," Chris said warily.
"Put 'em on."
"What? no."
"Put them on."
"I don't want to."
"You're wearing them."
"They're sparkly."
"Lemme see," Justin said. "Dude, they are sparkly." He snapped one off the card and put it in his hair.
"There. Justin looks adorable."
"Then he can wear them."
"I always look adorable," Justin said, leaning over and clipping another barrette into JC's hair. JC grinned.
"Chris. just put them on, okay," Theresa said. "Do I make you wear dresses?"
"He looks like a tool in a dress," Justin hooted.
"Shut up—" Chris said, and punched him in the shoulder.
"okay, give me the barrettes back," Theresa said. "you're like freakin' magpies, I swear." Then she leaned over and clipped one into Chris' hair. "Wear them or I'll make you star in a Lifetime movie."
"Fuck, Theresa."
"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this? You waxed your legs."
"You waxed your legs?" JC said.
"They made me."
"Did it hurt?" Justin asked.
"No, it didn't hurt, you moron; they only ripped out all the hair on my legs by the roots," Chris said.
It was mostly the same, though, Joey thought. Chris wore the same clothes, and had the same annoying laugh and still liked bad movies and got pissy at the same time in rehearsal, and it was mostly the same, he told himself, except for the parts where Chris came to rehearsal and said to Lance
"Dude, I take it back, John Cusack is indeed dreamy."
"Told you."
"Yes, you did."
"You gonna listen to me about Charlie Sheen, now?
"You're on your own, there."
JC barely seemed to notice anymore. The last club they'd gone to, he'd watched Chris dancing with a guy for a few minutes with narrowed eyes before shrugging and saying to Joey
"I give up."
"Probably for the best," Joey said, pretending he wasn't watching the same thing.
"Asking for trouble," JC muttered.
"Yup," Joey agreed.
It had now become essentially impossible to pick up girls when Chris was around, because whatever they did looked like a date—or not like a date, since Chris saying: "I'm not watching fucking Zorro, I don't care how hot whatserface is—" at the movie store wasn't exactly first date material. People thought they were a cute couple, Joey thought, seeing the benevolent looks people gave them when Chris fished his wallet out of his pocket and said "I'll take care of it, man." and "you still got that microwave popcorn at home, right?"
"People think we're a cute couple," he said, pushing the door open.
"Please, Fatone, I could do way better than you," Chris snorted.
"sure."
"Hey, I was kidding—"
"I know."
"Joey—"
"We're late—"
"Joey: you're hot, okay? I think you're hot, I wanna have your children, I wanna—" Chris slammed him up against the side of his car, and batted his eyes up at him.
"Okay," Joey said, mollified in spite of himself. Two guys crossing the parking lot shot him envious glances.
"We're going to look at cars, you want to come?" Justin said at breakfast in New York. They were filming a TRL appearance that afternoon.
"Me and Lance are goin' to Victoria's Secret," Chris said, finishing his toast.
"What?" Justin said.
"What for?" Joey said.
"To buy underwear," Chris said patiently.
"Lance is buying underwear?"
"Lance is moral support."
"I thought you could handle it," Justin said.
"That was before Theresa left me a voicemail message about how I wasn't allowed to wear sports bras all the time."
"Why not?"
"They're unflattering, apparently. They squish the goods together."
"That's true," Justin said. "You gonna get something slinky?"
"No."
"Get one of those ones with the feathers."
"No."
"You should get a push up bra," JC mumbled through his cereal.
"What?"
"Yeah," Justin said. "'cause you're not really that big, and—"
"If I continue to have this conversation," Chris said, "my head is going to implode. Joey, do you have anything to add?"
"No," Joey said.
"Good," Chris said. "I'll drive," he said to Lance.
It took him fourteen minutes, which he thought was pretty good. Buzzed in, picked up some bras that looked more or less the right size, tried them on, found one that fit, and came back out, with plenty of time to go check out Radio Shak.
"Okay," he said to Lance, who was sitting in an upholstered chair, legs crossed. Someone had brought him a cup of coffee.
"Just the one," the saleswoman said, appearing at his elbow. Dolores, her nametag said.
"Um. Better make it two, I guess," Chris said.
"You need more than that," Lance said.
"What do you know about it," Chris said, but Dolores had already transferred her attention to Lance.
"Animal prints," she told him, lifting a leopard spotted bra off a nearby table, "are very in this year."
"mm," Lance said. She smiled at him. He nodded, and she began walking them along toward the register, picking up underwear as she went.
"And with your friend's coloring, she should really own some underthings in scarlet, and some deep blues."
Chris opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap, because Dolores was easily sixty, a slender woman with an elaborate pouf of grey hair. "Maybe some pale green, as well," she continued, looking critically at Chris for a moment before smiling at Lance again, "and the panties, of course," she added, deftly folding six pairs of underpants and adding them to the stack of bras already on the counter.
"I don't need the underpants," Chris said.
"They match, Chris," Lance said patiently.
"So?"
"So—" Lance shook his head, and nodded at the saleswoman again, "she'll take them."
Dolores beamed.
Chris did look like a tool in a dress, especially at first, especially the one time they'd tried to make him wear a sundress for a photo shoot, and he'd looked ridiculous, hunching his shoulders, not sure where to put his hands. Finally, they gave up and let him put on pants and a tank top. Joey noticed, though, that gradually he started wearing a few new things, slightly tighter t-shirts, obviously cut for women, that he explained by saying, shortly "Fumanskeeto."
One unbearably hot day, when they had all taken off their shirts and were wishing they would just die, Chris was wearing a halter top.
"That's a halter top," JC said.
"Yeah, I know," Chris said.
"Nice," Justin said, and started to giggle.
"Don't listen to them," Lance said, "it looks good."
"It's a halter top," JC said.
"Fuck you," Chris said. "It's comfortable, I'm wearing it."
"It looks nice," Joey said, a moment too late, watching the tie that hung down between Chris' shoulderblades.
So, for his birthday, Joey got him a sweater. A girl sweater, deep red, and maybe a little tight, and soft, some kind of alpaca or cashmere or something.
"For your girlfriend?" the saleswoman chirped. She was kind of on the old side, and hadn't seemed to recognize him.
"No," he said hesitantly. "Just a friend."
"She'll love it," the woman said conspiratorially, which made him feel weirdly guilty, like maybe it was too much like a present you might get a girlfriend. He got Chris a Playstation game in case he wimped out, and gave it to him at the party. Afterwards, after he'd given Chris a ride home because he was still a little too drunk to drive, he fished it out of the backseat and put it in Chris' lap while they sat in the driveway.
"You already got me something," Chris said, pulling the wrapping off.
"I just wanted to get you something—"
Chris flipped the lid of the box open and stared for a moment. "girly," he said flatly.
"No. sort of. just—something pretty."
"Great, Joe. thanks." Chris slid one hand over the material, and Joey thought about what a good idea the sweater had seemed in the store, when he couldn't stop touching it.
"sorry."
"It's just. I'm not a girl."
"I know."
"I mean, I sort of am, but I'm not."
"Look, never mind," Joey said, leaning over and pulling the box out of Chris' lap. "I'm sorry."
"Hey—"
"No, forget it. It's no big deal."
"Give it to me."
"No."
"Well. I want it," Chris said. "It's—a pink. sweater and—"
"It's not pink. I'll give it to someone who appreciates it, okay."
"Joey—"
"What."
"I'm sorry. I just." Chris sighed. "I really don't want you to—treat me like a girl. or. like I'm this whole different person."
"I know."
"I mean, not that you've been doing that. You've been really cool and normal."
"Yeah," he said.
"Gimme it," Chris said, and then he leaned over and hugged Joey, awkward in the seat. "Thanks," he said. "It's really nice."
But he didn't wear it.
"Okay," Theresa said. "So. Fatone and Bass are doing what? That thing with Bop, and Timberlake and Chasez—"
"We're in the studio,"
"Right, good. Until, two?"
"Yeah."
"After that you have a radio interview thing—"
"What."
"They're comin' over. It's small, it's nothing," She pointed at Justin "You like blue," She pointed at JC, "you don't like drugs, both of you like girls and that's that."
"okay—"
"Kirkpatrick—you have a photo shoot thing."
"oh. where?"
"The address is right there,"
"Theresa? Is this—"
"Lemme see," Justin said. "woo! Maxim."
"What?" Joey said.
"Theresa, um—"
"Are they gonna make you take your clothes off?" Lance said.
"um—"
"Have you ever seen a girl in Maxim with her clothes on?" Justin said.
"I don't really read Maxim," Lance said.
"I don't want to," Chris said.
"Again, I don't care."
"but."
"Kirkpatrick. Do you know how long I spent on the phone with those fuckers over at Maxim, telling them how you had an offbeat sexy charm? How you were a bad girl with a crunchy delicious shell? and not too fat?"
"How long—" Justin said, at the same time as Chris said "I'm not fat."
"Long enough that the least you can do at this point is get over there, strip down to your underwear and let them spray you with Mazola."
"But—"
"I have to do it all the time," Justin said.
"It's not the same," Chris said. "and I just. am I gonna be expected to do..provocative things with my face."
"Like—"
"Not like that, moron. be all. y'know."
"Yes," Theresa said.
"Shit," Chris said.
"You don't have to do it—"
"Shut UP, Fatone," Theresa said. "Look, Justin, maybe you can help him out or something,"
"I like girls," JC said.
"I know you do, honey," Theresa said.
"What's Mazola," JC asked Lance, as they watched Justin showing Chris how to pout.
"It's that cooking spray," Lance said.
"Pretty good," Justin said. "Now, like, stick your chest out."
"I hate this," Chris mumbled.
"How was it," Lance asked, the next day.
"They waxed my eyebrows," Chris said. "It hurt like hell."
"Did you do the thing?" Justin said.
"yeah. They totally interviewed me while I didn't have any clothes on. It was fucked up."
"They hit on you?"
"No."
The Maxim didn't come out for another month, and during that time, Joey had pretty much gotten used to it. It was easy when Chris was sitting around eating peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and arguing with Justin about whose turn it was on the Playstation or leaning over the back of the couch talking to JC and saying things like
"I like that dah-eo-dee part. but the other part? with all the deedly bits? there's. I dunno."
But then there were other times, when, for instance, Chris got bored and threw himself on Joey's back, and they ended up rolling around in the space between the couch and the television while Chris yelled
"You think you can subdue the might of the dragon warrior?" while he saved his breath, and well, that was pretty much the same as it had been before, until the part where he finally got Chris off his back and under him, Chris laughing at him, saying
"you'll never take me alive—" and squirming underneath him, and he'd grabbed one of Chris' hands and held it above his head, and let three fingers slide ticklishly across Chris' ribs while Chris gasped
"No, Joey, ow, don't," shoving his body up against Joey's, and then his chest was heaving against Joey's, and he was tossing his head back, mouth trembling with laughter. That was different.
Rolling off Chris and walking away while he said
"hey—Joey—hey, what?", that was different, too.
"Hungry," he said. "Just. um, I'm hungry. You want something?"
"We just ate," Chris said.
"Well, I'm hungry again," he said.
And once, when they were watching television, Chris said "Hold up," when JC picked up the remote to flip to another channel. They spent the next thirty seconds in silence, as Chris watched a commercial for o.b. tampons with narrowed eyes.
"You do that, man?"
"Yup."
"Oh," Justin said. "So what's that like?" he asked, after a moment.
"No big deal. kinda gory, though."
"You get all cranky and irrational?"
"You should talk, Mr. They used the wrong detergent on my lucky socks."
"point taken."
Joey was paging idly through Maxim in the grocery store line when he saw them. He had forgotten about them a little, expected them to be in next month's issue, so he almost passed by the pictures, and only stopped because he saw the word 'Nsync. "'Nsync's bad girl," it said, "'naughty and 'nice."
God, Joey thought. The first picture took up nearly two full pages, with a few paragraphs at the bottom of the left hand page. Chris was sprawled out across a bed, wearing underwear, propped up on his elbows, sneering a little, one eyebrow crooked. The underwear was black and lacy. God, Joey thought. Look at his skin, he thought. He felt a little sick. He turned the page. The next picture was worse, because Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing boxers, and they were tugged haphazardly over his hips, a little low, the waistband slightly crumpled, and he wasn't wearing a shirt, but was, instead, holding his breasts in his hands and Fuck, Joey thought. He slammed the magazine shut.
Then he put it on the conveyer belt.
Justin thought the pictures were hilarious.
"Dude—" he yelled. "You are a very hot chick."
Chris laughed.
JC snorted when he saw them. "What the hell are you going for here, Kirkpatrick," he said, holding up the boxers picture. "Like, Bambi?"
"More like: check it, I'm underage, and hungry to be tutored in the ways of love," Justin said.
"More like, I'm freezing my ass off and hungry for the crackers and cheese I can see on the Craft Services Table," Chris said.
"Hey, you have a heart-shaped ass," JC said, reading the article now. "who knew?"
"Let me see," Justin said, snatching it away, "with her exotic coloring and lush body...blah blah blah... during the photo shoot, she squints nervously at the camera for a minute before saying "I'm supposed to look sexy, now, right?" She's a game little thing, crawling around the bed, stripping off her top without any protest—"
"That's not true," Chris said.
"This guy watched you?" Joey said. "What a fucking asshole—"
"Excuse me," Justin said, "do you wanna hear about her exotic coloring or what?"
"No," Joey said.
"Thank you," Chris said.
It didn't matter, Joey thought, it didn't matter at all, and there were a lot of hot girls in the world, a lot of hot girls that he didn't even want to touch or kiss or do anything with, and Chris was hot, yeah, but that didn't mean anything, didn't have to mean anything. And even if it did mean anything, it wasn't as though Chris was going to start suddenly liking guys or anything, because that would be plain weird.
They re-released a single with
"a fucking glamourshot of Kirkpatrick on the back," Justin said
"It wasn't my idea," Chris said.
"Nonetheless," JC said, "here you are on the back of 'I Drive Myself Crazy' without a shirt on."
"I'm wearing a shirt."
"It's not buttoned."
"It's not entirely unbuttoned.
"It's not on your shoulders."
"I can see your nipples," Justin said.
"You can not—" Chris said, grabbing the cd away from Justin and examining the back, carefully, "You fucker. You can not."
"We should release one where you're not wearing any underwear," Justin said.
"asshole," Chris said.
"Oh," Theresa said at their next meeting. "I almost forgot. Chris, you need to date someone."
"What?"
"People are getting the sense that you're somehow going to be..with..one of the guys, and we need to alleviate that."
"So I have to—"
"Date someone. We can set something up for you, no problem."
Justin snickered.
"I don't want to," Chris said.
"Theresa," Joey said, "It's not fair to make him—"
"I think—" JC started.
"Work with 'Nsync, they said. it's an opportunity of a lifetime." Theresa said. "And now I've got a freak with bad clothes, a freak with bad clothes who keeps talking about his fucking bong collection,"
"I did that one time—" JC said.
"freak number three over here who keeps dating abusive assholes, fucking Timberlake,"
"What'd I do?"
"and a girl," she finished, "who can't sit like a lady."
"Hey—"
"It's fine," she said. "that's the offbeat sexy charm."
"I'd like to clarify," JC said, "that I made one comment, once, about medicinal marijuana. Medicinal."
"I was there, baby," Theresa said. "Or, rather, I wasn't there, I was watching it on my television in horror and disbelief, and yelling at Nathan to bring me a valium."
"Did he bring you one?" Justin asked.
"We don't have any," Theresa said. "We like to lock ourselves in my office and do tequila shots whenever you guys screw up."
"We don't—"
"Do you have to be so fucking argumentative all the time? All I'm asking is that you—"
"Hold on," Chris said, sitting forward. "Can I date Mike D.? Is he married?"
"I don't think so," Theresa said. "But I think the Beastie Boys live in New York. Still, a long distance thing—"
"You should date Nick Carter," Justin said.
"He's fat," Lance said.
"I'm not dating Nick Carter—" Chris said.
"But you'd be so cute together," JC muttered, rolling his eyes.
"I wanna date Illya Zaporov," Chris said, slapping his hand decisively on the table.
"Who's that—" Lance said.
"Dude, don't you know anything about anything? He's the power forward for the Rangers."
"The what?"
"The New York Rangers, man—"
"Is that—"
"Hockey," JC said.
"Is he cute," Lance asked.
"Who cares if he's cute? He has eighteen career hat tricks."
"oh."
"New York," Theresa said.
"He lives here in the off season," Chris said.
"How do you spell it," Theresa said.
"What, just like that?" Joey said. "How do you know he's gonna—"
"You know, you could have a little faith in me for once, people. I am good at my job."
"So that's gonna be strange," Joey said, driving Chris home from the meeting.
"What?"
"Dating a guy."
"hm," Chris said noncommittally.
"It'll be like it is for Lance with girls, I guess," Joey said. "You could talk—"
"I think I'm attracted to guys," Chris said, looking out the window.
"Oh."
"Maybe."
"How can you tell?"
"I. um. I just can."
"Oh."
"I mean, it's not as though I was totally straight before."
"really?"
"but I liked girls better."
"You weren't totally straight," Joey said.
"I mean, girls were hot."
"You weren't straight?"
"And so I didn't think much about it, but there's definitely. something very fucked up going on right now."
"You're. you like guys?"
Chris nodded.
"Like, a particular guy?"
"No. not. I mean. It's more like, I notice guys now. more. like. I recognize that they're hot in a more up close and personal way than I did before."
"Oh."
"You freakin' out?"
"No," Joey said. "of course not."
"Good."
"Right."
"I'm kind of freaking out," Chris admitted.
"Oh."
"mm."
"Is there anything I can do?" Joey said.
"Naw. I'm gonna go. y'know."
"What?"
"Get drunk and watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns with Lance."
"What?"
"Cute boys. Don't fucking laugh. "
"There are cute girls on that show, too."
"Yup."
The morning after his first date with Illya, Chris seemed thoughtful.
"How was it," JC asked.
"It was fun," Chris said. "We went to a Magic game. good seats."
"cool," Justin said.
"He remembers us from when we were in Europe," Chris said. "We went to a diner after and he sang 'Riddle' to me."
"What a freak," Joey said.
"yeah," Chris said, smiling.
The next week, Chris was late for rehearsal.
"Where the fuck is he," Justin said when he was ten minutes late, because Justin was always on time.
"Traffic, maybe," JC said, who was usually late himself.
"Wasn't today that thing?" Lance said.
"What thing."
"He had a date with Illya," Lance said.
"That was today," Justin said. "Shit, I was gonna ask him to get an autograph."
"I think the more important thing is where the hell he is," Joey said, "I mean, how well do we know this guy—"
"Just call him," Lance said, tossing his phone to Joey. It rang for a long time before Chris answered.
"H'lo?" he said, hoarsely.
"Chris?" Joey said.
"Jo—?" Chris said, before stopping and clearing his throat. "Joey?"
"Where are you?"
"Oh.Oh god, that was at—what time is it?"
"Three-fifteen," Joey said, at the same time as he heard a man's voice on the other end, very near the phone, saying "three-fifteen."
"Shit, Joe, I'm sorry. I'll be there in—fifteen minutes?" Chris said. "yeah. sorry." Joey could hear something rustling in the background. "Sorry," he said again, before hanging up.
"Fifteen minutes," Joey said to the others, and Justin nodded and said "do y'all want some popcorn? I'm gonna make some."
The car pulled up in twenty minutes.
"there he is," JC said, and there was a long pause before the door opened and Chris climbed out, turning and leaning into the door of the car for quite some time before he shut it, turning to wave once before coming quickly up the path.
"It was fucking amazing, right?" Chris said, closing the door. "We went skating, and he showed me how to do this slick hockey stop, and we played some one-on-one."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" JC said dryly.
"What?"
"C'mon, Chris," Justin said. "You were makin' out with him."
"So what if I was."
"There's a hickey on your neck," Joey said.
"Okay," Chris said. "Sorry, I didn't realize you needed this level of detail. After we finished skating, we went parking up on Skyline. He told me I was pretty, which was a little weird, but then I didn't much care, because we were kissing, and then I took off my shirt and he—"
"Chris—"
"What, you don't wanna hear about second base?"
"I'm sorry," Justin said. "I didn't mean it like that—I mean. you never minded before."
"You never acted like assholes about it before."
So that was that. Next Saturday, when he asked Chris if they were going out, Chris said
"I'm going out with Illya. Sunday, maybe? We could get some lunch or something," and they did, but Chris was yawning a bit, still, when he picked him up at noon, "out late," he said, shrugging. It was fine, Joey thought, because it wasn't as though Chris stopped having time for them. He spent a lot more time with Lance than he had before, and he still usually got a beer with Joey after rehearsal. He'd never minded before, Joey told himself, when there was Dani.
"Who's my favorite?" Theresa said, smiling, and catching the videotape that Nathan tossed to her.
"Justin," JC said.
"Nope," Theresa said, and put the tape in the player. It was an Entertainment Tonight segment on a charity hockey game. "cerebral palsy, very sad," Theresa said, fast forwarding through some hockey, and an interview, and some people with cerebral palsy and stopping the tape when the players started to file off the ice, pulling off their helmets.
"Hey, it's Chris," Lance said. There was no sound, but they could see Chris standing at the side of the walkway, pulling his hands out of his pockets as one of the players stopped in front of him, big, blonde,
"What's his name again?" Theresa said.
"Does he have any friends?" Lance muttered.
"Illya Zaporov," Nathan said, and they watched while Chris made an abortive attempt at a high five before Illya picked him up, one easy arm around his waist, and kissed him, right there, Chris catching onto his shoulders and laughing. Then Illya put him down and said something to him, lips hovering close to his ear. Chris nodded, and Illya stepped back, smiling slightly. Theresa stopped the tape.
"Who's my favorite?" she said again.
"Chris," Joey said.
"Bingo." She smiled at them all, and Justin shook his head.
"As much fun as it is to watch Chris get his freak on with some—"
"Hey," Chris said. "He scored two goals. He punched Mike Cheminsky in the face, and it rocked, so—"
"He's hot," Lance said. "You didn't say he was hot."
"They won," Chris said, ignoring him.
"Whatever, dude," Justin said, "you wanna make out with your hot European boyfriend in public it's cool with me."
"We didn't—"
"Okay," Theresa said. "everyone, in the future, continue to have adorable relationships that don't cause me to have lower back pain. Next up, Nathan will be giving you a detailed list of all the unacceptably hideous things you've worn that we'd very much appreciate it if you'd burn."
"I'm serious," Lance said in the car. "You said he was kind of cute."
"He's cute."
"He's hot, Chris. He's—" Lance made an indeterminate gesture with his hands.
"Okay, he's hot."
"Hot," Lance said. "Fuck."
"Lance, you date hot guys," Chris said.
"yeah."
"Are you a virgin?" a reporter asked Chris.
"Are you a virgin?" Chris said sharply.
Chris was having sex with Illya. Staying over at his house on the weekends, calling him from the studio to say "Hey, we're running a little late. I'll be over about six, okay." or "I was gonna get Chinese on the way, do you want something? Eggrolls?" One time, he'd left his wallet in the studio, because he was wearing girl clothes that day, which didn't have pockets, and he still hadn't reconciled himself to a purse. Girl clothes: a tight t-shirt and a skirt, since Chris had finally found a few skirts that he didn't look stupid in. The first few times he'd worn them, Justin and JC had started snickering every time they looked at him.
"Dude, you have no room to talk," Chris said, pointing his finger at JC. "Besides, they're comfortable. I had no idea. Cooler than shorts."
They got used to it, though, they got used to everything. Joey went by Illya's house to drop off the wallet. When he got there they were making dinner, Chris sitting on the counter while Illya cut vegetables up.
"Thanks," Chris said, dropping the wallet on the counter.
"You'll just forget it here, then," Illya said. He stepped around Chris, touching his hip as he passed, getting the pepper grinder out of a cabinet.
"I'll remember it, man," Chris said.
"Sure thing, man," Illya said, and Chris laughed. Inside joke, Joey thought.
"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Illya said. "There'll be plenty."
"um. I can't," Joey said. "I have this. thing. date. I have a date."
It was just like when your sisters started dating, and having sex, and it was weird because you used to roll around on the floor with them and run around with them in their wonder woman underoos, and then all of a sudden they were dating some guy and coming in late with their hair all messed up, and having long private phone conversations, and it was this whole new thing you had to accept about them, that they were gonna get naked and do nasty things with guys, and it was hard to compartmentalize that appropriately at first, because they were your sisters. So it was like that, Joey thought, thinking of the easy way Illya touched Chris. Just like that.
"So, you sleeping with Illya?" Justin asked, the next time they were all drinking, sitting around in a hotel room someplace.
"yup," Chris said.
"What's it like?" Justin said.
Chris shrugged. "It's like sex."
Chris used to tell them, in great detail, about the stuff he'd done to girls back in the day, but he didn't say much about Illya. Joey walked in on Chris and Lance once, laughing, and from the snippets of conversation he'd heard before he walked into the room and the fact that they broke into pained hysterical laughter, he knew they were talking about giving blowjobs. Chris hand was still curled into an illustrative fist.
"We asked Chris from 'Nsync if she'd ever been pressured for sex," JC read in a deadpan voice, bounding into the greenroom at TRL with a copy of Seventeen. "'I've pressured guys for sex,' this cutie joked, before getting serious. 'seriously. no one should do stuff they don't want to,' she said 'there are a million guys out there who can respect what you want.'"
"Fuck you," Chris said.
"cutie," Justin said.
"Look, I narrowly missed the secret make-up tip question, okay," Chris said. "and don't—"
"We also got the lowdown on which of the 'Nsync guys Chris thinks is the cutest!," JC said.
"I hate you all," Chris said.
"Let me see that," Lance said. "who'd you say?"
"Joey."
"Me?"
"Joey has the most beautiful eyes and he's tons of fun when we hang out. Exclamation point," Lance read solemnly "You've seen him, she said, blushing a little, he's, um, a hottie. His lips are to die for."
Justin clutched his stomach in laughter and leaned against JC, whose face had gone red, eyes crinkled in mirth. Lance was laughing too, covering his eyes with his hand.
"Fuck you," Chris said.
"Oh, Joey," Justin said.
"Well, I said if anyone ever got a whiff of y'alls sweatsocks, 'cute' wouldn't be the word they'd be thinking of, but they didn't like that."
"Whatever, Kirkpatrick," Joey said, "you know you want me."
"Look. I called Theresa and she told me to say you."
"oh."
"And I didn't say your lips were to die for. They asked if your lips were to die for, and I said 'I guess so'."
"Oh, JOEY," Justin said, even louder.
"We heard you the first time, fucknut," Chris said. "sorry," he said to Joey.
"No. yeah. it's cool," he said.
When they teased Chris, he could never think of anything to say. This, he thought, might be mostly because it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all how he could feel the hairs raise on his arm when he sat next to Chris on the couch, pressed up against his arm, how Chris would get dropped off at rehearsal wearing the same clothes he'd worn the day before, eyes bright and sated, and how they'd had to change the choreography because Chris was having a hard time with the one armed flip because "my center of gravity's fucked," he said one day in disgust, so Joey had to hoist him around a lot, hold him close, spin him around, look down into his laughing eyes, feel the muscles of his back underneath his hands, and it was almost worse when he was wearing his old normal clothes, clothes Joey remembered from a time when he'd never wondered about what it would be like to put his hands underneath them, to know that someone else got to do it all the time.
But girl clothes weren't much better. When they went to the VMAs, Chris wore leather pants and a sequined top. At the hotel beforehand, Chris disappeared into the bathroom for a half an hour with Jeanette, who said
"Are you ever going to learn how to put on eyeliner?"
"Obviously not," Chris said.
By the time he came out, even JC was finished dressing, and they were all sitting around in the couches in Justin's suite waiting for him. Justin opened his mouth.
"Shut up," Chris said.
"I was just going to say—"
"I don't want to hear it."
"Your back," JC said.
"yeah? It's bare," Chris said. "I noticed. I'm cold. There's a. string. holding my shirt closed."
There was a long silence while they all stared at Chris. The top was cut square and low across his chest.
"How did you make them do that?" Justin said, after a pause.
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"I'm just saying, there's no back in there, so you're not wearing a bra and yet they're—" Justin made a vague gesture with his palms facing his chest, thumbs pointing up.
"Timberlake—"
"all pushed up."
Then the doorbell rang, and Chris rolled his eyes and went down the hallway to answer it. By the time they had gotten their coats and followed him, Illya was inside, leaning over to kiss Chris. His hand covered nearly all of Chris' lower back. Joey cleared his throat loudly. Illya's hand slid up, yanking gently on the string with one finger.
"This is nice," he said. They were close enough to hear. Chris smiled.
"I don't believe it," JC mumbled behind him.
The awards show was just like every one he'd ever been to, and he knew it was an asshole thing to say, so he never said he thought they were boring as shit by now, and they weren't even performing, and the only thing that made it less boring was that Illya was holding Chris' hand, had wrapped one massive paw around Chris' hand the minute they sat down, and Chris hadn't seemed to mind at all, even though he'd barely ever held Dani's hand in public. Part of that, of course, Joey thought, was that Theresa always used to call him before awards shows and told him she'd give him fifty bucks to keep the PDA to a minimum. Watching Illya lean over to say something to Chris, Joey thought that he'd rather be bored.
At intermission, they milled around in the lobby, and he and Justin settled a bet they'd had on which Backstreet Boy would wear the most hideous outfit, and then Illya wandered up and smiled and asked if they'd seen Chris
"She went to the bathroom with Britney," Justin said. Illya was really enormous up close, a head taller than Justin, even, with a shock of unruly pale blond hair.
"Ah."
"So," Joey said.
"Look, you guys," Illya said. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes," JC said warily.
"Does Chris. um. like jewelry? I mean, I just notice she doesn't wear it much."
"No, she doesn't," Joey said carefully.
"I just want to get her a present she'll like," Illya said.
"A present?" Joey said. "for what?"
Illya shrugged. "because. no reason. I want to get her something."
"Get her season tickets to the Magic," Lance said. "She'll love that."
"I got her those already," Illya said. "Nice ones—courtside. besides, I wanted something more—"
"Wait, you got courtside tickets?" Justin said.
"Yes."
"But. they were sold out—I mean, I couldn't get any and—"
"I know a guy," Illya said, shrugging.
"Get her a diamond necklace," Justin said. "She'll love that. Big. maybe a few sapphires in there, too."
And then Chris came back and slid one arm around Illya's waist.
"hey," Illya said, leaning down and saying something into Chris' ear too quietly for Joey to hear.
Chris laughed, and spent the rest of the awards show leaning against Illya, whispering things loopily into his ear, and Joey decided it was a waste of time to pretend he wasn't jealous anymore.
"I'm gonna stay with Illya," Chris said in the lobby. "He's at the Hyatt."
"Fine," Joey said.
"Keep it real, homegirl B," Chris said to Britney, and she laughed and they smacked each other a high five.
"What was that about," Justin said after they left.
"Nothing," Britney said.
It was better once they started the first leg of the tour, because Chris didn't show up with beard burn in the morning, and even though Justin had exhaustive conversations with Britney on his cell phone, Chris didn't call Illya when they were around. It wasn't necessarily, Joey thought, because Chris had all sorts of private stuff to say to him.
"Okay, let me ask you this," Justin said, sitting down at the table across from Chris. "Britney, um, says she doesn't want to do anything big when she meets us in DC, just wants to hang out and stuff, and she said she didn't really have time to talk, but that I could call her this weekend, and—I mean. do you think that means she doesn't really want to come?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Chris said.
"You're. y'know."
"Why don't you just call her and ask her?"
"I don't want to piss her off."
"You're pissin' me off."
It was always tough at the beginning of a tour, especially since they were incorporating the new songs slowly into the show, and they weren't quite automatic with them yet, and this consumed so much of their energy that they were on complete autopilot with some of the old ones, to the point where Joey could sometimes not really remember if they'd done 'It's Gonna Be Me' that night or not. So they didn't notice at first, and maybe it started so slowly that they wouldn't have noticed anyway, until one night it was impossible to ignore, the swell of girls screaming when Chris knocked out "I thought she knew my world revolved around her, my love light burned for her alone, but she couldn't see the flame, only myself to blame, I should have known"
Backstage, changing, Chris said "What the fuck was that?"
"Beats me," Justin said.
and then there were girls holding signs, suddenly, mysteriously, girls with "I heart Chris" signs, and the only new thing was that their backpacks had little pink triangle pins on them, and maybe they didn't wear halter tops quite as much.
"I have a lesbian fantasy, have I told you that?" Justin said to Joey, watching Chris through the window of the bus; he had been stopped by a girl who wanted to have her picture taken with him.
"Yes," Joey said curtly.
"It's like, there are two girls, you know, and—"
"I know what a lesbian fantasy is, you moron," Joey said. A girl had started to cry, and Chris was patting her shoulder, head bent towards her.
"You think Chris could hook me up?"
"I think you don't know what a lesbian is."
Then, of course, there was the time that Lance stumbled across an Ani Difranco site that had a whole page devoted to Chris.
"The lesbian teenies like you," Theresa said. "If you want to, you're allowed to sleep with one or two of them."
"Terrific," Chris said.
"No one underage," Theresa said.
"I wouldn't—"
"They're probably gonna ask you about it interviews, so say something about people feeling comfortable in their own skins, and discrimination and being yourself."
"That doesn't make a lot of sense."
"Just sit there and smile pretty, then," Theresa said. "That goes for all of you. Especially JC."
One day at soundcheck, goofing around, Joey jostled Chris into Lance and Chris said
"ow ow ow. fuck. watch it—"
"what's wrong?"
"The rack is a little. painful today. so—"
"Why?"
"How would I know?" Chris said crossly.
"They just do that?" Justin asked.
"I guess," Chris said, and that wasn't really sexy at all, Joey thought, just made it seem weird and unappealing, a guy with tits, which was sort of gross, really.
But then there was the time when Chris slid up behind him on the dance floor, wrapping one arm around his waist, and rocking against him for a moment. He didn't realize who it was at first, only registering that it must be a pretty tall girl, a sharp chin digging into his shoulderblade, before looking down and seeing Chris' watch, a clunky black thing with a calculator on it, which Theresa hated, but let him keep because it made his wrist look smaller. They swayed for another verse before Chris slid around him, keeping one hand on his shoulder, at arm's length from him for a moment before swinging closer, leaning up towards him.
"kinda getting hit on," Chris muttered in his ear. "Dance with me."
He nodded, and the crowd pressed them together for a moment, and Chris put his other hand on his chest. The music changed to something slow and dark and deep and fuck, Joey thought, his hands finding Chris' waist, pulling him closer. Chris rested his forehead on Joey's shoulder, and moved his hips in Joey's hands. The song seemed to last for a long time, Chris moving away and then sliding back closer to him, tilting his head so his cheek was pressing against Joey's shoulder, the lights overhead swirling and dipping. A few times, Joey stroked his back, thumb brushing the bare skin on his neck before slipping down his warm back. When the song ended, Chris lifted his head and smiled up at him, shaking his head a little. He didn't move his hand from Joey's chest. Joey's stomach clenched. Chris said something he couldn't hear.
"What?" he shouted, leaning closer.
"Sorry," Chris said. "I'm getting sort of tired."
"Oh," Joey said.
And then, there was the night in New York that Chris wandered into his hotel room and asked if he wanted to do something.
"Aren't you doing something with Illya?" he asked. He'd assumed that Chris had lobbied for them to spend this last week in New York so he could spend time with Illya.
"We broke up," Chris said. "Don't tell the others, okay?"
"You broke up?"
"He was coming back up here—their season was starting again. It wasn't that serious between us."
"When was this?"
"A month ago," Chris said.
"Oh."
"So did you want to go out?" Chris said.
"Sure," he said.
"So what do you wanna do?"
"I dunno. something low key."
They ended up going to a movie.
"Hey, I'm wearing your sweater," Chris said, meeting him outside his room, pulling the hem out a little in illustration. "It's really cool, man, it's, like, the softest thing ever."
"Good," he said.
"Sorry I was an asshole about it," Chris said.
"It's okay," he said.
"I got it," Joey said, when they got to the movies.
"No, hey—I'm all set," Chris said, fishing eight dollars out of his wallet.
"Oh," Joey said.
The movie got out late, but when Chris smiled at him and said,
"Tired?" he said
"Not really."
"mm," Chris said.
"We could get a drink," Joey said, and Chris agreed, and bumped companionably against him as they walked along the street, and they went in the first bar they saw, a cozy dark small Irish pub type place. Everyone there seemed to know each other.
"I feel like gettin' laid," Chris said, when he was half way through his beer.
"yeah," he said.
"yeah," Chris said firmly.
"oh," Joey said. Then he said, "oh."
The bar was very loud. Chris scooted closer to him on the bench, pressed up against his side. "This weird for you?" Chris asked.
"um. no," Joey said, looking down at the table
"Oh," Chris said, moving away from him again.
"Wait, no—" Joey said, "it's a little weird. so sue me, Kirkpatrick."
Chris laughed, and they finished their drinks, talked about the movie a little "It didn't make sense, is all," Chris said, "how he knew that she was the—thing."
"well, he was. clairvoyant."
"No he wasn't."
"I think he was," Joey said, feeling Chris' leg warm against his, close enough that he could sometimes even feel Chris' breath on his cheek.
"You wanna go back to the hotel," Chris finally asked.
"Yeah," Joey said
He wrapped his arm around Chris' shoulders as they walked out of the bar, and Chris slid an arm around his waist, nothing they hadn't done before, even when Chris had still been a guy. Beneath his sweatshirt, Joey could feel the shift of his shoulder, warm and hard.
In the elevator, Chris tapped the 11 button.
"We're on 13," Joey said.
"Yeah. um. I'm gonna go see Alex."
"Alex—"
"Alex, the guy who does lights," Chris said.
"But. oh," Joey said.
"We been kinda. nothin' big." Chris shrugged.
"oh," Joey said.
The elevator stopped. "That was cool tonight, Joe," Chris said, punching him on the shoulder lightly before stepping out.
"Asshole," he said to his reflection in the mirror, brushing his teeth.
Later, not much later, he heard movement in Chris' room. The outer door shutting, nothing much else. He got into bed, digging out the book he was trying to read. It was a terrible book, and he had decided to give up on it, or give it to Lance, who had a cheerful fondness for poorly written thrillers, but he felt like punishing himself a little.
He'd just about gotten to the point where he thought maybe he'd just give up and beat off or something when he heard a terrible crash next door, and then shouting. It took him agonizingly long seconds to jerk on his pants, and he didn't bother with the shirt, just ran next door and started pounding on the door. Shit. Fuck. He'd give it about thirty seconds before he went and found someone.
"Open up—" he began to shout, when Chris opened the door. He wasn't wearing much, down to a t-shirt and underwear. Girl's underwear, Joey noted,
"are you okay?" Joey said, and Chris stepped back and let him into the room.
"Yeah," Chris said, voice steady. "Fine."
"You fucking bitch," the guy said, standing up. Alex. Joey recognized him vaguely. His nose was bleeding, and he was holding his eye.
"Hey—" Joey said.
"You shut the fuck up, motherfucker, and get out—" Chris said, cutting him off. "You be fucking grateful I don't press charges. Fuck," he said.
"Get out," Joey said, and his voice was a lot shakier than Chris'.
Alex brushed past them, spit "cocktease," at Chris, and slammed the door behind him.
"Are you okay?" Joey said again.
Chris nodded jerkily, not looking at him. "Guy wouldn't take no for an answer—"
"Did he." Joey made an abortive gesture at Chris' bare legs.
"No. I mean. I just decided I didn't want to," Chris said. "That fucker," he said again. He wrapped his arms around himself. His face reminded Joey of the day that they crossed the English Channel in high winds. Everyone but JC had been miserably seasick, and Chris had turned a sallow pale yellow, clutching the motion sickness bag anxiously in his hand.
"Chris. um. why don't you sleep in my room tonight. This place is kind of. and maybe you don't want—"
"I said nothing happened," Chris said.
"I know," Joey said. "but. I—"
"okay," Chris said. "Let me get. I don't. like, a bathrobe, or something," But in the end it was Joey who went and snagged the complementary bathrobe off the door and handed it to Chris. By the time they were back in his room, Chris' hands were shaking.
"I'm not. like—you didn't have something planned," Chris said, looking around. "It seemed like at the bar, you maybe—"
"Nope. I have this book I'm reading, but it's. It sucks. I'm about to give up on it—"
"yeah, what's it about?"
"well, there's a guy who kind of has this whole idea to double cross his business partner—hey," he said, because Chris had sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "are you. Chris," he said. Then he sat down next to him. When Chris didn't look up, he put his arm carefully around his shoulders. "hey," he said again.
"that fucker," Chris said again. Then they sat still for a long long time, Chris' thigh pressed against his. He rubbed his hand up and down Chris' arm and tried to think of something to say. "He just. There was this one moment," Chris said quietly, "when he just wouldn't let go of my wrists, and I thought. you know. I just. I couldn't—" he stopped talking and there was only his panicky breathing, "And it's so stupid to be freaking out now, and I just—
"Chris, oh." Joey said helplessly, and hugged him more tightly. "You're not. and that guy was—I mean, you kicked his ass. You killed him—" When Chris kept making dull choked sounds, he turned sideways and pulled Chris carefully against his chest, patting him awkwardly on the back.
"Fuck, I'm the suckiest girl," Chris mumbled against him. "Except for the crying. I have that down—"
"You're not a sucky girl. You're good at it."
"What the fuck d'you know about it, anyhow, Fatone," Chris said, tilting his head back, and there was a terrible moment when Joey thought about saying something, or ducking his head and putting his lips on Chris', because Chris was so close to him, one hand on his shoulder, the rims of his eyes pink. He didn't, of course, just rubbed up Chris' back again and said.
"I know more about girls than you do, Kirkpatrick," and then Chris laughed a little, and soon he slid out from under Joey's arms, looking a little embarrassed, and went to take a shower. He borrowed a shirt and shorts from Joey to sleep in. There was only one bed.
"You think about girls sometimes?" Joey asked, after they'd turned out the lights.
"yeah. it adds a whole new resonance to my girl-on-girl fantasies," Chris said.
"you still have those?"
"yeah."
"Are there..I mean. two girls in addition to you?"
"No, it's pretty much just me and the girl."
"Oh."
"I slept with a girl," Chris said.
"yeah? when?"
"Back in Orlando. couple of months ago."
"Was it. Did you like it?" Joey said.
"Oh, yeah. it was. cool. neat. sexy. all that."
"but. you like guys better?"
"well. y'know, I think, the guy thing is just distracting, you know? it's. fucking. surprising. I'm used to liking girls, you know? but then there's this guy thing."
"Hey. Illya. He treat you right?" Joey said.
"are you asking that just because I'm a girl?"
"No. You know I asked Lance that about Sean. and we already know Britney doesn't treat Justin right—"
"Britney's all right," Chris said.
"What?"
"We hung out in the women's bathroom at the VMAs and smoked a joint," Chris said. "She said Justin gave amazing head but he always acted like it was such a big fat fucking favor that it was almost not worth it."
"Fuck," Joey said, and started to laugh. "What did you say?"
"I told her all the fucked up shit that Illya liked to do. That's what chicks talk about, man. Then she wanted to put some crap on my eyes, so I let her."
"Did he?"
"What?"
"Like to do fucked up shit?"
"I don't know. It was...I was kind of too hung up on his dick to notice much else," Chris said.
"Oh—""
"Not hung up like that," Chris said hastily. "Like. hung up. because. I liked it."
"What else did you talk about?"
"We were kind of stoned, Joey. I think we talked about how cute Justin was."
"What?"
"He's cute, Joe. get over it."
"Look, I knew he was cute, but you don't have to give him the official mostly heterosexual girl badge of..cuteness."
"If you want, I'll give you the official mostly heterosexual girl badge of cuteness," Chris said. But then he fell asleep.
At breakfast, Lance said
"The assistant lighting guy quit."
"Huh," Chris said.
"Weird," Justin said. "Just. like that?"
"Yup."
"Go figure," Joey said. Chris' wrists had been bruised that morning, his knuckles swollen. "I'm gonna kill that motherfucker," Joey had said. "also, didn't anyone ever teach you not to punch people square in the bone?"
"My hero," Chris had said dryly. "Just give me the icepack."
They spent the rest of the New York trip hanging out together.
"Kind of burned on guys," Chris said, grinning at him.
"Should you, like, call a hotline?" Joey said.
"Dude, I'm fine," Chris said. "You gotta quit worrying."
"You sure you wanna do this?" Joey said to the next girl he slept with.
"oh yeah," she said, and pulled off her shirt.
"Well, I just, um, okay—" he said, because she'd taken off her skirt and was sitting on the bed waiting for him expectantly. "It's just—"
"Are you into this?" she said. "Because—"
"No, I'm into it," he said
"Because you don't seem like you're into it."
"I just want to make sure that—"
"Christ," she said, and stood up. She put her skirt back on. "I'm leaving."
"You don't have to—" he said while she dressed efficiently.
"Uh huh," she said, and slammed the door on her way out.
Oh well, he thought, and called Chris to see if he maybe wanted to get a takeout pizza or something.
"Everyone's all set for the Grammies, right?" Theresa said as they were on their way out. "Lance—you're good?"
"Sure."
"Great," Theresa said. "Do me a favor and don't wear anything shiny, okay? I'm talking to you, JC. Okay, get out of here, we're done."
"You guys are taking dates?" Chris said in the car.
"We always take dates," JC said.
"yeah," Chris said.
"What about Illya?" Justin said.
"We broke up."
"What?" Lance said. "You liked him."
"He was goin' back to New York anyway." Chris shrugged.
"Chris—"
"If you don't shut up about it, I'm asking Nick Carter," Chris said. .
"You don't have the guts," Justin said, twisting around in his seat.
"Fuck you—," Chris said. "I do too. I'd go with him, and I'd sit with the Backstreet Boys and I'd let him hold my hand and everything."
"What about when they won," JC said.
"They're not gonna win."
"They might," Justin said. "Are you gonna let him kiss you when he's all joyful from winning?"
"Fuck you."
"Hey, I'll call him for you," Justin said. "I'll tell him you like aggressive guys."
"Shut up," Joey said.
"Fuck you, Timberlake," Chris said sourly.
"You could go with me," Joey said a few days later.
"Theresa would leave us for dead by the side of the road, Joe," Chris said. "I have a date."
"Already?"
"Pretty much."
Chris went to the Grammies with Nick Carter.
Jive had put them all up at the same hotel in LA, so none of them knew until Chris separated from them in the lobby, waving to someone.
"What the fuck?" Justin said, when Nick turned his head and smiled, heading towards Chris. They hugged. Photographs were taken.
"I was joking," Justin muttered, while Nick Carter bent down and kissed Chris on the cheek "It was obviously a joke, right?"
"I can't believe he's wearing that," JC said, because Chris was wearing a strapless dress.
"He hates Nick Carter," Joey said.
"I like what he's wearing," Lance said. "He looks good."
"I didn't say he didn't look good. It's just—"
"A strapless dress made out of leather," Joey said glumly. The dress was slit high along one thigh.
"The glitter on the shoulders is a nice touch," JC admitted.
"Okay, no one tell him not to hook up with Nick Carter," Justin said.
"You want him to hook up with Nick Carter?"
"Obviously not. If we tell him not to, though, he'll probably get it on on the stage or something, though."
"Yeah."
So Chris sat with the Backstreet Boys, and when 'Nsync won for best pop album, Nick Carter stood up and grabbed him and laid an extensive and theatrical kiss on him, but he looked so transparently gleeful whenever he caught Justin glaring at them that Joey didn't have the heart to be annoyed. It was the happiest he'd seen Chris in some time. At the after party, Chris and Nick dirty danced, and told everyone they were engaged, and thinking of doing a solo project together.
"hey hey," Chris said when Joey finally cut in. "I am extremely drunk." Then he wrapped his arms around Joey's waist and ground his pelvis into Joey's.
"Really," Joey said.
Then they had a month and a half off. Chris spent a lot of his time showing up at Joey's house with the tentative Fumanskeeto spring line and strutting around his living room saying
"What about this? What do you think?"
"I think I'm the wrong person to ask," Joey said.
"yeah, but you're everyman," Chris said. "you're, like, average Joe."
"Thanks," he said dryly, when Chris ducked back out into the hallway to change.
"What about this," Chris said.
"It's kind of. short," he said.
"Short slutty or short sexy?" Chris asked.
"Short sexy," he admitted, noting with interest that the throat clenching dismay he used to feel at seeing Chris' thighs had faded slightly, becoming strangely bearable, better than nothing.
"Pretty itchy, though," Chris said. "I'm cutting out the tag. You got some scissors," he asked.
"um—in my bedroom. The shelf by the bed—fingernail scissors," he said.
"Great," Chris said, and went down the hall. "Where," he called.
"On the left—the bedside table," Joey said, raising his voice.
After a minute, Chris yelled "I can't find them."
"Bedside table," he yelled again, and then Chris didn't say anything for long enough that he was about to go find them for him when Chris came into the living room.
"What's this," he said quietly, holding up the Maxim, kind of crumpled by now. Joey stood up, and he knew that he could come up with a perfectly innocent explanation for all this, but looking at Chris' pale face, all he could think of to say was
"You know what that is."
"Yeah. Why was it in your bedside table?"
"I think you don't want to know why."
"I want to know why it does this," Chris said, throwing down on the coffee table, where it flapped open, automatically, to one dog eared page. "I'm a little. it's a little weird, don't you think," Chris said. "Unless someone had looked at it so much that—"
"Don't be an asshole."
"I'm not the one who's beating off—"
"I'm not doing that," Joey said, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"What are you—"
"You don't want to know."
"Why don't you fucking try me," Chris said.
"Because you don't want to—"
"It'd be better than lying to me, and looking at naked pictures of me on the—"
"You don't want to know," Joey said, suddenly furious, "how much I want to touch you and kiss you and how much I think about what it might be like to take off your clothes, and lick every salty little part of you, and watch your face when I—"
"Stop it," Chris said.
"You wanted to know—"
"I—"
"Maybe I'm sick of you running around half-naked in front of me without being able to do anything about it."
"I don't—"
"Being expected to ignore your body even when you're rubbing it all over me, smiling at me, touching me, watching you be with some other guy," Joey said, but his voice had slowed, and the last words came out a bitter whisper, and Chris made an inarticulate noise, and backed clumsily into a coffee table.
"Chris," Joey said, already sorry, but Chris only grabbed his jacket off the couch and ran out the door, taking the steps two at a time.
Joey knocked on the door, once, twice, and then Chris appeared in the doorway, staring through the screen before letting him in, wordless. He was barefoot, wearing boxers and an undershirt. The screen door slammed loudly behind them. They walked through the porch and into the kitchen, Joey behind Chris.
"I shouldn't have said those things," Joey said to Chris' back. "I'm sorry."
"You want some coffee or something?" Chris said, barely turning his head.
"Um. sure," Joey said, and Chris walked to the counter and began getting out cups.
"Chris," Joey said, "I know you're not. I didn't mean the things I said about you. I just. I hate watching you with other guys, and I never wanted to—"
"Do you know why Illya and I broke up?" Chris said quietly. He was staring at the counter.
"No."
"Not broke up, really, I guess. I mean, we weren't." Chris shook his head. "He thought I wanted someone else."
"Oh."
"I liked him," Chris said.
"He was nice," Joey said, inanely.
"yeah," Chris said. "But he wasn't—um."
He turned around and leaned against the counter, staring at the floor.
"Did you want someone else?" Joey asked, because he had to.
Chris nodded, his eyes closed.
"Oh," Joey said.
"I. uh. kind of thought it would go away," Chris said. "or I'd get used to it. or something."
"me too," Joey said.
"you wanna. um. take off your jacket?" Chris said.
"Sure," Joey said, but instead he took three steps and put his hand on the counter next to Chris and bent down, and Chris caught the back of his head at the last minute, right when he hesitated and started to pull back, and Chris leaned forward a bit and that was how their first kiss happened. By the third kiss, Chris had pulled his jacket off his shoulders, tugged it down enough that his arms were trapped, and they kissed with Chris holding his head in his hands while he yanked off the jacket and dropped it on the floor, and then he picked Chris up, swallowing his startled laugh, and put him up on the counter, nudging the coffee cups back with his hand, and they kissed there for a while, Chris' hands sifting through his hair and over his shoulders, kissing him with grave attention. He pressed in against Chris and Chris wrapped his legs around his waist, shivered against his hands, made a soft noise in his throat when Joey curled his tongue around his ear, and then Joey pulled his mouth away and said
"hold on—" and picked him up again, holding him underneath his ass while Chris clung to him. He turned carefully and began to walk down the narrow hallway that led to Chris' bedroom.
"If you drop me, you're toast," Chris said, tightening his legs around Joey's waist.
"That's kind of messing with the bodice ripper vibe I have going on here," Joey said, hitching him higher, and knocking the door to Chris' bedroom open with his knee.
"Sorry," Chris said, and kissed Joey hard enough that he bumped his shoulder on the door jamb.
Joey set him down on the bed, and Chris pulled at his shoulders, running his hands up and down Joey's arms, kissing his throat and then his mouth before slipping his hands under the hem of Joey's shirt.
"Hm—" Joey said against his mouth before pulling back and pulling his shirt off over his head, toeing off his shoes at the same time.
"woo. take it all off," Chris said, scooting back a little on the bed. Joey grinned uncertainly at him, and then took off his pants.
Joey put one knee on the bed, and Chris leaned backwards on his hands, watching him avidly, and when Joey reached out and touched his shoulder, smiled, and fell backwards, pulling Joey down on top of him. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Joey shook his head and bent down to kiss Chris's neck, the hollow of his throat, the skin above the collar of the undershirt, finally sliding his hand up Chris' ribs to cup a breast, running a thumb over one nipple.
"These are. um. nice," he said, and Chris laughed.
"smooth, Fatone," he said, but then Joey traced his tongue across the nipple, wetting the fabric, and Chris shook under him, and didn't say anything more, until he pushed at Joey's shoulders,
"wait—," he said, pulling the shirt off, shivering a little when Joey hooked his fingers in the waistband of his boxers.
"you too—" he said.
When Chris got cold, they got underneath the covers, and once Joey couldn't quite see as much of Chris' skin, he felt less shy, especially with Chris licking his neck, and he slid his hand down Chris' stomach, and between Chris' thighs, and Chris reached for his head, bringing him down for a kiss, sliding one knee along Joey's side, sinking lower into the bed, making a harsh noise against Joey's mouth before tilting his head back on the pillow, hands running restlessly across Joey's back,
"more," he mumbled, hips hitching against Joey's hand. He put one foot flat on the bed and arched his body against Joey's. Joey kissed him then, and when Chris pulled away to gasp for breath, he brushed another kiss against his cheek, said, "You like that?" quietly in his ear.
"mm-huh," Chris said, a hot exhalation against his cheek.
Chris was hot and wet and smelled faintly of Old Spice deodorant, which was weirdly sexy, and it was even sexier when he convulsed under Joey, fingers scrabbling along the sheets for a long moment, his body twisting up against Joey's before Chris pulled back a little, panting, and grinned up at him.
"wow," he said, weakly.
"hm. yeah," Joey said, moving his hand slightly, again, watching Chris' body jerk.
"I'm serious," Chris said, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm pretty impressed."
"It's not—"
"It took me a week to figure that out."
"A week?"
"Granted, you sort of skipped the five day freaking out part."
"Can you go again?" Joey said.
"Dude, I'm a girl." He grinned and ran a curious hand down Joey's back. "that's what girls do."
Later, when he had rolled Joey onto his back and found a condom, and was straddling him, licking at his mouth,
"weird," he panted.
"what?"
"It's a little weird."
"yup," Joey said, "but I'm. um. turned on, so I don't much care."
"mmhn," Chris said.
"Could you. um. move like—" Joey said. "yeah. like. fuck. you're beautiful."
When he woke up, Chris was still in bed, lying on his stomach and reading a book.
"Hey," Joey said. "This is a good look for you."
"What?"
"Oh. the nudity with the glasses. It's very—"
"Are you making fun of me, Fatone? Because I was going to give you a blowjob, but if you—"
"No, hey—"
"No, I'm sorry, the window for fellatio has closed," Chris said, rolling over and poking him in chest. "You lost your chance for a very pleasant interlude—"
Joey caught him and rolled him on his back, reaching up with one hand to pluck the glasses off his face, putting them on the bedside table without looking. Chris blinked at him.
"How 'bout I go down on you first," Joey said.
"That'd be. uh. acceptable," Chris said.
They kept it a secret for two weeks, until they were fooling around in Joey's living room and JC and Lance walked in on them, stopping by to pick them up for rehearsal.
"sorry—" JC said, as Chris yanked his hand out of Joey's pants.
"That's um—," Joey said, rebuttoning his shirt.
"We'll wait for you in the car," Lance said.
"You're sleeping with Chris?" Justin said. "Dude, that's kinda gay."
"Do you think if I asked Nick Carter out, he'd go out with me?" Lance said.
"Dude, that's kinda gay, too," Justin said. He started laughing halfway through, though, so it wasn't as funny as it could have been.
"It's just—" Lance said
"I thought you thought Nick Carter was fat," Justin said.
"Do we have to call him Nick Carter every time we say his name?" JC said. "I mean, are we trying to distinguish him from the other fat Nicks we know?"
"He's not fat," Lance said.
"He's a pretty good kisser," Chris said thoughtfully.
"You're gross," Justin said.
"You could do worse."
"You could do better," JC said.
"I know y'all are having a John and Yoko style love fest up there," Justin said, when he called to ask them if they wanted to go out that night.
"No we're not," Joey said, but it was sort of a weak protest, because Chris had come back from letting Busta out, and he was wearing only Joey's shirt, and had crawled up behind him and started licking his ear.
"Whatever," Justin said. "We're meeting up at seven o'clock, here, if you're interested."
"um," he said. "I gotta. right," and then he hung up, and pushed Chris back on the bed, stripped the shirt off him.
"Who was that?" Chris said, "do that again—" pulling Joey's hair a little.
"Justin," Joey mumbled, kissing his sternum, liking the way that made Chris' legs open around him.
"I totally lied about that Seventeen thing," Chris said when Joey kissed his stomach.
"yeah?"
"Yeah. Theresa didn't tell me to say you. and I said your eyes were. y'know. beautiful."
They were only in Orlando for three more weeks, and all they did was go to rehearsal, and then go back to Chris' house to make dinner and make out, and sometimes they went out and played a little one on one in the driveway, but mostly they were too tired from rehearsal, so they hung out in Chris' enormous bed and messed around with Chris' Playstation, and watched movies, and Chris played him records, even though the records skipped like crazy when they had sex, which always made them laugh, and then they played the porn game, which made them laugh harder.
"You just—I can't believe you've never done this," Chris said, leaning forward to unbutton his shirt. "Whatever they're doin', you do it too."
"What movie did you get," Joey said warily.
"Don't worry," Chris said, licking his collarbone while the FBI warning played, "you'll like it."
It was easy to get used to, Chris wrapped around him at night, Busta whining at him in the morning. It was almost fun to drag himself out of bed to let Busta out because then he'd come back and Chris would be sprawled in the middle of the bed, warm and snuffling slightly, and Joey cooked him every family specialty he'd ever learned and a few he made up, and a couple of times they went out clubbing with the guys and he got to dance with Chris as much as he wanted, and sometimes they went over to Joey's house, and once Chris mowed his lawn for him, and one night, both of their heads under the covers, Joey told Chris how jealous he'd been of Illya.
"oh, Joey," Chris had whispered, and hugged him tightly.
It was even better on the road, the second leg of the tour, Chris slipping into his room and flinging off his clothes, climbing into Joey's bed and saying—"your quad okay tonight? You want me to rub it a little?" and saying "hey, back off," to girls who hit on Joey in clubs, crowding into his bunk when they slept on the road, and his favorite thing was after a show, when they were too wired to sleep, lying in bed in the dark and talking. Chris made him feel like he had things to say.
Chris almost always woke up before he did and splashed around in the bathroom before coming back and putting his cold hands on Joey's back to wake him up, and the morning in Atlanta was no different, sunny, a slow breeze blowing across the room, the promise of a day that would turn scorching, no sense of foreboding, no warning, but still, when he heard a shout of surprise in the bathroom, he knew.
"hey hey," Chris said, coming running into the room, grinning at him, "hey—" Then he saw Joey, struggling into a sitting position against the headboard, naked under the sheets, "oh."
"so. you're back," he said. The chest under his undershirt, my undershirt, Joey thought, was flat.
"Yeah," Chris said, and this time he didn't smile.
"So." Joey said. They'd meant to have sex the night before, but he'd felt tired, and they'd made out for a while and fallen asleep before they could really get down to it.
"So um. This was." Chris swallowed. "Joey."
"No, it's okay," Joey said. "I mean. It's not—"
"If you don't. swing that way, then, it's—"
"yeah," Joey said, wishing Chris would leave so he could get out of bed.
"I'm gonna go. um," Chris said, yanking on a pair of pants, and grabbing his shoes and a shirt, giving Joey a quick unreadable look before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.
"We're good, we're fine," Theresa said. "We already faked the reuniting footage. Try to act as though you've spiritually reinvented yourself," she said to Chris.
"Are you okay," Justin asked him,
"My girlfriend has a fucking cock, what do you think?" he said, and no one bothered him after that.
"I'm sorry," Chris said one day at sound check.
"yeah," he said, and Chris moved his hands like he might touch him, but then only said
"We're still friends, right?"
"yeah," he said, but he couldn't wait for the tour to be over so he could go home and not have to see Chris every fucking day, see the way he still went over to Lance's room on Tuesday to watch Buffy, and had private laughing conversations at breakfast with Britney when she visited, because Justin always slept late, and they hadn't changed the choreography yet, so he was still holding Chris every night, spinning him around, but now it was a joke, and Chris' movements against him were exaggerated, clownish where they had once been affectionate, a secret smile for him when they faced away from the audience.
There was a place on Chris' back, right above the waistband of his pants, that showed when he was dancing or something, anything that pulled his shirt up. Joey remembered pulling Chris' shirt up slightly up when they were at a movie once, moving his fingers over that spot, later, kissing it. It was raining outside their room that afternoon, and they'd opened a window, and Chris' hips had undulated restlessly in his hands. It was still there, he noticed one night during a performance, when Chris' shirt came untucked. That place, and his mouth, his eyes, curve of his jaw and his ass in pants, still there, Joey thought. There were a few other places he hadn't thought to notice before.
Chris had liked to be on top when they did it. Not always, Joey thought, remembering the time he'd he'd held Chris' wrists against the bed and fucked him hard enough that he felt like he should apologize about it the next morning.
"What are you talking about, idiot?" Chris had said, and kissed him, wrapping one arm around his neck. "It was great," he'd whispered in Joey's ear, before getting up to go get the carton of orange juice to bring back to bed with them.
Still, Joey thought, he'd spent a lot of time on his back, Chris mouthing his ear and muttering "roll over, roll over," before climbing up on top of him, leaning forward, arms braced on either side of his head, closing his eyes and shivering while he rotated his hips, before leaning down and kissing him, wet, nasty, nipping his lower lip carefully. "sweetheart," he said sometimes, when he was really turned on.
He liked that.
There was the time when Chris was drunk and had pushed gentle slick fingers into his ass while he was giving Joey a blowjob.
"Chris, um—" he'd said, and Chris had pulled his head back to stare up at him, mouth wet, belligerent.
"Shut up," he'd said, "You know you like it."
He'd asked for it the next time, and Chris had lifted an eyebrow and said, "really," mouth twisting slyly. But then he'd touched his fingers to Joey's lips, pressing them inside his mouth. Later, he'd pulled his shirt and bra off over his head in one motion, mumbling, "you fucking turn me on, Fatone, you don't even know—" and slid into Joey's arms, naked, kissing him, wrapping one leg around his hips.
They didn't touch much now
One day he noticed that JC had really nice arms. This is getting a little out of hand, he thought, staring at the long line of Justin's back. He liked girls, right? Girls. He picked one up the next night and had sex with her, but it wasn't the same, really, because she didn't tell him he had a gorgeous ass, and she didn't sleep cuddled up behind him, one arm anchored around his chest, and she didn't slouch into the lobby at seven the next morning waiting for the limo to take them to a radio station, holding a cup of coffee, wearing a shirt with the sleeves ripped off, jaw covered with stubble.
"Are you looking at my ass?" Lance said suspiciously.
"What? No."
"Okay, then."
The problem was, he thought, watching Chris grind against some tall girl on the dance floor, his face buried in her neck, was that it didn't much matter if he had a wet dream where Chris smiled at him and called him 'sweetheart' and shoved his dick in his face, and the dream was realistic enough that he could feel cold tile under his knees, Chris' hands rough on his shoulders, it didn't much matter at all, because Chris was straight. Straight. He was brushing his lips along the bottom of the girl's jaw now, the girl so tall that he even had to tilt his head up a little to do so, moving one hand gently on her waist.
"Where you going?" Lance said.
"Hotel," he said, shoving a chair out his way.
In his room, he beat off, and thought unapologetically about Chris' tits and how wet he used to get when Joey kissed him, and slid his hands into the silky underwear that he had only occasionally worn, and what it had felt like to finger-fuck him, how Chris learned to put a condom on with his mouth because he saw a thing on tv about how prostitutes could do it.
That was the last week of the tour, Chris with a hickey on his neck: story of my fucking life, Joey thought.
He hadn't realized that Chris had left so much stuff at his house. His clothes were in the hamper with Joey's, a pair of his sneakers by the bed, his books on the bedside table, apricot jam and horseradish, both of which Joey hated, in the refrigerator, the soap he used on his face that made Joey itch, a box of tampons
"emergency stash," Chris had said, tossing the box in the cabinet beneath the sink. Reminders. Joey washed the clothes and made two separate piles, put Chris' pile and the sneakers and the books in a paper grocery bag, and let it sit for two days in his front hallway.
On the third day, he decided he wanted it gone, and he wanted his favorite shirt back, his lucky shirt that he remembered he'd left at Chris'. It was raining, drizzling, hard enough that the intermittent setting on his windshield wipers wasn't enough, but the next setting down made the wipers squeal against the glass. The paper bag seemed oddly small in his front seat, and he thought of the last time he'd broken up with someone, and how she'd screamed and sneered at him.
Chris' house was dark. It was raining out, so he opened the door with the key he still had, meaning to leave the bag in the front hall, so the books wouldn't get wet. When he opened the door, he almost dropped the bag, because Chris was kissing some guy in the dark hallway.
"Joey—" Chris said, and the guy pulled his hands out from under Chris' jacket and then they all stood there for a minute, until Joey reached out and flipped on the hall light. Chris blinked at him, and the guy looked at him, eyes narrowed, before saying
"I thought you said you didn't have a boyfriend."
"I don't," Chris said.
"Right," the guy said. "Whatever." He stepped back, leaning down to pick up his jacket, which was in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"Matt—" Chris said.
"It's just. this isn't my scene," the guy said, making a vague gesture than encompassed Chris and Joey, still standing in the doorway clutching the bag. "see you around," he said, pulling his jacket on and stepping around Joey.
"What do you want," Chris said, yanking his jacket off with brisk angry movements before turning away from him, walking into the kitchen and flipping on the light.
"I was bringing you these," Joey said, holding the bag out. Chris took it and looked inside before setting it down on the table.
"Thanks."
"What the hell was that, Chris," Joey said.
"What did it look like?"
"It looked like some guy frenching—"
"None of your fucking business anyway," Chris said.
"Where'd you meet him?"
"A bar."
"And—"
"And what? You've done it enough. You meet someone, you dance with them a little, you take them home—
"I thought you didn't swing that way," Joey said.
"Well, maybe I do."
"You like that guy?"
Chris hesitated. "I—"
"You just met him."
"So what? you've never made out a little with someone you just met?"
"He was all over you."
"Maybe I wanted him all over me," Chris said sharply.
Joey nodded jerkily, and stared at the floor.
"What? What? I'm not your fucking girlfriend anymore, Fatone."
"You don't have to throw it in my face—"
"I didn't throw it in your face—I was minding my own goddamn business."
"If you're gonna start having cheap hook-ups with guys, you should probably have the decency to tell Theresa—" Joey said bitterly.
"Shut up—"
"I mean, if you're gonna be a slut about it and all—"
"Fuck you," Chris said. "I don't even know what—I'm not with you, so don't look at me like I'm. We're not. anything. anymore."
"I thought that was what you wanted," Joey said, and Chris looked at him angrily and blurted
"Because you wanted a girl. you loved my body when I was a girl." His voice was thick now, furious. It sounded as though he might start crying. "and I wasn't going to just. stand there and listen to you tell me you didn't want me anymore."
"So I had to listen to it instead," Joey said slowly.
"You like girls," Chris shrugged. He sounded tired.
"I like you—"
"Joey," Chris said and sighed, shaking his head. "You don't have to—" but Joey grabbed him then, hands tight on his upper arms, jerking him forward.
"You still walk the same," Joey said, leaning down so he was face to face with Chris, "you still smell the same, and I bet that place on your neck still makes you scream the same," and then he kissed Chris, sliding his mouth roughly over Chris', one hand coming up to hold his head, yanking his hair a little when Chris tried to move his head. "C'mon," Joey whispered, licking his upper lip, wrapping one hand around Chris' hip, his thumb rubbing across the skin of Chris' hip under his t-shirt, and Chris mumbled "Joey—" against his mouth, and began to kiss him back, one hand holding his shoulder tightly. They kissed until Chris' hand slid higher, cupping his neck, and then Joey grabbed Chris' hand and pressed it to the front of his pants, his dick already hard from being pressed up against Chris, back in his kitchen, where they'd done it once on the kitchen table, Chris shivering underneath him.
"Okay?" he said hoarsely.
Chris nodded, shakily, and Joey kissed him again.
"Do you still—" Joey said, when he lifted his head.
"Yeah," Chris said. "Yeah, we can— Let's—" and then he stopped talking, because Joey bent down and tipped his head back and licked his neck, scraping his teeth across the sweet spot, laughing quietly when Chris groaned and clutched at his shoulders.
Chris pulled him backwards down the hall, hands feverish on the buttons of his shirt. Joey slid one arm around Chris' back and peeled his shirt off over his head, Chris' arms coming up so he could get the shirt off and then settling around his neck, and he put one knee on the bed and hoisted Chris a little in his arms so he could put his lips on a nipple, same color, slightly smaller, and Chris shuddered, arched towards him, collapsed backwards on the bed, pulling Joey down on top of him, panting and squirming when Joey sucked hard on the nipple and slid his lips down Chris' chest. He flicked open the buttons of Chris' pants with one hand and put his hand on the hard curve of Chris' dick, hot through the cotton of his underwear, and he kissed Chris' stomach for a moment, stalling for time, fingers fiddling with the snaps on the underwear.
Chris went motionless underneath him at that, struggled back a little, leaning up on his elbows, looking down at Joey in resignation.
"You don't—have to," he said. "If you're not—"
"Cut me a break, I've never done it before," Joey said.
"I know, but—"
"Will you just fucking relax?" Joey said, "It's hard enough to concentrate on giving a blowjob without you talking all the time," and he pulled open the underwear and bent his head traced his tongue along Chris' cock, which tasted, surprisingly, mostly the same as Chris always had. Chris' hips made the same urgent tiny thrusts in his hands, and he was weirdly turned on by it, by the wet slick lewdness of a dick in his mouth, by Chris muttering "oh, fuck," and pulling his hair, saying "sorry, sorry—" and then doing it again, so he must have done an okay job, even though he choked a bunch of times, and sort of wimped out on the swallowing part.
"Sorry," he said, wiping his face with a kleenex from the box on Chris' night table.
"don't worry about it," Chris said, kissing his shoulder, and then pushing him back. "you weren't bad," he said, "for a beginner."
"Oh, you're going to show me how it's done," Joey said, sighing at little at Chris' insistent hands sliding down his belly
"That's right," Chris said, and braced himself over Joey for a moment, bending to kiss him, and this time the bloom of sweat across his shoulderblades at the stubble scraping his chin, the press of Chris' soft cock against his hard one, was barely weird at all.
"I missed you so bad," Chris whispered after. "missed you, missed you," he whispered against Joey's skin, his shoulder, the small of his back.
"okay," Theresa said.
"Okay?" Chris said warily.
"Just try not to get it on in public, okay?"
"Theresa, we wouldn't."
"Yeah, well, you always promise me you're going to act in a responsible fashion, and then the next thing I know there's a cozy naked photo of you on my desk with a poorly spelled blackmail note."
"I wasn't naked," Lance said.
"I need a vacation," Theresa said, leaning back and covering her eyes with her hand. "Anything else?"
"Lance has a crush on Nick Carter," JC said.
"I do not," Lance said. "JC wore that glittery shirt you told him not to when we did that charity benefit."
"God damn it," Theresa said.
"You know, I was kind of. um. thinking you could fuck me," Joey muttered in Chris' ear that night while Chris was teaching him how to give a handjob.
"Joey—" Chris leaned back so he could look at him, one hand still on his dick.
"No, I mean, I was really thinking about it. a lot."
"Oh."
"If you were into that."
"You don't have to," Chris said, tilting his head. "I mean, I don't have some macho thing about—"
"I want it," Joey said. "I. um. yeah."
"Wow," Chris said, and pushed him back on the bed, sliding over on top of him, somehow heavier and hotter than he used to be, snuffling at his neck for minute, licking over his nipple, before saying, "that's kinda gay, Joey."
"well. yeah," Joey said, one hand on Chris' hip. "I think John Cusack's dreamy, too," he said.
"mm," Chris said, and urged him onto his stomach, kissing him high on the back of his neck, hard cock rubbing against the back of his thigh,
"I think you're dreamy, Fatone," Chris said quietly into his ear.
(end)