The Way You Do It

The way you do it
by Helen

One: lie with me
"You did not just say that. I did not just hear those words come out of your mouth," Chris shouted.
Justin laughed, and shook his head. He was totally wasted, Chris thought, leaning back in his chair while Justin said, merrily.
"I'm just sayin' that I've had sex with more girls than you, so my, uh, technique is better 'n yours."
"Like you know how many girls I've had sex with, shithead." He was pretty drunk himself, lightheaded, his tongue thick in his mouth.
"I've done it with more," Justin said again.
Chris shook his head in disbelief. "Look, you little idiot, I lost my virginity before you learned how to ride a bicycle, so I think—"
"I'm just a breakout star," Justin said and giggled, taking another drink. JC had drawn the short straw and was doing a promotional appearance that night, and Lance had gone off to a business meeting, so he and Justin and Joey had stayed in to drink. Joey was heavily asleep in the chair next to Chris, already. "Also," Justin added, "Who're you calling little? I mean, I don't know what's going on with you, but I got the skills to pay the bills, if you know what I mean."
"You're pissin' me off, Justin," Chris said.
"Just callin' it like I see it."
"Fuck. I can't believe I'm even letting you—why did I agree to buy you booze in the first place?"
"'cause I'm cute—" Justin said, batting his eyelashes, dark and soft on the round slopes of his cheeks.
"Shut up—"
"And I'm hotter in the sack than you—" Justin continued, wiggling his fingers drunkenly. "I got dexterity," Justin said.
Chris rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I bet."
"Uh—huh," Justin said.
The annoyance dropped off Chris' face, and he snickered and said,
"Yeah, that's it. You're dynamite in the sack, Justin."
"That's what I hear."
"You're a stud."
"Damn straight."
"Chicks dig you." Chris rolled to his feet and stepped around the low coffee table to stand in front of Justin, who shifted a little uncomfortably under his gaze, dropping his eyes and taking another long swallow. Chris took the bottle out of his hand and put it down behind him and leaned over Justin, putting one hand on the back of the couch.
"What are you—"
"You're pretty," he said, smiling appraisingly at him.
"Ooo—kay," Justin said. "Maybe you've had enough to drink now."
"Maybe," Chris said, ignoring him, and traced a finger down his cheek, and Justin blushed, and this was going to be too easy. Chris put one knee down next to Justin's thigh and slid onto his knees, crouching over him, put one restraining hand in the middle of his chest. Justin's eyes flickered nervously at his face, and then he slouched down against the back of the couch, dropping his gaze until he was staring at Chris' chest.
Chris leaned forward, and said, quietly, lips brushing against Justin's ear.
"You ever had to work to make a girl come—you ever been with a girl who didn't just come in her pants from being near you, baby?" And then twined his hand gently into the hair at the nape of Justin's neck. "those pretty eyes, those lips."
"Stop it," Justin said uneasily.
"Yeah. They love you, don't they. You ever been with someone who wouldn't lie to you about what a terrific time she had, wouldn't fake it?"
"Of course I have—"
"How would you know?"
"You're drunk."
"Yup," Chris said, satisfied. There was a stereo on somewhere, and the beat thumped up through the floor while Justin struggled minutely against him, panting a little, not looking at him. He shivered when Chris' thumb settled into the hollow of his collarbone, stiffened and snarled
"Get the fuck off me."
Chris leaned forward and Justin twisted his face away and Chris laughed, and licked his neck, one long wet swipe, throat to ear.
"Stop it," Justin said again, strangled, desperate, and this time he shoved Chris hard, and Chris caught his shoulders and threw him back against the couch, pinned him tightly. Gotcha, Chris thought, and leaned in again. Justin flinched away from him, but Chris only said, quietly,
"You wouldn't have to lie with me," and kissed Justin softly on the cheek, and got up.

Two: spin the fuck around
"What the fuck is your problem—" JC shouted, bursting into Chris' hotel room, jacket still on, flushed from the cold outside.
"What?" Chris said, rolling into a sitting position on the bed, loosely clutching a magazine.
"Justin." JC crossed his arms for a moment, but then uncrossed them, restless.
"what now."
"What did you do to him?" JC said.
"Nothing." Chris shrugged. "Fucked with his head a little."
"That's great, Chris. Jesus. I come home and he's hiding in my room reading a fucking book."
"Oh, Christ, call out the national guard and get his shrink on the phone, Justin's reading a book."
"Fine. Laugh all you want, but don't fucking do it again, asshole." He took a half step towards the bed and Chris stood up then, tossing the magazine to the floor, scowling a little.
"Do what? Listen to Justin spouting off about—"
"He's just a kid," JC said. "You can't treat people like that."
"He was asking for it," Chris muttered.
"Oh, what, because he said he was better in bed than you were? How insecure—"
"Just wanted to teach him a lesson."
"Oh, real nice."
"Not my fault he can't take a joke."
"Y'know, ever since Dani broke up with—"
"You shut up," Chris said sharply, and JC laughed, a short hard bark.
"What, or you'll lick my neck?"
"Leave me alone."
"Fine," JC said, and turned towards the door.
"Fine," Chris said, picking the magazine up. JC sighed and turned around, leaning one shoulder against the door.
"Just. Chris. Pick on someone your own size, okay?"
"Oh, like you."
"Yeah, like me—someone who you can't spin the fuck around with sex."
"And that's you."
"Yeah."
"Because you get laid all the fuckin' time."
"I get laid enough."
"It's been two months."
"Didn't know you cared," JC said, turning away, and Chris sang, teasingly, half an octave higher than it should have been,
"Digital Digital get down, just you and me—"
"Fuck you," JC said.
"I'm just sayin—"
"And I'm saying that the next person who makes a 'Digital Getdown' joke I'm gonna fucking punch," JC said.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You're pretty fucking hot when you're angry," Chris said, grinning snidely.
"I'm pretty fucking hot all the time," JC said. "Bite me."

It was, perhaps, the first fight with Chris he'd ever won.

They didn't talk for two days. It was weird, really, that it was even noticeable, since Chris and JC didn't hang out very much, but Lance noticed, and raised his eyebrows without comment, and Joey said, "um, Chris, are—" and Chris shook his head and said it was nothing.
"You guys having a fight," Justin asked, sitting down next to Chris on the bus.
"Why, did JC say something to you?"
"No, I just. thought." Justin hunched his shoulders uncomfortably and started to bump his thigh against Chris' before stopping the movement abruptly. Chris chewed fiercely at his gum.
"Is it about me?" Justin said abruptly.
"No."
"Oh." Justin looked at his knees. Chris looked out the window.
"Hey. Justin. sorry about the other day."
"Oh."
"I don't want to fuck you or anything—you were just being a jackass, you know?"
"Oh." Justin tipped his head down.
"so. sorry," Chris said, and cut his eyes towards Justin, briefly.

Three: better than sex with another person
"So I apologized to him," Chris said to JC, cornering him backstage before the show. The others weren't dressed yet. JC wondered if Chris had dressed quickly on purpose.
"So?" JC said, leaning against the wall to stretch his calves.
"So are you gonna start talking to me again?" Chris said, leaning against the other wall.
"Golly," JC said, turning around and giving Chris his phoniest nastiest smile, "I didn't know you had such strong feel—"
"Oh, what the fuck is this anyway?" Chris smacked his palms against the wall. "You got a thing for him, is that it? Are you mad because I did stuff to him? I didn't do anything, Jace, just licked his neck a little."
"I don't have a thing for Justin."
"You sure?" Chris tilted his head a little, and that was one of the things that JC had always hated the most about Chris, that he could go from being a complete and utter prick to being kind of nice in no time at all. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"Well. just. If you did, that would be fine and all."
"Because I need your permission," JC said, and that was one of the things he'd always hated the most about himself, that he was really bad at staying mad at someone. The three days he'd managed with Chris had to be some sort of record.
"Do you have a thing for me?" Chris said, striking a cheesecake pose against the wall and giving JC a ludicrously smouldering stare.
"No." JC said, and looked away. He hadn't put his shirt on yet, and he felt weirdly self-conscious, and then weird for feeling self-conscious, since Chris had seen him plenty of times with his shirt off, the bus and backstage and shared hotel rooms. Chris was already dressed for the show, and up, a coiled ball of tension leaning against the wall in tight leather pants and a silver—black shirt that glinted coldly in the faint light from the hallway and made you notice that his eyes were huge and shiny and black. JC wondered whose brilliant idea the leather pants had been in the first place. His were too tight and too hot, and hard to dance in, and he wished Chris would leave so he could finish dressing. Alone.

"Got you something," Chris said, climbing onto the bus a few days later, tossing him a small cold wax—paper packet. It was a popsicle, vanilla inside, with a hard chocolate shell. JC stared at it for a moment, stupidly, until Chris said
"It's a popsicle."
"I know," he snapped and Chris blinked a little at his tone. Justin leapt onto the bus and shouldered his way past them, shouting into the lounge that Joey better wait for him to start the game. It was hot, West Texas in summer, and JC had had a persistent headache from the glare since they crossed the Oklahoma—Texas border. His eyes felt gritty, and the air conditioner had broken on the other bus, and Lance said it was fine, and he could sleep through it, but the heat made JC feel sick. After Lance, who listened to NPR in the mornings and didn't talk to him, the other bus felt crowded and loud, and he was always having to squeeze past people. When they'd stopped to refuel, he'd stayed on the bus while Chris and Joey and Justin jumped off and ran around the dusty parking lot.
Chris got himself a glass of water and sat down across from JC at the kitchen table. JC ripped open the packet and took a bite of the ice cream, sweet and cold against the roof of his mouth, and then he looked up and saw that Chris was watching him eat.
"What are you doing?" JC said, taking another bite.
"Nothing," Chris said, and kept on watching him, chin on his hand. He could hear the faint pings and beeps of the Playstation, Justin shouting in outrage. Chris settled back on the bench, eyes heavy—lidded, and JC got to the tricky point where the popsicle was melting and falling off the stick, and he took another bite before a chunk of vanilla ice cream fell into his palm, slippery, and he ate it and then licked his palm, and when he looked up, Chris was still looking at him, lips slightly parted,
"Fuck you, Chris." JC flipped the stick into the garbage. "You might be able to jerk Justin's chain with this kind of crap but you—"
"Whoa whoa whoa—" Chris tossed his hands up, palms open, "what are you talking about?"
"Nothing," JC said tightly, after a pause.
"Right."
"Why'd you get me that, anyway?"
"I don't know—I thought you'd like it, I guess. You like boring ice cream flavors."
"oh."
"And I know you've been stuck on that song, with the—"
"oh."
"and. y'know. I'm sorry I said you were hot when you were angry."
"Oh."
"Because. yeah. You have ice cream on your mouth."
JC wiped it off with the back of his hand.
"Okay?"
"Yup."

It hadn't been two months since he'd gotten laid, it had been three. He hadn't thought that anyone had noticed. The middle of the tour always kicked his ass, for some reason. Joey and Chris and Lance were always exhausted for the first month, and would just start to get their second winds when he would start feeling tired and losing weight. Justin, as far as he could tell, never got tired. He had sex almost every night, danced and drank and slid his hips up against pretty girls, and watching him sometimes made JC tired, made him happy just to jerk off to some hot little fantasy, something safe, some stranger, some sexy kid who'd brought them room service breakfast, and sometimes it slipped into Justin, but not often, and only because Justin flashed his body around, liked to make the girls scream loud enough that JC could hear them through the walls of the room. To tell the truth, jerking off, touching himself just the way he liked it, sprawled out in his hotel bed, cool sheets, staring at the cool sweep of the overhead fan, was better than sex with another person. But three months was sort of abnormal. JC decided to screw the next person who made a pass at him.
No one hit on him. After the first day, he started smiling at people, and it still didn't work. There was a pudgy eleven-year-old with frizzy hair who threw herself on him and screamed and cried, but then Chris appeared out of nowhere and "hey, hey, honey, take it easy," and pulled her off him. He didn't see her again.
Backstage, before the show, there were suddenly two warm hands on his shoulders, rubbing slowly. Joey, he thought, tipping his head forward, bracing one hand against the wall. The hands slid up to his neck and then down his back, thumbs digging in next to his spine and sliding out from the small of his back to his waist. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Joey said, his voice coming from down the hall, and JC jerked, turning halfway around to see Chris behind him. Chris smiled at him, quick, sharp, private.

Four: if you're into that sort of thing
"maybe," Chris said, after the performance that night, when he and JC were walking down the hallway of the hotel room, a little behind the others "maybe I was looking at you earlier."
"Looking."
"yeah."
"Why?"
Chris shrugged. "You're pretty cute."
"I'm. what?"
"and sexy and all that," Chris said hurriedly, not really looking at him.
"Are you hitting on me?"
Chris looked at the floor, and then nodded hesitantly.
"You're hitting on me."
"Yeah, I think that's clear at this point, JC."
"But, so—" JC said, flustered, "you think I'm—"
"I think you're a boring geek who can't take a fucking joke," Chris said, and dropped his hand to JC's bare forearm. It was very hot.
"But sexy," JC said slowly, stalling for time.
"exactly," Chris said, and gave him a lazy smile.
"Um."
"Do you wanna, um. I was going to this club."
"Oh."
"If you wanted to come."

Don't do anything stupid, he told himself, when Chris fished out his wallet and paid the cover at the club. Chris isn't even all that attractive, he told himself, and tried to think about how Justin had sweated and glittered that night on the stage, and that was safe, because Justin was off limits, no matter how many tight t-shirts he wore.
Chris never wore tight t-shirts, unless he had to, for a photo shoot. Still, all his clothes were small; it was a surprise what a small guy Chris really was, because he didn't seem small, didn't feel small sliding up behind JC at the bar and ordering a drink, pressed hotly against him for a long moment, didn't even look small, dancing with a girl whose nose came up to his shoulder, arm locked around her waist. He bent his head to whisper something in her ear, but when he looked up, he looked at JC.
JC ordered another drink, and tried to look at girls. It was getting harder to tell himself that he liked them just as much, and there was a small part of him that whispered, insidiously, that Chris was at least, safe. He still wasn't entirely certain that the almost painful arousal he had felt being with the guys he'd been able to get up the guts to approach hadn't been fear that they would sell their story to the National Enquirer or something. He hadn't been with that many guys, because the risk made him feel too guilty, seeing the others the next morning and knowing he wasn't only screwing with his own career. Chris was safe, and Chris could be trusted to tell the truth, because he couldn't shut the fuck up about anything to save his life, and Chris bounded up the stairs to his table, as if he'd known that JC had been watching him dance, watching him move between the flashes of the strobe light, and leaned down towards him, smiling as though he were going to tell a secret, face sheened with sweat, and touched the back of his hand with two fingers and said
"You wanna get out of here?"
"yeah," JC said.

Chris put his hand on his leg in the cab—not all that high up, really, but he could feel it there, heavy and warm through his pants, and when he didn't say anything, Chris moved it higher, fingers tightening.

"Why are you doing this?" JC blurted, watching Chris flip his keycard onto the dresser and take off his jacket. He was still wearing his, and it was too warm in the hotel room so he felt stupid, but he also didn't feel like taking it off.
"Why do you think?" Chris said, looking a little ashamed of himself, "I'm lonely, y'know, and I just can't take someone squealing at me tonight, or, Jesus, worse, pretending I'm Justin, or I'm gonna introduce her to Justin, or she's gonna have sex with me and Justin—"
"So you thought you'd have sex with me instead."
"If you want to."
"Oh."
Chris put his hands in his pockets, and stared past his shoulder.
"Um," JC said, and took off his jacket.
"Okay", Chris said, stepping closer and putting a hand on JC's waist, and then they were kissing, one of Chris' arms twined around his neck, the other squeezing his hip. He pushed back long enough to get his hand on the hem of Chris' shirt, and Chris yanked it off over his head, and pulled JC's shirt up over his head before kissing him again, walking him backwards towards the bed.
"um. Just to be sure, you don't want me to introduce you to Justin," JC said, when his knees hit the edge of the bed.
"Justin? Timberlake?" Chris toed off his shoes and then bent down and started untying JC's.
"Yeah," JC said, pushing his shoes off. Chris put a hand on his knee and pushing his thighs open and came up over him and pressed him to the bed, grinning, "No, that's okay," he said.
"'cause I can do that," JC said faintly.
"really?" Chris, stroked his thumbs gently across JC's collarbones,
"I can get you an autograph, even," JC whispered, and then Chris buried his face in JC's neck and said,
"You know, discussing Justin is kind of interfering with my sexy vibe."
"You have a sexy vibe."
"You know it," Chris said, and licked his neck playfully. When JC moaned, he did it again, this time giving it his full attention, nuzzling at his throat, kissing his collarbone, finally lifting his head and saying "I give a mean blow job, if you're into that sort of thing."
"I'm into that sort of thing," JC said, breath hitching a little as Chris kissed his neck some more, smoothing his hands along JC's sides, over his hips,
"You into getting fucked?" he asked softly.
"Um—" JC said.
"it's cool if you aren't, and all—" Chris said,
"No. I mean. yeah. I mean, go ahead."
Chris kissed his fingers.
"Just, um. slow," JC said.
And Chris smiled at him, and they kissed lazily for a while, Chris unbuckling his belt with one hand, and then putting his hand inside JC's pants, sliding his thumb along the waistband of his underwear before slipping his hand inside, gripping JC's cock, tongue still in his mouth, and JC sighed and ran his fingers along Chris' side.
"What were you drinking," Chris said, licking curiously at his mouth.
"white russian," he mumbled, pulling Chris back in for a long kiss, letting himself be pressed into the bed,
"girl drink," Chris said, kissing the corner of his mouth and his cheek, his ear, his neck, "You taste all sweet."
"Maybe that's just how I taste," JC said, sliding his hands into the back of Chris' pants.
"Maybe—" Chris said, and lifted one eyebrow quickly before sliding his lips down JC's neck, kissing his nipple, his ribcage, his stomach, yanking his underwear down to his knees and curling his tongue lasciviously around JC's cock.

"That was pretty—you are good at that," JC said after, watching Chris rummage through his bag.
"mm," Chris said, and then "okay, here we go," he said, turning around and tossing a tube of lubricant onto the bed. He took off his pants, and then said, "look, do you—we don't have to—"
"No, it's cool," JC said, "how do you want to, um—"
"hm," Chris said, and pulled the sheet down, staring at his body for long enough that JC started to flush, shifting a little uncomfortably, and then Chris laughed, and JC flinched, and yanked the sheet from his hand, pressing his lips together.
"Fuck you," he said, "what, is—"
"hey, hey, hey wait," Chris said, "what are you—" and he pulled the sheet out of JC's hands and slid down on top of him, breathed against his throat and said "don't change your mind," and "on your side, okay," and curled up snug behind him, one hand slipping down his chest to his hip, his thighs bumping JC's "hey, it's okay," he said, and "been a while, hm," mumbled against his shoulder, and "here, your leg," drawing JC's leg back over his thigh, said, "sh, sh," when JC cried out, "Justin's in the next room."

Five: a big weird deal
"So maybe that wasn't the greatest idea," Chris said in the morning.
"No," JC said, but then he grinned at Chris, a scruffy helpless I got lucky grin.
"I need a new girlfriend," Chris groaned, falling back on the bed.
"Maybe," JC said, and kissed him.
"Your breath stinks," Chris said, but he didn't push him away.
"You stink," JC said, nuzzling his neck. Chris ran a hand down his ribcage, palmed his hip.
"So that was okay, what we did," he said.
"mm," JC said "yeah. don't really have anything to compare it to—" and Chris flinched under him enough that JC pulled back to stare at him.
"You'd never done that?" Chris said.
"No."
"Aw. Jesus Fucking Christ, JC," Chris said, and sat up, pushing himself back to lean against the headboard and pulling the blankets up to his waist. "Fuck."
"What's your problem?"
"I didn't know you hadn't done it before."
"It makes a difference?"
"Yeah. You should have said."
"You knew Justin had never done that before—"
"I didn't do anything with Justin, you idiot. I licked his neck."
JC shrugged.
"Virgins make me fuckin' nervous," Chris said, rubbing his face.
"I'm not a virgin."
"Not anymore."
JC sighed, and got up, finding his pants on the floor and pulling them on.
"You'd never done that," Chris said again.
"Look, it's not a big deal. I wanted to, so I did."
"JC—"
"You don't need to make a big weird deal out of it."
"okay."
"I've done stuff with guys before," JC said. "I just never did that."
"Okay, okay," Chris said, getting out of bed.
"Look," JC said, pulling on his shoes. "I better. y'know."
"yeah," Chris said, and went into the bathroom.

JC had known he would regret it. Chris had often seemed to take a special pleasure in needling him, because he was awful at taking a joke, he knew that. "Someone has to take things seriously, you jerk-offs," he'd said more than once. Chris rode on the two-man bus with Lance that day, tossing him a quick, unreadable look, leaving JC with Joey and Justin, who were crabby and hung over. After bitching at each other about how much they hated being pop stars and famous, they went to sleep it off in their bunks, leaving him to remember Chris pressing him to the bed, kissing the skin on his neck softly, leaving him to wait to start to regret it.
Chris' hands petting his shoulders, slipping down his chest, Chris saying softly, with concentration, "okay, too fast?" breathing heavily against his shoulder, quiet moans, a sure hand on his cock, and he remembered suddenly that Chris was strangely careful with things: often with his own possessions, but always with things that were lent to him. "What the hell is wrong with you, man?" he always said, seeing the confusion of CDs without cases tossed in the passenger seat of Justin's car.
At the beginning of the band, they used to practice at Chris', because he was the only one who had his own place. Chris looked like an empty pizza box and dirty socks everywhere kind of guy, but his apartment was small and spare: a threadbare sofabed, a beanbag chair, a card table. JC had liked it there.

Six: how to have fun
"Here's the thing," he said, a week later, sitting on the sofa in Chris' room, watching him fix his hair. "We don't even like each other that much."
"What?" Chris said, turning around. "I like—"
"We don't like each other that much," JC said again, and this time Chris shrugged and nodded.
"Okay, yeah."
"So it's not like—getting together with Joey or something."
Chris laughed. "oh, god, right. He'd totally fall in love with you."
"yeah,"
"It would be a big fat fucking mess."
"yeah. I'd fuck it up."
"You might not."
"Probably would."
Chris finished with his hair and JC chewed his lip.
"So." Chris turned around and leaned against the dresser, "I guess you wanna do it again."
"uh. I mean. If you want to, I—"
"I want to," Chris said quickly.
"Really?" JC said.
"yeah," Chris said.
"Oh, so, um—" JC said, right before Joey crashed in to say they were going to dinner. That night, Chris slid into his room and leaned against the door and said "we still on?" and it wasn't as though JC hadn't been with plenty of people who said things like "god, your skin," and who nuzzled appreciatively against his stomach, but he'd never imagined that Chris would be like that too, that Chris would rub his hands across his stomach and look at him with dark hungry eyes, that Chris would roll onto his back, easy as flipping over a beetle. Chris laughed a little, and spread his legs, knee falling sideways, arched up when JC began to jerk him off, watching Chris' face, feeling his hips shimmy eagerly under his hand, and when he slowed down, Chris looked momentarily disappointed, before saying, "what?" and pressing up against JC.
"power trip," JC said. Chris' head dropped back on the pillow.
"so what?" he said, but then he snaked his hand between them and found JC's cock, "for you, too," he said.

"I didn't think," Chris said afterwards, stroking his shoulder absently, "that you'd be this good in bed."
"What, you thought I'd be bad?"
"Well. yeah."
"Oh," he said, and pulled back a little, but Chris yanked him back until he was curled against him, and then flopped over onto his stomach and wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss against his back before settling into sleep.
"You thought I was bad in bed?" JC said after a few minutes. He could feel the huff of Chris' sigh on his back.
"Not bad like—bad. just, maybe a little. boring."
"well, thanks," he mumbled.
"Look, you're not," Chris said, hand tightening against his stomach in emphasis. "You're pretty goddam hot. You're the hottest person I've ever slept with."
"Dani was pretty—"
"You're prettier."

One more thing about Chris: every guy JC had been with until then had been kind of big. He seemed to attract these guys, who outweighed him by about fifty pounds, and it was probably because he sort of liked that, a mild feeling of being overpowered, liked being tumbled back onto a bed, against a wall, and being kissed, and so it was interesting to realize that it really had nothing to do with size, because when Chris shoved him back against a wall and kissed him, he had to bend his knees a little for it to really work well or Chris would yank down his head, or he'd get impatient and shove him down on the bed and straddle him and clamp his legs tightly against his ribcage and kiss him hard.
And, yes, okay, it was fun. Chris was sort of a pain in the ass when he was having fun that didn't include you, and although he'd said to JC before "you don't know how to have fun," he'd never then grinned and grabbed his hand and towed him into a bathroom at a club and laid a liquid Tequila kiss on him and groped him and said "I bet Justin fifteen bucks you'd be able to pick up more girls than he could—." Unbuttoning his shirt a little, running an insinuating hand down his thigh, ruffling his hair, before standing back and giving him a wry thumbs up.
"hey, nobody asked me—" JC said.
"dude, you can totally do it," Chris said. "You look hot tonight. Also, it'll be fun to fuck with Justin's head."
JC sighed, and shook his head, but Justin had been a pain in the ass that day, and spent half an hour making fun of a song he was trying to write.
"so what do I get?"
Chris kissed him again, flicking his tongue dirtily against JC's, one hand slipping briefly under the waistband of his pants. "Whatever you want," he said.

"I wouldn't mind a fuck," Chris said, coming into the bathroom, after they had returned from the club, still a little drunk, nine crumpled slips of paper and fifteen bucks flung carelessly on the bedside table. Chris leaned his forehead against the back of JC's neck.
"sexy," JC mumbled around his toothbrush.
"hey," Chris said. "I'm offering you a chance to get up close and personal with the quite shapely Kirkpatrick ass." He edged his fingers up underneath JC's tanktop, fingers brushing the small of his back. "It's a nice ass," he said.
JC spit, and rinsed his mouth "I gathered that," he said, putting the toothbrush back into his travel bag and turning so Chris could kiss him.
"man. minty fresh," Chris said. "let's get it on." He started to unbutton his own shirt.
"I need to floss," JC said, but his hands were already reaching for Chris' waist.
"right, okay, Captain Hygiene," Chris said, "but it's my turn, and I want—"
"Look, just because I don't have any cavities—what, the incredible Kirkpatrick ass is going someplace?"
"The incredible Kirkpatrick ass was expecting a little more enthusiasm," Chris said, but he was grinning.
"The incredible Kirkpatrick ass won't know what hit it," JC said, nodding, and leaning forward to lick Chris' jaw quickly. "just give me a minute—"

They had been fucking for about a month, here and there, and it seemed like they talked more than before, a story he'd never heard about Chris' third grade teacher or Chris sitting behind him and kissing his neck, offering a running commentary about the television show he was trying to watch. Chris was drowsily talkative after sex, and asked specific questions, wanted to know one night why JC wouldn't eat red jello. He guessed they really didn't talk, though, because it was a surprise when Chris came into the room wearing ironed pants, tugging a sweater on over his head. The rest of them were in sweatpants and t-shirt. Lance asleep on the couch under a blanket.
"What are you dressed like that for?" Justin said.
"Date," Chris said. JC flinched momentarily, and forced himself to look at Chris, like the others were doing. "Management set it up."
"Cool," Justin said. "Is she hot?"
"I guess," Chris said. "She's a swimsuit model. Angie something."
Angie was indeed hot, and standing next to Chris made her look even taller and blonder, and when she opened her mouth she had a low rich laugh, and she started to smile the moment she saw Chris, an intent and rather toothy smile, and her head didn't even twitch when Justin stood up and introduced himself.
Chris didn't come in to see him that night, and shrugged dismissively at Justin when he asked how it had gone. "It was just a publicity thing," he said, and when JC looked up, Chris was staring at him.
"D'you think Chris slept with that Angie person?" JC asked Joey casually, at breakfast a few days later.
"He said he did, yeah," Joey said, yawning, reaching for the toast.
So he didn't go over to Chris' room anymore, even though Chris looked at him oddly for a few days, tilted his head to the side like a curious dog before shrugging and going back to whatever he was doing. After a week or so, he stopped doing that, and JC waited for Chris to start making fun of him again, but he didn't.

Seven: the way you do it
"I," Justin said, "am going to get a lap dance."
Joey had promised him that once they got to New York, they could go to a strip club where either he wouldn't be recognized, or no one would care.
"Strippers," Joey said.
"Strippers," Justin said blissfully, "You guys coming? Chris?"
"Sure," Chris said.
"I'm kinda—I'm working on something," JC said, even though it had been three weeks since he'd had sex. The first week, he was weirdly, desperately horny, but then he got used to it again, and didn't even mind when Chris jumped on Justin and tickled him during an interview. Justin turned to Lance.
"How 'bout you?"
"I don't know—"
"Aw, c'mon," Joey said, "it'll be fun."
"It sounds a little sleazy," Lance said, doubtfully.
"Sleaze is fun," Joey said.
He went to get some ice later, and ran into them leaving, Justin tucking his hair under a knit hat in the hallway while they waited for the elevator.
"Last chance," Joey said.
"Where's Chris?" JC asked.
Justin shrugged. "He said he didn't feel like it."
"Oh," JC said.
He stood for a long time by the dividing door between his and Chris' rooms, almost wishing he'd gone to the club, and finally told himself to just fucking to it, and turned the doorknob. Chris was leaning against the window, staring out, hands in his pockets. He looked up quickly when JC came in, then turned back to the window.
"Why didn't you go?" JC said, even though that wasn't what he had meant to say.
"didn't feel like it," Chris said shortly.
"Sure," JC muttered.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You could have gone," JC said. "I mean, don't let me stop you if you want to see—"
"I didn't—" Chris began loudly, before dropping his voice. "I didn't want to go."
"Okay."
"Maybe you wanted to go, though," Chris said, turning around. "Get a lapdance, be my guest."
"I don't want a lapdance," JC said sulkily.
Chris flopped down in the chair by the window, resting his chin on his hand and staring out at the sky. JC picked up a CD on the table, and stared at the back, mouth tight, before putting it back down.
"I could give you a lapdance," he said abruptly, and Chris exhaled sharply, startled,
"What?"
"a lapdance," JC said.
"I heard you."
"Do you want one?"
"Do you know how?" Chris said, but JC had already slithered into his lap, settling himself against Chris.
"How hard can it be?" he said.
"You ever had one?"
"No."
"Then—"
"I saw a pay-per-view movie about a strip club, once," JC said, squirming experimentally, and Chris pressed up against him for a moment before muttering
"Good enough for me," and trying to kiss JC, who turned his mouth away.
"You're not allowed to kiss the strippers," he said primly, but then he slid towards Chris in a way that made them both gasp.
"I'll give you five hundred bucks to have sex with me," Chris choked.
"yeah," JC said, and Chris half picked him up, half dropped him onto the floor, catching the back of his head before he banged it on the floor, tugged his sweat pants down and kissed him luxuriously for some time before lifting his mouth and mumbling "bed?"
"nuh-uh," JC said, and groped over his head for the coffee table leg, pulling himself backwards before sliding one leg over Chris' shoulder.
"shit," Chris breathed. "you. thought you didn't want to do this anymore."
"I—"
"It was your turn," Chris said breathlessly, trying to kiss JC and undo his pants at the same time. "waited for you."
"Angie," JC wanted to say, but at the last minute he bit his lip and ground down against Chris and said "I guess, umn, I didn't feel like it."
"I'll make it worth your while," he said, shoving JC's t-shirt up and kissing a nipple softly before sucking hard, and JC gasped and brought one hand down to the back of Chris' head, but when Chris pushed his shirt up and off his shoulders and over his head, JC lifted his hand again, and let Chris push his shirt up off over his hands, his hands stroking along JC's arms, hands clasping briefly over JC's hands on the table leg.
"You wanna stay like this?" he said softly, lips brushing JC's cheek.
"mm," JC said.

"So, did you. um. did you wanna have computer sex or something?" Chris asked once. They were standing around at a gas station, stretching their legs. Justin was asleep on the bus, and Joey and Lance were inside the convenience store buying booze.
"What?" JC said. Chris squinted at the ground, hands in his pockets.
"just, if you wanted to, that would be. we could do that."
"Why would I want to have computer sex?"
"because."
"Do you want to?"
"What? well." Chris shrugged.
"Oh," JC said. Then he started to laugh.
"What?" Chris said, when JC tipped his head back against the cool metal of the bus.
"um. yeah. Chris. 'Digital Getdown' was a joke."
"What?"
"It's a song about mutual masturbation and video conference sex—" JC said, waving one arm at Chris
"so what?"
"So, I thought Justin would freak, and Lance would make his 'I'm so professional' face, and that, y'know—"
"What?"
"that it would be funny. I didn't think you guys were just going to say 'uh, okay, what key?' and put it on the album." JC sighed, and grinned, shaking his head.
"'Digital Getdown' is a joke," Chris said flatly.
"yup."
"You didn't tell anyone."
"Nope."
"It's not funny."
"It's funny every time we sing the song," JC said happily, and Chris laughed then, rubbing a hand across his face.
"You're a piece of work."
"yup," JC said and lolled sideways on the bus, so he was leaning against Chris' shoulder. "D'you wanna have real sex?"
"what, now?"
"Tonight. I could come over."
"okay."
"okay."
"good."
"unless you wanna just call me on the phone."
"shut up."

Chris cuddled him when they slept. He thought it might be a reflex, and it made him feel a little embarrassed, squirming out from under Chris' arm in the morning.
"You don't have to do that," he said, one morning.
"What," Chris said, moving his lips over the back of his neck softly, in the way that JC had learned meant he felt like a quickie before the bus.
"You know," JC said, reaching up and touching Chris' arm, wrapped around his chest, hand against his stomach.
"You don't like it?"
"I said, you don't have to do it," JC sighed.
"Do you want me to stop," Chris said, moving his fingers absently.
JC moved then, pulled away from him and rolled over, mouth twitching a little in annoyance. "I just meant," he said, "you don't have to cuddle me like I'm. like we're."
"what?"
"nothing."
"It's not—"
"Do you wanna fuck," JC interrupted him, "because we're supposed to be on the bus in forty-five minutes—" he slid across the bed and kissed the underside of Chris' jaw.
The next morning, he left before Chris woke up.

He wasn't sure what they were. They'd do it frantically, three or four nights running, just enough to get used to it, and then Chris wouldn't come around for a week, although he still smiled at him. He noticed they stood next to each other more in photo shoots. Still.

"Hey," Chris said, flicking the lights on, slamming the door shut with a bang.
"Chris," he said, sleepily, rolling over, shielding his eyes against the light.
"JC," Chris said, and yanked his jacket off and dropped it on the floor.
"What are you doing."
"I was gonna fuck you."
"You're drunk," JC meant to say, because Chris was obviously very drunk, but then Chris grinned at him and crawled into bed with him and the idea was suddenly strangely appealing, and he let Chris pull his head back and nip at his neck. Chris stroked his waist and pushed him down on the bed, and he could feel Chris' dick through his pants, hard, rubbing against his stomach. Chris thumbed a nipple and then flipped him over roughly, slid a heavy hand down his back and squeezed his ass.
"You are a fucking beautiful piece of ass, JC," he said. "Fuckin' A."
He pulled back, and a moment later, his t-shirt dropped on the bed next to JC, and then there were rustling sounds and Chris mumbling "fuck" to himself, and when JC turned his head, Chris was fumbling with the buttons of his pants. "Sorry," he said. "It's kinda, um—" and JC sat up for a moment and flipped the buttons open himself, shoving the pants down off Chris' hips, eager now, too, and Chris pushed him back down on the bed, kissing him roughly, lifting himself up off JC enough to grope efficiently, greedily, at his nipples and cock, and JC gasped and moaned against his mouth, body arching involuntarily and Chris watched him flop back against the bed,
"you make a goddam lot of noise," he said, "fuck, that turns me on, baby, you don't even know." He kissed JC again before moving, "c'mon c'mon," he said, urging JC over and onto his hands and knees. "You're so fucking sweet like this," he muttered, dropping haphazard kisses on JC's shoulders, wet mouth on the small of his back, tongue tracing up his spine, "got so hot at the bar, thinking about you, thinking 'bout how I was going to come back here and make you scream—"
JC shifted restlessly on his hands, wanting more contact, arms trembling a little in anticipation,
"you got—something, for—" Chris said, and JC scrabbled quickly in the bedside table, handing back a condom and lubricant, "boy scout," Chris muttered fondly, one hand on his hip.
"Just fucking do it, JC said impatiently, and Chris did, rough and slick and hot, and it didn't last very long, "sorry, baby, drunk as hell," Chris panted, wrapping a clumsy hand around JC's cock,
"s'okay," JC said, rolling his hips back and dropping his head, "just. fuck. yeah. right there."
Chris was asleep when JC got back from the bathroom with a towel, snoring, mouth open. JC slid gingerly up against his back, and when he didn't move, put an arm around his waist.

"Oh, shit, JC, I'm sorry, oh. man. oh. fuck, water," Chris said the next morning, sitting up gingerly. "Thanks," he mumbled, when JC put the glass in his hand. "You okay," he said, hand lingering uncertainly over JC's knee.
"Fine."
"you sure."
"a little sore," JC said, and smiled.
"motherfucker. I'm sorry, you have no idea, baby—I mean. um."
"You were pretty wasted."
"I know," Chris groaned, and fell back on the bed. JC laughed. "I can see it now. Joey's the flirt and Justin's the heartthrob and I'm the date-rapist. It's great; that'll sell those Teen Peoples."
"Stop it. I wanted to."
"But I didn't—"
"I could probably have held you off, Chris," JC said, a little sharply.
"Oh, you think so?"
"I had to help you take your pants off."
"Fine. okay. Just trying to be considerate," Chris said.
"Well, I kind of liked it."
"JC Chasez likes it rough," Chris announced.
"Oh, and you don't like it rough."
"I just like it. like makin' it with you."
He was quiet for a moment, drinking the water before asking "Did I say anything embarrassing?"
"You said I was a hell of a piece of ass," JC said brightly, digging through his bag for clean clothes.
"Wonderful."
"And sweet." JC handed him some aspirin, which Chris took glumly.
"Great."
"I turn you on."
"Oh, now there's a surprise."

"Two roast beef," Justin said, "Lance wanted turkey, right? one turkey—"
"me too," Chris said.
"Make that two turkey, and, um, one ham, I guess."
"JC doesn't like ham," Chris said.
"What?"
"JC doesn't like ham; get him turkey or something," Chris said.
"Three turkey," Justin said, shrugging.
"On rye," Chris added. "mustard, pickles and tomatoes. no lettuce."

"So, I'm thinking you could get drunk—" Chris said, when they had a three day break in Salt Lake City.
"What?" JC said, looking up from the magazine he was reading half-heartedly.
"Let me finish," Chris said, almost surly. "you could get drunk and fuck me."
"What for?" JC said, but he sat up on the bed and pushed the magazine out of the way. It skidded across the bedspread and fell on the floor.
"Because. y'know." Chris pinched his lips together. "I feel kind of bad."
"You feel bad." JC raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah."
"really bad?"
"yeah."
"bad," JC said, and smiled.
"Do you wanna get drunk and have sex or not?" Chris said, crossing his arms, "because I'm sort of finished with the apology portion of this evening."
But it turned out that JC drunk was kittenish and pliant, pressing himself into Chris' lap and kissing his neck softly, curling his tongue around Chris' ear until Chris shivered and said,
"yeah, uh, we better—"
"I kind of want you to fuck me," JC said quietly.
"We can do that," Chris said, and pressed him down into the bed, made it slow, sliding his palms down JC's torso, and over his hips, kissing him deliberately, tongue working his mouth until JC gasped out
"don't you want—"
"of course," Chris mumbled against his neck. "yeah." He knelt up and ran his hands up JC's thighs, circling around and stroking the backs, kissing JC's knee
"like this?" he said. "we can do it some other way."
"I like the way you do it," JC said, and Chris' eyes flickered to his, quickly.

In the morning, JC climbed quickly out of bed and got dressed.
"Hey—" Chris said, sitting up.
"Hey," JC said, pulling a t-shirt over his head.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"It's something."
"I have a headache," JC muttered.
"Okay," Chris said. "I have some aspirin someplace. Hold on." He got up and started to paw through his bag. JC sat down on the bed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. "Hangovers don't usually make you this crabby," Chris said, dropped two tablets into his palm.
"I'm not—" JC shook his head. "I wasn't that drunk anyhow." He took the aspirin.
"Then what?" Chris said, sitting down next to him. "Is it—I mean, did you not like what we did last night? You said—"
"No, it was fine."
"Fine," Chris said. He tapped his foot restlessly against the floor. After a minute said "Look, you asked—"
"I know."

Eight: over and over again
When they got back to Orlando, JC asked if Chris wanted to stay with him.
"I was going to buy a house this time," Chris said.
"You say that every time," JC said, "and then you rent some crappy apartment and spend most of your time in Justin's living room."
"Do you want me to stay with you?"
"I'll kick you out if you're a pain in the ass, okay?" JC said.
He'd gotten used to sleeping with Chris, he didn't want to say. Chris was warm, and occasionally woke him up for sex, but mostly didn't, just wrapped his arms around JC and fell asleep.
He thought Chris would get sick of it and go find an apartment after about three days, but it didn't happen that way. First they got back and it was such a relief to not have to get on a bus and go someplace every day that the first week passed in a blur of lying around, sleeping, ordering pizza and swimming in JC's pool. They had sex a few times, but mostly they slept; the last week of the tour had knocked them out, and JC had a slight cold that burst into a headcold the minute he stopped having to pretend it wasn't too bad. Chris made him soup and got some orange juice.
"You don't have to do this," JC mumbled through a kleenex, when Chris leaned over the back of the sofa with some Sudafed. "I'm not that sick."
"I know," Chris said.
"Just because we're fucking, I mean," JC said, "you don't have to feel obligated—" "Jesus," Chris said, "It's just some fucking orange juice, okay? I'd do the same for Joey or whoever—it's not because I'm fucking you, and—"
"Okay, okay," JC said. Later on, Chris sat down with him to watch Powerpuff Girls.
The next week was taken up mostly with the logistics of fucking in every room in the house. The kitchen was kind of cold, but JC's couch was deep and massive and soft, and they liked that so much that they did it there a few times. They waited for the swimming pool until the next week, because they wanted to make sure JC's cold was really gone. By then, JC had started to have a few songs he was working on, and he would mess around on the piano for long stretches of time. Fumanskeeto was having some supply problems, and Chris spent a lot of time on the phone saying things like "The stretch linen is going to cost what?" and "That's all very nice, but I would like to see a profit from this, you understand." once JC came into say he was making sandwiches and did Chris want one and found him with his head down on the table.
"eh. no big deal," Chris said, when he asked. "sucky. annoying. can we eat sandwiches and have sex?"
"yes."
Mostly, they just did it in JC's bed, over and over again, and it got to the point where he'd had sex with Chris more times than he'd ever had sex with anyone before, but he tried not to think about that.

On the tour, everything was prepaid and room service, so Chris had forgotten that JC was really very very cheap. Justin tended to call him Senor Cheapo whenever JC had outbreaks of penny-pinching, where he would tell them that if they recorded from midnight to six a.m. it would cost half as much. He was inevitably shouted down, but Chris appreciated it. Understood it. His hobby was collecting records because even when he was thirteen, a stack of old lps was only a few bucks, a record player from the Goodwill maybe ten. He hadn't been able to afford the shoes to play on an athletic team, or go on band trips, but he'd been able to buy records just by skipping lunch a few days a week. JC liked to grocery shop at the Grocery Store Outlet,
"It's great," he said, "I haven't been recognized even once."
"Really?"
"Also, those little cans of grapefruit juice are six for a dollar."
The Grocery Store Outlet sold overstock, and out of season food products, so you could buy tubes of Fourth of July cookie dough with a red and blue food coloring flag in the middle in February, cans of black beans for 39 cents apiece, weird sports drinks that no one had ever bought, maple syrup that had a temperature gauge on the side that you were supposed to microwave until it reached the right temperature, cereal bars, and novelty ice cream flavors, tinned fish and bread that went moldy in four days unless you put it in the refrigerator, whipped cream in the can, gouda heels, vitamins, discontinued laundry detergent in giant vats, TV dinners, Halloween candy.
"This is really cool," Chris said, by the second aisle. "These are really cheap," he said, tossing a bag of taco chips into the cart.
"I know," JC said, swaying close to him behind the giant stack of cans of pumpkin that towered over their heads. Because it was the Grocery Store Outlet, there were no security cameras, not even one of those convex mirrors, so Chris leaned over and kissed him quickly.
When Chris found the cardboard box full of samples of Nacho-flavored Wheat Thins that were 12 for a dollar, and scooped half the box into their cart, JC said, "I'm kind of turned on right now," and when they got back, they put the milk in the refrigerator and the ice cream in the freezer and then went to JC's room to screw, JC laughing as they kissed at first, and later digging his fingernails into Chris' shoulder and saying "Harder, harder. hard—" After that they lay in bed and ate nacho flavored Wheat Thins.
"These are kind of gross," JC said, opening a new packet.
"Well, they decided to discontinue them," Chris said, picking at the orange gunk in his teeth.
Four days later, Justin said "These are fucking disgusting, what are these?"
"They were 12 for a dollar," JC said.
"You're fucking insane," Justin said. "Do you want me to buy you a box of crackers?"
"These are crackers," Chris said, keeping himself from saying 'we have crackers' just in time, because the others didn't know, still didn't know.

Chris liked JC's house, which was big but not freakishly so, and light on the marble and columns and mood lighting which made Justin's house so odd.
"I feel like I'm on a porno set when I'm there," Chris said.
"You kind of are on a porno set," JC said, leaning on the counter and watching Chris cut onions. "I don't go over there without calling first." Chris threw the onions into the pot and started in on the carrots.
"By the way, he totally thanked me for staying with you while Britney was in town."
"oh, Britney," JC said.
"Yes. Their love is sacred," Chris said, grinning. "well. whatever. better than Joey's place, with all those goddam baby books all over the place."
"Does it occur to you that our friends suck?" JC said.
"It's pretty sad when you're the most fun," Chris said.

Near the end of their break, when they were starting to plan studio time, JC rented a terrible thriller.
"This is awful," Chris said, drinking his beer.
"It didn't look this bad at the store," JC admitted, watching while a car crashed through a window and fishtailed down the street, another car in hot pursuit.
"Did the cover have a hot chick on it, or something?" Chris asked.
"yeah," JC said.
Towards the end of the movie, for no apparent reason, the private detective tied the chief of police to her bed and licked him a lot, although mostly off screen, since the movie was only rated R.
"Damn," Chris breathed, and they watched the rest of the movie in utter silence. When the screen went blank, they sat there a moment longer. JC squirmed a little on the couch, a sharp line of color along his cheekbones.
"That looked like. fun," Chris said, hesitantly, not sure that the words would make it past the tightness in his throat.
"um," JC said, low hum. JC was a better knot tier than Chris was, and tried to talk him through it, but it was fucking with the mood, so Chris tied them and had to cut him out later when they had slid and tightened until they couldn't be untied. Scissors on the bedside table, rubbing JC's arms and shoulders when he admitted they were a little sore, JC falling asleep half on top of him, mouth against his throat.

Way back at the beginning, when the band had been mostly their idea, they'd hung out a lot. They'd talked about songs, and about the direction they'd take, and about the record deal, back when Justin had been a kid and Joey hadn't had an attention span except for singing, and they'd barely known Lance. JC used to come over to his apartment and paw through his records, and then they'd eat and sit on the floor and listen to them, back when he knew forty-three different ways to make Ramen noodles. JC used to invite him back to his house for dinner sometimes, especially near the end of the month. He liked JC's parents, who were unflappable and wry. He loved his mom, but she wasn't much of a cook, and he'd done most of the cooking for his family since he was twelve, because he could remember not to burn things. JC's dad cooked all kinds of nutty things that he dreamed up himself, peering into the pantry and the refrigerator thoughtfully and returning with bamboo shoots and garlic and lemons and onions, linguine, cod, and JC always rolled his eyes when his dad started talking about food, but Chris kind of liked it.
"You're a lot like your dad," he said once.
"What—really?" JC said. He didn't look like his dad, who was tall and broad—shouldered.
"The way you do things, or something. The way you think about things," Chris said, finally placing the distracted look on JC's face when he was thinking about a new song.
"Oh," JC said. "cool," he said, after a minute.

Nine: every little thing is about you
"Kirkpatrick," Conan said, "you been getting laid or what?" Beside him, JC went still. It was the fourth or fifth or eighth appearance they'd done in three days, and Chris hadn't been paying much attention, letting Lance and Justin do most of the talking. Chris realized that he had his arm draped over the back of JC's chair. He struggled not to move; Justin was sitting nearly in Joey's lap, after all.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because last time you were on the show, you were climbing around like a monkey on crack," Conan said. "Do we have footage of that?" he said, and they showed a few clips of Chris crawling around on the back of the couch, and climbing on Conan's desk. "So, I've concluded, through scientific observation, that someone is treating you right." He drew out the 'right', quirking his eyebrows. Chris forced a smile.
"So," JC said, slipping into his room that night. He was only wearing boxers and an undershirt. Chris was leaning against the headboard, reading, but he flipped the book and put it face down on the bedside table when JC climbed onto the bed, straddling Chris' thighs "I heard," JC said, leaning over him, grinning, "that you were getting laid."
"Really," Chris said, rubbing his hands up JC's bare thighs, sliding his fingers beneath the hem of his underwear.
"yup," JC said, and bent down to kiss him. Chris rolled his hips underneath JC, sliding his hands up over his hips to his waist and back down. When JC started kissing his neck, he made a satisfied noise in his throat, wiggling back against the pillows. "You feel good," he said, wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. JC pressed against him and slid a hand underneath his shirt, and they rolled sideways, still kissing, Chris' hand on his hip, peeling down his boxers, JC's foot sliding down the curve of Chris' calf, so when Justin and Lance burst into the room, shoving each other good naturedly, there was no way to disguise what it was, to make it into tickling or wrestling or anything like that.
"Oh—" Lance said.
"Holy Shit—" Justin said. He turned and left, yanking Lance out the door behind him. JC rolled away from Chris and said,
"um. I gotta—" and left. In the hallway, Chris could hear him shouting "Justin—"

An hour later, Chris decided that JC was probably not coming back.

"So, I think, maybe we better not anymore," JC said the next day, at breakfast, before anyone else had gotten there.
"Fine," Chris said.
"It's not like we're serious," JC said.
"Nope," Chris said.

"Are you and JC having. like. a fight?" Justin said, on the plane.
"No," Chris said.
"Okay."
"What?"
Justin shrugged. "Y'know, if you wanna be with him, it's not like it'll upset me."
"What makes you think you have any say in it," Chris said.
"I don't—"
"Christ, you think every little thing's about you, don't you—"
"Jesus, sorry, I was just trying to help."
"Don't." Chris took a sip of his bloody mary and looked out the window.

"So that was like. just a one time only thing?" Lance asked, looking studiously at the in flight magazine.
"Yup," JC said.
"Drunk, or something," Lance said, nodding.
"Sure." JC played with his ice and ate four of his peanuts. Lance flipped through an article about Barcelona.
"I made out with Joey once," Lance blurted.
"really?"
"It was in Germany," Lance muttered. "I was really homesick."
"mm." JC said. After that, Lance put on his headphones and pretended to be interested in channel 4: hot country hits of today.

Ten: exactly what I wanted you to say

JC wrote a lot of songs; some of them were even good. Chris went home to visit his family. JC hung out a lot with Lance, with whom he went to bars and ignored the business contacts Lance kept bringing along. He went over to Joey's a lot, but he always regretted it once he got there, because all Joey could talk about anymore was childbirth. Kelly was a little better. They watched soap operas together. When Jennifer called him up and asked if he felt like dating someone, he said "why not?" and went on half a dozen well publicized dates with an up and coming actress. She had been in Vanity Fair or something. He didn't pay much attention. She smoked a lot, taking cool fast drags off thin brown cigarettes in a way that made him want a cigarette desperately. He bought a pack of Marlboros, but felt too guilty after the second one to keep smoking them.
It kept him busy enough that he could pretend to be surprised that a month had gone by since he'd seen Chris.
Chris had done a lot of the grocery shopping, he realized, looking at his mostly empty refrigerator. Half a gallon of milk, some ham, two apples, a bunch of almost empty condiment jars, and four bottles of beer. That was fun; to open up the refrigerator and find all these cool fun foods there, a surprise, since you hadn't gone out and bought them yourself.
Chris did an interview while he was home about the clothing line. When they asked him about the band, he said "well, you need downtime, y'know? You can't hang around with the same people for five years without getting a little sick of them. Sometimes you just need to get the hell out of town." JC clipped it out and stuck it on his refrigerator with a magnet.

He saw him again in the hospital waiting room, two weeks later. Justin had gone off to find them some food, and Chris walked in, coat over his arm, peering around uncertainly, and smiled when he saw JC.
"She have it yet?" he said.
"probably another four or five hours," JC said.
"What the hell are we doing here, then," Chris said.
"Justin drove me, and he won't take me home," JC said.
"I'll take you home," Chris said.
"We should probably just stay," JC said. "In case. Joey. y'know."
"Okay," Chris said, and sat down next to him. JC flipped listlessly through a Modern Maturity that he'd already read. "So," Chris said. "you're dating someone."
"Yeah."
"That's nice," Chris said coolly.
"It's not serious," JC said. Then Joey came out and said it had been a false alarm, and it would be another ten hours or so.
Chris drove him home.
"Do you wanna. come inside for a beer or something?" JC said, when he stopped in the driveway, because it seemed rude not to.
"Sure," Chris said, and followed him inside. He dropped his coat on the kitchen table and when JC turned around with the beer he was standing very close, mouth solemn. JC handed him a beer and bit the inside of his cheek hard to forget the way that Chris used to come up behind him at the counter while he was making something and put his hand under his shirt and drink out of his beer bottle.
He was staring.
He turned and went into the living room and sat down, but Chris stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame, watching him.
"What?" JC said, and then Chris walked toward him, putting the beer down on a table.
"Hey," he said, and bent over JC's chair, one hand on the arm.
JC flinched away from him, turning his head, and Chris mouth barely grazed his chin.
"What," Chris said, mouth near his ear.
"You know."
"Oh, c'mon, c'mon," Chris said, ran two fingers down the front of his shirt.
"Chris," JC said softly,
"please," he said, and kissed him then, one hand holding his cheek, kissed him hungrily and JC tilted his head back and sighed into Chris' mouth before beginning to kiss him back, one hand coming to his waist. When Chris put his knee on the seat next to JC's thigh though, JC twisted away from him, and Chris followed, one hand coming up to his shoulder, mouth still on his,
"No," JC said, "no—Chris, cut it out," he said, and pushed him back roughly.
Chris wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. "What, you got somebody else now?"
JC closed his eyes. "Just. please don't."
"Why not, JC, why the fuck not? It's just a lay, it's just—you could fucking forget about it after—"
"No I couldn't," he shouted, "I can't. I finally get to where I don't think about you all the time. want you, and now you want. I don't want to do that."
"What, you think I don't think about you—"
"I don't know—I don't. I just. I don't want to have sex with you."
"Fine," Chris said, and walked quickly out of the room. JC heard the door slam a moment later, and the low roar of the engine of Chris' car.

No one noticed Chris was angry at him because they were all too entertained by Joey's baby. She loved Chris and Justin, and Lance was the only one who could get her to go to sleep, but she began screaming inconsolably whenever JC got near her.
"Look, no offense, man," Joey said. He looked exhausted, wearing sweatpants and a loose dirty t-shirt. "but—"
"No, hey, it's okay," JC said glumly. "I'm going."
"Thanks," Joey said. "I'll give you a call. or. something—"
"Fine," JC said. In the other room, he could hear Chris saying "is she a good girl? is she? yes, she is. mm-hmmm."

On Saturday mornings, Chris had liked to make pancakes, and he gave the worst, most perfunctory and impatient backrubs in the world, but uncurled luxuriously under JC's hands, made soft pornographic sounds and usually wanted to fuck after.
"mm, I don't care," he said once, undulating his hips in JC's hands, "as long as I get to lie here and get fucked."
There was a place in the U Drive Me Crazy video where Chris came up behind him and hugged him. He remembered this at midnight one night, and it took him an hour to find his copy of the video, in a box in his attic. He looked really happy in that video. That had been before the whole thing had gotten really out of control. After shooting that video, he remembered, they'd gone to a Jack in the Box. They hadn't even had any security with them.

They were in the studio after that. He thought it would be better, since he'd have something to keep him occupied. It was boring being at home alone, but he didn't really feel much like pretending to be cheerful if he ran into fans, so he stayed home and swam a lot of laps in his pool. Chris had totally fucking ruined the Grocery Store Outlet, too. He couldn't go there anymore.
There were a lot of high solo parts on the new songs. He stared at Chris through the plexiglass window and wondered whose bright idea that had been, before remembering that he'd written the songs, sitting at the kitchen counter while Chris made beef stew, or in his living room, with Chris napping on the couch. When Chris sang, he screwed his eyes shut in concentration. He didn't look at JC, and when he did, his eyes passed over him almost without recognition. JC went to the bathroom and rested his forehead against the mirror, and said he was fine, when Lance asked.

Joey had the baby every few days, showing up with the plastic carrier and a diaper bag and then they never got anything done, with everyone clustered around Joey, and the baby.
"Fine," JC finally said. "I'll just be in the booth if you want to actually sing." and they actually did get something done after that, but JC had worked himself into the type of bad mood where it seemed like a concession of defeat to admit you weren't mad anymore, and Justin, when he wasn't cooing at the baby, was hanging all over Chris. "Excuse me," he said, shouldering past them so Justin jostled Chris, and the baby started crying.
"sorry—" JC said, at the same time that Chris handed the baby off to Joey and said
"What the fuck is your problem?"
JC stared at him a moment, and then his mouth tightened and he shook his head and pushed the door open, getting halfway down the hallway before he heard the door open and shut behind him, and Chris shouting
"hey—"
He ignored him and kept walking.
"What," Chris said, catching up to him, sliding past him and blocking his way. The hallway was narrow enough that he couldn't just step around him, and Chris' eyes were dark and hard. "Going off to fuck your girlfriend?"
"Fuck you," JC said, "Why do you care?"
"I don't."
"yeah," JC said flatly. "just like I didn't care when you fucked whatsername. Angie."
Chris blinked. "I didn't."
"I already know you did."
"I didn't."
"You told Joey you did, so—"
"I didn't fuck her," Chris spat, "I didn't touch her, so—"
"then why—"
"because I thought Joey would wonder why I hadn't," Chris said angrily, "and I couldn't tell him I was with you."
"You weren't with me."
"yeah," Chris said softly, and stepped back, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.
"What?"
"Turns out I'm total shit at casual sex," Chris mumbled.
"What does that mean?"
"Means I got used to being around you, and doin' dirty things to you, and I don't want to stop just because. y'know. everyone knows you're with me."
"I'm not with you," JC said again, automatically. Chris pressed his lips together.
"I want you to be," he said.
"oh."
"I think I'm in love with you," Chris said.
"Shit," JC said, surprised, falling back a step.
"Yeah, how do you think I feel about it." Chris said sullenly. JC's mouth twisted, and he turned to shove past Chris, but Chris caught his arm. "hey, wait, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."
"How d'you know you are?" JC said unwillingly, shaking off Chris hand.
"I just do," Chris said.
"Oh."
"So. yeah. I'm sorry," Chris said and turned back down the hallway. JC sighed.
"Wait."
Chris turned around, eyes unreadable in the dark of the hallway.
"You're in love with me."
Chris nodded.
"You don't think I'm boring, or that I can't take a joke, or that I'm a big geek—"
"No, I still think all of that stuff, and I still want to fuck your brains out and make you dinner after." Chris rubbed his forehead. "I miss you, I sleep like shit now."
"You miss the sex," JC said, trying to smile.
"You don't?"
"That's not—"
"It's not just the sex anyway."
"I think it is."
"I'm not gonna fucking argue about this," Chris said. "I love you."
"I just—"
"Maybe it's just the sex for you—" Chris said.
"Shut up," JC said, "I was in love with you way before you. um."
"You were not," Chris scoffed.
"I let you live in my house for two months," JC said.
"Hey—I said you could just tell me to leave and I—"
"I didn't want you to leave," JC said loudly.
"You were the one who wanted to stop the minute Justin found out," Chris shouted.
"Well you didn't seem that upset about it—"
"What did you want me to say? baby, please don't leave me, you're the best I've ever had, and, by the way, I think I'm falling in love with you—"
"yeah, that's exactly what I fucking wanted you to say—" JC said, smacking his palms back against the wall.
"oh."
"I mean, every song I've written for the last six months has been about you."
"really?" Chris looked curious now.
"yeah."
"Even that, like. sexy stalkery electronica one?"
"yeah."
"that weird obsessive one?"
"yup."
"the goopy one?"
"yeah."
"The one where 'girl' is repeated about forty-seven times?"
"uh-huh."
Chris exhaled and shook his head. "So. what you're saying is that we screwed up."
"Pretty much," JC nodded.
"And you should have just gone for Joey."
"Probably."
"You're pretty good in the sack, though," Chris said. "And you're thrifty."
"That gets you hot, huh." JC said. He smiled at the floor. Chris leaned back against the opposite wall and sighed. The only sound was their quiet breathing.
"So, I could come over tonight," Chris said finally.
"That'd be nice," JC said.

(end)

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