The Different Forms Love Takes
By Mickey M.
© November 2003

It's a good day to sit and relax. Sit in the late-fall/early winter sunshine and feel the warm spots mingling with cool breezes that bring the taste of salt water in with them when they blow off the ocean. JC thinks he can feel the spray from the waves, but knows that's not true. They're close enough to hear gulls screeching and waves breaking over the rocks below, but the café and shopping center is well above where any water will reach them. Joey and Lance are off looking at stereo systems, and Justin's shoe-shopping, but Chris is here with him, doing the kicking-back-and-chilling thing, and JC thinks that's about as good as it gets.

"I really wonder sometimes." Chris takes a swallow of his coffee and leans back in his chair, but doesn't seem inclined to say anything else. JC waits a beat or two, then arches an eyebrow. He's tempted to reach across the space between them and wipe the bit of foam that's clinging to Chris' upper lip, but he's not sure he can do it without making it seem as intimate as it feels, so he doesn't.

"Wonder about--?" He prompts finally, when Chris just keeps staring back at him. He licks his lips and watches Chris repeat the action, and yeah, there goes the foam. JC wants to kiss the sticky-sweet residue that's left, but if touching is out, kissing is definitely a no-no.

"About that." Chris nods at the guy who's just passed their table, head turned slightly toward them - toward JC - before he's too far past to keep looking. "You turn heads everywhere, man. You could have anyone - guy, girl, animal, mineral or vegetable, probably - but...it's me."

"And?" He's used to jokes about 'JC the space case', or 'has the mother ship contacted you yet, C?', but in this case, JC's really not following whatever the hell Chris is on about. "What's you? What, Chris?"

"You're...it's me. That you're with. When you could have anyone you wanted. So, I wonder, sometimes-why."

"Huh." He takes a swallow of his own coffee, wondering where this streak of uncertainty is coming from. In all the time JC's known Chris, he doesn't remember him being insecure. "Maybe because...I want you? Because I think you're hot? Because you're good in bed? Because you're smart and you make me laugh? Because I love you, you ass?"

Chris snickers. "Way to compliment me, Chasez. Call me names. Yeah." Another swallow of coffee, another bit of foam. At this rate, JC will be insane before the others finish up their shopping and show up.

"Well if the shoe fits."

"Your shoes wouldn't fit me on a bet." Chris licks his lips again and JC sighs, imagining how they'd taste of cinnamon and spice and rich, whipped cream. Okay, so, they're not still in the 'honeymoon' phase - and what a stupid name for something anyway - but it's like sometimes, everything Chris does is sexy. Turns him on. Or at the very least is adorable. Joey calls him whipped and teases him relentlessly, but whatever. That's what love's supposed to be about anyway, right?

"Penny for your thoughts, dude." A droplet of water splashes him, and JC considers the wisdom of a water fight in public then shrugs and flicks some water from his cup back at Chris. "No, seriously. Nickel, maybe? For inflation?"

JC glances around once and shrugs. "Just, y'know. Nothing to-I'm with you 'cos I want to be, Chris." He's glad it's cool and windy out; not so many people sitting outside so they can actually have this conversation. He tucks his hair back behind his ear, grimacing when the wind flips it back again. He likes it longer, but it's kind of a pain in the ass sometimes, too.

"But you could have anyone." Chris frowns down at his coffee cup.

"I have who I want, cat." He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Honestly, what would it take? I'd love you no matter what, seriously."

That gets him a smirk. "Yeah? And what if I was a complete slug, with no personality, and lousy in bed?"

"As long as you don't bite when you're going down on me, it's cool." JC reaches for his water glass sitting on the table and flicks a couple of droplets toward Chris. Just beyond the edge of the café's outdoor railing, he sees Lonnie's huge form. "And you're kinda sluggish anyway, 'til the caffeine hits. Old man." He darts up out of his chair before Chris can process his words, and hops the rail just as he hears his outraged growl.

He laughs when Chris catches up a minute later, eyes sparkling, and presses up close to him. "Don't think I'll forget that, Chasez."

"Don't think I will," he retorts.

Seriously-he'd love Chris, no matter what. It's one of those things that's been building for years, literally. He can't imagine not loving him, at this point.

The relaxing day stays that way, kicking off a couple weeks' worth of vacation and general down-time while they finish up some studio stuff. There are a few interviews lined up for them - radio spots only - but otherwise, it's quiet time from now until after Christmas. JC's glad, because he needs the break. They all need the break.

He pounces on Chris the minute they get back to their house, letting the door slam shut behind them before pinning him to the wall and kissing him. Chris' mouth tastes like he thought it would, rich and heavy with cinnamon and whipped cream, spices layered over his tongue, creating flashpoints of heat when Chris returns the kiss, licking around his mouth.

"Want you," he manages, the words growled into Chris' mouth, swallowed down into their kiss. "All day, man."

Chris' hands are hot against his bare skin, fingers sliding up under his shirt, teasing over his ribs, scratching gently against the hair under his arms, slipping back around to rub over his nipples. They part with a gasp, breath coming heavy and ragged, and JC leans in to bite Chris roughly, teeth scoring his neck. Salt and a musky taste combine on his tongue, mix with the spices, making JC's head spin wildly. He bites again, reaching to tug Chris' pants open.

"Saw you eyeing me," Chris groans. "Slut, can't even go a few hours. God, C-"

"Shut up." He makes short work of the zipper on Chris' pants and yanks hard at his fly, glad for worn denim that parts easily, buttons sliding through holes with no resistance. He bites down again when Chris' fingers close around his dick, fingernails scratching through dark curls, into the skin beneath. Heat coils tight inside him when Chris draws his hand back, stroking his length. "Fuck-" He reaches for Chris, pants out, "need this."

The sound Chris makes is something like a snort, almost a sob, hoarse and needy. He arches against JC, cock rubbing against JC's belly, leaving a damp, sticky trail of moisture. The memory of what that dampness tastes like, slick and salty and a little bitter, wriggles through JC's mind; a potent sense memory. His mouth waters and he steps closer, drags the fingertips of his free hand over the tip of Chris' cock before bringing them to his mouth to lick clean. Chris pulls JC's fingers from his mouth and sucks them into his, and the fire in his belly takes off like wildfire.

It's hard and fast, rough and wild, right there in the foyer where anyone could look through the glass on either side of the door. Prying eyes could narrow, focus, see shadowy shapes through the smoky glaze, and maybe hear the soft groans and hoarse cries. JC doesn't care and doesn't think Chris does, either. They push clothing up and down enough to get bare skin against bare skin, hot and sweaty in the cool air, and it's so good. He loves soft and slow and easy, but rough like this is fantastic. Heady. Like they let themselves go and just rut.

And when he's sweaty and panting, leaning against Chris and the wall in equal measures, chest heaving and body glowing with satiation, JC knows they can go upstairs and shower, then do it again.

Which they do, slow and easy, and loving.

Later, lying beside Chris and breathing in the sharp scent of semen and sweat, his mouth swollen with kisses, he whispers into Chris' skin, says the words like a prayer. "Can't imagine not loving you. Not having this. No matter what, Chris."

A soft sigh is the only answer he gets.

He's not sure what wakes him up. Not his bladder; he doesn't have that 'gotta go now' feeling. It's just-something's not right. Something's off. JC stares up at the ceiling for a minute, blinking, trying to remember what he'd been dreaming about; if that was what woke him.

It's dawn, or just past; the room's bathed in a soft rose color, quiet hues leaking in through the gauzy curtains. Chris prefers blinds, but JC likes the curtains. Likes them filmy and colored, so the light changes and shifts around him. It makes his skin feel cool, or warm, makes waking up an easier thing, blurring the line between dreams and wakefulness.

It's warmer in bed than usual and JC frowns as he shifts over. Chris is probably still sleeping; he has a tendency to crash and hard on the days they get to call vacation days. When his hand brushes something like thick fur JC gasps in surprise; the short, sharp growl that greets him when he sits up and looks makes him blink, rub his eyes, then rub them again.

That gets him another growl, then a quick bark, short and fast, like a laugh.

Dog. There's a dog curled up beside him.

A dog, and no Chris.

It's a gorgeous dog, though he's not certain of the breed. Fairly good-sized, definitely not a small dog. Dark fur - almost blue-black, it's so dark - that looks soft and thick, and JC reaches out to touch, smiles a little when his fingers sink into softness. The dog whines once and shifts closer to him, and JC pets and scratches softly.

"Who are you, boy? Where'd you come from?"

It's possibly the weirdest thing JC's ever had happen to him. Or for sure in the top five. Two. No, definitely the weirdest. He eyes the dog staring at him, and shakes his head. The eyes watching him closely spark mischievously, and if he lets his vision blur just a little, JC can almost imagine the silky black fur he's petting absently spiked up a bit with styling gel... or twisted into dreads. He rubs over the dog's neck and his fingers brush a chain of silver beads.

He pulls his hand back so fast the dog wuffs at him, a short, sharp bark, obviously chastising him. Those eyes. He just doesn't know what to think. Or do. Or say. He licks his lips once, wetting them.

"Um. Chris--?"

Which is just plain ridiculous, because-no. This doesn't happen in real life. This is. No. But the dog barks again, something that sounds joyful, and then he grunts because he has a lap full of dog, warm wet tongue lapping at his face, almost nuzzling. And he's torn between laughing, for figuring it out, and crying, because-Chris.

"How'd this happen, man?" He pets the silky head, scratching gently behind Chris' ears, and wonders when he woke up in an alternate universe. Chris makes a soft 'wuffing' sound and settles into JC's lap - mostly - and licks at his thigh. It tickles, and reminds JC of why he's naked so that it can tickle, and he bats him away gently. Chris wuffs again, then goes back to licking. "Stop. Chris."

He gets a soft whine and when he looks down, those eyes. He wouldn't've believed it - even with Chris answering, more or less, to his name - but those eyes couldn't belong to anyone else. "Jesus. How'm I going to explain this? Who-the guys are never gonna believe it. And. God." It's actually too much to process. His boyfriend is a dog. Chris watches him intently, like he knows what JC's saying. "This is so weird, man. I hope you turn back. Soon." He leans back against his pillow, feeling oddly detached from everything, and watches Chris-the-dog settle against him, nose warm and moist against his leg. "Please," he whispers, and closes his eyes. Maybe if he sleeps, and wakes up again, this will have just been a really freaky, unsettling dream. Maybe it's just a dream right now, and he'll wake up properly in the morning, and he and Chris can laugh about it.

Because this can't be real.

No. Not a dream. JC figures that out really fast when he's jerked out of warm, sexy dreams of him and Chris in Puerta Vallarta last spring by an anxious, sharp bark, and the dog - Chris - pacing back and forth in front of the bedroom door.

"Wha--? Chris? What's wrong?"

Another bark, this one sharper, and Chris scuffles at the door, nails clicking against the wood. Oh. Oh. JC gets out of bed quickly, and opens the door, trailing behind the rapidly-vanishing form as fast as possible. He doesn't watch where Chris goes when he shoots through the back door after JC opens it; just sags against the wall and contemplates why and how this could possibly be happening.

It's a relief when Chris reappears, tongue lolling, eyes bright. If JC didn't know better - and admittedly, he doesn't - he'd say Chris is grinning at him.

"How do I tell the other guys about this?" He squats down and pets Chris again, fingers sliding through thick, silky fur. Chris whines softly and leans into his touch, nose cold against JC's bare thigh. "First, I guess, shower and get dressed. And then call-them." He sighs, wanting to freak out, but torn too, because he doesn't want to upset Chris. "Are you in there, man?" He holds the dog's head carefully and stares into dark eyes, looking solemnly. They sparkle back at him and JC's sure he can see Chris in there, he just can't-get to him. "I'll get you something to eat after I shower-god. What do I feed you? Kibble? Deli food? Fuck."

Chris isn't any help; he barks and whines and rears back, dancing around JC's ankles when he pushes off the wall. They do the odd ballet across the living room and up the stairs, Chris rubbing and sniffing and barking happily until JC shuts him out of the bathroom so he can shower.

He turns the water on high and pretends he doesn't hear Chris whining miserably through the door. Instead he leans against the cool tiles of the shower wall and lets himself believe all the water running down his face is from the shower.

"You're sure this is Chris?" Justin pets the dog again, long scritches along his back, ruffling his fur then smoothing it out. JC watches until he feels drowsy, then shakes his head and looks pointedly at the chain resting on the coffee table, then at Justin.

"He answers to his name. And look at his eyes, man. And dude, he was sleeping in my bed."

"But-maybe. Um. Chris went out? Left, um--?" Joey frowns when Lance whaps him on the head.

"Chris left without telling anyone where he went, and meanwhile left a big dog sleeping in their bed? A big dog who just happened to be wearing his necklace?"

"You don't have to be pissy about it, Jesus." Joey rubs at his head. "It was just a suggestion."

"Nah, man, I'm pretty sure it's Chris. Even without the necklace thing." JC sighs. "Watch." He whistles once, and Chris perks up, turning away from Justin's ministrations. "Chris-go get me your jacket. The one with the patches on it." He doesn't watch Chris; he watches the other three, their eyes widening slowly when Chris returns with the requested jacket in his mouth. JC smiles and rubs his ears as he takes the jacket. "Good boy. Can you bring me your Docs? Or, just one. One's fine."

He has Chris bring several other things that only Chris could know, his heart aching a little more each time.

"So now what do we do?" Joey's petting Chris now, the big dog curled up against him, black fur shining darkly against JC's cream-colored sofa. "Is he gonna change back? What happened to change him to start with? Did he piss someone off, or something?"

"Someone?" Justin smirks. "Been reading fantasy novels again, yo?"

"Shut up." Joey scowls. "It's a reasonable question."

"I don't know." JC's looking at Chris thoughtfully, going over yesterday in his head. "We didn't do anything yesterday that you guys weren't around for. I mean-coffee, but we just sat and bullshitted 'til you showed up. Then, y'know. We had lunch, and me and Chris came home."

"And then?" Lance raises an eyebrow and JC grins.

"Need details, cat?"

"No!" Joey and Justin clap their hands over their ears at the same time. "I'm still scarred from listening to y'all on the bus." Justin shakes his head. "Please, man, no details."

"Nah." JC sighs and looks back at Chris, watching him carefully. His tail wags when he notices JC watching him, and JC smiles in spite of himself. He's missed having Baron around, but it was easier for Tyler to keep him while they were traveling to and fro. He pats his lap. "C'mere, boy." The other three men shake their heads when Chris leaps off Joey and plants himself at JC's feet, tail thumping excitedly on the floor.

"God, this is weird." Justin sighs. "'M gettin' a drink, man." JC nods, his attention on Chris, on scratching carefully around his ears.

Lance is watching him - them. "You gonna be okay, C?"

He shrugs. "I-dunno. Really. I mean, sure-I can take care of a dog." He looks up and tries a smile. "It's still Chris, too. I mean, I love him...I'm not gonna kick him out or anything. Or have you guys take him. But-"

Lance smiles. "But you want Chris back."

"Yeah. I mean-as himself." He's glad when Lance crosses the room and hugs him, brushing a kiss across the top of his head. "You think he'll change back?" And wow, his voice is kind of hoarse.

"I have...no idea." Lance pets JC's hair, fingers weaving slowly back and forth. "Not a lot of experience with this, y'know? Like, none."

"Thanks." He manages to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, because seriously, no, this isn't an area any of them have any experience. "Should I-what should I do?" He's aware of Joey and Justin moving around the room, talking softly to each other, but it's background noise. Inside himself, he's shouting, screaming, afraid he won't ever see Chris again, afraid he'll hurt him somehow - stupid thought, that, but it's there.

"Just wait and see, I guess." Lance pauses, looks down at the dog settled patiently, happily, at JC's feet. When Chris looks up at JC, his eyes sparkle again. JC swallows hard. "It was just sorta spontaneous, he could change back tomorrow."

Or never; JC hears the unspoken words. None of them know. He - they - will just have to wait and see.

"We'll take the interview tomorrow, C." Justin's voice is right behind him, big hand settling lightly on his shoulder. JC nods and leans back, trusting Justin to be right there to catch him. Just like Chris seems to trust JC will be right there when he needs him.

"Call us if you need anything, okay?" Joey's on his other side. Surrounded by his brothers, his friends. "Hell, call us if you don't." He doesn't need to see Joey's face to see the smile there, and his own mouth curves.

"Call anytime I want, just to razz you, huh?"

"Don't wake the baby." Joey growls, then winks. "And don't disturb me and Kel."

"So don't call, is that what you're saying?" Lance does a great dry chuckle; the deep voice makes it almost more tactile than auditory, like shivers rippling up and down JC's spine. Chris looks up and barks once, and JC laughs.

They settle into a pattern, he and Chris. Up early for a quick walk for necessary purposes, then JC loads them both into the Jeep he's using out here in California and they head down toward the beach. It's chilly, since it's December, though there are a few die-hard surfers out, wet-suits making them look like large, sleek seals. Chris seems to enjoy the beach just as much as a dog as he did as a man, and JC enjoys throwing a Frisbee and playing catch. It's fun to watch Chris jump for it, tongue lolling from his mouth when he opens wide to grab the Frisbee. He's graceful, and gorgeous, an absolutely beautiful dog. After their walk and frisbee session it's time to go back to the house and relax. JC pretends it's just another vacation and tries to write, doing more scribbling and doodling than actual writing. Chris naps, head resting on JC's knee, or curled against him on the couch. Dinner is usually quiet, unless one of the guys drops in, and then they walk again before bed, enjoying the cool air and quiet of the neighborhood. Chris sleeps on the bed with JC, generally curled up beside him, a warm, living presence.

JC gets hit on at least once every time they go to the beach or the park - usually women, but sometimes other guys. Chris doesn't seem to like that at all, and growls low and menacingly, teeth showing just a little, hair bristling on the back of his neck. This particular trip to the park it's a guy, stopping in the midst of his jog to pat Chris condescendingly, and flirt with JC. JC is polite back, but not overly so, but the guy gets more obnoxious as the minutes pass. Chris seems to tolerate him at first, then seems to recognize JC's irritation and growls again, more teeth showing.

"What the hell's up with your dog, man?" The guy - John? Jerry? J-something - steps aside nervously, pulling his hand away from where it'd brushed not-so-casually against JC's ass.

"He's, um. Kinda. Possessive?" JC tugs gently on the chain he'd hooked back around Chris' neck. The other guys thought it was probably a good idea for Chris to have some kind of identification, so attached to the chain was a small tag that had JC's name, address and phone number. Just in case. "C'mon, Chris, chill." Chris stops growling, but he's still-glaring, if dogs can do that.

"Whatever, man. Freaky dog." J-whoever backs up another step and JC bites his lip to hide his grin. "Does he bite?"

"Uh. Only if he doesn't like you?"

"What if-uh." Another growl and another step back, and JC can hardly stop his lips from twitching. "Y'know, I think I'm just, um. Gonna go finish my run. Yeah. Later, man."

"Yeah, later." JC waves and flips the guy off as he disappears down the jogging path. Chris whines and JC drops to his knees beside him. "You're a good boy, aren't you? And definitely possessive." He gets a sloppy lick to his face and neck, and laughs, burying his face in Chris' neck and hugging him for a moment before standing up so they can finish their walk.

Evenings are really the best, because JC opens up the sliding door to the patio off their bedroom, and lays on the bed and lets the cool air blow in. Chris curls up against him, head resting on JC's stomach. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine Chris is there with him, hair sliding through his fingers as he strokes, while they talk about this or that, things they want to do, stuff they've done. JC imagines the conversations like,

"I had an idea for a different bridge on that song I showed you yesterday-slow it down and drop it an octave, then bring you in above that, in harmony." And Chris would answer back, show interest in how the new bridge should go.

Or maybe Chris mentions the sketches he's been looking at for the newest FuMan line. JC could comment on the ones he likes the best, and they could argue about which colors were better, lavender or dark purple, and if white was actually a color - because that was an argument they had over and over again.

JC's thinking about how he might tell Dani...and Chris' mom...if Chris doesn't change back, and he must tighten his fingers in the warm fur because Chris yelps softly and nudges him. "What? I'm sorry-did I hurt you?" Chris whines and JC rubs his fingers gently where he pulled. "What do I tell your mom, Chris? I mean-I know you've set stuff up to take care of them, but. Do I fly us back to Florida and say 'hey, Bev...I know you love your son and all, but how about a dog instead?"

Chris growls at him and JC rolls his eyes. "Dumbass. I wouldn't do it that way, but you know what I mean." He waits for an affirmative sound. "I know you're in there. Part of you, anyway. You know who I am, anyway. And I think you know the other guys - but would you...I mean, your mom. And sisters." JC strokes Chris' head. "It's great to go to the beach and stuff, man. I love doing that stuff with you. But Chris. Dude. I miss you. I miss, y'know. Cuddling. And talking. One-sided conversations just aren't my thing. I keep losing track of the stuff I want to tell you when you've changed back. And I have a list somewhere of stuff to ask you about, later...but what if there isn't a later?"

He blinks his eyes fast, because they sting and he refuses to cry over this. He loves Chris, he will always love Chris...and here with him as a dog is better than not with him at all. But holy fuck, it's hard to have him lying here, and not have him here.

It's still weird as hell, even though he's starting to get used to dog, rather than human, curled up beside him. JC wipes his eyes and looks over, blinks when he realizes Chris is watching him carefully, eyes tracking every movement. He whines softly and nudges his head into JC's hand, then whimpers. "Do you...you understand me, don't you?" He watches, half expecting Chris to nod, and is a little disappointed when he doesn't. But he thinks Chris really does understand, at least on some level. More so than the average, real dog would, anyway. "It's not that I don't like you like this. I do. I just. It's a human thing, I guess. I miss you."

He's said the same thing a dozen different ways, a dozen times a day, over the last week. He wonders if Chris is as tired of hearing it as he is.

JC falls asleep to the slick sensation of Chris licking his hand, tongue weaving between his fingers in an almost-but-not-quite tickling sensation.

"You need to get out of the house for a while, yo." Justin's tapping his foot impatiently against the bottom rung of the bar stool, and JC scowls at him.

"I get out every day. At least twice a day, sometimes more."

"Alone?"

"Chris and I go for walks-"

"Dude. Have you been away from him since he, y'know, turned?" Justin's voice drops a notch, and JC shakes his head.

"You don't have to whisper. He doesn't-really follow conversations. Just. No, Justin."

"I'm getting worried about you, C. Have you called your mom? His mom? What're y'all gonna do about Christmas? Weren't you guys going to Chicago and then to Florida?"

"What the hell would I tell his mom, J? 'Sorry, your son's a dog, now'? Yeah. 'Cos that'd go over so well." JC sighs and leans against the refrigerator, resting his head against the cool surface.

"You seriously need to get out of here for a while, man." Justin hops off the stool and touches JC's shoulder. "Let's go-somewhere. Get a beer, have a sandwich."

"It's ten-forty-five in the morning." Justin ambushed them coming back from their morning romp in the park. JC thinks he shouldn't leave the house anymore, not that that would stop the guys. They all have keys to the house.

"So no beer. Just, c'mon. Let's go shopping at the thrift stores in WeHo. Something. Dude, I'm flying back to Tennessee tomorrow; let's hang for a bit, okay?"

"Fine." JC pauses to look at Chris. He's watching him again, his dark eyes sad, sorrowful. "I-no, J. I can't."

Justin frowns. "The hell you can't. He's a dog, JC. For right now, anyway. And you need...just for an hour or two. Please. C'mon, man."

Chris barks then, sharp and abrupt, and JC wonders, is he arguing for or against Justin? He bends down and pets him gently, smoothing the fur down his back.

"Okay. You win. Chris-um. Stay. And I'll...I'll be back in a little while. Okay?"

He feels like a traitor when Chris wags his tail hard, eyes snapping and sparkling. The sloppy lick to his face feels oddly like a goodbye kiss, and JC wishes he could remember what the last kisses he shared with Chris tasted like. He vaguely remembers spice, and tells Justin on the way out the door that he wants to get a gingerbread latte at Starbucks while they're out.

JC spends a few hours out with Justin, shopping and having lunch.

He spends the rest of the day sitting on the couch, Chris snuggled up against him while JC brushes him slowly, soothingly, making his coat snap and crackle. It's hard to tell who enjoys it - or needs it - more, him or Chris.

Afterward he hugs Chris gently, arms circling around his neck. "Love you," he whispers into silky black fur.

His dreams are strange things that night. Dreams of when he and Chris went to Mexico for a long weekend and spent the whole time inside the hotel, fucking and drinking and smoking up, cuddling in bed afterward, just snuggling. It's a nice, happy dream that turns sexy hot when Chris pins him to the bed and licks him from head to toe and back again before going down on him and blowing his mind.

He aches in his dream, hard and horny, body throbbing hotly, even after his orgasm. Chris teases him erect again then leaves him like that, staring down at him mockingly, eyes dark and angry. He morphs into a dog, but it's a different dog than he is in JC's reality. He's bigger, lighter in color, and mean. Snapping and growling at everyone, including JC. He talks, in the dream, a thick, growly voice that accuses and shames JC.

You said you loved me. That you'd love me no matter what. That I was the one you wanted. But you don't want me now, do you?

He cries out in the dream, hard and aching, scared and lonely. "I do want you, man-told you I do. Love you. Please, Chris...I don't. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do."

Dream-Chris growls again before morphing back into his Chris, but a different Chris. Chris from several years ago, hair twisted into dreads. It doesn't make sense, because they weren't together then, but it's a dream, and it's Chris, and JC's so glad to see him human again, he doesn't care if it's not his Chris.

His mouth tastes different when they kiss, spicy and hot, and good. JC licks at Chris' lips eagerly, desperately, mewling when Chris bites at him as he grinds down. He can't move; he's pinned to the bed, but not by Chris. He can't tell what or how or why, he just is. And he's lost in the sensations, thick hair swirling over his fingers, across his chest, coarse and prickly, and then a tongue laps at his cock, swirling hot and wet over the tip, down the shaft, over his balls. He hears a high-pitched whine, realizes it's him, he's crying out, arching into the wet heat covering him, hips fucking upward to get suction, friction, anything. Orgasm blasts through him, a bomb detonating inside and spiraling outward. When he arches upward and opens his eyes, JC shivers at the eyes staring back at him, at the love and lust tangled inside.

In the morning, he's sticky, the sheets are sticky, and JC shivers as he pets Chris, remembering how he morphed back and forth within the dream.

He's pretty sure it was dog-Chris who stared at him so intensely after - as - he came.

Joey calls him from Orlando to see how he's doing. Lance calls from Mississippi. His mom calls from Chicago.

JC calls Bev and tells her the same thing he told his mom: they both have a nasty case of the flu and the doctor suggested not flying. Chris wanted to call, but his voice is completely gone from coughing and hacking, so he asked JC to do it.

"Tell my son to get well, and you both take care of yourselves. You're stubborn men, both of you. Stay put 'til you feel better. The world won't end if you're not back in the studio next week."

"I'm sorry we can't make it-" he begins, not even having to fake a hoarse voice.

"JC," Bev says quietly. "I love you like I love my son, but you're both grown men. If you can't make it back you can't make it back. There will be other Christmases, other times. Get well, okay? Give Chris a hug and a kiss for me, and I'll call on Christmas day so Taylor and Em can say hi."

"Okay." His throat is tight; too tight to swallow, or breathe, or speak. JC mumbles something in response to Bev's goodbye, then hangs up the phone and stares miserably at Chris. "I suck at lying, don't I?" Chris yips a reply, then jumps up against JC, panting. "Need to go out? Wanna go for a walk?" Another yip makes him smile. "Then let's go."

Better to be out, walking. If they stay in, he'll want to sleep. And if he sleeps...he might dream again. And god. No.

The dreams that night are almost a repeat of the night before: sex and anger, with Chris moving back and forth between canine and human. JC isn't even sure which one Chris is when orgasm rips through him like a flashfire; he comes, panting out something that sounds like 'please', before falling into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

It's been twelve days since JC woke to find a dog in bed beside him. He hugs Chris every night before bed and tells him he loves him, then closes his eyes and prays to have his Chris back.

He's disappointed - but not - every morning. He wonders if he loves the dog just as much now as he loved Chris, just differently...then remembers his dreams and wonders how different anything is.

The dreams have grown more intense each night, and JC kind of starts hating to go to sleep and to wake up with equal intensity. So when he dreams of a warm, wet tongue sliding over his dick, over his balls, across his hole, he clings to it, shifts around, arches into the touch.

"Chris..." He whispers it, knowing it's not real, just a dream. Can't be real, because Chris isn't Chris anymore - right now - so he's dreaming. Again. But that tongue. Oh, god. So good, just like Chris, lapping at him slow...then faster. Harder. Snaking into him, slick and hot and Jesus. JC reaches between his legs to stroke himself and his fingers brush over silky fur, and he freezes. Freezes, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel the pulse of arousal thrum through him, the hotslick tongue teasing him open, making him ache.

"No-" He tries to push Chris - the dog, dammit! - away, and hears a low growl. Oh, god. It's not. He shouldn't do this. It's not a dream now, he's awake, wide awake. But god, it feels good. So good. And another long swipe of Chris' tongue makes him shudder, blood pounding hot and fast, and JC whimpers and shifts, moves his legs wider apart, chest pressed to the mattress, hips and ass up in the air.

I wasn't naked when I went to bed.

His sweat bottoms are on the floor beside the bed. Through the heat coloring his vision, JC sees them, a puddle of gray fabric. Conscious? Subconscious? God.

Chris nips at him gently, the fleshy part of his ass, just a scratch of teeth, and JC whimpers again. "Please...oh, god, please." More wet heat sliding over him, tonguing his hole, lapping at his balls. At his cock. He's shaking now, it's too much. Sensation overload, and the dizzying rightwrongyesno rocketing around in his brain. When Chris licks up and over the head of his cock, JC cries out, his body shaking as he comes, thick spatters of heat against his belly, mingling with the thin slickness of Chris' tongue.

Chris whines a little and licks again, and when he hazards a look, he'd swear the dog looks pleased with himself. A smirk he's seen on Chris' face more times than he can count. The soft slurping noise Chris makes sends a tendril of lust through him again, makes him babble aloud the words circulating through his brain.

"Taste good? You like that? Good boy--Oh, god. Chris...Jesus." His brain re-engages, and he's just. He let. He let a dog...god. Sure, it's Chris, but...it's not. And Chris is sniffing at him again...still...tongue working up and down still-throbbing, sensitive flesh, and JC groans when he starts to harden again. He's not fifteen, for fuck's sake. But it's so...different. Much different. And it's wrong, but why...is it? And then Chris licks him again and his brain shorts out, sparkles into nothing more than silverhot streaks of need slamming through him.

He aches, literally. Cock is throbbing again, his asshole is throbbing - empty, he thinks fuzzily, pushing back against the tongue. Hasn't been fucked in...however long since Chris turned. Couple of weeks. Long time. He grits his teeth and reaches beneath himself, strokes his dick slowly. In time with the tongue fucking his ass. Whimpers softly and hears Chris whine in response. "Please...please, Chris-" Not sure what he's asking...begging for. And he's still not sure Chris really can understand. He's not...Chris right now.

JC twists to get his hand up by his chest and pinches and tugs on a nipple. He's beyond aroused; his blood is literally pounding through him. Nipples tight, hard points on his chest, aching for a touch. His ass, open and ready, so slick and wet from Chris' tongue. Fuck me... God, can he say it out loud? He swallows roughly and shoves back, hears the words tear out of his throat in a hoarse, rough plea. "Fuck me. Please. Please, Chris."

There's a soft bark in answer, and a nuzzle...almost gentle. Loving. JC's shaking, he's so turned on, so freaked out, so-so many things. He turns over, just a little, and looks at Chris, sitting there behind him, panting, eyes snapping at him, dick completely unsheathed. Red and angry-looking, and JC wants it inside.him.now. He reaches out tentatively and touches the tip, hears Chris' growl as much as feels it shake his bones. Gently, carefully, fists it and strokes down, up, shaking at the thought of what he's doing...what he wants. What they're going to do.

His hands shake when he pushes Chris away and reaches for the nightstand drawer. Lube. Need lube for this, because-no. It's different; Chris' cock is shaped differently, but JC knows enough to know that doing this without lube would be insanely stupid and probably damn painful.

Dark eyes watch him squirt the lube onto his fingers, watch him prepare himself thoroughly. JC wonders if the lust he sees in those eyes is real, or imagined. Maybe just himself projecting - except Chris is still hard, panting a little while he waits for JC to finish. He tosses the tube blindly when he's done, then sits up and reaches for Chris again, slides his slick fingers over the strange cock. Strange, but not, and the sound Chris makes is so close to what he's heard before it sends a spike of pain through the pleasure.

"Please," he whispers again, stroking Chris, feeling him pulse in his hand. Chris snuffles, licks at his neck, opens and bites down very gently. JC swallows and lets go, leans back and bares his throat. Chris bites again, then barks, sharp and short. JC rolls back onto his stomach and pushes his ass up in the air, panting shallowly, hunger arcing through him. "Now...Chris. Good boy. Now. Please..."

He grunts when Chris shifts against him, shuddering at the tickle of silky fur rubbing against him. Chris licks him again, tongue slick, hot, wetting him down.

The heavy weight increases, not unbearable, but different, and JC shifts, spreads his legs wider. The nails digging into his back hurt, sharp prickles of pain that radiate outward, then burn, then dull into just more sensation. Then he doesn't care because sharp hot bright pain flares through him and he growls himself, thrusting back instinctively when Chris mounts him. That first surge of pain gives way to intense sensation, and god, he's stretched so wide, so open, and it's just incredible.

Chris is big. Hard. Hot. So much hotter, and JC's slick and open both from the tonguing and his own preparation, and so ready. The hot breath against his neck makes his hair stand on end, makes him want to wiggle back and impale himself as hard and fast as possible.

It's nothing like sex with Chris...as Chris. It's faster, harder, no gentleness at all. But it's so raw, so hot, and JC's tense with need, with a hunger he doesn't even recognize. He can feel Chris deeper than he's ever felt before, his dick swelling inside, brushing against JC's prostate with each fierce stroke. Big, and getting bigger, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he feels swollen and ready to burst. He strokes his own dick, fingers slick with pre-come, each touch a burst of pleasurepain all through him.

I'm getting fucked by a dog, he thinks, shuddering as heat rolls through him. He wonder what it looks like, him on his knees and chest, ass in the air, Chris mounting him. God. GOD. He jerks himself hard, faster, feels the orgasm streak whitehot through him at the same time Chris swells impossibly huge inside him, a knot of hard tissue expanding as he comes deep inside JC.

There's pain, and then there's pain, and JC's still trying to figure out which one this is. He's not unfamiliar with the concept of dogs fucking; he's seen it, before, seen the dog tied to his bitch after coming - and that thought sends shards of heat trickling through him like sharp pieces of glass. It feels good and hurts at the same time, just thinking these things. It's hard to maintain this position - his back aches from the strain - though he doesn't really have a choice. If he tried to force Chris off him now, he'd do more damage than waiting a few more minutes could do. He trembles though when Chris shifts around and pulls; the separation of their bodies hurts and leaves JC feeling empty and aching deep inside, and not from the pain of penetration or anything else.

He just feels empty.

Chris snuffles at him, licks over his chest and belly before nuzzling lower. JC pushes his head away because his cock feels swollen and sore, overly sensitive right now and he doesn't want any touch at all. "Not pushing you away, Chris," he whispers, hugging the dog close. "I just-I'm sore. God. Chris." That's all he can say before his throat closes up, choking the words inside him.

He's not a big crier. None of them are, though JC can remember quite a few teary nights when they were all in Germany and so young and far away from home. He can't stop these tears, though, and the flood of feelings with them. Love. Need. Shame. Disbelief. Uncertainty. Fear.

Love is the strongest.

"I need a shower," he says softly, moving gingerly to the edge of the bed. Chris whines and JC shakes his head. "No. I seriously need a shower. A bath would be better, but-not in the mood. Just. I'll be back, Chris. Gimme a few minutes. Still processing, and I need. I just-I'll be back." He's babbling, but really, he's pretty sure a little babble is perfectly justified at this point.

Probably a lot of babble is perfectly justified, at this point.

Chris hasn't moved when JC emerges from the bathroom, steam roiling out behind him. He took as hot a shower as he could stand, bending and letting the water run down his back, between his cheeks. He's sore, but not hurt, and life goes on. He had plenty of time to think while he let the water sluice over him, and JC's pretty sure he's arrived at some conclusions that most people would cringe over, but hey, whatever works for an individual, right?

"I...don't care," he says quietly, sliding under the covers. Chris lifts his head and gives him a sleepy look and JC smiles. He recognizes that look; he used to get it often when he'd wake Chris up at two in the morning to say "hey, I got this idea...". He rubs his fingers over the dark head, petting Chris' ears gently. "It's weird as fuck, and I'm probably going to have a major freak-out in the morning, man, but I don't care. I love you. I'm not-sorry. At all."

Not sorry, but that doesn't erase the fact that he let a dog fuck him, and his belly still tightens with concern, with shame, with fear. He lays down and Chris scoots closer, resting his head on JC's chest. "Mostly I wish you could talk," he says absently, stroking the dark fur slowly. "I could tell you I'm probably freaking out right now, and you could tell me I'm an ass, and to relax, and that you love me-"

Chris whines and licks his hand, and JC sighs. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just-I dunno, Chris. I need to sleep, I think." It's late; middle-of-the-night late, and JC's bone-weary suddenly. "G'night, Chris."

He feels the soft chuff of breath against his chest as Chris' answer, and ignores the prickling in his eyes in favor of closing them, letting sleep take him away again.

It's colder in the bedroom than it's been in a while, and JC shifts closer to Chris, waking enough to realize something's-off.

He blinks a couple of times, trying to make the world focus when he's still so tired his eyes feel like he has sandpaper for eyelids. No dog, which is really weird, because he doesn't think there's been a single morning since Chris changed that he got up before JC got up - and if he did, he woke JC up, to let him out.

No dog.

But brown eyes smiling at him. Brown...human eyes.

"Chris! Oh, my god!" He launches himself across the bed, hearing Chris' 'oof!' as he hits. There's barely time for a hug before JC shoves himself back, away, face flushing red-hot with embarrassment. "You're-do you. Um." He's staring, Chris is staring back, and god. He's never going to be able to look at Chris again.

"Dude." Warm fingers - fingers! - touch his chin, push until he looks up. Chris smiles at him, wry and a bit wobbly, snark clearly lurking just beneath the surface. "Man, if I had any doubts before, they're gone. Completely."

JC isn't sure it's possible to blush more than he already is, but he thinks he manages anyway. "Jesus. Do you-did you. You knew? You remember?"

Chris nods and sits up. "Mostly everything. Some stuff is kinda blurry, like right before and after. I don't remember changing, or whatever. But I remember last night, yeah." Oh, god. He buries his face in his hands, determined never to look up again. Chris thumps him gently on the forehead. "Stop that, dork."

He glances up and levels a look at Chris. "Dude. For serious. If you remember, then you remember f-fucking me...you were a dog!" Oh, wow. He hit a couple notes that generally only Chris can reach.

"Uh, yeah. I really do remember that part." Chris shifts a bit, pulls the comforter up higher. "I got used to being pretty warm, all the time." JC smiles.

"Yeah. That was nice." Another burst of heat and he's pretty sure his face is on fire. Lovely. "Um."

"You gonna need therapy for life?"

"Maybe. I don't know." He closes his eyes and opens them abruptly again when Chris touches his wrist.

"It's cool, C." Those fingers slide over JC's wrist gently, pause where he knows his pulse beats the strongest. "That night? I remember going to bed-thinking about what we'd talked about. Y'know? How I wondered why you wanted me." JC nods, then freezes.

"Did...was it you, then? I mean, did you make it happen? Like a. A test, or something?" Which is really an ugly thought, and one that just occurred to him. He isn't sure if he's more angry, or hurt, at the idea.

"What? No!" Chris' fingers close around his wrist, holding him, which is probably good because his first instinct is pull away. "Dude, no. I wouldn't-no. I don't know what happened. Maybe the fates have a seriously fucked up sense of humor?"

"Something. Someone. Yeah." JC relaxes a little and Chris loosens his grip but doesn't let go entirely. "It was totally fucked up, that's for sure." He strokes his fingertips up Chris' arm, watching the hairs ruffle, and has an odd pang of loss ripple through him for the dog. "But parts. I liked petting you. Him. You."

Chris smiles. "That was good, wasn't it? I liked it...it was relaxing. Or something."

It occurs to JC that this is maybe as awkward for Chris as it is for him, though he thinks Chris is dealing with it better. "How 'bout you? Do you need lifetime therapy?"

The short bark of laughter makes JC think of the dog again and he feels that weird sense of loss shiver up his spine. "Maybe, yeah." Chris grins lopsidedly. "Mostly 'cos I kinda liked a lot of it. There was a lot I didn't like - like not being able to understand everything you said. Or being able to talk to you. And pissing outside-" he shudders and JC snorts. "But I liked a lot, too. Curling up against you. Being petted. And um. Y'know."

JC's face flames again. "Last night?"

"Yeah. Um. That." He clears his throat and JC raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"It wasn't. Uh. Just last night." The last words are whispered, and JC blinks. He didn't just say-no. He stares at Chris.

"What?"

"I. You woke me up. A few nights ago. Thrashing around and hollering my name. Well, not hollering, but it seemed like it. Ears worked a lot better." He drops his gaze and JC bites his lip against the urge to force Chris' head up, to make him look at him. "Anyway, you called me. My name. And I missed you, C. Just all of a sudden it was like, it ached, I missed you so bad. And so I...you...I helped you. Helped you out."

"Wow." JC stares at him, not really sure what else to say. His dreams...weren't entirely dreams, then. Or they were, but. They were real, too. Kind of.

"So. Heh." Chris smiles and shifts like he's nervous or edgy. "Yeah. Maybe needing that therapy."

Not that they'd get it, even if they were serious, because really-how would they explain something like this to anyone? He smiles tentatively at Chris. "Are you freaking out after all?"

"I think maybe...yeah."

JC nods. "Me too."

"At least we can freak out together."

"There is that." JC closes his eyes, then laughs - more of a snort, really, but hey. He's amused. "One positive-I don't really want to go out and find a German Shepard to do or anything. So...I think it was just a you thing."

Chris laughs and touches his face. "Okay, that is good, yeah. But what if-" He breaks off, and JC blinks his eyes open to see a mischievous grin. Chris leans in closer to him. "Woof."

He snickers first, and then it's like a dam breaking because it just sort of spills out of him. Out of both of them. It feels really good to laugh, though, and JC laughs until he's crying. Not sobs, just his eyes watering, but it's like a complete pouring out of emotions. Happy, sad, angry, scared, all of it. Everything he's bottled up over the last two weeks, and it feels fantastic to let it out. Cleansing, somehow. He's emptier, lighter, and it's maybe what birth, or rebirth feels like.

Chris sobers first, chest still hitching with emotion, but his eyes are warm and sparkling, and he says, "Woo. I needed that."

"Me, too." And the tension is gone, the awkwardness fading. He smiles. "I still feel kinda-pervy."

"You kinda are." Chris winks. "But I guess I am, too, huh?"

"Sounds like." JC leans in and kisses Chris, and wow, god, did he miss that. It's just a brush of mouths at first, and then it's slick heat and tongues teasing, tasting, and Chris sucks on his lower lip before biting down gently, then harder. He pulls away after a moment and leans his forehead against Chris', breathing in the familiar scent, lips tingling. "God, Chris. I missed you-"

"Missed you too, C." Chris brushes another kiss across his mouth, licks at the corners before lapping, teasing along the seam between his lips. JC sighs and opens, tastes Chris' hunger and feels his own rise to match it. "So much. Missed you...love you." He sinks his fingers into JC's hair and pulls him close, and JC drowns in the sensations, the feel of Chris' body hot and hard against him, his mouth wet and hungry. The kiss goes on and on and he needs to breathe, but it's overrated, because he doesn't ever want to stop.

"Last night...it was hot and sexy, and I'm-I was blown away, dude." Chris growls the words into JC's mouth until he's tasting them as much as hearing them, leans in closer, brushes his mouth across JC's. "But this-this is so good."

"Yes." He breathes the word out, or maybe moans it; JC's not sure. His brain isn't really working at higher functioning anymore, and he doesn't really care anyway. He's got Chris' weight on him, solid and warm, sweaty skin rubbing against his, and then he tips them over so he can pin Chris to the bed and bite at his neck. "Woof," he mutters, grinning when Chris laughs and convulses beneath him.

Some things, they decide, are best not shared with the other guys. They tell them Chris changed back on Christmas Eve day, which is the truth. They simply don't say what preceded that happening. Because that's really no one's business but theirs.

But when they're at a really dull industry party a few weeks later, and JC's sure his brain has melted and is oozing out of his ears from the boredom, Chris brushes past him, a mischievous grin on his face. JC raises an eyebrow, and chokes back a snicker a moment later when Chris mouths "woof" at him before walking toward the nearest door.

JC's proud that he manages to wait almost a full minute before following, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.