By Mickey M.
©August 2002

Some days you remembered every promise ever made to you. Some days, you found, it was easier...better...to forget them. At least some of them. Today definitely fell into the 'better to forget' category.

Lance stood just inside the front door, looking around as if he were memorizing the place. You could see JC, through the open door, leaning against his car, looking uncertain and ill at ease. You felt pretty uncertain and ill at ease, yourself. No matter how many times you'd done this.

"You sure you have everything?" Lance twitched a little at your question before turning toward you.

And it wasn't like it was the first time. Or even the second. Over the years you'd lost track of how many times you and Lance broke up, got back together, broke up, got back together. This time, though, it was all over. You and Lance, the band, all of it. You had a permanent hollow spot inside your chest, which felt like it had gotten a little bigger each day of the last two years.

"Yeah. I'm sure. Pretty sure."

His voice rumbled through you, hitting you with one of those snapshot memories: A thin, pale, geeky-looking boy who looked more feminine than some of the girls you'd dated, standing just inside the doorway of the conference room, his weird-colored eyes darting around nervously. He so didn't look like his voice would come from his toes, but it had. He'd floored you completely with the first note he sang.

"No big, man. It's not like I can't send it, if I find anything." This wasn't the first time, but it was the most awkward; possibly because you knew you wouldn't see him tomorrow at rehearsal, or next week to record tracks, or even the month after that to load your gear onto the tour buses. With the exception of you and JC, you would all be scattered across the country now. Lance was going home to Mississippi, then probably on to LA. He'd shipped all his stuff yesterday.

"I know." He wouldn't look at you. The self-assured, confident man you'd watched evolve from a shy, uncertain kid, wouldn't look at you. You thought that maybe broke your heart more than him leaving. "Chris--"

"Shh. No. We're not doing this, Lance. We'll still be friends. We'll always be friends." You stepped a little closer, invaded his personal space like you still had the right. He didn't push you away, didn't step back. Out of the corner of your eye you watched JC shift uncomfortably and move out of your line of sight. "Twelve years, kiddo. That's too much history to throw away."

"I know." His voice was tight, miserable-sounding. "I can't...I'm sorry."

"I know." You tipped his chin up so he would look at you, your fingers hungry for one last touch. "I want you to promise me you won't stay away. That you'll call if you need anything. Anything, you understand?"

He nodded. "I will."

"Then say it. I mean it." You gave him a small snarl and received a half-smile in return.

"I promise. I'll--I promise."

Snapshot. A shared bed in Germany, cuddled together against the damp chill. You were new lovers; together only a couple of months. Warm arms around you, holding you close to a comfortable, soft, but still growing body. Warm, deep voice in your ear. "This'll be forever, right? Promise me, Chris."

Your voice, quiet, much higher than his, tinged with regret. "No one can promise forever, baby. But for as long as we can manage, yeah."

And all these years later, you still weren't sure if he'd been asking about the group and the music, or the two of you.

It was just as well you didn't promise. You touched his cheek. Not downy anymore; he'd worn beard-scruff for several years, now.

"You better go. Don't want to miss your plane." You hated goodbyes; you'd had too many of them over the years.

"Yeah." He nodded and shifted, but you grabbed him into a hug, needing one last touch. One last time, his body against yours. He stiffened at first, then relaxed into your embrace, arms going tight around you. His breath was warm on your neck and the words, though whispered hoarsely, rumbled through you, washing over that aching place inside. "I love you."

"I know." And you did. It was just that he wouldn't put that first. You wanted to be together, publicly, just the two of you, and he wasn't ready for that. Couldn't do it. Couldn't do public, couldn't do monogamy, and you couldn't do the other, anymore. Twelve years, and you'd finally reached your limit. You rubbed his back, then moved enough to kiss him, a chaste, closed-mouth kiss. The sort friends might give one another. "Take care of yourself, Scoop."

He made an incoherent noise and pushed away from you. The next noise you heard was the slam of a car door, but you didn't watch JC's SUV pull out of the driveway. You couldn't. It was bad enough you could hear it.

Snapshot. The air-conditioning on the bus was broken and you all were miserable, but there was no place to stop to get it repaired until you got to Albuquerque. Everyone was stripped down to their shorts; even wifebeaters were abandoned in favor of just a little more skin to catch a breeze. Your knee ached unbearably and the dry heat filling the bus wasn't helping. You were curled in on yourself in your bunk, trying to ignore it. Lance came in with an ice pack, then stayed, resting your head in his lap while he stroked his fingers through your hair, humming "This I Promise You" under his breath. You thought it was more his touch than the ice that eventually made your knee stop aching.

You realized the street was silent now; Lance was gone. And in spite of the trouble the two of you'd had over the years, over the last couple of months, you missed him already.

You wondered what would stop the aching this time.

Maybe it was time to sit down, get shit-face plastered, and drown yourself in memories of the past. It wasn't like you indulged in either of those things very often, and this seemed like a good time for both.

You drank a six-pack of Coronas before starting in on tapes of past concerts, interviews, videos. You'd put away half of a second one before you came to the press conference you'd held about the end of the group.

The Celebrity tour was the beginning of the end.

Six years of non-stop dancing and your knees were going, going, nearly gone. Both of them. You wore support braces during most of your off time during the tour, and popped Advil with alarming frequency, before and after the shows, and by the time you were into the last leg of the tour, sometimes during the show, between numbers. You and Lance fought back and forth about you seeing a doctor, a surgeon, someone who could help. You flat-out refused because you knew how bad they hurt -- and how often. You knew what a doctor would tell you; you were the one who could feel everything grinding to a pulp inside.

Even with the changes in choreography -- and you hadn't ever felt as grateful toward someone as you did JC, the day he suggested it -- it was still a strain. No matter that you'd eliminated the flips, and redone Bye, Bye, Bye to cut down on the high bounces and stomps, it still hurt, and you were glad for the respite, if not the cause of it.

Nearly eight months of resting proved incredibly helpful. No dancing, no running, nothing strenuous, just lots of downtime to rest up, giving your knees a break they desperately needed. Even when you did do something, like play basketball with Justin, you were rested enough you could almost forget they'd given you trouble.

Then you cut another album. And toured some more. And cut an album after that, with yet another tour to follow. And you gritted your teeth and sang and danced, and prayed for each concert to end without you falling on your face.

Lance broke up and made up with you three times during the course of that tour. He couldn't stand to see you hurting so badly and you couldn't stand him poking his nose into it. The worst fight was four weeks before the end of the first leg of the tour, after you skipped an appointment he made for you, when he accused you of not wanting to take care of yourself.

"You promised you'd go, man. Why won't you? Don't you care about taking care of yourself?"

You told him to fuck himself and go to hell while he was doing it, and walked out of the room. You didn't speak, except for working purposes, for three days.

Just before the end of the second leg of the tour, there came a day you couldn't get out of bed. You couldn't make your knees support you. They were so sore, so swollen you couldn't bend them, or stand without assistance. You freaked and called JC. He freaked, and sent Justin to find Lance -- another one of your off-periods, when you weren't together and were barely speaking. You could see the fury and fear in Lance's eyes when he saw you sitting in bed, barely able to move.

"I want to make another appointment, Chris. Promise me you'll go this time. I swear to fuck I'll tie you up and drag you there, if I have to."

"Sounds kinky." You waggled your eyebrows at him and he swatted the back of your head.

"I'm serious. Promise."

"Fine. I promise I'll go." You rolled your eyes at him, then tackled him. Maybe you broke up so often because make-up sex was always fantastic.

By the time you returned to Florida ten days later, you couldn't walk without excruciating pain. You danced the last three concerts so high on painkillers you weren't entirely sure your feet hit the ground at all, and maintained that high off-stage with large amounts of alcohol.

Lance didn't give you a chance to fight about the doctor, or to skip out; he scheduled you an appointment with an Ortho specialist, then drove you there, tight-lipped. You didn't talk to him at all during the trip over and back, resenting the high-handedness of his actions. You wouldn't talk to anyone for the twenty-four hours afterward that it took to get everyone together for a group meeting.

The guys converged on your house and you watched silently while Lance got everyone a beer and they settled in. You waited a moment longer, gathering your courage, then sucked in a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

"The doctor said even with replacement surgery, I'm fucked. I start dancing again, daily, and I can kiss my knees -- and my mobility -- goodbye, permanently."

Stunned silence met your announcement. You looked at each guy in turn, trying to gauge reactions. Joey's mouth hung open. Justin looked absolutely blown away. JC's eyes were wide and shocked. And Lance...Lance wouldn't meet your eyes and you weren't sure if it was because he intrinsically understood what you were saying -- that this would be the end of Nsync -- or if it was because he knew you wouldn't have gone...and because he forced you, now you all had an ultimatum to deal with.

"Even with the replacements? You can't dance any more, at all?" Justin sounded almost plaintive; it was like he was sixteen again, and being told he was still too young to go clubbing with them. You shook your head.

"Not nightly, Jup. Not for a living. Replacement surgery will give me back the ability to walk without having to down a bottle of Advil, but that's about it."

"Fuck, man. That sucks." Joey scratched his chin. "What about a limited repertoire? Y'know, cut down the amount of dancing like, by half?"

You shrugged. "He said I could do some stuff. Like, y'know. Walking. Riding a bike. Rollerblading. Light exercising. But--stuff with a lot of jumping...aerobic stuff...."

Justin looked at you, horrified. "No more basketball?"

"I didn't ask, but I dunno. Probably not." You shook your head. "Guys, I'm thirty-three. It's not like--y'know. If I were one of you."

JC coughed. "If you're saying you're old, man, we're not buying it."

"Especially when you still act younger than I did at fifteen." Justin smirked, then bumped your hip. You bumped back.

"Infant."

"Geezer."

"Uh, guys." Lance waved. "Focus here?" He looked in your direction, but not at you. You hated when he didn't look at you, for any reason. "Chris. Um. You...you're...."

"Smooth, Bass. You use that on chicks?" Joey elbowed him and you glared across the space at both of them. He knew damn well who Lance did or didn't use that on. You sighed and rubbed your right knee, always the more painful of the two.

"I'm sayin' I can't dance any more, even if I have the surgery. Surgeries, actually; the doctor doesn't really rec doing both knees at once. It's pretty much a two-to-three month recovery after each surgery, if there are no complications, so even if I could do them back-to-back, and go back to it -- we're talking about like, six months at least of me totally out of commission."

JC pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "That's not totally impossible to work with; we had more time than that off, after the Celebrity tour ended."

"Hello? Missing the point here. I. Can't. Dance. Anymore." JC nodded, his eyes dark and hurting, showing the pain your words caused. Justin elbowed you and you sighed. "Sorry, C. It's just--"

"S'okay, Chris." JC ducked his head and you grimaced, hating that you'd hurt him. You opened your mouth to say something else, but didn't get the chance.

"So. Are you saying--do you want to call it quits? Quit--this?" Lance's voice was calm, cutting easily through the bullshit. Everyone shut up and waited. He looked straight at you, held the gaze. You looked away first.

"No. Fuck, I want anything but that. But--I think. I think I have to." Your gut clenched when you whispered the words and you wished, insanely, that Lance was there beside you, rather than Justin.

He was out of his seat a heartbeat after the sound of your voice faded, arms going around your waist. Justin followed suit, close by your side already, and it only took another moment for JC and Joey to join the group hug. You thought you felt trickles of moisture at one point, but since you were dead and cold inside you knew they weren't your tears. You weren't sure who was crying, or who they were crying for.

And that was the end of Nsync. Just like that, nothing more than a few words. You were the one who put everyone together and, in the end, the one who pulled it all apart.

Snapshot. Lance, piss-ass drunk, huddling miserably over the toilet in yet another crummy German hotel. You knelt beside him, stroking his feverishly hot forehead while he retched. When he was finished you wiped Lance's forehead and face with a cool cloth, then gave him water to rinse his mouth. After he spat it out you kissed him, a hard, lingering kiss, and whispered, "love you, baby." When you stood and turned to hang up the washcloth, JC was standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open.

Snapshot. Three, no, make that two, shocked faces staring at you. JC didn't look at either of you, and his shock was old. Hours, at least. Joey started the questions, the How? Why? When?, then stopped. You and Lance smiled at each other, then turned back to the guys, and the words flowed so smoothly from his mouth. "Just a couple weeks ago. We were gonna tell y'all, just--wanted to wait a little longer." Total lie; you'd been together for over a month, but hadn't wanted to share with anyone, still enjoying the secret, special feeling.

Snapshot. Some post-awards party. They blended together after a couple of years. No less exciting, but everything swirled together after a while. You were drunk; hell, you were all drunk. Lance, giggling, brushed against your ass, and whispered, "Mine forever, baby," into your ear before disappearing. The next time you saw him he was kissing a strange guy in a dark hallway. You made a quiet noise and he jerked his head up, eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. You didn't give him time to do or say anything, just backed away and left.

Snapshot. Vacation in a warm, sunny, totally out-of-the-way place. Lance, naked in the sun, wiggling around while you applied sunscreen to places that didn't need it, to be used in ways it wasn't intended for.

Snapshot. Joey and Lance in Canada. Filming. The happy lilt to Lance's voice when you talked on the phone. "I love you, Chris. Love you forever, man." The freshly fucked look in his eyes when you saw a news clip a few days later.

Snapshot. Snapshot. Snapshot. Snapshot. Snapshot--

Blessed darkness.

You were majorly hung over and probably still a little drunk when you staggered into the studio the next morning. You didn't look in the mirror before leaving the house, just pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt, and ran your fingers through your longer-than-usual hair, and you wondered what you looked like, from the look JC gave you. He was already in the production booth, all set up to go, so you sat down on the couch in the outer room, not ready to be busy anyway, still too wrapped up in your memories of the past, and still just drunk enough to immerse yourself in them again. Never too much pain, right? Everyone who spent any time in the past had masochistic tendencies. You hadn't realized how strong yours obviously were.

Snapshot. Sarah McLachlan on the stereo, crooning, 'Hold on...'cos this is gonna hurt like hell'. Lance, eyes rimmed with red -- lack of sleep, tears, too much alcohol -- swearing to you, "No more, Chris. I promise I won't...that it won't happen again." You held him and rubbed his back, ignored the stinging in your eyes. Refrained from telling him not to make promises he couldn't keep.

Snapshot. The tender way Lance held you, touched you, made you feel so loved after you all were on Larry King, when you were flayed open for public viewing. You never doubted Lance loved you. You just didn't understand why he couldn't commit totally to you.

Snapshot. The look on Lance's face when you told him the two of you needed to take a break from each other. That you were going to date Dani for a while, since things were obviously not working well between the two of you. The feeling in your chest of hearts breaking, pieces going permanently MIA.

Snapshot. Lance collapsing off-stage after the Disney concert special, his face gray, his breathing fast and labored. The high-pitched whine of ambulance sirens. The doctors telling you he'd be all right but he'd have to miss the last few shows of the tour. The way he squeezed your hand when you whispered, "you'll be fine, kiddo." Like anything you said was gospel to him.

Snapshot. Lance calling a group meeting, face pale and drawn, eyes flashing angrily. The man you all trusted and believed in was cheating you. The way you clung to one another during the entire hideous affair. The warmth you felt, knowing you weren't alone.

You opened your eyes, tired of the pictures behind your eyelids. You missed Lance. Far more than you'd thought you would, since you were used to him coming and going in your life. But it was different now. Breaking up now wasn't the same as two years ago, before the group dissolved. Then, you knew there would be times you'd see him. Ways that you'd meet, mix, mesh back together again. Now...you wouldn't see him until December thirty-first, the agreed-upon date you all set to meet every year, to ensure you kept in touch.

Not that you didn't still keep in contact; you talked to Joey at least once a week -- and saw him whenever he was in town -- and Justin usually more than that. And you worked with JC, so. But Lance...you doubted you'd be talking to him any time in the next couple of months. And that hollow feeling around your heart just kept growing.

You watched C talk to the band guys inside the booth and thought about the last two years, since the end of Nsync. The weird changes in everyone's lives. Some expected, some not.

Justin was in Memphis, of all places, working on a blues album. His first couple of solo albums sold really well, and he'd decided to take a bit of time and explore some other musical avenues. Still single, still loving it. Whatever'd happened between him and Britney changed him in some indefinable way. He still dated, still went out, but rarely stayed in a relationship. You wondered if he'd ever settle down.

Joey divided his time between LA and New York, with Orlando being the default when he had the chance. He still did some acting, but was trying to break into directing, too, and was having a ball, or so he told you over the phone. You usually could hear baby noises and other chatter in the background during those times, and had to grin. Of all the people you'd least expected to settle down into fatherhood, it was Joey. But baby number three would put in an appearance sometime in the next couple of months, and you knew from pictures he sent you in email and quick drop-by visits when he was in town, he couldn't be happier.

And Lance, well. You set him from your mind with an effort. You knew what he'd been doing; didn't feel like rehashing it. Your head hurt bad enough as it was.

But the weirdest, oddest changes...were you and JC.

After your surgeries, you were laid up for months, literally. Like you'd told the guys, it'd been six months out of commission that actually turned into eight, because you had a shitty recovery with your right knee, with the infection-from-hell that didn't want to heal. You'd been bored, irritable, snotty, and downright mean, by turns. No one wanted anything to do with you for more than a few days at a time -- if that -- and so they took turns babysitting you. Even when Lance was actually home, if it was someone else's turn, they came over.

Then JC asked you to help him with some music. He needed someone to harmonize with him and sure, you were probably his last choice, but Joey and Justin were already busy with their solo stuff, and Lance sang too low for what JC needed. You didn't mind; it gave you something to do besides angst over the end of the group. It let you feel like you were still a part of the world that'd been yours for a decade, before your body fucked you over. And you guys rocked, together. You'd forgotten how well your voices harmonized together, the way they fitted with each other like interlocking puzzle pieces. Even better than yours and Justin's.

Later he asked you to help him out with the musical arrangements. It wasn't his album, like you'd thought at first, but one he was producing. He wanted to show the band some alternative ways to do what they were trying to do, and needed some help. Which so worked for you. A bored, hurting, mostly immobile Chris did not make for a happy Chris, and even though Lance teased you about crushing on the 'new, improved JC', you growled to him to get over it, and settled down to work on musical arrangements, song-writing, recording and production. You formed a company together, you and JC. Tricky-C Productions. The idea for the company was yours; the idea for the name was his. You'd laughed, said it sounded like a dude ranch out west. But you felt proud, too. It was something you didn't know you could do, and finding that out was a good thing.

You liked it. A lot.

You discovered you were good at it.

When things got dicey with Lance, and then dicier still, it became a godsend. You lost yourself in the music, in the rediscovery of your friendship with JC, in the beauty you'd thought might be gone from your life.

You started back into the present, and reality, when JC rapped his knuckles on your forehead.

"Hey--you in there, man?" He didn't even give you time to reply, instead, plopped down on the couch beside you and laid his head on your shoulder. "You okay?" His voice was softer with this question, not prying, just--asking. You shrugged, the movement awkward, with his head against you.

"I guess. I don't know. I will be." And you would, eventually. It wasn't even like Lance broke your heart. Not this time, anyway. Maybe other times. Other breakups, disagreements, whatever. And it wasn't even your heart any more anyway, to be broken or not. You'd lost it to him so long ago, and there were certain things you'd learned to expect from someone you loved, and who loved you, but wasn't able to give you all of himself.

The silence between you and JC stretched out, was comforting in its familiarity. The two of you had learned you could just be, without having to talk. You'd learned, through the enforced post-surgery time, how to calm down. How to let the moment happen without making it happen. Without making anything happen. JC's head against you was a comfortable weight, and you felt yourself drifting, eyes closed, letting yourself be soothed by the heavy warmth pressing on you.

"I slept with him." Quiet explosion. Words spoken so softly they were almost silence, but still jarring. You sighed.

"I know."

You felt his start of surprise. "You do? You did? How?"

"It wasn't...I just did, okay?"

"He...I--" JC stopped and stayed still; you resisted the urge to push him up off your shoulder, just so you could see whatever expression was lurking in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he finished quietly. "It was just the once, though that doesn't excuse it. I knew we shouldn't. I just...he was...."

"It's okay, C. I--it's not...there was a lot more to it than just that."

"You should be madder than this. You should be mad, period." His voice was strained, soft. "You should be mad at me."

You shrugged your shoulder upward, pushing him off, then shifted around so you could look at him. "What good would it do, to get mad? At anyone? I asked him to go, he's gone, it's over." You tapped his nose. "And you're my best friend, man. Totally."

"But. You. Um. We. He didn't--. It wasn't--. Was it?"

You reached out and flicked him between the eyes. "It's good to know you're still a dork sometimes. I worry when you act all professional and shit."

"Ow." He rubbed the spot between his eyes. "If anyone's a dork, Chris, it's you. And I'm guessing, from your oh-so-subtle hint, this subject is now closed?"

"Yeah." You sighed and dropped your hands into your lap.

"Yeah." JC rubbed your shoulder and you leaned into the touch, grateful suddenly that he was still here in Orlando, that he hadn't gone to LA, and you hadn't been left completely alone. You spent ten years with four other guys, as a cohesive unit, playing, crying, talking, touching and hugging, and depending on one another. To be left suddenly, completely alone would've driven you crazy. "Hey." JC nudged you and you blinked. Damn. "Go home, get some sleep, huh? Or--you want to crash here? That'd probably be better, wouldn't it?"

"Probably." You rubbed your eyes but couldn't make them focus. "Yeah. You mind?"

"Nah. Wouldn't've offered if I minded."

"Cool. G'night, man."

"Dork." You felt his smile when he kissed your forehead, and grinned.

"Takes one to know one."

"Uh-huh."

You stood up and lurched toward the door that would take you out of the studio and into a long, quiet hallway, leading to a set of stairs. Up the stairs was a nice apartment, JC's home-away-from-home. He still owned his house outside of Orlando proper, but more and more in the last year, he'd lived here. Six months ago he'd finally gotten real furniture and decorated it. And it wasn't like you weren't up there at least a few times a week for lunch, or dinner, or just plain working on whatever project was going on at the time, but it felt kind of weird to go up alone.

Whatever. He was right; he wouldn't have offered, if he didn't want you up there.

You managed to stay coherent long enough to strip down and shower quickly before you collapsed into cool sheets that smelled faintly of JC's cologne.

Coffee. And, something else you couldn't quite place. You rolled over and groaned when the world shifted around you; when your stomach heaved alarmingly. The coffee smell got stronger and you gagged once, wondering if you could throw up with absolutely nothing in your stomach.

The mattress dipped and moved and you realized yes, you could. You had just enough of one eye open to see JC jump back quickly when you hurtled yourself from the bed, and his snickers followed you into the bathroom.

Snapshot. Lance's eighteenth birthday. Post-party, just the two of you, doing body shots of Tequila, sharing the juice of the limes via kisses. Passing out together on the floor of your hotel room, waking up sick as dogs, with bites and scratches all over your bodies, your ass sore and aching. The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice when he promised he wanted this forever. You'd believed him, then.

You heaved again, then slumped on the floor and waited for the worst of the feeling to pass. Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and looked up to see JC holding out a glass of water. You reached out, ignored that your hand was shaking.

"Thanks, man."

"No prob." JC wrinkled his nose. "You need to shower."

"I showered before I went to bed." Evil, evil Coronas. You wanted to be dead.

"Yeah, and that was before you puked your guts up."

"Whatever." You closed your eyes and held the water glass to your forehead before taking a drink. It was cool, going down. Soothing. When you'd emptied the glass you opened your eyes and caught JC watching you. A quick glance downward confirmed you were naked; after all, you'd gone to bed that way, and you knew there was no such thing as an underwear fairy. Then you realized that meant you'd slept in JC's bed naked-- "Um. I'll wash your sheets--"

When was the last time you blushed? Fuck.

He laughed, that weird, high-pitched giggle he did when he was honestly amused by something. It was a free, open sound, and not very many people heard it for a long time. You hadn't heard it for a while, actually. "Don't stress about it. But you need to get dressed; Mark's coming for dinner. And while I don't think he'd mind the view, he might wonder why you were naked on my bathroom floor."

Mark, JC's on-again, off-again boyfriend. No, you didn't want to still be naked when he showed up. "Fuck you, Chasez."

"In your dreams, Kirkpatrick." And so saying, JC flashed you a grin and backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

A shower actually sounded good, so you started it up and washed off again, grateful when the hot water helped a lot of your headache, then scrounged around in JC's cabinets 'til you found an unopened toothbrush. When you emerged, feeling almost human again, he'd laid out some clean underwear -- did you leave some here? Because JC just didn't get into sharing underwear, even with his best friend -- and a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

You pondered the idea of JC's boyfriend while you dressed, and found it hysterically funny that the group who'd had millions of screaming teenies lusting after and in love with them actually ended up with three gay members. Well, one gay and two bisexual, if you were going to split hairs. Although, how much hair-splitting or bisexuality there really was anymore, you weren't sure. Neither you nor JC had dated or slept with anyone but another guy for at least the last four years. So, really, three. You were still grinning when JC came in with a mug of coffee.

"Hey, you look human again."

"Well, thanks for sounding so surprised, dude." You accepted the mug gratefully and ignored the slight roll of your stomach. It would take a little while. "How long 'til Mark gets here?"

"An hour, probably. You want to stay for dinner?"

"You know the saying 'two's company, three's a crowd', C? I don't think so." The second swallow went down easier than the first and warmth spread outward through your stomach and into your body. "But thanks."

"No, man, it's cool. He doesn't care." JC flopped down on his bed and you watched him in the mirror, watching you fiddle with your hair. It was nearly to your ears again, after so many years of short.

"Bullshit. Mark tolerates me 'cos you and I are friends. I think he thinks I'm after your ass, or something."

"Everyone's after my ass, Chris. Didn't you know that?" He smirked and wiggled for you, and you rolled your eyes.

"You are such a freak. Jesus. I'm a...very recently single guy. I'm not after anyone's ass." Maybe Lance's, but you resolutely pushed that thought away. You felt too good to drop into the pity-party hole again.

"Hey." JC sat up straight and worried at the edge of the comforter on his bed. "You gonna be all right tonight? I could come over, later, after dinner--"

"Nah. I'll be fine. No more indulging in...no more indulging." Of course, it'd be nice if you could shut your brain off; that would be most helpful, but whatever. You'd deal. "I'm gonna go home, have something to eat, mow the yard, and go back to bed."

JC nodded, though he didn't look convinced about your all-rightness. "You need to be in by about seven, tomorrow. Laney's going to be in."

"Fuck. Really?"

"Yeah. She called, said she wants to finish up the tracks for 'On My Mind'."

"'Bout fucking time." You gave up on the hair and turned to face him, leaning casually against the dresser. "Tell me again why we decided to produce her?"

"Um, because she's about the most talented vocalist we've heard in a while?" JC rolled his eyes at you. "Dork."

"Dweeb. She's talented, but she's a fucking diva. Makes Timberlake look positively laid-back."

"You had your own diva moments, y'know."

You laughed and pushed off from the dresser. "Me? Surely not. I think you're confusing me with someone else."

"Right." You got a snort and a slap on your ass as you walked past, and took a moment to think about the coolness that was post-Nsync JC. Cool, comfortable, happy within his own skin. Thoughts of the niche Lou tried to make him fit into still made your blood boil, even a decade later.

You collected your keys and sunglasses, and with a, "later, C!" headed outside, squinting into the autumn sunshine. Fucking Orlando; it was fall, and still close on to ninety degrees, and humid as a sauna. Sometimes you thought Joey had the right idea; go north, or west. Get out of the heat and humidity. But Orlando was home. Even if part of home left last night -- you reminded yourself sternly you'd been the one to break up, to end the constant back-and-forth pain -- it was still home.

Eventually it would stop feeling alien and start feeling like home again. You were confident in that.

"Can't hurt the talent. Can't hurt the talent. Mustn't hurt the talent...." You muttered under your breath, then grinned when you heard JC's short bark of laughter. At least you thought it was laughter; you supposed he could've been clearing his throat.

"Chill, man. I'll deal with him." JC waved his hand toward you and you waited while he went into the enclosed booth to talk to the man.

Maybe it was because you were still a small recording and production company, or something. Even though JC did the bulk of the production -- along with Justin -- on the last three of Nsync's albums, this was different. Small, new, so you got some really...different...characters. Which was fine, because both of you were of the mind that new talent needed to be given as much of a chance as the tried-and-true. But that didn't always make dealing with the new talent any easier.

The sound was off between you and the recording booth, so you watched JC talk to the guy, hands waving excitedly, arms gesturing expansively. All of JC's movements were graceful, open. Even when he'd kept himself...small, curled in on himself as a means of protecting what Lou tried to -- but couldn't quite -- reach, he'd been graceful. You thought about him saying he'd be a butterfly, if he could be any animal. You'd always thought that seemed so right for him. Open, free, graceful, beautiful. That was JC in a nutshell.

'Liquid Sunshine' was the lamest name for an alternative band that you could even imagine. You kept straying off the path in your head and ending up at K.C. and the Sunshine Band. And the lead...whatever, singer, vocalist, whatever he was calling himself, was the biggest fucking drama queen you'd ever seen, which said a lot, given your time spent in the industry. You sighed and banged your head on the recording console, trying not to hit too hard, or hit the toggle switches. Banging was one thing; you didn't really want to impale yourself, particularly.

You rested your forehead against the cool surface for a few minutes, then rose up to see what was going on. JC was still talking to Andre, gesturing wildly, eyes dark and impassioned. Never a man to hold back when it came to his true love. You grinned. Obviously not much was going to get done here for a while and you were already starting to jiggle your left leg with built-up energy, so. Time to go over the books; you knew JC didn't do them, and you hadn't done it for a while. Well over a month, anyway. Probably closer to two; you had vague memories of going over figures with Lance, shortly before he left.

You turned on the mic into the booth and tapped it. "Yo."

JC swiveled mid-gesture. "Yeah?"

"Gonna take ten, or whatever. Do some paperwork."

"Cool, man. See you for dinner?"

"Sure."

Which meant if you got busy and forgot, then JC would probably forget to eat altogether. Some nights he just spaced reality. You'd come in as early as seven in the morning, unannounced, and found him still sitting on a stool, hunched over music, the same jeans and ratty t-shirt on. Fuck. You set your watch alarm for an hour from now and headed for your office.

"What d'you mean, no bok choy? What kind of stir-fry is it, without bok choy?"

"Fuck you. I didn't know we'd be doing the veggie thing tonight."

"JC, my man, how often do you and I have stir-fry?" You ignored his wince when you tried your chef impersonation, and chopped determinedly.

"Your fingers work better when they're attached to your body." He winced again when you nearly scored your fingertips, and you looked up and glared.

"Hey, you're messing with my vibe here. With my rhythm."

"Losing a finger might mess with that, too, Chris. Going to the ER tonight would suck. And dinner would burn."

"Hah. The master chef knows no fear of his knives!" You cackled and switched to the green onions. "Do you have any chicken? Or is this a beef night, tonight?" You stabbed at one of the onions. "Beef! It's what's for dinner." When your audience of one snickered, you bowed, then returned to chopping.

"I have chicken, I think--" JC disappeared behind the door of the fridge, and you smiled, listening to him hum along with radio while he rooted around.

Your phone rang, and you swore, narrowly missing your finger with the knife. "Fuck. C?"

He waved you away from the counter, taking up the knife you abandoned with an exaggerated, flamboyant gesture that made you want to throw his words about caution back in his face. "I got it. Get the call."

You laughed and tossed the handful of veggies into the wok. "Freak."

"Yeah, yeah, get your phone."

It took you a minute to remember you'd left the phone in your jacket pocket, now hanging over one of the chair backs. "Talk to me!"

You ignored JC's giggle.

"So, are you out yet?"

Huh? You blinked, then realized it was Lance's deep rumble. God. A voice you'd only heard in your dreams, for almost two months now. Your good mood evaporated instantly. "Excuse me?"

"Dude. Did you out yourself yet?"

Oh, so not a conversation you wanted to have. You threw JC a look and walked further away from the kitchen, into the living area, and settled yourself on the sofa. "Lance. Sure. Didn't you see Leno last night? Live, on national television."

Snapshot. Larry King. "Lance and I are dating." Most of the world interpreted it as a joke. Nsync's high jinx.

"What?"

"That's a joke, dude."

"Very fucking funny." He paused. "I thought that's what you wanted, Chris. To be out."

"Well, it's not a big deal if I'm not seeing anyone, is it?" JC peered at you through the cutaway, concern plain on his face. You made a face at the phone and crossed your eyes, and he grinned and flicked a piece of carrot at you. You tuned back into your conversation.

"--not dating anyone? Why not?"

"Um. Maybe because we just broke up two months ago, and I'm not ready yet? Fuck, Lance. It's not any of your business anyway, is it? What, are you dating already?" You couldn't stop the nasty tone that crept into your voice and could almost see him recoil from it. Good. Dammit.

"No! I mean, I just thought--"

"I promise, when I out myself, you'll be one of the first ones to know, okay?" And really, it wasn't even the issue of being out -- you'd done that, years ago, with the people who were important to you. You'd just gotten tired of hiding it from everyone else. "Anyway--that really wasn't the biggest issue between us, was it?"

"I guess not." Goddamn, motherfucking--you missed him. You hated that you missed him. He exhaled softly into the phone. "I--" You held your breath. If he said 'miss you', you were going to throw the fucking phone across the room. "Take care of yourself, Chris."

"Yeah. I'm trying. You too, Scoop." But you were talking into silence. You sighed and closed the phone, tossed it onto the coffee table and leaned back against the cushions. "Fuck."

There was warmth behind you, and JC's hands came down to rest on your shoulders. "Need a drink?"

"Fuck, yeah." It'd been a long time since you'd actually felt anger toward Lance, but this was pressing pretty close. Walking the line. You thought it kinda felt good. In a rip-your-stomach-to-shreds sort of way.

"Wine?"

You tipped your head back and looked up at him. His hair was longer, brushing the back of his neck now, with wavy curls riotous everywhere on his head. Upside down he resembled the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz. "Got anything stronger?"

"Vodka. Um. Some Scotch."

"Vodka. Neat."

"And that's gonna go so well with stir-fry." But he patted your shoulders once and walked away, returning shortly with a shot glass and a bottle about one-third full. "You drink, I'll finish dinner."

You tossed back one shot before he'd finished speaking, gasping when the liquor tore a path of fire down your throat and into your stomach. "Fuck. God."

"I don't think that's possible, actually." JC leaned back over and kissed your forehead, then laughed when you reached for -- and missed -- a lock of hair to pull.

"Smart-ass." You poured a second shot, but sipped it slowly, rather than tossing it back. It was better that way. "God. I can't believe--God." You left the glass and bottle on the coffee table and meandered back into the kitchen, reaching around JC to grab plates and silverware from the drawer.

"Wanna talk about it?" He pushed the stir-fry around the wok, but avoided looking at you.

"I don't know. It's nothing, really. He just...fuck." You set the plates on the counter, then leaned against it, examining your pretty-much-always ragged fingernails. "You weren't the reason we broke up, C. But he...Lance...I dunno if it was me, or him, but he wasn't... he had trouble, sorta, being...faithful."

"Oh." He fiddled with the temperature dials on the stove. "But--you. I mean. Almost twelve years, Chris. Was it--all the time?"

"Well. No. It wasn't like he went out prowling every night or, or slept around all the time. Nothing like that. But." You hadn't realized how painful this might be, even after months...years.... You sighed. "A couple of times. When he was really drunk. And um, y'know. But. It wasn't all the time. I don't think he even meant to, really, cheat. It was just...maybe sometimes I wasn't enough?" You glanced up at JC; he was pale, with two spots of color high on his cheeks. "What?"

"I just--it was a shitty thing I did, man. I mean. I knew things weren't. Right. With the two of you. And it was hard to remember if you were off, or on, or what. And that doesn't excuse it, but--"

"C." You waited 'til he looked at you, then you flicked him gently between the eyes. "Shut up. It wasn't about you. I appreciate the apology--really--but there was all sorts of other shit with it. And honestly, I don't know if we were off or on when you slept together. So stop worrying about it, okay? 'Cos you're so ruining the friends-vibe here, man, and it's bumming me."

He laughed, shakily. "You have such a way with words, Kirkpatrick."

"Well, yeah, someone has to." He still looked embarrassed, but you figured anything else you might say now would make things worse, not better. Hopefully he'd get past it without you having to kick his ass about it. "So, we eating, or what?"

"Mmm. Yeah." JC flipped the stir-fry into a large bowl and you grabbed the abandoned plates and silverware and you both headed for the table. "Hey--grab the soy sauce, Chris."

"Sure." Quick grab off the counter, and then it was dinnertime, sitting down at JC's table. "Got plans for Christmas?" It was hard to believe it was only a few more weeks away. You handed him a plate, then fidgeted and played with your fork while he dished up.

"I dunno. Maybe. Mom and Dad are taking off for the Bahamas the day before, and Heather's got plans with her husband's family. I actually think Tyler and I are just gonna batch it. He's coming down on Christmas Eve. You?"

You shrugged. "Mom wants me to come up, but I dunno. I don't feel much like being in the Christmas spirit this year, y'know? And it's always good to see the girls, and their families...but I don't want to go." You knew you sounded petulant, like a kid being made to do something he didn't want to do, but you didn't care. Lance's call had totally thrown you off.

"So don't. Come hang with me and Ty, we'll do dinner and then watch movies or football or something."

"No Mark?" You shoveled a forkful in, then remembered your glass of vodka and got up to retrieve it. You bypassed the table in favor of the kitchen and poured two glasses of water before returning.

"Nah." JC flashed you a grin and raised his glass in thanks. "We broke up. For good this time, I think." He shrugged. "He was starting to get whiny about the hours I put in, and I told him music comes first. I don't think he liked that."

You blinked. "Wow. You really said that?" Inside you shouted with joy. It'd taken JC years to grow balls enough to stand up for himself in relationships; you were glad to see it was paying off now. Of course, you snorted silently, you were one to talk. But whatever.

"Yeah. He wasn't real happy with it, but hell. It's not like we were steady sweeties or anything. You know that. And--" He paused, looked around the room, at his plate, at the fucking water glass, everywhere but at you.

You had a feeling you knew what he was going to say, but prompted, "And?"

"And...he didn't like...all the time I spend with you." JC cleared his throat. "He didn't like you much."

You smiled ruefully. "A lot of people don't like me, dude. Mark sure wouldn't be the first."

"Maybe not, but." He played with his water glass, turning it round and round, watching the watermark change on the tabletop. When he raised his head to look at you, the depth of emotion in his eyes blew you away. "You're my best friend, Chris. And--I know we all used to say that about each other, the five Musketeers and all that, but...I dunno." He shrugged gracefully. "The last couple of years...you really are. My best friend."

You stared at him for a long time, stunned. It wasn't like you didn't know what he was saying; you felt the same way, actually. If it hadn't been for JC, many times over the last couple of years, you felt like you might be even now hanging loose in a mental home somewhere. He'd kept you grounded through so many crises you couldn't even count them, now. You reached out and touched his hand, took it and squeezed it, your voice soft. "Thanks. Just--thanks, man." You squeezed again then let go. "Me too, C. I mean, you're my best friend. Fuck, you're my sanity."

He laughed then, and you felt some of the emotional tension drain out of the room. "I guess there's only room for one sane person in this partnership, hmm?"

"That must be it." You tossed back the rest of your vodka, hoping it might dull a little of the sensations still zinging through you. An evening of intensity and it was only seven p.m. Fuck. An all-time record, probably. "Do we have plans for the rest of the evening?"

JC chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Well. I thought--hmm." He eyed you. "Be a good little Chris and finish your veggies, and I might have something to show you, when you're done."

You choked on your water, then narrowed your eyes suspiciously. "Please tell me that's not your version of 'come up and see my etchings'?"

"No, it's not. But I do have something to show you." But he wouldn't say anything else, just smiled enigmatically, even when you flicked carrots and bean sprouts at him.

"Jesus, God, C." You watched the color chase slowly across his cheeks, and shook your head. "Play it again."

After dinner, and cleanup, and time for one more vodka shot, JC led you down the hallway, past his guest room, and into the smallest of the three, which was set up as the 'music room', and was basically music-lover's wet dream. A sweet stereo setup, including two turntables, a multi-disc player, cassette player, and huge-assed speakers. Four of them. One for each corner of the room. It had an incredible graphic equalizer, and more knobs and buttons than you could shake a stick at. You'd known, of course, the setup was here; you'd helped JC pick out some of the components. But you didn't come back here very often; usually if you listened to music up here, it was on the smaller, 'regular' stereo he had in the living room. He had a couple of beanbag chairs, and a soft leather sofa, and that was it. Everything else was shelving for the CDs and cassettes and records. Records! You thought you were the only one in the world who still collected vinyl. But it was a great place to sit down, relax, and listen to music.

And the track he was playing. Fuck. You looked at him and shook your head again. "Dude. It's like fucking sex on vinyl, man. When in hell did you do this?"

"Um." He chewed his lip. "The year before we got the group together. Remember. Um. I went to LA for a year? After MMC folded?" You nodded; you'd all heard JC'd been out there, but no one -- not even Justin -- knew for sure what'd happened. "I did it then."

You looked at the CD cover, let the music, fuck, the vocals wash over you. "Fuck, Chasez. You been hiding...this...from us, all that time? God." It wasn't even like you hadn't heard him sing this song before. You did a cover of it, in the early days of Nsync. But it never sounded quite like...this.

"Not--hiding. Chris." He swallowed roughly and shifted on the couch. He was throwing a shitload of body heat; his leg pressed against yours and you felt it even through two layers of jeans. "I just--it wasn't. Y'know. The best period in my life. I'd kinda forgotten about the album, about doing that track."

This was the JC you hadn't seen in a while. A long while. Uncertain, closed off, questioning himself. You didn't want to see that; it was painful to watch him question himself and his choices. You reached out and rubbed his leg soothingly, listening to the song again. Lovely thing about 'repeat', you could play something over and over and over, until you were completely sick of it.

You didn't think you'd ever get sick of this track, though. It was rich, gorgeous, incredibly sexy and seductive. And it made things vibrate, low and deep inside you.

That made you mentally sit up and take note. Wow, a reaction of arousal -- sort of. Not something you'd had much practice with in the last few months. You snuck a look over to see if JC had noticed, because that could be really...awkward. No, he hadn't. He'd tipped his head back, and closed his eyes, like he was listening intently, remembering something from the past that included doing this track and had nothing to do with you or the group or shared memories. You'd never really noticed how long his lashes were, but fanned out against his cheeks like they were now, it was hard not to. His fingers moved lightly against his thighs, one hand near enough to yours to brush against it. His hips undulated gently, a barely-there motion. He looked...you looked away; feeling like you'd intruded on a private moment, and only barely kept yourself from snatching your hand back off his leg. Not in shame or panic, but because, for the briefest moment, you wanted to do more...to make that look on his face even more intense.

Your phone ringing shrilly from down the hall gave you an excuse to get up, suddenly uncomfortable for reasons you couldn't quite define.

"Where is she? Did she have it yet?" Joey's voice boomed over you, startling you out of the light doze you'd managed, slumped against JC. You sat up slowly, rubbing at your eyes, and grinned.

"Congrats, dad. You have a boy." You could feel JC coming online behind you, felt his whole body shimmy as he stretched. God, what a night. "She's down in room A-3, man. Go say hi before you find yourself divorced."

"Fuck. A boy." Joey grinned at you, all teeth, and you laughed, watching him half run down the hallway.

You hadn't been laughing last night -- was it still night? You couldn't tell, surrounded by nothing but brightly-lit hallways -- as you and JC frantically navigated Orlando streets, you driving, JC sitting with Kelly in the backseat saying things like 'breathe, honey. Take slow breaths.', over and over again. You felt like you were doing the Lamaze exercises, by the time you got to the ER.

And Joey, fucking Joey, calling you, panicked because Kelly was in labor and her parents were out and neither of them could reach them, and his mom and dad had to stay with Briahna and Carlie. It wasn't like you hadn't been around Kelly having babies, anyway, but you learned quickly that hanging at the hospital and waiting for word on boy or girl was way different than actually driving the woman to the hospital, while she cursed and yelled and threatened, the entire way. Not that you blamed her; if having a baby could compare in any way to the kidney stone you passed once, you'd probably be cursing and yelling and threatening. At the top of your lungs.

And then she wouldn't let you leave. God, no single -- gay, your mind added-- man should have to sit through childbirth with a woman who wasn't even his. But you didn't mind, really. It was Kelly and she was family, and fuck, Briahna was Lance's goddaughter, and Carlie was yours, so it wasn't like you hadn't marginally been involved in all this before, anyway.

You and JC took turns sitting with her for two hours while her labor progressed, until the nurse came in with an IV, for fluids, and JC turned fifty shades of pale. You kicked him out of the room to pace the hallways, hanging tough by yourself for the remainder of the drama.

Dylan Joseph Fatone put in his appearance at 3:42a.m., and you skipped out of the room as soon as you could, after ensuring Kelly and son were fine. JC told you Joey called again while you were in the room, and he was en route and would be there as soon as he could. You must've fallen asleep around the same time, because you didn't remember anything after that, until Joe's voice woke you up. And now you were left to deal with a very early morning -- Christ, they'd gotten harder to deal with, the closer you'd gotten to thirty-five -- not enough sleep, and funny ridges on your cheek where you'd slept on JC and now had sweatshirt imprints on your face.

"Uh. What time is it?" You stretched, and scooted when JC stood up, basically dumping you off him.

"Just after six. Geez. Don't babies ever come at normal hours?"

"You're asking me?" You stood up and did a few more stretches, feeling a twinge here and there. Oh, yeah. Middle-age, here we come.

"Two of your sisters have kids," he said pointedly.

"Yours has two, herself," you said just as pointedly. He grinned tiredly.

"Point." Then, "fuck! Andre's coming this morning--" And you could see JC beginning the spiral into mondo-freak mode. You shook your head; no matter how much time passed, some things never changed. JC and studio time -- or anything related to music, really -- was one of the constants of the universe. That was comforting, somehow.

"Call him and tell him to come this afternoon. Or tomorrow. Dude. We delivered a baby tonight. Last night. Whatever."

"You delivered the baby. I passed out." He was digging through his pockets for his phone.

"Actually, the doctor delivered the baby. I just held her hand and said 'breathe, breathe, breathe', a lot." You arched an eyebrow. "I don't remember you passing out. I thought I kicked you out before that could happen."

"Nah." He punched the numbers in. "I made it back here and just kinda...y'know. I don't remember anything for a while. 'Til you came back out."

"That's called sleeping, dude."

"Wise-ass. Hey, Andre?"

You tuned the conversation out, instead looking around for a water fountain. You had the nastiest taste in your mouth, like something crawled in and died while you were sleeping. Coffee would go even better, but you'd wait for Joey to come out and then the three of you could go celebrate with sludge, together. And you could go to the gift shop and get something stuffed and fluffy for mommy and baby.

"He's perfect! Just perfect." Joey laughed again, and you recognized the kind of giddy, post-baby look he'd had the other two times. "Tell me he isn't just perfect."

The three of you'd gone back to Joey's house, rather than hang at the hospital, because Kelly was wanting to sleep for a while before they discharged her, and Joey wanted a shower. He'd been traveling all night, literally, to get home from LA. You thought a shower sounded good, too, but figured you could catch one at the studio later, or just maybe go home after this. Joey's coffee was better than the hospital shit, definitely, and you took another deep swallow, grateful for sugar, caffeine and creamer.

"He's cute, Joe. Gonna have your nose, though." You felt the vibration of JC snickering against your back and grinned into your cup.

"Fuck you, Kirkpatrick. My nose is perfect. At least I don't have elf-ears." Joey laughed and flipped you off, which you returned, then reached for his phone to call his folks. Behind you JC shifted and you moved forward from your slumped-against-the-human-pillow position to let him up.

"You okay?"

"Just need to hit the can." He whapped you lightly on the back of the head when you set your cup down and relaxed back into the warm spot. "I'm gonna want to sit back down, y'know."

"So, find you another spot. I'm crashing."

"I'm getting my spot back, man. It's comfortable." JC tickled the tip of your nose with his finger and you batted his hand away.

"Whatever. Closing my eyes now." Even with your eyes closed, you could practically see him sticking his tongue out at you, and grinned. Hah. Any day you needled JC into immature behavior was always a good day. You waited a minute, then opened your eyes to find Joey watching you carefully, his eyes moving from JC's retreating form and back to you. "What?"

"That's kind of what I was wondering." He got up to refill his mug, then sat back down, shoving your feet off the end of the couch to make a space. "What's up with you and C? You guys are like, God. More married than me and Kel."

"We are not." You pushed yourself upright and shifted around so you could look -- or not look -- at Joey.

"You so are, dude. C'mon, Chris. Get on the clue-bus. You're joined at the hip. You work together, hang together...you sleeping on each other, like you're human pillows. Hell, you're sharing coffee cups." You slanted a look at the mug you were using, and remembered JC taking it from your hand and drinking out of it a little while ago, even though his sat not eighteen inches away from him, on the coffee table.

"So?" You rubbed at your eyes. Two hours of sleep wasn't enough. "How is what we're doing so different from when it was all five of us?"

He shrugged. "You just give off this...vibe, man. I dunno how to explain it. Are you--" He hesitated, and you could see the question lurking there, ready, but awkward on his tongue, and shook your head to forestall it.

"No way. We're just friends, Joe."

"Uh-huh." He gave you a Look -- it felt like that in your brain, with the capital letter -- then shrugged. "Whatever. If you say so."

"I do." But you wondered. And when JC came back from the bathroom and slid in behind you, no arm around you or anything, no particular touches, just there, like he'd been for...forever...you wondered again.

"Dude. I had an idea." You hated cleaning, but hated things messy, so. And JC was helping, so it wasn't like it was a big deal. Anyway, you were cleaning for three other men, two of whom were bigger slobs than you could ever be, so it wasn't like the world was going to end if they saw a faint film of soap scum in the downstairs bathroom, or if the top shelves had a fine layer of dust. You were almost done anyway, which was cool, since Justin would be here in a few minutes, and Joey was due back from the airport with Lance some time in the next hour. But you knew even if you didn't finish, it was no big; they really wouldn't care, any of them.

"Chris."

You blinked. "Huh?"

He shook his head and wiped the counter down. "And y'all called me spacey. You said you had an idea, then left me hanging. What idea?"

"Oh." Yeah, attention-deficit was your friend. "I was thinking--about that song you played me." And the way you looked and sounded, you wanted to add, but didn't.

"You didn't tell the guys about it, did you?" JC stared you down, blue eyes dark and wide with concern.

"No. I wouldn't." You opened the door to the laundry room and tossed the broom and dustpan in there. Anyone looking in your laundry room deserved to see a mess, in your opinion. "Dude, no. But--C." He blinked at you and you sighed. "You need...you should do a whole album like that. The jazz background, all bluesy and hot and sexy. It'd be like, wow, man." And fuck, you could feel yourself blush. What the hell was up with that? Faint spots of color appeared on JC's cheeks, too; great, you could match.

"I don't know, Chris." He wiped at the same spot on the counter, over and over, mindless repetitive action. You could almost see the sparks he was giving off, brain flying so fast and furious nothing could keep up with it.

"I know you have material." You'd watched him, sometimes, when you sat together watching TV, or when you were doing the books for Tricky-C. JC was an artist in many, many ways, and songwriting was one of his greatest strengths. He wrote on anything: a cocktail napkin, a battered, leather-covered notebook, his Palm, anything, if inspiration struck. "We have studio musicians who could do the music. Hell, man, you could do some of it."

"It's--that's a big project."

"To record an album?" At his nod you snorted. "And it's not like you've ever done anything like it before, right?"

"No, but. I mean yes. No. Not like that."

You crossed your arms and leaned back against the counter. Stuttering JC meant he was flustered, which meant he'd at least maybe considered the idea. "What's different?"

"It's--it's not...us."

"No, and that's kind of the point. It'd be you. And you so could do it, C." You smiled faintly. "Promise me you'll think about it?"

"I'll--yeah. I'll think about it."

Anything else you might've said at that point was lost when Justin's voice rang out from the entryway, "Yo, dudes! Chris? Any a y'all home?"

And the moment was gone, just like that, lost in a flurry of hugs and whoops and smartly wrapped Christmas packages brandished by Santa Timberlake.

Joey didn't bother with knocking either; like Justin, he just let himself in. And it wasn't like you weren't all still friends, like they weren't expected anyway. But...Lance. Fuck. You would've appreciated the five-second-advance warning, just--to prepare.

Everyone kind of hung back for this one, and you gritted your teeth and cursed all three of them in turn. It was like the dawning of a whole new era, you got that, but Christ. Someone could've stepped in, helped a little. Even Lance, cool and smooth in ways you'd never quite gotten down, looked a little flustered, a little uncertain. He stepped forward first, eyes wide and nervous.

"Chris."

"Hey, kiddo." You leaned in close and hugged him tight, breathing in a deep breath of Lance-scent. A thousand different feelings assaulted you and you had to let him go, or risk never letting him go. Obviously it'd been a fucking waste of three months' worth of time, trying to regain your equilibrium. Dammit. "Welcome back to Orlando."

"Thanks." He smiled when you let go and raised a tentative hand to touch your hair, pulling back just before he made contact. "Wow. You're really growing it out."

"Yeah, well. It was--y'know. Something different?"

"And the--" He gestured to your now-naked chin, which was mostly due to a moment of impulse last week. "You look...kinda like you did when I first met you."

You shifted uneasily, and laughed, a low, sharp sound. "Maybe trying to reclaim my almost-gone youth." You backed away slowly, trying not to look like you were fleeing, then turned into the living room, listening as you sat on your couch to the sound of JC moving around in the kitchen, getting beer for everyone. You had champagne and other booze, and snacks for later, but for right now, beer. And you were grateful, so grateful, when JC handed you a bottle and scooted in behind you; you raised the bottle in a silent toast the others acknowledged, and ignored the looks Joey sent your way.

You thought by thirty-six, you'd pretty much be past the big deal of awkward moments, but then again, you hadn't ever broken up with a guy you'd been in love with for nearly twelve years, then had to see him only three months later -- as friends.

You were kind of surprised by how much it hurt to see Lance again, and how much you still missed him. Missed the feel of his body against yours; missed the way his mouth tasted after he brushed his teeth, or ate strawberries, or did tequila shots. You'd forgotten what it was like to listen to the sound of his voice, the way the rumble seemed to alternate between a soft peal of thunder, or the purr of a big cat.

But mixed in with the pleasure/pain of seeing Lance again was that weird feeling you'd been noticing lately, any time you stood or sat close to JC -- like now, leaning back against him, your feet tucked into the space between two couch cushions, his fingers combing absently through your hair. It was a...comfortable feeling. Soft, warm, soothing, and sometimes a little arousing. You actually beat off in the shower just that morning, thinking about the look on JC's face the night he played his jazz track for you.

And that made you a whole lot of happy and a whole lot of uncomfortable, all at the same time.

Four beers mellowed you considerably. JC's fingers drawing strange, abstract patterns on your back, where no one could see, didn't hurt, either. Not for the first time you wondered what all he hid behind those enigmatic blue eyes.

You lost yourself in contemplation of light green eyes and darker blue, and sighed, wondering what the fuck was going on in your mind. JC was your best friend and Lance was trouble waiting to happen. Again. You shifted slightly and let your head roll on JC's shoulder, wishing you could just sleep through say, the next couple of years. Let everything sort itself out.

"So, who's gonna go first?"

Justin's voice, mellow with beer and comfort, with the familiarity of being with people he could relax his guard around. He and Lance were kind of slumped against each other on the other sofa, and Joey was settled on the floor in front of them, passing pictures of baby Dylan back and forth.

It was tradition to exchange gifts; you'd been doing it for nearly a decade and a half, now. Joey brought his over on Christmas day, when he and Kelly and the kids stopped by for a brief visit. Justin already put his beneath your pitiful excuse for a tree -- JC's voice still rang in your ears, "You have to have a tree, man!" -- and of course you and JC had yours there. Lance got up and went into the hallway to the entryway, returning with two large bags.

"I will, I guess. I'm up."

"Such enthusiasm, dude." Justin flicked a droplet of beer in his direction and Lance grinned and flipped him off.

Yet another moment you'd been dreading since, oh, the minute he'd walked out the door three months ago. The exchange of gifts with the ex, who was still a good friend. Or used to be. God.

"Hey, oldest should do the Santa thing." Justin tossed his red and white hat toward you. "Go for it, geezer."

"Look, Infant. If you want to make it to your twenty-seventh birthday--"

"Ooh, threats. I'm so scared."

"You know what they say: sticks and stones and all, but don't forget whose house you're sleeping in tonight." You did an evil sort of laugh and cracked your knuckles. "Never underestimate the wrath of Chris."

Justin made a face at you. "Man, that sounds so lame. 'The wrath of Chris'? Now if you had a cool name like, Khan." He laughed. "And C'll put me up, right, man?"

JC laughed. "I'm stayin' here, dude. I thought we all were?"

You frowned, having completely forgotten the logistics of that. Every other year, you and Lance were in the same room. "Five people, four bedrooms."

"Couches," Joey pointed out helpfully, crawling over to the tree to help Lance sort out packages.

"Yeah, okay, and they're comfortable and all, but--"

"But nothing, Kirkpatrick. Don't be shoving our drunk asses out the door at midnight. Just let us pass out in peace."

"Fine, man. Whatever. Just don't whine to me when you wake up with a crick in your neck."

"Considering I'm planning to be shit-faced by midnight, a crick in my neck is probably the least of my worries."

"Just make sure you hit the john when you puke, okay? I just had the carpets cleaned."

Joey laughed. "Anything for you, baby."

"And don't you forget that." You snickered and stood up. "The host rules and it's not a benevolent reign."

Justin stared at you. "Fuck, Chris. What the hell've you been reading lately?"

JC had his head tipped back and eyes closed, but didn't miss a beat. "He's been re-reading Lord of the Rings. God knows why, but there ya go."

"You all suck, you know that?" You stood in the doorway between kitchen and living room and shook your head. "See if I offer anyone food, now."

"You have to feed me, Chris. I helped lug it in here." JC still hadn't moved, even when Joey set two packages in his lap.

"Fine. I'll feed your scrawny ass. And I guess I'll feed the rest of you, too."

"Pizza?" Lance set three boxes on the couch beside C, then retreated back to where he'd been sitting. You eyed them speculatively.

"I have pizza, chips-n-dips, a shrimp plate, some fruit and veggie stuff, um. Sandwich stuff, jalapeno poppers--" You paused and considered. "I got other stuff, but that's the bulk of it."

"I vote for shrimp."

"No shit, Joe. Anyone else? Lance, pizza, yeah?"

"Yeah. But shrimp's okay for now, too."

"We can start on those; the pizza has to cook."

"Get your ass in here, man, so we can do the presents, first." Justin was already fidgeting with one of his packages; from the wrapping you knew it was whatever C'd gotten him.

"Coming, already. Hold your shit, Timberlake. What are you, twelve?"

"Going on two," Lance muttered, and you grinned at him before you ducked back into the kitchen, a flash of familiar comfort lighting through you.

"Yeah, and you're so much more mature than me, right? Chris Kirkpatrick, thirty-six going on six."

"Children." Joey shook one of the packages from you and you barely stopped snickering when it rattled. You just knew his eyes got all wide. Joey was a jigsaw puzzle freak, and you'd had one custom made for him, a montage of the Superman movies, off a picture you found on the 'net. "You guys are worse than Bree and Carlie."

"Woo! Joey compared you to little girls." JC's voice had a definite smirk in it; if you'd been next to him, you'd've whapped him on the head.

"Dude. They are such little girls." Lance had the same smirk in his voice, and you made a vow to whap both of them the second you finished putting the pizza in.

"Fuck all of you; I'm taking my gifts back. Y'all can spend New Year's Eve hanging out at Joey's house."

"Quit pouting and get your ass in here, Kirkpatrick." Joey had his I'm-not-taking-any-shit voice and you grinned and slid the pizzas into the oven, then headed back into the fray, a bottle of tequila and a stack of shot glasses in your hands.

"I'm coming. Man, you're an impatient bunch."

Cheers greeted the alcohol, and you all tossed back two shots apiece before ripping into the packages. Justin and Joey's reactions you weren't so concerned with; your relationship with them hadn't changed any over the years, or even the last few months -- especially the last few months, your inner-self snickered. It was the other two men in the living room who held your attention, whether you wanted them to, or not.

"Oh, Chris." JC was first. You'd kind of thought he might be. You weren't even sure you could look at him; the emotion in his voice was just...palpable. "God." You snuck a look; his fingers were stroking over the paper in his hands reverently. He looked at you. "Where...how the hell did you find this? Where'd you--?"

"What is it, C?" Joey and Lance were staring at JC, and Justin had stopped unwrapping to look up. JC touched it reverently once more, then held up the cardboard you'd used to keep the sheets from wrinkling.

"The musical score for Al Jolson's 'The Jazz Singer'. Original sheet music." He glanced at you, eyes dark and deep, and something rolled over inside you, your chest suddenly too tight for the feelings thrumming through you. "Thank you."

You nodded. "You like it?" What a stupid thing to ask; it was pretty damn obvious he liked it. But--

"Oh, god, yes." The rest of the package was a copy of the original movie, from 1927, and a CD with the music. You hadn't bought any of JC's presents until last week, after he'd shared that one track with you. A piece of JC no one else knew about. You smiled faintly and jiggled your left leg nervously. Too many emotions, no place for them to go.

"Oh."

The soft sound pulled you from your thoughts, and you only had to glance over at Lance to know he'd opened yours, too. The tight feeling in your chest grew, threatening your ability to breathe; you knew that look, knew if he looked up at you you'd see light green eyes almost disappeared in the blackness of pupil, only the thinnest ring of color showing around the edge. It was his incredulous, ohmygod-I-can't-believe-this look.

Last Christmas the two of you went to Vail and spent a week not skiing, just playing in the snow, throwing snowballs and making angels, and drinking hot chocolate in front of the fire in your suite, and he'd worn that look a lot. This year--

You swallowed and looked away, then back, trying to ignore the softness on his face.

You'd bought his present last July, before things got so bad. Before that one last shove that pushed you over the edge of tolerance and into a need to get out.

Before your life got so weirdly complex.

It was a bracelet, a large, chunky gold-and-silver mix bracelet. Large-ish links, which had words carved delicately into the small spaces. 'The Difference Between Never and Forever is a Heart'. You'd debated giving it to him; considered taking it back to the store you found it in, and forgetting you'd ever seen it. Something made you hang on to it, and you wondered if you'd ever truly be free of your feelings for him. Your vote was on probably not; he'd had your heart for so long you didn't want it back...not all of it, anyway.

You wondered if it was possible to love two very different people for very different reasons, at the same time. If you could give away a heart that didn't belong completely to you.

You were really, really glad when everyone was done with the unwrapping and you could eat pizza and drink more tequila and beer, safely seated in your leather recliner, away from everyone.

"Five...four...three...two...one! Happy New Year!" Five voices, blending together. You hugged JC and Joey, who were closest, and watched Justin half-strangle Lance. When they both took several steps toward you, the three of you closed in, so you formed a circle. Justin started the song.

"Let auld acquaintances be forgot...", and the rest of you chimed in, acapella, like you'd started. Like you'd ended. Just your voices, ringing strong and true. It made shivers dance up and down your spine, tingling in all the nerve endings in your body. God, you missed this. Missed them.

You sang fairly regularly with JC, in the line of work you were in, and you harmonized with Joey sometimes for lullabies and the like, but this...this was what you'd all been about, for a decade. Five guys who loved each other and could blend their voices into something magical and special. You waited for the last notes of the song to fade, then looked across at Lance, then at Justin, at Joey, at JC standing beside you and started the opening notes to "I Thought She Knew".

Everyone blinked, but it only took a moment for them to join in, and the feeling of togetherness made you want to cry. Lance's low rumble, JC's soaring tenor, Justin and Joey blending so well, Joey hitting the notes that made his voice so beautiful, but especially in this song.

Not for the first time you hated yourself, hated that you hadn't explored, considered other options that might have extended the time you all had together.

"Chris. Chris." Strong fingers rubbed your shoulders, and you blinked back into reality to see four men standing around you, looking at you with concern and caring. "Dude. You okay?" Justin was closest, his big hands warm and soothing on your shoulders, his voice like balm. You nodded and gave them all a shaky smile.

"I'm fine. And not nearly as drunk as I should be by now."

That got you a laugh, though JC stared at you for an extra minute, probably trying to see if you were lying about the fine. You shrugged and gave him a half-smile and he nodded.

"Then let's take it to the next level." Joey headed for the kitchen. "I know I heard you say you have champagne, right? Now's the time."

"Yep. It's in the fridge." And you sat back to let them get whatever they wanted. You were done with the partying. You wanted to sit and drink and get drunk enough to forget, just for a little while, all the aches and pains and empty spots the last couple of years had left within you. A bottle of vodka and cranberry juice rested on the floor beside you. That would work. You weren't particular at this point; whatever would get you the drunkest, the fastest. Sure, there would be hell to pay tomorrow, but you didn't care about tomorrow. Just surviving the rest of this night.

A loud clink brought you upright, pained surprise flashing through your still-drunk brain. It was dark, sort of, around you. No, not dark, just dim; the lamp in the far corner was on low. Someone had tossed a blanket over you -- probably JC, since that was like him, to make sure sleep was as comfortable as could be managed. Though you weren't sure you'd been asleep so much as plain passed out, since you had a very vague memory of doing vodka shooters with Joey, followed by champagne and more vodka.

You squinted in the dimness, but didn't see any of the others, so you figured they must've made it to the bedrooms, or else were passed out elsewhere in your house. Whatever. You'd find the trail of bodies in the morning, no doubt.

The LCD on the VCR glowed green, showing you it was 2:53a.m. God. What the fuck was it that woke you up, anyway? You looked around, confused, before realizing whatever it was you heard came from the kitchen. Okay, time to make sure no one was suffering in there, needing something and too drunk to get it. Because you weren't too drunk, Nosiree. Just because you wobbled when you stood up, and had to put one hand against the wall to make sure you didn't fall down. Weebles wobble, but they don't fall--and ooh, hey. Pretty colors and swirls when you moved too fast. Cool.

It was Lance. He was slumped against the counter, gulping water almost comically fast; the clinking you heard must've been ice going into the glass. You banged against the doorframe so he would hear you, then said softly, "Hey."

He still jerked, then looked over at you. And, god. If sunlight was his friend, moonlight was his lover. It came in through the window blinds over the sink just...so, illuminating his whole face, making his eyes almost luminous, kissing his cheekbones and making them sparkle and gleam against hollowed-out shadows. He looked so young, so much younger than twenty-eight. It made you think of the seventeen year old boy who'd half-seduced you, who wouldn't take no for an answer, who told you you were perfect, when you felt small and dark and far too old. You felt an odd pang of loss for your long-gone golden boy.

"Hey." He smiled wanly, moved his glass around so the ice cubes clinked together. "What're you doing up?"

"I heard a noise. You?" You took a few cautious steps into the kitchen, then a few more, bringing you to the island counter just in front of where Lance was standing. In the part of your brain that wasn't completely soused, you heard a warning bell go off.

"I woke up thirsty. I either didn't drink enough, or--my tolerance is way higher than I thought." He set the glass on the counter. "Thank you. For--." He raised his left arm and you watched the bracelet catch the moonlight and toss it back in a multi-angled prism.

"You're welcome." You took another step, a small part of your brain babbling that you shouldn't get so close, this was trouble, you needed to get the fuck out of there Right Now. You snarled at it to shut up and stepped one more step, bringing you right in front of him. Close enough to feel his body heat; close enough to smell the cologne he always wore, to smell the gin on his breath. Lance always drank gin and tonics, if given the option. Another step closer; you could touch him. Could feel the press of his body against yours. Oh, god, not a good idea...back up stupid, get away, run... You raised one hand, brushed it against his temple, stroked his cheek, watched his eyes close. Your fingers teased the small stud in his earlobe, then touched his hair. "Lance--"

"Yeah."

It was just a breath of sound, not really a word, but you heard it, heard the permission, the desire, the need there. And god, you fit together so well, so well, when you pressed tighter against him, pushing him against the counter. His hair was still soft, still silky against your fingers, and the tiny, fine hairs on the back of his neck bristled when you stroked there. His mouth was warm and sweet and wet against yours, and when he opened for you, just the lightest pressure, you nearly cried, because it tasted like coming home.

You held his head, fingers twined in his hair, and explored his mouth, groaning when he arched against you, his arms coming up around your neck to anchor you there. It was intoxicating to kiss him again, to feel him, to hold him, and you lost yourself in it, letting your mouth feed on his.

When your kiss turned from welcoming to hungry, when his hands went from holding you to touching you, rubbing up and down your chest and back, when you could feel his cock pressing against your hip, you knew any chance of rational thought was gone. You could feel it banging inside your head, but everything else was roaring louder, stronger, blotting it out. You bit at his lips, at his neck, then muttered, "Want you."

"God, yeah." He arched his head back and you sucked on the soft skin just below his Adam's apple, sinking your teeth in. Oh, god, no, don't mark him...but you bit him again anyway, the sound of his groan lodging in your groin, making you throb hotly against your jeans. "Chris--"

You dragged your mouth off him, looked up into eyes wide and dilated, hungry-looking. "Yeah, baby."

"Fuck me. Want you to fuck me--"

Nonononono.... Oh, you were so far gone. This was such a hideously bad idea, but you could've sooner stopped breathing now, than stopped touching him.

"Yeah. Oh, yeah." You wedged a hand in between the two of you and palmed him through his jeans, grinning fiercely when he shuddered. Fuck. Oh, fuck. Yeah. "C'mon. Bedroom." You walked backwards, not letting go of him, doing your own shuddering when he nuzzled into you and nipped at the spot on your collarbone that made sparks zing through you. "Fuck, Lance--"

"That's right." He licked your ear, bit down on the piercings there. "Fuck Lance." Then his tongue was in your mouth again, and you couldn't think, couldn't move, just stopped in the middle of the doorway between kitchen and living room, half-trying to swallow him whole.

You didn't want to wait to get upstairs, and broke the kiss to say so. "Couch?"

He shook his head. "Someone could come down." He kissed you again, quick and nasty, his tongue hot and slick. "And we need--stuff."

Right. Yeah. "Okay," you said roughly, grabbing him around the wrist and tugging. "Upstairs, then, before I fucking come in my pants."

You didn't really think that would happen, but aside from jerking off a couple of times, you'd been pretty much asexual for the last three months. And now--it was like a banquet feast, all in the form of Lance.

Somehow the two of you navigated the stairs without breaking anything important, though you weren't sure about Lance's shirt. You heard the sound of fabric rending at one point; figured it was probably that. Being drunk actually helped you some; you lurched methodically and managed to avoid actually tripping at any point. You got his jeans undone, and your own mostly undone by the time you got in your room, and when you started to kick the door closed, Lance said "Shhh!" and pointed toward the hallway. Oh, yeah. You had company.

So you let go of him long enough to shut the door -- and lock it; you had enough experience with these guys to know that was an important detail -- and to shove your pants down and pull your t-shirt off. Nice thing about dressing for a casual evening in with the guys, it cut down on how much clothing you had to wear. Lance was busy jerking his own clothing off, but you couldn't wait for him to get completely naked. The shirt was off and his pants and shorts were pushed down over his hips when you pounced. You had to taste, and smiled against the back of his neck when he jumped at the feel of your lips.

"God, I've missed this." You licked down the groove of his spine, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his jeans as you lowered yourself. He groaned and shifted when you tongued the spot just above where his cheeks started; when you ran your tongue down the crevice between his cheeks, taking his pants all the way down, he shuddered and moved his legs further apart for you, kicking the jeans away from him almost viciously.

"More...please..." He panted, the sound loud and rough in the quiet room, and you smiled again, cupping and spreading his ass, running your tongue lightly over the soft skin, dipping into the cleft just enough to make Lance quiver above you. "Chris...fuck." He moved again and spread wider, leaning over the edge of your bed. You laughed against his ass, the sound low and smutty, then tongued him again.

"God, Lance." Fuck, fuck, fuck you'd missed this. Missed the taste of his skin, the feel of his body beneath yours, the way he shivered and shook. The sounds he made when you touched him, deep rumbles and purrs, vibrations that shook through you. "I love--this. The way you taste...feel...." You spread him wider and licked slowly up and down, tonguing around his hole, then dipping to tease the sensitive skin behind his balls. Lance groaned and shook under you, then cried out sharply when you teased the tip of your tongue inside him.

"Chris--ah, god...please. Ohh...." He arched again and you ran a hand down his back, soothingly, then backed away slowly, nipping at one cheek as you pulled away. He turned his head to watch you fumble in your night table for condoms and lube. Amazing that you were clear-headed enough to rim Lance with no problem, but still drunk enough that you couldn't make your fingers work to open the condom package. You nearly crowed in triumph when one package yielded. Finally. You rolled the rubber down over your cock and reached for the Astroglide.

"Which way?"

"Stomach," he whispered hoarsely. "Fuck, Chris. I haven't--no one."

"Me neither," you said softly. "Not since--" Your throat closed over the words and you swallowed roughly, then again when Lance shifted himself up onto your bed and settled himself, hips up in the air. You shoved a pillow under him and watched him spread himself wide for you. God. You settled behind him on your knees and rubbed his back, his ass, his thighs, memorizing the feel of his skin under your fingertips. He wiggled back against you, a soft sigh hissing through his teeth when you rubbed your fingers up and down his cleft, slicking him up. "You ready?"

"Yeah. God, yeah."

All you got after that were low-pitched, rumbly keening noises when you pushed in, slowly at first -- three months was still three months -- then held still while he adjusted. And then, sweet mother of fuck. He was tight. So tight. And hot; it felt like you were being absorbed into the slick heat, he was all around you and burning you up. You settled yourself along his back and bit at his neck, moving slowly at first, trying not to rush it. You didn't want to rush, wanted to last forever and ever, and--

"I love you," you gasped softly; the words were just there, so close to the surface, still so strong within you. You'd never stopped loving him; you knew Lance knew that. You kissed his neck, his ear, licked at the tendons that stood out when he strained back against you. "Love you, baby...god...."

He sucked in a breath; you felt it, with him beneath you, heard the half-sob in his voice then. "You...I love you, Chris...fuck. Oh, fuck..."

If you died at that moment, you'd be happy.

Lance pushed back against you, squeezing, and the world swam around you. You twined your fingers with his and started fucking for real; long, hard thrusts that rocked you both, rocked the bed, made your body feel alive for the first time in months. You changed position just enough for better leverage, Lance pushing his hips upward and jerking himself while you pumped hard and fast into him. It was quick, nasty sex, and you wanted it to last, but you were too drunk, too much alcohol, too much Lance. You closed your eyes and felt tears sting them when you came, when his body tightened around yours as he orgasmed, pulling you deeper into him.

The last thing you were aware of before passing out again was pulling out and tossing the used condom in the general direction of the trashcan. You curled around Lance and held tight as the shakes hit, before everything went black.

Your first thought was: you were dead. Brilliant, white-hot, blinding light surrounded you, and you could feel the Radio City dancers doing Chorus Line in your head. Your next thought was: screw that; if you were dead it'd be dark and your head wouldn't be pounding.

Fuck, you hated hangovers.

You reached an arm out, then cracked one eye open. The bed was empty except for you, and if it weren't for the faint scent of hair gel, sweat, and cologne that weren't yours, you might've thought last night was an alcohol-induced hallucination. Well, and you were sore in places you hadn't been sore in, for a while. That lent points to the reality angle. You had a vague -- way too vague -- recollection of Lance going down on you at some point after you'd passed out the first time. He woke you up with kisses, then sucked and fingerfucked you until you came again. You sucked him off afterward, then fell back asleep, wrapped in his arms.

God, had you really been that stupid? Maybe it'd be best if you never drank again, if last night was any indication. Three fucking months to get to the point where you felt anything; where you could actually hurt about what happened...and you went and threw that down the toilet in one evening. An evening you couldn't even remember very well, because of all the booze you'd had. You shifted gingerly and stopped immediately when your stomach rolled. You waited it out, so not wanting to heave, and moved in increments until you were sitting on the edge of the bed, wincing at sore muscles. Oh, yeah. Definitely had sex last night.

It took you nearly fifteen minutes to get yourself into a standing position and to find some sweats. Ten more to make it down the stairs without jarring your head any more than couldn't be avoided.

You could smell coffee, and had to stop and lean against the hallway wall for a moment to let your stomach adjust to the scent. When you finally made it into the kitchen, JC was sitting alone at the table there, looking pretty rough around the edges, but far more together than you felt.

"Hey." It was a hoarse croak, at best, but he turned and smiled blearily at you.

"Hey, yourself." He raised an eyebrow. "You look rough."

"I feel rough." You threw yourself into the closest chair and grabbed at your head when the movement jarred it and pain exploded behind your eyes. "I need an IV of aspirin and caffeine."

JC winced. "I can't help with the IV part, but I can do the rest." He gestured at the bottle of Advil already on the table, then stood. He was slower and less graceful than usual, but not moving as cautiously as you. "You want the coffee black?"

"God, no. Not yet." You shuddered and reached for the Advil, dry-swallowing the first two. You took three more when JC set a glass of water down in front of you. "Thanks. Where is everyone?" You drained the water and sighed softly.

He set a mug in front of you, cream and sugar already in it, then put the coffeepot between you before sitting back down. "As far as I know, Justin and Joey are still sleeping it off. Lance is out there." He nodded with his head toward your patio, and when you looked, squinting against the light, you could see Lance sitting on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. You watched him for a long time, until your eyes ached from the sunlight, and you could tell yourself that was why they stung. When you turned back to the table, JC was watching you with a sympathetic expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Chris."

You ducked your head. "It's worse than that." The swirls of light and dark in your mug were fascinating. Much more so than looking up to see the censure you were sure would be in JC's eyes. "I slept with him last night."

You waited and when he didn't say anything, you peeked, knowing it would break your heart to see it, but needing to. Get it over with.

"I know." He didn't look like he was condemning you, or anything else; if anything, he looked sad. Sad for you. You had a strange urge to hug him, to make him feel better. But his words startled you.

"How? Did you know, I mean?"

"I--um." In the past, it was always kind of cute when JC blushed, and you used to try on purpose, sometimes, just to see it, but right now you felt as awkward as he looked. You waved your hand.

"Never mind. It's okay. I just wondered."

"He came out of your room at the same time I was getting up. He, uh, looked rumpled. And mostly. Naked. I kinda--guessed." JC said the words quickly, the flush on his cheeks increasing.

"Ah." You hid your face behind your coffee mug and watched JC do the same. A hole opening up in the floor would've been convenient just then, but you'd noticed life didn't seem to work that way. Dammit. You took several swallows of coffee, closing your eyes against its attack on your body. "I didn't plan it." You opened your eyes and looked at JC. "I didn't want...I didn't want to want him anymore." You could hear the echo of both your voices swirling in your head. Love you, baby. I love you...

"I know." JC got up and came around behind you, pulling you back against him in a mostly-full body hug. You relaxed against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around you, of the warmth of his body. He rested his cheek on the top of your head and you could feel his breath in your hair. "And you know you don't owe me any explanations, man. It's--your life."

True enough. So why did you feel like you let him down? You sighed. "Still."

Another puff of breath against your head. Moist heat. You could almost imagine it made your headache a little better. "It's gonna be okay, Chris. You...um. Are you...did you guys get back together, then?"

"No." You shook your head and frowned. You didn't remember much about last night; images, mostly, but you liked to think you would remember that. "I'm pretty sure no." You tipped your head so you could see JC. "The reasons we broke up are still valid, C. He's just...I mean--"

"You're still in love with him."

"I guess. Yeah." Okay, this conversation hurt. Your head hurt, your body ached, and you wanted so badly to just go back to bed and forget the last twenty-four hours. Or at least most of the last twenty-four hours. You raised a hand and stroked JC's arm, the feel of his skin against your fingers, and the repetitive motion soothing. "I don't know what I am. Yeah, I still love him. But fuck. Almost twelve years, y'know? I can't just...toss that away. Not in a couple of months."

"Did you think you could?" JC squeezed once, then let you go and sat back down. "Seriously."

"Seriously...I guess I hoped." You shrugged and finished your coffee, reached for the pot. The first cup was settling okay; now it was time for serious coffee consumption. "I didn't miss him so much until yesterday. When I saw him." You put the pot back down, then laid your head down on the table. "I swear I'm never going to drink again."

"Right." It wasn't quite his normal smile, but not too bad for a partially hung-over JC. "You need to talk to him."

You snorted. "State the obvious much?" You closed your eyes. Who needed pillows? Any flat surface would do, at this point.

"So, go talk." JC waved his hand toward the patio. "Do it now, because if you wait, you'll have Joey and Justin up and hanging around."

"Fuck." You pushed your chair back, wincing when the noise scraped along raw nerves. No, you didn't need an audience. "Yeah. Going now." JC's hand closed around your wrist as you walked past.

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"It'll be okay."

"Yeah." You told yourself you weren't really dragging your feet, you were just moving slowly to keep your head from exploding.

You almost believed yourself.

It wasn't really as bad outside as your hangover would lead you to believe. Warm, but not too bad; probably in the low 70's. Bright, but a little hazy, too. A gentle breeze stirred through the palm fronds and flowers, brushed over your face. Pittsburgh would be bitterly cold, snow and sleet and ice everywhere. You were glad -- mostly -- that you'd stayed down here for the holiday. You didn't want to deal with your mom and sisters, and their families, on top of all the rest of this shit. Of course, even if you'd gone home for Christmas, you'd still be here, now, dealing with it, so. What-the-fuck-ever.

You should've brought shades out with you. It was way too bright for more than about a minute or three and you just knew, instinctively, you were going to be out here longer than that.

Lance looked up when your shadow fell across him, and you gave him a small smile. "Hey."

"Hey." The sun glinted off his bracelet. You thought the moonlight last night looked better on it. Otherworldly.

"Can I join you?"

He shrugged. "It's your house. Your pool."

"Yeah, well." You dropped down beside him and pulled the sweats up to your knees, letting the cool water swirl around your ankles. It was almost warm enough to go swimming. "How're you doing?"

That got a snort. "My head hurts, my ass hurts, and the first thing I did this morning was puke. So on a scale of one to ten, we're already at a negative. On top of all that, I gotta wonder what the hell we were doing last night?" He turned slightly and eyed you cautiously. "How're you doing?"

"My head hurts like a motherfucker. And the rest applies, too. Well, not the puking." You flexed one arm. "Real men don't heave."

Another snort. "Yeah. Right. And how many times did I hold you over the toilet?"

"No more than I've held you." You dimly recalled Lance telling you the first time he was hung over, that it was his very first. Like, ever. God, so long ago. Almost another lifetime.

"So, neither of us is a real man. Guess all the reporters and nay sayers would be vindicated, huh?" He fell silent again, and you followed suit, watching the swirls in the water from where his toes dipped and played. You'd closed your eyes and thought about dozing in the warm sun, when his voice startled you fully awake. "You know that night I called you?"

"Yeah?"

Lance laughed, a tight, bitter sound. "I wanted so bad to call and ask you if I could come back here, man. I missed you so bad...and I sat there, staring at the phone and the clock, wondering what you were doing...how you were doing... Instead I called, and tried to pick a fight. I guess...whatever. That I'm a coward, or something." He swung around to look at you, light eyes bloodshot and washed out. Even hung over he was beautiful. "Are you and JC--?"

You stared blankly for a second before realizing the pounding in your head wasn't hangover, it was anger. "Christ, Lance! Would I have--last night--if we were?"

He shrugged. "You're always with him, man. And last night--he's all snuggled up behind you and..." He stopped and swallowed roughly. "And then--fuck. I dunno. I thought maybe...when you kissed me. Then we--I thought maybe." Another pause had you clenching your fists, leaving little half-moons in your palms, where your fingernails bit in. "But...it was really stupid, wasn't it? And now...I just want it that much more, again. Want. Fuck." He sighed. "You wanna say something? Anything? Just stop me from rambling any more."

"See, I don't really know what to say here. You want me to say I think last night was stupid? Fuck, yeah. I've spent the last three months trying to get you the fuck out of my head." And my heart, you added silently, knowing he knew that, too. "I spent most of yesterday and last night trying to get myself shit-faced enough that I could look at you without wanting to cry, or throw my arms around you and tell you never to leave again, or better yet, throw you to the floor and fuck you 'til neither one of us could stand -- whether we had an audience or not. Instead, what happened was I got drunk enough that I totally forgot I was supposed to be mad and hurt, and we ended up doing the fucking thing anyway--" You stopped and took a deep breath. Getting angry right now wouldn't solve any problems; instead it would likely create even more.

"I love you." He said it quietly, without any particular emphasis, didn't even look at you. Just the words, soft and breathy.

"Lance--" You covered your eyes with one hand, trying to block some of the brightness. Trying not to see his face. "Fuck, dude. That was never the issue. I know you love me. I love you. But--we're not good for each other. Or something. I don't know what the problem is. If it's you, or me, or the combination." You couldn't sit still any longer for this. You stood up and paced, ignoring that each step made the top of your head feel like it was going to blow off. "I can't...do what we were doing. Can't live that way. I shoulda never touched you again last night and I'm--"

"Don't you dare say sorry for it." God, he was suddenly up, right in your face, and spitting mad. Fine. You weren't exactly in a good mood. You glanced over toward the house; saw JC's face briefly and closed your eyes. You didn't want an audience. Any audience. "You think I'm not--that I don't regret shit, Chris?"

"I don't know. You kept doing it." Keep cool, Kirkpatrick. You could do this.

"Fuck you." He hissed the words at you, eyes flashing.

"Yeah, well, see, that's where the problems start. We tried that last night. And look at us this morning--" You shook your head. "It ain't gonna work, Lance. You and me. We're--" Your throat felt swollen and dry and you mentally grabbed yourself and shook hard. You weren't going to lose it. Not anger, not crying, nothing. You weren't. "It's over. It was fucking over three fucking months ago. Last night was--a mistake."

"Yeah." He stared at you, eyes boring into yours. Anger, love, sex, you could read it all right there. It was what you felt. Nearly twelve fucking years, gone. You wanted to scream.

"I'm not...I have to go. I--" If you stayed any longer--you weren't sure what would happen. You'd probably end up kissing him again. God, it didn't hurt this bad three months ago, did it? Of course, then, you thought you could still be friends. You weren't so sure about that, now.

"Don't bother, man. I'm outta here." Lance spun on his heel and left you standing there in the warm sun, feeling cold and dead inside.

"Chris?"

Joey's voice was the first thing that penetrated the fog in your mind. You wondered, when you finally looked up, how long he'd been standing there. How long you'd been sitting out here, huddled in on yourself. The sun was in a different spot in the sky. Hours?

"Yeah."

"You okay, man?"

You shook your head. "Joey. Dude. I have no idea."

"You look like hell."

You gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Thanks, man. You gotta know that helps."

"JC took Lance to the airport."

The deep breath you sucked in was just a need for oxygen. Not shock, or hurt, or--any one of too many things to list off coherently. Right? Sure. "When?"

Joey shrugged. "They left about an hour ago. I'm not sure what time his plane leaves; he wasn't--" He fell silent and you turned to look at him, seeing the truth in his eyes.

"Supposed to go back yet. Yeah, okay." You eyed him sharply. "So, what? JC's babysitting Lance, and you and J got me? Is that it?"

"Do you need a babysitter?"

"Fuck you, Joe."

"No, fuck you. God, Chris. Are the two of you really that idiotic?" Joey sat down beside you, and the soft creak of his bones reminded you that all your friends were getting older. Joey, who would be thirty-one in a few weeks. Fuck.

"What, and you've never done anything stupid?" It wasn't enough that you fucked up, but now one of dearest people in the world to you was going to rub your face in it. Yay. You were so glad the new year was starting off like this. That way, it could only get better.

"Okay, so, we're not talking about me right now, are we?"

"Maybe we should. Beats talking about me and how I fucked up."

"Are you going to shut up and listen to me? Or are you just gonna do the attitude thing?"

You glared at him. "Why should I have to listen to anything? My house, my ex. I can fight with him if I want to."

"Yeah, but you remember the friend that ex is supposed to be, too?"

Too bad Joey wasn't reading your body language; you were pulled in on yourself, clearly -- to anyone else -- broadcasting 'leave me the hell alone'. "Okay, look. You try having a relationship within a group that lasts for nearly twelve fucking years, Fatone, then have all of it just kind of dissolve away -- group, boyfriend, all of it-- and let's see how well you handle shit, okay? I didn't think that seeing him would be so--hard. Bad. I just. Shit. Thought three months would be long enough. And the whole-breaking up. I mean, Christ, man, you and Kel are still together, even with all the shit you put each other through. I just don't...I don't get why Lance and I couldn't--" You trailed off, not wanting to say more, not wanting to stop. It felt...good, in an odd way, to purge a little of this.

"Make it?" Joey's voice was soft.

"Well, yeah. Why we couldn't make it." You looked at him, searching for the Joey you'd known for forever. Fuck, you'd known him for at least a couple years longer than any of the other guys. You sighed. "You--um. You screwed around on Kelly. A lot." Way more than Lance ever screwed around on you. You kicked at a waterbug skimming on the edge of the pool. "So, why'd she put up with it? What made it different for you guys?" What can you tell me so I could figure out how to handle it so I could have him back again? But--could you really live like that? Knowing there was something wrong...that you weren't enough for him?

He blew out a breath. "Fuck if I know, man. We didn't, a lot of times. You know that. But...Bree, she changed things." He shrugged. "But you and Lance, you're different. Different situation, all that. And--" He broke off and shifted around uncomfortably.

"And what? C'mon, dude, spit it out."

"Well, um. Y'know. C. You an' him--"

You slapped your hand down on the pavement. "For cryin' out loud--. There is no me and C. No us. What the fuck is wrong with all you people?"

"Are you familiar with the saying 'the lady doth protest too much? Well, substitute 'Chris' for 'lady', and..."

"And nothing, fuckwad. Me and C are friends. Good friends." But. The way he looked at you sometimes. The funny feeling you had in your stomach the night he played that track for you. When you jerked off--. You sighed. "Just leave that be, huh? It's a place I don't want to go right now. Maybe never."

"You're a man who loves to suffer, aren't you, Kirkpatrick?" But Joey's hand was warm on the back of your neck, strong fingers rubbing at the knots there, and his voice was teasing, so you didn't say anything else. Just relaxed and closed your eyes again. He snorted quietly. "You guys will have to work it out eventually, y'know. I mean--we're maybe not still a group, but we're friends, Chris. We've been through too much, y'know?"

"I have a year," you said quietly. Maybe a year would be enough time. Three months sure wasn't.

"I'm hoping it doesn't take that long."

Your eyes snapped back open and you shrugged Joey's hand off your neck. Regretfully. You felt all bristle-y again, and found yourself wishing for JC. God. "I hope it doesn't, either. Because, believe it or not...I'm missing both men right now, Joe. He was my boyfriend and my friend. You do get that, right?"

He was silent for a moment. "I hadn't thought about it like that."

"I didn't think so." You kicked at the waterbug again, then squinted upward. "What time is it?"

"Around three, I think. I left J inside to start cleaning shit up; we kinda trashed your house last night."

You shrugged. "It's not like it'd be the first time." Your stomach growled, and you sighed. "Let's get something to eat. That might help my head." Which still felt like it was going to explode. At least food would fill your stomach, maybe help the headache. You weren't real sure what to do to fill up the other hollow, painful spot, where you were pretty sure your heart'd been ripped out.

"So I was thinking."

JC's voice was almost bland, which you didn't buy for a moment. You glanced over at him, sitting patiently while he waited for you to get your shit together. You finished tying your shoelaces and stood up to stretch. You didn't want to work out, but it was part of the whole New Year package. Resolutions and all that. In a moment of weakness you'd agreed to working out four days a week. You'd managed to put C off for nearly two weeks, but he wasn't buying the excuses anymore; he'd come over to your house that morning and physically hauled your sorry ass out of bed.

And he didn't seem inclined to go any further with his pronouncement, so you prompted him. "So, you were thinking about...what?"

"Your idea." You must've looked as blank as you felt, because he laughed and slapped your shoulder. "Spot me first?"

"What? Sure. What idea?" Free weights. Yay. But you trotted after him, eyeing the machinery in here with a critical eye. It wasn't an expensive, fancy place; it was small and fairly modest, and from what you could see, the patrons were people who were serious about working out, not there just to pick up hard bodies. You knew JC'd had a membership here for years; part of your Christmas package from him was a membership. You tried to think positively about that.

"The, um. Album." It was interesting to watch someone lifting from this angle. You'd spotted Justin a few times, when JC or Lance weren't available to work out, and he'd shamed you into going, but usually your idea of working out was basketball. Rollerblading. Dancing. With the occasional bit of swimming or running thrown in for variety. You'd altered that by some, since your surgeries, but not by much. "You really think it's a good idea? To do something like that?"

"I do." You did. You'd thought about it relentlessly for weeks now. "You have an incredible voice, man. And an awesome feel for music, from top to bottom."

"Heh." He fell silent while he lifted, and you watched, found yourself looking at the play of muscle under skin, the way it rippled effortlessly. For such a skinny guy, JC was ripped in a big way. No, he wasn't really skinny--that implied a lack of...something. JC was lean. Whipcord lean. Like, a racing dog. Greyhound, maybe? All smooth skin and muscle, working sinuously while he lifted. You looked away briefly when you realized you'd been staring too long, and he'd caught you. When he finished the set he lay back for a moment, staring up at you, and you squirmed, wondering what he was thinking. Such close scrutiny was uncomfortable. "I want you on it, too."

You blinked. "On the album? I don't--"

"If you don't, I won't."

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh. That's kinda like blackmail, man."

He smiled, showing teeth. Wow. A not-so-soft side of JC. "It kinda is, isn't it?" He reached for the bar again and started another set. You shook your head.

"I'll help with the arrangements and stuff, C, but the vocals...I don't have...my range is higher than what we're talking here."

He puffed for a moment, then set the bar back down. When he looked up at you this time, he had a strange look in his eyes; something that made them darker, something indefinable. "Yeah, and it's not like we've never heard jazz in your range before, right? C'mon, Chris. It'd be fun. Singing together again, for real?"

Fun. Singing together. The look in his eyes wasn't indefinable; it was love, concern, a need to share something important with someone who could understand and appreciate it. You nodded slowly. "All right, then. Yes."

He whooped and bounced up off the weight-bench to hug you, startling the guy lifting at the bench beside you. You got a dirty look from him and gave him one in return, ignoring the mumbled comment about the 'fucking fags'.

You waited while JC got himself composed, then asked, "So do you have any ideas on what you want to do with it?"

"A few." He did one last set with the barbell, then sat back up, wiping at his forehead. "All vocal tracks, with jazz backing." You nodded and switched places, settling yourself down, watching while JC switched the weights out for you. It was mildly depressing to realize he could out lift you; but one look at his arms was enough to inform anyone that he'd been lifting for a while. You didn't want muscle like that, per se, but some definition might be nice. Stay the slide into middle age a while longer.

"You have lyrics?"

"I have some. I've been writing," he gave you a sheepish grin and you laughed -- panted, more like. "I just. It's weird, Chris. To think, y'know. About doing an album. Without the others. Because--it's. Yeah. Weird."

"I know." You bit your lip on the baby that nearly escaped, and wondered what the hell was wrong with your brain. Where'd that come from? You rolled your eyes mentally and finished your set, arms feeling stretched out when you set the bar back. JC hung over you and you grinned. "But you know what, C? It'll be good, man. I mean...yeah. Weird, without the guys. But dude, you are so meant to be making music -- and I don't mean the shit we've been doing, recording and producing. I mean making music."

"I miss it," he said softly. "Sometimes. It's like--" A shrug, and a dismissive wave, like he didn't think it was important enough to go on, but you felt it like a knife in the gut. You missed it, too. The guys, the group, the music, all of it.

"Yeah." You wanted to say more, but couldn't think of anything right then that would help, and lots of things that wouldn't.

JC leaned down and touched your cheek gently. "C'mon, Chris. Let's finish up here and get to work."

You'd forgotten, obviously, the work that went into making an album. Oh, not the recording/producing end of it; you were more than passingly acquainted with that. No, it was the time spent writing, deciding the musical layout, the different keys a song could be in and which way it would sound the best. And jazz wasn't something you had a lot of experience with; actually, that would be closer to 'none.' So you took to hanging out in some of the jazz clubs in town, sometimes dragging JC with you -- when you could pry him out of the studio -- and sometimes just going by yourself.

You found one club you really liked. It was smallish, with a really good atmosphere. They alternated jazz and blues, and you'd decided you liked both, though you leaned in favor of the jazz. The first night you went in, you caught yourself thinking 'Lance would really like this place', then decided maybe not. Jazz wasn't really his thing, after all, and when the two of you would go clubbing without the others, you usually ended up someplace that had a good dance floor and a pumping beat. But this place...you knew JC would like it. It would appeal to him on many different levels, not the least of which was the man who'd recorded the sexy, seductive music that you couldn't get out of your mind.

The place was done all in reds and blacks, lengths of fabric draped over the walls, and around poles, with gilt-edged mirrors hung here and there, reflecting the muted light around the small space. It was...not gaudy, but...seductive. Like the music they played. It made you think, at times, of what old-fashioned bordellos might have been like, except it felt more intimate. It was also mostly dark, a little shadowy, almost -- the aforementioned mirrors and muted lights only penetrating just so far -- with lots of niches and crevices that contained booths, or just low couches and scattered small tables. It was comfortable. Warm. You hadn't shared this one with JC yet, but wanted to, because you knew he'd like it, too.

Lance. JC. You were so fucked, you couldn't even decide what you wanted in life any more. One? Both? And if the thought of both wasn't twisted, you wouldn't know what was. Nearly two months since the fiasco at New Year's, and you'd exchanged exactly one tersely worded email with Lance, both of you still stinging from things said and unsaid.

And so much was totally unsaid between you and JC, but there were layers now between you, which hadn't been there even a month ago. You'd catch him watching you, when you were singing, or eating, or hell, two mornings ago, when you were brushing your teeth, because you'd fallen asleep on his sofa after talking until three a.m., and so had to share the bathroom with him while getting ready for the next studio session. And it wasn't like you didn't do your share of watching him. For the first time in...far longer than you could remember...you found it uncomfortable to be around him at the gym, or in the showers, because you wanted to see more of him than you were seeing. You could picture what he looked like, lifting weights, then visualize that skin and those muscles, damp from the shower.

You were jerking off a lot more than in the recent past. Some days you wondered if you'd reverted to oh, say, eighteen, getting horny at the drop of a hat several times a day.

You'd taken to curling up against JC when you watched TV, or leaning against him while you worked on the different songs for the album, touches that weren't any different from before, except maybe for their frequency. And the longing that seemed to be in both of you. JC did it, too; carding his fingers through your hair while you sprawled against him, fingers stroking lightly along your arm when you leaned into him during movies.

And that was another thing. You guys were going out, but you weren't sure if you were going out, as in dating, or just hanging out like you had always done. You went out to dinner, to the movies, to an occasional art-gallery show, things you'd always done. They just felt different now. And you still caught movies with Joey, when he was in town and had the time, and Justin flew in just last week and the three of you went out to dinner, then clubbing. And you and Justin went for a bike ride the next day. It just felt so different now, when you and JC did things. Different, but not, and the fact that it was both was driving you nuts.

And you wanted, so badly, to do something or say something that would tip things just a little over the edge, just so you would know. You held back for reasons you couldn't even define in your head, just an instinctive feeling that it wasn't quite the right time. That you weren't ready to take it the next step, to have to define anything beyond friends who were growing closer.

You decided to listen to your gut and play it safe.

But you still wanted to share the club with JC. It made you antsy to wait, even knowing the timing wasn't quite right.

So you went alone, still, saving the moment. It was soothing, to go to this club and just sit, drink in hand, and listen to the music. A lot of it was instrumental; but sometimes there were vocalists in, as well. You liked both; didn't have a particular preference over one or the other. What you did have a preference for, you were discovering, was JC's vocals. Specifically, his jazz vocals. You found yourself comparing them to the albums Nsync did, and while you were proud of the work you'd done as a group, you liked these more, in some ways.

Maybe because they touched something inside you, a place that belonged just to JC.

"Oh, my god. Chris, you have to hear this."

You could hardly understand JC's words, he was laughing so hard, but you got the 'have to hear this' part, and put down your pen with a sigh that was part relief, part exasperation. You'd been going over the books for the studio, and had a headache, so quitting wasn't a bad thing -- except you really needed to finish.

You called back to him as you stood up and stretched. "What?"

"Just c'mere." He was back in the music room, listening to god-only-knew-what, probably fine-tuning something he wanted on the album. When you stepped through the door he flipped a switch, and the room was flooded with a beat you recognized, but couldn't quite place, until you heard the vocals.

Please don't go...please don't go... don't you know that I love you so...

"Holy shit! No Mercy." God, that seemed like it was forever ago.

JC laughed again. "Unbelievable, isn't it? I'd forgotten I had this." He bobbed in time to the music, keeping rhythm with it effortlessly. You grinned and reached out toward him, laughing when he bumped his hip against yours. By the end of the first round of the chorus, the two of you were singing along, circling each other like you were on the dance floor.

When the song was over you threw yourself onto the sofa, panting lightly, and still chuckling. "Wow. That felt good. And weird. Talk about memories."

"No kidding." JC collapsed beside you. "Do you remember the airport? Singing along to it?"

You nodded, cracking up again. "We were incredible dorks."

"No past tense, man. Some of us--" JC paused meaningfully and elbowed you, "--are still incredible dorks." He nudged you and you laughed again, then shifted and pounced, knowing his ribs were incredibly ticklish. JC screeched in your ear, "No! Get off! Get--Chris!" He disintegrated from there into laughter and incoherent pleas for you to stop, get off, quit it, stop.

You ignored all of them, laughing as he wiggled and writhed beneath you, trying to get away from your fingers. He was strong, but you hadn't been goofing off in the gym for the last six weeks or so; you held your ground pretty well.

"Say Uncle, dude. Say it!" You shifted a little higher, pining his legs, then dug your fingers again into his ribs, his armpits, hitting all the sensitive spots. "C'mon, C, you called me a dork. I'm not stopping 'til you say Uncle."

"N--no, man...you a-are...a d-dork!" He howled, tears on his cheeks from laughing so hard. You grinned fiercely and leaned down a little closer, wheedling.

"C'mon, baby, say Uncle... you know I'm not a dork...c'mon..." You'd forgotten how ticklish he was, and you could feel him shaking beneath you, laughter gone from loud and giggly to the silent kind that makes you feel like you're not breathing anymore. You laughed along with him and slowed down on the tickling, letting him catch his breath a little before starting over. "Say it, C. You know you're gonna have to, man."

He gasped once more before grunting, "Uncle."

You laughed again, and let go. As soon as you'd released him he relaxed under you, body going limp and loose, letting you roll into him. You slumped forward, bracing yourself against the arm of the couch while you caught your breath again, too. When he reached up and touched your hair -- hanging in your eyes, since you hadn't tied it back -- something shivered through you. His eyes were dark, lashes damp from crying; the tears gave his eyes a deeper look, made them appear to change colors, moving from to another like a prism. Something wavered and shifted, deepened again, creating a depth you wanted to lose yourself in. He stroked your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear, behind your earpiece for your glasses, then teased his fingers down your cheekbone, and you froze, something loosening and tightening concurrently inside you. You wanted to turn into that touch, revel in the slide of his fingertips over your skin, but you wanted to run scared from what it was making you feel, too.

His lips ghosted over your forehead and you shuddered once, very lightly, knew from the way his hands moved to your shoulders and tightened for a moment that he felt it too. Felt the ripples that were there.

It would take so little to lean in just a bit further, to press your mouth against his. But then JC shifted under you, pushing you back, and you scrambled not to get dumped on your ass, and the moment was gone.

You were definitely going to go home and rediscover the joys of your right hand, and then the joys of a cold shower.

"Ohmygod! You're Chris Kirkpatrick! Right? From Nsync?"

You were minding your own business. Waiting in the concession line while JC did his thing in the bathroom, and Joey was god-only-knew where. Late, was what he was. The girl who'd squealed breathlessly at you -- and that hadn't happened in a while, unless you were standing beside JC or Justin, who both still got recognized a lot -- was smiling, all teeth and big blue eyes, and she wasn't a teenie, but she couldn't have been more than twenty, maybe. God, she looked young. But she was obviously a fan, from some point, so you smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, that's me."

She turned to her friend, also giggling, and elbowed her. "See? I told you so!" Another look at you. "Can I have your autograph? Please?" She had a napkin and pen all ready, and this hopeful, expectant look on her face.

"Sure." You took them from her and shifted the napkin around so you could write semi-legibly, then looked at her. "What's your name?"

"Natalie. And can you do one for my sister, Kayla? She's a big fan, too."

"No problem, Natalie." You wanted to ask if Kayla was younger, or older, but didn't; it was just idle curiosity. You'd just started the 'To Natalie' portion when she squealed again, higher-pitched than before. You didn't even have to ask who'd just come out of the bathroom. And you weren't going to watch him lope across the lobby. It was bad enough when you mooned at home, or in private. Not here in public. Nope, no way.

It was really funny, and a little humbling, to realize that even now, more than two years after Nsync ended, you were still recognized; that fans still wanted your autographs, wanted to talk to you, to share your space for a few moments. Even if it was in a movie theatre in Orlando.

"OhmyGOD!" You glanced upward to see her clutching her friend's arm like a lifeline, and realized JC was now standing beside you, a casual arm going around your shoulders. Pity it didn't feel so casual. It was like having a rope of heat searing into every nerve ending you had. "God, I wish I had my camera--"

"No one brings a camera to the movies, Nat." Her friend obviously wasn't as impressed, and you grinned.

"Still. Um." She eyed you, still scribbling, then looked at JC. "Could um. I have your autograph, too, JC? Please?"

"Definitely." You could hear the smile in his voice and knew your mouth was curving to match it. You couldn't help it; it was like you were Pavlov's dog, or something, tuned in to anything Chasez. The thought was wonderful and terrifying all at once.

You handed him the pen when you were finished, and moved forward in the line, strangely glad no one else had come over with Natalie's squeals. It wasn't that you minded signing autographs, and Lord knew you signed a lot less of them now than five or two or even one year ago. It was just tonight you didn't want to be Chris Kirkpatrick and JC Chasez, formerly of Nsync. You wanted to be Chris and JC, who were waiting for their now-very-late-friend, Joey. Who was still MIA. Well, no matter. He knew which theatre, he knew which movie, and you always sat in the same spot so anyone coming in late could find whoever else was going to be there.

JC chatted with the girls for a few more minutes while you got popcorn and sodas and some Jujubes -- which neither Joey nor JC would touch, ensuring more for you -- and grabbed a handful of napkins. Two large popcorns, one with extra butter -- for Joey -- and one without the butter, but with extra salt, for JC. You'd share out of both, because you liked popcorn anyway it was served. You were waiting off to one side, content to watch JC mingle with the young ladies, and scanning the crowd for Joey, when JC joined you, his face all crinkled up in a big grin.

"That was fun." He reached for a soda and straw, eyes still twinkling. "Cute girls."

"Young girls, C. Practically jailbait." You headed for the theatre. "I'm starting to feel mighty old, here, dude."

"Could be because you are?" He wrinkled his nose at you and you elbowed him roughly in the belly. "Hey--no fair playing rough. My hands are full."

"My hands are fuller. Deal with it." You elbowed him again and grinned when he jostled you back. "Don't spill Joey's popcorn; he'll be unhappy with you."

"Joey's not here to know if his popcorn gets spilled or not."

"True enough." You followed JC up the steps of the theatre, glad for stadium seating. You could remember back before it was commonplace; it made movies so much more pleasant, when everyone could sit comfortably and see well. Second-to-the-top row, and he filed in, with you sitting next to him and settling one popcorn into the empty aisle seat beside you. You handed JC the other popcorn and stuck the candy into your pocket. Drink settled then, and you were good to go when the lights dimmed just a moment later.

You barely had a moment to adjust to the change in lighting when JC's hand, slightly moist and cool from holding onto his drink a moment ago, cupped yours, fingers sliding between yours to wind together. When he settled his head near yours and leaned in, breath warm on your neck and ear, you thought you might've forgotten to breathe, for a moment.

"Post-production starts tomorrow, Chris. We're almost done."

Did you imagine the brush of his lips against your ear? You weren't sure, and couldn't decide if that disappointed you or not.

You definitely weren't imagining his hand. He was holding your hand. You were holding hands with JC. And liking it. Wanting more. You were so fucked up about all this, because you were like, a twelve-year-old girl inside, giggling and jumping up and down, all flushed and giddy. JC's holding my hand! Whee! You sighed.

JC leaned in toward you again and whispered, "Relax", and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. He squeezed again when you jumped, then laughed very softly in your ear, and leaned his head against yours.

You'd totally forgotten about movie trailers or popcorn, or even the movie you were there to see -- Jet Li's latest -- when Joey showed up, jostling you when he sat down in the empty seat. You'd forgotten about everything except sitting next to JC in a movie theatre, holding hands, with his head resting against yours. You ignored the look Joey gave you and knew JC did too, both of you just giving him a bland smile at his whispered, "sorry I'm late," and even quieter "what the fuck, Chris?"

You didn't answer. You didn't care. You didn't care about anything happening around you, right then.

You were screwed. And strangely happy about it.

Four days later and you were still giddy over the whole handholding thing, though you weren't sure why. It wasn't like he'd give you a declaration of undying love or anything. It wasn't even like that night a couple weeks ago, when you'd nearly kissed him. Or he'd nearly kissed you. Whatever. And it wasn't like anything else felt different, exactly. Things did, but not in any way you could really put your finger on. It was if things were changing on minute levels, but the changes weren't obvious or upfront. You knew they were there, you just couldn't see them.

Post-production was done. The album was finished, only three months after you'd started it. You were releasing it under your own label, as an independent project, but you and JC had talked to Johnny at the outset of recording; he'd agreed to sign on as a distributor, through Jive. You sent the master tapes out late yesterday afternoon. It was a done deal, now. Belong To Me, by J&C, due to hit the store shelves in just a few weeks' time.

JC alternated between elated and terrified. More elated, but you could see the sheen of fear lurking in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Somewhere along the way this project became really important to both of you, if for different reasons, and you thought perhaps JC made it symbolic of himself, of doing things that were non-Nsync. Of his ability to create music separate and apart from a group, his ability to be successful in his own right, as a musician and a vocalist. You'd tried, as recently as the previous night, to tell him that wasn't the case, that what he did on his own -- or with you -- had no bearing on what he'd done as a member of the group, and vice versa. That was part of the point behind releasing it as "J&C", to let it go on it's own merit, not just because it was JC Chasez and Chris Kirkpatrick. When words didn't work, didn't soothe him, you'd stretched out on the couch behind him and pulled him against you, stroking one hand repeatedly up and down his arm, like you might pet a cat, before curling around him and holding him tight. He'd relaxed, eventually, even falling asleep in the midst of SNL re-runs, pressed back against you, stirring your body with the sensation of his, rising and falling in sleep.

When you couldn't stand it any longer, you woke him up enough to send him to bed, then went home and beat off in the shower, and wondered when you'd gone and fallen in love with your best friend.

Hadn't you learned, the first time around?

When the phone rang at ass-o'clock in the morning -- who the fuck was up at five a.m., anyway? -- you realized you obviously you hadn't learned the second or third times around, either, since you found yourself agreeing to meet Lance for coffee, when you didn't even know he was going to be in town.

You let yourself into the studio, not surprised the door was still locked; it was only six-thirty and JC seldom unlocked the doors before nine; it wasn't always safe to have them open wide anyway, and certainly not that early. After waking up so early, and actually having to think, you found you couldn't go back to sleep after you hung up the phone, so you decided to go down to the studio and see what trouble you could stir up until nine-thirty, when you were supposed to meet Lance at the Good Egg on Melanson.

JC was in one of the sound booths, picking out a melody on a keyboard. The mic was open so you stopped and listened for a moment before recognizing the tune; it was "I Will". A shiver flirted over your spine, leaving refreshing tingles in its wake. You rapped on the glass with your knuckles so you didn't scare the shit out of him, then opened the door.

"Hey, hot stuff."

He smiled at you; a big, full, sweet smile; the kind that crinkled his eyes up and lit up his entire face. "Hey. What're you doing up so early?"

You dropped your keys and glasses on the counter and wandered over to stand beside him. "Apparently I'm having coffee with Lance in a couple of hours, when he lands in Orlando. Did you know he was coming to town?"

He nodded. "I talked to him a few days ago. He said he wanted to talk to you, but didn't know if he was going to go through with calling you, or not."

"Huh. And I'm sure you chimed in on the 'yeah, sure, you should', didn't you?" You sighed and leaned closer, smiling a little when JC closed the gap and settled an arm over your shoulders, rubbing soothingly. "Want to come along? Moral support?" You said the words hopefully, mostly joking, but not completely. JC squeezed your shoulders.

"I think you guys need to talk, Chris. Really need to talk."

"The last time we tried that--"

"You were both hung over, still hurting, and had just done something really, really stupid." He paused. "At least this time you'll both be sober, and haven't just slept with each other."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." You smiled wryly. "Maybe you should come with, just to make sure we don't get arrested for making a scene in public."

He gave you another one of those sweet smiles, but with steel beneath it, this time. "Nice try, man. Ain't gonna work. You and Lance need to get shit straightened out. You need to be able to be friends, y'know?" He paused. "Me and Joey and Justin need you to be able to be friends. And--" He moved, taking his arm from your shoulders, and turning so he could touch your cheek, his finger stroking lightly along your cheekbone. "I need...for you to get things figured out."

And wow. You weren't expecting him to say that.

"I--yeah." Your voice squeaked a little, so you cleared your throat, feeling self-conscious, and then even more so when he stroked his finger across your mouth, the pad slightly rough against your lips, from plucking at guitar strings. You blinked, warmth like you hadn't felt in a long time rolling over you at the sensation of his finger on your lips, stroking lightly. When he touched the seam of your lips you parted them automatically, feeling blind and deaf and dumb, struck down by sensation. You tried to speak, but the words jumbled in your throat, thick and heavy, and nothing but a soft gasp of air came out, vaguely formed into his name. "JC--"

"Mmm." He leaned a little closer, mouth so near yours, breath warm against your lips -- so sensitive now, from just that soft touch, the finger that was still rubbing, stroking lightly -- a soft puff of coffee-scented air that felt scalding hot and sweetly cool all at once. You didn't even think it was all that strange that the first time you kissed JC was going to be in a recording booth, because that made such perfect sense to you. Music brought you together; it kept you together. And in between those two, you'd been friends, and learned to be more. You tried his name again, liking the way it felt on your tongue, your throat still tight with anticipation, expectation, making it a rough sound of need.

"C--"

"Yes." His voice was rough, too, and you felt a thrill move through you, that you could affect him that way. He rubbed your lips again, then shifted so you were standing right between his legs, and his hand could stroke back up your cheek and curl into your hair, threading his fingers through it. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when he cupped the back of your head, drawing you closer, his incredible eyes holding yours the whole way.

JC's mouth was a lot softer than it looked, and warm, and welcoming. No pressure, just a gentle kiss, his lips giving under yours. You sighed softly and pressed a little harder, and he opened slowly, letting you taste more of him in tiny increments. When his tongue teased out to touch yours you shuddered and opened to him, giving him control of the kiss, letting him deepen it until you couldn't think of anything but JC, and his mouth on yours, and the way it felt so. Right. You curled your arms up over his shoulders and around his neck, leaning into him, feeling the heat he radiated.

He tangled his fingers deeper into your hair, both hands now, and held you closer while your mouth was tasted, teased, plundered. You groaned when he broke the kiss, and rested his forehead against yours, panting roughly, feeling the fast thump of his heart against your chest as he tried to get his breathing under control.

"Wow," you whispered, when you thought you could talk again. Your voice wasn't quite as squeaky as before; huskier, now, and your lips felt swollen, sensitive. "That was--why haven't we done this before now?"

He smoothed your hair back from your face again, fingers tickling your scalp lightly. "You weren't ready." JC traced one finger down your ear, teasing at the rings there, and you shuddered at the barely-there touch.

"What makes me ready now?" That single finger teased back to your mouth, and this time you nipped lightly at the tip, smiling when JC's breathing sped up.

"Maybe I need you to be ready," he said softly, the tip of his finger stroking along the damp seam of your lips again. "I've waited--"

"Patiently," you finished, touching the tip of your tongue to his finger. "Very patiently."

"A long time," he amended. "But yeah." JC growled the words, a low, rough sound that rolled around in your brain and filled your senses with want. It seemed like it'd happened quick, but really was for-fucking-ever, when you thought about it; months and months of touches and caresses, and snuggling, and teasing, and always being there, supporting you and helping you. Months -- longer? -- of loving you. You bit down on his finger again, then sucked it into your mouth slowly, taking it to the first knuckle, your tongue sliding over and around it, watching JC's eyes widen, then narrow, heat flaring through the blue, turning them darker, fiercer.

He pulled you tight against him then and took your mouth with a ferocity that surprised you; like the others, you'd always thought of JC as calm, placid, easy-going. And he was, to a point, but you'd learned over the years that he also could have a backbone of steel when he wanted to, and apparently that translated into areas other than just music. Areas like kissing, with his hands gripping your head tight, holding you steady while he ran his tongue around the inside of your mouth, slicking over tongue, teeth, gums, tasting every inch of you until you couldn't feel anything but his mouth, hot and wet on yours.

You really liked fierce JC.

One hot kiss turned into another, then another, an endless, continuous slick press of lips, of tongues tangling, of teeth nipping at sensitive flesh. It was like being pulled into a vortex of raw need, with everything hot and pulsing around you. At some point you'd lost your jacket, and JC's hands were hot against your back where he'd wormed his way up under your shirt, then splayed his fingers out, fingernails raking gently while he held you against him. You broke the kiss to drop wet, sucking kisses on the underside of his jaw, then down his throat, ending at the hollow at the base, where his pulse was jumping frantically. You scored the long tendons of his neck with your teeth, quick raking motions, then bit hard, where his neck sloped into shoulder. He groaned when you bit at him, then growled when you sucked the abused bit of skin hard, drawing heat up to the surface. His fingers on your back tightened, nails digging in, and you knew you'd be as marked as he was now.

When you dragged your mouth back up to his he was panting, eyes wide and dark, pupils dilated. He was fucking gorgeous, all hunger and arousal, and it made you want to sink to your knees, right there, and see if he tasted as good as he looked. You leaned in and kissed him hard, a quick, nasty slide of your tongue over his lips, followed by your teeth before you sucked his lower lip into your mouth. His hands were on your sides now, rubbing, fingers igniting every inch they touched. When you touched his waist, then went lower, he jerked back, sucking in a deep breath, hands tightening convulsively on you. "Chris--"

"Mmhmm?" You leaned back just a little, enough to see him, not enough to lose contact, your hand rubbing against his crotch, fingers cupping and outlining the hardness growing there.

"Not--fuck. Not here." His hands tightened on you, though, and you knew he could be swayed. And god, what a rush, to think of blowing him here--anyone could walk in. Well, not really, with the door locked. But it was the idea. You shuddered and reached for his zipper.

"Definitely here, C." And then you were on your knees, pulling his zipper down, listening to the sexy sound of his groan, long and throaty and raw, when you released his cock. One hand still gripped your hair, fingers twined in the long strands. The other he used to grab hold of his stool with as he half-slid off it, making access easier.

"Oh, god, Chris--" His cock throbbed in your hands, long and thick, and sweet Jesus, you'd just known he'd be beautiful. Perfect size, perfect shape, with a gentle curve backward toward his belly. He grew harder as you held him, fingers stroking very lightly up and down the velvety skin, and another moan rolled out of his throat, the sweetest sound you'd ever heard. He swallowed roughly when you flicked your tongue over the head, and his fingers tightened in your hair. "Yes..."

You flashed him a quick grin then bent back to your task, lapping at the thin droplets pearling up slowly. Salty, a hint of bitterness beneath, and the clean, musky flavor and scent of JC's skin. He'd showered that morning; you could taste a hint of soap, too, and the soft citrus scent that clung to him. You took a long lick, from tip to root, smiling at the shuddery breath he released, your brain exploding as it registered this was JC you were tasting, touching, caressing. Holy fuck. JC. Then the moment for meltdown was past, because it was JC and you wanted to explore, to learn him, to pleasure him. You opened up and swallowed him down, slowly, letting your gag reflex have a chance to adjust, because, that one time on New Year's aside, you hadn't given head in over six months.

Having his dick in your mouth was perfect, and you wanted to take the time to savor it, to memorize every taste, the way the skin felt and moved and the way his pulse throbbed against your tongue, but you felt greedy, too. You wanted to taste him, hot and thick and salty against your tongue. Wanted to feel his fingers grip tight in your hair, pulling on it, guiding and pushing you to take him deeper, faster, to feel the blunt end of him pushing against the back of your throat.

He must've sensed it; you sure as hell couldn't tell him with your mouth full like it was. At first he did slow, easy, gliding strokes, grunting softly when you sucked or flicked your tongue just so. But then...then. Fuck, it was good. He was good. Fast, hard, making you take it, and you sobbed low in your throat when he grabbed tight, tugging so hard your scalp tingled and your cock throbbed behind your jeans, then you swallowed around him and felt him convulse, felt the pulse of his cock as he came. You swallowed, then swallowed again, pulling back just enough to get the last spurts on your tongue, warm and thick, salt-bitter delicious. You closed your eyes and shuddered, groaned softly when his fingers released your hair and rubbed your scalp where he'd pulled so hard. You felt him slip completely off the stool to kneel beside you, and then his mouth covered yours again, tasting himself, the flavor lingering, still strong in your mouth.

"Chris." When you opened your eyes JC was kneeling right in front of you, staring, eyes blindingly hot. "Stand up."

Sure. No problem. Your legs were as shaky as a newborn colt's, but sure. You could stand. Maybe. You staggered to your feet, then leaned back against the console when JC nuzzled against your groin, rubbing his face over the erection pushing against the front of your jeans. You groaned, a low, harsh sound, and shuddered, bucked your hips forward. "JC--"

"Hang on, man." He stood up -- you wanted to say slithered, because he just...moved up your body -- and pressed against you, body hot and hard, pinning you to the console. You'd never seen this side of JC before and it excited you, aroused you almost unbearably. Of all the things you might've thought about him over the years, top didn't even figure into the equation, but you could so see it here. He leaned in and nuzzled your ear, licking around the piercings there. "So wanted to do this...wanted it for so long...." Then he bit down and tugged, letting a quick, sharp jolt of sensation run through you. You jerked and his teeth pulled again, and you hissed through your teeth.

"Fuck."

He laughed, low. "Feels good, huh?"

Good? That puny word? You shuddered. "Um. I was thinking something--fuck!--stronger...." Another bite. He was marking you. He was fucking marking you. You were going to cream your jeans. He pressed the flat of his hand hard against your cock, not rubbing, not doing anything, just holding it there. Holding you there, effectively pinned. You tried not to whimper; weren't real sure you were successful. "C--"

"Shh. I know. Hang on." His lips were soft against your ear, your neck, then you felt the press, the sharp sting, and--fuck. You swallowed roughly when he bit you again, and oh...his hand. God. His fingers rubbed and cupped, jerking you gently inside your pants. You bucked your hips helplessly, and when you tipped your head back, baring your throat, he laughed, a raw, dirty sound that echoed inside you, made you want to roll over and spread your legs wide for him.

Why on earth did you think sex with JC would be soft and sweet and...vanilla?

"You're beautiful." JC's voice was rough in your ear, a low hum of sensation that wiggled down through your nerve endings, sparking another series of shivers. He laughed and rubbed against you, eyes crinkled up, hiding the hunger a little. "So beautiful." He nipped at your neck again, then licked over it, tongue wet and warm and oh, so good. "You taste good, Chris--"

"You're a cocktease, dude." Wow. A coherent sentence. You impressed yourself with that one. But damn, you were going to die if you stayed inside these jeans any longer; you'd long since passed the point of tight. JC chuckled against your neck and the vibration made you quiver, need coiling tighter inside you. He slithered back down to his knees and pressed his face against you, rubbing you through your pants, breath hot and damp even through the denim. "Holy fuck, man, please..."

He tipped his head back and looked at you through hooded eyes, a look that screamed SEX and made the hunger inside coil one more time, drawing you into a tense knot. "Please what, Chris?" He stroked lightly over the fly and you gritted your teeth when the metal teeth of the zipper pressed against you. Painful, but not; you walked right on the edge of pleasure/pain now.

"Please...suck me, C. God..."

"Oh, yeah." He smiled up, a sweet, wide smile this time, but you knew better now. He hid a fucking shark behind that smile.

You closed your eyes when he drew the zipper down, shuddering at the feel of metal so close to delicate, sensitive parts, then flinched when cool air rushed over heated, swollen flesh. And then, oh, god, his mouth. Hot, hotter than you were, and so wet, and just a hint of teeth catching you, pulling you from the edge, and a slow, slick glide of his tongue around the head of your cock, down the length of you, and his mouth following, sucking you in, pulling you deep.

You were willing to bet your eyes rolled back in your head. You wanted to grab his hair, to wrap those long, heavy-silk strands around your fingers, and pull, but if you let go of the console you'd probably land on your ass. Your legs sure as hell weren't up to supporting you alone right now. Instead, you gripped the edge of the counter harder and bucked your hips forward, groaning loudly when he swallowed you deeper. You could feel the nudge when you hit the back of his throat, and still he swallowed around you, sucking, tongue moving obscenely over you. When he slid one hand up your chest and pressed two fingers to your mouth you sucked them in, no question, eyes closed, body twitching helplessly.

You moaned when he pulled them free, missing the contact, wanting the dual sensation of sucking and being sucked. When he pulled away from you briefly you groaned, something unflattering, probably, but he bit your thigh and pushed your jeans down your legs until they puddled around your ankles. You got the idea then, quickly, and spread your legs a little wider, anticipation making your skin feel hot and tight. Slick, wet fingers slid back behind your balls and circled your hole, pushing gently, then harder. The minute he breached you, you felt his mouth on your cock again, swallowing you down, and this time you knew your eyes rolled back in your head. You were grateful for the counter you were leaning against, because when JC took you all the way down his throat this time, his fingers twisting and turning inside you, you shoved your hips forward with a shout, orgasm slamming over you like a wave of pure heat, turning your vision white, then black, for the time it took your heart to settle back into something approaching a normal rhythm.

You whimpered softly when he pulled his fingers free and you could slide down beside him. The tile on the floor was cool against your bare ass and legs, but it felt good, too. You were beyond hot. God. You considered lying down on the floor, just pressing your cheek to the floor until you could move again. JC snuggled against you and you mustered the strength from somewhere to wrap an arm around him, pulling him closer. He smiled and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, but that wasn't enough. You wanted another, deeper kiss; something connecting the two of you in this post-coital moment. He gave it up willingly, eagerly, and you smiled into it, tired but strangely energized, too, and so fucking happy you thought your chest might burst with it.

When you parted, still weirdly energized, slightly aroused, but mostly just warm and feeling good, you tugged your pants up, then leaned back against the console. JC tipped himself over into your lap and wiggled until you stroked his hair, fingers combing gently through it. You could hear the bemusement in your voice. "So."

"Yeah?" His voice was quiet, a soft echo in the small booth.

"Just--huh." You had no idea how to order the thoughts whirling in your head. "You just blew the top of my head off...and I'm meeting the ex for coffee in," you checked your watch. "An hour and a half. Can I safely say life is weirdly surreal right now?"

A soft chuff of laughter brushed air over your still-sensitive skin. "That's one way of putting it, I guess, yeah."

"Seriously, dude." You petted him slowly, relaxing into the gentle, repetitive motion. "I--know it's been building a while, C. I'm not an absolute moron--" You tapped his mouth gently with one finger when he snickered, "--most of the time. And yeah, it took a while to catch a clue. But...seriously. Why today? Why now?"

JC turned over, leaving his head in your lap, and reached up to touch your mouth. You kissed the fingertip that stroked once, then smiled. He returned it, briefly, then his face sobered, his eyes dark and serious.

"New Years about killed me, man. I knew...you still loved him. I know you still do, now--no, hush. Listen." He laid his palm over your mouth when you opened it to say--something--and shook his head. "I meant it when I asked you if you really thought you could get over him in three months. Chris...man...you guys were together for. Almost from the start. And that's a lot of history to deal with."

"But--"

"Hello, not done talking, okay?" He smiled to take the sting out of his words, and you subsided, nodding. "Okay. So. Um. History. And New Year's." He stroked your arm gently and it made warmth unfurl in your stomach. "It's still only been what, six months? Seven?"

"Almost seven," you muttered softly, a pang in your gut, even now. Damn. "JC--"

"It's okay, y'know." He traced your lips again. "I know it's gonna take a while. But." You watched the length of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallowed. "I wanted. You. I want you."

"I know." You shifted a little, the floor hard under your butt, and ran your fingers through his hair again. Memories of endless miles on the buses, and all of you cuddling with JC, petting his hair, snuggling into him, surged up. "I want you, too. Been...I guess, for a while."

He gave a short, sharp bark of laughter and his eyes darted away from yours. "I guarantee I can beat it. However long it's been."

Something about the way he said that made your stomach tighten into a knot. You knew he'd cared about you for a while; finally clued in that he loved you in the last four or five months. But. "C?"

"Years, man." He released the words on a sigh, then looked back up at you. "Sad, huh?"

You traced over his cheekbone, just a gentle, light touch, thinking about JC, and the friendship the two of you had. The years you'd known him, and all you'd shared. The times he'd sat and held you, or listened to you bitch and moan, or do the male equivalent of crying, when you and Lance had a fight; the times you'd stayed up all night talking about projects for the studio, or reminiscing about past, or just discussing things happening around you; when you'd take him out after he and Mark fought; the mini-vacations you took down to Miami to go shopping for a day or two; all the times you'd looked up to catch him watching you, nothing particular showing on his face or in his eyes, just always watching you. Always there. Always. You shook your head. "Not sad, man. Just--it makes me feel...like an idiot. That I didn't see--"

"You didn't see because I didn't let you see." He sat up, leaned against you. "It wouldn't have made any difference in how you felt about Lance -- would it?" You shook your head slowly. No, it wouldn't have. Until just recently, you hadn't let anyone but him in. There wasn't any place for anyone else. "I didn't think so. And it wasn't.... I wasn't pining, exactly. I mean--I wanted. More. But. Friends with you. Being--here. It was. It was better than not having you at all. Which was a possibility, if I'd said anything."

"I wouldn't--" You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Easy to say now, but then? You sighed and he nodded.

"Right. And I wasn't willing to take that chance, man. You guys were too close...even when you were fighting. And hell, I was -- am -- friends with Lance, too. So what kind of friend would I've been, if I'd...?" He shrugged. "Anyway. So. Um. Now what?"

You laughed. You couldn't help it; it just bubbled up out of you, until you were clutching at your belly, trying to breathe through the giggles and whoops. JC stared at you for a moment, a frown creasing the space between his eyes -- which made you laugh harder -- that turned slowly into a smile. The smile gave way to his unique, oddly-pitched laugh that was something between a giggle and a hyena's cackle, until you were clutching at each other, faces wet with tears, breath coming in slightly hysteria-laced pants.

"Oh. Oh, C. God." You were still giggling once in a while, chest heaving while you tried to control your breath. "You know what?"

"Wh-what?" It was nice to know JC wasn't in any better control. He wiped his eyes, and you grabbed his hand and licked his fingertips. Salty. It made you warm inside.

"I like--that you make me laugh." You sobered enough to think about the words. "We have a good time together. And--you make me feel, um. Safe, I guess."

"Just safe?" You felt a shiver trickle through him and into you, through the fingertips you were still toying with. You shook your head.

"Warm. Comfortable. Loved."

"You are."

"Yeah, I got that." You smiled at him, then bit down on one fingertip, watching his eyes widen, then narrow.

"You like to tease, Chris?"

"Sometimes," you admitted, grinning. "But not right now. I'm all about knowing when to tease and when not to." You pushed on JC gently until he pulled off your shoulder, eyes tracking every movement you made as you stood up and stretched, working kinks out of your back. You were way too old to be laying or sitting on a hard, cold floor. You stretched a hand out and he took it, laughing when you groaned and gave a mock heave.

"Ass."

"Yup."

"The question's still valid, y'know. Now what?"

You bit back the urge to groan. Two potential relationship talks in one day. That had to be an all-time fucking record for you. On the positive side, at least this time you didn't feel hysteria twitching against your ribs. You sighed and pushed the toe of your shoe against the floor, watching the way the rubber flexed. When you looked up, JC was still watching you, his eyes warm and dark, an oasis of calm.

"Now...I dunno. I want you." You took a deep breath, met JC's eyes. Tried not to flinch. "I love you...I'm. In love with you."

"Thank God," he muttered quietly, and you couldn't help the small smile that flitted across your mouth.

"Is it that easy, though?" Why, you wondered, did you always have the urge to make things so difficult? Maybe Joey was right--you were a man who liked to suffer. "Just like that?"

"Why not?" He countered. "I'm in love with you. You can't have missed that--?" JC cocked his head, one eyebrow arched, and you shook your head. Deaf, dumb and blind, you couldn't have missed that. Well, not now, anyway. Obviously you'd missed it before. "And you love me. So?"

"C--"

"Don't make it difficult, Chris. This isn't like we've just met and have to get to know each other, court each other. We've known each other for thirteen fucking years, man." He'd crossed his arms over his chest, pulled back into himself, and you cursed silently. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt JC.

"So you don't want to be courted?" And who the fuck but JC would use that word anyway?

"What I want is you." JC stepped closer then, his arms going from crossed over his chest to looped around your waist, tugging you against him. He nuzzled your neck and you shivered, arched your head back, caught your breath when he kissed the spot where your pulse was pounding. "However, whenever, whatever. I've waited years. Never wished for you guys to break up, ever, I swear, but..."

"I know, C. I know, man." You hugged him closer, tilted his face so you could kiss him. It was a sweet kiss, unlike the others earlier, and when it was done you pressed your forehead to his. "I think I'm just in that oh-my-god-this-is-real spooked stage." You smiled then, and kissed him again, a quick press of your lips to his. "I want this. Have, for a while, even with all the other--shit. I'm not going anywhere. Just...be patient with me?"

He laughed, a little breathlessly. "I've been patient for years, Chris. I think I can handle a little longer."

"That's my boy." You kissed him again, this time losing yourself in his mouth for a long, comforting time, enjoying the way you fit so well against him. When you broke apart again, breathing a little faster than before, he smiled.

"You need to wash up before you leave for breakfast. Coffee. Whatever you're doing."

You ran a hand over your hair, mussed and tangled now. "I need to do more than just wash up. But I don't have time for a shower."

"No, you don't." JC laughed softly and you shook your head.

"This is all your fault, dude."

"I accept full responsibility for it." He traced a finger idly over your throat, stopped several times. "And for this, this, this one here--"

You batted his finger away and sighed. "Fuck, C. How many hickeys did you put on me?"

"Enough," he responded, giving you a smug grin. You shook your head again but couldn't resist returning it. "Want you to remember, Kirkpatrick." He swatted your ass as you walked by him.

You flipped him off as you headed down the hall. His laughter followed you into the bathroom. Fucker.

Even after the fiasco at New Years, even with JC's kisses still warm on your lips, something tightened around your heart when you saw Lance, waving at you from a back corner booth.

He looked good. Too good. Tanned, which meant he'd been out in LA for a while, again, and the blond streaks in his hair were more from sun than anything else. A little longer on the top maybe, and shorter on the sides; unlike you, who was fighting to stave off middle-age in any way possible, Lance just looked more mature, like he was ripening, growing into his looks more every day. And fuck, he'd gotten his ear pierced again. There was just something incredibly sexy about earrings on a guy. You'd never figured it out, but wished briefly you could think of a way to convince JC to work around the needle phobia, because if ever there was a guy who'd look hot with a stud in his ear, it was C.

You shook your head to clear those thoughts and slid into the booth opposite Lance, smiling at the waitress kind of hovering nearby. "Coffee, black, a pot please?"

Lance blinked at you. "Since when do you drink your coffee black?" You watched him narrow his eyes when he saw your neck and wished you'd had a turtleneck to wear this morning. Of course, you didn't know JC was going to be chewing on your neck, either, so.

"I always drink my coffee black," you said after a moment's pause. "It just sometimes has stuff added to it."

He stared at you until you wanted to fidget, then laughed, that low, soft rumble that made the short hairs on your neck stand up. "God, that is such a...you thing to say...Jesus, Chris." He shook his head fondly, then sighed, played with his spoon. "You look--good." His eyes met yours. "More...dunno. In shape?"

"C's been dragging me to the gym."

"Ah." Lance fidgeted again and you resisted the urge to reach out and confiscate the spoon. Usually it was you fidgeting...or it had been, until about a year or two ago. You hadn't really thought about it, but you didn't fidget nearly as much as you used to. You had the urge to sit on your hands suddenly, as nervous energy washed over you. Either that or bite your nails. The silence stretched out between the two of you and you wished JC were here. You wished you weren't.

The waitress bringing your coffee was a welcome distraction.

After placing similar orders for omelets, hash browns (Lance -- 'no oil on mine, please, and egg whites only', the goober) and orange juice, you sat back and fiddled with your coffee cup, turning it 'round slowly, watching the patterns when the liquid moved. Silence grew between you again, and you sighed inside, hating the awkwardness between the two of you, but not sure what to do about it. Every road led back to pain and want, and love. You loved JC, yes. He'd slipped under your radar and wormed his way into your heart...but deep inside...you still loved Lance, too.

"So. Um. You and C?"

You looked up in alarm, wondering if you had it stamped on your head somewhere. Lance's eyes were focused on your neck, and you brought your hand up and touched what you knew was the biggest mark, right near your ear. Your hair was almost long enough to hide it...but not quite. "Uh--yeah. How'd you--?"

"We still talk, Chris. Me and him." Lance took a sip of his coffee, then smiled. "I'm--glad y'all finally figured it out."

You snorted. "It was me. Um. That--we were waiting on. He was waiting on." God, you so weren't having this conversation. You wondered idly what the fuck you'd done in a past life to have to do this twice in one day. Or really, three or four times in one day. Because you were sort of discussing both relationships with both guys. God.

"Yeah, I know." His eyes were steady on you, watching you. Damn Lance; he'd always done that, watched you 'til you felt like twitching, just to relieve the pressure.

"You know? Knew?"

He let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. "JC's been in love with you for years, man. I knew it. We've--we talked about it, once. A while ago." He stared down at his coffee cup, stirred his spoon around in it slowly.

You wondered if your mouth was actually hanging open, or only felt that way. "You--uh. Really?"

"Mmhmm." He nodded, then looked up when plates were set down in front of you. "One night not long after we--after the group split up. He was drunk, I was drunk; I have no idea where you were. Probably drunk, too, somewhere."

Yeah, probably. The six months or so after Nsync disbanded weren't exactly rosy moments for you, and the days when you weren't drunk or doped up on pain pills after surgery were few and far between, for a while.

"Uh, so. That was before you decided to sleep with him?" Oh, Christ. Bitchy, bitchy, Kirkpatrick. You sighed and Lance blinked, and you held up one hand and shook your head. "Nah, never mind. I just--I didn't mean to go there, sorry."

"I didn't know you--" Now the omelet was getting scooted around. You'd never realized Lance had such food and eating implement issues. "--knew," he finished softly.

"Wasn't hard to figure out," you said, matching his tone. "The two of you walked around looking guilty any time you were near each other, and you didn't talk, and you both avoided being around me at the same time. I'm maybe not a genius, but I'm not stupid, either." Your voice ended a little sharper than you'd intended, and you refilled your coffee cup and took a swallow, wincing at but needing the sharp burn across your tongue.

"It was a shitty thing to do," Lance said, poking at his food. You hummed in agreement and wondered why it hadn't bothered you as much that JC slept with your boyfriend, as the reversal. Obviously you had some issues of your own.

You snorted quietly. That was such a secret, hey? Right.

"Yeah, it was, but it's also like, nearly a year in the past, Lance. And um, well, hell. So're we. So, uh. I know I fucked up at New Years, but..." You sighed and just barely resisted putting your head in your hands. It amazed you, when you thought about it, that Lance was the head of a talent and management company...that you owned a clothing line and your own production studio...that together you were two-fifths of one of the biggest pop vocal groups in history...and yet here you sat, both of you stumbling over words and emotions and all that related crap. Oh, yes, the irony gods were laughing their asses off at you.

"You didn't screw up any worse than I did, Chris." He took a bite of his hash browns, then added more pepper. For a moment you wished for Waffle House, and their greasy, really-really-bad-for-you-but-tasted-so-good hash browns, with onions and cheese on them. "We never shoulda--"

"And we're never gonna get this conversation done with if we keep doing the 'never shoulda' game, dude." Your voice was sharper than you'd intended, and you turned to look out the window, gave yourself a minute to calm down again. "It's a loop that could kill us, if we replay it too often. It still hurts, Lance. Even after all this time. And...I still miss you. I just...I got something else going now. I can't...C, he's...I mean--"

"Hey." Lance settled his hand on yours briefly, and you realized you were drumming your fingers on the tabletop. "I'm not--I didn't ask you to talk to try and convince you we should get back together." He gave you a wan smile. "I'd like to, but--anyway. I had...some stuff I wanted to tell you. Things I've. Learned. Discovered."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He wiggled once, and you found it fascinating in a morbid way, to watch one of The Biz's hottest managers suddenly revert to the uncertain boy who still lurked in your memories. He muttered something else and you leaned forward.

"What?"

"I said," he looked up at you, a grimace crossing his face. "I've been going--to therapy. Counseling."

And, just. Wow. You sat back and laced your fingers together, pushed your plate away, and contemplated your ragged fingernails, then looked back at Lance. "Dude. Why?"

"Oh, you know." He waved one hand then sighed. "Maybe because I fucked up the best thing I had in my life? And still didn't understand why...or why I couldn't...not."

"Couldn't--not? Not what?" Now Lance found his fingernails fascinating. And you remembered why the two of you never talked much about deep stuff like this -- because you both sucked at it.

"Couldn't not screw things up with you." He looked up at you, a strange shadow to his eyes. "It was never you, you know that, right? Or--it kinda was, but it wasn't."

"And that's making so much sense," you said quietly. Your stomach hurt now, it was twisted so tight, so hard. All you could hear was 'it kinda was'. It echoed in your ears. What the hell was so wrong with you that the man you'd loved for a fucking third of your life...couldn't be happy with you? And where did that leave you, with JC? You felt sick to your stomach.

"Chris. Chris." You felt Lance's fingers squeeze yours, and glanced up. "You're not listening, man. It wasn't you... just." He took a deep breath and you narrowed your eyes.

"Just? Just what? You don't say 'it kinda was', then stop talking."

"You familiar with the term 'gathering my thoughts'?" Lance frowned at you. "It's just possible that this is hard for me to say. Admit. Whatever."

"Sorry." You muttered the word, not really meaning it, just needing to do something, say something, short of screaming in frustration, to get a little of the tension out. Your stomach was still churning. "So? Okay. Here's me being patient, waiting for you to gather your thoughts."

Lance gave a short bark of laughter. "Fucker. Patient is a word you're totally unfamiliar with."

"Hey--I can do patient. Watch me." You hummed a couple bars of the Star Spangled Banner, and tried really hard not to jiggle your leg. Lance cracked a small smile.

"You're an ass."

"It's been noted before, yes." Your spoon clattered when you hit it with your elbow, and you picked it up, just to have something to toy with. Apparently the fidgeting wasn't banished entirely, after all. You stirred your now-cold coffee, and looked at a point just beyond Lance's shoulder. "So?"

He shrugged. "It's...hard, Chris. To admit to myself, much less say out loud. But, um. I. Couldn't deal. With you." Your jaw dropped and you stared at him, wanting to do something to pull his gaze back to yours, not wherever it was--flitting over the tabletop.

"Come again?"

He sighed and put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up at you, that strange shadow still in his eyes, turning the yellow-green color dark and unfamiliar. Not Lance's eyes. Not what you remembered.

"Do you know what it's like...to have you focused on someone? On me? You're like...pure, undiluted energy, man. And when you direct it...focus it...it's. Blinding. And fucking scary, sometimes."

You gaped at him. You knew it. You could feel your mouth hanging open. "This is...you're saying... you...cheated--" you hissed the word, hating the way it felt in your mouth, the way it made your gut churn. Three? Four? times in twelve years, but each one hurt like a red-hot poker being stabbed into you. "--because of me? Because I was...too intense...to handle?"

"No!" Lance slapped his hands down on the table, palms down, and the smacking sound they made, made you jump slightly in your seat. You looked around to see if anyone else was looking; the one server looking in your direction hastily turned her head when she caught you looking, and you turned back to Lance when he hissed, "No, dammit. Your level of intensity didn't matter...or shouldn't have, anyway...except that I didn't know how to deal with it. I was afraid of it. Afraid to let go too much and open up to that...'cos what if I lost myself in it?" He turned his head and looked out the window you were sitting beside, then looked back at you. "At first...I thought it was just 'cos you were older, and I was...y'know. Immature, or something. But the longer we were together, the more I realized it wasn't age, or maturity. It was just me. You have this...god, I don't even know how to say it without making it seem like I'm blaming you or something, but that's not it at all. I just plain couldn't deal with having all of your attention, everything that makes you you, focused on me. It's the most wonderful thing in the world, Chris, to be the center of your world...but it's also the scariest fucking thing I've ever experienced."

You had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Not a single clue. So you settled for staring at him, hoping he'd start speaking English, saying something you knew how to respond to.

It didn't happen. Instead, the silence stretched between the two of you, again, dammit, with Lance staring down at the table, and you staring at Lance, hoping for some clue on what to do. What to say. Of course the fucker wasn't going to help with that. He'd done his part, dropped it into your lap -- and even if it wasn't your fault, it was still there, resting quietly.

You were waiting for it to rear up and bite you when you weren't looking.

After several minutes -- including a stop by your waitress to top off your coffee -- you cleared your throat. Lance looked up at you, that odd light in his eyes, his face as shuttered as the day he left. You cleared your throat again and sighed.

"I have no clue what...to say to that."

He smiled, just a little, his lips curving at the corners, but nothing more. "I didn't really expect you to say anything. I just--wanted to tell you."

You nodded, searched his face. "It was--was it that bad? With me?" God, the wistful tone you heard...you wanted to crawl under the table. He shook his head.

"No. It wasn't. I love you...God." He shook his head again, his eyes focused on the water glass he was turning in slow circles. Love, he said. Not past tense. You wanted to laugh; you were both so fucked up it wasn't funny. "But I couldn't deal. Not sure it was even just that I couldn't deal...with you -- with us. It could've been anyone; I have no idea. I just..." Lance looked up at you, the shadow gone from his eyes, pure green shining at you. "I never meant to cheat," he said softly. "Never wanted anyone but you. But when it seemed like you...were too focused on me, on us, like I couldn't breathe? Then..."

"You were in Canada, filming--" Your voice caught and you swallowed the words back down, not really sure you wanted to go there. Not sure you could.

"You called me every night, Chris. A couple of times a night. Sent emails. Letters, cards. I was...I missed you so bad, and I still felt like I was being smothered." He swallowed roughly and looked back down. You slumped back against the booth and thought about that. You'd seen the...seen him on TV, that look in his eyes...and hadn't called him again for days.

You'd given him a break.

"Fuck." You closed your eyes, ready for this conversation to be over. Needing it to be over. "Lance, I--"

"Don't apologize, okay?" He sounded weary. You felt weary. You wanted to go home. Curl up against JC and never stick your head out into the world again. "It wasn't your fault. I mean--you can't help being an intense guy, right?"

"Whatever, Bass." Even if you weren't done talking, you were done. You needed out. Now. Needed to process shit, to just...not be here, talking, any more. You glanced down; the waitress dropped off the check the last time she'd been by, apparently. You grabbed it and reached for your wallet. "Are you, um. Do you want to come over? Dinner? We're working on a project right now, but C still needs to eat... maybe tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I'd like that. Um. Tomorrow's good, I think." He paused. "Are you--y'know. Are you guys living together?"

You started laughing. For half a second you were afraid it was going to be another one of those scenes like you'd had earlier with JC, unable to stop, but it slowed after a moment. Lance frowned at you, making you want to laugh again; you bit down on the inside of your cheek to stop it.

"I don't know what we're doing, dude. We just...got together. Like, today. I mean--well, never mind." You remembered who you were talking to, what you were talking about, and that wasn't comfortable. "But we hang in the apartment a lot, especially when we have a heavy schedule. This week is kinda heavy, so dinner would be there. You good with that?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'll come by about six tomorrow, if that's good? If it's not, you...C... has my number. Y'all call me, and I'll call if I can't make it."

"Sounds good." And now, drum roll. The awkward moment. Did you shake hands? Slap each other on the back? Kiss the air beside each other's face? You had no clue for how this worked. Lance solved the problem by sliding out of the booth, nodding at you.

"See you tomorrow, Chris."

And quick as that, he was gone.

You nodded toward his back and muttered, "see you."

As you headed for the front of the restaurant to pay, you wondered idly how fast you could find a flight out of town...maybe to Tibet?

You drove around aimlessly, losing yourself in the hum and flow of traffic, until you realized you were halfway to Tampa, and that was the wrong city, dammit, from where you needed to be, and turned your Jeep back toward the studio.

JC found you sitting on the grass outside the building and flopped down beside you, shading his eyes from the sun when he turned to look at you. "Y'know, there are scary things living in the grass down here."

You grunted. It was true enough, but right now you dared anything to come and attack you. You felt ornery enough to take on the meanest insect or critter, from fire ants up to alligators. He nudged your shoulder with his.

"So how'd it go?"

"I do not want to talk about it." Christ, you sounded petulant. Like a kid rebelling against having to clean up his room or something. You sighed and scrubbed your hands over your face, looked over at him, beautiful and bright in the spring sunshine, then looked away again. "I invited him to dinner tomorrow."

You saw the nod out of the corner of your eye. "I'll give Joey a call; he can come over and we can all hang together. Unless you just wanted the three of us--?"

"Oh, no. Hell, no. Fuck, if Justin were in town right now, I'd call him up, too. No, call Joe up. Call him now." You tossed C your phone and lay back, closing your eyes against the blood-red color exploding across your eyelids. Too much sun and brightness out here. You brought your hand up, laid it across your eyes, shielding them from some of the glare, even through skin. You heard shifting noises beside you and ignored them. If it was a critter, it was welcome to try and take you on. Warmth and skin pushed against your shoulder.

"Chris."

"Mmm?"

"Sit up."

You didn't want to move. You actually wanted JC to go away, run far, far away, and leave you alone to wallow in whatever the hell was thrumming through you right now. But of course he wouldn't; even before this morning, or the last few weeks, he never would've done that. You sighed, a long-suffering sound, and pushed yourself into a mostly-upright position, not really surprised when JC moved behind you. His arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him, were a bit of a surprise, but you didn't resist. If you were honest with yourself, it was calming to have him touch you, to feel his heat and solidity behind you. Like you weren't quite alone in the maelstrom inside.

You sat there in silence, breathing slowly, JC's breath warm against the back of your neck. "What time is it?"

He shifted behind you. "You have a watch on, lazy butt." But he reached down, pulled your arm up to look at the timepiece. "It's a little past three. Why?"

You shrugged, felt the weight of his body shift with yours. "Dunno. Was curious." A couple of beats, time pulsing between you, drawing out, but not the uncomfortable way it had earlier, with Lance. You wanted to cry at that, because...you shouldn't be uncomfortable with Lance. "I'm going to be a lousy boyfriend, C. Just so you know."

He hugged you a little closer and the warmth washed over you, made your eyes prickle. "No, you're not. You think I don't know about all your idiosyncrasies? Your neuroses? Chris--I wasn't kidding, man. Thirteen years. Bring it on; there's nothing you can do that's gonna scare me. I know what I'm getting into...I know what I'm getting."

You scrubbed at your eyes again. "Lance...he said...said I'm too. Intense." The words were hard to get out and you suddenly resented the bright light; it made things seem too...cheerful. You wanted the sky dark and cloudy, wanted a cold wind to chill you outside the way you still felt inside. "He couldn't--deal. Couldn't handle it."

JC fit himself closer against you, his breath a warm puff against your ear. "I know."

You started against him in spite of yourself. "You know? The fuck--?" You tried to twist to see him; he held tight, wouldn't let you go. Those muscles bulking out his arms weren't just for show.

"Relax. Yeah. I told you--we still talk."

You sagged back against him. "Isn't that--weird? For both of you? I mean, um--"

He laughed softly and pressed a kiss to the area right behind your ear. "It's weird sometimes, sure. But, he's still my friend. I--we fucked up, too, by sleeping together, and--" JC shrugged behind you again. "I dunno. It's just us talking."

"About me." Christ. Ego much, Kirkpatrick? You sighed.

"Not always. Sometimes. It started out just him talking about counseling, but then I kinda wondered why -- because Lance is probably the least screwed up of all of us, and he told me--"

"Which totally reversed that opinion, right?"

JC poked you. "Hush, you. No, there's nothing wrong with...not knowing how to handle something. Or someone." He squeezed tight and you felt the air whoosh out of your lungs. "And you need to stop whatever's circling around in your brain, Chris. There's nothing wrong with you, either."

"Doesn't feel that way." You muttered the words, wanting to turn in his arms and just huddle in. You settled for huddling back. "I mean--god. Am I some kind of freak, or something, that my own boyfriend couldn't handle me?"

"Okay, see, I told Lance I wasn't sure you were up for hearing all this." Another kiss behind your ear, just a soft brush of warm, dry lips. "There's no question you're a freak, man." You snorted, but you could hear the smile in his voice; wondered if his eyes were crinkled up. "And you *are* intense. But--no big. It wasn't a big deal for the four of us to handle your energy or intensity, but I think sometimes it wore Lance, by himself, out."

"What about you?" You really didn't want to ask, but you had to know.

"What about me?" Fucker, he was going to make you ask it. You sucked in a breath, thought about the words in your head.

"Can you--handle it? Or is it going to wear you out, too?" You cleared your throat when you squeaked on the last word, then plowed on ahead, ruthlessly squelching the urge to throw C's arms off and run. "Watching...me. I mean. Loving me, but not...with me...isn't the same, dude. And...you're used to dealing, as a group, and--"

"Chris." JC shook you, not roughly, but not gently, either, his arms squeezing your middle. "I've spent how much time with you over the last couple of years -- and the last six, eight months, in particular? And you can still ask me that? I know what you're like, man. I've seen you sick, drunk, angry -- raging -- happy, sad, hyped up on enough sugar to drop an elephant. I know you get depressed right before Christmas, and that you hate February, and your favorite place to go to relax is the beach." He tightened his arms around you, but rather than feeling smooshed, it was comforting, and you leaned into it. "I know you hate commitments, but I don't know anyone who's more committed, once you get past the initial idea." He kissed your jaw this time, then nuzzled, and you shivered once at the feel of his afternoon whiskers rubbing against yours. "I know that when you love someone, they're the center of your universe, that you focus all that you are, on them. I want that. This is going to work, Chris. You're not gonna scare me away. I promise." His voice dropped to a whisper, and you could hear something raw in it, emotions too strong to push down completely. "I love you. I'm in love with you. You're not getting away. I won't let you."

There wasn't anything you could say to that, so you didn't bother. You turned in JC's arms and kissed him, long and deep, working on memorizing the way he tasted, felt, the soft sounds he made in his throat, and didn't give a flying fuck who might be around to see.

The kiss you received in return made you feel like you had a piece of the sun lodged under your breastbone...but even that didn't make you feel as warm as the words still ringing in your ears.

"This was a really, really bad idea." You moved the salt and pepper shakers to the middle of the table before flinging yourself back into your chair. Three seconds later you were out of your chair again, pacing around the couch and loveseat, ignoring the amused looks Joey and JC kept throwing your way.

"It's just Lance, man. Chill." Joe took another swallow of his drink, and the sound of ice cubes clinking together made you want to grind your teeth.

He'd taken the news that you and C were now an item pretty well. He stared at you for a minute, then bopped you on the head with an "It's about fucking time!", and that'd been that. Now, you wished you could've freaked him out just a little more.

"That's why it's a bad idea, dumbshit." You paused your pacing long enough to glare at him, then resumed. "And you--" You switched your glare to JC when he snickered. "Doesn't this bother you in the least?" You rubbed the spot on your chest still stinging from a sharp, deep bite he'd given you that morning. Sex with JC was mostly definitely not of the vanilla variety.

"It'll be a little awkward," he started and you rolled your eyes and threw yourself down onto the couch beside Joey.

"A little?"

"A little," he repeated, narrowing his eyes briefly at you. "But--we're all friends. Above anything else, remember? And Lance and I--"

"Talk," you said tiredly, in synch with him. "I know. I got that. Y'all are best buds on the phone." You waved a hand at him. "But dude. Talking on the phone, and seeing him here in person are just...way different. I mean. You guys, and us, and--us--" You shook your head and got back up again, ready to pace. You couldn't sit still. You wondered if you had time to sneak out of the apartment and the building before Lance got here.

Of course, that would mean getting past Joey and JC, first. You glanced at the door, then back at the two men sitting on the couches.

JC narrowed his eyes at you again. "Don't even think about it."

"Aww, c'mon, you won't even miss me." Two steps took you closer to the door. You ignored Joey's snort of laughter, focused on JC's eyes.

You got tackled before you made it even one more step, JC's body warm and solid against yours, pining you to the floor. You could feel the soft/rough abrasion of carpet fibers against your back where your t-shirt rode up, and wriggled, the prickle-tickle of it just this side of uncomfortable. But--C's body, on top of yours, his mouth warm and wet, tongue licking at your lips, at the corners of your mouth, that was worth some discomfort. You licked back at him before opening to deepen the kiss, shivering happily when he rolled so you were on top. You caught your weight on your hands and bent your head down to feed off his mouth.

"Don't think I don't know what you two are doing down there." Joe's voice floated down over you and you felt JC grin against your mouth.

You raised your head and winked at him. "Do we care if you know?"

"You better, because if you start having sex right there behind the couch, where I can hear you, I'm gonna walk out the door and leave you to have dinner with Lance by yourselves."

"Spoilsport." But you shifted anyway, rocking up onto all fours, and already missing the warmth of the body beneath yours. A JC-addiction. You'd gotten it quick. JC snickered and raised his head to kiss you once more, a quick, closed-mouth kiss, and you licked his lips again, making him giggle, before sighing and climbing off him. "It's a good thing we're friends, Fatone. You really know how to kill a mood."

"Yeah, well, that was kinda the point."

"Yeah, yeah."

The doorbell rang then, and Joe raised an eyebrow and smirked at you, laughing outright when you flipped him off.

"You gonna get it, Chris?" JC hovered beside the couch, looking from door, to you, and back. It hit you then that yes, maybe he was nervous, because, all of what he'd said about them still talking aside, you and Lance were exes, he and Lance were friends, and now the dynamics had shifted. Again.

"Nah, dude. Your house, your door. Go get 'em, tiger." You winked and sat down on the empty couch; that way Lance could sit in neutral territory, beside Joey. JC's quiet sigh, as he padded out of the room and into the entryway, spoke volumes.

When the hell did your life and seating arrangements get so complicated?

You found yourself straining to hear...anything, all too aware of Joey watching you, gaze almost heavy where it fell on you. JC's voice was low and smooth; Lance's voice was the same, dropped a couple of octaves. You heard the soft sound of footsteps on ceramic tiles, and the swish and brush of clothing, then the smile on Joey's face got bigger, and he was bounding off his couch to hug Lance.

"Dude! You look good! Another earring, too. You're full of surprises, aren't you, Scoop?"

Lance laughed, a low, vibrating sound that made your stomach do strange things, and then you turned, bracing yourself for the familiar tug, for the longing that still hit whenever you saw him, no matter what you felt for JC.

He looked just as good now as he did yesterday, though more casual. Knee-length cargo shorts and a casual pullover made him look like he was ready to go miniature golfing, or something. He looked a little tired around the eyes; you'd noticed that yesterday, too. Made you glad you weren't really In The Biz any more. Also made you wish you could hold him close and tell him things would be okay.

You hesitated just a moment when he turned toward you, fully aware of JC and Joey watching you, and feeling like this was a re-run of Christmas. Nothing had changed since then, and yet, everything had changed. You sighed inwardly and stepped forward, arms opening, ignoring the catch in your chest when he returned the hug, desperately trying to rein in the urge to clutch him to you and never let go. It helped that JC was still standing behind Lance, watching you with a warm look in his eyes. It was sympathy and understanding, but it was also love and need and a depth, which reminded you how long he'd waited for you. You squeezed Lance once and let go, stepping back with a deep breath.

"Okay. Yeah. Hey."

"Hey." His voice seemed off a notch, but then he was settling beside Joey on the couch and you were sitting down on the other couch, and you could breathe again. "Did you redecorate, C?"

JC was a warm, solid weight beside you and you leaned into him gratefully, a little surprised, but very pleased, when he curled into you, one arm going possessively around your waist. "A little. Me and Chris painted it last fall, then I got some new blinds and drapes. The other ones came with the place and were starting to look kinda skanky."

"Starting?" Joey snorted. "They looked kinda skanky when you bought the studio. They were probably skanky before that."

"I washed them!" You petted JC's back and he relaxed back. Lance and Joey both grinned in your direction and you shook your head fondly. Some things would never change, and for that you were grateful. Some constants had to remain as constants or else your entire world would be shaken up. JC being slightly neurotic about washing oh, everything he came into contact with, was one of those constants.

"We know, C." Lance leaned back against the cushions and you wondered - again - how long it would take for you to not notice every movement of his. You didn't want to; you had the man currently snuggled up beside you whose movements you were also more than aware of, and you wanted it to just be the two of you. No ghosts, no shadows, no third lingering silently, lurking on the edge of your awareness.

"You guys want something to drink? I have German ale and Coronas, and some Budweiser in the fridge."

"Dude. Ale." Joey looked practically orgasmic and you snickered. "What? I like that stuff."

"Uh-huh." Lance elbowed him. "Corona, please."

"Lime?"

"Yeah."

You grunted when JC shifted, elbowing you. Your support was moving away. Leaving you. Fuck. "Um. Ale for me, too, I guess."

"Hah. You're coming with, Chris. I don't have sixteen hands."

You tried to pretend you weren't glad for an excuse to get the hell out of the room, even for just a couple of minutes.

Your hands were shaking when you reached to open the fridge and you sighed and leaned forward, bumping your forehead against the smooth, cool surface. JC was warm behind you, his hands gentle when they settled on his shoulders.

"Chris."

"Yeah?"

"It's okay." Long fingers kneaded at the knots you didn't realize were there and you sighed again.

"It feels so fucked up, C. I--him. You. Um. Love you," you whispered the words quick and low, sighed when he squeezed and pulled you back against him. "And it's not-it's not fair to you," you continued, the words tight in your chest, squishing up in your throat.

"It's okay." He repeated the words again, hugging you close, and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. "I understand. It'll take time."

"I don't understand." You reached for the door handle, hands not shaking quite so badly this time, mourning the loss when JC let go of you. "I'm fine...'til I see him. Then it's freak-out time all over again." You found the small Tupperware with limes, and pulled it and two beers out, handing them back before reaching for two more, bumping the door shut with your hip as you turned to face him. "Why is that? Why is it like...fine, then bam, not? I don't get it." You didn't ask how it was possible to love two people at the same time in the same way. How it was possible to be IN love with two people at the same time. You were fairly sure even JC, as in touch with his feelings as he was, wouldn't have the answer to that one. Or not one that would make any kind of sense, anyway. And you didn't want to sound too much like a chick. You already felt like one, worrying about feelings and emotions and shit. No point in broadcasting it to everyone else.

"I don't know, man." He shrugged. "Maybe 'cos you don't see him all that often. Like, twice, since you broke up?" He studied you. "It'd probably be better if you saw him more often; I mean, it'd stop having so much power...impact...over you."

Joey's voice covered the space you were going to answer in, pushing your words back down. "You guys bringing us the goods, or are we supposed to be coming to you?"

"Dude. Don't get your knickers in a knot. We're coming." You heard JC's snort at the same time Lance's voice, full of laughter and disbelief, rolled in.

"'Knickers in a knot'?"

"Been watching Benny Hill," you called back, feeling strangely more at ease suddenly. The hard, swift kiss JC pinned you against the refrigerator for and planted on you didn't hurt, either. You followed him into the living room, lips still tingling and wondered if you looked as stupidly happy as you thought you might.

When you sat down and he sat behind you, pulling you close back against him, arms curled possessively around your waist, you knew you looked stupidly happy, and you were -- almost -- able to ignore the fact that Lance was sitting right there, across from you.

"Is it wrong to be glad dinner's over?" You sagged against the door, letting the sturdiness of the wood catch your weight, and smiled weakly at JC, doing the same thing on the wall opposite you.

"Nah." He shook his head. "I'm kinda glad, too. I mean, I'm not. It was fun. Good to talk to the guys again, 'stead of just over the phone or in email. But--"

"It was awkward." You wished differently, but there it was.

"Had its moments, definitely." He closed his eyes and you smiled and pushed off your wall, letting motion and gravity propel you the few feet necessary to press against him. He hummed happily when you nuzzled his neck, arms snaking around your waist to pull you closer against him. You got another hum and a shiver when you bit him, scraping your teeth down the smooth length of his throat. You bit again, harder this time, and sucked, grinning when he hissed. "Chris--"

You kissed the small bruise blossoming against pale skin; it made you want to sink your teeth in again. "Hmm?"

"Stay the night again?" JC shivered against you and you smiled, licking your way up to his mouth.

"Absolutely." You kissed the corners of his mouth, then lapped at his lower lip. Waking up this morning with a warm, snuggly JC curled up around you was like, the best way to start the day. You brushed a kiss over his mouth teasingly. "Can we stay up all night and play board games?"

"Sure, but--only if they involve...ah!...nudity--" Best way to stop the talking was to kiss. And since JC's lower lip was sweet and tasty, it followed the rest of his mouth would be good, too. Which you already knew, sure, but hey. No one ever suffered from repeated experiments of kissing. You licked at his lips again, then threaded your fingers through wavy, soft curls, and pressed your mouth to his, opening slowly, easily, with a slick glide of your tongue over and around his, tasting each crevice and surface within.

He moaned and tightened his arms around you, pressing one leg between yours and undulating slowly against you. The air seemed heavier around you then, thick with anticipation, and you whimpered softly into JC's mouth, acquiescing when he tilted your head backward to deepen the kiss, changing the tenor of it from slow and seductive to hungry and needful. You lost yourself in it, in him, liking the way he moved against you, hips bucking and shifting, his thigh firm and muscled where it touched between yours. It was good to touch someone again.

When you drew back to pant in lungfuls of air, both of you were shaking a little against each other.

"Need to take this to the bedroom, C." You breathed the words against his throat, drawn there again by the sight of smooth, pale skin. You marred it by biting down once more, feeling his shudder. He'd have another bruise, and the thought made your chest tighten.

JC nodded. "Yeah. Before I forget the carpet isn't really comfortable."

You laughed and eased away from him, one last quick brush of your mouth over his before you stepped totally out of his space. "Rug burn bites."

"No shit, Sherlock." He gave you a wink. "And then there's the issue of how easily you could get back up off the floor, geriatric that you are."

"Hey! I'm not that old--" You broke off and shook your head, remembering how you'd complained just that morning about all the aches and pains from yesterday's round on the floor. "Smart-ass."

"Takes one to know one, man." JC headed for the sliding doors that led to the small balcony outside, double-checking the lock before letting the blinds down.

You watched with amusement; he had the same routine every night. No matter if he'd passed out cold on the couch, when he got up, he had to double-check everything; locks, windows, blinds. You left him to putter with his routine and headed for the bedroom, pulling your shirt over your head as you went. By the time you were in the room, you had your pants undone; it was easy to pull them off and hang them over JC's hamper, along with your shirt. You debated, as you brushed your teeth, finally deciding to leave your boxers on for the time being. Sleeping over didn't necessarily mean sex.

Though you'd bet large, indecent amounts of money there would be sex in the offering tonight.

You got comfortable on the bed, pulling the comforter back, pushing pillows up against the headboard. JC had a huge number of pillows on the bed, all but one squishy soft and...strange. The one that wasn't was the one he tucked under his arm, curling around it like a teddy bear. You knew this because you'd seen him do it. He came in a few moments later, grinning at you.

"What?"

"Nothing. You look comfortable."

"I am."

"Good." He leaned in and kissed you. "Hey."

You laughed. Jesus, you felt so domestic, laying here on your boyfriend's bed, kissing him and watching him move around, getting ready for bed. It was almost too precious. Distraction for your brain was in order.

"Dude. We need to spend the weekend at my place." You leaned back against the pillows and watched JC walk around the room, closing curtains, turning off lights. Even after last night, it felt odd to think of staying the night here. Last night you were...friends, just coming together. Tonight it was something more. Boyfriends. Lovers. It made everything feel different. Good, but different.

"Sure. Why?" Everything but one bedside lamp turned off, JC sat down beside you, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing you. You grinned at the boxer-briefs with Mickey Mouse on them, knowing they had to be some Justin gave him. Justin had a lot of fun with underwear jokes. You were glad you'd been such a good influence on him.

"Well, it's my house, for starters. And I'm sure clean undies figure into the picture somewhere, too. But, seriously. It's getting hot. I have a pool. What other reason do we need?"

"So I'm invited over?" JC reached out and traced lightly over the scar on your left knee, his finger following the white line where it wound around the kneecap.

"Always." You watched him trace the scar and shivered, a memory flash hitting you from out of nowhere.

It'd been JC waiting for you in the hospital room, post-op. JC who'd held your head when you threw up, coming out of the anesthesia. JC who'd held your hand, in spite of the IV that was obviously freaking him out. It was your second surgery and you'd known going in how awful it would be, how much it would hurt...and Lance couldn't be there, had Freelance shit come up that he had to deal with. And you remember being soothed by JC reading to you, his fingers warm where you clutched at one hand, hating the pain, physical and emotional, that went with the surgery. Hating what the surgery represented.

Warm lips touched the scar, trapping you between the past and the present. He'd kissed you then, too, you remembered. A day out of post-op, your leg aching, sharp needles of pain stabbing you, adding to the guilt knifing into you. You'd never been one to worry overmuch what you looked like; the teenies all screamed and swooned over Justin, Lance and JC anyway, but you'd glanced down at the bandage laying open -- the nurse gone to get something -- at the hideous, swollen thing that was your knee, and the line of staples holding the incision closed, droplets of blood oozing out, and you'd turned away, a raw sound of...something...growling out of your throat. It was so ugly. So very ugly. The emotional scar of breaking up the group was still raw and ugly, barely healed over, and looking at the physical reason behind the breakup cut it open again, left you feeling shredded. JC touched your face, whispered you were beautiful and always would be, then leaned and kissed the scar gently.

His eyes told you things then you didn't want, weren't ready, to hear. You remember turning away, sobs caught in your throat, not wanting to see him but unable to release his hand; instead clutching at it like a lifeline.

"Hey." He touched your face now, in the present, and when you looked, you realized with a jolt his eyes still said the same things. And you were so ready to hear them, now. Wanted to hear them, now. "Where'd you go?"

"A galaxy far, far away," you muttered quietly. JC's mouth quirked up on one side.

"Looked like it. You, um. You okay?"

You laughed. "I'm a mess, C. You know that better than anyone -- or so you keep telling me."

"Yeah, I guess. But you're my mess." He cocked his head, considering you. "Right?"

"Absolutely, dude." You saw the look in his eyes; part relief, part-something you couldn't decipher. Hell, probably all relief. "I'm really not a good boyfriend," you offered quietly. "I suck at all that boyfriend shit."

JC whapped you on the head as he leaned over to switch the lamp off. Moonlight filtered in through the skylight above and just to the left of the bed, and you shifted so you could see his face limned in it, turning pale skin a strange, but beautiful white.

"Would you stop with that, already?" He rolled onto his side, facing you. "You think I'm the world's most perfect boyfriend, or something? I don't want perfection, Chris. I want...what we can have together. That's perfection for me."

For the second time, at least, in as many days, you found yourself wondering how the hell he managed to see inside your heart, to cut through the bullshit, to speak to the parts of you still quivering with fear and hurt.

"I-okay." You smiled, watched his mouth quirk upward in answer. Beautifully shaped mouth, full lips gleaming softly where he'd licked them a moment ago.

"Just 'okay'? Man, you're giving in without a fight?" He moved closer, a slow, lazy movement, and your stomach rolled pleasantly. All those years you all called him a kitten...and boy, did the kitten have claws. And teeth, you were learning, as he nipped gently at your throat.

"No point in fighting, is there?" You breathed the words out, heard his chuckle.

"None." JC nipped again at the dip where your neck and shoulder met, then he nuzzled you before pushing against you until you laid back, allowing him to sprawl over you. You brought your arm up to hold him close, eyes closing of their own accord. This felt so...comfortable. Not awkward, not uncertain, not full of the extremes of emotions. Just comfortable. Wonderful.

"I didn't think so." You stroked JC slowly, a full sweep of your hand up and down the lean, muscled back, and felt yourself relax. Felt him relax.

So, maybe no sex tonight. But you were okay with that, because what you had right here in your arms was just as good. Better, really. For the first time in a long, long time, you felt like maybe...maybe...things would be okay again.

Something you learned about JC during the first week of...whatever you called it - going out? Being together? What-the-fuck-ever it was, he had no qualms about sex, whenever or wherever you happened to be. If he was in the mood and you were in the mood, that was all that was needed. You used to think you were an adventurous, creative, fairly -- reasonably? -- kinky individual; it took you exactly five days to figure out JC had you beat, hands down.

Or maybe it was 'pants down'.

You actually had to sit down on the bed, remembering the day after the dinner-from-hell, when he dropped his pants right there in the studio, and you fucked him over the console, with just that between the two of you and the door. When anyone could've walked in. Anyone. At all. It made your legs weak and your stomach ache in a good way, thinking about it.

And the pool at your house. You hadn't realized there were so many different ways to have sex while floating. Or buoyed up with inflatable rafts.

Your desk, in your study? It was the perfect height for you to spread out over while JC fucked you senseless.

You spent the entire weekend at your house discovering together all the different places you could have sex and relax. Your bed was the best; it had the most room, the best cushion, and the drapes and blinds were always closed to block out the warming Orlando spring sun, leaving you in cool comfort to lay wrapped around each other, sweaty and sticky and sated.

In some ways, hooking up with JC was like the best of both worlds. You'd known him for so long, lived with him, worked with him, shared space in each other's pockets, that there were few surprises. It was familiar, and therefore, easy. There was also a newness aspect which still made anticipation bubble through you, like your blood was full of champagne; the same thing made your stomach clench with excitement and heat rise through you, made your hands shaky and your knees weak. It was old and comfortable, but new and exciting, all rolled up in one man.

You spent the weekend at your house, then headed back into the city proper, to the studio and JC's apartment. This time, you took enough clean underwear for a week - just in case.

It was an easy pattern to fall into: the studio/apartment during the week, your house on the weekends.

Your album dropped the day you passed four weeks together.

Three weeks later you'd made it into the top twenty, climbing to the top ten a week after that.

You and JC went out for dinner to celebrate, and later he held your hand, eyes squeezed tightly shut, while you got commemorative ink done. A tattoo... tiny musical notes forming the letters 'JC', in the small of your back.

When you got home that night, hard and aching, both from need and from the tattoo, he licked all around the edge of it before fucking you slow and gentle, his stomach pressed hard against your back, making the ache sweeter and more pronounced.

"You growing the goatee back?"

You looked up from rinsing off your razor, and met JC's eyes in the mirror. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. 'No Man's Queen' was emblazoned - in something pink and sparkly - across the front of the t-shirt he wore. You snickered, looking at it, and gestured with your chin. "J get that for you?"

He looked down and his grin seemed to widen. "Lance, actually."

You nodded; it seemed like the sort of thing Lance "Mr.-I-top-from-the-bottom-and-you-may-call-me-Diva-but-not-Queen" would find amusing.

"So, the goat?"

"Yeah, I thought I would." You scraped carefully along the underside of your jaw, before focusing back on JC briefly. You shivered at the look he gave you. "My face feels naked."

He smiled again, then cocked his head and watched you while you tilted and scraped, his eyes sweeping caresses over your face while you worked.

It was oddly intimate, in a way not even sex touched, having him stand there and watch you while you shaved. When you looked up and away from what you were doing, his eyes were there, warm blue shining at you, reminding you of the waters of the Gulf just to the west of you. It made heat rise in you that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with love.

A little more of the ache over Lance eased suddenly then; you felt it slip away easily, and while you mourned its loss briefly, you couldn't mourn it too much. Not with that steady gaze holding yours. When his hands touched your shoulders and the heat of his body pressed against your back you closed your eyes briefly in thanks. For JC, for his love, for opening your eyes to it.

You glanced back up at him in the mirror, not surprised to see your eyes dilated, a little unfocused. "Let's go out tonight. I have a place I want to show you."

"Okay." JC kissed your cheek, then rested his chin on your shoulder and reached for the razor. Your hand shook a little as you handed it to him. When he smoothed some more shaving cream over your throat, you tilted your head back. When he drew the razor lightly upward you closed your eyes and tried to remember how to breathe.

With the heat of JC's body pressed against your naked back you could feel each bite and scratch he'd left on you last night; your back still stung and itched a little from them. Warm, moist breath against the side of your neck reminded you of his tongue, and the way he'd lapped at the few stray droplets of blood that welled to the surface once, where he bit just a little too hard.

The coppery tang when he'd kissed you afterward echoed now and you realized you'd bitten the inside of your cheek.

The sound of your swallow seemed loud around you; your moan when JC snaked his free hand down your stomach and cupped you through loose boxers, was even louder. He scraped the razor once more up the length of your throat, his fingers tracing a similar path over your dick - starting to harden under his touch - and it took every ounce of willpower you had not to move, not to shiver, not to do anything except force air in and out of your lungs.

"So sexy," he whispered in your ear just before setting the razor on the counter. You couldn't make your vocal chords work; when he wiped you down with a cool towel you felt like you should hear a sizzle from cool meeting hot.

You turned in his arms then and shoved, hard, pushing him back against the wall just behind you, already leaning up to kiss him. It didn't feel like a kiss, though; it was more like you were trying to crawl inside his mouth, to devour him.

The thud when he hit against the wall slowed you, but he laughed breathlessly and clutched harder at your shoulders, fingers biting into your skin before pulling you closer, his mouth open, seeking yours. You knew you'd have more marks later, and couldn't bring yourself to care.

"Bed," you groaned, his body trembling against you. You jerked him one-handed, slowly, fingers curling around the hot length growing firmer against your touch. He nodded and pushed off the wall, then walked backward, letting you steer, though you weren't exactly paying attention to anything but him, the heat rising up off him, off you.

JC pulled away from you when he bumped against the mattress, and you watched as he skimmed the t-shirt up over his head, shaking wild curls out of his eyes before tossing it to the side. You let go of his cock long enough to push his shorts down over his hips, letting gravity take over from there. They puddled neatly at his feet while you pushed at your own boxers, and JC kicked them out of way at the same time you gave yours a fling.

You grabbed a condom from the stash in the bedside drawer before JC tugged on you, pulling you down with him, one leg coming up to curl around the backs of your thighs the same as his arm curled across your back. You lost yourself in his mouth again, the taste and texture of it making you a little crazy, a lot needy; you wanted to stroke the satin-silk insides of his cheeks with your tongue until you couldn't taste anything but him.

His hands were hot where they touched you, fingertips searing a path over your back, down the center of your spine to trace over the new, still-healing tattoo. The memory of the night you got it, when he pushed you to your belly to trace over the edges with his tongue, burned through you. It was still tender and you winced when he pressed too hard, but the sharp, clear line of pain brought everything else back into focus and you pushed up onto your side, pulling away enough to tear the condom package open with your teeth.

"How?" You managed, reaching to stroke yourself once before rolling the latex over your aching dick.

"Back," he said softly, fingers still rubbing lightly at the edge of the tat. "Wanna touch it-" He nipped at your throat and practically growled the words.

"Fucker." Your hands were shaking. JC laughed against your throat and licked where he bit you. You pushed against him, moving between his spread legs, your pulse pounding like drums inside your head. He moaned when you rubbed down against him, smearing the dampness leaking from his dick across both your bellies.

"C'mon, Chris-" His fingers pressed harder into the tender spot on your back, and you grunted and hissed, shifting to kneel between his legs. You were glad the condom was lubed and neither of you were virgins. Taking even the few seconds you needed to find wherever the lube was this morning seemed unreasonable. You wanted to fuck him, he wanted to be fucked, and you both wanted it Right Now.

You thrust against him and growled softly when you slid in, no resistance at all. Just tight, blessed heat, closing all around you, and the quiet mewling noises JC made low in his throat. He stroked his hands upward to clutch at your shoulders again, legs coming up around you to hold you close. You buried your face in his neck, breathing in the oceany scent of bath gel and deodorant before pulling back enough to begin a slow thrusting rhythm. When he tightened around you, internal muscles working you as surely as if his hand was squeezing and releasing, you groaned and thrust a little harder, a little faster.

"C-god."

"Uh-huh," was all he grunted, weaving the fingers of one hand through your hair to pull you down for a kiss. The other hand rubbed down your back, alternating light, ghosting touches with harder presses. Fire flashed behind your eyelids, a streak of pleasurepain, and you bit down on his lip, sucking hard as you shifted over him, changing position for better purchase. You increased your rhythm, growling into his mouth when he rocked upward to meet each thrust.

You got lost in it all after that. Flashes of pain mingled with the streaks of pleasure; heat, layered upon need, rose up to consume you. Your skin slid against his, delicious friction where his cock rubbed against your belly, damp from pre-come and sweat. You used your mouth to taste as much of JC as you could reach, licking up and down his throat, sucking at the thin skin where blood beat fast and furious just beneath the surface, in light blue lines, shining against the paleness. You caught a droplet of sweat as it snaked behind his ear, headed for his hairline, then followed that path down his neck and over his shoulder, biting gently at the skin and hair under his arm when he flung it over his head.

His fingers danced over your back and shoulders, skating through the film of sweat, nails leaving gently burning streaks in their wake. You wanted to pound into him, slam your dick in and through and be buried so deep you never found your way out again. You wanted to lose yourself entirely and never return.

When he jerked himself hard and rough in time with the rhythm you'd set and increased, you shifted back onto your haunches, pulling him up onto your thighs then leaning over, folding him nearly in half. Bendy. You remembered teasing him about being bendy, but now it wasn't teasing, it was gratitude, and when he came, hard, face contorted with the pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, he tightened around you in a spasm that rocked you from head to toe. Your orgasm boiled up out of you in a rush of love and lust, and you moaned his name, God's name, said something, a prayer and curse at the same time, before slumping on top of him in a breathless, straining heap.

You rolled off him after a minute or so, but didn't go far; just enough so JC could breathe, too. Breathing was, after all, kind of important in the grand scheme of things. Neither of you were long-term cuddlers, but it was nice, for the first few minutes, when everything was still a little wavy or fuzzy, before your skin cooled and everything fell back into 'normal'. And JC touched you. A lot. It was both soothing and arousing all at once, though not in a sexual way. More like, you craved feeling his hands on you, reminding you that you weren't alone.

His hands were gentle now, stroking over your sweaty back, your damp hair, as you lay against him, panting roughly, trying to pull oxygen into your lungs.

"I still can't believe-" His fingers were infinitely gentle now, touching just above where the letters started. "Why? I mean. I'm glad, but. Why?"

You kissed his neck once more, noting with something hovering somewhere between pride and embarrassment, that you'd bitten him a lot this time, and pushed up onto one elbow. Not cuddling, exactly, but close. Close enough to still feel body heat.

"Why not?" You countered, and smiled when he made an exasperated noise and crossed his eyes at you. "Seriously. I like ink, I like you-"

"And you could've just as easily gotten...like, anything else, Chris."

You kissed his chin. "Yeah, I could've. But I wanted that. So, okay? My body, my choice, huh?"

"You're a dick, y'know that?" He flicked your ear.

"It's one of my more endearing qualities."

JC snorted then pushed up off the bed. You missed his heat - he always complained of being cold, but was one of the warmest people you'd ever cuddled with - but sat up, too, looking around for your shorts. JC was already on his way back to the bathroom. "Gonna shower. Back in a few."

"I'll make coffee."

You waited 'til the shower went on, then pulled your shorts on and headed for the kitchen.

A touch to your shoulder and you startled violently, nearly spilling your coffee over the recording console. JC grinned hugely while you fumbled for the volume switches, trying to ignore the fact he'd just seen you playing air guitar.

"Cheap Trick?"

"So?" You sagged against your stool. It'd been a while since you'd turned the volume up and just-jammed. And gee, heart failure was so much fun at nine-thirty in the morning. "You could, y'know. Slam the door, or something."

"I didn't come in quietly, dude." He snickered. "So. Cheap Trick?"

"I was in the mood, Chasez." You frowned. "What? Cheap Trick's good for sometimes."

"Not sayin' nothin'." He settled onto a stool and pulled out the work list; it was about time to print out a new one, that one was getting kind of dog-eared. You caught yourself watching him settle. JC in work-mode was-attractive. Sexy. Jesus. You were going to break into song any minute now. You forced yourself to focus when he waved the list in front of you, pointing at one line highlighted in neon pink. "BBC's gonna need more studio time to finish up."

"Fuck."

He shrugged. "It's their buck. And as long as they're listening to suggestions, I don't mind going over. The last couple of tracks were a lot clearer."

"True." You leaned against the console and drank some more coffee, trying to figure out what was different about today, from yesterday. Something felt different. You let yourself drift, watching JC's hands move in rhythm with his lips as he talked about the things he wanted to try with the tracks BBC still needed to lay down.

"Chris?"

"Mmm?" You blinked and focused, realized JC'd asked you a question and you had no clue what it was. The tops of your ears heated up. Caught! Caught watching him like a kid with a crush. Which, yeah, wasn't exactly a bad analogy.

"You okay?" JC reached out and touched your hand. "You're-off. Or something. Today."

"Yeah." You shrugged. "Just thinking. Y'know, stuff. Lost in my thoughts."

He made a face. "Don't get too lost. We need you out here in the real world."

Okay, that was actually funny, coming from him. You doubled over, laughing, then laughed harder at the look on his face. When you could speak again without dissolving into giggles, or losing the words in breathlessness, you managed, "That's rich, C, coming from you."

JC smiled. "Dork. Y'all expect me to get lost. But those of you who don't get lost in your own head often... well. Sometimes it's scary. You should make sure you have a guide, so you don't get too lost."

He looked so solemn. You almost thought he was serious, until you saw the twinkle in his eye. "And you call me a dork?"

That made him laugh outright. "Dude. We've had this conversation before. You're totally a dork." The laughter faded into something softer, quieter, a smile that teased over his lips and pulled one from you, making a weird sort of pressure build up inside your chest. The pressure increased when JC shifted off his stool and cupped his hand over your cheek, tilting his head down enough for warm, moist air to brush over your lips when he whispered, "But you're my dork."

When he kissed you, it was like a light bulb flashing on over your head. You knew what was different. With Lance - and yeah, there was still a tightness in your chest over him; you were pretty sure at least a small part of your heart would always belong to him - you were both young, you not so much as him, but still. Young, and jumping right into boyfriends, dealing with that in addition to growing fame and all the work you had to do to maintain the band, plus having to hide what you were to each other, from everyone except those in the inner circle. You were friends, but not like you were with JC. With JC, you got the chance to deal with all the rest of the stuff, build a friendship...then build on that some more. Friends growing into lovers, or something mushy like that.

It wasn't even a case of loving either of them more. It was just different. Different circumstances in life, different things going on, different times in all your lives.

"Don't go so far away," JC's voice was warm in your ear. You smiled and pulled back enough to see his eyes. They were crinkly.

"Sorry. I'll try-" You pulled him close and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "-not to."

"Just stay with me." For all that he was smiling, JC's eyes were solemn. You nodded.

"Not planning on going anywhere."

"Promise?"

You smiled at that. "Yeah. I promise."

He held your gaze a moment longer, then grinned when you winked at him. "Ass. So where is it you want to go tonight? We haven't been out in a while...is it someplace we can dance? 'Cos I think I'm in a dancing mood-"

You settled yourself back on your stool and tried to think work and productive thoughts, but the idea of JC grinding to some slow, heavy jazz/blues song made you want to wiggle. "Baby, where I'm taking you...we can dance, or we can sit in a dark corner and make out until our lips are numb. Whichever you want to do."

He winked at you this time. "Sounds like a plan to me."

You thought so, too. About all of it. Clubs and dancing...and promises.

"Okay. C. It's the freakin' end of December...it couldn't be forty degrees out tonight...and we have to be back in Orlando by tomorrow afternoon. Why're we here? At," you checked your watch and shook your head, "quarter 'til twelve?"

'Here' was a private beach on Big Pine Key. A long, pale stretch of sand, shining in the moonlight. Well, the moonlight not obscured by freaky-assed clouds hovering over them. You shivered and pulled your fingers inside the sleeves of your sweater. Too many years away from Ohio and Pennsylvania. Your blood was way too thin for cool weather, now.

"It's not the end of December, yet. And not that cold. Quit bellyaching. You'll see."

It was really splitting hairs, to say it wasn't the end of December yet, seeing as how it was the thirtieth. For another six or seven minutes. But you knew what he meant. Tomorrow was the big day. Together again, just the five of you. Justin flying in from his tour in Europe - well, technically, he was already here. But still. Joey was home, enjoying a month off from his latest play on Broadway - you could still remember, even now, how excited he was when he got the part in 'Rent'. This was his fifth Broadway production, and he was still just as excited.

And then there was Lance. Due in late tomorrow afternoon.

You'd seen him four times since last spring, after you and C first got together. Each time hurt a little less, though strangely, the most painful of the four was when you all got together for your thirty-seventh birthday. You still weren't sure why; maybe the looks you caught from him a couple times, when you knew he didn't see you looking. Or maybe it was the odd light in JC's eyes, when you saw him watching you, watching Lance. Not like he thought you didn't love him, or anything. But an odd, speculative light that you'd meant to ask about, then forgot in a flurry of-something. You couldn't even remember now what, just something had pulled your attention away and you didn't think about it again, except for odd moments when you wondered what Lance still felt, and how you felt about him, and weird shit like that.

Chick stuff, and you weren't comfortable examining any of it.

You shivered again and JC pulled you closer, sliding one of his hands up your sleeve to twine your fingers together. You'd spent Christmas in the Keys this year, in a rented cabin on the beach, so the stretch you were walking along was the same stretch you'd walked along for the last week. It was familiar and comfortable. JC was right; you didn't like this time around Christmas; it depressed the hell out of you, generally.

"So, we're actually supposed to be packing right now...or sleeping...or something. Getting ready to drive back home tomorrow. Why're we walking on the beach?"

"We need to talk. And I know you feel safe here."

And dude. You so didn't like the sound of that. "About-what?"

"Relax. Nothing bad." He squeezed your fingers again, then tugged, guiding you down closer to the water.

You snorted. Any time anyone said 'we need to talk', it usually wasn't good. Combined with 'relax', well. But you let yourself be led; sitting when he pushed on your shoulder, ignoring that the sand was cool and possibly damp, through your jeans. JC curled himself around your back, pulling you close against him. You liked this position.

"We should come down here again," JC said softly, voice low and warm in your ear. "Next year?"

"Sure." You laughed breathlessly, a little nervously, and shivered when his fingers edged under your sweater. "Dude."

He hooked his chin over your shoulder and nuzzled until you relaxed back against him. "I invited Lance to stay with us while he's in town."

You took a couple deep breaths and forced yourself not to stiffen in his arms. "Um. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" You didn't mean that to come out so...shortly. You really didn't. Much. Being more comfortable around Lance again was one thing. Having him stay at the apartment...was something else.

JC hugged you tighter and you resisted - again - the urge to stiffen. Or squirm. "Are you. Um. Do you...still love with him?"

You sucked a breath in and pushed against his arms, against the hold. Fucker didn't budge. "Let me go," you hissed. He didn't move. "Chasez-"

"I'm serious, Chris. Stop. Just-answer the question, okay?"

You weren't sure you could. Your throat seemed welded shut. It hurt to force the words out. "I. Maybe? I don't. Know. Fuck, C. You know that."

"I know it hurts you to see him. I know...I want to know if you still love him." He nuzzled again, then pulled back when you shook your head.

"Don't. Please." You needed to move. You wanted him to let go. Your throat hurt when you swallowed. "Why, JC? Why ask? Why now?"

"Shh. I have. I." Behind you, his chest rose sharply, abruptly, and you heard the sound of him pulling in a deep breath. "If you. I was thinking...we could talk to him. Um. Maybe...about. The three of us."

Your mouth dropped open and you turned sharply in his arms to stare at him. "Are you-you're not serious?"

He met your stare. "Kinda, yeah. Um. It's just an idea. I don't know, y'know. If it would work. If it'd." He looked away. "It might make things worse. But I. I know you...he... and I'm not. I mean, it could work. Maybe. If we all wanted it to."

"I don't. I don't know." You were fairly sure your heart stopped beating. Or you were dreaming. Or something. You weren't even completely sure you were still in your plane of reality. Someone was doing some serious fucking with your mind right now. "I don't know if I. Could."

You weren't even sure if you could admit out loud that as much as you loved JC - and you couldn't put that into words - you did still love Lance. It was just always there, no longer in the present, but always a small, dull ache you carried everywhere.

"I wanted. To talk to him. While he's in town."

You stared at him. So many things in his eyes. Even in the dark, with just the light of the moon shining down, you could see them. They matched what you felt. Love. Need. Fear. "I don't want...I love you, C. Here, now, all that. What I had with Lance...it's over. I don't want to. Don't wanna fuck up what you and I have."

"Me neither."

"That...could."

"Maybe." He touched your face, smoothed dampness into your skin. Tears? Or just-random moisture in the air, from the ocean? You weren't sure. But your eyes stung a little. "We don't have to-do anything. I just. It was an idea. Something to think about. He'll. Um. Be with us for four days. We have time, Chris."

"Okay." You nodded slowly, still trying to wrap your brain around the idea. It was too big to process completely; the idea of having Lance and JC, it was just too much. Right now.

No, not right now. It was...too much, period.

And you realized with something akin to awe, that as much as the idea intrigued you...shocked you...scared you?...you actually didn't want it. Not really. Or, maybe. The idea. But not the reality.

You didn't want anyone but JC. Not now, not later, not ever.

"Chris?"

You focused on JC's face; he had a strange look in his eyes. Fear? "I'm here. I." You shook your head then. "I don't-I don't want that, C. Me and Lance...it's over. Long over." You touched his mouth gently. "I want you. Just you."

"You sure?" He sounded as breathless as if he'd run uphill. And his eyes. They promised you forever.

You leaned in and whispered, "I'm sure" and felt JC's mouth touch yours, meeting you halfway.

**Author's note: This story basically started with my absolute adoration for JC's (Euge Groove version of) "Give In To Me". When I first heard it, I had no idea when it was done, or even that Nsync did a version of it in their early days. I've chosen to sort of do my own explanation for when he recorded, etc. Hopefully it works out okay for everyone.