By Mickey M.
© January 2003
There's no such thing as good luck, or bad luck, Chris thinks,
watching the new kid dance. And don't
talk about his belief in God. He's never quite understood how people can pin
their hopes and beliefs on something which requires nothing but a willingness
to go on absolute faith with no hard evidence.
No, the things that make up what people mistake for good
luck are hard work, determination and drive, a belief in yourself. Timing
counts, too, but that's just—timing. Getting something because you happen to be
in the same spot as someone else looking for you, is timing. Not good luck. And
in turn, bad luck isn't anything more than life, when shit happens. Chris
knows; he's had what a lot of people call a life full of bad luck. He just
calls it what it is: his life.
He nods to himself then sighs when Lance stumbles and
misses the step. JC flashes a look toward him and Chris shrugs. He'll get it.
They'll all get it.
For now, though, he's right here, where he wants to be. On
the road to making something of himself. And luck's gonna have nothing to do
with it; kicking butt and never giving up are going to be the key factors.
~~~~~~
It doesn't get any better than this, Chris
sighs quietly to himself. Yes, they're tired. They're hungry. Chris feels like
they haven't stopped going since they arrived in Europe. But godDAMN,
they're making it. The roar of the crowd when they take the stage is
just—overwhelming. There's just no explaining to someone not a part of all
this, how exhilarating it is to hear hundreds of people screaming your name.
He's gonna be high for days off of tonight.
And—best of all, the best thing to come of this, is
snuggled up tight against him, breathing warm, moist breath onto Chris' neck.
His fingers twitch with the urge to cuddle Lance closer,
to make it look exactly like it is, rather than just two friends snuggling out of
exhaustion, but more…so, so much more.
He looks over the seatback of the seat in front of him and
meets JC's eyes. His own slide away with a touch of guilt; he knows Lance is
young – god, so young – but it feels so right. Nothing wrong or bad about how
he feels, holding Lance close, sharing slick, wet kisses before tumbling into
exhausted sleep. Nothing wrong about wanting to worship, just a little, a boy
who's just coming into his own.
"S'okay, man. I get it." JC's voice is soft in
the gloom of night, and Chris narrows his eyes, sees Justin draped over JC's
lap, all long legs and slender torso, and the narrow, elegant fingers petting
the soft skin at the nape of Justin's neck. He probably really does,
Chris thinks ruefully, sighing again when Lance shifts, pressing a damp,
unconscious kiss against the side of his neck before slumping over.
Chris cradles Lance against his heart and relaxes. He
can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.
He's right there, now.
~~~~~~~
"It's not—what we thought. Lou isn't what we
thought." Lance meets Chris' eyes, seems to gain courage or strength from
whatever he sees there. "He's—we're bein' cheated."
And for the first time since they started this wild ride,
Chris wishes he were somewhere else. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want
to hear what Lance is telling him. He doesn't want to look around the small
room and see JC looking stunned, and Joey snarling in anger, and Justin,
wide-eyed, fearful. He doesn't want to see their parents shaking their heads
and muttering, doesn't want to listen to lawyers talk about what their rights
are, what action they can take, what the possible outcome of all this could be.
He doesn't want to be there, but he is, because that's right where he is, and
that's how it is.
Somehow, some way, it'll all work out into what's meant to
be. They'll fight back, kick ass and take names. Chris has never known anyone
in his life as hardworking and determined as his four brothers. They'll ride this
out like they've ridden everything else, and make the best of what happens. He
doesn't want to be here, but he is, right here, and that's that. He nods and
pushes the feeling of betrayal down deep.
"Right. So. What can we do?"
~~~~~~~
Later that night; much later, when night is streaked with
pink and purple dawn and he's tangled in a sweaty heap with Lance, mouth still
stinging from kisses and bites, and his body aching with satisfaction, Chris
knows he wouldn't trade off anything. Bad happens alongside good, and this is
the best it could be, right here.
~fin~