The crunch of metal-on-metal, of gears shifting and rubber squealing, woke Chris abruptly. At first he glanced around, disoriented, the sounds of crunching and crashing echoing in his head. When he heard the gears shift again he sighed and squinted toward the clock beside his bed. It wasn't really necessary, though; he knew from the sounds it was Thursday, 6:43 a.m.

Trash pick-up day.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were the only days he didn't have class at the ass-crack of dawn, and Thursday was the only day he didn't have class, period. So naturally it figured that would be the day the trash company changed pick-up day to.

As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the garbage truck lifting and lowering the cans, Chris realized his head ached; kind of a dull throb at the base of his skull that radiated outward and upward. Huh. He didn't remember doing anything last night to cause a headache, like, say, drinking too much. Maybe he slept funny. And speaking of sleeping-that's what he wanted to be doing.

Except, fuck. Now that he was actually awake enough, he had to pee, which meant he could kiss off going back to sleep any time soon. He rolled toward the edge of the bed and away from the warmth of the body beside his. All the more reason to hate Thursdays, and trash pick-up. Anything that pulled him away from Lance sucked royally.

"Time 'zit?" Lance muttered hoarsely, rolling toward Chris, one hand questing outward.

"Quarter 'til seven. Go back to sleep."

"Mmm." He could, too. Unlike Chris who, once awake... was awake. "Don' lemme sleep late-up at eight."

What--? Oh, right. Appointment at nine with his faculty advisor. Chris nodded and dropped a kiss onto Lance's head. "I will."

There was the faintest niggling in the back of Chris's mind that he was forgetting something, and he tried to remember what it might be while he pissed, then brushed his teeth, and rooted around for a clean pair of shorts. It was right on the edge, but danced away every time he got close. Well, whatever it was, he'd either remember, or he wouldn't. No sense in worrying about it.

"Dude, you've had the sports page for half an hour. Hand it over, seriously."

"Screw you. I never got to see the sports page yesterday; you hogged it until I had to leave-"

"Yeah, and I got class in-hey!" The speaker squeaked loudly, and Chris shook his head. It was way too early in the morning for Mutt and Jeff, also known as Joey and Justin. "Dude, you're not playing fair."

"All's fair in love and sports, J. Sucker." There was an alarmingly loud *splat*, and Chris sighed. Well, at least it wasn't his week for kitchen clean up.

"Jesus, when did my house turn into frat-boy central?" Chris stepped into the kitchen and surveyed it carefully, and sure enough some sort of thick, gooey something was dripping off the edge of the table. Best not to look too closely at it. Justin looked disgusted; Joey looked triumphant. The newspaper in the middle quivered.

"Your house?" One side of the upheld paper folded down, and JC peered out at him. How the hell he managed to stay out of the other two's early morning antics, Chris would probably never know. "Pretty sure we're all on the lease, cat."

"Eh. You imagined signing it. It was just a dream. You're only sleeeeeeping, JC." He waved his fingers in front of JC's eyes and grinned when Justin waggled his, too. Chris slapped Justin on the back on his way to the cupboard for a coffee cup, tuning out the squawking that followed.

"Please tell me you assholes left me some-oh, thank god." He'd have to commit murder if he was up at not-even-seven and there was no coffee left. Not when all three of them had class this morning.

"So, what, it was mass-hypnosis? Or all four of us had the same dream? We're out of sugar, too, by the way." JC pointed. "Sweet-n-Low's up in the cabinet."

Chris shuddered. "How can you use that stuff? It's not *real*."

"It's totally real. And you'd be way less hyper if you tried it."

"C, man, have you burned out your taste buds already? Joey, tell him I know what I'm talking about."

Joey glanced up from his section of the paper. "Stuff's shit, C. Seriously. Too much of it's gonna kill you dead."

"Thus speaketh chem-boy." Chris nodded toward Joey. "Besides, what's wrong with hyper, really? Hyper's not necessarily a bad thing, but it sure gets a bad rap." Chris stirred some creamer into his coffee and hoped Justin hadn't made it this morning. Talk about no taste buds; Justin's coffee was thick as mud and strong enough to peel paint off the walls. Chris ignored the others' eye-rolling and continued, "it makes it so I can get lots of stuff done, grade all the papers I need to grade, play a mean game of b-ball, be a demon in the sack-"

"Irritate the living hell out of your friends," JC said dryly, shaking the paper out before folding it up.

Joey tossed a bit of toast crust at JC. "Aww, don't tell him that, you'll give him a complex."

Chris puffed his chest up. "That's right, C. You'll give me a complex."

"I'm sure your ego can handle it."

"But what if *Lance* suffers because of it? What if my frail, fragile ego can't handle it, and then I can't perform, and my boyfriend's left lonely and celibate because of it?"

"Then Lance will have to kick someone's butt," Lance said from the doorway. "Do y'all have any idea how loud you are? And for the love of God, please tell me Justin didn't make the coffee this mornin'?"

Justin looked up from the much-coveted sports page and frowned. "Hey!"

"Nope," JC drained his cup and stood up. "I did. And hell, I just realized I have to print out some stuff for my eight o'clock. Now I'm gonna be late, dammit."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to take classes at eight? That's like still the middle of the night, man!" Chris called after JC's back. He grinned when Lance stepped into his personal space, and sat his mug safely on the counter so as not to spill it. Strangely enough, he tended to spill stuff a lot when Lance was around. Go figure. "Hey, you. Sleep good?"

"Mmm. Coulda slept longer-" Lance grimaced at the clock. "It's too early to be up."

"I know. Believe me, I know." And him not even having to do office hours today. The world just wasn't a fair place, sometimes. Chris leaned forward and Lance's arms came up around his waist. Lance tasted like cool mint, and it contrasted weirdly but nicely with the strong, bitter coffee flavor in his own mouth.

"Oh, my god, don't you two ever get enough? Seriously." Justin sounded sulky, and Chris figured it was mostly because the kid wasn't currently getting laid himself. He smacked a noisy kiss onto Lance's mouth, then turned away, grabbing at his coffee cup.

"No such thing as enough booty, J. And you're fucked up if you think there might be."

Lance snorted as he sat down at the table. "You have to be getting some in the first place, before there can be enough or too much."

"You know he's not really a virgin," Joey said, just as Justin said, "hey!"

Lance grinned at them both, then reached over and high-fived Chris.

"Okay, y'all suck. I'm gonna go to class, and talk with people who don't suck." Justin pushed his chair back, and Chris winced at the squeal of metal-on-tile. Justin was halfway to the door when he paused and turned back around. "Oh, hey-did y'all want to go to Ripple's tonight? It's two-for-one night."

Chris glanced at Joey and Lance, who both shrugged. "I can't close the place down; I got office hours in the morning. Plus, I got a meeting with Wright about my thesis outline."

"Oh, that'll be fun." Joey shook his head. "You'll be better off being hung-over for that one, dude."

"Yeah, well." He probably would, but it really wasn't a good idea. Not professional at all.

Justin shifted impatiently in the doorway. "So, are y'all in, or not? Some of us got class this morning--"

Lance and Joey nodded, so Chris nodded, too. "Yeah. Meet you there, 'bout eight?"

"Sure, yeah. I'll let C know when I see him later." Everyone winced when the door slammed open, then shut again, followed by the sound of rubber squealing as JC tore out of the drive. "Assuming he lives that long," Justin added. "And now I gotta book. Later, dudes."

Joey stood up as Lance and Chris muttered goodbye. "I gotta get movin' too. We're gonna blow up the lab today." He rubbed his hands together, a gleeful expression on his face. "I love lab days."

"You're a freak, Fatone," Chris said fondly.

"Hey, I'm bein' all nice and clearing out so you and your boy can have some private time, and you call me a freak? Where's the love, I ask you." Joey batted his eyelashes at Chris until he swatted at him, shaking his head.

"Go on, blow up your lab. And you know I love you, man."

"So you say. Me, I'm not seein' it." Joey blew kisses toward both of them, then headed out of the kitchen, leaving Lance and Chris staring bemusedly after him.

Chris sipped his coffee cautiously, then gulped it down when he realized it was nearly cold. "Tell me again why it is everyone thinks I'm the weird one?"

Lance patted his hand sympathetically. "You are the weird one, Chris. They're just weirder, is all."

The best part about living in Florida was that even in January it was still warmer than most anywhere else in the country. Chris could stretch out on the grass in the campus quad, right in a big puddle of sunshine, and catch a few z's while waiting for his boyfriend.

He didn't really feel like snoozing, though. Mostly he wanted to stare up at the sky and try unsuccessfully to keep a big, stupid grin off his face, because yeah, okay, he was happy. In a way he hadn't been for a long time.

He turned the word around in his head, happy, and grinned again. Weird, too, since the word boyfriend implied relationship, something that usually sent him running for the hills.

It'd taken a while to get there. To get comfortable with things. It was still pretty fucking new, too, and Chris would be the first to admit it was him who had kept Lance at arm's length for so long, not the other way around. Lance, who was young, smart, gorgeous-and why the hell would he want a short, snarky, hyper freak when he could probably have anyone on campus?

He'd been interested practically the minute he saw Lance, standing in the living room, hands stuffed in his pockets while he looked around, a curious expression on his face, giving off a vibe that Chris felt all the way down deep inside. He couldn't explain what it was, just something about the kid that called to him. And when he looked at Chris and grinned, well. The vibe exploded into thousands of tiny, bright fragments inside Chris's chest.

He shook the feeling off, or tried, and looked at the living room, trying to see it from someone else's point of view. There were books and newspapers, and a couple of soda cans piled here and there, along with a sports jersey, and what looked like someone's track pants. Chris had tried earlier to convince Joey and Justin to pick some of their shit up if they were going to interview - rather than scare off - potential roomies, but they'd called him an anal-retentive neat freak and disappeared, leaving disaster in their wake, not unlike a hurricane. And now this guy was looking around, probably thinking they were all pigs, which, okay, they were. But it wasn't a first impression they wanted to be making if they were going to pull together the next month's rent.

"Lance Bass," the guy said finally, holding his hand out for Chris to shake. "Justin says y'all are lookin' for a fifth guy?"

He had a deep, rich voice and an accent so thick and heavy it settled over Chris like a blanket. Chris stared for a minute, then shook the offered hand and nodded. "Chris Kirkpatrick. We had another guy, but he bailed on us at the last minute, and now we're gonna come up short on rent if we don't find someone by like, the middle of the month. Which is today. Fuck. And this late in the semester, most people are already settled."

Lance flashed him a grin that was all teeth. "Well, unless y'all are conducting medical experiments in the back rooms or somethin', I'm probably your guy. I've done my time in the dorms, and god, I want out of there. I've been tryin' to find a place, but not having much luck-either can't afford what they're asking, or I get the heebie-jeebies from the neighborhood."

"We occasionally do our part for medical science, dude, but nothing illegal. At least, I'm pretty sure Joey got the girls to sign a release for that last batch-" Chris broke off when Lance snorted. "Seriously-unless you count leftovers in the fridge, we're good. But I don't claim any responsibility for whatever Justin might have growing in there. And speaking of Timberlake-he referred you, just now?" And why not a couple weeks ago, when they could have been done with this shit? Fucking Timberlake.

"Well, he mentioned it about a week or so ago, but I thought I had a place, so I told him I wasn't interested. I should've gone with my instincts."

Okay, that was more like it. Chris waved the explanation away, relieved. "Eh. If we went with our instincts, I'd be singing and dancing my ass off up on stage somewhere, instead of melting my brain to goo every day in class."

"You gotta have a brain, first, to melt one away," JC called from down the hall just before stepping into the living room. "This our new sacrifice? I mean, roommate?"

"If you freaks don't scare him away first, yeah," Chris flicked JC on the arm. "And no dissing the brains, dude, or I'll sneak into your room one of these nights and steal some of yours. Lance Bass, this is JC Chasez. If anyone's actually conducting backroom medical experiments, it'll be this guy. He's all about forensics and shit."

"Mostly the forensics," JC said, rolling his eyes at Chris. "Not so much the shit part."

"Ha-very-ha. I've seen some of the pictures in your books, Chasez. I know what you guys study."

JC grinned at him, then at Lance, who was watching the two of them, his eyes moving back and forth like he was watching a tennis match. "You only think you know. Anyway, nice to meet you, Lance."

Lance and JC shook hands, and JC volunteered to take Lance on a quick tour of the house while Chris looked for the lease agreement. He watched the two of them amble off together and tried not to watch the way Lance's ass moved beneath his jeans. Nice ass, and thighs, to go with the weirdest, coolest green eyes he'd ever seen on anyone. Plus that voice.

Maybe not love at first sight, but definitely lust. Oh, yes.

Lust that would slowly - or not so slowly - drive him nuts. Lance, grinning at Joey's stupid jokes. Laughing over homework assignments with Justin. Snarking about politics with JC.

Watching him, his freaky green eyes on Chris every time he looked up.

Chris would've liked to say something to him about that, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. So instead of going away, it became a great huge thing between them, that reared up to smack him in the face when he was least expecting it.

Like over laundry.

"Didn't your momma ever teach you how to do laundry right?" Lance's voice held one part frustration and two parts exasperation as he held up an assortment of light pink underwear and socks. Chris scowled at him.

"For your information, I been doing laundry since before you were born, Bass. I think I can handle myself."

"Yeah?" Lance held up a pair of shorts. "Then what do you call this? Or are we a part of a tie-dying experiment no one told me about?"

"Oh, fuck off. You want perfection, go marry a laundress or something. Besides, wasn't it just last week you nearly killed all of us with that chicken thing you just had to cook for us? And then undercooked?"

"If we had a better light in the kitchen, I could've seen that the chicken wasn't cooked all the way through."

They were practically nose-to-nose by that point, Lance with the pink shorts still in his hand, and Chris snarling into his face. "And by the same token, once in a while, I might make a mistake with the sorting and something slips through. If you don't like it, Bass, you can bite me. Or do the fucking laundry yourself."

Lance opened his mouth and for half a second Chris thought he was going to take him up on the 'bite me'. Instead he leaned in and kissed Chris, hard and quick, then shoved the boxers at him and hissed, "wash them all with bleach," before stalking away.

"Dude. The two of you are going to kill each other at this rate. Why don't you just fuck and get it over with? I know you're both interested."

Nothing like the sight of Timberlake lounging against his door frame, obviously laying-in-wait. Chris snarled, "Fuck you," and pushed past into his room. Their room. Because joy, oh joy, he and Lance were literal roomies. Which was fine, usually. Except lately it was more like torture.

"Seriously, Chris. Y'all are about eating each other alive, snarling at each other all the time. Just do the nasty, get it outta your system, and move on."

Chris rolled his eyes so hard he thought he felt them wiggle loose. "It'd be fine if I was into jailbait, but since I'm not, thanks, but I'll pass."

"You're such a dick. He's totally not jailbait. He's older than me, y'know."

"And that makes me feel so much better," Chris murmured. "Because you're so old and all, what with the just turning legal."

It wasn't just the age factor, though that was a big one. It was...why would Lance be interested in Chris? A twenty-something who was getting close to being a thirty-something, and still in school. Small, scrawny, too hyper for his own good, apt to speak first and shove his foot in his mouth. And of course, the age thing. All in all, it added up to something that equaled more trouble than it was worth, except for the fact that Chris liked trouble, often sought it out.

"Maybe," Justin said slowly, moving away from the frame and out of the door, "you're scared."

Chris glanced up at him. "Scared? Of Bass? As if."

"Of wanting more than a quick fuck with him." Justin smirked, but it quickly rolled into something more serious. "It could work, with him, y'know. Y'all are pretty well matched."

And then he was gone, before Chris could do more than pick his jaw up off the floor.

Fucking Timberlake.

"Okay, Bass. Seriously. Do you have to have the light on?" Chris flopped over onto his other side, but there was still enough light to distract him from sleeping. From the sleeping he'd been doing, before Lance showed up and turned the lamp on and thus woke him up. Fucker.

"Some of us have to study at night, Chris. We don't have TA office hours during the day where we can sit around and write out our assignments while we wait for students to drop by." Lance's voice was bland, almost bored. Chris frowned into his pillow, but decided to let that slur go, in the interest of getting back to sleep as soon as possible.

"Can't you study out in the living room, then? Some of us have to get up for those office hours at ass-o'clock in the morning."

"Nope. The J's are watchin' TV."

"So instead of sitting at, say, the kitchen table-where the TV isn't, by the way-you'll sit in here and keep me up?" Chris rolled over and stared. "The hell did I ever do to you?"

Lance highlighted something in his text book - Chris wasn't noticing how good he looked, lamplight pooling over him, no he wasn't - and shook his head. "Nothin' to do with you. But it's my room, too, and you were asleep when I came in. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"But you did."

"But I didn't mean to." He licked his lips a lot while he read, Chris noticed. "So, I'm sorry." White teeth biting into soft, pink skin. He glanced over at Chris. "I won't be very much longer, but I gotta read this. Got a test in the morning."

"You owe me big, Bass. So big. You're totally gonna have to make this up to me at some later date." Putting the pillow over his head went a long way toward blocking the light, but didn't do so much for the visual imprinted on his eyelids of Lance biting his lips, licking his lips, licking-fuck. Plus, what the hell? Was he propositioning Lance, or what?

"I could make it up to you right now."

Okay, maybe Lance thought he was, too. Chris pulled the pillow off his head and looked across at him in astonishment. "You-I-what?"

Lance sighed and closed his book, then set it neatly on the floor beside his bed. "Look. I know you're interested; I'm interested, too. So why the circling? Can't we-"

"No. We can't."

Lance rubbed his hands over his face then looked at Chris. "What the hell is your problem?"

You, Chris wanted to say. Maybe Justin was right, and he was a big scaredy-cat, but fuck. He knew one-night stands, and this didn't feel like one of those. That more than anything scared the holy hell out of him. He swallowed and shook his head. "I-"

"No, y'know what? Screw that." Lance pushed the covers off his legs and climbed out of bed. He had boxers and a t-shirt on, and looked just fucking fantastic. Plus, he kind of loomed, standing over Chris's bed, and that made Chris's stomach cramp up with excitement in a way it so shouldn't have. "No lame excuses, Chris. You got a good reason we shouldn't-lay it on me. Otherwise, shut up and sit back."

It was right on the tip of his tongue to say yes, he had a damn fine fucking excuse-Lance really was jailbait, for all intents and purposes. Chris had his mouth open, in fact, to say it, and hesitated at the last second. What if the age difference really wasn't that big of a deal? What if he just-went for it? Went for something that had the potential to make him so much happier? Was it a risk worth taking?

His gut said yes.

Chris mumbled, "You always this bossy in bed?" but laid back anyway, Lance's hands coming up warm and firm on his thighs, pressing his legs open.

"Maybe. You like it?" Warm breath against bare, sensitive skin. Chris shivered and tried not to look like he was about to beg.

"Mmm-yes. I mean, no. I-"

Lance laughed softly, and the vibration rippled all through Chris. "I think you do. Lift your hips."

There was no way in hell he wasn't going to comply with that-request, demand, whatever it was. Chris lifted and Lance pulled his shorts down, and things got kind of fuzzy after that.

The first touch of his mouth to Chris's dick had Chris breathing out, "Oh my fucking god-"

The further Lance drew him into his mouth - hot, wet, slick - the less coherent the words became until they trailed off altogether into nothing but a soundless hiss of air. When Lance hummed softly around his dick, Chris's eyes rolled back in his head and he came so hard he saw little spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Better than that, though, was the way Lance groaned his name - long and low, and breathless - when he came, his fingers twined into Chris's hair, holding him close. Afterward, Chris licked him clean then slid back into bed to wrap himself around Lance. His heart still pounded double-time, but Chris didn't think it was from the orgasm, any more. It was just from-Lance.

So now he was laying on the grass in the common area, with a goofy grin and a partial hard-on. Chris didn't care, really; those were good memories, there. Six months, give-or-take, and they still bitched at each other like before-and then they'd go to their room and fuck until the tension resolved itself.

His head really hurt, too, in spite of the Advil he'd taken earlier. Chris wondered if it was a smart idea to go out tonight; after all, he had office hours and class tomorrow, plus his meeting with Wright. All he needed was the headache from hell to make things that much better.

He closed his eyes again and thought about Lance, about school, about the dreams he'd had as a kid, singing on stage. Being famous. He'd considered it briefly, then pushed the dream aside for something more grounded, more promising, more steady. If it were just him he had to take care, that'd be one thing. But he had his mom and sisters to look out for, too, so no big gambles. Not at this point in his life.

Christ, his head hurt.

"Oh, to be an ordinary boy, living an ordinary life," Chris muttered softly, and a low chuckle made him open his eyes to see Lance settling beside him on the grass.

"I'll give you're kinda beyond 'boy', but what's so un-ordinary about your life?"

Chris opened his mouth to respond, and that same niggling something from earlier danced away from him again, teasing him with its not-there-ness.

"Something feels-off," he said finally with a half-hearted shrug. "And hey-I'm still a boy. Young at heart, and all that."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'immature'," Lance said, grinning.

Chris hmphed and batted away the piece of grass Lance was tickling his nose with. "What might be immaturity in some - Fatone, for example - is simply a willingness to embrace youth and radical ideas, in others. Like myself."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need to tell yourself in order to sleep better at night."

"I sleep just fine at night, thankyouverymuch."

"Telling yourself lies, right?"

There was a time to fight, and a time to change the subject. "How'd your meeting go?"

Lance made a face and stretched out beside Chris. "Fine. Boring. Why do we have to have faculty advisors, anyway? I know what I want to study; I know what classes I gotta take. So what's the point?"

"It's the system; you know that." Chris reached up to touch Lance's face, faltering at the last minute as something jolted through his brain, don't do that. You can't touch him.

The fuck?

"Chris?" Lance had an odd expression on his face, and Chris realized he was frozen, hand outstretched but not quite touching. "You okay?"

"I-yeah." The pounding in his head was back, double-time. "My head hurts like a motherfucker."

"You shoulda stayed home this morning. Freak." Lance sounded fond, so Chris only swatted at him once. Gently. "C'mon, old man, excuse me, boy. Let's get you home and I'll make you some tea."

"Tea?" Chris gave Lance a suspicious look. "Whyfore?"

"I dunno. My momma swears a cup of tea can fix anything, so maybe it'll work on your head."

"Blowjobs work really well too," Chris said helpfully, sitting up slowly. His knees creaked when he climbed to his feet, and he watched Lance wince. "You can blow me, then I'll blow you, and voila! The headache should be all gone. Plus, no nasty tea-taste in my mouth afterward."

"Yeah, 'cos spunk tastes so much better," Lance muttered, reaching down to grab the jacket Chris had been using as a pillow.

"I sense sarcasm."

"Gee, y'think, Chris?" Lance poked him in the belly. "Nothin' gets by you, does it? Smart man."

"Okay, now you're taking it a little too far, Bass. Be nice, or there won't be any blowjobs for you today."

That got him a snort. "I'd really like to see which one of us lasted longer on that. Truly."

Chris elbowed him. "No you wouldn't. We'd both be snarky - okay, snarkier than usual - and the J's would have to kill us, to put us out of their misery. It's better all around, for everyone, if we don't try anything stupid."

"Better for us, you mean."

"Well, duh. I mean, it's all about us, right?"

Lance laughed. "It's something, anyway."

Lance flopped back on the bed, chest still heaving, while Chris smirked. "Okay, you were totally right," he said finally, words a little breathless. "Blowjobs work better than tea, at making stuff better." He blinked up at Chris. "I don't think I'm gonna tell my mom that, though."

"Gah. Please don't." Just the thought made Chris shudder. Parents...should not be aware of their kids' sex lives. Even Timberlake, freakish child that he was, knew when to share and not share with his mom. At least Chris thought he did. He settled himself up alongside Lance, then leaned in to kiss him. "And see, if we've both given head, then it's not gonna matter when we kiss. Smart plan, huh?"

"Oh, absolutely." Lance's hands were warm and a little sweaty when he splayed them across Chris's back, but Chris didn't care. It felt good, strong hands touching him. Holding him. He licked into Lance's mouth, tasting heat and the tang of his come. Lance pulled him closer, hands stroking gently up and down while they kissed.

"How's your head," Lance asked after a while, in between lazy, slow kisses.

Chris grimaced and touched the top gingerly. "Still attached, I guess. Still hurts too, though. I don't get headaches very often; this is kinda bugging the hell out of me."

"Poor baby." Warm fingers rubbed over his temples gently, and Chris hummed his approval and closed his eyes. "Maybe you're just stressed. Over the meeting tomorrow," Lance clarified when Chris opened his eyes and frowned at him, puzzled.

"Maybe. But, it's not like I haven't had a dozen other meetings with Wright before."

Lance drew lazy circles on Chris's chest, circling first his right nipple, then his left. "Yeah, but didn't you say Pearlman's sitting in on it, too? That puts more pressure on you, this time."

Pearlman. Chris's stomach tightened up with nerves because, fuck, he'd totally spaced that.

"I'd forgotten about that," he said slowly, catching Lance's hand and stilling it on his chest. At the same time there was a tiny voice in his head yelling, get away from Lance, you can't have him!

And again: what the fuck?

"Chris. Hey." Lance kissed him, pulling him back from wherever he'd been in his head, and Chris saw a frown creasing his forehead. "That's twice today you've totally spaced out. You okay? You want me to take you to the health center?"

"Nah. I'm-it's cool. I think I'm just tired. And maybe like you said, kind of stressed over the Pearlman thing."

"Well. It's not every day you get the department chair sitting in on your thesis meetings, yeah. Why don't you nap for a while? You might feel better with some sleep. I know you were up way early this morning."

Chris shook his head. "I really got stuff I should be doing-"

"Do I need to tie you down to the bed, young man?" Lance did his best evil-overlord glare, and Chris smiled.

"Kinky, kinky. If you tie me to the bed, I really won't get any rest. But it'd be a fun way to not get rest-"

"No. You need to sleep." Maybe a pout would work? Chris screwed his face up, but didn't even get the chance to say anything before Lance kissed him again and slid off the bed. "Go to sleep. You look like you're halfway there already."

"Always knew you were a pushy bitch, Bass. That first night, man. I shoulda seen this coming." Chris paused to yawn, his eyes closing against his will as Lance pulled the curtains closed. "Gonna push me around all the time now, aren't you?"

"Only when it's what's good for you." He brushed a kiss over Chris's forehead, and Chris thought he felt a smile there with it. "I'll wake you in a couple hours."

The last thing Chris thought as he drifted off to sleep was, how come this felt so right, and so wrong, all at the same time?

Sleep turned out to be pretty much what the doctor - Doctor Bass, anyway - ordered. When Lance woke Chris a few hours later the headache was still there, but had receded to bearable levels.

Lance already had his books and papers spread out on the kitchen table - now thankfully cleaned of the unidentified oozing stuff from breakfast - so Chris joined him there. He had half a dozen tests still to grade for Dr. Pelter's Intro to Psych class, plus his own notes and outline to go over. An hour after he sat down at the table Joey came waltzing in, a bag of sandwiches under one arm, his backpack draped over the other, his clothes smelling faintly singed and chemical-y.

"I come bearing food, guys. Mom and Dad took pity on me when I stopped in for coffee earlier."

"Oh, awesome." Lance stacked his books and papers, making room for Joey to set the bag down. "Your folks make the best sandwiches, I swear."

Chris sniffed as Joey came closer, and squinted up at him. "I thought you were kidding when you said you were blowing up the lab today."

"You know, if you wore your glasses like you're supposed to, your head probably wouldn't hurt as much," Lance said, leaning over to shift some of Chris's stuff out of the way.

"Very funny, mom." Chris stuck his tongue out. "Should I go pick up my room and make sure to eat my veggies, too?"

"Dude, I hope you wouldn't do with your mom what you do with him." Joey pulled three sandwiches out of the bag, then tucked it into the refrigerator. "And I was totally joking about me blowing the lab up, but freshman chem students, man. Not so much a joke, there."

"You're a total perv, Fatone, and you take back what you said about my mom." Chris cocked his head. "And Lance too, I think."

"Thanks," Lance said dryly. "And yeah, you probably should eat more veggies. I've given up on that, though."

"Good move," Joey nodded, unwrapping his sandwich. "And I take nothin' back, Kirkpatrick. So, are we still on for Ripples tonight?"

Chris bit into his own sandwich and sighed. Joey's folks really did make fantastic sandwiches. "Yeah, why not?"

Lance frowned. "You sure you're gonna be up to it?"

"Eh. It's just a headache. Weird, but not debilitating. Besides, two-for-one, plus the chance to ogle and maybe get your hands on some hot, sexy manflesh? Who could turn that down?"

"Don't you get your hands on enough as it is? Plus, who the hell says 'manflesh'?" Joey shook his head. "You're a freak, man. Seriously."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me that's not what you're thinking when you're shakin' your booty out there on the dance floor, with all those pretty boys shakin' their thing around you?" Chris grinned at Lance, who grinned back. "Manflesh, Joe. It's what's for dinner."

"Okay." Joey set his sandwich down and glared at Chris. "I think you just grossed me out, and man, I didn't think that was possible."

"Wow. A landmark day, indeed." Chris mimed zipping his lips closed. "I'll be quiet, now. I promise."

That got him a snort - in stereo, no less - from the other two. "If that day ever happens," Lance started, trailing off when Chris stuck his tongue out at him.

"We'll have you committed," Joey finished, poking half-heartedly at his sandwich. "Or buried. Fucker."

Chris beamed at both of them.

The thing Justin neglected to tell them at breakfast was Ripples was having a retro-back-to-disco night, in addition to the two-for-one drinks. Chris sighed as they inched their way into the club; he liked ABBA as much as the next guy, sometimes, but he really wasn't in the mood for 'Dancing Queen'. Not tonight. He wanted to dance, and wasn't real sure disco music was going to fit the bill.

"Tell me again why we're here?" Lance was only a couple inches away from him, but Chris shouted to be heard over the pounding, driving beat - the pounding in time with his headache, actually - and watched Lance's mouth curve upward into a smile. A smile that did funny things to his blood pressure, no matter how many times he saw it.

"'Cos it's the only decent gay nightclub around?"

Chris grimaced. "Right now? That's totally an oxymoron, dude."

"Okay, then, how 'bout two-for-one drinks? And hot manflesh?"

That made him smile, remembering Joey's reaction. "Think Joey's gonna be scarred for life from that one?" The idea was positively glee-inspiring.

"Possibly." Lance leaned in and nuzzled Chris's ear. "You should be nice to him; he's not a full-fledged member of the club."

"He's close enough, even if he ain't card-carryin'." Chris turned toward Lance and kissed him, nipping at his lips before licking into his mouth. Someone behind him jostled them, trying to push forward, and Chris turned around to glare. "What's your deal, man?"

"Line's moving, so move up or get outta line."

Chris growled and started to answer in kind, but Lance yanked him forward. "Let it go, man. Don't get in a fight at a club. That's beyond stupid."

"Yeah, I guess." It really would be, too. He could just imagine having to call Wright in the morning and say 'hey, sorry, prof, but I'm in jail and can we reschedule our meeting?' Nope, that wouldn't go over so well. "Hey, what's your mom think about this whole-us?"

Lance gave him an odd look. "Us...as in, you and me?"

"Yeah."

"Chris-you know both my folks are cool with it. They like you; they think you're a great guy. Course, they don't know what an ass you can be when you want to...but I think you do some sort of voodoo on the side, anyway." He frowned and reached up, brushed cool fingers against Chris's temple. "Dude, I'm really starting to worry about you. You've been-off, all day. Off, even for you."

Lance's answer should've relieved the weird weight in Chris's chest; all it did actually was make him feel like things were even more off than before. It was scary, in a way, because everything seemed so tilted and off-balance right now, including the things he'd taken as constants. "Thanks. I mean, for worrying. But I'm fine. Just, y'know-"

"Headache," Lance finished for him.

"Yeah." Finally, the entrance. Chris fished around in his wallet for the cover while Lance fished out his ID - very much a fake one, since he wasn't legal yet for drinking - and suffered the guy scrutinizing it carefully. He stamped both their hands and waved them on in. "Timberlake said he'd get us a table by the back-let's see if we can find them."

It took a while - the club was big, and packed full tonight - but they finally found the three J's hanging out at a table near the back of the club on the second level. JC scooted over to make room for Lance and Chris to slide into the booth then signaled the passing waiter.

"Need two more, cat." The waiter nodded before disappearing into the crowd, and Chris turned to JC with a bemused look.

"So, uh, what're we drinking tonight?"

"Coronas, to start with. We'll go from there." JC looked smug, like he knew something they didn't. Chris reached over and tickled him.

"C'mon, spill. You look like the cat that ate the canary. What's up?"

"I got my grant!" JC wasn't very good at holding in the happy emotions; Chris was impressed he'd held it in until now, rather than popping home to shout it from the rooftop. "Got the word back from Dr. Anthony this afternoon. Signed, stamped approved, everything."

"Woo! Go, you." Justin and Joey were halfway over the table, hugging and kissing JC. Chris leaned in and smacked a kiss onto his mouth, then leaned back so Lance could do the same.

JC beamed at all of them, and it made Chris really happy to see him so happy. He'd worked like a dog on that grant, and Chris honestly couldn't think of anyone more deserving of it than he was. It was nice to know that good things did occasionally happen to good people. Kind of renewed his faith in the universe in general.

When the Coronas arrived they had a toast, clinking all five bottles together before drinking. Joey and Justin seemed to be sitting a little closer than usual, and Chris wondered about the comments he and Lance made earlier; maybe Joey'd be a card-carrying member of the club before too much longer, after all.

"Let's dance," Lance said, right into Chris's ear, startling him out of his thoughts. The Coronas were gone, another round ordered, and JC looked like he was ready to hit the floor and do some celebratory ass-shaking. Chris nodded and slid out of the booth after Lance, with JC right behind him. When he turned back to see if Joey and Justin were with them, Chris blinked, because he was pretty sure they were kissing. Huh.

"I think you're about to be the only single guy in the house, C," Chris shouted as they made their way to the dance floor. JC grinned.

"Dude, where you been? They've been makin' eyes at each other for weeks now."

"Really?" Chris looked back toward the table, then between Lance and JC. Lance nodded along with JC. "Well, color me clueless, then. Fuck me."

"C'mon, clueless boy. Let's get our groove on." JC danced backwards into the crowd, pulling Lance and Chris with him.

It was great to lose himself in the music - okay, disco wasn't his first choice, but still. Most of the songs had a good beat; they were made for dancing, after all. JC didn't hang around them for too long, though, preferring to prowl for someone he could take home or go home with.

They danced through a couple of fast numbers, until the sweat sheened both of them, and watching droplets trickle down the side of Lance's neck, or his temples was set to drive Chris crazy. He looked really fucking good under the strobe lights and disco ball, skin all shiny and glittery, streaked with bright light. It made Chris ache to look at him; an ache he felt deep inside, like he was being turned inside out.

The music slowed, mellowed out, and Chris fit himself up against Lance while they moved in time to it. It was a little like sex, hips thrusting liquidly, bodies rubbing together. The ache deepened inside him, slow and heavy, and all he wanted to do was take Lance inside, hold him there. Never let him go.

It was really fucking scary to feel that, and Chris shivered and felt a little guilty at the relief coursing through him when the music shifted back to fast again.

Lance wasn't as comfortable on the dance floor as either Chris or JC, and Chris suspected it was because he wasn't comfortable with moving his body where others would see him. He held his own generally, until he got tired or intimidated by others around him - and ow, at that thought, the motherfucking headache slammed back into his temples, making him dizzy from all the little dots of light spinning around his head.

"You okay? Chris?" When his vision cleared a little, Chris realized they weren't on the dance floor any longer; Lance had dragged him off to the edge and was watching him anxiously. "Dammit-this is crazy. We need to get you to a doctor or the med center. You could have like, a brain tumor or something."

Chris brushed Lance's hand off his shoulder, fear making him want to crawl into himself. "I don't have a fucking brain tumor. Christ. I have a headache, okay? And probably beer and loud music aren't the best things for it."

"Gee, y'think?" Lance scowled at him. "You're such an ass. What's the big deal if I worry about you, huh? Or is that against your personal rules for relationships? We can fuck and hold hands and hang out, but I'm not allowed to be concerned?"

"Huh?" Chris blinked. "Where'd that come from?"

"From you, Mr. I-have-it-under-control. You've had this headache since you woke up this morning, and you're all cool, pretending you're fine-and then you practically black out on the dance floor. Would you tell me if you weren't okay? Seriously?" Green eyes flashed fire at him, and Chris looked away guiltily, because yeah, okay, he still kept some stuff at arm's length. It was so risky, loving someone - and holy fucking shit, where'd that come from? Chris winced, and looked back at Lance, still staring coolly at him, though his eyes burned hot.

"I-yeah. I would. Really." He even mostly meant it; the part of him that wasn't cowering in the corner and gibbering in fear.

"I dunno." Lance sighed and moved in closer, leaning his forehead against Chris's. "I wonder sometimes. You don't have to prove anything to me, y'know. I like you the way you are-and I get that you have serious issues with relationships. It's not the end of the world, y'know. We can work around that. We have worked around it."

Stupid freaky mind-reading boyfriend. Chris frowned. "I love you," he said lowly, and waited for lightning to strike. When it didn't, and all Lance did was smile slow and easy, Chris blinked. "Huh."

"I love you too, you ass. Now, can we please get you to a doctor?"

"Tomorrow," Chris said firmly. "If the headache's not gone, I promise you can escort me to the med center personally, after my meeting with Wright."

"Stupid, stubborn, misguided-"

That felt normal, more comfortable. If Lance was insulting him, a little of the tension had eased. "Stop with the flattery, man. You already know I'll put out for you."

"Such an ass. Seriously." Lance pushed Chris back against the railing and kissed him, hard. It was a bruising sort of kiss, and Chris felt it all the way down to his toes, delicious pressure, just this side of pain. He pushed himself closer to Lance and tilted his head back, letting him control the kiss. Losing himself in it, in the heat and desire he tasted.

"Let's go back home," Chris muttered when Lance finally pulled back. "I can show you how okay I really am."

"I dunno if that's a good idea, for a guy in your condition." Lance hummed thoughtfully when Chris pressed forward, rubbing against him. "On the other hand, that condition could be life-threatening too, I guess."

"It really could," Chris dead-panned. "So we should do something about it. Apply aid of some sort."

"Think we oughta let one of the others know we're leaving?" Lance looked around, presumably for JC. Chris shook his head.

"Nah. They'll figure it out. Besides, judging by the look in JC's eyes earlier, he won't even be coming home tonight."

"All right, then. Lead the way, man." Lance slid his hand down over Chris's ass and into the pocket of his jeans, and that, Chris decided, was just about the most perfect way to walk together that he could think of.

"Leave a light on in the living room," Lance murmured as they made their way through the house. "Don't want anyone falling and killin' themselves."

"Nope, 'cos they'd holler for help, and interrupt us-"

"Chris." But Chris heard the laughter in Lance's voice. "You're terrible."

"Yup. And unapologetic about it." Chris made a detour toward the kitchen. "I'm gonna grab a bottle of water-you want one?"

"I've noticed, and yeah, please."

By the time Chris got back to their room, Lance had his shoes and shirt off, and the covers turned down on the bed. Which Chris didn't remember making after his nap, so Lance must have done it while he was in the shower. Nifty, having a boyfriend who was so anal about neatness.

He tossed Lance one of the bottles, then set his down to toe off his sneakers and pull his shirt over his head. "I was thinking-"

"Oh, Lord-"

"-it'd be neat to travel. Like, take a semester off and tour Europe. Shit like that." Chris popped the button on his jeans, and grimaced when his head throbbed. "Not likely to happen, but it'd be neat."

Lance snorted. "I'm still trying to figure out how to pay for next year's tuition. Europe would be-"

"Really fucking expensive. Yeah, I know. Lemme have my dreams, thank you. Fuck, Bass."

"Maybe we could go for our honeymoon." Lance grinned and stepped into Chris's personal space.

"You proposin'? Why Mistah Bass, I do declare." Chris batted his eyelashes and made kissy noises until Lance thwapped him on the chest. "Ow, fucker. You don't appreciate my appreciation?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

Just like that, Lance switched from teasing and playful to serious and solemn. Chris did it too; it was like throwing a switch deep inside. Usually when one of them did it, the other followed suit. Now felt like a serious time, too, the teasing taking backseat to other things, to emotions Chris still wasn't sure he was ready to actually feel, much less acknowledge.

Though he'd said the words earlier.

"I meant it," he mumbled, leaning into Lance. "What I said," he added, when Lance gave him a puzzled frown.

"I know." Lance had the warmest hands of anyone Chris had ever known, and it always made his skin ripple with goosebumps and shivers when Lance teased them along his waist, before fingering around the edge of his navel. "I meant it too. I think it's easier for me to say."

"Probably." He swayed closer, tilting his head back so Lance could nuzzle. He'd been taken with Chris's earrings from the start; liked to lick around them, tug on them with his teeth and lips, stuff like that. Stuff that always raised the hairs on the back of Chris's neck, just like now. "I'm not-it's not that I'm scared. Exactly."

"Never said you were." Lance licked up the length of Chris's throat and bit at the underside of his jaw, gentle nips with suction. Seduction with teeth. Chris growled and twisted his head, searching for Lance's mouth. A biting, hard kiss that left both of them panting, whimpering into the other's mouth. Fingers skimmed up his chest and over his nipples, and Chris quivered, then mirrored the action. Lance's nipples grew hard beneath his fingertips, tiny, tight buds Chris could roll and pluck and play with. "God."

Chris laughed softly. "You call me the nicest things, Bass."

The vibrations from Lance's laughter against his mouth tickled a little, and Chris squirmed, grinning. "Ego much?"

"Maybe a little. Wanna take this party to the bed?"

"Yeah. I do."

They stopped beside the bed to skim out of jeans and undershorts, hands helping and interfering at the same time. It never failed to take Chris's breath away to see Lance fully naked, skin gleaming pale in the dim light. He tanned, after a fashion, but in the winter, looked like moonlight solidified, if Chris was going to wax poetic about it. His hair was still a little too blond from an unfortunate 'hey, let's try some bleach' experiment Joey foisted on him a couple months earlier. Lance hated it; said it made him look younger than he already was. Chris told him it made him look cool, especially when he cut it short on the sides and spiked the front with gel.

He crawled onto the bed and Lance followed, settling himself partially on, partially beside Chris. There was a feeling growing between them, need and want and love and lust all tangled up together, and Chris felt it like a small fire burning steadily, growing larger, in the pit of his stomach.

They didn't fuck all that often, usually saving it for special times, times when they felt more than they could easily say with words. The rest of the time, sex was anything from kissing up to blowjobs, and everything in between; anything they needed it to be, wanted it to be, had time for.

Lance was the first guy Chris felt comfortable enough to bottom for; the first one he could give up enough of himself to, to relax and let go. And it was still new enough, even so many months later, that the sight of a condom made his stomach clench hard and tight, made heat streak through his veins.

"You want-" Lance gestured vaguely with his hands, and Chris shook his head.

"Face to face," he said quietly. "Wanna-see you."

Lance nodded, then cupped Chris's face in his hand and kissed him, slow and sweet. It made Chris's head spin, made him dizzy and giddy and for a minute he felt silly for feeling that way. It was just a kiss. Just Lance, kissing him, like he so often did. But there was promise in it tonight; promise, and love, and Chris felt greedy, wanting as much as was offered, and even more than that.

He sat up and Lance kneeled between his legs while Chris helped him roll the condom on. It had surprised him, the first time they did it, how intimate that could be; in the past, Chris always viewed condoms as a necessary evil, not something that could be a part of the sex.

The sensation of Lance sliding into him still took his breath away. He felt so open, so vulnerable, it was all Chris could do not to close his legs and roll away. There was a vague sense of panic, of fear, that melted away in the warm rush of pleasure. Lance rose above him, looking so young, so uncertain himself, until Chris smiled at him. The uncertainty changed to confidence; Chris saw it in his face and felt it echoed in every thrust inside him.

"It's good," he muttered at one point, the words coming harsh and soft, panted out against Lance's neck.

Lance grunted something in reply, turned his head and kissed Chris hot and hungry, rough and gentle at the same time. Chris curled his fingers into Lance's shoulders, fingernails biting into skin as the thrusts came faster, harder, less measured. He held on tight when Lance cried out, burying himself deep inside, and even with the condom Chris was sure he felt each pulse as Lance came.

Afterward, Lance slid down Chris's body and took him into his mouth, licking and sucking while he worked his fingers deep inside Chris. The combination made Chris dizzy again, so much pleasure sparking through him his blood felt fizzy, like it was full of bubbles. He came with a soundless wail, head tipped back, body arching upward, toward Lance's mouth, against Lance's fingers.

Coming down was almost painful, it'd felt so good. Chris curled himself into Lance and smiled tiredly. "My head still attached?" Wow, his mouth was dry.

"If I could open my eyes, I'd tell you. You'll have to wait." Lance sounded a little hoarse. Chris laughed and curled in closer.

"Not goin' anywhere."

"Me neither." There was a long pause; long enough Chris wondered if Lance had fallen asleep on the spot, and then he said very softly, "love you, Chris."

Chris shivered, and reached for the blankets beneath them, though he wasn't really cold. Just-hearing it. Like that. He swallowed roughly and whispered, "me, too."

He felt weirdly chilled, considering the human heater who was in his bed. Or had been; right now, he appeared to kind of Lance-less, though when Chris squinted, he could see Lance right there beside him. Sitting beside him, not lying beside him. Weird.

"Why're you up? It's middle of the night," he mumbled. His mouth felt dry, and he had a funny taste in it. A not-sex taste. More metallic, kind of bitter.

"Watching you," Lance said. Or Chris thought he said it. Everything looked and felt-fuzzy.

The headache was back, pounding a tempo inside his head that made him think of staccato sixteenth notes and drums, and Chris raised a hand to his head and grimaced. "God. My head really.fucking.hurts."

Lance squeezed his hand-waitasec, when did he take Chris's hand? He hadn't been holding it a minute ago-and nodded. "That's because of the concussion, doofus."

"Concussion?"

Fuzzy turned into opaque, like Chris was looking at the world through a thick, grimy film. He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, but nothing cleared. Lance squeezed again and said almost conversationally, "I think he's starting to wake up. Better go find the nurse, or whoever."

Nurse? Concussion? Chris blinked again, because really, those words didn't make any kind of sense, then blinked again, this time against what seemed like blindingly bright light. He licked his lips and wow, his mouth was dry and his throat hurt, and whispered, "Lance?"

"Right the first time," came the familiar, and yet not, voice, and Chris closed his eyes. He wondered if he imagined the kiss brushed against his forehead as he slid into sleep again.

It was really bright in the room, and Chris squeezed his eyes shut again the instant after he opened them.

"Chris?"

"Uh-huh." He licked his lips, and yeah. That weird taste was still there. And ow, his head. "Lance?"

"Yeah?"

Very cautiously, Chris slitted his eyes open. If he wasn't mistaken, he was in a hospital room. Which didn't make sense at all, because he'd just gone to bed in his room, with Lance curled up against him-"Um. 'M I dreaming?"

"Nope." A scuffling sound made Chris open his eyes a little further, in time to see Lance dragging his chair closer to the bed. "I think you have been, though."

"Wha' happened? And can I have somethin' to drink?"

"Yeah-hang on." Lance went to the door and pushed it open, and Chris heard him say quietly, "he's awake-just now, yeah. Let the others know, 'kay?" When he came back he sat close to the bed and offered Chris a cup with a straw. "Drink slow, okay? You don't wanna get sick."

Chris sipped a couple times then lay back and tried to ignore the spots dancing around the edge of his vision. "Okay. The fuck happened? I feel like I'm in some sort of alternate universe or something."

"You remember anything? The car crash? It took 'em a while to get you out of the car--"

He did, then--a sudden flash of metal squealing and crunching, of rubber shrieking against blacktop.

Trash pick-up day.

Car accident. Chris squeezed his eyes shut again against the visual of the other driver running the light and slamming into him; the sound of JC and Joey yelling as he tried to swerve to miss the impact-

--followed by the feeling of absolute loss as Chris realized everything he'd done and felt in the last...day, hah...was nothing but a dream. He and Lance-a dream. Nothing more than a wish, a fantasy.

To be an ordinary boy, with an ordinary life...

He sniffled and reached up to drag his hand across his nose, pulling against Lance's hold when he tugged the arm back. "Ew, don't do that, man." Lance brushed his hair back off his forehead, his fingers warm and gentle. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He snuffled again. "I think. JC and Joe?"

"Banged up, but okay. You got it the worst, 'cos of the angle of impact, and being the driver, and all that." Lance frowned. "Something like that, anyway. And you're not critical-just concussed and bruised; if you move around, you'll figure that out pretty quick."

"What about performances, and appearances? Didn't we have stuff booked? Are Lou and Johnny mad?" It was hard to separate himself, and reality, from his dream. It felt so strong, so real. Chris wanted to go back there.

He frowned again and inched closer, and Chris found himself aching to reach out and twine his fingers together with Lance's. "Nah, they're not. It wasn't your fault-the accident, I mean. And yeah, we had a couple of things, but we rescheduled. Not a big deal; people understood." Lance was quiet for a minute, then said, "You've been out of it for about thirty-six hours, so we were starting to get kind of antsy. I'm glad you're awake now."

"So it was all a dream," he said instead, voice soft.

"Yeah," Lance said, matching his tone to Chris's. "But, I'll let you in on a secret-" He glanced back toward the closed door, then leaned in closer. "It doesn't have to be. And that's something you already know, isn't it, you idiot?"

Chris turned his head so fast pain spiked through him from several different points. "What?"

"Oh, come on. You turned me down flat last year, after I-when I told you I was interested. Said you weren't, at all. Not even a little, as I recall." Lance raised one eyebrow, all cool and smug.

"I'm not interested." He said the words so quickly they burned his mouth, and Lance raised the other eyebrow. "I'm not. What I said last year still stands. I don't want-you."

That got him a smile, though really, it was more like Lance baring his teeth. "Yeah? Chris, I just listened to thirty-six hours of our life together. The NC-17 version, even. So, y'know. That song's not working. Try something else." Lance paused and shook his head. "Honestly, I think you're probably the densest guy I've ever crushed on."

"Now wait a minute." That sounded an awful lot like an insult, though Lance smiled as he said it. Well, bared his teeth again.

"No, you wait a minute." Lance looked dead serious, eyes boring into Chris's. "A year, Chris. I don't, like, think you're going to declare your undying love for me right now, or anything, but I know you're interested. You need to get over the whole age thing. It's a number. That's all."

"But-"

"No buts. You're stuck with me." Lance leaned in and brushed his mouth against Chris's. "Think you can handle that?"

He was about to burst from the emotions thrumming through him. Up, down, up, down; Chris felt giddy, almost drunk. And warm again, for the first time since he woke up and found out his reality had been a dream. A dream he really did want, in spite of his protests.

"I think I can give it a try, anyway."

This time, he gave in to the urge to take Lance's hand, and found he was really glad he wasn't just an ordinary guy after all.