Polish

by Deirdre

© October 2002

JC tapped the highlighter against his thigh as he read, his tongue flicking lightly against his upper lip as he concentrated. He realized after a moment what he was doing, and pulled back his tongue, pressing his lips together tightly. Out of reflex he glanced at the half-open curtain to his bunk, but fortunately, Chris was nowhere in sight, though he could hear Chris' high-pitched voice, as piercing as a car alarm, through the closed sliding door that separated the lounge area from the bunks.

Safe, then, at least for the moment. He'd tried to break the habit after Chris had seen it once, and eyes glittering with a wild joy, had pounced on him, yelling about "porno-tongue" and "gimme some of that, sex-boy!"

JC rolled his eyes at the memory, and felt heat creep up his throat. Caught off guard, he'd squealed like a girl---to his shame---and had a hard time fighting off a manic Chris, who was much stronger than his slight build suggested, and seemed to have at least a hundred hands, all of them pinching, prodding, or tickling.

Chris had managed to give him a wet, sloppy kiss, then a hickey on the neck as he'd held down JC and tickled him into gasping helplessness. Lance, watching a movie and finally growing tired of the noise, had grabbed the back of Chris' jersey, and hauled a protesting Chris away as JC, weakened by tickling and laughing, had crawled away to his own bunk, the sounds of Chris turning his attention on Lance loud in his ears.

The makeup girl naturally had a fit over the hickey, huge and purple on his throat. Justin had laughed like an idiot, of course, sorry that it had happened to JC but really, really glad it hadn't been him, but Joey had avenged JC's honor by getting Chris in a headlock and giving him noogies until Chris' eyes crossed and he yelled for mercy. Lance had escaped Chris' counter-attack unscathed, but then, he wasn't afraid to fight dirty if he were losing, going right for the balls; normally, no one willingly roughhoused with Lance again once they had.

So JC had to remember never to do that again while Chris was around.

JC frowned a little, straightened his glasses on his nose, and went back to reading. A nice turn of phrase caught his attention, and he popped the cap off the highlighter, marking the sentence carefully in bright neon yellow. He read compulsively, always on the lookout for quotes and such, anything that might spark a song idea. The Bartlett's Quotations currently resting across his drawn-up thighs had become one of his favorite sources, and since Lance had given it to him last Christmas, he'd been through it twice, marking things he liked in neon yellow, or green or blue, as the mood struck him. Justin had stolen the pink marker out of the package, and JC really didn't want to know what he'd done with it, because Justin could be weirder than Chris sometimes.

He read along peacefully, listening to the rise and fall of voices in the lounge, an idle finger twirling around a loose curl behind his ear, the motion of the bus rocking him sweetly and soothingly. Soon his eyes grew a bit heavy, and he thought a nap might be just the most wonderful thing; he wasn't sure how long until their next stop, but guessed he had a little time, and he'd never been one to turn down a catnap if the opportunity presented itself.

Recapping the highlighter, he tucked it into the book, took off his glasses and folded them neatly, and set them off in the corner of his bunk. He stretched out with a soft, happy sigh, wiggling his bare toes against the end of the bunk. Sleepily he contemplated the relative peacefulness. Maybe Lance riding with them for this leg of the trip wasn't such a bad idea; he was a lot quieter than Justin, and didn't feed into Chris' restless energy. Of course, the fight that had sparked the whole switch of Justin for Lance had sucked; JC's only consolation in that was that he'd tried to break it up before it had turned serious.

Most of their fights were pretend. They wrestled together all the time, in various combinations, and although JC tried to always keep out of it, as he generally ended up on the floor with a crowing victor tickling him into insensibility, it was all in fun.

They were like brothers, and teased one another constantly. Sometimes, when they were so tired that all their internal censors dropped, and they felt raw and used up and vulnerable, the teasing turned cruel, and sometimes, the fights real. JC hated it when they had real fights, and always tried to act as the peacekeeper.

They all fought in different ways. Joey yelled and waved his arms and threatened, but never carried through with any of them, and was generally over it the next day, back to a relatively sunny disposition, even if JC knew Joey still hurt deep down inside where no one ever saw. Lance turned cold, like liquid nitrogen, and knew how to carry a grudge better than anyone JC had ever seen. Justin was like a thunderstorm, loud and violent, but JC knew just how to stroke his ego back into tune with just the right amount of flattery and cajoling. Chris had a sharp, wicked tongue and a wild, black temper and could inflict wounds that would take a long time to heal, though he loved them all with a fierce passion and would protect them from others, no matter the cost, without a second thought.

Normally Chris and Justin were as close as peas in a pod---that cliché, in his mother's voice, popped into his head---but he supposed that sometimes, too much closeness was simply, well, too much.

He'd never been quite sure what had started the fight, as he'd been tucked into his bunk for the night, but suspected it had a lot to do with the bone-grinding weariness the last leg of a tour brought to them all, a tiredness that sharpened all their tempers, even his own. But regardless of the reason, the yelling had been loud enough to wake him from a sound sleep. It had turned surprisingly serious in a very short time, and he'd waded in to break it up before they started trading real punches. In a yelling match, no one could top Chris, who could hit notes JC swore even dogs couldn't hear, but Justin had given it his best shot, matching him screech for screech, the name-calling and insults and threats escalating by the minute until JC hadn't been able to even hear himself think.

Finally, JC had lost his temper, yelled at them both to shut the fuck up, and that alone had made both Chris and Justin pause long enough for JC to get the bus stopped. He thought that for a little while, he should separate them before they said or did anything they might regret.

Justin had agreed readily, and sworn that he wasn't going to stay another minute with Chris, who was too stupid to live. Chris had shouted back that it was just *fine* with him, and could Justin just hurry up and pack his shitty stuff and get his skinny ass off the bus to trade places with Joey, who was a *lot* more fun than Justin ever thought he could be. Justin had packed a bag and left for the second bus as soon as they had both ground to a stop in the middle of the night.

After Justin had left, Chris had stomped around, swearing and throwing pillows, and JC had sat back quietly on the couch and watched him, simply ducking if the pillows came too close; over the years, he'd found it best to simply let Chris work out his anger, and not interrupt the flow of it. When Lance had stepped up into the bus a few minutes later, looking sleepy and pale and cross, carrying a duffle, his laptop case, and his own pillow, Chris had exploded again.

"Lance? Why didn't Joey show up? Lance is like, no fun at all. Who's gonna entertain me?" Chris had griped to no one in particular, bouncing up and down on his toes, accompanied by waving hands. JC had wanted to strangle him then, and had actually tucked his hands beneath his thighs to keep himself from doing just that; Chris, for all the fun he was generally, could at times be incredibly tactless, his thoughts never very far from his sharp tongue.

JC had started to say something cutting, but Lance had stood there, blinked his odd gold-green eyes slowly, and said, his deep, smooth voice very precise and without anger, "I lost the coin toss, so piss off, you asshole," before shoving past them both, banging JC's shoulder with his duffle, heading for the bunks.

"Sheesh, no need to go all prima donna on me," Chris had yelled to Lance's sweatshirt-clad back, then had blinked and laughed as Lance had leaned out of the bunk he'd claimed, the one just above JC's, and gave Chris the finger.

And that had settled the fight for the moment; Lance now belonged to them for that leg of the trip. Chris never hung on to anger for very long, and JC knew that in a day or two, either Chris or Justin would get lonely for the other and break, and things would be back to what passed as normal for them.

JC had almost fallen asleep when Chris' piercing, "Oh, you *fuck*!" startled him awake. He blinked owlishly as he heard Lance reply, the rumble too low for him to distinguish words. A loud thump, and Chris' outraged, "Bass, you're such a pussy!" came to him clearly through the sliding door. Bringing his wrist up close to his face, JC squinted at his watch.

Twelve hours. Lance had lasted longer without breaking than JC had actually expected. JC and Justin were the only ones who could take a cooped-up Chris for any length of time; Justin because he was just like Chris, and JC, because he possessed the unique ability to completely shut them both out. Lance favored quiet and peace, which was why he rode with the mellow Joey, who knew how and when to shut up. Chris, on the other hand, needed almost constant distraction. Or Ritalin. JC wasn't sure.

Saying bye to his catnap with a sigh, JC struggled to a sitting position, and opened the curtains to his booth, knowing that one or the other would probably come back just to get away from the other for a little while. Although he'd often taken Lance's side when they were all younger, Lance too shy and unprepossessing in the very beginning to stand firm against the Chris/Justin force of nature, Lance had learned quickly to hold his own easily, and certainly didn't need his help.

He didn't have long to wait; in a minute, the sliding door to the lounge slammed back hard enough into its recess to make the walls rattle. Chris stormed in, turned to shout one last name at Lance, but instead he ducked when a book sailed through the doorway and hit the back wall with a thump and riffle of pages. JC blinked as it went by. Lance's throwing arm had certainly improved; that was a pretty decent pitch. Just a little higher and slightly more to the left, and he'd have nailed Chris in the forehead.

"I was gonna take it back, but now, no way," Chris yelled, and slammed the door closed. Just in time, as something else, probably a pillow from the sound of the dull thud, hit the door. Anticlimactic, JC thought.

Chris shook himself and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more wildly, and then turned to JC. Oddly, he seemed almost more amused than truly angry. He rubbed the left side of his chest absently. "Like, when did he get so strong? I swear, you try and keep an eye on them, steer them in the right direction, and what do they do? They turn on you and lift weights and shit like that," Chris complained. "No one but me and Joey left to hold up the standard for lazy sloths everywhere."

"It's a hard task, man," JC replied with mock solemnity. "I feel your pain."

Chris snorted and his mouth twisted into a half-frown. "I doubt that---he didn't hit *you*." Leaning forward, Chris shoved at JC's legs, trying to make himself a place in the opposite end of JC's bunk, though his own was just as close, right across the narrow hallway from JC's. "Move these skinny giraffe legs, dude."

"You're just jealous," JC replied, but shifted on the cover to allow Chris to wedge himself in.

"I have normal legs, thankyouverymuch," Chris replied, clearly affronted. "Normal, non-overachieving legs, unlike you." He wriggled around, trying to find a position of comfort, and continued to rub at his chest. JC let him get settled, then poked him gently in the thigh with a toe.

"So, why did he hit you?"

"I didn't do anything," Chris said, which was how most of his stories began, and when JC grinned at him, Chris grinned back. "Well, much of anything." He paused and scratched his head, trying on an expression of innocence that didn't fit at all. "You make one tiny little remark about womanly hands, and he gets all pissy."

JC laughed and shook his head slightly. "And here I thought you were a pretty smart guy. Guess not, huh?"

"Hey, I'm plenty smart. He's just too sensitive." Chris made quote marks around the word 'sensitive' with crooked fingers, and rolled his dark eyes in such an exaggerated way that JC couldn't help but shake his head again.

"So he hit you for that?" JC rubbed his chin and made a hmm sound, thoughtful. "Usually it takes more than that to make him lose his temper."

Chris looked away for a moment, and a sly, mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well, it might actually have been the remark about the womanly hips, come to think about it."

"He does not have womanly hips," JC replied, gently reproving. "Lance looks good." Really good, his mind added, but then he shuttled aside that thought with the ease of long experience. "He's just not built like Justin, that's all."

"So few of us are," Chris said dolefully, and poked at his own belly, flat but soft. JC had never understood how Chris could undercut himself in that way, because JC thought that Chris looked okay just the way he was.

JC nudged away Chris' hand with his foot. "Cut that out. You're just fine. You've got more energy than all of us put together. Besides, what about that group of girls who were screaming at you during the last show---they seemed to think you were pretty hot, man." JC pulled at his earlobe. “That one, when she pulled up her shirt…had very nice…well.” And she had; even JC had been impressed, and he didn't go for that sort of thing. Chris looked dreamy in remembrance.

"They had good taste, sure," Chris said, and caught JC's foot. JC started to jerk away, thinking Chris might tickle him, but Chris had strong hands; his short fingers wrapped around JC’s slim ankle, and held him easily in place. "But they're in the minority. The really, really quiet minority."

"Not so quiet," JC scoffed. Chris pulled JC's foot up into his lap, thumbs working over the arch of his foot, and JC relaxed back with a blissful sigh. No one but Chris or Joey would bother to rub his feet; the very mention of it grossed out Justin too much. If he asked Lance, Lance would just raise a finely-arched eyebrow and look at him in silence until JC got nervous and scuttled away, hating that he’d asked at all. "Um. Yeah. Right there."

Chris laughed. "Dude, you are so easy," he said. "Agent Chasez, you vill tell me the secret plans, yes?" he said, in his best evil minion voice. "Or ve vill schtop vith the footrubs."

JC blinked. "What plans?" he asked, and then laughed as he got the joke. "No more spy movies for you. We had to hide all the water guns from you after that war movie kick you went on. Joey was really unhappy about that for a long time. He loves his water guns."

Chris snickered, but continued to rub, long, slow, firm strokes along JC's sole that made JC close his eyes and wriggle happily. Oh, that was really, really nice. He loved footrubs more than almost anything else. He decided that Chris was his best friend, without a doubt. No one was as wonderful as Chris. JC melted down bonelessly into the mattress, humming happily, one arm flung up over his head, and the other came to rest on his bare belly where his tee shirt had ridden up. A sweet lethargy rolled over him, wrapping him in happy warmth.

After a few minutes, Chris’ fingers slowed, and JC pushed his other foot up into Chris’ lap, sleepily imperious. Chris rubbed slowly over his ankle, and then began working along the arch of that foot. Oh, good, good, good. JC sighed and smiled, then wriggled against the mattress in absolute bliss.

JC's fingers brushed idly along the fine line of hair that began at his navel and disappeared beneath the low-slung waist of his loose jeans, and that was good, too, if in a different way. Heat crept slowly down his belly and collected between his thighs, and he felt his dick stir and begin to grow. It was all good, and he hummed again, low in his chest.

Chris let go his foot and slapped him sharply on the calf, pushing JC’s legs out of his lap. JC opened his eyes, startled, and Chris grinned at him.

“That’s enough, C. Hands are getting tired,” he said cheerfully, but something didn’t ring exactly true in his voice, and the cheer didn’t quite reach Chris’ liquid dark eyes. JC blinked at him, and Chris looked away. No one had ever been able to beat Chris in a stare-down, and it surprised him that Chris wouldn’t look at him now.

“Um, okay,” he said finally, and drew his legs up a little, giving Chris more room. Chris glanced his way again, gaze flickering over the bulge in JC’s jeans, and sudden understanding tingled along his skin, made JC's eyes widen. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Nah, no problem,” Chris said easily. “You do that all the time. That’s why we call you Mr. Happy Pants, dude.”

Heat crept up JC’s throat, but he couldn’t deny it. Stuff didn’t have to be sexual to make him pop a boner---just anything good, like getting a hard dance step down, or a perfect harmony, or even a really tasty sandwich when he was starving. Joey hadn’t let him live that time down for *weeks.* The things that Joey had then done with sandwich supplies had been really vile, though JC had given him points for sheer creativity.

Chris shifted a little, but his jeans were so loose that JC couldn’t see if Chris was as hard as he was. It didn’t matter anyway. Chris liked guys just as much as girls, and had made no secret of it from their early days together, but JC knew he wasn’t Chris’ guy type—he was too tall, too thin. For all that he teased Lance, Chris’ preferences, from what little JC had seen, ran to Lance’s type, strong and sturdy and solid, someone he could be a little rough with and not worry about hurting in his enthusiasm. JC had been woken out of sound sleep many times by the sounds of Chris' undeniable…enthusiasm…scarcely muffled by thin hotel walls.

JC had wondered, sometimes, lying with a pillow over his head to muffle the noise, what it might be like to be on the receiving end of such intensity. The thought never stayed long; it was *Chris*, for god's sake, and he just could not imagine adding sex to an already incredibly intimate relationship.

“Well, yeah,” JC said, and laughed, but it came out an odd giggle, a little too high-pitched, and he cleared his throat. He reached back and ran his fingers through his thick curly hair, tugging a little at a tangle. A glance in Chris’ direction showed Chris grinning at him, and JC couldn’t help but return it, a genuine smile this time. “Gotta be famous for something, I guess.” He paused again. “So. Why were you teasing Lance?”

Chris’ grin widened. “I was bored. He was boring. It was inevitable. Like a math equation, y’know? A plus B equals C. And the C part almost always gets my ass whupped.”

JC sat up straighter, and drew up his knees. His head brushed the ceiling, but it didn’t bother him that much; he was used to it by now, and compensated for it without thought. “Sometimes it does,” he agreed, thinking of some of Chris' escapades. “So what was it this time?”

“Well, all I wanted was for him to polish my nails.”

JC blinked at him, not quite sure he'd heard correctly, and Chris laughed, waving his left hand in JC’s direction. JC fished for his glasses, settled them on his nose, and peered at Chris’ hand. Chris hadn't been kidding. Black nail polish decorated Chris’ nails. Not a great job either, JC thought critically; Chris had gotten little spots of polish on his fingertips, and JC knew that wasn't the way they were supposed to look. Nail polish on girls always looked so neat and smooth, not uneven and globby.

“Uh, huh,” JC said dubiously. “Paint your nails. Right.”

“The right hand, exactly. I’m not good at doing stuff with my left, so I thought I’d ask him to do it, since he was just sitting there doing boring Lance things. I mean, how long would it have taken?”

JC wondered how long it would have taken Chris to paint them himself, no matter how awkward it might have been, but Chris' mind didn't work like that. Most things to him were a group activity in one way or another.

“So he said no and punched you?” That still didn’t sound right. Lance usually had a lot of patience with Chris, and although he definitely had a temper of his own, it wasn’t like Chris’, which flashed hot and quick.

“Well, no. Not exactly.” Chris scratched at his goatee. “After the fourth time I asked him, he told me to shut the fuck up, quit poking at him, and that I wasn’t AJ fucking McLean.”

JC felt his eyebrows climb. He bit his tongue, hard, to keep from laughing. “Well, you’re not,” he said, and waved away Chris’ beginning splutter of outrage. “We’ve all told you this before, and if you’d just believe us, we wouldn’t have to keep going over this. You’re not a bad boy. We don’t have a bad boy in this group.”

"Hey, I could do it," Chris protested. "Seriously. I've got the glare down just right," Chris said. He dipped his head, his eyebrows lowered, and his mouth went all straight and serious, even as his eyes darkened dangerously and glittered.

JC wanted to squeak as something quick and hot and sparkly streaked through him. Oh. Oh, fuck. Chris did have that part down really well, after all. His dick got even harder, and he wasn't sure he liked it doing that, because, well, it was *Chris.* But his dick had never listened to him much before, and he doubted it would start now.

One corner of Chris’ mouth curved upward, and the smile was an evil, wicked thing. A shiver worked over JC’s skin, almost as if Chris had reached out and raked his black-painted nails lightly over JC’s entire body.

And that visual didn’t help at all, oh no.

JC shifted and brought his knee up to his chest to try and hide how hard he was. He suspected that it was pretty much a useless gesture, because Chris’ eyes glinted knowingly. JC reached for something to talk about, to distract him, because Chris almost looked as if he was ready to pounce. “So. Lance said that, and then what happened?”

The oh-so-sexy glare faded, and he was simply Chris again, grinning and goofy-looking as always. “Hmm. Lessee. I said something about how he should be able to do it pretty well, having womanly hands and all, and then it just kinda went to hell from there.”

“Why did he hit you?” JC scratched the top of his bare foot, then the glimmer of his toe ring caught his attention, and he moved it slowly around on his toe, fidgeting, because, really, he didn't want to be turned on by Chris. He was, though, and the realization didn't make him particularly happy.

“Could be ‘cos I was holding his cell hostage,” Chris finally admitted. “And it hurt, dude. Who knew the fucker was that strong? I need for people to keep me updated on shit like this. Just for my own safety.”

“Things never go really smoothly for you, do they?” JC asked, but didn’t expect an answer. “You’re so good with media, but you’re like a bulldozer or something else big---tornado, maybe---with us.”

“Part of the Kirkpatrick charm,” Chris replied flippantly. JC shook his head slightly. Unfortunately, so true; with the four of them, Chris got away with stuff that would have other people committing him to an insane asylum.

“You could’ve asked me,” JC said. “I’d have done it.”

Chris shrugged, and examined his unpainted nails. “Thought you were sleeping, or busy, or something.”

JC’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh, please. Since when has that made any difference? You wake me up all the time to play this or that, or to entertain you some way or another if you're tired of Justin.”

“Besides, you’ve always hated guys with polished nails. So I thought I’d try Lance, see if he’d do it.” Chris leaned forward, as if to share a confidential secret. “Didn’t work. He likes it even less than you. Country-music-loving-bastard. My quest for ultimate coolness has hit a wall.” Chris sighed heavily, and melodramatically wiped away an imaginary tear.

JC shook his head, amused and exasperated at the same time. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Where is it, and I’ll do it.”

Chris grinned, and leaned forward to pat JC’s cheeks with both hands. “You’re my favorite weird-ass boybander, Chasez.”

“Thanks…I think,” JC replied, as Chris shot out of the bunk and back into the lounge.

JC rearranged himself into a position of comfort, easier now that his dick had deflated a little. He heard Chris and Lance exchange what were probably insults, their voices at totally opposite ends of the musical scale, but he didn’t pay much attention.

Chris slid the door closed and hopped into JC’s bunk, almost bashing his head, but it didn’t faze him, or slow him down as he bounced. “Lance has no sense of humor,” he said, with the same assured gravity that he would use to say that the world was round. But JC wasn’t entirely sure that Chris would say even that---Chris lived to argue.

“Hmm. Not true. It’s just kinda…sly, I guess. Not like yours, which is kinda…loud. And weird. Yeah, definitely weird.”

Chris beamed. “Thanks! Just the effect I was looking for.”

“Lance would never do anything like…say…take a magic marker and write ‘JC loves Eminem’ all over my arms and legs while I was sleeping. Do you have any idea how long that took to scrub off?” Just thinking about waking up and finding *that* written all over him made JC frown in annoyance.

Chris didn’t appear the least bit contrite. “Hey, it wasn’t *my* idea, dude. It was Justin’s. I just helped. I did make all the cute little hearts, though.” He looked very proud. “Besides, I offered to help you wash it all off in the shower. Not my fault you wouldn’t let me atone for my sins.”

"Like I'm gonna fall for that. 'Oops, JC, I dropped the soap---will you pick it up for me?'" JC's voice rose into Chris' register, then dropped back into his own tones. "No way." JC snorted as Chris laughed gleefully. “Wardrobe hated you for that little stunt---they had to scramble around and get long sleeves for me.”

“I guess that’s why I found straight pins poking the hell outta me in all my costumes, then,” Chris said. “I wondered.”

Chris nudged JC’s shoulder. “Now, don’t get all pissy about it again. It’s finally worn off, and I promise I won’t do that again.” He tilted his head and grinned up at JC goofily until JC grinned back.

JC laughed; he couldn’t help it. “All right, all right. Gimme the nail polish so we can get this over with.”

“Yay!” Chris handed over the small bottle with black polish. He bounced in place for a moment, clasped his hands together, and then batted his eyelashes. “I feel like we should be wearing matching shorty pajamas, have rollers in our hair, and be talking about cute boys,” he said, his voice rising even higher than normal, into a shrill falsetto that made JC cringe.

“You are seriously fucked up, Chris,” JC replied, shaking his head. He shook the bottle. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not a chick.”

Chris sat in silence a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice had an oddly husky tone. “Um, I’ve noticed.”

JC froze; it seemed like all the air had left the bus, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded. He waited a moment until he could draw a normal breath, and glanced up at Chris from beneath his lashes, unsure as to what he’d see.

Somehow, Plain Old Chris had morphed into Hot Chris again, and JC wasn’t sure exactly when he’d begun to notice Hot Chris. Surely not just today, not after all the years they’d spent together, but he couldn’t remember ever thinking before that Chris had really wonderful dark brown eyes and that his full lower lip looked very soft.

Still, it was just Chris, not some hot stranger he might have picked up. He cleared his throat. “So. What’s the rush to get this done?” Thank God his voice sounded normal.

Chris shrugged. “Show’s not until tomorrow, so I thought I’d get all gussied up and hit some clubs tonight. Wear some leather and chains. Work on my bad boy image.”

JC snorted. “Yeah, right.” He pulled Chris’ hand onto his own knee to steady it, and opened the bottle. He dabbed off the extra polish onto the lip of the bottle, and concentrating, began working on Chris’ thumbnail.

Chris had small hands, bitten off nails, and ragged cuticles; he didn’t bother with manicures unless he went on a photo shoot and the photographer bitched at him. JC liked manicures; he liked the little bit of pampering, but he loved the hand and arm massage that went with it the most. Chris had been right; give him a massage, and he became easy, pliant, and agreeable to almost anything.

There. The thumbnail looked pretty good, if he did say so himself; the polish on neat and smooth. He put the brush back into the bottle, and ran his fingertips across a pale scar between the first and second knuckles. “What’s this?”

Chris bent down over his own hand, and his wild crazy hair brushed against JC’s cheek. JC pulled back a little.

“Oh, that. Y’know that old saying about picking on someone your own size? Well, don’t believe it.” Chris shrugged again as he sat up. “I don’t take shit off assholes who think they can take advantage of me just ‘cos they’re bigger.”

JC made a hmm sound. That was certainly true; he’d never seen Chris back down from anyone. He was like a fierce little terrier who thought he was a Great Dane. The comparison made the corners of his mouth crook upward slightly, and he swallowed down the rising giggle, because it really wouldn't be a good idea to share that sort of thought with Chris.

The other nails were a little harder to paint as they became progressively smaller, and JC had to concentrate to keep from smearing the black polish everywhere. He didn’t envy girls doing this all the time, though he supposed that like everything else, it probably got easier the more you did it.

Chris sat surprisingly still, moving his arm and hand as directed so JC could reach all his nails. His breath was soft and warm on JC’s arm, and he sat close enough that JC could smell the green scent of Irish Spring soap, and the fresh, almost grassy smell of his shampoo. He could hear Chris breathe, slowly and evenly.

Finally finished, JC capped the bottle, and looked up to see Chris watching him with an unnerving intensity. When had he leaned in so closely? JC wasn’t sure, but suddenly, his bunk seemed way too confined for the two of them, no matter that he was thin, and Chris was small.

“Hey,” Chris said softly. “Thanks.”

An odd, electric thrill swirled through JC, and suddenly, he bloomed into aching hardness, his dick so interested in getting closer to Chris that it pressed hard against the denim of his jeans and throbbed. Chris’ hand slid slowly up from JC’s knee, stopping halfway up his thigh, fingertips stroking gently along his inner thigh, and hey, his dick liked that, a lot.

His lips felt suddenly dry, and without thinking, his tongue flickered out, wetting them, and Chris seemed very, very interested in that. His attention dropped from JC's eyes to his mouth, and he leaned closer, until JC could feel Chris' warm breath against his lips.

JC knew well how to deflect unwanted advances; he'd known how most of his life, just like he knew how to draw someone to him with a glance from beneath his lashes, or a soft, inviting smile. He wasn't innocent, not by a long shot, nor was he, in spite of his appearance, helpless or weak.

He just wasn't sure if Chris' advances were welcomed or not. He didn't think it was a good idea to sleep with anyone in the band, though he'd certainly been tempted a time or two by Lance, particularly when he'd started maturing so nicely, but JC had never let any of those close-held secret desires slip out. They were all his family, and it had just seemed vaguely incestuous to think of them in terms of sex and temptation.

And now there was Chris and his unexplained, sudden appeal that seemed to pounce on JC from out of nowhere.

So JC knew he should have turned his head aside just a little, a gentle rejection. He knew he should have moved his leg when Chris squeezed his thigh with strong fingers. He knew he should have leaned back when Chris leaned in even closer.

He knew all those things, but he did none of them.

Instead, he tipped his head a little to the side and let his lips part, offering. His mouth already felt hot and swollen, and tingled in anticipation. Chris' free hand came up to rest lightly on his shoulder, thumb rubbing gently over the gentle arch of his collarbone through the old, soft material of his tee shirt. JC couldn't stop the shiver that moved through his body.

Chris' breath smelled sweet, a little like bubble gum. This close, his eyes were wide and dark, like a starless night. "You sure, C?"

JC swallowed, dryly. "Yeah," he said, and leaned forward.

He felt Chris' smile against his lips as he brushed across them, lightly, felt Chris' breath against his mouth as Chris whispered, "Good. Because I'm really sure, myself."

Chris' mouth was so soft, and warm, and moist, moving over his own with a sweetness that made a curious little ache gather in JC's chest. The gentleness of the kiss surprised JC; he'd expected Chris to push him down, straddle his waist, and take what he wanted, because Chris had never been subtle about anything, as long as JC had known him.

A little flicker of tongue against his upper lip asked for admittance, and he opened, willingly. And that was just a whole lot of wonderful, a sexyhotsweet curl of tongue against his own, a teasing exploration, a flirty request to hey, come meet Chris' tongue, because really, great things could happen if he did.

Chris tasted a little like bubblegum, and JC couldn't help but smile against his mouth, because the first boy he'd ever kissed, Ryan, had tasted just like that. But in spite of the taste, Chris was definitely no shy, bumbling fifth-grader. He kissed surely, confidently, and as it went on, growing deeper and fiercer, JC thought fuzzily that he might like this happening a lot.

JC slid a long arm around Chris' waist and pulled him closer. He felt Chris' heat through the layers of their clothing, and JC wanted more, before he started remembering about why this was not a good idea. When Chris' hand moved from the top of his shoulder, kneading gently, to the back of his neck, fingers digging into his thick curly hair, and curling around the shape of his head, JC made a low sound of pleasure. He slid his hand under the back of Chris' loose jersey. He ran his fingers over the warm soft skin just above the waistband of Chris' jeans, and felt Chris shiver against him.

And he liked that, a lot. JC pulled back a little, and their mouths parted with a wet, sucking sound that sent a thrill of excitement through him. He felt his blood rushing fast and furious through his veins, swirling deep and low in his belly, making him throb with a sure, powerful pleasure. Chris' face looked flushed, his mouth open and wet, eyes gone deep and black.

Chris slid his hand up JC's thigh and onto his hard, hot dick. JC jumped at the contact, and Chris’ laughter sounded a little breathy. Trust Chris to go directly to the heart of matters. Chris squeezed gently, learning JC's shape and length with clever, knowing fingers.

No more thinking, JC decided, no second-guessing. It was the time for doing, and right now. He spread his hand on Chris’ chest and pushed, hard. Chris toppled over onto the mattress, which was JC’s intention---easier access, and all that---and his flailing elbow hit the back of the bunk with a loud thump, which wasn’t in the plan. He yelled, “Fuck!” and JC swung a long leg over him and slithered atop him, murmuring, “Sorry, sorry,” and went for Chris’ throat, hungry and eager.

After JC licked up Chris’ throat, from collarbone to ear, tasting soap and sweat and healthy male animal, and then bit his earlobe lightly, Chris seemed to forget about his elbow aching and his bitching changed to happy sounds of “Oh, yeah,” and “Just like that.” JC breathed gently into his ear and then licked the outer rim, and Chris thrashed beneath him, dick hard against JC's hip.

JC wriggled and nosed against Chris' skin until he could bite the back of Chris’ neck just below the hairline, and rolled his hips against Chris’ hand, which had thankfully, never let him go. Chris shook his other hand, probably to get the feeling back into it, then jerked at the back of JC’s shirt impatiently, trying to get it off. JC licked over to Chris’ mouth and dove in, fully intending on taking up residence, because it was really nice there, all hot and wet, and his tongue liked Chris’ very much.

Chris bucked hard beneath him, trying to move against him, panting, “Off, off,” and JC wasn’t sure if Chris meant the shirt, the jeans, or JC himself. He felt generous and willing to do whatever Chris wanted, so he sat up, hands at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off.

And forgot for a moment how tall he was and how short the bunk was, and cracked his head, hard, on the ceiling.

His entire world wobbled and spun, and little strobe lights went off behind his eyes. His hands went to the back of his head automatically, and “Shit, fuck, son of a *bitch*,” came out of his mouth along with gasps of pain.

Still pinned mostly beneath him, Chris lurched halfway to a sitting position, his hand curving around JC's waist, thumb resting on JC’s belly. “Dude, I think Mexico heard that thunk. You okay?”

Queasiness rolled over JC in a sour wave, as his head throbbed agonizingly. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve seen porn flicks better than this,” came a low, rumbling voice, “and that’s saying something.”

JC chanced tilting his head and opening his eyes. A vaguely Lance-shaped blur sat on the edge of Chris’ bunk, watching them with cool pale eyes. JC hadn't been sure he could feel more miserable, but evidently, he'd been wrong, as embarrassment rolled over him in a hot wave. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he was far, far away.

Chris screeched, “What are you doing? Get the fuck outta here!” JC cringed at the volume, and Chris petted him, and said, in a much softer tone, “Sorry.”

“Fine,” Lance said, and JC heard his steps fade away for a moment.

JC folded down onto Chris’ chest, head aching, cheeks and ears burning, belly cramping, his whole body feeling like a clenched fist. “Oh, man,” he breathed. “Nothing like breaking a rule with style.”

“What rule?” Chris tried to feel if JC had a lump on the back of his head, but his touch was too rough, and JC irritably slapped his hands away. “Sorry. Really, really sorry.”

“The one where I don’t sleep with any of you guys ‘cos it’s a bad idea.” JC unclenched enough to take a deep breath, and maybe, just maybe, it didn’t hurt quite as much as it had before.

Beneath him, Chris' body jerked and his muscles tightened. “Just what part of ‘get the fuck out’ do you not understand, Bass?”

“Good rule,” Lance said softly in JC’s ear, ignoring Chris. Lance’s slim hands were cool and soft on JC’s face. He pressed a cold cloth to JC’s throat, and gently put a frozen gel pack---probably one of Chris' own, that he used on his knees---to the back of his head. Oh, that was nice, that was good, and Lance became the most wonderful man in the whole world for the moment. He let Lance press pain meds into his palm, took enough water to swallow them, and prayed he didn’t throw up. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah. Man, that hurt.”

“Here. Open your eyes and let me see,” Lance said, his voice soothing and kind, and JC responded. He blinked a couple of times, and his wavy vision straightened out. Lance looked at him solemnly, at his eyes, and smoothed a hand over his forehead, brushing away sweaty curls.

“What?” JC asked.

“I don’t think you concussed yourself, but I’ll have the tour doc come in and take a look at you when we get stopped, just to make sure." His wide mouth crooked into a half-smile. "You’re going to have a hell of a headache, though.”

Bless calm, collected Lance, JC thought, efficient and practical. “I already have one, thanks.”

Lance’s smile flashed whitely at him. “You might want to consider not having sex in the bunks, though. Clearly not enough room.”

“We’ll remember that,” Chris said, and JC could tell from the tone Chris was working himself into a fine fury, and if JC hadn’t been half-sprawled on him, Chris would’ve been out of the bunk after Lance, stiff-legged and spoiling for a fight. And really, JC thought, he didn’t feel up to breaking up another at that particular moment, so he let his weight press into Chris, holding him in place. “Just what the hell were you doing in here watching?”

Lance’s smile to Chris was no less brilliant, but considerably less warm. “I’m perverted. I like to watch.”

Chris sat in shock for a moment, and his mouth opened. JC felt very grateful that nothing came out but a strangled sound. Lance’s laughter rolled over them, like sweet, heavy molasses. “Chill, Chris. I just came in to tell you we were pulling into town in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t my fault that you were putting on an amateur porn production.” They all felt the pull of the bus slowing to take a ramp. “Okay. Just on time.”

Chris gained his voice. “I’ll have you know, I’m no amateur,” he said coldly and tightly. “I’m *good*. I’ve been having sex since you were just a little shit in diapers.”

His last words lacked the forceful effect he intended because Lance chimed in with him, harmonizing neatly. They’d all heard it before, and many times, one of the hazards of living in one another’s pockets for so long. The original claim had been ‘since you were in preschool’, but Chris tended to like exaggeration, so lately it had been the diapers comment.

“Whatever,” Lance said. He turned and retrieved his book from the floor where it had fallen after narrowly missing Chris’ head, and smoothed out bent pages, a little frown between his eyebrows, because Lance tended to take care of his things better than that. His green gaze flicked to them both, but pinned Chris. “And don’t be trying to fuck him until the doc says its okay…if you care anything about him at all.”

"Of course I care," Chris said, and he sounded hurt instead of outraged, so JC petted his chest, because he thought Chris really did care.

JC smiled when Lance ran the backs of his slim cool fingers down his cheek. His head felt a little better, and whether it was from the pain meds or the ice pack, wasn’t sure. “Rest, okay? I’ll check on you later. Do you need me to stay for a little while?”

“No, I’ve got Chris,” JC replied, and relaxed down into Chris’ small, sturdy body. He smiled happily when Chris’ arms slid around him, one hand holding the ice pack in place, and the other hand petting his back gently.

“Bass, wait.” Chris sounded as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant, like a bug, or maybe half a worm. “You won’t tell anyone, right? At least, not right now.”

Lance grinned, and JC saw again for a split second the shy, good-natured boy he’d been when he first came to them, before he’d turned so distant and cool. “Hey,” he said, and the liquid, lazy Mississippi accent slid warm and sweet into his voice again. “Y’all say I’m the liar of the group, so who’d believe me?” He winked at them and then disappeared back into the lounge, sliding the door closed behind him.

“Sorry,” Chris said again after a moment. “This wasn’t the grand seduction I had in mind.”

“You can quit saying you’re sorry,” JC replied. He pressed his forehead to the side of Chris' neck, burrowing in to his warmth. “Wasn’t your fault, y’know.”

“Yeah, but.” JC heard him sigh, and then his fingers slipped down JC’s arm, a little tickle of a caress that made the hairs rise up along his arm.

JC thought of his rule, thought of what had happened when he broke his own rule, and then thought of how sweet and hot Chris’ mouth had been under his own. He thought about how nice it would be to have someone in his bed that he really knew, cared for, and trusted, and who knew him just as well.

“Maybe,” JC said softly. “Maybe we could take a raincheck? Just until we’re sure my head isn’t going to fall off?”

He felt Chris' body shake beneath him in a chuckle. “I knew you’d fall for the famous Kirkpatrick charm. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my wiles, to ignore this very fine ass for very much longer. I knew….”

JC smiled and said sweetly, “Chris, if you shut up and let me rest now, I’ll fuck you until you can’t think.”

Chris’ mouth closed with a snap. “Deal,” he said, and grunted a little when JC slid his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

~~finis~~

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