Joey, Chris thought darkly, would pay for this. Dearly.

He entertained visions of putting raw liver in Joey's practice shoes, and wondered if he could get any from the hotel kitchen---how did you say liver in German, anyway? His brows drew down as he thought. Die Leber sounded right. But raw? Hmm. Roh, or ungekocht, maybe. The kitchen staff would be able to figure it out. The hotel personnel already thought they were weird, so his request shouldn't faze them that much.

JC lurched against him, arms flailing as the elevator jolted to a stop. Chris caught him before he slithered to the floor, but just barely, hanging on to an arm and the front of his coat. JC's lean, angular face smiled brilliantly up at him, flushed with cold and too many beers. Oh, yeah, pretty, Chris thought, then shuffled the thought to the back of his mind when JC spoke.

"Hey," JC slurred. "Wanna sing with me?" Oh, no. Not more singing, at least of songs JC chose. He might be in a boy band, but he had his reputation and self-worth to consider. JC's breath was warm and strong with beer, and Chris thought he could probably get drunk off the fumes alone. The nylon shell of his coat made a whooshing sound against Chris' own jacket that set Chris' teeth on edge. But he swallowed his annoyance because sarcasm slid off a drunk JC like...well, something slick. Teflon, maybe. Pointless to waste the energy.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Dude. No one wants to hear Copacabana again. No one wanted to hear it the *first* time around. Take my word on this."

With a grunt, Chris set JC on his feet again, and gave him a little encouraging shove forward as the doors slid open with a protesting groan. He congratulated himself on the fact he was a big enough man not to cop a quick feel, because really, JC had a fine, fine ass. Almost as fine as his own, in fact. Oh, no, no, no. No thoughts like that about a sober JC, and *absolutely* no thoughts like that about a pliant, affectionate, drunk Chasez, who had groped him clumsily while he hauled him out of the cab. Not that his dick had minded the quick squeeze; even now, it twitched between his legs as he thought about JC's hand on him.

And well, maybe his push might have been just a bit *too* encouraging, because JC staggered out, and proceeded to trip on nothing but air. He caught himself with surprising grace, swinging around, a pinwheel of long slim arms and legs, a huge grin scrunching his face. Chris would've laughed, if he hadn't had so much trouble getting JC out of the club, into a cab, and back into the hotel.

Chris stood in the opening of the elevator, and the door nudged against him, trying to close. He bumped it with his hip. It irritated him. Mechanical things always had it in for him, from desktop staplers to the van they traveled in. Fritz had *sworn* he'd set the emergency brake, but Chris knew the van was possessed and hated him. Just because he'd pissed against it once was no reason for it to try and flatten him. "C. C. JC, wait right there. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

"'k," JC agreed pleasantly, and then wandered off down the dim hallway, humming. Chris heaved a much-put-upon sigh. It was like trying to herd all his little sisters at once. He really hoped JC didn't start singing again, not because JC had a bad voice---even drunk he had almost perfect pitch---but because he hated Barry Manilow as much as JC, in his present inebriated state, loved him. He wondered if this knowledge of C's secret musical passions was worth anything in blackmail potential, but abandoned that thought, because JC was weird enough not to care if anyone knew he actually liked Manilow.

Chris watched JC a moment to make certain he didn't fall and hurt himself, or begin banging on random doors, because right now JC loved everyone and wanted them awake and happily singing with him. He didn't really feel like pacifying an irate patron after JC woke them up, nor explaining the situation again to the hotel manager in the morning.

Lou had warned him to make certain everyone behaved, or he'd book them in *really* terrible hotels until they learned to appreciate what they had. Chris wasn't certain there were actually worse hotels, but didn't really want to find out. He shook the thought out of his head, then turned his attention back to the interior of the elevator. "Bass. Lance. C'mon, dude. Don't sleep now."

From the far corner, where he leaned back against the wall, slim hands wrapped tightly around the handrails, Lance blinked owlishly at him. "'m not asleep," he protested, his voice slow and husky and deep. The hair on the back of Chris' neck rose, and a prickle of sensation snaked down his spine, and settled somewhere south of his belly button, blossoming into heat. Oh, hell. He really needed to get laid if he was skeevy enough to even think about a kid as young as Bass. He was in trouble enough without adding that into the mix.

Technically, Lance was legal to drink here, but Chris knew Diane was certain to take a very dim view of her baby boy this drunk. Way more drunk than the two beers she'd permitted him to have. And Chris knew very well how, in spite of her soft voice and southern manners, Mama Bass was not someone to piss off. Chris had learned to tune out most of Lynn's fairly constant chatter, had learned to ride the wave of her ire, because like Justin's own temper, it flared hot and fast, but subsided quickly.

Diane, on the other hand, took a long time to become angry, but once she was, it lasted forever, and ran as deep as oceans, and Chris knew exactly where Lance had gotten his slow, cold temper. Just the thought of her wrath was enough to make his balls pull up close to his body in terror and any burgeoning warm feelings for the Bass offspring fade quickly. He'd rather make it out of Germany with his genitalia intact. He was really happy with his dick and wanted to keep on using it for say, the next fifty years or so.

Damn Joey, Chris thought again, and swiped his hand through his hair. He was supposed to help watch Lance on this little Diane-approved outing, and instead, the bastard took off with a pretty redhead soon after they'd gotten to the club. Fucking Fatone and his fucking easy charm that women of any country loved. Not that he was jealous, or anything, of course not. It just took very special women to appreciate his own unique appeal.

So, left alone on babysitting duty, he'd tried to keep an eye on Lance, to steer beers out of his hands, but he'd forgotten how resourceful teenagers, and Bass in particular, could be. And he hadn't counted on JC, who seldom went out with him, getting plastered and forgetting the Basic Boyband Rule: When Picking Up, Choose Only Chicks. No boys, no matter how pretty, nor how willing. And the one he'd pried away from JC had been both very pretty and very willing, a small, slim, sharp-featured, dark-haired, dark-eyed boy. Chris felt absolutely certain he'd narrowly averted possible disaster when he'd dragged a protesting JC out of the club and stuffed him into the cab. Lou would have his ass in a wood-chipper if he allowed any of them to forget the rule. Yeah, it was a load of fun being the responsible one.

A thud and JC's high-pitched, weird giggle made Chris almost snap his neck looking over his shoulder. JC lay in an untidy heap in front of a door, apparently having lost his fight with balance. Chris really hoped it wasn't Diane and Lynn's door---now, wouldn't that suck the big one, to have the idiot wake them up and witness him sneaking a drunk Lance to his room to sleep it off? *Hell* yes.

With a sharp, exasperated noise, Chris fisted his hand in the front of Lance's coat and pulled. He almost lost his footing; Bass was either a lot heavier than his slim body looked, or else gravity simply had different rules for him. "C'mon, kid. Now. Beddy-bye and all that shit."

"'s too early," Lance protested, his deep voice way too loud for the quietness and the late hour. "Wanna party some more." But he came with Chris willingly enough, out the elevator and into the dimly-lit hallway. With Bass, he just had to keep talking and tugging, and he'd comply, easily herded, unlike a very unpredictable, quick JC, whom he'd chased down the street at one point.

"We'll party tomorrow, okay? Now shh. Be quiet, or you'll wake up your mom, and she'll kill both of us, got it?"

Lance's big, pale green eyes went comically wide, and Chris could easily see the thoughts stumble drunkenly over one another. Lance tried to bring his finger to his lips, and finally did, after it grazed Chris' nose. "Shhhhh," he said, and Chris pulled back from him, wincing at the strength of his breath. The kid smelled like a brewery, and would really regret this in the morning. No way Diane wouldn't see him hung over, but Chris figured he'd deal with it then, hoping the sight of a miserable son would trigger some sort of mom instinct and she would be too busy with Lance to give Chris a lot of trouble for it. Maybe.

"Okay, Bass, let's get C and we'll get everyone in bed and no one will be the wiser." He pulled at Lance's coat, and Lance obediently followed, wavering slightly on his feet. "And I'm gonna kill Joey in the morning, right?"

"Hey, I like Joey," Lance protested, way too loudly, and then clapped a hand over his mouth when Chris turned to glare at him. "Sorry," he slurred from behind his hand.

They caught up with JC, who sat on the threadbare carpet, and had his coat and one shoe off. He couldn't seem to figure out how to get his jeans undone. Chris sighed. "Why me?" he muttered, but didn't really expect an answer.

"'s hot," JC complained, and Lance shushed him, loudly. Chris half-turned and whacked him on the arm, glaring at him, then bent and grabbed JC under the arms and hoisted him to his feet. JC was a lot heavier than he looked, too. Chris wondered if he was getting weak in his old age, or if Lance's weird gravitational anomaly had spread to JC. He wondered what Spock would think of that theory, and grunted as JC's weight made him stagger.

JC smelled good, some sort of musky cologne beneath the overlying scent of smoke and beer, and Chris most definitely did not sniff JC's neck, just beneath his ear. Well, not on purpose, no. Not his fault JC sagged against him like his bones were made of noodles. Beneath his supporting arms, JC felt warm and firm and really...good. Chris jerked his mind away from that train of thought, and ignored his dick plumping up between his thighs.

"C'mon, C. No undressing in the hallway. Too much beauty to share with this lame-ass, old-lady wallpaper, right?"

JC evidently thought that was extremely funny, and managed a snorting giggle before Chris clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him down the hallway toward Lance and Justin's room. Chris spared a glance behind him; Lance had managed to pick up both coat and shoe without falling on his head. Frankly, it amazed Chris, but Lance seemed to have gained that surprising dexterity and sense of balance achieved in a Zen state of drunkenness. It had always eluded him, somehow. He tended to just make a jackass of himself, fall down a lot, and then throw up. Yeah, really attractive, a drunken Kirkpatrick.

Chris propped JC up against the wall next to Lance's door and held him there with one hand against his warm, flat belly while JC attempted to work on his shirt buttons. Chris allowed it, because it kept JC relatively quiet, and he wasn't doing a very good job of it anyway; from the looks of JC's fumbling fingers, getting all the buttons undone might take awhile. Long enough, anyway, for Chris to get the door unlocked and get them both inside.

He turned to watch Lance weave his way toward them, and in that moment, JC lurched from his grasp, evidently intent on banging on the door opposite, if his flailing fist and cheerful "let's wake up everybody!" were any indications. He managed to grab one of JC's arms and pull him back at the same time catching hold of Lance's coat and reeling him in.

"Honest to God, it's like herding cats," Chris said, exasperated, and cringed when JC giggled and meowed three times before Chris muffled him again. He jerked his hand away from JC's mouth when he licked a warm, wet stripe over his palm, and wiped his hand on his thigh, ignoring JC's laugh. It was gross, but oddly also kinda of cool, and he didn't care to think about JC's tongue licking anything else at the moment. Later, maybe, when he was jerking off in the shower, or something.

Lance shushed them both loudly again, and Chris felt positively homicidal. Joey figured prominently in his visions of blood and mayhem, though both JC and Lance had important supporting roles.

"Don't wake up my mama," Lance said solemnly. "She's got a *real* bad temper."

But a drunk Lance slurred and elongated his vowels so much that Chris managed to pull him closer by the time he'd finished half his sentence. Chris pulled JC's shoe and coat from Lance's hands, and dropped them beside the door. He took Lance's hands, slim and winter-cool, and Lance's eyes brightened and his cheeks grew even pinker before Chris wrapped them around JC's biceps.

"Yeah, yeah, I *get* it, Bass," he whispered. "Now, make yourself useful. Hold on to him while I open the door. Don't let him go, got it? If you do, so help me God, I'll fucking kick you in the head. Understand?"

Lance blinked at him. "Y'all shouldn't swear so much," he said, and his accent, thickened and deepened by beer, made 'swear' sound like 'swea-ah'.

"I'll fucking work on it tomorrow, okay?" Lance blinked at him again, slow motion, and Chris rolled his eyes. Man, the kid was seriously drunk, if that flew right by him, because Lance generally was a sarcastic little bitch beneath the honeyed politeness. "You just concentrate on holding on to him. And don't let him make any more noise, okay?"

Lance's hands tightened on JC's arms, and he nodded, big green eyes focused on Chris' face. He swayed slightly toward Chris, soft pink mouth parting, and Chris put his hand on Lance's shoulder and pushed him gently upright again. JC stood unsteadily, swaying when Lance did, blinking at them both and smiling sweetly and vacantly, but at least he'd stopped meowing. Chris had learned from childhood to be grateful for even the smallest things, so he was.

Freed a moment from keeping an eye on JC, he unlocked and opened the door. He snagged the coat and shoe before entering. Justin had left the lamp on the table lit, although he'd been completely pissed they'd not taken him out with them. He was a good kid, and if Chris had been allowed to pick a little brother, he'd have picked Justin, friendly and generally good-natured and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.

Chris dropped JC's shed clothing on the table atop a pile of schoolbooks and notepads full of Justin's English notes and Lance's incomprehensible math scribblings. Just beyond, Justin lay asleep, covered in what looked like fifteen blankets, all pulled up to the top of his wild curls. Chris could hear him snoring, a soft little sound, almost girlish. Too bad Justin bunked with Lance all the time; he'd take Timberlake over Joey any day, because that fucking Fatone sounded like mating moose when he got started snoring.

He doubted he could get Lance in without waking up Justin, but it was worth a try. Chris heaved another sigh and stepped out the door to pull both of them inside.

And stopped utterly still in his tracks.

Because JC. And Lance. Were kissing.

Chris caught the flash of wet pink tongue as JC leaned into Lance, and damn, if it wasn't one of the hottest things he'd seen in ages. All of the blood plummeted down from his head to his dick, which stretched tightly against confining denim, leaving him just a little light-headed. His fingers gripped the door jamb hard enough the skin pulled thin and white across his knuckles.

And...just...damn.

Lance didn't seem to mind, his hands tightening on JC's sleeves, pulling him closer. He kissed like a girl, with long dark lashes brushing his pinkened cheeks, his mouth soft and receptive and sweet-looking. But when JC pulled away slightly, his breathing fast and deep, his expression changing from surprise to pleasure, the sound that came from Lance, deep and rumbling, was anything but girlish. It was adult and masculine and needy, and it arrowed straight down Chris' body and made his dick as hard as a brick.

Chris saw JC shiver, and heard his soft "oh, fuck," before his mouth closed again over Lance's, before his wiry body pushed assertively into Lance's slim one. Chris's tongue flicked out, touching his upper lip, wanting to taste, jealousy curling in his belly, but whether he was envious of Lance or JC, he wasn't certain.

After a moment, he thought it might be of Lance, because a drunk JC was as aggressive as he was easy-going when sober. He kissed with a ferocity, a surety that made a soft hungry sound rise up in Chris' throat. Heat swirled down his body, curled deep in his belly, and throbbed demandingly. He wanted to press himself close to the two of them, to slide into their intimate circle, to taste for himself JC's aggression and Lance's sweetness.

But when JC's hand slid down Lance's body and between his legs, making Lance jump and moan again, loudly, Chris blinked and came back to reality. Because, no. Hallway. Boys. Johnny. His own fine ass in a wood-chipper. *Diane Bass.*

A chill swept over him, cooling the heat tearing through him. Definitely time to break it up, no matter how pretty it was to watch or how hot to imagine himself involved in it. He stepped forward and wrapped his hand around JC's biceps, just above Lance's own white-knuckled grip. Up close, it was even hotter; he could hear the soft wet sounds of lips and tongue, could smell the musk of excitement, almost feel the heat radiating from them. His mouth watered, and his body felt drawn as tight as a guitar string with frustration and want.

"C, man...cut it out," he hissed, and when JC ignored him, Chris jerked hard, trying to separate them. Lance merely flowed with the movement, his hips rolling smoothly against JC's stroking hand. A pity he couldn't move that fluidly on stage, because something that overtly sexy would make all the girls wet their little panties. It certainly made his dick twitch, which in turn made him irritable.

"I said, break it up, you fuckers," Chris said impatiently, and grabbed JC's ear and pulled, hard. That brought a reaction; JC howled as he broke away from Lance's mouth. Chris seized him by the back of his shirt collar and with a heave, pulled them both in.

Chris closed the door behind them. Lance leaned in toward JC, mouth parted, soft and red, offering himself for another kiss, so flushed that even his ears were bright and hot-looking. Chris tried to insert himself between them, but Lance held on to JC tightly, surprisingly strong, and JC didn't seem willing to turn him loose either. Color chased across his high cheekbones and down his long throat. His eyes were dark with need and his wide mouth looked swollen and so kissable that Chris almost gave in to the urge to lean in and have a taste, so see for himself what made Lance moan and offer himself so freely.

"Lance, let go," Chris muttered, and peeled back Lance's fingers, freeing one of JC's arms.

"But you said...you said not to let go." Lance swayed toward JC, though his attention slipped to Chris for a moment. His eyes were huge and dark and sleepy looking, and this was what Lance looked like, aroused. "Don't wanna let go."

"Dudes...what the hell?"

All eyes swung to Justin, who sat up in bed, dark blue eyes wide with surprise. He looked from JC, to Lance, and finally, to Chris, who felt heat creep up his throat, into his cheeks, and out into the tips of his ears, even though he was the offended party here. JC's hands instantly dropped, and he started to pull away from Lance, his face as red as Chris' felt. They had always had an unspoken rule to shield Justin as much as they were able, though Chris thought Justin was damn mature for his age in a lot of respects, and could handle more than JC or Joey thought.

Chris separated them at last. He pushed JC down into a chair at the table, and when JC tried to pop back up, he snarled, "Stay put, you fucking moron."

Out of Justin's line of sight, JC's blue grey eyes found Lance, and darkened. "So pretty," he said softly, and licked his lower lip as if he could still taste Lance, and he probably could, Chris thought sourly. "He's so pretty, Chris."

Chris elbowed Lance aside, when Lance made a soft, longing sound and edged toward JC. He poked JC in the chest hard, ignoring the "ow, man, quit it," and said, "I have two words for you, dude. Diane. Bass. And here's another for you. Jailbait." He ignored Lance's slurred, insulted, "hey!" and continued to glare at JC. "One last word. Trust. That's the most important one."

He watched as understanding bloomed over JC's face. JC's eyes slid from his to Lance, standing behind him, leaning into Chris, and the want, the need rose from him, almost visible. But then JC swallowed hard, and lowered his eyes. "Yeah. Okay, man."

Beneath his black jeans, JC's dick looked thickly swollen, rigid, and Chris felt a wash of sympathy for him. How often did he see C actually excited over someone? Not very often at all; JC kept mostly to himself, and seldom went out with him to pick up anyone. He jerked off more than any guy Chris had ever known, himself included, but JC didn't actually have that much sex. Chris felt like an asshole for denying JC something he so seldom went after, but man, anyone else. Not Lance. Lance was his responsibility, given into his care, and he always, always took care of things entrusted to him by others.

JC would just have to deal, Chris thought, just like he did. Chris turned abruptly, and Lance slithered against him. Chris grabbed him by the waist to keep him from making a move toward JC, as he so obviously wanted to do. Figures, Chris thought, one pretty boy to another. And although he would never make a move on Lance himself, it didn't stop him from wanting to be wanted.

"Bass. Lance. C'mon, dude." He grabbed Lance by the coat and propelled him backwards, toward the bed, and Lance only took his eyes from JC when Chris set him with a thump on the edge of his bed.

"But I...but Chris...."

Chris stripped the coat from him and flung it to the floor. "No, Lance. Time to go to bed. By yourself. It's late, and you're drunk...."

"I'm lonely," Lance said, soft and low. "I'm tired and lonely and I want...I want to not be lonely anymore."

Something wrenched hard inside Chris' chest. He knelt between Lance's knees, and put a gentle hand on Lance's narrow shoulder. "I know, baby. We're all lonely like that sometimes."

Lance's eyes were huge and dark, and his wide, swollen mouth twisted unhappily. "I'm not a baby. I'm a man, and I feel...like a man." He tilted his head a little, and leaned forward, unsteadily. Chris' fingers tightened on his shoulder, and wiry muscles flexed beneath his hand. He could feel the heat radiating from Lance. His lips brushed across Chris' cheek, a whisper of a caress, and his breath was hot and moist against his skin. Oddly, it made Chris shiver. "I want things. I want to be a man with JC. With you."

Lance caught Chris' free hand and moved it to the rigid heat between his legs. Chris' eyes slid closed, and his fingers moved convulsively over the erection tenting the khakis. God, he felt good in his hand, against his palm, his dick heavy and substantial, and he wanted to feel it bare in his hand, against his skin, against his tongue. Fuck, he wanted it, wanted to touch, to be touched, to not be so alone. And here it was, a pretty, willing young man, offering himself to him. He started to pull back, but Lance's fingers circled his wrist, held him in place.

"Please," Lance whispered against his ear, and Chris quivered as Lance's tongue flicked against the rim of his ear. "Please."

Oh, want. It pounded heavily in his ears, in his veins, in his dick. He drew in a deep breath and could smell musk, heavy and male, over the light, crisp scent of Lance's cologne, over the stench of beer and stale smoke. His mouth watered, and he almost leaned in, almost licked up Lance's long, slim neck, almost slid his mouth over Lance's softly-begging one, almost pressed him down against the mattress and gave him what he wanted.

Almost.

Chris opened his eyes, shuddered and gently pulled his hand away from Lance's dick, his hand from his shoulder. Lance went very still and the pink flush drained from his soft, smooth cheeks. But to his credit, Lance didn't beg once he had pulled back, though Chris could see need and desire shivering beneath his skin. One of the things that Chris had most admired about Lance was the core of steel hidden beneath the seemingly girlish fragility. He'd never seen Lance fold like the rest of them had at various times, when the pressures had grown too great, when it felt as if they had given themselves away completely, when they weren't sure who they were anymore. Lance had always known exactly who he was. He was strong and stubborn and determined, probably more than everyone else, except Chris himself.

"You don't want me," Lance said, his voice so steady, so deep that it made Chris' stomach drop to his toes.

Chris scrubbed his hand over his eyes; yee-haw for things getting more and more complicated. He ached, and hunger zinged within him, bouncing crazily from cell to cell. "There's more than just want, Lance. There's trust, and responsibility, and I can't fuck with either of those. I just...I can't."

Gingerly, Chris slid an arm around him, and Lance leaned into him, sighing softly, seeking comfort, not sex. His breath moved warm and moist against Chris' neck. Chris ran a hand through his thick reddish-blond hair with its stupid-ass country boy haircut, and Lance curled an arm around his waist.

"Didn't know," he said, his voice rumbling low against Chris' throat. "I...never. But I." He sounded so tired, so confused. "I thought about it, but never." Lance's fingers tightened in his shirt. "But then I did, we did, and I liked it. I did."

"I know," Chris replied. And in the jumble of words, he did know, did understand. "Figuring things out about ourselves isn't easy, is it?" Lance shook his head, face hot against the side of Chris' neck, and Chris pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "You'll be okay. You're not alone, Lance. You've got me and C, if you need to talk, okay?"

Gently he untangled them and eased Lance back onto the bed, pulling off his clunky shoes, then tugging the covers over him, a pillow under his head.

"I liked it." Lance's voice dipped even lower, slowed like thick molasses. His eyes slid closed. He had long dark eyelashes, and Chris pretended to himself he'd never noticed that before. "So tired."

"Baby, you're gonna be so hung over in the morning." Chris tugged a wastebasket over to the side of the bed in case Lance had to throw up in the night, a scenario more likely than not. The corner of Lance's mouth quirked up, and Chris gave into the urge to lean forward and press a kiss there.

Lance turned his head, and his soft lips slid across Chris' mouth, opened beneath his. Oh. Just a little, Chris promised himself. Just a little taste. Lance's mouth was soft and wet and every bit as sweet as he thought it would be. It was like bubble gum and cotton candy and lemonade on a hot summer day. Too sweet...and too young. Way too young for him. Chris wondered if he'd ever been that young. When Lance tried to push out from beneath the blankets, to press closer to Chris, to wrap his arms around Chris' neck and tug him in, Chris knew he had to end it, and pulled away. Lance's tongue flicked out over his wet lips, and Chris pinched himself on the thigh, hard, and stood up.

He was so hard he hurt, and as he turned away, adjusting himself in his jeans, he saw Justin's wide, dark blue eyes watching them avidly, mouth hanging open. Surprise warred with disbelief, and fought with disgust, before he could hide the latter. Well, now, wasn't that just peachy keen and dandy. So much for shielding the kid. Chris didn't have to guess Justin's orientation; it was written vividly all over his face.

"Shit, dude, that's gro..." Justin stopped abruptly when Chris shot him a dark look. Justin cleared his throat a little, looked from Chris to Lance and back again. "Um, that's um, great, if you're into it," he amended. Color chased across his cheeks. In spite of his youth, of the goofy way Justin often acted, he was far from stupid, and knew how to flow with the circumstances.

"Yeah, J, it is. And some of us are into it. Got a problem with that?" Chris tilted his head and watched the thoughts chase through Justin's clear eyes, assessing, fitting this new development into his view of them, working through how it affected all of them personally, and as the group. Chris found reading Justin easy; all his thoughts skimmed through his eyes, over his mobile face. He had learned to shield himself in front of others, but with them, he was as easily read as a favorite book, and Chris hoped that never changed.

Justin's gaze flicked to JC, and Chris followed his line of sight. JC sat very still where Chris had left him, restlessness and hunger shimmering on his skin, his eyes hungry and hopelessly miserable. His long fingers kneaded his thighs, short nails scratching lightly at the denim, as if he still wanted to touch. Chris pretty much knew how he felt. When JC saw their attention on him, he tried on a smile, but it never reached his eyes.

Justin blew out a breath and scrubbed a big hand through his thick curls. After a minute, he grinned, the big, real smile that showed too much gum and wasn't for the fan magazines. "Nah, dude, I'm all kinds of coolness. Just, y'all could've told me, y'know? Not spring it on me like this."

Chris shrugged. "Sorry. Who knew it would come up like this?" He shifted from one foot to the other a couple of times, restlessness crawling around in muscle and bone. "So. You scarred for life, or what?"

Justin snorted derisively. "Yeah, right, Chris. You owe me for years of therapy." Chris stepped forward to smack him in the back of the head, grinning, because yeah, that was Justin's smart mouth at work, so he was fine. Justin twisted away, fending him off, and his voice dropped a little, not quite so strident as usual, as if he didn't want Lance or JC to hear, although that was stupid, given how small the room was.

"I kinda thought JC, and probably Lance, but you were a surprise." Justin drew his long legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, settling his chin on his knees. He looked pretty calm about the whole thing, and Chris felt grateful for his fluid adaptability. "You like girls, too, don't you? I mean, I've seen you kissin' and everything...."

The little snooping shit, Chris thought, but nodded. "Sometimes things aren't just black and white." Chris blew out a sigh and ran his hand over his eyes. They burned. "I'm gonna get C tucked in before he gets rowdy again. Don't let Lance like die in his sleep or anything. It was hard enough to find him."

"Okay. But man, I'm not cleaning up puke. No way. I'm just tellin' ya."

"S'okay. But, J? Keep your yap shut about everything, right? Nothin' to nobody. This is between us, and no one else."

Justin's straight, dark brows drew down in an insulted frown. "You think I'm stupid? Shit. I'm not. I know the score."

And he did, as well as any of them. Justin was no fool, and knew how to keep their dream going. He'd been in the business his entire life, and Chris thought him almost scarily savvy as to how things worked. Chris wasn't certain whether to be inordinately grateful for Justin's quick grasp of how to work things to his advantage in his limited world, or sad that he'd never really had a chance to be a regular kid.

It didn't matter now, because though they were talented and determined and fiercely protective of one another, regular, they'd never be. They were bound by countless secrets they kept from others, their loyalty to the real people kept behind the carefully manufactured images. This was just one more secret that they would keep from the outside world. Chris stepped forward, and ruffled Justin's curls. Justin made a sour face and leaned back, slapping his hand away. "Cut it out, fuckhead," he said, but it was wholly without malice, an automatic response.

"You're good people, poodleboy," Chris said. "Take care of Lance, and we'll see you for breakfast before rehearsal."

"Yeah, yeah," Justin replied, and curled back under his covers. "Just keep it down, okay?"

Chris turned back to him, and one of Justin's dark blue eyes, barely visible above the covers, winked at him. The little shit, Chris thought admiringly. His gaze slid to Lance, who had passed out once he'd gone horizontal, soft pink mouth open, snoring softly. Chris pressed his lips together firmly and turned back to JC.

"C'mon, loverboy," Chris said, and thumped JC on the shoulder. "Let's go, and let the kids sleep."

JC stood up and staggered slightly, but righted himself without too much trouble. He'd taken off his other shoe, and both socks, leaving his long narrow feet bare in spite of the coolness of the room. He often complained bitterly about the cold in Germany, but seldom wore shoes or socks, the hippy freak. In Orlando, he'd only worn shoes when forced to do so, going barefooted or wearing sandals or flipflops all the time. JC had nice feet, Chris had to admit, long and slim, unlike his own small hairy ones.

Chris pulled JC out into the hall, and tugged him, none-too-gently, in the direction of their room. Joey had the single, the bastard. Chris paused at Joey's door, debating with himself. He had an urge to beat on it and get Joey's miserable ass out of bed, scream at him and then kick him around for leaving him alone on baby-sitting duty. Because that was what a night out with the guys had turned into; Lance, who had to be watched, and JC, who apparently needed to have someone keep an eye on him almost as much as Bass.

But the urge passed; he'd pound Joey's ass tomorrow after he spent the day in torture. He was a really creative spirit, a self-proclaimed king of annoyance in his own small kingdom, and knew he could make Joey suffer humiliations galore. The thought gave him some comfort.

JC draped himself over Chris' back, giggling softly in his ear. His dark mood of before seemed to have passed like a summer storm, leaving him sunny again. Chris wished he was drunk enough to be so adaptable, but he'd hardly had anything to drink, damn his eyes. JC wrapped one long arm around Chris' chest, and blew a beery breath against the side of his neck that made Chris shiver before starting to hum something else from the Manilow collection. It sounded like "Mandy," and Chris felt the bile rise in the back of his throat at the thought of it.

"No. No, no, no, C. Don't even begin that shit again." Chris staggered past Joey's room, dragging a boneless, humming JC on his back. Fuck. It *was* "Mandy." He felt fairly certain no judge would convict him if he tossed JC down the nearest stairwell. "You couldn't like someone cool and smart like Bad Religion, could you? No, it's gotta be some geek lounge singer. You're a Philistine, C."

"I'm not from Philadelphia, silly," JC said, and hooted with laughter, clearly impressed by his own wit. Chris rolled his eyes.

"You're never, ever drinking again." They stopped in front of their door, and Chris grunted as he tried to shrug off JC, who hung on like a bad cold, humming against Chris' neck. It was kinda nice, in a weird sort of way, if he could ignore the song JC hummed. "You're too freaky when you drink."

"And bendy, too," JC offered helpfully. He rubbed his cheek against Chris's hair and sniffed at it loudly. Damn freaky Chasez. But that was nice, too. "I took yoga. Wanna see me do a handstand?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Chris said, and got the door open, wrestling them both just inside. It took a lot of energy to deal with a drunken JC, he decided, yet another reason to keep him sober. Chris wasn't up to the challenge of dealing with this all the time.

JC suddenly seemed to realize they were back to their room finally, and clung to the door facing, whispering loudly, "But, no. Don't wanna."

"Yeah, you do, honey," Chris crooned. His fingers knotted in the waistband of JC's jeans, and he pulled steadily. "Sure you do. You wanna come in and go to bed. You've had just a little too much to drink...." A

sober JC was agile and athletic, but a drunk JC was like liquid, like quicksilver. He slid from Chris' grasp, and out the door again, reeling in the hallway. Chris heaved a sigh, and pulled him back in.

"Honest to God, no judge is gonna send me to prison if I murder you," he said, his arm hooked around JC's slim waist. " I swear it's justifiable homicide. Lou would shit a brick at the headlines, but hey, that might be entertaining in and of itself. C'mon, baby, let's come in now. It's cold outside." And cold inside, but he didn't mention that little observation.

Chris manhandled JC in, and closed the door quickly before he could escape again, locking it. JC stood in the middle of the room, swaying slightly, blinking. "Hey, man. This is our room. How did we get here?"

"Magic," Chris replied, and shrugged off his coat. He hung in up in the tiny closet, and kicked off his clunky boots, nudging them just inside, out of the way so JC wouldn't fall over them and break his nose. It was big enough as it was, Chris thought uncharitably. Not at all like his own very fine nose, which was most definitely *not* pug, no matter what that chick from the German teen mag insisted. He remembered then they'd left JC's clothing in Justin's room, but no way was he leaving JC alone to escape again.

"Okay," JC agreed, not arguing the point. Chris stripped out of his black sweater and hung it up beside his coat. He scratched his belly through the wifebeater, then shivered and rubbed his bare arms. He hated the cold; it was too full of memories he'd rather not think about. Although he liked Europe, he would be so glad to get back to Orlando and its warmth. Preferably as an international superstar, because hey, it never hurt to dream big.

"Why did we go? From the club. Was having a lotta fun," JC said plaintively. He moved to some music inside his head, eyes closed, a dreamy smile curving his mouth. It was a pretty sight; JC had a lot of natural grace, and an innate sense of rhythm and where his body should be in relation to that. Even a little wobbly from too much drink, he was still a pleasure to watch, and Chris did so, watching the sway of his slim hips and thinking how his hands would fit just *so* over the wings of JC's hipbones. He looked up and saw JC's eyes open, watching him, his wide mouth curved into a smile that said, "ah-ha, caught you," a sexy little smile that made warmth curl in Chris' chest.

"You were having just a little too much fun, my man," Chris replied briskly, and guided JC over to his own small bed, sitting him down on the edge after pulling down the covers. "You can't pick up guys now, C. Remember that sweet little chat you and me and Lou had?"

JC made a rude sound, and a dismissive gesture that almost caught Chris in the eye. "But the boy at the club was pretty. You thought he was pretty." He leaned in conspiratorially, his breath warm on Chris' cheek. "I saw you looking at his ass. Don't say you wasn't. Weren't. Whatever."

Best not to answer that, because yes, he had definitely been checking out the boy's ass, which had been very squeeze-worthy. Chris sighed, and worked on unbuttoning JC's shirt. The silver-blue material slid slick and satiny beneath his fingers, and he fumbled with the remaining buttons. Lou hated for them to wear things like this, but JC loved soft, silky clothes and had smuggled a couple of really nice shirts in amongst all the sports gear Lou's stylists made him wear in an effort to make him look more guy-ish, more sporty.

Chris could remember when they first met, and JC had mostly worn soft shirts, and pleated, flowing trousers. His slim, graceful body had looked very good in such things, and far more comfortable than in the oversized jerseys and track pants he wore constantly now. Chris was just glad his skater boy/punkish look had passed inspection, and he got to wear pretty much what he wanted. He gave a mental shrug; he'd probably have worn what he wanted anyway, regardless of how Lou might have screamed about it. "Yeah, yeah, he was pretty."

JC flapped his arms around wildly, trying to get his shirt off, and with an exasperated sound, Chris pulled him out of it before the shirt won the battle. Beneath the shirt, he wore a wifebeater, but it was of something soft, maybe real silk, and probably kept him warmer than Chris' own thin undershirt. JC made Chris think of a greyhound, quick and whipcord lean, all long arms and legs, not an ounce of extra flesh anywhere, tight muscles moving smoothly beneath his pale skin. Chris realized he stared, and blinked, looking away.

"Lance is pretty," JC said, breathless from Chris' efforts and his own attempts to help.

Something sharp and prickly caught in Chris' chest, but he pushed the feeling away. He couldn't blame JC for thinking that, when he'd thought it himself; Lance *was* pretty, caught in that place where he wasn't quite masculine or feminine. His mind cast about for the word, and found it—androgynous. Yep, that was it.

And he really couldn't fault Lance for finding JC attractive, because he certainly did—JC who was tall and slim, sweet and gentle in ways Chris knew he could never be. JC didn't have the sharp edges that Chris had, edges that cut others so easily, edges that cut even himself at times.

JC would be good to Lance, because even though he'd said nothing, Chris knew JC liked Lance; he worked with Lance on steps and routines, everlastingly patient, breaking things down into small, manageable segments until Lance understood how each one worked with the others.

Lance wasn't stupid or graceless; he simply didn't have the background the rest of them had, and took for granted. JC didn't cut Lance any slack or baby him, because Lance would've resented that, but worked with him steadily until he improved. How often had Chris, slumped exhausted and sweating on the floor of the warehouse they used for practice, watched them move together, watched JC's slim, strong hands adjust a leg here, an arm there, or touch Lance's hip or shoulder to tilt him to the right angle? How often had he seen JC smile at Lance, and Lance's eyes light up in return?

"Yeah, well, he's pretty, but Lance is off limits until he's eighteen. Remember that, okay? He's our friend, not some random guy you can fuck and dump." His words came out sharper than he intended, but fuck it, Chris thought. .

JC tilted his head in a curiously bird-like motion, eyes wide and almost all pupils, save for the thin blue-grey ring. He grinned at Chris, like he'd discovered a big secret, and was bursting to tell it. "You're pretty, too, man."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Absolutely, C. Gorgeous, that's me." Dark, sharp-looking---but Chris was honest enough with himself to know he'd never be even remotely handsome, let alone pretty. Lance was pretty, and Chris suspected he'd eventually blossom into exotic, because his looks were just a bit too odd to be conventionally handsome. Justin was cute, but the size of his hands and feet, the strong line of his jaw, made Chris think he'd grow up into something muscular and masculine, not pretty. Joey? Nah. Never pretty, already handsome, and destined to grow even more so, the bastard.

And JC? He was something Chris couldn't really put into a category yet. The Caesar haircut didn't flatter him; it made his large nose the most noticeable of his features, and that was a pity, because really, he was a good looking guy. The photographers loved him already, cooing over his bone structure, the angles of his face, his model-thin, lithe body, and his blue, blue eyes. Not quite handsome, yet Chris somehow knew he would grow into something special, more than the rest of them.

But fuck, no use thinking about stuff like that; it didn't change anything. Chris leaned down and with a grunt, hoisted JC's cold feet into the bed, ready to tuck him in and then go to the shower and beat off until the restlessness, the hunger, stopped shivering over his skin, quit working deep within him. He thought it might take a couple of rounds, because he ached with it.

He'd hoped for a quick blowjob in the back room of the club, because he knew he couldn't leave Lance alone for anything longer or more involved, but even that would've helped. He'd thought he had a sure thing lined up, with a tall, sharply pretty brunette girl who'd liked his accent, but then JC had decided to hit on the boy, requiring intervention. So he'd gotten nothing there, and only frustration once he'd gotten back to the hotel. He felt edgy and sharp and brittle, and wanted to hurry up and get it out of his system so he could sleep, because tomorrow was another long, bone-grinder of a day.

And then the world spun as JC's long hands fisted in the front of his undershirt and pulled Chris down atop him. With surprising quickness, JC rolled over, tucking Chris beneath him in the cold, narrow bed. Chris let out a high-pitched, undignified squeak and curled up as much as he could to protect his groin when JC's sharp, bony knee grazed his upper thigh, way too close to his balls for comfort.

"What the fu--?" Chris managed to gasp, before JC's face, somehow bemused and intent at the same time, swam large in his vision, and then his mouth slid over Chris', wide and firm, lips soft, a little chapped. Chris wrapped his hands over JC's shoulders and pushed, but JC was strong, and determined, one hand cradling the back of his neck, the other nestling in the small of his back, holding him firmly in place beneath him. JC's tongue, hot and wet, licked at his own, over his teeth, the roof of his mouth. JC shifted against him and slid a thigh between his, and his dick felt hard against Chris' hip.

And then he realized, whoa, hey, hot, deep, nasty kisses, a warm, firm, strong body rolling and thrusting against his own, and oh, yeah, his own dick was way happy with it, filling and lengthening and practically begging to rub up against JC. So why was he trying to get away from it? Kinda stupid to fight something that felt so good, and so he stopped struggling, and relaxed into it, sliding his arms around JC's shoulders and sending his tongue in to curl around JC's own.

He understood quickly why Lance had made such needy sounds, because he didn't think he'd ever been kissed quite so thoroughly, or so well, by anyone. Ever. And he'd kissed a lot of people. As shy and gawky and socially awkward as JC sometimes seemed, he was none of those things when he kissed, and the transformation made Chris' head spin, made him shudder. Or maybe it was the way JC's hand moved slowly over his side, cold fingers burrowing beneath the wifebeater to slide over his warm skin. Or maybe it was the hum of pleasure from deep within his chest that made Chris resonate in response, like a struck tuning fork.

Apparently, music wasn't the only thing JC did with a passion.

Chris gasped for air when JC finally let him go, his head spinning from both lack of oxygen and the sheer surprise of JC's move. And yeah, yeah, talk about zero-to-sixty---he was hard, so hard he fucking hurt, and it felt as if his zipper would leave a permanent mark against the tender skin of his dick.

"Mmm," JC hummed against his ear, which sent shivers quivering down Chris' spine. JC rocked his own hardness against Chris' thigh, which set off Fourth of July sparklers behind Chris' eyelids. Hot colors for the heat that pounded in his head: red and yellow and orange. Chris rubbed up against any part of JC he could reach, hungry, desperate for touch. "Pretty Chris," JC crooned. "Sexy Chris."

JC was lean and hard, and so warm against him, on top of him. Chris' suddenly-cold hands fluttered for a moment, unsure, then slid over JC's waist, fingers pressing into his flesh. So warm, so alive. Real, and so much better than the daydreams Chris had entertained of them hooking up. JC hummed again appreciatively, and Chris let his palms slide over the old, soft denim of JC's jeans, down over the firm, muscular curve of his ass. His fingers tightened, and he pulled JC closer, settling JC between his parted legs, arching up into him, his inner thighs rubbing against JC's hips.

And it was good. So good, to touch, to be touched, to rub himself against a willing body. A small part of his mind cringed in embarrassment for the sounds, high-pitched and breathy, that slipped from him, but the majority of his brain couldn't be bothered with that, concentrating instead on the pleasure, simple and uncomplicated, that seized him in its teeth and shook him.

JC nosed against his neck, and Chris tipped his head to the side when JC licked over his skin, a long wet slide of tongue that made him moan. The scrape of teeth, sharp and surprising, made Chris grunt and buck hard beneath JC, made his eyes flash open. JC chuckled in his ear, a low, smutty sound, and bit his earlobe, tugging at his earrings. "Wanna fuck, pretty boy?"

And any objections, any thoughts that this just might not be a good idea, took a nose-dive from the roof of the hotel. Because, damn. JC and his fucking sexy mouth, his strong lithe body, his dick that thrust down hard against Chris' own, the smell of him, male and wanting, won out easily against any logic left in his head. It didn't matter that JC had never made a move on him before, didn't matter that it was just the alcohol making him do so now, didn't matter that it was probably all kinds of wrong because of those reasons.

He'd worry about it later. But for now, all that mattered was JC, smiling down at him, all hotness and promise of sex. And Chris was never stupid enough to pass up any opportunity that came his way. Although he loathed Lou's fucking rule, he loved the band, loved the dream, and so he hadn't laid a guy in longer than he cared to remember, afraid to endanger both. But here was JC, with his broad shoulders, his big hands, his heavy weight pressing him into the mattress, his hard dick grinding into his belly, offering. All guy, hard and horny, wanting him. JC was one of them, with just as much to lose, just as much reason to keep things private, between the two of them. Stupid to pass it up.

"C'mon," he said, and fisted his hands in the back of JC's undershirt, yanking at it. "C'mon, fuck me."

JC laughed, and pulled away from Chris' clutching hands, sitting up between Chris' thighs, wobbling just a little before catching his balance. Chris shivered at the loss of his body heat, and then shivered again for a completely different reason when JC stripped off his undershirt and tossed it to the floor. The overhead light lay harsh on his shoulders, but still, JC had a beautiful body. His chest, newly waxed last week, gleamed with sweat in spite of the cold, and his nipples, dark rose, pebbled up hard. Chris ached to touch, to taste, and he sucked in his lower lip, looking up at JC, who smiled down at him. Not the slightly goofy smile he knew so well, but one that made his blood rush, made his dick throb. This smile looked dark and predatory and...considering.

JC reached down and after a second of fumbling, popped the button on his jeans, and very slowly, slid the zipper down. Chris wanted to push his hands aside and do it himself, or to make him move faster, because it was killing him. He was so hard he hurt, and his skin felt hot and four sizes too small for his body. If he didn't do something, anything, he knew he would explode.

Without any further delay, JC rose to his knees, swayed slightly and then caught his balance before he peeled his jeans down his thighs. No fucking underwear---JC had gone to the club looking to get laid, and knowing that JC had been commando all evening made a shiver of lust tickle down Chris' belly. JC knelt there, unashamed, displaying himself for Chris. Chris swallowed hard, unable to look anywhere else but at JC's hard dick, red and wet, jutting out from neatly-trimmed wiry dark curls.

He'd seen JC naked hundreds of times in dressing rooms, had accidentally caught him jerking off half a dozen times, but had never seen him like this, aroused and ready, and all for him. JC ran his fingertips lightly up the length of his dick, and rubbed lightly over the fat dark head, then brought his fingertips up to lick them. Shit, shit, shit, Chris thought, and bit his lip hard to keep from exploding at the sight of JC's tongue flicking over his fingers.

Desperate, Chris reached for him, put JC grinned and pushed his hands away. "No, man. Lemme see you. Show me."

Chris' eyes fluttered closed a second as heat curled through his body, and then opened his eyes and unbuttoned and unzipped as quickly as possible without catching his dick in his zipper, his hands shaking. He raised his ass and shucked his jeans and boxers down as much as he could. His dick slapped against his belly, red and wet and leaking, the blood-flushed head already pushing out beyond the foreskin. His thick, tangled pubes were damp, and he smelled of musk and sweat.

JC's gaze slid over him, as heavy as a caress, his mouth curved in an approving smile. Chris' dick twitched, ready for touch, ready to fuck. Ready for whatever JC wanted to do, however he wanted to do it. He watched the pink flash of JC's tongue as it slid over the full bottom lip, and wanted that warm wetness on him. He opened his mouth to beg, to demand, and nothing came out but a choked sound of wanting. Heat flushed up his neck and into his cheeks.

Dark eyes flicked up to his. "What do you want? Want me to suck you, or fuck you?"

Oh god, oh fuck, oh yeah. Fucking would require finding lube and a condom, would require time to stretch him, because it had been so long since he'd taken anyone. He'd never last long enough for JC to fuck him, probably wouldn't even last a second after he got JC's lubed fingers inside him. He wouldn't last long anyway, but he wanted something of JC before he lost it. Practicality won.

"Suck," he said hoarsely. "Suck me."

Chris saw a smile curve the corners of JC's wide mouth, and then JC scooted back, peeling out of his own jeans. For a moment he teetered on the edge of the mattress and almost fell backwards off the bed, but then caught his balance and tossed his jeans to the floor. A moment after that Chris' jeans hit the floor, the skin of his legs burning where the denim had scraped his legs as JC pulled them off roughly.

JC's hands curled around his thighs, strong fingers biting in as he pushed Chris' legs apart. It didn't take more than the barest touch; he spread them with such eagerness that he guessed he should be embarrassed, but fuck if he cared. Chris flung out his arms, fingers digging into the sheets as JC's dark head dipped down, and when he felt the slow, wet drag of tongue from his balls to the tip of his dick, he let out a gasping whimper.

"Nownownow...please, god, JC, I want...." And then he squeaked as heated wetness slid down over his dick, hot and slick and so good. JC's cold nose brushed against his belly, and Chris thrashed and thrust up helplessly, unable to resist. JC pulled away slowly, sucking hard, and Chris heard himself promising anything, begging for JC to never stop. His hands came off the sheets, and his fingers scrambled over JC's short-cropped hair, over the curves of his ears, unable to find purchase. He arched as JC pulled off him completely, trying to get back inside his mouth, where it was so hot and wet and perfect.

JC pressed Chris' flailing hands to the sheets, then hummed low in his throat, a happy sound. His long fingers wrapped around Chris' dick, pumped hard once. His mouth closed over the head and sucked strongly as his hands moved, one pushing hard down the length of his dick, the other questing between his legs, one finger sliding against him, then a sudden bright burn of shocking pleasure as it slid deep inside.

Chris yelled, his body arching high as release tore hard and fierce through him, pulled from him by JC's sucking mouth, the finger crooking deep inside him, pressing in just the right place. His vision whited out, sound muted, and he could feel nothing but the pleasure pulsing through him, from him, into JC's mouth.

He sank back down into the mattress, his muscles going lax, his heart thundering in his chest, his breath rasping in his throat. Raising his head slightly, he saw himself slip from JC's lips, still hard, dark and flushed, slick with his own juices and JC's spit. A thin trail of his come slipped down JC's chin, and JC wiped it away with the back of his hand, then licked his hand clean. For some reason, Chris found that extremely sexy, and his belly clenched hard, his dick pulsing one last time.

Chris let his head thump back against the pillow, and concentrated on just drawing in one breath after another. His whole body tingled, his blood pulsed in his veins, and his heart beat hard in his ears. Fuck, but that had been good, so good, in spite of how quickly he'd gone over. He swore he'd repay JC back, just as soon as the room stopped spinning and he could feel his fingers again. Really, he would, because Chris Kirkpatrick wasn't a selfish lover, in spite of what Abby might have said back in Orlando. He would pay JC back, with interest, just as soon as he could move.

JC slid up his body, skin moist and hot, his dick dragging against Chris' leg. He planted his hands on either side of Chris' shoulders and let himself rest against Chris, his hips rocking slightly, his dick slicking through the sweat in Chris' groin. Color chased across his cheeks, and his mouth looked soft and well-used. He dipped his head and licked across Chris' mouth, his breath hot and smelling like Chris.

Chris ran his hands up the wiry muscles of JC's arms, and wrapped his arms around JC's shoulders. He smiled up at JC, and pulled him down atop him as his mouth opened for JC's kiss. He could taste himself, sharp and bitter, on JC's tongue, in the hot recesses of his mouth, against the yeastiness of the beer JC had drank, and beneath all that, something almost sweet, maybe JC himself. When JC melted into him, Chris rolled them over, wedging them both against the wall, with himself on top. JC broke away from his mouth with a hiss, arching away from the coldness of the wall. Chris tugged at him until they were back in the middle of the bed.

"Fucking tiny German beds," Chris swore, and when JC grinned up at him, ruffled and rumpled and sexy-looking, Chris' annoyance faded instantly.

JC's fingers slipped into Chris' hair, holding him tightly as his tongue stroked against Chris' own, as his body rolled and slid restlessly beneath Chris. It made Chris think of surfing, of riding powerful ocean waves, and he smiled against JC's mouth. JC's teeth closed on his lower lip, tugging a little, before releasing him, and Chris liked the sharp sting mixed in with the pleasure; it seemed to make the sweetness more intense. His hands slid out of Chris' hair and slipped down his neck, curving over the tops of his narrow shoulders, pushing downward.

"Suck me," he said, his voice slow and heavy, his eyes dark and sleepy-looking. "Now. Wanna feel your mouth on me."

"I can do that," Chris muttered, and licked across the arch of one collarbone. Oh, yeah, he could do that. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting him, of feeling his lips slide down over JC's length, of inhaling his musk, of tasting him, hot and bitter as he came. So long since he'd sucked a guy, and he felt really glad it was JC and not some random guy breaking his long drought.

JC's skin slid smoothly under his tongue, and JC shivered beneath him, long hands kneading his shoulders, slipping back up to run through Chris' hair. He really seemed to like it, and Chris didn't mind, because JC didn't pull or yank at it to direct him where to go, what to do. Chris remembered when he'd first met JC, he'd had a lot of thick, floppy, curly hair; that hadn't lasted long once Lou had started dictating their style to them, deciding what was marketable, what was not. Maybe JC just missed his own.

JC's chest wasn't defined like a weight-lifter, but muscles slid beneath his skin as he moved, and his arms were wiry with strength. He excelled at the gymnastic moves some of the choreographers loved, was better even than Chris himself, and Chris knew he was good, flexible and quick. Chris nosed a dark pink nipple then licked at it, and smiled at the low moan that rumbled from deep within JC's chest. JC's fingers tightened a just little in his hair, not enough to hurt, and Chris took the hint. JC's nipple grew hard beneath his stroking tongue, and Chris settled in to suck at it, sending his fingers questing across JC's chest to rub and pluck at the other.

And JC loved it. His breath caught, and his moans flowed over Chris, surprisingly loud and deep. Chris had heard him jerking off before---living in such close quarters, it had been hard not to be privy to everyone's little habits---and the sounds then had been breathy and quiet. Those sounds had been pretty sexy, but he thought he liked these a lot more. He preferred his bed partners vocal; it let him know what pleased and what didn't. Who knew JC could be so loud? JC writhed under him, hips thrusting up against him, his breath hitching.

JC pushed at him, frantic. "Chris, gonna...gonna...*please*...." Chris slid down his lean body, dragging his tongue down his belly. JC's dick bumped him under the chin, and he ducked his head and sucked him in, wrapping a hand around him. JC was long, longer than he was, and thick, a good handful, a better mouthful. Chris hummed happily as he slid down as far as he could. It had been so long since he'd done this, and the taste, the heat, the heaviness of JC's dick on his tongue, in his mouth, was fucking great. The sound that escaped JC, needy and hungry, made heat flush through Chris, and even though he'd just come, his dick twitched again.

Chris curved his hands around JC's narrow hips, his thumbs brushing over the sharp wedges of hipbones, as JC thrust upward, his hands wound tightly in Chris' hair. Chris pulled back, but JC's hands tugged him back down, and he gagged as JC went too far, too quickly.

JC released him instantly, pulling his hands out of Chris' thick hair as Chris backed off him, coughing and blinking away involuntary tears. JC tried to scramble away, but Chris held him in place, leaning his weight into JC to pin him.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry," JC said, and he sounded so horrified, that Chris blinked again and looked up at him, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. JC's eyes were wide, and he grasped at the sheets, at the pillow, anything, to keep his hands from Chris, and his body felt rigid and ungiving, tight with tension. "I'm so sorry. I hated it so much when they.... I'm so sorry...."

Chris shushed him, but filed that little bit of information away to ask about later. But right now, he wanted to put JC back at ease, and to get back to sucking him, because he wasn't done having fun yet. "It's okay, Jayce. No problem. It's all good, man, really."

JC looked as if he didn't believe Chris, and Chris winked and grinned up at him before licking up his dick, a long wet swipe of tongue that made JC shiver, made JC pulse against his lips. He wrapped his hand halfway down JC, and let that be his guide, his goal. He watched JC's face as his mouth slid down to his fist, as his tongue flicked over hot sensitive skin.

JC whimpered in need, and his hands fluttered uncertainly, but he stopped trying to move away. Two more plunges down, and the tension changed in JC's body, became sexual instead of regretful. JC's eyes closed, and gently, his hands came down to rest on Chris' head again. Chris hummed his approval as JC's body arched and his head tipped back into the pillow, his expression caught somewhere between pleasure and pain.

Three more slow glides down JC's dick, and JC lost it. He shuddered and bucked hard, his belly ridging as he curled up into himself, his breath hot against Chris' ear as he came. Chris heard his soft, "oh fuck, oh fuck," but then couldn't pay any more attention as he concentrated on swallowing as much as he could. What he couldn't, he let slip out his mouth, let it run down JC's hot dick, down his own chin. JC made a little keening noise, and then all the tension drained from his body, and he let himself fall back into the mattress, struggling to catch his breath.

Chris gave him one more lick, then pulled back, his mouth bitter and sticky. Damn, but JC came a lot. He tugged off his 'beater and wiped his mouth and throat, then wiped up the mess smeared on JC. JC still gasped for breath, but the rise and fall of his chest had already begun to slow as Chris gave the undershirt a casual toss to the floor.

Weariness washed over Chris, heavy and as powerful as the tide, and sated, he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. JC looked almost gone already, his eyes closed, mouth parted and soft-looking. His entire body looked flushed, covered in a rosy, sweaty glow. The bed was so small, and JC so long and lanky, that he wasn't sure they'd both fit. But the sheets were already warm, and JC very hot against his hand when he stroked over JC's smooth chest. He wasn't very big himself; they'd probably fit. Worth a try, anyway, because he really didn't want to climb out of this bed and into the cold sheets of the other.

Chris slipped in beside JC, who shifted with a soft sigh, turning his back to him. Chris fitted himself against JC, and yeah, he was so warm. He slid an arm around JC's waist and pulled him closer, putting his nose to the back of JC's neck, just under his hairline. JC tensed a moment, then his body sagged in tiredness. Another minute, and his muscles went lax as he slipped into sleep.

Kinda nice, really, Chris thought, and slung a leg over JC, snuggling even closer, because the bed was small. Yeah. Really small, and JC tended to take up too much of it. He had to move in close, because he didn't want to end up against the cold wall. Or to have JC pitch off into the floor. As a justification, it wasn't too bad. He'd used lots worse than that before.

He sniffed at the back of JC's neck. JC didn't smell like Lance, crisp and clean, but more like musk. Not that he'd ever gone around smelling Lance, or anything, but living in close quarters, a guy couldn't help but notice how everyone else smelled. And JC didn't smell anything at all like Lance, or Justin with his citrusy unisex cologne. He sniffed again. He smelled pretty good, actually. Chris didn't mind the musk cologne, because C didn't bathe in it, like Joey did.

JC's heart beat slow and steady under his palm. Comforting. He hadn't slept with anyone after having sex for so long, that he'd forgotten how nice it was to hear someone breathing deep and slow, to feel their warmth against his skin, to feel their heart beat against him. And Jayce smelled good, too. Bonus points for that.

He decided he wouldn't mind sharing more often, and then drifted off to sleep.

"Wha?" Chris blinked sleepily as the bed bounced and covers flew everywhere. He opened his eyes wider as he heard a thump, a sharp, strangled, "oh, fuck!" and then the light flashed on in the bathroom, and he heard the unmistakable sound of someone getting very, very sick. His belly clenched in sympathy. Throwing up was just, like, the worst thing, because it left the person totally helpless, at the mercy of his own body. He'd had enough of helplessness.

It went on long enough that Chris stirred, ready to go in and see if JC wasn't hacking up a kidney or something. He remembered a horror movie they'd watched while still back in Orlando, where one of the guys in the movie ended up turned inside out---a cool, if gross effect he'd loved. Justin had made a hilarious 'eep' sound and gone greenish---no stamina for grossness, the baby. JC had hidden his eyes behind his hands like some chick, which had been fodder for endless teasing afterward. But Lance, the analytical bastard, had simply remarked that he didn't think the spleen should go *there.* Chris wondered idly if the same thing had happened to JC when the toilet flushed, and he heard water rushing in the sink. Not dead, then. Good thing.

He brought his wrist up to his face and squinted at the numbers on his watch. Damn things were getting smaller, or he was just too sleepy to see them right. Whatever. Three-forty-seven. JC had puked pretty much on schedule. He'd bet Lance was now leaning over the edge of the bed and throwing up into the wastebasket. He wrinkled his nose and felt kinda sorry for Justin, because the room would stink after that.

The bathroom light flicked off, and he heard JC's light footsteps as he staggered back to bed. JC paused, and then flung himself back into the bed, and on top of Chris, who let out a squeak as JC's elbow caught him in the ribs.

Another flurry of arms and legs, and Chris caught a knee in the thigh. Fuck, it hurt, and would bruise. Damn JC and his bony knees and elbows. He caught JC by the arm just as JC tipped out of bed and kept him from crashing on the floor.

But was the bastard grateful? Hell no. He slapped at Chris' hands irritably. "Why are you in my bed? Get out."

His breath smelled sour, and Chris figured he'd probably be sick again before it was all over. He thought he exercised remarkable restraint by not pinching his nose closed against the smell, even though he wanted to do so. In spite of what everyone else thought, he really was a considerate guy. "Fuck off," Chris said. "It's warm here, so get your skinny ass back under the covers."

JC muttered, but slid back into bed, next to Chris. He felt prickly with cold, and goosebumps shivered over his skin. Chris sighed, and pulled him closer to share his heat with JC. He deserved a freakin' medal for that, he groused to himself, trying to find a place on JC to sleep against that wasn't bony or hard.

JC put his hands over his eyes, and nearly gouged out one of Chris' with his elbow in the process. Chris pushed it out of the way, more tired than irritated. "Why am I here?"

Chris sighed. "Like, you want Camus or Nietzschze? Or maybe some oriental dude like Confucius? I don't remember much from philosophy class, but I'll try if you really want."

"I hate you," JC replied sullenly.

He was silent for a long moment, and Chris settled back in to go to sleep, not bothered by JC's declaration, because they all said it at various times. He'd grown accustomed to it, because what was that saying? Oh, yeah. Genius was rarely recognized in its own lifetime, or something like that. He believed it, because no one had recognized his yet. They were all ungrateful bastards, the lot of them.

"Did. Did we fuck?" Chris tipped his head back and watched JC lick his dry lips, figured he was probably dehydrated. His voice sounded absolutely neutral, so he couldn't really tell if JC was upset or not. But he suspected JC might be, because JC lived a freakishly fuck-free life.

"Nah," Chris replied, casually. "You blew me, I blew you. No fucking."

JC made a thoughtful sound, and rolled over, his back to Chris. Chris waited a minute, then curled against him again because the bed was still small, and the night had grown even colder. He was, at heart, a practical guy, and there was no sense at all in wasting perfectly good body heat. JC stiffened when Chris slipped an arm around his waist, then relaxed with a huff of air. He pulled the blanket over his head because the overhead light still blazed; they'd both passed out before turning it off. Chris refused to get up out of a warm bed to do it, and simply pulled the covers over his head, like JC.

In spite of the tang of sweat and the sourness of vomit, JC still smelled pretty good. Chris didn't sniff him, though, because he thought JC probably felt freaky enough. Chris liked to think of himself as a little considerate, even if no one else thought so. He slipped an arm around JC's waist, hitched himself just a little closer, tucking his thighs up behind JC's own. JC stiffened a moment, but then relaxed back into him, and Chris fell asleep against him once more.

The next time Chris woke, his head pounded and he shivered. Damn JC, he thought fuzzily, the greedy freak had stolen all the covers, leaving him naked and shaking with cold on the mattress, pressed tightly to him, seeking heat. And why would his head hurt? He hadn't had more than a single beer to drink---by all rights, this pounding should belong to JC, not him.

It took a moment to realize the pounding wasn't in his head, but rather, against the door. Bright morning light filtered through the thin blue curtains, so it was morning, sometime. Probably mid-morning, and that meant whoever was pounding at the door---the *bitch*---was there to wake them for breakfast. Chris just wanted them to leave him alone, but that wasn't likely, so he sighed and rubbed his eye with a knuckle before moving.

Chris climbed over the JC-shaped lump, and got a grunt or two in response. He stood there on the carpet, blinking, wondering where his jeans were, then shrugged and pulled at the tangle of covers hard enough that he stole the ugly striped bedspread from JC. He wanted to yell, "what the fuck do you want?" but thought the better of it. For all he knew, Lynn or Diane stood outside the door, and while Lynn could cuss with the best of them, Diane did not, made it perfectly clear she would not tolerate it, and so no one ever swore around her if they could help it.

He wrapped the bedspread around himself and staggered to the door, jerking it open. Justin stood there fully dressed, his eyes red-rimmed and blood-shot, a very cross expression on his pale face. Chris poked his head out the doorway. Just down the hall, Lynn and Diane stood waiting for the elevator, and with them, a ghostly and utterly miserable looking Lance.

Chris' fingers fisted in the jersey Justin wore and jerked him into the room, slamming the door behind them. Justin slapped his hand away and gave him a push backward. Chris stumbled on the trailing end of the bedspread, but luckily didn't fall.

"Shit, man, take a shower. You reek," Justin said irritably, and Chris felt his eyes narrow and his mouth set into a mean shape; it was way too early to deal with this.

But then Justin's gaze slipped over him and his eyes widened in surprise. Chris half-turned and saw JC sitting up in bed, looking rumpled and hung over and guilty. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair stuck up oddly, and the shadow of beard stubble lined his jaw. Weird, how in spite of all that, he still managed to look pretty good.

"Hey." Justin's blue gaze flicked from Chris, to Chris' bed, clearly unused, to JC, and back to Chris again. His dark straight brows drew downward, and pink chased across his cheeks. "Y'all do know I was only kidding, right? I didn't really think you'd...."

"Nothing happened," JC said abruptly, his voice scratchy and hoarse. He covered his face with his long hands, and Chris saw him swallow hard, several times, as if he were trying not to throw up.

"Whatever," Justin said, and his jaw firmed, his soft pink lips pressing together, displeased. "I said I was cool with it. Don't get all bitchy this morning about it, C."

"Kill me now. No, really," JC replied. He uncovered his eyes. "I'm gonna be sick," he said, and flung himself out of bed, tripping over the covers as they trailed around his feet, but lurching back up before he fell. Chris had to admit, watching him, that JC had a fucking great body, kept hidden under all the oversized sports gear he wore. When the door slammed, and the horrible sounds of puking began, Chris blinked, realized he'd been staring, and turned his attention back to Justin. He was *not* blushing, dammit, in spite of the heat in his cheeks.

"Y'all do know," Justin said, deliberately strengthening his Tennessee twang, because he knew it annoyed Chris to no end, "that I'm not like, stupid. A whole lotta nekkid usually means---"

"In this case, it means a whole lotta nothing," Chris cut in, ruthlessly. "Serious, J. No fucking." He didn't bother to mention the sucking, which had been pretty spectacular, both giving and getting, but that wasn't any of Justin's business, anyway.

"Right," Justin said, clearly disbelieving. "Tell me this. What if it had been Lance who'd come to the door, dude? What would you have done then?" He took a step closer to Chris, and poked him hard on his bare chest, and hell if that didn't hurt. Chris slapped irritably at his hand. "You turned him down, and then you come here and fuck around with C...that's pretty cold, dude."

Chris opened his mouth to make a smart-ass reply, but then closed it, because really, other than telling Justin to fuck off, he didn't have anything to say. He couldn't say that he'd been coerced, because he hadn't, or forced, because JC couldn't, wasn't like that. And besides, the day JC could physically force him to do something he didn't want...well, it would never happen. Even Joey, big and muscular and as strong as an ox, couldn't beat him in a fight if he set his head to win.

"It's none of your fucking business what I do or don't do, Justin, so don't go around pretending that it is." Chris frowned and gave Justin his fiercest, blackest scowl, one that usually got him whatever he wanted, and right now, he wanted Justin to just shut up and get out of his face.

Justin, however, wasn't buying. Evidently, Chris had lost his intimidation power through constant exposure. Justin glared back.

"I'm just sayin'. You can't screw around with Lance and JC, 'cos it's not right. They're our friends. They're the *group.* We can't do anything to risk the group---that's what you've always said." Justin's cheeks flushed brighter and his dark blue eyes flashed. His accent deepened as he grew more intent, and he leaned in closer, his mouth set in a confrontational line.

Shit. Chris shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy. When the hell had Justin gotten taller than him, anyway? And who gave him the right to criticize what Chris did? Irritation swept hotly through him, prickled along his nerves, stomped around in spiky boots in his belly. Chris hated to have anyone dictate to him, and he hated more that it was Justin who did it. He really hated that deep down, he suspected Justin was right. Damn him.

So instead of pushing Justin back, or pulling back his fist and letting the kid have it, Chris swallowed the anger and bit the inside of his cheek, hard. "I'm not gonna do anything to risk the group," he said stonily. It had been his dream first. His efforts that had brought them all together. They had come this far, and Chris determined they would go all the way, and damn anyone to hell who dared to get in their way. "Go on to breakfast, kid. We'll be there in a few."

Justin pulled back, his mouth still set, but he knew Chris well enough to push no further. "Okay. Fine." His gaze flicked to the bathroom, where they could hear the shower going. "Diane's pissed, but Lance took the rap for you. Said he snuck away from you guys. Don't think he'll be going out again until he hits eighteen, though."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Justin straightened his clothes; he hated having them wrinkled unless he was working or playing. He stood on first one foot and then the other, rubbing the tops of his sneakers against the backs of his track pants to make certain they were clean, a nervous habit he had. Justin always had the cleanest shoes of anyone he'd ever met. Chris thought he was kinda weird that way, but they all had their strange quirks, and on the whole, Justin's was pretty harmless. Wasn't like he was an ax murderer, or anything interesting like that.

Once Justin left, Chris leaned against the door. His head ached, and he felt queasy. Uneasy. He ran his hand through his hair, and tugged at it, trying to pull out the tension, the headache, but he suspected it was there to stay for awhile. Great. He wondered if he could scare up some Tylenol or something, because he really didn't have the time for shit like this.

Their day was full, as they all were, a constant, never-ending run from one event to another, from one practice to another, from one show to another. It was, as Lou often told them, the price of making it. And though he often had to bite his tongue to keep from bitching, Chris wanted to make it, and would work as hard as it took to do so. He'd never been afraid of hard work---it had been all he'd ever known. Today after breakfast, they had a radio interview, then practice, with new choreography to learn, and then a show. At least he wasn't hung over, and for that, he supposed he could be grateful.

JC emerged from the bathroom in a billow of oceany-smelling steam, a towel wrapped around his lean hips. He glanced up at Chris, and his eyes looked tired and bloodshot. Even as short as his hair was, wet, it tried to curl. He'd shaved, and had a nick on his jaw, welling a drop of bright red. Chris would've cut his throat if he tried to shave that hung over.

"You can have the shower," JC said, and his eyes slipped from Chris. He rubbed at his nose, then went to the closet and pulled his suitcase out and set it on Chris' bed. Chris watched the flow of muscle beneath pale skin. He knew how JC tasted, how it felt to slide against him, naked skin to naked skin, how he looked, how he sounded when he came. It was kinda freaky, really, and he wasn't sure if it was freaky in the good way, or not.

He'd always considered JC attractive, sexy, had occasionally entertained visions of JC when he jerked off, but had never really thought he'd ever get to have sex with him. JC had always seemed almost as untouchable as Lance was, but for completely different reasons---Lance because of his age, and JC, because he was so self-contained---friendly, but holding himself just a little distant from all of them except Justin. It had always intrigued him a little, because the rest of them were as open as books, and JC more secretive, not so easily read. But now, he had intimate knowledge of him, which made everything different.

He watched a drop of water slip down the lean planes of JC's back, watched it slide over a sharp wing of shoulder blade. His tongue flicked out to touch his upper lip, and he had a strong urge to step over there and lick that drop of water, to follow its path back up his back. He wanted to lap at the vulnerable nape of his neck, to nose into his short wet hair, to run his hands over smooth, damp skin.

JC dropped the towel. And fuck, if Chris' dick didn't stir between his legs, if he didn't begin to get hard beneath the swath of bedspread wrapped around him. He shifted from one foot to the other, and only by a massive act of will kept from touching himself. JC's ass was small and tight, his asscheeks as hard as apples; Chris remembered running his hands over those slight curves, remembered holding on tightly as JC thrust against him. He grew harder, and swore silently at them both in English, and what German, and Spanish he knew.

All the bones in JC's spine went into sharp relief as he bent to tug on a pair of black bikini briefs. And damn him, he looked good in them; Chris had tried on that type of underwear, and had just looked like a tool. When JC reached in and adjusted himself, Chris bit his tongue, hard.

"Did I do...did I do anything weird?" JC's voice was soft and hoarse, but still, Chris jumped, partially from surprise, partially from guilt, because hey, he'd been checking out JC.

Chris unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "Weird how? And that's kinda a relative term, man, given that you're weird anyway."

JC pulled on a pair of loose track pants, and Chris thought that was a crime, because he'd been enjoying the long line of JC's legs, taut with muscle. JC shrugged in a careless one-shouldered way, then pulled on a wifebeater. He half-turned, and Chris' eyes slid up from the curve of biceps and the tight nub of nipple to JC's face, which had pinkened a little. "Dunno. Just. Anything, I guess. I don't drink very often." He shrugged his other shoulder. "At least, not that much. Because. Well. Stuff happens."

And Chris felt abruptly sorry for JC, who was clearly so very embarrassed. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, and tried for an amused nonchalance to set JC a little more at ease. If it had been Joey, or Justin, he'd have landed on him with both feet, tormenting him unmercifully. Well, hell, probably JC too, but somehow, this morning, he wanted to cut C some slack. "Hmm. You sang. Barry Manilow. Lots of his stuff. Seriously, C, I almost chucked you down the stairs for that."

A faint smile curved JC's wide mouth, almost reached his blue-grey eyes. He picked up a blue and white jersey. "Sorry. My mom listened to that all the time. Kinda rubbed off, y'know?"

"Yeah, well. You also wanted to stand on your head, but I talked you out of it."

JC's head popped out of the neck of the jersey he pulled on, and he looked surprised. "I wanted to stand on my head?" When Chris nodded, JC chuckled softly and shook his head a little. "Hell. I haven't offered to do that for years." He slanted a look from beneath his lashes at Chris, a little smile curving his mouth. Something fluttered inside Chris' chest, something small and sweet and warm, and he wasn't certain what to make of it.

But he thought he liked it.

"You'd better get showered," JC said softly, reaching for his socks, neatly folded together. "Or else Lynn herself will come after us. And I really don't want to hear you guys yell at each other. My head kinda hurts, y'know?"

Chris blinked, and flashed a quick grin. "Nah. Probably don't feel like hearing us bitch at one another." He hitched the bedspread up into his arms, enough to free up his legs to walk, but not high enough to let JC see how hard his dick was. Damn thing, Chris thought, and pushed away from the door. Never had any sense at all, and probably never would.

As he passed JC, Chris reached out, hesitated, then put his hand on JC's shoulder. JC looked up, curious. "You okay, C?"

JC made a little fluttery movement with his hands, one of his socks flopping around, before he realized it, and stopped, wadding up the socks in both hands. "Yeah. I feel like shit, but I guess that's the price for drinking too much, huh?"

He could've let it go at that, but that warm little something in his chest made him continue on. He squeezed JC's shoulder. "No, dude. Are *you* okay?"

JC looked down at his bare feet, almost covered by the hems of his pants. Then he raised his head and smiled, just a little. "I'm fine, man. No worries." JC's fingertips brushed over Chris' wrist and skittered away. "We're good, right?"

"Yeah, C, we're good," Chris replied, and JC nodded and went back to pulling on his socks. Chris stumbled to the bathroom, and dropped the bedspread outside the door. The sudden rush of cold air made him shiver, and the hair at the back of his neck stood up. A quick glance over his shoulder, and he caught JC's eyes sliding away from him. The tips of his ears looked very pink. Warmth slithered down Chris' belly. The corner of his mouth curved up at the thought of JC checking him out. He liked that; after all, he'd been watching C for months.

Chris stepped into the shower. He could still smell JC's soap lingering in the warm air. Hot water poured over his head and neck, and he hummed in pleasure. JC had decided to call them good, and he agreed with it; a whole lot easier to do that than to face the fact they'd slept together. Relief swept over Chris, because he hated The Morning After Fucking talk. It sucked the big one, because as glib as he usually was, he never seemed to say the right thing after sex. Maybe that was why no one ever stuck around. Sometimes he thought it should bother him more than it actually did, but his life was too busy to dwell much on things like that. Give him simple, uncomplicated sex, because he simply didn't have time for relationships. Or Relationships, for that matter.

He jerked off in the shower, because he jerked off every morning without fail and had, since he'd first discovered he could make his toes curl by doing it. He pulled up a mental picture of a chick he'd danced with briefly last night, a small, intense dark-haired girl, but three smooth strokes later, the picture in his mind changed, to long muscular arms and legs, to broad shoulders, to big clever hands, to a wide, talented mouth. To JC, his mouth sucking him skillfully, sliding fingers deep inside him and stroking him just...so...perfectly....

Chris came hard against the shower wall, shuddering and gasping. His body hummed in pleasure. He leaned against the slick tiles for a moment, catching his breath, then turned the shower spray to the wall, washing away his come, before finishing his shower, humming contentedly.

By the time he finished, JC had gone. He dressed quickly, still humming, and bounced down the hallway and into the elevator. In the dining room, Lynn and Diane sat at one table with their driver/interpreter, Fritz. Diane gave him a stern look as he passed, but didn't say anything; Chris knew she'd get him later, in private. She was too much of a lady to scream at him in public, and he felt grateful for that.

At their table, only Justin ate with gusto, which was no surprise at all. Joey sat with coffee, looking a plate of scrambled eggs, his complexion a little greenish; evidently, he'd had a bit too much to drink, also. Chris plopped down in the chair closest, elbowing him hard in the side in the process. When Joey looked up at him blearily, Chris gave him a smile full of nasty, vengeful promise. Joey paled, and looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Your ass is *so* mine, Fatone," Chris said cheerily. "You're gonna regret ever coming to Germany. I've sworn out an Irish blood oath on you. The Kirkpatrick curse will follow you for the rest of your life. Or while we're in Europe. Whichever lasts longest."

Beside him, JC, his eyes hidden from the bright morning light by the wrap-around sunglasses he favored, said, "It's been really nice knowing you, Joe. We'll miss you." The corner of his mouth quirked up. Justin laughed and snorted milk up his nose, and even Lance, slumped pale and pitiful in his chair, grinned.

Chris laughed, and dropped a quick wink in JC's direction, glad of the support. Faint color chased across JC's cheeks, but his smile widened as he picked up the coffee and took a sip. Satisfied, Chris dug into his breakfast.

Later, Chris and Justin, as always, carried the bulk of the interview. Chris, because he was totally incapable of keeping his mouth shut, unable to resist a chance to deliver a smart remark, and Justin, because he was lively and completely charming, and the interviewers always loved him. Lance pulled out of his quiet misery long enough to answer a couple of questions, his polite, professional smile on his face, the smile he gave everyone but them. JC stayed quiet unless directly addressed, but that was nothing out of the ordinary; he had always been content to let them carry the bulk of interviews, because he became flustered easily. Joey stayed as far from Chris as possible, mainly because Chris kept grinning at him maniacally, threat simmering just below the surface. Psychological warfare was the best, and Chris was a master of it.

In the van, JC squished himself in beside Chris, who had maneuvered the seating arrangements so he could sit beside Joey and terrorize him. It surprised him, because Lance was his usual seatmate, but Lance sat in the seats ahead of them with Justin, his face pressed to the cold window, eyes closed. Justin glanced back at them, and rolled his eyes. Chris glanced over at JC, who offered him a little Mona Lisa smile, then turned his attention to the scenery outside. Chris swallowed hard against the little flutter in his stomach, the odd dropping sensation JC's smile had given him, and wondered what to say. After a moment, he decided to say nothing, and spent half the trip tormenting Joey and the other half very aware of the warmth of JC's slim thigh pressed to his.

After they'd pulled up at the studio Lou had rented, Diane, with Lance in tow, pulled Chris aside. Chris swore to himself and listened respectfully, nodding occasionally as Diane spoke quietly about responsibility, about trust, all things Chris knew very well, probably more than Diane realized.

Behind Diane, Lance looked faintly pained and embarrassed, because hey, even as nice as Diane was about the whole thing, it still sucked to be called to the carpet by your mom in front of your friends. When Diane had finished, and pulled a promise from both of them to *think* about the consequences of their actions, Lance stepped around and said, "I'm really sorry, Chris. That won't happen again."

The tone of his voice was serious; Lance, for all that he liked to laugh and joke around, was serious about most things. He was a responsible sort, and Chris figured he hated that he'd drank too much and inconvenienced his friends, ending up so hung over that practice and the show would be hell. Lance's arm slid around his shoulder and gave him a hug, a little awkward, but still warm. Lance pressed his pinkened cheek to Chris' and whispered, "I'm really sorry for what happened. Didn't mean to put you on the spot."

Chris slipped an arm around him and patted him on the back. "‘s okay, Bass. We're good, here."

Relief flooded through him; he liked Lance, but he didn't *like* Lance, and he didn't want to hurt his feelings by turning him down.. "You wanna talk, I'm here, man."

Gratitude washed over Lance's face, and Chris knew that if he'd not been drunk, he'd probably never have known about Lance's...interest...in guys. Lance held important things close to the vest, and if the redness of his cheeks and ears were any indication, he felt terribly embarrassed about what he'd done.

"Thanks, Chris, really. And...I will, maybe. Later." He squeezed Chris hard a moment, then smiled and turned away. Chris watched him offer his arm to help his mother over icy patches, the very picture of a devoted son. He was a good kid, and he'd definitely talk with him later, because he had never had anyone to turn to when he'd discovered he liked boys, and he knew just how lonely it could be.

JC startled him as he laid a long hand on his shoulder. He jumped and half-turned, his hand curling reflexively into a fist, and JC smiled down at him, not much more than a bare curve of lips. Chris lowered his fist instantly, then shrugged at his response. JC didn't take offense; they all knew he'd never hit them, no matter how he threatened.

JC's sunglasses sat atop his head, and his blue-grey eyes were kind, and surprisingly perceptive. They all called JC a dork, a spazz, and he was, but he also knew more about each of them than they were completely comfortable with, stuff they'd never told him, but that he'd picked up by close observation. Mostly, they didn't mind what JC knew, because they also knew it was safe with him; JC held secrets closely and securely.

"C'mon, man," JC said, and squeezed his shoulder. "Marc's looking for you. It's no fun practicing without you to bitch at him." JC tilted his head and his smile pulled Chris into a circle of complicity. "He's wanting more backflips."

Chris grinned, and let himself slip into the comfortable, familiar place JC offered. "What a prick. I'm a singer, not a fucking cheerleader."

JC's eyes sparkled, and his smile grew larger. "I'm a doctor, dammit, not a mechanic," he said, his Dr. McCoy accent perfected from watching hours of Star Trek with Chris and Lance, while wrestling during the commercials.

"'He's dead, Jim,'" Chris replied, and JC laughed, the big, braying laugh Chris loved to hear, because it was real.

Chris looped his arm around JC's neck, noogied the top of his head through the wool cap, and pulled him, fighting and struggling and laughing, into the dance studio.

Two weeks passed in a blur of activity: endless practices, interviews, photo shoots, and concerts. Chris leaned his forehead against the cold window, feeling tired and worn and old. His knees ached dully. Outside it snowed, huge flakes spiraling down from a white sky. Snow lay thick and muffling over everything, and traffic had slowed to a bare crawl.

Behind him, he heard the ping of his Gameboy, the murmur of some German game show on tv, and Justin's voice rising and falling with JC as they argued about the latest book Justin's tutor had assigned. It was familiar and comforting, and somehow, claustrophobic. He rubbed his eyes, and JC's laugh washed over him, curiously comforting.

Chris had been surprised at the way JC acted after that night. JC didn't really act any differently; he wasn't awkward---well, any more than normal---and if he felt embarrassed, he didn't show it. Sometimes he sat closer to Chris, appropriating Lance's place with a smoothness Chris—who was straightforward to the point of rudeness---envied. It was as if he'd never slept with him, and Chris privately thought that the normalcy was pretty weird. They should've felt uncomfortable around one another, because in his experience, sex always changed things between friends, and usually, the change was for the worse, involving yelling and name-calling and bad feelings all around. Unless maybe, the friend was JC, because JC didn't seem to understand that he should act any differently.

He worked like a dog, without complaint, laughed at his own weird humor, wrestled with Chris when Chris jumped him. When they were too tired to go out, JC would sit with him in the quiet of the evening and talk about what he wanted to do with the group, where he saw them in five years. It was something Chris loved to do, because JC dreamed big, like Chris, and was willing to sacrifice blood and sweat and time to get where he wanted. In the smaller picture, he always brought Chris water when they practiced, worked extra time with Lance---Chris didn't have the patience---and made sure Chris didn't forget to eat when he was so tired he couldn't think anymore.

He was good to Chris, and with a start, Chris realized JC had always been good to him, had always looked out for him, had always been there, a steady, solid presence. It bothered him a little that he'd always noticed how attractive he found JC, but never how JC had always been there, quiet and unassuming and geeky, but there for him.

Chris turned from the window. Joey lay draped across one of the beds, concentrating on the game in his hands, long legs and huge feet dangling off the side of the bed. JC sat Indian style on the other bed, leaning forward, his face serious as he argued with Justin something about the way the author presented the story they were discussing. Chris had often wondered if JC hadn't joined them, if he might not now be in college, finishing out a degree. He knew JC had expressed an interest in architecture and engineering, but somehow, he couldn't see him laden down with calculators and slide rules and blueprints—he seemed more the arty type, than the practical one.

But he could see him as a literature or music major—maybe both, because under his spazziness, JC was surprisingly sharp and intelligent. Chris could almost see him with his bouncy curly hair, glasses perched on his nose, and a backpack slung over one shoulder; Chris had always found that type attractive during his college years. JC'd hang out in coffee shops, and discuss the merits of his favorite authors, the symbolism of some obscure object in the story, his hands in constant motion, the way they were now. Lou had bitched about that; he said it was too faggy for JC to wave his hands around, and in public, JC usually slipped them beneath his thighs if he was sitting, or stuck them in his pockets or behind his back if he was standing. Chris hated Lou for that, because although he hadn't shown it, Chris knew it had hurt JC's feelings.

"But it's *Beowulf*---it's...it's...old, dude. Like five thousand years old, old. I don't want to read it." Justin's voice rose in indignation, because really, how dare his tutor make him read something that he didn't want to read. Justin was generally a sweet kid, but he had moments of divatude, and Chris could see one coming. Time to puncture it before it inflated his curly little head.

"Its not five thousand years old, idiot. But it is a classic. It has heroes and monsters and honor and...." JC's hands waved through the air, indicating battles with said monsters.

"Think of it like a video game, kid," Joey added, his expression still intent on the Gameboy. "That might help."

"Nah, Chris said, unable to resist. "Infant doesn't want to read it because it's not a Babysitter's Club book, that's all."

"Hey!" Justin rose to one knee and threw the book at him, and Chris caught it easily, grinning. It was so easy sometimes to jerk Justin's chain, and he never missed an opportunity. "I told you, that was only the one time, and I didn't have anything else to read, and I was bored stupid. I don't read those---they're *girl* books."

Justin's cheeks flamed dark pink, and he slithered off the bed, sulking at the insult to his masulinity. JC grinned at Chris who winked at him, pleased with himself, then threw the pillow at Justin, who let out an outraged "Hey, dude!" bounced up from the floor, and flung himself on JC, who yelped and began giggling as Justin's fingers worked industriously over his ribs. They pitched off the bed and landed with what sounded like a painful thump, tickling and pummeling one another.

Chris stepped over them, hopping to avoid Justin's wild grab at the leg of his jeans, and made his way clear of them. Restless, Chris circled the room twice, avoiding JC's wildly flailing legs, and finally came to the table where Lance sat, earphones on, ignoring everything as he studied. Chris watched the math equations flow under his pen like water, smooth and effortless. Hell. Lance did his math homework in *ink.* Who did that? He'd teased Lance on more than one occasion about being a math geek, and Lance had been insulted; he was a math *and* science geek, thankyouverymuch, and Chris should remember that.

Chris had said nothing more about the kiss they'd shared, nor had Lance. He'd offered once to talk with Lance, but he'd just flushed bright red and said he wasn't ready, and Chris had let it go. He'd talk when he was ready. After a day or so of dancing around one another awkwardly, they'd gone back to their usual rhythms, fallen into their old patterns, which had relieved Chris to no end. Lance was still his favored sidekick, the one he loved to pull pranks with the best, because Lance had a quick, inventive mind and a surprisingly raunchy sense of humor beneath the surface politeness.

He'd seen Lance and JC together at the dance studio, talking in a shadowy hallway, heads close together, bright and dark. Lance's face lifted to JC's, hopeful and yearning, offering himself for a kiss, probably for more, and Chris felt something tighten in his chest. For a moment he'd thought JC had forgotten about his warning to leave Lance alone until he was legal, but then he saw it wasn't like that at all. JC's expression was gentle and kind, but it said in no uncertain terms, 'no' even from where Chris stood, peeking out from a barely-opened door. When JC ran a thumb across Lance's high cheekbone and then stepped away, Chris ducked back inside the room and closed the door silently behind him, relieved, but still unsettled in some way he couldn't quite pin down.

Across the room, Joey had gotten pulled into the wrestling match, and his weird, high giggle mingled with JC's odd laugh and Justin's bright raucous one. Chris watched a moment, amused, and when he turned back, he looked directly into Lance's translucent, pale green eyes.

"Hey, Bass," he said, and Lance tugged off his earphones. Twangy music sounded tiny and tinny before Lance clicked off the tape player. Garth, naturally. Chris wondered if he should be disturbed that he could recognize most of Lance's music easily by now.

"Hey, Kirkpatrick," Lance replied, and his mouth curved into a casual, lopsided smile. "Bored? Restless?"

Chris grunted. Joey had gotten the upper hand, but Chris knew it was only temporary, as Justin and JC ganged up on him and brought him down, rubbing his head into the carpet as he howled.

"I'm thinkin', Maw, we should take the chilluns out and roll 'em around in the snow to cool 'em off. Just so we don't haveta pay for this here cheap furniture."

Lance blinked at him. "Why, sure, Paw," he said, thickening his accent until Chris could barely understand him, "I'm a thinkin' you might be right, there. Lemme get mah shawl and boots, and we'll git on outside."

Chris grinned, and then flinched as Lance whistled very loudly between his teeth. Like dogs, the three in the pile looked up, flushed and rumpled and bright-eyed, and Chris couldn't help but laugh at the sight. After Chris suggested going outside, Justin, who seldom got to see snow, much less playfight in it, chivvied them into their boots and outerwear, and they raced out to the park Chris had seen just a few blocks away.

Chris turned, laughing at Justin and Lance, running away bearing Joey's jeans like a banner, and Joey, in only his long johns, howling in indignation, and caught a huge snowball right in the face. Shocked, he blinked icy wetness out of his eyes long enough to see JC whirl and take off in the opposite direction, his barking laughter trailing behind him. Chris dashed the snow out of his face, dug it from around the collar of his coat, and took out after JC with an "oh, you're *so* gonna pay for that, you bitch!"

JC had long, long legs, and ran like the wind flowing over the land; under normal circumstances, Chris knew he had no hope of catching him. But the snow evened the field, so to speak; JC couldn't build up a lot of speed, alternately plowing through and leaping into the drifts like a deer. All Chris had to do was to follow in the path JC cleared.

He caught up to JC behind a copse of trees, flinging himself on top of him as JC struggled in a deep drift. JC yelled as they went down, Chris clinging with arms and legs as JC tried to buck him off. He rubbed JC's face in the snow and pummeled him for good measure, certain that JC's heavy down coat kept him from feeling his punches.

He finally took mercy on JC, who alternated between laughing and swearing vengeance, voice muffled by snow, and rolled off him, the snow crunching and groaning beneath him. JC flopped over, gasping for breath, face red from cold and Chris scrubbing it in the snow, one sharp cheekbone scraped raw, snow caked in his hair and eyebrows and eyelashes. He lay for a moment, then swished his arms and legs in big arcs, making a snow angel. Chris snorted; it was a girly thing to do; JC and Heather probably did it every year. Never mind he'd taught his own sisters the same thing---that was different, because he still didn't go around doing it.

Above him, black branches frosted with snow lay stark against the pale sky. It had stopped snowing earlier, but it felt as if it would start again at any time; the air held that peculiar stillness that promised more snow. He listened to JC swish around in the snow, listened to him breathe, listened to Justin and Lance whooping in the distance, with Joey swearing at them to give back his fucking pants *now.*

Chris turned his head slightly. JC finally lay still, arms and legs outflung; he looked happy and relaxed, his mouth curved up, and Chris could hear him humming, almost soundlessly. JC had so much music inside him that it had to escape somehow; he always hummed or sang softly beneath his breath, except when tension or worry throttled him. Chris rolled up to his knees and cocked his head slightly, studying JC, in his snow angel outline.

"All you need is a halo," Chris said, and his mouth quirked up into a grin.

"That right?" JC's face squinched into a full-face smile, and Chris wasn't certain what rolled over him, through him, but it felt needy and strong, stronger and more powerful than he was. His body moved before his thoughts, and he dropped down over JC, his mittened hands crunching in the snow either side of JC's shoulders, his knees on either side of JC's slim hips. The fronts of their coats, caked in snow, brushed against one another.

The big smile faded into something less bright, but no less brilliant, a secret smile. His eyes widened, and they were so very blue, as blue as the sky in October, all the grey washed away. Really blue...really...beautiful. Chris swallowed hard as the feeling swept over him sweet and warm, like honey, and he wanted—--he *needed*---to see if JC had that same taste.

"Chris?" JC's voice floated up to him, a whisper in a puff of white vapor.

JC's lips were cold, but when Chris licked past them, past hard slick teeth, JC's mouth was hot and wet and welcoming. Chris felt the sigh well up from deep within him. This felt so good, and he didn't want to stop. He dug an arm behind JC's neck, ignoring the cold snow sliding up his sleeve, and pulled JC closer. JC's gloved hands slid up his arms, and wound around his shoulders, tugging him down, pulling Chris against him. JC's body felt hard and hot beneath his, and Chris grew warmer with wanting the closer he pressed to JC.

He felt JC's breath, hot and moist, against his cheek. JC's tongue slid along his, wet and slick and wicked, and dipped deep within his mouth, aggressive, skillful. Chris loved it, loved JC's unabashed enjoyment, the low sounds rumbling in his chest, the hands pushing off his hood, pushing away his cap to knot in his hair and guide him to a better angle. He loved how JC's long legs wrapped around his, and urged him closer.

The world tipped and spun, and Chris found himself pressed into the snow, JC on top of him, legs still wrapped around him. And that was good too...Chris didn't mind the switch in position as long as JC kept kissing him, because, damn. It was hot, and JC seemed to know just how much aggression Chris liked, how wet and deep to make his kisses. Heat spiraled from his mouth to his chest, unspooling and flowing down to pool between his legs, and he rocked up against JC, pushing his hard dick into JC's lower belly, but they were wrapped in too much material for him to feel JC hard against him.

Then JC pushed away from him, and Chris said, "no, no, don't stop..." his arm tightening around JC's neck to keep him from pulling away. But JC pulled his hands from Chris' hair and planted them in the snow, pushing up until he forced Chris to let go of him.

JC's mouth looked red and wet, and Chris wanted to suck on his lower lip. "What? What?"

Color ran up JC's throat, chased over his cheeks. "I. I'm not." He looked away from Chris for a moment. His eyelashes were long and spiky with melted snow. Chris watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, then looked back down at Chris. "I'm not Lance," he said softly. "I won't be a substitute. That's not. It's not respectful to either of us."

Chris blinked up at him, dumbfounded; where had that come from? "Lance? What the hell? I think I fucking know who I'm with, C."

"Maybe today," JC said, and when he pushed away again, Chris let him go, surprised at the spiky hurtful feeling in his chest.

Chris watched him gain his feet, straighten his wool cap, brush the snow from his coat and gloves. He purposefully didn't look at Chris, and the spiky feeling swelled and grew. "What, you think just because I kissed him that I was using you?"

JC leveled a look at him, eyes dark, chin lifting in challenge. "You weren't?"

"Shit, C, I knew *exactly* whose dick was in my mouth, you asshole." The words were purposefully crude, and Chris felt a flush of acid satisfaction at the color that rose in JC's cheeks. "And I'm not sure I could say the same thing about you. I was *not* the only one kissing him, man." Chris pulled himself to his feet, his normal bounce hindered by the snow. "'Cause, dude, from my point of view, you were using me like you say I was using you. Don't be getting all righteous with me."

That brought JC's head up, made his eyes flash darkly. "I'm not all righteous. I was drunk and lonely and horny. It was wrong, for lots of reasons. I know that. But I. But you." He paused, and took a deep breath. "You were never...."

JC shut up, pressing his lips together tightly, as if that were the only thing that would keep his words inside. He turned abruptly, and it would've been a fucking good exit if he didn't have to flounder through the snow; it kinda ruined the drama, Chris thought. He let JC get halfway across the park before sprinting after him, running in the path JC left in the snow.

He tugged at JC, who ignored him, but Chris had the tenacity of a terrier, and wouldn't let go until JC swung around, eyes flashing dark and angry. He gave Chris a hard push to the center of his chest, and Chris staggered and went down, eyes wide with surprise. JC stood over him a moment, hands clenching and unclenching, and Chris lay there in shock, snow working down the back of his coat.

"What the fuck, C?" He expected that---or actually, worse---of any of the rest of them, but never from JC, who was peculiarly non-violent. He'd play with the rest of them, mock slaps and punches, but he never meant any of it. He wasn't capable of physically hurting anyone; it simply wasn't in him.

"Just...let it go, Chris. Leave me alone." JC's chin lifted, and then he turned and continued floundering through the snow.

And if JC wasn't capable of violence, Chris wasn't capable of leaving things alone he didn't understand or that had pissed him off. At the moment, what he felt was a combination of both things, and he didn't like it.

Chris picked himself up again and followed, determined. "Hey, you shit...you can't do that and just walk away. I ought to kick your skinny ass all over Germany for that. What were you gonna say? I was never what? What? You know I won't leave you alone until you tell me, so you might as well just give up now."

JC turned around and Chris danced back, out of reach of his long arms, unwilling to let JC push him down again. But he slipped, flailed for balance, and went down again. Some things were entirely unfair, he fumed as he lay there.

JC's gloved hands made slashing arcs in the air. "You are the most...infuriating man, like ever. You can *never* shut up and leave things alone. You're...you're...."

"Tenacious," Chris supplied helpfully. "Obstinate. Stubborn."

"Mule-headed," JC said, and pointed at him. "That. Exactly."

"I guess it's better than being the other end of the mule," Chris said, and if he hadn't been looking at JC's flushed face, he'd have missed the quirk of JC's wide mouth.

"That too," JC said. He sighed, and rubbed his hand over his face, wincing at the patch of raw skin on his cheekbone. But Chris knew he'd won; JC could never stay mad more than a few minutes---it was simply a matter of waiting him out.

"You're a fuckhead," JC said, and then held out his hand.

Chris took it and they levered him up to his feet. JC moved around him, and brushed snow roughly from his coat, quick angry swats. One swat landed on the back of his head, and Chris decided to let it go as an attempt to brush the snow from his hair. It was less annoying that way, and didn't require retaliation.

"You've said that before, so it's not like a new insult, dude. So you know I'm gonna bug the hell outta you. Give up and tell me what I wanna know. I was never...." Chris made a winding up gesture with his hand, indicating JC should quit being a dickhead and spit out what he'd started to say.

JC looked away again, and Chris followed his gaze. Joey had regained his pants, and Justin and Lance were following him, still mocking him, hooting with laughter. They were both covered in snow, as if Joey had rolled them in it while fighting.

"You were never a substitute, Chris," JC said, so softly that Chris had to listen closely to hear. "It was always you."

And then Justin threw himself on Chris with a flying tackle and as he went down into the snow yet *again,* he saw JC turn and walk back toward the hotel, with a red-faced Joey beside him. He started to say something, to stop him, and then Justin started shoveling snow down his coat, laughing like a crazy man.

Lance had pulled off his gloves and slid cold, cold hands up beneath his coat and shirts, long fingers dancing over his naked belly, his eyes bright and wicked. It took several minutes and countless snowballs before he managed to escape from them. He left them with Justin sitting on Lance, who howled in protest as Justin packed snow down his shirts.

Either Joey or JC had thought to tell Wesley where they were, and when Wesley showed up, scowling at either the inconvenience of having to track them down, or at the cold, Chris took off, knowing it would be okay to leave Justin and Lance there. Chris jogged back to the hotel, hands and feet numb, his breath a cold white cloud around him.

Once he got back to the hotel, the snow in his hair and down his clothes started to melt, and he practically squished as he dashed up the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. On their own floor, he passed Fritz, who was chatting up a fairly pretty girl in a maid's uniform. Evidently whatever Fritz said worked, because with a merry laugh, she went into his room. Chris wished he'd caught Fritz' line, because it must've been good; Fritz wasn't the best looking of guys, paunchy and balding, and if he could pick up, it must've been good. Chris knew he could use all the help he could get.

It was JC's turn to have the single; they'd worked out this elaborate rotation schedule that was probably a lot more complicated than it needed to be. Bass had taken one look at it and hooted with laughter at Joey's diagrams, complete with stick figures of a guy and a girl fucking when it was Joey's turn at the single, JC sleeping at his turn, and Chris jerking off when it was his time. He'd offered to make them a more concise schedule, but Joey's worked, and Chris knew you didn't fuck with schedules when they worked okay.

There. Down at the very end of the hallway, room 634. He stood for a moment, catching his breath, running his hand through his wet hair. A polite knock on the door brought a resounding lack of response. Chris knocked harder. Still no response. Fuck it, Chris thought, and pounded on the door harder, and yelled, "Open this door, you pissy bitch. I'm not leaving until you do, so haul your ass over here and unlock the door."

Still no answer. Chris scowled at the door and pounded harder. JC hadn't been back long enough to settle into a deep sleep, and so Chris knew JC ignored him. It pissed him off; he hated to be ignored. Most of his behavior was geared to keep anyone anywhere from ignoring him or taking him for granted.

"Sein dort falsch?"

Chris jumped, clutching his chest, and turned his head. A man peered from a room halfway down the hall, looking a little concerned. He offered up a cheerful smile and his mind sifted quickly through the language to come up with a suitable excuse. "Ja ist es fein. Ich vergaß meinen Schlüssel und mein...um...Zimmergenosse muß schlafen."

"Benötigen Sie den Manager?"

"Kein, es sein fein, danken Sie," Chris replied quickly with a wave of his hand. He leaned in closer to the door, the smile still plastered to his face, and said, his voice sweetly lilting, "JC, if you don't get your ass outta bed, I'm gonna be arrested here, and Lou will have us sleeping in the van from now on."

He heard the muffled sound of JC's feet stomping through the room, and then the locks snapped open. JC flung the door open, and said, "What? What? What the fuck do you want?" He wore only a pair of jeans, the top button undone. They hung low, exposing a slice of pale hip, and the front strained around his erection. Chris jerked his eyes upward, past the flush that began on JC's bare chest, up his throat, and into his cheeks, where it bloomed scarlet.

Chris stuck his foot in the opening to keep JC from slamming it again, because JC looked seriously pissed. His face was bright with annoyance, and his eyes fairly snapped.

"You just can't say something like that and then walk away," Chris said. He waited a moment, and when JC didn't say anything, said, in case JC had forgotten, "In the park. What you said."

"I know what I said," JC snapped, and rolled his eyes like he thought Chris was stupid. And really, Chris thought, irritation prickling down his spine and stomping around in his stomach, that was just the absolutely wrong thing to do, because he hated anyone to think him stupid. When he was a kid, they'd always equated his poverty with stupidity, and it had never failed to enrage him. He reined in the feeling before it swamped him, and made him do something really stupid that he'd be sure to regret later.

"Let me in. I don't wanna talk about this in the hallway."

"I'm not in the hallway," JC replied with such reasonableness that Chris clenched his fists to keep from strangling him. "And I don't think I wanna talk about anything right now. Fuck off."

He tried to close the door, and it caught on Chris' foot. Chris yelled, not because it actually hurt---his boots were too big and clunky to allow actual injury---but simply in outrage because JC had tried to slam it.

"You shit! I've gotta dance with these feet!" With every word his volume grew and his voice climbed in register until it hit notes Chris himself hadn't been aware he could reach. JC rolled his eyes and opened the door, grabbed his coat, and pulled him in. Chris grunted as JC pushed him against the wall and slammed the door with his foot.

"You make me crazy," JC said, and shook him by the coat. The back of Chris' head hit the wall, and he opened his mouth to protest, but then JC pressed close, his breath warm across Chris' face. "You're nuts, and you're gonna make me the same way."

The anger that had bubbled up in Chris' chest, red and hot, took a sudden dive downward, pooling between his legs, because JC. JC. JC was half naked, and this close, Chris could almost feel the heat radiating from him, could smell musk and sex and sweat on his skin. JC's mouth was soft and wet looking, and he wanted to kiss it, to slick his tongue along JC's teeth, to taste JC's flavor and heat.

"Yeah," Chris breathed, and tipped his head back. Need bubbled through him, and whether it was right or wrong, he wanted JC, wanted to touch, to kiss, to fuck. And from the hunger in JC's eyes, the way JC's gaze flicked to his mouth when he licked his lips, to his exposed throat, he knew JC wanted him just as much. "Yeah, I will. We'll both be crazy, okay?"

His hands reached out, stroked along the soft skin at JC's waist, just above the waistband of his jeans. Sliding his fingers inward, he smoothed a fingertip around the shallow indention of JC's navel. His skin was soft and smooth and felt hot against his hand, and muscles rippled beneath his touch. "You were jerking off, weren't you? Touching yourself, right?"

He knew he was right---JC's skin had the flush of sex, and he smelled like it, like Chris smelled when he jerked off. It excited him, to think of JC naked, of JC's hands moving over himself, of his hard muscular body arching up into his touch, of the breathy sounds he made when he stroked himself. It made his blood rush hotly, and sweat prickled at the small of his back, at his hairline, on his upper lip.

JC leaned in closer, and his tongue flicked over Chris' mouth, over the sweat on his upper lip. "Yeah," he replied, his breath warm and moist over Chris' skin. "I was. And guess who I was thinkin' about."

"Yeah?" Chris rose a little on his toes, offering his mouth, but JC skimmed over his lips, nuzzled at the skin behind his ear, into his damp hair. He shivered when he felt the warm wetness of JC's tongue on his earlobe. Heat swirled through him, burning away the cold he'd felt only moments before. "Joey?"

JC bit his neck and sucked gently, and Chris' fingers tightened on JC's bare waist as a moan escaped him. "Try again," JC breathed into his ear.

Chris felt his cold toes curl in his heavy boots. "Tell me it's not fucking Timberlake," he gasped, as JC slid a long thigh between his own, and pressed into him. Chris lost his train of thought when JC rocked slightly against him, and his fingers curled into the waistband of JC's jeans, pulling him closer. He could feel the heat of JC's skin even through his shirt and sweater.

"God no," JC said, and tipped his head to kiss the soft skin beneath his chin. "That would be like...like thinking of Tyler, and just, no. Never."

"Good," Chris said breathlessly, as JC's fingers, long and cool, slid under his clothes. He shivered and his belly clenched hard as JC stroked over his skin, working upward. "'Cause I'd have...oh," he said, as JC brushed over a nipple, and the sweet ache zoomed down his belly and into his already throbbing dick, "oh, yeah...to like, kick your ass for that."

JC's hand spread out over his chest, thumb rubbing against his nipple, thigh rocking against his groin, and Chris felt thoughts skittering away, like birds startled into flight. He felt JC's dick, long and hard, against his hip, and Chris' fingers slid over JC's hips and over the slight, tight curve of ass, squeezing tightly, pulling him in closely. JC hummed against the skin of his throat, and Chris' eyes closed when he felt the sharpness of JC's teeth. Oh, fuck, *yeah,* he liked that.

He gathered his scattered thoughts, almost impossible when most of them were centered on *more* and *harder* and *wanna be naked now.* "Lance?"

JC's chuckle against his skin tickled, and Chris squirmed against him. "Sometimes. But not now." JC licked up his neck, and blew gently on the wet skin. "You. Just you."

Chris shivered again, and started to slide to his knees. He wanted to press his mouth to JC's belly, to lick into his navel, to unzip his jeans and burrow into musky, sweaty hair, to take JC into his mouth, feel his hardness against his tongue. He wanted to taste him, to lick and suck until JC came in a hot, salty rush. He remembered how good it had been, and wanted it again, wanted it so much he ached with it.

But JC jerked his hands out from beneath Chris' sweater, and knotted in the lapels of his coat, stopping him. Muscles bunched in his lean arms, and he kept Chris upright when all Chris wanted to do was to sink to his knees. "I want," Chris said hoarsely. "I need...lemme do you, C, c'mon...."

JC leaned into him, mouth covering his, lips soft and warm, opening, inviting him in. Too much temptation to resist, and Chris dove in. Hot, and wet, and the taste of cinnamon exploded across his awareness as he stroked his tongue along JC's, ran it over smooth hard teeth, as he touched every soft inner surface he could reach. He drew back a moment, just a heartbeat, long enough to gasp for air, his breath mingling moistly with JC's, before angling in again for more. JC pushed against his chest, and Chris strained forward, wanting to touch, to taste---wanting anything of JC he could get.

JC's eyes were dark, almost black. Their breathing rasped harshly in the quiet room, and Chris could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. His whole body thrummed with want, with need. The scent of musk, of arousal, hung thick and strong between them. "No," JC said breathlessly. "Not...not now. They'll be back any minute. Later. Come back later."

Chris worked his hand down between them, palmed the front of JC's jeans. "Only take a minute, I swear," he whispered fiercely. "Wanna suck you...."

JC sucked his lower lip between his teeth, and his eyes slid closed. Chris wanted to crow in triumph, and started to slide down again, only to find himself stopped, as before. JC opened his eyes and looked at him, serious and hungry, then stepped away. "No. Not now, I said. Later, man. After they're all asleep."

Chris opened his mouth, and closed it again. He drew a deep breath, and his head cleared just a little. "Fucking pricktease," he said, without malice.

JC ran a hand over his face, and Chris saw it shake. That made him feel a little better about everything, to know JC was just as affected. "Yeah, well. Pot, kettle." JC took another step away, as if he didn't trust either of them.

Probably wise, Chris thought, because he really wanted to lick the sweat from JC's throat, wanted to slide his hands inside JC's jeans, curl his fingers around his dick. His own throbbed hard at the thought, and Chris adjusted himself, almost afraid even that light touch might send him over.

JC scrubbed at the back of his head, slid his hand down the back of his neck. He looked at Chris from beneath his lashes, and smiled. Oh. Oh, oh, oh—--there it was again, that feeling of his belly taking a dive to his boots, kinda like a rollercoaster ride, good and scary all at the same time. JC's mouth looked red and swollen from kissing, and Chris almost took a step forward, almost reached out for him, but realized JC was right. Not now, when Justin and Lance could barge in at any moment.

"Okay. Okay." Chris straightened his coat, though he sweated heavily, hot all over. He reached for the doorknob, fumbled, and then got it. "Later, then."

JC smiled at him, his eyes full of heat, of promise, and Chris flung himself out the door before he changed his mind. Walking back to his room with his dick so hard he thought it would break off was a joy. As he reached his door, the elevator dinged, and he rushed to get inside his room, before Justin or Lance saw him so turned on, so flustered.

As he closed the door behind him, he heard Justin's goofy laughter and Lance's deep answering chuckle. He pressed his forehead to the cool wood for a moment, then turned and shucked his coat, throwing it on the floor, followed by his sweater, his shirt, and his undershirt. When Joey came out of the bathroom, looking at him curiously, Chris brushed by him and barely got the door closed before his fingers were on his zipper and his hands inside his jeans, jerking off to the thought of JC.

Because he was a master of discretion, Chris managed to avoid looking at JC more than five or six times during dinner. Maybe seven, he amended, but hey, no one noticed, not even Lance, sitting close beside him as always. He poked at Lance with his fork, flicked his odd-shaped ears until Bass punched him, tickled him until he almost choked on soda. He caught JC in a headlock and noogied him until JC squealed like a girl and pinched him hard. The only reason Joey and Justin escaped him was that they were out of reach, and Wesley had started giving him the evil eye for acting out, and so he had to settle down. Out of everyone's sight, JC slid his hand up Chris' thigh and squeezed his leg. Chris felt his blood sing with the promise of sex later.

All in all, a fairly unremarkable dinner. Except for the promise of sex from JC thing. That was new, and Chris figured he could probably get used to that fairly quickly, because hey, he would never turn down sex, and that it was JC offering made it all the sweeter.

After dinner, they ended up in Lance and Justin's room, because the snow had closed down the town, and clubbing was pretty much out of the question. They hooked up the video game player, and he and Justin played, punching and cursing at one another. JC leaned against him, cards in hand as he, Joey, and Lance played some game that Chris paid little attention to, busy whipping Justin's ass in the racing game. He glanced over once at JC's bowed head, the smooth nape of his neck, his long dark lashes, his soft pink mouth, and promptly ran his motorcyclist over a cliff. Justin crowed in triumph, Chris swore loudly, and JC's mouth curved up into a knowing smile, though his attention didn't waver from his game. At least not until Chris jumped Justin and their wrestling match scattered the card game of the others.

After they'd pulled the others into the wrestling, Chris lay on the floor, sweating and breathing heavily, looking up at the ceiling. Beside him lay a softly giggling JC, his long thigh warm against his own. Chris peeled a playing card off his cheek and looked at it---two of hearts---then flicked it across the room, and Joey half-heartedly threw a poker chip at him retaliation.

Chris jumped as he felt JC's fingers slip along his leg—--his eyes widened because surely JC wouldn't grope him in front of all of them---and slid something into his jeans pocket. Chris tipped slightly to his side, and the sharp poke into his hip felt just like rolling over on a set of keys. Key. The extra key to JC's room. JC, who had the single, and had defended it ferociously from Joey, insisting that it was his turn, and he was gonna sleep without someone keeping him up, dammit.

Chris bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. No sleep tonight, if he had anything to do with it, and he certainly did.

He slid his gaze to JC, who turned his head slightly, looking at him from beneath his long lashes, a serene smile curving his wide mouth. He looked oddly feline in that moment, and if he'd had a tail, Chris felt certain the tip of it would be flicking.

And then the thought took flight as Joey flung himself over Chris, kneeing him in the belly, fingers digging into JC's sides, while JC shrieked and fought him off. Chris started to his rescue, because Joey would tickle him almost to the point of JC pissing himself, but found himself with a lap full of Lance, who laughed deep and low, and who had entirely too many hands for one young man.

One in the morning, and the hallways were shadowy and quiet.

Chris closed the door silently to the room he shared with Joey, though he could probably slam it without any problems, because Joey, passed out from too much beer, slept like the dead. He padded down the hallway to JC's single, his bare feet noiseless on the worn carpeting.

The key felt oddly heavy in his hand, and for the tenth time since JC had slipped it into his pocket, he wondered if he really should do it. The first time had been accidental, but this was deliberate, not something that could be brushed off as a drunken mistake. In the back of his mind, potential for problems loomed, but his own loneliness, his desires, his attraction to JC seemed to take up most of his brain. The pros outweighed the cons, as far as Chris was concerned: JC was an adult, knew what he wanted, and could be counted on to keep his mouth shut, because he had just as much to lose as Chris did. Maybe more, because he'd said once that after LA, NSync was his last shot before giving up on performing and going on to college and a more-or-less normal life.

Fuck it. He was over-thinking it. Going with gut instinct---and a hell of a lot of hard work---had gotten him this far in his life, and his gut said to go for it.

Other parts of his anatomy happened to agree with him, and he reached down to adjust himself in his loose sweats. Chris bounced on his toes a couple of times, jingled the key a second or two as he stood before JC's door, then drew a deep breath and inserted the key in the lock. Inside, JC waited, freaky, geeky, sexy Chasez, and the sooner he entered, the sooner the sex could begin.

Hoo, boy.

He closed the door behind him, slid the bolt, and tossed the key to the table before he turned around. Within, the room lay dim and warmer than his own, the only light that from the bedside lamp. He expected to find JC asleep, because he really did sleep a lot, but JC sat propped against the headboard, wrapped in his robe, reading a thick paperback he'd picked up at the airport, a chick book with a bosomy, half-dressed young woman on the front.

The light glanced off the lenses of his glasses as JC looked up over the tops of them. His eyes crinkled a little, and he smiled. "Hey, Chris," he said, and Chris thought he didn't sound at all like the breathless JC who'd kissed him, who'd promised him hot sex earlier that day. He felt oddly disappointed.

"Hey," Chris replied, and shifted from one foot to the other. His toes felt cold, and he curled them into the carpet. "Sorry it's so late. Joey took forever to fall asleep."

JC closed his book and put it on the table. Chris knew from experience that JC would find his place exactly when he next opened it; he never used bookmarks, and never lost his place. He removed his glasses, folded them neatly, and put them into their case before sliding out from beneath the covers, flashing Chris a glimpse of long, muscular legs.

Somehow, Chris had imagined that JC would wear something sexy, or maybe have scented candles or soft romantic music, because he was apparently in his heart a girl, and not-so-secretly loved all that sappy stuff in books and movies. Chris had always found that a bit odd, because JC was also fiercely competitive in sports, and would scream and whoop and play aggressively if he or his teams were playing. But no candles, no romance-y stuff here, just JC and his feline expression. The room had the vague smell of his oceany soap, and the only sound Chris could hear was the clicking of the air vents, and the quick, excited beating of his own heart. JC wore his old ratty blue robe, the one with the frayed cuffs and collar, and the safety pin holding together his pocket. Not sexy at all.

Until he smiled and held out his hand, his expression sweet and warm. Chris' heart gave an extra little flutter, and something inside him went all soft and melty, like chocolate left in a sunny windowsill. It felt strange, but he liked it, and weirdly enough, it took him a moment to even realize that his dick had taken a decided interest, growing hard and thick between his legs.

"Wasting time, man. C'mon."

Chris blinked and recovered his equilibrium, and made a derisive sound. "Like you have appointments to keep." But he grinned and moved forward.

"I'm a busy man," JC replied. "I gave up *sleep* for this, so you'd better not disappoint me."

"I don't disappoint," Chris said, and JC fisted a hand in his loose jersey and tugged him forward.

"That's not what Abby says," JC said with a grin, when he'd pulled Chris up against him. His hands moved up Chris' chest, up his neck, and into his hair, sliding through the dark thickness of it, and Chris shivered.

"Abby's a lying bitch," Chris replied, wrapping his arms around JC's lean waist.

"I've heard that, too," JC replied, and leaned in slowly.

Chris couldn't move even if he'd wanted to, and really, what kind of idiot would refuse a kiss from JC once they'd had the pleasure? JC's pull was magnetic, and Chris leaned in, tipped back his head, offering his mouth, which already felt hot and tingly, just from anticipation.

JC's mouth brushed across his in a slight, almost-there touch, and it was like a tiny electrical charge passed between them. Chris started slightly, then JC's mouth covered his completely, lips so soft, so warm, and Chris opened for him eagerly. Oh, fucking good, the teasing stroke of his tongue, the press of his lips, and Chris, who'd always liked to be in charge of sexy stuff, let JC direct the kiss, to take him where he would.

A sound of pleasure rumbled from deep within JC's throat as he welcomed Chris' tongue inside his mouth, sucking hungrily on it, and Chris loved it. It was so good to taste him again, and even though JC had kissed him thoroughly, hot and sweet, that very afternoon, it felt as if it had been a lifetime, forever ago. JC's arms, far stronger than they looked, slid around Chris' waist, holding him so closely Chris found it hard to catch a breath.

Breathing was way overrated, Chris decided, and felt himself tumble downward into heat and passion. In that moment, all he cared about was that he finally, finally got to touch JC, to slide a thigh between his and rock against him. Chris shifted against him, the movement incredibly arousing, and almost painful, given the fullness, the hardness of his dick pressing against JC's bony hip.

Chris wasn't quite sure when JC's hands crept beneath the jersey he wore, but they moved over his ribs, stroking gently, making him shiver in delight. Then they tracked down over the sharp ridge of hipbone, burrowing beneath the elastic of his sweatpants, to cup his asscheeks, and squeeze firmly. Chris clung to him, hungry and desperate, until they both were nearly gasping for air before pulling back from JC, and just enough to pull in a few ragged breaths before he went for JC's mouth again.

He loved the way JC squeezed and kneaded his ass, knowing just how firm a touch he needed. JC grew bolder, and slid his fingers up and down the cleft between his cheeks, teasing him, fingertips skating lightly over his opening, then returning for a firmer touch before moving away again. Chris wanted to howl in frustration, to press himself into that quick touch, but JC moved his fingers away whenever Chris tried.

Fair enough, Chris thought, two can play at this game, and unwrapped one arm to reach down and cup JC's dick, squeezing playfully, then stroking him through the soft flannel robe. So hard, so hot, and Chris found himself scrabbling at the front of JC's robe, fingers reaching in wantonly, wanting to touch what he'd only felt though layers of fabric. JC squeezed his ass again, and slid his hands out of Chris' sweats, stepping back slightly, twisting his hips away from Chris' questing hand.

Gasping, Chris opened his eyes. A flush had crept across JC's sharp cheekbones, and his eyes were soft and dark. He looked like a man who hadn't had a decent meal in a very long time, and had suddenly been given whatever he wanted. Their breathing sounded harsh in the quiet, and Chris could smell their sweat and musk strongly. Hunger and need zipped through his body, and he wanted JC so much he ached with the strength of it. Chris reached for the tie on JC's robe, but JC pushed his hands away.

JC pulled on the hem of Chris' jersey, and Chris eagerly raised his arms to make it easier for him to strip it off. JC let it fall to the floor, and Chris watched as the tip of JC's tongue flicked out and ran over his wide, soft mouth as he looked at Chris. Chris wanted to capture it, suck on it, feel it slip along his own again. He shivered, his nipples drawing up tight and hard, from the heaviness of JC's gaze, almost as if JC had reached out and touched him, and he arched into it.

JC hummed in approval. He leaned in again, and brushed a kiss across Chris' mouth. Chris made a soft, hungry sound, but then the light touch disappeared. He started to swear, to grab JC and pull him in and end the fucking teasing, but JC pushed his hands aside and laughed, the bastard, saying, "And who's making who crazy now?"

"I swear to God, C, if you don't let me touch you, or fuckin' touch me, I'm gonna rip off your dick and...."

"You're such a sweet talker," JC interrupted with a grin, and his hands moved down to smooth over Chris' waist before pushing the sweatpants down over his hips. Chris was so thin the pants simply fell to the floor, and gratefully he stepped out of them, kicking them away. Finally. Now they were getting somewhere, and he reached once more for the tie to JC's robe, only to have JC push his hands away yet again, put his own hands on Chris' shoulders, and press him down to sit on the side of the bed.

When JC stepped between his open thighs, looking down at him with a heated promise that thrilled him, Chris said, "Well, *finally* we're getting somewhere...."

"You're so impatient," JC said, as Chris ran his hands over the soft flannel robe covering his thighs. "You need to slow down and enjoy things more. I'm not running away from you."

JC's thighs flexed beneath his hands, and Chris pressed his face to JC's groin, and inhaled deeply. Musk, and man, and sex. So good. He rubbed his cheek over JC's dick, as hard as his own, hidden beneath the cloth, his reward a soft, pleased sound.

"I just wanna get to the good stuff," Chris murmured, one hand sliding beneath the robe, up JC's taut thigh, over warm, lightly-furred skin.

JC's fingers slid beneath Chris' chin, and Chris let him tip his face upward. JC smiled down at him. "Chris, this is the good stuff. All of it. It's all good, man. Don't hurry it so much."

"Can't help it," Chris replied, and smiled as his fingers closed around JC's dick beneath his robe. Hot, smooth, thick, perfect in his hand. He stroked upward to the tip, which was already damp, a light stroke, then a firmer one, squeezing gently. He wanted suddenly to please JC, to make him feel good, to feel as special as he was. JC's eyes slid closed, and his mouth parted as he drew in a deep breath. "Want you so much, C. C'mon, let me."

JC's thumb slid over Chris' jawbone, rubbed against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. He opened his eyes---such blue, blue eyes, Chris thought---and smiled before pulling his hand away. Chris kept up the stroking, and his own dick throbbed, hard and full, between his legs. He ached for touch, but kept one hand on JC's dick and the other on his muscled thigh, unwilling to let him go even to ease the need that boiled inside him.

A moment later, JC's robe slithered to the ground in a puddle of soft material. The bedside lamp shone golden on his pale skin, highlighting and shadowing the leanness of his body. A woman's body held a certain sweet, soft charm, but the hard lines and angles of a man's body made him just as hungry, if in a darker, more intense way, and it had been so long, he craved the difference. "Fucking beautiful, Jayce," he murmured, and then realized that it wasn't just any man's body he wanted, but JC's.

JC slipped his hands into Chris' hair, stroking gently, then his fingers curled around the back of Chris' neck, firm and strong, urging him forward just a little. His face was flushed, eyes dark and intent, wide mouth pink and a little swollen.

"Earlier," JC said softly, "you wanted to suck me. Do it now."

The back of his neck prickled beneath the strength of JC's hand, and Chris couldn't control the shudder that rolled through him, over him. The prickling, heavy and hot and electrical, slipped down his spine, tingled over his skin, settled as throbbing heat between his legs. Sweat broke out on his forehead, his throat, his chest. JC wanted him to suck? Oh, yeah. He could do that.

JC stood between his knees, legs spread a little for balance, completely unashamed of his nakedness, but then he didn't have to be, Chris thought. It would be so easy to be jealous because JC had a fucking beautiful body---all lean, spare lines, muscles tight beneath taut pale skin that Chris wanted to lick for days. So soft, too, as fine-grained as any girl's; his fingertips skimmed lightly over the line of JC's waist, before curving over his hips, thumbs smoothing over the hollows of his hips. But JC could never be mistaken for a girl; his dick jutted out aggressively from his body, without an upward curve like his own, straightforward in its need, a need Chris shared.

Chris slid his tongue out to catch the droplet of moisture that had beaded up on the tip of JC's dick, proof of his excitement, and his own throbbed hard between his legs when he curled his tongue back into his mouth, tasting, savoring JC's flavor. Heady, bitter, male. He heard a soft, needy moan, but wasn't really sure which of them made it. Didn't matter.

He shifted a little closer, encouraged by JC's hand on the back of his neck, sliding his hands up JC's legs to cup his hard, muscular ass and urge him a little closer. Chris flicked his tongue out for another taste before he took JC into his mouth.

JC moaned hoarsely and swore softly, and Chris smiled around his mouthful, thinking, I'll teach you to tease, you prick, before he slid slowly down JC's length, relaxing his throat, taking him in as deeply as he could. JC's fingers tightened on the back of his neck, firm but not painful, encouraging but not bullying. God, it felt so good to suck him, to swirl his tongue along the underside of JC's dick as he pulled back slowly. So good to take him deep, deep inside his throat as he slid back downward, further and further, finally burying his nose in the short-clipped curls at the base of his dick.

JC's hips twitched in Chris' hands, and Chris could feel his need to thrust, fiercely controlled to keep from gagging him again. His dick shone wetly with spit and his own juices, fiercely red, as Chris pulled back slowly. He could taste the fluid that welled up so quickly as JC grew more excited, and he suckled the tip of his cock on as he pulled away. JC's legs shook, a fine tremor, and Chris wrapped his hands around his thighs as he leaned in closer.

He licked over JC's thigh, nuzzled into his groin, where his scent rose, strong and arousing. JC's balls had drawn up, tight, close to his body, and Chris turned his head, licked and mouthed each one before taking JC's dick back inside with a low, happy moan. His tongue rubbed at the thick vein on the underside of his cock, as he sucked him deeper. Chris took a deep breath and relaxed his throat, taking in JC as deeply as he could.

At that moment, with JC's dick in his mouth, Chris decided the world was a good, happy place. He loved sucking JC's dick; loved hearing the quiet grunts and growls he made, the tiny thrusts of his hips, held tightly in Chris' hands. He loved the smooth skin, the fat plum-like head nudging against the back of his throat, the bitter sharp flavor, the ache in his jaw from taking him. Not long, now, before he came, and Chris wanted it, wanted to taste it, to let it fill his mouth, slip down his chin, and know he'd made JC feel as if he were at the top of the world. He wanted to let it slide down his throat, to rub it into his skin, to feel it on him and within him.

"Wait...wait...stop," JC panted, and his hands moved from Chris' hair, from the back of his neck, to curl over his shoulders and push. "I'm gonna come if you don't...."

Chris' fingers tightened on JC a moment, unwilling to give up what he had, but then he allowed JC to push him back. He licked at JC's dick as it slid from his mouth, wanting to keep the taste of him on his tongue. His mouth felt hot and swollen and used, and a thrill of pleasure snaked down his body, made his own dick throb painfully.

Before him, JC swayed a little on his feet, flushed and sweaty, his dick hard and slick and purplish, looking well-sucked, ready to burst. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his eyes closed, long dark lashes laying on his red cheeks. His hands kneaded Chris' shoulders as he fought for control of himself.

And I did that, Chris thought to himself, pleased almost beyond words. I did that, made him look that way, made him feel that way. He felt strong and powerful, generous and giving. He leaned in and pressed his sticky lips to JC's thigh.

"More," he said softly. "It's not enough. I want more."

JC's eyes fluttered open, dark and soft and velvety. "What do you want?"

Chris simply had to touch, and ran his hands over JC's hips, smoothing over soft skin. "Anything. Everything."

JC reached down and pushed the thick hair from Chris' face, his touch gentle. "Anything and everything? I think I can work with that."

Chris pressed a kiss to the sharp wing of JC's hip. He rubbed his cheek against it, and smiled up at JC. "I may look like an international man of mystery, but really, dude? I'm kinda vanilla."

JC's shaky laugh made him grin hugely, and he slid himself back onto the bed. He settled against the pillows, pulling one behind his head, and let JC look at him as much as he wished: short, bowed legs, lack of defined muscle, crooked teeth and round, boyish face. He'd never been blind to his deficits---and next to JC's sharp, lean beauty, they were legion---but the way JC studied him, eyes dark and hungry, somehow made them less than what they were. As if they didn't matter, as if maybe JC didn't even see them. Which was stupid, because JC had seen them daily for the better part of a year.

"Nothing wrong with vanilla," JC said, and climbed onto the bed, crawling on hands and knees toward him, somehow feline, predatory. Oh, hell. Excitement zinged through Chris, bouncing around in his blood, careening off every nerve. He wriggled in anticipation, unable to hold still. Curving up toward his belly, his dick throbbed in time to the crazy beat of his heart, and he spread his legs widely for JC to settle between them, over him. "Sexy Chris," JC said with a smile. "Want you so much."

He almost bit his tongue to keep from making a smart, self-depreciating remark, because in spite of common belief, he wasn't stupid; if someone like JC thought he was sexy, he wasn't going to argue. He was gonna get laid, and if the gleam in JC's eye, the flush in his angular cheeks were any indications, it was gonna be really good.

JC held himself above Chris, and his dick lay hot and moist in the crease of Chris' groin. Chris slid his hands up JC's arms, over the taut wiry muscles, wrapped his own arms around JC's neck and pulled him down on top of him. JC hummed in his ear, and nuzzled against his throat, mouth soft, his tongue wet and warm on his skin. Chris slipped his fingers through JC's short-cropped hair, thick like the fur of an animal, his fingertips stroking over the hair at the nape of his neck. JC let out a little sound of pleasure, and Chris smiled. JC's mouth teasing over his neck felt damned good, and when JC licked and laid a line of gentle, sucking kisses up to his ear, Chris shuddered and wrapped his legs around JC's hips, rocking up against him. "C'mon, C, I want it," Chris said, suddenly breathless. "C'mon. Fuck me."

Slowly, JC lowered himself onto Chris, and rolled them to their sides, Chris's legs locked tightly around him. Chris let out a sound of protest; he hadn't minded JC's weight on him, heavy and warm, but decided this was all right, and when JC's hand stroked down his back and cupped his ass, figured it was better than all right, passing that and going straight into damn good.

Chris pressed himself against JC, close enough he could feel his heart beat against his own. He laid a line of kisses from JC's ear to his soft, wide mouth, and JC opened eagerly for him. His mouth was so hot, Chris almost felt as if he was being burned alive, and he welcomed it. Both hands slipped through the short pelt of his hair and held him tightly in place while he explored the depths of his mouth. Chris could no more stop the thrust of his hips against JC than he could stop the waves of the ocean. JC's hips rocked against his, seeking the heat of his dick, the pressure, the rub that felt so good.

When JC squeezed and kneaded his ass---and yes, Chris had to admit, he had a hell of a fine ass, very squeeze-worthy---Chris make a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, and pushed back against the stroke of his hands. Chris released his mouth, only to give him quick, soft kisses on it, to nibbling at it, then sucking on his lower lip, soft and sweet.

He shifted enough to suck and bite on the soft skin beneath JC's chin, a tender, often-forgotten place, then licked over his throat, sucking on his Adam's apple. JC's hips rocked more strongly against him, his erection firm and hot. Chris ran a hand over JC's chest, feeling the muscles tense and flex. He flicked his thumb over a stiff nipple, and JC made a soft, growly sound of pleasure, so he did it again, and licked over the arch of collarbone, nipped at the thin, tender skin there.

JC really liked that, if his soft, "oh, fuck, yeah," was any indication. He rolled Chris to his back, hips moving steadily against him. Chris didn't need any more hints; he held on with his legs, ducked his head, and licked over first one nipple, then the other, hard little points under his tongue. The accidental scrape of teeth brought another long, low moan, and Chris thought, oh, yeah, I've got it now, got your ticket, before licking over JC's smooth chest, picking a spot between a stiff little nipple and his armpit, and biting down.

"Fucking *hell,*" JC gritted, and his arms tightened so much around him that Chris' ribs creaked and he squeaked, a distinctly unsexy sound. JC's hips ground hard against him, and for a moment he thought JC would come, but evidently the gods of boy on boy sex were smiling down on him, because he didn't. Chris knew if he were that turned on, he would've splattered all over them both by now, and had to admire JC's stamina. "Now now now now..." JC rasped. "Gotta...now...."

JC unwound one arm from Chris, and Chris took a deep breath as JC reached behind him, scrabbling under the pillow. From the corner of his eye, he saw JC fish out a condom and lube. Hallelujah, *finally* he was gonna get laid. About fucking time---he was beginning to think he'd have grey hair before it actually happened.

Chris grinned. "Bet you were a boy scout," he said, and pressed a kiss to JC's shoulder.

JC drew in a deep breath and blew it out. The tension that practically sang through his body eased a little, and some of the strain drained from his expression. "Yeah. Eagle Scout," JC replied. The corner of his mouth crooked in a half-smile. "But they didn't give out badges for my best work there."

"I'd give a hundred bucks to see the merit badge for blowjobs." Chris unclamped his legs from around JC's hips and peeled himself away, relaxing back onto the sheets. His blood pulsed in his head, thrummed throughout his body, tingling. He raised a leg and put his foot on JC's chest, his toes rubbing over the bite mark he'd left as JC sat back on his haunches. JC's eyes darkened again, and Chris smiled at him, satisfied that things were finally where he wanted them.

JC popped the cap on the lube and squirted some out on his fingers. "Been awhile?"

Chris hummed under his breath, a happy sound. "Yeah. Since we all got together. Just girls lately. Nothing wrong with that, but unless you can talk them into using a strap on, not really the same, y'know?"

JC laughed, and dropped the lube onto the mattress. He wrapped his unlubed fingers around Chris' ankle and propped it on his shoulder, and Chris eagerly pulled his other leg up, opening himself, giving JC plenty of room to work. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his dick, the first time he had touched himself since JC had stripped him. He hissed and arched as he stroked himself, foreskin flowing easily in his hand, the tip already peeking out, red and wet.

Leaning in, JC looked down at him, his eyes dark and hot. "God, that's sexy. Sometime...I wanna watch you just jerk off." He shifted, and his hand slid between Chris' legs, slipping down until his slick fingers rubbed lightly against Chris' opening. Chris arched again, his toes curling in anticipation.

And then one finger pressed inside, a quick startling burn before a sweet slide deep within. Chris' eyes closed and he bit his lower lip as he concentrated on relaxing his muscles; it had been a long time. Long slow thrusts, sweet and deep, and he loved it. A moment later, he heard JC hum in pleasure and then he pushed two fingers in. More of a burn, but it felt so good. Intense. Two sliding in, pressing and searching, filling him. He felt JC's weight shift on the bed, and then the angle of JC's thrusts changed, and just...wow. Fireworks. Chris jerked roughly and gasped, because, oh yeah, right there, right there, just don't stop.

He didn't realize he wasn't quiet until he heard his own voice crooning happily, "good, good, so good," and "more, need more." Heat flushed up his throat and into his cheeks, but damn, he felt so good he couldn't bother to be embarrassed. He opened his eyes and saw JC watching himself fuck his fingers in and out of Chris' body with intense concentration. JC's eyes, heavy and dark with want, flashed up to his face. Sweat beaded his forehead, trickled down one cheek.

"C'mon," Chris said softly. "Now."

JC slid his fingers from Chris' body, and he had time to miss the stretch, the feeling of fullness as JC wiped his hand on the sheet and picked up the condom. He ripped the package open with his teeth, and held the rubber out to Chris. "Put it on me." His eyes gleamed, and he bit his lower lip, white, white teeth sinking into his red lip.

Chris pulled his legs back down and rocked up onto his knees. He plucked the condom from JC's fingers, then put one hand on JC's shoulder, leaned up, and kissed him. JC's mouth was soft, and opened willingly for him. When he pulled away, JC smiled at him, and that warm and sweet melty feeling uncurled in Chris' chest. A little too warm---even though most of his blood had dropped into his dick, enough remained elsewhere that he felt his cheeks grow hot.

He felt suddenly exposed in spite of his nakedness, and ducked his head, hair sliding down to hide his eyes, and reached for JC. JC's body jerked when Chris' hand closed around him, then he let out a shuddering sigh when Chris smoothed the condom down over his dick, giving it a little squeeze. Chris tilted his head and kissed his mouth again quickly, then lay back on the bed, eager and hungry for him.

JC's hands eased his thighs apart, and he pressed kisses to each one, then leaned in and licked up the length of Chris' dick. Chris shuddered beneath him, sighed when JC mouthed his belly, arched when JC sucked gently on his nipples until they beaded up hard and achy. He murmured, "please, please," when JC kissed his neck, breath rasping fast and hard against his skin. He wrapped a hand over one of JC's shoulders, and the other slid up the nape of JC's long neck as JC's mouth moved over his throat, sharp sucking kisses that made his belly clench hard with need.

And then the quick slice of pain, the half-second thought of oh fuck, I can't do this as JC pushed in, hot and long and thick. Too big, Chris thought, too much stretch, too much everything. He thrashed beneath JC, a high, keening cry escaping him, and JC murmured something low and soft, something sweet-sounding, arms sliding around him, holding him close. Two ragged breaths, a third, and then the burning slipped past his awareness; sensation bloomed into oh, so full as JC came to rest completely against him, buried deep.

Sweat slicked Chris' forehead, his chest, his belly, and his arms and legs trembled with tension. JC hummed into his ear, a sound both comforting and familiar, and it helped him to relax, because, hey, it was just JC, goofy, geeky JC, one of four others he trusted as he did no one else. JC, who'd turned out to be more than what he'd expected. Chris wrapped his legs around JC's waist, because the oh hell, too much shifted into mmhm, just right. His own erection had faded as JC pushed in, but it didn't worry him; he'd get hard again soon enough. He let his hips roll against JC, encouraging him to move, and when JC did, his body flexing smoothly, things went from good to really fucking great.

JC set the pace, slow, languid, and Chris could feel the tremors racing through his lean body as JC worked to keep it easy, to give him time to adjust. Chris appreciated it, loved that JC wasn't inconsiderate because he'd been with guys who weren't and it had sucked in a very bad way. Chris heard JC talking, a soft murmur, but it didn't really matter what he said; Chris caught the occasional "fuck" and "want you" along with his name. JC scattered sloppy kisses over his shoulders and neck, sometimes sucking, sometimes licking, and Chris grew hard again against JC's sweat-slick belly. Although it felt damn good, it didn't take long before easy and gentle wasn't quite enough and his body demanded more.

"Harder," he whispered, "I won't break, man."

JC tucked his face into Chris' shoulder for a moment, forehead hot and sweaty, his breath warm and moist against his skin, and Chris stroked the nape of his neck. Then JC raised himself up on his arms and his hips drove hard against him, and Chris knew from that moment he'd never be able to see JC do those thrusts onstage without popping a massive boner, because oh fuck, it was incredible. Although he didn't look it, JC had surprising strength in his lean body, and his thrusts, heavy, powerful, scooted them both across the mattress. Chris unwrapped his arms from around JC's shoulders and flung them out, catching hold of the sheets to help hold them in place, and when that didn't work, raised them up over his head and braced his hands against the headboard.

Better, better, because he had leverage, and could move against JC, drive himself onto him. Chris couldn't help the needy sounds that escaped him, the moans of pleasure as JC thrust and twisted against him, seemingly determined to fuck him through the wall and into the room next door. And this was what Chris had missed, what he had craved, what he had needed. He loved being with women, but loved more matching his strength against an equal strength, an equal passion. And this, with JC was good on a lot of levels---passion, heat, trust.

It was *really* good.

Above him, JC moved steadily, soft, swollen mouth slightly parted with his harsh breathing, little grunts punctuating each thrust into him. His eyes were dark and unfocused, and he almost shone, almost glowed with passion and lust, as if lit from within. Sweat slipped down his throat, and Chris curled up to lick at it, tasting salt and heat and JC. His mouth skidded wetly over JC's throat, to his shoulder, and helpless to resist, Chris licked, then bit down, hard.

JC gave a long, low cry, and came, pressing so deeply into him with a slamming, twisting grind of his hips that Chris saw fireworks explode in bright colors behind his eyelids. Two more thrusts, and JC stilled, and collapsed atop him. Chris could feel the radiating heat of his body, the way his sweat-slick belly slipped across Chris' own, the scent of him, strong and heady and masculine. He slid his hands over JC's shoulders and down his back, his fingers bumping over the ridges in JC's spine, until he could cup his small tight ass in his hands.

JC's dick twitched within him, and with a moan, JC levered himself up off Chris' body and pulled out. Chris gritted his teeth against the spasm that followed, the achy sense of emptiness, and as JC rolled off him to dump the condom in the trash, Chris reached for himself, so hard he hurt, needing to finish it. It wouldn't take much.

When JC turned back, he pushed Chris' hands away. "Wait," he said, still half breathless. "Wanna do this for you, okay?"

Chris had absolutely no problems with that. He lay back and opened his legs to let JC lie between them. He pulled a pillow under his head, propping himself up so he could watch, because really, it would be stupid to pass up an opportunity that might not come around again.

Flushed and still breathing hard, JC smiled up at him, eyes dark and soft and happy. He turned his head and licked up Chris' thigh, then wrapped his hand around the base of Chris' dick. Opening his mouth, he leaned in, and Chris gasped as JC sucked him in, curling his tongue around the head of Chris' dick, flicking it against the sweet place just below it. JC's mouth was at that moment the best place in the universe, and Chris' whole existence narrowed down to his hot red flesh sliding deeper between JC's lips.

Unable to keep still, his hands scrabbled from their grip on the pillow and fluttered down to rest on JC's head. He didn't pull or push, afraid that it would make JC stop, but he had to touch, somehow, somewhere, and JC's short hair felt silky beneath his fingertips. JC looked up at him, blue eyes laughing, and he smiled around Chris' dick, still in his mouth. Chris bit his lip hard to keep from coming that very second, because he'd although he'd imagined this a dozen times, his imagination didn't begin to compare to the reality of it.

And then JC began to work in earnest. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked harder, took Chris in deeper. JC's hand around the base of his dick stroked steadily, and his other hand fumbled with something out of Chris' sight, but most of Chris' attention had been taken by the sight, the feel, the wet, lewd sounds of JC sucking him.

JC didn't tease or waste time, but just got right to it, bless him, because Chris was ready to die from frustration. The pace he set was quick, relentless, with quick corkscrewing twists of his hand and mouth that made him gasp and pant in pleasure. Chris wanted to praise the goodness of JC's mouth, his skill in sucking dick, but all the words in his head didn't make it out intact, just emerged as grunts and gasps and keening sounds; Chris figured JC understood anyway. Chris' toes began to curl, and he couldn't stop the little thrusts of his hips, because it was just so hot, so tight, so perfect.

Then the slick fingers of JC's other hand nudged behind his tightly-drawn up balls, slid against his opening, and pushed in, deep. Chris jerked his hands away from JC's ears to keep from pulling them off as he arched, hips fucking high before pushing down hard on JC's thrusting fingers. So full, so deep, filling him up, and JC's mouth sucking him, tongue and lips just this side of heaven.

JC crooked his fingers, hitting something wonderful inside him, and Chris fisted the sheets, howled, and came hard, bright sparkles of color exploding inside his head. It felt as if he came forever, and when he finally collapsed back into the mattress, sweating and trembling, his body thrumming, nerves singing odes to JC's skill, breath coming in deep harsh gasps, he thought he'd probably lost a gallon of spunk and most of his brain cells.

Chris shuddered as JC's mouth pulled off him, as he pulled his fingers out. Sore, sore, he thought, but it was worth every damn protesting muscle. He slitted his eyes half open as he felt JC pull away, sit back on his heels between his wide-spread thighs. JC wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and the knowledge that it was his come on JC's tongue, his lips, made his belly clench.

JC's eyes crinkled. "You okay, man?"

"Oh, yeah," Chris said, though his words sounded far away even inside his own head. Weariness poured over him, muting the happy singing of his body. "Fuckin' A," he said, and fell asleep to JC stroking his thighs.

Two hours later, Chris lay on his belly, hips propped up by a pillow, legs spread wide, JC's hands pinning his wrists to the bed, howling in pleasure as JC drove into him, hard and relentless. JC's weight pinned him, and he couldn't move very well, his dick pushed into the pillow, but it didn't matter, because even held down, he seemed to soar. JC lowered himself onto Chris' back, hips grinding against him, skin hot and slick against his. Over his own cries, he could hear JC panted, "fuck, yeah," and "Chris, Chris," and his orgasm slammed into him, through him, tumbling him over him like a wave, and dimly, through the gasping pleasure, he felt JC come also. A few moments later, JC levered off him, pulled out, and exhausted, Chris slipped into sleep, JC hot and wet and bony, curled tightly against him.

And even later, as dawn slipped around the edges of the curtains, weak and pale, Chris woke up, slipped out from beneath the tangle of JC's long arms and legs, and levered himself to the edge of the bed. He hissed and shifted his weight to one hip, because sitting---not a particularly good idea. His head felt fuzzy and heavy with exhaustion, and his legs felt as if they'd been hollowed out and filled with lead, but his body seemed to thrum with energy.

With a soft "mmm," JC, still asleep, curled into the place he'd been. Dark smudges stood out on his pale skin beneath his eyes, and Chris figured he had matching dark circles. They hardly had time to rest, and logically, he knew they probably should've been sleeping instead of fucking, because today was another ball-buster of a day, as they all were. But logic had very little to do with anything when his dick was involved; he'd come to that realization about himself pretty early on. And who would be stupid enough to pass up a chance at sex with JC? Not him, no.

Pretty, Chris thought absently as he ran a light thumb over JC's sharp cheekbone, just beneath the long, long lashes. He shouldn't be, not really, not with his huge nose, but somehow everything worked together, and so he was. Chris slipped his hand through JC's short, rumpled hair, and it tried to curl around his fingers. He wished he'd had the nerve to do it before Lou had insisted JC cut his hair; it had always looked so very soft.

JC let out a little breathy sigh, and arched into his touch. He liked to be petted, and almost purred with pleasure when anyone did, but the only ones who did touch him with any regularity were Joey and Justin. Particularly Joey, who would cuddle and stroke anyone within reach; with them, it wasn't sexual, but simply tactile---Joey was freakily affectionate, had no sense of personal boundaries, and loved to touch. Lance didn't pet JC, not often, and after having seen him kiss JC so hungrily, Chris suspected he didn't because he was afraid he'd not be able to stop once he started. Chris could understand that very well.

Chris smoothed his fingers over JC's shoulder, over the bite he'd put there, already bruised. JC shivered in his sleep. Freaky Chasez, Chris thought affectionately. A guy who loved to fuck and didn't, not often, preferring to stay in and sleep, and who jerked off more than Chris thought humanly possible. He had a story, probably a very interesting one, but Chris knew that unless JC chose to share it, nothing short of truth serum and torture would get it out of him, because JC, for all his friendliness, was one of the most secretive bastards he'd ever known.

Still, he was very curious, and a curious Kirkpatrick always found out secrets eventually.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to JC's soft, slack mouth, and JC's lips moved gently beneath his own. Although he'd love another round, it was way too late, and his ass ached a lot, anyway. He needed to get back to his room, and catch a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep before practice, a photo shoot, and a show.

Running his hands through his hair, he stood and stretched, winced at the pull of muscles not used lately, and hunted around for his clothes. As he pulled on his sweatpants and jersey, JC shifted slightly, yawned, and blinked at him.

"Goin', man?" His voice sounded heavy, thick with sleep. Getting a complete sentence---even a short one---out of a sleepy JC was little short of remarkable.

"Yeah. Late. Early. Whatever." Chris hunted around for shoes, then remembered he'd shown up barefooted.

"Could sleep here," JC said, and pulled the cover up over his bare shoulder. "Warm."

Tempting. Really tempting. For a second, Chris' fingers plucked at the hem of his shirt, and he almost stripped it off again and climbed into the bed with JC.

"S'okay, Chris," JC said, and shifted onto his back, eyes half open, the side of his face reddened where he'd slept on his palm. His wide mouth curved upward at the corners a little, and it was such a sweet little smile that Chris felt something turn over in his chest.

His eyes widened, and the realization hit him like a truckload of bricks. Oh, fuck. Oh, no. Not that. His heart rabbitted, and he swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He didn't have time for that, he wasn't good at it, he'd fuck it up, and he couldn't bear it if JC hated him because of it. JC deserved a lot better.

"Jayce, I....oh, hell, I...." His hands knotted in his jersey, and the urge to run, to get the hell away before he really screwed things up was almost overwhelming.

JC blinked up at him, and then reached up and folded his hand over Chris' clenched fist. "Everyone else," he said, his voice sleep-roughened, "only sees what you want them to see, but with us, you show everything in your face."

Fucking hell—no way to back out of it now, that JC had seen it; he really couldn't hide anything from them, particularly from JC, who had reading him down to an art. "I'll screw it up. I'll mess up all of us. I'm not good at stuff like this...." He hated the high, breathy panic in his voice, and shut up abruptly before he could say anything else to prove what an idiot he was.

Looking suddenly wide awake, JC levered himself out of bed and sat on the side, and Chris could almost feel the heat of his naked body, and could smell sweat and sex, and *them* on his skin. He almost bolted, only JC's gentle touch on his hand holding him in place, and that was another surprise, because normally, he couldn't bear to be confined in any way.

"We've been together a long time already, and it's been good," JC said softly. "Nothing you've done has made me like you any less. This is just like...a good development on something we've had for awhile."

"It'll be weird."

"Doesn't have to be weird," JC said. His eyes were very dark in the pale light. "Only if you make it that way."

"I'm so fucking tired," Chris said, and hell, where had *that* come from? He felt heat rush up into his face, and started to pull away, to leave, because really, why stand here and make a total idiot of himself?

"I know," JC said softly. He tugged on Chris' hand gently, and Chris' knees suddenly felt watery, unable to hold him, unable to let him run away, and he sank down to the rough carpet, kneeling between JC' long legs.

Chris pressed his hot face to JC's neck. "I can't be tired. I can't be weak. Have to be strong, be responsible for everyone." His arms slid around JC, and his fingers pressed into his warm flesh. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and JC's scent filled him, comforted him somehow.

JC's arms slid around him, pulled him closer. "You're not weak," he murmured against Chris' hair. "You're already strong, stronger than the rest of us. Let this happen. It can only make us better."

Chris tipped back his head, and JC turned his, and then they were kissing. Not the fierce, hungry kisses of before, but something soft, something sweet. JC's mouth was sleep-stale, but still he liked it, liked the warmth, the slick slide of JC's tongue against his own, liked the way JC's fingers curled around the back of his neck, petting, then slid up into his hair, tugging a little. He hummed into Chris' mouth, a deep, happy sound, before pulling away. "C'mon back to bed," he said softly, and Chris nodded and slid into bed, JC rolling in next to him and pulling the covers up over the both of them.

For a moment Chris lay there, rigid with the thoughts circling in his head, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes open so wide it hurt, but JC curled around him, slid a hand beneath his jersey, and stroked his belly until it stopped clenching. His breath was warm and moist on Chris' cheek. When Chris began to relax, JC whispered, "It was always you. From the first time I saw you, it was always you."

"I think...maybe I'm not as smart as I think I am," Chris confessed after a moment.

JC chuffed a laugh against Chris' hair. "That's okay. I'm smart enough for both of us."

Chris laughed, and figured that just maybe, JC might be right.

He was going to die of exhaustion. He was way too old for this shit. Marc hated him, the sadistic bastard. His ass hurt.

Well, that last one wasn't too bad, really. Weirdly, it felt pretty good, in an achy, wanna be filled up again really pretty soon way. I'm just a freak, Chris thought as he lay on the cool studio floor, his sweaty clothes clinging clammily to him, the muscles in his legs burning as if on fire. But every twinge, every ache, every sore muscle had been so worth it.

Chris heard JC's laugh, and opened his eyes, turning his head. Halfway across the studio, JC walked on his hands, long legs high up in the air. Laughing, Joey slipped around him, poking him in the belly, where JC's tee shirt, dark with sweat, fell down over his face, exposing his flat belly.

I know what that skin tastes like, Chris thought idly. I know what it feels like rubbing against my own belly. Heat curled lazily downward, and he jerked his thoughts away from that line of thought, because popping a boner in front of these clowns? Nah, he'd rather be slow roasted in hell than to endure their catcalls and teasing. Not that it wouldn't be justified, he admitted; he'd done more than his fair share of teasing them when they had sudden erections, particularly Justin, who was still embarrassed by it.

JC finally lost his balance and rolled into a sommersault, gaining his feet with a fluid ease that Chris envied. He laughed and danced away from Joey's teasing fingers, and Joey swatted at him one last time before giving up, evidently too tired to chase him.

Joey walked across the room, and with a huff, sprawled beside Chris. He dropped his towel, wet and rank with his sweat, across Chris' face, and Chris cursed and pushed it away, too tired to retaliate.

"Hey, little man," Joey said, and offered Chris his bottle of water. Chris waved it away.

"You forget, Fatone, I've seen you naked. No room to talk, dude."

Joey's grin was almost blinding, and his brown eyes shone with amusement. "Nah. I'll have you know my cock is a thing of beauty and a joy forever---well, at least an hour's worth of joy." He poked at Chris' head when Chris let out a disbelieving snort, and Chris slapped at his hand, but missed when Joey snatched it back. "So. Tired?"

"Maybe," Chris said, and knew even saying that much was tantamount to admitting exhaustion. He waved a hand to their two youngest bandmates, standing together beside the windows, in a weak pale pool of winter sunlight. "Damn teenagers. Don't know enough to rest when they get a chance."

Across the room, Justin and Lance worked together. Like JC, Justin was all smooth moves, all liquid hips, sensuality in motion. Sex on legs, Joey had once said, half admiringly and half not, and Chris had agreed with him. Justin knew how to work what he had to his best advantage, and had no qualms about using his sex appeal in his performances. While he was as goofy and geeky as JC, and most of the time as rowdy as Chris himself, Justin was at the core a sexual creature. Chris really hoped Lynn hung around longer, because she kept Justin under a very tight rein. He dreaded the time when Justin could cut loose because he suspected Justin would go wild when he could; Justin loved girls, watched them and talked about them constantly. The girls were all too willing and eager now, and only careful guarding kept Justin away from them and the possibility of the clap or worse.

Justin's lithe body moved in a sinuous body roll a belly dancer would've been envious of, and Lance watched, fine dark brows knitted in concentration, then attempted to duplicate it. They'd done the movement dozens of times on stage, and Lance had gotten better at it, but he still had a hesitancy, as if he really didn't trust his own body to move in that way, and that made it look more awkward than sexy.

Beside him, Joey made a thoughtful sound. "Don't know he'll ever get it, but he tries really hard, gotta give him that."

Chris hummed in agreement. Joey himself was very good at it, though not as smooth as JC or Justin; he had a vivid animal magnetism far different than JC's grace or Justin's sly calculation. Joey was all energy and raw sex onstage. The choreographers had often yelled at him to tone it down, that it wasn't a burlesque show, but Joey simply ignored the criticism; he enjoyed performing, teasing, and the girls responded, screamed loudest for him.

Lance could do it when he'd had a few drinks to relax him, to take the edge off his inhibitions; Chris remembered how fluidly Lance's hips had rolled beneath JC's hand, and heat swept up his throat. Damn, it had been hot, and Chris shifted a little as his blood pulsed.

Justin poked at Lance's belly, offering a suggestion Chris couldn't hear, and Lance swatted his hand away, then performed the movement again, more slowly; Chris could almost feel his own muscles stretching and bunching in empathy. Lance was a workhorse; he didn't have the natural gift of movement the rest of them had, but he worked hard to keep up, to make his body perform the best it could. He'd come a long way from when they'd first gotten him, and had the determination to be as good as the rest of them. Chris knew he'd make it, in time.

Justin shook his head, and Lance frowned at him again. A sly look crossed Justin's bright face, and Chris knew from long experience trouble would quickly follow. Justin leaned in and said something to Lance, who immediately turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Unwilling, Lance's pale glance slid to Chris, and then even his ears turned red when he saw Chris watching him. Justin hooted at him, Lance shoved at him in retaliation, and Justin reached forward and pinched a nipple through Lance's tee shirt, making Lance howl in indignation and call Justin names no good Southern Baptist boy should know. Then they were off, Lance chasing Justin, who trailed raucous laughter behind him. The door slammed behind them, and their yelling and laughing grew fainter. JC looked after them a moment, then grinned at Chris and Joey, and went back to his stretching, which was in itself, interesting enough to hold Chris' attention for a moment.

Joey poured the few remaining drops from his water bottle onto Chris' forehead, and Chris swore and smacked him on a powerfully muscled thigh. It hurt his hand, but he was man enough not to show it. Fucking Joey and his fucking muscles. "Cut it out, you bastard."

Joey grinned at him. "JC's looking pretty limber. Lots of energy today. Moving like a man on fire, he is."

Chris wasn't quite sure how JC pulled it off, but Joey was right---JC had practically flown through the routines, his feet barely touching the polished wooden floor. He had dark smudges under his eyes, but if he was tired, he didn't complain, and just kept moving. Fucking energy and fucking work ethic. Chris envied him and hated him in equal amounts; he also wanted to squeeze his ass, to suck on his tongue. He was a man in tired conflict. Chris tipped back his head to look at Joey, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Yeah, so?"

"Nothing. Just saying." Joey tried on an innocent look, and it didn't work, because Joey probably hadn't looked innocent since he was a baby. He ruffled a hand through his sweaty hair, rubbed the back of his neck. He cut Chris a knowing, sidewise glance. "You're moving kinda stiff, though. None of the usual flashy Kirkpatrick style. What's the matter, old man? Slip in the shower? Fall down the steps? Pull a groin muscle?"

His expression and tone of voice left no doubt as to what he thought. Well, hell. He'd been certain Joey had been asleep when he'd crept back to their room to shower and change. Again Chris cursed the fact they knew one another so well that nothing could be kept secret.

"Fuck you," Chris said, without heat. So much for his discretion and stealth. He just wished Joey was as clueless and careless as he let others think him. He should've known better than to think he could pull a fast one on him. Joey was a lot like Lance, underestimated by others; very little actually got past him.

With a laugh, Joey said, "You only wish you could get your hands on the fine Fatone ass. You'll just have to pine away to nothing, though, 'cause this boy don't swing that way." He leaned back on his hands, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and crossed them at the ankles. The look was relaxed, but Chris had known Joey long enough to see it wasn't, not quite. "Me and Justin, we have to uphold the banner for straight boys everywhere, since the rest of you decided to go all rainbowy on us."

Chris let out a derisive noise. "Yeah, right. I can see Lou loving that so very, very much." He wondered idly just how purple Lou could turn before actually popping a gasket. Probably not a good idea to test out; Lou had invested a lot in them, but not enough he might not worry about dropping them if they became an embarrassment to him. Best not to push. Chris rolled to his side, propped his cheek in his hand. "You gonna have a problem with anything, Captain Heterosexual?"

Joey's mouth curved into a grin. "A problem? Hell, no. Like I care where you stick your dick." The sunniness slipped from his expression just a little, and his voice dropped low. "I've only got a problem with it if it hurts the group, or anyone in it. Then, I've got a problem, and the solution won't be real pretty."

Well. Chris blinked at the steely undertone in Joey's voice. And that quiet declaration just might be the truth, because usually, Joey's threats were broad, blustering, theatrical, and he never carried through with them. Chris looked at Joey, who looked back at him steadily, brown eyes serious. Joey's arms were heavy with muscle, and each fist looked almost as big as Chris' whole head. He didn't think Joey would actually hurt him, but Joey loved the guys in the group, held them as closely as family, and he and Steve *did* thrash each other, hard, on a regular basis. Chris wasn't entirely sure being considered Joey's brother was a good thing, in this instance.

"Won't be a problem, Joe. I promise."

"Good. Remember that not everyone is as tough as you, and it'll be cool." Joey didn't look at him, and Chris followed the direction of his gaze to JC, who cartwheeled halfway across the room, finishing with two backflips and a sommersault.

"I think," Chris said, his eyes fixed on JC's lithe body, "that sometimes the people you think aren't tough, really are. And way smarter than you might think."

JC raised the hem of his tee shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and Chris watched the ripple of his flat belly appreciatively. When JC lowered the tee shirt, he caught them looking at them and grinned.

"What?" he called.

"Yo, dork," Joey said with a broader grin, "if this doesn't pan out, I hear the Cowboys are always looking for cheerleaders."

JC laughed loudly, and the sound bounced around them. He did a little shimmy a stripper might envy, and followed it up by a couple of hip thrusts that made Chris' belly clench in remembrance.

"Too much e-quip-ment for them," he said, and grabbed his crotch in a lewd movement worthy of Joey.

Joey pulled a face that looked as if he'd eaten something very sour. "Eww, C. Way too much information."

The door slammed open, and Marc boiled in, red-faced and swearing in German, dragging a protesting Justin by the shirt sleeve, followed by Lance, who looked very, very pleased and smug. When Marc rounded on Lance, the smugness dropped away in a heartbeat, morphing into that sweet, innocent country boy look he had perfected, and he spread his slim hands in a blameless "I don't know" gesture.

Chris wondered what Lance had done and then maneuvered the situation to look as if Justin was at fault; Lance had proven that he was not one to be trifled with. Chris gave a thought to feeling sorry for Justin, because Lance was a wily, conniving little bastard. But he decided against it, because Justin already knew he couldn't tease Lance without repercussions, and if he did anyway, well, tough shit for him.

"This one's yours, Joe," JC said, and with a sigh, Joey heaved himself to his feet to see what heinous thing "Justin" had done. JC bit back a grin; it was Joey's turn, after all, to extricate Justin from whatever mess he'd gotten into. JC usually had the job, simply because he'd known Justin the longest, and was his closest friend, but he'd gotten smarter lately, and demanded they all pitch in and help. Chris watched JC move toward him, all fluid, gliding grace, and the yelling of the others faded into the background.

Damn. He could almost taste JC against his tongue again, feel him, naked and smooth and slick with sweat, against him. He felt flushed and warm, inside and out. And his dick paid no attention to the warnings of his brain, filling and hardening beneath his sweats in spite of possible ridicule from the others.

JC stood over him, blue eyes traveling slowly over his body. No surprise JC was hard; Chris often wondered how he managed a complete thought, given his blood seemed to stay down in his dick most of the time. With his back to the rest of them, JC trailed his fingers lightly over his erection, and unable to help himself, Chris twitched in response. JC grinned devilishly down at him, and then extended his hand and offered to help him up. Chris reached up, JC's long fingers wrapped around his own hand, and together they pulled him to his feet.

Chris swayed into him, for just a moment, before stepping away. JC smelled sweaty and male, and Chris thought it strange how JC could smell so good to him, and then think Joey reeked. Unbidden, Chris' tongue stole out and slicked over his lower lip. He had the urge to lick up the length of JC's neck, and actually raised up on his toes to do it before he remembered that he couldn't, not now.

"So," Chris said, rocking back on his heels.

"Yeah?" JC looked amused, the bastard, and Chris had the urge to whap him in the back of the head and knock that expression from his face. "You doing okay?"

"Um, yeah. Really good, actually." Chris ran a hand through his wet hair. He drew a deep breath, blew it out, and shifted from one foot to the other. His ass ached, and his dick throbbed, and he wanted to be as close to JC as possible, preferably naked and alone, because that had worked out *really* well for the both of them. He wanted to kiss JC, to put his hand on the nape of his neck and smooth down to the small of his back, where he had proven very sensitive, wanted to hear the soft little sound of pleasure JC made when he did. He did a mental eye roll and then mostly wanted to kick himself for being such a girl.

"You show everything," JC said softly. "I kinda like it."

"Hell, I'm so much in trouble," Chris grumbled, but his heart felt light and free.

"Probably so," JC said, and flashed him a quick grin. "Just yanking your chain, 'cause I don't get to very often." He rubbed at his belly, and unable to resist, Chris watched the movement, wishing it was his own hand there, or better yet, his mouth, because JC had a very lickable belly. He particularly liked the soft skin just above JC's neatly trimmed pubes. Such a sweet spot, and JC writhed so prettily when he did it. The thought was very distracting, and Chris made himself look up into JC's angular face.

"Joey warned me to be careful with you," Chris said, and his fingers twisted in the hem of his tee shirt. "He'll pound me if I screw things up."

JC tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful, and reached out to stop Chris from ripping his shirt. He had very warm hands. "You won't screw things up, because I won't let you. We're good together, strong together, remember?"

Chris' smile flashed, big and bright, and something seemed to loosen a little in JC when he saw it. JC's own face slipped into that squinched-faced grin that Chris knew meant real happiness, and Chris felt that warm and sweet chocolately feeling inside him grow in his chest and melt out to his fingertips and toes.

"Okay, then," Chris said. "You and me, deal?"

"Deal, man," JC said, and Chris thought for a moment JC would actually lean in and kiss him; his heart hammered in his chest in both fear and anticipation. But JC reached over and ruffled his hair, tugged at his earlobe before saying softly, "You've got the single tonight. I'm thinking that you'll probably get lucky, if you play your cards right."

"I'm thinking I'm already lucky," Chris replied, and the expression flickering across JC's face, the happiness in his eyes, made him feel less like a tool for saying something so girly, but was something he really meant. Then Marc screamed at them in German and Austrian and finally in English to get their asses over there now, before he grew old and feeble waiting for them. JC dropped a quick, sly wink and turned, sprinting back toward the others.

Yeah, Chris thought, feeling suddenly energized and alive, he was a lucky kinda guy.