A Fool Could See
by Velma
They were in a meeting when Chris first said it out loud. The Celebrity tour had ended, hiatus was upon them, and everyone was sort of running down their plans. Justin had his album, and JC was considering his options. Lance was space this and space that and Joey was all about the theater. They were chattering over each other like they always do, a weird babble that, when Chris let his mind wander, he realized was layered like a harmony. Kind of funny how they even talked in five-part."I'm going to marry Lance," he murmured, mostly to himself, and looked up a minute later when he realized the room had gone silent. "What?" he asked, blinking.
Lance raised an eyebrow. "My boyfriend might take issue with that."
"I take issue with your boyfriend," Chris replied, and watched as Lance's shoulders tensed. He rolled his eyes and blew out a breath. "I was just making a funny. That crazy Chris, always talking nonsense, right?"
Justin was gnawing on his lip like he always did when he wasn't sure what to say. It made Chris smile, just a little, how that particular habit hadn't been worked out even after the kid Justin had been had been subsumed by the man he was now. "Don't break the skin, J, everything's cool." He flashed Justin a smile as he stood, nodding toward the guys. "But I think I'm going to check out of here before I get a foot up the ass, instead of my mouth."
He could feel Lance's eyes on him even as he left, could see the resolute set of Joey's shoulders and the way JC was rubbing his hands together. He was ready for the break, for a lot of reasons.
Justin showed up that night, like Chris expected him to, and the two of them dicked around, playing old school Nintendo games and drinking crap beer and not talking about anything that mattered to either of them. One of the things that Chris loved best about Justin was his ability to read Chris without thought, that he just knew instinctively what Chris needed.
"Did you ever think about..." Chris started, rolling onto his back and pillowing his head on Justin's chest. Which didn't serve as much of a pillow since it was all hard and shit now. Some nerve that kid had, working out.
"Yeah," Justin said, running his fingers through Chris's hair. "All the time, man. Fucking wiring."
Chris nodded. "It would be weird, though, huh?"
Justin shrugged. "Mama always said be friends first. I think that's why she thought me and Brit would be forever." Chris could tell Justin was rolling his eyes just by his tone of voice. "Forever's a really fucking long time for a twenty-one year old. Besides, if all it took was friends first, I would've gotten over the wiring thing." He poked Chris. "Your ass puts many a woman's to shame."
Chris blinked up him for a minute before he pushed off him, laughing. "You should write a song about our great platonic love, Justin."
Justin crawled over top of him and grinned. "Those types of songs never make the cut, Chris. Besides, I'd rather write a schmoopy song about your great romantic love that I could sing in public and embarrass the shit out of you. So get on that."
Chris shoved Justin off him and rolled over onto his side, pulling at carpet fibers and not quite looking Justin in the eyes. "Not a lot of potential on that front, I'm afraid."
Justin snorted.
"What? It's become patently obvious that I'm not fit to date anyone that's not intimately connected to the operation, and even then I manage to find a way to screw it up."
Justin flicked Chris between the eyes. "Dumbass. You didn't fuck up with you and Michelle. We all know that was your one last grand attempt at finding women in any way sexually attractive and it didn't work. So what. You're gay. Newsflash. We all knew you liked dick before, and it doesn't really change anything."
"That's not the point." Chris sighed and rolled onto his back. "The point is that it narrows the field even more. Like, Joey, on those rare occasions when he notices the male of the species, wears Chasez-colored glasses. And JC's the same damn way. I swear, two of the unlikeliest pretty much totally straight boys I've ever met. It's just not fair."
"Which leaves..." Justin said gently. Chris felt the sentence hanging there in the air.
"Which leaves nothing, Justin. Which leaves Lance, who is dating Cro-Magnon man." He held up his hand as Justin started to open his mouth to protest. "Dude, no. Not a word. I respect that he's dating Freddy, I keep my mouth shut when he's around, I'm civil, and really, I don't think you can ask me to do much more than that. If he makes Lance happy, which apparently he does, although God knows why, then whatever. He's safe until the second he doesn't make Lance happy, at which point I kick the shit out of him." He made a face at Justin's raised eyebrow. "Okay, fine, I hire a bunch of goons to kick the shit out of him because he's bigger than me. In certain ways, anyway."
Justin shook his head. "You're nuts, you know that? Seriously. The two of you, for like, forever. You've done this weird dance around each other since he was old enough for you to let yourself really look at him. Longer, probably. He knows crap about you that even I don't, Chris. I'm your best friend, but I wouldn't have the first idea how you take your coffee, man."
"He doesn't..." Chris started, but he snapped his mouth shut, because Lance did. Chris squinted his eyes at the ceiling, trying to remember the first time it had ever happened, but he couldn't even begin to place it. As early back as Germany he could remember stumbling into some hotel room, bleary-eyed and hungover from a late night clubbing, and slumping into a chair next to Lance. The coffee had always just sort of magically appeared, one cream and three sugars, just like he liked. He'd rest his head on Lance's shoulder, and if it was a really bad morning, Lance's hand would lift to Chris's braids, tug on them gently before he settled in at massaging Chris's temples.
Chris closed his eyes and remembered how that felt. Lance's fingers, soft then hard, working into his skin until the throbbing was gone and Chris could function again. Lance always seemed to know, too, just when to pull back, where the lines were, even the invisible ones.
He opened his eyes and exhaled slowly. "The point, Justin, is that I have no game here. He's with Freddy. He's going to Russia. So even if there was a move for me to make, it's moot. And dude, seriously, I'm not even sure I'd want to pursue that. Veritable minefield."
"I think, for the record, that you're an idiot." Justin sighed, poking him in the side. "And I've never seen two more willfully blind people in my life. Y'all taught me never to accept less than the best, yet you're content to settle for, well. Nothing."
"It's not nothing," Chris said. "He's Lance. He's my friend. One of the best. That's not nothing."
"Still settling," Justin frowned. "I'm going to go call for pizza."
Chris watched him go, and knew Justin would never understand.
*
He wasn't even sure that he did. The way he felt about Lance was all tangled and twisted into the way he felt about the other guys, the group. Years and years of eating and breathing and sleeping and living together and there seemed to be only a handful of memories that were about anything other than the other four. Not that he minded. There was a sense of security in it, in knowing that he was bound to them in a way that was not unlike the way he was bound to his mother and his sisters. Except it was more than that, even, because he knew from experience that the blood bond wasn't the end all-be all.
This was the family he'd made. Which is not to say he didn't get sick as hell of them on a regular basis, but he knew there was pretty much nothing he could do at this point to alienate any of them enough that they'd be gone in any sort of permanent way. It was a strange sort of thing to take comfort in, but then it'd been long acknowledged that he was a strange sort of dude.
Lance was in Russia with Freddy and there was very little about that Chris found comforting, but he also knew Lance had enough going on his life that he didn't need Chris to be an asshole about it. He also knew, from experience, just how homesick Lance could get. Even this Lance, who was cool and grown-up and more sure of himself than Chris suspected he'd ever be.
So Chris decided to hit the road. He grabbed Ron and rented an RV and wandered around the eastern seaboard and middle America for a bit. He set the alarm on his watch around 10:00 p.m. Russian time, and at least twice a week he'd call, grit his teeth through the crackle of interference on the line that made Lance's voice hard to hear sometimes. Interference or exhaustion, Chris could never fully tell, but he always managed to draw the conversation out until Lance just sounded tired, and not beat.
"I'm not sure I'm up to this," Lance said one night, so softly Chris would have struggled to hear him even if Lance was right beside him.
"That's crap," Chris said. "There's no one else I know who's better prepared for this. People let go of their dreams left and right as they get older, man. But you? All this time, and you're finding a way to make it happen. That's some serious shit."
Lance grudgingly sighed.
"You remember when you auditioned for the group?" Chris asked, his eyes drifting to a picture of them at some showcase he still had up in his bedroom. He liked to remember where they came from.
Lance snorted. "Are we trying to instill confidence here, 'cause that sure ain't helping, Kirkpatrick."
"Whatever," Chris grinned. "You remember what I did when you started singing?"
Lance laughed, sharp and surprised, and the sound made something inside Chris twist. "Um. Yeah. That one's hard to forget. You just watched me for a minute before you turned and started humping the wall."
"I thought your mom was gonna up and take you back home right then and there."
"You're lucky as hell she didn't."
"I know," Chris smiled into the phone. "But seriously. Your voice, man. The rest of you needed some work - hell, we all did - but that voice. Manna from heaven. Just what we needed. I forgot Jason existed in that moment."
There was silence on the other end, but if Chris closed his eyes, he could see Lance smiling, too. Something about his breathing was lighter.
"And then, man. Those dance practices, in that warehouse. Stuck with JC and Justin, who were born dancing, and Joey, who didn't care what he looked like so he seemed to just get everything, there was you and me. The two sore thumbs."
"You were good, Chris," Lance said, chuckling. "You just frowned most of the time because you were concentrating so hard. Now me, on the other hand..."
"You were just as good as I was, if even more uptight. I remember," he paused, voice softening, "I remember the two of us sharing a bottle of water and vowing to -"
"Kill the others in their sleep. With our muscular thighs." Lance laughed. "God, we were half serious, too."
"You were a maniac, though," Chris said. "You practiced longer and harder than any of us, and you got it. You'll get it, Lance. I know how you get when you want something. Nothing stops you. It's who you are."
Lance was quiet again, long enough that Chris wasn't quite sure the connection was still good. Eventually, Lance cleared his throat.
"It's late. I should probably hit the sack so I can be up tomorrow, wow 'em in the simulator."
"Thatta boy," Chris said.
"Night, Chris. Hey." Lance swallowed. Behind Chris's closed eyes, he could see the column of Lance's throat working. "Thanks." There was a click and a soft hum before Chris eventually settled the phone back into the receiver.
"Love you, too," Chris whispered to nothing at all.
*
Challenge was weird.
Challenge was always sort of weird, an odd combination of friends and B list actors and musicians, everyone with their game faces on all the time, because there wasn't a moment when people weren't watching.
Mostly, Challenge was weird because Lance wasn't there. Just a weird blow up astronaut doll with his face on it that Beth clung to the whole damn weekend. They hadn't really figured Lance was going to make it, anyway, but Chris still felt the twist of disappointment in his gut when they got the final word.
His phone rang on the court during the skills competition, and he only paid half attention as he leaned over into his bag to grab it.
"Yeah?"
A loud burst of static and then he heard Lance's voice. "My team's winning, right?"
Chris laughed into the phone, shouting over the din of the crowd. "Dude. Dude! Hang on." He jogged off court, the arena forgotten behind him. "Dude, why aren't you in bed?"
"Couldn't sleep," Lance said. "Weird, without you guys here. Or, I mean. Weird, being here, knowing you guys are all there. Man, I am tired.
Chris smiled into the phone, sitting down in a locker room. "You should be sleeping, dude. That's not cool, the kind of shit you're putting your body through."
Lance sighed. "Yeah, I know."
Chris was quiet for a minute. "So. Okay. There once was this prince..."
"Oh my God, Chris," Lance laughed softly. "A bedtime story? You gonna tuck me in?"
"Shut up, you prick. We're having a moment. Don't ruin it."
"A moment. Right. By all means, carry on."
"There was this prince, man. And his life was pretty good, you know? He had his four best dudes around him at all times, made a decent living, and everyone thought he was a pretty cool cat."
"You've been hanging out with JC way too much, man," Lance yawned.
"Jesus. Hush!" Chris sighed and waited until the sounds of Lance settled in. "But this prince, man. He always had this bigger idea of what the world was, bigger than the rest of them, and he wouldn't settle until he saw all of the world with his own eyes."
"Mmm," Lance murmured. "Sounds like a punk."
"Nah. He was just a dreamer of sorts. A practical dreamer, but. You know. A dreamer." He rolled his eyes at himself and tried to find some sort of point to what he was saying. "So anyway, this prince found a way to see the world, all of it, from heights no one could really imagine. And while his four best dudes, and, well, his kingdom, I guess, sometimes had a hard time figuring out why it was such a big deal, they had his back. Even when they weren't right there with him."
"Good story, Chris." Lance's voice was sleep heavy. "I gotta. I should. Say hey to the guys for me, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course." Chris listened to the sound of Lance's breathing, strangely steady, and wished he could say more. "Dasvedanya, Lance."
"Oooh, Russian. I'm impressed." There were a few seconds of Lance's low laugh, and then the hum of the phone line.
Chris was in trouble.
*"It's bright out here," Chris squinted, bobbing up and down in the water. JC was on the quest for the perfect wave, and he'd decided that Chris should fly all the way out to L.A. to join him. Chris, whose schedule was remarkably devoid of anything, decided that wouldn't be such a bad thing. So here he was, floating on a board off a private beach and watching with bemusement as JC played surfer.
"Well, you know. Sun and water. Makes for bright." JC shot Chris a look. "It's serene, man. It'll help lower your blood pressure."
"I don't have high blood pressure, C."
"If you did, man. This would totally be the cure."
Chris stared at him for a while until JC tipped him off his board. "Asshole," he muttered. JC just grinned.
"Better get back on your board, man. We've got a live one here."
Chris was a decent surfer, not that he did it much anymore, what with it being pretty killer on his knees. But JC had hookups for private beaches, so Chris could come out and make an ass of himself without being too embarrassed. JC, on the other hand, loved to surf, which was amusing because he was really spectacularly bad at it. Chris watched as he pitched headfirst into the wave, trying hard not to laugh.
"Dude, for a guy who dances as part of his living, you'd think you'd have a better sense of balance."
JC flipped him off.
"In your dreams, Chasez."
JC got back on his board and they paddled out a little further. It wasn't a very good day for surfing, sun aside. Chris didn't mind, though. It gave him time to study his fingernails like they were the most fascinating things on earth.
"Lance is going to be in Houston soon," he said. He wondered what his nails would look painted. If Richardson could pull it off without looking like a tool, he didn't see why he couldn't.
"Yeah?" JC said, glancing over. "Man, you need a manicure."
Chris rolled his eyes. "Okay, honey. After we're done surfing we can do the spa day experience."
JC smiled and looked back out over the ocean. "You gonna go see him?"
"Nah. I've got this pageant thing I'm hosting. My schedule's kind of tight during the time he's back stateside. But, like. I was thinking. Since you're all jazzed about the space thing, and curious and shit. You could maybe go. Get the lowdown."
"Right," JC said. "Make sure he's eating his vegetables. And stuff."
"I just think it'd be nice if one of us dropped in on him, y'know? Joey's got his Broadway gig and J's hot and heavy with figuring solo shit out, which leaves you and me."
"And you're conveniently occupied the one week he's back, despite the fact you've been bitching nonstop about how bored you are," JC said. Chris kind of hoped he'd get slammed by a wave and choked on saltwater.
"I didn't plan it that way, okay? Jesus, C."
JC let it drop, and they floated some more.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," JC shrugged.
"How big of an asshole was I after Dani?"
JC blinked. "Huh. That wasn't what I was expecting." He was quiet for several minutes, bobbing up and down in the water and, lack of ability aside, JC really kind of looked like he belonged on the water, lean and slick and molded to the board.
"It's kind of hard to quantify, man. I mean, you were all bristly and raw edges and we were all sort of afraid of you. Because you really loved her, none of us doubted that. It just wasn't enough."
Chris sighed.
"You were messed up. But none of us took it personally. I mean, the circumstances were pretty shitty. You two maintained appearances for the sake of the business way longer than you needed to."
"Yeah," Chris rolled with the waves, his eyes unfocused as he watched the skyline. "You know what I remember most about all of that? The way Lance hovered. Justin had so much shit to deal with, Britney and all that onslaught and I avoided him so I didn't give him even more to have to deal with but Lance. He wouldn't leave me alone."
JC smiled down at the water. "Yeah, I remember."
"It was the oddest fucking thing. You know? And it was around the time that you and Joey decided to go into your brief fling with homosexuality, so he was on our bus more than yours, and I'd wake up most mornings with him curled around me. Or, well. Okay, me curled around him. Like he just knew that I needed that kind of contact."
"Because you did, man. You two have always been like that for each other. Chris, you consciously look after Justin. I mean, even now, you're like a hawk about the people who are around him. You knew when we started what he was going to become, how big he was going to be, and you did everything you could to make sure he could be outside of all that. But Lance? Shit, man. The two of you just had sixth sense about each other."
"To this day he's the only one of you I can have a decent argument with."
JC smirked. "There were times when we thought you were going to kill each other."
"That's just because the three of you didn't understand half the things we said to each other."
JC splashed water at him, and, surprised, Chris spluttered. "Wrong move, Chasez." He launched off his board at JC, knocking them both off into the water just as a beauty of a wave crested in front of them.
"Chris, dude, seriously. Look what you did." JC was smiling, though, so he wasn't really pissed.
"That's me, the man with the bad timing." They got back on their boards. "It's a chronic thing."
"It's a conscious thing," JC said, eyeing him skeptically.
"So anyway, you'll go down to Houston, mess around with him a bit, let him show off?"
"Yeah," JC said, eyeing the horizon. "Of course, man. Of course."
*
FuMan shut down completely not long before Lance arrived in Houston. Chris was already cursing the fact that he had signed on months ago for a pageant that was originally going to be used to promote the dead line. Instead, he got to make nice with Willa Ford, who made his head hurt.
Any crazy thoughts he might have momentarily entertained of going down and spending some time with Lance pretty much shriveled up and died when he packed up his office. He called up Joey and backed out of any big group shindig around RENT, which was a pussy thing to do but Joey understood. Chris wasn't a big fan of flashbulbs anyway, and he knew minus the presence of JC and Justin he could just kind of duck in and watch. He wasn't an event in the way that they were, something he minded not in the least.
Chris didn't wallow for long, it wasn't his way, and his mom would have kicked his ass if he did, but what time he did spend wallowing was of the highest quality. He got drunk a few times, threw darts at a makeshift board with Dani's face on it, which, yeah, wasn't all that fair because she'd done the best she could, but he was allowed to be morose and blame someone else, just for a little while.
"Well, look at it this way," Lance said during one of their regular phone calls. "At least, you know, you're not a public mockery or anything. So your business folded. It was a startup in a ruthless industry where most people don't last months, much less years."
"Stop trying to make me feel better," Chris grumbled. "I have at least another week of mourning."
"Whatever," Lance continued. "At least you don't have nightmares every so often about being tarred and feathered by betrayed schoolchildren everywhere for letting them down because everything falls apart at the last minute."
"Shit, man. Way to kill my mourning period."
"Oh, gee. I'm ever so sorry, Chris. You're right. End of the world."
"You have nightmares? Seriously?"
"Not very often. Don't worry your pretty little head over it."
"It's going to be fine. You know that, right?" Chris picked at his jeans, silently cursing himself because he wasn't one to make false promises and it was a ridiculous amount of cash they were talking about.
"Maybe. I hope so. But if it's not, I'll deal." Lance was nothing if not practical to a fault. Chris alternately admired it and was frustrated as hell by it. "I'm just making the most of my time here. I'm learning so much, Chris. It's unreal."
Intentionally dour mood or not, Chris had to smile at Lance's enthusiasm. Which irritated him, so he quickly thought of something that would get him pissy again.
"How's the Fredinator?"
"Don't call him that," Lance sighed. "And he's fine. Enjoying Russia. You really want to talk about him?"
Chris didn't, at all, so they changed subjects. By the time he hung up the phone he'd promised Lance that he'd get over himself and develop new plans for world domination. Lance had promised to partner with him, since that was really Lance's kind of thing.
So much for an extended mourning period.
*
Lance was going up. Lance wasn't going up. The money was waiting to be transferred. The money was never there to begin with. It was enough to make Chris's head spin, and he wasn't even right in the middle of it all.
As things heated up, Lance's phone calls tapered off. He'd email regularly, but Chris knew all too well the safety of text, especially when you were dealing with people who knew every tone of your voice and could thus spot a lie in no time flat.
Chris emailed him back, dutifully offered to send Sexual Chocolate in to bust some skulls, and just generally tried to offer distraction. He was good at that. It got harder and harder, though, as it became increasingly clear that Lance wasn't going to go, at least not soon.
Which was why the phone call came as such a surprise.
He was desperately trying to hang on to a lovely dream about getting his dick sucked by a suspiciously familiar blond while watching the the Steelers win the Superbowl when the ringing finally jarred him awake. He opened one eye half way and focused long enough to read the red lines of the clock.
Three in the morning. Christ, Jesus, whoever it was could wait. He rolled over and tried to will himself back into dreamland, when it occurred to him that three a.m. calls were generally Of The Bad and he should probably suck it up and answer.
"Mfph?" He grunted into the phone.
"Chris?!" There was a lot of static on the line and Chris was half asleep and grouchy. "Chris, are you there?"
"The fuck?" He groaned and sat up, rubbing his face. This better be good. "Lance? Is that you?"
"Chris? Dude, I can't hear for shit, bad connection or something, but Chris! Dude, if you can hear me, I graduated from flight school, man. Diploma and everything. How fucking awesome is that?"
The excitement in Lance's voice was palpable and Chris grinned despite the ungodly hour. It'd been a long time since he'd heard Lance's voice, felt like longer still since it had been as light as this, euphoric. "Lance? Holy shit, Lance, that's rad. That's, like, huge. Certified. You're legit."
There was more static on the line, then Lance's voice drifted in again. "Not sure if you're there, just wanted to call and let you know..." the line crackled "Freddy and I are out to celebrate but I just had to call you. I'll try again later, hopefully with a better line. Flight school, Chris!"
There was a few seconds more of interference before the line went dead. Chris hung up the phone and laid back against his pillow, contemplating the ceiling.
He wondered what it would look like with those glow-in-the-dark stars.
*
He went up to see Joey in RENT, finally. It wasn't like he hadn't been planning on attending, but when even Lance was bringing it up in phone calls and his mother had stopped speaking to him, Chris figured it was time to suck it up and get on a plane. Dre picked him up at the airport and by the time they made it back to Joey's place, he was fully briefed on Kelly's favorite restaurant, Briahna's cartoon of the moment, and how crazy the fans continued to be.
He envied Joey's life, sometimes, because as crazy as things got his life was by no great stretch the sanest of them all.
Dinner comprised of Kelly going on and on about how she couldn't wait to get back to Orlando, which Chris thought was kind of insane 'cause he lived there, or close enough, and most days it was boring as hell, Joey smiling at the two of them affectionately, and Bri throwing spaghetti at him. In five minute intervals. With rather incredible aim.
"Some kid you got there," Chris grimaced, picking out yet another handful. "Starting pitcher for the Brewers, huh?"
"The Brewers. Right." Joey grinned. "Chris, even I know the Brewers don't play in New York."
"Okay, smart guy," Chris stood and started to clear the table. "Where do they play?"
"Denver," Joey said with the certainty of a man who has no idea at all what he's talking about. Chris shook his head and just let it go.
The ride to the theater was quiet. Chris wasn't sure how you acted around a Broadway star, if they got into some sort of zone pre-show to get ready. So he mostly played with his sleeves and watched the city lights as they zoomed past. Of course, about five minutes before they arrived at the Nederlander Joey started warming up his voice by making farting noises, so maybe things weren't so different in the theater world than what Chris was used to.
He waited until about five minutes after Joey had gone inside to go himself, both relieved and bemused at the absolute lack of attention he garnered from the kids waiting outside. Ah, well. Most days he appreciated the virtual anonymity.
Joey killed. Joey killed in a way that surprised even Chris, who had decided a long time ago that any of them were good enough to succeed at whatever they really put their heads to. Chris could see him doing this, years and years from now, and it made him smile. Joey was the kind of guy who always ended up okay, anyway, but it was nice for Chris to see him making a niche for himself outside of what he knew best.
"So you kind of really sucked, Fatone," Chris said afterward, because it wasn't his job to boost Joey's ego.
Joey grinned and flipped him off. "You loved it that much, huh?"
"Not bad," Chris smiled, rubbing his hand over Joey's head. "My ears didn't bleed or nothing."
Joey rolled his eyes and offered Chris a beer. Kelly was long asleep by the time they got back to Joe's place, and Chris would have gone, too, but Joey'd kind of steered him into the living room in a way that suggested he probably ought to wait.
"So," Chris picked at the label. "Was there something you wanted, then? A private dance just for us two away from the lovely ladies of Suede?"
"You talked to Lance?" Joey said, watching him.
Chris shrugged. "A couple days ago, yeah. He was getting his shit together."
Joey nodded. "He seems to be doing pretty well, considering."
"You think we'd know if he wasn't?"
"I think you or I would, definitely," Joey said. Chris rolled his eyes. "He's going to London for a bit, I guess. Decompress."
"So I heard," Chris said. "Not a bad idea. He can avoid the late night talkshows there."
"He's going alone," Joey said.
Chris frowned. "Dude, he's hanging with J."
"No, you idiot. He booked Freddy on a different flight. Back to Florida. He's flying solo. So-lo." Subtlety had never been Joey's strong suit.
"Oh," Chris swallowed, then drained his beer. "Well, can't say I'll be singing any dirges for Freddy's passing into the dark land of Lance's exes."
"You gonna do anything about it?" Joey asked.
Chris went to bed.
*
So Chris had tickets to see No Doubt. Which was, for Chris, one of the concert events of the year. Not just because Gwen Stefani was totally foxy and he was totally hoping on some level that she'd secretly acknowledge Gavin's rampant homosexuality and invite Chris 'round for a three-way. Mostly it was because he loved the music and he'd been a fan since the days when her brother had pretty much been the band.
They were coming through Orlando and Chris entertained thoughts of asking Lance, but decided at the last moment that he'd take Taylor instead. He was watching her that weekend anyway, while their mom was off on some weekend with her guy friend who was probably more than a friend but Chris had no interest whatsoever in further knowledge in that area. Taylor, of course, was completely psyched, and proceeded to get sicker than a dog the night before the show.
"You've got a fever of 102, kiddo," he said, rolling his eyes at her puppy dog face. "There's no way in hell we're going to that concert. Ma'd skin me alive."
She really was sick, because she didn't put up very much fuss. She tried to get Chris to call Molly or Kate, have them do emergency babysitting services so he could still catch the show, but he wasn't about to ditch her for a concert. It was bad form. And he prided himself in being the cool brother who did no wrong.
Which is why he found himself dialing Lance's number later that night, after he'd tucked Taylor in. Three rings before Lance picked up, and from the background noise Chris figured he was doing dinner at Mom and Pop Fatone's.
"Lance, my main man, my number one dude, mi hombre and compadre," he said, grabbing a beer out of the fridge.
"Chris?" Lance asked, and Chris could hear him moving out of the room, some place more quiet. "What's up, man?"
"Have I got a deal for you," Chris said, flipping on the TV and making a face when 'I'm Just a Girl' came on MTV. "How would you like to go see No Doubt tomorrow night?"
"What?" Lance sounded a little surprised, which was not altogether unexpected, but then again, it wasn't like it was the first time he'd asked Lance about seeing a show.
"Dude, you don't need to sound like that's a small miracle or something. You and I have seen concerts together before."
"No, I didn't, I wasn't," Lance spluttered, which was kind of cool 'cause he was rarely caught off guard anymore. "I was just thinking the first show we saw together was a No Doubt concert."
Chris laughed. "I got you drunk and you puked in the women's restroom."
"It was the first door I saw, man, and it was either that or boot on your shoes."
"Yeah, yeah, likely story."
"I was so hungover the next morning, and you totally covered for me. With my mom, with Darrin, everyone. I was pretty much ready to have your children."
"I always wondered what was up with those hips," Chris murmured, then grinned at the various obscenities being muttered back at him out of Phyllis's earshot. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Anyway," Lance cleared his throat. "You and me? Tomorrow night? I'd be up for that, absolutely."
"Actually," Chris watched Gwen pout onscreen, "You and whoever you want flying wing. Taylor's sick and I'd be a pretty shitty brother if I bailed on her, even for the fabulous Ms. Stefani."
"Oh," Lance said. Chris thought he sounded rather disappointed, which was really kind of sweet. "I could, you know, if you're stuck, I could come keep you company and help you take care of her. Not fair for me to see the show if you can't. It's really your scene and all."
"No sense in all of us getting sick," Chris said, but he couldn't help the small smile that made its way onto his face. No witnesses, no one could prove anything. "It's cool, man. Rather have someone I know is going to enjoy them use the tickets. You can give me a play-by-play later."
"Yeah, okay," Lance said, although he didn't sound quite convinced. "I'll make Joey go. If nothing else he'll charm the pants off Gwen so you'll have a souvenir."
Chris laughed and made arrangements for Lance to swing by to pick up the tickets before the show.
*
Lance was always on time, punctual to a fault, so Chris was surprised when the doorbell rang about fifteen minutes after Lance had planned on showing. Even moreso when he opened the door to the sheepish grin he knew so well.
"You're late," Chris said.
"I had some errands." Lance pushed inside, setting some bags on the table.
"And this is?"
"Chicken soup and the new J-14 for Taylor, and Chang's, porn, and classic Mario for you. Don't watch the porn while the kid's still around, m'kay?"
Chris made a face.
"What? I know you. You have no willpower."
Chris handed Lance the tickets and shoved him toward the door. "Dude. You're gonna be late."
"Some thanks I get," Lance said, planting his feet and twisting around. It wasn't fair that besides getting all hot in Russia he'd also developed superhuman strength.
"What?" Chris said, shifting uncomfortably under Lance's gaze. "Thanks, okay? Seriously. You're good people."
"Something like that," Lance said, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thanks for the tickets." He flashed a smile and headed out.
"You need help," Chris muttered, rubbing his cheek. He wasn't sure who he was talking to.
*
He flew out to L.A. after the Drumline single got huge, because he was a good guy and he wanted to mock JC a lot for a song that assumed was at least marginally about giving head. He flew under the radar yet again, and it was getting to the point that Chris sometimes wondered if the only way to get press attention would be to strip naked and streak through the Florida Mall or something.
Whatever, it was cool to be out there watching as JC hit it big on his own. The kid was modest as hell about his talent, always had been, and maybe he didn't offer the lyrical stylings of say, Bernie Taupin, but he, like Justin in completely different ways, was the total package. Chris had absolutely nothing to do with that, but he was still pretty damn proud.
"So, like. Chris, man. What's the story with you and Lance?" JC said, managing to talk and fit his mouth around a rather disturbingly large piece of egg all at the same time. JC had woken him up at some god awful hour of the morning, like, eleven or something equally ridiculous, because "Mel's is calling, dude. We must heed her siren song."
Chris threw a piece of toast at JC, who started to munch on it amiably.
"There's no story, Chasez. There never has been a story, and I really with you and the Bobsey Twins would let up about it."
JC rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you, man, the willfully blind act is only cute for so long. I'm not sure how much longer the rest of us are going to put up with it."
"I'm not sure the rest of you have any choice," Chris growled. He ignored JC for the rest of the meal and made him pay, cheap, prying bastard.
Johnny called the next morning with an addition to Chris's schedule. He was to do this big Brothers/Big Sisters event. With Lance. He really, really hated JC.
Then there was another trip on the horizon, a golf outing to Jamaica that he and Lance were supposed to go to together. In preparation, Justin sent him a basket full of suntan lotion and lube, and Joey FedExed him "The Joys of Gay Sex" which was pretty damn funny considering Chris had engaged in homosexual acts for longer and with far greater frequency than Joey.
So he forwarded the book to JC, with flagged pages, and forged Joey's name on it.
Really, he hated all of his bandmates except Lance, who had been incredibly cool about all of it and hadn't acted weirded out once. Every once in a while Chris would catch Lance throwing him a look, something soft and not at all sly that would distract him totally. But it was only every once in a while, and Chris chalked it up to too much whiskey. It didn't matter that they were never drinking at the time.
The day before the two of them were set to fly to Ocho Rios, though, Stacy went into labor and Lance had to bail. Which sucked majorly, because Chris had to fly solo. He did, however, get to annoy the crap out of Justin by calling him every five minutes to give him an update on what Michael Jordan was doing. And when Lance called, his voice high with excitement, to tell him about Leighton, Chris decided having to do this on his own wasn't so bad after all.
"Can't wait 'til you see her," Lance said. "She's a Bass through and through."
"Real looker then, huh?" Chris smiled into the phone. "Lucky little lady. I mean, not that Ford got hit with the ugly stick or anything."
"I am so telling Stace you said that," Lance laughed into the phone.
Chris did the celebrity golf thing, and Lance did the uncle thing briefly before he did the guest at a celebrity wedding thing, and then the two of them road-tripped together to Jackson for Leighton's christening. It was kind of cool that he was invited, although a little confusing. When he asked Lance where the other guys were he'd been shot an odd look. He didn't press further.
There was a barbecue afterward that, in true Bass family tradition, turned into a hell of a party. It was unseasonably warm, even for Mississippi, Chris thought as he settled on his back in the yard behind Lance's folks' place. Nice, though.
"Evening," he said to the pair of feet that appeared next to him. He tilted his head up and suddenly his whole world was Lance, a thought which he quickly filed away in the 'never ever ever go there again' portion of his mental filing cabinet. "How you doin'?"
Lance laughed and then there was no more Lance world, just a universe of stars as Lance settled in next to him. "You're a dork, you know that, right?"
Chris elbowed him.
"Right," Lance said, rolling his eyes.
They watched the stars together in silence long enough that the din from the house behind them had diminished into a few voices familiar enough that even Chris could identify them.
"Doesn't it make you sad or something? Looking up there and seeing what could have been?"
"Still gonna happen," Lance said with a simple certainty that told Chris he wasn't lying, not even to himself. Lance didn't let go of dreams easily, he was relentless about going after them. It was one of the many things Chris didn't quite understand, but admired him for.
"I believe you," he whispered, moving a little closer. The noise behind them died out completely, and eventually Chris's eyes drooped shut. He woke up a few hours later wrapped around Lance like the dude was his human pillow. Lance was smiling, even deep in sleep, and Chris couldn't help but smile back.
There was a blanket over them someone must have brought out and Chris paused for a moment to consider what whoever it was thought about the two of them. Eh, whatever, it's not like they were naked or anything.
Naked. Right. Chris wondered for a moment whether it counted as blushing if you were lying in the dark with no one around to see you, decided it didn't, and felt immediately relieved. He tilted his head again to look at Lance and allowed himself for the briefest of moments to think about what it would be like to do this on purpose, instead of by accident.
Little more than a fantasy, though, and Chris didn't much like entertaining those. Not when the odds of them approaching reality were slim-to-none. The guys acted like there was something Chris wasn't seeing, and in the moonlight, maybe, Chris could believe they were right. It would be daytime soon enough, though, bright enough to expose the fallacy, and that was the world Chris lived in.
He sighed and let go of the image in his mind. He fell back asleep rolled slightly away from Lance, going over sports statistics in his head.
*
Putting Lance-as-potential-anything-other-than-best-bud ideas out of his head would have been far easier had his year-end travel schedule not included trips with Lance to such romantic places as Thailand and Jamaica. Where Lance showed off his new body. A lot.
"Dude, do you have a permit for those things?" Chris muttered, doing his best to try to outmaneuver Lance at a Playstation game Lance had no business knowing how to play. Apparently his physical appearance wasn't the only thing he'd enhanced.
"Jealous, are we?" Lance grinned. Chris flipped him off, and Lance took the opportunity to crush his player.
"I hate you," Chris said. Lance snorted.
"You want to go grab a beer?" he asked, and Chris nodded. He'd had his ass kicked not just by professional football players, but Lance, who couldn't even win classic Mario. It was definitely time for heavy drinking.
Of course, they didn't end up drinking beers, like manly men. They wound up instead with flowery blue drinks, complete with umbrellas. Chris followed Lance out onto the white sandy beach and sprawled out next to him, mumbling something about how he was going to have to hit on lots of women the next day to make up for his drink selection. Lance, per usual, ignored him.
"How can you drink this shit?" Chris asked.
"It was free," Lance replied. Chris had no response to that, being a cheap bastard himself and therefore just as likely if not more for the free beverage, even if it did taste and look like toxic waste.
"I think this would be a good place to take a girlfriend," Chris said, looking around, then catching another one of Lance's deadpan looks. "Or, yeah, okay. Boyfriend. Whatever. Not a whole lot of other places can beat this kind of scene for romance value. You've got the stars, and the ocean, and the sand, and there are tiki lights burning somewhere, I'm sure. Really, it's just a setup for macking." Lance's lips tilted up in a light smirk, but Chris didn't quite catch it.
"Like, you know. Especially for you, Bass, with your superhuman knowledge of constellations and all that. You could totally make a move. Slide in a little closer," Chris slid across the sand and leaned into Lance to demonstrate, "do that really suave thing where you point up at the sky and brush against them..." His shoulder slid against Lance's, and he shivered. Just a little.
"Sounds like you've given this a fair amount of thought," Lance said. Purred was more like it, truth be told and Chris realized with a start just how close he was.
"Who, me? Uh, no. Just, you know. Trying to give you pointers. I know you need all the help you can get."
Lance chuckled, low and soft, his eyebrow arching in the dim light. Chris was in a world of trouble.
"I think," Lance said, "if I were the one doing the seducing? I'd move the drinks out of the way, like so," Lance set his drink to the side, then lifted Chris's out of his hand, pressing a finger to Chris's lips to shut up the inevitable protest, "and then I'd just go in for the kill. Like this."
Like this. Like this. Chris's mind raced to keep up with Lance's words, but it didn't move fast enough, because suddenly there were lips, warm and strong against his own. Chris's eyes closed the briefest of seconds before they flew open again.
"What the fuck?" he managed, skidding back away from Lance. "Dude. Dude! You just!"
"Jesus, Chris, take it down a few decibels," Lance growled, looking around. Chris opened his mouth, then shut it again, at a loss. "What's your problem, man?"
"You kissed me!" Chris hissed. He couldn't figure out why Lance was gaping at him.
"No shit, Sherlock," Lance said, brushing off his shorts. "Don't act so surprised. You knew I was going to do it."
"I knew no such thing," Chris said, increasingly flustered.
"What the hell, Kirkpatrick?" Lance looked irritated now, which was rich - rich - coming from a guy who randomly sucked the faces of his bandmates. "Don't pull this, not now, not after tonight. Not after weeks, hell, not after months of whatever this is you're doing."
"Whatever this is I'm doing?!" Chris asked, scrabbling to his feet. It loomed in front of him in that moment, all the opportunities he'd wished for in moments of loneliness and drunkenness and hell, happiness, too, the times he'd looked over at Lance and thought about more. All of that hung between them, thick as the night air. Lance had gone so far as to kick open the door for him and was all but begging to be let in.
"What you're doing, Chris, yes. What you've done." Lance waited, looking at him.
"I can't do this," Chris said. "I just fucking can't." His mouth was dry and his whole body was cold. Brass ring, right there. Brass ring, Lance saying all the things Chris had ever wanted to hear, and he was freezing up. Choking.
Lance's eyes shuttered before he looked back over the water. "I don't get you, man. I don't get how you can not go after what you want. What I know you want. But I'm done playing, Chris. This doesn't have to be hard." He looked back at Chris. "You don't have to fight for everything you have. But you do have to make a move, man. Commit or quit, I don't know. Just. Something."
Chris stayed on the beach long after Lance had gone inside.
*He didn't see much of anyone for awhile after that. Joey called and left threatening messages on his voicemail, and JC sent him a postcard series that spelled out 'you're a fucking idiot,' which was remarkably coordinated, because Chris got all the letters in the right order. Justin just didn't return his phone calls, which was annoying as shit, but Chris figured he deserved it.
They had to get together to rehearse for the Grammys, though, and true to form once the five of them got into a room the personal shit was set aside and they just worked. It felt good.
"For the record, I think you're a dickhead." Chris didn't even look up, just flipped Justin off. "No, I mean it, man. I haven't seen two people more stupid over each other, and that includes me and Britney during the matching denim phase."
"Look," Chris rubbed the back of his neck, sighing, "I realize the mind your own business concept is more pipe dream than reality with this group, but seriously. This is my deal to work out."
Justin looked like he was about to say something when Lance walked up, handing Chris a mug of tea. Chris raised an eyebrow.
"Your voice," Lance shrugged. "Sounds like you're getting ready to come down with something."
"Am not," Chris rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, man."
"Suit yourself," Lance said, and walked away.
Of course, Chris was good and sick by the time the Grammys rolled around. Justin wouldn't shut up about it, either, ribbing Chris but good.
"Dude, shut up, Timberlake." Chris growled, pacing around backstage. Justin backed off when Lance wandered up. Chris rested his forehead against the cool cement of the wall and prayed for a quick death, or if not that, then the miraculous recovery of his lymph glands.
"Here," Lance said, forking over a couple of throat drops. "Might as well coat it as best you can."
"Thanks," Chris murmured, and Lance nodded. "Should have listened to you earlier. Lance knows best, right?"
"Little slow on the uptake, but you get it eventually, right, Kirkpatrick?"
Chris lifted his head to look at Lance, but his eyes were locked down pretty tight. "I try," he said.
"Try harder," Lance offered before walking away.
"Yeah," Justin said, coming up behind Chris. "What he said."
Sometimes Chris really hated his life.
*
Except that he didn't, of course.He had a pretty sweet deal, which kept getting sweeter. A new pad in Miami and a regular gig hosting at a nightclub in Orlando. An appearance on a sports show here and there, a couple morning stints as a guest host on talk radio. He even started going into the studio for himself, to make an album he wasn't sure he'd have the balls to put out. He wasn't in any hurry to close the door on the *NSYNC portion of his life, but there was something to be said for realizing that not only did he have post-group options, but there were things out there that he not only enjoyed doing, but that he was relatively good at.
Lance showed up at Firestone one night, unannounced. Chris wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, except that Lance mostly ignored him until they headed back to Chris's.
"So this is your thing now, huh?" Lance tipped his head to the side and watched Chris. He was past buzzed but not drunk, as far as Chris could tell.
"I decided it wasn't fair to let you be the only party guy," Chris offered. He was, in fact, well past buzzed and just on the other side of blitzed. "I'm a party guy, too. Par-tay."
Lance made a face but didn't say anything, just helped Chris out of the car once they got home.
"D'ya ever," Chris stumbled a little, paused until he'd settled in the grass, much to Lance's chagrin. "D'ya ever get tired of all this?" He waved his hand around in a gesture meant to include, well, pretty much everything.
"What?" Lance said, sliding his arms around Chris and pulling him up to his feet. "You mean do I ever get tired of putting your drunk ass to bed? And people think I'm the lush," he muttered, managing to get Chris inside the door. Chris really kind of loved him. He put up with an awful lot.
"Don't go starting rumors," Chris said. Lance chuckled, but didn't say anything else until he'd gotten Chris sprawled across his bed.
"I'm just teasing, and you know it."
Chris nodded and stared at the ceiling. "Did you see my constellations?" Lance looked at him oddly and Chris pointed at the smattering of green-yellow stars glowing down at them.
"Um. Chris?"
"We were talking one night, and I wondered. I was going to do the whole ceiling, but I was up on the ladder and I freaked myself out, so. Half a package. But I made Orion, dude."
"You're seriously insane, you know that, right?" Lance laughed, pulling off Chris's shoes.
"Certifiable, yeah." Chris struggled to sit up. "Dude. It's just. I should tell you, man. I ain't got nothing but love for you." In his head, he knew what he was trying to say, but he couldn't quite get his mouth and his mind to connect.
"I know, Chris," Lance said, sighing. "We're cool, I promise."
"No, I mean," Chris was flustered, and he did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped his arms around Lance and kissed him. It was good, too, except for the part at the end when Chris pushed away because all of a sudden all the drinking he'd done earlier in the night came back to haunt him. He barely made it to the toilet in time.
"That's what I thought," Lance said, looking impossibly sad in the doorway as he watched Chris. To his credit, though, he helped get Chris cleaned up before he left.
"I kind of really fucked up," Chris said the next morning, on the phone to JC.
"It can't be that bad," JC offered, then had to hang up he was laughing so hard after Chris told his tale of woe.
When the phone rang a minute later, Chris answered it, swore at JC in as many languages as he could remember, then hung up on JC. After which he immediately called him back.
"Dude, I'm sorry," JC said. "It's just. God. Could you be less suave? I swear, you're not just consciously trying to sabotage yourself, man. Your subconscious is in on the game."
"I am so fucked," Chris moaned.
"I don't see why, really," JC said, finally calming down. "I mean, so what, you kissed him. You can write it off like anything else, you have an excuse and everything. There's nothing here that says you can't go back to your lame ass better as friends mindset."
"That's just it," Chris said. "I think, man. I think I kind of made a decision to, you know, get a pair and step up. Except I was drunk off my ass at the time."
"And now?" JC wasn't giving him any wiggle room
"And now, like. Shit, Chasez, I really kind of hate you. He's like, under my skin, and no matter how hard I try I can't escape the fact that I'm nuts about him. I think I maybe sort of might be in love with him."
"Maybe sort of might be, huh?"
"Stop making fun of me, you asshole."
"Okay, okay," JC said. "So what are you going to do, man?"
"I'm going to make him see I'm serious. I'm going to woo him."
*
The trouble with wooing Lance, though, was that about the time Chris decided he was going to become Bass's number one suitor Lance kicked his appearance schedule into high gear. He was on this TV show and that, flying around the country, and Chris could never pin him down long enough to have a serious discussion with him. Or at least that's what he told himself. And Justin, who's response was to call Chris's cell from various points on the tour and leave chicken noises on his voicemail.
So Chris did long distance wooing, as best he could. He sent Lance a book written in French about the Russian space program, because of some late night conversation they'd had while Lance was still in Star City about the fact that he had to learn French to understand Russian on account of his weird-ass translator.
Out shopping with JC, he came across a monkey in a spacesuit and sent that to Lance, too, despite the fact that he was more than mildly horrified to be a 32-year old man sending his would-be boyfriend a stuffed animal.
"You do realize," he said at the time, "that this is something freshmen in high school do, right?"
"But!" JC said. "It's a spacemonkey!"
Chris sighed and bought it and endured weeks of cheeky voicemails from Lance after he sent it. Maybe they weren't quite proclamations of undying love, but Chris took what he could get.
*
"So, um, seriously," Justin said one night, on yet another phone call, "not that I don't think this is all very cute and will make a fabulous story for the grandkids and everything, but when are you going to get off your ass and do something?"
"You know, my young, young, impossibly young friend, we do not all have hot blondes throwing themselves at us left and right, so hush your mouth."
"Cameron's not a natural blonde," Justin said, waiting for Chris to stop hooting before he continued, "and dude, not even remotely the same universe, my old, old, so incredibly ancient I can't believe you're still breathing and what does Lance even see in your wrinkled ass friend. He's thrown himself at you since, like, he was in kindergarten."
"Don't make me come out there and beat you up," Chris said.
"Kidding, I'm kidding, he at least had his learner's permit before he started lusting." For not the first time in the conversation, Chris wished Justin was close enough to throttle.
"Why do I bother talking to you anymore?" Chris asked.
"Because I'm your best friend and you love me as much as Lance, except platonically, so you can't bear to not have me in your life."
"So it is true what they say about that burgeoning ego..."
"Oh shove it, Chris. Shit or get off the pot, man, he's not going to be cool with the whole will he/won't he scenario for much longer."
"Challenge," Chris said. "I'm coming out with guns blazing."
"Gonna hold you to that," Justin said. "Look, I gotta go, but seriously. Balls to the wall, right?"
"Right," Chris said. "Talk to you soon, kid. Kiss Cameron for me. With tongue." He hung up the phone and sighed. Balls to the wall indeed.
*
The thing about best laid plans, though, is that they often don't go off the way you want. Challenge was, for all intents and purposes, the Joey and Lance show. The two were pretty much inseparable, and every moment Chris came up with to try and pull Lance away, to get a few minutes to himself, something else always came up. Lance was always either off doing some promo gig, or with Joey, or, well. Truth of the matter, Chris could come up with any number of excuses, something which the other three had no problems pointing out to him.
The thing was, there weren't really private moments, not with fans and celebrities and media in every corner. There was no down time, no chance to pull Lance away, and before Chris knew it the weekend was drawing to a close. Sunday came and went, and Chris was no closer at all to telling Lance how he felt.
Joey had arranged for a breakfast, just the five of them, Monday morning before everyone flew out to to their various corners of the world. Chris figured it was his last chance before the guys gave up on him entirely, and without them riding him, he wasn't sure he'd have the courage to follow through on his own. There'd been a guy, too, at a lot of the events, someone new who was clearly on good terms with Lance, if not seeing him yet. Time was short.
When Chris stumbled out of his hotel bedroom and into the suite that morning, he found Ron watching TV in the living room.
"Dude," Chris said.
"Your mom gave me the key. I brought coffee." Ron said, not looking up from the television.
"I love you. I love my mother." Chris placed a wet kiss on Ron's cheek as he settled in next to him.
"So, you confessed your love-torn soul to him yet?" Ron asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," Chris said.
"Okay," Ron appeared indifferent at best.
"It's just, dude, if I mess this up, that's it. Game over. And he could hate me, you know? What if this new dude is doing it for him? What if I mess things up even more."
"I thought," Ron said dryly, "that you didn't want to talk about it."
"I just don't know how to start it," Chris sighed, his eyes drifting to the television. On screen, Lloyd Dobler was serenading Diane Court from the roof of his car.
"That would never work," Ron said, watching TV. He said it to an empty room, though. Chris was already out the door.
*
Half an hour later Chris was standing on top of his car, which was parked in Joey's driveway, boombox over his head. He took a deep breath, cranked the volume, and hit play. He was way cooler than Lloyd Dobler and Lance was way less cynical than Diane Court. He could do this.
"Lance Bass," Chris called out, "get your ass outside."
I love myself, I want you to love me. Chris felt his cheeks start to go pink as the Divinyls cover flowed out of the speakers. When I feel down, I want you above me. A curtain parted, and he could see Joey look out from the front window. The curtain closed, then opened again, all the way, as Joey stood there open-mouthed.
I search myself, I want you to find me. I forget myself, I want you to remind me. By that point Justin and JC had both made their way to the window, and looked torn between absolute horror and total amusement. Lance, however, was nowhere in sight.
I don't want anybody else. When I think about you I touch myself. Humor had clearly won out in Justin's case, his body doubled over with laughter. Oh I don't want anybody else, oh no, oh no, oh no.
It was at that moment that Lance came out the door, the screen slamming behind him as he strode toward the car. "Chris," he hissed, and if it was at all possible his face was redder than Chris's. "Get the fuck off the car, Kirkpatrick."
Chris shook his head, and picked up the tune, singing, "You're the one who makes me come running," backing away from the edge as Lance reached for his foot, "you're the one that makes me shine..."
"Goddammit, Chris, this isn't funny, get down before the neighbors come over."
"When you're around, I'm always laughing," Chris sang, "I want to make you mine." Chris took a break from singing to stage whisper, "Dude, chill, and enjoy, okay? I'm serenading you. So, like. Stand there and be serenaded!"
Lance huffed and pulled back from the car, shooting Chris a death look before he took off back in the house, banging the door shut hard. When he didn't immediately reappear Chris blew out a breath, shutting off the stereo and climbing down from the roof with Justin's help, who'd ventured outside after Lance had disappeared.
"Gotta admit, man, that was pretty classic, as far as displays of desperate bravado go," Justin said. Chris just handed him the boombox and went after Lance.
He found him in Joey's kitchen, white-knuckled as he gripped the sink. "Hey," Chris said, leaning against the fridge.
"What was that?" Lance asked, not looking at him.
"That," Chris said, searching for the right words, and coming up short, "was me wooing you." He picked at a thread on his t-shirt and looked everywhere but at Lance, who had suddenly decided he wanted to look at Chris and turned around.
"You were what?"
"I believe your people have, on occasion, called it courting," Chris said, "if that rings any bells."
"Chris, man. We have beaten this bush so far into the ground it's coming out in China. It's kind of funny." Lance's voice was low, warning, like he didn‘t think it was funny at all. "Wooing, you said. I can't seem to remember a time when we weren't. I didn't know what it was, didn't put a name to it and then all of a sudden you were everywhere I was, in any way you could be. On tour, shit, even when I was in Russia you managed to be there, the only way possible. You just always knew how to reach me."
"Yeah, and I'm kind of tired of fighting the inevitable," Chris said, looking up. "So this time it's different." He could feel his skin heating all over again. "This time I step up the plate, Lance. This time I'm swinging."
"You don't know what you're talking about, Chris." He shook his head, dismissing him.
"Fuck you," Chris said, moving closer to Lance. "If there is one thing I do know, Lance, it's you. It's us. Because we've been doing this whatever this is for years now. Years, but no matter how many times I twist around in circles I always end up back in the same place. Which is here."
"Joey's kitchen?"
Chris groaned. "Dude. I'm trying to make a movie-quality moment here. Would you cut me some slack?"
Lance rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry. Please continue."
Chris opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by what sounded like Kenny G coming from the living room behind them. "Mood music!" Justin called out.
"I hate you all," Chris yelled, grabbing Lance by the arm and pulling him into Joey's backyard. "Look," he said, once the music had faded behind them, "I just think maybe we should give this a shot and I've been fixated for a while now on seeing you naked and you know, we could try that, too, and I just. I think we could be good. Give me a chance to show you. Please," he added. Just in case being polite added points in his favor.
"That was your big romantic speech?" Lance asked. "That you want to want to see me dressed in only what God gave me?"
"I serenaded you with a song about masturbation, Bass, what the hell did you think I was going to say?"
Lance looked at him for a long moment before he threw his head back and laughed long enough and hard enough that Chris was beginning to get uncomfortable.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" Lance smiled affectionately. "Months ago - months, Chris - I told you I was yours for the taking. And if you're going to tell me you've spent all the time subsequent fixating on just how to take me up on that offer" - Chris opened his mouth and shut it quickly at the look Lance shot him - "I don't want to hear it. Just do something, Chris, for the love of God."
So Chris did. He closed the distance between them and kissed Lance like he'd thought about kissing him for a longer time than he wanted to admit. There weren't fireworks, admittedly, but there was obnoxious music coming from indoors and the catcalls of the other three. And Lance did look sort of dazed when the two of them finally came up for air.
"I think," Lance said, "we should do that again."
Chris nodded and leaned in obligingly.
"No," Lance laughed, "I meant. Maybe someplace less. Public." Chris turned his head to follow Lance's gaze to where three faces were pressed against the window.
"Right," Chris said. "That's. You're brilliant." He turned and promptly tripped over his feet, tumbling into the grass.
"And you're smooth," Lance said, helping him up. "It's really a wonder we didn't hook up sooner."
"Keep talking like that and you're not getting any of this ass," Chris said.
"Well, you know, if we're going to play it like that, I believe there was, a ways back, a marriage proposal, and really, if I'm going to be a good Southern boy I should wait 'til you slide that ring on my finger before I let you slide anything else in any part of my body."
Chris thought for a moment maybe his heart had stopped. It certainly skipped a beat.
"Kidding! Jesus, Chris, breathe, you freak, I was kidding." Lance laughed. Chris thought he could get used to the sound. Except for the part where he already was.
"You know, Lance, you had your chance at being an honest man a full year ago. I think now you're stuck being my kept boy."
"That would be 'man,' Chris, and right now, the thing you're keeping me from?" Lance grinned. "Consummating this relationship."
Chris was in such a hurry to get the hell out of that driveway that he didn't notice the clinking sound until they were at least a mile down the road. He frowned at Lance, who frowned back, and pulled the car over.
He got out of the car, walked around to the back, and swore softly, shaking his head.
"What?" Lance asked, getting out after him and staring once he rounded the corner.
There, attached to the back haphazardly, were a bunch of empty beer cans and a piece of cardboard that read, in JC's ridiculous scrawl, 'Just Got Over Themselves.'
"Someone or three is dead," Lance muttered.
"Later," Chris said.
"Definitely later," Lance grinned, nodding toward the car.
"Yeah," Chris said, and literally shoved Lance into the passenger side before he got back into the car. Because some things could wait, but others already had.
~.~
Notes and Acknowledgments:
This story would not be anywhere near done or in readable shape were it not for the help of Merry and Giddy, who let me throw bits and pieces at them while I was writing it and who encouraged (demanded!) more, and went above and beyond in helping to tweak and fix and generally polish this puppy.. Thanks also to Dre and Halo, who let me write at them along the way, and Steph, for being my virgin eyes.
And Jen, of course, who made me want to write them again. That's one thank you I don't have the words for. Happy birthday.
~.~
the soundtrack:
ryan adams // monday night
foo fighters // times like these
taxiride // how i got this way
bt // somnambulist
machine gun fellatio // rollercoaster
eve 6 // i touch myself (cover)
jimmy eat world // a praise chorus
coldplay // green eyes
justin timberlake // worthy of
flickerstick // coke
jc chasez // build my world
garbage // drive you home
strawpeople // taller than god
deftones // no ordinary love
bruce cockburn // all the ways i want you
elliott smith // between the bars
jump, little children // cathedralsthe end.