it's what's inside
by Velma
Rumsfeld, jalapeno, squall, azalea, frenetic
The headline’s bold, something about Rumsfeld and troops and it makes Lance’s head hurt, looking at it. He wonders sometimes where he’d be right now, if it weren’t for the group. College, for sure. ROTC, almost certainly, because it wasn’t like his grades were good enough for a full ride anywhere and the state schools gave no aid.Not like it matters, anyway, because he’s Lance Bass of NSYNC, with gold records and awards and businesses and more money than he ever dreamed of. He’s got no worries. Or, at the very least, he’s got no right to complain about them.
There’s not time for deep thoughts, though, or big life questions. Daytona’s this weekend and Chris, taken with the theme from Justin’s birthday, decided a few days back that he’d have a white trash party in honor of his ancestry and the start of the racing season. Lance doesn’t really understand, but he knows better than to argue.
The party’s at his house because Chris’s place is in Miami now and Justin’s house isn’t fit for entertaining, or so Justin claims, and Joey’s place comes with Briahna now, so that’s not happening. JC won’t let Chris and alcohol anywhere near his pad after the mishap with the azalea bushes last Christmas, and, well, Lance is too easy when it comes to Chris wanting something. He’ll be cleaning beer and ground up potato chips out of his carpet for weeks, but it’ll be worth it for the five of them to get together and hang out for an afternoon.
He wonders about the wisdom of that as he watches Chris tear around his house, frenetic as ever as he decorates. Chris comes over to Lance and drops a trucker hat on his head, kissing his cheek and whispering,
“That’ll get JC’s attention. You know he’s a sucker for a wide brim.”
Lance can feel the heat in his cheeks and hates Chris a little for knowing him so well.
**
He can’t say when it started, just that it’s always been there, this soft undercurrent of tension between them. He crushed for years and years and JC was so patient and tolerant and it made him feel worse, looking back at it all those years later, that he could have been so blatant and JC never made a move. He doesn’t let himself wonder anymore what kind of guy JC likes. He stopped lurking outside hotel room doors a long time ago.
But JC came to Houston, when he was training, long after Lance had let go of any illusions of interest. JC came to Houston and smiled and praised and listened and there was something in his eyes there, a new kind of understanding. Lance’s excitement about the project maybe mirrored the way JC got about the music, or something. Lance was never sure, except they connected in that week like they hadn’t, before, like some hurdle had been crossed and they had found equal footing.
JC kissed him, soft and quick, in the limo outside the hotel he was staying at there. A press of lips and a hint of tongue and then he was out the door.
Lance has a problem with overthinking things, though, because JC left the next day and went back to doing his own thing and Lance’s thing fell through and they didn’t talk about it all that much after. Or at all, really.
Lance is good at stoic, though. He’s Southern. He does that kind of thing.
**
He jerks out of his thoughts when the doorbell rings, the squall in the foyer signaling that the rest of the guests have arrived. Lance pushes up and away from the table, shoving the paper into the recycling bin before he heads in to see the guys. Chris and Justin are already sprawled across the couch, Joey’s on the phone and JC – JC’s curled up in Lance’s favorite chair. Smiling at him like he knows something.
Lance swallows. “Beer? Pop? Who wants what, y’all?”
“Nachos,” Chris grunts, trying to wrestle the remote from Justin’s hand. “And beer. Lots of it.”
“Don’t forget the jalapenos,” Justin calls after him.
Lance rolls his eyes and goes to get the food.
**
It’s a good time, as ever, but Joey’s gone as soon as the checkered flag drops. He’s got obligations now, and Lance understands.
Chris would understand, too, if he wasn’t pretty much passed out on top of Justin. Who was also dead to the world. Lance wonders sometimes if they haven’t gotten so used to each other’s quirks that they’ll never have successful long-term relationships with anyone else. If for no other reason than other people wouldn’t have years of experience tuning out their snoring.
Christ, Chris was loud.
He doesn’t know where JC’s wandered off to, except that JC’s always wandering somewhere, and he’ll turn up eventually. Lance worries instead about cleaning up the mess, shaking his head when he realizes Chris and Justin lie in its epicenter. Figures.
**
He finds JC on the back deck a couple hours later, after the cleaning’s finally done. It’s moved past dusk toward night, and Lance swears he can hear cicadas, even if the season’s all wrong for it. JC’s head is tipped back, his eyes cast upward, but Lance doesn’t follow his gaze, fixing instead on the smooth patch of skin between JC’s shirt and his hairline.
Lance wonders what it tastes like.
“Sit down,” JC murmurs, and Lance does. JC scoots, moves close enough that Lance can feel the heat coming off his body. It’s chilly in Orlando, unseasonably so, but that’s not why Lance shivers.
“Pretty, up there,” JC nods toward the stars and Lance murmurs his agreement, but doesn’t look. He knows what’s up there. He almost made it.
“Down here, too.” Lance looks around for the speaker, and realizes with a start that it’s him.
JC’s flushing now, soft pink working its way from his cheeks to his ears. “I didn’t know, Lance. I didn’t know you could be like that, that the stars were in you like music’s in me.”
Lance doesn’t know what to say.
“You hide things so well,” JC says. “I’m never really sure what’s real.”
“C’mon, Jayce,” Lance rumbles, and it’s him pressing closer this time. “I never hid the important stuff.”
“Maybe I did,” JC whispers, leaning back against Lance’s chest, his face still drawn to the stars.
Lance closes his eyes and doesn’t trust himself to speak.
“Tell me about them,” JC says.
“Yeah,” Lance says, pushing out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Yeah, okay.” He loops an arm around JC’s chest, anchors him close, and does.
- fin -