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LIAR Disclaimer: Not true, don’t know them. Don’t own them. Dedicaton: To Ins, for her birthday! It's got some angst, but the ending is happy, which is ultimately what I wish for your - nothing but happy endings. Acknowledgements: Kyla (of course!), Pet, and k8 for the betas, and Poet, for offering. And Silvia, who understands the power of Lance. Notes:Hank actually did dedicate Liar to Lance at a recent show, although he had no idea it was our dear Mr. Bass. Blame Sil! It was all her fault! It’s going to be a long night. Lance kicks himself again for getting roped into this. He searches the crowd for Chris, who had gone off to get them drinks, and finally finds him at the bar, deep in conversation with a large, burly man who looks vaguely familiar and a woman. Chris is gesturing animatedly, and the woman is nodding appreciatively at whatever he’s saying. Chris is why he’s here. Chris is why he’s being jostled back and forth in the hard press of bodies. Chris asked, and he can’t deny Chris anything, really. Well, most of the time. Lance looks around at the crowd. Damn, but he feels out of place. The Rollins Band. He couldn’t pick Henry Rollins out of a line-up if his life depended on it. He only knew the one song, the one song that Chris had played at some point and Justin had gleefully decreed was Lance’s theme song. Liar. He’d raised his eyebrows at that, and shoved Justin away and told him he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Lance is one of the good guys. He doesn’t lie. JC had looked up from his writing then and pierced Lance with his gaze. “The song’s not about little white lies,” he’d said. “It’s about the big ones. The lies you tell yourself. The lies you tell others. The lies that get you through the day. Sometimes,” JC had continued, watching him carefully, “you get so caught up in it you forget you’re living a lie.” Lance had to look away at that. JC is far more observant than anyone gives him credit for. He wonders if they all think that about him. Lance comes back to the present and sighs, scanning the crowd again before looking back over toward the bar. Chris is no longer there, and Lance begins searching the crowd again. Before he has time to look too hard, Chris is in front of him, beaming from ear to ear. “Henry Rollins!” he says, grinning. “Yeah?” “I was just shooting the shit with Henry. Rollins. You can’t even begin to imagine how fucking cool that was.” Lance thinks if Chris smiles any wider his face might just break in half. “Like,” Chris continues,” I didn’t tell him who I was, of course, but he was so down to earth and friendly… not what you’d expect, really.” “It’s got to be that infectious enthusiasm and acerbic charm,” Lance says, without even a touch of sarcasm. Chris looks surprised. “Yeah, I think he was probably either impressed or petrified when he realized I could list, in track order, every piece of music he’s recorded from Black Flag to his spoken word, and he decided just to humor me until I went away,” he pauses. “And maybe I do have a bit of charm. Just never thought you’d noticed. Oh, sorry, here,” Chris says, handing him a bottle of beer, which Lance gratefully accepts. The cool liquid feels good as it works its way down his throat, and when he lowers the bottle, he find himself staring into Chris’ eyes. “What?” he asks, a bit sharply perhaps, but Chris is staring. “Nothing,” Chris smiles. “Just a little surprised that you of all people were willing to come with me tonight.” “Eh,” Lance looks at his feet. “You asked, didn’t you? And you’re always telling me I work too much, so, chance to blow of steam, I guess.” He glances up to see the corners of Chris’ mouth quirking into a smile. Lance finds himself wondering what it would be like to taste that smile. He’s suddenly very relieved JC isn’t there, tossing him knowing glances and smirking at him in that incredibly irritating way. “Yeah, yeah, I did.” Chris smiles, and Lance feels his pulse quicken a bit at that, despite all his efforts to the contrary. He’s about to say something in response, when the lights go down and the noise level around him increases about a hundredfold. It’s been so long since he went to a concert to see a show where he’s been anywhere but the VIP section that he’s forgotten what it’s like. The music’s really not that bad, he thinks. A little grating, a little angry for his tastes, but he can see why Chris gets into it. The way the crowd moves, pushing at each other, feeding of their collective energy, creates a pulse and a rhythm that is not altogether unpleasant. Of course, if Lance let himself think about that too much, he’d have to acknowledge that if it weren’t Chris he was bumping into with such regularity, he’d find the whole thing awkward and highly uncomfortable. The set’s progressing nicely when Rollins takes a break to interact with the crowd a bit. “This next song,” he says, “this next song is quite the popular one. Even made it into fairly heavy rotation on MTV, back in the olden days, when they actually played videos. Tonight, I’d like to send this song out to one individual in particular. I don’t do dedications, usually, but I received a request for this one from a diehard fan, so here it goes. Lance, this one’s for you.” Lance looks over at Chris, then, sharply, but Chris is turned toward the stage, and there’s a body between them, and he can’t quite make eye contact. He focuses on the song, trying to hear the lyrics. He doesn’t recognize it at first, but about a minute or so in it hits the chorus and he feels the beat like a weight sinking into his chest. Liar. He turns on his heel and pushes towards the exit. He can hear Chris call his name in the background, but he doesn’t bother turning around. He’s pissed as hell and knows he’ll end up yelling and this isn’t the place for a scene, even though none of these people know who he is. None of them would care. He slides through the last ring of people into the deserted lobby, fists clenched, and just circles for a few moments, trying to get his head together, trying to understand why the whole thing hurts so damn much, when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. “Damn it, Lance.” It’s Chris, and he looks sort of winded. “I had to practically crowd surf to get back here. What’s your deal?” “What’s my deal? What’s my deal? How about what’s your deal, dedicating this song to me?” “Fuck, man, I had no idea you’d go ballistic,” Chris looked genuinely stunned. “I just know you don’t know much of their stuff, and I thought you of all people might appreciate the irony of having one of punk’s living legends dedicate his most well-known song to a boyband member.” “Yeah, well, it’s not funny. It’s fun at my expense, Chris, and I don’t appreciate it.” “Jesus, Lance, what’s wrong with you? If it’s fun at anyone’s expense, it’s his. You don’t get upset over stuff like this. Someone defaulting on a contract, a movie deal gone sour maybe, but not a stupid song dedicated to you at a concert where no has even the faintest clue who you are or that you’re even the subject of the dedication.” Lance sees the anger in his eyes reflected in Chris’, and realizes there was no malicious intent behind the act. Why should there have been? This was Chris, not Justin. Chris is a tease, but he’s not hurtful. Lance sighs and rubs at his eyes, the anger gone completely. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a misunderstanding, man. Henry Rollins dedicated a song to me. That’s cool,” he smiles weakly, “totally a story for the grandkids.” He knows Chris doesn’t know what to think, and Lance sees genuine concern in his eyes. “Really, I’m fine. Just, you know – the smoke, the noise – I got a little overwhelmed. Let’s get back in there, or you’ll miss the rest of the show.” “You’re sure?” Chris asks. “Yeah,” Lance says, leading the way back into the club. Chris is close behind, and Lance feels a protective arm on his back, helping to guide him through the crowd. He knows he shouldn’t be as comforted by that as he is. When the show’s over, they ride back to the hotel in relative quiet, both lost in their own thoughts. Lance watches Chris out of the corner of his eyes, silently cursing himself for being the buzzkill of what had really been an amazing night. They reach the suite, and find JC and Justin engrossed in what appears to be a rather vicious game of Madden 2000. “How was the show?” JC asks over his shoulder. “It was great,” Chris says, and Lance winces, because his voice is nowhere near as enthusiastic as it should be. Justin looks over at him and smirks. “Hey, Lance, did they play your song?” That’s about all Lance can take. His face floods with anger again, and his jaw tightens. “Yes, Justin,” he says, through clenched teeth. “Yes, he played Liar. Just. For. Me.” Lance figures if he doesn’t leave he’s going to be wiping the smug grin off of Justin’s face with his fist, and really, he’s not a violent person, so he storms out of the room, leaving the sound of Justin’s hooting in his wake. He walks down the hall to his room and stops outside the door, fumbling for the key. He rests his head against the doorframe for a moment, trying to clear it some, to soothe the pounding of the blood in his temples. Lance feels a hand on his shoulder, and tenses. “Hey…” It’s Chris, of course. “Not out here,” Lance mumbles, sensing a “conversation” in the works. He opens the door and walks inside, waiting for Chris to follow him. Lance walks over the bathroom and flicks a switch, and enough light comes pooling out so that he can see Chris’ silhouette, and his eyes, sparkling in the darkness. “You know he doesn’t really think that, don’t you? That any of us do? He was just joking...” Lance shrugs. “Maybe it’s not about that. Or maybe it is. Maybe it’s about the truth, and certain things striking a little too close to home…” he falters, and finds Chris eyes again in the darkness. There’s nothing in them but warmth, kindness… nothing to be afraid of. “Maybe,” he says, “maybe I am a liar, about the important things…” He moves closer to Chris. He can do this. He has to do this. “Maybe,” Lance swallows hard, and finds himself directly in front of Chris, looking into those soft brown eyes. “Maybe I’m looking for a new theme song.” Now or never, he thinks. Be a man, Bass. And then he does something truly uncharacteristic and stops thinking and just acts, leaning in, placing his hands gently at the sides of Chris’ face and pulling him close. Lance captures Chris’ lips with his own, and it’s sweet and chaste but that’s a lie, too, isn’t it? He presses his tongue, then, to Chris’ lips, demanding entrance, and Chris opens for him, moaning softly into his mouth as Lance’s tongue sweeps inside. He doesn’t break the kiss until his tongue has made a sensory map of Chris’ mouth. He realizes that somewhere in the process he’s backed Chris against the door, and the two have become a tangle of limbs. Chris drops kisses along his jaw line, pausing now and again to nuzzle at the scruff growing there. “New theme song?” Chris laughs quietly. “I think that can be arranged.” ~fin~ Feedback
cherished || Shadowlands
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