JC thought he heard a vague ringing sound cutting through the fog that had invaded his head. It started softly, then began to echo louder and louder. He groaned and groped around the bed, trying to figure out what it was, trying to make it stop, trying to prevent the pounding inside his head from becoming any worse. After sweeping numerous items to the floor, his hand wrapped around the ringing cell phone.
Wincing at the sound and motion, he brought it to his ear. "Hello?" he mumbled.
"Wazuuuuuup?!" shouted Joey into his ear. JC could hear laughter in the background.
"Fuck off," he said, shutting the phone off and dropping it to the floor.
It even hurt to breathe. JC couldn't remember ever being quite this hung over before, which was actually saying a lot. There was a thin stream of light entering the room from between the curtains, but already that was too much. He groped for his sunglasses, then realized they must have been one of the many items that was now somewhere on his hotel room floor.
He finally popped one eye open and looked at the state of his room. He kind of remembered have a few people in there, having a few drinks...but nothing like this. The empty tequila bottle and salt shaker on the table brought back a few more memories, and he groaned. He should never be allowed access to Britney's wardrobe again. And did he remember something about a rottweiler...?
He shook his head and hoped that particular image was something his alcohol-addled mind had come up with. If not, he was going to be seeing some serious extra charges on his hotel bill. Not that he wasn't already. He was pretty sure that that picture was supposed to be hanging on the wall, not disassembled into a hundred pieces like a jigsaw puzzle on crack.
He uncharitably hoped that at least one of his bandmates was feeling as bad as he was. He couldn't bear it if all four of them were as chipper as Joey when he finally stumbled out of his room to find them. Maybe Justin...hadn't Justin downed all that vodka before mock-performing fellatio on a beer bottle? Or was that Lance? The image in his head wasn't particularly clear.
He closed his eye again and offered a silent prayer of thanks to all the gods he could think of that there was no need for him to leave the hotel today. He wasn't even sure he could face getting out of bed. His head throbbed and his mouth felt horribly dry. He knew he was going to have to move at some point if he wanted it to stop, but neither choice seemed particularly appealing.
His inability to swallow soon made that choice for him. Well, that and the banging that started up at his door. "Shut up," he tried to shout, but it came out quiet and scratchy. "Go away!"
The banging continued, and JC rolled over to either shout at it again or answer it, whichever seemed most do-able at that particular moment. He stopped dead, however, when he realized he had a much larger problem.
He was certainly, definitely, unquestionably, not alone in his bed.
"Fuck," he whispered, and the other body moved. Lance's head snuck out from under the covers; he moaned and blinked open his eyes, then smiled as soon as he saw JC.
"Hey," he said quietly. "I had a great time last night, baby." He leaned up and kissed his new lover deeply.
JC's eyes widened, and he looked from Lance to the door and back again. Lance's kiss continued, the banging got louder, and he soon heard voices on the other side of the door.
He pulled away from Lance and froze. "Oh fuck."