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So, in combined honor of Trickyfish Day and WIP Amnesty, I present bits and pieces of the trickyfish Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story I started writing...3+ years ago. It was a cool idea. I had maps. I will never, ever finish it.
Snippets! No editing, no order! Have, um, fun. *g*
Show Yourself
Lance is against the far wall. He can hear Justin talking from there, fast and excited, pointing things out to the other guys, who aren't paying attention, JC with his head in the clouds and Joey with his eyes on JC. Lance would be listening if he were over there with them, he'd be leaning forward with Justin and checking things out, but Chris is a miserable wreck, huddling against the wall, his face turned away because he wants to be alone and Lance isn't going anywhere.
"You're sulking," Lance says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulder brushing against Chris' before Chris jerks away.
"Am not," Chris mutters. "Go away."
"Won't." They've been having this argument for ten minutes, and it's down from full sentences to one or two words, but neither of them is going to give in easy, that's a known fact. Lance figures that on this one, he can probably resist giving in at all. And he knows he's a step closer to winning when Chris resorts to pushing at him irritably, muttering curses he can't make out and sounding utterly frustrated. Chris' hands are shaking, absolutely no force behind them.
"You know," he says, letting Chris push at him and not moving, "you're actually pretty safe. We wouldn't like, let you fall off the building or anything, here. I promise."
Chris turns his head to glare and Lance smiles, pleased that at least Chris is looking at him and not the ground, but anything else he might say gets whipped away when a particularly harsh gust of wind that whistles around them. The other guys laugh, and Lance can see them stagger and brace themselves from the corner of his eye. Chris' hands dig into the wall; he grips like his hands are the only things keeping him from flying away. His face is tight, closed off.
Lance has been having fun with it all, really. Chris is kind of strangely cool with his eyes all huge and dark and his scowl, his fierce resistance to any offer of comfort, but things have reached a point that's just ridiculous, and Chris is going to scrape his hands to shreds if he doesn't relax. And if they don't get the photos they'd been sent up here for, they're gonna be in serious fucking trouble.
He frowns and moves closer, turning to brace his left hand on the wall by Chris' head and lean in, staring at him. "You standing here holding on to the wall isn't going to keep the building from crumbling either," he says. His other hand covers Chris', carefully peeling his fingers away from the brick. He curls their fingers together and squeezes, just a little.
Chris' gaze snaps into focus, his attention switching from inward on his fear, on whatever it was going through his head, to outward on Lance. It's a sudden thing, and feels like a mild shock, a current passing between them. Lance tells himself that it's just a simple reflex to hold on tighter and smile.
Chris licks his lips and blinks, slow motion. "Phobias aren't rational," he says. "I can't just tell myself, the building is safe, you're all right. I can't just tell myself, you're not falling. It doesn't work like that, Lance."
Lance is afraid of things--failure, the things that brush your leg when you're swimming in murky water, and the wrath of his mother. He doesn't have any phobias though. Not like this. The most he really knows about it is that sometimes they can be overcome by people gradually getting used to the things they were afraid of, which Chris obviously knows too. He climbs things, jumps off things, makes himself look out the window on the plane and wave at fans from the balconies at every hotel. Lance doesn't understand the depths of the fear, but he thinks he understands the depths of Chris' courage.
"Then don't tell yourself anything," he says. "Don't just tell yourself anything, come away from the wall with me." He backs up a step, loosening his grip on Chris' hand in case--just in case--but still holding on. The wind flutters at the sleeve of his jacket and tosses Chris' hair around but they don't look away from each other.
"Show yourself," Lance urges, and then he just stands there, an arms-length away, waiting.
There's a long, tense moment where he thinks Chris is going to shake his head and slump against the wall, turn his face away again. He can just imagine it happening and the image makes him sad. He's met some brave people in his life, but Chris is probably the bravest. Chris has kept them all strong when they might have wanted to give up, and Lance wants to return the favor. He just doesn't know if Chris will let him.
He thinks he understands the depths of Chris' pride, and doesn't know if Chris can let him help.
Then Chris takes a deep breath. He nods firmly and his eyes narrow, harden, and he suddenly inches forward. Takes one little step away from the wall, his fingers so tightly clenched around Lance's that it almost hurts. But Lance doesn't say anything about it. He tries not to say anything at all but can't help making a pleased noise, hopes it gets lost in the wind. He knows it didn't when Chris' eyes flash, almost bitter, but Chris takes another small step forward. Lance moves with him, backwards, watching carefully, ready to head back at even the slightest hesitation.
Slowly, they move toward the guys, toward the edge, and they're both so absorbed that it's almost a shock when Justin catches sight of them and reaches out instantly, grabbing Chris' hand, glaring at Lance but chattering brightly anyway. JC leans around Justin and smiles and Joey, all crinkly eyes and warm voice, starts talking about things you can see through the viewfinders that none of them are using.
Lance watches Chris take a quick look out at New York below them, looks himself and the city is so far down that everything seems peaceful and calm, neat and orderly, although still colorful. Lance thinks he likes it better from the ground.
The photographer is already set up and waiting, and he rushes them through a few shots. Maybe he understands how hard it is for Chris to be out there, or maybe he just wants to make up for the time it took to get Chris out there--Lance is pretty sure none of them care. They stand as directed, look like they're having fun, and chatter stupidly to keep Chris distracted.
After, the photographer and his assistants pack up while Joey and Justin make elaborate plans to sneak Justin into some club Joey's heard about, while JC points out in what he probably thinks is a reasonable tone that they have two performances and four hours of promo the next day. Lance stands behind Chris, hand casually resting on Chris' shoulder, and says, "I need a snack. You coming with?" He doesn't wait for an answer. He pushes and Chris moves with him away from the edge, his eyes focused on the door, leading the way back.
Lance follows and behind them, Justin laughs and JC murmurs something he can't make out except that it's about them. It doesn't matter though, really, because Chris leans into him once they're back inside, and takes his hand again. His hair is mussed and smells like wind, cold air. His eyes are dark and he isn't smiling and he growls, "You suck, Bass. I hope you know how much I hate you."
Lance nods and smiles, flushing a little. He knows. He knows, and he holds Chris' hand all the way to the elevator.
The Price of Socks in Spain
Across the room, Lance and Joey are having a discussion about something stupid. Chris knows it's stupid because he's bored from where he is, with Justin and JC off being groomed and the other two not paying attention. Joey's his buddy, he should know better, and considering that Lance is both Chris' favorite prankster and one of his favorite targets--yeah. They both should know better.
The situation just could not be allowed to continue. Chris climbs up off the floor and creeps forward silently, stealthy. Stalking Lance right out in the open, with Joey watching on. He grins and holds a finger to his lips and Joey's face doesn't change at all, he listens to Lance talk about like, the price of socks in Spain or whatever while Chris edges in, closer, closer--
And then Chris does his patented divebomb, darting forward and wrapping his arms around Lance from behind, squeezing so hard that Lance jolts off his feet a little and grunts, some of the air knocked out of him. Chris is laughing and Lance's arms cross over his. He turns his head and he's not smiling but his eyes are warm and unsurprised.
"What took you so long?" he murmurs, and Chris tips his chin onto Lance's shoulder, says, "You had me bored into a stupor, Bass, from across the room. It took me this long to recover and save Joey before you could do it to him too."
Joey rubs a hand over his face, shakes his head. "Chris. Thank God. I was so bored. So so bored. Bored, man," and he's so obviously trying to get away from them that Chris has to grin and Lance laughs out loud.
"Saw your brother in the hall earlier, talking to chicks," Chris says, and Joey is gone before he can finish the sentence with, "about how bad you reek," but he says it anyway cause it'll make Lance laugh. He hugs tighter and Lance grins, tips his head down. Chris puckers his lips and blows gently across the skin of Lance's neck, and it causes such a fun shiver that he does it a couple more times, until Lance murmurs and turns his head.
"We're off tonight," Lance says quietly. Chris nods, watching the flutter of Lance's lashes against his cheek, the way his color is rising shade by shade until it's a true Lance Bass flush. He watches and holds his breath, because Lance's face changes so much when he smiles.
"We'll go see a movie," he says, digging his chin into Lance's shoulder.
Lance shakes his head a little. "The guys are planning something, I think."
"Not the guys. Me and you, we'll go see a movie." Chris waits a second and smiles when Lance nods. "If you insist, I'll even buy the popcorn."
Before Lance can say anything about who bought the popcorn last time, Justin comes bouncing in, hair newly trimmed and bleached, and he slams into them from the side instead of just stopping. He doesn't even wait for them to stop cursing him before he's talking about JC and Steve having a breakdance contest in the hall and they had to go right away, like before Steve finished humiliating himself, and they could talk about dating later--
"Were we talking about dating?" Chris whispers to Lance as they watch JC wipe the floor with Steve before he even starts to breathe hard. Lance just looks at him and smiles, and Chris smiles back.
Yes
Lance's mom doesn't say anything. And doesn't say anything. And doesn't say anything. And eventually Lance is wiggling in his seat and clasping his hands like he's gonna start praying any second, and his mother shakes her head.
She shakes her head, slow and almost sad, and Lance deflates with a groan, slumping over the table and dropping his forehead down onto the wood with a hollow thunk. "Mama," he says, and it's not quite a whine but it would be if it weren't echoing off the table. "Mama, I like them."
"I like them too," she says, and then she rubs a hand over his back, light and warm and Lance droops a little more. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, a little 'poor baby' kind of noise, and Lance turns his head. Just a bit, just enough that he can open one eye and look at her.
She's smiling.
Lance sits up a little, hardly even daring to hope. "You like them?" he asks, and she nods. She nods and she's still smiling. Lance swallows, tries to ask and can't quite get the words out. He can barely even breathe. He's only known about this chance for a couple days and he's only known the guys for a couple hours but he wants this. He wants it so much--
And his mother, she's still smiling, and she puts her hand on his arm and leans in towards him. "James Lance Bass," she says, "if you get into one little spot of trouble, I will drag you home and whup you so fast your head will spin. You understand?"
Lance shakes his head. Understand? No. Because. Because in order for her to drag him home, that'd have to mean he started off being away from home, and the only place away from home he wants to be is with the guys, and she'd never let him go. Never.
His mother's hand rises to brush his hair away from his eyes, to smooth it. "Go tell them you're staying," she whispers to him, and Lance gasps so hard that he chokes. His eyes water and it isn't tears, he isn't crying, but after he catches his breath and looks up again, he sees that she is.
In all his life, he's seen his mother cry only a few times. It terrifies him and he rises half out of his seat, his hand reaching out for her, breath choked in his throat again. She waves him off and leans back, grabs a tissue out from her bag and presses it under her eyes, and her lips are still curved.
Lance hovers, half out of his seat, completely confused, nearly dizzy with hope and fear and maybe even a little guilt for wanting something so bad it drives his mother to tears.
Then she says, "I'm all right, honey. I'm just. I want you to be happy, and I want you to have every opportunity in the world," and her eyes are still a little watery, her makeup is a little smudged, but suddenly Lance can see it. He can see how happy her smile is. "Go," she tells him, waving her tissue towards the door.
Just beyond it, the other guys are waiting for them, and Lance has only known them a couple hours but he can practically feel their excitement, their hope and energy. He pushes back his chair a little but hesitates, hovers still. He searches her face, waiting, until suddenly she laughs and reaches out to shove at him a little.
"Don't make me take it back," she warns, and Lance gives in to the hope, feels joy just take him over, and he bolts for the door. He forgets to move the chair, nearly falls flat on his butt and just barely manages to save himself. Behind him, his mother laughs. When Lance hits the door and throws it open, he's laughing too.
The other guys are frozen motionless, JC and Joey draped across the long couch, Justin sprawled on the floor, Chris leaning on the wall. They stare at him, standing in the doorway laughing, and for a moment they're all just. Silent.
"She said yes!" Lance finally manages to say, like it wasn't obvious, and it's because he's laughing so hard that there's tears on his cheeks, that's all. It's just because he's suddenly wrapped in JC's arms and Joey is pounding him on the back, and Justin is jumping up and down around them. It's just because Chris is hooking an arm around his neck and pressing noisy kisses to his wet cheeks before jumping on Joey's back and making him do a victory lap around the waiting room.
Just because. That's all.
False Color
There's something obviously broken inside of Chris after Dani's departure. Lance watches, they all watch, as Chris puts on weight and loses control of his temper sometimes, as Chris turns even them away and broods for a while. They all watch, concerned, hurting for Chris and worried for him, trying to find a way to give him both space and support--
And then they have an interview with Larry King.
Lance, during the show, feels like there's an almost visible change in Chris as he goes back and forth from almost-normal, their Chris, to a stranger that Larry King twists up. Lance wishes at a couple points, honestly wishes, that he could call someone and get the show pulled off the air. Not just their episode, but the whole damned show. He hates seeing people's pain being exploited for ratings, and he particularly hates it when those people belong to him. But there's nothing he can do, they're committed, so they try to make it light and easy and he can only hope they help, at least a little.
And after, when they're having the makeup removed, he watches as Chris sits still with his head tipped back and one of the makeup artists carefully stripping the false color from his cheeks and mouth. JC leans against Lance, watching too, and Chris knows they're there. He puts up with it for a while, then says, "You guys can go away now." The makeup artist bites her lip and hushes him but he opens one eye anyway and waves his hand at them. "Shoo. Vamoose."
They don't go.
Chris rolls his eyes at them. "Go rescue Justin. He looks like he's gonna pass out from boredom over there," and Lance looks. By the door, Larry's stopped in to chat with Joey for a moment and Joe is working the charm big-time but he's annoyed, Lance can see it, and Justin's eyes are completely glazed over. He's already somewhere else, doing something else.
They do need rescuing.
JC hesitates for only another second before slipping away, crossing the room to play off Joey, to entertain Justin and help keep the focus away from Chris for a while, although Lance doubts that was Chris' original intention. But Lance doesn't go. He leans against the back of the makeup chair and watches in the mirror until Chris is all himself again, pale skin and circles and stress.
"You coming to Joey's party?" he asks, and before the breakup that wouldn't even have been a question he thought to ask but things are a little different now.
Chris doesn't answer as the makeup artist hands him a bottle of moisturizer, tells him to use it, and discreetly disappears. Chris rolls the bottle between his palms, then leans forward to drop it on the counter. He doesn't meet Lance's gaze in the mirror.
"I'm gonna go home," he says, normal tone, like he's always wanted to go home rather than hang out with them.
Lance forces a smile. "But I thought we were dating," he says, gentle teasing because so many things are sensitive subjects with Chris at the moment but he needs teasing. He touches the back of Chris' neck, just under his hairline, and Chris finally meets his gaze in the mirror.
It's probably the first time Chris has looked at him, honestly looked right at him, in weeks. Lance holds his breath. Chris' eyes are dark and wary, shadowed underneath and veiled above by lashes Lance abruptly, absurdly, wants to touch.
Well, really, not so much abruptly. It's been a long time since he first wanted to touch Chris, to be touched back. Now the thoughts don't so much come abruptly as they bubble up inside him, slowly, making themselves known at the weirdest times. So not abruptly but all things considered, timing alone considered--yes. Absurd.
They look at each other in the mirror and it seems to Lance that Chris' eyes begin to lighten a little, and he tips his head down a bit. The movement seems designed somehow to encourage a firmer touch, Lance's palm covering the nape of Chris' neck, like it's just a connection waiting to be formed.
But there isn't a chance, not then. Larry King has dealt with world leaders and criminals and Joey, JC, Justin--at their best, they're pretty good, but no one is at their best at the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, just as his fingertips slide into Chris' hair, Lance can see the interviewer approaching them. He catches his breath and then Chris is gone from under his hand, slipped away like he'd never been there at all.
Lance's fingertips tingle with the sensation of Chris moving away. He puts them into his pockets, and smiles when Larry King nods at him. He wants to curse, but has a lot of practice holding that particular urge in. It's practically a hobby.
"Good show tonight," Larry says, and Chris tips his head down. He opens the bottle of moisturizer as Lance murmurs a thank you for both of them. But he isn't spared a glance. Larry is looking at Chris, watching him, and he suddenly doesn't look like an interviewer anymore. He looks like someone's sort-of-kindly, eccentric uncle.
Larry puts a hand on Chris' shoulder and Lance, a little confused, steps forward. But Chris doesn't move at all, just holds on to the bottle of moisturizer and looks into the mirror. His eyes are fierce, but he doesn't move.
"You'll be fine, kid," Larry says, rough kindness. He squeezes Chris' shoulder and nods at him in the mirror. "You've got good friends. You'll be all right." His gaze shifts to Lance, and his hand drops away.
Chris takes a deep breath. He sighs, and relaxes just a little. Lance, the other guys, they'd probably be the only ones who could see that ease of tension, even with a guy like this one in the room. He says, "I know, sir," and his voice is a little too faint to be normal Chris but he is trying.
Lance heaves a silent sigh of relief as Larry nods brusquely, then turns and holds out his hand to Lance.
"You're a protective little crew," Larry says. "I figured I had better offer my version of an apology before I found myself being beaten in a dark alley by kids in shiny pants."
"The beating would have been somewhere a little more public than a dark alley," Lance says with a little smile, an almost real smile, and Larry laughs, thumps his once on the shoulder.
"I wish I really thought that was a joke," he says, still laughing, and then he's gone, calling a goodbye to the other guys as he heads out the door.
For a moment, Chris and Lance stay where they are, silent and staring at each other, everyone stays where they are--and then Joey snorts. The tension is broken and Chris stands, comes around the chair. He puts on his jacket and doesn't look at Lance when he says, "Go on. I'm headed out. I'll see you all later, all right?"
Lance sighs, nods. "See you soon," he says, and Chris looks at him.
"Soon," he says, smiling a little, almost a real Chris smile. His eyes are still lighter, more open than they've been in a long time. Lance wonders if maybe the interview had been good for him, if he's starting to heal, and he steps back so that Chris can get past him, letting him go.
After all, if Chris is starting to heal, Lance can afford to be patient for just a little longer.
Lance Bass Stayed Out of Trouble
Lance liked Germany well enough. The food was weird, and the people were weird, and the language was weird. Their hotels were always weird and the record execs were weird, and their schedule wasn't weird because it was horrible--but, yeah. For all of that, Germany was pretty cool.
Mainly he liked it 'cause he was legal.
His mother had warned him to stay out of trouble, so at home in the States he was the most dutiful Southern boy ever. He kept his things neat and worked hard and never smoked any of the pot that JC had every now and then and he never stole Joey's alcohol, even though both were clearly available to him if he asked. He never even thought much about like, licking JC's neck or catching the taste of alcohol straight from Joey's tongue. He didn't even think about putting his hands on Chris' dick, and considered that very good behavior from himself.
At home, Lance Bass Stayed Out Of Trouble.
But in Germany. In Germany, things were just slightly different. He let Joey talk him into a couple beers and one time, tequila shots, and he tested the flavor of whiskey by twining his tongue with Joey's. He talked JC into letting him have just a little pot, just enough to get a little high, and then he talked JC into thinking it was a good idea to let Lance lick his wrist and bite gently at the tendons there.
In Germany, Lance followed Chris into a darkened room, drawn in by gorgeous eyes and a crazy smile, and he pushed a surprised Chris against the wall so hard that they both gasped. Then he settled himself in and rubbed against Chris, ground against his groin until the friction was just right, white-hot and sending chills racing up and down his spine. He caught Chris' mouth with his and bit his lips, sucked his tongue, and then he came against Chris' stomach in the stifling dark, with a long moan that he heard echoed only seconds later, at least an octave higher.
Things were different in Germany, and Lance liked it well enough. He didn't get into trouble at all.
Seven Things at Once
Chris didn't get laid often enough. There never seemed to be time, never seemed to be an opportunity for flirting, he could never fit the time for courting and seducing into his schedule. It got to the point where it was so much easier to just jerk off in the shower every morning, and then sometimes again in the evening when Lance was out of their room, down in the basement dancing or something, so that was what Chris did. A lot.
An awful lot.
But it was different when they weren't at home. In Europe, it was nearly impossible to find the time to even jerk off. What made it worse was the fact that there were gorgeous women everywhere and most of them knew he was in a band, and some of them had even heard their music on the radio, so it should've been easy and fun. It wasn't. It just never was. He was doing six things at once and not a one of those things was a chick.
The showers in most of their hotels were pathetic, to make matters worse. Never enough water and none of it warm, so it was always a rushed, cold time. Chris couldn't get enough pleasure out of it to make himself stay in any longer than absolutely necessary. He soaped up, sometimes grimacing at the feel of his own hand on his skin. He rinsed off. He dried off, he got dressed, and he started his day with a vague heaviness bearing low in his stomach, a rough-edged hunger that he just couldn't satisfy.
At night, he mostly fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Sometimes, like he was a twelve-year old or something, he had a wet dream and woke to slightly cold, stiff sheets and a nagging remembrance of golden skin, a warm mouth, passionate eyes. But mostly he didn't dream at all, and he woke in the morning with an erection that could've cut diamonds or drilled steel, had he been a masochist.
If he had the single, he jerked off. If his roommate was JC, he jerked off because having JC was like having the single. Joey, Joey he was super quiet and surreptitious for because the littlest things woke him and he was always up too late anyway. Joey and Justin were the ones who needed their sleep the most, the ones who never seemed to quite be all right even if they were happy and bouncing around. And Justin...if, by some weird design, he ended up bunking with Justin, he didn't touch himself. Period.
He only did it once with Lance in the same room. Only once, because the first time in Europe that they'd bunked together, he'd thought Lance was asleep, had been damned sure and thought he should know considering how long they'd been roommates at home. So, confident, aching, he'd lubed his palm a little and slid a hand into his boxers, jerking off with long, slow strokes, and thought about a warm mouth wrapped around him, pale eyes looking up at him--
Then he'd turned his head at a slight noise, biting his lip, and met that pale gaze in reality.
Time had frozen for a long moment. Then Lance's hand had moved; Chris had realized that Lance was jerking off too, that Lance was watching him jerk off. He'd realized who he was thinking about, and he had climbed out of his bed. Like a man in a daze or a man in an erotic dream, he slid under Lance's sheet and got them both out of their shorts. And a few long minutes later, they had pressed together, sweat-slick and panting. The low-grade ache in Chris' stomach was gone for the first time in forever.
That had only happened once. Just the one, unforgettable time--
Mainly because after that, they didn't bother climbing into separate beds or jerking off if they were rooming together. After that, Chris was doing seven things at once, and one of them was Lance.
ETA: One day I will master cut tags. Today? Not that day.
Snippets! No editing, no order! Have, um, fun. *g*
Show Yourself
Lance is against the far wall. He can hear Justin talking from there, fast and excited, pointing things out to the other guys, who aren't paying attention, JC with his head in the clouds and Joey with his eyes on JC. Lance would be listening if he were over there with them, he'd be leaning forward with Justin and checking things out, but Chris is a miserable wreck, huddling against the wall, his face turned away because he wants to be alone and Lance isn't going anywhere.
"You're sulking," Lance says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulder brushing against Chris' before Chris jerks away.
"Am not," Chris mutters. "Go away."
"Won't." They've been having this argument for ten minutes, and it's down from full sentences to one or two words, but neither of them is going to give in easy, that's a known fact. Lance figures that on this one, he can probably resist giving in at all. And he knows he's a step closer to winning when Chris resorts to pushing at him irritably, muttering curses he can't make out and sounding utterly frustrated. Chris' hands are shaking, absolutely no force behind them.
"You know," he says, letting Chris push at him and not moving, "you're actually pretty safe. We wouldn't like, let you fall off the building or anything, here. I promise."
Chris turns his head to glare and Lance smiles, pleased that at least Chris is looking at him and not the ground, but anything else he might say gets whipped away when a particularly harsh gust of wind that whistles around them. The other guys laugh, and Lance can see them stagger and brace themselves from the corner of his eye. Chris' hands dig into the wall; he grips like his hands are the only things keeping him from flying away. His face is tight, closed off.
Lance has been having fun with it all, really. Chris is kind of strangely cool with his eyes all huge and dark and his scowl, his fierce resistance to any offer of comfort, but things have reached a point that's just ridiculous, and Chris is going to scrape his hands to shreds if he doesn't relax. And if they don't get the photos they'd been sent up here for, they're gonna be in serious fucking trouble.
He frowns and moves closer, turning to brace his left hand on the wall by Chris' head and lean in, staring at him. "You standing here holding on to the wall isn't going to keep the building from crumbling either," he says. His other hand covers Chris', carefully peeling his fingers away from the brick. He curls their fingers together and squeezes, just a little.
Chris' gaze snaps into focus, his attention switching from inward on his fear, on whatever it was going through his head, to outward on Lance. It's a sudden thing, and feels like a mild shock, a current passing between them. Lance tells himself that it's just a simple reflex to hold on tighter and smile.
Chris licks his lips and blinks, slow motion. "Phobias aren't rational," he says. "I can't just tell myself, the building is safe, you're all right. I can't just tell myself, you're not falling. It doesn't work like that, Lance."
Lance is afraid of things--failure, the things that brush your leg when you're swimming in murky water, and the wrath of his mother. He doesn't have any phobias though. Not like this. The most he really knows about it is that sometimes they can be overcome by people gradually getting used to the things they were afraid of, which Chris obviously knows too. He climbs things, jumps off things, makes himself look out the window on the plane and wave at fans from the balconies at every hotel. Lance doesn't understand the depths of the fear, but he thinks he understands the depths of Chris' courage.
"Then don't tell yourself anything," he says. "Don't just tell yourself anything, come away from the wall with me." He backs up a step, loosening his grip on Chris' hand in case--just in case--but still holding on. The wind flutters at the sleeve of his jacket and tosses Chris' hair around but they don't look away from each other.
"Show yourself," Lance urges, and then he just stands there, an arms-length away, waiting.
There's a long, tense moment where he thinks Chris is going to shake his head and slump against the wall, turn his face away again. He can just imagine it happening and the image makes him sad. He's met some brave people in his life, but Chris is probably the bravest. Chris has kept them all strong when they might have wanted to give up, and Lance wants to return the favor. He just doesn't know if Chris will let him.
He thinks he understands the depths of Chris' pride, and doesn't know if Chris can let him help.
Then Chris takes a deep breath. He nods firmly and his eyes narrow, harden, and he suddenly inches forward. Takes one little step away from the wall, his fingers so tightly clenched around Lance's that it almost hurts. But Lance doesn't say anything about it. He tries not to say anything at all but can't help making a pleased noise, hopes it gets lost in the wind. He knows it didn't when Chris' eyes flash, almost bitter, but Chris takes another small step forward. Lance moves with him, backwards, watching carefully, ready to head back at even the slightest hesitation.
Slowly, they move toward the guys, toward the edge, and they're both so absorbed that it's almost a shock when Justin catches sight of them and reaches out instantly, grabbing Chris' hand, glaring at Lance but chattering brightly anyway. JC leans around Justin and smiles and Joey, all crinkly eyes and warm voice, starts talking about things you can see through the viewfinders that none of them are using.
Lance watches Chris take a quick look out at New York below them, looks himself and the city is so far down that everything seems peaceful and calm, neat and orderly, although still colorful. Lance thinks he likes it better from the ground.
The photographer is already set up and waiting, and he rushes them through a few shots. Maybe he understands how hard it is for Chris to be out there, or maybe he just wants to make up for the time it took to get Chris out there--Lance is pretty sure none of them care. They stand as directed, look like they're having fun, and chatter stupidly to keep Chris distracted.
After, the photographer and his assistants pack up while Joey and Justin make elaborate plans to sneak Justin into some club Joey's heard about, while JC points out in what he probably thinks is a reasonable tone that they have two performances and four hours of promo the next day. Lance stands behind Chris, hand casually resting on Chris' shoulder, and says, "I need a snack. You coming with?" He doesn't wait for an answer. He pushes and Chris moves with him away from the edge, his eyes focused on the door, leading the way back.
Lance follows and behind them, Justin laughs and JC murmurs something he can't make out except that it's about them. It doesn't matter though, really, because Chris leans into him once they're back inside, and takes his hand again. His hair is mussed and smells like wind, cold air. His eyes are dark and he isn't smiling and he growls, "You suck, Bass. I hope you know how much I hate you."
Lance nods and smiles, flushing a little. He knows. He knows, and he holds Chris' hand all the way to the elevator.
The Price of Socks in Spain
Across the room, Lance and Joey are having a discussion about something stupid. Chris knows it's stupid because he's bored from where he is, with Justin and JC off being groomed and the other two not paying attention. Joey's his buddy, he should know better, and considering that Lance is both Chris' favorite prankster and one of his favorite targets--yeah. They both should know better.
The situation just could not be allowed to continue. Chris climbs up off the floor and creeps forward silently, stealthy. Stalking Lance right out in the open, with Joey watching on. He grins and holds a finger to his lips and Joey's face doesn't change at all, he listens to Lance talk about like, the price of socks in Spain or whatever while Chris edges in, closer, closer--
And then Chris does his patented divebomb, darting forward and wrapping his arms around Lance from behind, squeezing so hard that Lance jolts off his feet a little and grunts, some of the air knocked out of him. Chris is laughing and Lance's arms cross over his. He turns his head and he's not smiling but his eyes are warm and unsurprised.
"What took you so long?" he murmurs, and Chris tips his chin onto Lance's shoulder, says, "You had me bored into a stupor, Bass, from across the room. It took me this long to recover and save Joey before you could do it to him too."
Joey rubs a hand over his face, shakes his head. "Chris. Thank God. I was so bored. So so bored. Bored, man," and he's so obviously trying to get away from them that Chris has to grin and Lance laughs out loud.
"Saw your brother in the hall earlier, talking to chicks," Chris says, and Joey is gone before he can finish the sentence with, "about how bad you reek," but he says it anyway cause it'll make Lance laugh. He hugs tighter and Lance grins, tips his head down. Chris puckers his lips and blows gently across the skin of Lance's neck, and it causes such a fun shiver that he does it a couple more times, until Lance murmurs and turns his head.
"We're off tonight," Lance says quietly. Chris nods, watching the flutter of Lance's lashes against his cheek, the way his color is rising shade by shade until it's a true Lance Bass flush. He watches and holds his breath, because Lance's face changes so much when he smiles.
"We'll go see a movie," he says, digging his chin into Lance's shoulder.
Lance shakes his head a little. "The guys are planning something, I think."
"Not the guys. Me and you, we'll go see a movie." Chris waits a second and smiles when Lance nods. "If you insist, I'll even buy the popcorn."
Before Lance can say anything about who bought the popcorn last time, Justin comes bouncing in, hair newly trimmed and bleached, and he slams into them from the side instead of just stopping. He doesn't even wait for them to stop cursing him before he's talking about JC and Steve having a breakdance contest in the hall and they had to go right away, like before Steve finished humiliating himself, and they could talk about dating later--
"Were we talking about dating?" Chris whispers to Lance as they watch JC wipe the floor with Steve before he even starts to breathe hard. Lance just looks at him and smiles, and Chris smiles back.
Yes
Lance's mom doesn't say anything. And doesn't say anything. And doesn't say anything. And eventually Lance is wiggling in his seat and clasping his hands like he's gonna start praying any second, and his mother shakes her head.
She shakes her head, slow and almost sad, and Lance deflates with a groan, slumping over the table and dropping his forehead down onto the wood with a hollow thunk. "Mama," he says, and it's not quite a whine but it would be if it weren't echoing off the table. "Mama, I like them."
"I like them too," she says, and then she rubs a hand over his back, light and warm and Lance droops a little more. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, a little 'poor baby' kind of noise, and Lance turns his head. Just a bit, just enough that he can open one eye and look at her.
She's smiling.
Lance sits up a little, hardly even daring to hope. "You like them?" he asks, and she nods. She nods and she's still smiling. Lance swallows, tries to ask and can't quite get the words out. He can barely even breathe. He's only known about this chance for a couple days and he's only known the guys for a couple hours but he wants this. He wants it so much--
And his mother, she's still smiling, and she puts her hand on his arm and leans in towards him. "James Lance Bass," she says, "if you get into one little spot of trouble, I will drag you home and whup you so fast your head will spin. You understand?"
Lance shakes his head. Understand? No. Because. Because in order for her to drag him home, that'd have to mean he started off being away from home, and the only place away from home he wants to be is with the guys, and she'd never let him go. Never.
His mother's hand rises to brush his hair away from his eyes, to smooth it. "Go tell them you're staying," she whispers to him, and Lance gasps so hard that he chokes. His eyes water and it isn't tears, he isn't crying, but after he catches his breath and looks up again, he sees that she is.
In all his life, he's seen his mother cry only a few times. It terrifies him and he rises half out of his seat, his hand reaching out for her, breath choked in his throat again. She waves him off and leans back, grabs a tissue out from her bag and presses it under her eyes, and her lips are still curved.
Lance hovers, half out of his seat, completely confused, nearly dizzy with hope and fear and maybe even a little guilt for wanting something so bad it drives his mother to tears.
Then she says, "I'm all right, honey. I'm just. I want you to be happy, and I want you to have every opportunity in the world," and her eyes are still a little watery, her makeup is a little smudged, but suddenly Lance can see it. He can see how happy her smile is. "Go," she tells him, waving her tissue towards the door.
Just beyond it, the other guys are waiting for them, and Lance has only known them a couple hours but he can practically feel their excitement, their hope and energy. He pushes back his chair a little but hesitates, hovers still. He searches her face, waiting, until suddenly she laughs and reaches out to shove at him a little.
"Don't make me take it back," she warns, and Lance gives in to the hope, feels joy just take him over, and he bolts for the door. He forgets to move the chair, nearly falls flat on his butt and just barely manages to save himself. Behind him, his mother laughs. When Lance hits the door and throws it open, he's laughing too.
The other guys are frozen motionless, JC and Joey draped across the long couch, Justin sprawled on the floor, Chris leaning on the wall. They stare at him, standing in the doorway laughing, and for a moment they're all just. Silent.
"She said yes!" Lance finally manages to say, like it wasn't obvious, and it's because he's laughing so hard that there's tears on his cheeks, that's all. It's just because he's suddenly wrapped in JC's arms and Joey is pounding him on the back, and Justin is jumping up and down around them. It's just because Chris is hooking an arm around his neck and pressing noisy kisses to his wet cheeks before jumping on Joey's back and making him do a victory lap around the waiting room.
Just because. That's all.
False Color
There's something obviously broken inside of Chris after Dani's departure. Lance watches, they all watch, as Chris puts on weight and loses control of his temper sometimes, as Chris turns even them away and broods for a while. They all watch, concerned, hurting for Chris and worried for him, trying to find a way to give him both space and support--
And then they have an interview with Larry King.
Lance, during the show, feels like there's an almost visible change in Chris as he goes back and forth from almost-normal, their Chris, to a stranger that Larry King twists up. Lance wishes at a couple points, honestly wishes, that he could call someone and get the show pulled off the air. Not just their episode, but the whole damned show. He hates seeing people's pain being exploited for ratings, and he particularly hates it when those people belong to him. But there's nothing he can do, they're committed, so they try to make it light and easy and he can only hope they help, at least a little.
And after, when they're having the makeup removed, he watches as Chris sits still with his head tipped back and one of the makeup artists carefully stripping the false color from his cheeks and mouth. JC leans against Lance, watching too, and Chris knows they're there. He puts up with it for a while, then says, "You guys can go away now." The makeup artist bites her lip and hushes him but he opens one eye anyway and waves his hand at them. "Shoo. Vamoose."
They don't go.
Chris rolls his eyes at them. "Go rescue Justin. He looks like he's gonna pass out from boredom over there," and Lance looks. By the door, Larry's stopped in to chat with Joey for a moment and Joe is working the charm big-time but he's annoyed, Lance can see it, and Justin's eyes are completely glazed over. He's already somewhere else, doing something else.
They do need rescuing.
JC hesitates for only another second before slipping away, crossing the room to play off Joey, to entertain Justin and help keep the focus away from Chris for a while, although Lance doubts that was Chris' original intention. But Lance doesn't go. He leans against the back of the makeup chair and watches in the mirror until Chris is all himself again, pale skin and circles and stress.
"You coming to Joey's party?" he asks, and before the breakup that wouldn't even have been a question he thought to ask but things are a little different now.
Chris doesn't answer as the makeup artist hands him a bottle of moisturizer, tells him to use it, and discreetly disappears. Chris rolls the bottle between his palms, then leans forward to drop it on the counter. He doesn't meet Lance's gaze in the mirror.
"I'm gonna go home," he says, normal tone, like he's always wanted to go home rather than hang out with them.
Lance forces a smile. "But I thought we were dating," he says, gentle teasing because so many things are sensitive subjects with Chris at the moment but he needs teasing. He touches the back of Chris' neck, just under his hairline, and Chris finally meets his gaze in the mirror.
It's probably the first time Chris has looked at him, honestly looked right at him, in weeks. Lance holds his breath. Chris' eyes are dark and wary, shadowed underneath and veiled above by lashes Lance abruptly, absurdly, wants to touch.
Well, really, not so much abruptly. It's been a long time since he first wanted to touch Chris, to be touched back. Now the thoughts don't so much come abruptly as they bubble up inside him, slowly, making themselves known at the weirdest times. So not abruptly but all things considered, timing alone considered--yes. Absurd.
They look at each other in the mirror and it seems to Lance that Chris' eyes begin to lighten a little, and he tips his head down a bit. The movement seems designed somehow to encourage a firmer touch, Lance's palm covering the nape of Chris' neck, like it's just a connection waiting to be formed.
But there isn't a chance, not then. Larry King has dealt with world leaders and criminals and Joey, JC, Justin--at their best, they're pretty good, but no one is at their best at the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, just as his fingertips slide into Chris' hair, Lance can see the interviewer approaching them. He catches his breath and then Chris is gone from under his hand, slipped away like he'd never been there at all.
Lance's fingertips tingle with the sensation of Chris moving away. He puts them into his pockets, and smiles when Larry King nods at him. He wants to curse, but has a lot of practice holding that particular urge in. It's practically a hobby.
"Good show tonight," Larry says, and Chris tips his head down. He opens the bottle of moisturizer as Lance murmurs a thank you for both of them. But he isn't spared a glance. Larry is looking at Chris, watching him, and he suddenly doesn't look like an interviewer anymore. He looks like someone's sort-of-kindly, eccentric uncle.
Larry puts a hand on Chris' shoulder and Lance, a little confused, steps forward. But Chris doesn't move at all, just holds on to the bottle of moisturizer and looks into the mirror. His eyes are fierce, but he doesn't move.
"You'll be fine, kid," Larry says, rough kindness. He squeezes Chris' shoulder and nods at him in the mirror. "You've got good friends. You'll be all right." His gaze shifts to Lance, and his hand drops away.
Chris takes a deep breath. He sighs, and relaxes just a little. Lance, the other guys, they'd probably be the only ones who could see that ease of tension, even with a guy like this one in the room. He says, "I know, sir," and his voice is a little too faint to be normal Chris but he is trying.
Lance heaves a silent sigh of relief as Larry nods brusquely, then turns and holds out his hand to Lance.
"You're a protective little crew," Larry says. "I figured I had better offer my version of an apology before I found myself being beaten in a dark alley by kids in shiny pants."
"The beating would have been somewhere a little more public than a dark alley," Lance says with a little smile, an almost real smile, and Larry laughs, thumps his once on the shoulder.
"I wish I really thought that was a joke," he says, still laughing, and then he's gone, calling a goodbye to the other guys as he heads out the door.
For a moment, Chris and Lance stay where they are, silent and staring at each other, everyone stays where they are--and then Joey snorts. The tension is broken and Chris stands, comes around the chair. He puts on his jacket and doesn't look at Lance when he says, "Go on. I'm headed out. I'll see you all later, all right?"
Lance sighs, nods. "See you soon," he says, and Chris looks at him.
"Soon," he says, smiling a little, almost a real Chris smile. His eyes are still lighter, more open than they've been in a long time. Lance wonders if maybe the interview had been good for him, if he's starting to heal, and he steps back so that Chris can get past him, letting him go.
After all, if Chris is starting to heal, Lance can afford to be patient for just a little longer.
Lance Bass Stayed Out of Trouble
Lance liked Germany well enough. The food was weird, and the people were weird, and the language was weird. Their hotels were always weird and the record execs were weird, and their schedule wasn't weird because it was horrible--but, yeah. For all of that, Germany was pretty cool.
Mainly he liked it 'cause he was legal.
His mother had warned him to stay out of trouble, so at home in the States he was the most dutiful Southern boy ever. He kept his things neat and worked hard and never smoked any of the pot that JC had every now and then and he never stole Joey's alcohol, even though both were clearly available to him if he asked. He never even thought much about like, licking JC's neck or catching the taste of alcohol straight from Joey's tongue. He didn't even think about putting his hands on Chris' dick, and considered that very good behavior from himself.
At home, Lance Bass Stayed Out Of Trouble.
But in Germany. In Germany, things were just slightly different. He let Joey talk him into a couple beers and one time, tequila shots, and he tested the flavor of whiskey by twining his tongue with Joey's. He talked JC into letting him have just a little pot, just enough to get a little high, and then he talked JC into thinking it was a good idea to let Lance lick his wrist and bite gently at the tendons there.
In Germany, Lance followed Chris into a darkened room, drawn in by gorgeous eyes and a crazy smile, and he pushed a surprised Chris against the wall so hard that they both gasped. Then he settled himself in and rubbed against Chris, ground against his groin until the friction was just right, white-hot and sending chills racing up and down his spine. He caught Chris' mouth with his and bit his lips, sucked his tongue, and then he came against Chris' stomach in the stifling dark, with a long moan that he heard echoed only seconds later, at least an octave higher.
Things were different in Germany, and Lance liked it well enough. He didn't get into trouble at all.
Seven Things at Once
Chris didn't get laid often enough. There never seemed to be time, never seemed to be an opportunity for flirting, he could never fit the time for courting and seducing into his schedule. It got to the point where it was so much easier to just jerk off in the shower every morning, and then sometimes again in the evening when Lance was out of their room, down in the basement dancing or something, so that was what Chris did. A lot.
An awful lot.
But it was different when they weren't at home. In Europe, it was nearly impossible to find the time to even jerk off. What made it worse was the fact that there were gorgeous women everywhere and most of them knew he was in a band, and some of them had even heard their music on the radio, so it should've been easy and fun. It wasn't. It just never was. He was doing six things at once and not a one of those things was a chick.
The showers in most of their hotels were pathetic, to make matters worse. Never enough water and none of it warm, so it was always a rushed, cold time. Chris couldn't get enough pleasure out of it to make himself stay in any longer than absolutely necessary. He soaped up, sometimes grimacing at the feel of his own hand on his skin. He rinsed off. He dried off, he got dressed, and he started his day with a vague heaviness bearing low in his stomach, a rough-edged hunger that he just couldn't satisfy.
At night, he mostly fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Sometimes, like he was a twelve-year old or something, he had a wet dream and woke to slightly cold, stiff sheets and a nagging remembrance of golden skin, a warm mouth, passionate eyes. But mostly he didn't dream at all, and he woke in the morning with an erection that could've cut diamonds or drilled steel, had he been a masochist.
If he had the single, he jerked off. If his roommate was JC, he jerked off because having JC was like having the single. Joey, Joey he was super quiet and surreptitious for because the littlest things woke him and he was always up too late anyway. Joey and Justin were the ones who needed their sleep the most, the ones who never seemed to quite be all right even if they were happy and bouncing around. And Justin...if, by some weird design, he ended up bunking with Justin, he didn't touch himself. Period.
He only did it once with Lance in the same room. Only once, because the first time in Europe that they'd bunked together, he'd thought Lance was asleep, had been damned sure and thought he should know considering how long they'd been roommates at home. So, confident, aching, he'd lubed his palm a little and slid a hand into his boxers, jerking off with long, slow strokes, and thought about a warm mouth wrapped around him, pale eyes looking up at him--
Then he'd turned his head at a slight noise, biting his lip, and met that pale gaze in reality.
Time had frozen for a long moment. Then Lance's hand had moved; Chris had realized that Lance was jerking off too, that Lance was watching him jerk off. He'd realized who he was thinking about, and he had climbed out of his bed. Like a man in a daze or a man in an erotic dream, he slid under Lance's sheet and got them both out of their shorts. And a few long minutes later, they had pressed together, sweat-slick and panting. The low-grade ache in Chris' stomach was gone for the first time in forever.
That had only happened once. Just the one, unforgettable time--
Mainly because after that, they didn't bother climbing into separate beds or jerking off if they were rooming together. After that, Chris was doing seven things at once, and one of them was Lance.
ETA: One day I will master cut tags. Today? Not that day.
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These make me so happy! Every one of them!
Thanks!
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I'm glad that you liked the snippets! Thank you!
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