Pairing: Basez
Rating: PG (if that) for language
Thanks: To Missy for not smacking me upside the head when I asked for the hundredth time, 'Are you sure this is okay?' And, you know, for the beta thing, as well.
Written for the Fortunes' Five Nsync Challenge
Others appreciate your expressive qualities.
JC read the fortune he held in his hand, snorted, and then tossed it on the table with a disgusted, “Yeah, right!”
“Poke fun at them – sure. Laugh about them – no doubt. Mimic them – hell, yeah, but appreciate them? Fat fucking chance of that,” JC growled.
He was well and truly sick of it.
So what if he used his hands – and okay, his arms, shoulders, head, and he’d admit it, occasionally his feet and legs – to express himself? He wasn’t hurting anyone. Well maybe that one waitress in Sacramento, or was it Salt Lake? He couldn’t remember, but she hadn’t held a grudge or even charged him for the tray full of drinks that had spilled all over her when he’d accidentally knocked her down. Hadn’t he been in the middle of a great story that had required a little hand movement to make his point? You’d think he’d killed someone for cripes sake the way that Justin still brought it up almost a year later. And Chris, that asshole, had assigned everyone parts so that they could replay the scene a million freaking times until JC wanted to strangle him with whatever was handy. And Joey, too, for playing along by executing a perfect reenactment of the waitress falling making Chris and Justin laugh like hyenas.
God, JC hated them, and he was never talking to any of them again, not even Lance, who though he didn’t take part, hadn’t done a damn thing to stop them either.
He’d had it, was well and truly sick of all four of them, and as far as he was concerned they could just go ahead and find themselves another patsy to pick on, ‘cause he was done with it.
“They think it’s so funny to poke at me,” he mumbled as he cleared up his mess from dinner. “Let’s see how funny it is when I don’t show up for rehearsal tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.”
They could beg, plead, say anything they wanted, and no matter how tempting their apologies, he wasn’t caving. Not this time, not ever again.
Justin came first, as JC had known he would. The kid couldn’t bear to have anyone mad at him, especially JC, and he’d shown up on JC’s doorstep barely two hours after JC had stormed out of the rehearsal studio.
Every two minutes for half an hour Justin pressed the buzzer in five rapid spurts. JC didn’t budge from his place on the couch where he was loudly watching Pirates of the Caribbean.
JC took perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that Justin knew he was there and was deliberately ignoring him. The feeling grew when the phone rang once, his machine picked up, and Justin’s voice filled his living room.
“Uh, hi, it’s me, J. Justin. Hmm. I wanted to talk to you, uhm, about…you know…today. You know we were just kidding around with you, man. I mean, we do that shit all the time and uh, it doesn’t mean anything. Well, I guess, you know, that it meant something to you because you’re obviously pissed, but we didn’t mean for it to…and uhm…shit.”
There was a sigh, a shuffling noise as if Justin had switched the phone from one ear to the other and then another sigh.
“So, ah, I guess I’ll, uh, go. I’ll come by tomorrow, okay? Maybe we can shoot some hoops or something. I’m sorry, ya know, for earlier. 'K then, I’ll see you. Tomorrow. Bye.”
Joey came next, bearing gifts – baked ones, to be exact – which JC also could have predicted, because, to Joey’s way of thinking, most things could be resolved over food at the kitchen table.
The problem was; Joey wasn’t going to get past JC’s doorstep, not this time, not even if he’d brought Mama Fatone’s lasagna. Joey lost patience with the doorbell in half the time it’d taken Justin, and fifteen minutes after Joey’d arrived, JC’s phone was ringing again.
“Hey, C, it’s Joe. I thought maybe you’d be ready to talk, but I guess you need more time to cool off. I’m sorry about today, JC. If I’d known it bothered you that much, you know I’d have told Chris to cool it. Anyway, I made you some cookies, those peanut butter things that you like. Don’t leave them out here for too long or they’ll be covered in ants. Love you, C, don’t stay mad forever. See you tomorrow.”
Chris wasn’t anywhere near as patient as Joey.
“C, you ass, I know you’re in there. Half the fucking neighborhood knows you’re there; you’ve got the T.V. up so loud. Stop being such a pussy and pick up the phone. I’m gonna kick your ass, JC. I swear to God I will, C, if you don’t stop acting like a fucking two year old. So, we took it too far, okay, I’m sorry, but it’s not like we’ve never done that before, you included, let me remind you, cause I know you’re sitting in there all wrapped up in being Mr. Perfect which you are soooo not! JC? JC! Are you fucking listening to me, C? Fine then, be that way, see if I come all the way out here to apologize to you anymore.”
Lance came last, which, to JC, seemed fitting, and he didn’t bother with the doorbell or the phone. He simply used the key that JC had forgotten he had, turned the television off on his way by, and snatched one of Joey’s cookies before he plopped his butt next to JC and settled in like he was going to be there for a while.
“I’m not talking to you,” JC stated matter-of-factly.
Lance helped himself to another cookie and shrugged. “Okay.” When he was finished munching he dusted the crumbs off of his hands, folded his arms over his chest and settled deep into the cushions with a contented sigh.
“I really love this couch.”
JC ignored him, or tried to, which wasn’t at all easy what with Lance sitting there staring at him.
JC ate a few cookies, flipped through a magazine, stared up at the ceiling, and pretended to check messages on his cell, all under Lance’s steady stare.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” JC finally blurted out.
“Nope.”
JC resumed his fidgeting, Lance his watching, and another five minutes passed.
“Okay, look,” JC rounded on Lance. “Just say what you came to say and get it over with.”
“What makes you think I came to say anything?” Lance asked. “Maybe I just felt like some company.”
“Right,” JC scoffed, and got a quiet, “Mmmm,” for his troubles.
Quiet settled over them, became so absolute that JC thought he could hear his own heartbeat, and with each pulse he began to calm.
“They made me so mad,” he spoke into the quiet, his voice hushed to match the mood.
“I know.”
“I’m sick of being the target, you know? I mean, I like having fun just as much as the rest of you, but it gets kind of old when it’s fun at my expense all the time.”
“You should tell them.” Lance smiled softly. “Preferably without all the screaming the next time.”
“I’m not talking to any of them.” JC shot Lance a look full of exasperation. “I’m not talking to you either.”
Lance nodded, “So you said.”
JC began to pick at a hangnail. “You could have said something.”
“What would you have liked me to say, JC?”
“Leave him alone, knock it off, stop being such assholes…anything.”
“It wouldn’t have made a bit of difference to them.”
“Maybe not.” JC rose and headed for the stairs. At the base, he stopped and turned. “But it would have to me.”
It hadn’t been fair to leave things with Lance like that, and JC had lain awake thinking about that for a long time after he’d heard the door close behind Lance, but there was a part of him that thought Lance had deserved it.
Granted, it wasn’t a big part, but still, JC couldn’t get past remembering all of the times he’d firmly planted himself in Lance’s corner when he’d been new and the others had ganged up on him.
There were differences, sure. Lance had been young and unbelievably green, and the others had taken it way too far, though they were doing that now, too, to JC, which brought him right back to his point that Lance should have said something, and fuck if this wasn’t giving him a headache.
Throwing back the covers, JC headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. He needed a clear head for the visitors he knew would be there before days end.
Justin arrived with a case of Screaming Eagle Cabernet circa 1995, and this time JC met him at the door.
“So, I’ve been an ass.” Justin held the case out, his expression hopeful. “I’m sorry.”
“How did you get that?” JC asked, though he knew – Lance. He was the only one who knew how much JC liked that wine; and the only one who’d be able to get his hands on a case of it.
“Never mind.” JC let Justin off the hook before he choked himself fumbling for an answer, and then as he looked up into hopeful blue eyes, he stepped back and let Justin off for the rest, too. “Fine, you’re forgiven, come in.”
Joey came not only with his mother’s lasagna, but also garlic bread, antipasto, and a luscious tiramisu for dessert.
He also brought the heavy artillery in the form of a dark haired little pixie who sweetly told JC as he picked her up, “Daddy’s sorry, Unca Jacey.”
Lance would have known JC couldn’t say no to that.
Chris came with a scowl, the CD he’d been promising to burn for JC for months and a growled, “So, I’m sorry I was such a shit and that I swore at you last night, and I promise never to do it again?”
JC could have sworn he heard, “Or Lance will really kick my ass,” but it was so low, and Chris had growled, “Are you going to stop pouting now and let me in?” immediately after, so he thought maybe he hadn’t heard it after all.
Until Lance came up, patted Chris on the back, and Chris flinched.
“Uh, Lance?” JC stopped him before he could follow Chris into the house. “What did you say to them?”
“Who, me?” Lance threw his arm over JC’s shoulder and led him into the kitchen. “I didn’t say anything.” His gaze touched on each of the men standing around the room before finally landing on the one who’d started it all. “Did I, Chris?”
Later, after JC had seen Joey, Bri, Justin, and Chris to the door, he came back into the kitchen to find the table set, a bottle of wine breathing on the counter, and Lance lighting candles throughout the room.
The smells coming from the oven made his mouth water, and then Lance turned to look at him and it was just as suddenly dry as dust.
“I thought since Joey went to all this trouble, the least we could do is eat.”
Lance’s tone was so normal that JC thought he’d misunderstood that look, but then Sade began to croon softly in the background and Lance was there, right there, in JC’s personal space, a sliver of fresh mozzarella in his hand, urging JC to, “Taste.”
In that moment, as his mouth opened and the cool slice of cheese settled on his tongue, JC could see how, with very little effort, Lance could have gotten the others to easily do what he wanted.
Almost as if he were reading his thoughts, Lance said, “With Justin it was simply a matter of talking about what it means to be a best friend.” Lance toyed with a plump black olive before pressing it against JC’s lips. “With Joey, Briahnna was the key. How would he feel if her friends treated her that way? And with Chris, well, let’s just say that holding some of his precious vinyl hostage will get you amazing things.”
Lance sipped from his wine glass, then held it close to JC’s mouth in invitation. After a moment’s hesitation, JC’s lips parted, and the rich, full taste of the wine filled his mouth.
“Good?” Lance asked, watching as JC’s tongue snaked out to capture the drop caught on his bottom lip.
“Incredible.”
“Yes,” Lance ran his thumb over JC’s mouth. “Incredible.”
They’d never acknowledged this – Lance searched for a word to describe the dance he and JC had shared through the years, and settled on thing. He thought it past time they did.
“I guess you’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doing and why,” he mused before deciding to take the bull by the horns by leaning in and nipping at JC’s mouth. “I kind of had this plan for tonight.” This time he lingered a bit, brushing his mouth, once…twice, over JC’s before pulling back.
“Dinner, because we really shouldn’t waste all of the trouble that Joey went to. Kissing,” Lance’s attention drifted to JC’s mouth. “Touching.” His hands skimmed down JC’s side to settle where his shirt was riding up at the waist. “Preferably,” Lance slid his hand deftly under the soft cotton, “warm, bare skin. Watching your face as I slide deep into you, or,” Lance bumped his hips into JC’s, “vice versa, I’m not fussy.” He nearly smiled at the expressions racing over JC’s face, but he wasn’t done yet. “Then, falling asleep wrapped around each other so that when we wake up, we can start all over again.”
This step had been a long time in coming and Lance had known there was risk in taking it, but he’d been so sure he’d read the signs right over the last week that they’d been together. Now, as time spun between them and JC had yet to say a word, he feared maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe the hiatus, his album and all that had gone with it had changed JC enough so that Lance could no longer read him. Maybe the joy he’d thought he’d seen in JC’s eyes when he’d walked into the rehearsal room and seen Lance had merely been happiness about all of them being together again after so long. Maybe – oh screw that, Lance thought. Standing here going through a zillion maybes in his head wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
“JC, say something…anything.”
The man in question sighed, ducked his head, and then looked at Lance with dancing blue eyes. “Took you long enough.”
Lance blinked. “That’s it?”
JC shrugged, wrapped his arms around Lance’s neck and tugged until they were close enough that JC could lick at Lance’s mouth. “Mmhmm, that’s it.”
“Oh,” barely seconds later JC was pulling away. “There is one more thing.”
Lance was almost afraid to ask, “What?”
“The thing that came after the part where we get naked…?”
“Yes?” Lance hissed, because really, could the man be any slower in getting around to telling him?
“Well,” JC nibbled his way from Lance’s jaw to his ear. “I just thought you should know that,” JC leaned back and grinned, “I’m not fussy either.”