Chased Amy
Walk with me hand in hand / We help each other / Understand how to go through
-"Hand in Hand"
(written by Mario Winans and Kenneth Hickson,
performed by 98 Degrees and LaShanda Reese)
Copyright January 9, 2001 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: PG, I'm sorry to say
Pairing: Drew Lachey/Jeff Timmons
Disclaimer: The young men who comprise 98 Degrees are their own people. The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life. This writing is a work of fiction. I make no money from this venture.
Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and the Savage Garden slashers. Also for anyone who actually reads 98 Degrees slash. Also for the 98 Degrees home video. It's really, really bad (you'd think that the director had a personal grudge against the Degrees or something), but it has given me a good glimpse of the guys. A good glimpse of Jeff half-naked, too. Does he own shirts?
Wherein there's a rhythm, a beat, and a reference to my god.
Notice: Is it just me, or can you make a lot of fun new words that start with Drew? Drewsex. Drewlove. Drewsome. I made up a new one for this story, because it's my story and I can do whatever I want. Hey! Bonus points for anyone who knows which song is on the third track of 98 Degrees. (I won't bother to ask whether anyone has the home video. I'm lucky if anyone's reading this fic.)
He envied the others. They could feel it.
Drew, Drew felt it. Drew lived it. Drew was always moving to the beat, with the rhythm, snapping his fingers or tapping his thigh as though there were some personal connection between Drew and that mysterious, primal, elusive beat. Drew moved with the rhythm, and the rhythm moved Drew.
When they were recording 98 Degrees and Rising, they practiced "Give It Up." They were supposed to snap their fingers as they sang a cappella. Jeff couldn't. He was always off, and it threw off Justin. Not to mention that they really couldn't record Jeff snapping his fingers all over the place.
He offered to sing without snapping, but Nick wanted them all to do it. Because it was a group effort, and they all should be together. Nick had a lot of noble but misguided notions like that.
Jeff tried. He really did. But he couldn't stick to the beat consistently. He couldn't feel it. He didn't hear it, and he had no idea how they did. Nick started to get frustrated, and Jeff was frustrated, too. It was one stupid song, one stupid recording, a minute and a half; couldn't they just sing it and get it finished and move on with the rest of the album?
Then Drew said, "Here," and took his hand, and told Nick to start again.
Nick started.
This time, Drew's left hand snapped into Jeff's right. He could tell when Drew was about to do it, and he could do it at the same instant as Drew. He couldn't feel the beat, but he could feel Drew. It was, suddenly, a breakthrough.
He completely forgot to sing.
Everyone stopped and looked at him.
"What?"
Jeff started to feel it again,
feel that Drewbeat. He didn't know how it worked. Maybe he
was responding to the tensing of Drew's hand in his. Maybe he was
learning to anticipate Drew's movement. But he felt it when Drew
was there, and when Drew stopped, he lost it again.
"What?" Drew asked. He was sitting on the sofa in the back of the bus, listening to his Discman, writing something. His left hand was tapping his knee, and Jeff was sure that he didn't even know that he was doing it.
"Find the beat like that."
Drew smiled and said, "I don't find the beat. It finds me." Then he laughed.
Justin looked over at them, amused.
"I don't think it's something you can teach," Drew said.
"You can try."
"We have time," Drew agreed. "Okay, sit down." He scooted over to make room, setting aside his belongings. "Rhythm." He frowned a little, thinking. Then he handed Jeff his Discman and headphones. "Put these on."
"What am I listening to?" Jeff asked.
"Here. Something you know." He sorted through his disc carrier and switched discs, putting on their first album.
"I was hoping for something good."
Drew glared briefly. "Listen." Jeff made a face at him, but obediently put on the headphones. Drew turned on the Discman and went to the third track. Then Drew took his hands. "Sing it for me."
"Sing it for you?"
"Sing it for me."
"You know it."
"You have the headphones. I can't hear it."
"How is-"
"Sing it for me," Drew said, trying to sound firm, and started the song again.
Jeff sang.
Drew nodded a little in time, sang with him quietly in parts, and snapped inside his hands. When the song ended, Drew moved in closer and played the song again, singing with him, and they traded parts back and forth almost seamlessly, trying to cover the lead so as not to lose track. Drew's right hand was tapping against Jeff's outer left thigh, left hand snapping cupped between Jeff's hands, gaze locked with his as though willing him to feel the beat.
He felt it.
Oh boy did he feel it.
Oh shit.
When he got back to the hotel, as he unlocked his door Drew came down the hallway. "Hey."
"Hey."
"You've been working out?"
"How'd you guess?" Drew asked, wiping stray sweat from his temple. "Justin and I found a gym. Where've you been?"
"Wasting time. What are you doing?"
"What?"
"You're tapping your foot."
"Oh." Drew stopped. "Song in my head."
"How do you do that?"
"How do you not?"
They looked at each other in utter incomprehension.
"Want to try again?" Drew asked.
Jeff shrugged. "Might as well. Can't hurt. Come on in."
"You want me to sweat on your furniture?"
"You can pay the room bill."
"Okay." Drew came in and sat on Jeff's sofa. "Give me your CD player."
"Yes sir." Jeff scrounged it up and handed it over, along with his travelling CD holder. He sat down beside Drew sideways, resting his right side against the back of the sofa.
Drew rolled the volume dial high and set the Discman on the table. He put his left hand in Jeff's right, putting Jeff's left hand on top of it, then placed his own right hand to Jeff's chest as "Blood on the Dance Floor" started. "One two three four one two three four one two three four," he said. "It's fast, but here, one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four and..." Drew kept going, nodding his head, snapping the fingers of his left hand, his right hand tapping out the beat on Jeff's chest.
Jeff couldn't look away from Drew's eyes. The rhythm held him, but it was more than that.
It was a lot more.
The song ended, then started up again.
Jeff blinked, startled from the beat. "You got it to repeat. How did you get it to repeat? I can't-"
"Focus," Drew said, directing his attention back where it belonged with an extra tap on his chest. "One two three four one two three four. Say it with me. One two three four. One and two and three and four and one..."
Jeff wanted to close his eyes. He chanted the beat along with Drew.
"You're rushing," Drew said. "Don't anticipate it. Feel it. It'll come in its own time."
"So wise for one so young."
Drew smacked his neck and
went back to counting.
Jeff groaned.
"One more. It'll be four minutes." Drew pressed "play." "Come on, give me your hands."
"No," Jeff said, wanting Drew to leave him alone.
Drew reached for Jeff's hands. "One song."
"No."
"You wanted my help."
"That was my first mistake."
"Don't be a jerk. Give me your hands." Drew restarted the song and grabbed Jeff's hands, holding Jeff's right in his left, his right hand on Jeff's chest, Jeff's left resting on his shoulder since it was the easiest place to go. They were standing now, and with each beat Drew's body moved. Jeff could feel it, the flex of Drew's body travelling through Drew and into his palm. He could feel the rhythm of Drew in one hand, both hands, against his chest, and from those three points it started to shimmer through his body, briefly, snatches of the beat. "Open your eyes."
He hadn't realized that he'd closed them. He opened them and found himself looking right at Drew, into Drew's eyes. The shimmering turned to a vibration.
"I feel it."
"I know," Drew said, smiling. "Keep it."
He could see Drew's dimples.
"I will."