"Fearless"

Fearless

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing: Chris Kirkpatrick and/or Lance Bass and/or JC Chasez

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise *NSYNC 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: Thank you, Diamond, for trusting me and sharing with me.

Notice: There's an interview on "Rosie" where Chris says that he's not afraid of anything.

Apparently, "Tomorrow, on the bus," had meant, "Tomorrow, on the bus I'll turn your entire world upside-down and make your life a living hell for the fun of it."

        Chris loved JC. He'd only wanted to help JC. He'd only wanted to save JC.

        He hated Lance. He knew that Lance was laughing at him. He knew that Lance had been mocking him.

        Lance had to pay. Pay for mocking him. Pay for what Lance was doing to JC. He was going to make Lance pay. He was going to make Lance suffer.

        Chris was talking to Justin and getting his hair done.

        Lance came over and talked to Justin. Chris fidgeted in his chair, deliberately not listening, not interested in anything Lance had to say on any subject.

        A hand on his shoulder. Lance's hand on his shoulder. Chris tensed, fighting the urge to shove Lance away. He couldn't because if he did he'd be too violent, and that would alarm not only Justin but also the hair and make-up people.

        The hand lifted, and Lance's finger slid too intimately along the curve of Chris's ear, and Lance was gone.

        Ear. Lance had touched his ear. Lance had caressed his ear.

        JC had done ear things. JC had told Lance. Lance was taunting him, Lance was-

        Ooohhh, Lance was evil, fucking evil, and Chris was going to kick his smug gay ass.

Lance had gotten to him in public, in front of Justin and other people. He'd see how damned smug Lance was when they were alone, one-on-one.

        "Hey, Chris!"

        Hearing Joey's call, Chris backtracked and stepped into Joey's hotel room. "Yeah?"

        "What do you think?"

        It was hard to answer Joey's question, since he wasn't looking at Joey. He was looking at JC. At JC who was standing behind Lance, draped against Lance's back, with his arms loosely wrapped around Lance's shoulders. Lance had one hand up, stroking JC's wrist.

        "JC says to go for it, and Lance says not in this lifetime," Joey said. "We need a tiebreaker."

        "I agree with JC," Chris said without looking.

        "Joey, not in public," Lance said.

        "You heard the man," Joey said. "I'm going for it."

        "Can I see you in my room?" Chris heard himself say.

        "Yeah," Lance said. He disengaged himself from JC, kissed JC's cheek like he had any fucking right, and walked towards Chris.

        Chris turned his back quickly, walking away. When he got to his room Lance was right behind him, and when he walked in Lance followed him. "Close the door," Chris said, walking farther into the room, not bothering to turn on any lights. For this conversation, even the light creeping around the edges of the drapes seemed like too much illumination.

        Lance closed the door.

        Chris turned, facing him. "Never touch me again."

        "You didn't seem to mind when I was sucking your dick."

        Chris smacked him across the face.

        Too calmly and too quickly, Lance smacked him right back.

        Ouch! Fuck, damn it. Chris put his hand to his cheek, glaring at Lance. They'd never hit each other before. Not one of the five of them had ever hit each other before. In the back of his mind, Chris was coming to the sickening realization that this was one of the lowest points of his life. In the front of his mind, "Fuck you! I'm trying to help JC!"

        "JC is fine," Lance said. "You're the one with the problem."

        "Don't ever touch him again."

        "That's between JC and me. It has nothing to do with you."

        "What do I have to do?" Chris demanded. He was pissed that Lance had hit him. He was even more pissed that he'd hit Lance. "Beat you up? Find you a new boyfriend?"

        "No one you could find could ever compare to JC," Lance said.

        "You aren't capable of appreciating JC," Chris said. "You don't have a fucking clue."

        "All right, then, what about you?" Lance asked.

        "What about me?" Chris asked.

        "If you can do for me what JC does for me, you can have him."

        "What?" Chris asked, not comprehending. Then light dawned, and he wished it hadn't. "I wouldn't touch you if you paid me."

        "I don't have to pay JC," Lance said.

        Chris wanted to kick his teeth in. There was no way he was letting this smug asshole bastard anywhere near JC ever again. "Fine. Whatever. Whatever you want, as long as you don't touch him."

        "I get to say good-bye."

        "You don't get to say shit," Chris snapped.

        "We'll see," Lance said, like that was a fucking answer. "Come to my room tonight," he said, and reached for the doorknob.

        "Fuck you," Chris said, hating him.

        "We'll get to that," Lance said, and left.

        Chris kicked the door.

        JC came to his room, looking upset, confused. "Chris," he said. "Chris, what did you do?"

        "I'm saving you," Chris said. "You're too blind to rescue yourself, so I'm doing it for you."

        "Rescue me from Lance?" JC asked. "I love Lance, you know that."

        "Not anymore," Chris said.

        "He loves me," JC said, like it was so true it shouldn't have to be verbalized. "I don't need to be rescued from him. You can't keep us apart."

        "He agreed," Chris said. "It's his decision."

        "Do you think that means anything to me?" JC asked. "Do you think that's going to keep me away from him?"

        "You're here with me and not with him, so it looks like it's working so far," Chris said.

        "Is that what this is about?" JC asked, like something was finally coming together. "You want me to be with you? I told you, I love both of you. I won't choose."

        "That decision is out of your hands," Chris said. "He never loved you, JC, he doesn't care about you. He doesn't even know you. It was just about sex, just your body."

        "Lance doesn't know me?" JC asked, like that was impossible. God, JC lived on a different plane, his reality was completely different, he was never going to grasp these concepts. "Lance knows me as well as anyone does. He knows me as well as you or Justin or Joey. In some ways he knows me better than anyone. Lance and I share the most-"

        "He doesn't love you!" Chris shouted. God, he couldn't fucking listen to this! He knew better than anyone that it was possible to know someone so well looking at him was like being inside his head, and still be completely fucking betrayed by new information he'd never fucking bothered to share. He'd known Lance better than anyone on the damned planet, and he hadn't known Lance at all, which meant that JC didn't know Lance, Lance didn't know JC, no one knew anyone, everything was - - fuck! "He doesn't love you," Chris repeated, yanking himself back on-track. "If he did, he wouldn't have - - forget it, forget it! You won't even listen to me anymore! I'm fighting this fucking battle all by myself and you won't even listen to me!"

        "What battle?" JC asked, like he really wanted to understand but Chris kept speaking a foreign language. "Who are you fighting?"

        "I'm fighting for you! I'm doing all of this for you!" Why the hell else would he be killing himself over this?!

        "Why for me?" JC asked, stepping closer to him, putting a hand on his arm. "Why do you care this much?"

        "I love you!" Chris shouted. "I love you and-" He broke off, not knowing where he'd been going, running out of words. Running out of steam. "I love you," he said, angry, confused. Lost.

        "Chris," JC said, like he wasn't surprised at all, only touched that Chris thought he had to announce it. "I love you, too, you know that."

        "It's not like that," Chris said, frustrated. "Why can't you - - I don't love you like - - damn it." Damn it, damn it, damn it. He was tired, suddenly. Tired of fighting. Tired of caring this much when nothing he did made one bit of difference. He sat on the foot of the bed, worn out. Heart-weary.

        "How do you love me?" JC asked, crouching down in front of him. "Chris, honey, how do you love me?"

        JC was achingly beautiful. JC was achingly sexual. JC just made him ache. "I don't know anymore," Chris said. He couldn't do this. "Don't lower yourself in front of me, JC. Don't lower yourself for anyone. We should do that for you."

        JC leaned upward, brushing his lips over Chris's. "Do you like that?" he asked, eyes opening, heartbreakingly close.

        "It's not about sex," Chris said, wishing he could explain it so that JC would understand. He just wanted someone to understand him. Lance had always understood him. Before. Always. "It's not about dirty nasty raunchy smack-your-ass porn sex. I love you, JC. You're too good for that."

        "Sex isn't degrading," JC said. "It's the feeling behind it that can degrade. Sex is neutral and natural. People's intentions and people's feelings are what give it meaning, good and bad."

        That made sense. In fact, it seemed kind of obvious, now that Chris gave it any thought. Chris frowned, trying to fit things together.

        "When you made love to me, were you degrading me?"

        Chris's eyes widened in horror. "No! I would never... It wasn't like that. I did it for you."

        "For my sake," JC said, eyes soft with understanding. "To rescue me."

        "Yes," Chris said.

        JC's hand slid along his forearm, finding his hand. "You didn't have to make love to me to rescue me," JC said softly. "You could have found another way."

        "There was no other way! I've been trying," Chris said. "Nothing's working."

        "You're the one who's degrading," JC said, lacing their fingers, his voice quiet, his eyes telling Chris that his words were important. "You're the one who's turning honest love into something ugly. You see me with Lance and you see all of this filth and perversion that isn't even there. I love Lance, and there are few feelings that touch my heart more than waking up with him beside me."

        "You can't go back," Chris said, not liking this at all. "Don't let him suck you back in."

        "Why not?" JC asked, as though it were a logical question. "Why not go back to someone who loves me? To someone who treats me with respect? You hit him. You might hit me."

        "I would never raise a hand to you," Chris said quickly, forcefully. "I have never touched you roughly and I never will."

        JC held his gaze, searching. "What are you going to do tonight?" JC asked.

        "Keep him away from you."

        "No matter what?" JC asked.

        "No matter what," Chris said. He was determined.

        "What about me?" JC asked.

        "You're sleeping alone," Chris said. "The way you always should."

        "Do you want me to be alone?" JC asked. "Do you want me to be lonely?"

        "You can have friends," Chris said.

        JC smiled. "Do you think that's enough for me?"

        "Try," Chris said desperately.

        "I like sex," JC said. "I love sex with you and I love sex with Lance."

        "You're too good for that," Chris said. "You're too special. You should be above that." His cell phone rang. Irritated by the distraction, he flipped it open and demanded, "What?"

        "Come to me or I'll go to him," Lance said.

        "Stay there," Chris ordered, and closed his phone. "You, stay here," he told JC. "Don't leave this room. I have to go take care of Lance."

        "Why isn't Lance special?" JC asked.

        Chris paused. "What?"

        "Why isn't Lance above being degraded? Why am I too good and he's not?"

        "He corrupted you," Chris said. Wasn't it obvious?

        "Look at him," JC said. "When you go to him, really look at him."

        "I have to go," Chris said, standing, pulling JC to his feet.

        "Look into his eyes when he touches you."

        "Stay here," Chris said, and left.

JC was safe, separated from Lance. Lance had agreed to stay away from JC. Chris finally was gaining control of the situation.

        Lance had left the door half open. When Chris walked in, Lance was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Lance spat toothpaste and said, "Lock the door."

        Chris turned around, locking the door. "JC's in my room."

        "And you're in mine," Lance said. "I guess we know who's winning."

        "This isn't a game," Chris said.

        "Of the three of us, you have the least idea of what's really happening here," Lance said. He rinsed his mouth and walked over to where Chris was standing.

        Chris wanted to back away, but stood his ground.

        "You aren't ready for this," Lance said. "You aren't ready for me."

        "You think I can't handle this?" Chris asked. Smug bastard.

        "You think you can?" Lance asked. "All right, do you like to be fucked on your back or your stomach?"

        The sick bastard. "I'm here for JC. I'll play with you. But don't think you're putting your dick anywhere besides my hand."

        Lance smiled. "How many straight guys do you think would have said that to me just now?"

        Fuck! God damn it, he couldn't win. Lance twisted everything.

        "Come to bed," Lance said.

        After taking off his shoes, and resisting the urge to bounce them off Lance's head, Chris lay on his back on the bed. He folded his hands across his stomach and waited.

        The mattress dipped.

        Chris clenched his teeth.

        "You look tense," Lance said. "Is anything wrong?"

        He was going to scream.

        "Just close your eyes and think about JC," Lance said.

        "Shut up," Chris said. A quick glance reassured him that Lance was still wearing a T-shirt and underwear. Not a full suit of armor, but at least some barrier.

        "Close your eyes," Lance said, and this time his voice was kind and understanding.

        Chris cast Lance a hard, suspicious look, then closed his eyes.

        "You can pretend I'm someone else," Lance said. "Anyone else."

        Chris was tense, waiting. He didn't know what Lance was going to do, and he didn't like that.

        The tip of Lance's tongue flickered against his earlobe.

        Chris frowned.

        Soft licking behind his ear.

        Chris wrinkled his nose. It didn't tickle, but it was making hot tingling prickles of awareness flare across his skin.

        Licking inside his ear.

        Damn it, that felt too good. Chris squirmed. This wasn't fair!

        There was a soft chuckle, not malicious in any way, actually sounding amused and pleased. "Maybe we'll try that later."

        Chris breathed a little easier.

        Lance's thumb stroked along the side of his neck. A gentle touch along Chris's jaw tilted his chin up a bit, and then Lance was kissing his neck. Sucking on it. Chris felt warm. Lance made a faint hmm sound and sucked on a different spot. Chris tipped his head back, feeling a slow ache settle into his groin.

        "Take your shirt off," Lance said, backing up.

        Chris opened his eyes, glaring at Lance.

        "Damn it, Chris, just do it," Lance said, sounding as fed up with him as he was with Lance.

        Anger, Chris could deal with. He pulled his shirt off and threw it at Lance.

        Lance tossed it aside.

        Satisfied that he was pissing Lance off, Chris lay back and closed his eyes.

        Oh. Nipple. Oh. Oooohh... Chris chewed on his lower lip. That was feeling a little too good. He wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. He didn't want to like this. Not that he was enjoying himself, at all, it was just that, oh, ah... He slid down a bit, moving his legs restlessly. His dick was kind of getting a little hard, and Lance was performing miracles on his nipples, and he kept flashing back to that mind-warping blowjob.

        Nails scratched down Chris's chest, lightly, and god, that wasn't supposed to feel good, but Chris wanted more. His skin was aware, sensitive, prickling, begging for attention. Lance stopped licking his nipples, and just when Chris was about to start pleading and moaning, he felt Lance's tongue dipping into his navel, licking just below it, as steady hands began to open his pants.

        Chris began to tense. The haze of sex began to clear from his mind. He didn't care what he'd agreed to; this was too far. He had to stop this. He wasn't going to fucking-

        "Mmm..." Lance licked the soft cotton of Chris' boxer-briefs. The low, warm sound of Lance in sexual pleasure soaked into Chris's brain as Lance tugged down Chris's underwear, leaving him naked.

        No, no, this wasn't-

        Lance took Chris' erection in hand, licking the head. Groaning, Chris dug his fingers into the sheet beneath him, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, refusing to look. Lance made low sex sounds, fisting Chris' dick with one hand, licking the shaft, sucking wetly. God, god, this was just like his body remembered, this was almost better, this was - - Chris moaned, drawing his hands into fists, trying to keep his hips still. The perfect hot, wet cavern of Lance's mouth closed around him, and he moaned, wanting to thrust deeper. The tight, warm suction was incredible, and the stroking of Lance's tongue made love to every sensitive spot. Lance moaned softly, sucking just hard enough to make Chris's toes curl. It was unbearable pleasure, so good it felt like agony, and Chris heard himself panting for breath. Oh, oh, oh god...

        Lance backed off slightly, releasing Chris's dick from his mouth. His tongue flickered over the crown as his fingers danced over the shaft, and Chris was going to die if he didn't get back down Lance's throat. He raised his knees, spreading his thighs, gritting his teeth so he wouldn't beg out loud.

        Another soft sex noise, and Lance began to swallow Chris's erection. Chris groaned, lifting his hips, fucking slightly down Lance's throat. Lance moaned, sucking too hard for Chris to bear, and Chris exploded from the inside out, tensing and then shuddering, calling out incoherently, pulling at the bedclothes. The rush of pleasure left him shivering and confused, his nerves tingling and his vision shaky.

        Carefully, Chris let his toes uncurl. He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for sensation to return to his legs. He felt like he was losing control of the situation. Except he'd never been in control to begin with. He was going to have to, oh, okay, what? Soft wet heat on his stomach, Lance sucking open-mouthed on his skin, licking hot and slow. Chris held back a quick shudder, feeling like every inch of him was oversensitive from post-orgasm shock. Lance's mouth was moving slowly up his ribcage, licking his sternum, sucking on his nipples, nibbling gently, and the subtle-sharp graze of teeth elicited gasping sorts of moaning noises from somewhere in Chris's throat.

        This wasn't happening. This very seriously could not be happening.

        The soft spikes of Lance's hair brushed under Chris's chin as Lance started to kiss up his neck. Lance's hands were on his body, sliding inside his opened fly to stroke his pelvic bone, massaging his hips, sliding up his chest as Lance moved up his body a little bit more to nibble on his right ear. Chris moaned, lifting his knees, gripping Lance's hips with his thighs. He could feel the hard, thick length of Lance's erection against his hip, could feel the warmth of Lance's body even through Lance's T-shirt. Lance pushed Chris's jeans down, sucking on Chris's left earlobe, and only the soft cotton of Lance's boxer-briefs separated Chris's dick from Lance's, and Lance was hard, and the way Lance was rocking against him felt good, and Lance's tongue fucking his ear was driving him fucking out of his mind, and he just wanted to-

        Lance's mouth was hot and wet, and Chris met Lance's tongue slick for stroke, fuck for lick. This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening, and if it wasn't happening, then fuck it, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Chris wrapped his arms around Lance, rolling them over, putting Lance under him. "Off, off, take this off," he said, pushing up Lance's T-shirt. Lance took over, pulling his shirt off over his head, undulating beneath him. Chris tugged down Lance's underwear, then pulled and wriggled and kicked out of his own jeans and underwear, kissing Lance's mouth. "Can I fuck you, where's the lube, I want to fuck you, do you want it on your back, can I fuck you?" He couldn't believe how good Lance's body felt. All of that new muscle Lance had developed was hard under his hands, warm, Lance was getting so fucking masculine, he wasn't a kid anymore, he was a man now. All grown up and all for Chris.

        Lance had handed him lube out of nowhere, and Chris fumbled it open, drizzling some into his hand, jacking his dick, getting himself rock-hard and slick. He wanted to do more, more touching, more looking, more kissing, more learning; and he would, soon, but first he had to do this, this thing, this thing he just really, really had to do right, right now.

        Lance was putting his legs over Chris's shoulders, and Chris was pushing a finger into Lance's body, going in as deep as he could. It was good in there, great in there, and Chris was tired of waiting, so fucking tired of fucking waiting, he'd been waiting for this forever. He got himself into position, and then he thrust in. He watched it in disbelief, feeling a rush of overwhelming emotions, overwhelming sensations, a thoroughly painful shock of unreality. His dick was disappearing into Lance's ass. The head was in, and then two more inches, and it kept going, kept going, until he was in, balls-deep, swallowed up by Lance's ass, surrounded by tight, hot, clenching muscle. God, it felt so fucking good, he just had to moan.

        Good, good, so good he didn't want to move, he didn't want to budge a millimeter, he just wanted to moan, and groan, and feel. His dick felt good, Lance's ass felt good; he leaned forward, pressing Lance's knees to Lance's chest, watching Lance pant, Lance's eyes closed, Lance's lips parted. God, he just wanted to let his dick throb inside Lance until he died from the overwhelming sensation of god-this-is-so-fucking-right.

        Lance reached for him blindly, one hand gripping the side of his neck, the nails of Lance's other hand scratching across his chest. Lance's eyes opened. "If you don't," pant, "fuck me, I'm going to kill you."

        Lance's voice sounded good when he was having sex. Deep, and throaty, and wrap around Chris's spine rich. "Okay," Chris said, pulling out a little, sliding home again. "Okay, oh god, oh god, fuck, yes, oh, yeah, fuck, fuck, yes, yeah, Lance, so fucking good, so fucking hot, so fucking right, I just want to fuck you, you feel so fucking good." Chris thrust steadily, his hips driving forward, his dick pistoning in and out of Lance's ass, vaguely aware that he was still talking but not hearing the words over the violent pounding drive of lust. He'd never, god, he'd always, and now, and this. Under him, Lance was moaning, sounding pleasured in that tortured way, a little breathless, and then Lance started to lower his legs, letting them slide down from Chris's shoulders, changing the angle.

        "Hold on," Lance said, and Chris didn't, hey, that wasn't, whoa! Flat on his back, Chris stared up at Lance, wondering how rude it would be to come. Lance splayed one hand on Chris's chest, and raised up a little before dropping back down.

        Holy fuck. Holy fuck, that was, this was, Chris groaned, all circuits fried. He couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe Lance was doing this, couldn't believe he was actually even closer to orgasm than he had been a few seconds ago. So fucking hot, he'd never imagined. Lance was working it, fucking himself on Chris's dick, riding Chris like he was the only thing standing between Lance and eternal orgasm. A red flush of heat colored Lance's face; he was sweating, moaning steadily. His expression was half passion and half determination, and Chris was equally turned on by both.

        Chris had been clutching the pillow under his head; he put his hands on Lance's hips, less to guide Lance's movements and more to feel the flex of the muscles in Lance's ass. Chris's dick was sheathed in a tight, moving grip, and he was so close to orgasm, he was worried about getting off before Lance did.

        He wrapped his hand around Lance's dick, and it jumped in his grasp. He ran his thumb along the thick vein running up the underside, and Lance moaned, and the sound hummed low in Chris's tightening balls. He adjusted his grip, squeezing experimentally, and damn, the hardness in his hand, Lance's moan thrumming into his ears, the tight friction over his dick, he was close, he was going to come, Lance had to come first, Lance had to come - - oh, yeah, god, yes, that was oh, Jesus, there was no, there was god, there was ah, ah, ah, oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!

        Echoes of his moans mingled with Lance's in his ears. Panting, overwhelmed, Chris welcomed the weight of Lance's body slumping onto his; he rubbed his hands up Lance's sweat-slick back, closing his eyes.

        God, that had been a good orgasm. The second had been even stronger than the first, and that never happened.

        He cupped the back of Lance's head in one hand, then filtered Lance's hair through his fingers. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex this good. Not since-

        -JC-

        -fuck! Chris sat up, shoving Lance aside, scrambling out of the bed. Fuck, where were his pants, fuck, where was his shirt, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! "You sick fuck!" he shouted, rounding on Lance.

        "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Lance demanded.

        "Stay the fuck away from me!" Chris yanked on his jeans, shoving the underwear in the pocket, roughly pulling on his shirt. "Stay the fuck away from me, stay the fuck away from JC, don't talk to us, don't touch us, just stay the fuck away!"

        "I'm a sick fuck?!" Lance shouted. "You're fucking me one second and a screaming homophobe the next! Get your head out of your ass! You're gay! You're gay! You're gay!"

        Chris stared at Lance in horror. He'd never wanted to hit anyone more. He didn't even know who the hell Lance was anymore.

        "You're gay," Lance said softly, more calmly. Gently.

        Chris didn't want to hear it, didn't want to discuss it, didn't want to be in the same room with it, had to get the hell out of there, back to sanity, back to safety. It wasn't true, it wasn't true, he couldn't let Lance fuck with him like that, contaminate him like that.

        Bursting into his room, Chris skidded to a halt. There, in his bed, fast asleep, lit by the glow of the lamp, was JC.

        Fuck it, fuck everything, fuck - - Chris ran into the bathroom, locking the door, jumping into the shower, yanking at the faucet. As the hot water kicked in, he undressed there under the spray, baring himself as the water reached near-scalding temperatures. He scrubbed at his flesh with feverish, rough hands, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as possible, wanting to deny it, to fight it, to kill it and make it die. He wasn't fucking gay and he hadn't fucked Lance and no, no, "No, no, no!"

        "Chris?" JC was knocking at the door. "Chris?"

        Chris froze, then realized that he was about to get second-degree burns, and hastily turned off the water, staring at the shower curtain in the direction of JC's voice. Jesus, he couldn't let JC see him like this, couldn't let JC know what Lance had said, what he'd done, what had happened. "I'm okay!" he called, except his voice cracked and wavered and squeaked. He kicked his sodden clothes out of his way, stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel. "I'll be out in a minute." He had to be fast, in case JC decided to go visit Lance or something. He hadn't gone through all of that just to watch Lance suck JC back in. Hell, no.

        Hastily dried, Chris wrapped the towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom. JC stepped forward, scanning his face with concern. "It didn't go well?"

        Chris almost laughed. "It was great, it was just great." He couldn't walk around just in a towel, he had to find clothes, put on clothes-

        JC's hands stopped him, guided him back, and Chris looked into JC's eyes, forcing himself to remain calm. JC's gaze was more than concerned now, and Chris had to reassure him, pacify him, keep him safe and happy. "What happened?" JC asked. JC was worried, and beautiful, and Chris had to make it okay for him.

        "Nothing," Chris said, as calmly as he could. "Nothing happened." Gently, he removed himself from JC's hands. "It's okay now. I took care of it. You'll be okay now." He'd make sure of it. No matter what. Despite anything, despite everything, his first priority was still JC.

        "I already was okay," JC said. "What do you mean, you took care of it? What's it?"

        "I think Lance and I understand each other now," Chris said. He understood Lance, at least. Whether or not Lance understood him was fucking irrelevant. He knew what Lance's game was, and it wasn't going to work. Not on him, not on JC. He wouldn't let it.

        "Are you sure you understand?" JC asked.

        "Yes," Chris said. He did understand, he was the only one who really understood anything. JC was naive, clueless, trusting. JC didn't understand his own worth, but Chris did. Chris was going to protect him. "You should go back to sleep."

        "Come with me," JC said. "I want to sleep with you. I want to wake up beside you."

        "I'll snore in your ear," Chris said. "You wouldn't want that. I'll just-"

        "No," JC said, holding his forearm again. "Sleep with me."

        "I don't think that's a good idea," Chris said. Everyone kept misinterpreting everything he did, turning it into sex, and if he slept in the same bed as JC, it would only add to the misunderstandings.

        "I miss Lance," JC said. "I want to be with you. Please, Chris."

        JC missed Lance. Lance, that sick, stupid fuck. Chris couldn't let JC slip away, not now. "Okay." He gave in, feeling sick himself, feeling doomed. God, this wasn't working out right, nothing was going well, everything was getting worse and worse and worse, harder, and he was getting in deeper and deeper, and he didn't see a clear way out anymore. He was mired in it, he was going under, he was never going to make it. Not with JC. God, maybe he should just give up. Let JC do whatever it was that JC wanted to do. Why should he be responsible for another adult's behavior?

        One failing, desperate look into JC's eyes, and Chris knew. He was doing this for all of the right reasons, and he had to keep doing it, because no one else would. JC was too beautiful, too perfect, too wonderfully, wildly, amazing. Too sexual. He had to protect that. He had to rescue it.

        "Are you sure things went okay?" JC asked.

        "Everything's fine," Chris said, gazing into the clear, light blue of JC's eyes. "You're here."

        "I'm here," JC agreed, his voice softer, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin inside Chris's wrist. "With you." JC's kiss was gentle, light, and Chris's eyes closed briefly before Chris pulled away.

        "Let's just go to sleep," Chris suggested, not wanting JC to get the wrong idea. Again.

        JC kissed him once more, softly, lingering, like if this was the last one, he wanted to remember it. "Okay." He turned away, every heartbeat of movement as graceful as a magazine cover pose. He got into bed; Chris put on shorts and a T-shirt, then joined him.

        Sliding into bed beside JC, Chris wondered how this was supposed to go. He'd do whatever he had to do to keep JC distracted from Lance, but how far was JC going to expect him to go? Sleeping side-by-side was one thing; Chris had shared a bed with all of the guys before. But "before" meant "before gay sex became an issue." An issue. A reality. Once Lance had come out... Well, a lot of privacy was stripped away by the nature of their daily lives on tour. But personal intimacies, those could be limited. Chris had seen to it.

        JC curled up facing him, tugging him closer, so Chris rolled onto one side, facing JC in return. JC moved in closer, closer still, very close, until they were groin to groin, legs twined. JC's fingers traced the lines of Chris's face in tender, intimate strokes, his gaze settling on Chris's mouth. "I love you," JC murmured. "It took me a long time to notice it, and a longer time to do anything about it. But I've been feeling it."

        Chris took a slow, deliberately calming breath. JC was very, very precious, and he couldn't do anything to hurt JC's feelings. "I love you, too, JC."

        JC smiled, meeting his eyes. "You don't mean it the way I mean it."

        He was glad that JC understood that. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't. I don't...have those feelings for men."

        "Why not?" JC asked, leaning in closer, one hand relaxed against Chris's chest.

        Chris frowned at the weird question. "Because I can't. I'm straight. I'm not attracted to men, I can't fall-"

        "Aren't you attracted to me?" JC asked.

        "No," Chris said. He shook his head. "I mean, yes, but that's different."

        "What's different about it?"

        JC wasn't going to let this go, and Chris felt dangerously smothered. Pressured. Backed into a wall. "It's you," he said. "Everyone's attracted to you, it's a universally accepted thing. Like Oreos. Everybody likes Oreos, if you don't you're fucking weird. Men, women, musicians, chiropractors, human beings, mutated goldfish, everybody wants you at some point. It's not even noteworthy anymore."

        "You aren't attracted to other men?" JC asked.

        "No," Chris said. "Of course not, that's - - I'm straight. You understand what that means, right? There's no language barrier here?"

        "What about Mark?"

        Mark? Chris almost blanked on the name. Then he remembered, oh. Yeah. That filthy fucker. He wondered why he was having strong, angry, bitter flashes about the guy. But it didn't matter. Mark was long gone, never to return. "That was a one-time thing, to see what it was like. I wanted to see if my dick cared if it got head from a man or a woman."

        "It didn't matter?"

        "It didn't seem to," Chris said.

        "Are you attracted to Justin?"

        Chris laughed. "No. Don't put nasty images in my head."

        JC smiled. "You're not attracted to Joey?"

        "That's disgusting," Chris said. "Besides, people with beards, no thanks, not for me."

        Amusement sparkled in JC's eyes. He stroked Chris's chin. "I like it."

        Well, yes, hmm. Chris suspected that he was blushing.

        "I'm attracted to Lance," JC said. "I love the way he kisses."

        Chris refused to allow any memories of the feel of Lance's mouth against his, the press of Lance's lips, the stroke of Lance's tongue.

        "I love the way you kiss," JC murmured, hand sliding over Chris's ribcage, catching Chris's mouth with his own. Chris allowed the kiss to deepen, even kissing back when JC's tongue urged him. Once he had JC fully safe from Lance, these little moments were going to have to stop. But he couldn't risk pushing JC away now, not yet. "Chris," JC whispered, making sweet slick love to his mouth, stroking his back under his shirt, rubbing his thigh. "Chris..."

        Things were going too far, but Chris wasn't sure on how to ask JC to stop. He put his fingers to JC's chin, breaking their kiss and caressing JC's jaw a little, the smooth skin blending down into JC's neck. "We have to get up in a few hours." JC was too flawless for words. Those too-pretty high cheekbones. The soft kissable pink of his mouth. Those light eyes that disappeared when he really smiled. The carefully untamed waves of his hair that twined like silk around Chris's fingers. No one was more beautiful than JC, no one. And no one appreciated that like Chris did, no one. Lance hadn't damaged JC's beauty yet, but just by taking it for granted and using it for his own purposes, Lance was tarnishing it. Putting it at risk. Chris had to make that stop.

        Chris brushed his fingers back through the hair at JC's temple. "Let's just go to sleep."

        JC kissed him again, so gently Chris's toes curled. "Good night." JC stretched away to turn off the lamp, then tucked back in, an arm around Chris's waist.

        Chris watched JC sleep until he drifted off himself.

        Lance had barely slept, which was unfortunate, since sleep was a precious commodity on the road. Up early, he showered and dressed. The second he heard a sound in the hallway, he was out of his room, going to knock on Chris's door.

        JC opened the door, whispering quickly, "What happened last night," drawing him into the room.

        Lance pushed the door shut behind himself, taking JC's mouth in a brief kiss. "He didn't tell you?"

        "He didn't tell me-"

        "JC." Chris stormed in from the bathroom, reaching for JC. When Chris's hand wrapped around JC's wrist, Lance remembered Chris's hand on his own skin, curling around his dick, gripping his hips, stroking his hair. Desire shook him, but anger rushed in, too; that stubborn, ignorant little - - why did Chris have to be such a jackass? How long was Lance going to put himself through this? Why was he putting himself through this at all?

        Because he was in love with Chris. Because every day without Chris was hell. It was hell on tour, being this close and this far away at the same damned time. It was even worse off tour, when Chris was away from him, in other places, doing other things, living a complete life that Lance wasn't part of.

        He had JC. He should just be with JC and forget about Chris. But he knew how much JC wanted to be with Chris, and JC knew how he felt, too, and even if they couldn't have Chris themselves, they wanted each other to have that chance.

        And now, after last night... The things that Chris had said. He was almost entirely positive that Chris hadn't really heard a tenth of the words that had come out of his mouth. If Chris had heard himself say those things, he wouldn't be able to act like this now. Lance knew that guys said a lot of things during sex that they didn't mean, but not like that.

        Chris was glaring at him, dark eyes hot with anger, brows furrowed. "Get out of my room and away from JC."

        "I think you're forgetting a few things," Lance said, "like maybe that we all work together. How do you expect me to avoid JC when we're together all day every day?"

        "I expect you to spend all of your time with Joey and Justin," Chris said.

        "I'm an adult, and so is JC," Lance said. "If we want to spend time together, there's no reason we shouldn't."

        "You fucking whore!" Chris shouted.

        The words, the pure anger and hatred behind them, rocked Lance so much that it was an effort not to pull back physically. Lance deliberately kept his face calm, trying not to show the effect Chris's hatred had on him.

        "This is a game to you!" Chris shouted. "This is all a fucking game! You can't fucking jerk me around anymore, and I'm not letting you get anywhere near JC! You're a fucking whore! You'll let anyone fuck you! Me, JC, any dick off the street, you don't even fucking care! You don't even fucking care! You don't care about JC, you let me fuck you like it didn't even matter, none of it fucking matters to you!"

        Lance tried to block out Chris's words, mentally playing his own tape of what Chris had said to him last night, covering Chris's current hatred with remembered passion. "I want you, I've always wanted you, I want you so fucking much, you feel so good, god, I knew it would feel like this, I knew it would be this good, Lance, god, Lance..."

        "It does matter," JC was saying to Chris. "Lance-"

        "It doesn't mean anything to him! You in his bed, me in his bed, Mark in his bed, it doesn't make a difference! None of it means anything to him! He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone he's fucking. He doesn't appreciate you, he'll never come close to loving you. All of this, this is a game to him, it's a fucking game!"

        "God, you, Lance, it's been so long, I've wanted you so much, I've loved you so much, you feel so good, this is so right, so good, so right, oh god, Lance, I love you..."

        "He's a fucking whore!"

        "I love you..."

        "Get the fuck out of my room!"

        He couldn't deal with Chris while Chris was acting like this. There was no point in saying anything; Chris was too busy spewing filth to listen to a word. Lance turned to JC, shutting out Chris. "We'll talk later," he said, and left.

        JC had to talk to Lance. Chris didn't know how Lance felt, and that was leading Chris to misinterpret everything. If JC had Lance's permission, then he could just explain to Chris how Lance really felt, and what was really going on, and then Chris might, well, get a grip.

        Chris's grip was almost gone. The stress of the situation was getting to him, and JC was watching him come apart hour by hour. In their first interview that day, he was nearly silent; in the second, he was almost wildly manic. Justin and Joey tried to talk to him, but he told them he was fine. Even though that clearly was a blatant lie, he even more clearly didn't want to talk about it, so they left him alone.

        As soon as there was a private moment to steal, JC managed to be alone with Chris. He'd intended to talk to Chris, maybe to find out if there was some way he could calm Chris down, but the first thing Chris did was grab him and kiss the breath out of him. It was a fast, desperate kiss, Chris's hands first clutching JC's shoulders and then sliding up into his hair, Chris's foot hooking behind JC's and unbalancing him so that JC stumbled so close they were pressed together solidly from chest to thigh. JC wrapped one arm low around Chris's back, sliding one thigh in between Chris's legs, lightly rubbing his dick against Chris's hip, cupping Chris's cheek in one hand while Chris's tongue fucked his mouth so thoroughly he was moaning.

        Then, with shocking abruptness, Chris jerked back, twisting away, breaking free and running from the room.

        Startled, chillingly alone, JC remembered to close his mouth.

        Chris had grabbed him, kissed him. That kind of active aggression was brand-new and completely unexpected.

        Something had happened last night. Something between Chris and Lance. JC licked his lips, running his hands back through his hair, deciding it was past time to talk to Lance.

        Chris latched the door to the bathroom and leaned back against the wall heavily, panting. He'd, he wasn't, that hadn't... He closed his eyes, pressing his hands to his face, wanting to fucking implode and die.

        It was getting to him. The stress, the frustration, his screaming rage at the impossible futility of trying to keep JC safe.

        It had seemed so clear before, so easy, so direct, that he hadn't realized how thoroughly and violently it might crash down on top of him.

        It was Lance's fault. All of it. He could just kill that sick son-of-a-bitch.

        Chris laughed painfully. It was almost funny. He could remember those days, those times, all of those long early years when he'd absolutely loved Lance. That had been before...

        Before...

        Chris shuddered.

        Whatever this was inside him that was fucking him up, that was making him feel these things, do these things, he wanted to claw it out of his chest. He wanted to bash his own brains in until he stopped thinking like this. Why did he have to hate Lance and rescue JC and fuck Lance and kiss JC and feel this strongly about everything he didn't want to be thinking at all? He didn't want to be here, didn't want to think like this, didn't want all of these conflicting ideas inside his head anymore.

        He couldn't lobotomize himself. But he could make Lance and JC stop. If he could just make them stop, he'd be okay again. Everything would be all right again. He could stop thinking like this and feeling like this if he could just make them stop it.

        He wanted everything to be normal again.

        He wanted to be normal again.

        Lance closed his eyes as JC kissed him with slow passion. "Tell me everything," JC murmured, kissing him again, as Lance's fingers walked lazy patterns up JC's back.

        "Everything?" Lance asked, opening his eyes, wondering where to start. Considering Chris's behavior today, anything he said about last night would sound like a lie, even to his own ears.

        Another slow kiss, full of desire. "Did he touch you?"

        "He touched me," Lance said, bringing together images from last night in his head. His body remembered everything. Every feel, every touch. Every slight brush of skin to skin. Every intense, burning stroke of flesh to flesh. "He fucked me." He looked directly into JC's shocked, anxious, glowing gaze. "I seduced him, and he fucked me, and everything was perfect. And then he came to his senses, and he cursed me out and ran."

        "What?" JC asked, surprised. "Tell me everything. The good and the bad. I need details."

        Lance smiled, tucking his fingers just inside the back of JC's waistband. "To satisfy your sexual curiosity?"

        "No," JC said. "Yes," he admitted, with a self-deprecating smile. "And so I'll be able to understand what's wrong with him today. He's...different. Again."

        "There are a lot of things wrong with him," Lance said. "Freud couldn't get to the bottom of this one."

        JC waited, watching him, thumb rubbing warm circles into his hip.

        Lance didn't know where to start. He wasn't used to talking about his sexual activities with anyone. He decided to start with something easy. "You were right about his ears."

        JC laughed.

        "He's very responsive," Lance said. "He twitches at everything. He can't hold still even when he's in bed."

        JC smiled. "I love it."

        "I took charge. He was tense and resentful and pissed off, so I let him lie there and do nothing while I did what I wanted."

        JC's smile was knowing. "And what was it that you wanted?"

        Lance smiled back, refusing to blush. "I sucked his dick."

        JC laughed with pleasure and amusement. "How was it?"

        Mmm... "He loved it. He was completely into it. It felt..." Realizing that he was practically vibrating with desire, drooling at the mouth, and moaning over a mere memory, Lance reined himself back in. "Good," he said. "It felt good."

        "Good?" JC repeated, his hand sliding down Lance's thigh. "Just good?"

        "He has a nice dick," Lance said, futilely wishing JC didn't know him this well.

        "It's very nice," JC said with a smile. "It gets so...thick."

        Lance licked his lips, swallowing drool. His own dick twitched, both at the memory of Chris and the pressure and nearness of JC's hand.

        JC kissed him briefly, hand dropping. "What happened after that?"

        "He was in no condition to push me away, so I kept going. I went up, back to his ears, and I got him a little less dressed, and on his own, he grabbed me and kissed me."

        "He kissed you?" JC asked, his gaze becoming more sharp, more clear.

        "He kissed me," Lance said. "He got on top of me, and he told me to take off my shirt. He kept kissing me, and touching me, and he took off my underwear."

        "He took off your underwear?" JC repeated, sounding almost shocked.

        "He asked me if he could fuck me," Lance said. "He asked me for the lube."

        JC leaned back against the wall as though he could no longer support his own weight, staring at Lance in amazement.

        "He did it," Lance said. "He fucked me. He never hesitated, he never slowed down."

        "How was it?" JC asked, reaching out to put a hand on Lance's chest.

        Lance searched his brain for words. "He wanted it more than I ever thought he would. I didn't expect anything like that. He wanted it, he was into it, it almost seemed like it was the best sex he'd ever had. He started right off saying things like 'wanted you for so long, waiting for this forever, this is so right.' He went in and he just stopped, like it was so good, if he moved, it'd be over. I couldn't take that, I told him to start doing it. He did, he started..." Lance stopped, catching his breath, not used to being that open.

        "How did it feel?" JC asked, voice soft, eyes searching, hand sliding up Lance's chest.

        Lance reached out, drawing JC in closer, closing his eyes. "It felt so good it hurt." He slid his hands across JC's hips, different from Chris's. Chris was shorter than JC, JC was rail-thin, he'd always known those obvious differences, but now he knew details, intimate details, things not even Joey and Justin knew. "It was intense. It's never been that intense with anyone before, anyone but you. I thought it must be something about you. But with Chris, it was the same way, everything was important, and concentrated, and enhanced, and... I got really close, really fast, but I remembered what you said about being dominated, so I rolled us both over and..."

         "Rode him," JC murmured.

        Lance grinned, opening his eyes.

        "He liked it?" JC asked, knowing.

        "He loved it," Lance said. "He sounded completely overwhelmed. He started to touch me, and then he put his hand on my dick."

        "I can't believe it took him that long."

        "I can't believe he did it at all," Lance said.

        "I put his hand on my dick," JC said. "I wasn't going to wait for him to decide to do it himself."

        "I wasn't going to push him," Lance said. "I thought he wasn't ever going to do it, but he did, and I almost came from shock. He started jacking it, and I kept going, and I don't know which one of us came first, but it was close."

        "What happened after?" JC asked.

        "I almost fell asleep," Lance said. "We were there together, and he was rubbing my back, stroking my hair. It was perfect. It made me believe he'd meant everything he'd said to me, it made me believe something had really changed. I thought maybe we could work it out. And then, I don't know why, I didn't say anything, all of a sudden he shoved me off, jumped up, starting cursing and grabbing his clothes."

        "Nothing happened?" JC asked.

        "Nothing. He flipped out all on his own. He told me to stay the fuck away, he called me a sick fuck. I told him to get a grip, and I told him he was gay."

        JC blinked. "You said it straight to him?"

        "More than once," Lance said. "He didn't say anything, he just froze, and he looked horrified. And then he ran."

        "I haven't said it to him yet," JC said. "He's not ready to hear it."

        "He has to face it," Lance said. "At least maybe then, some of this bullshit will stop." He studied JC. "When you were in bed with him, what did he say?"

        "During all of that rambling?" JC asked. "A lot of things about how good everything felt, and how..." JC blushed. "How hot I am, how sexy I am, how beautiful I am, how perfect I am..."

        "He noticed," Lance said, amused by JC's humility. "Did he tell you that he loves you?"

        JC shook his head. "No. He said it to me yesterday, out of bed, but he says it's not romantic or sexual."

        "He told me that he loves me," Lance said. "He said that he's wanted me forever."

        JC's fingers stroking his jaw were warm. JC's gaze softened with love. "He meant it. It's true."

        "If it's true, then why is he spending all of this energy hating me?" Lance demanded.

        "You're threatening his equilibrium," JC said. "You're endangering his safe world."

        "Why doesn't he hate you?" Lance asked. "Why aren't you a threat?"

        "It's like he thinks there's something about me, specifically, that's acceptably... He said I'm like Oreos. Universally appealing. My sexuality isn't threatening, because I think he thinks completely straight men would do me if they could."

        That was actually true, only JC didn't seem to have noticed it. Maybe that, too, made JC less of a threat. He wasn't actively gay, and hadn't been with a man before Lance. Maybe Chris could write off attraction to JC, and even sex with JC, as an acceptable anomaly.

        "I'm more of a bottom than a top, and you're more of a top than a bottom," JC said. "He might sense that, too. That would make me less threatening, and you terrifying."

        "He'll have to get over it," Lance said. He was pissed off at Chris, for creating this entire drama. If Chris really loved him, or cared about him at all, or even respected him as a friend, none of this should be happening.

        "He will," JC said. "He just needs help." JC's kiss was a welcome distraction. "I have to tell him."

        "Tell him what?" Lance asked, wondering if he'd missed a step in their conversation.

        "That you're in love with him. He doesn't know, he doesn't have any idea, and if-"

        "No," Lance said, stepping back, pulling free of JC's hands. "No, you're not telling him. He'd use it against me. He doesn't even deserve my love right now."

        "But he needs to know," JC said. "It's going to make a difference."

        "He'll use it against me! I'm not letting that happen. Tell him you love him."

        "I have," JC said. "It's not the same."

        "You're the one he's fucked up over," Lance snapped.

        "You're the one he's fucked up over," JC said. "Let me tell him."

        "No," Lance said. "No."

        When they got on the bus that night, Chris went right into his bunk and closed his eyes. He was going to sleep. He didn't want to deal with Lance or JC or anything, period. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't bear it.

        "He's probably with Joey and Justin." A low whisper. Lance. Chris's gut knotted.

        "I saw him get on this one." JC. Chris pulled his pillow over his head.

        "Check his bunk."

        "Chris?"

        Chris squeezed his eyes shut.

        Soft whisper, "Chris?" Behind his back, he felt the curtain shift, then fall back into place. "He's asleep," JC whispered.

        "Good," Lance said. "Come here."

        JC chuckled, and the bus started. Silence, silence Chris hated. Then, breathlessly, "I missed you last night."

        "You had Chris," Lance said. "I know you loved it."

        A low laugh, interrupted by a slow groan. "It was so...good," JC said, and Chris couldn't even imagine what the sick fuck was doing to him to make him sound like that. "I missed you, but being with Chris, it was right, it felt like I belonged there with him."

        More silence, then Lance's voice. "You didn't get any, did you?"

        "Last night?" JC asked, sounding dazed. "No."

        "I can tell. You're...eager."

        "We," a series of agonized moans, "we can't."

        Coaxing, muffled, "He's asleep."

        "He'll wake up. We, we can't. Oh, Lance, god... Oh..." JC groaned, and there was no more conversation for a while, only hushed whispers, heartfelt moans, and soft whimpering. Then, "Lance...oh, god, Lance..."

        "Are you sure?" Lance asked, the warm richness of his voice digging into the back of Chris's brain.

        "Yes, yes, ah, ah, ah," and JC moaned in pure, unadulterated pleasure while Lance groaned in near-orgasmic tones. Chris wanted to beat himself unconscious. This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening, he clutched his pillow in rough fists and bit into it to muffle his scream. Lance was moaning, low and rhythmic, and JC was panting to the same beat, and Chris shoved his fingers into his ears and did math in his head to block out the fact that Lance was fucking JC.

        Lance was fucking JC, Lance was fucking JC, Lance was fucking JC, and the truth of it tore into the core of him, ripped at his heart, made him want to scream and fight and kill and cry to deny it, to end it. He couldn't take it, he couldn't take it, he couldn't fucking "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" he shouted, beating the side of the bus with both hands. He hit and yelled and fought until strong hands grabbed his wrists and struggled to calm him.

        "Chris, Chris, Chris." JC's voice, JC's hands. Chris tried to pull free. "Chris," JC insisted. "I'm sorry, I-"

        "I'm not," Lance's voice said.

        Chris froze, every muscle drawing taut, eyes snapping open. That. Sick. Motherfucker.

        "I'm sorry," JC repeated, as though Lance hadn't spoken. "That was rude, it was inappropriate-"

        Chris rolled over, pushing JC aside, crawling over him to get out into the aisle. Lance was standing there, waiting, jaw set, eyes hard. Prepared to fight. Wearing boxer-briefs, T-shirt pulled on so hurriedly it was on backwards, and Chris hated him for that, too, for looking hastily half-dressed just to remind him of what they'd been doing. Chris felt JC straighten up behind him, but this wasn't about JC, not anymore. Not at this second. Just at the sight of Lance, rage boiled up within Chris, taking over. That had nothing to do with JC; JC was incidental. It was all about Lance, and his fucking nerve. "I hate you," Chris said.

        "I got that," Lance said.

        "You're a fucking faggot and I want you out," Chris said. His vision was shaking; his voice was cold, hard steel.

        "I'm gay, and I'm not going anywhere," Lance said.

        "I'm not touring with you, I'm not working with you, I don't want to have anything to do with you."

        "If you can't handle it, then you leave," Lance said.

        "No one's leaving," JC said. "No one's going anywhere."

        Chris couldn't contain it anymore. "I hate you!" broke free from his throat, and he grabbed Lance, his hands curling into hard fists of pain. He grappled with Lance, Lance knocked him off-balance, and they went down hard. There was no room there on the floor in the aisle, but he got in a few solid body blows before Lance kneed him in the groin. The bright shock of pain temporarily rendered him immobile, and he didn't have the strength to protest when Lance pushed him back and got on top of him. When he blinked his vision clear, Lance was pinning him down, JC crouching behind Lance, looking with concern at him over Lance's shoulder. JC wasn't wearing pants, just underwear, T-shirt inside-out, and Chris was going to kill Lance dead.

        "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Lance demanded.

        "I wish you'd just die," Chris snapped. "Just fucking die."

        Lance actually fucking smiled, right at him. "I think you'd miss me."

        Miss him!

        "I think you miss me now," Lance said. "I think you miss me so much it hurts."

        Hurt, it was killing him. No, not that, not missing Lance. Hating Lance. Chris tried to glare as fiercely as possible.

        "We used to be together so much, Joey called us Chris One and Chris Two. We used to be together so much, Justin got jealous. You don't even speak to me anymore."

        "You're a fucking faggot," Chris snarled.

        "I'm gay," Lance snapped back. "So are you."

        Enraged, Chris kicked and hit until Lance let go; he scrambled to his feet, backing away quickly. "Get the fuck away from me," he ordered, his voice shaking with anger. Or fear. No, anger. Anger.

        "What pisses you off the most?" Lance demanded. "That I'm gay, and for all of those years while you were playing around with me thinking of me as your best friend, I was checking you out? Or are you upset because I never looked at you at all?"

        "I'd never touch you!" Chris shouted.

        "You fucked me last night!" Lance shouted back. "You kissed me and told me you were in love with me!"

        "Go to hell!" Chris shouted, as loudly and vehemently as he could, wishing he could make it happen.

        "You're gay!" Lance shouted.

        Chris turned and ran, ran to the front like his life depended on it. "Let me off, let me off, stop the bus, I have to get off, I fucking have to get fucking off of this fucking bus!"

In the lounge in the back, JC rested his head on Lance's thigh, running his fingers across Lance's hip. He broke the long silence. "We shouldn't have done that."

"I'm not sorry," Lance said.

        "It was wrong," JC said. "We would never have done that with Joey or Justin on the bus."

        "I'm tired of his bullshit," Lance said. "He's on a mission to make me feel like shit, and it's working."

        "You're right," JC said. "He misses you. I think he wants to go back to the way everything was before you came out."

        "I'm not going back," Lance said. "I have to hide who I am from the entire world every single day. I'm not hiding from the four of you anymore."

        "It's only Chris," JC said. "You know Joey and Justin are here for you no matter what. They love you, and they'll support you through everything."

        "And you seem okay with it," Lance said.

        JC smiled, dragging himself up Lance's body, dropping a kiss on Lance's lightly stubbled jaw. "I don't really mind it, no."

        "Well, that's good," Lance said, amusement sparkling in his eyes. His fingers slid through the hair at JC's nape, and his kiss was warm. "I don't remember ever having to stop and switch buses before."

        "This was the first time," JC agreed. He wanted to take off Lance's shirt and lay on Lance's bare chest. He settled for resting his cheek on Lance's chest and sliding his fingers beneath Lance's T-shirt to stroke skin. "I wonder what he's telling Justin and Joey."

        "I'm sure he's making up a story about poisonous toads and winged monkeys," Lance said.

        JC smiled. "That sounds right." His thumb circled Lance's navel. "Tomorrow might be rough."

        "Everything's going to be rough until he admits the truth," Lance said.

        JC wished that he could do something to help Chris. But Lance was hurt and angry, too, and he could do something to help Lance. He raised his head, kissing Lance's cheek. "It's too bad we were interrupted earlier."

        Lance's hand slid down over JC's ass, cupping warmly, and JC's body began to hum with anticipation. "We're alone now," Lance murmured, lashes lowering slowly.

They were fucking. He'd left them alone on that goddamned bus, and they were fucking. He knew it, he was sure of it, it was happening and now he couldn't stop it.

Chris found Joey's stash of beer and Cristal, and drank until he passed out.

"Uh...guys?"

JC blinked, squinting. The arm around his waist was Lance's. Right, he was in the lounge on the bus, and they'd made love, and he-

        Lance's arm tightened. "Justin?"

        What? JC wasn't - - Justin! Shit. JC sat up hurriedly, reaching for his scattered clothes. Justin was standing in the doorway, his back to them.

        "Hi," Justin said. "Sorry. I wanted to, I didn't think about..."

        "It's okay," JC said, zipping up his pants. "We didn't - - what are you doing here?" He looked around, realizing that the bus had stopped.

        "Pit stop," Justin said. "I just wanted to come over and see if I could find out what's going on with Chris."

        "How is he?" JC asked. He hated everything about how Chris was treating Lance, but he realized how hard things were becoming for Chris, too.

        "He's nuts," Justin said, turning to face them as Lance pulled on his T-shirt. "He's also trashed. We were trying to talk to him, but he wasn't really in the mood, so we left him alone. We didn't realize he was going to drink everything on the bus and then pass out."

        "He what?" JC asked, shocked. That was the last thing he'd expected.

        "Is he still unconscious?" Lance asked.

        "Yeah. Joey's with him to make sure he doesn't throw up or anything," Justin said. "Can I ask what the hell's going on?"

        "It's kind of-"

        "Chris is gay," Lance said. "He's gay, and he can't face it, so he's acting like a complete jackass."

        "What?" Justin demanded.

        "That wasn't really your news to tell," JC told Lance.

        "When I told Chris I was gay, he told all of you," Lance said. "I'm just doing the same for him."

        "He's what?" Justin demanded.

        "Chris is gay," Lance said.

        "He's having a lot of trouble accepting it," JC said.

        "He's - - then how do you know he is?" Justin asked. "Just because you-"

        "He is," Lance said.

        "I know you are, and I'm not saying... It's not like he's out fucking guys," Justin said.

        JC felt himself begin to blush. "Chris and I have made love."

        Justin faltered, mouth hanging open.

        "He had sex with me, too," Lance said.

        Justin blinked once, eyes wide.

        "He's really having a lot of trouble with it right now," JC said. "He needs our help."

        Justin shook his head. "Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Right," he said, rubbing his hand over his hair. "Yeah. I'll...help. Right. Are you sure about this?"

        "We're sure," Lance said.

        "Yeah, I guess... I guess that'd be hard to mistake," Justin said. He shook himself. "Right. So, what now?"

        "Would you and Joey mind switching buses with us?" JC asked. "I think if we talk to Chris..."

        "Yeah, if you can wake him up," Justin said. "Yeah, okay."

        Chris didn't want to open his eyes.

        His head was being drilled. Jackhammered. Right through his skull, into his brain.

        God, that was fucking bright.

        "Chris." JC's voice, screaming at him. Chris whimpered internally, wishing JC would fuck off and leave him alone to die in peace. "Chris. You have to wake up now, man, come on, it's time. You have to get up. I know it's rough, but you have to do it. We have a radio show. You look like shit, we have to get you in to the bathroom to clean up first. Come on, you can crash in the hotel afterward."

        "This is professional." Lance, dry, unimpressed. "I told you we should have gotten him up hours ago."

        "He was out cold," JC said.

        Chris wished they would stop shouting. He couldn't die in peace while they were shouting.

        "Chris, come on," JC said.

        "I'll get him," Lance said.

        Wet. Oh, oh, oh, oh! Flushed with sudden heat, Chris's shiver turned into a full-body wriggle and he sat up, opening his eyes. While his head throbbed in protest at movement and his stomach roiled with nausea, Chris stared into Lance's eyes.

        Lance moved back.

        Chris raised one hand to his assaulted ear. He remembered. He remembered-

        It was unbearable pleasure, so good it felt like agony, and Chris heard himself panting for breath. Oh, oh, oh god...

        "I want you, I've always wanted you, I want you so fucking much, you feel so good, god, I knew it would feel like this, I knew it would be this good, Lance, god, Lance..."

        God, he couldn't... He was going to...

        "You're a fucking faggot and I want you out."

        "God, you, Lance, it's been so long, I've wanted you so much, I've loved you so much, you feel so good, this is so right, so good, so right, oh god, Lance, I love you..."

        He hadn't... He...

        "I'm not touring with you, I'm not working with you, I don't want to have anything to do with you."

        Chris vomited, emptying his stomach onto Lance's shoes.

        The two of them had been rushed straight from the bus into the men's room. As soon as he could, Lance cleared the room of handlers, preferring to be alone with Chris's hatred rather than suffer it in public. He changed into clean pants, socks, and shoes, hoping that the bus would be cleaned thoroughly.

        Pretending to check his hair in the mirror, Lance studied Chris in the reflection. Chris had thrown up further, and brushed his teeth, and washed up as well as he could. Now in the middle of changing clothes, Chris was slumped against the wall, looking ill and defeated.

        Lance sighed, turning to him. "What?" Chris had developed a thing about changing in front of him for a while there. He wasn't supposed to have noticed, but he wasn't stupid. Joey had talked sense into Chris, and Chris had mostly gotten over it, but possibly it had resurfaced. Although, if that was what was bothering Chris at the moment, he'd picked an odd moment to pause, since he was in boxer-briefs and a tank top.

        Chris gazed at him with an odd, half-focused stare. After a long pause, Chris asked, "Where's JC?"

        Lance knew Chris hadn't been thinking anything like, "Gosh, I wonder where JC is," during that silence, but he didn't press. "He's busy covering for us and saving your ass. Try to make yourself look decent."

        Chris kept staring at him.

        Fine. "Drink," Lance ordered, since Chris had barely done more than open the bottle of water he'd been given. Chris's stare wasn't unnerving; he remembered when he and Chris had spent hours looking into each other's eyes. Hours upon days upon years. But that phase of their friendship was long gone. For that matter, their friendship itself was long gone. These days, he was lucky if Chris made eye contact. He got stared at with that "who the fuck is this guy" look a lot, but that was about it.

        He hated that Chris was acting like because he was gay, and Chris hadn't known that he was gay, that he wasn't himself anymore. Or that the Lance Chris had known no longer existed. He was still the same guy, the same person with the same thoughts and feelings and ambitions. But now that Chris knew that those thoughts included "guys are hot," he was no longer Lance. At least, not a Lance that Chris had ever known.

        That was bullshit.

        The more he thought about it, the more he was dead certain that most of Chris's reaction to him coming out was due to the idea that during all of the time Chris had trusted him as a friend, he'd been checking out Chris's ass. Which he hadn't. Not that way. He'd loved Chris, he'd absolutely been in love with Chris, Chris had been crazy and new and different and fun and amazing, everything he'd never been, everything he wasn't sure he could be but wanted desperately to be near. God, Chris had been fascinating, wild and untamed and shocking and beautiful.

        But he hadn't sat around at night plotting on how to get his dick up Chris's ass. His love had been more innocent than carnal. And when it had developed into something more, when he'd realized there was a reason his dick was hard all of the time, he'd said something. He'd told Chris that he was gay. He hadn't told his mother, hadn't told the whole group, hadn't told anyone else, only Chris. He'd wanted Chris to know first.

        His heart had been broken ever since.

        He'd never admitted an actual attraction to Chris until much later, alone in the dark with JC. He certainly hadn't admitted it that first day, when he'd come out. Even if he'd wanted to, Chris hadn't given him a chance.

        And now, after all of this time, after all of this pain, he loved Chris more than he ever had. He still didn't want to walk away. He still knew, within himself, that he'd do or give anything if Chris would consider him a friend again.

        He shouldn't have tongued Chris's ear like that, on the bus. But why couldn't he do something wild and impetuous? He'd been denied access to Chris for so long, now that he was being given long, overly intimate moments with Chris, all of his suppressed longing was bursting forth. He was shocking himself, but he couldn't regret it. He'd loved for too long and wanted too strongly. He was going to take his chances where he saw them. If that meant harassing Chris while Chris was practically unconscious, then so be it. The sight of Chris curled up into a tight ball of misery, cheek stubbled, hair tousled, with one naked ear available for molestation - - he hadn't even wanted to resist.

        He wanted to lick Chris's ear again. He wanted to stroke Chris's stubble and look into Chris's eyes and listen to a running commentary on anything and everything under the sun. Chris was still the funniest, most entertaining person he'd ever met. He missed Chris so much it hurt. It made him angry, too; he was furious with Chris for pushing him away like their old friendship meant nothing in the face of who he really was. And what did Chris think that was doing to the group?

        Now, of course, everything was a hundred times worse. He and JC - - and how crazy was that, how incredible? - - had put something in motion that was ripping Chris apart right before their eyes.

        JC. Being with JC, even for this too-brief period of time, was the best relationship Lance had ever had. Not only was the sex mind-blowing, but he was closer to JC than he'd ever been to anyone besides Chris. He could tell JC anything, and know that he was safe. He and JC knew each other, understood each other, on infinite levels. He'd never had a relationship this deep in his life.

        Except with Chris.

        There was a knock at the door. "Five minutes, guys."

        Lance stiffened his spine. He wasn't going to let Chris fuck this up for the rest of them. "Come on," he said briskly, grabbing Chris's arm, pulling him away from the wall. "You don't have time to shave. Get dressed."

        "I think I'm dying," Chris said, stumbling into his pants.

        "We'll miss you," Lance said.

        "God, I feel like shit," Chris said. He blinked at the mirror. "Whoa, I look like shit."

        "Fix your hair," Lance advised. Chris's bag had been brought in from the bus. Lance was wearing Chris's pants and socks, but he figured Chris was going to have to get over it. He was wearing Joey's sneakers, since Chris's midget shoes wouldn't have fit. He happened to love Chris's little feet, but fuck if he was going to let Chris know that.

        Chris took another drink of water, scrunching his fingers through his hair. "Good enough."

        Lance almost chuckled. Chris was nowhere as diva about his appearance as JC and Justin were. He loved that about Chris. He also loved JC for preening and looking fabulous. It would have been tough to find two people less similar than JC and Chris, but that was what *NSYNC was about, anyway. Finding the five most different people possible, and cramming them together into one unit, where those differences created incredible things.

        Chris finished the water with one long swallow. "Sorry," he said. He still looked like shit, but he seemed a little more animated. "For throwing up on you," he explained, not making eye contact.

        "You should be," Lance said. "Let's go."

"Fearless" continues...

matthew@matthewtime.com
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