Webster
Copyright April 6, 2001 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Joey Fatone/Justin Timberlake, Lance Bass/Chris Kirkpatrick
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: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and the Savage Garden slashers.
Wherein there's Joey, and Lance, and Justin.
It was hard to love him. Hard because it was easy, simple, like falling off a log or falling into his smile. Hard because it wasn't returned. One-way love, one-way ticket. Hard because it wasn't supposed to be like this. Shouldn't be like this. Because they loved someone else.
They'd decided. Made a pact. An I-love-JC, you-love-JC, neither-of-us-can-have-him-so-let's-screw-each-other-and-wish-we-were-with-him pact. And it had worked. For three months, it had worked. They'd admired JC and shared their bodies and huddled together to whisper fantasies and love - - for JC. He'd never felt closer to Justin than in those moments, even hours
But the closeness had changed, was different now. He felt warmer when Justin's voice dropped, when Justin's lashes lowered, when Justin's fingers traced circles over his thigh that were meant for JC's. When Justin spoke of JC, Joey agreed, but a part of him asked, "Why can't you say that for me? Feel that for me? Want that from me the way I want it from you?" What Joey felt for JC, Justin did, too - - but what Joey felt for Justin, Justin didn't consider.
Joey said something, finally. Told Justin that JC could never love him, but that someone else could - - would - - did. That it was no use loving JC, who only handed out smiles - - so why not love Joey, who'd been making love with Justin for months.
But no. Justin's heart was for JC alone. Friendship, understanding, and a bed Justin and Joey could share, but not love. Not that kind of love.
And so it continued. Joey's unrequited love for JC was joined most painfully by an unrequited love for Justin. Only this time, he couldn't ease the pain by sharing it with someone else. And hearing of Justin's longing for JC grew a new ache within him. He almost hated JC for it. For having Justin's love and not appreciating it, not cherishing it as the sacred treasure it was.
Joey couldn't take it. This new situation was killing him. If he had to go through another night of making love to Justin and not making love to JC and feeling the undescribable, somehow glorious pain of hearing his beloved long for his other beloved, he would become a screaming lunatic. He needed to put an end to it. He needed to get out. He needed-
"You need to tell JC," Lance said, kneeling astride Chris's naked back, digging strong fingers into Chris's shoulders.
Tell JC? "Are you crazy? I can't tell JC. Tell him what?"
"Tell him that you're in love with him. You can't tell him that Justin loves him, too, because that's a betrayal of Justin's trust." Joey sputtered. "Just say that you're in love with him."
Lance sounded so reasonable that Joey wanted to hit him. And what was the deal with the guy being talent, management, and professional masseuse? Chris looked dead asleep.
"Walk up and say, 'Hey, C, love ya?'" Joey asked. "Forget it. If it's that easy, you do it."
Without warning, Chris wriggled like an electroshock therapy patient and said, "Hey, watch it!"
Ignoring Chris, massaging Chris's waist, Lance explained to Joey, "He doesn't like me to touch certain areas. He thinks I'll think he's fat and dump him for an anorexic."
"JC's skinny," Chris said.
"JC is many things," Lance said. That was true. Joey could list them all, alphabetically or in order of importance.
"You came here for advice, and that's my advice," Lance said. "Talk to JC. About sports, the weather, anything. Just make sure you slip 'I love you' in there, and not 'as a friend.'"
"Not just the l-word," Chris said, muffled and sleepy. "The l-word with a capital l and a heart for the o."
Lance smacked Chris's butt. "Roll."
"My cue," Joey said. "Your advice sucks," he added.
"Is that why you're going to take it?" Lance asked. Joey decided to hate him. As Joey left, Chris rolled face-up beneath Lance.
Talk to JC. Talk to JC. Tell JC. Tell JC. Kill Lance. Kill Lance. It was easy for Lance to talk. Easy for Lance to dispense advice like the sage old masseuse. But Joey knew Lance, the young blond who'd come in late and feared never catching up, who wanted to be accepted in that crazy leprechaun's band, in that crazy leprechaun's bed. Who won them their freedom, won their respect and friendship and love, but would never be satisfied until he'd won Chris's heart.
Chris's heart was a generous yet ephemeral thing. Chris loved often, easily, and without restraint - - yet no one could pin him. He refused to give all of himself, always held back as though not quite ready for that final vulnerability. He did love *NSYNC, completely, but anyone else? Joey had yet to see it.
And JC, JC loved his job.
It was a great job, but Joey needed more. Preferably, in the form
of JC. Or Justin. Or both. That was, of course, his greatest
masturbation fantasy. His favorite fantasy was taking JC's sloppy
seconds, doing Justin after JC was finished. He didn't know why that
idea was so...fucking...appealing...
Lance massaged from Chris's shoulders to Chris's chest. He watched dark eyelashes drift down over rich chocolate eyes. Sometimes he could be objective - - shit brown eyes, unnecessary layer of pudge, tendency to bug the hell out of everybody - - but sometimes he saw a Chris wth lovely eyes like melted chocolate, a soft goatee he wanted to stroke, a sense of humor that showed intelligence. Yes, they were opposites, in everything but gender - - which only made Lance's situation all the more difficult. But Lance wasn't one to quit simply because something was difficult.
Chris squirmed and slapped Lance's hands. "Stop grabbing the flab."
"You draw more attention to your imagined flaws by overreacting like that," Lance pointed out to him. "Just let me do my job."
"Do your job? What are you going to do, sing to me?"
"Have a special request?" Lance asked.
"You'd really do it?" Chris asked, surprised. "You'd sing for me?"
"What do you want to hear?"
"Oh my god, performance anxiety, oh no. It has to be good, it has to be a good one. Sing something special. Sing, sing-"
"Sunny days, sweeping the clouds away."
"Oh," Chris breathed, awed.
"On my way to where the air is sweet..."
Chris listened, rapt. When Lance finished, he was able to complete the massage without further protests.
Chris was not committed to
working out like Justin, and didn't have insane metabolism like JC.
In short, Chris had an extra layer of pudge that wasn't flattering when
he was seen alongside his young friends. Chris didn't care, for the
most part. He sweated it out onstage and in rehearsals, and it didn't
make him unattractive by any means. But he got self-conscious when
Lance touched him. Lance, meanwhile, was happy to be touching Chris
anywhere, and being intimate enough to massage Chris was exciting.
Touching skin, muscle, body hair...seeing Chris in this personal way, getting
his hands on Chris's naked flesh...and being astride Chris to do it, having
Chris under his body, in that compromising positon... Lance had almost
never felt more excited. He did get hard sometimes, when he massaged
Chris. He couldn't help it. He wanted to lick the tattoo on
Chris's back, tug down Chris's pants just another notch and press his lips
to Chris's pelvic bone. When they changed backstage, he wanted to
call the show to a halt and lick his way up the path of sweat running down
Chris's spine. He wanted to climb into Chris's bunk and cup his hand
around the soft, warm mass nestling between Chris's thighs. Chris
had a short, thick cock and the hairiest balls Lance had ever seen.
He knew that doing it, letting his fingers find Chris's flesh, was nothing
he could imagine accurately without reality. And he couldn't do it.
But there was something he could do. "Chris," he said, rubbing below
Chris's pecs. "I'll sing for you again if you sing for me."
Justin rubbed a red strand of Joey's hair between two fingers. "He was wearing that purple shirt again."
"Every time I see him in it..." Joey began.
"Yes," Justin agreed. "If he only knew."
"What would happen?" Joey asked. "What if he did know?"
"The end of the world," Justin said.
"How do we know?" Joey asked.
"We don't," Justin said. "We can't risk it. I'm not risking losing JC. Losing *NSYNC. Losing everything." In the end, all three were the same. And that was too much for Justin to lose. "You want to tell him?" What, was Joey stupid?
"Lance says we should."
Oh, well, if Lance said they should do it, why think twice? Lance was mature and smart, and if Lance said they should, they'd better hop to it. "I don't see Lance telling Chris anything." Joey blinked. Score one for Justin. "What's telling him supposed to accomplish? You think he'll melt into your arms like in some romance novel? You think he'll brand your lips with a fiery kiss? He'll be confused and he'll be mad and-"
"I told you and you haven't hit me and run out."
Oh. Right. Score one for Joey.
"JC isn't the violent, temperamental type. And you think he'd leave *NSYNC? Get up and walk out today? No way."
Okay, so Joey had a point. That didn't make him right.
"You don't want to tell him because you're afraid of what he won't say," Joey said. "If you don't tell him, you can keep your fantasy dream hope that he loves you back. If you tell him, and he doesn't fall into your arms for that fiery kiss, you-"
"Shut up," Justin said. He rested in Joey's embrace, hating Joey for being right. "I thought Lance was the smart one."
"I let him pretend to be,"
Joey said, and his touch was gentle in Justin's hair. "It's good
for him."