The mix of thunder and rain put JC in a very calm spot. Sitting in the centre of his living room, chewing the end of his pen and wearing only a faded grey pair of sweats, the entire beat of his life seemed to be working towards something great.

Until the pen exploded, staining his favourite pair of ragged pants, and the doorbell rang, which seemed to be a signal for the power to go out. JC didn't move – barely bothered to breathe – not sure whether to cry or answer the door.

By the fourteenth ring, JC's wiped his eyes dry and stumbled to the door, peering through the peephole before sliding each lock back, one by one by one. Chris, drenched to the bone and wearing a now-transparent white shirt, grinned the minute the door swung over, but JC just stood there, leaning on the door with a flashlight in one hand.

"What do you want?" He asked, fingers at his mouth and trying to cover the fact his teeth were blue. Chris stopped smiling and held out a paper bag, which JC peered into before stepping back, letting Chris into the house. The thing about Chris was, that ever since Dani dumped him, he seemed to have this thing about being alone. What JC didn't understand, however, was why Chris was at *his* door and not the first three choices.

"Um," Chris said, sliding off his shoes, and JC watched every move warily, the flashlight under his chin and lighting up his whole face, "your teeth are blue, man."

"I know that," JC said quietly, rubbing at his mouth. His hands were covered in ink, which was just making it worse, and Chris grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him down the hall into the bathroom and putting the bag on the counter. "I can brush my own teeth," JC said, testily.

"You're a big boy, aren't you?" Chris said, smiling again, and pushed JC down on the toilet seat, setting the flashlight on the tank. "I brought pitas, man. I thought you might be hungry. I said, ‘dude, this is song writing weather. JC's a starving artist. Feed him.' So here I am."

"And Joey's dealing with baby issues, Lance's in Mississippi and Justin just isn't around, is he?" JC asked, his voice strangely even, because it wasn't like he didn't know that Chris would probably go to everyone first – he and Chris just didn't have much in common anymore. "What are you doing here?"

Chris squeezed a line of toothpaste onto the brush and handed it to JC, one hand on his hip. From this angle, Chris looked huge. "I don't know what Justin's doing – probably jerking off with Britney on the phone. Lance is actually in Toronto with Joey, filming. You know that. Now, stop being such a dick and accept I came to hang out."

JC chewed on the toothbrush quietly, hunched over and feeling small. "Why?"

"Because you've seemed down for awhile, Jayce, and you're the type to slit your wrists in the tub because all you artistic souls seem to think shit like that is the way to leave your mark. And you never eat when you're writing. Well, nothing but ink, obviously." Chris was dabbing JC with the towel, almost daintily. "Fuck, Chasez, what did you do? Bathe in it?"

"Pen exploded," JC mumbled, standing up and spitting in the sink as Chris set to work on JC's hands, squirting blobs of soap onto the stained flesh. "You know, I am perfectly capable of cleaning myself up."

"It's the raging mother in me," Chris said, grinning. "Accept it, man."

"I bet you were a filthy kid," JC replied, smiling to himself, and Chris nodded quietly, fingernails gently scraping over JC's skin, taking the blue away. JC watched, mesmerised by the pattern of hair created by Chris's short fingers. It tickled. "What type of pitas?"

"Club," Chris said, "your favourite."

Which was actually nice gesture, JC conceded slowly, and it also proved Chris was probably telling the truth, so JC didn't feel like fourth best, which was really quite nice. JC snuffed at his hair, aware it was everywhere and teasing his face, and Chris smiled again, using a soapy hand to brush away the errant strands.

"So what's up, Jayce?"

JC looked up, "what do you mean?"

Chris pressed a sloppy finger into the muscle of JC's left arm. "What's up, man? Why're you walking around half dead?"

"Oh," JC said, "that." JC crinkled his nose again, shaking away his stupid hair, and Chris, again, brushed it back, keeping his palm against JC's forehead for a long time. "Well. I guess. Probably because," JC suddenly wanted Chris to let go of him, "Bobbie dumped me. You know?"

"Shit," Chris said, with feeling, "shit, man. I'm sorry."

JC shrugged. "It's all right. I'm not completely shattered – just slightly fractured," JC said, laughing suddenly, but he stopped because it wasn't really funny. "I didn't want to say anything because well. You."

"Because of me and Dani?"

"I knew it was coming," JC said quickly, "and you really didn't."

Chris rinsed off JC's hands as JC watched quietly, noting they were only slightly blue now, and Chris dried his fingers carefully with a fluffy towel, pink to match the motif. The Girl Bathroom. JC really liked themes – found them inspirational when writing – and this theme was supposed to help him communicate with his Inner Woman and write deep songs about pain. Now, JC thought, staring at the towel, it just seemed kind of dumb.

"Let's eat," Chris said, sounding tired, and JC nodded, following him out of the bathroom. Most of him wanted to say, ‘hey, Chris, I appreciate the thought, but I want to write songs about pulling off my own ears and stuffing them in my eyes,' but the louder, albeit smaller, part was hungry and tired of wallowing. "No mayo, even."

"My hero," JC replied, unwrapping his pita and eating slowly. He wasn't really hungry, but if he didn't eat now, he probably wouldn't eat for a couple days, and he was already too skinny. "You really came over to see me?"

"Yep," Chris said between breaths, swallowing his sandwich, "we don't hang around, one on one, like, ever anymore. Though we needed it, you know?"

JC nodded, thinking it made sense because they had grown apart. Chris was usually so hyper and JC really enjoyed a total lack of movement, so he lived on his own, and Chris attached himself to everyone else and slept on their couches.

"I like this," Chris said suddenly, sinking his fingers into JC's hair. JC pulled back, but Chris was already tangled in it, fingers dancing over his scalp. "No, I'm serious. Everyone else might be razzing you, but I think it's hot."

"Um," JC mumbled, exposed, "thanks."

"Platonically hot," Chris said, pulling his fingers back, burned. "Like buddies. Justin used to have hot hair, you know? And Joey, and well, Lance is looking better by the day," Chris finished lamely. "You know?"

JC nodded and collected the garbage, wishing the power was back on and that Chris wasn't half-hidden by the shadows, looking so sinister. "You want to crash here tonight?" JC asked, staring at the fridge. "Platonically."

"Sure," Chris said, "I like your couch. You know," Chris added slowly, licking his lips clean of food, "you can go back to writing if you want. I'll do something else, like clean your kitchen for you. In the dark. Rock on."

"Um," JC scratched his neck, "I guess. Okay."

"So go, be writerly and make me millions," Chris said, shooing JC out of the kitchen, and JC wanted to go back and say no, please don't wreck my meticulously organised utensils, but he didn't really care about that – he just really didn't want to be alone anymore.

"Um," JC said, hanging out in the doorway, and Chris looked up, on his knees and searching for Mr. Clean. "Bobbie," JC said, pulling at his pants, "dumped me ‘cause she thinks I'm gay. Or something. And the Mr. Clean is under the sink. Um. Bye."

JC ran and sat on his couch, curling his legs to his chest and trying to write in the dark, using his emergency pen, which he didn't like at all and didn't fit his fingers like the other one. The words were the haunting kind, lyrics that wouldn't make them millions and would probably drive a couple screaming girls to early graves.

The living room was done in a Country Western style, to humble him and make him more like Lance, but right now, it just seemed quiet and off, like he didn't have a chance in hell at ever being Lance-like. At least the kitchen was Ikea, Swedish with sharp angles and harsh contrasts, very Art Deco and very chique, and it agitated him to see the silver fridge next to the black counter, an angry kitchen.

JC fell asleep on the couch, his pen against his cheek, and he woke to Chris gently shaking him, saying, "hey, man, get up. You have lines all over your face. Get up," Chris was tugging at his arms, and JC shook his head, "fuck, Jayce, come on. Don't pretend you didn't say that shit to me, back there, about Bobbie."

"Just go home, Chris," JC finally said, tucking his face against his shoulder and holding a palm to cover the rest of the exposed skin, so ugly right now. "I just. Just go," JC repeated, "just. Don't. Leave," JC said slowly, tiny, "don't leave."

"Jayce," Chris said feebly and barely moved when JC threw himself on the smaller man, all lankly limbs and grasping like a monkey, quiet. Chris was frozen, ice, before he warmed and held JC tightly, hugging like Joey hugged, with all his might.

"Sleep with me," JC murmured into Chris's shoulder, his jaw moving over fabric, and Chris made a strange, surprised noise, like he really hadn't known. "Just tonight," JC said, whispering, "platonically. Chris, please. Please."

"What makes you think – "

"I saw you. With that guy in Germany, Chris. That night? In Berlin?" JC bit his lip, wishing they would leave the Lance-room and go some place less wholesome and clean, like the basement, which had black leather couches and silver beads over the doors, a porn room for dirty thoughts. "I saw you. Please. Sleep with me."

"JC," Chris said, his hand on JC's chest, too close to saying no, so JC leaned over, lips parted slightly and pressed them to that protesting mouth, like a friend at first and then like a lover, waiting until Chris opened and let JC trace his teeth.

JC could be sexual, could be a cat in heat, but not in the Country Western room. Humming under his breath, he leaned back and whispered, once more, "please."

Slowly, Chris nodded, watching as JC stood up, slim and sensual, and JC bit his lip again, waiting for Chris to push to his feet, short and stocky but pretty sexy, JC thought, tracing a finger from Chris's ear to his shoulders, pretty hot.

"My room," JC said, taking Chris by the hand and leading him through the halls, pausing once at the cellar and saying, no, it's got to be more than porn. JC's bedroom was themeless, just a bunch of him against a dark blue background, things from when he was young and things from the world to remind him of where he'd been. He'd never been here with Chris before.

"I don't want to fuck up the group," Chris said suddenly, serious and elfin, always so harsh looking when he didn't smile, and JC frowned, thinking it probably wouldn't but not entirely sure. "Jayce, promise me. Whatever happens, we don't fuck up the group."

"Promise," JC said, his arms crossed over his belly, a little bit shy, before he stepped forward, his feet bare against the plush, plain carpet. Chris lifted his arms as JC's fingers gripped his shirt, pulling it up the pale skin and revealing an unsculpted – but wonderfully human – chest.

Touching a tentative hand to those dark nipples, JC fingered them gently, pulling them to hardness as Chris shivered, tipping his head. JC leaned forward and brushed that scruffy neck with his lips, kissing the flesh as his fingers touched Chris's chest.

Chris was strangely soft, much softer than JC thought another guy would feel under his fingers. A couple guys – just as few – had sucked his dick, but he'd only ever touched their hair, and it'd always been greasy, slick between his fingers. This just didn't compare at all.

Chris moved suddenly, and JC looked up, swallowing the kiss given to him, his hands at the top of Chris's jeans, wanting them *gone*. Chris laughed, in the middle of the kiss, and it was incredible, JC thought, such a Chris thing to do. The sensation on his lips was like a hum, gentle and sexual.

"Fuck," JC whispered, pulling at the zipper, and Chris batted his hands away, freeing himself before leaning back into the kiss, letting JC slide his hands into Chris's jeans, over his ass and squeezing firmly. "Nice."

"Some poet," Chris murmured. "Nice, my ass."

"Right," JC replied, mouth wide and hot against Chris, his fingers deft and strong and pulling Chris to him, JC's thigh slipping between Chris's legs. Hard contact, and JC almost pulled away, afraid, but Chris kept his fingers securely in JC's hair, holding him.

"Just relax," Chris murmured, threading JC's wild hair in his hands, licking from the dip in JC's neck up to the peak of his chin. JC nodded and fell back into the kiss, kissing deeply and fully, his hips grinding against Chris, strangely wanton.

"Back," JC whispered, urging Chris onto the bed, and Chris sat, his dark eyes wide and exotic, almost black. JC kneeled, tugging the jeans off Chris's hips, and staring first at his knees, moving slowly up his thighs then to his cock, mostly hidden by the dark but the shine of the moon illuminated it just enough.

Uncut, JC noticed, inching closer to stare, and darkly coloured, dangerous in its arousal. Thicker than his, and maybe a bit shorter, though not really, but fiercely male, weeping already like JC was something worth crying over.

One lick, which drew a deep gasp from the usually high-pitched Chris, and JC decided it wasn't as ominous as it first appeared, just a dick like his, no need to be alarmed. Because he could do this. Of course he could. He was JC Chasez. He could do anything he wanted. Hadn't Bobbie said that to him in between her tears of frustration?

Tentatively, JC licked again, from root to tip, sucking with he came to the head, and Chris gasped again, a sound firm in his chest. Hands were in JC's hair, stroking and petting, and holding him, not pushing him, for which JC was grateful. It almost made it seem like they were lovers and not just exploring the unknown.

"Whoa," Chris said, "hey."

Which JC pretty much took to mean that he was doing all right and that he should stop before he lost the chance to do anything more. Chris was almost thirty, and well. Chris was almost thirty. And naked, on JC's bed, about to come.

"C'mere," Chris said, tugging at JC's arms, and JC slid onto the bed, feeling like an animal. When Chris ran his hand over the arc of JC's back, he felt even more like something wild, barely contained. When Chris moved onto him, JC stilled and waited, the indent of Chris's whole body seared in his skin.

So Chris touched JC, gently at first and then more in-control, more Chris-like. Sex with Bobbie had been all right, fun at times, hot at others, but JC couldn't remember ever remember these strange little noises escaping his lips as Chris licked him from the slope of his ass up to the nape of his neck, sucking and nipping while strong hands raced up and down JC's sides.

"Fuck me," JC whimpered, "just. Fuck me."

"Jayce," Chris said, fingering JC's bony hips, his mouth on JC's left shoulder blade.

"Just. Do it, all right?" JC stared at the pillow, propped up by bent arms, afraid to look at Chris. "In the bathroom, top shelf. All right? Just do it." The bed buckled as Chris's weight vanished, and JC looked back over his shoulder, waiting. "Chris?"

"Yeah?" He said, appearing in the doorway, and his hair was standing in spikes, almost as wild as JC's but dark like ebony. "Yeah, man?"

"I'm okay," JC said, like it needed stating.

"I know." Chris walked over to the bed and sat down beside JC, leaning over and kissing him deeply, one damp hand on JC's cheek. "Turn over," Chris said, his palm curved to the swell of JC's ass, and JC did as asked, watching Chris with wide eyes as he settled onto his back, raw. "I want to see you."

JC nodded and exhaled sharply when Chris sat between his legs, lightly dragging his nails from the bumps of JC's ankles to the ridge of his hips. JC shivered. Chris grinned and laid one palm on JC's belly, the other applying cold gel to the dark recesses of his body. When JC tightened, Chris rubbed his stomach, and JC stared at the ceiling, trying to relax, until Chris tapped his chest.

"Look at me, Jayce."

JC nodded and watched the dark eyes watching him, and he barely flinched when a finger slid into his body. It stung, just a bit, but JC had a guy finger him once during a blowjob without lube. This pain was nothing in comparison.

And the hurt didn't last long, was practically gone by the time the second finger was thrusting deeply, and JC was squirming, which meant it felt wonderful. Chris hooked JC's legs over his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him, to distract him, as Chris slid, slowly, into JC's waiting body.

"Shit," Chris whispered, kissing frantically, "shit."

JC only nodded, clinging to Chris's chest and kissing furiously as the older man thrust, long and deep, a complete body rhythm. Bent nearly in half, JC was singing in his head, thinking if he knew sex with Chris would be this incredible, he probably would have had a crisis sooner.

Despite the fact Chris was almost thirty, they fucked for another hour, and Chris even had JC giggling like a girl a couple times, naked bodies twisting like snakes on the bed. When it was all over, with Chris coming twice and JC only once but hard enough to blind him for a couple seconds, they lay in the dark, covered in sweat and other bodily fluids.

"Chris?" JC murmured, tightly wrapped in Chris's arms as Chris mouthed his hair, pulling at it until JC was glad it was long and didn't mind so more that everyone razzed him about it because Chris *liked* it, thought it was hot. "Chris?"

"Yeah, man?" Chris replied.

JC turned in the circle of arms, legs tangling with Chris's legs, and JC was serious when he whispered, "I think Bobbie was right."

Fin.

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