“He is so gay,” Chris said when he first saw Lance. Chris was standing with Joey in the kitchen, getting a couple cans of coke for some new-guy bonding time while Lou stood outside on the back deck with Justin’s mom and Lance’s mom, waving his flabby arms around.
Joey peered over Chris’s shoulder. “Is he? Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent sure. That guy is bonafide queer,” Chris said, eyeing the last can of Sprite and wondering if it was JC or Justin who preferred it. Probably JC, since he got skittish and weird with caffeine. Strange guy all around, Chris thought, but he liked him anyway.
“I don’t know how you can tell,” Joey said, narrowing his eyes.
“Dude, I can tell. Gaydar,” Chris reminded him, “I was right about whatshisface. That guy, who did the Revue with you. You know, the guy with the small dick,” Chris said, snapping his fingers. “Come on, man, help me out. The dude I blew at the Christmas party.”
“Martin? The gross guy with, like, the multiple STDs?” Joey asked. “Ew, man. He’s the skankiest dude I’ve ever met.” Joey did a full body shudder. “I didn’t know that. I mean, that you slept with him. I knew he was gay. But ew, seriously. Have you been tested?”
Chris rolled his eyes. “He wasn’t that bad. We used rubbers.”
“Ew,” Joey said again. “Dude, seriously, I’ll pay for the doctor. Just looking at him could give you something.”
Chris punched Joey in the stomach. “I’m fine, man. I was tested, like, last month.”
Joey rubbed his belly with a can of coke. “You’re such a fuck, Kirkpatrick.”
“Like, duh,” Chris said, waving away his concerns. Chris was obviously a fuck, but it was so deeply ingrained in his personality that he didn’t think there was much he could do about it. He was a bitter old man years before he was even going to be old. “But anyway. Lance. Gay.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Joey asked.
Chris looked up from the fridge, trying to balance the vegetable plate Joey’s mom had sent on his knee while he looked for the cheese and crackers plate. “What? What do you mean? It’s not my problem. He’s probably still all repressed and closeted. Mississippi, need I remind you.”
Joey hummed as he stroked his chin. “Well, probably. But, like, he needs you.”
“Jesus, Joe. He’s fine. Look, I’d make a sucky gay yenta, okay? Trust me on this. I’ll just mess him up entirely, and need I remind you, like, hello, I’m in the closet, mostly,” Chris added. He was, except when he got drunk, then he got a bit careless. Some people, like skanky Martin, used this to their advantage. Other people, like good old straight Joey, politely said no thank you and took him home. “He’s old enough to take care of himself.”
Chris looked over at Lance, who was blinking owlishly at something Justin was saying. What it was, Chris couldn’t tell, but Justin’s voice was screechy and excited, and he was bouncing in place. JC was bright red and shaking his head. Probably dirty, then; Chris felt keenly envious.
“Anyway, he’ll be fine,” Chris said as Lance started snorting with laughter, young and childish and bright. Joey lifted his eyebrow, and Chris sighed. “Fine, I’ll keep an eye on him. Okay? Now, fuck off and find me the cheddar and crackers plate.”
“The one sitting out on the counter?” Joey asked, holding it up. “This one?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Chris said, laughing.
~~~
“Straighten him up,” Lou said, grabbing Lance by the shoulder and pushing him at Chris. Chris looked at him stupidly before Lou gave him ten twenties and a list of things to do, like new jeans, and a new haircut, and a professional dye job. Chris thought they were coming over to the office to plan showcases or something, talk about record contracts, not help Lance get a make-over.
Chris opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Lance convinced him to snap his jaw shut and nod mutely. Lance’s eyes were big and watery, and Chris suddenly felt intensely protective. Chris didn’t like Lou at all, and he liked Lance an awful lot, even if he teased him mercilessly, especially when he found out he had to share a room with Lance, at least until they started making money.
“Is this enough?” Is what Chris ended up asking, and Lou gave him another two hundred.
Chris’s car was old and rusty, and he had to climb in through the back door to get to the front seats, since neither of the front doors worked. Chris let him get in first then shut the door behind him, slinking over the back of the chair.
“Oh, come on,” Chris said when the car wouldn’t turn over. Lance was still a bit quiet, so Chris was talking loudly, counteract it. He knew Lance wasn’t stupid, and Lou wasn’t known for having tact about anything that could potentially threaten a record deal. The car coughed and choked, and Chris growled at it. “Start, fuck you. Come on.”
Lance sniffled miserably.
“I swear to fuck, Car, if you don’t start this instant, I really am taking you to the wrecking yard, you ungrateful bastard,” Chris said. The engine turned over and started purring like a kitten. “This, Bass, if your first lesson in life. If you sweet talk well enough, you can have anything you want.”
“Okay,” Lance said.
Chris sighed then drove them to the mall. Maybe, if they were thrifty enough and Chris claimed he lost the receipt to Lance’s haircut, which Chris was already planning to do by hand in his bathroom, Chris would buy them some beer with the extra money. Justin was at his father’s for the weekend, and JC was staying with his parents to get some much needed nourishment, and Lynn was at a friend’s place. They’d be alone all night, and Lance claimed he didn’t really drink.
Chris was tempted to phone Joey at work, since Joey was just the straight guy Lou should have asked to straighten Lance up, but Chris thought he’d faked heterosexuality all his life, so he probably knew something. Chris hoped hockey jerseys were on sale.
“What size are you?” Chris asked, standing by the jeans.
“I don’t know,” Lance said. “Your size.”
Chris upped the size by four then pulled out the widest, baggiest jeans he could find. Lance stared at them, so Chris wiggled them until they danced. “I swear to god, Bass. Don’t make me dress you. This isn’t my idea of fun, either.”
“You can go,” Lance said, following Chris as he moved down the aisle, waving the helpful salesgirl away. After all, Chris was as gay as they came, and if he didn’t have an acute sense of fashion, then he was just a disgrace to queer guys everywhere. “Chris, I said you can go.”
“Shh. I’m trying to read this label,” Chris said, squinting. He suspected, besides the braces in Lou’s near future for him, he’d need glasses, too. He wasn’t going to tell Lou that, though. He was afraid Lou would kick him to the curb if he added anything to his already long list of faults.
Lance tried on all the jeans, and he was absolutely swimming in them. Just for something to do, Chris plucked a belt from the rack and invited himself into the changing room to thread it through Lance’s loops before Lance could squeak a protest. Chris was intensely bored already. That was never a good sign. They still had a whole list to complete.
“Are you wearing briefs?” Chris asked suddenly, pulling the edge of the jeans away from Lance’s hips, and Lance flushed bright red, smacking at his hands. “You are!” Chris clapped with glee. “You big dork! What if somebody sees? We’re supposed to be a cool group.”
“Shut up,” Lance said lamely, “and stop looking down my pants.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Chris said. Whoops, he thought a second later when Lance’s face darkened, staring down at his feet. Okay, Chris thought, no gay jokes, which means he’s closeted, which means I’m an ass. “But seriously. No tighty-whities, okay?”
Lance nodded.
“JC wears bikinis, like, a lot more than he wants to admit,” Chris said. It was true, too. JC said they made his dick look nicer, or something, bigger. Chris went along with it, but really, Chris liked the look of a man in boxer briefs. He didn’t tell JC that, though. The in-the-closet-thing and everything. “And Joey owns a thong.”
“He does not,” Lance muttered, smiling a bit. Chris relaxed.
~~~
Chris ran into an ex-boyfriend while they were buying underpants.
“Chris?”
Chris wanted to club himself to death with jockey shorts but put on his best smile. When they dated, for the nine days it lasted, Will was still entirely in the closet, repressed and angstful. Chris could only hope this was still the case. “Hey, man. Long time no see.”
Will smiled. “Yeah. How’re you doing? You look good.”
“Yeah, you too,” Chris said and resisted the urge to drop to his knees and press his face to the front of Will’s well-fitting jeans. The problem, of course, was that Will was blond and over six feet, with a cock to die for, and Chris was having trouble focussing on anything but the shrill cry of sex sex sex that raced through his head. “I’m good, man. I’m going to be famous.”
“Oh really,” Will said.
“This is Lance,” Chris said, grabbing Lance by the shoulders and dragging him close. Lance looked confused, so Chris stepped on his foot when he opened his mouth. “We’re popstars. Like, there’s a potential for greatness. We’re going to Germany in a few weeks.”
Will eyed Lance. “Popstars. Right. I’m a popstar, too.”
“No, man,” Chris said, shaking his head, “Seriously. Like, we have a record deal.”
“I’m sure, Chris. It’s nice to see you haven’t changed at all. Have a good life, asshole,” Will said, brushing passed them angrily. Chris stumbled, grabbing Lance for support, and he steadied himself just as a package of briefs hit him in the face. “You’re a fucking jerk, Kirkpatrick. I don’t know why I ever –”
“Fuck you!” Chris shouted, his heart beating. People were looking now, and Chris was not going to get himself outed in Target, of all places. It just wasn’t cool. In one hand, Chris gathered all the boxer briefs he could carry, and in the other, he took Lance’s wrist and tugged.
“Should I even – ?”
Chris shook his head. “No.”
“But he – ”
“Shut up, Bass,” Chris said.
~~~
Later, when Lance was passed out drunk on the couch after two beers and Chris was playing Super Mario Bros. 2 on the old black and white television in the kitchen, Joey showed up with a box of donuts and a sunburn. Chris explained the day, and Joey laughed, patting him on the back before stealing his beer.
“The irony, of course, is Lou picked you,” Joey said.
“I know, Joey,” Chris muttered. Idly, he brushed at the sprinkling of light brown hairs on his jeans. Lance’s hair looked terrible and uneven, but his mom was coming in a few days, so Chris knew it’d all be fixed. Lance admitted, before he fell asleep, that the beer was worth the free haircut. Chris hoped he meant it the other way around. “I ran into Will.”
“Ouch,” Joey said, wincing. Chris nodded. “Well, you knew going in that was going to be a big mess. The two of you together were just too much, with you all, I’m the manliest of manly men in the manly man world, and him all, god hates me, boohoo, because I’m gay and beautiful.”
“We got along for a minute or two,” Chris mumbled, plucking a donut out of the box and munching on it, even though it was stale and gross. One of Joey’s ex-girlfriends worked at Krispy Kreme and always got Joey free donuts. Chris wished he had an ex who was still speaking to him. “And Lance was there for all of this, too. Like, hello. He totally knew what was going on.”
“I’ll sniff him out, find out what he knows. Hey, am I pushing heterosexuality or homosexuality?” Joey asked, getting up to get another beer. Chris held out his hand until Joey put an opened can in it. On the screen, Mario died. Chris sighed. “Dude?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Chris swished the beer around in his mouth then swallowed, licking his lips. Joey was rearranging the plastic letters on the fridge to spell “schlong” and not even paying attention. He was terminally straight, Chris feared. “Send him to me if he’s, like, asking. If not, don’t say anything.”
Joey started to bring together the letters for “wiener” then paused, looking over his shoulder. “Chris, you do realise you’re gonna have to come out eventually, right? Someone’s gonna notice you’re not macking on the chicks. How many girlfriends have you had?”
“Fuck off,” Chris muttered, chugging his beer, fast and hard.
“They’re all going to be fine with it,” Joey added, spelling “boner” now.
“Nobody asked you, Joe,” Chris replied, turning off the game and the television, which killed the main source of light. He stood up on shaky legs, teetering unsteadily, but when Joey got up to help, Chris slapped his hands away. “Just help me with Lance, all right? His mom’ll gut me if Lynn finds him out cold on the couch tomorrow.”
They got Lance upstairs with minimal trouble.
~~~
Lou pulled him aside again one night, while they were rehearsing in the warehouse. It was hot and nearly three in the morning, and Chris wanted to swallow some of the rat poison lying around and hope for the worst. When Lou’s hand folded over his shoulder, Chris looked wearily up at him and thought, what now?
“Chris, you may have noticed Lance needs some extra help,” Lou said, and Chris nodded stupidly. It was, unfortunately, sort of true, though Jason had been worse and Lou hadn’t complained about him. “I need you to take some extra time with him. Me and the others boys are going out of town for a few days.”
“Lynn too?” Chris asked casually. Inside, his brain was screaming danger, Will Robinson, danger, but he ignored it. Lou’s answer dictated whether or not Chris was going to throw a fit and demand to be taken with them.
“Yes. Lynn.” Lou dug his fingers into Chris’s skin through his shirt and shook him a bit. “By the time we get back, Chris, I want to see marked improvement in Lance’s dancing. It’s really important that you boys continue to make a good impression.”
“Yes, sir,” Chris said, “but I have to work tomorrow.”
“Call in sick,” Lou replied.
“I need the money. For my mom and my sisters,” Chris added unsteadily. Universal already wanted his balls for taking so much time off as it was, and the restaurant barely gave him any hours these days since Lou made him call in so often. What Lou didn’t understand was that he needed to work. It wasn’t like he was rolling in the dough or anything. Lou kept promising, though, and Chris kept believing him.
“Call in sick,” Lou repeated, and Chris nodded. “Good boy.”
He patted Chris’s head like Chris was a fucking dog.
~~~
Chris woke up, snorted a palm full of pepper then phoned into work, sick. Tears streaked down his face as he gasped about fevers and vomiting, and he gagged for real when he realised all he could taste and smell was painful black pepper. They let him off for the next few days, and Chris went to take a shower.
When he came out, his eyes were still stinging, but he was mostly recovered. Joey was over already, talking loudly in the kitchen, as Justin chattered about road-trips and Atlanta and oh how much fun it was all going to be. The only consolation was Lance, who skulked past him in the hall and looked as miserable as Chris felt.
Chris sat next to JC on the couch, who was flipping through a flyer and circling things he need with a red pen, like Old Spice deodorant and Trojan condoms, ribbed for her pleasure. They were on for a good price. Chris made a mental note.
Justin kept talking about Atlanta, and wanting to see the Braves play, and wanting to do this and that, and Joey must have sensed Chris was about to grab him by the curls and beat him up because Joey got Justin by the scruff of the neck and tugged him outside. Hyperactive teenagers, Chris thought morosely. He slumped over JC and sighed.
“It’s just business,” JC said quietly, patting his arm.
Chris sighed again and stretched out over JC’s lap, and waited for Lou to show up and steal the kids. Lynn was making bagged lunches in the kitchen, yelling out the window for Justin to calm down and stop acting like an overexcited child. Seconds later, there was a big splash, and Justin and Joey walked with heads down into the house, dripping wet and heading for the stairs.
When Lou arrived, Justin and Joey were dry, and Lynn was volunteered to navigate so Joey, Justin and JC could all cram in the backseat. Despite his protests, Justin got put in the middle, and Chris waved as they pulled out of the driveway. Lance stood behind him, and smelled clean, like shampoo.
~~~
Chris watched television while Lance spent half an hour on the treadmill, warming up. He tried not to watch the throb of Lance’s calf muscles, which were nice and strong. Seventeen, Chris reminded himself, and continued to flick through the channels before turning it off and picking up an issue of Wolverine to thumb through instead.
By the time Lance rolled off the treadmill, he was panting hard, and there was a T of sweat across his back and on the front of his shirt. He lifted the hem to wipe his face, and his stomach fluttered, flat and smooth. Seventeen, Chris thought again, and pinched his own thigh.
“Okay,” Lance said, “I’m ready.”
They danced in the dining room, which was empty except for a tape deck and a couple mirrors. The routines were pretty simple, but Lance was kind of clumsy and awkward, which was his big problem. Lou said it was because he was growing, but Chris didn’t have the heart to tell anyone that Lance probably wasn’t going to grow any taller than he was already. Chris could tell fellow short guys from a mile away. Regardless, though, Lance was not nearly as bad as Lou made him out to be. He remembered the steps, which was the important part.
“Okay. This is pointless,” Chris said, stopping so suddenly that Lance bumped into him from behind. Slick skin glided together, and Chris’s cock twitched. Seventeen, Chris repeated to it, and it stopped, plump but not hard. “We were left behind because you’re still learning, and I’m an old freaky guy. Screw this. Come on, let’s go get pizza.”
“I can’t dance,” Lance said stupidly.
“No, Lou doesn’t want to show you off the record execs. Me neither. So we can be lame together. Come on. We’ll try again later,” Chris added, though he knew he was probably lying. But Lou wanted to see a difference, which maybe would require some work. Chris wasn’t sure how to do it, though. Lance just didn’t have rhythm. “Lance, trust me.”
Lance shrugged. “All right. But let me phone my mama before we go anywhere.”
“Mama Bass,” Chris said fondly and scrubbed his knuckles over Lance’s head, grabbing him in a headlock as they walked to the kitchen. Lance was overly warm and smelled like soap. Chris let him go and sat on the counter as Lance went for the phone. “Tell her thanks for the socks. They fit. I like them.”
“She’ll be down next weekend,” Lance replied, “but okay.”
~~~
Chris had the brilliant idea to teach Lance how to drive stick while they waited for the pizza. Lance tried to escape the car, protesting loudly, but Chris chased him around the parking lot until he said yes, curled on the ground as Chris knuckled his head, straddled over his back.
“Do not drop my transmission,” Chris said seriously. “I mean it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I won’t,” Lance replied. Chris talked him through turning on the car, which fought as hard as it could before Chris screamed at it and made the engine turn over. When it was purring, they inched forward, Lance switching gears carefully. They stalled, so Chris made him start over. They moved about thirty feet in twenty minutes, then, when he could take no more, Chris ran inside to get the pizza. When he returned, Lance was back in the passenger seat.
“How much money do you have on you?” Chris asked, throwing the box into the back.
Lance lifted his hips off the seat and reached in his pockets, looking for cash. His jeans pulled across his crotch, and there was definite bulge there. His brain screamed, cock cock cock, and Chris said, yes, thank you for pointing that out. Then added: seventeen.
“Forty,” Lance said, unfolding a bunch of wrinkled bills. “My mama sent some money for us to have fun. But we’re the only ones here, so I guess. Here.” Lance shoved the money at Chris, and Chris took it. He wouldn’t spent it all on booze; he’d buy the other guys chocolate bars or something, condoms. “What are we going to do?”
“Eat, first. There’s soda in the fridge back home. Then we’ll go out, and get something to drink, and stuff,” Chris added, looking at Lance, who nodded encouragingly. Morally, Chris knew he shouldn’t be corrupting minors, but whatever. Chris didn’t have many friends in Orlando with whom Lance would fit in, and Chris couldn’t ditch him. Didn’t really want to.
~~~
The air conditioning was broken in the house, and Chris had been banned from sitting in front of the fridge, door open, which meant he was always hot. So he took off his shirt. Bare-chested-ness was not a foreign concept to Chris or Lance or Chris and Lance together, but it seemed rather illicit to Chris, who wasn’t drunk yet and still wanted to lick Lance’s shoulder.
“Do they ever actually catch these people?” Lance asked as they watched America’s Most Wanted, detailing some murderous wife who had killed her husband with a machete. Chris was grotesquely fascinated, but Lance seemed doubtful. “Do these people actually exist? Who really watches this show?”
“I do,” Chris said, looking over at Lance, who lifted an eyebrow. “Starting today.”
“Uh huh.” Lance leaned over to get another slice of pizza, and his back was shiny under the dull light threading through the Venetian blinds. Chris had almost asked Lance to keep his shirt on, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to roast. “I’m just saying that I’m not sure I believe it.”
“It’s not about believing, Bass. It’s about putting your life up for comparison and coming away feeling superior and normal. It’s entertainment, man. Relax.” Chris snatched a fourth slice then sat back, putting his heels up on the coffee table. “Besides, there’s nothing else on but the news, and that is fucking boring and way too real for me.”
“True,” Lance admitted. Chris wanted to kiss him.
They finished dinner then Chris waited while Lance took a piss, and a little chill of excitement zipped down Chris’s spine when he thought about Lance holding his own cock. Seventeen, Chris sing-songed in his head, you are a big pervert. But damn, Lance did have a nice dick. It wasn’t seen often. Lance hadn’t ever participated in any sports or drama productions where everybody’s bits were constantly on display in change rooms, but between the four of them and their complete lack of modesty, he was slowly loosening up. Still: seventeen.
Lance came out of the bathroom wiping his wet hands on his pants, and Chris took the opportunity to pull him into a headlock and knuckle his scalp – pausing only once to lock the front door – until they were tangled up on the lawn, Lance desperately trying to wrestle Chris into submission. Huffing, Chris finally let him go, and Lance poked him hard in the belly, but when he pulled back, his wrist slid over Chris’s dick, which was half-hard. Chris bit his lip but Lance didn’t say anything, so neither did he, just got up and jogged to the car.
“How much did you pay for this thing?” Lance asked, climbing into the passenger seat, and Chris looked up, getting a round, beautiful ass in his face for a second before Lance folded himself in two and slithered down.
“It was free, actually,” Chris said, slipping sideways behind the wheel then fishing his keys out of the ashtray. If he didn’t leave them in the car, he would lose them, and despite JC’s continuing fear that someone would steal Chris’s car, Chris wasn’t worried. No criminal in his right mind would want it. “It runs. It gets me to work. It’s big enough to have sex in the backseat.”
Lance glanced back. “I don’t know. It’s kind of crowded.”
“Oh, what do you know?” Chris said, trying to get the engine to turn.
“Hey, I know,” Lance said, and Chris looked at him, crooking an eyebrow, but Lance didn’t back down, just puffed up his chest and straightened his shoulders. After a second, he deflated. “I’ve done stuff,” Lance mumbled, and Chris smirked. “Enough stuff to know.”
“Okay. See. I don’t believe you.”
“I have,” Lance repeated as they rolled out of the driveway before stalling on the road. Chris swore under his breath, but the engine turned easily this time, and they started moving. “No, really, I have. And I don’t think there’s enough room.”
“Trust me. It’s cramped, but it can be done. I’ve done it,” Chris added.
“If you say so,” Lance said, but he obviously didn’t believe Chris at all. Stubborn bastard, Chris thought, then smiled to himself. It was, perhaps, the first argument they’d had where it hadn’t been Chris chattering and Lance ignoring him. Perhaps, finally, Lance was starting to get comfortable enough to catfight. Joey, JC and Justin were all pussies; Chris needed to battle with somebody occasionally, to keep himself calm, and had been told Lou really wasn’t the guy to do it with. Maybe Lance was. That, Chris thought, would be cool.
~~~
At the grocery store, Chris picked up a bottle of tequila with a worm in the bottom and a couple of limes, a small thing of vodka, a bottle of orange juice, and four bags of chips. He circled the condom aisle, eyeing the on-sale stickers before darting down it, sparing a look at Lance, who was reading the back of a cereal box.
Chris didn’t really hate buying condoms. He wasn’t a coward or a girl or anything, but it was the lube that killed him. He tried to play it off like he was just a really conscientious lover and didn’t want his girl to hurt, but combined with the fact it was Wet! and he also bought the most durable condoms available, it was pretty obvious just who exactly was getting fucked.
“Hey, Chris,” Lance said then stopped. “Um.”
“You want anything?” Chris asked casually, his hand around the biggest tub of Wet! on the shelf. Lance looked at it then at Chris then back at it, and Chris dropped it in the cart before Lance could comment. “I’ll buy it, even. If you’re embarrassed about stuff like that.”
Lance looked down at his feet then shrugged. “Dunno,” he mumbled.
“Any preference?” Chris asked, even though his brain was shouting shut up shut up shut up, but god, this was really awkward, and Chris going to out himself if he wasn’t careful. Like it wasn’t obvious. He wasn’t sure, suddenly, why he ever thought he could hide it. He glanced at Lance, who shrugged again. “Same as me?”
Lance nodded, and Chris exhaled, grabbing two boxes and tossing them in. “Great,” Chris said loudly, pulling the chips over the sexy stuff. “Let’s go get this all paid for, then after one last stop, we’ll head home and have a gay old time.” Inwardly, Chris wanted to pull a condom over his head and asphyxiate himself; it was the least he deserved for being a complete and utter moron. “Or do you need anything else?”
“I’m fine,” Lance assured Chris quickly, and Chris nodded. This was terrible.
As they moved to the cashier, someone said, “Chris? Chris Kirkpatrick?”
Slowly, Chris turned around and forced himself to smile. “Patrick, man. Hi.”
Patrick, the most flamboyant guy that Chris had ever had a relationship with, and it’d lasted for seven days before Chris exclaimed, and not very nicely, that if he wanted to date a girl, he would call himself straight. Patrick hadn’t changed, Chris thought wryly, and wanted to cover Lance’s eyes, but it was too late. Lance was gawking.
“This is my friend, Lance. We’re popstars,” Chris said, “we’re going to Germany.”
“Popstars,” Patrick repeated, and Chris nodded, folding a hand over Lance’s shoulder even though everything in him said to shove Lance away and claim he didn’t know him, more for Lance’s sake than his own. “Popstars. You.” Chris nodded again. “You are an asshole.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Chris cried, a little too loudly, and a woman looked over, glaring, her kids staring at him wide-eyed. Chris mouthed an apology, but she still pulled out of line and went elsewhere. “We’re going to be popstars, anyway. We’re in a group. Me and him, and three other guys. We’re going to be so famous, you won’t even believe it.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Patrick asked, glancing into the cart, and Chris followed his eyes before tugging the chips back over the condoms. Patrick smirked then gave Lance the quick once over, a hand on his hip. “Isn’t he a little young for you, Chris?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chris said.
Patrick rolled his eyes then leaned close to Lance. “Watch out for him, honey. Men like him only want one thing, and when things start going in another direction, they freak out and run for the hills. He’s an asshole,” Patrick added, staring at Chris again and sneering before turning on his heel and sashaying away. But damn, his ass was fine.
“I can’t lie myself out of this one,” Chris said the minute he was gone, and Lance nodded.
With shaking hands, Chris paid for everything then gave Lance back ten bucks, since Chris had felt bad using Lance’s money for the rubbers and forked in a bunch of his own cash, which meant he wouldn’t be eating for a few days, but whatever. Chris threw everything into the backseat then thought about leaving the car and Lance and running away. His heart was beating a mile a minute, which was so stupid. So he was out to Lance, so what? Chris was so fine with being gay, and people knowing, and everything about it. So fine.
Of course, Chris was also a big liar, and he needed to remember that, especially now.
Fuck, Chris thought, and got into the car.
~~~
They didn’t talk the entire ride home, not even when Chris stopped at his buddy Travis’s house to buy a bag of weed. Lance waited in the car, and when Chris came out, looked at Chris like Lance expected some witty comment or something. Chris couldn’t be bothered. His life was so fucking depressing. Nobody seemed to expect anything more of him than to be an asshole, and Chris didn’t want to be an asshole. He wanted to be a popstar.
“Me too,” Lance said at the red light before the house. Chris looked over at him, and Lance nodded, short and abrupt. He had his hands in his lap and was picking at the knee of his jeans. “And um. mine hate me too. All of them, so. You know. Me too.”
“You can’t tell Lou,” Chris said quietly.
“I know. I never would. I haven’t, I mean. I wouldn’t even call mine boyfriends. Fuck buddies, really,” Lance explained, abandoning his pants to wring his hands together. In the settling night, he looked beautiful, his pale skin all lit up by the dim light from the streetlights. “I wasn’t even going to tell you guys, but. If you are.”
“They don’t know. Joey does, but I tried to sleep with him. Four separate times,” Chris added, and Lance’s eyes went wide before he laughed, big and toothy. Chris couldn’t help but laugh too, snorting as he shook his head. “He’s so straight.”
“He is,” Lance agreed. “It’s sorta funny.”
“He’s good, though. If you wanna tell him, he’ll be happy and shit, there to listen. Guy likes to hear about sex, be it male, female or whatever.” Chris wanted to hug Lance for saying something first; he was almost giddy with relief. It seemed lame, that the seventeen-year-old was the one with balls and the twenty-four-year-old was the pussy, but Chris didn’t want to think about it, really. When Lance smiled at him, Chris smiled back.
~~~
They did shots on the coffee table, and laughed, and played a bit of Mario until Lance said he could barely see and needed another drink. Chris took the moment to declare himself the King of Video Games then sat across the table from Lance, pushing the three rolled joints out of the way. He’d made them the minute they got them, Lance taking notes beside him. “I am a man of many talents,” Chris explained to Lance, and Lance smiled at him, nodding.
“It says the worm gives you visions,” Lance said, squinting at the back of bottle, and Chris peered at it when Lance held it up for him. “Huh. That’s kinda, like, gross. Eating a worm, but um. you wanna split it? I’ll get a. a thing,” Lance mumbled, snapping his fingers. Chris nodded, a happy grin on his face and jumped when Lance shouted from the kitchen, “drainer! I knew I knew it! I’m so smart!”
Chris watched as Lance set everything down on the table, pouring tequila through the drainer into a bowl, then he picked up the worm between his fingers, laying it on the glass and cutting through it with his Swiss army knife. Boy scout, Chris thought, but accepted his half when Lance handed it to him. It was really rubbery.
“Here’s to not puking,” Chris said and cheered his worm with Lance, watching them flop around. Chris dipped his shot glass into the bowl then put the worm in his mouth, washed it down with tequila, sucked on a lime and shuddered. He looked over, where Lance was drenched with tequila all down the front of his shirt, his throat working furiously as he swallowed.
“Wow, that was disgusting,” Chris said, and Lance nodded, his eyes tearing up.
It wasn’t any surprise, of course, when the topic turned to sex. Chris was wasted beyond comprehension already, stupid and giggly and lazy, listening to Lance speak about his first time giving a blowjob. He sounded pleasantly reminiscent, which Chris thought was nice. His first time had been pretty traumatic, way too young with a guy way too old, so it was nice that Lance’s happened so nicely.
“How did you know?” Lance asked, “that you were gay?”
Chris stared at the ceiling and shrugged, the world dancing around him as he twirled around in circles, though he never actually moved from his place on the floor, but inside, Chris was spinning like a small planet through space. “I still sometimes wonder if I am. That maybe I’m just. waiting for the right girl.”
“Still? But you’re twenty-four,” Lance said quietly, leaning up on his elbow.
“I know. But sometimes, I think. I’m a pretty lousy gay guy, Lance, like, embarrassing, really, to all the other card carrying homos, who are proud about themselves. I’m just kinda. stupid about it. I date assholes, who think I’m the asshole, but I’m just.”
“Scared,” Lance said, and Chris nodded. “Isn’t that normal?”
“Nobody has ever accused me of being normal, Bass,” Chris replied. He could feel the worm, suddenly, wiggling in his belly. There was swirls of light spiralling across the ceiling, and Chris felt warm all over, like he was being breathed on by a large group of people when it was only Lance, propped up and watching him. “I haven’t been with a girl.”
“No?” Lance combed a hand through his hair, and Chris thought it looked soft, even if was an ugly shade of orangey-yellow and badly cut, even after Mama Bass fixed it. “I have. When I was thirteen. I didn’t like it much, and then she thought she was pregnant, which was just another whole other issue right there.”
“Thirteen,” Chris said, and Lance nodded, a wiggle of sadness creasing his forehead before it was gone. Chris didn’t even stop himself this time, just lifted his thumb and thought, if he pressed hard enough, he could put his hand into Lance’s head and read his mind. “I went down on my first guy when I was eleven.”
“That’s really young,” Lance said.
“Too young. I’m all sorts of messed up from it. I haven’t actually told anyone before,” Chris confessed, shrugging lightly, and Lance leaned over him, hugging him tightly. He was warm and heavy, and Chris patted his back awkwardly before Lance let go but didn’t move back, just sort of flopped down on Chris’s chest and stayed there. “Could we change the subject?”
“Please,” Lance said. But he still didn’t move, not even when they started talking about Nintendo and Chris called him a big fat dork when Lance admitted he didn’t really know how to play. Chris decided, he would have to show him.
~~~
Chris knew, by one in the morning, when they’d finally finished most of the bottle, after spilling a quarter of it on the kitchen floor, that he really, seriously, desperately wanted to sleep with Lance. Not fucking, unless he wanted to, but maybe just kissing in bed then falling asleep, or a handjob or, if Chris was really lucky, a blowjob. He didn’t know how to ask, though.
“Want to smoke?” Chris asked instead. He’d need to, after all he’d had to drink, and if he could get some pot into his blood, he’d be less likely to have a terrible, horrible, awful hangover tomorrow. And plus, he wanted to spend more time with Lance, who would fall asleep if not otherwise entertained.
“I haven’t before,” Lance said. “I’m not sure how.”
“It’s easy. I’ll show you,” Chris replied, tugging him by the wrist outside, where it was muggy and hot. Chris shrugged out of his shirt and threw it back inside, inwardly pleased when Lance did the same thing. His nipples were small and tight, and Lance blushed when he caught Chris looking, lifting a hand and touching the back of his neck. Chris’s stomach fluttered.
“Inhale then keep it in as long as you can, right here in your chest,” Chris explained, pressing a palm to dip between Lance’s smooth pecs, “then breathe it out. If you cough, it’s all right. I promise not to laugh too hard at you, Bass.”
“This won’t wreck my voice?” Lance asked, watching Chris as he lit the joint.
Chris inhaled then breathed the smoke out through his nose, tipping his head back. He shook it and looked at the stars. “Just don’t make a habit of it. Or any drugs, for that matter. I’ve seen people, man, who make it big, and are just fucked up by it. No heavy drugs.”
“Okay,” Lance promised then took the joint gingerly, staring at it before putting it to his lips. He inhaled then coughed, his eyes watering while Chris smacked him on the back, rubbing around in circles when Lance started gasping. “Ow.”
“Get your breath. Try again,” Chris said quietly. “Or stop. No pressure.”
Lance shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I think I get it now.”
By now, Chris had his arm across Lance’s shoulders and his other hand folded over his thigh, leaning into him. He smelled good, like limes and shampoo, spicy pizza sauce and smoke. Chris watched him try again and hold it this time before blowing it out and passing it back. He choked again but nothing major. Chris took his turn, and so it went.
~~~
Chris woke up with a terrible hangover and a body tucked under his arm, drooling on his chest. Shit, Chris thought, and looked down, eyeing Lance’s open mouth as it dripped. His hair was messy and weird, and Chris still fought the urge to touch it. The only saving grace, perhaps, was the fact Chris still had his boxers on. Whether or not Lance was naked was the big question.
Gingerly, Chris lifted the sheet and exhaled when he saw the band of white briefs around Lance’s hips. A second later, Chris smacked Lance hard on the ass and said, “dude. I thought I told you that tighty-whities just weren’t cool.”
“I’m in a transitional phase,” Lance murmured, opening one eye. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Chris said and was aware, quite suddenly, of Lance’s dick poking into his leg, hot and heavy and firm. Chris couldn’t imagine he was much better, but without the weight of Lance’s body on it, his cock was behaving in that it was just sitting there, lonely and not trying to hump Lance’s thigh. “We didn’t. Did we?”
“No. I think you were trying to seduce me or something, but you kind of rolled over and started snoring.” Lance smiled and lifted his head, planting his chin on Chris’s chest. He looked hungry, his eyes glittering strangely. “I wouldn’t have stopped you, though.”
“Bass, are you coming onto me?”
Lance grinned. “I’m sweet-talking you. Someone told me once, that if I learned to sweet-talk, I could have anything I wanted.” Lance slid up Chris’s body, and ground their cocks together. Chris swallowed his tongue. “Probably regretting you said anything, huh?”
“Fuck,” Chris said, and arched. He was a dumb motherfucker.
~~~
Chris managed to convince Lance that breakfast to settle their stomachs was a good idea, and Chris ended up making buttered toast for both of them. Chris really didn’t think he could hold down anything else. Lance sat at the table and just looked at Chris, like a fucking coy vixen after Chris’s goods. Chris gave himself half an hour before he gave in. He did have to put up some sort of fight, or it wouldn’t be right, morally.
Nibbling at the crusts, Chris wiped at the crumbs that fell down his chest, itchy and hard against his skin. They were both sitting in their underwear, and Chris could finally admit, possibly for the first time, that the briefs were somehow sexier than any boxers Chris had ever seen. Lance wore them well; his ass and cock looked fantastic.
“You’ve had sex,” Chris said, just to set the record straight.
“Yup,” Lance said, chewing on a piece of toast. There were crumbs all over his lips; Chris really wanted to lick them off. “Lots of times, even.”
“Like we’re talking. Ass stuff.”
Lance looked up, eyes veiled by long lashes. “Mm-hm.”
“Huh,” Chris said. “I wouldn’t have figured.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Lance replied and smirked into his toast. “See, you saw me, and you assumed, since I was from Mississippi, that I was repressed and closeted. And that just isn’t true. I like my privacy.” Lance lifted his eyebrows then chomped at his crust until it was gone. Taking a sip of juice, he scrubbed his hand over his mouth. Lance had a really nice mouth. “I’m out to my parents, and Stacy. And some friends back home. I’ve been to a pride parade. My mama took me, when we went down to San Francisco a few years ago.”
“Years?” Chris said, shaking his head. Inside, Chris was keenly envious; he’d never been to a pride parade, hadn’t ever thought about it, really, too much. He was afraid someone would see him on television and recognise his ugly mug. “Jesus, Bass. You’re only twelve.”
Lance scrunched up his nose. “Don’t say things like that, or you start seeming perverted.”
“I start seeming perverted?” Chris stood up abruptly, hell bent on washing the minimal amount of dishes they’d used for breakfast just to escape the look on Lance’s face. “Dude, I’m a huge pervert in this scenario. Like, put some pants on, Bass. It’s indecent.”
“It’s sexy,” Lance said, and when Chris looked over, he was perched on the chair, legs spread. And hard, Chris’s brain pointed out, really, really hard. The line of Lance’s dick pointed to one hip, and Lance spread his fingers beside it, as if he was worried Chris wouldn’t notice it. As if Chris wouldn’t notice a hard cock. As if. Chris looked down to the ground. “Chris?”
“Okay, see. On a physical level, I really want to go down on you in this kitchen – really want to suck your dick, Lance, you have no idea – but on an intellectual level, it occurs to me that this is all shades of illegal,” Chris explained, looking at his toes. They were incredibly short, hairy and crooked, with his second toes strangely longer than the big ones. Very odd indeed, Chris thought, and put the toes of one foot over the other. “I’m morally obligated not to, like, touch, think about, taste, swallow, fuck, et cetera, et cetera, your dick. Seriously.”
“I’d be very legal in Germany,” Lance said; his chair scraped across the linoleum tiles.
“Well, we’re not in Germany yet. And also: hello, we are not ABBA, Bass. Like, no inbreeding, that should be a rule. Next thing you know, the three Js will be intermingling, and then, blam, all this drama and too many broken hearts. Bad,” Chris said. He wouldn’t look up, not even when he knew Lance was somewhere close, probably within touching distance. “So. In short: sorry I’ve been a cocktease, I’m now chickening out.”
“I don’t do boyfriends,” Lance said, and yeah, Chris thought, shivering, he was close, as in, behind Chris, speaking low and wet in his ear. Too damn fucking close, Chris amended. Lance needed to take two steps back. “But I do fuck buddies. Sounds to me like you don’t do boyfriends either. So, it’s perfect.”
“Okay. That so didn’t even touch on the fact you’re, like, eight years old,” Chris said.
“I’m seventeen. I’ve had lots of sex. If I was a girl in Louisiana, this would be totally legit,” Lance said, and Chris found himself nodding, because, yes, that was quite true. And Lance did sort of look like a chick, if he squinted a bit. Still: seventeen. And a bandmate, Chris couldn’t forget that. God, Chris thought, Joey is going to kill me.
“Pinky swear –”
“You are such a girl,” Lance said.
“Pinky swear,” Chris repeated, offering his baby finger, slightly crooked, “that this doesn’t turn into something messy and Behind-the-Music-esque and/or with me in jail, betrothed to a triple murderer cell-mate named Billy Bob, who really likes my sweet ass, all right?”
Chris waved his hand, until Lance hooked into the promise. They swung their arms until the deal was sealed. Chris opened his eyes just as Lance put his hands on Chris’s waist, leaning in. He smelled great; Chris felt a bit light-headed. When their lips touched, Chris thought he was going to pass out, because it was just that good. His heart pattered excitedly, and when Lance’s tongue poked at his lips, Chris invited him in. Forgive me, Jesus, Chris thought, then curled his fingers around Lance’s shoulder, pushing him back.
“Good lord, what now?” Lance asked.
“I just thought about Jesus. Give me a few minutes to, like, get over this,” Chris said, pushing Lance by the back towards the stairs. “Go up to our room, get under the covers, and I’ll be up in, like, two minutes. Max. Go, go.”
Lance rolled his eyes but said, “fine, fine.” He stumbled in the direction of the stairs, and damn, Chris thought, but that ass was round. A true bubble butt. Lance twisted around, and dick dick dick, Chris’s brain shrieked. Chris tried to ignore himself and focus on Lance, who appeared to be still talking. “You know, you’re turning out to be pretty high maintenance.”
“Dude,” Chris said, sighing, “you have no idea.”
~~~
In the three minutes it took Chris to get upstairs, he talked himself out of it twice, then called himself a pussy so loudly that Lance said, “you’re damn right you are,” from the bedroom. Refusing to think about anything but Lance, Chris slipped off his boxers and bounded up the stairs. Lance was on his belly, sheet tugged low over his back.
“You’ve decided to join me,” Lance drawled, all lazy and southern.
“How about,” Chris said slowly, “you tie me up and we pretend you made me sleep with you?”
“That’s perverted,” Lance said, “no. You come here, we kiss a bit, and then, you know.”
“If you can’t say it –”
“Then we fuck,” Lance amended. “I was trying to be polite. Come on,” Lance held up the corner of the sheet, and Chris saw the edge of his hip, smooth and pale and bare. Chris approached him warily, a hand over his dick. Lance eyed it then said, “and stop that.”
“I’m a very bad man,” Chris said, and Lance nodded, smiling.
~~~
Lance was very methodical. He kissed under Chris’s chin, then down his chest, where he lasciviously circled Chris’s nipples until they poked out obscenely. He nuzzled Chris’s armpits shamelessly, and murmured, “smells good. Mm,” before licking down Chris’s side. Chris squeezed up at that, jerking erratically because fuck, it tickled.
Chris was so, so sober too. Still nauseous, even. And he pressed his knees together when Lance tried to part them, wedging his fingers between Chris’s thighs. Lance looked up at him, brow furrowed, and said, “yes,” expectantly, like Chris could explain his actions. He couldn’t, he didn’t think. When he opened his mouth, nothing came out, so he snapped his teeth together and opened his legs.
“I don’t understand you,” Lance moaned, collapsing on Chris and rolling off him. Lance scrubbed a hand through his hair then scratched his belly. Chris looked at him and thought, wow, he looks young, and gay, and beautiful. “Mixed signals, Chris. Help me out, will you?”
“I’m sober,” Chris said. “I don’t know how to have sex with someone the first time when I’m sober. I’m always drunk. I’m.” His cock was flaccid, arched sadly on his thigh. Lance was hot, too, which was the killer. Chris’s dick was a dumb motherfucker, too. “I need a drink.”
“Oh no,” Lance said, slapping his forehead. “No. No, no. no.”
“If we don’t, we’re fucking with my method.”
“Your method sucks,” Lance said.
Chris looked down at Lance’s dick, which was red and big, and very nice. Chris’s cock twitched suddenly, responding, finally. Looking up at Lance, Chris batted his eyelashes, and Lance pinched him on the loose skin of his balls. “Ow! Fuck, Bass. What the hell!”
“You want me to apologise?” Lance asked, throwing a thigh over Chris’s legs then heaving himself up over Chris’s groin, hands spread like starfish on Chris’s chest. “I can say sorry, Chris, but you gotta say you want me to.”
“We’re not talking about an apology really, are we?” Chris asked, just to make sure.
“Lordy!” Lance said, throwing his hands in the air. “Sex, yes or no. The window is closing. I haven’t had sex since Mississippi. I’m desperate. I used to have it all the time,” Lance breathed, rocking purposefully against Chris’s dick, and there it was, the elusive hard-on. Chris groaned. He hadn’t had sex since Lance left Mississippi, either. There was an excuse in there, somewhere. “You want me to suck your cock, Chris?” Lance asked sexily.
Chris pinched his lips together then squeaked out, “yes,” when Lance didn’t even wait for an answer.
~~~
“Yo,” Chris said into the phone when it rang, the sleep still in his voice. His ass hurt.
“Chris!” Justin shouted. It sounded like cars were driving by him, zooms of deafening thunder. It was make Chris feel dizzy. “Hi! We’re in Atlanta, Chris! It’s so cool! There was this party, and we all went, and they seem to really like us! We’re at a phone booth! I used my calling card! Here’s Joey!”
Chris rubbed a hand over his forehead then looked down at Lance, who was opening his mouth to say something, so Chris stopped scrubbing his head and folded his mouth over Lance’s mouth. He even ignored when Lance stuck out his tongue and licked between his fingers.
“Hey, Chris. How are things?” Joey asked. Chris could still hear Justin, screeching in the background, and JC’s strange giggle, which sounded like a donkey dying in the heat. Chris wished he was with them, just to make fun. “Did we wake you up? Is Lance still alive?”
“Lance is fine,” Chris said slowly.
“Chris!” Joey hissed, and suddenly, it was very, very quiet. “Chris, for fuck’s sake.”
“What?” Chris asked innocently. “What, man? What? Like, seriously, what?”
“God,” Joey said, and Chris wanted to press his face into his pillow and suffocate himself. Joey was going into Italian mother mode, which meant a lot of lecturing on things, and a lot of cursing. “A fucking day and you’ve already tried to fuck him, haven’t you? Where the fuck is he, hiding in the fucking attic? Gone back to fucking Mississippi? Fuck, Chris, if you’ve fucked this up –”
“Lance is right here,” Lance said, taking the phone. He sat up and talked quietly into the receiver, fast and low and heated, and Joey’s usually booming voice vanished as they whispered to each other. Chris thought it was, perhaps, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Lance kneeling, sheets around his hips, his back pale and wide. Yeah, Chris thought, sexy.
~~~
They screwed around for the entire weekend, since once they got started, it turned out they couldn’t stop. Chris had forgotten sex was the most fantastic thing in the world, so he fucked and sucked and licked, and did everything he could think of, because Lance loved it all and moaned like a living porno. By the time the convoy returned, they were both dressed and presentable, which hadn’t been the case two hours earlier. But now, they looked great, like they weren’t gay and sleeping together. I’m a big pervert, Chris thought again, then waved out the front door, smile on his face.
Joey beat him up outside, grabbing him and twisting him around until Chris vomited into the bushes, which still didn’t stop Joey. Instead, he tossed Chris in the pool and did it again when Chris tried to climb out. Half an hour later, Joey left Chris panting on the patio, soaked and smelly. “You are such a fuck,” Joey said, but he didn’t sound mad anymore. Chris nodded. Joey was so, so right.
Lou made Lance dance like a trained monkey, and Lance was the slightest bit better, Lou decided. Looser, more relaxed, and a lot more sexual than he used to be, which pleased Lou to no end. Chris hid his face in his hands, wondering who was the bigger pervert, him or Lou.
~~~
The problem with being in the closet and carrying on a very illegal, very secret affair with Lance was that Chris had no choice but to talk to Joey about the whole thing. Chris supposed he could have outed himself to JC or Justin, but it was much easier to offer to wait around for Joey after work, kidnap him by car and force him to listen.
“Dude, the guy’s a nympho,” Chris said as they sped down the freeway, the windows rattling.
Joey didn’t say anything for a long, long time, but Chris waited him out. Nympho was one of Joey’s favourite words, mostly because Joey tended to be one, too. Finally, Joey offered a curious, “Lance?” And tipped his head, expecting a reply.
“Yes, man. Lance. Who’d have thought? I can’t keep up with him! He wants to do it all the time, which is impossible since I work so much, and we’re always practising, but the minute we get a free second, he’s there asking for it. And like, yeah, I never say no, because I’m not that dumb, but it’s like I wanted a drink and broke the fucking dam!” Chris said, shifting the stick into third and passing a slow moving minivan plastered with bumper stickers, mostly asking what would Jesus do? Chris could answer that one. “Shit. I just thought about Jesus again.”
“Isn’t the religious angst supposed to flare into effect by day nine?” Joey asked, poking at a zit on his chin, squinting into the mirror on the visor. “It’s only been four days, man. Is it possible you’ve somehow become more neurotic about this whole sexual identity thing?”
“Nah, the religious angst has been there from day one. I think I got all the biggies covered before I ever hopped into bed with him,” Chris said, swerving between two pickups and pushing back as his car lurched forward. Joey smacked his head on the windshield. “Sorry, dude.”
“I think you broke my skull,” Joey said then shrugged. “Dude, you are aware he’s severely underage. Like, major felony. Major. I shouldn’t even be listening to you tell me all this shit, let alone acknowledging it’s going on and doing nothing about it.”
“Well, see, if you had just slept with me –”
“Straight, Chris,” Joey said. The same old song, Chris thought sadly.
“I’m just saying. Had you sated my loins at some point, I probably wouldn’t have been so desperate that I had to, like, let Lance seduce me, and make me sleep with him, and stuff. Because that’s how it happened,” Chris added, nodding sagely.
“I want nothing to do with your loins,” Joey said. “And you’re the biggest male slut I know, Chris. Besides myself –”
“When playing for different teams, we must be counted separately.”
“Right. Anyway. You’re an easy man to get into bed, and if it hadn’t been Lance, it would have been someone else. Car,” Joey said, and Chris shifted gears again, snaking around it. He grunted his thanks, and Joey flipped up the visor. A trickle of blood snaked down his chin. “I still don’t condone this sleeping with the underage thing, but god knows, I’ve done it, too.”
“Jesus loves you anyway, Joe,” Chris said.
“Fuck you,” Joey replied, laughing.
~~~
They tried to work under the agreement that fuck buddies only fucked. They didn’t sleep in the same bed for the whole night, they didn’t buy each other dinner, they didn’t take long showers together. The shower thing didn’t work, anyway, since they’d tried it once and Chris had jokingly peed on Lance’s foot, which was enough to piss Lance seriously off, but the other two things, a very big no-no in Chris’s book. Until he was hungry and Lance bought him a sandwich. And until Chris was lonely and Lance slipped under the covers. So it was a good theory, even if it didn’t really work too well.
Chris didn’t have much time, really, to think about it, since he was still working two jobs and practising at nights in the hot, stinky warehouse. He didn’t sing during the evening, either, since he used his voice all day, and Lou seemed to think Chris’s voice was fragile or something. Chris didn’t want to point out he’d been screeching from the minute he was born with no problems, since it was easier just to dance, anyway.
“Whew,” Chris said, dumping a bottle of tap water over his head.
“Mm-hm,” Lance said, sucking on his own bottle. Chris swallowed loudly.
“Mind if I sit?” Chris asked and slid down beside him, sniffing at Lance’s shoulder a bit, dragging his nose over the wet skin. Lance always smelled good. He was like an old man in his choice for deodorant and cologne but somehow, it suited him. “Hot,” Chris said casually.
“Yup,” Lance agreed, grinning. Chris elbowed him. “Nice and subtle, Chris. Really.”
“I’m trying,” Chris replied. He lowered his voice. “Take off your shirt.”
“Pervert,” Lance said but did it, shrugging out of the drenched tee and wiping it over his face. His skin was glistening, golden and beautiful. Chris’s mouth wanted to cover the tight nipples on Lance’s chest, and suck hard until Lance shuddered. He did that, Chris knew. He was sensitive in all sorts of places. “You, too.”
Chris shucked his tank top off, looking around the warehouse to keep track of everybody. Lou was chatting on the cell phone. Lynn was messing with Justin’s hair, which had a gob of gum in it that JC had spit out when Joey squeezed him around the waist until he was squealed. Joey had been chasing JC around, and currently, JC was perched on a stacks of skids, clinging to the edge unsteadily as Joey tried to lure him down. The shadow Chris and Lance were sitting in wasn’t completely covering, but it was enough that Chris didn’t feel too open and revealed.
“Give me your hand,” Lance said and held out his palm, fingers folded up. Chris laid his own on it, watching as Lance traced a path to his wrist and circled it. Lance’s hands were almost as small as Chris’s, but he could wrap his fingers around Chris’s arm, no problem. When Chris lifted his eyes, Lance smiled. Chris smiled back, goosebumps painted all over his skin.
~~~
When they hit a week, Chris started freaking out again. It’d been a nice, calm seven days, where he mostly worked during the day, danced during the night, though sometimes he took over evening shifts and they had to practice without him. Lou was never very pleased, but Chris needed the money. He couldn’t keep mooching off his friends, or Justin’s mom. Or hell, even Lance’s mom, who suddenly seemed to be overly concerned with him.
“Oh, Christmas. What did Mama Bass send this time?” Chris asked as he watched Lance meticulously pull the tape off the brown paper. Lance was really crazy about not disrupting packages, like he thought his mom sent him some explode-able or something. Chris was the type of guy to catch a corner in his teeth and yank with all his might.
“Cookies, I think,” Lance said, peeling the paper away from the box. Chris peered over his shoulder one last time then rolled onto his back, closing his eyes. Universal had been particularly brutal today; they were in the middle of a heatwave, and tourists were morons.
Chris woke up when Lance dropped two plastic-slippery parcels on his stomach, and Chris picked them up. “What the fuck?” Chris said, turning the packages of underwear over in his hands, squinting at them. “Dude. What’s with the undies?”
“They’re for you,” Lance said, pulling off his shirt. It was almost time for bed.
“Shit, dude. Don’t buy me clothes,” Chris said, perhaps a bit more harshly than intended, but Lance paid him no mind, just said,
“I didn’t. We’re not married. They’re from my mom,” Lance replied, folding his jeans and hanging them back up in the closet. He was wearing boxer-briefs, the white cotton legs clinging to his thighs. Chris almost forgot about scowling. He really liked how Lance’s waist tapered in the waistband, and the roundness of his ass.
“I could understand the socks, but underwear, man. I don’t know,” Chris said.
“My mom also sent a toothbrush for JC. If you don’t want them, throw them out. I don’t care,” Lance said, though Chris could tell he didn’t mean it. Not taking a gift from Mama Bass was a personal affront to the child of Mama Bass, who was like a miniature version of her. It was sort of freaky, really. Lance was such a mama’s boy. “It doesn’t mean anything, Chris.”
“No, I know,” Chris said, pulling off his clothes and dropping them onto the floor, trying to flash as much naked ass as possible to get Lance’s attention, but Lance was still looking away. With a sigh, Chris pulled up the covers, “tell her thanks. I needed them.”
“No kidding,” Lance said, and picked up a pair from the floor, elastic almost separated from the cotton, and stained an unappetising yellowish-grey colour. In Chris’s defence, they were three years old, but he nodded, conceding the point. “I didn’t tell her anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I understand the concept of a super secret affair.”
“I’m not. I didn’t,” Chris said. “I’m sorry, all right? My pride,” he added lamely.
“I figured.” Lance sat on his own bed, pulling back the sheets, and Chris coughed until Lance looked over. Gingerly, Chris lifted a corner of his own blanket. Lance slipped under, wearing just his underwear and his watch. Chris was pretty naked. “You have to work tomorrow?”
“Always,” Chris said. “I’ll try not to wake you.”
“If you wake me, I’ll give you a blowjob before you go,” Lance mumbled, eyes already closed. Chris nodded and stroked a hand down his back, circling at the small of it until Lance relaxed like jelly, breath coming softly. Chris didn’t go to sleep for a long, long time.
~~~
Nine days, and Chris needed to get out of the thing with Lance, now. Seriously needed to make it stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Whenever he tried, Lance said something or did something that caused Chris to sit back and put it off a little bit longer. Since his relationship average was eleven days, he still had some time.
Chris brought Lance with him to work, because Lance asked. Justin liked to go with Joey, and had gone once with Chris, but didn’t like the Hi-Tones, said they were boring. Chris had loudly wondered if Justin wanted his ass kicked, and the little shit claimed to be just kidding, grin plastered on his face. So Chris made a big production of bringing Lance, because he was cool and wanted to see Chris woo tourists. Justin wished them well and went back to sleep.
“Who’s the kid?” Michael asked when he got there, leaving Lance with a book and a tube of sunscreen. If Lance got bored, he was allowed to leave, but Lance said he didn’t get bored, since his head was a pretty exciting place. Somehow, Chris believed it. “Boyfriend?”
“What-the-fuck-ever, no. Not gay, first of all. Second of all, he’s, like, six,” Chris said, rolling up the sleeves of his tee-shirt. “No, he’s one of my group guys. The popstar group going to Germany? He’s the bass, man. Can’t you tell your brethren a mile away?”
“Kid like that? No fuck,” Michael said, eyeing Lance as Lance rubbed lotion on his arms. “You know, Chris, on the off chance you’re lying to me and really are queer, both of my brothers are gay. I’m totally fine with it. And Martin’s a good friend of mine.”
Chris kept his face blank. “Whatever, man. Think what you will.”
“Gee, thanks, so nice of you to allow me the option of free thought,” Michael said and cuffed Chris lightly upside the head, shaking him a bit. Chris laughed loud enough that Lance looked over, eyebrows raised. Michael waved at him, keeping a hand on Chris’s shoulder, and Lance waved back. “Spunky kid, man. Freaky as shit looking, yet strangely not bad. This hot German popstar group of yours, I’ll buy the fucking albums. This is me telling you I’m gay, so you really should come out to me.”
“So kind of you, dude,” Chris said, bending to grab his bottle of water and taking a huge gulp. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. It’s so fucking hot, and I hate these goddamn tourists. Why can’t they just go to Disney? Fuck.” Chris combed his hair back into place.
“Whatever you say, Spike,” Michael said, grabbing his microphone. “You in-the-closet fag.”
“Shut the hell up, Bernie,” Chris replied. Michael bopped him on the head with the mic.
~~~
At lunch break, they ate inside the diner, Chris and Lance and Michael, who flirted shamelessly with Lance. It was oddly strange, Chris thought, because although he’d kinda thought Michael was gay – they always had a sort of understanding, where they didn’t ask or tell or whatever, and never mentioned girlfriends, not like Darryl, the lead guy, who’d slept with all the girls who worked there – he wasn’t sure why Michael finally decided to say something, except maybe to dick Lance and make sure he was allowed.
“He really isn’t my boyfriend,” Chris said quietly when Lance got up to go to the bathroom, all the root beer he drank for free finally getting to him. “Like, I’m still not saying that he could be, or anything, like, that I’m into that. But he’s not.”
“If you’re giving me permission, Chris, don’t bother. I know where not to tread,” Michael replied, grinning behind his glass. Chris rolled his eyes then looked out the window, taking another sip of water. His left arm was sunburned. How that happened, he didn’t know. “He’s a good guy though. Martin isn’t a good guy.”
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” Chris replied nonchalantly.
“Whatever. Listen, when you’re famous and shit, don’t forget the little people, all right? I’m gonna miss you, when you’re off in Germany. Probably even quit. Samantha’s a bitch, and Darryl is just too fucking hetero-centric for me. Well, unless they get some really hot guy to replace you, then I’m here for life,” Michael said.
“Dude, for a guy who’s never expressed any interest in guys until this very day, despite having worked together for three years, you’re beginning to freak me out,” Chris said, scratching his leg. He slid over when Lance came back, slinking into the seat. Chris leaned over him and said, right in his ear, “you know what you’re gonna get yet, Bass?”
Michael smirked.
~~~
Lynn left a phone call at the diner saying the rehearsal for that night was cancelled, because Justin had a toothache and was miserable and whiney about it. The diner manager came out and gave Lance a piece of paper with the message, who told Chris just as he finished his last set. Chris squinted at it then said, “thank god.”
“You work too hard,” Lance said.
“No shit,” Chris replied. “You coming, Bass?” Lance nodded.
“Good night, Chris. Lance, it was great to meet you,” Michael said as he jogged by, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He punched Chris in the arm then ran off, clicking his heels together. Chris wasn’t sure where he got the energy, but he figured it was because Michael didn’t work eighteen hours a day, seven days a week.
“You want to get dinner, or something? I’ll buy,” Lance said as Chris led him back to the employee hut, where Chris’s locker and all his normal clothes were. In the change room, it was just them, and Lance waited as Chris undressed before saying, “well?”
“I guess,” Chris finally said. “Taco Bell?”
“Sure,” Lance said, walking a bit closer. He looked around. Chris followed his eyes, surprised when Lance pushed him up against the lockers and pressed his hand to Chris’s belly, circling through the smattering of dark hairs there. “You’re pretty sexy, singing and stuff.”
“Yeah?” Chris breathed in sharply when Lance nodded against his neck, licking spirals on his skin like a professional painter. Spreading his legs, Chris let Lance stick his hand down his pants and circle his cock with a warm, small hand. “People will start coming in soon.”
“I just want to touch you,” Lance replied, jerking Chris slowly, with deliberate intention. “not for you to come yet. I want to get you all hot and bothered and desperate, then I want to know you’re hard because I’m a really mean person. That okay?”
“Touch all you like,” Chris said throatily. “Please.”
~~~
They ate Taco Bell in the car, parked in some make-out spot Chris remembered going to once, with Brad, the ex-boyfriend who currently lived in Texas, part of an ex-gay cult. That relationship had lasted five days, until Brad called him a mindfucking fag and a bad lay, at that, then put himself into homo-rehab. The sex had been pretty rotten, but Chris didn’t blame himself for that. Brad couldn’t suck dick to save his life; he was too busy hating it.
“What’s this song?” Lance asked. He always asked shit like that, had done it for as long as Chris had known him, which was only nine months, if Chris was exaggerating. Long enough to have a baby, Chris thought solemnly. He was having a baby. His name was Lance.
“Tuesday’s Gone, Lynyrd Skynyrd. A bit before your time,” Chris said, tossing his garbage back into the bag. His dick was hard, still, and even wiggling in the chair didn’t help ease the throbbing need. Lance hadn’t let him put on underwear, either. Chris hated that it was sexy at all. It shouldn’t have been. In a perfect world, Lance Bass would be something sexless, like a rock, or a weed, or anything other than what he was.
“Probably before yours, too,” Lance replied and unwrapped another burrito. He munched on it before holding it out to Chris, “want a bite? I’m getting kind of full, and Taco Bell makes me sort of queasy.” Chris snapped at it until Lance put it in his mouth. It was soft and doughy and the meaty bits caught in his crooked teeth. It was good, anyway.
“Why’re you so pissed off?” Lance asked.
“I’m not,” Chris said. He wanted to add, “and get out of my car,” but didn’t. Since it was mean, and they were miles away from a phone booth, and Joey would really kill him then, seriously murder him. “I don’t know. I’m just. thinking too much.”
“Is Michael another ex-boyfriend?”
Chris looked over at Lance, who didn’t appear to be making fun of him. Chris shook his head. “No, I didn’t know for sure he was even gay, until today.” Chris swiped a hand across his mouth. “Sorry I’m wrecking your big plans to have sex with me in my car, Bass.”
“Oh, you knew what I was doing,” Lance said.
Chris rolled his eyes but smiled a bit. “Obviously.”
“I was curious. You said it could work, and you’re always doing stuff, and Justin always wants to, like, ride in your car. We never had time, until now.” Lance looked back, to the seat, which was covered with Chris’s work clothes. “I brought stuff, you know, if you start feeling like you want to sleep with me again or something. Just in case.”
“What happened to the mouthy kid who wouldn’t let me put on my underwear?” Chris asked, grinning a bit, because Lance was like that, demanding and forward and everything, even if Joey still didn’t entirely believe him. Lance was a tiger in the sack, knowing exactly he wanted.
“He’s on vacation. I’m the sensitive lover, now,” Lance said, “so, come on. Show me.”
“That was sorta mouthy, man,” Chris said, smiling.
“I guess I lied. Get on back there.” Chris scrambled back and pressed himself up against the door, so Lance could sit on the seat. Splitting his legs, Chris settled over him, and touched the back of Lance’s neck with one hand. “Cops don’t come by here, do they?”
“Haven’t, that I’ve seen. You trying to freak me out or something?” Chris asked, trying to laugh, but inside, he felt sort of sick again. As if Lance knew, he rubbed his hand over Chris’s belly soothingly, under his shirt, warm and steady.
“Just making sure,” Lance said, and in the light coming from the moon, he looked weird, Chris realised. The kid who Chris met nine months ago, when his first thought had been, “oh, god, he’s a big strange-looking dork, shit, what are we going to do now, ” wasn’t Lance as Chris knew him anymore. Now, he was hot, with the arch of his eyebrows, and the emerald sheen of his eyes, and the smooth satiny quality of his skin.
“You’re not ugly,” Chris said, kissing at his mouth.
“Gee, thanks,” Lance replied, laughing.
But Chris had meant it as a compliment, even despite himself.
~~~
Chris let himself have another few days with Lance, but by day twelve, he had his mind set on it. He was going to stop this; it shouldn’t have started at all. Lance was such a kid; Chris was a big dirty pervert. Neither of them needed all this drama in their lives.
“I’m sorry, Bass, but I have to break up with you,” Chris said, when they got home from the warehouse and were waiting for Justin to get out of the shower. They could hear him warbling under the rush of water, doing a remix version of I Wanna Sex You Up. Chris didn’t want to know what else the kid was sexing up in there.
“You’re not my boyfriend,” Lance replied, flipping through his Seventeen magazine. Lance read stuff like that constantly, girl magazines, because he said it made him miss his family less, since Stacy had subscriptions to all of them. Chris suspected he just liked the articles. “You can’t break up with me if we were never dating.”
“Yes, I realise that,” Chris said, “but I’m still doing it.”
“You can’t,” Lance replied, thumbing through the pages. It seemed to Chris that he wasn’t taking this seriously at all, and Chris’s serious face, which was half scowl, half pursed lips, didn’t seem to have any effect. “Do you not like the sex?”
“No, the sex is fine,” Chris said. He would never, ever imply the sex with anyone was bad, unless it really was and even then, his standards were pretty low, so it would have to be the worst ever in the history of sex. Lance was fantastic in the sack, and he knew it.
“Is there some other fuck buddy willing to sleep with you?”
“See, that makes it sound like a chore,” Chris said.
“I hate chores. Ask my mama,” Lance said idly, swinging his feet in the air as he circled answers in one of those inane quizzes he loved. Justin liked them too, even though he claimed otherwise, and JC read Cosmo a lot. They were all freaks, Chris realised quite suddenly. Except for him and Joey.
“Right. But still, we’re breaking up,” Chris said again.
“I’m afraid I can’t accept that, Chris.” Lance sounded like he always did, like this was no big deal, like Chris wasn’t saying anything important at all. “Because you’re not my boyfriend, and we’re just fuck buddies. You can’t break up, when that’s all we are. Or, you know, I need to believe your reasons, which I don’t. Because you don’t have any.”
“I just gave you a reason,” Chris insisted, kneeling on the edge of the bed. Lance reached behind himself, and scratched at the small of his back, pulling up his shirt. Chris looked at that patch of skin, so smooth and soft, and swallowed. Lance had such a nice ass. “Really, I did.”
“You want a blowjob?” Lance asked, closing his magazine. “Because you’re being stupid and somehow, that always fixes you.”
“Okay,” Chris said and let Lance peel down his pants.
~~~
Day fourteen, and Chris woke up hyperventilating. He seriously needed out of this relationship, or lack thereof, right now. Right that very second even, but when Lance came back into the room, wet and smelling like soap and brightly smiling, Chris pushed him down to the mattress and licked his cock instead. Besides, they couldn’t break up, if they weren’t dating. Lance was right about that, but that left Chris with a bit of a dilemma and a need to be more clever.
“So, I was thinking I could handcuff you and fuck you,” Chris said casually, knowing Lance was pretty vanilla, despite wanting to have sex four times a day, if not more. He’d never suggested anything kinky, and had even been sort of reluctant when Chris insisted being fucked while standing up was fun. They were both short, he pointed out, it was easier if they were.
“I guess,” Lance said slowly. Chris winced, but it was pretty hot later, when Lance was all spread out and cuffed to the bed posts, arching and writhing and spreading his legs eagerly. Afterwards, when Chris massaged his sore shoulders, Chris even felt kind of bad about it.
Chris decided to up the ante, when it turned out Lance actually liked bondage and spent the rest of the day alternately complaining about his aching arms and telling Chris how next time, Chris should tie him with something softer, like the bands of his old underpants. Chris called him a freak, and Lance kissed him secretly in the garage.
The next day, after work, Chris found Lance reading Heart of Darkness for an essay, and said, “so, I was thinking I really wanted to fist you,” waiting for Lance’s reply. Lance lifted an eyebrow and replied, rather calmly,
“Well, I guess. If you’re into that. I can try, but I’m not promising anything.”
Chris’s heart sped up. “Double fisting, I meant.”
“Two hands?” Lance asked, and Chris nodded. “Well, let’s try one first, then go from there. Your hands are pretty small, but you know, I gotta dance with this ass.” Lance waggled his butt a bit, and smiled when Chris cupped it. “If that works, then maybe. Once again: not promising. But I’ll try anything.”
Chris agreed, no promises, and later, when Lance asked about it, said he’d changed his mind and didn’t really want to try it. Lance’s face creased with relief, and Chris knew he’d been played, so the next time he asked, a few hours later, he really intended to do it, if Lance agreed, but there was no way in hell he would.
“I want to shit on you instead,” Chris said, trying to keep his face serious.
“All right, now you’re just saying stuff,” Lance said, snorting and shaking his head, and Chris tried to protest, say, no, no, I really want to, but he couldn’t, and burst out laughing, holding his belly until it hurt and tears squirted out of his eyes.
~~~
“What’s up your ass?” Joey asked, when Chris waited around for him after work three days later. Chris was supposed to work at the Steakhouse, but he’d called in and quit. It was too much, on top of everything else. Now, money-wise, he was screwed, but he didn’t want to think about that. “Hey, seriously. You all right?”
“No,” Chris replied glumly. “You want to drive home?”
“I would, but you know, no license, no idea about standard. Sorry,” Joey added, following Chris to the car. Chris was pretty fast, and Joey always limped for the first hour off, since he did so much dancing pretty much around the clock. Regardless, Joey jogged and caught up with him. “No, really, Chris. What’s wrong?”
“Lance. I gotta get rid of him,” Chris said. “In a non-killing way, because you know, he’s my friend, but I need him gone from, like, my sex life.”
“But you guys have a good time,” Joey said slowly. “Shit, Chris. Don’t do this.”
“I need him gone,” Chris repeated, shaking his head. Joey looked like a kicked puppy, with an angry sort of undertone to his growl that Chris could sense more than he could hear. “He won’t go, either. Because I’ve asked, and tried to get him to leave, and everything, and he won’t. And I’m freaking out.”
“So? So what? You freak out about everything gay-related. Why try fighting it? Fuck, Chris,” Joey said, sounding completely exasperated now, like he suspected Chris was a moron. Chris probably wouldn’t fight him on that, either. “God. He’s not even your boyfriend.”
“Which is his fucking loophole,” Chris said angrily, climbing into the front seat from the back, and watched as Joey tried to get himself in, too tall to do it very effectively. “I say, let’s break up, he says, but we’re not dating. Fuck. He’s so goddamn logical.”
“Why are you getting pissed about this, you fuck? I’m allowed to be pissed. Lance is allowed to be pissed, when he finds out. You, you’re. Fuck you, Chris. Seriously, just fuck you, and next time you decide to completely fuck around with someone I consider a friend, whom I like, Jesus, just leave me the fuck out of it, you stupid motherfucking idiot,” Joey said.
“Fuck you,” Chris snapped.
“Fuck you back,” Joey said.
~~~
Chris dropped Joey off at his house, still angry, and Joey didn’t say bye, so neither did Chris. When Joey went inside, then Chris’s guts tangled up in his knots and he thought about running to apologise, because without Joey, he really had nothing. Seriously, nothing. Less than nothing, even, just himself, who was obviously a complete fuck up.
As Chris got out of the car, Lynn got into hers, saying something about sick boys and drugstores, and Chris watched her pull out of the driveway. He liked Justin’s mom, he did, but he didn’t think he could talk to her about personal shit, like, stuff that he didn’t tell people. He couldn’t even talk to his own mom. He sucked.
Chris yawned at he walked inside, the house eerily dark. Climbing up the stairs, he took off his clothes in the hallway then ducked into the bathroom to take a piss. Quietly, with eyes mostly closed, he shut the door to his bedroom and crept to his own bed, which was messy and unmade. Lance sighed in his sleep, the covers pulled over his head, and Chris stopped. One last time wouldn’t hurt anything, Chris thought. A final hurrah. Even a shit like him deserved one.
Lifting up the edge of the blanket, Chris slid underneath and fitted himself, naked, against Lance’s back. It was odd, he supposed, when Lance froze up, but not nearly as strange when Lance started shrieking like a girl. Because it wasn’t Lance at all.
“Oh my god!” Justin shouted, pushing Chris out of the bed, screaming at the top of his lungs, and the kid had lungs like bagpipes on speed. Chris hit the floor hard, stunned completely, and didn’t even move when the door burst open and both JC and Lance stood there, red-eyed and sniffly. “Oh my god, he tried to touch me! Oh my god! Oh my god!” Justin sounded hysterical.
“You sick pervert,” JC said sternly.
“I think he thought Justin was me,” Lance said quietly, and JC tipped his head. Chris wanted to die, seriously wanted to swallow glass and hope he bled out quickly enough that he didn’t have to hear any more of Justin’s caterwauling. He was immensely relieved when JC clapped a hand over Justin’s mouth and looked at Lance for an explanation. “I made Chris have sex with me,” Lance mumbled, wiping his snotty nose on his arm.
Justin peeled JC’s fingers away from his lips. “Oh,” he said. He seemed calmer.
“Um,” JC said, looking at Chris, then at Lance, then back at Chris. “When you say you made Chris have sex with you –”
“He means that we mutually decided. Because, you know. I’m, uh.” Chris coughed and reached for a pillow, tugging it over his groin. They’d all seen his dick a hundred thousand times already, but suddenly, modesty seemed important. “Well, you know. I’m.” He suddenly didn’t want to say anything. They were going to kick him out of the group. Somehow, in his mind, Lance got to stay, but he was gone. Chris pinched his lips together.
“Gay?” Justin asked, and Chris nodded. “But you don’t want me?”
Chris spit, “Fuck no, Timberlake. You’re an annoying little fuck, who is, like, just learning to walk. No way,” Chris said, shaking his head. He felt really cold, his ass half on the vent that was blowing icy wind at him, but he didn’t want to move either. “No, I. I’m not a pervert.”
“I didn’t really mean that,” JC said, sniffing loudly, wet and snotty, until Justin handed him a tissue, and he blew his nose before adding, “well, if you were trying to sleep with Justin, yes, but if it was Lance, and Lance is okay with it –”
“I’m very okay,” Lance assured JC, who exhaled and nodded, then blew his nose again, breaking through the kleenex and getting goo all over his fingers anyway. Justin handed him another one, and Lance stepped away. “I’m gay too, in case that needs to be established for record. And it’s not. Us. We’re not boyfriends or anything.”
“Fuck buddies,” Chris said, nodding.
“Um, okay. That’s nice, man.” JC twisted up his lips, sneezed and accepted another tissue, mopping up his palms, which were slick and slimy. “All right, I’m dying, so I’m going back to sleep. Everything’s fine. Well, Justin’s a bit scarred, but other than that, a-okay. Right?”
“I’m okay now,” Justin said earnestly, “I was just surprised. I love gay people.”
“Have you ever met any gay people?” Lance asked.
“Two,” Justin said, matter-of-fact. Chris cuffed him across the back of his head.
~~~
The next day, Chris realised this was his longest mostly relationship ever. At fifteen fucking days. He didn’t want to get up, so he didn’t, not even when he knew he should be at work. They called, and Justin picked up, coming in to check on him. Chris pulled the pillow over his head, muttering, “tell them I fucking quit, I don’t care,” and Justin said, “he’s puking all over the place. I don’t think he’s going to make it in today, ma’am. He’s very sorry.” He stayed on the phone for fifteen minutes, and ended up getting Chris a few days off before heading downstairs for tutoring, taking care of himself. Lance and JC were still sick and quarantined.
When Chris woke up again, he was feverish, and achy, and his face was leaking terribly. He snorted into a handful of tissues, and when he finally got out of bed to take a piss, he was so dizzy that he fell over like a tree, hard and loud. “Ow,” he said pitifully. The room was dancing.
The third time he woke up, Lance was in the room saying, “drink this, open your mouth,” and Chris shivered pathetically, trying to sit up but the room was spiralling, and he couldn’t, without slumping over and clinging to Lance. He did it, anyway, because Lance was offering water.
“Good,” Chris mumbled, the cool snaking down his throat. It hurt to speak. Lance tipped the glass, not even minding when some of the water spilled onto Chris’s chin, just wiped his face with a napkin then laid him back carefully onto the pillow. Curling his knees to his chest, Chris twitched until Lance tucked the sheet around him.
“You’re burning up,” Lance said, folding a cool hand over his forehead.
“I like dogs,” Chris replied.
~~~
Later, Chris would sheepishly shrug it off, but the delirium led to paranoia, and Justin had to leave the house because Chris was freaking out so badly. He spent a lot of time shrieking for no apparent reason, and when JC came home from the diner where he worked, he called Lynn because Chris was in terrible shape, and Justin was crying in the backyard, and Lance didn’t know what to do. When asked how he was feeling, Chris puked all over Justin’s mom and started babbling about Jesus. They took him to the hospital, instead.
“No, no, no,” Chris said, trying to push Lance’s arm off his waist as they forced him into the back of Lynn’s car. He was wearing boxers and a sweatshirt, and even though sweat dripped from his face, he was freezing and shaking and sleepy. “No, no.” He spread his legs and braced his feet against the car, refusing to go in the door. “No, no, no.”
“Chris, come on,” JC said, making Justin take Chris’s legs even though Justin was trembling with fear and crying a bit, too. Chris kicked at him, and arched his back to try and escape Lance, then poked JC in the eye. “Chris! Ow! Shoot.” JC scrubbed one hand over his watery eye, but didn’t let go with the other one.
“Chris, honey, it’ll be all right,” Lynn said, putting a wet cloth over his face, and Chris kept chanting, “no, no, no,” trying to wiggle to freedom. Eventually, they got him inside, Lance folded around him, trying to keep him still. JC and Justin piled into the front seat with Lynn, and Chris repeatedly banged his head against the window until Lance cried, too.
The lights at the hospital made him dizzy, and he puked again, hanging out the window and drenching the side of the car. Getting him out was a bit easier, because his stomach was cramping, but he clutched at Lance desperately, and said, “no, no, no.”
“Why not?” Lance asked quietly, and Chris blinked at him. “Chris, why not?”
“No insurance,” Chris mumbled, folding over Lance and feeling his knees buckle. He was like a crazy animal, shaking and rabid. “I can’t. No insurance. I. Poor, no money. Please, no, no, no.” Chris cried a bit against Lance’s neck, then cried a bit harder when Lance pushed him near the door. He dug his heels into the ground, but Lance swooped him up into his arms. “No, no. Lance, no,” Chris pleaded.
“Shh, I’ll take care of it,” Lance said. Chris settled, and believed him. The world spun into blackness, and Chris let it.
~~~
Chris woke up in the hospital, an IV in his arm. He felt sore and hot, still, but aware, very, very aware. He winced. What a loser he was. What a sick, delirious loser, and though he knew it couldn’t possibly be his fault, he blamed himself anyway. It was probably, like, retribution for sleeping with Lance, or something. Chris thought, with guilt like that, he might as well be Catholic, instead of Joey, who never seemed to feel guilty about anything.
Chris was thirsty, too, and there was a jug of water on the table, but he was too weak to lift it, even though his fingers wrapped around the handle easily. What he needed was a really long straw, like, two feet long, but there was nothing. He swallowed, and winced. His throat. Ouch. And he was wearing one of those stupid hospital nightgowns. His legs looked like chicken legs, skinny and crooked.
“You’re awake,” Joey said, and Chris nodded, watching Joey scrub a hand over his eyes, wiping away the sleep. Chris hadn’t even notice him there, slumped over the end of the bed. “Shit, man. When they called me, I thought it was the end.”
Chris shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, well. They overreacted. I’m fine.” He coughed.
“Your temperature was 105, man. You were not fine. You were, like, really not fine at all,” Joey said. He sounded kind of shaken up, and Chris wondered where everyone else was. If Lance was still around. “They said, if you waited any longer, like, it would have been bad. Like, amputation bad. Brain damage bad.”
“Oh,” Chris said. “Well, that sucks. Glad I still have my legs.”
“Yep.” Joey nodded. “And you know, sorry. About the thing in the car.”
“Me too. Sorry,” Chris said. Joey sounded weepy, which wasn’t a good thing, because Joey didn’t do weepy. He was always so cheerful, except when he was pissed, but he didn’t cry, not even when the rest of them had been bawling when Lou had told them about Germany. Joey had just smiled really big. “I’m a jerk, I know. You were just looking out for Lance.”
“And you.” Joey sniffed loudly, poking his fingers at his eyelids. Here he goes, Chris thought miserably, he’s going to cry. Chris really didn’t want to see it, but he would deal. A tear trickled down Joey’s cheek. “I didn’t have to be such an ass about telling you that, though.”
“Dude, no hard feelings, really. I understand,” Chris insisted. “There’s tissues on the table.”
“Thanks,” Joey said, leaning over to grab a few. He blew his nose.
The nurse came into make sure Chris was comfortable, and to tell him he would be released in a few hours, then took his temperature. For a second, Chris thought it was going to be a rectal activity, but she stuck it under his tongue. Down to 100, she said, still not good but much better than last night. Chris’s eyes felt stingingly hot. He was surprised it was that low.
“You okay?” Joey asked cautiously, leaning forward. Chris was afraid Joey was going to hold his hand or something. Confess his secret love. Chris thought Joey was pretty hot, and had wanted to sleep with him, but for all the jokes, Joey was really straight, and that was too fucked up for even him to deal with. But Joey just looked at him.
“Sore, and sick, and no,” Chris admitted. “Where’s Lance?”
“Lynn took Lance and JC home, back to bed. They’re still sick, and Justin’s coming down with the same thing. It’s good I live with my parents, or I’d probably be feeling it, too.” Joey wiped his nose with the tissue again, eyes red and watery. “I’m really sorry.”
“Okay, Joe. Seriously. I know I’m an ass, and everything you said, completely right. I’m agreeing with you. You’re freaking me out, man.” Chris tugged the blankets up to his neck, cold again, even though Joey had spots of sweat under his armpits. It was probably pretty hot in the room, or maybe Joey ran to the hospital. He lived pretty close. “I’m just. I can’t, with Lance.”
“It’s okay,” Joey said, and this time he took Chris’s hand. Chris’s fingers tingled. “In case nobody has said that to you, it’s okay to be gay, Chris. It’s normal. A lot of people are gay, two of my favourites dudes in the world are gay. It’s perfectly fine.”
“No, I know,” Chris said, feeling the heat, suddenly, at the tips of his ears. It was weird, when the rest of his body felt like an ice cube. “I know.”
“No, you don’t. You pick these losers for boyfriends, like, people worse than you, and you find reasons why you can’t stick with them, which is good, because they’re terrible people. I’m just saying, it’s fine if you want a normal guy. That being gay is a good thing,” Joey said, squeezing Chris’s hands. Chris was dizzy again, and tried to pull his hand away. Joey let him, but he still stayed pretty close to Chris, leaning on the bed.
“That’s not. I mean, that’s not why,” Chris muttered. “I’m just an asshole.”
“Lance seems to like you. Diane likes you,” Joey added, lifting an eyebrow. “Because she knows. Lance told her, and she’s fine with it. I’m not supposed to let you know that, but if Lance’s mom is cool with it, and with you. You know. Maybe that means it’s all right.”
“I kinda like Lance,” Chris admitted. He swallowed loudly, wincing, and Joey poured him a glass of water, holding it to his lips. Chris drank until it hurt too much and sat back. Inside his chest, his heart was thumping like heavy rain, fast and angry. “And maybe, you know. Maybe I didn’t know it was okay. that I’m gay. So thanks.”
“No problem,” Joey said. “You look like you’re going to keel over, man. Go to sleep.”
“Will do,” Chris said, and passed right out.
~~~
They let Chris out around dinner time, and he still felt woozy but better. Joey helped him to the car, where Phyllis was waiting, listening to country music. Joey buckled Chris in the front seat, and Phyllis hemmed and hawed before Joey said, “Jesus, mom. He’s fine. He just came out of the hospital. That means he’s okay.”
“Language, Joseph,” Phyllis said. Chris missed his own mom, who still lived in Pittsburgh.
Joey carried Chris inside, where Lynn was waiting with a blanket, because Chris was shivering and freezing again. Chris didn’t know how to be sick; he never was, ever. He’d been working nonstop since he was eleven, and all the time he’d ever taken off, had only occurred recently, at Lou’s insistence. The doctor said something about exhaustion while he’d been talking, but Chris hadn’t really been listening. He’d heard it all before.
At the top of the stairs, Joey grabbed him and hugged him really hard, until his ribs ached, and Chris patted him on the back awkwardly. Hopefully, Joey would get over this soon, and return to normal. Carefully, Joey helped him to his room and took off his pants, and his shirt, and even his underwear.
“Are those new?” Joey asked, looking at the black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs Lance’s mom had mailed a few days after the first batch. Lance had a matching set. Now that Chris thought about it, it had been a bit suspicious. “Lance is buying you underwear?”
“Lance’s mom,” Chris muttered, looking over at Lance, who was snoring softly with his mouth open. Joey lifted an eyebrow, so Chris shoved at his hand weakly, sinking into the mattress and grateful when Joey tugged the blankets to his naked shoulders. Chris closed his eyes and mumbled into the pillow, “thanks, Joe. You’re a good guy.”
“You too,” Joey said. He stayed with Chris until he fell asleep.
~~~
A few days later, Chris felt almost fully recovered, and everyone was back at full operation. Lou, who had been trying to get them all back to the warehouse the night after Chris got out of the hospital, put them back to the grind, overjoyed. Chris was still too weak to really do anything impressive – he couldn’t flip around without getting dizzy, and he couldn’t bounce a lot without getting nauseated – but he managed. Since Germany was only a few weeks away, Chris put in his resignation at Universal, and started training a young, beautiful guy to take his place. Michael was smitten.
He and Lance hadn’t even kissed since the hospital thing. In fact, Lance was acting like they weren’t together in any way these days. If Chris didn’t know better, he would even think Lance was avoiding him, despite the fact they shared a room and saw each other constantly. Chris wasn’t contagious, and Lance knew it, so there were no excuses.
“Hey,” Chris said, leaning over Lance’s shoulder as he read the Great Gatsby. “You wanna go for a drive or something?” Lance looked at him and shrugged, a sad wiggle of emotion in his eyes. “Come on. I still have to teach you to drive my car. Okay?”
In the parking lot of the grocery store, which was abandoned since it was pretty late and the place was closed, they zipped around carefully. Lance was getting pretty good about going straight, and speeding up, and slowing down, so Chris upped the ante and decided to teach him how to back out of a parking spot. Lance was nervous but let Chris fold his own hand over Lance’s, helping him switch gears.
“Stick,” Chris said and Lance nodded, looking at it, “shift,” the bar snaked through the maze, from the very top to the very bottom. Lance’s hand was warm under his. “Reverse.” They pulled out of the spot, slowly rolling back then braked. Chris kissed Lance on the cheek. “There you go. Now, drive onward and take me for ice cream.”
They drove to McDonald’s, where they each got a cone, and ate them in silence. Lance, the gentleman, paid, even when Chris protested, without really meaning it. Chris put his hand on Lance’s thigh in the car and kept it there, licking at his ice cream deliberately.
“I’m sort of confused about this, suddenly,” Lance admitted, looking down at Chris’s hand but not trying to move it. “It occurs to me, knowing your history, that maybe you were sort of serious about stopping this, and I didn’t let you. And I think, maybe I should let you. I wouldn’t want to force you to stay with me or anything, and maybe, if I let you go before you get really mean, we won’t have to hate each other.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” Chris asked.
“We’re not dating,” Lance said, staring straight ahead. “We can’t break up.”
“You wanna do dinner or something, like, fancy and shit?” Chris blurted out, and Lance looked over at him, eyebrows reaching into his hairline. “Because I’m thinking I’m an idiot, and a big jerk, and I like you. A lot, Bass. Like, so much that I’m kinda proud we’ve been together for almost twenty days. I’ve been counting,” Chris pointed out, hoping for pity.
“You’re asking me out,” Lance said. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Chris said. “Asking you out. Like a normal guy, and not like the commitment-fearing, internally-homophobic psycho who’s been, like, stringing you along for the last three weeks. Sorry about that, by the way.” Chris examined his fingernails then nibbled at them, refusing to look at Lance, since he wasn’t really saying anything. “Or not, if you don’t want me. I realise, I’m sort of old, and not mentally stable, and I drive a shitty car.”
“You’re very self-deprecating,” Lance said. “And you talk too much.”
“Obviously,” Chris said, looking over at Lance, who was smiling. Chris poked at his belly, and Lance curled up on himself then leaned over, kissing Chris’s mouth. Chris nuzzled his forehead with Lance’s then kissed him back, snaking his tongue over Lance’s sugary, sticky lips. “So you told your mom. You told me you didn’t.”
“Joey’s got a very big mouth,” Lance said. “Yes, I did. She’s fine with it. She respects my choices, and she wants me to have a boyfriend, I think. She thinks I’m sorta slutty.” Lance opened his eyes wide then shrugged, grinning hugely. Chris laughed. “Who knows where she got that from? I honestly don’t know.”
“I’d have no idea either,” Chris said, pecking his lips at Lance’s mouth again. He tasted just like the ice cream, and his skin was still cool from it. “You’re the picture of chastity, of course. I can’t believe your mom called you slutty.”
“Well, she called me free-spirited. I knew what she meant,” Lance said.
“So will you go out with me?” Chris asked. “And let me drive us to that spot, so we can have sex in the backseat again. I really enjoyed that,” Chris admitted, sliding his hand up Lance’s thigh and cupping his dick, rubbing until it filled against his palm. Lance shuddered and nodded, squirming in his seat. “And never, ever tell your dad I’m boning you.”
“Technically, I bone you more than you do it to me,” Lance said, “you can unzip my pants and give me a handjob right now, you know. I’ll be good to go later, too. But um, please?” Lance unzipped his own pants, and the zipper was only halfway down before Chris’s hand was there, threading through crinkly, damp hair. “But yeah, my dad can wait to know until I’m eighteen, and dinner is good. I like dinner.”
“I really like you,” Chris said, and Lance kissed his mouth hotly, with a wet, sliding tongue. Under Chris’s hand, Lance’s hips rocked, and Chris squeezed him, pumping his fist over Lance’s twitching cock. Lance sighed breathlessly then smiled. Chris smiled, too.
Fin.
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