Lance
Went Down to
*****
JC frowned at the voice on the other end of the phone, not liking what he was hearing at all. He and Lance were in JC’s kitchen, having just gotten back from an afternoon of shopping. JC loved shopping with Lance. He loved doing anything with Lance, really, because Lance was his favorite person ever. He wished he knew if he were Lance’s favorite person ever, but he was afraid maybe he wasn’t. He dragged his attention back to the phone conversation just in time to miss the ending of it. Not that it mattered, polite goodbyes weren’t going to change anything.
“Fuck!” JC snapped his phone closed and tossed it onto the kitchen counter, where it skittered across the polished granite before coming to rest against the pretty new espresso machine. Lance eyed him cautiously, clearly aware of how close JC had come to throwing the damn phone across the room. But it was a new Sidekick and it did all sorts of cool things, and it wasn’t his phone’s fault that things were so screwed up.
“C?” Lance had one eyebrow quirked, obviously awaiting an explanation. Jackson sat at his feet, one ear cocked forward.
“Fucking Jive. They’re pushing it back again.” JC ground his teeth in frustration. Lance frowned. Jackson growled.
“When to this time?”
“October. With the single dropping in August. Fuckers.” He was more than angry, more than frustrated. He was puzzled. “I just don’t get it, man.” He shook his head, and was momentarily distracted by the feel of soft curls moving on his neck. His hair really had been looking fabulous lately, maybe that was a side benefit They had forgotten to mention. He appreciated it, really he did, but it wasn’t why he had agreed to the deal, although it was nice…
“C?” Lance said again.
“I don’t understand it,” he said, more to himself than to Lance. “They said it would happen just the way I wanted it to. They said it would be smooth sailing all the way. I don’t exactly call this bullshit smooth, you know?”
“They?” Lance looked confused. “You mean Jive?”
“Uh, no, not exactly, man.” Oops. They warned him not to say anything, and here he was letting things slip to Lance, of all people. “Just some, uh, guys, um…I mean...”
Lance’s eyes narrowed. “JC,” he said, in the tone that always made JC think of his mother when she knew he was hiding something and she had no intention of letting him escape to his room before he spilled his guts. He shifted nervously, Lance’s voice having the same effect on him as his mom’s, which was to make him want to confess to things he hadn’t even done. Jackson eyed him expectantly.
“It’s nothing, really, dude. Seriously.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
“Seriously. Right. JC, tell me what’s going on.” Lance was using his “kind but firm” voice now, the one that fooled you into thinking that if you just told him the truth, everything would be okay, and he wouldn’t even be mad. JC fell for that one a little more often than he’d care to admit. He liked to think he was capable of learning over time, that he wasn’t doomed to making the same mistakes over and over again. He could hear his father saying, “Josh, it’s a relative sign of intelligence not to make the same mistake twice.”
“JC, are you even listening to me?” Lance’s voice had a bit of an edge now, and JC knew he had to do something fast, before Lance got really determined. Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed Lance full on the mouth. Lance went completely still, not even breathing, and JC licked tentatively at his lips, waiting for the moment when Lance caved and let him in.
When that moment came, not two seconds later, JC thought, hey, this is so cool. I need to remember this one. Of the many different ways he’d used to try and distract Lance over the years, this one was apparently a winner. A real keeper. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Lance seemed to think it was a good idea, too, kissing JC back with unreserved appreciation.
Then, just as he was congratulating himself on reaching levels of Machiavellian cleverness that could confound even Lance, JC found himself being firmly pushed away. He stumbled backwards into the counter, hit the dishwasher door, and felt the machine rumble to life behind him as his ass hit the START button. Jackson cocked his head in surprise.
“Nice try, JC.” Lance looked impressed and pissed off at the same time. “Now tell me what the hell is going on.” His voice was implacable, although his face was kind of flushed and his breathing seemed a little ragged.
“Hell is about right,” JC mumbled, staring at his feet. He looked up into Lance’s angry eyes and thought maybe his attempt at misdirection hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He started talking.
*****
“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight.” Lance’s tone was very business-like, and JC wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Lance seemed inclined to believe his story. Lance appeared more skeptical about the people involved than he was about the actual concept of soul-selling. “Carlos is a minion of Satan? Dallas, too?”
“No, no, man, not Dallas. He doesn’t know anything about this. They just used him to get me started--you know, cuz we vibe together musically, he’s a cool dude, and stuff,” JC explained earnestly.
“Was there an agreed-upon time frame? Details, JC, I need details.”
“Why?” JC asked. Lance was looking fierce and very, very sexy.
“JC, if the Devil is trying to weasel out of a deal with you, that’s just not right.”
“Well, I don’t know if he’s trying to weasel out of it, bro. It’s just that things aren’t really going the way I want them to, and what’s the point of selling your soul to the Devil if you don’t get what you want?” JC thought that sounded reasonable, but, hey, maybe there were permutations involved in this sort of thing that he didn’t know about. Just because their old deal with Lou had felt like they sold their souls, maybe it hadn’t been as much of a learning experience as he’d thought. They’d gotten out of it; maybe he could get out of this one, too. Maybe there was some sort of court he could appeal to this time, just like before. Maybe he should quit making deals involving his soul. Not that the thing with Lou had been his idea…
“JC!” Lance snapped. “Is there a contract? Something in writing?” Lance’s voice deepened with disapproval, and JC felt it in his spine, all tingly and low. “JC, did you sign something?” Jackson stared up at him accusingly.
“Well, yeah, it was a contract.” He didn’t dare look at Lance now.
“And who checked it before you signed it, JC? Who read it over first, to make sure it was okay, that you weren’t doing something stupid?” Lance’s voice was deceptively soft, but JC wasn’t fooled by that at all.
“Um, Carlos did,” JC mumbled, hoping Lance wouldn’t actually hear his answer.
“Would that be the same Carlos who is apparently in league with the Devil? That Carlos, JC?”
“I didn’t know that, Lance,” JC protested. “He was like, my friend, man. I trusted him,” he finished miserably.
Lance sighed. “I know, baby.” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. JC blinked at the endearment. Lance didn’t usually call people by anything other than their proper names. “Okay, let me see the contract.”
JC reluctantly pushed himself away from the counter. “It’s upstairs. I’ll just, um, go,” he waved his hands vaguely at the ceiling.
Lance eyed him as if he wasn’t sure he trusted JC out of his sight for more than a minute or two. “Okay. I’ll just wait right here.” He lounged back against the stove, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest, which made his shirt pull tight across his shoulders and his biceps bulge under golden skin. His jeans were faded and they creased delightfully around his crotch, which was unadorned by any Jewels at the moment. JC didn’t really think Lance’s crotch needed any additional embellishments to make it look good, but he generally appreciated having an excuse to peer at it and say things like, “Hey, dawg, is that an American flag?”
Lance looked positively edible, in a stern sort of way.
“JC?” JC pulled his eyes away from Lance’s package with a guilty start. Jackson was watching him speculatively.
“Going,” he said and headed for the stairs. Once in his bedroom, he rummaged around under the bed until he found the box he was looking for. Pulling it out, he pried open the lid and lifted out the sheaf of red papers tied up with a black ribbon that was sitting on top of the contents. They were a nice deep red, and he cast his mind through his closet, wondering if he had a shirt that color. He looked good in deep, rich reds and he thought maybe…
“JC!” Lance yelled from the kitchen.
“Coming,” JC called back, and he started down the stairs. Jackson was waiting for him at the bottom. “Hey, momma,” JC said absently as he headed back to the kitchen, the little dog at his heels.
Lance was sitting at the table, a cup of steaming coffee held between his hands. Another cup was on the table across from him and JC plopped down in the empty chair in front of it. “Thanks,” he said. He clutched the red papers to his chest as he added cream and sugar to his cup and stirred it in circles, watching as the white cream swirled through the dark coffee like clouds in a stormy sky.
“JC.” JC raised his head. Lance looked bemused and his eyes were soft. He shook his head fondly and held out his hand. JC hesitated, then passed the papers across to him.
*****
“Were you out of your ever-lovin’ mind JC? What the hell were you thinking?” Lance demanded. “Did you have a brief bout of insanity?”
JC was beginning to feel a little hurt. There was no need for Lance to insult him. In retrospect, inking this deal may not have been one of his better ideas, but he wasn’t insane. At least he didn’t think he was. He wondered if there was a way he could tell for sure. It was true he often talked to himself, and sometimes he even answered, but…
“JC!” Lance said sharply. “Where’s Carlos now?”
“He said he was going to a meeting,” JC answered.
“Right. Of course. Where else would he be?” Lance sighed. “Okay, first we need to figure out what went wrong, why they’re not doing their part. Then we have to see if we can get you out of this contract.”
“But…” JC wasn’t sure he wanted out of it. What he wanted was for Them to live up to the terms he thought he had agreed to. He would have unprecedented solo success; They would own his soul when he died. It seemed pretty uncomplicated to him, a simple matter of give and take, and he was annoyed that it wasn’t working out that way so far.
“JC. Do you really want to owe Them your soul? Even if you end up wildly successful, is that worth an eternity of damnation?” Lance seemed honestly interested, so JC gave the question some serious thought.
He’d been watching Justin’s success covetously, wanting the same thing so badly for himself. He knew he could be just as successful, given the same opportunity, and he was angry that he hadn’t been. He was just as talented as Justin, and just as alluring to the fans, he knew this. And he wrote songs about sex like other people wrote about romance. That covered pretty much the majority of the seven deadly sins, didn’t it? Almost everything except gluttony, which didn’t really seem appropriate to the situation anyway. So he had thought going the extra mile and selling his soul might not be that much of a leap.
But when Lance put it that way, eternal damnation…well, maybe A.D.I.D.A.S. could succeed on its own merits after all.
“I guess not, no, um, you’re right, man. I just thought, well, it might not be so bad. Kind of like going camping with only water and an umbrella, but no Lonnie along to help.”
Lance stared at him with a kind of awe. “Yes, I imagine it would be exactly like that,” he said. Shaking his head, he added darkly, “Anyway, if the fuckers are gonna screw you, the hell with ‘em.” He looked down at the papers in his hand. “I’ll take these with me, and I’ll call you later, okay? Don’t worry.” He stood up, walked around the table and put his hand on the back of JC’s chair. He leaned down, suddenly in JC’s space. His eyes glittered in the waning sunshine slanting through the kitchen window. JC blinked, trying to focus, and then Lance kissed him firmly, his tongue flicking quickly between JC’s lips, which had parted in surprise. Just as quickly, he moved away, walking to the door with Jackson under one arm, the red contract in his hand. He paused, looking back, his eyes unreadable. “JC? Don’t ever pull that shit on me again. Next time you kiss me, make sure you mean it.” Then he was gone.
JC sat at his kitchen table, staring at the door. His lips were wet and he touched them carefully with his fingers. “Oh,” he said. He smiled.
*****
After the Tom Green Show aired, Lance showed up at JC’s house faster than JC could say “one minute and forty four seconds.”
“What?” JC said.
“The fuckers think They can jerk me around and I’ll back off,” Lance glowered, throwing himself down on JC’s couch. JC hoped Lance kept his sunglasses on, because when he glared at JC, it was just so hot, and JC thought he should try and focus on what Lance was saying and not let himself get distracted by Lance’s hotness. At least the sunglasses diffused some of it.
“What? It’s going okay, isn’t it? Some Girls is dropping on August 11, just like I said. What are you talking about, man?”
“JC, you don’t think you held your breath that long all on your own, do you?”
Actually, JC had thought that very thing. He had taken three deep breaths, just like Rob told him to, then plunged his head into the tank of water, trying to ignore how much of a dork he felt like in that stupid white swim cap.
It had been so easy and he hadn’t even felt short of breath when he finally came up for air. He’d just thought how cool it was, that Rob’s technique had worked so well. Now he felt like a first-class idiot.
“Didn’t I?”
“No, baby,” Lance said kindly. “I really don’t think you did. I think they’re playing with us.”
Maybe Lance was just saying that because he was jealous that JC beat his time. Lance could be pretty competitive about things like that. But his eyes were warm as he looked at JC, his sunglasses off. “Damn,” JC said sadly. He liked thinking that he had avenged Lance’s honor, winning one for the boybanders and all, and now…not. Although the rest of the world didn’t know that, they thought he did it on his own, so he guessed it was probably okay. He narrowed his eyes. He had to make sure Justin, at least, kept thinking JC had done it all on his own.
“JC? It was a sweet thing for you to try to do.” Lance’s smile made JC feel flushed all over, kind of hot, and he shifted from foot to foot. Lance had said for JC not to kiss him again unless he meant it. Well, maybe he did mean it. What made Lance think he didn’t mean it, anyway? Who died and made Lance king of what JC meant? Before JC could act on his not-so-sudden desire to kiss Lance again, Lance said, “I’ll be surprised if Some Girls really drops on the eleventh, baby. Carlos was kind of pissy the last time I talked to him. He’s not happy that you made him move out into the pool house.”
“He was supposed to be my friend,” JC stated flatly. Carlos being in his house was something that was not even up for discussion. Lance wanted him close, to keep an eye on him, and for their ongoing negotiations, and that was fine, whatever, but JC would be damned, both literally and figuratively if need be, if he let Carlos keep sleeping under his roof. But in the meantime, Lance was distracting him from his goal of the moment, which was to kiss Lance until he was convinced that JC meant it. He settled himself on the couch next to Lance, now happy that the sunglasses were perched on top of Lance’s head instead of hiding his eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about Carlos, or Tom Green or Satan, honey. Just shut up a minute, ‘k?” He bumped Lance’s shoulder with his own.
“Why?” Lance’s eyes held a cautious expression, and JC paused. They watched each other carefully for a moment, and then Lance turned away, and JC kicked himself for wavering. JC thought he saw disappointment in Lance’s eyes at his hesitation, and that gave him the courage to do it. He reached out and put two fingers on Lance’s cheek and gently brought him back around until they were face to face again.
“I mean it,” JC whispered, right before he covered Lance’s mouth with his own. Lance stayed motionless for a heartbeat, and then he groaned and kissed JC back with something that felt like desperation. Well, that would explain why Lance wanted him to mean it, JC thought, while his tongue was occupied trying to gain entrance into Lance’s mouth. It was rewarded when Lance parted his lips sweetly and let him in. Lance’s mouth felt like heaven. After a moment, Lance broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against JC’s.
“JC, we have to get you out of that contract. I don’t know if they’re being evil on purpose,” and JC kind of giggled at that, making Lance grin weakly, “or if it’s just bureaucratic ineptitude, but they’re not living up to their end of the bargain, so you shouldn’t have to either.” Lance’s voice was low and determined and a little hoarse, with what JC hoped was passion, but suspected might actually be fear. Lance was afraid for him, for his immortal soul. That knowledge filled JC with a peace he hadn’t felt since the hiatus began.
Lance sat back and patted JC’s knee. His cheeks were touched with pink, and he was still slightly breathless, but his eyes were serious and his voice firm. “Don’t worry, baby. There’s no way in hell they’re winning. Even if I have to call my mother.”
JC’s eyes widened at that. Whoa, Diane. Lance was bringing out the big guns. JC was impressed. He nodded slowly. “I’m not worried,” he whispered. “Not with you in charge.”
*****
Carlos sat on the couch across from the mixing board, looking defiant and smug. JC stood behind the board, which, as Lance had pointed out, was the recording artist’s equivalent of a high-powered executive sitting behind an aircraft carrier-sized desk. Lance had insisted this meeting take place in JC’s studio, where JC would have a decided edge, instead of in the kitchen, where, he said, JC could never appear to advantage because too many culinary disasters had happened there. Carlos was not going to be intimidated by JC when the memory of macaroni and cheese made with Amaretto was easily called to mind by the brown stain that marred the otherwise pristine cream-colored granite countertop.
The studio door opened and Lance walked in. Prowled was more like it, JC thought. Lance wore a shirt made of some expensive looking fabric, in rich stripey colors of burgundy and black and cream, and if it put JC in mind of the drapes in his grandmother’s spare bedroom, that was more than made up for by the way Lance had left the top three buttons undone. Lance’s chest gleamed golden in the light from the lamp next to the couch, and his eyes were a dark, predatory jade. JC shivered.
“Carlos.” Lance nodded curtly at the man on the couch. Carlos continued to smirk. “Could you please explain to me just what the fuck Jive means by ‘early 2004?’”
“Hey, man, I don’t know what they’re thinking. Something about the right marketing atmosphere and Christmas sales demographics and waiting until the time is right for such an, um,” and here Carlos made exaggerated finger-quote marks, “’eclectic, organic, virginal’ album.” The expression of sly glee on Carlos’s face as he looked up at Lance hurt JC’s heart. He guessed they could rule out bureaucratic ineptitude. There was real malice at work here. He had thought Carlos was his friend, had treated him like family, but probably that didn’t count for much when you were dealing with one of Satan’s minions. Still, it made him sad to think he had been fooled by Carlos’s friendly face and ostensible support. Maybe Satan just didn’t like boybands. Vocal groups. Whatever.
“JC.” Lance spoke without taking his eyes off Carlos. He was white around the mouth, his lips tight with rage, but his voice grounded JC, served to help him shake off the feelings of sadness that were distracting him from the task at hand. Lance moved around the console to stand next to JC, and JC felt heat radiating in the space between their bodies. It made him feel strong. “You make them name a month, Carlos. And since we’re talking early 2004, it had better fucking well be January.” Lance sounded cold and contemptuous. “Don’t go making the mistake of thinking that fulfills your obligations to JC, either. I want him out of that goddamned contract. But until such time as your Boss realizes he has no choice in the matter, y’all need to do a better job holding up your end of the bargain.”
Carlos shrugged. “We’ll see, Bass. He won’t get out of it. Does the word ‘incontestable’ ring a bell? I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” He snickered. “Oh, wait- you’re not all that good at that, are you?” And cackling to himself, he stood up and left the room.
JC turned to Lance, who looked murderous, and JC took a step backwards.
“Motherfuckers. What if I can’t do this? I may think the fact that they’re dicking you around is enough to make the contract null and void, but it’s Satan, JC, he doesn’t really give a shit about loopholes, you know?” JC had to look away from the intensity of Lance’s emotion. He watched their reflections in the glass of the darkened recording booth and saw the Lance in the glass turn away from his own reflection, his back rigid with rage. “I can’t believe you fucking did this, JC. Didn’t you care at all what happens to you? Was it that important for you to compete with Justin?”
JC’s breath caught at the question. “It wasn’t because of Justin,” he retorted hotly. “I just wanted, you know, success.” It sounded lame to his own ears, and he hated that Lance thought less of him because of this whole deal.
Lance whirled on him. “You already had success, you dumbass. Enough for ten lifetimes. Anything else makes you greedy!” Lance’s eyes were bright with fury and unshed tears. Whoa.
“How do you know it was enough? How do you know how I feel? And what makes you think you’re any better?” Now JC was mad, too. “You wanted to go to space, you want more than just NSYNC. You’re not any better than me, man, you’re just not, so fuck you!” He turned to storm out of the studio, but Lance grabbed his arm and jerked him back around until they were eye to eye.
“No? I could have gone, JC, but I turned Them down.”
JC stood stock-still in the silent, soundproof room. He couldn’t hear anything except his own heartbeat and Lance’s carefully measured breathing as the meaning of Lance’s words sunk in. “Lance?”
Lance let go of him and turned away. “I told them no. I still could have gone without Them, it could have worked out. It just didn’t.” He shrugged.
JC was stunned. He didn’t know what to say at all. “Freddie?” he whispered.
Lance turned back to JC, rolling his eyes. “No, not Freddie. Christ, he wasn’t that bad.” His anger was fading, he looked merely irritated now. “Just one of the Russian fuckers. It doesn’t matter, the point is I said no. And I wish to God you had done the same.”
JC hung his head. “I’m sorry. I guess I just didn’t think about what it really meant.”
“Look, I don’t wanna fight with you. We’re better off using the time to figure out what we’re gonna do here.” His irritation had been replaced by determination. “There’s no way this continues.”
“Okay,” JC said with simple faith. Lance would fix it, his confidence in that was unshakable. “I’m sorry.” His fear and sadness mixed with shame now, eddying around in his head like some kind of tidal whirlpool.
“You know what, JC? We’re done talking about it.” JC looked at him, grateful for that, at least. But what he wanted from Lance wasn’t just the ability to attain his freedom. He needed Lance to have faith in him, too, to imbue him with the kind of confidence that if he had had it in the first place, would have helped him avoid the predicament he now found himself in. And he was afraid he had forfeited any right to that faith at all. He turned away from Lance’s steady gaze.
“Thanks, man. I gotta, um, I think, lunch, or something. You want?” he mumbled, and headed for the studio door. He was almost there when he felt a warm hand on his arm, pulling him around to face cool green eyes. “C’mere, baby.” Lance wrapped his arms around JC and pulled him close.
JC sagged against Lance. Lance’s hands moved to JC’s waist, his fingers finding sensitive skin under the hem of his T-shirt. He pressed a possessive kiss resolutely on JC’s temple, and said, “It’ll be okay, JC. I won’t let them have you.”
*****
The couch in JC’s studio was wide and soft, perfect for naps, for retreating to when the ideas colliding in his head all became too much for him. Apparently, it was also perfect for fucking on. It held firm under his back as Lance pinned his hands above his head, anchoring him with his body, making him safe.
JC wondered if there was sex in hell. Probably, but it wouldn’t be with Lance. He felt a moment of panic as he thought about that. Thought about what he would lose if Lance couldn’t manage a way out of this. He would lose Lance. That was truly hell, eternity without Lance. He heart raced with fear.
“JC.” Lance thrust into him gently and brushed the sweat-dampened hair off his forehead. “Stop thinking, baby.” He thrust again, harder this time. “Look at me, JC.” JC’s breath hitched as he met Lance’s eyes. “Pay attention.” Again, harder still. JC paid attention. He let Lance’s hands and mouth and body put everything else out of his mind. For once, his thoughts were focused, entirely on Lance.
After, Lance hummed thoughtfully. “I think I have an idea.”
JC, who was having trouble getting his breathing under control, just panted questioningly. Lance chuckled as he pulled up his jeans. “Sergei. He didn’t take it personally when I turned him down. We still talk sometimes.” JC watched as Lance straightened his shirt. It wasn’t wrinkled at all. It must be made of the same stuff couch upholstery was made of, because couches didn’t wrinkle when you sat on them. Not that they had sat on the shirt, but it had been rucked up under Lance’s armpits at some point earlier, JC was sure of it, and there wasn’t a wrinkle anywhere in sight.
“JC? I’ma go now, okay? I’ve got some phone calls to make.” He smiled sweetly. It was kind of scary. “Incontestable my ass,” JC heard him snort as the door closed behind him.
*****
JC stood out by the pool, waiting for Lance to arrive, staring unseeingly at the sun sparkling on the water’s surface. The sun warmed his skin, but he shivered in spite of it. On the phone, Lance had said it was important.
Lance swept out onto the deck, grabbed JC, and twirled him around in his arms, despite JC’s height advantage and the fact that both Jackson and the detestable red contract were tucked under one elbow.
“It wasn’t Satan, JC,” Lance babbled as he put JC back on his feet. JC swayed a little as the deck spun around. Lance did another pirouette and said, “It was Carlos, fucking Carlos. Satan didn’t know anything about what Carlos was doing, at least that’s what Sergei said.” He waved the sheaf of red papers in front of JC’s face and JC blinked and jerked his head back before Lance poked his eye out in his enthusiasm.
Then he saw it. In big, bold black letters, across the front of the contact. NULL AND VOID. He looked at Lance in wonder. Lance grinned back at him and nodded his head elatedly, looking freakishly like his Bobble-head doll, only better dressed. He slapped the papers down on the nearest table in triumph. Jackson barked excitedly.
“But…dude, what…why?” JC was glad he had a lot of furniture on his deck, so if his knees suddenly felt kind of wobbly, there were several chairs nearby to chose from.
Carlos came out of the pool house, alerted to Lance’s presence by Jackson. Jackson barked again and Lance said something in his ear, too low for JC to hear, and put him down. The hair on the little dog’s back stood straight up, but he stayed put, staring at Carlos as if daring him to make a move.
Carlos flicked a disdainful glance at Jackson, then turned to Lance. “Bass.” He inclined his head slightly.
“Carlos. I was hoping I’d find you here.” Lance was cool and calm and very, very sure of himself. JC felt heat uncoiling in the pit of his stomach. “I had an interesting conversation with Sergei Petrov the other day. Very enlightening.” Carlos watched him uneasily. “I asked him to look into a few things for me. He just got back to me this morning.” Carlos glanced around as if gauging his chances for a clean get-away. Jackson parked himself between Carlos and the gate to the pool area. “You son of a bitch,” Lance continued. “Satan didn’t know about this part of it. You weren’t supposed to be fucking around with JC.” His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the only evidence that he didn’t feel as cool as he appeared.
Lance turned to JC. “Carlos made sure Jive kept fucking with you, in spite of the deal you signed.” He shook his head. “He was kind of pissed off about Tara, man. He was hoping to move in on her once he realized you two really were just buddies, like you kept saying. She wasn’t buying, and he blamed you.” He smiled, not very nicely. “Sergei says the Devil’s not too pleased. He doesn’t like to be put in the position of having to let people out of their contracts on a technicality.” JC shuddered. He could only imagine. Lance’s grin was absolutely diabolical.
Carlos paled. “What did you do, Bass?”
JC interrupted. “The question is, what did you do, Carlos?”
JC’s interjection seemed to give Carlos courage. “You didn’t want her, but all she could see was you,” he hissed viciously.
“But, dude, that wasn’t my fault. She was my friend, is all,” JC said in bewilderment.
Carlos snarled at him. “You think you can have everything you want,” he started, but JC interrupted him again.
“No, I don’t,” he said quietly. “And anyway, I have what I want.” He smiled at Lance.
“That’s it,” Lance said. “I think it’s time for you to go, Carlos.” He nodded at the pool house. “Get your shit and get out.”
*****
Lance danced over to the chaise next to JC’s. His hands swung back and forth in front of his chest, fingers in the familiar devil horns sign, until Lance caught himself with a laugh. “No more of that shit, I guess. It’s the ‘I love you’ sign from now on for me,” and he stuck his thumb out to make the switch to the different hand gesture, waving it at JC. Lance wasn’t often giddy, and it was infectious. JC smiled at him with pure joy.
Lance flung himself onto the chaise and caught his breath. “JC.” JC peered over at him. His smile was wicked and he looked absolutely delectable. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright and he glowed with happiness. “You’re free, JC.”
JC’s heart was filled with love. He was light-headed with relief. He owed Lance his immortal soul. “Dude. I wrote a song about a lap dance. Want me to show you how it goes?”
Jackson jumped up from where he lay watching them and scooted quickly into the now unoccupied pool house.
*****
This is total crack, but given the subject matter, how could it not be? Also, the characterizations flirt seriously with fanon, but maybe think of it as a farce? Much thanks to Maggie for the beta, and to Ashley and silveryscrape for read-throughs. Also, I think many apologies to Carlos are in order. I’m sure he’s a very nice man, with JC’s best interests at heart.
This was written for Xoverau’s Sold Souls Challenge