Freely Given
by Helen
Bobbie dumped JC the day after the tour ended. Justin called him, because he was missing four cds and a windbreaker he wanted to wear, and he thought JC might have them. JC was silent for a long moment, and Justin assumed he was thinking about it, and then he said
"um, Bobbie dumped me."
"oh," Justin said.
"so, I, um—" JC said, and then he hung up. Justin called Joey, and then he went over to JC's house to hang out with him. Joey called Chris and Lance, and went over a few hours later, and by the time Chris got there it was ten o'clock, and Justin and Joey and Lance were drinking beers and talking, feet up on JC's coffee table. JC was huddled in an armchair, arms around a pillow. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation. His eyes were pink rimmed, and he was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing on the bus.
"What the fuck is wrong with you people," Chris said, because Justin kept talking about Britney, and Joey was in an I-love-Kelly upswing.
"Go home," Chris said, and herded them out the door, before making JC take a shower and eat some soup.
"I'm not sick," JC protested, when Chris set a tray with soup and crackers and a glass of orange juice on his bedside table.
"I know," Chris said.
"I miss her," JC mumbled, face in his pillow.
"I know," Chris said, and patted his shoulder.
"Do you think Britney will dump Justin?" JC said, after drinking the orange juice. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
"Undoubtedly," Chris said.
"He's smug."
"Yes."
"I bet she fakes orgasms," JC said.
Chris laughed. "I bet she's really good at it."
"I'm just saying," JC said "Bobbie didn't—I mean. She. She'd get kind of mad, and stuff, if—" He sounded wistful.
Chris sipped at the coffee he'd made for himself.
"I just." JC pushed himself up and leaned against the headboard. "This sucks," he said, and then he began to cry.
Justin raised his eyebrows when Chris and JC arrived at the photoshoot together. Chris pulled JC over to the craft services table and spread cream cheese on a bagel for him, pressing it into his hands before taking a doughnut for himself. JC picked listlessly at the bagel while the rest of them made small talk until it was time for make-up.
"What's that all about?" Justin said, when it was JC's turn.
"Hello," Chris said. "He got dumped. It happens to the rest of us sometimes."
"well, yeah, dude, but what's with you?"
"I'm just going to hang out a little with him and cheer him up," Chris said, straightening his sleeves. Joey laughed, and elbowed Lance, who looked stolidly at the ground.
"What?" Chris said sharply.
"Why can't you just build model airplanes like everyone else?" Justin said.
"Who builds model airplanes?" Chris said.
"I'm just saying, I'm not sure JC is the best project for you."
"He needs to be cheered up," Chris said. "Are you saying I'm not cheering?"
"Not. exactly."
"Look," Chris said irritably, "You can't stop talking about how much you love your hot girlfriend, and Joey can't stop talking about Brianna, and Lance doesn't really understand why someone would be depressed about a breakup—"
"That's not true," Lance mumbled.
"Please, Lance, we all know you're a robot."
"I'm not a robot, I'm just not a sensitive artiste like you fuckers," Lance said.
"Name the last person you were broken up about."
"Craig."
"Was that when you went away to that Tony Robbins seminar?" Joey asked.
"Right," Lance nodded. "I would never have done that if I hadn't been very depressed."
"You came back and said you were the best you you could be," Justin said.
"Whatever." Chris rolled his eyes. "Crazy things you do when you break up don't count if they're tax deductable."
"I ate a whole package of oreos," Lance said.
"How long did it take you?" Chris said.
"A week," Lance answered proudly.
"A—oh, get out of here," Chris said.
"So, see," Chris said the next morning, at nine, when JC was staring groggily at him holding a cup of coffee that Chris had handed to him. "I have a whole plan for getting over people."
JC wrapped his fingers delicately around the cardboard insulating ring of the cup and said "I was kind of going to sleep until it was all over." He sniffed at the coffee indecisively.
"Ah, see, I tried that," Chris said. "It doesn't cheer you up."
"I don't understand why I have to be cheered up," JC said.
"Don't fuck with the mission statement," Chris said. "You run into all kinds of trouble if you do that."
"I just don't." JC said, pausing to take a sip of the coffee. "I—" the coffee was hot, and scalded his tongue, and made him cough helplessly, until Chris took the coffee out of his hand and set it on the bedside table.
"great," he said. "get dressed. I'm taking you skeet shooting."
"I'm a vegetarian," JC protested weakly, buckling his seatbelt.
"They're clay," Chris said. "and you are not."
"It's symbolic."
"You're a symbolic vegetarian?"
Chris took JC to the beach, and to four art house movies, to Christina Ricci's costume birthday party, and to an afternoon cooking seminar with Wolfgang Puck, where they learned how to make Shrimp Remoulade with Avacado and Hearts of Palm.
"I think you're kind of crazy," JC said, watching Chris frown in concentration as he measured out olive oil.
"Are you having fun?" Chris said, setting down the measuring cup. JC crossed his eyes at him. "Don't complain, then," Chris said. "I think the cilantro needs to be chopped more finely than that."
"What do you know?" JC said. "It's supposed to be kind of chunky."
"Do I need to call Wolfgang over again?" Chris asked. He'd already been looked at reprovingly at for whispering during the opening speech, and then yelled 'Yo, Wolfgang," when they hadn't been able to figure out what shallots were.
"No, Jesus, you are so embarrassing," JC said, picking up his cleaver and starting to chop.
"You like it," Chris said. "You suck at pretending you're mad," he said, because JC was smiling down at the cutting board.
They were lying on JC's couch watching Japanese cartoons and drinking beer, and JC looked over at him and smiled, and then put a hand on Chris shoulder and slid up against him and pressed his mouth softly against Chris'.
"hey, um, hey," Chris said, a moment later, "I think maybe you got the wrong—"
"what?" JC said, blinking, pulling back a little, a small line of concern between his eyes.
"nothing," Chris said. "c'mere."
In bed, JC put one hand next to his head and cupped his face before leaning down for a kiss. It was wet, and soft, but mostly perfunctory, because they'd already kissed for a long time on the couch, JC stretched out on top of him and sighing happily against his mouth. It had been some time since he'd made out with someone like that, because the part of the breakup that he hadn't told anyone about, even Justin, was that he and Dani hadn't had sex for the last two months of the relationship, and even in the time before that, they hadn't really bothered to kiss much. They'd mostly gotten right on to the sex, as though to convince themselves that there was still something between them that made it something more than fucking.
JC squirmed lazily in his arms and dropped his face to Chris' shoulder, moving his lips softly against the skin, trailing curious fingers down Chris' sides.
"mm," he said, breath hot against Chris' neck, and Chris felt short of breath, suddenly, felt a rush of heat up the back of his neck and out over his shoulders, and reached for JC to kiss him hard, a slippery messy kiss, with JC clinging to him after a minute. He pulled roughly at the fastening on JC's pants, pushing him back against the bed to peel the pants down and press a grateful kiss against JC's stomach, because he had almost forgotten what it was like to want to have sex.
It hadn't been impotence, exactly, because he could still get it up when he was thinking about Dani, sitting pathetically in his bathtub, or alone in his living room, or in his bed, or when he was dreaming of Dani, even insulting and horrible dreams where she broke up with him and then fucked some other guy on the conference table at Fumanskeeto. He hadn't slept with anyone after the breakup because he hadn't much felt like it, even though Justin kept introducing him to increasingly available girls, all of whom looked excited to be doing a personal favor for Justin, which wasn't precisely an aphrodesiac. He tried to blame it on the girls, their soft wet mouths, and kind of frighteningly perky tits, their basic not-Daniness, but it was him.
Every time he started to take off his shirt he remembered the guy Dani was dating now, some suit at the company, who was about a foot taller than he was. Carl, or Kyle, or something, and he was a nice enough guy, but he was tall and blond with a jutting superhero jaw, and was exactly the kind of guy that someone who looked like Dani should date. Every girl he'd dated before Dani had been tiny and offbeat. Funny thrift-store clothes and punky hair, girls who hadn't attended the senior prom because it had never occurred to them.
And it wasn't just the way Dani had looked, obviously, but it had taken him a year of dating to quench the feeling he'd had when he first saw her, which was that it was a good thing they were paying the girls in this video, because they didn't look like any girls they could get on their own, except maybe for Justin. Except for that whole millionaire popstar thing, which seemed like the best fucking way to meet girls in the world, except, of course, for when it turned out to be the worst way.
"hey," JC said, and pushed him over onto his back, swinging one leg across his hips. "hey, you with me?"
"um," Chris said, "just. yeah. sorry."
"y'know," JC said. He was smiling to himself, and then he laughed, kissing Chris on the cheek, and rolling his hips in Chris' hands, and leaned over, lips brushing Chris' ear, "I fuck on the first date," he said.
"ah," Chris said, and tried to think of something funny to say, but couldn't, not with JC smiling at him like that. JC licked his ear and said "oh, let's—" and his breath caught when Chris touched him.
In the morning, JC asked if he wanted an omelette.
"No—I mean. I got this thing," Chris said, pulling on his jacket.
"Oh," JC said. He was wearing a silky kimono that hit him about mid-thigh, and holding an empty frying pan.
"It's just," Chris said.
"No," JC said, "it's. I'll—"
"I'll come by later," Chris said, and then stepped quickly across the floor and kissed JC on the cheek. When he trailed a hand down JC's side, the material of the bathrobe was warm from his skin.
"Fuck, Chris, you didn't." Justin put down the sandwich he was eating and stared at Chris.
"Screw you, Timberlake," Chris took a drink of his water and tried to look nonchalant. "You've slept with Lance. and Joey."
"Yeah, but they're Lance and Joey. They're not—"
"JC," Chris said grimly.
"Hello?" Chris said, letting himself into JC's house. There was no answer. Chris took off his coat and called again, leaning into the living room. When he came back into the hallway, JC was on the landing, one hand on the banister.
"hey," he said.
"hey. sorry," Chris said. JC was wearing loose pants with a drawstring, and a faded shrunken t-shirt that ended five inches above the pants. "were you asleep?"
"no," JC said. He came down the stairs, standing still on the bottom step for a moment, hesitating. "Are you hungry?"
"no," Chris said. JC stepped off the last step. "I ate earlier," Chris said.
"oh," JC said, and then he was close enough to kiss, so Chris did. He wrapped an arm around JC's waist and pulled him in towards him, tilting his head up to catch JC's mouth, and JC made a small startled sound and half-tripped towards him, but then pressed in against him, one hand on his cheek.
"I thought maybe you freaked out," JC murmured, later, pressing kisses against his jaw and neck.
"What—no," Chris said, sinking lower in the couch, sliding his hands up over JC's hips and under his shirt.
"okay," JC said. He sighed when one of Chris' thighs slid in between his and traced his tongue over Chris' ear.
"because," Chris said, softly, one hand on the back of JC's neck, pulling him in for a kiss, their lips brushing as he murmured. "I had stuff to do is all."
"I guess you could do that omelette thing," Chris said, in the morning.
"yeah?" JC said. He rolled over and smiled up at Chris.
"Do you have, like, ham and stuff?"
"What for?"
"For the omelette."
"I have cracked pepper turkey," JC said.
"What?"
"The deli person said it was good."
"Yeah, but you don't—have you ever actually made an omelette?"
JC pinched his lips together. "I. no one ever really took me up on the offer," he mumbled.
Lance walked through the back door of Chris' house without knocking and saw JC kissing Chris in the kitchen, running his hands through Chris' hair.
"I've had to make a few minor modifications in the cheering up plan," Chris said, when JC had wandered off to take a shower.
"hm," Lance said, and sipped his coffee. "He does seem cheery."
"that he does," Chris said, and pawed through the box of pastries that Lance had brought with him until he found a glazed doughnut, which he munched on thoughtfully.
After Lance left and JC got out of the shower, they lay on Chris' bed, and played with the dogs, rubbing their bellies and behind their ears. Korea crawled into JC's lap and and flopped over onto her back, and made small happy dog noises, her legs sagging and twitching when JC scrubbed his fingers over her stomach. He looked up and smiled at Chris, so widely that his eyes squinted almost shut.
"I can leave them with you, maybe," Chris blurted, "I have to go to California next week for a Fumanskeeto thing."
"okay," JC said, still smiling.
"I don't have to."
"It's okay," JC said, busy playing with Korea's paws.
"I mean, I got a kennel they go to, and all."
"No, I don't think they'd like that," JC said solemnly
He took JC for a ride on his bike, and JC wrapped his arms around him from behind and clutched tight, and Chris could feel the press of his thighs, and JC whooped in his ear and was flushed and smiling when he pulled into JC's driveway. They had warm, fast sex on JC's bed, on top of the blanket, with JC's hands tracing down his back, the warm afternoon breeze slipping across them, and the whole thing was a stupid cliche, but with JC curled around him, dozing, holding his hand, it didn't seem to matter too much.
There were a lot of perks to the modified cheering up plan, what with JC driving him to the airport, picking him up at four in the morning at his house, putting the dogs in the backseat, leaning across the seat in the parking garage and giving Chris a long sweet kiss. It was four days, but when he got back, the dogs smelled faintly of oranges, because JC had given them baths in organic shampoo.
"dude, I know you're just bribing them with fancy food," Chris said, when Busta followed JC around insistently the next time he came over. He'd seen the small stack of gold foiled tins in JC's cupboard.
"you're just jealous," JC said, and lay down on the couch, his hair flopping over Chris' thigh.
That night, JC pressed in against him and kissed his jaw, coiling one leg over his hip before saying
"I missed you."
"It was four days," Chris said, but he hitched JC closer, kissing his shoulder and sniffing the soft skin there.
"mm," JC said, and pulled Chris over on top of him, tilting his neck back meaningfully, and sighing happily when Chris started kissing his throat.
"I missed you," Chris said, dragging his lips down JC's chest.
"good, see," JC said. He had one hand on Chris' head, fiddling with his hair, still a little damp from the shower. "because I was going to withhold sex otherwise." Chris licked his stomach.
He'd though that being crammed on the same bus for six years with someone would render them transparent. He'd known how to cheer JC up, and it hadn't been difficult to figure out what he liked in bed, although, in retrospect, Chris had to admit to himself that that had less to do with his familiarity with JC, and his superior powers of observation, than with the fact that JC tended to arch in an approving and sluttish manner every time he did something right. There were, as it happened, new things to learn about JC—not just sex things, like the way that JC would climb into his lap while they were watching tv when he wanted to be fucked and that he liked to hold hands in bed, or things that were almost sex things, like that JC's hips were ticklish, but things that had nothing to do with sex, like that JC couldn't cook anything at all, but thought he could. He was always offering to cook things, and bought ingredients, but everything he made was a failure. Chris did most of the cooking.
Usually when they were home, he lived on microwave popcorn and takeout, because it seemed silly to make something just for him, but since JC was there, and since he tended to go to the specialty grocery store and buy fresh tomato-basil linguine or fresh cod and homemade granola instead of bread and milk and cheese, Chris would try to make something out of it. It usually came out edible, and JC would find candles and set the table, and it was weirdly civilized. It made him think of when Dani used to visit, and she'd sigh at the half unfurnished house, but then grin, because Dani had always known she couldn't make him be any different. He thought of that when JC lifted his wine glass, smiling at him, and it didn't make his stomach ache with bitterness. He thought he was maybe finally getting over her.
The dogs loved JC, and it wasn't just the novelty of a new person. They thought he smelled good, and were always clambering up on top of him when he was napping. JC took them for endless walks in the park near his house, and, when it was rainy, would run obligingly up and down the living room, letting Korea bark hysterically at him while Busta growled and tried to bite his ankles.
"Don't blame me if they bite you," Chris said, as JC skidded around in sock feet on the hardwood floor of the dining room Chris had never bothered to get a table for.
"They wouldn't do that," JC said, but later, when he was rolling around on the floor with them, Korea's teeth grazed his arm, and he gave a sharp shout of pain.
"I told you," Chris said, when he was washing out the long shallow scrape on JC's forearm.
"She didn't mean to do it," JC protested.
"right, yeah," Chris said.
JC was only marginally more careful after that.
"Dude, how long are you going to keep doing this?" Justin said, picking up a sweater off a chair that was unmistakeably JC's and then putting it back down.
"I dunno—" Chris said. He shrugged when Justin kept staring at him. "look, is he cheered up?"
Justin sighed. "I'm just not sure it's the greatest idea to—"
"He's happy," Chris said stubbornly. "He's having a good time."
"I'm just saying," Justin said, in his most put-upon voice, "that the cheering up plan has gotten completely out of control—"
"and the dogs are really crazy about him," Chris said. "so, y'know, they'd be sad if."
"the dogs, huh," Justin said.
"right."
"fine," Justin said. "I'm going home. I'll see you Saturday, okay? If, y'know, the dogs and JC aren't too busy having a love fest."
"yeah, yeah, get out of here," Chris said. Justin went out the front door. When Chris went to put Busta out, he found JC sitting on the porch surrounded by grocery bags.
"hey," he said.
"Hey," JC said.
"I was thinking we could go to the movies, later," Chris said. He carried in the grocery bag and set it down on the counter.
JC had followed him inside, and was leaning against the doorway, watching him as he reached in and pulled out a quart of ice cream, and it fell apart in his hands, splattering dark and runny all over the floor.
"This is—" Chris shook his head and grabbed the box and threw it in the trash, reaching for some paper towels. "how long were you out there," he said.
"Fuck you anyway," JC said. Chris stopped wiping the floor and looked up at JC, confused.
"What?"
"Fuck you," JC spat. "I don't need your pity, I don't—"
"I—what?" Chris stood up. "JC—"
"How dumb do you think I am anyway? sorry I'm such a fucking downer that you have to have a plan to—"
"It wasn't like that—"
"I heard you," JC said. "I'm sorry I'm such a huge fucking drag that you have to put up with me, and fuck me, and make me think—"
By now the dogs were in the kitchen, barking uncertainly, high pitched, querulous, and when Chris said
"No—" sharply, they started barking louder, and Chris had to raise his voice to be heard. "JC, I didn't—"
"You didn't even. It was a mistake," JC said slowly, numbly. "I couldn't figure out why you were being so nice to me all of a sudden."
"don't make this into—"
"I thought we were dating," JC mumbled.
"we were—" Chris said.
"It doesn't count if you thought you were just taking me off the others' hands."
"You're not being fair about this," Chris said, finally dragging the dogs out the door and slamming it in their faces, where they whined faintly.
"Oh, what, you didn't tell Justin you'd just fuck me as long as it took to cheer me up?"
Chris winced, and said, "I didn't say fuck."
"Fuck you," JC said, and threw his key ring at Chris, heavy with his house key, and Chris', his car keys, and a spare from the PT Cruiser, the key to Lance's boathouse. Chris ducked, and the keys hit the refrigerator with a loud dull clack before falling to the floor.
"I think you're overreacting," Chris said, and JC looked at him blankly for a moment, and then stepped carefully past him and grabbed his keys off the floor, and went out the door.
"No wonder Bobbie broke up with you, you high strung little bitch," Chris muttered to himself as he watched JC carefully maneuver his car out of his driveway. It didn't make him feel like less of an asshole.
"It all went horribly wrong, right?" Lance said.
"yeah."
Lance nodded sympathetically. "You want to talk about your feelings or something?"
"no," Chris said. "I only came over because I thought Justin would say 'I told you so'."
"I'm feeling very special right now," Lance said, "just so you know."
"You have the best booze, too," Chris said.
"ah," Lance said. "What would you like?"
"I dunno. whatever is appropriate when someone tells you to go fuck yourself about seven times in two minutes."
JC came to a rehearsal and laughed and smiled with Lance and ignored Chris entirely and jumped on Joey's back and let Joey whirl him around, and Chris muttered sulkily to Justin
"for the record, I did cheer him up." Joey pretended to almost drop JC and JC laughed and clung to him, and then squirmed and arched his back in an effort not to be dropped, and all that was fine, but he also lay on the floor of the practice room, tank top soaked, and sticking to him, rolling his shoulders and panting, faintly, licking his lips, and that was more of a problem.
Chris didn't feel guilty about it. He hadn't done anything wrong. He took naps in the afternoon, but it wasn't like with Dani, when he'd slept for hours at a time, well into the afternoon, slept until Justin came over and made him take a shower and took him to get food somewhere and told him all about the plans for the new album at length, and didn't seem to mind that Chris didn't care at all. He took naps because JC had taken afternoon naps, and he had looked so peaceful that Chris had started joining him, and JC would press his face to his chest and sometimes slide a hand under the leg of Chris' boxers. JC would wake him up in the late afternoon, kissing him, sliding his hands down Chris' arms, rubbing his thumbs over Chris' wrists. Chris got tired in the afternoon, now.
This time, when JC's car pulled into the driveway, he had the presence of mind to shut the dogs in the bathroom. JC got out of the car wearing sunglasses, and he had a box in his hand, and Chris could see that it held a jacket of his, and a sweater, two boxes of dog treats, a few of his cds, and some shiatsu massage sandals he'd gotten for JC, as a joke. They turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. "I just came for my stuff," JC said.
"yeah, well, you can't have it," Chris said, which was the first thing that popped into his head that wasn't "would you like to have sex?"
"What?" JC said.
"You can't have it back," Chris repeated.
"You—"
"It's at my place," Chris said, "and I'm keeping it."
"You can't do that."
"It's passive resistance," Chris said.
"You mean passive-aggressive," JC said.
"If I meant passive-aggressive, I'd say passive aggressive."
"I want my stuff back," JC said, raising his voice.
"Forget it."
"Then you can't have your stuff back," JC said.
"That's fine," Chris shouted, "because I don't want it back." The barking, by now, had reached fever pitch, first Busta, and then Korea, tiny sharp bursts of yips, followed by the restless tick-tick-tick of toenails on tile.
"okay."
"I refuse to participate in this breakup," Chris said.
"We're not breaking up—" JC said.
"Exactly."
"because we weren't even together in the first place," JC said, "because it was, apparently, a figment of my imagination." He turned around and went out the door, and then stopped, halfway down the path, and came back and put the box on the counter. "I changed my mind," he said. "you can have your stuff back."
"The shoes were a gift," Chris said.
"I don't want them," JC said. The screen door slammed loudly behind him.
Chris brought the dogs to one rehearsal but as soon as they saw JC they scrambled out of the car and ran over to him, yipping excitedly when he crouched down and ruffled their ears.
He had to pry them away from JC, and they were mournful and quiet in the backseat on the way home. The worst part of all this, he thought later, leaning against the counter and eating a sandwich, was it seemed like his dogs liked JC more than they liked him.
He had cried the first afternoon, partly out of humiliation, out of the casual way Chris had said the dogs liked him, but he hadn't cried after that. He'd learned something from Chris after all, he thought, because Chris had helped him box up the stuff that Bobbie had left in his house and mail it off, and it was different with Chris, because he was in the band, and he had to see him every day, but JC practiced in the mirror until it looked like he didn't care, and he called up Joey and complained about Chris while Joey said "uh huh," again and again, and it seemed like he was kind of tentatively okay. He had to be.
JC didn't usually bother to lock his doors until he went to sleep, so Chris walked right in, through the vestibule, wiping his feet on the mat, and into the living room, where JC was curled up on the couch, reading.
"hey," Chris said.
"um," JC said, standing up.
"I brought movies." Chris held up the sack.
"I broke up with you," JC said.
"Yeah, well," Chris shrugged. "I didn't agree to that."
"You don't—agree or—"
"Do you have any popcorn?"
"Get out of my house," JC said.
"That sounds like you'd prefer a profound and erotic murder mystery to the comedy stylings of Martin Lawrence," Chris said, popping the case open.
"I-"
Chris sat down on the couch and put his arm along the back of it, and smiled at JC.
"This isn't a date," JC mumbled.
"right, yeah," Chris said. "we're just hanging out and watching movies."
In the end, JC had to go to the all night 7/11 and sit in the parking lot, so as not to be on a date.
sorry, girls, but Chris Kirkpatrick is off the market again. The 'nsync hottie was spotted at a chic downtown florist, being quite exacting about what blooms could be included in a large bouquet for his new sweetie. This wasn't just a wilted bunch of daisies, either, but a crystal vase filled with an impressive array of pricey blossoms, including Australian Meridien Orchids, which, at this time of year, retail for 75 bucks a pop. No word on who the lucky lady is, as Chris insisted on delivering the flowers himself. Could the boybandster be ready to say Bye Bye Bye to the single life?
"Um," Joey said. "Are you and JC—"
"We're together," Chris said.
"He told me you were an asshole and that he hated you," Lance said.
"minor roadblack," Chris said. "We're totally dating."
"You and JC, huh," Joey said.
"What's so weird about that," Chris said defensively.
"Nothing, I guess." Joey shrugged.
"He's a babe," Chris said. "We're in love."
"okay, so, girlfriends. you can tell me the truth."
"taken," Justin said quickly, flashing a grin. "taken," Joey said, more slowly.
"Lance?"
"well, I'm not really—"
"I'm seeing someone," Chris said.
"oh, really. is it new?"
"pretty new," Chris said, and smiled. "it's really special, though, and I just feel lucky that I—"
"I just broke up with someone," JC said loudly.
Chris dropped off the dogs on his way to the airport, with leashes, and Busta's favorite toy, a small carrot that squeaked.
"Their heartworm is this week," he said, handing JC a foil packet. "One pill each. Thursday."
"Okay," JC said, while Busta and Korea ran past him and into the kitchen, sniffing around the baseboards.
"Great," Chris said.
"We're not dating," JC said, accepting the box.
"mm," Chris said, and kissed him on the cheek quickly, out the door before he could say anything.
"well, I like pretty," Chris said, "kind of, uh, shallow that way, but—wait, there's other stuff that's important. A good heart, with the—did I say pretty? oh! and someone who likes my dogs." Chris took a drink of water, and Justin answered a question about music, and then Chris said,
"I like to buy gifts, too, like, I bought this person a mandolin, because music is really important to both of us, and I just wanted to kind of symbolize—"
He paused to inhale and the interviewer turned to Lance,
"and your perfect girl—"
"see, I like to cuddle," Chris mused, "and what really attracted me to—"
"Lance," the interviewer said, cutting him off.
"I'd just like to say," Chris said, interrupting Justin. "that this is a really special song, with an important message, and, um." he paused, and glanced sideways, eyes dark and wide. "every time I sing it," he said, "I think of someone who's really important to me." Lance snorted, and Joey elbowed him. JC glared at the floor.
"um, yeah," Justin said, stepping back a pace, and taking a breath, before they began to sing I Thought She Knew
"What are you doing?" JC said. His hair was sticking up in wild little tufts, and he was wearing shorts and an undershirt and shower sandals. It was early for him.
"I'm mowing your lawn," Chris said. He pulled off his cap and wiped his forehead, and then settled the cap firmly on his head.
"You. will you stop stalking me?"
"I just noticed your lawn looked a little ragged, is all," Chris said calmly. "It's not a crime."
"It's trespassing," JC shouted. "and. stalking. and I just wish you'd go home." His face was pink.
"well," Chris started to say, leaning back against the handle of the lawnmower, somehow managing to make it look comfortable. "I—" a security car had pulled up next to them on the curb
"Is there a problem here, Mr. Chasez?" The security man was older, and leaned out of the car window earnestly.
JC blinked, and sighed. "No, Bert, I'm sorry."
"It's no problem. Just, if you're being bothered, I—"
"It's fine," JC said, mustering a weak smile.
"Y'know," Chris started to say, when the security car pulled away from the curb.
"you shut up," JC said, and stomped back inside. Chris shrugged, and eased the throttle on the mower open.
"Are you okay?" Justin asked.
"yeah, I'm fine, I'm fabulous, I'm wonderful," JC said. He bent his head until his face was almost in the sound board controls. "It's not enough that I get stalked by fucking random chicks all day long, now I'm being stalked by Chris."
"He likes you," Justin said, making a 'hold on' gesture to Lance, who was recording in the booth.
"You think?"
"JC—"
"I don't even—I think he's kind of just doing it because he's bored," JC said, after he and Justin had listened to the playback.
"You're fun when you get bent out of shape," Justin said, nodding. "sorry."
"I'm fun."
"Super fun. You flip your hair all around."
"The adulation of millions has made you into a mean pathetic person, you know."
"If you stopped making it so fun," Lance said into the microphone, "he might quit."
"But how am—you want me to—"
"just ignore him," Lance said.
"But he's always over at my house," JC said. When he got home that night there would probably be food on the counter, and Chris dozing on the couch, waiting for him, and he couldn't really think of any way to get rid of him that wasn't just shoving him out of the house, and the thought of punching Chris kind of made him cringe. Violence was not the answer, he was pretty sure. He'd seen a bumper sticker once.
There were sandwiches on the counter, with tortilla chips and pickles and iced tea. Chris was sitting on a bar stool, eating. "We only dated for five seconds, okay, so—" JC said, when Chris smiled at him and pushed the pickles towards him. JC took two. He was hungry.
"It was two months," Chris said.
"No, it—"
"Bobbie dumped you at the end of the tour, right, so—"
"But that doesn't—"
"Who cares?" Chris said. "I've know you for five years; it's not exactly a spur of the moment thing is it?"
JC sighed and looked at his plate, and ate, and wished he didn't always lose arguments. He kept forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at Chris.
"You're kind of getting to him, dude," Justin said.
"Yeah, I know, it's totally working," Chris said. "He's started keeping that beer I like in the refrigerator again."
"I mean, it's kind of. you're being a little psycho about it."
"It's the best relationship I've ever had," Chris said.
"You're kind of getting on his nerves," Justin said.
"I'm in love with him," Chris said. "What do you want me to do?"
"I just want to establish," JC said, "that you are an asshole, and that you are not my boyfriend."
"mmm," Chris said non-committally
"Because I am going to use this couch to watch a football game, now, and even if you might happen to be there as well, that does not constitute datelike activity."
"okay," Chris said.
"I got you a hoagie," JC said.
"oh, thanks."
"You owe me 4.78," JC said.
"We'll go dutch," Chris said, nodding sagely and digging for his wallet. Chris fell asleep with his head against JC's shoulder. When the game was over, JC swung Chris' legs up onto the couch and put a blanket over him, and Chris woke up long enough to ask what the score was.
He officially forgave Chris about the time that Justin leaned over the soundboard and pushed a knob down about a millimeter and said
"dude, you're killing him."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
By that time, he'd been mad at Chris for long enough that it was hard to learn how to stop. He didn't really feel angry anymore, but it seemed stupid to just say he wasn't, so he started doing little things, hoping Chris would figure it out and kiss him, or something. It seemed like that would work, because Chris had never really acknowledged that they were fighting, but Chris seemed to have some sort of rules about pretending to be still dating someone who had dumped you and called you a fucking asshole and told YM that you liked spontaneous girls, girls who snuck into your hotel room or stalked you in casinos. Chris came over, and brought beer, and installed himself on the couch. He bought JC a juicer, and figured out that the guy who cleaned JC's pool was stealing his towels and selling them on e-bay, and scared the shit out of him.
Chris was useful in a lot of small ways, which made you forget the bigger ways he was useful, the way he almost always managed to fix things, if he thought it was worth his time. It made JC think about when he'd suddenly noticed Chris, somewhere in the middle of his haze of misery about Bobbie, seeing Chris pulling out his wallet at a movie, waving JC's motion towards his pocket away.
"huh," he'd thought.
After that, it had seemed obvious. Chris even touched him, a friendly pat on the cheek or on the shoulder, or one afternoon when they played football out on his back lawn, and Chris leapt on him, again and again, pulling him to the ground, butting his head affectionately against JC and saying
"You got no killer instinct at all, baby."
"You can't throw," JC said.
He'd always liked Chris, probably a lot more than Chris liked him, he thought sometimes. He liked the stubborn ugly set of Chris' mouth when he thought he was getting screwed, and he liked how Chris pretended to be mean but had a soft underbelly of kindness. Justin thought that he and Chris were best friends for about a year before they really were, when JC could see that sometimes Justin annoyed the fuck out of Chris, but Chris wouldn't say anything. During the lawsuit, Chris was the only one who could make Lance feel better, which he mostly did by bringing him milkshakes he didn't want and letting Lance pace back and forth and curse a lot. The rest of them were kind, but Chris was just on the edge of mean, because kindness made Lance teary. Chris was the only one who didn't make him cry, and JC was glad, because he knew Lance got tired of sitting on JC's bed with both of them sniffling, not making eye contact.
Chris touched him, but everyone touched him.
"You're just touchable," Joey said once, squeezing him while he pretended to struggle. He liked being touchable, but it did make life a little confusing. There was a three week period when he was fairly certain that Justin was hitting on him, because he kept pushing up behind him on the couch, and wrapping and arm around his waist or his shoulders, and he'd gotten really nervous about turning Justin down, because that was just wrong, except that he worried that he would have a weak moment and do him. Chris was safer, because he was old, and because he had had sex with at least one guy, because he was the one who said
"You fucking pussies," and threw up his hands and went to go have the sex with guys talk with Lance when they were still in Germany.
Chris was small, and sometimes a little chunky, and he had a heavy beard that he had to shave twice a day if they were going to have a photo thing in the morning and a performance at night. He was strong, and JC knew he was in trouble when he found himself frowning in concentration at a BOP in his dentist's office, reading something about Chris' liquid brown eyes, and contemplating stealing the magazine because there was a really good pinup of Chris.
JC had been able to feel himself getting sort of goofy about Chris, the way he did, feel himself start to want to write songs. He had always been annoyed with the idea that dogs could tell things about people, because it was stupid and obvious in thrillers, the dog growling at the rapist, but there had been something immensely comforting about the way Busta liked to put his chin on JC's knee when they were watching television. It was as though he had stolen a small piece of Chris' love, gotten it before it was freely given.
"Are you still mad at Chris?" Justin asked, when they were sitting around in the studio listening to playback.
"I—"
"Dude, you are so not."
"I just." JC shifted his shoulders uncomfortably and thought about Chris dozing on his couch in his sock feet, shirt rucked up, and how hard it was not to touch him, lately. "I don't know how to tell him," he said.
"Just tell him," Justin said.
JC shrugged, and hit the playback button again.
"Tell him!" Justin shouted after him, as he left the studio.
They went to the park when JC got home, hooking the dogs to leashes in silent agreement, and walking along the sidewalks. JC waited until they had reached a suitable stretch of grass, dark green, and well manicured, and unhooked the dogs, before beginning.
"I've decided," he said magnanimously, "to forgive you."
Chris turned around, still holding the stick he was about to throw for Busta. "What?"
"I said," JC raised his voice, "that I've decided to forgive you."
Chris blinked, and turned around, throwing the stick hard. Busta stared up at him blankly and then wandered patiently off in the general direction that it had been thrown. Chris turned back to JC and said, "what for?" with a belligerent set to his mouth.
"well, for—"
"it wouldn't be for not giving up on us like you did, or anything," Chris said.
"as a matter of fact," JC said, "it's for mercy fucking me and lying about it."
Chris crossed his arms. "well."
"yeah," JC said.
"you know," Chris said, "I'm not a very introspective person."
"no shit, Sherlock."
"so, y'know, I was in love with you all along, and—"
"that's crap," JC said.
"oh, don't tell me you didn't like me hanging around you like I just couldn't get enough," Chris said bitterly.
"you're such an asshole." JC threw his arms up in the air. "I can't believe I even bothered to forgive you."
"and you're a sanctimonious prick," Chris said furiously, "and—"
"I take it back," JC spat. "I don't forgive you, and—"
"Where are the dogs?" Chris said. Then he turned around and whistled, and after a moment, Busta loped up to the top of the hill. Chris shouted for Korea, but she didn't come. JC shielded his eyes against the sun, and squinted down the hill.
"oh, shit," Chris said.
They jogged quickly down the path, circled the small pond full of algae in the middle, Chris shouting for her, and then they split up, Chris taking Busta, and looped around the entire park again, but when they met up again, Chris' mouth was a twist of bitter worry.
"We should go drive around the neighborhood," JC said. "She can't have gotten far."
"She—I should stay here," Chris said.
"I'll go get the car," JC said.
By the time he'd driven four blocks, slowly, looking out the window and calling for her, the futility of the whole exercise hit him. Another car whipped by him, gunning over a speed bump, and JC remembered the afternoon he and Chris had spent trying to train Korea to be afraid of cars. Chris had driven up and down Chris' long driveway, and JC had leaned out the window to dump water over Korea's head. She had thought it was a wonderful game, and had yipped excitedly at the car, running along beside.
"dude, are you sure this isn't from the chapter about teaching your dog that cars are fun and safe?" Chris had said, exasperated.
It began to get dark. He kept driving. He finished a five block circuit, and started out again, looping around from his house to the park, the routes they used to get there, checking the houses where there were dogs that Korea liked to sniff at through the gates, thinking that dogs were so fucking stupid, too stupid not to run away, and too stupid to know not to get killed. He pressed his lips together and kept driving, and after another hour began to worry that she was already home, and that she would leave again, if they weren't home.
The porch was dark, and she wasn't there. He went inside and called Chris.
"you found her?" Chris said, immediately. He sounded out of breath.
"no."
"oh."
"It's really dark out," JC said. "maybe you should wait until morning."
"no," Chris said, sharply, and hung up.
JC called community security, and they said they'd look out for her, but in a tone of voice that indicated that they didn't think it would do much good. Animal Control asked him why he hadn't responsibly had an ID tag made, and JC didn't bother to explain that Chris had been worried that someone might take her if they knew she was his. Animal Control said they'd call if she turned up, but that it was unlikely, especially if she were a little dog. People took them home all the time, they said. Just kept them. JC thanked them, and hung up. He tried watching television, but felt too guilty, and remembered that Chris had only been wearing a t-shirt, and the night had turned cold and windy, the screen door banging against the door frame.
He found a flashlight, and walked around the block, whistling, the sound seeming to fall away and disappear into the dark. The stars were out, and he walked around the block again, shining the flashlight under hedges, promising biscuits. He thought about all the fan mail Chris would get if they never found her, all the cookies and stuffed pugs and real puppies left on his doorstep, and at Jive, and brought to meet and greets, and felt faintly relieved that it wouldn't be him, and then like a horrible person for having the thought in the first place. He walked around the block again.
When he passed his house for the fourth time, Korea came curiously down the front path, collar jingling. He crouched down and scooped her up, and then went inside and called Chris and said,
"come home."
Chris swung Korea around over his head and told her she was stupid, even though JC had spent the ten minutes it took Chris to get home sitting on the kitchen floor and feeding her treats and telling her she was the smartest dog in the universe. Chris flipped her down into his arms and her legs paddled merrily in the air. JC scratched Busta's ears so he wouldn't be jealous, and felt Chris' relieved smile echoed in his own.
"I guess," he said, getting up, "I'm going to bed."
"long night," Chris said.
"long night," JC agreed, and went up the stairs. He could hear Chris still murmuring softly to Korea in the kitchen. He brushed his teeth and smiled at himself in the mirror, and was sitting on the bed untying his shoes when Chris came down the hallway.
"so," Chris said, leaning against the doorjamb. "I forgive you for losing my dog."
"hold on," JC said.
"and. I'm sorry I mercy fucked you." Chris came across the room and sat down on the bed next to him. "I didn't want you to be unhappy."
"oh," JC said.
"I never, um." Chris sighed, and scrubbed a hand through his hair, and then touched JC's knee with two fingers. "I never really made anyone happy before."
JC bent his head so that he could see Chris' face, and then twisted up and kissed him, one hand hand stroking down his cheek.
"so I just—c'mere," Chris said, a gentle hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him several times, open mouthed, and JC turned sideways and put his arm around Chris' waist, and Chris kissed him again before murmuring "I'm really really sor—"
"okay, shut up," JC said.
"are you sure? because I can apologize some more."
"or, y'know," JC said, sliding one hand down the back of Chris' jeans, "you can stick the dogs in the hallway and we can screw."
"I don't know," Chris said, and fell back on the bed, pulling JC on top of him, "I kind of get the feeling that you want to be apologized to."
"freak," JC said, and laughed, and kissed Chris' neck.
"jerk."
"moron."
"sweetheart," Chris said, "come here."
(end)